The Viceroy interrupted him. "Have you been in telepathic contact with your sister, Terran?"
"No, sir, not that I'm aware of."
A large, strong hand closed about his face and the ruler concentrated. Karl shuddered, but managed to remain still as the most powerful Jilectan in the Rovalli sector probed his mind. Then the Viceroy relaxed and stepped back, speaking to Toonthvar again.
"This is interesting," he said in Jilectan. "The boy's grandmother was identified as a psychic seven years ago, but escaped before she could be apprehended. There is also an aunt who has not been accounted for. And the grandmother's maiden name was Westover."
Toonthvar stepped forward, regarding Karl intently. "Any relation, sir?"
"None that the boy knows of. Toonthvar, I must know more of this family. Get the father back here at once, and find the mother and siblings."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Distribute photos and offer a reward."
"Yes, M'lord." Toonthvar started for the door, then paused at an exclamation from Ruffard.
"What is it, Lieutenant?" Halthzor inquired.
"Message, sir. Trouble at the boy's home. The father called saying that his wife has returned. A couple'a men were sent over to pick them up. They arrived t'find the father, Cecil Warren, alone, unconscious from a severe blow to the head. He appeared t'have been drinkin', sir."
Silence for the slow count of ten. Then Halthzor spoke slowly to his fellow in the Jilectan dialect. "It would appear that the woman's lover has returned for her." He turned to Ruffard, speaking Basic. "Get the order out at once to watch for the woman. She will most likely be accompanied by a small man and two children."
"Yes, M'lord." Ruffard spoke into his throat mike.
"And Lord Toonthvar, you will also initiate a search for the woman. Find a tracer who..." He stopped and turned suddenly toward Karl, his eyes narrowing. "What is this?"
Karl took an involuntary step back and bumped into Ruffard. The Viceroy advanced a step, and spoke in the Jilectan tongue. "How is it, Terran, that you speak our language?"
"S... sir?"
"Do not deny it. Your thoughts are quite clear. You have understood every word I have spoken to Lord Toonthvar."
Ruffard drew in his breath sharply. "That's right, sir! I heard him speakin' it before t'Lord Drinxvor's kids, but it slipped my mind until you mentioned it! He's real fluent in it, sir!"
Halthzor's gaze went back to Karl. "Where did you learn it, Terran?"
"Sir, I... I learned it today from hearing Lord Drinxvor and Lord Toonthvar speaking it."
"You did *what*?"
"And then the little Jilectan Ladies spoke it, too. I learn languages quickly, sir."
Toonthvar stared at Karl a moment, then spoke to Halthzor. "How can this be?"
"He is a linguist," the Viceroy said.
"A linguist?"
"A psychic ability which, up until now, has only been theorized." Halthzor was speaking in the Jilectan tongue once more. "It is well known that Terran psychics learn languages easily--although not this easily. Our scientists have theorized that this ability may be a very mild form of the linguist ability--the talent of learning a language simply by hearing it spoken a few times. This boy proves their theory." His lip twitched faintly. "It would appear that the Terrans have another talent which Jilectans do not possess."
Toonthvar's mouth tightened and he said something under his breath that Karl didn't catch. Halthzor addressed him again, once more speaking Basic. "How do you do this, Terran? Explain it to me."
Karl licked his lips. "Your Highness, I don't know. I... I really thought everyone could learn a language just from listening to it. How else could you do it?"
A long, measuring stare from the ruler. Then, "How can you know what the words mean if you have never heard them before?"
Karl had never thought much about it. "Why, you just listen to it, sir. The meaning becomes obvious very quickly, if you just listen."
Toonthvar's expression became grimmer. Halthzor smiled coldly. "I see we are having difficulty communicating. I am certain it is not intentional on your part. Very well. We shall investigate this phenomenon more, later. Lieutenant Ruffard."
Ruffard snapped to attention. "Sir!"
"Bring the boy."
"Yes sir."
"And you, Lord Toonthvar, you have your orders."
"Yes, Your Highness! At once."
Ruffard took Karl's arm and the two Terrans followed the Jilectans from the room. Lord Toonthvar headed down the corridor the way they had come. Halthzor moved away in the opposite direction, Ruffard following, leading Karl. They entered another room--a large, impressive dining area. Halthzor motioned Ruffard and his prisoner back against a wall.
Across the room, guarding the door, were two beings in the uniforms of security guards. One was a Procyon, and the other was an Arcturian.
Karl jumped uncontrollably at the sudden sound of Halthzor's voice in his mind. *Warren, you will read the mind of the Arcturian*.
Karl glanced at the Viceroy. The ruler's face was impassive, but the command in his mind was repeated. *Read his mind, Terran. I wish to see it done*.
Karl gulped. Could he do it from this distance? Before, he had needed to touch the being...
*You will try, Terran*, Halthzor's voice said in his mind.
*Yes, M'lord*. Karl thought the words back at the Viceroy and concentrated on the Arcturian.
The being he was trying to read was nearly six meters away. Karl felt for its mind, confused at the sensation of the Jilectan's words the still lingered in his thoughts. A mind touched his. He penetrated it easily, then realized it was the Procyon. Quickly he turned his attention to the Arcturian, glancing at the Viceroy as he did so. Halthzor wasn't watching him, and his expression was remote, as though listening to something. Halthzor was, Karl realized, listening to him.
He concentrated. The Arcturian was too far away. Karl could sense his consciousness, but could see nothing definite. He fought desperately to penetrate that invisible barrier as he had done earlier.
He felt a touch of panic. What if he couldn't do it? Would Halthzor kill him if he failed? Without realizing he was doing it, Karl started toward the guards. Halthzor and Ruffard made no move to stop him, although the patrolman kept pace with him. Karl concentrated frantically, groping.
The mind touch became stronger--emotions. With a final, desperate effort, he pushed past the barrier and sensed the thoughts beneath.
There were the Arcturian's thoughts! What did this foolish Terran psychic think it was doing? The boy was a prisoner, that was certain, for what psychic would be walking around the Viceregal Palace free? This big, orange haired fellow must be his guard. Halthzor had caught another psychic--poor little fellow. Roppar hoped the boy wasn't an Undergrounder. He hated public executions.
Karl's thoughts were jarred back to the present by the sudden grip of scaled hands on his wrists. The Arcturian was directly before him, gripping both of his wrists, his crest standing erect, the slitted eyes staring into his. Karl could read no expression in their cold, yellow depths, but he could sense the creature's puzzlement and suspicion. The sensation of the scaled hands on his wrists made Karl's neck prickle. Cecil had hated Arcturians. They were snakes--unclean, slimy, and hideous to look at.
Odd, though, that the creature's grip didn't feel particularly slimy. In fact, it's hands were warm and surprisingly smooth, in spite of the scales, and not at all slippery. The grip on his wrists, although firm and certainly unbreakable, was as gentle as that of a girl, and the creature's mental output had been one of sympathy for his obvious plight. The Arcturian had not, of course, realized what he was doing.
Ruffard gripped his shoulders. "C'mon, buddy," he said. "His Highness wants you."
The Arcturian and Procyon guards watched as he was led away. Then Halthzor turned abruptly, speaking to Ruffard. "Take him to his room, Lieutenant."
Ruffard acknowledged the command, and his hand beneath Karl's arm drew him across the room and down a short hallway to a lift. It sensed their approach and the doors slid open. Ruffard steered him inside and pressed the control for the fifth level. The lift moved upward.
Karl realized only then how weak he felt. His knees trembled beneath him, and his vision swam. Ruffard's hand gripped his arm more tightly. "Easy kid. You don't look so good. Lean on me."
"I'm okay."
"Yeah, right." The patrolman clamped an arm around him. The lift came to a halt and the doors slid smartly open. Ruffard led him out, arm still firm around his shoulders, and they went down a short hallway and around a corner to stop before a doorway. Ruffard pressed his thumb to a control beside it and the door slid open. The Lieutenant led him through.
Karl found himself in a small room, windowless, but comfortably furnished. Ruffard led him to a large, reclining chair and seated him in it. "Take it easy, buddy. You've had a hard day."
Karl shrugged himself free of the man's touch. "I'm okay. And I'm not your buddy."
"Whatever you say. Lean back."
Karl did, closing his eyes. Ruffard touched his shoulder again. "Here, kid. Drink this."
"This" was a crystal goblet of water. Karl took it in shaking hands and sipped it. It tasted of liquor. Ruffard must have laced it with something.
"Feel better now?"
"I feel fine." Karl looked up at the lieutenant. "Now what?"
"Dunno," Ruffard said. "But buck up, kid. You're alive, an' you oughtn't t'be."
"I'm alive because he has some use for me," Karl said.
"Yeah, an' you be sure you keep it that way," Ruffard advised him. "Don't do nothin' stupid an' make him mad."
"What's this deal of reading the Arcturians, anyway? Why the dickens would he want to know what Arcturians are thinking?"
"Beats me." Ruffard stood up and stepped back to stand by the door, visor pushed back. Karl looked around at the room.
There was a cot with a blue and gold spread on it, a small table with a single chair drawn up beside it, another table with a video on it in one corner, the recliner in which he was seated, and a fluffy gold rug on the floor. There was one other door besides the one through which they had entered. Karl nodded toward it. "Where does that go?"
"Bathroom, probably." Ruffard crossed the room and opened the door. "Yep. Man! Pretty classy, kid. Sunken tub, whirlpool bath, shower massage. Looks t'me like they're tryin' t'make you happy."
"I can see that." Karl glanced around again. A picture hung on one wall--Terran design--he identified it immediately. It was a still life, depicting two Terran apples, an overturned vase and scattered flowers. "Where are we?"
"Maximum security bloc. Real classy, kid. Better'n I'm used to."
"Not anymore," said Karl, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "You're a Lieutenant now."
"Yeah, I know. I can't hardly believe it, neither. You was m'good luck piece in disguise, buddy." His tone became sober suddenly. "Listen, Karl, there's one think I gotta say. Those Jil kids were gonna kill me, an' you stopped 'em. You didn't hafta do it--in fact, it would'a been better for you just t'let 'em kill me." He paused, biting one thumb, eyes on Karl. "I dunno why you did it, except maybe 'cause you're an empath, but thanks."
Karl looked away. "Forget it. I don't know why I did it, either."
Ruffard cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Sorry I got a little rough on you back at ol' Drinxvor's diggin's."
Karl shrugged and took another drink of the brandy-laced water. He was feeling better, some of the shakiness departing. "Do you suppose he really meant what he said?"
"Who?"
"Halthzor--about shooting anyone who tries to hurt me."
Ruffard shrugged. "I guess he did. The Viceroy wouldn't say somethin' like that unless he meant it."
"I guess not, but I never..." Karl stopped, for the door of the room was sliding open. Halthzor entered.
Karl scrambled to his feet, almost dropping the goblet. Ruffard snapped to attention. The Viceroy crossed the room in two long strides. Karl started to kneel, but Halthzor caught his arms and pushed him back into the chair again, then reached over and gripped the cot with one hand drawing it over without visible effort and seating himself on it before his prisoner. The little bed groaned as the Jilectan's weight descended on it.
"Terran psychic," he said, "I am certain that you have questions concerning your presence here."
Karl nodded.
"And the primary one, I perceive, is why you are not already dead. The reason, Terran, is because at the moment your life is convenient to me. Should it become inconvenient, you would die quickly. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"You are a Terran psychic--a criminal. Your kind is lower than the lowest of creatures. You have no right to exist, except for the fact that you are useful to me. Your ability to read the Arcturians is what has saved you. I need a Terran to weed the traitors from our ranks. We know that the Terran Underground plants Arcturian spies in strategic posts in order to gain information about the Autonomy. I wish to eliminate these spies, and you will help me to do that."
"By reading their minds?"
The Jilectan stared straight into his eyes. "Jilectans cannot read the minds of Arcturians, Terran. Their mental makeup is too different from ours. You have, I see, heard this."
"Yes, sir."
"Terrans, however, are more similar to the Arcturian brain pattern. Some of the psychics of your species can do it. You, by mere chance, happen to be one of these. However, you must become more adept at the art before you can be of use. First, you must learn to read an Arcturian mind without touching the individual. I believe you are capable of this, with a little practice."
"I'll try, sir."
A fractional smile. "I am certain you will, Terran." He glanced toward the door, which slid open instantly to admit another Jilectan, who was accompanied by two patrolmen, leading a bound, blindfolded prisoner between them.
The captive was an Arcturian. The creature stood still between its guards, its crest erect, its muzzle drawn back, its teeth gleaming in a horrifying snarl.
A new voice spoke in Karl's mind. He jumped, then realized it was the Jilectan who had accompanied the prisoner and his guards. Karl could sense hatred and contempt in the mental contact.
*Terran psychic, concentrate all your attention on the Arcturian. Focus it. Feel it. Do not move toward him, but let your mind move.*
Karl gulped, pity for the unfortunate prisoner welling up in him. He stood up, glancing at Halthzor, and forgetting for a moment his own predicament.
"Who is he, sir? Is he an Undergrounder?"
The other Jilectan's voice spoke angrily in his mind again, and the hatred in the contact made him grimace. *That, chol worm, is none of your affair. Do as you are told!*
Karl drew a deep breath. The Arcturian had stiffened at the sound of the Terran's voice, and the alien features turned in his direction. He was an Arcturian, thought Karl unhappily. Arcturians were horrible, detestable creatures. His father had hated them.
*Do as you are told, chol worm!*
Karl tried, reaching for the alien's mind. Too far away. He could feel nothing. Again, the Jilectan's mental voice. *Move your mind toward his, and will his mind to come to you!*.
He touched something--a flicker of emotion--despair, abject fear. The sensations strengthened suddenly and rapidly, painful in their intensity. Automatically he flinched back. Halthzor's voice spoke in his mind.
*Proceed, Terran*.
Closing his eyes, trying to ignore the emotions, Karl reached again. The sensations were almost too much to bear, and he felt tears of sympathy sting his eyes. The Arcturian's mind slowly drew closer, and Karl tried to strengthen the probe, willing the other's mind to draw even nearer.
He pierced the barrier and saw the thoughts. The Arcturian wasn't an Undergrounder. He had been brought from a prison labor gang just an hour before. He'd been a slave there for many years. Why had they taken him? Was this the end? More than likely...
He came to himself at the sound of Halthzor's voice. "He is improving. Come back here, Terran."
He had, Karl realized, taken several steps toward the Arcturian, although he had not touched the creature. Rapidly he retreated and stopped beside Ruffard.
"You will try again," said Halthzor. "But this time you will remain here and not move."
Karl tried again to obey the instructions. He reached toward the prisoner with his mind. Nothing. He was too far away. He could feel the emotions, and nothing else. He strained uselessly for what seemed like hours without result. At last he gave up, his ears humming, his head light and dizzy. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Faintly he heard the Jilectans speaking in their own tongue, and, in his exhaustion, caught snatches of what they were saying.
"Appears to have a very definite range limit... aura is incredibly strong. Perhaps another subject... Not as powerful as the Westover girl..."
Ruffard's arm had closed about his shoulder, and somehow the firm touch of another Terran seemed to bring new strength. Almost unconsciously, he reached for the Arcturian's mind again.
Oddly it was suddenly easier. Perhaps he'd gotten his second wind, for he felt the Arcturian's emotions almost at once. Quickly, before the surge of strength could fade, he reached again, probing, striving to pierce that invisible barrier.
He touched the thoughts--only a flicker at first, which grew gradually but steadily stronger. The thoughts blurred in and out with the creatures emotions. Who was this Terran psychic? From his breathing and scent, he was very afraid. Jilectans and a Terran psychic... what could it mean? And what part was he, Rizzar, playing in that scene?
"He did it!" It was an exclamation of triumph, spoken in the Jilectan tongue--Halthzor, he thought. "Excellent! Excellent!"
Karl blinked dizzily up at Ruffard. The man's eyes seemed to meet his right through the dark visor. Halthzor was watching him pensively. "How odd that he was suddenly able to manage, when he could not before. Do you have any explanation, my Lord Stranthvar?"
"No, Your Highness. I sensed a surge of energy just before he succeeded. Did you?"
"Yes. A hidden power source within him, tappable at will, perhaps?"
"I have never encountered such a thing in Terrans before, but then, the little animals are always displaying some new and disgusting ability. .."
Halthzor interrupted him. "It would be well if he could learn to read an Arcturian from still farther away. Do you think that, with practice and training, he could?"
Stranthvar regarded Karl dubiously. "I do not like to say so for certain, Your Highness, but I feel that he has reached his limit. What he did just now exhausted him, as you may, yourself, perceive."
Halthzor inclined his head. "I shall accept your expert judgment in this matter for the moment." He glanced at Karl and spoke in Basic. "You may rest now, Terran." He gestured to the patrolmen, who led the Arcturian prisoner out. The Jilectans and Ruffard followed, and Karl was left alone.
He sank weakly into the recliner again and buried his face in his hands.
He must have lapsed into a doze for he came suddenly awake with the realization that Ruffard had returned and was directly outside the door. Other patrolmen were there, too--three of them, and Ruffard was issuing orders. So, he was to be under constant guard.
What could he do? Was there any way out of this? Of course not. The Jilectans, psychics that they were, would read his every thought hardly before he knew it had formed. If he could only shield...
But wait! He could shield! The little Jilectan girls had taught him how when they had accosted him back in Lord Drinxvor's mansion. What was it they had said... form invisible plates around your thoughts...
What was he doing? A Terran couldn't defy the Jils! It was unthinkable! How could he even consider such a thing?
But a moment later he found himself considering it again. Stop it! he told himself fiercely. Stop thinking of it! It's useless. You'll just get yourself in trouble. Quit thinking of the impossible. If you stop being useful to His Highness, he'll get rid of you. He told you so. So stop the nonsense and cooperate. You try to shield and he'll know it.
He jumped guiltily at the sound of the door sliding open. A Procyon wearing the red and gold livery of Lord Halthzor's house entered the room, deftly guiding an antigrav cart before him. The servant hardly glanced at Karl. It slid the doors of the cart aside and removed a tray, placing it on the table. Karl glanced at the food, a little surprised at the cuisine. Sauteed marschhopper, delicately flavored from the aroma, rice pilaf and a bowl of Terran fruit, carved into fancy shapes and served with whipped cream. A large slice of frosted cake accompanied the meal. Karl stood up, glancing at the servant, then again at the tray on the table.
"Thank you."
No acknowledgement. The Procyon went to the door, guiding the cart, and paused, surveying him contemptuously.
"Do you require anything else, Terran?" it inquired, its tone exuding scorn.
Karl forced back his annoyance. It was better under such circumstances not to react with anger.
"No thank you," he said levelly.
The creature turned, flicking one vestigial wing scornfully, and went out, the cart before him. The door closed.
Karl could feel the hot blood creeping up his neck and into his face. Forget it, he told himself firmly. It doesn't matter. That stupid bird can't do anything but snub you. It doesn't dare. Better not to fight with him. He has the advantage.
Still, it was galling. Karl's face continued to burn as he seated himself at the table and began his meal.
The food was good--excellent, in fact. Karl hadn't known that Jilectan prisoners could be treated so well. They must be trying, he realized, to make his captivity endurable.
He finished the tray and shoved it back, feeling better. The video on the table caught his eye, and he pressed the switch on his chair to turn it on. The screen came to life, showing a wild-eyed rock group, performing almost unbelievable contortions across an outlandishly decorated stage. The performers were nearly naked, their bodies glowing with iridescent paint, their heads shaved and sparkling with sequins. Karl paused a moment to admire one particularly well-endowed young woman, then switched the channel. An old movie came on, depicting a spirited, though unrealistic space battle between Terrans and aliens. Karl watched with interest as the hopelessly outnumbered Terrans proceeded to wipe out every single one of the enemy with the exception of the arch villain, without a single loss to the good guys. Karl sighed enviously and switched the channel again. A newscaster's face appeared.
"... The latest blaze at the mansion of Lord Scwinthzor, eminent cousin of the Viceroy," the announcer was saying. "The fire, which caused an estimated hundred thousand credits worth of damage, broke out this evening in the upper floor of the mansion. Lord Scwinthzor and his wife, Lady Linthzill, were trapped in M'lord's bedroom during the blaze, and were rescued by firefighters. M'lady Linthzill sustained second degree burns and is suffering from smoke inhalation. M'lord Scwinthzor escaped without injury..."
Typical, thought Karl. Scwinthzor's reputation as a sadistic coward was well known through the sector. He'd probably pushed his wife aside and gone out the fire escape first.
Disrespectful thoughts, Karl. Not safe. Still, it was most likely the truth.
"This is the fourth major blaze to involve the house of a Jilectan noble within the past week. Arson has been confirmed as the cause of the other fires, and is strongly suspected in this latest incident as well..."
Boy, Karl thought, someone must really have it out for the Jil nobles. Every one of those fires had involved the highest-ranking Jils on Corala. Maybe it was the Terran Underground again. Undergrounders were always making things warm for the Jils...
He smiled faintly at the poor joke. Maybe Halthzor's mansion would be the next to go. If only the arsonist would hit it, maybe in the confusion Karl would have a chance to get away...
More defiant thoughts. Easy, Karl. Chances are better that everyone would forget you, and you'd be burned up in the fire.
The Procyon waiter reappeared, collected the tray and departed without a word. Karl wondered why the beast was so unfriendly, then shrugged it off. He certainly had more important things to worry about than a stupid Procyon with a chip on its shoulder.
He got up and began to pace the room, back and forth like a caged animal. At the moment the future looked pretty bleak, but then, he was still alive, and if he could, he'd keep it that way. With a sigh, he went into the bathroom and washed his hands. He didn't appreciate the video much, but books were different. He could lose himself for hours in them, and it sort of looked like he was going to have quite a bit of free time.
The door opened and Halthzor entered, accompanied by an Arcturian in Patrol dress. Karl came quickly out of the bathroom and stood with lowered eyes, spirits sinking at the sight of the Ceregon native. Halthzor's telepathic voice spoke in his mind.
*Terran psychic, this is Channir. He does not know why you are here, and you are not to tell him. You will practice reading his mind while he guards you. Try to increase the distance from which you can detect his thoughts. I leave you to your work.*
The Viceroy turned and went out. The door slid shut behind him. The Arcturian took his place beside the door, helmet masking his features, his body motionless. Karl sat down and stared at him unhappily. So, he had a practice subject. He should be glad, he thought bitterly. If he was to please his captors, he'd have to be pretty good at his work.
The Arcturian pushed back the visor and met Karl's gaze steadily. The cool, grass green eyes were unreadable, the muzzle long, the creature's scales a shining, iridescent green-gold hue. Karl swallowed and summoned a smile.
"Hi," he managed.
"Greetings, Terran," the guard replied with the sibilant pronunciation of his species. No expression flickered on the impassive features. Karl swallowed hard, but the guard had apparently lost interest in him, for its gaze went to the opposite wall.
Well, he'd better get at it, Karl decided unhappily. There was nothing he could do but obey the Viceroy, and besides, the guard was only an Arcturian--a creature from Ceregon, totally inhuman. Cecil had disliked the species intensely, and they sure were ugly things! Was there really any harm in reading them?
It didn't matter whether there was harm or not, he thought without humor a moment later. Halthzor had the upper hand, and, like it or not, Karl must obey him if he wanted to survive.
He pretended to concentrate on the video. The news on the screen had given way to another rock band--wild, outlandishly clothed Arcturians cavorting around the stage and employing their musical instruments with crazy abandon. A single Terran vocalist--a stunning young woman in an exaggeratedly correct attire--sang a low, lilting song to the wild accompaniment of the band. The effect was strangely haunting, and Karl found himself employing his attention there rather than upon his assignment. The Viceroy wouldn't like that. Deliberately he turned his attention to the Arcturian guard and concentrated.
Oddly, it was more difficult than before. He found himself straining at his task, although the creature was only three meters away. What was wrong? He should be able to do it from this distance. Why wasn't it getting easier with practice, instead of harder?
The creature's emotions reached him at last. The Arcturian, Channir, was comfortable, although slightly bored. Karl strained, and at last the thoughts began to filter through the emotions. He was glad Halthzor had gone. That pffatch Jil made him awfully uncomfortable, and he wondered what the Viceroy was up to. Why was he, Channir, assigned to guard this poor, sad looking little Terran psychic? Was the kid an Undergrounder? Probably not, for his aura was easy to detect. No shielding, obviously. What was Halthzor planning to do with him? Kill him, of course, but how? Public execution? Channir hoped not. Silly as it was, he always felt a little sorry for the poor fellows. Sort of like punishing an Arcturian for being an Arcturian. They couldn't help it.
Karl saw a picture of himself in the guard's mind, and was surprised at how calm and unafraid he looked. He still felt like a bowl of jello. The Arcturian seemed to know his state of mind, though, as well as the fact that he was a psychic. Karl had heard before that Arcturians had a special extra sense that allowed them to detect psychics. Either it was true, or Halthzor had told him of Karl's shameful talents, or both. It didn't really matter much...
More thoughts. What was the prisoner up to? A shock of alarm, and Karl felt scaled hands close around his arms.
"Sit down, Terran," the guard said.
He had, Karl realized with chagrin, headed for the creature in his effort to read it. He must learn to control that!
"Sorry," he mumbled, resuming his seat.
Slitted eyes surveyed him expressionlessly. "Do not try anyzing, Terran. Zere iss no way you can escape."
"I know." Karl turned his attention to the videoscreen again. The Arcturians and the girl had gone, and now he saw pretty, sexy little Lola Davenport and her band, the Miscreants. They were number one on the popularity charts this week, he remembered. Lola, clad all in glittering chain mail, was singing, her voice rising sweetly over the ear-shattering noises her band was making. This was a local station, Karl thought. She and her group must be in the immediate area somewhere.
Concentrate on the Arcturian, Karl, and this time sit *still*. He reached again for the other's mind. Difficult. His range was certainly not what it had been earlier, although why that should be, he couldn't fathom. No thoughts yet--emotions only. Mild worry, apprehension, and surprisingly, pity. The Arcturian was feeling sorry for the prisoner.
Still no thoughts, and he was feeling tired. He must rest a moment. He relaxed, affecting another smile at his guard, and moved by an impulse of friendship upon realizing that the creature sympathized with him. "You're Channir?"
"Zat iss my name."
"I'm Karl Warren."
"Pleased to meet you." The creature looked away.
Perhaps the verbal communication helped, for when Karl concentrated again, the thoughts reached him with relative ease. Poor little Terran psychic. Channir felt sorry for him. Terran psychics were inoffensive little souls, and their plight under Jilectan rule was pitiable. The way they were treated was just as unfair as the way the Jils treated Arcturians. In fact, Channir felt something of a kinship with them.
Karl knew surprise at that. He had been aware, of course, that the Arcturians were treated badly by the Jilectans. Everyone knew that. Jils couldn't read Arcturians, and therefore couldn't trust them. But to have Channir empathize with a Terran psychic--Karl had never considered such a thing possible, and wasn't sure he liked being compared with an Arcturian. And yet, Channir seemed far more likable and human than that cold fish of a Procyon who had brought Karl's meal.
The thoughts blurred out and Karl rose to his feet, moving a few steps closer to his guard. Gradually the thoughts became clear again. What was wrong with the Terran? He had become pale... again Karl saw a picture of himself in the alien's mind. He moved a step back, felt the thoughts blur with emotions once more, and again moved forward. Puzzlement radiated from the guard's mind. What sort of weird dance was the psychic doing? No particular rhythm to it. Perhaps the poor boy's mind had given way under the pressure of knowing he would die soon. Again the thoughts blurred and became indistinct. He strained to recapture them, uselessly. The guard seemed to be looking at the wall now, but Karl knew he was watching the prisoner, and that there was alarm in his mind. The thoughts wavered, became clear again for a moment, then went fuzzy once more.
"Terran psychic," the guard said suddenly. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing." Karl blinked and ceased his efforts. He felt suddenly very tired.
"I zink you should lie down. You appear quite pale."
"I'm always that color."
"Not true. You were not when I entered." The being's expression didn't change, but the tone of voice was almost one of concern.
"I'm fine." Karl found himself smiling at the guard. "But thanks, anyway."
A Terran shrug. "It iss nozzing."
Karl felt a crazy impulse of friendship toward his guard. Except for the little Jil girls, Channir was the only being who had shown any compassion toward him since his psychic abilities had been discovered. "Patrolman Channir..."
"Yes?"
"Are... the Jilectans terribly mean to you... to Arcturians, I mean."
The reptilian eyes shifted. "Zey are hard masters to all zeir servants, as you well know."
"But they're harder on the Arcturians, aren't they?"
"It iss not wise to speak of zese zings, Karl Warren."
"I suppose not." Karl sat down on the bed. The Arcturian was right. He was tired--utterly drained. Perhaps he should rest for a few minutes. It probably wouldn't hurt. Halthzor hadn't said that he was to knock himself out, after all. He lay back and closed his eyes. His body ached, and behind his closed lids his eyes burned. He crooked an arm across them to shut out the light and forced himself to relax. In a few minutes he'd try to read Channir again.
October 11 0800
He was awakened by the sound of the door opening. He was face down on the bed, he realized, and someone had turned the bedspread over so that it covered him.
He lifted his head and turned over. The Procyon servant had entered the room, guiding the food cart before him. Channir still stood by the door.
The Procyon spoke to the Patrolman. "You are to go."
"By whose orders?"
"Your Lieutenant's, Fish."
The patrolman showed no resentment at the servant's disrespectful address, but turned to the door.
"Goodbye, Channir," Karl said.
"Goodbye, Karl Warren." The door closed behind the guard.
