Joker: Part 3
by Linda Garrick and Nancy Smith
People scattered in all directions, screaming, and more began to pour from houses. Jason grabbed his wife's hand. "We've done what we can. Let's make ourselves scarce."
A man stepped from the firehouse door behind them, a stunner in one hand, and a stunbolt hummed. Lisa gasped, sinking to her knees.
Jason stared at the stunner leveled at him, and at the man who held it. He was a bulky man with muscular shoulders, heavy jowls and thin lips. A swelling gut filled out the pullover sweater he wore against the chill of the morning, and a scraggly beard adorned his chin.
"Okay, Undergrounder," he grated. "Pick up the girl and come with me."
"Are you crazy?" Jason demanded. "What good is a reward going to do you if you're dead? The Patrol's coming!"
"That's right," the other man said. "And you're my ticket to safety. Pick her up or I'll stun you and carry you both."
Jason bent over Lisa. "Are you okay, honey?"
"Pick her up, dammit!" the man shouted.
Jason lifted Lisa in his arms. She was staring at him in horror.
"Jase!" she whispered.
"Easy," Jason said. He turned back to their captor. "They won't let you go, you know. You're a witness. They won't leave anyone alive to tell the tale."
"I've got you, Undergrounder," the man said. "And your girlfriend. If they see I'm on their side, they'll let me go. March."
"Uncle Jesse, what are you doing?" It was the shrill voice of a child. Jason glanced back to see Alan. The boy's eyes and mouth were wide open with horror.
"Get lost, kid," Jesse snarled.
"You can't!" Alan was beginning to cry. "You can't turn them in! They came to warn us! Let 'em go!"
"Beat it!" Jesse aimed a cuff at the boy and for a moment his gaze flicked from Jason and Lisa to Alan. Lisa's hand moved inside her jacket, quick as a snake, and withdrew her blaster.
Jesse's gaze jerked back and he fired. The weapons hummed together and Jason felt the tingling shock wash over him. Blackness descended.
**********
"Mister! Mister! Wake up! The 'trols are coming!"
The voice was an irritant. Jason Llwelling shook his head and winced at the agony that engulfed him. Someone had him by the shoulders and was trying to get him to a sitting position. He groaned.
"Mister, please wake up!"
Jason forced his eyelids up.
The chubby face and red curling hair of young Alan came into view. The boy yanked on his arm. "Please, Mister!"
Jason began to heave. Somewhere not far away someone else was having similar difficulties. He could hear the wretched sounds through his own misery. The little boy's fingers clasped his arm frantically. "They're here!"
Jason lifted his head with great difficulty. Not far away he heard the crack of blaster bolts and muted screams. Alan was right. Stunbolts or not, they had to get away from here now.
He bent over Lisa's moaning figure and heaved her upright. Alan's Uncle Jesse was hunched on the ground, throwing up, and Jason glanced at him, then at the little boy.
"You'd better get your uncle away from here, Alan."
Alan shook his head. "Can I go with you?"
Jason had no strength for questions. "Okay. Come on!"
They stumbled across the street and into an open field. A blaster bolt shot past them, bringing a squeal of alarm from Alan. Jason returned the fire, missing completely. Patrolmen were scattering across the town and he saw that they were cut off from their ship. He looked quickly at their only possible guide.
"Do you know any place we can hide, Alan?"
Alan glanced around and nodded. "Yeah. This way! Follow me!"
He broke into a run toward a small stand of trees. They ran through it, emerging into a cornfield. The boy led them down one of the rows, his bare feet making little sound on the damp soil. Glancing over his shoulder, Jason saw that the clump of trees between them and the town gave them at least temporary cover. They trotted on for perhaps ten minutes and emerged from the knee-high stalks to see another field, this one uncultivated, before them. In the middle of the field of weeds and rocks stood an old, abandoned barn.
Alan went to hands and knees. "This way," he whispered, and began to crawl. Dropping to the ground, Jason saw that the town had now become partially visible from his angle, and that little Alan's choice of progress was a sensible one.
They crept along behind him, trying to stay low. The screams and blaster bolts continued and from somewhere came the roar of a ship taking off -- a skippership, if Jason was any judge. Then another, and a third. Jason felt a small glow of triumph. In spite of everything, they had managed to save some of the colonists. The Jils weren't going to get away with this without at least a few witnesses left alive to tell the tale.
Alan rose suddenly to a half crouch and ran forward to vanish into the wrecked barn. Jason followed with Lisa on his heels.
It was dim inside the structure and the floor was covered with hay and dried manure. Above them was a loft, piled high with more hay. A rusted piece of farm machinery lay to one side and a small, unidentified creature vanished beneath it as they entered.
"Up to the loft," Alan whispered. He went nimbly up the rickety ladder and Jason followed more slowly. Lisa sneezed into one sleeve.
"My," she whispered. "It's dusty!"
Alan had vanished into a bulging mound of hay. Jason burrowed in beside him and Lisa arrived a moment later. Then they lay limp, trying to breathe quietly, again listening to the screams and the roar of departing ships.
Jason glanced at the boy. "Do you have any family here, Alan -- except your Uncle Jesse?"
Alan made a face. "He ain't really my uncle," he said. "My mom died right after we moved here, and dad got married again a few years ago, but then he got killed in an accident when I was six. My stepmom got married again a year later -- Uncle Jesse. He don't care nothing about me, really, and she's sick most of the time." Alan's eyes wavered and fell. "Both of 'em drink kind of a lot."
"I see," Jason said. Lisa put a hand on Alan's shoulder.
"Do they treat you bad, Alan?"
He shrugged. "I keep away from them when they're drunk, you bet." He looked at Lisa, then at Jason. "Are you really grownups? You're both pretty short."
Jason nodded, hiding a smile. "We're psychics. Psychics are all short. Listen, thanks for helping us out back there. You took a big risk. How old are you, anyway?"
The boy shrugged again. "I'll be ten next month." He extended a hand to Jason. "I'm Alan Jefferson. What's your name?"
"I'm Jason Llwelling," Jason said. "This is my wife, Lisa. She's my psychic partner."
"Psychic partners!" Alan's eyes were shining. "That's so cool!"
"I guess we're not quite what you expected, huh?" Lisa said.
"Sh!" Jason said. "Someone's coming. Patrol, I think."
They burrowed down deep in the hay, covering themselves completely. Footsteps were audible now, scraping against the dirt, rocks and dried grass outside, and they heard the sharp, commanding voices of the Viceregal Patrol.
3
Lord Snilthvar, first son of Lord Slinthvor, relaxed in is stateroom of the Patrol Battlecruiser Dragon, and took a sip of Riskellian moonwine, served by his Procyon servant.
He wanted to take a look at this planet after the colonists were eradicated. After all, it would be his species that colonized here -- a lovely place, he had heard, although he had never seen it.
A faintly unpleasant sensation crawled over him and he paused, the goblet halfway to his lips. What was that? Had he sensed it before somewhere?
Quickly, he extended a telepathic probe toward the source and the sensation was at once clear and recognizable.
A Terran psychic. That was it! The mind was untrained but very powerful. No, there was more than one mind! Two, and in close proximity to one another! Both were extremely powerful, but there was no detectable shielding.
Snilthvar's mind turned to the young female psychic whom the Viceroy had used briefly to entrap Arcturians. Some Terrans could read the creatures and the Viceroy, Lord Halthzor, had issued specific instructions that such individuals who might prove equal to the task were to be brought in alive. No Jilectan could read the mind of an Arcturian, and precious few Terrans could, either, but there were a few -- a very select, powerful few -- who had the ability. One of the two he now sensed had a very powerful psychic aura. The second was slightly less so, but his mind touch was still quite strong. It was just possible ….
He stood up, placing the goblet on the table before him. His servant fell back as he strode across the room and out the door.
A patrolman was coming down the corridor toward him -- the Subcommander of the ship, he realized indifferently. The man snapped to attention, saluting smartly. Snilthvar gestured curtly.
"Come with me. I am going ashore."
"Yes, M'lord!" Subcommander Carson fell in behind him. "But I think it might be well to take another man, sir. We're encountering some resistance."
"Resistance?" Snilthvar glanced at him sharply.
"Yes, M'lord. Apparently someone sounded the alarm in the firehouse just before we landed. We arrived to find the colonists attempting to evacuate." Carson's voice fell. "Probably the Terran Underground, sir. They may have heard rumors of the eradication and sent agents -- at least, that's what Strike Commander Bell believes."
Snilthvar inclined his head curtly. "Very well. Bring another man, then."
"Yes sir. Are you going into the town, sir?"
"I do not know, yet. Have an aircar ready."
"Yes sir." Carson spoke briefly into his helmet communicator. "It'll be waiting for us, sir."
They reached the sixth deck and disembarked. A patrolman stood at attention beside the waiting aircar and, as they approached, opened the rear door for Lord Snilthvar. The Jilectan got in, arranging his robes, and the Terrans scrambled into the front, Subcommander Carson in the passenger seat. His other guard, a second classer, turned respectfully to face the Jilectan.
"Where do you wish to go, M'lord?"
It would be better, Snilthvar reflected, not to tell them his reasons for wanting the Terran psychic. Terrans were not known for their ability to keep secrets, and if the knowledge got out, the Underground would certainly hear of it and another disaster like the one which had occurred with the Janice Westover incident could easily happen again -- especially since there were agents of the Terran Underground suspected to be on the planet.
Snilthvar concentrated and then pointed. "That way. Toward that large building."
The aircar lifted and soared in the direction of the white, Terran-styled structure. Snilthvar relaxed, concentrating. One of the psychics was rapidly drawing nearer. He identified it now as a Terran male, still in his first century and very frightened. Faintly through his half-formed mental touch with the alien, Snilthvar could hear sobbing, half-hysterical cries. He gestured.
"Down here."
The aircar settled before the ornate iron gates of the structure. The gate had been thrown open and two patrolmen were dragging the Terran male through. Snilthvar waited while the driver scrambled from the aircar and opened the door for him. Subcommander Carson exited on the other side.
The two patrolmen holding the prisoner came to attention as Snilthvar's door slid open and he stepped majestically from the vehicle. The prisoner sagged between them, all resistance seeming to drain from him at the sight of Snilthvar. The Jilectan hooked a finger beneath the alien's chin and brought his face up.
"Who are you, Terran?" he asked.
"Ronald Sanderson, sir." The reply was a trembling whisper. Snilthvar felt the strong psychic aura from the man and had to restrain the urge to strike him. He drew back distastefully.
"Have you kin here, Sanderson?"
"Yes, M'lord." The man's eyes met his. "My daughter, in the house over there. Please, sir, stop them! They killed her husband when he interfered. Please --"
Snilthvar gestured to the men holding the prisoner. "Take him to the ship and guard him. He is not to be injured." Again, he gestured. "Take the aircar and send another one back for me. Make haste."
The men obeyed, ushering their prisoner into the vehicle. Snilthvar strode through the gate, followed by Carson and the patrolman.
They went down a narrow, pebbled path lined with prickly rose bushes. The odor of the alien shrub was heavy in the air, making Snilthvar's head ache slightly. The first thing they would do when they secured this planet, he decided, was to remove the rose bushes. Unlike others of his species, he had never cared for the scent.
The patrolman ran ahead, his blaster drawn, and opened the elegant, ornate door of the building. Terran design furnishings were on all sides, and mud from the feet of the patrolmen was tracked on the soft, pale gold carpet. Snilthvar regarded it appreciatively. Good taste. This, at least, he would keep.
The aura of the Terran psychic was strong, and he sensed terror and utter desperation. He strode down a short corridor and found himself in an expensively furnished sitting room. Stylish, heavy draperies hung across the rear of the room, and beyond those draperies was the young Terran psychic he had come to secure. Snilthvar strode rapidly forward.
**********
tbc
