Joker Part 5
by Linda Garrick and Nancy Smith
Jason, Lisa and the boy, Alan, crouched down in the straw as three patrolmen entered the barn. They were talking in low voices, and Jason could sense the emotions radiating from all three: shock and incredulity.
"I can't believe he's really dead," one of the men was saying in an awed whisper. "I wonder if she was an Undergrounder."
Jason pricked up his ears and extended a light telepathic probe toward the speaker. What he saw almost took his breath away.
The Dragon's resident Jil, Lord Snilthvar, had been shot and killed, according to Subcommander Carson, by a young woman, whose father was now a prisoner aboard the battlecruiser. Three patrolmen had also been killed at the hands of this deadly woman, and Subcommander Carson, who had witnessed the event, had been stunned by her. He was now searching for the killer and had not been heard from since he had called in the report, twenty-five minutes before.
Lisa's eyes met his and he knew she had also been reading the patrolman's mind.
Do we have agents here, Jase?
Not that I know of, he replied. We've got to find her.
The patrolmen were flashing their lights around the barn, apparently performing a perfunctory search. A light played over the straw in the loft. "Okay, let's go."
Alan sneezed. There was a chorus of startled exclamations and instantly the light returned to the loft.
"Come out with your hands up!" a voice barked. Lisa and Jason came up together, blasters in hand. Their weapons cracked simultaneously and somebody screamed. Jason sensed the wounded man's distress as he ducked a return shot, pushing Alan down and back into the straw. Something white flicked through the air toward them.
Jason recognized instantly what it was and grabbed a deep breath of air, bringing his blaster up again. He fired at the leader as the pellet landed with a soft pop in the straw beside him.
There was no place to run and no way to fight. He had a brief vision of Lisa hurling her blaster down from the loft and the horrified shouts from the patrolmen as they realized that the cornered person must have set the weapon on emergency overload. His lungs were on fire as he held his breath to the last second and was forced at last to take a gasp of air.
Below him came the rumble of the exploding blaster as darkness drifted leisurely over him.
5
Subcommander Carson groaned. The sensations were those of a recurring nightmare as he slowly became aware of the fact that he was lying on his face in the leaves and grass, his head pounding. His neck hurt unbearably as he tried to lift his face from the ground, but with a great effort, he managed to succeed.
The exertion made his head pound sickeningly. Slowly, he sank down again, trying to will away the queasiness. What had happened to him? He could remember nothing clearly since he had accompanied Lord Snilthvar from the Dragon.
Snilthvar! The Jilectan was dead! Slowly, his memory cleared. There had been a girl who had shot him and killed him, and the other patrolman with him.
But for some reason she had spared Carson. Again, the Subcommander tried to rise and this time he was more successful. Slowly he made it to his knees and then to his feet, grasping the trunk of one of the trees that surrounded him, and looked around.
He was in an apple orchard, although how he had arrived here he had not the foggiest recollection. The tree next to him, whose trunk he grasped shakily, reached upward toward the clear blue sky. Before Carson's eyes hovered the vivid memory of the girl's face -- that brave, beautiful, crazy female who had ended the life of the terrible, ruthless Lord Snilthvar. He had to find her. The thought spun blearily through Carson's brain. If he didn't, Lord Slinthvor, the father of Snilthvar, would probably kill him.
He stumbled forward out of the apple orchard and emerged into a cornfield. The stalks came to his knees and smelled sweet, but Carson was in no mood for such benign thoughts. He had to find the girl, or else.
The cornfield ended in a small field of waving grasses. Carson went across it, his boots tangling in the long, twisting blades. He cursed steadily to himself as he went. His head still throbbed like a sore tooth, his eyeballs burned, his stomach was queasy and his neck felt like someone had twisted it half off. What the devil had happened to him back in that orchard? Could that tiny female have done this kind of injury to him?
He reached the forest and plunged forward through the trees without a second thought. He never stopped to consider his path. His feet took him unsteadily on and yet he was somehow sure that the girl had come this way. He fumbled for his blaster and realized for the first time that it was gone.
He stopped in consternation. Where the devil had his weapon disappeared to? If he didn't have his blaster, how could he hope to capture a Jil-killer -- a probable member of the Terran Underground?
After a moment, he went on. Better death than the wrath of Strike Commander Bell and even worse, Lord Slinthvor. His Lordship would be summoned from Riskell, certainly, and Riskell was only eight hours away.
He had been walking for an endless time when he suddenly became aware that his quarry was straight ahead. He knew it, although he could not have explained how. Carson staggered on, trying to be quiet and cursing the noisy crunch of his boots in the leaves. He could almost hear her breathing, and he was certain that he could smell her perfume ….
He stopped. There was no rush, he told himself firmly. The girl obviously had no one here to help her or she would have summoned aid already. Perhaps her backup had been killed or captured. That meant she must be utterly desperate, and a desperate fugitive, any patrolman knew well, was an extremely dangerous fugitive.
He stepped behind a big tree and waited. Yes, he could hear her breathing; that was certain, and the fragrance of her perfume reached him. The scent was unbearably sweet -- like a Riskellian moonrose. Carson's mind flicked back to his boyhood days on his home planet and he had to force his thoughts back to the present. Man! He must have gotten a good knock on the head back there in the orchard!
The girl was suddenly beside him, a blaster leveled before her in both hands. Her young, lovely face was set in hard, unyielding lines and he saw without surprise that she had set the weapon to kill.
"You monster!" she whispered. "Why are you back again? I let you live twice when I should have killed you! Well, this time I will kill you!"
Carson leaped.
He fully expected to hear the crack of the blaster and feel the sear of the bolt on his skin as he did so, but when someone tells you that they're going to kill you, no one in his right mind stands there and lets them shoot. Carson leaped for her but, to his complete astonishment, she did not fire. He saw her try to adjust the weapon to stun and she must have succeeded for as she fell with him on top of her, the weapon hummed. His left arm, caught in the beam, went numb, but even with one arm he was far from helpless. Her body was slender as a child's beneath him and she gave a shrill cry as he caught the wrist and bent it sharply. The blaster fell from her grasp, and with another skilled movement, she was on her stomach with Carson straddling her.
"Take it easy, honey," he said. "Don't fight and you won't be hurt."
She ignored him, struggling frantically beneath his weight, her breath coming in ragged sobs. Carson shook his left hand and winced at the burning sensation growing within him at the girl's distress.
"I won't hurt you. I promise."
She went slack suddenly, sobbing dryly into the piled leaves. Carson brought her hands behind her and fastened them with restrainers. Then he rose to his feet, still shaking his left hand and looked down at her.
"Sorry, honey," he said gruffly.
No reply but her sobs. Carson bent and lifted her to her feet. She was short and slim, but there was no doubt that she was full grown. Carson's gaze went to the swell of her breasts beneath the transparent bra.
She somehow knew it, even though he still wore his visor, for she lifted her head defiantly, tossing her hair back from her face.
"Well," she said, "you have me, Patrolman. Do I get raped now, or will you give me a few minutes to recover from my capture first?"
To his surprise and confusion, Carson felt a flush creeping up his neck,. He yanked off his tunic and wrapped it roughly around her, fastening it at the neck.
"You aren't going to get raped by me, honey!" he snapped. "I got other things on my mind." He pressed the transmit control on his helmet and spoke into the throat mike. "Strike Commander Bell, this is Carson."
The Strike Commander's voice responded immediately. "This is Bell. Go ahead, Carson."
"I've apprehended the girl, sir, and I'm on my way back."
"Good." Bell sounded harried. "Get back here fast, Paul. We're havin' problems. And watch yourself. There's definitely Undergrounders on the planet."
"Yessir," Carson said. He switched off the unit and picked up another blaster from the ground. "Where did you get this one, honey?" he inquired.
"It belonged to Lover Boy," she replied acidly. "The big, handsome sergeant who wasn't going to hurt me, just like *you,* Patrolman." She began to cry again, all at once, no sobs, but tears welling from her eyes and tracing clean streaks through the dirt on her face. "They killed my husband, Ryan -- shot him down when he tried to stop that damned sergeant!"
Carson took a deep breath, feeling the unwelcome sensation of pity. He forced it back. Patrolmen had their duty, sometimes unpleasant duty, but duty nonetheless. "Well, baby, that's too bad," he said. "Come on."
She stared at him with sheer hatred, the tears drying on her cheeks. "I'm Mrs. Winslow, Mr. Carson! I'm not your baby, or your honey! And I won't go peaceably back to your damned ship with you!" She sat down hard on the ground. "You'll have to drag me!"
Carson put a hand on her arm and lifted her upright again. "Let's go, honey," he said.
Her legs folded and he had to grab her with the other hand to keep her from sitting down again. Suddenly angry, he shook her hard. Little idiot! Was she trying to goad him into hitting her? Didn't she realize she was in his power, and that she was just making it harder on herself by resisting?
"Walk, baby!" he growled.
She told him what to do with himself, using a very unladylike, two word phrase.
Carson sighed and drew his blaster, setting it to needle beam. "Do I have to get mean, honey?"
She laughed scornfully. "What are you going to do? Kill me? I've got the execution chair waiting for me when I get back. I killed a Jilectan, remember? Your blaster doesn't scare me a bit."
Carson aimed the weapon at her smooth, bare thigh. "Do you know what a needle beam'll do to those pretty legs of yours, sweetheart? On your feet!"
"I saw Michael Cash executed on the video four years ago, 'trol," she said, ignoring the weapon completely. "He screamed and screamed. Somehow, Patrolman Carson, I don't think a needle beam could possibly be worse than that."
Carson pressed the trigger and vegetation immediately to the right of her calf shriveled and began to smoke. She laughed.
"Are you having fun?" she inquired acidly. "Does it give you pleasure to frighten me or hurt me? Until all this happened I somehow had the idea that 'trols were just people like the rest of us, but I was never more wrong in my life. I'm just a woman and your prisoner, 'trol, and I can't fight you. Well, have your fun! I won't go peaceably! If you want to burn me with your little toy, do it! I'm sure you'll enjoy my screams."
Carson gritted his teeth. "Listen, you little bitch, I don't want to hurt you, but you're pushing --"
She laughed at him again. "Save your breath, 'trol."
Carson stared at her a moment longer in sheer frustration and then shoved the blaster into his holster. He bent and lifted her despite her struggles and tossed her to one shoulder. She was light as a child, but he knew well that carrying a prisoner was far from the ideal situation. In the first place, it occupied his hands, making it difficult for him to draw his blaster should the need arise, and in the second place, it was tiring. Still, he rationalized, it wasn't that afar to go, and he really didn't want to hurt her, no matter how mouthy she was.
He strode rapidly along, holding her with one hand, his blaster in the other. The girl didn't struggle and the skin of her legs was soft as velvet beneath the grip of his hand. Damn! She was a sexy little thing, he thought angrily. Much as he disapproved of Sergeant Winston's behavior, he understood it. However, Carson preferred his women to cooperate. Fat chance of that in any possible future, he thought. The Patrol had killed her husband, and she had seen it close up. He couldn't really blame her for the way she felt --
She spoke suddenly, her voice subdued. "Put me down, Patrolman. I'll walk."
After a moment of surprise, he set her carefully on her feet. She looked at him under her eyelashes and smiled shakily. "I'm sorry. I was wrong about you, anyway. You aren't like the sergeant." Another wobbly smile. "Besides, your shoulder was gouging me in the tummy. It hurt."
Against his will, Carson found himself returning her smile. "Sorry, honey -- oops. You don't like being called honey, do you? What's your name? somehow I don't think I could call you Mrs. Winslow. You don't look like a Mrs."
Her gaze clouded again with tears. "My name's Rachael," she said in a small voice. "But you can call me honey if you like. I don't really mind." Another flicker of her golden lashes. "I kind of like the way you say it."
Carson grinned. She was flirting with him, trying to get him off guard. It didn't matter. He was immune to such attempts and it sure as hell made her a lot easier to live with. He patted her shoulder. "Okay, honey, let's get going, then."
She nodded and began to walk along beside him, her head bowed. "What do the red stripes on your helmet mean?" she asked abruptly.
"Subcommander," he said. "I'm the subcommander of the Dragon -- Paul Carson."
"Oh!" She sounded surprised. "I didn't realize."
"It doesn't matter." Carson helped her over a fallen log, feeling again the softness of her skin. She had to be one of the most beautiful women he'd ever met. Again his eyes flicked to the cleavage revealed by the sagging neckline of his tunic. Damn that sergeant! If it hadn't been for him, she wouldn't have killed the Jil -- in fact, Carson would probably never have met her, more than likely.
The thought was disquieting for some reason. He scowled to himself and strode rapidly along, Rachael stumbling beside him. He must get her back to the ship quickly. For some reason he could sense urgency -- the feeling that if he didn't turn her over to someone else's custody soon, he was lost.
"Paul!" Her breathless gasp cut into his thoughts. "Do you have to walk so fast? I can't keep up!"
He slowed his steps, not glancing at her. "Sorry, honey," he growled. "We gotta shake a leg. Slinthvor'll be here soon."
"Slinthvor? Is that a Jil name?" She almost laughed. "How awful!"
"Yeah." Carson grinned a little in spite of himself. "It means tall and noble in the Jils' language."
"It does? Do you understand the Jilectan language?"
"Some of it. I've been in the Patrol fifteen years, since I was sixteen."
"Oh," Rachael said. "That makes you thirty-one now. I thought you were pretty young for a Subcommander. You must have advanced pretty fast."
Carson felt an unaccountable surge of pride. "Yeah, pretty fast."
She was looking up at him, and he could see the streaks of tears through the dirt on her face. She had a bruise on one cheek, and a scratch beneath it, compliments of the charming Sergeant Winston, no doubt. He looked quickly away, suddenly very angry with himself, and tightened his grip on her arm. "Come on, honey," he said sharply. "Move it. We haven't got all day."
**********
tbc
