See if you can spot the cameo appearance of a character in an earlier story in this part.
Revolt!: 7/7
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Chapter VIII
Someone was calling him. "Chris? Easy Roddy. He's gonna be okay."
Chris opened his eyes and blinked. Above him, resolving slowly into a solid image, was Mark Linley's face. Roddy was also kneeling beside him.
"Chris! Are you okay?"
Chris managed to nod. "What happened?" he croaked.
Linley answered him. "He belted you a good one. You're gonna have a pair o' shiners."
Chris rubbed a hand across his face, feeling blood smear his palm. Beside him, prone on the floor, his hands secured with restrainers, were the deputy and one of the other men. Roddy's erstwhile opponent lay on the floor curled in a ball, sobbing and clutching his hand. Westover stood over the man, a blaster centered on him.
"What's the matter with him?" Chris asked, pushing himself to his elbows.
"Blaster got hot and stuck to his hand." Linley grinned. "Take a look, kid."
Chris followed his pointing finger. The weapon lay on the floor, open, its melted, fused mechanism exposed. Chris stared at it in confusion. "That happened before--on the shuttle."
Roddy gave him a hand up. "General Westover says you did it."
"Me?"
Westover nodded. "I'll explain later. Shall we go back into the office? Mark, would you keep an eye on these people for a couple of minutes?"
"Sure."
Once in the office, the sheriff pointed to his desk. "The phone's right over there, General."
Westover went over to the desk. Quickly he punched a code and the screen lit up with the face of a man in the uniform of Air Defense. "This is Captain Avery."
"Captain, this is Lieutenant General Alan Westover."
Even on the videoscreen the man appeared to snap to attention. "General Westover! Yes sir! What can I do for you, sir?"
"I'm reporting a Jilectan ship along the Florida coast line --" Westover quickly outlined the location of the vessel. "The 'Caribbean Queen'. It's a seagoing vessel disguised as a Terran ship, but a Jilectan by the name of Lord Lorenthzar is aboard."
"Yes sir. We'll get on it right away." The man turned away, speaking to someone Chris couldn't see. Then he was back. "What about you, sir?"
"We've captured a Jil spy and two patrolmen," Westover told him. "If you could send someone to take them away -- and an escort for us --"
"Of course sir! What is your location?"
Westover gave it, then cut the line and turned from the desk. "Feel better, Chris?"
Chris nodded. "Yes sir. Thank you."
Westover motioned him to sit down. "Sheriff, perhaps you could take care of these men for us. Mr. Mackey should probably have some burn salve put on that hand."
"Of course, General." The sheriff strode over to the desk and pressed the intercom. "Bradley, you and Simmons come to my office."
"Yes sir!"
A moment later, two deputies appeared, staring wide eyed at the prisoners lying on the floor in the hallway under Mark's watchful eye. The sheriff nodded to the three men. "Take them to the cell and lock 'em up."
"Deputy Willard, too, sir?"
"Deputy Willard especially. And Simmons --"
"Yes sir?"
"Keep an eye on them."
"Yes sir."
Westover spoke unexpectedly. "Mr. Mackey has a burned hand, Simmons."
"Uh --" Simmons glanced at the Sheriff.
"Get the doc in to see it," the sheriff said. He smiled faintly at Westover but didn't comment.
Westover didn't reply. He came over to Chris and sat down beside him as the sheriff's men led the would-be kidnappers away. "That's quite a gift you have there, Chris. Can you control it?"
Chris shook his head. "I don't even know what I did, sir."
Westover produced the blaster, displaying its fused, melted interior. "Well," he said slowly, "I'm not certain how you did it, either, although I know why." He glanced up at Roddy. "You were protecting your psychic partner, of course. The reaction is instinctive."
"Then it's true!" Roddy said eagerly. "We *are* psychic partners!"
"You are," Westover confirmed. "Your minds are linked tightly together." Again he surveyed the blaster quizzically. "You know, Chris, you have a power here that's different from any we have yet encountered in the Terran Underground. I felt a surge of energy when the blaster was aimed at Roddy."
"But -- what did I do?" Chris asked.
"I think," Westover said slowly, "that you somehow managed to destabilize the focusing field of the blaster. The field was unable to generate its normal pattern, and the energy being released unfocused melted the mechanism of the blaster." He grinned suddenly. "I'm glad I wasn't holding the thing when you did it."
"I didn't even feel myself do it," Chris said.
"Neither did I when I disarmed that guy," Roddy said.
Linley picked up the ruined blaster, examining it with interest. "The first time Alan disarmed someone, he didn't either. It takes practice before you can control your powers, but you'll learn."
"The Special Forces'll want to study that talent of yours, Chris," Westover said. "I've never run across anything quite like it before. Be very nice to know--especially if your opponent is holding on to his blaster real tight -- like the deputy was when we first came into his office."
"I wondered about that," Roddy said. "I tried to grab it, but it didn't work. I thought maybe I just didn't know how."
"Maybe you didn't," Westover said. "But I couldn't either." He sank down on the sofa beside Roddy and glanced at his chronometer. "0820. Won't court be in session yet, Sheriff?"
"Huh?" The sheriff looked puzzled for a moment, and then ashamed. He spoke to Linley. "Give me the ticket, General."
Mark produced it. Quite deliberately, the sheriff tore it into a dozen pieces and dropped into a wastebasket. "Forget the ticket," he said sheepishly. "It'd be unpatriotic to give you or General Westover a ticket." He smiled slightly. "Your little friend is a Southerner, too, y'know, sir. Us boys in the South sort of like to claim him as our own personal hero."
Linley chuckled. "Funny. The Black Saberclaws on Shallock like to claim him, too." He grinned. "Thanks, Sheriff. I really wasn't lookin' forward to explainin' that ticket to our boss. We was supposed to stay outta trouble."
"It never happened," the sheriff said grandly.
"Thanks." Linley yawned. "Man, suddenly I'm pooped. You got any coffee around here?"
"Coffee? How about breakfast?"
"Sounds great."
Westover stood up. "I'd better check first, Mark, and make sure Chris's little prize has arrived where it belongs."
"Good idea, kid. I'd sorta forgot about that damned rock in all the scuffle."
Westover went to the phone, and the sheriff left the office.
"General Linley," Chris said.
"Yeah, kid?"
"I wanted to ask you about the rock."
"It had the info about that anti-Jil weapon in it."
Chris had figured that. "I know, sir--at least, I suspected it strongly. What I want to know is how they got that much information -- it must have been quite a lot, after all--into a little chunk of rock?"
Westover ended his call and turned from the desk. "I think I can answer that. They've got a new process going now. A holographic image is recorded on the individual planes of the crystal. When you focus an x-ray laser properly on these planes you get the images. Anyone who didn't know the secret, of course, shouldn't find a thing. And the amount of storage space is tremendous. I'm sure your father had room to spare."
"Wow!" Chris said.
"Did Dr. Wyler get it, sir?" Roddy asked.
"Oh, yes, he got it. A young lady named Sheila brought it to him this morning." He nodded approvingly at Chris. "Good work--both of you."
"Thanks." Chris felt his face growing warm, but was aware of a sense of pride. Wow! He'd never thought Alan Westover would be telling him he'd done well!
The sheriff re-entered the room. "I ordered breakfast. It'll be here in a minute." Another man entered behind him. "This is Dr. Robinson. I thought maybe he should have a look at the cadet." The sheriff glanced at Chris. "No charge, of course."
"I'm fine," Chris said.
"Let him check you over, Cadet," Westover said.
Chris started to protest and then gave in. The doctor, a small wiry man, examined his eyes carefully and dabbed at the cut on his mouth. He stood up. "No permanent damage, Cadet. You've got a beautiful pair of black eyes there. Should give the reporters a thrill."
"What reporters?" Roddy inquired resignedly.
"The ones outside," the sheriff said. "Whole bunch of 'em."
Chris sighed. "Shall we have 'em before breakfast or afterwards?"
Roddy shrugged and said something under his breath. Then "Before, I guess. Might as well get it over with."
**********
The reporters crowded in. There seemed to be dozens -- hundreds of them. In no time the room was packed. Microphones and videocameras appeared
Roddy, red faced and tousled, answered all the questions he could. Chris managed a few stammered replies as well. For close to thirty minutes they were examined and cross-examined. Then Linley called a halt to the proceedings.
"That's enough, folks. We got a few other things t'do today, an' breakfast's waitin'. Get goin', now. C'mon, scram."
Reluctantly the newspeople allowed themselves to be herded toward the door, as they reached it, one young man got in one last question.
"Mr. Powers, how does it feel to be responsible for the capture of three Jilectans in two days?"
Chris stared speechless into the videocamera. "Uh --"
Roddy came to his rescue. "It feels embarrassing," he said fervently. "Now, please --"
The reporters exited with great reluctance, and a moment later four men clad in the uniforms of the Terran Army entered. They came to attention, saluting. A tall, dark-skinned man wearing the insignia of a lieutenant colonel stepped forward and saluted again. "Colonel Seymour reportin', General."
Westover and Linley casually returned the salutes. "Hello, there, Dwayne," Westover said. "Glad you're here. We're ready to get going again."
Dwayne Seymour grinned. "I understand, sir," he said, in a strong Shallockian accent. "Any time you're ready."
"Breakfast first?" the sheriff inquired. "I've had it brought in special."
Alan Westover hesitated and then nodded. "Tell them bring it on in, Sheriff," he said. "We'll just chew fast."
**********
The aircar containing Chris, Roddy, Alan Westover, and Mark Linley buzzed quietly through the afternoon sun. Two escort vehicles flanked them, and Chris had to admit to himself that he was very happy to have them there. Ahead, the low white buildings of the Terran Space Academy came into view.
"General Westover," Roddy said.
Alan turned in his seat. "Yes?"
"I've sort of been wondering -- how are Chris and I going to learn to use our psychic talents?"
Westover smiled. "That's one of the reasons Mark and I are here," he explained. "We're in charge of setting up screening for psychics and arranging a class for them. The same man who taught me will be the instructor. His name's Colonel Leroy Burke. He's the best psychic instructor the Underground's ever found. We're going to need psychics, like you two. We'll be putting psychic Teams aboard Terran Space Corps ships to help in this war and for that you'll need training. And in the meantime, until the class gets going, you can practice a little on your own -- now that you have a rough idea of the scope of your abilities." He smiled. "Mark and I will be glad to give you a few pointers while we're still here."
Roddy's face brightened. "That would be great!"
The aircar was losing altitude, and Chris had the impression of a sea of faces below. Banners waved, and he could hear a band playing. In the crowd Chris could see signs welcoming Westover and Linley to Terran Space Academy, and here and there he caught glimpses of several for himself and Roddy as well. Everybody seemed to be cheering.
Chris and Roddy looked at each other, and Chris heaved a deep, resigned sigh. "Well, here we go again."
THE END
