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The Pirate Prince II

The Reluctant Pirate: Part 2/?
by Linda Garrick and Nancy Smith

Chapter 2


Corporal Trevor went back to the control panel and seated himself. He stared morosely at the mechanism. Damn kid! Damn him and all psychics! What a ridiculous position to be in—playing nursemaid to an idiotic little pup!

Furiously he glanced back at the boy. Jason lay still, his eyes open and watching him with that unnervingly direct gaze that made Trevor's skin crawl. Deliberately he looked away from the boy, cursing under his breath. He was stuck, and there was no way for him to alter the situation, other than killing the boy. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he had begun to believe Jason when the boy stated that, if he died, Trevor would die with him. The way sensation was transmitted across that damned link....

And besides, for some reason he couldn't fathom, the thought of killing Jason was extremely distasteful to him, in spite of the wrongs the boy had committed against him. Damned little empath, trying to win him over! He wouldn't give in!

Again he glanced back at the boy. Jason's eyes were closed now, his breathing deep and regular. There was a darkened bruise on the inner aspect of the arm, which the boy had crooked over his face—a bruise in the shape of four fingers -— Trevor's own handprint. Another bruise mottled one cheek, spreading upward toward the boy's eye -— again his doing. Trevor cussed softly and got up to stand over Jason, looking down at him. He hadn't realized he'd gripped that hard, he told himself. Yes he had. He's wanted to hurt the kid —- to make him suffer for what he'd done. Five years in the Patrol, shot! A promising career down the tubes! It was all Jason's fault!

Or was it? Jason hadn't really done anything, had he? Surprised, Trevor found himself excusing the boy. The little guy'd been on his way to his death. He'd fought against it in the only way he could. Again Trevor studied the boy's bruises, feeling suddenly ashamed. He found himself fingering the long, thin scar on his own forehead, and saw again the face of the man who had put it there when Trevor was no more than a terrified youngster, no older than Jason was now. Karvel Klafin, a vicious sonofabitch, who had owned him, body and soul for five yeans. The memory increased his shame. Little Jason feared him, as he had feared Klafin, and had tried to please him, even as Trevor had tried to please Klafin and failed time and time again. And yet, Jason had held a blaster on him, and had not fired. Why? Trevor had somehow known that he wouldn't, scared and desperate as he had been.

Jason stirred and groaned softly in his sleep. Trevor glared at the small figure, trying to harden his heart. It was a mistake in this damned, filthy galaxy to become soft on anyone. If you did, they took advantage of you, and for a Terran psychic, that went double. And yet --

Swearing softly, he went back to his seat at the control panel.

The hours passed. Trevor dozed in his chair, and finally gave up, placing his head on the panel and closing his eyes. The automatic alarm would warn him of any trouble.

He awoke to the sensation of the boy's mind again within his own. He sat up feeling fear rocket through him. His heart was pounding suffocatingly against his ribs, and he was filled with the terrible knowledge of impending doom.

He was on his feet, yelling his alarm before he realized that Jason was simply dreaming again. The boy was tossing on the fold down bunk and whimpering in terror. Trevor bent over him and shook him roughly awake. Jason cried out, the sound echoing loudly through Trevor's mind. Blue eyes opened, staring wildly up at him.

"Hey! Snap out of it, Shrimp!"

The boy's eyes focused on him. He cried out again, cringing back. The feeling of the link intensified. Trevor stepped back. "Take it easy, kid. You were dreaming again."

Comprehension came into Jason's face. The link began to fade, and he moved back from Trevor, watching him warily, but no longer terrified. "I'm sorry," he said stiffly.

Trevor shrugged and went back to the control chair. Jason stood up and the Corporal heard him straightening the bunk. With a soft purr, it refolded itself, vanishing into the bulkhead. Jason hesitated, then came softly over to sit in the chair beside him. "How much farther, sir?"

"Ten hours, twenty-two minutes."

"Oh." Jason sneaked a look at him. "Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"What if ... what if the Underground isn't there? What if the Patrol got there first?"

Trevor considered the question coldly. "Then we're stuck together, probably for life, twerp," he said harshly.

Jason nodded. "Where'll we go?"

"I don't know." Trevor glared at him. "Pipe down, dammit!"

Silence fell between them. Jason sat still, staring at the dark screen before him, his small, calloused hands folded together in his lap. Trevor glared at the panel, realizing something for the first time. The reason the link was so distasteful to him was because, when it formed, he could feel the boy’s mind within his own, and could sense Jason's fear and dislike. Since he had to live with it, maybe he'd better make the best of it. The kid wasn't really all that bad, he admitted grudgingly. It was what he stood for -- a Terran psychic who had outwitted Trevor and made him look like a fool.

Jason sat silent beside him, his childish face set. He looked very young. How old was he, anyway? Not that it mattered. Still, for a boy certainly no more than eight, he had carried the deception over, marvelously well.

They ate again, and Jason cleaned up, still not speaking. The hours passed, and at last a shrill beeping on the control panel announced that they were nearing their destination. Trevor leaned forward, checking the readout. "We'll be coming out of hyperspace in ten minutes. Better strap in."

Jason obeyed. "Sir?" he said timidly.

"What?"

"You never did answer me. What'll we do if ... if all we find down there are ' 'trols and Jil flunkies?"

Trevor glared at him. "Watch your mouth, twerp!"

Faint color crept into Jason's cheeks. "I'm sorry, sir. That didn't come out well, did it?"

"Sure didn't."

"But what will we do?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, Shrimp."

"And what if my parents and sisters have been captured?"

Trevor grunted. "If that's happened, there's not a damned thing we can do about it."

"But I've got to do something!" Jason's voice rose hysterically. "They’re my family!"

"Shut up."

Jason obeyed, his lower lip pinched between his teeth, eyes bright with tears. Trevor turned away uncomfortably. The boy's obvious devotion to his family was a new concept. Trevor had never had a family of his own, and possessed no loyalty to anyone. Few patrolmen married, and those who did usually ended up regretting their action.

A light blinked on the panel. "Sublight," he said.

With a jolt the ship converted. Against the starry background before them floated Bellian, green and blue, and girdled with clouds. Jason gulped.


"Is that --?"

"That's Bellian." Trevor checked the scanner. "No ships nearby. I..." He stopped, turning suddenly to look at Jason. The link quivered and solidified, "Hey! What's the matter?"

Jason jumped at the sound of his voice. The boy was looking scared, his eyes wide and dilated, as though seeing something invisible to his companion. He didn't answer, and Trevor grabbed his shoulders. "Snap out of it!"

The boy flinched from his touch. "Don't hit me!"

"I won't, dammit! Get out of my mind!" He bit off the command, realizing now the idiocy of his words. The boy had no power to obey him.

Jason began to sob. "Let me go!"

Trevor released him. "What's the matter with you? What's scaring you this time?"

"I ... I think there's a Jilectan nearby, sir."

Trevor felt the painful lurch of his heart. "Which way? What direction is he?"

Jason was shaking his head. "I don't know! He ... he's sensing me, too, I think."

Trevor checked the scanners. "There's nothing here."

Jason turned to look at the screen, eyes great pools of fear. The link tightened.

"I feel him -- just like Rakinxvor. I'm sure it's a Jil, sir!"

"Damn! Can you shield? Shut him out!"

"I don't know how!" Jason turned on him, eyes frightened and pleading. "How do I do it, sir? Can you teach me?"

"Dammit! I don't know! The Jils won't discuss it, but Undergrounders do it, so there's got to be a way…" He stopped. The link was fading out. "What's going on?"

Jason shook his head and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "He's gone."

"Gone?"

"Yes -- all of a sudden." Jason looked up at him, expression disconcerted and a little ashamed. "I guess I must have imagined it, sir. Sorry."

"I doubt you imagined it. He probably felt you sense him and put up his shields. Damn! He could be anywhere!" Trevor checked the scanners again. Bellian's small moon was perhaps 1,000 kilometers distant. It was a tiny satellite -- more a large asteroid than a moon, its gravitational pull negligible. "Shrimp?"

"Yes?"

"Is it possible -- can you tell if the Jil's mind was coming from the direction of that moon?"

"The moon?" Jason stared at it. "Maybe. Yes, now that you mention it, I think it was..." He shivered suddenly, the link half forming again. "Let's get out of here."

"I'm with you there, Shrimp." Trevor punched coordinates into his comp. The ship's nose tilted downward toward the hazy blue planet.

"Hitting the pull." He spoke without thinking, and saw Jason's eyes flick to the readout. "Atmosphere in seven seconds."

"Aren't we moving awfully fast, sir?"

"Shut up, shrimp." Trevor spoke thoughtlessly, then, ridiculously, found himself regretting his rudeness. "It doesn't matter," he told the boy gruffly. "This thing's built to take temperatures up to 2,000 degrees. The faster we go in, the more likely we are to be taken for a meteor."

"Ok." Jason sat back, expression thoughtful. "Sir?"

"Yeah?" Trevor spoke absently. A thin whine began, announcing their entrance into the atmosphere.

"What would happen if we just went to the Bellian police? I mean, you helped me -- you really saved my life. I know I'm a psychic, but psychics aren't legally criminals—not under Terran law."

Trevor gave a bark of laughter. "Don't be stupid, Shrimp. The police have no power over the Jils. They're intimidated by them. You and I would end up in prison, with the Patrol on the way."

"But --"

"Forget it, Shrimp! Hear me?"

The whine had increased to a roar, and beneath their feet the deck grew hot. Jason's eyes widened, and for just a moment the link quivered annoyingly in his mind. Then he was bringing them out of the dive, and forest skimmed past beneath them.

Trevor examined the readout. "You from New Brunswick, Shrimp?"

"Yes sir -- the outskirts of the town." He, too, was examining the scanners. We're about a hundred kilometers east of it."

"Good. I'm going to take us close enough to walk and then hide the ship."

"How close, sir?"

"Far enough away that no one's likely to find it and get curious. That means few people and deep underbrush. Is there anyplace like that within walking distance of the city?"

Jason considered. "Not really. There's forests to the north of here a bit, but we'll still have to hike. I'm not sure. Forty kilometers on so, just to reach the city. And besides --" He paused.

"What?"

"Your uniform, sir. You can't just go walking into New Brunswick dressed like that!"

"I know that." Trevor glowered at him. "You think I'm stupid or something?"

To his surprise, Jason did not shrink before the harshness of his tone. Instead he replied quietly and levelly. "No, sir, I don't think you're stupid. In fact, I think you're one of the smartest people I've ever met."

Trevor glowered at him, unaccountably pleased and trying not to show it. "Cut it out, shrimp."

Jason's eyes looked unnervingly into his, and his small face relaxed into a winning smile. "Yes sir," he said.

Trevor managed not to smile in return and looked deliberately away. "North, you said?"

"Yes sir. The national forests are up there."

Trevor adjusted course. "About the uniform ...." He stopped, angry with himself for volunteering the information. There was no need to explain everything to the boy, but something about the little guy was so compelling -- His empathic talents, no doubt. Trevor scowled at the thought. Jason sat quietly beside him, his face turned up to Trevor's, his brown eyes alert and interested, waiting for him to complete the statement. Empath! Trevor's mouth thinned. "Stop it, twerp!"

"Stop what, sir?"

"You're working on me. I know all about you empaths. Don't think you're the first that's tried to win me over. Cut it out!"

Jason's face fell. "How do you want me to act, sir?"

"Don't try to butter me up, twerp! It won't work! Hear?"

Jason nodded, not looking at him. "I'm not a twerp, sir."

"What did you say?" Trevor rose menacingly to his feet. To his surprise, Jason also stood up, facing him squarely. "I said I'm not a twerp, Corporal, and I'm not a shrimp, either. I don't like it when you call me those names. A twerp is a silly, insignificant or contemptible person, and a shrimp is a small sea animal from Terra, in case you didn't know."

Trevor took a menacing step toward him. "Look, twerp." He emphasized the word carefully, "I'll call you any thing I like, and I don't give a damn whether you like, it or not."

Jason went pink. "What am I? Your slave?"

The word, spoken In Jason's indignant, childish voice, sparked a long ago hurt. Trevor banished it, feeling a surge of fury toward this intrepid little idiot. He lifted a hand. "Shut up, or I’ll shut you up!"

Jason took a quick step back, looking scared. The link solidified, and Trevor gritted his teeth, waiting for it to subside.

Almost at once, it did. Jason's shoulders slumped and he came slowly back to his seat, sinking into it. He stared straight ahead, blinking hard. Trevor knew another moment of shame and pushed it away. "Stop it!"

Jason made no response. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and sniffled. Trevor pushed a box of tissues over to him. "Here."

Jason took two and blew his nose. Trevor swore to himself and bent over the controls. The ground beneath appeared on the viewscreen -- giant trees, their branches showing a few tattered remains of leaves. A true wilderness. The boy had been right. In some ways he wasn't too dumb for a kid his age, Trevor thought reluctantly.

A small clearing appeared below, and he circled the craft down into it, situating it beneath a large, evergreen-like tree. Jason stood up, blew his nose again, and dropped the tissues into the waste disposal chute.

Trevor cleared his throat. "Okay, Shorty, go into the galley and get together enough rations to last at least three days. We're going to have to hike a ways. We're about thirty kilometers from the first small town, and I'm hoping to get transport from there into New Brunswick."

Jason nodded, eyes meeting his expressionlessly. "Anything else, sir?" His voice was flat and dull.

Trevor squirmed beneath the boy's gaze, Wondering if Jason could sense the unfamiliar emotions churning in him. "No, that's it for now. I’ll be getting the other supplies together."

The boy turned without another word and went into the galley.

Trevor swore savagely to himself and began to yank emergency kits from the compartments. He stored them in his pouches and went over to the comp, programming a voice code to open the hatch into the machine's memory circuit. The whole process took less than five minutes. Jason emerged from the kitchen, carrying a small pack, which bulged with supplies. He swung it to his back and secured the straps.

Trevor shoved his own supplies into his pouch. Jason regarded him expressionlessly, then glanced at the chronometer on his wrist. "It'll be dark in about three hours, sir."

"Yeah. I figure we'll have to camp out at least one night."

Jason nodded. "It's going to be cold, sir. Those blankets look awfully thin."

Trevor pulled on his Patrol coat and glanced at the boy. Jason was clad in jeans, a blue, pullover sweater, and tennis shoes. "Don't you have a coat?"

Jason shook his head. "I guess you don't remember, huh?"

"Remember what?"

"You took it away from me when I was captured—you said something about selling it." He hesitated, then added quietly, "It was lined with genuine Vavil fur. My sister’s husband gave it to me for a present."

"Damn!" Trevor did remember now, and again came the unfamiliar sensation of shame. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he feeling this way? Trevor had always considered himself impervious to empathic talents. And the damned coat was, of course, back on the psychic hunter ship. He hadn't even considered bringing it along. There had been too much else to think about.

Jason shrugged. "It’s okay, Sir." Some of the sullenness was passing, and Jason produced a weak smile. "I'll be fine in this. I'm not very sensitive to the cold."

Trevor cursed to himself, brought out one of the emergency kits from his pouch and opened it. "Here, Shorty. We'll make you a cape of sorts out of this. These blankets are terrific." Carefully he split one of the cloths partway down the middle, using his pocketknife, placed the split pant over Jason's shoulders and fastened it beneath his chin with a safety pin. The blanket fell around him like a shawl. "There. That ought to do it. How does it feel?"

"Fine." Jason smiled. "Thank you, sir."

Trevor shrugged it off, replacing the kit in his pouch once more. "You ready?"

"Yes."

Trevor opened the hatch and they went down the short boarding ramp.

The air was freezing. Their breaths puffed white, and beneath their feet snow and dead leaves crunched. Jason glanced around, smiling. "My dad took me up here on a canoeing trip once. It's wild country, sir."

"Canoeing," said Trevor, his interest caught in spite of himself. "You mean, like a boat?"

He caught Jason's quick glance of surprise, before the boy looked away and replied quite naturally, "That's right -- a canoe is usually used in swift rivers where a boat would be impractical. The canoe is slim and maneuverable. It's very exciting, sir. You should try it sometime."

Trevor scowled. "Doubt I'll ever have the chance now. Come on, Shorty. Let's move."

The boy fell in beside him, walking easily, his small feet almost noiseless on the forest floor. Trevor wondered how he managed to move so quietly. His own steps sounded deafening by comparison.

"Are your parents still alive, sir?" asked Jason.

Trevor shrugged. "Could be. I don't know."

"You don't know?" Again that flash of surprise, quickly concealed.

"That's night. I don't know."

"You mean ... you lost track of them after you joined the Patrol?"

"No," he said shortly. "I never knew my parents."

"You never knew ..." Jason's voice trailed off. "You mean, you were separated from them when you were little?"

Long buried pain surfaced at the boy’s innocent questioning. "No. Shut up, twerp."

Jason fell silent, head bowed. Trevor felt again the rudeness of his words, and in sudden anger caught the boy's arm, spinning him around to face him. "Okay, Shrimp, you really want the truth? Here it is!"

The link had closed, and he could feel Jason shrinking beneath his grasp. He ignored it, speaking savagely. "I don't know who or what my parents were, except that they must've been real trenchcrawlers to do what they did to me. I was found shoved into a trash can with the lid wedged on tight. I was no more than three years old, skinny and naked and covered with bruises and filth, and so scared that I used to scream when any adult came near me. That’s my heritage, Jason Twerp Sweeney, Bellian native, who’s dad takes him canoeing, and who’s brother-in-law buys him coats with genuine Vavil fur lining!"

He broke off and released the boy, shoving him away. Jason was staring at him in horror, eyes wide. The link faded and vanished. Trevor turned abruptly away, one hand on a small tree trunk, furious at the lump forming in his throat.

Jason spoke, voice subdued. "I'm terribly sorry, sir. I had no idea. Your name, though? How did you get your name?"

"They gave me the name of the man who found me: Dick Trevor. A bum and panhandler who roved the streets of Jacquali on Corala. He took me to the local orphanage.”

Silence. Trevor heard no sound, but suddenly Jason was beside him, and he felt a small hand touch his arm. "Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe it wasn't your parents who did it."

Trevor swung around furiously. "Who the hell else could it have been?"

Jason didn't retreat. He looked squarely into Trevor's eyes and spoke levelly. "Anybody could have done it, sir. Maybe you were kidnapped. Sometimes people do take children for money, you know, or even for revenge."

Trevor laughed harshly. "You were brought up on Bellian, Shorty. On Corala kids aren't worth anything. There's too many illegitimate homeless little waifs running around."

Jason was silent. Trevor pulled his arm from the boy's grasp. "I don't need sympathy, Shorty. I'm tough.”

"You sure are!" There was real admiration in Jason's voice. "Not many kids would've survived that. What happened after you were put in the orphanage? Did they treat you okay?"

Trevor stared at the boy in amazement. "Don't you know anything, Shorty?"

To his surprise, Jason smiled shyly. "I'm just an ignorant Bellian kid, sir. Sorry."

"You’re not ignorant." Trevor heard himself speaking the words unbelieving. "At least, not about most things. You’re actually pretty smart for a kid your age. What are you? Seven or eight?"

Jason flushed. "I'm eleven, sir."

"No kidding. You don't look it." Trevor strode on again, Jason hurrying along beside him. The sun was sinking lower, and pale shafts of winter sunshine sifted through the naked tree limbs. The air was very fresh and cold.

"Did they?" Jason asked.

"Did they what?"

"Treat you okay?"

Again Trevor laughed harshly. "Shorty, those orphanages are nothing but child labor camps. They feed you watered down broth and work you until you drop from exhaustion, and as soon as you’re on your feet again, you're back with your nose to the grindstone."

Jason swallowed. "How horrible!"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you run away?"

"I tried twice, and got caught both times. They beat you to a pulp when that happens. I saw one of the wardens kill a couple of kids who tried, once."

"Good grief! Didn't he get in trouble for it?"

"Nope. Two less kids to eat up what supplies they've got."

Jason shuddered. "And what happened to you?"

Trevor found himself answering more readily now. "The second time I tried, the orphanage sold me to a drug dealer."

"Oh no!"

"Yeah. I was about ten or eleven, I guess, and big for my age, in spite of the meals they gave us. This druggie was also into gunrunning and prostitution, and he needed someone to keep his dump clean and take the risks for him on pickups and trade-offs, and so forth. I was the lucky one."

"You were a slave?"

"Yeah."

"Then what happened?"

Trevor glanced down at his small companion. "Why do you want to know all this, Shorty?" His voice was gentler than he'd intended. "You couldn't care. You don't like me. You told me you didn't, and I can feel it every time you link with me."

Jason's eyes wavered. "I don't know, sir. Maybe it's because --" He hesitated, then resumed, " well, because I don't really dislike you. I'm scared of you. You hurt me before, and I'm afraid I’ll make you angry and you’ll do it again."

Trevor scowled at him. "I might," he growled.

Jason smiled knowingly. "But I don't dislike you, sir. Under all that meanness and swearing and hurt, I think you’re basically a pretty nice person. You just haven't been able, to be that kind of person for so long, you've, forgotten how."

Trevor stared at him, aghast. "Now, what the devil do you mean by --"

His words were cut off. Jason's head snapped around and the link closed with a shock of fear. "Look out!"

The thing dropped from the tree overhead, landing squarely on Trevor’s shoulders and knocking him flat. Fire raked across his neck, and he had a confused impression of a great, shaggy body the color of a ripe lemon, a long snout, and gleaming fangs. Two huge, muscular appendages locked around him, pinning him like a butterfly to a board. An enormous mouth open and descended toward him, the creature’s hot breath puffing into his face, and Corporal Trevor could not restrain a scream of horror and revulsion.

Jason's face appeared, and the boy's arms and legs encircled the creature’s powerful neck. Jason's hands gouged at the thing's eyes and ripped at its hair. With an infuriated shriek, the creature released Trevor and grasped for Jason. Its great, clawed hands closed in the flowing blanket, and the boy was ripped free and hurled three meters across the frozen ground. With a roar of rage, the thing charged toward him. Trevor heard the boy scream.

Then the Corporal was on his knees, yanking the blaster from his holster. The weapon cracked. With a maddened screech, the creature whirled back toward Trevor. The Corporal took careful aim and fired again. The bolt took their attacker full in the face. It reeled and sank slowly to the ground.

"Shorty!" Trevor ran past the motionless body and knelt beside Jason's crumpled form. "Are you okay?"

Jason groaned and lifted a hand to his head. "Yeouch!"

"It clawed you. Hold on." Trevor pulled out the emergency kit and flipped it open. "What the hell was it?"

"A butterbear." Jason inhaled shrilly as Trevor applied antiseptic to the wound. "Ow!"

"Hold still. A what?"

"A butterbear. They're named that because of their color, and because...ouch! Darn it!"

"Don't move." Trevor applied pressure to the, wound in the boy’s scalp. "I'm going to have, to clip it closed, or you’ll bleed. It’ll hurt some."

"I'll hold still." Jason's voice quivered.

Trevor began to apply the clips as gently as he could. "Go on with what you were saying."

"What? Oh, the butterbear. They look sort of like a Terran grizzly bear. I've seen them before in the zoos here, and they're usually pretty docile."

"Docile, my ass!"

"Yeah, but the wild ones are different, and even the tame ones are unpredictable. They warn you to stay away from them. Ouch! Darn! That hurts!"

"I'm almost done." Trevor applied the last clip. "There. I think you’ll live."

"Thanks." Jason looked up at him, and his smile faded. "You're bleeding, too, sir. It got you on the neck."

Trevor wiped a hand across his neck, feeling stickiness smear his palm. Jason leaned forward. "Let me see it, sir."

"I'm fine. Just a scratch."

"No, let me look, sir. Animal scratches are nothing to fool with, especially something like a butterbear."

Trevor submitted, knowing the boy was night. Man! It must have taken guts to do what Jason had just done. To jump something like that, unarmed, spoke of courage the like of which Trevor had never witnessed before. Come to think of it, why had the kid done it? Jason couldn't like him much, and had admitted quite candidly to being afraid of him. It just wasn't logical that the boy had risked his life so carelessly for someone he wasn't particularly fond of. And yet, Jason had done it without hesitation, distracting the butterbear from Trevor, and turning the thing's fury on himself.

Jason was dabbing antiseptic on the wound, and Trevor swore absently at the stinging sensation.

"Sorry." Jason's index finger traced the line of the wound. "This isn't clean, sir. The skin's torn in a couple of spots. It's not deep, but it's jagged."

"I'm okay." Trevor brushed it off. "Yours is a lot worse. Put a patch on it, and we'll go."

Jason nodded and covered the wound with synthaskin. Trevor stood up, tucking the kit into his belt pouch again. Jason surveyed him doubtfully.

"You know, sir, you look awfully patrollerish. You got mad at me, before, so I haven't mentioned it since, but what are you going to do for clothes when we get out of the forest?"

Trevor shrugged. "Maybe I can borrow some."

"From whom?”

"From anybody we meet. Come on, Shorty."

Again Jason fell in beside him. The underbrush was thick --naked branches, studded with thorns. The light was growing dimmer.

Trevor glanced covertly at Jason, wondering again why the boy had saved his life. It made, no sense at all, never before had anyone risked anything for his benefit without a selfish motive, and yet this kid, who he had known less than a week, and certainly had no reason to love him, had done so. Maybe Jason did like him, after all.

If so, he was the first. In the orphanage, everyone had been too involved with their own problems to worry much about anyone else. What relationships were formed tended to be transitory. Trevor couldn't recall anyone demonstrating affection for him in his life.

"Sir," Jason said.

"Yeah?"

"What happened after you were sold to the drug dealer?"

Trevor glanced at the boy. "You really want to know, Shorty?"

"Yes, please."

"Why?"

Another smile. "I'm interested. You started at the bottom and ended up a Corporal in the Patrol. I want to know how you did it."

"It's not very pretty, Shorty."

"I didn't expect it to be, sir."

Trevor sighed. "Okay. After that guy bought me, he branded me. They do that, you know, to keep their slaves from running off. Anyone who's branded is a slave, and there's money to be had by bringing him back."

Jason's eyes were enormous. "You mean...he burned you? I never noticed any brand."

"Ok, the Patrol doctor took it off. That’s where I got this awful scar."

"I never noticed any scar either, sir."

Trevor raised an eyebrow at him. "You didn't?"

"No, sir. Where did he put it? On your chest or something?"

Trevor lifted the dark hair from his forehead. "The Patrol doctor did his best, but it's still pretty noticeable."

Jason peered up at him, squinting in the dimness. "I don't...oh, you mean that little bitty scar? Ok, heck, sir, I can hardly see it. I’ll bet nobody ever noticed it."

"Little! Anyone who knows anything could tell what it was!"

"Well, I never would've known."

Trevor glared at him. "That doesn't work with me, Shrimp. I thought you'd have learned that by now."

Jason looked at the ground. "Well, maybe I'm unobservant, but I never would've seen it if you hadn't pointed it out."

Trevor scowled at the boy, feeling oddly pleased. Jason smiled, his face handsome, yet very childish in the dimming light. A spot of blood had soaked through the bandage on his forehead.

"Anyway," he said, "who cares if you were a slave? Does it matter?"

"You’re damn right it matters, Shorty! Do you know what they make us do? Anything they want, that's what, no matter how horrible or perverted. They don't care if they hurt us, or kill us, for that matter. Slaves are cheap on Corala." He stopped, cursing to himself. He hadn't meant to pour out all his shame and bitterness on his small companion. Why had he done, it? Damn empath, weakening his defenses....

"It must have been awful," Jason said. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded, sir. Of course it matters, but not in the way you think. Anything that happened to you during those years wasn't your fault. And you must be a very strong person to have survived in spite of it."

Did the boy mean it? Trevor wondered. On Corala, slaves were the lowest of the low, and no one admitted to anyone that they had once been a slave. Did Jason think less of him now, as anyone from the Autonomy would had he admitted such a thing? Perhaps Jason was silently laughing at him. Why the devil had he admitted anything to the kid?

"I could never have been that strong," Jason said. "I'd have died before a week was out. But you didn't. You went through it and came out alive and kicking. Now that I know your story, I can hardly blame you for being upset with me. I must be a real thorn in your side after all you've been through. I messed everything up for you, after you'd worked so hard to get what you had."

Trevor stared at the boy in amazement. The kid had defined his emotions perfectly and done it in such a way as to arouse no anger or resentment. The Jils knew what they were talking about, all night, when they spoke of the terrible Terran psychics.

"How did you get away from the guy?" Jason asked.

"My master, you mean?"

"The drug dealer creep who bought you."

"Yeah." Trevor frowned darkly in memory. "This isn't pretty either, Shorty. The guy used to beat me up every chance he got. At first he was a lot bigger than me, and I was scared silly of him. He'd come at me with that strap of his, and --"

Trevor stopped, feeling cold sweat start out on his body at the memory. Jason's small hand closed firmly on his wrist, squeezing hard, and the pressure brought him back to the present.

"Careful, sir," he said. "You almost walked into a tree. It's getting kind of dark." The boy led the way through the underbrush, his steps still almost entirely silent. Trevor followed, cursing unimaginatively under his breath at his own weakness. He hadn't thought about those years for some time.

"What happened than, sir?"

Well, if the kid thought no less of him because he had once been a slave, then he mustn't act like he thought less of himself. He tried to make his voice nonchalant. "Well, one day I couldn't stand it any longer. I was about fifteen or sixteen, I guess—I'm not sure of my real age, you know—and I tried to escape. Vanlee caught me."

"Vanlee?"

"One of Klavin's lieutenants. He had two of them. Vanlee brought me back, and Klavin came at me with that damned strap." Again Trevor felt the cold sweat on his face, remembering Klavin's thin, cruel face and his own frantic pleas. "Vanlee tried to hold me, but I don't think he realized how strong I was. I went crazy for a second, I think. I broke free and attacked Klafin. Vanlee jumped in to help, but Klafin was already lying on the floor, bleeding like a stuck pig. I thought he was dead, and so did Vanlee. He grabbed for his blaster, and I hit him as hard as I could. Then everything goes sort of blank. The next thing I knew, I was out on the street and running for my life."

"Holy cow!" Jason's tone was one of complete admiration. "Good for you! It sounds to me like they deserved a lot worse. Were they dead? Did you ever find out?"

Trevor glanced down at his small companion, feeling a warm glow within himself. What a strange sensation, and very pleasant! He felt the sudden impulse to place a hand on Jason's shoulder, but resisted, faintly annoyed with himself. Empath!

"Vanlee was dead, but Klafin wasn't, Shorty. He put out a reward for me, and I had to run for my life more than once in the next few months. I took up with a gang of homeless kids for a while, but after about two weeks one of them tried to turn me in. He noticed the brand on my forehead, and figured out what I was. I ran away, and was on my own again. It didn't matter. I couldn't have stayed in the gang anyway, after they found out I'd been a slave. Slaves are less than dirt on Corala. Everybody looks down on 'em."

"That's stupid," Jason said, sounding disgusted. "Nobody asked you if you wanted to be a slave. That's like looking down on somebody because they're a psychic, or something. You didn't ask for it, but you got it, and I think you did a dang good job."

Trevor had never thought about it in that light before. "You know, you've got a real good point, there."

Jason smiled at him. "Please go on."

"Okay. Well, I knew I’d be caught eventually if I didn't do something. Then it occurred to me that I might try to join the Patrol. I didn't think they'd have me, either, if they knew my background, so I decided not to tell them. I'd grown my hair long by then, and it covered the brand pretty well. I applied at one of the recruiting offices, and, although I didn't meet the weight requirement, I was already over the height requirement, and still growing. The doctor who gave me the physical said I'd gain weight fast once I had enough to eat. I didn't fool him for a minute, of course. He saw the scars on my back, then lifted my hair and saw the brand. I considered running for it, but he just shrugged and told me to hang on and he'd have the damned thing off in a minute. He did, too; in less than a minute. It didn't even hurt."

"He'd probably taken plenty of them off before," Jason said.

Trevor frowned at the concept. "Yeah, I guess maybe he had. I didn't think of that." The boy's logic seemed to lift a great weight from his shoulders; a weight he hadn't even realized was there. He wasn't alone. There must be other escaped slaves in the Patrol. Otherwise, why would the doctor have been so nonchalant about it, or so skillful at removing the hated brand? During all those years he had simply assumed that he was the only one.

"Go on," Jason said.

"Okay, Shorty. Then the doc told me I was in pretty good shape, except for the malnutrition. He made me bathe, gave me some decent clothes, and sent me in to the Jil."

"Jil?" Jason's face came up.

"Sure. Every recruit's got to be checked out, and that means a mind probe."

Jason nodded. "I suppose so. I guess he must have seen everything, too."

"I guess, but apparently it didn't matter. The probe took about thirty seconds. Then he gave me back to the guy who'd brought me in, said something about me fitting the requirements, and called for the next one. It was the easiest thing I'd ever done. I grew fast after that, and gained weight, like the doc said I would. I've been in the Patrol almost five years now." Again his face darkened. "I was going to be promoted again next month—to Sergeant."

Silence. Jason's eyes were on the ground as he picked his way carefully through the underbrush. Trevor strode along beside him, angry again. He'd pulled himself out of a pit by his own bootlaces, and then this kid had to show up and throw a spanner in the works.

Jason looked up at him, his face solemn. "No wonder you were so angry with me. I understand now. I took away the one break you'd ever gotten." He bit his lower lip. "I'm very sorry, sir. It wasn’t on purpose, but I know that doesn't change anything."

Trevor glared at him, trying to re-summon his former anger and failing. Damn little empath! In spite of his knowledge and determination not to let it happen, he'd fallen under the kid's charm. Jason was a psychic, Trevor reminded himself furiously, untrained, true, but quite, capable of utilizing his powers, as he had demonstrated back on the ship when he had struck the blaster from Trevor's hand. These tactics to win him over were nothing but that—tactics. After all, Jason had told him in an unguarded moment that he hated him.

Except that the little guy had, only moments ago, taken an insane risk to save Trevor's life. Would the boy have done that if he really cared nothing for him?

"It’s getting pretty dark," Jason said. "Maybe we'd better make camp, sir."

"Yeah." Trevor glanced around, then strode over to a large tree. Jason followed, and dropped his pack beside the trunk.

"Should we light a fire, sir?"

"Well, no. We can't take the risk, Shorty. The emergency blankets'll keep us warm." Trevor pulled them from his pack and dug rations from the boy's supply. He tossed a can to Jason. "Here you are."

"Thanks." Jason wrapped himself in the blanket. "You know, sir, there are other animals out here besides the butterbears, and most of the carnivorous ones are nocturnal. It might be safer to light a fire."

"I said no, kid!" Trevor glared at him. "Forget it. Fires attract attention. We'll just have to keep watch. Think you can stay awake?"

Jason yawned. "Sure, I guess so, sir."

"I'll take the first one. You can sleep until two or so. What time you got?"

Jason glanced at the spaceman chronometer on his wrist. "Nearly 2000. There's twenty seven hours in a Bellian rotation, you know."

"Of course I know! I'm not Stupid, Shrimp." Trevor shut his mouth on the last word, ashamed and angry with himself. Jason was studying the contents of the ration can, lips quivering. Trevor cleared his throat, trying to work up the nerve to apologize. He'd never apologized for anything—not since he'd been a slave, anyway, and then he'd been forced to apologize constantly.

Damn! He felt awful! The scratch on his neck was throbbing and the pain had spread upward into his jaw. His eyes were smarting, and he felt incredibly tired.

"Sorry, Shorty." The words were quick and careless and sound insincere, even to himself, but Jason looked up quickly.

"That's okay, sir. My fault. I guess I was trying to show off. I...I feel sort of inadequate, around you, sir...you know?"

"Inadequate? What the blazes do you mean?"

"Well, you've seen so much more of life than I have, and not just because, you’re older, either."

Trevor felt again the warm glow, and again had to resist the impulse to place his hand on the boy’s shoulder. "Lie down, Shorty. Get some sleep. You're going to need it tomorrow."

"Yes sir." A pause. Then, "Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for changing my nickname. I appreciate it."

Trevor grunted. "Good night, Shorty."

"Good night, sir." Jason closed his eyes.

Trevor leaned back against the tree, shivering in spite of the warmth of the emergency blanket around his shoulders. He was feeling worse every minute. The rations he had consumed had settled uneasily on his stomach, his eyes were gritty, and his limbs ached.

Jason's eyes opened and he sat up. "Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you all right? You don't feel well." It was not a question.

"I'm fine. Little flu bug. Go to sleep, Shorty."

"I'll take first watch, sir."

"I'm fine. Go to sleep."

Jason hesitated, then lay down again, but Trevor was aware of the boy's eyes watching him in the dimness. After what seemed a long time, his little companion's breathing became deep and even, and the Corporal knew he was asleep.

And a good thing, too. Trevor was unsure how much longer he could remain silent. He felt horrible. His head was pounding, his eyes burned, and his neck was stiff. He huddled beneath the blanket, his teeth chattering. The queasiness in his stomach was increasing, too. He didn't know how much longer he could hold out.

Blast it all! If he got sick, they were dead. Somehow he had to keep on his feet. Jason couldn't handle an emergency on his own. Besides, it was quite possible that, if Trevor became incapacitated, the boy would simply leave him. He was worried about his family, and with good reason. If he realized that Trevor was out of the running, the chances were good that he would simply go on alone.

He couldn't get sick!

Nausea overcame him. He tried to get to his feet, astonished at his sudden weakness. After a terrific effort, he made it, then clung to the tree, swaying, and proceeded to lose his dinner in the snow and dead leaves.

Jason was suddenly beside him, small hands grasping his arm, Trevor finished at last and clutched the boy desperately, Jason steered him a short distance, from the disaster and helped him to lie down.

Faintly, through the humming in his ears, he heard the boy's voice speaking. An emergency blanket covered him, swathing him in warmth, but still the chills caught at him. His teeth rattled violently.

Jason was tucking something beneath his head—something firm which supported his stiff and aching neck. A cool cloth sponged his forehead, spreading relief through him. The shivering continued, and he was aware of his little companion crawling beneath the blanket with him. Small arms encircled him, holding him close.

The little body seemed to radiate warmth. Trevor closed his eyes. There was trouble here: bad trouble. He was in Chalari's Bar and Grill on Riskell -- no, it was Lola's on Shallock. The girl with whom he had decided to spend the evening was, in actuality, an Undergrounder. She was holding him prisoner. He tried to throw her off, and her voice spoke to him, telling him to lie quiet; that everything was okay. He fought her frantically, striking at her face, and heard her cry out in pain.

His eyes focused abruptly. It wasn't a girl. It was Jason. The boy's voice was crying out in his mind, and Trevor gradually came to the realization that he was sitting astride the boy's chest, and that Jason was pleading with him not to hit him again.

Trevor tried to speak, to apologize for the error, but everything was blurring out again. Klafin was here. Jason had been a dream. It was all a mistake. He had never joined the Patrol. He was a terrified youngster again, and his master was approaching, strap in hand.

He struggled to bring his hands up, to defend himself somehow. His hands wouldn't move, Klafin had tied him down!

Hands clasped his shoulders; small, firm hands. A voice reached him faintly. "Corporal Trevor, listen to me! You’re dreaming. Klafin isn’t here, You’re safe! Understand? You’re safe!"

He saw Jason's face, hovering over him, insubstantial as a cloud, Klafin faded away.

"Shorty?" His voice sounded like a rusty hinge.

"Yes sir. It's okay. You’re going to be all right,"

"Let my hands go!" Trevor began to struggle frantically. Lord Halthzor was standing behind Jason, blaster leveled. He saw Jason glance back at the alien, "Shorty, look out!"

"He's not there, sir! You’re dreaming. There's nobody here but us."

"It's Halthzor, kid! Let my hands go!"

"He's not here, sir!" Jason's eyes fixed his. "Look at me! He’s not here!" Halthzor faded and vanished. Jason's hands were firm on his shoulders, and he relaxed, closing his eyes. Darkness enveloped him.

******

Corporal Trevor opened his eyes. He was lying inside some sort of rudely constructed shelter, and his body was wrapped warmly in an emergency blanket. He felt very weak, but his head was clear. Man! What dreams he'd been having!

A sound reached him—the soft, musical twitter of a bird. He turned his head.

Sunlight was streaming through an open flap in the tent, which, he saw now, was constructed of emergency blankets hung over poles, the ends of the blanket somehow riveted to the ground.

He tried to sit up, discovering that his hands were fastened behind him with restrainers. Suddenly afraid, he tried to wiggle free of the blankets, without success.

Jason Sweeney came through the tent flap.

"Sir!" The boy was instantly on his knees, small hands grasping his shoulders. "You’re awake! Finally!"

"Shorty, what the hell happened? Take these things off of me!"

Jason felt his forehead. "The fever's gone!" He fished in his jeans pocket and drew out a key, stepped behind Trevor and pulled the blanket away. There was a soft hum, and his hands were free. Jason stepped over him and again went to his knees beside him. "I'm sorry, sir, but I had to cuff you. You were out of your head. I was afraid you were going to hurt yourself -- or me." His voice broke. "I was so scared!" He started to cry.

Trevor stared at him. "Why?"

"I was afraid you were going to die!" Jason wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

"Hey, Shorty!" On impulse Trevor reached out and took the boy's shoulder. To his amazement, Jason had collapsed against his chest, clinging tightly to the cloth of his uniform. Trevor patted his back. "Easy, little pal. I'm not all that easy to kill, you know. Besides, if I croaked, you'd probably be a lot better off."

"That's not true!" Jason's face came up. “You'd better not die, Corporal Trevor! You just try it one more time, and I'll kill you!"

Trevor found himself grinning. "That would sort of defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?"

Jason let him go, wiping his eyes with his palm, smearing dirt and tears across his face. He had freckles, the Corporal noticed for the first time, freckles mottling the bridge of his nose and sprinkled liberally across both cheeks.

The boy nodded, took out a rumpled tissue and blew his nose. "Sorry I fell apart, sir. I got your tunic wet."

"That's okay." Trevor glanced at the sunlight streaming through the flap of the tent. "How long have I been --"

"Three days, sir."

"Three days!"

"Yes sir. You were awfully sick. The crisis came last night. For six hours you raved and fought like a lunatic. Then you got so quiet I..." Jason's voice broke again. "I thought...you were going to...to die!"

"Three days!" Trevor muttered.

"Yes sir. You were out of your head a lot of the time. You kept calling me Sally. And once you jumped me and tried to choke me." Jason touched a spot under his right eye, and Trevor noticed for the first tune that the kid had a shiner. "After that I kept your hands cuffed.

Trevor swore under his breath. Jason got up, ducked out of the tent, and returned a moment later, a ration tin held carefully in both hands. Steam drifted from it, and a delicious aroma filled the tent. Jason squatted beside him. "Here, sir, see if you can drink some of this."

Trevor took the can and peeked at the contents. "Broth? Where the devil did you get it?"

"I...well, sir, I sort of borrowed your blaster and used it to kill a Breeve."

"A what?"

"Breeve. It’s a little critter, sort of like a Terran rabbit. Try the soup. It's not bad."

Trevor sipped the scalding liquid, aware instantly of a wonderful flavor. "Mmm! This is great, kid."

"I know. Nothing much to flavor it with, but breeves flavor themselves, my mom always says." Worry settled over the boy's features again. He got up abruptly and left the tent, returning a moment later with a second can of soup. "I got awfully tired of emergency rations."

"Don't blame you." Trevor sipped from the can again. "Any idea what was wrong with me, by the way?"

"Oh, I know exactly what was wrong, sir. You had squapp."

"What?"

"Squapp. It's very common here on Bellian. The virus is everywhere, and once you get exposed, it takes about six to twelve hours to show up. I had it a long time ago. It's not too bad on kids, but grownups are dofferent." His voice quavered. "Sometimes they die from it if they don't get to a hospital. It's in the water here, and in the soil. Most animals carry it in their blood and spit, and sometimes just on their claws, from licking them. You probably picked it up from the butterbear. I...I didn't realize you hadn't been vaccinated against it, sir. They came out with the shot about three years ago, long after I’d already had it."

"Squapp." Trevor had never heard of it.

"Yes sir. Kids get a fever and chills, and a really horrible stomachache. That's the part I remember the most. But my father had it at the same time, and he was put in the hospital. They had him on a respirator, and all kinds of stuff. He was out of his head for days. Mom said he would have died if he hadn't been hospitalized." Jason swallowed. "Are you really feeling okay now, sir?"

"Yeah. A little shaky, but okay. Thanks, Shorty." Trevor drained his can of broth and lay back, feeling tired but at peace. Jason also set down his can, the broth hardly touched.

"Maybe you ought to sleep some more, then."

"Yeah, maybe I will." Trevor closed his eyes. The hot broth had created a euphoric glow within him, and drowsiness covered him at once.

The next time he awoke, the light was fading. Jason was lying beside him, his small, wiry body curled tightly against him, eyes closed, breathing deep and slow. Poor kid. He was worn out. What a hellish three days he must have had! Amazing that the little guy had stayed, and not taken off on his own. Against all reason, Jason had stuck by him, and managed well enough -- better than Trevor had imagined he even could. Little Jason Sweeney was quite a kid, that was for damn sure. Trevor had never known anyone quite like him before.

Intently he studied Jason's sleeping face. He was just a little kid, Trevor told himself firmly. The corporal had known hundreds like him, and had turned them over to the Jils without a qualm.

Why did the memory bring him shame now? It never had before. He had known, of course, that it was wrong, but the knowledge had never troubled him before. Why should it now?

Jason moaned and cried out softly in his sleep. Trevor felt the link form briefly, then subside. For some reason, the sensation wasn't so distasteful now. As a matter of fact, it wasn't distasteful at all. The boy's mind within his own was actually rather pleasant—except for the fear which was transmitted through the touch. The kid was dreaming about Rakinxvor again. Trevor had caught a glimpse of the alien's face during the contact.

But why was the link no longer unpleasant? Trevor rubbed a thumb across his bristling jaw and considered. Then it hit him. The sensation of hatred, so vivid in the earlier contacts, had not been discernable this time. He remembered now Jason's unfeigned relief at his recovery, and his apparent terror that Trevor would die of that disease. Why, then, it was true! Jason no longer disliked him.

Trevor wondered uneasily how many other child psychics were similar to Jason Sweeney.

Dammit! It shouldn’t bother him! Joining the Patrol had been a matter of survival in his case -- nothing more, nothing less. And 'trols did what the Jils told them to do. Some of the jobs were distasteful, true, but if you were smart you kept quiet about that. Trevor glowered at the memory of Rakinxvor testing the pain stimulators on Jason to watch the effect on Trevor. Damn Jil! Trevor favored the deceased alien with a few uncomplimentary thoughts, then turned his head to look at Jason again. The boy’s eyes were open, watching him.

"Hi," he said, "Feeling better, sir?"

"Yeah. How about you? Sleep well?"

"Yes, thanks." Jason sat up. "I was pretty tired, I don't think I slept at all while, you were sick."

"Hey, Shorty…" Trevor cleared his throat. "I've got to say something ..." He paused and cleared his throat a second time, trying to summon the nerve to thank Jason for sticking with him during his illness, and unsure how to begin. It occurred to him suddenly that he had never thanked an equal for anything. He had never needed to. None of his peers had liked him well enough to do any favors for him, and Klavin and the Jils -- well, he'd had to thank them whether they deserved it or not.

Jason's small hand clasped his firmly, and the boy looked confidently up at him. "You’re welcome, sir. Forget it. Okay?"

Trevor gaped at him. "Hey!"

"What?"

"Quit reading my mind! I don't like it!"

"I didn't read your mind, sir…" Jason's face changed and he looked a little shocked. "Gosh, I guess maybe I did. You were trying to decide how to thank me, weren't you?"

"Yeah."

Jason hung his head. "I'm sorry, sir. Sometimes your mind is kind of hard not to read, I think. I mean, I always seem to know what you’re thinking -- sort of, anyway."

Trevor felt his annoyance draining away. "Aw, that's okay. Forget it, Shorty. The Jils told us to expect it -- that psychic kids use their talents a lot without meaning to, and I guess that's what you’re doing. It isn't your fault."

Jason's face came up, his expression troubled. "But sir...your mind...I mean, I've never done this with anyone else. Your thoughts just kind of jump out at me. It's weird."

"My thoughts are weird?"

"No." Jason laughed, then sobered. "I’m sure your thoughts are probably pretty much like anybody else's. What I mean, is that it's so easy. I don't even have to try. It was horrible, too, while, you were hallucinating; sort of like I was having the same nightmares myself, while I was awake."

Trevor considered that. "And you've never done this before?"

Jason shook his head vigorously. "Never!"

"Oh, well, I’m an easy read. I know I am. The Jils, even the ones who weren't especially good telepaths, could always read me without half trying."

"Oh," Jason said. "I guess that explains it, then, sir"

And how about cutting out the ‘sir’ stuff. That's gone on long enough. My name's Rich, or Trev; whichever one you like best."

Jason's face split into that beautiful smile. "I like Trev best."

"Okay, then." Trevor sat up, pushing back the blankets, and aware suddenly of hunger. "How about some grub?"

"Yes sir! Right away!" Jason scrambled from the tent, and Trevor followed him. He still felt quite weak, but part of that might be from hunger. The boy was bushing ashes back from a bed of coals and setting a large, stone pot to one side of it. Trevor glanced at it, wondering where the boy had gotten it.

"I used your blaster on needle beam," Jason told him without waiting for Trevor to ask. I carved it out of a big old rock. Not too bad, as cooking pots go, huh? Then I found some clean snow and stewed the breeve." He glanced in the pot. There's enough left for dinner."

"Hey, Shonty, you did okay." The Corporal regarded the child with surprise. "I never would have figured you for the pioneer type."

"Thanks." Jason was tossing twigs on the coals, and tiny flames began to lick at the fuel. "I had to go ahead and light a fire, even though you said it was dangerous. You couldn't eat canned rations in the shape you were in, sir. Do you -- Is it okay, do you think, to go ahead now and heat the stuff up? We can let it go out right away."

"Sure." Trevor relaxed, stretching his fingers toward the flickering flames. Clouds were gathering overhead, he saw. "Think it's going to snow?"

"Maybe." Jason placed the pot over the flames, then scooted around the fire to sit closer to his companion. "Sir --" His voice quavered a little, "I feel funny."

"What?" Trevor’s hand reached automatically for his holster. “Give me my blaster, kid.”

Jason drew the weapon from his belt and handed it to him. He shivered. "Something’s watching us, Trev." The link began to form. "I'm scared."

"Easy, kid. Any idea what it is? Animal of some kind'?"

"Yes, I think so. It’s hungry." The link solidified with an almost audible snap. "Sir, look out!"

The creature shot out of the dark trees to their left and charged. Trevor's blaster cracked twice, and the thing sprawled forward, coming to rest with its jaws almost touching Trevor's boot.

He stared down at it, suddenly aware that he was holding Jason against him, his arm clamped so tightly around the little body that the boy couldn't breathe. He released the kid, "You okay?"

"Sure," The boy was staring at the animal, too. The creature was shaped vaguely like a Terran dog, but was much larger, and covered from head to tail with tight, black curly hair. Its nose was long and pointed, more like a fox than a dog, and the Corporal estimated it must mass close to a hundred kilos.

"What is it? Have, you seen these in the zoo, too?"

"Un uh. It’s a megawolf, sir. Sort of a dumb name, but it fits. They're a lot like wolves, in that they mate for life, and hunt in packs." The boy shivered against him, and a small hand slipped into his.

Deliberately, Trevor fired once more, then stepped back from the creature, wiggling his hand free from Jason's and putting a firm arm around his little companion. "Easy, Shorty. You're still linked with me. Don't worry. It’s dead."

"Trev...I...I'm not sure, but I think there's another one out there."

Trevor said a four letter word. "Where? Which direction?"

Jason concentrated, and Trevor was aware of an odd sensation; a tingling weakness through his body. It grew gradually stronger, then subsided as quickly as it had begun. The link remained.

"That way," said Jason, "It’s moving, sir, circling. These things are pretty intelligent, you know, and I think the one watching us is that one’s boyfriend." He nodded at the motionless creature on the ground. "It wants to kill you for killing its mate."

"Okay, build up the fire."

Jason tossed more logs on the flames. "It’s coming closer, sir."

"Damn!" Trevor scanned the trees around them, straining his eyes. He could see nothing and hear nothing, but he had no doubt the thing was out there, and just as Jason said, was stalking them.

"Sir!"

The thing sprang from the underbrush and charged. Trevor fired and the thing gave a maddened snarl, but never slackened its pace. Trevor fired a second time. The shot grazed the creature's skull, and then it was upon him.

It bore him to the ground, knocking the blaster from his hand. Jaws snapped centimeters from his face as he strove to fend the thing off. Jason's voice, screamed something in his mind. There was the crack of the blaster again. The creature jerked slightly, but didn't cease its attack. The jaws snapped again, close enough to graze his face.

"Ssing!" A needle beam hissed past his cheek, so close that he felt the heat of its passing. The megawolf's body seemed to spasm, and it collapsed slowly on top of him.

"Sir!" Jason's hands gripped the creature's head, pulling the jaws away from his face. Trevor pushed it back and wiggled free, cursing. Jason landed on his chest, both arms tight around his ribcage. "Sir! Are you hurt? Holy cow! I thought it was going to --" He burst into tears.

Trevor patted him between the shoulder blades, feeling a sense of wonder at the boy's emotion. Could this be the same kid that, a few days ago, he had debated whether or not to kill in order to free himself from the hated link? The memory was so remote, now, like something from another life. "Easy, Shorty, I'm okay." Gently he detached the boy's arms and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Boy, was this character ever mad at me! That gal of his must have been some tumble, huh?"

Jason looked puzzled for a moment, then went bright red. Trevor grinned at him reassuringly. "You know, you’re going to be a handy little guy to have around. You’re quite a psychic. I haven't met many Jils who could match you, that's for sure." He continued to talk matter of factly, calming the boy the best way he knew how. "The Underground'll be glad to get hold of you—if we can ever locate them. Look, we'd better get started again in the morning. We'll be in New Brunswick by tomorrow night, if we can get transport in that little town I told you about."

Jason had stopped crying and was looking a little ashamed. "Sorry, sir. Sorry to come apart like that."

"Trev, dammit! You didn't come apart. You kept your head like a pro and drilled the thing right through the brain with needle beam, which was the only thing you could do without killing me along with it. Who taught you to shoot, anyway?"

"Why...uh..." Jason looked a little worried. "You did, sir—while you were sick."

"I did?"

"Yes sir. I...well it occurred to me that I might have to use the blaster if anything bothered us, and I didn't know all the settings, so I asked you, sort of reading your mind at the same time. You were confused about a lot of things, but you told me all about the blaster. After you'd done it, I tested it out to be sure: all but the overload setting and emergency max. Everything worked just like you said it would."

Trevor sat down weakly. "Well, I’ll be damned!"

"You aren't mad, are you, sir?"

"Mad? I'd be dead if you hadn't done it. Hell, no, I’m not mad." He pulled Jason down beside him and reached across to finagle the stone pot off the fire. "Get your bowl, Shorty, and let’s eat. Looks like there's some meat in here, too."

They ate, sipping the broth and dipping out the chunks of meat with their fingers. Jason finished first and refilled both ration cans. It was a wonderful meal, and after he had finished, Trevor sat back, wondering at his state of mind. He felt good, free from care, and completely happy and content for the first time in his memory. Why? He glanced at the little boy beside him. Was Jason the cause? A silly little kid from Bellian, who had thrown a spanner into the works of his life? Or was it the fact that he was at last truly free from the Jilectans as well as from Klavin?

Jason finished the stew and rinsed out the cans. They sat together in the flickering firelight, and Jason began to talk about his family.

"I have two older sisters," he was saying. "They're named Ellen and Maureen. Ellen is grown and married, but Reena -—that's Maureen -- is fifteen."

“Ellen’s husband must be the one who gave you your vavil furred coat, then?"

"Yes. They just had a baby, too. I'm an uncle to a little niece named Sheila Ann."

Trevor listened to Jason in awe. What a marvelous thing to be able to trace your ancestry back to your great grandfather, and to know your sisters and brothers, and even your nieces and nephews! Trevor wondered idly if he had any siblings, and if he had, what had become of them? Had his parents stuffed them into trash cans as well? The thought sent an unaccountable stab of pain through him.

Jason was watching him, his expression sober. Trevor wondered if the kid was reading his thoughts again. Probably, he decided. "Your sisters pretty, kid?"

"Pretty?" Jason considered the question a moment. "Ellen is, I guess. Reena's got pimples and freckles, like me. I haven't got pimples yet, but I bet I will by the time I'm her age." His face clouded over. "I sure hope they're all right, sir."

"Trev."

"Trev." He hesitated. "What'll the Jils do to them if they catch them?"

Trevor bit his lip. "Uh ...."

Jason was nodding. "Kill them if they're psychics, I suppose. And if they're not?"

Trevor shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know, pal. Really, I don't."

"Ok." Another pause. "But they probably are psychics, huh?"

"At least one of your parents must be, kiddo." Trevor knew it was useless trying to conceal anything from the boy. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be. Being a psychic's inherited."

Jason nodded. "Gosh, I hope, they're all right."

"No use stewing about it. Look, Shorty, why don't you get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

The boy regarded him dubiously. "Do you feel well enough, sir?"

"Sure," Trevor repli