Long View - Zelde M'Tana Part 30

235.

"Not by ourselves," said Zelde. "Not now." And a little later, as she and Fesler carried the stretcher, Turk and Rooster and Torra Defose-all armed-marched escort. How easy the carrying was, though-that near broke her heart.

Inside quarters, with Parnell bedded as comfortable as might be, Turk and Rooster left to set up guards for the door. "Same as for Mauragin," Zelde said, "but not quite the same idea." Turk grinned and closed the door; not long after, the first guard reported for duty.

Torra Defose stayed, so that Zelde-and Parnell, though he was getting sleepy-could tell her their stories. At the end she said, "All right; back to the files. If I find anything, I'll call you," and left.

Parnell dozed off. Looking at him, seeing how much less he was than what he had been, briefly Zelde put her face in her hands. After a while she poured herself a whiskey. Sipping on it, she thought about what she should do next. Should-or could?

Or maybe "had to"? Did she have any peace-kicking choice?

She managed an hour's nap; then the intercom sounded. Torra Defose: "I have to see you. I can't find Turk, and there's no time for this go-between stuff now, anyway."

Now what? "Come here, then. I'll tell the guard to pa.s.s you. But we talk soft- Parnell's sleeping."

She called Lera Tzane in Control. "We got us some problems-I'll be late for watch, likely, if I make it at all. Can you . . . ?"

"Charvel and I can split that watch, if necessary." Zelde thanked her, and sat, waiting for Torra Defose.

When the woman entered, Zelde saw excitement in her face, and said, "Let's sit around the corner here, in the snack cubby." She poured coffee, then said, "You got something?"

"I've got Franzel." The set of the lean jaw showed determination; Defose gestured.

"Oh, not my hands on her-not yet. But I know who she is." Zelde waited. "Not on the roster, no. But Parnell said he didn't recognize his a.s.sailant, so I looked further." Torra pushed both hands back through tousled hair. "In the cargo-that's where I found her!"

236.

Cargo? "But all those was put on the roster, after Escape."

Defose shook her head. "Not those who were killed in that fighting. There's no current listing at all. And this one-"

Frowning, Zelde protested. "But how-you mean, somebody hiding out all this time? I don't believe it."

Against Zelde's headshake, Defose nodded. "You'll have to. Look-here's the description." She read from a paper. "Tessi Franzel. Forty-two bio-years, as of Earth liftoff. One-sixty centis tall, and ma.s.ses fifty-two kaygees. Hair and eyes, brown. Scars-umm, bla bla-yes, this one! Nose broken, flattened to the left side."

Wide-eyed, she looked at Zelde. "Isn't that what you saw-you and Parnell both?"

Trying to recall the cargo hold, Zelde caught a glimpse of past-seeing but couldn't hold it. It was enough, though. "Yeah. But how could anybody-what kind of person ... ?".

Gently, Terra's palm thumped the table. "Hide out, unlisted, on this s.h.i.+p? I've thought, and it's not as hard as you might expect. I could do it-manage to eat and sleep and have all the time in the world for my-I mean, Tessi Fran-zel's-real business."

Zelde sighed. "You caught me where I'm dumb, I think. Explain, a little bit?"

"Surely. Every group you're with, you say you're from some other working outfit.

In the galley you're usually Lower Drive, so you can wear the hood and goggles-and as much as possible, come in to eat when the real Lower Drive people aren't there.

If anyone asks questions, talk with your mouth full and mention a provisional transfer. Zelde, it wouldn't be so difficult."

"But-who?"

"Yes." Defose didn't look happy. "Only one kind of person, with one kind of training. Zelde-whatever else Tessi Franzel is, she's a UET plant. All the way, from the time she came aboard."

There was more. Why hadn't Franzel gone to the Police on Terranova? s.h.i.+p's routine-no ID to show the main ramp or cargo hatch guards, and unrated crew didn't leave s.h.i.+p singly. Torra grinned. "Franzel must have been one 237.

frustrated little Utie!" And suddenly, hearing Defose use that term as if she'd said it all her life, Zelde lost the last of her mistrust.

On impulse she reached and squeezed the other's hand. At Terra's questioning look, she said, "Never mind. You just said something I liked, was all."

Defose smiled, and went on with it. Franzel's timing- the s.h.i.+p was understaffed, unsettled, Captain and First Hat both out of action. On Fair Ball, Parnell would recruit up to strength-and there wouldn't be a Utie in the lot! Meanwhile, the Hidden World's coordinates were in the computer. A big haul, really big-if Franzel could bring it off!

"Yeah." Zelde saw it. "And Carlo-he expects command?"

"That's the bait, yes-and they'd give him the rank, certainly. But not even UET would let that fool keep a s.h.i.+p. The first place he landed, he'd be transferred gfoundside, to a desk."

It made sense. Carlo was the only handle the Uties had-and no good until he'd been given Acting Third again. Kill Parnell and Dopples-Zelde, too, probably. And to get the s.h.i.+p landed safely, offer Lera Tzane a choice-UET's amnesty, or death.

Unless Franzel herself could land a s.h.i.+p. . . .

"It's a solid case," said Torra. She stood, ready to leave. "But proving it-that's another matter."

Late for watch, Zelde stopped to look at Parnell. He lay on his side; in his throat, his breath rattled phlegm. h.e.l.l- she couldn't leave him alone here! Fesler didn't answer the intercom; well, he couldn't stay at his desk all the time. She'd stop by on her way to Control, and have him send someone.

Turk's quarters didn't answer, either. Zelde shook her head-she couldn't wait around here forever. If a gun and knife weren't enough-she checked the gun for full load- the h.e.l.l with it. At the door she told the guard to expect a medic soon; then she went to Fesler's area.

She found him and explained her problem. "All right, Zelde. I'll locate someone right away, to send to your quarters."

She thanked him and headed ups.h.i.+p, stopping by the galley for a sandwich and eating it as she climbed farther.

238.

One landing below Control, she met Rooster. The man was crying.

"What-"

"They got Turk!"

This needed sitting down-right on the steps, pulling Rooster down beside her and holding him. "Who? What happened?"

He shook his head like he wanted to get rid of it. "I don't know. Our quarters, n.o.body there-the place a mess, and blood. . . ." He wiped his eyes. "Then, the inter- com-it's Turk."

Not dead, then. "Go on."

"Saying, 'Rooster, help me,' and all. That she's locked up. And then 'Nowhere, nowhere soon'-voice sounding tinny and high-pitched, and sort of leaving the middle out of 'nowhere.' Then it cut off-I went to Control, they didn't know anything. Zelde, I-".

"Hold it." Nowhere, without the middle. Nowhere- no'ere-and high-pitched. "No air!" She jumped up and pulled at him. "The airlock, Rooster! Topside-same one they tried to kill you with! Come on!"

She didn't wait, but drove herself ups.h.i.+p as hard as she could go-panting, legs aching, she climbed. And when she reached the right deck-pausing, the deck level with her waist-at the airlock door were two hooded figures. And one of them shot at her.

The first shots. .h.i.t wide. She ducked, and now the stairs gave cover. When the firing stopped, she brought her own gun up-hand raised first, shooting before her head topped the step-and sprayed the area with vicious, glancing pellets. One enemy was down, gun lying free of the outstretched hand. The other, running now, fell once and then scrambled around a corner, out of sight. Up on the deck, sprinting for the airlock, Zelde heard a door creak. Down the hullside stairs, that one was going.

All right-that could wait. The airlock-she looked inside. Turk lay writhing, hands to her throat, pink froth bubbling from nose and mouth. But the high whistling noise-what was it?

The airlock control lights read "Open to s.p.a.ce"-but the lock wasn't open. Pressure down to-oh my G.o.d! She'll be dead!-and now Zelde heard the exhaust pump throbbing, 239.

and turned it off. The door wouldn't open-not with that much pressure difference.

She pulled the handle once, anyway, then looked for another answer.

Now she saw what made the whistling. Her own shooting-two holes in the heavy airlock window, and air screaming through them. All right-pointblank she shot a pattern, a rough circle, hoping the needles wouldn't ricochet to find Turk. Then she wrapped her jacket around one fist, stepped back, and lunged to hit with her full weight. And the tough plastic shattered.

Vacuum took the jacket-by luck she got her hand back out without laying the wrist open on the jagged edges. Explosively, air filled the lock. And as Rooster finally joined her, she got the door open.

They went in together. On her knees, Zelde wiped b.l.o.o.d.y foam from her friend's face. Was she breathing? Not to notice. . . . Zelde put her mouth to the other's and- once, and again, and another time, for luck-blew in, as hard as she could. Then she pulled back and looked. Yes-blood still came, but now Turk was breathing on her own.

Zelde got up. Rooster sat, and cradled Turk's head in his lap. "Is she going to make it?"

"She's got a chance-let me get Fesler." But the intercom terminal was dead.

"Rooster-I got to find me a call box; they wrecked this one." She looked at Turk, and made the best guess she could. "Shouldn't hurt to move her. Why don't you start bringing her downs.h.i.+p?" He nodded; she turned toward the landing.

Then she thought, and went to the hullside stairs door. It was open-looking down, she saw no one. Just in case, though, that's the route she took-gun out and ready- until she got to where people were. Then she called Fesler.

Fine. He'd come topside right away-and not alone.

All right-long enough, she'd been running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Time she got to Control and found out what was going on. In a hurry, she went there.

The place was full of smoke-she couldn't see very far, and she heard a lot of coughing. Holding a sleeve across her face, she headed for the watch-officer's station.

Somebody said, "Hold it right there! Who are you?" She 240.

didn't know the voice, for sure, so she hunkered down behind a readout console.

Could be one of them!

But when she said who she was, the other said, "Good. Then we're both in safe country," and she stood again.

Three more steps and she could see Lera Tzane. Zelde spoke first. "What is this?"

Tzane's hair straggled across a bruised cheek. "I-don't know. I tried to call you.

But this-" She gestured toward the rest of the room. "It must have been the messenger. He-"

"What messenger? Start from scratch, will you?"

After a deep, shuddering breath-and at least the air was clearing-Tzane said, "I didn't see him come in. I was checking a blip that didn't repeat. Someone tapped my shoulder and I turned to see-saw this man-they say he came in as a messenger- and he hit me. Then the smoke bomb went off, and I-"

"Tzane! You got anything that makes sense?"

The woman shook her head. "Not really, Zelde. I suppose the same man had the bomb, set it down-no one would notice a box-"

"Why'd he hit you? And stop with that, I mean?"

"How could I know? He had something in his hand-I dodged the blow, a little-and when the bomb went, a gun fired, too. Then the man ran, back through the smoke."

Tzane looked like apologizing; Zelde touched the bruised cheek and said, "Not your fault, Lera. Those peacef.u.c.king Uties-they're hitting us every place all to once!

Tried to kill me-then Parnell, and Turk-we're lucky, I guess, that whatever they were after, here, they didn't get it."

Tzane looked unhappy. "I hope you're right. But a sheaf of readouts is missing-it was right here beside me."

"Important?"

"I don't know, Zelde. I'd had no chance to look through it."

d.a.m.n all!-more to worry on? She shook her head- forget it! Right fast now, either she'd have their a.s.s or they'd have hers-and the rest went with it.

She said, "Full alert, we go on! Lera, roust up guards for all of it. In pairs. The usual scutwork can wait." Something else? Yes. "First thing, special-get Dopples protected!" Tzane nodded, and Zelde turned to go. She nearly b.u.mped 241.

into Gil Charvel; he carried a crumpled stack of paper. "What's that?"

"A man running out of here," said Charvel. "He dropped these."

"The readouts!" said Lera.

"Then that's one thing," Zelde said, "we don't have to worry about."

She was nearly to the door when someone called, "Officer M'tana-emergency!" At the comm-panel, she heard one of Fesler's aides.

It was too much. When she could answer, she said, "I'll be right there."

But when she got to quarters, Parnell was dead. And for a time, there, she didn't know where she was or what she did.

She was still hugging him, crying, trying to breathe life into him again, when Fesler made her stop. "It's no use, Zelde. My aide-" Zelde looked at the frightened woman, as Fesler said, "She called me immediately, when she found him like this-and then applied all the resuscitation techniques. No time wasted; she did everything she could. And so did I-another adrenalin shot, all of it." He spread his hands. "There was no chance, Zelde."

Holding his head in her lap, she sat up. "What-what did it?"

He pointed. The gla.s.s had a little whiskey in the bottom; the bottle-it hadn't been open, last she'd seen-was down maybe five centimeters. "He drank all that?"

Looking pained, Fesler nodded. "And he knew, with so much drug in his bloodstream, he shouldn't drink at all. I can only think-waking up groggy, and paining, he went for it automatically."

She noticed she was shaking her head, and stopped. "How he even got up and found it. . . ." Gently she let Parnell's head down onto the bed, and stood. "What I'm going to do now, Fesler-without Ragir-I don't know. But right now I got to. This mess won't wait."

The aide touched Zelde's arm. "Officer M'tana-I tried."

Zelde pressed the woman's shoulder. " 'Course you did. Don't blame yourself-just peace-be-d.a.m.ned bad luck." But she-what could she have done different? So Parnell 242.

wouldn't be left alone, so this couldn't happen? Step by step, she thought back.