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Chapter 3
Jim watched Allyah from the open airlock for several moments as she struggled with the burden. It was almost more than he could do, to stand there without helping her. She was so small, but her courage was larger than that of many men he had known. Finally, satisfied that she was able to pull the makeshift sled alone, he reentered the lander. Aiming a disgusted look at the back of McKinley's head as he passed, Jim returned to the controls and powered up the engines.
As the craft slowly lifted, Jim watched Allyah's tiny figure shrink from view. He knew she was making a mistake by staying, but there was no way he could have convinced her of it. All he could do was hope she would be safe.
When he could no longer see her, he set course to continue around the planet, completing the series of photos requested by the Galactic Union Scout Survey Service. The photos were intended to do more than document volcanic activity, although Jim wasn't supposed to know that. Only two other people knew the real reason he was here, and one of them was the Director of the Galactic Union.
A large mining company had applied for permits for an extensive operation requiring large amounts of equipment and personnel. A highly placed government official, a hidden partner in the company, was carefully urging the paperwork through channels. All of which was pretty much routine, greedy business practice, except for the fact that there was nothing worth mining on the planet. The Director believed something more had to be at stake. Whatever it was, Jim realized, it could be the reason for McKinley being ejected from the planet. The aerial photos might reveal clandestine operations that could put the Ambassador in danger from sources other than the inhabitants.
He shook his head with exasperation. What was it about her that made him feel so protective? She was an Ambassador, fully trained in handling difficult cultural situations—but she had no experience with danger on a physical level. Remembering the night six months ago when he had first heard about the peril, Jim wished again that he could have told Allyah more.
At the time, he was taking a holiday on Camas V, a paradise planet loaded with borderline legal entertainment and gambling establishments. He usually came here on leave, preferring it to the hard-core, jack worlds, with their venomously addictive drugs and dangerously high stake games—far beyond his taste for abusing his body, as well as his credit limit. Camas V gave him entertainment and pleasure without leaving a really negative balance in body or purse. Even so, Jim was willing to spend a little credit in order to satisfy his more base urges, which was why he was here tonight at the Silver Dog Casino.
After leaving a healthy number of credits at the roulette table, he sat at the bar, sipping slowly on his second Orion brandy, idly wondering if he should find something to eat, or if he should sample one of the tasty female treats the Casino made available. Lovely ladies and beautiful men, selected to suit every possible desire, floated from table to table, promising pleasures and delights in the safest of environments. Jim had almost decided to accept the smoldering-eyed offer of a titian-tressed seductress at the end of the bar when a strong male hand descended jovially on his shoulder.
"Jim Allen, you old son of a cow," a loud voice exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
Jim turned to greet his long time friend, Keith Buseby. They hadn't seen each other for several months, and it was a surprise to run into him here. The last time they had spoken, Keith hadn't mentioned coming to Camas V, but then neither had Jim, even though he'd had the trip planned for quite a while.
"Keith," he grinned, "great to see you." They shook hands heartily as Keith took the seat next to him.
"I'm here on leave," Jim said. "What about you?"
"Same thing," Keith said vaguely, glancing casually around.
The bartender appeared and then walked away, scowling when Keith declined a drink. Must be paid on commission, Jim thought. Keith watched the bartender's retreating back with what Jim would almost have thought was suspicion.
"Hey, Jim, are you hungry? Why don't we find a place where we can get a bite to eat and catch up on old times in private?" He seemed in a hurry to leave.
"Sure, that sounds great." Jim wondered why his usually self-possessed friend seemed so nervous. It was not enough for anyone else to notice, but he knew Keith pretty well—they had practically grown up together.
Keith followed Jim's apologetic smile at the lovely girl at the bar. "We don't have to do this right now, you know. Want me to catch up with you later?"
"No, no. I haven't seen you in months." He swallowed the last of his drink and slapped a tip on the counter. "I hadn't really made up my mind, anyway." He smiled again at the girl, promising himself to look for her later. "Let's go eat."
Keith led a winding path through the tables toward the exit, glancing around often. As they neared the wide glass doors, he suddenly turned, grinning broadly at Jim and grabbing his hand in a hearty handshake.
"Pretend we're saying good-bye," he said in a low voice.
"What's going on?" Jim forced a grin to match Keith's. Looking over Keith's shoulder, he saw a large dark-haired man staring at them from the doorway, but Keith spoke and when he looked back the man was gone.
"No time now." Keith was subtly urging Jim toward the exit while he eased himself farther into the Casino. "Meet me at this address. The key will get you into the room." He shoved a wad of crumpled paper, wrapped around something hard, into Jim's hand. "Make sure you're not followed." With a comradely hand on his shoulder, Keith pushed Jim toward the door and then turned with a final, smiling wave and headed back into the casino.
His grin dissolving, Jim continued in the direction Keith had sent him, cautiously searching for the man he had seen earlier. He clutched the crumpled paper in his fist, afraid of drawing attention to it by putting it in his pocket. Why would someone want to follow him, and why did Keith take off without him? None of this made sense. He didn't know what was going on, but he would do his best to cover for his friend. He knew Keith would explain it all when they met again. In the meantime, he would act naturally and lose anyone who might try to follow him. He calmed the adrenaline rage inside him and set about planning a stealthy approach to the rendezvous.
He had first met Keith in secondary school. Both of them were athletic and well liked—Keith blond and blue-eyed, Jim with auburn hair and hazel eyes—and they quickly became best buddies. They had fun, double-dated often, got into the normal amount of trouble together, and eventually continued their education at the same college. After graduation, Jim joined the Scouts, while Keith chose the private sector.
The last that Jim knew, three months ago, Keith was still working for Consolidated Business Enterprises. Rumor had it that Consolidated was such a huge, galaxy-spanning conglomerate, with interests in so many different business investments, even Corporate Headquarters didn't know where everything was. At that time, Keith was excited about getting a promotion to manage a subdepartment of companies on the edge of the galaxy.
Jim walked several blocks, going in and out of crowded casinos along the way, before finally hailing a cab to take him to the address written on the paper. It was a large old casino in the lower income district, several miles from the Silver Dog. At one time, the area had been a highly popular entertainment district that had eventually fallen out of favor as newer, more modern buildings were built in other districts.
Jim left the cab a few doors down, joining the sidewalk traffic and slipping into the steady stream of local patrons going through the wide front doors into the gambling area. He spent some time watching the play at the tables, working his way slowly toward the elevators. He laid down a few bets to avoid the suspicious eyes of the security cameras, eventually going to the elevators and punching a number that was three floors above where he needed to be. He took the stairs back down two floors and waited. After fifteen minutes, when nothing happened, he continued down to his floor. He hadn't seen any security cameras in the hotel part of the building; management was apparently concerned only with monitoring the gambling tables. He used the key to enter the room, where Keith still hadn't arrived. Dialing a drink from the autochef, he sat down to wait. After an hour and two more drinks, he lay down on one of the two beds in the room and fell asleep.
He woke in the early hours of the morning to the sound of loud voices and laughter outside the door. Someone was rattling a key in the lock. He moved quickly to the door and listened. A woman was giggling and, though his speech was slurred, Jim recognized Keith's voice.
"Sorry, honey," he burbled, "damn key don't work."
There was a watery burp and the woman stopped giggling. "I don't feel so good," Keith said plaintively. "Guess I'll have to take a rain check." There was a pause and a rustling sound against the door. "Here take this, that oughtta cover what you should have made. I'll come back and get you tomorrow night when I feel better, okay, honey?"
"Sure, Snookums," the woman cooed, "no problem. You just get some rest, and get your strength up."
There was more girlish giggling and rustling. Keith spoke again, panting and slurring his words, "Could you do me a favor, honey? My buddies are down there in the casino, and I sure wouldn't want them to get the wrong idea if they see you coming out of the elevator, you know what I mean?"
"OK, lover, I'll just take the stairs and go out the back door," she simpered, her heels tapping across the thin carpet as she walked away.
Jim heard the stairway door open and close before Keith tapped lightly, speaking softly, "Jim, let me in."
When Keith slipped into the room, even though he smelled like a brewery, Jim knew he was sober.
"That was quite a performance," he said.
Keith smiled and Jim was reminded of the many times during their high school days when he had seen that same wicked look. But that was a long time ago, and things were a lot different tonight. This wasn't just a prank—this appeared to be a much more deadly game.
"My god, you stink," Jim exclaimed, drawing back from the reek of raw liquor.
"Yeah, I poured some Rigelean Rotgut on my shirt to help my drunken slob image."
He pulled the front of his shirt away from his body and sniffed at it.
"Whew, that's really bad. Why don't you dial us up a couple of steaks while I jump in the shower?"
"I can't think of a better plan," Jim agreed with enthusiasm. "Especially the part about making you smell better—and shove that shirt down the recycler." He took two steps toward the autochef and was smacked in the back of the head by a well-thrown dirty shirt.
By the time Keith finished his shower and dressed in fresh clothing, the air was filled with the aroma of steak and vegetables. They sat at the table by the window and ate silently for a few minutes; then, as their hunger subsided, they began exchanging bits of information about family and friends while continuing to work on the food. Keith seemed distracted, however, and they soon drifted into silence again. Finished with the meal, they moved to a pair of comfortable armchairs and sat back with their wine, looking solemnly at each other.
"Are you ready to talk about it?" Jim asked quietly.
"Yeah, I guess it's time."
Leaning forward in his chair, Keith rested his forearms on his knees and stared down at his wineglass, swirling the dark red liquid around and around in the glass.
"There's something I have to tell you first." He looked unhappy. "You know that I've worked for Consolidated for the last fifteen years, but what you don't know," he paused, frowning sideways up at Jim, "is that I've also been an agent for the CIB."
Jim's first thought was that it was a joke, but he dismissed it immediately under Keith's steady gaze. With an effort, he controlled his expression; anger threatened to get the best of him, but tightened jaw muscles were the only sign of what he was feeling. Why hadn't Keith told him? he wondered. Weren't they supposed to be best friends? Not trusting his voice, he nodded.
Leaning back in his chair, Keith grinned and never knew how close he came to being punched because of it. With rigid control, Jim sat and waited.
"God, you are cool," Keith chuckled. "If you had told me something like that, I would have decked you on the spot."
This man is like a brother to me, Jim thought, but, if he doesn't wipe that grin off his face, I'll kill him. "Just get on with it," he grated between clenched teeth.
Looking at him a little doubtfully, Keith sobered, shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and continued quickly.
"Our last year at college, they contacted me. They told me that majoring in Interspecies Business Administration, with a minor in Security Sciences, made me a prime candidate for their branch of the CIB, which is highly secret and sensitive, primarily dealing with threats to the Union from new species."
He took a sip of wine. "They warned me that, if I told anyone, I would be rejected immediately and whoever I told could be in jeopardy." He frowned slightly. "I couldn't take a chance you would be hurt."
Some of Jim's anger cooled, and he relaxed a little as Keith met his gaze.
"It's okay, I understand."
He didn't, not completely, but he knew he might someday. He could take care of himself—Keith knew that and should have trusted him enough to tell him about it.
As if reading his thoughts, Keith said in voice that was both amazed and almost wistful, "My god, we were young then." Something in the way he said it made Jim realize, more than the melodramatics of the last few hours, the seriousness of the current situation.
"So, what does all that have to do with what's going on now?"
"Jim, old son," he grinned, "that's why, right now, I'm up to my armpits in alligators."
This time, Jim grinned back. "And . . . just which alligator's tail did you want me to grab?"
It was almost like old times, he thought, when the two of them got into trouble and bailed each other out. Maybe Keith had realized he needed his friend's help after all.
Keith flashed him a guilty look. "I didn't run into you by accident," he admitted worriedly, "but I didn't expect so many complications. It looks like someone knows I'm here and maybe why. The Bureau arranged for me to be here at the same time as you. They know you've just been assigned to the Pemberly, and they want me to persuade you to help us."
"Help you . . . how? Do you mean be a spy for you on my new ship?" That really wasn't what he had meant when he offered to help.
"The Pemberly is a critical link in our investigation. I can't give you all the details, but we think someone onboard is involved in a plot that could endanger the entire Galaxy."
What the hell am I getting into? Jim wondered. He was no cloak and dagger man, and, for that matter, neither was Keith . . . or so he had thought. He stared at his old friend and wondered when he had stopped knowing him.
"Look, Jim," he leaned forward pleadingly, "this is really serious. We need you. Believe me, I wouldn't ask if there were any other way. We haven't been able to get any of our operatives assigned to the Pemberly."
"There's no way in hell I'm going to become a snitch based on what little you've just told me. You'll have to come up with a lot better story than that."
Keith sighed, "Yeah, I figured as much."
He stood up and walked to the autochef, dialed more wine for them both and, handing Jim a fresh glass, sat down again. "This is going to take awhile." He didn't look very happy.
"Two years ago, I was assigned to Project Leap Frog."
Keith's story wasn't finished until morning. They had talked through the night, and, when they were done, Keith swore Jim knew everything he did. Jim doubted that, but he figured anything that was left out was either too dangerous for him to know or not important enough to mention. Jim had questioned Keith intensely and felt he had a pretty good understanding of the situation and what his part would be. He wasn't sure at what point during the night he had decided he would be a part of it, but, by morning, he was deeply committed. It still left a sour taste in his mouth when he thought of betraying his shipmates, but the details he had learned convinced him of the urgency of what he must do.
That was eight months ago, and since then, Jim had learned a great deal more. He was in regular contact with Keith; their longtime friendship was a perfect cover for transferring information. He knew there was a leak within his own Scouts and that the conspirators would also receive the survey shots he was taking.
Even Keith didn't know why this planet was important, but there was an unusual amount of interest in what was termed "mining possibilities." Except, Keith told him, no serious mining company would consider this particular planet for development. There were no large deposits of metal, no gemstones, no precious metals in any amount, and no oil—all in all, a pretty worthless ball of rock and ice. The only interesting feature, besides the indigenous species, was the anomalous hot spots that were scattered around the planet below the surface, which had no apparent relationship to any of the volcanoes.
They were nearing the Pemberly and Jim prepared for docking. The massive Survey ship grew rapidly in the front view port. He cut forward power and flipped on the automatic docking switch. The docking computer took over, homing in on the signal from the cruiser's docking bay. Maneuvering jets fired, slowing and adjusting the approach, and the lander cuddled up to the underbelly of the big ship like a puppy to its mother.
McKinley didn't wait for the sound of the locking devices to slam into place. Before the airlock door was open, he was waiting with his bags in hand. Jim completed the shutdown procedures as McKinley exited into the ship. He was picking up his flight duffel when he heard McKinley's raised voice.
"I need to see the Captain now."
"Captain's on the bridge, sir," the red-faced duty officer was saying as Jim emerged. "And I'm sorry, sir, but passengers aren't allowed on the bridge." The young officer's tone wasn't exactly smug, Jim noted, but the red was fading from his neck.
"Then inform him that I need to see him," McKinley snapped.
"Yes, sir. Right away, sir." He called across the room, "Hansen, take Agent McKinley to his quarters."
With a final glare, McKinley headed after his escort.
When Jim reached the bridge, Captain Carstairs was waiting for him. George Carstairs was a balding man in his late fifties, a by-the-book officer with little imagination, but well liked by most of his crew. They all knew where they stood with Carstairs, and discipline was level-handed.
"What does McKinley want?" he asked without preamble.
"I don't know, sir. He's been mad as a hornet since I picked him up."
Carstairs snorted. "He's always that way. Did he say anything to you that might be a clue?"
Jim knew Carstairs hated being blind-sided. He gave his report, including his promise to go back for Ambassador Ahern if he didn't hear from her within six hours.
"That will be 16:00, sir," he finished.
"Very well, Lieutenant." Carstairs glanced at the chronometer. "Let me know as soon as you hear from her."
He pushed himself up out of his captain's chair. "I'll see what McKinley has to say." He headed for his office but paused at the door. "You're sure that's all he said?"
"Yes, sir, that's all he said."
Jim was in his cabin when the captain summoned him to his office. He briefly wondered if there had been a message from Allyah, but he had instructed the communications officer to contact him if anything came through from her. It was 12:30 and she still had more than three hours.
The captain responded to his knock, and he entered to find McKinley sitting in a chair.
"Please take a seat, Lieutenant," Carstairs said.
Jim nodded at McKinley as he sat down. There was no response.
Captain Carstairs sat frowning down at his folded hands on the desk before him. "I'm afraid we have a bit of a problem," he said, glancing at McKinley. "Agent McKinley has informed me that he is overdue for a rendezvous with the Scout Cruiser Lloyd Rader. We have to depart immediately if we are to get to the rendezvous point before the Rader leaves. I know you gave Ambassador Ahern until 16:00 to contact us, but we can't wait that long. I've seen Agent McKinley's orders, and his assignment takes precedence. You'll have to try to contact her now."
McKinley watched him impassively as the Captain spoke, but Jim could sense his satisfaction. He wondered if McKinley wanted Allyah to be stranded as he had been, or if he hoped she would have to leave the planet before she was ready. Jim knew there was no use trying to argue for more time—"by-the-book Carstairs" had made up his mind. He would have to contact her now and hope nothing happened after the Pemberly left. Jim had made her a promise, and he didn't want to think about what he might have to do if he couldn't get through to her before they left.
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