Warning: This story starts with an unambiguous WHAM. Read at your own risk.
Copyright statement: This is an original work by the two 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.
Defector is part of the Terran Underground series.
Defector 1/?
By Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
I
Strike Commander Sven Thoroski ran a hand through his thick, brown hair, standing it on end. He was tired and his quarters were unbearably hot. The cooling system on the big battlecruiser was on the blink again. It had gone out ten hours ago, although the heating system still worked to perfection. The techs were down there now, laboring on the unprintable mechanism, but the world on which they were now docked was always hot, except for the areas near the poles. The equator was nearly unbearable for Terrans, although the Arcturians seemed to tolerate it without difficulty. It figured.
Thoroski swore under his breath, mopping at his dripping neck with one hand. He was well overdue for leave and, by the stars, he was ready for it!
The last several months had been grueling. First, there had been that damned mass-execution on Regash II. Thoroski swore again under his breath, thinking about it. Four hundred and seventy-eight Terrans had died in the slaughter, and the Jils' excuses for these things got thinner every time. What a bunch of cold-hearted monsters they were, he thought, glad that the ship's Jil was not aboard on this trip. He had found that if a Jil was around, he was able to limit, to some degree, what the alien saw in his mind by thinking intently about something else, but it wasn't an ability that he particularly wanted to rely on. The psychic powers of the aliens were unpredictable, and if they found him trying to conceal a thought from them, the results would not be pretty.
Then, they'd had that run-in with the Terran Underground and lost a valuable prisoner being transported to Corala. And *then* there had been that appalling incident with Westover, and his own subcommander's sudden, totally unexplained defection to the Terran Underground. Bronson had killed a Jilectan and taken the Viceroy himself hostage in front of the watching eyes of the entire Jilectan Autonomy.
Thoroski shook his head, unable to restrain a faint grin at the memory. Man! What a black eye that had been for the Jils! And rumor had it that when Halthzor had been returned, the audacious outlaws had drugged him to the gills on sweetgrass. The drug was frequently used by the Jilectans for the interrogation of stubborn Terrans. It caused excitation of the pain centers in the brains of Terrans and had a similar effect on the pleasure centers of Jilectans, while, at the same time, it dulled their inhibitions. According to the rumors, denied strenuously by the Jils, Halthzor had arrived on the grounds of the Terran Embassy on Riskell, swearing and cursing like a Shallockian street urchin. Thoroski kind of wished that he'd been there.
"Shtrike Commander Thorshki, reshpond, pleashe." The voice from the speaker was that of Ch'Dreel, the subcommander that had replaced Bronson. Subcommander Ch'Dreel was a member of the vaguely avian species native to Ranlach, the third planet in the Procyon system. Thoroski found him an efficient officer, but he lacked the sardonic wit and very human personality that had made Subcommander Bronson such an interesting co-worker and companion.
"Thoroski here," he replied. "What's up?"
Ch'Dreel's image appeared on the wall screen. "New ordersh, shir." The serrated beak slurred the subcommander's speech slightly. "Our ashignment hash been changed. We are to prosheed to the Torquall shystem, shir. The colony on the shecond planet ish to be eliminated."
Thoroski felt the blood drain from his face. "When?"
"The cruisher 'Javelin' will be arriving there is shix hoursh. We are to ashisht in any way needed."
"On what grounds is the elimination ordered?" Thoroski asked, keeping his voice level with an effort.
"On the groundsh that the Underground hash infiltrated the colony. We are to shupply the evidenshe if any queshtionsh are ashked. We are to depart at onshe."
"Very well. Issue the appropriate orders." Thoroski was careful to sound dispassionately businesslike -- a survival trait that had helped him rise rapidly through the ranks to his present high position. "I'll be there shortly."
The screen went blank. Thoroski drew a deep breath. The colony of Torquall was to be eliminated, and he knew why. The planet was rich in rare minerals and the Jils had coveted it for years. Having to share the good things a world produced with another species was contrary to their instincts.
But Thoroski had a sister in that colony. Helena and her husband had colonized there a year ago, immediately following their marriage. The Jils wouldn't know that, of course. They didn't keep track of their employees' relatives, and Thoroski had never mentioned the fact to anyone. It wouldn't make any difference, anyway. What the Jils wanted they took.
But it was possible that Thoroski might be able to save his sister and her husband.
If he could arrive in time.
II
The 'Leviathan' came out of hyperspace over Bacquan, the second planet in the Torquall system. Thoroski, in the control room, set his jaw as the world swelled on the screen. If only the executions hadn't begun yet, there still might be a chance to save Helena and Terry.
He knew the hope was a feeble one. The Patrol was swift and efficient in such situations. It was improbable, of course, that many patrolmen believed the trumped-up charges, but that didn't matter. Volunteers would be chosen to carry out the slaughter, and there were always patrolmen who enjoyed that line of work. Thoroski wasn't a praying man, but now he found himself promising Heaven anything if only his baby sister survived the massacre.
Atmosphere whined against the hull. The planet's surface moved steadily closer and clouds blurred the viewscreens.
"Nice day down there, Strike Commander," Lieutenant Carson remarked. "Twenty degrees Celcius and the sun's shining."
Thoroski grunted a reply, hardly listening.
There was the grind of the landing gear and Thoroski forced himself to wait while every nerve screamed for action.
"Secure," the engineer's voice announced from the intercom.
Thoroski unsnapped his safety webbing and stood up. "Standard procedure. Ch'Dreel, take over." He strode toward the lift.
The subcommander swiveled his head toward Thoroski, his round, dark eyes widening a little in surprise. "Are you unwell, shir?"
Thoroski muttered something about a headache and made a hasty exit.
The lift took him downward to the sixth deck and he ran down the corridor toward the hatch, hearing the pound of blood in his ears. He went out ahead of the assembling riot control and assistance parties and ran down the ramp. A few patrolmen glanced curiously at him but naturally no one ventured to delay him.
He paused at the foot of the ramp and looked around. The colony was half a kilometer to the east, a small cluster of buildings, surrounded by cultivated fields. As Carson had said, it was a fine day. The sun shone warmly on his face and the field in which they had landed was carpeted with lush green grass, dotted with tiny red flowers. Overhead, the sky was a deep, azure blue, laced with white, billowing clouds. A faint breeze blew and Thoroski could smell the scent of growing things. He could hear the hum of insects.
The crack of a blaster and a scream brought him sharply around and he moved without thinking. Straight toward the cluster of buildings he ran, hearing the sharp reports of blasters and the terrified screams of the colonists.
He reached the main street of the town, hardly more than a wide graveled path running between the rows of buildings. His breath rasped painfully in his chest, and then caught.
Terrans, hundreds of them, had been herded into a small, wired enclosure and bodies littered the street. A row of patrolmen stood before the enclosure, blasters drawn. Thoroski scanned the faces of the prisoners, searching without success for Helena.
A patrolman opened the gate, his blaster out and leveled at the citizens within. A tall young man stepped forward and with a jolt, Thoroski recognized his sister's husband, Terry.
"Listen to me!" His voice carried somehow over the screams of the colonists and the hoarse shouts of the patrolmen herding the prisoners toward the gate. "Let the women and children go! Please! I promise, they'll evacuate the planet immediately!"
A blaster cracked and the man sank to the ground. There were horrified screams and a panic rush away from the opening. The patrolman fired into the crowd again. Someone screamed shrilly and Thoroski looked up to see his sister tear herself from the grasp of a guard and run toward him.
"Sven!" Her cry carried clearly over the screams and the crack of blasters. "Sven, stop them, for God's sake!"
Involuntarily, he held out his arms to her. A blaster cracked and she staggered forward into his grasp. Thoroski clutched her against him, looking down into her clear, blue eyes.
"Helena!" he whispered.
"Sven!" Her voice was faint, her lovely eyes beginning to glaze. "Terry -- where's Terry?" Her whisper faded and she became still.
The patrolman who had shot her stepped up beside Thoroski and he recognized one of his own men -- Patrolman Third Class Wilbur Parks.
"She dead, sir?"
Thoroski stared into the quiet face of his sister, feeling numb.
"Sir?"
"Yeah," Thoroski said. "She's dead."
Another patrolman stepped over beside them and glanced down at Helena. "Too bad. She's a good-lookin' one." He nudged Parks in the ribs as they strode away. "We shoulda had a little fun, first."
Thoroski straightened up, a red haze obscuring his vision. Slowly, he drew his blaster, leveling it at the retreating backs of the two men. His finger began to tighten on the trigger.
Then he hesitated.
Parks had pulled the trigger, but it was the Jilectans who had killed Helena. Parks was only the stupid pawn of the aliens. He would die, certainly, but not yet. Not just yet.
Thoroski lowered his sister to the ground and remained kneeling beside her for a long moment. Then he got slowly to his feet, looking around at the massacre that was taking place: a horrific event, which he had no power to prevent.
Perhaps he could do nothing now, but the Jilectans had made themselves an enemy today. Thoroski would make them pay if it was the last thing he did with his life.
**********
tbc
