Artifact: 4/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Lewis Stevens gazed sourly out of his window at the rain. The sun was setting, and the aircar was parked squarely in the middle of a field of waving grasses. The edge of each blade was adorned with tiny purple flowers so that, although it had appeared green close by, it faded to an incredible smoky purple in the distance. The mountains were invisible, obscured by clouds, mist and falling rain, and from some distance away, to their rear, they could hear the peeping and other, less innocuous sounds, produced by the denizens of Ymir Swamp.
And here they sat. Stevens glared at the rain and swore.
Marvin Krebbs, the young ex-patrolman, shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't know a whole lot about aircar repairs."
"Me, neither." Jose Alvarez -- tall, young, dark of hair and eyes, the typical patrolman, Stevens thought -- looked unhappily at him. "I'm sorry Colonel Stevens."
Stevens sighed. "Don't feel too bad. I don't either."
Marvin fiddled with his hand transmitter. Nothing. Thick forest between themselves and the ranch, not to mention the twenty kilometers of Ymir Swamp and a line of low hills, cut off all communication with their people at base. The car's communicator was out and defied all efforts on their part to remedy the situation. The little hand units were simply not capable of what they needed. It was beginning to look as if they faced a long tedious walk back to civilization. If so, they would have to wait until morning. Trying to cross the swamp that they had just flown over in the dark and rain was asking for trouble. The big, warm-blooded dinosaurs of Midgard had their water-dwelling cousins, not all of them vegetarians.
Lewis swore softly to himself. He hoped Matt could hold out. As far as he could tell, his partner was fine and in no danger. Maybe he and Dr. Cane had managed to shake their pursuit. He hoped so. He had no chance of getting to them anywhere in the near future but as long as Matt kept his shields up, he couldn't tell him so.
The rain showed no disposition to quit. It continued to fall steadily and without fuss, running in increasing rivulets down the windows and doors into the meadow grass. Sergeant Krebbs cleared his throat hopefully, and produced a deck of cards.
"Poker, anyone?" he inquired.
Stevens grunted, resigning himself. "Five card stud?" he asked, rapidly assessing the possessions he carried at present on his person.
"Right." Krebbs began to shuffle. "No clairvoyance allowed."
"My shields are up," Stevens assured him. "Deal me in."
**********
Linthvar prepared for bed. The luxurious tent set up by his men was impervious to rain, and the heating unit in its center kept the temperature within at a degree comfortable to him. The cot was well padded and heavy with blankets, and his chauffeur/valet had prepared an adequate dinner consisting of iced Terran shrimp, braised fowl, a joint of pleekah roast, Terran beans and mashed sqwers, followed by a grain dish with sauce, a sweet dessert and fruit. The dinner had been accompanied by three kinds of wine and, of course, a liqueur. It had been a plain meal, but filling. He sat in his camp chair, swirling a glass of Sepo brandy, and thought.
Tranthzill would become impatient soon and come to supervise the search, herself. Meddlesome female! She could not leave any business to be done by a more competent male. Doubtless the Terran psychics had perished in the explosion of their aircar, but she would never be satisfied until she saw for herself. It would be the perfect opportunity.
He glanced at the turned-down cot, rose, and went to the tent flaps. Outside, the guard stood at attention beneath the entranceway cover. Gusts of wind blew the falling rain beneath the canvas roof, and the man's coat was dripping. The bulk of the aircar sat nearby. No doubt the other three men were huddled within. Foolish creatures, to allow a little bad weather to intimidate them so! If he could take the rough conditions, they certainly could! It simply confirmed his opinion of the inferiority of the Terran species.
Linthvar spoke to the guard. "All quiet, Patrolman?"
"Yes, sir." The man muffled a sneeze. Linthvar suppressed his contempt and pulled back into his shelter.
The valet was ready to take his satin robe. Wordlessly, he pulled back the covers and waited while Linthvar arranged himself in his cot, then tucked the blankets around his noble master. At the Jilectan's nod he extinguished the lamp, then retreated to the camp chair. Linthvar settled down in his rude bed. Really, it was not all that uncomfortable living in the wild. Feeling bold and adventurous, he turned over and drifted peacefully to sleep.
**********
The Guardian was having difficulty. Ancient systems, preserved by the technology of its masters, long unused, responded with reluctant sluggishness to its signals, but, with the timeless patience of the machine, it persisted. The awakening sequence had at last been initiated. Fluid was injected and stimuli administered in the correct sequence. The cold body within began to warm. Suspended body processes began their interrupted chemistries once more. Within a matter of hours, now, the First Sleeper would wake. The Guardian, satisfied, rested, monitoring the process, alert for trouble. Nothing must interfere with its master's revival. Then the decision to awaken the remaining Sleepers could be made.
**********
The six students huddled together for warmth in their rude shelter. Outside, wind whipped the snow against their construction, but inside, it was quiet and surprisingly comfortable.
Candy Montez took up the argument again with unwearied vigor.
"Really, those men could be hurt! I honestly think it's our duty to be sure they don't need help!"
"Shut up, Candy," her brother said with weary repetition. "'Trols don't need our help. If we horn in, we could get ourselves killed."
Candy ignored him. "How are we going to feel if we find out those men died and we could have helped them? I don't know about you, but I'd feel terrible ..."
Hildebrand tried to plug his ears. She'd been at this for four hours, and they were all heartily sick of it. Personally, he didn't care what happened to the blasted 'trols. Nobody but a chowderhead worried about them anyway. 'Trols were mercenaries, who worked for the Jilectans. Many species comprised the Viceregal Patrol, but in this sector Terrans made up the vast bulk of patrolmen; they were traitors in the eyes of most of their fellows, turncoats who had betrayed their own people in return for power and riches. And, by God, nobody was going to push him into risking his neck -- or worse, flunking and having to repeat this hellish ordeal -- for a bunch of 'trols, not even Candy Montez!
Candy had fascinated him at first. She was so pretty and sweet and concerned about others ... but he had rapidly learned that sweet little Candy could be more stubborn than the stubbornest ox he'd ever encountered, and if there was any common sense concealed beneath those thick, honey-blond curls, she disguised it well. Once she got an idea set in her obstinate brain, it was there for good.
"Candy, for Pete's sake," Lara said, tiredly. "I'm not about to climb down four kilometers of sheer cliff to help a bunch of guys who probably don't need it anyway. Besides, how are we going to find them? That's a big canyon. Will you please shut up and go to sleep? We've got a big day tomorrow."
"I'm surprised at you, Lara," Candy said, reprovingly. "You know very well ..."
"Look," Jack said, sounding fed up, "tomorrow we'll see what we can see from up here. Then if it looks like they need any help, we'll see what we can do. Now, for God's sake, shut up so we can get some rest."
"Well, I'm glad to know there's someone in this lot with the proper human feeling," Candy said, with pompous righteousness, which inspired Hildebrand with the urge to throttle her. He was damned if he'd let her push him into this! What the hell were 'trols doing on Midgard, anyway? They had no jurisdiction here ... not that the fact had ever stopped them from doing anything they wanted on a Terran world in the past. Protests from the Terran government were blandly ignored by the Autonomy simply because the aliens knew Terra was incapable of doing much about it. One of these days, he supposed, the Jils would walk onto Midgard, take it away from the colonists and dare Terra to do its worst. But if they did, the Jils might get a surprise. Midgard colonists weren't like those softies from Earth -- groundhogs all, who couldn't stand the rough life in the colonies ...
Well, that wasn't quite true. Look at Jack Gorman. He had a lot more sense than Candy, who was a native of Midgard. Of course, Jack had colonized, too. He decided the softies he was thinking about were the pampered Terran upper class. Lots of ordinary Terrans would no doubt stand up to the Jils almost as well as natives of Midgard.
Sometime during these meanderings he must have fallen asleep, for he jerked suddenly awake to a sound like a cannon shot. For a moment of confusion, he couldn't remember where he was, then Maureen's voice said, "Thunderstorm. Lightning must have struck right over us. Go back to sleep. It's three AM."
With little assorted mumbles and groans they shifted, each trying to find a less cramped position. Hildebrand's knee gouged something soft and a voice protested. He was about to apologize when an elbow got him in the eye. His apology turned into a squawk of pain.
"Sorry," Lara's voice said. "Look, everybody, we better settle down. There's not much room in here."
Gradually, the mass of bodies became quiet once more. More crashes overhead made Hildebrand wince. Man, what a storm! Their whole little shelter was going to be buried in snow by morning.
Eventually he slept again.
**********
IX
Tranthzill arrived at the canyon with the first rays of dawn. It was still raining steadily here on the canyon floor, water mixed liberally with small, hard flecks of ice. Higher up, at the rim of the canyon walls, the precipitation was in the form of snow. She brought with her the remaining two aircars left at her ship. The number now totaled five: Linthvar's, the car that had followed him and picked up Patrolman Pillsberry from the town of Ragnarok, her own, and two Patrol escorts. That meant a total of fifteen patrolmen, plus of course, Linthvar's chauffeur and her own, an Arcturian. Many of her species did not care for Arcturians, whose minds were unreadable by Jilectans, but Tranthzill had found them to be exceptionally competent and loyal if one treated them with fairness. Her chauffeur had been with her for more than ten Home World years and performed services for her that were not normally within the scope of duties performed by a noble's chauffeur. She owed her life to his alertness and quick action on at least two occasions, and Tranthzill trusted the pseudo-reptile from Ceregon a good deal more than many of her own species. As the car set down next to Linthvar's camp she spoke to him.
"Zaggar, I have an uncomfortable feeling about this situation."
Zaggar turned to look at her. The lizard-like face revealed little, but the grass-green eyes dilated slightly. "M'lady?"
"I do not know why, but I sense danger. You are to be more than alert."
Subdued light glinted off golden scales; the Arcturian's jointless, flexible arm moved, and the four-fingered hand gestured infinitesimally toward his armpit. Beneath the chauffeur's jacket, Lady Tranthzill detected the slightest of bulges. Zaggar was wearing his shoulder holster and the blaster with which she had supplied him some time back. The leathery crest that ran from mid-upper forehead to the base of his neck quivered slightly.
"I commend your foresight, my servant. I wish my dearest kinsman were as perceptive."
"You are very kind, M'lady. Do you wish to remain here while I speak to M'lord?"
Tranthzill did not hesitate. "No. I will go. You will accompany me. And, Zaggar ..."
"Yes, M'lady?"
"Be alert for anything out of the ordinary. Anything that might seem ... wrong." She hesitated. "I do not know exactly what I mean by that ... but all is not as it should be. I cannot define the feeling more clearly. Trust no one ... not even my esteemed cousin."
"I shall try to obey you, M'lady." The Arcturian's round eyes blinked slowly at her, and she wished for a moment that she could have the power of a Terran psychic and read the thought behind that alien face, but that was an ability farther beyond her than her species' home star. Although humanoid in general shape -- that is to say, Arcturians possessed two arms, two legs and a head with eyes, nose (after a fashion) and fanged mouth in more or less the right places -- they were by far the most alien race her people had ever encountered. Alone among the sentient species of the galaxy, their minds could not be read by any Jilectan. And part of Zaggar's value to her lay in that very fact. But she noted that his muzzle had moved forward slightly, denoting, she had learned, displeasure. Reading expression and body language was not a strong point of her species, as most were telepaths. She was faintly proud of herself for being able to interpret her chauffeur's emotion.
The Arcturian carefully held an umbrella for her as she emerged from her limousine, then she took it from him as much to free both of his hands as because of her height. She was nearly half again his two meter measure, being unusually tall for a female Jilectan -- a fact her mother had always deprecated, but of which Tranthzill was quite proud.
The patrolmen had also exited their vehicles and were standing at attention. She nodded to their lieutenant who approached swiftly and knelt.
"M'lady?"
"Your men are to begin a search pattern of this canyon," Tranthzill said, without preliminary. "Look for humans -- and anything unusual. Something ..." She hesitated, then swept ahead. "Something is not right here. I have sensed something strange since last night, I think. Be alert, lieutenant. I do not know what we face -- only that I am sensing danger. Do you understand?"
"Yes, M'lady."
"You may go." She turned away, toward Linthvar's tent. Her cousin had obviously not yet arisen, for there was no sign of him. A patrolman, his coat sodden, stood miserably before the tent's entrance.
Tranthzill glanced at him before she lifted the flap of Linthvar's tent. "Go dry off, Patrolman! I do not need my men ill at just this time!"
The man gaped at her as she stepped within, letting the flap fall to behind her. Zaggar followed two paces to her right and rear. He snorted softly.
Linthvar's valet was dozing in a camp chair while on the cot a mound of heavy blankets was snoring on a high treble note. Tranthzill strode forward and whipped the coverings back. Linthvar started awake with a grunt of surprise.
"So this is how you carry out my orders!" The Jilectan noblewoman's voice jerked him to his feet, sputtering. Tranthzill swept over his disjointed protest without heed. "There is something very wrong here, cousin! I do not believe the Terran psychics died in that explosion! It would be vastly out of character for members of the Terran Underground to be caught so simply."
Linthvar tried to gather the rags of his dignity about him. "I have attempted to trace them, cousin. I found nothing. The home yielded no items of personal attachment ..."
Tranthzill dismissed that with a gesture. "There are other ways! Doubtless they have arranged a rendezvous somewhere nearby. The path of their vehicle must be backtracked to discover where they left it. Sentries must be posted while we search the area. Get dressed at once! There is no time for sleeping now. I sense impending events of importance. There is danger. Hurry!" With a sweep of her robe, Tranthzill left the tent.
**********
Lyla Cane and Matt Philips awoke shortly after dawn. The entrance to their little shelter was masked by a curtain of falling water. Lyla looked at Philips. The little man shrugged, then winced and rubbed a shoulder.
"I was hoping it would quit overnight, but no such luck." He flexed an arm experimentally and grimaced. "Ouch. I must be in worse shape than I thought."
Lyla glanced matter-of-factly at the rain. "I could have predicted it would be worse today," she remarked. "Murphy's Law almost demanded it."
Philips laughed. "The ruling law of the universe," he agreed, "superseding all other physical laws. Well, the question is: what to do now? We're supposed to meet Lewis near the head of the canyon, near the falls, but I've had no indication that he's here yet. I'll know that much. It seems to me that running around out there in the rain is asking to be spotted by a Patrol search party -- if they're out there at all." He shifted uneasily, aware, again, of the feeling of danger he had experienced during the night. "On the other hand ..."
Lyla was watching him closely. "You're sensing danger." It was not a question.
Philips caught that. "How do you know?"
She shrugged. "Harry does it, too, Matt. He always seems to know -- anywhere from fifteen minutes to as much as two or three hours ahead of time. I don't seem to be able to, though. My warnings are usually only a few minutes ahead."
"You're a short range precog," he diagnosed. "So is Alan. Harry and I are medium range. You're not sensing anything, are you?"
"I don't think so." The woman's dark brows drew together. "I don't think I'm predicting any danger for us ... but there's something."
"What do you mean?" He was instantly alert.
"It's nothing specific," she replied. "No sense of anything like that; danger to us, I mean. Just ... I don't know how to describe it ... a generalized feeling that something isn't right." She paused, uncertainly, then unexpectedly swore. "Damn, I wish I knew more about this, Matt! It's like going around with a bow and arrow, when I could be armed to the teeth if I just knew what I was doing!"
"Take it easy," he replied, smiling at her expression. "You're doing fine. Sometimes psychic powers are like that. They let you know there's something to watch out for, but not what, or where it's coming from. If you're half the psychic your nephew is, you're still better than most Jils you'll ever come across. Relax, and let your instincts guide you. They're usually right in a case like this."
"Well--" She hesitated again and made a face. "I don't think we should stay here, if you want my opinion, but it's your decision. You're the leader here."
"All right." He began to repack the survival kit. When he was finished, the thing was no larger than a large handbag. They finished munching dry ration cakes, and swigged water from the canteen, which Philips clipped to his belt. Lyla picked up the pulse rifle and hooked the coil of rope to her blaster belt.
"Ready," she announced, shrugging herself into her rain gear. Philips had already fastened his cape. He led the way on hands and knees to the cave entrance, and peered out.
"See anything?" she asked, from behind him.
He shook his head. "Nothing but water. You know, I've been feeling jittery for a couple of hours. Something isn't right, but I can't put my finger on it, any more than you can. I don't think it's precognition -- at least not exactly. I think I'm picking up some sort of generalized danger, and I sure wish I knew what it was! I can't tell even if it's aimed at us."
"That's kind of how I feel," she contributed, sounding uncertain. "Only, it's like it ..." She paused, fumbling for the right words. "It's as if it includes us, but isn't limited to us, if that makes sense."
As she spoke, he knew she had identified the sensation. "You've hit it, Lyla." He glanced back at her smudged face, half-invisible in the shadows. "That's exactly it. It includes us. And it isn't the Patrol."
They were both silent for a time, each thinking over the implications of that. It was Lyla who finally spoke.
"Some sort of natural disaster, maybe?" she asked, hesitantly. "Quake or flood -- or fire?"
Philips shrugged as eloquently as he could under pack and rain gear. "You got me." He surveyed the drenched area beyond as well as he could from his cramped position, aware now of a growing urge to leave, get out of here, to go anywhere, but go -- and now!
Beyond the cave where they crouched, was an area dotted with broken rock and low growing shrubs. Perhaps a hundred yards beyond, the trees began, the first ones low growing and scraggly, shading up from there to the giants they had seen the day before in the valley. Philips surveyed all he could see of the landscape beyond their cave. No living thing was visible, the only movement that of wind tossed shrubbery and, of course, the driving rain. Slowly, keeping low, and alert for anything out of the ordinary, he crawled from the cave, Lyla in his wake. They started northward, keeping close to the eastern wall. Philips hoped that the falling water and the cover of the rock wall would prevent chance passersby in aircars from noticing them. He doubted that the Viceregal Patrol had yet given up their hunt; it would be unlike them to concede so easily. But so far, since the aerial battle yesterday, they had seen no sign of their pursuers. And besides, this path let them avoid most of the mud and wet greenery that made other paths less desirable. They proceeded northward in silence, the sound of their progress muffled by that of the rain and the distant thunder of the river. The thunder became less distant as they moved forward, and Philips became aware that the canyon walls were narrowing at this point. The great trees still cut off his view westward, but surely the river was closer. They rounded a sharp angle of the rock wall and saw two things simultaneously.
The river was visible, swollen almost to the top of the riverbank by the rain. And directly before them sprawled the most enormous bones Philips had ever seen. The lower spine was present, and tailbones, as well as the huge bones of the legs and feet. The pelvis was as large as a tank and probably almost as heavily constructed. Of the top half of the creature there was no sign.
They stopped in their tracks, staring at the enormous bones. Lyla broke the astonished silence.
"Dinosaur skeleton. It's been here awhile, though. I wonder what happened to it."
"By the looks --" he pointed to the charred spine, "the thing was hit by a blaster on emergency maximum. Nothing else could vaporize its top half that way, at least nothing you could carry in your hands. It's been here awhile, like you said." He surveyed the tumbled scavenger-gnawed bones curiously. "Years, probably."
"Then, there's been explorers here before," she observed. They began to edge past the gargantuan skeleton. "But we knew that. They left that can in the cave."
He looked glanced around. "I wonder how many more of these critters are around here. If there's one there are probably others, after all."
"Oh, almost certainly," Lyla agreed with appalling casualness. "And humans haven't been on the planet long enough for the local wildlife to have developed a healthy fear of us. I hope we don't come across one."
"Me, too," he said.
They continued northward, and soon the dinosaur skeleton was lost to view behind a turn in the rock wall. To their left, wet undergrowth stretched away to the west, gradually giving way to taller vegetation and at last the skyscraping trees. The canyon widened again, and the river, too, was lost to view beyond the trees.
The giant evergreens made Philips feel somehow tiny and insignificant, a feeling he only half-admitted to himself. These things must have been saplings when Leonardo da Vinci was painting the Mona Lisa on Terra. Occasionally some trick of an echo would bring them the sound of rushing water -- the river itself. The Fjorm must actually be the reason for the existence of Hel's Canyon; eons must have passed as it cut its way deeper through the rock strata and created this immense geological wonder.
The sense of danger had not decreased, but the source remained as undefined as ever. Philips wished he dared to open his shields for even an instant to check for more specific details. The precognitive sense and related abilities were tricky, uncertain talents even in the best psychics, and Philips had never been the best by a long way. Average was how he described himself; no more than average, in a situation that required the best.
Up ahead an area of the cliff appeared to have had a rock slide, and fairly recently, too. It must have been a big one to be visible from this distance: fully two kilometers away at the least. No more than ten years ago perhaps, he estimated, a vast amount of stone had detached itself from the rock wall and now lay in piles of rubble and debris at the foot of the escarpment. They walked in silence for a time, toward the area of the slide. Lyla was looking at it as well.
"I'm glad I wasn't here when that happened," she remarked, thoughtfully. "Do you suppose any more is likely to come down, what with all this rain?"
Philips shrugged. "I doubt it. I'd think the loose stuff has more or less been taken care of by the rain and snow and stuff in the years since."
"I suppose you're right," she admitted. They walked on in silence again.
The forest to their right degenerated as they walked, to short scrub brush and grassy plain. The Fjorm River became clearly visible to them as they left the area where the forest ended, and they could see the other side of the chasm, which narrowed here to no more than three full kilometers in width. Farther ahead it widened once more and a short distance beyond that the huge trees began again abruptly, almost even with the area of the slide. Still, the Frost Giants' Cascade must be kilometers beyond that.
"Must be thin topsoil here," he remarked. "Otherwise there'd be big trees. Odd, though."
Lyla nodded silently. She was scanning the open area. Suddenly, she pointed. "There! Look, Matt!"
He followed her pointing finger.
Against the cliff wall, across the river, lay something which did not seem at all part of the landscape. Perhaps no one but a psychic would have noticed it from that distance, he thought, and unhooked the distance viewers from his belt. He raised them to his eyes, and the scene leaped in close.
The object was definitely not natural. Amid the tumbled rocks and scrubby growth at the foot of the escarpment, lay the wrecked, charred remains of an aircar. The rocks and undergrowth all around were scorched and blackened from recent, extreme heat. It hadn't spread far, probably because of the rain.
"Is that what I think it is?" Lyla inquired, forebodingly.
Unable to believe such incredibly bad luck, Philips lowered the viewer and nodded slowly.
"Patrol aircar," he said. "Probably the one that was chasing us yesterday."
X
Lady Tranthzill was uneasy. The canyon had seemed a haven of beauty when she first arrived, a magnificent chasm boasting majestic forests, the grandeur of the wild, untamed river -- but now it had changed. The specter of menace overlay the grandeur.
In all actuality it was not the canyon at all. Beneath the surface she was aware of that. The sensation had begun last night back at the ship -- this feeling of dread, of danger imminent and inescapable. Somewhere, somehow, there was a threat, like a bolt of lightning poised above her to strike. Yet it was not material, nor could she pinpoint the cause of the feeling.
Few Jilectans had the elusive talent of forevision -- the Terrans called it precognition, a word she found difficult to pronounce, although her command of Terran English was excellent. Terrans appeared to possess the ability far more often than members of her species, but Tranthzill did have it, and found it useful in that it warned her of real danger. She knew when to be wary and as a result had survived more than one situation that might otherwise have meant her death. But in other ways it was a frustrating talent because it never told her where the threat would originate. Linthvar obviously had no fear of any kind, although she had no doubt in her mind that it focussed on him as well. But her respected cousin had no more intelligence than a can of mashed skweek bulbs anyway, in her opinion ...
Could the danger originate with the Terran psychics they pursued? There must be at least three of them: the doctor, her son, and the psychic from the Terran Underground reported by Corporal Pillsberry. The man was certainly the most dangerous of the three. A telekinetic, the corporal had reported, who had skillfully disabled the patrolmen who faced him. The Terran was obviously a well-trained professional. The other two could not be discounted; one never discounted Terran psychics, as more than one of her colleagues had learned too late, but they would doubtless be of lesser caliber than the man. Were they the source of the threat?
No, she decided at last. It didn't feel right. There was some danger associated with this canyon. She could sense it, but what it might be eluded her. Perhaps some great natural cataclysm was imminent. It almost had that feel about it; she sensed no intelligent mind behind the impression of danger.
The communicator of her limousine buzzed sharply, and Zaggar answered it.
"Yes? Ziss is Lady Tranzzill's vehicle."
"This is Lord Linthvar." Tranthzill winced at his lisping accent. It must come from being raised on Shallock, she thought. Natives of the planet spoke Basic with the most atrocious speech impediment in the entire Jilectan Autonomy. It was only logical that the problem would transfer itself to the Jilectan language after a time. "My men have located the four humans who ejected from the Patrol car yesterday. The coordinates of their vehicle are being transferred from my computer to yours. One Terran reports seeing what appeared to be a reflection of light off of glass -- quite likely a distance viewer lens -- across the river from their location. As none of our searchers are reported in that area it is possible our quarry may be near that spot. I am dispatching men to comb the area. Do you wish to join me there?"
"Of course," Tranthzill replied, quickly. "I will rendezvous with you as rapidly as I can."
"My chauffeur is transmitting the coordinates now," Linthvar's voice returned, smoothly. "I shall see you shortly."
Linthvar's voice cut off. Tranthzill tried to quell her sense of apprehension. If all went well, perhaps they would be out of here in a short time.
Her chauffeur's voice almost made her jump.
"M'lady -- I find somezing very stranshe here."
That alerted her. Zaggar's analytical, Arcturian mind was one of his most useful assets -- outside, of course, of his unequaled skill with a blaster and his loyalty to her. He wasn't a bad driver, either -- but that was not her prime reason for keeping him around.
"What is it, Zaggar?"
"I have run a check on zee locations of our search cars ... and zeir coordinates do not match zee coordinates given by His Lordship. Zey are approximately five kilometers apart ..."
**********
Linthvar sat back in the luxurious car seat, jeweled blaster in his lap, and smiled to himself. Luring Tranthzill here was a stroke of genius. Of course the patrolman had seen nothing but the figment of his own, overactive imagination. The Terran psychics were dead; he was certain of that. His tracing skills in regard to the creatures in general, were unequaled by any of his species and he had found no trace since his arrival here. Surely the psychics would have let their shields slip at some time since yesterday, especially the female.
Female Terran psychics ... The thought made him sneer. Females of his own species were useless enough, fit only for the bearing of children or the pleasure of their Lords. They had little intelligence and no common sense, as witness this Tranthzill creature's insistence, in the face of all evidence to the contrary, that the Terrans must still be alive. If a Jilectan female could be so foolish, how much moreso must be the females of the Terran species? So much more the fools Terran males must be to permit their females the status of equals! Truly a race utterly inferior to his own! No Terran female could possibly master the discipline of shielding capable of repelling his power! The idea was laughable.
So the patrolmen would search the area, and Tranthzill, unguarded, except by that repulsive chauffeur of hers, would come to meet him ... to her doom. Both her chauffeur and his own must naturally die as well. He could leave no witnesses to the deed and the elusive Terran psychics would take the blame for the killing. A masterpiece of planning, indeed, he congratulated himself. Now all that was needed was Tranthzill. She would pay for humiliating him so before his valet this morning. And then, Harathvor would give him the position he had promised on his staff: a post of honor and influence worthy of a cousin of the Viceroy.
Immersed in dreams of power and glory, Linthvar failed to notice the blow that came at him out of nowhere until it was almost too late.
**********
"Do you see anything down there?" Candy demanded. She stood well back from the cliff edge, the rain hood obscuring her features. Maureen, considerably nearer to the drop, was peering down into the canyon. The sky above them was a uniform slate grey from which snowflakes drifted steadily. Below, the Hel's Canyon seemed to have taken on the same, nondescript color; snow, and plumes of rolling fog, rendered the view utterly uninformative.
"Not a darn thing," she replied in disgust. "I can't even see the river. It's too foggy."
Candy came a small step closer. "We should try to get down there. Those men--"
Maureen squinted into the chasm. Snow, now mixed with rain, slapped her in the face. Beside her, Lara grumbled, "If she's so all fired determined, let her do it. Look, Mo -- doesn't that look like something moving? It could be a car --"
Through some trick of the light -- or perhaps the wind parted the vapor shroud at just the right instant -- what Lara pointed to showed up clearly. Four kilometers below, a toy aircar was moving along the canyon floor.
"It *is* a car," she said, straining to see more details. "But I don't think it's a Patrol car -- too long, somehow."
Hildebrand came up beside the two of them. "Where?"
Lara pointed. He, too, stared at the tiny vehicle then fished around in the pocket of his heavy coat. "Let's see what these show us." From the pocket he withdrew a tiny, palm sized distance viewer.
"Where did you get that?" Maureen demanded.
He flashed her a conspiratorial grin. "Figured I might need 'em. Got 'em off a guy who'd already passed his Practical, for a case of beer." He put the miniature instrument up to his eyes. For a long moment he stared. "I don't believe it."
"What is it?" Maureen demanded.
"It's a limo ... a stretch limo."
"What?" Maureen grabbed the viewer he held out to her and raised it to her eyes.
It was indeed a limousine. Long, sleek, and aerodynamic, it's very appearance said money. Maureen's disbelieving gaze took in the maroon and gold bicolor pattern, the elegant lines and styling. She lowered the distance viewer feeling utterly confused. Hildebrand took them back and again put them to his eyes.
"Well?" Lara demanded.
"It *is* a limo -- a fancy one, too," she said. "But what's a limo like that doing in a godforsaken place like this?"
"You don't suppose ..." Gary began, "that ... naw, it couldn't be."
"What?" Lara demanded. Maureen felt a prickle of apprehension raise the short hairs on her neck.
Gary shuffled his feet uncertainly, leaving scuff marks in the snow. "I was just thinking," he began again, hesitantly. "First those two Patrol cars yesterday, out of nowhere. Now a fancy limo. You don't suppose it could be a Jil, do you? I told you it couldn't be ..."
Maureen peered at the toy car. The mists closed down as she watched and it faded gradually from view. But Gary couldn't be right ... could he? Or was it all that farfetched, after all? Those cars had been fighting for some reason yesterday. Suppose there was something important about this place, or suppose the Patrol had been after someone important? A Jil tracer might accompany the Patrol. That happened all the time. Jils were psychics, with all kinds of strange, alien abilities. No, the possibility of a Jilectan in that car down there was very real. Besides what ordinary tourist would be likely to show up here, on a day like this in a limo?
"You know," she said, "I think you might be right, Gary ..."
"Oh, nonsense!" Candy broke in, sharply. "Why would a Jil come here, anyway? We should try to signal them. Then they can help us hunt for those poor men --"
Maureen turned to meet her gaze, a wave of annoyance for once submerging her instinctive diplomacy.
"Look," she said, "I'm not climbing down any four kilometer cliff in a snowstorm to look for a bunch of Jil bootlickers. I'm going to head south and see if I can't find a better way down. And then I'm going to head for Muspelheim. If I come across the 'trols in the meantime, fine. If not, that's okay, too. You do what you want. It's a free country." And with that, she turned about and walked away from the cliff edge. Her small pack lay in the snow beside their rude shelter. Maureen picked it up without a word and turned south. Lara, Hildebrand and Jack Gorman followed her. Gary took two steps after her, looked at his sister, standing stubbornly in one spot, and turned back.
"Come on, Candy," he said, quietly.
"No! I'm not going to ..."
"I said 'come on'!" Gary snapped, his patience apparently giving way at last. He seized her arm and pulled her along. Candy struggled half-heartedly, then gave in. If it came to a contest of strength, it really was no contest at all, Maureen reflected, grimly. Gary must mass nearly twice what Candy did, and, Maureen knew, he loved his sister in spite of her irritating ways, and would not allow her to put herself in danger.
Lara was pointedly ignoring Candy. "We couldn't get down here, anyway, even if we wanted to," she remarked to Hildebrand. "If we head south, sooner or later we'll find a slope we can climb down."
Hildebrand nodded. He, too, did not look at Candy. The blond girl sniffed disdainfully. "I see nobody cares what I think so I'll have to go along -- for now."
"Good," Gary retorted, brutally frank in the way of all brothers, "just don't try to think, and maybe we can keep out of trouble until we get to Muspelheim. I put it at about 750 kilometers."
"More like 800, but who's counting," Maureen replied, trying to lighten the mood. She was already regretting her outburst. Candy did not take the thwarting of her wishes lightly. She was capable of sulking for hours, and would certainly try to take revenge, somehow, when the opportunity arose. Maureen had known her for two years, and was well aware of that facet of her character. She only hoped that the situation wouldn't be too critical when Candy decided to retaliate.
Her thoughts returned to the mystery of the limousine as they slogged along in silence. Part of her decision had been based on the very real probability that there was a Jilectan in it. Whatever was going on here, she wanted no part of it. Civilians who tangled with the Viceregal Patrol -- or worse, the Jils -- were likely to come out badly. She had a healthy aversion to anything relating to the aliens. Let them handle their own business. She wasn't going to interfere!
However, the incident was still in her mind two hours later when they came to the area of the slide. The slope appeared less treacherous here, with plenty of climbing holds. After several minutes of heated discussion they decided to try it.
They were looking down a slope of perhaps 60 degrees. Below, on the canyon floor, was an area where the big trees did not grow. The river ran straight here, a heavy torrent, rushing between narrow banks. About the area of the slide the trees began again suddenly, growing in almost a straight line across the canyon. At the same point the river widened to nearly two kilometers of foaming rapids. They rested for perhaps half an hour, then began their slow and careful descent. Candy was still sulking.
**********
"Let's get out of here," Lyla said. "If they haven't found the car yet, it won't be long before they do. Even if its beacon is out now, they must have a pretty good idea of where it went down."
"I'm with you," Matt Philips agreed. He turned northward again. "Keep a sharp eye out. The 'trols must have bailed out before it crashed. They'll be around here somewhere, so ..." He didn't finish the sentence. Lyla's neck prickled with apprehension. Those men could be anywhere, and with her shields up she would have only the warning of her precognitive sense, which she wasn't sure she would recognize as such, anyway. It would be easy to fool herself, because of that unspecified sense of danger that overhung them. It was as tenuous as ever, and as real as the stone of the mountain. Even now it nagged at her, plucking at her nerves with ghostly fingers, as if the whole mountain watched her with covert menace. The feeling was eerie.
"Matt, what is happening?" she whispered. "This ... thing! What *is* it? Surely your psychics in the Terran Underground have encountered something like it before?"
Philips was slow to answer. He was keeping them close to the rock wall, bent low so as to present as little as possible for observers to see. They reached a boulder and scrambled behind it; crouching, he surveyed the territory both ahead and behind. Then he glanced at her.
"Lyla, I honestly have no idea what we're up against." His plain, ordinary face was very sober. "If I did, maybe I'd have a better idea how to deal with it."
"You've never heard of anyone who came across something like this before?"
Philips sighed. "The trouble is, when you're a psychic you come across so many things that nons are never aware of. There are some possibilities that occur to me. It might be a Skelzir globe, for example."
"A what?"
"A psychic parasite, deadly to unshielded psychics. They look like a big pearl, about the size of an orange. The things are intelligent and pretty nasty, but a method of control was found some years ago, and now they're almost extinct -- at least we think so. I suppose a few might have escaped the general cleanup."
Involuntarily she shivered, a reaction not in the least due to the chill rain that dropped steadily around them. The whole canyon was full of menace. It had almost begun to take on a personification, as if somewhere a tenuous entity watched and waited with more than human patience and utterly inhuman malevolence.
"You think it could be one of those things?"
Philips shrugged. "Maybe, but I doubt it. They aren't much danger to shielded psychics." He rose, crouching low, and headed for the next cover, a mass of tumbled and broken rocks. Scrubby bushes sprouted from patches of dirt at its base. They had progressed almost to the line of trees when the first Patrol car appeared behind them. Philips pulled Lyla down among the rocks and scrub brush, and they peered back in the direction from which they had come.
The aircar was small with distance, but it was approaching rapidly. As they watched, it crossed the river toward the area where they had seen the wrecked aircar. Philips put the distance viewer to his eyes. After a moment he passed them to her. Lyla took them, and the scene leaped in close.
The Patrol vehicle had come to a stop by its wrecked fellow, and four black-clad men were hurrying toward the new arrival.
"The patrolmen must have been there all along -- do you suppose they spotted us?" she asked.
"Probably," Philips sounded resigned, "the way our luck's been going." He took the Patrol helmet he had brought all the way from her home in Ragnarok, and settled it on his head. With a frown, he adjusted a small dial at the base. Then he nodded.
"Got 'em," he whispered. "They're reporting to Linthvar. Evidently they -- the ones that chased us -- were on radio silence, but the next batch isn't. I'm not sure what's going on there, unless somebody got their wires crossed. The four from the crash site report seeing light reflected off what might be a distance viewer lens about an hour ago."
"Figures," Lyla said, cynically. "Sounds like our luck is running true to form."
He grinned fractionally and continued, "Linthvar is ordering all cars to the area to search. We better make tracks."
Lyla nodded. "Although I don't know. I'd rather face a gaggle of 'trols than the Viceroy. He's probably waiting for us, up ahead."
His snort of amusement carried perfect, mutual understanding. "Halthzor, or a dinosaur. It wouldn't make much difference."
Together on all fours, they made their way toward the line of trees. Philips continued to wear the helmet, intercepting the Patrol reports, but little of interest appeared to be forthcoming. Fortunately for them, the rubble and scrubby growth through which they crawled, as well as the falling rain, made them all but invisible unless the searchers were close by, and the cars -- three of them now, no doubt with their scanners on -- were concentrating their efforts on an area well to the rear.
Nevertheless, she breathed a sigh of relief when the tall growth of evergreens shielded them from the hunters. But again that wordless, intangible feeling of danger pricked at her, more urgently now. The canyon watched in silence with cold hostility. The trees gave them no concealment from those invisible eyes.
The sense of observation was so intense that she jumped when Philips touched her arm.
"Keep your shields up, Lyla, as tight as you can. I'm going to crack mine and take a quick peek to see if I can tell what's going on. If I'm real careful I shouldn't be spotted."
She nodded, smothering an instant thrill of alarm. Matt was right. Inexplicable things were happening. They needed to find out what they could to protect themselves.
She waited, her shields up as tight as she could make them. Since the day before, when Matt had taught her to shield, she had kept the mental barrier up constantly and had become more aware of its structure, how it could be thinned or thickened. In less trying circumstances she would like to ask some questions and try a few experiments, but in the present she was confident enough to trust her shielding to protect her against mental attack. The only drawback was that it left her blind -- not in a physical sense, but psychically she was completely blind for the first time in her life. The little nuances of things about her, that extra knowledge of people and things that she had known all her life was gone. It was as if her sight or hearing had suddenly been wrenched away. It was, of course, how ordinary people lived all their lives, but it was not pleasant. It left her feeling vulnerable.
Matt touched her shoulder, and she jumped again.
"Done," he said.
She took a deep breath. The patter of the rain was loud on the fallen pine needles, and the sighing of the wind had an eerie sound to it, almost as if the silent, watching canyon was alive and breathing softly, stalking them. She tried to shake off the feeling.
"Did you find out anything?"
He nodded. "In the first place, Linthvar isn't far away, but he didn't sense me. He isn't even trying to track us. I'd say he isn't aware of any danger, either, which fits with what I've been told about him. He's no precog."
"Any information on the other thing?"
"Some." Philips frowned in a puzzled way. "There's psychic energy involved. I picked that up right away."
Somehow she wasn't surprised. She'd almost been expecting it. "Another Jil?"
He shrugged. "I'm not saying there isn't another Jil around, but it's not what we're sensing. What gets me is that we shouldn't be sensing anything through our shields. Precognition is the only power I know of that works with shields up, and that isn't this! I'm precoging danger, all right, but this is something else." He hesitated. "It almost seems to have a personality pattern to it, if that doesn't sound impossible."
She shook her head. "I thought I was imagining things. I felt the same thing."
"Why didn't you say something?" he demanded, a little irritably.
"I told you, I thought it was my imagination."
Philips sighed. "Lyla, if you get any more impressions or feelings like that, tell me. You're a much more powerful psychic than I am; that's becoming pretty obvious. You may spot something I miss. Understand me?"
Numbly, she nodded. "More powerful? But I don't know half the things that you do."
"That's training, not power. When I first touched your mind I felt plenty of raw power. All you need is to get control of it. Now, you say you've been feeling a personality pattern -- even through your shields? How long? And what sort?"
She hesitated, trying to identify the sensation, and to answer his question as accurately as possible.
"I think I first felt a personality right after we spotted the wrecked car. I just had the feeling that someone was watching everything we did: someone -- or thing -- not friendly. But --" She paused, formulating the next question. "But what could be producing the psychic energy? That must be why we can't hide from it -- but doesn't it have to be a Jilectan, or a Terran ... or one of your Skelzir globes?"
He gave the now familiar shrug, beginning to walk north again. "Not necessarily. There are several possibilities. In spite of what the Jils say, there are other psychic races around. We've met some of them."
"How many?" she asked, startled.
"I can think of three others I haven't named. The Shirva are a lot like Terrans, psychically. They're a little monkey-like, arboreal species in more or less the equivalent of our Stone age. They were a dying race native to Kasal. The Jils were taking the nutrients they needed to survive. When we contacted them there were only three or four thousand left."
"Sounds like the Jils," Lyla said, bitterly.
He nodded soberly. "We aren't in the business of philanthropy, but every race saved is a potential ally against the Jils. We were able to move them to another world a lot like their own, where they could survive and multiply, and they've more than quadrupled their number in the past ten years. Then there are the Swimmers -- an amphibian race on a Jil-populated world. They communicate telepathically on a band the Jils can't pick up. They've been waging guerrilla warfare against their lords and masters for years, but they have no psychic powers other than that. And, of course, there are the Elves."
"What are the Elves?"
"We just call them that. Funny little people. They're survivors of a previous civilization from who knows how long ago. We found their sleep chambers on Shallock. They were in some kind of suspended animation. Most were dead. But we've uncovered other sleep chambers since -- on Shallock and elsewhere. All told there are about a thousand of them -- about three-quarters females and children. They live on Nova Luna now, and handle the agriculture for the base. They're the most fantastic agriculturists in the galaxy. It kind of makes sense in a way. Wherever they're from originally, apparently the split between plant and animal didn't take place. They have characteristics of both, and they communicate telepathically -- no spoken language at all. They're also excellent clairvoyants and have some sort of control over plants; they can literally 'think' a plant to grow. But nothing else. The psychics are the only ones who can speak to them except the nons who've learned sign language. The Elves picked that up fast, of course."
Lyla's interest was caught. "Why were they in hibernation?"
"More like stasis. I get the feeling it was a very long time ago -- a few million years, maybe. They were fleeing another race, psychics apparently, who were out to exterminate them."
"Rather like the Jils and us."
"Sort of. We've occasionally come across traces of other psychic species -- and so have the Jils, although they deny the possibility. There were the psychic crystals the Jilectans found on Kuloghi. They'd found others a few centuries back, but their supply ran out. We got involved after they started using the first ones from Kuloghi, and destroyed the cache. Your nephew and Linley were involved in that one. They brought back a couple of dozen for study. Fascinating structure. Apparently the psychic energy was the binding force of the crystal. A psychic could use it to boost his power, but once the energy was gone, the crystal turned to powder. Depending on the size of the thing and how much power you needed, it might be used once or fifty times. They were obviously artificially produced."
"Do the Jilectans know?"
Philips gave a faint snort. "Oh, they tell anyone who will listen that it's all a bunch of ignorant superstition."
"Of course," Lyla said, dryly. "A race that could make something like your crystals must understand more about psychic powers than the Jilectans. And everybody knows that's impossible."
Philips snickered. "Do I detect a touch of irreverence, my dear?"
"Perish the thought." Lyla ducked under a trailing vine. Between the rain and that crawl through the rocks she was hopelessly wet and filthy. Inside the cape, from about the waist up, she was still dry, but the rest of her was clammy and damp, her hands, arms, pantlegs and boots plastered with mud. If they got out of this alive, she thought, a hot shower was going to be her first priority.
Matt looked almost as bad. His water-repellent cape was muddy and bedraggled, his boots caked with mud and crushed plant material, his fingernails grimy black with dirt. He didn't look like a doctor any patient she knew would want to patronize.
He met her gaze. The silver helmet was pushed back on his head, visor up, and the wet, brown hair was ruffled and scraggly. Amused, brown eyes laughed at her. "Do I look that bad?"
"No worse than I probably do. So this -- thing -- you have no idea what it could be?"
He shook his head. "I doubt it's a Shirva, and it can't be an Elf or a Swimmer. I don't think it's a Jilectan or Terran. Something else, perhaps."
"Terrific. Some unknown psychic is watching us, and we haven't even the slightest idea what it wants." Lyla's hand drifted to the hilt of her blaster momentarily. "So what do we do now?"
"We keep moving away from the area of the search. Linthvar is a short distance ahead and to the left. If we keep in this direction we should avoid him, too."
"Suits me," she returned, tightly. As they had talked, trying to keep their minds from dwelling on the lurking menace, Lyla had slowly become aware of a change. It was as if the whole landscape was beginning to take on an aura of cruelty, of deadly, inimical purpose. Her spine crawled. She could almost feel the malignant intent of a mind, right through her tightly held shielding. She gave an involuntary shiver with something more than just the cold, then reprimanded herself sharply.
Matt glanced at her, his face quite sober. He looked grey about the mouth.
"Something's going to happen," she breathed suddenly. This wasn't her imagination. It was her precognitive sense warning her of imminent danger. With all her newfound mental control she tried instinctively to force her shielding thicker, stronger, more impenetrable ...
It was almost like a burst of light on the other side of her shields, a psychic missile striking its target. Lyla nearly cried out, aware in the same split instant that she and Matt had not been that target. Perhaps because of their constant shielding they were less noticeable to an attacker. But they had been on the fringe. If her shields had been down she would now be lying dead or badly hurt.
Philips had her by the arm. "Are you all right?"
She nodded wordlessly, moistened lips suddenly dry in spite of the rain. "What was it?"
"Psychic bolt!" He turned west, tugging her along. "Aimed at Linthvar!"
"Where are we going?" she gasped, as he pulled her with him through the wet underbrush.
He stopped suddenly. "Shh!" His voice was the barest whisper. "I want to see what happened."
Ahead lay a stretch of open ground, a clearing surrounded by the great trees. The millions upon millions of wet evergreen needles beneath their feet muffled footfalls and covered the sound of their approach. Not, Lyla thought, observing the picture in silence, that it mattered much.
A maroon and gold Jilectan aircar bearing on the door the royal blue and fluorescent orange symbol of Lorinthzor's clan, the crest of Linthvar's house, sat silently in the very center of the clearing. A man wearing a uniform of hunter's orange and peacock blue lay half in, half out of the car, one foot caught in the aircar frame, his head and shoulders on the forest floor; the door of the car hung open, partially concealing his form, but the body had that peculiar slackness, almost emptiness and utter stillness that left her in no doubt of his condition.
In the rear of the car behind misty windows, fogged by the rain, a large solid form was dimly visible, immobile. For five, very long minutes, the two doctors watched, motionless. Finally, Matt spoke.
"I can't see any Jil sitting still like that on a cold day with the door of his car open. Can you cover me while I sneak up there and take a look?"
Lyla put a hand on his arm. "Matt!"
He glanced at her, surprised. She withdrew the hand. "Yes, certainly."
With one motion, she unslung the pulse rifle, flipped off the safety and checked the energy readout automatically. The thing was fully charged and ready. She hefted the weapon to her shoulder and checked the sights. It was a heavy piece of equipment, but Lyla had handled heavier, and she was in good physical shape. Its operation, as she had noted earlier, was no more complicated than a laser rifle. She nodded. "Ready."
"Good. I'm going to circle around there and come at the car from behind. Keep yourself covered at all times and watch your back."
Lyla nodded. "Be careful, Matt."
His face softened. "There isn't much danger, Lyla. He's either dead or badly hurt. I'll be all right."
"Sure." She tried to nod confidently, vowing silently to herself that if that Jil did make a move toward Matt, her nephew wouldn't be the only Westover with one of the aliens to his credit.
Still, although the sense of danger was still with her, there was no warning such as she had felt moments ago. The threat, again, was not immediate. She crouched, rifle to her shoulder, as Matt moved away. A few moments later she saw him at the forest's edge, ten meters behind the limousine. The little man moved fast, bent low, in a dash from the trees to the rear of Linthvar's vehicle. The Patrol blaster was in his hand, she noted with relief. Matt wasn't going in completely unarmed, then.
She kept the pulse rifle trained on the car, but there was no motion at all. She saw the doctor, flattened against the aircar's side, creep to the window and peer in. He relaxed all at once and straightened up. An arm waved.
Lyla slung the rifle and hurried to him. He had swung the rear door open and, as she arrived, crawled into the vehicle.
"Keep an eye out," he directed. "I've never seen anything like this."
Lyla didn't answer, but turned away, scanning the trees and sky, watching for the telltale shape of an aircar. She strained her ears to hear its warning hum. No sound reached her but the whisper of the falling rain on thousands of evergreens, the faint moaning of the wind through tree branches, or the occasional screech of a bird.
Matt's voice reached her occasionally. The doctor -- in the manner of many medical personnel -- was talking to himself, and the habit brought a wave of memory. Harris had done the same since they'd met as interns at Sugarloaf General in Brazil.
She bent over the chauffeur. The man had no mark on him that she could see. Lyla grasped his wrists, pulled him free of the limousine, and turned him over.
Still no marks. In actuality she had expected none. The mental bolt, aimed at Linthvar, had caught others in its circle of destruction. She and Matt had been shielded. This man had not.
"Come look at this, Lyla," her companion called.
She turned. Matt stepped from the car and moved aside to let her pass.
Linthvar was sitting in the rear seat. He was still alive, but the large, blue eyes were vacant of thought, his lips slack, spittle drooling down his chin. She controlled her shock and peered closely at him.
The Jilectan's face was shiny with perspiration. She didn't know what a Jil's body temperature was supposed to be, but the pallor of his skin, and the other signs looked like shock to her. She scooted back out of the car. "What do you suppose happened?"
"The psychic bolt," Philips said. "It was meant to kill -- and aimed at him. I'd say he almost didn't get his shields up in time."
"I didn't know there was such a thing,until now."
He nodded. "It takes an extremely powerful psychic mind. A few Jils have the ability. We've only found one Terran with it so far, a double gene psychic -- as a matter of fact, one of the most powerful psychics in the Underground. As we learn more about it, we'll probably find more Terrans with it -- our major problem is that we still don't know as much about these powers as the Jils do. But a psychic bolt uses a lot of energy. It makes the psychic almost helpless for some hours after. I don't know what did this, Lyla, but I don't think it's human; not with that kind of power. Even a Terran psychic can't hit more than one at a time. This one did more than that."
"How about a Jil?"
He shook his head. "Not that I know of. The Jils don't have that much power, either. They're pretty much restricted to one on one, just like Terrans." He glanced at the silent Jilectan in the limousine. Lyla did too.
"What do we do now?" she asked.
He slammed the rear door. "We've got transportation. Let's get out of here. I'd like to find out who or what our psychic friend is, but ..."
The warning hit her suddenly. "Someone's coming!"
"Hide!" Philips snapped. Together, they raced for the trees. They had barely achieved the cover of the forest underbrush, when another aircar appeared above the open space and settled with ponderous grace to the ground. It was not a Patrol car. It was a Jilectan limousine, magnificent in green and silver, and, following it, a pair of Patrol cars. The Patrol cars did not land, but remained overhead, circling. The limousine's engines cut and the chauffeur's door, emblazoned with a red and gold emblem that Lyla recognized, opened. The chauffeur emerged briskly. The being was clad in scarlet and gold, and the same emblem adorned his cap. But he was not a Terran. Lyla had seen his kind on the video many times, but never before in the flesh. What was an Arcturian, wearing the insignia of Halthzor, Viceroy of the Rovalli Sector, doing here?
The uniformed chauffeur hurried around to the rear door and opened it with a flourish. Lyla stifled a gasp.
A Jilectan Lady descended, dressed in flowing robes of deep, emerald green, her intricately coiffured hair a mass of flaming, copper curls. She wore on her a hip a jeweled, but quite businesslike, blaster.
**********
(tbc)
