"All right, put him down and get out," Alan said. "I'm taking off, so if you don't want to get caught in the energy discharge you'd better run."
The patrolman eased Linley gently to the deck, then took Alan's advice. The airlock clicked shut behind him. Alan went forward to the controls, and a whine of engines began.
"You okay?" Mark gasped.
"I'm fine. Lie still."
A grey haze was dropping over Linley's vision. The sound of engines faded into the distance and he struggled to remain conscious, telling himself that Alan might need him. The cadet had probably never piloted a Patrol lifeboat before ...
He was drifting slowly down a dark, warm stream. Mark struggled weakly upward, but the surface was far, far above him. Hands touched his shoulder, and a voice spoke faintly in the distance, too muffled for him to understand. The sound faded away, and for a long time there was silence.
**********
Mark Linley opened his eyes. He was lying on the deck of the little escape craft, and the craft was in motion. He could hear the soft hum of the engines and feel the vibration of the surface beneath him. One of the thin, emergency blankets was tucked around him, and pillows had been stuffed under his feet. His shoulder throbbed and, turning his head, Linley saw that it was bandaged. His mouth felt dry, his stomach queasy, and his eyes wouldn't quite focus. The cabin tilted unpleasantly as he tried to lever himself up.
A small, muscular arm caught him around the shoulders, and Alan Westover's face was suddenly bending over him. "Lie down, Mark. Don't try to get up."
Linley gave up the attempt. "We made it."
"We made it," Alan confirmed. "Take it easy, Mark. How's the shoulder?"
"Hurts like hell," he croaked.
"Just a minute." Alan got up and Mark saw him reach over, pulling the lifeboat's emergency medical kit from its alcove. As he did so, Linley caught a glimpse of the boy's ankle.
"Holy hell!"
"What?"
"Your foot!"
"Oh." Alan limped across the deck and Linley heard a slight gurgle of water. Then the boy was beside him again, offering him a small tablet.
Mark shook his head. "My stomach don't feel so good."
Alan dug through the kit again and produced a hypodermic. Mark eyed him apprehensively. "Hey, wait a minute ..."
"Hold still." His companion's hand closed on the uninjured shoulder and he felt a tiny, almost painless prick. Alan withdrew the hypodermic and replaced the syringe in the kit. "There, that'll help." He drew the blanket more tightly about his friend. "Sorry to leave you on the deck. I tried to get you to the bunk, but I just couldn't."
"That's okay." Linley glanced at Alan's ankle again and grimaced. "Siddown and put that foot up. How the devil'd you manage to walk on it?"
Alan seated himself on the deck beside Linley. "It's okay. I never even noticed. Thinking of other things, I guess."
"Yeah. Where are we?"
Alan glanced over his shoulder at the pilot's station. "About a third of the way to Shallock. Can you make it to the bunk if I help you?"
"Shallock! How'd you know I was plannin' t'go there?"
"Huh?" Alan looked surprised. "I didn't. I just guessed."
Mark grinned faintly. "You're one helluva good guesser. If we use those talents o' yours right we should do okay. Help me into the pilot's chair. At least that way I can watch the instruments."
Alan looked doubtful, but gave in. Mark collapsed into the padded chair, breathing hard and closed his eyes against the tendency of his surroundings to spin.
"Are you all right?" Alan asked.
Cautiously, Linley opened his eyes. The scene before him remained steady as long as he didn't move his head too suddenly. "Yeah," he said.
Alan pulled the safety webbing across his lap and settled into the copilot's seat. He was silent for a minute, apparently checking the instruments on the control panel. The viewscreen showed the solid, unrelieved black of hyperspace.
"Kid ..." Linley began.
Alan looked at him, smiling a little sheepishly. "Guess I was pretty dumb, wasn't I?"
"Dumb? Hell, no, you ain't dumb. 'Sides, you'd guessed it yourself towards the end, hadn't you?"
"Well," Alan said, slowly, "I guess I had, sort of. After that business in the pit ..." He stopped.
"What business?"
"I shouted for you and you came. But you were too far away to hear."
"You figured that out, huh?"
"It was the only thing that fit." Alan shook his head. "A psychic! It's hard to believe."
"Not for me it ain't," Linley said, feelingly.
"No, I guess not." Alan regarded him soberly. "You knew, didn't you?"
"Well ..." Linley shifted uncomfortably. "I'd sort of guessed, but I had some information you didn't. You ain't the first psychic I've ever met."
"Well, sure, the Jils are psychics, but ..."
"No, I mean Terran psychics. They found the first one on Shallock, about seven or eight years ago. They've been huntin' Terran psychics real hard ever since. I've met a couple before you. They're always little guys ... an' sharp as Shallockian dagger trees. I've never had one get to me like you did, though. I'll bet you're an empath. I can't explain it any other way." He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. "Man, whatta day!"
"I'll say." Alan sounded slightly awestruck.
Linley grinned slightly, not opening his eyes. "Too bad you hadta leave that 'trol alive, though."
"What 'trol?"
"The one with Salthvor. He's gonna tell on, you, you know."
"Oh, sure," Alan said. "But they'd have figured it out anyway when they found the Jil."
"Maybe not. They mighta thought I did it. Probably would have, actually." He opened his eyes and studied his small friend very seriously. "You made history, didja know?"
"You mean by killing the Jil?"
"Yeah, you're the first ever to do that, sure. But you outdrew the so-and-so. Jils are awful fast. I've never heard of any Terran beatin' 'em at anythin' involvin' speed before."
"Oh." Alan sounded surprised. "Neither have I, come to think of it. Oh, well, I've always had real good reflexes. They've gotten me out of trouble a couple of times."
"Yeah," Linley said dryly, recalling the dinosaur. "You're quite a kid, you know?"
Alan flushed bright red. Mark grinned lazily. "Oh, by the way, I've been meanin' to ask you about ol' Parks."
"Who? Oh, him. What about him?"
"I was just wonderin' what happened to your sweet, boyish charm when it came to that jerk. Didn't he fall for it as hard as I did?"
"I didn't like him," Alan said, darkly. "He was having the time of his life, watching me squirm."
"So you threw your plate at him, huh?"
"Not right away," Alan said. "First I discussed his attitude with him. He wasn't very receptive. Then I called him a few names -- nothing bad, really, compared to the things I've heard at the Academy. And I asked him why he was still a second classer ..."
Linley chuckled appreciatively, visualizing the scene. "Trust you to hit him right on his sore spot. Old Willie Parks has been busted more times than I can remember. I've busted him at least twice, m'self, and I've only been a Strike Commander about a year."
"I just guessed," Alan said, grinning slightly. "I didn't really know, but he did seem kind of old to be a second classer."
"He's older'n me," Linley told him.
"I know." Alan looked sober. "I guess it wasn't so smart to get him mad, but I had to try something. Just sitting there, waiting, was worse than getting killed by Parks. I couldn't stand it."
"Yeah," Mark said. "Standard Jil tactic ... givin' the prisoner a waitin' period before an interrogation. They figure it helps break down resistance." He shrugged. "They're usually right, too. Jils understand us Terrans pretty well. I'd've been there sooner, but I had some things to take care of before we left." He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes again. "Any sign o' pursuit, by the way? Didja pick up any o' the Patrol frequencies before you went into hyperspace?"
"I sure did," Alan told him. "Would you believe they were trying to talk me into coming back?" He laughed. "Somebody back there called Subcommander Wolenski is awfully upset at you."
"I'll bet," Linley agreed. "They musta finally got the communications unjammed. Poor old Wolly. Glad I ain't in his shoes."
"I felt kind of sorry for him," Alan said. "He couldn't figure out what was going on at first, and he thought I'd kidnapped you. Then that 'trol I let go showed up screaming something about you deserting, and me blasting the Jil, and the whole galaxy going crazy. Wolenski didn't say anything for a minute; then he started to swear." The boy gave a low whistle. "Man, I didn't know there were that many cusswords!"
Mark's grin broadened. "Wish I'd heard it."
"Me, too. Then they tried to come after us, but something seemed to be wrong with the forward generators. Pretty lucky for us, huh?" He paused. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you, Strike Commander Linley?"
"Who, me?" Mark asked, innocently.
"I thought so." Alan chuckled softly. "It seemed too much of a coincidence, somehow." He looked sideways at Mark. "I was wondering ..."
"What?"
"Well, why the Jil tried to intercept us with one bodyguard. From everything I've heard about them, not many of them would take a risk like that. He could have sent a couple of dozen 'trols to do the job. Why didn't he?"
"Oh, that," Mark said.
Alan shook his head. "I thought you might have had something to do with it."
Mark shrugged reflexively and winced as his shoulder protested. "Salthvor was a real strong pre-cog. I knew there was a chance he might catch on, so I took out a little insurance. I made a visit to auxiliary control. The Strike Commander has the codes to override all the ship's systems from there. I shut off the in-ship communications and used the intruder control precautions to lock everybody in their cabins. He couldn't call for reinforcements, and even if anyone had heard him, they couldn't get out in time to respond. Simple."
Alan raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah," he said. "Simple. I guess it wouldn't hold a Jil in, though."
Mark didn't think he needed to answer that one. He shut his eyes and leaned back in the seat. There was a moment's silence, then Alan spoke again. "What do we do now, Mark?"
Linley sighed. "We look for the Terran Underground," he said. "That's why we're headin' for Shallock. They're lookin' for Terran psychics as hard as the Jils are -- but not for the same reason. If we find 'em, maybe they can tell us why my ankle hurts me every time you get scared." He grinned slightly. "I gotta admit it kinda worried me 'til I made the connection."
"Huh?"
"And in the meantime ..." Linley opened his eyes and glanced at Alan. "In the meantime, we're on our own," he said. "It's a big galaxy, and a mighty mean one. We may not survive."
"I know," Alan said, soberly.
Linley fell silent for a moment, then shrugged. "Aw, what the hell! They were the lousiest kinda bosses anyway, and I sure was gettin' tired o' all the bowin' an' scrapin'." He flashed Alan a reassuring grin. "Don't look so worried, li'l pal. To tell the truth, I'm kinda glad to be out of it, an' I ain't sorry about savin' you, that's for damn sure."
"I hope I never give you reason to be," Alan said.
Linley raised a fist. "You try'n thank me again, kiddo, an' I'll beltcha one. Got it?"
"Got it, sir," Alan said.
The End
