Slave Race 27/?
by Nan Smith and Linda Garrick
Chapter 38
Karl stumbled through the door of his cell and fell full length on the floor. Halthzor strode through after him, bent, caught him by the hair and dragged him to his knees. Across the room Fannir was on his feet, retreating to flatten himself against the wall, crest erect, yellow eyes widely dilated. Halthzor stepped back from Karl and leveled the shocker. Karl cringed away, sobbing as the weapon crackled for what seemed like the hundredth time. Pain tore through him, but he had no strength left to scream.
Halthzor turned on the Arcturian and pressed the control. Fannir gave a shrill, hissing screech and crumpled to the floor. Halthzor pressed the control a second time, then a third.
"Stop!" sobbed Karl. "Please stop! I won't ever do it again! I promise! Don't hurt him anymore! Please!"
The shocker crackled a fourth time. The Arcturian's form jerked convulsively beneath the ray. Halthzor surveyed him a moment, then turned back to Karl.
"I think I shall have him killed."
"Oh, no! Please, sir..."
"Cut slowly to pieces, a hand today, a foot tomorrow..."
Karl couldn't stand it. He rose to his knees, clasping his hands in entreaty.
"Please don't! Please! I'll never try it again. I promise, Your Highness!" He meant it, too. He knew when he was beaten.
Halthzor surveyed him coolly for a moment, then turned on his heel and went out. The door clicked shut behind him, and Karl slumped forward on the rug, sobbing. He wanted to die. There was nothing left to look forward to...nothing but day after day of betraying members of the Terran Underground to the Jilectans. And Fannir...what would Halthzor do to Fannir in payment for Karl's action this morning?
A scaled hand touched his shoulder. "My friend, are you hurt? Ah, he must have used that hellish thing many times. Your leg...you are burned! What has happened?"
Karl couldn't answer. Sobs still choked him. Fannir lifted him and carried him to the bed. "Ah, my friend, please do not cry."
Karl buried his face in the pillow, sobs shaking him. Fannir sat silently beside him, one clawed hand resting on his shoulder.
After what seemed a long time he began to regain control of himself. He took a deep, shaking breath and turned over, wiping a hand across his eyes. "I'm sorry, Fannir," he managed.
"Sorry? You are the one who has suffered."
"I didn't think he'd drag you into it."
"I knew he would as soon as I realized that you had angered him. Through me, he will force you to obey him." Fannir handed him a tissue. "What did you do that upset him, my friend?"
Karl turned his face away. "I...I spotted a couple of spies and managed to warn them before Stithvor could grab them. And in the scuffle, I almost got away, myself."
"Did you, indeed?" Fannir's voice was soft, but his eyes glowed. "You managed to get close to these people?"
Karl nodded. "Yes, I was right beside them. I tried to run with them, and they helped me, but when I got hit they left me behind." He swallowed. "I'm sorry, Fan, but I'm afraid I didn't even think about you. If I had escaped, they'd have killed you."
"Ah, my friend, I do not blame you. You did not, by any chance, manage to tell these men where you were being held prisoner?"
"No. There wasn't time, and...I didn't even think about it."
"Were they apprehended, Karl?"
"I think so. I...I didn't see, but Halthzor said they were."
"He would, of course. If you thought you had succeeded, it would increase your feelings of self worth."
Karl hadn't thought of that. "He... said they would be publicly executed next week."
"You did not read any of his men to discover the truth?"
"I passed out after I was hit, and didn't come to until they had me in the infirmary, fixing my leg. Halthzor was there, and I... I'm afraid I couldn't think about much except him, and what he had in store for me."
"Ah, yes."
"One of the men shot Lord Stithvor."
Fannir's crest went up. "He is dead?"
"No. I heard him talking to Lord Halthzor, telling him what I'd done."
"Nothing trivial, I hope..." The Arcturian fell silent as the door slid open and Ch'Grak entered, pushing the food cart before him. He closed the door and cackled softly, placing a single tray on the table.
"Dinner, psychic. I hope you have a good appetite."
So, Karl thought, Ch'Grak knew that Karl had somehow displeased the Viceroy.
The word would get around quickly among those who knew about his presence in the palace. "Only one tray, Ch'Grak?"
"I was ordered not to bring a tray for your friend." There was a smirk in the alien's tone. "Apparently he will not need to eat very soon."
Karl felt cold fear in the pit of his stomach. "Why?"
Ch'Grak cackled. "I do not know, psychic slave."
Karl looked at Fannir. The Arcturian met his gaze impassively.
Ch'Grak cackled loudly. "Not so high and mighty now, are you, psychic?"
"Shut up," said Karl. "Go away."
A third cackle. "Of course, psychic, anything you say." He went to the door, cackled one last time, and went out.
Karl hardly noticed. He was looking at his friend. "Oh, Fannir, what do you think he's going to do?"
"I do not know, Karl. Ah, my friend, if I had spent my life worrying about tomorrow, I would be dead by now. Eat your dinner."
"I'll share it with you. I'm not very hungry."
"His Highness would not like that. Besides, I am not very hungry, either."
Karl stood up. His leg hurt. He'd just noticed it. Fannir took his arm and helped him over to the table.
He stared at the sauteed marshhopper. "I don't think I can."
"Yes you can, my friend. You must keep your strength up."
"What for?"
"It may be necessary. Who knows what the future holds?"
That was true enough. Karl took a bite. The stuff tasted like sawdust to him.
Fannir watched him eat, coaxing him like a mother coaxing a child. When he had downed half of it, he pushed the plate away. "That's it, Fan."
The Arcturian nodded matter-of-factly. "Now, you must rest. Come, I will help you to the chair."
He let Fannir help him, and leaned back in the recliner. He ached, and his eyes burned. The chronometer on his wrist informed him that it was 1930.
Surprisingly, he slept, and started awake, realizing that it was morning and that he had spent the night in the chair. Fannir was sitting up on the bed, his eyes on the door. Karl turned to see Ch'Grak enter, accompanied by two patrolmen. The Procyon placed the tray on the table. The patrolmen went past him, seized Fannir by the arms, dragged him from the bed and toward the door.
"Wait!" Karl made it to his feet, staggering a little on the injured leg. "Please, where are you taking him?"
No reply. The door opened. Fannir turned his head. "Goodbye, my friend!"
Then the door was sliding shut between him and his captors. Karl staggered forward and flung himself on the panel, pounding on it with his fists.
Ch'Grak chuckled, and Karl turned furiously on him. "Where are they taking him?"
"For execution, I believe," Ch'Grak told him with obvious enjoyment. "How should I know? I am only a servant."
The Procyon was telling the truth. Karl saw it clearly in his mind. Ch'Grak truly didn't know, but what he suspected was obvious. Karl turned back to the door. "Lieutenant Ruffard, please, tell me what's going to happen to Fannir! Please, Lieutenant!"
"You will eat your breakfast," Ch'Grak said. He started for the door. He cackled. "Lieutenant Ruffard hash been ill, psychic. He is not out there."
Karl twisted away from him. The bird cackled again and went out.
For a moment Karl remained where he was. Then, slowly, he leaned forward and sank his head into his hands. There was nothing left. His one source of comfort and companionship had been taken away. Poor Fannir. After all he'd been through, he would now have to endure a horrible, lingering death at the hands of his enemies.
After a long time, Karl rose to his feet, rubbing his face with his palms. The fear and grief in his mind had receded, to be replaced by anger. Fannir was suffering for Karl's crime! It was so unfair, and somehow Karl had to help him!
But how?
Would some Jil come again today to take Karl to the base? Most likely...The door opened and Ch'Grak entered. "Ah, my little psychic, you did not eat!"
Suddenly Karl could stand it no longer. The tray had been placed innocuously beside his hand on the table. He snatched the bowl from it and hurled it straight at Ch'Grak.
The Procyon tried to duck and the bowl caught him on one shoulder, spun, and spilled, scattering its contents over the creature's neck and face. Cereal of some kind, Karl realized belatedly--a whole bowlful of it, swimming in milk and honey. The self-heating dishes had kept it hot, and Ch'Grak voiced a squawk of mingled rage and pain as the stuff cascaded across his feathers and down the front of his uniform.
The feeling of elation and the release of tension was completely out of proportion to the deed. It surged through Karl in a great wave, and he snatched up the cup of coffee, flinging it after the cereal. It, too, struck the bird on the shoulder, saturating his neck feathers, and spilling across his gaily-colored uniform vest. Ch'Grak voiced a shriek of fury and leaped forward.
Karl hurled the glass of teeva juice in Ch'Grak's face and jumped to one side as the Procyon crashed into the table, upsetting it and spilling the tray to the floor. The door slid open and two patrolmen charged through. Karl bent, snatched up the tray and flung it at the servant, too.
It struck him with surprising accuracy on the side of the head, spun, spraying chopped fruit in all directions, and fell to the rug.
One of the patrolmen grabbed Karl by the wrist. He twisted, and, unexpectedly, the grasp gave way. He rolled away, turning his head right and left, searching frantically for another weapon. Ch'Grak screeched wildly, leaping over the upturned table, making for the prisoner. One of the patrolmen caught the bird by the back of the uniform, yanking him back. The other grabbed Karl again, and this time held on. His arms were brought behind him and secured in a Patrol armlock.
Abruptly all was still, and Karl was amazed to see that both patrolmen were convulsed with laughter, their faces red, their eyes watering. The one who held Karl released him, letting him gently down to the carpet. A big hand tousled his hair.
"You're some scrapper, kid," he said.
"Where's my friend?" Karl gasped. "What have you done to him?"
The patrolman didn't answer. He turned on the Procyon. "Grak, you bloody idiot! You know the orders! You try'n touch him again an' the Lieutenant'll cut your beak off! Bein' a servant of the Viceroy's house won't protect you where this kid is concerned. You got me?"
The Procyon didn't answer. He clucked savagely, glaring at Karl. The patrolman stepped menacingly forward. "You got me, owl?"
The erect feathers on Ch'Grak's head seemed to wilt. "Yeshir," he muttered.
"You razz a prisoner who's as upset as he is, an' you're asking for trouble." It was the other patrolman speaking now. "We was listening to you, and I knew what was going to happen as soon as you opened your stupid beak. Now clean up this mess and get outta here!"
Ch'Grak stooped, dripping cereal and coffee, and began to pick up the scattered food and dishes. Both patrolmen dissolved into laughter a second time, and went to the door.
Karl went after them. "Sergeant, please..."
"We don't know nothin' about the Fish, kid. Sorry."
They went out. The door closed behind them.
Silence, except for the clink and rustle that Ch'Grak made as he cleaned up the debris. Karl sat down in the recliner, watching the servant and thinking.
"Grak, is Stranthvar, or any other Jilectan taking me with him again today?"
"Not to my knowledge." The reply was sullen. Ch'Grak swabbed the rug and straightened up, the disordered tray in his hands. He didn't look at Karl, but loaded the mess into the food cart and went out.
He *had* to help Fannir! Karl stared after the servant, his senses straining. Guards--half a dozen at least, stood just outside the door, watching his every move on the videoscreen. There was nothing he could do, but he had to do something. Halthzor could be torturing or killing Fannir at this very moment. Karl had nothing left to lose. Anything, even death, was preferable to his life here! He was a psychic, wasn't he, and he had the power to make people see what wasn't there. If only that ability would work on more than one being at a time!
Well, it wouldn't. He knew that for sure, but wasn't it possible that he possessed other powers that he didn't yet know about? Of course it was! And Halthzor was giving him a break today--at least, Ch'Grak thought so. Today was it, then. He'd have to escape now, or Halthzor would see his resolve and all would be lost.
Could he be a telekinetic? A lot of Terran psychics were, he knew. If he could just put that darn camera of theirs out of commission, maybe the next time Ch'Grak showed up, he might have a chance of surprising the bird. He could snatch a knife from the tray, or something, and maybe force Ch'Grak to take him out--or maybe call in the guards on an innocent ruse. Once inside, he could step through and lock them in. None of them carried blasters. He'd noted that long ago. Too much risk of this dangerous psychic getting his hands on a weapon, he supposed.
Okay, it might work--if he was a telekinetic. Of course, the 'trols would probably ignore Ch'Grak and disarm Karl easily. It was obvious they cared nothing for the servant. Okay, maybe he could render Ch'Grak unconscious while the camera was off, and then somehow, through an illusion, tempt a single guard inside. That wouldn't be so hard. There were six guards outside, but if he could lure them in one at a time, while the camera wasn't functioning...
It was a fantastic plan, of course, but he could come up with nothing better at the moment. And it all depended upon the hope that he was, indeed a telekinetic. How could he test it, without the observers outside realizing what he was doing?
He pressed the control on the chair that turned on the video. A news channel came on, displaying a blazing building. The arsonist had been at work again, and another Jilectan mansion had sustained an awesome amount of damage. Good for the firebug! Karl couldn't help but applaud the guy. Maybe he'd hit His Highness next--burn up that pretty red hair!
Pretending to watch the video, he concentrated on what was beyond the door. In his mind he could see them--sense their presences. Lieutenant Ruffard had returned, and Sergeant Greisbach and Patrolman Mentor, and three others. They were all lounging in the guardroom, idly watching the screen displaying the interior of Karl's prison. Karl could feel their minds, and, as he concentrated, those minds became clearer. They were watching him, but they were also watching his video. They were bored, he realized, and desperate for something to occupy them. He turned up the sound as a further distraction, and concentrated on the camera located within his room. He reached for its innards with his mind, located a small but essential part, and tried to move it. No result. The screen remained on. The men watched, emotions those of interest as the roof of the Jilectan mansion, displayed on Karl's own video, collapsed. One of the men made a caustic comment and his companion laughed.
Perhaps the screen, itself, then. If he could just make something go wrong with that, it would be better. If he disabled the camera, itself, men would be sent in to repair it. He concentrated on the video setup, again visualizing the machine's inner makeup. He didn't understand much of it, but that piece looked like an important part. He concentrated, straining to feel the part, to break the connection. Move, darn you! Move!
Something happened then. There was a brief buzzing inside his brain, a flash of blue light, succeeded instantly by a painful, numbing shock. For a moment the sensation stunned him. He blinked hard and sparks danced crazily before his eyes.
What had happened? Had he blown out something in his brain? He felt odd--weak in all his limbs, and slightly numb. The sensation was frightening.
Gradually the sparks before his eyes faded, his vision cleared, and feeling returned to his hands and feet. He flexed them, testing them, and discovered that they were completely functional once more. His strength had returned.
Well, whatever he had done, it wasn't permanent. Had it had any effect on the 'trols' videoscreen?
He concentrated, tentatively reaching again for the room outside, seeking to visualize it in his mind.
The first thing he was aware of was irritation radiating from the minds his guards. The scene materialized--a blank screen, and six annoyed patrolmen. Rapidly Karl reached for the easiest mind to read--that of Patrolman Ruffard.
The videoscreen had cut out. For a moment Karl couldn't believe it. He had done it! But how? Nothing had moved--at least, he hadn't felt anything move. Would a telekinetic feel it if he moved something with his mind?
The door opened and Ruffard looked in, his forehead furrowed in a frown. Karl stood up, glaring at him. "Where's my friend? Where's Fannir? What have you done with him?"
Ruffard harrumphed. "Uh...are you okay, buddy?"
"Oh, certainly!" Karl snapped. "Never better! I'm a prisoner, I'm being forced to kill people, I've got a burned leg, an abusive servant, six guards with big muscles and my only friend is presently being tortured or killed. Oh, yes, I'm just dandy! How about yourself?"
Ruffard actually laughed. "Guess I deserved that." He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "Our videoscreen just cut out."
"You mean the one you spy on me with? What a shame!"
The patrolman reddened slightly. "You have anythin' t'do with it, kid?"
"Sure! I broke it from in here. Hurled a lightning bolt at it."
Ruffard grinned faintly. "Seriously, kid, did you?"
"No. Get out of here."
The grin vanished. Anger radiated from the man. "Now look, buddy, I'm sorry about your friend, honest, I am. I don't care much for Arcturians, myself, but...
"Sure, I know. There's billions like him. What does one matter?"
"Well, what does it?"
"He matters to himself, and he matters to me. He was my friend--the best friend I've ever had."
"He liked you cause you helped him out."
"Isn't that what it's all about, Lieutenant? I helped him and he helped me. He kept me from going crazy in this damned place! But you don't care, do you? You've made Lieutenant! You're a big shot now. A degenerate Terran psychic and an Arcturian from a penal colony are too far below you to bother with."
"Now look, buddy..."
"I'm not your buddy. I hate you! Go away!"
"Karl..."
"Go away! You make me sick!" Karl turned his back on the man. Ruffard hesitated, swore softly, then went out. The door clicked shut.
Suddenly furious, he punched the control to change the channel... and noticed something. The ring that Fannir had given him was missing.
When had it vanished? How long had it been? He didn't remember seeing it this morning. Had it disappeared sometime yesterday? The band had been loose on his finger. Perhaps it had come off during the chase yesterday, or during those terrible hours after Halthzor had taken him back to the palace. He never would have noticed.
He stood up and searched the room, the chair, the bed. He got down on his hands and knees and examined the rug. It was no use. The ring was gone. Poor Fannir. He was probably dead by now, and Karl didn't even have a memento of him. It wasn't fair!
He returned to the recliner, relaxed and concentrated. The room without became clear in his mind once more. The last cobwebs of that numbing shock he had felt were gone. A repairman had arrived and was working on the videoscreen. Even as Karl watched the scene in his mind, the repairman finished, closed the casing, and wiped his hands on his coveralls.
"Don't fool with the thing again, okay?" he said. "If the picture ain't clear, call me. You blew half a dozen circuits."
"We didn't touch it," one of the guards said.
"Yeah, right." The repairman clicked the clasp shut on his case and stood up. "Just leave it alone after this." He went out.
Annoyed and disgruntled thoughts from the guards. Karl smiled faintly to himself and carefully formed the image of the machine's innards in his mind again. Keeping his eyes fixed on his own videoscreen, he again groped for the connection. Almost immediately this time, there was a response. The blue flash of light, even more vivid than the first, seemed to engulf his brain, and the electric shock rattled his teeth. He sat still, waiting patiently for the stunned feeling to subside, which it did more rapidly than the first time. As quickly as he could manage it, he reached for the scene beyond the door.
Curses and anger. Karl found himself laughing softly. It had worked again! Hang on, Fannir! Maybe I'll be able to help you yet. He could disable their stupid machine any time he felt like it, and maybe if he kept doing it they'd get tired of fixing it.
Wait, though. Maybe it would be a good idea to let a few other electrical devices malfunction around here just to throw his guards off the scent. The videoscreen was too convenient, and was suggestive of his doing. How about his own video?
He concentrated, letting the inside of the device form in his mind. Confidence and satisfaction. Something clicked in his brain, there was the now familiar blue flash of light, the numbing shock, and the screen went dark.
He waited for the sensations to subside, then stood up and went over to the door. His leg hurt, darn it! If he did get out of here, he was going to have an awful time hobbling around, trying to find Fannir. Still, he had to try. Tomorrow would almost certainly be too late.
He pounded on the door. It opened instantly, revealing Lieutenant Ruffard, his helmet off, his expression annoyed. "What?"
"My video just went out. Is the repair guy still there?"
"He's on his way back. Our screen just went out, too. I'll have him fix yours as soon as he gets here."
"Thanks," Karl said.
The door closed in his face. He went to sit down again watching the scene outside the door without consciously trying. The repairman entered and crossed the room, casting an unfriendly glance at the patrolmen. He removed the casing and swore under his breath. "Blast it, are you guys tryin' to..." He bit off the word and bent over the machine, pulling out parts and replacing them with new ones.
"Fix it this time," Ruffard said.
The man scowled. "I told you guys to leave it alone!"
"Nobody touched the unprintable thing. An' you better check the wirin' while you're at it. The prisoner's video went out at the same time."
"The wiring's fine. I checked it last week."
"Then why's everythin' goin' out on us?"
"Just keep your hands off it, okay?" The repairman yanked a last blackened part from the machine, inserted a new one and closed the casing. "Okay, that does it. Lemme into the room an' I'll check the video."
Karl waited. The door opened and the repairman entered the room, accompanied by Sergeant Greisbach. The repairman never glanced at Karl, but went directly over to the video and removed the casing. After a pause Karl saw him lay down a tool and pull out two small parts. He tossed them on the floor and glanced up at Greisbach. "Tell the kid to leave the video alone, too."
"I just switched the channel," Karl said.
"Yeah, sure. You kids today think you know everything there is to know about a video. You blew the regafuse, stupid." The man replaced the parts, closed the casing and fastened it. "That does it."
The door opened again and Ch'Grak came in with his lunch tray. Startled, Karl glanced at the chronometer on the wall. 1230. He'd had no idea so much time had passed. The Procyon opened the cart, removed the tray, set it on the table, and left. The Sarge and the repairman followed him out.
Karl got up and went over to the table, staring morosely down at the tray. Some kind of sandwich, smothered in brown gravy and a bowl of chopped fruit and nuts. He sat down and began mechanically to eat.
His appetite still wasn't up to par. He kept thinking of poor Fannir, going to some kind of horrible fate alone. The picture brought a lump to his throat so big he could hardly swallow. After half a dozen bites he pushed the tray away and stood up, beginning to pace the room. He could short out the video any time he wanted. Fine. He paced, perfecting his plans.
Ch'Grak returned, collected the tray, loaded it on the food cart, and left. Karl stared after him, musing. Old Grakie would be easy to fool. He'd done it before.
When the bird brought the dinner tray, he'd make his attempt.
**********
Chapter 39
Alan Westover and Kurt McDougal helped a dozen other men lug numerous pieces of sound amplification equipment across the big entertainment room. Neither Alan nor Kurt had ever been inside a Jilectan noble's house before, and the splendor of the furnishings was breathtaking. Kurt set down his burden and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. The room was hot. Jilectans preferred temperatures approximately ten degrees higher than that comfortable to Terrans, and, after his recent exertion, the air in the big room felt scorching. Other members of the stage coordination team puffed and sweated around them, adjusting lighting and wires.
"Hey, you two!" It was the stage manager, a tall, skinny Arcturian with a huge, ruffled crest and piercing yellow eyes. "Get over zere and help Harry and Shet wizz zat stuff! We're running short on time!"
Kurt and Alan trotted obediently across the stage and assisted the two men to lug in more amplification paraphernalia. Man, the Jils weren't going to have any eardrums left after this concert was over, Kurt thought. He had attended a rock concert once, years ago at the age of 15. He had emerged from the auditorium with his ears ringing and all sounds around him strangely dulled. It had taken hours before he could hear normally again. The allure of such things had never held him as it had many other kids of his age group, and the attraction was even less now.
"Okay, men, take a break!" the Arcturian bellowed. He headed for the room at the back of the stage, producing some sort of alien snack food from his pocket. Alan looked quickly away and jerked his head at Kurt. Together they retreated quietly toward the servants' restrooms.
They paused before the door and moved aside to allow half a dozen other stage hands to enter. Kurt stepped before Alan, shielding him from view for an instant as the psychic took the little ring from his pocket holding it in two fingers for an instant. Then he slipped it back into the pocket and let his hand remain in the pocket too, clutching the little object.
Kurt watched him with interest. Alan looked completely composed and he nodded ever so slightly. "He's below us. Follow me."
He led the way quietly toward the stairs that would take them to the lower regions of the palace. Kurt followed him, acutely aware of the surveillance cameras at every turn of the corridors. Somehow, Alan managed to time it so that every camera was turned away from them in its sweep of the hallway as they passed by each one. It didn't stop his neck from prickling, however. Reinforcements were standing by outside the Viceregal Estate, but in here, they were on their own.
A Procyon servant passed, paying no attention to them. Stage hands had been crawling all over the main floor of the palace since dawn, and seeing two more headed toward an undesignated goal was nothing new, Kurt realized. Alan ignored the servant completely, his demeanor cool and utterly confident. Act like you belong, Kurt thought, and people will think you do. Okay, my friend, I'll act that way, too. We're folks from the world of entertainment. People expect us to act a little weird.
They passed through several kitchens, and Alan turned down a small side passage. There was a door at the end of it and he opened it, disclosing steps leading down into regions unknown. Alan stepped confidently forward and Kurt followed. Their feet were silent on the carpeted stairs. Alan paused in mid-flight, concentrating. He looked pale, Kurt noticed, his face strained, a deep line between his brows.
"You okay?"
Alan nodded. "Jils around," he said. "Hold on a sec. There's one camera at the bottom that I can't avoid. I'm going to knock out the picture for just a few seconds and then put it back. With luck, they won't notice, or they'll think it was just a little glitch." He wet his lips and passed the back of one hand across his forehead. "Man, it's hot!"
"Yeah, I know. Blasted, cold-blooded Jils. How far away's our Arcturian?"
"Not far. In the cellars, I think." He paused for a second. "Okay, now!"
Kurt followed him, half falling down the flight of stairs. They passed the camera and stopped again, breathing hard, as Alan re-activated the camera. Kurt waited while Alan scanned, checking to see if they had been noticed.
"Okay," Alan said, softly. "I think we're all right. I'm not getting any kind of warning."
"In the cellars...what is he, anyway? Why's he in the basement?"
"Maybe he's a member of the staff. I don't know. We'll ask him when we find him." Alan concentrated again. All was still, but from the regions below came small, muted sounds. Alan placed a hand on Kurt's arm. "There's a Procyon down there."
"Is he coming this way?"
"Not yet. Come on." Alan's hand closed on his and they went quietly down a second flight of steps. A door opened at the bottom. Alan placed one hand on it, easing it further open.
They found themselves in the wine cellars--room upon room of stacked bottles. Alan nodded, glancing at Kurt. "The Procyon's that way. I think he's one of the kitchen staff. Our Arcturian's straight ahead. Wupps. There's somebody else. A Terran."
"A servant?"
"I don't...no, he's a guard."
"A guard, huh?" McDougal reached beneath his clothing and removed his disguised blaster. He'd got it through the security check in three pieces -- as part of an amplifier, a musical instrument and a piece of lighting equipment. "How about our Arcturian friend? Is he a servant?"
"I don't think so." Alan frowned, removing the ring from his pocket and holding it carefully between thumb and forefinger. "I'm getting some pretty distressing signals through this. He's scared, angry and desperate, and not only on his own account, I think. Someone else is involved, but I'm not getting an image. Arcturian minds aren't as transparent as Terrans and Procyons."
"Maybe he's hiding. Maybe he's not supposed to be here."
"Possible. Or he could be a prisoner. Let's go see."
A small, narrow corridor branched away from the wine cellars. It was unlighted.
Alan reached out and touched something on the wall, and dim light appeared, illuminating a dank tunnel, extending far back. Kurt glanced at him. The psychic nodded fractionally and led the way forward.
Kurt followed close at his heels, glancing nervously back. Why, he wondered, would Halthzor hide anyone down here? It was clearly a little-used area of the palace; there weren't even any surveillance cameras, so it stood to reason that, if the Arcturian were indeed a prisoner here, someone did not want his presence known. But why?
The corridor became narrower as they proceeded. Alan's hand was clutching the ring, and he walked unerringly forward. The tunnel branched, and he unhesitatingly took the left corridor. There was a smell of damp and mildew, almost like the dungeon of a medieval castle, Kurt thought.
Alan stopped and raised a finger to his lips. There was a turn in the passageway a couple of meters ahead. Kurt took two long, silent strides, leaned quickly around the corner, and fired. A stunbeam hummed softly.
They proceeded. A Terran in the black and scarlet Patrol uniform lay sprawled on the dank, stone floor. Without a word they stepped over him. A small door opened off the corridor to their left, hardly visible in the poor lighting. It was solid and appeared to be constructed of the same stuff as the passage, itself. Perhaps the room had once been intended for storage.
Alan placed a hand on the latch, concentrated a moment, then nodded. "Okay, it's open. He's awake, but I don't think he's aware of us. Be careful, Kurt. He's desperate and probably dangerous."
Kurt drew his stunner and stepped ahead of Alan. His friend started to protest, then shut up. Kurt pushed the door open and went through, Alan on his heels.
It was a small, stone room, perhaps three meters by three. A single light cell, embedded in the ceiling, cast a reddish illumination over the enclosure. Against the far wall crouched their quarry.
The Arcturian looked like an animal preparing to spring. He wore only a filthy loincloth, his skin was a curious dusty grey, and his greenish-gold eyes glowed startlingly in the dimness like the eyes of an angry cat. He was crouched on all fours, his teeth bared in a vicious snarl. He hissed, a slow, strangely menacing sound.
Alan stepped up beside Kurt, extending one hand, palm up. "It's okay. We aren't going to hurt you." His voice was soft and curiously soothing. "It's all right."
Kurt drew in his breath sharply as the Arcturian came to his feet. He was a big fellow, and must once have been brawny, but was now skinny to the point of emaciation. He took a quick, menacing step forward, and Kurt raised the stunner. "Hold it right there, Mister."
The Arcturian stopped. Alan placed a hand on Kurt's arm. "It's okay, Kurt." He addressed the alien again. "We won't hurt you. We're here to help." He held up the ring. The alien eyes fastened on it with instant recognition and the creature hissed horribly.
"Where did you get zat?" he demanded, the sibilants in his speech extremely pronounced. "What have you done wizz my friend?"
"Who is your friend?" Alan asked.
"Goohiff!" The Arcturian insult was known to both of them, and was so filled with hatred that Kurt stepped involuntarily back. Alan started to speak again, but the alien cut him off, his eyes blazing with anger, and, Kurt thought, grief.
"What have you done wizz him? Have you killed him? If so, perhaps you had best kill me now as well, for if he is dead, I will not go wizz you peaceably!"
"We haven't killed your friend, and we aren't going to kill you." In spite of the venom flung at him, Alan's voice remained calm. "Who is your friend? Did you give him this ring?"
"Yes, I did. Is zat a crime, bootlicker? It is hardly a weapon! He was my friend! He saved my life, and I wished to give him a token of my gratitude. Give it back to him. It is worzz nothing. You could not get even a tenzz credit for it..."
Alan interrupted him. "Please listen. We aren't Jil flunkies. We're members of the Terran Underground, and we're here because one of our people took this ring off the boy's finger during the scuffle at the Drevelle Patrol base, yesterday. He hoped a tracer would be able to find the boy with it, but instead I found you. Obviously you know about this, and about the boy--your friend. Can you tell us about him? Quickly! Who is he? Where is he being held? Was he hurt for what he did? You must believe me, we aren't with the Jils!"
Slitted yellow eyes surveyed Alan incredulously. "Ziss is a trick! You are trying to break my mind wiz your lies..." The word trailed away into a thin hiss. The drooping crest straightened and the slitted eyes widened. "What is ziss? You are a psychic!" The fanged jaws split in a hair-raising smile. "You are a Terran psychic!"
Kurt stepped quickly ahead of Alan, for the Arcturian was coming rapidly forward, hands outstretched, but he need not have worried. The alien bent, clasping both of Alan's hands in his and touching his crest to them in the Arcturian gesture of appreciation and good will. Quickly he turned to Kurt and caught his hands as well, ignoring the stunner. "Ahh, ziss is too good to be true! I cannot believe it!"
"Who is the boy, Fannir?" asked Alan, obviously picking up the Arcturian's name unconsciously from his mind. "Can you tell us about him, quickly?"
"He is Karl Warren."
"Warren!" Kurt exclaimed. "Alan, the elder brother!"
"I know. Go on, Fannir."
"He is a psychic, and my friend. He was discovered to have zee ability to read Arcturians. They have been forcing him to do so. I was one of his practice subjects. I was brought in after Karl identified zee first Undergrounder, but the fellow sensed Karl's probe and caused problems. If you are from zee Underground, you know of ziss..."
Alan nodded. "They blew themselves up to avoid capture. We know. Go on."
"A psychic trainer and practice subjects, I among them, were brought in, and Karl was taught how to form a probe which zee Arcturians could not sense. He was very quick to learn. After zey were finished, I would have been removed and killed, but my friend pleaded for my life, and Halzzor granted his wish. I was allowed to stay with him as a companion, and in appreciation for his kindness I gave Karl my family ring, which you hold zere. Then, yesterday, Karl identified another Arcturian spy and zrough him, his confederate. Karl warned zee confederate and tried to escape, zereby fouling zee Shil's plans. Halzzor punished zee boy terribly for his treachery, zen took me away and imprisoned me here."
Alan nodded. "And if I know Halthzor, he's led the poor kid to think you're being tortured and killed. By the time he finds out you're alive, he'll be too cowed to ever resist again. Blasted Jils! They understand us Terrans maddeningly well."
"Where's he being held?" Kurt asked.
"In zee maximum security room at zee top of zee mansion. He is under constant guard." Fannir ran a hand over his crest. "He must be half crazy by now, poor little empazz. He will be zinking dreadful zings."
"How often do they come down here?" Alan asked.
"No one has come, yet," the Arcturian informed them. "But zen, I wazz only placed here ziss morning. What is zee time now?"
"1610." Alan didn't glance at his chronometer. "You've had no food all day?"
"None, and zey did not feed me last night, zuss leading poor Karl to believe I was to be executed."
"But they fed Karl?"
"Yes."
"What time is his dinner tray brought?"
"Around 1830. Why?"
"And what kind of servant brings it--species, I mean."
"He is an obnoxious Procyon."
"Good." Alan surveyed the Arcturian for a moment, then turned to Kurt. "I have an idea..."
**********
(tbc)
