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Slave Race: 20/?
by Nan Smith and Linda Garrick

Karl drew a deep breath, inclined his head, and concentrated, reaching for Ruffard's mind as the alien had instructed. Thoughts formed within his own thoughts almost before he was aware of them... words...

When I was a lad in Drevelle,
I met a young lady named Nell..."

The Jilectan interrupted him, speaking to Ruffard. "Enough! Mr. Ruffard, call in Patrolman Trannir."

"Yessir." Ruffard spoke briefly into his throat mike, and his eyes flicked uneasily toward Karl. Karl had the sudden impression of fear. Ruffard was afraid for him.

The door slid aside and an Arcturian in the dress of a patrolman third class entered the room. It saluted.

The Jilectan spoke to Karl again. "Now, psychic, read the mind of the Arcturian."

Karl swallowed hard. He knew, of course, though no one spoke it aloud, that Jilectans could not read Arcturian minds. It was rumored, however, that some Terrans could do it. So the alien overlords were trying to locate such a Terran. Why? For what possible purpose? Drinxvor was a scientist. Some sort of experiment?

"My purpose, Terran," said Toonthvar icily, "is my business, not yours."

"Yes, M'lord." Karl took a deep breath and summoned up enough courage to inquire. "Suppose I can't do it?"

"Then," the Jilectan said, expressionlessly, "you will die."

Karl looked back into the light cold eyes of the alien. They were as emotionless and icy as the reflection from a glacier, but for some reason Karl felt a tiny seed of hope take root within him. He was a Terran psychic in the hands of the Jils, but maybe he had a chance for life. If he could read the Arcturian, they might not kill him... perhaps not right away, anyway.

He turned on the Arcturian with a will borne of desperation. If he failed, he was dead. He mustn't fail! If he couldn't do it, the Jilectans would know at once. It was clear they were reading his every thought...

Trannir had removed his helmet, revealing a green scaled face, an enormous crest and the flattened, slit-like nostrils of his species. Karl could read no expression on the alien's face, or in the yellow, slanted eyes. He concentrated, reaching for the Arcturian's thoughts in the same manner with which he had reached for Ruffard's.

At first he met nothing--no resistance, no sensation--just a blank. Sweat started out on his face and panic jolted him. He had to do it!

Frantically, he reached again, groping with his mind, willing to see the Arcturian's thoughts. Something was forming on the edge of his consciousness--something he was hardly aware of at first. But gradually it grew stronger until he could feel nothing else in his concentration. A hard, inflexible wall surrounded the Arcturian's thoughts. In his desperation, Karl took a step toward the being with an involuntary movement of his bound hands. A Jilectan's voice spoke sharply in the background, and Karl came out of his concentration long enough to see Ruffard step around behind him. The blade of a knife touched his sweating wrists, slicing the ropes. The coils dropped to the floor.

"You may touch him, if you so desire, psychic," Toonthvar said.

Karl stepped toward the Arcturian. The alien looked back at him, his slitted eyes impassive, crest erect. Karl felt again for his mind, reaching for it, and aware again of the touch of panic in his stomach. He had to do it! He didn't want to die!

Without realizing it, he found himself beside the Arcturian, his hands pressed tight to either side of the alien's head.

In his mind, something gave. There was no way to describe it, but suddenly he knew that he had partially penetrated that invisible barrier. Feelings crept over him--annoyance, resentment, scorn, revulsion...

The sensation were unpleasant, and for an instant Karl started to withdraw, releasing his hold on the alien.

"Continue, Terran." It was Lord Toonthvar, his voice quivering with excitement. "Read the Arcturian's thoughts."

Karl drew a deep breath and again grasped the Arcturian by its green-scaled cheeks. It didn't matter what Trannir felt concerning him. The alien's resentment and scorn meant nothing. Patrolman Trannir wasn't fighting for his life or he'd feel differently.

Fiercely, he reached again for those emotions, striving to see the thoughts beneath. It wasn't easy, and he could well understand why the Jilectans couldn't do it. It wasn't like a Terran's mind. The mental penetration was an effort--a very real, very unpleasant effort.

Very gradually, the thoughts began to filter in. Trannir didn't like this. He resented what Lord Toonthvar was trying to do. He didn't like that pffagh Jil, and he didn't like Karl much, either. Still, this whole performance didn't really matter much. Toonthvar had used him this way countless times before, and never once had the Terran proved capable of reading his thoughts. Trannir knew there were supposed to be Terrans who could do it, but, in his opinion, the chance of Karl being one of that select few was extremely remote.

The Jilectans were speaking excitedly to one another in their own language. Limp with relief, Karl didn't even try to understand their words. He had succeeded! He had read the Arcturian's mind, and the Jilectans knew it. They must have been inside Karl's thoughts, even as he had been inside the Arcturian's...

He felt suddenly very weak and his legs trembled, threatening to fold beneath him. Ruffard put an arm around his shoulders, bracing him. He shrugged the man off, staggered slightly, and caught the back of the chair, gripping it. Toonthvar was looking very pleased, he saw, and Lord Drinxvor was clapping his jeweled hands like a delighted child. Trannir turned to look at the overlords, and his muzzle drew back suddenly in a snarl. The eyes narrowed to slits.

"Excellent!" Toonthvar said, in Basic. "Trannir, you may go."

Trannir's eyes flicked toward the Jilectan, but Toonthvar seened blissfully unaware of the Arcturian's anger. "Yes, M'lord." The yellow eyes flicked balefully back to Karl, radiating hatred. Karl looked down. The Arcturian crossed the room, opened the door and went out. Toonthvar spoke a swift phrase to the other Jilectan, but Karl hardly heard him. The overlords went to the door, speaking excitedly still in their own tongue. Drinxvor pressed the control to open the door, then turned back abruptly and spoke to Ruffard.

"Keep the psychic here. Guard him carefully and be certain he comes to no harm."

"Yes, M'lord." Ruffard sounded surprised.

The two Jilectans went out. Karl relaxed, clinging to the chair back for support, feeling weak, drained, and slightly nauseated. Ruffard's hand closed hard on his arm. "Siddown, buddy," he said.

Karl tried to pull away, feeling annoyance and sudden scorn for the patrolman. Ruffard had shown contempt for Cecil, but wasn't he just as bad? Kowtowing before the aliens and obeying their, even to the detriment of his own species?

Ruffard led him forcibly around the chair and seated him in it. "Stay there," he commanded. "And take it easy."

It did feel good to sit down. Karl felt like he might lose his breakfast at any moment. His skin crawled with sweat, and his head felt light. Ruffard reached behind him and shoved his face into his lap. "Take some deep breaths," he advised.

Karl obeyed, acutely aware of the patrolman's hand on the back of his neck and the strength behind that hand. There was no way, he knew, that he could physically overcome his guard. Still, was there any harm in being friendly with the man? Perhaps if he could solicit Ruffard's sympathy it would be to his advantage. Certainly, it couldn't hurt.

"I'm okay now," he mumbled.

Ruffard released him and he straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck. He still felt a little dizzy, but the faintness was passing. The patrolman went over to a water cooler and filled a cup. Karl looked around.

The two servants who had been guarding the door were gone. He was alone with the man. Ruffard brought him the glass of water.

"Here, sip it until you feel better."

Karl took a sip, looked up at Ruffard and produced a smile. "Thanks. Sorry."

"S'okay. Jils are scary under the best circumstances."

"Yes." Karl hesitated and took another step. "Now what?"

Ruffard shrugged and stepped back, regarding him quizzically. "Dunno," he said.

"You must know!"

"You think Toonthvar tells me his intimate plans, kid? You're alive. Be thankful for that much."

"And I shouldn't be, should I?"

Ruffard didn't answer. Karl frowned at the man. "Is he going to kill me anyway, even though I did manage to read the Arcturian?"

Ruffard shrugged again, uneasiness radiating from him. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Karl regarded the man appraisingly. He'd read the guy's mind before, hadn't he? Why not again? If Ruffard wouldn't tell him anything, why not read his mind?

Karl wasn't sure he wanted to, though. He might see more than he wanted to, and besides Ruffard wasn't a bad guy. Reading his mind seemed like a terrible invasion of privacy... Oh, stop it, Karl! You're a criminal, remember? And he's a Jil flunky. If they're going to kill you, you'd better find out. This is a dangerous game you're playing, and you'd better know what the stakes are before you do anything else.

Except that it wasn't Ruffard's fault what the Jils did. It wasn't right to take advantage of him like this...

The patrolman cleared his throat. "You readin' my mind, mister?"

Karl looked up at him. "I haven't yet."

"Why not?"

"It seems like such an invasion of privacy."

Red eyebrows went up. "A psychic with a sense o'honor, huh? You're bein' silly, kid."

Karl shrugged, smiling a little. "I've been told that before."

"Yeah, I suppose." Ruffard grinned suddenly, revealing white, straight teeth. "Most psychics are a little silly--dumb little empaths that they are. Look, kid, I guess it won't hurt to talk t'you. Lord Toonthvar didn't say not to, an' leavin' me in here alone with a telepath--well, he must'a expected you t'read me. How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"I figured about so. You look twelve, an' psychics always look younger'n they are. You got brothers an' sisters, huh?"

"One of each."

"An' your sis is a psychic?"

"I don't know. I don't see how she could be."

"You are."

"Yeah, but Father says Mom--well, you heard what he said."

"Aw, he was probably just shootin' off his mouth, kid."

"I don't think so. He was mad, but I think he was telling the truth. And besides, he's right. I don't look a bit like him."

"Do you look like your mom?"

"No, not much."

"Who do your sister and brother take after?"

Karl considered the question. "They both have blond hair, like--Cecil. Ellie's eyes are blue. Stephen's are hazel, like Mom's. I'm the only one in the family with brown eyes. I guess you could say that Ellie looks more like Cecil than Stephen does--except that she's so small..."

"Like you, huh?" said Ruffard shrewdly.

"But she can't be a psychic--unless she's a mutation or something!"

"Your mom might carry the trait."

"But mom's a big lady! She's 1.7 meters and masses 68 kilos! Aren't psychics supposed to be small people, like me?"

"Yeah." Ruffard rubbed his jaw, looking puzzled. "You don't suppose your mom kept her... boyfriend after she married this Cecil guy, do you? After takin' a look at him, I wouldn't'a blamed her a bit if she had."

"I don't... think so." Karl tried to consider the possibility dispassionately. "No, she wouldn't do that. Mom's just not the type."

"You never know, kid. A woman's a woman underneath."

"She just wouldn't! And besides, Ellie looks so much like Cecil!"

"Oh. How old is Ellie?"

"Seven last Tuesday."

"An' your brother?"

"Stephen's thirteen. How old are you, Mr. Ruffard?"

The man grinned faintly. "Eighteen."

"How long have you been in the Patrol?"

"'Bout a year."

"You're from Shallock, aren't you?"

"Yup."

"I can tell by the accent. Did you ever know Strike Commander Linley or Subcommander Bronson?"

"They was way before my time, kid, but I belonged to the Eastside Raiders. That's the gang that Bronson ran with."

"Really?"

"Yeah." The man frowned. "Cut it out, kid."

"Cut what out?"

"Bein' s'damn amiable. I know what you're doin'--tryin' to win me over with your empathy. It won't make no difference."

"I know that, but I'm scared, and talking helps, even though I know you don't care. Sorry. I'll shut up."

Ruffard looked angrier. "I said cut it out!"

"Well, what do you want from me? I said I'll shut up! Why do you care anyway, 'trol?"

Ruffard's face flushed. "I don't!"

"Obviously!"

Ruffard went redder. "Damn psychics!" he mumbled.

Karl took a deep breath and changed the subject. "You say you don't know what he's going to do with me?"

"Sure don't."

"But you must have some idea."

Ruffard replaced his helmet. "Nope."

"Is he going to kill me?"

Karl sensed uneasiness. "Shut up, kid."

"I'm not a criminal! Please, patrolman, tell Toonthvar that he's made a mistake. I'm not a criminal! I've never done anything--except sample a little homemade whisky in a friend's basement, once. Please... I... I must be an exception. There's exceptions to every rule, aren't there? I must be one, 'cause I've never done anything, and I never will! I didn't even know I was a psychic!"

"Kid, for the luvamillie, he ain't gonna care! I'm a Terran. He ain't gonna listen t'me."

Karl got to his feet. "I've never used my talents--honest! And I never will! Please, please, tell him..."

"Karl, listen to me! He ain't interested in your criminal tendencies!"

"I don't have any criminal tendencies!"

"It don't matter. You're a psychic, an' that's all he cares about."

"But I..."

"You want the truth, buddy?" The patrolmen voice was suddenly harsh. "Okay, here it is. I'm surprised ol' Toonthvar didn't just tell me t'shoot you when he was finished with you. That's what he's always done before. Whenever a psychic in this neighborhood is found, Toonthvar's always called in, an' he always brings me along. He tries t'get the psychic t'read me. Sometimes the psychic can, an' sometimes he can't. If he can't, the Jil has me kill him right then. If he can, then the Jil brings in that damned Fish an' has the psychic try t'read him. Up until you, none of 'em's ever been able to do it."

"And what happened to them?"

"The Jil had me kill 'em."

"And you did it?"

"O'course I did it. He's a Jil."

"Just like that? Your own people--you kill your own people at the command of an alien?"

"That's the price of bein' a psychic, kid--or ain't you been keepin' up on current events? It's against the law t'be a psychic, an' we're the guys who enforce the law--the Jils' law."

"So if he comes back in here and tells you to kill me, you'll do it?"

"Of course."

"It wouldn't bother you to shoot a kid?"

"Why should it? I've done it before."

Karl swallowed. "Give me your honest opinion, patrolman; is he going to have me killed?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On why he didn't tell me to kill you right away. Are you an Undergrounder, kid?"

"No!"

"Well, o'course you'd deny it. It's rumored that all Undergrounders can read Arcturians. Maybe that's why he checks every Terran we pick up--t'see if they're Undergrounders."

"And if I am... or he thinks I am..." Karl stopped. He knew the fate of an Undergrounder taken by the Jils. Far better a quick, clean death by a blaster than that! Better anything than that!

Panic jolted through him again. He had to get out of here! He had to!

"Siddown, buddy."

Karl hadn't realized he'd stood up. The patrolman was watching him, his body tense, face alert and expectant. No chance of getting by him. "Mr. Ruffard, please..." His voice squeaked shamefully on the last word, and he clamped his lips shut. No use pleading with a 'trol. 'Trols weren't people. They were puppets of the Jilectans, dancing on their masters' strings.

"I said siddown."

"You've got to let me go!"

"Don't be stupid. Siddown."

"*You* siddown!"

The man's mouth hardened. "Don't push it, kid."

Karl measured the man with his eyes. Ruffard didn't have a blaster, but he was easily half again Karl's size, and maybe more. No hope of defeating him physically. *See a jackboar, you big ape! There! Look, it's jumping right at you!*

It had never worked so easily before. Ruffard gave a yell of panic and his hand reached instinctively for his empty holster. Karl bolted past him for the door, jamming his finger against the control. The door slid aside.

Powerful hands gripped his arms and brought them inexorably behind him. He was thrown, struggling and sobbing to the floor, and Patrol restrainers clicked around his wrists. Ruffard was cursing between his teeth as he stood up, lifting Karl to his feet in the same motion.

"Aw, hell, kid, I'm sorry." The patrolman's grasp became gentler suddenly and he steered the prisoner forward to seat him in the chair once more. "Don't try that again, okay?"

Karl wouldn't look at him. "Leave me alone."

"Okay." Ruffard fell silent, pulling at his lip, puzzlement and worry radiating from him. He opened his mouth, as if to speak and closed it again, frowning. Karl managed to choke back his sobs at last, wondering dismally if he should try again. Ruffard was probably wondering if he'd had some kind of waking dream, but the next time he would probably figure out that the captive psychic was creating the illusions. Better reserve it for another time.

He felt like kicking himself. If he'd even thought hard about it, he would have realized that his talent to fool people into seeing things that weren't there had to be a psychic power--if it had ever occurred to him that he might be a psychic. It simply never had. He'd been able to do it for years. He'd thought it was normal. How could he have been such an idiot?

Ruffard's communicator beeped. The man spoke quietly into it, then came to lift Karl to his feet again. "C'mon, buddy."

They went out and down a long corridor. Gradually Karl regained control of himself. He must keep his head. If he fell apart now, all was lost. The fact that he was a psychic, he must accept. He was a psychic, and therefore, in the eyes of the law, a criminal.

They passed through another room. Two small Jilectan girls--the ones who had first identified him as a psychic to their father, peeked out at him around a corner, pointing and giggling. Karl ignored them. What did it matter, anyway, what they thought of him?

Down another corridor they went, and Karl was aware that the little girls were following, still giggling and pointing. The doors opened and he was led inside. The two little girls darted forward and made it through the closing doors after him.

Ruffard looked annoyed. "Young ladies," he said in a patient, formal voice, "you should not..."

"Silence, Terran!" one of the children commanded, her shrill voice astonishingly authoritative. She pressed the button to halt the lift in mid-descent, and went toward the Terrans, staring at Karl and grinning a little.

"Hello, Terran psychic," she said, looking a little uncertain.

"Hello, Young Lady," Karl said.

Ruffard sighed. "Young Ladies, I can't be delayed. Lord Toonthvar..."

The Jilectan girl moved in a blur of speed, slapping the man across the face. Ruffard staggered back with the force of the blow, releasing his hold on Karl. Karl stared at the little Jilectan girl in amazement at her apparent strength. She wasn't quite as tall as Karl, but Karl was certain that a slap from him would hardly have had that effect on the patrolman.

"Speak when you're spoken to, Terran!" the child said haughtily to Ruffard. "I do not like patrolmen!" She turned to Karl, smiling and reaching out to touch his face with one plump, childish hand. "You're pretty," she said.

Karl met her eyes wonderingly. "Thank you, miss."

Ruffard was straightening up, dabbing at a trickle of blood on his chin. His mouth was a tight, grim line.

The two children ignored him. The other one was approaching Karl, too, almost shyly. They were beautiful little girls, Karl realized, clad in the modestly embroidered tunics and loose leggings of middle class Jilectan children. The one who stood nearest appeared to be the elder of the two. She had long, straight, shining blond hair that hung past her waist and was fastened back from her face with a gilt band. The other was shorter and chubbier, and her hair was red and wavy, falling to her shoulders in two puffy pigtails. They looked, for all the galaxy, like two oversized Terran children, except for their six-fingered hands, each finger with an extra joint from a Terran standpoint.

The blond one touched his face again, smiling. Her finger traced a path up to his hair. She spoke to her sister, and Karl understood. "It's a nice color. Wish mine were like it."

"Pretty," agreed the smaller girl, gazing raptly at Karl's locks.

"And his eyes..." The smooth little finger ran down his cheek again, brushing his lashes and making him blink. She giggled, blinking her own eyes at him in return. "Brown eyes. My mother likes brown-eyed patrolmen." She looked scornfully at Ruffard. "Not freckled, ugly ones like him!"

"I'm not a patrolman," Karl said quietly.

"Of course not! You're a Terran psychic! I sense your aura!"

Ruffard was staring at Karl. "Holy hell, kid! You speak Jilectan!"

The blond girl struck him a second time, knocking him against the wall of the lift. He clung to the handrail for an instant, his head sagging, then dropped to his knees. Blood dripped from his chin.

In spite of himself, Karl felt a pang of sympathy for the man, but he dared not speak. If the little girl decided to strike him, the chances were good she'd kill him. He stood still, his eyes lowered beneath the childrens' inspection. The red-haired girl giggled softly, running her fingers through his hair, and placing her hand on the side of his head. She concentrated, her brow furrowed, then grinned. "You were telling the truth. You really do think we're pretty!"

"Yes, Miss--very pretty."

"And you're nice! You don't hate us just 'cause we're Jilectans and superior to you."

"Of course not!" Karl felt a little shocked at the idea of hating children, Jilectan or not.

"And you feel sorry for that stupid patrolman!"

"Yes, Miss."

"Silly Terran empath!" The little blond girl patted his cheek condescendingly, then examined his cuffed hands. "Why did the 'trol cuff you? Oh, you tried to get away?"

"Yes, Miss. I was scared."

"Why?" the redhead asked.

"Because he thinks we're going to kill him, silly!" The blond girl surveyed her sister scornfully. "He's a Terran psychic, and we don't like Terran psychics!"

"I like him!" The redheaded girl's lower lip began to quiver. "I don't *want* him killed!"

Hope flared within Karl, and he looked gratefully at the little girl. What was the harm in trying, after all?

"Will you help me, Miss?"

She nodded, Terran fashion. "All right," she said, solemnly.

The little blond girl nodded, too, smiling delightedly. "Sure! That'll be fun!" Her tone changed suddenly. "Chinxvill! The patrolman's calling for help!"

The redhaired girl turned on the patrolman. "Stop, Terran!" She extended her hands, and Ruffard's round, silver helmet detached itself, lifted, soared over his head and landed neatly in the child's hands. She switched off the communicator and set the headgear on the floor, then smiled proudly at Karl. "I'm a good telekinetic--the best, father says. Can you do that, Terran Psychic?"

"I don't know, Miss. I didn't know I was a psychic."

"You didn't know!" She looked incredulous.

"Terrans are stupid, Chinxvill," the older girl stated, loftily.

"Oh." Chinxvill looked back at him. "What's your name?"

"Karl Warren, Miss Chinxvill."

"How did you get to be a psychic, Karl Warren? Most Terrans are not psychics, you know. Was your father a psychic?"

"I don't think so, Miss."

"Then his mother was," said the other girl. "Was she not, Karl Warren?"

"I don't know, Miss."

"She must have been!" The little girl smiled in a superior manner. "Terrans only become psychics if their parents are. I heard father talking about it."

Ruffard was getting to his feet, wiping blood from his chin. The blond girl looked at him. "Let's kill the patrolman and take Karl with us!"

"All right!" The redhaired girl smiled at Karl. "We'll save you, Karl Warren!"

Karl had to catch his breath. "Thank you, Miss! But please, don't kill the patrolman. Your father might get mad at you."

"He will never know! We shall not tell him!"

The blond girl giggled. "And if he does find out, he will not punish us! He never does!"

Karl glanced quickly at Ruffard. It was plain that he had not understood what the children had been saying, for his face showed nothing but annoyance. Ruffard, Karl realized, could not speak the Jilectans' language.

The com unit on the helmet beeped. Karl glanced from one child to the other. "Uh... Young Ladies..." Somehow he must talk them out of killing Ruffard. Technically, he was the enemy, but still Karl didn't want him killed. After all, the man had helped him when Cecil had become aggressive earlier. "Young ladies, your father will look for him. And when he finds him, he'll be awfully mad."

"No he won't!" Chinxvill giggled. "He's just a patrolman, Karl Warren. My mother killed one when he made her angry."

The com beeped again. Karl glanced from one child to the other. Would they really do it? He swallowed hard. And if they did, what would happen to him? He was nothing but an intriguing toy to them right now. How soon would they tire of him? And what would they do with him when they did? It was obvious that they considered the life of a Terran as insignificant. Would they kill him to dispose of the evidence, or would they simply forget him and give him a chance to escape?

"Come on!" Chinxvill drew a knife from her boot top. "Trinxvill, help me kill the patrolman!"

For the first time Trinxvill appeared to have some doubts. "Wait, sister, if we take Karl Warren with us, father will find him through his psychic energy! Oh, I know! We will teach him to shield before he can do it. Karl Warren, do you know how to shield?"

"No, Miss." Karl couldn't keep his eyes off the knife in Chinxville's hand.

"Oh, it is easy. You think of these invisible plates and put them around your thoughts. Try it now. Hurry, Karl Warren!"

Karl hesitated. "I might get in trouble, Miss. Your father would punish me."

"Father will not find out. Do it, Terran! I command you!"

Karl tried to obey. Invisible plates, surrounding his thoughts. The girl was obviously reading his mind, for she spoke at once. "That is good for a beginner. Now, strengthen them--make them firm and hard."

Karl did his best, and heard the girl give an exclamation of triumph. "Very good, Karl Warren. You learn fast, for a Terran!"

"Thank you, Miss."

The communicator beeped a third time. Ruffard's eyes flicked toward it.

"We must go," Trinxvill announced. She also drew a knife from her boot top. "Hold the patrolman, sister, and I will kill him."

"You hold him! I want to kill him!"

"Oh, all right." Trinxvill glanced scornfully at her sister. "Really, Chinxvill, you are so immature!"

"I am not!" The redhead's lip started to quiver again.

"Oh stop it! I'll hold him!" The blond girl sheathed her knife again and advanced toward Ruffard. Apprehension had sprung into the man's eyes, and he looked quickly at Karl's anguished face.

"What th'hell..."

"They're going to kill you, patrolman," Karl said in Basic.

"Hey! Hold it! Wait a minute!" Ruffard flattened himself against the wall, looking wildly about. "Kid, do something!"

In spite of himself, Karl started forward. "Miss Trinxvill...!"

She paused, glancing toward him. "What, Terran?" Her tone was impatient.

"Please don't hurt him!"

"Oh, stupid Terran empath! I must! You will be killed if we don't save you!"

They were speaking in Basic now, and Karl saw Ruffard look frantically toward him. Involuntarily, he found himself speaking again. "Please, Miss..."

"You feel sorry for a stupid 'trol?"

"He is a stupid 'trol, Karl Warren," Chinxvill put in reassuringly. "Do not feel sorry for him! He is taking you to be killed."

The com beeped again.

"Please," Karl tried, "Can't you just tie him up and leave him somewhere?"

"They will find him. Put your shields up, Karl Warren. I will not hurt him when I do it."

Ruffard made a strangled sound, and leaped for the helmet on the floor. Trinxville struck at him with lightning speed, hitting him on the back of the neck. The patrolman crashed to the floor and lay still.

"Take him prisoner, please!" Karl begged. "Don't kill him!"

"Oh, very well!" Trinxvill stepped over to the lift door and pressed a button. The lift moved upward again and came to a stop on the fourth level.

"Come quickly," the blond girl said. She bent, lifted the patrolman's shoulders without visible effort, and pulled him through the opening doors. Chinxvill followed, holding Karl by one arm.

"Keep your shields up, Karl Warren," she commanded.

"Okay," he gasped.

They entered a room and the red haired girl shut the door behind them. Trinxvill allowed the patrolman's head and shoulders to crash to the floor.

"Lock it!" she sounded slightly breathless.

Chinxvill obeyed, then turned to Karl, smiling with delight. "We did it!"

Karl smiled back at her. "Thank you, Miss."

"It is nothing." She waved one plump hand graciously and came over to him. "Turn around."

He obeyed. The little Jilectan girl examined the restrainers on his wrists. "We must take these off. How can we do it? They are telekinetic proof."

"Mr. Ruffard has the key. He put them on me."

"Oh, of course." Chinxvill bent over the unconscious man and removed the keys from his belt. The restrainers fell away from Karl's wrists. "There. You are free, Karl Warren."

"Thank you very much, Miss."

"It is nothing." Another gracious gesture. "Have a cookie?"

He took it, not really wanting it, and bit into it. "Thank you. It's very good."

"The cook made them. I liked your tarts better. Father said you might have poisoned them, but I know you didn't. I ate four of them, and then mother made me stop."

Ruffard groaned. Trinxvill picked up the restrainers and fastened them around his wrists. "What shall we do with him, sister?"

Chinxvill regarded the man soberly. "I don't know."

"I still think we should kill him."

"It would make Karl unhappy."

"It is safer, though." She turned to Karl. "Close your shields and look away, Karl Warren. I will do it quickly. He will never know."

"Please, Miss, can't we just keep him prisoner? You know, we can pretend he's a member of the Terran Underground and has to be interrogated."

Trinxvill giggled. "All right!" She drew a sash from her closet and began to bind Ruffard's ankles together. "I know! He is Mark Linley! Be careful, sister! Alan Westover may be close by!"

Ruffard groaned and his eyes opened. He stared blearily at the two girls, then at Karl. "What th' hell... ?"

"Silence, Linley!" Chinxvill commanded, haughtily. "You will die in the execution chair!"

Ruffard groaned again, and Karl could sense the man's headache. "What th' devil...?" He seemed to realize suddenly that his hands and feet were secured. "Hey! Lemme go!"

"Silence!" Chinxvill aimed a kick at him, catching him in the ribs and bringing an anguished grunt from him.

Karl grimaced a little, sensing the man's pain. "M'ladies, may I help him?"

"Of course not! He is our enemy! I will put him in the execution chair!" Trinxvill bent, lifted the patrolman without much difficulty and placed him in a large, cushioned chair. "And now, Mark Linley, tell us where the nearest Underground base is located!"

Ruffard glanced frantically around, his senses apparently clearing. "Look, Young Ladies, I know you think this is a big game, but..."

"Be quiet, patrolman!" Karl whispered, involuntarily.

"Yes, be quiet, patrolman!" Chinxvill ordered. She giggled. "Karl Warren has saved your life, and you would do well to obey him!"

Ruffard met Karl's eyes. Trinxvill giggled, too. "Yes! Silence, Mark Linley! I am the Vicereine, and you are my husband's bitter enemy! You deserve no mercy, but, because my faithful servant, Karl Warren has pleaded for your life, we have chosen not to kill you... yet."

"Yet!" Chinxvill giggled. "But after we interrogate you, who knows?"

Ruffard swallowed. "Uh... whatcha wanna know? I'll talk."

"You will lie! But a taste of the chair will convince you!"

"I won't lie! Honest!"

Trinxvill turned to Karl. "You have let your shields relax, Karl Warren. Tighten them! Ah, I have it! You, Karl Warren, are really Alan Westover! Okay?"

"Well, okay--except that I don't want to be publicly executed. Is there any way out of that, Miss?"

"Only if you betray your friends, Terran!"

"Okay, I'll betray them. I'll defect to the Jilectan's side." Inspiration hit him. "I am in love with you, Your Highness. I know I can never have your love in return, but so I may be near you, I'll betray my friends. For you, my beautiful Lady, I would do anything!"

Her face lit up. "How dare you, Terran! My Lord will kill you if you dare try to love me!"

"I cannot help myself, beautiful Lady. I would die for your love!" Karl went to one knee before her and lifted her hand, kissing it.

The little girl giggled. "Alan Westover, you are bold to woo the Vicereine!"

Chinxvill giggled, too. "Alan Westover's always bold! Come on, Your Highness, give in to him!"

"Never!"

"Aw, come on! I will if you won't! Come on, Karl Wa... I mean Alan Westover, I'm the Viceroy's second wife, Lady Torinthvill! Woo me, instead!"

"No, wait a minute!" Trinxvill grabbed him and brought him to his feet. "I'll give in!"

"But I want him!"

"I will love you both," Karl improvised, quickly. "You are both so lovely, no Terran man could resist you!"

That pleased them, and he was rewarded with a duet of giggles. Ruffard muttered something under his breath.

"Let's run away," Chinxvill suggested. "We'll leave His Highness in the lurch!"

"Okay, Karl... I mean Alan! Come on!"

Karl went over to the little girl. "Can we really? You mean it?"

"Of course! We will leave Mark Linley, who would betray you to your people, here to starve! Come, my love!" She took his hand.

"Where'll we go?"

"We will go to Trachem! There we will settle in the wilderness!"

He bowed over her hand. "I will always try to make you happy, my lovely ladies."

"Chinxvill, get the skycycle!" Trinxvill commanded.

"All right." The little girl pulled open the door to an adjoining room and a moment later towed out a floating skycycle--a small, antigrav vehicle that many middle and upper class Jilectan children used for travel between estates. The Jilectan child checked the power level. "Okay, all set. Climb on, Alan Westover!"

Karl straddled the vehicle. "I am ready, my lovely Ladies."

Another giggle. Ruffard cleared his throat. "Young Ladies, think what your doin'. He's a Terran psychic. He's a criminal! He might hurt you... or kill you."

"Oh, posh!" Trinxvill waved a dismissive hand at the patrolman. "My mother says that's all lies--that Terran psychics are not truly criminals. The silly Viceroy is just after them because he's scared they might try to take over the Autonomy some day--but I don't care about the Autonomy. Silence, Terran! We are going to Trachem to live with our Terran lover!"

There was a sharp rap on the door.

"It is the patrolmen!" Chinxvill's voice was suddenly shrill with fright. "What shall we do, sister?"

"Help!" Ruffard shouted, at the top of his lungs. "Hey, out there! Help!"

Chinxvill crossed the room in two steps and slapped him hard. The man subsided with a faint moan.

Trinxvill lifted her chin haughtily, and strode to the door. She pressed a wall intercom. "Yes, what do you want, 'trol?"

"Your father has ordered us to search the house, Miss. Please open the door."

"I will not--not for you or any other patrolman. Go away!"

To Karl's surprise, Ruffard shouted again, his voice weak but still carrying. "Help! Hal, the prisoner's in here... oof!"

Trinxvill had struck the man a second time. He slumped forward in the chair, unconscious. The pounding on the door intensified. "Open the door!" a voice shouted through the intercom.

"No!" Trinxvill replied.

A Jilectan's voice spoke suddenly through the intercom. "You will open the door, daughter, *now*!"

The child bit her lower lip, cast a sorrowful glance at Karl, and pressed the control. The panel slid aside and patrolmen charged into the room, accompanied by Lord Drinxvor and Lord Toonthvar.

The newcomers froze at the sight of the bound, unconscious patrolman, and of Karl, flattened against the opposite wall. One of the men started to laugh, muffling the sound quickly with his hand. Lord Drinxvor's face flushed slowly to the color of a ripe plum.

"What has happened, my daughters?" he demanded furiously. "What have you done?"

"We were just playing," Trinxvill said in a weak, placating voice. "I've never seen a Terran psychic before, Father." She smiled engagingly. "We would have brought him back in a little while."

Ruffard groaned, lifting his head. Two patrolmen went over to him and began to remove his bonds. Another came over to Karl and took him by the arm.

For a few minutes hope had flared, but now it died again. He was led forward to stop before His Lordship. Toonthvar glanced briefly at him, then spoke to Drinxvor.

"He appears unharmed, my Lord, but I trust that you will take appropriate action with your children concerning this incident." He spoke in the Jilectan dialect. Karl stood still, fighting despair.

"I will, my Lord." Drinxvor's color deepened even more.

The patrolmen were helping Ruffard from the chair, and the man's bonds had been removed. He looked up, and for just an instant their gazes met, then the men eased their comrade to the floor. "I think he needs a doctor, sir."

"I'm okay," Ruffard mumbled.

Toonthvar moved to stand over the man. "Report, patrolman!"

Ruffard made it to a sitting position, then got to his knees. "They wanted t'play with him, sir," he mumbled, head hanging. "When I tried to stop 'em, they hit me." The words died, and he began to cough, spitting out blood on the carpet. One of his companions handed him a handkerchief.

"Why did you not call for assistance?"

Ruffard drew in a strangled breath. "I... tried, sir. One of 'em took my helmet away." He dropped back on his heels, his head sagging.

Karl wondered if any of the blame was going to fall on him. He had, after all, cooperated with his youthful abductors. Toonthvar's glance passed briefly over him, and the Jilectan reached out to touch his left cheek. "What is this? A bruise? When did this occur?"

Karl hadn't felt anything hit him, but now, thinking about it, one cheek was throbbing some. Ruffard answered.

"I think, sir, that it happened when the child pulled him away from me. She accidentally hit him with her elbow." He hesitated, and spit blood into the handkerchief again. "I'm awful sorry, sir. I tried to stop 'em, but..."

Toonthvar turned away, once more addressing Drinxvor. "I fear the Viceroy will have to be informed of this, my Lord."

"Yes, my Lord." Drinxvor's jaw tightened. "My deepest apologies, sir. The children will be properly chastised."

"Aw, father, we weren't going to keep him for very long. We just..."

"Silence!" the Jilectan roared. "I will see you both in my den in fifteen minutes! Now go!"

The children seemed to shrink. "Yes, father," they chorused, and turning, ran from to the room.

Toonthvar gestured. "Take the prisoner to my car. Patrolman Ruffard, are you in need of medical attention?"

"I'm all right, sir." Ruffard spat into the handkerchief again.

Karl was marched out between two tall patrolmen. They descended the lift to the ground floor of the mansion, strode through an exit, down a pebbled pathway and stopped before an aircar.

It was one of the elaborate Jilectan limousines, painted a bicolor pattern of green and orange. Toonthvar came walking briskly down the path behind them and the chauffeur hopped nimbly from the front seat to open the rear door for the alien. Karl was placed in the front seat and Patrolman Ruffard, still dabbing at his mouth, got in beside him. The driver climbed in on the other side, hemming him in between them. The engines came to life and the car rose smoothly into the air.

Karl watched the dwelling of Lord Drinxvor drop away beneath them. He felt numb, and a great, quivering emptiness seemed to encompass him. The houses of the middle class Jilectans grew small with distance, and the rolling hills that comprised East Drevelle came into view. The landscape was studded with trees showing the first touches of autumn--yellow, gold and orange. At any other time Karl would have enjoyed the view, but now he scarcely noticed it.

They glided on, into the countryside, the car's engine purring softly. The land beneath them was rising as they progressed higher into the foothills of the Gatrinthzor Mountain Range. Ahead, the city of Franik came into view--low buildings that gradually became more crowded until they were moving over the towering metropolis of the central city. And still the car moved on. Where were they taking him, Karl wondered. Someplace in the city, perhaps. Still, if they were planning on public execution, surely they would be taking him to the Drevelle military base, which now lay kilometers behind them. Of course, they might be planning to hold the big show somewhere else to confuse the Terran Underground, should they attempt a rescue...

The thought sent the now familiar jab of panic through him. He wished he dared question Ruffard. The big man had remained silent since giving his report to the Jilectan.

Toonthvar was relaxing against the luxurious cushions in the rear seat of the limo, cradling a glass of some ruby colored beverage in one hand. "Turn on the radio, driver," he commanded.

The driver obeyed. Loud, discordant power-rock music issued at once from the speaker, making Karl grimace. He was not a fan of power-rock, although many Terrans his age were. The Jilectans, he knew, were surprisingly fond of Terran rock music, and often tried to imitate it, with only marginal success. They seemed to lack some ability when it came to imitating the rhythms produced so easily by Terrans.

Karl could hear the Jilectan's feet tapping in time to the music, and the alien attempting loudly to sing along with the lyrics. Karl didn't think he could have matched the guy on the radio, either. The singer was shouting the words at the speed of light, apparently never pausing for breath. The din was incredible as Lord Toonthvar attempted to keep up with the singer. Most Jilectans possessed little singing ability, but that didn't stop them from trying. Lord Toonthvar, Karl thought, grimacing, was anything but tuneful.

The music cut off abruptly to be replaced by an announcer's voice, speaking Basic.

"We interrupt this program to bring you the latest update on the fire at the mansion of Lord Revolthvor, Speaker for the Viceroy's cabinet. The blaze, which broke out an hour ago, has caused an estimated forty million credits damage to M'lord's mansion, and destroyed his unique collection of exotic shrubs and flowering plants, for which the family is famous. M'lord's eldest son, Lord Revilthvar, who was visiting his family, has been seriously injured and has been taken to the Drevelle Private Hospital where he is being treated for burns, smoke inhalation, two broken ankles and a compression fracture of the lower spine, sustained when he leaped from the third story window of the mansion to escape the blaze, which engulfed the guest room and the conservatory. Hospital spokesman, William Michiavilli, states that M'lord is listed in serious condition. .."

Ruffard muttered something under his breath, and Karl saw him and the driver exchange a glance. The radio report continued.

"This is the third major blaze to involve the mansion of a Jilectan noble in the past week. Arson was certainly the cause of the two previous fires, and is strongly suspected in this latest blaze as well. Stay tuned to this frequency for further developments..."

The bulletin concluded and the music began again. Lord Toonthvar resumed his discordant singing and arrhythmic tapping. Karl leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, suppressing an urge to scream for the alien to be quiet. He could tell that neither of the patrolmen were enjoying the concert, either, although they gave no outward sign.

At long last the song ended, only to be followed instantly by another, quite indistinguishable from the first to Karl's ears. Lord Toonthvar began to sing again, and Karl found himself wishing fervently that his hands were free, if only so he could cover his ears.

Franik had given way to low cost suburban homes, and Karl could see in the distance the rolling hills and stately mansions of the Jilectan gentry. Where were they going? Dared he ask? Apprehensively, he glanced sideways at Ruffard. The patrolman met his gaze, his expression sober. Ruffard's lip was swollen to twice its normal size and there was a purpling bruise on his chin.

The Jilectan estates slid past beneath, and, far in the distance Karl caught the faint blue shimmer of a forcefield. It grew rapidly nearer and the car began to lose altitude. They were approaching the estate of one of the more wealthy and powerful overlords. Probably it was Lord Toonthvar's own, Karl thought.

The car paused at the sentry station and the guard waved them on through. They gained altitude once again and began moving across a large estate. Corala's star had passed the zenith and was beginning its journey toward the horizon, Karl saw. Beneath he could see thick forest, good hunting grounds, no doubt, for the Coralan harkats, so coveted by the Jilectan overlords. Karl had never tasted one.

The mansion came into view, situated on a wide, spreading lawn and bordered by forest on two sides. On one of the remaining sides, Karl could see a beautifully landscaped garden, complete with daintily trimmed shrubs and a bubbling fountain. The remaining side was composed of a huge lawn and a parking lot. Karl wondered who lived here. The mansion had an oddly familiar look to it, and he felt that he had seen it before somewhere.

But Karl had never visited the home of one of the mighty Jilectan overlords. Perhaps, then, he had seen this one, or one like it on the video or newsstrip...

He had it! This was the Coralan mansion of His Highness, Lord Halthzor, the new Viceroy of the Rovalli Sector, since Lanthzor's assassination, nearly three years ago.

Lord Halthzor! He was being taken to the home of the Viceroy! Why? Was he *that* important? Were all Terran psychics taken to Halthzor? No, that couldn't be! Ruffard had told him that usually all Toonthvar did was have them shot as soon as they failed to read the Arcturian. And Terran psychics were common enough. Then why... ?

The car was settling to a gentle landing in the paved parking lot and the driver cut the engines, then leaped from the vehicle to open the door for his master. Ruffard also climbed out, then reached back inside to help Karl. "C'mon, kid."

Karl stepped out beside the patrolman, his knees rubbery beneath him and his heart knocking in terror. Lord Toonthvar arrived beside him and gestured. Ruffard took Karl's arm and led him toward the mansion.

They went across the remainder of the parking lot and down a walkway composed of glittering pebbles. A servant appeared as they approached and opened the door for them. Karl stepped through the entrance and into the Viceregal Palace.

He found himself in a wide hallway, elaborately carpeted and hung with ornate tapestries. He realized he was shaking, and tried to steady himself. This was impossible! It couldn't be happening! The guard's hand led him on through a lobby, down another corridor and at last into a large sitting room. Another red and gold liveried servant opened the door for them and bowed Lord Toonthvar on through. Karl and Ruffard followed.

It was a huge room, beautifully furnished, with a deep maroon carpet on the floor, and intricately carved figures on the walls. Lord Halthzor, himself, was seated in a chair, a goblet of wine in one hand and a reader in the other. He glanced up as they entered, then rose majestically to his feet.

He was tremendous, a full three meters in height, towering even over Lord Toonthvar's blond head. His shoulders were swathed in a sheer, close fitting silver tunic, and rippled with muscle. His face was noble and handsome, his eyes a shrewd, piercing grey, surrounded by red, curling lashes. Fiery copper hair waved back from his face. A welcoming smile split his features as Toonthvar stepped forward.

Toonthvar stopped and bowed deeply. Halthzor acknowledged the salutation casually, but his eyes were fixed on Karl. "Welcome, Lord Toonthvar," he intoned, not glancing at the other alien again, his gaze all for the Terran prisoner. "I surmise that this is the Terran of whom you spoke?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Toonthvar replied respectfully.

Halthzor gestured to Ruffard. "Bring him here."

Ruffard drew Karl forward to stand before the ruler. The patrolman's hands pressed lightly on his shoulders in an unspoken command. It was unnecessary. Karl dropped to his knees, eyes fixed firmly on the thick carpet.

Halthzor bent abruptly, caught Karl's arms and lifted him to his feet. His eyes were bright as he scanned the prisoner, and Karl had the impression that the ruler missed no detail.

"Your name is Karl Warren?"

His voice was soft and not unpleasant. Karl swallowed and managed to answer. "Yes, Your Highness."

Silence as the Jilectan examined him, touching lightly the bruise on his cheek. He spoke to Toonthvar in the Jilectan dialect. "How did this happen? I trust that your patrolmen did not..."

"No, My Lord Halthzor, it was a small incident with two of Lord Drinxvor's children. They were curious about the boy, and attempted to detain him and his guard. The injury occurred during the event."

"Indeed?" Halthzor did not sound amused, and Karl took a moment to wonder at the apparent concern every Jilectan he encountered appeared to harbor for his well-being. He glanced quickly at Toonthvar, and saw fear on the Jilectan's features.

"I am very sorry, Your Highness. I left the boy under the protection of Patrolman Ruffard while I notified you of his ability. The incident occurred when I called the patrolman to bring the boy to the aircar... I am sorry, sir."

"I do not need to remind you, do I Lord Toonthvar, how important this Terran is?"

"No, Your Highness." Toonthvar bowed his head humbly.

"Jilectan children have killed Terrans in the past, my Lord." Halthzor's voice reminded Karl of an iceberg. "If any harm had come to him, I would have been very displeased with you."

Toonthvar bowed deeply. "I understand, Your Highness. I should have provided a better guard."

Halthzor's eyes went to the rigid figure of Ruffard. "This patrolman, how did he respond to the emergency?"

"Ruffard?" Toonthvar glanced at the patrolman abstractedly. "He attempted to call for help, and the children prevented him."

Halthzor switched to Basic. "Patrolman Ruffard, tell me what occurred with Lord Drinxvor's children."

Ruffard paled. "My Lord... they followed the prisoner and me into the lift an' stopped it. I protested, an' they hit me an' told me t'shut up. Then they talked for awhile, an' I guess they'd decided t'kill me an' take the boy up to their room--some kinda game, Your Highness. The kid talked 'em outta killin' me, I guess. I made a dive for my helmet, which they'd taken away from me, an' one of em hit me again. I was knocked out, an' when I woke up, I was tied up in their room an' they was pretendin' I was Mark Linley. A few minutes later a search party of Patrol came to the door. I yelled, an' one of the kids--the Young Ladies, I mean--hit me again. I tried yellin' once more, an' she knocked me out again. Next thing I knew I was wakin' up with the Patrol in the room, an' the situation was under control. I'm sorry, M'lord Halthzor. I tried t'stop the Young Ladies, but..."

"Enough." Halthzor made a gesture, and Ruffard shut up, his face paling even more. Karl glanced fearfully from the ruler to the patrolman.

Halthzor smiled. "Patrolman Ruffard, I commend your actions. At the risk of your own life, you managed to summon aid. No patrolman could have done more, and I realize fully how difficult the circumstances were."

Ruffard relaxed visibly. "Thank you, sir. You honor me."

"You are, as of this moment, promoted to the rank of Lieutenant, and shall receive your commission by my recommendation."

Ruffard's fair skin was slowly growing pinker. "Your Highness, I... thank you for this honor, but I think I'm too young. I just turned eighteen, and nineteen's the minimum age for..."

"In your case an exception will be made." Halthzor smiled benignly upon the stammering young man. Ruffard flushed even more and knelt before the ruler.

"Thank you, Your Highness!"

"Rise, Lieutenant." Halthzor made a casual gesture and Ruffard came quickly to his feet again. "Your sole duty now," the Viceroy continued, "is the care of this psychic. You are, as much as possible, to keep his presence in the palace a secret. Be certain he comes to no harm."

"I understand, sir."

"And, should anything which jeopardizes his safety occur again, you are, by my authority, given license to wound, or, if necessary, to kill the being who threatens him, be it Jilectan or other species."

Karl felt his jaw drop. Ruffard stared in bewilderment at the Viceroy. "I... don't see..."

"Anyone, Lieutenant, by my order."

"Even a Jilectan child, sir?"

"That is correct. You must understand, Lieutenant, that this is a matter of grave importance to the Autonomy. This Terran is valuable beyond estimation. I trust that you will not abuse your authority in this area."

"No, M'lord!"

"Very well. If it is necessary to protect the welfare of Karl Warren, you may kill. I realize that you were hindered earlier by the fact that the aggressors were Jilectan children. I trust that such a situation will not occur again, but if it should..." He paused a moment, then spoke slowly and forcefully. "You will do what is necessary."

"Yes sir, I understand."

"You may employ whoever you choose to assist you in guarding him. However, the ultimate responsibility is yours. Keep him safe, and do not let him escape."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Another benevolent smile. "I am certain you will not fail me, Lieutenant." The ruler turned his attention to Karl again. "You claim you were unaware of your abilities, Terran?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"You have no connection with the Terran Underground?"

"No, sir."

"Your family consists of two parents, a sister and a brother?"

"Yes sir." Karl knew it would do no good to lie. "But they..."

"Silence." The command was casual, and Halthzor turned to Lord Toonthvar, speaking in the Jilectan tongue. "You met his father?"

"Yes, my Lord. . not a psychic, but he claimed that his wife had a lover before the marriage, and protested quite violently that the boy was not his flesh and blood. He believed it, sir, but upon scanning him, I could see there was no certain basis for the accusation."

"You still have this man?"

Lord Toonthvar looked uncomfortable. "I released him, sir. He was a most unpleasant..."

"Get him back."

"I will, sir--at once."

"And the boy's mother is missing, along with the rest of the family. That is most interesting."

"The father informed me, sir, that his daughter and this boy often seemed to communicate. Still, according to what he told me, I see no way that the girl could be a psychic. The mother is large for a Terran female."

"That is also interesting. Lord Toonthvar, I want a tissue typing done on the father as soon as you recover him--and also one on this boy. We must determine whether the boy is his issue or not. If he is, it raises new and unpleasant possibilities--namely that in rare instances two non-psychics can produce a psychic."

"Yes, my Lord, I'll see to it immediately."

"One moment." He turned to Karl, speaking Basic again. "Where is your family, Terran?"

"I don't know, sir. They should be at home."

"Your house has been searched. They were not found."

"Then I don't..."

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.