Empath: 7/7
by Linda Garrick and Nancy Smith
IX
Mark Linley opened his eyes. He was propped upright on the seat of an aircar, and his hands were secured behind him. A strong, biting odor was in his nostrils, and he coughed, swearing weakly. A hand closed on his collar and the visored face of a Patrol sergeant appeared before him.
"Wake up, Linley," the man said.
Mark groaned, and the hand tightened on his collar, shaking him. The movement sent pounding pain through his head.
"Wake up, Linley,” the sergeant repeated.
Mark forced his eyes open. "Whatcha want?"
"I wanna know where Lady Travinthzill is?” The man's accent indicated he was from Shallock.
"I dunno where she is,” Mark said. He groaned again. "Lemme alone.”
The hand jerked on his collar. "Now, you listen t'me, Linley! Halthzor's half-crazy about his old Lady, an’ we wanna be able to hand her over when he gets here. So make it easy on yourself and tell us where she is.”
Mark turned his head, seeing the form of another patrolman on his other side, and two others in the front seat of the vehicle. Through the windows he saw that night had fallen, and that Tovala's moon shone brightly overhead. Holy hell, how much time had passed? Last he remembered, it had been early evening.
He felt awful. His head ached, his shoulder throbbed, his eyes were gritty, and there was a nasty taste in his mouth. The sergeant was yanking at his collar again. "I'd talk if I was you, Linley."
Mark tried to pull away. "Lemme go, damn you! I dunno where she is."
The man hit him hard across the face with the back of one hand. "Talk! Where is she?"
Mark cussed weakly. "In hell, probably. Dammit, will you listen? We all got separated when that wave hit. She's probably dead."
"You damn well better hope she ain't!" The man hit him again, snapping his head the other way. His vision blurred.
"Take it easy, Sarge," said a voice from somewhere to his right. “The Jils'll get it out of him when they get here."
Mark's heart took a painful leap. He had no doubt the patrolmen were speaking the truth.
The sergeant ignored the speaker, drawing his blaster and flicking it to needle beam. "I'm runnin' outta patience, Linley.”
Mark sighed, then swore savagely as the weapon spat, singeing his shoulder. It hurt! "Dammit! I don't know! We took her away from those blasted Raghiki, and then ran for it, 'cause we knew that tidal wave was comin',”
The sergeant pulled him forward, grip tightening. "What Raghiki?"
"The ones who kidnapped her in the first place. They'd beat the livin' hell outta her, an' were about to kill her when we showed up."
"You're lyin', Linley. It was the Underground who kidnapped her. We picked up that hyperspace transmission you sent."
"That damned Raghiki sent it -- the one who got away when we rescued the Lady. He was madder'n hell at us for takin' his prize away, an’ he was out to get revenge the only way he could. Blast it, if I had to call for help from the Underground, d'you think I'd announce my address, to the, whole Sector? Anyway, I wouldn't hafta. Our bosses already knew where we were.”
The sarge hesitated. "An’ how did you know that wave was comin’, Linley?”
"Uh --" Mark's mind wasn't working as fast as he would have liked. He sure didn’t want to betray Alan's presence on this world to these damned ‘trols. “The Jil told me. She saw it.”
One of the men in the front seat glanced back. "That's a lie, Linley,” he said.
The sergeant glanced at the man. "Maybe not, Torres. It makes sense.”
Torres, a first classer by the marks on his helmet, grinned sardonically. "That Lady ain't got no clairvoyance.” He removed his head covering, revealing dark, handsome features -- the kind of 'trol the Jil Ladies would like, Mark thought.
The sergeant also removed 'his helmet "How'd you know, that?”
Torres’ grin broadened. "I have my sources, sir. A lot of Halthzor’s ladies don't like that gal. There's a lotta rivalry between 'em, and one of 'em talked about her in detail.” He winked meaningfully at the sarge, "...One warm summer night on Riskell. Ladies talk a lot when they're relaxed, y’know, and this one went into all sorts of detail. She told me that Lady Travinthzill really got shorted where the psychic talents are concerned. All she's got is telepathy, and nothing else.”
The sarge turned to Mark again. "Well, Linley?”
Mark shrugged. "You know these Ladies -- jealous bunch o' witches. Lady Travinthzill told us it was comin' an’ I figured she knew what she was talkin' about. She didn't have no reason to lie. Her hide was on the line, too.”
The sergeant hit him again, and the faces of the patrolmen dissolved into a blur, then faded into nothingness.
"You damn fool!" Mark heard the deep voice, heavy with the accent of Filora, as though from a great distance. "An' just what the 'ell did you think you were doing, Sergeant Jackass? If 'e dies, you'd better join the Underground, 'cause I’m gonna explain in detail to 'is 'Ighness 'oo the nitwit was ‘oo killed 'im.”
"But sir --”
"Shut up! You are busted, mister, three steps in rank! An’ you can be damn sure the reason'll go on your record -- in block letters!”
Mark identified the voice at last. It was Strike Commander Toyoma of the Patrol battlecruiser, "Javelin". Mark had served briefly under him when a third and later a second classer, and had attended occasional social functions with him while an officer in the Patrol. Linley knew him, to be an exceptional officer, as most Strike Commanders were.
Hands touched his face and shoulder, moving gently and skillfully. His flight suit had been removed, and he realized that he was naked except for a light patient gown, slightly small for him. He felt vulnerable in the scanty attire, with his wrists fastened behind him.
Burn salve soothed his shoulder, spreading coolness and relief through him. Then hands lifted him, placing him on a firm, flat surface. There was a sensation of movement.
*********
"Mark?
Linley kept his eyes closed. Someone spoke his name again, and there was the sting of antiseptic over his right eye. He flinched involuntarily.
"Mark, I know you can 'ear me. Open your eyes."
Mark didn't obey. "Whatcha want?" he mumbled.
"Do you know where the Vicerienne is?"
Linley shook his head.
"There was a tidal wave, wasn't there? Was she with you when it 'it?”
“Yeah, but I had her tied up. She's probably dead." Mark opened his eyes, blinking vaguely at the Strike Commander. "Where am I?”
"Aboard the 'Javelin' -- infirmary. We’re in orbit around Tovala. Who else was with you, Mark?”
"Nobody."
“Nobody? Not Westover?"
"Alan's back at the base. His wife's expectin'."
Toyoma raised a dark eyebrow at him. "Oh yeah?"
“Yeah,” Mark said uncomfortably. He glanced around. Two guards stood at the door, and to his left the Patrol doctor, Glen Packer was watching him, his face expressionless.
“’Lo, Glen," he said. "How's the wife?" Glen Packer was among the few men employed by the Patrol who was married.
“She’s fine," Packer said.
"Any more kids?”
"Little boy born last month.”
Mark grinned at him weakly. "Holy hell! That makes five for you, don't it? Don't you two ever think of nothin’ else?"
Packer's lips quirked, then straightened again. Toyoma jerked his head at the doctor. "Get outta 'ere, Glen. 'E’s working on you.”
The doctor turned without a word and went out. Mark stared longingly after him. Glen Packer was one of the few ‘trols whom he knew would sympathize with his plight. Although Mark knew the doctor couldn't help him, it was comforting to have a friendly presence in the room.
Toyoma was looking at Mark again. "You're lying, aren't you." It was not a question. "That sweet, sincere, boy-next-door act don't work with me, Mark. Look, why don't you give in and tell the truth? 'Althzor’s going to be 'ere soon, an' believe me, 'e won't pull 'is punches. 'E loves that Lady better'n all the others put together. 'E’ll be a lot nicer if we 'ave 'er 'ere waiting when 'e arrives.
"Wish I could help you, Commander," Mark said. "But we didn't even kidnap her in the first place, as good old Halthzor's gonna find out when he gets here and probes me -- not that that'll make him any nicer.”
"You didn't kidnap her? Who did, then?"
"The Raghiki -- three of 'em. At least, we saw three. There might'a been more."
“Oh, really?" The Strike Commander sounded extremely dubious. "Raghiki, eh? An’ where are they now?”
"Two of ‘em are dead," Mark said. "The other one got away an' sent that idiotic message about Mark Linley callin' the Underground. Undergrounders never send calls like that. We use codes -- codes that are devilish hard to break." He shifted on the hard bunk. "Man, my wrists are killin' me. How about takin' these restrainers off? You got guards in here, and I ain't got no place to hide any suicide pills.”
Toyoma ignored the request. "An 'ow did you know they'd brought 'er 'ere, Mark?"
Linley had opened his mouth to reply when a sudden beeping cut him off. Toyoma stepped over to a wall communicator and pressed a button. "Toyoma here."
"Sir, His Highness's ship just came out of hyperspace. E.T.A. in seven minutes. I've informed him that we have Linley aboard.”
Mark's heart lunged into his throat. Toyoma glanced at him.
"This is your last chance, Mark," he said. “Where's Lady Travinthzill?”
Linley gulped and turned his eyes upward. "I'd tell you if I knew, Commander.”
Toyoma regarded him a moment in silence. Then he glanced at the two guards. "Watch him closely,” he said. "And double the security."
"Yessir.”
The Commander went out.
Mark lay still after he had gone, staring at the ceiling. He was in for it this time, he decided bleakly. Halthzor would be here in a few minutes, and Linley's mind would be probed. His organization's secrets would come out, for Mark knew well that his shielding would never stand against the powerful telepathic ability of His Highness, Lord Halthzor.
He closed his eyes. If only there was some way -- something he could do to end his existence before Halthzor arrived....
But there wasn't -- not with four Viceregal patrolmen standing over him and watching every move he made. He was helpless to prevent what was about to happen. If only there was some way to contact Alan --
For his partner was still alive -- of that much, Mark was certain. Their link remained, unconscious, but there. Mark knew well that if Alan had died in the terrible wave, he would know.
"Kid," he thought despairingly. "Alan! Please, kid, you gotta hear me!”
Nothing.
“Alan! Listen, kid, you gotta warn the base! Halthzor's comin'! He's gonna read me!”
Only silence answered his frantic thoughts. Mark opened his eyes, feeling sweat trickle down his face. The guards were watching him, murmuring softly to one another.
"Y’know...." The voice was slightly louder than it should have been for an ordinary conversation, "I saw a public execution the other day. Real gory it was!” The guard laughed. “Went on for hours, too. They're improvin' their techniques all the time.”
Mark tried to ignore the man. Nothing anyone could say could possibly scare him anymore than he was already scared. He knew what was in store for him. All Undergrounders knew what was in store for the agent who was unlucky enough to be delivered alive into the hands of the Jilectans. Maybe there was an Underground plant or two aboard the "Javelin". Mark tried to summon hope. You never knew. Undergrounders sometimes turned up in the damnedest places....
"He won't make it to the execution chair." It was another guard. "Halthzor'll probably pull him apart bit by bit when he gets here.”
The first patrolman laughed again.
A figure appeared at the door, and Mark's pounding heart lunged into his throat but it was only the doctor returning. He came across the room to stand beside the prisoner, looking down at him.
"How’ve you been doing, Mark'?”
Linley cleared his throat. "Okay," he croaked.
"Sorry to see you in this mess." The doctor put a hand on his shoulder.
Mark grinned weakly at him. "I'm sorry too, Glen.”
There was a painful silence. "Do you want some water?" the doctor asked, finally.
"Yeah," Mark said.
Packer lifted his shoulders and placed a straw in his mouth. “Wish I could help you, Mark," he said softly.
Linley lay back. "Thanks, Glen."
"Sure. S’nothin'." Another pause. "Are you married, Mark?”
Linley nodded. "Julia an' me got married awhile back.”
"Julia?" Packer's jaw dropped. "Not that cute little Giant Killer?”
"Uh huh," Mark said.
"I'll be damned! Any kids?”
Mark swallowed hard. "She's due in three months.”
“Oh." Packer looked unhappy.
"Julia Austell, eh?" It was the first guard again. "Well, well, don’t feel too bad, Linley. At least she'll get to see you on the video before you cash in.”
Packer turned fiercely on the man. "Shut up, Torres!”
The man shut up. Mark lay rigid on the bunk, waiting. Glen cleared his throat, started to say something else, then fell silent. The door slid open, and there was the sound of footsteps entering the room. Mark closed his eyes.
X
The aircar containing the Underground agents, Lady Travinthzill, and the baby, skimmed rapidly over the water toward the tall, shadowy silhouette of a large tree projecting above the surface. Alan extended his telepathic call again.
"Angie, it's me! I'm with Ruthy and Eric. We're coming to get you.”
Her reply held almost hysterical relief. "Alan! Oh, thank goodness! Is the Lady all right'?”
"She’s fine.
Off to the west they could see the moving lights of another aircar, and to the north still another, circling a much larger patch of high ground. Alan leaned back in his seat, trying to envision Mark's face. If his partner had regained consciousness, he must be half out of his mind by now. A prisoner of the Patrol, and two Jils on the way. Linley would try to kill himself if the opportunity arose. Alan just hoped that the Patrol's security measures would hold him until his captors learned that Lady Travinthzill was being held hostage by the Underground. Once they knew, Mark would be told, but until then Linley would be in danger. The Patrol might attempt to interrogate him, themselves, before the arrival of the Jilectans, or Mark might see an opportunity to end it all before he could be probed. Given the alternative of a Jilectan execution and a quick suicide, Alan had no doubt of Mark's choice.
Eric spoke. "You had your shields down while I was scanning for you, Alan." He glanced at the Lady. "Weren't you afraid she'd try to read you?"
The Lady lifted a disdainful eyebrow at Eric. Alan smiled faintly. "She had other things to think about."
“Yeah, I guess so." Eric chuckled. "Smart, M'Lady.”
The tree was before them. Eric circled the car around it, playing the headlights over the branches. Alan sensed Angie's mind strongly.
"She must be right about here," Eric said.
"A little higher," Alan said absently.
Ruthy flicked on a hand light, shining it into the tree. The rescue must be accomplished as fast as possible, before any of the other searchers noticed their interest in this one tree. There were, thank goodness, quite a few other trees reaching above the floodwaters. Hopefully, the other scouts wouldn't bother to investigate them until it was too late.
"How the devil are we going to get them out of the tree?" Eric asked. "Angie won't be hard, but Kevin's going to be nearly impossible for us to lift.”
The Lady looked at Alan. "I heard several years ago that you lifted Mark Linley and Lord Corianthzor’s son with telekinesis, Alan.”
Alan didn't reply, but Eric smiled, winking at Ruthy. "That's impossible, M’Lady. No telekinetic can lift that much weight.”
"That is what we have always believed, anyway," the Lady said, slowly. "Is it not true then, Alan?”
He shifted uncomfortably beneath her Raze. "It was sort of a one time thing, M'Lady. I can't do it now.”
Ruthy had found a rope beneath the seat, and dropped it into the rear beside Alan. Eric glanced back at him. "Can you pull Angie aboard, Colonel?”
"I think so," he said.
They could see the two refugees clearly now, illuminated in the light of the torch. Bronson was poised on a limb, and Angela was beside him, clinging to him. The branch was too fragile for them to come far enough out to reach the aircar, while the limbs of the tree prevented the aircar from moving closer. Alan handed the baby to Lady Travinthzill, picked up the rope, and opened the door.
“Angie.” He spoke telepathically, "I'm throwing you a rope. Tie it around your waist.”
"What about Kevin?" Angela's voice demanded in his mind.
"Let's get you in first, Angie. Do as I say.”
"No!" came her return call. "I won't leave Kevin.”
"Kevin!" Alan called aloud. "Tie the rope around her.”
“No!” Angela cried. "Not until I know Kevin'll be able to make it too!”
Kevin took the rope from her. "Don't worry, baby, I'll be fine. Let's get you inside first.”
"No, Kevin! I won't leave you!”
He detached her hands gently from around his neck. "Let him pull you in. We'll be faster once you're safe in the car. That's an order.”
Eric set the craft on hover and reached across the seat, grasping the rope, too. Grunting with effort, the two small men managed to haul Angela aboard. Lady Travinthzill drew disdainfully back from Eric.
Angela arrived, half falling into Alan's arms. He helped her climb into the front seat, and glanced back at Bronson again.
"Tie the rope to somethin' in the car, kid," Kevin called. “I'll climb aboard if I hafta.”
Alan obeyed, fastening the rope to one of the metal bars below the seats.
The communicator crackled suddenly. "Unidentified aircar, this is scout seventeen. Have you found somethin'?”
"Hurry, Kevin," Angela said.
"It's ready," Alan said.
The rope tightened as Kevin began to climb, and the car tilted sharply. Eric had to grab the controls.
"Scout seventeen to unidentified craft! Respond! “
"Hurry, Kev!" Alan tried to pull on the rope, but Kevin's weight was far too much. The lights of the aircar to the west were becoming brighter as the craft came rapidly toward them.
Lady Travinthzill’s hand descended on top of Alan's, gently removing it from the rope. He turned to see her grasp the rope with both hands and begin to pull Kevin aboard. Bronson gave a startled exclamation as he came up over the edge of the doorway, his blue eyes round with astonishment. Alan grasped his hand, but the aid was unnecessary. Kevin catapulted through the open door, sprawling ungracefully across the laps of Alan and the Lady. The infant started to wail.
Lady Travinthzill pushed Kevin unceremoniously aside, and lifted the baby from her lap, speaking soothing words. Bronson straightened up, gasping, and Alan shut the door of the vehicle, weak with relief. "Get us out of here, Eric,” he said.
The aircar shot away into the night, and the other cars gave chase at once. Kevin disentangled himself from the rope, glancing sideways at the Lady.
"Thanks, Your Highness," he said gruffly.
She moved scornfully away from him. "I did it for Alan, Terran, and for no one else.”
Alan smiled at her. "Thank you, Your Highness.”
She smiled at him graciously. Kevin's blond eyebrows rose, but he didn't comment. He turned to the Lady. "Well, thanks anyway, Your Highness. I appreciate it, even if you didn't do it for me."
She didn't reply. Eric glanced at their scanners, worried. "They're getting closer, Alan. I don't know if we're going to outrun 'em for long.”
Kevin climbed over the seat, squeezing between Ruthy and Eric. "It's time they knew, anyway," he said, and reached forward, pressing the transmitter. "Listen ‘trols, this is Subcommander Bronson. We have Lady Travinthzill aboard. Keep your distance." He glanced back at the Jilectan. "My apologies, Your Highness.”
She tossed her head scornfully.
Their pursuers were falling back. Bronson spoke into the unit again. "Watcha done with Linley, 'trols?"
A voice emerged from the unit. "This is Patrolman Pickering. M'Lady Travinthzill, please respond if you are able.”
Kevin detached the unit from the dashboard and handed it back. The Lady took it, disdainfully. "This is the Vicerienne."
"Your Highness! Holy space!" The voice grew abruptly fainter as though the speaker had turned from the unit. "Sir, it's Her Highness!”
A new voice came over the unit. "Is this M'Lady Travinthzill?”
The Lady looked annoyed. "Yes, this is Lady Travinthzill. To whom am I speaking?"
"Beg pardon, M’Lady! This is Lieutenant Samuelson. Are you all right?"
"I am bruised, but well, Lieutenant. Has my husband arrived yet?"
"Yes, Your Highness. His ship came out of hyperspace not five minutes ago! We are contacting him now."
"Good," the Lady said. "Let him know that I am alive, and that I wish to see him very much.”
"Yes, M'Lady, at once!" There was a babble of speech in the background.
Kevin extended a hand. "Gimmie the com, Your Highness.”
She handed it to Alan, not glancing at Kevin. Alan looked quickly at Bronson. "I'll handle it, Kev."
"But --”
"You can be meaner than me, but the mention of my name scares 'em more." Alan spoke into the unit. "Lieutenant Samuelson?"
"Yes?" The Lieutenant's voice was suddenly back. "Who's this? Where's Her Highness?”
"This is Alan Westover," Alan said. “And Her Highness is right beside me. I have a message for the Viceroy. Tell him that if he tries to probe Mark, or harms him in any way, he'll never see his Lady again." Alan hesitated. "Or his son.”
"His son!”
"Yes," Alan said.
"Your Highness, is this true? Did you ... I mean --"
“It is quite true, Lieutenant," the Lady said with dignity. "Give the message to my husband at once.”
"Yes, M’Lady!" There was a short pause. "Your Highness, I have just spoken with His Highness. He will be here in fifteen minutes, and has asked me to assure Mr. Westover that Linley will not be harmed in any way. He is presently in the 'Javelin’s' infirmary, undergoing treatment for injuries sustained before his capture.”
"Thank you, Lieutenant,” Alan said.
"His Highness has also requested that you remain in radio contact with us. No attempt will be made to approach your vessel.”
"All right," Alan said. "But we’ll still put some distance between us, if it’s all the same to you." He handed the unit back to Kevin, who replaced it on the dashboard. Eric sent the car leisurely away from the Patrol vehicles, which hung back at a respectful distance. Eric cast him an awed look.
"Gosh," he said suddenly. "How'd you do it, Alan?"
"Do what?” Alan asked in surprise.
"Charm the hell out of Madame Queen, here?"
Alan flushed. “I didn't do anything.”
"Like hell," Kevin said. "C’mon, kid, you musta done somethin' besides just deliverin' her kid. She's treatin’ you almost like an equal, while the rest o' us are still dirt under her feet.”
Alan glanced briefly at the Jilectan. "Treat Lady Travinthzill respectfully, Kevin. You too, Eric. I didn't do anything that anyone else wouldn't have."
The Lady tossed her head at Kevin. "Alan Westover has earned my gratitude," she said. "He is a gentleman and deserving of my consideration."
"And we're not, I suppose,” Eric said under his breath.
"Your actions speak for themselves," the Lady said. "No gentleman would address the Vicerienne in the way you have addressed me." She placed a hand on top of Alan's, smiling at him warmly. "Alan is different.”
"That's for sure,” Kevin said. He raised an eyebrow at Alan. "I'm impressed. Bein' an empath has its points." He glanced at the Lady. "So, it was a boy after all, huh?”
The Vicerienne sniffed. "My Lord told me that a long time ago. Of course.”
"Yeah. Alan probably knew it too, huh? Kinda spoils the surprise if you ask me -- like knowin' what's in your birthday present before you open it."
"I did not ask you," the Lady said stiffly.
Alan smiled a little. "I guess it does, sort of," he said.
Voices were babbling back and forth over the communicator, orders being issued and information relayed. Ruthy turned up the sound.
"Listen!" she said.
"Lieutenant Samuelson, this is Corporal O’Toole, scout five. Von Emery and me just picked up Sublieutenant Quille and Patrolman Woods. They were on that piece of high ground close to where we found Linley. There was blood all over the place, sir. Looks like somebody was killed! We found scraps of cloth, too, and a big catlike critter. Thing's dead -- blaster bolt.”
"Do the men have a report'?”
“Quille’s out cold, sir. Looks like a skull fracture to me. His jaw's broke for sure. Patrolman Woods is just a kid, and he's in shock and half hysterical. Keeps babbling about Westover and the Vicerienne. I can't get anything out of him, but it sure looks like somebody was hurt bad. Are you sure that was the Vicerienne who talked to you, sir?”
There was a muffled curse from the Lieutenant. "Get those men here, Corporal, and get 'em here fast. Halthzor’s on his way, and he'll want to probe 'em. Dammit t’hell, if that damned Underground's tried to pull the wool over our eyes again....”
"They wouldn't, sir! We still have Linley!”
"Never mind, Corporal. Rendezvous with us at the following co-ordinates --”
Ruthy picked up a pack from the floor and opened it. "Is anyone hungry?"
"Starved,” Kevin said. “Whatcha got, sweetie?”
She produced a neatly wrapped sandwich. "Smoked marshhopper sandwiches.”
Kevin grabbed it. "Wanna split it with me, Angie?”
She smiled. "You eat it, Kevin. I'm sure Ruthy's got other things.”
She produced a thermos. "Coffee, and lots of sandwiches, and some fruit." She handed a sandwich to Angela and then glanced back at Alan. He shook his head.
"I'll wait 'til Mark's safe. Her Highness might like something."
Ruthy looked soberly at the Jilectan. "I have redfish, M'Lady. Would you like some?" She extended the sandwich.
The Vicerienne took it without a word, tearing the cellophane off. "Alan!” she said suddenly, "Hold the baby while I eat."
Alan took the infant from her and looked down into its sleeping face. The child must mass at least six kilos, but it resembled a Terran newborn in every other respect, except for the six, long, multijointed fingers. The bright, coppery hair had dried and stood out wildly from the chubby, pink face. Reddish lashes lay tightly against the smooth, rosy cheeks.
Eric took an apple from Ruthy, then leaned across the seat, studying the baby closely. "Cute li'l pipsqueak," he remarked. "Looks a lot like his daddy."
"You are not to touch my child, Terran!" the Lady commanded with her mouth full.
Eric started to retort, but a sharp look and a shake of the head from Alan made him close his mouth on the words. This was certainly not the time to anger the Vicerienne while they were about to bargain for Mark's release.
The baby stirred in Alan's arms, and he looked down at the little face, sensing even now the strong, untrained psychic aura. The little guy looked so innocent and helpless now, he thought. It was hard to believe that someday he would be a cruel, selfish, powerful overlord like Halthzor.
XI
Patrolman William (Billy) Woods sat in the rear of the Patrol aircar. The pain in his shoulder had subsided to a dull throbbing, but he still felt slightly strange, as though detached from his surroundings. He found it hard to grasp the events he had witnessed in the past few hours. Alan Westover, the notorious Alan Westover, murderer of at least six Jilectans, had delivered Lady Travinthzill's first son, and had saved the child's life during the birth. The terrible Jil killer was only a kid. He looked scarcely older than Billy, himself, and he had treated the Lady, his prisoner, with kindness and respect. Far more astonishing, the Lady had treated him with respect! Somehow, the entire incident was unreal -- utterly impossible. And now His Highness, Lord Halthzor, the Jilectan Viceroy himself, was on the way to question Billy personally. The young patrolman had seen a Jilectan only once since he had joined the Viceregal Patrol four months ago. The alien, an indifferent personage known as Lord Prinxvar, had probed his mind briefly, and turned away, stating that Billy was fit for duty in the Patrol. But Halthzor...!
"Here, kid, drink some more of this." Patrolman first class Marvin Von Emery thrust a mug of coffee into his hands. “C’mon, snap out of it! His Highness’ll be here in a few minutes, an’ he's gonna want your report."
Billy's heart jerked again, and scalding coffee spilled on his hands.
"Easy, kid." The other patrolman, Corporal O’Toole, grabbed his hand, steadying the mug. He spoke over his shoulder to the patrolman seated behind the driver's seat. "What happened to that brandy we was keeping for an emergency, Dave?”
The car was motionless, Billy realized. They were parked in a small clearing on a patch of high ground, and the moon was still shining brightly in the clear, starry sky, illuminating the scenery. Dave turned in the seat, handing the Corporal a small flask.
The man took the mug from Billy's hand, dumped the remainder of the coffee out the window, and poured something from the flask into the mug. "Here you go, kid. Down the hatch.”
Billy took a swig of the stuff, gasped and coughed. "Holy space, sir! I'm on duty! Halthzor’ll kill me if he --”
“No he won't, kid." The Corporal grinned at him. "Good, you're looking better. Drink some more.”
"No, sir! I mustn't --”
The Corporal held the mug to his lips, and Billy choked down another mouthful.
"Good kid. Now take a couple of deep breaths. How's the shoulder?"
Billy glanced at it. "Feels better."
"Who shot you, kid? Westover?”
"No, sir. Lady Travinth...zill."
"The Lady'? What the hell for?"
"I was trying to keep Westover away from her. But I guess she didn't want me to.”
The Corporal pulled off his helmet, a puzzled frown on his features. "You ain't making much sense, kid."
Billy nodded soberly.
"But...” The corporal paused, rubbing his forehead. Von Emery cleared his throat.
"That’s a neat bandaging job on your shoulder, kid. Who did it?”
"Westover, sir.”
The patrolmen looked at each other.
"Here comes the Viceroy, sir," the driver said.
Billy's heart bounded again and he shrank back in the seat. "I can't, sir! I can't! He'll kill me when I tell him!”
"Easy, kid. He won't kill you for telling the truth. Just don't try to hide anything, or you *will* make him mad."
O'Toole opened the door, climbed out, then reached inside, half lifting Billy from the vehicle. Von Emery came around the car and took Billy's other arm, supporting him as a large, lavish aircar settled to the ground beside them. A man leaped out, ran around the vehicle, and pulled open the rear door. A big, silver clad figure emerged.
"Put him in the rear seat,” the alien ordered.
Billy's knees buckled. Together the two patrolmen half carried him to the newly arrived aircar and bundled him inside.
He found himself beside a tall, copper-haired Jilectan, and steely grey eyes fastened on him, seeming to probe his very soul. The Viceroy -- Billy had seen his picture before, and heard his reputation. The memory of the things he had heard and read about this powerful, ruthless being made the young man's blood run cold. He shrank back, lowering his eyes as the other alien re-entered the car with majestic grace. Billy was hemmed tightly between the two figures, and the other Jilectan's eyes were fastened on him as well. Panic choked him, and he flattened himself against the seat.
The Viceroy spoke. "Report, Patrolman."
Billy opened his mouth, but for a moment no sound emerged. The door closed behind the Jilectan and the aircar lifted smoothly and quietly from the ground, gliding forward over the floodwaters.
"Report, Patrolman,” the Viceroy repeated, a slight edge of impatience in his tone. Billy cleared his throat and found his voice.
“Y...yes, your Highness. You see, I...I was with Sublieutenant Quill, M'Lord, and we --" His voice cracked and he had to clear his throat again. “And we were searching an area of...of high ground near...near the spot where Linley had been found. I...I heard voices and a...a scream, and we went to investigate." He cleared his throat a third time. “Your Highness, we...we found M'Lady Travinthzill lying on the ground, and a...a small Terran leaning over her. She was holding him tight in her arms and screaming. He...he appeared to be struggling with her. Her...her dress was pulled up, sir, and --" His voice squeaked shamefully and died. The Viceroy made an impatient gesture.
Billy found his voice again. "And her underclothes were gone. We...we assumed, of course, that the Terran was at..attacking her, so my sublieutenant pulled him off. We disarmed him, and sublieutenant Quille knocked him down. I covered him with my blaster...” Billy gulped. "I...I recognized him, sir. It was Alan Westover. Your wife seemed quite...quite hysterical, sir, and my sublieutenant bent over her, trying to help her. But she hit him, sir...and knocked him out.”
Halthzor’s eyes were points of steel. "My wife hit the patrolman? What had he done? Did he touch her?"
"Oh, no...no, sir, except to pull her dress down. He...he was trying to help her, sir."
"No doubt she was too frightened to think."
"That's what I thought, too, sir.” Billy paused, realizing he had interrupted the Viceroy. The thought made his words catch in his throat.
"Go on," Halthzor said.
Billy took a deep breath and tried to stop stammering. "Yes sir. She kept screaming Westover's name, and ordering him to come to her. He got up, but of course, I wouldn't let him go near her. I thought she must be drugged, or too hysterical to think...I mean, sir, why would she want Westover near her?"
The Viceroy didn't speak. "Go on, Patrolman," the other Jilectan said.
“Yes, M’Lord." Billy swallowed and cleared his throat again. "But then Her Highness ordered me to give her my blaster. I thought perhaps she was going to kill him, and I knew you wouldn't like that, but Her Highness had given me a direct order. I...I had to obey, sir. I give her the blaster I had taken from Westover, and drew my own blaster, and covered him with it. The...the Lady once again ordered Westover to come to her, but he told her if he...if he tried, I would shoot him. He was right, sir. I would have shot him. But then the Lady shot me. She hit me in the shoulder, and sat up, aiming the blaster right at me. I...I think she was going to kill me, sir.”
The Viceroy was silent. "Continue, patrolman," the other Jilectan said.
"Yes, M'Lord. Westover stopped her from killing me, and took the blaster from her. She...she didn't resist, sir. She gave him the blaster." Woods swallowed "M'Lord, I don't understand any of this, but she seemed to trust him not...not to hurt her. He went to her, and she started screaming again. He...he talked to her, telling her what to do. It...it was then that I realized that she was in labor, and very close to delivery.”
"My son?” Halthzor inquired whitely. "What happened to my son?"
"Oh...." Woods' voice squeaked again. "Westover delivered him, sir...very skillfully. I...I think he must be a doctor, sir. The child...well, he didn't breathe at once, and I heard Westover tell Her Highness that the cord was around his neck. He...Westover, I mean, sir, gave the baby artificial respiration, and it revived. A beautiful boy, sir. I saw him. He was crying loudly when Westover finished, and seemed perfectly healthy."
"My wife?”
"She seemed fine, too, sir." Woods hesitated, and the Viceroy's eyes bored into his. "They...they seemed oddly friendly, sir. He didn't have her restrained, and she was treating him kindly. I...I heard no harsh words at all. She took the baby from him and nursed it while Westover bandaged my shoulder. Then he read my mind.” Woods shuddered. "Then he told Her Highness that they must go to the aircar that we had come in. She got up and started to go with him when another aircar arrived. A young man got out, calling Westover, and Westover answered. He and the Lady got in the car and it took off.”
There was a terrible silence. Billy sank dawn farther in the seat, wishing he could vanish in a puff of smoke. Then the Viceroy spoke to the man beside the driver. "Establish contact with Westover, Lieutenant.”
"Yes, M’Lord." The man pressed two buttons on the panel. “Alan Westover, this is Lieutenant Samuelson. Respond, please.”
A young, female voice, carrying the soft accent of a Terran native emerged from the unit. "This is Lieutenant Vogleman. Colonel Westover is resting at the moment. May I be of service?”
"His Highness, Lord Halthzor wants to talk to Westover, Miss Vogleman.”
"Just a minute." The voice became fainter. "Alan?”
A tenor voice responded. "This is Westover.”
Halthzor took the speaker from the Lieutenant. "Alan Westover, this is the Viceroy. If you have harmed my wife or my son, your partner will die slowly and horribly.”
Suddenly the other's voice turned ice cold. "Where is my partner, Your Highness? Have you probed him yet?”
Halthzor ignored the question. "Allow me to speak to my wife.”
Westover’s reply was prompt. "Not until you tell me where my partner is.”
Halthzor's face hardened. "Mark Linley is presently being transported from the battlecruiser. He has not been probed. Now, allow me to speak to my wife."
The voice grew fainter. "M'Lady, wake up, please."
The perfectly annunciated words of a Jilectan came faintly from the unit. "I wish to sleep, Alan. Do not disturb me.”
"Your Highness, your husband's calling.”
There was a rustle of movement. “My Lord?" Her voice became louder. "My Lord Halthzor, is that you?"
“My dear...." Woods’ eyes widened at the sudden concern in the Jilectan's voice. "Have they hurt you? Are you well?”
“Yes, my love, very well! They have not harmed me.” Woods heard her laugh happily. "Oh, my Lord, it is so good to hear your voice again!"
Halthzor turned away from Woods, and his voice sounded choked. "Do not be afraid, my dear. I will get you back safely if I must massacre every Terran in the Sector.”
"My Lord!" Her voice sharpened. "Do not harm the Terrans. It was Raghiki who are responsible for my abduction!"
For a moment Halthzor didn't reply. "My dear," he said at last, "are you speaking in fear of your life -- or the life of our child?”
"No, My Lord, no!" Again Woods heard her laugh "Three Raghiki kidnapped me and brought me to this world. My chauffeur was involved in the plot, and they killed him to prevent any information leaking out. I read their minds after they brought me here. If we can capture the one who escaped, I want him publicly executed. He struck me, My Lord, many, many times, and he burned me with a blaster on needle beam. I fear there will be a scar.”
Halthzor sucked in his breath sharply. "My dear --" His voice caught.
"But do not punish the Terrans, My Lord!” the Lady continued. "Alan Westover and his companions arrived as my captors were about to kill me. Alan killed one of them, and Mark Linley killed another. Then there was a quake, and the third escaped. My Lord --" She hesitated, and her voice fell. "Alan Westover has been most kind to me. He helped me while I was in labor.” Her voice became plaintive. "It hurt so terribly, my love. I thought I should die!”
Halthzor cleared his throat. "My dear --"
Her voice became firm again. “I am recovered now, My Lord. Alan was a great help to me. He stayed with me, even when the patrolmen found us, and he saved the life of our son when the child did not breathe at the birth.”
There was a long, incredible pause. Faintly over the unit came the sound of a baby crying and the voice of Alan Westover, speaking soothingly. The cries escalated in pitch.
"Give him to me, Alan," the Lady's voice said.
The wails slowly died to soft whimpers, then ceased. The Lady spoke again. “He is a handsome boy, my love -- the image of you."
There was another lengthy silence. Then the Viceroy spoke. “Allow me to speak to Westover, my dear.”
Westover's voice responded after a moment. "This is Westover, your Highness.”
The Viceroy's words held no emotion. "What are your terms for the release of my wife and child, Alan Westover?"
"Only that you release my partner, Your Highness, alive, unharmed and unprobed."
"You have my promise," Halthzor said. "I will contact you again shortly, Alan Westover.”
XII
Mark Linley lay perfectly still as footsteps entered the room and approached the bunk. A figure stood over him, but he remained unmoving, his eyes closed, determined that, whatever happened, he would not give Halthzor the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Somehow he would die in silence.
Voices spoke nearby, the tones muted. Footsteps retreated and a hand touched his shoulder lightly.
"Mark?”
He didn't move.
"Mark, it's just me. 'Althzor isn't 'ere.”
Slowly, Linley opened his eyes. Strike Commander Toyoma was standing over him, looking quizzically down at him.
“’Ow are you, Mark?”
Linley cleared his throat. “Okay," he croaked. “Where’s Halthzor?”
"On the planet." Toyoma glanced around as Dr. Packer appeared in the doorway again. A corpsman entered behind him, holding something in one hand. He strode across to Mark and placed the article over the prisoner's injured eye. Mark grunted with surprise, flinching away. "What the hell's that?”
"Ice pack," the doctor replied. "I don't know, sir. I think it's going to show no matter what.”
Toyoma swore softly. “’Althzor's gonna beat me to a pulp. Do you 'ave any kind of covering we could put on it so it won't be s'noticable?"
The doctor thought a moment, then vanished again. The corpsman began to sponge the blood from Mark's face and smooth down his hair.
"Whatcha doin'?" Linley demanded.
“’Old still, Mark." Toyoma took a soft cloth from a table and also began to wipe Linley's face. Mark bit his lip as the assistant touched a painful spot on his left cheekbone.
"Hey, cut it out!”
"I said 'old still!" Toyoma wiped his forehead, and the Commander's roughened forefinger traced the scrape down Mark's right cheekbone. "Damn!"
Mark moved his head away. "How come you're all of a sudden s'concerned about my beauty, Strike Commander. Dammit! Will you cut that out?”
Toyoma lifted a glass of water from the bedside. “’Ave a drink, Mark.”
Linley shook his head. “I ain't thirsty. What's goin' on?”
"That partner o' yours is something else," Toyoma said. He glanced at the corpsman. "That cut on 'is cheek -- is there any way to 'ide it?”
The man studied the injury. "We can cover the scrape, but I don't know about the cut, sir. I don't think so. It's pretty big, and we can't take the clips out yet. I could put a bandage over it. Then they might just think he picked it up in the flood.”
“’Ell!" said Toyoma. “Okay, do your best. What the devil's 'olding up Packer? Ah; there you are, doc. Got something?"
“I hope so, sir." Glen Packer began to smear a pasty, rather grainy substance around the prisoner's eye. Mark cussed weakly.
"What is that? What the hell are you doin'? Is this some new form of interrogation?”
Toyoma didn't smile. "We're making you 'andsome for your partner, Mark. You've got a dilly of a black eye where that damned sergeant 'it you.”
"So what? I'm gonna look a lot worse by the time Halthzor finishes with me.” Toyoma's words registered abruptly. "What the devil are you talkin about? Is Alan here? Kid!”
"He isn't here, Mark. Now just lie still and be'ave like a prisoner ought. Jack --" He spoke to the corpsman again, "see if you can find something for 'im to wear.”
"What, sir? His flight suit's torn to ribbons, plus it's got that burn on the shoulder. They'll know that wasn't picked up in the flood.”
"Go borrow something from our over-enthusiastic sergeant Lorry. Hurry up. We 'ave to go." He bent over Mark again, finger tracing the scratch on his cheek. "Cover this too while you're at it, Glen.”
"Yessir.”
"Do you 'urt anywhere, Mark?"
"Just my hands," Mark said, his mind whirling. "Listen, Commander, can'tcha at least tell me what's goin' on?”
Toyoma slipped a hand behind him and lifted him carefully to a sitting position. There was a soft clink, and suddenly his wrists were free. Toyoma tossed the restrainers to another bunk.
"'Ere, Mark, lemme see em." Toyoma examined his bruised wrists solicitously. "Put some cream on 'em, will you, Glen?"
"Yessir." The doctor spread soothing cream around Mark's wrists. "Man! His eye still looks like hell!" The doctor started to apply more of the paste.
Mark pulled back. "Will you lemme alone, for the luvamike? What the hell's it matter what I look like?"
“Yetch!” the doctor commented. "Hold still, Mark. You've smeared it all over your nose.
The corpsman entered, a bundle of clothing in his hands. Quickly and efficiently they began to dress Mark like a doll.
"Where’re you takin' me?" Linley inquired suspiciously.
"To Halthzor, schmuck," one of the guards said. He snickered.
"Shut up, Torres!" Toyoma snapped. "Listen, Mark, you're going to be okay. Just take it easy.”
Mark leaped.
He caught Toyoma in the chest, throwing the smaller man backward. The Commander gave a surprised grunt as he went to a sitting position on the deck. Hands grabbed for Mark, and something large and very heavy hit him, sending him stumbling to his knees. Arms encircled him, yanking him roughly around, and hard knuckles cracked him on the temple. He saw stars.
"No!" It was the voice of the Strike Commander. "You put another bruise on ‘im, Torres, and you can explain it to 'Althzor!”
"Shall we restrain him, sir?" another voice asked.
"Yeah, I guess so." The Commander sounded harried. "Be gentle.”
Mark’s hands were brought firmly behind him, and restrainers clicked around his wrists again. He was lifted carefully to a wheeled gurney. Toyoma swore.
"Dammit to 'ell, Torres! You cut 'im!”
"Sorry, sir. I didn't expect him to --”
"An’ what the 'ell did you expect after you scared 'im 'alf to death? If I was an Undergrounder on my way to 'Althzor, I'd make a dash for it if there was fifty guards in the room. There's always the chance someone'll lose 'is ‘ead an' kill you! Mark, Are you okay?”
Packer's face swam into view, and Mark felt the sting of antiseptic on his cheek, then the firm coolness of a compression bandage.
Toyoma cussed some more. "Man! ‘E looks like we put 'im through 'ell, an' that new cut 'asn’t 'elped a bit. Get something and wash the blood out of 'is 'air. Torres. Be gentle, dammit."
The patrolman swabbed clumsily at Mark's hair with a wet handkerchief. "Sorry, sir," he mumbled again.
"Sorry, 'ell! 'Althzor’s gonna spit darts when 'e sees 'im. Let's just 'ope Westover don't fly off the 'andle and shoot 'em both when 'e sees what we've done to 'is partner.”
Mark felt an irrational surge of hope at the mention of Alan's name. There was movement beneath him as the patrolmen guided the gurney from the room. The doctor and the Strike Commander fell in beside him.
They reached the lift and boarded. Toyoma leaned against a bulkhead, removing the silvery helmet and wiping his forehead with one black clad forearm.
"Where are we goin’?" Mark asked.
"To the planet." Toyoma bent over him. "Wrists 'urting too bad?”
"Damn you!" Mark blazed. "What the devil's goin’ on? Yeah, my wrists hurt! Does it matter?”
Toyoma turned him to one side, taking his weight from his cuffed hands. "Yeah, it matters. We were ordered to treat you well, Mark. 'Althzor told us to bring you down looking as pretty as possible. No brutality, an’ no interrogation.”
"Wants it all for himself, huh?” Mark said.
Toyoma sighed. "No. You're safer right now than I am."
"Dammit!"
"Westover,” Toyoma said resignedly. “’E’s twisted the Jils around 'is li'l finger again. Ain't killed any of 'em yet, though -- at least, not s’far as we've 'eard.”
The lift came to a halt, and the patrolmen guided the gurney onto the seventh deck. Mark lay still, his hopes soaring in spite of himself. "What did he do? Kidnap Halthzor or somethin'?”
“Nah! Why should 'e need to do that? 'E already 'ad the Lady an' 'er kid."
"Holy --" Mark swallowed. "Lady Travinthzill's alive?"
"Yeah, she's alive, an’ so is her kid -- thanks to Westover."
"Her kid? You mean --”
"Yeah -- down on the planet. Westover delivered it, too. Good kid that Westover. The Lady thinks a lot of 'im."
"No kiddin’?"
"No kiddin'. She likes 'im. Thinks ‘e’s pretty good -- for a Terran."
The gurney tilted abruptly and Mark realized they were ascending the ramp of a scout ship. They went through the hatch and into the passenger section. Two patrolmen bent and there was a faint jolt as the gurney was fastened firmly to the deck. The doctor turned Mark carefully to his stomach and fastened safety straps around him while Toyoma arranged the pillow comfortably beneath his head.
"We'd let your 'ands go if we could trust you not to run for it, Mark," Toyoma said. "You're not officially a prisoner now. We just gotta keep you alive until you can be traded for the Vicerienne and 'er kid. Understand?”
"I won't run for it," Mark said.
“So you say." Toyoma sat down beside Mark, fastening his safety webbing. Glen Packer seated himself on the other side of the gurney. There was a whine of engines.
Toyoma spoke again. "You should've 'eard 'Althzor. I never 'eard 'im talk like that."
"Was he swearin’?" Mark inquired, intrigued.
"Swearing! No. But 'e sounded sort of choked up -- like 'e might cry any minute. I've never seen a Jil cry -- not a male Jil, anyway. An' 'e was real concerned about you -- asking about your welfare an’ comfort."
Mark closed his eyes. "That kid," he mumbled.
"What kid?”
"Alan.”
“Oh, yeah, that kid. I don't know the whole story yet, but from the broadcasts we picked up, I'd say 'e's charmed the 'ell out of the Vicerienne. She couldn't say anything bad about 'im.”
"I don't believe it.”
"It's true. I 'eard it with my own ears. ‘Ow's 'e do it?"
Linley grinned faintly. "He's an empath.”
"That wouldn't cut the mustard with a Jil, though."
"Oh, I dunno," Mark relaxed, letting fatigue engulf him, "It worked just fine with a Strike Commander.”
*********
There was a slight jolt, and Mark jerked awake, feeling his heart lunge in panic. Toyoma's hand was on his uninjured shoulder, pressing him back to the gurney "Easy, Mark. Everything's okay. We just landed.”
"Oh." Mark turned his head. Toyoma cussed softly.
"It's soaking through. Dammit, Glen, can't you stop the bleeding?"
The doctor bent over him, removing the compression bandage. "It's less than it was, sir. Let me put on a clean pad."
The airlock slid open.
Every patrolman in the room came to attention, and Mark's heart gave a panicky leap. The tall, coppery-haired Viceroy had entered the room, accompanied by another Jilectan, slightly shorter, and less powerfully built. The two strode across the room to stand looking down at Mark's prone form.
"Release his hands!" the Viceroy snapped.
Toyoma quickly removed the restrainers, and Mark could feel the Strike Commander's hands trembling slightly. Mighty fingers closed around Linley's arms, turning him over like a baby. Two blond, handsome faces looked down at him. Mark bit his lower lip, bracing himself for a mind probe.
Halthzor placed a long, multijointed finger on Mark's swollen, plastered eye, then wiped blood away. His face hardened and cold, grey eyes fastened on Toyoma.
"I specifically ordered no interrogation attempts. Who is responsible for this, Commander?”
Toyoma was stark white, even his lips colorless. "The injury to his eye and cheek occurred before we knew, sir -- a man by the name of Lorry. He has already been reprimanded and demoted."
Halthzor' s lips tightened. "And this new injury?”
Toyoma swallowed convulsively. “’E tried to run, sir, and sustained that in the struggle. I'm very sorry, Your 'Ighness."
Halthzor hit Toyoma, and the Strike Commander went spinning away to fall heavily against a bulkhead. He slumped' slowly to the floor. Halthzor turned back to Mark. "Has he other injuries?”
The doctor cleared his throat nervously. "A blaster burn on his left shoulder, sir -- Sergeant Lorry again.”
Halthzor began to unseal Mark's shirt, large, nimble fingers amazingly deft and gentle. He examined the burn carefully. "I wish to see Sergeant Lorry when my wife and child are safe, Commander.”
Toyoma appeared beside him again, one hand cupped over his mouth. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I'm very sorry, sir."
Icy grey eyes swept the Commander again. "And if any harm comes to them because of this, you will die in the execution chair."
Toyoma was silent. Mark cleared his throat. "Your Highness, hold on a minute. It wasn't the Commander's fault.”
The Jilectan's eyes moved to him. "Do you have something to say, Linley?”
Mark swallowed. "Uh...yeah, I do. I won't let Alan hurt your wife or kid, but lay off Toyoma, okay? He didn't touch me. That damned Lorry was the one -- him an' Torres."
"Torres?" Halthzor said.
"Over there guardin' the door. He's the one who put this new cut on my cheek.”
Halthzor turned toward the man. “Come here.”
There was a terrible silence. Mark waited, and Torres took a step backward. “M'Lord, please,” he stammered.
"Come here."
Torres tried to run.
The three other patrolmen guarding the door grabbed him. Mark shut his eyes. There was a muted cry, the sound of a blow, and then silence.
Abruptly the Viceroy was bending over him again, resealing his shirt. “I wish to see Mr. Torres also, Strike Commander, when this incident is finished.”
"Yes, Your Highness.”
Halthzor stepped back, eyes on Mark. "Can he walk?”
The doctor bent over Mark, slipping a hand behind his shoulders. "I think so, sir. Can you walk if we help you, Mark?”
"Yeah, sure." Mark forced his eyes away from the two Jilectans. "I'm okay.”
Two patrolmen came forward and took him by the arms. He was lifted carefully to a sitting position. The room took a leisurely turn to the right, and he had to grab for one of the men. Slowly his surroundings steadied and he saw Patrolman Torres slumped limply on the deck beside the door.
"Come,” Halthzor said.
The two patrolmen helped Mark solicitously from the gurney. Halthzor strode through the open hatch, kicking Torres unceremoniously aside. The other Jilectan, Mark noticed, remained behind.
Dawn was just breaking, the sky to the east a faint, rosy hue. The air was very warm, and the great, pseudo Luna-moths swarmed toward them, settling on exposed faces. A patrolman fanned them away, but nobody spoke, and Mark could almost sense their fear. Although Linley held very few sentimental feelings toward the Patrol, he found himself hoping that Alan wouldn't make too much of a fuss about the cuts and bruises. His partner had never seen a Jilectan kill a man with muscle power alone, but Mark had, and it wasn't a pretty sight.
The hatch of the scout craft closed behind them, and Mark went unsteadily down the ramp, the two patrolmen supporting him firmly. As they reached the ground, Halthzor spoke a sharp command. The men paused, then tossed their weapons to the sand to join a pile of similar articles.
They had landed on a small strip of beach, Mark saw, and there was no sign of the floodwaters. They must be quite a distance from the place where the wave had struck. Other patrolmen -– at least a dozen –- were standing in a semi circle on the sand, helmets off, their hands on top their heads. Linley noticed their holsters, too, were empty.
A scout craft was docked on the beach a hundred meters away, and two figures stood before it, silhouetted against the lighter background of the ship. One was very tall, and clad in loose, flowing robes. The other was much shorter, and compactly built. Alan.
They went slowly across the sand toward the waiting figures. Alan's face froze as he took in Mark's injuries, and he turned furiously on the Viceroy. "What have you done to him?"
The ruler was looking at the Jilectan Lady. "Apparently no more than you have done to my wife," he replied coldly.
"We didn't hurt her!" Alan snapped. "It was the Raghiki who did that! You'll find no new injuries on her!”
"It is true, My Lord," the Vicerienne said in a low voice.
Halthzor looked nonplussed. "Alan Westover...." he began.
"It's okay, kid," Mark croaked. "A few bumps –- nothin’ permanent.”
"It is not okay!" Alan sounded furious. "Lord Halthzor promised me you wouldn't be hurt! Did he try to probe you, Mark?”
"No. Take it easy. It was a 'trol, an' he was tryin' to get me to tell where the Vicerienne was. He didn't want to believe me when I told him I didn't know, and most of it happened right after I was taken. It ain't His Lordship's fault. Okay?”
"What about that new cut? That happened just a short while ago.”
“I'll tellya later, kid. Let's get outta here." He grinned suddenly at his partner. "Glad to see you're all right, kid. Where's the baby?”
"In the ship," Alan said.
The Lady turned quickly toward him. "Alan," she began, her voice frightened, "you won’t --"
She was interrupted. Two more figures emerged from the scout's hatch. Eric Vogleman and Kevin Bronson descended the ramp, and Eric took in Mark's battered face, “Well, Your Highness," he said coldly, "I see you apparently didn't think it necessary to hold up your end of the agreement.” A blaster appeared suddenly in his hand, roving impartially between the two aliens, "Get Mark in the ship, Alan. I'll be there in a minute.”
Alan took Mark's arm, and Kevin his other. The patrolmen fell back.
"Alan," the Lady said again. "What about our baby?”
Alan apparently did not hear her. He turned, and he and Kevin supported Mark up the ramp and into the ship. Eric Vogleman remained behind, blaster still trained on the two Jilectans.
XII
Alan and Kevin assisted Mark into the scout ship and supported him to one of the fold down bunks. Ruthy was beside them at once, the baby cradled in her arms. Mark blinked up at her.
"That Halthzor's kid, cupcake?" he asked.
She nodded, eyes swimming with tears. "Oh, Mark, what did they do?”
"I'm okay, baby.”
“They weren't supposed to hurt you," Alan's said. "I told them I would exchange the Lady for you, but that the child would only be returned if we determined that you weren't hurt or probed."
"They didn't probe me," Mark assured him. "An’ like I said, most o' this was done before they realized you had the Lady and her kid hostage. Don't take it out on Halthzor. He was pretty steamed when he saw my skid marks, believe me, and there's a couple'a ‘trols back there on the 'Javelin' who're gonna regret the day they were born, if I read my Viceroy right.”
Angela Westover appeared behind Ruthy, smiling faintly. "I never thought I'd hear you pleading Halthzor's case, Mark.”
"Aw, hell," Mark said. "It ain't the little guy's fault that his dad's a jerk. I ain't pleadin' Halthzor's case. I'm pleadin' his kid's." He glanced at the blanket swathed form in Ruthy's arms. "Can I see him?”
Ruthy drew back the blanket. Mark examined the baby with interest. "Cute li'l twerp," he commented. "Looks like his pop."
Alan sat beside him. "Are you really all right?"
"Sure I am. Most o' the 'trols didn't lay a hand on me. But there's always one or two in the group who can't resist beatin' up on a former Strike Commander. You sorta hafta expect it." He glanced at the baby again. "So, whatcha gonna do with the kid?”
Alan was silent, thinking. "I'm going to let Halthzor sweat a few minutes,” he said at last. "Then I'll return him.”
"What happened to your soft heart? What about Lady Travinthzill? From what I hear she's got a pretty heavy crush on you."
Alan grinned suddenly. "She promised to get me a pardon. And you too."
"She what?"
"You heard right.”
Linley stared at him, apparently speechless. Angie laughed softly.
Eric's voice spoke in Alan's mind. *The Lady's getting hysterical, Colonel. What do you want me to tell her?*
Alan sighed. *Tell her I'm coming -- with the baby.*
There was a mental sensation of laughter. *Okay, softy.*
"What's goin' on?" Mark asked.
"Eric," Alan said. "I'll be right back.”
"I ain't goin' nowhere. But listen, what about the 'Javelin'? Won't they come after us when we try to take off if we ain't got no more hostages aboard?”
"They're gone," Ruthy said, "Part of the bargain was that they go into hyperspace as soon as you left. They did, too. Alan and I were watching on the scanners.“
“Oh,” Mark said. He raised an eyebrow at Alan. "My hat's off to you, kid. You thought of everythin'."
“Take care of Mark, Ruthy," Alan said. "I'll be right back.”
**********
Alan stepped through the hatch, Lord Talthzar in his arms. The baby was quiet, but those strange, pale grey eyes regarded him unnervingly. Halthzor and the Lady were waiting, Eric's weapon still steady on them as Alan came down the boarding ramp.
"Alan.” The Lady's voice trembled slightly, "My Lord Halthzor did not harm your friend. It was a patrolman.” She stopped, voice catching.
“I know, M’Lady," Alan said quietly, and went forward to place the infant in Halthzor's arms. The Viceroy took the baby, examining him as though expecting to find an arm or leg missing. Alan stepped to one side, and Eric moved back, his weapon still roving impartially over the Jilectans.
Lady Travinthzill was smiling, her eyes glowing brightly violet in the light of the rising sun. “Empath," she said softly.
Alan returned her smile. "Goodbye, your Highness.”
“Goodbye, Alan," she said, and her voice fell slightly. “Thank you.”
Eric made a peculiar gurgling sound and coughed.
Halthzor's eyes passed over him. "My wife tells me you saved our son's life.”
Alan shrugged. "It's all right, Your Highness.”
Again the Viceroy's eyes raked him. "Why?”
Alan was taken aback. "What do you mean?”
"Why did you save his life?”
"Because he's a baby and he needed help.”
"He is a Jilectan -- my son." Halthzor's eyes were like points of steel in the pale light of dawn. "Why did you do it?”
Alan hesitated. "I knew the Patrol had captured Mark.”
“My wife was already your hostage. It was not necessary to have my son as well."
Alan was silent. The Lady put a hand on her husband’s arm. "He is an empath, My Lord," she said gently. "Empaths are all fools.”
Halthzor looked down at her, his face softening. Alan started to back away. "Stay where you are until we're inside our ship," he instructed. "If you move, Eric will start shooting." He smiled faintly. "And Eric isn't an empath.”
Halthzor's eyes turned back to him. "One moment, Terran," he said.
Alan stopped. "Yes, M'Lord?”
"My wife wants me to pardon you.”
Alan looked at the Lady, hardly able to believe she had kept her promise. She smiled back at him.
"You are right, Alan," she said. "He will never pardon you."
"I cannot,” Halthzor said. “You have killed Jilectans. But I am in your debt for the life of my son, Terran. I will not forget it.”
Alan shrugged again. “That's all right, Your Highness. I didn't do it for you.”
The Lady was still smiling at him as he backed away. Alan waved, then went quickly up the boarding ramp and through the hatch. Eric followed a moment later, and the airlock clicked shut behind him.
Angela and Ruthy were strapped into chairs beside Mark's bunk. Eric touched Alan's elbow, pushing him toward another seat, "Strap in, oh exalted one," he said. “I gotta go help Ruthy.”
He vanished into the control room.
XIII
“Kid!” Mark had to raise his voice to be heard over the scream of atmosphere on the hull. "What the devil happened? I wanna hear all about it!"
Alan examined his battered face. "Who did it?”
"Some guy named Porry, or Sorry...Lorry, that was it. Sergeant Lorry. Real lovable 'trol. Guy was convinced I knew where the Vicerienne was, an’ he wanted to win brownie points by havin' her waitin' when Halthzor got here.”
Alan's mouth tightened. Mark grinned. "Don't worry about him. Halthzor's got it out for him -- ordered that the good Sarge be brought to him after this mess was all over. I wouldn't wanna be ol' Lorry for nothin'. Or Mr. Torres, either.”
"Torres?”
"Guy kept razzin' me. Toyoma'd taken off my restrainers, an' Torres said somethin’ about me bein' on my way to Halthzor. Well, it was true, o'course, but I took it a little differently. I knew somethin’ funny was goin’ on, but I didn't know about you an’ the Vicerienne yet. Mr. Torres's little joke backfired on him. Halthzor slugged him one right there, an' ordered him brought along with Sergeant Lorry after his Lady and kid were safe.”
"Did you make a run for it, Mark, when he said you were on your way to Halthzor?”
"'Course I did. That's how I picked up my new cut, and how ol' Torres got his comeuppance." Mark touched his cheek tenderly. “Halthzor was pretty steamed. He was scared you was gonna shoot the Lady and the kid when you saw me. Toyoma was sweatin' blood. I felt sorry for him." Mark grinned wickedly. "So, what happens now? Are we pardoned?”
Alan grinned, too. "No.”
"Didn't think so. A Jil is a Jil. You sure they won't try'n implicate us in the kidnappin' plot? I mean, it'd be a pretty good way to make us look like the bad guys. No one but a real so-and-so’d kidnap a pregnant woman -- even a Jil." Part 7/7 Missing ending:
There was a jolt as they went into hyperspace. "I don't think so," Alan said slowly. "The Lady was pretty upset at the Raghiki after the way they'd treated her." He grimaced. "She told me that if she ever caught the one that escaped she'd have him publicly executed, along with his family. Gosh, I hope that guy gets his wife and kids out of their reach quick. I'm pretty sure she meant it."
"Can't really blame her, though," Mark said.
Eric appeared in the doorway. "Blame who?”
"Lady Travinthzill for bein' mad at the Raghiki," Mark said. "I was wonderin' if they might try’n pin some o’ this kidnappin' plot on us, but Alan doesn't think they will.”
"Nah!" Eric grinned. "The Lady's too much in love with Alan for that.”
Alan blushed. "Shut up, Eric."
Mark shook his head. "I ain't never seen nothin' like it. Strike Commander Toyoma was envious and admirin'.”
"How'd you do it?" Ruthy asked. "Did she really offer to get you a pardon?"
Alan nodded. “While she was in labor. It was a bribe, really, to keep me from leaving. I'd just found out the Patrol was about to take Mark. But really, folks, she didn't like me all that well at first. She tried to hit me when I first untied her, and she insulted me to my face."
"What did she say?" Eric inquired with interest.
"She called me an empath," Alan said. "Pretty bad insult, I guess, if you're talking to a Jil.”
“Yeah, it is," Mark said soberly. "Empaths among the Jils are rare as sloof's legs, and the family hushes it up -- like it was somethin' to be ashamed of."
Angela smiled a secret smile, glancing at Alan. He smiled back.
Eric was watching the two. There was a pause.
“Well?” he said.
"Well what?” Alan asked.
"What's the big secret?"
Alan and Angie looked at each other again. Angela laughed softly.
"Lady Travinthzill's an empath, herself," she said.
"What?" Eric stared at Angela, then laughed, too. “You're kidding?"
"She's not kidding," Alan said. "She kept trying to link with me, and Angie, too, while she was a prisoner of the Raghiki. And later, while she was in labor, she did link with me -- empathically. She didn't mean to, of course. She never uses the talent consciously but, naturally, it still operates fine on the subconscious level."
"Does Halthzor know?" Mark demanded.
"I'm not sure," Alan replied slowly. “Maybe not. Sometimes it's hard for someone who isn't an empath to detect empathic energy in someone who is. But she detected them in me right away." He looked soberly at his friends. "This information is not to go any farther, folks. If it got out in the Jilectan social circles, Lady Travinthzill would be ruined."
Mark winked at him. "What information? I ain't heard a word."
Eric laughed again. "Me neither,” he said.
Last edited by Nan; 03/26/20 10:40 PM.
