“Welcome, Killashandra, Trag. And you, gentle medic.” The ship spoke in a baritone voice which rippled with good humor. “If you will be seated, Chadria will be up in just a moment.”
“How are we going to get rid of Blaz? And keep Olav?” Killashandra whispered urgently to Trag.
“Watch,” Samel said and one of the screens above the pilot’s console lit up, displaying a view of the lift.
“I’ll take control of this fellow, now,” Chadria was saying as she pulled a wicked little hand-weapon from her belt. “I was told to secure quarters aboard. And there’s nothing he can do to escape a scout ship, Officer. Get on there now, you.”
The observers could see the conflict in Blaz’s face but Chadria had pushed Lars onto the lift and stepped on the platform with her back to Blaz so that there was no room for him to accompany them, and no way to dispute the arbitrary decision with someone’s back. That maneuver confused Blaz just long enough. The lift ascended quickly, Blaz watching uncertainly.
“Permission to board?” Lars said, grinning in at Killashandra.
“Granted, Lars Dahl!” Samel replied, and Chadria stepped beside Lars in the airlock, punching out control sequences. The lift collapsed and secured itself, the airlock door closed, Lars and Chadria stepped into the cabin while the inner door slid shut with a final metallic thunk. An alarm sounded.
On the ground, Blaz reacted to the claxon, suddenly aware that the medic was still on board and not quite sure if that was in order. The transport driver shouted at him as the ship’s drive began to rumble above the noise of the take-off alarm, and Blaz had no recourse but to retreat to safety.
“Oh, that was well-done!” Killashandra cried and, finding her legs a bit unstable in reaction to the final moments of escape, she sank onto the nearby couch.
Trag thumbed the bar that released the restraints on Lars’s wrists and Lars stumbled to enfold Killashandra in his arms.
“Everyone, take a seat,” Chadria warned, sliding into the pilot’s gimballed chair. “We were told to make it a fast exit, she added with a grin. “Okay. Sam, they’re secure. Let’s shake the dust!”
Chapter 25
Killashandra’s complacency about their confrontation with the Federated Council on Regulus Base altered drastically as the CS 914 began its final approach to the landing strip. The building which housed the administrative offices for that sector of the Federated Sentient Planets covered an area slightly more than twenty klicks square.
Chadria cheerfully informed her passengers that there was as much again in subterranean levels as above ground, and some storage areas delved as much as a half a klick below Regulus’s surface. Monorail lines connected the sprawling offices with the residential centers thirty and forty klicks away, for most of the workers preferred the nearby valleys and the many amenities available there. Regulus was a good post for everyone.
From a distance, the profile was awe inspiring. The random pattern of rectangular extrusions above the mass of the complex was silhouetted against the light green early-morning sky. Even Trag was impressed, a reaction which did nothing to assuage Killashandra’s growing sense of doubt. She inched as close to Lars as possible and felt him return the pressure in an answering need for tactile reassurance. But he was nowhere near as tense as she was. Perhaps she was just hypersensitive due to her recent ordeal. As they approached, the building dominated the landscape to the exclusion of any other features on Chinneidigh Plain. Skimmers could then be seen landing and taking off at the myriad entrances, each embellished with official symbols depicting the department housed within.
We re cleared to land at the Judicial Sector,” Chadria said, swinging about in her gimballed chair. “Don’t look so worried.” She grinned up at the three. “They don’t leave you hanging about here for weeks on end. You’ll know by midday. It’s anticipation that gets to you, and waiting!”
Killashandra knew that Chadria meant to reassure them, for both brain and brawn partners had been excellent hosts, with stories scurrilous and amusing, and stocks of exotic foods and beverages in the scout ship’s well-stocked larder to tempt every taste. With exquisite tact, the others had left Killashandra and Lars to enjoy their own company for the week in which the CS 914 hurtled from one corner of the sector to the Regulan planet at its center. Courtesy, however, had dictated to both Lars and Killashandra that they join the others at mealtimes and for evening conversations, and the occasional rehearsals of Lars’s defense against the warrant’s charges. Trag and Olav had begun a friendly competition over a tri-dimensional maze game which could last up to a day between well-matched players. Chadria and Samel had teamed up against the two men in another contest, one of multiple-choice, which could be expanded to include Lars and Killashandra whenever they chose to play.
There was a strange dichotomy about that journey: the tug between learning more of each other’s minds and sating their bodies and senses sufficiently to cushion the imminent parting. On the final day, it was more than Killashandra or Lars could endure to make love: instead they sat close together, one pair of hands linked, playing the maze game with an intensity that bordered the irrational.
Now Chadria swung back to the screens as their progress to the landing site closed with the linear diagram Samel displayed on the situation screen. Killashandra could not restrain the small gasp nor her instinct to clutch at Lars’s hands as the two positions matched and the scout ship settled to the ground.
“Here we are,” Samel said in a tactfully expressionless tone. “Ground transport is approaching. Glad to have had you all aboard and I hope that Chadria and I will meet you again.”
Chadria lifted her long frame from the chair, shaking hands with each one in turn, clasping Killashandra’s with an encouraging smile and giving Lars an impish grin before she kissed his cheek in farewell. “Good luck, Lars Dahl! You’ll come out on top! Feel it in my bones.”
“Me. too,” Samel added, and opened the two lock doors.
Killashandra wished that she felt as positive. Then, suddenly, there was no way to evade the inevitable. They picked up their carisaks and filed out. Trag and Olav took the lift down first, permitting Lars and Killashandra a few moments privacy.
Killashandra didn’t know what she had expected but the ground transport was a four-seat skimmer, remote controlled, the purple-gold-and-blue emblem of the FSP Judiciary Branch unobtrusively marking the door panel. She took in a deep breath. Looking off to the massive tower of the entrance. As she had done for several days, she repeated to herself that “justice would prevail,” that the much edited wording of the warrant would support their hopes. And that the disclosure of subliminal conditioning would result in the swift dispatch of a revisionary force to overthrow the Elders’ tyranny on Optheria.
But one Killashandra Ree, one-time resident of the planet Fuerte, barely four years a member of the Heptite Guild, had had no encounters at all with Galactic Justice, and feared it. She had never heard or known anyone who had been either defendant or plaintiff at an FSP court. Her ignorance rankled and her apprehension increased.
Silently the four settled into the skimmer and it puffed along on its short return journey. It did not, as Killashandra half expected, stop at the imposing entrance. It ducked into an aperture to one side, down a brightly lit subterranean tunnel, and came to a gentle stop at an unmarked platform.
There a man built on the most generous of scales, uniformed in the Judicial Livery, awaited them. In a state of numbness, Killashandra emerged.