The Mines of Kuloghi: 6/11
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
X
The two-man scout craft skimmed low over the burning sands. Julia Austell strained her eyes, trying to make out the tiny spark glinting red in the light of the rising sun. Kuloghi's star was only just over the horizon and already it was scorchingly hot. Mark Linley reached out to turn up the little craft's air conditioning system.
They had been searching for a long time. Julia glanced at her chronometer. Almost six hours now, and still no results.
It was a large continent. They had chosen this location to search first because of the impression of sand in Mark's mind contact with his partner. This was the largest of four deserts on the planet, covering most of the continent, and bounded on three sides by low, rocky mountains.
Julia glanced at Mark, seated at the controls of the tiny scout. His face was grim and set. He had not slept in the entire seventeen hours in the ship, although she knew he had had no rest for eighteen hours before that, but no sign of fatigue showed on his features.
Julia knew, in theory, the closeness of the psychic bond, but she had never before realized the degree of attachment that must exist between Mark and his young partner to send him searching doggedly hour after hour with no sign of flagging. Alan was in trouble somewhere on this world, and it was obvious that Mark intended to find him if he had to comb the entire planet to do so.
Because of the probability that Alan was in the hands of the Patrol, Linley wore the uniform of a viceregal patrolman -- a sergeant to be exact -- generally a safe position, relatively speaking. It was a position that carried enough rank to inspire respect and not enough to stand out. The likelihood was that Linley would have to infiltrate the ranks of Patrol ground forces somewhere on the planet in order to rescue his partner.
The glint of light came again, and Julia bent over the scanner. It was metal, all right, and stationary. It could be a ship. She touched Linley's arm.
"Mark, there's something to the north. It might be Alan's ship."
He glanced at the scanner. "Let's go check it out."
The little craft gained altitude, and Mark headed them toward the object with extreme caution.
Minutes passed. The shape on the screen grew clearer and began to assume a familiar outline. Mark didn't speak as he brought them to a stop beside the crumpled wreck. He looked at it for several seconds and Julia saw a muscle in his cheek jerk convulsively.
"Is it his?" she asked. "Somehow it doesn't seem --"
"It's his." Mark climbed from the seat and reached into the storage compartment for a coil of rope.
Julia got out after him. She didn't look at his face. "How are we going to get up?"
"You're takin' the elevator." Linley clasped his hands together for her foot. Julia stepped into his palms and he hoisted her upward. She scrambled through the hatch and stood up, biting her lip at the havoc within.
"Catch," Mark said, and threw the rope upward. Julia got it on the second try and secured it to a metal ring inside the airlock. Mark swarmed up the rope hand over hand and was beside her in seconds. He pushed past her, stepping through the airlock into the main body of the craft.
The ship had been looted. That much was clearly evident to Julia, even allowing for the destruction caused by the crash. She paused, making a face.
"It smells, she said.
"Yeah," Mark said. "And I think I know what it smells of. You stay here." He picked his way forward into the control room. Julia heard a muffled swear word, and the door closed sharply behind him.
"What is it?" she called.
"Stay there." His voice was grim.
"Alan isn't --"
"Of course not!" he snapped back.
Julia stood still by the passenger seats. There were four of them, two on either side of the door. The ship had come to rest upside down, and, from one of the seats, safety webbing dangled limply. Looking down, Julia saw brown stains on the bulkhead where she stood. Blood, and a lot of it. And lying beside her foot was a chronometer. She picked it up, turning it over. It was broken, the crystal of the face smeared with blood, the readout dead. "Mark!"
"Just a moment." His voice was muffled. She heard the soft beeping sound of the safety erase on the computer being deactivated. The doors slid open and he stepped quickly through, closing them behind him. His face was expressionless, but the muscle in his cheek was jumping. Mutely, she handed him the chronometer. He turned it over and she saw his jaw clench.
"Alan's." It was not a question.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
He nodded, indicating the inscription engraved on the back. ADW from MSL. "Alan David Westover from Mark Steven Linley. I gave him this for his twentieth birthday. It's his, all right." Linley's big fist closed over it. "Where was it?"
Julia pointed. Mark looked at the blood-spattered metal and the muscle in his cheek jumped again. "Blood. He musta been hurt bad. C'mon."
He led the way to the airlock. "The log was busted, but I got the disk. We'll play it in the scout."
"Pete and Doug?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"Dead. C'mon, Jul, there's nothin' we can do here."
They went down the rope and back to the scout craft. Mark inserted the disk in their recorder and activated it.
"Scanning for ships." It was Doug's voice. "None within range. "Closer?"
Somebody coughed and there was a soft click. "What on Earth --" It was Alan's voice. Julia saw the muscle in Linley's cheek begin to jerk rhythmically.
"What's the matter?" Pete's voice asked.
"Sh!"
Silence again, except for the background purr of engines. Then Alan's voice, barely audible: "I'm picking up something. Take us closer."
"We could be spotted, Alan. With all this Patrol activity, they've got to be up to something. There's probably scanners on the surface."
A hesitation, and then Alan's voice again. "We've got to risk it. Whatever this is, it's important."
"All right. Pete, you keep a sharp lookout."
"Yessir."
The conversation ceased. Someone whistled softly between his teeth.
Alan's voice again, very faintly.
"There's something down there. Power. Tremendous power --"
Silence again. The whistling stopped.
"Watch it!" Julia jumped at Doug's sudden exclamation. Somebody choked and began to cough.
"Are you all right, sir?" Pete sounded slightly alarmed. "Sir?"
"I'm okay." Alan sounded a little dazed. A pause. "Thanks."
"What happened?" Doug's voice asked.
"I think we're onto something here," Alan's voice answered. "There's an energy source down there -- psychic energy of some kind. Awfully strong stuff. I was trying to probe it and nearly overloaded."
A shrill beeping sounded in the background and Mark's big fist clenched.
"A ship!" Pete's voice exclaimed.
"Interceptor!" Doug snapped. "Go strap in! Hurry!"
More movement.
"Strap in!" Pete's voice ordered.
"Weapons computer on," Doug's voice said. "Let's get the hell out of here!"
"Blasters firing," Pete's voice responded. "Damn! Missed!"
More movement and a noise of impact. Blasters fired again. A rending crack and the whine of engines rose to a scream.
"Hell!" It was Doug's voice. "That does it!"
Far away, over the racket, they heard the sound of blasters once more, and then Pete's voice. "Got him!"
"Can't hold her!" Doug shouted. "This is going to be rough!"
"Impact in twelve seconds!" Pete shouted. "Hold on!"
There was a tearing, crunching sound, crashes and confusion, and in the background, Alan's voice, shouting Mark's name.
Then silence.
Mark flipped off the recorder and they were quiet for a long moment. Then Linley climbed slowly from the scout craft.
"Where are you going?" Julia asked, not looking at him.
"T'finish the job." Mark strode over to the rope and disappeared into the airlock. Two minutes later he was back, dropping the distance to the sand without difficulty. He trotted over to the scout craft and climbed in.
"She'll go up in five minutes. Let's get outta here."
He took the controls and the craft moved away toward the north. Julia was silent for several minutes before she spoke. "Where do you suppose he is now?"
"Somewhere within a radius of about two thousand kilometers." Mark's face looked like a thundercloud. The scout skimmed over the sands and behind them there was a flash, followed a few seconds later by a muffled "boom".
Another hour dragged by, and they found nothing. Julia sighed wearily. "How much more of this is there, anyway?"
"A lot," Mark said. "But we gotta keep lookin' --" The craft veered sideways suddenly and they came to a sudden halt, the scout's nose buried in a sand dune. Julia's safety webbing saved her from being thrown, but she was shaken a good deal. She sat up, pushing hair from her eyes, and turned reproachfully toward her companion.
"What the dickens are you --" She stopped.
Mark's face was still, his eyes closed, his mouth a hard, grim line. As she watched, one hand moved convulsively, opened and closed. Then both fists clenched, knuckles white, and his face became livid.
"Mark, what is it?"
Linley didn't answer, and the expression on his face frightened her. She had never seen him look like that before, and all at once he reminded her very much of what he had once been: Strike Commander Linley, of the Viceregal Patrol.
She saw the muscles in his arms knot. His jaw clenched.
"Mark!" she whispered faintly. "Good lord, Mark, what is it?"
His eyes opened, and they were blazing. "That bastard!" he whispered savagely. "That bloody bastard!"
"Mark --"
"By God, he's gonna pay!" Mark jerked around and backed the craft violently out of the sand dune. Big hands clenched on the controls, he headed it northeast in a beeline across the burning sands.
XI
Minutes went by and Julia sat quiet on the seat beside him. Mark didn't speak, and she glanced at him in awe. This was a new side of the man -- a side she had never seen before. It frightened her but, oddly enough, it intrigued her as well.
"Mark?" Julia was surprised at her voice. She sounded like a little girl. She cleared her throat, trying to overcome that infuriating meekness. "What did you see?"
Mark's voice was still angry, but now the anger was under control. He didn't glance at her as he replied.
"I saw Alan." He stopped, and the muscle twitched in his cheek. "And I saw a Patrol sergeant. I saw him close up, right through Alan's eyes. By God, I'm gonna kill that jackal with my bare hands!"
"Who was he?" Julia whispered.
"Some damned pretty boy with a heavy hand and his own little toy shocker to play with." Linley stopped short, clenching his jaw until the muscles stood out. "That poor kid!"
"Is he all right?"
"He's still alive," Mark said, "but he ain't all right by a long shot."
"Do you know where he is?"
He nodded. "That was a strong link. Alan was always good at givin' direction if I was anywhere nearby."
Julia was silent a long moment. "How far is it?"
"Not far."
An hour passed. Mountains loomed up in the distance, a faint line on the horizon. It was almost midday of Kuloghi's short rotational period and the sun beat down. Julia leaned forward suddenly. "I'm picking up a ground vehicle." She pointed. "It's skirting the crags over there."
Mark glanced over. "Goin' at a pretty good clip, too. How far away?"
Julia studied the display. "About fifteen kilometers. Awfully irregular course. He's after something, I'd say."
"Or someone," Mark said.
Julia's head came up. "Maybe Alan's escaped!"
"Not likely," Mark said., "but maybe we'd better check on it, anyway."
"It's big," Julia said, watching the screen. "A truck of some kind. It must be connected with the Patrol activity. The natives of this world sure don't have anything like it."
"That's for sure." Mark slowed their approach, bringing them in at an angle so as not to be seen from the vehicle. "Closin'. Keep a sharp lookout."
"I am." Julia checked the scanners. "He seems to be alone."
"Should be able t'see him in a minute."
They were approaching the mountains which rose, a sheer cliff, from the desert sands. Black granite, they looked sharp and bleak against the hot, blue sky. Mark maneuvered the craft as close as he could to the rocky wall.
"There he is," Julia said.
"That's a Viceregal Prisoner Transport," Mark said. "They're used in the case of a large number of prisoners -- like in a riot, or somethin'. I wonder what they're doin' with it on this world?"
"He's stopping," Julia said. "I see the runner. He's heading up the side of the cliff."
Mark guided their craft up and settled it in a gully above the fleeing man. They climbed out and started across the tumbled rocks on an intercept course.
"Here he comes," Julia whispered.
They saw the quarry, heading toward them, and ten meters behind him, the pursuing patrolmen. Mark glanced at Julia.
"Poor devil. He's had it. Shall we step in, m'dear?"
"Of course. Any enemy of the Viceregal Patrol is a friend of mine."
The runner went past. Clear in the hot still air, they could hear his panting breaths as he scaled the rocky cliff and ran, staggering, up a steep slope. Concealed behind their rock, Mark and Julia waited until the patrolmen had passed also, closing the distance between themselves and their quarry. The exhausted runner came up against a sheer cliff and stopped, turning his head right and left, seeking escape. The patrolmen approached at a leisurely pace, not even drawing their blasters.
"Cool it, Twinkletoes. You've run as far as you can. Now be a good boy and don't give us any more trouble."
"Okay." Mark spoke quietly to Julia. "I'm gonna crash the party. Stay here and cover me."
The runner was trying to climb the sheer wall. His hands slipped and he slid back. The patrolman approached.
Linley stepped from behind the rock, blaster in hand. The weapon spoke twice.
At the crack of the bolts, the fugitive spun, flattening himself against the rock wall and staring at the prone bodies in wide-eyed amazement. Mark walked over to the men and bent, removing the blasters from their belts.
"It's okay, bud," he said. "You're free to go as soon as you've answered a few questions." He handed a blaster to Julia, who had come up beside him. "C'mon, honey, let's escort our little friend back to the scout an' get outta here."
Julia stared at the bodies. "I thought you'd just stun them."
Mark looked at her steadily. "When Alan's safe, I'll start bein' nice again." He removed his helmet and strode toward the fugitive. "Take it easy, kiddo."
The native stared at them with round, frightened eyes. His small, lithe body was clad only in a loin cloth, his skin a brownish grey, and his hair was a mass of dark curls, now thickly coated with dust and sweat.
"Maybe he doesn't understand Basic," Julia suggested.
"Maybe." Linley regarded the native thoughtfully. "But I think he does. He's just scared of us. C'mon, fella, we ain't gonna hurtcha."
The native tried to go up the wall again, lost his hold and slid back. Slowly, he crumpled to his knees at Mark's feet.
Linley knelt beside him, offering him a drink. "Here, kiddo. Take it easy. We're friends."
The native caught the canteen and gulped, paused for breath and tilted it up again. Mark allowed him another swallow and then drew the container away.
"Easy, bud, I don't wantcha pukin' all over the place. C'mon, Jul, let's get outta here before anybody shows up to ask questions." He took the native's arm, lifting him upright. "Get his other arm. Kid's out on his feet."
They reached the scout craft again and placed the mystified native between them. Mark turned to look at him. "Do you speak Basic?"
The native cowered away from him, eyes averted. Julia rested a hand on his arm. "It's all right. He's not a patrolman."
The man's gaze focused on her and abruptly he went limp, half-sobbing with relief.
"C'mon, kid," Mark said. "D'you speak Basic?"
The native nodded slowly.
"Good. Now we're getting' somewhere. What's your name?"
"Dalik." His voice was a whisper.
"Howdy, Dalik. I'm Mark and that's Julia."
Dalik nodded again, his expression more puzzled than ever. His gaze flickered to Linley's uniform.
"Okay, I know I look like a 'trol, but I'm not. Now, I gotta few questions. First, why was the Patrol after you?"
The native hunched small in the seat. "I have gotted away from them."
Mark looked disgusted. "Yeah, we figured that. Why did they want you in the first place?"
"For a slave."
"For a slave?" Julia repeated. "Why do they need slaves on this world?"
"To work in the mines," Dalik said.
"Why don't they use their minin' machinery?" Mark asked, reasonably. "Nobody uses slave labor anymore 'cept in penal colonies."
The native stared at him, uncomprehending.
"What are they mining?" Julia asked, after a moment.
An eloquent shrug. Mark glanced at Julia and then back at the native. "How long have they been after you?"
Dalik looked at the uniform. "Since the middle of the night."
Julia frowned, glancing at her chronometer. "Good heavens! That's at least six hours!"
"That don't ring true, buster," Mark said, bluntly. "The Patrol wouldn't chase a man that long without a good reason. Why were they really after you?"
Dalik's eyes widened and then fell. "I -- I --"
"C'mon, kiddo. The truth."
"I -- I hurted one of the Peassa Patrollers when I gets away. I bashes him in the mouth and breaks his tooth. I -- I thinks it is their leader."
Julia laughed and Mark grinned. "Ah, that would make a difference." He started the engine and brought them slowly down from the mountain ridge, heading northeast once more along the cliff. "How'd you get loose in the first place, Dalik? Sounds like somebody was pretty careless."
Dalik shook his head. "My friend and me, we was tied up in the truck. My friend, he is very smart. He gets me loose, but there is no time for me to help him. He is hurt so bad he cannot run good, anyway, so he tells me to get away if I can. They takes him out, but when they tries to drag me out, too, I hits their leader and gets away. Then I runs and hides and runs some more. Then they nearly catches me, and you comes."
"Dalik," Julia said, "we're looking for someone. His name is Alan. Maybe you've seen him. He was taken by the Patrol, too."
Dalik shook his head.
"He's about your size," Mark said. "Dark hair, green eyes, a scar on his left cheek -- dressed in a grey flight suit, kind of like Julia's."
Dalik was staring at him. "Why do you want him?"
"He's our friend," Julia said. "His ship was wrecked on your world."
"Issa wizard?"
"What?" Julia asked, blankly.
"A wizard. He moves things without touching them."
The craft swerved as the driver reacted.
"That's right!" Julia said, eagerly. "Where is he?"
The native was frowning, looking at Mark's uniform again. "He does not tell me his name."
"Listen," Mark said, "there can't be more than one little green-eyed wizard on this planet. It's gotta be Alan. What do you know about him?"
No reply. Dalik was silent, hunching low in the seat.
"He wasn't by any chance your 'smart' friend who helped you escape, was he?" Mark asked suddenly. Dalik was very still, eyes on the windshield.
"C'mon, kiddo, spill!"
Dalik made a lunge for the door.
"What th --" Mark grabbed the native as he yanked on the handle. "What the devil's wrong with you?"
"You lied to me!" Dalik fought furiously. "You *is* the Peassa Patrollers! That is the station ahead!"
Julia helped Linley pin down the writhing native. Mark got Dalik's arms behind him and turned their craft with his other hand toward the rocky mountainside.
"Look, you little jerk!" he snapped. "Do you think we'd shoot our own men, helpin' you if we were the Patrol? You just cool down while I find a place to hide us!"
With some difficulty, he settled the craft on a ridge, partway up the mountainside, half-covered by an overhang of rock, and cut the engine. Then he turned to Dalik, still holding the native's wrists behind him with one hand.
"Now listen. We're not patrolmen. We're here to find Alan and get him away from the Patrol, if they have him. You've seen him -- that much is pretty clear. Now I want the whole story. All of it. You tell it from the beginnin', an' don't leave anythin' out, or I'll know it. Got me? After that, you're free t'go."
For a long moment Dalik stared at Mark and then he appeared to wilt.
"Okay," he said in a low voice. "I gets it. I will tell you."
Julia stared at Mark with admiration. His voice wasn't brutal, or even mildly threatening, but the tone was one that commanded respect and obedience. Strike Commander Linley, she thought again.
Slowly, Linley released the native's wrists. Dalik rubbed them a moment, looking at the floor of the craft. "You will not hurt Alan when you finds him?"
"We're Alan's friends, Dalik," Julia said. "Of course we won't hurt him."
"Okay," Mark said. "How did you meet him?"
"We finds him asleep beside his ship. We thinks he issa Peassa Patroller."
"A patrolman?" Julia stared at Dalik. "Alan? He doesn't look anything like a patrolman!"
"He is wearing a blaster. We thinks he issa Peassa Patroller. He tells us he is not, and his ship is all wrecked up, so we takes him back to our camp. We has to carry him a lot, because he cannot walk. He sleeps a long time. Then he shows us he is notta Peassa Patroller --"
"How?" Mark asked.
Dalik looked uncomfortable. "He -- he moves something without touching it. After that, we knows he issa wizard."
"What did he move?" Julia asked.
Dalik wouldn't look at her. "Issa knife."
"A knife!" Mark exclaimed.
"Yes." Dalik was staring at the floor of the craft. "The boss says he has to fight me -- to prove he is notta Peassa Patroller. If he wins, the gods was on his side, of course. So we fights, but he does not do too good. He is so weak he can hardly stand. I gets him down, and he -- he takes the knife away from me. Then we is scared. The boss, he thinks we have made a wizard mad at us. He gives Alan the knife to kill me, but Alan, he won't do it. He tells them to let me go. He is very nice about it."
"That's Alan, all right," Julia said. "He's a nice boy. Then what happened?"
"Then I gives him food. He is very hungry. I tries to make it up to him. I am feeling very silly, you bets. I offers him my wife, but he says no --" Dalik stopped, seeing Mark's expression.
Julia choked. "You offered him your wife?" she repeated faintly.
"Only polite thing t'do when you gotta wizard for a guest, Jul," Mark said. He coughed. "Knowin' Alan, that was the worst ordeal o' the lot. Then what happened, Dalik?"
"Then he goes into my tent and sleeps some more. He wakes me up in the night and tells me something is going to happen. We starts to leave the tent, and the Peassa Patrollers, they raid the camp. They takes Alan, and me, and lotsa others, and dumps us in the truck. They drives us to the station, but on the way, Alan, he uses his magic and gets me loose!" Dalik's eyes grew wide. "He is not even touching the knots, but they unties themselves! There is no time to untie Alan, though. He tells me to get my feet loose, and I do. They takes him in first, but when they picks me up I socks the Peassa Patroller leader in the teeth. He drops me quick and I runs." Dalik grinned. "He is very mad."
"I'll bet," Mark said. "Good old Alan." He glanced at Julia. "They'll be comin' for him soon, I guess. We'll hafta move fast."
Dalik looked puzzled. "Who comes for him?"
"The Jilectans," Julia said, glumly.
"The Jils?" The surprise and disrespect in Dalik's voice brought a grin from Mark. "What do they care for a slave?"
"They don't," Julia said. "They care about Alan, though. They want him."
"But the Peassa Patrollers makes him a slave already."
"They'll recognize him," Mark said. "He's a Terran, an' wearin' that flight suit, he'll show up like a fly on a plate."
Dalik was shaking his head in surprisingly Terran fashion. "But he is not wearing the flight suit now. My wife and me, we takes it off him because it is all tored up and bloody."
Julia stared at Dalik in sudden hope. "Do you think it's possible, Mark?"
Dalik grinned at her. He seemed to be enjoying his position of importance now. "Sure it's possible, Julria. Alan, he looks lots like my people."
"He might be right." Julia looked up at Mark. "If he was banged up enough they wouldn't recognize him. And without his flight suit ... Dalik, what *was* he wearing?"
Dalik glanced down at his loincloth. "I lends him one of mine. We was asleep. There is no time to get dressed." He patted Julia comfortingly on the knee. "They do not look close at us. They just dumps us in the truck. I watches them when they picks Alan up. They do not notice. They do not even look at him."
Julia removed the native's hand from her knee.
Mark mangled his lip. "How bad was he hurt?"
Dalik shrugged. "He is all cut up when we finds him. He is pass out on the way to our camp. There is blood all over."
"It makes sense," Julia said. "They wouldn't expect Alan Westover to show up in a tribe of nomads, and they probably wouldn't look all that closely."
"Yeah, an' he'll do his best t'lay low. Poor kid, he's in a helluva mess. That bloody 'trol --" Linley's expression boded no good for the man. "Okay, the first thing we gotta do is figure out the lay o' the land. I'm gonna go in an' scout."
He started the engine and brought the little craft down to the desert floor, settling it quietly in the valley between two large sand dunes, and then turned to Dalik. "Okay, kiddo, you're free to go, now. Thanks a lot."
Dalik hesitated and the shook his head. "I stay, please? Alan, he is my friend. He is very good to me."
Mark didn't bother to argue. "Okay, you can stay if you want to. I'm goin' in now, Jul. I'll meetcha back here in about half an hour. Take the scout an' hide it somewhere 'til I signal you. Okay?"
"Okay." Julia suppressed a little stab of worry at being left alone. Linley provided a marvelous sense of safety in this alien environment. She watched him strap on his silver Patrol helmet and step out of the scout. Turning, he walked boldly toward the station.
As his big figure vanished over the sand dune, Dalik craned his neck to get a last glimpse of him. The native glanced at Julia. "He looks much like a Peassa Patroller."
"Yes," Julia agreed, amused. "He does."
"He walks like one, too. And he talks a *lot* like one."
"Yes," Julia agreed again. Sliding behind the controls, she started the engine. They lifted off and moved away to the south, just skimming the desert sands.
Dalik was still looking back in the direction of the station. "Who *is* he?"
Julia was silent for a long moment, and then she gave a little smile. "He's Alan's brother," she said. "His big brother."
**********
tbc
