"I'm beginning to wonder," Alan said. "My feet have more holes in them than a pincushion."
Mark grimaced. "I guess you're gettin' the worst of this, ain'tcha?" He flashed the light around. C'mon. They can't go on forever."
"I'm not so sure of that," Alan said, his teeth chattering.
Something scurried away at their noisy approach, grunting hoarsely, and a moment later a dark shape swooped past their faces, making them both recoil. Alan lost his balance again and lurched to the side. Linley grabbed him before he could fall, feeling him wince.
"You all right?"
"Yeah." The boy lifted his bad ankle and rubbed it. "Stepped on another thorn."
"Careful. Stay with the light." Mark took a firmer grip on his arm. Alan was shaking, fatigue beginning to take its toll. They went on a dozen more steps, and he yipped again.
He sank to the ground, examining his feet, then glanced up. "Why don't we just camp here tonight?" he suggested, tiredly. "If I try to go on anymore I'm going to cripple myself for life."
Linley sighed. "Get on."
"What?"
"Get on my back. I said I wasn't gonna carry you, but if I don't we're gonna be pussyfootin' through this blasted bramble patch all night. C'mon, upsey daisy."
"Do you think you can?" Alan asked somewhat dubiously. "I'm pretty heavy."
"Sure you are." Mark caught him by the wrist and swung him up one-handed. "Hang on and keep your head down."
Alan clung to his shoulders like a monkey as he strode on. "Mark?"
"Yeah?" Linley snagged his hair again and swore wearily. Alan unhooked him.
"What was that thing that killed MacKinzie? I ran into a couple of 'em while I was running away from you."
"You did what?"
He felt his prisoner nod. "Three, actually. What are they?"
"Those things are the dinosaurs of Midgard," Linley said. "I guess they ain't really dinosaurs, o' course, but they look sorta like 'em, don'tcha think?"
"They sure do," Alan said. "I've heard about Midgard's dinosaurs, but somehow I didn't imagine them being so big."
"Yeah, me neither. How'd you get away from 'em, anyway? You didn't even have a blaster!"
"Oh, I saw them, but they didn't see me," Alan said, lightly, "I was careful to steer clear of them, you bet."
"No kiddin'!" Linley said.
The thicket of brambles was becoming less dense now, and Mark flashed his light around, searching for a good campsite. The rain still fell, cold and uncomfortable, drenching their clothing, and Alan clung tightly to him shivering. Something hooted mournfully in the distance, and the sound was answered by wild, idiotic laughter from the tree overhead. Linley drew his blaster, glancing nervously upward. The thing laughed again, close enough to raise the hair on his head. Alan stirred and spoke unexpectedly.
"It's okay. I know what it is. It won't hurt us."
"You sure?" Linley glanced up again as the laughter sounded once more, escalating to a nerve-grating pitch.
"Yes, I'm sure." Alan sounded tired but completely calm. "I had one follow me about six kilometers while I was running from you. They're just curious about us."
He paused, glancing back at his passenger. "How do you know? Just because the one that followed you didn't attack doesn't mean this one ain't gonna."
He felt the boy shrug. "Don't worry."
The laughter began again, echoed a moment later by more laughter, farther ahead. Hoping fervently that Alan was right, Linley kept moving.
Eventually they reached a small, open space beneath a spreading tree. Mark shook the water from his eyes, shining the light around. "Kid?"
Alan jerked awake. "Yes?"
"We're outta the stickers, an' I think we better stop here before we run into anythin' hungry." He let his passenger slide to the ground. "Siddown an' put your foot up."
Alan rubbed his eyes and sank gingerly onto a fallen log. "Everything's wet."
"Yeah, I'd noticed." Linley wiped a sleeve across his face. The rain was lessening, but the leaves around them still dripped moisture, and the air was biting cold. He began to gather firewood. "Feel like some hot food tonight?"
"How are you going to get it lit?" Alan asked, glancing doubtfully at the soaked wood.
"You have no faith, youngster." Linley grinned, drawing his blaster. He made a minor adjustment to the weapon and fired. A dull beam of light emerged from the muzzle, setting the wood to smoking furiously. There was a soft hiss, then the crackle of igniting flames.
Alan was watching him with admiration. "You sure are good with that thing."
Linley cocked an eyebrow at him, feeling unreasonably pleased at the compliment. "I gotta be," he said gruffly. "It goes with the job, y'know."
"Yes, I know." The boy sounded a little sheepish. "Sorry about that remark back there. I was sort of mad at you."
"If that was a little mad, I hope I never see you really steamed up." He gave a laugh at Alan's expression. "Don't worry about it. I ain't insulted. You oughtta be a debater, though. You go right for the jugular."
Alan sounded surprised. "I'm president of my class's debating team."
"Oh yeah?" The information was vaguely disturbing. "Well, I ain't a bit surprised." Turning, he took rations from his pack and Alan moved closer to the fire, warming his hands. Raindrops hissed into the flames.
"Hungry?" Linley opened the cans and propped them on the outer edge of the campfire.
"Starving."
The creature overhead laughed wildly again, and Mark made a face. "That critter better not come too close. "I'm awful damn sick o' field rations, an' I sure could do with a nice, thick, juicy steak tonight."
"They tasted pretty good to me," Alan said.
"Yeah, that's because you hadn't had nothin' for over two days. How's the foot, by the way? Wish I had somethin' t'heat water in. Might help if you could soak it."
"It'll be all right," Alan said. "Mark?"
"Yeah?"
"What do you suppose the Jilectans want me for?"
"I dunno." Mark rubbed a thumb across the blond stubble on his chin. "I've been tryin' t'make sense o' the whole thing. Listen, has anythin' unusual happened to you lately?"
"Yes," Alan said. "I was arrested by the Viceregal Patrol."
Linley grinned wryly. "Besides that, I mean. Has anythin' happened that mighta made somebody want to get ridda you?"
"Not that I can think of."
An idea occurred to Linley, and he considered it reluctantly, frowning thoughtfully at his young prisoner. "Have you done anythin' to draw attention to yourself lately? Have you been on the video, or in the newsstrip or somethin'?"
Alan's eyes widened. "How did you know?"
"Ah! Which one was it? What was it all about?"
Alan shook his head dubiously. "I don't see how it could have anything to do with what's happening now."
"You let me decide that. Tell me about it."
"Sure." Alan shrugged. "It's no secret or anything. Last week I won a contest -- one of those silly advertising gimmicks, you know? 'Play Pool Poker' -- guess the number of Poker chips in the pool. Person who guesses closest wins a genuine, Body Beautiful Swimming Pool."
Mark laughed incredulously. "You won a swimmin' pool?"
"Pretty stupid, actually," Alan admitted, sheepishly. "I didn't even have a place to put the pool when I won it. They compensated me with a thousand credits -- pretty cheap for a swimming pool, huh? Anyway, tuition being what it is, I was happy to get the money and sacrifice the pool."
"And that's how you got on the video?"
"Oh, no, I wasn't on the video. They did a human interest story on me, and it was in the newsstrip. You see, the person who got closest to the right number was supposed to win the pool. But I guessed the exact number."
"No kiddin'? You hit it on the nose?"
Alan nodded. "The statistics guy who interviewed me said the odds against doing that were ... oh, I forget what, but pretty close to impossible."
"How many chips were in the pool?" Linley inquired, interested.
"Uh ... let me see if I remember. Three million, four hundred and twenty-seven thousand, seven hundred and thirty-six."
Mark whistled.
"Pretty wild, huh?" Alan stared into the fire. "You see, though, that couldn't have anything to do with what's going on now. Who cares about a thousand credits?"
Linley was silent, that faint, unwelcome suspicion again crawling through his mind. He supposed it could be merely a coincidence, but his analytical mind tended to regard such events with suspicion. He hoped fervently that he was wrong.
Something hooted mournfully in the distance and Alan shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his ankle.
"Where are you from, Mark?" he asked suddenly. "I've never heard an accent like yours before. It isn't from the Confederation, is it?"
Linley grinned. "Sure isn't," he admitted, glad for the diversion. "I'm from Shallock. That's one of the Jil planets, in case you don't know. The Jils let some o' the lower species live there, to keep 'em as cheap labor, y'know. They say we speak a whole different brand o' Basic there."
The boy smiled faintly. "You do." He stared into the fire a moment longer, then his gaze flicked back to Mark. "Since you believe I'm innocent, why not let me go? I ..." He stopped at the expression on Linley's face. "Please Mark?"
Linley shook his head decisively. "Don't start workin' on me, kid."
"The Jilectans don't know you've caught me. "They'll never ..."
"You're forgettin' the communicators," Mark said. "Mac an' me called in right after we nabbed you. If I come in without you now, my hide'll be on the line."
"But you don't have to say I got away. You could say I was killed by the same creature that killed MacKinzie ..."
"Have you ever tried lyin' to a Jil?" Linley demanded, unreasonably irritated. "You can't do it. They're psychics, remember? It ain't no fable. They can look right into your mind, and they know it if you lie. You saved my skin, an' I'd like to pay you back, but I can't do it that way. I gotta take you in."
Alan's shoulders slumped, and he stared at the ground. Linley watched him uncomfortably. "Look, kid ..."
Alan didn't raise his head. "They're going to kill me," he said, stonily.
Again that unwelcome suspicion. Linley frowned, trying to dismiss it. "Alan, how do you know that? Is there somethin' you're not tellin' me?"
A shake of the head. "I know. I haven't done anything, and they're going to kill me. I can feel it."
Silence again. Linley rubbed a thumb across his jaw, feeling the bristles grate on his skin.
"Why the hell should they?" He spoke suddenly and almost angrily, trying to convince himself that those half-formed suspicions weren't true. "Except for that poisonous vocabulary o' yours when you're mad, I've never met such a harmless kid in my life." He reached into the fire unthinkingly, grasping one of the cans. "Ouch! Dammit t'hell!"
Alan picked up a small stick and absently wiggled the can from the coals.
"There you are." He began to push the other can out. Linley sucked his thumb and finger, favoring the can with an unlikely and colorful description of its parental origins. Alan didn't smile.
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah." Linley scowled darkly into the dancing flames.
IV
Alan's head nodded forward, and Mark stood up. "Let's hit the sack, kiddo. We got a long day tomorrow."
"Okay." His prisoner watched as he opened his pack, taking out two of the thin emergency blankets.
"Here you go." He tossed one to Alan and dropped the other beside the fire. The boy lay down, wrapping the cover around himself. He glanced up in puzzlement at his captor.
"What's wrong, Mark?"
Linley cleared his throat. "I gotta put the restrainers on you, an' tie your feet. Sorry."
Alan was silent as Linley removed the shackles from his belt. Mark looked at them, then at the small figure on the ground before him. "There ain't no choice, kid. I gotta get some sleep."
No answer. Linley knelt beside his prisoner, restrainers in hand, and, to his fury, found himself apologizing again. "Aw, hell, Alan, I'm sorry. I don't wanna do it, but how the devil ..."
"It's all right," Alan said, quietly. He extended his wrists. Mark opened his mouth to say Alan's hands must be cuffed behind him, but stopped, feeling more miserable than he could ever remember feeling before. What the blazes was wrong with him, anyway? He'd never felt like this about other prisoners! Their guilt or innocence had always been a matter of supreme indifference to him, and no amount of charm had ever caused him to relax his clinical detachment in the least. He must be going out of his mind!
Alan was still watching him. He closed his mouth, and as gently as possible applied the restrainers, then drew a short coil of rope from his pack. The boy remained still as Linley bound his feet firmly together.
"There. That okay? They ain't too tight?"
"It's fine." His prisoner lay down. "Don't feel so bad. I understand." He closed his eyes.
Linley wished he did. He lay down on the other side of the campfire, covering himself with the emergency blanket. Alan was still, his breathing quiet and even, already asleep to all appearances. Linley stirred restlessly, swearing softly to himself. He was tired, but not sleepy. His thoughts spun in useless circles.
The fire was dying down, and he raised himself on one elbow to toss half a dozen pieces of wood into the flames, then glanced over at his prisoner again. In the faint light of the campfire, Alan appeared about fourteen. He lay flat on his back, dark hair wildly tangled, eyes closed, hands stretched above his head like a diver. The restrainers glinted dully in the firelight. Linley sighed. Alan was a good kid -- the best. He'd never in his life met anyone quite like the cadet before. The Terran Space Corps and the Patrol maintained a sort of silent antipathy based on the Patrol's subservience to the aliens. Space corpsmen tended to rub this fact in with more than necessary vigor, and patrolmen tended, quite naturally, to resent it. Alan's opinion was very typical of the service he had been training to enter. Funny that it should make Linley uncomfortable ...
With another sigh, he lay back and closed his eyes. What if his suspicions about the boy were true? Holy hell! If so, Alan's fate would be anything but pleasant.
But probably they weren't, he assured himself. One lucky guess didn't really mean anything. And anyone who saw the Viceregal Patrol coming after him might have run ...
Then why did they want him? Salthvor was certainly going to a lot of trouble over one, insignificant space cadet ...
And how had Alan known his given name was Mark? He didn't recall telling the kid anything of the sort.
Mark squirmed and flopped over on his stomach.
"Damn!" He muttered savagely. "Damn! Damn! Damn!"
**********
