I'd like to express my thanks to Amy Nanni, who took the jpg files I sent and converted them into text files for me, and thereby eliminated a lot of work.
One small correction to the timeline: When I dug this story out, I found with it an old Terran Underground Timeline that my sister and I worked out, and discovered that the approximate time of this story is 2175 instead of 2168. I had to guess when I posted the timeline because the original was missing. Hopefully Mr D8a will correct that for me when he gets my email. In the meantime, bear it in mind.
Copyright statement: This is an original work by the two authors. Any resemblance to any person, living, dead or fictional, is unintentional and coincidental. The writers retain all rights to this work, and the copyright may not be infringed.
Awakenings -- Eric and Ruthy's Story
By Linda Garrick and Nancy Smith
Chapter 1
Eric Vogleman emerged from his house, crossed the porch, and ran down the steps of his home. A glance at his watch told him that they had half an hour to make it to school and still have a comfortable margin to get to class on time. The sun was shining through a haze of mist toward the east and the air smelled damp. The rain of last night had cleared, however, and it was going to be a fine day.
Ruthy was waiting in her usual spot beneath the spreading branches of the apple tree in the far corner of the Vogleman front yard. It was late September, and the apples needed to be picked soon. The clustered fruit was bending the branches low, and Ruthy was trying to reach one, jumping and failing over and over again.
Eric joined her. "I'll get it for you," he offered. He bent his knees and jumped. His fingers just brushed the apple, which swung vigorously and fell, followed by half a dozen others and a shower of leaves.
Ruthy bent, sorting out the good fruit from those that were not. Ruthy Channing and Eric had been friends almost since he could remember. She was eleven, and it seemed as if she had grown more beautiful just in the last few months. Her brown curls that lay over her bent shoulders shone with red highlights in the soft September morning sunshine, and her movements were quick and graceful. The Channings and the Voglemans had adjoining farms and Eric and Ruthy had grown up together. Ruthy's family had moved from Munich when Eric had been eight, and her father had taken over the farm from his brother. Eric, now aged thirteen, had been aware for years that he was going to marry Ruthy when they grew up and had told her so at her seventh birthday celebration. They had agreed to tell no one, but the intention had never wavered in the minds of either one.
Ruthy stood up, four apples clasped to her breast, selected the best of them, and presented it to Eric. He took it, smiling at her. She dropped a second one into his backpack and took a bite of one of the remaining ones. "Ready?"
"Sure. Where's Molly and Becky?"
"Coming - at least, they're supposed to be. There they are." She waved a hand at the three persons coming toward them.
Ruthy's younger sister, Molly Jean, was running down the lane toward them. Behind her, walking sedately, were the two older Channings--Rebecca Ann, aged fourteen, and the only Channing boy, Samuel Rex, aged sixteen. Eric noted with distaste Sam's new hairstyle -- frizzed high on his head in an imitation of the upper class Jilectan Lords. Sam had been fun some two or three years ago--a steady kid, with ambitions of someday entering the Terran Space Academy, but sometime during the last year he had changed, and not for the better in Eric's opinion. He'd started using recreational drugs, and had developed the attitude that, no matter what the other guy did to you, retaliation was unacceptable. The deaths of twenty Terrans at the hands of the Patrol on Osterlak two months ago had aroused anger and indignation in Eric's parents, and, he knew, in Ruthy's as well. Sam's only comment had been, "They probably brought it on, themselves. Those crazy Undergrounders are always making the Jils mad about something. What do they expect?"
Eric looked upon Sam's attitude with scorn. It was the coward's way out to side with the enemy just because the enemy happened to be stronger. He'd told Sam so in no uncertain terms, only to have Sam sneer at him.
Molly ran up and leaped for Eric. He swung her high and set her down again. Five-year-old Molly was a miniature version of Ruthy, with soft, brown curls and huge, melting brown eyes. She was tiny, too, like all the Channing girls, who took after their father. Mrs. Channing was the same height as her husband, with wispy blond hair and light blue eyes. Sam, although no giant himself, lorded his somewhat larger stature over his sisters and Eric. He resembled his mother closely in feature, as well as coloring.
The older boy swung up beside them, three books tucked under one arm. He grinned irritatingly at Eric.
"Hi, Shrimpy! What's the news at the front?"
Eric looked away. Ruthy flushed, and Eric could almost sense her embarrassment. He ignored Sam and looked at Ruthy. "Let's go." Ruthy nodded, also ignoring her brother. It was strange, Eric thought, that Sam, who preached peace and nonviolence constantly, had such power to inspire the temptation to violence in others - particularly in Eric.
"Shut up, Sam." Rebecca pushed past him and caught up with Eric. She was a pretty girl, with her mother's blond hair and fair skin. "Don't pay any attention to him. He thinks he's extreme because he looks like Lord Lanthzor now."
Eric made a gagging noise. Molly giggled. "His hair's the wrong color. Lord Lanthzor has red hair, and Mom wouldn't let him color it!"
Sam scowled and said a four-letter word. Ruthy spun on him. "Umm! I'm gonna tell!"
"And I don't give a damn, Miss Twithead!" Sam turned off the path, plunged across a field, and vaulted a fence easily. Ruthy made a face after him and turned back to Eric.
"How's your Mom? No baby yet?"
Eric grinned. "She woke dad up last night - about two o'clock I think. They thought it was for sure this time. They were just about to send me over when everything stopped."
Molly jumped up and down, clinging to his other arm. "Is your Mom gonna have Elizabeth soon, Eric? She is, isn't she?"
"Now, Molly," Rebecca said. "We don't know the new baby's going to be an Elizabeth. It could be a boy, you know."
"Nope!" The little girl shook her head adamantly, the thick brown curls bouncing. "It's a girl! Eric says so, and he's never wrong!" She giggled. "Besides, I think it's a girl, too, and Miss Adams says I must be a psychic, 'cause I always know what she's thinking."
Rebecca frowned, placing a restraining hand on her little sister's shoulder. "Molly, you mustn't talk like that." She and Ruthy exchanged a glance. "Remember those pamphlets we read to you? You must never say to anyone that you're a psychic, whether you are or not. It could be dangerous. "
"Dangerous, pooh!" Molly giggled again, "I'd like to be a psychic!"
"No you wouldn't," Eric said. "Here, have an apple."
Molly took the fruit. "She is gonna have the baby soon, though, isn't she?"
"Pretty soon. Her due date's supposed to be tomorrow, the doctor said." Eric ruffled the little girl's hair.
The school building came into view and they went up the steps together. The community was small, and so was the school. Eric had only fifteen children in his class, Ruthy twelve. As he took his seat the bell rang. The teacher called the class to order.
"All right, kids," he said. "I'm giving a pop quiz. Put all books away and take out a piece of paper."
There was a groan from the children. Eric smiled faintly. He'd known Mr. Speigel was planning the quiz. He always knew -- just like Molly -- what the teacher was thinking.
"This is on Chapter 7 in your history book, which I assigned last night. If you read the chapter, you should have no trouble. Question number one..."
Eric hadn't read the chapter, but it didn't matter. He never had trouble with tests. All he had to do was watch Mr. Speigel closely and the answer would come to him. It always did.
Ten minutes later the test was completed. One of the students collected the papers and handed them to Mr. Speigel. The teacher stacked them neatly on his desk and drew out a projector. "And now, class..."
He was interrupted. The principal of the school, Mr. Schwartz, entered the room and crossed to the teacher's desk. Mr. Speigel looked around and the two adults spoke quietly for a few moments. Mr. Speigel reached over, picked up one of the tests from the stack on the desk, and examined it. He glanced across at Eric.
Eric tensed. They were talking about him. He was sure of that, and the test paper held in Mr. Speigel's gnarled old hand was certainly Eric's own. What was going on? Was he in trouble? Carefully he watched the lips of the men as they spoke. He'd always had excellent hearing, and it didn't fail him now.
"What about his class work?" the principal was asking.
"The same. The boy's uncanny."
"Okay. Look, we'll be a little while. Just continue as before."
"Okay, Emil." The instructor glanced back at the class. "Eric Vogleman?"
Everybody turned to look at him. Eric gulped. "Yes sir?"
"Mr. Schwartz would like to see you for a few minutes. Go with him, please."
Eric stood up, nervousness creeping down his spine. A soft titter ran through the room. Schwartz motioned, and Eric followed him out the door.
By the time he had reached the principal's office, the nervousness had increased to border on panic. He was in trouble! He was sure of it. The sensation of impending doom was real and horrible. He wanted to run.
But Mr. Schwartz was smiling at him. "Please sit down, Eric, and don't look so scared. You haven't done anything wrong."
Eric obeyed, seating himself across from the principal and folding his hands in his lap. He swallowed hard. "What's...what's all this about, sir?"
"I'm doing some research, Eric, on gifted children. We're planning possibly to form a separate class in this school and compose it of pupils who appear to have an extraordinarily easy time with the usual curriculum. Do you understand?"
"I think so, sir." Eric remembered there had been some mention of this same project several years back, although nothing had ever come of it.
"Good. Such a class as this would help the more -- shall we say, gifted children to obtain their full potential. There are several children in the school now whom I suspect would be eligible for this level -- yourself among them. Are you interested?"
Eric nodded, feeling pleased and flattered, in spite of his nervousness. "Of course, sir."
"Good. I'm going to give you a test now, which is designed to determine whether or not you are eligible. Some of the questions may seem silly and to have no logical resolution. I can tell you nothing more about it. Just do your best, and don't worry about the result." Mr. Schwartz passed him a sheaf of paper and a stylus, glancing at his chronometer as he did so. "Are you ready?"
"Yes sir." Again the nervousness crawled down Eric's spine. He ignored it, taking a deep breath. His parents would be so proud of him if he could distinguish himself as a gifted student -- and so would Ruthy, who admired intellectual accomplishments more than physical ones.
"Begin," Mr. Schwartz said.
Eric read the first question and frowned.
What is the logical conclusion to this set of figures? Eric, stared at the sequence, puzzled. There was a row of figures stretching to the edge of the page. They seemed to form no logical pattern at all, no matter how he tried to figure it.
After pondering the problem for some minutes, he gave up and chose one of the multiple-choice answers at random. He was pretty sure it was the correct one, although he couldn't have explained his logic to anyone.
Mr. Schwartz was watching him. Eric was aware of the man's gaze, and again felt that touch of dread. He tried to ignore it. 'What,' stated the question, 'is the capital city of Toovoon?'
Eric had never heard of Toovoon. He scanned the multiple-choice answers and again selected one at random.
The entire test was composed of such questions -- page after page of inquiries that he couldn't have answered without a lot of excellent guesswork. But Eric knew how to guess. He was a good guesser -- although Sam had always claimed there was no such thing. After the second page Eric went rapidly, hardly reading the questions as he selected his answers. At last he was finished. He folded the paper and glanced up. Mr. Schwartz lifted an eyebrow.
"You have another forty-five minutes allowed to you if you wish to check your answers, Eric."
The boy shook his head. "No thank you, sir. Gosh! What a test.''
"Was it difficult for you?"
"A lot of the stuff I'd never heard of!"
"Indeed?" Mr. Schwartz smiled enigmatically. "Would you like to know how you scored?"
"Oh, sure -- I mean, yes sir!"
Mr. Schwartz slipped the paper into the computer beside him. The machine accepted it, purred softly for a moment, then gave it back. Mr. Schwartz placed it on the table before him and examined it.
"Well, for someone who'd never heard of those questions, you did exceptionally well, Eric."
"What was my score, sir?"
"98%. You are indeed a gifted student, my boy. This is by far the highest score ever obtained on this test."
Again Eric felt a glow of pride. "Thank you, sir."
"If this program is established, you will certainly be one of those chosen to enter it. You may return to class now."
Eric stood up, once more unable to quell the odd prickle of uneasiness. He tried to ignore it as he hurried back toward his classroom.
School let out at 1530. Eric met Ruthy and her sister at the usual spot and they headed home together. Eric told Ruthy about the test Mr. Schwartz had given him.
"...So he says that, if the program's established, I'll be one of those in it! You probably will be, too, Ruthy. You're smart."
But the girl did not join in his enthusiasm. Her face was clouded and very sober.
"Eric," she said, "do you remember Pamela Carmichael?"
The name was vaguely familiar. "Who is she?"
"Who was she, you mean. Two years ago she was in Mr. Speigel's class. She was about your age then."
"So ?"
"My friend, Martha, told me about her. Martha said that Mr. Schwartz had given her a test -- really weird test. Pamela did really good on it." Ruthy paused and removed an apple from her school bag. "About two or three days later she disappeared -- just disappeared. Nobody ever saw her again."
Eric swallowed. "What...what happened to her?"
"They said she was kidnapped -- at least, that's what the police decided. But there was never any ransom note sent, and her body was never found."
"Oh," Eric said.
Silence hung between them. Eric swallowed again, realizing that his throat was very dry. "Ruthy, what are you thinking?"
"I don't know. I just wish you'd done a little worse on that test, Eric."
Rebecca came up beside him, smiling. "What are you two looking so glum about?"
"What? Oh, nothing." Ruthy smiled back.
Rebecca looked mysterious. "I have a feeling Eric's in for a surprise when he gets home."
"Huh? What?"
The girl giggled. "Well, I don't know, of course, but I just have a feeling...."
Eric broke into a run. He'd known Becky all his life, and her feelings were usually correct. They rounded the curve in the lane that led to their homes.
The Voglemans' car was gone.
Eric dashed across the driveway and up the steps, Ruthy and MoIly right behind him. A note was tacked to the screen door, written in his father's handwriting.
"This is it, son! Your mother and I are on our way to the hospital. Go over and stay with the Channings . I'll call you soon.
Love, Dad."
"Whoopie! Whoopie!" Molly shrieked ecstatically. "Elizabeth's coming! Elizabeth's coming!"
Ruthy and Eric looked solemnly at each other, then turned and walked down the steps and across the lawn. Rebecca fell in beside them, and Molly skipped along ahead, still whooping.
Mrs. Channing met them at the door. She was a slender woman, and her wispy blond hair was tied back with a red checked cloth. She was smiling. "Hi, Eric. Your mom and dad left for the hospital about two hours ago. Your dad called in just now to say that everything's going fine. You should have a new sister or brother in a few hours or so." She opened the door wider. "Come on in."
Eric entered, trying to look calm. The house smelled of fresh cookies and apple pie. "Come into the kitchen and have some cookies, kids." Mrs. Channing smiled knowingly at Eric. "Pretty exciting, huh?"
He nodded. Through the open window across the field, Ruthy's father could be seen riding the threshing machine. He was wearing a wide brimmed hat and dark brown coveralls. As Eric watched, Sam appeared, striding across the field. Mr. Channing raised a hand and shouted something. The boy ignored him.
Mrs. Channing had seen, too and turned from the window, the little lines around her mouth deepening slightly. She bit her lip and turned to take a plate of cookies from the sink board. "Here you are, kids. Ruthy, get the milk."
Ruthy obeyed. Eric waited until the girls were seated, then also sat down, careful, as always, to mind his manners while around Ruthy's mother. Mrs. Channing thought him the most polite, well brought up boy on Terra, and Eric was not about to do anything to disillusion her.
The cookies were good, but Eric couldn't concentrate on them. He couldn't stop thinking of his mother. People died in childbirth sometimes, didn't they? Not very often, true, but sometimes....
Ruthy's hand touched his lightly. "Quit worrying. She'll be fine."
Eric nodded. "I know."
"My mom's had four, you know."
"I know, but my mom's older. She and dad were both almost a hundred when they met."
Molly's eyes widened. "Gosh! Your mom's old, Eric!"
"Molly!" Mrs. Channing said sharply. "That's not a nice way to talk!"
"But she is, Mommy, she is! And how come you had four kids, and Mrs. Vogleman's only had one so far? Don't Mr. and Mrs. Vogleman like kids as much as you and Daddy do?"
Mrs. Channing looked embarrassed. "Now Molly...."
Ruthy came to her rescue. "Sure they do, Mol, but sometimes people just can't have all the kids they want."
"Why?"
"Because...well, just because they can't. The lady just doesn't get pregnant easily, like Momma does."
Mrs. Channing was pink. "Have you kids had enough cookies?"
"I have." Rebecca stood up, also a bit pink. "I'll go help Dad, okay?"
"Sam's supposed to," Mrs. Channing said, her voice expressionless.
Somewhere in the house a stereo deck came on, the music loud enough to make the walls quiver. Mrs. Channing grimaced. "Ruthy, go tell him to turn that thing off! He's supposed to be helping his father."
Ruthy made a face. "He'll just swear at me, Mom. That's all he ever does anymore, except smoke that stinking stuff in his pipe..."
"Well, go tell him, anyway. Becky, go with your sister."
"Yes, Momma." The two girls went out. Mrs. Channing watched Molly sneak another cookie. "I think that's enough, now, honey."
Molly smiled winningly. "Can I have just this one?"
"Okay, but that's all. Eric, you'd better do your homework."
"Okay, Mrs. Channing." Eric went into Ruthy's bedroom, which the girl shared with her younger sister. He settled into the big easy chair, and set his books in his lap; but he didn't open them at once. This room -- or Ruthy's half of it, anyway, reflected her personality. The bed was smoothly made and covered with a lacy spread, embroidered with pink roses. A small lamp with a matching pink shade was on the bedside table, and a fluffy pink rug was on the floor. Perched on the bed was a stuffed animal in the shape of a cat, with fluffy white fur and blue glass eyes. Curled up to the fake cat was a real one, a kitten, grey-striped in color, sound asleep, and purring hoarsely.
Molly's side of the room was a sharp contrast to her sister's. The bed was made, but was littered with dolls of all sizes and shapes and in various states of dress and undress. The rug was rumpled and showed evidence of the black mud from the back yard. Discarded articles of clothing heaped the chair and bedside stand.
Eric sat motionless in his chair, surveying the room with an odd sense of homesickness. A strange feeling was uncoiling within him -- a conviction that he was looking at something he treasured for the last time.
He shook it off and opened his book.
From down the hall he heard Sam's voice raised in anger and the shriller tones of the two girls. There was a string of cusswords and a door slammed, making the walls quiver.
Ruthy went past the room, followed by Rebecca, and Eric heard their voices over the thunder of the stereo. "He won't, Momma, and he says you and Daddy can't make him!" Ruthy sounded almost in tears. "Oh, Momma, what's the matter with him? He's gotten just horrible!"
"All right, girls, go do your homework. I'll go talk to him."
Ruthy's footsteps approached and she came into the room. She was crying, Eric saw, eyes red, nose running. She looked at him, then snatched a tissue from the box on the bedside. Eric got up and went over to her. She went into his arms and he held her tightly, smoothing her curls.
"I just hate him now!" she whispered fiercely. "He used to be such a nice boy, and now he's just horrible! I threw that box of stuff he smokes out the window, and he hit me!"
"Oh, yeah? I'll get him for that!"
"Oh, no, Eric! Please! He'll beat you up again like last time! It's okay. I scared him -- made him see a bat flying around the room!" She smiled through her tears. "He's scared of bats, you know." She sniffled and giggled. "Big fraidy cat!"
"You should have made him see that elephant -- remember, the one that...."
"Oh, I already used that on him. He doesn't fall for it anymore." Ruthy sobered. "Anyway, he figured out I was doing the bat and started swearing at me." She began to cry again. "He's always swearing at me, and Momma, and Becky, and even Molly sometimes !"
Eric patted her back. "Maybe I could go talk to him."
"It's no use. Listen."
Sam's voice came again, screaming obscenities at his mother. There was a ringing slap, then another string of curses. Ruthy flinched in his arms.
Toward the direction of the kitchen they heard the sound of a door opening and the deeper tones of Ruthy's father. Rebecca's voice answered. A moment later Mr. Chaining went past the door and down the hall toward Sam's room. Molly entered, shut the door, picked up the kitten from Ruthy's bed and plopped down in the big rocking chair, hugging the animal and crying. The kitten purred hoarsely, licking her face.
Ruthy disengaged herself from Eric's grasp. "Come on, Molly I have chores to do. You come help me, and then we can both help Eric do his, since Mr. Vogleman probably won't be home until later. We'll do our homework afterwards.''
Eric gave the little girl a smile. "Come on, honey. I'll give you a piggyback ride.
**********
They were busily engaged in cleaning the chicken house about an hour later when Mrs. Channing appeared in the doorway, smiling. "Eric?"
He turned. "Yes?"
"Your father just called. You have a little sister. She arrived about fifteen minutes ago. Everything's fine."
Eric whooped, and Ruthy grabbed his hands, laughing. Molly danced around them, shrieking, "I told you so! I told you so! Elizabeth's here! Elizabeth's here!"
"She weighs about 2400 grams, Eric," Mrs. Channing said. "Sort of small, but she's perfect. Your dad says she looks like you did."
"When can I see 'em?"
"Your dad'll be home in a little while. He says you can go over in the morning. He'll write a note to your teacher explaining why you're late."
"Wow! Good old dad! Is Mom okay?"
"She's fine--just sort of tired. You can talk to her on the phone if you like."
"Sure!" Eric sprinted toward the house. Sam came out of the front door as he ran up the steps. The older boy looked bedraggled and angry. He stared straight past Eric. Eric ignored him.
**********
Eric Vogleman opened his eyes and blinked upward into the darkness. All was very still. Somewhere an owl was calling. The chronometer on his bedside informed him that it was 0425.
He lay rigid, fear crawling over him. Something was about to happen. He could feel the menace in the air around him, moving closer every instant.
The door to his room opened and his father entered. "Eric?" he whispered.
"Yes, dad?" Eric sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. His father was clad in pajamas and a robe, hair tousled as though he had just awakened.
"Are you all right, son?"
Eric regarded his father anxiously. "I don't know, Dad. I'm sort of scared, and I'm not sure why."
"Me, too." His father fidgeted. "Eric, I think we'd better..."
A frantic pounding on the door interrupted him. Mr. Vogleman started up. "What the blazes..."
"It's okay. It's Ruthy." Eric ran past his father, down the hall, through the kitchen and pulled open the door.
Ruthy catapulted through. "Eric! Are you okay?"
"Yes, fine. What's going on?"
Sam entered behind her, scowling. "See, Ruthy, he's fine. Let's go home."
Ruthy ignored him. "You're in danger, Eric. You've got to get out of here!"
"I know." Eric glanced at his father, who had just entered the kitchen. "Ruthy thinks we'd better leave."
"I think she's right, son. Go get dressed. Hurry."
Eric looked at Ruthy. "I think you should go with us."
"You're crazy." Sam caught the girl's shoulder. "We're going home. Come on, twithead."
"No!" Ruthy started to struggle. "I'm going with them!"
"Yeah, like hell you are!"
"Sam," Eric said, trying to will himself into calmness, "believe me. There's danger to Ruthy if she stays here."
Sam ignored him. "Come on stupid! Let's go."
"No!" The girl was struggling in his grasp now. Eric stepped forward. "Let her go, Sam."
"Mind your own business, General Peanut." Sam shoved him aside and started to jerk Ruthy toward the door.
"Dad!" Eric cried desperately.
Mr. Vogleman glanced irresolutely at the brother and sister. "Sam, please, I know it sounds stupid to you, but there is danger." He strode forward. "I advise you and your family to get out of the house, at least for the day."
Sam laughed sarcastically. "Well, now I know where Eric gets it." He laughed again, added an obscenity and went out, dragging Ruthy with him.
"Dad! Stop him!"
"Forget them for now, Eric." Mr. Vogleman turned back toward the bedrooms. "It's us that're really in danger. Go get dressed, quick. I'll call their parents later if I get the chance." He ran down the hall, dragging Eric by one wrist. Eric went into his room and began to yank on his own clothing. It took him less than a minute to finish. His father reappeared a moment later, also fully clad, and holding a flashlight. "Ready? Okay, let's get out of here."
Eric ran after him out the door and across the lawn toward the aircar parked in the driveway. "Dad! Look!"
"I see them, Eric. In the car! Quick!"
Eric obeyed. Across the field he could see lights coming toward them -- the lights of aircars -- two, Eric thought, and closing the distance rapidly.
Then they were in their own car and it was swooping upward. They shot away without lights.
"Dad, what about Mom?"
"I'm calling her now. She'll be waiting."
"Calling her? How?"
"Your mother and I are psychics, Eric. Remember the pamphlets?"
Eric was silent, but his mind was racing. Psychics. His father said the word so casually, as though it was nothing to be surprised at. Within the last five years the concept of Terran psychics had come to worldwide attention. A well known German scientist had claimed publicly that Terran psychics did exist, and that in some cases he had found their powers equaled or even surpassed those of the Jilectans, themselves. But the scientist had been killed in a moving vehicle accident about a month after his claim, and the discovery of a large quantity of alcohol in his system had done much to discredit his research.
But then the pamphlets had begun to appear, their source unknown, which again stated that psychic powers in Terrans were not only a fact, but that, if you were a psychic, the Jilectans, the rulers of the known galaxy, would be looking for you. The Jils, the pamphlets stated, wished to eliminate Terran psychics from the population. If you suspected psychic power in yourself, the pamphlet advised you to conceal it -- never to tell anyone of your suspicions, and never to use your talent in a way that would draw attention to you.
The concept of Terran psychics had seemed interesting to Eric, but really not very likely. The Jilectans were the only beings in the galaxy that possessed psychic ability, and yet the idea had stuck with him.
He looked sideways at his father's dim outline in the darkness of the speeding car. "Then it's all true?"
"It's all true, son," Mr. Vogleman said quietly. "I'm a psychic. I've known it for many years -- since I was younger than you, in fact. My father and mother were probably psychics, too, and I'm certain my brother was. He was taken by the Jils six years ago. You were barely seven, and didn't understand what was going on. Your mother and I didn't tell you."
"I didn't know!"
"Nobody knew, except your mother. When your Uncle Luke was taken, we ran for our lives. We ended up here, and changed our name. Do you remember being an Eric Caughman?"
Eric recalled dimly his father telling him that his name was to be different now, but hadn't known why or cared. "Sort of -- like something out of a dream. What about Mom? Is she...?"
"Yes. She's a psychic, too."
"Why didn't you tell me? Suddenly and vividly now, Eric recalled Mr. Schwartz, and the test he'd taken the day before. "You should have told me! If I'd only known..."
"Your mother thought it was safer if you didn't know until you were older. You can be a bit of a show off sometimes, Son. She was afraid you'd jeopardize all of us."
"I did, anyway," Eric said dismally. "You should have told me."
"What do you mean?"
"I think somebody suspected me of being a psychic. Mr. Schwartz gave me a test yesterday -- a real crazy test. I didn't know any of the answers, but I made a 98% on it, anyway. He seemed real pleased about it. Ruthy told me the same thing happened a few years ago to another student. She vanished just a few days later."
"Schwartz," muttered Mr. Vogleman. "I never liked that guy." He sighed. "Well, what's done is done, and there's no going back. We've got the Patrol after us now, and we'll have to make the best of it. We got away from them once before, and we can do it, again. I just wish it didn't have to be with a brand new baby." His voice trailed off. "There's the hospital ahead."
Eric saw the lights blinking through the darkness. He swallowed hard and glanced back. The headlights of the pursuing aircar were no longer to be seen. "Uh, dad --"
"Yeah?"
"Elizabeth...is she...is it possible she's a psychic, too?''
"It's not only possible, Eric, it's certain. Your Mother knew when you were born that you were a psychic, and again, with Elizabeth, she knew. Obviously the trait's inherited, just like the pamphlets said."
The aircar swooped downward to a skillful landing before the hospital entrance. The doors opened and Mrs. Vogleman emerged, a small, blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. A doctor and two frantic nurses followed.
"Mrs. Vogleman you just can't leave like this! You'll have to sign a paper before you go! It's against the rules!"
"I'm sorry. I haven't time to explain." Eric's mother pulled open the door and slid into the front beside Eric. "It's an emergency. Thank you for all your wonderful care. Goodbye." The door closed in their faces and Eric's father pressed the accelerator. The car roared and swooped upward once again.
Eric caught his mother in a relieved embrace. She kissed him, and between them Eric felt the baby squirm. Carefully he pulled the blanket back and peered in the dimness at the round little face, dark lashes and soft fine hair.
"She's pretty, Mom."
"I think so, Eric, although I heard one of the nurses say she looks like an undernourished monkey "
"Who said that?" Eric asked indignantly.
Mrs. Vogleman laughed softly. "It doesn't matter, and it's sort of true." She glanced back. "Dear, there's a car following us."
"I know," Eric's father said tightly. "It's the Patrol. I think they've found us again."
**********
tbc
