Plague: 11/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Chapter VIII
The tent was dark and very cold. Fong Lee finished with his watch and, weary beyond words, crawled inside and wriggled down into his sleeping bag. He could hear Mai Wing's breathing close by, but made no move to touch her. The ice between them was unbreakable now, he told himself.
"Lee?" Her voice was a soft whisper. He remained still, feigning sleep.
"Lee, please. I'm sorry."
He turned toward her, his resolve wavering. "Forget it."
"I can't. I've been unfair -- wanting you to be something you're not."
"What do you mean?"
She was silent a moment. Then: "Nothing."
"Tell me."
"I can't." Her voice broke and she hiccoughed. "But you know, you've hardly been fair to me, either."
"What have *I* done?"
He heard her sit up and could now make out her silhouette, a vague blur in the darkness. "You want me, but you make it clear you want me on your own terms. I know you suspect me of -- illegal things. How could you help it? But if I'm willing to accept you as you are --"
"Are you a psychic, Mai?" There it was, out in the open at last. He glared across at her. "And don't you dare answer me with a question! I've watched you with Jason -- with Lord Blashvor! It's obvious you have more to say to him than you do to me! You prefer the company of a Jil to one of your own kind!"
"That's not fair!"
"It's true!" His anger was up now, and the horrible words poured forth unbidden. "I've heard about women like you -- think you're more of a woman if you can catch the eye of a Jil Lord!"
She slapped him, the blow astonishingly accurate in the darkness. He caught her wrist and yanked her brutally forward, shaking her. Her other hand came up and he caught it as well.
He never knew how it happened, but suddenly, he was kissing her fiercely and passionately. She yanked her lips back.
"How *dare* you!"
He started to release her, ashamed of himself, and felt her catch his ears. Incredibly, she was kissing him. Her hands released his ears and slid behind his head, her fingers caressing his neck. He pulled her against him, and as their lips met for the third time, he realized dimly that she had never answered his question.
And he no longer cared.
**********
Morning dawned cloudy and cold. A brisk wind blew, and an occasional snowflake flicked past.
Fong crawled from the tent, shivering, and stood up, sealing his parka. Mai Wing crawled out behind him and he glanced back at her. She smiled confidently up at him.
"Well, another glorious day on Epsilon Indi!"
Fong laughed. "Can't think of anything I'd rather do than enjoy a scenic raft ride on our rushing river!"
"Maybe some coffee first?"
"Well, okay." He pulled her close and kissed her forehead, and then released her quickly as he saw Trevor emerging from the other tent. Jason, who had insisted on the last two hours of the watch, was apparently preoccupied with building the fire up. A faint smile quivered briefly on his young mouth, but when he turned to face Fong and Mai Wing, his expression was perfectly bland.
"Good morning, Jason," Mai Wing said. She crouched down by the fire, rubbing her hands together. Fong reached for one of the supply packs. "I guess I should get breakfast started, he said. "Here's hoping I don't get it too well done."
"I'll help you," Mai Wing said. "We're just about out of the meat from the what'sis we found. Just as well. Even in this temperature, it wouldn't be good much longer."
"We've still got the standard stuff," Fong said. "And coffee."
"Well, cook the rest of the steaks. If anyone's still hungry, we'll open a few rations."
Jason coaxed the fire into a blaze and moments later, the scent of coffee and roasting meat filled the air. Fong poured them all cups of the hot, black liquid and took a cup for himself.
Blashvor emerged from the tent, brushing back his blond hair. "Ah, excellent!"
He approached the fire, tousling Mai Wing's dark head casually as he passed. She didn't glance up, but Fong saw her eyes flicker sideways at him, and the smile that hovered at the corners of her mouth. He grinned back at her, a little ashamed now at the memory of his angry accusations last night. Mai Wing making up to a Jil? How dumb could he be?
He didn't burn the breakfast this morning. Trevor assisted him with the meal, at first appearing a little puzzled and then, after a short conversation with Jason, amused and resigned.
They embarked on their crude raft half an hour later, after covering the platform with branches to shield them from the view of possibly searching aircars. With the cover on, Trevor had surveyed the raft before departure, and informed them that, to the casual eye, it would appear to be a big bunch of floating driftwood.
The river took them gliding along, the snowy banks sliding past, revealing nothing but evergreen trees and large expanses of frozen wasteland. They ate cold rations for lunch and Blashvor only gave the order to stop when night began to close in.
For two monotonous days, they drifted along on the raft. Once, a big section detached itself and whirled away on the current and they were forced to stop and make repairs. It was a welcome relief.
Once, they encountered rapids and a waterfall, but Jason sensed the danger ahead of time and they took appropriate measures, poling the raft to shore and carrying it three and a half hellish kilometers along rocky, snow-covered banks, until they were beyond the danger.
They made good time, all things considered, and Fong had to admit that it had been a good idea of Lord Blashvor's to make a raft. However, on the morning of the third day, Fong crawled painfully from his tent, flexed his stiff limbs and stared with hatred at the raft. Another day on that thing! He didn't think he could stand it.
Jason was squatting beside the campfire. He waved casually to Fong.
"Good morning, Strike Commander!" The boy sounded outrageously cheerful this morning. "I think we're almost there!"
"We are?" Fong came over and dropped to his knees beside the fire, holding out his hands to the heat. "How can you tell?"
"Lord Blashvor says so."
"How does he know?"
Jason grinned at him. "The way Jils always know."
Fong felt silly. Jilectans, like Arcturians and a few other species in the Sector, had a built in compass in their brains, rather like that of a Terran homing pigeon. He, a Patrol Strike Commander, knew that. He just hadn't connected it.
"Of course," he said. "I sort of forgot. Blashvor doesn't seem like the other Jils I know."
"He isn't," Jason said. "He's a lot smarter than your garden variety Jil. But he still has the homing ability. It's just that most Terrans don't think about it much unless they're in close contact with a Jil all the time, like Trev and me."
"I suppose you're right." Fong began to open their packs. "Good thing we're almost there. Supplies are getting kind of low."
"Yeah, I noticed." Jason turned his head. "Here comes Trev."
Trevor emerged from the tent, yawning. "Morning, Shorty."
Blashvor followed Trevor from the tent. He stretched hugely and strode over to the campfire. "I shall be relieved to get back to civilization," he remarked. "This pioneer life is not for me."
"I kind of like it," Jason said. "I always loved to go camping before I met you, sir."
"After this," Blashvor told him solemnly, "I shall arrange a camping trip to Epsilon Indi once a month for you, Jason, so that you do not become homesick."
Jason grinned at him. "I'd prefer Bellian, if you don't mind."
Blashvor grinned broadly and tousled the boy's hair. "Bellian is a fine place, but there are very few Jilectans there. I fear I would be noticed."
"Trev and I could go alone," Jason suggested. "I'm sure you could manage without us occasionally.
"I would not think of it," Blashvor told him solemnly. "I would never risk my star psychic, with only a single bodyguard. I will send Freddy with you for protection."
"Thanks a lot!" Jason said. "Freddy the geek!"
"Or perhaps you would prefer Le'Frit."
"I'd scratch the whole time."
"Ah, well, I fear your camping excursion must wait, then. Is the food ready, Fong?"
After breakfast the Jilectan called them together and informed them that they would not be boarding the raft. They were within two hours walk of the base.
"We shall walk the remainder of the distance," he stated. "And we must somehow get on the base without being seen. I don't think that will be easy."
"Maybe we can send someone ahead to scout around," Trevor volunteered.
Blashvor turned on him. "Who?"
"I'll go."
"If you encounter one of those globes, you will be taken over. And Mai and Jason are out of the question. Fong cannot go for the same reason you cannot. That leaves me. It is possible I could pass for a patrolman if we could somehow obtain a uniform."
Fong managed not to laugh, but he heard Jason giggle. Blashvor turned majestically on the boy. "You believe I could not play the part of a patrolman, my psychic?"
Jason met the alien's gaze squarely. "You look like a Jilectan, sir."
"In a helmet and uniform it would not be obvious. In the past, Terrans have successfully impersonated Jilectans."
"You'd still look like a Jil. And you walk and talk a lot like one. Besides, someone might notice that you have six fingers, with an extra joint on each."
Blashvor raised a blond eyebrow at him. "Very well, my psychic. What do you suggest?"
Jason turned to Fong. "What do you think, sir? You're the Strike Commander."
Fong had already worked it out in his mind, but was rather surprised that Jason should turn to him for advice. Trevor's eyes slid sideways at him and he saw the man smile faintly.
"A diversion, maybe?" he suggested.
Trevor nodded. "That's my opinion, too. We might ...."
Mai Wing held up her hand. "Listen!"
"Aircar!" Jason said.
Fong couldn't hear anything, but he had no doubt that Jason and Mai Wing were right. Blashvor grabbed Jason's wrist as he made a movement toward the trees. "One moment, my psychic. Perhaps we can secure some transportation."
Jason paused at the Jilectan's words. He glanced in the direction of the distant base and the speck that was rapidly growing in size and definition. He nodded and gave a nervous swallow. "Yes sir."
The sound of the aircar's engines were growing louder by the second, and the dark shape above the trees was approaching rapidly. The Jilectan lifted a hand, waving.
The vehicle altered course slightly and began to lose altitude as it rapidly approached.
Jason moved back to stand beside Trevor, and Fong felt Mai Wing's slender hand slip into his. Blashvor waved again and a few seconds later the aircar settled to the ground in an open space perhaps ten meters away. The doors opened and two men climbed out.
They looked like patrolmen, just as the others had, and Fong had little doubt that their response to the strangers would be exactly like that of the others they had encountered.
Blashvor waved to them again and the one in the lead waved back. Jason moved slightly into a position in front of Trevor, and Fong was struck by the impression he gave, of readiness to defend Trevor, which was ludicrous on the face of it. Trevor was big, strong, a former patrolman: certainly a dangerous man by any standards, but Jason's face was pale, and his expression was determined, his stance that of someone protecting a weaker companion. And, perhaps he was, Fong recognized suddenly. If there was a globe in that aircar, Trevor had no defense against it and Jason did.
Mai Wing moved suddenly in front of him. Fong looked down at her in surprise, and, astonished, he realized she looked just like Jason. Her hand contracted on his with surprising strength.
The men were coming toward them. Mai Wing made an odd sound in her throat and suddenly Fong felt dizzy. His eyes blurred and he felt strangely weak. The globes! It must be one of the globes trying to take him over!
He struggled against it, trying to repulse it with his mind but there was nothing he could touch: nothing except that odd dizziness and weakness. Somewhere far away, he heard shouting, and was aware of a sensation of movement. Someone yelled and nearby there was a startled scream.
His vision cleared. Fong was sitting on the ground and Mai Wing was bending over him. Jason stood close behind her, still looking pale, but with a blaster clutched in both hands. Mai Wing, Fong saw, was also holding a blaster and a few feet away stood Blashvor, a faint, amused smile curving his handsome lips.
"Where --" Fong paused and cleared his throat. "Where are the 'trols?"
"Over there." Mai Wing pointed, and Fong followed her pointing finger to see the two men stretched out on the ground. Neither of them moved.
"What happened to them?"
"They're stunned," Mai Wing said. "Are you all right?"
Fong considered. "I think so. When happened? Did one of the globes --"
"I don't think so." Mai Wing answered his question, looking fixedly at him. "I think it was something else. A little --" She paused.
"What?"
"Well -- unexpected," she said, surprising him.
Before he could ask her to explain, she straightened up and followed Jason and Blashvor to the two unconscious men. The Jilectan deliberately sat on one of them while Jason and Mai Wing bent over the other.
Fong stood up and started toward them, but Trevor caught him by the back of his parka. "Stay here."
"Why?"
"Because if there *are* any globes over there, we need to stay back."
"But, what are they doing?"
"Finding out what those guys know. Your girlfriend's in no danger."
"How do you know?"
Trevor lifted an eyebrow at him. "They say love is blind, but I never realized it applied to Strike Commanders before."
"Meaning what?"
"Meaning you are the stupidest Strike Commander I ever met -- selectively stupid, I might say. For an intelligent man, you can be pretty dumb."
Fong felt a flash of anger and subdued it. Trevor might be maddening, but there was no doubt he saw the real situation.
Mai Wing was bending over a patrolman, one slender hand resting lightly on his forehead. The gesture did not denote tenderness, nor did she appear to be assisting him medically. Her expression was one of intense concentration.
A sense of finality settled over Fong as he watched her. There could be no doubt what she was doing. Jason's hand rested on the patrolman's temple and his expression was identical to Mai Wing's.
Blashvor turned his head to look at Fong, a faint smile on his lips. Trevor grinned. "Welcome to the world of reality, Strike Commander."
"So she is a psychic." Incredibly, the words held no horror for him. Instead, he spoke them with an odd sense of relief. He'd known for days, really. He'd just never spoken the words out loud before.
"Indeed she is," Blashvor said. "A very gifted psychic."
Fong swallowed, watching Mai Wing straighten up. Her lovely eyes reflected the smile on her lips as she met his gaze without reservation. Jason also straightened up, a grin on his mouth. "You gonna arrest her, Strike Commander?"
Fong found himself repressing a grin of his own. "I guess I'll have to, huh? And you, too."
Mai Wing rose to her feet and came over to him. "I'll submit quietly," she told him.
Blashvor laughed. Fong stared down a Mai Wing's lovely face with a sense of his world collapsing around him. A psychic. A Terran psychic. There was no longer any question or any doubt. His profession required, of course, that he turn her in.
But he couldn't turn her in. He knew it, and so did she. He loved her. Without her, life wouldn't be worth living.
The realization settled over him with an entirely unexpected sense of freedom. To hell with the Patrol! Mai Wing was what mattered.
Blashvor chuckled softly. "I could always use a former Strike Commander in my organization, Fong. Or, perhaps you might prefer to remain with Miss Wing and her organization."
"Her organization?" The light dawned. "The Terran Underground!"
"He's getting smarter by the minute," Trevor remarked wryly.
Blashvor looked reprovingly at Trevor. "That is sufficient, Trevor. I seem to recall that you acted with no more intelligence than he has. Less, possibly."
Trevor wilted. "Yessir. Sorry, Fong."
Blashvor turned to the two psychics. "What did you discover through your probes?"
Jason answered him. "Routine Patrol procedures aren't in effect anymore, sir -- not since the globes took over. If we're careful, we can ride right on in. Fong and Trev'll have to take these guys' uniforms. My guess is, if we keep our distance, nobody'll even notice."
The Jilectan inclined his head. "Very good. Strip them and dress."
Fong and Trevor obeyed. Fong squeezed his way into his chosen uniform, finding it too tight across the shoulders and too short in the legs. The bottom of the leggings reached only halfway down his calves. The guy must be a real shrimp for a patrolman, he decided, hauling manfully at the tight breeches. Fortunately, the boots would cover the stretch of bare skin. Trevor grunted in annoyance as he attempted to seal his borrowed tunic.
"Damned midgets they're letting in the Patrol these days," he grumbled. "This guy can't possibly have made the weight requirement!"
"You've gotten bigger since we joined M'Lord's organization," Jason said. "You were just a kid of twenty-one back then. You still had some growing to do."
Trevor cussed. "Damn! I'm not going to be able to seal this thing."
Jason brushed his hand away from the seal. "Exhale and hold it. Al ... most ... *there*! Got it!"
Fong jammed his feet into the boots. "Yow! Hope I don't have to run too far!"
Trevor picked up his own purloined boots and surveyed them mournfully. "Hurts just to look at them."
One of the two men on the ground stirred, pushed his elbows under him and started to rise. Mai Wing's blaster hummed and he sank to the ground again.
"Kill him," Blashvor ordered, expressionlessly. "The other one, too. Jason, you and Mai get away, and put up your shields."
Fong looked at Blashvor in surprise. The Jilectan pirate had never seemed unnecessarily bloodthirsty before, and it went against the grain to simply dispose of the men in this manner. The two psychics retreated, their faces averted. Trevor drew his blaster, flicked the setting to 'kill' and fired twice.
Blashvor spoke directly to Fong. "Their minds were gone, Strike Commander. They were puppets of these globes, existing only to do the will of their masters. They could never be anything else again."
Fong swallowed.
"Regrettable," Blashvor continued. "Before this happened, they were undoubtedly men very like yourselves. That one was a lieutenant, no doubt highly intelligent and resourceful. I would guess his age at perhaps twenty. He would have gone far."
Fong looked deliberately away from the still forms. "What now, sir?"
"Trevor, finish dressing and we shall be off."
Trevor grimaced and slid his feet into the boots. "Huh!" He sounded surprised. "Not so bad a fit as I thought. The guy was a shrimp, but he had big feet."
"You've got small feet for your size," Jason told him. He carefully did not look at the patrolmen.
Blashvor nodded at Fong and Trevor. "Get them out of sight," he said. "They mustn't be seen by other passing aircars. Then we shall go."
Fong and Trevor obeyed, and moments later, they climbed into the aircar. The two psychics crouched on the floor of the front seat, out of sight, and Blashvor knelt on the floor of the rear seat.
"Take us up, Trevor."
The aircar lifted, turned, and moved forward over the treetops.
**********
tbc
