F Paul Wilson - LaNague 02

by Wheels Within Wheels (v5. 0)

  Tella could not read Rakoan expressions, posture, or vocal tone, but there was a very definite air of hopelessness about Mintab as they walked back into the waning sunlight.

  He and Prather were halfway back to the Terran camp at the edge of the city when the idea struck him. It was daring, even by his own standards, and would either land him the crystal contract or land him in a Federation prison. He decided to check with Jo first.

  On landing, he went directly to the communications setup and sent a carefully worded vocal message to Jo on Ragna. It went out via subspace laser and he decided to spend a little more time with Prather while waiting for a reply. He had given no details about what he planned to do, but had hinted that it was legally risky; he had also mentioned the antibiotic properties of the bassa and wanted to know if she could find a use for it.

  Prather was back at work on his combat unit when Tella found him.

  “Do they still have manual controls on the camouflage?” he asked the trooper. “I used to pull some fancy tricks when I was in the force.”

  Prather nodded and showed him the controls. There hadn’t been any significant changes in the past few years; the console still had a familiar feel. Tella activated the skin, then adjusted the tint and pattern controls. Prather stepped back and began to laugh as the combat unit lit up like a red and white barber pole.

  “Where’d you learn to do a thing like that, Andy?”

  “This is just one of the many things that endeared me to my superiors during my four years in the force. Whenever I got bored I’d figure out a new way to dress up my unit. Even figured out a few pornographic ones if you’re interested.”

  The communications operator came out then, saying he had a brief message from Ragna for Mr. Tella. Andy took the player and listened to the recording of Jo’s reply. Her voice was clear but sounded strained:

  Andy, I’m rushing off to Jebinose. Your success on Rako may be more crucial now than even before, especially if what you say about this bassa is true. As of now, you not only represent Fairleigh Tubes, but Opsal Pharmaceuticals as well, and can make tentative arrangements for them should the Rakoans decide to sell bassa. If you’re successful, notify the interstellar news services without delay. Good luck.”

  Tella handed the player back to the operator, then climbed back into the combat unit. “Tell me if this reminds you of anything, Ben.”

  He made some adjustments on the console, then closed the observation bubble over his head. The body, arms, and legs of the unit began to glow in green and yellow stripes while the observation bubble took on a brilliant blue-white color with a large black spot in the middle.

  Prather’s voice came through the earphones: “You know, Andy, that looks a lot like that God of Evil over in the temple. Whatsisname…?”

  M’lorna,” Tella whispered and activated the anti-grav plates.

  NOT MUCH LIGHT LEFT, but he didn’t think he’d get lost. After all, he had no intention of trying to follow the streets. He climbed for altitude and headed in the general direction of the dome. It was easy to spot from the air and he circled around in order to approach it from the far side.

  He landed at the dark edge of the park, but infra-red lenses and image intensifiers gave him a day-bright picture on his screen.

  Let’s make this short but sweet, he thought, and started the unit on a slow walk toward the dome.

  He was almost halfway there before one of the natives spotted the towering and all-too-familiar figure shambling out of the darkness. There was an instant of panic, then a great shout went up as the guardians quickly formed a barrier between M’lorna and the temple of Vashtu. Rakoans of every description – male, female, crippled, and infirm – poured onto the clearing from all sides to reinforce the living wall before the Dark One. Tella watched Mintab scurry inside the temple, then activated one of the lasers.

  A beam of green light lanced out and scored a groove along the outer wall of the dome to his right, then arced over the doorway and grooved the left wall of the dome. And then M’lorna was among the Rakoans.

  They smashed, bashed, slashed at him with fists, feet, rocks, clubs, and knives to no avail. Their proud defiance faded as they saw the God of Evil and Darkness wade inexorably through their ranks like a farmer through a grain field. M’lorna was at the entrance to the temple of Vashtu, his ancient enemy, and nothing could stop him.

  But before the Dark One could enter, a struggling, staggering Mintab emerged, holding high the jewel-tipped staff that had rested in the hands of Vashtu in the shrine. M’lorna halted abruptly and, as Mintab moved forward with the staff, gave ground. Then, before the eyes of the assembled faithful of Vashtu, the God of Evil and Darkness rose slowly, silently, and disappeared into the blackened sky.

  “YOU’RE UNDER ARREST, TELLA!” said Prather as Tella extricated himself from the unit. The sergeant’s face was scarlet, and he held a gravity cuff under one arm.

  “What’s the charge?”

  “How does assault on an alien population sound for a start?”

  “What makes you say I assaulted anyone?” Tella knew he was in trouble but was not going to allow himself to be trapped into any admissions.

  Prather smirked. “I monitored your screens from the moment you left. I saw every move you made; even made a recording of it. You’re in trouble, friend. You’re going up to the cruiser for safekeeping, and from there you’re going to Fed Central to face charges.”

  Chornock stormed into the courtyard. “But first he’s going to make an abject apology to Mintab and the Rakoan people for desecrating their shrine! He has completely destroyed whatever good will I’ve managed to build up with these people and I demand that he make an apology before he leaves!”

  After a lengthy debate, Prather reluctantly agreed to ferry Chornock and Tella over to the Rakoan section of the city, but the trip proved unnecessary: Mintab was waiting for them by the flitter.

  “My people will now go with the doctor to his homeland,” he said without preamble. He stood tall and impassive in the dark, but his respiratory rate seemed to be more rapid than usual.

  “B-but…”

  “My people are celebrating now. They have successfully defended their temple and deserve to congratulate themselves. In the morning, however, we shall begin to make arrangements with this man to trade for the stones.” He indicated Tella.

  “I’m afraid Mr. Tella will not be here in the morning,” Prather said.

  “We will deal with no one else,” Mintab shot back. It was a statement of fact.

  Chornock and Prather glanced at each other, then shrugged. “Very well. He will be here in the morning.”

  “And bassa?” Tella asked, feeling relief flood through him; he was off the hook. “Will you trade bassa?”

  “Of course. What we shall ask in return is continued work toward assuring the future of our race.” His eyes bored into Tella’s. “With help, my people will surely be here to protect the temple on the day M’lorna really comes.”

  Tella suddenly felt as if someone had rammed a fist into his solar plexus.

  “Excuse me,” he said in his native tongue as he backed away from the alien. “I’ve got a number of very important subspace calls to make.”

  Jo

  TRAVELING IN A STATE OF mental and emotional anesthesia, Jo barely remembered the trip between Ragna and Jebinose. One shock had followed another and it was only after the commercial liner she had boarded had gone into orbit around her destination that she began taking notice of her surroundings again.

  Immediately after seeing Larry collapse during his subspace call, she had placed a call of her own to the spaceport on Jebinose. The administrator there informed her that an unidentified man had been rushed to Copia Hospital – alive but unconscious. Her next call was a message to the hospital stating that the man from the spaceport was to be given all necessary care and that all bills would be paid in full through a given account number at a sector bank.

  Then came the next shock: a
fter deciding to go to Jebinose herself and to take Old Pete with her – she didn’t want him out of her sight – she discovered that he had departed for Jebinose days before. There could no longer be any doubt in her mind that Old Pete was involved in her father’s death… and perhaps involved in whatever had happened to Larry.

  Jebinose twirled below her now, looking like any other innocent, Earth-class planet. But Jebinose was different. Jebinose had killed her father and injured her lover. Jo was reluctant to board the waiting downward shuttle. She feared the planet.

  Thoughts of her father tumbled into her head; sharp, clear memories that time couldn’t blur. There had existed an indescribable bond between them that had been intensified after her mother’s death to the point where at times she almost thought she knew what her father was thinking. She hadn’t understood then why he had left her with her aunt and uncle and gone off to another planet. It had crushed her. She couldn’t fully understand it now, but at least she could accept it. Her acceptance in no way, however, diminished the inner tension between the love she still felt for her father and the residual anger and resentment at what she considered a callous desertion.

  She looked again at the planet outside the viewport and felt a pressure within her. She wanted to strike out at something, someone, anything. She was like a dying giant star that had collapsed in on its iron core and was waiting to go supernova. But she held on. You couldn’t hate a planet. There was a human hidden somewhere on Jebinose who was responsible for what happened to Larry. She knew what he looked like – she had replayed the recording of Larry’s subspace call over and over on the way out from Ragna until that balding head, sallow skin, and pair of merciless eyes were seared upon her memory. She fingered the tiny blaster in her hip pouch. She would find him…

  She would find Old Pete, too. And what an explosive confrontation that would be. It was all his fault, really. If he had only stayed on his island in the Kel Sea, if he had only stayed out of her life, if he had only kept his suspicions to himself, she and Larry would probably be at the casino now playing a round or two of pokochess.

  True, his suspicions had not been unfounded – there was most certainly a plot against the Federation and he deserved credit for recognizing it long before anyone else. But that could not absolve him from whatever he was covering up on the planet below.

  The steward was signaling her that it was time to board the shuttle. With a deep breath and clenched fists, she turned from the viewport and walked toward the lock.

  THE SPACEPORT OUTSIDE COPIA doubled as a port for intra-atmospheric travel as well and was jammed with people at this hour. Jo felt very much alone despite the crowd eddying about her. She didn’t even have her own name to lean on – she was traveling under an assumed identity and had paid for her ticket in cash on the chance that someone might be looking for a traveler named Finch or one from IBA.

  As she stepped out of a dropchute from the upper level, Jo saw her first Vanek, unmistakable in his dusty robe with his blue-tinted skin and braided black hair. He sat silent and cross-legged with his back against a column in the middle of the wide, crowded, ground floor mall. His left hand was folded inside his robe and his right held a cracked begging bowl in his lap. A few coins gleamed dully from the bowl. Passers-by took little notice of him and the Vanek, in turn, seemed oblivious to the activity around him. His hooded eyes were apparently fixed on something within.

  Jo stopped and stared at the beggar momentarily. So here was one of the half-breeds who had killed her father. Perhaps the very one. Looked harmless enough.

  With a quick shake of her head and shoulders – almost as if she felt a chill – she started walking. There were too many things to do before warp lag caught up with her to waste time sight-seeing. She passed within arm’s length of the Vanek without another glance she certainly wasn’t going to give him anything for his bowl – and didn’t notice his eyes snap open and follow her as she moved away. She was about to round a corner when she heard a crash behind her.

  Startled, she turned to see the Vanek beggar on his feet, statue still, staring at her with wide dark eyes. His earthen bowl was shattered on the floor, some of the coins still rolling away on end in random directions. The travelers passing through the mall slowed their comings and goings to watch the tableau.

  Then the Vanek moved toward Jo, his step faltering, hesitant. Drawing to within a half meter of her, he stopped.

  “It is you!” His voice was a hoarse, high-pitched whisper.

  He reached out a spindly arm and touched her hand. Jo recoiled from the dry, parchment touch.

  “It is truly you! The Wheel has turned full circle!”

  He whirled abruptly and hurried away.

  When he was out of sight, Jo shrugged uncomfortably and continued on her way. The momentary spectators around her did the same. Soon, only two small boys remained at the scene, picking spilled coins from among the shards of the forgotten begging bowl.

  SHE FOUND A PUBLIC vidphone booth and called Copia Hospital. The Vanek incident moments earlier lingered in her mind. There was an eerie quality about the whole thing. He seemed to recognize her. Could he have somehow perceived the relationship between her and Junior Finch? She shrugged again. Who knew what went on inside a Vanek head anyway?

  A middle-aged woman in traditional medical white appeared on the screen. “Copia Hospital,” she said.

  “I’d like some information on a patient named Lawrence Easly,” Jo told her. “He was admitted as an emergency three nights ago.”

  “I’m sorry, but that is considered privileged information and not for release. If you wish, you may contact the patient’s physician directly–”

  “I was given to understand,” Jo cut in, “that he was alive three days ago. Can you tell me that much?”

  “I can tell you that he is stable and that’s about all,” the woman said, sensing Jo’s concern. “Does that help any?”

  “Yes, it does,” Jo replied, relieved. That meant he was holding his own.

  A sign on the wall outside the vidphone area glowed “Subspace Calls” and she followed the blinking arrow. The booths were located halfway down a long, low mezzanine that ran between the mall and the service area. Jo stood and surveyed the six deluxe booths. All were identical and it would have been virtually impossible to identify the booth she sought had she not noticed the tool cart sitting outside the furthest one.

  A closer look revealed a man in coveralls crouching on the floor of the booth, peering through an inspection port.

  Playing a hunch, Jo opened the door. “Find out what hurt that guy yet?” she asked.

  The serviceman looked up. “Nothing in here hurt anybody, lady. Everything’s in top shape.” His attitude was defensive.

  “I’ve got a few questions about these booths–” Jo began.

  “Look, lady,” he said with some annoyance, “I’m not supposed to say anything. If you’ve got questions, go ask them down at the main office. Addams Leasing – it’s in the directory.”

  “Okay. I’ll do just that.”

  She rented a flitter, punched in the code number of the company’s main office, and sat lost in thought while Copia passed unnoticed beneath her. It stopped automatically above her destination and she brought it down for a landing on the roof.

  Inside, a lean, hawkish man awaited her behind a counter. “May I help you?” he said in unctuous tones as she approached.

  “Yes. I’d like some information on your subspace call booths.”

  A sign on the counter identified the man as Alvin Mirr and he brightened visibly. “Ah! You wish to lease some?”

  “No, I just want to ask somebody a few questions.”

  Mr. Mirr’s attitude cooled abruptly. “Oh. In that case, you can find all you want to know in this.” He brusquely flipped a pamphlet across the counter at her and started to turn away.

  “Listen, you!” Jo flared, flinging the pamphlet back in his face. “One of my employees – who happened to be in excellen
t health until he stepped into one of your booths – has spent the last three days in the local hospital, and whether or not you find yourselves up to your ears in a lawsuit may very well depend on the answers I get here today!”

  Mr. Mirr suddenly became very accommodating. “You must be referring to that unfortunate incident out at the spaceport. We’re terribly sorry about that, of course, but I can assure you unequivocally that our callbooths are absolutely accident-proof. Especially our deluxe models – they’re shielded in every way with the finest insulation. Why, we even have a psi-shield on each and every one. We haven’t overlooked a thing. And something else I should–”

  “Wait! Stop!” Jo said, interrupting the torrent of explanations. “Did you say the callbooths have psi-shields?”

  “The deluxe models, yes,” he nodded. “For the utmost in privacy. The caller can even opaque the glass to guard against lip-readers if he so desires.”

  “But why a psi-shield?”

  “Some very important and sensitive communiqués regarding high-level business and political matters go out from those booths. Our customers want to know that every effort has been made to ensure their discretion. They want to know that even a telepath can’t eavesdrop on them.”

  Jo considered this for a moment. “Does it work in both directions?” she asked after a pause.

  “I don’t under–” Mirr began, a puzzled expression flickering across his face. Then, “Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, the psi-shield is non-directional: there’s a damper effect on either side of the booth wall.”

  “Thank you!” Jo said and turned and headed for the root.

  Next stop was Copia Hospital. She punched in the number and thought about psi-shields. Before collapsing, Larry had mentioned a “wild card,” a psi-talent who was somehow involved – involved with her father or involved with deBloise, he never said. Then there was that horrible little man who looked into the booth after Larry went down. She wondered… maybe Larry was supposed to die in that booth and maybe the psi-shield saved his life.