Turnabout: 2/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
2
Alan shook his head and pushed himself painfully upright. The aircar had come to rest wedged between the branches of a tree. He could see the figures of the car's other occupants through a swimming blur. Sudden terror knifed through him as he realized that Mark wasn't moving.
"Mark!" Alan pushed the limp form of the Strike Commander to one side and leaned over the seat. "Mark, are you okay?"
His partner didn't reply. He lay slumped sideways on the seat and a big branch was rammed through the door, pinning him down. Blood was everywhere. Alan leaned forward, feeling frantically for a pulse. At first he could feel nothing, but clairvoyance told him without doubt that Mark was still alive. The pulse seemed to begin suddenly, beating light and fast under his fingers.
The driver moaned, trying to push himself up from his slumped position across the controls. Alan reached quickly over and removed the man's belt pouches and blaster, placing the pouches on the seat beside him. With shaking fingers, he removed the blaster's energy cell and slipped it into one of the pouches on his belt. Then he unsnapped the driver's helmet and pulled it off, glancing absently at the nameplate. The man was Patrolman Second Class Hague. He was young: probably younger than Alan, and strikingly good-looking. He moaned again, his eyelids fluttering. Wolenski began to stir, too, and Alan treated him in a similar fashion, removing belt pouches, blaster and helmet. Carefully, he extracted Mark's blaster from his partner's convulsive grip, removed the energy cell from it as well and tossed the weapon to the floor of the car beside the others that he had confiscated.
"Wake up, Strike Commander," he said.
Wolenski stirred again, moaning softly. Alan extended a mind probe, sensing the man's awakening mind. "Strike Commander Wolenski! Wake up, sir!"
Wolenski opened his eyes, gazing blearily at Alan. "W'appened?"
"We crashed," Alan explained briefly, "and Mark's hurt. You're going to help him. Wake up Mr. Hague."
Wolenski straightened up with an obvious effort. There was a bleeding gash above his right eye and the hair above it was matted together. He groaned again, feeling the injury.
Alan moved forward slightly, his weapon leveled in both hands. "Do as I say, sir. Now! Get Mr. Hague awake and get Mark loose. Hurry!"
Wolenski nodded, wincing, and leaned forward to shake the driver's shoulder. "Wake up, Hague. We've got work to do."
Hague groaned, lifting his head. "What the hell happened?"
"We crashed," Wolenski explained. "Westover says we've got to get Linley loose. He's pinned down by a branch."
Hague turned to look at Mark.
"Start prying him out," Alan said tightly.
Hague looked back at Alan. "He's dead."
"He's not dead!" Alan snapped. "Do as I say or, by God, I'll kill you!"
Wolenski unstrapped his safety webbing and leaned forward. "Mark? Oh man; looks like he's hurt bad." The Strike Commander reached down, tugging at the branch. "Come on, Patrolman. That's an order!"
"What's the use?" Hague demanded. "He's as good as dead. Leave him. We gotta get out ourselves, before --"
Alan flicked the blaster to needle beam. "Do it, Mr. Hague!"
Wolenski was tugging at the branch. It broke, and part of it came away in his hands. "Come on, Patrolman! That's an order!"
"He's a damn Undergrounder!" Hague protested. "He --"
Alan's blaster spat and Hague yipped, grabbing for his singed shoulder.
"Get moving, Mr. Hague," he said thinly.
"Okay, okay! Don't get nervous!" Hague began to help Wolenski pry the branch loose.
It took longer than Alan liked, for the branch was wedged tightly against the side of the car. At last they managed to free it, revealing a caved-in door. Mark's leg had been pinned between the door and the branch. The leg was obviously broken and there were cuts and bruises all over him.
"Okay," Alan said. "Stretch him out on the seat. He's in shock. Strike Commander, support his leg."
"I am." Wolenski carefully lifted Mark's leg to the seat. Mark moaned faintly but gave no other sign of returning consciousness. "Looks like a nice clean break, anyway," the Strike Commander continued. "Hand me the emergency kit, Patrolman."
"This is ridiculous," Hague said. "The guy ain't gonna make it. We oughtta --"
Alan swung the blaster toward him. "Do it, Hague."
Hague handed Wolenski the kit. "This is a waste of time. We gotta get out now. If the car comes loose and falls, we're all gonna end up like him."
"Shut up!" Alan snapped. He glanced at Wolenski. "How's he doing?"
"Okay." The Strike Commander was leaning across the seat, strapping a splint from the car's emergency kit to Linley's leg. Mark moaned again but didn't move as Wolenski finished the job and covered him with one of the thin emergency blankets. "How *are* we going to get him down, kid?"
"You and Mr. Hague will lift him down," Alan said. "See if you can get the door open."
Wolenski tried. "I can't. It's all smashed in and crumpled. I can't budge it."
"Try your door, Mr. Hague."
Hague obeyed. The door swung open.
"All right," Alan said. "Strike Commander, help Mr. Hague. Mr. Hague, start to lift Mark down. Be gentle. I'll be watching you from the window. If you decide to try to run, I'll shoot you. And remember, Patrolman, I'm a psychic. I can read your mind like a book. I know exactly what you're thinking. Right now, you're wondering if you might be able to drop Mark and run for it while the Strike Commander's lowering him down to you. Don't try it."
Hague was sullen. "Yessir."
"Okay; let's go."
Hague started to back out the open door. He got a foot planted on a thick branch and then reached back into the car, hooking his hands under Mark's arms. Alan kept a careful telepathic finger in the man's mind. "Careful, Mr. Hague. Support his head. And get that idea out of your mind right now. If you drop him and try to run, I'll kill you."
Hague cussed softly. "You damned degenerate --"
"That's right," Alan agreed. "'... A degenerate psychic, without scruples, quick, clever and extremely dangerous.' I believe that's how the posters describe me, isn't it? Remember it, Mr. Hague -- especially the dangerous part."
Hague didn't reply. Carefully, he lowered Linley from the aircar. Alan kept the blaster trained on the two patrolmen.
It was still raining. The wind whipped around the little craft and howled through the trees like a banshee. Wolenski inched forward, supporting Mark's feet and legs. Hague grunted with effort, trying to balance on the wet limb as Mark's weight descended on him.
Both patrolmen were big men but Mark was bigger still. His body slumped forward suddenly, landing heavily across Hague's shoulders. Wolenski grabbed for him, trying to take part of the weight as Hague gave a yip, grabbing for support.
"Get him!" Alan yelled.
Hague let Mark go and Mark started to slip sideways. Wolenski made another frantic grab, catching him by the loose lab coat. "Hold him, Patrolman!" he snapped.
Hague wrapped an arm about Mark's good leg. Linley stopped sliding.
"Hold still," Wolenski commanded. "I'm coming down."
Alan hunched forward, his blaster leveled in both hands as Wolenski got to the limb, steadying Mark.
"Okay, I've got him." Wolenski's voice was tight. "Climb down the rest of the way, Patrolman. I'll lower him to you."
"I'm reading your mind, Mr. Hague," Alan said. "You'd better not try it."
Hague grunted in reply and the desire to run in his mind lessened slightly. Wolenski lowered Mark carefully down and Hague stretched him flat on the ground. The determination to run for it returned abruptly. Alan flipped the blaster to stun and fired.
Hague gave a startled squawk and collapsed. Wolenski, still clinging to the branch, glanced up, looking worried.
"Climb on down, sir," Alan said. "Then lie down on your face, both hands over your head."
"Don't stun me, kid," Wolenski said. "I promise not to run."
"I know. Do as I say."
Wolenski obeyed, stretching himself flat on the ground, face down. Alan clipped the pouches that he had confiscated from the patrolmen to his belt, concealing the extra energy cells inside first. Wolenski didn't move and Alan extended another light, telepathic probe. The man was scared and, at the moment, had no thought of attempting to escape. Wolenski was no fool, Alan acknowledged. Carefully, he climbed through the door of the car. He was stiff and sore and a muscle twinged violently in his right shoulder. Rain spattered into his face and he wiped a hand across his eyes. The hand came away red and sticky with blood. He must have hit his head during the crash.
Alan dropped the last two meters to the ground and knelt beside his partner. He rested a hand on Mark's upper arm. "Mark? It's Alan. Don't worry. I'm going to take care of you." He straightened. "All right, Commander. Get up."
Wolenski obeyed, glancing at Hague. "Why'd you stun him?"
"He was going to run," Alan said. He gestured with the blaster. "Drag Mark under that tree, sir."
Wolenski obeyed and Alan sensed concern in his mind. Wolenski had been Mark's subcommander on the 'Wolverine', and the two men had been friends. Alan smiled faintly but sobered again at once. "Good. Now pull Mr. Hague over beside him. Put him right next to Mark and then lie down on his other side. I want him kept warm."
"All right." Wolenski dragged Hague over as instructed and lay down beside Mark.
Alan dropped a blanket beside him. "Spread it over yourselves."
Wolenski did so and Alan settled down beside them, blaster still steady on the men, his mind busy. Around them, the storm raged.
**********
3
Kevin Bronson, Mark Linley's half-brother, was presently on Lavirra, and at the moment preparing to spend what he hoped would be a very pleasant evening with a young woman named Nola Warwick. He walked briskly toward the barracks, glancing around for her.
There she was, sitting on one of the benches under a spreading orchid tree. Kevin slowed his walk and sauntered casually toward her. With a smile, he presented his offering: a single red air rose, one of the native denizens of the planet. The nice thing about air roses was that their decorative fringe of feathery fernlike roots derived the plant's nourishment from the air and the flower could be worn for decoration and then kept in a sunny location to brighten one's quarters, or set on the nearest tree to continue its life undamaged by its brief adventure as a lady's ornament.
"Oh, it's lovely!" Nola accepted the flower and set it in her hair, behind her ear. "Thank you, Kevin!"
"Not half as pretty as you are, honey," he said gallantly. "You ready for the movie?"
She nodded brightly. "I hear it's a pretty good one."
"It is, the first few times."
"Oh, you've seen it before?"
He gave himself a silent kick. He hadn't wanted her to discover that he'd already seen this flick six times with six other females. The variety of movies on the Lavirra base was somewhat limited. In fact, there was only the one theater and the movies sometimes ran for weeks before a new one arrived.
"Uh -- yeah, a couple o' times. It's pretty good. I don't mind seein' it again -- 'specially with you, honey." He put an arm around her shoulders and together they strolled toward the theater.
The lights were just dimming as they entered the huge circular structure. The introductory music rolled outward, engulfing them in the swell of sound. Kevin guided Nola down the nearest aisle to a seat and took his place beside her with a faint sigh. He really was getting pretty sick of this damned show, he decided, but maybe Nola would make it worth his while to sit through it one more time.
Sudden apprehension crawled over his scalp. Abruptly he was no longer in the theater but somewhere else, in a nightmare world of chaos, where he couldn't move and unreality swirled around him. There was the sensation of acceleration and then the floor dropped from under him. He was falling, and as he did so his mind link with Alan Westover closed with shocking clarity.
Bronson was on his feet before he knew it and shouting Alan's name. He heard Nola's surprised query as though from a great distance as he turned, sprinting up the aisle, swearing incoherently when he stumbled. Someone shouted something and the theme came to a groaning halt. The lights flashed on as he burst out the exit.
The link remained, as tight as a violin string. Alan was in trouble -- bad trouble. There was no doubt in his mind. Again his stomach tried to climb into his throat as the ground dropped from under him. Alan was falling, and Kevin heard his voice calling incongruously for Mark.
He *had* to tell Kaley!
Behind him, someone was shouting his name. "Captain Bronson! Captain, stop! Are you looking for me?"
Kevin came to a halt as Major General Walter Kaley half-ran up beside him, panting a little.
"Were you in the movie, sir? Sorry. I didn't know. Alan's in trouble."
"He linked with you?"
"Yeah. Real tight link, too. He's in pretty bad trouble --" Kevin broke off with a surprised gasp at another transmitted sensation: this time a terrific jolt. Something struck him hard on the forehead and he saw stars.
He was on his knees in the grass a second later, and he didn't remember falling. Kaley had dropped to one knee beside him and people were converging on him from all directions.
"What happened?" the General asked. "Captain?"
"I dunno." Kevin staggered to his feet and found that Kaley had a steadying hand on his elbow. "An accident, I think. The link's gone. Somethin' musta hit him."
"Is he hurt?" The speaker was a diminutive, dark-haired girl -- Lyn Parnell: Alan's fiancee.
"I dunno." Kevin glanced around at the crowd surrounding him, many of them powerful psychics. It was strange that these people had to come to him for information about their top psychic.
Alan's face was re-forming in his mind, now. "He's wakin' up an' linkin' with me again." He stopped as Alan's voice rang through his head again. "Mark! Mark, are you okay?"
"Mark's hurt," Bronson said. "I think Alan's okay. He hurts here an' there, but not too bad. He's movin', all right, but he's scared about Mark."
"Wylie's in charge of the Troth base," Kaley said. "He'll handle it, but you're to hold yourself ready, Captain, in case of further developments."
Kevin nodded numbly.
Kaley glanced at his assistant, Steve Kovac, who had appeared at his elbow. "Notify Communications to watch for any messages from Troth."
"I go if Kevin goes," Lyn said.
Kaley nodded absently. "Of course, Captain."
A tall, striking blond woman pushed her way through the crowd. "If Mark's hurt, I have to go, too," she said.
Kaley looked doubtful and then gave in. "Very well, Captain. I suppose you have the right, as his fiancee."
Julia was twisting the diamond on her hand, looking anxiously at Bronson. "Can you tell anything else, Kevin?"
Bronson shook his head. "He's scared. He's talkin' to somebody, but I can't make out the words." He paused as Alan's voice rang out suddenly, loud and clear. "Get him!"
"What is it?" Julia demanded.
"I can't tell," Kevin said. "He's hurtin' here an' there but not bad. He's scared about Mark, mostly. I think there's somebody else there, and he's kinda mad at 'im. Can't tell why, though."
Nola Warwick had appeared beside him. "Are you all right, Kevin?"
He nodded absently at her. "Yeah, sure. This has happened a few times before."
"What's goin' on? Is it Alan?" Nola wasn't entirely unacquainted with psychic phenomena, considering that her son, Mark Warwick Linley, was a psychic, who had apparently inherited the psychic gene from his father.
Kovac was running across the grounds toward them again and Kaley turned around.
"Message from Troth, sir. Just arrived."
Kaley took the electronic pad thrust out to him. The entire crowd held its breath.
Kaley read the message aloud:
"FROM F.W. TO W.K.
A.W. AND M.L. STOLE AIRCAR ON TROTH TROL BASE. FLEW INTO HURRICANE TO ESCAPE PURSUIT. CONTACT LOST DURING FLIGHT. AIRCAR BELIEVED TO HAVE CRASHED IN JUNGLE. UNABLE TO LOCATE. AGENTS DISPATCHED. PATROL SEARCHING ALSO. A.W. AND M.L. APPEAR TO HAVE TAKEN STRIKE COMMANDER WOLENSKI AND DRIVER HOSTAGE WITH STOLEN AIRCAR. WILL REPORT FURTHER DEVELOPMENTS AS THEY OCCUR. SEND BRONSON AND PARNELL AT ONCE.
F.W.
"Let's go," Kevin said.
**********
tbc
