The Reluctant Pirate: 7/?
by Linda Garrick and Nancy Smith
Chapter 7
Trevor guided the car slowly to the north, watching on the terrain below, his brow furrowed in thought. Jason relaxed against his arm, feeling genuinely at peace for the first time in many days. They were still fugitives and wanted men, and had not reached safety as he had hoped, but his family was in the hands of the Terran Underground. They, at least, were safe, and he, Jason, had been rescued from a fate-worse-than-death by Richard Trevor. They were at least safely together, and even though Jason had shot his mouth off without thinking, again, they had worked it out, and it was all right. Jason's temper had gotten him into trouble before, and his uncanny ability to poke people in their sore points had landed him more than one black eye in the past. At least Trev had been smart enough to realize it didn't mean anything.
"Shorty," Trevor said.
"Yes?"
"I think we ought to keep right on going. We can't stay on Bellian. We're going to have to get off world. You see that, don't you?"
"Because of the Jil?"
"Yeah. That 'trol saw me kill him, and I left him alive to tell about it. They'll be banning all flights from the planet until we're caught. There's no choice. If we leave now, before the alarm spreads too much, we'll have the best chance."
"Where do you think we should go?"
"I don't know. The Underground'll ask your parents. Where will they expect you to go?"
"I don't know."
"Do you have relatives anywhere besides Bellian?"
"I have a grandmother and grandfather on Osterlak."
"That’s it?"
"Just about. I have a second cousin and his wife on Terra, but I've never met 'em."
"Osterlak's our best bet, then, I guess." Trevor's hand squeezed his shoulder lightly. "I don't know anything about it. What's it like?"
Jason shrugged. "I've never been there. Grandpa and Grandma came to Bellian to visit us. I've never seen their home."
"Hmm. Well, there's really no other choice, except to head for Corala, or one of the Jil worlds. The Underground’s real active on Corala."
"Maybe we should go there, then. At least you know the planet."
Trevor winced and shook his head. "I think Riskell would be better. Underground's active there, too."
"But why not Corala?
Again the hand squeezed his shoulder tightly. "You forget so easily, pal, but other people don't, I'm still an escaped slave, and I don't have the Patrol to protect me anymore. On Corala I might be recognized."
Jason glanced up at him. "How long has it been?"
"Since what?"
"Since you escaped from Klafin?"
"Oh. About five years, I guess. I look some different, but I still might be recognized. Besides, I've still got the scar. Anybody who saw it would know I was a slave and maybe start checking. Riskell's safer. We might try Shallock, but my accent isn't Shallockian. Shallockians have the most hellish accent you ever heard. I'd stand out like a sore thumb there, and so would you. But Riskell's different. Oh, it's all ghettos and slums, no difference there, but the accent's not that different from Corala."
"I like your accent," Jason said.
"I didn't know I had one." Trevor grinned at him. "You sure do, though."
"Me? I don't have an accent."
"Bellian accent: most attractive in the Sector. Famous, too. Julia Austell was from Bellian, I'm told."
"She was," Jason said proudly. "My mom knew her mom."
"No kidding?"
"No kidding. Mrs. Austell had twins, you know. Julia had a twin sister named Jill. They were just kids when they left Bellian, but my mom used to babysit for Mrs. Austell. Mom was a teenager then."
"I'll be damned! I guess it really is a small galaxy. You got an interesting history."
"Not as interesting as yours, sir."
"Sir! Are you ever going to quit calling me that?"
"I'm sorry, Trev. It just seems kind of natural. You have such a -- a commanding presence."
He sensed pleasure from Trevor. "Put a lid on it, empath."
"Okay, 'trol. Aren't we almost there?"
"Yeah, I think so. Yeah, there’s the ship ahead of us."
The car began to lose altitude, settling gently into the clearing before the ship. Trevor opened the door and got out, Jason behind him.
"Feeling okay now, Shorty?"
"Sure. How about you?"
"Good as new. Let's go."
"Wait!" Jason stopped. "Something's not right."
Trevor swore. "Someone waiting for us on the ship?"
"No, I don't --" Alarm shot through him. "Run, Trev!"
There was the hum of a stunbolt.
Chapter 8
"Not far now," Alan said. "I'm almost close enough to call him."
"Good. Maybe we can…"
Alan jerked convulsively. "He's in trouble! Oh, gosh!"
"What?"
"I think someone just stunned him!"
An alarm went off, and Linley swore, reaching forward to press a control. "Scout, closin' in on us, kid! Let's get outta here!"
There was a roar of motors as the ship appeared ahead of them, closing the distance fast. Alan jerked again with a surprised exclamation. "Mark!"
"What?"
"There's a Terran psychic aboard that ship!"
"What? Not one of ours?"
"No, I don't think so. I think he’s the same one I sensed while we were waiting for Jason to show up." Alan jumped again. "Mark, I'm receiving a telepathic message!" His eyes went vacant, and his accent changed, becoming suddenly almost Shallockian. "Okay, land that crate right now! Move it!"
Alan's eyes focused again almost at once, "Mark, what'll we do? He's going to shoot us down!"
"We land. If he's a trained psychic, he can't be workin' for the Jils. Maybe he don't know who we are and has the wrong idea about us." Mark pressed buttons. "Let's go find out."
The aircar settled to the ground in a small clearing. Alan started again. "He's ordering us to get out."
"Can't you talk to him and ask him what he wants?"
"I've tried. He won't answer. He says to get out or he'll blow us up."
Mark opened the door. "Let's go."
They climbed from the car, hands elevated. The ship had stopped circling and now hung motionless over them, obviously set on hover control.
“Does he know who we are?" Mark asked tightly.
"I don't think so," Alan's said. "Shields up tight, Mark?"
"Yeah, for what good it'll do."
There was the hum of a stunbolt.
******
Alan Westover opened his eyes, aware of the terrible nausea and headache succeeding a stunbolt. He was lying face down on the deck of a ship, and repulsers purred softly in his ears, the sound making his head pound all the more. He suppressed a groan, trying to move, and finding that his hands were fastened behind him with what felt like loops of rope.
Someone touched him, turning him very gently to one side. He began to retch, and felt the comforting coolness of a damp cloth on his face.
"Mark?" he gasped.
"Take it easy, kid." The voice held a Shallockian accent, but was not Mark's. Through a haze, Alan blinked up at the small face over him: straight, dark hair and tanned features. Beneath him the deck jolted, jarring him terribly. He gagged.
"Time to go." Another face appeared, and Alan groaned again as large hands pulled him to a sitting position.
"Easy, Bennie," the Shallockian said. "He's feelin' pretty terrible."
"Okay, no sweat." Bennie grasped Alan and swung him up like a baby. They descended the ramp of the scout ship, and vaguely Alan was aware that they had entered a landing bay aboard a larger vessel.
He didn't feel like asking questions, and remained passive as his large captor bore him across the bay and down a long corridor. They reached a lift which dropped sickeningly. Alan bit his lip, trying not to cry out as the sensation intensified the headache once again. Then the lift stopped and again his captor strode out, the Shallockian psychic trotting along beside him, hurrying to keep up. After a moment they stopped, before a large, ornate door.
Alan swallowed and willed himself to speak. "What do you want?" It was little more than a croak, and neither of the men paid the slightest attention to him. The door slid open and they entered. Alan felt his heart climb into his throat as a tall, blond figure turned toward them. His shields snapped shut.
The Jilectan was clearly from either the middle or lower class, for he wore his golden hair loose and flowing over his shoulders, and without the styling and crimping that most of the upper classes wore. His clothing consisted of a tight jumpsuit, rippling with pink and orange stripes, and garish jewels sparkling from his ears and throat. His feet were bare.
The man holding Alan stopped beside the door, but the psychic went gracefully forward to kneel before the being. "M’lord Blashvor, we got two of them!" His voice was exultant. "This one showed up at the kid's house. I think he's gotta be a friend o' the other; maybe even his psychic partner. He was followin' the kid, an’ once or twice I heard 'em speakin' telepathically."
The Jilectan smiled faintly. "Good work, Fenton."
"Thank you, sir!" The psychic rose easily to his feet.
The Jilectan glanced toward the man holding Alan. "Good work, Bennie. Bring him here."
Bennie approached, still carrying Alan easily. Fenton began to speak again.
"This one's powerful, sir -- more so than the boy, I think. He broadcasts a terrific aura!"
"He is broadcasting nothing now,” Blashvor said. “Put him down, Bennie."
Bennie set Alan on his feet. The Jilectan crooked a finger at him. “Approach me, Terran."
Alan moved two hesitant steps forward. There was nothing he could do to resist. They would have him in an instant if he tried to run. What had happened to Mark and the others?
He still felt dizzy from the stunbolt, but the headache was beginning to subside. A good thing, too. He needed all his wits about him now. Would they recognize him? He still wore his straight, brown wig and dark contact lenses. Who was this Jil anyway, who obviously employed his own Terran psychic for the purpose of capturing other psychics? Alan had never heard of any Jil doing such a thing before.
“Approach me, Terran," the Jilectan repeated. From behind, Bennie gave him a gentle push.
Reluctantly he obeyed, stopping two meters from the alien, and went to one knee, his heart knocking against his ribs. The Jilectan surveyed him thoughtfully.
"He has shielding," the alien said quietly. "You did not detect it before, Fenton?”
"No, M’Lord." Fenton's reply was worried. "His mind was wide open when I first touched it, but because I had the impression that he’d sensed me, I didn't try'n probe him. D’you think -- maybe he's one of his, sir?"
"Quite possible," Blashvor said coldly. "Search him."
Bennie obeyed, patting Alan’s clothing and going through his pockets. Instantly he discovered the blaster and drew it out. Blashvor's brow knitted in puzzlement.
"You must, indeed, be well trusted, my little psychic," he said quietly. "Is it possible my brother is at last modifying his treatment of his psychics?" Again he addressed Fenton. "Check him for a transmitter on homing device. Hurry."
Alan submitted quietly as they again searched him. The psychic glanced at his chronometer, and then removed it from his bound wrist, examining it closely.
“Well?" the alien demanded.
"It seems to be an ordinary chronometer, M'Lord." The psychic handed it over.
Blashvor examined it, and then pressed a small device on the article. There was a soft beeping sound.
"This is a chronometer," Blashvor said. "It is also a transmitter." His hand closed over it and contracted suddenly into a fist. There was a crunch. Blashvor opened his hand, letting the ruined article clatter to the deck. Then he turned and strode over to the bulkhead, pressing a control. "Jeffers!"
“M’Lord?” responded a voice.
"Switch our location, point 37."
“Yes, sir." There was the sound of the ships repulsers. Blashvor turned, back to Alan, his face hard.
"What is your name, Terran?”
"David Woodruff, sir,” Alan said in a low voice.
Bennie handed the Jilectan Alan’s wallet. "That's the name on his I.D., sir."
The alien glanced at the card, then back at Alan. "Was he alone?"
"No, M'lord," Bennie said. "He was in an aircar with three other men."
"I see. You did not bring them?"
"No, M'lord. Fenton said they weren't psychics." Bennie's voice trailed off and he glanced nervously at the other Terran. Fenton had gone pale beneath his tan.
"I'm sorry, M'lord," he whispered. "I didn't realize --"
The Jilectan interrupted him, speaking to Alan again. "What did your lord command you to do, David?"
Alan looked up at him, but dropped his gaze, quickly. "I don't understand, sir."
"I believe you do. You are a spy, are you not, sent by my brother to find my base? Well, you have failed, and now your transmitter is destroyed and our location has been changed. My brother will be very angry with you. If I were you, David, I would have no wish to return to him and report your failure." He paused, watching Alan expectantly.
Alan shook his head, not looking up. "M'lord, please believe me, I'm not a spy for anyone."
"You are trained and armed. Your chronometer has been skillfully altered to function as a transmitter. You are a spy for my brother, sent to lure me in with your talents."
"No, m'lord. I don't know your brother. Please, you must believe me!"
"Lower your shields and say that, Terran psychic!" The alien smiled knowingly as Alan hesitated. "Ah, I thought so. I will have the truth, my little psychic, one way or another." His tone softened abruptly. "You are afraid. My brother is a hard master, and most intolerant of mistakes. Rest assured, Terran, that I shall not harm you. Such beings as yourself are a rare prize, and the fact that my brother has lost you is surely my gain. Come now. Lower your shields."
Alan's mind was racing. Could he pretend to be what they suspected he was? How? He hadn't the faintest idea who the alien was talking about when he spoke of "his brother". Alan needed a diversion -- anything to delay matters until Mark could arrive. Linley would be here soon. Their link was no doubt present even now, and no shift of position could confuse Mark when their psychic link was in evidence. Mark would find him. Alan just had to give him more time.
"M’lord," he tried. "Fenton is mistaken. I'm not a psychic."
Fenton made a derisive sound in his throat. "Then I'm Lady Chanthzill in disguise.
The Jilectan smiled faintly. "Lower, your shields."
Alan did so, employing every bit of selective shielding he could muster. Would it hold beneath the Jilectan's mind probe?
Fenton was staring at him, brow furrowing. "M'lord, I don't understand."
"I understand" The Jilectan's voice was calm, and he addressed Alan quietly. "Perhaps you think that through this trick I will believe my psychic was in error, David. You are wrong. I trust Fenton, and have never yet seen him make a mistake of this nature. You are a psychic, certainly, and you are attempting to hide your abilities through selective shielding. I must remark, also, that you are quite adept at it."
"Selective shielding!" Fenton whispered in awe. "Would he go that far, sir?"
"Apparently so." The Jilectan surveyed Alan thoughtfully. "I have no wish to harm you, my little, psychic. Lower your shields now."
"My shields *are* down, sir! Please; Fenton just got confused because of the little psychic boy nearby. I'm not a psychic!"
Blashvor raised an eyebrow. "I repeat, Terran, I trust my psychic. If he says he sensed psychic energy in you, then he is speaking the truth, and you are lying.”
This wasn't working, "Hurry, Mark!" He voiced the words behind his shields. "Hurry!"
"M'lord!" Fenton’s voice was sharp. "I'm getting’ a warnin'!"
The Jilectan’s reaction was immediate. He strode over to the bulkhead and again pressed the control. "Jeffers!”
"M’lord?”
"Scan for ships immediately!"
"Yessir!" A short silence. "M’lord, there's a small group of scouts coming this way, but they're still some distance off, and just clearing the planet’s pull. They should go into hyperspace any moment."
"I do not think so," Blashvor said coldly. He glanced down at Alan, face once again hard and unyielding. "You have another transmitter on you, Terran?"
"No, sir!"
"Search him, Fenton! Quickly!"
Fenton did so. "Nothin' M’Lord."
Blashvor also bent, running his long, sensitive fingers over Alan's clothing and concentrating. The voice spoke over the communicator again. "They're still coming, sir --right at us.”
"Accelerate, Jeffers! Get us out of here! Hyperspace as soon as possible.”
"Yessir! They're fast little devils. Accelerating. Better strap in, sir."
"They knew exactly where to look," Fenton said, his eyes on Alan.
"Interesting, is it not?" The Jilectan smiled grimly. "Where is your homing device, my little psychic?"
"I have no homing device!"
The Jilectan pulled him to his feet and pushed him into a chair, pulling webbing across his lap and fastening it.
"Twenty eight seconds to hyperspace," Jeffers’ voice announced over the com.
Bennie and Fenton also seated themselves, pulling webbing across their laps, and the Jilectan did the same, his eyes on Alan. The ship quivered suddenly and the lights dimmed, only to brighten again a moment later.
A voice spoke over the com. "M'lord, they're shooting at us, I'm picking up transmissions!"
"Pipe it down here, Jeffers, and return the fire as necessary. Hyperspace as soon as feasible."
"Yes M'lord!"
A voice spoke out of the air: Mark Linley's voice.
"Okay, folks, give up the kid, an' we won't hurtcha!"
*Mark!* Alan thought the name, knowing the link would transmit the words. *Be careful. It's a Jil! They're going into hyperspace, and I don't know where. I can't read them! They're all shielded!*
"Give up the kid," Mark's voice repeated.
Blashvor laughed, "You may tell my brother, Terran, that his loss is my gain."
The ship quivered and rocked, Alan closed his eyes, concentrating on the ropes on his wrists, with infinite care, he extended a mental finger, ready to snap his shields into place should the Jilectan notice what he was doing. A knot jerked and loosened, then another.
With a jolt the ship converted to hyperspace, just as the last coil fell from Alan's wrists.
Fenton jerked abruptly. "M'lord! Look out!"
Alan reached with his mind for the blaster at the Jilectan's hip, but somehow, incredibly, Fenton was out of his webbing and leaping forward. Alan was also on his feet, the weapon smacking solidly into his hands, just as the other psychic struck him in a flying tackle, throwing them both to the deck. The blaster went spinning away.
"Freeze, David!" It was Bennie's voice. "You're covered."
Alan obeyed. Carefully Fenton disengaged himself from Alan's slackening embrace and got to his feet. The Jilectan spoke.
"Are you hurt, my little psychic?"
"No, M'lord," Fenton said.
Alan lifted his head to meet Bennie's eyes. The big Terran was staring down at him, blaster still covering him.
"M'lord," he said, "the kid's wearing a wig."
Horrified, Alan realized the head covering had come dislodged during the struggle. He was in for it now. He turned to look at the alien. Blashvor's eyes met his, suddenly intent with interest. Bennie bent down and yanked the wig from his head, disclosing his dark, unruly curls.
"He is also wearing contact lenses, I would guess," the Jilectan said coolly, "Remove them, David."
Alan did, turning his face away as he did so. They would recognize him now. There was no longer any hope.
The Jilectan seized his hair and jerked his face up, examining him carefully. Alan watched as puzzlement flickered over the alien features, to be followed an instant later by recognition, and then shock.
"Alan Westover!" Fenton's voice was hushed and horrified. "M'lord, it's him! Holy hell! What have I done?"
Bennie swore between his teeth. "That tears it good! Dammit, Fenton!"
The Jilectan let Alan go and straightened up. "Be still, Bennie!"
Bennie shut up. Blashvor spoke to Alan. "My apologies, Alan Westover. I did not realize who you were. If you had but told me, all this unpleasantness could have been avoided."
Alan stared up at him, speechless, and then lowered his eyes once more.
"Are you hurt?" the alien inquired.
The question caught him by surprise. He shook his head. "No, M’lord Blashvor."
"Bennie, call the control room. Have them bring us out of hyperspace in two minutes.”
"Yessir!" Bennie ran to the com.
"Fenton, get him some water. Let me assure you, Alan Westover, that my servants took you in error. They did not realize you were a member of the Underground or they would never have touched you."
Alan looked up at him, "I beg your pardon, sir?"
Blashvor smiled benevolently at him. "I make it a policy in my profession, Alan Westover, to leave the Underground strictly alone."
"But --" Alan accepted the glass of water from Fenton and sipped it. He cleared his throat. "You mean, sir, you're not going to turn me in for the reward?"
Blashvor looked pensive. "I have seen what happens to individuals who attempt to do that, Alan. I enjoy life and have no wish to die prematurely for any amount of money. I do not know how it is that you always manage to summon help, but that you do I have observed many times, most recently a few moments ago. I have no doubt that those ships from which we fled were a rescue party. Already your call for help had been answered, and you have been a prisoner less than an hour, your only means of summoning aid supposedly destroyed." He glanced regretfully at the crushed chronometer on the deck. "No, Alan, I shall not turn you in for the reward. I admire your courage and intelligence, and would like to be able to know you better, but you are a most dangerous prisoner to harbor, and to be quite frank, I cannot dispose of you too quickly. Fenton?"
"Yes sir?" The psychic was instantly beside him.
"Take Mr. Westover back to Bellian. Be certain he arrives safely."
"Yes, M'lord."
The Jilectan smiled whimsically at the little man, "I trust you will not feel insulted that I refuse one of your gifts, my little psychic?"
Fenton's lips smiled faintly. "Thanks for bein' s’nice, about it, sir. I feel sorta stupid."
"Then Bennie and I are stupid as well, for none of us recognized him. Go now."
“Yes, m'lord." Fenton turned to Alan. "Come with me, Mr. Westover."
Alan bowed to the alien and turned to follow Fenton out.
Utterly bewildered, he went beside the other Terran psychic down a long, plushly carpeted hallway and into a lift. Fenton pressed the fourth level, and the car bore them upward.
"Where are we going?" Alan asked.
"Life boat bays, sir," the little man replied respectfully. "I'm takin' you back to Bellian like M'lord said."
"What about my friends?" Alan inquired. "They weren't hurt, were they?"
"No, sir. We just stunned them. I left them behind when I picked you up." He glanced. "Man! I feel stupid about this. I'm really sorry. It was all my fault."
The lift came to a halt and the doors slid open. Alan exited beside his escort. "It’s okay," he said uneasily. "As long as you’re really going to let me go."
"I am. Damn, such a stupid thing to do, but honest, I thought you were untrained, and then when I realized you weren't, well, Blashvor's got good reason to suspect his brother when an apparent spy shows up."
They had entered the lifeboat bays, and Fenton gestured him toward a small scout. "In you go, sir. I'll have you back to Bellian in a jiffy, or if you'd rather go someplace else, I'll take you there, instead."
"Bellian's fine, thanks." Alan seated himself in the co-pilot's chair as Fenton took the controls. There was a whine of engines.
Fenton activated the com. "Ready for takeoff, sir."
"Acknowledged, Fenton." It was the Jilectan's voice again. "Proceed."
"Yes sir." The psychic pressed a control and the launching doors opened. The little ship swooped out and away from the larger vessel.
“Hyperspace," Fenton said. There was a flash and the stars vanished.
"Be about ten minutes," Fenton said. "Can I get you something to drink, sir?”
"No thanks," Alan said. "Fenton --"
“Yeah?”
"Who was that Jil?"
"Lord Blashvor."
"I know, but who is he? Why did he let me go? Every Jil I've ever had anything to do with in my life has either tried to kill me or turn me over to someone else who would kill me. I've never met one who was so nice to Terrans -- including me and you. I mean, we're Terran psychics, but he didn't seem to mind."
"He doesn't," Fenton said. "Blashvor likes Terran psychics. Ok, I won't say he never gets annoyed with them: he does. But Blashvor's a pragmatist. Just because someone else is better than he is at somethin', he doesn't believe in killin’ 'em for it. You see?"
"Yes, I guess so. Most uncharacteristic, though."
“Yeah, I suppose so."
"Who's his brother?"
Fenton considered, then shrugged, "I can't see how it could hurt to tell you. It's common knowledge. His name's Dishvor."
"Dishvor! You mean the pirate?"
"Yeah, Blaskvor's a pirate, too, an' has a price on his head just like Dishvor. He's just not quite as well known."
Well, Alan thought; that explained a few things. If Blashvor was an outlaw himself he could hardly go around turning in other outlaws. "Fenton?"
"Yes sir?"
"What about the Sweeney boy? Why does he want him?"
"Same reason he wanted me, and you, until he figured out who you were. He needs psychics. We're useful,"
"But Jason's only a little boy!"
"He's a psychic. That's all that's required." Fenton pressed a control. "Hittin' the pull. Got your webbin' on?"
"Yes, thanks." Alan sighed, "You'll take good care of him for me, won't you?
"Blashvor always takes good care of his psychics," Fenton said blandly. "They're too hard to come by." He glanced sideways at Alan. "Any special place you want me to drop you off? Spaceport okay?"
"Can you do that?"
"Sure. We're registered." The whine of atmosphere began. "Hope your friends got back okay. I didn't take their car or anythin'." His face was troubled, "Damn!
"It’s all right. I'm sure they're fine. Fenton?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you like working for Blashvor?"
The young man's face turned toward him. "Whatcha askin' that for? Gonna offer t'let me join the Underground?"
"If you want to. You'd be your own master, and you'd be safe."
"No Terran psychic is safe," Fenton said quietly.
"Well, as safe as possible. You'd be an officer, and draw regular pay. All psychics are officers in the Terran Underground."
Fenton regarded him soberly.
"It must be hard working for a Jil; even a nice one," Alan continued carefully. "I could see you were a little nervous when you realized you'd made a mistake. Is he ever cruel to you?"
"No," Fenton said.
"Do you like, him?"
Abruptly Fenton smiled. "Yeah, now that you mention it, I do. He saved me from the Patrol five years ago, Mr. Westover. Thanks, but I think I'm gonna just stay where I am."
A computerized voice spoke over the com, requesting identification. Fenton punched a code into the computer. There was a pause. Then a voice spoke again.
"You are cleared, scout ship Beautiful Dreamer. Dock In landing area 22."
"Thanks." Fenton pressed coordinates and settled back in his chair.
"Are you sure?" Alan asked.
The psychic grinned at him. "Yeah, Mr. Westover, I'm sure. But thanks, anyway.”
The ship touched gently down and Fenton pressed a switch. The panel slid open.
Fenton turned toward him, "Here’s your blaster, sir, and your wallet and what’s left of your chronometer. Hope you're not too irritated about this."
"I'm not." Alan took the articles. "If you ever reconsider, is there any way we can get hold of you?"
"I won't reconsider," Fenton said seriously. "Goodbye, Mr. Westover."
"Goodbye, Fenton." Alan went down the boarding ramp and strode across the landing field toward the spaceport.
**********
He found a videophone and put in a call to the station at once. A distant ringing sounded.
"Hello?" It was the voice of the station's C.O., Major Tom Steed.
"Hello," Alan said. "Here's little Boy Blue to blow his horn, the Jil's in the outhouse, the 'trols --"
"Kid!" There was a whoop on the other end of the phone. "Where are you?"
"At the spaceport. I need a lift, too."
"I'll send Mark. He just got back after that abortive rescue attempt. We've been half crazy about you!"
"Kid!" It was Mark's voice. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Mark. Boy, do I have something to tell you, too. You’ll be flabbergasted."
"Be there in ten minutes. Where'll you be waitin'?"
"Coffee shop okay?"
"Sure." The screen went blank.
**********
"Well, I'll be damned!" Linley said. They were flying leisurely back toward the station, and Alan had just completed telling his partner of Blashvor and Fenton. "Who would'a thought it!"
"Not me," Alan said. "He's quite a Jil."
"Yeah, he must be. Rival brothers, huh? That's not unknown among the Jils. Wonder what happened in the family t'split it apart like that."
"I don't know. I wanted to ask, but there wasn't time."
"Yeah. Y'know, I'd like t'meet this Blashvor guy someday."
"Maybe, you will."
"Maybe. Ah, well, I guess li'l Jason could be worse off. At least he's got a Jil behind him, an' neither you or me are able to say that."
Alan found himself laughing. "No," he said. "No, we sure can't!"
**********
tbc
