Wild Card: 7/final
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
XII
Mark shut off his wrist communicator and opened the bathroom stall. Trying to look casual, he sauntered toward the door. No one was around and if he didn't get stopped for some reason, he should be joining his partner within three minutes.
The restroom door opened as he approached and two young men clad in stylish, glittering clothing, entered. Mark pushed past them.
One of the men bumped violently against him and something hard and cylindrical ground into his spine.
"Freeze, Strike Commander." The voice was soft and emotionless. "One false move and you're dead."
Mark obeyed the command, rolling his eyes in the direction of the speaker. The man reached across his chest and his blaster was deftly removed from its shoulder holster. The other young man stepped around him and slid the door open. Mark couldn't see what he was doing but a moment later it slid shut again.
He remained motionless. These men were professionals and he was certain that if he tried anything, his chances of survival were small. The man who had closed the door turned to face him. Mark looked into the hard, jewel-blue eyes and swallowed.
"We have some questions," the man said.
Linley shrugged. "Sure. Whatcha wanna know?"
The other man smiled mirthlessly. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm on leave."
"You seem to favor the Blue Owl. Any special reason?"
Mark shrugged again, his mind whirling. Who were these guys and why were they so interested in him? "No special reason. They gotta good poker game."
The men exchanged a glance. "That's not good enough, Strike Commander," the second man said, softly. "You were with another man when we saw you at the Sunspot. Seemed real friendly with him. Both of you came here and he went upstairs. About ten minutes later, you followed him and you both disappeared. Now you show up again and repeat the performance. We want to know why you're here." The muzzle of the blaster ground harder into his spine. "Move over to the wall."
Mark moved with the pressure. "Who the devil *are* you?" he demanded as indignantly as possible. "I could have you executed for this! I ..."
"Shut up." The man jammed him against the wall and stepped back. "Put your hands on top of your head. No sudden moves or I blow you away."
Linley complied, swearing helplessly to himself. "You blast me in here an' you'll never get away with it ..." He broke off as he saw what the second man held in his hand. It was a syringe, the chamber filled with a clear, yellow liquid.
The answer to his question leaped out at him. He knew who these men were and why they were so very interested in him. These were the Terran Counterintelligence men, of whom Alan had heard Wendlemere speaking. They must have finally made the connection between the disappearance of the clerk, the ash tray in Peeks' apartment, and the presence of a Patrol Strike Commander in the Blue Owl Casino, and lacking enough information, had unerringly drawn the wrong conclusion. Now they would inject him with truth serum and question him. Mark was well-conditioned against interrogation drugs, but if he was incapacitated now, Alan would be on his own. Somehow, he must prevent it.
"Wait a minute," he said. "You're makin' a mistake."
The man with the syringe closed the distance between them. "Keep still, Strike Commander, and you won't be hurt."
"No, wait! I know who you are and what you're after! You're Terran Counterintelligence, and you're lookin' for Woodrow Peeks!"
The man's eyes narrowed. "Go on."
Alan's face materialized in his mind and he heard his partner shout his name. Another link! Alan needed him and here he was, helpless.
"Listen," he said, desperately, "I ain't who you think I am. I'm tryin' to find Woody for Terran Intelligence, too, an' if you don't ..."
The restroom door banged suddenly open and a short, fat man with a bald head strode angrily through. "How much longer are you guys going to be cleaning this place?" he demanded, testily.
Involuntarily, the heads of Mark's captors jerked around. Linley moved.
He struck the blaster aside and the weapon went spinning into a sink. Mark charged for the door. A hand grabbed for his wrist and he sent its owner staggering backwards into the stall of the nearest latrine. There was a splash. He didn't pause to see the results of his action, but bolted through the door. The little, fat man leaped aside with astonishing speed and dexterity as Linley exited, hearing shouts and breathless curses behind him. He plunged through the crowd, paying no attention to the staring patrons and staff. Someone cursed as Mark's foot descended on his toe and a change girl staggered sideways, coins raining around her, then the exit was before him and he dashed through, hearing the pound of his pursuers' feet behind him.
XIII
Alan ran, Lola beside him, keeping pace easily. Ahead, the little mooncar came to a halt and Alan stopped as well, concealing himself behind a large pillar. Lola flattened herself beside him. Her hand touched his sleeve.
"You'll have to handle it from here, Alan," she said. "I can't afford to be seen."
He nodded, trying to project a note of confidence into his voice. "Sure. I can handle it."
She gave a soft laugh, which somehow held a note of admiration. "I know you can." Then she was gone.
Faintly, in the dimness ahead of him, he saw a figure emerge from the mooncar. The man was grasping a much shorter figure by the arm, and the trembling voice of Woodrow Peeks reached Alan clearly.
"Please ... please, let me go! I'll never tell ... never! I swear it! Don't kill me!"
Another large figure emerged and took the clerk's other arm. Together, the two guards dragged him away from the car, heading for the garage elevator to the hotel. They passed close by Alan's hiding place, and as they did so, his blaster hummed.
The closer man dropped like a stone, caught in the direct beam of a stunbolt. The other spun, releasing Peeks, his hand darting for the blaster at his hip. Alan fired a second time and the man folded silently.
Peeks stood stock still, his hand held out from his body, the fingers splayed. Alan stepped from his cover.
"Easy, Woody."
The clerk's eyes widened. "You!"
"Yes. Come with me. Hurry!"
"Who are you? What do you want with me?" The man began to babble. Alan strode forward and grasped his wrist.
"Later! We've got to get out of here!"
Someone was approaching -- several someones, in fact. Running feet clattered noisily on the pavement. Alan yanked Peeks down, pulling him to his knees between the parked cars. "Shh!"
Three men -- no, four -- were approaching. He caught the flicker of hand lights flashing around the cavernous structure. Security guards.
" ... Know I heard something strange. Jeff, where are you?"
Alan glanced around, but could see no sign of Lola. He hoped sincerely that she had managed to get away unseen. A rock singer would make a terrific agent, he thought, fleetingly. She could move unsuspected through the highest social circles, even those of the Jilectans, who seemed to have acquired an inexplicable fondness for Terran rock music ...
Here came the guards, suspicion radiating from them in almost tangible waves. One of them gave a muted exclamation.
"What the hell? Somebody's ambushed 'em and taken that damned clerk again! Spread out, men; he's still got to be here, somewhere ..."
The searchers began to fan out and Alan could sense the approaching presences of two guards. Six men in all were now looking for them. What the dickens was holding up Mark?
The clerk crouched beside him, and he could sense the man trying to quiet his breathing. He hoped Mark would hurry up. They couldn't evade this many guards for very long.
Someone was approaching from the right. Alan touched Peeks' arm and moved silently to the left, circling the vehicle. Woody followed and Alan winced at the noisy shuffle of the man's feet. The guard heard it and paused, suddenly alert. Another guard approached.
"Sorry," Woody whispered.
"Shh." Alan began to retreat toward another vehicle, his blaster held at ready. The guard was circling the car, the other close behind him.
"There!" It was one of the searchers. A blaster cracked, the sound echoing eerily around the mammoth enclosure. The bolt struck close to Peeks' foot and the clerk dived behind the car, scrambling across the pavement on knees and elbows. Alan returned fire and followed.
A blaster shot exploded again, the heat warping the metal of the car's roof. Peeks clutched Alan's arm, his whisper shrill with fright. "They're going to get us! We can't get away!"
Alan shook him off. Running feet approached the car and he could sense vividly the guard's eager anticipation. He'd get a commendation from his boss and possibly from the Jil, himself, if he managed to capture Woody and his rescuer. With luck, it would be that little redheaded kid who had given the other guys the slip. His Lordship wanted that guy bad ...
For a telepath, pinpointing the other man's position was child's play. He popped up from behind the car and fired.
He wasn't prepared for the results. The guard voiced an agonized scream and, with his own mind in tight contact with that of the guard, Alan sensed with shocking vividness the wounded man's distress. He barely suppressed a cry.
With an effort, he tore his mind free. Turn it off! he thought. Turn it off! These men are trying to kill you!
"That way! Hurry!" More running footsteps approached. Alan came up, firing, gritting his teeth as he did so. There was another wrenching scream, and this time he couldn't restrain a yelp. This was awful! *Mark* he subvocalized. *Where are you? Hurry!*
"You're surrounded!" The shout bounced around the garage. "Throw down your blaster and come out with your hands up!"
Woody clutched his arm again. "What'll we *do*?"
"Hold on. Help is on the way." Alan disengaged his arm from Peeks' clutching hands. Another man was circling the car. He braced himself, the blaster held at ready.
The guard was being very quiet. No one but a psychic could have sensed his approach. That was the factor they had not counted on -- that they might be dealing with a Terran psychic, the unpredictable wild card in the human deck.
Now!
The man appeared, his blaster leveled. Alan fired.
The guard dropped without a sound and his life emanations flickered away. With a sense of horror, he realized the man was dead. He'd killed a fellow human being ...
Peeks' hand tightened on his arm. "Hey, are you all right? It's okay. You got him."
"Shh!" Alan said. He drew a deep, if shaky breath. Forget the guy. If Mark didn't arrive soon, they were dead ...
His communicator gave him a faint shock and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Quickly, he lifted the device to his lips. "Mark?"
"Yeah. You okay? A minute ago it felt like you'd been hit."
"I'm fine, but you'd better hurry. They have us trapped behind a car. Woody's with me." Alan brought the blaster up, sensing the approach of another guard. The man was being very cautious, and a second guard was circling the vehicle in the opposite direction. The one coming from the left should arrive first.
"I'll be right there," Mark's voice said. "Can you make it to a car?"
"Uh ... I don't know." The figure of the guard appeared and Alan fired. The man dropped, and the life force behind his consciousness faded out. Alan felt sick.
"You all right?" Mark sounded alarmed. "Alan!"
"Yes." Alan swallowed. Here came the second guard, very hesitant, now, his emotions those of fear and deep puzzlement.
"Turn it off, kid!" Linley's voice commanded. "Don't let it do that to you! Do you hear me?"
Here came the second one, gathering his resolution. Alan aimed the blaster, gritting his teeth. Woody was watching him, puzzled but expectant. The guard appeared and his blaster spat. Alan fired at the same instant.
The guard's shot missed completely, but again Alan scored. Mark's teaching must have been more effective than he had thought at the time. The man spun away with a shriek and Alan bit off a yelp.
"Are you all right?" Linley's voice demanded.
"Yes."
"Good. Get to a car, now, an' get inside."
"Uh ... I don't know if I can." His clairvoyant sense told him that one guard remained but that others were approaching from the other side of the garage. They would be here within seconds.
A voice reached him, then -- the shrill, giggling tones of a girl.
"Oh, Donny, you are *so* funny! Golly, what a lot of noise this place has! Look! A security guy!"
It was Lola! Alan felt the attention of the guard waver as her voice escalated. "Donny! He's got a blaster!" She voiced a shrill, echoing scream.
Alan grasped Woody's wrist and skirted the car parked behind them. The singer's shrieks and hysterical sobbing covered the sounds of their retreat. The guard swore, shouting at her companion to get that damned broad out of here. There was an indignant reply from the unseen Donny. Lola's screams continued, growing gradually fainter.
Alan reached another car and crouched behind it. The other security guards had arrived and were approaching his former hiding place with great caution. Beside him, Woody was breathing heavily.
"What are you going to do?" he whispered.
Alan didn't answer immediately. He gripped the handle of the door. His action would reveal his psychic ability to Peeks, but at the moment the clerk was in no position to harm him. Under the touch of a mental finger, the lock moved. Alan eased the door softly open. "In! Quick!"
Peeks climbed in and Alan followed, easing the door shut behind him. He touched the stud on his chronometer again. "We're in."
"Okay, sit tight. I'm comin'."
They crouched on the floor of the front seat, and Alan could feel Peeks watching him. Woody's thoughts, unmasked by shielding, were very clear. He'd been rescued from certain death by a Terran psychic. That meant the chances were high that the Terran Underground was involved. It made sense, as the Underground's stated purpose was to unseat the Jilectans from their position of power, but how had they found out about this mess ... unless they had agents in Terran Intelligence ...
His thoughts shifted to his rescuer. Why did the young man look so very familiar? He was certain he'd never met him until that disastrous encounter with Linthvar, some hours ago. Still, those features nagged at him. He'd seen them somewhere before. Alan ... the voice on the communicator had called him Alan ...
There was a sudden, intense jolt of recognition. He'd seen that face last year on the video, when the impossible had happened and a Terran had killed a Jilectan noble.
"Westover! You're Alan Westover!"
"Sh! Yes."
"But why are you doing this? What do you want?"
"Shh! I'll tell you later."
Woody shut his mouth, his eyes enormous. A security guard passed the car, flashing his light around. The clerk cowered under the dashboard. The guard went on by.
**********
XIX
Mark burst from the doors of the casino, charged recklessly through the milling crowd and reached the slidewalk, hearing shouts as his two pursuers sighted him.
Alan's frantic call was loud in his mind and he headed across the street at a dead run. There was the subsurface garage of which Alan had spoken, straight ahead.
He was pursued by the two young men, who proved swifter and more capable than their dandy appearance might have indicated. Mark yanked open an unpowered door to a side entrance and dodged into the garage, plunged down a flight of steps and skidded to a stop. Taking a deep breath, he started forward at a walk. On the far side of the huge cavern, he heard echoing shouts.
His two pursuers burst through the door after him and descended the steps recklessly in his wake. Mark glanced up at them, making no attempt to escape. One of them thrust a blaster into his face.
"Freeze, 'trol!"
"I'm froze," Mark said. "Listen, mister, you're makin' a mistake. If you want Peeks, he's over there with my partner, an' Linthvar's flunkies are tryin' to kill 'em both."
The two men stared at him. "You're lying, 'trol!" The one with the blaster spoke, but Linley could hear a trace of uncertainty in his voice.
"I ain't lyin', an' I ain't a 'trol. Listen to that racket over there. My partner called me for help ten minutes ago -- just before you showed up."
Across the garage, a blaster cracked and the sound bounced deafeningly around the enclosure. It was succeeded instantly by another report, then another. Somebody screamed and Mark felt pain knife through his side. For one terrible instant, he thought Alan had been hit, then he realized that he had simply received Alan's empathic reading of the wounded guard through their link, for although the scream had reached him across the room, he had not heard a sound from Alan.
"Make up your minds!" he said, tersely. "My partner needs me!"
The blaster wavered uncertainly and the men glanced at each other.
"Who are you?" one of them demanded.
Mark lifted an eyebrow. "I ain't Strike Commander Russell, that's for damned sure. Let's say I'm with a special intelligence team from Terra."
The men looked at each other again. Across the garage, there was another report, followed by another scream. Linley flinched at the transmitted pain and pressed the knob on his chronometer. The men watched him. The blaster was still pointed generally in his direction.
Alan's voice responded at once, sounding scared. "Mark?"
"Yeah. You okay? A minute ago it felt like you'd been hit."
"I'm fine, but you'd better hurry. They have us trapped behind a car. Woody's with me."
"I'll be right there." Mark was thinking furiously. What would be the best way to get his partner and the clerk out of here without further violence, and without blowing their cover? The solution hit him almost at once. "Can you make it to a car?"
"Uh ... I don't know." Another blaster cracked suddenly, carrying not only across the mammoth room but through the communicator, and a surge of shock and distress was transmitted vividly through the link. Had Alan been hit? Linley knew a moment of sheer panic.
"You all right? Alan!"
"Yes." Alan's reply was faint. Poor kid! Every time he shot someone, he must be picking up the guy's emotions.
"Turn it off, kid!" he snapped. "Don't let it do that to you! Do you hear me?"
Two blasters cracked almost simultaneously, and through the link, he felt heat sear his arm. Instinctively, now, he knew the pain came simply from Alan's relayed empathic contact with the wounded man. "You all right?" he demanded.
"Yes."
"Good. Get to a car, now, an' get inside."
"Uh ... I don't know if I can," Alan was beginning, when his voice was cut off by the loud, shrill tones of a woman. There was a sharp query, reaching Mark easily through the com, then a nerve-shattering scream. Linley gaped in confusion as the cries and shrieks continued, growing rapidly louder and more hysterical. A man's voice shouted something, barely heard over the echoing din, and Mark felt the sensation of his partner scrambling sideways. He must be making for a car, since this dame had conveniently shown up to distract the guards. The woman continued to scream like a steam whistle, her cries gradually growing fainter.
"What's going on?" one of the Counterintelligence men said.
Alan's voice spoke softly from the unit. "We're in."
"Okay, sit tight. I'm comin'." Linley glanced at the two men. "Stick with me. I'll take you to 'em."
The men looked at each other again, then the one with the blaster shrugged. "Okay, Bud, lead on."
"An' put that damned blaster away, willya? I don't want those guys noticin' nothin' but the good Strike Commander an' a couple of his pals takin off in his car."
The man's eyes narrowed. "What car?"
"The one my partner an' Peeks are hidin' in, o' course. You comin'?"
The man opened his mouth, then closed it again. The blaster disappeared.
Linley strode briskly across the garage, flanked by his two companions. Alan was dead ahead, and since Alan was still tightly linked with him, Linley found the trail childishly easy to follow. It took him less than two minutes to reach the vehicle. As he touched the handle, he saw the locking button move silently upward.
Mark hopped into the driver's seat and opened the rear door for the two Intelligence men. Crouched on the floor of the front seat was the clerk, his form barely visible in the dimness. He couldn't see Alan at all, although the link told him clearly that his partner was there. Behind him, the rear door closed.
"I'll start it, Mark," Alan's voice said in a whisper. "Just tell me what to do."
To an ex street urchin from the slums of Shallock, hot-wiring a car's engine was second nature. Linley visualized the procedure, aware that Alan was picking the directions directly from his mind. In an instant, the motor roared to life and Linley backed the car out of its parking space, glancing idly at the scurrying security guards. One of them waved him to a halt. Linley obediently stopped and leaned out the window. "Yeah?"
"Your identification?"
Linley produced his forged identification. The guard examined it and returned it. "Sorry for the inconvenience, sir," he said, respectfully. "We're searching for two criminals. They were last seen behind that car, over there. Did you notice anyone leaving the garage as you entered?"
"Nope," Mark said. "Sorry."
The man stepped back. "All right, sir. Thank you for your help."
"Don't mention it." Mark put the car into forward motion and steered them toward the gate. A ticket lay on the dashboard. He brought them to a halt and picked it up, inserting the little card into its proper slot. Numbers paraded across the screen and Linley produced credits. The forcefield flickered out. They drove through, the balloon wheels of the car bouncing slightly along the smoothly paved road.
Alan detached himself from the floor of the car and slid onto the seat beside Mark. Looking a little sheepish, he stuck the little ladies' model blaster he held into his boot top. "Hi, Mark."
"Hi, kid. Every little thing okay with you?"
"Sure." Alan glanced at the two men in the rear seat. "Terran Counterintelligence, huh?"
"Yeah. They really thought I was ol' Brad. Guess I ain't such a bad actor after all."
"I could have told you that." Alan glanced down at the floor. "Get up, Woody."
A small man with untidy dark hair rose slowly from the floor of the car, and Linley recognized Woodrow Peeks, the little man in the photo Phil had shown them. The clerk looked at him and swallowed, then at Alan. "Is that ... is that who I think it is?"
Alan nodded, smiling a little. Peeks gulped. "Thanks," he said. "You got me out of a pretty bad spot."
"Don't mention it," Alan said. "But now comes the bad news. These two gentlemen are from Terran Counterintelligence. We have to turn you over to them."
Peeks sighed. "I figured something like that would happen. Thanks, anyway. I'd rather go with them than where Linthvar's people were taking me."
"Amen to that," Alan said. The mooncar trundled on toward the Lunar Spaceport.
**********
XX
Linley pulled them off the main thoroughfare onto the ramp marked "Spaceport", and drew up at one of the slidewalks bearing passengers toward the facility. He cut the engine and looked back over his shoulder. "Okay, guys, we part company here. An' I'll take my blaster back, now."
"Oh ... uh, yeah." One of the men passed the weapon over. Linley took it, sliding it into its shoulder holster. The agent surveyed him for a moment, then grinned.
"I don't know who you two are," he said, "although I might venture a guess. Mr. Peeks can tell me if I'm right or wrong after we're on the shuttle, since he seems to know. But thanks."
"You're welcome," Alan said. He reached into his tunic, removing the little metal box he had taken from Wendlemere's safe some forty minutes ago. "Here. You might be interested in this. I have the feeling there's something important in it."
One of the men took it. "In that case, I'll see that it's kept safe until we get home. Thanks again."
"Don't mention it. I hope Wendlemere has fun trying to explain where it went to Linthvar." Alan laughed. He was feeling slightly giddy with relief. "And if you don't know about Wendlemere, I expect Woody can tell you about him, too."
"I expect he can," the agent agreed. He opened his door and got out, followed by his companion. Alan looked at Woody.
"Better go on, Woody. If you tell them everything, things may go easier on you. And, good luck."
"Thanks ... Alan." The clerk suddenly stretched out a hand and shook his, warmly. "At least I'm alive, and I wouldn't be if you hadn't come along. For what it's worth, if I can ever do anything for you, all you have to do is ask." He opened his door and stepped out, closing it behind him. Each of the Counterintelligence men took one of his arms, beginning to lead him toward the slidewalk. Woody went with them, unresisting.
Linley started the motor and pulled away from the curb. "I think it's time for the good Strike Commander an' his li'l brother to pack their bags an' leave Luna City, don't you? It might get a bit hot for us if we hang around much longer."
"I'm with you," Alan agreed.
Linley pulled their car into a parking space and opened the door. "Let's hike back to the hotel."
"Huh? Why?"
"This car's stolen. Remember?"
"Oh." Alan got out, feeling silly. "I guess I sort of forgot."
Side by side, they stepped onto the slidewalk, heading back in the direction of their hotel. Glittering throngs of beautiful, well-dressed people passed them, chattering and laughing. They were barely a block from their hotel when Lola Davenport appeared suddenly beside them, her blue eyes ogling Mark.
"Hi, handsome!"
Mark grinned. "'Lo there, baby. Where you been?"
"Oh, bouncing around." She giggled. "I never *will* get used to Lunar gravity. Can I hold onto you for a while, Brad?"
"Sure." Mark glanced at Alan. "Whatcha grinnin' about,?"
"Nothing," Alan said. "Look, why don't you and Miss Davenport go have a drink or something, Brad? I'll have everything ready by the time you get back to the hotel."
**********
He was just putting the last article of clothing into Mark's suitcase when Linley entered, grinning from ear to ear.
"Man, kid, you threw me a helluva curve out there! I couldn't figure out what was goin' on!"
Alan laughed. "She saved me from the security guards after I shot Linthvar. That was when I realized she was an Undergrounder. That was her in the garage, too. She distracted the guards while Woody and I got into the car."
Mark was staring at him, mouth open. "You shot *another* Jil? Didja kill him?"
"Oh, no. I just got him in the arm when he cornered me in Wendlemere's office. I'm sure he'll be fine." Alan snapped the suitcase shut. "Lola knew. I thought she'd tell you."
"Didn't say a word." Linley laughed outright. "Man, whatta put-on! Playin' the blond bubblebrain for all she's worth! By the way, she really likes you, y'know."
Alan shrugged, ruefully. "Oh, sure. All the girls like me. I remind them of their little brothers."
"Not Lola, li'l buddy. I've seen that look in a woman's eye before. She's got better taste than I thought."
"Really?" Alan stared at him.
"Sure. You just gotta have more faith in yourself. She kept talkin' about you. Too bad she don't live at the base."
"Well, I'll be darned." Alan hefted the suitcase from his bed. Mark picked up the other one.
As the door swished open under Linley's hand, Alan felt the flash of warning. A tall, dark-haired man was standing before the opening, one hand extended toward the buzzer. He was clad in stylish, blue clothing, and his hair was trimmed in a regulation Patrol cut. Alan had an instant of puzzlement, then he knew. This must be Base Commander Kermit Markham, come to claim his dinner invitation.
Trailing the Base Commander was the short, slim figure of his valet, holding a golden-brown, glittering cape and a stylish cane carefully in his hands.
**********
XXI
For one, frozen instant, Mark Linley stared at the man facing him, then, with respectable speed, the other man's hand flashed toward his shoulder holster. Linley's did also.
Alan, however, was right on the ball -- as usual, Linley thought. His partner was somehow beside the newcomer, his blaster gripped in both hands. "Freeze!"
Markham did so, his hand just resting on the butt of his weapon. Alan did not take his eyes from the Base Commander. "You -- Washington! Don't move!"
Linley drew his own blaster, now covering the little man who stood half-concealed behind his companion. He felt his face whiten. "Zach!"
Zacchary Washington remained frozen, his large, dark eyes riveted on Linley's face. "Sir!" he squeaked. "It's Strike Commander Linley!"
Markham didn't answer. Alan spoke again, his voice level. "Raise your hands over your head -- slowly."
Markham obeyed, his mouth grim. Alan disarmed him, then herded him into the suite. Linley gestured the valet after him.
Washington didn't speak again, but he watched his former Strike Commander with reproachful, brown eyes. Linley squirmed under their gaze.
Alan didn't appear to notice his partner's discomfort. "Lie down on your faces. One false move and I shoot to kill."
Linley shot a puzzled glance at his friend. He had never heard Alan sound so unfeeling, but whatever his partner was up to, he would go along.
"He ain't bluffin'," he informed Markham, harshly. "He's a Terran psychic, an' he's readin' everythin' you're thinkin'. Don't try nothin'."
Markham hesitated, then lowered himself to the floor.
Alan spoke again. "We're going to stun you, Commander. When you wake up, you'll be tied. By the time you get free, we'll be long gone."
Markham nodded. Alan leveled his blaster and fired. There was the soft hum of a stunbolt.
Linley looked miserably at Zacchary Washington. The little black man had been his valet aboard the Jilectan battlecruiser 'Wolverine' when he'd been its Strike Commander, and Linley had liked him a good deal. Maltreating him seemed brutal, even though he was technically the enemy.
"I'm sorry, Zach," he said, and raised his blaster.
"Think nothing of it, Captain," Washington said, in quite a different voice than the one Linley was used to. "Commander Markham won't expect anything else."
Mark felt his jaw drop. He stared blankly at his former valet, and Alan dissolved into laughter.
"Don't you get it, Mark?" he gasped, finally. "He's an Undergrounder!"
"*What*?"
"Sure," Washington said, blandly. "They planted me on you when you first made Strike Commander. Then I got transferred and I've been keeping an eye on Markham ever since."
"Oh you are, are you?" Mark said, eyeing his former valet with a certain respect.
"Sure," Washington said, cheerfully. "And I've been wanting to tell you congratulations ever since you left the Patrol. I couldn't help liking you, even when you were with them, but I'm sure glad you made the change."
"He's a psychic, Mark," Alan said. "I knew it as soon as he walked in."
Linley laughed suddenly. "Who woulda thought ... No *wonder* you were such a good valet!"
"Of course," Alan said, also laughing. "Undergrounders turn up in the oddest places, Mark. We should know!"
**********
XXII
"So," Phil Connors concluded, "you boys did fine. Lola turned in a glowing report on you."
"Oh yeah?" Linley sounded mildly surprised.
"Yep. She did recommend that Alan curb his propensity for potting Jils, but otherwise she was very favorable."
Alan felt a touch of resentment. "And what do you suggest I do when a Jil draws on me? Stand there and get shot?"
Phil laughed. "That is the proper procedure -- according to the Jils. But no, of course not. Just try to avoid getting into situations like that in the future. Jils are fast, in case you hadn't noticed, and Kaley isn't really anxious to lose his star psychic."
"I guess not," Alan said.
"Good. So, now you're off probationary status. Congratulations." He grinned at Alan. "By the way, retrieving that little box was a nice touch. It had a good deal of the stuff Woody stole in it. We didn't expect it."
"That was when he shot the Jil, y'know," Mark said, a trifle smugly.
"Sure, I know." Connors leaned back in his chair. "You both did fine."
Alan's eyes narrowed suddenly, a suspicion forming in his mind. "Don't tell me that was our final exam."
"Well ..." Phil looked a little confused. "Yes, sort of. But you weren't supposed to know it."
Mark chuckled.
"Anyway ..." Connors was slightly flushed. "You did very well. The boss let me know how it all came out, in case you wanted to know."
"Well, of course we want to know," Alan said.
"I figured that. Here's the story. As Alan probably already knows, Peeks was a compulsive gambler. He got in way over his head, according to his confession, and then didn't know where to turn. Things were getting rather pressing when Wendlemere stepped in. He apparently paid off Woody's creditors, then blackmailed the poor guy to spy for him. Then, that audit came up and Peeks panicked. H was afraid they'd detect his attempts to gain access to unauthorized information -- which they did, by the way -- and ran for it. That box you gave them had a mass of computer disks in it -- the stuff he got for them, and some other stuff, probably supplied by other agents. Gives them a good idea where to look for others."
"What happened to Woody?" Alan asked.
"They've charged him with espionage," Phil said. "He'll have to stand trial. The boss says they may ask for a lighter sentence because of the extenuating circumstances and his cooperation. The Lunar Police raided the Blue Owl Casino, but Wendlemere was gone, as expected, and so was Linthvar. All they got were some confused clerks and change girls."
"Too bad." Mark stood up, stretching. "Glad things turned out like they did, though. I take it we can head for home, now?"
"I guess so." Phil raised an inquiring eyebrow at him. "Why the hurry, though?"
Mark looked uncomfortable, then grinned sheepishly. "Personal reasons, Pop. That li'l doll, Julia Austell. I hadta stand in line, but I finally got a date with her. It's the day after tomorrow, an' I sure as hell don't wanna miss it!"
The End.
