Plague: 14/15
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Chapter XI
The quarters to which Mai Wing was assigned were meant for a male Jilectan. The frilly, elaborate décor didn't surprise Fong in the least, and Mai Wing gave an unexpected giggle. "I think I like this cabin better than the last one, anyway." She sobered at once and looked at Blashvor. "Thank you, M'Lord. I should have been more alert. I don't think Kyle will try anything again, though."
"He better not," Fong said.
The Jilectan pirate smiled. "Do not fear, Strike Commander. Kyle is apparently accustomed to taking what he wants from those he considers his social inferiors. Most upper class Jilectans do not care, as long as their servant can still perform his --" He smiled at Mai Wing. "Or her, duties. He did not realize that I would object. He understands that, now. I think you may safely leave Miss Wing alone." He smiled benignly and withdrew, Jason and Trevor with him. Fong got as far as the door and then turned to look at her.
She had seated herself on the lacy bed, still clutching the borrowed spread around her and dabbing at her lip. She looked up at Fong.
"I'm all right, Lee. Really."
Fong shut the door. The emotions churning within him should have been aggravating his ulcer intolerably. Odd that it was silent. "Mai --"
"Yes?"
He went to her, lifted her roughly to her feet and pulled her fiercely against him. She yielded instantly, hands on his shoulders, her dark eyes close to his own. "That guy --"
"Don't, Lee. It's over."
"It's not over. It'll never be over!"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, if that trenchcrawler ever touches you again --"
"He won't. He was too scared of Lord Blashvor."
"He's damned lucky Blashvor was there!"
"I know." She smiled into his eyes. "Thank you, Lee. You were wonderful."
"You're mine, Mai!" He kissed her.
"I'm a psychic. You're a patrolman."
"Not any more," he said. "That's over." He kissed her again.
"I know." Her smile widened. "Even though you're acting sort of like one."
He found himself grinning in return. "I guess I am getting a bit aggressive, aren't I?"
"With you, I love it." Her lips sought his a third time.
**********
Eight hours of exhausted sleep left Fong feeling much better. He sat up in the enormous, incredibly comfortable bed, stretching hugely, and ran a hand through his hair. The chronometer on the bulkhead brought him fully awake. Mai! He had to check on her! If that guy had bothered her again --
A discreet knock sounded on the door. He went to open it, the satin night shirt of a Jilectan Lord, which he had borrowed, dragging on the deck.
Mai Wing was waiting when he opened the door. She looked stunning in a deep green gown, which must once have belonged to a Jilectan Lady. She had drawn it back, folded and pinned it, and probably trimmed it here and there, although he couldn't see any signs of that, until it fitted her tolerably well. He could tell, however, that she was braless. That trencher yesterday must have torn it, and the soft material of the gown clung in places that made him strain his eyes, wondering if he could really see what he thought. He couldn't, he decided finally, but the illusion was tantalizing.
"Stay away from Kyle while you're wearing that," he advised.
"I will." She dimpled. "I'm sorry, Lee. There was nothing else, and he ripped the daylights out of my underthings."
"Trenchcrawler!"
She smiled demurely. "Thank you, Lee, but really, I don't think you need to worry. I saw him when I came out of my cabin. He wouldn't even look at me, and skittered past me like a scared mongoose."
"What's a mongoose?"
"A little animal in the Hawaiian Islands. I'll tell you about them sometime. Anyway, get dressed. Lord Blashvor wants to see us."
"Oh? What about?"
"The globes." Mai Wing looked a little uneasy. "We know a little more about them than you think -- Blashvor, Jason and I."
"Why didn't you say anything to me about it?"
"Blashvor ordered me not to mention it. I'm sorry."
He grinned wryly. "I guess that settles it. You don't argue with a Jil."
"At least not Blashvor," she agreed. "Besides, he was right. What if you or Trevor were captured by the slaves of the globes?"
That was also a good point. "I understand," he told her. "Give me a few minutes to get out of this tent and find something decent to wear."
"Good luck," she said. She wiggled her hips at him in the clinging gown, making him catch his breath. "Come to M'Lord's stateroom when you're ready."
He grinned and shut the door, and then stood with his back to it, breathing a little hard. Man! What a woman! Fong had known many women during his career, but he had never met anyone remotely like her. And she was his!
Feeling good, he went over to the dresser and opened the top drawer.
Lacy, elaborate underclothing met his gaze. He glared at the be-ribboned shreds of transparent lace and gauze and cussed under his breath. Some new briefs would be nice, but he simply refused to wear those things.
The second drawer revealed a red satin tunic, embroidered with silver threads and trimmed with matching silver lace, and a pair of deep red leggings, a flowing light-blue robe decked with Coralan deepwater pearls, and a pantsuit of a shimmering gold material, edged with black, gilded lace.
Cursing, he yanked open the bottom drawer, already knowing what he would find.
Night clothing, similar to the outfit that he already wore, met his frustrated gaze. He slammed the drawer shut and strode over to the gigantic wardrobe.
The panel slid open, revealing the formal wear of a Jilectan noble: long satin robes, edged with fur and precious jewels, silvery bodysuits, flashing with iridescent glints and tiny gems, and high-heeled boots, which would certainly reach his thighs.
With a silent groan, he turned to look at the discarded Patrol trousers, lying limply on the bathroom floor. Even from here, their odor reached him faintly. Blashvor would certainly never allow him in the same room if he tried to put those on -- not that the idea appealed to him in the least. Besides, Mai Wing might be offended. Before he left, he thought, he had better toss them into the laundry chute and get them out of the place. The thought of returning to a cabin that smelled like that made him wrinkle his nose.
With a sigh of resignation, he selected from the wardrobe the least offensive piece of apparel that he could see -- a bodysuit of a royal, peacock blue. Sapphires and tani-crystals flashed from the throat, wrists and waist and, to his horror, he realized that the suit sported a kind of train that fell gracefully from the shoulders in filmy, silken folds. He considered tearing it off, but his soul rebelled at the thought of so desecrating the personal property of a Jilectan Lord. Hopelessly, he examined the other articles in the closet one last time, considered for a moment the lime green pantsuit, extracted it from the wardrobe, and then cussed at the sight of the ballerina-type ruffle, decked with pink pearls that adorned the hips.
Voicing a final four-letter word, he replaced the article in the wardrobe and tossed the blue pantsuit onto the bed.
Underwear. He couldn't wear that thing without *some* kind of underclothing.
Groaning inwardly, he opened the top dresser drawer and reached in blindly. His hand emerged with a pair of transparent, pink bikini panties, edged in black lace.
Someone knocked on the door and faintly, through the panel, he heard Jason's voice.
"Can you hurry up, sir? M'Lord's waiting for you."
"Coming! Give me five more minutes!" Fong turned desperately back to the drawer, dug through the contents and, at last, located a pair of deep gold undies with a discreet (for a Jilectan) edging of silver fringe. He yanked them on, feeling them mold snugly to his skin, and then, refusing to look at himself, went over to the pantsuit and began struggling into it.
Surprisingly, the fit wasn't bad. The Jil who had stayed in these quarters must have been short and rather fat as Jils went. The suit closed snugly, fitting itself to his muscular frame, and the satiny feel against his skin was surprisingly pleasant. The veil floated gracefully from his shoulders, reaching past his knees. The legs were a little too long, but a pair of boots should hide the fact. He selected several from the wardrobe, surveyed them, and then thrust his feet into a pair of polished leather half-boots that came to his knees. High heels, of course, dammitall! But they fit, and were more comfortable than he would have expected.
Turning, he surveyed himself in the mirror and grinned. If he were to attend a costume ball, he'd certainly take first prize. On sudden impulse, he picked up half a dozen rings from an open jewel case and slipped them onto his fingers. The jewels flashed blindingly in the reddish light. He ran a comb through his hair, started to turn away and then, grinning, turned back to the jewel case.
Might as well do it right, since he was going to make a fool of himself, anyhow.
A thick, gold chain, from which dangled a single, immense ruby, surrounded with diamonds, interspersed with pearls, caught his attention. Fong slipped it over his head, regarded himself appraisingly in the mirror, and strode toward the door, stopping only long enough to pick up the Patrol clothing with two fingers and cast it into the bathroom laundry chute.
Lord Blashvor was seated at a well-spread table when Fong arrived, and, to his surprise, Lady Pilanthzill was seated on his right. She was breathtaking in a filmy, hot pink gown, her red hair flowing over her shoulders in soft waves. Her pregnant belly wasn't visible, concealed by the soft folds of her gown, and her cheeks were flushed, her green eyes sparkling. She was quite young, Fong realized. Probably not yet out of her teens. As he appeared, her eyes traveled appreciatively over his form, and she smiled.
"I see you found the quarters of my late Lord's youngest brother," she remarked.
Blashvor turned to look at Fong and an eyebrow crawled up. "You look well, Strike Commander," he commented, and turned to speak to the Lady. "I have often thought that the styles which Terran males favor fail to do them full credit."
Jason, seated on Blashvor's other side, muffled a laugh. Mai Wing's eyes also traveled over him appreciatively and he saw her smile with what appeared to be approval.
"Won't you join us, Strike Commander?" Blashvor invited.
Mai Wing indicated the place beside her. Fong seated himself.
"Where's Trevor?" he inquired.
"Supposedly, he is coming." Blashvor glanced at a large, ornate chronometer around one wrist. "Jason, perhaps you had best go after him again."
"He'll be here in a minute, sir," Jason said.
Trevor appeared in the doorway, and Fong stared.
Trevor, too, it appeared, had encountered some difficulty finding suitable clothing. He wore a pair of golden breeches which showed evidence that decorations had been forcibly removed from them, a sparkling silver tunic that fell nearly to his knees, and was adorned with a mutilated red bow at the throat. Apparently the ribbon had not come free as easily as the jewels. His boots came past his knees, were spike-heeled, and edged at the top with soft, downy fur. Privately Fong wondered, with hidden amusement, what kind of underwear was concealed beneath the attire. If the Jil Lord who had previously occupied Trevor's quarters had taste in clothing anything like Pilanthzill's youngest brother-in-law, Trevor had probably recoiled at the thought of wearing them, but hadn't had a choice.
"Good morning, sir," Trevor muttered. "Sorry I'm late."
Blashvor never batted an eye. "Be seated, Trevor."
The Lady was looking the newcomer over. She smiled deprecatingly. "You have, Terran, despoiled one of my cousin Dorzinthvor's favorite choices of formal attire."
"Sorry, M'Lady," Trevor muttered. He sat down beside Fong.
Blashvor turned to the Lady. "Have you completed your meal, Ton Vees?"
Ton Vees, Fong knew, was a Jilectan term of admiration and affection. It worked well. The young Jilectan female, obviously charmed by the dashing pirate, flushed a deep rose hue. "Yes, My Lord. I have."
Blashvor rose and spoke a phrase in Jilectan. The Lady also rose, smiling coyly, took the hand he offered, and was led from the cabin.
They had all risen when Blashvor had, and now they stood looking at each other uncertainly as the two Jilectans vanished through the door. Finally, Fong and the others seated themselves a second time and he glanced around at his companions. Mai Wing's expression was carefully neutral and Trevor was pulling absently at the remnants of the ribbon at his throat. There was a lengthy pause.
Jason laughed suddenly. "It looks like M'Lord has a new admirer!"
Trevor glanced across at him. "She must be close to delivering that kid!"
"You know Jils. The more pregnant the better. And stop messing with that ribbon, Trev! It looks bad enough!"
"Damned thing held on like a Riskellian sand leech. I couldn't find a knife or I'd have cut it off."
Fong saw Mai Wing cover a smile. "You could have used the needle beam," he suggested, careful not to crack a smile.
"I was afraid I'd trigger the smoke alarm!"
"Why didn't you find something else to wear?" Jason asked, reasonably. Fong could have answered the question, but remained prudently silent.
"I looked. You should see that stuff! This outfit was the plainest thing in the cabin. The guy that owned these things liked frills and furbelows, necklines down to the belly-button and pants with peekaboo holes in all kinds of places! This was the most normal pair of pants I could find!"
"You should have done what Lee did," Mai Wing told him.
Trevor glanced at Fong. "He didn't do anything!"
"Sure he did," Jason giggled. "He accepted the inevitable."
Trevor said something under his breath and surveyed Jason resentfully. "Where did you find what you're wearing?"
Jason glanced down at the neat, closely fitting leggings and overtunic that he wore. "Me? Why I just told Kyle to alter some of his for me."
"And he *did*?"
"Sure. He was glad to after I told him I'd tell Fong he'd been after Mai again, if he didn't."
Trevor stared at him. "You did?"
"Sure."
Mai Wing glanced toward the door. "Do you suppose he's coming back, or should we go ahead and eat?"
"He'll be back," Jason said. "After he attends to business."
This kid was worldly far beyond his years, Fong thought. But, after all, he was a psychic, and the sidekick of a Jil pirate, and had been for at least three years. That probably accounted for it. He turned to Trevor. "What did you pull off those pants? They look like they've been through a shredder."
"About a thousand damned sequin-things," Trevor told him darkly. "They were sharp, too. I don't know how the Lady's cousin could've sat down, but they were better than the ones with little holes all over the butt! Or the ones I could nearly see through! I couldn't walk in here in those!"
"We'll all give thanks to the gods of space that you didn't," Fong said solemnly.
Jason snorted. "I'll talk to Kyle. Maybe he can put something together for you."
"I'd never fit into his stuff," Trevor said. "Forget it. I'll get some of my own clothes when we get home. In the meantime, I'll just have to wear this clown suit."
Fong figured he was pretty much stuck, too. Even if Kyle got around to washing those things he'd thrown down the laundry chute, they'd been much too small for him. This stuff, for all its garish glitter and embarrassing design, was a lot more comfortable. Besides, he was getting more or less inured to embarrassment since the start of this trip. It hadn't done his ego much good at first, but he hadn't felt this good for years. And maybe he could find some foot wear -- bedroom slippers or something -- that weren't high-heeled.
"I wish Blashvor would step on it," Trevor said, after nearly ten more long minutes of silence. "I'm hungry."
As he spoke, Blashvor appeared in the doorway. He smiled calmly at the Terrans,
"Now," he announced, "we eat." He took his place grandly at the head of the table and picked up a covered dish. "The life of a noble might be interesting for a short period," he remarked, "but I fear I would find it boring after a time."
Privately, Fong thought so, too. He helped himself from the dish that Jason passed him -- fried potatoes and scrambled harkat eggs, still hot and tempting. Mai Wing poured herself a cup of coffee, and then one for him. Man! Fong thought. It was great to eat a real breakfast again! He helped himself from a second platter of curried marshhopper and toast, and dove in.
For a few minutes, no one spoke. Then Trevor looked up at Blashvor and lifted an eyebrow. "Didn't Her Ladyship want to eat with us Terrans?"
"Jilectan nobles do not eat with Terrans, Trevor."
"Of course not. Still, she seemed able to overlook us, to have you around, sir."
The Jilectan chuckled.
"When's her baby due?" Mai Wing asked.
"I did not ask, but she appears to be about mid-term." Blashvor took a huge bite of eggs and a swallow of Jilectan ale. "I wished to speak with the non-psychics about the globes."
Fong put down his fork. So did Trevor.
Blashvor drew the chain they had found on the dead patrolman from around his neck and set it on the table before them. The stone glinted faintly in the reddish lighting. "Mai?" he said.
Mai Wing picked up the chain and held it in one hand. "I saw another ornament like this once before," she said slowly. "It was in the Extraplanetary Museum in New York."
"New York's on Terra, Trev," Jason put in.
"I know," Trevor said.
Fong hadn't known, but he said nothing. Mai Wing was continuing.
"There was an information plaque beneath the stone, telling its history and all. It was discovered in the ruins of a temple on Dalzeer by Terran explorers. It's one of three. The second was discovered in the ruins of the Dalzeeran Emperor's palace after the Patrol bombed it and cleared out the natives. That was about sixty years ago." She paused, took a sip of coffee, and continued. "Legend, considered pure myth, speaks of a weapon, three in one, which was used to drive out demons invading Dalzeer a thousand years ago. It was given to the priests of Kraamm by their god, but two of the pieces were stolen in the sack of the temple by a barbarian chieftain, who attacked the Kraammites a century later. They were used as the eyes of the idol of Gorzar. That temple was sacked by the Emperor Gorch, two centuries later."
"And they call *my* people violent," Blashvor murmured.
Mai Wing didn't appear to hear the remark. "Lord Revolthvor's grandfather obtained Gorch's piece somehow, and Terran archeologists found Kraamm's. One remains in the eye socket of the statue of Gorzar buried in a decaying city somewhere deep in the Dalzeeran jungle."
Fong had picked up his fork again. Such things might interest archeologists but they held no allure for him. Trevor apparently felt the same. He took a big swallow of coffee and shrugged. "So what? What have three stupid rocks got to do with that bunch of globes?"
Mai Wing glanced at him reprovingly. "You don't understand, Rich," she said quietly. "One of those stupid rocks, as you call them, killed a globe. It sucked the energy right out of it."
Fong put down his fork again. "Is that what you think happened? You think the Dalzeeran rock, or whatever it is -- killed the globe?"
"I think so; yes."
"But *how*?"
"That, I can't say for sure. It apparently collapsed the globe from the inside, somehow. My theory is that it somehow absorbed the thing's energy, killing it."
"But what killed the 'trol?"
"I *think* the rock did that as well."
Fong and Trevor both turned to look at Blashvor, who was smiling faintly and toying with the stone that still lay on the table before him.
"Then it could just as easily kill us," Trevor said.
"No." Mai Wing reached over and took the stone from Blashvor, dangling the chain before them. "I think the thing is programmed only to attack globes."
"You *think*!"
"The patrolman you found had probably been wearing it for some time -- at least a couple of weeks. I suspect this stone is the one belonging to Revolthvor, probably stolen from Strovolthvar when he was killed and his room ransacked. But I think the reason he died is that when the stone attacked the globe, the man got caught in the crossfire, as it were. He was a source of energy, and the stone took his as well as the energy cells for his blaster, and the globe's. I think that alone, the weapon lacks selectivity, and thus, the man died, too. There are three stones, remember. It's possible that one of the others provides control."
"But what are they?" Fong stared at the little object dangling from the chain. "A weapon of some kind, I suppose, but where did they come from?"
"I don't know. A space traveling race, probably. The things are advanced. I suspect the 'demons' spoken of in the legend were actually globes. The three stones together destroyed them. No mention is made in the legend of other fatalities. Of course, that doesn't mean there weren't any, but I think that together, the three stones killed the globes without injuring the priests."
There was a short silence. Then, Jason shrugged and grinned at Trevor. "So you see, Trev, here we were worrying, and actually there wasn't any problem at all. There *is* a weapon that will kill these things, and all we have to do is break into the Terran museum, and then dig through the jungles of Dalzeer."
"Piece of cake," Trevor agreed. He finished his coffee and reached for the pot again.
Blashvor stared for a moment, then he burst into a hearty laugh. "Terran humor! I shall never become accustomed to it! Truly, it is the most unique in the Sector! No, my psychic, I have no intention of robbing a heavily guarded museum on Terra. I shall, instead, turn my little ornament here over to Mai Wing. Since she is a member of the Terran Underground, her resources are certainly far superior to my own, and besides, I am certain it would be far more profitable to me. The Underground and I can negotiate an equitable price." He paused, and his smile broadened. "After all, if these globe creatures take over the Sector, it will be very bad for business."
That was for sure, Fong thought. He popped the last of the toast into his mouth and refilled his coffee cup.
**********
tbc
