Plague: 3/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
It was Mai Wing who held his wrist and was pulling him toward the exit. He went with her, following a crowd of fleeing figures. Mai Wing turned slightly as they exited, and he saw she held in her dainty hand, a large, Patrol issue blaster. It spat, and out of the chaos behind them there issued a choked scream.
Then they were running down the corridor, following the fleeing shapes of Blashvor, the bodyguard, the Procyon and the young page.
"Where are we going?" he gasped.
She didn't answer, but yanked him to one side and he knew suddenly where they were heading: toward the lifeboat bays. They entered the hangar, and Fong swore breathlessly. The lifeboat was gone. Someone had been there before them! Probably Lord Blashvor, since he and his escort appeared to have vanished.
"This way!" Mai Wing was yanking on his arm and they entered a small crawlway. They scrambled up it, bruising elbows and knees, and reached the next deck. The lifeboat for that deck still remained.
They ran for the ramp and up it. The hatch stood open and they catapulted through. Fong turned to close the airlock.
"Wait!" It was a shrill cry and Fong turned his head to see the young page scrambling from the crawlway, followed by Blashvor and the bodyguard. For an instant the thought flashed through his mind that he should close it, anyway. He, a Patrol Strike Commander, certainly didn't want a pirate Jil on board.
But there was the page to consider, too, and as he hesitated, the three sprinted up the ramp. Three pirates appeared from the crawlway at that instant, and one of them fired. Jason yelped, and Mai Wing returned the fire. Their foremost pursuer screamed, falling backwards against his fellows.
Then the Jil was through the airlock, followed an instant later by the bodyguard and Jason, who was clutching a burned sleeve. Fong slapped the control and the airlock clicked closed.
"Hurry!" the page shouted. "One of 'em's going to ...."
A resounding explosion rocked them, hurling the boy to his knees. Staggering, Fong made it into the tiny control room, the bodyguard beside him. One of their pursuers had hurled a blaster set on emergency overload at the lifeboat.
The engines came to life under Fong's hands and the lifeboat jerked, then hurtled forward.
"He's damaged us!" It was the bodyguard, his slim fingers playing skillfully over the comp. "I don't know. Damn! Look out!"
"Holy space!" Fong stared at the viewscreen. "That's a Procyon warship!"
"That's Dishville's ship!" the bodyguard said, almost absently. "Get us out of here!"
Fong took the lifeboat under the great ship in a tight arc. It swiveled toward them, and Fong spun them sideways. "Set us for hyperspace!"
"It's set, Strike Commander!" The reply was crisp. "Twelve seconds!"
The ship fired at them and they were thrown hard to one side. Lights came on on the panel before them.
"Five seconds! Comp shows damage to the hyperdrive, sir."
With a jolt the stars on the viewscreen vanished into the darkness of hyperspace.
Fong drew a deep breath and for the first time turned to look closely at his companion. The man's cynical dark eyes met his expressionlessly, but he spoke first, answering the Strike Commander's unspoken question.
"Corporal Richard Trevor, Strike Commander."
"I knew it! How...." He shut up. The man's whole demeanor during the emergency had indicated his origins -- and he must have seen the recognition in Fong's expression. Trevor. Richard Trevor! He knew that name from somewhere. But --
There was no time now to puzzle it out. The engine was missing badly, and it was clear to both Fong and Trevor that they would have to come out of hyperspace soon to affect repairs. Trevor's hands flew over the comp's key pad. "He got us good. Dammit! There goes another one!"
An additional red light was blinking on the panel. Fong glanced toward it, then started uncontrollably as the figure of Lord Blashvor appeared in the doorway behind him.
"Remain seated, Strike Commander," the Jilectan said. "Trevor, what is our situation?"
"He hit us just a few seconds before conversion, sir. Plenty of damage." Trevor tapped on the computer controls and swore under his breath. "We're going to have to come out and try to repair it."
"Very well."
"How's Jason?"
"The young lady has doctored the burn. It does not appear serious."
"Good. Okay, Strike Commander, I'm going to bring us out. Better take manual when we convert and try to hold her steady. M'lord --"
"I will have the passengers strap in, Trevor." The Jilectan vanished back into the passenger section, and Fong felt his stomach muscles slowly untense. Trevor glanced sideways at him again and one corner of his mouth quirked into a smile.
"Fifteen seconds, Strike Commander."
Fong grabbed the manual control grips. Computers were great as long as they functioned correctly, but as bad as they were damaged, who could say what might happen when normal space was restored. The seconds ticked by, there was a jolt, and the stars reappeared.
"We are," Trevor stated, frowning at the readout, "point two seven light years from our previous position." He glanced at Fong.
"Okay." Fong managed to cut the engines and the sudden silence was eerie. Stars drifted past the viewscreen.
Once again Lord Blashvor appeared in the doorway, accompanied by Jason. The boy looked pale, the freckles standing out against the lighter background, and his right forearm was swathed in a white bandage.
Fong stood up quickly, almost banging his head on the low overhead, and bowed from the waist. A pirate Jil, he thought. Legally he should arrest the alien now. Hah! He'd be lucky if Blashvor didn't kill him as soon as his usefulness was spent. Jil pirates, as a whole, despised the Patrol.
Blashvor smiled fractionally. "You are quite safe, Strike Commander. Do not fear."
"Uh ... thank you, M'lord."
"I see the question in your mind. Yes, I was aboard the ship to sabotage it and bring it out of hyperspace that my men might waylay it. My men were the first boarders, but Lady Dishville somehow obtained knowledge of our plans and was waiting for us."
"I see, sir."
Jason smiled wanly. "She's had it in for Lord Blashvor ever since he killed her husband to save me."
"Oh. Then it was true? I thought she might have made that part up." Fong shut his mouth. The less he knew of Blashvor and his men, the better.
But Blashvor was smiling. "It was quite true. Dishvor was my brother, and a disgrace to my family's name."
"He was horrible!" Jason put in passionately. "After he caught me he ...."
"Jason," the Jilectan interrupted, "it is not necessary to divulge all of our history to the enemy -- and Strike Commander Fong is technically the enemy, despite the fact that we are presently comrades per necessity."
"Oh. Sorry, M'lord."
The Jilectan ruffled the boy's hair in an oddly affectionate gesture then turned back to Fong. "Do you think you can repair the hyperdrive, Strike Commander?"
"Uh ... I don't know. I'm not a tech." He glanced at Trevor.
The man shrugged. "I might be able to do something, but I'm not a tech either."
Together they began, jury rigging where parts were totally beyond repair. Jason looked on, giving occasional, surprisingly sound advice. Mai Wing brought them coffee from the galley, then stood by, herself, watching, but saying little. At last Fong straightened up, wiping his hands on his pajama bottoms, and glanced at Trevor. Abruptly the man's features leaped out at him. "Lord Rakinxvor!"
He didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until he saw the other man look up and grin faintly. "Yeah. You got a good memory to remember a lowly Patrol deserter."
"Well, not too many 'trols desert under such ... unusual circumstances. It was generally assumed that you ran off with the Underground."
The man laughed dryly. "Well, I won't say I didn't try, but no such luck. How's it coming? You finished with the diphaser?"
"As much as I can do. I had to rig it through the vamp tubes. I don't know how long it'll hold."
"Yeah. I've done a little patching and stapling, myself, but with luck it might get us to civilization." He glanced at Jason. "How do you feel about it, Shorty?"
Jason yawned like a cat, arching his back and stretching his arms over his head. "I feel okay about it. Where are we going?"
Trevor pressed a key on the control board. "The nearest system with a habitable planet is Epsilon Indi IV -- 0.527 light years away." He glanced at Blashvor, who had entered the control room, a glass of sparkling clear liquid in one hand. "Epsilon Indi's nearest, Lord Blashvor."
"Epsilon Indi?" Blashvor took a swallow from his glass and made a face. "There is a Patrol Base there." His gaze went to Fong. "This might prove to be a bit awkward."
Fong glanced at him, understanding at once. A pirate Jil, a Patrol Strike Commander, and a Patrol Base. He was, of course, under obligation to try to bring Lord Blashvor in to the authorities. However, such an action seemed, at the moment, impractical, if not impossible.
Therefore he turned to the pirate, and with all the diplomacy he could muster, cultivated to a fine art over the past twenty years smiled and spoke respectfully.
"Lord Blashvor, I don't think you need to worry about me trying to bring you to justice. I know my limitations."
"You are a patrolman. You are obligated to do it. I see that in your mind."
"Then you must also see my conviction that, for me alone, at least, the task is quite impossible. True, I have Mai Wing with me, and she's armed, but so is Jason, and from what I've seen of him I might have difficulties laying my hands on him alone, even if he didn't have a Jilectan and an ex-'trol to back him up. I'm afraid I'm a little out of my depth. I admit it."
Jason laughed suddenly. "If it wasn't so obvious he isn't, I'd say you should probe him, M'lord! He talks like an empath!"
"He has quite a gift, I will admit. Very well, Strike Commander. I will accept your half-promise for the moment and we will make for Epsilon Indi. How long will it take, Trevor?"
Trevor glanced up. "A little over an hour, sir."
"Very well. Set course at once and we will all strap in, since I can see that our trusty technicians have not the greatest faith in their efforts. Come, Jason."
Jason followed Blashvor out. Mai Wing looked quickly in and gave Fong an encouraging smile. He reached over to touch her cheek briefly. "Better strap in, honey."
"Okay." She vanished. Fong seated himself behind the controls, aware that Trevor was watching him. The former patrolman lifted an eyebrow at him.
"Very nice. Where did you find her?"
"On the ship, of course." Fong felt suddenly irritated and did not want to discuss Mai Wing with this handsome and virile young man. "We had dinner together the evening before all this happened."
Another raised eyebrow as the man manipulated controls. "Just dinner?"
Fong scowled, unreasonably annoyed. "Yeah."
"Comp set. Want to get us moving?"
Fong touched controls and the engines came to life. They still felt unwieldy beneath his hands. "Think the comp can handle it?"
"Stick to manual for a minute more. Okay, good. Now I'm taking it. Switching to comp ... now."
Fong let go of the controls. "How long have you been with Blashvor?"
"About three years. Hyperspace in ten seconds, sir."
Fong found himself smiling faintly at the "sir". Old habits died hard in ex-patrolmen. "He seems okay for a Jil."
"He's not bad. Conversion."
There was a rattling jolt and the stars on the viewscreen vanished. Trevor pressed the intercom. "This is Trevor, M'lord. I think it'd be best if everyone keeps their webbing on until we get there. We're having some difficulties."
Blashvor's voice responded. "I agree with you. We will remain in our seats, Trevor."
Fong let out his breath. "He even takes your advice. I've never had a Jil take my advice without letting me know that he was planning to do it, anyway."
Trevor's attention was on the comp, but his voice sounded half amused as he replied. "Don't want to talk about your Lady friend anymore, huh?"
Fong felt a flash of anger and quelled it forcibly. "There's nothing to talk about!"
"Really? I saw you come into the lounge together, and you still in your pajamas -- and she was holding onto your arm."
Fong felt his temper mounting. "I went to her cabin to see if she was all right!"
"Okay, no need to get huffy about it. I was a 'trol, too, you know." Trevor's lips quirked again, then became still. "You're Strike Commander Fong, huh? Still in charge of the 'Orion'?"
"Yeah."
"I heard you were sick just before I left. Are you okay now?"
"Stomach trouble."
"Stomach trouble? Pressures of the job?"
"Yeah. Ulcer."
"Humph! All cleared up now?"
Fong hesitated. "No, not really -- and I'm sure the present situation isn't helping any." He paused, suddenly realizing something. Since all this idiocy had begun, he had not felt any gastric discomfort at all, in spite of the fact that he had been under stress and indiscriminately consumed alcoholic beverages. Perhaps it was due to the nature of the stress, he surmised.
"Are you feeling okay?"
"Yeah, not too bad."
"Maybe it's because you aren't in charge anymore." Trevor turned forward, his expression grave again. "Makes a difference, you know."
"Yeah, maybe it does." Fong glanced sideways at his companion. "Why did you desert, Trevor?"
The man's expression darkened. "I had no choice."
"Why?"
"None of your business."
"I suppose not. What about Jason? Why does M'lord drag him around? I mean, it's obvious he's a very smart little guy, but he is just a kid."
"And we'd all be dead by now if it wasn't for him. He's the one who rallied Blashvor's men who'd managed not to get caught -- and thought up creating a diversion with the fire alarm." Trevor scowled at Fong. "Kid or not, he's worth three of you, Strike Commander."
Fong managed to conceal his irritation. "Okay. It's obvious it's a touchy subject with you. Sorry I asked."
Trevor didn't reply, his face grim, eyes again on the comp. Fong remained silent, too, and minutes passed. Suddenly the intercom crackled and Jason's voice emerged, sounding cheerful and confident. "Anyone alive up there?"
Trevor pressed the transmit. "Alive and well, Shorty. You?"
"Sure. Arm's quit hurting and the pretty lady's asleep."
"You can take a nap, too, if you want. You probably need it."
"Yessir, Papa Trev."
"Watch your mouth, Twerp."
"Na-nee-na-nee-naa-neee! Come and make me!"
"You don't think I won't?"
"I know you won't! Okay, I'll take a nap. I'm pretty shot. Wake me up when we get there."
"I probably won't have to."
"Not if this thing jolts like that again."
Silence hung heavily between them. Fong glanced nervously at his chronometer. They'd be there soon. What would happen then? Considering the shape this crate was in, they'd be lucky if they could land it in one piece.
Trevor was relaxed back in his seat and appeared to be asleep, but Fong doubted that he was. No use worrying, he supposed. Maybe that was why Trevor had no ulcers.
The warning light came on. He tapped a button on the comp. Ten minutes to normal space. Trevor didn't move. Fong tensed, watching the gauge tick off the seconds on the control panel. A red light flickered for an instant beneath the manual control lever, and a yellow came on beneath the hyperdrive indicator.
"Trouble," Trevor said.
Fong glanced quickly at his companion. He had been right. The man hadn't been asleep. "Think we'll make it?"
"If it goes out now we'll arrive at Epsilon Indi in about eighty or ninety years anyway. No big deal."
Fong grinned. Somehow he hadn't suspected Trevor of having a sense of humor.
"Naw. I guess once we're there we can catch fish."
"Huh? Oh, yeah." The man grinned faintly, eyes on the flickering light above the manual control. "Four point five minutes to go."
A warning beep sounded from the board. Fong grimaced. The hyperdrive was on its last legs, the jury rigging he had done about to give out. Hold on just a few more minutes ... His eyes went to the chronometer. The seconds ticked by agonizingly. Two minutes ... one ... thirty seconds ... twenty ... ten ... nine ....
The yellow light changed to red. Fong heard Trevor swear between his teeth.
The light changed back to yellow. The engines faltered. Five seconds ... four ... three ... two ....
The light became red again. The hyperdrive engines faltered a second time, then emitted an agonized squeal. A teeth rattling jolt hurled Fong forward into his safety webbing. The squeal escalated to a grinding groan, terminating in a rending snap. Then silence.
Fong opened his eyes. The stars were back. They had emerged into normal space.
"I think," Trevor's voice quivered only slightly, "that the hyperdrive's about finished."
"Yeah, no kidding! Did we make it?"
"Think so." Trevor pressed a button. "Yeah, we're at Epsilon Indi."
Fong watched the planet drift onto the screen. "Looks like we --"
He was interrupted. The repulsers groaned abruptly and the ship paused, then bucked forward like a demented bronco. He and Trevor grabbed for the controls together. Trevor got there first and gripped, using a cussword Fong had not heard in a long time. He heard Mai Wing cry out as the ship listed sharply to one side. The repulsers groaned in agony.
"Dammit! What the blazes is wrong now?" Trevor gripped the controls, trying to hold the ship steady as Fong pressed keys on the computer.
"The repulsers aren't responding well," Fong told him unhappily.
"You think? Are we going to be able to land?"
"I don't know. Something's awfully wrong here. We might have to take her in on manual."
"Wonderful." Trevor glared at the readout on the screen. Fong pressed another key. "There. Maybe the auxiliary will work."
Nothing happened. The ship lurched again.
"You're going to have to land her on manual," Fong told him. "It's not responding to computer direction."
"What the hell's wrong with the repulsers, though?" Trevor gripped harder as the ship lurched again. "Damn! Why does it keep doing that?"
"Damage somewhere. Repulsers themselves, from the feel of it."
"Yeah. Switch her over for me, will you?"
Fong did. "Have you ever glided in, Trevor?"
"No. Have you?"
Fong gave him a strained grin. "Sure -- on simulation, twenty years ago."
"Oh, that. Mine's a little more recent. I went through flight training ... uh ... eight years ago."
"Good. You're in charge."
"Your confidence in me is gratifying." Trevor swore as the ship lurched again. The repulsers faltered, then resumed. "You don't think I *will* have to glide us in, do you?"
"I hope not. She sounds awfully unsure of herself. Set us down anywhere. Don't be picky."
Trevor scowled, not looking at him. "Good at public relations, aren't you? Bet that's how you made Strike Commander."
"That and my magnificent brain." Fong pressed keys, trying to keep the tension down by keeping the conversation light. "I didn't have my looks to go on, like you do."
Trevor gave a bark of laughter. "Looks only give you an edge with the Lady Jils, and they don't give out promotions."
"No, but their fringe benefits aren't too bad."
Another bark of laughter. "I guess not -- as long as the Lady's Lord isn't too unreasonable."
"Did you ever meet one who was? They usually blandly ignore the whole business."
"Just one," Trevor said slowly. "Ever meet Lord Pomothvor?"
"Pomothvor! I hope you're joking. You got one of Pomothvor's wives after you?"
"Uh huh." Trevor grimaced in memory. "I don't recommend it."
"What did he *do*?"
"Beat me up -- bad. I was all of twenty."
"Put you in the hospital?"
"For two weeks -- then I was out another month recovering from the broken ribs. That guy had a real temper."
Fong nodded. "I never had the pleasure of his acquaintance, but I'm told ... watch it!"
The ship lurched violently and the repulsers faltered, their purr now ragged. Trevor gripped the controls, knuckles white. "Yeah, great Jil," he continued, his voice quivering only slightly. "Westover got him, though, before I was out of the hospital."
"And what happened to the Lady? Did you ever see her again?"
"Yeah. She came to see me after he was dead. Spunky gal, I've got to give her that. His nearest kin -- a brother, I think, had already married her. She was being taken to Riskell, and promised quite openly that if I was ever there, she'd visit me again. Quite a Lady."
"And did she ever?" Fong asked with interest.
Trevor's lips stretched slightly. "Well, it wasn't too long after that that I was assigned to a Psychic Hunter Task Force -- casing Terran worlds, you know?"
Fong knew, all right. The Psychic Hunter Task Force hunted Terran psychics, mostly children. It was dangerous work. The Underground tended to be extremely hard on such individuals -- to make them a public example to the rest of the Sector. "Man! How did you end up in that? How old were you? Twenty?"
"Twenty-one by then. I think Pomothvor's brother wanted to be sure I'd never get to Riskell. He knew about Lady Corithvill's preferences, I think, and I've got to say that, for a Jil, she was a very sharp looking Lady."
"What was she like?"
"Platinum blond with emerald green eyes -- taller than I am and real nice figure ... damn!"
The ship lurched again. They were beneath the clouds, Fong saw, and the planet's surface was visible beneath. Ice and snow. Epsilon Indi IV was at the tail end of an ice age, and although they were descending near the equatorial regions, it looked cold.
Trevor's knuckles were white on the controls, his mouth drawn into a grim, unyielding line. The repulsers faltered and again the ship lurched. Back in the tiny passenger section, someone yelped. The engines faltered again. Fong gritted his teeth. The surface of the planet rushed toward them.
The landing was rough. They bounced hard, then skidded forward across ice, Trevor fighting to hold them steady, and plowed nose first into a massive snow drift. Something cracked Fong between the eyes and he saw stars.
Then all was still. He lifted his head to see Trevor just rising to his feet and glancing absently down at him. "You hurt?"
"I don't think so. Something hit me." he explored the still throbbing spot, expecting to find a goose egg, or maybe even blood.
But there was nothing. The spot, still painful to the touch, was smooth and apparently unmarked. He stood up, blinking hard to focus his eyes, and followed Trevor back into the passenger compartment.
Jason was bending over Mai Wing, who was just straightening up in her chair, one hand pressed to a spot between her shapely, arched eyebrows. Blood oozed between her fingers.
"Are you okay?" Fong went quickly toward her. "Jason! Get me the emergency kit!"
The boy ran to obey and Fong bent over her, gently removing her hand and revealing an egg sized swelling with a three centimeter cut on top of it. "Man! What hit you?"
"I don't know." She sounded a little faint. "A jackhammer maybe."
Jason was back, emergency kit in hand. "You okay, Miss Wing?"
She smiled faintly and closed her eyes as Fong cleaned the wound and applied an ice dressing. Blashvor had gone forward into the control room. Now he returned, gesturing to Trevor. The ex-patrolman stood up and went with him over to one of the supply cupboards. Fong heard them speaking together in low voices, but paid no attention as he finished his first aid on Mai Wing. Trevor called to Jason, who stood up and went over to the Jilectan. "Yes?"
Fong completed his patch job and helped her to her feet. "How do you feel?"
"A bit dizzy still." She smiled breathtakingly at him. "I'll be all right. I'm tougher than I look."
Fong could well believe that. "I'll help you."
"Thank you." Her little hand closed on his arm, the touch sending a thrill through him. He tried not to show it, glancing toward the Jilectan and his servants.
Jason was straightening up, several articles in his hands. He frowned. "I don't know. There's nothing big enough for you, sir."
"What's the matter?" Fong asked.
Jason shrugged. "We're on a glacial planet. There's cold-weather gear here, all right, but it's standard size -- you know? This is a Terran lifeboat." He handed Fong a parka. "I think that'll fit you, Strike Commander, and....." He held up two more articles. "Which one would you like, Miss Wing?"
She smiled. "They're both going to swallow me -- and since you have to wear the other you'd better give me the bigger one."
Jason handed her one of the garments. "We'll roll up the sleeves. Gosh! I didn't notice. You're still in your pajamas, Strike Commander. Look through the hold there and see if there're any pants and shirts. M'lord, there's a lot of emergency blankets here. Maybe you can use one for a cape."
"Possibly." The Jilectan took the blanket and fingered it. "It will probably suffice. Perhaps a second one to tie around my waist would be sufficient."
Jason handed him a second blanket. Fong located a pair of long, insulated trousers among the gear and pulled them on over his pajama bottoms. They had some walking ahead of them, he knew. Here was a shirt, too. He donned it, sealing the front, and located a pair of waterproof boots among the other gear. Well, he would be warm, anyway. Good old Terra -- always equipping their lifeboats well....
Lord Blashvor was fastening the blanket around his waist, Jason helping him. The pirate was short for a Jilectan, Fong noticed, but well muscled. Mai Wing stood up, looking bulky and very round in the huge parka she wore. "How far do we have to walk?"
"Pretty far," Trevor told her. He grinned a little at her. "Tell me if you need any help, Miss."
Fong, to his own surprise, felt himself bristle. He started to speak, but young Jason was suddenly beside him, one small muscular hand on his sleeve. "Here, Strike Commander, you might want to put this on, too. Those Patrol haircuts kind of leave the ears exposed."
"This" was a heavily insulated hat, which stretched well, and came down over his ears. He accepted it, mumbling his thanks, and turned toward Trevor again.
But the ex-patrolman was now bending over the supply cabinets once more rummaging through their contents. He came up with another hat, similar to the one Jason had given Fong, and presented it to the Jilectan. M'lord pulled it on, and Fong, astonished, saw one of the Jilectan's eyes flicker slightly in a wink! A Jil, winking at a Terran! It must have been an accident, Fong concluded. Jilectans never joked or engaged in any sort of humor with Terrans.
At last they were ready to go. Fong shouldered his pack, and adjusted it, trying to get it comfortable. Trevor was pulling on a similar one, grunting a little with effort. Mai Wing picked up the small waist pack filled with food concentrate and extra blankets, while Jason slung his own small case over his arm. Blashvor adjusted his blankets and cap. He was, Fong noted without surprise, carrying nothing at all. Carrying supplies was the labor of a servant; not a Jilectan.
The snow was slushy beneath their feet as they stepped from the ship. The air was cold, and faintly damp but the wind was still, which, Fong thought, was one good thing. They had come down in the middle of a frozen lake, which spread out around them in all directions. At the edge of the lake, a good distance away, tall trees were silhouetted against the sky.
By the time they reached the shore, Fong was ready to rest. He'd fallen half a dozen times on the slippery ice, and even Blashvor had gone down once. Contrary to Fong's expectation, the Jilectan had not lashed out at the humans around him. He hadn't made any comment at all; he'd simply accepted a hand from Trevor and Fong, hauled himself to his feet once more and dusted snow from his impromptu cold weather gear. The party had gone on.
As they scrambled up the snowy bank, Fong extended a hand to Mai Wing, who had managed to keep up with the larger and stronger men without complaint. She thanked him breathlessly with a smile. Jason scrambled up the bank without assistance, gripped a tree trunk and reached back to help the Jilectan.
Blashvor ignored the hand and sprang lightly up the bank. He reached out to ruffle the boy's hair. "I appreciate the thought, my little ... Terran. But I am a trifle heavy for you."
Fong stared at the Jilectan in utter shock. The Jilectan turned his head to look levelly at him. "Is there a problem, Strike Commander?"
Fong lowered his eyes at once. "No, of course not, M'lord."
Blashvor made no other comment. He glanced around at his small party and nodded. "I trust everyone is ready. We will rest for five minutes and then we will proceed."
An hour later, the party was slogging through ankle-deep snow, and on all sides rose the bushy forms of evergreen trees, interspersed with occasional leafless trunks of their deciduous cousins. Mai Wing walked beside Fong, and he occasionally leant her a hand when the snow became too deep for her to progress easily. Suddenly, she stopped.
"Listen!"
Ahead of them, the Jilectan stopped in his tracks. "What is it?"
"I hear something," Jason said. "Look out!"
Fong hadn't heard anything, but Trevor had also stopped. "Where?"
"Duck!" Jason pushed the Jilectan backwards and flung himself flat as a huge sleek creature with massive antlers burst through the trees to Fong's right. Fong stumbled backwards, pulling Mai Wing with him as the thing charged between Fong and the Jilectan, its hooves kicking up enormous clods of flying snow and mud. It leaped gracefully over Jason, uttering an incongruously high-pitched bleat.
And as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished between the trees, the sound of its progress through the underbrush growing rapidly fainter as the creature retreated.
Fong discovered that he was grasping a tree branch for balance, and simultaneously realized he had been holding his breath. Mai Wing glanced toward him, and her eyes flickered slightly. He put an arm around her. "Man, you must have great ears, honey. I didn't hear a thing."
"I've always had very good hearing," she told him. "In Hawaii, I used to go hunting with my dad and brother. You get so you have sort of a sixth sense about it."
Fong, out of the corner of his eye, saw a smile flicker across Jason's face.
"Come, Terrans!" The Jilectan's voice snapped him back to the present. "We must keep moving!"
"Yessir." Jason again fell in behind the Jilectan and the others took up the rear. Fong found himself watching the boy with interest. It was clear that Blashvor's attitude toward the little guy was not the usual attitude of a Jilectan toward his servant. Fong had never witnessed anything like it -- the alien asking the boy if he was ill ... and what was it that Blashvor had been about to say before that -- what had it been? Fong reconstructed the words in his memory. "What is it, my little ..." What an odd thing for a Jilectan to say when addressing a Terran -- and even more odd was the tone he had used -- no contempt, no light amusement, no indifference. The tone had been, well, almost, but not quite, one of respect.
He must be imagining things, he decided. Jilectans held no respect for Terrans.
Under their feet pine needles crunched, and above them the trees moaned and creaked. The wind must be picking up, Fong thought. It'd be just terrific if they encountered snow.
Blashvor was speaking to Jason again, and Fong pricked up his ears to listen. Incredulously, he realized they were playing verbal chess to pass the time.
"Bishop's pawn to queen bishop four," Blashvor said.
"Queen's knight to King's bishop three," Jason countered. He caught his foot on a fallen branch and stumbled. Almost absently, the Jilectan reached out to catch his elbow and steady him.
"Be careful, little Terran." His voice sounded faintly amused. "Do not become so involved with trying to win that you break a leg."
Fong saw Jason grin. "I doubt I'll need to break a leg in order to win, M'lord."
Fong gaped. No Terran spoke that way to a Jil! The boy would be killed for his impertinence. Yes; the Jilectan was reaching for him. Stupid kid.
But Jason ducked beneath Blashvor's arm, aiming a jab at the Jilectan's ribs. Blashvor grunted with pain and reached with blurring speed, snagging the boy by the wrist. In an instant Jason was pinned, arms twisted behind him. He yipped.
And, to Fong's unutterable astonishment, the Jilectan released him, and the Strike Commander saw that Blashvor was grinning broadly. "Queen to King's rook six. Check."
Jason rubbed his arm ruefully. "King to Queen's bishop one. Ouch! That hurt!"
"Your arm, or the fact that you are losing? Queen to King's rook four."
"Losing?" Jason glanced sideways at his opponent. "King's knight to King's bishop three. Check."
Blashvor said something under his breath, which Fong didn't catch. Then: "King to King's rook one."
"Wrong choice, M'lord. Now I have you in a corner. King's knight to King's rook five."
"Jilectans do not make wrong choices, Terran. Queen takes bishop at King's rook five."
Jason smiled impishly. "Rook takes pawn at King's rook three. Check."
Fong could hardly restrain a gasp. If he had been following the moves right, Blashvor was in a bad spot. What would the Jil do to his bright little opponent if the boy beat him? Jils didn't like losing to Terrans. In fact, Jils rarely competed with Terrans. That was why Terran psychics made the Jils so mad. They were competitors, and all too often, the victors.
"King to King's knight, two." The Jilectan's voice betrayed no hint that he wasn't utterly confident in the outcome of the game. "You had best shield your queen, my little ps...Terran."
Fong saw Jason grin impishly again. "Queen to King's rook six."
Blashvor made a satisfied sound. "King's rook to King four."
"Queen takes pawn at king's bishop three," Jason said. "Checkmate, sir."
Fong swallowed hard, waiting for the explosion. Perhaps he could distract the Jil somehow to give him a few moments to cool off.
Mai Wing touched his arm, and he looked quickly down at her. Her lips formed words, "Don't worry. I think it's okay."
The Jilectan was silent, obviously going over the moves in his mind. Jason was looking at the ground, but Fong could see the grin on the little guy's face. Didn't the kid realize his danger?
Blashvor threw back his head and burst into a hearty laugh. "Ah, Jason, you have improved greatly since our last game of this sort!"
Jason looked up at him, a grin on his features. "I had a very good teacher, sir."
The Jilectan ruffled the Terran's hair like an affectionate father. "Too good, it seems."
"Well, you had your mind on other things, sir."
Fong slowed his pace slightly, allowing Trevor to come up beside him. "You want to say something, Strike Commander?"
Fong cleared his throat and let his eyes flicker toward the figures of the boy and the Jilectan. "Do they do this all the time?"
Trevor grinned faintly. "No need to keep your voice down, Strike Commander. I'm sure M'lord is fully aware of your thoughts and words." The patrolman's voice was unmuted, and Fong grimaced, glancing fearfully at the Jilectan. But His Lordship didn't even turn around, apparently not considering the conversation between the Terrans worth his attention. Trevor continued. "Yeah, they do."
Fong cleared his throat, afraid to say more. Mai Wing's small hand squeezed his arm reassuringly.
Jason turned suddenly, walking backwards and facing Fong. "Do you play chess, Strike Commander?"
"Uh ... sure."
"Well, how about a game with me? Give his Lordship a rest."
The Jilectan gave a bark of laughter, caught Jason by the loose parka he wore, and lifted him one handed. He strode along, never altering his pace, the boy dangling from his grip like a fish on a line. Jason yelped, writhing and kicking. "Hey!"
"So, you believe I need a rest, Terran?"
"Hey, put me down!"
"You did not answer me, Jason."
"Ouch! M'lord, it's choking me!"
The Jilectan ignored him. He strode along, beginning to sing tunelessly in Basic.
"Ohhh, there once was a Lady of limited means ...."
"M'lord ... please ... ouch!"
"She had no money but many great dreams ...."
"M'lord!"
"'Til a roll in the hay with the Viceroy one day...."
"M'lord, I'm sorry. You don't need a rest! Please put me down."
Blashvor lowered the boy effortlessly to the ground. Jason stumbled a little and rubbed his neck. Trevor grinned sideways at Fong.
"Too bad. I sort of wanted to find out how the song ended."
"Yeah, me too. Maybe he'll tell us later."
Jason fell in beside the alien again, face down. Blashvor tousled the boy's hair affectionately. "You may play verbal chess with the Strike Commander if you choose, Jason, but *not* because I am tired."
"Of course not, sir." The boy's voice was completely sober. He rubbed his throat, but Fong could see him trying not to smile. "Well, Strike Commander?"
Fong glanced uneasily at the Jilectan. "All right."
"He'll beat you, you know," Trevor said.
"Probably." Fong regarded the boy with respect. He'd never met anyone like Jason. Rumor had it that Jilectan pirates utilized Terran psychics to assist them in their raids. Was it possible this boy was a psychic? He was small for his age, as all psychic children were, but somehow Fong could not fathom a friendly relationship between a Terran psychic and a Jilectan. True, Blashvor made it quite clear who the boss was, and yet --
"You go first, Strike Commander." Jason had turned around and was walking backwards again, blue eyes bright and amused. Fong took a long breath.
"Okay. King's pawn to king four."
"King's knight to king's bishop three."
An hour later the game was still continuing, and Fong's opinion of his small adversary had changed. The boy couldn't be a psychic. A psychic would be able to read his mind, and would have beaten him long before now. No, the boy couldn't be a psychic! He was just a very bright Terran kid who, for some reason, Lord Blashvor had taken a shine to. Again the old doubts rose in his mind.
"Queen to king's rook four," Jason said, clearly unsure.
Fong pondered the move. The boy was trying very hard to corner his king and dispose of one of his two rooks, thereby swaying the odds in his favor, since Fong had lost his female majesty some time back. "Okay. Bishop to Queen's bishop three."
Jason thought a moment. "Queen to king four."
"Queen's rook to queen's knight two," Fong said.
"Queen takes pawn at King's bishop five," Jason said.
Fong pondered a moment more. "Rook takes pawn at king's knight six, check."
"King to king's bishop one," Jason said.
Fong drew a deep breath. The boy couldn't be a psychic! "Rook takes knight at queen's bishop six, check."
"Careful, Shorty," Trevor said.
"He's got me, I think." Jason sounded a little surprised. "King to king one."
"Bishop to queen's bishop six, check."
"Yeah, he's got me." Jason grinned. "I concede, Strike Commander. Good game."
He turned around, and it was then that Fong noticed something. During the entire game Jason had continued to walk backwards, and never once had he turned around or even glanced over his shoulder.
**********
tbc
