Volcano Island
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
13
Alan Westover led his companions down the dark alley, feeling the trace of Lyla slowly strengthen. Twice he felt the cold flicker of the Jilectan’s mind, tracing him, and each time his shields snapped up automatically. The alien was aware of him; there was no doubt of that.
And suddenly, another sensation quivered through him. Shelly gave a gasp of relief.
“It’s Lyla!”
Alan nodded. “Thank God!”
“She’s okay!” Shelly sounded almost hysterical with relief. “She’s with him!”
“Thoroski?” Jeff asked, looking a little confused.
“Yes! Oh, thank goodness! Wait –“ Shelly drew in her breath sharply and Alan felt his shields snap automatically closed.
“What’s wrong?” Mark asked. “The Jil again?”
Alan sighed. “Yes. He’s looking for us, that’s for sure. He’s picked me up a few times and now he’s picked up Lyla and Shelly. He knows by now that there’s more than one Terran psychic out here, looking for his precious archives. I wouldn’t be surprised if he decides to risk his sacred hide and come have a look, himself.”
Mark chuckled. “Kid, you’re gettin’ as cynical as me.” He sobered abruptly. “The Jils didn’t get to be the rulers of the Autonomy by bein’ chickens. If the risk is worth takin’, they’ll take it. Pomothvor was sent on this mission to get those archives. Us gettin’ here first is gonna make him awful mad.”
Alan turned to Shelly. “Keep your shields up. We don’t want him to be able to trace us. I’ll keep on taking quick peeks and lead us to her. It’ll take some time, but it’s better than having him pinpoint us and send in a squad to collect us.”
Shelly nodded. She was smiling, her pretty face glowing with relief. “Just as long as I know she’s all right, I don’t care how long it takes.”
“Hurry up, kid,” Linley said.
“Okay.” Alan took another quick peek, feeling like a distant flicker the ominous shadow of the Jilectan’s mind. “This way.”
He led them out of the alley and they emerged into what must once have been a wide thoroughfare. Jungle vines and brush grew thickly, binding the ground vehicles down tightly.
He stopped, momentarily at a loss. She was somewhere nearby but he needed to take another look. Blast that Jil!
Very carefully, he lowered his shields again and clapped them back up at once. The alien’s mind was closer. Was he doing as they had guessed, risking his life outside to look for the fiendish Terran psychics who were also searching for his archives?
“He’s getting closer.” Alan glanced at Linley. “He’s tracing us on foot – at least I think he is.”
Linley cussed softly. “We gotta find her before he gets too close.”
“Every time I lower my shields he picks me up. I don’t know what to do.” He turned to the others. “Anybody got any ideas?”
“Wait for him and ambush him?” Jeff suggested, and then grinned ruefully. “No, I’m sure he’s got a dozen or so ‘trols to protect him.”
A tremendous jolt shook them and Alan staggered sideways. Above them, a tree quivered and began to topple. Linley shouted something.
The tree came down with a mighty crash and a branch whacked him across the face. He gave a gasp of pain, stumbling backwards.
Somebody shouted and Alan caught the flicker of handlights in the shrubbery to his right. How had Mark, Jeff and Shelly gotten over there? Had he been turned around in the confusion?
An instant later, he knew he was wrong. The voices approaching were not the voices of his companions. A Patrol search party was coming.
Alan made it to his feet and tried to run, badly hampered by the shaking of the ground and the wildly thrashing brush. A branch of the fallen tree what\cked him across the face, half-blinding him. He stumbled away from it.
A black clad figure loomed out of the darkness and another one appeared behind it. Alan yanked out his blaster, but for the moment he dared not fire.
“Watch it!” a voice bellowed.
A blaster cracked, and a bush three meters to his right burst into flame. The man must be panicky to miss by that much, Alan thought, even allowing for the shaking ground. He returned the fire, and somebody screamed.
Somehow, Alan made it to his feet again and ran.
There was the thump of feet and the sound of crashing brush behind him. Alan tore blindly through the shrubbery, shouting for Mark in his mind. His partner would hear him, of course, for undoubtedly the link between them was now functioning as it always did when Alan was in danger. He heard another shout and the shaking of the quake increased.
His foot caught on a root and he landed hard on his stomach, the impact driving the breath from his lungs. A hand descended on his neck, grinding his face into the leaves. A knee planted itself in the small of his back and his hands were brought skillfully behind him. He began to fight uselessly as restrainers closed around his wrists.
The patrolman dragged him to his feet and, at the same instant, with a terrific jolt, the shaking ceased.
A handlight flashed in his face. Alan squinted his eyes against the glare, aware that the man’s mouth was gaping open. “I’ll be damned! You’re Westover!”
Alan ceased to fight. The last thing he needed was to give the man an excuse to hit him. Mark would be on his way by now.
The mouth below the visor split in a grin. “I’ll be damned!” he repeated. “You nothin’ but a shrimp!” He pushed the button on his helmet and spoke. “This is Patrolman Fitzgerald, calling Lord Pomoth --eeaah!”
The man’s cry was cut off as a huge, hairy hand closed around his throat. Alan found himself suddenly free and stumbled backward to sit down hard in the jungle growth. Unbelieving, he gaped at the enormous, hairy, apelike creature that they had encountered earlier in the ruins. She was standing before him, Patrolman Fitzgerals clutched in a great, many-fingered hand. As he watched, the creature shook the patrolman like a rat and then hurled him away. He landed hard against a tree trunk and collapsed limply to the ground. He lay still.
Alan stared up at the thing as it turned toward him, wiping its palms across its protruding abdomen in a very human gesture. It chuckled softly.
“Gosh!” he managed. “Thanks! Thanks a lot!”
Another pleased chuckle and the creature bent over him, lifting him carefully to his feet. A large hairy palm patted him on the head.
There was a frantic crashing in the underbrush and Mark Linley burst into view, his blaster in his hand. The creature turned, its lips drawing back in a threatening snarl. Mark’s weapon centered on it.
“No!” Alan shouted. “Don’t shoot her!”
“What the hell?” Linley’s handlight flicked over Alan, his hands still cuffed behind him, then to the huge anthropoid and last to the crumpled form of the patrolman. “What happened?”
Jeff and Shelly appeared, panting, through the tangle of underbrush. They both stopped and Shelly gasped at the sight of the creature.
“It’s okay,” Alan said. He stepped up beside the creature. “She saved me from the patrolman. Turn off his transmitter, Mark. He was calling for reinforcements when she arrived.”
Linley turned to obey. The creature glanced at Alan, chuckled again and dropped a hairy arm across his shoulders. Mark straightened up, the patrolman’s keys in his hand.
“Guy’s still alive but I sure don’t know how. Looks like somebody worked him over with a crowbar. Here, Brunhilda, move over, willya?”
The creature bared her fangs at Mark, and he fell back a step, looking disconcerted. “Kid, talk to your girlfriend. Explain I’m tryin’ to help.”
Alan looked up at the beast. “It’s okay. He’s a friend.”
The creature seized him by the shoulders, turned him forcibly around and grasped the restrainers with both hands. Alan gave a yip of mingled protest and astonishment as he felt her twist. The bar snapped and his hands were free.
“Halthzor’s hangnails!” Mark muttered. “You sure know how to choose your girlfriends, kid.”
The creature picked him up, hugged him again, and then set him gently on his feet once more. Alan drew a long breath. “Thanks, Brunhilda,” he said.
**********
“Oh Sven! We’ve found it!”
Lyla started to run, and Thoroski trotted along beside her, his blaster out, and alert for any danger that Lyla might miss in her excitement. They hurried up the half dozen steps and paused at the entrance.
The door was closed and apparently locked, for Thoroski couldn’t open it. Lyla concentrated a moment and there was a faint click. The door slid obediently aside.
Lyla started forward but Thoroski pulled her back. “Let me go first.”
Carefully, he stepped past her and flashed his light within.
A grinning skull greeted him, making him jump. The skeleton was perched on a sort of divan beside the entrance, and it was apparent that the being had died there, for all the bones were more or less in their proper place.
Lyla peered past him, her gaze passing over the skeleton, but apparently the sight of this ancient tragedy failed to move her.
“He was the librarian,” she said absently. “He died quietly, long after the others.”
“Oh.” Thoroski flashed his light around again. The illumination revealed row upon row of shelves, stacked with tiny discs. Other discs were neatly stored in cubicles, all carefully labeled in unreadable characters. “Holy Mike! This is going to take a while! How are you --“ He stopped. “I forgot. You’re a clairvoyant, I guess. I suppose you’ll be able to tell what’s important just by looking.”
“And touching,” she agreed. “But I’ll have to work fast.”
“You’ll have to open your shields again, won’t you?”
She nodded. “He won’t sense me unless he’s actively scanning. PSychometry is very close range work, and I’ll only lower my shields enough so I can do it. Pomothvor’ll
Have to be pretty sharp if he’s going to pick me up.”
“He’s sharp,” Thoroski said. “Don’t kid yourself. Be careful.”
“I will. Do you have an emergency blanket in your pack?”
“Sure.” Thoroski shed the pack, opened it and extracted one of the thin coverings from the emergency kit. He shook it out and spread it on the floor.”
Lyla was already moving, her fingers playing skillfully over the shelves and removing the desired articles almost casually. As Thoroski watched, she began to toss disk after disk into the blanket. He held the light for her, wondering how much he was actually helping. She seemed to be working completely by touch, her gaze distant and abstracted.
“Honey?”
Her eyes focused. “Yes, Sven?”
“There’s a computer over there. Would it be any help?”
She glanced at the ancient device. “Hmm -- maybe.” She went over to it. “It would be nice. Then I could keep my shields up.” Her hands moved skillfully over the controls.
“Man,” Thoroski thought. “What a woman!” He cut the thought off quickly. Lyla might not understand. After all, he was a ‘trol, and ‘trols were not known for their fidelity toward women. Besides, she was young, and clearly inexperienced. He wondered for a moment what her age was. She looked no more than sixteen, and Thoroski was nearly thirty-five. He sure as hell didn’t want to emulate Wilber Parks, who had preferred all his women to be under legal age. But then, psychics often looked younger than they really were.
Lyla turned from the computer. “It doesn’t work anymore, and I doubt I could figure it out even if it did. Looks like I’ll just have to keep looking and hope the Jil doesn’t pick me up.” She paused, looking at him. “Is something worrying you, Sven?”
Thoroski squirmed beneath her gaze. “How old are you, Lyla?” He blurted out the words before he realized what he was doing. Instantly, he felt his neck grow warm.
She looked surprised for a moment and then smiled, dimples appearing in both cheeks. She reminded him suddenly and painfully of Helena.
“I’m twenty-seven,” she said.
“Oh.” For a moment the Strike Commander stared at her, too relieved to speak. Then realization struck him and he began to stammer. “I just wondered. I -- I just wondered. I mean, you look sort of --“
“Young,” Lyla said. “I know. It’s because I’m a psychic.” Again the dimples appeared. “Don’t worry. You’re not robbing the cradle.” She stood on tiptoe, put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.
Then, as quickly, she was gone, and her hands were once again moving over the shelves of discs, tossing selected ones into the blanket.
Thoroski grinned to himself, his flush subsiding. Damn empaths! There was no way an ordinary mortal like himself could put anything over on them!
**********
tbc
