Revolt! 2/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Chapter II
The Powers family aircar streaked through whirling snow toward the shuttleport. Early winter darkness had fallen and the snow had thickened, coating the windshield to be quickly swished away by the wipers.
Chris was seated in the front seat of the vehicle beside his father. Roddy was in the rear with Mrs. Powers, and Laura squeezed in between them. The little girl snuggled close to Roddy. The car was warm, and the purr of engines made Chris feel drowsy. Mrs. Powers leaned over the seat to drop a paper bag in his lap. "Here you go, son. I fixed a sandwich to eat on the shuttle. There's one for Roddy, too."
"Thanks, Mom." Chris accepted the bag.
"It's ham and cheese -- your favorite."
"Great." Chris tucked the bag into the pocket of his coat. He did not mention, of course, that the shuttle flight to Miami was only two hours and that he and Roddy were unlikely to starve during that time. His mother was the type who believed that her husband and children should be well fed at all times. He wondered idly why none of them were fat.
"Oh, by the way, Chris," Aaron Powers said, "I'd like you to do something for me."
"Sure," Chris said.
"Do you know Dr. Wyler?"
"Sure." Dr. Wyler was one of the instructors at Terran Space Academy, in the physics department. He was a long time friend of Aaron Powers, a short, slender, very pleasant man with dark hair and eyes. Chris didn't know him very well, but he liked him "You want me to tell him something?"
"No, I want you to give him something." Aaron Powers dug in his coat pocket. "He and I have always shared an interest in minerals, you know."
"Sure." Chris suppressed a sigh. He had done this sort of thing before, many times. His father was passionately interested in minerals of all sorts, and nearly drove Angelica Powers crazy with the various rocks piled all over the house.
Mr. Powers reached over to drop something in his lap. "This is a galena crystal -- a fine specimen, if I do say so myself. It's unusually large and magnificently crystallized. Gus has told me he needs one like it for his collection. Will you give it to him for me?"
"Sure." Chris picked up the stone, examining it as well as he could in the dimness. It was about the size of a plum, blackish-gray in color, its surface sparkling with tiny points of reflected light. It was heavier than it looked.
He put in his pocket with the sandwich and leaned back. His nerves were jumping a little, although he didn't know why. Silence settled over the aircar.
Ten minutes later they landed in the parking lot of the shuttleport. Chris's chronometer informed him that thirty minutes remained before the shuttle was due to depart. They piled out, gathered up their luggage and headed for the building. Laura had fallen silent and was walking close beside him. Chris glanced down at her, sensing something amiss.
"What's the matter, Laurie?"
"Nothing." Her reply was faint, and he realized suddenly that she was crying.
"Hey, honey, what's wrong?"
His sister sniffled and then broke into unrestrained sobs. "I don't want you to go!"
They stopped before the shuttle entrance. The huge lobby of the shuttleport echoed hollowly with the voices of thousands of people. Bodies crowded by them. Chris bent down to put his arms around his sister. "We'll be back in June, honey. What's wrong? You didn't cry like this the last time I left."
"I'm sorry." She sniffled. "I'm being silly."
Roddy also bent down and took the little girl by the shoulders. "I'm going to miss you, sweetie. See you in June."
"Okay." Again, she sniffled.
He kissed her on the cheek. "Keep smiling, okay, beautiful?"
She smiled shakily. "Okay, Roddy."
The loudspeaker boomed, announcing shuttle boarding in five minutes. Chris gave his mother a hug. His father took his hand, smiling warmly, then pulled him close, hugging him tightly. Chris was surprised, and a little embarrassed. Aaron Powers had never hugged him, or shown any demonstration of physical affection before -- other than the traditional handshake.
Mrs. Powers kissed Roddy on the cheek, and Mr. Powers clapped him heartily on the back. "Take care, boys. Don't get in trouble."
"We won't." Chris bent to pick up his luggage. Roddy led the way through the turnstile. Chris followed.
"And by the way," Mrs. Powers said.
Chris turned. "Yes, mom?"
"I'm going to have a baby."
Chris felt his breath catch. He closed his mouth with a conscious effort. "When?"
"In August -- around the 15th, the doctor says."
"Holy -- why didn't you tell me before?"
She was smiling. "I thought it would be a nice going away present."
Roddy punched him in the shoulder. Chris turned on him, started to say something, then caught his wink and subsided.
"Departure in fifteen minutes!" the loudspeaker boomed.
"Come on, Chris." There was a grin in Roddy's voice as he led the way down the boarding tunnel toward the shuttle.
They settled side by side in a seat to the rear of the craft some five minutes later. Chris waved out the window a few moments later as the big craft began to taxi and then leaned back, grinning. "How did you know?"
Roddy shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "I'm a good guesser. Besides, she was acting pregnant."
"Acting pregnant. How does a woman act pregnant?"
Roddy shrugged again. "I don't know. She was so sweet and motherly --"
"She's always like that."
"Oh." Roddy looked away. "Well, I guess it was just one of those things then."
For a few moments they were silent, but Chris knew they were both thinking the same thing. Roddy's mother had been executed for being a psychic. And psychic talents were inherited.
Quickly he banished the thought. It wasn't true. If Roddy was a psychic, it could spell his death.
Deliberately he turned his thoughts to other things. They would be at the Academy soon, and he would see Sheila again. He relaxed in his seat, envisioning her face. Sheila was the girl of his dreams. Chris had never had any trouble attracting women, in spite of his size. But Sheila was his girl -- one of the few girls at the Academy who was actually shorter than himself.
The lights in the cabin dimmed, and the intercom came on. "Attention, please. We now present this special film for your viewing pleasure."
"Hope it's a decent one," Roddy said.
The screen lit up with the opening credits of "Spaceport". Chris sighed. He had read the book as well as seen the movie -- twice -- both on other shuttle jaunts. Oh well.
"Damn!" Roddy said. "Oh well. I guess it's better than that latest horror flick -- what was it?"
"The Ghost That Stalked the Moon Shuttle," Chris supplied.
"Not that one. You mean you've seen that thing?"
"Yeah," Chris said.
"Where?"
"I went with Sheila. She likes shows like that."
"No kidding. I knew there were hidden fires somewhere behind that cool, composed exterior."
Chris glowered at him. "You're a fine one to talk! Who was it who took Jamie Jenkins to see Moon Killer six times!
Roddy buffed his nails on his coat. "Jamie Jenkins doesn't hide her fires, pal!"
"Sh!" A man in the aisle across from them gave them a dirty look.
"Sorry," Roddy whispered back.
The film began, and Chris relaxed back in his seat, surveying the opening scenes with mild boredom. A blond, very attractive young woman was hovering over a computer, pressing controls in a haphazard fashion. Behind her a dark-haired, virile young man was speaking on the videophone, requesting weather conditions for the next twenty four hours. He glanced up from the instrument a moment later. Chris heard Roddy yawn behind his hand.
"Oh dear!" the woman lamented. "The flight to Bellian has been delayed again! What do you suppose --"
The picture cut off abruptly and the lights came on again. Everyone looked up, blinking in the sudden illumination.
"Attention please," the speaker boomed. "We have an important announcement. There has been a major explosion, which occurred approximately ten minutes ago in the Rocky Mountains of Utah. This explosion, the source of which is unknown, has demolished three towns and caused the collapse of at least one dam which resulted in a disastrous flood in the lower valley areas. There are reported to be forest fires, spreading east and south of the site, and at least fifteen people are known to have been killed. We have no more information at present, but will keep you informed --"
There was a stunned silence as the intercom went off. The movie came back on, but no one was listening. A girl in the seat ahead of them began to cry softly.
"Oh man!" Roddy said under his breath.
The movie went off again. The lights came back on.
"Your attention please." The voice on the intercom was shaking slightly. "This shuttle is being diverted to the nearest shuttleport. We are sorry for the delay, but the circumstances are beyond our control. Please remain calm, and we will be on our way as soon as possible. Thank you for your cooperation."
The movie came on again, but the voices of the actors were drowned in the sudden chatter that rose from the passengers.
"It's a malfunction!" the voice of a woman shrilled a few seats up from them. "I hate these blasted shuttles. There's always something going wrong!"
"It can't be a malfunction!" someone else protested. "If it was, they'd just tell us!"
"Maybe it's weather conditions," the man across the aisle from them suggested.
Roddy looked at Chris, his expression very apprehensive. "What do you think it is?"
"I don't know," Chris said slowly. "But I don't like it a bit. I wonder if it has anything to do with that explosion."
Roddy patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. "Don't worry about your Mom and Dad. I'm sure they're fine."
Chris, of course, had been worrying. "Gosh, I hope so."
There was a gentle thud as the shuttle landed. The movie went off and the lights came back on. Chris and Roddy glanced up expectantly.
Nothing happened. The doors to the shuttle remained closed. The seconds went by and became minutes.
"Wonder what's going on?" Roddy whispered.
Another minute went by. Then another.
With a muttered oath, the man across from them stood up, strode down the aisle and seized the handle of the door. He pulled at it fruitlessly for a moment, then swore. Several other men went to help him.
Roddy got up quietly and tried the emergency exit at the rear of the craft. The handle remained motionless. Chris started to rise, but Roddy motioned him back.
"Sit down," he advised. "I think we'd better just wait and see what happens."
Several men were now straining at the handle on the door. Another one pounded angrily on the panel. "Let us out of here!" he bellowed.
Chris again glanced at Roddy. His friend sat very still, his eyes very large in the dim light. His face was pale, and every freckle stood out plainly against the white background. He met Chris's gaze and grinned weakly. "You okay?""
"Sure. How about you?"
"I'm scared."
Chris was scared, too, although he wasn't sure why. He swallowed hard, and tried to make his voice light. "Oh, heck! It's probably just a computer malfunction or something."
"Some malfunction! I've never heard of a computer that even locks the emergency exit."
Chris hadn't, either. He swallowed again, and tried to steady his heartbeats. The minutes ticked by.
Slowly the men gave up their attempts with the door and returned to their seats, grousing and cursing. One man was going to sue the company. Another was going to be sure the press heard all about what had happened today. Roddy sank lower in his seat, his hands folded tightly together in his lap. Time dragged by.
Chris checked his chronometer for the hundredth time. It had been nearly an hour since the shuttle had landed, and nothing was changed. The door was still shut, the intercom silent, and the people were still talking in loud, disgruntled voices.
Roddy tensed suddenly, and a second later Chris heard it too. Someone was coming. He could hear the footfalls clearly, although faintly through the closed door. He swallowed, scrunching down in the seat beside Roddy. No one else seemed to notice anything.
There was a sudden loud clang and a grating noise that made everyone jump. The door began to move. Roddy sank lower in his seat, and Chris emulated him.
A figure entered the shuttle.
Chris's heart took a wild leap and tried to climb into his throat. Absolute silence fell.
The figure was tall and muscular, clad in a sleek, black and scarlet uniform. A silvery helmet with a dark visor covered the man's head, and the helmet was adorned with the red stripes of a Patrol Lieutenant.
A Viceregal Patrolman -- one of the mercenaries who served the Jilectan Viceroy. The Patrol was feared and hated by the subject species throughout the Sector.
Five more patrolmen entered behind the first.
"I am Lieutenant Savitch," the officer announced crisply in heavily accented English. "This shuttle is now being occupied by the Viceregal Patrol. Your persons and your luggage will be searched, and no resistance will be tolerated." He gestured to his men and spoke in Basic. "Proceed."
The girl in front of them was crying again. A man sat down beside her and spoke in a low, reassuring voice. The patrolmen began their search.
Roddy was very still, his eyes fixed on his hands clasped in his lap. Chris put a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Easy, Roddy. It'll be okay."
Roddy nodded, not looking up, but Chris couldn't resist watching the patrolmen at their work. An elderly lady had been pulled to the center aisle, and the patrolman searching her calmly removed an expensive looking chronometer from her wrist, tucking it into his own pouch. The lady said nothing, but a young man beside her stood up. "Hey! You can't do that!"
"Siddown!" the patrolman snapped. He stripped off the woman's jewelry, also cramming it into his pouch. The man started forward with a murmured imprecation.
The patrolman shoved the woman aside and caught the man's upraised hand, bringing it skillfully behind him. The man yelped.
The patrolman spun him around with one hand and backhanded him across the face. The man fell in the aisle without a sound. The patrolman bent over him, went through his pockets and removed his wallet. He flipped through it, scattering cards and photos on the floor, removed the money, and dropped the billfold beside the man. Another patrolman paused beside the seat in front of them and jerked the half-hysterical girl to her feet. She screamed, struggling wildly in his grasp. He restrained her without noticeable effort and began to search her with unnecessary thoroughness.
Roddy still didn't look up. The patrolman completed his search of the girl and shoved her back into her seat, tossing her clothes to her.
"Okay buddy, on your feet."
The man beside her stood up. Someone at the front of the shuttle cursed fluently, and there was the sound of a blow. A woman screamed.
The patrolman didn't look up. He went through his victim's clothing, pocketed the money and chronometer, and kicked the garments aside. "Okay, buddy, siddown." He turned to Chris and Roddy. "Okay, sonny, your turn." Roddy stood up, face impassive, and began to remove his clothing. The patrolman went through his pockets and removed his wallet. He flipped it open and Roddy's Student Body Card dropped to the floor. The man glanced at it, then bent to pick it up. Chris swallowed hard. The man probably couldn't read the English print, but the Terran Space Corps insignia was embossed in the center of the plate. Chris knew very well that the Patrol hated the Terran Space Corps. The Space Corps made little attempt to keep their opinion of the Patrol a secret, and the Patrol resented it -- probably because of the truth of their accusations. The Space Corpsmen labeled the Patrol "Bootlickers" and "Jil lovers" and tended to rub in the fact that Space Corpsmen called nobody master -- and had no need to bow to the Jils.
The man spoke harshly in halting English. "You a space corpsman, kid?"
"A cadet," Roddy replied in a low voice.
The man relaxed, grinning a little. "Ah! Still learnin' to keep your pants dry, huh, sonny?"
Roddy didn't reply. He removed his shirt and dropped it beside his discarded breeches. The patrolman grinned. "Undies too, Space Jockey."
Without a word, Roddy removed his underwear. The man examined them and tossed them down the aisle. "Boots too, baby boy."
Nobody else had been forced to remove everything, Chris thought resentfully. But Roddy still said nothing. He bent to remove his boots, and the man placed a foot on the boy's spine, giving him a shove. Roddy lost his balance and sprawled forward. The patrolman guffawed.
The Lieutenant was beside them. "What's the holdup, Biggins?"
Biggins straightened up, speaking Basic. "Space Cadets, sir, with their usual smart mouths."
"Knock it off, Biggins," the Lieutenant said. "We got a job to do." He spoke to Roddy. "Get dressed, kid." He headed back toward the front of the shuttle.
Roddy began to obey. Biggins reached over and caught Chris by the wrist, yanking him into the aisle. "An' I suppose you're his best buddy, huh, pretty boy?"
"Yes," Chris said.
"Okay, take 'em off."
Chris began to wiggle out of his pants. What were these guys after, anyway? he wondered. They obviously were expected to find something -- something important for them to go to all this trouble. What was it?
His eyes alighted on his coat -- and Roddy's lying across the back of the shuttle seats. He watched Patrolman Biggins pick up Roddy's coat and go through the pockets. He discovered the sandwich, unwrapped it and took a big bite. "Hey! That's damn good! Who made it? Your mommy?"
Roddy still didn't reply. He was buttoning his shirt, eyes focused on the floor.
The patrolman stuffed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth, and reached over, grasping Roddy by the collar of his shirt. "I asked you a question, sonny boy!"
"Biggins!" It was the Lieutenant again. "You're finished. Fitzpatrick, take over for him."
Biggins muttered something and released the boy. Another patrolman shouldered his way forward, examined Chris's clothing, and picked up his coat. Quickly he went through the pockets and found the sandwich. He unwrapped it, taking a bite, then drew out the rock Chris's father had given him in the aircar. Chris's eyes focused on it with a sense of shock. For one wild moment he found himself wondering if it could possibly be.
The patrolman dropped the rock to the floor and tossed the coat back on the seat. Quickly he patted Chris's socks and underwear. "Okay, kid, get dressed."
Chris complied quickly. The money was gone from his wallet, and he wondered for a moment if it was Biggins or Fitzpatrick who had taken it. It didn't matter, he supposed. Quickly he retrieved his rock and returned it to his pocket, then resumed his seat.
Roddy still hadn't spoken. Chris touched his arm. "You okay?"
Roddy shrugged. "It isn't guys like him who matter."
"I know." Chris grinned. "Guess I'm not as mature as you are, pal. I'd have lost my temper."
Roddy returned the grin, looking more like himself again. "No you wouldn't have," he said. "You don't want that pretty face messed up any more than I want my ugly one messed up." He chuckled softly. "After all, they've got a good reason not to like us."
Which was true, Chris reflected. The fact that the infamous Alan Westover, killer, by recent count, of twelve Jilectans, and monumental headache for the Patrol, had once been a Space Cadet was never forgotten by patrolmen. It was well known that Terran Space Cadets held Westover as their shining example and star alumnus. The year Chris and Roddy had entered the Academy, the cadets, as a practical joke, included Westover's name on the ballot of the cadet most likely to succeed. What made the news services (and infuriated the Jils) was that he had been unanimously voted the winner. This, however, had not engendered feelings of brotherhood between the Terran Space Corps and the Patrol.
The Patrol had completed their search and had congregated at the front of the shuttle again. They were speaking quietly in Basic, and Chris caught an occasional word. Then they turned and went out. The door clicked shut behind them.
Chris let out his breath. "Now what?"
"Better wait," Roddy advised. "I'll bet they're not through with us yet."
All was still, except for the soft murmur of voices and the soft sobs of the girl in the seat ahead of them.
"Wonder what they're after?" Chris whispered.
"Wish I knew." Roddy glanced at his coat pocket. "Does your dad often ask you to take rocks to Dr. Wyler?"
"Sure. He's done it lots of times."
"Oh." Roddy shifted uncomfortably. "Well they're sure after something, and I'll bet anything you like it's got something to do with that explosion back there in the Rockies."
"I'm not betting," Chris said. "I think you're right." His mind jumped suddenly and illogically. "Roddy?"
"Yeah?"
"Remember that nut on Brother Dominic's this morning?"
Their eyes met.
"Oh my gosh!"
"Maybe he wasn't a nut," Chris said. "At least, not a total nut."
"Maybe just enough of one to open his mouth when he shouldn't," Roddy said. "Chris?"
"Yes?"
"I don't know -- I'm not sure -- but..."
"What?"
"I'll bet this has got something to do with that rock. I just have a feeling about it."
"Don't be dumb!" Chris realized he was speaking louder than he should, and lowered his voice. "It's just a stupid chunk of rock! What else could it be?"
Roddy didn't reply.
Their eyes met.
"We've got to get out of here," Chris said. "If it is what they're after, we can't let 'em find it."
Roddy glanced at the emergency exit again. "We'll just have to play dumb and wait for our chance."
Chris started to stand up. "Let's try the doors."
Roddy pulled him down again. "They're still locked." It was a flat statement, leaving no room for doubt.
They fell silent. Chris glanced sideways at his friend again. "Maybe we could hide it."
"If we do, we might never get it back. Listen, they can't make us tell. They don't know we're the ones they're after." He fidgeted. "I don't feel too good."
"What's the matter. You sick?"
"I don't know. My stomach feels a little funny."
"Great. Don't throw up now, for Pete's sake." Now that Roddy had mentioned it, Chris's stomach didn't feel too good either. He felt like he had in that last horror movie -- right before the phantom had dismembered its first victim.
Roddy shifted uneasily. "I can't stand this. Something's wrong."
"What do you mean? I know something's wrong. We're locked in a shuttle, and we've just been searched and robbed by a bunch of Jil bootlickers."
"I know. I guess I just --" Roddy stopped as the shuttle door slid open again. Lieutenant Savitch entered.
"Okay!" he snapped. "Everybody up."
Chris and Roddy stood up. The patrolman stood aside, and they were herded out the door. Other patrolmen were outside, waiting. They were shepherded most ungently across a snowy field and into the shuttle hangar. A woman leading a stumbling child by the hand paused to lift the youngster into her arms. Roddy paused too. "I'll carry him, ma'am."
"Get moving!" a push propelled him forward. "Mind your own business, flyboy!"
Chris looked back to see Patrolman Biggins. He resolved that if he ever met Mr. Biggins on equal terms, he would make sure the man never forgot him.
Roddy didn't glance back. Together they hurried across the hangar and through a doorway. The last of the shuttle passengers entered and the Lieutenant stepped in behind them. A man spoke, his voice indignant and angry. "What do you people want? We haven't done anything against the Jils! You have no right to do this!"
The Lieutenant ignored him "Lord Pomithvor is here," he stated dispassionately. "He has reason to believe that someone aboard your shuttle has property belonging to him. You will be searched and questioned by his Lordship. Anyone who causes trouble will be dealt with harshly." He seized the man who had voiced the protest by one shoulder and pulled him toward the door. "You first."
The man disappeared out the door, which shut decisively behind them. There was a moment of total silence. Then an angry babble erupted. Someone wanted to jump that damned Lieutenant when he showed up again. Someone else told him he was crazy -- that the guy would just yell for his bully boys and they'd be massacred. Somebody else wanted to try breaking down the door. A child cried fretfully, and a young girl began to scream hysterically.
After approximately five minutes the door opened again and the man stumbled through. The Lieutenant glanced around, seized another man by the arm and propelled him out. The door closed.
Chris went over to the girl and put an arm around her. She was only about ten years old, he thought angrily. Surely the Patrol could have let the kids go, anyway.
"It's a damn Jil, all right," the man was saying. "Big, ugly dude, with red hair and earrings! Mean as hell, too, and awfully mad about something."
"What'd he do?" someone else asked.
"Probed me, I guess. A real weirdo."
Chris managed to calm the girl down at last. Roddy was beside him again. "What'll we do? He's sure to find out when he reads one of us!"
Chris glanced around. The room was windowless, and contained only the one door, which was undoubtedly guarded. There was no other way out.
The door opened again and the second victim was shoved roughly through. A patrolman -- not the lieutenant this time, pointed to a woman. "You next, baby."
But wait! Was the door the only way? Chris found himself staring at the ventilator shaft placed on the wall high above their heads. It was covered by a screen, which was secured to the wall by rivets. The opening was small. No average sized man could have gone through it.
But a child, or a woman, or a small man probably could. Chris studied the size of the grate, then the breadth of his own shoulders. Yes, he could make it. And Roddy was more slender than he was.
The door opened a couple of minutes later and the woman returned, her clothing disarrayed. She hurled a most unladylike curse at the patrolman, who grinned in reply, grabbing a teenaged girl by the wrist. "Let's go, honey."
The door clicked shut, and Chris grabbed Roddy by the wrist. "C'mere. I have an idea."
"What?"
"Get on my shoulders. See if you can get that grate loose."
Comprehension came into Roddy's eyes. He got carefully to Chris's back, then got to his feet, Chris gripping his ankles to give him support. Roddy began to pry at the grate, using one of the keys from his key ring.
The other passengers had noticed what they were doing, and a young, muscular man came up beside him, reaching up to grip Roddy's knees, lending balance and support. Roddy strained at the grate.
"Try my nail file!" It was the older woman who had lost her chronometer and necklace to the Patrol.
The instrument was passed up. Roddy hooked the point beneath the edge and applied pressure. There was a squeal as the rivets began to loosen.
"They're coming!" It was a young woman, her ear pressed to the door. "Get down, quick!"
The man who had helped them lifted Roddy to the ground and shoved him down behind the bodies of the other passengers. Chris crouched beside him. The door opened and another victim was led out.
"Hurry!" The young man boosted Roddy to his own shoulders. "As soon as he reads that guy, he'll know what we're up to."
The screen came loose, and Roddy tore it away frantically. "Okay! hurry!"
The man's hands shot him upward, and Chris saw his form vanish into the dark shaft of the ventilator. Their assistant turned, grinning, and caught Chris around the waist. "I don't know if you two have what the Jils want, but if you do, I don't want him to get it. In you go!"
Chris's fingers closed around the edge of the shaft, and he felt the young man boost him upward. "Move, kid! They'll be in here in no time. C'mon! You're next."
Someone was boosted up behind Chris. He paid no attention, squirming along the shaft behind his friend. Ahead of him, Roddy reached a branch and turned right. Chris followed
Then Roddy stopped. "Hold on."
"What is it?"
"Another screen. Just a minute."
There was a ripping sound. Then Roddy scrunched forward and dropped out of sight. Chris followed.
The screen had been ripped from top to bottom and wrenched aside. Chris peered out.
Roddy was on the floor below him, just getting to his feet. Blood dripped from his hand to the floor.
"You okay?"
"It's just a scratch! Hurry."
Chris wiggled head first out of the shaft and dropped. Roddy broke his fall and pulled him to his feet. He held up his arms. "Come on, honey. We'll catch you."
The girl he had comforted earlier was emerging from the shaft. Together they caught her, setting her carefully on the floor beside them. Another girl followed, this one perhaps sixteen. Then a boy of twelve.
Chris spoke to the teen-aged girl. "Help Roddy with the others. I'm going to try to get us out of here."
She nodded, and Chris turned to survey the room they had entered. It was a lavatory, with a single window set high on the wall. Chris removed a boot and climbed quickly onto a sink.
Shielding his arm with his coat, he broke the window with the boot, carefully smashing out every shred of glass.
Beyond in the darkness, the area seemed deserted. Several shuttles sat unattended; several had apparently been in the midst of refueling when interrupted by the Patrol. He could see nothing moving.
He glanced back. More persons were arriving through the vent, but it wouldn't be long before the Patrol interfered. Lord Pomilthvor had almost certainly read their fellow passenger by now. Roddy stood below him. "Well?"
"Looks clear. Let's go." Chris boosted himself up, crawled through the window, hung by his hands and dropped. Roddy was right behind him.
Chris headed for the fence a short distance away across the blacktop. The thing was metal, about two and a half meters high, and topped by barbed wire.
Without an instant's hesitation, Chris swarmed up the fence. To his right and left other people emulated him. He went over, tearing his slacks on the barbed wire, but he barely noticed. Roddy was right behind him. His friend boosted a girl of about seven over the fence and followed her, dropping lightly to the ground without. Another girl of about nine paused at the top. Chris held up his arms. "Jump, honey!"
There was a shout behind them. As Chris turned to look, several black clad figures charged across the asphalt.
"Jump!" Roddy shouted.
The girl cast a terrified glance over her shoulder, closed her eyes, and leaped.
Chris caught her. "Run!" he shouted. "Make for the forest!"
"Stop!" a voice bellowed. "Halt in the name of the Viceroy!"
Masses of people broke right and left, scattering in small, frightened groups for the shelter of the woods not far away. They must be somewhere in the Midwest, Chris though distractedly, crunching through snow that came past his boot soles. From behind came more shouts, and a stunbolt hummed past, but Chris paid no attention as he crashed through the first of the trees, crunching noisily through dried, fallen leaves. It was February, and the trees were leafless, except for the clumps of huge evergreens here and there, their branches weighted down with snow.
They stampeded ahead, the breath tearing in their throats. Roddy ran lightly beside him, his feet almost silent in the dried leaves. Behind them the shouts of the patrolmen were growing fainter.
There was a crash and a short gasp as one of their followers fell. Chris stopped, listening, as someone else helped the fallen child to her feet.
Nothing. Somewhere an owl called, raising the hair on his neck.
"Looks like we outran them," someone said.
"For now." Chris surveyed his little group. There were two girls, probably in their mid-teens, a boy of about seven, and another about twelve. The ten year old girl Roddy had helped, the eight or nine year old girl who had leaped into his arms, a boy probably close to his own age, and a short man, perhaps fiftyish, completed the group. The others must have scattered through the trees, or been recaptured.
"Where are we, anyway?" Roddy demanded. "You got any idea, Chris?"
"Midwest -- maybe Ohio or Indiana."
Chris saw one of the teenage girls, both of whom were dressed in ridiculously light clothing, clutch her arms around her shoulders. After a second's hesitation, he removed his coat, taking the stone from the pocket, and handed the wrap to her. "Here, wear this. We've got to move. They'll be after us in no time, as soon as they get organized."
Roddy had also stripped off his jacket and handed it to the other girl, who wrapped it around herself.
"Let's go," Chris said. "Everybody grab one of the kids' hands. We don't want to get separated."
They began to walk. Chris had always had excellent night sight, and he was aware that Roddy did as well. It had stood them in excellent stead one night, three years ago, during an initiation.
Chris led, keeping to bare patches of ground as much as possible to confuse pursuit, for leaving a path of footprints in the snow would be a dead giveaway. They moved forward as silently as they could, Chris trying to keep them headed deeper and deeper into the forest. He hoped it would be some time before the Patrol got organized to pursue them, since they had not come prepared to search for scattered fugitives in the wilderness.
Chris shivered, the cold cutting through his flannel shirt. The going was starting to get easier, for the ground was starting to slope downward.
"Brr!" Roddy said. "What a climate!"
"I thought you were the one who liked snow."
"I do, but enough is enough."
Chris grinned. "Just keep moving. You won't freeze. Everybody okay back there?"
"I guess so." It was the man's voice, sounding breathless. "How the devil can you see, anyway? It's as black as pitch out here. Or am I just getting old?"
"I can't see anything either." It was one of the teenage girls.
"We have good night sight," Chris informed him vaguely.
An owl called again, the sound lost and lonely in the stillness. Chris heard Roddy shudder.
"It's okay," he whispered. "It's just an owl. There's lots of them in the Midwest."
"I know."
The ground crunched suddenly underfoot, and before them through the trees they saw the smooth, frozen surface of a lake shining in the moonlight.
Roddy paused. "Listen!"
They froze, crouching in the barren underbrush. Then Chris heard it, too. Voices, and the crunch of approaching feet.
A few minutes later two patrolmen went past, flashing their handlights over the underbrush. Chris caught snatches of conversation.
"-- Get my hands on those kids I'm gonna skin 'em -- alive!"
"I'll help you. Damn! Whatta place! I dunno why people think Terra's so great. Seems like every time we're here, it's freezin'!"
"I know whatcha mean. Gimmie Shallock any ol' time. Ladies are more accomodatin', too. Those girls on the shuttle were a bunch o' old women --"
The voices faded into the distance.
"Okay," Chris breathed. "Let's go. Skirt the lake."
"What lake?" the man whispered.
"We're next to a lake," Roddy told him. "Come on."
They turned to the left and began to walk, trying to move quietly. The owl called again, nearer, and some small animal skittered away into the leaves. Their breaths were frosty clouds in the darkness.
Then Chris heard the footstep, and motioned the others into silence.
Roddy ducked behind a mass of tangled, barren vines. Chris joined him "Here he comes. Looks like he's alone."
"Let's get him," Roddy whispered in return. "You go high, I'll go low."
"Okay."
A light appeared, shining through the branches. The man was walking carelessly, making little attempt at silence, and flashing his handlight haphazardly around. He passed less than three meters away. Chris and Roddy moved together.
Chris hit the man at chest level, Roddy at the knees. The patrolman went down like a rock, his helmet striking the forest floor with a dull crack. Roddy sat down hard on the man's chest as the other fugitives came pouring out of the trees. In an instant the children, teenagers, and the man were piling on him. The patrolman yelped, trying to shield his face with his arms.
Chris wrenched the helmet loose and switched off the open com. "Easy folks! We want him conscious."
Reluctantly, the children moved back, leaving the patrolman spread-eagled on the ground, a teenaged girl seated on either arm and Roddy still perched on his chest. He removed the blaster from the man's holster and pointed the muzzle at his prisoner's nose.
"You tell us what we want to know or I'll kill you!" Roddy said, and Chris was amazed at the menace in his friend's voice. "Got it?"
The man nodded, eyes on the blaster.
"What's the Jil looking for?"
The man shook his head. "I don't know!"
Roddy placed the muzzle of the blaster against the man's forehead. "Oh come on, Mister. You can do better than that."
"I don't!" the man squeaked. "I don't think anybody knows. It's a weapon of some sort -- or maybe plans for a weapon! Nobody knows what it looks like!"
"What the devil is that Jil doing here, anyway?" the older man inquired harshly. "There aren't supposed to be any Jils on Terra.
The man shrugged and gulped. "Jils do what they want. They don't figure Terra'll do anything about it. Just lodge the usual protest -- you know."
"Yeah," Chris said. "Maybe he'll learn different this time." He nodded to Roddy. "We'd better get going."
"Okay." Roddy stood up, blaster leveled at the man.
"Don't kill me!" the patrolman stuttered. "It can be set for stun! Just push the lever --"
"I know how to set it," Roddy snapped. He flicked the control on the weapon and fired. There was a soft hum and patrolman went slack.
The girls were staring at him in admiration. "Wow!" one whispered. "You sounded like you meant it."
"He did," Chris said. "Roddy and I are Space Corps Cadets. We don't like 'trols."
"So I've heard." It was the older man, his voice amused. "Well, my friends, what'll we do with this character?"
"Cuff him to a tree," Roddy said unfeelingly. "But let's borrow his coat and shirt, first. We could use 'em."
"With pleasure." The two girls and twelve-year-old helped strip off the man's coat and uniform top. Together they lifted him upright and propped him against a tree.
Roddy used the man's restrainers to cuff his hands around the trunk, then removed the wallet from the man's belt pouch. "Turn about is fair play."
Chris stood up, surveying him with satisfaction. "Okay, let's go."
Roddy picked up the helmet. "Guess we'd better take this along. It'll let us know what's happening."
"Good idea." Chris picked up the handlight. "Do you think you two girls could take the coat and shirt and let us have our jackets back now?"
"Sure." The two girls complied willingly. A few minutes later they were skirting the lake again.
"Think he'll be okay?" Roddy asked suddenly in an undertone.
Chris knew what he meant. Roddy, in spite of his words, was a soft-hearted soul. "Sure he will. They'll find him soon. Don't worry."
Roddy shrugged. "Who's worried? I was sort of hoping he'd freeze to death."
"Sure you were," Chris said.
It was ten minutes later that they came to a narrow section of the lake. The surface shone brightly, reflecting the light of the moon. Roddy lifted a hand suddenly.
Everyone froze. Roddy listened for another moment. "They've found Patrolman Paine."
"They're getting closer," Chris said. "Maybe we should try to cross the lake here. It's pretty narrow."
"It could also be pretty thin," the older man said. "The ice, I mean. I used to live in the Midwest. Sometimes there's air pockets, or the ice is thin in spots. We fall through and we'll freeze to death -- if they don't catch us first."
Chris tested the ice at the edge of the lake. "Seems pretty solid."
One of the girls stepped up beside him. "If you want to try it, I'll go with you."
The other girl was also beside him. "Me too, Chris," she said.
Chris found himself flushing as the others chimed in. The older man sighed.
"Okay, I guess you kids are in charge. I'll tag along. But please be careful."
Chris tried to smile reassuringly. "I will. Join hands and follow me."
The man clasped him by the wrist, and the others followed, each child held firmly by an older individual. Roddy took up the rear, blaster in hand. "Okay. Ready."
Chris started forward across the frozen lake, stepping carefully and testing the ice before putting his weight on it. The frozen night remained still and silent except for the soft, ghostly calls of owls.
"By the way," the man said. "My name's Wyatt Benson. I'm an insurance salesman, and was on my way to Detroit when this business started. Want to buy some insurance?"
"Might not be a bad idea," Chris said, laughing. "I'm Christopher Powers, and my friend's Roddy Atkins."
"Glad to meet you," Benson said. "I hope you're watching your step."
"I am."
"Are you the guys the Jil's after, by the way?"
Chris glanced back. "What makes you think that?"
"I don't know." The man shrugged. "It's just that you seemed a little desperate to get away."
Chris led the way around a mass of frozen, dead reeds, which projected from the ice. "I don't know if we are or not," he replied. "It doesn't seem likely though -- unless someone gave us this secret weapon without our knowledge."
Wyatt Benson chuckled. "I guess it could be me, too, then. Why are we turning here?"
Chris hadn't been aware that he was turning, but now, glancing at the opposite shore, he realized he was leading his followers to the left. Instinctively, he started to correct the error.
"No Chris!" It was Roddy. "Keep going just like you were."
Chris hesitated and then complied, once more circling the spot. Benson drew in his breath as though to speak, but subsided. Chris estimated that they had traveled perhaps halfway across the lake.
Something made him glance back, just in time to see a squad of patrolmen emerge from the trees. Lights played over the frozen lake. There was a shout and a blaster cracked.
The beam hissed by, centimeters above their heads. Chris saw Roddy turn, their victim's borrowed blaster in his hand, and fire. Somebody screamed, the sound carrying loudly across the ice.
"Hurry, Chris," Roddy said.
Chris tried to increase his pace, abandoning caution, and trusting to luck that he would not lead them onto any thin areas of ice.
"They're reporting us to their bosses," Roddy said. "And here they come."
Chris glanced back to see the patrolmen venturing out on the frozen lake. Roddy fired again and there was another scream.
"Man!" Benson's voice was awed. "That kid's some shot! Two hits in a row -- from this distance -- and by moonlight!"
"They've been ordered to take us alive," Roddy told him. "That gives me a bit of an advantage. Watch it!"
Another beam hissed past to their left. Roddy returned the fire, and there was a third scream. Benson said something under his breath.
The patrolmen scattered as Roddy fired a fourth time. Then, very suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by a new sound -- the ominous snapping and crackling of yielding ice.
There was a yell of alarm, succeeded by a tremendous splash. One of the teenage girls laughed semi-hysterically. Roddy turned and fired four times, laying down a pattern of shots behind them. There was a chorus of yells and three more splashes, followed almost instantly by a fourth. Clear across the ice, Chris could hear someone cursing steadily in Basic. Someone else was screaming for help.
The bank rose before them, snow-covered. Black tree roots and small shrubs projected form the icy dirt, crackling dryly as they scrambled up the steep incline. Another stunbolt hummed somewhere behind him, and Chris felt a faint tingling sensation across one shoulder, but the beam was much too attenuated to do any damage. Roddy turned back, firing three more times. Somebody shrieked thinly. Wyatt Benson said something else softly under his breath. "Where did you learn that, Cadet?"
"Class sharp-shooting champ," Chris said, briefly. "Come on. Let's get out of here before any aircars arrive!"
The trees here seemed to be mostly composed of evergreens, thickly clustered and very tall, leaving large, bare patches beneath them that were heavily covered with needles. Chris kept to those as much as possible, thanking his lucky stars that the Patrol had not come prepared for this kind of search. He wanted to make as much distance as he could, before men with the right sort of equipment arrived. They would stand little chance against men with night glasses and searching aircars equipped with infrared sensors.
They had been traveling for perhaps half an hour with no more sign of the Patrol, although Roddy reported the search was continuing, and two fugitives had been apprehended, when the evergreens ended suddenly, giving way to a cultivated field covered with snow, broken only by dry, prickly stalks -- the brittle remains of last year's harvested crops, and weeds. Across the white fence and the snow covered field he could see the dimly lighted buildings of a small farm.
"Now what do we do?" Roddy whispered.
"Well--" Chris paused. "I suppose they'll expect us to try to get to somebody's house and search there first, but we can't stay out here all night. The kids are going to freeze. Maybe we can hide in a barn or something. At least we'll be under cover."
"Good idea as any," Benson said. "Let's go before they catch up with us."
Hands still linked, they started for the fence. The white boards were horizontal, and too closely spaced for any but the smallest children to slip between. Chris nodded to the others and went over, dropping lightly to the ground onto the other side. The others followed quickly. When they were all assembled, Chris started forward again.
The ground here was broken with cut stalks and dried weeds, which made going difficult. Looking back, Chris saw that their footprints were almost invisible on the rough ground. Another fence loomed out of the darkness before them.
One of the smaller children stumbled, falling flat. A howl of pain broke the stillness of the night. One of the teenaged girls lifted the youngster to his feet and brushed snow from his clothing.
"Sh!" she cautioned. "Don't make any noise. Do you want the 'trols to catch us again?"
The child shook his head, gulping back sobs. Roddy bent down, speaking softly to the boy. Abruptly he quieted.
The fence was before them, and Chris peered over it, suddenly aware of noises. He motioned the others to silence.
Roddy peered over as well. "Someone coming?" he breathed.
"I think so. Sh!"
For what seemed like years they crouched there, trembling with cold. Benson glanced at Chris. "What are we waiting for?"
"Somebody's coming."
Benson peered down the narrow, unpaved road that ran past the fence and led up to the farmhouse. "I don't hear anything."
Chris stared at him, unable to believe the man could not hear the footsteps. "Listen! They're coming!"
Benson was still, straining his ears. After about a minute he nodded. "Okay. I hear it now. Man! What ears you kids have! Makes me feel like a grandfather, and I'm only forty-nine."
"Sh!" Roddy hissed. "Here they come!" Two lights flickered in the distance, and a few moments later Chris could dimly make out the forms of two men coming along the road. They wore black, and silvery helmets glinted in the moonlight. Patrolmen.
The child was still sniffling faintly. Frantically, Chris motioned to the girl beside him, who tucked the child's head beneath the Patrol coat she wore, muffling the sounds. The patrolmen went on past, walking openly, flashing their lights across the farmhouse and lawns. They mounted the steps and one of them lifted a booted foot. The door buckled inward.
A beam of reddish light struck the patrolman in the chest, and the man dropped where he stood. The other man made a grab for his blaster and also fell. The body rolled sideways off the porch, dropping heavily to the snow covered lawn.
"What was that?" Roddy whispered.
"Laser rifle," Chris whispered. "I think the farmer shot them!"
A man's face appeared, peering cautiously around the frame of the broken door.
One of the girls started to stand up and Roddy pulled her down. Chris was struggling out of the jacket and the shirt under it. Very cautiously he raised the hand with the shirt above fence level and waved it slowly back and forth.
There was a moment of complete silence. Then, a very suspicious voice said, "Come on up out of there."
Very cautiously, careful to make no sudden moves, Chris rose to his feet, hands held high over his head. "Hi, there."
The farmer was a short, stocky man in jeans and a T-shirt. He held the rifle pointed directly at Chris. "Who the devil are you?"
Chris swallowed nervously. "I'm Chris Powers -- Christopher Powers. I'm a cadet from Terran Space Academy."
There was a moment of silence. "Come over here into the light. Don't make any sudden moves."
Very slowly, Chris complied. When he stood in the glow of the porch light the farmer surveyed him.
"You ain't a 'trol," he admitted, grudgingly. "What are you doing here?"
"Could I put my shirt and jacket back on?" asked Chris. "It's freezing out here!"
"Go ahead."
Chris did so. "I was on one of the shuttles the 'trols took over. A bunch of us got away from them and made it into the woods a couple of hours ago. Can the others come out, now?"
The farmer had not lowered his rifle. "Tell 'em to come out -- slow."
"Roddy," Chris called. "Have everybody stand up -- real slowly."
After a moment Roddy's head rose cautiously above the fence. He had removed the Patrol helmet, Chris saw to his relief. A moment later Wyatt Benson's face appeared, and then, one by one, the others. One of the girls boosted the little boy to the top of the fence.
The farmer lowered his rifle. "Good Lord," he said softly.
**********
tbc
