Slave Race: 19/?
by Nan Smith and Linda Garrick
"Yes sir."
His composure seemed to enrage Cecil. He lifted a hand, and Karl braced himself for the blow. Then his father seemed to think better of it. The hand dropped, and Cecil turned abruptly to open the car door.
Karl got out, too, looking up in awe at the luxurious mansion before them. Lord Drinxvar was a middle class Jilectan, Cecil had informed him, the second son of Lord Stinxvor, Cecil's own employer. The mansion looked like a palace to Karl, however, with three stories and elaborate carvings around the windows, the lawn encircled with a force field that was a bare shimmering in the air.
Cecil came around the car and gave a small, not very convincing laugh. "I'm sorry, Karl. Your self-control always annoys me--I'm not sure why. Maybe because you're so much like me."
"Yeah, sure," Karl thought, but aloud he said, "Yes, Father."
"I'm very anxious for you to get this job, too. It's your big chance, you know, and I recommended you for it."
"Thanks a lot," Karl thought, but aloud he said, "Yes sir."
Cecil forced a smile and strode toward the force field. Karl followed and paused, watching his father remove a small card from an inner pocket and insert it into the identoslot. The force field flickered out and they stepped through the neutralized field.
A green expanse of lawn stretched before them, terminating in tall, flowering shrubs which surrounded the dwelling. The grounds were neat and well kept. Imposing statues guarded the entranceway to the mansion. Karl followed his father down a narrow, graveled walk to a side entrance.
Karl paused then, looking up at the building. He hadn't thought about the interview until this moment, but now he felt a small thrill of fear. There were Jilectans within these walls. Karl had seen Jilectans before, of course. Corala was a Jilectan populated world, but never before had he purposely sought contact with them.
Cecil pressed a small button beside the door, and Karl heard a musical chiming somewhere inside. They waited for perhaps ten seconds. Then the door opened, revealing one of the blue feathered natives of Ranlach, clad in a bright orange uniform, embroidered with a black insignia on the breast. The being surveyed them haughtily. "Yesh?"
Karl's father spoke, voice carefully respectful. "I'm Cecil Warren, sir, and this is my son, Karl. We are here for the interview."
"Yesh, you are expected. Follow me, please."
Karl followed Cecil into the dwelling. They were led through a large, elaborate kitchen and into a small room beyond. The Procyon took their coats, told them to be seated and departed.
Father and son seated themselves at a table that was piled high with coffee cups. The room was small, Karl noted, but, aside from the litter of cups, it was meticulously neat, with no sign of dust or cobwebs anywhere. Against one wall was a shelf containing two large jars of cookies, and another filled with decorative pastries. A coffeepot purred softly on another shelf, and the odor of coffee pervaded the air. Karl wondered at the sight. Procyons, he knew, could not ingest coffee, or caffeine of any sort without disastrous effects. Caffeine abuse was becoming a rather serious problem among the natives of Ranlach, and Procyons couldn't stand the decaffeinated stuff. Something in the processing procedure made them sick, and anyway, they disliked the flavor.
Silence lay heavy between them. Karl kept his eyes firmly on the carpet. In a way, his father was right, he told himself. This was his big chance--his chance to get away from home and become self-supporting. Life at home had been no picnic lately.
A Terran, clad in another shocking orange and black uniform, entered the room. Cecil rose quickly and Karl did the same.
The Terran smiled coolly. "Good morning." His voice was the soft, carefully cultured ones of the Coralan native. "I am Bryce Chadwick, chief steward of Lord Drinxvor's house. You would be Cecil Warren." He glanced at Karl's father.
"I am, sir." Cecil's voice was low and humble. "And this is my son, Karl. My associate, Dran Chung, said there might be an apprentice's position for him here. He has never before worked for a Jilectan house before, but I have for the past three years, and I can vouch for his integrity, honor, and diligence."
Chadwick turned to look at Karl. Karl forced himself to remain still beneath the man's inspection.
"How old are you, Mr. Warren?"
"He's fifteen, sir," Cecil interposed quickly. "I know he doesn't look it, but..."
"Be still, please," Chadwick said, sharply. "I was addressing the boy. You are fifteen, Karl?"
"Yes sir," Karl said.
The man's tone softened slightly. "You don't appear that old."
Karl felt his face growing warm, but met the man's gaze levelly. "I'm rather small for my age, sir."
Chadwick gave him that cool, reserved smile again. "And so was I. So am I still, and always will be. No matter. Size is of no consequence. We are in need of a junior cook here. Have you experience in this area, Mr. Warren?"
"Yes sir."
"I will need to observe you."
"Yes sir." Karl relaxed. There would be no trouble in this area, he was certain.
"Come with me." Chadwick rose and went to the door. Karl hurried to follow, and Cecil also started to follow. Chadwick glanced at the man. "You will remain here, Mr. Warren. I wish to observe the boy alone."
Cecil stopped. "Yes sir," he said in a low voice.
Karl cast a look back as he went through the door. Cecil's face was flushed a bright red, his mouth drawn tight. He didn't meet Karl's glance.
Chadwick strode ahead and Karl hurried to keep up. they passed through a large pantry and into another kitchen, this one smaller and less elaborate than the first. Still, it was far larger and better equipped than anything Karl had ever seen. Numerous items for cooking, and all the latest culinary equipment were arranged on the shelves, and many men, all clad in the uniforms of Lord Drinxvor's house, moved busily about. Chadwick indicated an unoccupied space and pressed a button on a computer. The screen lit up with a recipe for callan-tarts.
Karl came up beside him, glancing at the ingredients. Jilectans, of course, loved callan-tarts, although they preferred more ginger in them than most Terrans liked.
"One moment before you begin, Mr. Warren." Chadwick was leaning against the food preparation counter, watching him. Karl paused questioningly.
A ghost of a smile--a real smile, flitted across the man's features. "Your father is a difficult man to live with, I would say."
Karl looked down, confused. "We've... uh... had our differences, sir."
"I can well understand that. What position does your father hold in Lord Stinxvor's house?"
"He's head of the maintenance staff, sir."
A dark, bushy eyebrow went up. "Indeed? I had assumed he worked in the kitchen. You said you were experienced in cooking?"
"I am, sir. I've always been interested in cooking, and I've been doing it since I was eight. Father tried to discourage me at first, but..." He stopped, realizing he shouldn't be volunteering information. Chadwick smiled again.
"He considered it effeminate, no doubt."
"Yes." Karl flushed.
"Most of the best cooks in the sector are male, Karl. The majority of women can cook, but for some reason the real gourmet cooks seem to be mostlyTerran males. Interesting."
Karl returned the smile. "Now that you mention it, that's true. I never thought of it before."
"I, myself, am a gourmet cook. Now, Karl, you may begin. Lord Drinxvor's breakfast is presently in progress. Callan-tarts are planned. Let me see what you can do. All the ingredients you need should be there."
"Yes sir." Karl washed his hands and went to work. Even in the unfamiliar surroundings, the task was easy. Karl loved to cook. Within moments he was mixing up the dough, rolling it into thin shells, and setting the shells to one side while he prepared the filling. That, too, was easy--almost automatic. He selected the spices he needed from the shelf beside him, hardly glancing at the computer readout. He was utterly calm now, and had no doubt that the tarts would be satisfactory. Chadwick watched him, but Karl was hardly aware of the man's scrutiny, concentrating all his attention on the dessert. Chadwick didn't speak. Minutes later the tray of tarts went into the flash oven. Karl examined the device for a moment, then pressed the appropriate controls and stepped back.
"You certainly appear quite skilled at this," Chadwick remarked.
"Thank you, sir."
A fractional smile. "Don't thank me yet. The big test is still to come."
"Yes, sir."
A delicious aroma filled the air. The alarm sounded and the door slid aside. Karl picked up a hand guard and used it to remove the golden brown tarts, sliding them to the cooling rack. Chadwick turned without a word and vanished into the next room. Karl waited. Five minutes passed before he reappeared, accompanied by a Procyon servant. The alien was holding a huge tray, already laden with tarts, which were of a slightly more rounded shape, and slightly darker than the ones Karl had prepared. Chadwick placed Karl's creations to one side of the others, chirped a few words to the Procyon in its own language, and made a gesture of dismissal. The creature went out, not glancing at Karl.
Chadwick touched his arm. "Come with me, Mr. Warren."
Karl went with him. They entered another small lounge, and Chadwick lifted a large coffeepot from a sideboard. "Coffee?"
"Yes, thank you."
Chadwick poured, handed him the mug, then poured one for himself. "Have a seat, please. Cream and sugar?"
"Just sugar, thanks."
Chadwick handed him the container and settled into a seat across from him. "I sent your tarts up with the ones made by R'Fing," he said, in answer to Karl's unspoken question. "R'Fing will, of course, inform His Lordship that the tarts were made by the prospective junior cook. If His Lordship approves of them, you're hired."
Karl nodded, sipping his coffee. Was his father still waiting in the other room, he wondered. Probably. Mr. Warren was a man who always obeyed the authorities-- necessary, Karl supposed, since Cecil's livelihood depended upon the good will of the Jilectans. What would his father do, Karl wondered, if Lord Drinxvor didn't approve of the tarts. Cecil wouldn't be happy, that was for sure, and Karl might as well prepare himself for a beating.
He forced himself to sit still, hands in his lap. Self-control was a defense that he had developed over the years. The less you responded to Cecil's abuse, the better off you were. Cries and protests didn't help. If anything, they made it worse. However, Karl's self-control seemed sometimes to have the same effect on him. Still, it couldn't go on much longer. Stephen was thirteen now, and was nearly as tall as Cecil. Already their father refrained from striking Karl when Stephen was within earshot, and never touched the younger boy at all. Perhaps in a few more years Stephen would be able to protect Karl and their mother more effectively. Karl sighed. By then, though, Stephen would have joined the Space Corps, and things would be worse than ever...
Chadwick's voice cut into his thoughts. "Have one, Karl."
Karl's eyes focussed on the huge tray of pastries that the man was extending toward him. He took one, not really wanting it, but knowing if he refused, Chadwick might guess how nervous he really was.
"Your father arranged this interview for you, Karl?"
"I guess he must have. I didn't know about it until this morning."
"He didn't tell you? Why?"
"He probably didn't want my mother to find out. She would have objected."
"She would?"
"She believes in education."
"She may be right. You seem very young to be embarking on your own. Oh well, times are hard, and the young grow up quickly these days."
"Yes sir. How old were you when you started working here, sir?"
"About twenty, I think. My father got me in, just as yours has."
"Is your father still here?"
"He died years ago." Chadwick stirred his coffee thoughtfully. "My brothers and I are all employed in various Jilectan houses on Corala..." He stopped, setting down his coffee mug quickly as a Procyon servant stepped through the door. "Yes, T'Free?"
"My Lord Drinxvor wishes to shee the being who made thoshe tarts."
Karl rose quickly to his feet. Chadwick also stood up. "This is the being, T'Free. His name is Karl Warren. Tell me, was M'Lord pleased with the tarts?"
"He was indeed, shir."
Karl felt himself relaxing. He glanced at Chadwick. The man smiled. "I'll go inform your father, Karl. Congratulations." He left the room.
"Come," said T'Free, and exited by another door. Karl hurried along beside the Procyon, aware now of butterflies in his stomach. They proceeded through another room, which appeared to be a servants dining area, and arrived at the lift. T'Free pressed a control with a taloned claw and the conveyance arrived instantly. They entered.
Karl didn't speak as the lift proceeded upward. The Procyon also remained silent. The conveyance came to a stop on the third level and they disembarked. Karl felt his heart begin to beat hard against his ribs. The butterflies in his stomach felt more like bats, now. They went along a carpeted hallway and paused before a magnificent pair of doors. Karl stopped, trying to calm his heartbeats. Jilectans were within. He was certain of that, and their aura was overpowering. Did he really want to do this? No! Far better to suffer a beating at Cecil's hands. He didn't want...
But T'Free was rapping sharply on the doors, and they were opening. A tall, slender Terran faced them. "Yes?"
"Thish ish Karl Warren," T'Free said. "He made the tartsh."
The Queen of Hearts,
She made some tarts,
All on a summer's day...
The ancient English poem ran ridiculously through his mind. Within the room he heard the soft, curiously high pitched tones of a Jilectan. T'Free motioned him ahead through the door.
He entered the room, his heart in his throat and nearly choking him. His knees were shaking, and his vision seemed strangely blurred. He blinked to clear it, and saw the Jilectans before him.
They were seated at a long table--twenty of them at least. Lord Drinxvor sat at the head, surrounded by his lovely, handsomely clothed wives. There were children present, too--two tall sons and a mighty collection of daughters, ranging from nearly grown to half a dozen who were shorter than Karl, himself. Their gazes turned on him, and their collective consciousnessess seemed to strike him with an almost physical blow. A shudder ran through him, his skin crawled, and he felt a mad urge to run.
Lord Drinxvor beckoned. "Approach me, Terran."
Karl did, knees quaking beneath him. They were all looking at him, from the youngest, to Lord Drinxvor, himself. M'lord was smiling faintly, apparently unaware of Karl's nervousness--or perhaps the Jilectan was simply used to having nervous Terrans in his presence.
"The tarts were excellent, Terran."
"Thank you, sir. You honor me." Automatically Karl gave the correct response.
One of His Lordship's daughters voiced a shrill squeal. The one beside her echoed her. The girls' father glanced toward them, a sharp query on his lips. Karl couldn't understand the words. He had never heard the Jilectan language spoken before, but something in the alien's tone made a chill run over his scalp. He stepped quickly back, glancing sideways at the servant who had ushered him in. The man's face had frozen, and he was white to the hairline.
Lord Drinxvor came to his feet. "Hold him!" he roared.
The servant grasped Karl by the arm. In sudden panic, the boy jerked, trying to break free, but another servant materialized from nowhere, grasping his other arm. He was turned and ushered unceremoniously from the room.
"What did I do?" Karl glanced from one servant to the other. "What made him mad?"
Neither servant answered. He was pushed into another room and shoved into a chair. The servants closed the door and stood, one on either side of it, expressions apprehensive. The Procyon's blue feathers were standing up straight on it's head, and the round, dark eyes mirrored fear.
Karl gripped the arms of the chair. "Please," he tried again. "please, tell me what I did."
No answer. The door opened and Lord Drinxvor, himself, entered, his mouth grim. He glared at Karl, then spoke to the Terran servant. "Bind him!"
Karl had jumped to his feet. He wanted to speak, but when he opened his mouth, no sound came out. The servants came forward, yanked his hands behind him, and bound his wrists tightly together. A black and scarlet clad patrolman entered the room and stood before the door. He saluted the Jilectan.
"M'lord Toonthvar will be arriving in a few moments, sir."
The Jilectan's eyes never left Karl. He stepped forward, placed a hand on the Terran's face and concentrated. Karl suppressed a shudder. The alien, he knew, was reading his mind. It was just as well, he told himself. This way the Jilectan would realize that he hadn't meant to commit whatever error he'd committed, and, hopefully release him with a warning.
Lord Drinxvor's eyes focussed and he stepped back, his expression deadly. "Watch him carefully," he said to the patrolman, and went out. The door slid shut behind him. The two servants continued to stand uneasily beside the door. The panel opened again abruptly and Cecil Warren was pushed through by an orange clad servant. "M'lord says to keep an eye on this one, too, Patrolman."
"You got it."
The door closed.
"Father!" Karl gasped.
Cecil straightened up. His face was stark white, even his lips colorless. His eyes blazed livid blue against the white skin. "You little bastard!" he screamed. "You bloody freak!"
The patrolman scowled at the newcomer. "Let him alone, mister."
Cecil ignored the command. He lunged at Karl, grasped him by the collar and yanked him to his feet. "I'm going to beat the tar out of you, you damned freak! I..."
The patrolman was upon him, wrenching Karl from Cecil's grasp. He pushed the boy back into the armchair, then shoved Cecil viciously across the room and up hard against the wall.
"I don't think you oughta try that one again, Fats," he grated. "Leave the kid alone."
Cecil's face crumpled and he began to sob hoarsely. The patrolman released him, lip curling in disdain. He turned back to Karl. "You okay, kid?"
Karl nodded.
Cecil's sobs grew more violent. "You won't be soon!" he shouted. "I'm going to kill you, you damned filth!"
"Father, please..."
"I'm not your father! I could never have a son like you!"
The patrolman snorted derisively. "You chose the wrong lady, Mister. Quit your blubberin'."
"It's true! It's true! I'm not his father!"
The patrolman glanced uneasily at Karl, then spoke to Cecil again. "I said shut up, you fat coward."
"Stephen's my son! Ellie's my daughter, but you're nothing! You hear that, you damned freak! You're the son of a street criminal! You were spawned by the scum of the sector! You don't look anything like me! You never did! And your mother's as big as a house! It couldn't be her! She's no psychic, so it had to be your no good father!"
Karl bit his lower lip. It was true, he realized. He looked nothing like Cecil--in fact, he didn't resemble either of his parents much.
The patrolman had Cecil by the collar again. "I said shut up!" The man brandished a fist beneath Cecil's nose. "One more word, you crawlin' louse, an' I'll put this through your face!"
Cecil cowered back and the man let him go, lip once again curling in disgust. He pushed the dark visor back, revealing youthful, freckled features. Karl cleared his throat and found his voice. "Uh... patrolman?"
"Yeah?"
"What's my father saying? What does he mean?
"Don't pay any attention to him, buddy." The man grimaced and snorted. "If he ain't your father, I'd say you lucked out. I sure wouldn't want him for my pop."
The statement put a new light on the subject and almost made Karl smile in spite of his troubles. "No... I mean..." Karl swallowed hard. "I mean, why is he calling me a freak? Why is Drinxvor mad at me? What did I do?"
The patrolman shrugged uncomfortably. "You didn't do nothin', kid. An' he's callin' you a freak 'cause he's a snivelin' coward, tryin' t'throw the blame for what's happened on someone else."
"What blame?"
"The blame for your being a psychic, o'course. Psychic talents are inherited, so, since you're a psychic, either your mom or dad's gotta be one, too, an' since your dad obviously ain't, it's gotta be your mom."
Karl stared at him, aghast. "I'm not a psychic!"
The patrolman shrugged. "The Jils think you are, an' they ain't usually wrong when it comes to psychics."
Cecil lifted his face. "You never knew what happened right before our marriage, did you, Karl.. Whatever Your Name Is? She was kidnapped by a gang of street thugs, and was with them for a week. She said they never touched her. Fat chance! She was lying so I'd still have her! She pushed the marriage! She must have known you were on the way, and realized she'd have to marry me quick if I wasn't to catch on! You were born only eight months later! The doctor said you were premature! Premature, hell!"
"Shut up, damn you!" The guard made another lunge for him. Cecil scurried away and cowered against a wall, sobbing.
"I did her a favor! I married her--made an honest woman out of her, and she never even appreciated it! She's never given up hoping that no-good crook would come back!"
The guard bent, grasped him by the collar and brought him to his feet. There was a smacking sound and Cecil sagged in the patrollman's grasp.
Karl hardly noticed. He sat still in the chair, staring sightlessly at the wall. A psychic. He was a psychic. Terran psychics were outlaws--born criminals, as Cecil said. They were inherently evil and inclined to lawless acts. The penalty for being a psychic was death--boy, woman, man, girl, or babe in arms, it made no difference.
How could *he* be a psychic? Psychics were lawless people, without scruples--people like Alan Westover, who went around killing Jilectans and committing other atrocious crimes. Karl had never done anything like that! Of course, his mother had said the criminal dodge concerning psychics was simply that, a dodge, but it was hard to believe her when everything he had read and studied over the years had proclaimed otherwise...
The door slid open and Lord Drinxvor appeared again, accompanied by a shorter but more expensively dressed Jilectan. The patrolman snapped to attention and saluted smartly. Karl had a quick impression of silvery blond hair and pale green eyes before he went to his knees, lowering his gaze to the gaudy carpet. Cecil was on his feet. "M'lords, please..." He ran forward and threw himself to his knees before the newcomers. "M'lords, I beg you, don't punish me for this atrocity! The boy isn't mine! I had no idea!"
Drinxvor interrupted him, voice remote and contemptuous. "Where is your wife, Terran?"
Cecil gulped. "My wife, sir? I... I told you..."
"She is not there, nor is your daughter. We have questioned the apartment inmates and the local clinic. No one has seen them."
"But Ellie was ill. I can't think of anywhere else... Wait, did you try my son's school?"
"Father!" cried Karl. "Please, what if..."
He was ignored. Cecil was speaking again, willingly giving the Jilectans the name and address of Franik Intermediate. Karl stared at the carpet again, his mind whirling. The Jilectans were after his mother, brother and sister. Because Karl was a psychic, they were suspected of being psychics, too.
"Was there a possible emergency in the family which would take your wife away suddenly?"Drinxvor asked. "Did she have relatives in the area?"
"No, sir--not since my daughter's birth. Her parents disappeared then. I suspected her mother was a psychic--she'd always been a bit too nosy and obnoxious for comfort. I warned Lord Tralthvor, and they came to get her. But her disgusting precog talent must have warned her, for she got away, along with her husband."
Karl listened in horror. He'd known of the incident, of course, but it had never occurred to him that Cecil had been the one to betray his grandparents. He remained silent, staring at the carpet, his mind whirling.
"Perhaps Karl was able to warn my wife," Cecil was continuing. "Is that possible, sir?"
The two Jilectans glanced at each other, then moved to stand over Karl's kneeling form. "Have you been in telepathic contact with your family, psychic?" Drinxvor asked, coldly.
"No, M'lord."
The Jilectan regarded him narrowly. "Is there no one in your family, psychic, with whom you have a special bond--a greater love and attachment than the others?"
"I... don't understand, sir."
"Ellie!" Cecil's cry was shrill and triumphant. "My daughter. She communicates with him! I've watched her!"
"And you did not report it, Terran?" Drinxvor's voice was icy.
"I... didn't realize the significance, sir!" Cecil had paled again. "She's only a child of seven. I thought it was imagination!"
"Do you communicate with your sister, Terran?" the Jilectan demanded.
Karl started to deny it, then hesitated, unsure. There were times when he had heard Ellie's voice in his mind, times when he had seemed to speak to her--to feel her beside him, although he knew her to be far away. But he'd never thought much about it.
The Jilectan smiled thinly. "It would seem so. We have our answer to the family's sudden disappearance. Very well, Terran, call your sister, and ask her where she is."
Karl stared up at him. Did the Jil think him crazy? Or like Cecil--willing and eager to betray his own kin to save himself? "I don't know how, sir. I've never done it consciously."
"And you do not wish to. You will need persuasion, no doubt. Foolish, weak, degenerate Terran, you do not think I can force you if I choose?"
Karl looked down, not answering. Drinxvor's hand closed suddenly around his face, gripping hard and bringing an involuntary gasp from him. Cecil was speaking again.
"My Lords, please let me go. This boy isn't mine. My wife had a lover before we were married. Karl is a result of that. I have nothing to do with this. Please, my Lords, you must believe me!"
Karl shut his eyes, feeling ill. The Jilectan's presence was like a great, terrifying cloud that pressed in on him, draining his will from him. The hand around tightened even more as Drinxvor sought to find the information in his mind.
"My Lords, please..."
Drinxvor released Karl abruptly and spoke sharply to the guards at the door. "Take him away!"
The servants came forward, pulled the protesting Cecil to his feet and dragged him from the room.
The Jilectans were speaking to each other, but Karl caught none of the words. His head was swimming dizzily.
"Patrolman Ruffard, approach."
The Jilectan's voice was suddenly clear to Karl. He looked up, realizing the reason he hadn't understood before was that the aliens had been conversing in their own language. Karl had only heard the tongue spoken twice, but a few more times and he would have mastered it...
The Jilectan caught him by the shirt and lifted him effortlessly to his feet. Karl looked up to see the patrolman standing beside him. The man had removed his helmet, revealing a flaming mop of red hair that matched his freckled skin and bright blue eyes.
"Read Mr. Ruffard's mind, psychic," commanded Lord Toonthvar.
Karl gulped. "I don't know how, sir."
The Jilectan frowned at him and spoke to Drinxvor in the Jilectan tongue. Karl caught the word 'truth', only from the mass of unfamiliar sounds. Jilectan was certainly the most difficult language he had ever encountered. He glanced at Ruffard, aware that the patrolman didn't like these proceedings, although he gave no outward sign.
The alien turned back to Karl. "You have never tried to read minds, psychic?"
"No, M'lord."
Another quick conference with Drinxvor, and this time Karl caught a few more words. "May not... sense truth. Telepath."
Drinxvor answered, and again he caught a few words. "... of no use..."
Karl missed the rest. Toonthvar turned back to him again. "To read the mind of a Terran, psychic, you must reach for its thoughts with your own thoughts. When you feel those thoughts, relax and let them speak to you."
Karl gulped and looked at Ruffard again. The young man's eyes met his expressionlessly. Karl tried to obey the Jilectan's instructions, feeling his skin crawl. Ruffard didn't like this at all. He could sense anger and humiliation from the patrolman. Karl grimaced faintly at the sensations and glanced sideways at the overlords. "Oh, sir, do I *have* to?"
He caught Ruffard's surprised glance before a slap from Toonthvar rattled his teeth. He supposed the blow was light for a Jilectan, but it knocked him sideways and made sparks jump out before his eyes. The patrolman's hand closed tightly on his upper arm, and the fellow's voice breathed tensely in his ear. "*Do* it, you little idiot!"
"I advise you to obey me, Terran." Toonthvar said, emotionlessly.
**********
tbc
