A Woman's Touch: 6/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
6
Angela watched as Fong emerged from the opera house. Some of the elastic spring had gone out of the man's step, and as she watched, he tossed an obviously empty carton of milk into a waste disposal container.
"Milk?" Sue said, raising her eyebrows. "I always thought 'trols drank nothing but hard whiskey."
Angela grinned. "Well, some of them, I guess. Maybe he has an ulcer. If he does, it really must be giving him heck right now."
Fong climbed into the aircar and a moment later it soared upward and headed for Lincoln Square. Angela waited until the other car was out of sight, and then followed.
"Sue," she said, as they entered the controlled traffic lane, "what about your family? Don't you have any folks who are going to be worried about you?"
"I don't think so," Sue answered. "My dad was a trader, and was killed by the Jils eight years ago. I was only ten at the time, and nobody would tell me why. My mom remarried just two weeks ago. They're on their honeymoon right now, and offworld. They probably don't even know I was kidnapped."
"Probably not," Angela said. "What about your school? Or do you work?"
"I'm still in school. I'm a Police Science major at New Devonshire Planetary University."
"Police science, huh?"
"Yes. I'm due to graduate next spring. I finished high school and went into college sort of early."
"Typical psychic," Angela said. "I'm afraid you might have to finish your college at Nova Luna University, though. We have some of the best teachers in the Sector. They're mostly the psychic educators that we've rescued from the Jils."
"I figured I might be in trouble. How much did cutie pie back there see?"
"Your name, certainly. Probably not much more, but that's enough. Don't worry, though. You'll be safe with us, *and* finish your degree. You'll see. Your particular area of study will make you especially valuable to us. We'll see to it that your mom knows you're all right, too, after all this dies down."
Sue shrugged eloquently. "I guess -- but even if I couldn't make it up, this would be worth it -- getting your Kevin away from these ... people."
"Thanks," Angela said. "You know, Sue, you're the best friend I've ever had, except for Kevin, of course. I couldn't have asked for better help. More experienced, maybe, but no one more willing to help me in a bad spot."
The black girl shrugged again and smiled. "Turnabout is fair play. You pulled me out of a pretty bad situation back there. Could I do less for you? Besides, as you say, I'm a psychic. We're in this together."
**********
Strike Commander Fong ran up the steps into Sam's Bowling Alley. His stomach was feeling uneasy again, and he knew it was only bound to get worse over the next few hours unless this blasted kidnapper decided to end this quickly. As he reached the videophone, it began to ring. He jabbed the answer button. "Fong here."
"Hello, my poor Strike Commander; isn't this *fun*?" The voice grated on his ears. "Okay, what did Lord Halthzor have to say for himself?"
Fong took a deep breath and tried to speak levelly. "Your demands will be met, Lady. Ten million credits will be supplied by the New London Security Savings Bank when I receive the computer credit from the Viceregal account. It will be about an hour."
"Excellent. Now, proceed to the Special Delivery Maternity Shoppe. I'll contact you there in about thirty minutes. Toodle!"
Fong gritted his teeth. The second half of the message that he hadn't passed along had been less compliant, and by the stars, he was going to enjoy that part! Halthzor had instructed him to obey the kidnapper's instructions to the letter until Sprinthvar was safe and then he was to bend every resource available to him, to unearth the culprit. He was also to place Sprinthvar under temporary house arrest until his uncle could interview him. That part would be delicate but enjoyable.
He left the phone booth, wincing as someone bowled a strike right behind him, and stepped up to the counter where a man was dispensing bowling shoes.
"Excuse me. Where's the Special Delivery Maternity Shoppe?"
The short, square man behind the counter raised an eyebrow and removed a fat cigar from his chops. "You kidding?"
Fong forcibly quelled his irritation. "No, I'm not kidding. I need to get there in a hurry."
The man grinned and shrugged his shoulders. Tattoos on both muscular arms rippled with the motion. He replaced the cigar, and blew a cloud of malodorous smoke into Fong's face. "I dunno where it is. I ain't married. Hey, Margie!" He raised his voice to a bull-like bellow. "The Strike Commander here wants to know where the Special Delivery Maternity Shoppe is! Says he's in a hurry!"
Heads turned in his direction. Fong could feel his cheeks turning red, but he kept his expression bland. The little blond woman who had just bowled that impressive strike a moment ago called back, "It's in the All Nite Shopping Mall on Shepherd and Tangerine Streets. If you go south six blocks you'll come to Tangerine. Then turn left." She paused. "But I'd say if he's in that much of a hurry, he's too late!"
A smothered guffaw went up. His face burning, Fong strode out to his car.
He jumped behind the controls, cursing savagely between his teeth, and slapped the controls. The car swooped upward. Still swearing, Fong turned the car in the indicated direction. His communicator bleeped.
"Yeah?" he snapped.
"Oleson here, sir. You'd better turn on your radio. Somebody's picked up on us."
Fong cursed and switched on the radio, which was set for the single local station.
"... Var has been kidnapped here in New London, approximately two hours ago. Intercepted Patrol transmissions indicate that the kidnappers, whose identities are unknown, are demanding a ransom of twenty million credits or they will kill the Viceroy's nephew ..."
"Damn!" Fong said, helplessly. "Damn! Damn! Damn!" Stupid, irresponsible newsmen! They cared nothing for *his* life! This was just what he needed to make his evening complete! Fong hated newsmen.
The dull, burning pain in his stomach was intensifying again. Absently, he dug in his pouch for another antacid tablet. It was his last one, he noted in despair. Holy space! He'd had almost two dozen in there this morning! Frantically, he searched through the pouch, emptying its contents on the seat beside him.
No more tablets. Grimacing, he placed it on the dashboard. Better save it, he decided morosely, until his need was greater, as it surely would be before long.
The shopping mall came into view, its lights blinking faintly in the dimness. The car settled into the parking lot and he picked a spot as close to the entrance as possible. There were a surprising number of cars in the lot, considering the hour.
The newsmen were continuing to report on the kidnapping, one imaginative soul envisioning in vivid detail the possibility of finding Sprinthvar's mangled body stuffed in some alleyway. Fong cussed softly. The boyish voice continued speaking, contrasting the brutality of the kidnapping with the meaning of Sprinthvar's name: gracious and noble. Fong swore tiredly. That blasted reporter didn't care in the least about the so-called brutality of it all! All he cared about was his condemned story!
He glanced at his chronometer. Nine minutes. He'd better move. Pocketing the antacid tablet, he climbed from the car and sprinted across the lot toward the mall.
It was still moderately crowded. Fong came through the sliding door and paused, glancing frantically around. A pregnant woman passed and he reached out to catch her elbow. "Ma'am?"
"Yes?" She turned, then took a quick step back, pulling her elbow away, her expression instantly wary. "What do you want? I haven't done anything."
"Do you know where the Special Delivery Maternity Shoppe is?"
She stared at him blankly. "Is this some kind of joke?"
Fong quelled his impatience. "No. I need to get there right away. It has to do with the kidnapping that was on the radio."
A man appeared beside the woman, pushing her behind him. "Why are you bothering this lady, Strike Commander?"
The woman smiled. "It's all right, George. It's about the kidnapped Jil. It's right around the corner, Strike Commander Fong. Is it true the kidnapper is a *woman*?"
"So far as we know, ma'am. Excuse me." Fong brushed quickly past the two, reflecting that he must have missed some of the newscasts.
The Special Delivery Maternity Shoppe was almost empty, not surprising, considering the hour. Four women, three of them conspicuously pregnant, clustered around a videoscreen where a man in the uniform of a Terran chief of police was trying to field questions by eager reporters. The man looked as harassed and irritated as Fong felt.
"No, as far as we know, the incident has nothing to do with the capture of Subcommander Bronson," he was saying. "Apparently the kidnapper -- or kidnappers -- just guessed pretty accurately that there would be a Jilectan present and set up his trap accordingly."
"Is it true," one reporter demanded, "that two young women were seen parked in the alleyway where the net was found? Do you have any speculation about that?"
"No comment. The Patrol has given us no such information, nor have we been asked to help. Strike Commander Fong Lee of the 'Orion' is presently conducting negotiations with the kidnapper. I have no other information."
"Is it true that the kidnapper has demanded a ransom of thirty million credits for Sprinthvar's return?"
The videophone shrilled and Fong stepped up to answer it, beating the clerk by half a second. "Fong here."
"Hello, Strike Commander! Nice to see you again! When the money is ready, you will let me know by communicator on the same frequency as before. Then I will call you at the videophone booth in Finnigan's Tavern on Cherry Street and give you proof of His Lordship's continued good health. I will also give you instructions on how to deliver his ransom. Until then, your battlecruiser will remain at the New Winchester Shuttleport where a friend of mine is watching it. Last of all, I had better not see any Patrol activity in the area until we're finished with this business. Remember, rather than be caught, I'll kill His Lordship and vanish. Goodbye, Strike Commander. Pleasant evening."
The videophone went off, and Fong wiped sweat from his brow. He made his way out of the shop, glancing around. There must be some place in this mall that served food. He needed to get something in his stomach right away. It would help preserve his antacid tablet for a little longer ...
**********
"Anything?" Sue asked as Angela slid back into the driver's seat.
"They haven't gotten here yet. Something must be holding them up." Angela stared unhappily at the instrument board. "Winston told me the Patrol's established a blockade around the Planet. No ships are being allowed on or off. They're probably having trouble getting past."
"Oh." Sue glanced back at Sprinthvar, giggling happily to himself in the rear seat. "What are you going to do?"
"I've been thinking about that," Angela said. "I can't hold Fong off much longer this way. I'm afraid I'm going to have to try to free Kevin myself."
"Do you think you can?" Sue asked hesitantly.
"I sure as heck have to try!" Angela clenched a fist. "I can't just give up!"
"I didn't mean that. I meant how do we go about it?"
Angela bit her lip. "Sue, this is going to be risky. I can't get you involved."
"Oh yeah?" Sue leaned forward pugnaciously. "And how do you think I'm going to feel if you go in there without me and get caught?"
"Sue --"
"I'm going!" Sue informed her. "Quit wasting time and tell me what you have in mind!"
7
The New London Central Hospital glowed like a jewel in the darkness as their aircar approached the employees' parking lot. Angela pulled the vehicle into a space on the third floor of the parking tier and cut the engine. "Are you ready?"
"I guess so." Sue gave her a nervous grin. "Let's go."
Dressed in the grey uniforms of the housekeeping staff, the two strode boldly toward the entrance, chattering about inconsequential subjects in lowered voices. The guard that Angela had met before was still on duty, leaning morosely against the wall. Angela extended a mental probe.
Patrolman William Harold Blackstone was bored and disgusted. He had now been on duty for ten hours straight between the base on New Wilshire and here at this boring hospital. Somehow he had expected, when they had been ordered here to guard Subcommander Bronson from possible rescue by his people, that things would be at least more interesting. He'd never been on a world of the Terran Confederation before, but so far he had seen little of it but a bland, green, tree-studded lawn and a blank synthastone wall. Certainly -- and somewhat to his relief -- he had seen no sign of desperate characters attempting to rescue the Crazy Subcommander. All that had happened was the kidnapping of the 'Orion's' resident Jil -- which didn't exactly break his heart -- by some intrepid soul after a lot of money.
And he was tired. He'd been due to go off duty two hours ago by his base's time.
Footsteps coming briskly along the path. Blackstone pulled himself erect and snapped to attention at the sight of the black-and-scarlet clad figure striding down the walk toward him. Sergeant Wilkins returned the salute. "Any activity, Patrolman?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Good. Carry on." Wilkins entered the hospital.
Inside, Sue looked nervously at Angela. "I thought he'd stop us, sure."
"Not when he was seeing his sergeant," Angela said. "I'm an illusionist. Come on."
"Wow," Sue whispered.
They reached the third level and exited the elevator, Angela, glancing around covertly. Surgery was straight ahead and a tired-looking doctor, dressed in surgeons' greens, was just emerging. Angela quickly located the man's mind and formed an illusion. The surgeon's head jerked up and he gave a muffled exclamation. He turned and dashed back through the door.
"In here!" Angela grabbed Sue's hand and pulled her into the nurses' dressing room.
"What was the matter with him?" Sue asked, softly.
"He heard the intercom page him to the Recovery Room -- Code Blue."
"Code Blue?"
"Emergency. Somebody dying." Angela yanked scrub gowns from the nearest shelf. "Here, put this on."
Sue took the clothing that Angela thrust at her and began to pull it on. "What will he do when he finds it wasn't anything?"
"He'll figure he was hearing things." Angela tried on her own scrub gown. It was too big for her, but she pulled the strings tight at the waist. Sue was also tying hers. The hem reached to mid-calf. "How do I look?"
"Fine. Let's go." Angela led the way out, Sue behind her. The surgeon they had seen before was just emerging from the door again, rubbing a hand over his eyes and muttering under his breath.
Again, they headed for the elevator and pressed the call button. Sue spoke in an undertone to Angela. "Are you sure Lord Sprinthvar will be all right in the back of the car like that? What if he starts to come out of it?"
"He won't. Besides, the second stage of sweetgrass dosage is a deep sleep -- about six hours for a Jil; more for a Terran. Some Jils even use lower doses of the stuff as a sleep aid. He should go into it in anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour."
The elevator finally arrived and they boarded, signaling for the fourth level. They proceeded upward one level and stopped on fourth. The doors slid open.
Together, they exited, trying to appear casual -- nurses, weary with their job, with hours yet to go before their shift ended. Ahead, Angela saw the sign on the wall that pointed the way to Intensive Care. They rounded the corner and ahead they could see two patrolmen standing at attention before the doors. Angela and Sue paused. A nurse approached the door. The men stopped her and Angela watched as both men checked the nurse's ID before allowing her to pass.
"Well, that's that. We can't get in that way."
"Why not?" Sue asked.
"I can only cast an illusion for one person at a time. Only ICU nurses are allowed in there. But ..." She took her companion's elbow, leading her past the door into the ladies' washroom.
"What?"
"There's more than one way to skin a cat, as my mom always says. If we can't get in to Kevin, we'll have to get them to bring him out to us."
**********
tbc
