The Pirate Prince 1: A Slight Deception --7/7
By Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Sergeant Isaac Peabody watched as Patrolman Cribbens burned out the lock. The door to the interrogation room slid open and smoke billowed through. There was no sign of fire extinguisher action, but to one side of the room Peabody caught sight of dull red flame flickering savagely around and within a wall communicator.
Beside him, young Cribbens was shouting for assistance over his throat mike. A voice answered, and more men entered the room behind him.
There were bodies on the deck, barely visible through the dense smoke. Peabody bent beside one, recognizing it instantly. Lord Rakinxvor was unconscious from the smoke -- no! He wasn't unconscious! He was dead! His chest was one huge blaster burn!
"Cribbens! Diffy! Get over here! Help me get M'Lord out!"
"What the devil's wrong with the extinguishers?" Cribbens knelt beside him, saw the blaster burn, and inhaled sharply.
"Get him out!" Peabody gestured to Diffy. "Where's Bradford and Carter?"
"I got Bradford out, sir," reported Diffy between coughs. "He’s got a big blaster burn, too. Looks pretty serious. Carter's dead as a coffin nail."
A faint choking sound reached Peabody. He straightened up, realizing that it came from the interrogation chair. He ran toward it.
It was the larger of the two boys who had been brought in here for interrogation. The kid was strapped into the chair and appeared only half conscious. Peabody yanked the straps from him, swung him up, and carried him toward the door. The fire control squad passed him as he exited.
He burst clear of the choking smoke, still carrying the prisoner. Alarms were blaring deafeningly, and from within the room someone cursed unimaginatively. A face popped out.
"Call the control room, Sergeant! Tell 'em to bring us out of hyperspace until we get this under control! It's spreading, and I'm afraid it'll reach something important and throw us outta whack! Hurry!"
Peabody spoke into his throat mike. "Commander Gerard!"
"Gerard here. What’s going on down there?"
"We have an emergency! Fire spreading through the com system! Fire control says bring us out of hyperspace, quick!"
There was a pause. Then the intercom blared. "Emergency conversion to normal space in ten seconds."
Another pause, then a terrific jolt. Peabody steadied himself and spoke into his throat mike again. "Commander, there’s more. Lord Rakinxvor's dead. He’s been shot!"
"What?"
"Yeah. I don't know what happened. He was in the room with the fire, but it's definitely a blaster bolt that killed him. Carter's dead, too, and Bradford’s badly hurt."
"I'm on my way!"
Peabody spoke to Cribbens. "Call the doc!"
"Yessir!"
"And Diffy, drag Bradford farther away from that smoke. Ching, you help him!"
"Yessir!"
Peabody strode further down the corridor, away from the noise and confusion, and bent to place his own burden on the deck. The boy lay still, his head lolling. Cribbens arrived beside him, dragging Carter's body. Bradford was set gently on the deck next to him, and the two men turned back to bring the body of the Jilectan.
Peabody spoke to Diffy. "Where the devil's Trevor?"
"I don't know, sir. He went out about twenty minutes ago, carrying that other kid. He didn't say nothing, but then he never does. We assumed everything was okay."
The lift opened and the Commander sprinted through. He stared in horror at the scene. "Peabody, report!"
Quickly the Sergeant told him all he knew. Gerard bent over Bradford, lips compressed. “He ain't gonna make it," he stated without emotion. "How's the kid?"
"I don't know, sir. He was out cold when I reached him…"
Gerard yanked a breathing apparatus from the wall and activated it, blowing the oxygen into the boy's face. "He's got to survive. Looks like he's the only one who'll be able to tell us what happened. Breathe, kid."
The boy stirred beneath the swish of oxygen. Gerard wrinkled his nose. "I smell booze."
Peabody had noticed it, too, but had disregarded it due to the more pressing matters. Now he bent forward, touching the small prisoner's clothing, "It *is* booze, sir! He's soaked in it!"
"So is Bradford!" Cribbens chimed in. "Smells like he's been on a three day binge!"
"The Jil, too!" Diffy added, "What the hell was going on in there?"
The lift doors slid open and Dr. Bonsey stepped through. He stared. "What th'...."
"Come here, doc! Quick!"
The doctor hurried forward and knelt beside the Jilectan. He drew in his breath sharply. "He's dead!"
"Yeah, we know. See what you can do for Bradford,"
The doctor bent over the man. "Holy space! I’ll need my stuff and a better spot to work. Carry him to the infirmary for me. What happened, anyway?"
"We aren't sure,” Peabody told him. "There was an electrical fire. The boy here's got some smoke inhalation. You want me to bring him, too?"
"Yeah, you better." Bonsey stood up, and Peabody hefted the boy in his arms. The lift opened obligingly.
The communicator on the wall beside them sputtered suddenly and gave forth a dazzling shower of sparks. Peabody cursed, leaping back as blue fire flared up, licking savagely at the unit. "Hey!”
Smoke poured out, and there was a wild, unmuted crackle, then another shower of sparks, Gerard hurried forward, tried to remove the casing, then cursed as he burned his hand.
"Hey!" Cribbens yelled. "We got another one starting out here!"
"Get Bradford and the prisoner out of here!" Gerard commanded. "Move it!"
Peabody entered the lift, tossed the prisoner to one shoulder, and held the door as the others entered, carrying Bradford. Two more came through, dragging the body of the Jilectan. Then the doors closed, shutting out the smoke and confusion.
"Man!" Cribbens muttered. "What d'you suppose happened? And where the hell's Trevor?"
"Dunno." Peabody eased his prisoner down from his shoulder and took a look at him for the first time. The kid was a rather unimpressive looking little fellow, with dark, straight hair, and in age was certainly no more than sixteen. His head lolled limply, and Peabody shook him carefully, "Hey, kid. Come to."
The boy moaned and writhed weakly in his hold.
The lift doors opened and they exited. Dr. Bonsey ran ahead to open the infirmary doors for them. They entered, carrying or dragging their burdens. Peabody deposited the boy on one of the examining tables. The young medic hurried forward and bent over him. The prisoner stirred, moaned, and opened his eyes. His gaze focused on the medic, and he gave an inarticulate cry, cowering back.
"Easy, kid, easy. I'm not going to hurt you." The medic ran a scanner across the boy, then straightened up. "This one’s okay, sir. All the scans read normal."
"Bradford's not." Bonsey was hard at work over the injured patrolman. "I'm losing him, Mikkles! Come here!"
The medic ran over, and Peabody stepped up to guard his prisoner. The boy saw him and flinched away.
"Take it easy," Peabody said, hardly noticing as he watched the doctor. The two medical men were working frantically over the still form of Bradford. The door opened, and Commander Gerard entered, his face grim.
"How are they?"
Peabody shook his head. "I think we're losing Bradford. The kid’s okay."
Gerard glanced at the boy. "David Anderson, isn't it?"
The prisoner nodded mutely.
"Did you see what happened in the interrogation room, David?"
The boy stared up at him, his face white. Gerard took a step forward. "Talk, dammit!"
The kid flinched back, gibbering with terror. Doctor Bonsey straightened up, swearing softly. Mikkles leaned forward to draw the sheet over Bradford.
Bonsey turned, shaking his head slowly. "Couldn't save him, sir. Too much damage."
Gerard spoke softly under his breath, then turned back to the prisoner. "What the hell happened in there, kid? Talk!"
The boy gibbered again, and then began to sob hysterically, turning his head away. Gerard stepped toward him, but Bonsey touched his arm. "Take it easy, sir. He’s really shook up. Go slow, or you won't get anything out of him."
Gerard took a deep breath. "Okay, kid, I’m not going to hurt you. Now, tell me what happened in there."
The boy continued to sob uncontrollably, hiding his face in his hands. Gerard swore softly. "Hey, snap out of it! You’re safe! Tell us what happened!"
The boy uncovered his face and drew a deep, quivering breath. Peabody handed him a tissue. "Blow your nose, kid."
The prisoner obeyed, then looked up at them, swallowing hard.
"What happened?" Gerard demanded.
"I don't know." The boy's voice shook. "He kept questioning me, trying to get me to confess. I tried to confess! I tried everything! Nothing would satisfy him!" The boy began to cry again. "Please ... " He caught the doctor's hand and grasped it imploringly. "Please ... don't let him hurt me anymore! I'll confess! I’ll say whatever he wants!" The kid's voice rose hysterically. "Just don't let him put me back in the chair!"
"Easy, kid. No one's going to hurt you," Gerard said. "But you've got to tell us what happened."
"I don't know! He just went crazy! He told that big Corporal guy to get out the wine. The Corporal did, and the Jil took it and started, pouring it all over everyone and making me drink it." The kid's voice escalated. "He made me drink it, me and that other kid, and the Corporal, too!"
"What?" Gerard was staring at him, aghast.
Peabody frowned. "Everybody in the room was soaked in the stuff, sir, the Jil included.
Gerard seized the boy by the shirt. "That's crazy!"
Anderson gibbered. "You're right! It didn't happen. It's crazy!" His words trailed off into hoarse, dry sobs. "I'll say whatever you want! Just don't hurt me anymore!"
Gerard let him go, and Peabody stared at him in perplexity. The boy was obviously too cowed to even attempt a spontaneous lie. Gerard saw it, too, and his voice softened. "All right, kid, what happened after he poured the booze on you?"
The boy shook his head. "I don't know. I must have passed out. The next thing I remember is waking up here." He covered his face with his hands, sobbing.
The intercom beeped and the medic stepped over to press it. "Yeah?"
"Commander Gerard?"
"Yeah?" Gerard said, not glancing up from the prisoner.
"Fire's out. There's extensive damage to the electrical system, but I think --"
The words were cut off as a tremendous explosion rocked them. An alarm began to blare. Gerard cursed and switched the unit over. "*Now* what? Control room! What the devil --"
"It's a ship, sir!" the voice of the Lieutenant responded. "Terran design. She fired on us before we knew she was there —- came out of hyperspace fifty kilometers to port and opened fire!"
“What?”
Another explosion rocked them, and everyone not fastened in was thrown. Peabody picked himself up from the deck, swearing, and bent to lift the prisoner upright. The boy sagged in his hold.
"Terran Underground." Gerard spoke under his breath. "How the devil did they find us?" He turned to Peabody. "Come on, and bring the prisoner. If we have to negotiate for our lives, I want him there where they can see him on the viewscreen."
The Commander ran from the infirmary, and Peabody followed, the boy once again slung across his shoulders.
**********
Alan Westover lay as limp and still as he could across the broad shoulders of Sergeant Peabody, but his mind was racing. It had been easy to pick up their location in space from the Commander’s mind, and he had called Kevin and Mark at once, voicing the coordinates across their invisible link again and again. His friends must have been only minutes behind him, for already they were here. Relief swept over him. He and the psychic children had a chance, after all.
Another blast jarred them as they reached the control room. Peabody staggered and swore, almost falling. They entered behind the Commander.
A Patrol Lieutenant rose from the Commander's chair as they appeared, his face white. "They got us good, sir. They knocked out our blasters and repulsers before we knew they were there! I didn't have our shields up, of course, and they hit us hard. I don't know how they did it! Their comp must have already been set when they came out of hyperspace!"
"Who the hell are they? Have they identified?"
"No, sir. They don't answer our hail."
"Try another channel!"
"Yessir!" The com officer pressed buttons. "They don't respond on any frequency, sir.”
There was a clang of magnetic grapples.
"They've got us, sir." The Lieutenant's voice was shaking. "Our repulsers are too badly damaged. We can't hope to get free."
"Have you called for help?"
"Yessir," the com officer replied. "To Xenis. They've got a cruiser on the way. It should be here in about twenty minutes."
*There's a cruiser coming, guys.* Alan voiced the words in his mind. *It'll be here in twenty minutes.*
The Commander strode forward to stand before the viewscreen. He pressed a control and spoke into the unit. "This is Commander Gerard, Viceregal Patrol. Identify yourselves!”
No response. The com officer's head came up suddenly. "I'm picking up transmissions from their ship, sir! It's in code!" He pressed a button and a rattle of coded bleeps emerged from the unit. "It’s an Underground code, sir —- one of the ones we haven't broken yet. They've got to be calling for a backup!"
The rattle of code ceased. There was a short pause. Then a clear, Terran accented voice spoke suddenly from the unit. "Acknowledged and understood."
A jolt threw them all sideways. The Lieutenant at the control board glanced up. "They've taken us into hyperspace in their field, sir. Now what?"
Gerard swore under his breath. "They have to bring us out sometime. Peabody, bring the prisoner over here!"
Peabody carried Alan forward and set him on his feet before the screens. Gerard pushed him into the command chair. "Don't move," he ordered.
Silence as moments passed.
There was a sudden jolt. The stars reappeared on the viewscreen. The com officer bent over the board. "Now what the hell --"
Gerard reached forward and pressed a control. "Unidentified vessel, we have prisoners aboard, if you do not release us at once, we begin killing them now!" He nodded at Peabody, and the Sergeant did something to Alan's wrist. Pain shot up his arm, and he yelped involuntarily.
"Communicate!" Gerard snapped. "If you maintain silence, we’ll kill him! Respond!"
There was a pause. Then the viewscreen flickered to life, revealing the grim, handsome face of Mark Linley. The com officer drew in his breath sharply, and someone behind Alan swore unimaginatively.
"Linley!" Gerard said under his breath.
"Undergrounders!" the com officer whispered. "And we're psychic hunters! Holy hell!"
"Shut up!" Gerard spoke into the unit again. "You heard me, Linley! We got one of the prisoners here! You see him? Let us go now, or we start by killing him! For each minute you delay, we'll kill another one!"
Linley didn't glance at Alan. His eyes were on Gerard, and there was a look in them that Alan knew well.
"All right, Commander, we got you, and you know it." Linley didn't raise his voice, but the whole room heard every word. "Behave yourselves, and nobody'll get hurt, but if you give us any trouble, there's gonna be lotsa bloodshed, an' you know damn well it won't be ours."
Gerard nodded to Peabody again. The Sergeant's fingers moved, and Alan gritted his teeth.
"Let us go, Linley," Gerard said. He drew his blaster and pointed it at Alan. "In ten seconds I kill him."
Again Mark spoke quietly. "Look, Commander, this ship, and yours, are now on their way to a large, heavily populated Underground base. When we arrive, we'll overpower you by numbers alone, if we haveta. Then we'll have one of our base doctors examine the prisoners. For each of them hurt or killed, ten patrolmen will die, starting from the highest rankin' officers and proceedin' down the chain of command."
"Now just a minute --"
Linley continued without pause. "We know the prisoners are all psychics, so it don't make any sense at all for us to let you go. If we do, the prisoners are gonna die, anyway, at the Jils' hands. We know that, and you know that, and I'm sure the little guy standin' there knows it, too." He paused for an instant, then resumed. "We have our own version of an execution chair at the base, Gerard, and we could probably even arrange for a video broadcast."
Silence. Commander Gerard holstered his blaster, his lips a grim line.
"On the other hand," Mark said, still not looking at Alan, "if you'd rather head back to Xenis now, we can arrange that, too."
"How?" Gerard demanded.
"If you'll agree to offer no resistance and release your prisoners, we'll release you, once we've got all the prisoners safe. You'll be allowed to go back to Xenis, yourself and your crew intact. And the body of Rakinxvor, too," he added as an afterthought.
The Commander stared at him. "How did you know?"
Mark's face split into that hard, white-toothed grin which Alan knew so well. "We have our ways. Well, whatcha say? You ain't gonna be no good to anybody as a corpse. Is it a deal?"
Gerard switched off the ship to ship viewscreen. On the main screen, stars shone against the blackness of space, but half the screen was obscured by the body of the other ship. Gerard looked at it for a moment without expression and then spoke to the Lieutenant. "Recommendation, Hanson?"
Hanson gulped. "Undergrounders don't usually kill prisoners unless it's necessary, sir. If we cooperate, we'll probably live through this."
"You might," the Commander said dryly. "But I've got to explain all this to the Viceroy —- and to Rakinxvor's kin. I don't think they're going to be very understanding."
A sublieutenant spoke from the control panel. "Do you think they'll really let us go, sir? We're psychic hunters, you know."
"Not exactly," Gerard said. "We didn't capture any of the kids, and we were only doing our job and drawing our regular pay. Linley understands that. He was once a 'trol."
Hanson cleared his throat. "I think we'd better trust him, sir. We really don't have much choice, y'know. We know for sure they aren't going to let as go while we still have the kids aboard, no matter how many of 'em we kill. These are Undergrounders. They know better'n anyone what happens to psychics once the Jils get hold of 'em. And if we hurt the prisoners, they won't have any reason to let us go."
"They might kill us, anyway," the sublieutenant said morosely. "Sort of as a warning, you know. Undergrounders don't like psychic hunters, no matter where they come from."
"Oh man, look!" the voice of the communication's officer brought Gerard's attention back to the main screen.
Another ship had appeared on the screen before them —- the huge, menacing shape of a Terran lightcruiser. Linley's voice spoke over the unit. "Linley to Patrol ship. Come in."
The com officer pressed the control. "Yeah?"
"That's the boardin' vessel. If you cooperate, we'll come aboard, take the kids with us, an' leave. If you don't, we head for the base again, an' this time we don't stop. What'll it be?"
The com officer's hand hovered near the transmit control, and Alan could see clearly in his mind the thought that, if he called for help now, Patrol cruisers could be here within ten minutes. Xenis was less than twelve minutes from their present location.
*The com officer's thinking about calling for help, Mark.*
"Don't do it, Lieutenant," Linley said ominously.
The man's hand jerked up guiltily.
"You try'n get help," Mark continued, "an' I’ll just take us back into hyperspace, an’ this time I won't stop to let you off. We're monitorin' you."
The com officer glanced at the blank viewscreen, then at the Commander. "He couldn't see me! How'd he know?"
"Linley's a mind reader, they say." Gerard sighed. "Maintain radio silence." He sighed a second time. "It appears to me that our only chance to survive is to cooperate with the outlaws. Agreed?"
There were reluctant affirmations all around. Gerard pressed the transmit again. The ship to ship viewscreen again came to life.
"We accept your terms, Linley," Gerard said.
Mark's teeth flashed again. "Figured you might. Hang on. The cruiser's gonna grapple you. They'll be boardin' right afterwards."
"There'll be no resistance," Gerard said dolefully.
Chapter 10
Mark Linley, Kevin Bronson and Keith Leighton, accompanied by their reluctant prisoners, entered a lifeboat. The prisoner who had done the psychic pickups glowered at Mark defiantly. "I suppose we're going to be turned over to your psychic friends now?"
"You got it," Mark said cheerfully. He pressed buttons. "You’re guilty as hell, an' you know it. An' when you get what's comin' to you, just take a minute t'think about all those little innocent psychic kids you handed over to the Jils."
The man continued to glare at him. Mark gave him a savage grin in return and triggered a control. The doors to the landing bay opened, and the ship moved outward, circled, and closed on the light cruiser, which was just engaged in grappling the psychic hunter ship.
Kevin pressed a control. "Light cruiser George Washington, this is Captain Bronson, requestin' permission t'come aboard."
"Permission granted, Captain. Receiving you in landing bay number 10."
"Thanks,” Kevin said.
Ahead the doors to the landing bay opened. The little lifeboat, moved inside.
Minutes later the light above the lifeboat's door changed to green, indicating that the bay had pressurized. The passengers disembarked. The doors to the bay slid open before them, revealing three figures clad in the neat grey uniforms of the Terran Underground. The man leading the party came forward, saluting smartly. "Lieutenant Reeves, sirs. Welcome aboard. All secure. The Patrol ship has been grappled, and we're preparing to board."
Linley and Bronson returned the man's salute. The two other men came forward. Both of them, Mark saw, wore the insignia of the military police on their shoulders. One of them saluted. "Sergeant Dahlstrom, sir, here to take custody of your prisoners."
"They're all yours." Kevin shoved the two psychic hunters forward. "They was part of the plot t'pick up the psychic kids, Sarge. Watch 'em careful. They know what's comin'."
"Yes sir." The sergeant's face revealed nothing as he gestured to the two prisoners. "This way, gentlemen."
The psychic hunters departed with their guards. Reeves spoke again. "If you’ll come with me, I'll take you to join the boarding party now."
***********
About fifty individuals, all clad in the trim grey uniforms of the Terran Underground, were assembled at the hatch as Mark, Kevin and Leighton arrived, still accompanied by Lieutenant Reeves. A short man, whose uniform displayed the insignia of a captain, stepped forward. Mark gave him a surprised grin. "Eric! I didn't know you were aboard."
"I just happened to be on the base on business when the call came to send the cruiser," Eric Vogelman told him. "Naturally, I insisted on coming —- and Ruthy came, too." Eric put an arm around Ruthy Channing, his psychic partner. Both of them, Mark thought, looked absurdly young to be in such responsible positions —- but then, in the Terran Underground, capable individuals advanced rapidly, especially if they happened to be psychics.
"Is Alan okay?" Mark asked quietly. "The link faded out about ten minutes ago. I'm just barely pickin' him up now."
"That's ‘cause he isn't scared," Eric informed him unnecessarily. "I've been talking to him telepathically. He says he's fine, and that Captain Gerard's mad enough to chew out the bulkheads, but knows it'd be stupid to put up a fight."
"Smart of him."
"Most Patrol Commanders aren't stupid, sir," Eric said whimsically. "Here we go."
The hatch opened and the boarders surged forward. Leighton went with them, and Mark didn't order him back. Let the little guy see how the Underground operated. Maybe it would give him some of his spirit back after the loss of his psychic partner.
They entered the ship, and the Undergrounders spread out. From the size of the boarders, Mark surmised that many of them were psychics. The Undergrounders split into groups, obviously by prearranged plan, and spread out, heading for different sections of the vessel, disarming the patrolmen they met, and herding prisoners toward the brig.
Mark headed for the control room with the party led by Eric, and accompanied by Kevin and Leighton. They entered, and the control room crew turned toward them, their faces sullen. Blasters lay prominently on the deck at their feet. Mark saw Alan, still held by the muscular sergeant. His partner's eyes met his from across the room.
Eric nodded to the party that had accompanied them, and the men and women moved quickly around, collecting the weapons. Mark crossed the deck to the sergeant at once. The man instantly released Alan's arm and placed his hands on top of his head. Alan slid out of the command chair, watched silently as one of the boarders escorted the sergeant away, and then turned at last to Mark. Linley caught him in a relieved embrace.
“You okay, kid?" His voice wasn't quite as steady as he could have wished.
"Yes," Alan assured him. "All still in one piece."
Linley held him away, examining him carefully. Alan appeared a little pale, but he seemed unhurt. "Nothin’ missin'?"
"Not this time." Alan grinned shakily and turned to Kevin, only to be caught instantly in another embrace. "Oof! Hi, Kev."
"Hi, kid! You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine, thanks." Alan smiled at him, then at Mark. "Thanks, both of you."
"That’s okay, kid," Bronson said. "But, listen, don't you ever pull nothin' like this again. You’re givin' ol’ Uncle Kev grey hairs."
"Yes, Uncle. I won't if I can help it." Alan's grin widened and he turned to Leighton. "Thanks for your help, Keith."
Leighton smiled back and took Alan's extended hand. "I didn't do much, but believe me, what I did do was a pleasure."
Commander Gerard, just passing on his way out with the other control room prisoners, paused beside them, heaving a deep sigh. "I assume," he said wearily, "that this boy is our elusive Underground agent?"
"Yup," Mark said proudly. "But he ain't a boy. This is Alan Westover —- best psychic in the Terran Underground."
"Westover." The Commander regarded Alan resignedly. "I should have known. Who else would've been able to put one over on a Jil like that?" He frowned. "You sure don't look much like your wanted posters."
Alan smiled slightly at the officer. "I know."
Gerard shook his head. "Then you must've been the one who killed the Jil. Man! You had me believing every word you said!" He gave a half shamefaced laugh. "You looked so scared and dumb and lost. Now I know what the Jils are talking about when they say —- well, all the things they say about you."
Alan didn't speak as the man was led away. When he was out of earshot, Mark turned back to his partner.
"Where's our little golden boy and his dog?" he asked in a low voice.
"I don't know," Alan said. "But we'd better go look."
Gerard departed, along with the rest of the prisoners. Alan, Mark, Kevin and Keith also exited, and Alan led them toward the interrogation room. "I might be able to pick up the trail there," he explained. "I couldn't contact him telepathically, but the Corporal might have stunned him or knocked him out to keep him quiet. Trevor's a very logical man —- maybe too logical."
They reached the interrogation room and entered. Mark glanced around at the burned walls. "Man! You sure made a mess o’ the place! What a smell!"
Alan was concentrating. "I think I have him. Can I borrow you, Mark?"
Linley grasped his arm, feeling the power drain as his partner worked. Alan nodded. "Okay, I’m picking up the trail. Let’s go."
They went out of the room and again headed for the lift. It proceeded upward to the fourth level, and Alan stopped them. "I think they got off here. Yes, they did."
"Lifeboat decks,” Mark said dolefully. "I was afraid o’ that."
"So was I," Alan said.
"Who are we looking for?" Leighton questioned curiously.
"I’ll explain later," Kevin told him.
They entered the lifeboat bays. Ahead, on the deck, there was a dark shape, and as they approached, Linley identified it as the body of a patrolman. The man was sprawled flat on his back, his head completely incinerated by a blaster bolt. Alan turned away, looking sick. Leighton gagged.
"Easy, kid." Mark led him past the dead man and into the hangars. All the compartments contained escape crafts, except one, which was conspicuously vacant.
"That’s it," Alan said. "The trail ends here."
"Damn!" Kevin said. "What a jerk! The kid must’a told him he wasn’t the Undergrounder. Why’d he keep goin’?"
Alan smiled slightly, glancing sideways at him. "I doubt he took time to listen, Kev. He sort of had his mind on other things, didn’t he?"
Kevin sighed. "Yeah, I guesso. Dammitall! We look for another Armageddon team all over the Sector, an’ finally have one practically dumped in our laps, an’ it slips out between our fingers. Kaley’s gonna be upset."
"I’m sorry," Alan said. "I should’ve been able to do something. It’s just that everything happened so fast, and I wasn't exactly in a position to explain.”
Mark sighed. "Aw, hell, kid, it wasn’t your fault. You did a good job, considerin’ the circumstances." He shook his head slowly and turned away from the empty hangar. "Don’t look at that poor sap. There ain’t nothin’ we can do for him. Looks t’me like this Trevor guy is a real thorough character once he makes up his mind t’do somethin’. Maybe that's good, since he’s gonna be on his own now ... except for a little psychic partner t’look after."
Kevin swore softly, steering Keith around the dead patrolman. “Let’s go. All of the psychic kids oughta be off by now."
"They are," Alan said. "Eric just told me."
"Good." Mark sighed again and shrugged resignedly. "C’mon, folks, let’s head back to our ship an' get somethin’ t’eat. Alan looks like he could use a square meal."
"I could eat a whole jackboar," Alan said.
"We ain't got a jackboar, but I figure regular ship rations'll be almost as good," Linley said. "'Specially after a couple o' days without."
"That's for sure," Alan said. "Lead on."
**********
Corporal Richard Trevor ran past the crew’s quarters and through the doors of the lifeboat bays. A surprised patrolman looked up, mouth at half cock. "Yes Corporal?"
Trevor shot him. The man was flung backward, and the Corporal closed the door to the bays. Swiftly he sprinted forward and into the nearest hangar.
Jason’s protests were becoming more violent, and the boy was kicking desperately in his grasp. Trevor swore as a small tennis shoe caught him beneath the ribcage.
"Damn you, kid!" He swung the boy to the deck and struck him carefully on the side of the neck. Jason yelped and collapsed. Trevor saw stars.
Rubbing his palm across his eyes, Trevor sprinted into the craft, carrying the now unresisting child under one arm. Tossing him into a passenger chair, the Corporal yanked safety webbing around him, then headed for the controls.
The craft came to life under his fingers. Rapidly he programmed it to go into hyperspace as soon as they left the cruiser's shield. It was risky, but hell, what wasn't after he'd killed a Jil? It was only a matter of minutes, perhaps, until someone discovered what had happened.
The comp showed ready. With a deep breath, Trevor pressed the control. The hangar doors opened and the ship catapulted outward.
There was a tremendous jolt, and, if not for his safety webbing, Trevor would certainly have been thrown. Straightening up, he blinked away the cobwebs and saw the dark viewscreen before him. They had made it!
Ears still ringing slightly, he unfastened his webbing and stumbled to his feet. Jason was groaning and stirring. Trevor went to him and unfastened the catch, pulling away the webbing and lifting him upright. "You okay, Shrimp?" he inquired.
Dazed blue eyes blinked up at him. Trevor brought the boy to his feet, turned him around and unfastened the restrainers, then lowered him again, letting him lean back in the chair. "Take it easy, Shrimp. You've been through a lot, but you'll be okay."
Jason coughed weakly. "Where ... where are we?"
"On a lifeboat. We’re off that damned ship and in hyperspace, heading nowhere at the moment. You're safe, my little Undergrounder — no more interrogations for either of us."
To his surprise, Jason made no comment, but closed his eyes and shook his head despairingly.
Trevor frowned. "What's the matter with you, Shrimp? Aren't you grateful or anything? I just saved your worthless life. What are you sulking about?"
"Thank you," the boy muttered.
Trevor, sat back, disgruntled. "Well, you're not welcome. It wasn't my idea, you know, and I'd have much rather stayed where I was, but you didn't give me much choice. Damn that damned Jil!" He bit off the imprecation. "Well, we're here, Shrimp. You asked for it, and I gave it to you. I suppose you're mad because I didn't bring along the rest of the mob, aren't you? Well, I couldn't, and there's no going back now, so you might as well make the best of it. Where's the nearest Undergrounds station?"
Jason shook his head despairingly. "Why didn't you do what I told you? Why didn't you just take the Jil hostage?"
“Hostage! Shrimp, I didn't even have time to think! He was drawing on me! I didn't have time to do anything except shoot!"
Jason's eyes met his, and Trevor felt his heart sink at the boy's expression. "Shrimp, what are you looking at me like that for? Don't you know where any of your bases are? If you don't, I'm not surprised. I wouldn't tell the kids if I was in charge of the Underground. But you must at least know where some of the outposts are — or how to contact someone who does know."
Jason gulped and got to his feet. "You're going to kill me when I tell you."
Trevor stared at him, bewildered. "Not likely, after all I just went through for you. What the devil's wrong?"
"I'm not an Undergrounder." It was a bare whisper. "You were right. I was lying to you."
"What?" Now look, kid, you don't have to be afraid anymore. Maybe you didn't see what happened in there, but I killed Rakinxvor, and a couple of 'trols, too. There's no way I can go back and say I'm sorry."
Jason nodded. "I saw." His voice quivered.
"And you used telekinesis. You jerked the blaster right out of Bradford’s belt and practically threw it at me. I saw you!"
"I didn't do it," Jason whispered. "It was the other guy."
Trevor felt faint. "The other guy? But you said --"
"I know. I lied. Mr. Westover told me not to mention his name,"
"Westover! You mean, that other kid --"
"Yes, that was Alan Westover. He talked to me with telepathy while we were in the observation room together. He told me not to mention his name to you, or you might get excited and turn him in for the reward before you thought."
"But what about this damned link?"
"Westover did it. He told me so. He said he'd done it with Linley and Bronson and Griffen, and that was why they defected. He knew how to do it, and he did it between us."
"'But .... " Trevor glared down at the boy. "Dammit all! You could have let me in on the secret! You could have told me about the other guy being the Undergrounder! You didn't have to say it was Westover!"
"I know. I was just afraid you'd look at him too closely, so I decided it would be safer not to bring him into it at all. If you'd just done what I told you, it wouldn't have mattered." Jason gulped. "I was afraid you might recognize him. You're pretty smart, you know."
"But --"
"And I didn't expect you to grab me and run like that. You were supposed to take the Jil hostage, and save everybody —- all the psychics on the ship." His gaze fell. "I'm sorry. It was my fault. I should have told you sooner. I tried when you were carrying me to the lifeboat, but you wouldn't listen. And Mr. Westover tried, too, but you stunned him before he could say anything."
There was a long silence. Jason moved farther away from him. The link hovered on the edge of awareness.
"You aren't an Undergrounder," Trevor said slowly.
"No sir," Jason whispered.
"And you don't know where any of their bases are."
"No, sir."
"And you have no idea how to contact them."
Jason shook his head and moved another step away. "I'm sorry."
Trevor remained still a moment, then turned to look at the darkened viewscreen. He could feel his temper mounting. "Did you know, Shrimp," he said softly, "that I was going to be promoted to Sergeant next month?"
Jason didn't answer.
The Corporal took off his helmet, glanced at it, then placed it on the control board. Jason backed away another step. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Trevor sat down on the control chair, still staring at the blackness. His mind turned to his life before he had joined the Patrol. Visions of a dark, cramped room, rows upon rows of narrow cots, and hundreds of skinny, vermin ridden children ... and then a large, hideous man coming toward him, grinning, a glowing brand held in one huge hand --
Beneath his feet, Trevor could feel the soft quiver of the lifeboat's repulsers. Memories —- horrible memories flickered across the dark viewscreen before him. He counted slowly to ten.
Epilogue
"Quite a haul," Mark Linley said. "Thirty-four new psychics and their families. Kaley's pretty tickled, although I think he would'a been a lot more tickled if we could’a brought Jason along, too. But maybe we'll be able to get a line on Keith's wife to make up for it. From what Eric said, they put her on the ship before that last one. There's still a chance."
"I hope so," Keith said softly.
"So do I," Alan said. "We've got people on it, trying to trace the missing psychics. They've already found a few of them alive in the laboratory on Xenis. It looks like the Jils are getting more interested in the way Terran psychics work."
"I'm not sure that makes me too happy," Mark said.
"No, but it means they're keeping more of them alive longer," Alan said. "And it gives us a chance to save more of them."
"Yeah," Linley agreed. "I hope it backfires on the trenchers -- in spades."
"The odds are that it will," Alan said. "I hope sooner than later."
They entered the mess hall on the Lavirra base, accompanied by Bronson, Keith Leighton and his two daughters. Greta slipped a hand into Alan’s, smiling up at him confidently. "I knew there was something funny about you, Mr. Westover," she confided in a whisper. "You just didn't look like a David Anderson."
Alan smiled down at her. "My middle name is David, Greta."
"Oh, sure, I know that! David was the boy in the Bible who killed the giant. That's how come you’re called the Little Giant. You just didn't look much like an Anderson. My teacher's name is Anderson, and he’s a wimp!"
"Greta!" Keith Leighton said, apparently shocked. "Where do you learn that kind of language?"
"From you, Daddy.” She giggled.
Alan laughed, and Mark and Kevin grinned. "Well, what'll it be?" Linley asked as they went up to the counter "Cokes, kids?"
"Sure!" Greta said. "How about you, Missie?" She glanced at her four-year-old sister.
"Okay," Missie said.
Mark ordered. Greta took her coke and sipped it, looking thoughtful. "I just hope that stupid old Corporal doesn't hurt that poor boy!"
"He won't, sweetie," Kevin said reassuringly.
"You didn't meet him, Mr. Bronson!" The little girl shook her head dolefully. "He was nasty! I think he hated kids -— in fact, I think he hated everybody. Even the other patrolmen didn't like him! I could tell!"
Mark pursed his lips and glanced sideways at Kevin. "Looks t'me," he said softly, “like the good Corporal is about to get a real stiff lesson in interpersonal relations. Sounds like he could use it, too."
"Hope he enjoys himself," Kevin said. "Well, Alan, what'll it be? Want a coke, too?"
“Alan may prefer moonwine," Mark said. "Man! I couldn't believe the way you smelled when we found you on that ship, kid!"
Alan laughed sheepishly. "It tasted awfully good, though."
"Doubt if ol’ Rakinxvor appreciated it, though," Kevin remarked. "Make it moonwine for the kid, Bill, best you got."
Bill poured. "There you are, Colonel -— best stuff in the house. Made it myself, just yesterday."
Alan laughed, then sobered again and picked up the glass. "Here's to Jason Sweeney," he said.
"An' to Corporal Trevor," Mark put in. "Good luck to ‘em.”
The End
The adventures of Jason Sweeney and Richard Trevor will continue in The Pirate Prince Part 2: The Reluctant Pirate.
