Green, Sharon - Mind Guest.htm Read online

  reports are added to their proper places, supply lists are confirmed

  and filled, and placed-on-planet profiles are developed for each of our

  team people. Knowing that an advisor-agent is about to take a trip

  helps me to keep our barbarian-agents from attacking his escort-and

  also gives the barbarian-agents a chance to keep a protective eye on

  him. I don't ever want to have to send a report to Absar Central

  telling them that half my field team just wiped out the other half.

  Reports like that aren't appreciated."

  "That's one comment I can understand without details," I laughed, still

  looking around. Everything seemed so familiar and home-like that it was

  beginning to disturb me. I know that humanoid cultures at certain

  levels will be basically the same even if they begin light-years away

  from each other, but the base was so totally non-alien that I was

  finding it hard not to think of it as an extension of home. If I had

  had to learn their language the hard way it would have been easier

  remembering that they were strangers and still-possible enemies, but

  the ease of communication worked against my trained instincts. If I

  didn't find something really alien about these people, I might find

  myself in the trap of beginning to like them. Almost in desperation, I

  turned my head to Dameron

  "What are the people on the planet like?" I asked, hoping for something

  extreme.

  "The Tildorani are just like you and me," he answered without

  hesitation, taking time out from inspecting his work force to glance at

  me. "The humanoid form seems to be a popular one, and base personnel

  always look like the natives they're Watchers for. You can never tell

  when some emergency will arise which will call for shuttling down most

  of us, and it's best to be prepared."

  "You must have a large group of trained Watchers to be able to match

  every backward planet," I commented. "Even among humanoids there can be

  a broad enough spread of variations to make a noticeable difference."

  "That poses no problem," he said, stopping where he was again. "We have

  a simple answer for that based on...

  There was a sudden shout of, "Dameron!" and we both turned to see a woman standing in a doorway on the righthand side of the corridor,

  about fifteen feet ahead of us. The woman was looking considerably

  upset, and Dameron didn't hesitate. he headed for her immediately at a

  trot, with me right behind him.

  "I'm assuming that that was a shout of joy, Gemiral," he said as he

  reached the woman. "I left orders that there were to be no problems

  today."

  "If this weren't so serious, I'd laugh myself silly over that," the

  woman snorted. "You'd better come in here and hear the latest."

  Dameron frowned, but followed the woman back through the doorway she'd

  come out of. Being shy never pays, so I tagged along after them into

  what looked like a communications center. There were three men and two

  women seated at consoles, whisper mikes and ear discs in place, and one

  unoccupied console had a man standing next to it, a web-thin headset in

  his hand. he was big and dark-haired, wearing a uniform of a blue only

  slightly lighter than Dameron's, and he gave me a curious stare before

  turning his attention to the Commander.

  "Is Leandor's team in trouble?" Cameron asked hina, frowning.

  "Nothing that simple," the big man answered, tossing the headset gently

  onto the console he stood near. "Post five just called to warn us that

  Clero's up to something that will affect Bellna when she leaves for the

  capital to marry Prince Remo. They'll call back when they have all the

  details."

  "I knew Clero would try something!" Dameron growled, smacking his open

  palm with a wide fist. "Just our luck that it took this long to find

  out what. We'd better have enough time to set up a counter-plan, or

  everything we've worked for will go right down the tubes."

  "It'll be worse than that," the big man said, shaking his head. "We

  won't simply be back to square one, we'll be off the board entirely. If

  we lose Bellna, we have no one to replace her with."

  "I know, I know," Dameron grumbled, gesturing a dismissal at the other

  man as he turned away from him. "It's Bellna or nothing, and Clero's

  trying to make it nothing. A lot he has to worry about, with five

  daughters to throw in the pot. If he loses one or two, he still has the

  others. Well, I'm not prepared to lose Bellna, and I wont lose her as

  long as I have enough information to plan with. Where the hell is post

  5?"

  He turned to stare at the silent console, his impatience willing it to

  come alive and tell him what he wanted to know, but it didn't respond.

  The men and women at the other consoles paid only partial attention to

  the displays in front of them, most of their concern directed toward

  the same spot Dameron stared at. The woman Gemiral had reclaimed her

  seat and headphones, but her presence wasn't doing any more than

  Dameron's stare. The only one who looked at all distracted was the

  large, dark-haired man, who leaned against Gemiral's console with

  folded arms, his eyes resting on me. I leaned back against the wall

  near the door and folded my own arms, absorbing the casual stare

  without acknowledging it. I didn't want anyone demanding to know what I

  was doing there at least until I found out what the flap was all about,

  which meant that near invisibility was called for. I looked at nothing

  in particular and didn't make a sound, and happily there were no

  demands coming my way.

  My time sense isn't too inaccurate, but a wait like that is hard to

  judge. Subjectively it felt like hours were passing, but objectively it

  couldn't have been more than fifteen or twenty minutes before the

  console began blinking a demanding orange. The woman Gemiral began

  removing her headset, but Dameron gestured impatiently and stepped forward to flip a switch.

  "I'm right here, Eavamon," he said to the now steady orange light.

  "What have you got?"

  "Not nearly enough," a thin voice answered, sounding impossibly

  distant. "We've discovered there's going to be an attempt and we know

  approximately when they'll hit, but exactly who will be doing the

  hitting and what spot they've chosen is still Clero's secret. He's not

  taking any chances on a leak."

  "You'd better tell me everything you know," Dameron said with a

  frustrated look on his face. "It may still be possible to do

  something."

  "There's very little to it," the thin voice answered. "Clero knows

  Bellna will be leaving for the capital soon, and has arranged it so

  that she never gets there. It would be harder for him if Havro planned

  on using his own men as an escort, but his own men are too deep in that

  fight on his western border. Grigon tells us that mercenaries have been

  hired, and you know what mercenaries are like."

  "Only too well," Dameron muttered, then turned his head to the big man

  who stood not far from him.

  "Valdon, how many men can we put together to be mercenaries if Havro's

  bunch turn out to be
useless or bought?"

  "None." The big man called Valdon shrugged. "All of you do. I don't

  expect to lose, but if I do, the turn is all Natha escapade in post 9's

  territory. With the number of barbarians in that area, pulling. them

  out quickly is just about impossible. And forget about Leandor even

  before you ask. He's Healed, but he's nowhere ready to go back - if we

  ever intend seeing him again. But neither of you has heard the latest

  from the capital. Sardrin's message came in a little while ago."

  "This time it had better be good news," Dameron said, suddenly looking

  more alert. "Is it anything we can use?"

  "0nly if you'd like Bellna to have a King's Escort," Valdon answered

  with a grin. "King Naro has sent the Escort to deliver the dowry gifts

  and collect his son's bride, and there are two hundred of them. Can you

  see Clero attacking a King's Escort of two hundred fighters?"

  "Easily," came the miniature voice of Eavamon from the console, putting

  a damper on the pleased grins Dameron and Valdon were showing. "He'd

  need two or three times their number in attackers, but the game's worth

  it to him. When is the Escort due?"

  "In a little less than a local week," Valdon supplied, exchanging looks

  with Dameron. "Sardrin would have told us about them as soon as they

  left, but King Naro insisted that his most trusted advisers join him in

  the pre-nuptial religious ceremonies that are expected of him. Sardrin

  thinks Naro wants him to come up with a way out of the need for

  ceremonies like that, and after going through one himself he's more

  than willing. Why did you ask about the Escort's ETA?"

  "I was hoping they might be so close that Clero would not have the time

  to find the number of men he needed," Eavamon answered, his sigh so

  clear it should have caused a flicker in the orange light.

  "Unfortunately that's more than enough time, especially if he has relay

  riders watching the capital, which I'm sure he does. He'll know they're

  coming and he'll be prepared."

  "He may know they're coming, but if he doesn't care about them he won't

  be prepared," Dameron said, the words slow and thoughtful.

  "Is that supposed to mean something?" the invisible Eavamon asked while

  Valdon gave Dameron a look that said the same thing.

  "It means that Clero won't care about the Escort if he thinks Bellna

  has already left with mercenaries," Dameron said, his face and voice both announcing his grin. "He'll be too busy chasing the mercenary

  group to care about an Escort that miraculously missed them."

  "With a decoy!" the Eavamon voice crowed, enjoying the idea as much as

  Dameron. "A decoy ought to be easy to arrange!"

  "Not as easy as all that," Valdon said, taking his turn at wet-blanket

  throwing. "Don't forget about the Natha gatherings in 9's territory.

  How are we supposed to reach a suitable decoy?"

  "You can't tell me every female fighter we have is in on that," Dameron

  protested, an edge of impatience to his voice. "Get busy and start

  checking, and give me some choices. With almost a week to work in we'll

  be able to pull this off, but only if we get going immediately.

  Eavamon, let me know if you hear anything else, no matter how

  insignificant it is, and start preparing the leak that will tell Clero

  Bellna has left secretly with mercenaries. Don't release it until I

  give you the word, but have it ready."

  "Will do," Eavamon agreed~ already sounding thoughtful. "I'll also get

  in touch with Grigon and have him begin preparing a way to keep Bellna

  away from those mercenaries and around for the Escort. He'll need the

  time."

  "He probably will," Dameron said with a nod he seemed to think the

  absent Eavamon could see. "We'll call you if we need anything else, but

  right now it's up to us. Base out." he flipped off the orange light,

  then turned his head. "Valdon, get on that search fast. I want that

  information as soon as the files can be programmed."

  He turned away from the console without seeing Valdon's preoccupied

  nod, the big man having already settled in front of what was probably a

  computer terminal. Dameron was heading for the door I was standing

  beside, deep in thought, and wouldn't have seen me even if I'd been

  dressed in flashing sun-sign. I had no interest in being left behind as

  a permanent wall post, so I accepted the risk of being run down and

  stepped directly in his path. The commander stopped short, frowned at

  me for a minute or two without recognition, then memory flashed briefly

  in his eyes. he took my arm and led me out of the room, then waited for

  the door to slide closed again behind us before giving me an apologetic

  look.

  "I'm sorry that took so long, but we have a crisis," he said, trying

  hard to really look sorry. "At least you got to see something of the

  way we operate. Did you find it interesting?"

  "Oh, yes, very," I nodded, keeping my tone solemn. "I get a real kick

  out of being in the true thick of things. You said my ship was this

  way?"

  "Your ship," he echoed, not doing well with hiding his impatience at

  the thought of being distracted from his crisis. "That's right, we were

  going to your ship, weren't we?" I could almost see his mind going

  clickety-clickety-click behind his eyes, but be was obviously the type

  who considered business before visitors. he made up his mind fast,

  apparently feeling no guilt over the decision. "I can't take the time

  for that now," he admitted, giving me the bad news without flinching.

  "Once I have this problem squared away we can program your course

  computer, and I promise it will be the first thing I do."

  "The first thing after a planetary week's worth of waiting?" I asked,

  trying not to sound as boorish as I was feeling. he and his people had

  saved my life - but I'd been looking forward to going home. "You won't

  mind my wandering around here alone and - amusing - myself?"

  His expression changed at that, just the way I'd wanted it to, but the

  semi-panic he must have been feeling didn't push him in the direction I

  was hoping for. He pasted a friendly expression on his face, took my arm again, then started guiding me up the corridor in our original

  direction.

  "You know, now that you mention it, I think it might interest you more

  if you knew exactly what we're in the middle of," he said, sounding as

  if he were selling magazines. "Let's get comfortable in my office, and

  I'll fill you in."

  "There's an old saying about interesting times," I commented, not

  letting him hurry me as fast as he wanted to. "Suppose you give me your

  coordinates and the proper quadrant and I do my own programming?"

  "You may remember what I said about not wanting you too overburdened

  with unnecessary information," he said, glancing down at me as he put a

  little more muscle into his hauling. "The coordinates of this base come

  under the heading of unnecessary."

  "Suppose I offer to close my eyes?" I suggested, but only to be

  annoying. Dameron would have to enter his location in my ship's

  computer in order to program the proper course back to the Federation,


  but he could always build in an automatic forget order once destination

  was reached which would remove the information. A program like that

  could not be tampered with without purging it completely or ruining it

  enough to be useless; telling me the coordinates would negate the

  entire effort. he snorted under his breath at my suggestion, not even

  bothering to comment or refuse, and we continued to the end of the

  corridor.

  The last room on the left turned out to be Dameron's, and the door slid

  aside to show a rust and blue combination that would have deafened me

  in a week if I'd had to use it regularly. There was a squarish but

  comfortable-looking chair standing to the right of a low block of

  plastic or metal, what was probably a computer terminal to the right of

  the chair, and a couple of lump chairs in front of the

  block~hair4erminal arrangement. All around the walls were filled

  shelves, gaps here and there allowing the hanging of various somethings

  including very clear photographs of unpeopled landscapes. The lighting

  level brightened up from dim as soon as we entered, and Dameron guided

  me to the second lump chair before trying to ease me down into it. I

  put my right leg slightly behind me and locked the knee, assuming what

  was almost standard attack-defense stance, and the good commander found

  he couldn't do much against it. he would have had to knee me in the

  middle to get me to bend, and he wasn't prepared to go quite that far.

  "You'll find the background a lot more comfortable to listen to if you

  do it sitting down," he said, turning away as if leaving me erect had

  been his original idea. "If nothing else, it will fill the time until-"

  His words broke off as his attention was captured by the supposed

  computer terminal, which was signaling for his attention. He hit a key

  that sent symbols of all sorts scurrying across the screen, giving him

  information that he absorbed as fast as it came. It took two or three

  minutes before he had it all, and then he flipped it back to blank

  while muttering under his breath.

  "I take it the news wasn't particularly good," I observed, watching him

  drop into the squarish chair with a preoccupied look. "More headaches

  to add to the ones you already have?"

  "Just an added dimension to the existing ones," he answered with a