Malin grinned sheepishly.
“Woke up my roommate; he works the evening shift at the Cafe these days but we have a direct-link nodal connection just like Canna and I do. Have had it the whole time we’ve been roomies, just for emergencies. I told him that this counts as an emergency, and he agreed. So he’s packing a bag for me, and said he’d commandeer a mag-car in Senator Maruchal’s name—Roge’ll be good about that I’m sure—and have it over in a jiffy.”
“Well, your things, my things, Vorlund and the pilot,” Mikal counted. “President Vascorn has told the Port to give us Priority Status even though our Cruiser is not berthed in the Priority Sector. We should be on our way pretty soon.”
They were.
The pilot, who introduced himself as Josh Willow, offering no further personal details, was the last one to arrive. In a no-nonsense fashion he led the other three to the Cruiser and activated its systems even as he keyed its door open. He was not the pilot who had ferried Mikal to the Xeon Space Station and then brought him and Xoraya back.
“I’m not just a pilot,” he explained shortly to Mikal who looked at him questioningly. “I’m also a Peace Officer Corps operative, even as you are, but I work for Special Operations. President Vascorn made a request for a pilot who could handle himself in difficult situations. I was deemed to be the best person for the job—at least of the personnel available on the Station.”
“Good,” said Mikal. “That means three able-bodied, young men, and one Healer and an ESP expert. We should do, against even a bunch of Vultairian Exalted. They’re tall, and some of them can be strong, but they’re lazy and arrogant.”
“Lazy and arrogant doesn’t begin to cover it,” Josh said, making a face. “You haven’t spent much time lately on the Space Station, I take it? They’ve become real pests in the recent past—ever since Vascorn won the presidency, replacing Stolts, who’d grown pretty soft in the middle, not to speak of his head. They don’t like Vascorn; Vascorn can’t be bought. Under Stolts, I think that they had a nice arrangement going—as long as they kept their tastes for excess at home and made no waves on the Space Station, Stolts let them do whatever they wanted. That included, I’ve been told, bribery, procurement of bed-partners of all description, and mind-altering substances. We, Station Operatives, were told to discreetly look the other way as long as they didn’t get into other people’s faces. Which they did, now and then.”
“So, you’re saying that Vascorn has made a difference?” Mikal was somewhat curious about this aspect of Federation politics.
“Oh yes. He’s been dusting cobwebby corners ever since he was elected President. And the Vultairians don’t like it, since they’ve got secrets hidden in those corners. The fools think that they can get rid of Vascorn if they make his life difficult.”
“Sounds like I’ve missed some fun, hanging out in The Second City and various corners of the Fringe Worlds,” Mikal mused, grinning.
Josh grinned back at him.
“You’ve had the better deal, and you know it. This Station is a self-absorbed merry-go-round of government functions and functionaries, uninterested in what goes on elsewhere—except for those Senators who actually care about looking after their planetary interests. To tell the truth, I’m always surprised at how many of those we do have; not everyone falls for the life of ease and the rounds of receptions. But me, I’m thrilled to bits for an opportunity to see some action off-Station—even if it’s among those frigging Vultairian Oligarchs.”
While the two of them were talking, he had been checking the space ship’s bridge displays, ensuring that the vessel had been maintained and provisioned. Now he connected himself to its systems, ready for the take off. Mikal left him to it, grabbing his bag and heading to the passenger quarters, to grab a cabin, and to see how Malin and Vorlund were making out.
*****
“As soon as we are away from the station I will settle into a meditation, and try to contact Xoraya,” Vorlund said to Mikal when the latter asked him what he thought the status of the situation was. “Did the Vultairian Cruiser file a flight plan with the Port Authorities?”
“The Priority Crowd is not required to,” Mikal sighed. “According to the Port Personnel, most of them do anyway, but the Vultairians generally can’t be bothered. However, the Official who oversaw their exit, said that she was familiar with the Exalted at the controls, and he’s pretty useless at handling a vehicle like the Cruiser. She figured that he had an automated disc for the trip between the Station and the Vultairian Space Port. The discs are common and so easy to use that any fool can pilot a space craft with them—they do all the work as long as you don’t deviate from the route specified.”
“I suppose that there may be discs to fly a ship to some of the Fringe Worlds too,” Vorlund mused.
Mikal laughed humourlessly.
“I wasn’t going to ruin our day by coming out with that one, but, yes, you’ve put your finger on the weakness in our theories. Such discs do, indeed exist, and Vultairians, since they do business with the Fringe Worlds quite a bit, would know about them, and have access to them.”
“Would they dare to take their cargo to any of the Fringe Worlds?” Malin, who had been listening to them in silence, asked. “Some of those places can be pretty rough, and unfriendly towards what they’d see as arrogant Federation members.”
“Vultaire has its Klenser business, which means that they deal with planets which haven’t learned to not make environmental messes,” Mikal answered. “These worlds want to stay on working terms with them. Then there’s the connection with Gorsh, the slave trader, and, according to Maryse’s speculation, there’s more to it than we had realized. If that’s the case, it would explain the kidnapping, and that it was done with the help of the drug known as mind-tangler.”
“You are thinking that your un-friend Gorsh might welcome—and pay well for—another Xeonsaur to navigate his ships which are picking up untraceable bodies for his slave-trade,” stated Vorlund.
“Indeed.” Mikal exhaled, while Malin gasped. “However, I really doubt that there exists a navigation disc between the Federation Space Station and any of the locations where Gorsh might be contacted these days. The Cruiser will have to make a stop on Vultaire to pick up a qualified pilot—an Ordinary Citizen or, more likely, a Fringe Worlder hired for the job—before they can head out to meet the Slaver.”
“Couldn’t they have a disc for the trip between Vultaire and Gorsh’s home planet?” Malin asked. “In which case they could do a quick turnaround at their own Space Port.”
“That’s a possibility,” Mikal agreed. “However, then they could easily end up cooling their heels on Wayward for a long time, while waiting for Gorsh to return from one of his time-consuming space-jaunts. I really don’t see them heading there without making certain, first, that they’ll actually get to meet with Gorsh.”
“Well, if I can make contact with Xoraya, maybe we can find out what the actual plan is,” said Vorlund. “I very much doubt that the Vultairian Exalted realize that an Xeonsaur can be wandering around their ship, bodiless, and listening to their conversations as well as reading their instruments, while supposedly entangled by the drug.”
*****
The Master Healer sat on the floor in the exercise room of the Space Cruiser—the one place in the sleek ship where it was possible for him to comfortably settle into his activity, without being in anyone’s way. Speed was all well and good, he had muttered earlier, while looking for a place to meditate, but sleekness didn’t leave much free floor space. Mikal had led him here, an area intended to be used by crew and passengers to keep their spirits up and bodies in shape. There was a nice, empty stretch of floor, carpeted with a rubber-backed mat, meant for those who preferred to exercise without equipment. Vorlund was pleased to have it all to himself, while the younger men discussed strategy—or whatever it was that younger men spoke of these days—in the galley.
Once he had his breathing under control, he began the p
rocess of slipping the bonds of the body. He regretted—perhaps for the first time in his life—that he was not naturally talented at whizzing around out of body; healing had always been his main art. He never had any problems directing his consciousness and mental energies into a sick body or a mind in turmoil, but to just float around separate from his corporeal form had always been somewhat challenging, even when he had been a student at the College of Esoteric Arts on his home world. Well, that was why he was a Master Healer, and not anything else, he told himself as he gently put to use the techniques that he had been taught for overcoming his personality’s reluctance to let go.
When he finally was floating in his astral body above his physical form, he had to deal with the idea of travelling in space as a formless mind. He took a deep, unreal breath, and reminded himself that this was important; much was at stake on his ability to contact Xoraya inside the other Cruiser.
“When you want to reach someone, concentrate on that person, not on his surroundings, or yours,” an instructor had told him a long time ago. Accordingly, Vorlund tried to think of the Xeonsaur woman as he remembered her from the night before, her delicate, alien beauty, her sharp, ancient mind, and the relaxed attitude a creature so long-lived could display about—well—everything.
And there he was, next to Xoraya in a space cruiser cabin! The cabin was much like the one into which he had tossed his own bag of belongings when he had arrived at the SFPO Corps ship. Only this room had two bunks, one above the other, and there were inert bodies on both bunks. Xoraya was lying on her back on the upper one, and a tall, thin woman with skin and hair as dark as those of Vorlund himself was on the lower one. She appeared to be in an uncomfortable position, partly twisted around, and the Master Healer winced (mentally) to see how careless the Vultairians had been with her.
“Yeah, I agree with your assessment,” Xoraya answered the thought that he hadn’t realized that he was broadcasting. “These Exalted boys should get their bottoms paddled, with their pants pulled down. I tried to help the girl, but I’m useless at psychokinetics, it seems. Couldn’t lift even a finger, neither hers, nor mine—I tried both, just to be sure.”
“I guess I could try,” Vorlund told her. “Maybe it being a matter of her health will help me to act. My abilities are pretty average when it comes to other esoteric arts, but maybe in this case I can use my healing talents.”
“If I can be of any help, count me in,” Xoraya communicated.
Vorlund grasped her astral hand with his; this simple act brought the Xeonsaur’s considerable energies into rapport with his, thereby increasing his strength. He reached for the young woman’s body, and entered it with the help of the energy now at his command. Once he was inside, it was easy to activate the girl’s muscles, and to straighten the comatose body into a more comfortable position. For a moment longer, Vorlund monitored the form, making sure that she was breathing easily, and that the other physical processes were working.
“Hey, that was great,” Xoraya exclaimed (mentally) once they were back outside and separate. “With some schooling from you, I could learn to do these things, too.”
“I don’t doubt that in the least, dear friend,” the Master Healer replied. “And for all we know, you may have to try to do such things, even before you really are ready for them.
“But, did you find out where we are headed?”
“Vultaire.” Her scorn was obvious. “None of these idiots are capable of piloting their fancy vehicle. Right now it’s being run by a disc—automatics, basically. And the brilliant boys are in the galley, drinking Lamanian wine, and arguing about whether to pick up a pilot from the Port to take them to look for Captain Gorsh, who, they expect, will give much valuable cargo in trade for one Xoraya Hsiss, presumably to do what one Xanthus Hsiss is already doing for him, or whether to scoot off to some hiding place on Vultaire, where they can stow my body while word of the acquisition is sent to the slaver.”
“Mikal mentioned that if they are using a disc it will not be hard for us to land on Vultaire right behind you, or even before you. We have an experienced pilot at the controls; he can get a lot more speed from a Cruiser than a disc can.”
“Did Mikal, or anyone, figure out what happened to my ID Chip? It must have been compromised somehow?”
“The Space Station Peace Officers are looking into that, Vascorn told me. Both he and I agree that it would have been easy enough for any Shelonian to do it—for a hefty consideration, of course. Not a pleasant thought; I hate to think that one of my own people would stoop to that, but I cannot deny that it is the likeliest story. Lots of them have the know-how; likely one of them had the greed—or the need.”
“Well, what’s done is done. I suppose you shouldn’t stay too long this far away from your physical form, good friend. You’re starting to fray at the edges. But I’m grateful that you came and I hope the information about our destination is useful. And thanks for helping the girl—I’m looking forward to those louts’ expressions when they see that she has moved.”
Even in astral form her grin was wicked.
Vorlund knew that she was right. He could feel the pull of his body. He wished her a quick good-bye, told her that he would check up on her and her cabin mate later, and let his body draw him back to the other ship.
*****
The Troupe was finally crossing the fertile plain which surrounded the Capital City of Vultaire. There were no more small towns, it seemed, only an arrow-straight dirt road which crossed through the farmers’ fields, more or less regularly passing by farmhouses and their outbuildings. Traffic on the road had increased; they met travellers coming towards them all the time, and every now and then a group of walkers would overtake them. Sometimes even a fast-moving cart would make its way around them, the little cart-pullers running to keep up with their long-legged owners.
Flits and flyers zoomed in the sky above, carrying the Exalted Citizens back and forth on whatever errands had brought them out.
“Doesn’t the local nobility have anything better to do than to fly around in their damn machines?” Joaley asked grouchily as another flit zoomed past the cart, perilously close to the walkers and the animals.
“Many of them don’t,” Jock answered her. “Youngsters, these fools would be, and curious about a crew of off-world entertainers. They’re probably waiting for us to get into the City and put on a show. Those kids are always bored; they don’t have anything worthwhile to do. It would humiliate their parents if they actually did something useful; the whole point of being a member of the elite is to have things done for them. So they’re reduced to amusing themselves, and that can pall pretty quickly. The ones who flit around in their vehicles like fools are the young ones who haven’t discovered real vices yet. They’ll do that soon enough, and launch themselves into lives of debauchery and waste.”
“Hm,” Rakil murmured, looking around at the flits and flyers. “How’s the life expectancy of the average Exalted Citizen?”
Jock barked with laughter.
“I don’t think that anybody has done any studies on it—unless Jorun is using the documents his people have been stealing, to do so. With Roxanna’s help I bet he could put together a lovely study, if he has birth and death records of the Four Hundred Families. But I’d be surprised if the run-of-the mill Exalted live any longer than the Ordinary Citizens do.”
“But the nodes are supposed to add to their longevity?” Lank argued. “They do that for us.”
“That’s right,” Jock agreed. “But they can’t stop idiots from knifing one another in stupid fights. They can’t prevent people from dying in flit or flyer crashes.”
On the right side of the road the fields abruptly gave way to a tall hedge. Kati stared at it curiously, as it obviously extended way back, at right angles to the dusty track, hiding everything behind it from the eyes of the passers-by.
“Somebody doesn’t want his farm scrutinized,” she commented.
“With good reason,” said Jock. �
�That hedge hides one of the large Klenser Farms. It’s the one I can maybe get you inside for a look-see, if we play our game right.”
He leered at her with a wicked grin. They had agreed, that the best way to approach the Exalted was to pretend to a sexual connection between the Troupe Leader and the Vultairian member. The only problem with the scheme was that it made Kati miss Mikal more than she already did.
“When we walk by the gate, you’ll get a glimpse of things behind that hedge, but it won’t be of anything important,” he added. “Workers go in every day to look after the Klensers, as well as the farm crops that feed the Klensers. The area near the gate is given over to the buildings where they do the necessary cooking, harvest work, so forth. Beyond that are the gardens and the fields which provide the food that the Klensers eat; the barns where the real crop of a farm like this is kept are furthest from the road. Passers-by never see them at all.”
“How do they get them to the Space Port when they have contracted for them to work off-planet?” Lank asked. “The fellow on the ship Rakil and I had passage on, said that they had once transported some Klensers from Vultaire to one of the Fringe planets.”
“Large flyers,” Jock answered. “The government has them especially for the purpose. They can take them right up to the Klenser barns, fill them up, and transport the cargo directly to the tarmac at the Port, where the cargo can walk onto a ship. Of course workers have to dress them in some rudimentary clothing before they leave the farm. Most spacers aren’t keen on a hold full of naked human bodies, no matter that they’re considered cattle.”
“I suppose that transporting them by flyers avoids the awkwardness of herding them in and out of ground transport,” Kati mused.
“And the flyers can move fast,” Rakil added knowledgeably. “Even if there was motorized ground transport available, the flyers would have them beat. You can do several trips with a flyer in the time ground transport needs for one trip, so even if the flyers are smaller, they still have an edge.”
On Assignment to the Planet of the Exalted Page 50