Defector: 6/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Clad in the uniform of a Patrol lieutenant, Mark Linley stepped briskly from the slidewalk and strode toward the entrance to the Patrol base. A forged I.D., hastily prepared by their feathered allies, occupied his belt pouch, along with an article presented by Sh'Froo at the last minute, should the need for a hasty exit arise. There was a patrolman ahead of him, and he allowed the distance between them to lengthen. The station would be on full alert right now, watching for him or Alan trying to sneak through. Mark had no intention of getting caught.
The patrolman ahead of him reached the gate. There were two sentries posted, and he saw one of them wave the man through. Mark strode forward, I.D. out and ready.
"Hold it!" the guard snapped.
Mark stopped. "What the hell's wrong with you, Patrolman? Lieutenant Griswold. Lemme through."
"Sorry, sir." The man sounded disconcerted, but Mark noted that his hand was still resting lightly on the butt of his blaster. "I have orders. I have to check anyone I don't recognize. Please remove your helmet."
Mark cussed and reached up to unfasten the strap of his helmet. With the other hand he produced Sh'Froo's gift and dropped it to the ground. As it struck, he turned and ran.
Behind him, a cloud of white gas puffed out forcefully and began to expand, but he barely noticed. From somewhere, there was a curse and a stunbolt hummed after him, missing widely. An instant later there was the crack of a blaster set to kill, and the bolt struck centimeters from his flying feet.
He dodged between two buildings, hearing shouts behind him, and the crack of another blaster shot. Mark charged down an alley, vaulted a stone wall and dashed down a narrow street. A doorway loomed in the wall beside him and without stopping to look, he went through, removing his helmet and striving to look casual.
A tall, red-haired woman seated behind a desk came to her feet. She looked Mark over appraisingly and smiled, displaying a glistening gold tooth.
"Welcome, sir, welcome!" Her voice was deep and throaty. "Lily! Pam!"
Two young women clad in bright, scanty costumes, appeared through the red velvet curtains behind her.
"I'll take that one!" Mark snapped, pointing to the girl on the left.
"Six credits, sir."
Mark dropped credits on the table and grasped the girl by the wrist. "C'mon, baby."
She followed him through the curtains. Linley pulled her rapidly down the hallway and pushed a door open. Inside, he let her go and shut the door, sliding the locking bolt into place. There was a window with dingy curtains drawn across it and Linley heard the drum of booted feet outside, shouts, excited questions and orders.
His companion was looking at him oddly. "Whatcha in such a hurry for, mister?"
In spite of himself, Mark grinned. "You're from Shallock, ain'tcha, honey?"
She nodded. "A long time ago, though." She began to undo her dress, still watching him out of the corner of her eye. "Somebody after you?"
Mark shrugged. "What makes you think that?"
There was the clatter of feet in the hallway. Mark's companion turned toward the door. "Holy hell!" she whispered.
Mark drew his blaster. "Better get behind me, honey. There's bound t'be shootin'."
She whirled back toward him. "Quick!" she whispered sharply. "Get in the closet! All the way in the back. I'll get ridda them!"
Dazed, he moved with her. "What the hell?"
"*In!* Quick!" She pushed him into the tiny enclosure and pulled clothing in front of him.
Mark stood still for a moment and then moved to the back, the blaster still gripped in his hand, his thumb resting lightly on the setting switch. There was a pounding on the outer door.
"Open up! Open up in there!"
Faintly, through the closed door, he heard the woman's voice screaming. "I ain't lettin' you in, Mark Linley! You get lost!"
"Open the door! This is the Patrol!"
There was a silence, and then a woman's voice. "Open the door, Lily. It's 'trols."
There was a click and the sound of the panel sliding open. Linley swallowed.
"Where's the man you were with?" It was the deep voice of a patrolman.
"Oh, Jake! Thank God it's you!" Lily sounded half-hysterical. "That was Linley! Mark Linley!"
"Yeah, we know. Where'd he go?"
"I dunno! I recognized him an' locked m'self in here! I dunno where he went! Momma! Momma, I'm sceered --"
"Is there a rear exit?" Jake snapped.
Lily dissolved into hysterical sobs. The voice of the madam replied.
"Yes, Lieutenant. Down that way and to the left."
"All right. Sergeant, you and Higgins search the building. Come on, men, let's go!"
There was the clatter of retreating footsteps. Mark remained still, breathing softly. Far away, there was a scream and a muffled curse. A voice rose angrily. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Sergeant? Get out of here!"
"Sorry, sir!" A door closed sharply. Mark grinned to himself. He wouldn't have wanted to be that sergeant....
More footsteps clattered past in the hallway, and he heard the sharp, commanding voices of the Patrol. Then, at last, silence.
The panel slid open. "C'mon out," Lily's voice whispered.
Linley pushed satin dresses to one side and made his way out of the closet, surprised to find that his knees had a tendency to wobble. Lily was standing in the center of the room, and he really looked at her for the first time. She was slender and strikingly pretty, her dark hair falling to her waist, and she was clad in an electric blue, snugly fitting outfit. "Hi," she said.
Mark took a deep breath. "Thanks, baby. You saved my skin."
She flashed a wide smile at him. "No sweat. I've been lookin' for a chance to pay Jake back for a while."
Mark didn't ask why. "Thanks, anyway."
There was a click and the door slid open. His blaster was instantly out, but it was only the woman who had greeted him at the door. She tilted her head, surveying him from head to toe, and raised an eyebrow. "They're all gone. You can relax, sonny."
Slowly, Linley re-holstered his blaster. "Thanks a lot. I thought I'd had it."
The madam smiled widely. "You're kinda a hero to my girls," she said. "You and your little friend, both. You can't leave the building yet, though. The Patrol's combing the streets for you. Come down this way. Subcommander Wilson's pretty much occupied right now --"
"Was that the guy they interrupted?" Mark asked.
The madam snorted. "Something like that. Come on, quick."
He followed the two women. They led him down a short flight of stairs and into a cellar. Behind a stack of boxes, a trap door opened out of what Mark would have sworn was bare rock. On the other side was a small, windowless room, and he found himself wondering who else the women might have hidden from the Patrol in this place. The madam glanced at Mark. "They may come back and search when they don't find you outside. You'd better stay put here for a while. If Lieutenant Bayard comes back, we'll deal with him. You just lay low and don't make any noise. As soon as it's safe, Lily will be back to let you out."
Mark nodded. The madam closed the door.
**********
VII
Patrolman Dooley shifted uncomfortably and glanced at the chronometer on the dashboard of the aircar. "What's 'olding 'im up? I've gotta get back pretty soon."
"I don't know," Alan said. He was getting worried, but trying not to show it. "What'll you do when you get back to base?"
"Report this mess, I suppose." Dooley grimaced. "Chalthzor's going to be madder'n 'ell."
"It wasn't your fault," Alan pointed out.
"I know, but 'e's still not going to like it."
"He won't punish you or anything, will he?" Alan asked.
Dooley shrugged. "I don't think so. They've given up disciplining 'trols taken at blaster point by Westover and Linley. Too damned many of 'em. 'E'll just crack me on the 'ead and turn me over to Ch'Dreel. Ch'Dreel's a good guy. He won't do nothing."
"Ch'Dreel? What happened to Thoroski?"
"'E's on leave. Just took off today before all this started."
"Oh." Alan was only half-listening. Someone was coming. Carefully, he extended a light mental probe. It was Mark.
"Don't move," he said. "Mark's coming, and he's in a hurry."
Linley appeared beside the car. For a moment, he stared at the man in the passenger seat and then he opened the rear door and slid in. "I see you been busy," he commented. "What's up?"
"Tell you in a minute. What took so long? I was getting worried."
"Couldn't get in the gate," Linley said. "They were checkin' everybody they didn't recognize. I hadta hide out for a bit with some o' the locals. Sorry." He surveyed Katie and then Dooley very thoughtfully. "How come they're wearin' our coats?"
"This is Benjamin Dooley, from the 'Leviathan.' He's told me everything I need to know, and this is his friend, Katie."
"Dooley? Wasn't he the 'trol --"
"Yes," Alan said.
Mark looked Dooley over. "Gladta meetcha, Patrolman. Thanks for stickin' up for my partner."
"I was just doing my job," Dooley mumbled, ducking his head.
"There's different ways o' doin' your job," Mark said. "Been there m'self, remember? I owe you one." He turned to Alan. "What's the scoop?"
"The 'Leviathan' is leaving for Corala at 0700," Alan said. "Lyn's hurt too badly to be interrogated right now, but she's on the ship in Sick Bay, under heavy guard." His voice tried to waver, and he held it steady through sheer force of will. "We're not going to be able to get to her."
Linley turned to Dooley. "How long before she can be interrogated?"
"He doesn't know," Alan said. "We've learned everything we can for now. Let's get going."
Mark nodded. "What'll we do with our friends here? And you didn't tell me why they're wearin' our coats."
"They got mugged," Alan said. "Let's just let them go. We'll be long gone before they can spread the alarm."
"All right," Mark said. He glanced at Dooley. "Keep the coat, Patrolman. I owe you at least that."
"Thanks," Dooley said. "How about Katie?"
"She can have mine," Alan said. "Both of you, open the doors, get out and walk away. Keep walking, and don't look back; all right?"
"All right," Dooley said.
"Go," Mark said.
The two obeyed. When they were three meters from the car, Alan lifted off, keeping a finger of thought in Dooley's mind. The patrolman didn't so much as glance behind him.
**********
Sven Thoroski, wearing Wilbur Parks' helmet, took the lift to the second deck, which housed the officers' quarters. He knew Parks had three bunkmates: all second and third class patrolmen were bunked with three others of the same status. He didn't want to be caught in the man's quarters with his bunkmates; his real identity was sure to be discovered. On the other hand, it was very unlikely that his absence would cause comment. The other men would simply assume that Parks was on an alternate shift from themselves. It was only twelve hours to Corala, anyhow. They weren't likely to get curious in such a short span of time. Besides... Thoroski grinned to himself. Mr. Parks wasn't exactly on friendly terms with most of his peers. He doubted that anyone would even care enough to bother asking questions.
He reached the officers' deck and strode down the corridor in a businesslike fashion. A guard went by, not glancing at him. Thoroski extracted his cabin key from his belt pouch and pressed the button. There was a soft, musical chime and the door to the Strike Commander's quarters slid open.
The cabin, as expected, was neat and empty. Thoroski went quietly in and locked the door behind him, and then paused to draw a deep breath. Phase one of his plan was completed. He removed Parks' helmet and the uniform and stretched out on his bunk.
A shrill beeping sound awakened him. He sat up, momentarily confused, and then remembered. The beeping was coming from his chronometer, warning him that it was 0600 and time for Mr. Parks to get ready for his guard shift.
Thoroski got up and dressed in a fresh uniform. It would be best to wear his own uniform, since the fit would be better than the one he'd taken from Mr. Parks. Patrol uniforms were uniformly black and scarlet. The rank insignia appeared on the helmet, and he had Parks' helmet, informing the world that he was a Patrolman Third Class.
He had been dreaming, he recalled. Helena had written to him in the dream and invited him to spend his vacation with Terry and her. He had held the letter in his hand, and where his fingers rested against the paper there were round, burned spots, spreading rapidly. He could see no flames, but the letter was being consumed before his eyes. He had slapped at it, trying to put it out, and suddenly the letter had changed to his sister's face. Her big blue eyes had looked wildly into his, and he'd heard her voice crying his name....
Thoroski shook his head and swore softly. They must be preparing for takeoff, he thought, as he went into the bathroom to shave. This damned ship was still blistering hot. Why couldn't they fix the cooler?
He switched off the razor and splashed water over his face and then surveyed himself in the mirror. He still looked like death warmed over, he thought bleakly. Carefully, he adjusted the visor and frowned. Well, except for the mole on Parks' chin, the disguise was complete. Thoroski went back into the cabin and opened a drawer. He withdrew a container of boot polish and fashioned himself a mole in the appropriate spot. There. That looked pretty good. Now, unless someone examined him closely, there should be no problem.
He didn't dare go into the mess hall, of course. No 'trol in his right mind ate with his helmet on. However, there was a small supply of food in one of his storage cabinets -- a box of stale crackers and some rather tasteless food concentrate wafers known as Saturn Snappies. Thoroski choked down one of them and decided that he wasn't that hungry after all.
He glanced at his chronometer. 0645. Time to go. He switched on the intercom, which transmitted all sound from the corridor without. Footsteps were approaching. He heard the ring of boots against the metal deck. They went past and faded gradually away. Another man passed, walking slowly -- the guard, probably. Then those footsteps also faded. Thoroski pressed the button and the door slid open.
The corridor was deserted. He strode toward the lift, trying to act casual.
The lift slid open as he approached and Lieutenant Carson went past, returning Thoroski's salute casually. There were three patrolmen in the lift as he boarded. Two of them utterly ignored him. The other glanced at him, and then away. Good old Parks, the most popular 'trol on the ship, Thoroski thought sardonically.
Sick Bay was on the fourth level. Thoroski and two of the other patrolmen disembarked and walked, in silence, toward Sick Bay.
Patrolman Dooley was already there, his helmet under his arm. His face looked somewhat pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes, Thoroski noted, with a twinge of guilt. As they entered, he turned to look at one of Thoroski's companions. "Hi, Corcoran."
"Howdy, sir. Heard you had a bit of a bad time, last night."
Dooley grinned slightly. "Depends on 'ow you look at it. Actually, the bad time didn't start 'til I 'ad to report to Chalthzor." He put on his helmet and jerked his head at Thoroski and the others. "Come on."
They went over to the door where a guard stood. He opened it for them, and they went in.
It was a small cabin, complete with the latest in equipment and medical advances. A bed was positioned in the center of the deck, and Thoroski saw the diminutive form of a girl lying in it. Four patrolmen standing guard glanced up as they entered.
"Relieving you, Montgomery," Dooley said.
Montgomery nodded. "It's all yours," he said. He beckoned to his companions. "C'mon, boys. Let's get some breakfast."
The four patrolmen filed out and Thoroski and his companions took their stations. Doctor Gallagher entered the cabin and went over to the prisoner, checking a tube running into her arm.
"Ow's she doing, sir?" Dooley asked.
Gallagher glanced over at him. "Better. She'll make it, but it'll be at least a week before she can be interrogated." He grimaced and turned his attention back to his patient. "Pretty little thing."
Dooley glanced at Thoroski. "You keep away from 'er, Parks."
"Yessir," Thoroski growled.
The doctor was speaking again. "Heard you met an old friend of ours last night, Ben. Two of 'em, in fact." He glanced over at Dooley and grinned.
Dooley also grinned. "Yep. The kid looked the same as ever -- about sixteen and wet behind the ears."
"Bet he didn't act that way, though."
"Nope, but he was nice as he could be, as usual. I think little Katie has a crush on him."
Gallagher snorted. "How about Linley?"
Thoroski pricked up his ears. Linley!
"'E looked the same, too. 'Andsome devil, tough as nails. Man, what a night!"
"What exactly happened? I haven't heard the whole story yet."
Dooley grimaced. "I still feel pretty silly." He pulled off his helmet again. "I was just leaving Torali's Bar when I 'eard somebody groaning. Thought somebody might be in trouble."
Corcoran laughed. "Teach you to get involved in other people's problems, sir."
"Yeah," Dooley said. "So I went to see. 'Ad little Katie with me. You know: the redhead --"
"Ah!" Corcoran grinned. "I was looking for her!"
"Too bad. We 'ad a pretty good time before things came apart. Anyway, I went to see what was 'appening, and someone 'it us with a stunner. Never did see the bloody..." Dooley favored his unknown assailant with a detailed and highly improbable description of his ancestry. "So, anyway, we woke up in the usual state, puking our toenails up. The so-and-so 'ad taken all our clothes, and everything else, too. Katie was 'aving 'ysterics, and this gallant li'l guy comes running over and gives Katie 'is coat. I recognized 'im the same time 'e recognized me. So, of course, since 'e 'ad a blaster and I didn't, 'e marched me and Katie over to 'is aircar and put us in. Asked me a few questions --" Dooley grimaced. "Of course, I didn't even try to lie. Might as well try lying to a Jil. Then Linley showed up and they let us go. Let us keep the coats, too. Of course, Chalthzor took mine as soon as I reported to 'im, but it won't do 'im any good. Too bad. I'd sorta 'ave liked to keep it for a souvenir."
"Me, too," Gallagher said.
"I'm surprised they let you go," the young patrolman who had not yet spoken interjected.
Dooley looked at him. "Why shouldn't they?"
"Well, I heard that they'll torture and kill you if they catch you."
Thoroski glanced over at the man. Bennett was very young: obviously a new recruit, probably not more than seventeen. Corcoran laughed.
Dooley also grinned. "Don't believe everything they tell you, kid," he advised. "Remember, Linley was a Strike Commander, and 'e's no fool. Westover isn't, either, but 'e's an empath, and empaths are too soft for their own good. 'E's a nice little guy. Of course it would 'ave been different if we'd been a danger to 'em, but we weren't. We didn't 'ave no clothes, no blasters, and we were sick from the stunners." Dooley glanced at Thoroski. "Too bad, eh, Mr. Parks? You'd 'ave liked it if I'd been tortured and killed by Westover and Linley."
Thoroski shifted uncomfortably. There had been friction between Parks and Dooley in the past. He hadn't realized it was this serious.
"No sir," he mumbled.
The patrolmen fell silent. Gallagher lifted the blanket, exposing a slender, feminine leg and checked a small lead attached to the girl's thigh. Dooley looked at Thoroski again. "Remember what I said, Parks."
Thoroski didn't answer. Gallagher finished his work and straightened up. "She's okay for now. The corpsman'll be checking on her soon." He went out.
An hour went by, and then another. Thoroski glanced at the other guards. They were lounging idly against the bulkheads, looking bored. Now was his chance to check the prisoner, to see what he might need to do when he managed to free her. Slowly and quietly, he went across the cabin toward her. She lay very still, her eyes closed, with tubes running into her arms and nose. Very carefully, Thoroski reached down, pulling back the blanket over her injured side.
"Oh no you don't!"
Thoroski glanced up. Dooley was standing beside him, his blaster pointed directly at him. "Get back there with the rest, mister, or I'll blow your brains all over the deck!"
Thoroski straightened up.
"Aw, what the hell, sir." It was Patrolman Corcoran. "Let him have his fun -- as long as he don't hurt her."
Bennett's mouth opened in horror. "She's hurt!" He pulled his helmet off, looking sick. "Don't let him, sir!"
"I won't." Dooley gestured with his blaster. "Get away from her, Parks. Move!"
Thoroski went slowly back to his station. Dooley pulled off his helmet, glowering at Thoroski. "'E bothered that last female prisoner. 'E's a real trenchcrawler. Remember that when you're a first classer and 'e's still a third."
Thoroski stood still. Too bad he hadn't known about this before. He remembered "that last female prisoner", a young, pretty kid, younger even than this one. Little Patty had said last evening that Parks liked them young.
Well, all regrets aside, how the hell was he going to get Lyn Parnell out of here with Patrolman Dooley watching him like a hawk and Patrolman Bennett now doing the same? He chewed his lip and wracked his brains. Dooley's hand was resting on his blaster. Thoroski could tell that he was just itching for an excuse to stun or kill the disreputable Mr. Parks. Damn!
**********
tbc
