This part is short. Sorry.
Our internet has been our for over a day and a half. No clue why. It was out, and now, mysteriously, it's back. The joys of computers.
Volcano Island Ch 15 and 16
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
15
Lord Pomothvor, only son of the late lamented Lord Lomothvor, ran as the quake’s convulsions rocked the ground beneath his feet. He arrived at a large open space and looked around for the escort that had accompanied him from the ship.
None of the three patrolmen was in sight, nor was his bodyguard. Back in the direction from which he had come, Pomothvor heard a scream.
Stupid Terrans! The Jilectan felt annoyance flood him. Stupid and slow – blundering idiots!
Terrans in general offended him. In the first place, they looked altogether too much like his own noble species, and it was an impertinence that a lower species should so resemble the master race. Why, once or twice a Terran, by concealing his hideous, stubby, five-fingered hands, had been successful in masquerading as a Jilectan.
The thought made him tremble with rage. And then, the fact that some of them were psychics – that had to be the final, most infuriating blow. His Lordship wished heartily that he could get his hands on a few members of the Terran Underground – those stinking little animals who openly flouted the Jilectans’ right to rule. He would make them regret the day they were spawned.
Someone was approaching, his legs staggering and buckling. His telepathic senses reached out and Pomothvor’s weapon was half-drawn before he determined the approaching presence was a patrolman.
The man burst into view, panting, and sighted Pomothvor. “M’lord!” he gasped and dropped instantly to his knees on the heaving ground.
Pomothvor felt a touch of pride. He had trained them well, he thought. His servants were always well-behaved.
“Your name?” he demanded.
“Corporal Butler, M’lord.” The man’s words came jerkily, due to the heaving ground.
“You may rise, Corporal. Where is your party?”
“I don’t know, sir. They scattered when the quake hit. M’lord, where is your escort?”
Pomothvor favored the Terran with a frosty stare and felt pleasure at seeing the man wilt.
“Beg -- pardon, M’lord. I was concerned for your safety. I’m sorry, M’lord.”
“You will accompany me, Patrolman.”
“Yes, M’lord --“
The Terran’s words were cut off by a massive jolt, and the Terran staggered forward. Pomothvor himself felt his legs buckle and had to go to all fours. The Corporal half fell across him.
Pomothvor gave a cry of revulsion and anger as the odor of the human invaded his sensitive nostrils. He aimed a blow at the audacious Terran, but missed. The man rolled free and dropped prostrate before him.
“I’m sorry, M’lord! It was an accident. I beg pardon, sir!”
Pomothvor drew back. It was too bad that he needed this sniveling Terran or he would put the little animal out of its misery right now.
He remained where he was until the shaking began to diminish. The Terran remained flat on his face, not even looking up. Then, with a massive jolt, the shaking ceased. Pomothvor rose majestically to his feet, looking down with scorn and loathing at the figure of the Terran.
Butler got to his knees, and struggled to his feet, his eyes downcast.
“Stay by me,” Pomothvor commanded. “I am continuing the search.”
“Yes, M’lord,” the patrolman mumbled.
Pomothvor strode onward, through the luxuriant jungle growth, his psychometric senses scanning. The distant volcanoes rumbled again and the ground trembled.
Something shot out of the trees ahead of them and Pomothvor had a confused glimpse of a large, dark form covered with shaggy hair. He started to bring his blaster up but the thing stuck him squarely in the chest, knocking him flat. His head snapped backwards, connecting hard with something solid and unyielding. He saw stars.
A blaster cracked and the thing went limp on top of him. Then the patrolman was heaving it away and he heard the man’s voice shouting his name.
“M’lord! Lord Pomothvor! Are you hurt, sir?”
Pomothvor pushed the creature’s hand roughly aside and sat up, rubbing a hand across his face. The man’s handlight revealed the body of the animal that had attacked him sprawled across the jungle floor. Pomothvor felt a stab of revulsion, seeing the gaping jaws and the ten centimeter fangs. The stench of its breath still lingered in his nostrils.
He got to his feet and Butler handed him his blaster. “Sir, your face is cut. I should put a bandage on it.”
Pomothvor wiped away blood and glanced at the Terran again. Quickly, he extended a mind probe and sensed the man’s pride at having saved His Lordship’s life.
The thought irritated him. He deepened the probe and fury encompassed him. Butler thought Pomothvor’s hairstyle effeminate and ridiculous. Well, as soon as this business was finished, the Terran would pay dearly for that thought.
Pomothvor had been reprimanded before, once by Lord Harthvar, Chief of Jilectan Military Affairs, himself, concerning his brutality toward Patrol officers. Harthvar had pointed out that the good -- really good -- officers were rare and he had instructed Pomothvor to use restraint when reprimanding them, but the Jilectan had found it impossible to obey the orders. Terrans were insufferable, impertinent and totally without discipline. Their thoughts were constant irritants, and he failed to understand how other members of his species could be indifferent to them.
His sister, Lady Privinthvill had once told him that it was easy to be indifferent to a Terran’s thoughts – they were so shallow and meaningless; but Pomothvor couldn’t see it that way.
A feeling drew him toward a dim silhouette of a building and he strode rapidly toward it. The patrolman hurried to keep up with him, panting. Slow, clumsy little Terrans! They were terribly inadequate as bodyguards, but Procyons were worse, being slower and clumsier still. Arcturians were quicker and more enduring, but they possessed the annoying characteristic of having unreadable minds. Besides, they were such horrors to look at and they smelled even worse than Terrans. If there was any species Pomothvor liked less than Terrans it had to be the Arcturians.
The building continued to draw him, and he increased his pace.
The Terran arrived beside him, gasping for breath in his efforts to keep up. Pomothvor glanced at him with disgust. The man’s thoughts had become clearer as fatigue increased. He was afraid of many things on this world -- the volcanoes, the animals, the Undergrounders and the Jilectan, himself. What a sniveling coward, Pomothvor thought. Were there any Terrans in the galaxy who possessed a milligram of courage?
The building loomed before him and he felt a surge of power. Excitement coursed through him. This was it! The Library. He had found it!
He turned to the Terran beside him. “This is the library, Corporal. Call for reinforcements at once.”
The patrolman obeyed and Pomothvor reached out to touch the building’s forcefield lightly with his fingertips. The barrier control had to be somewhere near. He must find it.
He succeeded at once, feeling a glow of pride. Certainly his powers were unmatched by any other of his species. Telekinetic energy reached out and the field clicked off.
“Come,” he said to the patrolmen, and strode toward the building once more.
He went lightly up the steps, the Terran panting along beside him. The doors of the building stood open and Pomothvor reached out, scanning.
Then his shields snapped up, for he detected a psychic presence in the room before him. Anger jolted through him.
The psychic was a female, perhaps the one who had touched his mind earlier, and her thoughts were partially shielded, which was why he had not detected her at once. She was engaged in psychic activity – close range psychic activity. Psychometry? Could it be that there were members of the Terran species who possessed his own rare, unmatched talent?
The thought infuriated him even more. He turned to the patrolman who had also stopped, his visored face turning up to Pomothvor.
“There is a Terran psychic in this building.” Pomothvor spoke very quietly, barely moving his lips. He had detected no one else, but he knew it was highly unlikely that the Terran Underground would have sent a female psychic alone, without an escort. Also, her partner would undoubtedly be nearby, ready to assist her if the need arose. Pomothvor knew that he must be very careful. Members of the Terran Underground had already accounted for the deaths of several Jilectans. He certainly had no desire to join the list.
Carefully, he relaxed his shielding ever so slightly and extended a light probe into the room beyond the door.
Again, he caught the strong, unmistakable aura of a Terran psychic and with her, sure enough, the faint indication of a male, non-psychic.
She still had not sensed him, although Pomothvor was now near enough to detect weak telepathic ability in the female. The Jilectan smiled slightly, closing his shields again. Terran psychics! They certainly weren’t all that formidable if this young woman was any example.
He spoke quietly to the patrolman again. “She has a companion, Corporal. You may kill him, but I want the psychic taken alive. Go.”
Patrolman Butler, holding his blaster at ready, stepped through the doorway.
**********
16
“Come on Brunhilda, let him go!” Mark Linley stared helplessly at the big form of the anthropoid. She was squatted on the ground, her arms around Alan, holding him gently but very firmly.
Alan tried for the twentieth time to free himself from her embrace. “Come on, please let me go. We have things to do.”
She chuckled softly, drooling slightly on Alan’s head. Linley looked desperately at Stewart. “Can’tcha think of anythin’?”:
“We could stun her,” Jeff suggested doubtfully.
Mark scowled. “If we make her mad she might hurt Alan.”
“She wouldn’t have time.”
“The Jils ain’t affected by stunbolts. All it does is sting ‘em a little. We got no guarantee it won’t affect her the same.
Alan tried to push the creature’s hands away. “Please ma’am, let me go. Thank you very much.”
Another chuckle. Shelly sighed. “There’s got to be some way to do this.” Her face brightened suddenly. “Just a minute –“
She concentrated.
“What are you doing?” Jeff’s jaw dropped. “No, Shell!”
A large, prickly bush, a meter from the creature and her prisoner burst into flame. Linley cursed under his breath.
Shelly was a pyro – the possessor of a rare psychic talent that gave her the ability to start fires with her mind’s power alone. Linley understood that by setting fire to the bush, Shelly hoped to frighten the creature into releasing Alan. He just hoped it didn’t backfire on them.
The creature glanced casually at the blazing bush and reached over to beat out the flames with one broad palm. The fire flickered and died.
“Well,” Stewart said resignedly, “I guess you can’t scare a critter who makes her home on a volcanic island with a pea-sized fire. Damn!”
Shelly sighed. “I should have known.” She dug in her pack. “Here, Brunhilda, want some candy?”
The creature’s eyes widened in sudden interest as Shelly extended the chocolate bar. Mark tensed, waiting for his chance.
The thing reached for the candy and Alan moved suddenly, wiggling like a snake in her grasp and ducking beneath her arm. Mark’s blaster hummed an instant later.
The anthropoid gave a surprised screech and wilted. Alan rolled free and came lightly to his feet.
Mark grinned at Shelly. “Good work!”
Carefully, Shelly laid the chocolate bar on the creature’s stomach. “Here’s my part of the bargain. I hope she doesn’t have too much of a headache when she wakes up.”
“Me too,” Alan said. “She did save me from the Patrol, after all.”
The creature began to stir. Evidently the stunbolt’s affects were already dissipating.
The Terrans retreated quickly. Linley chuckled. “Hope you ain’t too insulted,” he told his partner. “I guess she liked the candy better’n you.”
“I’ll live with it,” Alan said. “I hope she likes the chocolate.”
**********
tbc
