Pawn: 3/4
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
"It was a terrible accident." He heard Alan's voice speaking in the back of his mind. "Dad was flying low over the river so my little sis could see the rapids, when all of a sudden this big, black car came diving right at us. Dad tried to bring us out, but it was too late. I woke up four days later. I was at my grandmother's home and she had been taking care of me since the accident. She wouldn't tell me why -- why I wasn't in the hospital. Mom and Dad were dead and Janice ..." He'd paused. "Little Curly Top had gone into the river. Her body was never recovered. Grandma was afraid of something, I think. She sent me away -- back to the Academy -- as soon as she could. She told me not to talk about the accident to anyone. I never knew why. She only lived two months after that ..."
**********
Mark stood still, staring numbly into those eyes. The girl had scrambled to her feet, her lips quivering.
"M'lord! Oh, m'lord, please don't ..." Her voice stopped and those beautiful eyes fastened on his face. "You're not a Jilectan!" The whisper was not a question. "You've come here to kill me!"
Linley swallowed again and lowered the blaster. The big, green eyes filled with tears. "Please don't kill me!"
"Why are you helpin' the Jilectans?" Linley scarcely recognized his own voice. He cleared his throat.
The girl began to cry. "They found out I can read the Arcturians. They make me do it! I don't want to, but they make me! Don't kill me!" The sobs became more violent.
He swallowed a third time. The girl spoke with a distinctly Terran accent. It could have been Alan speaking.
"Please don't kill me! Please! I don't even like the Jilectans! They're hateful! Mean and hateful!"
"Take it easy, honey, I ain't gonna hurtcha." Linley stuffed his blaster back into the muff. "What's your name?"
"Janice." She gulped back sobs.
"What's your last name?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. They won't tell me."
"Couldn't you pick it up from the guards?"
"I'm not allowed," she said. "They won't let me read anybody without permission. If they catch me reading somebody ..." She didn't finish the sentence.
Linley mangled his lower lip. "How did you get here, Janice?"
"I don't know." She shook her head again. "I've been with the Jilectans a long time. At first ... at first they just did tests on me, 'cause I'm a psychic." She gulped. "They hate Terran psychics, you know."
Linley smiled a little. "Yeah, I know."
"But then they found out I can read the Arcturians. I always thought they could, too, but they can't."
"Yeah, I know. How did you come to be with the Jils in the first place, though?"
"They said there was an aircar accident," Janice said. "My mommy and daddy were killed." She spoke matter-of-factly. "It was a long time ago."
Time was passing; he should be moving. Mark bit his lip. "Did you have any brothers or sisters, Janice?" His shields were up as tight as he could make them. She shouldn't be able to read his mind without him knowing.
"I had a brother. He was killed, too."
"What was his name?"
The girl was looking at him, puzzled. "I called him Allie. I don't remember him very well."
Linley came to a decision, his gaze still riveted to those heart-stopping green eyes. "Okay, Janice, listen to me. I'm gonna getcha outta here." He strode toward her and yanked the spread from the bed. "You do just what I tellya and we'll do okay. Got it?"
Her lips quivered and melted into a smile. "Away from here? You're going to take me away from the Jilectans?"
"Right." Linley wrapped the spread around her and swept her up in one powerful arm, perching her on his hip. With care, he pulled the fur cloak over her. The resulting lump was not large. It should do.
"Whatever happens, don't move," he told her. "And don't make a sound."
Slim arms clasped him about the chest and the girl clung tightly to him. Mark picked up the muff with the blaster inside, holding the weapon in one hand. He strode out of the room and back to the lift. Turning, he fired four stunbolts and pressed the lift button with the nose of the blaster.
It slid open instantly, revealing the patrolman he had encountered on his way up. The man was speaking as the doors moved aside. "Hey, guys, did a Jil show up while I ... urk!"
Linley fired a stunbolt and the man collapsed forward through the doors. Mark stepped over his body, kicking his legs out of the way, and pressed the first floor indicator. The lift proceeded downward.
They had nearly reached the second level when the alarm went off. Mark's hand hit the emergency open button. He couldn't stay in the lift; that was the first thing that would be immobilized. The doors opened, revealing a drop of about half a meter before him. He leaped down into a corridor thickly covered with a plush carpet that deadened all sound as he walked. He flipped the blaster to "kill" and strode down the hallway.
Four security guards rushed past him toward another doorway. It hissed open before them, then closed. His Jilectan disguise was still doing some good, apparently.
There was noise on the stairway. He would never be able to get out that way, but there was another alternative. Grasping his blaster, Mark strode toward one of the doorways which, no doubt, opened on a bedroom.
A Procyon servant passed him, his round, dark eyes wide with agitation. Mark started to reach for the button that would open the door, when it hissed open in front of him. Linley found himself confronting a Jilectan.
The alien was about the same height as Mark, his eyes a cold, icy grey, hair a pale, strawberry blond. He wore night clothing, a deep red plush robe and scarlet, furred slippers. For a split second they stared at each other in shock, then the alien's hands came up, reaching for him, and his mouth opened to shout.
Mark fired. The Jilectan was hurled backwards into the room and Linley stepped after him, jabbing the closing button as he did so. The door slid shut in the faces of half a dozen servants and a female Jilectan. Mark hit the locking switch and a bolt clicked into place. He looked frantically around.
There was a window, all right, but heavy, metal bars covered it. Behind him he heard the whine of a blaster and the door began to smoke. Linley flipped his weapon to emergency maximum and fired at the window.
The energy cell of the blaster gave up its charge in one terrific burst of flame. The window -- and a good section of the wall as well -- disappeared. Mark strode past the body of the Jilectan and looked down. It was a drop of at least four meters into darkness, but there was no other choice. Already the door was buckling behind him. Without further consideration he jumped, just as the panel crashed open.
He lit feet first, flexing his knees and going to the ground as he hit to keep from jarring his burden. The girl's hands were hooked tightly in the ornamental belt and she was doing exactly as she had been told, clinging to him and not uttering a sound. Mark rolled to his feet and ran toward the hedge where he had left Alan and the aircar.
The crack of a blaster sounded behind him and snow exploded into steam on his right, barely half a meter away. Mark ducked his head and kept running. Someone was firing at him from what was left of the bedroom wall.
A blaster cracked in front of him, the light revealing Alan's face. His partner was shooting from the front seat of the aircar. Twice more he fired, and there was a high, feminine scream behind Mark.
Linley reached the aircar and scrambled inside. "Go, kid!" he snapped.
The car was already rising from the ground. Mark squirmed around and pulled the door shut. The aircar gained altitude and speed, rising like a bullet into the sky. Sirens screamed behind them.
**********
Chapter Seven
"What the heck happened?" Alan demanded, not turning his head as the vehicle shot away into the icy air.
Mark was peering back through the rear window. "They're after us. Hit it, kid."
"I am." Alan's voice sounded strained. "Did you get him?"
"Yes and no." Mark pushed back the fur cloak and lifted the girl to his lap, beginning to unwind the bedspread. She was clad only in a light night shift and her feet were bare. "Are you okay, honey?"
"Who are you calling honey?" Alan demanded, indignantly.
Mark grinned. "Not you, that's for sure. I got somebody with me." He peered out the back window again. "Looks like we're outdistancin' 'em. This must be a pretty souped-up heap."
"What did you expect? This is a Jil's car." Alan grinned, too, then sobered, glancing at his scanners. "They're going to bring in re-enforcements, fast, though. What do we do, now?"
Linley made a quick decision. "Where are we?"
"Almost over Halthzor's estate." Alan glanced back. "Think fast."
"Fly low -- as close to the ground as you can. It'll confuse their scanners. When we get to the wooded land, pull into it and stop." Linley reached over the seat for their discarded clothing and handed Alan's maintenance coverall to the girl. "Get into it. Hurry."
She obeyed, beginning to pull on the far-too-large clothing. Mark draped Alan's cape around her. "Here you go, sweetie. Kid, you're gonna hafta wear my coat. There's some trees. Pull into 'em, quick!"
Alan did so and the doors were open before the vehicle was fully stopped. They scrambled out of the car.
"We gotta make tracks fast," Mark said. "It won't take 'em long to find the car ... What are you doin', kid?"
Alan was leaning into the vehicle. As Linley spoke, he slammed the door and stood back as the car rose into the air and shot away toward the north, gaining altitude as it went.
"Down!" Mark commanded.
They fell flat in the snow. Linley peered up through the matted branches as Patrol cars screamed past overhead, following the fleeing craft.
When the chase had died into the distance they got to their feet. Mark handed Alan his Patrol overcoat and his partner wrapped it around himself. It was far too large, of course, dragging in the snow as Alan thrust his arms into the sleeves and buttoned up the front, then rolled up the cuffs three or four times. Mark picked up the girl. "Think you can hang onto my back, honey?"
She nodded, smiling. Mark swung her up and she clung to him like a lithe little monkey, her arms clasped around his neck. He glanced down at Alan, realizing abruptly how small his partner was from the lofty height of his Jilectan disguise. "Um ... Alan."
"Yes, Mark?"
"This is Janice. She's the psychic the Jils were usin' to read the Arcturians. Uh ..." He paused, finding it unexpectedly hard to form the words. "Maybe you'd better siddown."
Alan looked at him, his face barely visible in the dimness. Flakes drifted through the air between them.
"What's the matter?"
"Uh ..." Linley cleared his throat. "Kid, I think ... I think she's your sister." The words came out in a rush.
"What?"
"Yeah. She says her family was killed in an aircar accident years back. She had a brother named Allie ... and she's a dead ringer for you."
Alan was peering up at the girl on Mark's back, his green eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "What's your name? Your last name?"
"I don't know," the childish Terran accent replied. "They wouldn't tell me."
"What did your brother call you? Did he have a name for you?"
She was silent for a long moment and when she spoke, her voice was very low. "Allie used to call me Curly Top."
Alan sat down hard on a fallen log. "Oh, my God."
Mark sat down next to him. "You okay, kid?"
His partner nodded jerkily. Linley saw him wipe a hand across his eyes. He swallowed and looked up at the girl. "Jan, you're not going to believe this, but he's right. You probably don't remember me very well; you were only four at the time of the accident -- but I remember you. I was fifteen. I'm your brother, Alan."
The girl was silent for several seconds, then spoke, sounding puzzled. "They said everybody was killed. How can you be my brother?"
"Kid, we gotta get goin'." Mark stood up and took him by the elbow.
Alan got to his feet, nodding. He cleared his throat. "Thanks, Mark."
"My pleasure, kid." Mark grinned at him, then sneezed.
"Gesundheit," Alan said. "Look, we need to get another aircar. Which way is Halthzor's place, anyhow?"
"East of here," Mark said. "I got a look at it just before we came down." He shoved back the sleeve of his robe to check his chronometer. "We better get movin'. They'll be back lookin' for us as soon as they realize there's nobody in the car."
Turning east, they began to slog through drifts of snow that came to Linley's knees. Beneath the great, spreading fir trees it was pitch dark and bitterly cold. The snow was starting to come down harder again and the wind had begun to pick up. Branches moaned and crackled around them in the rising wind, muffling the crunch of their feet in the snow. Alan was speaking to his sister.
"Grandma told me you'd been killed, too, Jan. I woke up in her apartment four days after the accident. She said Mom and Dad were both dead and your body had gone into the river. I ..." His voice faltered. "I thought ..." He fell silent. Linley carefully refrained from looking around, but slogged forward, breaking a path for his shorter partner. The wind was definitely blowing harder now, swirling the flakes stingingly into their faces. Linley sneezed four times in quick succession. His ears were ringing and his head ached. Behind him, Alan sneezed, too, twice. Man, what a pair of heroes, he thought, disgustedly. Tom Trueheart, valiant space explorer of the videoscreen, never has problems like this! He fished in his robes for a tissue and blew his nose.
"Let me have one of those, will you, Mark?" Alan's voice said from behind him. "Your germs have found a new home."
Mark laughed involuntarily and passed him a tissue. "We're both gonna have pneumonia by the time this is over. Here. Have a cold capsule."
They slogged on through snowdrifts. The wind was howling now, whipping the fur cloak around Linley's ankles. He cursed the heavy, high-heeled boots and flowing robes that tangled around his legs in soggy, clinging folds. He was wearing the Patrol breeches under the robes but they, too, were wet from the snow almost to his knees. He felt Alan grasp him by the cloak.
"Hold it, Mark. Gotta rest."
Linley paused, breathing hard. He began to cough as Alan sank down on a tree stump. The chauffeur's cap was gone and his partner was futilely brushing away the flakes that coated his dark, curly hair.
"Brrr!" Alan pulled the Patrol coat tighter. "That cough sounds awful, Mark."
"Doesn't feel so great either, kid. Where's your hat?"
"Hat? Oh, the chauffeur's cap. About the third time it blew off, I let it go. The stupid thing didn't even have a chin strap."
"Oh." Mark grinned. "You can borrow mine, if you want."
"No, thanks, Your Lordship," Alan said. "It'd look pretty silly on me."
"It looks pretty silly on me, too." Linley glanced back at Janice. "Howya doin', sweetie?"
"Fine, Mark," the girl said. "Where are we going?"
"We're gonna pay His Grace a visit," Mark said.
She moved convulsively against his shoulders. "Duke Halthzor? Oh, no, you mustn't!"
"Don't worry, honey." Mark reached up and patted her hand. "We ain't gonna bother His Almightiness with our lowly presence. We'll just try'n pick up an aircar off his estate. We're already on his grounds, an' there was a party goin' on at the mansion awhile ago. Oughtta be a few limos still there. We have a station about a hundred kilometers from here where we can get help. After that, we'll head home."
Janice relaxed. "That's good." She glanced at Alan. "Where's home?"
He smiled at her, hesitating a little. "Have you ever heard of the Terran Underground, Jan?"
"Oh, yes!" Janice giggled. "All the time. The Jilectans get awfully upset about it. That's why they were so excited when they found out I could read Arcturians. And the patrollers hate it. They call it all kinds of awful names."
Mark laughed. "Yeah, I know."
"We're with the Underground, Jan," Alan said. "We joined it about five years ago when the Jils found out I was a psychic and ordered me killed. As a matter of fact ..." His voice became amused. "You've probably heard of us at one time or another. That might be one of the reasons they wouldn't tell you your last name. It isn't a very popular one with them."
"What is it?" the girl asked.
"Westover," Alan said.
"Oh, my goodness!" Janice started to giggle again. "I *have* heard of you!" The giggle became a laugh. "And all this time I was hearing about my own brother!" She paused and craned her neck over Mark's shoulder, trying to see his face in the dimness. "Then you must be Strike Commander Linley, right?"
"That's right," Mark said. "Halthzor talk about me a lot, too?"
"Oh, yes. He doesn't like you very much, either. Did Alan really brainwash you?"
Mark snorted. "I s'pose you might call it that, honey."
"Well, I'm glad he did," Janice said, firmly. "I like you much better this way." She sneezed suddenly.
"Uh oh," Mark said. "I hope you ain't catchin' my cold."
He felt her shake her head. "It isn't that ..." She sneezed again. "Golly, you smell awful, Mark." Her voice sounded apologetic. "It makes my nose tickle."
"That's my expensive Jil perfumery," Linley explained. "Lousy, ain't it?"
She nodded. "Lousy," she agreed. "But it sure makes you smell like a Jilectan. I always sneezed when the Viceroy was around. He'd get insulted about it -- thought I was doing it on purpose, I guess. He smells worse than you do, Mark."
Linley chuckled. "How old are you, Jan?"
He felt her shrug. "I don't know."
"Twelve," Alan said. "I was eleven when she was born and I was twenty-three last week."
"Doesn't look it," Mark said.
"Neither do I." Alan's teeth gleamed in the darkness. "As a matter of fact, our mother was awfully little, and Dad wasn't much taller than me. Do you suppose ..."
"Probably," Mark said. "If they were both psychics, it could explain a lot about you -- and Jan, too."
"Grandma was small, you know," Alan said, thoughtfully. "At the time of the accident I remember she only came up to my nose -- and I was barely fifteen." He paused, frowning. "I'm wondering about that accident, now. It never occurred to me before that it might not have been an accident." He hesitated, then continued, slowly. "Grandma was so scared after that. She told me to keep quiet about it -- about being in the car. She wouldn't talk about it much ..." Again he paused. "And then she died only two months later. Grandma wasn't very old and she never got sick as far back as I can remember." He looked at Mark. "I wonder what really happened."
"Doubt if we'll ever know. Coulda been lotsa things. Maybe the Jils' spies spotted little Jan and our almighty overlords decided they wanted her alive to study, so they arranged the accident to keep people from askin' questions. Or it coulda been somethin' completely different. Well, kid, if you're rested we better push on before we freeze to death." Mark pulled the hat down farther on his head and flexed his fingers, regretting the loss of the muff, the remains of which he had dropped with the exhausted blaster in the snow back at the Viceregal Mansion.
Alan stood up and they started on again. Mark glanced back. The trail they left was rapidly filling with snow, obliterating any traces of their presence. There was no way the Patrol could track them in this stuff, unless they resorted to infra-red scanners, and Linley didn't hear any aircars, at least yet. He blew his nose again and coughed. His throat hurt when he swallowed and his eyes teared constantly. Snow whipped his exposed face. The wind cut savagely through the formal robes.
After a time he noted that the trees were thinning out. Ahead, perhaps two kilometers away, was the Ducal mansion. Every window blazed brilliantly, diffused to a soft haze by the dancing snow. Outside of the trees the snow was thicker, and Alan caught Mark by the cloak to keep up with him. Linley strode on, keeping to the shadows of the occasional trees. The uneven ground ahead gave way suddenly to a flat surface. They halted, peering through the whirling flakes.
It was a parking lot. Dimly, through the snow, Mark could see the bulks of aircars here and there. Man, there must be a couple of hundred Jils here, at least, judging by the aircars!
"Looks like we can take our pick," Alan said, softly.
"Yeah, but watch out for guards." Mark glanced back at Janice. "How you doin'?"
"Fine," the girl replied. "If I had some shoes, I could walk by myself."
Mark grinned. "Sorry, sweetie, nearest shoe store's about fifty kilometers south o' here. We're gonna get us a ride. Just hang on an' don't make any noise."
They went across the piled drifts toward the lot. Except for the flying snow, there was no motion. On the far side of the lot was a guard shack but if there were guards there was no sign of them.
The closest aircar was parked near the edge of the lot. As they approached, Alan touched Linley's arm. "Watch it, m'lord," he whispered.
"What?"
"I don't know. I'm getting a warning."
Mark glanced uneasily around. Still, nothing moved. They had just reached the vehicle when a figure loomed out of the snow. They ducked quickly into the deep shadow of the car, crouching low. A man in the winter uniform of a security guard went past them. He paused next to the aircar, shielded from the wind and in plain sight of the fugitives. Mark caught the flare of a lighter. The guard was sneaking a cigarette -- an act strictly forbidden by the Jilectans, who were made violently ill by any kind of contact with tobacco smoke. The three crouched in the shadow, trying to breathe quietly. Janice knelt in the snow behind them where Mark had pushed her. All was still. The guard puffed his cigarette in silence ...
Mark sneezed.
The guard's head snapped up, the cigarette spiraling to the snow. He spun, his blaster leaping into his hand. Alan moved.
His shoulder hit the man at knee level, both arms encircling his legs. The blaster went flying and the guard came down on top of him. Alan gave a cry of pain. Then Mark was upon them. He grasped the man by the back of his coat, yanking him off of his partner. With a practice born of ten years in the Viceregal Patrol, he spun the guard around. The man gave a strangled gasp as Mark's hand twisted in his collar, lifting him effortlessly from the ground. His eyes widened and he cowered back. Mark's fist slammed solidly into his face.
The guard went limp. Linley dropped him and went to one knee beside Alan, who was huddled in the snow. "Kid! You all right?"
"My wrist." Alan's face was greenish-white in the dimness. He was clutching his left wrist and Mark could see the peculiar position of his hand. The joint was already beginning to swell. He swore softly.
"I think you busted it."
"I felt it pop." Alan looked sick. "It hurts, Mark."
Linley swore again. "Hold still." He tried the door of the car. "Locked. You're gonna hafta open it. Can you do it?"
"Just a moment." Alan took a deep breath. "I need my power pack."
Linley knelt beside him in the snow, grasping his good hand. Alan closed his eyes. After a second he opened them. "Got it."
"Okay." Linley glanced at Janice. "Get in and open the back door."
Janice scrambled into the car and an instant later the door swung open. Supporting the injured wrist with care, Mark helped his partner into the back seat. "Lie down, kid. I don't wantcha passin' out on me. Soon as we put some distance between us and here, I'll stop and see to that."
"Okay, Mark," Alan said, faintly.
Reaching into the car, Linley pressed a knob on the dash to open the hood. He went around to the front and leaned in. With an expertise that would have amazed anyone who had not known him during his teen years in the slums of Shallock, he made several adjustments to the engine. The motor roared to life.
He eased the hood down, closing it with a soft click, and ran around to the driver's side. Within seconds the car was lifting off, purring gently through the snowstorm toward the gate.
"Get on the floor, Jan," he ordered. "We don't want the guard to see you."
The girl obeyed. Mark stepped on the accelerator.
The guard at the Ducal gate raised a hand as Linley approached, but Mark didn't even slow down. He saw the man leap aside as the car barreled through the opening, and gunned the motor for all it was worth. The gate vanished into the snowy darkness behind them. Mark turned the stolen aircar toward the north.
He kept the vehicle as close to the ground as possible to avoid the scanner net, but he pushed it to the highest speed he dared. It was quite possible that the gate guard might not even report their hasty exit. Mark's own life had been menaced in exactly that manner by more than one Jilectan aircar during his early years in the Patrol. It was the shared opinion of every patrolman he had ever known that the chauffeurs made a game of trying to hit the sentries. It was not a theory he had ever cared to test, but it came in handy just now. Still, as soon as the parking lot guard regained consciousness, the theft would certainly be discovered. He must make the best use of the time they had before that happened.
Some twenty minutes later he pulled the car into a grove of trees. "Okay, kid, I'm gonna put a splint on your wrist, now."
"All right." Alan was still clutching the wrist in his right hand. "It would have to be my left hand, drat it."
"Yeah." Mark got out and slid into the rear seat beside him. "Well, there's any more shootin' t'do, I guess I'll just hafta handle it. Let's hope we're done with that for the evenin'."
"Amen to that," Alan said.
Ten minutes later, Mark was securing his handiwork firmly with a strip of cloth torn from the hem of his high fashion robes. Alan's forearm and hand were bound to the ornamental sheath of the Jilectan ceremonial knife, and Linley ripped away another large swath of fabric to fashion a sling for his partner, heedless of the ruin to the expensive gown.
"There," he said. "That oughtta hold you 'til we can getcha to a doctor. We're over halfway there, now. Feel better?"
"Yeah, a lot." Alan grinned shakily. "Thanks."
"Good." Linley opened the back door. "I'll bet the Patrol instructors'd have a hemorrhage if they could see how I been puttin' their field trainin' to use the last five years. If the bandages start to feel tight, lemme know." He assisted his partner out of the rear seat and into the front passenger position, then went around to the driver's side. The car moved forward once more.
**********
Chapter Eight
The aircar skimmed along the surface of the planet, barely a meter above the ground. Mark was navigating by his instruments, keeping them low, Alan knew, to avoid the scanner net, but it was a hair-raising ride, nevertheless. Snowflakes splatted against the windshield, to be swished instantly away by the wipers. The great, fernlike evergreens loomed out of the darkness with terrifying suddenness, for Mark was keeping the lights off. Janice huddled in the seat, her small, lithe body squeezed between Mark and Alan. He heard her inhale sharply as Linley swerved to avoid an enormous boulder that rose suddenly in their path, never slowing his speed. Alan gritted his teeth and hung on. His swollen wrist still throbbed, in spite of the supporting splint, but the queasiness had departed.
He sneezed. The cold had a good grip on him, there was no question of that. What a pair they must look like to Janice! Dashing around in freezing weather, sneezing their heads off. He glanced down at her. She must have sensed it, for she looked up at the same instant, her green eyes glowing in the darkness. He gave her a reassuring grin.
Her teeth flashed in a neat twin of his own smile. She had dimples in both cheeks. He'd forgotten about those. Alan felt a lump rise in his throat and had to swallow hard. "We'll make it, Jan. Don't worry."
She nodded brightly. "I know. I'm not scared. I'm just glad to be away from those ... those monsters."
Alan had to swallow again. "Was it pretty awful, Jan?"
Her eyes fell from his and she shrugged. "The Jilectans are used to having their own way ... and they don't like Terran psychics very much."
Surprised, he found himself gritting his teeth. "Did they hurt you, Jan?"
She shrugged again. "Only when I wouldn't cooperate with them. Once I tried to get away ..." Her voice faltered. "That was the worst time ... I never tried it again."
There was a silence, then Mark reached over and ruffled her curls. "You'll like it at the base, honey. They're the best sorta people in the galaxy, and a lotta little psychics like you." He took his hand from her head and reached over to flip on the radio. "Let's see what they're sayin' about us." He glanced at Alan. "How's the wrist, kid? Still hurt?"
"I'll live," Alan said.
Mark squinted out at the cloud of flakes rushing toward their windshield. "This is sure turnin' out to be an interestin' night!" He fiddled with the unit, instructing it to find a news station.
They didn't have to wait long. Every station was apparently a news station tonight.
"... The following update in the search for former Strike Commander Mark Linley, who was positively identified by a witness as the intruder in the Viceregal Mansion this evening. An aircar has been reported missing from the estate of His Grace, Duke Halthzor. A security guard was assaulted at the scene. He states that a small, Terran male attacked him while he was making his rounds, and that this Terran was assisted by a Jilectan wearing formal dress. Because of this, the guard made no resistance ..."
Mark snorted. "He probably thought I was mad at him for smokin' on the job."
The announcer was continuing. "It is believed that this guard was attacked by Linley, who is apparently masquerading as a Jilectan. The description of the smaller assailant matches that of Linley's known associate, Alan Westover. The stolen vehicle is an official Jilectan aircar, serial number ..." A long string of digits followed. "It is painted a bicolor pattern of green and silver, with the official insignia of Jilectan noblewoman, Lady Tranthzill. Anyone seeing this aircar ..."
Mark told the computer to switch channels and another voice came over the speaker.
"... The official aircar of His Grace, Duke Halthzor. His Grace reports the car was stolen from the Loquin Patrol Base garage, where it had been taken for repairs. The car crashed into the roof of Lord Revolthvor's residence, exploding on impact, and destroying His Lordship's unique collection of exotic shrubs and flowering plants, which were lost when the mansion burned ..."
Mark's eyebrows flew up. "Revolthvor's probably not too happy with us, either," he was beginning, when the announcer's voice resumed.
"The Vicereine is now reported in serious, but stable condition in the Loquin Hills Private Hospital, where she was taken following the shooting at the Viceregal Estate this evening. This event occurred during Her Highness' valiant attempt to prevent the escape of the Terran male who fatally shot the Viceroy in the daring abduction of a prisoner held in the Viceregal Security Bloc ..."
The aircar swerved sharply under Mark's hands.
"The murderer has been positively identified as former Strike Commander Mark Linley of the Viceregal Patrol. The Vicereine was shot by Linley's companion, believed to be the wanted criminal, Alan Westover. This tragic event ..."
Alan's eyes met Mark's.
"Holy heck!" Alan said, awed. "Mark, you shot the Viceroy!"
Linley's expression was almost comical. "Gosh," he said, finally, too stunned even to swear. "He didn't *look* all that important. He was in a nightshirt."
"You mean you didn't *know*?"
Linley shook his head. "He tried to grab me. Real shrimp, too. Didn't look much bigger'n me."
"Kaley's going to kill us," Alan said.
"Why should he?" Mark asked, reasonably. "It's free publicity and it'll make every subject species in the Sector pleased as punch. That guy was hated by everyone except the Jils, themselves. And after that business on Regash ..." He stopped.
Alan was silent a moment. "I hope so," he said, at last. "I was just thinking of that lecture he gave us last month about harebrained risks."
"It wasn't harebrained!" Linley spoke indignantly. "It was well thought out and carried through perfectly. If I hadn't run into the minor difficulty of findin' myself pointin' a blaster at m' li'l pal's baby sis it would have gone over without a hitch. They never would'a known we were there 'til we were long gone. 'Sides, there wasn't any other choice, short o' bombin' the mansion, an' that woulda caused a bigger stink than this -- plus bein' a lot more chancy. An' I'll tell Kaley so if he says anythin'. But I'll betcha he won't after he reads the report. All I'm scared of is that we're gonna get decorated again. Kaley just can't resist makin' us heroes, whether we like it or not."
Alan had to agree. It was one of several reasons he held such a high rank at so young an age. Being the psychic member of the most successful team of troubleshooters in the Underground had its downside, as some of their more successful operations had resulted in a good deal of publicity. Kaley, always alert for ways to stimulate the morale of his people, was quick to take advantage of the circumstances. Alan also suspected that their commanding officer took malicious satisfaction out of it. He sighed and broke into a series of sneezes. Mark dropped a tissue in his lap.
The announcer's voice had continued to orate on the depravity of Westover, Linley, and the Underground in general. Mark reached over and switched it off, shaking his head. "Man, whatta night!"
Janice looked up at Mark, and Alan hid a smile at the frank hero-worship on her face. "I'm glad you killed him. He was nasty. Even worse than Halthzor." She frowned a little, as though recalling something not very pleasant.
Mark glanced down at her, then back at the windshield. Gently, he ruffled the tousled curls on her head. "Well, whatever he did, he won't do it any more."
The Viceroy's reputation had been very bad, as Mark had said, and none of the subject species would mourn his passing. If they had dared, they would have celebrated. The Viceroy, Lord Lanthzor, had been savagely oppressive -- far worse than his father, whom he had replaced fifteen years before. "That business on Regash" was his latest atrocity, still fresh in the minds of Terrans all over the Sector. A Patrol military base on the planet had been sabotaged and the Viceroy blamed the Terran Underground. He decreed that if the saboteur did not come forward all members of the colony would die. The Underground had not been involved in the affair and was unable to prevent the tragedy. Four hundred and seventy-eight humans were executed, over the vociferous protests of Terra's government. A psychic, unconnected with the Underground, had given a false confession, hoping to avert the massacre but upon interrogation the falsehood was discovered and he had been sentenced to public execution in punishment. Upon his arrival on Corala for the event, Terran agents were able to effect his rescue but the crowning blow of the whole ugly incident was the Terran Underground's discovery that the sabotage had been staged by the Patrol on orders from the Viceroy as an excuse to ban Terran colonization to the planet. A Jilectan colony was already in the process of occupying the deserted settlement.
Thinking it over now and glancing at the small form of Janice, seated beside him, Alan could not feel sorry that the Viceroy had met an undeservedly easy end at the hands of his partner.
The lights of Frazeen glowed on the horizon minutes later, blurred by the falling snow. Mark pulled the car to a stop under a bunch of evergreens and did something to the controls.
"We can't take the car any closer, kids -- might lead the Patrol to the station. Besides, we need to get rid of it before it's identified." He shoved back the sleeve of his robe to check a readout on his chronometer, which he had set for Riskell the previous night. "Accordin' to this, there'll be a satellite in range in about twenty minutes, and we know they're already scannin' for the car. They'll spot it before long, so I set it to random tourin', to make backtrackin' us harder. We're gonna hafta walk the rest o' the way. Can you make it all right?"
"Sure." Alan regarded his sodden boots ruefully and sneezed hard, his ears ringing. Mark surveyed him critically.
"I think you're runnin' a temperature."
"I know I am," Alan replied. "But this is the last trek through the snow. If we survive it we can have our pneumonia in peace at the station."
"Okay, then, come on." Mark opened the door and got out. "Jan, you get another piggyback ride." He swung her to his back. Alan climbed out beside them and Linley glanced toward him. "You okay, buddy?"
"Sure." He clutched the far too large coat about himself. The snow came past his knees. Mark reached back into the car, triggered the starter, slammed the door and stood back. The car rose into the air and continued on its way. By the time the Jilectans retrieved it, there would be no way they would be able to tell at which point the fugitives had abandoned it.
They started away through the trees, Alan following in Linley's footsteps. Mark plowed along through the thickening flakes, breaking a path. The snow was coming down by the bucketful, Alan thought. Practically a blizzard. The wind howled like a hurricane, whipping the flakes stingingly into his face. Well, at least it was filling up their trail as quickly as they made it. Alan stumbled along blindly, clinging to his partner's fur cloak. Mark forged ahead, apparently tireless.
"How do you know where we're going?" Alan panted, finally.
"Compass," Mark said, briefly. "Serves you right for sneerin' at my chronometer." He glanced back. "How you doin', back there?"
"Okay," he gasped. His boots, never intended for marching through snow, were soaked through, and his toes ached from the cold, but complaining about it wouldn't help. He slogged doggedly after Mark.
After about twenty minutes, Linley led them to a place where a good-sized tree had come down, providing a windbreak for them. They crouched down next to it, unmoving. Silence descended, except for the whistling of the wind through the trees and the sound of the blowing snow. The satellite was now in range, and huddled together against the tree trunk under Mark's fur cloak, they would appear to the satellite's sensors to be simply one more animal that inhabited the forested area of the planet taking shelter from the snowstorm. Alan hoped sincerely that the big predators of the Riskellian forest really were taking shelter. He had no wish to deal with one of Gargantua's relatives, right now. It would be bound to draw attention.
A little over an hour passed. Their combined body heat kept them reasonably comfortable for the enforced wait, and even Alan's feet warmed, somewhat. Mark checked his chronometer again. "Okay, we're clear for a couple of hours. Time to make tracks, kids."
The snow hadn't lessened. If anything, it was heavier. They got to their feet, stretching cramped limbs and shaking off the thick layer of flakes that had collected while they waited. Mark hoisted Janice to his back once more and they started on.
It seemed to Alan as if they had been walking for hours when the snow at last began to let up. The wind continued to blow, cutting through the soaked Patrol coat like tiny knives.
"What time is it?" he wheezed, finally.
"About 0400 hours," Mark said. "It won't be light for another five hours. Need some rest?"
Alan half fell onto a fallen log. "What's the temperature?"
Linley lowered himself down beside Alan and scowled at his chronometer. "Minus 9 degrees Celcius. Looks like we might be in for trouble."
"Why? What's the matter?"
"Happens a lot on Riskell. I was stationed at the Jaquali Patrol Base here about ten years ago. Be snowin' like crazy, then it'd quit all of a sudden and the temperature'd drop in the matter of an hour or so to minus 40 degrees. And with this wind blowin' ..." Mark paused and did something to his chronometer's controls, frowning at the readout. "We gotta ways to go, and the next satellite's due overhead in about an hour and a half. As soon as you're rested we better get movin'. How's the wrist?"
"It'll do." Alan stood up. The snow was definitely lessening, but the wind still blew hard.
As he got to his feet a dead branch, torn from a tree and driven by the gale, struck him hard across the face. Alan gasped, half stunned, and staggered sideways. The surface beneath him gave suddenly, and he plunged downward into freezing water.
**********
tbc
