Slave Race: 36/?
by Nan Smith and Linda Garrick
Chapter 54
Lord Snarthvar, first son of the eminent Lord Snithvor, opened his eyes. He lay in his suite aboard the Patrol Battlecruiser Minotaur and something had awakened him.
He sat up, blinking groggily in the dimness. He had had a dream. There was a Terran psychic somewhere, and not too far away, and now that Snarthvar was awake, he became suddenly certain that it was not just a dream.
Faintly, in his sleep, he had heard the call for help, when suddenly there had been a surge of psychic energy from the psychic--a surge that had brought him awake with a start. Snarthvar was exceptionally sensitive to the emanations from the minds of Terran psychics, and he was certain now that one was near. He could hear the voice in his mind, calling for help.
Snarthvar rubbed a hand across his face, feeling the face cream applied by his servant smear under his hand. Annoyance. The fool hadn't rubbed the stuff in well enough. How was it to do any good if it remained on the top layer of his skin?
The surge came again. The Terran psychic was awake and very frightened. The sensation sent a prickle of anticipation over him. Snarthvar had been sent to this newly discovered planet, an erstwhile major base of the Terran Underground, because of his exceptional gift of sensitivity to Terran psychic frequencies. and, of course, he was first cousin to the murdered Snathvor, killed by a Terran psychic during the battle. Snarthvar had not been particularly fond of his cousin, but he had a strong sense of family duty. His cousin would be avenged--and besides, the unspeakable psychic who had killed him had saddled Snarthvar with all four of Snathvor's wives. None of the Ladies would have been Snarthvar's choice for the females to bear his children. And along with the wives had come twelve daughters and not a single son. Ah, yes, the Terran psychics would suffer for killing his cousin!
The flicker came again. A powerful psychic, no doubt of it--the fighter most likely, who was reported shot down during the initial battle. He had been presumed killed. What luck that he wasn't! They would acquire a prisoner now. Injured and alone, without help, he would weaken, and they would discover the location of the outlaws new hideout from him.
Snarthvar was on his feet. His servant, asleep in the next room, awoke. Snarthvar sensed his mind easily. There was apprehension there, mixed with drowsiness. The man was getting out of bed, slipping on a robe, awaiting the summons of his master. Snarthvar permitted himself a faint, derisive smile. Terrans! Despicable little worms they were! If only they did not make such excellent patrolmen, he, too, would favor their annihilation.
He touched the bell and the servant was at the door instantly, bowing. "Yes, M'lord?"
"Summon six patrolmen to meet me in my private aircar as escort."
"Yes sir. May I help you dress first, sir?"
"No! Go quickly. Order them to bring an extra aircar. I do not wish to be jammed into one vehicle with all those Terrans. I would certainly asphyxiate."
"Yes sir." The servant scuttled out. Snarthvar slipped into his clothing, wiped the face cream off, and checked himself in the mirror. Even without make up, he was an extremely good-looking Jilectan, he thought. And formidable. The Terran psychic would certainly quail before him.
He went out, his bodyguard falling in behind him without a word or question as he had been trained.
The patrolmen were climbing into the aircars when he arrived. They glanced fearfully at him as he strode up. Yes, his servants were always well-trained. He spoke to them crisply.
"There is a Terran psychic near. I will be tracing him. It is possible his partner is with him, although I doubt it. I sense only a single mind. Still, be on the alert. He is to be taken alive, and we must expect him to attempt suicide when he realizes he is going to be apprehended. Stun him at once when he is located."
The Lieutenant saluted. "Yes, sir."
Lord Snarthvar entered the aircar.
**********
Karl Warren lay slack in the patrolman's grasp. He tried to appear as quiet and limp as he could, attempting to get the man off guard. Ruffard was smart--too smart. He had instantly drawn the correct conclusion concerning the communicator, and had recalled immediately the unusual behavior of the electrical devices in the Viceregal mansion. Yes, he was smart, and Karl knew he mustn't underestimate him if he was to escape. An illusion would probably do it, but it must be the right illusion, and done convincingly, or Ruffard would guess what was going on and would stun him.
He lay still, gathering his strength and thinking furiously. He wasn't particularly afraid now. He could outsmart Ruffard, bright though the man was. He had his illusionist ability to draw from, not to mention half a dozen other talents. He recalled Colonel Leroy Burke's teachings on the situation.
"Never engage a patrolman physically unless you have no other choice. They're trained for combat, usually twice your size, and utterly ruthless. Physical force is their weapon. Yours is your mind. You're no match for them physically, so use your brain. Use every trick you have, but don't let them know what you're doing until it's too late..."
Illusions took a lot of strength. He'd have to hold on a few minutes on that until he felt more capable of producing a convincing one. No, first he would use his empathic talents on the man. Sam's mind was easy to read. The thoughts practically jumped out at him. And the emotions were even clearer and more vivid. Sam felt sorry for Karl. He didn't want to turn him in, but there was nothing else to be done. Sam was a 'trol. If he returned the Viceroy's prize, there would be a commendation for him, and he'd probably regain his former status as Lieutenant.
Still, Karl was a likable little guy. It seemed a damn shame.
Sorrow... Karl projected the emotion toward the other man's mind. Pity for the prisoner. Heart wrenching pain and anguish. Poor kid! He's alone, helpless and in your power. He has no defense. You're taking him to agony, imprisonment, and maybe to his death...
It worked better than he would have anticipated. Ruffard's steps faltered and his eyes in the illumination of the hand light shone with tears. Karl let himself lie as limp and still as he could, but increased the projected emotions.
Ruffard stopped, drew a long breath, and hiccoughed loudly. Tears shone on his cheeks and he sniffled suddenly
"Kid..." His voice quavered.
Karl opened his eyes and met the man's gaze. "Yes?" Be polite, he thought--very polite. No more sassing the guy.
"Are you..." His voice caught and he cleared his throat. "Are you okay?"
"My leg hurts a lot, Sam."
Sam knelt, placing him very gently on the ground. "There's pills in the kit. I'll give you a couple. It'll help."
"Thanks, Sam." Karl produced a shaky smile. "You've been really nice to me, considering that I must have gotten you into a lot of trouble when I escaped. I really appreciate it."
Sam hiccoughed again and wiped tears from his face with the palm of his hand.
"Damn! I must be allergic to somthin' around here. Here's the pills." He put them between Karl's lips and held the canteen for him. Karl swallowed the tablets.
"Thanks, Sam," he repeated.
"S'nothin'." Ruffard regarded him unhappily. "Aw, dammit!"
"What?" Sorrow, pity, despair...
Sam hiccoughed a third time and wiped his eyes roughly. "I don't want to give you back to 'em, kid."
"I know, Sam."
"It seems like such a damn shame. You're such a nice kid, and you've had a lot of bad breaks..."
Unexpectedly, Karl felt his feelings toward his captor softening. No! He mustn't weaken! To weaken at this point would be fatal! He increased the despair and sorrow. "You can't do anything else, Sam."
"No, I can't..."
"Unless you want to rescue me and join the Underground."
"What!!??"
"You could do it, you know. Mark Linley and his brother Kevin Bronson did, and they're glad. I've met them both, and they're just as glad as they can be."
"You're outta your mind, kid!" The words were spoken harshly, but Karl could sense Ruffard's resolve wavering. Sorrow! Despair! Pity for the prisoner...
"You could, Sam. You'd be commissioned as Lieutenant, too--I'd see to that. You were an officer before, and the Underground always gives a patrol officer a commission. You'd have status, good pay--and there's girls in the Underground, Sam! Beautiful girls! You should see 'em!" Projection of carnal desire mixed with pity for the prisoner. Now, add a little resentment toward his bosses. "I'll bet Halthzor was pretty hard on you after I escaped."
Ruffard didn't reply. His lips were drawn into a hard, unyielding line. Tears glistened on his flushed cheeks.
"But it wasn't your fault, Sam. You did everything you could. You were the one who caught on that something was wrong. You gave the alarm. You should have been commended..."
"Quite workin' on me, kid." Ruffard's voice was tight. "Don't think us trols ain't been warned about you empaths!"
Karl bit his lip. Had he gone too far too fast? Pity for the prisoner. Sorrow! Guilt! Karl had saved him from the two little Jil girls. Sorrow...
Ruffard wiped his eyes again, swore under his breath and bent to heft Karl in his arms once more. "Shut up now! No more talkin!"
"Okay, Sam. Sorry."
"Shut up!" The last word caught on a sob and he swallowed hard, biting his lip. "Another word and I stun you!"
Karl nodded and hung his head. Guilt! Sorrow! Anger toward the Jils!
Sam was lifting him, his movements awkward and jerky. Karl bit back a cry as his leg was jostled and felt Sam wince internally. Poor Sam! He really was an awfully nice guy...no! He mustn't weaken! If he did, all would be lost!
There was the hum of an approaching aircar.
Sam apparently hadn't heard it yet. His face was set in grim, hard lines, in odd contrast to the drying streaks of tears on his face. Karl's mind reached out, touched the consciousness of the Jil, and recoiled, shields snapping up. The alien knew where he was now. All hope was gone. Sam could do nothing to help him now, even if he did change sides. And now he mustn't! If he did, he'd die in the execution chair!
Totally against his will, Karl found himself speaking, addressing the man who carried him. "Sam! Sam, listen to me!"
"I said..."
"Please, it's important! There's an aircar coming with a Jil in it. If he senses your sympathy for me, and your thoughts of desertion, he'll kill you. Listen! That was my doing!" He fixed Sam's eyes with his, hurling his words at the patrolman. "I was using empathic projection! Do you understand? It was me--only me. You're a loyal patrolman, and you'd never have considered deserting if I hadn't been projecting--making you feel guilty and sorry for me. But I'm not doing it now. You may still feel sorry for me, but not sorry enough to throw away everything you've worked for."
Ruffard's eyes were locked with his, oblivious of the hum of the approaching Patrol cars, now easily heard over the soft sighing of the trees around them.
"Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because it's too late for me. The Jil knows where I am, and he'll be here in a minute. I...I don't want you to get in trouble. I won't drag you down with me."
Karl saw him swallow. "Dammit, kid!" he whispered.
The aircar came into view over the treetops. Karl gulped. "Halthzor will reward you for bringing me back. You'll be a lieutenant again. Sam..."
"What?"
"Don't let him hurt me."
Ruffard's grip tightened. "You're an idiot, y'know."
"I suppose. Please, Sam..."
"I can't stop the Viceroy. He does what he wants."
"I know. Sorry. I just thought...forget it."
The aircars were circling overhead, the throb of their engines reverberating through Karl's body. A sudden, wild thought occurred to him. He could feel the engines in his mind--the sparks--the flowing electrons...
He reached out almost automatically and a tendril of psychic energy closed about the mechanism. Here and here--and the gap between the spaces was bridged.
Electric blue arced and flashed in his brain. The numbing shock coursed through him, half-blinding him. The hum of one of the aircars ceased.
Still tingling from the first encounter, Karl reached for the second engine. He touched the engine, felt his mind close around it, felt the flow of electricity falter and re-route itself. Flash! Shower of sparks, the familiar numbing tingle.
Sam shouted, stumbling back, still clutching Karl tightly. The two aircars were plunging down through the trees, one directly over the other, the drivers fighting for control. The first craft pancaked hard not ten meters from them, and the second plowed nose first into its roof, buckling the metal. The rear door of the first car opened and the Jilectan surged out, landing on hands and knees in the leaves and scrambling away from the vehicle with a speed no Terran could hope to equal.
The aircar on the bottom exploded, engulfing both vehicles in a balloon of seething orange fire. A second concussion succeeded the first, and the cars rolled ponderously apart, wrapped in flames.
Ruffard swore unimaginatively, placed Karl hastily on the ground and ran forward. He seized the Jilectan by the flowing robe he wore, dragging him back, away from the burning vehicle.
Karl was already scanning the Jilectan's body for communication devices. Yes, the alien wore one, strapped to his wrist. Karl concentrated an instant and felt the device crackle and short out, a minor tingle somewhere deep in his brain, hardly noticeable, now.
Ruffard was kneeling beside the stirring alien. "M'lord! M'lord, are you hurt?"
The Jilectan lifted his head, revealing a face blackened with soot and crusted mud, eyebrows, lashes and bangs withered and blackened. Blisters rose on forehead and cheeks, pale in the light of Ruffard's hand light.
The patrolman was opening the emergency kit. Karl watched as he doctored the Jilectan's wounds. If there was only some way to navigate! Ruffard wouldn't notice now, occupied as he was with the injured Jilectan. What a fool he had been to confess his deception to the patrolman before. Now, with only the alien surviving the crash, with communications cut off, Ruffard might well have changed sides, if Karl had just continued the empathic maneuvering a little longer. But now Ruffard was warned, and, smart as he was, he would guess if Karl tried to renew his strategy. And besides, the Jil would sense it. It was obvious the alien was a Terran psychic sensitive. He must be to have traced Karl as he had.
"That is sufficient, Terran fool!" The Jilectan was sitting up, and Karl saw him give Ruffard a push, knocking him backward. M'lord's face had been cleaned, and burn salve coated the burns. Ruffard had done a skillful and efficient job, as usual.
The patrolman got to his knees, eyes downcast. "I'm very sorry, sir," he mumbled.
Karl glanced past him to the cars. They were still blazing, the flames beginning to subside a little. There was no sign of life--no survivors but the Jilectan.
"Rise, Patrolman." The Jilectan gestured impatiently. Except for the blisters and a few scratches, M'lord appeared to be completely unhurt. It figured, Karl thought, bitterly.
"What are you doing out here, Terran?" the Jilectan queried. "You were not among the men I brought with me."
Ruffard kept his eyes down. "M'lord...I...really can't explain it. I must'a fallen asleep an' dreamed. He...I seemed t'hear the kid callin' for help. It seemed awful real, sir--maybe the kid has some special power or somethin' that lets him communicate with nons. I heard him an' went out lookin'. I thought that if I told anyone, they'd laugh at me. I found him about thirty minutes ago an' was bringin' him in."
"And why did you not call for assistance after you found him?"
"I couldn't sir. My com wouldn't work. I...I think the kid did it."
The Jilectan stared hard at the patrolman, then turned his gaze on Karl. "Are you a telekinetic, Terran?"
"No, sir." Karl somehow managed to keep his voice level.
"Then how did you disable his communicator--or is the man drunk?"
"No, he's not drunk." Karl looked away, wondering if he should confess. No harm in it at this point, he decided. "It's kind of a special talent. I don't know how it works. I short out electrical devices--like the communicator."
"And the aircars?" The question was icy.
"Yes, M'lord." It was harder to keep his reply level now. The Jilectan was advancing on him, anger written in every line of his body. Karl shrank back, but Lord Snarthvar seized him by the shirt, dragging him up.
"Terran chol worm, I shall rend you limb from limb for this atrocity."
"M'lord!" It was Ruffard, his voice surprisingly firm and commanding. "Release the boy!"
Icy blue eyes turned on him. "What did you say, Terran?"
"I beg your pardon, M'lord, but I hafta insist. I know this kid. Lord Halthzor found him about four weeks ago and was usin' him to read Arcturian spies. I was ordered to protect him, and was given permission by His Highness to use whatever measures were necessary to enforce that order. So I hafta insist that you release him, now, sir."
For a long moment the scene held static. Then the alien dropped him, throwing his weight on the injured leg. Karl cried out and felt Ruffard catch him.
"I see that you are somewhat friendly with the prisoner," Snarthvar stated, coldly. "I would say that your concern for his welfare is not all due to the Viceroy's orders."
Ruffard didn't answer as he lifted Karl to his good foot. Snarthvar pressed the transmit button on his wrist communicator. "This is Lord Snarthvar. Come in, Minotaur."
Silence. Karl felt Ruffard's muscles tense and heard the patrolman utter a whispered cussword. Snarthvar tried a second time. Then a third.
"I think the kid did it again," Ruffard said in a low voice.
Snarthvar lowered his wrist, his gaze deadly. "It appears, then, that we must walk. Terran psychic vermin, you had best hope that the Viceroy never loses interest in you. If he does, you are mine. Come, patrolman."
"Yessir."
The Jilectan strode forward and Ruffard fell in behind him.
**********
Stephen started awake. He lay still for a moment, wondering what had brought him out of sleep. All was very still, and the cabin was dim. He pushed back his blanket and rose to his feet, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Moving quietly, he crossed to the control room and glanced at the viewscreen. It revealed the white strand of beach without and the sun just rising over the horizon. Above, the reddish silver clouds were stained pink, purple and gold. Flying creatures wheeled across them, swooping and swerving.
Other movement caught his eye. Something was scurrying about in the sand, exploring the remains of last night's meal. Stephen's eyes narrowed. There was something very familiar about that creature...
He turned abruptly and went back into the passenger cabin. His family still slept, but the Jilectan was awake, the light eyes following him across the cabin. He opened the hatch and stepped out.
The soft light of dawn greeted him. He peered down the ramp at the blackened smear in the sand--the ashes of last night's campfire. The creature moved into view, thrusting a naked snout into the cooled ashes. A soft, snuffling sound reached the boy.
Impossible! Stephen stared in bewilderment at the thing. He knew what it was! He had seen its like many times, rummaging in the alleys and trash heaps of Corala. A trenchcrawler! The scavengers of Jilectan worlds, first introduced to the sector, he was told, by the Jils, themselves, and rumored to have originated on the Jilectans' home planet! A trenchcrawler, here! On this deserted world! Impossible! He was hallucinating again! There must be a dream dog somewhere nearby, trying to lure him in.
A soft footstep behind him made him spin about. Jack stood there. Wordlessly, Stephen pointed.
The boy's gaze followed his pointing finger and Stephen felt a surge of relief as he saw Jack's eyes widen, his mouth opening in astonishment. "Halthzor's holy wart! That's the biggest damn trenchcrawler I've ever seen!"
"It *is* there, then! You see it, too?"
"Sure do. What in blazes is it doin' here?"
He stopped. The creature had heard them and had turned, rearing up on its hind legs in a posture very familiar to both boys. Then, with a fluid scurry of feet, faster than Stephen had ever seen any trenchcrawler move, it was across the sand and had vanished into the tall grass.
By unspoken consent the two boys went after it, down the ramp and across the sand. Jack, lighter and quicker in the shifting sand, pulled a little ahead. They reached the grass and ran toward the trees after the creature. It never paused, apparently aware that it was being pursued, and also apparently very familiar with its surroundings. They caught a glimpse of it as it plunged into the forest with a fleetness and skill that spoke of long adaptation to woodland living. Jack and Stephen stopped.
Jack cussed with the astounding inventiveness of every Shallockian that Stephen had ever met.
"What is it, Terrans?"
Stephen turned to see Lord Comishvor standing behind them, his large, blond face questioning. "What were you chasing?" he inquired.
"A trenchcrawler," Stephen said.
"A trenchcrawler?" Comishvor peered past them. "Where?"
"It went into the forest."
"Are you certain of this?"
"I saw it, too, sir," Jack said, his voice subdued. "It was a trenchie, no doubt."
"Impossible! Hoth berries, and now trenchcrawlers! I have never visited an unpopulated world which harbored vermin such as that..." He went past the boys and into the trees. "Perhaps it was simply a creature which resembled a trenchcrawler."
Stephen and Jack followed, glancing uneasily at each other. "M'lord, it's probably far away by now," protested the younger boy. "It was really movin', sir."
"Trenchcrawlers are not known for their speed, my psychic."
"Yeah, well I've never seen a crawler out of the city before," Stephen, protested, panting a little with his effort to keep up with the alien. "But this one was--right out there on the beach when I first saw it--and it was a trenchcrawler! If crawlers had to live in the wild for awhile, they'd probably get faster, you know. Look, Lord Comishvor, I don't think we should just run off like this without telling anyone..."
Comishvor made an impatient gesture. "Be still, Terran! When Edwin awakens, I shall inform him telepathically. There is no danger as long as we remain together, and we are armed."
"But..."
"Be still, Terran!"
Stephen opened his mouth to make a hot retort, then saw Jack's apprehensive glance and shut it. Comishvor was striding rapidly forward and they followed, almost running to keep up. For perhaps five minutes they continued, the two boys panting with exertion. Then Jack stopped, catching Stephen by the wrist.
"Wait!"
Comishvor, somewhat to Stephen's surprise, stopped, looking instantly at the little boy. "What is it, Jack?"
"I'm gettin' a warnin', sir."
"Then perhaps we had best return to the ship. Come..."
The ground jolted hard, throwing them all to one side. Stephen heard Comishvor curse and Jack cry out as the soil beneath their feet began to vibrate violently.
The quake was a bad one. They staggered and stumbled for a few moments, trying to keep their feet. Then Jack threw himself flat, yelling for the others to get down, too. Stephen hardly heard him in the racket of crackling, creaking tree trunks and the roar of madly waving branches and underbrush, but his meaning was unmistakable. He joined Jack on the ground, and Comishvor followed suit an instant later. Close by, a tree came down with a terrific crash. Stephen clasped his hands across the back of his head, closed his eyes, and waited for death.
The quake continued for what seemed an eternity, then at last began to subside. The Terrans and the Jilectan remained down until, with a final shudder, the convulsions ceased.
For the slow count of ten nobody moved. Then Stephen lifted his head and met Jack's eyes across the prone body of the Jilectan. He had to clear his throat twice before he could speak. "Wow!"
Jack was getting to his knees, his eyes wide. "Somethin's watchin' us!" he whispered.
Comishvor's face came up. "Animal?" he inquired sharply.
"No...I don't..."
Half a dozen figures materialized from the underbrush around them. Stephen's breath caught. Terror froze him.
"Jilectans!" Jack breathed, in a voice of horror.
They were Jilectans, all right. Stephen counted seven in all--larger, and far more muscular than any of the species he had ever encountered up until now. Jils they were, but Jils like none he had ever seen. They wore clothing of skins, heavily embroidered with leather fringes, feathers, bones, and brightly colored pebbles. Their chests were bare and striped with dark red and yellow paint. Their long, fair hair hung down their backs in thick braids.
They advanced slowly, but Stephen was suddenly aware that the aliens were not looking at him, or even at Jack. Their attention was all for Comishvor, who met their gazes levelly, his expression puzzled and a little apprehensive. They paused less than two meters from him, spears poised and ready. Stephen recognized the spears. They were close duplicates to the one that had arrived back at the ship with Lord Comishvor the day before.
Comishvor moved suddenly, reaching for his blaster. The newcomers leaped forward at the same instant, and Stephen tried to draw his own weapon. A huge figure struck him, throwing him flat. A heavy weight crushed him to the ground and he was flipped effortlessly to his stomach. He struggled uselessly as his hands were caught and brought inexorably behind him. He heard Jack give an inarticulate cry of terror and twisted his head, trying to see the other boy. He could see nothing, however, except a white, muscular knee bent before his face. His hands were held firmly together and bound tightly with what felt like leather thongs.
Then the weight lifted from him. Hands grasped his arms and brought him easily to his feet. He saw Jack beside him, also bound, and held in the grip of a huge, red-haired alien. The newcomers were all looking at Comishvor, who also had been bound and now stood between two of their captors. His eyes met Stephen's across the space between them.
The Jilectan holding Stephen let go of his arms and advanced upon Comishvor. He stopped before the pirate, looking down at him. He was nearly a head taller than the pirate, who was not small, and far more muscular. Comishvor's expression was impassive, but Stephen could see sweat glistening on his skin.
One of the primitives spoke rapidly, addressing the captive pirate. Comishvor listened, his brow furrowed, then spoke a single word in return. The first Jilectan's hand moved in a blur of speed, slapping the pirate hard across the face. Comishvor staggered to one side, and was yanked upright again by one of his captors.
The primitive Jilectan spoke again, then reached forward to draw the blaster from Comishvor's holster. He examined the weapon closely, fingering the settings, then pressed the control lever hard. The little device moved under the pressure of his finger and a red light began to blink on the blasters muzzle.
"He's set it on max!" Jack whispered.
The Jilectan fingered the weapon a moment more, peered down the muzzle, then held it up to the sky, watching the sun glint off the barrel. Comishvor started to say something, but one of the aliens cuffed him, knocking him sideways. Blaster muzzle still pointed upward, the Jilectan pressed the trigger.
With a deafening roar a great mushroom of flame ballooned upward into the trees, succeeded by a chorus of screams from the primitive Jilectans. The alien who had fired hurled the weapon away. It landed in a tangle of fern-like growth.
Sudden silence succeeded the racket. Then the primitive Jilectans turned their gazes on the two Terrans. Jack seemed to shrink with terror, but the aliens didn't strike him or make any hostile moves. Instead, they circled the Terrans warily, their eyes fixed on the blasters tucked into the boys' belts.
For perhaps two minutes this continued. Then one of the Jilectans, a heavily painted individual with red braids hanging past his hips, snapped something to his fellows and strode over to Stephen. With thumb and finger he removed the blaster from the boy's holster and flung the weapon far away. One of the others removed Jack's weapon and treated it in a like manner. Jack gazed longingly after it.
The Jilectan who had taken Jack's weapon grinned suddenly and squatted down, examining the boy with unconcealed interest. He touched the boy's brown hair, fingering the soft, fine strands curiously, then glanced at Comishvor and snapped a question. Comishvor said "Tavara", which Stephen knew was Jilectan for Terran. The primitive Jilectan turned back to examine the boy again, then turned to Stephen.
Stephen could feel himself shrink as the being fingered his shoulders, his hair, and examined his toes and fingers with unconcealed interest.
"Tavara?" he snapped to Comishvor. "Coosa turn?"
It was no language Stephen had ever heard before. He looked quickly at Comishvor and saw the puzzlement on the pirate's face. "Govira?" he asked.
Again the Jilectan beside him slapped him, the blow knocking him to his knees. The others pulled him upright once more and red braids snapped a command.
"Goog!"
Stephen was lifted and tossed lightly to a pair of broad, heavily muscled shoulders. The Jilectan holding him strode forward through the underbrush.
Stephen remained passive, knowing how utterly futile it would be to struggle. The other Jilectans strode along on all sides and somewhere ahead he heard another blow and a grunt of pain from Comishvor. They sure didn't seem to like him very much. Why? Back on Corala all Jilectans treated one another with respect. Of course, it was possible that they had recognized him as a pirate, but Stephen didn't think so. These Jils didn't understand a blaster. They hadn't known what a Terran was, and they had shown no inclination to probe the Terran minds, as they surely could have done with his had they so chosen. Why? Of course, the mind probes still might come.
But who were they? They were so primitive in appearance, and their language-- Comishvor apparently understood some of it, but certainly not all. How had they come to be here on this planet?
The pace was rapid. Their captors moved through the undergrowth with a speed and silence which argued they were well accustomed to their surroundings. A minor quake shook the ground and the trees around them swayed, making Stephen inhale sharply, but his captors never paused and hardly seemed to notice the quake at all.
What about Mr. White? What about Stephen's mother? Surely Jack had called Mr. White for help when the Jilectans had appeared, unless the boy had been afraid to lower his shields with the Jils around--a distinct possibility. But surely, Comishvor, himself, would have called. The Jilectan would not have been afraid, unless, perhaps, he'd thought their captors might kill him if he tried to summon help--also a distinct possibility. The primitive Jils seemed so hostile toward the pirate.
How long had they been walking? Stephen, draped over the Jilectan's muscular shoulders, had lost all sense of direction, and, with his hands fastened behind him, couldn't even see his chronometer. It seemed like a long time, though.
Gradually he became aware of the sound of rushing water, and a few minutes later the Jilectans crossed a river, walking easily on a narrow log which spanned the water. Stephen closed his eyes and waited. The ground sloped upward. The Jilectans were moving up a steep incline, covered with trees and scrubby growth. Stephen's arms were cramped, his head ached and his side hurt from the pressure of the Jilectan's shoulder. A groan was forced out of him as he was jostled for the hundredth time, and the Jilectan holding him paused to shift his position to a more comfortable one. Stephen knew surprise at this. A Jil who took time to consider the discomfort of a Terran, however marginally, was a very unusual thing.
The trees around them were thinning. Stephen raised his head to see a collection of huts built of what appeared to be brush packed together with mud. Female Jilectans stood near them, and children ran between them, shouting and playing.
The being holding him stopped, and he was swung down and placed on the ground before his captor. For a second his head spun and his knees wobbled. His captor caught his arm firmly. After a moment his head cleared and he managed to look around.
They had apparently reached the Jils' village. The huts were everywhere, and female Jilectans by the hundreds were coming toward the new arrivals. Children giggled and pointed. The kids, Stephen saw, were naked up until the age of adolescence. The women wore short skirts made of animal skins embroidered with bright feathers and colored strips of leather. Their breasts were exposed. Many held infants in their arms.
A large, very old male Jilectan emerged from a hut beside them. He was big--bigger than the biggest Jil Stephen had ever seen, his body as heavily muscled as that of a wrestler. His eyes were a blazing blue, his hair a wild, red mane which spread out over his shoulders and far down his back. He wore a loin cloth, embroidered with hundreds of feathers, and chains of animal and what appeared to be human--or Jilectan-- teeth hung around his massive neck. Stephen stared as he approached, then quickly lowered his eyes and started to drop to his knees.
"No!" He was surprised by the sharp command, and to realize in the same instant that it had been spoken by Comishvor, in Basic. "Do not kneel! In no way humble yourselves!"
Startled, he stiffened his knees and straightened up. He heard the blow and Comishvor's grunt of pain, then silence.
He stood rigid, eyes down, as the old Jilectan examined him carefully. The leader--he must be the leader, Stephen thought--fingered the Terran's hair, touched his face, and stroked his eyebrows with a roughened forefinger. Jack stood stock-still a few meters away, his face white with fear.
The leader spoke. "Con too rua?" He grinned whitely. Stephen met Jack's gaze, but dared not speak. Jack swallowed hard as the leader turned on him and began his examination. After a few moments he spoke to the red braided alien who had carried Stephen to the village. "Shovan?"
"Tavara," the Jilectan said, with a glance at Comishvor.
Comishvor inclined his head and spoke quietly and impressively in the Jilectan tongue. The leader scowled at him and snapped a command. The two Jilectans holding him yanked him away. The one holding Jack took his arm and led him forward. Stephen was drawn along gently but irresistibly, behind him.
Beside the leader's hut was a huge cage constructed of wooden poles. One of the Jilectans swung the door open as they approached. The red braided Jilectan freed Stephen's hands and guided him into the enclosure. Jack was led in beside him and the door closed.
The cage was large--big enough for Stephen to stand upright without stooping. He watched the Jilectan fasten the door shut using leather thongs. They'd be able to unfasten them, he told himself, although probably not without a good deal of difficulty, since they would be working from the inside of the cage, and the knots would be above their heads.
Jack moved forward to peer out between the bars. Stephen glanced down at him and tried to smile.
The Shallockian boy gave him a halfhearted grin in return. "Holy hell!" he whispered. "How do you suppose these guys got here?"
"I couldn't even guess. They're Jils right enough, but I've sure never seen any Jils like 'em before. They look like something that just stepped out of a history book."
"You can say that again. I guess it must have been them that made the knife and threw the spear at M'lord, huh?"
"Must've been. They don't seem to like him much, do they? D'you know why?"
"I couldn't pick up nothin'." Jack drew a breath. "I had my shields up tight since they showed up."
"Don't blame you. Still, it didn't seem to occur to 'em to try'n read us."
They had kept their voices low, since there were Jilectans gathered all around the cage, staring. Jack edged closer to Stephen. "Whatcha suppose they're gonna do with us?"
"I don't know. They don't seem very upset by us, though. I mean, Jils are usually meaner to Terrans than they are to us."
"I don't think they know what we are," Jack said. "They act like they ain't never seen a Terran before."
"You're right, there. Did you hear Comishvor say Tavara to them? He was telling them what we're called. They didn't even know that."
"I heard. It makes sense, though, sorta."
"Yeah. They look like they've lived here all their lives, and as far as we know, we're the only Terrans here. Maybe this is a deserted world, and these guys have been here a long time--some accident or other, and they've never seen a Terran. Terrans have only been in space about a century or so, and we were out here awhile before we met the Jils. If these guys landed here two hundred years ago or so, they'd never have seen a Terran."
"But how did they get here in the first place?" Jack jerked his head slightly at the watching aliens. "I mean, there's no way these guys'd even know what a spaceship is, much less how to build one. And they couldn't have started here! This ain't the Jils' home world! I've seen pictures o' that! It's all built up an' industrialized--like Corala."
"You're right there. I don't know how they got here, and we'll probably never know. I wonder what they're going to do with us."
"Dunno that, neither." Jack glanced apprehensively at the staring Jilectans. "Just keep us to look at, maybe."
Stephen grinned. "Hey, maybe we can scare 'em. They didn't know what a blaster was. If we could do something they wouldn't understand, maybe they'd let us go--figure we were supernatural or something."
"But what? An' anyway, they're gonna know we ain't supernatural. If we was supernatural we wouldn't'a let ourselves be shut up in a cage."
"How about Mr. White? Can you call him for help?"
Jack looked worried. "They might pick me up."
"Jils don't usually, do they? I mean, if they could pick up Terran psychics that easily, they'd be grabbing them all the time."
"You're right, but I'm scared." Jack swallowed. "Anyway, even if I do contact him, how's he going to get us out?"
Stephen hadn't thought of that. Edwin White had seemed so capable to him that it simply hadn't occurred to him that the man wouldn't be able to manage to free them. But Jack was right. "Gosh, I didn't even think... sure, you're right. How could he get us out?"
"Look!" Jack said.
Stephen followed his pointing finger. Comishvor was being led across the village toward a large, open space in the center. He was flanked by four Jilectans, all larger and more muscular than himself. Jack clutched the bars of their prison. "I don't like this!"
"What?"
"I think he's about to be tried."
Stephen also clutched the bars of the cage, staring between them at the scene without. Lord Comishvor had been halted in the center of the clearing, surrounded by his captors. The Jilectans were silent, staring balefully at the pirate, and Stephen didn't need psychic ability to sense their hatred. Jack shuddered.
"He's in for it!" he whispered. "But what's he done?"
"I dunno, but they hate him. They're gonna kill him."
"Can't we do anything?"
"I dunno. Shh. Listen."
The red-braided Jil and the elderly leader had stepped before Comishvor. Red braids fired a question at him. Comishvor answered impressively, glancing toward the cage where Stephen and Jack were confined. All the Jilectans turned to look. Red Braids snapped an order and two more Jilectans approached to unfasten the thongs holding the door of the cage. Jack clutched Stephen's arm as the Jilectans entered the prison, grasped the two boys and pulled them out. They were led rapidly toward the scene in the middle of the village.
Stephen looked quickly at Jack as they stopped before Red Braids. Jack's expression held apprehension, but not terror. Apparently they were in no immediate danger. He stiffened his shoulders and tried to conceal his fright as Red Braids and the leader turned toward them, flanked by a line of tall males. The women and children crowded in the background, staring. Red Braids surveyed them, frowning with apparent puzzlement. He wet his thick lips and voiced what was clearly a question.
"Vollo voo?"
Stephen glanced quickly at Jack. Lord Comishvor spoke up suddenly in Basic. "They don't know what you are! They think..." The words ended in a grunt as one of the guards struck him, knocking him to the ground. Jack cried out involuntarily and Stephen put a hand on his arm.
The Jilectans dragged Comishvor to his feet again and two of them held him while a third struck him twice more in the face. Jack flinched with each blow and Stephen tightened his grip on the boy's arm.
Comishvor sagged for a moment in his captor's hold, then straightened up. Blood from a cut lip trickled down his chin. He spat on the ground and spoke to his captors, his voice incredibly haughty.
Red Braids laughed loudly and glanced at the alien beside him. The old Jilectan began to speak, and at his words the color drained from Comishvor's face, leaving it stark white. He voiced a wordless protest as the Jilectans holding him started to drag him toward a large pile of brush and tinder a dozen meters away.
"They're gonna burn him!" Jack whispered, in a horrified voice. "Steph, they're gonna burn him alive!"
Stephen watched the scene, appalled. He had no love for Comishvor, but... burning alive! "Jack! We've got to do something!"
Jack didn't reply. The Terrans were being propelled after the crowd of Jils and were stopped in front of the circle that now surrounded the piled tinder. There could be no doubt of what it was intended for. A pole affixed in the ground in the center of the pile could serve only one purpose.
Gasping and protesting, the Jilectans dragged Comishvor to the pole, and bound him tightly while the two boys watched. Jack raised his voice suddenly. "M'lord! What can we do? How can we stop them?"
"You cannot!" Comishvor shouted. "I am their sacrifice to their earthquake god!"
Jack looked frantically at Stephen as Comishvor was struck again. "What'll we do?"
The Jilectans completed their task of securing the pirate to the pole and stepped back, away from the pyre. The leader began to chant rhythmically, clapping his hands in time to the chanting. The others joined in and a line of Jilectan girls appeared suddenly from one of the huts. They were all clad in swinging grass skirts embroidered with flowers and leaves and their hair was bound back with leather thongs, also embroidered with flowers. They danced up to the firewood, genuflected before it, then rose and joined hands, singing sweetly and unintelligibly as they danced gracefully around the bound Jilectan.
"Look at their hair!" Jack whispered.
Stephen did, instantly noticing something strange. The girls' hair was uniformly darker than that of the standard Jilectan hue. Most Jilectans had blond or reddish hair, but these girls all sported locks of a light brown shade, very near the color of Jack's own. Why, he wondered. What did the hair color signify? Certainly it must mean something.
The dance was continuing, the girls swaying and singing, their long hair shimmering in the sunlight. One of them lifted a long stick from the pile of tinder and held it aloft. It smoked and then burst into flame. Comishvor screamed, a high, unnaturally thin sound that raised the short hairs on Stephen's neck. The other girls were also choosing sticks from the pile and lifting them upright. One by one they burst into flame.
"They're all pyros!" Jack whispered.
The first girl tossed her blazing brand on the piled tinder. The other dancers began to follow suit. Comishvor screamed again, struggling uselessly at his bonds. The flames fingered the dry stuff, spreading rapidly. Jack moaned softly, hiding his face in his hands. Stephen tightened his grip on the boy's arm.
And suddenly cried out in surprise as an odd sensation flowed through him. Queasiness seemed to grip him for an instant, and he felt oddly dizzy. One of the firebrands flickered out, the fire spreading from it dying quickly. Then another went out, then another. One by one they vanished, leaving blackened tinder behind, and smoke which twisted lazily upward into the still air.
Jack lifted his face, staring in disbelief at the sight. "It worked," he whispered incredulously.
Stephen turned to look at him. "You did that?"
Jack nodded, looking dazed. "I can put out fires," he whispered. "Little fires, like a match or somethin'. But nothin' this big. I've never done anythin' like this before."
The Jilectans' voices lifted in a wail of disappointment and anger. The girls stopped dancing and stared, bewildered, at the extinguished fires. The chief stepped past them, lifted a blackened piece of wood, fingered it, and let it fall. He issued a sharp command and two Jilectans went forward to yank the bonds from Comishvor, releasing him from the stake. The pirate was dragged, stumbling, from the pyre, shoved forward, and forced to his knees before the elderly leader and Red Braids. Red Braids spoke angrily and impressively, then waved a hand. The cage was carried forward by two Jilectans and placed before the boys. Stephen and Jack were herded into it once again and Comishvor was led forward and pushed roughly in after them. The cage closed and the door was once again bound shut by their captors. Red Braids issued another command and the girls vanished back into their hut. Another command and the rest of the tribe also vanished into huts, leaving only two on guard, one standing on either side of the cage.
Jack stooped over the slumped form of Comishvor. "Are you okay, M'lord?"
Comishvor lifted a bruised, bleeding face. "I am all right, Jack."
Stephen also bent over the Jilectan, weak with relief, but trying not to show it. "No burns, M'lord?"
"The fire never reached me." Comishvor was looking at Jack. "I do not know what happened. Someone nearby must have wanted me alive--someone with your ability, Jack, only with far greater power. Have you any idea who it was?"
Jack nodded. "It was me, sir."
"You?"
Jack nodded.
"You can hardly put out a candle, my psychic!"
"I...know. I don't know how I did it."
The Jilectan's brow furrowed. "Impossible! And yet..." He surveyed Jack searchingly.
"He had to do it, M'lord," Stephen told the alien, a bit smugly. "Terrans can do things when they're under pressure that they couldn't do under normal circumstances."
"Indeed. Yes, I have witnessed that before with Cornelius and Edwin." He turned back to Jack again and smiled. "I owe you my life, Jack, and I thank you."
Jack's flush became more pronounced. "It's okay," he mumbled.
"You voted earlier to have me killed. I did not believe you would even try to help me--not that you could."
"That was different," mumbled Jack. "You were against us then, and besides, they were gonna burn you. Killin' someone with a blaster's one thing. Burnin' 'em alive's somthin' else."
"Indeed. A most unpleasant death." Comishvor rubbed a hand across his face, smearing dirt through the blood and sweat. He examined his palm and grimaced.
"Who are these guys, M'lord?" Stephen asked. "Where are they from and how did they get here?"
"I do not know, Stephen." The Jilectan drew a large, richly embroidered handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. "Their language is incredibly primitive--the Jilectan native language certainly, but strangely distorted. I understand some of what they say, but there are great gaps in areas that I did not know existed. I have gleaned from what I have heard that they believe me to be from an enemy tribe--thus their anger and animosity toward me."
"What about me an' Steph?" Jack asked. "Why aren't they mean t'us?"
"I do not know for certain. Their attitude is most unusual. They must believe you harmless, since they have made no hostile moves toward you. I heard one of them say to the other that he believed you to be their god's messengers--something to do with Jack's hair color. The other thought you might be some new animal created by the god for their amusement. That was why I told you not to kneel. Your chances, and mine, will be better if you are believed to be the god's messenger, rather than animals."
"I see," Stephen said, slowly. "Any idea what's going on now? Why did they all go into their tents after Jack put out the fire?"
"I heard the chief's son tell them to pray for guidance. Perhaps they must go in their tents to do so--custom, most likely."
"What about Mr. White? Have you called him for help?"
The Jilectan's face hardened. "I did. But he refuses to come."
"What? Why?"
"Because when the quake struck, the female was injured. He refuses to leave her."
"My mother?" Stephen's heart dropped into his shoes.
"Yes."
"How bad is it?"
"A blow to the head, apparently from something falling. I am certain it is nothing, but he still refuses to leave her to assist us."
Jack's eyes met Stephen's own and the younger boy shrugged. There was no point in arguing, Stephen decided. If he'd been in White's place, he probably wouldn't have left, either.
"We must try to escape." Comishvor turned and gripped the bars of their prison, straining uselessly. The wooden bars gave not at all. The Jilectans posted to guard them glanced briefly at them, their expressions scornful.
Jack spoke quietly to the alien. "M'lord, I can probably untie the things with telekinesis, except that they'd see. Maybe tonight..."
"Tonight will most likely be too late." Comishvor sat back. "We must attempt something before then. Ah, Jack, if only you possessed Edwin's talent of illusion..."
"Look!" Jack whispered.
Stephen followed his gaze and saw the slight form of his sister standing on the edge of the clearing.
**********
(tbc)
