Awakenings: 6/6
by Linda Garrick and Nancy Smith
Chapter 6
Sam cleared his throat. What could he do? He must at least put on a show of leading the men through the sewers. If he refused flatly, they would pack him off to the Jil, and yet, if the men realized he was purposely trying to lead them astray, his fate would be anything but pleasant.
Still, he could probably do it. The sewers ran everywhere beneath the city, a bewildering maze of passageways. Doubtless he could keep Rose occupied for some time, and if they didn't find Eric, no one could really blame him. He had no way of knowing where the kid would go after his descent into the labyrinth. It had been a pretty smart move for the little character--Sam had to admit that. Hopefully, Eric would manage to remain hidden for long enough that the men would get sick of the vermin and the stink, and give up.
At least, he hoped so.
Sam swallowed hard, and looked up at the men around him -- Sergeant Rose and his two flunkies, Lieutenant Quiller and one of his men. Five in all, and he had to try to deceive them. They were all huge men, topping Sam by more than Sam topped little Eric. Could he do it? If he failed, he would be beaten to a pulp, and that Rose guy was awfully good at reading Sam's expressions. Even now he could see the Sarge watching him--sizing him up.
He took a deep breath. "He went down that one over there?"
"Yeah," Quiller said.
Sam grimaced. "These passageways go on forever. He probably won't want to stay down there too long -- real nasty smell, and it can be dangerous, too. The sewers need repair. There's lots of loose pipes and stuff."
"So far you ain't told us nothin' new!" Quiller snapped in Basic. "Quit stallin', kid ! "
"I'm not stalling," Sam lied. "But look, if he does try to come up, the chances are he'll try for one of the exits that's not too well known."
"And where would those be?" Rose inquired, smiling faintly.
"Well, there's the one on East Narcissus--"
Rose snapped out a short, descriptive cussword. "You're stringing us, aren't you twerp. I'll bet your little Mr. Vogleman doesn't even know about the exit on East Whatsitsname. "
"Yes he does." Sam swallowed, striving to keep his gaze steady. The sergeant had guessed his thoughts again, damn him! The guy was a mind reader, just like the psychics he was pursuing.
Quiller was watching Rose and smirking faintly. "Think he's fibbin', Elray?"
"I know he is. Look at his eyes! What'd I tell you about these Terran kids an' all?" He slapped Sam suddenly, knocking him backwards into a car, and reached past him, pressing controls on the datanet computer. Sam's ears were humming, and he couldn't hear what the man said into the machine, but a moment later he straightened up.
"The comp gives us four exits within walking distance," he said levelly. "And a fifth one on East Narcissus street that's been sealed off for three months. And don't tell me you didn't know, kid."
"I didn't!" Sam gasped.
"Yeah." The patrolman drew his blaster and flicked the setting. "You know how fast a needle beam can slice off an ear, kid?"
Sam shrank back. It was no use. The man was a wizard. He'd know if Sam attempted another lie.
The sarge activated the needle beam on the weapon and moved it suddenly, Sam yelped as it singed his cheek and sheered off a lock of hair.
"All right!" he gasped. "I'll tell. Don't...please!"
"Speak up," the patrolman said gently.
"He'll probably come out the fifth street exit--that or the one on First."
Rose grinned and flicked off the beam. He glanced at Quiller. "See how easy it is to tell?"
"Yeah." Quiller grinned back. "Let's move."
Sam was shoved back into the rear seat of the aircar once more. The fear was wearing off now, and he felt his cheeks redden again with shame. He had betrayed a fellow Terran to the Jils after only a few good scare tactics from a bullying Patrol sergeant. Why, they hadn't even hurt him, really.
He closed his eyes. There had been no choice, he told himself firmly. Eric would have spilled, too, in a similar position.
The aircar lifted from the street. Sam remained still, wracking his brains. He had to get away! He had to warn Eric and maybe Ruthy, too.
The car's communicator crackled. "Lieutenant Quiller, this is Patrolman Morris. We've sighted the boy. He's heading for the 5th street exit. Can you cut him off?"
Quiller pressed the unit. "We're almost there now." He glanced at Sam and grinned. "Thanks, kid. "You saved us some time. I'll remember it."
Sam didn't answer. The aircar settled into the street and the four men who had accompanied Sam, exited. Rose reached in and dragged the prisoner out. "C'mon, pretty boy."
They turned down the alley, Sam walking between his two captors.
The lid to the sewer clanged open and figures boiled from it. Sam's heart gave a great leap and seemed to stick in his throat. Ruthy and Molly, accompanied by Eric and two small, wiry men emerged, scrambling away from the opening. One of the men twisted about, did something to the weapon in his hand, let it drop back into the drain, and slammed the lid into place again.
"Freeze right there!" Quiller barked.
"Jump!" one of the men shouted.
Beneath Sam's feet there was a loud, ominous rumble. The pavement vibrated, and the lid of the sewer shot high in the air, obviously propelled from beneath by the rocketing pillar of orange flame which succeeded it. The flame shot high with a deafening roar.
Eric was moving, leaping sideways, a blaster clutched in both hands. The weapon cracked, and Quiller spun away with a cry. The other patrolmen were firing, and he clearly heard Eric cry out in pain. The boy's blaster fell to the pavement as Eric clutched his right arm and staggered back. The two blond men accompanying his sisters scrambled backwards, dragging the girls and Eric with them. Fire continued to pour from the sewer, but no one paid any heed. Sergeant Rose clamped an arm around Sam and also retreated, Sam held before him like a shield. Sam struggled uselessly, and received a blow on the side of the head with the butt of the man's blaster. Stars twinkled before his eyes, and for a moment the scene faded out.
**********
Dimly, Sam Channing heard the sound of blaster fire, and became gradually aware that he was lying on something rough, cold and uncomfortable. He opened his eyes.
Beneath his cheek was the chill cement of the alley, and beside him, and a little ahead, prone on his belly, was the hated figure of Sergeant Rose. A few meters away crouched the forms of the other two patrolmen. They were firing. Shots echoed around him, and fire fused the pavement a meter from his eyes. Sam's gaze went from that point to a spot only a little farther away.
A blaster lay there, unattended. He stared at it blankly, trying to focus his attention on it, and ignore the numerous distractions around him. The Sergeant thought he was unconscious. Neither he, nor his flunkies were watching their prisoner at the moment, but if he tried to reach the weapon, they would finish him off in an instant.
Still, he must try. These men were trying to kill Ruthy and Molly. Very likely they would succeed if Sam didn't do something to stop them. His sisters and their protectors must be trapped at the end of the alley. There was a high synthastone wall there, which blocked any exit via that avenue.
And besides, Rose and his men would almost certainly have called for assistance by now. Any minute it would arrive, and the others would be overcome by numbers alone.
Again he focused his gaze on the blaster lying forgotten only about two meters away, perhaps halfway between and a little ahead of Rose and his two henchmen. Sam knew he couldn't reach it. They'd blast him at once if he tried.
From the angle at which the weapon lay, Sam could see the controls clearly. It was a standard Patrol issue blaster. There had been a time when Sam had been extremely interested in such weapons, before he had developed his new philosophy of peace at all costs. The recollection of Rose's scorn stung him anew.
He put the memory away and tried to think. He had to do something, but what?
Irresistibly, his attention was drawn back to the blaster. The controls of the weapon seemed to leap out at him. Everything else, the blaster fire, the discomfort of his cheek against the cold stone, his throbbing head, faded into the background. The blaster controls focused with almost painful clarity before him, and he found himself reaching instinctively toward them, not with his physical hands, but with his mind. Rose had said he was too stupid to be a psychic. Psychics weren't easily fooled. They didn't fall for lies, as Sam had, but maybe....
His mind touched the blaster almost as if he had reached out with a physical hand. In his brain he felt its cold, solid outlines--the fit of the grip, the position of the controls, the shape of the firing stud. The blaster was set to kill. Perhaps it had been the one he had seen Eric holding, he thought.
The feel of the weapon was vividly clear in his brain. He touched the control settings with those insubstantial mental fingers, slightly amazed that he could literally feel them. Clenching his jaw, he gripped the weapon in his imaginary hand and pushed.
The switch moved, clicking gently into the setting for needle beam.
For a moment he couldn't believe he had done it. Then elation poured through him. He *was* a psychic--perhaps not the same kind of psychic as Eric and Ruthy, but a psychic nonetheless. He pressed again, and felt the lever move another notch, to emergency maximum. It was now only one setting from emergency overload.
Sam turned his head slightly, trying to take in everything around him. He'd have to move, or he'd be caught in the blast, too. But Rose wasn't holding him. Rose thought him unconscious. He would have only one chance and not a very good one, he acknowledged, but if he didn't do something, they were all going to be captured.
Sam gritted his teeth and pushed on the switch with every shred of strength that he could put into it.
The lever twitched.
It took much more effort, naturally, to set the weapon on overload. Blasters were designed that way on purpose, so patrolmen didn't accidentally blow themselves up. Clenching his jaw so hard that the muscles hurt, Sam pressed the lever again, applied downward motion, then pushed once more with all his strength.
The lever slid silently into overload.
Sam moved, rolling away and leaping to his feet. Rose turned toward him with a startled oath, his weapon lifting. Sam dove headlong down the alley, toward the street and scrambled rapidly away on hands and knees. The silent countdown in his head told him that he had run out of time and he dived behind the metal shape of a battered trash receptacle, bringing his arms up to protect his head.
The blaster exploded.
With an earthshaking roar, fire ripped across the alley, mushrooming up against the synthastone buildings on both sides. The concussion caught both Sam and the trashcan and sent him tumbling and rolling into the street beyond, accompanied by burning bits of rotting vegetables and other refuse, as well as an unrecognizable lump of crushed metal that had been the trash container. If not for it, he would be as dead as the patrolmen in the alley behind him. He landed hard against a lamppost, the impact driving the breath from his lungs.
For a few seconds he simply lay still, gasping and wheezing. Then hands caught his arms and pulled him unceremoniously upright. He found himself stumbling down the street between the two men whom he had seen emerge from the sewer with Molly and Ruthy. Pedestrians drawn by curiosity to the site of the explosion stared, openmouthed, as they passed.
An instant later they reached an aircar, and one of the men yanked the rear door open. Sam was thrust inside, and Eric and Ruthy landed on top of him. Molly followed, and the door clicked shut. There was a roar of engines, and for a moment acceleration crushed him into the padded seat as the car swooped upward.
Chapter 7
Eric pushed himself slowly to a sitting position and watched as Ruthy and Molly did the same. Sam lay still across the seat, his blond hair disheveled, the breath clearly knocked out of him. He wheezed and coughed. In the front seat of the vehicle were the two men who had rescued them, one at the controls, the other anxiously studying the scanner readout.
"Keep us low," he was saying. "I don't think they've spotted us."
"I am." The man at the controls took them into a crowded lane of traffic. "Don't worry, Alex ol' boy. We'll just blend with the rest of the mob."
Ruthy caught Eric around the neck and almost strangled him. "Oh, Eric! I'm so glad you're okay! That guy clipped you! Did he hurt you? Oh, Eric, your shoulder!"
"I'm okay." Eric glanced at his blistered arm, feeling suddenly very weak and a little nauseated. One of the men in the front glanced back at him.
"Better lie down, kid," he advised.
Eric shook his head. "I'm fine."
"Blaster burns can be nasty. Lie down. Put your head in Ruthy's lap."
"Sam!" Molly bent over her brother. "Sammy, are you okay?"
"Yeah," the older boy wheezed. "How...'bout...you?"
"I'm fine." Molly tugged on his arm. From the battered carrier in her arms came the wail of a distressed kitten. "Sit up, Sammy! Eric needs to lie down!"
"Just...a...minute." Sam drew a long, crowing breath. Eric regarded him with disfavor. It was Sam who had directed the Patrol to the hospital and caused the death, if indirectly, of his mother, and possibly his father, too. If not for Molly and Ruthy, Eric would have preferred the dumb so-and-so had just bought it back there in the alley. He rubbed his singed arm. Sam must also have shown the Patrol where their most likely port of exit would be. He had been taken prisoner, and the stinking coward had betrayed him again to save his own skin. He couldn't have known, of course, that Ruthy and Molly were with Eric, but the knowledge probably wouldn't have made any difference.
Sam sat up, still looking a little white, and met Eric's gaze.
"Hi, Eric," he said.
Eric didn't answer. He lowered himself to the seat and rested his head in Ruthy's lap, closing his eyes.
"I'm sorry about your parents," Sam said, his voice very low.
Eric didn't open his eyes. "Don't worry about it," he said acidly. "I'm sure they brought it on themselves. Mom and Dad were dangerous characters, always asking for trouble."
Silence. Then Sam cleared his throat. "I guess I deserved that."
Eric could hardly believe his ears. He opened his eyes, staring at the other boy. Sam was looking out the window, his face flushed, and a troubled expression on his features. He didn't speak again. Eric glanced toward Ruthy. There was pain written in her eyes and tears on her cheeks. The driver of the vehicle glanced back, his expression serious.
"I think," he said quietly, "that Sam made up for any earlier mistakes when he triggered that blaster. He saved all our necks when he did that."
"What blaster?" Eric asked.
"Your blaster--the one you dropped when that 'trol singed your arm. I saw it explode--couldn't believe my eyes! Nobody touched it, but somehow it got set on overload. Sam was the only one near enough to do it."
"I did it," Sam admitted.
"Nice, neat job, too. Those controls are hard to move with telekinesis. I know 'cause I've tried, and I'm a pretty good telekinetic. I could move all of 'em, except the one to set the blaster on overload. That one's tough, but you did it. You must have a real strong talent there."
Molly's eyes were shining. "Sam's a psychic, too?"
"Yeah, he is, and so are you, peanut," the man said. He reached back and ruffled Molly's tousled dark hair. "All you kids are." He spoke to Eric again. "Sam risked his own neck to do what he did, Eric. He could've been killed, you know. It's only because he kept his head and moved fast that he wasn't." He paused, then added in a low voice. "I'm very sorry about your parents. It's a damned shame. We didn't know there was trouble until you called us for help on the trans com, and by the time we got there, it was too late."
Eric nodded. "I went back after I'd killed that 'trol." Tears stung his eyes at the memory. "Mom and Dad were gone. I saw the 'trol cuff both of them before I ran." He began to cry helplessly. "That guy must've recovered and taken 'em away!"
"We'll try to find them." The driver's voice was hushed with sympathy. "I'm sorry, Eric."
"They're going to pay for this!" Eric sobbed. "The Jils and the 'trols! I'm going to spend the rest of my life if I have to--making them pay!"
"You'll have plenty of chances in the Terran Underground," the other man said, very soberly.
Eric gulped back a sob and looked across at Sam. The other boy's lips were compressed tightly, and his hand reached over to close firmly around Eric's.
"You and me both, kid," Sam said. "After all that's happened, I think we're in this together."
"Where are we going to live, Alex?" Ruthy asked, her voice subdued. "The Jils are never going to stop looking for us."
"You're going to be sent to one of our sanctuary worlds," the man in the passenger seat said. "You'll be safe there, and our people will teach all of you to use your powers."
"How about Eric and the baby?" Molly asked. "Where are they going to live?" She had taken the very ruffled kitten out of his carrier and the small animal was sitting calmly in her lap, purring under the stroking of the little girl's hands.
Alex raised his eyebrows at the sight. "I think we've got an animal handler here," he remarked in an aside to the driver. The other man made an approving sound.
"They can stay with us," Ruthy said stoutly. "Elizabeth's with Mom, and she told me to tell Eric that Eric and Elizabeth are part of our family now."
Sam ruffled his sister's hair. "Sure they can," he said. "And when we're ready, we'll make the Jils pay. All of us will. That's a promise."
Epilogue
Mr. John Vogleman hefted his wife's limp body and carried her into a small, roughly built cabin. He placed her on the bed, glanced around and then went outside to draw water from the well.
This was their retreat--their refuge. He'd built it years ago in the knowledge that someday he and his family might again need to run for their lives.
He took the bucket and carried it back into the house. On the bed, his wife stirred and called his name. He went over to her and sat down beside her, dipping a cloth into the bucket. He wrung it out and began to sponge her forehead gently.
"Honey, wake up."
Her eyelids flickered. Rapidly, John checked the bandages on her shoulder and ribs. The wound was bad, but not necessarily fatal. Instinct must have made her flinch sideways just in time.
He sponged her forehead again, then lifted her shoulders to let water trickle between her lips. She choked and swallowed. Her eyes opened.
"John," she whispered.
"I'm here."
"Hurts...."
"I've given you a shot. You should feel better in a few minutes."
She nodded, grimacing. "John, the children--"
"They're safe, dear."
She smiled and closed her hand around his. Minutes slid by, and at last she stirred again. He could sense that her pain had diminished to bearable levels, and saw her smile as he kissed her forehead gently.
"What happened?" she whispered.
Briefly he told her. "After you shot that 'trol, the other one must've gone after Eric. I was stunned, and when I came to, he was gone. I teleported the key out of the wounded guy's pouch and used it to get our restrainers off. Then I put you and the 'trols in the car and took off."
"What did you do with the 'trols?" Sonja asked.
John's face hardened. "What do you think?"
She grimaced, but nodded. "What about the children?"
"I looked for them a long time--all day, in fact, but I haven't your clairvoyant abilities. Then, ten minutes ago, I heard it on the 'trol's wrist com, that I took off of him before I dumped them both in the lake. The kids have been picked up by the Terran Underground. They're safe."
Mrs. Vogleman's eyes closed. "Thank God."
"Yes," John agreed.
"But we have no way of contacting them."
John shook his head. "Not now. If we're lucky, maybe we'll meet the Underground again someday, but right now we have to lie low. Eric was great, though. He gave them a real run for their money. I'll tell you all about it when you're better."
She nodded smiling weakly. "That's our boy. He's just like his daddy."
John kissed her. "He's a lot like both of us, honey."
The end
