Trying to get the early parts posted quickly, as I'll probably be busy tomorrow and Friday.
Giant Killer: 3/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Alan watched until Julia's graceful form had vanished into the darkness. Fear still tickled at his senses, and he felt a momentary impulse to call her back. But if he did, it would no doubt confirm her opinion that he was completely crazy. Alan reached ahead with telepathy, trying to follow her progress, but after a few moments even the aura of her mind faded and vanished.
For a moment longer, he hesitated, almost tempted to extinguish the barrier and follow her across the grounds in secret. Something was wrong, that was certain. The sensation of terror and violence was quite apparent -- a hazy mist to his senses. Julia was heading right toward it.
But Ducati would be waiting for him. Alan hesitated a moment longer, then, with a sigh, he turned and headed back across the outer grounds. Underground business came first, he told himself firmly. Julia had been warned. He had done his best -- in face, he had risked his identity trying to warn her. Short of taking her by force, there was nothing more he could do.
His aircar was waiting in its parking space, and the thoroughfare beside him was thick with ground traffic. Alan climbed into his vehicle and touched a control. The craft lifted and buzzed softly across the glittering city toward his meeting place.
The café was set back from the street, it is lights blinking blue in the darkness. Alan settled the aircar half a block down the street, between two ground vehicles, and glanced at his chronometer. "Mark?"
Linley's voice answered at once. "Right here."
"I'm about to go in."
"Okay. Hey, are you all right? You sound a little funny."
"I'm fine. Where are you?"
"About half a block from you. I saw you land."
"Good. I'll contact you as soon as we're through."
"Careful, kid."
"Okay." Alan broke contact and reached for the door handle. It was then that Julia's bracelet caught his eye. It lay on the seat beside him, half-hidden by his coat. Alan picked it up, checking the catch. It appeared undamaged, but clairvoyance told him otherwise. A defect had developed in the mechanism -- possibly as a result of his and Julia's playful struggle that afternoon at Lake Dunnum.
His mind returned briefly to those moments and her cry of distress when the bracelet had come off. It was clearly of great sentimental value to her, for he had sensed vividly her grief when she had thought it lost.
Of course, it had been easy to recover it for her -- a little touch of telekinesis that had stopped its downward course and brought it floating back into his grasp, but, to Julia, the recovery must have seemed like a miracle.
He examined the bracelet in the dim light. It was simple, although expensive in appearance -- a slender, gold chain from which dangled a small, gold heart. Upon the heart were engraved the words: "To Julia. Love, from Jill."
A gift from her sister. Alan frowned, staring at the little piece of jewelry. Danger. A sharp stab of fear went through him. Julia was in danger. It hadn't been his imagination. He was sure of that, now. Somehow, after this meeting was finished, he must seek her out again and be sure she had reached the Embassy safely.
He slipped the bracelet into his pocket and opened the door.
4
Julia Austell went quietly along the dark path toward the Embassy. Nervousness still crawled on her skin, and she found herself glancing over her shoulder, half-expecting to see someone following her. But even if someone had been there, she wouldn't have been able to see him. What could have happened to the floodlights? It was so dark, she could hardly see where she was going.
Quickly, she glanced back again, trying to banish the feeling of apprehension and impending doom. Even the Jilectans, she told herself, must have power failures, sometimes. Silently, she cursed Alan for getting her into this state of mind. There was nothing to be afraid of, she decided firmly. Nothing at all.
But where were the watchmen? Since leaving Alan at the gate, she had seen no one. The stillness was eerie ... menacing, and Julia found herself walking quietly, keeping to the edge of the path.
Something was lying on the pebbled surface ahead, something indistinguishable in the dimness. Julia approached it cautiously, and as she came nearer, it gradually took shape: a huddled form in the center of the path.
Julia didn't scream. Her heart knocking, she knelt beside the still figure and turned it over. A young bearded face came into view and she saw that the chest of the man's uniform had been charred away by a blaster bolt. Julia recognized him instantly. Freddy Gale -- one of the watchmen. She felt for a pulse, already knowing that she wouldn't find one.
There was sound ahead, which brought her sharply upright. Marching feet, approaching swiftly.
Julia looked quickly around, and then ducked into the Joqueleaf bushes on her right, cowering back and making her body as small as possible.
"Here's one." She heard the military snap of the voice, clearly. "Get it out of here. That girl comes back and finds bodies all over the place, she'll run like a scared marshhopper."
Two figures bent and lifted the dead guard by the arms. Julia caught a glimpse of silvery helmets in the starlight. The Viceregal Patrol was here.
The patrolmen were dragging the body back toward the Embassy, their voices fading with distance. Julia remained where she was, trying to clear the cobwebs of fear from her mind.
"Jill!" a voice beside her hissed sharply.
She jerked about, one hand darting for her pocket. Then, a figure materialized from the bushes beside her and she gave a gasp of relief.
Max Ducati.
He reached for her and caught her by the shoulders, hugging her against him convulsively. "Jill! Are you all right?"
"I'm not Jill," she whispered. "I'm Julia. Max, what's going on? What's the Patrol doing here?"
"Julia?" He sounded half-dazed. "I thought it was Jill. She's always the one with the date." He glanced around again and Julia saw that he held, in a very professional manner, a large, dangerous-looking blaster.
"Max," she whispered. "Tell me what's happened."
His voice cracked. "They're all dead!"
"Who?"
"Everybody! Your dad and mom, Jill, the Ambassador, his wife and son -- everybody!" Ducati took a long breath. "They've killed them all -- everybody on the Embassy staff, and their families."
"No!"
"Sh! It's true." Max took another breath. "Your parents and the Ambassador were passing secrets to the Terran Underground, using their positions to spy on the Jils. But somehow, they were found out. The Patrol showed up about an hour ago and there was shooting ..." His voice broke again. "They were brought out, dead. Trothvor wanted them alive. He was furious when he saw their bodies. Come on. We've got to get away now -- before they have time to organize a search. They know I'm out here, someplace, and they'll be looking."
"But --"
"You'll have to help me."
"Max, you're hurt! Your leg!"
"Sh! It's not bad, my dear, but I can't run very well. You'll have to give me a hand. Can you do it?"
"Yes, but ... oh, Max, I can't believe it! They wouldn't do this! Even Trothvor wouldn't dare! I want to go home!" She began to cry. "I can't run away, now --"
"No!" His whisper was suddenly harsh and his hands closed painfully on her shoulders. He shook her hard, rattling her teeth together. "The Jils do what they please, Julia. If you go back now, you'll be killed, just like all the rest. Now listen to me, girl! The Jils have been betrayed. Your father and mother were in on it. If you're caught, you'll be shot -- or publicly executed as an example to anyone else who gets it into his head to sell out on the Jilectans. Understand?"
His words stopped her hysteria cold. She nodded numbly. "My god, I can't believe it!"
"Believe it. It's true. Come on now. We've got to get out of here."
"All right." Forcibly, Julia turned her mind from what she had just heard. There was no time for grief now. They must get away.
Max crawled from the bushes. Julia followed and helped him carefully to his feet. He leaned heavily on her, the blaster clutched in one hand. Slowly, trying to hurry, they started down the path toward the side exit.
They were less than twenty meters from it when she felt Max tense. Then she heard it, too, faint in the still air, but coming rapidly nearer -- the sound of booted feet, approaching at a run.
Max swore. "They've got us!" He glanced frantically around, then dug in his jacket pocket. "Here, Julia." He pressed something into her palm. "Take this to Terra -- to Finnian's Imports, Dublin, Ireland. Ask for Alan Woodruff. Alan Woodruff!" He spun her about and gave her a push. "Run, Julia! Go!"
Blindly, Julia obeyed. She ran forward toward the gate, her card in one hand, the small object that Max had given her clutched tightly in the other. As she reached the barrier, blaster fire exploded behind her, accompanied by the soft hum of stunbolts.
"Run!" Max bellowed.
She thrust the little card into the slot and the barrier flickered out. She glanced back as she went through, and caught a confused glimpse of the scattering Viceregal patrolmen, and of Max, flat on his belly in the center of the path, firing desperately. Even as she looked, he ceased firing, and an instant later there was a deafening explosion. Orange flame enveloped Max and ballooned outward, engulfing the shrubbery, path, and two unfortunate patrolmen. There was a chorus of screams, and the concussion sent Julia staggering backward. Someone shouted something, and black-clad figures came toward her, skirting the flames, flashing their handlights around, searching for her.
Julia whipped around and plunged away into the darkness of the outer grounds.
5
The café was small, a mere hole-in-the-wall of buildings. Alan pushed open the swinging doors and entered.
Half a dozen unoccupied tables stood in the center of the room, but four wall booths held couples of alien origin, and another a Terran family with three young children. Max Ducati was nowhere to be seen.
A prickle of warning ran over his scalp. Something was wrong-- terribly wrong. He turned to retreat.
A hand struck him violently from the rear. He staggered forward and half-fell over one of the tables, aware of sudden movement and frightened exclamations from the customers. A hand caught him by the jacket, but he twisted away and dove forward over the tables, smashing one rickety chair to splinters. He struck upward with his elbow, and there was a grunt of pain from one of his adversaries. Then hands caught his arms, hauling him upright. A fist cracked him on the side of the head and he saw stars.
A hand seized him by the hair, jerking his head up. Through a blur of tears, he saw the face of a Jilectan, his long, copper hair glinting in the light of the café's lamps. The broad, white forehead wrinkled in concentration, and then smoothed. The lips parted in a smile of malicious pleasure. "Alan Westover, is it not?"
Alan swallowed, unable to look away from the cold, grey eyes of the alien. The Viceregal patrolmen, all well over a head taller than Alan, stood about their master, and he was acutely aware of the café's customers and staff, all watching with horrified fascination.
"You killed Lord Salthvor." The Jilectan's voice held no emotion, merely the simple stating of a fact. "Do you know what happens to a Terran who has killed a Jilectan?"
Alan knew, all right, but he didn't reply. The alien let go of his hair and slapped him twice, snapping his head back and forth. "You will not die quickly, Terran, I promise you." The Jilectan stepped back and spoke to the patrolmen. "Search him."
Alan lifted his head again, his ears still ringing from the slaps. A patrolman stepped forward, patted his clothing and went through his pockets. Alan bit his lip as the man drew out Julia's bracelet.
"What is it?" the Jilectan asked.
"A woman's bracelet, sir."
The Jilectan examined it, made a quick, dismissive gesture, and tossed it back to the man. His eyes once again fixed on Alan's. "You were to meet Maximilian Ducati here. Where is he?"
"I don't know," Alan said.
The alien smiled mirthlessly. "Do you know who I am, Terran?"
Alan shook his head.
"I am Duke Halthzor." The Jilectan's smile broadened slightly at Alan's involuntary start. "You have heard of me, I see."
Alan drew back slightly. *Mark!* He voiced his partner's name in his mind. *Help!*
The Jilectan took a step nearer. "Drop your mind shields."
Alan averted his eyes, not answering.
"I wish to read your mind, Terran." A slim, white hand touched the side of his face. "Drop your shielding, now."
There was an awful pause. Then, almost casually, Halthzor reached forward and took Alan's wrist from the grip of the patrolman, lifted the wrist with inexorable strength, and twisted. Alan sank to his knees with a gasp of pain.
"Drop your shielding," Halthzor repeated.
"Duke Halthzor!" A patrolman appeared through the swinging doors.
"What is it?" Halthzor did not release his grip on Alan's wrist.
"A message on the com, sir. Ducati's been found!"
Halthzor let go. "Where is he?"
"He's dead, sir. He set his blaster on emergency overload."
"The information?"
"He had it, sir -- they're sure of that. But they think he may have passed it to someone else before he died."
"Who?" Halthzor's voice was deadly in its gentleness.
"It was one of the Secretary's daughters, sir."
"I was informed that the family had been executed," Halthzor said.
Alan swallowed.
"They were, sir. All but one. The girl was away this evening, during the siege."
Julia! It had to be Julia!
Another patrolman appeared. "They should have her soon, sir. The grounds are being searched, now."
"What is the girl's name?" Halthzor asked suddenly.
The patrolman spoke into his helmet communicator, paused a moment while someone apparently found the information, and addressed the Jilectan again. "Austell, Your Grace. Julia Austell."
Alan remained on his knees, watching the alien. He could almost feel Halthzor's mind working as the pieces came together. Halthzor turned again to look at Alan. "Bring him here."
Alan was lifted to his feet and dragged forward. Without taking his eyes from the prisoner's face, Halthzor held out a hand to one of the patrolmen. "Give me the bracelet."
The patrolman dug in his pouch and withdrew the chain, dropping it into the Jilectan's hand. Halthzor dangled it before Alan's eyes, watching his face intently.
"So," he said quietly. "You were with her today. Where is she now, Alan Westover?"
Alan shook his head. "I don't know."
Halthzor grasped his wrist again.
"It's the truth!" Alan said. "I took her to the Embassy almost an hour ago. I haven't seen her since!"
Halthzor applied pressure, bringing a gasp from him. "If you wish me to believe you, Terran, drop your mind shields."
"Duke Halthzor!" It was one of the patrolmen beside the door, and, at the tone of his voice, the Jilectan released Alan and turned quickly.
"Yes?"
"It's your kinsman, Lord Trothvor!" The patrolman's voice was shaking. "He's -- he's dead, sir!"
There was an appalled silence.
"They believe it was the Austell girl, sir," the patrolman continued hoarsely. "There were two witnesses --"
The patrolmen were muttering to each other and Alan's mind was racing. His chance was coming ...
He moved suddenly, twisting away and spinning sideways with the quickness that would have rivaled a Jilectan. An instant later, he was running, making for the back staircase. Somebody shouted and a stunbolt hummed. A blaster cracked, bringing a chorus of screams from the café's customers.
Alan didn't pause. Up the stairs he fled, trying to keep his head down, feet flying. Another stunbolt hummed by so near that he felt the hair on his arms prickle with static electricity. Then he was at the landing and looking frantically around. There was a door to his left, but it was locked.
Alan didn't even think. His mind reached out and the bolt clicked back. He pushed the door open, startling the couple in the bed that stood against one wall.
"Excuse me, please," Alan gasped, slamming the door and ramming the locking bolt into place.
"How the devil did you open that door?" the man demanded angrily. "It was locked!"
"Sorry!" Alan sprinted for the window and yanked it open.
Behind him came the sound of a blaster bolt, and the lock dissolved into a lump of molten metal. He heard the girl in the bed scream, just as he jumped.
He jumped into darkness. It was a long drop but he landed well, flexing his knees instinctively. Above him a stunner hummed, and he felt a faint tingling in one arm. Then he was up and running.
*Mark!* he shouted in his mind. *Help me!*
There were lights and shouts behind him, then the metallic crash of a trash can being overturned. A cat squalled.
He ran blindly forward, stumbling on the broken pavement. *Mark, hurry!*
The end of the alley opened before him and he turned left into a well-lighted street. Feet pounded behind him, and overhead, he heard the soft purr of an aircar.
Then a stunbolt hummed, much closer, and the electrical tingle jarred every nerve in his body. He sprawled forward, and blackness descended instantly.
6
Julia ran headlong across the outer grounds. Behind her she heard shouts and the sounds of pursuit. Far across the lawn, she could see the moving lights of ground traffic, flickering on and off between the trees.
She came up against a thick, solid tree trunk and flattened herself against it, trembling and trying to quiet her breathing. The patrolmen must have lost sight of her for the moment, for they were fanning out as they came across the lawn, their lights sweeping the darkness. Julia knew that her clothing must be helping her now, for she wore dark slacks and a dark blue pullover top, but her hair was certainly a problem. It shone pale gold, even in the shadow of the tree. Somehow, she must find a way to conceal it. As things were, they were sure to spot her soon.
A light passed close and Julia went up the tree like a cat. The rough bark scraped her elbows, but she hardly felt it as she scrambled out onto a broad, overhanging limb. Then for a moment she lay still, drawing slow, steadying breaths. One of the searchers was approaching, flashing his light carelessly around. She could hear her pursuers calling to one another, and one of them laughed. They were enjoying themselves, she realized bitterly. And why not? How often would they be assigned such a pleasant task as chasing a pretty girl through the warm, summer night of Riskell?
Julia's lips tightened. She was not quite the easy prey that her pursuers believed, for gripped now in her palm was a small object that appeared to be a long, slender stylus. Being the attractive daughter of a wealthy Terran official had its drawbacks, too, and Julia had long ago resolved to always carry protection on her person.
The patrolman passed directly beneath the branch upon which she lay. Julia's thumb moved slightly, compressing a small knob on the device. There was a soft hiss as the sleeping vapor was released, and the man sank quietly to the grass.
Julia dropped lightly beside him, tucking the small weapon back into her pocket. Moving quickly, her hands trembling with the need for haste, she jerked off the silver Patrol helmet and placed it on her own head, jamming her hair up inside it. An instant later, she was jerking the blaster from his holster and shoving it into her own belt.
She straightened up, her heart pounding uncomfortably against her ribs. No one had observed her, and with any luck, she would now be taken for a patrolman from a distance. Carefully, she adjusted the helmet, pushed back the visor, and began to move quietly across the lawn toward the crowded thoroughfare.
She had nearly reached it when she froze, shrinking back. An aircar hummed past overhead, its great beams of light illuminating the grounds. Julia retreated quickly to the only concealment available -- a small, flowered bush a few meters to her right.
The craft settled gently to the ground a scant five meters away, and directly between her and the street. The door opened and a tall, uniformed figure emerged from the front passenger seat. He turned instantly to open the rear door of the craft.
A large figure emerged. The first man shut the door and fell in behind him, joined instantly by a second one. A brilliant light blazed on.
The blaster was in Julia's hands as the light came to rest directly on her, almost blinding her with its brilliance. With blurring speed, the foremost figure lifted a blaster, but Julia's finger was already contracting on the firing stud.
The weapon cracked and the foremost figure was hurled backwards into the two behind it. Julia ran.
Shouts behind her, and a breathless exclamation. "My god! She's killed him!"
"Get her!" someone shouted. "There she goes!"
Somehow, Julia reached the thoroughfare and ran recklessly across it, only half-aware of the squeal of brakes and the blare of horns. Then she was across and running down the littered sidewalk beyond.
A blaster bolt spat after her and somebody screamed. Julia turned and dashed through a dimly lighted doorway. A big woman with darkened lashes and heavily rouged lips looked up and then came to her feet, eyes and mouth wide in astonishment. On the wall behind her, in glittering pink letters, were the words, "Madame Dee's Delight."
Julia pulled off the helmet. "Hide me! The Patrol's after me!"
"The Patrol? Not in 'ere, sweetie. Out the back! Hurry!"
"Thanks," Julia gasped breathlessly, and ran.
She ducked through grimy, velvet curtains and found the back entrance. Two young women in bright, low-cut costumes glanced curiously at her as she passed. Julia hardly noticed.
She emerged into an alley, half-falling over something on the pavement, and turning, ran left. Behind her, she heard the squeals of the women and the clatter of boots as the patrolmen made their way through Madame Dee's Delight.
She dodged down an adjoining alley and once again almost fell over something. It was a body, she realized, slumped on the pavement. Julia stared down at the softly moaning figure in horror. By the dim light, she could just make out the bottle in his hand, the ragged, filthy hat lying beside him, and the sores on his face. A drunk.
Sudden inspiration seized her. Bending, she jammed the Patrol helmet down hard over the man's head, snatched up the hat and twisted the bottle from his fingers. She ran.
"Hey!" Faintly, she heard the hoarse croak behind her. "Give it back ..."
A side street appeared before her and she turned down it, still running. From behind her came triumphant shouts as the patrolmen spotted the man wearing the helmet. A stunbolt hummed.
Julia didn't pause. It would take only seconds for her pursuers to realize that the drunk was not their quarry, but seconds might be all that she needed. Julia ran a hundred meters more before she heard them emerge onto the side street and their shouts as they spotted her. She dodged left into another drunk-littered alley.
She ran over to a trashcan, crouched in its shadow, and jammed the hat over her hair. Desperately, she pushed the strands beneath it, then, wiping her hand across the filthy pavement, she smeared dirt across her face and neck. She slumped down in a listless attitude between two intoxicated figures, bottle in hand, opened her mouth, closed her eyes part way and affected a faint, gurgling snore.
She had forgotten the blaster, but it was in the shadow, and they didn't notice. The squad of patrolmen went right past her, one of them leaping nimbly over her sprawled legs. She watched under half-closed lids as they reached the end of the alley, paused, and then split into two groups, one going right, the other left.
One of the slouching forms beside her stirred, and a shaggy head lifted. Julia caught a glimpse of a dirty, bearded face and glazed, bloodshot eyes. She scrambled to her feet and ran back the way she had come.
Something crawled across her neck and she brushed at it, trying not to think of the various vermin that must be swarming from the filthy, old hat into the fresh, untouched pastures of her hair. But she dared not remove the head covering. Not yet.
She slowed to a walk as she reached the street, then hunched forward, weaving slightly, the bottle swinging from one hand. To escape the Patrol, she must blend with her surroundings. She couldn't outrun them, that was certain. Shuffling, she made her way slowly down the streets -- two blocks, three, four ...
How much time had passed? Perhaps they would give up soon. She glanced covertly at her chronometer. Two hours, almost, since she and Alan had parted at the Embassy gate.
He had been worried. Julia frowned, recalling Alan's odd behavior and apparent fear for her safety. He hadn't let her go in by the front entrance. She shuddered, thinking of what would probably have happened had she done so. Undoubtedly guards had been posted there, awaiting her return. Had Alan known? How *could* he have known?
She was still in one of the worst sections of town, but at least now there was no sign of her pursuers. The Embassy was several blocks behind her. She recalled her father's dry remark one time about the location of the Terran Embassy. It spoke eloquently of the aliens' contempt for the species that most resembled them, of all the intelligent races in the Sector. Now, however, that very location might be the factor that saved her life. Except for slumped bodies in doorways and against stairwells, the streets were deserted.
She kept close to the buildings, worried that, if anyone did see her, her good clothing would attract attention in spite of her ragged old hat and dirty face.
An aircar hummed out of the night behind her and Julia moved into the shelter of a doorway, nearly falling over an intoxicated figure in the darkness. A small creature of unidentified nature scuttled away, and Julia sank down beside the drunk, huddling against him, and pulling the hat forward on her head.
For a long, nerve-stretching moment, the aircar hovered overhead. Then it settled slowly to the street, barely six meters from the doorway in which she lay. How had they *known*?
An instant later, she knew how. There was a tracer in that car -- a Jilectan clairvoyant. They had somehow obtained some possession of hers and were using it to track her. Julia held her breath.
The doors opened and there was a clatter of boots on the pavement. Beneath the rim of the hat, Julia saw half a dozen dark figures emerging from the aircar.
"She is near." The softly annunciated, grammatically perfect words made Julia cringe. "Skirt the block."
Tensely, she waited. Feet approached and a light flashed over her. The man beside her stirred and moaned. A bottle clinked.
"More sots. C'mon." The footsteps moved away and, very cautiously, Julia raised her eyes again. Three figures stood by the aircar, clearly visible in the craft's illumination. One was the form of a patrolman, one hand resting on the butt of his blaster. The other two were very tall and clad in long, exquisite robes. Jilectans.
Carefully, she raised the blaster, clutching it in both hands. One of the aliens stepped toward her, bringing him easily within her range of vision. "I sense her." The soft emotionless words made Julia flinch. "She is very near ..."
Then, as though drawn by a magnet, the Jilectan's gaze moved and his eyes locked with hers. With a startled exclamation, one hand darted for the jeweled blaster on his hip.
Julia fired. Even as the big figure fell, she was on her feet and sprinting forward, her blaster leveled at the remaining Jilectan. "One move, 'trol, and I kill him!"
The patrolman froze, his weapon half-drawn.
"Bring it out," Julia said. "Very slowly. Use your thumb and first finger."
The patrolman obeyed.
"Now, throw it away -- as far as you can."
The man did so, glancing toward the Jilectan.
"Now," Julia said, "lie down on your face."
The patrolman hesitated, eyes on his master.
"Do as she says!" the alien snapped.
Slowly, the man lowered himself to the pavement. Julia took another step toward the Jilectan, still clutching the blaster as tightly as she could. Many Jils, she knew, were telekinetics, and it was quite possible that the alien would try to disarm her.
Red hair, combed stylishly back, steely grey eyes and handsome, aristocratic features. She *knew* this Jilectan. She had met him before, once, years ago, and seen him many times since on the videoscreen.
It was Duke Halthzor.
Julia's lips tightened. "All right, Your Grace, turn around and raise your hands over your head."
He obeyed unquestioningly, and Julia realized that already he had read her mind and knew exactly how precariously his life hung in the balance.
She didn't know how to set the blaster for stun, and anyway, her father had once told her that Jils were relatively insensitive to stunner fire. Moving carefully, keeping the weapon trained on his back, Julia leaned down and picked up a wine bottle from the gutter. "Get on your knees, Your Grace," she said.
Again he obeyed instantly, his hands still held high. Skin crawling, Julia approached the big figure. She should kill him, she told herself. It was stupid to hesitate. Already, she had killed one Jilectan before the eyes of the Viceroy's chief lieutenant. If she was caught now, she would die horribly in the execution chair.
But in spite of her cold logic, she couldn't do it. The other Jilectan had been drawing on her -- trying to kill her. This one was at her mercy.
She hit him hard across the back of the head. The bottle shattered, raining them both with cheap wine. Halthzor pitched forward without a sound and lay still at her feet.
Julia turned the blaster on the patrolman. "How did they track me?"
The man's voice trembled. "Your bracelet. They found your bracelet."
"Where is it?"
"Lord Danthvor has it. He's -- he's a strong clairvoyant ..."
Julia stepped over to the dead alien and knelt beside him. Lifting his hand, she opened the clenched fist and fury jolted through her at the sight of the little gold chain entwined in the dead fingers.
Brutally, she yanked it free. The realization of what he had been doing sickened her.
"You devil!" she whispered savagely. "Here's one for Jill!"
She sent another blaster bolt into the motionless body and turned back to the patrolman. "Get up. Keep your hands up."
He obeyed.
"Get in the aircar."
He went ahead of her, climbing clumsily into the vehicle. Julia slid in after him, her blaster never wavering. "All right, take us up."
They soared upward, and the car leveled off over the city. The patrolman stared straight ahead, his hands shaking on the controls. Julia leaned across, unfastened his helmet and jerked it off. Carefully, she switched off the transmitter and tossed the headgear out the window.
"I want some questions answered," she said harshly.
He nodded, and she saw him swallow.
"If I suspect a lie, I'll kill you. Understand? I have nothing left to lose."
He nodded again.
"Is it true my family is dead?"
He swallowed convulsively. "Yes."
All hope drained away and Julia felt ready tears sting her eyes. She blinked them back. "By whose order?"
"Duke Halthzor's, Miss." He swallowed again.
Julia felt sick. "Halthzor's?"
"Yes, Miss."
She had held him at blasterpoint, but she hadn't fired. "Why?" she demanded. "Why kill my family?"
"Your father --" the patrolman's voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "Your father was helping the Ambassador pass Jilectan secrets to the Terran Underground."
"My sister was innocent!" Julia said, furiously. "She and I knew nothing about it!"
The patrolman was silent, his face white in the dimness. Julia stared at him with sheer hatred. Why should she spare him? She should kill him, as she should have killed Halthzor! For all she knew, he might have been among those who had murdered her father, mother and Jill ...
He seemed to read her thoughts. "I wasn't even at the Embassy, Miss," he said hoarsely. "I'm just a bodyguard. Please don't kill me."
"How did they get my bracelet?" she demanded.
"Your bracelet? I suppose they took it from your room at the Embassy."
"I was wearing it earlier today," Julia said.
He looked nonplused. "I don't know, Miss."
There was a silence. Julia looked down at the blaster in her hands, then at the patrolman again. The man swallowed. "Please, Miss ... don't --"
There was a long silence. Julia clenched her jaw, trying to will herself to pull the trigger. She saw the patrolman swallow hard, and sweat drip from his chin. He was young, she realized for the first time. Probably no older than she ...
"All right!" she said, harshly. "Take us low enough so you can jump. Hurry, before I change my mind."
The car swooped downward. The patrolman pushed the emergency override and opened the door. He looked at her.
"Go on," Julia said.
He jumped. Slowly, Julia took the controls and scooted across the seat as the door slid automatically shut. The car gained altitude and she turned it southward toward the spaceport. Hands clenched on the controls, she felt hot tears sliding down her cheeks. The lights of the city rolled past, beneath.
7
Alan was struggling upward through black tar. His nose hurt -- in fact, his whole face hurt. And his elbows ...
He kept his eyes closed for a long moment, trying to piece together what had happened. The frantic chase up the stairs, his leap from the window, the hum of a stunbolt. They had stunned him and he must now be a prisoner. Despair engulfed him. He was a prisoner of the Jilectan Autonomy, and he knew very well that what Halthzor had said was no lie. He would die slowly and painfully for what he had done to Lord Salthvor, four months ago ...
"Alan? Kid, open your eyes."
"Mark!" Alan's eyes flew open. Mark Linley was looking down at him.
"Hi, kid."
"Mark!" The relief was almost overwhelming. "Where are we? What happened?"
"We're in my aircar. How're you feelin'?"
"Huh?" Alan considered the question. "My nose hurts."
"Yeah, I'll bet. You hit face first."
"I don't remember. How did you --"
Linley helped him sit up. "Take it easy. You look like hell."
Alan leaned against the back of the seat. He was in an aircar, all right, moving slowly on computer control over the city. Mark was looking him over.
"Man, you had me worried!"
"Huh? Why?"
"It's been twenty minutes since I took you away from 'em. You didn't come to right away. I thought maybe you'd really been hurt bad."
Alan rubbed a hand across his face, feeling something smear stickily across his palm. "I guess that was you in the aircar."
"Yeah. I gassed the lot of 'em an' pulled you in. A Jil an' a buncha other 'trols were comin', too, but they didn't have a chance. What happened?"
Alan shook his head. "I don't know. Somebody caught on, that's for sure, 'cause the guy I was supposed to meet wasn't there. Halthzor seemed to know about him, though."
"*Halthzor?* That was Halthzor?"
Alan nodded. "The guy I was supposed to meet -- his name was Max Ducati -- apparently killed himself to avoid capture. One of the 'trols got the call while Halthzor was questioning me."
Linley nodded, grimacing. "I felt him twistin' your arm. Man, were you ever linked with me tight!"
"I'll bet. I've never been so scared in my life -- even when Salthvor was questioning me."
"He's a scary Jil, all right. "What do we do, now?"
Alan frowned. "Max apparently passed the information to Julia."
"Julia?"
"Julia Austell." Alan sighed. "Her father was the Ambassador's Executive Secretary. She was the young lady I was with today."
Linley looked puzzled. "She was an agent?"
"No," Alan said. "At least I don't think so. She didn't have any shielding, and she didn't detect my mind probe. I met her when I first went to the Embassy and I sort of had a hunch that she was in danger, so I asked her to go with me to Lake Dunnum."
Mark's jaw dropped. "Good for you!"
Alan could feel warmth creeping up his neck. "Well, we went, and we had a nice time, but when I took her back I -- I don't know -- the feeling got stronger. I tried to talk her out of going back to the Embassy, but I couldn't. She thought I was crazy."
"Yeah, she probably thought you were tryin' t'put the make on her," Mark said.
"I guess. Well, I didn't manage to talk her out of it, but I did manage to talk her into using the side entrance. She went in, and that's the last I saw of her. Then I went to the café, and when I got there, I found her bracelet on the seat. It must have come off her wrist in the aircar, I guess, so I stuck it in my pocket. Then Halthzor took it away from me, and while he was questioning me, this call came in that Max had killed himself and that he'd been with one of the Secretary's daughters. Halthzor figured it out from the bracelet that I'd been with her, today."
Mark was nodding. "Poor kid. They've probably caught her by now." He leaned forward to switch on the radio.
"One more thing," Alan said.
"Yeah?"
"She killed a Jil -- Lord Trothvor."
"She *what*?"
"He's kin to Halthzor."
"Yeah, I know." Mark looked stunned. "How'd she do that?"
"I don't know. The 'trol just said that Trothvor was dead and that Julia was the killer. Apparently there were a couple of witnesses."
Mark spoke to the computer, instructing it to find a news station. The machine did so.
"... The following update in the search for Julia Austell ..."
Alan heaved a sigh of relief. "They haven't caught her."
"Sh! Listen!"
"... The Terran female, who is believed to have murdered Trothvor on the grounds of the Terran Embassy. Miss Austell was last seen running down Tresk Street on the north side of Loquin. She ..." The announcer paused, and they heard voices in the background. Then the announcer's voice was back, sounding breathless. "We have a bulletin now, just in. Lord Danthvor's body has been discovered on a street on the south side of Loquin, less than three kilometers from the Embassy grounds. His Grace, Duke Halthzor ..." The announcer paused for breath. "Duke Halthzor was apparently violently assaulted at the scene of this second shocking murder, but his Grace is now conscious and states that the Terran female, Julia Austell, is responsible for both the assault on him and the death of Lord Danthvor."
"Watch it, fella," Mark murmured. "I'd try'n sound a little less happy about it if I was you. There might be a Jil or two listenin'."
The announcer continued, blithely, "If you see this Terran, remember that she is armed and extremely dangerous. She is 1.7 meters in height, masses 61 kilos, is nineteen years of age and has long, blond hair and blue eyes. If you have any information as to her whereabouts, please contact the authorities. A reward is being offered by the Jilectan Autonomy to anyone who ..."
Alan drew a long breath. "Holy heck!"
"She must be *some* girl," Mark said in an awed voice.
"Oh, she is," Alan agreed.
"Two Jils in two hours." Mark whistled softly. "Wonder why the hell she left ol' Halthzor alive. She shoulda finished him off too, since it's pretty clear she had the chance. An' the penalty's the same, whether you kill one Jil or a dozen." He shook his head wonderingly. "I'd like to meet her sometime."
"I hope you will," Alan said. He glanced at his partner. "Now what do we do?"
"I guess we should report t'the Colonel," Mark said. "He's probably goin' crazy."
"All right," Alan said. "What about Julia? They're going to be tracing her, you know -- with that bracelet."
Linley nodded. "Think. Where would she go? Where would this Ducati guy tell her to go?"
Alan thought. "Finnian's Imports."
"That's what I was thinkin', too. Sure be safer than tellin' her t'go to a station here -- or on any other Jil world. Finnian's Imports is kinda the accepted place t'send someone in trouble. All this is assumin', o' course, that she ain't an Undergrounder -- an' after all she's done, I'm sorta inclined t'suspect that she is."
Alan shook his head. "She didn't have any shielding."
"Well, that really don't mean a lot. Maybe she had selective shieldin' -- y'know like Burke was teachin' you."
"Maybe," Alan said, doubtfully, "but I don't think so. Anyway, Burke said that he only knows of two non-spychics that can shield selectively, and even they aren't good enough to fool a psychic that's making a determined effort."
Mark sighed. "Okay, if she ain't an Undergrounder, she's probably gonna head for Finnian's Imports." He hesitated. "You sure she ain't just a real well-shielded psychic?"
"1.7 meters tall?" Alan said. "61 kilos?"
Mark grinned. "Okay, you've convinced me. Look; let's call Dean. He might be able t'tell us somethin' more."
"Okay." Alan leaned forward to press the com switch and, as he did so, caught sight of his reflection in the rear view mirror. "Good grief!" He stared for a moment in amazement at the damage. His nose was scraped and raw, as was his forehead; dark bruises underlined both eyes, and his chin showed a larger, deeper cut, from which blood still oozed.
"Pretty nasty, huh?" Linley remarked. "Gave me a bad moment when I first pulled you in. I was sure your boyish beauty was gone forever. Better make the call. Hurry up."
Alan did so, and activated the secure setting all the while staring fascinated at his reflection. There was a soft beeping from the unit, and Colonel Dean's voice emerged, sounding calm.
"This is Travis Dean. May I help you?"
"Colonel, it's us," Alan said.
"Well, it's about time you called in!" Dean's reply had a bite to it. "What in the hell have you been doing?"
Mark sighed. "I was afraid of this. Better let me talk to him." He pressed the transmit. "Colonel, this is Captain Linley. Lieutenant Westover would like to report --"
"Then let the Lieutenant do so," the Colonel snapped.
"He has a sore face, sir, from a run-in with Duke Halthzor. His contact never showed up, and he received information while still a prisoner that Ducati had killed himself to avoid capture. So the Jils apparently caught onto our game, sir. Halthzor and his troops were waitin' for Alan when he got there."
Silence. Then: "I want a full report, Lieutenant."
Alan took the unit, glancing apprehensively at Mark. "They grabbed me when I came in, sir. Halthzor was there, and he questioned me about Ducati. I told him I didn't know where he was. Then the call came in about Ducati. Apparently, though, when they found him, one of the Secretary's daughters -- Julia Austell -- was seen, and they think Ducati passed the information to her. She got away, I guess, and they're searching for her."
"And during her escape, managed to kill two Jilectans," Dean put in sarcastically. "Unless that was your work, Lieutenant."
Alan bit his lip. "No, sir. I -- uh -- also heard Halthzor say that the whole family had been executed, except for Julia."
"There was a fire at the Embassy this evening," Dean said, wryly. "The entire staff was killed in the blaze, which presumably was set by you, Lieutenant Westover. They have a witness who has positively identified you as being at the scene."
Alan glanced at Mark. Linley swore under his breath.
"Continue, Lieutenant," Dean said.
"That's about it, sir. When the news came out about Trothvor, the patrolmen sort of forgot about me for a minute. I ran for it and Mark showed up. We got away from them about half an hour ago."
"And you just got around to reporting it?" Dean snapped.
Mark took the unit. "My partner was unconscious, sir, an' it looked like he was hurt pretty bad. I was thinkin' a little more about him than about callin' you."
"That's enough, Captain!" Dean barked.
"An' one more thing," Mark continued, his voice unperturbed. "Lieutenant Westover knows the Austell girl."
Silence. "Indeed, Captain? How did that come about?"
Alan cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I spent the day with her, sir. When Ducati didn't show up for his first appointment --"
"I see." There was condescension in the man's voice. "You decided to combine business with pleasure."
Alan's cheeks were burning. "Kind of, sir."
Another long silence. Then the Colonel spoke again. "Well, Lieutenant, you seem to have handled the situation tolerably well -- for a novice --"
Alan grimaced. Mark grinned and threw him a wink. "Any orders, sir?"
Dean spoke to someone in the background, and then addressed them again. "Ducati most likely told the girl to take the information to Station 7 on Terra. Are you aware of which station I'm talking about, Captain?"
"Yes, sir," Mark said, raising an eyebrow at Alan.
"And very likely, he would use Lieutenant Westover's code name -- since that was the one given to him, and it means nothing to anyone who does not belong to the Underground. Therefore, presuming Ducati had the time and presence of mind to tell the girl this, we will assume that she is making for the spaceport, since that's the only way she can hope to get to Terra. I am sending agents there, and since Lieutenant Westover knows the girl, I suppose you two had better head there as well. The Jilectans, of course, will be expecting her to try to get offworld, and will be watching all flights. So use appropriate caution."
"Yes, sir," Alan said.
"That's all." Colonel Dean cut transmission and Alan sighed, leaning back in the seat. He glanced at Mark.
"Let's go, Captain."
"Aye aye, Lieutenant." Mark turned the aircar southward toward the spaceport.
8
Slowly, Julia's tears ceased. She took off the ragged hat, shook it once, and tossed it to the seat beside her. Her neck and scalp crawled with what she hoped were imaginary bugs.
What could she do now? She was a fugitive, desperate and totally alone. Slowly, she reached forward and turned on the radio.
The car was luxurious -- the limousine of a Jilectan noble. She had noted the emblem on the side of it as she had herded the patrolman inside. Never before had she ridden in such an elaborate vehicle, and now she was too miserable to appreciate it.
The radio came on and she instructed it to find a news station.
"... Wanted for the murder of Lord Trothvor, second cousin to Duke Halthzor. Julia Austell, suspected to be a member of the Terran Underground, murdered His Lordship in cold blood on the Embassy grounds earlier this evening. Lord Trothvor was on his way to the Embassy to investigate the report of a fire, which is believed to be arson, set by Terran psychic and known criminal Alan Westover, who was reported seen on the Embassy grounds earlier this evening ..."
Julia stared at the radio as though in a trance. Lord Trothvor? What was the guy talking about?
"Lord Trothvor was well-known for his diplomatic interactions between Terrans and his own species, and George Astrahakis, Terran diplomatic representative, has offered the Duke his condolences for the death of his cousin, and states that his death is a tragic loss to Jilectans and Terrans alike ..."
Lord Trothvor? That hadn't been Trothvor. Julia knew Trothvor! Besides, the patrolman had called him Lord Danthvor ...
Had Trothvor been killed, too? Impossible! The announcer must have made a mistake!
Slowly, the man's words registered in her tired brain. Lord Trothvor had been killed on the Embassy grounds. During her flight, an aircar had landed before her and a figure had climbed out, had seen her and there had been a blaster ...
Blinding light in her eyes and her finger on the trigger. "My god, she's killed him!"
Two Jilectans. She had killed two Jilectans in one night.
The reality hit her with shocking impact. Until now, only one Terran had ever killed a Jilectan. Alan Westover, seen on the Embassy grounds ... They had made that up, of course, to explain the fire that had supposedly been responsible for the deaths of the whole Embassy staff.
The report was continuing, lamenting the death of the saintly Jilectan. Julia swore softly and switched it off.
Then she remembered the small object that Max had pressed into her hand during those terrible moments on the inner grounds. Julia reached into her pocket and took it out, flipping on the car's overhead light. Soft, reddish illumination enveloped her.
The little object lay in her palm and Julia stared at it, uncomprehending. It looked like a ticket. It *was* a ticket! She frowned in bewilderment, wondering for one wild moment if this was all some kind of crazy joke. Perhaps Jill's voice would come over the radio now, telling her she'd taken first prize as the most un-feminine female in the Sector ...
Julia turned the ticket over, examining it. A number was printed on the back -- a twelve-digit number, obviously scribbled in haste. Except for that, nothing.
"Take this to Terra -- to Finnian's Imports, Dublin, Ireland. Give it to Alan Woodruff." Alan Woodruff; that sweet, innocent boy with the beautiful eyes and distracted face. The memory of their afternoon together seemed like a dream, now. So, Alan must somehow be connected with the Terran Underground. The Terran Underground -- that elusive, rebellious organization that she knew of only through rumor. And yet, her family was dead, and her father had been passing Jilectan secrets to the Underground. Julia's eyes flooded with tears again.
"You and Jill are older now, and it's time you understood a little more of what your mother and I are doing here on Riskell ..."
He had been going to tell her. Julia was certain of it now. Who was this person whom her father had wanted her to meet? A member of the Underground, no doubt.
She clenched her jaw, fighting back the tears. Her hand closed tightly on the little slip of paper.
"Okay, Dad," she whispered. "I'm on my way."
**********
tbc
