Slave Race 23/?
by Nan Smith and Linda Garrick
"Silence, worm!" A third slap made the sunshine dim out. His ears buzzed. The Jilectan's hands yanked him upright again. "You dare to question me, Terran slime?" Comishvor shook him hard, rattling his teeth, then flung him back hard against the seat. "Continue scanning!" he rasped. "He must lower them again soon. When he does, you will sense him."
"Yes sir." Jack swallowed hard and straightened up in the seat. He concentrated again, reaching uselessly. No result. Edwin had his shields up now, and if he had any sense, he would keep them up as much as possible.
They flew toward the spot where he had last sensed the psychic. Comishvor's eyes were like steel, boring into him, seeing his every thought. The Jilectan smiled thinly. "Do not think of escape, slave. If you even try, you will regret it."
"Yes sir." Jack stared at the floor and sensed rather than saw the Lady smile again.
The Jilectans gestured, and their servants served them breakfast. Jack was hungry, too, and needed to go to the bathroom badly, but decided to say nothing at present. Let the Jil fill his belly first. Then maybe he'd be in a better mood.
Like a sudden flash of light he sensed it again. Edwin was no longer in front of them but was moving away at an angle, fast. He must have obtained an aircar from somewhere. Comishvor, for all his anger and scorn, had raised his own shields. He must realize that Jack's outburst had not been without reason. Edwin had sensed not the relatively weak Terran psychic, but the powerful telepathic presence of a Jilectan.
He must speak, though. Comishvor would scan him again soon, and realize he had sensed Edwin again. "He's that way, sir. He's moving."
Comishvor, his mouth full of smoked Terran salmon, gestured to the driver. The car swung around, following the tenuous direction. Edwin's mind vanished again, but not before Jack sensed something else--something which had before been eclipsed by the powerful mind of the Terran.
"Sir, he has someone else with him--a... a psychic."
"Are you certain, slave? What type of psychic?"
"Terran."
"I know, Terran fool! Male or female?"
"I... don't know. Female, I think. I heard him call her Loreen."
"Loreen..." Comishvor's voice became pensive. "I have heard that name before."
"Ed's wife was named Loreen, sir," Miriam volunteered.
Comishvor took another bite of salmon and chewed thoughtfully. "She was supposedly killed when I first obtained Cornelius and Edwin. Could this possibly be another Terran named Loreen?"
"It ain't that common a name," one of the Terran pirates remarked. "I've known a lot o' women in my life, but never a Loreen."
"Still, if she is a psychic, I should have sensed her when I pinpointed Edwin and Cornelius." Comishvor glared at Jack and took another bite of salmon. "Are you certain you are correct in this, my psychic?"
Jack shook his head. "I can only tell you what I sense, sir. I wish I was a better tracer, but I'm not."
"I wish the same." Comishvor stuffed the last of the salmon into his mouth and washed it down with a mouthful of wine. "Continue, psychic."
Jack concentrated again, but the mind was nowhere to be found. He continued his scans, trying to ignore the discomfort of his hungry stomach. The urge to go to the bathroom was becoming critical. At last he could wait no longer and voiced his need in a small voice. The Jilectan scowled but gestured to the driver, who allowed the car to settle into a service station. One of the pirates accompanied him to the rest room, allowed him to wash his face and hands afterwards, then escorted him back to the aircar. The station attendants had serviced the vehicle and were watching nervously as the Jilectan appeared from the restroom facilities reserved for his species. Comishvor ignored them. He stretched tremendously and strode back to the aircar. The Lady joined them a few minutes later, the payment for servicing was rendered by Kannir, and the search resumed.
Over an hour went by without further contact. Comishvor glared at him, becoming more abusive by the minute. He could sense the sympathy of the Terrans in the car, but knew well that they could not help him, and would not dare to try. Miriam fed the baby, observed with interest by Gary, who was seated beside her. Then, at last, he again touched the mind of the Terran
"That way!" He pointed. "He isn't far."
The car turned and shot forward. The mind strengthened for a moment, then dimmed and vanished, but Jack had already picked up the sense of direction, which he could relay to Comishvor. And this time, perhaps strengthened by his rest and a good breakfast, he maintained contact, not with Ed, but with the mind of the psychic with him.
The contact was faint, and not a good guide, but at least it gave him a tenuous direction. They moved forward, slowly now, but gradually gaining on their quarry. Ed still knew they were after him. Jack could sense the apprehension from the psychic's mind whenever his shields were lowered, and the occasional glimpses strengthened his clairvoyant ability. They were over a hunting preserve. The emanations from the female psychic with Edwin were becoming clearer now. There were strong, surprisingly primitive emotions radiating from the mind, and gradually Jack began to suspect something. Edwin's companion wasn't an adult. The mind had a youthful feel to it, and the emotions were those of a young child. Jack hesitated, then voiced his suspicion to Comishvor.
The pirate chieftain smiled thinly. "Excellent. She must be a powerful psychic, indeed, for a weakling like you to sense her at this distance."
Jack felt the blood creep into his cheeks, but naturally, didn't respond. The distance decreased even more. He felt the psychic's apprehension intensify, and realized suddenly that she was aware of him. Ed's mind appeared, then vanished. Ahead the aircar they were pursuing had come into view, but even as it did, its speed increased.
"Do not let them escape, Paul!" Comishvor's voice escalated.
Paul, the driver who had replaced Kannir at the service station, pushed the power regulator to the floor. Their vehicle leaped forward.
"We have the advantage, sir," Paul said. "Their car's more'n ten years old or I miss my guess. They can't outrun us."
"See that they do not, Paul."
Their quarry was pouring on the power, making straight for a towering range of mountains in the distance. Jack relaxed, letting his mind go blank. His work was over, at least for the present. Now it was up to the driver. He closed his eyes. Colors swirled behind his lids.
"He is making for the mountains!" Comishvor spoke suddenly, his voice sharp and angry. "He knows Terrans can tolerate less oxygen than Jilectans. Little fool!" He turned his head. "Gary, get out oxygen cartridges--my Lady's and mine!"
Gary obeyed quickly, scrabbling in a compartment beside him and producing the necessary articles. He handed them across the seat to the two aliens.
They were gaining. Jack could see it, and a surge of pity for the pursued filled him. Comishvor had hurt Ed. He was afraid of the Jilectan, just as Jack was. He had seen his chance, and had taken it. In the same spot, wouldn't he, Jack, have done the same thing? And Ed was now fighting not only to save himself from the pirates, but also his wife, and the little psychic girl.
Well, there was nothing he could do about it. They were going to be caught. It was inevitable. Jack kept his eyes closed and tried to not think about what was happening. There was nothing he could do about it, anyway.
The air was growing thinner. Jack was finding it harder to breathe, and gasped a little. The Jilectans were relaxed, breathing into their oxy-cylinders, paying no attention to the Terrans around them, their attention all on the fleeing aircar before them. They were much closer now. Jack opened his eyes and saw the craft clearly--the black tail markings, popular a decade ago, the dent in the left rear fender. He shuddered. Any moment now, Paul would fire and the car would be forced to land in the tree-covered slopes below. Jack could see no opening there for a car to set down. Would the fugitives be killed when Ed tried to land?
Higher still. The air was thinner, and he felt his ears pop in response to the lower air pressure. Kannir, in the seat beside the driver, came awake with a sharp hiss and clutched his throat. He turned in the seat, his eyes bulging. "I cannot breazze!" he gasped.
Gary rummaged beneath the seat. "No more air masks. Sorry, Kannir."
Jack stared at the alien in anguish. Arcturians, it appeared, could not tolerate the thinner air, either. The alien groaned and hissed, his mouth open wide as he attempted to breathe oxygen that wasn't there. Then the yellow eyes glazed and he slumped forward in the seat.
"Help him!" Jack turned frantically toward Lord Comishvor. "Please, can't you just let him breathe from your mask for a few seconds?"
The Jilectan slapped him casually, flinging him back against the seat. His ears sang. Paul glanced worriedly at his companion.
"Fire," Comishvor ordered.
Paul tapped a button and the car fired a shot at their quarry, but at the last instant the fleeing car had swerved sharply, nearly eluding the shot completely. The edge of the bolt caught it in the rear left fender, and the craft tilted, slewing to one side.
Paul gave a startled yell and their own craft swerved hard to one side, knocking everyone to the left.
Comishvor half rose to his feet, straining against the safety webbing. "No! You fool; get your shields up! He..."
But Paul seemed not to hear. He voiced another shout and yanked the controls again, veering them downwards. Their stabilizing fin snagged on a tree branch, but Paul gave no indication that he felt it. He was still pulling desperately at the controls, yelling incoherently all the while.
The Lady screamed as they spun sideways. Comishvor yanked off his safety webbing and lunged forward, struggling to reach his apparently insane driver.
It was too late. Something beneath the car gave with a sickening screech of metal. The car plunged forward, bucked wildly, tilted, and fell downward through vegetation.
Jack tried to cling to the seat as the terrible plunge continued. The Lady's elbow caught him on the temple and he saw stars. Branches cracked and snapped around them, cracking the plastic windowpanes and bending beneath them. The car fell, paused, fell again, paused, and at last came to a crashing, jolting halt, nose downward. Jack opened his eyes.
Around him, the light was very dim. Comishvor was slung over the seat ahead, and Jack could see nothing but his legs from the knees downward. The Lady, suspended in her safety webbing, hung beside him, groaning and cursing fluently in the Jilectan language. There were other sounds of distress as well. The baby was wailing loudly, and moans issued from the rear seat. Jack squirmed and reached back, managing to release his safety webbing. He clutched it and used it to lower himself to the back of the seat ahead of him. The Lady groaned and cursed some more, and her hand grasped the back of his jacket, gripping like a vise.
"Do not consider escape, chol worm," she grated.
"I'm not." It was a whimper. The Lady shook him hard.
"Do not lie, slave!" she flung him hard against the back of the seat. "Crawl over there and attend to my husband! Go!"
Jack obeyed. Comishvor was slumped head downward against the control panel, stirring feebly. The Arcturian, Kannir, was unconscious, his slitted eyes closed. The driver of the vehicle, Paul, was also motionless, a bleeding cut on his forehead. Jack's hand touched something.
A breathing mask lay on the seat beside him; Comishvor's of course. It must have come off of the pirate chieftain during the confusion. Jack acted on impulse. He picked it up, jammed it over the Arcturian's muzzle, and pressed the control labeled 'flush'. A soft rush of oxygen emerged. Jack glanced back guiltily, but there was no sign of the Lady as yet. Her voice, however, reached him, demanding to know her Lord's condition. Jack replied respectfully, his hands moving rapidly as he fastened the oxy-cylinder to the Arcturian's drooping crest. He pressed the flush control again, and crawled forward to Comishvor.
"Are you hurt, sir?"
Comishvor groaned. Jack grasped the Jilectan's shoulders, trying to turn him over. Impossible, of course. Comishvor was a dead weight. The Arcturian hissed softly and Jack turned back to see the yellow eyes were open and watching him expressionlessly. He turned back to Comishvor. "Sir?"
The Jilectan moved suddenly, shifting his body sideways. The aircar tilted slightly and the driver's body slid against the door. The man's elbow struck the manual control, and the door slid open.
Jack didn't even think. He dove forward through the opening, landing hard on hands and knees in the snow-covered evergreen needles. It hurt, but he never paused, scrambling to his feet. From within the aircar he heard the Lady's scream of rage.
Then he was running down the slope, the sounds behind him fading. His feet flew, dodging tree roots instinctively, never slowing his pace. They would be after him instantly, he knew, and he must make the best of his head start. Trees loomed up before him, and he wove his way among them, heading always downhill. His lungs were laboring in the thin air, and after five minutes or so his head began to swim. He gulped in deep breaths, his knees wobbling...
He was lying face down on the ground, cheek pressed against rough evergreen needles and a patch of melting snow. Hands touched him, turning him over. He cried out and struggled uselessly in their grip.
It was Kannir. The Arcturian no longer wore the oxy-cylinder, he realized, and the expression on the green scaled face was as unreadable as ever. Behind him stood the tall, terrible form of Lady Gootishville. Jack stopped struggling and cowered back, half-sobbing. The Lady came forward, and Jack saw that she still wore her oxy-cylinder. Nearby was Gary, holding Miriam by one arm. Baby Kimmie, wrapped in a blanket, was cradled in the girl's arms.
The Lady pushed Kannir aside, bent and yanked Jack to his feet. Her hand struck him twice, but his face was so numb from the cold that he hardly felt it. His knees buckled again and his vision blurred. Miriam cried out in anguish and Kimmie began to wail thinly.
No one spoke. The Lady thrust Jack against a tree and gestured to Kannir. The Arcturian moved up again, pulled Jack's hands behind him, and bound him to the tree. Then the alien squatted beside him, not looking at him. Miriam came up beside him and sat down.
Lady Gootishville stepped away and turned sideways to them. Her expression became remote as though listening to something. Jack stole a glance at Miriam.
"What happened?" he whispered.
She shook her head, motioning him to silence, her eyes fixed on the Lady. But, to Jack's surprise, Kannir answered his question, voice very low.
"My Lord Comishvor awoke just as you went out zee door. He took his mask back and ordered me to go after you. Zee Lady came, too, and he also ordered me to bring Gary, Miriam and her little one."
Jack stared at him. "How can you breathe without the oxy-cylinder?"
The yellow slitted eyes met his steadily. "We were not so far above zee altitude zat I could bear, and some very kind person placed Lord Comishvor's mask on me and apparently blew straight oxygen into my face."
Jack looked down.
The Arcturian continued. "Zee pure oxygen sustained me until I could reach a bearable altitude."
"So you can breathe the oxygen at this altitude?"
"Yes." Another long look from those yellow eyes.
"How far did I run before... ?"
"2.7 kilometers."
"Did I really?"
"Yes."
The Lady turned back toward them, her pale grey eyes cold and remote. "We are to stay here. M'lord is going after his psychic alone."
"In an aircar, M'lady?" Gary asked.
"His psychic's vehicle has failed, and the little worm is on foot."
"Oh."
"My Lord will bring him back." Her eyes glinted faintly in the dimness.
Jack shrank back against the tree, not daring to look at her again but the Lady ignored him. She gestured to Gary, who came over to her and opened the pack he carried, removing packages of food and a bottle of wine. The Lady took the supplies and began to eat. Gary passed food to the others, glancing quickly at the Jilectan for permission.
"None for the psychic," Gootishville said, with her mouth full.
"Yes, M'lady."
Miriam ate, then fed the baby. Jack remained still, shivering with the cold, teeth chattering. Miriam pressed closer to him, and, to his surprise, Kannir removed his cape and spread it over the shivering Terran.
Kannir must know, Jack realized, that he was the one who had placed the oxygen mask on him. The Arcturian's attitude toward him had changed radically since the accident. Arcturians were relatively immune to the cold, and probably giving up the cape was no great sacrifice to the alien. Still, Kannir must be feeling the climate some. It was cold out here, and Kannir now wore only his tight stretch breeches and light, sleeveless tunic.
"Thank you, Kannir," he whispered.
No response. The day dragged on. Once the Lady allowed Gary to untie the prisoner and escort him into the underbrush to answer the call of nature, but the remainder of the time he remained tied to the tree.
Twilight crept over the woods. Jack flexed his toes and fingers, trying to restore the circulation. It was futile. He was numb. The Lady was eating again, and Jack's stomach growled in response to the sight. The Arcturian refused Gary's offer of food, and Miriam simply shook her head without replying. Half an hour went by. Dusk deepened. It began to sleet, the wind roaring through the trees overhead.
Abruptly the Lady's face came up and her expression changed to the remote, distant expression that signaled telepathic communication with her husband. For perhaps a minute she remained motionless, eyes staring blankly ahead. Then she moved, crossing to Jack and gesturing imperiously to Kannir.
"Release him from the tree, then tie his hands before him. Be quick! My Lord needs me."
Kannir obeyed quickly, lifting Jack to his feet and allowing him to lean against the tree while his hands were bound. The Lady gestured to Gary.
"You will accompany me, Gary, and will guard the psychic. And you, Arcturian, will remain here with the woman. Do not allow her to escape."
Kannir inclined his head. "May I ask what has happened, My Lady?"
The Lady didn't reply. "Remain here," she said, as though he had not spoken. "I will return with my Lord and his psychic."
"Yes, my Lady."
The Jilectan strode forward, and Gary hurried behind, leading Jack, whose legs were still so numb he could hardly feel them. After a hundred meters the pirate lifted the boy to his back, drawing the boy's bound hands around his neck. The pirate was warm after Jack's long, cold stint bound to the tree, and after a few minutes the boy felt drowsiness creep over him. He shook his head, trying to remain awake but as soon as he was still the drowsiness returned. He felt oddly comfortable. Why not sleep?
He relaxed and let himself drift. Time passed unmeasured. He awoke, slept, awoke, slept again. Gary was trudging along behind the Lady whenever he opened his eyes. It was very dark, and above them the wind howled through the trees. He snuggled against Gary's back, seeking warmth. Kannir had not taken his cloak back when they parted, and the garment repelled the elements, sealing in the warmth. He dozed, then awoke again to hear Gary swearing under his breath and almost running. The Lady could not be seen. Jack lifted his head. "Where is she?"
Gary didn't answer. He was trying to run, his breath coming in agonized gasps. Suddenly he paused, lifted Jack roughly down and grasped his arm. "Run!" he wheezed.
Jack had no choice but to obey. He ran beside Gary. The man was almost exhausted, he realized, and a few moments later the reason became obvious. The air was thinner here. Jack hadn't noticed until he had tried to exert himself again. Somewhere ahead he heard the Lady shout for Gary to hurry. Gary swore breathlessly and staggered forward, his legs weaving. Jack knew that the man was in far worse shape than he, although not for long once he forced his prisoner to run in the thin air again. Now was the time to make another attempt--if he could. After all, what did he have to lose?
He pretended to stumble, falling heavily forward. Gary grunted and turned, trying to catch him. Jack landed and rolled, bringing his legs up and into readiness. Gary bent over him.
With all his strength, Jack kicked him in the face. Gary gave a breathless groan of pain and fell backwards, landing in a sitting position, clutching his nose. Jack, hampered by his bound hands, scrambled to his feet.
A stunner hummed, and the beam brushed him. He felt himself falling, and a few seconds later, he found himself sitting in the powdery snow, both his ears ringing. His brain felt oddly numb. Gary was bending over him, pulling him roughly upright. Furiously, the man shook him, then slung him up to his former position. His hands were pulled around Gary's bristly neck, and, still swearing breathlessly, the man strode on.
Full consciousness returned. Jack lifted his head and found his voice. "I'm sorry, Gary. Did I hurtcha?"
A breathless cuss word. Then, "Damn you, kid! Don't you know when you're licked?"
"I'm sorry."
"No you're not. You'll try it again the next time you have half a chance. Don't you know you'll get me the axe if you get away while you're in my custody?"
"Are you gonna tell her I tried?"
A hesitation. Gary's breath rasped painfully, then he swore with great imagination. "I ought to! I think my nose is broken!"
"Please don't! Please, Gary!"
More swear words.
"She'll beat me again if you do!"
"If I don't and she finds out..."
"Please, Gary!"
"Shut up!"
Should he try tears? No, Gary was a pirate. Tears, except from a female, would be regarded with scorn. Gary felt sorry for him. He'd sensed that already. Maybe the best action now was simply to remain quiet. Or maybe he could endear the fellow to him somehow. Empathy was his greatest talent. Where were the man's weak points? Miriam, of course--or Miriam's female charms. Jack was only eleven years old and a bit out of his depth there, but if he could get Gary talking...
No. The guy would probably see through something as obvious as that. Where was Lady Gootishville? Jack rested his head against his guard's shoulder and held very still. Gradually he felt the man relaxing, some of the anger draining away. He swore wearily and paused. "Now where the hell is she? Kid, do you sense her?"
Jack did, of course, easily. Should he lead Gary astray, or not? No, that would be foolish at this point. The Lady would find them again sooner or later. It would be better if he cooperated--at least for now. "She's that way--a little to your left."
Gary gave him a suspicious glance, but turned in the direction he indicated. Jack remained still on his back, trying to give the impression of passive compliance. The man's shoulder's rolled beneath his arms as he struggled along. Jack sighed.
"Think I'll ever be as big and strong as you, Gary?"
Gary laughed shortly. "Give it up, kid."
"What?"
"Don't try to charm me. I'm mad at you and I'm not about to stop just 'cause you flatter me."
"I know. I wasn't trying."
Another brief laugh. "You don't have to try."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jack lied.
"Yeah, sure."
"How big were you when you were my age?"
"I was a shrimp. I grew after Comishvor picked me up, when I was fourteen."
"No kidding?"
"Nope."
Jack could sense the man's animosity ebbing even more. "Were you an orphan, too?"
"Yeah."
"Corala native?"
"Yeah. How did you know?"
"I guessed. You kind of act like a guy from Corala."
A breathless laugh. "And how does a guy from Corala act?"
"Tough."
Gary laughed again, but Jack could sense his pleasure. The guy was a hard nut to crack, all right, but Jack had never failed yet. He motioned with his bound hands. "More that way, Gary. She's upset about something, and I don't sense Lord Comishvor at all. Did she say anything about why he needed her?"
"To me, kid?"
Jack giggled, and out of the corner of his eye saw Gary grin.
The presences were much nearer now, the Lady's radiating fury and hatred. Faintly over the wind he heard her voice. Gary increased his pace, and Jack pressed his face against the pirate's neck.
"What th' blazes...?"
Jack lifted his face slightly. They had come to a clearing, and before them, revealed in the illumination of several hand lights, Jack saw the figures of the rest of their party. Lady Gootishville was kneeling on the ground beside the prone, motionless figure of her Lord. Around the Jilectans the snow was stained red.
"What's happened?" Gary trotted forward. The Lady looked up, her face blazing with anger behind the breathing mask.
"At last, Terran worm! What did you do, stop to rest? My Lord needed you!"
She turned back to the motionless Jilectan. "Your emergency kit, fool! Quickly!"
Gary slid Jack to the snow and wiggled out of his pack. Jack was pushed into the grasp of another pirate and the man clamped an arm around him, nearly crushing him. The psychic looked up to see the fellow's face above him, white and drawn. Gillim wasn't feeling very well, in fact, none of the pirates clustered around appeared to feel very well. Suddenly aware of a very distinctive odor, Jack looked down and saw that the snow beneath their feet was stained too, but not with blood. Everywhere lay the evidence that someone, or rather, several someones, had been violently ill.
"What happened, Gillim?" he whispered.
The man groaned and sank down, pulling Jack with him and keeping an arm clamped around him. Gary was assisting the Lady in doctoring her injured husband. As well as a bad cut to the head, Comishvor's fine clothing had been burned away from his shoulder.
"A blaster burn!" Jack whispered in awe. "Did Edwin... ?"
"Shut up, blast it!" the pirate muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "It wasn't Ed. It was that devil's whelp with him!"
"The little girl?"
"She was there, but she didn't shoot him. It was a kid, 'bout fifteen at a guess. Bloody little so-and-so shot His Lordship an' stunned us all."
That explained the sickness. "How bad is M'Lord hurt?" If he was hurt too bad, or killed, that would put Jack at the mercy of Lady Gootishville, and Comishvor, cruel as he was, was infinitely kinder than the Lady.
"Just winged his shoulder, I think. Ain't sure. Now shut up."
Jack shut up. Gary was attempting to assist the Lady and she was verbally abusing him and Terrans in general. "Parasites! They will pay dearly for this! Are you in pain, my dear Lord?"
Comishvor groaned and turned to his back. "Where is he?"
Gillim stepped forward, holding Jack by the rope that bound his wrists. "They must'a taken off, sir. When we came to, they was gone. Took everything, too, 'cept our hand lights an' clothes."
The Lady cursed. Comishvor lay still a moment, then pushed himself to his elbows. "We must go after them. Jack? Where is my Terran psychic?"
"Here, sir." A tug on the rope by Gillim brought him stumbling forward.
"You must rest, my Lord," the Lady protested.
"I am feeling much better, my wife. We must go. Edwin must not reach his ship."
"I will take the psychic and go alone."
No! Jack thought in terror. Oh God, no!
Comishvor glanced quickly at him and a faint smile quirked his lips. "I am recovered, my wife. Come, little psychic."
The Lady helped her Lord to his feet. "Lean on me, my love."
**********
October 11 0800
Karl swung his feet to the floor, surveying the Procyon servant.
The being looked down its beak at the prisoner. "Are you ready to rise, Terran?" it inquired witheringly in the slurred Basic of its species.
Karl stood up, bristling at the servant's tone. "Yes I am."
"I am gratified." The servant removed a tray from his cart and placed it on the table. Karl took a deep breath. No point in making things worse, he told himself, and maybe with time he could win the servant over. The more beings he could get on his side, the better.
"Thank you, Ch'Grak."
The bird spun on him, its feathers standing out straight from its face, the serrated beak opening in challenge. "How do you know my name? You have read my mind!"
Oh, what the heck? He didn't really want this critter's friendship. "I read your nameplate, stupid."
The creature glanced down at the little tag. For an instant it was silent. Then, the blue fluff still puffed haughtily out, it turned and strode toward the door, beak elevated and staring straight ahead. Karl grinned. Boy, that had felt good! He sat down to breakfast with a good appetite. When he had finished, the servant appeared again, this time bearing fresh towels and a clean suit of clothing--a servant's attire, Karl noted, but modestly tailored in a navy blue shade.
"You will prepare yourself, psychic," it stated remotely. "Lord Halthzor desires your presence. Clean yourself well. The Viceroy ish offended by the odor of unwashed Terran."
Karl felt himself bristling again, but managed to hold his tongue. Silently, he took the things and went into the bathroom.
All his needs were certainly being provided for. Comb, brush, razor--although he really didn't need that yet. He showered, scrubbing himself well from head to toe, then dressed. The uniform was slightly large for him, as expected, but quite acceptable. He tightened the belt and donned the boots, which were also slightly large, and emerged from the bathroom.
Ch'Grak had gone, but no sooner had Karl closed the bathroom door than Sam Ruffard entered. "Hi, buddy."
"Hello, Lieutenant. What's up?"
"Call me Sam, kid. It's rainin'." Sam dropped a waterproof cape on the bunk. "Put that on. We gotta go."
Reluctantly, Karl picked up the article. "Where?"
Sam shrugged. "Dunno. Somewhere with a Jil. Move it."
Karl slipped the cape over his shoulders. "Are you going to restrain me?"
"Not this time, if you're a good boy. C'mon, now."
There were guards at the door, he saw, as he emerged from his prison, and set above the panel was a small screen, revealing the interior of his cell. So, he was observed. That was how Sam had known the instant that he was ready.
They entered the lift and descended to the first floor. A lady Jilectan passed them as they exited, two little girls trailing after her. Both children glanced at Karl, giggled, and drew their skirts fastidiously as he went by.
"Terran psychic!" one of them whispered in the Jilectan tongue. "Oooh!"
"Oooh!" the other child echoed.
Sam led him through several corridors and paused before a set of double doors. Two guards before the doors looked them up and down and the one on the right spoke. "Lieutenant Ruffard?" At Ruffard's nod, he continued. "You are expected."
The doors swung open and Ruffard led him forward into an enormous dining room. It appeared the Viceroy was at breakfast. Karl glanced furtively at the long table loaded with enough food for half a dozen Jilectans and then fixed his gaze on the toes of his boots as Ruffard pulled him to a stop beside the ruler's chair.
Sam's hand on his shoulder, pushing him down, reminded Karl that he was supposed to kneel, and he dropped to his knees. Sam was also kneeling.
"You may rise." Halthzor's bass rumble made his skin prickle. He got to his feet and stood still.
"Today will be your first chance to prove your worth, Karl Warren," the Viceroy said. "It has been established that the organization known as the Terran Underground has planted spies in the Viceregal Patrol, and other sensitive positions. It is your task to unmask them."
Karl opened his mouth and closed it again as Ruffard nudged him.
"The spies you are looking for are primarily Arcturian," Halthzor continued. "You will accompany my representative, Lord Stranthvar. He will report to me on your performance, this evening." The Jilectan lifted a glass and sipped delicately. The interview was over. Ruffard pushed Karl to his knees again, knelt a second time and retreated from the room.
**********
Sam led him out a side exit. It was raining, all right--pouring, the wind whipping the drops stingingly into his face. Sam caught his arm and ushered him quickly over to a parked Jilectan limousine, a long, silver vehicle emblazoned on the doors with the emblem of one of the noble Jilectan houses, but Karl didn't know which one.
Lord Stranthvar was already in the rear seat, lounging indolently against the cushions, a steaming mug of something in one hand. Karl was placed in the front beside the driver and Sam got in beside him so that Karl was hemmed in between the chauffeur and his guard. The car's engines came to life and the vehicle rose smoothly from the ground, turning northwest. Rain blurred the windshield and the wipers swished the drops away.
Karl had little doubt as to the purpose for which he had been summoned. He was now to perform the function for which he had been spared--the identification of Arcturian spies. He considered it coldly. What did it matter? Arcturians were hardly people, after all, and he must try to please the Jilectans in order to save his own life. Arcturian spies knew the risk. If they chose to take it, then they deserved whatever they got.
No one spoke. Scenery slid past below, the landscaped gardens of the Jilectan estates slowly giving way to rolling hills and valleys. Ahead, the city of Franik appeared, and the car entered the mainstream of traffic. This, Karl knew, was the East Wind Skystream. It was packed now with rush hour traffic. The driver set the controls on autopilot and the car's comp took over.
Lord Stranthvar's voice spoke suddenly in his mind, making him jump. *Terran psychic, we are on our way to the Franik Patrol Base. There you will see many patrolmen of all species. All Arcturians that come within your range, you will read. I shall be monitoring your thoughts, and will know at once if you attempt any treachery. Do you understand?*
*Yes, M'lord.* Karl thought the words back at the alien.
Silence. He sat still, his neck prickling slightly, both hands clenched in his lap. The car slipped into the uncontrolled traffic lane, and the chauffeur took manual control. They entered the Patrol Base turnoff, slowed, and pulled up to a sentry station. The guard snapped to attention and saluted. They moved forward again onto the base, traversed another short lane, turned left, and drew up before the Base Administration Building. The driver parked the vehicle and cut the engines.
The silence was almost tangible. Karl watched the figures moving down the slidewalk toward the building. Almost at once an Arcturian passed.
*Read him!* Stranthvar's voice ordered in his mind.
He probably couldn't reach, Karl thought. The being was farther away than Channir had been the evening before. Still, he tried to obey, reaching for the alien mind, and, somewhat to his surprise, touched it at once. The thoughts became distinct almost before he was aware of it.
The creature was in a hurry. He was late for an appointment, and his sergeant was going to be annoyed. Besides that, he had skipped breakfast and was feeling slightly sick...
The thoughts floated beyond Karl's reach.
*Excellent, Terran.* The surprise in Stranthvar's contact was apparent. *You appear stronger than you did earlier. Why is that?*
*I don't know, M'lord.*
Another Arcturian was passing, and Karl quickly reached for his mind. The contact came easily now, and yet, he was more than four meters away. This Patrolman, Rottor, was feeling fine. His mate, Tonnit, had informed him last night that he was to be a father. There was no greater joy in an Arcturian's existence...
Again the thoughts floated beyond his reach. Stranthvar made a small, satisfied sound and spoke to the driver. "Moonwine, patrolman."
The Terran hastened to extract a ruby-hued bottle from a compartment beside him and poured a glass for the alien. Stranthvar took it and relaxed back in his seat, cradling the container in his hands and smiling, clearly pleased with himself. Another Arcturian passed, but even farther from the car than his two previous fellows. Karl tried to read him and found it difficult. He leaned forward, straining.
The Arcturian seemed to sense him, for it paused, apparently heedless of the inclement weather, and glanced uneasily around. Another alien passed and the first reached out to its fellow, speaking. Karl couldn't hear the words due to the intervening closed window, but he could sense the uneasiness of both aliens now. They were looking toward the car, noting the insignia on the side, and still Karl had not managed to penetrate the thoughts of the first one. Emotions reached him, though--puzzlement, worry, resentment...
*Withdraw your probe!* Stranthvar's mental voice commanded. *Quickly!*
Karl obeyed, feeling sweat trickle down his neck. Stranthvar spoke sharply to Ruffard, and the big man lowered the window and snapped a command to the two Arcturians. The aliens saluted hastily and half ran down the slidewalk and into the Administration building.
Karl drew a deep breath. His head felt light and his vision was swimming slightly. Stranthvar leaned forward, saying something sharply to Ruffard. Karl didn't catch it. Nausea swept over him. The lightheadedness intensified.
A cup was pressed to his lips and he caught the sharp sting of brandy on the back of his throat. He shook his head dazedly, glancing apprehensively back at Stranthvar. "I...I'm sorry. I don't know what happened."
"Rest a moment, Terran," the Jilectan commanded.
Karl was glad to obey. He leaned back in the seat, taking deep breaths. What had happened? The Arcturian had seemed to sense his probe, and the moment he had done so, Karl had felt the first of the unpleasant sensations.
Stranthvar's voice spoke in his mind. *The creature sensed you, Terran. Arcturians have an extra sense that enables them to know when a psychic is near--and your aura of psychic energy is quite intense. Some, although not many of the creatures, possess a natural repulsive ability to strike back at a psychic who is attempting to read them. Most Arcturians do not even know it when they are being probed by a Terran, but those who do inevitably are those who possess this ability to a greater degree. It appears to be a totally sporadic thing--a leftover from the time that Arcturians were fighting for survival against a psychic predator on their planet. The predator is no more, but the ability remains in some of the Arcturian species.*
Karl swallowed. *I see, sir. Will it happen again?*
*It is possible, but not likely. In any case, the effect is not permanent--only temporarily disabling. It has occurred twice before that I know of.*
When had that been, Karl wondered. The Jils must have found psychics before him who could read the Arcturians. What was it that the ruler had said to Stranthvar? "He is the only one since the Westover girl..."
*Are you recovered, Terran?* Stranthvar's telepathic voice asked.
*Yes, sir.*
*Continue, then.*
Karl fixed his eyes on the scene without, watching the rain pelting the slidewalk and the black clad figures, huddled under capes moving past. For a while no more Arcturians appeared. Then two, together, went by, their heads up, crests raised in the blowing rain. Karl managed to read one of them, but the other escaped him. The noon whistle blew and Sam Ruffard reached into a compartment to bring out wrapped sandwiches, fruit, and a thermos of coffee. Stranthvar also produced a packaged lunch, and the smell of the garlic spiced bean sandwiches within the enclosed space nearly gagged Karl. He put down his chicken salad sandwich untouched, and repressed the urge to open a window for a breath of fresh air. Stranthvar devoured the food with obvious relish, licked his fingers daintily, and passed his wineglass up for a refill. The driver complied. More Arcturians passed the car--six of them grouped together. Karl managed to read two before they were out of range. The rain increased, beating hard against the windshield of the car.
More of the aliens went by and Karl managed to read the minds of most of them. This was futile, he thought. Halthzor must be wrong. There were no Arcturian Underground spies in the Viceregal Patrol. Why would the outlaw organization do such a silly thing? They must know that the Jilectans might find a Terran who could read them. He couldn't be that rare.
Still, if they had only found one before him. Maybe he was sort of rare after all...
Time passed and Karl began to grow tired. His mind hummed with alien thoughts and emotions. Late afternoon was upon them, the rain still fell, and Karl realized they had been doing this all day. Wasn't Stranthvar ever going to give up? He must realize by now that he'd made a mistake--that there were simply no more Arcturian spies in the Viceregal Patrol. Of course, when he did realize it, Karl was done for. They would have no further use for him...
He set to work with a will, reading every Arcturian who passed, looking desperately for a spy. Nothing. Nothing at all. He was finished. Stranthvar would call it quits soon, and Karl would be executed...
*The Viceroy has not made a mistake, Terran.* Stranthvar's voice cut sharply into his thoughts. *I know there are spies in our ranks. You will find them for me.*
Karl's neck prickled. *Yes, sir.*
Rain spattered against the windshield, and outside early twilight was falling. The beings passing were less plentiful now. It must be nearing 1700, when the main activities for the day would shut down. Two Terrans passed, then a Procyon. An Arcturian hurried by, and, automatically now, Karl reached for the being's mind.
But what was this? As he touched the alien's consciousness he felt an almost physical jolt of surprise and shock. The golden scaled head came up, the slitted, reptilian eyes locating him instantly. A sudden, sharp snapping sensation in his head made him cry out with shock, and at the same instant he realized that the emanations from the alien mind had vanished. Dizziness and nausea washed over him in an all-encompassing wave.
Stranthvar was speaking, his voice sharp. "That one! Get him!"
Through the fog, which hovered before him, Karl was aware of black clad figures charging toward the fleeing Arcturian. A blaster cracked, and steam rose in a billowing cloud on the slidewalk without. A Terran went by the car and turned toward it, his blaster aimed directly toward the beings within. Ruffard shouted something and threw Karl sideways, the weight of his body crushing the smaller Terran into the seat. There was movement as the car skidded sideways and an impact rocked them sharply. Then, from without, came a rending explosion and once more the car rocked sideways. From without came agonized screams, muffled slightly by the intervening window and the incessant patter of the falling rain.
Suddenly, everything was still, and Ruffard sat up, one hand still pressing Karl into the seat. Karl heard him ask a question, a reply from the driver, and then the guard's hands lifted him to a sitting position. "You okay, buddy?"
Karl couldn't answer. He still felt slightly ill, his head swimming unpleasantly, but the worst of the dizziness was passing. He blinked and stared at the scene without in utter horror. Half a dozen figures lay still or writhed in pain on the steaming slidewalk, and from beneath a stairway beside the building billowed orange flame. Figures were rushing toward the scene, and from somewhere came the wail of a siren. With a muffled exclamation, Stranthvar leaned forward and spoke to the driver.
"Take us back to the palace."
The car soared upward. Karl leaned back in the seat, and without realizing it, scrubbed at the tears trickling down his face. Ruffard was watching him and he turned away so the Lieutenant wouldn't see, trying to control himself. He failed. Sobs welled up in his throat.
"Are you okay, kid?"
He couldn't answer. Stranthvar spoke suddenly from the rear seat, his voice dispassionate. "Give him some more brandy."
Ruffard tried to place the glass to his lips. Karl turned away, biting his lower lip hard. "No... no..."
"It'll make you feel better. Easy now. What's the matter with you?"
"Let me alone." Nausea was growing in him again. He fought it, fearing to further disgrace himself. Rain pattered loud on the windshield.
The car was descending, and he looked up to see they had reached the Viceregal Palace again. In spite of himself, the sobs continued. Ruffard tried to offer him the glass again, and in sudden anger he struck at it. The container flipped upward, spattering everyone in the front seat with liquor. Ruffard grabbed for the glass and cussed as the attempt only knocked it further away. It shattered against the windshield, spilling brandy across the expensive plush dashboard.
The driver swore under his breath as he brought the car down. They landed without a jar and Stranthvar motioned to Ruffard. "Take him back to his room."
Ruffard pulled him from the car and led him, stumbling blindly, across the yard and into the building. The lift took them up to the security level and he was steered down the hallway and into his room. Ruffard shut the door behind him. Karl dropped face down on the bed.
"You okay, kid?"
For a minute Karl didn't answer. Then he sat up, meeting the patrolman's eyes across the room. "Sam... that guy, did he... really..."
"Yeah, he did." Sam's voice was suddenly gentle. "Or rather they did. There was two of them--the Fish an' a Terran. They blew 'emselves to smithereen's, an' took a couple o' our guys with 'em."
"But why? Why?"
"You ever seen a public execution, Karl? That's what they was in for if they was caught. They knew it, an' took the easy way out."
Karl swallowed, remembering that last execution on the videoscreen. His father... or rather, Cecil, had insisted he watch it--orders from the Viceroy.
"The Terran... what did he have to do with it?"
"Must'a been the Fish's partner. Undergrounders usually work in pairs."
"But he didn't have to do that! He should have run! He died trying to help his friend!"
"Easy, kid."
"I killed them! It was me!"
"They killed themselves."
"I did it. I might as well have gunned them down in cold blood!"
"Look Karl, that's a lotta hash! You do what the Jils tell you." Sam came over and patted his shoulder. "Even Undergrounders know that, kid. Look, are you okay? You look sorta like a trenchcrawler's underside."
"I'm a murderer!"
"Shut up. You ain't nothin' o' the sort. You're just too nice a kid for this sorta thing!"
Karl began to sob again. Ruffard turned partially away and said something into his throat mike.
Karl wasn't listening. He was overcome with remorse and shame. He was a crawling coward! To save his own life, he had betrayed others, and because of him, two beings had died very bravely.
They were spies, he told himself. Spies were criminals, and deserved death.
They were offenders against the Jilectan Autonomy.
The door slid open and he looked up. Ch'Grak had entered the room, a small tray in his hands. He glanced at Karl scornfully, then spoke to Ruffard.
"What ish wrong with him?"
"Nothin'." Ruffard took the tray and jerked his head at the bird. "Get."
Ch'Grak clucked indignantly, but obeyed. Ruffard bent over Karl. "Here, kid, drink this."
"This" was a small glass of whisky. Karl looked away. "Liquor won't solve anything."
"Take it."
He obeyed automatically. "I don't want it. I don't want to end up like Cecil."
"You won't." Ruffard dropped a big hand on his shoulder. "Drink it, kid."
"No." Karl put the glass down.
"Look, will you ease up a little? What happened to those guys wasn't your fault."
"Yes it was."
Ruffard thrust the whisky into his hand again. "Drink it."
Karl slapped the glass aside. Ruffard cussed. "Damn you, kid! That's a waste o' good whisky! Look, take it easy, will you? Undergrounders are askin' for it."
Karl nodded. "Just like I asked for it, huh?"
"That's different. You're a psychic. You didn't ask t'be, but those guys joined the Underground on purpose. You didn't do nothin' but obey the Viceroy, an' you had to do that."
"Yeah, I suppose."
"You gonna be okay?"
"I guess."
"Want me to stay with you awhile?"
"No thanks."
Sam went to the door and paused uncertainly. "Better lie down awhile, kid. You're shot. It's hell sittin' in a car with a Jil breathin' on your neck all day."
"Okay, maybe I will."
"An' if you change your mind an' decide you'd like that whisky after all, just yell. I'll make that damn owl bring you another glass."
"Okay. Thanks, Sam."
"S'nothin." The man went out and Karl once again buried his face in his hands. In his mind's eye he still saw it--the Arcturian and the Terran, running, fighting for their lives. They were traitors, he told himself desperately. Traitors to the Jilectans, who belonged to an outlaw organization. They opposed the overlords and protected the outlawed Terran psychics from their just punishment...
Psychics, like him.
Karl shook his head sharply. Psychics were degenerate criminals--at least, that's what the Jilectans said. They killed women and children ruthlessly for their own purposes, they destroyed lives, stole, cheated, and engaged in every sort of illegal activity conceivable.
And was what the Jils were now doing legal? From their point of view, maybe. But Karl was no degenerate. He'd never broken a law, ever, and yet he was a prisoner, condemned to death should his usefulness run out.
Was it possible that the Jils were wrong? His mother had thought so. She thought the Jilectans killed Terran psychics because they were afraid of them--of their powers--of the competition they presented.
"Like killing a baby sabreclaw," she used to say. "They're afraid of Terran psychics, Karl. The Jilectans like being the masters, and they aren't about to give up their position, even if they have to kill millions of innocent people to do it."
Karl stood up and began to pace the room. What would Halthzor do if he simply told the ruler he wasn't going to do this anymore--that it was against his morals to assist in killing people. Hah! Halthzor wouldn't care about Karl's morals. He'd go right on as though Karl hadn't said anything. And if Karl simply refused, what would they do? Kill him, no doubt, or torture him until he gave in and complied. Halthzor didn't strike Karl as the type to let a stubborn Terran slow him down.
The door opened and Ch'Grak entered with the food cart. Karl shook his head. "I'm not hungry, Ch'Grak."
The creature's beak lifted scornfully, and Ch'Grak removed the tray from the cart without glancing at Karl.
"I don't want it!"
No response. The creature placed the tray on the table, took the food cart and started for the door.
"Take it away, please."
No response. The creature exited, leaving the tray on the table.
Stupid owl, Karl thought. Oh well, what did it matter? Ch'Grak was the least of his problems. Would Halthzor force him to repeat tomorrow today's activities? And what if he picked up on another Undergrounder? Another desperate fight, culminating in death?
Drat it! There had to be some way out of this mess! But how? The Jilectan's were all-powerful. They would read his thoughts before he was hardly aware of them.
What about the Terran Underground, itself? A criminal organization? His mother would have shuddered at the thought; but he had the name, Karl thought, and he might as well play the game. But how could he possibly contact them? And even if he did, might they not blame him for his part in today's tragedy? The Jilectans had forced him to do it, of course, but he hadn't really resisted very much. In fact, he hadn't resisted at all. He had willingly obeyed in the hope of saving his own life. Would the Underground realize that, and would it count against him? Probably.
He was daydreaming, of course. It didn't matter. He had no way of contacting the Underground, and they had no way of knowing of his plight. Even if those guys today had somehow reported what was happening, they would have no way of knowing how they had been spotted. And even if they did deduce that a Terran psychic being held prisoner in the Viceregal Palace was responsible, how were they going to rescue him from a top security place, swarming with Jilectans? Chances were good they'd all die if such an attempt were made.
He couldn't go on thinking like this. It was dangerous. If Halthzor found out that he was considering escape, his punishment would be swift and, he had no doubt, extremely painful. No, better to think of something else. Where were his mom and brother and sister? They had apparently disappeared. Halthzor had seemed to think that Karl's father had returned for them. If so, where had he been all these years? And how had he learned of their danger? Who was he? A criminal, Cecil had said--a degenerate psychic, like his son. A father he'd never known. Well, he couldn't possibly be worse than Cecil. Karl smiled a little at the thought.
The door opened and Ch'Grak appeared, glancing at the untouched tray on the table. "You did not eat."
"I told you I wasn't hungry."
The Procyon clucked angrily. "You did not like it?"
"I wasn't hungry. Thanks, anyway."
"You musht eat!"
"Why?"
An exasperated cluck. "The Lieutenant ordered me to be sure you eat well. You musht be kept healthy!"
"Oh, I think I'll survive if I miss this one meal."
Another furious cluck. "You are impertinent!"
"It's the company I keep."
That one obviously went over the servant's head. "To whom are you referring? There is no one here."
"Look again," Karl suggested.
The Procyon glanced around the room. "There is no one!"
"No, I guess not," Karl agreed.
The Procyon's eyes widened and two feathers on its head lifted in challenge.
"Ah, I perceive you are shpeaking of me!"
"Quick, Ch'Grak, very quick." Karl sat down on the bed. "Maybe you do have a brain in that toff-melon you carry around on your shoulders after all."
Another feather lifted. "How *dare* you shpeak to me in this way?"
"So, arrest me," Karl said. He was beginning to enjoy this.
The creature took another step forward, its clawed hands opening and shutting at its sides. Blue fluff stood out around its face like the hair of a blue Persian cat. Karl laughed. "Take it easy, Grakie. You'll pop your eyeballs out."
"You will apologishe!"
"Wanna bet?"
"Bet? On what?"
"That I'll apologize, of course, stupid."
Another feather twitched. Karl laughed. "Go on, Grak. Get out of here. I'm sick of looking at you. Go tell on me to your boss. I'm sure he'll be very interested."
Ch'Grak spun and stalked out the door. It slid shut behind him, and Karl noted that the creature, in its anger, had forgotten both the tray and the food cart.
The door opened again, the Procyon re-entered, snatched the tray from the table, jammed it onto the cart, and once again exited, shoving the conveyance angrily before him. From without, Karl caught muffled snorts of laughter and a snatch of conversation.
"Whatsa matter, Grakie ol' boy? Kid slip a few thorns under your feathers?"
The door closed with a click. The guards had, Karl realized, been observing the conflict on the videocamera and apparently enjoying it tremendously.
So why had he done it?
Karl thought it over. There was no particular reason for making Ch'Grak angry, and yet, strangely, Karl felt better--more at peace. He had at last struck back. He was no longer simply accepting his fate. The short disagreement with the pompous Jilectan flunky had awakened new defiance in him. It hadn't changed anything, of course. He was still helpless and in the power of ruthless, terrible beings, but he would no longer submit quietly. He would start to fight back, maybe just a little at first. It might not, and probably wouldn't, do any good. But it made him feel better, anyway.
He stood up and walked around the room, examining it carefully. It was absolutely escape proof, of course, no windows, and only the one door, which was guarded constantly. If he hoped to escape, it would have to be during one of his sojourns for Halthzor. The thought made his skin crawl. Still, maybe someday the chance would come, and if it did, he would be ready.
The door slid open and Halthzor entered.
Accompanying the ruler was another Jilectan. The stranger was slight in comparison to the ruler, and was clad in a tight, pink body suit, embroidered in red and silver. Jewels sparkled in his ears, at his throat, and flashed from every finger. A single red ruby adorned his forehead, apparently stuck on with glue. A sparkling coronet adorned his hair, which had been combed up into half a dozen pigtails, and the ends tied with gilded ribbons. He reeked of perfume.
Karl went to one knee and kept his eyes down. The Jilectans ignored him, speaking softly in their own language. Then Halthzor spoke to him.
"Rise, Terran."
Karl stood up, his eyes still fixed on the toes of his boots.
Halthzor advanced to tower over him. A six-fingered hand gripped beneath his chin and brought his face up. "We have an unexpected difficulty, Terran. When you detected the Arcturian spy this evening, he was instantly aware of your probe. He had been equipped with shielding, and raised it at once. Lord Stranthvar noticed that the action caused you pain and psychic discomfort. It is clear that the Underground has been conditioning their spies in ways of which we were not aware." He paused a moment. "What exactly did you feel when the spy raised his shields?"
Karl tried to think back to the moment. "Uh... it's hard to describe, Your Highness. There was a... snapping sensation, then pain and dizziness. I felt sick. It distracted me from the Arcturian's thoughts for a minute, and then the thoughts were gone--like closing a door, or something. I seem to remember another snapping sound, and then more pain and sickness--much worse than before when I read the Arcturian who had the natural defense."
Halthzor had listened to his account with interest. Now he spoke to his fellow in the Jilectan tongue. "Does his description bear out your theory, My Lord?"
"Yes, Your Highness. Such sensations are a direct result of the Arcturian's natural psychic repulsing ability, carefully cultivated by the outlaws, and coupled with a new shielding technique, unknown to us before. The mechanism they use is clearly different from that used on Terrans and Procyons."
"Is it dangerous for the Terran?"
"That is hard to say for certain. Probably not, if he withdraws quickly, as, of course, is the immediate impulse--rather like snatching one's fingers back from a heated surface."
Halthzor listened, then turned to Karl again. "I see you followed that well, Terran. We will explore that linguist ability of yours later, but first you must be taught to extend your probes more smoothly. We have reason to believe that the shielding used by the Arcturians may not be as complete as that of a Terran's, or as sensitive. If you are careful and skillful, you may not be detected next time."
**********
tbc
