A Family Resemblance 3/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
V
Kevin Bronson awoke. He was stiff and sore, and felt chilled to the bone. His blanket was gone and as he stirred, drops of water showered on him from the branches and leaves over his head. His Patrol tunic was wet with dew.
It was still almost dark. Only the faintest pale rose color had begun to creep through the leafy cover and the wind stirred softly across his damp face. Susan was huddled into a tight ball against his ribs, and glancing at her, the mystery of the missing blanket was instantly explained, for the little girl was wound like a cocoon in the cloth. Angela was huddled right next to her, her head resting on his arm. Her face was very near his, with only the body of the little girl separating them, and again he caught a trace of her perfume. Her features were a dim outline in the darkness, but he could see the soft, delicately curved mouth, a little too large for her face, just like Alan's, and the dark, curling lashes, tightly closed. He couldn't hear her breathing.
She was perfect, he thought. Never before had he known a woman who attracted him like little Angela Westover. He'd been conscious of the attraction when she walked into the room, back at her father's house. He'd known prettier women, and more sophisticated ones, and many, many less inhibited ones, but never one quite like her. He found himself very aware of her nearness and moved his hand carefully, touching her soft, faintly damp hair with his fingertips.
She jerked sharply and awoke, her eyes flying open. They focussed on the Patrol uniform at once and she gasped.
"Easy, honey. It's just me."
Her features relaxed into a smile. "My goodness, Kevin! I was dreaming. What time is it?"
"Time to go. Didja sleep?" Kevin sat up, easing his arm carefully out from under Susan. Angela also sat up and Bronson's eyes strayed to the neckline of the Patrol tunic she wore. It was half open down the front and her blouse had come partway unsealed. The pale skin of her throat and the curve of her breasts glowed white in the dimness.
He jerked his eyes back to her face, suddenly very angry with himself. Angela had apparently noticed nothing. She patted at her straggling hair and rubbed her eyes. "Yes, I'm rested. I must have slept, though I don't know how."
Her speech was just like Alan's, the soft, distinctive Terran accent lilting each word. Bronson felt his eyes straying again and once more jerked them back. This time, she noticed. He saw her glance down and then pull the neckline of the Patrol tunic together.
He looked away, feeling again the unreasonable anger at himself.
"Sorry," he said, roughly. "C'mon, we' better be movin'. There'll be less chance o' meetin' any scouts at this hour."
"All right." Her voice was subdued. Bronson grimaced.
"Sorry, Angie. I didn't mean to look."
"It's okay." He could tell she was embarrassed. "My fault."
"You're too damn pretty; that's the problem." Kevin spoke abruptly and bent to lift Susan in his arms. The little girl moaned softly in her sleep. Angela was smiling as he straightened up.
"Thank you, Kevin," she said, demurely. "I think you're very handsome, too."
He had never felt so pleased before at receiving a compliment. Bronson, of course, knew that he was handsome. He had always known it. He had never had any trouble securing girlfriends and even the Lady Jilectans, who often chose the dark-haired patrolmen for lovers, had frequently disregarded his blond hair and chosen him. He had felt pleased many times knowing that he was handsome, but to hear Angela say it made his chest swell unexpectedly with pride. Angela thought him attractive.
He took an instant to wonder how such a simple statement could make him feel so good. Could it be that he was falling in love?
He shook off the thought. He didn't *want* to fall in love! Angela Westover wasn't his type anyway! He liked his women a little older, preferably redheads, more witty and definitely less inhibited ...
Let's go, Angie," he said, gruffly.
"All right." Angela picked up his helmet from the ground. "Here. You'd better not forget this."
Bronson swore to himself. What the hell was wrong with him? Angela stood on tiptoe and he bent to let her settle the helmet on his head. Her small, slender fingers, roughened by the hard work of a colonist, fastened the strap for him. "Is that all right? Can you see?"
"Push the visor back, willya? It's still so dark, I don't need it. Thanks."
"That's all right." Her voice was still subdued. They started on in silence, Bronson still carrying Susan in his arms. The little girl blinked drowsily up at him and snuggled closer. She began to snore faintly a moment later.
Angela was very quiet, trudging along beside him. He glanced down at her, wondering at the emotions churning within him. She looked like a child in the faint light of early dawn, her dark hair standing up wildly, like Alan, again. The Patrol tunic hung past her knees and sagged off her shoulders. She had rolled the sleeves up half a dozen times but they still partially hid her hands. Her face was faintly flushed and smudged with dirt. Kevin looked deliberately away from her.
"Kevin," she said.
"Yeah?" he growled.
"Don't be mad at me."
He turned to look at her. "Mad at you, Angie? I ain't mad at you."
"Yes you are." Her voice quavered. "Please don't be. Whatever I said, I'm sorry."
Kevin stopped cursing himself. His attraction to her was no excuse for treating her roughly. "Listen kid, I ain't mad at you ..."
He didn't realize he had raised his voice until he heard Angela's soft cry, then a sharp command.
"Freeze right there, mister!"
Bronson froze. A patrolman materialized out of the underbrush to his left, a blaster in his hand. Angela's eyes were wide and horrified, fixed on Kevin.
The patrolman grinned. "Get your hands up, Westover. Strike Commander, you keep holdin' the kid. March ahead of me. One wrong move and I'll stun you both."
Kevin obeyed and Angela copied him, her hands high over her head. They walked ahead of the man through the underbrush.
They had gone no more than twenty paces when they came to a clearing. A small fire crackled beneath a large tree, a coffeepot balanced over the flames and hissing softly. Another patrolman squatted there, a mug in one hand. He came to his feet as Kevin and Angela emerged from the bushes.
"What the hell?"
The man holding the blaster on Kevin and Angela laughed. "Look what I found, Sarge!"
The sergeant's face broke into a grin. "By the stars! Westover and Linley! Who's the kid?"
"Dunno." The patrolman continued to hold his blaster on the two prisoners. The sergeant drew his blaster as well and strode toward them, frowning slightly and squinting in the faint dawn radiance now beginning to brighten the forest.
"That ain't Westover."
"Huh?" The patrolman came carefully around to face them, also frowning at Angela. "Sure looks like him, sir."
"Like hell!" The sergeant strode suddenly forward, grasped the Patrol tunic that Angela wore and yanked it open. The other patrolman burst into laughter.
"A dame! Nice lookin', too. A man don't need nothin' else to make his mornin' complete!"
The sergeant turned to Kevin. "Put the kid down slowly."
Bronson obeyed, acutely aware of Angela's terrified eyes on him. Susan stirred as he placed her on the ground and her eyes opened.
"Don't move, Susie," Angela said. "Sit still."
The little girl's eyes widened and she began to cry.
"Sit still," the sergeant growled. "Don't try to run."
Susan cowered away from him, wrapping her arms around Kevin's legs. The sergeant gestured with his blaster.
"Take off the helmet, mister. No quick moves or you'll be waking up with a headache."
Bronson unsnapped the strap and removed the helmet. The patrolman gave an exclamation of satisfaction. "Well, at least we got Linley! And she must be a relative of Westover's. Looks just like him." His eyes roved appreciatively over Angela's form. "Who are you, baby?"
Angela looked at Kevin, who shook his head sharply. The other man stepped up behind them, removing the blasters from their belts. The sergeant glanced at his subordinate. "Cuff 'em. I'll cover 'em."
"Yessir."
"Better cuff Linley to a tree."
"Yessir." The patrolman waved his blaster. "Back up, pretty boy."
Kevin glanced at Angela. "Let the girls go, Sarge. They ain't got nothin' t'do with this."
"Back up," the patrolman repeated. "Now."
Bronson cocked an eyebrow and obeyed. "I hope you guys remember what happened on the 'Patton'. You think my li'l buddy will let you off? Not a chance."
"Shut up." The patrolmen yanked his hands roughly behind him and cuffed them around the trunk of a tree. The sergeant's blaster moved impartially between him and Angela. Susan started to sob.
Neither of the two men so much as glanced at her. The patrolman finished cuffing Kevin to the tree and the sergeant pressed a control on his helmet with his free hand. "Sergeant Gleason to Base." He paused, obviously listening.
It was plain the sergeant was feeling fine. "Yes, sir. I wish to report that Patrolman Fairchild and I have apprehended a Terran male and two Terran females. We believe the man is Linley, sir."
A moment's silence. "Yes sir. Fifteen minutes." He switched off his communicator.
Fairchild's hands slid around Angela's waist and grasped her blouse. "Well, Sarge, we got some time to kill, don't we?"
"Yeah." Gleason grinned.
Angela's blouse tore beneath the patrolman's hands. She screamed, trying to twist from his hold but Fairchild clamped an arm around her, laughing. Kevin swore, straining uselessly at the cuffs on his wrists. Susan scrambled to her feet.
"You leave my sister alone!" she shrilled and flung herself at Fairchild. The sergeant caught her, restraining her easily, and glanced mockingly at Kevin.
"Take it easy, Linley," he said. "I'm sure you had your turn with her last night. Now we get ours ... ouch!" He swore luridly, yanked his hand away from Susan's teeth, and spun the little girl around, slapping her hard. "Cut it out, you little imp!" He hit her again. "Stop it or I'll beat the livin' hell outta you!"
Susan sagged in his grasp. Angela screamed again as Fairchild bore her to the ground, tearing the last of her blouse away. A pink, lacy bra came into view. Kevin wrenched at the restrainers. The metal bruised his wrists but he continued to struggle. He couldn't stand here and watch Angela assaulted, but there was nothing he could do about it.
The metal clamps restraining him moved. There was a soft clink and suddenly he was free as the restrainers dropped from his wrists.
Kevin didn't take time to question. He leaped forward, straight at the sergeant.
He struck the man waist high, flinging him to the ground and yanking the blaster from his holster. The sergeant gave an anguished grunt and Susan fell from his grasp. Kevin rolled to his feet and swung the weapon toward Fairchild and the struggling girl. The sergeant bellowed a warning.
Fairchild released Angela and started to sit up just as Bronson fired. The weapon hummed softly and the man collapsed.
Kevin spun toward Gleason, flicking the power setting to kill as he did so. The sergeant was on his feet and bolting for the trees. He fired at the man, aiming to kill and there was a cry of pain, but the patrolman did not fall, and an instant later he was gone into the underbrush. Kevin could hear his crashing retreat.
Susan lay limp on the ground where she had fallen. Angela was trying to get to her knees, her eyes tightly shut, and still screaming hysterically. Bronson aimed carefully at the stunned patrolman on the ground. The blaster cracked again.
Without a second glance at Fairchild, he turned, kneeling beside Angela.
"Angie, honey!" He caught her by the arm.
She screamed again, trying desperately to jerk free. Bronson didn't strop to try to reason with her. He scooped her up, tossed her to one shoulder, swept up Susan in the other arm and got to his feet. The Patrol reinforcements would be here within minutes. He could calm Angela down later when they were safely away from the clearing.
He ran, crashing through the underbrush as fast as he could. A few minutes later, he stopped, changed direction and began to pick his way more carefully, trying to leave no traces of his passage. At last he paused in a thick clump of bushes. Susan was beginning to stir, whimpering a little. He checked her over, assuring himself that she was not seriously hurt, then turned to Angela. The girl was still sobbing uncontrollably, her eyes clenched tightly shut. Kevin tried to lift her in his arms but again she screamed, struggling anew.
"Angie! Angie baby! It's Kevin, honey! You're safe. Open your eyes!"
Her beautiful green eyes flew open, staring at him in sudden realization. Bronson smiled at her reassuringly. "It's okay, honey. We got away. Turn around and I'll get those restrainers off you."
She turned. Bronson adjusted his blaster and carefully burned the device away. She turned back, rubbing her wrists and not looking at him. Kevin removed his tunic and draped it around her shoulders, taking care not to touch her bare skin. He cleared his throat. "Are you okay, honey?"
She nodded, still not looking at him. He cleared his throat again. "Did he hurtcha?"
She shook her head and suddenly the hysterical sobbing began again. Bronson patted her shoulder. "Honey ..."
She was suddenly in his arms, clasping him tightly around the ribcage. He held her gently, smoothing the tangled curls with one hand, and let her cry.
At long last the sobs ceased and she sat back, wiping her eyes with her palms. Kevin handed her his handkerchief and turned to Susan. The little girl was awake now and crying thinly. Her face showed a black eye and a cut on one cheek. Kevin lifted her to his lap.
"Hi, sweetheart," he said, giving her his best smile. "Don't cry no more now, okay?"
She nodded, scrubbing at her eyes with her fists. Bronson patted her hair. "I fixed that guy who hitcha good. He won't be hittin' no more little girls for quite a while."
"Did you?" she managed.
"Yep. Tried to kill the louse, but he got away."
"Darn!" Susan said with the simple bloodthirstiness of a child.
"What about the other one?" Angela whispered.
"That one didn't get away," Kevin said, grimly.
"Oh," Angela said. She sniffled, wiping her eyes on Kevin's handkerchief. "How did you get the restrainers off?"
"Uh ..." Kevin stopped suddenly, many pieces falling abruptly into place. During Angela's struggle with the patrolman, he had felt Alan's link with him snap closed. At least, at the time he'd thought it was Alan, but he hadn't paid much attention in the face of his own emergency. The link had faded when Angela realized she was safe.
Only that hadn't been Alan! The contact had been different: vivid, painfully vivid, and much stronger than any contact that he had ever received from young Alan Westover. When the restrainers had fallen from his wrists there had been an energy drain -- similar to the drain he felt when Alan tapped him for power, but much more noticeable ...
His eyes locked with those of pretty, young, inhibited Angela Westover. A psychic partner? *His* psychic partner! Another Westover, whose mind complemented his more perfectly than Alan's ever had.
It made sense, he decided, feeling strangely, almost hysterically calm at the realization. It made sense all right, but damn all the Fates, why did it have to be a *girl*? *He* knew what happened to psychic partners of opposite genders! The relationship *never* remained a simple friendship!
Well, it wouldn't happen in his case, he decided firmly. To hell with psychic links! He wasn't giving up his freedom that easily. Since Mark Linley had become engaged to Julia Austell, Bronson had had a field day at the base, covering Mark's old territory as well as his own with enthusiasm. He wouldn't give it up -- at least not without a struggle.
"Kevin?" Angela said.
"Huh?" His head jerked up. "Yeah, honey?"
"You didn't answer me. How did you get the restrainers off?"
"Oh." He grinned a bit wryly. "How do you think, honey? You took 'em off for me."
"*I* took them off?" Her eyes widened. "You mean I'm a telekinetic?"
"In spades! That's how a lotta psychics find it out: in an emergency. Alan did it that way, you know -- he snatched a blaster outta the hands o' some guy that was gonna shoot Mark and zapped Salthvor with it. You saved yourself, baby, by unhookin' me. Real good job, too. Look we gotta get a move on. That stinkin' 'trol got away, an' he's gonna be callin' for help real fast. Let's go." He stood up, hoisting Susan to his back. "Hang on tight, Susie."
"Sure." The little girl's voice still quivered slightly. Bronson took Angela's hand and they moved softly forward.
There was a purring sound some distance away, and through the leaves, Bronson saw a dark shape pass a little to the south. Angela's hand clutched his tighter, but she didn't speak. The purr faded into the distance.
The ground was rising more steeply now and the sun was fully up, shining brightly through the trees and illuminating the forest. Angela was silent as they struggled on and he glanced at her, more worried than he wanted to admit, even to himself. Angela had, up until now, led a sheltered, non-violent life. She was the product of a stable home and loving parents. Would the cruelty and violence she had experienced this morning effect her feelings for men, perhaps permanently?
He hoped not. Somehow he didn't think he could bear it if she ever rejected him. Of course, he wouldn't think of trying anything so soon after the event, but someday ...
Voices ahead. Kevin melted back into the underbrush, pulling Angela after him. Her hand continued to clasp his tightly and he could feel her trembling as the patrolmen approached. The link was again in evidence; Bronson couldn't restrain a slight shiver at the feel of her mind within his own. It was odd to realize that such a great change had come upon him unnoticed, and that now, if the link should ever be taken away he would know and feel that something, some important part of him was gone ...
The patrolmen passed at some distance and Kevin saw that one of the men wore a snooper helmet. So, search devices had been brought in, as he had suspected they would be ...
When the scouting party was gone he rose to his feet again, holding Angela's hand in his right and clutching the blaster in his left. It was their one remaining weapon now: not good if they ran into any unfriendly natives. He hoped the search parties would have the effect of driving most of the planet's wildlife from the area -- a mixed blessing, since it would make them more obvious to the infrared scanners in the circling aircars ...
The ground continued to rise as the day wore on; the trees had begun to change in character as well, becoming larger and much taller, covered with evergreen needles. The undergrowth also altered, growing thornier and less leafy, but dotted with tiny, blood-red berries. The air was noticeably colder.
Angela stumbled, almost falling, but she didn't release his hand. He caught her, pausing in his steady plodding. "Wanna rest, baby?"
She shook her head. "We have to keep moving."
"Let's rest." He drew her into a little hollow between two big trees, seating himself on one of the massive roots. Angela sank down beside him and he let Susan slide to the ground, wriggling his shoulders to ease the muscles. "Man, Susie, you're heavy. You sure you ain't been totin' along a few rocks while I wasn't lookin'?"
Susan giggled. Bronson fished in the pack he still wore. "Here, kids, better eat somethin'. You need it."
Susan accepted the ration cake, beginning to nibble hungrily. Angela stared at hers. "I'm not hungry."
"Better eat, honey. You're gonna need the strength." He surveyed her white face for a moment. "Look, Angie, I think I know how you feel, butcha can't quit eatin' 'cause o' that jerk. It wasn't your fault, after all, an' you did manage to stop him. C'mon, now. If you give out on me, I'll hafta carry both o' you."
"You could do it," Susan piped up, licking the crumbs from her fingers. "You're the strongest man I've ever seen!"
"Thanks, sweetie. Eat it, Angie. That's an order."
"Aye-aye, sir." Angela gave him the ghost of a smile and took a small bite. "It isn't as bad as it looks."
He handed Susan the canteen. The little girl drank and passed it to Angela, who accepted it. As she tilted it up, the neck of the Patrol tunic opened. The patrolman had succeeded in tearing off her bra as well, Kevin realized. He hadn't noticed earlier when he'd put his shirt around her.
She lowered the canteen and he jerked his gaze from the cleavage, feeling a flash of anger toward himself. The poor kid had suffered enough humiliation at the hands of Patrolman Fairchild. He didn't need to add to it.
She extended the canteen toward him and he drank, then capped it, hooking it to his belt. Angela's small, callused hand slid into his again. She leaned her head against his naked arm, closing her eyes.
He let her sleep thirty minutes. Susan fell asleep as well, her head in his lap. Bronson waited, holding the blaster in his free hand.
Angela's head fell forward and he put an arm around her. Her dark hair glowed richly in the bright, midmorning sun. It was beautiful, he thought. He had always preferred redheads with lots of hair -- hair that hung to their waists in the style prevalent in the Autonomy; an imitation of the Jil Ladies, he knew. But Angela's short, dark curls were absolutely perfect for her. He examined it carefully, then let his gaze rove over her sleeping face. Again, her resemblance to Alan hit him strongly. Blasted Westovers! Little busybodies -- going around linking with people and causing problems!
Kevin grinned. He didn't really mind all that much. It was a source of pride in a way, to know that he provided psychic energy for these little folks. And the things that they could *do* with it! That was what was really remarkable. The restrainers that Angela had removed were designed specifically to hold psychics. The lock was specially designed to resist telekinetics.
Alan had tried to unlock restrainers before, and twice within Kevin's memory had succeeded. But both times he had had a power pack to draw from. Without Kevin or Mark to help him, the powerful little psychic could have done nothing. There were two such special teams -- termed Armageddon Teams -- in the Terran Underground. Now, it looked as if at long last there would be a third. He grinned slowly. It would be the first such team composed of a male and a female. He frowned over the implications of that again, then glanced at his chronometer. Time to go.
"Angie," he whispered.
She started awake instantly. "Yes, Kevin?"
"Time to go. Susie?"
They traveled for another four hours, dodging various Patrol search parties, then rested again. Kevin distributed more ration cakes. Angela took one, eating hungrily now. He watched her with relief.
"How you doin', hon?" he inquired.
Her smile was back. "All right. Thank you, Kevin."
"Good. That guy won't ever bother you again. I promise."
She looked down at the ration cake. "You really *did* kill him, huh?"
"Yeah," Bronson said, darkly. "I just wish ..." He stopped.
She smiled again. "Oh. You mean you just wish you'd had time to kill him a little more slowly and painfully." Her smile widened and she glanced at him under her lashes. "Shame on you, Kevin."
Bronson gaped at her, and began to laugh. "You quit readin' my mind, baby, or I'll put my shields up."
Her eyes widened. "I didn't ..."
"You sure did!" He stuffed the remainder of his ration cake into his mouth and grinned. "You Westovers! Nosiest li'l characters I ever met!"
She had gone pink, her gaze falling. "I'm sorry, Kevin."
He shook his head. "No need to be. I don't mind." Surprised, he found that the words were true.
"I suppose you've had your mind read a lot," Angela said. "Do they do it much in the Underground?"
"Nah." Bronson shook his head. "They got regs against it -- readin' somebody's mind without permission, that is. Only time they do it without your permission is when you join. We can't afford the risk of admittin' a spy."
"I guess not. I suppose once won't be too bad."
"My guess is that Alan's already done it," Bronson said. "Don't worry about it. Alan knows how to keep secrets. Terran psychics understand human weaknesses better'n anybody, even the Jils. If they didn't, they'd never have let me join, considerin' my background."
"Really? You said you're a native of Shallock, didn't you. How long did you live there?"
"Until I was seventeen. Then I joined the Patrol."
"They let kids that young join?" Angela finished her ration cake and licked her fingers.
"Oh sure. Sixteen's the minimum age, and a lotta kids don't wait for it. They join as soon as they meet the height an' weight requirement. Mark did, y'know."
"My goodness. Why do the Jilectans allow it?"
Kevin grinned wryly. "The Jils don't care about Terrans. If we can do the job, they ain't worried about protectin' us, 'cause we're too young or somethin'. We're nothin' but li'l animals as far as they're concerned. That's why Terran psychics make 'em so mad."
"I think I see," Angela said, slowly. "How come your last name is different than Mark's? I've been meaning to ask, but maybe it's none of my business."
"Ah ..." Kevin swigged from the canteen and handed it to her. "It's no secret or anythin'. Mark an' me had different dads. Mom didn't marry Mark's dad. He was just some 'trol. Mark don't even know his name. My dad was a guy named Kevin Ashworth. Accordin' to Mark, he wasn't no gem, neither, but he did marry Mom -- probably for the meal ticket. I'm named after him."
"Ashworth?"
"Yeah. When I was around two, him an' Mom got killed in a fire. Mark an' me got out, an' lived on the streets for a couple o' years, then we got separated in a flood. That happens a lot there, lotsa rain and wind for days and days. I don't remember much about it, to tell you the truth. Mark filled me in on it later. He says we was holdin' onto some wreckage and a big wave hit us. He was washed away and woke up in an aid station, days later. He looked for a long time, but couldn't find me."
"Poor Mark. What *did* happen to you?"
Bronson frowned. This was the part of his life that he didn't like to remember. "I got sent to one o' Scaifen's orphanages. Lotsa times I wished I *had* died, almost."
"Oh," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "Was it very bad?"
"Yeah," Bronson said. "It was hell. Those places oughtta be condemned. I was awful young, but I still remember it like it was yesterday. They worked us like slaves, mornin' 'til night, an' fed us broth with potato peelins in it. I thought I was gonna die, an' lotsa kids *did* die."
Angela's hand closed on his arm. "It must have been terrible. How long were you there?"
"About two years. They didn't even try'n find out where I belonged, either. Guess they can't. The fundin' for those blasted orphanages is next to nothin', an' there's so *many* homeless kids on Shallock."
"How did you get out?"
"Some people showed up one day," Bronson said. "They were lookin' for their little boy who'd been lost in the same flood that separated me an' Mark. Kid musta looked somethin' like me, 'cause when they saw me they thought I was him. I was pretty skinny by then, an' covered with all kinds o' vermin; all the kids in those places are. These people had been lookin' for their kid a long time, though, an' the lady went hysterical when she saw me, then twice as hysterical when she realized I wasn't the one she thought I was. Well ..." Bronson smiled slightly, remembering. "I knew enough to grab a good thing when I saw it. I began to cry when the matron started to lead me away. The lady told her to let me go, an' she did. I ran to the lady and blubbered into her dress. It worked, all right. John an' Pat Bronson took me home with 'em, an' I lived with 'em 'til I joined the Patrol, about ten years later."
"Oh." Angela let out her breath.
"Listen, baby, we gotta get goin'." Bronson stood up, lifting Susan to his back again. Angela also rose and he looked down at her, a little annoyed with himself for having poured out his life story so freely. Blasted empaths, he thought. Charm the hell out of you. Well, he wasn't about to fall under her spell ...
He strode ahead, Angela hurrying to keep up.
"What happened then, Kevin? Were you happy with the Bronsons? Did they treat you all right?"
Bronson felt his resistance melting at her pretty, interested expression. He gave a mental shrug.
"Yeah, honey, it was heaven," he replied. "'Specially after the orphanage. Mom an' Dad were poor, but they were good people. There were two other kids in the family -- both girls, an' years older'n me. I had to work, but we usually had enough to eat an' a dry place to sleep. I grew like a weed after that. Then, when I was fifteen, Dad got mugged. He was hurt real bad, and died a month later. The girls were long since grown up an' married, so it was just Mom an' me. Then, Mom remarried." Kevin frowned darkly. "My new stepdad was all right, unless he got drunk. One day he came in really sloshed an' mad as hops. He had a strap in his hand and he went after me with it. I was just turned seventeen, an' a good-sized kid. The guy cornered me in the bathroom and tried to beat me up. I was bigger'n him too, so I grabbed the strap, threw it away and socked him one. Knocked him down. Brother, was he mad then! Ordered me outta the house, and I went. It was late afternoon, and I went for a walk, not really knowin' where to go. There was this poster stuck to the tenement walls -- Join the Viceregal Patrol! See the Galaxy! Then these two 'trols went by with their arms around a couple o' absolutely gorgeous women ..." Bronson sighed. "I headed for the recruitin' office like a real shmuck and enlisted."
Angela squeezed his hand. "I can sure see why you did it, though. I think I'd have done the same thing in your place. So, what happened then?"
Kevin glanced down at her. "Ain't I borin' you a bit?"
She shook her head. "Not a bit."
Susan peered over his shoulder. "Go *on*, Kevin!" she commanded in a loud whisper. "What happened *then*?"
"Sh! Keep your voice down!" Bronson grinned, oddly flattered by their obvious interest. "Well, nothin' much happened for a while. I got my commission in the field when I was twenty-one, and was promoted to lieutenant two years later. A year after that, I met Alan for the first time."
Angela's eyes widened. "I didn't know that. How did you meet him?"
"Well, I was ... Sh!"
They crouched down in the underbrush. Another scouting party passed them some distance away. Kevin couldn't see them, but their footsteps and voices were clearly audible. They were making no attempt to remain quiet, obviously unaware of the presence of their quarry, and he thought again that none of the searchers were particularly eager to actually find them. Angela pressed tightly against him as they waited.
At last the tramp of feet died into the distance. Bronson ruffled Angela's hair. "You okay?"
She nodded jerkily. "Please, go on."
"Huh? Oh, about Alan, you mean." He started onward again, and continued his story in a soft voice. "Alan had been kidnapped by somebody who was plannin' on turnin' him in. I dunno the whole story. Just some guy -- Cole, his name was. I didn't much like him, even then. Anyway, back then *I* didn't know my brother was the famous Mark Linley. I couldn't remember what his last name had been, an' even though I knew Linley looked like me, I never added it up. Anyway, we landed on an island in the middle o' one o' Shallock's oceans, and I went after him." Kevin grinned proudly. "Caught him, too, an' nearly got killed tryin' t'get him to my ship. Alan got both o' my men an' would o' got me, only he'd figured out who I was. Then Mark found us." Bronson chuckled softly. "My own brother stuck a knife in my back to save his li'l partner. I never thought he'd do it; after all, I was the baby brother he'd carried out of a burnin' buildin' an' stolen food for. I didn't reckon with the strength o' that psychic link." Bronson shook his head. "Mark didn't even blink. He just threw the knife. Nearly killed me. They thought I *was* dead at first. See?" He pointed at the sunburst birthmark on his back. "Left a nice, neat scar, right in the middle o' my birthmark."
"Oh yes!" Susan sounded pleased. "See, Angie!"
Angela looked. "My goodness! How did it get there?"
"I turned my back on him." Kevin made a face. "I was holdin' Alan in front. I tried to run for it, but I never really thought he'd do it, or I wouldn't o' turned my back." He laughed shortly. "I know better now."
"What's a psychic link?" Angela asked.
Kevin glanced down at her. "Psychic partners are somethin' you'll learn about real quick in the Underground, Angie. They're two psychics tied together by a mental link; a psychic link. It's empathic, or telepathic, or both, and the partners are sort of a team. They communicate all the time, and they're actually inside each other's minds. There's a lot of emotional involvement, too. They get real attached to each other, real quick, an' there's a bunch o' stuff we don't really understand about it, yet. They got a real powerful instinct to protect each other. 'Trols hate goin' up against 'em with a purple passion, 'cause they'll fight like a mother saberclaw with cubs to save each other."
"But what does that have to do with Mark?" Angela asked. "He isn't a psychic, is he?"
Kevin shrugged. "Yeah, actually he is. So am I. We're both non-functionin' psychics. Musta got it from our mom, I guess, though we think Mark's pop mighta been one, too. He puts out more power than me. We produce psychic energy like mad, but we can't control it. Alan links with Mark an' me too, some, when he's in trouble. We can hear what he's sayin', an' thinkin' when he's scared. Then, when the trouble's over, the link kinda fades out. Alan can't help it. It just happens." He hesitated. Should he tell her? Not yet, he decided. Maybe later.
"Then what happened?" Susan piped. "How come you joined the Underground, Kevin?"
Bronson grinned a bit sourly. "I didn't have no choice about that, Susie. After I shot Tralthvor on live video, with the whole Sector watchin', it was join or else."
"Why did you do it?" Angela's whisper was a combination of puzzlement and admiration. "Didn't you want to join?"
"Sorta," Bronson admitted. "I really wasn't thinkin' much about the Underground just then, but I'd already linked with Alan, and there wasn't nothin' else to do about it. I couldn't just stand there an' let 'em kill him, and besides ..."
"I think I understand," Angela said, slowly. "The link made you want to protect him."
"Yeah," he agreed. He didn't add that there had been another, stronger and less noble motive for his insane action as well. She would find out soon enough that sensation could be easily transmitted across a psychic link. He glanced at her admiring face, then away. "Take it easy, honey," he said. "I ain't no prince charmin'. I'm just an ordinary Joe with a few good points an' lotsa bad ones, like the rest o' the population."
"I haven't noticed any bad points yet," Angela said.
"Me neither!" Susan piped.
Bronson squirmed. "Aw, cut it out, kids," he said, "you're embarrassin' me."
**********
tbc
