Blind Mission: 6/6
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
8
Alan sat still in the cab of the cargo loader. The area around him was very quiet. He leaned back in the seat, attempting to look casual and unconcerned, concentrating and trying to sense what was going on around him. Things had been so chaotic that he hadn't really had time to take stock and figure out what he needed to do to make his clairvoyant power double for his eyesight but he thought he was starting to get the idea.
With vision, one was aware of surroundings but only peripherally. As with clairvoyance, you actually only concentrated and paid attention to certain things, although you knew what else was there and were able to react if something required your attention. By treating his clairvoyant power like that, he might be more successful. Deliberately, he made himself relax and let his senses spread out across the area, paying attention to things that seemed to be moving, to be alive, and identifying them as he did so.
The strong, vital glow that was Mark and the minds of the two unshielded psychics were ahead and to the left. They were moving upward until they were well above him, growing slowly more distant. They must be in the lift. Alan hesitated and then lowered his shielding altogether, probing about him.
There were other living beings around, mostly in the direction of the compound from which they had just come. The large majority were Terrans but he could sense a few other species as well. He thought he detected an Arcturian presence somewhere, and not far from it were several of the owl-like natives of Ranlach in the Procyon system. He sensed at least two of the tall, slender Cetans and once presence was strongly suggestive of the Tormheits -- the strange, furred beings from the system of Fomolhaut B. Alan sat very still, his attention focused on the beings around him. No one was suspicious -- yet.
A presence was approaching the loader -- the one that he had sensed earlier across the landing field: a Terran, by the mental touch. Alan's hand tensed on his blaster butt. He leaned back in the seat, hoping he looked relaxed. The mind came nearer and Alan sensed suspicion. The individual in question was of the type that was just naturally suspicious of everyone, he thought, but that didn't bode well if the man noticed him.
As he thought that, the man noticed him.
"Hey there -- whatcha doin'?"
The accent was that of a Terran native of Shallock. Alan would have known that speech pattern anywhere. Aside from Terra's, it was the most distinctive in the Sector and, like Terrans, Shallockians never lost it. Unlike true natives of Terra, however, there were a lot of them in the Patrol. Alan turned his head in the direction of the voice.
"You talking to me?"
"Yeah. Whatcha doin', bud?"
"Waiting," Alan said truthfully. "My partner's taking some stuff on board."
"They didn't tell me nothin' about it." The man's voice was dubious. "Besides, that don't get done at night. Lemme see your I. D."
Alan fished in the belt pouches of his borrowed uniform. "Last minute order from Strike Commander Rotherfield," he said, sweating. "Rumor has it we're going to be moving soon. Damn! What did I *do* with that thing?" He fished in another pouch, his fingers moving over the items it held. He was stalling, of course. The longer he could take, the more time he gave Mark and the two psychics to finish their task. He kept a telepathic finger in the guard's mind and, just as he was about to speak, gave an exclamation of satisfaction. "Here it is. I put it in the wrong slot." He took it out. "Mind if I toss it down to you? My ankle's twisted. That's why my buddy's doing the work."
"Okay," the man growled. "Keep your hands where I can see 'em."
Alan tossed the plate down to him and the patrolman caught it deftly. There was a long silence. The man was looking up at him and suspicion tugged at his consciousness. "Get out of the loader," he said.
"I can't," Alan said. "I told you. I wrenched my ankle while we were loading the stuff."
Suspicion, growing more pronounced. "Get out."
Alan shrugged and started to descend, stumbling and favoring his left foot. His right foot touched the pavement and he sat down on the loader's step, partially in the hope of concealing his diminutive stature from the patrolman but also reluctant to leave the machine's bulk. If he did, anyone who might approach the landing field was likely to see him. *Hurry, Mark!* He verbalized the words in his mind, relying on their link, which was certainly functioning now in this emergency, to transmit the message. *Hurry!*
A large, muscular hand descended on his wrist, jerking him upright. "You ain't no 'trol!"
Alan moved suddenly, lunging forward with the guard's pull. His shoulder took the man squarely in the stomach. The fellow dropped with a strangled grunt and the blaster that he had half-drawn leaped from under his fingers and shot straight into Alan's hands.
"Freeze!" Alan hissed at him. He pushed the lever to emergency max. "One squawk and you fry!"
The man froze. Alan sensed fear in the mind contact. He waited, not daring to try stunning the man. A stunbolt had to hit dead center to be completely effective. If he was the least bit off, the man might figure out that he couldn't see and he would be dead. He had to work on this, he thought, even as he covered the patrolman. Even if he got his sight back, he needed to. It was definitely a deficiency in the training that needed to be corrected. If he could figure out how to handle it, it couldn't help but improve the way psychics functioned and would certainly make things easier for any other psychic who wound up in his position -- even if he wasn't dealing with life and death situations. "Okay," he said. "Turn over on your face. No unnecessary moves. If I even *think* you're going to try something, you're dead."
There was a slight scuffle as the guard obeyed. Alan oriented himself by the mental touch and kept the blaster pointed at him, hoping desperately that the loader's bulk would shield them from the view of any chance passerby on the field. "All right," he said, "just lie still. I won't hurt you unless you make trouble but if I get caught, I'll take you with me. Reach up now and take off your helmet. Roll it away."
More scuffling and a faint metallic clatter. Alan spared a fraction of his attention to check and sensed the helmet rolling unevenly away to lodge against part of the battlecruiser's landing gear. He smiled a little. He wasn't doing badly at all. Now if Mark would just hurry up...
**********
Mark Linley lifted Ruthy Channing through the emergency access hatch. The girl scrambled through the opening and stood up. Mark leaped to catch the edge of the opening and hauled himself up by main strength. He stood up, feeling like a giant next to the two psychics and glanced back at his partner, sitting in the cab of the loader. Alan looked pretty good, he thought. No casual observer would have guessed that he wasn't perfectly at ease. He hoped no one would notice his size from the ground.
For some reason that no one quite understood, Terran psychics tended to be little. As a rule, the smaller the individual, allowing for age and gender, the more powerful the psychic. The top of Eric's dark head didn't quite reach Linley's shoulder. Alan, of course, was even shorter. He was the shortest male psychic the Underground had yet found and by far the most gifted. The young man could walk under Mark's extended arm without stooping. Ruthy, herself, reached slightly above the middle of Mark's ribcage and never failed to remind him of a China doll. Of course, as she had already demonstrated, Ruthy Channing could be a lot more formidable than she looked.
He beckoned silently to them, one finger to his lips, and led the way toward the cargo lift.
The ship was very quiet and the hallway in which they walked was deserted. Except for a skeleton staff and a few very quiet card games, the patrolmen would be in their bunks at this hour while the ship was docked. They entered the lift and Mark selected the Officers' Deck as their destination. The lift slid into motion.
There would be security guards, of course, but the chances were that they could be bypassed. Mark was familiar with the routine of a grounded ship. Security tended to be lax on a secluded base like this and the Patrol certainly had no reason to think that their hiding place had been discovered.
The cargo lift came to a halt on the second deck -- the officers' quarters on a battlecruiser -- and Mark peered out. The security guard was nowhere in sight. Good. He glanced at the two psychics. "Sense the guard anyplace?"
"He's down the hall," Eric whispered. "Headed the other way."
"Good. Keep your feelers out." Linley shepherded the two before him, one hand on the butt of his blaster. They passed several closed doors and Mark paused before one. "In here." He pushed a switch and the door slid aside.
The lights came on as they entered. The small party found themselves in a tiny room containing brushes, polish and other equipment for the maintenance of the Strike Commander's uniform.
Mark turned to Eric, the stronger of the two telepaths. "Can you read him from in here?"
Eric shrugged. "I can sure try." His eyes lost their focus and Eric was silent for several seconds. "I'm getting him," he whispered. "He's wide open."
"Good." Mark kept his voice low. "Look for the code signal. It'll come over his private channel. Transmit it to Ruthy."
Several seconds went by. Eric reached over and grasped his partner's hand. Ruthy squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating.
"I have it," she whispered. "Transmitting illusion --" She opened her eyes. Eric smiled, watching her and then looked at Mark.
"He's waking up," he told Mark. "His private communicator's beeping -- at least he thinks it is. He sits up and reaches for the control. Mombasa's voice comes from the unit --"
Alan's face materialized before Mark's eyes and alarm jolted through him. Mark moved convulsively. Alan was in trouble! What a time for this to happen!
*Hurry, Mark!* Alan's voice said clearly. *Hurry!*
Eric was watching him. "What's the matter?"
A hand gripped his wrist, jerking him forward, although in reality he had not moved. An impression of motion, and the link tightened. Alan, unable to see, was fighting someone.
"It's done." Ruthy sounded slightly breathless. "We've got a minute before the illusion fades. Let's get out of here!"
Mark touched the control and the door slid aside. He glanced up and down the corridor and then motioned his charges toward the lift. Alan's link with him remained but the sensation of movement had ceased. His partner must have somehow gotten the situation under control for the moment but he knew it couldn't last long.
The cargo lift was still open and he pushed the two psychics through before him. Now, of all times, they must not be discovered! Hold on, kid! He thought desperately. We'll be right there!
A piercing whistle sounded, making them all jump. "All units, attention!" a speaker boomed. "Liftoff will be in thirty minutes! All hands to their stations!"
The cargo lift rumbled downward, Mark pushing it all the way. Ruthy was watching him. "What's wrong?"
"Got a call from Alan while you were sendin' the illusion. Somethin's happened."
The cargo lift reached the fifth deck and the doors swished open. Mark and the two psychics ran for the emergency hatch.
All around them, he could hear the sounds of a ship coming to life. A man in a white coverall stepped through a doorway and paused, gaping at them. Mark swung and his fist connected sharply. The man collapsed and Linley heaved him to one shoulder. They reached the hatch and Mark dropped through, leaving Eric and Ruthy to fend for themselves.
And stopped. He smothered a laugh.
On the ground lay a patrolman, spread-eagled and motionless. Alan, his back to the loader, covered him with a blaster that Linley could see was set on maximum.
"Holy cow!" Eric said.
Alan's visored face turned toward them. "Hi," he whispered. "Glad you're back. Who's that you're carrying?"
Mark grinned, heaving the limp figure into the loader's cargo basket, and drew his blaster. "Okay, he's covered." He pushed the switch to stun and fired. The patrolman on the ground went slack. Alan lowered his weapon and pushed it into his belt.
"Everybody get into the loader," Linley directed. "I'll take care of this guy." Thanking Providence that the bulk of the loader had shielded his partner from the eyes of the men now hurrying onto the field, he holstered his blaster, cuffed the patrolman with his own restrainers and heaved him into the loader's basket as well, and then clambered into the driver's seat. "Okay, kid, start her up."
The motor roared to life. They trundled conspicuously away across the landing field amid hurrying techs and patrolmen. Alan leaned back in the seat. "Who's the guy you slugged?"
"Dunno," Mark said. "Some poor tech, I think, in the wrong place at the wrong time." He grinned faintly, feeling a sense of accomplishment running through him and clapped Alan on the shoulder. "You did good."
"How'd you do it?" Eric asked, sounding slightly awed. "You couldn't even see him!"
Mark laughed. "That's our Little Giant," he said. "There ain't much of him, but it's all dynamite!"
Alan snorted. "Lay off, Mark. So now what?"
"Now we're gonna dump these guys an' the gate guard where they won't get found by the ground crew until it's too late to warn anybody. Then we'll check out those guys we left in the bushes outside the base an' be sure they can't get loose 'til the fleet's had a chance to get really licked. They can go home with the cleanup crew." He began to laugh. "Luanne can give 'em our regards."
**********
9
"Sublight in five minutes," Welling said. "Better strap in, guys."
"Right." Mark glanced at Alan as he fastened his safety webbing. His partner had been moving about with more and more confidence during the last few hours. Linley suspected that he was working hard to learn to use his clairvoyance to compensate for his injured eyes. He wouldn't be surprised if this situation didn't result in some changes in the way psychics were trained. Alan was learning very quickly how to compensate, he thought. If not for the bandage, no one would be likely to guess that there was anything wrong with his eyes.
Ruthy also fastened her webbing. "Is Kaley going to be mad at me, do you think?"
"I doubt it, Mark said. "I think he's too busy kickin' himself to bother with you. He might yell at you a little, but if he's smart he won't even slap your wrist. I'll say this for him -- Kaley may goof once in a while, but he never makes the same mistake twice."
"He'd better not," Alan said.
"He won't," Mark said. "An' now it's time for you to ease up, too. Kaley blew it; there's no question about that -- but he learned a lesson from it that nobody could ever have explained to him. His psychics didn't trust him an' it nearly turned into a disaster. He won't forget it. Now you defrost a little. We gotta get things back to normal if we're gonna have a prayer o' beatin' the Jils. Somebody said somethin' a long time ago about everybody hangin' together or they'd all end up hangin' separately, or somethin' like that."
"Patrick Henry," Alan said.
"Well, old Pat knew what he was talkin' about. An' in those days they didn't even have public executions broadcast over the videoscreen. Are you hearin' me, kid?"
Alan was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Yeah, you're right."
Linley clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the Alan Westover I know." He glanced at his chronometer. "Here we go."
There was a jolt.
"Sublight," Welling's voice said.
"Now," Mark said, "we get you taken care of."
**********
They touched down at the edge of the Lavirra landing field and disembarked. Kaley met them at the base infirmary, having received the message that Welling sent when their ship came out of hyperspace.
"Hello, Colonel Westover. How are you feeling?"
"I'll be able to answer that better after I've seen Dr. Stanislauski, sir," Alan said.
Kaley cleared his throat, glanced at Linley and then back at Alan. "Colonel?"
Alan nodded soberly. "It's over, sir." He said.
The general cleared his throat again. "I hope so. It's been a most uncomfortable period, if I may say so." He paused again. "I assure you, Colonel, what happened will not be repeated."
Alan nodded again. "I believe you, sir."
Kaley frowned at Alan's scorched face. "How bad is it?" he asked. "How did it happen?"
"It's a long story, sir," Linley said. "If it's all right, I'll explain it all later. Is Matt here?"
"We sent for Dr. Stanislauski as soon as we heard. He should be here momentarily."
The door opened and Lorie Evans entered. "Come on in, Alan. You too, Mark."
**********
"Well," Mark said, "looks like Ruthy an' me weren't so bad with our diagnosis, if I do say so, m'self." He clapped Alan on the shoulder. "I don't mind playin' seein' eye dog for six or seven weeks while the corneas regenerate. Better'n havin' t'use a real one."
Alan smiled. "I'm not worried. Actually I feel pretty good. What's a few weeks, anyway? I was afraid it would be a lot worse. Besides, I'm working on something. This'll give me a little time to really figure it out."
"I thought you might be," Mark said. "What is it?"
"We need to come up with a better system for training a clairvoyant how to use his power. The way we do it now is too limited. I've started to figure it out because I had to -- and it's working. By the time I'm able to see again, I'll have it right." He stepped over a stone in the path, apparently without thinking about it. Mark noted the action with a touch of satisfaction. Yep, Alan was about to shake up the psychic experts again, he thought. He shouldn't have ever doubted his partner.
"Why ain't I surprised," he said. "Kaley was sure glad to hear the news. He's still feelin' guilty. What I wanna find out is what happened after we sent Broang that warnin' about the Jil fleet."
"So do I," Alan said.
"Well, well, and what are you guys up to?" The speaker was Kurt McDougal, Alan's former roommate from the Terran Space Academy. He fell in beside them as they headed for the barracks. "You look pretty cheerful about something, so I guess the news must be good?"
"Yep," Mark said. "How'd you find out?"
"Heard about the accident from Eric. What's the scoop?"
"Burned corneas," Alan said. "They'll be all right. Dr. Stanislauski says it'll take six or seven weeks to regenerate 'em. He gave me the first treatment right in his office a little while ago."
"That's a break," Kurt said. He slapped Alan lightly on the shoulder. "I guess the old Westover luck was working when you needed it." He grinned suddenly. "Man, you guys sure stirred up a hornet's nest! Did you hear what happened?"
"Nope," Mark said. "We took off after we faked the signal, popped outta hyperspace long enough to warn Commander Broang and then ran for our lives. The Jil fleet came out just as we took off. What happened, anyway?"
Kurt laughed. "We figured you guys had to be behind the whole fiasco when we heard. It was too much of a disaster to be anybody else. The Loangi apparently thought Terra was attacking at first, and they tore into the Jil fleet like a bunch of avenging angels. The Strike Force was half-licked before the Loangi realized who they were fighting."
Mark burst out laughing. "I take it the Lo..."
"Loangi," Alan said.
"Yeah. I take it they won."
"I'll say they did," Kurt resumed. "Chased those Viceregal jerks almost back to Corala. The Jils are trying to claim that it was the work of outlaws but the Loangi aren't buying it. The Commander of the Fleet lost his stripes -- I hear he's a security guard at the Borantium Cinnabar Mines or something, now. Mombasa managed to save his own people and they bumped him up to Squadron Commander. He's not too pleased, either. He can't figure out what happened, and neither can anybody else." He paused, smiling at Mark's expression. "What *did* happen, anyway?"
Alan chuckled. "You'd be surprised."
Mark grinned. "Come back to our quarters with us. We'll open a bottle o' Scotch I brought back from Terra last trip an' tell you all about it."
"You've got yourself a deal! I take it you didn't hear about the latest, either."
"What latest?"
"The Loangi are pretty glad you warned them. Terra's meeting with the Loangi ambassador. No agreements yet, of course, but it's a start."
"Good," Alan said. "The more allies Terra gets, the better it'll be when things break loose someday."
"That's what I was thinking." Kurt pushed the switch to open their door and stood back while Alan and Mark entered. "Well, let's have it."
"Okay." Mark made sure Alan made it safely to his bunk, although he now had no real worry about his partner's ability to navigate, and went to his footlocker. "Now where did I put the key?"
There was a faint click and the locker opened.
"Thanks," Mark said. He removed a bottle and three glasses. "Well, y'see," he said, beginning to pour out the liquid, "we came outta hyperspace, an' the next thing we knew..."
The End
