Legacy: 2/4
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
III
Alan Westover disembarked from the aircar and stretched cramped limbs. Lyn Parnell emerged behind him, rubbing her eyes sleepily. She had fallen asleep during the trip from the spaceport, and Alan put an arm around her, giving her shoulders a companionable squeeze. From the rear seat of the vehicle stepped two large, blond Terrans, to all outward appearances, twins. Upon closer examination, an observer would note that they were slightly different in feature, but not noticeably so upon first acquaintance. Those who knew them well had no difficulty telling them apart, but strangers often mixed them up.
The aircar had settled in the open space before a large, white farmhouse, and the four Terrans went toward it. It was early evening, the sun dipping close to the horizon, but the air was still very warm, and heavy with humidity as Shallockian weather normally was.
No wind blew, but overhead a dawbat circled, voicing its piercing call.
Mark Linley grinned at Alan. "Good old Shallock. Bring back, memories, kiddo?"
Alan returned the grin. "Mostly good memories."
"Not for me," Kevin Bronson said wryly. "Last time I was on Shallock with you two, m'big brother stuck a knife in my ribs. I was in a Patrol hospital for over a month, an' I had the devil of a time convincin' the powers that be that I wasn't him." He laughed. "Never figured I'd be glad t'see Ol' Halthzor show up, but I was."
Mark threw a punch at him. "Taught you a well needed lesson, you big ape."
"Didn't help though," Bronson remarked. "Took a lot more'n that to make me mend my evil ways."
Mark laughed. "You never were a fast learner."
His half-brother properly ignored the comment.
The door to the farmhouse opened as they approached, revealing a tall, dark-haired man dressed in coveralls and knee high boots. He waved.
"Hi, Rocky!" Mark called. "How you been?"
"Doin' great," the other man replied. "Ready for the big shindig?"
Linley made a face. "I hate these damn things. Only been to two before, and they bored me stiff."
Rocky grinned. "Yeah, I know whatcha mean. All the bigwigs are here, scattered around at the different bases." He held the door open for them.
Alan stood back for Lyn, who laughed and entered the house. He followed her into the roomy kitchen. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, the rich, meaty aroma filling the air. A slim young woman in white shorts and a scanty top was preparing food in one corner. Her feet were bare, and her hair was cut short standing out from her face in a fluffy cloud. Freckles sprinkled the bridge of her nose.
"This is Anita," Rocky said. "I don't think you've met her before."
"Hi," Alan said. Anita was a psychic. He detected the aura immediately.
"Hi, baby." Mark said. He winked at her.
Rocky laughed. "Hands off, Mark," he said. "She's my wife."
"Wups!" Mark grinned at the Major. "You shoulda told me, Rock, ol' pal. Kinda robbin' the cradle, ain'tcha?"
"I'm twenty-six," Anita said with dignity. "Rocky's only thirty."
"You don't look it," Mark said. He winked at her again. "I'm kiddin', Anita."
She smiled in return. "I know."
"Anita's a psychic," Rocky said. "Her partner's Karen Jang, who lives here, too. Karen's only twelve, her parents were killed by the Jils five years ago."
"Psychics?" Kevin asked.
"Yeah. Anita got Karen out, but she was too late to help the others." Rocky scowled for an instant, then changed the subject abruptly. "The big bosses'll be arrivin' in about twelve hours. You'll have time to rest up, an' take it easy 'til then. Billy Santos and your sis got here last night," he added, glancing at Alan. "We were wonderin' when he'd get himself a partner."
Alan chuckled. "I wasn't. The day we got her back to the base he ran into her in the school. Talk about love at first sight. She's still got a crush on Mark, but I knew they'd be partners before long, right then."
"Well," Anita said, smiling shyly at Mark, "Colonel Linley was the knight in shining armor who rescued her. Talk about slaying a dragon to rescue the princess! He went a step or two beyond that!"
Mark had rescued Janice Westover from the Viceregal mansion over a year before, accidentally killing the Jilectan Viceroy himself in the incident. It had caused an uproar throughout the Autonomy, and Mark's fame in the Underground had soared. His impersonation of a Jilectan in order to enter the Viceregal mansion, was in the minds of some, act of courage bordering on insanity, but the younger and more romantic members of the Underground regarded him with sheer hero worship, to Linley's great amusement. It was evident that Anita was one of these.
"Care for a drink before dinner?" Rocky asked, smiling at his wife's evident admiration.
"I better go get our bags first," Mark said. "They're still in the car."
"Got 'em, sir." It was a slender young man who entered through the doorway behind them. "I'll put 'em in your rooms. You siddown and relax."
"Thanks, Dan. I'll helpya." Bronson took one of the heavy bags from him.
"I can do it, sir."
"Shut up." Kevin went ahead of him out of the kitchen, and they heard him running lightly up the stairs, then his voice. "Hiya, Jan, honey! Hi there, Billy! They're all down in the kitchen...oof!" A short silence.
"Man, baby, if you kiss like that at thirteen, I may give ol' Bill here a bit o' competition in five years!"
Mark laughed, glancing at Alan. "That li'l sis o' yours packs a punch." He got up, following Rocky into the roomy lounge. Alan and Lyn trailed after him. Rocky disappeared and returned a moment later with tall, light green glasses on a tray. Janice Westover and Billy Santos entered after him.
Janice ran forward, throwing her arms about her brother. "Alan! I haven't seen you and Mark in over three weeks! Where have you been?"
"Here and there." Alan pecked her on the cheek. She released him and ran over to Linley. Alan turned to Billy Santos. "Hi, Bill."
"Hi, Alan." Fourteen year old Billy Santos was a psychic Alan and Mark had snatched from the very jaws of the Viceregal Patrol. His greatest talent was clairvoyance, with a generous helping of empathy and pyrogenesis. He was empathically linked with Janice Westover, and had been for over a year. Janice, on the other hand, possessed most of her brother's talents, without the additional power supplied him by Mark and Kevin.
Billy accepted a glass of lemonade from Rocky. Lang took one of the green glasses and lifted it to the light. Mark released Janice and took one as well. "Why doesn't Anita join us?" he asked.
"She's not feeling too well," Rocky replied. He frowned. "Been goin' on three or four days now. I'm thinkin' about takin' her to the doc."
Alan laughed softly, and the Major turned to look at him. "What?"
"She's pregnant, Rocky," Alan said.
Lang spilled his drink on the rug. "What'd you say?"
Alan smiled. "You heard me."
"Are you sure? How do you know?"
Mark grinned. "Needja ask, Rock, ol' boy?" He lifted his glass too. "Congratulations."
Rocky was still looking at Alan. "Does she know?"
"I don't know," Alan said, truthfully. "I didn't read her."
"Holy..." Rocky got up, slopping more of his drink on the carpet. "Excuse me!" He ran for the kitchen.
"Oops," Alan said, softly. "Hope I didn't let the cat out of the bag. Maybe she was planning to surprise him."
Janice giggled. "I'd have said something last night, but I figured he already knew."
Anita appeared in the doorway, her eyes large. "Are you sure, Colonel?" she demanded.
Alan felt himself redden at her pretty, eager expression. Lyn stood up.
"Alan's a clairvoyant," she said. "So are Billy, Jan, and myself. We all knew the second we looked at you."
Anita laughed suddenly. "I thought I might be, but I wasn't sure. I'm not a clairvoyant, and neither is Karen. And with this big meeting coming, I didn't want to say anything until I knew! Oh, my! I don't suppose you can tell me if it's going to be a boy or a girl?"
"Damn right he can," Mark said. Anita looked at him, then back at Alan. "Well?"
Alan raised his eyebrows. "Do you want to know?"
"Of course!"
Lyn laughed. "Don't tell her, Alan! It'll ruin the surprise!"
Rocky put an arm around his wife. "C'mon, honey. Let's save that 'til his birthday."
"Or hers," Lyn said.
"Right," Rocky said.
Anita looked disgruntled and then smiled again. "Okay."
"But I'll tell you one thing,"
"What?"
"Your baby's going to be a psychic."
"I'll be damned!" Lang laughed again. "This calls for a celebration! Let's--"
He was interrupted by Kevin Bronson, who appeared In the doorway. "Rocky--"
Lang turned toward him, his smile fading at the expression on Bronson's face. "What's wrong?"
"Ogilvie just gotta call from somebody named Tanya. She's pretty upset. I think you better come."
Rocky ran out. The others followed him.
They went up a flight of stairs, then down a hallway. Daniel Ogilvie was on the videophone, and the face of a young woman was framed in the screen. She was crying, obviously trying to control the violent sobs that shook her. Ogilvie was speaking gently, trying to calm her, without success. Rocky leaned forward into the video pickup, and Ogilvie gratefully surrendered the place to his superior officer.
"Report, Tanya."
"I think he's dead! Carl's dead!" She dissolved into grief again. "The link's gone! I felt terrible fear, then nothing!"
Rocky stared at her in shock and then appeared to collect himself. "Tanya, are you sure?"
"I've been trying to call him - empathically -- ever since," Tanya choked. "He doesn't answer!"
"Carl isn't a telepath," Lang began. "Is it possible...?"
The woman shook her head inarticulately, gulping back sobs. "I'd feel his mind, Rocky. He's dead. I'm sure of it."
Lang fell silent, and Alan felt Mark's arm close around his shoulders.
Loss of one's psychic partner was the greatest of all losses a psychic could suffer. In Alan's experience, he had been acquainted once before with a young woman whose partner had died. Lisa Wilkins had been withdrawn and lonely for over three years after the event. Only the appearance of another psychic who became her friend, then her partner, and finally her husband, had brought her out of it.
"Tanya," Rocky said, "I'm sending Ogilvie for you. Where are you now?"
"At the bar." Tanya put her face into her hands.
"Stay there. Don't move. Do you have any idea where Carl was?"
Tanya shook her head.
"All right. Ogilvie'll be there in fifteen minutes. Stay put."
Tanya nodded. The screen went blank.
"Rocky?" The group turned at the word. A young girl, in appearance no more than eight years old, was standing in the doorway. Rocky stood up.
"Yes. Karen?"
"Patrol transmissions. We're interceptin' 'em. Sounds like it's connected."
Rocky turned to Daniel Ogilvie. "Get goin', Dan. Kevin, you go along, too, The rest o' you, come with me."
Bronson departed with Ogilvie. Alan hurried after Rocky, followed by the others.
Anita was at the board, and a voice was speaking over the unit.
"We can't locate it, sir, and there's no reply to our hail. The com may be turned off."
"No survivors?"
"None, sir. Seven bodies counted, six of them patrolmen."
"The other?"
"Burned too badly to tell, sir. We're analyzing the remains now. The apartment is rented to one Nola Warwick, a waitress at the Alley Cat Bar. She lives there with her son -- no adult male member in the family. It's possible the Warwick woman is an Underground agent."
"Description of the subject available?"
"Coming, sir." A pause. "The landlord of the apartment building describes her as a young woman -- mid twenties -- blond, blue eyed, very attractive."
Another pause. "Rather small size, sir. She may be a psychic."
The other patrolman swore. "Damn Undergrounders. All right, she may head for the place where she works. Might be a station. I'm sending a squad over. Keep looking for that aircar. Of course, in that neighborhood it could have just plain been stolen. If it was, it'll already have a new paint job and serial number, and we'll never find it."
Alan looked at Rocky, "Is it a station?"
Lane shook his head. "No. And I've never heard of a Nola Warwick. Of course, she may be workin' under a code name."
The first voice resumed. "Remains of the unidentified person now confirmed. as earlier suspected, to be one Carl de la Corte. He was a clerk in the main planetary office of the Patrol in Scaifen."
"Damn!" Rocky muttered.
"Underground plant. Okay, get cracking, Sergeant. Locate the Warwick gal. And remember, no more mistakes. This guy, de la Corte, had some info he apparently thought worth dying for. He may have passed it to this broad. I've got to report to Lord Aprithvor about it, so let's get her."
"Yes, sir. Do my best." A pause. "Sir, there were eight patrolmen in that squad, but so far we've only accounted for seven. It's possible that one is still in pursuit of the fugitive -- or he could have been taken prisoner for information."
"Who was it?"
"We're checking, sir." A long pause. "Corporal Kenneth Christian, sir. Good man. I know him."
"Gal probably killed him. Get going, Sergeant,"
Rocky switched the unit. "I'm puttin' out a general alert for our men to watch for that aircar -- and the Warwick woman. If Carl was trapped, he may have passed that information to her -- if he knew, which he evidently did -- in hopes she'd be able to make it to some of our people."
There was the sound of a bell ringing. Alan glanced around.
"Who is it?" Lang asked, absently.
"Kaley's here," Alan said. "Lisa and Jason Llwelling are here with him."
"Good. Damn, whatta thing to have happen right before the big meetin'! Worries the hell outta me."
"You an' me both," Linley said. He glanced at Alan. "Whatta you think?"
"I don't like it," Alan said, glumly. "I've got a real bad feeling about this whole thing."
"Me, too," Lyn said.
IV
The aircar containing Kevin Bronson, wearing the flowing robes and headgear of a Wickrellian colonist, and Corporal Daniel Ogilvie, settled before Mirabelle's Bar. Bronson got out, and went swiftly beside his companion into the building. Mirabelle's, like many of these establishments, was a small hole in the wall, dingy and disreputable in appearance from the outside. Garish lighting announced the name of the bar in multicolored letters. Inside, it was dimly lighted by reddish hued candles, and the atmosphere was heavy with exotic smokes and more exotic cooking. An Arcturian waiter came toward them, favoring them with a fanged grin. "Good evening, ssirss. Two for dinner?"
"We're lookin' for Tanya de la Corte," Kevin said. "While we're waitin', we'll have two Shallock Sepo brandies, please."
The alien's eyes dilated slightly. "Zey are unfortunately out of sstock. May I reccommend Paroli Liqueur in itss plasse? It iss of comparable quality."
"The quality of Paroli Liqueur is not to be questioned," Bronson said, grimacing beneath the masking cloth of his headdress, "but we prefer Terran Napoleon brandy."
The alien inclined his head. "Follow me, ssirs."
The two men obeyed. Bronson glanced at Ogilvie
"I heard that line once in Wingle's Bar, while I was still in the Patrol. It never occurred to me that it could be an Underground password -- it was too damned stupid. But it did make me wonder about the guy who was talkin' to the waiter. Thought he was short a few marbles."
"I know," Ogilvie said. "Embarrasses me to say it. But that's why they chose it, you know."
"Yeah. But if they don't change it soon somebody's gonna catch on, an' then we'll be in the soup."
The Arcturian opened a door at the rear of the room and led them up a short flight of stairs. They followed him down a narrow hallway, and through a door near the end. A young woman lay on a bed, weeping uncontrollably. Another woman, wearing the sequin encrusted costume of a stripper, was seated beside her. She came to her feet as Bronson and Ogilvie entered.
Ogilvie went over to the women. "Hi, Sasha. We'll take over, now."
Sasha patted her friend on the shoulder. "Are you gonna be okay, honey?"
Tanya didn't reply. Ogilvie helped her sit up and put an arm around her. "Come on, Tanya. We're taking you to Rocky. Captain Bronson's here with me."
Tanya made no response. Ogilvie led her toward the door. "The car's waiting."
Kevin touched her shoulder. "I'm sorry, baby. Awful sorry."
No reply but Tanya's sobs. Kevin glanced at Ogilvie. "I'm gonna make a few inquiries. Get her in the car. I'll be there in a few minutes."
"Yessir, Captain." Ogilvie led Tanya away. Bronson went back down the stairs and out into the dimly lighted main room. He seated himself at a table, watching the young woman presently on the stage gesturing gracefully with her fans. After several moments the Arcturian waiter paused beside him.
"May I sserve you, ssir?"
"Yeah." Bronson lowered his voice. "What happened?"
The waiter's voice fell, also. "It iss very bad, ssir. She iss sure he iss dead, and I do not doubt it. I have sseen only one pssychic loosse a partner before. It wass bad. Ze persson killed ze ' trol, zen shot himself."
"Yeah," Bronson said, grimly. "I know whatcha mean. Anythin' I oughtta take back to the boss?"
The Arthurian shook his head. "Zere iss nozzing. Ze Patrol hass raided ze Alley Cat -- we heard zat on ze radio, but we do not know if ze inssidentss are connected."
Bronson stood up. "Okay, thanks. I better get. Keep your ears open. This can't be good, especially right now."
"Yess," the alien agreed soberly. He turned away, and Bronson strode toward the door.
A young woman came through the swinging doors, almost colliding with him. He caught her arm as she dodged, nearly falling against a table. "Sorry, miss."
The woman looked up at him, and Bronson saw that she was very pretty. Waving, tangled blond hair mussed around her face. Her blue eyes were large and frightened, and her face was very pale. She wore the scanty costume of a night club waitress, embroidered over the breast with a sparkling sequin cat in an erotic pose. A long cape was draped over her naked shoulders, and her cheeks were smudged with dirt. She tried to pull back, peering past him. On a hunch, he spoke. "Can I help you, miss?"
Her eyes focused on his veiled face. "I'm lookin' for Tanya. Do you know her?"
"Yeah!" Involuntarily his hands tightened on her arms. "Whatcha want her for?"
Her face went paler. "You're no Wikrell colonist! Lemma go!"
Bronson did not let go. "Wait a minute, baby. I gotta talk to you."
She began to struggle. "You're a damn 'trol! Lemme go, blast It!"
Something hard and cylindrical ground into his spine, and a childish, treble voice spoke. "Let 'er go, 'trol, or I blow you to blazes."
Kevin obeyed. "Hey, wait a minute! Lemme explain... Uh!"
The thing ground in further. "Shuddup. Out the door, trencher. Move!"
Kevin moved, still protesting. "Listen, kid, you don't understand! I can take you to Tanya. I ain't a 'trol!" He grunted again as the thing jabbed him in the lower back. "Dammit! Take it easy!"
He heard the boy swear as they emerged from the bar. "Here come your pals, buddy. Get in the car. If we get caught, I take you with us."
It had started to rain while he had been inside. Bronson went toward the Patrol car, feeling his heart climb into his throat. Cars were coming toward them out of the sky -- Patrol vehicles, without a doubt. He caught a glimpse of Ogilvie coming toward him at a run, then stop, glancing upward at the approaching Patrol aircars. He spun, starting back toward the aircar in which they had come.
"Go!" The kid was in the seat behind him, blaster pressing uncomfortably into a spot behind his left ear. "Take us up. Move it!"
Kevin obeyed. There was nothing else he could do.
**********
tbc
