Two Giants For David -- 9/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
11
They had reached the fourth level when the alarm went off. Alan was expecting it and he moved at once, slapping the control to halt the lift. They jolted to a stop and the doors slid open.
To remain in the lift meant certain capture, for within seconds they would immobilize it from the control room. Kurt's visored face turned toward him. "What'll we *do*?"
"First we don't panic." Alan made his voice as calm as possible. "No one saw us take the casing, and they won't know what to look for. Follow me, and act like a 'trol."
Kurt swallowed and nodded.
Alan stepped from the lift, guiding the fuel block casing along with one hand. He reached back inside and pressed the 'cancel' button, allowing the car to go on its way and pushed the fuel casing hurriedly down the curving passage, toward the infirmary. Kurt followed, ten paces behind him, and Alan could sense his tightly strained nerves. Two patrolmen passed them at a run, heading toward the hatch that gave access to the emergency ladder between levels.
The doors to the infirmary came into view and he triggered the door switch with telekinesis and pushed the cart inside.
The ship's surgeon glanced up at him from behind a desk and came to his feet with an exclamation of surprise. His hand flashed toward the alarm on the desk surface.
Alan held the connection open with telekinesis and displayed his blaster.
"No noise," he said quietly.
Kurt entered behind him and the doors slid shut. The doctor's eyes flicked apprehensively to the apparent patrolman and then back at Alan. Behind him, another door opened and a short, dark-haired young man entered. He halted instantly, his mouth and eyes opening wide with surprise.
Alan gestured with the blaster. "If you do as we say, you won't get hurt. Get back into the ward, and keep your hands where I can see them." He jerked his head at Kurt. "Follow me."
The doctor and corpsman obeyed his instructions and Kurt guided the antigrav cart through the door behind Alan. They found themselves in another, much larger room, furnished with a desk, several chairs and a row of six beds against one bulkhead.
They had to hurry. It would be only a matter of minutes before search parties were organized and then the Patrol would be combing every deck in search of the escaped criminals. He pointed the blaster straight at the doctor.
"We need the keys to the morgue. Toss them over, please."
The man looked more confused than ever, but he detached a ring of keys from his belt and tossed them to Alan. Alan handed them to Kurt, still carefully covering the two men. "Which one is it?"
"The morgue key has the red mark on it," the man replied sullenly. "Look, I don't know what the devil you're after but, if it's drugs, the pharmacy's over there."
The shrilling of the alarm ceased abruptly and a voice on the intercom cut off the doctor's words.
"This is Lieutenant Osborne. The prisoner, Mark Linley, has escaped from his cell, obviously with outside help. Anyone discovered to be assisting these criminals will be delivered to the Jilectans for punishment. Repeat --"
"Get him in one of the wall compartments," Alan directed his assistant. "Then stow the casing somewhere. Hurry."
The two prisoners were staring at Alan in wild surmise. The corpsman's eyes swung to the fuel block casing and then back to the two intruders. Alan gestured with the blaster again. "Get out of those clothes, put on patient gowns and lie down on the bunks. Hurry up."
The two men started to obey at once, ripping off their uniforms with reckless haste, and all the hostility that Alan had sensed earlier from them had now vanished. Kurt appeared again, the fuel casing beside him, its hatch now open and disclosing an empty interior. "What the devil shall I do with this thing, Alan?"
The corpsman's eyes flicked toward it and then to a closed door on one side of the room. Alan nodded to it. "Stick it in that room and cover it with a sheet."
McDougal ran, dragging the cart along. Alan's attention returned to his two prisoners. "Sorry about this."
The corpsman smiled, not looking in the least resentful. The doctor winked at Alan. "That's okay, son," he said. "Come on, Jase. Pick yourself out a bunk."
Jase did so, glancing after Kurt, who had disappeared through the door. "Did he put Mr. Linley in one of the wall compartments, sir?"
Alan nodded.
"You'd better turn off the freezing unit," the corpsman said.
"Holy space, the kid's right!" the doctor put in. "Those units activate automatically when the compartments are occupied."
"Oh," Alan said. "All right. Lie down quick, now."
The men scrambled into the beds and Alan fired two stunbolts and then began to pull on the corpsman's uniform. Kurt appeared from the other room, closing the door behind him, and Alan tossed him the doctor's clothing. "Get into it, quick and hide that Patrol uniform." Still sealing the tunic, he ran toward the morgue. "I've got to turn off the freezing unit."
He snatched a blanket from a linen cart and hurried into the morgue.
Four compartments met his gaze, and one of them stood partially open. Alan pulled the door wide. A blast of icy air met him, making his breath steam.
There was a panel on the bulkhead above the unit. Alan carefully envisioned the inner workings. Wires -- half a dozen of them. He hooked a telekinetic finger behind one and jerked. It came free, and, an instant later, a second one and a third. The hum of the freezing unit went silent.
Alan bent over Linley, tucking the blanket around him. Even unconscious, his partner was shivering. Alan put a hand on Mark's naked shoulder and spoke clearly. "Mark, it's Alan. We have you safe for now, but you mustn't make any noise. Whatever happens, keep completely quiet. Okay?"
Linley didn't respond and Alan could scarcely hear him breathing. A stab of panic went through him. Alan had bunked with Mark for the last two years and knew better than anyone that he was anything but a quiet sleeper. Mark couldn't die! He just couldn't!
Alan pulled the blanket tighter around Linley. "I'm going, now. Don't move, and don't make any noise."
There was a faint mental flicker from Linley's mind -- a response of some kind. Mark had been at least partially aware of him. Trying to gain reassurance from the fact, Alan slid the compartment shut.
There were presences approaching in the corridor and he went quickly back into the ward. The lights dimmed automatically as he exited.
There were voices now in the outer room. Kurt was speaking, sounding completely calm. "No sir, we haven't seen anyone. No one's been in all day, except a couple of crewmen with food poisoning."
Alan glanced quickly at the two unconscious figures in the bunks. Kurt's story was plausible. The patrolmen were sure to ask about the two patients' presence here and since Kurt had mentioned them ahead of time, it would make the searchers less suspicious.
The door opened and a large, very muscular patrolman entered, the black stripe on his helmet proclaiming him to be a sergeant. He held a blaster in one hand, and glared suspiciously at Alan.
"Who're you?" he demanded.
Alan took an apprehensive step back. "Jason Llwelling, sir. I'm the corpsman."
Another patrolman entered, with Kurt close on his heels. "They're conducting a search for Linley, Jase," he said.
Alan turned to look at the sergeant again. "You mean he really got away? It wasn't just a mistake?"
The sergeant didn't reply. He was looking at the two men in the bunks. "These the guys with food poisoning?"
"Yes sir," Kurt said.
The muzzle of the blaster wandered impartially between Alan and Kurt. "Check 'em out, Lopez."
The patrolman strode over to the nearest bunk -- the one containing the doctor -- and jerked the sheet back. The doctor moaned softly.
The patrolman glanced at then and then at his sergeant. Alan cleared his throat. "Please don't disturb them, sir. They were awfully sick."
"Check out the other one, too," the sergeant ordered.
Lopez did, yanking the sheet back from Llwelling's slack form. He grunted with surprise, his blaster instantly in his hand. "Sarge!"
"Yeah!"
Lopez grabbed Llwelling by the hospital gown and dragged him to a sitting position. The corpsman's head sagged loosely to one side. "Take a look at this guy. Ain't he Westover?"
The sergeant's blaster continued to rove between Alan and Kurt as he went over to the bunk. He glanced quickly at the young corpsman's face. He frowned and then reached gingerly forward, lifting one of his eyelids and examining the eye beneath. Llwelling groaned.
"Please, sir," Kurt said. "The poor kid was miserable. I've got him sedated. Please don't wake him up."
The sergeant grunted. "Brown eyes, and I don't see no sign of contacts. Nah; this ain't him."
The corpsman groaned again and began to retch. Lopez let him go and Llwelling slumped sideways, half-falling from the bunk. Kurt ran to him and lifted him back to the bunk. Llwelling continued to heave, and from the next bunk there came the sound of the doctor beginning to gag.
Kurt turned to Alan. "Better get another dose of the sedative, Jase."
Alan glanced at the sergeant, who nodded curtly. "Go ahead."
Alan hurried to the pharmacy and rested his hand on the control. The door was locked but the patrolman didn't need to know that. A touch of telekinetic energy reached out and the door opened obediently, disclosing row upon row of medications.
Alan concentrated. He had to locate a sedative before the two men on the bunks recovered from the after effects of the stunbolts. Although he was sure the doctor and the corpsman were on his side, the chances were that the two crewmen would feel compelled to disclose Alan's real identity in order to save their own lives.
A locked cupboard drew his attention, and he went quickly toward it. The lock opened at a touch of a telekinetic finger, disclosing three shelves, lined with pills and pre-filled syringes, all neatly labeled.
Alan's father had been a doctor and, as a result, Alan was fairly knowledgeable as to what he required. Of the dosages, he was unsure, but he figured the syringes would probably be filled with the usual amount needed, so he selected two and turned, hurrying back into the infirmary.
Young Llwelling was busily losing his lunch in the basin that Kurt held for him, while the doctor still moaned miserably in his bunk, obviously trying to control the spasms. Alan bent quickly over the corpsman, grasped one of his arms and injected him directly into the vein. Kurt eased him back to the bunk while Alan hurried over to the doctor and dosed him as well.
The sergeant was still covering them with his blaster and Lopez emerged from the pharmacy. He shook his head at his sergeant, who gestured toward the cabin where Kurt had concealed the fuel casing. "What's in there?"
"Just some equipment," Kurt said.
The sergeant nodded to the patrolman, who went over to the door and opened it. The light came on and Alan caught a glimpse of large, nondescript objects, all draped in sheets. Lopez entered, blaster in hand, and emerged a few moments later. "Nothin', sir." He glanced at the door to the morgue. "What's in there?"
"That's the morgue," Kurt said. He crossed the room and fitted the key into the lock. "Be my guest."
Alan tensed. If Lopez decided to check the wall compartments, he would have to snatch the blaster from the sergeant's hand and pray that Kurt would be fast enough to get the patrolman. But the man merely glanced into the room, nodded and withdrew. "Nothin', sir."
Kurt locked the door again and came over to stand by Alan. Alan sensed Kurt's tightly stretched nerves, but his former bunkmate was holding together very well. That spoke well for his ability to keep his head under pressure. Kurt would do well in the Terran Underground.
The patrolman was opening the last door and checking inside. "Just the latrine, sir. That does it."
The sergeant sighed. "Let's go."
The two men turned toward the door. Alan and Kurt followed them into the outer office and the sergeant paused at the exit, addressing them one last time.
"Listen good, Earthcrawlers. Linley's escaped, but the guy that got him out is still aboard. Anybody that helps him will get pulled up in front of the Jils, too, and will die in the chair beside him and Linley. Got me?"
"We understand," Kurt said.
"Good." The sergeant turned toward the exit.
"Sergeant," Kurt said.
The man glanced back. "Yeah?"
"Have you been to the mess hall yet?"
"Yeah. Why?"
Alan had a careful finger in the man's mind. "Did you eat the Polish sausage?" he inquired quickly.
"Yeah. So what?"
Alan and Kurt exchanged glances. "Oh man!" Alan said.
"What?"
"We think that might be what made these guys sick," Alan said. "They both had it."
The man hesitated. Kurt spoke up. "If you start feeling sick, you'd better come in right away. It's a pretty nasty bug, whatever it is."
The sergeant swallowed. "I feel okay so far. How about you, Lopez?"
"I'm okay," Lopez said smugly. "But I didn't have any sausage."
The sergeant swore under his breath. "Let's go."
**********
As the door closed behind the two patrolmen, Kurt looked at Alan. "We'd better move Mark pretty quick. They're bringing in Foxe and those 'trols that were guarding him. Where do we put him so they won't find him?"
Alan had been thinking about that. "Help me get him into the room with all those machines. We need to get a couple of maintenance uniforms, and than I think we can go ahead with our original plan."
"Okay." Kurt sounded somewhat dubious. "But they're not going to let us into the lifeboat section without checking on us first."
"I'll think of something," Alan said. "First let's get Mark out of there."
They went into the morgue once more and slid the wall compartment open. Mark lay exactly where they had left him, but as they started to move him, he groaned softly.
At that moment the intercom boomed. "Patrolmen Grossman and Frizzel, acknowledge at once. Patrolmen Grossman and Frizzel --"
"Our pals have been missed," Kurt said. "We'll be next."
"Just hurry," Alan said. He started to lift Mark's legs. Linley groaned again and struck upward with his uninjured hand, clipping Kurt lightly on the jaw.
"Just a minute." Alan lowered Mark's legs to the deck and knelt beside him. "Mark, it's Alan. You mustn't make any noise! If you do, they'll catch us. Do you understand?"
Linley's eyes remained closed, but a faint smile formed on his battered mouth. He relaxed and became quiet.
Together, they lifted him, bore him from the morgue and into the other room. Kurt opened the fuel block casing and they slid him inside, trying to arrange him comfortably. Alan straightened up, rubbing a twinging muscle in his back. "I'm glad you volunteered to help," he said. "It would have been a lot harder alone."
Kurt grinned suddenly. "You know, I'm sort of enjoying it, in spite of everything. Now, how do we get hold of maintenance uniforms without showing our faces?"
"Watch and learn." Alan led the way into the outer office once more. "Maintenance."
"Maintenance," a voice answered at once.
"This is the infirmary," Alan said, trying to put the doctor's deep tone into his voice. "We've got two freezing units out in the morgue. We're going to need them in a bit, so could you send us a couple of techs pronto?"
"Yeah, we heard." There was a short laugh, and the voice dropped slightly. "Bully for our little giant. Say doc, what's the matter with your voice? You got a cold or something?"
"Yeah," Alan said. "Can you put a rush on that? I'd like to get 'em fixed before we actually need 'em."
"Sure. There'll be someone along in a few minutes."
"Thanks." Alan signed off and turned to Kurt. "When they show up we'll take them at blaster point and borrow their uniforms. We have to do that for their own safety. Then we'll drug them and put them to bed too -- more food poisoning victims."
"Right," Kurt said. He was looking better now, Alan thought. More confident and relaxed. To Kurt, Alan knew, the Patrol had been the hated and powerful enemy -- almost too powerful to overcome. But now, three times, they had fooled the Patrol and that made the despised mercenaries seem less formidable.
Someone was approaching in the corridor without -- no, two presences. Alan rested a hand on his concealed blaster, waiting for them to go by, but the men paused at the door of the infirmary. Alan stepped back, drawing his blaster as the panel swished open.
A Terran officer, whose uniform bore the insignia of a lieutenant commander, appeared, assisted by a crewman. The officer was speaking disgustedly.
"Hi, Doc. One of those Viceregal oafs ran into me and I wrenched this blasted ankle again --" His eyes fell on Kurt and his voice trailed off. "Kurt? What the devil --"
"Don't move," Alan said quietly.
The officer's gaze swung to Alan and then to the blaster. Alan gestured with the weapon. "Help him in there, crewman."
Kurt's blaster was also out. "I'd do as he says if I were you, sir."
The men obeyed. Alan glanced at Kurt as they followed the newcomers. Kurt went to get gowns from a cupboard and tossed them to the two men. "Get into 'em," he ordered. "Hurry."
The crewman helped the officer onto one of the unoccupied bunks. The officer began to pull off his uniform, glancing apprehensively at Alan. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What have you done to the doctor and Jase?"
"They're not hurt," Alan said. "And as for who I am, it's better that you don't know."
"He's Alan Westover, sir." The crewman dropped his uniform to the deck and pulled on the patient gown. "Can't you tell? He's wearing a wig and contacts, but it's him."
"Shut up, Norm," Kurt said.
The crewman obeyed, grinning faintly. Kurt motioned him to a bunk. "Lie down."
The crewman did. "What are you going to do to us?"
"You'll have a nice nap," Kurt said. "It'll keep you off the hook with the Jils. By the time you wake up, we'll be long gone."
**********
Alan threw the discarded uniforms into the linen hamper to join their own. "I think our maintenance techs are coming."
"About time, too." Kurt stepped over and stood next to the door, his back to the wall, and Alan drew his blaster. The door slid open and two people, clad in the white, slightly soiled jumpsuits of the maintenance staff, entered.
"Don't move," Kurt said.
One of the techs, a young woman, opened her mouth to scream. Kurt stunned her before the sound could emerge. Alan covered her companion and waited while Kurt bent to scoop her up from the deck. The man was staring at Alan with wide, horrified eyes. "What's going on?" he squeaked.
"In there," Alan said. He herded the tech before him while Kurt brought up the rear with his burden. He laid her down comfortably on one of the two remaining bunks, straightened up abruptly and cussed.
"Only one female in the bunch, but you just had to bring her to assist, didn't you?"
The man's jaw dropped. "Lieutenant McDougal!"
"Yeah. Get out of your clothes, Bill."
The tech started to obey, looking back and forth between Alan and Kurt. Comprehension came into his eyes. "Holy space! That's Alan Westover!"
Kurt grinned. "Move it," he advised.
Bill did, watching Alan, who was busily pulling the jumpsuit from the other tech. "Hey! What are you doing to Wendy?"
"Nothing," Kurt said. "We just need her clothes. Think you can wear 'em, Alan?"
"I hope so." A feeling of urgency was pressing at the edges of Alan's consciousness. "Stun him and get those shots. We're short on time."
McDougal didn't argue. His blaster hummed and Bill collapsed. Alan pulled on the jumpsuit with fingers that trembled in his haste, while Kurt administered the injections. While McDougal was yanking on his own jumpsuit, Alan went to fasten gowns quickly over the two recumbent techs and then pulled the sheets up to their chins. "They're coming."
People were approaching, but the minds without were not the minds of patrolmen. Naturally not. The Patrol would, of course, commandeer the services of the spacers for the task.
He was guiding the fuel casing from the other room an instant later. Kurt fell in beside him, still sealing his uniform and swearing under his breath. "This dratted suit is too tight."
"So's mine," Alan said. "Let's go."
They went out the door as he spoke and Kurt kept his face down as they passed several spacers in the corridor. The men were guiding a number of litters, and on each litter, Alan observed, was a large sheet-covered form. Empathic sensations rose in him and he forced them back. These men had tortured and nearly killed his partner. Foxe had cold-bloodedly ordered it. They deserved everything that had happened to them.
A maintenance tech was in the lift when they boarded. Kurt stared fixedly at the bulkhead, and Alan saw the tech glance at them curiously. Alan started to reach for the blaster that he had concealed in one of the suit's sagging pockets. The other man's puzzlement deepened and then there was a sudden jolt of recognition.
He started to draw the weapon, but the maintenance man was already speaking.
"I'd take that nametag off, if I were you," he said. The lift slid to a stop and the man hefted a large crate to one shoulder. He glanced at Alan again. "A pleasure to meet you, sir," he said briskly, and strode from the lift.
Alan glanced at his nameplate and his heart jerked in sudden realization. "Wendy Lowell," the tag proclaimed.
Alan removed it and stuffed it into his pocket. Kurt snorted softly. "With all this cooperation and support, how can we fail?"
"I just hope they don't decide to do a mind probe on him," Alan said.
Kurt shrugged. "No reason they should. He's just a dumb crewman from the maintenance department. Besides, he knows the risks, just like everybody else that went along with our demands so peacefully. We can't assume responsibility for everyone."
"I guess not," Alan said.
The lift slid to a stop and the doors opened. They emerged onto the sixth deck, the fuel casing drifting easily between them. Crewmen passed, and a few hurrying patrolmen, but once again they were ignored. The lifeboat hangars were at the end of the corridor and they headed straight toward them, not hurrying, but not dawdling either. Alan glanced around.
There were too many people here. When they reached the hangar, the guard would stop them and the action would attract attention. Since they would have to disable the guard, he needed to have a diversion for the rest of the deck's population.
"Just a minute," he said.
Kurt stopped, watching expectantly. People crowded past them.
There was a small, recessed intercom on the wall, three meters away. Alan reached with telekinesis and inner wires stirred and crossed. There was a faint sputtering sound and a thin plume of smoke emerged from the unit. Alan nodded to Kurt and they continued on. Behind them, there was more sputtering, a dazzling shower of sparks and the crackle of igniting flames, followed by the scream of the fire alarm.
People sprinted past them and the corridor rang with cries and shouted orders. A patrolman crowded past them and Alan reached out a finger of energy to kick one of his feet sideways. The man went down, swearing, and someone else fell over him.
Alan and Kurt continued quietly on toward the lifeboat hangars.
A fire on a modern light cruiser wasn't as serious as it might once have been, but it was serious enough. It was bound to keep the attention of everyone in the area for some time, Alan knew. This was necessary, for the doors to the lifeboat hangars were guarded by two patrolmen, as he had expected. The men were craning their necks in an attempt to see what was going on. Alan and Kurt strode toward them.
As they began to guide the fuel block casing through the opening, a black clad arm barred their way.
"No one's admitted to the hangar, sonny boy."
Alan looked at Kurt. "Blast it! I told you they wouldn't let us in! We should have checked first!"
Kurt glared at Alan with what appeared to be real irritation. "Shut up, dammit!" He turned to the patrolman. "It's just a routine maintenance check, sir. I don't want to lug this damn thing all the way back to the storeroom. Can't you bend the rules just a little?"
"Sorry." The patrolman wasn't even looking at them, his attention focused on the confusion in the corridor beyond. Alan nodded infinitesimally at Kurt.
McDougal reacted beautifully. He swore suddenly and rammed the fuel casing forward hard, apparently catching Alan by surprise. Alan staggered through the doors and spun, hearing Kurt's loud, angry voice.
"You damned trenchcrawlers! This isn't your ship and you haven't any right --"
The attention of both men was completely on Kurt. One of them grabbed for his sidearm, and Alan was ready. The blaster twisted from beneath the man's fingers. The patrolman gave a choked gasp and half-fell backwards as the weapon shot through the air, straight into Alan's hands. The other man released Kurt, yelled something and grabbed for his own blaster. Alan fired.
The crack of the blaster sounded over the confusion in the corridor, and startled faces turned toward them as the patrolman fell. Alan flipped the setting to stun and fired again at the blaster's owner. The patrolman collapsed to the deck beside his dead comrade and Kurt hustled the fuel casing through the doors. Alan hit the switch that closed and locked them.
They ran, guiding the fuel casing between them, through the outer area and into one of the hangars. As they went through, a shimmering incandescence enveloped the lock on the door behind them. There was the scream of an energy beam against battle steel.
Alan closed the hangar doors behind them and hit the locking switch. Kurt was already pushing the fuel block casing up the short ramp and into the escape craft. Alan ran past him into the tiny control room, and flung himself into the pilot's chair.
He activated the engines and computer, and told the airlock to close. This was going to be tricky, and he wasn't at all sure of the outcome. The escape crafts on a light cruiser were not supposed to be released while the cruiser was in hyperspace, but he could hardly call the control room to ask them to drop out of hyperspace for his convenience.
Kurt slid into the seat beside him, activating the rear viewscreen. The hangar doors appeared, and the lock on them was glowing brightly.
"They're almost through. Are you ready?"
"Just about." Alan glanced up as the computer readout flickered across the screen before him. "I've set it to go into hyperspace the instant we leave the cruiser's field. Hope it works."
"Me too," Kurt said. "Here they come!"
Alan triggered the outer doors. The door behind them slid open and for a split instant he saw the visored faces of the patrolmen charging across the hangar toward them. Then the outer lock, already in motion from Alan's signal, opened wide and the doors through which the patrolmen had come clicked automatically shut as the hangar's pressure dropped. The tiny lifeboat, accompanied by the pursuing patrolmen, was flung out of the cruiser and into blackness.
**********
tbc
