Sorry about the relatively short parts. The set-up for this story is pretty intense, which is why I've put off posting this one for so long. I have to type it up, and the suspense gets to me (wierd, I know, since I know exactly what happens). The parts will get longer as I get past the most difficult sections and into the fun stuff.
The Crystal Demon: 2/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
II
Mark Linley and Danoole Parkraft crouched in a thicket of scrubby bushes and stunted trees. Both men were clad in the rough clothing and calf-high boots of local fishermen.
Mark swore unimaginatively and wiped sweat from his face. "Damn, and I thought Shallock was hot!" He lifted his wrist communicator to his lips. "You there, kid?"
Alan's voice responded immediately. "Right here."
"We're on the outskirts of Kern. Be headin' in now."
"Okay," Alan said. "Be careful."
"We will. Hold down the fort an' we'll be back soon."
"I just wish I could have come along."
"Nothin' doin'," Mark answered immediately. "We'll be fine. Out."
"Out," Alan answered.
Linley got to his feet. "Keep your eyes skinned, Dan."
"Huh? Is something wrong?"
"Not exactly, but Alan was nervous, and when he gets nervous, I get nervous."
"I understand that. He must be quite a psychic, huh?"
"He's the best they've ever found."
"So I've heard. Okay, let's go."
Side by side, they sauntered across the bushy ground, trying to be casual and unhurried. Xenis was largely an agricultural planet, and most of its inhabitants made their living off the land, with an occasional trip into the city of Kern to purchase off-world supplies or to trade their furs and foodstuffs. The Jilectans were in the process of colonizing the planet, which meant that members of the lower species had been sent in first to prepare the way for their masters. A Patrol base had, of course, been established, and dangerous or unsavory predators were being eliminated. The usual center for scientific study was located on the base, and a number of Jilectan scientists had already taken it over for their use.
Mark wiped his neck and cursed. The day was hot and very humid -- similar in many ways to the weather of his home world, but he had been away from Shallock long enough to become acclimatized to more moderate weather conditions. Insects -- or what passed for them on this world -- whined around their faces and bare arms. A small, dark-colored creature flattened itself on its belly and watched them with slitted, golden eyes. It made a high-pitched twittering noise after they had passed.
The city's inhabitants were beginning to make their appearance now -- both aliens and Terran passing on the footpath. A large, plump, hairless thing with a meter long twisting snout, grunted something at them from the bushes at the roadside. Mark's neck prickled.
"What's that?" he whispered.
Parkraft glanced at him in surprise. "Weren't you ever on Xenis while you were in the Patrol, Mark?"
"Nah. That was after my time. I left the Patrol three and a half years ago. They started colonizin' this world about six months later."
"Oh. Well, that thing's a Popo. It's a native of the planet and quite intelligent, or so I'm told."
"Doesn't look like it."
"Well, they are. Highly intelligent -- and sometimes embarrassingly interested in Terrans. They don't care a lot about the Jils, though."
"Guess they are intelligent at that."
Parkraft laughed. "I've had 'em approach me and sniff me all over."
"Huh!"
"Too bad we can't figure out their language, though," Parkraft continued."
"Ain't anybody ever tried to teach 'em Basic?"
"Oh sure -- but the Popos either can't or won't learn it. They have no vocal cords, and nothing that even faintly resembles them. They probably can't form our words."
Another of the creatures appeared, waddling slowly along the road toward them. It grunted hoarsely and snuffled up to Mark, nuzzling at his pantleg. Mark froze, watching the creature. It continued to sniff curiously at him, once in a more intimate area, then grunted and continued on its way. Mark turned to watch it for another long moment, then started forward again. "Ought to have some of our psychics try'n get acquainted with 'em," he muttered to his companion. "They're usually pretty good at languages. If these Popos are as smart as you say, we might be able to get some cooperation goin' between us."
"I mentioned that in a report a while back," Parkraft said. "Don't know if anything ever came of it or not."
The city of Kern could only be called a city out of courtesy, Mark thought. It was a collection of low-built houses and dingy shops, occupied by members of the lower species. Mark noticed that many of the inhabitants were Arcturians and the insectile Vorians, which made sense, as Arcturians were a temperature-hardy species, and Voria was too hot even for the Jilectans, except at the poles. Merchants hawked their wares along the narrow streets in loud, strident voices. The place smelled.
It was midmorning when they reached the northern border of Kern. The heat had grown more intense and with the rising temperature, the stench increased. Mark was sweltering in his heavy boots, and the back of his sleeveless shirt clung damply to him. Before them, surrounded by its shimmering energy barrier, was the Patrol base, its modern buildings and landscaping a stark contrast to the primitive conditions prevalent in the town.
"In here," Parkraft said.
They entered a small, low-roofed café. The ceiling glowed with an odd greenish illumination and small, scuttling creatures with sharp, pointed faces crawled about the floor, ingesting crumbs and particles of food. Living vacuum cleaners, Mark thought. Half a dozen tables were occupied by men and women clad as fishermen, farmers and city tradesmen. No one so much as glanced at them as they seated themselves in a corner booth. A waiter approached -- a golden-scaled Arcturian -- and set mugs filled with an evil-looking yellow liquid in front of them.
"May I sserve you, ssirss?"
Parkraft didn't glance up. "Two Dava steaks, rare."
The waiter inclined his head slightly and turned away. Mark glanced discreetly around. Their contact was supposed to be waiting for them in this place and should show in a few moments.
Danoole, appearing completely at ease, took a swallow from his mug. Mark picked up his own container, regarding the contents warily. "What's this stuff?"
"Lavi nectar. Everyone here drinks it. Go ahead."
Mark took a curious sip and raised his brows. "Not bad."
Parkraft smiled. "Like it?"
Linley nodded, taking a more generous swallow, and smacked his lips. The juice had a tart, faintly sweet, delicious flavor. "Hits the spot in this climate."
"The natives make it," Parkraft said.
Linley paused, thinking of the Popo, then shrugged. He'd eaten weirder, and considerably less sanitary things.
Danoole grinned. "The natives are a pretty clean bunch. They mash the fruit in big presses and strain the juices carefully. Terrans have tried to copy their recipe, but for some reason it never tastes as good."
"Oh." He took another swallow. He'd mention the Popos to Kaley, he thought. It sounded as if there were definite possibilities there.
The door to the café swung open and a young boy entered. He was clad only in cutoff jeans, which were far too large for him. His feet were bare, and his small, skinny body was browned from the sun. He glanced furtively around, then sidled across the room. Linley took another swallow from his mug, watching the boy with amusement. Danoole followed his glance.
"Beggar," he said. "There's lots of them in Kern."
"All Jil worlds have 'em," Mark said. "I grew up on Shallock."
"I know."
The boy had stopped two tables from the, his small, dirty hand outstretched. "A ha-credit, mister?"
The patron ignored his plea. The boy tugged at the man's sleeve. "*Please*, mister?"
The man aimed a cuff at the boy, who dodged it expertly, skittering over to their own table. "A ha-credit, mister? *Please*?"
"Get lost, kid," Mark said.
"Please, mister?" His voice fell suddenly to a bare whisper. "Just enough for a couple of Shallock Sepo brandies?"
Somehow, Mark managed to keep the surprise off his features. Across the table, he saw Danoole move convulsively. "Uh ..." Linley cleared his throat. "They're outta stock, kid. How about some Paroli liqueur instead?"
The boy grinned. "A ha-credit, mister?" he said hopefully.
Mark dug in his pocket and drew out a coin. The waiter appeared from the kitchen, their food balanced on a tray over his head. His lips drew back in a snarl as he saw the boy, and with a quick fluid motion, he set the tray on a table.
"No beggars!" he hissed savagely and charged across the room.
"See you outside!" Mark barely heard the whisper as the boy snatched the coin from his hand, spun and bolted for the door. The Arcturian was after him instantly, but the youngster dodged under his clutching hands, achieved the swinging doors and vanished.
Parkraft was grinning at Mark across the table as the waiter abandoned the chase and went to retrieve their food. He set the plates before them, mumbling apologies for the annoyance.
"It iss no usse, I try to keep zee beggarss out, but zey alwayss sseem to know when we are occupied in zee kitchen. I am sso very ssorry ..."
"Forget it," Mark said.
"Zank you, ssir." The waiter turned away. Mark picked up his knife and fork and poked at the meat on his plate. The steak was charred on both sides, and he had to saw hard to cut it. "This is rare?"
"Arcturian cook," Danoole said, sawing at his own steak.
That figured. Arcturians liked their food raw, and still wiggling, if possible. Even rare was too well done for one of the natives of Ceregon, and they usually ended up serving it to humans either barely warmed over or cooked hard. This one was of the latter variety. Mark sawed off a second chunk and chewed mightily. The meat crunched between his teeth.
He downed it with a large swallow of the Lavi nectar. "I've had enough."
"Me too, but we mustn't seem in a hurry. Eat your root vegetable."
Mark surveyed the withered offering thoughtfully. The root vegetable was shaped vaguely like a Terran sweet potato but was of a deep purple color and tasted rather like an apple when he bit into it. A somewhat dry, overcooked apple. Oh well. It was better than the meat. Some.
At last the meal was finished. Mark wiped his mouth on his napkin and stood up. Parkraft dropped credit vouchers on the table, and together they headed for the door.
"Well, where is he?" Linley squinted around, his eyes smarting from the bright sunlight.
Parkraft handed him a slip of paper. "He slipped this into my pocket just before the waiter chased him out. Slick little chap. I didn't even realize what he'd done at first. He could have taken my billfold easy as not."
Mark grinned. "Musta been trained on Shallock." He unfolded the crumpled wad and read it. "241 Pradik?"
"Right over there." Parkraft motioned to him and Linley followed him across the rutted, dirt street and down a side alley. He glanced at the numbers on the buildings beside him, and entered the one marked 241.
The building was dark after the brightness outside. Mark jumped as a small hand closed around his wrist. The beggar boy grinned up at him in the dimness. "Hi, Major Linley."
Mark gave a soft bark of laughter. "Hi kid. Who're you?"
"M'name's Keith."
"Hi Keith." He glanced at Parkraft's silhouette in the dimness. "Shallockian. Toldya." His eyes were adjusting to the dimness, and he could see the child more clearly now. He was perhaps ten years old, with dark, untidy hair and brown skin. "You got the stuff for us, Keith?"
"Yeah, right here." The boy handed them a bag. "Uh, sir ..."
"Yeah?"
The child licked his lips. "I'm a psychic."
"Figured you might be. So?"
The boy shifted from one foot to the other. "I'm a clairvoyant. Sir, I ... well, I have a bad feelin'. There's something awful in that buildin'. I *feel* it. Every time I look at it."
"Is Lord Splanxvor still there?" Parkraft asked.
"He's gone, I think. I'm not sure, but it's not him I'm sensin'. I've sensed plenty o' Jils before, and they ain't like this." He hesitated. "Be real careful."
"We will. Count on it." Mark started to strip off his boots. "You a precog?"
The boy shook his head.
"A telepath?"
Keith nodded.
"Can you tell if there's any Jils in that buildin'?"
The boy shrugged. "Maybe. I can't be sure. If they got their shields up I wouldn't know."
"Okay." Mark finished dressing and glanced at Parkraft. His companion looked big and deadly in the sleek black and scarlet uniform with the silvery helmet, adorned with the black stripe of a sergeant, covering his head. "You look convincin."
"So do you, Patrolman DuChang."
Mark grunted. "We better get movin'."
"Right." Parkraft started for the doorway.
Mark ruffled Keith's hair. "See you later, beggar boy."
Keith nodded, still looking worried. "Watch out fer yourselves," he said.
They lowered their visors against the brightness as they emerged from the building. The sun was almost at zenith, the air humid and scorching hot. Mark cursed under his breath at the heavy helmet as they headed for the gate.
It was amazing what a uniform could do, he thought. Citizens, who before had ignored them, now quickly made way for them. The Viceregal Patrol was feared and hated by most of the subject species in the Sector, and rightfully so. Its heavy-handed tactics were well known and widely publicized to all nations. The Jilectans didn't care how their servants treated the general population. Why should they? The ruling species of the known galaxy had more important things to consider.
They reached the gate. There wasn't even a live guard here, Mark saw. That was often the way for high-security installations. Machines couldn't be bribed or threatened. Danoole inserted his ID into the appropriate slot and the shimmering energy barrier vanished. He went through, and waited while Mark repeated the procedure.
Once inside, they collected their cards and strode across the compound toward the largest of the buildings.
Patrolmen passed them, moving slowly in the intense heat. They went up the broad steps of the Security Building, and flashed their cards at the sentry by the entrance. The man waved them through.
The lobby was mostly deserted, but a corridor ran off to one side, and two men were emerging from it, speaking idly to one another. Parkraft led Mark toward them, and the two patrolmen saluted the supposed sergeant as they passed. They strode onward, down the carpeted hallway and reached a lift. They waited.
The lift arrived within minutes and the doors opened, disgorging a crowd of patrolmen, probably on their way to lunch, Linley surmised. He and Parkraft boarded the vacated conveyance and the doors closed. The lift rose swiftly.
Linley took a deep breath. "Hope Alan's okay. He's probably worried sick."
Parkraft didn't answer. The lift slid to a stop and they disembarked onto the sixth level. Before them was the building's maximum security section, sealed off by another force field and guarded by two patrolmen. Mark and Danoole strode briskly toward it, their identification already out. The sentry on the left glanced at the cards and the red-stamped special pass.
"Okay," he said, and opened the barrier.
**********
tbc
