I haven't had time to do more than a cursory spell check so far. I'll correct any errors I find later. For some reason it's always easier to spot them once the part has been posted.
Turnabout: 3/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
4
Fred Wylie was a tall, dark-haired man in his mid-thirties. He commanded the Vetari Underground Station on Troth and at the moment he would have gladly given up his command to anyone. Mark Linley and Alan Westover, the top psychic Team in the Terran Underground, were missing. They had flown directly into the worst hurricane to visit the coast of the continent in years. His agents were crawling all over that stretch of jungle but the area where they might have crashed was very large and, at the moment, thick with searching Patrol aircars. Besides that, the hurricane was still in progress. He could hear the wind shrieking outside the farmhouse and rain beat deafeningly against the windows of the communications room.
The com beeped. "Alex to Fred." The voice was crackly with electrical interference.
"Freddy here. What news?"
"Nothing yet, sir, but apparently the Patrol has drawn a blank, too. It's murder out here. We can hardly keep the cars in the air. Wait a minute --" There was a pause. "Picking up Patrol transmissions. It's a Jil! Switching through now, sir."
Static crackled, and then the cool, aristocratic voice of a Jilectan was suddenly speaking over the com, crackly with interference. "... Criminals obtained vital information before their theft of the aircar. This information must *not* be allowed to reach the Terran Underground. Double the number of searchers at once."
"Sir, there aren't that many aircars available," a voice protested. "We'll have to send offworld --"
"Then utilize every available vehicle," the Jilectan's voice said, "and send for the others at once!" The transmission was obliterated by a vast burst of static.
"Well, they apparently got it," his wife's voice said from behind his left shoulder. "Now all we have to do is to find *them*."
Fred glanced over his shoulder. Tylla looked as hot and tired as he felt, her blond hair sticking to her neck and her face damp with perspiration. She extended a tall frosty glass filled with lemonade, or this planet's equivalent, to him. He accepted it and took a long swallow.
"I wish I could do something," she said. "I made some sandwiches. You ought to eat something."
He shook his head. "I couldn't."
She sank down beside him. "Are Parnell and Bronson on their way, yet?"
"Yes," he said. "I just got the notification a little while ago, but it'll take nearly three days."
She nodded. "Maybe they'll get themselves out of it," she said. "They've been in worse situations."
"If the Patrol doesn't find them first," Fred said gloomily.
**********
The storm was finally dying down. The wind still blew but not as violently as before and the rain was beginning to let up. Alan stood up and gestured to his two captives with the blaster.
"All right. We're going to need a litter of some sort. Get some long poles and one of the emergency blankets. Hurry."
Wolenski got to his feet, pausing to wrap the emergency blanket more tightly around Linley's unconscious form. Mark looked pale, still, but his breathing was deeper and more regular.
Hague sat up, too, jostling Mark as he did so. Linley groaned in his sleep.
"Careful!" Alan snapped.
"This is stupid," the man protested. "He ain't gonna make it. Any fool can see that."
Alan took a step forward, flicking the blaster to needle beam again.
"Get a move on, Hague." Wolenski's voice was tightly controlled. "Don't make him mad again, for the luvamike."
Hague began to assist, moving reluctantly. Alan directed them to two long, slender saplings, sliced his choices neatly from their roots with the blaster's needle beam and tossed the patrolmen a blanket from the emergency kit. While they were busy, Alan emptied Mark's belt pouches of their extra power cells and unstrapped the chronometer from his wrist.
As the talkative patrolman in the lift had remarked, this chronometer was a very fancy little device. It contained not only a time indicator but almost every other measuring device and indicator known to the civilized galaxy. There was a built-in odometer, a thermometer, a stopwatch, multiple time zone display, communicator, calendar, and compass, as well as numerous other functions. Keeping a careful eye on the two patrolmen, Alan sat down, placed the blaster in his lap and began to strap on the chronometer.
Hague dropped the pole he was holding for Wolenski and made a lunge for Alan. The man was only two meters away but he had not crossed half the distance before the blaster was again in Alan's hands. It hummed softly and Hague sprawled forward. Alan swung the weapon to Wolenski.
The Strike Commander froze in mid-step, lifting his hands over his head. "Wups! Sorry, kid!" He glanced at Hague in consternation. "Who the hell does he think he is? The Flash or something?"
"Finish the litter, sir," Alan said, thinly.
Wolenski squatted down again and began to twist the ends of the blanket around the poles, knotting them firmly. He glanced nervously at Alan. "What are you going to do, kid?"
"Nothing," Alan said. "Hurry up."
Wolenski obeyed. Mark stirred on the ground, moaning softly. Alan went to kneel beside him. "Mark, it's Alan." He grasped his partner's shoulder. "Don't try to move. You've been hurt. Just hold still."
Mark became quiet, his lips forming Alan's name.
"Good," Alan said. "I'm going to get us out of this."
Mark didn't answer. Wolenski was finishing the litter, winding short pieces of rope through holes he had torn in the blanket and tying the ropes to the poles.
"Hope this holds him," he remarked. "These blankets are tough but I had to tear those holes. No choice. Hope they don't tear any more while he's lying on it. He's a big guy. Must mass nearly a hundred kilos."
"A little more," Alan said, struggling to keep his voice steady. He was scared. The navigation unit on the chronometer had informed him that they were at least fifty kilometers from the Underground base. They would have to traverse the jungle on the way, and God alone knew what sorts of dangers they would encounter. Fred Wylie, the CO of the station, had told him a little about the more colorful aspects of Troth, and they had been enough to make him profoundly glad that he wouldn't have to deal with them. But now the situation had changed. He was smack in the middle of Troth's tropical jungle, with a long way to go to reach safety. His partner was badly hurt and would have to be carried the entire distance. The situation, to put it bluntly, was not promising.
Hague groaned. Alan got up and went over to him, nudging him with the toe of his shoe. "Get up, Mr. Hague."
Hague groaned again, beginning to retch. Alan dug the shoe in harder. "Get up!"
"I can't!" Hague was busy losing his lunch on the forest floor. Alan waited until he finished and nudged him again.
"Get up!"
Hague didn't obey. He lay still, groaning. Alan flicked the blaster to needle beam and fired. There was a sharp spitting sound and the vegetation three meters from Hague's left ear shriveled and began to steam.
"Get *up*!"
Hague made it to his knees. Alan stepped back, his mouth a thin line. "Help the Strike Commander get Mark onto the litter. Hurry up."
Hague struggled to his feet, his face ashen. "You ain't got no heart, kid."
"Mark's my friend. You're not. Pick him up, but be careful. If he so much as groans, I'll consider it your fault. Understand?"
Hague nodded, biting his lower lip. Together, he and Wolenski lifted Mark to the litter. Alan noted with faint satisfaction that Hague's movements were extremely gentle.
"Good. Now, pick him up. Strike Commander, you take the front. Hague, you take the rear. Walk ahead of me. If I have to stun you again, you'll be carrying the litter as soon as you wake up. I won't wait for you to finish being sick next time. Do we understand each other, Mr. Hague?"
Hague nodded miserably.
Alan herded his two prisoners southwest through the dense growth. The wind had died, but there was still a light rain falling and the sky, where Alan could see it through the trees, looked like ink. The two patrolmen forged ahead, Hague still groaning and swearing under his breath. Wolenski glanced back at his subordinate.
"It was your own fault, Hague. That had to be the dumbest stunt I've ever seen. Westover's outdrawn two Jils. It isn't very likely you're going to get the jump on him."
"You coulda helped me, y'know, sir," Hague said, sullenly.
"I tried," Wolenski said sarcastically. I won't try again. He had the blaster on me before you hit the ground."
Hague swore under his breath.
**********
They made only six kilometers before the light began to fade. The two patrolmen were staggering under the combined weight of Mark and the litter. Alan was feeling awful, and the twinging in his shoulder had become a dull ache. Wolenski stumbled at last, going to his knees on the damp forest floor. Alan waited as he staggered upright again and then gestured to a large, heavily leafed tree.
"Under there. Put him down -- gently, Mr. Hague."
The two men obeyed. Alan motioned them back and knelt beside Mark again. Linley had become very still for the last two hours, not even groaning when jostled, and Alan was more worried than he wanted the patrolmen to know. Mark mustn't die! Somehow, he *had* to get his partner to safety. He glanced at the two men.
"Okay; sit down." He waited until they had obeyed and then tossed them an emergency pack. "Get yourselves something to eat."
Wolenski caught the pack and dug out the concentrated rations. Alan waited while they ate, the blaster steady on them. When they had finished, he tossed a set of restrainers to Hague. "Put them on the Strike Commander," he instructed. "And remember, I'm reading your mind. Make darned sure they click."
Hague put the restrainers on Wolenski, cuffing the officer's hands behind him. Alan waited until he was finished and then fired a stunbolt. Hague pitched forward on top of Wolenski.
"Sorry," Alan said. He stuck the blaster into his belt and went to pull the patrolman off. Wolenski rolled away and sat up with an effort.
"Was he going to try to jump you again?" he asked.
"That's what was in his mind," Alan replied. He gestured to a sapling. "Move over there, sir. Put your back to the tree."
Wolenski did so, and Alan got Hague under the arms and dragged him toward the same tree. Hague was a big man and his body was a dead weight. Alan was panting by the time he made it to the tree with the patrolman. Wolenski watched in silence as Alan propped Hague upright, back to back with Wolenski and cuffed the man's wrists to Wolenski's, with the tree between them. Then he straightened up, rubbing his shoulders, and gave the Strike Commander an apologetic smile. "Sorry, sir."
Wolenski returned the smile. "It's okay, kid. I know it's nothing personal." His smile became a grin. "At least you didn't tell me to cuff Hague and then stun me."
"I like you," Alan said. "I don't like him."
"Yeah; I can tell." Wolenski shifted uncomfortably. "He's just another 'trol. There's millions like him."
"I know," Alan said. "He's awful single-minded, though."
He sat down and took out a packet of concentrated rations. "Want some more water, sir?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
Alan held the canteen for him and then took a big drink, himself. Hague groaned, beginning to retch. Alan ignored him and bent over Mark. "Mark, it's Alan. I want you to drink some water." He lifted Linley's shoulders and held the canteen to his lips. The water trickled into Mark's mouth. Linley choked and swallowed a mouthful or two. His eyelids flickered.
"Kid?" It was barely a whisper.
"Yes; it's me. Lie still."
"'S everythin' okay?"
"It's all right." Alan spoke firmly. "You're going to be okay. Just take it easy." He tucked the blanket around his partner. "Go to sleep now."
"Okay." Mark closed his eyes. Alan swallowed and set his jaw. Mark was depending on him. He couldn't fail. He just couldn't.
Wolenski was watching him curiously. Alan turned and began to eat the rations, but he didn't taste the food.
Hague groaned again and lifted sick, miserable eyes to Alan's face. "You bloody bastard!" he croaked.
Alan met his eyes levelly. "Did you forget, Mr. Hague? I can read your mind. I *was* reading your mind. You were going to try to jump me when I cuffed you." He considered for a moment. "If you think waking up from a stunbolt is bad, try going through a Jilectan interrogation just once. I've done it, in case you haven't heard about Lord Tralthvor. That, Patrolman, is what you're threatening me with, if you manage to get the better of me. There isn't much I wouldn't do to avoid it again. Think about that the next time you decide to try something."
Hague swore savagely. "If I ever get outta this --" He began to retch again.
Wolenski twisted his head around, trying to see his subordinate. "Take deep breaths, Patrolman. It'll be over in a minute."
Hague groaned, closing his eyes. Alan knelt beside Mark again, listening for a moment to his breathing. Linley didn't move. Carefully, Alan lay down next to him in an effort to keep him warm. The drizzle had stopped and the air was far from cold, but the temperature would undoubtedly drop before dawn. They were too close to the ocean. With the coming of night, a mist would undoubtedly roll in. Insects buzzed and trilled around them, and something small, with stiff, prickly legs, settled on his exposed face. He brushed it absently away. Hague swore again.
"We're gonna be eaten alive by these things before morning'. Ouch! Dammitall! That one had teeth!"
Alan sat up and rummaged in one of the emergency kits. He knew there was a spray can of insect repellent in it somewhere. He located it at last and slathered it over Mark's exposed face, neck and hands. He treated himself in a like manner and then went over to the patrolmen.
"Close your eyes, Strike Commander," he said.
Wolenski did so and Alan applied the insect spray to his exposed skin, and then, finally, to Hague's.
"Thanks, kid," Wolenski said.
"You're welcome. Try to get some sleep now. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
Hague said nothing. Alan lay down next to Mark again, trying to will himself to sleep.
Something flapped by overhead, pale against the trees above. An aircar hummed past to the south, circling occasionally. The Patrol was hunting. Alan knew that the Underground would also be searching, but he had little hope of their finding them. The abundance of good-sized life forms in the Trothian jungle made it hard for the Patrol's infrared sensors to detect them, fortunately, but the obstacle also applied to the Underground's searchers.
Could he make it to the Underground station? Most likely not, he thought bleakly. They had covered only six kilometers that day. They had over forty to go.
He was very tired. His eyes burned and felt grainy and hot when he closed them. Through the trees, the sky sparkled with stars. At least the storm was over.
Mark moved against him and groaned. Alan pulled the blanket tighter over his partner.
"That you, Jul?" It was a bare whisper.
"It's me, Mark." Alan couldn't restrain a smile.
"Oh." He caught the white flash of Linley's teeth in the darkness. "G'night, kid."
"Good night, Mark."
5
He awoke with the dawn. The air was cool and still, and the morning sun was shining warmly through a blanket of pink-tinted mist. Alan sat up, discovering that he was stiff and sore.
Hague and Wolenski were still asleep, slumped back to back. Hague's head was resting on Wolenski's shoulder. The two men were snoring lustily.
An aircar passed a short distance to the south and the sound brought back all the previous day's happenings with a painful jolt. Alan turned quickly, bending over his partner. "Mark?"
Linley's eyes opened and he started to sit up. Instantly, he felt back, biting off a groan.
"Easy does it." Alan hoisted himself into a sitting position. "How do you feel?"
"Like hell. What the devil happened?"
"Aircar wreck. You've got a broken leg and maybe other injuries. I'm trying to get us back to base."
Mark had closed his eyes again as Alan spoke. "Why's m'leg hurtin' so much?" he muttered.
"It's broken," Alan repeated. "It's in a splint."
Mark grunted something that he couldn't make out. His eyes remained closed.
Alan bit his lip. Mark had drifted off again. He had to get him to a doctor as soon as possible.
He realized abruptly that the two patrolmen were awake and watching him. He stood up, flexing stiff limbs. "Good morning."
"He ain't doin' so good, is he?" Hague said. He grinned nastily. "Might as well forget it, kid. There's no way he's gonna make it."
"Shut up," Alan said.
"I saw a case like this once before," Hague continued. "Guy died the third day -- screamin', he was, up to the last. They had to amputate the leg, too, but it didn't do no good --"
Alan drew his blaster and stunned the man. Hague slumped forward. Wolenski pursed his lips. "Holy space!"
"I'm not in the mood for Mr. Hague this morning," Alan said. He went over to the Strike Commander. "I'm going to let you go, sir. Don't try to jump me or you'll end up like him."
"Don't worry," Wolenski said dryly. "You know, you've changed a lot since we last met, back when Griffen deserted. What was it -- three years?"
"Four," Alan said. "A little more, actually. We barely met, then, though."
"Yeah. While you were turning Parks and me loose in the lifeboat," Wolenski said, as Alan unfastened the restrainers with his free hand, the blaster held firmly in his left. "You were a lot younger back then."
"You grow up fast in this business," Alan said dryly.
"I suppose so. I can tell Mark's been giving you a few pointers."
Alan grinned faintly, fastening the restrainers to his belt and getting to his feet. "You could say that. How do you feel?"
"Sore," Wolenski said.
"Me too." Alan tossed the keys to him. "Take the restrainers off Mr. Hague, will you please?"
Wolenski laughed. "Where'd you learn your manners, kid?"
Alan flushed a little. "Earth."
"You sound like a Jil. Your grammar's perfect." Wolenski removed the cuffs from Hague's wrists.
Alan felt his flush deepen. "I do not talk like a Jil. I have a Terran accent."
"Yeah, I know. Where'd you learn your Basic? You never make a mistake."
"High school," Alan said. "I took it in tenth grade."
"Really? You speak it like a native, except for that bloomin' accent."
"Toss the cuffs over here," Alan said.
Wolenski did so.
"Now the keys."
The keys landed beside the restrainers. Alan picked them up. "Thank you."
Wolenski grinned. "You're welcome."
Alan picked up the emergency kit and took out two cans of rations. He tossed them to the Strike Commander. "Here's breakfast. You can give the other to Mr. Hague after he finishes throwing up."
Wolenski's grin broadened and he set the can to one side. "Doesn't learn very fast, does he? Man; if I'd known he was this bull-headed, I wouldn't have had him for a driver." He began to open his can of rations.
Alan nodded. "He's seeing visions of wealth, fame and promotion, sir."
"I'm going to bust him when we get back to the ship," Wolenski said. "He'll be seeing visions of the Borantium Cinnabar Mines."
Hague groaned.
**********
Alan finished his breakfast and tossed another can of rations to Wolenski. "See if you can get Mark to eat something, sir."
Wolenski went over to Mark and knelt beside him. He gently shook his shoulder. "Mark? Wake up, old man. Alan wants you to eat something."
Linley's eyes flew open and he aimed a wild swing at Wolenski, who caught the arm easily. "It's okay, Mark. I'm not going to hurt you."
Alan took a step closer to his partner. Hague was still crouched on the ground, his face buried in his hands.
"It's okay, Mark," he said gently. "See if you can eat something."
"Alan!" Mark twisted his head around. "There's a damn 'trol over here!"
"It's Wolly, Mark, and I've got him covered. Try to eat something."
Wolenski offered him the spoon. "Come on, Mark."
Linley blinked at his former subcommander. "I ain't hungry."
"Please, Mark. Just try. I'm worried about you."
"Okay." Mark took a bite and made a face. "Yuk! What is it?"
"Emergency rations," Wolenski said. "Have another bite."
Mark shook his head. "I feel sick." He began to cough. Wolenski lifted his shoulders and turned him to the side until the spasms subsided.
"Mark!" Alan took a quick step forward. "Are you all right?"
"He's okay," Wolenski said, lowering his former Strike Commander to the litter again. "Better not try to eat anymore, though."
Hague groaned. "Don't mention food."
"Okay," Alan said. "We'd better get moving. Mr. Hague, pick up the litter. You too, sir."
Hague shook his head. "Carry him yourself. I ain't movin' 'til this damned headache goes away."
Wolenski made a growling noise in his throat. "Get up, you damn fool. He's put it on needle beam again."
Hague got up and stumbled wearily over to the litter. "You stun me one more time, an' I'm gonna --" He broke off, bending to lift the litter. Mark groaned as he straightened up.
Alan gestured with the blaster. "Walk ahead."
They started off through the jungle again. Mark was half-conscious and his conversation was limited to groans and colorful adjectives as the litter lurched along. Alan called the procession to a halt after a few minutes, opened the first aid kit and tossed a pre-filled syringe to Wolenski. "Give him a shot, sir," he ordered.
Wolenski obeyed and Mark swore savagely, taking another swing at him. Wolenski jerked back. "Hey! Take it easy!"
"It'll help the pain, Mark," Alan said. "Don't fight us. Are you thirsty?"
"Yeah."
Alan tossed the canteen to Wolenski, who held it for Linley. Mark gulped the water eagerly.
"Okay; that's enough." Wolenski drew the canteen back. "Don't want you throwing up again."
"Gimmie that --" Mark reached blindly for the canteen.
Wolenski glanced at Alan. "Want me to give him any more? He may bring it back up."
Alan shook his head. "You can have some more in a minute, Mark. Just rest now."
"Okay," Mark said obediently. His eyes closed.
Hague looked down at the injured man. "He ain't gonna make it, kid. Put him out of his misery and let's get goin'."
The blaster swung toward the patrolman. "Did you say something, Mr. Hague?"
"Shut *up*, dammit!" Wolenski snapped. "Do you *like* being stunned, or something?"
Hague glanced resentfully at his Strike Commander. "Gettin' awful friendly with him, aintcha, sir? Thinkin' about defectin', maybe? There's been a couple o' Strike Commanders before you -- friends o' yours, too. But then, you know all about that, don'tcha, sir? In fact, you was subcommander for both of 'em."
Wolenski fixed the man with a basilisk stare. "You're insubordinate, Patrolman! I'll report to Lord Twithvor when we get out of this. He'll probe my mind and see the truth. Just let me remind you that you have been stunned three times since the beginning of this episode, not to mention winged by a needle beam once, without altering our situation in the slightest. I, on the other hand, have not irritated our captor and have not been harmed. Need I say more?"
Hague looked away. "If you'd helped me, we mighta got the blaster away from him, but you sat there like a bump on a log, and --"
"It's very difficult to surprise a telepath," Wolenski said witheringly. "You've proved that, I think. Three times."
"Let's go," Alan said. "Pick up the litter."
The men obeyed and they staggered on through the underbrush.
Mark slept for a while, only awakening occasionally when the litter was rocked or thrown. Once, Hague took a bad step, going to one knee on the forest floor. Something slithered away into the grass as he did so, and the man yipped. The stretched lurched sideways, bringing a short, descriptive phrase from Linley concerning Hague's ancestry.
"Careful!" Alan snapped.
Hague got slowly to his feet, swearing under his breath. "This is ridiculous --" he began again.
"Shut *up*, Hague!" Wolenski said, wearily.
They went on. The sun grew hot and the air was humid. Wolenski glanced back at Alan and grinned a little. "He'll be okay, kid. I know this guy real well. He'll pull through. Only the good die young, so he ought to make it to at least a thousand."
Alan returned the smile. Hague scowled, muttering under his breath.
The Strike Commander ignored it. "You look kinda white, kid. Feeling okay?"
"Fine." Alan looked at the man more closely, really taking in his appearance for the first time. Wolenski was tall and well muscled, like all patrolmen, with dark hair and eyes. In age he appeared to be in his late thirties, and the ghost of a five-o'clock shadow showed in the brightening sunshine. His face was tanned and beaded with sweat.
"Where are you from, sir?" he asked curiously. "Seems like I've heard your accent before."
"Bellian," Wolenski said. "Nice planet."
"So I've heard. A good friend of mine comes from Bellian. That's where I've heard your accent before."
"Oh yeah?" Wolenski paused, breathing hard. "Anybody I know?"
Alan smiled faintly. "Julia Austell."
"Julia Aus --!" Wolenski broke off. "No kidding? Well, we always did claim to produce the prettiest girls in the Sector. You should see my sister. You'd never believe we're related."
Alan laughed.
"Julia?" It was Mark, trying to push himself to his elbows. "Is she here?"
"Lie down, Mark. She's not here. We were just talking about her."
Mark subsided. Wolenski glanced at Alan, looking puzzled. "What's he getting so excited about?"
"They're engaged," Alan said.
Wolenski's eyebrows went up. "No kidding? Mark? I never thought good old Mark would ever settle down to one woman. He always did like the pretty blond ones, though. My hat's off to him. He sure did pick a looker."
"Are you married, sir?" Alan asked.
"Who, me?" the Commander inquired. "Nah. I don't have time for women in this job."
Mark grinned weakly, his eyes half open. "Since when did you turn over a new leaf, Wol?"
Wolenski glanced down at Linley and laughed. "You must be feeling better." He looked back at Alan. "He and I used to do the bars together when we were in port. Mark and I had some terrific times before he went nuts and --" He broke off abruptly.
"Was it pretty bad?" Alan asked.
"Yeah," Wolenski replied. "It was hell. I can still see old Halthzor looking at me and demanding an explanation -- and I didn't have one." He glanced back at Alan again. "Do you know how it feels to get hit by a Jil?"
"Yes," Alan said.
"You do*?" Wolenski had obviously expected a negative response. "Which one belted you?"
"Halthzor," Alan said. "He caught me for a few minutes the night Trothvor and Danthvar were killed. He doesn't like me very much."
"Yeah, I know." Wolenski sounded a little awed. "Why are you still alive?"
"He wasn't ready to kill me yet," Alan said. "I hope he didn't hurt you too badly."
Wolenski shrugged faintly. "I was in the hospital for a week. Not too bad."
"I'm really sorry," Alan said. "What did he do to you after Griffen deserted?"
"Nothing much," Wolenski said. "He was too busy with Horowitz -- the Base Commander, remember. He had a few remarks to make about the poor guy's security measures, too."
"It wasn't *his* fault!" Alan protested.
"Wasn't mine either," Wolenski said resignedly. "But Halthzor's got a real nasty temper and he had to take it out on somebody. They relieved Horowitz of his command, too, but reinstated him after he was released from the hospital a month later."
"Oh my!" Alan said.
"Yeah," Wolenski said. "He doesn't like you very much either. He still walks with a limp, I hear."
"Oh, gosh!" Alan said in distress. "Tell him I'm really sorry the next time you see him, would you?"
"Sure, but somehow, I don't think it'll suffice." Wolenski laughed. "Poor guy! I felt sorry for him. That was one helluvan embarrassing mess."
Hague had been noticeably silent during this exchange. Now he grunted disgustingly, shifting his grip on the poles of the litter. "This damned guy's heavy! Let's stop a few minutes!"
Alan glanced at him and then at Wolenski. "You need a rest, sir?"
Wolenski nodded.
"Okay." Alan stopped and the two men lowered the litter to the ground. Wolenski sank down beside it.
Hague glared resentfully at his Strike Commander. "You're getting' awful friendly with this guy, *sir*," he said pointedly. "Maybe I'll just tell Lord Twithvor about it when we get back."
Wolenski looked indifferently at the man. "Be my guest," he said.
Hague sat down across from his commander. "You ain't tryin' very hard to get away, sir."
"I want to live, Patrolman. And I don't like being stunned as much as you apparently do."
Mark was muttering something under his breath. Alan bent over him. "What did you say, Mark?"
"The water's the wrong color," Mark said, his voice faint and slurred.
Alan frowned. "What?"
"He's gettin' delirious," Hague said. "Beginnin' o' the end."
"Mark!" Alan knelt beside his partner. Linley stirred restlessly on the litter but his eyes stayed closed.
"He'll go out screamin, kid. I seen this kinda thing before --"
Alan turned fiercely on Hague, bringing the blaster up. Hague gave a bark of laughter. "Go ahead. Stun me again if it makes you feel better."
Wolenski got to his feet. "Let me have a look at him."
A flash of alarm coursed through Alan. He spun, bringing the blaster up and flicking the setting to kill.
The thing shot out of the trees overhead and Alan had a confused glimpse of wide-open jaws and a body covered with greyish-brown fur. The blaster cracked and the animal plunged downward, landing on top of Wolenski and knocking him flat.
Alan spun back, flicking the setting to stun. Hague was jumping toward him, his arms outstretched. The stunbolt hummed and Hague sprawled forward to crumple to the ground at Alan's feet.
He turned around and went over to Wolenski. The Strike Commander lay perfectly still on the ground, the thing's body pinning him down. Alan heaved the creature off, rolling it to one side. Its head resembled that of a Terran crocodile except for the fact that it was covered from head to toe with a thick, downy coat of fur. The legs were more like those of a monkey, and it had six long, flexible appendages on the end of each. It also sported a prehensile tail.
Wolenski gasped as its weight lifted from him and pushed himself to his elbows.
"Are you okay, sir?" Alan asked.
Wolenski sat up and Alan could see him shaking but his voice was steady. "Holy space! What was it?"
"It's dead, whatever it was." Alan stepped back, bringing the blaster up again as Wolenski rose to his feet. "Are you all right? You're bleeding."
"Didn't feel a thing. Where?"
"Over your left eye."
Wolenski wiped the blood away. "Just a scratch. Beggar must have clipped me." His gaze alighted on the unconscious patrolman. "Oh hell! He did it again."
Alan nodded.
"Damn fool. When we get back, I'm going to have him peeling potatoes for the next six months." He wiped his neck and glanced down at the animal. "Looks like a damn crocodile."
"Check on Mark, will you please?" Alan said. "I'm worried about him."
"Sure." Wolenski bent over Linley, felt for his pulse and rested a hand on his forehead. "He's running a fever, but not much. Probably from the trauma. I think he's just dreaming. We gave him something for the pain, remember."
Mark's fist came up, catching Wolenski a glancing blow across one cheek. "Get away from me, 'trol!" He favored Wolenski with a few ripe adjectives. "Alan!"
"I'm here, Mark." Alan put a hand on his partner's arm. "Easy. It's only Wolly."
Mark squinted at Wolenski, who was rubbing his face. "Oh. Sorry, Wol." He spoke blurrily. After a moment, his eyes closed and he began to snore.
Wolenski was wiggling one of his teeth experimentally. "Man! I think he loosened one of my teeth!"
Hague groaned. Wolenski strode over to the man and knelt beside him, helping him to sit up. "Aren't you getting a little tired of these antics, Patrolman?" he inquired.
Hague started to swear, choking and retching. Alan went to him, motioning Wolenski back with the blaster. The Strike Commander moved quickly away and Alan nudged Hague with his foot.
"Get up Mr. Hague."
"Go to hell," Hague said.
Alan flipped the blaster to needle beam and fired. Hague yipped and came to his feet, swearing and rubbing a spot on the top of his head.
"Okay. Pick up the litter and let's go."
**********
They had covered three more kilometers by noon. The patrolmen were grunting and swearing, stumbling on the uneven forest floor. Mark began to groan again, swearing angrily when jostled. Alan walked behind Hague, the blaster steady on the man's back and occasionally speaking comfortingly to his partner. Wolenski had fallen silent since his encounter with the furry crocodile, except for the occasional cussword.
They stopped by a small stream for lunch. Alan glanced uneasily into the surrounding underbrush. He had become aware in the past hour of stealthy movement in the foliage to their rear and the sensation of being watched. He knew that Wolenski had noticed it too, as evidence by his silence and his empathic output. Hague had noticed nothing.
The Strike Commander opened his can of rations. "What do you suppose they are, kid?"
"Wish I knew," Alan said. "I've heard stories about these jungles."
"What stories?" Wolenski asked.
Hague was chewing sullenly on his rations, not looking at his companions. Alan didn't answer immediately. He had heard the stories from Fred Wylie, the C.O. of the Underground station here on the planet. He had no doubt of their authenticity.
"What stories?" Wolenski repeated. "Come on, kid. I'll be more nervous if you don't tell me."
Alan cleared his throat. "Well, apparently no one ever goes into the jungles here alone, sir. There's a life form here, semi-intelligent, and it runs in packs." He hesitated. "They kind of like Homo Sapiens."
Hague was watching him now, his face pale. Wolenski swallowed. "Oh," he said. "What else?"
"Well, the packs can number up to fifty individuals, and Terrans haven't been on Troth long enough for these things to have developed a healthy respect for blasters. They -- well -- they like the taste of us so much that they'll hunt us down deliberately."
Hague said a four-letter word.
"They also like Jils," Alan added as an afterthought. "Lord Volithvor was killed by the things about six months ago -- at least that's what they think. All they found were his bones -- and the bones of his escort."
Hague was looking sick. "And you think *that's* what's after us?"
Alan nodded. "They're interested in us, that's for sure. I'm sensing hunger, and anticipation."
Wolenski swallowed.
Hague's eyes strayed to Mark's sleeping form on the litter. "He ain't gonna make it, kid. Now listen to me and don't stun me yet. Before, I was razzin' you, but I ain't now. He's dyin', but we're still alive and we'll have a helluva better chance if we --"
"Shut up, Hague," Wolenski said.
"*You shut up, sir!" Hague snapped. "This is damn stupid to lug a dyin' man along with those things after us. Look, kid, if we just leave him behind, he'll never know what happened and he can pacify the things for us --"
Alan raised the blaster. "Lie down on your face, Mr. Hague. You too, Strike Commander."
Slowly, the men obeyed. Alan knelt beside his partner and set the blaster on the ground by his knee. "Mark, wake up."
Linley's eyes opened. "Hey, kid."
"How do you feel?"
Linley shifted uncomfortably. "I dunno. M'leg hurts like hell."
Alan opened the emergency kit and gave him another shot. "That should help. Want to eat something?"
"I ain't hungry," Mark said. "How about some water?"
Alan held the canteen for him. "You should eat. You've got to keep your strength up."
Linley made a face. "Maybe in a while. My stomach ain't feelin' so good." He grimaced, rubbing a hand across his face. "I was dreamin'. Weirdest sorta dreams --"
Alan sighed and ate the rations, himself. "Okay, you two. Let's go."
Mark blinked at him, his eyes glazing a little from the drug. "You doin' okay? You look sorta scared, an' I think you've been linkin' with me off an' on all day."
Wolenski, squatting down to lift the litter, glanced curiously at Mark. "What's he talking about?"
Mark's gaze focused on the Strike Commander. "Holy hell! I forgot about those damn 'trols. Sorry kid. I'll keep my mouth shut after this."
"It's okay," Alan said. "Go back to sleep now. Everything's fine."
"Wish I could help you, kid."
"I'm all right," Alan said. "Everything's under control. You just lie still and rest."
Linley's eyes closed and he smiled weakly. "That's m'little buddy. Give 'em hell, kid."
Alan nodded, biting his lip, and stepped to the side as Hague started to lift the rear of the litter. The patrolman looked scornfully at Alan.
"Touchin'," he remarked. "Remember all those noble things while those critters are chewin' you to bits."
Alan didn't trust himself to speak. He gestured with the blaster and Hague heaved the litter level with Wolenski's end. Mark gave a hoarse bark of laughter. "*You* remember 'em, 'trol," he croaked. "If the critters catch up with us, I hope he stuns you and leaves you on the ground for 'em. *I* sure would if I was in his spot."
"Let's go," Alan said. "Straight ahead."
The little party started forward once more.
**********
tbc
