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Rescue Mission: 6/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick

Chapter VI


Mark Linley struggled frantically to keep afloat as the mighty flood bore him downstream. Occasionally in the confused darkness he caught a glimpse of Krebbs and Robles, also struggling. The roar of the water filled his ears.

At least the raging fury quieted somewhat, although the current still bore them relentlessly on. Somehow they had managed to remain together in spite of it. Alan's link with him was in full evidence, and once or twice he heard his partner shout his name.

A log swirled past, it's branches raking his neck, and he grabbed for it. The larger heavier end of it swiveled, turned, and caught Robles on the back of the head. The Sergeant's hands flew up and he went under.

"Sarge!" Krebbs dove after him. Mark held onto the log, biting his lip. Had young Krebbs been able to find the sergeant? It seemed highly unlikely, and even more unlikely that they would be able to remain together, now. Krebbs surfaced four meters away, spluttering, one hand gripping Robles by the hair. The sergeant's eyes were closed, his jaw slack.

"Here, kid!" Mark bellowed.

Krebbs saw him and struggled toward him, towing the unconscious man with him. Linley reached out a hand, caught the boy by the shirt and hauled him forcibly over to the log. Krebbs caught it with one hand and lifted Robles over it with the other. Mark steadied the sergeant and gave young Krebbs a wet grin. "Good work, Private. Consider yourself officially commended."

"Thank you, sir!" the boy wheezed.

"Just hold on. We're bound to end up somewhere."

"Yessir. What about General--and the Jil?"

"Alan's still okay," said Mark before he thought. "I don't know about the Jil."

Krebbs didn't question him. He clung to the log tightly with one arm, still holding Robles with the other. "Sergeant, are you okay?"

Robles didn't answer. Krebbs looked at Mark again. "Is he all right, sir? The thing hit him awfully hard."

"He looks like the thick-skulled type to me," Mark said. "Say, listen, kid, you don't hafta call me 'sir' anymore--not until we're back at the station, anyway. I think after all o' this you can be a little less formal. How about just Mark."

The boy stared at him wonderingly, blinking drops from his eyes. "You mean it, sir?"

"Well, sure I do. You're a helluva kid, Marv, and you're gonna go places fast."

Krebbs looked away. "I beg your pardon, sir, but I don't think I'm going anywhere--not so long as I stay at that station under Colonel Dean. He doesn't like me much." The boy had gone pink. "He ... I think he sort of blames me for what happened with Stovinthvor -- figures there must be something about me that..." he paused to shake water from his face, then continued, " ... or Stovinthvor would never have ..." He paused again, the flush becoming deeper in the brilliant moonlight. "Good Lord! Maybe he's right!"

"He ain't right!" Mark snapped, angrily. "An' don't you ever think it, kid. I know all about it, anyway--an' I know about your friend, Alvarez, too. Don't you worry no more about it. Dean's the one who's got the problem. The guy's a bigoted jerk from the word go. Take it from me, you ain't the only one he's got a problem with."

"Well, Joe Alvarez, too, but he... "

"An' I ain't talkin' about Alvarez. Keep your mouth shut about this, kid, but ol' Dean thinks Alan's pretty weird, too."

"General Westover?" The boy's eyes widened. Water splashed in his face, and he coughed. "Why?"

"Cause he's a psychic. He thinks psychics are perverts."

"What?"

"Alan told me. Not a word about it, kid."

"No sir, of course not, but ... holy cat! General Westover..."

"So you see what I was talkin' about, pal. You ain't alone."

The boy smiled, tossing back soaked curls from his face. "Thanks, sir. You make me feel lot's better."

"It ain't nothin' but the truth, kid. Call me Mark, okay?"

"Okay ... Mark."

Linley grinned. "If we make it outta here, I think I've got enough pull to get you transferred. Your friend Alvarez wound up with Colonel Terrence at the Frazeen Station. Think you might like to go there? Terrence is a good guy, guaranteed."

"That would be great, sir."

"I can't guarantee that he won't put you in the kitchen part time, though," Linley said. "The cook they got there stinks."

Krebbs laughed.

The river swept them on, and after ten minutes or so Robles stirred, trying to lift his head. Krebbs spoke to him, reassuring him that he was safe. The sergeant's eyes flickered open. He jerked convulsively, grasping the log hard.

"You're okay, Sarge," Mark said. "Keep cool."

Robles relaxed. "What happened?" he mumbled.

"This here log gave you a good crack on the head. Private Krebbs pulled you back up and towed you over here. We've been hangin' on to it ever since. Figured it owed us somethin' after knockin' you silly."

"Oh," Robles said. He turned his face toward Krebbs. "Thanks, buddy."

"You're welcome, sir." The boy smiled, looking happier than Mark had ever seen him since this escapade began. Robles reached over and clasped his hand. "I owe you one, pal."

"My pleasure, sir."

They floated on, the banks of the river sliding past with dismaying speed. Alan's link with Mark remained on the edge of his awareness. The kid was afraid, but not in immediate danger. After a few moments he felt Alan scrambling upward and knew that his friend had somehow managed to get clear of the river. Dimly in the background he heard Alan speaking to Halthzor. Then the link faded out.

But his partner was all right. Mark was sure of that much. The link still remained in his subconscious, and Linley knew that he would be instantly aware should that portion of it vanish as well. It had once before ...

The river swept them relentlessly on. Once or twice they made abortive attempts to pull themselves to shore by trailing tree branches, but always the current ripped the anchors from their hands, once again bearing them inexorably on. Nearly an hour had passed when Mark saw a sand bar ahead, extending into the river from the side opposite which they had entered.

"Left!" he shouted. "Kick to the left!"

They obeyed with a will. For once the current helped, bearing them toward it, and moments later Mark felt sand scrape beneath his feet. A current pulled the log sideways, and he let go, shouting for the others to do the same. They obeyed and floundered up the sandbank as their log swirled on downstream.

They collapsed on the sandbar, reveling at the feel of the solid ground beneath them. The rough gravel was like a little bit of heaven, and Mark lay still, content for the moment just to breathe.

A jolt of fright from Alan roused him, the link snapping closed in his mind. He knew a moment of wild panic as he realized his partner was afraid not of their pursuers, or of any wild animal, but of Halthzor, himself. The Jilectan's voice spoke in the background, deep and threatening. Alan replied, sounding cool enough, though Mark could sense vividly his partner's deep fright.

He started to get to his feet, muttering an oath under his breath, then stopped, listening. Alan had kept his cool, of course, and was proceeding to talk his way out of the situation. It was working, too, for Mark could sense the threat lessening. The link began to fade. Again Halthzor's voice spoken the background. The link faded even more, then vanished completely.

Mark became suddenly aware that his two companions were watching him, their expressions curious and intrigued.

"What is it, sir?" Robles inquired, cautiously.

"Nothin'." Mark grinned a little sheepishly. "Thought I heard somethin'."

Robles' eyebrows went up, and he saw the puzzled frown on young Krebbs' features. His less than imaginative lie hadn't worked, but at least they didn't seem inclined to ask him any questions. Mark headed across the sandbar toward the overhanging riverbank, and the others followed.

They paused in its shelter and stripped off their soaked clothing, spreading it out to dry on the branches of the trees. Then Linley and Krebbs disassembled their blasters and spread them out on the rocks to dry. Robles stood guard, his own weapon held at ready. Mark pulled the waterproof pack from his back and took out a rag to dry the blaster parts as well as he could. Krebbs did the same, and the warm breeze helped. After their blasters were dry, Robles stripped his own down and treated it in a like manner. Several attempts to contact Alan on their communicator band had failed. Nor had Krebbs and Robles been able to raise him. He could see that his two companions viewed this as an ominous sign, and were more than a little confused at his apparent lack of concern. Krebbs, fitting the last piece of his blaster together, glanced questioningly at Mark for the fifth time.

"I beg your pardon, Colonel Linley, and please tell me if it's none of my business, but you don't seem a bit worried about the General. Is there something..."

Mark interrupted him. "You're right, kid. It's none o' your business." He saw the boy flush, and grinned companionable, dropping a hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy--security reasons, y'know."

"Yessir," Marv said. "Sorry, sir."

"No need t'be. Natural curiosity. Alan's communicator's broken, that's all. He's okay. No need to worry about him."

"Do you know where he is?" Krebbs inquired, cautiously.

Linley hesitated. "Yeah, I do," he replied at last. How much should he say? The link between himself and Alan was not common knowledge even among members of the organization. Too much danger of a security leak. Still, these two must have deduced some of it. They weren't dumb.

"Upriver?" Krebbs asked quietly.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"I saw you look that way a few minutes after we came out of the river," the boy said, reluctantly.

"Colonel Linley," Robles said, slowly, "I think you'd better trust us with your secret. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, you know, and we've already figured out some of it--could hardly help it. We're Undergrounders. We know a telepathic communication when we see one."

Again Mark hesitated. "Well, Alan's a powerful psychic, y'know," he said at last. "An' he's got a couple o' special talents. One of those talents is that he's able to communicate with me, telepathically. It's only one way. I can't talk back, or anything, and he can only do it under certain circumstances."

"Like great stress or danger," Robles said.

Linley frowned at him. "How'd you figure that out?"

"A few minutes ago when you jumped up and turned upriver, you looked alarmed. I figured it had to be the General calling you. Who else could it be? And from the way you looked, you were pretty scared."

"Yeah," admitted Mark reluctantly. "Actually Alan was pretty scared. Halthzor was gettin' a bit aggressive. He was thinkin' about takin' Alan prisoner, but Alan talked him out of it. That's when the communication cut off."

"Sounds sort of like a psychic partnership," Robles said, thoughtfully.

"It is, sort of," Mark admitted.

"So that's why you deserted the Patrol, sir!" Krebbs' tone was that of someone making a great discovery. "I've always wondered about that..." He stopped suddenly, his face flushing. "I'm awfully sorry, sir! I..."

"Forget it, kid. Yeah, that's why. Now look; what you've found out here is one of the Underground's top secrets. You can't tell anyone else--not even the most trusted of Undergrounders. It's strictly on a need-to-know basis."

"Yessir!" Robles said.

Krebbs gulped, his eyes wide. "Yes sir!"

"Good. Sarge, is your blaster dry, yet? Get it together then an' we'll go. We got a ways to walk." He stood up and began to dress. His clothes were nearly dry from the warm breeze, but his boots were still soaking wet and made an unpleasant squelching sound when he moved. Krebbs and Robles dressed as well, and a few minutes later they were heading back upriver as fast as they could.

"They'll make for the spot where the flood hit us," Mark said. "An' if were not there, they'll head for the aircar. They won't dare wait. Scwinthzor's still lookin' for ol' Halthzie."

They hurried on, the river rolling heavily past under the night sky. Around them he could hear the sounds of the planet's nocturnal life. Krebbs and Robles walked close together, blasters held at ready.

An hour went by, and suddenly Mark was aware of the link again. It hovered just on the edge of awareness, and brought with it Alan's voice, telling Halthzor that something was tracking them. For a few moments the link intensified, then faded, then intensified again as an argument developed between Terran and Jilectan. But the disagreement lasted only a few minutes, and, as usual, it was Alan who instigated the cessation of hostilities. Mark heard him speaking coolly and levelly to Halthzor. The link faded out.

And returned again thirty minutes later, swelling rapidly. There was a sudden burst of activity, transmitted directly to Mark from Alan's mind, and he heard the kid yell for Halthzor to hold still.

The nothing. The link began to diminish slowly.

Robles' hand touched him on the shoulder. "Colonel? Are you okay?"

"Huh? Yeah, sure."

"Good. You were looking awful funny. Is the General all right?"

"Yeah, I think so. Somethin' happened. I think they got attacked by somethin'. I ain't sure. Anyway, everythin's okay now."

Also, the link had once again given him direction. They were heading right.

They continued to walk. After several hours the sky began to lighten, and the stars--what you could see of them in the moonlight, anyway, faded out. Mark and Robles were walking ahead, Krebbs a little to the rear as they mounted a short rise and came face to face with a party of armed men. There were Arcturians and a Terran, all with blasters drawn. Robles gave a startled yell, then froze at the sight of six weapons centered on them.

The Terran came forward smiling faintly. "Put your hands up--both of you."

Mark obeyed, and saw Robles do the same. It was evident that these men had been aware of their approach for some time, and had been waiting for them. Mark watched, hands held high as two of the Arcturians approached and removed the blasters from his and Robles' holsters. Mark turned sideways, hands still held high, abruptly aware that Krebbs was no longer anywhere in sight. The boy must have hidden himself at Robles' shout, and it was equally obvious that their captors had been unaware of his presence.

What was the kid planning to do now, he wondered. If he attempted a rescue, he would have six men to handle, all of them with blasters drawn and held at ready. If Krebbs was smart, he wouldn't try such a move yet. He would wait for a more opportune moment.

The Arcturians were searching the prisoners. One of them removed the chronometer from Mark's wrist, then went through his pockets. His emergency kit was removed and his wallet. Then the alien drew out the little refrigerated unit of psychic juice, which Worley had given him.

"What iss ziss?" he inquired.

Mark glanced at the Terran. "It's my medicine."

The Terran grinned. "It's poison, that's what it is--just in case Lord Scwinthzor get's ahold of you ... hey wait a minute!" The man leaned closer, then whistled. "Oh man! Look what we've got!"

"What iss it?" demanded the Arcturian who had taken the vial.

"Mark Linley as I live and breathe! Man oh man! Lord Scwinthzor's going to be happy about this! What a gift to bring the Autonomy as he mounts the throne." He gestured with the blaster. "Let's go."

"What about my medicine?" Mark asked. A wild, daring idea was forming within him. "You've got to give it back to me. I have to have it! If I don't, I'll die."

At the discovery of his identity, the Arcturians had backed away from him, blasters held at the ready, crests standing up rigid on their heads.

All six of the blasters were now centered on him, although Robles could still do nothing without making Mark dead in the process.

"Medicine!" the Terran said, scornfully. He made a move as though to toss it away.

"Don't!" Mark put a note of panic in his voice. "I have an enzyme deficiency. I've got to have a tenth of a cc of that stuff every twenty-four hours--and it's almost time. If I don't get it, I'm done for."

"Perhaps he iss telling ze truzz", one of the Arcturians suggested tentatively. "After all, one does not capture Mark Linley every day, and if he diess because we zrew away his medicine, M'lord will not be pleased."

The Terran glanced at the alien, then shrugged. "You're right Vonnir. We'll take it along. We'd better get going, too--get these guys safe." He gestured with his blaster. "Walk--straight ahead."

Mark and Robles obeyed. Their six captors followed, flanking them, blasters centered on their backs. There was still no sign of Krebbs.

They continued for perhaps a kilometer, then reached two aircar's. Mark was herded into the rear seat of one, Robles into the other.

Linley leaned back against the seat, his fists clenched, watching the ground fall away beneath them. What would happen now, he wondered. Would Scwinthzor take him directly to Corala, or would he wait, continuing his search for Alan and Halthzor?

Ten minutes went by, and he saw the hunting lodge appear ahead. There were three Arcturians in the car with him, one seated on either side, blasters trained on him, the third in the front beside the Terran driver. The aircars didn't pause, but approached and settled before the lodge. The protective force field was notably absent.

The aircar containing Robles landed beside his own, and Mark was ushered out and up the pebbled walkway to the lodge. Robles walked beside him.

Scwinthzor himself met them as they entered the lounge with it's crackling fire. The Jilectan was clad in a sweeping golden robe, which flashed with precious gems, and Mark, facing for the first time Halthzor's odious, sadistic cousin, felt a sense of almost physical shock.

For the Jilectan was handsome, very handsome, with regular, strong features, full curving lips and large, green eyes, rather like Alan's. His hair was a glowing platinum blond, which set off his eyes to full advantage. He wore the silvery white locks long over his shoulders in soft, graceful curls. He was shorter than Halthzor, but not by much, and just as powerfully built.

The Terran went forward before the being. "Sir! We've found Mark Linley! He was down-river a good distance, but well within the boundary of the estate."

"Mark Linley!" Scwinthzor strode past the Terran and stopped before Mark, examining him closely. Linley felt his skin begin to crawl, and lowered his eyes.

"Mark Linley!" the alien repeated. He smiled, a slow, very pleased smile. "And what were you doing on my estate, Mark Linley?"

Mark gulped. The alien couldn't read his mind, he told himself firmly. He wasn't a telepath or an empath but Scwinthzor mustn't know that he knew that. If he did realize it, he would put on the thumbscrews.

"I ... I was sent by the Underground, sir," he said in a low voice. "They wanted me to rescue your cousin, if I could."

"And did you affect this rescue, Mark Linley?"

Mark nodded. "Yes sir. We got him free, but then that flood came and separated us. I don't know where he is now."

Scwinthzor took a step forward and placed a hand on his temple, concentrating. Mark felt a stab of panic. Was it possible Halthzor had been wrong about his cousin? Was Scwinthzor in truth a telepath who had somehow managed to conceal his power from his fellows? No! Alan would have known! Alan was never fooled when it came to psychic stuff. This mind reading act was nothing but that: an act so that he wouldn't attempt to lie.

He spoke, voice quavering a little in spite of himself. "M'lord, your servant took my medicine. I must have it. If I don't I'll die."

Scwinthzor held out his hand and the Terran placed the bottle in it. The Jilectan examined the little flask with interest. "What type of medicine is it, Terran?"'

"I ... I have an enzyme deficiency, sir. It was diagnosed six years ago. I have to have a tenth of a cc of my medicine every day, or I'll die."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, sir." He paused. "You're afraid I have selective shielding and what you're seeing isn't true. Sir, it is." Mark put all the sincerity he could into his tone. "I'm not hiding this. I do have an enzyme deficiency. Without my medicine, I'm a goner. Please! You've gotta believe me!"

Scwinthzor examined the bottle intently. "A self-refrigerated unit. Most interesting."

"Yes sir. It has to be refrigerated or it loses it's potency."

Again Scwinthzor examined the little bottle, running his fingers across the container searchingly. The Terran also stepped forward, eyeing the bottle questioningly. Scwinthzor made an abrupt dismissive gesture. "Take them away. Lock them up."

"My medicine!" Mark put a desperate note in his voice. "Please--I'm already overdue!"

"I shall think it over." Scwinthzor gestured again. "Take them away."

Mark and Robles were led from the lounge.

They were placed in another room, a small enclosure with two barred windows. There was no rug and no furniture. Behind them the door closed and they heard the lock click into place.

Robles turned to look at him, and Mark saw the concern on the man's face. Robles wouldn't know, of course, about the psychic juice in the vial. For all his companion knew, Mark might be telling the truth, but of course, he dared not ask. If they were observed, anything he said might ruin Mark's plans completely, since Robles had no idea what the plans were.

Mark went over to the window and looked out. The sun was just peeping over the western horizon, and it had begun to rain lightly. Where were Alan and Halthzor, he wondered. Still fairly safe, apparently, for he'd received no more links.

He gripped the bars and strained at them for a few moments, quite uselessly, of course. Robles watched him without speaking. Linley glanced at him, shrugged dispiritedly, and sat down, back against the wall.

Robles also sat. "Now what, sir?"

"Dunno." Mark swore softly. "Ol' Scwinthzie thinks he's bein' real clever holdin' off m' medicine like this, but it's gonna backfire. He'll be deliverin' a corpse to Corala. I suppose I oughta be grateful. At least I won't die in the execution chair."

"Yeah," Robles said, noncommittally.

Time went by. They didn't talk much. Mark could feel the other man's puzzlement and worry. He would have liked to reassure his companion, but dared not. Undoubtedly they were observed, and any suspicious movement on their part now would be fatal to his plans. He must continue. Robles would understand later.

For hours they waited. Mark knew he would have to play his trump card soon, but forced himself to wait. Robles kept getting up and going to the window, then glancing around at Mark as though expecting something. The Mark Linley reputation was enough, he supposed, to lead a man like Robles to hope he would come up with something. Well, maybe he could. Maybe he could.

"How're you feeling, sir?" asked Robles at last.

Mark shrugged. "So far not too bad. It'd be worse if I'd had to exercise, but just sitting here... But it won't be long. I know it won't."

"What's going to happen?" asked Robles in a low voice.

Again Linley shrugged. "Actually, I'm not real sure. I've never been without my medicine before. The doc told me I might get cramps and go through some pain, but I suspect it won't be too bad. Anyway, it can't be helped."

The door slid open and the Terran entered, accompanied by two Arcturians. The Terran was wearing Mark's chronometer on his wrist, Linley saw. The man was a lean, sour-faced individual, his face marked with a long, jagged scar which ran from the corner of his mouth to his earlobe.

The two Arcturians set the trays of food on the floor while the Terran held a blaster on them. Mark cleared his throat. "Uh ... Mister ..."

"Shut up." The Terran withdrew, ushering the two Arcturians through the door before him, then following them out. The panel slid shut.

Mark looked at the trays of food. He was, in actuality, very hungry, but knew he mustn't show it. Sick men weren't often hungry. Robles approached the food and examined it with surprise. "Man! Sauteed marshhopper and all the trimmings! I guess he intends to make our captivity enjoyable. Here, sir. Here's yours."

Mark took the plate in his lap and poked halfheartedly at the meat. "I don't feel very hungry."

"You'd better eat, though, sir. We might need our strength."

Mark took a bite of the fork tender meat. It was wonderful, prepared just the way he liked it, too.

He put the fork down and pushed the plate away. "Think I might just lie down a few minutes, Sarge." He crawled over to a corner of the room and suited his action to his words. Robles watched him, clearly worried.

Mark closed his eyes. "Think I might take a little nap, okay?"

Robles put down his plate of food and went over to Mark. "Colonel Linley! You don't look well. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, sure," said Mark, not opening his eyes. "Need m' medicine, that's all."

"Sir!"

Mark didn't respond. Robles shook him. "Colonel Linley!"

"Yeah?" Mark opened his eyes. Robles was looking very scared now, and Linley knew a stab of remorse. He didn't like scaring the Sergeant like this, but it would make a convincing scenario for those watching. Mark was almost certain that Scwinthzor would have them under observation, just in case one of them might mention Halthzor's whereabouts to the other.

"Sir, what'll I do?"

"Dunno." Mark closed his eyes again.

Robles stood up and strode over to the door. "Hey!" He pounded hard on the panel. "Hey out there! Colonel Linley's got to have his medicine, dammit! He's going to die if he doesn't' get it!"

No response. Robles pounded again, then came back over to Mark. "Is there anything I can do to help, sir?"

"Naw." Mark didn't open his eyes. "Take it easy, Sarge. There's no pain." He lay still, feeling an itch start between his shoulder blades. The room was warm, and getting warmer. Another itch started on his scalp, then another on his ankle.

Time crawled by. He itched all over, but dared not scratch. If he so much as twitched, it might betray his apparent fading consciousness as an act. Time dragged by.

Just as he was sure he could bear it no longer the door slid open. Mark didn't move, but heard Robles come instantly to his feet.

"What iss wrong wizz Linley?" It was the voice of an Arcturian. Mark flickered his eyelids and saw that two of the aliens had entered the room, blasters in their hands, and were looking down at him.

"He's got to have his medicine! Dammit! Don't you understand?" Robles sounded both scared and furious. "It isn't poison, for the love of Susie! Poison isn't kept in refrigerated units! Get him his medicine or he's going to die!"

One of the Arcturians bent over Mark and poked him in the ribs with a taloned finger. Mark groaned. "Medicine," he mumbled thickly, and added a few indistinguishable words. The Arcturian prodded him again. Mark swore weakly, aimed a feeble punch at the alien, then collapsed to the floor again as though exhausted by the effort. The Arcturian stood up again and spoke to his comrade in their own language, his voice too soft for Mark to hear. He lay still, slumped and apparently uninterested in the proceedings. The Arcturians conferred softly for a few minutes more, then went out. The door slid shut, and the locking bolt clicked into place behind them.

Mark closed his eyes and lay still. Robles shook him gently. "Sir? Are you okay?"

Mark didn't answer. Robles swore under his breath and sat down. They remained thus for another interminable stretch of time.

Maybe this wasn't going to work after all. Mark considered the situation coldly. What else could he do to convince him that, if they didn't supply him with the drug, they were going to lose him? He remembered then the story Alan had told him of how he had convinced the man attempting to turn him in for the reward to release his bonds. Alan, of course, was an excellent actor, being an empath, but Mark thought that he could probably do almost as good.

He began to twitch his fingers, gradually at first, then more frequently. Then he fluttered his eyelids, rolling his eyes upward at the same time. Robles gave an alarmed exclamation. "Sir! What is it? What's wrong?"

Mark didn't answer. He voiced a low gurgling moan, doubled up, and began to thrash his arms and legs wildly, champing his teeth and drooling in the best imitation he could manage of a grand mal seizure. Robles shouted for help and ran to the door, pounding on it frantically. Mark arched his back, hyper-extending his neck and stuck his tongue out as far as he could. Robles continued to shout.

Slowly Mark allowed himself to become limp again. He closed his eyes and lay still. Robles returned to him and gently straightened his limbs. The Sergeant's hands were trembling.

Mark waited, counting slowly to a thousand, then began to twitch his fingers and eyelids again. He heard Robles sharp, indrawn breath, and heard the man scramble upright. Running footsteps headed for the door.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Hey Fish! You! Jones! Open this damned door! He's going to have another one! Dammit! Help me!"

Mark gave a choking gurgle and began to thrash his limbs about, holding his breath and lashing his tongue against his lips. Robles screamed an obscenity and ran back to him, throwing his arms about Mark's body. Linley continued the act, allowing froth to gather at the corners of his mouth, which smeared across his face as he writhed across the floor.

The door opened. Footsteps crossed the room and large hands seized Mark, yanking him upright. He continued to twist and jerk, seeing before him the face of Scwinthzor, and behind the Jilectan, Jones, and both Arcturians. And in a green-scaled hand one of the aliens held the all-important jar of psychic juice.

Mark gradually decreased his pseudo-convulsions and went slack in the Jilectan's hold. Scwinthzor released him, letting him slump to the floor, and spoke to the Terran.

"Jones, take the vial. Vimmar, you and Jakkir hold the other Terran. Jones draw up a tenth of a cc and inject it into his vein."

"Yes, M'lord." The Jilectan's three servants rapidly complied with the instructions. Through half-closed lids Mark watched the Arcturians catch Robles by the arms and throw him to the floor. Jones bent over him, syringe in hand.

Well, it probably wouldn't hurt him, Mark told himself. Worley had said the control factor was present naturally in most humans, and Robles was obviously one of these since he possessed shielding. Still, the drug was only experimental...

Robles grunted with pain, then swore volubly. "Dammit! He's going to die if you don't hurry! Another one of those convulsions'll probably finish him. Give him the stuff!"

"Not yet," the Jilectan said, coolly. "First we wait to see its effect on you, Terran."

Robles started to say something else, then fell silent beneath the alien overlord's frosty stare. Seconds went by and became minutes. Mark moaned and began to twitch again.

"Here it comes!" Robles voice was hoarse.

Jones spoke. "Six minutes, M'lord. He looks pretty good still."

"Very well," Scwinthzor said, abruptly, "give a tenth of a milliliter to Linley as well."

Mark groaned again and increased the spasmodic twitchings. Ten seconds passed; no more. They he felt the sharp sting of the needle over the vein in his arm.

The stuff burned as it entered his bloodstream, but the discomfort subsided almost at once to be replaced by other, far more amazing sensations.

Very slowly, he felt his shields becoming firm and unyielding. A few moments later they were rock hard. Mark's control factor was functioning.

It was a weird sensation. For so many years he had labored to develop only marginal shielding, and now, quite suddenly and without half trying, his shields were as effective as Alan's.

Slowly, savoring the feel, he lowered them and was instantly aware of something else. There were living things around him. Even with his eyes closed, he could see them. There was the Jil, a powerful and brooding presence, two strangely alien creatures who must be the Arcturians, and Robles, scared and angry, a little farther away.

The realization hit him suddenly, so suddenly that his eyes flew open. He was an empath! The emotions from Robles were clear and unmistakable.

An empath! He hadn't counted on that!

Jones was there, too, but apparently with his shields up, for Mark could sense nothing from his mind. He didn't try for the moment, but raised his shields again. He needed time to adjust to this incredible new world: the world of the psychic.

Scwinthzor stepped back from him. "You appear much improved, Terran."

Mark nodded. "Thanks, M'lord," he croaked.

"You may not thank me later." The Jilectan smiled frostily. "However, for the moment you are quite welcome. My servants will bring you more food." He slipped the little refrigerated unit into his pocket again, pivoted on his heel, and left the room. His servants followed, and the door slid shut behind them.

Robles was beside him, a glass of water in his hand. The sergeant went to one knee beside him and tried to hold it for him. Mark gave him a grin and took the container from his hand. "Thanks, Sarge."

"Sure, Colonel," Robles' said. "Are you really okay now?"

"Yeah, a lot better. What happened?" He must, Mark thought, continue the act. They were, without doubt, still under observation.

Robles took the glass from him again and set it on the floor. "I think you were dying, sir." His voice still trembled slightly. "You were completely out of it, and having convulsions, too."

"No kiddin'? I don't remember nothin'."

"No kidding, sir. Look, maybe you'd better lie down again for awhile."

"Yeah, maybe." Mark reclined on his side, propping his head up with a bent elbow. "What time is it. Man! The sun's settin'!"

"Yeah. You've been out of it about six hours, sir. I thought you were..." He cleared his throat. Mark pretended not to notice.

The sergeant resumed. "Man! Whatever that medicine of yours is, it's got to be powerful stuff!"

"Oh, it is," Mark told himself seriously. "I'm nothin' without it, believe me. Could I have that water again, please?"

Robles handed it to him. He started to drink, and almost choked. Alan's face materialized before his eyes, and loud and clear he heard his partner's shout of alarm. A sensation of running, then the tingle of a stunbolt. Alan's voice cried out in his mind a second time.

Then a second jolt, and the link was gone.

Alan had been taken prisoner, and most likely Halthzor, too.

"Are you okay, sir?" Robles took the glass from him. "You look pretty shaken up. Maybe you'd better lie down."

Mark obeyed and closed his eyes. Alan and Halthzor had been taken prisoner, and it was up to him to get them out. He was their secret weapon.

But how? He had no experience with his newfound powers, no training; nothing. His abilities would be those of a psychic who had just learned of his talents.

Still, he had to try. He wasn't completely new at this after all. He'd been Alan's partner for years.

Alan was the key. What would Alan do under the circumstances? Well, first of all, he'd get rid of any visual spy devices. For that he'd need clairvoyance to locate it and then telekinesis to disable it. Well, the clairvoyance he probably possessed. 92% of Terran psychics were clairvoyants. Telekinesis was another story, for only 25% of Terran psychics possessed the talent. Still, Worley had told Mark that, if he had been born with the control factor, he'd have been a whopping good psychic: as good as Alan and maybe even better.

So, Mark ol' boy, quite sayin' you can't an' start doin'! First find the damn thing.

His eyes still closed, he concentrated, visualizing the standard cameras used by the Autonomy, and reached upward. At first there was nothing. Then with a sense of chagrin, he realized he'd forgotten to lower his shields. He did so, and images and emotions seemed to leap out at him like so many marshhoppers, and from all directions at once. Robles, apprehensive, and still concerned about him, the presence of the Jil, now some distance a way, the room itself, small, solid and secure.

Slowly he allowed his mind to move over the walls and ceiling. And incredibly, he saw it. Clear and sharp, the device registered in his brain. An odd sense of familiarity swept him. Surely this wasn't the first time he had done such a thing!

And yet, he knew it was! How, then, this overwhelming sensation of deja vu?

An instant later he knew. Alan. He was linked with Alan, wasn't he? Alan had located articles with clairvoyance thousands of times. So, the link wasn't entirely one way. As Alan had so often surmised, some information had unconsciously leaked back to Mark.

So he wasn't actually a beginner. Alan's experiences, diluted though they might be, were still with him.

So, there was the device, sharp and clear in his mind. After a moment of careful scrutiny he saw exactly where it was, and how it was fitted neatly into the intricate carved designs on the roof. Could he disable it? Was he even a telekinetic? Most of the extremely powerful psychics were, but for a few notable exceptions, such as Eric Vogleman. Eric was great, one of the most powerful psychics at the base, but he wasn't a telekinetic...

Defeatist thoughts. If he wasn't a telekinetic, then he'd think, as Eric certainly would, of something else. But first he'd certainly give it a try. What was it that he'd told Alan back in the beginning? Make imaginary fingers in your mind and close 'em around it ...

In his mind he could feel the thing. Did that mean he was a telekinetic, or was it simply his clairvoyant power at work? There was the lens. Imaginary fingers--hook 'em behind it! Now pull!

Again that incredible sense of familiarity. There was a clink, then a sudden shower of decorative carving as the stuff came down from the ceiling, accompanied by the spy lens.

Robles was on his feet, his mouth open. Mark was also on his feet, instantly, grinding his heel into the lens, and hearing the satisfactory crunch beneath his foot. Clear and sharp, he sensed Robles' surprise and his intention to speak. Rapidly Mark motioned him to silence. Hopefully the folks watching would believe that the device had simply malfunctioned. Rapidly he extended his scans again, searching for any other spy devices. There was a microphone under the floor, but no other cameras, as far as he could tell. Now, at least they could move without being seen.

Robles was staring at him, the beginnings of comprehension on his features. Mark could sense his amazed incredulity. Linley grinned at him broadly and tossed him the remains of the spy lens, then quickly cupped a hand behind his ear and touched a finger to his lips.

Robles nodded. Mark sat down on the floor again, and motioned for Robles to do the same. He didn't dare disable the microphone, too, or those monitoring them would be sure to suspect something. They'd make the connection, in spite of the size of their two captives. After all, they lived around a psychic! In fact, he'd be a little surprised if their friends didn't peek in soon just to check up on things.

Rapidly he cleaned up the broken decorations from the floor, sweeping them up into his hand and placing them in his pocket. Robles watched him, then concealed the crushed spy lens in his own pocket. Mark gave him another grin, then leaned back against the wall, concentrating. There were beings outside, but he wasn't sure now many. Dammit! This was frustrating! If only he could know what he actually had!

Well, no use crying over something that couldn't be helped. And he wasn't doing so badly, all things considered. He was a clairvoyant, a telekinetic, and (sigh) an empath. He could do plenty with just those powers...

Someone was approaching; two someones, in fact. He gave Robles a significant glance, then leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed. The door slid aside and the two Arcturians entered.

One of them carried a small tray in either hand, and the other, a blaster. Annoyance radiated from them.

Mark straightened up, meeting the slitted yellow eyes of the nearest alien. Robles got to his feet.

The first Arcturian set the trays down, his eyes never leaving the two prisoners. "Are you feeling better, Linley?" he inquired cooly.

"Yeah, a lot." Mark glanced at the tray. "What'd he send us?"

"Excellent food, considering what you are," the alien replied, expressionlessly.

"Maybe he's worryin' about me," Mark said, "after he damn near killed me by withholdin' m'medicine, he oughta be worried." He picked up a sandwich and took a bite. Are you a telepath, Mark ol' boy? Sure would be convenient if you are. You could maybe read one o' these guys an' find out where Alan is...

He gave himself a mental kick. A telepath! Of course he was! He'd been receiving telepathic messages from Alan for years. So he must have the right equipment, or their unconscious link would never have worked.

He concentrated. Can you read an Arcturian, Mark? They're harder than Terrans, an' you haven't had much practice...

But, incredibly, it wasn't all that hard. Within seconds, the alien's thoughts reached him. Nevvir was thinking that this was just the time you'd expect that Kaflugh cheap camera of Scwinthzor's to malfunction, just as they got the call that the stinking Jil had gone off to take care of his even more stinking cousin. Nevvir was hoping sincerely that Scwinthzor would hurry and get this over with. Putting Halthzor to death in the arena was the pinnacle of stupidity from his point of view. Too Kaflugh risky! He'd just shoot him and be done with it!

One of the Arcturians glanced up at the ceiling to where the spy lens had been located. He made a soft hissing sound between his teeth, and turned to the door. The other alien followed and the two exited, the door clicking shut behind them.

Before the echo of their footsteps had died, Mark was at the door, running his fingers rapidly over the lock. The room in which Halthzor had been confined was psychic proof, and that simple fact, to Mark, held grim overtones. How many other Jilectans had been done to death by that sadistic twerp?

He concentrated on the lock, and let out his breath in a sigh of relief. This door was not psychic proof, and why should it be? It was obvious that neither of the prisoners could possibly be psychics.

But, undoubtedly, there was an alarm rigged to the door. Mark looked for it and located it. He closed his eyes, aware of Robles close beside him, his mind alert and incredulous.

He hooked his imaginary finger behind one of the wires within the alarm and gave it a tug. With a dreamlike sensation, he felt the wire give; then a second one. Then a third.

Man! This was great! Robles was watching him expectantly now, and his thoughts came clearly to Mark. The Sergeant couldn't imagine what he was doing, but he was eager to find out. That finger to his lips, and the warning about the bug must mean something. The legendary Strike Commander had an ace up his sleeve, a plan which he hadn't been able to communicate to Robles. That lens coming down like that, and Linley leaping up and crushing it showing no surprise whatsoever-- almost as though he'd been expecting it. Was it possible that Linley was a psychic? No! He was much too big! Linley was one of the biggest men Robles had ever met, and psychics were all little! Robles had never met one that wasn't little!

Mark found it slightly unsettling, as well as amusing, to be able to tune in on someone else's thoughts this way. Uneasily, he realized he had just committed a breach of regulations. Psychics weren't supposed to read their non psychic comrades without permission. Robles had seemed an easy read. Well, it made sense. Alan had told him that some minds were easier to read and tune in on than others, especially if the minds were somewhat like the psychic's. Robles was the tough sort like Mark, and their thought patterns must be similar. Amazing! This was the world of the psychic: the world that Alan lived in all the time! It was as if he had been blind all of his life, and now was suddenly able to see...

He concentrated on the lock. It formed easily in his mind, sharp and clear. Beyond the door was an empty hallway. There were no guards. Why, indeed, should there be?

The lock moved beneath his mental touch and clicked smoothly back.

Robles' eyes went wide. Mark again sensed his thoughts, as well as his astonishment. He gave the man a grin as the door slid silently open.

Beyond was an empty hallway. Mark stepped through, Robles following close, turned and locked the door behind them, once again using telekinesis, then he beckoned to Robles and together they started down the hallway.

Mark scanned furiously with his new clairvoyant power. He was beginning to feel a bit scared, and far less confident in his new abilities. They felt clumsy to him, although he realized he was far more sure of himself than Alan had been when his partner had first learned of his psychic talents. It must be due to the link, he decided. He had been learning from Alan for more than ten years now, without being aware of his gradually acquired knowledge.

They reached a bend in the corridor and paused. A guard was approaching, an Arcturian, Mark thought, although the being was not yet in sight. And the guard most likely was wearing a blaster. This was their chance, if he could just pull it off with the same adeptness that Alan always demonstrated.

He motioned Robles back, and the Sarge obeyed, watching Mark expectantly.

"Get ready." Linley formed the words with his lips. Robles apparently understood, for he crouched down, waiting. The Arcturian rounded the corner, and froze at the sight of them. His clawed hand darted for the blaster at his hip.

But the weapon wasn't there. It was already flying through the air toward Mark's waiting grip. He snatched it, leveled it, about to fire, and froze.

The alien had gone rigid, crest erect, his yellow eyes dilating to dark pools of horror. His fear leaped out at Mark, as real and terrible as if Linley himself had been the one at whom the blaster was pointing. There was a long, charged moment of stillness. Then Mark swallowed hard and found his voice.

"Any trouble, buster, an' you're dead. Got it?" He kept his voice to a whisper, but made it as menacing as he could. The Arcturian nodded jerkily, Terran fashion.

"Good. Is there a room here that no one's likely to check soon?"

Another nod, and the Arcturian pointed. Mark gestured with the blaster, and the Arcturian proceeded them through the door.

Robles closed it behind them. Mark faced the Arcturian, again sensing the thoughts and emotions as they leaped out at him from the alien's mind. Pillar knew that Scwinthzor would expect him to try for the blaster, even if it meant death, but Pillar just didn't have the courage. This man, the infamous Mark Linley, would not hesitate to kill him; in fact, it was a little surprising that he had not done so already. Pffta! Was he ever in trouble now! He was only working for Scwinthzor because the Jilectan had something on him: a little piece of guilty knowledge that, if made public would ruin Pillar's small business, as well as his reputation. Mark, to his horror, found himself in sympathy with the Arcturian. He didn't want to kill Pillar. In fact, he wasn't sure that he could.

"I'm gonna ask some questions, Fish," he growled, trying to sound menacing. "If I don't like the answers, I'm gonna kill you. You got it?"

"Yess, I have got it." The reply was subdued. "What do you wish to know?"

"First, where's the arena?"

"Ze arena?" Yellow slitted eyes met his unwinkingly. "I do not know, sir."

It was a lie. Mark saw the answer immediately on top of the Arcturian's thoughts. "The arena" was farther to the east: a very special little structure which Scwinthzor had ordered erected for his more private pleasures. Mark smiled faintly. "I see, Pillar. And where's Alan been taken?"

A short silence. Mark sensed puzzlement. "Alan?" the Arcturian repeated blankly. "Who iss Alan?"

That wasn't a lie. Mark frowned. He knew Alan had been picked up, so why didn't Pillar know who he was talking about?

The answer hit him then. Alan hadn't been recognized. It was beyond the comprehension of Arcturians and Jilectans alike that a Terran psychic and a Jil would cooperate with one another.

"Uh ... the Terran who was picked up with Halthzor."

The Arcturian's yellow eyes dilated even further. "Zat Terran? Zat iss Alan ... Westover?"

Mark took a step forward and thrust the blaster into the Arcturian's face. "Where is he?"

"Ahh..." Obviously the alien was attempting to assimilate the apparent contradiction. "But if zat was Westover..." The Arcturian paused, then shrugged fatalistically. "Scwinthzor hass taken him to zee arena azz well. Please, sir, I beg you, do not shoot me. What I am doing I am not doing willingly. I have no choice."

"I know that." Mark stared at Pillar, knowing that he should kill his prisoner. Leaving him here, alive, was dangerous. He might get free or be discovered, and if he was, he would tell what had happened, and disclose where Mark and Robles were heading. It was only sensible to kill him.

The Arcturian clasped his clawed hands. Terror radiated from him. His thoughts and emotions, heightened by fear, were becoming clearer and more painful every moment. "Please, sir ... please, do not kill me."

"Lie down," Mark grated. "I'm gonna stun you."

The Arcturian obeyed. Mark flicked the setting on the blaster and fired. There was a soft hum and the alien went slack.

Robles let out his breath. "My Lord!" He turned on Mark, expression amazed. "You're a psychic!"

"Yeah," Mark said, staring down at the slack figure.

"But I thought ..." Robles surveyed his figure wonderingly. "... I thought all psychics were supposed to be real little people!"

"Yeah, they are." Mark was still staring down at the Arcturian. "C'mon, Sarge, help me tie him up."

Robles' brow furrowed. "Tie him up, sir? Wouldn't it be a lot safer just to kill him?"

Mark hesitated. Robles expression changed. "I'm sorry, sir. Of course; you're an empath." He bent, stripped the thin cord from around the alien's waist and pulled the Arcturian's hands behind him, binding the wrists tightly together. Mark bound the prisoner's feet. This was stupid, he told himself furiously. It was time-consuming and dangerous. A needle beam through the alien's brain was the only logical means of disposal...

He paused in his task, fingering his blaster. So this was how Alan had felt when so many times they had held a man prisoner and his partner had showed what Mark had regarded as foolish compassion. After this, Linley resolved, he would be far more tolerant of Alan's feelings in such matters...

Robles was calmly and efficiently binding the Arcturian's jaws shut with a handkerchief.

"You haven't answered me, Colonel. How did you get to be a psychic? You're not built in the usual mold, you know."

"Huh? Oh, that." Mark finished tying the alien's feet and straightened, rubbing a thumb across his jaw and feeling the rasp of bristles. "This is burn before readin' stuff, Sarge, you understand? Okay. I'm a nonfunctionin' psychic most o' the time. That's why m'partner can talk to me, but I can't talk back. I lack the stuff--an enzyme--that gives psychics like Alan control of their powers. It also makes them small. Understand?"

"Yes." Robles nodded. "But--"

"I'm comin' to that. One of our researchers has developed the stuff artificially, and I was takin' it back to Nova Luna for testin'."

Robles eyes widened. "The stuff in that self-refrigerated unit!"

"Yeah," Mark said.

"So you tricked the Jil into giving you the enzyme! Man what an act!" Robles teeth flashed in a wide grin. "You ought to be on stage! You had me scared stiff!"

"Must've convinced the Jil, anyway," Mark said, grinning back. "Sorry I scared you, too, though." He paused and frowned a little.

"Is something wrong, sir?" asked Robles quickly. "Precog?"

"Naw." Mark was a little surprised at how quickly the sergeant had accepted his new abilities. "This guy; we shouldn't leave him alive, y'know."

"You want me to do it, sir?" Robles asked. "You don't need to watch."

"No!" Mark spoke before he thought.

The sergeant smiled faintly. "Empathy can't be the best talent for an ex'trol," he remarked. "Well, we've got him tied good. I think he'll be safe enough if we just shove him in the mop closet and shut the door."

Mark nodded, not speaking. Robles bent and caught the Arcturian beneath the arms. Mark grabbed his feet, and the two carried their prisoner across the room to the closet. They bundled him into the small area, removed all articles which could be rattled or kicked over, stunned the alien a second time, and withdrew, closing the door behind them.

Robles turned to look at him. "Now what?"

"Now we gotta get outta here an' head for this 'arena' of Scwinthzor's."

"But we don't even know where it is."

Mark grinned. "Yes we do." He nodded toward the closed door. "Our friend there was lyin'. The arena's east of here, about ten kilometers or so."

"You read him? An Arcturian?" Robles whistled. "Okay, let's go. Wait ... ten kilometers? We'll need an aircar."

"Well, maybe we'll be able to pick one up somewhere."

"But where? The garage is locked and the control is somewhere in the lodge here. We can't just go wandering around looking for it."

"No, we can't. Let's just go. We'll worry about transport once we're out."

Mark went to the door, placed his hands against it, and paused, concentrating. Instantly the outer hallway was sharp and clear in his mind. No one was to be seen.

Quickly, he slid the panel aside. "Follow me. Hurry!"

Robles obeyed. They went out the door and down the corridor, Mark scanning furiously as they proceeded. His neck prickled as they approached a flight of steps, and again he extended his scan. Nothing-- no flicker of consciousness. The lodge appeared to be deserted.

They descended the stairway, their feet silent on the thick carpeting, and reached the first level. Linley paused a moment, concentrating again, then turned left down the corridor, although why he couldn't have explained even to himself. They had proceeded perhaps a dozen meters when they came to a large kitchen. Mark paused before the entrance, scanning, and at once detected the presence of the Procyon inside. The native of Ranlach was preparing a late night snack for Scwinthzor, who always liked a little refreshment after his visits to the arena. The Owl's whole consciousness was directed on preparing the snack, and Mark doubted they'd have much trouble with him.

He glanced at Robles and placed a finger to his lips. Then, blaster gripped in his hand, he stepped through the door. Robles was right behind him.

The Procyon had his back to them as he pressed controls on a food processor. Mark took two long steps across the room and fired.

The Procyon folded silently. Robles caught him and glanced questioningly at Linley. Mark gestured, and together they trundled the alien into the pantry, bound and gagged him, and stored him securely beneath a shelf containing numerous sacks of beans, a favored food of the Jils, and considered a delicacy by the upper classes. Mark dumped one of the sacks of legumes on the floor, pulled the sack over the cook's recumbent form, and tightened the strings.

"Let's go," he whispered.

They went quietly out, closing the pantry door behind them, and let themselves out the kitchen exit.

All was still, and there was no sign of guards. Mark scanned a moment, kicking himself for not asking the Arcturian how many guards would be posted here and outside the arena. There was no going back now. Damn! Alan wouldn't have let that slip past him...

"Freeze!" a voice hissed. "You're covered!"

Mark had sensed no one, but obeyed, and so did Robles. A figure materialized from the shadows and Mark recognized Krebbs. The boy stared in amazement, then ran forward. "Colonel Linley! Sergeant Robles!"

"Krebbs! Where the devil did you come from?"

"I followed you," the boy whispered. "I've been out here all day! How did you get loose? What happened?"

"No time now," Mark whispered back. "We've gotta get into that damned garage somehow an' get us an aircar..." He stopped. Krebbs was tugging at his sleeve.

"It's okay, sir. I turned off the force field."

"What? How?"

"When Scwinthzor came out about twenty minutes ago, I followed him. I was hoping to get close enough to take him by surprise and capture him and then force him to free you and the Sergeant. But I couldn't. They got in their car and took off. I waited, then turned off the force field again and came out. There's three or four cars in there. We can take our pick."

"Good kid," Mark said. Little Krebbs was on the ball all right. "Alan's hunch about you was right. C'mon."

They entered the garage, Krebbs leading the way, and stepped gingerly over the sprawled body of an Arcturian just inside the doorway.

"The guard," Krebbs explained in response to Mark's questioning glance. "He came in to see what was wrong with the force field, and I slugged him."

Robles bent over the figure eagerly, then straightened up. "Damn! No blaster!"

"Here it is, sir." Krebbs presented the weapon butt first to the sergeant. Robles flashed him a grin, and together they headed for the nearest aircar.

The vehicle was unlocked, but there were no keys. However, that was no problem to Linley, who had grown up in the streets of Shallock and could hotwire a car literally with his eyes closed. Within seconds, one of the craft roared to life. Mark jumped into the front seat, Robles pressed a button and the car shot forward out of the garage. Moments later they were rising over the treetops and heading east in the direction of Scwinthzor's private arena.

As Mark peered through the dimness in search of the arena, he felt the very familiar sensation of Alan's awakening mind.

**********

(tbc)