I had intended to do more, but since you asked so nicely, Pam, here's a shortened part 9. I'll try to get more up in a day or two.
Defector 9/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
IX
"Here we are," Kurt said. There was a whine as the engines of the car lost altitude. "Okay, sir, we're in a nice, secluded spot."
Ala got slowly up on the seat, the blaster never wavering. They were in a deserted area behind a row of drab storage buildings. The area seemed deserted, and he could sense no one nearby but the occupants of the two cars. "Stick out your arm, M'lord. We're going to drug you."
Revolthvor's mouth thinned. "I will *not*!"
Kurt casually produced his own blaster and aimed it directly at the Jilectan's nose. "Then I'll just shoot you, M'lord."
Mark opened the door next to Revolthvor. "Havin' a little argument?"
"M'lord is objecting to being drugged," Alan said.
"Kill him then," Mark said casually. He flipped up his visor to give the Jilectan a good look at his face. "I'll do it if you like." He casually drew his blaster, aiming it at Revolthvor's ear.
"Wait," Revolthvor said. He extended his arm. "I suppose I have no choice."
"No," Alan agreed calmly. "But if you cooperate you'll live through this. I'd think that's preferable to being shot."
Mark didn't lower his blaster as Kurt administered the injection. Revolthvor said nothing in reply to Alan, but remained silent as the sedative slowly took effect.
Mark's blaster disappeared and he straightened up. "We thought we'd leave the 'trols here in the aircar, unless you got a better idea. We'll leave the windows down, an' they can have a good nap 'til the sedative wears off. Nobody's likely to find 'em 'til we're long gone."
"Sounds good," Alan said.
Mark waved, and a moment later Bronson and Griffen, followed by Lewis Stevens, approached the aircar. Kurt popped the trunk, and a moment later, the two patrolmen, wearing only their under shorts, were being led toward their erstwhile Patrol car, their hands still cuffed firmly behind them with their own restrainers. The chauffeur stared out of the trunk at Linley, Alan and Stevens, his eyes wide with horror.
"What are you going to do?" he demanded.
"Nothing," Alan said. "Just keep quiet, and when we're finished with our job, we'll let you go."
Bronson and Griffen returned a few moments later. Mark holstered his blaster. "Now comes the hard part," he observed. "Better move His Lordship's chauffeur, there. We don't want to squash him."
Lewis Stevens and Alan hauled the man out of the trunk. Kurt stood back, carefully covering the man with his own blaster where he stood between the two psychics.
Mark, Kevin and Griffen, in the meantime, had proceeded to, as Mark had prophesied, the hard part of the job. Together, they hauled Lord Revolthvor from the rear seat of the limousine. Grunting and straining, the three big men carried the Jilectan to the rear of the vehicle, and, with great effort, stored him in the trunk. It would be snug, Alan decided, but there was room for the chauffeur in there as well, and the lack of maneuvering room would preclude much in the way of escape attempts.
"What have you done to His Lordship?" demanded the chauffeur.
"Nothing," Alan said. "You can see that he's breathing. Climb in, please. There's adequate ventilation, and it's even air-conditioned. You'll be fine, and so will His Lordship -- as long as you cooperate."
A few moments later, the Jilectan limousine lifted quietly into the air. They soared over the storage huts, traversed the distance to the main street that led to the center complexes of the base, and settled boldly onto its surface. Naturally, no one was going to dispute the right of way with a Jilectan noble's car, and the military police that patrolled the station's ground transit system were highly unlikely to even consider trying to issue Lord Revolthvor's driver a citation for a moving violation. Kurt turned onto the street leading to the hospital, pulled casually into the space labeled "Administrator" and cut the engine.
"We'll be waitin' for your signal," Mark said.
"Yell if you get in trouble," Bronson added.
"He will," Mark said.
Alan grinned and opened the door. Griffen got out after him.
They went up the broad steps of the hospital and through the front doors, trying to look casual and unhurried. The lobby was wide and the doors and ceilings were built on Jilectan dimensions, although the benches and counters were closer to the size of most of the subject species. Griffen strode briskly toward the lifts, Alan stretching his legs a bit to keep up with him. Doors slid open as they approached, and they entered, along with a dozen patients, doctors and nurses. The lift proceeded smoothly upward.
The prison level, as Alan knew, was located on the tenth floor. He had spent one memorable night there, five months ago. The lift stopped at almost every level, but on the ninth the last person exited. Griffen glanced at Alan as the last man exited. "Doing okay, Gregson?"
"Fine." Alan couldn't help smiling at the name. It was a private joke between them. The doors hesitated a moment and started to close.
The lights went out.
Griffen caught the half-closed door with one large hand and forced it back into its slot. Alan dived between them, and the former Strike Commander followed him.
The ninth floor was dark and people were scurrying everywhere. Down the hall, someone on one of the wards was cursing vividly. Alan twisted his head, squinting through the gloom and trying to map out the layout of the place with the aid of his clairvoyance. "What do you suppose happened?"
The emergency lighting came on, pale and yellow. Griffen's face looked ghostly in the illumination. "Power failure," he said. "What a time for this to happen!"
"Which way to the stairs?"
"To the left, I think. There's a door at the end of the hall...yes, Nurse?"
A harried-looking young man was pulling at his sleeve. "Doctor, we have a problem. Strike Commander Fong is complaining of severe stomach pain, again, and I can't get through to his doctor to have the pain medication renewed. All the lines are jammed. Could you sign the order, please?"
Griffen glanced frantically at Alan and then took the chart the man held out to him. "Nurse, I haven't the time right now. Can you write the --"
"It's right there, Doctor," the nurse assured him, indicating a line of printing near the bottom of the screen. He handed Griffen a stylus. "Just sign right under it."
Griffen braced the thing against his midriff and scribbled something in the space provided.
"Thank you." The nurse took the device and vanished into the crowd of swirling people.
Griffen wiped his forehead. "That was close! Come on. Let's get out of here." He grinned suddenly. "But if they ever take a close look at that signature, something's going to hit the fan."
"What did you sign?" Alan asked curiously.
"A. Westover, M.D.," Griffen told him. "As illegibly as I could manage."
Alan smothered a grin.
They passed the door to a room where several Terrans and one Arcturian in hospital robes were lounging in chairs before a videoscreen. One of the men was describing the machine in the most uncomplimentary of terms and lamenting loudly the fiendish timing of the video, going off as it had in the middle of a vital play. Alan surmised that the men had been watching the null-grav polo tournament scheduled today between the Terran Dolphins and the Arcturian Trippers. Too bad.
They had taken three more steps when the intercom boomed loudly. "Code Red, Security! Code Red, Security!" Somewhere, Alan could hear the shrilling of a bell, the sounds muffled by distance.
"What's a Code Red?" Griffen demanded in an undertone.
"Fire," Alan said. "There's a fire in Security."
"Holy space! Security's on the prison level!"
"Yeah, I know. Let's hurry."
Griffen pushed open the door to the stairs and they stepped through.
Several people were hurrying toward them from above and they moved to one side to let them past, and then began to ascend. Behind them they heard the retreating footsteps and then, ahead, more voices. Another group of people, mostly in uniforms of the maintenance staff, came toward them almost at a run. Griffen and Alan hurried upward.
It took them almost five minutes to reach the tenth level, due to the number of fleeing people crowding past them. They pushed their way slowly upward against the tide and arrived, somewhat disheveled, at the tenth landing. A guard stood before the door, one hand resting on the butt of his blaster. Griffen and Alan presented their identification, prepared at the station before they had started this venture. Each card identified them as Revolthvor's special personnel, and when slid into the Identostamp machine, the inquiry was redirected to the Underground's site, rather than that of the Viceregal Patrol's for the verification of their identities.
The man handed back the cards. "Okay; you can go in. We got a fire in Security. Be careful."
"We heard the announcement," Griffen said. "What happened?"
"Some kind of electrical problem. Shorted out and started a fire. Hope we don't have to evacuate. It'll be a helluva headache, what with that Underground prisoner. You can bet those lunatics are just waiting for the chance to get at her."
"Probably," Griffen agreed. He pushed open the door to the tenth level and they entered, and strode briskly down the corridor toward the nurses' station. People were running in all directions as they paused before the desk. No one so much as glanced at them. Alan searched the chart board visually for a moment.
"She's in Room Twenty," he said.
They went past the desk. Halfway down the hall, two guards stood before a room. Alan and Griffen approached them and Griffen pulled out his I.D. "Dr. Silverwood, to consult, via authority of Lord Revolthvor."
The man examined the card and then consulted his list. "I don't see your name."
"Enter Code Auth Revolthvor 67," Alan said casually. "That's our special authorization."
The man did so. "Okay. There you are. Silverwood and Gregson?"
"That's right." Alan presented his I.D. and the man squinted at the photo.
The patrolman pushed the button. "You're the third one to show up for this li'l gal. Wish I could get this kinda treatment when I'm sick."
The other guard grinned. "You ain't an Undergrounder, Joe. They don't want her kickin' the bucket 'til they get some info out of her."
The force field went off and the door slid open. Alan and Griffen entered, hearing it close behind them with a click. Griffen took two steps into the room and stopped dead. Alan bumped into him.
"What --" He stepped out from behind the larger man and froze.
Four patrolmen and a doctor were sprawled on the carpet, snoring lustily, and the window stood wide open, the force field gone. A warm breeze wafted through the room. Alan sprang forward, yanking the sheet back from the mound in the hospital bed. The face of a chubby, middle-aged man met his gaze.
"What th --" Griffen stared at the bed and then at Alan.
The lights flickered briefly and Alan looked back at the bed again. Griffen glanced around. "Something's screwy. Could be a setup. Let's get out of here, quick."
Alan stared at the disconnected tubes on the white sheet. "This is crazy. She *was* here. I can sense her. And not long ago, either."
"We'll have to figure it out later," Griffen said. "Let's get out of here while we can."
"Yeah." Alan scratched his head and turned toward the doorway. It slid open as he did so and he felt his heart leap into his throat. The tall, blond form of a Jilectan stepped through.
**********
tbc
