The Pirate Prince 1: A Slight Deception --6/7
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Corporal Richard Trevor started awake. Someone was calling him, the cry so loud that he thought the person must be standing right beside his bunk and shouting at the top of his lungs. He sat up, looking quickly around in alarm.
No one was here, but the cry continued, and the small face of Jason Sweeney was once again before him. The call came again and again, the child's shrill voice seeming to tear at every fiber of his flesh.
Trevor sprang to his feet, snatched up his helmet and picked up his boots, yanking them on. He had to do something! If he just sat here, that cry would drive him mad!
Patrolmen glanced at him oddly as he sprinted down the corridor toward the room. He hardly noticed, trying desperately to think. What did he intend to do, anyway?
Well, first of all, he had to question the boy, alone, this time. If Jason was alone, he would be less brave, and Trevor might be able to learn something useful.
And what about Rakinxvor? Would his Lordship approve of Trevor keeping what might be very important information a secret? Probably not -- certainly not! No matter what the outcome of this affair it was bound to be a blow to his career unless he went to the Jil right now and told all. The boy was almost certainly the Underground agent. He must take Jason to the Jil now, tell His Lordship what was happening, and hope Rakinxvor would overlook his earlier lapses.
Gathering his nerve, he opened the door and strode through. Jason was on the deck propped against a bulkhead, his eyes fixing instantly on the newcomer. There was no contempt there, now, but a new expression which Trevor hadn't seen before. What was it? Fear, certainly, but something else, too. Triumph?
He strode quickly forward, seized Jason by the arm and yanked him to his feet. Tightness closed about his own upper arm, the transmitted sensation of his own grasp. He knew it now. Turning, he left the room, dragging the prisoner roughly along beside him. The door clicked shut as they exited.
"Corporal Trevor --"
“Shut up!" Trevor headed down the corridor toward the lift. The Jil would be in his quarters now, and wouldn't like to be disturbed, but when Trevor told him why, the alien would forget his annoyance. Rich knew he must act quickly. If he didn't he was bound to lose his nerve.
"Corporal Trevor, please!" The boy sounded breathless. "I've got to tell you something."
"Tell it to the Jil!" Trevor snapped.
"The Jil?" Jason's consciousness, which had begun to fade from Trevor's mind, returned full force. "You're taking me to him? Oh, no! You mustn't! Please don't!"
It was oddly difficult to resist the boy's plea. Trevor forced himself to ignore it, pushing Jason into the lift. The doors closed and the car started upward.
It was vacant, except for himself and his prisoner. The boy was struggling now, his face sharp and clear before Trevor's averted eyes. "Please, sir, if you take me to him, we're both dead! You'll die too, when they kill me!"
Trevor was listening in spite of himself. The lift came to a halt and the doors slid open. Trevor stepped out into the exquisitely carpeted deck, which was reserved for the ship's noble passengers. A Procyon servant passed, heading away from them, a tray containing a litter of dishes and partially eaten food on the cart before him. So, Rakinxvor had finished his breakfast.
"Please, sir! You've got to listen! I have to tell you something!"
"I said tell it to the Jil!" Trevor glared at his small prisoner. “I’m not interested.”
“You've got to be interested! The Jil's going to kill us both! Don't you understand?”
“No, I don't."
"He is! I know it!”
There was absolute conviction in the boy’s tone. Trevor hesitated, then turned, yanking Jason into a closet. It was the place where the servants cleaned Rakinxvor’s formal attire, and the smell of perfume was overpowering.
Trevor shook the boy. “Okay, Shrimp! Spill!"
Jason sneezed hard. "Okay!" he gasped. “Here it is, like it or not. I’m the Undergrounder, just like you suspected. I've used a technique they teach us to link us together, our minds, I mean. That’s why you’re feeling it every time they stick me in the chair. And you're going to go right on feeling it if you take me to the Jil again!"
Trevor stared incredulously at him. "What the hell do you mean?"
"Just that. We Undergrounders do it all the time when we need to recruit help." The boy was talking rapidly now. "It’s easy, if you can find somebody with a mind that complements yours, and you were the lucky one this time. I realized it the first time I saw you, and I linked us up. Now everything that happens to me will happen to you, too."
"You're lying! I never heard of such a thing! Psychics can't link with nons!"
"We Underground psychics can! We've learned a lot of things the Jils still don't know, or are too stuck-up to try! What Jil would want to link himself to a Terran? And how do you think I've kept my shielding up so that stupid Jil still doesn't know if it’s me or that other poor guy? How do you think Alan Westover recruited Linley, and Bronson, and Griffen? Why do you think that Stewart guy took off? And Parnell? And what’s-his-name —- Levinmint? They were all linked to psychics. I know! They did it to save their own lives, just like I've done to you!"
“But --" Trevor gaped at the boy, feeling totally lost. The sensation was succeeded instantly by anger. "You're lying! Rakinxvor'll be able to get the truth out of you!"
"I'm not lying! You felt it, didn't you, every time they put me in the chair? And what do you think’s going to happen now when he puts me there again, knowing I'm an Undergrounder. I'll have to keep my shields up! I can't betray my friends! It'll go on and on and on until I pass out, and when I come to it'll start again. Do you think you can stand it, Corporal?"
Trevor ground his teeth. "Then you're going to unlink us, kid —- now!"
Jason laughed. "And when I die, you'll die, too, Corporal Trevor. How many Undergrounders have you seen publicly executed? Is that the way you want to go?"
Trevor grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward. "Start unlinking us now! Do it, twerp, or I'll beat you to a pulp!"
Jason laughed. "And when you start beating on me, you’ll feel it, too! So it wouldn't do you any good, would it? Besides, Rakinxvor wouldn't like it if you ruined his prize. Anyway, it doesn't matter. Once these links are made they stay that way. Nobody can undo them. The link will be there until I die, and when I die .... " He paused dramatically, "it’s goodbye, Richie!"
Trevor was speechless. He'd had no idea that Undergrounders —- Underground children could wield this much power. But the evidence was there, unmistakable and irrefutable. There was certainly some kind of communication between them, a link, as it were, and the way sensation was transmitted across it -- Trevor shuddered. Of course, the boy might be lying about his inability to unlink them, and also about that business of Trevor dying along with him.
He sure hoped the kid was lying about that!
And somehow, in spite of his anger, the idea of Jason dying was most unpleasant. Trevor stared helplessly down at the small figure beside him, trying to think. What could he could he do? He didn’t want to leave the Patrol. He’d done well, so far, excellent, in fact. He'd risen rapidly, and was up for promotion again, and when he remembered his life before the Patrol --
But if what the boy said was true, it didn't matter. He was dead ... just as dead as he would be if Klafin ever found him again.
He shook off the thought. "You’re lying!"
"I'm not lying." The boy’s voice was firm.
Trevor’s thoughts turned to Linley -— Strike Commander Mark Linley, who had defected from the Patrol at the age of twenty-six. The man had been enormously successful, as had Bronson, who had also defected in a most spectacular way. Griffen, another Strike Commander and Parnell, a Base Commander, and Levinmint, a Lieutenant, up for promotion. All of them were highly intelligent, successful men —- men who had no reason to desert the Patrol for an uncertain future in the Terran Underground.
And yet they all had done so.
Jason spoke softly. "You can get out of it. There’s no need for you to die."
Trevor swallowed. "How?"
"Take the Jil hostage."
"Take the Jil hostage! You’re crazy, kid!"
“Bronson did it. Jils can die, just like Terrans can, and they know it. You take His Lordship hostage, and I'll take you to the Underground. They'll be glad to have you if you save me. I'm one of their best psychics."
"Corporal Trevor!" the intercom boomed suddenly. "Bring the Sweeney boy to the interrogation room.”
The mind link closed. "Please, Corporal, don't take me to him again!"
Trevor stared mutely at the boy.
"Corporal Trevor, respond! Bring the prisoner to the interrogation room at once!"
"Please!" Jason pleaded.
"Shrimp, that's a Jil giving that order! I can't just ignore it!"
“No! He'll stick me in the chair again! Please, I can't stand any more of that! Besides, think what it'll do to you!"
"Rakinxvor'll listen!" Trevor was talking more to himself than to his prisoner now. "I'll tell him everything. He'll --"
"You think that'll stop him? You don't think it's going to upset him that he's hurting you, too, do you?"
"No!" Trevor lifted a hand to strike the boy, then thought better of it. "This is crazy! You're a damn psychic! We've been warned about you —- bunch of clever criminals — degenerates! You'll do anything to save your own rotten skins!" Trevor had always laughed at that claim before, but now he wanted to believe it. "You're using your powers to trick me into changing sides. You've lied about everything up until now, and I'll bet you’re lying again!" He opened the door and headed for the lift, jerking the boy along beside him.
"No!" Jason cried. "I'm not lying! We are linked! Please don't take me to the Jil! Oh, please don't!"
The lift opened before them and they entered. Several patrolmen were already aboard, and Trevor saw them glance curiously at him and his prisoner. The Corporal jabbed the second level with his thumb, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the boy's terrified pleas. The intercom spoke again, this time the Jilectan himself, commanding that Trevor bring the boy at once. Trevor pressed a button on the unit beside him. "This is Trevor, M’Lord. I’m on my way, with the prisoner. Sorry about the delay."
"I will want an explanation of your conduct when you arrive, Corporal," the Jilectan said coldly.
“You’ll have it, M’Lord. I have some new information which should interest you."
The lift came to a halt, and Trevor stepped off, pulling Jason along. The boy had ceased his protests, and was now sobbing hopelessly. Trevor could feel vividly his distress, his fear, and worst of all, his disappointment.
"All right!" he sobbed furiously. "Take me to the Jil, you stupid bootlicker! I didn’t like you much from the beginning, but I thought you had some sense, anyway. But you don't! Go on! See what His Beautifulness does when you tell him. You’re in for it, too, Jil Lover, and I'm glad! If nothing else, I'll know that when I die, you'll die, too!”
Trevor cuffed him into silence, feeling the transferred blows on his own jaw. The boy lapsed into dejected sobs.
Was he doing the right thing —- the logical thing? Trevor had always prided himself on his logic. It had helped him survive since he could remember. He had depended on it to guide him in tight spots, but now everything was so mixed up, he just didn't know! The boy might be right, he told himself uneasily, hesitating at the door to the interrogation room. The two patrolmen standing guard glanced curiously at him. Well, there was no way to change his decision now. The die was cast, and he must abide by the results.
A scream greeted him as he opened the door. The sound, which had ceased to affect him years ago now tore at his nerves. The little, dark haired man who had been in the room with Jason was seated in the interrogation chair, his body slumped forward and sobbing hysterically, Lord Rakinxvor turned to look at Trevor.
The Corporal cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to take so long, M’Lord, but I was having a conversation with this boy. He's the Undergrounder. He confessed it to me, and tried to talk me into defecting."
"Indeed?" Rakinxvor smiled slightly, his eyes flicking to Jason. Absently, Trevor saw the young man in the chair straighten up, his face horrified.
The Jilectan gestured curtly and Patrolman Bradford stepped up to unfasten the straps. The prisoner slumped forward into the man's hold.
Rakinxvor gestured again. "Put the boy in."
"Wait, sir, please!" Trevor pulled Jason back from the patrolman. "There's more. This boy has told me that the Underground has developed a technique —- a way to link a psychic to a non-psychic. He’s done it, too. I was in the infirmary twice, thinking I was having cramps, but it was just due to the link, sir. His mind is linked to mine, and when you interrogate him, the pain is transferred from his mind to mine."
Rakinxvor's eyes shone with interest. He turned to Jason, "Is this true?"
Jason shrank back, averting his eyes. "No ... please --"
"I must test it! Yes, there is certainly a link between you. I detect it now, but I might never have noticed it had you not informed me, Corporal. Good work. Carter, put the boy in the chair."
"No, sir, please!" Trevor again pulled Jason back, but the Jilectan caught the boy, wrenching him forcibly from the Corporal's grasp and shoving him to Carter. Quickly and efficiently, Rakinxvor removed the blaster from Trevor's holster and tossed it to Patrolman Bradford. The man caught it with one hand and shoved it into his belt.
"Just a precaution, Corporal," the Jilectan said coolly. "Now sit down."
Shuddering, Trevor obeyed. "Please, sir," he protested weakly, "I can't go through that again."
The Jilectan ignored him. Carter had finished strapping Jason into the chair and stepped back to the controls. Bradford also stepped back, the little dark haired man held before him in a Patrol armlock.
Rakinxvor nodded to the man at the controls.
Jason screamed, and Trevor felt the agony jolt through him. He fell, writhing to the deck, hearing faintly the surprised exclamations of the other patrolmen. The Jilectan nodded slowly, smiling as though to himself.
"How very interesting!" He glanced at the patrolman. "Again, Carter."
Another scream and another wash of pain, even more agonizing than the first. Trevor gripped the chair, screaming, "Stop! Please, stop!"
Slowly the pain diminished. Rakinxvor's smile broadened. "Does it function the other way, Corporal? If you are hurt, will the boy feel it?"
"I don't know!" Trevor gasped. He stared at the alien, feeling a wash of sheer, unadulterated hatred. Jason had been right after all. The stinking trencher wasn’t about to stop his fun for the sake of his servant. Quite the contrary, it appeared that Rakinxvor was using him —- experimenting with him. He felt like a laboratory rat.
"We shall test it soon," the Jilectan said eagerly. "This is a most fascinating discovery! But first --" He turned toward Jason’s slumped form and placed a slim, white hand on the boy’s face.
Trevor's head jerked around at an exclamation from one of the patrolmen. The blaster which Rakinxvor had taken from him, had disengaged itself from the patrolman's belt and was flying toward him -— right through the air, like a bird. Instinctively his hands came up, and the weapon smacked solidly into his palms. The Jilectan turned from Jason, one hand flashing toward his own jewel studded weapon. Trevor fired.
The alien was flung backward to land hard on top of Jason. The two patrolmen were moving, Carter yanking out his own weapon. It leaped from his hand and sped toward Trevor. Bradford flung Jason’s fellow prisoner aside, and the weapon paused, then swerved in mid flight, to strike the bulkhead to his left. The prisoner hit the opposite bulkhead with a thump. Bradford was grabbing for his weapon, too, and Trevor fired a second time.
Bradford spun away with a scream. Carter yelled something and made a dash for the door. Trevor fired once more, and he fell.
Then Trevor was leaping forward toward the interrogation chair. He heaved the slack form of the Jilectan from Jason, and tore the straps from the boy's wrists, ankles and body. The kid was trying to say something, his breath coming short, but Trevor was too busy to listen. The die was cast for sure, this time. Dead hostages were no good to anybody, and unless he got Jason out of here now, before somebody came in and found that body, they were both in the soup. Yanking Jason’s hands behind him, the Corporal fastened them together with restrainers.
There was a series of breathless crowing sounds, and Trevor jerked his head around to see the small, dark haired man struggling to a sitting position. Trevor swung the blaster toward him.
"No!" Jason wheezed.
The little man froze, his eyes on the weapon. Trevor considered the situation coldly. Logic dictated that he should kill all witnesses, of course, but the Corporal knew that if he were to join the Underground, his first act must not be the cold blooded murder of a psychic —- particularly not while in the presence of another Underground psychic.
He flicked the blaster to stun.
"No!" the little man gasped. "Corporal, wait!"
Trevor fired and the prisoner sank down again.
"No!" Jason was struggling against the shackles, his movements weak. Trevor ignored the protest, tossing him to one shoulder.
"Make it good, Shrimp," he commanded, and jammed his thumb against the control. The door slid aside, and he went out, steadying Jason's writhing form with one hand. The panel slid shut again as he strode past the guards and down the corridor toward the lift.
**********
Alan Westover groaned, feeling the pain pounding behind his eyes. He recognized the symptoms at once, and lay perfectly still, trying to piece together what had happened.
Trevor! Corporal Trevor had stunned him. Alan recalled now the inexorable purpose in the man’s eyes as the blaster had turned on him. Trevor's thoughts had leaped out at him with the clarity so typical of an unshielded psychic power pack. Kill all witnesses. The thought had formed instantly and clearly -— so clearly that Alan had frozen into immobility, afraid that the slightest movement or sound would trigger his death.
Then the Corporal's thoughts had shifted. A man who was about to join the Terran Underground did not begin such a career with the murder of an innocent Terran psychic.
Then the Corporal had stunned him.
Alan remained motionless, waiting for the headache and nausea to subside. What had Trevor done while Alan had been unconscious? He had not been idle, that was certain. He had gone somewhere, and taken Jason with him.
Carefully, Alan cracked an eyelid and turned his head toward the interrogation chair. The Jilectan lay sprawled beside it, a huge, a charred blaster hole in his chest.
Alan shut his eyes again. The nausea was beginning to subside, but pain still pounded behind his eyes. Where had Trevor taken Jason? Back to his quarters? The plan for taking the Jil hostage was now shot to blazes, literally. So what would Trevor's action be now? Clearly, he believed Jason to be the Undergrounder. The boy must have been convincing, but then psychics could be convincing if they wanted to be. Would Trevor wait and attempt to hide the boy in his quarters, or would he try to jump ship now, using the lifeboats?
The last was a distinct possibility, and if it were true, Alan was very probably dead. All hope was gone, unless the Underground somehow managed to arrive at Xenis before the ship and Alan didn't see how they possibly could.
He sat up, cradling his head in his hands. The headache was lessening, but his vision still swam unpleasantly when he moved too quickly.
*Jason!* He envisioned the boy's face in his mind, trying at the same time to reach for Jason's mind telepathically. *Jason, do you hear me? Jason!*
No reply. Alan could sense a blur of psychic minds nearby, but Jason’s was, as far as he could tell, not among them.
Bad. Very bad.
Alan got to his feet and looked around. One patrolman lay dead beside the door. The other, slumped against the bulkhead, was still alive, but unconscious, and, if Alan was any judge, in very bad shape.
How far to Xenis? It couldn't be much longer: no more than an hour, probably, and maybe less. Once there, the dead Jil would be discovered, and Alan would be placed in custody and a thorough investigation made. Halthzor would be summoned, and Alan knew that the Jilectan Viceroy could not fail to recognize him, in spite of his disguise. Halthzor knew him too well.
What could he do? What was there to do? His mind ran in circles. Well, first of all, he must delay discovery. Alan ran to the door and pressed the locking bolt. It wouldn't hold under a blaster beam, of course, but it would cause delay. All he could do was play for time until he could figure out what to do.
Think! Alan looked frantically around. His brain felt like a piece of cheese, unable to process his thoughts. No! He took a deep breath. Now wasn't the time to panic. He had to think calmly and coolly if he and the kidnapped children were to survive.
With Trevor gone, his only remaining hope was to delay this ship, and perhaps prevent it from reaching Xenis altogether. This was, after all, the first time he had been alone and unguarded since they had brought him aboard. And maybe he could even maneuver the circumstances so that no suspicion, fell on him, at least for the moment, until help could arrive.
He turned to the injured patrolman, considering. The man was a witness, and to be really on the safe side, Alan knew he should dispose of the fellow. Mark would already have done so, of course, but Alan, the empath, could not. He bent, disengaging the jeweled blaster from the Jilectan's fingers, and crossed the room to bend over the injured man.
The patrolman was unconscious, and must stay that way. Alan turned him over, located a spot on the back of his neck and raised the blaster. He hit the fellow twice on the spot, as hard as he could with the butt of the weapon, then sat back, feeling slightly dizzy again. No doubt it was a combination of the neurostimulators and no food, he told himself. His last meal had been the lunch with Mark back in the Education building coffee shop, how long ago? A thought occurred to him, and he dug quickly through the patrolman's pouches The man's canteen was dry, but Alan found a container of concentrated rations. Rapidly, he stuffed a couple into his mouth, then went across to the other patrolman. This man didn't even have a canteen on him. Alan sighed and stood up, licking crumbs from his fingers. His eyes lit on the tall, frosted bottle of wine reposing in a bucket of ice against the bulkhead. So the Jil had decided to bring refreshment with him for this interrogation, no doubt thinking that it would be a rather lengthy episode --
Alan went over to the bottle, and looked at it. A drink would taste awfully good, he thought, but on the other hand, it wouldn't do to have the 'trols smell wine, on his breath when they discovered him.
Then a thought occurred to him, and in spite of himself, he grinned. Confuse things! Of course! That was what the Terran Underground did best. The more ridiculous that things seemed when the 'trols found him, the better.
He tilted the bottle, up and took a long drink. Riskellian moonwine, and very good, too. He gulped a second time, then strode around the room, pouring the contents of the bottle into the mouths and over the clothing of the patrolmen and the Jilectan, then slopped some across the interrogation chair. Finishing, he took another long drink, and placed the now empty bottle in the Jilectan's hand.
Now, for the clincher. Time was getting short, and he'd have to move. Quickly he went over to the dead patrolman and placed the Jilectan's jeweled blaster in his hand, curving the dead fingers around the weapon. The scene was set, and, hopefully, it would turn suspicion from him. Now, if he could just rig an emergency which would bring them out of hyperspace for a vital hour or so ....
He went over to the bulkhead, located the fire extinguisher, and disabled it with telekinesis, then located the wall communicator. He closed his eyes and concentrated. The inner workings of the mechanism formed before his closed eyes, and a finger of energy reached out. A wire jerked free, then a second wire, then a third.
Alan had worked in maintenance and repair during his years in Terran Space Academy, and he understood electronics well. Another invisible finger reached. A dangling wire lifted and inserted itself into a vacant slot. There was an angry crackle and a sudden shower of sparks.
Alan spun and ran across to the interrogation chair. Quickly he seated himself in it, fastened the straps around his ankles, middle, and one wrist, then used telekinesis to secure the other wrist. He looked across at the communicator.
Sparks flew from it, and there was a sudden, fierce crackle of electrical fire spreading rapidly, as he had known it would. The fire alarm detected it, and went off with an ear shattering blast.
Alan remained where he was, watching the light above the door flash as the guards outside tried to open the panel.
The fire was spreading, and smoke puffed enthusiastically into the room from the communicator socket. Alan heard the whine of a blaster on the lock of the door, and sagged forward into his bonds, letting his head droop.
There was a crash as the door was thrust back into its slot and men charged into the room.
**********
tbc
