The Legacy of Lehr

by Katherine Kurtz

  Mather spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “As long as they’re outside the shields, as my men also will be, I consider that most equitable, Captain. In fact, I’ll join you as soon as I’ve made a few final adjustments.”

  “Suit yourself,” the captain muttered. “Mind you, though, if the cats do turn out to be involved in any way—”

  “Captain—”

  With a perplexed sigh, Mather glanced at Wallis and Shannon, at the cats, back at Lutobo, then briskly drew his needler and strode back to the cat cages, holding the weapon close along his thigh. The female whose mate had been slain was still asleep; the other pair sat quite still and looked at him suspiciously as he approached, the male occasionally letting out a low, warning growl.

  Mather studied the pair for several seconds, recalling the price the animals had extracted even before the Valkyrie—the bearers injured and maimed during the capture, the two Rangers killed on B-Gem. Then he glanced down wistfully at the weapon in his hand and raised it, carefully squeezing off a needle into each animal’s side. The cats looked startled; the female started to bite at the spot where the dart had struck; and then both of them staggered and collapsed to the floor of their cage. Behind him, Mather heard someone let out a low sigh.

  Holstering his weapon, Mather reached up and turned on the scanners above the two groggy cats. He could hear the others approaching behind him as he watched the readings stabilize and the cats slipped into labored sleep. The touch on his arm was Wallis’s as he turned to face the captain.

  “Would you say that the cats are now incapable of voluntary action, Captain?” Mather asked.

  Lutobo’s dark eyes flicked over the cats briefly, then returned to Mather’s face. “You’re really certain they’re innocent, aren’t you?” he said gruffly. “So certain, you’d endanger them to make sure they can’t be implicated any further.”

  “In the final analysis, we’re talking about human lives, aren’t we, Captain?”

  Lutobo looked around uncomfortably—at Shannon and Wallis standing by, Wallis with hard copies of the blood lists in her hands; at Mather and his Rangers; at his own security men—then clasped his hands behind his back and rocked up and down a few times on the balls of his feet.

  “Very well. Doctor Hamilton, I’d appreciate it if you’d allow me at least the semblance of command in this operation, but otherwise, I shall bow to your expertise, both medical and otherwise. And I’ll insist that you get the cooperation you need. Doctor Shannon, I think it best if you return to Medical Section for now. We still have a shipful of passengers to care for.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Courtenay, I’ll ask you to come with us, please,” he said to his security chief.

  “Ay, sir.”

  “Take Wing and Casey for your Rangers,” Mather said to Wallis, reasoning that if a Ranger was their second suspect and was one of the two he had chosen, at least the other might be able to neutralize him if he tried anything. “I’ll join you at Reynal’s cabin as soon as I’ve finished here. Don’t take any foolish chances.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said with a laugh.

  Wallis was not laughing by the time she and her party reached the crew lift. And when the lift stopped at Level Four, one deck short of where Reynal’s cabin lay, the reaction of the couple waiting to board reminded her how formidable a band they must appear: she and her Rangers, Lutobo, and Courtenay. The couple decided not to board—she could hardly blame them—but just as the doors began to close, Wallis lurched toward the control panel and hit the door button, worming her way between the doors as soon as they had opened far enough.

  “I saw Torrell,” she murmured over her shoulder as she leaned out to peer to the right, then pointed toward a tall, retreating figure. “There he is. Let’s take him right now, since he’s here.”

  With a glance at the captain, who nodded, Casey and then Courtenay and Wing hurried after. Torrell looked surprised and a little annoyed as they, Wallis, and the captain converged on him.

  “Is something wrong, Captain?” he asked. His manner was coldly appraising as he glanced among them.

  “I hope not, Mister Torrell.”

  “It’s Doctor Torrell—”

  “Very well, Doctor Torrell,” Lutobo said. “There’s a steward’s station just a few meters down the corridor, where we can have some privacy. I’d like you please to step inside with us to answer a few questions.”

  Torrell started to object, but he suddenly realized that he was now flanked by Courtenay and both Rangers, and that other nearby passengers were watching with increasing curiosity. No one laid a hand on him, but the implied threat was no less real for that. With a curt “Very well,” Torrell moved with them without resistance to the door of the steward’s station. Lutobo, on checking the room and finding it empty, stood aside and motioned for the others to enter. As soon as the door had closed behind them all, Torrell turned on Lutobo.

  “I don’t suppose you’d mind telling me what this is all about, Captain?”

  “We’re conducting an investigation, Doctor Torrell. Would you please remove your jacket and your shirt?”

  “My what?”

  As he realized that Lutobo was serious, Torrell went into a tirade. “I’ll do no such thing! What is this, anyway? Star chamber proceedings? I warn you, Doctor Hamilton?” he barked, even more agitated when he saw that Wallis was removing an instrument from her medical kit. “If you think you can drug me and get away with it, you’re dead wrong. You have no right—”

  “As captain of this ship, I have all the right I need, Torrell,” the captain said calmly, “and you won’t be drugged unless that’s what it takes for Doctor Hamilton to get a sample of your blood. Now, are you going to make this easy or difficult?”

  Torrell looked as if he had been seriously considering making it difficult, but before he could open his mouth to tell them, Casey cleared his throat and snapped from parade rest to attention, slightly behind and to Torrell’s right. The sound and movement froze Torrell in his place. He turned and looked hard at the impassive Casey, pivoted to glance at Wing and Courtenay, now flanking him, then turned back to Lutobo uncertain and definitely subdued.

  “Captain, there had better be a very good reason for this,” he said uneasily, unfastening his jacket and shirt and starting to remove both at once.

  Before he could get free of either sleeve, Casey and Wing caught him deftly by his shirt- and jacket-tangled arms and held him long enough for Wallis to take her sample. Torrell went a little pale as she drew the blood, but he sensed it was best not to struggle or protest too much with a needle in his arm. His bravado returned when they released him, however, even his color coming back as he wriggled out of his jacket the rest of the way and then continued wrestling with his shirt. Wallis, as she stored the sample in her medical kit, decided that Torrell probably was not their killer—but in case he was, she had a strong knockout hypo waiting for him—for in these close quarters, there might not be time for needlers.

  “I hope you’re enjoying this, Doctor,” Torrell said sarcastically, finally freeing one wrist from his shirt and shifting his attention to the other. “Usually, when I undress in front of a women, there’s no other audience. Or maybe it’s the captain who’s enjoying it!” He pulled off the shirt the rest of the way and flung it at Lutobo, then stood defiantly, hands on his hips, glaring. “Are you satisfied, Captain? I’m going to hold you personally responsible for this outrage. You won’t get away with it, you know.”

  Calmly, Lutobo handed the clothing to Courtenay to hold. “Neither threats nor insults will make this any easier, Doctor Torrell,” Lutobo said. “Just do as you’re told and turn around, please.”

  “Of course, Captain. Anything you say, Captain, sir!” Torrell turned around several times, making assorted mocking poses and postures as he did. Wallis looked closely at his arms and chest as he turned, but aside from a few obviously old and very minor scars—and several sets of parallel welts on his back, f
rom a far more human kind of cat than those residing in the hold—there was no sign of a wound anywhere on his body.

  “He seems to be clean, Captain,” Wallis murmured, closing her kit on the hypo. “I don’t think we need to see any more.”

  With a nod, Lutobo sighed for Courtenay to return Terrell’s clothing. The historian glanced at the captain with something akin to loathing as he thrust his arms back into his shirt.

  “What, no total skin search, Lutobo?” he said with a sneer, shrugging the shirt into place and straightening the cuffs. “I’ll have your job for this. Just watch me! I plan to take legal action as soon as we reach Tersel. You can bet your pension on it. I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me now what you were looking for, to excuse this outrageous treatment?”

  Lutobo remained impassive. “I apoligize for any inconvenience or embarrassment you may have suffered, Doctor Torrell. We have reason to believe that someone of your blood type was wounded by one of the Lehr cats early this morning, while trying to kill it. If my manner seemed somewhat precipitous, it’s because three people have been murdered aboard this ship in the last thirty-six hours.”

  “And you thought that I might have committed those murders?”

  “We thought you might be an accomplice,” Wallis said. “You have the right blood type.”

  Torrell snatched his jacket from Courtenay and jammed it under his arm in a wad before wrenching the door open. “I’ll see you in court, Doctor! And you, too, Captain! All of you!”

  As he stalked down the corridor, Wallis sighed and glanced wistfully at Lutobo. “You know, you could have asked me to take him out, Captain,” she said. “I had a hypo all ready. Then we could have sent him on to Shannon for a nice mind-wipe. I won’t say it’s strictly legal, but Mather and I would have backed you all the way.”

  Lutobo snorted, almost smiling.

  “You’re going to back me anyway, Doctor. Didn’t you know? Any legal repercussions that may arise from this investigation will fall on the two of you. All that Imperial clout ought to be good for something besides bullying a starliner captain.”

  “It is,” Wallis said, controlling her own smile. “Believe me, it is.”

  Meanwhile, on the deck just below, one of their killers stalked his next victim even as they spoke. Grim and purposeful, he lurked in the shadows near the entrance to the Fourth Level Gymnasium, watching until just the right quarry should come along. He was weakened from his interrupted attack on Phillips; further debilitated from the wounds sustained in the slaughter of the Lehr cat. But it was not long before his ideal victims emerged: two young boys, laughing and talking and paying scant attention to where they were going and who or what came near them.

  They were not on guard. They were children, the older no more than nine standard years of age, neither of them schooled in reading the subtle signs of being prey. They did not notice the figure coming at them from a side passageway until it was too late.

  It was almost too late when their attacker swooped out in front of them in a swirl of blue fur, golden eyes glowing with fanatic purpose in the shadow-folds of a hooded cloak. It was too late when hands reached out to seize both boys—the younger by the wrist, the older by the throat, a mere touch stunning all voluntary movement, dulling perception, numbing will. It was far too late as their captor drew the older victim closer in fatal embrace, murmuring alien words in a harsh, discordant tongue before sinking pointed teeth into a helpless, upturned throat.

  Nor could the younger boy even try to escape—for all volition, all ability to react, had been obliterated by the merest touch of that hand that held him captive. Still quivering in that grasp, the younger boy could only watch his companion pale and die, not even able to flinch as their attacker dropped his lifeless first victim to the carpet and turned to draw the second into that same deadly embrace.

  And only a few corridors away, Doctor Shivaun Shannon paused near the elevator to calm a trio of agitated passengers. The man was white-faced with tension, the two women babbling almost incoherently that they all surely would be murdered in their beds before the ship made her next port.

  Shannon listened politely, dispensed reassurance and a tranquilizer capsule to each, and had just continued on toward her office when a woman’s shrill scaream shattered the air.

  “What was that?” one of the passengers asked with a gasp.

  Shannon bolted for the source of the cry with only a muttered “Pardon me!” but a steward and a security guard reached the scene before she did. The guard even caught a glimpse of the presumed murderer fleeing around a far turn in the companionway. While the steward called for an emergency team and tried to give aid to the young victims and a hysterical woman who apparently had raised the alarm, the guard sprinted off in pursuit, only to skid to a confused halt as he nearly ran into a hulking figure in a dark cloak.

  The figure reached out for him, though, and its touch paralyzed the guard, bringing him to his knees, head bowed to touch the figure’s boots. Through his pain, the guard was dimly aware of the figure bending over him, but he could not summon the will or the strength to raise his head and look.

  “You have seen no one. Do you understand?” whispered a voice at his left ear.

  “I—I—” the guard managed to stammer. He could feel the speaker breathing close to his neck and caught the stench of blood on the other’s breath.

  “You will remember none of this,” the whisper continued. “You tripped and fell, and that which you were pursuing eluded you. You remember nothing of what you saw.”

  Something cold touched the side of the guard’s neck then, lingering briefly over the pulse point, and then fire radiated sharply outward from that point, quickly filling his head with such agony that he lost consciousness. When he came to, footsteps were pounding down the corridor around him and someone was pausing to ask if he was all right. He picked himself up dazedly, wondering what he could have tripped over to nearly knock himself out, and headed back toward the source of all the confusion in the vicinity.

  Shannon and a steward were bending over a hysterically sobbing boy of seven or eight when the guard arrived. A whey-faced male passenger had covered the still body of a slightly older child with his jacket, and another tried to comfort the weeping woman who had found them. Two more from security came and tried to begin clearing the area of morbidly fascinated passengers. Deller arrived with a med tech and an emergency kit, briefly glanced at the still body under the jacket, then signaled the tech to begin seeing to the other passengers. He crouched beside Shannon and began running a scanner over the hysterical child in her arms.

  “Miraculously enough, I think he’s just shaken up,” Shannon murmured, trying to rummage one-handed in the medkit while she continued to hold the child against her and rock him soothingly. “Let’s give half a cc. of Suainol, all right? There, now, hon, you’re going to be just fine. You’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you. Just relax, sweetheart. It’s all over now.”

  The boy did not flinch as Deller administered the drug; and gradually, under Shannon’s ministrations and the gentle compulsion of the tranquilizer, his sobbing diminished and words began to become distinguishable.

  “The b-b-boolim b-b-bit Laije!” the boy stammered, shuddering as the fright overcame him again. “I saw it! It bit Laije on the neck and m-made him bleed, and there wasn’t anything I could do!”

  “The boolim?” Shannon asked.

  “A boolim! A boolim!” the child shrieked. “It hurt Laije! It made him bleed, and then he wouldn’t move!”

  The last word was choked off by a hiccup and a bout of coughing, and Shannon exchanged a troubled glance with Deller as she rocked the child closer.

  “What’s a boolim?” Deller whispered.

  Shrugging, Shannon turned her attention back to the child. “There, now, honey, it’s not going to get you. Don’t worry. Think back before the boolim. Forget about the boolim for now. Tell me what happened. Where were you going?”

  “L-Laije
and I w-were playing f-f-floatball in the gym,” the boy said, his sobs subsiding a little as the drug became more insistent. “When we came out, we—we were just walking along—and all of a sudden th-the boolim grabbed us, and I couldn’t get away, and neither could Laije. It had Laije by the neck. And then it came and—and—”

  “What did the boolim look like?” Shannon asked, glancing aside momentarily as a guard knelt to listen. “It can’t get you now, honey. Try to remember what it looked like.”

  The child swallowed, his voice becoming smaller. “It was big and black—”

  “How big?” Shannon asked. “Bigger than me?”

  One teary eye looked up at her, and then the boy nodded. “B-bigger. And it had big, black wings—I think—and there was blue inside the wings—and—and when it touched me, it hurt, and—and—I couldn’t move, and neither could Laije. And then—and then—”

  “Go on. What happened then?”

  “Then it bit Laije! It had big yellow teeth, and—and there was blood on its mouth when it finally let him go—and he wasn’t moving!”

  “Did it come after you, then?” Shannon insisted.

  The child yawned and nodded sleepily, his answers becoming automatic. “Uh-huh. The boolim grabbed me, and it was going to bite me, too. I could see its teeth, and Laije’s blood—but then it ran away.”

  “It ran away,” Shannon repeated, mystified. “It was going to bite you, but it ran away?”

  The boy managed a sleepy nod. “Just like Laije,” he murmured. “Only—it didn’t. I think …”

  “What do you think?” Shannon prodded, as the boy started to drift off to sleep.

  “I think … it was … afraid.…”

  “Afraid?” Shannon breathed, though only Deller and the kneeling guard heard the echoed word. “Del, what do you make of that?”

  Deller shook his head. “It’s a fantastic story. Do you think it’s all true?”

  “Well, I’m sure he thinks it is.” Cradling the sleeping child close, as much in comfort to herself as to him, Shannon narrowed her eyes as if trying to recall something. “Del, do you have any idea what a boolim is?”