Blind Mission: 5/6
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
6
Mark opened the ventilator grating quietly and peered out. The corridor was silent and dimly lighted. Alan, seated on the floor of the ventilator shaft behind him, clasped his belt.
"Feel anythin'?" Mark asked.
Alan was silent for a second or two. "Two guards around the corner to the left," he whispered. "It's the roof exit, all right. One of 'em's a Terran. The other isn't."
"Loangi," Eric said softly.
"Anybody else around?"
"I can't sense anyone. Eric? Ruthy?"
A pair of negative whispers sounded behind them.
Mark slipped over the edge of the shaft and dropped lightly to the floor. An instant later Welling was beside him. Alan let himself down, hanging by his hands, and Mark caught him about the waist, lowering him to the ground. A few seconds later they were all standing in the passageway.
Mark motioned to Welling. "Okay, let's go. We'll hafta take out the guards."
"Yessir." The pilot nodded. "I could use a blaster."
"When we're done, you'll have one. C'mon."
**********
Alan kept a mental feeler in his partner's mind as he moved down the corridor away from Alan and the other two psychics. A tingle of precognition was crawling over his scalp and he extended a mind probe toward the two presences around the corner. The Loangi was pitifully easy to read. The Terran was slightly more difficult but the orders they had received before taking the post were very clear. Alan took his lower lip firmly between his teeth and followed Mark and Welling, trailing his fingers along the wall for guidance. Eric and Ruthy were beside him at once.
*What are you doing?* It was Eric's voice, loud and clear in his mind.
*Going to help,* he replied. *Keep behind me.*
*You can't see!* Ruthy protested.
*I won't need to." Alan's fingers paused on the wall as Mark and Welling stepped around the curve of the hallway.
"Halt!" It was definitely a Terran voice. "None to leave the building without proper I.D. And take off those helmets!"
For an instant, Alan caught a mental image of the guard's weapon centered on his partner. Then the blaster flipped from the man's hand and spun through the air, straight toward Welling. The pilot caught it deftly.
To the Loangi guard it must have seemed as if the patrolman had thrown his sidearm to Welling. The alien's tentacles froze for one vital instant. Mark's blaster hummed and the creature wilted. Welling's confiscated weapon hummed a split instant later and the patrolman slumped to the floor.
Ruthy and Eric hurried Alan forward. Mark's voice was a whisper. "Thanks. Give Welling and me a couple o' minutes to take care of the guard outside and then come out." Alan heard the creak of the hinges as the door swung outward.
*That was great!* Eric said. *Wish I was a telekinetic!*
Five minutes later, a four-man aircar lifted quietly from the roof of the building. Welling and Mark were seated in front and the three psychics crowded together in the rear seat. The car headed due east. Alan scrunched tightly into the corner of the seat behind the driver and concentrated on trying to visualize what was going on around him.
In his mind's eye he could "see" the people around him. This was going to take some practice, he knew, but he thought he could manage it, given time and practice. The scenery going past the car was blurred to his mental senses. Never before had he tried to focus his clairvoyant power to sense everything around him so clearly, but it had never before been so necessary. Grimly, fueled by the wish not to be a burden to Mark and the rest of his companions, Alan concentrated on "seeing" a clear picture of his surroundings.
Ruthy leaned forward in the seat. A couple of minutes went by and she pointed suddenly. "Down there to the left. There's the field."
"Where's your ship?" The car began to descend toward the brightly illuminated patch of ground below them. On his mental screen, Alan could see dozens of ships parked on the field: lean, cylindrical craft of obvious alien manufacture.
It was working, he thought exultantly. Then he damped down his enthusiasm. It was going to take more than this. He had to spread his perceptions more widely, so that he could have a clear picture of everything around him. There was no reason he shouldn't be able to handle it, he told himself. The eye took in everything within its range of vision and the human brain was able to integrate all the information into a clear picture. He should be able to do it with his clairvoyant power as well. All he needed was to reorient his brain to focus on the information from his mental senses instead of the visual ones.
Ruthy looked around. "There!"
In the corner of the field sat a familiar, disc-shaped craft -- a skippership.
Mark turned the aircar and brought it down in the shadow of the craft. He got out and grasped Alan's arm as he got out of the car. "This way. You'll hafta unlock the hatch. Hurry, before the guards see us."
They ran to the boarding ramp, the others crowding their heels. As they started to ascend, there was the sudden hooting of an alarm. They had been noticed.
Alan scrambled up the ramp, very aware of the metal under his boots and the airlock before him. He rested a hand on the hatch. Instantly the image of the lock formed in his mind and there was a click. The panel slid aside.
He went through before Mark could guide his steps. In his mind he could visualize the scene around him as his companions crowded after him. He scrambled sideways, avoiding Eric, who nearly fell through the entrance.
Mark's blaster went off, and there was an odd, whistling shriek. For an instant, he focused on the being that had been hit. So that, a detached part of his mind thought, was a Loangi. He triggered the outer hatch's closing mechanism and it slid shut practically on Nick Welling's heels. Simultaneously, the inner one opened. He went on into the main body of the craft, concentrating on his surroundings, trying to "see" the inner layout of the skippership.
Eric shoved him into the nearest seat and started to fasten the safety webbing, but Alan was before him. "Strap in," he instructed the younger man. "I'm fine."
As the fastener clicked, the engines began a whine that rose instantly to a thunderous roar, and the ship was lifting. Wow! Nick sure wasn't bothering with any of the niceties of takeoff, such as warnings, caution or acceleration this time. He was shoved deeply into his seat by G-forces and felt for several seconds as if an elephant had decided to take up residence on his chest. Then the artificial gravity clicked in. Air screamed like a banshee against the hull and the temperature of the cabin rose noticeably as the ship tore like a bullet through the planet's atmosphere.
"Is everybody okay?" Alan asked, feeling slightly breathless.
"Yeah." Mark also sounded breathless. "Bashed my knee when Nick took off."
"You okay?"
"Yeah. Everybody sit still until we shake the pursuit." Alan heard him going forward toward the control room.
**********
An hour later, the little skippership parked quietly on the dark side of one of the two tiny moons that circled the Loangi home world. Mark stepped into the passenger section from the control room.
Alan was unfastening his safety webbing and turned his head as Linley entered. "All okay?"
"Yeah. For now."
Skipperships were, in effect, glorified escape craft. They were meant to accommodate no more than four persons, were relatively slow and designed mainly for straightforward civilian transportation. They weren't particularly maneuverable, and they definitely had no weapons. The quarters of this one were, to put it mildly, cramped, but there the resemblance to a standard civilian skipper ended. The engineers and technicians of the Terran Underground had seen fit to reinforce the structural frames of their skipperships and equip them with high-powered engines, pinpoint maneuverability and a formidable array of armament. The modified craft were fast and dangerous. This one had left its pursuers behind and then doubled back to a concealed spot amid the crags of this barren satellite.
Mark opened the cabinet on one bulkhead and removed the ship's medical kit. He turned to Alan. "It's me, kid."
"I know," Alan told him. "I can tell."
Mark sat down beside him. "I'm gonna take off the bandage. There's some eye drops in the med kit somewhere." He removed the handkerchief. "Yeah, here they are. Tilt your head and don't blink."
Alan obeyed. A short time later, Mark finished winding a gauze bandage over his partner's eyes. Their link was still tight, he noted. Alan was definitely scared but was making a valiant effort not to show it in front of their three companions. It was doubtful that he was fooling Ruthy, who was an empath, but it was possible that Welling and Eric might not realize how scared Colonel Westover really was.
"I ain't a doctor, kid," he said, "but I can make an educated guess, okay? When Ruthy held the light up, you could see the difference. That means the optic nerves are still workin'. If it's just the corneas they can fix that. This ain't the dark ages, you know."
Alan gave a faint smile. "I think you're probably right. It's the uncertainty, you know?"
"Yeah," Linley agreed. "Believe it or not, I do. I'd like to take you back right now, but we got a little problem. In about ninety-two hours these critters' fleet is leavin' to attack Terra, an' when they do they can kiss their independence goodbye -- an' so can Terra. The Jils'll move in for keeps. We gotta stop 'em."
"I know -- but what are we going to do, besides just warning Terra?"
"We'll do that too -- with a hyperspace message. But I gotta little idea. This sorta stunt ain't exactly new t'me, you know. I was in their Strike Forces for ten years. Got my commission in one o' these little capers."
Alan nodded again.
"Anyway, I figure the Jil fleet's gotta be somewhere nearby, within strikin' distance o' this Lo -- Loan -- ah, hell! These critters' Conglomerate or whatever they call it. As soon as their fleet goes into hyperspace, Mombasa'll give the signal an' the Jil fleet'll show up. Standard tactics. Four years ago, I was in Mombasa's position. That's how the Jils took over the Basellian Hives an' the Wombari at the same time."
"I remember that," Alan said thoughtfully. "I was in my second year at TSA. I seem to recall thinking the newscasts sounded a little fishy but I didn't pay much attention."
"That's what the Jils count on, o' course," Mark said. "Them newscasts were fairy tales from start to finish. And if we can't crash their little party, the rest o' the Sector's gonna be hearin' the same sorta stuff about *us*!"
Alan rubbed a thumb across his jaw in an unconscious but perfect imitation of Mark. He gave a little smile. "Well, what do we *do*, Strike Commander Linley?" he asked. "This is one area where I'm sort of out of my depth."
Mark grinned. "My disreputable past comes in handy once in a while, don't it? I need the star charts o' this area --"
"Nick's putting them up on the cabin screens right now," Eric said, popping out of the control room on cue.
**********
It was about an hour later. The cabin screens showed the local star charts and Mark was regarding them with his chin on one fist. "You're sure those are the eight systems o' this Conglomerate o' theirs, kid?"
Eric nodded. "As sure as I *can* be."
"They seem to like K stars, don't they?" Welling said.
"Yeah." Mark glanced in the direction of the control room. "Any sign of trouble, Ruthy?"
"Not yet," Ruthy's voice said. "A few blips on the scanners, but nothing close enough to worry about."
"Good. Let us know if you get even a little bit worried."
"I will."
Linley frowned at the eight stellar systems on the maps. "All but one o' the systems are Ks and that one's a G," he said, continuing his answer to Welling's previous remark. "Prime targets for the Jils. But notice somethin' else?"
"What?"
"They're spread out in a kinda irregular globe. An' right here --" he pointed, "is a gaseous nebula. It's almost smack dab in the middle o' their Conglomerate, or whatever the hell the real translation is."
"That's as close as I could come," Eric said. "I don't think there *is* a word for it in Basic."
"Yeah, well the nebula's a perfect place to hide the Strike force 'til it's time t'move. I'll betcha anythin' you like that's where it's sittin' right now."
Welling nodded. "Makes sense, all right. But even if it's there, what can five people in one little skippership do? We certainly can't attack them."
"Not directly," Alan said. He was smiling faintly. "But we might be able to do it another way." He turned his bandaged face toward Mark. "If they were to attack a little prematurely --"
Mark clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You been payin' attention to me after all, kiddo. What're the critters gonna do, d'ya think, if the Jil Strike force comes whoopin' in on 'em, expectin' t'find 'em helpless -- an' their own warfleet's sittin right there, armed to the teeth?"
Eric began to laugh.
**********
"Jackpot," Mark said with satisfaction. He stood behind Welling, peering over the pilot's shoulder at the scanner on the control board. "That has to be it. Of the three stars, it's the only one with planets. It's gotta be the right one -- or else I'm way off on my guesses -- an' I don't think I am."
"There's a planet in the comfort zone, too," Welling said. "I'm going to take us in fast. The nebula's gas clouds should cause enough background noise to keep us from being spotted, as small as this ship is. Better strap in, sir."
Mark scowled, starting to stand up. "Dammit, Nick, that's your third strike. Call me that again an' I'll beltcha one!"
Welling grinned, taking a step backward. "Sorry, si ... I mean, Mark. I'm not used to calling my superior officers by their first names."
"Well, you damn well better get used to it around me. The name's Mark."
"Yessir, Mark." Welling ducked as Linley swung at him. "Better strap in."
Mark grinned and went back into the passenger section.
Two surprised, flushing faces came up as he entered. Linley kept his face straight, acting as if he hadn't noticed the couple's proximity and glanced at Alan.
His partner was asleep on one of the ship's pull-down bunks. Linley was glad Alan was able to sleep, although he suspected it was more the results of the heavy sedation Mombasa had had him dosed with earlier. Still, it was just as well. He hoped his analysis of Alan's injuries was correct. It seemed logical but logic had been wrong before. He crossed the cabin and shook Alan's shoulder. "Wake up, kiddo. We're about to land."
Alan opened his eyes and the mind link closed at once, however his partner moved with commendable speed to one of the skipper's seats and pulled safety webbing over his lap. Mark also strapped in and Ruthy and Eric did as well. No one said anything and Mark hid a grin.
Psychic partners of opposite genders tended to become more than close friends, as demonstrated by the large number of man and wife psychic Teams in the Underground. Eric and Ruthy would no doubt follow tradition in short order, Linley thought, if appearances were any indication.
They had spent six hours in hyperspace, reaching the nebula, and then another three charting the stars within the cloud. There were several A and B class, four M's, two K's and a G. Of the last three only the G star had planets. Mark was betting that the Jilectan Strike force and a supply depot were somewhere on the planet that Welling had pointed out.
"Hitting the pull," Welling's voice announced through the open control room door. "I'm going to try to impersonate a meteor. Hold on -- it's going to get a little warm."
Welling had not understated the case, Linley thought. The Terran Underground trained their pilots well and Nick Welling knew exactly how much air friction the skippership could take. The cabin grew steadily hotter as Welling let the ship fall, making only minor corrections to its course as gravity pulled them in, and the scream of air against the hull was enough to hurt the ears. Then abruptly he was hitting the repulsers and the ship slowed its downward plunge.
"I'm picking up a big concentration of refined metals and alloys about five thousand kilometers to the southeast," Welling's voice announced into the sudden silence. "If it isn't the Jil Strike Force, this planet's got natives."
"Any sign of civilization anywhere else?" Eric asked.
"Nope. I think we've got them. Cutting in hover controls. Let's go see what it is."
The skippership skimmed along the surface as close to the ground as possible, and with Welling at the controls, it was *close*. Watching the scenes on the viewscreen, Mark found himself wanting to pull up his feet to keep them out of the waves as the skippership passed over the surface of a lake that rivaled Terra's Lake Michigan in size. Eric went into the control room and Mark heard him speaking to Welling. He grinned to himself. The kid was enjoying their adventure, in spite of the discomforts he had so far endured. Since his brief encounter with the Patrol squad three Terran years ago when Mark and Alan had joined the Underground, Eric had had no face to face dealings with their enemies. He had a genuine grudge against both the Jils and the Viceregal Patrol. They had been responsible for the murder of his parents some five years before.
Linley knew that Eric had been campaigning for some time for off-planet assignments, which was one of the reasons he had been sent with Nick Welling on this particular training mission. He was actually only about two years younger than Alan, and Mark could understand his feelings. In any case, it might not have been planned but he was in the middle of one now.
He glanced at his partner. Alan was sitting in his seat, listening quietly to everything going on around him. He might look passive to Linley, but through the link he had the impression that his partner's bright mind was working furiously. Alan was still scared, of course, but there was a good deal more going on in Alan's head than simply that. Whatever it was, he would get around to talking about it eventually, Linley thought. Alan frequently surprised him with his ability to take a very bad situation and turn it into something else, although Mark couldn't imagine how that might be this time. He got to his feet and headed into the tiny galley. They were going to be very busy shortly. They would need to eat first.
He had finished the second plateful of sandwiches when he felt the ship settle to the ground so softly that he wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't been for the gentle shift when the landing gear contacted the slightly uneven ground. He stepped out of the little galley with the tray of food as Eric re-entered the cabin.
"Dinner," Mark announced. "Before we get movin', everybody needs to eat. It might be a while before we get another chance."
"Got any coffee?" Welling inquired, following Eric into the small cabin.
"It'll be ready in a minute," Mark told him. He crossed the tiny cabin to his partner. "Here you go, kid. Sandwiches."
Alan accepted the food. "How long has this bread been here?" he inquired.
"Not a clue," Mark said cheerfully. "It was in stasis."
"Okay," Alan said. He bit into the sandwich. "Not bad."
"Coffee's ready," Ruthy announced. She vanished into the galley and emerged a couple of moments later with containers of the beverage.
Mark distributed his sandwiches to the small group and accepted a cup. "Watch it," he told Alan. "It's hot."
"I know," Alan replied calmly. He reached for the sugar and cream packets and proceeded to flavor his coffee to his own particular taste.
"I want to put more drops in your eyes before we take off," Mark told him. "Keep down the inflammation. It'll be dark pretty soon. We'll move then." He hesitated. "I'd like to have you stay here but we're gonna need you."
"That's all right," Alan said. "I wouldn't want to stay behind anyway. I'm blind, not dead."
Eric laughed.
"How are you feeling, Colonel?" Welling asked.
"All right," Alan said. "Good sandwich, Mark. Are there any more?"
Mark handed him one of the remaining ones and Alan took a healthy bite. "You've been practicing again."
"I'd be careful if I were you, Colonel," Welling said. "They look weird enough to bite back."
"My sandwiches are works o' art," Mark said loftily. "Each one of 'em is unique."
"You can say that again. More coffee, Colonel?"
"No, thanks," Alan said, finishing the sandwich. "And I know better than to ask what's in them, Nick. I've been around him too long."
Mark started to unwrap the gauze. Ruthy came over with a small light in her hands and without speaking she flashed it into Alan's eyes. He turned his head toward the light at once. Mark glanced quickly at her and saw that she was smiling.
"See anything?" she inquired.
"The darkness looks brighter now."
"I'm shining a handlight in your eyes," Ruthy said. She flicked off the light and sat down beside him, handing Mark the little bottle of eye drops. "You still have some sight there. I'm almost sure it's just the corneas. Stanislauski will be able to fix you up."
Alan's face brightened. "You make me feel a lot better," he told her.
Linley tilted his partner's chin up. "Don't blink, kid."
A few minutes later he finished fastening the gauze. "Okay, that does it. How's it feel?"
"Okay," Alan said.
"Good. I'm gonna put some more salve on your face and then we'll go. How's the light out there, Nick?"
"About gone, sir. I mean, Mark."
"Good." Mark finished dabbing the salve on Alan's face. "Your hair's singed. You're gonna need a haircut when we get back."
"That's the least of my worries." Alan got to his feet, paused for an instant and seemed to be feeling his way into the aisle. Mark was about to reach out a helping hand when Alan stepped confidently out into the walkway, evaded Nick Welling's foot and turned to grasp his partner's elbow. "Okay, ready when you are."
Mark smiled to himself. Alan might be blind, he thought, but he was far from helpless. He must be using his clairvoyant power to substitute for his eyes, and it looked like he was adapting fast. Mark had once said that Alan had more guts than he did, himself. He had meant it then and what he was seeing now confirmed it. The link told him how deeply Alan was afraid but no one would have guessed it from his actions since he had saved the situation back at the roof exit.
"What's the temperature out there?" he asked.
Nick Welling stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth. "Perfectly comfortable," he told Linley. "I'm ready if you are."
"Then let's go. Remember, they ain't expectin' us. None o' the guys back on the planet knew where this place was, so they don't have any reason to think we can find it, but I don't want nobody gettin' careless. Got it?"
There were nods all around. A few minutes later, they descended the boarding ramp and Welling turned to assure himself that the hatch was securely locked behind them. He stuck a little control box into his belt pouch and reached up to adjust his helmet visor.
"How do the 'trols ever get used to these things?" he asked.
"I was in the Patrol for ten years and I never did." Linley loosened the strap on his own helmet. "I think the Jils have 'em made uncomfortable on purpose. Keep the guys awake on night watch." He glanced at the little device in his hand. "This way, and no noise."
He led the way over broken ground, steering his partner around the larger obstacles. Alan was surprisingly sure-footed and that only served to confirm to Linley that his partner's clairvoyance was aiding him. He smiled to himself. Even if the worst happened and Alan was blind for good, he'd do all right. He sure hoped it wouldn't come to that, though.
They made their way through a stand of small trees and emerged on the edge of a flat plain of waving grass. Half a kilometer away, he could see the shimmering energy barrier surrounding the base.
"It's *them!*" Ruthy's whisper was shrill.
"Shh!" Eric hissed. "Patrol coming this way!"
"Get down!" Mark ordered.
The two psychics were already obeying Mark's order as he pushed his partner into the concealment of the underbrush. In the darkness, they would not be noticeable. He stepped forward, beckoning to Welling.
Two patrolmen were coming along at a stroll, their voices carrying in the still air. It was obvious that they were expecting no problems.
"...Man, I hope this thing's over quick. I ain't seen a dame in weeks." The accent was distinctly Shallockian.
"Weeks!" It was the other patrolman. "I been here three months! First thing I'm gonna do when we get back to Shallock is visit Wingle's. They got this cute li'l gal there named Luanne --"
"Mirabelle's Bar ain't bad, neither -- an' the price is right. Those strippers'll --" Linley made a mental note to tell Kaley that they should plant an agent or two at Mirabelle's Bar in Scaifen. He gestured to Welling and the two of them stepped boldly out of concealment.
"Hi!" Mark called.
There was a moment's silence as the two men stopped. "Where the hell'd you come from?" the man on the left demanded.
Mark grinned. "We been cookin' up a little o' the good stuff out here where it ain't likely t'get noticed. Half a credit'll getcha a drink."
The two patrolmen looked at each other. The one on the left grinned and pulled off his helmet. "You gotcherself a deal!"
The other patrolman hesitated. "I dunno, Lou --"
"Ah, c'mon. I'll treat." Lou came forward, one hand going to his belt pouch. The second man gave a reluctant grin and removed his helmet as well. Welling's blaster hummed softly and Lou collapsed. His companion gave a startled squawk, one hand starting for his holster, and then froze as he saw two weapons centered on him. Slowly, he raised his hands.
"Easy, buddy." Mark gestured with the blaster. "No trouble."
The man shook his head.
"This way." Mark beckoned with one hand and the other man came reluctantly forward, both hands raised ostentatiously over his head. Linley and Welling followed, blasters leveled, as he stepped into the concealing shrubbery. Eric and Ruthy stood up, Alan between them. Mark carefully removed the blaster from the man's holster from behind.
"Come on," Eric told his partner. "Alan can handle this." He started toward the second patrolman, and Ruthy fell in beside him.
"Go ahead," Mark said. "We got him covered."
"I am," Alan said.
The captive's eyes focused on Alan." "What's he gonna do?"
"He can hear all right," Mark said. "Ask him."
Alan hadn't even touched the patrolman. "One guard at the gate and no identostamp setup. The fleet's all set and waiting for the signal."
The patrolman paled and swallowed convulsively. "Holy space!"
"It's okay, Dan," Alan said calmly. "We won't hurt you. Anything else I should look for, Mark?"
"Any Jils around?"
Alan glanced back at Dan, a little smile on his lips. "No," he said, after a short pause.
"Good. Okay, I think that's all." Mark turned to Dan. "Take your clothes off."
"Huh?"
"You heard. Take 'em off or we'll stun you and take 'em off for you. Move."
Dan began to obey, watching Alan out of the corner of his eye. Alan nodded slightly. "Yes, Dan, I'm really a psychic."
Mark grinned. "He's more than that, 'trol. He's Alan Westover."
The man went, if possible, whiter than before. "Are you gonna kill me?" he croaked.
"Nah," Mark said. "Not unless you make a nuisance of yourself."
Dan bent to remove his boots, still with one eye on Alan. Mark chuckled. "Surprised he ain't got no horns?"
Dan cleared his throat. "He looks like a kid."
"He *is* a kid -- an' a nice kid at that. Get outta that tunic, now. Hurry up."
The man obeyed. Ruthy and Eric arrived beside them, Eric dressed in Lou's uniform. The outfit was ridiculously large on him. Mark glanced at him approvingly and gestured with the blaster. "Okay, Dan, lie down. I'm gonna stun you."
Dan lay down and Mark's blaster hummed. He bent to pick up the uniform. "Here, kid, put this on."
Alan did so. Without a word he turned away, beginning to remove his clothing. Ruthy glanced dubiously at him and turned back to Mark. "They're going to look pretty silly," she observed.
"Yeah," Mark agreed, "but from a distance we won't be so conspicuous."
"I suppose not," she said. She glanced at Eric and giggled. Her partner hitched up the uniform pants and tightened his belt. It didn't help.
Shortly, they went on again toward the energy barrier. Mark grinned down at his partner. "You ain't grown a bit since the day I metcha," he said. "You look just as bad in this outfit as you did in my old stuff."
"Oh shut up," Alan said.
Ruthy giggled again. Looking back, Linley saw Eric hitching at the too large breeches. The boy was cussing softly under his breath as he tried to adjust the visor of the helmet. It was understandable. The man whose clothing he wore was almost as big as Mark, and Eric didn't quite reach Linley's shoulder. Although well built for his height, Eric didn't come near to filling out the uniform.
After some moments, the gate came into sight and the party paused once more. Mark glanced at the three psychics. "Okay, you three stay back. Nick an' I'll take care o' the guard."
"Be careful," Alan said.
"We will. They ain't expectin' any trouble here, remember." Mark nodded at Welling. "Do your stuff."
They started for the barrier, the pilot weaving and stumbling against Linley. As Alan had learned from the unwilling patrolman, the base was not a permanent establishment and no identostamp had been set up, but there was a guard shack with a single patrolman perched on a metal stool within it, propping his chin on his fist. He looked up as Mark and Welling approached and then got to his feet.
"What the hell's going on?" he demanded, stepping out of the shack.
Mark grunted disgustedly at his apparently inebriated companion. "Guy's got a still out in the woods. Bunch of us were havin' a friendly li'l drink, but this idiot guzzled so much his eyeballs're sloshin'. I gotta get him sobered up before the lieutenant catches him."
The guard laughed. "Where do I go for some?"
Linley grinned. "Little stand o' trees, about half a kilometer that way." He nodded vaguely in the direction from which they had come. "Here, hold him a minute, wouldja?" He shoved Welling at the guard, who grunted and staggered slightly as the dead weight descended on him. His attention was all on Nick Welling, who lurched unsteadily sideways, pulling the guard off balance. Mark flipped his helmet forward and hit the man carefully behind the ear with the butt of his blaster.
Welling dragged him into the guard shack and the two men cuffed their victim with his own restrainers. Welling gagged him with a handkerchief and took his helmet, placing it on his own head. He took a seat on the hard, metal stool and leaned on his fist in a bored posture. "Do I look all right?"
Mark looked him over critically and nodded. "Yeah. See you in a minute."
"Yessir, Major."
Linley shook his head in resignation and turned to retrace his steps back to where he had left the three psychics.
Shortly Welling waved them through the gate, Ruthy walking behind Mark and almost completely concealed by his large figure. The compound beyond the gate was shadowed, with only the central portion illuminated. Bulky pre-fab buildings edged it and were set here and there about the otherwise open area. The central section was lit by floodlights but was largely deserted. Probably most of the men were aboard the ships, the silhouettes of which Mark could see some distance away on the makeshift landing field. There were probably some in the surrounding buildings as well, but only a few figures were to be seen moving about the lighted section. There were undoubtedly a number of surreptitious poker games going on here and there about the base, and Linley was willing to bet that there really were one or two stills in out-of-the-way places, cooked up by bored patrolmen. Everyone here was essentially killing time until the signal came for them to man the invasion fleet. None of the figures moving slowly about in the dim lighting between the buildings seemed to be paying any attention to them but Mark wasn't about to let down his guard. The four invaders moved quickly into the deeper shadow of one of the structures edging the compound.
"Stay here," he ordered in a whisper, "and keep against the building, out of sight. There's a cargo loader parked by that supply shed over there. I'll be right back with it." He turned and strode in a businesslike fashion across the lighter open space. He had learned long ago that the best way to attract unwelcome attention was to try to avoid doing so. No one was anticipating trouble, so boldness was his best ally for this venture. In the illumination of one of the floodlights, he leaned over the engine for several seconds, making adjustments. The motor roared to life.
7
Alan huddled against the wall of the pre-fab building, Eric on one side of him and Ruthy on the other. An engine roared a short distance away and he grinned to himself. Eric stirred.
*Man! He really knows his stuff!* Eric's telepathic voice said in his mind.
*If you'd swiped as many cars as he did when you were a kid, you would too,* Alan said.
There was the sensation of incredulous amusement. *Stole cars? Mark?*
*He was the leader of the Black Saberclaws in Scaifen.*
*Yeah, I knew that, but I didn't realize...*
*He was orphaned at seven,* Alan said. *He had to steal to survive -- and he survived for nine years in the streets until he joined the Patrol when he was almost sixteen. He can beat an engine lock in twenty-five seconds flat,* Alan added with a note of pride in his mental voice. *He's been a real education for me.*
*I'll bet,* Eric said, with a note of genuine respect. *Twenty-five seconds? Think he'd be willing to teach me how?*
Ruthy's mental voice cut in. *Someone's coming!*
A door opened five meters away and Alan heard footsteps coming out. His clairvoyance gave him the image of a large, dark-haired man with an aura of authority. Beside him, Eric and Ruthy froze, shrinking down as close to the ground as they could get.
"What the blazes is going on out here?" a deep voice demanded.
The cargo loader came to a halt and then he heard Mark's voice. "Subcommander ordered me to bring it over, sir. Rumor has it we're about to move."
"Oh. Very well, Patrolman. Carry on."
"Yes sir," Mark's voice replied crisply. The footsteps retreated and the door closed. Eric let out his breath.
"That was close. Come on. Mark's waving."
Alan got to his feet, visualizing the scene in his mind. He followed Eric across a paved surface toward the bulk of the loader where it sat in the shadow of the neighboring building. He paused.
*There's a step here,* Ruthy said, as he raised his foot to step up. *You knew it, didn't you?*
*Yes,* Alan said.
*You're sensing things around you.*
"Trying to, yes.*
Ruthy didn't comment again. Alan reached up to catch his partner's hand and let himself be hauled aboard. He scrambled into the cab of the loader, crowding close to Mark to make room for Eric. Ruthy clambered in and Alan felt her settle herself on the floor next to his feet.
"Here we go," Mark said, and the machine jolted into motion. Jammed between Mark and Eric as the loader rumbled ponderously across the field, Alan reflected that he and a sardine had much in common. In spite of his clairvoyant power, which still wasn't giving him as much information as he needed, it was a very insecure sensation, jolting awkwardly along in this contraption, unable to see where he was going.
"Stoppin'," Mark said, a few moments later. The machine slowed and ground to a halt with all the grace of a hippopotamus.
"Okay," Mark continued, "we're at their flagship. Stay here." He was suddenly gone. Alan tried to follow him mentally, with more success, as he descended from the loader's cab. "All right. Climb down."
Alan obeyed. Mark grasped him by the forearm. "You two stay put. Let's go, kid."
Linley guided him a short distance until Alan sensed the huge bulk of the Patrol battlecruiser looming above him. "Okay, the emergency access hatch is right in front of you. Can you sense anybody around?"
"There's a guy on the other side of the field. He hasn't noticed us," Alan told him. "He might be a guard."
"Could be. They probably won't bother with more than one in a place like this but let's not waste time. Do your stuff."
"Right." He focused on the locking mechanism and the image formed clearly in his mind. A finger of energy reached out and there was a faint snap. The hatch slid open.
Now what was the difference, Alan wondered. He had no difficulty seeing the lock but his perception of the area around him was fuzzy. Of course, he was trying to see everything at once. When he'd been able to see with his eyes, he'd been able to sense the important things at a distance without any effort at all while using his clairvoyant ability. Now he was having difficulty and he couldn't quite understand why. Well, maybe because he was simply trying to do too much instead of focusing on what was in his immediate orbit. Or maybe he was just trying too hard. He'd had difficulty with his new skills in the beginning for exactly that reason. Relax, he told himself. Relax and let it come to you...
"Good work," Mark told him. He guided Alan back to the loader. Alan put his hand out, unerringly grasped the safety rail and hauled himself aboard.
"Stay there," Mark told him. "We'll be back in a jiff. Eric, you and Ruthy come with me."
Alan settled down in the seat of the loader, trying to follow the actions of his companions as Ruthy and Eric dropped to the ground. Not surprisingly, it was suddenly easier when he wasn't trying to follow every tiny detail. He could see the three of them as they rounded the bulk of the loader and Mark lifted the two psychics through the hatch. His partner caught the edge of the opening and hauled himself aboard by sheer strength. There was the scraping of feet, a scuffling sound and then silence.
**********
tbc
