A Woman's Touch: 4/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Strike Commander Fong Lee, of the Jilectan Battlecruiser "Orion", was in pain. His ulcer had been growing gradually but steadily more uncomfortable since noon, and the presence of Lord Sprinthvar in the control room during the landing had done nothing to lessen the burning sensation. Now he gritted his teeth against it, wishing he could sneak in an antacid tablet but not daring to do so at the moment. In spite of the medications for long term acid relief prescribed by the ship's doctor, his ulcer was in fine form today.
The aircar purred softly toward the building that made up the New London Central Hospital, the largest medical center on this sparsely populated world. Fong, crammed against the door by the bodies of three other patrolmen in the front seat, was acutely and resentfully aware of Lord Sprinthvar, lounging at ease, alone in the spacious rear compartment.
Something poked him hard in his lower spine and he mouthed a silent cussword, trying to move away from it. The man beside him grunted with annoyance, but said nothing.
The movement didn't help. The sharp object simply shifted to a new location, a worse one, if anything, than the previous one. Fong made one or two more attempts and then sat still, suffering in silence. His stomach burned.
After what seemed an eternity, the aircar settled before the main hospital entrance. The door opened on the driver's side and the man jumped out and ran around the vehicle to open the door for their noble passenger. Fong also shoved his door open and eased himself stiffly to the pavement, rubbing his backside tenderly. The object that had poked him so relentlessly proved to be a stylus that had somehow become lodged in the crack between the seat and the backrest. Fong swore softly between his teeth and then shut up with a mumbled apology as the Jilectan glanced icily toward him.
Sprinthvar didn't deign to reply. He strode up the steps of the main hospital, flanked by his bodyguards. Fong and the four other patrolmen who had arrived in a separate aircar fell in behind him. The hospital doors swished open before them and they swept into the brightly lit lobby.
Almost at once, the Jilectan began to cough, his face turning a curious purple color. Fong waved peremptorily to the other patrolmen who rushed His Lordship back through the doors and into the chilly night air once more.
Fong strode over to the Information desk, pushing his way between waiting Terrans. Someone swore at him but he paid no attention. Furiously, he slammed a gloved fist down on the counter.
"Dammitall! I called to notify you people that His Lordship was coming! Someone has been smoking in this room, and Lord Sprinthvar is violently intolerant of tobacco smoke! Why the devil ..."
The receptionist interrupted his tirade. "Put a lid on it, Strike Commander. I can't patrol the whole building. Your men were supposed to take care of it. The signs were posted and your flunkies are crawling all over the place. Talk to them about it."
Fong cussed again and glared into the man's impassive face. The pain in his stomach increased as his frustration grew. "All right! Air out the building at once!"
The man jabbed the white button on the videophone. "Mitch! Give us a repeat on that air flush!" He turned back to Fong. "All right, give it five minutes."
Fong grunted an acknowledgement and turned away, digging in his belt pouch for the antacid pills. He gulped two of them, although the doctor had warned him to take no more than one at a time, and strode out of the building to meet his doom.
Lord Sprinthvar was leaning against the metal railing, supported by his two bodyguards, with tears streaming down his cheeks. As Fong approached, the alien sneezed violently five times in succession and lapsed into a series of strangled coughs and wheezes. Fong stood miserably to one side as a patrolman gently sponged the Jilectan's face with a damp cloth.
At last the Jilectan straightened up, his face now the color of a ripe plum, his eyes still streaming with tears. In a blur of motion he swung at Fong, catching him across the side of the helmet with the force of a sledgehammer. Fong staggered sideways and went to one knee, sparks dancing before his eyes. Vaguely, he was grateful for the presence of the uncomfortable helmet. Without it, he would certainly have wound up in Sick Bay with a concussion, if not the morgue.
"You brainless idiot!" Sprinthvar screamed.
"Forgive me, M'lord!" Fong remained on one knee, keeping his gaze focussed on the pavement. "I told them! Somebody must have slipped up."
"*You* have slipped up, Strike Commander! Are they airing the building?"
"Yes, M'lord. It should be ready by now."
The Jilectan sneezed again, snatched the cloth from the patrolman and wiped tears from his eyes. "If you are wrong, Strike Commander, I shall execute you along with Subcommander Bronson! Come." He strode past Fong toward the entrance. Fong got dizzily to his feet and followed.
He could detect no cigarette smoke as they entered the lobby -- but then, he hadn't detected any the first time, either. He glanced apprehensively at the Jilectan, but Lord Sprinthvar was apparently not experiencing a recurrence of the symptoms, for he strode across the lobby, still dabbing at his nose. The eyes of many Terrans followed him.
Fong hurried along behind him. As they reached the lift, he saw the Jilectan pause. For an instant, the scene seemed to flicker oddly and he felt strangely dizzy -- no doubt the result of the belt His Lordship had dealt him out there on the steps. Then Sprinthvar turned back toward him, speaking in a quiet, disdainful tone.
"Strike Commander Fong! I can bear your presence and that of these ... *men* no longer. The prisoner is still in surgery. You are to go up to the critical care unit and await me there."
"Yes, M'lord."
The alien's lips drew back as though in revulsion. "You disgust me! Go!"
Fong saluted and gestured quickly toward his men. "Come on."
Again there was that odd dizziness and the strange flickering sensation. Lord Sprinthvar was striding away from him, still flanked by his bodyguards, but Fong's men were shifting back and forth uneasily and glancing at each other. Fong gestured impatiently. "Come *on*!"
With fatalistic shrugs and a few apprehensive glances after the retreating figure of the Jilectan, Fong's men accompanied him toward the elevator.
**********
With the nerve-wracking sensation that she was juggling fragile antiques, Angela let Fong's illusion fade. The man had been incredibly easy, his mind completely devoid of resistance. The Jilectan was sure to be more difficult.
Fong was turning away, ordering his confused subordinates to follow as Angela located the Jilectan's mind. The alien was still miserable from the after effects of the cigarette smoke, and his emotional output was a mixture of acute discomfort and vast annoyance with the repulsive little beings who manufactured and inhaled that dreadful stuff.
He probably wouldn't notice her, Angela told herself firmly, and she must act quickly before he realized that Fong was behaving rather strangely.
Trying to keep her shielding partially in place, Angela reached for the alien's mind and projected the image ...
**********
Lord Sprinthvar blinked, his vision blurring for a moment. The scene wavered about him. He was dizzy from that disgusting cigarette smoke, he realized furiously. Horrible stuff! How could *anyone*, even a Terran, stand to pull it directly into its lungs?
His vision cleared and at the same instant, he sensed an aura, strong and clear: the aura of a Terran psychic -- a frightened Terran psychic, and female.
Sprinthvar permitted himself a grim smile. Bronson's lover had come to try to rescue him and had discovered one of the mighty overlords here before her.
Idiotic little female! Females had neither courage nor intelligence, and Terran females were even more foolish and cowardly than the Ladies. This one was broadcasting waves of sheer terror that would make her very easy to follow.
He turned to his men who still stood diffidently behind him. "There is a Terran psychic nearby. Follow me."
"Yes, M'lord," the Strike Commander replied.
Sprinthvar turned and strode down the main hall of the hospital, hearing the thrum of his men's boots behind him.
**********
Angela watched as the Jilectan turned and spoke to the nonexistent group of men that she had projected for his benefit. His bodyguards listened carefully, then glanced quickly at one another as the Jilectan completed his order, still without looking at either of them.
Angela bit her lip hard. She could create an illusion for only one individual at a time. Would the bodyguards become suspicious? If they did, what would she do?
But no, the Jilectan was coming across the lobby toward her and the bodyguards were falling into position behind him. They were confused but unsuspicious.
Angela retreated before the oncoming Jilectan, continuing to broadcast the illusion. It wasn't difficult. She was good and scared. If his Lordship caught her, she and Kevin would die together, side by side.
There were hospital employees everywhere, but none of them paid her any attention for they, too, were retreating before the approach of the alien, although not quite in the same manner as herself. They dodged into doorways and fled down adjoining hallways, pausing to peer out at the passing alien. Few of them, she surmised, had actually ever seen a Jilectan in the flesh before, and this was probably the only chance they would ever have. The scene would have been funny if the situation had not been so desperate.
The hallways seemed endless, but at last she saw the exit ahead. She went through it, walking briskly and hearing the thrum of His Lordship's feet close behind.
She was almost too far ahead to keep the image clear but she must risk it, for if she wasn't in position in time, all this would be for nothing. Still broadcasting the waves of terror to distract Sprinthvar should the image start to fade, she ran down the alley and located the rope dangling from the office window above.
While formulating this plan, she had worried that her strength might be insufficient to perform this last, important step, but now she discovered that strength was no problem. She swarmed up the rope like a monkey, reached the window ledge and scrambled over the sill with time to spare. Now a great deal relied on her ability to convince Sprinthvar that she would be willing to kill him in cold blood. He couldn't know that she wouldn't kill, except in self defense, and to save Kevin she *had* to pull it off.
Here came the Jilectan, closer now, so that projecting a strong illusion was no longer any problem. Angela, poised above the window, could see them clearly, just entering the alley.
Jilectans, she knew, could see the upper bands of infra-red, but their night vision was only slightly better than a Terran's. Sprinthvar shouldn't be able to see much more than she could, and the illusion she was casting for him would prevent him from registering the trap that she had laid for him here.
She added the next part of the illusion.
**********
Lord Sprinthvar entered the dark alley, his men close behind him. The Strike Commander was in the lead, his blaster held at the ready. One of the bodyguards started to pull out his handlight.
"No, you fool!" he whispered. "We are too close! She will see us!"
"Sorry, sir." The man sounded scared -- scared of a female Terran because she was a member of the Terran Underground and a psychic, he thought scornfully.
Then, at the end of the alley, he caught a glimpse of a slim, shadowy form just vanishing around the corner.
"There she is!" he snapped. "Go! Capture her! She went around to the left."
The men charged forward, down the alley, and a few seconds later had vanished around the corner.
No, wait! He had been in error after all. The female was here, barely ten meters from him. Again, he sensed the strong aura of her mind and saw her small, feminine shape crouched against the wall. Clearly in the dark silence he heard her frightened, half-sobbing breaths. With a grim smile, Sprinthvar drew his blaster and strode toward her.
He had almost reached her when the ground beneath him heaved suddenly, knocking his feet from under him. A gigantic, clinging net closed around him, yanking him violently upward. His blaster writhed in his loosening grip and leaped away to vanish into the air above him. Then he was trapped, swathed and held by the clinging net. It bore him upward, his body dangling ridiculously in its folds. He screamed with anger and terror.
*Shut up!*
The female's mind was suddenly inside his own, and he was aware of the first touch of fear at the psychic aura. The female might be a Terran but she was unbelievably powerful! Sprinthvar hadn't known that it was possible for Terrans to contain that much psychic energy.
Her mental voice spoke again, crisp and commanding -- totally unfeminine. *Squeak again, M'lord, and I'll kill you. I don't need you alive for this. You'll be just as useful to me dead!"
Sprinthvar fell silent, his spine prickling with primitive terror. The female meant it; that was certain. How could she have managed this?
There were voices at the end of the alley -- the voices of Terran males. His men were returning.
*Not a sound!* the psychic's voice in his mind spoke sharply.
Sprinthvar remained silent. What had happened to all his men? From his awkward position in the net, he could make out only two figures approaching, and their mind touch indicated the same. They were his bodyguards, and they were suspicious. He could sense that, and with him to watch, the Terran female wouldn't have a chance. She dared not use blaster fire. He opened his mouth to shout.
Zing! A needle beam hissed past his cheek, so close that he could feel the blisters rising. The psychic's mental voice said sharply, *Quiet*!
Sprinthvar stifled a yelp. The men came closer. They were looking for him, he realized, but if he called to attract their attention he knew he wouldn't live to be rescued. The mental touch of the Terran female told him that.
They were directly under him. In his mind, he felt the steel determination of the female psychic. If his men realized that he was here, he would die. He held his breath.
His bodyguards passed beneath him, flashing their handlights around. Slowly, they made their way down the alley and around the corner, and vanished.
The silent warning in his mind did not relax. He could sense the minds of his bodyguards as they moved slowly farther and farther away.
But where were the rest of his men? He could sense no more in the immediate vicinity. That Strike Commander! He would be publicly executed for this! He, Sprinthvar, would see to it personally! Perhaps the man was a shielded Underground spy. No, impossible! His mind had been an open book, ridiculously easy to read!
There was the hum of an approaching aircar, and at the same instant, the net holding him dropped sickeningly. Sprinthvar could not restrain a cry of panic at the sensation.
He landed hard and painfully, still entangled in the clinging net. The impact jarred him terribly and for a moment he lay still, half-stunned.
Then the folds of the net were being pulled away and in the near-darkness Splinthvar blinked up at the form of the Terran girl.
She was tiny; a Terran child! The realization sent a wave of hope through him. When she beheld the size and power of he whom she was attempting to subdue, surely she would quail. Sprinthvar started to stand up.
Tzing! The needle beam hissed past his face and fire seared his cheek.
"Don't move!" Her voice was a child's voice as well, but sharp and commanding. "I'm not afraid to kill you, Jil!"
Behind her, a large aircar was settling to the ground. The rear door slid silently open.
"Crawl," the girl said. "Get into the car."
"I will *not*!" Sprinthvar glared at her in the darkness. "I will crawl for no Terran! You cannot lift my body in if you kill me! You are much too small!"
The Terran female never blinked. The blaster remained steady on him as she reached into one of the pockets of her clothing and drew out a pack of cigarettes. Clinically, she closed her lips around one of the hated objects and drew it from its box.
"No!" Sprinthvar breathed in horror. "You would not!"
The female returned the box to her pocket and withdrew a lighter from the same pocket. The flame flickered blue in the cold darkness.
"Wait." Sprinthvar could not bear the thought of what he would endure should she ignite the horrible cigarette. "I shall do as you say."
The female stepped aside, her blaster never wavering, the cigarette still held carelessly between her lips. Sprinthvar crawled toward the aircar.
She would die for this, he vowed as he reached the vehicle and climbed into the rear seat. He would conduct her execution personally! She and Bronson and Fong together ...
The door closed behind him. The Terran female jumped quickly into the front passenger seat, somehow keeping the blaster aimed directly at him in the process. There was a second female here, as well, he realized,, and a psychic also. She had turned from the front seat and was on her knees facing him, her dark eyes wide, and her mind radiating fear and awe.
"Hurry, Sue," his captor said.
The second female nodded and cleared her throat. "Uh ..."
"Stick out your arm, M'lord," his captor said prosaically. "She's going to give you a shot."
"I will *not*!"
The female with the blaster sighed gustily. "Pull the lighter out of my pocket and give me a light," she said to her companion.
"Wait." Sprinthvar regarded the black-skinned female in the driver's seat measuringly. She was unshielded, very young and unsure of herself -- a newcomer to the organization, no doubt. It was in a way unfortunate that her emotions were so filled with awe and apprehension. It was nearly impossible to see past the turmoil of emotion to pick specific details from her mind. Still, if she were a new recruit it was probable that she had as yet learned nothing of value to his esteemed uncle. Perhaps he could surprise her, he considered, take her captive, and use her to get away from this very unfeminine female beside him. He extended his arm. "Very well. I will submit quietly."
The female with the blaster might have been reading his mind. She smiled fractionally. "Don't try to grab her, M'lord. I'd have to shoot you, and don't doubt for a moment that I'd do it." Her eyes narrowed. "Perhaps I'd better introduce myself, M'lord Sprinthvar. My name is Angela Westover. I imagine you've heard of my cousin, Alan Westover."
Sprinthvar's blood ran cold. *Westover*! The woman's arrogance was explained now. Dare he try to overpower one of the relatives of the terrible Alan Westover? No! She was certain to kill him should he resist. On the other hand, if he cooperated, he was far more likely to survive.
Angela Westover nodded to her companion. "Go ahead."
The black-skinned female inserted the needle into his arm. Sprinthvar flinched slightly at the tiny pinprick of pain but otherwise he didn't move. He remained stiffly erect, but slowly, his eyes began to blur and his head to swim. The issues of moments before lost their importance and he slouched back against the seat. Surely, it would not hurt to close his eyes just for a moment ...
**********
5
Angela leaned over the seat, pushed the Jilectan flat and thrust her tiny ladies-sized blaster into its shoulder holster beneath her light jacket. "Somebody's coming! Quick Sue, get the hood up!"
Sue jumped from the car at once and hoisted the hood. Angela jumped from the other side, closed the door and joined her as two uniformed figures appeared around the corner of the building, flashing their lights over the aircar and the two girls. Hospital security guards; Angela identified them at once, on their usual check of the grounds, come to investigate a report by someone of Sprinthvar's screams of a few moments before. As yet, the disappearance of the Jilectan didn't appear to have alarmed anyone. Perhaps, she speculated, the bodyguards weren't certain yet that there was a reason to be concerned, and were checking with the Strike Commander before sounding the alarm.
She waved cheerily to them, shading her eyes with the other hand and hoping sincerely that they would not shine their lights into the rear of the aircar and see what was hidden there. "Hi!"
The two men came closer. "Hi, ladies. What's going on?"
Angela slammed the hood. "Our engine was making the funniest scraping noise!" she informed them. "We stopped to see what was wrong, and couldn't find a thing. Then, I found a silly old branch stuck in the passenger door. Isn't that funny? I'm really relieved, because Mom and Dad told me if anything happened to the car *this* time, I was grounded for a month." She giggled, batting her eyelashes at the nearest guard. "Do you know, the last time I had the car out, somebody put a dent in the fender while I wasn't even in it! Boy was Daddy mad!" As she chattered on, Angela was reading their emotional outputs. One man found her cute and was inclined to stop and talk. The other was itching to visit the restroom and wished she would stop chattering. It was he who broke in on her monologue.
"Did you girls hear any shouting back here? We had a report of someone yelling for help."
"Gosh no," Sue said, ingenuously. She paused. "A big car went by overhead a few minutes ago, though. Their radio was on really loud -- Jonah Hand and the Noodles new hit song. It's on the top of the charts this week! My boyfriend bought a copy for me yesterday. It's really *extreme*!"
Boredom radiating from the guard's mind. Angela knew an instant of admiration for Sue's stratagem. The other guard grinned tolerantly. He considered them both pretty little fluffheads, but they were cute, after all ...
How to get rid of them? Angela concentrated. The older guard moved uncomfortably, giving his companion's sleeve a twitch. "Come on, Abe. We've got rounds to finish. Good night, girls."
"Yeah," Abe said, reluctantly. "G'night."
"Good night," Angela and Sue chorused as the guards turned and left the way they had come. As their lights disappeared around the corner, Angela and Sue were leaping into the aircar. It lifted off with a jerk and rose over the outpatient building to their rear.
It hadn't been so difficult, really. Just a small illusion to intensify the guard's need ...
"Whew!" Sue looked across at her and grinned shakily.
Angela grinned back. "Nice work, Sue. You were *extreme*!"
**********
tbc
