The Legacy of Lehr, Page 4

  “My, aren’t we gallant today?” she remarked with a sly grin. “She is pretty, Mather, and probably very bright.”

  Mather found a spot between two steel stanchions and braced himself as the one-minute warning vibrated through the nearly empty hold.

  “It isn’t nice for a doctor to gloat over someone’s future discomfort,” he said in a tone of mock-injury. “If you’re so great, why don’t you find me a cure? And, yes, she did seem bright.”

  With a chuckle for an answer, Wallis flicked on the master scanners above each cat cage and set them to record, steadying herself with only one hand against a bulkhead as a pulse counted down the last ten seconds to phase-shift. Mather braced himself more substantially, feet apart and hands wrapped hard around the stanchions, and muttered something about its being her fault if he died.

  Then, for an endless instant, there was a total cessation of sound, light, warmth, gravity—and a keening vibration that centered at the base of Mather’s skull, only to explode agonizingly behind his eyes, as if all the cells of his body suddenly had been swapped end for end and jolted with a powerful electric charge.

  He felt the familiar shudder of nausea and disorientation as weight and other sensations returned; he winced at the pain in the back of his head as he opened his eyes on the stabilizing light. Wallis, after a perfunctory glance to be sure that his reaction was no worse than usual, turned her attention to the cats, who were sprawled on the bottoms of their cages and beginning to mewl piteously. Mather, despite his own distress, was only a step behind her; it was he who began forcing oxygen into the cage of the smaller male, who was having trouble breathing, while Wallis checked on the other three.

  After only a few minutes, the animal’s breathing eased and he, too, began yowling with his fellows. Mather, with a sigh of relief, turned the oxygenator in his own direction and took several deep breaths.

  “Poor old Sebastian. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if jumping is even nastier for these poor beasties than it is for me,” he said. “How are yours doing?”

  Wallis glanced at the medical tallies above the cages and made a few minor adjustments.

  “Well, at least we know that jumping doesn’t kill them,” she said. “They’ll be back to their old roaring in no time. When the men come back to relieve us, I think I’ll let them take the dividers out. They’ll do much better with company. How are you doing?”

  “Splitting headache, as usual, but it will pass,” Mather said. “If you don’t need me, I think I’ll try to locate our cabin and lie down for a while before dinner. After all”—a vestige of the usual twinkle came back into his eyes—“I hear that the Valkyrie’s cuisine is excellent.”

  With a wordless chuckle, Wallis leaned up to brush his lips with hers, but as he headed for the door, she was already back to her scanners.

  CHAPTER 3

  “I’ve heard that Lehr cats are man-eaters, Commodore Seton. Is that true?”

  The questioner was an aging hydroponics engineer sitting several places away from Mather at table in the Valkyrie’s grand salon. A diamond-pavéd badge in his lapel identified him as a retainer of the Derwal of Ain. The man had been asking inane questions since they’d been seated. Indeed, he was not alone in that, for by now most of the passengers had heard of the disturbance on the observation deck and knew that the cats were responsible both for the incident and the diversion to B-Gem.

  As the stewards cleared away the soup course and began serving the entree, Mather found himself hard-pressed to remain a gracious table companion. Easing the high collar of his black dress tunic, he turned to glance amiably at the questioner. At his left, Wallis projected an image of classic serenity in a Grecian-style gown of shimmery white, her long auburn hair caught in a soft knot at the nape of her neck, but he could sense her irritation rising to match his own.

  “Actually, it’s never been proven that the cats favor human flesh, Mister Anderson.” Mather said easily. “We feed our cats on fresh-frozen game that we laid in before leaving B-Gem. Fortunately, they adapted to the small animals that were brought in by the first colonists as well, so there’ll be no problem keeping them supplied. Still, I doubt I’d put my hands in one’s cage to find out whether he liked human fare.”

  Across the table, a hitherto silent young woman in turquiose shivered as she poked at her food with a fork. “Well, I haven’t seen one yet, of course, but from their pictures, they certainly are frightening to look at. Are they as ferocious as lions? I saw a lion once,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

  Captain Lutobo, increasingly aloof at the head of the table, made no comment, choosing instead to pretend great interest in the vegetable dish that the steward had just presented for his inspection. An awkward silence settled over the table until Wallis turned to the other woman and smiled kindly.

  “Well, there is a superficial resemblance to Earther lions, of course. In fact, they were first classified as Felis leo caeruleus—blue lion cats. That was the doing of Doctor Samuel Lehr. He described them as great, golden-eyed felines with dense blue fur, neck ruffs on the males, and tufted ears and tails. They’re chiefly nocturnal, sometimes arboreal, definitely carnivorous—and they can be as vicious as a Furudite rockspitter when cornered. Lehr was never able to capture one alive.”

  “But wasn’t Lehr’s expedition during the second discovery and mapping of the planet, Doctor?” asked a lean, intense-looking older man who had missed being introduced by arriving late at table. “If I remember my history correctly, the first expedition found a sparse native population of humanoids who revered the cats as messengers of a moon goddess—the changeable eyes and such, you understand. Unfortunately, the native population vanished during the years of isolation after the Cruaxi Sweep. Diseases brought by Earthers, I believe.”

  Mather turned speculative hazel eyes on the man. “You seem to know a great deal about B-Gem’s history, Mister—”

  “It’s Doctor Torrell.” The man’s sneering arrogance—just in the way he picked up a glass and languidly twirled the stem between thumb and forefinger—almost brought Mather out of his chair. “It’s Doctor Vander Torrell. And I prefer the older name for the planet in question: Il Nuadi, the Light of the Shining Ones. It has a splendid ring, doesn’t it?”

  “Indeed,” Mather murmured, raising his own glass to drink, rather than letting himself get angry enough to show his contempt for the man.

  At last he had a face to connect to the name. Vander Torrell was one of the most professionally renowned and personally disliked historian-archaeologists currently working with alien cultures. The Imperial computers had recommended Torrell above almost all others when putting together the B-Gem expedition, and Wallis had sent several increasingly pleading space-grams to secure his services.

  But Torrell had not been interested, even for the exorbitant fee offered by the Imperial government, and eventually had turned down an invitation, only just short of a command, from Prince Cedric himself. “Other pressing obligations,” the final refusal had read.

  Other pressing obligations, indeed, Mather thought, as he let a steward refill his glass. Though he had no way to check just now, he had an overwhelming suspicion that Torrell’s “pressing obligation” was nothing more urgent than a desire to go on the Valkyrie’s speed-sprint—a pleasant enough prospect if one liked that sort of thing, Mather had to admit, and undoubtedly made the sweeter for Torrell by the statuesque blonde blowing kisses adoringly across the table at her benefactor—but there was such a thing as duty. Mather found himself taking perverse satisfaction in knowing that the Valkyrie would break no records this trip, thereby depriving Torrell of at least part of his pleasure.

  He felt his wife’s foot move slightly against his own even as he became aware of the almost empathic link they sometimes shared, and he sensed her concurrence in his opinion of the man. He was very tempted to follow through on the avenue that Torrell himself had opened and to expose the man for the hypocrite he really was, but before he or Wallis
could act, Shannon put down her glass and leaned forward, handsome and animated in her stark dress whites.

  “I’ve read several of your books, Doctor Torrell,” she said, deftly turning the conversation to his benefit. “I especially enjoyed your work on the lost civilization of Wezen I. Are you planning any additional research in that area?”

  Torrell inclined his head in as gracious a manner as he was likely to manage, but it soon became obvious that he did not want to talk about Wezen I.

  “Thank you, Doctor Shannon, you’re very kind, but Il Nuadi holds my true interest at this time. If only I had known that the Valkyrie would stop there, I might have rearranged my schedule to manage another visit.”

  If you had come with us, Mather thought bitterly, you could be just concluding another visit—and with the thanks of the emperor, too. As it is, you probably cost us several lives.

  But he said: “Yes, I’ve heard of your work with the lost race of Il Nuadi, Doctor Torrell. In fact, you’re probably the acknowledged authority in that field, aren’t you?”

  “In all modesty, I suspect that I am, Commodore,” Torrell replied smoothly. “Did you know, for example, that there are curious parallels between your Lehr cats and the catlike creatures of at least three other vanished civilizations? Except, of course, that the other cat-creatures were looked upon as ravening demons and soul-eaters, not lunar messengers. A curious distinction, don’t you agree? And I believe that the Aludrans, who are by no means extinct, also share that view.”

  The young woman who had spoken before gasped, her reddened lips agape. “Demons?” She glanced over her shoulder uneasily and shuddered. “You don’t think that the Lehr cats might be—”

  “Demons, tod?” Torrell smiled unctuously. “I very much doubt it, dear lady. On the other hand, Commodore Seton never did tell us what happened to Samuel Lehr. You do know, don’t you, Seton? Or you, Doctor Hamilton?”

  Wallis suppressed a sigh, furious at the direction the conversation was taking and all but convinced that Torrell had set out to bait Mather and her from the beginning. She found herself disliking the man even more than she had before. And if he kept up this talk about demons and soul-eaters, he could start a wave of anxiety among the passengers. There was already too much talk about the cats.

  “Of course Mather and I know, Doctor Torrell,” Wallis said. “But not everyone here at the table is a trained scientist who can remain dispassionate through the most grisly tale. I simply didn’t think it was something that the young lady would care to discuss over dinner.”

  “Why? Because Lehr was eaten by one of his cats?”

  Wallis lowered her eyes uneasily, acutely sensitive to the effect Torrell’s words were having on an increasing number of those at table. Beside her, visible only from her unique vantage point, Mather had begun methodically crushing the napkin that lay otherwise unseen across his lap.

  “Oh, come now, Doctor,” Torrell continued. “Animals kill to survive. So do humans, for that matter. Besides, I’m sure that the good Doctor Lehr had taken his toll of the cats. What fate could have been more fitting?”

  A wave of nervous comment rippled around the table much to the dismay of Wallis and Mather. But before they were forced to respond to this latest sortie, rescue of a sort came in the guise of a steward who bent to whisper briefly in Shannon’s ear. The younger physician listened intently for several seconds, conversation dying around her, then put aside her napkin and smiled reassuringly.

  “You must excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but a doctor is always on call, I’m afraid. Captain, I don’t think it’s anything serious, but I like to be sure.”

  “Of course, Doctor. I’ll stop in later for a report.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  As Shannon rose, she glanced at Wallis. “Doctor Hamilton, perhaps you’d care to join me? You might find our medical facility of interest. And Commodore, I can show you those new suspensor units when we’re finished, if you’d like.”

  It must have been obvious to all that Shannon’s invitation went beyond mere professional courtesy, but even Torrell was not rude enough to point that out publicly. When Mather had added his own apologies to Wallis’s, the two of them followed Shannon out of the grand dining salon. Not until they had stepped aboard a staff lift and the doors had closed did Shannon look directly at them.

  “Thank you for playing along,” she said. “I hope you don’t feel that you’ve been dragooned into anything, but Muon apparently is having another anxiety attack. He’s the Aludran who panicked when you brought your cats aboard this morning,” she added, at their looks of question. “I thought you might be able to help me reassure him that the cats aren’t going to eat him—or whatever it is he’s afraid they’re going to do. You speak Aludran, don’t you, Commodore? Aren’t you a linguist?”

  “Among my other dubious talents,” Mather said with a nod. “I’ll be glad to help, if I can.”

  “Thank you. In any case, the steward said Muon was delirious,” Shannon went on. “He keeps ranting about devil cats and demons in the dark—exactly what Torrell was talking about over dinner. My assistant is with him now, but he’s only a student intern. I don’t think he’s experienced enough to handle something like this.”

  Shannon fell silent as the lift came to a stop and the doors opened. She cautioned curcumspection as she led Mather and Wallis down a corridor, for other passengers were about. The door to the main Aludran cabin slid open almost before she could thumb the call button, however, the youngest of the four male Aludrans admitting them with a bow.

  “Good you come, Doctor,” the alien said haltingly. “Muon, he plenty bad. You make well, eh?”

  The hot, humid air closed around the three of them like a moist hand as they crossed the threshold: it was especially oppressive to Mather and Shannon in their high-collared uniforms. Across the room, Deller and a harried looking medical technician were gesticulating futilely at a hysterically weeping female who Shannon recognized as Ta’ai, Muon’s mate. Deller had a hypo in his hand and seemed to be trying to persuade Ta’ai to let herself be sedated, but the alien woman only planted herself the more firmly between them and the farthest berth. Someone—presumably Muon—was thrashing frenetically in that berth, and the shadowed forms of other Aludrans appeared to be having no luck soothing the occupant. Nor did Deller, the technician, or another male Aludran seem to be having any luck in getting through to the distraught Ta’ai.

  “Doctor Deller, why don’t you let me take over now?” Shannon said quietly.

  Her voice cut through the thick, humid air with quiet authority, and the intern’s head whipped around in a glance of relief.

  “Doctor Shannon, am I ever glad to see you!”

  Leaving his reluctant patients, Deller crossed to meet Shannon and the others, his plain, serious face sheened with perspiration. “He’s having some kind of seizure, Shivaun. He was almost convulsing a little while ago, but she won’t let me near him, and I didn’t dare force the issue. Maybe you can reason with her.”

  “Laia Ta’ai,” Shannon said, brushing past Deller to confront the alien woman, “Doctor Deller was only trying to help. And pardon me for saying so, but you are not helping, so long as you continue to weep like a child and refuse to let us help Lai Muon.”

  “They will kill us! They will eat us all!” Ta’ai wept, shaking her head frantically. “Muon has seen it. Muon knows!”

  “What has he seen, Laia Ta’ai?” Shannon asked, quietly reaching one hand behind her for the hypo that Deller had been trying to administer. “No one aboard this ship is going to eat you, I promise. You’re perfectly safe.”

  Despite Shannon’s caution, Ta’ai saw the hypo change hands and shook her head, backing away wide-eyed.

  “No, I must not sleep! He must not sleep! The Screamers in the Night will—”

  But before she could tell them what the Screamers in the Night would do, one of the other aliens came from behind and pinned Ta’ai’s arms to her sides, nodding for
Shannon to move. Ta’ai screeched and hiccuped and tried to twist away, but not before Shannon pressed the hypo firmly to her throat, quickly confirming the setting before she triggered it. Even as the hiss of the hypospray died away, Ta’ai was slumping into her captor’s arms. The alien deposited her in an empty berth opposite Muon’s, then motioned Shannon closer to the weakly thrashing elder.

  “I am Bana, brother to Ta’ai,” he said haltingly as the med tech moved in to monitor Ta’ai’s condition. “You help Muon now?”

  “I will, if you can tell me what’s wrong,” Shannon replied exchanging the hypo for a medscan pickup that Deller handed her and bending closer to run it along the length of Muon’s body. As Wallis and Mather edged a little closer, Bana swallowed visibly and bowed his head.

  “I think we all in very great danger, Doctor. Muon is seer. He has second sight.” He glanced up cautiously, as if expecting a rebuff, and added, “Is true.”

  “I don’t doubt it for a minute,” Mather murmured. “Please go on.”

  Bana glanced nervously at the gold bullion crowns on Mather’s shoulder boards and collar, then at Shannon.

  “Is—is all right to talk in front of crown man?” he ventured.

  “Yes, he’s a friend,” Shannon said. “And the lady is another doctor. Tell us, Bana.”

  “I—I tell.” Bana sighed. “Short while ago, Muon go into—worship trance. I not know your word, but that is close to idea. Muon fine at first. He one of best seers I know. But soon see devils in dark, with eyes like fire sparks—and fangs. And devils in dark named Death. Muon very afraid.”

  “What do the devils look like, Bana?” Mather asked, afraid he already knew all too well.

  “You should know, Crown-man-Lai,” Bana returned. “You bring devils on board ship. Maybe you not know. Butfsobrirtob late for all of us.”