Believe it or not, I'm still working on Smallville (the last part of the Nightfall series, not the tv show). But since I'm not sure I can keep a regular schedule, I'm going to wait until I've got a good buffer before I start posting. In the meantime....
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.
This is part of the Terran Underground series. Thanks to Amy Nanni for her work converting the .pdf document to Word for me.
Empath (Part 1)
By Linda Garrick and Nancy Smith
1
Alan Westover went briskly up the steps of the Loquin Hills Private Hospital. A sharp wind whipped the tail of his cloak around his knees, and he gripped the front of the garment, pulling it more tightly around his body. The forecast was for snow later on in the day.
Beneath the dark cape, which was part of his uniform, was a nurses' outfit, colored the pale blue of the Private Nurse Service, and he wore a fur hat, which concealed his smooth, black wig. His large, brilliant green eves had acquired a faint but definite slant, and their color had been altered with dark brown contact lenses. The Terran Underground had further changed his appearance by supplying him with a deep mahogany complexion, which perfectly matched his hair and eyes.
He went through the main doors of the building and paused to look around. Loquin Hills Hospital, reserved for Jilectans only, was lavishly decorated and meticulously maintained. A plush, dark red carpet, embroidered with whirling patterns of black and gold, covered the floor of the spacious lobby and large, ornate chairs were arranged in a semicircle in the center of the room. Two of the chairs were occupied by the brightly robed figures of Jilectan Ladies, their beautiful hair sparkling with jewels. Three other aliens came toward him, moving with the peculiar lightness and grace that characterized the Jilectans, whose home world boasted gravity 1.54 times that of Terra. Alan hopped quickly out of their way, and they went past without a glance. Alan caught a whiff of expensive perfume, which made his nose tickle. Three Terrans in the uniforms of Jilectan body servants followed their masters at a respectful distance.
A hand descended on Alan's shoulder and he jumped slightly.
"Your I.D., kid?"
He relaxed. The hand belonged to a Terran, clad in the black and scarlet uniform of a Viceregal Patrolman. "Oh, hi." Alan produced his forged I.D., "David White, sir -- transfer from Frazeen General. You're apparently kind of short staffed today."
"Yeah," The man examined the I.D., then handed it back. "This last week’s been hell. Everybody's got that damned flu."
"I had it, too," Alan lied. “It's really awful."
"You're tellin’ me. Thought I was gonna die.” The man grinned suddenly. "Native Terran, ain'tcha?"
Alan nodded. "I've been away seven years, but I guess I'll never lose the accent."
"Terran natives never do--just like us Shallockians never lose ours. I ain't been to Shallock since I was sixteen -- damn near fifteen years ago." He looked up as another Terran came through the doors. "See you around, Dave." He addressed the newcomer. "Your I.D., Mister?"
Alan went briskly across the lobby toward a crowd of Terrans, obviously employees of the hospital, who were awaiting the arrival of one of the lifts. A pair of doors slid open as he approached, and the Terrans crowded forward, to fall back instantly as a tall, fur-clad form emerged. The Jilectan stood a little over two meters tall -- a young male, and one of the upper class at that. Alan noted with distaste the tall, silver encrusted hat embroidered with pure white downy fur and sparkling gems. A snowy, flowing robe swept the floor as the alien passed, and once again the scent of expensive perfumery -- something akin to the fragrance of cloves -- assaulted his nose. Alan tried not to cough.
A body servant trailed the Jilectan from the lift, and the crowd of Terrans pressed forward. Alan followed, pushing the button for the fourth level. The doors slid smoothly shut, and the lift started upward.
There was a jolt, and the conveyance ground to a jerky halt. A man to Alan's right swore softly as it began to descend once more.
"What's the matter?” Alan inquired, a little twinge of apprehension running through him. Had somebody suspected something? Was it possible he'd been recognized?
The man grimaced. "Somebody pushed the emergency override control. Another damn Jil in a big hurry, no doubt." He glanced at his chronometer and cussed softly.
"Oh." Alan relaxed. The doors slid open and a figure entered.
The Jilectan was a young female. Her fine, pale gold hair fell far down her back, and she wore a band of pearls and tani crystals binding the strands back from her forehead. She was small for her species, although, Alan realized, she must be far from full-grown. He came a little past her shoulder in height.
A Terran female entered the lift after her -- a middle aged woman with dark, graying hair and a tall, spare frame. The Jilectan turned around, her large, pale blue eyes sweeping the faces of the assembled Terrans, and Alan caught a brief impression of smooth, flawless skin, long, iridescent pink robes, and a snowy muff, sparkling with crystalline jewels. He stepped quickly back, lowering his gaze, and within the lift all conversation died.
The servant pressed the indicator for the ninth level and stepped back as the doors slid shut. The lift went smoothly upward, not pausing until it had reached the ninth floor. The Jilectan disembarked, followed by her servant. The doors slid shut once more.
There was a concentrated sigh of relief from the Terrans, and the man who had spoken earlier said something softly under his breath. The Terrans crowded forward, pressing buttons for various levels, and the lift started downward again. At last he achieved the fourth level and got off the lift, accompanied by two other nurses. Alan took a deep breath and went slowly down the corridor, trying to quiet his jumping nerves. His destination was "The Silver Suite" at the end of the corridor, just past the nurses' station. Viceregal patrolmen stood along the walls at intervals. They looked bored, Alan thought, smiling a little to himself. There was Mark Linley. A wave of relief went through him at the sight of his partner. The big man stood at attention, clad in the black and scarlet uniform, and looking every inch a patrolman. Alan couldn't see his eyes beneath the dark visor, but Mark's lips smiled faintly as he passed.
The door to the Silver Suite was closed, as expected, and two Viceregal Patrolmen stood on guard at the entrance. Alan presented his I.D., and the man on the left glanced at it. "You the relief nurse?"
"Yessir," Alan said.
"All right, go on in." The man handed the I.D. back and opened the door.
The Silver Suite certainly lived up to its name. Alan's eyes swept the huge, lavishly furnished and decorated room, locating at once the small videocameras set high on the walls. The floor was covered with a plush, downy soft carpet patterned in blue and silver. Ornate paneling covered the walls, and graceful filigree decorations hung on all sides. A window with the shades pulled up let in the late afternoon sunlight.
A young Terran was seated beside the bed, and glanced up as Alan entered.
"Hi. Who’re you?"
"David White. Your relief."
"You’re late.”
"I got held up in the lift," Alan said.
The nurse grinned. "A Jil?"
He nodded.
"Yeah. I always take the stairs. David White, huh? What happened to Peterson?"
"He's got the flu," Alan replied. "I'm filling in."
"Oh.” The man stood up, extending a hand. "Victor Pastarakis. Call me Vic."
"How do you do?” Alan shook hands with him, then glanced at the Jilectan lying unconscious on the broad, luxurious bed.
"I'm fine, thanks. You know about his Lordship here?"
"Not really,” Alan said. “Aircar accident, wasn't it?"
"Yeah. Guess I'd better give you a full report, huh? This is Lord Frevanthvar second son of Lord Trevanthvor. The accident happened a week ago, and he's been in a coma since. There’s brain function, though, and he's been probed by other Jils, and apparently the damage is minimal. He gets range of motion exercises every hour, and the neurostimulators every four. His meds go into the I.V. -- the list is on the computer in the med room...." Vic nodded at an adjoining doorway.
The report lasted for fifteen minutes. Alan tried to listen attentively, very aware of the videocameras overhead. He hoped no one suspected anything. His appearance had been altered so that he looked like poor little David White, who was a private duty nurse and worked at other hospitals as well. As a result, he was not very well known, and with any luck at all the men monitoring the camera wouldn't examine the new nurse that closely.
Vic concluded at last and stretched, yawning tremendously. "Man! I'm ready for bed. Have fun, Dave." The nurse went out, picking up his coat and hat on the way.
"Thanks,” Alan said. "Bye. "
The door closed behind Vic, and Alan took another deep breath, his attention on the Jilectan before him. The alien lay very still, his white, six fingered hands resting on the soft, perfumed sheets of the bed. The pale, handsome face was set in repose, his reddish hair bright against the pillow. Blond lashes curled effeminately against the smooth cheeks. Alan felt a little tug of conscience. After all, it seemed unfair to take advantage of an injured person, albeit a Jilectan....
Very gingerly, Alan lowered his shielding and extended his psychic probe. It would, of course, be impossible for him to read the mind of a Jilectan who was in good health, but Lord Frevanthvar was in a deep coma, his shielding weakened by his injury. The Underground would never have a better chance to obtain information concerning psychic training techniques than now. Frevanthvar was the expert on such techniques, and Alan might be able to pick up data here that would be of limitless help to the Underground.
His greatest fear was that, with his mind shields down, his own psychic aura would be detected by one of the aliens. There were so many Jilectans in this hospital! He hoped desperately that the auras from the Jilectans themselves would mask the aura of a single, but very powerful Terran psychic....
The alien's shields were up, but they were very weak, and parted easily before his probe. Alan set his lips, resisting the impulse to touch the alien and thus make the mind reading process easier. The people monitoring the cameras must see no suspicious moves on his part.
The information poured through, and he stored it rapidly. This was good -- excellent. The venture had been worth the risk after all.
There was a click and the door slid aside. Alan's shielding snapped automatically closed and he came to his feet as two Jilectan doctors entered.
Had they sensed him? Alan took a quick step back, feeling the blood drain from his face. If he was discovered at this point it could be disastrous.
The aliens weren't looking at him. One of them went gracefully forward, bending over the still form of the patient. Ignoring Alan completely, the two doctors began to converse softly in their own tongue. Alan sidled toward the door. The shorter of the two aliens glanced at him. "Any sign of awakening, nurse?" he snapped.
Alan shook his head. "None, sir.”
Again the doctors turned back to the patient. Another hospital worker entered the room, an unidentified mechanism of some sort balanced on an antigrav cart.
Now was his chance! Alan slipped silently from the room, letting the door slide shut behind him. The guards glanced at him perfunctorily and then away. Alan headed down the corridor at a brisk walk.
He passed the nurse's station, not glancing up, and continued on down the hall, aware of the businesslike scrape of Mark's boots twenty paces behind him. He turned a bend in the corridor.
Ahead of him a door opened and a tall, scarlet clad figure emerged, his silvery hair gleaming in the overhead lighting. Alan came to a stop as the Jilectan's eyes swept the hallway and alighted on him.
“You!” His voice was soft, but quite commanding. "Come here.”
Alan gulped. "Me, sir? I...but I'm not assigned to this..."
"Come here." The alien didn't raise his voice, but Alan found himself obeying, his knees quaking slightly beneath him. The alien's powerful, multi-jointed hand closed about his wrist in an inexorable grip. Alan caught a glimpse of Mark Linley standing irresolute in the corridor as he was drawn forcibly into the room with the alien. There were three other Jilectans there -- one male, a slender, auburn-haired female, and a tall, gaunt figure sprawled on the hospital bed. The covers had been pulled back from the sick alien, and in one corner of the room crouched an orderly -- a Terran. The man was cowering away from the aliens, both arms shielding his face. A roll of gauze, mostly unwound, lay on the floor beside him.
Alan took a deep breath and raised his eves to the face of the alien who held him. "Is there something I can do to serve you, M'Lord?”
The Jilectan glanced scathingly at the man in the corner, who cringed back, his eyes wide with terror. The alien spoke.
"My father needs his dressing changed, Terran, but I will not allow this fool to touch him again." The pale eyes turned back to Alan. “Change my father's dressing, Terran."
"Oh, my!" Alan's voice squeaked and he had to clear his throat. "M’lord, I'm assigned to another section. Besides, I've never changed your father's dressing before. What if I...I mean, I might hurt him, sir."
The grasp on Alan's wrist tightened slightly. "I would advise you to obey me, Terran."
Alan lowered his gaze again. "Of course, sir."
The Jilectan released his wrist, and Alan edged past the big form with a murmured apology. He stared, for a moment bewildered, at the dressing tray. The aliens and the frightened orderly watched him. What to do first? If he made a mistake, someone might guess that he was not what he appeared. Besides, he mustn't waste time. Those Jils in Lord Frevanthvar's room might miss him soon -- probably would, in fact, as soon as whatever treatment they were doing was finished.
Steadying his hands by force of will, Alan poured irrigating solution into a basin and began to open another sterile pack. The big alien in the bed shifted uncomfortably, watching him.
Alan's father had been a doctor, and Alan had some knowledge of such procedures, but certainly not as much as he would have liked in this case. He donned sterile gloves, then, letting his empathic talents guide his hands, he gently removed the partially dislodged bandage from the patient's leg.
The wound looked sickening. It was clearly infected, the area around the site puffy and reddened, while the wound, itself, oozed a yellowish drainage. Alan took another breath and picked up the irrigation syringe.
There was utter silence in the room, and four pairs of eyes watched him as he squirted the warmed solution into the open wound and allowed it to run down the alien's leg to he absorbed by the towels tucked beneath. He finished at last, and replaced the syringe on the tray. The patient heaved a long sigh and closed his pale, gray eyes. Alan dried the leg, then removed his gloves. Trying to work quickly, he replaced them with a fresh, uncontaminated pair and gently applied a fresh dressing to the wound, sealing the edges with careful fingers.
The Jilectan on the bed hadn't moved, but as Alan finished the job, the alien's eyes opened again, watching him. Alan began to clear away the mess he had made, his hands now beginning to tremble with reaction.
"Stop," the Jilectan who had commandeered Alan's services said suddenly.
Alan's hands froze.
The Jilectan glanced at the man on the floor. "Get up, fool, and clean up for him."
The Terran got clumsily to his feet. He was only a kid, Alan realized, no more than twenty, and slightly plump. Quickly he began to clear away the remains of Alan’s work, his movements jerky.
Alan began to back toward the door. "I...I really must be going, M’Lords...M’Lady. Please excuse me.”
"Stop,” the Jilectan said.
Alan stopped "M'lord, please..."
The Jilectan on the bed turned his head toward Alan.
"I want him," he croaked.
The young orderly lifted the soiled pack and turned clumsily toward a disposal chute. He caught his foot on the leg of a chair and stumbled, dropping everything he held. It spilled everywhere, spattering the Lady with irrigating solution.
She came to her feet with a cry of anger. The Terran stared in horror, then spun, bolting for the door.
The Jilectan male moved with blurring speed, snagging the offender by the collar. The orderly went slack in the alien's grasp, and the Jilectan struck him, snapping his head to one side.
"No! Don't --” Alan took an involuntary step forward, then froze as the alien's steely gaze turned on him. Quickly he lowered his eyes. "Beg pardon, M'Lord.”
The Jilectan on the bed had ignored the entire incident with the Lady. “I want him," he repeated.
The Jilectan released the orderly, striking him again as he did so. The young man spun to the floor and lay still.
Alan dared not assist the unfortunate man. He stood still as the patient pushed himself to his elbows. "I want him!" he shrilled.
The male Jilectan turned on Alan. "You will care for my father the rest of the day, Terran," he said.
Alan shook his head frantically. "Oh, M'lord, I'm sorry, but I'm already assigned!"
“We will see about that. Do you know who my father is, Terran?"
"No, M'lord, but I --”
"He is Lord Povoxvor. I am his first son, Lord Dovinxvar."
Not all that important, Alan thought. He could tell from the names that the aliens weren't from the upper class -- but, of course, it would be foolish to allow that to come through his shielding. Projecting thoughts of awe and apprehension, he bowed from the waist. "A great honor, M'lord."
"Now, Terran, you will honor my father's wishes."
Again he bowed. "M'lord, I beg pardon, but I am private duty nurse to Lord Frevanthvar.”
There was a moment of utter silence. Then Alan cleared his throat. "May I go, M’lord?”
The Jilectan in the bed began to push back the sheets. "Do not let him go!" His voice rose higher, bordering on hysteria. "I want him! I want him!"
The Jilectan’s son was instantly beside his father, forcing him down. The Lady turned fiercely on Alan. “Now see what you've done, Terran!"
Dovinxvar turned to the Lady. "There is nothing to be done, sister. He is nurse to M’lord Frevanthvar, and, under those circumstances, we cannot take him."
He turned frigid eyes on Alan. "Get out."
Alan bowed again. "I beg your pardon, sir. I didn't mean to upset your father." He bit his lip, eyes straying to the young orderly. What would the angry, irritated aliens do to the man when Alan left? Kill him, without doubt.
Well, he must try to pacify them somehow. He took a hesitant step forward and dropped to one knee. "M’lord, I am only filling in for Lord Frevanthvar's usual nurse, who is ill. If you wish, and if my services are really desired so much, I can care for your father as soon as Mister Peterson is back." He hesitated. "I would consider it a great honor, sir."
There was a silence. All of them were looking at him, and Alan's skin crawled. He hated groveling before the aliens like this, but if he was to play his part, he must. The silence lengthened.
"I want him!" the patient shrilled abruptly.
The hospital intercom crackled. "David White, report to the Silver Suite at once. "David. White, report..."
Alan rose. "They're paging me, M'lord. I must go." Again he glanced at the sprawled body of the orderly.
"No!" It was the patient again. He sat up in bed, and a long, sinewy arm shot out, grasping Alan by the front of his uniform and yanking him forward. In an instant he was clasped in the alien's powerful embrace, unable to breathe.
"No!" the Jilectan shrilled. "You will stay here, Terran! I order you to --"
There was sudden commotion in the room. The Lady Jilectan screamed, and the male uttered a sharp exclamation. With his face squashed against the patient's chest, Alan was unable to see, and for an instant he couldn't imagine what had happened. There was a rush of footsteps toward the door and the sound of the panel sliding open. He remained still, unable to move, locked in the Jilectan's unyielding embrace.
"We must go, My Father." It was the Lady speaking. There is trouble."
Then they were gone. Alan was left alone, except for the unconscious orderly and the patient, who still clutched him tightly.
"M'Lord, please --” He tried to free himself, uselessly. "I...can't...breathe.”
The arms tightened, squeezing the remainder of air from his lungs. "No!"
There was a soft footstep, behind him, and abruptly the alien’s grip was relaxing. Alan straightened up and staggered, almost falling. A large hand caught his arm.
"Easy, kid. Get your breath back.”
"Mark!" Alan turned fearfully toward the alien on the bed. "What happened?"
“Gave him a good, healthy shot in his I.V. He'll be out five or six hours. Let's get outta here. Somethin's stirred up the hornets bad. We gotta make tracks."
"Mark, the orderly!”
Mark paused, his gaze alighting on the limp figure in the corner. "Oh, hell!"
"Mark, we've got to --"
"We ain't got time!"
"Get him out of here, quick," Alan said. "They're going to kill him if you don’t."
Linley gave in, swearing under his breath. Quickly he hoisted the limp body to his shoulders and turned toward the door. "Poor li'l flunky didn't please his master, huh? Okay, move it kid.”
They went out the door. Mark certainly had not understated the case, for everywhere there was mass confusion and rushing figures. The orderly groaned, beginning to stir.
Linley glanced around in awe. "Musta been a distress call of some kind, but it sure hadta be somethin' big to fluster the troops like this. I don't suppose you picked up any of it?”
Alan shook his head. "My shields were up tight with all those Jils in the room, but they all jumped up at once and ran out. Like you said, it must have been something big. Do Jils do that often?”
"If one of 'em gets in bad trouble, they do. Happens occasionally, and when it does, every Jil within a radius of twenty kilometers or so picks it up. I've seen it a couple o' times before -- but never anythin' this dramatic." He glanced again at the figures rushing past them, paying no attention at all to the two Terrans and the unconscious orderly. "What’ll I do with this guy?"
Alan opened a utility closet. "In here."
Mark toted the man inside and lowered him to the floor with a grunt of effort. Alan knelt beside him. "Are you okay, Mister?"
The orderly groaned again, one hand going to his head. Mark caught Alan by the arm. "C'mon, or by the stars, I'll stun you and carry you out."
"Okay." Alan stood up. The orderly groaned again, eyelids lifting. Linley glanced at him briefly. "Take it easy, Bud," He said. "You been damn lucky this time."
Alan went with him into the hallway again. The confusion was dying, down, and Mark strode toward the lift, Alan at his side. The doors slid open as they approached, and two Jilectans emerged, walking rapidly, even for Jilectans. Alan and Mark moved quickly aside, Mark saluting smartly. The aliens went on past, and Mark and Alan entered the lift.
They went downward, stopping on the first level. Mark strode toward the entrance, Alan beside him, and the guard at the door lifted a hand in recognition to Alan.
"Hi, kid. I heard 'em pagin' you right before the ruckus started. Did you hear it, too?"
"Yes." Alan nodded. "Thanks. I already answered."
"What's all the commotion about, anyway?” the man inquired. I never saw s'many Jils rushin' around like a bunch of dawbats in rut. Was it a telepathic distress call?"
"Probably," Mark said. He ushered Alan through the doors before him. Two Jilectans exited right behind them, running. The two Terrans leaped out of the way.
"Dammit!" Mark snapped. "I wish you'd be a little less friendly with all the folks. You'd think it was a Christmas homecomin' or somethin'. Getcherself in trouble.”
"Huh?" Alan glanced at him, surprised. "What do you mean?"
"That guy at the door. What did you do, strike up a conversation with him when you came in? It was pretty obvious he knew you."
"Him? I didn't do anything. He started talking to me. I hardly said a word!"
"Ah, he ain't the only one." Linley grinned suddenly. "I even hafta pull you outta the arms o' the damned Jils. What the hell did you do to make that guy like you so much?”
"I didn't do anything! I changed his dressing under the threatening eyes of his son and daughter."
"But why you?"
"He was displeased with the services of that poor orderly."
"Yeah, I could see that." Mark's grin widened. "You empaths! Good thing you're such likeable little cusses, or you'd never survive. Here's the aircar.
Mark opened the door for him, and Alan got in. "Did you get what we went after, by the way?"
Alan nodded. "Not all of it, but enough to make it worthwhile."
"Well, that's good. When I saw those two Jil docs go in the room, I was afraid I was gonna hafta muscle in. But you handled it just fine.”
"Thanks.” Alan felt smug.
The aircar lifted from the ground and moved west. Mark pressed the communicator's transmit switch. "Kev? Angie? You there?"
"Mark!" It was the frantic voice of Angela Westover. "Thank God you've called! We've got trouble!"
"What?” Mark looked quickly at Alan.
"Come to the station right away and I'll explain it. I've been trying to contact Alan, but he's had his shields up."
"You're not at the rendezvous point?"
“I'm en route to the station with Kevin."
Alan sensed something, and leaned forward. "Angie, are you hurt?"
Kevin Bronson’s voice responded. "She got winged by a blaster. It ain't bad. Listen, we better not talk no more. They could be monitorin' us. Probably are, in fact. See you at the station."
The com went dead. Alan and Mark looked at each other.
"What's goin' on?" Mark asked.
"I don't know, and I don't dare lower my shields to find out. If she was hit, then the Jils know there are Underground psychics around, and they're probably actively scanning for us."
"Yeah." Linley switched on the radio. "Let's see if there's any news on the air yet."
Music poured from the speaker, and Mark switched channels, looking for a news station.
"...The kidnapping of Lady Travinthzill. The Vicerienne was apparently taken prisoner by the Terran Underground about fifteen minutes ago. Her Highness’s chauffeur and bodyguard were killed during the abduction."
"Oh gosh!" Alan whispered.
Mark cussed softly.
The broadcast continued. "This incident occurred fourteen kilometers west of the Loquin spaceport. Former Strike Commander Mark Linley was identified at the scene, and a female member of the Underground is believed to have been wounded during the abduction. She is described as a small, slender girl, with dark, curly hair and wearing dark clothing. Her Highness is reported to have sent a strong, telepathic distress call the attack occurred, but was either drugged or killed immediately, for the call was terminated abruptly."
"Oh, Man!" Mark said. "Kevin must've been the one they thought was me, and Angie was the Terran female. I wonder what the hell they were doin' there, and why the Underground suddenly decided to kidnap the Vicerienne.”
“Maybe it wasn't the Underground," Alan suggested hopefully. "Unless they have some motive we don't know about, it sounds like an awful stupid stunt. Maybe Angie picked up the call for help and went to investigate. She'd have had her shields open, of course, in case I called for help, and they must have been close to the scene. Our rendezvous point was only about seventeen kilometers west of the spaceport in that wooded section.”
The broadcaster was continuing, once again describing and elaborating on the incident. Then the deep tones of a Jilectan emerged from the unit, and Mark and Alan leaned forward, listening.
"This is the Viceroy, Lord Halthzor." There was barely controlled fury in the alien's tone. "I am addressing my wife’s abductors. Whatever your disagreement with me, I request that you send a representative and voice it, that we may come to terms. If you do not harm my wife, I will comply with your wishes, if they are within reason.” There was a long pause as the Jilectan apparently struggled with himself. Then, once more, his voice emerged from the unit, this time much subdued. “I am asking you earnestly, not to harm my wife." The voice fell further. "Please do not harm her."
"History's been made," Mark said wryly. "I ain't never heard a Jil say please before, especially when talkin' to one of the lower species."
"And Halthzor at that," Alan added. "I guess he must care a lot about this Lady." For a moment he felt almost sorry for the alien. He knew how it felt to have someone you love in the power of a ruthless enemy.
"Mark Linley." Halthzor was speaking again. "Since you were identified at the scene of the abduction, I know the Terran Underground is responsible for this. You have power in the Underground -- you must after the things you have done. There are many requests you could make..." For a moment it sounded almost as though the ruler's voice had caught. But it steadied at once. “But, do not hurt my wife. If you do not harm her, I will endeavor to grant whatever requests you make.”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “My! My! I've been elevated beyond my wildest dreams. There's the station ahead."
The aircar settled into a narrow, littered street and Mark cut the engines, his face becoming thoughtful. "You're right, kid, he really must care for this one. His number one wife, or I miss my guess.”
Alan nodded slowly. "He wasn't acting. I'm sure of that. I didn't realize the Jils were capable of real affection -- even toward one another."
"They are, although not as much as we Terrans are. Jils usually stand up for each other, but their meaningful relationships –- love -– close friendships, and so forth, are a lot rarer than the ones between Terrans. They usually have a number one Lady -- and that's usually the only one outta the whole harem that they married for love. The others are hitched to 'em cause o’ custom, or family ties, or maybe 'cause the Lord had a moment o' weakness an' the Lady was pretty. And generally their number one Lady is the only one o' the bunch that's faithful to her Lord."
"Gosh!" Alan said.
"Yeah. Other species, other customs," Mark said. He opened the door of the aircar. Together, the two men entered the Chelari Bar and Grill.
The Underground Station was a tiny, hole-in-the-wall establishment on the south side of Loquin. It was located in one of the grungiest sections of town --completely standard for subject species' establishments on Jilectan populated worlds. They went past a slumped figure next to the doorway, and Mark kicked a bag of garbage out of his way as they proceeded. Something small and hairless scurried away, voicing a shrill squeak.
The tall, good-looking Terran behind the counter glanced up as they entered. Half a dozen customers, three of them patrolmen, were seated at various tables in the room. The 'trols, Alan noted, were congregated at one table, and a young woman in an abbreviated costume had joined them. One of the men had an arm around her shoulders, and a bottle stood on the table before them.
Alan seated himself alone at another table, while Mark went up to the counter. They both knew, of course, that they must avoid the appearance of being together -- not with Mark still clad as a patrolman, and Alan in civilian attire. Alan removed his fur hat, and set it on the table before him, but left his cloak on to hide the pale blue nurse's uniform he wore. It might not matter, but when the odd disappearance of David White from the Loquin Hills Hospital was investigated, and the real David White was discovered, drugged to the gills in an abandoned barn outside the city, Alan didn't want the three patrolmen present to recall seeing a hospital employee entering the Chelari Bar and Grill on the same morning of David's disappearance.
A young woman approached the table where Alan was seated, her large, dark eyes meeting his knowingly. "What'll it be, sir?"
"Give me some Sepo brandy, Pansy," Alan said.
The woman turned away, and was back a moment later, setting a tall, slim bottle on the table before him. "Want some company, Mister?"
Alan half rose. "Please, sit down."
The patrolmen at the table across & the room were watching. Alan knew that often the civilian population was preferred by the women in these places over the company of 'trols, so Pansy's attentions were nothing for anyone to become suspicious about. One of the men grinned, beckoning to her. "C'mon over here, baby! We got time to spend and money to burn."
Pansy ignored him, seating herself across from Alan. She had thoughtfully brought two glasses, and he poured her a drink, then one for himself.
She lifted the glass, sipping, her dark eyes once again meeting his.
"Trouble, Alan," she said softly.
He nodded. "I figured."
"Kevin's in the back with Angie. She's hurt."
Again he nodded, and out of the corner of his eye saw Mark disappear through a rear door, one arm around a young woman's waist. Alan hoped he could look as convincing when his moment came. Thank goodness, Ed Quade had sent a short one to seduce him. Pansy was only about a centimeter or two taller than he.
Alan reached across the table, taking her slim hand in his. "Shall we go?"
She smiled teasingly. "Better look me over a few times and flirt a bit first, luv," she whispered. "Those 'trols are sure tryin' their best."
"Oh. Sorry.” Alan flushed and allowed his gaze to rove over the girl's bosom. This kind of acting was more than a little difficult for him. He had always been shy with women, for one thing, and besides, he was now married to a young woman that he loved to distraction. Pansy and he had known each other for some time, and even before his marriage to Lyn, Pansy had seemed more like a sister than anything else.
"Good boy.” She leaned forward, revealing a generous amount of cleavage. Alan moved his chair around the table until he was directly beside her, and slipped an arm around his shoulders. Pansy giggled, helping herself to another drink and snuggled closer to him, sipping from the glass.
"Think I've made my intentions clear enough?" Alan whispered.
"I guess so." Pansy laughed suddenly, and to his astonishment, kissed him quite seductively on the neck, making him catch his breath. "There!" she whispered softly. "I've wanted to do that for a long time. Oh, darn! Sometimes I wish..." She stood up. “Oh, well. Come on, sweetie."
Alan rose, too, feeling the heat flood his face. He'd never realized before that Pansy was actually attracted to him, as well as being very fond of him in a friendship type of relationship. She'd always kept her shields carefully up before while around him. He wanted to speak to her, but for the life of him, couldn't think of anything appropriate to say.
Apparently she didn't expect him to say anything. She hooked her arm through his and guided him forward past the patrolmen. The men were silent now, and he read envy and irritation in their minds. They were wondering, he knew, why Pansy would prefer a young green boy, even though a civilian, over one of the large, muscular Viceregal patrolmen. Alan felt a tiny glow of smug satisfaction. Let 'em wonder!
Pansy led him through grimy curtains and down a short hallway, then up a short flight of stairs. Alan wished he could think of something to say to her. After all, if she felt that way about him, it seemed almost rude for him to appear indifferent to her, and yet --
She pinched his arm. "Stop kicking yourself, Alan. I understand, of course, but I can't help the way I feel, and you can't blame me for looking, can you?"
"Pansy, I --"
"Oh, sure, I know you’re a married man, and you'd be a fool to give up Lyn for me. But I still thought it was okay to kiss you. After all, I may never have another chance." Her hand squeezed his arm a moment, then released it. "In here."
Alan went through a low doorway and found himself in a small sitting room. Mark was already there, Ed Quade beside him. On a sofa to one side, looking pale, lay his cousin, Angela Westover, her left shoulder swathed in a white bandage.
Kevin Bronson, Angela’s partner, swiveled in his chair beside her. "Hi, kid. Took you long enough to get here. Whatcha so pink for?”
Pansy dimpled and went out.
"Nothing," Alan said. He sat down and Quade handed him a cup of coffee.
"We've got problems, guys,” he stated.
Alan nodded. "The Vicerienne. Did the Underground really kidnap her?"
"No," Quade said. "But Halthzor thinks we did." He glanced at Angela. "Tell him your story, Lieutenant.”
"Backtrack, baby," Mark said. He looked at Alan. "They've already told me part of it, but I want you to hear it first hand, too."
Angela nodded. "Kevin and I were in the skippership waiting for you at the rendezvous point. My shields were down, just in case you tried to contact me, when suddenly there was this voice in my mind, screaming for help. I'd never felt anything like it before. I sensed a Jil, sure, but the call was very intense --" She hesitated. "I can't explain it. I had to answer."
"A Jil distress call usually is," Mark said. "They broadcast like crazy to every unshielded psychic in the area.”
Angela nodded. "I knew it was close, but the call was cut off almost at once. All I caught, besides the fear, were the words, 'Lady Travinthzill'. Well, I knew she was one of Halthzor's Ladies, and --" She hesitated. "I can't explain it!" She repeated the words suddenly and almost angrily. "I had to answer."
No one spoke. Angela cleared her throat and reached for a glass of water beside the sofa. Kevin grabbed it and handed it to her.
"We got there within moments," she continued. "The kidnapping was still in progress."
"I didn't know what was goin' on," Kevin put in. "'Specially that it was a damn Jil we were tryin' to save, or I wouldn't a' gone along so peaceably -- or let Angie risk her neck the way she did." He frowned at his primary partner. "Well, like she said, we got there quick -- they hadn't even got her into the ship yet. They were carryin' her toward it, though, and her aircar was down in a little clearin' in the grove. I dunno what she was doin' there, dammit...and the news broadcasts say she was on her way to visit her brother. He lives in the other direction."
“Maybe the chauffeur was in on it," Mark suggested. "If she isn't a precog, she might not have realized anything was wrong -- if she didn't bother to read her chauffeur before they started."
"Well, if the guy was in on it, it didn't pay off,” Kevin remarked dryly. "'Cause he was dead as a doornail by the time we got there. Makes sense, though, don’t it? I mean, once they had what they wanted outta him, they had no reason to keep him alive. On this kind of a job, they'd be a lot more certain of success if they had somebody on the inside."
“Yeah.” Mark said. "Still, though, it'd be an awful risk to take. What if the Jil’d decided to read him?"
"She couldn't," Angela said softly. "He was an Arcturian."
"Oh," Mark said.
An Arcturian, Alan thought. The pseudo-reptilian species from Ceregon in the Arcturus system. The Arcturians were the only species in the galaxy that the Jilectans couldn’t read. It was unlikely that the Lady had employed an Arcturian as a chauffeur at all times, but if her usual chauffeur -- probably a Procyon -- or possibly a Terran -- had happened to become conveniently ill....
"Who were they?" he asked. "Who was doing the kidnapping? Did you get close enough to see them clearly?"
Angela nodded. "We sure did. It was three Raghiki."
**********
tbc
