The Mines of Kuloghi: 9/11
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
XIX
The larger slaves were pulling on the Patrol uniforms. Mark beckoned to a couple of Terrans. "There's another 'trol down that tunnel," he said, pointing. "I hadta stun him and he's cuffed with his own restrainers. Go fetch him, willya? We need all the uniforms we can get if we're gonna pull this off."
The slaves ran to obey and a few minutes later the patrolman was led out of the tunnel. Someone had removed the man's helmet and he looked sick and shaken. Mark stared at him in sudden recognition. It was Priddy.
He drew his blaster and tossed the keys to the slaves. "Take the cuffs off and get his uniform."
The men worked quickly. Alan was watching Linley's face and started to get up. Mark's hand on his shoulder shoved him down again. "Siddown, kid. This is none o' your business."
Alan sank back to the floor of the mine. Priddy glanced at him, then back at Linley's unyielding countenance. He cleared his throat.
"Who *is* he?"
"My partner," Mark said, expressionlessly.
The patrolman's eyes widened suddenly and he became, if possible, whiter than before. "I know you! You're Strike Com --"
"Shuttup!" Mark snapped.
Priddy looked back at Alan. "Then he must be --" He stopped as the slaves finished their work and stood back. "What are you going to do?"
One of the slaves laughed. "What do you think?"
Priddy turned frantically to Linley. "You can't let them!"
Mark's face didn't change. "Don't look at me, bud."
"Mark," Alan said.
"Forget it," Mark said. "I couldn't stop 'em if I wanted to."
The guard was led away. Mark knelt by Alan again. "Howya doin', kid?"
"I'm fine --" Alan's gaze strayed after the departing patrolman. The man's voice came faintly back to them as he rounded the first bend in the tunnel.
"Wait! Wait, you've got to listen! Don't you know who that kid *is*?"
Somebody laughed. "We're more interested in you right now, 'trol."
"But he's a psychic! You know what they're like --"
Alan looked back at Mark. "Can't you do anything?"
Mark shook his head decisively. "Don't waste your sympathy. He was gonna kill you if I hadn't stepped in, and he'd've enjoyed every second of it."
"I know," Alan said. "But I still don't --"
From his position behind Alan, Monty's eyes met Mark's and the man smiled faintly. Linley sighed to himself. Empaths! "Forget it. It's over by now, an' we got more important things to think about. Feelin' ready to open the door?"
"I think so."
"All right." He turned and raised his voice. "Battle stations!"
There was a scurry of feet. A dozen slaves reappeared around the corner. Mark and the Arcturian, now clad in a borrowed uniform, took their positions before the door, blasters leveled. Monty helped Alan to his feet, bracing him next to Linley, who extended his wrist. Alan gripped it. They had discovered long ago that Alan's unique ability to draw psychic power from his partner increased as distance decreased, with actual physical contact being the best. Now, Alan closed his eyes and concentrated while the slaves waited expectantly. There was a faint hiss and the doors slid smoothly aside.
The two guards didn't even have time to turn before half a dozen stun blasts laid them low. Eager hands dragged them back into the mine and divested them of their uniforms. Two more slaves became patrolmen.
"Okay, troops," Mark said. "Let's go."
Eight ostensible patrolmen emerged from the mine and strode briskly down the passageway, followed by a crowd of vengeful prisoners. Linley glanced back at his seven other "patrolmen" and grinned to himself. Except for the Arcturian who, of course, had no beard, those were the sloppiest 'trols he had ever seen in his life. He hoped no one would get a chance to look at them too closely before the critical part of his plan was completed.
He led the way toward the slave pens, checking each corridor carefully before motioning his motley army on. They met a lone patrolman making his rounds through the deserted halls. A few minutes later, nine patrolmen continued on toward the pens.
"Okay," Mark said at last. "It's just around the corner. You guys stay back and we'll go open her up." He glanced at Alan. "Can you knock out the alarm from here? If somebody makes a mistake, I don't want 'em soundin' the alarm too soon."
"I'll try," Alan said. He concentrated, sweat running down his face and leaving clean streaks in the dirt. Watching him, Linley felt a stab of anxiety. He caught his partner around the shoulders, feeling the power drain as Alan worked.
At last Alan shook his head. "It's no use. I'll have to get closer."
"Okay," Mark said. "Vallir --" He motioned to the Arcturian. "Play patrolman. Grab his other arm and make it good."
Dragging what appeared to be a filthy, disheveled native, two black and scarlet-clad figures rounded the corner and approached the doors to the slave pens. The guards lounging in the corridor stood up, surveying the prisoner with surprise.
"Trouble in the mines?" one asked.
"We got 'im," Mark said with satisfaction. "The lieutenant's gonna be real happy t'get his hands on this one."
"Oh, is that the little guy that knocked out our fearless leader's tooth?" the man on the left asked with a laugh.
"Yep." Marked grinned nastily at the supposed native. "Sure glad I ain't in your shoes, squirt."
Alan sagged to his knees, his head drooping. That was the signal. The alarm was disabled.
"Open the doors, willya?" Mark said. "I'm about shot. We been after this li'l character all day."
"Sure." One of the patrolmen turned to press a button on the door panel. The other bent, reaching down for Alan. Mark and Vallir moved together.
The man at the door panel dropped as the Arcturian's blaster hummed softly. Mark clipped the other on the back of his neck as he leaned over Alan. He fell, tried to get up and then slumped forward as Mark hit him once more, this time with the butt of his blaster. Vallir pulled him off Alan and Mark helped his partner to his feet. Slaves swarmed around the corner and began to strip the patrolmen of their uniforms. Mark reached over to press the button and gestured to the interpreter. "Okay, Janok, get in there and do your stuff."
The young native squeezed past him and disappeared into the slave pens. There was a loud stage whisper and sleepy questions, which quickly became excited exclamations. Slaves began to emerge from the pens, to retreat quickly at the sight of the apparent patrolmen.
"C'mon out," Monty said, pulling off his helmet. "It's us!"
Mark turned to Vallir. "All right, friend, this is gonna be quite a mob and there's no way we're gonna take 'em all to the north mine without somebody gettin' a little suspicious, so we'll split up here. You lead the main body to the barracks. Most o' the 'trols'll be there at this time o' night. Me an' Alan'll take a smaller party to the mine. Remember, there ain't no ships here right now, so if we're gonna get outta here, we're gonna hafta take this base. When one comes in, we can grab it."
Vallir grinned, his fangs gleaming ghoulishly in the subdued lighting of the hallway. "And I zink zat wiz ze right persson at ze communicator, zat can be accomplished wizzout any difficulty."
"You got it," Mark said. "That's your job, Vallir. Can you handle it?"
"Yess, ssir," the alien assured him. His fangs gleamed again and abruptly his voice was barely audible. "Sstrike Commander Linley."
Mark, just starting to turn away, glanced sharply back. "You recognized me from my posters, I guess."
Vallir shook his head. "We have met before, ssir." Still, his voice was a thread of sound. "And I never forget a face."
XX
Julia Austell was jarred awake by the sound of her cell door opening. Two patrolmen entered and one of them grasped her by the arm, jerking her to her feet.
"C'mon, sister. Time to go."
Her heart leaped at the man's accent. He was from Shallock! She glanced covertly at him as he led her toward the door and hope, suddenly kindled, died once more. This man was too short to be Mark. So was the other one.
They marched her briskly down a hallway and around a bend. This was it, then. Mark had been unable to find a way to rescue her in time.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
The Shallockian guard laughed shortly. "You don't wanna know, sister."
"Cut it out, Fred." The other man spoke unexpectedly in her defense. "The poor kid's scared enough."
Julia glanced at him in surprise. Although she couldn't see his eyes, hidden as they were by the visor, she knew he was watching her. His lips smiled.
"Take it easy, honey."
Julia clutched his arm and felt the muscles tense. He looked quickly away.
"Please!" she whispered. "Do you know what they'll *do* to me?"
"Watch it, Rich," the other man said in an amused voice. "She's workin' on you."
Rich shook his head. "Sorry, honey, there isn't anything I can do."
"Please!" she whispered.
They came to the end of a short hallway and the doors to the Base Commander's office slid open as they approached. The two men ushered her through.
A figure was standing in the middle of the office, his back to her, and for one incredible moment, she thought it was Mark. The blond curls were the exact shade and length of the former Strike Commander's.
But instantly she realized her mistake. This figure was too tall and much slimmer than Mark and the clothing was wrong. Mark would never wear a red, velvet cloak embroidered with gold braid or pierced earrings that glittered with the frost of tiny red and yellow jewels as he moved.
He turned. Julia's heart lurched and climbed into her throat, although she had been expecting it. The Jilectan's deep blue eyes regarded her mildly as she stood before him. The gold curls were arranged delicately around an angelic face and if the situation had not been so serious she would have laughed. His silken clothing was cut in one of the extremes of fashion popular among the youth of the Jilectan nobility. The garment was of a fluorescent green shade with flared, fringed sleeves and pantlegs, and a leather belt, at least fifteen centimeters wide, bore an elaborate leather holster, from which protruded the jeweled hilt of a blaster. His white, six-fingered hands flashed jewels from every digit as he reached out, placing the tip of a white, manicured index finger beneath her chin, and tilted her face up.
"Julia Austell, I believe." His soft, gentle voice made Julia's skin crawl. "I am Lord Ganthzar. I believe you were acquainted with my kinsman, Lord Danthvor."
She was silent, trying to quiet her heartbeats. The Jilectan removed his hand and smiled gently. Julia tried to move back a step, but the grasp of the patrolmen prevented her. For a long, heart-shaking minute he stood there, so near that she could catch, faintly, the sourish body odor of the alien beneath the heavy cloak of perfume that surrounded him like a cloud. The sympathetic patrolman gave her arm a light squeeze.
She lowered her eyes for, in spite of her shielding, she feared he would sense how terrified she was. Fourteen months before, she had been cornered by Lord Danthvor and shot him dead. She knew well what the fate of a Terran who had killed a Jilectan would be. They would make an example of her for any others who might be in the same position. In all Terran-Jilectan history only one other Terran had ever killed a Jilectan and the reward for Julia's capture was second only to that for Alan Westover, himself.
"You have nothing to say, Terran?"
She remained silent.
Ganthzar turned to the patrolmen. "Bring her," he said softly, and minced toward the door.
At the entrance he paused, cocking his head in an attitude of listening. He turned to look at the Base Commander.
"There is a disturbance in your station, Commander," he said gently. "I suggest you investigate at once. It has overtones of violence."
"But the alarm hasn't sounded, M'lord," the Commander protested.
The Jilectan's eyes narrowed a little. "Do you doubt my word, Commander?" He asked, very softly.
The officer lost color. "Of course not, M'lord. Sounding alarm." He reached over to press a button on his desk's control panel.
Nothing happened. There was a moment of stillness and Julia stared at the button in sudden wild surmise.
"Your alarm seems to be out of order, Commander," Ganthzar said mildly.
The Commander pressed the button again and then reached for the videophone on his desk. The alien turned away and minced out. The patrolmen followed, dragging Julia between them.
XXI
Mark Linley, Alan Westover and half a dozen black-and-scarlet clad slaves went quietly along the deserted corridors toward the north mine.
"Okay," Mark said, "you stay back while we get rid o' the guards."
Alan sank to the floor and leaned his head back against the wall. Linley knelt quickly beside him. "Kid?"
"I'm okay," Alan said. "I'm feeling a little wiped out, that's all."
Linley rested a hand on his shoulder. "This'll be the last one you'll hafta do for a while. Hang on."
Monty went to one knee beside him. "Hurry. I'll stay with him.
"All right." Mark patted his partner's shoulder and got to his feet. "I'll callya when we're ready." He turned and beckoned to the others.
Two sleepy-looking guards glanced up in surprise as the squad of patrolmen came shambling around the corner in ragged formation. Half a dozen stunbolts hummed and the men lost interest. Mark stuck his head back around the corner. "Okay."
Monty helped Alan to his feet and steered him forward. Linley took his shoulders, bracing him. "Sorry, kid, but when we flood the mine with gas, it's bound to trigger the alarm. I wish --"
"It's all right. I can do it." Alan closed his eyes in concentration and again Mark felt the power drain as his partner disabled the alarm. Alan relaxed. "That's it."
"Right." Mark reached out and pressed the button labeled "Riot Control", which would release sleeping gas into the mine. He looked at his chronometer, counted off four minutes and snapped the switch marked "Air Purge".
"We'll give it a couple o' minutes before we open her up," he said. He glanced at the slaves. "Then you guys are on your own. I suggest you head for the barracks as soon as the men in there wake up. It'll take about ten minutes. I would also suggest you get ridda those uniforms first. Wouldn't want somebody to make a mistake."
"Where you goin'?" Monty asked.
Mark looked down at Alan. "I had a friend with me that was caught. She's in the brig. If you guys create enough problems among the residents, it should help a lot." He spoke to Alan. "It's Julia."
"Julia!" Alan moved convulsively. "What's she doing here?"
"I couldn't stop her," Mark said disgustedly. "She fluttered her eyelashes at Kaley an' he let her go."
"Oh, gosh!" Alan rubbed his face. "I hope we're in time. They'll have notified the Jils right off."
Monty was watching them thoughtfully. "They will, huh? Y'know, I happened to be on Riskell a little over a year ago in the line o' business." He paused. "I thought this whole operation was awfully professional. The way I heard it, the whole Embassy staff was spyin' for the Terran Underground ... an' there's only one Julia I know about that the Jils want that bad." He unsnapped his helmet, pulling it off and his eyes moved thoughtfully from Alan's face to Mark's visored countenance. "The Giant Killer herself, huh?" He surveyed Mark's big figure with a slight smile. "It all fits. I kept wonderin' why you looked so familiar -- Commander." He glanced at Alan. "Alan Woodruff, my eye." His smile broadened. "We'll keep 'em busy for you. Count on us."
Mark smiled back. "Thanks." He glanced at his chronometer and leaned over to push the button by the door. "Gas should be cleared out by now."
The doors hissed open. Six dormant bodies in Patrol uniform slumped through as the panels slid aside. Mark grinned as he helped pull the forms of the patrolmen out of the way. "Bet they wondered what the hell was goin' on." He straightened up. "Okay, fellas, have fun. We'll see you later."
"Good luck," Monty said. "Take care o' my little pal, there."
"Gotcha." Mark bent to take a blaster from one of the unconscious patrolmen and tucked it into the back of his belt. He caught Alan's questioning look.
"Yours," he explained briefly. "If we get in trouble, grab it, but you can't carry one, the way you're dressed now, without people noticin'." He took Alan's arm and headed him down the corridor toward the main part of the building.
They proceeded for some way in silence, encountering no one. Turning into the main hall, they began to meet more traffic, although it was sparse. Alan flinched as a patrolman passed them in the hallway, but the man merely nodded at Mark, apparently unaware of anything wrong. Alan glanced at his partner, who shrugged, grinning.
"You oughtta see yourself. You knocked me for a real loop. I'd never have recognized you if ol' Priddy hadn't started beatin' on you an' you linked with me. If *I* didn't spot you, nobody else is gonna. Take it easy."
"Sorry," Alan said. "Guess I'm a little jumpy."
"Don't blame you. Down this way, now." Mark turned him into another passage. "There. The brig's right around this corner. Howya feelin'?"
"I don't know. A little woozy."
"Think you can knock out the alarm? If you can't, just say so an' I'll try'n think o' somethin' else."
"I'll do it," Alan said.
"Take your time. Actually, if we wait, the slaves may raise enough of a ruckus to give us a distraction."
Alan was frowning in concentration, gripping Linley's wrist. "I don't think there's anyone there."
"What? Are you sure?"
Sweat stood out on his partner's face. "No, I'm not sure."
"Okay, lemme check." Mark stepped boldly around the corner and stopped. "You're right; the guards are gone. Oh, hell!"
Alan leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes, and Mark stood still, his mind racing in useless circles. Where would they take her at this time of night and for what reason?
The answer leaped out at him. Someone had come for her. A ship had arrived. Julia was on her way to the Jilectans.
Alan must have reasoned it out at the same time. He clutched at Linley's arm. "They've come for her!"
"Yeah, I know."
"We've got to hurry!"
"Yeah." He seized Alan's arm, patrolman fashion, and started down the corridor.
Something caught his eye. Across from the brig was the main security office. The general alarm would be located in it. He stopped, his grasp tightening on Alan's arm. "Alan --"
"What?"
"I hate to ask you, but that's the main security office. The central alarm system is in there. If you can knock it out, it'll wipe out every alarm in the station. It'd sure give us a better chance. Can you do it?"
"Sure," Alan said, faintly. His brow contracted, and Linley was amazed at the wave of weakness that swept over him as his partner fought to disable the alarm. Alan's reserves must be completely gone. He was drawing his power solely from his power pack. Mark stiffened his knees and braced himself against the wall.
It took nearly five minutes. Alan reeled and almost fell. Mark grabbed him.
Alan straightened up with an obvious effort. "It's done," he whispered.
"Good." Mark decided that he wouldn't be asking any more of his partner, tonight. "C'mon; we don't have too much time, so we'd better move. If anybody asks questions, I'll handle it. You just keep quiet."
As Linley started to turn, the door of the Security Office hissed open and two patrolmen came hurriedly out. Mark pulled Alan back. "Outta the way, scum!" he barked.
The men went past him at a dead run. Mark waited a scant ten seconds and steered Alan after them. His whole body screamed for haste. If Julia was not rescued in time --
Alan went beside him, trying to hurry his steps and stumbling. Looking down, Mark saw that his partner's eyes were closed, but he spoke suddenly and unexpectedly. "She went this way."
They turned to the left, Mark holding his partner on his feet, but letting him lead. They turned right again and Linley brought them to an abrupt halt.
"This is the C.O.'s office! Is she still there?"
Alan frowned. "I -- I don't think so, but --" He drew in his breath suddenly. "There's been a Jil here!"
"When?"
"Just -- Just a few minutes ago. Julia was with them."
"Which way did they go?"
Alan pointed right, down an adjoining hallway. Linley hurried, half-carrying his faltering partner along. At the corner of an intersecting hallway, Linley pulled him back against a wall. A squad of patrolmen passed them at a brisk trot, never glancing in their direction. Mark surmised that they had more important things to think about than one bedraggled native, obviously in the custody of a patrolman. As soon as they had passed, Mark pulled his partner on once more. Alan began to weave.
"Out the main doors ..." His voice was almost inaudible. Linley turned them toward the main entrance, his hand resting on his blaster. Any guard that tried to stop them now was in for a nasty surprise.
But the guards weren't there. Mark suspected that they had been called away rather suddenly. He steered Alan down the single step and out onto the main walkway.
"Now which way?"
Alan was trembling in every limb. His knees buckled and Mark caught him as he fell. "Alan!"
"I can't make it, Mark." His voice was a thread of sound. "Not now. I'm just slowing you up anyway." He pointed. "They went that way. Go on. I'll follow as soon as I can."
Linley hesitated, but there was really no choice to make. He scooped his partner up and carried him several steps, letting him sink to the sand close by the side of the building, some distance from the main entrance. Huddled there away from the walkway, in the dim light of pre-dawn, it was unlikely that he would be seen.
"Okay," he said, "I'm goin' now. Don't stay here long. If they get things quieted down in there, they could pick you up. Here, take this." He removed the spare blaster from his belt and handed it to Alan. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Go on," Alan said. "Hurry."
"If anybody bothers you, shoot first and ask questions later. 'Kay?"
"Hurry," Alan said again.
Mark turned and sprinted away.
It was just before dawn on this part of Kuloghi. The darkened visor of his helmet made it almost impossible to see and Mark flipped it up as he ran.
There was a ship resting on the desert a short distance away. Linley identified it easily as a Jilectan design, Class One private yacht. He could just make out four figures moving toward the boarding ramp. One was very tall, and two others followed it, dragging a smaller figure between them. Julia.
Mark tried to increase his speed. The fine, desert sand shifted and slid beneath his feet, dragging at him and slowing him down. Ridges of rock, thrusting upward through the sand, made his progress more hazardous. His breath rasped harshly in his throat, but he was closing the distance.
The sun was coming up. Margol was an F-class star, brighter and hotter than Sol. It flooded the desert with hard, white light, spotlighting him to any chance observers in the ship, but there was little time for caution now. Within minutes Julia would be dragged aboard, to be on her way to an end that Mark did not want to contemplate. At the very least, she would be subjected to mind-shattering interrogation and a lingering, painful death. As Strike Commander Linley he had seen it done, and he knew that if he could not save her, his final act of friendship must be to kill her.
He had forgotten about mind shields and the Jilectan paused suddenly, glancing back toward him. The alien moved with inhuman swiftness, jerking Julia from the hands of her guards. Mark heard him speak sharply.
The patrolmen turned and saw him. One of them fired, just as Linley hurled himself flat behind a sand dune. The bolt struck where he had been a second before and sand erupted in a cloud around him. Mark lifted his face and peered about.
A ridge of rock, about half a meter high, reared from the sand perhaps two meters to his left. He raised himself on hands and knees, keeping his head as low as possible.
Blaster fire singed his cheek and he caught a glimpse of a third man in the hatch of the ship. It was he who had fired, and his elevation gave him an unquestioned advantage. Linley was a sitting duck here with that marksman in the hatch. He lunged for the ridge and made it, as fire fused the sand behind him into glass.
He sneaked a peek above the ridge and ducked back as he saw the man start to fire again. He lay flat behind the rock, cursing to himself. They would keep him pinned here and haul Julia aboard within minutes unless he could think of something fast.
A faint cry reached him, and Mark grinned bleakly. Julia must be trying to make things difficult for her captors. He had to do something before it was too late.
Mark slithered sideways, blaster at the ready. His most immediate danger was the man in the hatch.
There was another and slightly higher ridge of rock ahead and farther to his left. He gathered himself and burst out from behind his cover, diving for it. Blaster fire exploded once more, raising the sand in a stinging cloud. Instantly, before it cleared, before they could even have known whether they had hit him or not, Mark came up like a Jack-in-the-box, triggered three shots through the hatch, and was down once more behind his ridge.
"Mark!" He heard Julia's scream, clear in the still, dawn air. "You got him! Shoot! Don't let them take me alive!"
Linley clenched his teeth. Then he heard the voice of the Jilectan, cool and calm, and perfectly enunciated, speaking to the two patrolmen.
"Cover me. And I want that sniper alive if at all possible. It is Strike Commander Linley."
"But sir --" Mark heard the faint protest and grinned savagely to himself.
"Shoot, Mark!" Julia screamed. "Shoot!"
**********
tbc
