Plague: 12/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Chapter IX
The clouds overhead had thickened and snowflakes began to whirl around them as the aircar proceeded toward the Patrol base. The light was muted, the system's star heavily obscured by clouds as they flew on. Ahead, the base became visible: a rectangular compound situated on a broad, snowy plain.
Everything seemed quiet. It was merely a small Patrol outpost consisting of a dozen buildings and a landing field. A few aircars could be seen, some leaving, some arriving, and on the landing field, sleek and modern, painted in a bicolor pattern of black and gold, was a Jilectan yacht. Beside it, far less impressive in appearance, was a Patrol scout ship. Three aircars apparently not in use at the moment, were parked on the edge of the field. Several human figures moved around the scout. Beside the scout was a carrier, containing something that Fong couldn't make out. He squinted through the snow. "What is that, Trevor? Your eyes are younger than mine. Can you see what it is?"
Trevor grunted a negative. "Looks like they're working hard on that scout, though. Getting ready to leave, or I miss my guess."
"Should we move in closer?"
Trevor spoke to Lord Blashvor. "What do you think, sir? It looks like they're preparing to leave the planet."
"Very well," Blashvor's voice said. "Move closer, but use caution. We do not know the extent of the powers of the globes. I would not wish you to end up like the two men who were driving this aircar before we acquired it."
Fong saw Trevor swallow. "Yes, sir."
Their vehicle turned toward the activity on the field. At Fong's feet, Jason moved suddenly. "Globes! I sense them!"
The car slowed. Fong saw Trevor's hands tighten on the controls. "*That's* what that carrier's got in it! About a thousand of those damned things!"
Fong reached over to turn on the communicator. A voice emerged from the unit almost at once.
".... Beginning to put the masters on board. You can bring the second load, now."
"Masters!" Fong said.
"That's what they are." Mai Wing spoke suddenly. "From what I could tell -- from what was left of those men's minds -- I saw how they work. They possess their victim's mind; They use some kind of telepathic power, but different from any kind I've encountered before, and use the person's own thoughts to control him. If he resists, he feels pain. If he still resists, the pain intensifies." She paused for an instant and Fong saw her wet her lips. "Of course, that was only the method they used on those two guys. They may have others."
"But what's their purpose?" Fong heard his own voice crack, and cleared his throat. "And how did those guys deteriorate to what they were? I mean, you'd think, once their 'masters' were killed, they'd recover quickly."
"No." Mai Wing looked down. "They not only possess, but actually feed off their victim. They suck out his -- I don't know how to say it -- his essence, his will, his personality. It's a relatively slow process. If the victim were rescued within a few hours, there isn't enough damage to matter, but these people have been under the control of the globes for nearly two weeks, according to Patrolman Katts. The globes feed off the energy produced by human brains -- and not only human ones, I'd guess. And the easier that energy is to get to, the better. That's why Jason, M'Lord and I are safe. We're shielded. That's why Katts wasn't affected, either." Her eyes locked with Fong's. "As a psychic, I can tell you, Lee, that your mind and Trevor's are both very easy to read. You have no protection against these things. Trevor has a little more than you because M'Lord has taught him to shield. But he isn't good at it."
"I never was," Trevor growled.
"And it wouldn't protect him against a determined effort. The globes could bond themselves to either of you easily. You can't stay far enough away from them."
There wasn't anything to say to that. The voices continued to speak from the communicator, reporting the progress of the loading of the masters. Another loading carrier arrived beside the first. Men carrying globes entered the scout and returned empty-handed, to collect more.
"What do we do?" Trevor asked at last. "It's obvious they're getting ready to take these things off-world."
"Find us a well-concealed place to set down," Blashvor commanded.
Trevor looked around, and then guided the aircar toward a storage building on the edge of the base. The light was dimming as the snow became thicker, and Fong found that he didn't mind the fact that it impeded his sight, for it made it that much less likely that someone would see the aircar and perhaps become suspicious of its occupants. Trevor lowered the car to the ground beside the building, using the building as cover, and cut the engines. He glanced at his chronometer.
"It'll be dark in about three hours."
"I'm hungry," Jason said.
Under the stress of the situation, Fong hadn't noticed until Jason brought up the subject, but he was hungry, too. His last meal had been breakfast, and not a very big breakfast. He opened the car's glove compartment.
"Concentrated rations. Anyone want some?"
Everyone did. They munched in silence, watching the snow melt on the car's windshield. At last, Trevor spoke.
"M'Lord; what are we going to do?"
"When the light is gone," Blashvor replied, "I am going to try to get aboard the yacht. Mr. Katts, our runaway patrolman, said the owner of the yacht had wives who were still on board. I am hopeful that situation remains. If I can get close enough to speak to the Ladies telepathically, without broadcasting to every globe on this base, they may open the hatch and let us in."
Knowing what he knew of Jil Ladies, Fong sincerely doubted that, but he had to admit that it was worth a try. They finished their nutro-wafers and Jason located a canteen of water beneath the seat. The uniform he wore had a damp, musty odor, as though it had become wet and allowed to dry while its owner was still wearing it. The thought sent an involuntary shudder through him. He didn't want to end up like that guy, no matter what.
The light was beginning to grow dimmer. Jason dozed, his head against his knees. Mai Wing's dark eyes glowed in the dimness. Psychics, Fong thought. Terran psychics. For years they had been his sworn enemies. A month ago, he would have turned these two over to the Jils without hesitation. But they weren't the monsters that his masters painted them as, at all. They were just people like himself -- well, not exactly like himself, but people, none-the-less. He liked them. Where one of them was concerned, in fact, it was a good deal more than liking.
He touched Mai Wing's cheek gently. She smiled at him and her small hand squeezed his.
Jason gave a faint snore and shifted, trying to get comfortable. The light faded gradually as the cloud-shrouded sun reached the horizon. For a few moments they could see its glare, a brighter spot of pink and muted gold among the clouds, as it sat on the distant tree tops, and then it sank slowly below the trees. The twilight darkened swiftly to near black.
"It is time to go," Blashvor said. "Awaken my people, Strike Commander."
Fong touched Jason's shoulder. "Jason."
He could see the faint reflection of light as the boy's eyes opened. "Yes? Time to go?"
"Yeah," Fong said. "You keep those feelers of yours out. Trevor and I are counting on you to warn us if -- well, you know."
"Both of us will be watching, Lee," Mai Wing's soft voice said firmly.
Somehow that made him feel a little better. Trevor touched the controls of the aircar and they lifted into the sky with the faint hum of engines that characterized the vehicles in flight. Fong hoped no one would pay attention to one more aircar among the many that the base must have. Flying barely three meters above the ground, the aircar moved smoothly forward across the landing field toward the silent Jilectan yacht.
Moments later, Trevor brought the aircar to a soundless halt beneath the sleek, silver belly of the yacht. The landing field's lights at the perimeter were on, but here, near the middle of the field, the shadow of the yacht probably shielded them from observation, if, indeed, anyone was actually watching. Fong cast a glance at the scout ship near the edge of the landing field and thought again of the hundreds of globes that it contained and hoped sincerely that Mai Wing and Jason were keeping their "feelers" alert for any sign of life from them. Neither of the Terran psychics said anything, so Fong forced himself to relax. If they were even slightly fortunate, Blashvor had some way of getting into the Jil yacht, although Fong couldn't see one. But the Jil pirate had, at least up to this point, seemed more than capable of coping with difficult problems. Fong mentally crossed his fingers and tried not to think of the ship full of death only a few hundred meters away.
"I am lowering my shields," Blashvor said quietly. "If the globes detect me, be ready for instant flight."
"I am," Trevor said.
The Jilectan straightened up slightly from his crouch on the floor of the rear seat and Fong watched with interest as a blank look descended on his features. The Jilectan must be trying to contact the Ladies aboard the yacht. Fong held his breath.
The blank look vanished abruptly and Blashvor said something under his breath.
"No luck, sir?" Jason asked.
"They are afraid. They shut me out."
Well, Fong thought, that ended the hope of the Ladies opening the door for them.
Blashvor settled back on the floor again. "We shall have to break in, I fear."
"How many people are aboard?" Trevor asked.
"There are two Ladies and a Terran male. I believe him to be Lord Strovolthvar's valet."
"How are we going to break into a Jilectan yacht?" Fong asked.
For a moment, no one answered. Trevor smiled faintly, never removing his gaze from the dark bulk of the yacht looming over them. Then Blashvor chuckled softly.
"My psychic is a powerful telekinetic, Strike Commander."
"Powerful enough to open psychic resistant locks, sir? No one can do that -- not even the best psychics."
"Alan Westover has done so," Blashvor said, sounding slightly amused. "Do you believe he is the only Terran psychic to possess such power?"
"I've heard that," Fong said. "But I never really believed it. You hear a lot of impossible stories about Westover."
"True," Blashvor admitted. "But in this case, the stories are not only stories, as I believe Miss Wing will attest. And, although such psychics are rare, they do exist. Jason is one of them. My psychic can do things such as our noble masters have not dreamed. Come."
Fong opened the door on his side of the aircar, got out, and extended a hand to help Mai Wing. Jason scrambled out without assistance. Trevor climbed out of the driver's position and opened the rear door for Lord Blashvor. All of them drew their blasters.
"Why haven't they just taken off?" Fong asked softly. "If the ship's engines were repaired, they should have already left. I sure would have."
"I believe they do not know how to pilot the yacht," Blashvor said. "Or it is possible that they cannot -- that the vessel still needs repairs."
"If that's the case," Trevor said quietly, "it might not do us any good to get in."
"Possibly not. Still, getting aboard appears to be our best chance."
Fong glanced skeptically at Jason. The locks on Jilectan yachts were the heaviest and sturdiest locks available, specially designed to be virtually impregnable. Jason might be as good a psychic as Alan Westover himself, but no psychic was that powerful.
Still, there were those stories about Westover. And if there was one, there had to be more, didn't there? Assuming that Westover actually was the wizard that stories said he was. Fong still had his doubts.
The two psychics moved silently forward, toward the boarding ramp. Trevor and Fong followed, blasters ready, and Blashvor took up the rear, also gripping his weapon. They reached the ramp and went softly up it, stopping at the sealed hatch.
Fong watched Jason step up to the panel, Trevor beside him. The boy placed a hand on the lock. Trevor stood behind him, one large hand resting on Jason's shoulder. There was a pause, and then a faint click.
"It's open, sir," Jason whispered. "Get ready."
There was a low hum, and to Fong's utter astonishment, the hatch slid smoothly aside. Jason stepped through, into the yacht's airlock, and Trevor followed close on his heels. Fong ushered Mai Wing ahead of him and followed, with Blashvor crowding his rear. Fong looked silently at the slim boy who had just done what Fong had always believed was impossible, trying to re-arrange the world in his mind.
If Jason Sweeney could open psychic-resistant locks, then it was quite possible that the stories about Alan Westover were true as well. And if that was so, it might indeed be that the Terran Underground had a far better chance of success than Fong had assumed. They were known to study psychics and their powers, and they had thousands, if not millions of Terran psychics from which to learn. And Mai Wing was one of them. So he had better hope that the Underground's chances were better than he had believed, because he was on their side now, for better or worse.
Jason didn't glance back, but the airlock closed with a sigh of compressed air. They were sealed inside the yacht. Still, the fact that the door was closed and locked made Fong feel a little safer. No one out there had the power to open that door, or they would already have done so.
"Sir," Jason said, "there's someone coming -- the valet, I think. It's a Terran, and I think the Ladies are with him, although I can't feel their minds. It's in his mind, though."
Blashvor inclined his head. "Be ready, my psychic. Mai, you may have to help him."
The tiny woman nodded silently, her attention obviously on the inner door. Jason looked over his shoulder at the Jilectan. "He's here."
The inner airlock door slid open with a faint hiss of air and at the same instant, the figure of a male Terran, clutching a blaster in both hands, appeared in the hallway beyond, half-concealed by a bend in the corridor. Before Fong could blink, the weapon flipped smartly upward and shot across the intervening space into Blashvor's hands. The Terran servant made a strangled sound and yanked a second weapon from his belt. It, too, twisted from his grip and flew straight to Mai Wing. She caught it deftly and leveled it, and the weapon she already held, at the Terran.
"Don't move!" she commanded. She spoke quietly, but with an authority that Fong had never heard in her voice before.
The servant voiced a terrified scream and bolted. Trevor charged after him and caught him in a flying tackle, throwing him to the carpeted deck. The servant twisted and fought frantically, uttering small, strangled sounds of fear. Then Trevor had his arms behind him in an armlock, and was straddling his prone body.
"Quit fighting, you idiot!" he snapped. "We won't hurt you!"
The servant continued to twist uselessly in Trevor's hold, faint animal sounds still emerging from his throat.
Blashvor stepped forward abruptly.
"Terran!" he said sharply, "You will cease struggling at once. We are not slaves of the globes, and we will not harm you."
At the sound of the Jilectan's voice, the Terran froze in instinctive obedience. Blashvor spoke again.
"If you agree not to resist, my servant will release you. Do I have your word?"
For a moment the servant was absolutely still, flat on the deck, with Trevor still seated on his back and pinning his arms behind him. But his face was to the side, and it suddenly moved in a jerky nod.
Blashvor glanced casually at Trevor. "Release him, Trevor."
Trevor did so, rising to his feet and stepping backwards out of reach in one motion. He dusted his hands lightly on his pants.
The servant pushed himself slowly to his hands and knees, and swiveled around to face his captors. His eyes rested immediately on Blashvor and widened. He rose to his knees. "M'Lord!"
"You will take us to the shipwide intercom," Blashvor ordered coolly. "Your mistresses fled when you were captured. I must speak with them at once."
The servant staggered to his feet. "Yes ... M'Lord. Right through here, sir."
They passed through a corridor and into another cabin which appeared to be a luxurious lounge. The servant pointed to a wall communicator. "Right there, sir."
Blashvor strode to the communicator. "What are their names?" he inquired of the servant.
"Ladies Vovinthvill and Pilanthzill," the man replied respectfully.
"Ladies Vovinthvill and Pilanthzill," Blashvor said. "I am Lord Blashvor, and I have taken your servant unharmed. I am not a slave of the globe creatures, nor are my servants. We are aboard your ship and wish to speak with you. We wish you no harm. Please respond."
There was silence for the slow count of ten. Then the voice of a female Jilectan spoke from the unit, cool, cultured and very suspicious.
"Blashvor is the name of a notorious Jilectan pirate."
"That is correct, My Lady. I am that Blashvor, but my presence here is accidental. I was shipwrecked, and forced to land here. I wish only to leave this place, and I believe that you desire the same thing."
Another pause. Then: "The ship is in need of repairs. As it is, we are going nowhere. Can you or your servants perform the necessary repairs?"
"I do not know, My Lady. I ask respectfully that we meet in a neutral area of this ship: perhaps the corridor adjoining the lounge nearest the airlock. I give you my sacred word as a Jilectan that I will make no hostile moves toward you, and you may remain armed as well."
Another extended pause, as the Ladies apparently talked it over. Then: "Why do you need to see us?"
"Because I, as an outlaw, do not trust you. I fear that I will get the ship working and that you will then arrange to have me killed or disabled and depart without me."
"We do not trust you either, Lord Blashvor."
"That is understandable. Still, the situation being as it is, you have little choice. If you continue as you are, you will run out of supplies, eventually. You will have to leave the ship, and then, even if you escape the minions of the globe creatures, you will have to face a savage, uncivilized world. I have endured it for several days, and I assure you that you would be most uncomfortable attempting to survive here."
Another silence. Then: "Our servant -- is he still functional?"
"He is unharmed, My Lady."
"Allow me to speak with him."
Blashvor motioned the man forward. "You may speak without reserve."
The servant swallowed and leaned toward the wall communicator. "I'm here, M'Lady."
"Are you able to speak freely?"
"Yes, M'Lady."
"Do you know why they did not kill you?"
The man glanced at Blashvor again and at the Terrans flanking him. "No, M'Lady."
A silence. Then: "Lord Blashvor!"
"My Lady?"
"We will meet you in the corridor in five minutes. We will be armed. If you make any hostile moves, we will at once open fire."
"There will be no hostile moves, My Lady, but I must warn you that I and my servants will be armed as well."
"Very well, My Lord."
Blashvor turned to Trevor and Fong. "Take off your helmets and tunics."
Fong and Trevor obeyed and, with the servant in their midst, followed Blashvor back into the corridor."
The Jilectan Ladies appeared a few minutes later. There were quite lovely, as Jilectan noblewomen usually were. One of them, who introduced herself as Lady Vovinthvill, had a head of luxuriant platinum curls, was willow-slim, and taller than Blashvor. Her hair sparkled with jewels and her pale, blue gown swept the carpeted deck as she walked, regal as any queen. The other Lady was shorter, less stately, red-headed, and appeared to be in the middle months of a pregnancy. She stood behind Vovinthvill and watched in silence as Blashvor and his party approached.
Blashvor bowed with consummate grace. "My Ladies."
Fong and the other Terrans followed suit and Fong saw that Blashvor had taken his hand from his weapon. Fong, himself, wasn't quite ready to go that far.
The Ladies inclined their regal heads slightly in acknowledgement.
"My Lord Blashvor," Lady Vovinthvill said.
"I am lowering my outer shielding," the pirate chieftain said, smiling coolly. "You are at liberty to scan my outer thoughts and those of my servants for globe influence."
Lady Vovinthvill's lovely eyes narrowed slightly and Fong waited, knowing that she was scanning his thoughts. He saw Jason stiffen slightly, but the boy made no sound.
"The female," Vovinthvill said, suddenly. "Command her to lower her outer shielding."
"Mai," Blashvor said.
Mai Wing's face went tight, but she inclined her head. Fong put an arm around her.
"A Terran psychic!" Vovinthvill spat out the words. "So rumor speaks truly! Jilectan pirates *do* deal with them!"
"We do," Blashvor said. "The boy is also a psychic."
"Remove them from our presence, at once!"
"They are my servants, My Lady," Blashvor said mildly. "They remain."
"For what reason?"
Blashvor's blue eyes met the green ones of the Lady. "They remain," he repeated. "They will not harm you unless you provoke them."
The red-headed Lady spoke for the first time. "Let be, Vovinthvill. It does not matter. We deal with Lord Blashvor; not his slaves."
Vovinthvill drew herself up regally. "Very well. I believe you are a fool, Lord Blashvor. Terran psychics are not to be trusted, but at least I know from the minds of the two normal Terrans that you have not been possessed by these globe creatures."
"We are not, but we encountered two, and we know how dangerous these creatures are," Blashvor said. "We must escape this world as soon as possible. What is wrong with your ship?"
"It is something in the engines." Lady Vovinthvill shrugged expressively. "That is all of which Kyle was certain. Neither he, Pilanthzill nor I have knowledge of such things." She glanced briefly at her servant. "Have you claimed him as yours, My Lord?"
"No. I have no need of him." Blashvor beckoned to the man. "Return to your mistresses, Terran."
Kyle obeyed, and took his place behind the two Ladies.
"Where is Lord Strovolthvar?" Vovinthvill asked.
Blashvor looked suitably grave. "We have heard that he is dead, My Lady. My condolences."
The Ladies took the news without visible signs of grief. Vovinthvill glanced at the other Lady and shrugged. "Dear me. How sad for Lady Plazilthvill."
The red-haired Lady smiled. "Indeed. She will be most upset."
Fong was dying to ask why, but restrained himself. Blashvor, however, was not so controlled. "Why will Lady Plazilthvill be perturbed? Did she love her Lord?"
Vovinthvill also smiled. "Love him? I do not believe so, but now, per custom, we shall be wed to My Lord's younger brother. Rovinthvar already has eighteen wives, and Plazilthvill will lose her position as favored wife to our deceased Lord." Her tone was ever-so-faintly malicious. "Plazilthvill was never one to give up status easily."
The red-haired Lady gave a barely perceptible chuckle.
Blashvor turned to the Terrans. "Fong; Trevor, go see if you can repair the engines. I wish to be away from here as soon as possible."
Fong went with Trevor. Neither of them spoke until they reached the engine room. Then Trevor let out his breath. "Man! It's been a while since I was probed. I'd forgotten how much fun it was."
"How do you know it's happening?" Fong inquired. "Outside of the fact that you knew she was going to?"
"Once you're taught mind shielding, you can feel a probe," Trevor said shortly. "Even when your shielding is as bad as mine."
"And Blashvor doesn't probe you?"
"Why should he? He knows I'm loyal to him."
"He's different from any Jil I've ever known."
"Yeah; he is." Trevor bent over a panel of indicators. "Looks to me like everything's operating like it's supposed to. They must have been practically finished with the repairs when the trouble started."
Fong, looking over his shoulder, agreed. "If that servant of theirs had known anything about engines, he could have fixed this. Looks to me like it's just a matter of battening down the hatches."
Trevor reached for a multiprobe. "Let's get busy."
**********
tbc
