Spaceways - The Planet Murderer Part 2

"That is a prime name only, a given name. What is the rest?"

"Churt. I am Jestikhan Churt."

"Not your lettered name, you a.n.a.l bug!" The voice rose angrily. "I want your ident.i.tag, your number-whatever it is you stupid Eilans use to mark you from each other.''

"Forgive me, sire." Only with an effort did Jesti strain the irony from his words. "Eilong is a small, poor planet where we Eilans are few in number and live mostly underground. We bear no ident.i.tags, no puterlabels. Only the names our parents gave us. No numbers. Really. Honest. I swear."

Rather to his surprise, his interrogator accepted that without umbrage. "As you will, Eilan. Name or no name, your guilt is clear."

"My . . . guilt?" It was Jesti's turn to go startled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh naturally, naturally." The smugness in the voice flowed thick as syrup now. "Leave it to an Eilan to lay waste his brain with orbisette."

It seemed a good time to stand silent. Jesti stood silent.

"To enlighten you, however ..."

A holoproj took form in the blackness off to Jesti's 21.right. He blinked, again and again. Saw, tightly framed . . . Jestikhan Churt! Sprawled on his back on a couch in what was clearly a pleasure-bowl. The hust from the Labyrinth-what had she called herself?-lay on her belly between his legs with her wrists and ankles lashed together in some sort of harness. Her head was thrown back and to one side. An expression combining horror and agony contorted her face-which was black with suffusing blood.

The holoprojection cut even closer and changed angles. A lech-noose came into view, tight-drawn about the hust's throat. Jesti's hands gripped the control thongs.

The image faded. "A pretty picture, hmm?"

With an effort, Jesti hurled horror aside. "What sort of game is this 'you're playing? I know nothing of that girl's death. I deny guilt."

''There are questions," the voice said, as if he hadn't spoken. "The hust had no papers. What was her name?"

Jesti tried to shrug and the body-wrap wouldn't allow it. "She said to call her Pearl. I did." Now he was fighting to think-this was his life!

"Why were you with her?"

"Why does any man go with a professional, a hust?"

"And you slew her."

"I deny it. I did not kill that nice girl."

"You do know that on Croz, possession of a lech-noose is illegal?"

"I have never owned, used, or even touched a lech-noose. '' Remembering the holo, Jesti added,''Consciously.''

"Under Croz's code, ignorance of the law is no excuse for crime."

"Like beating up innocent suspects? I have committed no crime."

"Ah! To land on Croz without proper doc.u.ments is in itself a crime! You have no papers. That in itself is enough to condemn you." The interrogator's heavy voice dropped a note. "How did you come to Croz, Eilan?"

"By merchanter."

"Name and registry?"

Jesti grinned into the black. "I boarded on Eilong as a stowaway. The captain had me locked in the airlock. He 22.told me nothing, and merely dumped me here. He was hardly eager to have it known I had been his guest."

A sound that might have been a snort came out of the darkness. "I grow tired of your inept lies. You shall not mock justice. For your kind we have special treatment."

Light, a cone of it, drove out darkness. Jestikhan squinted, hard. The light centered on a glowering, thick-necked Crozer who hunched belligerently across a high desk that rested atop a dais. His patterned brown robe was the sort Jesti had come to a.s.sociate with Crozite officialdom. In this case, at least, the cowl was thrown back. So far as appearance went, the interrogator might have been a Galactic from any of a number of planets, except for . . . yukh. Except for the milkily opaque pineal eye in the middle of the burnt umber skin of the forehead.

A ring of turquoise had been painted around that eye. Jesti took that to const.i.tute a symbol of rank. He wondered whether the strange third eye (characteristic of Crozers, apparently) might also hold the secret of the man's (? Well, the Crozer's) ability to see in profoundly impenetrable darkness. Maybe it functioned as some sort of sensor, like that possessed by Eilong's kirouli worms.

It was an interesting thought, one that might bear further checking, later. Meanwhile . . .

"I tire of your lies," the Crozite repeated. One six-fingered hand lifted in a gesture of command, the forefinger's extra joint flicking rapidly back and forth. "Guards!"

The two attendants gripped Jesti, dragged him forward. Now that there was light, he saw the red rings about their pineal eyes. Both wore brown robes similar to that of the man on the dais. That made them policers, their befuddled captive thought, as the official gestured from his high desk.

"Bring the psychist!"

One of the guards released Jesti's arm to disappear into the surrounding darkness. He was back in seconds, accompanied by a new figure who appeared in the cone of light as the guard did. She paced forward.

She was the most stunningly exotic woman Jestikhan Ghurt had ever seen. Lithe, slender, she stood close to his 23.own height. Maybe taller, this woman. Taller than Crozers, even. A great ma.s.s of golden hair rode her head like a spun crown, in marked contrast to the rich olive of her skin. In contrast too was her refulgent gold gown. It gleamed and shimmered in satiny beauty.

The garment was wildly out of place in such a setting. Floor-length on the left, it made a soft whisking sound as she walked, almost sibilant. The trailing edge was chain-hooked to a gold bracelet on her left wrist, so that lifting her hand also brought up her hem. On the right, the fabric was slashed diagonally, from the draped left edge to a chain-link gold belt. The gown covered her left shoulder, but swooped diagonally down to the same point at which belt met slashed skirt. That left her right breast bare save for a large glowing peridot gemstone; a nipple cup that matched the great ring on her left hand's middle finger.

It was a costume to catch any eye-not that its wearer needed such help.

Her eyes, especially, held Jesti. It was as if they were sending out a challenge, a challenge just to him. Low-lidded, purple-black, they had a slant that hinted of Saipese blood. Yet her face, with its hollows and shadows and its olive hue, might have come from Resh or Meccah. The ripe-sullen lips spoke of Luhra, perhaps. Or Ghanj. Or Suzi. Or- Long golden eardrops tinkled. The woman's right hand rose in a scornful gesture. The nail on the middle finger was at least six sems* long, and gilded.

"Is this the ... creature?" Her voice struck a low, throaty note.

Jesti felt his face grow hot. "Permit me," he said tightly. "My name is Jestikhan Churt. I am an Eilan from Eilong, not a ... creature."

The golden woman looked him up and down. "Indeed. Is there a difference?" There could be no mistaking the disdain in her cold eyes.

The Crozer at the desk laughed. "A good question." He leaned forward. His forefinger's extra joint flicked restlessly.

* Six centimeters: just under two and one-half inches, Old Style.

24."Eilan, this is a time for answers. Since you do not choose to give them, you force us to other modes of probing. It is our good fortune to have visiting us the psychist Yahna Golden. A trained researcher from MarsCorp, creator of the Akima Mars dramas. She has come to Croz to check audience pulse-palps on a new production being cubed here. As a favor, she had also kindly agreed to run a brain-drain on you in regard to the murdered hustler, Pearl."

"A brain-dr-" Jesti rocked with outrage. "My mind is mine! I am no criminal! You have no right-"

"True, true." The Crozer smirked. "There are legalists who would agree with you. Later, if you are cleared, you may bring charges. For now, however"-he turned to Yahna Golden-''Psychist, proceed.''

The woman nodded. "This way. My equipment is already set up." Her eyes were veiled now, her voice and expression cool and professional.

"No, d.a.m.n you! No!"

Jesti fought the body-wrap, which was like a kitten fighting a fully grown boa constrictor. Heaving him up as if he were a valueless mummy, the Crozer policers carried him into another, smaller room.

Here, blocked up on a table, waited what appeared to be a giant crystal tube. On the stand beside it rested a metal helmet sprouting a tangle of snake-like wires that ran to a crystal disk; it was apparently the tube's cap. Additional circuitry connected to a scanner-linked control box.

"His hair must go," the psychist told the guards. "I've brought a keenr."

The nearer policer grinned. "That's for me."

"Don't cut him," she said, handing the chubby-faced fellow the instrument.

"Don't worry." He leered. "I mean, I sure woulden wanta make him vomit."

His partner guffawed. "That's right, 'e's got a touchy stomach."

The man with the keenr shoved Jesti down into a chair. "Lessee now . . ."He turned on the keenr and moved in happily.

25.Jestikhan tried to duck. The second guard seized him by the nose and twisted, hard enough to bring tears of rage and pain to Eilan eyes.

"No more ducking, purple-creature, 'r I'll yank yer nose off."

Both Crozers laughed. The one with the keenr bore down with it, rasping Jesti's skull bare from front to back. Lavender hair spilled to the floor.

Once they'd started, the job was over in sees. Jesti's head felt cold. He shivered within his sausage-casing-in rage, rather than with cold.

"Hey, he's havin' a chill!" the guard with the keenr whooped.

"Tha's 'cause 'is brains're freezing!"

"You mean purplies got brains?"

Yahna Golden dodged Jesti's eyes. "All right . . . gentlemen. The casque, now. Then load him into the insulator."

One Crozer charmer held Jesti while the other slapped on the metal helmet. Yahna Golden-psychist began adjusting pressure points and checking connections. Abruptly she stopped. Her fingers slid back and forth along the side of her subject's neck.

"What are these, these orifices?"

Her question was the sort that Galactics sometimes blurted stupidly, as if they had a monopoly on evolution. He didn't like it. In view of his situation of the moment, he didn't bother trying to hide his disgust: "They're breathing slots. Gill slits, you likely call 'em. All Eilans have 'em. Only we don't use them for breathing anymore. Call them left-overs. Like tonsils or an appendix or such from your planet."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I should have known." Yahna Golden's fingers moved on, up and down around his (powerful) neck. And again, "What's this?"

"What's what?" Jesti's irritation was still in his voice, deliberately. G.o.d, the demeaning aspect-the ignominy. Shorn! Palpated! Stupidly queried . . .

"There's a place on the back of your neck. Sort of a 26.puffy little wound. The kind you might get if someone attached a sucking pod to draw blood."

"No vampires on Croz, garden soot of the Galaxy!" a guard chortled, and the other positively girl-giggled.

Jesti scowled. "I don't know a thing about it. I'm here because I was framed, see. That must have something to do with it. And I see two vampires!"

"Oh. More likely just some sort of bite." Her fingers left his neck and she stepped back. "All right. Place him in the insulator, now."

They shoved Jesti into the tube. The disk-cap went on.

It was as if the world outside had vanished. Silence was as complete as the darkness had been. Within the casque, Jesti frowned. What was that business about a neck wound? It must have something to do with Pearl's murder and whoever framed me for it.

He was still wondering when something happened within his brain. He a.s.sumed that the change meant Yahna Golden had actuated the brain-drain. Like magic, all perceptions faded. He didn't know how it worked, but Jesti concentrated on the filthiest thoughts possible. Or tried to.

How long the eminently insulting process lasted he never knew. It was as if all at once he was spinning through a world of nightmare. Bits and fragments of memory, forgotten incidents, all flashed through his mind. Faces came and went: friends, enemies, work-mates, family. The long-dead were there, and the barely recollected. Men swirled up, hard-faced and rowdy. Women, vibrant and vivid as the pa.s.sion they'd provided. Moments when he laughed, wept, ached with loneliness, screamed out in pain and fright. Once again he lived through mine disasters and battled with the Elders. The Crozer at the desk floated in and out. The Labyrinth and the bust. Pearl.

And above all, Yahna Golden, MarsCorp psychist. Friend of Setsuyo Puma?

How she could strike such an intense note was beyond his understanding. How long had he had contact with her? Almost, he could lay it out in seconds. Yet here she was, all olive skin and gold, gold. Cool sloe-eyes probing, appraising, mocking. Ripe lips at once taunting and scorning.

27.Even when he tried, he could not push back her image.

Weariness came. A sort of fog eddied through his consciousness in strange gray tendrils. Time had no meaning for him . . . and then that too pa.s.sed.

He wakened.

The crystal coffin was gone. So was the rest of the equipment. He lay on a simple table. A policer he'd never seen before slouched beside him, looking bored.

"All right? All pos?" The man jerked a thumb. "You go out that way.''

Jesti swung his legs off the table. Unsteadily, he sat up. His head was cold. Carefully not touching his shorn pate, he looked along the corridor the Crozer had indicated. At its end an open doorway spilled in light from Croz's great sun, Thabit. c.r.a.p! It's morning! All night here!

The policer saw the look and laughed. "It's all yours, jacko. I go off duty now." And d.a.m.ned if the cool b.a.s.t.a.r.d didn't stroll away.

After a moment Jesti dropped from the table (unpleasantly aware of cool air on his naked head) and checked his pockets. Nothing was missing.

Except for my hair and my dignity and my miner's helmet. His mouth tightened and he shivered a little. Most heat-loss was from the head. . . .

Unsteadily, he moved down the corridor and through the doorway. Along with a row of other doors, it opened into a courtyard off the street. The building had the look of gov about it, complete to the grotesque tri-phallic emblem Croz flouted so proudly. Guards flanked the main entrance.

Behind him, footsteps clicked. Definitely female. He turned.

Yahna Golden was hurrying after him. Her exotic costume of the night before had been discarded in favor of a cloaked gold-and-scarlet travel outfit that looked functional even while it managed to make her look consummately s.e.xy. She waved a pocket-sized packet.

"Eilan! Wait!" Urgency rode that low, throaty voice now, without affecting its sensuousness.

Jesti waited. He felt naked and vulnerable, without helmet or hair.

28.Her breathing just a trifle ragged, the golden woman closed the gap between them and held out the plas-pak. "You need a permapa.s.s."

Wordlessly he took it. The pa.s.s said he was CHURT, JESTI-KHAN (no IDtab) Home World: EILAN; Status: ALIEN FUGITIVE (provisional admission).

"Where're you from, Psychist?"

"Home planet?" She chuckled (nervously?). "Lyon. Long ago."

Across the court, a squad of policers marched in off the street. They escorted a raffish, heavily shackled group of s.p.a.cefarers: two Duties, a Jarp, and a turbaned Sek. Blood and bandages were prominent on all. They also appeared to be more than a little drunk. One of the Outreachers sighted Jesti. Whooping tipsily, he waved a tattered purple shirt. Satin.

"Look! A shirt-colored man!"