🚀 go-pugleaf

                    A Worthy Loophole cont'd....



Kharrik squinted as he welded the transverse overphase triverter of the 
jump drive back into position. He'd long since surpassed Seth, who hadn't 
even known he had a "transverse overphase triverter" in the first place. 
It sounded like something out of a bad space opera. The Kilrathi's 
expertise was obvious, even as he worked with tools designed for human 
hands.
	The Kilrathi stood, looming over Seth uncomfortably. Seth still wasn't 
quite comfortable with the idea of cooperating with the cat. "The jump 
drive should work now," Kharrik said. "Our destination is the jump point 
just beyond the red planet at the far end of the system. I'll try to keep 
to empty systems as much as possible, to avoid patrols."
	"Sounds good. I'll set the course." Seth went forward and punched the 
instructions into his autopilot. He settled into his seat as Kharrik 
entered the cockpit through the small corridor that ran the length of the 
ship.
	"I'm surprised that your turret gunner's chair is designed for a 
Kilrathi. Why is this?" Kharrik asked as he gingerly sat down in the 
oversized seat, letting his tail pass through the hole the chair left for 
it.
	"The previous owner of this ship had a Kilrathi, one of the Ghorah Khar 
defectors, as his co-pilot. The seat doesn't get much use these days, so 
I never bothered to change it."
	"Ghorah Khar," Kharrik snarled. "How can those scum turn against their 
rightful lord?"
	"To some, peace is better than fighting. Some think the humans will win 
the war."
	"Perhaps some." Kharrik turned away and stared out at space dourly. "It 
is not the right subject for us to discuss right now."
	Seth agreed wholeheartedly, and changed the topic. "I hope your 
metabolism can handle human rations, because that's all I've got."
	"I can live well enough, for a few days."

	Seth broke into a sweat as Kharrik piloted the Centurion closer to the 
space station. Seth was strapped into the turret-gunner's seat, tied down 
with rope. Seth really hoped that this "prisoner" farce would convince 
the Kilrathi from the Yakra-arh battlestation... and he really hoped that 
Kharrik had meant all he'd said about his inflexible honor.
	The contact with the base had gone gone smoothly-- a Kilrathi face had 
appeared on the vidcom, snarling something in Kilrathi, and Kharrik had 
roared something in return. A pair of light Sartha escort fighters had 
launched from the base, but instead of attacking they'd settled into 
escort position. Looking out the rear viewport, Seth could almost make 
out the features of the Sartha pilot that hovered behind the ship, 
prepared to attack at the slightest misstep. Two light destroyers hovered 
in a parking orbit around the outpost, like sated sharks restlessly 
awaiting the next meal.
	Kharrik turned off the vidcom and spoke to Seth. "The sentinels are 
nervous. My name and codes have cleared, but with so many rogues turning 
against their race, my brethren are rightly cautious of Kilrathi in human 
craft. When we land, however, they can be sure of me. I outrank every 
other Kilrathi on this minor outpost. Have no fear, our contract will be 
honored."
	The Centurion shook as the station's tractor beams took hold, slowly 
easing the ship into the main landing bay. As the ship cruised further 
and further into the bronze and steel cavern, Seth looked longingly at 
the open space beyond the bay opening. He was now thoroughly in Kilrathi 
power.
	"I hope this works, Kharrik."
	"Quiet. It's time." Kharrik unstrapped himself and exited the craft, 
climbing down through the bottom hatch to meet a detachment of armed 
Kilrathi. Seth heard a rapid interrogation in Kilrathi, then many voices 
crying in unison, "Khar-harakh kal Shintahr!" Hail the Kal Shintahr. Seth 
was surprised-- a Kal Shintahr was higher up than Seth expected. Seth 
guessed the cats had accepted Kharrik's authority. He hoped that boded 
well for him.
	Two Kilrathi in the armor of marines burst into the cockpit and freed 
Seth from his bonds. After snarling in his face, they manacled him and 
carried him bodily off the ship. Seth caught a glimpse of Kharrik 
pointing at the ship and snapping orders to a crowd of bowing Kilrathi... 
then Seth's captors dragged him away into the interior of the base, along 
the oddly canted Kilrathi hallways of dull bronze hullmetal. Seth tried 
desperately to memorize along which path he was taken, counting side 
passages and turns. He felt that he had a fair idea of where he was until 
the guards took him into an elevator and manipulated controls he couldn't 
see. The elevator moved down for nearly a minute before coming to an 
abrupt halt.
	The Kilrathi manhandled Seth off the elevator and hauled him down a line 
of cells, then opened one and hurled him inside. The door slammed shut 
behind him with a deep reverberation like the closing of a crypt.
	The cell was dank, smelly and pitch black. Why the moisture? Was the 
outpost's ventilation system faulty? Then Seth realized that the dampness 
of the cell was probably distasteful to the water-shy Kilrathi-- 
psychological warfare against the prisoner. The scent of rotting plants 
probably served the same purpose for the carnivorous cats. Seth had to 
chuckle. Even after thirty years of united struggle against humanity, the 
Kilrathi were still best geared to battle against their own side. 
Fortunately for humankind, few Kilrathi understood the human mentality. 
Such thinkers as Kharrik and his mentor Baron Jukaga were rare among the 
cats.
	Seth made a quick examination of his cell, feeling his way along the 
walls. Roughly two meters and a half meters square, empty except for a 
latrine hole in one corner, door slightly recessed into the wall and held 
by hydraulic locks. Seth smiled. The marines hadn't checked Seth for 
concealed devices. Either they were overconfident, or Kharrik had assured 
them Seth was harmless. Either way they were in for a surprise. Seth 
pulled the tiny needler from his boot-top and put it up one sleeve where 
he could reach it more quickly. He was a pilot, not a trideo super-agent, 
but he had enough tricks to keep him dangerous. He hoped that he wouldn't 
need to use the weapon; with luck, Kharrik's plan would succeed without a 
hitch. Seth wasn't sure the needler's darts were loaded with enough 
poison to stop a Kilrathi.
	With a hissing whir, the hydraulic bolts snapped free and the door swung 
open. Seth shaded his eyes against the sudden flow of light, and the 
silhouette of a Kilrathi standing in the doorway. Blinking against the 
brightness, Seth recognized Kharrik, with several other Kilrathi behind 
him. "Do you have anything more to reveal, human?" Kharrik boomed. Seth 
stood silent. This wasn't in the script. "So be it," Kharrik continued. 
"Your turn will come soon enough. In four hours your ship will be ready 
to fly to Kilrah for analysis. You will go with it. The Imperial 
Questioners will know what to do with scum like you. I wash my hands of 
the entire matter." Kharrik turned to one of his retinue, spoke in 
Kilrathi. Seth made out "take him... deck 12...." Kharrik swept away, the 
rest of the Kilrathi following, except for a guard who slammed Seth's 
cell door shut again.
	Four hours. Surely Kharrik had arranged that visit to tell him when his 
jailbreak would be arranged, and what deck his ship was on. If Kharrik 
could be trusted. Seth decided to take a four-hour nap. Nothing he could 
do until then. He set his chronometer to wake him in time. Four hours. 
Deck 12.



Four sleepless hours later, Seth's eyes were glued to his chronometer. 
Three hours, fifty-nine minutes, fifty-five seconds... Seth turned off 
the alarm the second before it could go off, and at the same second the 
hydraulic bolts of the cell door snapped open smoothly. The door stayed 
closed.
	This was the moment of truth. Seth had given four hours worth of thought 
to the possibilities: either the hallway beyond was empty, for Seth to 
escape cleanly according to plan, or there were guards just waiting to 
gun down the escaping prisoner. Either way, Seth was out of the picture 
and Kharrik was clear... but the latter way was much easier than the 
former.
	Nothing for it but to take his chances. Seth drew his needler, flung 
open the door and leaped into the hallway, whirling around in a frantic 
attempt to aim in every direction at once. The hallway was deserted. Seth 
turned left, toward the elevator. He hoped the coast would be clear. No 
hope, he scolded himself. Kharrik seems to making good his word. Seth 
would have to take care of any unexpected problems. He'd love telling 
this to the boys at the Draco Tavern... if he survived.
	The elevator was waiting at his floor. Open. Seth wondered if that was 
strange, or if Kilrathi elevators just stayed open when not in use. No 
point wondering. He slipped inside. The control panel didn't mean much to 
him, but he knew Kilrathi numbering-- and the number "twelve" was written 
in at least three different places on the panel. Seth took a chance, 
stabbed a button. The doors closed and the elevator sprang to life.
	The first elevator ride had taken about a minute, but it was only twelve 
seconds before the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Seth pressed 
himself into a front corner of the elevator at his first glimpse of a 
barracks full of Kilrathi warriors busy sparring with swords and claws. 
Seth prayed none of the cats would investigate the empty elevator as he 
stabbed the next "twelve" button in a compromise between silence and 
panic. He breathed a silent thanks as the door slid shut and the elevator 
resumed its climb.
	After thirty seconds, the elevator stopped again. Seth crouched further 
back into the corner; this couldn't be the right stop either. His fears 
were confirmed when a Kilrathi hurried in through the doorway, turned to 
the control panel, and saw Seth. The beginning of a growl of surprise was 
all the sound the cat made before Seth fired a burst from his needler 
into the Kilrathi's right eye. It didn't matter whether the poison on the 
slivers was enough to hurt a Kilrathi-- three needles through the brain 
at close range were perfectly sufficient. The cat went down without a 
sound as the door closed.
	Seth searched the body for a more substantial firearm, but this Kilrathi 
was apparently a low-level technician, or for all Seth knew a janitor. 
Nothing but a light tool-belt and brown tunic over his splotched brown 
fur, the complete lack of a distinct pattern showing the Kilrathi's lack 
of breeding. Seth stood, praying the next stop would be the flight deck-- 
there was no way he could hide a dead Kilrathi if the elevator stopped at 
another barracks.
	The elevator stopped after twenty seconds, the door opened. Seth 
breathed a sigh of relief as he slipped out into the hallway. It was the 
same one he'd been dragged through back in the first place; he remembered 
the same pattern of red stripes along the walls. Hurriedly he traced his 
way back through the halls, struggling to remember exactly which turns he 
had taken. He almost got turned around at a few points, and had to turn 
back at several dead ends. He finally entered the flight deck from a door 
twenty meters from the way he'd left. No loss, though-- this exit was 
closer to Seth's Centurion.
	Seth looked left and right. The bay seemed empty of life, though Seth 
couldn't shake the feeling that all the Kilrathi fighters were staring at 
him. Probably came from always being shot at by them, Seth thought. He 
dashed from the doorway to crouch by the landing gear of a nearby Dralthi 
II. His Centurion was in the open fifty meters away, with a clear path 
leading through the magnetic shields out to empty space. A second glance 
around the bay showed him that all the craft except the Centurion were 
disconnected from their power and life-support umbilicals-- and, he hoped,
 unable to launch soon without them.
	Time to roll the dice. Seth got up and sprinted toward the Centurion, 
expecting an alarm to go up at any second. Why was the bay empty, anyway? 
Kharrik must have arranged some sort of "emergency" somewhere else on the 
ship. The Centurion was unlocked-- there was no way the Kilrathi could 
have closed the ship to Seth short of welding the door shut. The smell of 
charred flesh and fur that lingered in the air as Seth clambered up into 
the airlock told him that the Kilrathi must have run across some of his 
more amusing safeguards. It was their own fault. Seth had told Kharrik 
not to let his people test the Centurion's security. Apparently they'd 
taken some convincing. Seth climbed up out of the airlock into the middle 
of the causeway which stretched from fore to amidships, and down into the 
rear turret. Leaping forward into the cockpit, Seth ran through his 
startup sequence hurriedly, activating the reactors, jettisoning the 
power and life support umbilicals, powering up weapons-- Seth noticed 
that his remaining flares had been removed-- activating his thrusters and 
roaring out of the landing bay under fifteen gees of acceleration. As the 
base fell away from him, Seth finally allowed himself a sigh of relief. 
The other fighters in the landing bay were apparently in no condition to 
follow, he'd already outdistanced the two destroyers that orbited the 
base, and he was already recognizing constellations. 
	This Yakra-arh was the system humans knew as Venice, once the heart of 
operations in the Vega sector, now reduced to a tiny outpost on an 
uncertain border. The mere fact that it had been retaken was bad news for 
the Confeds, but that didn't matter to Seth. Privateers and pirates alike 
made a good living where life was hard for men and cats. In fact, it was 
only one jump back to a human-controlled system, even if there were 
reasons for Seth to avoid that particular system as well.
	Seth's vidcom sprang to life. "Making good your escape, Seth McGuire 
Lensman?"
	"Kharrik!" Seth checked his radar. Sure enough, there was a little red 
dot coming toward him from the three big orange dots. "I thought I got 
safe passage back to human space! What's with this pursuit?"
	"Safe passage, yes. Jump to human space, then turn and face me, Seth 
McGuire Lensman. My honor requires your death!" Kharrik roared, then 
broke the connection. Seth looked at his radar and hit himself in the 
forehead, hard.
	"A loophole. Blood and ashes." Two of the big orange dots were coming 
toward him as well, and the other orange dot was producing lots and lots 
of little red dots. Seth brought up his targeting display as he went to 
full thrust, heading for the jump point. He cycled through his pursuit 
for a moment, then gave up in disgust. Kharrik in the lead, in a Gothri, 
followed by wings of Jalkehi, Grikath, Dralthi IIs, Hriss... Seth didn't 
like what was waiting for him on the other side of the jump, but it 
didn't seem like a very good idea to remain here, either. Then he 
realized what a conceited fool he'd been and hit himself in the forehead 
again. Given the circumstances, he had nothing to fear. As he came within 
range of the jump point, he hit the switch. Space folded over itself and 
cracked open in front of him... the jump took effect.

	Seth shook his head as he dropped out of jumpspace. An instant and an 
eternity-- jumping in a small ship was always disorienting. Looking ahead 
of him, he remembered why he was here. He dodged an asteroid, slipped 
past another, opening a hailing frequency. "Calling all Confederate 
craft! Calling all Confederate craft! Kilrathi coming through at Nav 2! 
Kilrathi coming through at Nav 2!"
	Seth checked his radar. As he'd hoped, Max Kroen's base in this asteroid 
field was still swarming with Confederate craft-- a glance at his sensors 
showed several Hellcat IVs scrambling to attack the first Kilrathi out of 
the jump point. Kroen had bragged of having an agreement with the 
Kilrathi one jump away, but apparently the Confeds did not.
	Seth cut thrust and coasted away from the fight on maneuvering jets. It 
would be best to slip away quietly. Whichever side won would not look 
very kindly on Seth, for one reason or another. Looked like he'd have to 
buy that Unzervaltan dictator some nukes out of his own pocket.

	


    Two days.

"Ahh, you're full of it, Lensman."

    Five days.
	"Heck, yeah, he did! Told me so hisself! Tricked a Kilrathi out of his 
own trick, he did!"


   Two weeks.
	"It's true! I heard from a guy who knows Lensman! Lensman lured a whole 
task force into a Confed ambush!"


   A month.
	"No, I'm serious! Tricked the Confeds into saving him and blew up the 
starbase, too!"


   Three months.
	"And, in national news, a new vigilante warrior called Lensman has been 
doing the Confederation Space Force's job for it by reportedly destroying 
three Kilrathi starbases along the Vega border..."

 	"Three?" Rick Schumann asked, glancing up at the trideo. "Last I heard 
it was only two."
	"Yeah? They must have forgotten one," Seth laughed. It was late, but the 
Draco Tavern was just filling up. "Give me another rum."
	"Yo ho ho."


----------------------------------------
That's all, folks. Encourage me enough and I may write more.
Slash or bust? (Played SS3? Love it. Now.) You tell me.


Due to the nomadic nature of my existence, email both

<TLG...@prodigy.com>

AND

<mmacd...@mail.millikin.edu>

to have the best chance of reaching me.


                                        Alan "insert nickname here" 
MacDougall
                                           --- insert sigfile here----

   ( This sigfile is under destruction. )