Blind Mission: 4/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
5
Alan moaned faintly as Welling lowered him to the floor. Mark straightened up and wiggled his shoulders. "Man, that guy's heavy." He knelt and began to strip off the patrolman's uniform.
"You know," he remarked conversationally as he worked, "once I left the Patrol I thought I'd never hafta wear this getup again." He pulled off his jacket and shirt and put on the black and scarlet tunic. Minutes later, he was tugging on the boots and grimacing. "Man this guy must be Cinderella's brother. Hope I can find a pair of bigger boots." He got to his feet. "I'm gonna join the search parties an' do a little scoutin' around. Shut the door after me an' don't open it 'til you sense me on the other side -- an' even then read my mind an' be sure I *want* you to open it. Can you do that through the door?"
Eric snorted. "*Your* mind? Piece of cake!"
Linley made a face at him and glanced over at Welling. "How's he doin', Nick?"
The pilot shrugged. "I think the drug's starting to wear off but he's got quite a way to go yet. They must have given him the heaviest dose they could without killing him."
Mark grimaced. "Okay. If he wakes up while I'm gone, tell him I'll be back soon." He stood up and went to the door.
"Be careful," Ruthy said.
Linley nodded and glanced at Eric. "Remember what I said. Can you tell if anybody's out there?"
"Not yet," Eric said. "Better hurry, though. Somebody's coming this way."
Mark opened the door quickly and stepped through. Unlike standard Terran and Jilectan designs, these doors opened on hinges. He closed the panel behind him and heard the lock click as he did so. Eric wasn't taking any chances.
The area was quiet and, in the near-silence, he could hear the scrape of feet a short distance away but approaching steadily. Devoutly hoping that in the dim light whoever it was wouldn't notice that he didn't have a blaster, Mark stepped across the hallway and rattled the door on the opposite side. It was locked.
He rattled it again, just as a patrolman rounded the corner in the passage and paused. "How the hell'd you get here?"
"Through a hall up that way." Mark jerked a thumb in the opposite direction. "Man, this place is a regular maze! We ain't never gonna find 'em!"
The patrolman nodded disgustedly. "Mombasa shoulda just took 'em. Now we got 'em runnin' around down here someplace."
Mark rattled the door where his companions were hiding. "Locked." He glanced at the other man. "Let's stick together, shall we? I don't wanna run up against Westover and Linley by myself. Strikes me as a good way t'get killed fast."
The other man grunted assent. "Westover was out cold, though. I don't see how they got out."
Mark shrugged expressively. "One of 'em probably had a bomb in his back tooth or somethin'. Damned Undergrounders. Which way now?"
"I dunno. Any more halls up that way?"
"Dozens of 'em. Let's go." Mark gestured and started in the opposite direction. The other man fell in beside him.
"What happened to their guard -- Jacobs, wasn't it?"
"I dunno." Mark hoped the other man wouldn't decide to examine his nameplate. "They probably killed him."
"Yeah, I know, but what happened to his body? Did they lug it along with 'em or somethin'?"
"Maybe," Mark said, sweating. "Maybe he just got blown up."
The corridor branched again a little farther up, one branch ending in a ramp. Mark paused. "Y'know," he said, "if I was them, I'd double back as fast as I could. I'll betcha they're back up there right now."
"Great. Keeps 'em away from me." "The patrolman started down the other passage as Mark gave a bark of laughter. "Y'know, I just figured it out."
"What?"
"They took Jacobs along with 'em because Linley needed the uniform. He'd fit right in down here, y'know, bein' he was a 'trol before and bein' from Shallock an' all."
"Yeah," Mark agreed. He let the man pull two steps ahead and then snapped, "Hold it! Look here!"
The patrolman spun, one hand flashing toward his weapon. Mark's fist slammed solidly into his jaw and he dropped like a stone.
Mark appropriated the other man's blaster and dragged him back to the room where his companions lay hidden. Eric opened the door, grinning faintly, and Mark lugged the man inside. "All okay, kids?"
"Yeah," Eric said.
Mark let his captive slump to the floor, switched helmets and began to pull off one of the boots. "Get the other one, willya?"
Ruthy had already began to tug at the footgear. Eric took the restrainers off the patrolman's belt and secured him with his hands behind his back. Mark glanced at the markings inside the boot he had taken. "Yeah, these are more my size." He began to pull off his boot. "Thought I was gonna be crippled for life."
Ruthy laughed. Eric glanced at the footgear in awe and then at his own small feet. "What size do you wear, anyway?" he demanded.
Linley grinned. "You're just jealous, youngster." He stood up. "Think you can wear this guy's outfit, Nick?"
Welling frowned at the limp form. "It might be a bit big." He started to unseal the black and scarlet uniform. "I've always wanted to see what I'd look like in one of these get-ups."
"Well, now's your chance," Eric said. "Just keep your mouth shut. You sound too Terran." He began to help Welling strip the patrolman.
Mark got to his feet and stamped a couple of times to settle his feet firmly into the new boots. "I'm goin' out again. Take care o' that guy."
"Don't worry about him, sir," Welling said.
"Dammit, Nick, will you quit callin' me 'sir'?" Mark glared at the pilot.
Welling grinned. "Sorry, sir. I mean, Mark."
"Nobody out there," Eric told him.
"Thanks." Mark opened the door, stepped quickly through and closed it behind him.
The hall was quiet. Mark went silently along, looking around. He had to somehow get his companions out of the building and to a ship; that was for sure. He and Welling could undoubtedly manage it. They were both easily large enough to impersonate 'trols for the short time needed. The problem was going to be the three psychics.
There was a clang from above him. Mark glanced up to see a pair of booted feet descending from a large, square opening in the wall, four meters above the floor. He stared, his mouth at half cock, at the unusual sight. A man in Patrol uniform emerged, hung by his hands a moment and dropped. A square of mesh swung silently to above the opening and the patrolman straightened up and brushed dust from his uniform. Mark stepped back and sneezed.
The man glanced at Mark's helmet. "Sorry, sir."
Linley belatedly realized that the patrolman wore the insignia of a Patrolman Second Class. He, himself, wore the black half-stripe of a corporal. He grinned. "S'okay, patrolman. Any sign of 'em?"
"No, sir." The man brushed dust from his visor. "I don't think nobody's been up there since the place was built. Beats me why they got all these tunnels down here, anyway. They don't use 'em as far as I can tell."
Mark shrugged expressively. "Don't look at me. All right, keep huntin'. I'm headin' back that way. Watch yourself."
"Right." The patrolman started away. Mark turned and retraced his steps a second time to the room where he had left his companions.
Two patrolmen were coming toward him as he approached, one of them a lieutenant. Mark saluted smartly. "No sign of 'em, sir. I been all along here."
"Very well, Corporal. Carry on."
"Yessir. I just met Patrolman MacPhearson comin' outta the ventilator, covered with dust. He says there ain't been nobody up there." He paused. "There's a ramp leadin' up that way..." He pointed. "And another passage. Place is a regular rabbit warren, sir. They could be anywhere."
The officer nodded. "Keep your eyes open, Corporal. Westover'll be coming around in another couple of hours. Stuff the doc gave him was only good for six. If we don't find them before then, we're going to have real trouble."
Mark allowed himself a slight grimace. "Yes, sir." He moved aside to let the two men pass and followed them. They reached the fork and started up the ramp. He waited until they had disappeared and then went back to the room that concealed his companions.
Eric opened the door as Mark approached. He entered, closing it behind him and looked over the situation.
Things were much as he had left them. Welling was wearing the black and scarlet Patrol uniform. Ruthy sat on the floor, Alan's head pillowed in her lap. The patrolman Mark had slugged lay face down, cuffed with his own restrainers and gagged with Mark's shirt. Welling's belt secured his feet.
"What do we do now, sir?" Welling asked.
"Dammit, Nick!"
"Sorry. What do we do now?"
"I found a better hidin' place for one thing. C'mon."
Welling picked up Alan. He moaned but didn't move. Linley drew his blaster, set it to stun and fired at the bound and gagged patrolman, and then flipped it back to kill. "Anybody out there, kid?"
Eric shook his head. "Not yet."
"Okay," Mark told him, "you and Ruthy keep your feelers out. There's 'trols all over the place down here." He opened the door and led the way rapidly down the hallway.
**********
A short time later, the four figures crouched in the dimness of the ventilator shaft. Alan lay on the floor of the passage next to Mark, with Linley's jacket folded beneath his head. He moaned again. Mark glanced at him but, aside from the sound, his partner showed no signs of waking.
Ruthy frowned. "He acts like something's hurting him." She closed her eyes for a second and winced. "It's his face. It's burning."
Linley cussed. "I shoulda thought of it." He fished in the belt pouches of his borrowed uniform. "There oughta be a tube of burn salve in here somewhere...here it is. He removed the small container, uncapped it and began to smooth the soothing cream across his partner's blistered skin. "I sure hope he wakes up pretty soon. It'll be a lot easier with what he can do."
"What *are* we going to do?" Ruthy asked.
Linley scowled. "We got to get to a ship, and that's a problem, since we don't know where they are." He looked at Eric. "You didn't just happen to read those guys' minds an' find out where we can latch onto one, didja?"
Eric shook his head. Ruthy smiled. "I did," she said. "They didn't shoot my ship, you know. They just grappled. I wanted to find out what they'd done with it, so I read Commander Broang. He's even easier to read than you are."
Mark could feel his face growing warm but he grinned wryly. "Look, cupcake, I can't help my particular mental makeup, but don't go around readin' me, huh? I got some things I'd rather keep to m'self."
Ruthy laughed. "You know I wouldn't. I promised you that a long time ago."
"Good," Linley said. "Anyway, what did you find out?"
"My ship's docked on the landing field for small craft about ten kilometers east of here. The Patrol battlecruiser is on a field for the big ships a good way off, so we won't have to worry about patrolmen all over the place."
"You're sure?"
"Uh huh. They've just got a few Loangi security guards there. Mombasa's apparently keeping his men pretty much on the ship. The others are here at their space headquarters because of us."
"Smart of him. Less chance of some nitwit spillin' the beans too early."
Ruthy nodded. "That was more or less the idea I picked up from Mombasa. There's aircars parked on the roof of this building, though." She looked at Mark out of the corner of her eye. "I figured you'd get us out somehow, and I wanted to find out as much as I could, to help."
Mark grinned approvingly at her. "Good work. We'll head for the roof. You're good at this sorta thing, honey."
"Thank you. The exit to the roof is guarded," Ruthy continued demurely, "by one of the Loangi and one patrolman. And there's a patrolman on the roof, as well."
Eric laughed and squeezed his partner around the waist. Linley shook his head. "Kaley's been wastin' your talents keepin' you at the base, cupcake."
Ruthy smiled. "I'm very good at listening."
"I'll say." Mark chuckled. "You didn't, by any chance, happen to see where the Jil Strike Force is holin' up, didja?"
Ruthy shook her head, her light brown curls bouncing in the pale light. "No. I was looking for it, too, but he didn't know."
Mark smiled at her rueful tone. "That's okay. It's what I figured. We better get goin'." He lifted Alan like a feather and draped him across his shoulders. Alan moaned softly.
They started along the passage on hands and knees, moving slowly and as quietly as possible. After a time they came to a spot where the shaft branched, going both up and down. The ladders designed for the Loangi maintenance personnel were strange, but climbable. Mark steadied Alan across his shoulders and they began their ascent. After a time, they reached a landing and paused for breath, and then began to climb again. After an interminable time, they reached another level. Far down the passage to their left, a handlight flickered and faintly Mark could hear voices. He motioned to his companions for silence.
Someone was using a few choice adjectives, giving an imaginative description of the ventilator shaft, the Loangi, the Terran Underground in general and Strike Commander Linley in particular. Another voice broke into the monologue, the words too muffled to discern, and there was the scraping noise of men crawling on hands and knees. The fugitives remained silent as the sounds dwindled into the distance.
"Boy!" Eric's whisper sounded amused. "He sure doesn't think much of you, Mark!"
Linley grinned. "Let's go. No time to waste."
They began to climb again. They came to a third landing and then a fourth. Again, Mark called a halt. Alan was short and relatively light, as Terran men went, but even a baby grows heavy after a time and Alan was no baby. Mark's shoulders were aching as he lowered his partner to the floor of the adjoining ventilator shaft. Faint light filtered to them from a grating some distance away. Mark sank onto the surface flexing his shoulders.
His partner had become increasingly restless during the past half hour. The drug was definitely wearing off. He mumbled something indistinct, turning his head from side to side and licking his lips. Mark detached the canteen on his Patrol belt and allowed him a tiny swallow. "Easy, kid. Take it slow."
"Mark?" Alan's eyelids flickered but didn't open.
"Take it easy," Linley repeated. He replaced the canteen on his belt and let Alan grip his hand, giving his partner something solid to grasp while he struggled back to consciousness. "Lie still 'til you feel better."
"Wh'appened?" Alan's voice was still slurred from the drug. "Wh're we?"
"We're okay. Want some more water?"
"Mm. Thirsty."
Mark gave him another tiny swallow. Alan lay still with his eyes closed and Mark saw that his partner was drifting off to sleep again. He glanced at the others, dimly visible in the faint light. "Let's wait a bit. Give him a chance to come around."
"Sure." Eric grinned slightly as Mark shifted his partner to a more comfortable position.
"Whatcha grinnin' about?" Mark asked.
"I was just thinking," Eric remarked. "Remember when the Underground first found you and Alan?"
"Huh? Sure."
"Ruthy was probing you when you came to. Remember?"
"O' course."
"Well, I never told you before, but when I woke up, I read you, too. You were still half-mad at yourself for what you'd done."
"Yeah." Mark grinned at the memory. "I thought I'd gone nuts at first. First time in my life I'd felt sorry for anybody. But then we found out about the other stuff and it made more sense."
Eric nodded. "Yeah. I still wasn't sure whether I liked you or not, back then. After all, you were a 'trol, and the Patrol killed my parents and tried real hard to kill Ruthy and me, and her family, too. I was just wondering if you had to do it over again, would you? Knowing what you know now?"
Mark managed to muffle the snort of laughter. "Kid, knowin' what I know now, we'd've taken off into the sunset the day we met. Salthvor'd never o' had a chance at us. The kid kinda grows on you -- even an ordinary Joe like me."
Ruthy giggled. "I could call you a lot of things, but ordinary isn't one of them."
Mark grinned but didn't answer. Fifteen minutes crawled slowly past.
At last, Alan stirred again. "Mark?"
"Right here," Linley said. "Keep your voice down, kid."
"Where are we?" Alan's voice had dropped to a whisper.
"Tellya later. Howya feel?"
"Kind of woozy." Alan's eyes opened, blinking vaguely. "Why is it so dark?"
"We're in a ventilator shaft," Mark told him. He removed the handlight from his belt and flicked it on low, shielding it with one hand. "That better?"
Alan's eyes widened and Mark heard him draw in his breath sharply. The mind link closed with a jolt of sheer terror. "I can't see!"
Linley's heart gave a jerk and tried to climb into his throat. Eric, Ruthy and Welling were grouped closely around them and Ruthy gave a gasp. Alan flinched away from her. "Who's there?"
"Me," Ruthy said.
"Ruthy," Alan said. He drew a breath. "And Eric and ... Welling?"
"Yes, Colonel," the pilot said.
Mark helped him sit up. "Watch your head," he said automatically. "The roof's pretty low. Can't you see anything?"
"No." Mark could hear him fighting to keep his voice steady. "Everything's dark." He swallowed. "The panel -- when it caught fire, I got it right in the face. What if --"
Mark put a hand on his shoulder. "Easy. Let's not panic." He spoke firmly, trying to reassure himself as much as Alan. "You got a flash burn. We'll getcha back to the base an' let 'em fix you up. We got the best eye doctor in the Sector there, y'know. Stanislauski'll know what to do."
Alan nodded and Linley could feel him struggling to master his fear. Ruthy reached over and took the handlight from Mark. "Alan, turn your head this way."
Alan obeyed. Ruthy put the light close to his eyes. "Do you see anything now?"
A little of the terror had left Alan's voice as he replied. "It doesn't seem quite as dark."
"Good," Ruthy said. "Listen, Alan. A friend of mine had this happen when I was about twelve. He was in a fire and got a bad face burn, but it didn't hurt the optic nerve -- just the corneas. They can regenerate those now, you know." She paused. "He's one of the best pilots in the Terran Space Corps today." Again she paused. "It takes about six or seven weeks."
There was silence for several seconds. Mark continued to grip Alan's shoulder, trying to quell his own fear. If Alan was permanently blind --
Deliberately, he pushed the thought away. He and Alan would deal with that when and if it arose. Blind or no, Alan was his partner and nothing could ever change that, short of the death of one of them.
Alan turned his head and his voice was low and almost steady. "What happened? Why are we in a ventilator shaft?"
Mark was fishing in his pouches, and located at last a square of white cloth -- a clean handkerchief. "Hold still. I wanna cover your eyes. No need t'let anythin' else happen to 'em. Close 'em."
Alan obeyed. Mark tied the makeshift bandage in place. "Eric can tell you while we move, so we don't make more noise. We gotta make tracks. Still feelin' woozy?"
"Sort of."
"Think you can hang on piggyback? We got some climbin' to do."
"I think so."
"Good. Probably safer, anyhow." He turned to the others. "Let's move."
**********
tbc
