Three Classic SF Novels: Plague Ship; Operation Terror; The Lani People

by Andre Norton, Murray Leinster, J. F. Bone

“My sister Eloise,” Alexander said in a low voice. “Watch out for her. She's as deadly as a puff adder and she collects men. The other man is Douglas's father, Henry. The plump redhead beside him is his wife, Anne. The other woman is my mother, Clara, even though Eloise and I don't look like her. We take after Father."

  “Where's he?” Kennon whispered.

  “Dead,” Alexander replied. “He was killed twenty years ago."

  “I'd like to present Dr. Jac Kennon, our new veterinarian,” Alexander said into the hush that followed their entrance. The introductions that followed were in proper form, and Kennon was beginning to feel more at ease until Eloise sent one of her Lani with a summons. He looked around for Alexander, but the entrepreneur was the center of a three-cornered argument, hemmed in by Douglas, Henry, and Anne. Henry's voice was raised in bitter protest that Alexander was exceeding his authority. He shrugged. There was no help there.

  “All right,” he said, “tell your mistress I'll be along in a moment."

  “Yes, Doctor,” the Lani said, “but the Woman Eloise says for you to come, and she is not accustomed to being disobeyed."

  “Tell her what I said,” Kennon replied. “I shall be there directly.” He crossed to the table and examined it, selecting a cluster of odd purple fruit which looked more interesting than it tasted. When he had finished he walked leisurely over to where Eloise sat.

  She looked at him angrily. “I am accustomed to being obeyed by my employees,” she said coldly. Her dark eyes, oddly like her brother's, traversed his hard body like twin scanners.

  He returned her appraising stare with one of his own. “I'm not your employee,” he said bluntly. “I was hired by your brother, and there's a full peeper rider on my contract.” His eyes traveled slowly over her carefully arranged hair, her make-up, her jewelry at throat and arms, her painted finger- and toenails, and then across the slim small-breasted lines of her body half revealed under her thin ankle-length tunic of Lyranian silk.

  “Satisfied?” she asked.

  “On Beta,” he said bluntly, “your appearance would qualify you for a parasite camp. Six months of hard labor would do you no end of good. You're soft, lazy, and undisciplined."

  Eloise gasped. “Why, you—"she sputtered.

  “And perhaps next time you'll learn to be polite,” Kennon continued imperturbably. “After all, the superficial attributes of good breeding are not too hard to counterfeit."

  To his surprise, Eloise giggled. “You bite, don't you?” she asked. “Remind me to remember that."

  “I shall."

  “Of course, your actions weren't good breeding either."

  “Admitted—but I've never pretended to be what I'm not. I'm the son of a spaceship skipper, and I'm a veterinarian. That's all."

  “That's not all. You are also a man.” Her face was sober, “It's been some time since I've met one. I'd almost forgotten they existed."

  “There's your brother."

  “Alex?—he's a money making machine. Come—sit beside me and let's talk."

  “About what?"

  “You—me—your job, your life—anything you wish?"

  “That line isn't exactly new,” Kennon grinned.

  “I know,” she admitted, “but it usually works."

  “I'm immune."

  “That's what you think.” Eloise's eyes were frankly appraising. “I think I could become interested in you."

  “I have a job here. I don't think I would have time to give you the attention you'd demand."

  “I get bored easily. It probably wouldn't be long before I would be tired of you."

  “Perhaps—and perhaps not, I can't afford to take the chance."

  “You seem confident."

  “You forget. I was a sailor."

  “And spacemen have a reputation, eh?” Eloise chuckled.

  “At that, you might be right. I remember the first officer of-"she let the thought die. “But I became tired of him,” she finished.

  Kennon smiled. “I've never had that complaint."

  “Perhaps you'd like to make the acid test?” she asked.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “But not tonight."

  “Tomorrow then? Alex will be leaving in the morning. He never stays more than a few hours.” Eloise's eyes were bright, her lips moist and red.

  “I'll pick the time,” Kennon said—and added to himself, “If ever.” Despite her wealth Eloise was no different from the port-of-call girls. If anything, she was worse since she had enough money to implement her desires. They were merely in the trade for business reasons. No—Eloise would be something to steer clear of. Alexander was right. She was a mantrap. He stood up and bowed Betan fashion. “I see your brother is free now. He wants to brief me on my duties here. We were discussing it before we entered."

  Eloise pouted. “You can always do that."

  “You said yourself that Alexander never stays here very long. I would be a poor employee if I delayed him.” He grinned knowingly at her and she smiled back with complete understanding.

  “Very well, then. Get your business done. Your pleasure can wait."

  Kennon steered Alexander over to an open window that led to a balcony. “Whew! he said. “I see what you mean."

  “She's a tartar,” Alexander agreed. “I suspect that she's a nymphomaniac."

  “You suspect?” Kennon asked. “By this time you should know. Let's get out of here. I've had about all of your sister I care to take."

  “Can't say as I blame you. I'll show you to your quarters. Maybe Old Doc left a bottle or two, although I suspect the old sinner hung on until the last one was empty."

  “If he had to put up with your relatives as a steady diet, I can't say that I blame him,” Kennon said.

  “Careful, Doctor. You're talking about my kinfolk,” Alexander said wryly. “At that, though, you have a point.” The two men slipped quietly from the room. Apparently none of the Family was conscious of their departure except Eloise, who watched them leave with an enigmatic expression on her narrow face.

  They left the fortress through the rear gate and walked slowly down the winding path that led to the cluster of buildings in the valley below. It was a beautiful night, calm and clear with the stars shining down from the dark vault of the heavens. The constellations were strange, and Kennon missed the moons. Beta had three, two of which were always in the sky, but Kardon was moonless. Somehow it gave the sky an empty look.

  A damp coolness rose from the ground as the evening rain evaporated mistily into the still air. Kennon sniffed the odor of soil and growing vegetation, clean pleasant odors in contrast to what he had left. In the distance a bird called sleepily from one of the fortress turrets and was answered by some creature Kennon couldn't identify. A murmur of blended sound came from the valley below, punctuated by high-pitched laughter. Someone was singing, or perhaps chanting would be a better description. The melody was strange and the words unrecognizable. The thin whine of an atomotor in the fortress's generating plant slowly built up to a keening undertone that blended into the pattern of half-perceived sound.

  “Nice, isn't it?” Alexander remarked as they rounded another turn on the switchback path.

  “Yes. You can't hear a sound from back there except for that generator. It's almost as though we shut those people out of existence by merely closing a door."

  “I wish it were that simple,” Alexander said. “But doors that can be closed can also be opened. Well-think you'll like it here?"

  “I think so, providing I don't have to entertain your relatives."

  “You mean Eloise? Don't worry about her. She's as fickle as the wind."

  “I've never seen anyone so frankly predatory,” Kennon said. “She worries me."

  “They'll all be gone tomorrow—except for Eloise,” Alexander said with mock comfort. “Douglas is on the Otpens for a year, and the others are off somewhere."

  “You'll be staying, I suppose."

  “No—I'm afraid I can't."

  “I h
oped you'd help me get organized. This whole thing has been something of a shock. I was expecting something entirely different."

  “Sorry—someone has to run the business. But Blalok'll brief you. Actually he's more qualified than I. He knows everything worth knowing about this place. We're going past his house in a minute-want to stop in and see him?"

  “It's pretty late."

  “Not for Blalok. He's a Mystic—a nocturnal. He's probably doing his work now."

  “Perhaps we shouldn't disturb him."

  “Nonsense. He's used to it. I visit him frequently at night."

  “Sure—but you're the boss."

  “Well—in a sense you are too. At least in the veterinary end of this business.” Alexander swung sharply to the left and climbed a short flight of stairs that led to the nearest house. Lights flared on the deep porch, and the old-fashioned iris door dilated to frame the black silhouette of a stocky, broad-shouldered man.

  “Good evening, sir,” he said. “I was expecting you. That the new vet with you?"

  “Your pipeline's still working, I see,” Alexander said. “Yes, this is Dr. Kennon—Evald Blalok—I wanted you two to meet."

  Kennon liked the gray middle-aged man. He looked honest and competent, a solid quiet man with a craggy face and the deep-set eyes of a Mystic. His skin had the typical thickness and pore prominence of the dwellers on that foggy world from which he came. But unlike the natives of Myst, his skin was burned a dark brown by Kardon's sun. He seemed out of place on this tropic world, but Kennon reflected wryly that there was probably more than one misplaced human here, himself included.

  “I've been going over Station Fourteen's records with Jordan,” Blalok said as he ushered them into the house. A tall black-haired man rose as they entered.

  “Skip the formality, Jordan. Sit down,” Alexander said, “and meet Dr. Kennon—Steve Jordan—Jordan runs the Lani Division."

  Kennon nodded acknowledgment as Alexander continued, “What's this trouble at Fourteen?"

  “I don't know. We've got an epizootic of something. Another youngster died this morning, and there's three more that look pretty bad, jaundice, no appetite, complaining of muscular pains. Same symptoms as took the others. The one this morning makes the fourth this month, and we're only half through it."

  “Are all your losses in this one station?” Kennon asked.

  “No—but it's worst there."

  “I don't like losses like that,” Alexander said.

  “Neither do I,” Jordan replied.

  “This isn't Jordan's fault, sir,” Blalok said quickly. “As you know, we haven't had a vet for three months."

  “Two,” Alexander corrected.

  “Three—Old Doc wasn't around at all the month before he died,” Blalok said. “As a result we've got a problem. We need professional help."

  “Well here he is—use him,” Alexander said. He looked at Kennon, a trace of amusement on his face. “There's nothing like getting into things early."

  “Particularly when one comes into them stone cold,” Kennon added. “It's a poor way to start a career."

  “We can't afford to wait,” Jordan said. “We need help."

  “I'll see what can be done,” Kennon replied. “Have you saved the body?"

  “Every one of them,” Jordan said. “They're in the hospital in the autopsy room."

  That was sensible. A post-mortem might give us an answer. Where's the hospital?"

  “I'll show you,” Jordan offered.

  “Count me out,” Alexander said. “I have a weak stomach."

  “I'll go along if it's necessary,” Blalok said.

  “There's a staff there, Old Doc trained them,” Jordan said.

  “Then it shouldn't be necessary,” Kennon said.

  Blalok sighed with relief and turned to Alexander. “We could check the records while those two are about their bloody work."

  “I'd rather check a long strong drink,” Alexander replied. “What with the Family and this, it's too much to take for one evening."

  Kennon hid a smile. Alexander had a weak spot. He was squeamish. That was a good thing to know.

  * * *

  CHAPTER VI.

  Jordan opened the door of the two-story building below Blalok's house. “This is it,” he said, “just outside your front door. Convenient—no?"

  “Too convenient,” Kennon said, “also too quiet. Isn't anyone on duty?"

  “I wouldn't know. Old Doc never kept the place open at night."

  There was a stir of movement in the darkness, the lights flashed on, and a sleepy-eyed Lani blinked at them in the sudden glare. She looked blankly at Kennon and then brightened as she saw Jordan. “What's the trouble, sir?” she asked.

  “Nothing. We want to look at the Lani I sent down this morning—Dr. Kennon would like to inspect the carcass."

  “You're the new doctor?” the Lani asked. “Thank goodness you've come! I'll get the staff. I'll be back in a moment.” She stepped quickly over to the switchboard beside the door and punched five buttons. Four more humanoids came into the room, followed a little later by a fifth.

  “Where's the emergency?” one asked.

  “He is—it's our new doctor."

  “More females,” Kennon muttered to himself. He turned to Jordan. “Aren't there any males in this crew?"

  Jordan stared at him with mild surprise. “No, sir—didn't you know? There are no male Lani."

  “What?"

  “Just that,” Jordan said. “Only females. There hasn't been a male on the island since Old Man Alexander took over. He killed them all."

  “But that's impossible! How do they reproduce?"

  “Ever hear of artificial fertilization?"

  “Sure—but that's a dead end. The offspring are haploids and they're sterile. The line would die out in a generation."

  “Not the Lani-you can see for yourself. We've been using the technique here for better than four centuries, and we're still doing all right. Over forty generations so far, and from the looks of things we can go on indefinitely."

  “But how is it done?"

  “I don't know. That's Alexander's secret. The Boss-man doesn't tell us everything. All I know is that we get results. Old Doc knew how it was done, and I suppose you will too, but don't ask me. I'm dumb."

  Kennon shrugged. Maybe—maybe not. At any rate there was no sense in belaboring the point. He turned to the staff. Five of them were the same big-boned heavy-framed type that apparently did most of the manual labor. The sixth, the late arrival, was an elegant creature, a bronze-skinned, green-eyed minx with an elfin face half hidden under a wavy mass of red-brown hair. Unlike the others, she had been docked-and in contrast to their heavy eyes and sleep-puffed features she was alert and lively. She flashed him an impish grin, revealing clean white teeth.

  Kennon smiled back. He couldn't help it. And suddenly the tension and strangeness was broken. He felt oddly at ease. “Which of you are on duty?” he asked.

  “All of us,” the redhead replied, “if it's necessary. What do you want us to do?"

  “He's already told me. He wants that last carcass prepped for a post-mortem,” the nightcall Lani said.

  “Good,” the redhead said. “It'll be nice to get to work again.” She turned to face Kennon. “Now, Doctor—would you like to see your office? Old Doc left a fine collection of notes on Lani anatomy and perhaps you could do with a little review."

  “I could do with a lot of it,” Kennon admitted. “Unless the inner structure of a Lani is as similar to human as their outer."

  “There are differences,” the redhead admitted. “After all, we aren't quite alike."

  “Perhaps I'd better do some reading,” Kennon said.

  “You need me any more?” Jordan asked.

  “No—I think not."

  “Good. I'll get back. Frankly, I don't like this any better than Blalok or the boss, but I'm low man on that pole. See you later."

  Kennon chuckled as Jordan left. “Now
, let's get ready for that cadaver,” he said.

  “Carcass, doctor,” the redhead corrected. “A cadaver is a dead human body.” She accented the “human."

  Even in death there is no equality, Kennon thought. He nodded and the Lani led the way to a door which opened into a good-sized office, liberally covered with bookshelves. An old-fashioned plastic desk, some office cybernetics, a battered voicewriter, and a few chairs completed the furnishings. The redhead placed several large folio volumes in front of him and stepped back from the desk as he leafed rapidly through the color plates. It was an excellent atlas. Dr. Williamson had been a careful and competent workman.

  Half an hour later, well fortified with a positional knowledge of Lani viscera, Kennon looked up at the redhead. She was still standing patiently, a statue of red-gold and bronze.

  “Get a smock and let's go,” he said. “No—wait a minute."

  “Yes, sir?"

  “What's your name? I don't want to say ‘Hey you!’”

  She smiled. “It's Copper Glow-want my pedigree too?"

  “No—it wouldn't mean anything to me. Do they call you Copper or Glow? or both?"

  “Just Copper, sir."

  “Very well, Copper-let's get going."

  * * * *

  The body of the dead Lani lay on the steel table, waxy and yellowish in the pitiless light of the fluorescents. She had been hardly more than a child. Kennon felt a twinge of pity-so young-so young to die. And as he looked he was conscious of another feeling.

  It had been an open secret among his classmates that he had refused an offer to study human medicine because of his aversion to dissecting cadavers. The sarcoplastic models were all right, but when it came to flesh, Kennon didn't have the stomach for it. And now, the sight of the dead humanoid brought back the same cold sweat and gut-wrenching nausea that had caused him to turn to veterinary medicine eight years ago.

  He fought the spasms back as he approached the table and made the external examination. Icterus and a swollen abdomen-the rest was essentially normal. And he knew with cold certainty that he could not lay a scalpel edge upon that cold flesh. It was too human, too like his own.

  “Are you ready, Doctor?” the Lani standing across the table from him asked. “Shall I expose the viscera?"