Buck Rogers 2 - That Man on Beta (20 page)

“Blorim,” Buck almost shouted into her ear, “I want you to remember this. ‘He was wonderful.’ Remember. ‘He was wonderful.’ ”

Blorim obediently repeated the words in her slurred voice.

Buck helped the semi-conscious woman to her feet. He managed to get her to the door. “Right, Blorim. Remember. ‘He was wonderful.’ ”

“Wunn’ful,” Blorim echoed drunkenly.

Buck pressed the latch, found the door unlocked. It swung open to reveal the same guard who had escorted Blorim to Buck’s room. Buck virtually handed the helpless woman to the guard. “Could you help the lady get home?” he asked the guard. “She, uh, kind of—you know—a glass of wine, then too much excitement.”

The guard reached for Blorim and she collapsed onto his shoulder. “He was wunn’ful,” she slurred.

Half-carrying, half-dragging Blorim with him, the guard started down the hall. As he went he grumbled aloud. “Big deal.”

Buck shut the door of his room from the inside. There was no point in making a break for freedom, now—there was nowhere to go on Villus Beta, and little chance of getting off the planetoid. Instead, Buck retrieved Blorim’s wrap from under his bed. He tried it as a disguise—around his body, around his face. While he was experimenting there was a knock at the door.

Buck had barely time to get Blorim’s wrap hidden a second time when he found himself face to face with—Grenda!

“Hi, Buck,” the second young woman said. “You know, I’ve never, uh,
been
with an earthman. If you know what I mean. Is it true what they say about earthmen?”

“I—uh—du-du-dunno,” Buck stammered. “What do they say about me?”

She tried to say something and was held back by some small residue of propriety. Finally she advanced to Buck and raised her lips to his ear. She was wearing as exotic and as skimpy an outfit as Blorim had worn. Her coiffure, Buck noticed, was absolutely spectacular—and absolutely false. As she nestled up to him she knocked it slightly askew and had to reach up to fix it.

Finally she regained her composure and managed to whisper something in Buck’s ear. He listened until his jaw dropped.

“No,” he said loudly, “that’s not why they call me Buck, Grenda!” He considered for a moment longer. “Well,” he amended,
“maybe
it is. I never thought of it quite that way. But listen, what are you doing here? I thought you were on for tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow?” Grenda asked. “No. I was scheduled second, that’s all—not second
night,
you silly. What about the rest of tonight? And when Blorim came back looking so happy, I thought I’d better come over here and take my turn.”

“Oh,” Buck said, deflated. “Well, uh—oh well, what the heck.”

Grenda beamed up at him. “I’m ready.” She reached behind herself and began to undo her costume. Buck backed away in confusion.

“Uh . . . wait,” he said.

She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“I mean . . . uh, would you like some champagne?” he asked. “That is, uh, Vinol. I’m sure I have another bottle here somewhere. Or—we could send out. I know a good deli down near the Loop in Chicago, and . . .”

Grenda said, “No, thanks.”

She reached for the light switch and plunged the room into darkness. In the murk there was nothing to be seen, but plenty to be heard. Grenda all but dived into Buck’s arms—arriving with a thud that knocked the wind out of him. There followed a series of words, moans, other sounds.

In Buck’s voice, “Oooh.”

In Grenda’s, “Sorry.”

A series of fumbling sounds, then in Buck’s voice again, so that one was not quite certain whether he was expressing forgiveness or appreciation, “That’s okay.”

There was a thump, as of two bodies onto a soft surface, and in the voice of the body that landed on bottom, a male body, a male voice, “Ow!”

And a female, “Sorry.”

Buck said, once again, “That’s okay.”

There was a sound of rustling, other sounds, some as of skin sliding on skin, some more moist.

A voice again, “Oooo.”

Another, “Sorry.”

A small light sprang on in the room, and Grenda said to Buck, “Why did you do that?”

“Because I want to see you,” he answered. “You’re beautiful, you know, Grenda.”

“So are you,” she cuddled against him.

As Grenda pressed her cheek to Buck’s naked chest, she could feel his hand on her back . . . caressing her neck . . . sliding up under her wig. She raised her head from his chest to give him a quizzical look.

“Don’t stop what you were doing,” Buck suggested.

Grenda shrugged. She put her face back down onto his chest and kissed the muscular flesh there.

Buck carefully slipped Grenda’s wig from her head and gently spread her real hair across his shoulder. She smiled up at him. He slid the wig under the bed. With one hand he continued to caress her; with the other he carefully opened her purse, slipped her lipstick and makeup from it and slid them under the bed, then closed the purse again.

He bent his head so that his lips were pressed against Grenda’s ear. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some wine?” he whispered in her ear.

She shook her head negatively.

“Uh, maybe a game of cards? Some bright conversation?”

She sat up angrily, glared into his face. “What’s the matter with you? Can’t you keep your mind on what you’re doing?”

“Oh,” Buck stammered. “Well, uh, you see—uh, Grenda, well, I really do like you a lot. And you’re a beautiful person and all, but—well . . .” He stopped speaking.

She stood over him, hands on her hips. “But, well, what? Don’t earthmen do it the same way everybody else does?”

“Oh, er, sure,” Buck managed. “It’s just that—oh, well, maybe some other time, Grenda. I’ll try and make it up to you.”

“The hell you will!” she snapped. “I’ve got a couple of things to say to that creep Von Norbert for the buildup he gave you. Now, where are my clothes? Okay! And where did my wig go?”

“What wig?” Buck asked.

“I had one on when I came in here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, damn it!”

“Well, I’ll keep a good eye out for it, Grenda. If a wig turns up anywhere, I’ll let you know about it right away.”

“Thanks a lot,” she said. She strode to the door and jerked it open angrily. “Listen,” she said, turning back just before she left the room. “There’s one thing I’d like to ask you, Captain Rogers.”

“What’s that?” Buck inquired.

“Why
do
they call you Buck?”

In the telescreen room, Kane and Professor Von Norbert had both passed out and lay sleeping soundly before the screen. The room was warm and stuffy, the upholstery soft and comfortable, and as for the titillating display of eroticism they had expected to witness—well, who can blame them for falling asleep.

Still, had they remained alert they would have seen the inside of Buck Rogers’ room after Grenda’s departure. Buck checked the door, began searching the room. Was he looking for Grenda’s missing wig? Hardly! He knew where that was.

He crept around the baseboard of the room, checked all the ventilator inlets and outlets, pulled away a grille and found—the second monitor camera! He pulled it from its place, snapped the lead that carried power to it and images and sounds away.

In the telescreen room, the panel that carried the video image went blank and the loudspeaker that carried its audio counterpart hissed into silence. Von Norbert and Kane snored away.

Buck Rogers stood before a mirror in his room, carefully—if somewhat clumsily—applying to his face the makeup that he had extracted from Grenda’s purse. He did the best he could, then slipped the purloined wig over his own close-cropped hair. Finally he slipped Blorim’s wrap around himself. He examined himself in the reflecting panel.

Well—he wasn’t exactly a ravishing beauty, but—he might pass muster in a dark alley at midnight.

He strode to the door, reached for its catch when—it opened in front of him and Orell stood there staring. She screamed. He grabbed her with one muscular arm and pulled her into the room, shoving the door closed behind her with his other hand.

Orell gaped up into his face. “I’m—I’m—it’s my turn!” she gasped. “Who—who are you?”

Buck thought as fast as he could. “Don’t you know me?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“No,” Orell shook her head. “You’re not from Villus Beta, I’d recognize you if you were.”

“That’s right,” Buck said in a weak imitation of a female voice.

“Then you must be one of Princess Ardala’s ladies-in-waiting.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Buck said, trying still to sound like a woman. “The princess is claiming her royal prerogative. A princess gets her way, you know. You’ll have to wait, dearie.”

“But where’s Buck?” Orell demanded.

“He went to the princess’ chambers,” Buck explained, improvising as fast as he could. “He’ll be back here afterward. He’ll send for you when he’s good and ready.”

Orell started to leave, crestfallen. Then she turned back and planted her feet firmly on Buck’s floor. “Good and ready, hey?” she said. “Well, I think I’ll just wait for him right here!”

Buck flounced past her to the door. “If that’s the way you want it, dearie, that’s fine with me. Ta-ta!” He opened the door, stepped into the hallway and shut it again behind him. He started down the corridor, past the bored and sleepy guard.

“Hey, I thought I just saw you come out o’ there,” the guard exclaimed, shaking his head blearily.

“Ha-ha!” Buck said in his falsetto voice, “I went back for some more. That Rogers is really something!
Ciao
!” His heart pounding with every step, waiting for the guard to figure things out and command him to halt—or zap him with a laser—Buck continued down the corridor.

By the time he rounded a corner and knew that he was out of sight of the guard, he was covered with sweat—but he was safe, at least for the moment! He made his way carefully through the by-ways and corridors of Villus Beta, avoiding contact with anyone he could avoid, making his exchanges with those he could not avoid as brief and impersonal as possible.

His closest call came when he was stopped by a guard who put his hand on Buck’s arm and swung him around under a ceiling light. Buck was ready to slug the guard and make a run for it when he realized that he wasn’t being interrogated as an interloper—the guard was making a pass at him!

Buck barely managed to keep a straight face as he flirted briefly with the guard, suggested a rendezvous in the nearby garden, and sped away from the encounter as fast as his flimsily clad legs could carry him!

But one aspect of the strange encounter stayed with Buck as he put distance between himself and the guard.

“Are you a real woman?” the guard had asked.

Buck had thought he was caught, but he brazened it out. “Why—aren’t you a real man?” he responded.

“You know what I mean,” the guard said. “Are you a regular kind of woman—or one of those five-year specials?”

“Five-year specials?” Buck echoed, puzzled.

“You know,” the guard said. “Those ones with the special accelerated growth hormones. The ones they’re making for the Gregorian war.” He looked at Buck in annoyance. “Don’t act like it’s such a secret, honey. Everybody on Villus Beta knows. If you’re one of those specials, it’s okay with me. If they’re big enough, they’re old enough, that’s my motto!” He leered and petted Buck on the arm.

“Oh, ah, everybody knows about it, hey?” Buck managed to get out. “Er, of course they do. Well, if you must know, why, yes, I’m one of the specials. I didn’t think you could tell, big boy.”

“I couldn’t, believe me, sweetie. I just kind of guessed. You look terrific for a five-year-old. I seen some of the early models that went all wrong. It was a sad sight to see, too!”

Gradually Buck was coming to an understanding of the complete ruthlessness, the disregard for humanity, of the Draconian leadership. Kane’s callousness was of course obvious. But Professor Von Norbert, beneath his distinguished appearance and scientific demeanor, was at heart no better than his partner!

The guard was still smiling at Buck, thinking him a woman—or pseudo woman. “I get off duty at six,” the guard said. “Wanna meet me then?”

“Oh, I can’t wait that long,” Buck cooed. “I’ll meet you in the garden in about two minutes. How about that?”

“But I’m on duty! I can’t leave my post—they’d court-martial me!”

“Tough luck,” Buck twitted the guard. He turned away, tossed a final seductive look over one shoulder and flounced away.

S I X T E E N

By royal prerogative, the Princess Ardala had been assigned a sumptuous suite of rooms, not in the bowels of the wedge-shaped city of Villus Beta, but on the surface of the planetoid. She left her curtains open a crack, so the splendid celestial sights of the Villus system were visible in the depth of night. The double sun of Villus was of course shining its light on the other side of the planetoid, but from Ardala’s bed she could, if she awoke in the night, watch the splendid dance of the asteroids as they drifted eternally in their complex, interlocking orbits.

A number of the smaller mini-planets had been captured by each of the larger ones, and swung around their primaries like miniature moons, sending rays of pale light dancing over the surface of every object they could reach.