Rainy Season: 5/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Previously:
"Holy space!" Dwayne sounded stunned. "How'd you know they was comin'?"
"Alan sensed 'em," Mark said. "When Alan tells you t'do somethin', don't ask no questions; just do it."
"I will from now on," Dwayne said. "Sorry."
"No harm done," Alan said. "We'll be long gone before they wake up."
"Why didn'tcha just shoot 'em?" Dwayne asked.
"That's not how the Underground works," Alan said. "We have a reputation to hold up and we always keep our promises. Patrolmen who cooperate are never hurt. They know it, and it saves us a lot of trouble."
"Huh!" Dwayne looked thoughtful. "Y'know, that's pretty smart."
"Our bosses think so," Alan agreed.
They made their way across the street and down another alley. The water was now well above Linley's ankles. Dwayne swore expertly as a trenchcrawler attempted to take refuge on his leg. He kicked the creature away. "Hope this stuff quits pretty soon," he remarked. "'Specially if we hafta spend much time in the Fitzwater section. We're gonna be swimmin' before the night's up if it don't."
**********
And now, Part 5:
Water rushed past their legs. They left the alley, crossed the next street and cut down another narrow alley, thick with floating garbage. The city was going to be a lot cleaner when this stuff let up, Linley reflected, not for the first time.
"The car's in the cross alley behind the next building," Alan said. "Down that way and to the right."
"In the *alley*?" Dwayne sounded incredulous. "It'll be nothin' but junk by now!"
"We hid it pretty well," Alan said, "and there aren't as many people out in this rain. It may be okay."
Dwayne shrugged. "I dunno."
A surge of water hit them as they emerged from the alley. Linley saw his partner stagger and grabbed him. Alan regained his footing and grasped his belt.
"Mind if I hold onto you for ballast?"
"Be my guest," Linley said, "We're almost there."
"Yeah," Alan said. "Dwayne ..."
The boy was bracing himself against the tug of the water and Linley grasped him by the upper arm. "Hang on, kid."
"Thanks." The word was half a gasp.
"I wanted to ask you something," Alan continued. "Has there ever been any indication that there might be an informer in your gang?"
"Informer?" Dwayne sounded blank.
"A snitch," Mark said. "Somebody who might sell information to the 'trols in exchange for cash."
Dwayne didn't answer for a long moment and Mark wondered uncomfortably if he had offended the boy. Gang members could be intensely loyal to one another and it was possible that young Dwayne would feel it necessary to defend his fellows against an outsider.
Then the boy spoke, his voice oddly subdued. "Yeah, there is. Lots of 'em."
"What happened?" Alan asked.
Dwayne wasn't looking at them. "M'best friend -- Arnie. He was a psychic. He told me, but he didn't tell no one else. At least, he said he didn't. Somebody turned him in to the Patrol." Dwayne grimaced. "He probably thought it was me, since I was the only one he told."
"Let's keep movin'," Mark said.
"Sure." Alan stepped obediently along beside him. "What else?"
A tiny hesitation; then: "Our Captain's first lieutenant got killed. He might'a found out what happened, but if he did, he never got a chance to tell. Somebody stuck a knife in his back."
Mark swore under his breath. "Got any ideas who it might be?"
Dwayne shook his head. "Nope." He craned his head to look past Linley at Alan. "Why'd you think there might be a snitch, Colonel Westover?"
In other circumstances, Linley might have smiled at the respectful tone of address. Dwayne wanted to be a member of the Underground. That much was obvious.
"The 'trols all over the place," he said, answering the boy's question. "It's kind of a funny coincidence that they showed up right in this neighborhood, just now, don'tcha think?" There was no reason yet to tell the boy at this point that the "snitch" might be another Terran psychic.
The explanation seemed to satisfy their guide, for he nodded.
"There's someone ahead," Alan said, quietly.
Mark tensed. "'Trols?"
"No ... Mark, our car!"
With a curse, Linley yanked out his blaster and charged forward. Alan and Dwayne floundered along behind him. They rounded the corner into the alley where he and Alan had left the aircar and Linley saw the stack of crates they had used to conceal it. He splashed his way around them. The aircar still sat where they had left it, and as it came into sight, two figures detached themselves from the shadows. Knives flashed dully in the darkness.
Mark's blaster hummed and one of the forms dropped. The other discarded his booty and ran.
Mark flicked on his handlight, flashed it over the aircar and cursed.
As Dwayne had predicted, thieves had found the car. The hood was gone and so was the engine, the antigrav unit, the doors, the ground tires, the seats, as well as every possible control that could be detached. The rear scanner lay on the flooded surface of the alley, along with the thief that he had stunned, and the power generator was a little beyond him, dropped by the man who had fled. Alan arrived beside him, his own blaster in one hand and looked in silence at the ruin. Dwayne came up, panting, glanced at the remains of their vehicle without surprise and shrugged philosophically.
"Thought it might happen," was his only comment.
Mark uttered one last imaginative and anatomically impossible oath and turned to Alan. "*Now* what?"
Alan said nothing for several seconds, then uttered a deep sigh. "How far is it to the Fitzwater section?"
"Three or four kilometers, but I don't like headin' there without transportation. One o' those flash floods hits an' we're done for."
Alan appeared to be thinking it over. "Well, we might be able to commandeer some other transportation. There's lots of 'trols around. We might be able to find a parked car. It seems to me they wouldn't be flying around any more than necessary with the storm as bad as it is."
Dwayne's dark-skinned face split in a wide grin. "That's a great idea! D'you think you could find us one?"
"I think so," Alan said. "Come on."
Ten minutes later, they were wading down another alley. Alan had one hand on Linley's arm, ostensibly for balance in the swiftly flowing water that came halfway to his knees, but Mark could feel the steady drain of power as his psychic partner used his own special brand of eyes and ears, scanning for other living beings in the vicinity.
"Okay," Alan said, suddenly, his voice barely audible above the sounds of wind and rushing water. "There's a guy just around that corner at the end of the street. It's a 'trol."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
Mark drew his blaster. "Okay; let's go."
They approached the corner as quietly as possible under the conditions. Mark doubted that anyone more than a meter away from them could have detected any unusual noise. Rain beat them in the face and Alan floundered slightly in the flooded street. A single, flickering street light cast a sickly, yellow glow across their path.
"He's definitely alone," Alan said, "but he's a little nervous. We'll have to be careful." Mark felt the power drain increase. "He doesn't trust the scanners. The buildings around here are old middle-class Jil housing. They were scanner-resistant, and there's plenty of vermin in this place. Lots of living things moving around."
"Can he see us?" Linley asked.
"Not yet. I don't want to count on it when we get closer, though. They're pretty dilapidated."
That was a generous thousand percent understatement, Linley thought.
"Whatcha gonna do?" Dwayne asked. "Kill him?"
Linley shook his head. "Not if we can help it. Ready, kid?"
His partner nodded. "Dwayne and I will handle the distraction." He unsealed his jacket halfway. "Do I look harmless enough?"
"Be careful anyway," Linley said. "If he's too nervous, he might shoot first and ask questions later."
"He's nervous but not that nervous. Okay, here we go. Dwayne, start chasing me with your switchblade."
The boy drew his knife. "What do I do?"
"You catch me right in front of the aircar. Make it look good. We want his attention focused on us; not Mark."
"Okay," Dwayne said. His teeth flashed briefly in a wide grin.
Squinting through the pounding rain, Mark thought he could see a faint, yellow illumination in the street beyond the corner that Alan had indicated. It must come from the aircar's parking lights, he thought. Alan glanced at Dwayne and nodded slightly then voiced a shrill, terrified scream.
Although he was expecting it, Mark jumped. Alan darted forward, vanishing from his view, around the corner and an instant later Dwayne followed. There was another hair-raising scream and a splash. Linley followed them at a run and paused for a second at the corner beyond which the two had vanished.
The patrolman would most likely not interfere with the apparent mugging, but his attention would be on the combatants. There was a third scream. Linley stepped quietly from concealment.
Alan was in full view, flat on his back in the illumination of the aircar's lights and struggling wildly. Dwayne, straddling Alan's chest, was apparently attempting to slice his victim's head off. The scene was certainly realistic and quite alarming. The only way Mark could have known that it was faked, if he hadn't known it already, was the fact that he couldn't feel the link.
He waded quickly toward the aircar's rear door. Alan screamed desperately for help and voiced an agonized cry as Dwayne brought the knife downward. The patrolman was watching, all right. Through the window, Mark could see that the man was not wearing his helmet, and his attention was fixed on the figures illuminated by the pale glow of his parking lights -- but as expected, he made no effort to aid the apparent victim.
The door would be unlocked by now. Holding his blaster firmly, Mark yanked open the rear door, which came open without fuss, and pressed the blaster below the patrolman's ear. Alan's work had been flawless, as usual. "Freeze, bud."
The man obeyed, his eyes rolling wildly in Mark's direction. Alan and Dwayne separated abruptly and the boy rose easily to his feet, extending a hand to assist his former victim.
Alan accepted, pulling himself upright. "Good work, Dwayne." He sealed his jacket and splashed through the water to the aircar. The front door lock clicked open as he did so and he also covered the patrolman. "Okay, Patrolman, out of the car."
The man swore under his breath and obeyed. Alan waited until he was free of his vehicle and gestured with the blaster. "Don't make a sound. Take your blaster out of its holster and toss it on the seat. Cooperate and you'll live through this."
The man followed directions to the letter, his movements extremely careful. Alan gestured with the blaster. "Walk away from the car. Keep walking and don't look back."
The man obeyed without a word. Linley watched him go, reflecting that their organization's policy toward enemies who didn't make trouble was a very useful one, for, in spite of the propaganda that the Jilectans spread about the merciless treatment of patrolmen by the Terran Underground, the word got around. When the man had disappeared around the corner of one of the disintegrating buildings, he turned to his companions. "Let's go."
Without warning, Alan gave a yell and leaped straight at him, hitting him at waist level. Taken off-guard, Linley staggered backwards and fell with a massive splash into the nearly calf-deep water that filled the street. Alan landed on top of him. Almost simultaneously a blaster cracked and the beam intersected the space that his head had occupied a split second before. There was a savage hiss as water exploded into steam directly behind him. Dwayne shouted, and a wave of water hit Linley in the face as his partner scrambled to his feet, leaped over him and fired back in the direction from which the shot had come. From somewhere, he heard a yell, followed by a series of splashes as someone ran.
Alan paused, then took careful aim and fired again. Farther away, Linley heard a surprised yelp and then silence.
Slowly, Alan lowered his weapon. "Are you all right?" he asked.
Mark spat out a mouthful of water, trying not to think about what was in it, staggered to his feet and retrieved his blaster from the flooded street. "Fine. What the hell ..."
"It was *him*," Alan said.
"Didja get him?"
Alan was still peering in the direction from which the shot had come. "No. I just singed him. Let's get out of here. Dwayne, you get into the back seat."
No one said anything until they were safely in the car. It was Dwayne who broke the silence.
"Who th'hell was that?" he asked.
"The informer," Alan said, grimly. "He definitely doesn't like us."
"No kiddin'! Why's he so all-fired out t'getcha, anyway? Afraid you'll tell on him?"
"Pretty much," Linley said.
"You're gonna tell Gene, ain'tcha?"
"If we can figure out who he is, of course," Alan said. "We'll warn him, anyhow."
"Good." Dwayne appeared satisfied.
The key to the starter protruded from the ignition. Linley started the engine and they lifted from the flooded street. Keeping low so as to take advantage of the protection from the wind afforded by the buildings, he turned them in the direction of the Fitzwater section.
**********
tbc
