Plague: 2/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
II
"Attention please. Your attention please..."
Fong came groggily awake. The ship's intercom was sounding. "We will be making the transition from hyperspace to normal space in ten minutes. All passengers are advised to seat themselves and fasten safety webbing. If you wish to sleep longer, you may remain in your bed during the transition, but please fasten the bed's safety webbing around yourself. Repeat, we will be..."
Fong sat up and the room lights brightened automatically. He blinked at the bedside chronometer. 0845 ship's time. He'd slept well: much better than he remembered sleeping for a long time. Perhaps the doctor had been right. He had needed to get away, to forget his duties for awhile.
He got up and stretched, muscles cracking. The little automaton provided for his convenience had cleaned up his discarded clothing while he slept, and fresh clothing had been laid out on a chair. He donned it, reveling in the light, smooth material, tailored for the warmth of the liner. The automaton placed a cup of coffee on the table beside his bed and purred away to gather up his discarded night clothing.
Fong sipped the coffee and drew the cup back to regard the brew suspiciously. The stuff had a rich, unfamiliar flavor to it, not unpleasant, but surprising to someone not expecting it. He spoke to the automaton. "Hey, you, what is this stuff?"
"Coffee, sir," the little device responded expressionlessly.
"What kind of coffee?"
"Terran, sir, grown on the island of Hawaii, on the planet Terra, third world in the System of Sol, coordinates..."
"That's enough." Fong took another sip, savoring the taste. Man, it was good stuff! Somehow the realization that the beans had been grown on the very island where Mai Wing had been born added flavor to the brew.
The ship's intercom spoke again with the two minute warning. Fong fastened his safety webbing and sipped his coffee. The little automaton unobtrusively placed magazine disks and a reader on the table beside him. Fong glanced at it, wondering idly if such robots would ever really replace real servants. He missed Darrin, and again wished he had brought the young man along. Though God know, Darrin had probably needed a vacation, too.
With a jolt the ship converted to normal space and a moment later the intercom spoke again, announcing that they would be docking at the Drevelle Spaceport on Corala in fifteen minutes. The stop here would encompass four hours, so anyone wishing to leave the ship to see the sights of Corala and the historic Viceregal Patrol Establishment might do so. Also breakfast was currently being served in the lounge at the moment for anyone who wished to remain aboard.
Fong had seen the "historic Viceregal Patrol Establishment" far too many times to suit him, and had no particular wish to repeat the pleasure. He had spent three uncomfortable weeks at the hospital there several years ago during an ulcer flare up. He frowned in memory. Unknown to himself at the time, the Underground agent, Lyn Parnell, had also been a patient there. She had been apprehended on Ranlach and had been seriously wounded during her capture. She had been taken to Corala for treatment and while she was there, Underground agents had infiltrated the establishment and rescued her. No one knew exactly how they had done it, but the notorious Alan Westover had been identified by several witnesses as being present in the hospital lobby minutes after her disappearance from her hospital bed.
Fong had known nothing of this at the time, too occupied with the pain in his stomach to care about anything else. But a year after the incident he had been summoned to the presence of Lord Halthzor, himself. He grimaced now in memory of the Viceroy's cool, grey eyes and grim, handsome features. A signature upon his chart from the hospital had been noticed, he was told. The chart was displayed to him, and he had stared blankly at the order for pain medication, written in a nurses precise handwriting. Beneath it, scrawled and almost unreadable, was the signature, A. Westover, M.D.
"Do you know anything about this, Strike Commander?" He recalled the Viceroy's cold, angry tone well.
"No, Your Highness. Nothing."
Steely grey eyes bored into his. "This is not Westover's handwriting. We have had it analyzed."
Fong could only spread his hands. "I'm sorry, sir."
"The order is dated upon the day the Parnell female was removed from the hospital."
"Yes sir, but I'm sorry, I knew nothing about it."
"Think. Westover did not, perhaps, enter your room?"
Fong had tried, but couldn't even recall the day indicated on the chart. The time was a confused haze to his memory.
Halthzor had done a deep mind probe, then had dismissed him. He had returned to his duties, relieved, but deeply puzzled.
The deck beneath his feet quivered slightly, then became firm once more. They had arrived on Corala.
Mai Wing was already in the lounge when he arrived. She smiled and beckoned him to join her. He seated himself, taking in her form with appreciation: the trim, white bodysuit, cinched tight at the waist by a dark belt, her hair tied back from her face with a wide white band. He glanced at her plate with interest.
"What are you having?"
"Buttermilk pancakes and bacon."
"Sounds dreadful...the pancakes, I mean. What's buttermilk?"
She laughed. "Here, try a bite." She extended a morsel on her fork.
He took it, and felt a touch of surprise at the taste. "Mm!"
"Like it?"
"Yeah!" He glanced up as the steward approached. "I'll have what she's having."
"Yes sir." The man filled his coffee cup and departed. Fong took a long swallow. It was the same stuff which had been provided for him in his stateroom. "Mm! Love this stuff!"
"Kona coffee? It's the best in the Sector."
"Grown on the island of Hawaii."
She smiled. "Yes. I've never tasted any better."
"I haven't either. Listen, Mai, we're on Corala. Would you...I have to go ashore to pick up some camping supplies. Would you like to come with me? I'll show you around."
For the first time her clear eyes wavered. "Uh...no thanks, Lee."
"Why not? You worried about 'trols? I'll be with you."
"Not 'trols. I'm thinking about the Jils."
"Oh. But they..."
"Please, Lee." She looked up again. "I'm little."
"Oh." He stared at her, suddenly understanding. The outlawed, degenerate Terran psychics, condemned to death by the Jils, were universally small people. Because of this, Terrans who were smaller than average were sometimes noticed more by the alien overlords -- noticed and probed for psychic ability. Mai wasn't a psychic, of course, but no one liked mind probes. Fong had been probed countless times, and had detested it.
"We can steer clear of the Jils?"
"On Corala? They're everywhere, aren't they?"
He grinned. "The places they aren't, aren't places we'd want to visit. Okay, you win." He glanced up as the steward set his plate of pancakes and bacon before him. "Thanks."
"You're quite welcome, sir."
***********
The trip ashore took the better part of two hours. Fong had to visit three different establishments before he found the articles he sought. When he returned to the ship he found himself boarding with a crowd of new arrivals. There were four Cetans, all crowded together with tentacles entwined, and all speaking rapidly in their own language. They were followed by two modestly dressed Arcturians, male and female, who made their way placidly up the ramp, the male walking slightly ahead, multijointed arms folded intricately before him as custom dictated. Three large Terran males followed, and Fong was about to fall in behind them when a party of beings emerged from a nearby lounge and he turned to see a Jilectan striding toward him, flanked by three other beings.
At first all he saw was the Jilectan. The being was slightly shorter than average, putting him only about twenty centimeters taller than Fong, himself. He was, however, powerfully built for a Jilectan, muscles rolling easily beneath the thin stuff of his bright green tunic. His head was covered with golden blond waves, cut just above the shoulders in the style of the lower class Jilectans, and he wore no jewels except for a sparkling red pendant on his breast. Fong leaped aside and bowed his head as the being swept by, not looking at him. His escort followed, and Fong lifted his gaze to watch them as they proceeded up the ramp and into the ship.
One of the was a Procyon, a seedy-looking bird, sporting what appeared to be a severe case of red mite itch, for the blue feathers on top his head were scraggly and sparse, and filled with flakes of dandruff. Behind him walked two Terrans, one a tall dark-haired, handsome fellow with military bearing, the other a young boy of approximately eleven or twelve, with brown, slightly tousled hair, blue eyes and a sprinkling of freckles. Fong waited until the party had entered and had time to reach their quarters before following.
Poor Mai Wing, he thought. She had refrained from going ashore to avoid Jils, and now one of the aliens had come on board. He wondered if she knew, and headed for his quarters in a hurry.
She was waiting to board the lift as he disembarked. "Oh, hi Lee. Here let me help you with that second package."
"I got it. Thanks. Could you just get the door for me? Here's the key."
"Sure." She ran ahead and opened the door. He entered and dumped the stuff on the bunk. The automaton purred forward but he waved it away.
Mai Wing examined the packages. "I love to go camping. How long are you going to be at it, Lee?"
"I'm not sure. I need a rest." He looked at her with a pang. When they arrived at Liskell, he would be getting off and would probably never see this young woman again. "I don't suppose you'd like to come with me, would you?"
Her smile was wistful. "I wish I could, Lee. You have no idea how much."
He swallowed hard and looked quickly away. "Did you know a Jil's come aboard?"
"Yes...Lord Clushvor." Her voice was not particularly upset and he turned to look at her. She smiled at him. "I'm okay, Lee. I don't seek out Jils company, but I'm not paranoid about 'em either. He probably won't even notice me if I avoid him."
"How do you know his name?"
"They announced it when he boarded -- in honor of having a Jil aboard a Terran vessel, and they also probably wanted to warn the passengers. These are mostly Terran born citizens, and a lot of 'em have never seen a Jil before." She went to the door. "Will I see you at lunch, Lee?"
"You sure will ... I mean, may I have the pleasure?"
"Of course." She smiled charmingly and went out, the door sliding closed behind her.
Leisurely he tucked his new purchases into the slots provided for the convenience of first class passengers. He was thinking about the Jil -- Lord Clushvor. The name indicated, as Fong had already suspected, that the alien belonged to the Jilectan lower class. Few middle class, and none of the upper class Jils used public transportation. But lower class probably didn't have enough money to afford private transport.
He would avoid Lord Clushvor if at all possible, Fong decided. Like Mai Wing, he too had his reasons, although they were not the same as hers. He, Fong, was a high ranking Patrol officer, and such men as himself often wielded more actual power than lower class Jils -- a fact which those Jils tended to resent. And if Clushvor chose to demonstrate to Fong that he was only a Terran and therefore, at least physically, Clushvor's inferior ... well, Fong doubted strongly that anyone on the ship would interfere. He had no desire to get slapped around by a jealous Jil, particularly not in front of Mai Wing.
He would order dinner in his cabin tonight, he decided: dinner for two. Perhaps Mai Wing would join him.
The intercom announced takeoff an hour later, and Fong sat down, fastening his safety webbing. A few minutes later the ship departed from Corala, now heading for Riskell. Arrival, announced the captain over the intercom, would be in twenty-five hours.
Fong glanced at his chronometer. Five past noon ship's time. Mai Wing would be waiting for him. He stood up and went to the door. Cautiously he opened it, peering out.
No one was in sight. He went out, closed the door behind him, and headed for the lift.
Ahead of him a door opened and a child emerged. Fong stiffened as he realized it was the young boy he had seen following Clushvor into the ship. What was he, Fong wondered. Some kind of page, perhaps? Jilectans did not usually employ human children.
The boy approached, and Fong found himself looking into a pair of clear, bright blue eyes. As he drew closer, Fong realized something. The boy was older than he had first thought: possibly as old as fourteen or fifteen.
"Hi," the kid said.
"Good day." Fong had no desire to strike up an acquaintance here. This kid was the Jil's flunky, and the farther Fong could distance himself from Clushvor, the better.
"You're the Strike Commander, aren't you? Strike Commander Fong?"
Fong stiffened. "Yeah. Who told you?"
"A couple of people." The boy gestured vaguely. "Everyone knows who you are."
"Yeah, I suppose." Curiosity got the better of him. "Who are you?"
"I'm Lord Clushvor's servant."
"Aren't you a little young?"
The boy grinned. "I suppose. But I'm good."
"You must be. Who's the Procyon?"
"Le Frit. He's an okay guy except for that blasted red mite of his. I wish he'd get serious about it, but he only shampoos when Clushvor makes him."
"Yuk." Fong grinned in return and found himself liking the kid more than he'd intended to. "What about the other fellow?"
"Trev. He's a bodyguard -- the best. Look, M'lord sent me after a soda for him. Is there a machine somewhere?"
"Down at the end of the hall. M'lord drinks soda?"
"Yeah. He likes lemon-lime flavor best."
"I never heard of a Jil...ectan who liked soda."
The boy grinned again. "He learned to like it from me."
"From you?" Fong had never heard of such a thing. Maybe the kid was lying.
A shrug and the boy's face seemed to quiver slightly. "I gotta go."
"Wait a minute ... your accent ... you're Terran, aren't you?"
"Of course."
"I mean, Terran born."
"Oh. Yeah, I am."
"What's your name?"
"Jason." The boy extended a hand. Fong shook the hand.
"How old are you?"
"Fourteen. Look, I gotta go. See you later." Fong watched the boy, curious and puzzled. Jason hurried on past and turned the bend in the corridor. Weird situation, he thought. The boy just didn't act like a Jil servant. Fong had known dozens of Jil servants in his life and little Jason -- well, he just didn't fit the mold at all.
He thought about it as the lift descended with him. Jason's whole attitude had been one of ease, almost of friendship when speaking of his master. But that couldn't be, of course. Terrans bowed before Jils and treated them with respect (of necessity) but never ever regarded them as friends.
The lift slid open and he strode out, heading for the lounge. Perhaps Clushvor was gentle with the boy because of his age or perhaps -- Fong didn't like to think of the other alternative. Still, Lord Clushvor had brought no females aboard with him, and certain Jilectan males found Terran boys desirable. He remembered unpleasantly what he had heard of Lord Stovinthvor. Perhaps Lord Clushvor liked them younger still. A boy of Jason's age and size...? The idea was slightly nauseating. Still, the kid didn't seem maltreated, and held his head up, speaking of Lord Clushvor with affection and respect. But then, of course, he would.
Maybe he was wrong. He sure hoped so. Fong entered the lounge. After all, it was really none of his business.
He looked around for Mai Wing, and found her at once. She was seated at a table, a neglected glass of wine before her, and in the company of a large, rather plump fellow; one of those Fong had seen come aboard upon his return to the ship. Fong's eyes took in the situation -- the man's knee pressed against hers, his posture as he leaned toward her, and Mai Wing's uncomfortable expression.
Annoyed, perhaps unreasonably, he strode across the room to the table and pulled out a chair. "Hello Mai. Sorry I'm late."
The other man bristled, starting to rise, but Mai Wing spoke quickly, her voice relieved. "Oh, there you are, Lee. Mr. Dixon, may I present Strike Commander Fong Lee. Lee, this is Gerard Dixon."
The two men shook hands, murmuring their pleasure at the meeting. Then Dixon, making an obvious effort to maintain a pleasant expression, stood up. "Thank you for your company, Miss Wing, but I must be going now." His tone was one of forced geniality. "Very nice to have met you, Strike Commander."
Fong stood up. "And you, Mr. Dixon."
Dixon moved off and Fong sat down again, glancing sideways at Mai Wing. Her eyes were on her wineglass and there was a faint rose flush beneath the smooth olive skin. Tentatively he reached over and placed his hand over hers where it lay on the table. "I trust you don't resent my heading off the competition?"
She looked up with a tiny smile. "Believe me, Lee, he was no competition."
The smile, for some reason, made his heart contract with hope. She preferred him. Mr. Dixon, although somewhat plump, was not a bad looking guy. He tightened his hand on hers for a moment. "Have you ordered yet?"
"Of course not. I was waiting for you."
Again that half painful contraction in his chest. What the blazes was wrong with him? She was just a girl! He'd known hundreds like her...no, not exactly like her. None, in fact, that could compare with her. He let go of her hand and signaled the waiter. The man approached, took their orders, and departed. Fong turned back to Mai Wing.
"What did he want?"
"Who?"
"Mr. Dixon."
"Oh. What do you think he wanted?"
Fong started to stand up, but Mai Wing caught his hand, pulling him back down.
"Easy, Lee. A woman alone with a glass of wine before her is an open invitation. He at least had the decency to ask me to dinner."
"What did you say?"
"I told him I had a previous engagement."
"Did you now?"
"Well, maybe it was presumptuous of me, but I thought you might ask."
"As a matter of fact, I was planning to have it in my room and was sort of hoping you'd join me."
"In your room?" she looked dubious and he felt a pang. Was she going to refuse?
"Yes. I don't really want to be around that Jil any more than you do."
"I know. Technically you may outrank him. A lot of lower class Jils resent Patrol officers because of that, and you're afraid he might get a little aggressive with you."
He stared. "You're very knowledgeable about Terran-Jil relations."
"I travel a lot." She looked down. "Travel is a good teacher."
"You mean, you've been in this situation before?"
"Not precisely, but similar ones. Look, Lee, I'll be happy to accept your invitation on one condition."
"Sure. What?"
"No hanky panky."
"Hanky ... oh, you mean ..." He also looked down, a bit disappointed but determined not to show it. "Of course not. What kind of a guy do you think I am?"
"A very attractive, very masculine Viceregal Patrol officer on a much needed leave."
He looked up to meet her eyes across the table. She was smiling quite confidently. He cleared his throat and found himself smiling in return. "Okay. You have my word as an officer and a gentleman."
"I couldn't ask for better." She picked up her glass of wine and regarded it dubiously. "I take it you haven't run into M'lord yet?"
"I saw him when he boarded. Oh, and I met one of his servants on the way down here. Young kid, fourteen years old."
"A boy? I didn't know the Jils ..." She stopped, looking troubled. "Uh ... did M'lord brink a Lady aboard with him?"
For a woman, Fong thought, she seemed amazingly astute. It was obvious her thoughts had followed the same line as his own, and far more rapidly. "No. At least I didn't see one."
"And they didn't mention one on the intercom announcement." She took a swallow of wine and made a face. A line had appeared between her brows. "The boy ... how did he look?"
"Little for his age."
"No ... I mean, did he look mistreated? Unhappy?"
"No. Cocky little devil. Seemed well adjusted and happy. Well as well adjusted as any kid his age who's a bit undersized could be."
"Did he look like he's getting enough to eat?"
"Slender, but most kids that age are. I was skinny as a rail."
"But a Jil ... employing a young boy like that. He ... Lee, I don't like it."
Fong sighed. "Look, Mai, I know what you're thinking, but it's really none of our business."
As soon as he'd said it, he regretted it. Mai Wing's expression went cold and withdrawn.
"No, I suppose not." She finished her wine in two swallows and set the glass down with a sharp clink. The waiter set their food before them and she glanced up. "Thank you, Carlos."
"You are welcome, Miss. More wine?"
"Yes, please."
The waiter re-filled her glass, glancing questioningly at Fong. He shook his head, watching Mai Wing. The waiter moved off.
"Mai ..."
"Forget it, Lee. You're quite right." She began to eat, not looking at him.
"He's a Jil, Mai! No matter what he does, we can't interfere!"
"Absolutely not!"
"Do you think I'm deaf? You're furious with me, but you know I'm right."
"He's a child, Lee! A Terran child!"
"He belongs to the Jil!"
"He belongs to himself -- and to the human race!"
Fong stared at her incredulously. "How can you say that? You know what the Jils are! You know what kind of power they hold over us!"
"Just because that's true doesn't mean it's right -- that we should just sit back and let them! You and I are Terran adults. Are we supposed to just look on while a Jilectan abuses one of our children?"
"Our children? He isn't mine!"
She went scarlet. "Like it or not, Strike Commander Fong, all human beings originated on the same planet. Little Jason isn't your child or mine, but he's a child of our race and our heritage! If we don't protect our children, who will?"
"I don't follow your reasoning." Fong felt himself reddening. "Jason isn't my responsibility!"
"No, I guess he isn't! Why don't you just retire from the human race, Strike Commander, sir?" She stood up. "I can see quite well where your loyalty is! It's sold to the highest bidder! Well, that doesn't include me!" She threw her napkin down and started for the lounge door. Faces turned to look at them. Fong also stood up, grasping her wrist.
"Hey! Wait a minute!"
Lord Clushvor strode through the door.
Mai Wing froze in his grasp, and Fong automatically came to attention, releasing Mai Wing's wrist. He was aware of the other patrons, many reluctantly, were rising to their feet. The steward came rapidly forward, bowed from the waist, and gestured. "This way, M'lord Clushvor."
M'lord Clushvor crossed the room, trailed by the boy. Mai Wing's eyes followed him and he felt her relax. Clushvor seated himself, arranging his robes meticulously around him, and, to Fong's unutterable surprise, the boy seated himself across the table from his master. He glanced across at Fong, smiled and raised a hand.
The patrons of the lounge were seating themselves once more, conversation considerably subdued. Fong glanced questioningly at Mai Wing. She didn't look at him, but returned to their table, picking up her fork. Her eyes remained fixed on the food before her.
Fong ate a bite of his salad. Mai Wing did the same. The silence stretched out between them. Fong stole a glance at the boy again and saw Jason watching him. A smile flickered across the kid's features and he said something to the Jilectan. Lord Clushvor turned to look at Fong. Fong felt his heart begin to pound and quickly lowered his gaze. He could feel the Jilectan still watching him. His skin crawled.
"He's not looking at you now." Mai Wing's voice was subdued.
Fong looked up, meeting her eyes. "Damn that kid, anyhow! The Jil's probably read my mind up and down by now -- and yours, too!"
"Probably." She swallowed, face pale. " I...I need to get out of here."
"Not yet. We don't need to attract any more attention."
"If ... if he sees what we've been thinking about him -- whether it's true or not ..."
"He already has, I'm certain."
"Oh, Lee!" She looked ready to cry. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm afraid you touched a sore point."
"What was it?"
"I ... can't talk about it. Please, can't we leave?"
"I suppose it won't matter. I'm sure he's sucked us dry by now. Can I still expect you for dinner?"
She nodded and drew a deep breath. "Of course."
He placed credit slips on the table, stood up, and as unobtrusively as possible escorted her from the room. Several other people, he saw, were also leaving.
He made the arrangements for the evening meal by phone from his room. Mai Wing arrived right on time, and her appearance took his breath away. If she didn't want any hanky panky, he would certainly not have known it by the way she was dressed. Her formal evening gown was designed to leave little to the imagination and possibly to inspire fresh imaginings. It must have cost a pretty penny, he thought -- probably more than he made in a month -- and since the entire creation contained hardly a square meter of material all told, that seemed an exorbitant amount.
She smiled breathtakingly. "Hello, Lee."
"You look lovely, Mai."
She extended a hand. "I could use a glass of wine."
"I ordered champagne."
"How nice!" She took the glass he offered, touched it gently to his, and sipped.
"Mm! How lovely!"
"Please sit down." He held a chair for her. "They sent up broiled lobster --another of your shellfish. I hope you like it."
"I love lobster." She placed her glass on the table and regarded him soberly.
"Lee, I want to apologize."
"Please. There's no need."
"But there is. I try to be so broad-minded, but as soon as we have a little difference of opinion I throw your profession in your face. I am sorry."
Fong felt himself melting. "Please don't. You were right, which I suppose is why I got so defensive. The Jils aren't fair to Terrans, but they're so blasted powerful that fighting them is useless. I suppose that's why I tend to retreat rather than face the problems -- the unfairness -- the cruelty I see."
"Self defense and survival." She nodded slowly.
"Yeah. And yet, if the kid really is being abused by a weird Jil ... man, it makes me sick to think of it."
"I don't think he is."
"Huh. You've changed your mind?"
She nodded. "If you were in his place, would you bring Jason with you, have him do such an unusual thing as share your table in front of dozens of Terrans? No. His relationship with Clushvor is something else."
Fong regarded her soberly. "You're probably right. I didn't think of that."
Something was bothering him, but he didn't know what it was. Mai Wing sipped champagne, smiling over the rim of her glass.
The evening passed pleasantly enough. At 2300 Mai Wing rose to go, and Fong escorted her back to her stateroom. She paused at the door, and he put his arms around her. Her lips were close to his, full and inviting.
The kiss was long and passionate. He held her tight against him, feeling a touch of wonder at the emotions churning in him.
She released him, disengaging herself gently. "Good night Lee. Thank you for a lovely evening."
He grinned. "Did I keep my word?"
"Like an officer and a gentleman." She opened the door, then hesitated. Fong's heart lifted with hope. Was she going to invite him in after all?
But, with a smile, she entered her stateroom and closed the door. Disappointed, but somehow elated, Fong started back toward his own room.
"Strike Commander?"
He froze, then turned. The boy, Jason, was coming toward him. Clad in blue striped pajamas and bare feet with a robe of gaudy red silk over it, the kid looked very young again, hardly more than ten. He came up beside Fong, his blue eyes interested and curious. "Took the young lady back, huh?"
"You saw?"
"Well, you weren't down to dinner, so I figured you were avoiding His Lordship and had dinner in your room." His grin widened. "I sure would if I was you!"
Fong didn't know what to say to that, but Jason apparently didn't expect an answer. He jerked his head. "Lord Clushvor sent me after you. He wants to talk to you."
Fong's heart dropped into his shoes. Here it came then. Clushvor had read his mind, and his disrespectful thoughts, coupled with his profession were sufficient excuse for a beating.
He followed Jason down the corridor and into the Jilectan's stateroom. The Procyon with the red mite opened the door for him and gestured him inside.
M'lord was seated at ease in a plush chair, drinking a glass of ruby liquid. Fong waited until he beckoned, then went forward to kneel before the being. Clushvor regarded him a long moment in silence. Fong's skin prickled.
The Jilectan leaned forward and placed a large, muscular hand on the side of his face. Fong tried not to flinch as the mind probe proceeded.
Then Clushvor straightened up. "You may rise, Strike Commander."
Fong did, keeping his eyes lowered. He had no doubt that the Jilectan now knew his entire history. He was a ridiculously easy read.
"Let me assure you, Strike Commander," the Jilectan said, "that I am not a Lord Stovinthvor, and I do not seek out young men or boys for that sort of gratification. What you think of me is no consequence to me, any more than the thoughts of a sloof, but they do bother my loyal servant -- rather foolishly I might add." He glanced at Jason and smiled benevolently.
"I beg your pardon, sir ... and yours, too, Jason."
"It may be of interest to you to know that I possess three wives and eight mistresses."
"Oh."
"The reason I am not traveling with them is no concern of yours, or the female you were with."
"Of course not, sir."
"Very well. You will enlighten her in this matter as well."
"Yes sir."
"You may go."
Jason escorted him to the door, opening it for him. "Good night, Strike Commander."
"Good night." He went out and the panel closed.
He almost ran to his room and shut the door behind him. He leaned against it, breathing hard. He had escaped a beating, at least for now -- incredible as it seemed. He pressed both hands to his chest in an attempt to quiet his heartbeats, then snatched up the nearly empty bottle of champagne and drained it. Man! He needed something stronger than that! He wondered if it was too late to order a bottle of brandy brought up.
He lay down. Drinking wouldn't help, he told himself, and it might well worsen his physical condition. He drew deep breaths, trying to relax.
It took him hours to let go enough to fall asleep, and even when he did manage to sleep, he was restless. He kept hearing Mai Wing's voice, speaking scornfully. "Like it or not, we're all Terrans! Who will protect Terra's children if not us! Little Jason isn't your child, and he isn't mine, but he's a child of our race and our heritage!"
In his dreams he heard his own voice. "Mai Wing, how did you know his name?"
He jerked awake, realizing he had been speaking aloud. For a long moment he lay still, staring up into the darkness, the words ringing in his mind. How had she known the boy's name? Had Fong told her? Carefully he searched his memory. He had been upset, and so had she. He must have mentioned the boy's name to her, but he couldn't remember doing so.
Against his will her face formed before his eyes. Strange; he must be dreaming again, and yet he saw her so clearly. Was he awake? He felt awake, but --
A tremendous jolt brought him out of his half dreaming state. It almost knocked him out of his bed, and he sat up, his heart knocking, eyes still unfocused. The lights in his room came on. He blinked, wiping a hand across his face, head spinning.
What had it been? A moment later he knew. The ship had come out of hyperspace unexpectedly, apparently, since there had been no warning announcement.
An alarm went off and the intercom crackled.
"This is the captain speaking. Please remain calm. All passengers are requested to remain in their cabins until further notice. We have an emergency, but at present things are under control. I repeat ...."
Fong snatched up his robe and headed for Mai Wing's room.
She opened the door before he had a chance to knock, and he saw that she was completely dressed, except for her shoes. She held them in one hand, motioning him inside, eyes wide, hair tousled, face white.
The ship jolted again, hard, sending them both staggering to one side. Fong caught Mai Wing, steadying her. The intercom crackled again.
"Attention ... your attention please. Our ship has been attacked by pirates and is being boarded. All passengers are requested to remain in their cabins and to make no resistance. The criminals have promised to harm no one who cooperates!"
"Pirates!" Mai Wing whispered.
He nodded. "There's a ring operating in the Corala-Riskell subsector--it's been robbing ships a lot through here lately, although recently there's been some competition showing up."
"Competition?"
"We think there's a second band who shows up and steals from the first."
"Oh." Her voice sounded alone and very frightened. "What'll they do to us?"
"I don't know. Don't let 'em know I'm a 'trol."
"I won't. What about me?"
He tightened his arm around her. "Just keep quiet. Don't do anything to draw attention to yourself."
"Okay."
They waited. Five minutes passed, then footsteps sounded in the corridor without. The door was kicked open and three men entered the room. One of them thrust a blaster at him. "Over there, buddy, an' keep the lady quiet. One squawk an' we blast you both."
Fong retreated, not speaking. The men proceeded to ransack Mai Wing's room, removing everything of value. It took perhaps ten minutes. Then they went out. The door swished shut behind them.
Mai Wing went limp against him. He clutched her tightly. "Easy. I think the worst is over."
She shook her head. "No ... no."
"They took everything. They won't be back now. No reason."
A shivering jolt threw them both sideways again. Fong tripped over a chair which the pirates had left in the center of the room during their search. He fell hard, cracking his funny bone on the bed frame. The alarm began to sound again.
Mai Wing bent over him. "Are you hurt?"
"Damn! Paralyzed for life, I think."
"It feels like we were hit again. What do you suppose happened?"
The alarm cut off with the captain's voice once again on the intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention ...." The guy was good and scared, Fong thought. He'd heard that tremor in a man's voice too many times to mistake it. "A second marauder has appeared and we are being boarded once more. There may be fighting and unpleasantness between the two gangs, so please, ladies and gentlemen, remain in your cabins and comply at once with all orders given by the pirates."
"The rival gang!" Mai Wing whispered. "The one you were telling me about!"
"I'd say so. This could be bad. The second bunch is probably trying to take the first bunch's prize away, and we're caught right in the middle."
She helped him up. "I'm scared."
"Me too."
The door burst open and two Arcturians entered, their yellow slitted eyes sweeping the room. One of them pointed a blaster at the two Terrans. "Bozz of you! Come!"
They went. The Arcturians herded them out the door and down the corridor to the lift. They were placed aboard along with half a dozen other passengers, including the young, honeymooning couple who had snubbed Fong that first day. The girl was sobbing wildly and clutching her husband's arm, while the husband looked ready to break into hysterics, himself, Fong noted.
They reached the first deck and were herded out, down the corridor to the lounge.
There were quite a few people there: many passengers in various states of dress and undress, as well as quite a few beings clad in gaudy pirate garb. A dozen others were holding weapons on the prisoners. Clushvor was standing against one bulkhead, and beside him was the Procyon with the red mite infestation and the bodyguard. All of them were dressed, although from the state of dress it was clear they had put their clothes on in a hurry. Jason, however, was nowhere to be seen.
"Over there!" Two Terran guards separated Fong from the rest of the group, herding him over beside the Jilectan. "Don't move, 'trol, or you won't be no good for the Jils or the ladies no more!"
The other guard guffawed.
Fong stood beside the bodyguard, acutely aware that he still wore only his pajamas and robe. The Jil's bodyguard glanced briefly at him, then away. There was no expression that Fong could see on the man's grimly handsome face. Wasn't he as scared as the rest of them? He must be.
The ship's officers, captain and crew appeared, herded in by more armed pirates. Fong looked around. Everyone was here now, weren't they? No, wait. The four Cetans and the two Arcturians he had seen enter before him on Corala were still missing, as well as Clushvor's young servant.
Six large Terran males clad in pirate garb entered the lounge and behind them ....
Fong's heart jumped into his throat and stayed there, thumping irregularly.
A Jilectan Lady had followed them in.
She was very tall, even for a Jilectan, with silver blond hair cut short around her face. Her slim body was clothed in a tight silver jumpsuit, like the clothing male Jilectans usually wore. Her ears, throat and hands sparkled with jewels, but on her hip she wore a large, very businesslike blaster. Her face turned toward him, and with an almost physical jolt, he realized he knew her. It was Lady Dishville, wife of the late, unlamented Lord Dishvor, a pirate and head of a huge crime syndicate in the Autonomy. Dishvor had died three years earlier, killed, presumably, by rival gang members. His Lady had since taken over the family business, managing it with far more craft and ruthlessness than Dishvor ever had.
She came toward them, her eyes sweeping Clushvor and his servants, and passing briefly over Fong. Fong felt himself shrink beneath her gaze. Her eyes were beautiful, a light silver gold, almost the same color as her hair, and ringed with surprisingly dark lashes. Perhaps she darkened them artificially. But it was the look in those eyes which made his skin crawl.
Then she turned away from the little group, addressing the assembled passengers in clear, flawless Terran English.
"In case some of you have not recognized me, I am Lady Dishville, wife of the late Lord Dishvor, who was ruthlessly slain by his contemptuous, crawling brother." Her arm swept toward Clushvor. "This creature here is he -- Lord Blashvor! I am here to preside at his execution -- and the execution of his slaves who assisted him in the murder of my beloved Lord."
There was a stir among the passengers. Fong stared. Lord Blashvor was yet another pirate -- not as well known as Dishvor's clan, but accounting for its own share of robbery and plunder. Blashvor!
The Jilectan was looking at the Lady, seeming to see no one else. She gestured him forward. He advanced, a small muscle in one cheek twitching slightly. Fong blinked, trying to match up the face with the blurred photo he had seen on the wanted poster. No, he would never have recognized the Jil -- a fact that Blashvor must have been well aware of or he would never have summoned a Strike Commander to his stateroom.
Blashvor was moving forward toward the Lady. Fong caught the nervous twitch of the Procyon's scraggly feathers, and heard the sharp, indrawn breath of the bodyguard.
The Lady spoke in the Jilectan tongue to Blashvor. Fong understood only a little of the language, and he missed completely what she said, but it was quite clear that Blashvor understood. Fong could see the tenseness of his body, but his voice was surprisingly steady as he answered the Lady.
The Lady slapped him hard, sending him staggering backward. The bodyguard caught him, and staggered, himself, at the impact of the Jilectan's weight. The Procyon helped, steadying both of them. The Lady laughed scornfully and made a gesture to her men. They stepped forward, and Fong was herded toward the exit, accompanied by Blashvor, his two servants, and, to his horror, two pajama-clad men whom he recognized as Maxwell and DeVille. The patrolmen, apparently, were to be included in M'lady's plans.
Maxwell was jostled against him, and he caught the man's words, a sardonic whisper. "Y'think she's gonna invite us t'join up?"
In spite of himself, Fong grinned. "I think she's nuts."
"You an' me both!"
They were marched forward into the empty outer lounge and Fong was shoved up against the bulkhead along with the others, Maxwell on his left, the bodyguard on his right. The Lady stood back, her eyes never leaving Lord Blashvor. She was fingering her blaster, and surveying the other pirate as though deciding how to start. She spoke again in the Jilectan tongue, and Fong was suddenly aware of something. The bodyguard understood her! Fong, long attuned to the emotions of others, saw the expression on the man's face flicker ever so slightly. The fellow glanced sideways at Fong, his body tense as a coiled spring. His lips formed words. "Be ready."
The fire alarm went off with a nerve jarring blare, and at the same instant all the fire extinguishers in the room triggered at once. Water and carbon dioxide mist filled the air, and at the same instant the bodyguard moved, hurling himself sideways against the Jilectan. Blashvor stumbled sideways, the Lady's blaster spat, and there were unintelligible shouts. Figures erupted into the room from both doorways, and Fong had a confused glimpse of Cetans and Arcturians, and blasters spitting all around him. The missing page, Jason, went by, yelling something. Fong turned, intending to make a run for it, and felt his wrist grasped.
"Come on!"
**********
tbc
