Blind Mission: 2/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
3
"Sublight in ten minutes." Mark glanced at his partner. Alan was pushing himself out of his comfortable slouch in the copilot's chair and peering at the readout on the small screen in front of him.
"As soon as we're out of hyperspace I'll scan for him," he said. "Wish our coordinates were a little more exact. He could still be a long way off."
"We did our best," Mark said. "No use weepin' over what we ain't got." He stood up. "Take over a minute. I'm gonna put the coffee pot away. No sense havin' it all over the galley, like last time."
His partner stuck out his tongue. "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"
"Not in this lifetime." Mark went back into the ship's galley. The coffeepot still sat on the counter, next to a pair of dirty dishes. He shoved the dishes into the processor and stowed the coffeepot in its assigned cubicle, making sure everything was fastened securely.
"One minute," Alan called after him.
"Be right there." Linley took a last look around and then remembered something. Quickly he turned and went into the main body of the ship. Quickly, he snatched up two more glasses and a tall, slender bottle, half full of wine, from a table and hurried back to the galley. He stowed the articles quickly.
"Fifteen seconds," Alan called. "Strap in!"
No time to get back to the control room but of course it didn't matter. The controls were completely programmed and Alan wouldn't need him until he started scanning. Mark went into the main body of the ship, took a seat and pulled the safety webbing across his lap.
As the fastener clicked, the ship converted to normal space with a terrific jolt. Mark jammed his finger against the mechanism and swore under his breath.
The mind link closed with an almost audible snap. "Holy heck!" Alan's voice said.
"What?"
"Ships! Lots of 'em! Come here, quick!"
Mark yanked at the safety webbing, tearing a thumbnail in the process. For a moment, the device jammed and he fumbled with it, cursing.
A blast shook the ship. From the control room came the hissing and spitting sound of overloaded circuits. For a second, Mark saw the control panel in front of his partner as it erupted into flame and fire scorched his face. He heard Alan cry out.
He managed to free the fastening and ran into the control room. The panel in front of Alan was smoking vigorously and the smell of scorched insulation and melted plastic nearly choked him. Alan was trying to free himself from his safety webbing one-handed. The other was clapped to his face. The fire extinguishers were already in action and the cabin was filled with smoke, steam and CO2 mist. Mark yanked the webbing free, jerked him out of the chair and dragged him from the cabin, hitting the switch that sealed the control room door. The lack of oxygen should put out the flames quickly.
There was a sudden clang as magnetic grapples seized their ship and then another jolt. Linley swore and reached for his blaster. They were in for it, all right. He'd put up a fight but he couldn't let his partner or himself, for that matter, be taken alive. If worst came to worst --
There was a reverberating hum. Linley felt the electrical tingle of a massive stunbolt and then nothing at all.
**********
Mark was swimming sluggishly upward through blackness. The surface was far above him. Waves of nausea lapped at him and retreated, each wave a little less severe than the last. His head throbbed as if someone were beating it with a hammer.
"Mark! Mark, can you hear me?"
The voice was an irritant, each word sending excruciating waves of pain through his skull. Mark groaned faintly. Nausea washed over him again and he began to retch.
"Mark, you've got to wake up!"
Linley groaned, forcing the nausea down. Now was not the time to lose his supper. He opened his eyes and tried to focus them.
Pain knifed through his head at the light that smote his burning eyeballs and for a moment he was sure his head had burst. He closed his eyes again, trying to lie perfectly still.
"Mark! Please wake up!"
"Go 'way." Mark reached up blindly and after a moment located his head. It was still intact to his great surprise, and after a moment he summoned the courage to try opening his eyes again.
"Mark?"
Slowly, he got his elbows situated and tried to push himself up. The pain lanced through his head again, but not quite as bad as before. The room lurched unpleasantly as he moved and then began to spin slowly to one side. Mark dropped his head on his forearm and waited for it to steady. Man, what a head! He'd been stunned before but had never awakened feeling this bad. This was worse than the worst hangover he'd ever had and Mark, as a young patrolman, had had some memorable ones.
"Pretty bad, huh?"
The solicitous voice came from his left and was very familiar. He fought down another wave of nausea, not lifting his head. "Eric?"
"Yeah. Don't move. You'll feel better after while."
"Where's Alan?"
"He's lying behind you."
"Is he all right?"
"His face looks like it's been scorched and they drugged him to the eyebrows." Eric sounded disconsolate. "Mombasa didn't want him making trouble."
Cautiously, Mark lifted his face again. The room wobbled unsteadily and slowly righted itself.
Slowly, he turned his head, trying to keep the scene in focus. He was lying on his stomach on a metal floor and around him was a cubicle of mesh. He was a prisoner.
With great care, he rolled over and pushed himself to a sitting position. The room spun and his stomach lurched. He leaned his back against the mesh and rested his head on the metal until the feeling subsided once more. Then he opened his eyes and looked around, trying to move with caution.
Alan lay on his back, less than a meter away and Mark winced at the sight of his partner's blistered face. Alan's eyebrows and lashes were gone and his thick dark curls were scorched. When the panel had ignited, Alan must have caught it right in the face.
Mark closed his eyes again as another wave of nausea swept over him. To his undying gratitude, Eric was silent and time passed unmeasured. Gradually the headache and nausea subsided to bearable levels and at last he was able to begin to take an interest in his surroundings. He turned his head.
Eric Vogleman was kneeling on the other side of the mesh, less than six centimeters away, and watching him anxiously. With him in the same cubicle was the pilot who had accompanied Eric on his training mission. In another cubicle on the opposite side of Eric's cage was Ruthy Channing, watching him with worried brown eyes.
"Hi kids," Mark croaked. "Fancy meetin' you here. Where the hell are we, anyhow?"
"Thank God!" Eric said.
"God ain't got nothin' t'do with this," Mark said. "The other guy might. What the devil's goin' on?" He began to massage his scalp with one hand.
"Well --" Eric sighed. "We were out on that training mission, you know? We'd just popped out of hyperspace when this big warship showed up on the screens. Not a Jil, though. The comp couldn't identify it. It hit us and knocked out the controls and then grappled and dragged us in. We were stunned and woke up here."
"Where's here?"
"We're on a planet. I can't pronounce the name. It's the home planet of the Loangi --"
"The which?"
"The Loangi," Eric repeated, pronouncing the soft "g" with almost a gurgle that Mark doubted that he could duplicate. "Real weird critters. Their CO -- at least I *think* it's their CO: He seems to be in charge, anyway -- showed up and talked to us after we came to and then again when they brought you in about two hours ago."
Mark looked up with a jerk that made his head pound again. He rested his face in his hands until the feeling diminished. "You mean we were out for *two hours?*"
"A little over. Those stunners of theirs are really something," Eric informed him. "You feel like hell when you wake up, too."
"Tell me about it," Linley said dryly. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "So why did they grab us? Are they mad at us about somethin'?"
"They're going to execute us," Eric said. "For spying. At least they want to, but Mombasa wants 'em to hand us over to him, of course."
"O' course. Mombasa? You mean the Strike Commander of the 'Nova'?"
"Yeah."
Mark looked up at Eric, moving more carefully this time. "I thought you said these were Loan...Lo..."
"Loangi," Eric said. "They are. They're about to attack the Terran Confederation, too."
By this time, Mark's head was spinning with confusion as well as the after effects of the stunbolt. "Hold it, kid," he said. "The way I feel now, I ain't never gonna make sense outta this if you don't start from the beginnin'. Just take it slow an' tell me all about it."
"Okay," Eric said. "I read the CO or king or boss or whatever he is when he came in here. The Loangi are about to attack Terra."
"But what for? Far as I've heard, Terra's never even *heard* of 'em."
"They've heard of us, though," Eric said. "It seems that they were contacted by the Jilectans about a Terran year ago."
The light dawned. "Oh man!" Mark said. "Things are suddenly startin' t'make sense. I s'pose our lords and masters told 'em all about us vicious, nasty, bloodthirsty, degenerate barbarians, an' how we'll swoop down on 'em an' gobble 'em up as soon as we find out about 'em. Right?"
Eric looked surprised. "How did you know?"
Mark grinned sourly. "I was in the Patrol for ten years, remember? I've seen 'em pull this stunt before. I suppose some o' their ships an' outposts have been knocked off by 'Terran marauders,' too, right?"
"Yeah," Eric said, watching him thoughtfully.
"An' our benevolent overlords made a pact with these whatever they are --"
"Loangi."
"Yeah. They'd supply 'em with arms an' information, but they're too Simon-pure to do anythin' violent 'emselves. Then, when these critters --"
"Loangi."
"Uh huh. When these critters knock off us nasty menaces, they'll split our planets between 'em. Right?"
"Right," Eric agreed. "How'd you know?"
"I've seen the same dodge pulled before." Mark made a face, trying to quell the sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. "The Jils don't dare go after Terra 'emselves -- not with six other independent nations in the Sector. Might alert the peons an' start a revolt. So they get somebody else t'do it for 'em. Then, while their patsy's fleet is on its way, they move in with a strike force and take over their planets to keep the nasty aggressors from attackin' other peaceful nations. An' they'll have another strike fleet waitin' t'move in on Terra durin' the fightin' -- all in the interests o' good will, o' course. Once Terra's fleet is all tore up, Terra's defenseless, right? So the Jils'll take us over for our own protection. It's a thin excuse but I've seen it done, with variations, three times. The last time was about four years ago. I was the Strike Commander o' the liaison ship on the Wombari's home world. The one that gave the signal when their fleet left."
"That must be why Mombasa's here," Eric said. "I haven't seen him yet but I read the Loangi CO. Mombasa doesn't want us killed. He wants 'em to deliver us to him."
"Naturally," Mark said. "Think what a coup it'd be for him t'be able to turn over five members of the Underground to his bosses. 'Specially Westover an' Linley," he added without modesty. "What else've you found out?"
"That's about it," Eric said. "Except the fleet's leaving in about ninety-eight hours."
"Great. How big is the whatchamacallit empire, anyhow?"
"Loangi Conglomerate," Eric said. "It's kind of a weird political structure. It covers eight star systems. We're on their home world where their central government is located."
"An' the first target for their strike force, o' course," Mark said thoughtfully. "We gotta get out."
"I know," Eric said. "But how? Alan's the only telekinetic here and Mombasa saw to it that he was out of commission."
"Yeah, I know. They're scared of him." Mark went to his partner and checked him over. Alan's body was slack and he didn't respond when Linley experimentally shook his shoulder. "Man, he's really out! They ain't takin' no chances." He positioned his partner more comfortably and got to his feet. At least Alan wouldn't have to endure the misery of awakening from one of the Loangi's stunbolts. By the time the drug wore off, the stunner effects would be long past. Small comfort, though. He mangled his lower lip, trying to think.
"Eric --" he began, and broke off as the metal door opposite them clanged open. A creature entered and Linley stared, his jaw dropping.
He had seen many strange beings during his career with the Viceregal Patrol but this thing was the strangest yet. It stood just over three meters in height, a nearly featureless grey pillar that spread out toward the bottom. From the base sprouted six flexible appendages, which might loosely be called legs, set equidistant around its circumference. Three quarters of the way up its body was a ring of six long, flexible tentacles, also set equidistant around the body. Just above the tentacles was a ring of six round, dark eyes on flexible stalks. The creature could apparently see in all directions at once. There was no sign of any mouth or breathing passages. On the flat top of the body was a feathery greenish growth, somewhat like that of a carrot. As the creature approached, Mark could see that what he had taken to be grey skin was actually a fine growth of feathers covering every part of its body. A scent like expensive perfume filled the air. Eric sneezed.
Mark closed his mouth with a conscious effort. The thing moved forward and two beings entered behind it but Linley had no difficulty identifying their species. Terrans, clad in the black and scarlet uniforms of the Viceregal Patrol.
One was a patrolman third class, who moved to stand at attention before the door. The other was an officer. Mark glanced at his helmet and swallowed. It bore four red rank marks and the star of a strike officer. He was facing Strike Commander Busaidi Mombasa of the Jilectan battlecruiser "Nova".
Mark's heart sank. Mombasa had become a Strike Commander the year before Linley. They had served together briefly as subcommanders, aboard the battlecruiser "Orion", and Mark knew him to be an intelligent and highly competent officer: one who would be virtually impossible to outmaneuver verbally -- especially since he already held the upper hand.
Mombasa crossed the room to stand before Linley's cell. The alien -- presumably a Loangi -- accompanied him, its "legs" moving with a kind of rippling action, somewhat like a caterpillar. Mombasa cast a glance at Alan's unconscious figure and was apparently satisfied, for he turned back to Linley.
"Well, Mark," he said courteously. "You appear to have arrived most opportunely. What brings you and your small friend to this section of space?"
"Pickin' daisies," Mark said. He turned to the alien. "Who's this?"
"This is Commander Broang," Mombasa said, still very courteously. "The Commanding Officer of Planetary Defense for this world."
Mark sketched a short bow. "Hello, Commander Broang," he said. "I'm Major Linley of the Terran Underground."
"An outlaw organization, I am told." The alien's voice was soft and high-pitched: something like the twittering of a bird.
"I hear you been talkin' to the Jils," Mark said.
Four eyes rolled in his direction. "Do you mean the Jilectans?"
"Yeah," Mark said.
"We have spoken much with them," the alien said. He made a high cawing noise that made Mark jump. "They are most kind to have warned us about Terrans before you could attack us."
"We aren't going to attack you," Eric said glumly. "The Jils have been lying to you."
The remaining two eyes swiveled toward Eric, while the first four remained focused on Mark. Linley found the effect somewhat disconcerting. "This one is young, is he not? Why do you send young, inexperienced spies on a mission of this importance? Do you underrate our intelligence?"
"We didn't even know about you," Mark said. "And we ain't spies."
"We have been warned about your kind," the creature stated. "We will not be deceived." Another caw sounded and a tentacle extended upward to scratch the creature's flat top, making the carrot-like growth stand out sideways.
Mark cleared his throat. "Commander, the Jilectans can read your minds. Did you know that? They can see what you're thinkin' and can tell you what you want to hear. They know exactly how to make you mad at Terrans, 'cause they can pick the things that'll make you angriest right out of your thoughts."
Once again the creature interrupted him. "They speak the same of you, Terran, and far more convincingly. But I do not understand what you mean when you speak of reading minds. None can tell what another is thinking. Thoughts are silent and unseen things."
"The Jilectans can," Mark said. "They can see the thoughts of others and do other things besides. I know! I served them for many years. Some Terrans can do the same. My friend --" He gestured at Alan. "He's like them. That's why Mombasa had him drugged. He knows what someone like Alan can do. He doesn't want to take any chances that we might stop the Jilectans before they can take over your worlds."
The alien was silent. Mombasa opened his mouth to speak.
"Let me guess," Mark said quickly. "They told you that Terrans are conquerors, who will take over your people as soon as we discover you. It's all lies, Commander. The Jilectans rule most of the known galaxy and are expandin' all the time. Why do you think Commander Mombasa is here? He's a Terran himself, by the way. And why does he want us alive? Have you thought of that?"
More silence. Again Mombasa opened his mouth.
"Because," Mark resumed hastily, "the Jilectans will reward him for us. He serves them."
The alien's eyes swiveled to Mombasa. "Is this true?"
Mombasa laughed. "Of course not! He's trying to confuse you, Commander. They told you he would, remember? Do I look like him?"
The Loangi didn't answer.
"Under that helmet and visor he does," Mark said. "He's a different color than me, but he's still a Terran. His ancestors just came from a part of our world where the sun's hotter, so his skin's darker. Nick Welling over there --" He gestured toward the pilot standing beside Eric, "came from the same part. Look at his skin color! It's almost the same! Have you ever seen one of these patrolmen take off their helmets?"
"No," Broang said.
"Ask 'em to," Mark suggested.
"I was unaware of any helmet," the alien said.
"It comes off," Mark said. "Just unfasten the strap under his chin and pull. Go ahead and try it! He looks just the same as me except that his skin's darker!"
The alien cawed. "What of our outposts which your battlecruisers have attacked?"
"We haven't --" Mark began.
"Do you deny it?" Broang inquired. He cawed and scratched his top. The green growth fell sideways, like grass stalks that have been trampled, and then righted itself.
"Of course we deny it!" Eric shouted. "It was a put up job! The Jils attacked you and made you think it was us! They're waiting for you to turn your back before they run a knife between your ribs!"
Eyes swiveled downward. "I fail to understand you, young Terran. I have neither back nor ribs."
Mombasa burst out laughing. "He's insulting your intelligence, Commander."
"I am not!" Eric was red in the face. "I was just --"
"The Jilectans are tryin' t'get you off your guard," Mark said quickly. "I know. I've seen them do this before. They're usin' you to take over our people an' yours. If you follow through with this attack on Terra, you'll come back t'find them in control o' your worlds."
"He's lying, Commander," Mombasa said. "Who could expect a Terran to tell the truth?"
"You're a Terran yourself, you damned clot!" Eric blazed.
"If he is indeed a Terran," Broang interjected, "why does he work for the Jilectans? If they are the conquerors that you claim, why would a Terran work for them?"
"For money," Mark said. "They pay their servants well."
Mombasa turned to the alien. "You see, it is as I warned you. Speaking with them is useless. You can expect nothing but lies. I beg you to reconsider. It won't benefit you to kill them, but my own people have blood oaths on this large Terran and the small one in the cell with him." He indicated Alan. "They have killed dozens of my people -- women and children included. I beg you to allow me to take them back with me to pay for their crimes."
"Oh for the lovamike!" Mark said. "Blood oaths? How corny can you get?" He turned back to Broang. "Please listen, Commander --"
"I will listen no more," Broang said. "Come, Strike Commander."
"Don't be a damn fool, Commander!" Eric shouted as the door swung open. "Please --"
Broang and Mombasa went out. The door clanged shut behind them.
**********
tbc
