Toomelli's Moon: 9/9
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Three surprised faces snapped around as Griffen entered the control room, followed by Mark and Alan. The three men came smartly to attention and saluted. Mark recognized two of them, but the third was unfamiliar.
Griffen glanced at the nearest one. "How many crewmen are still aboard, Elliott?"
"Uh, just a skeleton crew, sir. Ourselves, the Subcommander and Mr. Parks, who should still be in his quarters." Elliott glanced at Alan. "How's your valet, sir? Recovered?"
"I'm fine," Alan said. "Thank you, Lieutenant."
Griffen removed his helmet, which he had replaced on the way up to the control room, and sank into the command chair. "You men go ashore. I'll stay here 'til Valthzor is ready to leave." He wiped his forehead.
The three men looked surprised. "Are you all right, sir?" Elliott asked.
"Yeah," Griffen grunted. "But I've had enough interrogations to last a lifetime. Go on, Ellie. I'm gonna sit here and enjoy the peace and quiet while I can."
Elliott laughed sympathetically. "Good idea, sir. Thanks."
The three men exited. Five minutes later, Elliott's voice from the speaker announced that they were checking out. Griffen acknowledged.
The sounds of footsteps over the intercom faded.
Griffen had gone to the pilot's seat when the men exited the control room. Now his hands moved over the control board. A computer display lit up the screen in front of him.
"Should have somebody in Engineering," he remarked. "Either one of you able to handle a battlecruiser's engines?"
"I can," Alan said. "I'll go down."
"Good," Griffen said absently. "Board ought to have somebody monitoring it, just in case."
"Watch out for the Subcommander," Mark said. "He's bound to come runnin' when he hears the engines start."
"Right." Alan vanished through the door.
Mark flipped on the navigational computer. "We'd better make tracks. No tellin' when somebody's gonna get curious an decide to check on the Jil."
Griffen punched a control. "They're going to wonder what's going on. See what you can do to confuse things a little."
"Right." Linley activated the com. "'Wolverine' to Toomelli's Moon. Come in."
The receiver crackled. "Toomelli's Moon, receiving you, 'Wolverine'."
"We're pickin' up a distress call from Jilectan yacht 'Stormbird'. Can you confirm?"
There was a muffled conversation in the background, then the voice returned. "We're not picking up any distress call, 'Wolverine'."
"It's gone now. We're goin' to investigate. Tell His Lordship we'll be back in an hour or so. 'Wolverine' out."
"*What?*" The voice on the com sounded confused and startled. Griffen gave a reluctant laugh and cut in the repulsers. The big ship trembled for an instant and surged upward. From the com came a babble of voices.
"Are you out of your mind? Come back!" Then, fainter, "Jackson, go find the Commander! The cruiser's leaving!"
"... Don't know what's happenin'! They was talking about a distress call." The second voice had a distinctly Shallockian accent. "The crew's all ashore far as I know ... the Jil's gonna kill us! *Find the Commander!*"
Mark flipped off the com. "That should do it. Let's make tracks."
"Right." Griffen increased thrust. A light began to blink green on the board. Linley swore.
"Diphaser malfunction."
"*What?!*" Griffen turned his head, saw the light and also swore, more imaginatively. "They worked on it for three hours yesterday! Told me it was *fixed*!" He gave a short, pithy description of the hapless techs, signaling frantically for the engine room. Alan's voice answered.
"I'm on it, Ron." He switched off.
"If he can't fix it we're in trouble," Griffen said. "We can't go into hyperspace without it."
"Hafta take to the lifeboats," Mark said. "Risky. Hang in there. He's never failed yet."
There was a clatter of footsteps in the corridor and a half-clad patrolman burst through the door. "What the hell's going on?"
Mark pivoted in his chair, to reveal a blaster in his hand, pointed directly at the man's midriff. "Hold it!"
The Subcommander froze, lifting his hands over his head. Linley stared at him. "Wolly!"
Subcommander Wolenski's face drained of all its color.
"Strike Commander Linley?" he gasped.
Mark pushed up his visor. "Well, I'll be damned. Subcommander Wolenski in person. Hi, Wolly!" He grinned. "Come on in."
Slowly, the Subcommander approached, his hands still held high. Linley could see the pulse jumping in his throat.
"Got a blaster on you, Wol?" he inquired casually.
Wolenski shook his head.
"Great. You don't mind if I check, do you?"
The man gulped and shook his head again.
"Good. How about stretchin' out on the deck. Spread eagle." Linley watched his former subcommander as Wolenski lowered himself to the metal plates of the control room deck. He moved with care, making no sudden or unnecessary actions. Linley stayed carefully out of reach until the order had been obeyed and then proceeded to search Wolenski thoroughly. No one knew better than he how dangerous his former subordinate could be. Wolenski was an intelligent and resourceful man, and Mark would take no chances with him. Wolenski knew that, too.
"He clean?" Griffen asked, not turning his head.
"Yeah." Linley stepped back. "Okay, you can get up. Pick a chair and strap in."
Wolenski did so and Mark re-seated himself, this time in the communications chair. His blaster stayed steady on the other man. With one hand, he thumbed the ship-wide intercom.
"Patrolman Borrar," he said. "How's our boss?"
"He iss sleeping," The Arcturian's sibilant voice replied.
"Can you leave 'im?"
"I zink so. I do not believe he iss seriously ill. He spoke to me a short time ago and I assured him zat he wass safe."
"Good. Come on up to Control. I got a job for you."
"I shall be right zere."
"What about Parks?" Griffen asked suddenly.
"He's tied up under your valet's bunk," Mark said.
"Oh yeah?" Griffen actually chuckled. "Why didn't you just kill him?"
"Alan wouldn't let me. You know empaths."
The Strike Commander laughed outright. "Wouldn't be much of a loss." The amusement left his voice abruptly. "Pursuit ships on the screen. Looks like a scout and a battlecruiser." With one hand, he flipped on the ship-wide intercom. "What the devil's going on down there, Gregson?"
"I'm working on it," Alan's voice said. "Just a few more minutes."
"Make it fast," Griffen said, tersely. "We've got company."
"Go ahead and set for hyperspace," Alan said. "It won't be long."
"How long before the pursuit ships can go to light speed?" Linley asked, his gaze never leaving Wolenski.
"Four minutes. That gas giant has a terrific gravity well."
"Gonna be close," Linley said. He didn't take his eyes from Wolenski as Dannar entered the control room. "Siddown, Borrar. Strap in."
Dannar did so.
The com came suddenly to life. "Battlecruiser 'Wolverine'! You are ordered to return at once! Respond!"
Griffen did not respond. Linley could see his body tense over the control board.
Wolenski opened his mouth. "Mark --"
"Yeah?" Linley kept one eye on him and one on that light winking green on the control panel. On Jil ships, the colors were reversed from the Terran system. Only when the light blinked red would he be able to relax.
"You did nothing to further my career when you deserted. They blamed me for your escape."
"I know. Sorry about that."
"I was brought up before the Board. Duke Halthzor practically took me apart with his bare hands."
"Sorry," Mark said again.
"There's a black mark on my record that will never be erased, you know."
"I know," Mark said. "It couldn't be helped, Wol. I'm real sorry."
Wolenski was silent for a long moment; then he spoke again. "You were successful, Mark."
"Yeah. So what?"
"You were the youngest man ever to make Strike Commander."
"So?"
"You were decorated eight times."
"What of it?"
"You were awarded the Nova Cluster by the Commandant, himself. The whole *ship* was proud of you!"
"Yeah, I know."
The ship rocked suddenly. Griffen cussed. "They're firing at us. Weapons computer on."
There was the sound of the ship's blasters almost at once.
Wolenski didn't appear to notice. "Sir, why did you *do* it?"
Mark shrugged. "There were lotsa reasons. Guess you could say I was savin' somethin' a lot more important."
"But *what*, sir? You threw away one of the most brilliant careers in the Patrol!"
"Yeah. And I'd do it again in the same spot. For the first time in my life," Mark said slowly, "I found somebody who was a real friend. A green kid from Terra with more guts than sense. He didn't care who I was or what I'd done, good or bad. That kinda thing's worth more'n a dozen careers. There ain't no comparison."
"Hyperspace in twenty seconds," Griffen said, tensely. "It's going to be close. That's the 'Javelin' out there." There was the sound of the ship's blasters again.
An official voice roared from the speaker. "'Wolverine'! Lay to and prepare for boarding!"
"Ten seconds," Griffen said.
"'Wolverine', are you reading us? Respond!"
"Five," Griffen said, "four ... three ... two ..."
The light on the panel turned red.
"So long, suckers!" Griffen said. There was a jolt. The stars on the viewscreen vanished.
Mark stood up. "Borrar, take Subcommander Wolenski to the brig an' lock him up, willya? We'll figure out what to do about him an' Parks in a little while."
"Certainly, sir." Dannar stood up. "Come wiz me, Subcommander."
X
Dannar was relaxing in one of the passenger seats of 'Loki's Choice' as the little ship plunged through hyperspace toward Shallock. There would be a good margin of time when they dropped him off before his employer expected him back at his post as pilot of the small trading ship. At least half an hour. Plenty of time.
Dannar leaned back in the seat and folded his hands behind his head, Terran fashion, letting a broad, toothy grin crawl across his features.
Vallir stepped out of the galley and handed him a murky green concoction with small chunks of some unidentified substance floating in it, then dropped into another chair, lifting an identical glass to his lips. "Ah, shust ze zing!" He glanced at Monty. "You really should try it, my friend. It iss quite good."
Monty made a face. "No thanks. It smells like dead fish."
"Zat iss only part of ze ingredientss," the Arcturian informed him. "Zere iss also --"
"Never mind," Monty said. "I don't wanna know." He looked at Dannar. "So then what happened?"
"Oh, nozzing much. Zey dumped ze two excess 'trols out in a lifeboat. Zat Mr. Parkss wass very upset. I do not zink he likess Alan very much. He said several zingss zat were most unkind. Zen I took anozzer lifeboat and came to meet you. I have never enshoyed myself so much in my life. I am very glad I went."
Monty laughed. "Yeah, we heard a lot of it on the com. Poor old Horowitz was relieved of his command, an' Halthzor's breathin' fire an' brimstone. Those two 'trols you guys mugged on Corala got found, and so did Griffen's valet. To hear the 'trols tell it, you were all three meters tall with horns an' pitchforks, but the poor valet don't remember a thing." He laughed. "Ganthzar's yacht was peanuts next to this business. I gotta feelin' that workin' for the Underground is gonna be *fun*!" He chuckled evilly. "What happened to Griffen?"
"He went back to zeir base wiz zem. Zere was nozzing else he could do." Dannar actually laughed. "Zat makess two Strike Commanderss zat ze Shils have lost to Alan. If I were zem, I would begin to worry."
Epilogue
Alan Westover entered the Lavirra base infirmary. A short, nondescript man glanced up from a desk, favoring him with a welcoming smile.
"Alan! Come in m'boy! Kaley's been asking to see you. Where's Mark?"
"He's indisposed right now," Alan said.
"Ah!" Philips' smile became a grin. "I thought so when I saw you alone in the mess, this morning. I'll give you some pills that might help -- if he can keep 'em down." The doctor opened a door on one side of the room. "Come on in and say hi."
Alan entered the room. Major General Walter Kaley was sitting up, propped up with pillows, a small, silver pitcher of water on the table beside him. He was reading a report, but as Alan entered, he put the hand comp down, regarding his youthful rescuer soberly. Alan saluted.
Kaley returned the salute. "Good morning, Captain Westover."
"Good morning, sir. How are you feeling?"
Kaley inclined his head slightly. "Much better, thank you." He rubbed his neck. "Muscles still have a tendency to cramp at the wrong moment, but it's improving."
Alan sighed. "I'm sorry, sir. We got there as quick as we could. We had to go through a few maneuvers before we could reach you."
"I can imagine." Kaley frowned. "I really ought to reprimand the two of you, you know. You disobeyed orders and took an awful risk."
Philips snorted. "You do and you'll have a revolt on your hands, sir."
Kaley glowered at the doctor. "Dismissed, Colonel!"
"Yessir." Philips went out, grinning.
Kaley looked back at Alan. "Well, Captain, what have you to say for yourself?"
Alan gulped. Kaley was looking really annoyed with him. Somehow he hadn't expected that.
"Are you sorry?" the General asked coolly.
Alan gulped again. "I -- I wish I could say that I am, sir, but I'm not -- not after what I saw going on in that interrogation."
Kaley looked suddenly confused. "Uh -- you saw that?"
"I was in the ventilation shaft, sir."
"Really?" Kaley regarded Alan soberly. "Small size has its advantages. I wondered how you got in without tripping any alarms. Very resourceful."
"Thank you, sir," Alan said uncomfortably.
There was a silence, and then Kaley smiled. "May I be frank, Alan?"
"Of course, sir."
"You did a foolish and uncalled for thing. You disobeyed an order and risked your life. You are one of the most valuable assets that Terra has. Your abilities are unrivaled by any other psychic that we have encountered -- even without your partner's unique ability to boost your power. We can't afford to lose you. Logically, I should take some kind of disciplinary action --" He paused and smiled at the boy's stiff figure. "But I'm afraid that what Matt just said is true. You're too well-liked around here, and right now you and Major Linley are heroes in the eyes of everyone aware of your latest exploit. I'd likely end up with a revolt on my hands if I were to try such a thing. Besides --" He paused, looking embarrassed. "Besides, in spite of myself, I'm awfully glad that you did what you did." He smiled again, extending a hand. "Thank you very much, Captain. You risked your life to save mine, and I'm grateful."
Alan took the hand, feeling his cheeks burning. "You're welcome, sir."
"Where's Major Linley, by the way?"
"Oh." Alan released Kaley's hand. "Uh, Mark's not feeling very well, sir. I really should get back and check on him. You see, there was a little celebration party last night --"
**********
Alan poked his head around the door of the quarters that he shared with Mark and regarded the mound on Mark's bunk solicitously. He tiptoed across the room, trying to make as little noise as possible. Mark gave a faint moan.
"Feeling any better?" Alan asked, in a whisper.
Mark groaned and pulled the pillow across his face. "Keep your voice down. Have a little respect for the dyin'."
Alan placed a cup of coffee on the nightstand with a faint clink. Mark winced. Alan didn't even smile. "Brother, you really tied one on last night. It was all I could do to keep you on your feet long enough to get you back here and put you to bed. I hope you're going to be in good enough shape for the award ceremony this afternoon. We're being decorated again, you know. Rousseau just told me. It was his idea. I think he's getting even with us."
Linley groaned again. "Everybody wanted to have a drink with me. Oh man, what a head!"
"I brought you some coffee," Alan said helpfully. "And Doctor Philips sent you some pills."
Mark made a gagging noise. "I couldn't look at 'em, kid -- not yet. Do me a favor, willya? Go away and close the door behind you. Step softly and put up the 'do not disturb' sign."
"You should have stuck to lemonade like me," Alan said.
Mark lowered the pillow and glowered at his partner. "How dare you be so bright and bouncy in this room of death, you ingrate? Didn't you have anythin' to drink at all?"
"Two," Alan said. "I figured I'd better stay on my feet if I wanted to get you home." He tiptoed to the window and pulled the shades, excluding the brilliant noonday sun. "Don't worry, Mark; I'll go. Take the pills when you can hold 'em down. I really think they might help, and that awards ceremony --"
"You can tell Rousseau to go to hell," Mark said.
Alan grinned a little. "I just might." He paused at the sink, soaked a washcloth with cool water and wrung it out. Quietly, he crossed the room again and placed it gently on Mark's forehead.
Mark opened blurred, bloodshot eyes, staring at him. "You ever had a hangover, kid?"
Alan shook his head.
"Smart boy. Get outta here, willya?"
"Okay," Alan said. He tiptoed toward the door.
"Bless you, my son." Mark pulled the pillow over his face again.
The End
