MOUSETRAP (The Prelude to the Terran Underground series)
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
“I can’t figure it out, sir.” The young, nondescript man shrugged uncomfortably. “He ain’t talkin’ a bit, but he’s definitely lookin’ for somethin’. I’ve never seen any of ‘em this interested in one o’ the lower species before.”
“What’s he doing now?” The second man was a little older, somewhere in his middle years, stocky and balding.
“Same as he has been for nearly a month, sir. Gets a crowd o’ kids in, then sends ‘em away fifteen minutes later. Then the next day another crowd.”
“How about his two guests?”
“Nothin’, sir.” The young man’s speech was in Terran English, but the heavy accent was not that of a Terran native. “He don’t say nothin’. Just takes ‘em in every couple o’ days, then sends ‘em out a little while later. Doesn’t put nothin’ in writin’. I don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it, either.” The older man tapped his stylus on the desk top, obviously thinking. “Well, keep watching him. If something doesn’t break soon, I’m afraid we’ll have to take action.”
“Yes sir.” The younger man scowled a little, then smiled. “If we do have to, I got somethin’ I’d like to try.”
“You may get your chance, Eddie.” The older man sighed. “Thank heavens for the Terran Underground. If it wasn’t for them we’d be a lot worse off, I guess.”
“Yes, sir,” Eddie agreed, blandly.
. . . . .
“Aw, go ahead, Shorty! There’s no danger—honest! Would I lie to you?”
Jeremy Lyndon Burke hesitated, looking doubtfully at the man behind the desk.
“I don’t know Ted. A Jilectan…”
“There’s nothing to be scared of, Shorty. I’ve been there. It’s a cool eighty credits, beautiful chicks, and all the good food you can eat—just for letting him touch your forehead and stare into your eyeballs. Takes less than two minutes and it’s all over—and it don’t hurt a bit.”
“Are you sure?” Jeremy hated for his handsome friend to think him a coward. He was looked down on enough already because of his absurd height. Like most short men, Jeremy longed to be tall, and felt more keenly than the next man the need to prove his courage.
“Sure, I’m sure,” Ted responded promptly.
“But…he’s reading your mind, you know.”
“Sure. So what? The Jils don’t care what we Terrans think. ‘Sides, I don’t think this telepathy business is all it’s cracked up to be. His Lordship had trouble with a couple of guys. I watched him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, just that it took him a little longer.” Ted laughed. “He looks weird when he does it, too. His eyes go all funny, and his nose wrinkles.”
Jeremy grinned in spite of himself. “Really?”
“Yeah. Go ahead and sign up. I’d go again, myself, except they’d catch me.”
The man behind the desk was watching them. He jerked his head encouragingly and spoke in odd, accented English. “You kids want to sign up?”
“I’ve already been,” Ted answered, truthfully. “I’m just trying to talk my buddy here into it.” He spoke to Jeremy. “Go ahead, Shorty. There’s nothing to it. A nice break from classes, lots of good food, and you’ve got to see the women to believe ‘em.” He smacked his lips.
Jeremy advanced hesitantly. “But what’s he doing it for?”
The man shrugged. “Who knows with a Jil? He’s a scientist – Lord Volathvor. He’s not bad as Jils go. You’ve heard of him haven’t you?”
Jeremy shook his head.
“No kidding? He’s a real famous scientist, and he needs subjects. That’s all there is to it. Takes one or two minutes at the most, and it pays eighty credits.” He grinned. “You can’t beat it, kid.”
Ted jabbed him in the ribs. “Go ahead Shorty.”
Reluctantly, Jeremy accepted the proffered stylus and the man presented a paper, one finger indicating a space. “Sign right here.”
Jeremy bit his lower lip. “You’re sure he…”
“What are you scared of?” Ted snorted. "He's not going to bite you.”
Shamed into it, Jeremy signed.
The man took his paper back, filing it with a stack of others. “Good kid. The ship for Shallock leaves at 1700. Pack an overnight bag and wear light clothes. The return ship arrives Friday at 2100—it’s a twenty hour trip, but you’ll enjoy every minute of it.”
Ted whacked him on the shoulder. “I’ll take notes for you, Shorty.”
“Okay.” Jeremy smiled uncertainly. “Thanks, Ted.”
“Shuttle leaves for the spaceport at 1630,” the man at the table warned them.
“Thanks,” Jeremy said, again.
The man glanced past them at another student. “Yeah, kid? Want to sign up?”
They headed for the dorm, Ted shortening his steps to accommodate his shorter companion. He clapped Jeremy heartily on the back. “You’ll have a great time, kiddo. I promise.”
Jeremy didn’t answer. He found himself wishing devoutly that he had not signed that blasted paper. He didn’t want to go to Shallock. Although he had never seen a Jilectan, he was, he believed, justified in being a little scared of the aliens. Why, the stories you head about them were enough to make you hair stand on end.
“What’s he like, Ted?” He tried to make his voice casual.
“Who?”
“The Jilectan—Lord Volathvor.”
“Oh, he’s just a Jil.” Ted who had once visited the Jilectan populated world of Corala, spoke carelessly. “Tall, and kind of skinny, and dresses like Charlene Rutherford—only maybe a little prettier.” Ted grinned in memory. “He had the cutest little golden curls all around his face—homeliest damn face you ever saw, too—and jewels flashing from everywhere. He even wore ruby earrings! And perfume!”
“You mean aftershave?”
“No, I mean perfume! Strong enough to knock you over, too. Jils don’t have beards.”
“Oh,” said Jeremy. “That’s right--I forgot. They look so human.”
“Yeah, they do,” Ted agreed, as they went up the dorm steps. “It galls ‘em, too—not that they look like us, but that we have the impertinence to look like them! Guess they figure it must be our fault, somehow.”
“Really?” Jeremy felt another touch of apprehension. “Look, Ted, maybe this isn’t such a good idea…”
“Don’t worry about it, Jer!” Ted sounded exasperated. “You look a hell of a lot less like the Jils than most of the population does!” He surveyed Jeremy’s short slender form appraisingly. “I’ve never seen a brown-haired Jil yet—or one that’s less than two meters tall. This Lord Volathvor guy’d make two of you. I didn’t even reach his shoulder, and I’m 1.8, myself! If anything, you’ll make him feel better!”
“Well, all right.” Jeremy unlocked the door of their room and went in. Ted glanced at the chronometer on his wrist.
“1600, Shorty. You’ll have to mush.”
Jeremy dragged his feet, trying to find excuses to delay, but Ted ushered him to the shuttle hobby with time to spare. The craft, jammed with a score of cheerful students, arrived at the spaceport at 1650. The transport ship was waiting for them.
Jeremy entered trough the hatch, and a pretty, Terran girl, clad in a sparkling, abbreviated costume, took his overnight bag, smiling a welcome.
“Hello, sir. Glad to have you with us. May I take your name?”
Jeremy gulped, his eyes straying to the plunging neckline of her dress. Uh…Jeremy Burke, Miss.”
Her smile deepened. “I’m Tammy, Jeremy. Have a seat anywhere, Goldie will be by in a minute to bring you a drink.”
“Uh…no, thank you. I didn’t bring any extra money with me.”
“It’s free, Jeremy. If you want anything just ask for it.”
The trip to Shallock was all that Ted had promised it would be. Jeremy and his fellow passengers lived in the lap of luxury, fed well-prepared, shockingly expensive food, and waited on by the most charming, seductive girls he had ever seen. Somehow, it all seemed too good to be true.
They landed at the Scaifen Spaceport on Shallock twenty hours later. The girls bade them farewell with cheerful waves and sunny smiles, promising to see them again on the return trip. Jeremy trod across the landing field, feeling the burning heat of Shallock’s sum on the back of his neck. The air was scorching, although it must be quite late in the afternoon.
A man wearing a brilliant, chrome-yellow uniform met them as they entered the building, and they were led courteously to another shuttle parked in the loading zone before the terminal. Jeremy blinked as he boarded, at the sight of the driver, who was also clad in one of the outlandishly yellow costumes. It hurt his eyes slightly to look at it.
“Man!” the boy beside him observed. “Those duds are something else!”
Jeremy sat down, and the other boy collapsed loosely in the place beside him. “I can hardly stand to look at ‘em! Why the devil did they choose that color, do you suppose?”
“Search me.” A remark Ted had once made floated to the surface of Jeremy’s thoughts. “They’re servants of the Jilectans. The Jils’ range of color is different from ours. They’re sensitive to some colors in the infrared zone, but not to violet. Those outfits probably look real nice to them.”
His companion grimaced. “You’d think they’d burn up just touching them.” He grinned at Jeremy. “What’s a grade school kid like you doing here, anyway?”
Jeremy flushed. “I’m a freshman at M. S. U.”
“Oh yeah? How old are you? Twelve?”
He felt his flush deepen. “I’m sixteen. I’m just short.”
“Oh.” The other boy grinned good-naturedly. “Don’t let it bother you. I’m kind of a shrimp, myself.” He extended a hand. “Randolph Matherly. My friends call me Red.” He ruffled his hair. “Wonder what color the Jils’ll think this stuff is?”
“Oh, there’s lots of red-headed Jils,” Jeremy said. “And blond ones, too. I’m Jeremy Burke--Shorty to my friends.”
Red grimaced again. “I always thought my name was bad. Man! Did you see that cute little thing—Carrie was her name, I think--on the ship?”
Jeremy nodded, hardly listening. The driver was starting his vehicle, and it moved skillfully out into the heavy, rush hour traffic. He swallowed, feeling the muscles of his neck knot, and is heart began to beat fast and hard against his ribs. He was possessed by a wild urge to shout that he wanted out, right now--not only out of the shuttle, but out of this whole crazy venture! He didn’t want to go through with it--not for eighty *thousand* credits, and all the beautiful women in the galaxy!
“You okay, Shorty?” Red asked. “You look sort of scared.”
“I’m fine,” he replied absently. The shuttle had drawn up before an imposing structure surrounded by green, spreading lawns. Jeremy got out, accompanied by Red and the other Terrans. They went down a wide, paved walk and entered the air-conditioned coolness of the building.
Before them was a lobby, covered with an iridescent yellow rug, and beside him Red muttered something softly to himself. Expensive furnishings were arranged on every side, and decorations covered the walls. Another man, wearing the chrome-yellow uniform, came toward them, smiling a greeting.
“Welcome, all of you.” His voice was soft and very courteous, his English oddly accented. “I am Giles, a servant of Lord Volathvor. His Lordship is ready for you. Come with me please.”
They followed him across the lobby and into another room. A row of chairs stood against one wall, and Giles asked them to be seated. Another servant brought them drinks and offered them a plate of hors d’oeuvres. Jeremy accepted the drink because he had no choice, but refused the food. His stomach felt like a lump of lead, his mouth was dry, and his palms were wet with sweat.
A door to one side of the room opened, and the Jilectan entered.
He was very much as Ted had described him. Like all Jilectans Jeremy had seen on the video, or in pictures, his coloring was very light. His blond hair was arranged effeminately around his smooth, flawless face, and tiny curls adorned his high, white forehead. He was not ugly, however. In that statement Ted had been incorrect. Nor was he handsome. His face was pretty--girlishly so. He stood nearly two and a half meters tall, and wore fine, very stylish clothing--pink, flared leggings, and a snow-white tunic embroidered with glittering blue stones. Tiny, glistening earrings dangled from his ears and large, ornate amulet, also decked with flashing stones, hung on an elaborate chain around his neck. An aroma like expensive perfume, with a faint overtone of garlic, filled the air.
Overall, the Jilectan’s appearance was ridiculous but nobody laughed, or even smiled. Jeremy was trembling as the alien strode toward them, and he scrambled to his feet with the rest of the students. No one, he knew, remained seated in the presence of one of the Jilectan overlords. Utter silence fell.
Then the alien smiled, and his smile, too, was girlish and sweet. “Be seated, all of you.” His voice was soft and very pleasant, each word perfectly annunciated. “I am very pleased you have come.”
Hesitantly, Jeremy started to obey then leaped upright again as he realized he was the only one who had done so. Of course! The Jilectan had been speaking Basic, the official language of the Jilectan Autonomy and most of the students understood only fragments of it. Jeremy had taken the year’s requirement of Basic in high school, and, like everything else, had learned it easily and well. He failed completely to understand why so many people had difficulty with it.
The yellow-clad servant was translating his master’s words, and the volunteers seated themselves. Jeremy joined them, feeling more scared then ever. The alien was speaking again.
“I am Lord Volathvor, a scientist, and I do studies on Terrans, and other species in the sector. Most--perhaps all of you--may leave in a few minutes. I need to find a certain type of Terran for my tests, and it is quite possible that none of you fit into that class.”
Giles translated fluently while the Jilectan continued to speak. “I will be doing mind probes. Do not be afraid--I am not interested in your girlfriends, or any amorous adventures…” A slight nervous titter ran through the assembled students, to be suppressed at once. “I will be looking for a certain brain pattern that can only be found through a probe. Merely relax. You need do nothing.”
The servant finished translating, and Volathvor came slowly down the row of students, touching each one’s forehead lightly and looking deeply into each individual’s eyes. Jeremy’s fright was increasing by the second. Somehow he knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that his mind was the type the alien sought. Panic engulfed him as the Jilectan scientist reached the student beside him, and, without thinking of the consequences, he was suddenly on his feet and bolting for the door.
It slid open before him, and Jeremy found his way blocked by two of the yellow-clad servants. He tried to push past them, but the men caught his arms, restraining him gently, but firmly. He was turned back to face the room, finding Lord Volathvor standing over him.
From the assembled students there issued murmured conversation, and another soft titter, but Jeremy hardly heard it. He found himself looking up, straight into the clear, ice-blue eyes of the alien. Six long, multijointed fingers touched his face, and Jeremy flinched away with a gasp.
Then the scientist smiled gently, removing his hand. “Do not be afraid, Jeremy,” he said, softly. “I will not harm you. Your mind is exactly the type I am seeking for my studies.” He glanced at the servant who had translated the words unnecessarily for Jeremy. “Take the boy into the next room and make him comfortable.”
Utter silence had fallen in the room. Jeremy saw the other volunteers watching with apprehension as he was led away by the servants. The two men took him through the door by which the Jilectan had entered, speaking gently and reassuringly as they did so. Jeremy hardly heard them. He felt weak with terror, his legs trembling. They entered an equally elaborate room, and the servants seated him carefully in a chair. One of them brought him a drink, replacing the one he had dropped in his abortive attempt to vacate the other room. He shook his head.
“Drink it sir,” the servant urged. “It will help calm you.” He smiled understandingly. “I take it you’ve never seen a Jilectan before?”
Jeremy shook his head.
“They can be very frightening, but I assure you there is nothing to fear. His Lordship will not hurt you. Now drink some of this. I promise it will help…”
Jeremy shook his head frantically. “No! I don’t want any!”
The servant withdrew the glass, looking distressed. “I am ordered to make you comfortable, sir.”
He rose to his feet. “Just let me go! I’ve changed my mind! I don’t want to be experimented on. Here!” He pulled out his billfold and flipped it open. “Here’s the eighty credits and ten extra for the inconvenience. It’s all I have. Please…”
The servants were shaking their heads. “I’m very sorry, sir,” Giles said. “I cannot let you go.”
“You can’t keep me here! You have no right! I’m a free citizen of the Terran Confederation…”
“I’m very sorry, sir,” the servant repeated.
Jeremy fell silent. There was, of course, no way he could hope to defeat the two men physically. They were both easily a head taller then he, and, in spite of their courtesy and gentle speech, he sensed an iron strength in them.
The door slid open, and Lord Volathvor entered.
Jeremy retreated toward the wall, and the alien advanced, smiling gently. The two servants retired at once, the door sliding shut behind them.
“You are Jeremy Burke?” Volathvor inquired, softly.
Jeremy found his back to the wall. He nodded mutely.
“You speak basic very well. Where did you learn it?”
The boy cleared his throat. “In high school, sir.” He heard his voice squeak nervously as he spoke. “All…all the students are required to take a year of it.”
“Indeed? You learned it well. A single year, you say?”
“Yes, sir,” he stammered.
A pause. “And you are but sixteen.” Volathvor came across the carpet toward him, his movements breathtakingly fast. The Jilectan’s home planet boasted a gravity slightly over 1.5 times that of Terra, and the difference gave them a strength and speed far superior to Terrans. Jeremy plastered himself flat against the wall.
“Do be seated, Jeremy,” Volathvor said. “I shall be doing another mind probe on you. It is only necessary that you remain still.” He paused. “Why are you afraid of me, Terran?”
Jeremy drew a deep breath. “Lord Volathvor, I don’t want to do this. Please let me go.”
“You believe I am going to harm you--perhaps even kill you. Has someone been telling you tales of the Jilectans?” He smiled sweetly. “You are quite safe. This is experimental work, and I need a certain type of subject. You conform to the type, which is why I chose you. You will not be harmed.”
Jeremy made a dash for the door.
The alien moved with the lightning reflexes of his species, catching him by the wrist and spinning him around with inexorable strength. His other arm was seized and immobilized an instant later. He began to fight uselessly in the Jilectan’s grasp.
“Let me go! Let me go!”
The door slid open and two men, clad in the black and scarlet of the Viceregal Patrol entered. They came quickly across the room, took Jeremy by the arms, and pulled him back. Volathvor bent to rub a shin, his gaze on Jeremy. He was no longer smiling.
“Restrain him.” The scientist’s voice was suddenly colder than a polar ice cap. Jeremy was dragged, still struggling, to the chair, and forcibly seated. With quick, efficient motions, the patrolmen fastened his arms and legs to the chair with short pieces of rope.
The task was completed in less than a minute, and Volathvor gestured to the two men. They turned without a word and left the room, the door sliding quietly shut behind them.
The white, six-fingered hand touched Jeremy’s face, and the blue eyes were suddenly very close to his own. The alien spoke softly. “How much do you know of your abilities, Jeremy?”
He tried to twist away from the hand. “What abilities? What are you talking about?”
Volathvor’s eyes bored into his. “You are a psychic, Jeremy.”
Jeremy felt a moment of blank incomprehension. “A psychic? What do you mean?”
The scientist didn’t answer, his face grim and set.
“A psychic?” Jeremy repeated. Terrans weren’t psychics. Only the Jilectans, the dominant species of the known galaxy, possessed psychic powers. That was why they were the dominant species.
But if he, a Terran, possessed them, also…
He began to struggle frantically with his bonds. “You’re crazy! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Be still!” Volathvor’s voice was sharp, and he found himself obeying the command instinctively.
An intercom on the wall above their heads beeped softly. “M’lord, His Grace, Duke Halthzor, has just arrived.”
“Escort him here at once,” Volathvor responded.
Halthzor! Jeremy felt his face drain of blood. Halthzor was the first cousin and heir apparent of the Jilectan Viceroy, his chief lieutenant, and the Director of Viceregal Intelligence. His name was well known throughout the sector, even in the Terran Confederation, and not pleasantly. Why would Volathvor summon Halthzor?
Volathvor turned back to Jeremy, resuming his mind probe. The boy hardly noticed now. Halthzor!
The door slid open, and the famous Jilectan entered.
He was enormous--taller even than Volathvor, and far more muscular. His head was covered with bright, coppery waves, and, unlike Volathvor, his dress was very masculine. He wore shimmery, dark breeches, and a tunic of the same material, his only ornament being a large, deep red stone on a thin, silver chain around his neck. At his hip was a solid, very professional-looking blaster. Pale, grey eyes passed briefly over Jeremy, then turned on Volathvor.
The scientist bowed from the waist. “Your Grace! I thank you for coming so promptly!”
Halthzor inclined his head slightly. “I received a message that you wished to see me, my lord. They said it was urgent.”
“Yes, Your Grace. I have most disturbing news…” He glanced at Jeremy, and Halthzor also turned to look at the prisoner.
“Concerning this Terran?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Volathvor hesitated. “I am unsure how to tell you...”
Halthzor made an impatient gesture, and the scientist hurried on. “Try to probe him.”
The Viceroy’s lieutenant strode toward him, and Jeremy twisted his face away. The huge alien extended a hand and touched his face.
He drew the hand back at once, with an exclamation of surprise and revulsion. “He is a psychic!”
Volathvor inclined his head. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Halthzor turned hostile, unbelieving eyes on the prisoner. “A Terran! Is he a fluke--a freak of nature?”
“No, Your Grace,” Volathvor replied. “I have discovered two others. The first I found by accident--a young female of the species. I thought she might be, as you say, a freak of nature.” He looked disdainfully at Jeremy. “It seemed too much of a coincidence that members of a lower species which resembles us physically should possess psychic ability as well. I began advertising--offering money for test subjects. In the second group, I found another--a male by the name of Stevens. Still I was not convinced, and continued my tests, taking male volunteers at random from various colleges on Terra. Several groups came and went, and I discovered no more. I was beginning to believe the incidence must be very low when this one appeared. Apparently a certain percentage of the species possesses the ability, Your Grace, and, like ourselves, their talents very.” He paused. “It is possible the incidence is greater than it would appear from this random sampling.”
“What do you mean?” Halthzor demanded, sharply.
“I believe, Your Grace,” Volathvor said, reluctantly, “that the talent of precognition among Terran psychics is far more common than among ourselves. The female I discovered is unquestionably a precog, and so is this boy. He was certainly aware of his danger long before he should have been.”
Halthzor was staring balefully at the prisoner. “He is powerful. Was the aura this great in the others?”
“No, Your Grace. This boy is certainly the most powerful of the three. That, in itself is encouraging…”
“We must study them,” Halthzor said. “We must discover why some posses the ability and others do not. Then, we must somehow put an end to these creatures. Is the trait hereditary?”
“I don’t know, Your Grace,” the scientist admitted. “It would seem likely.”
“Let me go!” Jeremy pleaded. “I didn’t even know!”
Halthzor glanced at Volathvor again. “Can this be true? I do not sense a lie.”
Volathvor inclined his head. “He is speaking the truth, Your Grace. He did not know. Among Terrans, individuals who claim psychic ability are looked upon as harmless lunatics. The talent has never been taken seriously. There may be little danger…”
“I’ll never tell anyone!” Jeremy interrupted. “No one would believe me if I did! Please don’t kill me!”
Halthzor ignored him, speaking soberly to his fellow Jilectan. “There is still danger. If it becomes known that we have discovered and confirmed the ability among Terrans, they will band together and develop their talents. It is possible that one day they could threaten us…”
“Impossible, Your Grace!”
Halthzor’s cold gaze fastened on Volathvor. “Not impossible, my lord. Do not underestimate the Terrans. They are more formidable than you realize. Do you recall the affair on Bellian when we first encountered them? They are unpredictable, fiercely protective of their possessions and their families, and they surpass all other species as Viceregal Patrolmen. They are intelligent and quick to learn.” His voice fell. “In battle, my lord, the first and most important rule is never to underrate your opponent.”
Volathvor seemed to shrink before the Viceroy’s lieutenant. “Yes, Your Grace. But I…”
“You are a scientist, Volathvor. I am Chief of Intelligence. Let us each tend to our own task.” He turned back to Jeremy. “Have you kinsmen, Terran?”
Jeremy shut his lips together hard. How could he possibly protect his family from these ruthless beings? They could read his mind with only a little effort and draw out the information they sought.
Halthzor seized his chin in a two-finger grip, bringing it up. “Their names, Terran?”
He twisted his face away. “I won’t tell you!”
Halthzor jerked his face forward once more. “I can read your mind, Terran, but I find it distasteful. Tell me the names of your family.”
Jeremy squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “No!”
A slap snapped his head to the side, bringing an involuntary yelp from him. Halthzor touched his face again, gripping tightly. Jeremy fought, trying to pull free. “No! No!”
“I will do it, Your Grace,” Volathvor offered, hastily. “There is no need for you to…”
“I will do it.” Halthzor hit the prisoner again, snapping his head the other way. “Be still, little fool! Do you not see how useless it is to resist?”
“Yeah, I see!” Anger blazed suddenly, driving away the fear. “I’m seeing a lot of things real clear! It’s not my fault I look like you, and it’s not my fault that I’m a psychic, either, but you don’t care! Nothing matters to you but your damned superiority! Beat me all you want, Jil! I’ll never willingly betray my family!”
Another slap rocked him, making his ears ring. The air filled with pink mist.
“Do you understand now?” It was Halthzor’s voice, coming faintly, as though from a great distance. “Have you ever known a Procyon to defy us like this? Or even an Arcturian? Terrans are dangerous even now, and if they can develop psychic ability they will become more so…”
Jeremy tried feebly to pull away.
“Two brothers.” Again he heard Halthzor’s voice through the ringing in his ears. “Daniel Jr. and Andrew. Two sisters--Joan and Carol. His parents are Eliza and Daniel, and there are three surviving grandparents--a grandfather on his mother’s side named George Sinclair, and his father’s parents, Leroy and Wanda Burke. There is also a great grandmother, and numerous aunts, uncles, and cousins. It is a large family for a Terran. It may be difficult to locate them all.” He stopped.
Jeremy’s vision was clearing and he leaned back in his chair, gaze fixed in hatred on the two aliens.
“Bring in the immediate family first, and test them,” Halthzor resumed. “Do not disclose the reason. If none of them proves to be a psychic, we can presume that the trait is not hereditary.”
“But what reason am I to give the boy’s parents for his disappearance, Your Grace? They are certain to bring the matter before the Terran authorities, and when they are brought in for mind probes as well…”
“You need know nothing of it.” Halthzor made an abrupt, dismissive gesture. “An aircar accident, perhaps. In that way, the other psychics you discovered may be disposed of at the same time--an unfortunate accident, to be sure. Young, irresponsible Terrans driving under the influence of alcohol. It is not necessary that they believe it.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Volathvor said. “I will see to it. Do you wish me to continue my search for other Terran psychics?”
“Yes,” Halthzor replied. “Let me know immediately if--when--you find any more, and I would like a report as soon as you examine this boy’s family. I must send a detailed summary to the Viceroy.”
“Yes, Your Grace. I shall also be conducting further tests on this Terran--before he is killed. It is possible that I can determine the mechanism behind his abilities.”
“It is probably similar to our own,” Halthzor said.
“Yes,” the scientist agreed, reluctantly. “Very likely it is.”
“And if the trait is found to be hereditary, all such individuals are to be eliminated. None are to be set at liberty. We must keep them from multiplying.”
“I understand, Your Grace. It will be done.”
The two Jilectans went out, still talking, and Jeremy was left alone.
He slumped back in his chair, his eyes closed. In spite of his bravado, the aliens terrified him. Their mere presence, unaccompanied by their threats, would have been enough. Jeremy had heard before of the awesome, powerful aura radiated by the aliens, and had scoffed at such tales. He would never scoff again.
What was he to do? They were going to kill him because he was a psychic, like themselves. Jeremy had known all his life that his senses seemed more acute than those of the general population. He had always done well in school, was a whiz a card games, and any other game that held an element of chance. His reflexes were fast, too, for a Terran, and he had always been proud of the fact. But a psychic! It had never occurred to him to attribute his abilities to psychic talents. Nobody really considered the possibility that such a thing might exist in Terrans. Only the Jilectans were psychics. He had known that since babyhood. Ever since Terrans had met the Jilectans, three quarters of a Terran century ago, all Terrans had known it. The Jilectans were the rulers, superior to Terrans in size, quickness, strength, and mentality. Jeremy had never seen a Jilectan before now, except in pictures, and, like most Terran-born citizens, had certainly never so much as dreamed that the Jilectans could hold Terrans in anything but contempt. Was it possible his species could pose a threat to the alien overlords? There was an organization in existence known as the Terran Underground, which was made up of outlaws who resisted the Jilectans’ encroaching rule, but it was regarded as a mere annoyance, and certainly no threat. Apparently, however, Halthzor thought otherwise.
“That affair on Bellian…” Jeremy had never considered that piece of history much, either. It had occurred half a century before his birth, right after Terra first made contact with the Jilectans. Bellian was a lovely, resort-like planet in the Sevelli system, sixty-odd light-years from Sol, and the Terrans had discovered and colonized it nearly two decades prior to contacting the Jilectans. Upon discovery of the planet, the aliens tried to claim it for their own. Terra, then unaware of the actual might of the Jilectan Autonomy, had taken up arms and prepared for war. To everyone’s surprise, the Jilectans had backed down.
“Terrans are more formidable than you realize…fiercely protective of their possessions and families…clever and quick to learn…”
Jeremy felt a wash of tragic pride. Halthzor, the right hand man of the Jilectan Viceroy, was afraid of him--afraid enough to risk an interstellar incident to be rid of him. So he was a psychic. Slowly, the alien’s words were becoming a reality. He was a psychic--a powerful psychic, like the Jilectans. He even possessed the talent of precognition--a psychic ability rare among Jils. That was how he had known with such certainty that coming here would be dangerous. In his ignorance he had failed to recognize his feelings for what they were, but Volathvor had recognized them at once. Was it possible that, if he developed his powers, he actually could be a danger to the Jilectans?
Jeremy looked at his hands and began to strain uselessly against the ropes binding his wrists to the chair arms. It was fruitless. The Viceregal patrolmen knew their job. He was tied very well, and Volathvor would soon be back to examine and then kill him. His remains would be found in the wrecked aircar, along with the two other unfortunate psychics. Then his family, and no doubt the families of the other two, would be located and dragged in. Somehow he must escape! He must warn them!
Could any of the rest of the Burke family really be psychics? Jeremy considered the possibility with a sinking feeling. His two younger sisters, Joan and Carol, were such bright little girls--fast learners--quick in everything they did. Andrew and Daniel Jr. were the eldest, identical twins, and very much like the rest of the Burke children. They were all straight A students, winning high honors in school.
And what of his parents? The family lived in a small community, and his father was a farmer--a little man, no taller than his wife. All the children took after him, being of small stature. They were successful, too, their crops flourishing when other people’s failed. His grandparents, Leroy and Wanda, lived in a large, rambling house just inside the city limits, about a kilometer from Jeremy’s family. They had produced twenty children during their marriage, six of whom still lived at home. Jeremy had two uncles younger than he. His father, the fourth from the eldest child, resembled Leroy to an alarming degree, as did many of his siblings. Most to them had intermarried into the community and produced children of their own. Halthzor had been right about that, for sure. It was going to be very awkward if the Jils had to examine every member of the Burke family in the community of Lancerville.
Thinking it over, Jeremy’s heart sank even further. He was, of course, ignorant of the traits which were likely to indicate a psychic, but the whole family was much too similar--small, bright, very successful…
Was it possible they were all psychics? *All* of them?
He didn’t want to think about it, but somehow he could think of nothing else. His own stupidity had landed his family in this mess.
The door hissed open and the two patrolmen entered. They strode over to him and unfastened him from the chair. Jeremy began to struggle. “Please, mister, don’t! Let me go!”
One of the men twisted his arms skillfully behind him. The other fastened him with restrainers. Jeremy heard a muffled cussword.
“What’sa matter?” the first man asked, his Basic heavily accented
“Kid jerked at the wrong moment. I jammed my thumb on the bloody cuffs.”
“Let me go!” Jeremy pleaded.
The patrolmen ignored his protests, ushering him unceremoniously from the room and down a carpeted hallway. Jeremy let himself go limp. He wouldn’t submit peaceably! Let them drag him!
One of the men swore wearily, aiming a cuff at his neck. “Get up, kid!”
“Easy, Les.” The other man lifted Jeremy like a baby and tossed him to one shoulder. “When you got one o’ this size an’ temperament, it’s easier not to argue.”
Jeremy writhed in the man’s grasp, kicking and squirming. “You have no right! Let me go!”
His efforts were without avail. The patrolman restrained him easily, striding down the corridor. He turned abruptly left, and there was the sound of a door opening. They entered a room.
The patrolman swung Jeremy to the floor and grinned faintly. “Don’t look so upset, kid. You oughtta be proud. I ain’t known many guys your size who could make His Lordship so mad. What’d you do?”
Jeremy backed away. “I’m a psychic, and Halthzor says I’m dangerous.”
The man who had been carrying him grinned. “A psychic? Sure you are, kid.” He stepped forward, turned Jeremy around, and removed the restrainers. “Okay, Bud, outta your clothes.”
Jeremy tried to jerk his arms free. “Let me go, blast you! You have no right to hold me here! I haven’t committed any crime.”
The patrolman--a sergeant, he realized belatedly, from the insignia on his helmet--grinned again. “He’s a Jil, kid, an’ that gives him the right. Outta those clothes, now. Move it.”
“You go climb a rope!”
The sergeant sighed. “Hold him Les.”
Jeremy fought, but Les grabbed him, his superior strength making the outcome obvious from the first. The sergeant began to strip off his clothes, swearing as the prisoner managed to kick him in the kneecap. “Dammit, kid, quit fightin’ so hard. It ain’t doin’ no good.”
Jeremy tried to bite him in the leg, then yipped as the second patrolman got him in an armlock. He subsided reluctantly, realizing the truth in the sergeant’s words. He was only exhausting himself, and he might need his strength later should the opportunity to escape present itself.
“Good kid,” the man said. “Hey, these are nice boots. You must shop in pretty high-class stores. Your folks rich?”
“Yes,” Jeremy agreed. “Very rich. They’d reward you generously if you brought me back to them unhurt.”
The sergeant laughed. “Nice try, kid.” He tossed the last article of clothing to the pile with the rest. “Okay, on the table. His Lordship’ll be here in a minute.”
Jeremy didn’t move. The sergeant sighed, and together the two men lifted him bodily to the narrow examining table. They fastened his wrists and ankles with straps and Les bent to pick up Jeremy’s boots.
“Say, these are nice. Wish they were a bit bigger. I’d take ‘em. Seems a shame to get ‘em all burned up.”
Jeremy lay still, tears of anger blurring his vision. The friendly sergeant reached over, ruffling his hair. “Sorry, kid. That’s life.”
“Go away!” Jeremy blazed. “Leave me alone!”
“Can’t, kid. We gotta watch you ‘til His Lordship arrives. Orders.”
Jeremy told him what he could do with his orders. The sergeant grinned, but didn’t answer.
Silence fell. Experimentally, Jeremy tugged at his bonds. They were immovable. He knew well that he could expect no help from his guards. They were Viceregal patrolmen, members of the armed military force that served the Jilectan Viceroy, Lord Lanthzor. Many Terrans worked for the Jilectans--mercenaries all, he knew, but through the Patrol, men had made their fortunes. Rank and power, difficult to obtain in this Jilectan dominated society, might come to the man who distinguished himself in the Viceregal Peace Patrol.
Les was still examining the boots. “Okay if I take these, sir? My li’l brother might be able to wear ‘em. He’s only fourteen.”
The sergeant shrugged. “Okay by me.”
“They’re *my* boots!” Jeremy protested, blinking away tears. “You can’t have ‘em! My brother gave ‘em to me!”
Les grinned. “You won’t be needing ‘em anymore, Squirt.”
The sergeant scowled. “Put the boots down, Les.”
“Aw, Sarge, the kid ain’t gonna…”
“I said put ‘em down.” The sergeant didn’t raise his voice, but Les obeyed at once. There was an uneasy silence.
At last the door slid aside, and Lord Volathvor entered. He paused, nodding curtly at the two guards. The two men saluted smartly and turned to exit.
A terrific explosion rent the air. It was horribly near, and Jeremy felt the table upon which he lay quiver with the concussion. Les cursed fluently, rushing for the door.
The panel slid shut in his face and he stumbled, falling against it. The sergeant was beside Volathvor at once, grasping his arm. Another explosion shook them, and part of the wall two meters to Jeremy’s right blew out. Smoke poured enthusiastically into the room.
“Hurry, m’lord!” The sergeant was pulling Volathvor toward the exit, shouting at Les to open the door. The Jilectan sank to his knees, groaning and retching. Les wrestled the panel open and bolted through. His sergeant followed, half-carrying the alien.
There was a third explosion, succeeded instantly by a fourth. Bits of debris rained down on Jeremy, and he began to choke as smoke filled his lungs. The smell was familiar. Tobacco smoke! What kind of chemical explosion would produce the odor of tobacco smoke?
He didn’t have time to think about it. Somewhere an alarm was shrilling and a fifth concussion rattled the building, raining more debris on him. Jeremy wrenched hopelessly at the straps confining him. It was useless. This was it, then. They would leave him here to die--an accident in the laboratory, easily explained to his grief-stricken parents…
A figure appeared through the haze of smoke, bending over him. He had a vague impression of a Terran, clad in the concealing garments of a firefighter, as the man jerked the straps that secured him to the table from his wrists and yanked him upright. A flowing, sticky, black cloth enveloped him, concealing his head and body completely. The man said something he didn’t understand, and strong arms lifted him easily. He landed across a pair of broad, well-muscled shoulders, and was carried effortlessly toward the door.
He couldn’t see. The clinging cloth covered him like a shroud, plastering his arms to his sides. Faintly, he could still hear the shrilling alarm, and fainter still, the wail of a siren. Someone was shouting orders, and another explosion made his ears ring. The man who carried him stumbled, and cursed breathlessly.
He was tossed roughly forward, landing on a yielding surface. Somewhere nearby there was the sound of an engine running, and he could feel the soft vibration beneath him.
“Got him!” a voice panted. “Move!”
Hands shoved Jeremy down hard. Everything lurched sharply, and the sound of the engine rose in pitch. He must have been placed in an aircar.
He couldn’t breathe, and began to struggle against the suffocating folds. The hand shoved him inexorably down again.
“Stay still!” a voice ordered, sharply.
In spite of the fact that he still seemed to be a prisoner, Jeremy suddenly felt calm. There was a sort of security here, and a promise of protection in the hand that was half-crushing him against the floor of the vehicle. He remained still, smothering patiently.
At last the hand on his shoulder moved and fingers closed around his shrouded arms, lifting him lightly to a seat. The covering was peeled back from his face, and Jeremy saw the features of a Terran. The man was big-boned, with a tanned, prematurely lined face, his black hair flecked with grey. He wore a deep blue jumpsuit, very restful to the eyes after the glaring yellow of the servants’ attire.
“Hi,” the man said, in very Terran English. “You okay?”
It didn’t seem like an unfriendly greeting, and Jeremy nodded tentatively, drawing a deep breath.
“Good. Sorry to mummy you like that. Wasn’t time to answer questions.” He peeled the cloth back farther, freeing Jeremy’s arms. “Where’s your clothes?”
Jeremy had to clear his throat twice before his voice would work. “The patrolmen took ‘em off. They said it was Volathvor’s orders.”
“Figures.” The man snorted. “Don’t want anything in the way while you’re examining your lab animals. He sure was interested in you, wasn’t he? Do you know why?”
He cleared his throat again, still unsure of his status. “Do I have to answer that?”
His rescuer looked surprised, then grinned. “You’re not a prisoner anymore.” He extended a hand. “Leon Williams, Terran Underground.” He nodded at the man behind the controls. “He’s Bruce Foster.”
Jeremy took Leon’s extended hand, rather uncertainly. “I’m Jeremy Burke.”
“Yeah, we know.” The man cocked an eyebrow at him. “We’ve been watching old Volathvor for some time, now. Seemed to us he was getting too damned interested in us lowly Terrans for comfort.”
Memory jolted through him. “Oh, gosh! There were two other prisoners!”
“We got ‘em,” the driver said. He nodded at the seat beside him. “They arrived a few seconds before you did. Weren’t so hard to get to as you. They didn’t have a Jil watching them.”
Jeremy peered over the seat. Two small, limp forms, also wrapped in black cloth, lay on the floor of the vehicle beneath the dashboard. He looked quickly as Leon. “Are they dead?”
“Just drugged. The Jil wanted to keep ‘em out while he wasn’t experimenting on them. He picked the girl right off the street about a month ago, and he’s been recruiting and probing Terrans ever since. He’s not a bit vocal about his reasons, though.” The man’s soft, brown eyes met his “Can you enlighten us, Jeremy?”
“Well,” said Jeremy, doubtfully, ”I can, but I’m not sure you’ll believe me. I’m not sure I believe it, myself.”
The driver handed his controls over to the car’s computer and turned in the seat, watching him. Jeremy wet his lips nervously. “They’re psychics.” He hesitated. “And so am I. At least Volathvor says so.”
Leon whistled softly. “Holy space!”
Foster wiped a hand across his mouth, glancing at Leon. “Thought it might be something big when the boss said Halthzor’d been called in.”
“Halthzor said we could be dangerous if we ever learned to use our talents,” Jeremy continued. “They took the names of my family. Volathvor said the trait might be inherited.” He bit his lip. “My brothers and sisters are a lot like me. I guess it’s possible.”
“Quite possible,” Leon said, quietly. “They are with the Jils. Good psychics produce good psychics, and poor psychics produce poor ones. Of course, *all* of them are psychics, but…”
“You believe me?” Jeremy said, incredulously.
“Well, sure.” Foster glanced at his instruments, then turned back to Jeremy. "We’ve sort of been waiting for something like this to happen. No other species in the sector can boast a history with the number of magicians, fortune-tellers, and soothsayers as us Terrans. Before we met the Jils, lots of people claimed psychic powers, and there were some pretty high-powered scientists studying the subject.” The man grinned wryly. “Afterwards, of course, we hushed it up as well as we could. That’s why anybody who claims they’re a psychic now gets laughed at. Our bosses had a pretty good idea what kind of treatment a species with that sort of potential would get from a race of real, honest-to-God psychics--especially when they’re as power-hungry as the Jils. But they didn’t forget about it, you can bet. They’ve been working like crazy ever since, to find out how these powers operate.”
“And did they?” Jeremy asked, still trying to adjust his thinking to this new information.
“They were making some progress,” Foster said. “Not nearly fast enough to do much good--mostly because they weren’t sure what to look for. Then we got lucky.” He chuckled. “A few months ago some of our people--selected for their resistance to telepathy--got hold of some info on Jil psychic training techniques. We can shield our people now, and that makes a big difference. The man who carried you out was a shielded Undergrounder. He’s been working in the lab for some time.” He snorted. “Eddie’s an inventive little guy. Those cartons of burning cigarettes he tossed in with the bombs were his touch. Jils can’t stand cigarette smoke, you know. Makes ‘em sicker’n dogs.” He rubbed his hands together. “Man, oh man, is the boss going to be happy to see you!”
“But why?” Jeremy protested. “I thought we…” he gestured to the other two rescued psychics, “blew the whole thing for you.”
“Naw.” Leon whacked his shoulder. “We were waiting for it. kid. We said one of the problems was that we didn’t know what to look for. Now we *know* we’re on the right track. The Jils found you *for* us!”
Jeremy glanced out the window. Shallock’s star hung low on the horizon, a glowing ball of scarlet, and the sky was alight with streaks of red and gold fire. They had left Scaifen behind, and were moving over a green, rolling countryside.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“To the station,” Leon replied. “From there we’ll get you off world.”
“But I have to go home! I have to warn my family!”
Leon whacked his bare shoulder again. “Take it easy, Jer. We’ll get them out in plenty of time.”
"But what if they don’t believe you?”
“Oh, I think they’ll believe Terran Military Intelligence,” Leon said, blandly. “Of course, this whole thing will be blamed on that bunch of wild-eyed lunatics, the Terran Underground, as usual. It keeps the Confederation off the hook with the Jils.” He chuckled. “You have no idea how convenient that particular invention has been for us. How many relatives do you have?”
“A lot,” Jeremy said, a little reluctantly. “My grandparents had twenty kids…and most to them have families now.”
Instead of appearing dismayed, Leon seemed pleased. “Don’t look so worried,” he said, calmly. “If they’re psychics—and a fair percentage may be—we’ll be glad to get them.”
“Thanks.” Jeremy had begun to feel more cheerful. “Gosh, you guys are great! I didn’t even realize I’d been rescued at first!
Leon smiled. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Terra may not win this round, but either way the Jils’ll know they’ve been in a fight, and you psychics just might turn out to be the best ammunition we’ve ever had.”
“We’ll win,” Jeremy said, with a sense of determination filling him. "We have to."
The driver nodded. "We have to," he repeated. "In the end, it boils down to the survival of the human race. Terrans are tough, Jeremy. We'll do whatever it takes. There's no other choice."
The End
