Plague: 10/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Chapter VII
There was a moment of frozen silence, and then a slow grin spread across Blashvor's face. He extended a hand to assist Fong to his feet. Jason laughed breathlessly.
"My turn next, M'Lord," he said and ducked the cuff that the Jilectan aimed at him.
Mai Wing stood up, favoring her left ankle. "M'Lord -- thank you."
Blashvor turned toward her, smiling benevolently. "You are most welcome, my pretty little Terran. I trust I did not hurt you when I pulled you free?"
"No -- well, yes, but it doesn't matter. If you hadn't I wouldn't be here now." She smiled shakily at the Jilectan. Fong felt a ridiculous twinge of jealousy and caught Jason's faintly amused glance. Blasted psychics!
He shook off the emotions. "I also thank you, sir. For a moment there, I thought we were done for. What was it, anyway? I never did get a good look at it."
"You didn't?" Trevor regarded him wonderingly. "You were practically in its mouth!"
"I know. And that's all I saw. It's mouth, I mean."
"Me too," Mai Wing put in, in a small voice. "It had a lot of teeth."
"And a really repulsive case of halitosis," Fong added.
Jason laughed and Fong saw Trevor's mouth turn up at one corner. Blashvor grinned appreciatively. "It appeared to consist mostly of tentacles," he told them. "But I believe it had feet as well -- at least two, but perhaps more. I did not count."
"It wasn't just its breath that smelled," Jason put in. "The whole thing stunk."
"Like a Coralan sewer pit," Trevor added.
Fong shuddered. Mai Wing edged closer to him and he put an arm around her.
"Let us go on," Blashvor said. "Are you recovered, Terrans?"
"Yes, sir," Fong said. "Mai?"
"I might need some help," she said. "My ankle's really throbbing."
"Sit down. Let me look at it," Fong said.
When he removed the oversized boot, it was apparent where the tentacle had gripped. A swelling red welt encircled her ankle, and in places the skin was raw and bleeding. The tentacle had compressed the boot about her ankle, and Blashvor had apparently wrenched her free of its grip by sheer force. It must have hurt like fire, he thought, but if Blashvor had not acted, Mai Wing would have been dead.
"Ouch," Jason remarked. "That hurts just to look at it." The boy was fishing out the first aid kit as he spoke.
They waited while Jason bound up the ankle. Fong watched the psychic boy as he worked on Mai Wing's injury. His hands were gentle and sure -- the hands of an empath, Fong thought. Little, kind and inoffensive Jason Sweeney. The enemy.
He didn't like to think of that.
Mai Wing gave him a smile as he finished. "Thank you. It feels much better now."
Fong looked away, feeling a lump rise in his throat. Reaction, he thought. What else could it be? He had nearly been eaten alive, and so had Mai Wing.
Jason was giving her a hand to her feet. Fong went quickly forward and boosted her to his back. She clung to his shoulders and he hooked his hands under her knees. She felt nice against him, he thought, and he could smell her hair, the scent intermingled with sweat and the dampness of the cave.
The little party started on again. No footsteps pursued them now, and gradually the passage began to widen. A breath of fresh air puffed into their faces. Blashvor reached over to ruffle Jason's hair lightly.
"Ah, my psychic, once again your instincts have proven correct. We are reaching an exit to this place."
The air reaching them was cold but it smelled of the outdoors. Tired as they were, their pace increased. A few minutes later, an irregular circle of lighter darkness could be seen ahead. Jason stopped them and stood still, apparently mentally scouting the area beyond the cave exit.
"Okay," he announced at last. "I don't sense anything alive -- at least not anything very close. Let's go."
Blashvor led the way and in moments they had emerged from the cave and into a windy darkness filled with the scent of evergreens. A tiny moon shone mistily through the hazy sky, illuminating the scene somewhat, although not enough to preclude the need of hand lights, and around them tree branches moaned in the growing breeze.
Trevor slapped Jason lightly on the shoulder. "Man! I'm glad to be out of there!"
"Me, too." Jason grinned up at him. "Now what?"
"I don't know." Trevor turned to the Jilectan. "My Lord?"
"First we must put some distance between ourselves and this cave. I do not fancy one of our tentacled companions visiting while we are sleeping."
They moved through the trees away from the cave. Fong was tired, his legs protesting with every step. The Jilectan strode on, apparently tireless. Trevor, he saw, was helping Jason. The boy must be tired, too.
At last, the Jilectan stopped. "We had best set up camp," he announced. "I am somewhat tired. Fong, Trevor, erect the tents for us."
Wearily, the Strike Commander let Mai wing slide to the ground and began to obey. It seemed to take a long time before the shelters were finished, and when at last they were, he sat down before the fire which Jason had started, feeling the ache in his limbs. Who, he wondered, would be assigned first watch? He supposed that he should volunteer, but he was just too tired.
"Trevor," Blashvor said, "you will keep watch. Awaken Fong after three hours. Fong, you will awaken Mai Wing after your turn."
"Yes, sir."
"Jason will not keep watch tonight. I feel sure you understand now, Strike Commander, the necessity of keeping my psychic in top functioning condition."
"Yes, sir," Fong said. Blashvor was right, he knew. If not for Jason, they would still probably be wandering in circles in the cave until they ran out of light, or food and water, or until something killed them.
The Jilectan smiled absently and turned to enter his tent. Jason grinned and shrugged. "G'night, Strike Commander," he said, and followed his boss into the shelter.
Trevor settled down before the fire. "Better get some sleep," he advised. "That three hours is going to seem awfully short."
Fong entered the tent behind Mai Wing and spread out the sleeping bags. Fong crawled into his and lay down, feeling the ache in his tired limbs and the burning behind his closed lids. Mai Wing huddled close to him in her own sleeping bag, for warmth. He slipped an arm around her. She sighed softly, huddling closer.
The last thought that passed through Fong Lee's mind before he slept was that if Mai Wing *was* a psychic, he didn't want to know. If she was, and he knew, he would be obligated to turn her in, and he didn't think he could.
He slept dreamlessly until Trevor awakened him for his watch. He groaned and saw Trevor smile mirthlessly in the darkness. "Sorry, Strike Commander."
"Yeah. Me, too." Fong crawled from the tent and rose to his feet, stretching. He didn't feel like he'd slept at all, although he knew he had. The fire blazed brightly, and the air on his face was biting cold. He settled down before the flickering flames and reached for the coffee pot.
After two hours, Mai Wing emerged from the tent and crossed to him, rubbing a hand through her tousled hair. She was still limping, and he hurried to help her. "You should be sleeping, Mai."
"I'm fine now." She smiled up at him. "You should go get some more rest. It'll be light soon."
"I'll stay out here with you." He sat beside her and put an arm around her. She snuggled against him and lifted her face.
Fong kissed her. Her lips were soft and a little dry. Her arms encircled his neck as he pulled her against him, but he sensed a reserve in her, almost like fear. Their lips parted, and she drew back.
"No, Lee."
"Why not?"
She turned her face away. "I'm not the woman for you, Lee."
"You are," he said. "I've -- I've never met a woman like you before. I know patrolmen have bad reputations, but we *can* marry. The Jils don't care." He stopped, astounded at himself. Marry? Tie himself down with a *wife*? With children? What was he *thinking*?
Mai Wing was shaking her head. "It wouldn't work, Lee. It just wouldn't."
"But why? You can't just say that and not give me a reason>"
"We're different. Much too different."
"Our backgrounds are different, but we aren't that far apart socially, are we? Does it matter so much that I'm a patrolman?"
"Yes." The word was muffled and indistinct. "I'm afraid it does."
He held her a moment longer, wrestling with himself. So it *was* his profession, after all. He should have known, he thought bitterly.
Or was it possibly something else -- perhaps the thing that he had suspected all along? If Mai Wing was a Terran psychic, she wouldn't dare marry a patrolman.
He had to think! And above all, he needed to distance himself from Mai Wing before all restraint and reason evaporated. He stood up, pushing her away almost roughly, and headed for the tent. He went in, closing the flaps, and sat down on his sleeping bag, cursing furiously to himself. Could he bear to leave her, never see her again after all this was finished? Could he?
The thought was like a knife twisting in his gut. He lay down and wiggled inside his sleeping bag. And what if she was a psychic? Could he bring himself to report his suspicions to the Jils? Not, of course, that he could possibly conceal them. His mind was an open book to the aliens. Could he stand by and watch Mai Wing die, perhaps in the execution chair?
He closed his eyes and struggled to quiet his thoughts. Think of something else -- *anything* else!
From outside the tent, came the soft, muted sounds of Mai Wing weeping.
**********
He must have slept eventually. He came wide awake all at once at a call from Jason. Rapidly, he scrambled from the tent to see the boy standing beside the fire, holding Mai Wing by one arm and speaking excitedly. Trevor and Blashvor were just emerging from the other tent.
"What is it?" the Jilectan inquired.
"Wood smoke, sir! I smell wood smoke!"
"It is our own fire, Jason."
Jason glanced at the smoldering remains of their fire and shook his head emphatically. "No, M'Lord; this is drifting downwind! And there's lots of it. Smell it!"
Fong sniffed experimentally. Jason was right. The wood smoke drifted on the fresh morning wind, undeniably issuing from another source than their own campfire.
Mai Wing wasn't looking at him and he found that he couldn't look at her. Trevor was hurrying to collapse the tents and Fong went to help him while Jason and Mai Wing rapidly returned other supplies to their packs. It might be another bunch of 'trols possessed by globes, Fong thought, but if not, they might have a lift to the Patrol base.
"I don't sense a mind, sir." Jason's words stopped Fong short. "There's nothing at all."
"Perhaps the person is too far away."
"Maybe." Jason sounded doubtful.
"Maybe it's an Arcturian," Fong suggested. "If it is, Jason wouldn't be able to sense him, would he?"
A short silence. Jason glanced quickly at Blashvor and shrugged. "Maybe," he said.
Trevor snorted. "C'mon, Fong. Step on it."
They packed the supplies together. Fong glanced at Mai Wing again. "I'll carry you," he said.
"I would rather Trevor did." Her voice was subdued. "It's his turn. You did it yesterday, but thank you anyway, Lee."
Trevor's expression didn't change. "Sure, honey. Any time."
Fong felt his face reddening and had to turn quickly away. Damn Trevor! And damn her, too!
They set out in silence. Fong trailed in the rear, various unhappy thought running through his mind. What was the *matter* with her? What had he done that she should suddenly give him the cold shoulder like this? Nothing! Nothing at all! He had bared his heart to her and she had turned away from him, choosing Trevor instead.
Jason dropped back to walk beside him, allowing the others to take the lead. Fong looked away, knowing the boy must be sensing his anger and jealousy, and not really caring.
Jason walked beside him in silence for some time and Fong found his eyes straying toward him. Jason must know what was bothering Mai Wing. Damn! If only Fong could get up the nerve to ask him!
"Which do you love more, Strike Commander?" Jason spoke suddenly. "Her or your job?"
Fong gaped at him. "Huh?"
Jason didn't look up. "You heard me. I can read your thoughts like a book. Your mind's wide open and broadcasting."
"I know." Fong looked down. "Get away from me if you don't like my thoughts."
"Even up there I can't miss 'em." Jason's voice was low and even. "You didn't answer me. Which do you love more?"
"Her, of course!"
"Are you sure?"
He paused, feeling the heat spreading up his neck. Damn psychics!
"Would you leave your profession for her?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you think I've missed what you're thinking about her? That she acts like a trained Terran psychic?"
"Is she?"
"What if she is? Does that change your feelings?"
"I ...."
"Would your love evaporate if you found your suspicions are true?"
"No! But they aren't, are they? She isn't a psychic!"
"Why don't you ask her?" Jason met his gaze briefly and smiled. "If what you tell me is true -- and it is, of course -- then she won't be afraid to tell you."
Fong paused, caught Jason's wrist and spun him around so they were face to face. "Dammit! Tell me!"
Jason stood still, his eyes meeting Fong's unflinchingly. "If it would make a difference in your feelings, I'd say your feelings are pretty shallow, Strike Commander."
"Tell me!"
"No."
Fury surged through Fong at Jason's quiet answer. He was aware that Trevor had stopped and was looking back at them. He let Jason's wrist go and stalked on.
Again, Jason fell in beside him, silent now. Trevor hoisted Mai Wing higher on his back and resumed trudging after Blashvor. The smell of wood smoke grew stronger.
"I still don't sense a mind, Lord Blashvor," Jason said.
The Jilectan stopped, waiting while his companions caught up.
"We will go cautiously," he told them quietly. "Whoever or whatever it is, I would rather see it before it sees us." He glanced at Fong. "Jason is to be protected at all costs, Strike Commander."
"I understand, sir."
Their approach was slow and cautious. From somewhere ahead came the muted crackle of flames. Jason reached out and clutched Trevor's arm. The smell of wood smoke was strong now, issuing from just beyond a wall of dry brush. They crept forward and peered through the concealing fringe of dead grass and evergreen branches into a small clearing.
A campfire burned in its center, and beside the fire lay a blanket-wrapped form. Even from his crouched position, Fong could see that one arm lay free of the blanket and that a hand -- a human hand -- clutched a regulation Patrol issue blaster.
"Now what?" Jason breathed.
The Jilectan considered a moment. "We had best take no chances," he decided at last. "Jason, disarm him. Trevor, Fong, be ready."
Fong nodded. He knew, of course, what was going to happen. He had heard about it many times, but had never witnessed it before.
Jason extended a hand. The blaster in the fingers of the sleeping man jerked, flipped upward and soared across the space between them to smack solidly into Jason's grasp.
But even before it reached them, the man on the ground was awake, scrambling free of the blanket with a scream of pure terror. He wore a Patrol uniform, Fong saw, his face haggard and thin, his jaw showing a week's growth of beard.
Jason stood up, shoving the blaster into his belt. Trevor also stood up beside him. "Easy, buddy. Take it easy!"
"We won't hurt you," Jason said quickly. "Honest, Mister; we won't hurt you."
The man ignored the reassurances. He had produced a knife and was gripping it before him with both hands. His whole attitude, Fong thought, was that of a man who would rather die than be taken alive.
"Get back!" he croaked. "I'll kill ya if you touch me! Get back!"
"Jason!" Blashvor snapped. "Get the knife!"
Jason shook his head. "I can't, sir. He's holding on too tight."
"Put it down, mister!" Trevor barked. "We aren't going to hurt you!"
"Keep away!" The man's eyes were wild with terror as Trevor advanced a step. "I'll kill you!"
"Put it *down* patrolman!" Blashvor ordered. "Put it down *now*!"
Almost instinctively, the man started to obey. Trevor leaped.
The impact of his tackle threw the other man backwards. The man voiced a scream of terror, kicking and writhing in Trevor's hold. The knife flashed up.
Then Fong was upon him, grasping the knife hand and pinning it with both his own. Together the two men disarmed the struggling fugitive and immobilized him.
Blashvor stepped forward, Jason and Mai Wing beside him. The patrolman cowered back, voicing inarticulate sounds of terror. Jason stepped forward, careful to stay out of reach of his feet. "Take it easy, mister." His voice was oddly soothing. "We aren't going to hurt you."
The prisoner went suddenly slack with a great gasp as his eyes focused on the boy. "You --" His voice was a croak, hardly intelligible. "The globe things .... They haven't --"
"No." Jason moved forward and held up both hands. "We're castaways, and came here in a lifeboat. Trev -- Fong -- let him go. He's hurt."
Fong gingerly released the man, aware now of the rough bandage swathing the prisoner's shoulder, and of the odor that issued from it. Jason was right. The guy was hurt, and if not attended to, soon, he would be dead.
Together, he and Trevor eased him to the ground and stepped back as Jason and Mai Wing moved forward to unwrap the bandage. Fong repressed an exclamation at the wound. A blaster burn, without question, infected now. The skin around it was inflamed and oozing greenish-yellow pus. Jason opened the emergency kit and handed Mai Wing supplies. Fong watched with a sinking sensation as she deftly and skillfully sponged exudate from the wound, applied burn salve and antiseptic and a fresh bandage. The patrolman lay still, hardly flinching beneath her gentle fingers. Jason injected the man in his thigh, but the fellow still hardly moved. Empath, Fong thought. Perhaps two empaths.
The patrolman opened bloodshot eyes to regard Jason and Mai Wing. "Thanks. Thanks a lot. It feels much better."
"You're welcome, Patrolman," Mai Wing said, as she replaced the supplies in the kit. "Here, have some water. Would you like something for the pain?"
"Yeah ... sure -- except I thought he already gave me something." He looked at Jason.
"That was an antibiotic," Jason told him. "That shoulder's pretty badly infected, but I think we got to it in time. What happened to you, anyway?"
The man shuddered. "It was the globes," he said.
"Globes?" Mai Wing repeated.
"Yeah. Nasty things. Never seen anything like 'em before."
"Why don't you tell us from the beginning?" Fong suggested. "For starters, what's your name?"
The Patrolman hesitated. "Katts," he said finally. "Patrolman Andrew Katts."
"Now we're getting somewhere," Fong said. "You said 'globes'. What happened?"
Katts shuddered. "It started two, maybe three, weeks ago, I guess. A ship arrived here: the private yacht of Lord Strovolthvar, the eighth son of Lord Revolthvor. They were having engine trouble and stopped here to make repairs. Some of the guys on board went exploring, and in a cave, maybe ten miles from the base, they found those globe things."
He stopped and took a shuddering breath and grimaced. Mai Wing handed him a capsule from the emergency kit. "This is for the pain, Patrolman."
He swallowed it with a swallow of water from a canteen that lay beside the fire. His, Fong figured. Still, the guy seemed to have very few supplies for a camping expedition. Katts darted a sideways look at Fong and shuddered uncontrollably.
"God! Who would a' thought! They brought 'em back to the station and I guess they musta hid 'em somewhere. It wasn't long after that the guys from the yacht started goin' crazy, attackin' people an' killin' 'em. People they captured joined 'em. Lord Strovolthvar was murdered in his bed. No one knows who did it, an' his quarters on base was robbed. His Ladies barricaded themselves in the yacht, along with m'lord's valet and wouldn't let anyone on board. It took about two days before just about everyone had joined the rebels. The few that hadn't ran away, but they sent sorties out to hunt 'em down." The man shuddered again. "I thought you was one of 'em."
"What happened to you?" Fong asked. "How did you escape?"
"I don't know. I played dead, but I didn't think it would work. The ones that tried before me were either killed or taken prisoner. But I guess I fooled them, somehow, 'cause they walked right past me."
"He's a natural shielder," Jason said unexpectedly.
"Most interesting." Blashvor squatted down beside the man. "You have no idea what these things are, Terran?"
"No, sir."
"Or how they control their victims?"
"No, sir. I waited until dark and then crawled away. I don't think anyone missed me."
"Damn lucky for you," Trevor remarked.
Katts nodded, his gaze flicking from one member of the party to the next, his expression puzzled. His eyes returned after a moment to Jason. "What did you say about me, kid? I'm a natural shielder? What the hell's that?"
No one answered. The man's forehead puckered into a frown. "Did you mean mind shields?"
"Yes," Jason said. He straightened up. "Now what, sir?"
Blashvor was silent, his expression thoughtful. Katts gazed at Jason a moment longer and then at the Jilectan. His face changed suddenly and Fong saw sudden understanding flicker over his features.
"You're a Terran psychic," Katts said slowly. "Does the Underground have somethin' t'do with this, kid?"
Jason shrugged. "I don't know, Patrolman. I doubt it, but I'm not a member of the Underground."
"Then what --" His gaze went to Blashvor and he bit off the word, his face paling even more.
"Is the Jil yacht fixed yet?" Trevor asked suddenly.
Katts nodded. "But we can't get in. The Ladies and the valet won't let us."
"Are there any other ships here?" Jason asked.
"A couple, but they ain't workin'," Katts told him. "The rebels sabotaged 'em. They're just scouts, anyway."
Silence. Mai Wing cleared her throat, and they all turned to look at her.
She shook her head. "Things seem to be a little difficult," she remarked unnecessarily.
There, Fong thought, was the granddaddy of all understatements.
Jason nodded. "The globes," he said. "Man! What *are* these things?"
"Whatever they are," Blashvor said slowly, "they appear to have a great influence over unshielded Terrans." He turned back to Katts. "Were the Procyons and Arcturians affected, too, Patrolman?"
"The Procyons were," Katts told him. "But the Arcturians, well, there were only two of 'em and they both vanished right before things went crazy."
"Vanished?"
"I never saw what happened to 'em."
Jason spoke quietly to Blashvor. "That could mean a lot of things, sir."
"Quite true, Jason. However, we have no way of knowing unless we speak to the beings, themselves." He turned to Katts, again. "You saw the globes?"
The man nodded, shuddering.
"And they did not affect you?"
Katts looked down. "They scared me silly."
"But nothing else?"
Katts shook his head.
"How far are we from the base?" Trevor asked.
Katts considered. "I'm not sure. Forty, maybe fifty kilometers, that way." He pointed. "I wasn't really paying attention. I just wanted to put as much distance between me and the base as I could."
Fong could understand that. The fact that Blashvor undoubtedly intended to steal a ship at the base wasn't a bit comforting. Unlike Mr. Katts, neither Trevor nor he was a natural shielder.
"Can you draw us a map?" the Jilectan asked.
Katts looked doubtful. "A map? Back to the base?"
"Yes."
"You don't want to go there, sir," Katts said earnestly. "I think they somehow killed Lord Strovolthvar. They could kill you, too."
The Jilectan smiled very slightly. "Your concern for my welfare is gratifying, Patrolman, however I need a map that will guide me to the base. I will keep your warning in mind, I assure you."
Katts accepted a notepad and stylus from Mai Wing. "Yes, M'Lord."
Rapidly, he sketched. The man was a good artist and, in spite of his claims, apparently recalled fairly well the path back to the base. Finished, he handed the sheet to Mai Wing and lay back as though exhausted by the effort.
Blashvor took the map from Mai Wing and studied it. Fong peered sideways at it and Jason stood on tiptoe, also trying to see.
"The river, sir," he said. He pointed at the thin line on the map. "It runs almost all the way to the base! All we have to do is follow it!"
"I see that, Jason." Blashvor glanced sideways at the injured patrolman. "You will go with us, Mr. Katts."
The man shook his head. "No, sir."
Fong stared in amazement. The only person he had ever seen refuse a direct order from a Jilectan had been a captive Underground agent. Blashvor frowned ominously at the man. "What did you say *Terran*?"
The man drew a deep breath. "I ain't goin' back there, sir. Kill me if you want, but I ain't goin' back there."
"Why?" Jason asked. "What's so awful?"
The man looked down. "You ain't seen 'em, kid. You ain't seen what those globes do to people. They turn into zombies -- walkin' dead men. I ain't goin' back there for nothin'!"
"Walking dead men?" Blashvor moved a step nearer. "You said they went crazy."
Katts shuddered. "People I've known for years -- people as sane as I am, doin' things I *know* they'd never do if they had control over 'emselves. Walkin' dead men -- I can't explain it. It's like they turn into shells -- they don't change on the outside but inside they're somethin' else -- somethin' nasty."
Jason looked at Blashvor. "M'Lord, please don't make him go."
The Jilectan's expression softened slightly. "Very well, Jason." He turned to Katts. "I shall not force you to go, Patrolman. You would be an asset to us with your shielding ability, but an unwilling ally is more of a danger than not in a situation such as this may be. Know this, however. You are immune to the globes mentally, just as you are immune to my own telepathic power. Your only danger from them is physical."
The patrolman gaped at him, and Fong reminded himself to close his mouth. A Jilectan *never* admitted a weakness to one of the lower species, but Blashvor just had -- apparently to ease the patrolman's fear, for Jason's sake. Fong had accepted that Blashvor was different from other members of his species, but he was only just now beginning to realize how different.
Blashvor glanced upward at the sun, shining nearly at zenith. "I am hungry. Fong, Trevor, prepare us some food."
Fong and Trevor obediently began to open the packs. Katts lay back again, exhausted, pulling at the blanket. Jason helped him to wrap it more tightly around himself, and then straightened up, glancing at Blashvor. The Jilectan gestured to him and to Mai Wing. Fong watched as he drew the two smaller Terrans aside and began to speak to them in low tones.
Trevor's voice brought him back to the present. "Come on, Fong. Build up that fire while I get the grub ready."
Fong started to obey. "What's he saying to Mai?"
Trevor lifted an eyebrow. "None of our business, Strike Commander."
"He's talking about what Katts told him."
"Probably."
"But what's it got to do with *her*?"
"Ask him," Trevor suggested.
"Very funny. It's obvious the globes use some kind of psychic energy, but what's it got to do with *her*?"
Trevor shook his head. "You know, Fong, for a Strike Commander, you're pretty dense."
"What do you mean?"
"What do you think I mean? The signs are right in front of you to read. Any third classer with a sloof's egg for a brain could see it."
"In other words, she's a psychic."
"You said it; not me."
Sudden fury shot through Fong. "Damn you! And damn that psychic brat of yours!"
Trevor laughed without humor. "Oh, please! Now you've hurt my feelings!"
Fong hit him. It was an extraordinary thing for him to do. As far back as he could remember, Strike Commander Fong had *never* lost his temper. But now, before he knew what he had done, he felt his fist connect and saw Trevor stagger backwards. Startled faces turned toward them, and then Trevor was leaping forward, swinging. Fong blocked it, but Trevor got him with the second punch -- a wallop which sent him to a sitting position on the frozen ground. Katts turned over, lifting his head to view the struggle with surprise. Trevor leaped forward, landing on Fong and knocking him backward. Cursing breathlessly, they rolled across slushy snow, each seeking to get a stranglehold on the other. Trevor's elbow cracked Fong beneath the left eye and he saw stars.
A mighty hand seized him by the back of his coat and tore him free from Trevor's grip. At the same instant, he saw the Jilectan pull Trevor back one handed, forcibly separating the combatants. To Fong's surprise, he saw that Blashvor was grinning broadly.
"I would have liked to watch and see who would be the victor," he told them. "But Jason pointed out that, should one of you injure the other, it would be most inconvenient at this time. Fong, you will start the fire. Trevor, prepare the food."
Fong felt Blashvor's hand release his collar. He rubbed his jaw and turned away, gritting his teeth in anger at letting his temper get the better of him -- particularly over a *woman*! What the hell was wrong with him, anyway? God only knew what the stress was doing to his ulcer.
The thought stayed with him as he began to coax the sputtering fire back to life.
Come to think of it, what *was* going on with his ulcer? He hadn't felt a twinge since all this insanity began! Nor had he taken any antacid. Why, physically, he felt better than he had in years. Emotionally, he was a mess, of course ....
But even that was in a different way from the emotional mess he had been when in his role as Strike Commander of the "Orion". Then, he held in all his worry, his anger, his fear. Here, he hadn't been able to hold them in. When you're about to be eaten by a slimy, tentacled monster, you scream and fight, and you don't worry about what your companions think. You worry about staying alive.
The fire blazed up and Trevor squatted beside him. Silently, he speared strips of meat over the flames. Fong didn't look at him until he heard the man laugh drily.
"Someday, Fong," he said, "when M'Lord will permit it, we'll try that again."
Fong managed a faint grin in return. "I'll look forward to it." He glanced over at Mai Wing and Jason, again absorbed in conversation with Lord Blashvor. Trevor followed his glance and shrugged.
"Get used to it," he advised and rose to his feet, stretching enormously. Patrolman Katts was snoring gently beside the blazing fire. The meat sizzled on the pointed sticks, and the smell was wonderful. Fong saw Mai Wing glance in his direction, her expression troubled.
A psychic? And what if she was? What was he supposed to do about it? Right now it was all he could do not to get killed -- or worse.
The Jilectan put a large hand on Mai Wing's shoulder, drawing her closer. In spite of himself, Fong felt his temper rise. Blashvor was handsome, and made no secret of the fact that he found Mai Wing attractive. And he was a Jil. Fong knew how Jilectans could be where a Terran of the opposite sex was concerned. It was a game for them, especially for the Ladies. The Jil Lords tended to be more discreet, but Blashvor was a pirate. He didn't have to worry about his image.
The Jilectan's arm was around Mai Wing, now. Of course, his other arm was around Jason, but Fong didn't notice that. He saw only Mai Wing, her face turned up to Blashvor's, her expression serious but animated with interest at whatever he was saying.
"Damn, Fong! I thought you were watching the grub!" Trevor yanked the sticks from the fire and Fong came back to the present, to realize the meat was burned black, and the pointed sticks that had been propped in the fire were blazing. Trevor swore again and flung the articles away. He glanced quickly at the Jilectan's preoccupied form. "Hurry up and cut some more stakes. I'll get the meat."
Fong hurried to obey. Blashvor stood up, releasing his two Terran companions as he did. One large hand tousled Mai Wing's soft hair affectionately. "Is the meal ready, Trevor?"
"In just a minute, sir!"
**********
After they had finished eating, they made preparations to depart. The sun shone brightly, a little past midday, and clouds had gathered in the north. A sharp wind was blowing.
"We'd better hurry," Trevor remarked. "Looks like there might be a storm coming."
Jason glanced at the injured patrolman. "Are you sure you won't come with us, Mr. Katts?"
"No thanks, sonny," the man replied instantly. "I'd rather face a dozen storms than that place again."
"Okay." Jason stood up, shouldering his pack again. "I put your knife and blaster over on that log." He pointed to a desiccated chunk of tree trunk that lay half-buried in dirt and snow. "You're probably going to need them." He glanced apologetically at Blashvor. "And I gave you one of our extra cells."
"Thanks, kid."
They set off toward the river, walking in twos. Blashvor and Jason led, playing verbal chess. Trevor followed, helping Mai Wing, and Fong, feeling alone and unwanted, trailed in the rear. Trees grew on all sides and dried underbrush jutted from the snow, making their progress more difficult.
Fong slogged along, looking at his shoes, his thoughts growing more depressed by the minute. Mai Wing was deliberately avoiding him; no doubt of that. Why should he care so much?
But he did. Something in his gut twinged sharply whenever he saw Trevor touch her. Dammit! Trevor had been a 'trol once, too! Had Mai Wing forgotten that?
At length they came to the river, a broad, ice-crusted torrent, rushing between snowy banks. Rocks, slick with ice, jutted from its depths. Fong regarded it morosely.
Jason skidded suddenly and sat down hard with an exclamation of pain. Trevor instantly released his hold on Mai Wing and hurried to him. "Jase! Are you okay, Shorty?"
Jason was grimacing and rubbing his foot. "I think so. I just gave my foot a twist."
Fong started forward, but to his surprise, Trevor waved him back. "You help Mai. I'll take care of Jason."
Fong glanced at Mai Wing and caught her quick glance at Jason. Trevor had removed Jason's boot and was examining the injured ankle. There was no sign of swelling, but he made a face when Trevor pressed gently on it. "Ouch!"
"Damn," Trevor said resignedly. He rummaged in his pack for the emergency kit and brought out a wrap. "Hope we don't have too many more accidents. We're starting to run short of stuff. Hold still, Shorty."
Fong took Mai Wing's arm. She flinched a little at his touch and averted her face. "I'm all right. I can walk without help."
"You will allow the Strike Commander to assist you." Blashvor's command was delivered absently as he watched Trevor apply the sprain wrap. "Are you able to travel, my psychic?"
Jason glanced up and Fong saw some wordless communication pass between the boy and the Jilectan. He wondered for a moment what it might be, and then forgot it. Mai Wing was looking away from him, sniffling slightly and he knew suddenly that she was crying.
The knowledge should have brought him satisfaction. The little witch -- nuzzling up to M'Lord and Trevor, ignoring him, when he had opened his heart to her. Let her suffer! he told himself fiercely. Tears now, but in half an hour she'd be making up to Trevor again, or Blashvor.
She moved suddenly, jerking her arm away from him and nearly fell. He moved away, letting her fend for herself, seeing at the same time Blashvor's glance and faintly amused expression. "Never mind, Miss Wing. I will not force the Strike Commander's company on you. We will camp here tonight, and Trevor, you and Fong will construct a raft. This river flows almost to the Patrol base. We will reach it more quickly that way than if we try to walk -- particularly since we now have two injured in our party."
Mai Wing sank to the ground, her face averted. Blashvor turned away. "Trevor, Fong, set up camp and gather material for the raft. It would be convenient if we could be off early in the morning."
"Yessir," Fong muttered. He set off to find wood for the campfire.
**********
tbc
