Revolt!: 4/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Chapter V
Lord Pomithvor, first son of the late, lamented Lord Pomothvor, crouched on the floor of the barn, partially shielded by several bales of hay, and gazed disgustedly around him. The place stank of animals, and there was fresh dung on the floor. Pomithvor shuddered slightly. What an abomination that he, Lord Pomithvor, should have to take refuge in this horrible place! Terrans! Revulsion crawled over him at the thought of the little beasts. They had no redeeming qualities at all, so far as he was concerned. In the first place, there was their irritating resemblance to his own noble species. Terrans, more than any other race in the galaxy, resembled the Jilectans. It was an impertinence in itself, but coupled with the fact that some Terrans were also psychics -- powerful psychics -- it was insufferable. And obviously the little animals had learned no humility or respect over the years. Pomithvor believed firmly, after the past few hours of impertinence and degradation, that his father had been absolutely correct when he had spoken so vehemently of eliminating the creatures from the Sector. They were an annoyance -- causing by far more trouble than they were worth. Extermination was certainly the easiest, most logical answer.
If only the little vermin were not so prolific. Never before had the Jilectans encountered an intelligent species, with the exception of his own noble race, which bred so lustily. The thoughts of patrolmen seemed almost constantly to revolve around sex. They appeared to think of little else, and his association -- fortunately brief -- with other members of the species, illustrated quite well that patrolmen were quite typical of the rest of their species. Even their art, their literature, their music, their culture in general was steeped in the subject. It was almost obscene! Pomithvor, himself, possessed thirteen wives, all chosen carefully for their looks, status, power and noble kin with which Pomithvor had wished to ally -- and thirty-five children, including two sons.
A patrolman at the entrance of the barn screamed and fell, clutching his burned shoulder. Pomithvor regarded him contemptuously. Psychic and non-psychic alike, Terrans were not fit to inhabit this galaxy along with Jilectans. They should be exterminated -- and the sooner the better.
The wounded patrolman groaned, rolling himself into a ball. Pomithvor ignored him, concentrating again on the mind of the Terran leader without. The man was an easy read. Two forces of the militiamen were moving forward, one on either side. Pomithvor spoke to the Lieutenant beside him.
"Two squads moving up on either side, Lieutenant."
"Yessir!" The man issued hasty orders to his subordinates and there was a spirited burst of blaster fire. Someone screamed shrilly.
"Got him!" The Lieutenant's voice was triumphant.
Pomithvor relaxed on a bale of hay, contemplating with pleasure the ultimate destruction of the Terrans. He would certainly take an active part in the execution, once he'd convinced the Viceroy of its wisdom.
**********
"See," Chris said. "I think we can make it through."
Roddy regarded the narrow, spider web encrusted window dubiously. It opened from the pantry into a large tangled, leafless swath of blackberry canes. "Looks kinda small. What're we going to do if we do make it through?"
Chris explained his plan quickly. Roddy looked even more dubious. "Gosh, I don't know, Chris. It sounds awfully dangerous. What if you get hurt? And me, too," he added, almost as an afterthought.
Chris hesitated. Roddy was right. It was a dangerous plan -- and what if Roddy did get hurt -- or -- he didn't want to say killed even to himself.
But Roddy was nodding. "You're right. We've got to do something." He took the edge of the windowpane in his hands and strained. "Help me. This thing hasn't been opened in years."
Chris obeyed and the glass slid noisily upward. One of the farmer's sons appeared in the pantry doorway. "What're you doing?"
"We're going to try to cut the battle short," Roddy told him.
The boy regarded the window dubiously. "You think you can get through that?"
Roddy nodded, hoisting himself up. "Might have to shed my shirt." He dropped to the floor again and began to unfasten the flannel article. "Don't worry. We'll be all right."
"But what are you going to do? Listen, you mustn't kill that Jil. We all know he isn't a prisoner, but if he's killed, the Autonomy'll claim he was."
"We know," Chris assured him. "We're going to try to capture him -- not kill him."
"Capture him! How in the heck are you gonna do that?"
"We have it figured out. Now, please go back to your window and keep the 'trols as busy as you can. Okay?"
The boy hesitated. "Okay," he said and disappeared.
Roddy dropped the shirt, and Chris helped hoist him up. Chris was not big, himself, but Roddy was even smaller, and very slender. His weight was negligible, and without his shirt he slithered through the window easily, landing with a muted exclamation in the blackberry canes outside.
"You okay?" Chris called softly.
"Yeah, sure." The reply was pained. "Gouged myself good with a thorn."
"Here's your shirt." Chris handed it through the window to him, along with his own borrowed shirt. Roddy had had difficulty navigating the narrow window, and Chris knew he was certainly wider through the shoulders than Roddy. He hoped sincerely that he could get through. He sure as heck wasn't going to let Roddy try this alone.
He got both hands over the sill and hoisted himself up. The opening looked narrower by the moment, but he hunched forward, forcing his shoulders through the aperture. Roddy caught his arms, helping him.
He left skin on the frame, but at last tumbled head foremost through the window. Roddy caught him desperately around the legs to break his fall. They fell together into the tangled mass of brambles.
Roddy made no sound this time, but Chris couldn't restrain a whispered exclamation as a thorn raked cruelly across his naked chest. Roddy helped him up and handed him his shirt. "You all right?"
"Fine." Chris slipped on the shirt again, wiping away the blood, which trickled down this stomach. "I hope this is a good idea."
"Me too." Roddy was buttoning his own shirt. "Ready?"
"Yeah, I guess. I'll lead. Better stay on all fours for now."
"I'll lead --"
Chris ignored him, beginning to crawl along the side of the house, hugging the wall, and trying to avoid the worst of the blackberry canes. The going was painful, and more than once he winced as a blackberry thorn jabbed him in the knee. But the corner of the house drew gradually nearer, and at last he reached it.
He lifted a hand to signal Roddy to halt. Someone was nearby. He could hear the movements of the patrolman just beyond the corner of the house.
Very carefully, he eased the setting on his blaster to stun. The man must be busy, of course, his attention focused on the militiamen. Chris waited a moment, gathering his nerve, and then peeked around the corner of the house. The man was there, all right, his head turned away from Chris, and apparently taking careful aim at something off to his right. Chris fired.
The blaster hummed softly and the man sank quietly to the ground. Quickly Chris unfastened his helmet, and pulled it off. "Listen!" he whispered.
Roddy leaned forward. Cool, perfectly enunciated words came from the open com unit built into the patrolman's helmet. It was an odd sounding voice and the accent was foreign -- an accent Chris had not heard before.
"That's the Jil talking." Roddy said suddenly.
"Huh? You sure?"
Roddy nodded. "Listen to what he's telling them."
Chris did. "Concentrate fire on that mass of bushes and trees beyond thee fence," the voice commanded. "Several militia men are attempting to approach, using it for cover."
"Yessir," a distinctly Terran voice responded.
A burst of blaster fire answered, and wild yells of pain and alarm issued instantly from the grove of trees. There were frantic crashings and more yells as the militiamen beat a hasty retreat. Chris looked quickly around.
The area between the house and the barn was clear, except for a chicken wire fence which enclosed the pigpen, and the rusting frame of an ancient aircar, almost covered with snow, which had probably been resting in that same spot for the past ten years. And the barn, their destination, was no more than ten meters away. They must move now, while the patrolmen's attention was distracted. They might not get another chance.
"Follow me!" Chris whispered, and darted from their hiding place toward the aircar frame. Roddy was right beside him, and they crossed the five meters to the disintegrating vehicle at a crouching run.
They paused then, sheltered by the rusting vehicle, and peered cautiously out. The patrolmen were still concentrating their fire on the patch of bushes beyond the fence. As Chris watched, a militiaman appeared, fired once, and ducked back. Looking around, he saw the farmer watching them from his upper window, his expression incredulous. Their actions must seem insane, Chris realized. Maybe they were insane.
The farmer gave him a thumbs-up sign, then fired as a patrolman appeared around the corner of the barn. The red beam shot silently past and struck the target dead center. The man dropped in his tracks.
"Now!" Roddy whispered.
Chris obeyed. He dashed toward the barn, Roddy behind him. They reached the structure and flattened themselves against it. Roddy breathed a long sigh.
There was a side door in the building. He slid slowly toward it.
He wasn't, of course, planning to go through the door. It would be suicide to do so. The barn must be full of patrolmen, not to mention a big, very dangerous looking Jilectan. But beyond the door was a ladder leaning against the side of the barn. Apparently someone had recently been involved in some repair work on the shutters which opened from the side of the barn and into the hayloft. Chris had visited his grandfather's farm in Wisconsin often enough, and he knew how such structures were usually laid out.
He reached the ladder and crouched behind it for a moment, trying to quiet his breathing. Roddy arrived beside him, his freckled face red with the cold. Their eyes met.
"I'll go first," Roddy whispered.
"No you don't! It's my plan. Hold the ladder for me!" Chris managed to get his foot on the bottom rung first, and Roddy caught the sides, steadying it for him. Chris ascended quietly, expecting any instant to feel the sear of a blaster bolt.
But nothing happened. He reached the windows and squeezed through. It was tight, but not nearly as bad as the one they had negotiated from the pantry. Quickly he turned around, straining his eyes in the sudden dimness. He was in the loft, and hay crunched softly beneath him.
Then the hair rose on his neck. Something was watching him! He could feel the eyes on his back.
Slowly he turned to meet the yellow, wide-eyed gaze of a large, gray striped cat. The creature was crouched in the corner of the loft, ears flat, body motionless.
Chris relaxed and turned back to the window, motioning for Roddy to come on up.
Roddy ascended the ladder rapidly and gracefully, his feet noiseless on the rungs. Chris helped him through the window, and watched him glance quickly toward the cat. He smiled, and, as though by magic, the cat relaxed. It's ears came up, and it slunk softly toward them, purring hoarsely.
"Come on!" Chris whispered.
They hunched forward through the spongy hay and peered cautiously over the edge of the loft.
There was the Jil! Chris saw the alien first. He was big -- much bigger than Chris had imagined, even after the glimpse they'd gotten of him outside. He was seated on a patrolman's overcoat, which had been thrown over a bale of hay. Chris had a confused impression of fine, torn clothing and red, curly masses of hair standing out wildly all over the alien's head in what must be the latest style. A chicken wandered past the alien, clucking and muttering to itself, in the manner of all chickens. The Jilectan aimed a kick at it, and the bird fluttered away with a startled squawk.
At the doors of the barn were the crouching forms of four patrolmen -- less than Chris had expected. A fifth lay face down on the littered floor, moaning softly.
Chris glanced at Roddy, and saw him nod slightly. He knew what Roddy was thinking. They couldn't stay up here long. The Jil might sense them any minute, or they might be seen. The cat wandered across his legs, purring, and sinking her claws into him. Roddy reached back and pushed the animal gently away.
Outside, there was a deafening explosion of blaster fire. Somebody screamed hoarsely, and the cat leaped lightly upward, landing noiselessly in the rafters above their heads. The Jilectan spoke into his wrist communicator and almost instantly there was a second burst of blaster fire accompanied by a frantic squawking. Three chickens bolted into the barn in a cloud of feathers and snow. The patrolmen headed for the side door to see what had happened.
Chris and Roddy moved together. They scrambled forward and leaped, landing on a stacked pile of grain sacks. Chris heard Roddy's blaster crack almost at once, and saw the Jilectan start to turn.
Then, without really knowing how he had arrived there, Chris found himself beside the Jilectan, his blaster rammed deeply into the alien's left side. With his other arm, he encircled the Jilectan's waist, yanking him closer.
"Freeze or I kill him!" he yelled, wondering for an instant where he had heard that phrase before.
The Jilectan froze, his jeweled blaster half-drawn from its holster. The blaster fire ceased abruptly, and suddenly Roddy was beside him again, both hands gripping his own blaster, and jamming it against the Jilectan's other side.
Abruptly all was still. Chris, his own body shielded by that of the Jilectan, spoke into the alien's ear.
"I've set it on emergency max, m'lord. Tell 'em to throw down their weapons or I'll blow you away!"
Roddy adjusted the setting on his own weapon. "Mine's on max, too, m'lord," he said quietly.
The scene remained frozen. Chris jammed the muzzle of his blaster deeper, hearing as he did so the alien's grunt of pain. "Do it, m'lord!"
"Disarm!" The Jilectan spoke between clenched teeth, and his own jewel-studded weapon dropped from his hand.
Very reluctantly, the patrolmen let their weapons drop.
Chris nodded to Roddy, who gestured to the patrolmen. "Okay. All of you file over here and lie down on the floor. Hurry up."
The patrolmen slowly obeyed. When the last man was spread-eagled, Roddy fired four stunbolts, then stepped around Chris to pick up the Jilectan's jeweled blaster.
"Hm -- nice." He stuck it in his own belt. Chris stepped back, releasing some of the pressure, but still keeping his weapon firmly planted against the alien's side.
"All right, m'lord, lie down on your face."
The Jilectan glanced and the floor, which was strewn generously with hay, dirt, melted snow and animal droppings. "I will not!"
Roddy's mouth thinned, and he suddenly looked surprisingly dangerous. Chris watched him flick his blaster to needle beam.
"I'd do it if I were you, m'lord," Chris said quietly. "The Jilectans killed Roddy's mother two years ago."
The Jilectan glanced at Roddy, and abruptly started to obey. "You will die for this, Terran!" he snapped. "Slowly and horribly. You've earned a public execution for yourselves and your families! First your younger sister will die, Christopher Powers, and then your mother --"
The alien had been reading his mind. Chris felt a wash of anger, and placed one foot on the now prostrate Jilectan's neck.
"Shut up, Jil!" he snapped. "Roddy, get his communicator!"
Roddy knelt beside the alien, unfastening the communicator from his wrist. "What's your name, m'lord?" he asked politely.
"I am Lord Pomithvor -- first son of Lord Pomothvor. You will die for this insult, Roderick Atkins --"
Roddy ignored him and pressed the stud on the side of the communicator and spoke into the unit.
"Attention all patrolmen. Cadet Powers and I have taken Lord Pomithvor prisoner. At the moment we have two blasters pointed at him. Throw down your weapons, now, or we kill him."
There was a stunned silence. Roddy placed the muzzle of his weapon in the small of the Jilectan's back. "*Tell them*, m'lord."
The alien sputtered slightly. "And if I refuse?"
Roddy placed the communicator beside the Jilectan's mouth and lifted one of the white, jewel bedecked hands, examining it with interest. "I start burning off your fingernails -- one at a time."
"Surrender," Pomithvor said. "All patrolmen, this is Lord Pomithvor. Surrender at once."
"Thank you, m'lord," Roddy said courteously, and stood up, striding over to the unconscious patrolmen. The cadet knelt beside the nearest one. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "I need to borrow your restrainers. Ah -- here they are. Just hold still, please --"
The restrainers came off with a soft clink. Roddy stood up again and hurried back to Chris and Pomithvor. "Hands behind you, please, m'lord. Thank you very much --" He proceeded to fasten the alien's wrists together, then bent to pick up the communicator. "Now let's see -- what frequency would the Regional Militia be on --" He adjusted a dial, then spoke into the unit. "Hello! This is Roddy Atkins. May I speak to the man in charge, please?"
A surprised voice emerged from the unit. "This is Max DeSoto."
"Mr. DeSoto, Cadet Chris Powers and I have captured Lord Pomithvor. We have him prisoner in the barn now, and need your assistance."
"What?" There was incredulity in the voice. "Is this some kind of trick?"
"It's no trick, sir," Roddy said. "I'm coming to the door now, with my hands up. Lord Pomithvor has ordered his men to surrender."
"They do seem to be doing so." The voice was doubtful. Roddy handed Chris his blaster and started for the door, hands over his head.
"Roddy!" Chris started to stand up, then realized he shouldn't leave the Jilectan unguarded. "Be careful," he said lamely.
"I will." Roddy gave him a reassuring smile.
Chris pressed the blaster into the Jilectan's spine. "If any of your 'trols loses his head, m'lord, you're going to die -- right now." He pressed a button on the unit. "Better tell 'em so!"
"Disarm!" the Jilectan stuttered. "The criminals mean to kill me if you do not comply! Disarm and surrender at once!"
Roddy stepped through the door, hands held high over his head. Chris held his breath, but there was no sound of blaster fire. After a moment Roddy reappeared, accompanied by a tall, slender olive skinned man with dark hair and eyes. Several more men entered cautiously behind him.
The dark-haired man stared speechless at the figure of the Jilectan. "I'll be damned! You did it, all right! Good work, kids!"
"Thank you," Chris said.
"You will all die horribly for this!" Pomithvor raised his head and glared at Roddy. "I will have you publicly executed. And your families will also die -- horribly --"
DeSoto lifted a bushy eyebrow. "I don't think so m'lord -- not in the near future, anyway. I think the war's going to take precedence over any public executions. I've been listening to the video broadcasts, and the Terran High Chancellor has just announced Terra's declaration of war on the Jilectan Autonomy."
There was a sudden silence. Chris and Roddy's eyes met. The Jilectan was suddenly very still.
"What happened?" Chris whispered.
"There was a skirmish above the planet," DeSoto said. "I guess the circumstances leave no doubt that this was an outright aggression and not just a bunch of renegades. I'm sure we'll hear all the gory details later. In the meantime, we've got to clear up the remains of our own private war down here." He glanced at the Jilectan again.
Chris stood up. "May we surrender custody of our prisoner to you, now, Mr. DeSoto?" he inquired formally.
DeSoto grinned. "Thank you, Mr. -- or should I say Cadet Powers." He bent down and took the Jilectan by the arm. "All right, Lord Pomithvor, on your feet."
Pomithvor stood up with an odd, flowing grace. His movements were quick and lithe, in spite of the restrainers confining his hands. Chris came almost to his ribcage in height, and even the tall DeSoto did not even reach his shoulder. Chris felt a sudden touch of misgiving at the task which the Terran Confederation had taken on. The Jils were formidable and terrifying. This was no game, and although it was a relief, in a way, that they no longer need bow to another species, there were going to be a lot of people killed in the next few years.
Pomithvor glared at them. "Psychics!" he snarled. "Terran psychics -- both of you! Born criminals and degenerates!"
Chris glanced quickly at Roddy, and felt Roddy's hand close on his wrist.
But DeSoto seemed unperturbed. "Sour grapes, m'lord," he said calmly. "Anyway, it wouldn't matter even if they are. Haven't you heard? The High Chancellor has announced a change in policy towards psychics."
Chris felt Roddy relax. "Is that so?" Roddy inquired conversationally.
"Yeah." DeSoto grinned. "No more of that inborn criminal rot. Everybody with half a brain knows Jil propaganda when they hear it." He glanced at Roddy and winked. "So if you boys are psychics, don't worry about it."
Roddy shifted uncomfortably. "Well, Chris sure isn't --"
"Neither is Roddy!" Chris said defensively.
DeSoto shrugged. "Like I said, kids, it doesn't matter. Shall we head for the house now? I'm cold."
Chris glanced at the four prostrate patrolmen on the floor. The men were beginning to stir and groan. "What about them?"
"My men'll take care of 'em." DeSoto spoke into his wrist communicator. "They're cleaning up the mess out there, anyway, so they might as well clean up in here, too." He glanced around as two men appeared in the doorway. "Olson -- Maher, take care of these guys, too."
"Yessir." The two men went over to the patrolmen, and Chris found himself following DeSoto and the Jilectan across the yard toward the house.
The door opened as they approached, and the farmer's wife hustled them inside. There were militiamen everywhere, and the prisoners were being lined up in a neat row beside the sofa, awaiting, Chris supposed, transport to a prison. The farmhouse, it seemed, was quickly being adopted as a temporary base of operations. The farmer's two sons watched in silence as the Jilectan was seated beside his men on the carpet. Then the one who had objected to their plan came over to Chris.
"Well, I gotta hand it to you," he said. "You did quite a job out there. We were watching until you disappeared through the window, and I thought sure we'd never see you alive again."
Chris grinned back. "Thanks for keeping them busy for us."
Harold Tidd, who was passing at the moment, heard the words and paused to slap Chris heartily on the back. "It was the least we could do, son. You kids did the hard part."
Chris smiled sheepishly. "Well, I almost lost my nerve when I looked over the edge of the loft and saw the Jil. Look, is there any way we might be able to get word to T.S.A.? I mean, we were due back this morning --"
Tidd grabbed DeSoto as he went by. "Hey, Max, you think you could help these kids out?"
DeSoto listened as Chris explained their predicament. He sighed. "Dammit, kids, I'm awfully sorry, but as things are now --" He glanced around as two more patrolmen were led through the door. "I'll try to get word to 'em, and I promise I'll do it as soon as I can, but that's really all I can do for the moment."
Chris sighed. "All right. Thanks a lot --" He turned as someone tapped him on the shoulder and found himself staring into the eager young face of a newsman. A mike was thrust under his nose.
"Mr. Atkins?"
"Uh -- no." Chris pushed the mike down. "I'm Chris Powers --"
"Is it true Mr. Powers that you and Mr. Atkins were responsible for capturing the Jilectan?"
"Uh --" Chris glanced desperately at Roddy. Roddy, with bowed head and shoulders, was trying to slink away through the crowd, but before he had gone a meter a young woman had him by the shoulder.
"Mr. Atkins -- please. We'd like you to tell us what happened--how you and your friend captured a Jilectan. Weren't you afraid?"
Roddy cleared his throat, his face light pink. "Please, Miss, I --"
"Bring the video transmitter over here, Joe!" the man who had accosted Chris yelled over his shoulder. "We've found the boys who saved the day --"
"Oh gosh!" Chris tried to shrug his shoulder from beneath the reporter's sturdy grasp. "Wait -- please! I really don't want to be on the video --"
The transmitter was suddenly before him, purring softly, and Roddy was shouldered over beside him.
"Now!" said the woman. "Please tell us, Mr. Powers, how you accomplished this historic deed."
Confused and embarrassed, Chris managed to stammer out an extremely abbreviated description of their actions, which had led to the capture of the Jilectan. The woman listened with obvious interest, smiling sweetly, and adding a few comments of her own. Chris concluded his statement as quickly as possible. "Uh, please, Miss, we really have to go --"
The male reporter spoke again, shoving his mike under Chris's nose again. "I have been told, Mr. Powers, that the Jilectan accused you two of being psychics after his capture." A flashing smile. "Are you psychics?"
Chris shook his head. "Absolutely not."
"Have you heard the news, Mr. Powers, that a new ruling has been issued by the Terran High Chancellor that psychics are no longer to be automatically labeled as criminals?"
"Yes," Chris said, thinking to himself that, for the present anyway, that ruling made little difference. He wasn't a psychic, of course, but he was almost sure Roddy was, especially after all that had happened in the past 24 hours. One ruling by a high official did not automatically obliterate the many years of persecution toward psychics, and the prejudice engendered in the less educated during that time. He wasn't about to endanger Roddy's life do to these eager, devil-may-care reporters.
"And this ruling makes no difference in your answer, Mr. Powers?" The woman spoke up again. "After all, psychics are known to be small people, and you --"
"I'm not a psychic!" Chris's tone was more defensive than he had intended, and he was surprise flicker across her features. He lowered his voice and added more levelly. "And neither is Roddy."
The woman's smile was back, and she turned to address Roddy. "And what about you, Mr. Atkins? Is you answer to this question the same as your friend's? Do you believe the Jilectan was simply trying to get you in trouble?"
Roddy smiled disarmingly at her. "Absolutely, Miss Mulligan," he said. "He knew he was caught. He didn't have anything to lose. Now excuse us, please, but Chris and I have urgent business to take care of." He smiled shyly and lifted a hand to the videocamera. "Bye everybody."
As they wiggled their way through the mass of people, Roddy grimaced. "Urgent business to take care of! Bye, everybody! What the blazes did I say that for?"
"Roddy," Chris said.
"Yeah?"
"How did you know her name was Miss Mulligan?"
Roddy looked surprised, and then grinned. "I read her nametag."
"She wasn't wearing a name tag."
Roddy frowned at him. "Sure she was!"
Chris shook his head. "No she wasn't."
"Chris, I'm positive!" he grinned suddenly. "Want to go back and check?"
"No thanks," Chris said fervently. "I guess I'll take your word for it."
"Bye, everybody," Roddy murmured disgustedly.
They made their way at last into the family room. The videoscreen was going, and the farmer, seated in the ancient recliner, was watching, his feet elevated, a cup of coffee in one hand. His daughter stood beside him, also watching. A coffeepot stood on the table before him, and Mrs. Tidd appeared from the kitchen. "You're big news, boys," she said. "Did you know?"
"We are?" Roddy stared blankly at the videoscreen where a news commentator was speaking excitedly concerning the stirring events taking place.
"Sure! You were on the video just a minute ago."
"Hold on," Tidd said comfortably. "I'm sure they'll show you again. Lottie, you got any sandwiches for our young heroes? I'm sure they're about starved."
"Of course." Mrs. Tidd vanished into the kitchen and emerged with a plate in each hand. "Ham and cheese okay, boys?"
"Fine," Chris said, and took the offered sandwich, his eyes fixed on the videoscreen. The commentator vanished, and the face of a small, plump black woman, somewhere in the second half of her first century, took its place. Chris knew who that was! All Terrans did. High Chancellor Anne Mugamba of the Terran Confederation.
Anne Mugamba faced the camera, looking directly into the pickup. There was no trace of her famous smile, and dignity cloaked her so palpably that Chris could feel it.
"Citizens of the Terran Confederation," she began, her resonant speaker's voice clear and very stern. "There comes a time in the history of all peoples where there is an end to negotiation, an end to appeasement, and choices must be made, clear choices, hard choices, and those choices must be upheld without regret.
"Now is such a time. For over a century the Terran Confederation has lived in the shadow of the Jilectan Autonomy. Our sovereignty as a nation has been repeatedly infringed without redress. Many of our people have lost their lives under arbitrary edicts of the Jilectan Viceroy. A covert war has been unrelentingly waged against our people and our nation. Our territory has been invaded repeatedly by this other nation without our permission and without even the courtesy of formal request. Terran ships are arbitrarily stopped and boarded in Terran space without explanation and without response to protest of this government. By order of the Jilectan Viceroy a segment of our population, the Terran psychics, have been outlawed without the right of appeal, and our law enforcement agencies pressured into compliance, although no such Terran law exists.
"All Terran citizens are aware of these things, and even alone they would demonstrate a very great contempt for Terra by the Jilectan Autonomy. But this is not all.
"Eight hours ago, Viceregal Patrolmen appeared on our home world, harassing and maltreating our citizens. It was believed at first that these men were renegades, and measures were taken to control them. However, several hours ago a contingent of Patrol battlecruisers appeared over Terra. When challenged, the Jilectan ships fired on ships of the Terran Space Corps."
"There can be no other response to this unmistakable act of war, except to defend ourselves. Therefore, with the endorsement of our Legislature, I am hereby issuing a formal declaration of war upon the Jilectan Autonomy."
The screen flickered out, to be replaced by a young man wearing a turtleneck sweater and sports coat. "You have been listening, ladies and gentlemen, to a replay of Chancellor Mugamba's declaration of war on the Jilectan Autonomy. This occurred three hours ago, after Terran cruisers drove away a Patrol contingent, which appeared over our planet and opened fire. Since then, a Jilectan has been discovered on Terra and taken prisoner. We have here a replay of an interview with the two brave young men who --"
"Here it comes," Mr. Tidd said. "You're on."
The picture on the screen changed to the crowded living room of the Tidd farmhouse, and in the foreground, close up, were Roddy and Chris, looking damp, bedraggled, and acutely uncomfortable. Chris couldn't help grimacing at his stammering replies to the reporter's questions.
"Oh, yuk!" Roddy commented. "My nose is all red. Turn it off."
"Battle scars," Amy said. "I think you were wonderful." Her eyes shone with admiration.
"Thanks," Chris muttered.
The reporter reached the part about psychics, and again the girl turned toward them. "Are you?" she asked eagerly.
"Amy!" her father said sharply. "I told you not to mention that!"
"Aw, dad --"
"It's okay, Mr. Tidd," Roddy said quickly. He glanced at Amy. "As far as we know, we're not."
"Aw, shucks!" she looked disappointed. "Wish I was. Now that they've been cleared of being criminals, I think it would be sort of fun -- not that I ever believed any of that crud, anyway."
"Amy!" Mrs. Tidd, sounded shocked. "I won't have you using that kind of language!"
The farmer glanced at Chris and grinned. "Pretty mild, I'll bet, compared to what you Academy boys are used to, eh?"
"Sh!" his wife said. "Listen!"
The newscaster was back with a bulletin. " -- Matriarch Ch'Lan, of the Procyon Matriarchy, has just announced the Matriarchy's full support of Terra in its cause against the aggression of the Jilectan Autonomy. Ch'Lan states that the Jilectans have, for too long, infringed upon the rights of the free people of the Sector, and that the time has come to teach them a lesson."
"Amen," Tidd said, leaning forward to refill his coffee cup.
"Good for Ch'Lan!" Amy said wholeheartedly.
"That was quick," Mrs. Tidd commented.
"Yeah," her husband agreed. "But that's one advantage of a monarchy, dear. The leader doesn't have to wait around while ten thousand committees debate the pro's and con's of declaring war. She just does it, and that's that."
"Darn good thing in this case," Roddy put in soberly. "When the Jils realize Terra means business, they aren't going to stall around any. The quicker we can get folks on our side, the better."
"The Arcturians are bound to side with us," Chris said. "And the Loangi, too."
The announcer was back. "We have another newsflash, folks. A second Jilectan has been apprehended somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. Two militiamen were killed and a third seriously injured during the capture. The Jilectan, Lord Briminthvor, declines comment about his reasons for his presence on Terra."
"Yeah, I'll bet," Roddy said.
Amy's eyes went wide. "Dad! Remember that nut on Brother Dominic's Hour yesterday morning -- the guy who confessed about the weapon that would only kill Jils? D'you suppose there was anything to it?"
Tidd nodded slowly. "Could be, honey. It does seem like one hell of a coincidence."
Roddy threw Chris a significant glance.
The newscaster was proceeding. "The announcement has just been made by Pivvir, First Speaker of the Arcturian Republic, that the Arcturians will support Terra in their cause against this outrageous act of aggression by the Jilectan Autonomy --"
"Bravo," Tidd said. "Sounds like things are getting in gear, all right."
Mrs. Tidd sighed. "You know, don't you dear, that a lot of people are going to get killed in this little dispute. And the Jils aren't very nice to their captives --"
Chris knew what she was thinking. She had two sons, who would certainly be involved in the fighting -- even as he and Roddy certainly would be. He wondered for a moment how well he would do if confronted with the Jilectans' execution chair. No better than the next man probably. He had witnessed a few public executions on video, and he knew well why Undergrounders killed themselves in order to avoid it. No matter what, he didn't want himself, or Roddy to end up like that.
"I know, dear." Tidd spoke soberly. "War is hell -- has been since our remote ancestors started pitching rocks at each other. But at least we're not alone." He nodded to the videoscreen again where the young man in the turtleneck was now announcing the Loangi's declaration to support Terra against the aggressors. "Looks like the Jils might be in a little deeper than they expected," he commented.
Chancellor Mugamba's face appeared on the screen, and they heard again her speech declaring war on the Jilectan Autonomy. Then the scene changed to another room, and the Chancellor standing behind another podium.
"Citizens of the Terran Confederation," she began formally. "For over thirty years the Jilectan Autonomy has conducted a relentless campaign against a segment of our population, the group know as Terran psychics. They have used propaganda, terror, and political pressure to lead Terrans to allow the persecution of their own citizens. The scheme was not for Terra's benefit, as we now know. The psychic power of the Jilectans has made them the rulers of many species in our galaxy, and they could not allow the existence of rivals. They feared that we of the Confederation would eventually challenge their supremacy -- because the power of our own psychics equaled -- and sometimes exceeded -- that of their own.
"No laws condemning Terran psychics exist in the Confederation, and never have. Terran psychics are not, and henceforth shall not be considered, criminals in any sense of the word." The famous smile flashed. "Those of you among us who are psychics have the same rights and privileges as any other citizen of this nation. To continue the policy of our enemies -- used for their own evil purposes -- toward our own people would be an act of sheer lunacy.
"The war in which we are now engaged will be fought against psychics -- psychics who have successfully used their power for centuries to subdue their enemies. Terran psychics are needed now as never before to even the odds against us. If you are a psychic, or suspect that you may be, please come forward. You will be welcomed --"
Roddy turned abruptly and left the room. Chris, with an uncertain glance at the farmer, went after him.
He found Roddy in the cellar where they had spent the night. The other boy stood in the corner of the room, surrounded by two barrels of apples and a huge bag of onions. He was staring out the dirty, spider web coated window, his arms folded, and his mouth set.
Chris went softly over to stand beside him. Of the two of them, Roddy had always been the brooder -- the deep thinker. And Chris knew what he was thinking now.
"Roddy," he said quietly.
The boy shook his head sharply, and in the dimness Chris could see tears on his cheeks. He gulped.
"My mom died two years ago for being a psychic, Chris," Roddy spoke suddenly and angrily. "She was betrayed by her best friend."
Chris put a hand on Roddy's shoulder. He felt at a loss for words.
"If she could have kept it secret for just two more years --" Roddy stopped abruptly. "Oh hell! Ifs don't make any difference now, do they?"
"No," Chris said gently.
Roddy stared out the window a moment longer. "You know what I swore after that happened, Chris?"
"No," said Chris.
"I swore never to have a best friend -- someone close to me -- someone I would tell my deepest secrets to." He turned suddenly and smiled. "But I didn't keep that promise. I found a friend -- a good friend." He lowered his voice. "The best friend I've ever had."
Chris felt embarrassed. He wasn't used to Roddy talking this way.
Roddy's smile broadened. "Now I've embarrassed you. I'm sorry."
Chris shrugged and grinned. "Are you trying to tell me, that you think that Jil was telling the truth? Part of the truth, anyway?"
"All of it," Roddy said soberly. "I think you're a psychic, too."
Chris laughed. "I couldn't be, Roddy. Look at the size of my parents!"
"Look at the size of you," Roddy said.
Chris stared at him. "Roddy, don't be loony! Psychics produce psychics, in case you haven't heard."
Roddy nodded, looking a little confused. "I know. I can't explain it, but I just had the feeling that the Jil was telling the truth. He was mad, sure, and scared. But he wasn't lying."
Chris opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. Thinking back now, he'd had the same impression.
"Chris?" It was the voice of the farmer's daughter, calling from the top of the stairs. "Roddy? Are you down here?"
"Right here, Amy!" Roddy called.
Amy ran lightly down the stairs. "Oh, there you are! I just thought you might like to hear the news. The Cetans have declared for us. They're on our side."
"That's nice." Roddy went over to her. "The more the merrier. Your mom got any more of those sandwiches? I'm still awful hungry."
The girl was smiling, face shining with admiration and hero worship. "Sure! The militiamen have probably eaten up all she made, but I'll fix you one. Come on!"
**********
tbc
