Volcano Island Ch 9
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
9
The building was quiet and deserted when Gallagher arrived. In the distance, a muffled "boom" sounded and the ground jolted slightly. Gallagher hardly noticed. He flicked on his light, playing the beam over the crumbling ruins outside the building.
"Sven?" he whispered.
No reply. He really hadn't expected one. Softly, he skirted the building, searching for any sign of his Strike Commander and finding nothing.
Then he paused before the entrance, jumbled thoughts racing through his mind. One thing was certain: someone had been hiding in the ruins while he and Paine had freed the girl from the wreckage. That same someone had stunned them both and quietly removed the unconscious girl, leaving both of them unharmed. As he had surmised earlier, it had probably been an Underground agent. Undergrounders rarely killed patrolmen that they encountered unless necessity demanded it. They were efficient, but not cruel.
And the girl, herself, had been small. Anyone might have carried her.
Gallagher entered the building, flashing his light over the walls.
Where might a person have hidden in the room where he could watch unobserved, and from which he could skillfully disable the two men attempting to carry off their prisoner?
There were dozens of hiding places, but the most obvious one was a dark, recessed doorway, cloaked in deep shadow, and situated only about three meters from where he and Paine had been when the bolts had hit them. Gallagher approached the doorway, shining his light within and feeling once again the faint prickle course its way down his spine.
The recess was deserted. Gallagher flashed his light over the littered stones.
There were dark stains on the ones by his feet and he knelt to examine them closely. With a forefinger, he touched one of the spots. The stickiness of drying blood clung to his finger.
He wiped it away on his breeches, aware suddenly that his heart was pounding painfully against his ribs.
Someone had been hurt -- perhaps struck by falling rock, and had crawled into this doorway. The little dark-haired girl's partner, perhaps.
It made sense. Undergrounders rarely operated alone, especially the psychics. They had partners who were also psychics. The nameplate meant nothing, he told himself firmly. There were hundreds of explanations for its being there. Perhaps the girl's partner had taken Thoroski prisoner and forced him to carry the injured girl from the building. That would also explain why Thoroski did not answer his hail.
Gallagher stood up, thinking.
If he were someone who was trying to hide an injured person from the Patrol, where would he go? Not into any more buildings, that was certain. The structures around here were dangerous, with all the blasted quakes. Gallagher couldn't see why they all weren't piles of rubble. Besides, the Patrol was combing these places for the Jil's precious archives.
No, if Gallagher had been the Undergrounder, he would have headed away from the buildings, into the jungle. He would try to find a quiet, secluded place where he could hide and take care of her until the uproar quieted down.
Gallagher took a deep breath and turned toward the nearest exit.
**********
Alan Westover held the lock of hair before him in one hand, the other resting on Mark Linley's wrist.
"I'm lowering my shielding," he said.
There was total silence as he reached out with his clairvoyant power, feeling the draw from the little object in his hand. The formless assault by the psychometric impressions of this city again began to tap at his mind, a feeble mutter in the background, but he ignored them. Automatically, his psychic power focused on the pull from Lyla's hair, and he stepped forward blindly. Mark guided him around obstacles as he walked.
"I'm picking her up," Alan said. "She's moving farther away." He paused, concentrating. Another life force was nearby but faint, unidentifiable. A man? "She's with someone. I can't see his face."
"She must be a prisoner," Jeff said grimly.
Alan moved forward, following the pull from the lock of hair. Linley's hand pulled him slightly to one side, steering him around some obstacle, no doubt. His partner didn't speak.
They went on in silence for several minutes, Alan oblivious to everything but his tracing. Shelly was somewhere near, crying softly, but he ignored her. Lyla must be found if she was a prisoner of the Patrol, or her fate would be very unpleasant. She would be delivered to Pomothvor, who would interrogate her, and then take her with him to Corala for more interrogation and execution. Alan, himself, had endured three such interrogations aboard the Leviathan. He didn't want Lyla to have to endure them, too.
They were nearing a building but, in spite of his lowered shields, he could sense no impression of menace. Mark went through the crumbling doorway beside him.
"She was here!" Shelly said softly.
Alan nodded, looking around. The building was in a disastrous state of ruin, rubble littering the floor. Their handlights showed a partially caved-in roof and two collapsed walls. He felt again the pull from the lock of hair and led them across the litter toward a darkened doorway. Then he stopped and stood still, concentrating. Three faint masculine traces hovered here, facing rapidly.
"Three men," he said.
"'Trols," Mark said. "Lead on, kid."
Alan started toward a doorway, his surroundings again fading out of his perception. Mark yanked him sharply back.
There were voices outside, and the small party retreated quickly to the shadows as a company of patrolmen passed. Alan caught the name "Thoroski" spoken.
When the voices had faded, Alan led them out the doorway and into a tangle of jungle once more. Lyla was still moving away from them at a greater rate of speed than he could muster. Her mind remained unresponsive to his telepathic call, and he knew that she must still be unconscious.
But abruptly, a consciousness did touch him -- a powerful mind, seeking and probing. He sensed astonishment and then fury, and his shields snapped up.
"What's the matter?" Mark demanded instantly.
"Pomothvor! He was scanning, and I touched his mind. Drat!"
"If they have Lyla, he'd already know," Mark said. "Did he recognize you?"
"I don't think so," Alan said. "I doubt it. But he knew I was a Terran psychic, that's for sure. Darn it!"
Shelly touched his arm. "Alan, what about Lyla?"
He took her hand. "I'll keep looking, but I'll have to be extra careful now."
She nodded. "I know. Oh, Alan --" Her voice broke.
Jeff put an arm around her. "We'll find her, baby. Alan's the best."
She nodded. "I know. Oh, Alan, please hurry! Please!"
**********
Sven Thoroski hurried through the tangled jungle growth, feeling like Tarzan with the limp form of the rescued psychic girl over his shoulder. Somehow, he had to find a place where he could hide and revive her. She would be able to tell him what was going on with the Terran Underground here -- who had come, and what their progress had been so far. And how to get her back to her companions.
More buildings loomed up ahead of him and he turned down an alley between them, catching the flicker of handlights in the distance, somewhere to his right. The transmissions he had so far received on his helmet communicator informed him that the Patrol thought him either dead or badly injured and unable to answer his hail. The discovery and subsequent disappearance of the female Terran had also been reported, and the inevitable conclusion that she was an Underground agent had promptly been drawn, but no one suspected his part in the mystery yet, and Thoroski intended to keep it that way.
The woman on his shoulder moaned softly, beginning to stir. Thoroski looked quickly around.
The street which the alley turned off of was lined with buildings and littered with wrecked ground vehicles. The prolific jungle had twined around and between the vehicles and buildings, forming an intricate maze. Thoroski tore his way forward across the thoroughfare, struggling to keep his passenger balanced on his shoulder. She moaned again, muscles flexing.
Thoroski clambered across a flattened vehicle and flinched back, bringing his blaster up as a face appeared suddenly out of the greenery before him. A moment later, he lowered the weapon, grinning a little to himself. It was only a skull -- the remains of one of the unfortunate drivers of a groundcar.
He made it across the thoroughfare at last and paused to get his breath. The girl was definitely waking up, moaning and moving restlessly against his shoulder. Another building faced him -- a towering structure with carved images of grotesque beings projecting from the wall on either side of the arched doorway. A museum, maybe, he thought.
The girl groaned again and Thoroski started through the tangled vegetation toward the building.
Something cracked him painfully on the shins, and he swore softly. A large, heavy ground vehicle, bound to the ground with vines and creepers loomed to his left. Thoroski tore away the vegetation with one hand and the body of the thing became more visible.
It was an armored vehicle, something like the pictures of Terran tanks that Thoroski had seen in his studies of the history of the military. A good hiding place, he thought, if he could just get the hatch open.
He put the girl down and began to pull at the vegetation. At last, he located the hatch and freed it. It opened with a handle, and he gripped it, trying with both hands to turn it.
The mechanism resisted his efforts. He strained, his muscles cracking with the effort. The girl on the ground moaned and cried out softly, one hand going to her head. From not far away, Thoroski heard the voices of an approaching search party.
The handle gave suddenly and the door swung outward. The vehicle was tilted toward him, and gravity gave the heavy door extra momentum. Thoroski stumbled backward and sat down hard.
Something hard jabbed him painfully in the thigh. He extracted it, swearing between his teeth, and turned to the girl again.
Her eyes opened as he did so, focusing instantly on him. She flinched back from the beam of his handlight with a little cry. Thoroski grabbed her, clamping a hand over her mouth.
"No noise!" he whispered fiercely.
Terror came into her eyes and she began to fight him frantically, her screams muted against his muffling hand. Thoroski hooked the handlight to his belt, swept her up bodily and carried her into the armored vehicle.
He didn't dare try to close the door. The sounds of the searchers were too near. The girl gave a last shrill squeak against his hand, and then became abruptly still as though realizing the futility of resistance. Or, Thoroski thought, she might be calling her partner. He'd better be careful until he had identified himself to her. A psychic partner, Thoroski knew, was a deadly thing. Once, before he had defected and joined the Terran Underground, he had seen one brave death and coldly massacre ten patrolmen in order to save his injured partner from capture. Thoroski had never witnessed such a display of raw courage before or since, and he knew that there were few patrolmen who would have done such a thing for a fellow. The Terran psychics were a special breed, and once they took a partner, the bond lasted as long as they both continued to survive.
Thoroski flicked off his handlight and waited.
The search party passed very near. He could hear it, and see the flicker of the handlights between the trees. When the night became still once more, he reached out and swung the door shut, one-handed. Then, releasing the girl, he rammed the locking bolt into place.
Utter darkness had descended with the closing of the door. Thoroski removed the handlight from his belt and flicked it on, pulling off his helmet with the other hand.
The girl was flattened against the opposite side of the vehicle, watching him, and for the first time Thoroski got a good look at her.
She was very small, as psychics usually were, with a round, childish face. Tangled brown hair fell past her shoulders and her small mouth was compressed in a tight, thin line. Her nose turned up and even in the dim light he could see the sprinkling of freckles across it.
She wasn't really pretty, he thought, with her face drawn and her eyes hostile, but she was definitely worth looking at twice. The front of her flight suit was torn and had been partially unsealed by Patrolman Paine. A generous curve of breast was revealed. He raised his eyes quickly and fixed them on her face.
"Who are you?" Her voice shook slightly.
Thoroski cleared his throat. "I'm Strike Commander Thoroski. Didn't they tell you about me?"
She stared at him for a long second and then her face seemed to relax.
"Oh," she whispered. She stared at him again for another long second. "I tried to read your mind. It was just like the mind of a regular 'trol. I guess I sort of drew the wrong conclusions."
He nodded. "I have selective shielding. So far, I'm the only non-psychic who can do it. The Jils only see what I want them to see. I'll lower it now, and you can read me if you like -- okay?"
She gave a shaky smile. "I believe you."
Thoroski lowered his shields anyway. "Who are you?" he inquired.
"Lieutenant Lyla Watson," she said. "I -- I guess you already know I'm a psychic. I'm from the Lavirra Base, and I'm here with Colonel Westover and Colonel Linley."
"I thought they'd send Colonel Westover," Thoroski said. "My C.O. told me he's a psychometrist."
She nodded. "So am I."
"Yeah?" He looked at her with interest. "Did your partner come along, too?"
Again she nodded. "Her name's Shelly Stewart."
Thoroski felt a wash of relief at finding she had a female partner. "How do you feel?" he inquired, to cover the emotion. "You got a pretty nasty bump on the head."
"Okay. My eyes feel sort of funny." She straightened up and the gap in the front of her flight suit opened wider. Thoroski's eyes flicked involuntarily toward it before he caught himself and yanked his gaze back to her face.
She was smiling faintly as she drew the torn fabric together again.
"I didn't do it," he found himself explaining. "A couple of 'trols found you before I did."
Her smile vanished. "Oh.:
"I took you away from them," he said quickly. "I left them stunned in that old building you ran into when the quake hit." Thoroski was horrified to realize suddenly that he was blushing. Tarzan indeed! Tarzan certainly wouldn't have blushed!
He cleared his throat. "Don't worry. The so-and-so didn't get any farther before the other one stopped him."
"Oh," she said again. She, too, was blushing, he saw, to his relief.
"Wayne Gallagher," he went on. "The ship's doctor. He's a good guy. I was watching from a doorway and I stunned them both."
"They didn't see you, did they?" she asked quickly, and Thoroski saw that she was looking at the recent injuries on his face.
"No. They don't know who did it, but they figure it's an Undergrounder. They're right, too, if somewhat misguided. I've been listening on the com. I was separated from my men during the quake. They think I'm dead."
"Oh." She was still studying his injuries. "Did you get hurt? You have a lot of bruises."
"A rock or something hit me during the quake. Knocked me silly for a while." He touched his mouth gingerly. "But I got some of this a few days ago. Pomothvor gave them to me."
Her small mouth hardened again. "Jeff said he might. He knows Pomothvor. He said he has an awfully bad temper."
Thoroski's heart sank. "Who's Jeff? Your boyfriend?"
"What?" She looked startled and then laughed. "No. Jeff's my partner's husband. He's an ex-'trol. His name is Jeff Stewart. Sublieutenant Jeff Stewart."
The name sounded slightly familiar. "Defector? I think I've seen his poster."
She nodded. "He rescued Shelly from the Patrol."
"I get it." He chuckled, partly with relief. "Have you found anything yet -- any signs of these archives?"
She shook her head. "Not yet. We've been looking, but this place is so dangerous --"
"That's for sure. Here." He extended his canteen. "Want some water?"
She drank daintily from the canteen and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "Thank you. Now I'd better try to contact Shelly. She must be worried about me."
Thoroski hooked the canteen to his belt again and sat back, watching her.
Terran psychics never failed to invoke a slight sense of awe in him. They were so casual, yet so professional about their abilities. That was because of their training, he knew, but it was wonderful to watch them, and this one in particular. With her features relaxed, her eyes closed, she was suddenly almost pretty. He saw her smile and realized she must have made contact.
The smile vanished abruptly and she gave a faint squeak, her eyes flying open.
"What's wrong?" Thoroski demanded, one hand dropping to his blaster.
"The Jil! I touched his mind. He was scanning, and he picked me up!"
"How much did he see?" Thoroski asked quickly. "Could he have figured out who you were with?"
She shook her head. "I closed my shields at once. He didn't have time."
Thoroski let out his breath. "No harm done, then. Did you contact your partner?"
Lyla nodded. "She sensed the Jil, too."
"Can you find her? I'd like to get you back to her if I can."
Lyla shook her head. "Pomothvor will be watching for me to lower my shields. But I did get a general direction. If we go that way, we may be able to find her."
Thoroski nodded abruptly. "Good idea. Let's give it a try. Do you think you can walk okay?"
She smiled. "I think so. Where the dickens are we, anyway?" She glanced around at the interior of the vehicle, and he heard her gasp. Thoroski swung his light in the direction of her gaze.
A large, humanoid skeleton was sprawled on the floor at his feet, the empty eye sockets staring back at him. Thoroski felt his heart jump, but he replied as calmly as he could. "It's probably the driver. We're in a wrecked ground vehicle -- a big armored thing. It's soundproof, too. Can you check and see if there's anyone around out there?"
She hesitated. "I'll have to lower my shields for a second. Oh well, it'll be just a second, and he's got a lot of area to scan."
Thoroski touched her wrist. "Honey, it's up to you. I may outrank you, but you're the psychic. You know best."
Her lips curled in a slight smile. "I'll try," she said. "Just a minute."
**********
tbc
