In this part you meet a character that appears in earlier stories, but you've only met him casually in Shell Game. Patrolman Benjamin Dooley first appeared in 'Trol, and later appears in The Caves of Shallock, both of which will be posted later.
Just as an aside, I don't know if anyone remembers Wilbur Parks from previous stories, but you've met him both in Outlaw and Toomelli's Moon, if you wish to refresh your, and Alan's, acquaintance with him. He also appears in 'Trol.
Defector: 5/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Quietly, Thoroski shifted in the bed. Patty was asleep beside him, snoring faintly, her dark head resting on his shoulder. She would probably sleep for some time, considering the amount of alcohol that she had consumed downstairs. He disengaged himself and sat up, dropping his feet to the floor. In equal silence, he pulled on his uniform and glanced at his chronometer. If he remembered correctly, Parks' shift started in three hours.
He dropped money on the dresser and went out, collecting his bags on the way.
Parks was no longer at his table. He would be upstairs with a woman by now. Thoroski went out and down the walkway, toward the base. A dozen meters from the bar he paused and retreated into the darkened alleyway that ran beside the building. Too bad he wouldn't be able to take his time with the man as he had planned. Contacting the Underground overrode his wish to make Parks suffer for what he had done. If he was able to join the Terran Underground, with his knowledge of the Jils and his experience and training, he would be able to do a great deal of damage to the Jilectans over the coming years. That would have to suffice.
He waited. An hour went by. Then another. Patrolmen passed him, heading for the ship. Thoroski glanced at his chronometer. Parks was late. It figured, he thought disgustedly. The man certainly had no other redeeming virtues. Why should he be on time?
The streets were dark, now, and quiet. The native Procyons generally didn't frequent this part of town, and Thoroski didn't blame them. He checked his chronometer again and then again, tapping a mental foot impatiently.
Here he came at last, stumbling out of the bar, one hand on the wall of the building for support, the other swinging his helmet by its strap. The man was more than a little drunk, and if he were to return to the ship in this condition, he'd undoubtedly be put on report -- not an unusual occurrence in his case. Fortunately, however, Parks wasn't going to make it back to the ship. Thoroski drew his blaster, flicking it to stun. He must be very quiet, so blaster fire was out. A stunbolt, however, was relatively noiseless.
Parks came even with the alley, weaving drunkenly and gurgling a song low in his throat. Thoroski fired.
Parks dropped to the pavement. Thoroski stepped forward, seized the man beneath the armpits and dragged him back between the buildings.
Parks sagged loosely in his grasp. Thoroski moved quickly, stripping off the man's uniform and rolling it into a ball. He tossed the clothing, belt and boots over beside his luggage and turned back to his victim. Silently, he lifted his blaster and brought it down on Parks' skull.
There was a resounding thud. Thoroski hit him again and felt something give. The man made a rattling noise in his throat.
Voices were approaching. Thoroski froze, pulling back into the darkness and dragging Parks with him.
"...Don't 'ave to be on duty 'til 0700 hours, 'oney. The night's young."
Thoroski knew that voice. It was Patrolman First Class Benjamin Dooley from the "Leviathan."
"That's good, darlin'." It was the voice of a woman. "Tell you what! Let's head over to the south side --"
Parks made the rattling noise again.
"What the 'ell was *that?*" The voice was alarmingly near. Desperately, Thoroski grabbed Parks beneath the arms, hauling him back farther into the alley.
"Oh, darlin', *don't!*" It was the woman's voice. "I'm sceered...!"
"Something's going on. I'm gonna go see. You stay 'ere."
"No, honey! Don't leave me out here alone!"
Thoroski flattened himself against the wall as Dooley approached, flashing his handlight around. Parks lay on the pavement, a dark, shapeless bulk. The rattling noise had ceased.
"Is someone back there?" Dooley's voice sounded cautious. Thoroski had to admire the man's nerve. It would take courage to do what he was doing. He leveled his blaster.
"Ben --" The woman's voice was trembling. "Let's go. It's spooky back here."
Dooley moved the light around. "Well--I don't see nothing." The beam touched Thoroski's boot. Thoroski fired.
Dooley crumpled to the pavement. The edge of the beam caught his companion and she went to one knee with a shrill gasp. He fired again and she fell.
Moving as quietly as could, he dragged the two of them down the alley a good distance and divested them of their clothing and belongings. Dooley groaned.
Thoroski stepped back and stunned them both again. A beer can lay on the pavement, and he picked it up, dumping the contents over the two nude bodies, and then removed everything of value from their clothing and pocketed it. It would look like a robbery, and would certainly confuse the situation. He felt slightly guilty at his actions, but he hadn't injured them, and covering his identity was more important than their inconvenience. He strode rapidly in the opposite direction and dropped Dooley's empty wallet at the entrance to the alley. A few meters farther on, he dropped the woman's purse and tossed their clothing in the trash bin behind the bar. Quickly, he skirted the building and made his way back down the dim street toward the site of the assault.
Parks was where Thoroski had left him. Thoroski glanced hurriedly around. He didn't have much time. Dooley and his friend would be waking up soon. How to dispose of Parks so that he wouldn't be found too quickly?
A trash can lay on its side in the center of the alley, garbage littering the pavement. Thoroski heaved it upright. Parks wasn't moving, but Thoroski hit him one last time to be sure he had finished the job and dumped the patrolman headfirst into the trashcan, piled rotting garbage on top of him and replaced the lid. Somehow, it seemed a fitting end for him.
His luggage still waited patiently where he had left it. Thoroski stuffed his victim's clothing into his already bulging bags and, after a short search, located Parks' helmet against the wall. He donned it, picked up his bags and walked quietly back toward the base, feeling rather pleased with himself.
He reached the ship twenty minutes later and strode up the boarding ramp. At the entrance to the airlock he paused and punched the intercom button. "Patrolman Third Class Wilbur Parks, checking in."
"Acknowledged, Parks," the voice of Lieutenant Carson said. "You're ten minutes late. Good thing for you the Subcommander changed the schedule."
"Sorry, sir," Thoroski said.
The intercom clicked off. Thoroski hurried into the big ship and went to check the duty roster. The schedule had been changed, all right. Probably, he surmised, because of the important prisoner that they would be transporting to Corala in the morning. Parks had been assigned guard duty, of course. He always was. Good thing, too. He might be able to smuggle the prisoner out while on duty. No one was going to suspect Patrolman Parks of anything, and, except for a select few, the man was generally disliked by the rest of the crew. That was good, too. He was less likely to be snared into a conversation with anyone.
His guard duty started in eight hours. Parks had been assigned with Patrolman First Class Benjamin Dooley. Thoroski grinned. He and Ch'Dreel tended to think alike when it came to their men. That was exactly how Strike Commander Thoroski would have assigned the shifts. Parks was basically a sadist and a bully, without much in the way of mental cash. Dooley, on the other hand, was an intelligent guy, basically a decent sort, and tended to keep Parks in line. Naturally, Parks didn't like him.
Thoroski wondered if Dooley would make it for duty. Poor guy! He was actually a pretty good guy, and Thoroski liked him. Too bad he'd had to get curious out there.
**********
VI
Mark Linley settled the nondescript aircar into an alley a dozen blocks from the Chirill Patrol Base and cut the engine.
"I'm gonna go in an' scout around," he said. "You stay put."
"They're going to be on the lookout for you, you know," Alan said.
"Yeah; I know." Linley settled the Patrol helmet on his head and opened the door. "Chances are I won't even be able to get on the base, but it's worth a try. If I can't, we got more'n one ace up our sleeves. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Just be careful."
"I will." Linley got out of the car and a moment later had vanished into the darkness. Alan sat still in the car, waiting and worrying about Lyn.
A sound brought him sharply about. He peered out of the car in the direction from which it had come. It came again: a peculiar gasping, choking noise, punctuated by a low, agonized moan. Alan opened the door of the aircar.
Again, he heard the sound, and a few seconds later there was another sound -- the high, piercing cries of a hysterical woman.
Alan could see the figures now, pale forms in the gloom of the alley. He ran toward them flashing his handlight on, and stared in shock.
They were a man and a woman, stark naked. The man was on his knees, clutching his abdomen and retching, while the woman was grasping his arm, gagging and screaming by turns.
"Oh gosh! What happened?" Alan stripped off his coat and wrapped it around the woman. "Are you all right?"
The woman was obviously incapable of replying but the man raised his head, his face contorted in misery. Alan smelled stale beer. Then his hand came up to clutch Alan's arm and he spoke between clenched teeth.
"Somebody mugged us. Oh, man; my stomach'll never be the same."
The voice was familiar and Alan flashed his light over the man's features, extending a light mental probe as he did so. It was Patrolman Benjamin J. Dooley, from the Patrol battlecruiser "Leviathan."
Alan started and began to back away. Dooley's eyes focused on his face and Alan felt his thoughts shift to puzzlement, then, in a flash, to recognition.
Alan's blaster was instantly in his hand. "Don't move!"
The woman opened her mouth to scream. Alan stunned her and swung the blaster back to Dooley. The man hadn't moved, except to hunch forward, retching again. Alan waited patiently until he had finished and then tossed him a handkerchief.
"Pick up your friend and bring her along."
Dooley obeyed, still retching faintly and walked before Alan toward the aircar. Alan triggered the rear door and allowed Dooley to settle his companion into the rear seat. Then he herded the patrolman into the driver's seat and climbed in beside him, keeping the blaster pointed generally in his direction.
"What are you going to do?" Dooley asked miserably.
"Nothing," Alan said. "Mark's coat is in the back, if you'd like to put it on."
Dooley instantly reached for the garment and covered himself with it. He looked at Alan. "Thanks, kid."
"Sure." Alan surveyed him. "I have some questions."
"Figured you would." Dooley almost smiled. "What would you like to know?"
"The prisoner they took this evening. Is she already aboard the ship?"
Dooley nodded. "Yeah. She's in the infirmary."
"How bad is she hurt?"
The other man looked uncomfortable. "Pretty bad. They 'ad every doctor on the station in there with 'er. But last I 'eard, they think she'll make it."
Alan didn't reply. Dooley regarded him uneasily. "I 'ad nothing to do with 'er capture, you know."
"I know that," Alan said. "When will the ship blast off for Corala?"
"At 0700 hours. I'm assigned guard duty over 'er." He rolled an eye in Alan's direction. "So is Mr. Parks."
Alan moved convulsively. Dooley grinned a little, some of his coloring beginning to return. "Don't worry, kid. I'll keep 'im away from 'er -- if you let me go, that is."
"Thanks," Alan said.
"No problem." Dooley looked thoughtfully at Alan. "She's kinda important to you, isn't she? I saw 'er up there 'olding a blaster on old 'Althzor that day. She some kind of girlfriend or something?"
"My fiancee," Alan said shortly.
"Oh." Dooley looked more uncomfortable than ever. "Sorry." He began to squirm his way into the coat. "Do you suppose Linley'll give me my clothes back when 'e gets 'ere? This is damned embarrassing."
"He doesn't have your clothes," Alan said.
"You mean it wasn't you that mugged us?"
Alan shook his head. "I just heard somebody in trouble and came over to see if I could help."
Dooley looked at him doubtfully. "I guess it wouldn't 'ave made much sense for you to take little Katie's clothes, too -- unless Linley's got a thing for women's clothes or something," he said.
Alan smiled slightly and shook his head. "No; he doesn't. Do you feel better now?"
"Yeah." Dooley nodded and winced.
Katie moaned softly, trying to lift her head. Dooley glanced back at her. "Better lie still, 'oney," he said. "You're going to feel pretty sick for a while."
Katie subsided with a faint moan. Alan looked back at Dooley. "How've you been doing since that business with Tralthvor?" he inquired.
Dooley grinned a little. "Wasn't that something else? Man! I wish I 'ad Bronson's nerve, telling 'Althzor what to do with that damned 'elmet, like 'e did. If I'd dared, I'd 'ave laughed."
Alan smiled. "Mark tells me he's always hated the things."
"They're 'ell, all right. I've done okay, really. Got promoted to first class after that deal when you tried to escape, and Parks attacked you. Poor old Parks. 'E got demoted again, you know."
"Too bad," Alan said.
"Yeah; ain't it?" Dooley grinned maliciously. "Of all the damned fool stunts, that 'ad to be the kicker. Trying to shoot Bronson while 'e was 'olding a blaster on the Viceroy! Thoroski almost killed 'im. That idiot's going to be a third classer 'til the day 'e dies." The patrolman laughed.
"It wouldn't surprise me at all," Alan said.
"'Ow 'ave you been doing?" Dooley asked. "You didn't look so good when Linley carried you out of there."
Alan shrugged. "No permanent damage. It took about two weeks to get back on my feet after the interrogations. The ankle took a bit longer, but it's okay now."
"That's good. I 'ave to admit I was kind of glad to see you get away. 'Course," Dooley added, "I wouldn't say that around Lord Chalthzor, but it's the truth."
"He probably knows already," Alan said.
Dooley shrugged. "Yeah, probably."
Katie, in the back seat, was beginning to retch, sobbing a little. Dooley glanced back. "You'll feel better in a few minutes, 'oney."
Katie raised miserable eyes to his face, dabbing at her chin with the sleeve of Alan's coat. "Who *is* he?" she half-wailed. "How come you're talkin' so friendly when he's holdin' a blaster on you?"
Dooley looked back at Alan, a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Good question. Let's just say that Mr. Westover and I understand each other."
"Westover?" Katie turned her head to stare at Alan.
"That's right." It was clear that Dooley was beginning to enjoy himself. "You've 'eard of 'im. They call 'im the Little Giant."
"Oh!" Katie's eyes got even wider.
"Hi, Katie," Alan said.
"Oh my!" she said.
"Take it easy," Dooley said. "'E's nothing but a nice kid. We've met before. 'E won't 'urt us."
"It wasn't him that mugged us?"
"Nope," Dooley said. "'E just came to see if 'e could 'elp. You're wearing 'is coat, and I've got Linley's."
"Oh." Katie wiped futilely at the sleeve of the coat.
"What happened to your clothes?" Alan asked. "Did you see the man who robbed you?"
"Nope." Dooley shook his head. "Saw the toe of 'is boot just as 'e stunned us. I'd 'eard a noise in the alley and thought somebody might be in trouble, so I went to check and got stunned."
Katie hadn't taken her eyes off Alan. "Did you *really* kill five Jilectans?"
"Only three," Alan said. "I guess the stories haven't lost anything in the telling."
"I guess not," Dooley said. "But 'ow about that Jil on Xenis?"
"That was Mark," Alan said. "I might as well set the record straight. It certainly won't make a difference."
"That's for sure," Dooley said. "After Lanthzor, 'Althzor just about foams at the mouth every time somebody mentions Linley's name. That's what I 'ear, anyway. 'E 'ad to marry Lanthzor's widows, you know, after Lanthzor bought it, and they say 'e and the old Vicerienne can't stand each other."
Alan shrugged. "It's their customs," he said. "Humans didn't think them up."
"Yeah," Dooley agreed. "I've got a sister-in-law that I'd rather cut my own throat than marry. Never could figure out what Mervin saw in her."
"Mervin's your brother?"
"Yeah," Dooley said. "'E's a farmer on Filora. Keeps telling me I should 'ave gone into business with 'im. Sometimes, when something like this evening 'appens, I wonder if he's right, you know?"
**********
tbc
