For those who have never read this series, go here: http://www.lcficmbs.com/ubb/ultimatebb.php?ubb=get_topic;f=4;t=000002
for an introduction. This is part of the Terran Underground Series, and occurs in the 22nd Century when Earth is involved in a cold war with another star-going species.
Giant Killer (Julia Austell's Story) 1/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Copyright statement: This is an original work by the authors. Any resemblance to any person, living, dead or fictional, is unintentional and coincidental. The writers retain all rights to this work, and the copyright may not be infringed.
Giant Killer
By Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
1
The chess game was down to the last few moves. Alan Westover leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the board where his pieces strategically hemmed in his opponent's. Travis Dean, the C.O. of the station, studied his pieces with a deep frown etched between his brows. Mark Linley, seated comfortably in the aging recliner, watched the play with professional interest and the faintest hint of amusement.
Very reluctantly, Dean moved his queen up two squares. "Check, Lieutenant," he said.
Alan's big, green eyes flicked over the board and he frowned thoughtfully at the offending piece. He reached forward and moved his queen up half a dozen squares, blocking his opponent's queen.
Dean also frowned at the board and then moved his queen up to take Alan's queen. "Check."
Alan was reaching for his rook before the piece had dropped into its box. The C.O.'s piece perished before the onslaught. "Check," Alan said.
Dean said something under his breath. "You're going to get my knight next."
Alan looked up, suddenly appearing worried. "Don't get mad, sir -- please."
"I'm not." The Colonel's voice rose slightly.
"You can take the move over if you like," Alan offered.
"I'm not taking the bloody move over!"
Alan shut his mouth, and the Colonel studied the board again. "This is ridiculous! I've been playing chess since before you were born!"
Alan didn't answer. Colonel Dean studied the board morosely, and then moved his king to the side. Alan took the knight. "Check," he said apologetically.
The Colonel growled softly and moved his king away from the offending rook. Alan didn't look up for a moment, his attention on the board. Mark waited for him to press the attack, but Alan didn't. Instead he retreated, opening his king up for attack. Dean took instant advantage of the error, moving his bishop up. Alan retreated further.
Dean glanced sharply at him. "All right, Lieutenant, cut it out."
Alan looked up, his eyes wide. "Sir?"
"The only thing that makes me madder than being beaten at chess by an eighteen-year-old kid," Dean said, "is for that eighteen-year-old kid to *let* me win."
"Oh," Alan said, unhappily. He hesitated and then sighed and moved a knight to block the bishop. Colonel Dean pressed his attack, taking one of Alan's pawns. Mark watched the play clinically as Alan's opposing pawn moved up to guard his endangered knight. The bishop advanced again and Mark saw Alan hesitate, then he sighed and brought his rook across to straddle the white bishop and king. "Check," he said, glancing anxiously at the Colonel.
Dean studied the board and then moved his own rook before his king. Alan promptly took his opponent's rook and Dean countered by taking Alan's rook. Alan advanced a pawn to threaten Dean's bishop and Dean retreated. He glanced suspiciously at his adversary. "Are you doing your best, Lieutenant?"
Alan's eyes opened wider. "Oh, yes, sir."
"Good." Dean sat back, looking satisfied. "Your move."
Alan advanced the pawn again. Dean's bishop retreated a second time. Alan chewed his lower lip a moment, glanced quickly at the Colonel and moved up his own bishop, placing it in a diagonal line with his opponent's king. "Check, sir," he said.
Dean retreated. Alan's knight advanced. "Check."
Another retreat. Alan's bishop moved in. "Check."
Dean glared at the board and retreated again, taking refuge behind a pawn. Alan's remaining rook advanced from its secluded corner.
"Sorry," Alan said. "Checkmate."
Dean stared at the chess pieces as though hypnotized. "Where the devil did you learn to play, Lieutenant?"
Alan smiled shyly. "My dad taught me. Do you remember Matthew Westover, who competed in the chess tournament in greater Los Angeles, 2169?"
Dean shook his head. "I never keep track of such things. Well, after that game, I wouldn't be surprised if you follow in your daddy's footsteps." He scowled at the board again, then picked it up and dumped the pieces into the box. "At least I don't feel so bad, now, knowing that."
Alan smiled. "You're a very good player, sir. You had me worried quiet a few times."
"That's comforting." Dean laughed wryly and stood up. "Hope lunch'll be ready soon." He strolled over to the door. "Harriet! How much longer?"
There was no reply. Dean went out and Mark heard his footsteps retreating. He glanced at Alan.
"Did your dad really compete in that chess tournament?"
Surprised green eyes turned to look at him. "Huh? Of course."
"Fibber."
"Well --" Alan looked at the toes of his boots. "He *could* have competed. He was plenty good enough."
Linley grinned. "Thought so."
"Don't tell him, Mark. I *had* to do something. He was feeling terrible!"
"I ain't sayin' a word."
Alan sighed. "I was going to let him win, but he caught on."
"So you mended his bruised ego by tellin' a lie, huh?"
"Well ... just a little one, and there's no way he can find out. I didn't say Dad won or anything. Sh! He's coming back."
There was a pause, and then the ring of approaching footsteps in the hallway. Colonel Dean entered, looking pleased.
"Well, Lieutenant Westover, I have an assignment for you."
"Really?" Alan's face lit up.
The Colonel laughed, sounding, Mark thought, a little malicious. "Easy, Lieutenant. It's nothing dangerous or anything."
Mark put a hand on his partner's shoulder. "In other words, he's lettin' you try out your wings."
The Colonel appeared slightly disconcerted for a moment. "I suppose that's one way to put it, Captain. Of course, we wouldn't allow the Lieutenant to go if there was any real danger."
Alan had turned pink, but his voice was perfectly normal as he inquired, "What sort of assignment, sir?"
"Ah -- yes. We have an agent in the Terran Embassy here. I cannot reveal his name to the Captain --" He glanced at Mark briefly. "Because of his imperfect shielding."
Now it was Mark's turn to feel slighted. "Major Burke says my shieldin's bound t'get better with practice, sir," he said.
"Yes, no doubt. But, in the meantime, certain information must be kept from you." The Colonel turned back to Alan. "You will be provided with identification and will go into the Embassy, contact our man, receive the information and depart."
Alan looked crestfallen. "Is that all?"
"If you are unable to contact him, an alternate meeting place has been arranged." Dean glanced significantly at Mark. "At no time will you allow yourselves to be seen together."
"I understand, sir," Alan said.
"I'm his backup?" Mark asked.
"He's to signal you if there's any trouble." Dean smiled tolerantly. "But there won't be. Lieutenant Westover, come with me now. I must speak to you alone."
Mark sat back in his chair and picked up a magazine, but he didn't read. Why the hell, he wondered, was his shielding so poor? Leroy Burke -- Major Burke -- the best psychic trainer at the Lavirra Base, had tried to teach him. Alan had learned quickly and easily, but Mark had not. He had followed the instructions exactly and had always prided himself on being a quick learner, but mind shielding simply didn't function for him like it apparently did for everyone else. In spite of three months of intensive training, his shielding remained poor and it was his own private opinion that it would always be poor. *Other* non-psychics learned to shield, dammit! Why couldn't *he*?
It certainly had nothing to do with intelligence, he knew. Linley knew he was smart. You didn't get to be a Strike Commander in the Viceregal Patrol by the age of twenty-five by being a dummy. No, there had to be something else involved -- something that the psychic researchers had not yet discovered. Leroy Burke, himself, had discussed the possible relationship between Linley's poor shielding and his unusual link with Alan Westover. Research continued, of course, and maybe someday the mystery would be solved, but as of now, it left him out of things like this.
Alan came back into the room, accompanied by Colonel Dean. "I'm going to be disguised, Mark," he said, his eyes shining.
Major Harriet Dean, the Colonel's wife, appeared from the adjoining room. Like the Colonel, she was thin and spare, her dark hair showing flecks of grey. She motioned to Alan. "Sit down, Lieutenant. This won't take long."
Alan obeyed, folding his hands in his lap. Major Dean opened the small case that she held.
Ten minutes later, Alan's eyes had become dark and faintly slanted, and his hair was concealed by a wig of short, straight hair, the same shade as his own. Harriet Dean combed it daintily and sat back. "There." For the first time, she smiled warmly at him. "You look very nice, Lieutenant."
"Thanks." Alan looked excitedly at Mark. Linley grinned back at him.
A young man entered the room and laid a suit of clothes on the sofa. "Here you are, Lieutenant."
Alan picked up the clothing, glanced at Major Dean, and retired to the bathroom. Five minutes later he emerged, looking neat and somehow older in the crisp, dark business suit. Colonel Dean handed him a briefcase.
"Remember, Lieutenant, don't let yourselves be seen together. Captain Linley is too conspicuous, and the difference in your size attracts attention. Stay apart until you have the information, unless there's an emergency, of course."
"Thanks," Mark said. He held the door open for his partner. Alan preceded him through and turned his head to smile hopefully at Colonel Dean and his wife.
"We'll be back soon," he said."
Dean nodded briefly. "Good luck," he said.
The weather was warm when they stepped out onto the street, and a light breeze was blowing. Summers on Riskell were always warm and pleasant, just as the winters were always bone-freezingly cold. Now, the sun shown down benignly, and the sky was a deep, rich blue. Mark led the way across the street to their parked aircar and unlocked it as they approached. He glanced at Alan. "Irritatin' guy," he said, unnecessarily.
Alan shrugged. "He's just mad because I beat him at chess."
"Yeah, he's a sore loser, for sure." Linley slid behind the controls and triggered the restraint system. "Well, here we go."
2
Julia Austell glanced up from her physics book as her sister, Jill, entered the room. "Hi. Why are you doing here at this hour?"
Jil sat down and began to apply eyeliner with deft, delicate strokes. "Lunch date."
"Oh. Who is it, this time?"
Jill glanced in the mirror and smiled impishly. "Jealous, sis?"
Julia raised an eyebrow at her sister. "You've got to be kidding."
"Well, it isn't Vincie, if that's what you're worrying about. I don't see how you can stand the guy, honey. You're four centimeters taller than he is, and besides, he's dull as a carton of milk, if you ask me. I'm going out with Steve, now. He's really nice -- and sooo funny."
"Fickle girl."
"Oh, I know." Jill giggled, applying eyeliner to the other lid. "There, how do I look? Stevie tells me he likes girls with big, dark eyes ..."
Julia groaned. "For Pete's sake ..."
Jill giggled again, her blue eyes sparkling. "He's so cute -- and my heart pounds whenever I see him! Do you suppose it could be love?"
"Fat chance. Last week you thought you were in love with Artie."
"Oh, Artie." Jill sniffed, tossing her blond head.
Julia hid a smile. "I thought you had a test, tomorrow."
"I do."
"Really, Jill, you're going to flunk that art appreciation course if you don't ..."
"Oh, quit nagging! You sound just like Daddy -- or worse, Momma. Besides, Stevie and I are going to study. He's in the same class as me, you know." Leaning forward, she smoothed her eyebrows, then picked up a comb, fussing with her hair. "I need to get my hair trimmed. It's past my waist. How's it look in back, Jul?"
"Fine. Where are you going for lunch?"
"Risloe's. Oh, my goodness!" She glanced at her chronometer. "He'll be here any minute. What'll I wear?" Jill went to her closet and began rummaging through the many garments within. "A dress? No, I guess not. How about these blue slacks and the rainbow top?"
"Fine. Listen, you know you and Steve won't get any studying done if you --"
Jill wiggled into the slacks. "Oh, don't be such a nag! Mr. Weems won't flunk me." She laughed lightly. "The poor dear's been trying to date me for months."
Julia rolled her eyes. "Jill --"
Jill laughed again. "Your problem, sis, is that you're too *serious*! Men don't like serious girls -- it makes them feel inadequate or something. Political science is nothing for a lovely young lady like you to major in -- at least that's what Mr. Weems says." Jill slipped on the blouse and fastened two of the six buttons that held the neckline together. "There! How's that? Do I show enough cleavage to be sexy?"
"Plenty," Julia said in resignation.
Jill beamed at her and turned back to the mirror. "Oh dear, I've smeared my lipstick!" She wiped it off and began to reapply the stuff, speaking at the same time. "Political science makes you look so brainy, honey. I know you're smart, but you really ought to act just a little dumb around the male of the species. No man's going to want a girl who's smarter than himself."
Julia sighed. "And who says I care what a man wants? I'm myself, Jill, and if a man doesn't want me for what I am, then he can do without."
Jill was smiling at her. "Don't be mad, honey. I'm just trying to give you some worldly advice."
"Listen, little sis --" Jill and Julia were twins, and Julia was the elder by fourteen minutes. "I don't need worldly advice on males, believe me. I ..."
There was a knock on the door and Jill jumped up, grabbing her purse. "See you later, sis."
The door opened, revealing the tall, blond form of their father. He smiled. "Hi, girls. Going somewhere, Jill?"
"Hi, Daddy. Yes, I have a lunch date."
"She thought you were him."
Julian Austell grinned. "Better luck next time, honey." He closed the door. "Girls, could I talk to you about something?"
"Sure." Julia motioned him to a chair.
He seated himself awkwardly on the edge of it, staring at the floor. Julia, always sensitive to her father's mood, could tell that he was worried and undecided about something. Jill fidgeted, glancing at the closed door.
"What's the matter?" Julia asked gently.
He looked up at her, his face very serious. "I've been wanting to talk to you both about something for quite a while, but I ..." He stopped as the doorbell buzzed. Jill jumped up.
"That's Steve. Shall I tell him to wait?"
"No. Go ahead, honey."
"Are you sure, Daddy?" It was clear to Julia that Jill wanted very much to leave, and was only making a token protest to keep from hurting their father's feelings. It was apparently clear to their father, too, for he smiled a little.
"Go on. It'll keep."
She flashed him a smile. "See you later, Daddy -- sis." She went out, and a moment later, they heard her shrill, lighthearted greeting and the deeper tones of the boy.
Julian Austell grinned tolerantly. "Believe it or not, your mother was very much like Jill when I met her."
Julia stared at him in amazement. "She *was*?"
"Very much."
"What changed her?"
His face became serious. "Several things. Having children, for one -- and then, of course, your Uncle John was killed." He stopped.
Julia nodded. Her mother's younger brother, John Trekmyre, had died when she was five years old. She remembered him dimly as a short, stocky man who always wore a red shirt and loved his little nieces to distraction. He always brought them presents when he visited and told them stories -- wonderful adventure stories about brave space explorers. He had died in an accident, and Julia had learned later that he had apparently been driving under the influence of drugs. She found that hard to believe. Only stupid people took drugs -- or so her father had always told her. Now that she was older, Julia accepted the fact that sometimes people were not what they seemed. Perhaps Uncle John had been taking drugs. He *must* have been, after all. The autopsy had shown a high concentration of a dangerous narcotic in his system --
Julian Austell stood up. "Let's go have lunch."
"All right." Julia ran a comb through her hair and quickly straightened her clothing. "The Lounge?"
"Sure."
They went out of the apartment together and down the long, carpeted stairway to the Embassy Lounge. A white clad waiter seated them, placed menus before them and departed. Julia glanced at hers and closed it. "I'll have the milkfish."
"Me, too." Her father tossed the menu on top of hers and looked up as the waiter approached with coffee and glasses of chilled water. "Two number fives, please, Dan."
"Yes, sir." The man collected the menus and departed. Julia looked across at her father.
"Is something on your mind, Dad?"
He met her gaze, his brow furrowed. "I need your opinion on something."
She leaned forward. "Okay."
"You and Jill are older, now, and it's time you understood a little more about what your mother and I are doing here on Riskell."
"What do you mean?"
He raised his eyebrows at her. "You don't think I do this job because I *like* bowing and scraping to the Jils, do you?"
"Well, no, of course not." Julia looked down at the snowy tablecloth, her mind drifting back over the years. Her father had become the Executive Secretary of the Terran Ambassador to the Jilectan Autonomy eleven years ago. Julia had been only eight at the time, that is, by Terran reckoning, but she still recalled the humiliation her father had endured when he had accepted the position. The Jilectans, the rulers of the known galaxy, regarded Terrans -- and every other intelligent species -- as far inferior to themselves. In many ways, the evaluation was true -- which, of course, made it more galling. The Jilectans hailed from a planet of higher gravity and as a result the aliens were faster, stronger and more agile than her own species. There were also larger, the males averaging over two meters in height. But their greatest advantage over the other intelligent species in the galaxy was that they were powerful psychics, who used their talents freely and without consideration for any other species.
"You shouldn't talk like that, Dad," she said, softly. "What if a Jil reads you?"
To her surprise, he smiled. The waiter arrived at the moment, placing the platters of fish and fried potatoes before them. Her father thanked him absently. When he had again departed, Julia spoke again, softly. "What are you trying to tell me?"
He was watching her, and she had the sudden feeling that he was sizing her up, estimating her character and abilities. Then he nodded slightly, as though to himself. "There's someone I want you to meet," he said slowly.
"All right. Who?"
He smiled again. "I'll tell you later."
"When?"
"Tomorrow morning. The Ambassador will be playing golf and I'll have the time free. Do you have any classes or anything?"
"Not until 1400." She leaned forward, interested and intrigued. "What's this about?"
He laughed a little and began to eat. "Tomorrow, okay?"
Julia sighed and picked up her fork. "Okay." It was at that moment that movement caught her eye and she looked past her father through the glass that separated the Lounge from the embassy lobby. "Oh, my goodness!"
"What?" He didn't look around, but she saw him tense at her tone.
"Lord Trothvor's here."
"Holy Hannah! Are you sure?"
She nodded. "Is there a conference or something today?"
"Not that I know of." He stood up, dabbing his mouth hastily with his napkin. "I'd better go."
"Sure. Do you want me to stay here?"
"Yes -- at least until the coast is clear." He placed bills on the table. "I'll see you tonight, honey."
"Okay."
He strode toward the door, paused, and glanced back at her. Julia smiled at him encouragingly, and he gave her a thumbs-up sign as he went out.
Julia sat still for a moment, toying absently with her food. She wondered what was bothering her father, and who this mysterious person was that he wanted her and Jill to meet. He really hadn't told her anything at all, she realized suddenly, and now her curiosity was piqued. How the dickens was she going to wait until tomorrow?"
The waiter was beside her. "Is everything all right, Miss Austell?"
She glanced up at him, smiling. "Yes. I'm just not very hungry, I guess."
"Can I get you something else, Miss? Sometimes fish doesn't taste so good on a hot day."
"No, thank you." Julia stood up. "I think I'll be going, now."
"Very well, Miss." The waiter pulled back her chair for her. "There's Viceregal patrolmen in the main corridor, Miss. Maybe you'd better go out the kitchen door."
"Thank you, Dan," Julia said, and followed the man toward the kitchen. A moment later she exited into the side corridor and strolled toward the lift that led to the family's living quarters. Preoccupied with her thoughts, she rounded a bend in the short hallway and collided violently with a young man coming in the opposite direction. The impact sent them both staggering, and Julia stumbled to her knees, dropping her purse. The catch gave, and the contents spilled across the carpet.
"I beg your pardon!" The man had regained his balance and was bending to help her up. "Are you all right?"
Julia nodded dizzily, pushing her hair back from her face. The man steadied her, looking very worried. "I'm terribly sorry."
"Oh, no, it was my fault." Julia straightened up and smiled at him. "I wasn't looking where I was going."
He knelt on the carpet, beginning to gather up the purse and scattered items. Julia helped him. "Neither was I," he confessed.
His accent was familiar, and Julia found herself looking at him more closely. He was short and slender, and clad in a dark business suit. He had brown, neatly combed hair and his eyes were dark and faintly slanted. He was young, too, she realized -- probably no more than seventeen at the most.
He finished collecting the spilled items and handed them to her. Julia dropped them into her purse and allowed him to help her to her feet again. "Thank you."
"It was nothing. I'm really sorry."
It was then that Julia recognized the accent. "Oh my goodness! You're from Terra."
"That's right." He smiled at her in a friendly way. "Are you?"
"Oh, no. I've never been to Terra, but my father and mother were born there. They talk just like you."
"I see. Well, I'd better be going." He smiled and started to turn away. Julia frowned.
"I haven't seen you here before. Are you looking for someone?"
"Well ... yes." He turned back. "I'm afraid I'm sort of lost. Can you tell me where I can find a Mr. Ducati? Maximilian Ducati?"
"Yes, of course. Max is my father's secretary."
"Oh. Then your father must be --"
"Julian Austell, the Ambassador's Executive Secretary. Everybody here has a secretary, even the secretaries."
He glanced around at the plushly carpeted hallway. "I see."
"Max should be in his office." She glanced at her chronometer. "He usually has lunch early. He'll be back by now."
"Could you direct me to his office?"
Julia smiled, attracted by his speech and manners. "I'll show you. It's a little complicated."
He looked suddenly confused and slightly embarrassed. "That's all right. I'm sure I can find it if you just tell me. Don't bother to --"
"It's no bother. Please, I insist."
He hesitated and then nodded. "Thank you."
He had gone pink, Julia realized with amusement as she led him back down the hallway. Heavens! She had lived too long on a Jilectan-dominated world. Men on Riskell were impossible to embarrass, but perhaps Terran men were different.
They crossed the lobby toward the lifts. There were no Viceregal patrolmen in evidence now, which was a good thing, she thought. She had encountered them before, and they thought nothing of stopping an attractive woman for as long as it suited their fancy, and the fact that she was the daughter of an Embassy official made no difference to the servants of the Jilectans. The lift on the far left sensed their presence and opened obligingly. They boarded and she pressed the indicator for the third level.
Her new acquaintance was watching her. "You live here?"
"Yes. There are apartments for Embassy employees and their families on the second level."
"Oh." His gaze became intent -- so intent that even Julia, who was accustomed to the stares of men, felt slightly uneasy. Abruptly, he seemed to realize his rudeness and lowered his eyes, once again turning pink. The lift came to a stop and the doors swished open. Julia led the way down the corridor.
He didn't speak again as they turned right, then left, jogged right twice more, and stopped before the secretary's office. Julia turned to look at him. "This is it."
"Thank you." He avoided her eyes.
"That's all right. Maybe I'll see you later." She turned away as he knocked on the door.
A moment later, she heard him knock again and paused, glancing back. He knocked a third time. "I don't think he's in."
Julia walked slowly back toward him. "That's funny. Oh, I know!"
"What?"
"There was a Jilectan downstairs a few minutes ago. Max is probably with my father and the rest of the staff. When a Jil's here, everybody has to pay attention to him, you know."
"Oh," her companion said. "I guess that makes sense."
Julia knocked on the door, waited a moment and then pushed the control. The panel slid aside and she entered. "Max?"
The office was empty. A stack of microtapes that must have lain on the desk had toppled and was scattered on the floor. The swivel chair had been pushed back and turned to one side. A cup of coffee sat cooling beside the pencil holder.
Julia frowned at the tapes. "Someone's going to catch it for that. Max likes his office kept neat."
"Looks like he left in a hurry," her companion observed.
"Yes, it does. Oh well, a Jil --" Julia went over to the desk and pressed the intercom. "Sally?"
The screen came to life, framing the face of a young woman. "Yes? Oh, hello, Miss Austell."
"Hi, Sally. Where's Max?"
"He was called away. Lord Trothvor's here. Why?'"
"There's a young man here to see him." Julia paused, realizing that she didn't know her new acquaintance's name.
He leaned forward and spoke into the screen. "Mr. Woodruff, Miss."
"Oh, Mr. Woodruff!" There was recognition in the receptionist's tone and expression. "Mr. Ducati left a message for you to meet him at the alternate time and place that you arranged, earlier."
Julia looked at her acquaintance with more interest. This was beginning to sound vaguely like intrigue. He was frowning and biting his thumb.
"What's the matter, Mr. Woodruff?"
"What?" He turned quickly toward her and Julia realized that for the moment he must have completely forgotten about her. She wasn't used to that. Men never forgot her presence -- at least until now. Maybe Jill was right. Maybe she was doomed to become an old maid.
But the boy was smiling. "I'm sorry. I suppose it sounds sort of mysterious, but it isn't." He paused again, frowning a little, then spoke into the intercom again. "Thank you, Miss."
"Certainly, Mr. Woodruff."
Julia also leaned forward. "Sally, there's a stack of tapes that's been spilled in here. Thought you might like to clean them up before Max comes back."
"Thank you, Miss Austell."
They left the room, closing the door behind them. The boy paused then, glancing at her. "Thank you for your trouble." His Basic, she noticed, was perfect, in spite of the Terran accent. It sounded vaguely like a Jilectan's speech. The thought was disquieting.
"Oh, it was no trouble." She tried to speak lightly, thinking again of Lord Trothvor. What was he doing here, anyway? she wondered. Trothvor was a cousin to the Viceroy's chief lieutenant, Duke Halthzor. Julia had seen the infamous Duke only once, but the memory had never faded.
The boy was still watching her. "Uh ... Julia ..."
"Yes?"
"I was wondering ..." He suddenly looked very shy. "This delay leaves me with an afternoon to kill and I don't know anyone on Riskell -- except you, of course." He smiled disarmingly. "And I've heard the water sports here are the best in the Sector. Have you ever been to Lake Dunnum?"
Julia stared at him, abruptly aware of an inconsistency. "How did you know my name?"
"Huh? Why, I ..." for a second, he looked utterly taken aback -- a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Julia thought. Then his expression changed to puzzlement. "Why, you told me!"
"I certainly did *not*!"
"Sure you did." He was looking worried now, and a little hurt. "Don't you remember? You told me your father was the Ambassador's Executive Secretary, Julian Austell, and that you were named after him."
"Why ..." Julia didn't remember saying anything of the kind, and yet, the boy's statement was perfectly true. How *could* he have known -- unless she had told him?
"I'm sorry," she said slowly. "I guess I must have, but I sure don't remember it."
"Would you rather I called you Miss Austell? I'm sorry if I --"
"No, that's okay." Julia felt confused and changed the subject quickly. "Yes, I've been to Lake Dunnum many times. It's beautiful."
"Would you like to show it to me?"
She had thought he was leading up to that. Automatically, she started to make an excuse, and then paused. Well, why not? She liked him a lot. Jill was gone for the day, and her father, no doubt, would be absent well into the evening. Her mother was occupied with one of the numerous social engagements that was involved in being the wife of an Embassy official. It would be a lot more fun than studying physics, and there would be plenty of time to finish the assignment tomorrow evening.
"Please?" The boy's cheeks were pink, but he sounded sincere. "I know you just met me, but I'm really only an axe murderer on Tuesdays and Thursdays. This is my day off." Again that disarming smile. "My name's Alan Woodruff. How do you do?"
Julia found herself laughing as she shook hands with him. "I'm fine, Alan, and I'd love to show you the lake. Believe it or not, my family keeps a boat there. We can go water skiing if you like."
"That'd be great." Alan exited from the office and strode unerringly beside her down the confusing halls. A moment later, they were in the lift again.
As they emerged into the lobby, Julia caught another glimpse of Lord Trothvor's golden hair and broad, crimson back just disappearing into an adjoining office. He was followed by two Terrans in the black and scarlet uniforms of the Viceregal Patrol, and a crowd of Terran officials. She saw her father and the Ambassador before the door closed.
Alan had seen the Jilectan, too. She heard faintly his sharp intake of breath and saw him turn away.
"That's Lord Trothvor," Julia told him. He had gone white. Perhaps he had never seen a Jilectan before. They were frightening, after all, even when you were used to them. "Alan, are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine." His color was returning. "Sorry."
"That's okay. I still remember the first time I saw a Jil. We'd just come to live here, and I was about eight years old. I almost ran right into one on the lift. He never even noticed me, but I was scared out of my wits. My father had to carry me back to our apartment." She laughed at the memory. "Actually, there's nothing to be afraid of. They're pretty uninterested in Terrans as a whole."
He nodded, smiling sheepishly.
"Listen," she said, "I'll run and get my suit and things. Do you have everything you need?"
"Uh ... well, no, actually I don't have anything, but if we could make a quick stop at a department store ..."
"Never mind. I'll get you a towel and a pair of Dad's trunks. He won't mind." Julia turned and ran lightly up the stairs to their apartment.
To her surprise, Jill was seated on the bed as she entered. Her twin was reading a romance magazine and brushing her hair. She glanced up and smiled. "Hi, sis, where you been?"
"Jill! What are you doing back so early?"
Jill looked miffed. "Creepy Stevie! That's the last time I go out with *him*!"
"I thought you were in love with him."
"Not any more. Big jerk started playing octopus in the car -- right in the middle of traffic!" Jill sniffed. "And when I told him to cut it out, he got really aggressive!"
"My goodness! What did you do?"
"Slapped his silly face. Boy, did *he* look surprised!"
"Foxy guy like him probably isn't used to having girls say no. Then what did you do?"
"I got out of the car and hitched a ride home."
Julia rummaged through her drawer and tossed her swimsuit onto the bed. "That's dangerous. You know what happens to girls who hitchhike."
"Oh, it was all right. I knew the guy who picked me up." She watched as Julia opened the door to their parents' bedroom and began to search through their father's dresser for his swimming trunks. "It was Dale Thompson. I like him, even though he's sort of homely. What on Earth are you looking for?"
Julia hesitated, trying to think of an excuse for going through her father's things. She couldn't think of one.
"Are you going swimming?" Jill had apparently noticed the suit on Julia's bed.
"Yes." Julia found her father's trunks and wrapped them in a towel before going back into her own room.
"Who are you going with?"
"Why can't I be going alone?"
Jill laughed. "Who is he? Come on, 'fess up."
Julia felt the maddening flush creep up her neck. "A boy I met downstairs. He had an appointment here, but he was stood up. So now he has time on his hands and no place to go."
Jill's eyes opened wide. "Julia, dear, you're slipping. Do you mean to tell me you're going to spend the whole afternoon with this guy you've just met? My calm, cautious sister, who was just warning me about the dangers of hitchhiking?" She laughed.
Julia felt her flush deepening. Already, she was beginning to regret accepting Alan's offer. And Jill was right, much as she hated to admit it. In spite of his attractive smile and charming manners, Alan was still a complete stranger. She knew nothing at all about him.
Her sister was speaking. "Ah, Jul, there's hope for you yet. What's he like?"
"Oh ..." Julia tried to shrug carelessly. "He sort of looks like Mr. Weems, really. He's short and really not very good looking -- not your type at all."
"What's his name?"
"Alan Woodruff."
Jill's eyes twinkled. "I've heard short men make great lovers."
Julia frowned darkly at her sister. "I wouldn't know."
Jill laughed lightly. "Does he have pretty eyes?"
"Well, yes."
"I thought so. That's why you like Vincie, I think. You always go for the ones with the pretty eyes."
Julia went into the bathroom and began to apply fresh makeup. "He's just a nice boy, Jill. He's kind of shy and very polite."
"Oh, really? A novelty, huh?"
"I thought so." Julia picked up her mascara. Jill watched her for a moment in silence and then drifted inconspicuously toward the door.
**********
tbc
