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Slave Race: 26/?
by Nan Smith and Linda Garrick

Chapter 34

"You will find him!" Comishvor's voice, cold as a glacier, reached Jack through a haze of exhaustion. He stood swaying under the night sky, the little lock of Ed's hair still clutched between his numb fingers. It was hopeless, he knew. All day he had scanned, trying to find some trace of their wily quarry, but without success.

He wasn't going to locate him. He knew it, and Comishvor must know it by now, too. But he wouldn't give up. He just wouldn't! It was like an obsession with him.

"Scan, psychic! Find him!"

"I can't! I'm too tired!"

The Arcturian, who had rejoined them that morning, came up to Jack, and a taloned hand gripped his shoulder, steadying him. "You must try, Jack," he said quietly.

Comishvor glared, and Kannir moved quickly away, lowering his gaze. Jack concentrated, knowing it was hopeless, his psychic senses were blurred with fatigue.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was hopeless. Comishvor would push him on until he dropped with fatigue, but it wouldn't do any good. Ed must be many kilometers away by now. He had no way of knowing...

And suddenly he touched something--a faint flicker, accompanied as before by a surge of emotion. There was a feeling of distance to the mind, but it was Ed's beyond doubt.

"It's him!" He whispered the words, disbelieving. "That way!"

"Come!" Comishvor gripped his arm, yanking him along. "Do not lose him again, slave!"

Kannir was suddenly standing beside him. "M'lord, now that we have our direction, perhaps it would be best if I carry him. He looks close to collapse."

"You are sympathetic with him, Kannir, because he saved you yesterday. I trust your sympathies will not interfere with your loyalty to me." Comishvor's words were icy.

"Of course not, My Lord. Always, I am loyal to you."

Comishvor inclined his head abruptly and Kannir lifted Jack to his back, bringing the boy's bound arms around his neck. His grasp was warm and reassuring. Ed's mind hovered somewhere, far away, then vanished.

"You have lost him!" Comishvor's voice rose furiously.

"He closed his shields, sir! Please...he's too far away to keep a fix on him with his shields closed, but now we know the direction!" Jack cringed back from the angry Jilectan.

A long pause. Then, "Very well. You may rest, now," he gestured to the other pirates. "Come!"

Kannir hoisted him to his back and Jack rested his head against the Arcturian's muscular shoulder. He was asleep almost at once.

***********

Chapter 35

"Wake up, Terran."

Karl opened his eyes and turned his head to meet Ch'Grak's aloof, bird-face.

"You will shower and dress in these before I bring your breakfast," the Procyon announced. The slurring of his Basic was especially marked this morning. Karl had to concentrate to make out what Ch'Grak was saying.

The servant held a bundle of clothing before him. Karl drew back. "What's that horrible smell?"

"I have perfumed your clothing as my Lord instructed."

"Lord Stranthvar told you to do that to my clothes?"

"No. His Excellency, Lord Stithvor, will be taking you instead."

The psychic trainer with the bad temper, Karl thought. He'd have to be real careful. "This suit stinks! Why did he have you perfume it?"

"My Lord Stithvor ish very sensitive to the odor of Terran."

"I don't smell!"

"The Jilectans say all Terrans smell. Hurry. My Lord Stithvor does not like for his slaves to be late."

Karl met the Procyon's gaze levelly. "I'm not a slave, owl."

The Procyon made an odd, cackling sound. "If you are not, then how would you describe yourself? Come. Hurry!"

Karl used a phrase which would have shocked his mother had she heard it. The Procyon cackled again and went out.

The clothing was similar to that which he had worn the day before--a dark blue servant's attire. The heavy perfume with which the Procyon had apparently saturated it was enough to turn his stomach. Good grief! His father's master had never required a sacrifice like this!

Fannir stood up, his muzzle wrinkled in distaste. "That is sheer cruelty," he remarked, in his native language.

"No kidding! Aren't Procyons bothered by smells?"

"Procyons are extremely adaptable creatures."

Karl grimaced and tossed the uniform on the chair. "Guess I better shower first, although how he could possibly smell me past that, I don't know."

Fifteen minutes later, scrubbed and shining, and clad in the reeking servant's attire, Karl combed his hair before the mirror. Fannir entered the bathroom behind him.

"Our charming servant is back with breakfast," he announced.

Karl put the comb down and went back into the room. Ch'Grak was placing the breakfast trays on the table. The creature glanced over at him and voiced a disdainful cluck. "Ah, the suit is too large." The hooked beak elevated and the creature again made the clucking sound. "I feared it would be so. You Terran psychics are all so very small. Why, I am twice your size."

Karl shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. "So what? You're taller than me, but you're sure skinny. I'll bet I weigh more."

"That is not so!"

"Bet it is. You look like a clothes rail. Don't the Jils ever feed you?"

The servant voiced a squawk. "You are skinny, too!"

"I'm supposed to be small, though. I'm a Terran psychic. But I'm not as bony as you. You're a Jil toady. You're supposed to be big and muscular. Where'd they find you, anyway? In the bargain basement?"

The servant's feathers were standing up straight on its head, its blue fluff all puffed out with hurt pride. "You are making me angry!"

"The truth's the truth."

"You are doing it on purpose. I know this." The Procyon appeared to be speaking to himself. "You sense my emotions and play upon them to make me become angry..." The blue fluff slowly began to subside. "I know this," he repeated again, as though to himself. "I should not let you disturb me."

Karl shrugged again. "Can I help it if your mother had purple feathers, Ch'Grak?"

He had no idea why he said that, but it had the desired effect. Ch'Grak began to sputter, furiously. "And your mother was a creep!" he screeched.

Karl laughed. "Purple feathers and a straight beak."

"You are a monster!" The Procyon took a quick step toward him, then stopped again, claws working. Karl chuckled.

With a furious squawk, the Procyon spun and went out. The door clicked softly shut behind him. A moment later he returned, grasped the food cart and shoved it furiously out before him.

Fannir let out his breath in a long hiss and grinned horribly at Karl. "Ah, my friend, where did you learn the Procyon insults?"

"I guessed."

Fannir chuckled. "Ah, I am certainly glad you are my friend!"

"You're different, Fan. I like you. Arcturians seem a lot nicer than Procyons."

"Ah, some Procyons are very amusing fellows. They are a strange species, of course, but not all bad."

"I haven't met any I like yet."

"How many have you known?"

Karl grinned. "Only one, I guess."

"Ch'Grak is a bad introduction to the species. Do not judge the whole race by him."

"I'll try not to." Karl went over to the table and lifted the cover from one of the dishes. "Looks good. Let's eat."

Fannir joined him. Karl took a bite of crisply fried potatoes. "By the way, what did it mean?"

"What?"

"What I said to him?"

"You do not know? Ah, you Terran psychics! What I would give to possess even a fraction of your talents!"

"I didn't know I was using my talents. I just said the first thing that popped into my head."

"Ssst, how convenient! You see, Karl, in the Procyons' early colonization days, there was a sect of Procyons who established a colony on Sheredon, one of their more remote worlds. This colony was rather isolated, and its members turned to the lower forms of survival. One of these forms was cannibalism between the sects. Other Procyons eventually came to this colony to establish law and order, and found that those colonists who had indulged in this atrocity now had feathers which were more purple than blue."

"Oh. Why?"

"I believe it was a dye--a tribal rite, or something. In any case, telling a Procyon that he or a relative of his has purple feathers is a very deep insult."

"Oh. I didn't know that. How about the beak?"

"When the Procyon Matriarchy invaded the planet, those who had indulged in the cannibalism had their beaks broken in punishment to mark their crimes to the rest of Procyon society. It was an effective means of discipline, for those with the broken beaks eventually starved to death. Procyons are predators, you know, and with straight beaks it is very difficult for them to eat."

"Oh. How awful!"

"And, of course, no one would associate with such beings. It was a disgrace even to speak of them, so no one would help them to survive. The Procyons are a very moralistic species. They do not take kindly to such a blot on their honor."

"Gosh," Karl said. "I didn't realize. Maybe I was a little hard on old Ch'Grak after all."

"It is possible Ch'Grak had an ancestor who was connected with the Sheredon colony." Fannir chuckled. "That would make it even worse, of course. Do not let your empathic senses rule you, my friend. If you do, people like Ch'Grak will surely take advantage of your weakness. He does not care how hard he is on you. He never misses the chance to remind you that you are a degenerate Terran psychic."

"No, he doesn't, does he?" Karl finished his fried potatoes and began on the eggs. Fannir was already finished, he noticed.

The door opened and a patrolman entered--not Ruffard this time, but a Sergeant Royal whom Karl had not seen before. And accompanying him was Lord Stithvor.

Simultaneously, Karl and Fannir came to their feet. Fannir knelt and Karl hastily emulated him.

"Bring him," the Jilectan commanded.

Karl rose to his feet again, but Fannir remained kneeling as the patrolman took Karl by the arm and propelled him from the room.

Down the lift they went. Karl pressed his lips together and silently prayed that today would be a repeat of yesterday. Lord Stithvor glanced at him, a faint, derisive smile on his thin lips. They reached the ground floor and headed for the rear exit of the palace. The aircar was waiting for them--not Stranthvar's vehicle this time, but a smaller, less flagrantly painted model--azure on deep green with a sprinkling of gold. Karl watched as another patrolman ran forward to open the door for the Jilectan. Lord Stithvor looked somehow less formidable than he had before. Perhaps it was due to the fact that Lord Halthzor wasn't beside him, or perhaps it was his new hairdo. His pure white locks were no longer standing up in spikes, but were pigtailed on top of his head and frizzed so that they resembled two miniature explosions. He wore more makeup, too, than Karl remembered from before. His pasty white cheeks had acquired a bright rose tinge, and he wore lipstick--bright red, which defined his small, curving mouth sharply.

Sergeant Royal held the door for Karl, then got in beside him. The other patrolman slid behind the controls, the door closed and the aircar lifted smoothly from the parking area.

Karl leaned back in his seat and tried to relax. There was nothing he could do to prevent what was to happen. Fannir had spoken the truth. He as under the Jil's control, and there was no one to help. It wasn't his fault.

Ahead, the drab buildings became visible. Franik again? No, this one was different. The buildings drew nearer and a light flashed on the panel, signaling the driver to take manual control. He did so. Their altitude dropped off and a gate came into view. A sentry saluted smartly as they passed through. They maneuvered across half a dozen buildings and settled before another building--a large structure with a slidewalk before it and steps leading up to its entrance.

The sun shone benignly down. Beings passed the car--many patrolmen with their helmets off, their faces turned up to the soft rays of the autumn sun. Terrans passed, Procyons, two Arcturians, walking together. Stithvor leaned forward.

"Read them, Terran!" he snapped.

Karl tried. Strangely, it was far more difficult than it had been yesterday. The Terran minds around him blurred that of the Arcturians. He strained, trying to see clearly, but the beings were too far away. Stithvor seemed to sense his difficulty. The Jilectan leaned forward, brow furrowing.

"You must try harder, Terran." The alien's voice was cold. "Shut out the other minds."

"Yes, sir." Karl tried again, but the Arcturians were well out of his reach now. Another was approaching, however, striding along, his helmet off, his crested head held high in the sunlight.

For an instant his mind became clear, then slipped away as two Terrans came up beside him, one of them throwing a crude comment at the alien. The Arcturian ignored it, not even glancing toward the Terrans. For another instant his mind wavered on the edge of Karl's, then slipped away.

"What is it?" Stithvor's breath was hot on his neck. "My Lord Stranthvar stated that you had no difficulty yesterday. Are you ill?"

Karl was tempted to say that he was, but of course, the Jilectan would instantly detect a lie. "No, M'lord."

"Then what is the problem?"

"I don't know, sir."

"You will try again."

Another Arcturian was coming. The alien neared the car and turned to cross the street before it. Karl reached frantically, aware of the Jilectan's annoyance and displeasure. What would Stithvor do to him if he couldn't read the Arcturians?

A glimmer of the Arcturian's mind reached him, blotted out almost instantly by the encroaching Terran minds. He'd done so much better yesterday! Why couldn't he read the Ceregon natives now?

The Arcturian was proceeding away from him, the sun glinting on its green-gold scales. Karl turned fearfully toward Stithvor. "I can't do it, sir. I don't know what's wrong."

Stithvor frowned at him, fingers playing over a small device hanging from his belt. "You can do it, Terran," he said coolly. "You do not want to do it. Terran minds can play subtle tricks on their owners."

Karl glanced uneasily at the device. He had seen its like before, on Halthzor's belt--the device known as a shocker, which the Viceroy had used on Fannir. He had seen the results of the thing, and had no wish to try it out. He swallowed hard, feeling the tenseness in the patrolmen beside him, watching the Jilectan detach the device from his belt.

"There is relief in your thoughts each time you fail, Terran," Stithvor said. "I have studied Terran mentality, and I believe your failure is unconscious, but deliberate. The shocker is a most effective method of persuasion, and the Viceroy gave me permission to use it if you resisted."

The patrolmen moved quickly away. Stithvor leveled the weapon and pressed the switch.

Karl cried out as the beam washed over him and every muscle in his body seemed to contract in a spasm of agony. After a few moments the pain subsided, leaving him limp and trembling. The air cleared and he saw above him Stithvor, smiling gently, the device still in his hand. He pressed the control again.

The beam tore another cry from him and sent him writhing to the floor of the aircar. The Jilectan's voice spoke through a pink haze of pain.

"And now, Terran, you will read the Arcturians."

The two patrolmen lifted him back to the seat. He heard his own sobs, and bit his lip hard, trying to still them. Stithvor continued to smile gently.

"Another Arcturian is coming, Terran. Read his mind."

Karl turned to look out the window, the movement sending sharp twinges through his muscles. The Arcturian drew even with the car, and Karl tried desperately to extend his probe. He reached, touched, but couldn't penetrate. The Arcturian was too far away.

"I can't do it!" he sobbed. "If he was closer, I could, but... no, please don't..."

Stithvor hesitated, shocker in hand. "You could do it yesterday. What is the difference?"

"I don't know!"

Another horrible wash of pain. His vision clouded and his ears rang.

"You will read the Arcturians, Terran."

He was being lifted back to the seat, and again the command was repeated. An
Arcturian passed, and Karl reached out for his mind, without avail.

Stithvor was clearly puzzled. He muttered to himself in the Jilectan tongue, then made an abrupt gesture. "Very well, we will get closer. Take him out of the car, patrolman."

The man reached for the door control. Stithvor smiled faintly at Karl. "Do not consider treachery, Terran. You will be watched every moment. If you try to escape, I shall use the shocker again, and will not cease to use it until we are back at the palace. Do you understand?"

Karl swallowed. "Yes, sir."

They got out of the car and Karl walked between the patrolmen and into the building. They seated him on a bench, quite near the door so that beings entering or leaving the lobby must walk within two meters of him. A patrolman sat on either side of him, and the Jilectan took an easy chair, three meters away. They must not appear to be together, Karl supposed. That suited him. The farther away Lord Stithvor stayed, the better he liked it.

Two Terrans came through the door, passing close to him. Across the room was an information desk with a long line of beings waiting before it. A harassed-looking clerk was behind the desk, and the first person in line, a large, muscular patrolman, was shouting angrily at the fellow.

Karl surveyed the room. A few other seats in the lobby were occupied, but most of the beings seemed to be engaged in different tasks. One man was eating a sandwich as he shuffled through a tremendous stack of papers. Two men in Patrol uniform guarded the door, their helmets on, their bodies at rigid attention. Above the door was a wall chronometer that proclaimed the time to be almost 1015.

Another Terran entered the room, followed swiftly by two more, then an Arcturian. Cringing, Karl extended his probe.

He entered the alien's mind easily now, since the distance was no more than two meters. The alien passed--a first classer by the name of Zikkar. He was presently assigned to the Dragon, which was in dock at this base...

The thoughts faded with distance. Karl fought to hold them a minute more, but failed. He glanced fearfully at Stithvor.

*Continue, Terran,* the Jilectan's voice said in his mind.

Another Arcturian entered the room, surrounded by a crowd of Terrans. The Terran minds blurred the alien one, and Karl tried to ignore them, seeking the Arcturian's. Yes, he was certainly weaker today than he had been the day before. Perhaps he was losing his ability. Could a psychic lose his power, or did it increase with use?

He found the mind. Patrolman Livvir was also assigned to the Dragon, and was on an errand for his Subcommander... the mind floated out of range.

A minute passed. Two Terrans and a Procyon entered, followed by an Arcturian. A second Arcturian entered behind the first. Karl hastily extended his probe to the one in the lead. Vattir, from the barracks, was returning with supplies for the storeroom. The other was Lappur, gofer for the base communications officer... and he was an Underground spy!

The words leaped out at him, and with them came the realization that the Arcturian had not detected his probe. Karl must be more skilled than he'd realized. Stithvor was rising majestically to his feet, smiling and crooking a finger at the patrolmen seated beside Karl. The two men rose to their feet, radiating puzzlement and expectation, intermixed with fear. They started toward the Jilectan.

But Karl hadn't finished. Almost unconsciously he had continued to probe the Undergrounder's mind, and from that mind issued further information. The young third classer guarding the left side of the main entrance was Lappur's partner and contact...

Karl forgot the shocker then, and Lord Stithvor's threat. Two more Undergrounders were about to die, because of him. He couldn't let it happen! He couldn't!

Karl leaped to his feet, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Lappur! Look out!"

The Arcturian spun, his crest erect, his hand darting for the blaster at his belt. Karl leaped forward straight toward the entrance.

He struck the young guard dead center with all his frantic forty-two kilos behind it. The guard staggered backwards from the impact of the tackle, struck the door, and together they fell through, rolling in a back somersault down the stairs. The guard managed a breathless oath as they rolled apart at the foot of the stairs, and as they did so, blaster fire erupted within the building. The Arcturian burst through the double doors, blaster in hand, firing over his shoulder.

"They know!" Karl cried, frantically. "Run! Run!"

The young guard was on his feet, yanking Karl up by one wrist, his blaster held at ready in his other hand. The Arcturian leaped down the stairs, and behind him figures appeared at the door. The Terran holding Karl fired, and their assailants ducked back inside.

The Arcturian was speaking rapidly into his wrist chronometer. The Terran pulled Karl back, pushing the boy behind him. "C'mon, Lappur! Better run for it!"

"Zey are coming for us." The Arcturian's sibilant voice was amazingly calm as he sprinted away from the building beside Karl and the Terran patrolman. Karl was pulled along forcibly, straining his legs in an effort to keep up with the tall, muscular form of the man who grasped his wrist. Behind them, blasters cracked and he glanced back. The Jilectan had emerged from the administration building, surrounded by a crowd of patrolmen.

"Stithvor!" gasped Karl. "Don't let him catch me, Mister! Please!"

The man glanced back, paused and fired. There was an anguished scream from behind them--a scream which Karl knew instinctively could not have issued from the throat of a Terran.

"Pinked the Jil!" the young patrolman yelled into his chronometer. "Move it, buddy, or we've had it!"

Blaster bolts exploded around them, and Karl felt a red hot sear rip across his thigh. His leg gave beneath him and he felt the Terran's arm clamp about him, holding him forcibly. More blaster fire, and suddenly the grip loosened. A mist floated before his eyes. Dimly he heard the words of the Terran in his ears.

"Try'n hold on, kid. We'll send help."

Then he was alone. Karl struggled to sit up, but sickness engulfed him. Booted feet surrounded him, and a large hand seized his hair, jerking him upright without ceremony.

Karl fainted.

**********

Chapter 36


"The apartment's been stripped." Roland Starr sighed and shrugged. "We expected it, of course. The Jils are after the family, and Linthvar's got hold of something of the younger boy--Stephen--a shirt or something, that has some attachment. The Jil thinks they went toward the mountains, but I get the impression even he isn't sure. Loreen must have taken everything she could get her hands on of the slightest sentimental value... almost like she knew they'd be after her."

"She probably did," Alan said, tiredly. "She had a psychic with her--a psychic who's been in the service of a Jilectan pirate for sixteen years. He'd know, and he'd tell her."

"Unfortunately, it works both ways," Starr said, unhappily. "The Jils don't know where to look, but neither do we."

"If only Cory'd come to!"

"He probably will in a day or two," Jessie told him.

"Well, our best bet is probably to follow the Jils," Kurt said. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot that sat on the kitchen counter. "They might be right, and we have a little advantage over them. We have two of the most powerful psychics in the Underground with us. All they've got is Linthvar."

"That's right." Mark drained his coffee cup and rose, stretching. "What're you gonna do with you-know-who, Rol?"

Starr shrugged. "I haven't made up my mind yet."

Jessie looked unhappy. "You know, Colonel, he was doing what was right from his own point of view..."

"So does a mugger," Kurt said, heartlessly. "Or a psychic hunter, for that matter."

"Kurt's right," said Alan, trying to suppress his instinctive sympathy. "Or a black widow spider. I just wish..." He stopped.

"I'll take care of it," Roland said, firmly. "Trust me."

"Yeah, an' we got more important things to think about right now." Linley stood up. "We'll need a Patrol car, Rol."

"It's all ready, sir..." His voice trailed off and his expression became distant, and at that moment Alan also picked up the communication--a young girl's voice, speaking in his mind.

*Dad? Mom! Come quick! We're picking up something!*

"It's Rosie!" Roland and Jessie were on their feet. "She's got something on the com! Come on!"

They went out of the kitchen and down a flight of stairs into the basement. The communications monitor was set up in a concealed room, located behind a pile of boxes and discarded housewares, apparently dumped there at random. Roland opened the door and they crowded inside.

The girl was seated before the communications panel. She appeared to be about thirteen, with carroty red hair tied back from her face in a long braid. Freckles sprinkled her nose and cheeks, and her body was small and slender, not yet developed into a woman. She didn't glance at them, her attention fully on the panel. A voice emerged from it--the thickly accented tones of a Shallockian.

"... Man Tennyson and Patrolman Everett, sir. They was cuffed to a tree, an' all their supplies were gone. Been there for awhile from the look o' things."

"Put Everett on!" another voice snapped. "I want a full report."

"Yessir." There was a pause, then another voice, also accented but weak and hoarse. Even over the communicator Alan could hear the man's teeth chattering.

"Everett here, Lieutenant."

"Report, Patrolman!"

There was a pause. Then, "I... ain't sure what happened, sir. We were goin' along, an' we... stopped to rest an' have a cigarette, an' suddenly..." Another longer pause.

"Continue, patrolman!" The Lieutenant sounded angry and impatient.

"Well, sir, I can't explain it, but suddenly I...I saw Lord Halthzor walkin' toward me."

"You *what*?"

"Yes, sir. I swear it was him. He... told me Tennyson was a traitor, and to stun and cuff him. I did, sir, and the next thing I knew I was wakin' up from a stunbolt. I don't remember much--I was throwin' up when I got stunned again. The next thing I knew I was cuffed to a tree with Tennyson."

A long pause, then the Lieutenant's voice, icy with scorn. "And what were you smoking in your cigarette, Patrolman?"

"Nothin', sir!" The patrolman's voice was anguished. "Just m'usual..."

"Put Tennyson on!"

"Yessir." Another pause, then Tennyson's voice, also miserable. "Tennyson here, Lieutenant."

"Can you confirm what Everett saw, patrolman?"

"Everett was dreamin', sir. I heard somethin' weird--sounded like a sneeze. I drew m'blaster and told Everett to come with me. An' Everett yelled somethin' about His Highness an' threw down his cigarette. Then he stunned me. I woke up t'find m'self cuffed an' a bunch o' people there. I don't know how many. It was dark, an' I was sick. I saw a woman, though, an' a little girl, who asked me about somebody I ain't never heard of. Then I was stunned again. I woke up cuffed to a tree beside Everett, an' we been there ever since. They took our helmets an' supplies. Corporal Melvin found us 'bout ten minutes ago."

Another long pause. Then, "Corporal!"

"Yessir!"

"Remain where you are. We are sending an aircar to pick you up. Lord Linthvar will want to probe those men."

"Yessir."

The communication ended. Mark grinned.

"Sure hate to be ol' Everett," he commented.

"Me, too." Alan also grinned, then sobered. "Sounds like someone in that group is an illusionist, doesn't it?"

"Sure does. You get the coordinates, honey?"

Rosie nodded. "Right here, sir."

Mark ruffled the girl's hair. "Thanks. Let's get a move on."

**********

Alan scanned, reaching toward the landscape below, seeking the mind of a Terran psychic. Ed, Loreen, and the children must be down there someplace. The description given by the unfortunate patrolman was simply too accurate. He had witnessed the work of a Terran illusionist too many times. Either Ed or Ellie had the ability--probably Ed, he surmised, since he was trained and had been using his talents for years. Still, though, it might be Ellie. Psychic children often used their powers unconsciously but quite skillfully. Little Ruthy Channing, back on the Lavirra base, had used her illusionist ability for years before she had been discovered, and she had not even been aware of the fact that she was a psychic. And if Ellie was Ed's child...

Something about that was bothering him. If Ed had been with Comishvor sixteen years, how could Ellie be his?"

"Kid, I been thinkin'." Linley spoke from the seat beside him. Janice, seated in the front of the aircar beside Kurt, glanced back.

"About Ed and Loreen," she finished for him.

Mark grinned at her crookedly. "Cut it out, baby. You know my shieldin' sucks."

"Oops, sorry. Go on, Mark."

"Thanks. Look, kid, if Ed's been with this pirate for sixteen years, and, accordin' to Cory, didn't even know his wife was alive, then how could Ellie be his?"

"I was thinking the same thing, Mark."

"'Course you were." Linley grinned again. "So Loreen is probably a psychic, right? She's gotta be. Two of her kids were."

"Cory didn't think she was. I'm sure I would have picked it up if he did."

"But Cory wasn't trained when he knew her. He could've been mistaken, couldn't he?"

"I suppose it's possible." Alan frowned. "Except, when Cory saw Loreen, he saw some kids there with her, and two of them were psychics. In fact, that's how he located her--Loreen, I mean. One of the kids had a mind a lot like Edwin's. It must have been his son--or a blood relative of some kind. And there was another psychic with the boy--a little blond girl. Sounds like it might have been Ellie."

"It could've just been a friend or something," Kurt interjected.

"I suppose. It seems like Cory should've been able to identify Loreen as a psychic when he saw her this time--if she really is. I mean, this time he was trained, and he identified the two kids."

"Cecil didn't think she was a psychic," said Janice quietly. "Remember? He called her a big cow just before we left him--said she couldn't have been one."

"Sure doesn't sound like it," Mark admitted. "So who's Ellie's dad?" He paused. "Maybe there was someone else. After seein' that Cecil character, who could blame the poor lady?"

"Not me," Kurt said. "Still, it seems kind of a coincidence, doesn't it--her going for two psychic men? And Cecil...why in blazes did she marry him?"

"That part's obvious," Alan said, quietly. "Karl was already on the way. She must have thought Ed had left her, or possibly that he was dead. She needed a husband--a father for her child."

"Oh, yeah. I didn't think of that." Kurt nodded slowly. "Yeah, it makes sense. Karl is Edwin's son."

"You don't suppose," Janice said, suddenly, "that Loreen's a psychic power pack like you, Mark?"

There was a sudden silence in the car. Alan regarded his sister in amazement. It had been staring them in the face and none of them had seen it.

"It fits," he said slowly. "It's the only theory that fits all the facts. That's why she has a psychic daughter. Jan, I think you've hit it on the head."

Kurt leaned over and gave the girl a hug. Janice smiled at him. "You think it might be?"

"I sure do!" Alan said. "It's the only thing that makes sense. Loreen is Ed's power pack. She has to be."

"Kaley'll be happy," Mark said. "If we can just find the lady, now."

"And if we can find her," Janice put in, "we should be able to find Karl, since the little girl communicates with him. They've got to be partners."

Alan didn't answer that. Karl was, most likely, already dead. None of their contacts in the Patrol knew anything about a captured Terran psychic. Like so many psychics, he had probably been disposed of quickly, as soon as it was determined that he was not a member of the Underground.

Hours went by as they circled over the area, scanning. There were Jilectans below--hundreds of them, for the harkat hunting season was in full swing. Alan had to be careful that his scans were not detected by one of the aliens, and the necessity encumbered his efforts to locate the Terran psychics. Anyway, he thought, as evening approached, if Ed had any sense, he'd have taught the little girl and her brother to shield. With all these Jils around, it would be the only sensible thing to do. As for Loreen -- well, a psychic power pack's shields were no barrier to any half-baked psychic, but on the other hand, Jils didn't usually spot specific Terran minds unless they knew what to look for, so she was probably fairly safe. At least, he hoped so.

They were not the only Patrol car around. Others were seen, circling over the area where the disabled patrolmen had been discovered, and Patrol search parties were thick below. Alan detected many, and their transmissions came over the com, sporadically, reporting nothing of interest, except for one man who had been shot accidentally by an overzealous young Jilectan who had seen movement in the underbrush and fired before identifying his quarry. The injured patrolman was being taken back to the Drevelle Patrol Hospital.

Night came on, and still he continued to scan. Janice shook her head in frustration. "It's no use!" She began to cry. "The Patrol's going to find them before we can!"

"If the Patrol finds them, we'll pick it up," Mark told her gently.

"No we won't! They're probably under orders not to report in if they *do* pick them up! The Jils must know the Underground's onto this by now. They're not stupid!"

Kurt patted the girl's shoulder. "Rest a bit, Jan. You're worn out. Remember, Ed's been with a pirate for sixteen years. He must have learned a few tricks during that time. Look how he dealt with those two 'trols."

She nodded. "I know. I'm sorry, Mark."

"It's okay, baby."

Midnight found them exhausted, and no closer to their goal, apparently, than they had been that morning. Alan met Mark's eyes and nodded. "Let's call it quits for now. We'll go on in the morning."

Janice started to protest, then subsided. Kurt, behind the controls, glanced back. "What'll I do?"

"Find us a deserted area and park. We'll spend the night in the car."

Mark sighed but made no comment.

**********

Morning dawned, cold and clear. A crisp wind was blowing, and the scent of autumn filled the air. It was funny, Alan thought, how autumn smelled the same on every world he'd ever visited. He opened his door and slid out, grimacing at the chill in the air. His muscles felt better after he had stretched the kinks from them and he rotated his head, working the muscles to relieve the stiffness.

The others were doing the same. Alan rubbed his face, wishing for a razor, and opened the trunk. By the time his companions had crawled back into the warmth of the car, Alan had returned to his seat and opened the basket of cold food that they had brought along.

The next twenty minutes were spent munching their breakfast. Alan finished his last nutra-wafer and swigged lukewarm coffee, all the while scanning the area with his own, personal radar. There was a Jil hunting party some distance away, but only the servants were stirring.

"Wish I had a toothbrush," Linley grumbled, scrubbing at his face and hands with a shredded tissue. "And a razor."

Janice handed him a pre-moistened wipe. "You don't look so bad," she told him seriously. "Women always look worse than men in the morning."

Alan grinned. "Maybe from a woman's point of view, anyway."

"Yeah, no kiddin'." Mark was wiping his face with the inadequate rag. "Nothin' like a night in the wilderness to make you appreciate the comforts of home. My neck feels like a marshhopper sat on it all night."

"Mine, too." Kurt ran a hand through his hair. "Any of that coffee left?"

Alan passed him the thermos. Janice shifted uneasily. "We'd better hurry."

Mark sighed. "Okay, let's go."

Three hours later, Alan was beginning to think that they were wasting their time. With nothing upon which to focus, the hunt was completely blind, and it was obvious the Patrol search parties below were beginning to think the same thing. The fugitives, somehow, had left the area. They had gotten their hands on an aircar that belonged to a hunting party, or had been picked up already by the Terran Underground. Alan sighed, closed his eyes, and tried to focus his clairvoyant powers. Jilectans everywhere. The good weather had brought the hunting parties out in droves. His spine prickled. Somewhere down there were two Terran psychics; but where? The area in which they might be hiding consisted of hundreds of square kilometers! And besides, the psychics probably had their shields up!

The communicator voiced a shrill whistle that jerked him sharply back to his own surroundings. He knew that sound. A coded emergency message was coming in.

Kurt punched in the unscramble sequence. A light flashed green on the panel, and Major Starr's voice spoke from the unit. "Colonel Westover, we have an emergency--Drevelle base. Two more of our people have been spotted. One of them was injured, apparently, but they managed to stay ahead of the Patrol long enough for our guys to pick 'em up. They're on their way here, now."

"This is starting to have a familiar feel to it." Alan saw Kurt glance at Janice. "Wasn't this what was going on when the Jils found out Jan could read Arcturians?"

Alan nodded. "Let's go."

Kurt turned back and spoke into the unit. "We're on our way. Twenty minutes."

Starr met them at the door. "They arrived about ten minutes ago," he told them, looking worried. "Circumstances aren't completely clear yet. Our agents involved were two men posing as patrolmen at the Drevelle base."

"Were either of them Arcturians?" Janice asked, softly.

Starr's thick eyebrows went up. "How did you know?"

Janice didn't answer. They trailed after the man as he led them to the basement stairs. The basement seemed empty, until Starr pushed open a concealed door and gestured them through.

"In here."

Alan went in, accompanied by the others. A human, clad in a Patrol uniform, stood beside a sofa, and an Arcturian, also clad in Patrol dress, lay on the sofa. The alien's tunic had been removed, revealing a blaster burn on the green scaled side. A young woman was bending over him, spreading a creamy salve over the injury. The Arcturian's breath whistled between clenched fangs.

Alan went over to the sofa, followed by the others. The human came to attention, saluting smartly. Alan smiled. "You don't see a uniform, do you? Are you all right?"

"Yes sir. I wasn't touched. But listen, we've got to help that poor kid..."

"Start from zee beginning, Vince," the Arcturian instructed.

"Right. How are you feeling?"

"Better." The Arcturian propped himself up on the pillow, showing his fangs in a strained grin. "Zank you for your assistance, Vince."

Vince nodded and turned back to Alan. "I had to help Lappur, and the kid got left behind..."

"Wait a minute." Mark put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Siddown and take it easy a minute. Rol, get him a drink."

Starr vanished, to return a few moments later, a glass in one hand. He gave the drink to Vince, who swallowed it in a single gulp. "Thanks."

"Now take a deep breath and tell us what happened."

"Yessir. Sorry. Guess I was kind of shook up." He looked around. "Lappur and I are both assigned at the Drevelle base." He glanced at his chronometer. "About forty minutes ago we were on duty as usual. I'm a guard at the door to the administration building, and Lappur's a gofer for the base's chief communications officer. Lappur'd been out on a errand and was just returning to the building. About five minutes before he got back, a Jil had come in and taken a seat in the lobby. He had three 'trols with him. One of 'em stood behind him--bodyguard, I guess, and the other two had a young kid between 'em--the Jil's servant, I thought. I didn't look at him too closely. He was sort of a little guy, and dressed in a Jil servant uniform. He reeked of perfume--Jil perfume. He was just sitting there, and I wasn't paying much attention to him--you know, there's Jil servants everywhere on that base--so many big shots hanging around. Anyway, Lappur came through the door, and suddenly I heard someone yell for him to look out. It was the kid--the servant. He was on his feet, and he tackled me--knocked me backwards right out the door and down the stairs. I jumped up, and heard him saying something like, 'They know! Run!' Then Lappur came bursting out, firing."

"Zee 'trols rushed me," Lappur told them, propping himself up on one sinuous arm. "I shot one and ran."

"We called for help," Vince said, "and ran for it. I was pulling the kid along. He looked back and saw the Jil come out of the building. I heard him gasp a Jil name, and started begging me not to let him--the Jil, I mean--catch him. I fired and hit the Jil."

Mark moved convulsively. "You killed him?"

"I don't think so. I heard him scream, but at that point the kid was hit. I stopped to try to help him, and Lappur was hit, too. I had to leave the boy to help my partner. A couple of minutes later we were picked up, but it was too late to help him. They'd already grabbed him."

Kurt said something softly under his breath. Vince grimaced. "Poor kid. I hate to think of what he's in for. A public execution, most likely, for aiding and abetting the enemy."

"But how did he know?" Starr asked. "What clued him in that you were spies?"

"He was a Jil body servant. He must have heard the Jil order his 'trols to take us. He wanted to desert, and saw his chance." Vince sighed. "That's all I can figure, and I had to leave him behind."

"You had no choice, my friend," Lappur said. "You could not carry both of us."

"But how did the Jil spot you?" Alan turned to the Arcturian. "You're shielded, aren't you? This kid couldn't by any chance have been a Terran psychic under the Jil's thumb, who probed you, then tried to warn you? Did you feel a probe?"

"No." Lappur shook his head, Terran fashion. "I felt nozzing, and I have been conditioned to resist ordinary probes." He glanced at Vince. "Perhaps zee Jil detected Vince's shielding."

"No one else ever did," Vince said. "Not even the Jil who probed me when I went in."

"Well, something gave you away." Kurt turned to Starr. "Two in three days. There's a security leak somewhere."

"I know, Major." Starr nodded. "Perhaps we should withdraw our men until we determine the source."

"Zee ring, Vince," Lappur said.

"Oh, yeah." Vince removed a small circlet from his pinky finger. "Here; I took this off the kid's finger after he passed out. Thought it might help to trace him."

"Good thinking." Alan took the object and examined it. It was a ring--an unusual ornament, although he had seen its like before on the fingers of Arcturians. "The boy was wearing this? It's an Arcturian family ring."

"Yeah, middle finger of his right hand. It was loose on him--came off real easy."

Janice came up beside him, and together they studied the ring. Alan concentrated, and an image formed, but not the image of a boy. Janice shook her head, puzzled.

"I see an Arcturian. This ring belongs to an Arcturian."

Lappur inclined his head. "It is zee ring of a lower class family. I can tell zat from zee material of which it is made. However, zee family is honorable. Zee design is precise, alzough zee ring, itself, is not expensive."

"Do you sense anything, Alan?" Kurt asked.

"Just an Arcturian--nice clear image of him. He's a big fellow, and looks like he might not be in very good health. He's sort of bony, with a short muzzle and a large crest."

"He's still alive, then," Mark said. "And the kid had his ring. Maybe if we can find him, he can tell us where the kid is."

"And maybe not," Kurt said. "It's possible the boy just found the ring, or maybe even stole it. It's obviously not his, and most Arcturians don't go around giving their family rings to Jil servants."

"I doubt he was a thief," Alan said. "Jilectans screen their servants pretty closely. They don't hire thieves."

"Let's find the Arcturian," Janice said, suddenly. "I have a feeling he'll be able to tell us what's going on."

**********

They were back in the aircar, Kurt behind the controls, Janice beside him. Alan relaxed in the rear seat beside Linley. The Arcturian ring was resting in his cupped hand as he concentrated on it. "North, Kurt."

McDougal turned the aircar north.

"Crazy business," Linley muttered.

"I wonder," Janice said, quietly, "If his Highness has found another psychic capable of reading Arcturians."

"The boy?" Kurt shrugged. "Maybe. But if so, why didn't Lappur sense his probe? He didn't feel anything. And besides, why would a captive Terran psychic be wearing the ring of a honorable, though impoverished, Arcturian family? It doesn't make sense."

"Maybe the Jils have figured out some way to bypass Arcturian shieldin'," Mark suggested. "As far as we know, they haven't even learned about it, but remember, another Arcturian patrolman was spotted two days ago. And there were no survivors to tell us whether this kid was there nor not."

"More north, Kurt," Alan said, his voice remote.

Kurt adjusted their course. "That okay?"

"Um hum."

Silence for a few moments. Then Kurt spoke again. "Besides, I can't see a Jil just sticking his psychic out in the open like that. Jils know how unpredictable Terrans can be. Why not put him in a car and let him read the Arcturians as they go by? Isn't that how Halthzor did it when he had you, Jan?"

She nodded. "He never let anyone see me--except my guards, and most of them didn't know why he was keeping me so well guarded."

"Yeah, it doesn't make sense. Of course, a girl would be more conspicuous than a teen-aged boy, and this Jil wasn't Halthzor. I'd sure like to know who he was."

"Maybe Jessie and Roland will have found out by the time we get back," Janice said.

"More to the north, Kurt," Alan said.

Kurt adjusted course. "Alan, are you sure? There's an awful lot of big Jil estates ahead."

Alan sat up straight, his eyes focussing abruptly. "He's there."

Mark Linley swore under his breath. "That's the Viceregal Palace--Halthzor's personal diggins."

"Turn around, Kurt," Alan said.

Kurt obeyed. "Now what?"

"He's in the Viceregal Palace?" Janice breathed. "A lower class Arcturian?"

"Crazy. What's he doin' there? Servant? Gardener? Lotsa Arcturians are gardeners."

"But what's his family ring doing on the finger of that poor kid?" Kurt asked, mystified.

"Head back to the base," Alan said. "Maybe the Starrs have found out something while we've been gone."

**********

"The Jil," Rosie Starr said, "is Lord Stithvor." She did something to the computer and the screen lit up with the features of a Jilectan. The alien had a broad, pale face, snow-white hair piled atop his head, pale, almost colorless eyes, and wore sparkling red earrings. A printout appeared below his image, and Kurt leaned forward to read it.

"Lord Stithvor, second son of the late Lord Kithvor, status, gentry, elder brother, Mithvar, died of Coralan fever at age three. Profession, psychic trainer, specializes in Terran psychic abilities. Height, 2.6 meters, weight 180 kilos. Known psychic talents include telekinesis, clairvoyance, and is an exceptional telepath."

"Ugly so-and-so," Linley remarked.

"Cute hairdo, though," Kurt put in.

"A psychic trainer, specializing in Terran psychic talents," Alan said. "That's interesting. Any news on his condition, Rosie?"

Jessie answered him. "He'll live. Big nasty burn on the side of his face. He'll need plastic surgery to get his looks back."

"What he's got of 'em, anyway," Linley said. "Who knows? Might even improve 'em."

Janice giggled.

"We've got to get into the palace somehow," Alan said, slowly. "Is there any way, Jessie?"

"Well..." Roland hesitated, then leaned forward to tap a control on the comp. "Yeah, there's a concert at the palace tomorrow--Lola Davenport and her band, the Miscreants. They can always use a couple of extra stagehands. We'll have one of our boys in Security do a background for you."

"Lola?" Alan smiled in memory. Lola Davenport, one of the hottest rock singers of the day, was an agent for their organization.

"Yes. Nice girl. Have you met her?"

"Briefly. We met several years ago in Luna City." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I guess it's you and me, Kurt. Mark's shielding isn't good enough to be that close to so many Jils. And of course, Jan is out of the question."

Jessie turned to the videophone and spoke briefly. A moment later she looked up. "All right, she can take two of you. I'll get you stage crew uniforms and I.D.s. We should have the backgrounds planted by this evening. The makeup artists will be here at 0530 sharp. You'll have to be at the studio to go with the rest of the crew at 0800."

**********

Chapter 37

Ed let the kids sleep until 0600 while he and Loreen traded watches. When light began to filter through the trees he roused them gently. Ellie rubbed her eyes, blinking sleepily at him. Stephen sat up, scowling. "You didn't wake me up for my watch, Mr. White."

"Sorry. I didn't feel sleepy and it seemed a shame to wake you. Do you mind?"

"You bet I do. You've been sick, and you've got no business sitting up half the night, even if you don't feel tired. Where's Comishvor? Are you sensing him?"

Edwin shook his head. "Not since day before yesterday. Maybe we've shaken him."

"I don't think so," Ellie said, her small voice strangely philosophical. "I think he's still coming."

Stephen scowled at her. "Shut up. What's for breakfast, Mr. White?"

Ellie made a face at him. Ed grinned to himself and rummaged in his pack. "The Jil food's giving out, but we still have the stuff we took from the 'trols. Want some smoked ham sandwiches?"

Stephen took one, examined it, and took a huge bite. "Mmm!"

Ellie shook her mother. "Mommy?"

Loreen opened her eyes. "Hi, honey. Morning already? How's Karl doing?"

"Fine. He didn't find any Arcturian spies yesterday."

"Is he awake yet?"

"No." She began to eat her sandwich. Loreen stood up and stretched. Edwin tried not to stare at her. She seemed more beautiful every day.

They finished breakfast and set off, walking quietly, Ed scanning occasionally for Comishvor and sensing nothing. Loreen walked beside him, Ellie's hand in hers. "How much farther do you think we have to go, Ed?"

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "The forest doesn't look familiar."

"I don't see how it could," Stephen told him. "It's just forest. It all looks the same to me."

"Does not," Ellie contradicted. "You just don't see the difference 'cause you're not a psychic. It's *all* different."

"Shut up, Miss Superpsychic!" her brother snapped. "You think just 'cause you're a psychic you know everything! Well, you don't. You're just a snotty little kid with a balloon for a head!"

Ellie sniffed. "A lot you know! I can see the difference and feel it, and so can Mr. White, so just shut your stupid mouth."

Loreen interposed. "Ellie! Stop right there!"

"Yeah!" her brother sneered. "See, even Mom's tired of listening to you brag about..."

"You too, Stephen! Not another word out of either of you!"

The kids fell silent, glaring at each other. Ed caught Loreen's glance and carefully refrained from smiling. They plodded on, the children trailing behind and making faces at each other. An hour passed. Carefully, Ed scanned for Cory, sensing nothing. Jilectan hunting parties were scattered here and there, and he guided the little family around them, hiding when necessary. To his left he could hear the rushing sound of a river and occasionally, the faint purr of an aircar sounded overhead. He steered them away from it, warning Ellie to keep her shielding up tight. She agreed, throwing a sneering glance at her brother. He ignored her.

Lori glanced back at her daughter. "How's Karl doing, honey?"

"He's finishing his breakfast," she told them. "Another Jil's going to take him out to look for Arcturians. It's the mean one, Stithvor. He's made a stupid Procyon servant put perfume all over Karl's clothes."

"Bet Karl loves that," Stephen remarked.

"He hates it. It stinks."

"A lot of Jils wear perfume," Edwin told her. "And most of them don't like the smell of Terrans. It offends them. Comishvor sometimes made Cory and me wear perfume, especially if we were going to be closed up with him for awhile. I hated it. Jil perfume is nasty stuff."

"What is it they don't like?" Stephen asked. "Perspiration odor? Why not just have us wear deodorant?"

"It's not the perspiration, so much. They say our skin gives off a strong scent, particularly when our emotions are running high for one thing or another. It doesn't have to be fear, which, of course, causes us to sweat. It can be anger or love, or excitement--just about any emotion."

"Anger, love and excitement can make you sweat, too," Stephen observed, candidly.

"That's true," Ed agreed. "But I could be in a hot room with Comishvor for hours--sweating my brains out, and he'd never mention it. That happened a lot. Comishvor, and all Jils, I think, like it a little warmer than is comfortable for us Terrans. But let the situation get a little tense, and he'd hand me the perfume bottle. And deodorant didn't do it. I'd try, but out would come that stinking perfume bottle, anyway."

Ellie giggled. "What did it smell like? I think perfume smells nice."

"Not this stuff. It smelled sort of like garlic and roses mixed together--garlic predominating."

"Yuk!" Ellie giggled again. "I can smell this stuff Karl's wearing. It doesn't smell like garlic, though."

"High class perfume, probably. Stithvor's gentry, after all, from his name."

Stephen made a rude sound.

Another hour went by. Edwin scanned the forest around them, searching for some sign of familiar territory, but it all looked strange to him. Were they headed right? He looked up at the sun. Perhaps they were just a shade off course. A little more to the east, maybe...

Ellie stopped, and Ed turned to look at her. The child's face had gone pale, eyes shadowed and fixed on something Ed couldn't see. He motioned to the others and they all stopped, watching her. Loreen stepped up to the little girl.

"What is it, honey?"

"Karl's having trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"He can't read the Arcturians now. Something's wrong." She paused. Then, "The Jil's getting mad. He thinks Karl's maybe doing it on purpose..." She screamed suddenly, the sound so piercing and full of pain that Edwin involuntarily grimaced. Stephen grabbed for the girl.

"Sh! Quiet, El!"

"Stupid Jil!" Her voice was choked and high pitched with fury. "Stupid Jil! He's hurting him! No!" She screamed a second time. Stephen tried to muffle the sound with his hand. Ed stepped over to her.

"Ellie! Here, Steph, let me have her."

The girl's face cleared. Tears trickled from her eyes and she hiccoughed loudly.

"Stupid, stinking Jil!" she hissed.

"What in heaven's name is he using on the boy?" Loreen whispered. "Is he hitting him, Ellie?"

"No...it's a thing called a shocker. It hurts! It hurts awful!"

"A shocker." Ed nodded, understanding. "I know what it is. Comishvor had one that he used for disciplinary purposes. They're pretty painful, but cause no permanent damage--quite useful if you want obedience but don't want to disable the person. Damn Jil! What's going on now, Ellie?"

"Karl's trying to read another Arcturian. He can't do it..." Ellie grimaced, whimpered, then started to scream again.

Edwin was ready this time and managed to muffle the sound. He motioned to the others. "Let's hide somewhere until this is over."

Stephen led the way toward the stream. They found a charred tree within a hundred yards of the stream, and he peered into the hollowed out trunk. "All clear. Come on."

They clambered inside. Ellie had become still in his hold, but her small body felt stiff as a coiled spring. Ed settled down on damp, rotting leaves and placed the little girl in his lap. Carefully he unclamped his hand from her mouth.

"I won't scream any more, Mr. White." Her voice quivered with emotion. "He's stopped. He thinks maybe Karl was telling the truth. That stupid, *idiot* Jil!" Her eyes glowed with hatred in the gloom. "If I ever meet him, I'll kill him!"

"And I'll help you," Stephen muttered. He glanced around. "Maybe if it's all over we should go on, Mr. White." He shifted uneasily. "If Karl can't read the Arcturians any more, won't they just kill him? I mean, he'll be no use to them, and he's a Terran psychic..."

Loreen swallowed, her hand seeking Ed's. He gripped it tightly. "It doesn't make sense! How could he lose his ability? I never lost mine, and neither did Cory. Maybe he's sick or something..."

"They're taking him into a building," said Ellie. "A big building with lots of patrolmen in it. The Jil figures if he's closer to the Arcturians, maybe he'll be able to read 'em..." She fell silent a moment.

Stephen poked her. "Go on."

"Uh... they've sat him down in a big room--a lobby, with people all over the place. He's near the door, and there's people going out and coming in. Here's an Arcturian. He's trying to read the guy... and he's doing it. He did it. The guy's from one of the ships docked at the base, and he's not an Undergrounder..."

Stephen let out his breath. "Maybe he's just tired," he said. "He still did it okay, once he got close enough."

Ellie nodded slowly, eyes distant and unseeing.

"We'd better go on," Loreen said, quietly. "The sooner you can get him away from those... creatures, the better."

Ed nodded. "You're right. Let's go. Ellie, you ready to move?"

She didn't seem to hear him. Her eyes had widened. "He's found one!" she whispered.

They all froze, their eyes fixed on the little girl. Edwin felt his muscles tense as he watched her, awaiting the outcome. She cried out suddenly. "He's running! He's warning them! He tackled the Terran guy! They went through the doors... ouch! Big bump at the bottom of the steps. The guy jumps up! He pulls Karl up. Here comes the Arcturian. They know they're spotted! They know! They're trying to run, and the Terran guy's pulling Karl along..."

Ed held his breath, one arm clamped around Ellie's shoulder, the other hand ready in case she should scream again. The little girl jerked and grimaced. "The Jil! The Terran guy shot him..." The sentence changed to a piercing scream. Ed clamped his hand over her mouth. Loreen seized her daughter's hands.

"Ellie! Ellie, tell us what's happening!"

"Karl's hit! He's been hit in the leg! Ow! Ow, it hurts! The guy's trying to carry him. He's fainting... and the Undergrounder guy... he let him go!" Her face spasmed. "He's leaving him behind... after Karl saved his life! How could he?" Her words broke and she began to sob hysterically. Ed clutched her against him, meeting Loreen's eyes in the dimness.

"What'll they do to him?" she whispered.

"I hate to think. Ellie, what's happening?"

"His mind's gone." Her voice was low and shook audibly. "I think he fainted."

She began to sob again.

Edwin hoisted her to his back. "Come on," he said grimly, and led the way from their hiding place.

**********

(tbc)