**For anyone who doesn't remember the reference to a psychic power pack, I refer you to the footnotes at the bottom of the Introduction.
Slave Race: 25/?
by Nan Smith and Linda Garrick
Chapter 30
"There's our contact." Alan nodded toward a young man, wearing the modestly tailored suit of a small businessman, who was waiting by the sign that read "Arriving Passengers". Franik Spaceport was, as usual, a beehive of activity as beings of all species made their way to arriving or departing ships.
The man glanced up as Linley approached him, and greeted him with the usual blandly inane method of identification. "How do you do, Mr. Smith? You are Mr. Smith, aren't you?"
"Sure am. And you must be Wellington."
"Guess I must be," Linley agreed.
The man grinned and abruptly lowered his voice. "Car's right outside. Here, let me take that for you." He removed Janice's bag from Alan's hand and led the way from the spaceport. The car waited for them in the loading zone before the terminal and they got in, Kurt in the front seat beside the driver, Janice in the rear, squeezed between Alan and Mark. "Smith" maneuvered them skillfully through the evening traffic, out the exit, and into the Slanxvor Skystream. The car's computer took over and he turned in the seat to look at them. "Good to have you here, sir. Could I ask why you've come, or should I just mind my own business?"
Janice moved uneasily. "Has... anything strange been going on here on Corala within the last few days?"
He surveyed the girl searchingly for a moment. Then, "Janice Westover, I assume?"
"Yes."
"I'm actually Stanley Brent. Well, now that you mention it, there have been a couple of things, though neither of them are all that unusual. We've got a firebug somewhere in the vicinity who makes a habit of setting fire to the dwellings of noble Jils. It's proving to be a bit of a pain in the...neck, 'cause the Jils are trying to pin it on the Underground."
"It ain't the Underground, is it?" Mark asked.
"No, it isn't but so far we haven't been able to prove it. The noble houses in the area are tightening their security because of it, which naturally makes things more difficult for our guys."
"What else has happened?" Janice asked, anxiously. "You said there were a couple of things."
"Oh, yeah, We found a psychic. Sort of crazy circumstances, and we haven't been able to identify the guy. According to our comp, he doesn't exist."
"What happened?" Janice's voice was suddenly eager. She had a hunch of some kind about the fellow, Alan realized. That, in itself, was promising.
"We picked him up about two days ago," Brent told her. "Nicely dressed young fellow, running for his life from a Jil and a bunch of flunkies. He was located by one of our telepaths in an aircar and they flew in to grab him. He was running across the roof of a condemned building, and a male Jil was after him, along with about half a dozen of his flunkies. The psychic tried to go down the fire escape on the side of the building and somebody--one of the flunkies, we think--stunned him. He fell two floors and landed hard. Bad concussion, the doctor says, and he hasn't moved since. We fired on the Jil and his bootlickers and went down to pick up the guy. He was out cold, of course, and has a broken collarbone. We took him to the nearest station and brought in a doctor. Then we tried to identify him." The man shrugged expressively. "He didn't show up on the comp, and there was no I.D. on him."
"Did you find anything on him?" Kurt asked.
"Yeah, he had a billfold in his pocket. It contained almost three hundred credits in cash and two photographs, which the comp also failed to identify. One of the photos was of a young man and the other a young woman."
"I want to see him," Janice said.
Their driver shrugged. "Sure. He's at the station."
"No one's probed him?" Mark asked.
"He's got shielding--really good shielding."
Linley whistled softly.
Brent nodded. "Yes, he's been trained, that's for sure. He was calling for help when we picked him up, and he answered the psychic who contacted him. Lydia...I mean Lieutenant Higgins, the psychic who picked him up--said there was relief, but no surprise in the contact. The guy, whoever he was, has been skillfully trained. He was ducking in and out from behind his shields. She thought he was one of ours, at first."
The aircar left the skystream, dropping into the uncontrolled lane. Brent took manual control. They dropped further, maneuvering through a crowded downtown area, pulled off into a residential section and onto a long driveway.
The Underground station was a large, nicely maintained civilian house set back from the street and surrounded by a spreading lawn. Tall trees grew on the grounds, concealing the upper story of the dwelling. To all appearances, the home belonged to a successful merchant. Brent pulled them into a garage, set the brake and cut the engines. Mark opened the door on his side and stood aside to allow Janice to exit after him. Alan got out on his side, and Brent led them through the door of the attached garage and into the house.
They found themselves in a kitchen. A short, stocky man stood by the table, and he glanced around as they entered. Brent closed the door after him and sketched a salute. "Colonels Westover and Linley, Major McDougal and Cadet Westover, sir."
"A pleasure," the man said. "I'm Major Roland Starr, C.O. of this station. What can I do for you?"
"I was telling them about our mystery psychic, sir." Brent paused as a woman entered the room.
Starr nodded to her. "This is my wife, Jessica."
"You must be the other Major Starr," Alan said.
"Yes, I am. I just came to report on our patient. There's still no change. Is he the reason you're here, Colonel Westover?"
Alan answered. "We aren't sure. Chances are he's connected with it. We'd like to see him."
Mark glanced sideways at Starr as they went out of the kitchen. The C.O. was a little man, in the latter half of his first century, with dark hair that was thinning slightly on top, and pale grey eyes. "You a psychic, Major?"
"Yes. Jessica and I are partners."
"Either of you telepaths?" Linley asked.
"Both of us. Jessie's better than me."
"And I take it you tried to probe this guy." Mark glanced toward the female Major Starr.
Jessie inclined her shapely dark head. "Lydia and I both did, for quite some time. No luck. He's been trained by someone who knew what he was doing, I'll swear to that. It wasn't just a case of a psychic teaching himself to shield."
They mounted a flight of stairs, went down a hallway toward the rear of the house, and Starr paused before a doorway. "In here."
It was a small, modestly furnished bedroom. Throw rugs covered the floor and the drapes were drawn, shutting out the pink light of the setting sun. A bed stood against one wall, and a woman was seated beside it, reading. In the bed was a small mound: the psychic, still sleeping peacefully, his mind closed to everything going on around him.
They crossed to the bed. The girl seated beside him looked up, then got quickly to her feet and stepped away from the bed.
"This is Lydia Higgens," Starr said. "Our other resident telepath."
She was pretty, Linley saw, her body diminutive and slight. She was probably no more than twenty, and her blond hair was pulled back and fell in a soft, waving tail to her waist.
Janice went over to the bed and looked down at the unconscious man.
He was small as all psychics were, and his face was pale and drawn with his injury. He had been handsome. Crisp, black hair waved around a face that, in spite of circumstances, showed clean-cut, almost pretty features. He lay motionless, his breathing almost undetectable beneath the blanket that covered him. An intravenous drip ran into one arm. His left eye and cheek showed purpling, swollen bruises.
"Why hasn't he come to?" Linley asked.
"Fractured skull," Starr told him. "Intracranial bleeding and severe concussion. The doctor did surgery, and told us he might be out for up to a week."
"No I.D.," Lydia said. "We looked right away, of course. I assumed by the way he manipulated his shields that he was one of us, but he's not. He doesn't show up on the comp."
"I'd like to see the wallet he had on him," Janice said.
Jessie picked up the article from the nearby dresser and handed it to her. She flipped it open, revealing a roll of credit slips.
"Two hundred and ninety seven credits," Starr said, quietly. "Whatever other problems he had, he wasn't poor."
Janice unsealed another flap and Mark saw the photos. One was of a young man, or boy, rather, brown-haired and dark-eyed, with a wide, magnetic smile, and the other was a girl, very pretty, with straight dark hair and wide, slightly Asian eyes. She turned the photos over. Nothing--no identification on the reverse side.
She turned to Lydia. "You heard him calling for help? Did you hear a name?"
Lydia nodded. "Ed. Just 'Ed'."
"Ed." Janice gazed steadily at the photo of the man. "A psychic partner, maybe?"
"Maybe." Alan turned back toward the quiet figure on the bed. "I don't suppose that..." His voice trailed off.
"What?" Kurt asked.
"Well, is it possible he's one of ours on a mission that, for some reason, required that his name and identification be removed from our comps?"
Mark shook his head. "Even if that's it, he should have *some* kind of I.D. on him--something to show the cops in case he got stopped."
"Somebody might have taken it away from him," Janice suggested.
"An' left three hundred credits behind? Not likely."
"Maybe he threw it away, himself," Kurt suggested, "if he saw he was going to get caught."
"Possible." Alan was still looking down at the psychic. "I wonder if I might be able to go through his shields."
Lydia looked doubtful. "I'm a good telepath, sir, and I couldn't do it. I couldn't even dent them."
Alan nodded at Mark. "We're an Armageddon Team, Lydia. That may make a difference."
Lydia regarded Mark with interest and a certain amount of curiosity. "I've never met a power pack before," she said. "It must be frustrating to carry around all that power and not be able to use it."
Mark shrugged. "It's all in the genes, sweetie," he said. "My partner can use it, even if I can't. That's all that counts." He placed a hand on Alan's shoulder. "Let's give it a try."
Alan hesitated. "I don't want to do any more damage. Is it possible I will?"
"The doctor said I could try," Lydia told him.
"Alan," Janice said, "I...have a feeling we're short on time."
"Okay." He took a seat beside the mystery psychic, and placed a hand on the man's temple. Mark stood behind the chair, one broad palm still resting easily on his partner's shoulder.
Cracking the mind shields of a well-trained individual, Linley knew, was no easy task. Only a psychic such as Alan, with Mark to tap for psychic energy, had a chance of accomplishing the feat. It wasn't a sure thing, by any means, but if anyone could succeed, it would be Alan Westover.
He felt the familiar power drain as Alan extended his psychic probe, seeking to pierce the mind of the man before him. There was utter silence in the room as he worked, and the drain became more pronounced. Then, unexpectedly, Alan spoke.
"I'm getting a name...Ed. Ed White." A pause. "He's fighting me. Even unconscious, he's fighting. Edwin White is his best friend. I see him. It's the picture in the wallet, but Ed's older now. This is Cory...Livingston. Blast! He's fighting hard. He..."
Janice stepped up beside them and rested her small hand beside her brother's.
"Cory," she said clearly, "Relax. We want to help you and Ed. But you have to relax. We won't hurt you."
"It's working!" Alan said. "Keep talking to him, Jan."
"We're your friends." Her voice was soft and coaxing. "We want to help you."
Silence for the slow count of ten. Then Alan spoke. "He's stopped fighting. I'm getting it. He's been with Lord Comishvor for sixteen years now...his psychic...sort of a slave, doing the hard psychic stuff for him. And Ed, too. Lord Comishvor, the pirate! Comishvor was the Jil who was after him when we found him. And there's a Lady...Lady Gootishville after him, too. He's scared of her. She's tried to kill him quite a few times. She has a personal grudge against him... something to do with another Lady...Frishville? Yes, that's it. Lady Frishville. Lady Gootishville almost got him last time, but he got away from her and escaped. He came to Corala--to Franik, because he knew that's where Ed would go if he got away. But right after he got here he was caught by another pirate, Lord Blashvor."
Kurt said something under his breath.
"Blashvor was a lot better than Comishvor." Alan's words were coming easily now. "Blashvor was good to him, and permitted him to come here regularly to scan for Ed. This time he...saw something--Ed's wife, Loreen, who was supposed to have been killed. She's alive. Then Comishvor suddenly showed up. He chased Cory here and shot him down. He got separated from his guards, and Comishvor was still hot on his trail." Alan paused, concentrating, but the power drain had eased up, Linley thought. Cory must be relaxing his shields as well.
"He was ducking out from behind his shields, trying to determine where Comishvor was," Alan continued, "when he suddenly contacted Edwin. Ed had escaped somehow, and was just arriving. He told him about Loreen, and gave him her address. Then Comishvor got too close, and he had to run again. That was when our people showed up." He heaved a deep sigh. "Let's see if I can get her address...2100 Forest Drive, here in the city. It's an apartment building."
"This Edwin guy'll head right for that apartment," Mark said. "We'd better go check it out."
"But it's been more than 24 hours," Kurt objected. "He's probably long gone."
"Still, we might find something there to trace him or the woman with." Alan said.
Linley looked down at the still figure on the bed, feeling a touch of real respect. He had thought *his* life had been a rocky one, but compared to Cory Livingston's it had been a bed of dawbat feathers. He looked at Roland Starr. "We'll need your aircar."
"Certainly, Colonel."
**********
Ten minutes later they were flying across the city. Starr, in the driver's seat, pointed. "That's Forest Drive down there."
Alan looked down at the dingy apartment buildings. Small children played in the streets and cars were lined thickly at the curbs. He scanned, encountering nothing. The aircar lost altitude and Starr settled it into a vacant parking space. To their right rose a large, newer apartment complex. The number above the entrance proclaimed 2100 Forest Drive.
Alan looked at Mark. "I don't sense any psychic nearby. Of course, he could have his shields up."
"Let's go see." Mark glanced at the others. "The rest of you better stay here. Don't wanna attract attention by all of us chargin' into the buildin'. If we find anyone, we'll bring him out."
Alan and Mark entered the building, and Alan glanced at the row of post office boxes lining the front lobby. They told him nothing, but a woman was standing before one, working a combination. She must be a resident of the building. He spoke to her.
"Excuse me, ma'am, but is there a lady named Loreen who lives here? Loreen White?"
The woman collected her mail, slid the box shut, and turned, frowning slightly. "Loreen White? There's a Loreen Warren who lives in number 25, married to a drunk named Cecil."
Alan saw the image of the woman in the lady's mind and instantly recognized her as the same one he had seen in Cory's. "Yes, that's probably her. Number 25, you say?"
"That's right." The woman regarded him suspiciously, pushing greasy black hair back from her forehead. "Say, what's this all about, anyway? What's happened to poor Lori?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, yesterday the Patrol came storming into the building an' demanded to see her. I saw 'em kick in the door, an' then when she couldn't be found, they searched the whole building for her. And then old Cecil shows up and goes in. He's there maybe thirty minutes, and here comes the Patrol again, an' I see 'em carry him out." The woman's face was a large question mark. They must, Alan thought, have somehow managed to locate the nosiest inmate of the building. "Then he shows up again this morning, bandaged and wearing a sling, and hitting the bottle with everything he's got. An' poor Lori and her kids haven't showed up yet, at least not as far as I know. An' rumor has it that ol' Cecil's been canned from his job." She gazed expectantly into Alan's face. "What's it all about?"
Alan swallowed. "I really don't know. We're just friends of the family. Maybe we'll go up and have a word with Cecil now and see if he can tell us."
"I'll go with you," the woman offered.
"Thanks, but we'd really rather go alone," Alan told her. "We'll probably see you on the way out, and I hope we'll be able to tell you something."
"I'd appreciate it." The woman grimaced. "I've known Lori for twelve years now. She's a sweetheart. Never could see why she stayed with that trenchcrawler. I know he beats her and maybe the kids, too. Why, one night maybe six months ago, you could hear the racket all over the building, and rumor has it that Carla, the lady who lives next door to her, delivered Lori's first child 'cause that rat of a husband she has wouldn't believe she was in labor an' waited too long. Why, if I was her..."
Mark poked Alan in the ribs and interrupted as tactfully as he could. "Listen, honey, we gotta go. Maybe we'll see you on the way out. Okay? C'mon, Dave."
Alan went with him toward the stairs and they mounted the first flight. Apartment 20 was at the head of the stairs and they turned left, traversing the hall until they reached number 25. The door was closed but light filtered beneath the crack. Alan concentrated a moment, located the intoxicated mind within, and nodded to Mark. With a quick look around to assure himself they were alone, he placed a hand on the control. The image of the locking mechanism formed easily in his mind, and the bolt moved aside beneath the pressure of his mental fingers. The door swished open, revealing a modestly furnished living room adorned by an overturned coffee table and half a dozen bottles. A figure was slumped on the couch, a whisky bottle in one hand. The figure was snoring heavily.
Alan glanced at Mark and made a face. "He's totally shnockered. We'll have to take him with us."
"No problem." Mark crossed the room, hefted the figure to one shoulder and turned back. "Lead the way."
They went down the stairs. The woman they had encountered on the way up was awaiting them at the foot of the stairs, her face alight with interest. "What's happened to him?"
"Looks like a stroke to me," Alan told her. "We're taking him to the hospital."
She nodded, her face glowing with excitement. "I'll call ahead--tell them you're coming."
"Thanks," Mark panted. "Appreciate it."
They went out, loaded the slack body into the aircar, and lifted off. Janice sniffed and held her nose. "Yuk! What's that smell?"
"Him," Linley informed her.
"But who is he?"
"Loreen's husband, Cecil."
"I thought she was married to Ed!"
"So did we. We'll find out the whole story in a minute. Alan'll probe him, but we had to bring him along. The Patrol had been there, already, twice, an' probably a Jil, too. They've ransacked the place." He looked at Cecil in disgust. "Man, what a loser! That poor li'l gal!"
Alan concentrated, one hand on the man's temple. He encountered thoughts so fogged with liquor that at first he could make out nothing. Then, gradually, the facts began to trickle through, although so disjointed and befuddled with alcohol fumes he could make out nothing for certain. He gave up for the moment and spoke to Mark. "I think we'd better take him back to the station. In the state he's in, he won't remember anything."
"Okay by me." Mark yawned. "Man, I could do with a good night's sleep."
Starr jerked suddenly and the aircar veered to one side. Alan turned to look at him, sensing the man's sudden distress. "What is it?"
"It's Jessie, with a message." The man's voice was tight. "Two of our agents at the Franik Patrol base have been spotted." The man gulped, his hands clenched on the controls. "About an hour or so ago. Details are sketchy so far. None of our people witnessed the occurrence..." His voice trailed off. Alan reached over and set the car on autopilot, programming it for the Underground station.
"Who were the agents?" he inquired. "Did you know them?"
He nodded and blinked hard suddenly. "John Marsh and Maggir."
"An Arcturian?" Alan said, quickly.
"Yes. Third classer at the base."
"Were they taken?" Kurt asked.
"No...no. They set their blasters on emergency overload. Took a few patrolmen with them, apparently." He grimaced and swore, softly.
"But how were they spotted?"
"Jessie doesn't know. No one saw it. It happened several hours ago, but she just got word. It must have been quick or they would have managed to call or get the message out somehow." He fell silent, hands clenched uselessly on the controls.
Janice was looking at the intoxicated man in the rear seat. "This is connected," she said slowly. "I don't know how, but it *is* connected."
Starr glanced back at the girl. "How could it be?"
"I don't know." Her voice was detached. "But it is...somehow."
Alan nodded. "She's right." He too gazed at their passenger. "This guy has something to do with it."
"And so does Cory," Janice said. "It's all connected, somehow."
Kurt was watching the girl closely. "How about the fires at the Jil mansions?" he asked. "Are those connected with it, too?"
"I... don't think so. I'm not sure."
The car maneuvered into the uncontrolled traffic lanes and Starr took manual control. "We'll get this guy sobered up as soon as we can and see what we can get out of him." He concentrated. "Good. The doctor's here. Maybe he can give him something."
The garage door slid shut behind their vehicle.
**********
Chapter 31
The door sliding open awakened Karl. The Procyon, Ch'Grak, entered, pushing the food cart before him. Fannir, who had slept in the recliner chair, stood up quickly, blinking and rubbing a hand over the crest on his head.
The Procyon parked the cart in the center of the room, removed two trays and set them on the table. He glared at Karl. "Your breakfast is here, psychic," he announced, his Basic more slurred than it had been the night before. Maybe he had a hangover, Karl thought. "Prepare yourself. My Lord Stranthvar will be taking you with him again."
Karl's heart sank. The Procyon sniffed, glanced disdainfully at Fannir, and went out. Karl stood up, suppressing a sigh.
Fannir was examining the contents of the tray. "Ah, the comforts of civilization! I had almost forgot such dainties..." He met Karl's eyes across the room and his expression changed. "Ah, my friend, you are in distress. What is it?"
"They're taking me with them again--Halthzor and his cronies, I mean, to look for more Underground Arcturian spies."
"Ahhh!"
"What'll I do if I find another one?"
Fannir was silent a moment a moment, then crossed the room to him. "Karl, my dear friend, there is nothing you *can* do. Surely you see that. You are in their hands, even as I am. Nothing that they force you to do is your fault."
"Alan Westover wouldn't do it," Karl said, under his breath.
"You do not know that. If he were in your position, he well might."
"No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't betray others to save himself. He held out for six hours in the interrogation chair when he was a prisoner of the Jilectans, and he didn't tell them anything!"
"You know this for certain?"
"Of course. Well, it's just rumor I suppose, but that's what we all heard. Fannir..." He glanced briefly at the camera. "What would they do if I said no?"
"They would torture you until you complied." Fannir's lips drew back in a grimace. "I do not like to think of you under the effects of a shocker, my friend. I beg you, do not defy them. It would only get you hurt, and it would be useless."
"But if I do what they say, more people will be caught or killed. "
Fannir shrugged, Terran fashion. "I fear there is no easy answer to this."
Karl began to dress. "What would you do in my position?"
Fannir looked steadily at him for a moment, then answered quietly, "I fear that I am not Alan Westover. I would do whatever I was told, and await my chance to escape."
For some reason the knowledge made Karl feel better. He finished dressing and sat down at the table. "Come on, Fan, let's eat."
Fannir pulled another chair over to the table and sat down across from him. Breakfast consisted of eggs, toast and bacon. Fannir ate ravenously, then sat back with a satisfied sigh. Karl couldn't concentrate on the food. He picked at it for awhile, then shoved the plate away. "You can have mine if you like," he told the Arcturian.
Fannir regarded him dubiously. "You are not hungry?"
"I'm too worried to be hungry, but if I don't eat, Ch'Grak'll jump down my throat again. You eat it."
"Ahh, with pleasure, my friend." The Arcturian began to devour the food--making up for lost time, Karl supposed. He stood up and began to pace the room. Ruffard appeared a few minutes later and took him away.
The day was a repeat of yesterday, except that no spies were detected. Karl probed mind after mind as the sun sank behind the cloudy western horizon, but, to his vast relief, not a single one surfaced. At 2045 Stranthvar ordered that they return to the Viceregal Palace.
Fannir jumped to his feet as Karl entered the room. "Ah, my friend..." he approached quickly, crest erect, eyes bright. Already he appeared less malnourished and mistreated. "What has happened? Are you well?"
Karl sat down rather heavily in a chair. "I didn't find any."
"Ahh!" Fannir squatted beside his chair. "I have worried about you this whole day. You did many probes?"
"Millions, I think. I lost count."
"Millions. Ah, my friend, that is not possible. There was not enough time."
"I'm joking, Fan. I'm sure there weren't that many, but it seemed like there were." Karl heaved a deep sigh. "And Stranthvar was wearing some kind of horrible perfume. I thought I'd choke to death."
Fannir chuckled. "He probably thought that he smelled wonderful."
"He smelled like rotten garbage." Karl made a face, then smiled. Fannir's presence at least gave him something to think about besides his present predicament. The Arcturian rose, crossed the room and filled a cup with water. He brought the container to Karl, then knelt to remove his shoes and lift his feet to the ottoman, rather like a Jilectan body servant. Karl felt a stab of distaste.
"Don't do that, Fannir."
"Why not?"
"You're not my servant, and you don't owe me anything."
"I owe you my life," said Fannir in a low voice. "And that is certainly something, particularly to me."
Karl shrugged. "I was helping myself, too, you know. What I told Ruffard was true. I was going crazy all alone in here. You give me something else to think about. You aren't my servant, so don't act like one."
"I wish to make you comfortable, that is all." Fannir stood up, regarding him soberly. "Karl, I wish to give you something."
Karl looked up, surprised. What did Fannir have that could possibly be of value to anyone else?
"It is this." The Arcturian moved one of his sinuous hands in an odd, convulsive manner, then presented the hand to Karl. A small, yellow ring lay in the alien's narrow palm. He placed the object in Karl's hand. "A token of our friendship. It is nothing of great value, or they would not have let me keep it while I was on Borantia. In fact, it is quite worthless, except to me."
"Oh. But Fannir, I shouldn't take this. It's yours."
"Our family emblems are placed upon rings and are give by the father to the child of his choice," Fannir told him solemnly. "And since it seems less than likely that I shall ever have a child, I choose to give my ring to you, Karl Warren, my dearest friend."
"But..."
"Please take it, Karl. I shall be most insulted if you refuse."
Karl swallowed the lump in his throat and slipped the ring over his middle finger. The fit was slightly loose, but it should stay on all right.
The Arcturian placed a taloned hand over his. "You saved my life, Karl. One of my species does not regard such an act lightly. You are my friend, and I am yours, always. I am honored that you have accepted my family's ring."
Karl felt himself flushing. "Thank you, Fannir, he managed.
Fannir straightened up. "I repeat, my friend, I am honored. Do you know what life in a penal colony is like? From this you have also saved me, as well as my life."
"What was your crime, Fannir? Won't you tell me?"
Fannir regarded him steadily. "Do you really wish to know?"
"Well, you know mine."
"Ah, that is so. What matter? No one listening can understand me but you, and you have the right to know. I am a thief, my friend."
"A thief?" Karl said. "What did you steal?"
"Money. What else does one steal?"
"Good question." Karl laughed. "Who did you steal it from?"
"Ah, that was my error. My victim was a Viceregal Patrol officer."
"Really?"
"Yes, but how was I to know? He was not wearing his uniform, in fact, he was wearing nothing. I broke into his hotel room where he slept with his mate... or one of his mates, I suppose, since he was a patrolman, and I tried to remove his wallet from his pants, which were lying on a chair. His kaziccha helmet fell on the floor, and the sound woke him. He would have killed me at once, save that he was vacationing on the Arcturian resort world of Kahn. So I was sent to the penal colony instead."
"Gosh!"
"It was humiliating that I never even got my hands on the money for which I sacrificed my freedom."
The door opened and Ch'Grak entered with their dinners. He ignored them, set the trays on the table, and departed.
Fannir's crest quivered slightly. "Ah, that fellow is a sweet one, do you not agree, my friend?"
"Of course," Karl said. He went over to the table. "Mm. What's this?"
The Arcturian sniffed the steaming dishes rapturously. "Ah! Roasted milkfish! What cuisine!"
Karl sat down and pressed the button to switch on the video. "Let's see what's new in the news."
"Most of it is new to me," Fannir told him. "I had not realized what a nuisance the Terran Underground has become for the Jilectans until I listened to the news while you were gone. It is wonderful, is it not?"
"Yes," agreed Karl. He was looking at the lovely young newswoman on the screen.
"Gosh, isn't she pretty?"
"I suppose, by Terran standards," Fannir agreed.
Karl laughed. "Sorry. You seem awfully human sometimes, Fan."
"How dreadful!" Fannir showed his teeth briefly. "I would make a very ugly Terran, although by Arcturian standards I am considered quite handsome."
Karl glanced at him doubtfully, then turned his attention back to the screen which was displaying a blazing mansion. "Good grief! The firebug's been at it again!"
"Firebug?" Fannir repeated. He showed his fangs in a wide grin. "How very dreadful."
"Yes. Someone's been setting fires to Jil mansions recently. Listen."
"... The blaze this afternoon which consumed the second floor of the mansion of Lord Loranthzor, second cousin to His Grace, Lord Revolthvor," the narrator was saying. "Lord Loranthzor was injured in the blaze, but is listed in stable condition at Franik Lakes Private Hospital after treatment for second and third degree burns and smoke inhalation. Lady Qwanthzill, his first wife, was also injured, and is in stable condition. M'lord's second son, Lord Paranthzar, is in critical condition, and will require surgery, which will commence as soon as he is stable enough to tolerate the procedure."
"That's the fifth one this week," Karl remarked. "I wonder who's doing it."
"They are blaming the Terran Underground," Fannir said, nodding toward the videoscreen.
"They could be right, I suppose."
"Fisst! It cannot be! The houses of Jilectan nobles are heavily guarded. I cannot believe that some Underground agent would have access to them all! Were the houses involved all those of Jilectan nobles?"
Karl nodded.
"And were they all different?"
"Well, Lord Revolthvor's house has been hit twice and his son's once, and now his cousin, but all those people are connected with other Jil nobility, too. There's so much intermarriage between Jil houses."
"Are they also connected with Lord Halthzor?"
"Halthzor?" Karl thought for a moment, recalling his studies on the subject. "Now that you mention it, yes, I think they are."
"Ah. That is interesting."
"But the connections are all through wives, and Revolthvor must have at least twenty wives--maybe more."
"Still, it is interesting, do you not think? This firebug, as you call him, must be someone who is involved with all these people, someone who has access to their houses, and is probably considered above suspicion. I am certain that all the servants and chauffeurs have been probed by now."
That was a new concept to Karl. He hadn't really had time to think about it, but Fannir's point of view was quite sensible once he considered it. "You know, I'll bet you're right. And besides, when you think about it, what purpose could setting fire to Jil mansions possibly serve for the Terran Underground? It's just making the Jils mad."
"Precisely."
"I wonder who it really is." Karl finished his plate of food and sat back. Fannir had completed his some time ago. He grimaced at his chronometer. "I suppose I should go to bed. They'll probably be after me early tomorrow."
"That is true." Fannir stood up, regarding him with an odd expression on his long, animal-like face. The Arcturian was feeling sorry for him.
Ch'Grak entered the room, collected the trays, loaded them on the cart and departed. Karl saw the Arcturian make a rude gesture after the bird, then grin horribly.
**********
Chapter 32
"I'm afraid we still have a long way to go." Edwin White leaned back against the bole of a tree, watching the light fade from the forest around them. The two kids, exhausted after another day's walk through the wilderness, were already asleep. Loreen sat next to them, looking as weary as he felt.
It had been a day of run and hide as Jilectan hunting parties and Patrol search teams had passed. The tension in itself was enough to wear them out, and coupled with the grueling land, over which they traveled, they were utterly exhausted. Loreen pulled a blanket over the two youngsters and moved over next to him.
The familiar ache rose in his throat as she settled down beside him, and he could almost swear that he could still smell her perfume. Silly, of course. The rain yesterday must have washed it completely away, and then the stream they had been forced to ford this evening would have certainly removed any lingering traces. Still he seemed to catch it as she leaned back against the tree and looked sideways at him, her eyes glowing in the dimness.
"Well, at least the rain seems finished with us," she remarked, her voice quietly matter-of-fact.
He nodded, unable to look away from her. How beautiful she was! How could Cecil have thrown her away as he had? What a fool! Women like Loreen never came along twice in a lifetime!
She smiled. "Do you want me to take first watch?"
"I'll do it."
"How are you feeling?"
"Better." It was true, he realized. In spite of the exhausting day and the strain, he felt stronger. Loreen seemed to radiate strength, and the strength gave him strength. It sounded crazy, like the thoughts of a romantic teenager, but it was true.
"Okay." She nodded. "Promise me you'll wake me up in three hours."
"I promise."
She smiled again. "I should have known," she told him. "All those years, I should have known. I never stopped dreaming that somehow you might come back."
"You didn't?"
"I knew it was silly. The police told me everyone had been killed, but every now and then I seemed to hear your voice. It would wake me up at night, and even in the daytime I'd hear you." She sighed. "I must have a wonderful imagination. Dad always told me I did."
"Tell me about our son."
"Karl? He's a lot like you--sometimes so much that it broke my heart. He looks much more like you than he does like me, but I guess you realized that from the way Cecil reacted. Even drunk as he was, he saw the resemblance. And Stephen saw it, too. He turned fifteen in June. He'll never be tall, but he's a good-looking boy, and all the girls like him. His hair's your color, and his eyes are brown, like yours. Here, I have a picture of him."
She drew out the purse that had been strapped to her shoulder since this trek had begun, and reached inside. Edwin took the photo and gazed into the youthful, smiling face of his offspring. Loreen was right. The resemblance was quite unmistakable.
"Is he a good kid?"
"Very good. Too sympathetic for the underdog to get in with the popular kids, but he doesn't seem to care. He has one good friend, and dozens who like him and stick up for him. His teachers think he's great, and his grades are top notch."
"What did he want to go into, career-wise?"
"He wasn't sure. He talked about medicine, or maybe space. It was Cecil's idea that he should enter Jilectan service." She sighed. "That's how this mess got started. I should have known something was wrong."
"How could you?"
"Ellie. She was sick that morning, and kept asking about Karl. She always knew when he was in trouble, and...what's the matter?"
The sensation was unmistakable, and it brought with it a wave of relief. Cory's mind, touching his!
The contact was faint, as though Cory's shields were still partially raised, and there was physical weakness discernible, too. His friend wasn't even conscious, he realized. His shielding had been lowered while he was unconscious, and, briefly, Ed was conscious of another mind--a psychic mind, other than that of his friend.
"It's Cory!" he whispered. "He's being probed! Somehow they've gotten him to lower his shields!" Rapidly he broke contact and raised his own shields, cursing under his breath. "It's true, then. Comishvor must have him!"
"What did Cory say?"
"Nothing. He wasn't conscious."
"Drugged?"
"I don't think so. I think he's been hurt."
"Did you sense Comishvor?"
"No. The psychic probing him was a Terran...that little guy who's been tracing us, no doubt. Damn! I had no inkling he was that powerful. Cory's shields are the best."
Loreen was silent a moment, the spoke slowly. "I don't think Comishvor has him. I'll bet it's the Terran Underground."
"The Underground? How do you know?"
She looked puzzled. "I don't know how I know, but I do. And Cory knows it, too. He's been picked up by the Terran Underground."
"Loreen!"
She turned to look at him, the look in her eyes oddly distant as though trying to remember something. "Tell me, Ed, did you ever meet a Jilectan pirate named Trashvor?"
Ed stared at her. "How did you know about him?"
"I had a dream about him, and about you, years ago. Karl was just a little guy then, and yet, I remember it very well--all the details. It seemed that you and Cory were aboard Trashvor's ship, and you were scared he was going to take you away from Comishvor. He had captured Comishvor's ship, and you two were 'the spoils of war'. I remember that phrase. You said it to Trashvor's son, Blashvar. Then there was a family disagreement among the Jils, and Trashvor was killed. Blashvar was shot by his brother, Dishvar, and you got away and ran back to Cory. Comishvor had been left alone, and Cory had been knocked unconscious. Comishvor wanted to leave him behind, saying it would attract too much attention to take him along, but you talked him out of it. He bullied you into going on ahead to the lifeboat bays and getting a ship ready. He told you he'd bring Cory. You didn't trust him, but you had no choice. You went, and Comishvor came after you with Cory. Then some pirates showed up, and he abandoned Cory and ran. He ordered you to take off, but of course, you went to help Cory. Blashvar--I guess he was Blashvor by then--appeared, and you almost went with him, but Comishvor grabbed you and dragged you away with him into the lifeboat. He was pretty mad at you, too, but didn't punish you much. The dream sort of faded out at that point."
Ed closed his mouth with a conscious effort. "You've told it exactly the way it happened, Lori."
She nodded. "You said it, yourself, there's some kind of communication between us. And then, a few days ago, I had a dream about Cory."
"When was this?"
"It was the day before all this started. The kids were at school, and I'd sat down to do some mending I'd been putting off for a long time. I didn't feel like I'd fallen asleep, but I must have because I had this dream." Her eyes became distant again. "It hasn't been as long--nowhere near as long as the dream about Trashvor and you, and yet the details aren't as clear. But I still remember it pretty well. Cory was in an aircar and someone--Comishvor, I think--was after him. The aircar was hit, and crashed. Cory got out and ran through an old building. Sometime in here I heard him call you, telling you that he was okay, and that I was still alive. I even heard him give you my address. Then he ran again, with the Jil chasing him. He climbed a ladder of some kind and I heard someone speaking to him, asking if he needed help. Cory answered back, asking who it was and the person identified herself as a member of the Terran Underground. Then it seemed like Cory was trying to go down a ladder, and then... a funny feeling, like an electric shock, and...nothing else. I was sitting in my chair with my mending in my lap and the sun shining in the window."
Edwin gulped. "What does it all mean?"
"I don't know. All I know is that it seemed awfully real, just like my dream about you and Trashvor."
Ed gazed into the frank, open face of the woman he loved. Please let her be right, he thought. If only Cory was with the Underground! It made sense in a crazy sort of way. Comishvor couldn't possibly have the know-how to teach his Terran psychic to go through shielding like Cory's, but the Underground might. He'd heard things about those guys over the past years that made them seem almost like magicians.
Loreen smiled at him. "He's okay." She spoke confidently. "And now I'm going to try to sleep a little. You've been keeping tabs on Comishvor, I assume?"
"I don't sense him at all. He must be way behind us."
"Let's hope so." She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the cheek, then rested her head on his shoulder. "Good night, Edwin."
"Good night, Lori."
**********
Chapter 33
Cecil Warren was still sleeping at 0700 the following morning, but Alan, after a preliminary probe, realized the man had recovered enough for a deeper searching. He glanced at the young man seated beside the recumbent figure. Brent's eyes were heavy from lack of sleep.
"You can go, Stan. I'll take it from here."
Brent hesitated. "He's a big guy, sir, and he's got a mean look about him. I think I should stay."
Kurt MacDougal entered the room. "It's okay. I'll stay with him. You go get some rest. You've earned it."
Brent grinned. "Thanks, sir. I'm pretty shot, now that you mention it." He went out. Kurt shut the door behind him and turned back to Alan.
"Where's Janice?"
"Still asleep. She's worn out, poor kid."
"And Mark?"
"He'll be here in a couple of minutes. He was in the shower when I left." He turned toward the slumbering figure, grimacing. "He's going to have a dilly of a hangover."
Kurt shrugged. "Those who dance must pay the piper."
"No kidding. He'll have a heck of a bill. Here's Mark now."
Linley entered the room, his face red from the shower, his wavy hair wet but neatly combed.
"Early bird," he commented, throwing Alan an unfriendly glance. "How often do we get to sleep in at the base?"
"Janice said there was a deadline."
Roland Starr and Jessie entered the room, the woman bearing a tray of coffee. Mark grabbed a mug and took a long swallow. "Ah! Now I can see again! Go ahead, kid. Get it over with. It ain't gonna be pleasant, I'm sure, considerin' the size o' the hangover this guy's gonna have."
"I think we should wake him up, first. Then I won't have to sort out dreams from what's real. The only unconscious person I've ever probed in my life was a Jil."
Starr looked shocked. "You're joking!"
"Nope," Mark said. He leaned forward and shook the sleeper's shoulder. "Wake up, Bud."
Warren moaned and grimaced. "Lemme 'lone..."
Linley shook him again. "C'mon, wake up. We need to talk to you."
Another moan. The man tried to hide his head under the pillow.
Kurt pushed the pillow away. "Come on, Mister, wake up."
"No." An anguished groan. "Loreen, get him out of here!"
"Your li'l wife ain't here, Bud," Linley informed him callously. "C'mon, rise an' shine."
The man cursed, trying to seek refuge under the covers. Kurt pulled the blanket away and Mark jerked his head at Starr and his wife. "You two better get outta here."
The Starrs departed, and as they went out, Janice entered, looking better and more rested. Mark's logic was clear, Alan knew. The Starrs were established citizens of the planet, and when Cecil reported this incident to the Jilectans and was read, their faces must not be among those picked up from his mind.
Kurt had the prisoner in a sitting position and was trying to offer him a cup of coffee. The man struck at it and the cup went spinning away, cascading coffee over the bedclothes and rug. Janice caught the cup in midair with telekinesis, righted it, and brought it back to clink softly to the tray beside its fellows.
"Okay, do without." Kurt was looking thoroughly disgusted, and Alan couldn't blame him. Cecil Warren was certainly a most undesirable fellow. The man cursed, glaring around at them.
"What's going on?" His voice was slurred and stupid, and his red-rimmed eyes peered out at them with angry misery. "Is this some kind of joke? Who are you?"
Kurt stepped back, allowing Alan to move into his place. "We have a few questions, Mr. Warren," the psychic said, trying to ignore the emanations of misery from the man. "Answer them honestly and you'll be released unharmed."
"Who the devil are you? I'll have the law on you!"
Mark laughed, muffling the sound quickly. Cecil's eyes jerked toward him.
"Where's your wife?" Alan asked.
"You tell me," retorted the man, glaring back at him. "Who are you, anyway? Another one of her lovers?"
Alan drew a deep breath. He didn't like probing people unless absolutely necessary. It seemed such an invasion of privacy, and Cecil wasn't technically an enemy. He was just a Terran who'd been dragged into a mess, and was understandably upset about it. "Look, Mr. Warren, we need information. We aren't going to hurt you, but if you don't give us what we need willingly, we'll have to pull it out of you, and I don't want to do that. Now answer my questions."
The man groaned. "Give me some coffee."
Janice silently handed him a cup. The man's eyes flicked to her, questioning and suddenly a little worried. He took a careful swallow from the cup, choked, and spilled coffee over the bedclothes. That was okay, Alan thought. They'd have to be washed, anyway, after this guy had slept in them.
"Where are your kids?" Alan asked.
He chuckled unpleasantly. "You mean my kids, or his?"
"Who's?"
"Loreen's lover's. She must'a been with him whenever I was gone, working myself to death supporting her, so she could play around on me."
The man wasn't making much sense, Alan thought. He saw Mark's expression, and hid a smile. His friend was thinking that you could hardly blame the poor woman, if she'd had to live with Cecil all this time. "Your wife had a boyfriend, then? How do you know?"
Another unpleasant chuckle. Cecil coughed hard and spat sideways. Alan tried not to notice. "How do you know?"
"Two of her kids were psychics, that's how!" The man glared at him. "And then I met the little shrimp. Nearly trounced him, too, but I...I tripped or something and he got me--took Loreen an' Stephen and got out. I don't know where they went." Cecil took another swallow of coffee and choked again. Alan moved quickly back until the man had regained control of himself. So far he had detected no flagrant lies, but it was possible they would not gain the entire truth without a mind probe.
"How many children were there, Mr. Warren?"
"Who the devil are you, anyway?" He looked from one to another. "Are you from the Jilectans?"
"No," Alan said.
"Then you've got no right to question me. I'm leaving right now." He started to get up, his movements jerky and uncoordinated.
Mark pushed him back down, glancing sideways at Alan. "We're wastin' time, pal."
Linley was right, of course. Alan nodded and sighed. "Okay, hold him. I'm sure he won't cooperate."
Cecil tried to twist away as Kurt and Mark took his arms and lifted him from the bed. He cursed, kicking at Alan as he approached. "What the blazes is this? What are you doing? You've got me mixed up with someone else!" He kicked at Alan again, forcing him to jump back. Linley swore and thrust the man face down on the floor, pinning his arms behind him in a Patrol arm lock. Kurt sat on his feet. Cecil was a big man, but flabby, and no match for either Mark or Kurt. Within ten seconds he was completely immobilized. Alan knelt beside him, glancing at Janice.
"You don't have to watch this, sis. I'll call you back when we're finished."
"I want to stay." Her voice was level.
He didn't argue, but knelt beside Cecil's prostrate form, placing a hand on his face. Theoretically they could simply have held the man at blaster point, but Alan didn't trust Cecil's judgment at this point. He might make a try for the weapon and would have to be stunned. He concentrated. "Cecil Warren, only child, parents deceased, works in maintenance for Lord Stinxvor..." Automatically, he voiced the information for his companions. "Wife: Loreen, maiden name Cornwall, married sixteen years next month, three children, Karl, fifteen, Stephen, thirteen, and Ellie, six... no, seven. She had a birthday a couple of months ago."
Cecil had become stock still in their holds, and horror radiated from him as the fact that he was being probed by a Terran psychic entered his brain. Alan continued, seeking the facts he needed from the millions of inconsequential facts, experiences and memories in the man's mind. "Two... or maybe three days ago... he isn't sure exactly, he took his eldest son, Karl, for an interview as junior cook at the house of Lord Drinxvar, second son of Lord Stinxvor. We need to know the date, Cecil...okay..." Instantly the facts were clear. "It was Monday, the 10th. This is Wednesday. Okay. Karl wasn't told about it until he'd already left with Cecil; he was heading for school. Cecil didn't want his wife to know, because she might object, being a great believer in education. Who needs to do more than read and write, anyway? Okay... Karl did well at the interview..." Alan grimaced a little, reading clearly the envy in the man's mind. Cecil was jealous of his young son's poise and charm. Still, that wasn't such an unusual thing. Many parents were jealous of their children. It was a common emotion, and one a psychic was very accustomed to. "Cecil was left alone while Karl was taken away to demonstrate his cooking ability. Cecil knew nothing more until two servants came and got him. They took him directly to Lord Drinxvar, who accused him of being the father of a psychic..." Alan drew in his breath sharply. "Cecil denied it, of course, then, when he realized that Karl was indeed a psychic, accused his wife, Loreen, of having a lover, since neither she nor Cecil could possibly be psychics. He was taken to another room and found Karl there, bound and guarded." Again Alan drew in his breath, visualizing the scene from the memories in Cecil's mind. "He...told the boy his suspicions, and became quite abusive with him..."
Cecil moved suddenly, trying to twist free. Mark shoved him down hard. "Lie still, twerp."
"Then Drinxvar came in, with another Jilectan. Cecil told them all he knew. The Jilectans questioned him, asking about other family members. It seemed that Loreen and her two remaining children had mysteriously vanished. Another psychic in the family was suspected--one with whom Karl had apparently communicated, warning them. Cecil thinks it's the girl, Ellie. He believes Loreen must've been keeping her boyfriend all during the marriage, since two of the children are psychics..."
"Who could blame her?" Kurt put in, under his breath.
"Then Cecil was taken out and released. He doesn't know where Karl was taken, but assumes he was killed..."
"Probably right," Mark said, grimly.
"He went back to his apartment and started drinking. He'd been there about an hour when his boy, Stephen, came running in, out of breath, and asking about Karl. Cecil doesn't remember too much of what happened. He was pretty drunk at the time. I...think he got a bit abusive with the boy, and then Loreen showed up."
Cecil twisted again, trying to break free. He swore colorfully. "Psychic degenerate, you have no right..." The words were muffled in the carpet as Mark shoved him down again.
"Loreen also asked him about Karl. He told her what he thought of her, and her kids, and her psychic lover...and a few other things. Then he...hit her, and when the boy tried to stop him, grabbed him. Then he called the Patrol and told 'em his family'd come back."
Janice inhaled sharply, and employed a phrase Alan hadn't realized she knew.
"And then the boyfriend showed up." Alan concentrated, trying to visualize the face. "I can't see him clearly...Cecil was too drunk to remember much about him. There was a fight, and the next thing Cecil knew he was back with the Jils. The Patrol apparently arrived and found him unconscious. He was examined...by Halthzor, himself."
Janice inhaled again.
"Probed deeply for nearly an hour by three...maybe four different Jils. Then he was released again, after being told he could no longer work for Lord Stinxvor. The Patrol took him to the hospital and left him there--he had a big bump on his head and a sprained shoulder. After he was treated, he came home. He started drinking. And that's all I can see. He must have drunk himself into a stupor and kept it up until we found him."
"What a sweetheart," Mark said.
Alan straightened up, feeling a little stunned. "What'll we do with him?"
"I could think o' somethin'," Mark said, ominously.
"We can't just let him go," Kurt said. "He'll run straight to the Jils, and tell 'em what happened, and they'll know we've been alerted and are looking for Loreen and her kids--and the boyfriend, too."
"The boyfriend has to be Ed," Alan said.
"Of course."
Cecil swore between his teeth.
"What about Karl?" Janice asked.
Mark glanced quickly at her. "Honey, it's been two days. He wasn't one of us--just a psychic kid. They wouldn't mess around."
"You think he's...already dead?"
"Most likely, Jan," Alan told her, gently.
"But he might not be! They didn't kill *me*!"
Alan stood up. "We'll look, Jan. If he isn't already dead, we'll find him. But first we've got to get after Loreen and Ed, and the kids. We'll assign other agents to look for Karl."
She nodded. "Okay, Alan."
Cecil lifted his head again. "What about me?" His voice quavered. "What are you going to do with me?"
"I'm thinkin' it over," Mark told him, grimly. "Don't rush me."
"He tried to turn his own wife and kids over to the Jils," Kurt said, coldly. "That's worse than a psychic hunter in my book. I know what I'd do with him, if it were me."
"I'm with Kurt," Mark said. "He ain't worth botherin' with."
Alan wiped his hand on the legs of his breeches, trying to quell his instinctive sympathy for the man. "I say we let Rol decide. He's the fellow in charge here, and we've got better things to do." He gestured to Kurt. "Tie him up and blindfold him for now, and I'll explain it to them."
"They're empaths, Alan! They..."
"Rol isn't."
"Oh. I didn't realize that. Okay, but keep Jessie out of it."
"That's up to Roland." Alan took Janice's hand. "Come on, sis. Let's go get something for breakfast and decide on a plan of action."
**********
(tbc)
