Plague: 13/?
by Nancy smith and Linda Garrick
Chapter X
"All finished." Trevor wiped his hands on the legs of the pants and straightened up. Jason Sweeney grinned from the doorway.
"Good. I'm ready to get off this planet."
"Fed up with the pioneer life already, huh, Shorty?"
"For now." Jason grinned. Then his expression changed, becoming slightly abstracted. Communicating with Blashvor, Fong thought. The kid had an interesting position for one so young; that was certain.
Jason's expression cleared. "Prepare to leave at once. M'Lord says for you two to handle the takeoff."
"No problem." Fong dropped into the pilot's chair. "What course do we set?"
"Blashvor wants to go home." Jason glanced meaningfully at Trevor. "The base, Trev."
"You got it," Trevor said. "I'll put in the course once we're off."
Fong triggered the viewscreen and swiveled the view in a 360 degree arc around the yacht, marking the position of the scout ship. That ship was loaded with globes, and when it took off, those globes would be released upon the Sector.
"Most Jil yachts have armament," he said. "How about this one?"
"What are you thinking, Strike Commander?" Jason asked.
"I was thinking that if we disable the scout, it will be that much longer before they can get off world with that load of globes," Fong said.
"Can you do it?" Jason asked.
"Yeah." Fong located the controls for the weapons computer. "Looks like we're armed to the teeth. Typical Jil yacht. Just as well the valet didn't know anything about control rooms."
"Probably," Trevor said drily.
"Lord Blashvor says you may make the attempt," Jason said. "Just as long as it doesn't delay our escape. We don't want them to shoot us down."
"Okay." Fong reached forward and told the ship's computer to start the yacht's engines. A readout to repulser readiness began clicking down on the board. "Go strap in, kid. One minute to take off. I'm going to do this fast. We don't want them to have time to stop us."
The warning signal for takeoff was sounding throughout the yacht. Fong told the computer to target the scout ship on the field, and the main hangar as they passed over them during the takeoff. It might be a little tricky, but one of the reasons Fong had risen to Strike Commander at a young age had been his acknowledged tactical skill during his days as a young patrolman, as well as his well-known diplomatic sense.
The whine of the repulsers became noticeable, Jason plopped down in one of the chairs belonging to a member of the absent control room crew and pulled the webbing over his torso.
"Five seconds," Fong announced. "Four ... three ... two ... one ...." His thumb hit the button.
The Jilectan yacht lifted gracefully from the landing field. In the rear viewscreen, Fong saw lights come on in adjoining buildings as the slaves of the globes realized what was happening, but there was nothing they could do. The yacht fired twice, explosive projectiles that detonated upon striking their targets, and then screamed upwards into the black sky of Epsilon Indi. Trevor's face was split by a wide grin. Jason was also laughing, and Fong knew that he, too, was grinning like an idiot. Both his shots had gone home. The explosions probably hadn't been decisive, but they had certainly caused plenty of damage. Perhaps they would slow the exodus of the globes into the nearly defenseless Sector. It was probably a futile gesture, but he'd had to try something.
The planet was shrinking in the viewscreen, beginning to assume a rounded appearance. Fong watched it shrink and then looked back at his readouts. "We can go into hyperspace at any time. You'd better set M'Lord's coordinates."
He got out of the pilot's chair and Trevor took his place. Fong looked deliberately away from the control board, aware that Lord Blashvor would be unhappy with him if he were to discover their new heading. "I've never piloted a Jil yacht before," he commented to Jason Sweeney. "There's no comparison."
"Yeah," Jason said. "Trev's taught me to handle a ship. Blashvor's ship is like this one. Handles like a dream."
"That's because Blashvor's ship used to be a Jil yacht, Shorty," Trevor's voice said, behind Fong. "Hyperspace in two minutes."
A female voice from the air spoke in Jilectan and then switched to Basic, warning about the imminent conversion to hyperspace. Fong dropped into one of the control room chairs and pulled the webbing over himself. A warning chime sounded, and then there was a gentle jolt, announcing the conversion to hyperspace.
"Wow," Fong said. "I've never had a conversion like that one." He unstrapped the safety webbing and stood up. "How long to M'Lord's base?"
"Forty-eight hours, more or less." Trevor set the auto-pilot and got to his feet.
"Kind of a long jaunt. Couldn't we drop the Ladies off first? I'd think it's going to be kind of uncomfortable having them along, don't you think?"
Trevor glanced sideways at him, raising an eyebrow. "I think the tall one liked you. I saw her giving you the eye."
"You did?" Fong looked quickly at him. "Are you kidding?"
"I never joke where Jil Ladies are concerned."
"Damn!" Fong made a face, unpleasant thoughts flitting through his mind. "Damn!" he repeated after a moment. "I hope I don't have to deal with *that* on the way."
"You and me both. I didn't like the way the redhead looked at me."
"The pregnant one?" Fong grinned. "Just what you need."
"Like a case of Shallockian sand nits! Maybe they'll be so upset about having to go to Blashvor's base, they'll forget about us."
"More likely they'll use us to help 'em forget!"
Trevor grunted. "I'm going to stick close to Blashvor. That way they won't be able to be obvious about it, and we can just pretend to be real dense."
"Good idea." Fong glanced down at himself, clad only in the pants of the too-tight Patrol uniform. "I'm beat. I wonder if I can get a shower anywhere on this crate."
"Probably." Trevor also surveyed himself. "I could use one, too, but I guess we'd better find M'Lord and find out if he wants us to do anything else, first."
"Good idea."
They followed Jason out. The boy led them through another lounge, to another corridor and turned into another, and glanced over his shoulder. "Lord Blashvor's calling me. He wants to see us all."
"All?"
"Yeah. Council of war."
"Where are the Ladies?" Fong asked, a little apprehensively.
"In their staterooms," Jason said. He gave a not-so-innocent grin. "Like Trev said, steer clear of Vovinthvill, Strike Commander. She does like you."
Fong grunted. "What about the other one? I thought she kind of liked Trevor."
"Sure did. You'd better watch out, too, pal. You know what pregnancy does to Lady Jils."
Trevor groaned. "Their Lord isn't cold yet!"
"Explain that to her," Jason said. "When she probed me, I picked up a bit of her thoughts, too. Her brother married her to Strovolthvar to make a political alliance to Revolthvor's family. Her child is a son, which will be Revolthvor's grandson, and therefore is of value to the family. She doesn't give two hoots for her Lord. She was the most junior Lady in the lot." He indicated a closed door. "In here."
They followed him through another corridor to an elevator and down two levels. Stepping out onto a thick, plush carpet, and looking around at the artistically designed safety railing and wall paintings, Fong decided this must be the deck for the deluxe passenger accommodations. Jason never hesitated, but led them to a crossing corridor and into a luxurious lounge, also carpeted and lavishly decorated. Lord Blashvor, clad in an emerald green, plush robe, which was undoubtedly the property of the yacht's unfortunate owner, lounged in a recliner chair, a glass of ruby-colored liquid cradled negligently in one hand. Mai Wing was seated in another recliner, which dwarfed her, and also held a glass, from which she was daintily sipping. Blashvor glanced up as they appeared and gestured magnanimously. "Ah, my psychic! Trevor! Fong! Come in and sit down! Ah! The comforts of civilization! I had almost forgotten!"
Fong seated himself tentatively on the edge of the sofa and accepted the bottle and glass that Mai Wing passed to him. Trevor collected another, and sat down on the other end of the sofa. As he did so, the Jilectan valet appeared from an adjoining room with another bottle of wine.
Blashvor gestured, and the man came forward to refill the pirate chief's glass.
"Will there be anything else, sir?"
"See if you can find us something to eat, Kyle. Our rations have been rather short for the past few days." Blashvor gestured dismissively to the man. Kyle bowed and withdrew.
"Typical Jilectan toady," Trevor remarked, a little contemptuously.
Blashvor glanced at him. "What do you mean, Trevor?"
"Huh? Oh, I mean old Kyle there. I knew hundreds just like him while I was a 'trol."
"He seems pleasant enough."
"He is to you, sir, and to us as long as we're with you. But get us separate from you and he'll look down his nose at us. Servants of a Pirate Jil, you know, and he's the servant of a noble. It's a rank thing."
Blashvor smiled enigmatically. "And what does he think of me?"
"You must know what he thinks of you, sir. You read his mind, didn't you?"
"What purpose should I have to do that? He does not interest me, personally. I leave such things as that to my Terran psychics."
"Oh." Trevor looked a little disconcerted. "Well, my guess is that he respects you because of your species, but for no other reason."
"Pretty close," Jason said. He looked around. "I'd really like a coke! I'll bet he doesn't have anything but wine and milk in this old crate."
"I will ask him when he returns with our food," Blashvor said. "He may surprise you. Servants of Jilectan nobles usually enjoy a few luxuries."
"They're a pampered bunch," Trevor said.
Blashvor smiled tolerantly and turned to Mai Wing. "Well, that is unimportant. Mai, now that we are at last comfortable, I would like to discuss these globe things with you. It is apparent to me that you know somewhat more than the rest of us. What can you tell us about them?"
She hesitated for a moment. "I don't know as much as I would like. It happened before I became a member of the Underground, but I read the reports. Everyone in the Underground is warned about these things, because they're terribly dangerous, especially to those who are unshielded." She paused. "They kill unshielded psychics. That was one of the first things discovered about the first globe. Colonel Westover wrote the report, as he was the psychic primarily involved with the thing."
"Alan Westover?" Jason interrupted, his eyes shining.
"Yes," Mai Wing said with a smile. "Alan Westover, himself. Oh; you've met him?"
"Just once," Jason said. He leaned forward, his expression animated. "I was caught by psychic hunters, and he was picked up by the same bunch. He --"
"Jason," Blashvor said.
Jason stopped.
"You can discuss your adventures with Miss Wing later. Right now, I want to hear what she has to say about the globes."
"Yes, sir. Sorry."
"You may continue, Miss Wing."
"Yes, sir. Colonel Westover had a fairly personal encounter with one of the globes several years ago. He destroyed it, using a psychic alien weapon which, in the process, was also destroyed."**
"And what was the weapon?"
"It was called a Droma, and was manufactured, somehow, by an alien race, which had encountered the globes centuries ago."
"What race?"
Mai Wing hesitated for a long minute. "I suppose most of the information is in Patrol records, or can be deduced from them. They were the natives of the planet Kasal. They were a dying species. Only a few thousand of them remained, and they were evacuated from the planet by our organization and re-located to an environment where they could survive and recover."
"To what destination?"
"That is classified information, and only those who need to know their location are privy to it," Mai Wing said. "However, the Droma aren't very plentiful, and won't really help us much in this case. Colonel Westover encountered another globe some years later and disposed of it by throwing it down a black hole. I know that some Jilectans, and possibly some Terran psychics, are able to control the things. Halthzor was using the first one I mentioned for interrogation purposes."
"It strikes me," Blashvor said drily, "that these things would be most hazardous comrades."
"I think so, too," Mai Wing said.
"I would not have one."
"Halthzor controlled the one he found," Mai Wing said, "but he didn't have it for very long. Colonel Westover wasn't afraid of it, I know, but he kept his friends away from it and didn't hesitate to destroy it when his chance came."
"I did consider him a most clever young man in the brief time I knew him," Blashvor commented.
"You know Alan?" Mai Wing sounded surprised. "When did you meet?"
"Some years back, when I picked up my psychic." Blashvor glanced at Jason. "Westover was also pursuing him, and I inadvertently captured Mr. Westover at the same time. When I discovered his identity, I, of course, released him at once." Blashvor smiled wryly. "He struck me as a young man of great depth and capability."
"That's one way to describe him," Mai Wing said with a smile. "And the fact that you released him immediately confirms my opinion of you, M'Lord."
"Oh?"
"Yes," Mai Wing said placidly. "Since I met you, I've come to realize that you are a very intelligent man. Many others who have tried to capture Alan have lived to regret it."
"Or died because of it," Blashvor said. "I had no wish to join them. I have nothing but respect for the Terran Underground and its members, and especially Alan Westover. Please continue, however."
"That's about all there is to tell, sir, and I don't see how it's going to help. I mean, this time we're dealing with thousands of the things. Maybe hundreds of thousands."
"A plague," Fong said.
"Very well put, Strike Commander." Blashvor inclined his head slightly, and then spoke to Mai Wing again. "It is obvious these things are dangerous to Terrans, and Procyons. Arcturians ...."
"They're dangerous to Arcturians, too, sir. The second one I told you about was found on Ceregon and was causing all kinds of trouble among the natives."
"Is it dangerous to Jilectans?"
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
Mai Wing hesitated. "I don't have any proof. I just *know*."
"So do I," Jason said.
Blashvor shrugged expressively. "That is sufficient for me."
Fong glanced covertly at the Jilectan. Blashvor was a pirate, and had little loyalty to his species. What his actions would be when faced with this crisis, Fong had no idea. Would he attempt to warn his people, or would he consider it none of his business and go on about his own affairs?
He saw Jason glance toward him, smiling faintly, but he said nothing.
The Jilectan servant entered the lounge at that second, a large tray of sandwiches, fruit and various snack foods floating before him. Jason stood up.
"Mm! That looks good! I'm starved!"
The servant glanced at him in surprise. Jason didn't notice. He was studying the contents of the tray eagerly. "Can I have the marshhopper sandwich, sir?"
"Certainly, Jason." Blashvor smiled benignly. "And after you eat, you will oblige me by taking a bath."
"Huh? Oh, sure." Jason glanced down at himself and grinned. "Guess I *do* look pretty gross, don't I?"
"You smell rather gross, too." Blashvor wrinkled his nose fastidiously.
Jason took the sandwich. "How did you get cleaned up so quick, sir?"
"I made it my first priority." Blashvor also took a sandwich, examining it carefully. "Kyle; after this, you will be certain to trim the fat from the meat."
"Yes, M'Lord!" The servant bowed. "Sorry, sir."
"You were not to know. And see if you can find Jason a coke."
"Jason?" Kyle looked surprised. "Your servant?"
"Yes." Blashvor gestured to the other Terrans. "Help yourselves to the food."
Trevor took a sandwich. Kyle departed in search of the coke. Fong came forward and collected a sandwich of his own: egg salad, he noted. Not his favorite, but at the moment shoe leather would have seemed gourmet quality. The egg salad looked mouth-watering. He hesitated, glancing at M'Lord and wondering if the Jilectan would allow him a piece of Terran fruit as well.
"Help yourself, Strike Commander," Blashvor said magnanimously, around the sandwich he was consuming.
Fong took a peach and sat down again. Jason was already examining the tray again. He selected a second sandwich and a pear. Blashvor grinned tolerantly. "If we ever go camping again, my psychic, I will be certain to bring more supplies -- particularly food."
Jason was too busy chewing to answer. Fong finished his own sandwich, as well as the peach, and caught himself in a yawn that he muffled with one hand. "Excuse me."
"You may retire, Strike Commander." Blashvor selected a second sandwich. "And you also, Mai."
"Thanks, sir." Fong stood up, bowed and went to the door, Mai Wing following. They halted briefly in the corridor outside and Fong put an arm around her.
"Man; I don't know if I'll be able to handle sleeping in a real bed again."
"Pretty wild, huh?" Her eyes crinkled at the corners. "But first I'm going to take a bath."
"Me, too. And see what I can find to wear. This uniform stinks."
She nodded, wrinkling her nose. "Sort of musty, with other smells mixed in."
"Yeah; I noticed. You think old Kyle could help us out for clothes?"
She shrugged. "He's a Jil servant." She grinned. "Go and ask Lady Vovinthvill. She'll probably be glad to help you out."
"Yeah -- out of my clothes! No thanks!" He pulled her closer. "I prefer my own species."
"Me, too."
As he started to lower his face toward hers, Kyle reappeared from an adjoining cabin, a coke on the tray before him. Fong released her quickly, wondering if the man had been eavesdropping.
No; probably Mai would have detected him if he had been. Kyle went past, glancing knowingly at them and vanished into the lounge, which still contained Blashvor and his servants.
Mai Wing smiled and shrugged. Fong bent down and deliberately kissed her. She giggled. "So much for Kyle," she whispered. Fong grinned.
"What we do is none of his business," he agreed. He looked up and down the corridor. "Looks like these are the staterooms for the passengers. I guess we can pick whichever ones we want."
"I don't think Blashvor cares," Mai Wing said. She yawned, covering it with one graceful palm. "I'm pooped. See you later, Lee."
"Good night, honey. Sweet dreams."
He watched her walk away down the corridor and then turned to pick a cabin at random. As he opened the door, Blashvor emerged from the lounge, Trevor and Jason following immediately after him. The servant appeared behind them and headed away down the corridor toward the elevator.
"I thought you would already be in the shower, Strike Commander," Blashvor remarked.
Fong had to restrain the instinct to salute. Clad in the shining robes of the yacht's unfortunate owner, and standing regally erect, a jeweled blaster at his hip, Blashvor looked every inch a noble. "Uh ... Mai Wing and I had a short conversation, sir," he said. "I'm heading for the shower, now. Is this cabin all right, or would you rather I --"
"Wherever you wish, Fong, except that room." Blashvor tousled Jason's hair. "My psychic has already chosen that one."
"That's okay," Jason said. "You can have it, Strike Commander. I'll go next door."
"No, it's all yours." Fong stepped back from the door. "I just picked one at random."
"Where is Miss Wing?" Blashvor inquired.
"She went that way." Fong pointed to the left. "I guess she already had her cabin picked out."
"Quite so. Well, good night, Strike Commander." The Jilectan gave him a benevolent smile. "You have served me well on this venture, and I will not soon forget it."
"Thank you, sir. Good night." Fong turned toward the door of the next room.
A scream from Mai Wing nearly lifted him from his boots. He spun around with a startled oath, seeing her face before his eyes. Hands yanked at his clothing, even though he was still shirtless. He felt the fabric tear.
But, of course, there was nothing. Blashvor and Trevor were staring at him in surprise. Jason also looked startled, but there was comprehension in his expression.
The scream came again, along with the sensation of fighting and being forced down by a superior force. With a second oath, Fong charged past his staring companions, down the corridor, following the frantic call.
Vaguely, Fong was aware that they were following him, but he paid no attention. The call continued, along with the sensation of a physical struggle. He reached the branch in the corridor and turned instantly right, not knowing why, sprinted half a dozen meters and jammed his finger against the door control. It swished open before him.
On the deck, two figures were struggling. Mai Wing was pinned down by the form of the Jilectan servant, but he obviously hadn't subdued her, for as Fong burst in, he saw the man jerk his head back sharply, and grab the hand that clawed at his eyes.
As Fong lunged for the struggling figures, he saw the man hit her, knocking her head back. Then he was on the servant, pulling him free of Mai Wing and spinning him around.
Kyle cursed, striking at Fong's throat with one hand. Fong blocked it with one arm and caught the wrist, trying to bring it into an armlock.
But Kyle apparently had training in hand to hand combat, which might explain Mai Wing's difficulty in handling him. He twisted his arm, using a technique that Fong had learned many years ago in Patrol boot camp, and reversed the hold. Fong countered it, and they strained momentarily, each trying to gain the advantage.
Then Blashvor stepped in. He grasped the valet by the back of his uniform and lifted him bodily from the deck. Kyle cursed lividly and then, realizing who held him, fell suddenly silent.
Blashvor held him suspended a meter from the deck, but his attention was on Mai Wing.
"Are you hurt, Miss Wing?" he inquired, coolly.
She got to her feet, looking more angry than frightened, clutching her torn blouse together with one hand. Fong saw Blashvor's eyes flicker appreciatively to the skin revealed by the damage to her clothing, but his face remained impassive.
Her furious gaze locked on Kyle. "You stupid son of a bitch! How dare you?"
Blashvor's lips curved slightly, and Fong read admiration in his expression. Fong could understand that. He was feeling a good deal of admiration, himself.
Blashvor repeated his question. Mai Wing dabbed at a cut lip, but shook her head. "Not much, I think."
"That," Blashvor said, sternly, looking now at Kyle, who still dangled ignominiously from his grasp, "is very fortunate for you." He glanced at the cut on Mai Wing's lip, then balled up his other fist and struck the servant carefully. Blood spouted from his lip, in a spot corresponding exactly with Mai Wing's injury.
"You will leave my servants alone," the Jilectan stated, dispassionately. "Is that understood?"
Kyle gulped. "Yes, M'Lord!"
"If you do not heed my warning," the pirate continued, "and annoy Miss Wing, or any of my associates again, I will personally eject you from the airlock, without a pressure suit." He dropped the man to the deck. "Is that understood?"
Kyle staggered and grabbed at the back of a chair for support. Blashvor stepped back, wiping his hands disdainfully on his flowing, satin robes. "Now, get out."
Kyle did so. Fong pulled the satin cover from the bed and wrapped it around Mai Wing. Blashvor gestured to Jason and Trevor. Wordlessly, they left the cabin.
Blashvor paused in the doorway and turned, to speak to Mai Wing, again.
"Mai, I would prefer to have you closer to my own quarters. Your modesty is one thing, but your safety is quite another. Fong, when she has recovered, bring her to the cabin directly beside Jason's, and you will take the one next to that. Technically, we are still in enemy territory and I think it is prudent that we remain together."
Mai Wing nodded soberly. "Yes, sir."
"Kyle is a fool, or he would not have attempted anything so stupid, even once. A fool is never to be trusted. I have learned that the hard way."
Mai Wing clutched the bed covering around her. "I'll come with you now. I'm all right."
Fong put an arm around her, and together, they followed the Jilectan down the corridor.
________
**The Crystal Demon
