Awakenings: 5/6
by Linda Garrick and Nancy Smith
Chapter 5
Samuel Rex Channing strode across a marshy area in the northern portion of the Denninghoven Wilds and paused, wiping sweat from his brow. He cursed under his breath at the circling insects and the soft mud beneath his feet, as he scrambled up a gently sloping embankment. He was shot! Damn Ruthy, anyway! What a stupid, idiotic stunt for her to pull! The little twit was a romantic idiot, and far too obsessed with that Vogleman boy for a kid her age! When he found her, he'd give her a good spanking for this, and if he had anything to say about it, she wouldn't see Eric ever again!
Ahead there were voices, and he changed direction slightly toward them. Perhaps that police sergeant had returned. "Sergeant Rose..." Sam smiled fractionally at the inflection. The sergeant had smelled like anything but a rose, after that skunk had finished with him. Stupid city slicker -- never having seen a skunk before!
The voices were nearer now. Sam changed direction again and pushed his way through matted shrubbery.
He found himself in a small clearing and before him were clustered a dozen men, all wearing the blue and gold uniforms of the Terran police. They were speaking together in Basic. Sam identified the language, at once. He'd been forced to take it in his freshman and sophomore years of high school and had hated every minute of it. His sisters had taken it, too, and had loved it. All of them, with the exception of little Molly, spoke it fluently, as did his parents. Sam, although he had hated the class, had learned the language from his sisters, who often spoke it to one another to show off. They knew Sam didn't do as well in such things as they, and used it to make him feel stupid. But Sam knew he wasn't stupid, and to show them, he, too, had learned the language, although perhaps not quite as fluently. He understood it better than he spoke it.
He strode across the clearing toward the men. "Hi there!" he called.
Faces turned toward him. The assembled cops were all noticeably large men - much taller than Sam, and powerfully built. One of them came forward, and Sam recognized Sergeant Rose. The man still bore a strong unpleasant odor of skunk, and looked mad.
"Sam Channing, isn't it?" he inquired frostily.
"Yeah," Sam replied, disgruntled and annoyed by the man's official tone.
"One of the other officers made a convulsive move, but Rose put out a hand, motioning him back.
"Any sign of your sister?"
"No," Sam said. "I was hoping maybe you'd found her. You sure got enough guys here looking for her."
Rose lifted an eyebrow. "Your mom and pop still out looking, too?"
"Yeah, I think so." Sam shrugged. "I've about had it. I've been looking since this morning, and I'm tired. Think I'll head home. You guys can go on wandering around if you like." He started to turn away.
"Wait a minute, Sam," Rose said. "Maybe you can help us. We haven't found the Vogleman boy, either, and we think they may be out here together somewhere. We've got a case of puppy love on our hands, I'll bet anything you like. The boy's probably arranged a rendezvous with her. Maybe he's even talked her into running away with him."
"That's crazy! Eric's only thirteen!"
"I tumbled my first one at thirteen."
Sam felt himself reddening. "That damned little twerp! He'd better not try anything with Ruthy! I'll kill him!" Sam stopped and shook himself abruptly. "No, Eric isn't stupid. He's a brat, and a militaristic war lover, but he isn't stupid."
"No, but he is thirteen years old, and his mother had a baby yesterday. Up until now he's been the only child. He'll be feeling pretty grown up now, as well as sort of left out of things, maybe. A lot of kids do what he's done. I've seen it before."
Sam felt himself reddening again. "What'll we do?"
"Well, I was sort of hoping you could help us out. Do those two kids have a meeting place somewhere that you know about, maybe?"
Sam considered. "Well, a long time ago they used to meet under the two big oaks on the north side of the Wilds. They might go there." Sam started in the direction. "I'll show you. It isn't far."
The men fell in beside him. Sam almost ran, and was amused to see that his companions were having trouble keeping up. Stupid city cops. They couldn't deal with anything that wasn't covered with synthastone. He couldn't help laughing as Rose stumbled over a root and sprawled flat in the mud. The officer rose to his feet, scowling, but said nothing.
They came to the oaks and paused, peering around. There was no sign of Ruthy or Eric. The sergeant swore softly, glancing at Sam. "They're not here. I don't suppose you know of any other place they might go?"
Sam shook his head. Rose muttered an imprecation between his teeth and spoke suddenly in Basic. "Spread out, men. Search the vicinity. I'm heading back to the aircar with the prisoner."
Sam stared at him. "What prisoner?"
He was ignored. Rose addressed two other officers. "Burnell! Lightly! You come with me. We'll rendezvous back at the cars."
Sam frowned angrily. "What the hell type of cops speak Basic on their home planet? What's coming off here?"
Rose turned toward him again, grinning maliciously. "Cuff him, Burnell."
A large, husky officer strode forward, removing from his belt a device that Sam had never before seen a policeman carry. It looked like handcuffs, but there was no chain -- only a short metal bar between the wristlets. Sam took a step back. "Those are Patrol restrainers!"
"My! my! What a well read little boy he is!" Burnell laughed and caught Sam by one wrist, jerking him around. Sam jabbed back with an elbow and the man caught that arm, too, bending it cruelly up behind him. Sam yelped.
"You big hog! I'll have your badge for this! I haven't done anything! What the hell are you...."
The man bent him forward and coolly fastened his hands behind him, then gave him a push, which sent him staggering. He fell face down on the forest floor and got a mouthful of leaves.
Slowly he turned to his back, spitting out dirt and forest debris, and glaring up at Rose. "Stop him! What the hell are you playing at?"
Rose guffawed.
"You damned pig! You're even stupider than I thought you were! You can't do this and get away with it!"
Rose bent, jerked him upright by the collar, and lifted him easily from the ground.
"Speaking of stupid," he said softly, "you take first prize, twerp." His hand came up, and a large, roughened thumb tweaked Sam's nose viciously. Sam howled.
Another tweak and the officer grinned, patting him lightly on the cheek. "Keep your mouth shut, pretty boy, or I might mess up that pretty face of yours a little more. Your hair-do's already shot."
Sam stared at him in horror. "You're not a cop! You couldn't be!"
Burnell burst out laughing. "Give the kid a gold star!"
"Then who are you? What are you--" Comprehension dawned. "You're Patrol!"
Rose dropped him. Sam landed on his feet, stumbled, and managed to regain his balance. The patrolman laughed at him. "Feel like making a few more remarks about me, cutie? How about the skump -- or whatever the hell that critter was? You wanna say something about that? Come on! I'd love to hear it!"
Sam swallowed hard. Don't panic, he told himself. These guys were just a little upset at him for laughing at their Sarge. They'd come around quickly enough if he just modulated his attitude and apologized. Any intelligent person would.
He swallowed again and forced back his anger. Rose shoved him to Lightly and motioned them on. "Let's go."
Lightly gave him a push. "Walk, my lovely."
Sam obeyed meekly. The patrolmen fell in beside him, one on each side. Rose took up the rear.
Sam cleared his throat. "Uh...Sergeant Rose, sir?"
"Yeah, Sammy honey? Loved your hair-do, by the way. Reminded me of the Viceroy's." He made a rude sound and laughed loudly.
Sam bit his lip. "Look, Sergeant, I can understand how you feel. I'm sorry I was so rude with you. How about burying the hatchet now, huh? You're an intelligent man, and you must realize that violence never solves anything--"
Rose lifted an eyebrow at him. "My, my, how can you say that, Sammy honey pie? It solved the problem of your smart mouth, didn't it?"
Sam took a deep breath. "Look, this is all a mistake, you know. I haven't done anything wrong--except shoot my mouth off when I shouldn't have--and I've apologized for that. Can't you let me go now, and forget this ever happened? I will."
The patrolman laughed.
"Aw, come on, Sergeant--"
"Shut up," Rose said. "I'm sick of listening to you."
"But this is ridiculous!" Sam kept his voice low, but tried to speak firmly. "I'm just an Earth kid!"
"That's right -- a real stupid Earth kid. Now shut up."
"But you can't--"
The officer grabbed him by the shirt, yanked him forward and struck him savagely across the mouth, snapping his head to one side. He saw stars, and a high pitched humming filled his head. He realized he was on his knees, and his captors were laying hands on him, hauling him upright once more. He coughed and blinked trying to clear the cobwebs from his vision.
The patrolmen were yanking him on. He stumbled blindly between them. This was incredible! These men were being utterly unreasonable! He had tried to apologize -- to offer them the hand of friendship, and they had attacked him! They had derided and laughed at him. Perhaps he simply hadn't tried hard enough.
They reached the clearing where he had first encountered the men, and passed through it. Beyond was another clearing--sort of an extension of the first one, and parked within it were four police vehicles. Sam was shoved toward the nearest one.
"Wait, please! Again he turned toward Rose. "I can understand you're being angry with me, and I'm awfully sorry for the way I acted--"
"Shut up." The man spun him around and propelled him toward the craft. What were they going to do with him? Visions of the mass execution, which had occurred three months ago on Marivis 4, sprang to mind. Surely, though, the Patrol wouldn't dare kill him, a native of Terra, and on Terran soil. Think of the intergalactic incident it would raise!
Except that no one knew where he was, and if the 'trols released him now, his treatment at their hands would cause an incident, anyway. Come to think of it...something clicked in Sam's mind. They couldn't be meaning to let him go. If so, they wouldn't dare treat him this way.
It could mean only one thing. Sam felt his heart buck in his chest, and a wild urge to escape encompassed him. He began to struggle frantically.
"Knock it off!" Rose slapped him hard, the impact throwing him to the ground again. He lay still a moment then rolled suddenly sideways, trying to get to his feet.
Large, powerful hands were laid upon him, and he was jerked upright. Something warm trickled down his chin.
"Stop it or I'll stun you. I've had it with you, twerp! Hear me?"
Sam subsided. The patrolman pushed him into the aircar and climbed in beside him. The door closed.
The com unit on Rose's wrist crackled suddenly. "Sarge! Sargeant Rose, this is Patrolman Shivson! Come in!"
"This is Rose. Now what?"
"We just found Drevers and Pinks unconscious! Looks like a stunbeam. They called just minutes ago, saying they were in pursuit of a chick that they thought was one of the Channing kids."
Rose swore under his breath. "Well, bring 'em around, quick! He spoke in Basic, but Sam had little difficulty following the conversation, and his heart sank into his shoes. His sisters! The Patrol was after them too! Up until now he'd had no time to consider them. Rose glanced at him.
"Don't get any ideas, pretty boy."
Sam cleared his throat. "Why are you doing this?" he managed. "What possible reason could you have for wanting my sisters, too? They haven't done anything."
"You speak Basic pretty well," Rose said dryly. "Learned it in school, I suppose."
"Yes. My parents speak it fluently, though. I learned most of it from them. Please, why are you doing this?"
The com spoke again. "Sarge, Pinks says they were chasing a little girl, probably about eight or so -- brown hair and eyes, and carrying a small baby. They caught her, too, but then an aircar showed up and fired a stunbeam. That's the last they remember."
"Terran Underground again, dammit! Those--" He broke off abruptly and spoke into the com again. "Okay, stay on your toes. There's still one Channing kid unaccounted for, and the Vogleman boy, too. I sure hope the brat we've got here is a psychic after all this mess we've had to wade through. Salthvor's going to be p.o.'d...."
Sam stared at him in horror. "A psychic! I'm not a psychic!"
The man shrugged. "Well, your little sis, Ruth is one, that's for damn sure, and so you've got a good chance of being one, too. Anyway, it doesn't matter much now -- not to you, anyway. You're dead, psychic or no." He grinned viciously. "And yours is one interrogation I'm going to insist on attending, Sammy my boy."
"Interrogation?" Sam's heart tried to climb in to his throat again. "I don't know anything, and I'm not a psychic!"
Rose sighed and shrugged fatalistically. "Well, it'd sure be nice if you were. Lord Salthvor was hoping to pick up a bunch of psychics after we spotted the Vogleman boy yesterday, and then realized the folks next door were probably of the same breed."
"Eric? He's a psychic?"
"Damn right, and a good one, I think. And his parents, too."
"But you haven't caught him?"
"No, we haven't. Be better for you if we had, though. Salthvor's going to take his mad out on you all by yourself, and if you're not a psychic, he's going to be double mad. If we get young Eric, the Jil'll concentrate on him."
"What about his parents? Did you get them?"
The patrolman laughed. "Yeah, we got them. You directed us right to 'em. Thanks for your help, kid. But Salthvor already sent 'em on their way, so they won't do you any good. You'd better hope we pick up the Vogleman kid, or one of your sisters to get the heat off of you, my child." He laughed, clearly enjoying Sam's discomfort. "Salthvor don't care nothing for non psychics, but he loves interrogating psychics - particularly smart mouthed psychic kids like you." He grinned nastily. "Good thing you believe in non-violence. You're the only one around here who does, apparently. The rest of 'em have made no end of trouble for us, but you've been real cooperative."
Sam flinched. It was his fault! He'd directed these men to the hospital. His father had tried to shut him up, and he hadn't listened. Ruthy wasn't crazy after all, and neither was Eric. They had been warned by their psychic abilities of impending danger to the Vogleman family. Eric and his parents had tried to flee, and Sam, unwittingly, had thwarted their efforts.
He stared at Sergeant Rose with hatred. "And if I turn out to be a psychic, I suppose I'll be interrogated and executed, too."
"That's right," Rose said cheerfully.
"How?"
"Oh, public execution probably. He'll accuse you of being a member of the Terran Underground, or some other off-the-wall group, and have you executed on the video. You'll be a star, kid."
Sam swallowed. He wouldn't give the guy the satisfaction of knowing how scared he was. "And if I'm not a psychic?"
"If you're not, he'll probably just shoot you and be done. Personally, kid, I think you lucked out. You're not a psychic. If you are, you're the dumbest psychic I've ever met. Psychics are smart, and it was just too damn easy to fool you."
Sam felt the insulted blood mount into his cheeks. Tears of anger and despair pricked behind his eyes, and he willed them back. He wouldn't cry! He wouldn't give this big lout the satisfaction!
What had happened to all his carefully thought out analogy? This stinking so-and-so had laughed at it, ridiculing Sam outright! And the others had done the same. Was it possible there were people in this sector so barbaric and self-centered that they wouldn't respond when the hand of friendship was extended to them? Sam went pink at the memory. He had apologized! He had humbled himself before this guy, and Rose had laughed! He had laughed!
The sergeant was watching him, a faint smirk on his lips. Sam sat back and closed his eyes.
The unit on Rose's wrist crackled again. "Sergeant, come in! This is Quiller!"
"This is Rose, sir."
"We just got a call from the cops. They've picked up the Vogleman kid!"
Rose gave a sigh and grinned. "Well, it's about time. Do you want me to go get him, sir?
"No, I'm going. We'll try to get the location of the Channing girls from him, although he may not know. We'll be heading into town now. Hang onto that Channing boy, for the luvamike."
Rose glanced at Sam. "Yes sir."
"Out." The communication cut off. Rose sighed again and detached the canteen from his belt. He grinned crookedly at Sam. "You got a break, kid."
Sam didn't answer. Time crawled by.
What were his captors waiting for, anyway? Why didn't they just take him directly to the Jil? Perhaps his Lordship would listen to reason. Surely anyone as powerful as a Jilectan would be smart enough to realize the foolishness of all this. Perhaps....
Again his mind returned to the mass execution three months ago. The Patrol had killed the colonists, claiming that Underground spies had infiltrated and corrupted the tiny government of the planet. Psychics! All psychics were killed, and Sam's own sister was a psychic. There were no exceptions made--at least, not according to Rose.
Something seemed to give inside him, then, and he knew sudden, furious hatred, not only toward the man beside him, but toward that man's superiors. Rose and his men were here upon orders from the Jils. Rose had said that the Jilectan, Lord Salthvor, would personally oversee the deaths of any psychic found. Eric had been captured, and he was a psychic. Sam grimaced at the thought of Mr. and Mrs. Vogleman and their son being interrogated by one of the overlords. And Eric would know who had clued them in. Eric always knew what he was thinking. That was one of the things Sam found so irritating about the little guy.
But Ruthy had been rescued, at least from the description it sounded like Ruthy. The Terran Underground, then, was in the area. Everyone knew that the Underground, outlaw organization that it was, protected people from the Jils. Sam had always assumed before that anyone who got in trouble with the overlords had probably deserved what they got, but now it had been rather shockingly demonstrated that this wasn't true. He'd been blind -- a blind fool! Eric had shown more intelligence and understanding than he.
Rose's com crackled. "Sergeant, this is Quiller. The boy's escaped!"
"What? How?"
"Never mind how!" The voice was angry and chagrined. "We need help. The kid went down into the sewers beneath the city. Helluva place. We're searching for him, but so far no luck. You have the Channing kid still, right?"
"Yeah -- the loudmouthed pup I told you about."
"Yeah. Well, it's just possible he can help us out. Find out if he knows these sewers."
Rose turned to Look at Sam. "Well, kid?"
Sam hesitated. He did know those sewers. Until recently, he and his friend Charlie had run through them like rabbits. But he didn't want to help these men find Eric....
Rose was grinning faintly, and spoke into the com again. "Yeah, sir, he knows 'em."
"Good. Bring him here. It's about a block north of the police station where he went down. Call your men and have 'em come, too."
"What about the other Channing girl, sir? She's probably still out here somewhere, too?"
"Never mind her." The voice was annoyed. "It's the boy that His Lordship wants most. Once we have him, we'll go after her again. She's bound to come home eventually, anyway, and Ames'll get her. He says she was hardly more'n four or so - didn't look old enough to be in school.
Molly! That had to be Molly! Sam's heart felt like a chunk of ice. His little baby sister was still at large somewhere in these woods, and Rose's men were looking for her. What could he do?
The answer to that was simple. He couldn't do anything. He was helpless, and a prisoner.
Rose was issuing orders, and one of the men in front pressed buttons. The car rose over the treetops and headed toward town. Rose settled back in his seat, glancing sideways at Sam. "Don't get any ideas, kid," he said softly. "You double cross us here, and I'll let His Lordship know. You'll end up in the execution chair beside your little psychic friend."
Sam stared at him in horror.
"But, if you help us," continued Rose quietly, "it's just possible Salthvor might let you off."
Sam gulped. "You mean...not kill me?"
"Exactly."
"He wouldn't let me off! He'd be afraid I'd tell about all this!"
"Who'd believe you? Besides, Salthvor doesn't care. If the Terran government did believe you, they'd lodge a protest, and the Jils'd ignore it. Happens all the time. You don't think this is the first time SaIthvor's spotted a psychic on Terra and come to pick him up, do you?"
Sam hadn't really given much thought to Salthvor. He shook his head. Ahead the first buildings of the town came into view.
"So if you'll help us," Rose said softly, "you just might be able to save your neck." He paused, watching Sam closely. "It won't matter in the long run, of course. We'll find little Eric eventually, but with your help, it just might be a little easier. Whatcha say?"
Sam gulped. "Okay, I'll help."
"Smart boy." The Lieutenant turned him around and removed the restrainers from his wrists. "I'm going to take these off now so we won't attract attention, but you make one try to escape -- just one, mind you, and your chance is blown. You'll find yourself on your way to the Jil as fast as I can send you. And the public won't ask questions, believe me. Kids get dragged in by the cops all the time. They won't listen to a thing you say."
"I won't try anything," Sam said.
"Maybe you got more smarts than I gave you credit for, kid," said Rose. He grinned nastily.
The car was settling to the street and another man in police uniform came forward. Rose opened the door and got out. He spoke rapidly in a low voice, obviously believing Sam would be unable to hear -- or if he did hear, to understand the swiftly spoken language.
But Sam did understand, and felt himself flushing in shame at the inflection.
"There he is, little peace lover. You should've heard him trying to reason with us. It was great."
"Wish I could've. Listen, Rose, the boy went down the sewer opening over there. The rest of your men on their way?"
"Yeah. It'll be a while, but they'll get here. They've got to get back to their cars first."
"Good. Helluva place. Damned sewer stinks worse'n the ones I ran through in Scaifen. Lotsa vermin an' rottin' boards. Watch yourself, an' warn your men."
"Yessir. How the devil did the kid get away, anyway? I thought you had him secure. Underground again?"
"I don't think so." The Lieutenant sounded puzzled. "We was takin' him outta the station, an all of a sudden I heard this noise. I looked up, an' I'll swear, Rose, there was this...thing chargin' at me -- big as a Sabreclaw it was, an wearin' some kind o' strappin's on its head. I tried to blast it, an' I guess I let go of the boy. He ran."
"What the hell was it?"
The Lieutenant's voice fell even more. "I dunno. I shot at it twice, then incinerated a cop car with emergency max, an' the thing just sort of faded away. The guys thought I'd been drinkin', or somethin', but dammit, I hadn't! But the thing looked real, Rose, an' I heard it. Nobody else saw or heard anythin'!"
A great light dawned in Sam's mind. Ruthy! Ruthy must have been nearby, and had created the illusion for Lieutenant Quiller's benefit. Sam had seen her do thing's like that a hundred times. She had even done it to him, the last time only yesterday with that damned bat illusion which had scared him out of his pants. It had never occurred to him to think of it as a psychic ability, but of course, it had to be that. Rose had told him that his sister was a psychic for sure.
Rose shrugged, then grinned. "Maybe a leftover of that homemade stuff Jenkins was brewing on board, huh? I better watch myself. I had some, too."
Quiller made a face. "I don't believe it."
"Well, there's the kid." Rose jerked his head toward Sam. "He said he'd help."
"Can we trust him?"
"Oh, yeah. He's figured out which side his bread's buttered on." The Sergeant's voice fell a fraction. "But keep your eye on him. I don't think he's a psychic, and he's a sniveling coward, but you never know with these Terran kids. Sometimes they find they've got some when you least expect it."
The Sergeant's voice had been very low, and Sam knew the man hadn't wanted him to hear that. He felt a flood of shame.
Rose turned and gestured. "C'mon, kid," he said. "Show us the way."
Chapter 5
Eric Vogleman dashed down the alley, hearing shouts and curses behind him. The patrolman who had begun shooting at nothing was bellowing for him to stop. A pedestrian made a grab for him.
He deftly avoided the man's reaching hands and plunged sideways into another alley. Before him was a manhole -- one of the several entrances which led to the sewers below the city. Eric leaped for it.
The pedestrian was almost upon him, and the pursuing patrolman had entered the alley, shouting for the man to grab him. Eric seized the cover of the manhole and wrenched it aside.
Hands caught his coat. Eric twisted sideways instinctively, wiggled out of the coat, and leaped forward feet first into the gaping hole.
He fell down the steep, ladder-like steps, bruising his shins on the rough cement, and landed on hands and knees on a narrow walkway, flanked on both sides by running streams of smelly water. Instantly he was on his feet again and running. A shout echoed around him, but he didn't glance back. There was a reverberating thud as a heavy body landed in the sewer behind him.
He still didn't glance back, but tore on, his feet rattling noisily on the pavement. Pursuing steps sounded behind him.
Eric knew the passage perfectly, and in spite of the darkness he didn't miss a step. Before, when he and Ruthy had run through these sewers, they had always brought a flashlight, but now, except for the flicker of the pursuing patrolman's handlight, he was in complete darkness. It didn't matter. Fear sent him on, and the way seemed clear before him. His psychic talents, he supposed. He seemed to "see" the way as he ran. Behind him the patrolman stumbled and fell with a noisy crash and a frantic splashing of water. The light flickered and gyrated around the walls.
More sounds reached him -- other men joining the hunt, he supposed. Eric turned right down another tunnel and jogged left into still another. Water tinkled on both sides of him, and a rat scuttled, squealing, from beneath his feet. After running another hundred meters, he dodged left again.
The sounds behind him were fading, but still an occasional muffled exclamation or echoing footfall reached him, magnified by the enclosed spaces.
At last he stopped, listening. Yes, the sounds were still coming closer, although they were some distance away as yet. What could he do? Chance, or something else, had given him a reprieve, but he couldn't hope to elude his pursuers forever. They would catch him eventually, and he would be taken to the Jils.
Anger burned within him. By heaven, he wouldn't go easily! He'd make them work to catch him! Damn them! Damn them all! This was all their fault -- theirs, and that rotten, low down principal's!
He felt around in the darkness and located a rusted, broken piece of pipe lying beside him. It would do, he thought.
He gripped it in both hands as the footsteps approached. The patrolman was walking slowly along the walkway, the light held before him. Eric stepped into the water and crouched back into the concealment of an alcove. The water reached past his knees and smelled like rotten eggs, but he hardly noticed. The walkway was before him, and the patrolman would be coming along it at any minute.
He waited, listening to the approaching footfalls. Light cut through the darkness, illuminating the dank, slime-covered walls around him. Another step, then another. The man would be on the raised walkway when he came up with Eric, and probably wouldn't notice his assailant until it was too late. Eric clutched his iron pipe, his heart pounding in his throat.
The man appeared, the handlight held before him, his blaster clutched in the other hand. Eric swung the pipe.
It struck the patrolman behind the knees. The man howled, both hands flying upward, legs buckling beneath him. The blaster and the light went spinning away. Eric swung a second time, catching his victim in the stomach. The fellow gave an agonized groan and dropped. Eric swung a third time and heard it connect solidly with the man's head.
The man subsided without further protest. Eric straightened up, breathing hard, and went to collect the handlight and blaster from the rushing water. The light still worked, thank goodness, but he wasn't sure about the blaster. It was soaking wet, and Eric's father had told him that water was not good for blasters.
He glanced at it, flashing the light over the patrolman. The man was still, his eyes closed, mouth slack. Should he kill him? Eric tried to consider the option dispassionately. Probably not. The man was out of the running for now, anyway, and besides, firing a shot here would attract other pursuers. And besides, he probably should give the weapon a chance to dry before using it. Eric looked his victim over, then quickly removed the pouch from his belt.
There were more noises from the way he had come. Eric turned away, hooking the pouch to his own belt and shoving the blaster in beside it. He began to run away from the scene.
He trotted down another passageway, flashing the handlight over the dripping walls. He knew these sewers, and had run through them many times with Ruthy, and little Molly trailing along behind. Perhaps he could make it to an exit before his pursuers located all those exits and posted guards. It was a chance, anyway.
**********
The nearest exit was about three kilometers away. Eric traversed the walkway rapidly, trying to be absolutely silent. He was wearing tennis shoes, which helped, and anyway, he had always possessed the ability to move quietly when he wanted to.
There was a sound to his left -- no louder than one of the many sounds he had heard while traversing the sewer. Rats and mice were plentiful down here, and there was even an occasional trenchcrawler. But this sound had been different.
He sensed a presence. There was no other way to describe it. He could feel eyes upon him, and sense a mind behind those eyes. Eric brought the blaster up and turned the light in the direction of that mind.
Dark, frightened eyes widened and the form cringed back from him with an inarticulate whimper of fear. Eric's jaw dropped.
"Molly!"
"Eric!" The little girl scrambled to her feet and ran toward him. An instant later she was hurling herself into his grasp, sobbing out broken words of terror. He clutched her against him.
"Molly, Molly, how did you get down here?"
"I ran!" She was still clutching him, her small arms tight around his ribcage. "The policemens, they came after Becky and me when we left school. I don't know why! They tried to make us get in their car. I was scared. I ran, and...Oh, Eric...!" She began to cry hysterically, her face pressed tightly against his chest.
He patted her between the shoulder blades. "Easy there, Mol. Stop crying now, okay?"
"I'm...not crying!" she sobbed. "I never cry!"
"Okay, I know. Listen, we've got to get out of here."
"Yes!" She took a big breath, choking back sobs. "When I got away from those guys, I went home but everybody was gone! Freckles was hiding in the barn, and I didn't want to leave him! He was scared too! "
"Freckles? You mean your kitten?"
"Uh huh." Molly disengaged her arms from around his neck and bent down and Eric saw a small, cloth kitten carrier. From inside came a plaintive mew.
"You brought the kitten?"
"I couldn't leave him! He was awful scared, and I don't think we're ever going back! There was a guy waiting at the house, but he didn't see me." Molly picked up the small, soft bag. Again the kitten mewed. "Then I came back to town to look for you and I saw more policemens, and I knew they were chasing you and Ruthy too, and I thought you might come here to hide. Oh, Eric, what do we do now?"
"I don't know, but we've got to get out of here somehow. Those guys are still after us, and they're not very far behind."
She nodded, "Why are they chasing us? What did we do?"
He put an arm around her. "I know why, Mol. Now listen to me closely. It isn't anything we've done. It's what we are. We're psychics -- just like it said in the pamphlets. Remember?"
She nodded, her eyes huge. "I remember. We're psychics? Then those guys chasing us aren't police, are they? They've got to be patrolmen!"
"That's right."
"They're from the Jils!" There was despair in her tone. "Eric, the Jils are after us!"
Erie shook her. "Molly, snap out of it. They're not going to catch us! I won't let them!"
She stared at him, her lower lip quivering. He gave her his best smile. "They won't catch us. We're going to escape. You just do what I say, okay?"
She nodded. "Okay, Eric."
He took her hand and stood up. "Come on. I'm going to find us an exit and get us out of here. Just stay close to me, and everything will be fine."
Another nod. "Okay," she whispered.
The kitten mewed again. Molly put a finger to her lips. "Shhh!" she whispered.
Amazingly the small animal's cries ceased.
They went quietly forward. Beside him, Molly's steps were as silent as his own, and he could hear only faintly, her quick, frightened breathing. A trenchcrawler scuttled across their path and dove with a faint splash into a scummy pool of water. Molly didn't seem to notice. Her hand clutched his tightly and she held the kitten's carrier against her chest. The kitten remained silent.
"Eric," Molly whispered.
"Yeah?"
"If we do get away, where'll we go?"
Erie swallowed. "I don't know yet. First we've got to go back and get Ruthy and Elizabeth." He stopped, and for the first time since the Patrol had arrived to take him away, he thought of Ruthy. He saw her small face before his eyes, her brows drawn together in concentration and, as before while wandering in the forest, he seemed to hear her voice calling him.
*Eric! Eric, we're looking for you. Come here, Eric! Come to me!*
"Ruthy!" he breathed.
Molly's face came up. "Ruthy?"
"She's calling me! Do you hear her?"
Molly listened, frowning. "It's like I hear her inside my head."
"Yes! Yes!" Eric felt a surge of excitement and fear. "It's telepathy, that's what it is! Part of our psychic powers! We're all psychics! We can communicate through our minds, and Ruthy's learned how to do it! She's down here looking for us! I hear her. By gosh, it's like she's standing right beside me!" *Ruthy!* He formed her name in his mind. *I hear you! Where are you?*
*We're at the 5th street entrance, Eric! I have people with me who will help us. They belong to the Terran Underground. Come toward us. We'll meet you. Hurry!*
*I'm coming. Be careful, Ruthy. There's patrolmen down here looking for me. They're looking for you, too. Don't let them find you.*
*We'll be careful. Where are you?*
*I'm about a kilometer to the west of the Penn street entrance. Molly's with me.*
*Molly! Oh my gosh!*
"Eric," Molly whispered, "there's people coming."
Eric's mind came back to the present with a start. Molly was right. Behind them, beyond the curve in the sewers, came the flicker of lights and the murmur of voices. Taking the little girl's hand, he led her quickly down the corridor and turned north toward the 5th street entrance to the sewers.
"Hurry," he whispered. "No noise!"
Molly didn't answer, her small feet silent on the rough stone of the passageway. Together they ran lightly forward, whipped around another corner and ran again. A rat scuttled almost under their feet, and Eric leaped over it. They had about a kilometer to go -- or perhaps a little less.
"'Trols!" Molly gasped. "Eric, that way!"
A blaster cracked, and foul-smelling steam billowed up around them. Eric pulled Molly to the right, hearing shouts and the clatter of feet as men came toward them from a side passageway. Someone yelled an order for them to halt.
He dashed straight forward, feet flying. Ruthy's voice screamed something in his mind, and ahead he saw her slim figure appear from around a corner. Beside her were two taller figures. One of them raised a weapon and fired.
The pursuing men scattered as a second shot cracked, then a third. Eric threw himself flat, dragging Molly down with him as a spirited exchange of blaster fire commenced between the two opposing forces.
"Crawl, Molly," he commanded. "Keep your head down!"
Molly obeyed, slithering rapidly forward on elbows and knees, still dragging the little carrier. Eric wanted to tell her to leave it, but he couldn't spare the breath. One of the men had pushed Ruthy back and both the remaining figures now crouched in the water, firing at the patrolmen who were clustered in the passageway behind the fugitives.
Eric reached his rescuers at last and shoved Molly on around the corner. One of their rescuers also reached out and thrust Eric around the corner with the girls, fired a last, rapid barrage of shots, and followed. The other man was beside them seconds later, weapon in hand.
"Run, kids!" he snapped. "Make for the exit."
They ran. Behind them more blaster fire erupted as the two men tried to cover their retreat. A shot hissed past Eric's ear close enough that he felt the heat of its passage. Then the exit was before him, and he was scrambling up the ladder.
As he emerged into the street, a warning shot through him, and he felt his heart lunge in his throat. His head snapped up, and his eyes focused on the approaching figures. Black despair engulfed him.
The alley into which they had emerged had only one exit, and that exit was now thoroughly blocked by the forms of four men in police uniform striding toward them. And between the apparent policemen, mouth open in shock, was the figure of Sam Channing.
**********
tbc
