Symbiote: 9/10
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Alan awoke being lifted from the seat of the aircar. Mark boosted him out and slammed the door. The craft rose and moved quietly away on autopilot over the city.
"I can walk," Alan said. He raised his head with some difficulty. "Put me down."
Mark set him carefully on the pavement. "You sure?"
"Yeah." He closed his eyes briefly as the scenery tilted. They had come down in a deserted alley a couple of blocks from their motel, which was probably a good idea, he thought, since the sight of an official Patrol aircar landing in front of the Shady Inn would undoubtedly cause comment. He had a brief mental image of the entire staff and patronage of the hostelry departing precipitously out the back door, should such an event occur.
Mark clamped an arm around his shoulders. "Easy, kid. Lean on me."
Alan did. His knees felt like rubber and the ankle continued to twinge painfully whenever he put his weight on it. Linley, he noted, was no longer wearing the Patrol uniform, but was once more clad in his civilian clothing. The rain still fell.
Mark guided him down the street toward their motel. A beggar approached, whining, his hand outstretched but Mark waved him away and pushed open the door to the lobby, helping Alan through. The clerk glanced up from the desk and got to his feet. "What happened? Has there been an accident?"
"Kid got mugged," Mark said. "Couple o' guys jumped 'im an' beat 'im up."
"Oh, man!" The clerk started to come around the counter, but Linley waved him back.
"It's okay. I can manage; thanks."
The clerk hesitated. "All right; if you're sure ..."
"He'll be okay." Linley supported Alan up the stairs, pushed open the door to their room and kicked it shut behind them.
He helped Alan to the nearest cot and let him sit down. "Lie down, kid. You're bleedin'. I gotta patch you up a bit." He turned to dig through the supplies he had brought from the escape craft and produced the vessel's small first aid kit. He surveyed Alan disapprovingly. "Well, if you ain't gonna lay down, turn your head an' hold still."
Alan obeyed meekly and Mark began to dab antiseptic on the cuts. "Man! Those characters did a job on you! You shoulda let me finish off that last one. We don't need no more guys like that around than we can help."
"You saved my life," Alan said. He grinned shakily. "Again."
"Can it." Linley turned Alan's head to the side. "You gotta kinda deep one behind your ear. It's gonna need clips. Grit your teeth."
He obeyed, trying not to flinch as Mark applied the clips that would serve as stitches until the cut healed. "Okay, that does it. Howya feelin' now?"
"All right." Alan felt his left cheek experimentally. "Kind of sore."
"Yeah; no kiddin'. You wrenched that damned ankle again, too. I feltcha do it." Linley dug out the sprain wrap and applied it. "There, that'll take care of it."
"How did you find me?" Alan asked.
Linley sat down on the other cot and surveyed him thoughtfully. "Y'know, I really ain't sure. I just seemed t'know where t'go -- the way I did when I was trackin' you on Midgard. It was like you had a homin' beacon on you, or somethin'." He rubbed a thumb across the angle of his jaw. "It didn't occur t'me before how I *did* find you, then. You didn't leave much of a trail, y'know, but I *knew* which way you'd gone -- just like I did, this time."
"Really?"
"Yeah." Linley shook his head. "I can't figure it. I musta heardja holler for me half a dozen times, an' I kept seein' your face. When that character started beatin' on you, I felt every swat, too. We gotta link o' some kind goin': partnership, the psychics in the Terran Underground call it."
"Partnership? What do you mean?"
Linley sighed. "More o' my inadequate information on psychics. We don't spread the business about psychic partners much, but all the 'trols know about 'em. If you gotta psychic cornered, watch yourself -- 'specially if you think he might be from the Underground -- 'cause nine times outta ten he's got his partner with him, an' I'd rather face a mother saberclaw with a dozen cubs than a psychic defendin' his partner. There ain't nothin' more dangerous. They're supposed t'be psychically linked -- communicatin' telepathically all the time -- an' I believe it. That's how that little gal who seduced Lieutenant Kerrovitch got help so quick, I'll betcha anythin'." He paused for a moment, then resumed, "The Jils don't use partners. They communicate telepathically with each other, but it ain't a constant thing like it is with us Terrans."
"But -- you're not a psychic," Alan said. "Do Terran psychics link with non-psychics?"
"If they do, they been keepin' it a deep, dark secret." Linley shrugged. "'Course, it's always possible. If they can, it'd sure be a hell of an advantage for 'em. *I* dunno. I can't figure it out. All I know is what happened. You were callin' me the whole time, an' I heard you. How'dja get outta the paddy wagon? Unlock it with telekinesis?"
"Uh huh." Alan rubbed his cheek. "Took a lot of effort, though. Would have been easier with you there." A thought occurred to him. "What the dickens were you doing dressed up like a patrolman, anyhow?"
"Oh, that." Linley shrugged. "Well, I thought I was gonna hafta break you outta the clink an' I figured they'd hand you over to a 'trol without any backchat. Anyhow, that's the idea that hit me when I passed Wingle's Bar an' saw a Patrol lieutenant comin' out. I let him get into his car, and mugged him."
"You *what*?"
"Hell; there was no risk. Guy was totally sotted. I doubt if he knew what hit him."
"What did you do with him?" Alan inquired curiously.
"He probably woke up about twenty minutes ago. I took his clothes an' cuffed him with his own restrainers. Left him in his underwear in a back alley."
"What if a mugger finds him?"
Mark grinned. "He ain't got nothin' left t'steal. Somebody might kill him if they realize he's a 'trol, bein' as the general population don't care a whole lot for 'trols, but if he's got any sense at all, he won't tell nobody 'til he's safe. Guy's gonna be embarrassed, though. His underwear looked like they hadn't been washed in a week."
Alan started to laugh, and Mark joined in. "Good kid. You're lookin' better. Didja ever get anythin' to eat?"
He shook his head carefully. "The brawl started before they brought it. I'm feeling hungry again, now."
"Good. I know you're okay, then. Wanna go back, or shall we feast on marshhopper at the Shady Inn Café?"
"Let's go to the café." Alan sobered. "I think I was recognized at the bar. That little blond girl said something that made me wonder."
"What?" Linley took Alan's second-hand clothing from the closet. "Better change."
Alan started to unbutton his shirt, still moving gingerly. "She said, 'We've been looking for you.'" He removed the shirt, wincing at the twinges that shot through his shoulders.
Mark held a sleeve for him. "Pretty sore?"
"Sort of," Alan said. He flexed an arm.
"So, what did she say?"
"Uh --" Alan frowned. "She asked my name. I told her it was Smith and she said I was lying. Then she said she had to talk to me." He began to button the shirt. "Right about then, the fight started and we got separated."
Linley helped him pull off the drenched slacks and held the dry ones for him. "I wonder --"
"What?"
"Sounds almost like she mighta been an Underground agent. Wonder if you stumbled on one without knowin' it?"
"I was wondering about that, myself," Alan said. "Do we dare go back and find out?"
Linley considered and then shook his head. "Better not. Could be a set-up to trap us. She might be workin' for the Jils."
"That occurred to me, too." Alan bent to tie his shoes and gave a grunt of pain.
"I'll do it." Linley knelt beside him. "You're gonna be sore for a few days."
"Thanks." Alan extended the foot. "You know, Mark, you're the best friend I ever had."
"It's mutual." Linley stood up and extended a hand. "C'mon. I'll giveya a hand." He sniffed. "Man, your hair sure smells weird. Kinda like rotten fruit."
"Oh, I forgot. I hid in a pile of garbage after I got out of the paddy wagon. The rain must have washed me pretty good, though."
"You still got stuff in your hair. I can see it." Linley went into the bathroom and returned a moment later. "Hold still." He began to rub Alan's hair with a wet towel. "There; that got most of it. Comb it, and I think you'll be okay." He handed Alan his comb and returned the towel to the bathroom.
Alan struggled to untangle his hair with the instrument. "Think I'll wash it when we get back," he remarked. "A hot shower sounds pretty good, actually. Ouch!" He tugged at a particularly stubborn knot. "Man, I must have looked like a tramp when you found me. I don't know why those guys got the idea I was rich."
"You act like a high-class kid, that's how," Mark said. "You're always polite and your grammar's pretty near perfect -- 'specially for Shallock. Like a Jil's, if you don't mind the comparison. 'Sides, you had fifty-seven credits in your pocket. Nobody there runs around with that kinda loot on him -- not if he wants to stay outta trouble. You ready to go?"
Alan stood up. "Yes. Do I *really* sound like a Jil?"
"Yeah -- except for the Terran accent. It's a dead giveaway. Native Terrans never lose it, neither. I've known guys from Earth who've been away twenty years and more, but you could still hear that bloomin' accent loud an' clear."
"I didn't know that. Do you speak English?"
Linley made a face. "Kinda. I can make m'self understood, an' that's about all. Your Basic's damn near letter perfect, though. Where'dja learn it?"
"I took a year in tenth grade. It was a graduation requirement for my high school."
"An' that's *all*?" Mark shook his head. "Figures. You sure you're up to this? I can getcha somethin', y'know."
"I'm fine. Really."
"Well, okay, then."
They went slowly down the stairs, through the tiny lobby and into the coffee shop. The same Arcturian waiter was beside them at once, his cold, yellow eyes moving over Alan's face. "Zere iss trouble, sirss?"
"Kid got hisself mugged," Mark said. "He's okay, though."
The alien took Alan's free arm. "Ssit down, ssir. Iss zere anyzing I can do? You have only to assk."
"I know," Alan said. "Thanks."
"It iss nozzing," the waiter said. "You will find many nativess of Ceregon who feel zee ssame. You would like to order drinkss?"
**********
XI
Mark took a bite of marshhopper and settled back into his seat. "Man, whatta day! I'm ready for the sack --" He glanced up as the tall, dark-haired girl who had approached them the night before, appeared beside the table.
"Hi, handsome," she said.
"Hi," Linley said. He raised an eyebrow at Alan, who smiled faintly.
"Go ahead, Mark. I'll be okay."
Linley grinned broadly and turned back to the woman. "Sorry, baby, but we've had quite a day. We been through famine, fire an' flood, an' I just ain't up to any more excitement right now." He dug in his pocket and dropped a bill on the table. "Here you go. A little somethin' for rememberin' us."
She tucked the bill into her bosom. "You sure, handsome? I kin make you feel awful good." She looked at Alan. "You look like you've had a bad evenin, sweetie. I know how to make the hurts stop hurtin'."
Alan flushed. "No, thank you, miss."
She grinned and chucked him under the chin. "You got good manners, sweetie. I like that. Maybe another time, okay?"
"Maybe," Alan said, turning a deeper red. The girl smiled again and turned away.
"Take it easy," Mark said, trying not to grin. "She's just bein' friendly."
"Sure, I know." Alan rubbed his bruised face. "Gosh, I wish I wasn't so darned bashful. Girls scare me."
"You'll grow out of it. Drink some o' that wine. It'll make the hurts stop hurtin', too." Linley dug in his pocket. "Here; I forgot to give you these." He set Alan's wallet and chronometer on the table.
Alan picked them up. "Gosh! You got 'em back for me!"
"No problem. I figured the jerks had robbed you." Linley took a drink from his glass and made a face. "Yetch! This stuff ain't nothin' like the stuff at Lola's."
Alan agreed with him. "This is terrible. The Sepo brandy was better. Gosh, I'm tired."
"I'll bet. Hurry up and finish eatin'. I'm beat, too. A good night's sleep is just what we both need ..."
**********
Alan Westover came wide-awake with a start of fright. For a few moments he lay still, listening to the sound of the rain on the glass and trying to figure out what had awakened him.
He had been dreaming for some time -- tedious, vaguely unpleasant dreams that crystallized suddenly into the nightmare that jolted him to consciousness. There had been a face watching him -- golden blond hair and icy blue eyes that seemed to penetrate his very soul ...
He shook off the image, glancing at Mark who lay on the other cot, snoring lustily. All was still except for that sound and the patter of the rain.
With a sigh, Alan closed his eyes and turned over, trying to relax. It was silly to get shaken up over a dream, he told himself. Besides, Mark was right here, sound asleep, and not disturbed in the least. Everything was all right.
Everything was *not* all right! Although Alan couldn't explain how he knew, he was certain of it. Something was very wrong.
He turned over again, reaching out a cautious hand to touch Linley. He would try consciously to use his newfound powers and see if he could discover the source of the danger.
It happened at once, and very unexpectedly. A mind touched his. He saw again the face in his dream: blond hair, glowing like a halo, electric blue eyes and regular, delicate features. Unfriendliness radiated from it, and Alan knew at once that this was no Terran. It was the mind of a Jilectan, and the alien, although surprised, was also aware of him.
He jerked instinctively away, trying to block out that invading mind. For a second, the alien consciousness clung to his, and Alan sat up with a shout of panic. Then, somehow, the alien mind was fading. It was as if a barrier of some sort had suddenly been erected between them.
"Alan!" Mark was also sitting up, his big hands grasping Alan's shoulders. "Wake up! You're dreamin'!"
Alan shook his head frantically. "No! I'm not dreaming! There's a Jil out there, looking for us!"
"*What*?" Linley's grip tightened crushingly. "Holy hell!"
"I touched his mind," Alan said. His voice was shaking and he steadied it forcibly. "He's tracing us through *me*!"
Linley swore unimaginatively and scrambled from his cot, beginning to yank on his clothes. Alan did the same, suppressing an involuntary gasp as sore muscles protested. Linley glanced at him.
"Do your best. I'll help you in a minute."
He obeyed, wiggling into his breeches, and Mark was there an instant later, thrusting his arms unceremoniously into the sleeves of his shirt. The Jilectan's mind was still there, now only a fuzzy image through the barrier, but growing nearer.
"He's closer," Alan said.
Linley swore under his breath and clamped an arm around him. "Let's go!"
"Mark, my other shoe --"
Linley grabbed it and hurried him through the door, his shirt still unbuttoned, shoe in one hand. They went as rapidly as possible down the back stairs, which ended in a locked door. Mark drew his blaster, flipped it to needle beam and fired. The lock gave, with a faint hiss, and the door opened. They emerged into a littered alley. Something shot past Alan's foot with an alarmed squeal.
"Hold it a sec." Linley bent, thrusting the shoe onto Alan's bare foot. Alan hardly noticed. Through the barrier came once more the aura of the Jilectan, and this time he was able to pinpoint a direction.
"North!"
"Huh?"
"He's coming from the north!"
"Okay. This way." Linley led him down the alley to an intersecting pathway and turned south. Rain spattered on them, and wet garbage made their progress more difficult. Four dark shapes materialized from an alley on their left. Alan caught the dull glint of a blaster in the rainy darkness.
The reaction was instinctive, now. He grabbed for the weapon with his mind and felt it twist from the man's hands.
There was a startled shout. Mark's blaster hummed softly and one of the dark forms pitched forward to sprawl on the broken pavement. The others turned and fled. Alan felt Linley's hand tugging on his elbow. "This way."
Alan ran unevenly beside him, tucking the confiscated blaster into his belt. It was, he saw, Patrol issue. Black market, no doubt.
Linley turned down another street, moving at a half-trot. Alan stumbled clumsily along, his legs beginning to weave slightly. The former Strike Commander seemed to know the streets perfectly, for he led them in a swift, zigzag course, always managing to keep them bearing south. Alan slipped finally, half-falling against a lamppost, and Mark clamped an arm around him, dragging him on.
"Sorry. We gotta keep movin'."
"Yeah." Alan grasped his arm, staggering on.
Linley turned them down another alley, then onto a dimly lighted street. "I know these haunts pretty well. Damn! Ain't there *any* cars around? This place is even worse now than it was when I was a kid. Back then, you could always find some sorta heap to swipe if things got tight --"
Alan was too winded to answer. The mind of the Jilectan hovered near, searching. He tried to pull away and felt the alien sense him. The other mind touched his and he shrank away from it with a gasp. Mark glanced quickly at him. "Try to shut him out! Shield yourself!"
"I'm trying!" Once again, he felt the mental barrier thicken between them. The Jilectan's mind faded and began to drift away.
His shin collided with something hard and metallic. There was a noisy crash and a trash barrel went careening to one side, strewing garbage as it went. Linley swore.
"Sorry. I shoulda been watchin'. This way."
Alan followed blindly, still striving to strengthen his newly discovered shielding. His barrier firmed perceptibly and the other mind drew further away. The alien was no longer sure of his direction, for Alan sensed faintly his anger and uncertainty.
"It's working!" he gasped.
"What?"
"The shielding! I've blocked him out -- partly, anyway."
"Good!" Mark gave him a strained grin. "I ain't surprised, though. You're one helluva psychic. Even the Jils hafta have trainin' to shield."
"Really?"
"Yeah." Linley led him across a deserted street and down another alley. They were gaining now. He was sure of it. The Jilectan was falling back, his course far less certain than it had been before.
Suddenly, Mark stopped so abruptly that Alan almost fell again. "Damn!"
He saw it, then -- the lights of an aircar, perhaps half a kilometer away. A searchlight played over the broken buildings and littered streets.
"Patrol," Linley said. "The Jil musta sent 'em on ahead. They're lookin' for us."
"We're gaining on the Jil," Alan told him quickly, "but won't they be able to spot us with their sensors?"
"Nah." Linley pressed him back in the shadow of a crumbling building. "Too many thugs an' sots runnin' around in this stuff for 'em to tell who's who. We keep outta the searchlights, we'll be okay." He peered out at the circling aircar. "Damn that guy! He's right in our path. Let's try this way. There oughtta be a hole in the fence -- least there was when I was a kid. Maybe it's still there."
It was still there, all right. Linley let him go through first and followed, barely ducking in order to negotiate the gap. "It's bigger than when I was a kid. This whole area's condemned. Has been for years. They ain't never got around to tearin' it down, though -- probably never will, if you ask me. That way, now."
They ran down another littered alley. Shadowy forms, human and otherwise, skittered from their path. The rain continued to drift downward, a light mist now, but enough to make their clothing cling uncomfortably to their bodies. Linley cussed under his breath as another aircar appeared across the looming buildings. Searchlights played over the streets.
"Back!" Mark pulled him behind an overflowing trash barrel. Something scurried across his legs and in the dimness, he recognized the hairless body of a trenchcrawler. Mark brushed the thing away absently. "Quiet."
He obeyed, Mark's shoulder crushing him painfully into the broken pavement. The aircar passed almost directly overhead, the search beam sweeping by centimeters from their crouched forms. Other forms skittered away from the lights.
The aircar vanished again over the wall of buildings to the north and Mark stirred, getting to his feet.
"Sorry. You okay?"
"Sure." Alan rose gingerly to his feet. "Where are we?"
"South side o' Knitsmye. My gang ran through Scaifen, but we made an occasional jaunt through this neck o' the woods, too. I been all through these alleys. How's the Jil doin'? He still hangin' back there?"
Alan nodded. "I'm still picking him up off and on. My shielding's not perfect by a long shot."
Linley's teeth flashed in a white grin. "You're blockin' out a Jil. You may not be perfect, but you're pretty good if you can do that!" He glanced at his chronometer and swore.
"What?"
"It'll be light in about an hour. If we can't shake him by then, we're done for. Can you drop your shields a second? Check his location?"
Alan didn't want to. "I think he's still north. I don't like it when he touches my mind."
"I know, but we gotta know for sure."
"All right." Very reluctantly, Alan let the barrier relax. Instantly, he sensed a mind and suppressed a start of panic. This mind was much closer, and in a totally different direction. Another Jil? Two sent to track him, closing in on them?
An instant later, he knew he was wrong. The second mind was not that of a Jilectan. The sensation was completely different, and he felt the new contact's start of awareness. The other was also sensing him, and for just a second, his own name rang in his mind. *Alan!*
The Jilectan's consciousness touched him and instinctively, the barrier snapped up again, shutting out both minds.
Linley was watching him alertly. "Well?"
"Somebody's out there -- a Terran, I think. It must be, because it was a psychic, and it sure wasn't a Jilectan!"
Linley's hand contracted on his upper arm. "Undergrounder! They're lookin' for us! Where is he?"
"Ahead, I think. I didn't have time to pinpoint his direction. The Jil's still out there, too."
"Yeah." Mark chewed his lower lip. "Better risk it. Try'n find out who he is, an' make sure o' your direction. Might be our only chance."
"All right." Very cautiously, Alan lowered his shielding again. Instantly, he felt the touch of the Terran mind, and again the mental voice rang loudly through his brain.
*Alan!*
*Who are you?* he demanded.
*Terran Underground! You've got a Jil after you. Come toward me. Hurry!*
*I'll try.* Alan raised his shielding again as the Jilectan mind touched him, sending a shiver down his spine. The alien was closer now, and even through his shielding, Alan could sense the eager quiver of the hunter's consciousness. The Jilectan hated him for what he was: an inferior creature daring to aspire to the power of the overlords.
"South," Alan said. "And a little to the east. Hurry. The Jil's getting closer again."
"Right." Mark led him down the alley, staying close to the walls. Another aircar hummed past to their right, and they turned left down a broken, filthy street. The place reeked, and slumped forms lay against buildings. Far away, he heard a hoarse scream. Alan shuddered, thankful for Mark's large, solid figure beside him.
More aircars appeared ahead of them, their lights glowing dimly through the rain. Linley pulled him into a recessed doorway, cursing as he stumbled over a sprawled figure. The man stirred and moaned. A bottle clinked against the pavement.
The aircar drifted leisurely by overhead, its lights sweeping the darkness. They waited until it was well down the street and then went on. Alan noted with dismay that the sky to the east was beginning to lighten slightly with the faintest hint of dawn.
Their progress was maddeningly slow. Linley swore as another aircar appeared over the buildings to their left, and again they hid. Alan hoped fervently that the Terran psychic would stay in one place. If he moved, they would lose direction and have to relocate, which meant exposing his mind to the Jil again. He must try to tell the unknown psychic that. Very cautiously, he lowered his shielding again. *Hello?*
The response was instantaneous. *Yeah?*
*Don't move. Let us come to you.*
*I have to move.* Again, that instant reply. *There's 'trols everywhere, looking for you, and that damned Jil's sensed me, too. Put up your shielding. Only lower it if you need to locate me.*
Alan obeyed. "He's moved a little. More to the east. He's dodging aircars, too."
"Okay." Linley nodded. "Guide me as best you can." He stepped from the doorway, and they ran, again.
They crossed another street, still bearing southeast, and slipped down another, much smaller alley. Two crouching figures slunk away into the dimness as they emerged into a dingy thoroughfare lined with broken streetlights. It was still very dark, the rain growing heavier again and pattering loudly around them, but to the east, the faint light was growing, taking on a pale, rose hue. Dawn wasn't far away.
An aircar hummed past to the west. Alan lowered his shielding for an instant to get his direction and had to stifle a cry of alarm. The strong, psychic aura of the Jilectan was much nearer, and so was the aura of the Terran psychic. They were slightly off course again, and Alan altered their direction once more to the east.
"How much farther?" Mark whispered.
"He's close. Both of 'em are close."
Linley muttered under his breath and turned down another alley. A figure appeared at the end of the narrow passage, emerging from an adjoining alley, and Alan knew an instant's recognition. "It's him!"
The Terran psychic came toward them at a run. He was short and slim, and moved as quietly as a cat. Alan caught a vague impression of dark hair and eyes, and a young, impish face.
"Over here!" The words were barely audible through the sound of the rain.
They went with him down the alley to the junction from which he had emerged. The psychic was speaking again. "I'm Eric Vogleman, Terran Underground. My partner's coming. She'll be here in a few minutes. Alan, tighten your shielding!"
"I'm trying!" Alan whispered. "I don't know how!"
The boy's eyes widened. "What do you mean, you don't know how? You've got shielding! I felt you use it while I was trying to trace you. Where the devil did you learn it?"
"He learned it himself," Mark said, rather smugly. "Just about two hours ago."
"Huh?" Eric glanced at Alan. "I'll be damned! I *told* 'em you were the best we'd ever come across! Watch it! He's a lot closer!"
Alan could sense the mind of the approaching Jilectan vividly as he drew nearer. "Here he comes!"
A blaster cracked from the adjoining alley. Eric Vogleman returned the fire, scrambling for cover behind a heap of overflowing trashcans. Alan and Mark followed, and from the entrance of the alley through which they had just come, appeared a tall, dark silhouette, surrounded by many smaller figures.
Linley fired, and somebody screamed. The Jilectan and his bodyguard ducked sideways, scrambling for cover.
They were surrounded. Alan scrunched back against the wall, glancing up as the hum of an aircar reached him. A projection from the building partially shielded them from aerial attack, but it looked pitifully inadequate. A blaster cracked, and the beam struck one of the trash containers before him. There was an angry hiss and the smell of burned garbage filled the air. Mark returned the fire, pressing Alan back with one hand. Another blaster cracked, and then two more.
"Where the hell's your partner, kid?" Mark demanded, through clenched teeth.
"She's coming, Strike Commander. Just hang on!" Eric ducked back as an aircar passed overhead. There was the reverberating hum of a stunbolt.
They were partially protected by the overhanging ledge, but the beam passed close. Eric was caught by the edge and slumped sideways without a sound. Mark pressed Alan back farther.
"Remember what I said. Don't let 'em take us alive."
Alan swallowed. "I won't."
There was the sound of another blaster shot and Linley returned the fire. Then, from somewhere, came a sharp command and the blaster bolts changed abruptly to stunbolts.
They were done for. Alan knew it and so did the Jilectan. Stunbeams would be used now, to disable the fugitives so they could be brought in alive for interrogation and public execution. Mark's eyes met his in the darkness, and Alan felt the sudden, desperate need to protect the Strike Commander, exactly as he had felt it days ago on Midgard when he had stayed to defend him instead of making his escape into the forest. Somehow, he must protect Mark from the wrath of the Jilectans. He could not let his friend and partner die.
But there was really nothing he could do with Linley's big arm crushing him back behind the trash barrels. Stunbeams hissed by and Mark gave a silent gasp, slumping forward. Suddenly freed, Alan scrambled to his knees, blaster leveled.
He was alone. Mark lay still on the ground and Eric moaned feebly, trying to lift his head. The dark figures of the patrolmen approached.
Alan flipped his weapon to emergency maximum. He had seen what the setting had done to the pit monster back on Midgard. Gritting his teeth, he popped up from behind his cover. A stunbeam hissed by, close enough to lift the hair on his head as he pulled the trigger.
The energy cell of the blaster gave up its charge in one terrific burst of flame. The foremost patrolmen vanished and the ones flanking them turned and ran with screams of pain. Alan sensed their distress and forced himself to ignore it. Mark was in danger, and that was all that mattered. The same instinct that had forced him against all logic, to save Strike Commander Linley from the attacking dinosaur days ago on Midgard was operating now at full strength -- the compulsion of a psychic to protect his partner at all costs. Alan dropped the exhausted blaster and yanked the other from his belt, flipping it to kill.
There were agonized moans from the darkened forms in the alley. Someone was screaming thinly. Somehow, he could feel the injured man's pain within himself. Alan pushed the feeling away with his half-developed shielding. Now was not the time to start feeling sorry for his enemies!
A loudspeaker boomed suddenly. "Alan Westover, you are ordered to surrender at once! I am Lord Linthvar, speaking in the name of His Highness, the Viceroy! You will cease this foolish resistance at once!"
Fury welled up within him. The sheer injustice of all that had happened to him seemed to rush over him in an overpowering wave. It was all *their* fault! If the Jilectans had just kept their noses out of it, *none* of this would have happened! He gripped the blaster, shouting his reply as loudly as he could.
"You go to hell, Jil! If you or your flunkies try to come near me, I'll blow you to bits!"
Eric was stirring weakly, trying to rise. A voice spoke suddenly in Alan's mind, so loud and clear that he jumped.
*I'm coming, Eric!*
Linthvar was speaking again.
"Lieutenant, you are ordered to capture them! Go!"
"But, sir, you heard what he said --"
"Go, Lieutenant!"
"I wouldn't do it if I were you, Lieutenant!" Alan shouted.
There was a pause. Then, very cautiously, figures detached themselves from the walls of both alleyways and came toward him at a trot.
Double attack, Alan thought. No doubt they thought him unable to handle it. Unhesitating, he flipped the blaster he held to emergency overload and threw it with all his strength at the approaching forms on his right. Mark's weapon was in his hand almost before he thought, and an instant later was flying toward the figures on his left. Alan threw himself down, covering Mark's body with his own.
The two blasters exploded split seconds apart. The concussions tipped the trash barrels over, and rotting garbage spilled on top of him. His ears rang. Bits of trash and clouds of dust filled the air.
"M'lord!" It was the voice of a Terran. "Holy space; he got him! Ollie, bring the med kit! Hurry!"
Alan pushed trash aside and rose to his knees, fumbling for Eric's blaster. Overhead, there was the sound of blaster fire, and he ducked back as another stunbeam hissed by. Flashes of light illuminated the misty darkness above and looking up, Alan realized that several of the Patrol aircars were apparently attacking their fellows. He stared in amazement for a moment and then pulled back as one of the vehicles went past, flying low. A blaster cracked from somewhere down the alley and he felt the beam singe his cheek. Again, he tried to reach for Eric's blaster.
His movements seemed oddly slow and uncoordinated. He fumbled through a pile of slimy fruit peels, but a grey mist was dropping over his eyes. Everything slipped into slow motion and the hum of the aircars faded away.
**********
tbc
