Rescue Mission: 3/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Chapter V
"Four minutes to sublight," Sergeant Robles announced. He was a compact, muscular man of medium height with dirty-blond hair and dark brown eyes. There was Indian somewhere in his ancestry, and the dark skin and eyes contrasted oddly with his blond hair. Beside him, at the controls, was Marvin Krebbs. Both men were clad in modest, dark, sporty clothing and hiking boots. Their cover upon their arrival on Trachum would be that of wealthy tourists. A few Terrans came to Trachum for the hunting, fishing, camping, and hiking. The planet was mostly a wilderness and had been banned to settlement by the lower species after its discovery. Many wealthy Jilectans owned property and estates there, mostly for their own hunting and recreational amusements. There were only four small cities on the whole planet and these catered to the world's tourists.
"Two minutes," Krebbs announced. "Strap in."
"Already done," Mark said. "Ready when you are." He glanced at his partner. Alan was staring thoughtfully at an emerald studded brooch bearing the Viceregal crest which Harriet Dean had given him before they left. "How's ol' Halthzie, kid?"
Krebbs glanced involuntarily around. He still hadn't gotten used to Linley's habit of calling Alan "kid", apparently, and often thought himself the one addressed.
"Still alive, I think," Alan said. "It's harder to tell in hyperspace, but I don't sense death, not yet, anyway."
"Reassurin'," Linley said.
"Ten seconds," Robles said. He had a deep, ironic voice, and looked as if he could handle any type of situation. Mark liked him. The man reminded him of his old friend Lt. Colonel Andrei Wolenski.
There was a light jolt and the stars reappeared on the viewscreen before them. A planet drifted into view.
One of the things for which Trachum was noted was its rings. They were magnificent, shining like a gigantic rainbow in the light of Tril, Trachum's star. Two of the planet's four moons were also visible and clouds girdled its equator. Large polar icecaps and advancing glaciers came into view as they moved closer, indicating the early stages of an ice age.
"Atmosphere," Robles said.
A thin whine had begun, escalating to a roar as the ship moved deeper into Trachum's atmosphere.
Krebbs was speaking to Lil Spaceport Traffic Control. They were assigned an approach route and landing space. Linley continued to watch his partner as the landing routine continued. Alan looked up to meet his gaze.
"He's here, Mark. I can feel him. He's in a room, chained down, I think. He's angry and scared."
"Can he sense you?"
Alan shook his head. "No. I'm mostly picking him up with my psychometric sense ... from the brooch. You know ... I never thought I'd ever see Halthzor scared for himself."
"Grounded," Robles announced. He cut the engines.
Almost before the purr of engines died, Alan was on his feet. He was dressed in the current style worn by Terra's upper crust. He straightened the jacket, grimacing slightly. Current fashion trends dictated that the waist ride at about rib cage level. Mark detested the style, and he was sure Alan did, too. They were both dressed for the effect. Mark couldn't wait to get out of the damned, uncomfortable rig and into hiking gear.
The two pilots also stood up, Robles calm and composed, Krebbs flushed with excitement and nervousness. Linley grinned to himself. The young ex-patrolman reminded him of himself as a youngster, at least in some ways, although he doubted he'd ever been quite as naive. Well, maybe he had--around four or five. Life on Shallock tended to educate a kid early.
It took them approximately an hour before they had finished with Customs and rented a car. Alan and he changed clothing, to Linley's vast relief, Robles tipped their porters lavishly, and they climbed into the aircar. Linley took the controls. The vehicle lifted and purred smoothly away from the spaceport in one of the controlled skystreams that led to the city of Lil.
Once free of the spaceport, Linley cut out of the stream, set the car on automatic, and turned them in the direction of the Covall Hunting Preserve. In order to reach Scwinthzor's estate it was necessary for them to pass over the Covall Reserve, the Covall Mountain Range and the Tozathvor Mountain Range.
Mark watched the buildings of Lil pass below, to be succeeded by open country, and finally the beginning of the Reserve. There would be animals on Scwinthzor's estate, but they were the least of his worries. Animals he and Alan could deal with. They didn't stick you in execution chairs if they caught you.
"Nice country," Alan remarked. "Ever been here, Sarge?"
"No, sir," Robles said. "But I grew up on Osterlak. It looks something like this. Used to do a lot of hunting and fishing with my father and brother before I joined the Underground."
"Why'd you join?"
The sergeant's face became grim. "My brother was a psychic. So was my mother. The Jils got them both."
"Oh. Sorry."
The Sergeant grimaced. "My dad tried to stop them. The Patrol killed him. I joined the Underground to pay them back. It was the only way I could think of that would make a real difference."
Alan nodded silently.
It was nearly midday when they approached the first of the two mountain ranges. Ahead, rolling foothills ended suddenly in the mighty ramparts of the Covall Mountain Range. Below them lay a grassy plain, the tall waving fronds of vegetation rippling in the warm breeze. Animals resembling Terran kangaroos bounded across it, fleeing from their shadow. They were passing over foothills, and the aircar's altitude began to increase.
"Turn on the radio," Alan said, suddenly.
Without a word, Linley obeyed, and directed it to find a news station. The machine did so.
"... The disappearance of the Viceroy, Lord Halthzor. The Viceroy's yacht emerged from hyperspace over Shallock, approximately thirty minutes ago and assumed a standard orbit. When no reply was received to a hail by Spaceport Control, and then the Leviathan, the ship was grappled and boarded. The Viceroy was not aboard, but a spokesman for the Viceregal Patrol reports that Lord Halthzor's body servant, Vinnel, bodyguard, and crew of the yacht were found bound and shot execution style."
Mark saw Robles' mouth grow thin.
"It is believed," the announcer continued, "that our beloved Viceroy was taken prisoner by the Terran Underground. His Highness' Chief Wife, Lady Travinthzill, has broadcast her plea for the outlaws to name their terms for the Viceroy's safe release. As yet, no reply has been received. The Viceroy's cousin, Lord Scwinthzor, has voiced deep concern and is anxiously awaiting word of his beloved kinsman..."
Robles made a rude sound. Krebbs appeared disgusted. "The nerve of that guy! 'Beloved kinsman', my..." He broke off with a glance at Alan.
Mark snorted derisively. "He's a Jil with visions o' power, kid. Sounds like just about every mealy-mouthed politician I've ever heard. Hypocritical to the core." He grinned sardonically. "Kind o' nauseatin', though, I'll admit." Mark sighed and opened a map supplied to them by Colonel Dean. "Where are we, Sarge?"
"Just leaving the Reserve, sir."
"Keep us low. There ain't supposed to be any cars around here, except Patrol cars. They'll get suspicious if they see us, and if old Scwinthzie suspects somethin', he's bound to jump the gun and kill his cousin quick an' dispose o' the body."
"If he hasn't already," Robles said.
"He hasn't." Alan was fingering the lavishly jeweled brooch given to him by Harriet Dean. "He's alive, but I've got the feeling we should hurry. We're short on time."
Their speed increased and the car swooped expertly across the terrain, just hugging the treetops.
"Gettin' there," Mark said, studying the map. "'Bout a hundred kilometers t'go to the border o' his estate. Let's get on our camouflage duds, folks."
Swiftly, they shed their hiking gear and donned the clothing carefully designed by the Underground for travel through dense undergrowth. It consisted of snug fitting union suits in mottled green and brown and flexible boots of tough synthaleather in the same colors. Alan looked like a small, slender elf in his, Robles like a tough, extremely dangerous marine from the museum war posters. Krebbs struggled into his and sealed it. It was too loose. Apparently the Colonel had overestimated his size when choosing the gear, but the boy appeared philosophical about it, rolling up the sleeves and cinching the belt tight.
Twenty minutes later, a fence which announced the border to Scwinthzor's estate came into view. Robles allowed their velocity to drop until they were just above stalling and let their altitude fall off. Around the barrier there was a cleared space.
"Okay," Mark said. "Find us a good hiding place, Sarge, and we'll hike the rest of the way in."
The car circled down into a small clearing, and Robles jockeyed it forward under the wide spreading branches of a large tree.
"Hurry," Alan said.
They shouldered their gear and scrambled from the aircar. It was late afternoon now, and the sun was beginning to dip toward the eastern horizon. The first shadows of evening were beginning to fall, and the air was cool on their faces.
"We'd better hurry," said Alan again, his voice strained.
"What's goin' on?" asked Mark. He saw that Alan was clutching the brooch again.
Alan shook his head. "I'm not sure. Something ... He's scared and angry."
"Let's go," Mark said. He led the way forward through the forest.
They had gone perhaps half a kilometer when Alan's command stopped them. Ahead was a cleared space in the undergrowth, and beyond that the sensor net which surrounded the estate. Alan reached toward him. "Mark..."
Linley extended his wrist and Alan gripped it. The power drain began at once and continued. After some minutes, he raised an eyebrow at his partner. "What's takin' so long?"
Alan didn't answer for a moment. Then he sighed and released his partner's wrist. "The sensor net is a pretty intricate one, and it's equipped with at least a dozen cameras in this section alone, as well as the sensors. It's going to take time to disable it--more time than we have, I'm afraid, and besides, it'll look awfully suspicious to anyone manning the screens when everything starts tripping out at once."
"What other choice do we have?" Mark asked. "We sure can't help ol' Halthzie from out here."
Alan's smooth forehead was wrinkled in a frown. "Well, there's lot's of animals around," he said thoughtfully. "If one of them should just happen to run through the net ahead of us..."
"Do you think you can do it?" Linley knew that Alan had been developing his talents in the area of mind control in lower animals, but hadn't realized he'd come far enough to attempt such a thing. Alan, however, appeared confident, and once again gripped Mark's arm. Krebbs and Robles watched in silence.
"Okay, I've got something..." he said after several moments. "Whatever it is, it's big." A pause. "Okay, it's listening. I think it's about as intelligent as a gorilla. Here it comes."
Krebbs and Robles drew their blasters and stepped back as a crashing sounded in the underbrush. It grew rapidly louder, and the thing charged into view.
Private Krebbs drew in his breath in a sharp gasp, and Robles uttered a surprised oath. The animal was tremendous--approximately the size of a Terran elephant, but definitely possessed more legs than the standard pachyderm. Mark thought he counted eight, but they were moving too rapidly for him to be sure. Of one thing, however, he was certain. All the creature's appendages were armed with long, very dangerous looking claws. It had tentacles, too, a ring of them, set equidistant about it's body and above each tentacle was an eye--about eight of them, too, Mark estimated, although he couldn't be sure, since some of the orbs were probably hidden beneath the dark shaggy hair which covered the creature's entire body. There was no head at all, but sprouting from the top was a long, waving trunk, which seemed to move independently in all directions.
It charged past, apparently unaware of them. Krebbs stared after it, open mouthed, then turned to look at Alan, his eyes wide with a mixture of amazement and fear. Alan gave him a friendly smile in return.
"Take it easy, Marv. Actually, a lot of Jils are better at this than I am. All I can do is make it run where I tell it to."
"There it goes!" Mark said. "Man! Right through all the good stuff!"
The creature was pounding its way through the sensor net, ripping out the delicate equipment and smashing the cameras into rubble. It gave a hoarse, bellowing cry as it reached the fence, but didn't slow down. Alan gripped Mark's wrist harder as the thing hit the fence, smashing a gaping hole through it, and disappearing into the trees beyond.
"Man!" Robles sounded awed. "I've never seen anything like that in my life!"
Krebbs was still staring at Alan. He swallowed convulsively. "Me neither," he whispered.
Alan shrugged it off. "I'm sure if I had the Jils' know-how I could do better. Here it comes again."
There was a splintering impact and creature barged through another section of fence, tearing up stakes and ripping wiring loose. After tearing up several meters of this, it swerved and again began to rip it's way through the sensor net, pounding the mechanism beneath it's feet and tearing wiring and cameras to bits.
After perhaps ninety seconds of this it managed to free itself from the net, gave voice to it's strange hoarse cry, and again headed past them into the woods.
"Let's go!" Alan said. He ran lightly forward, straight toward the destruction caused by the animal. His feet traced a quick, graceful path through the rubble. Hopefully the cameras had been damaged enough to keep them from being identified as human. With any luck the man watching the sensors would think any disturbance now was caused by the passage of some other forest denizen through the hole--or possibly even the same one. Mark, Robles and Krebbs followed.
Seconds later they were across. Mark stopped and looked back. There was no sign of the creature.
"It's gone!" Krebbs said. "Man! I've seen psychics do wonderful things before, but never like that!"
Mark clapped the boy on the back. "You ain't seen nothin' yet, kid. C'mon, let's get movin'. We don't wanna be here when the repair crew arrives."
They headed through the thick underbrush, Alan and Mark leading the way, side by side. Now and again Linley could hear stealthy movement in the underbrush around them, but there was no sign of any animal life. Once Alan brought them to an abrupt halt, and Mark felt the link quiver into awareness within his mind. Quickly he pulled his partner back and drew the blaster from his belt. "What is it, Alan?"
"I don't know--animal of some sort. It's looking for dinner."
Robles stepped forward beside Mark, pushing Alan back. "Where is it?" he asked quietly.
"Just a little ahead of us," Alan said. The link intensified. "It's watching us--sizing us up, I think. I'm trying to ..." the sentence faded out. A tense silence followed for several moments. Then the link began to fade. "Okay I've got it. It's leaving."
Mark relaxed. Somewhere ahead there was the soft rustle of leaves, then silence.
The link vanished. "It's gone," Alan said. "Come on. We'd better hurry."
They had gone on perhaps a hundred meters when there was a loud, nerve-grating cackle overhead. Something dropped through the trees to splash moistly on Mark's head. He swore softly, wiping it away. "Dammit! Piece if rotten fruit. Now what th' hell ..."
Another cackle and a mass of twigs hurtled downward, showering Krebbs liberally. He yelped with surprise, brushing the stuff away.
"We have an admirer," Alan said, softly. "Just ignore it. It just wants to play. It won't hurt us."
They slogged on. Almost at once the cackle came again and another overripe fruit dropped, splashing moistly against Alan's cheek and ear. He muttered under his breath, then yelped and leaped aside as a stream of liquid began to pour from the tree overhead. Mark stifled a laugh. "Just ignore it, kid," he advised tritely.
"Oh, shut up." Alan wiped his cheek and glanced up into the tree. "Drat that thing!"
Three large nuts fell from the branches, followed an instant later by a hailstorm of juicy red berries. Mark cursed furiously. "Come on. Maybe it'll get sick o' the game after awhile."
They strode on, trying to take Linley's advice. The missiles continued to fall and the cackling laughter continued. Once, glancing up, Mark thought he saw a dark body about the size of a chimpanzee hurtle from one tree to another, but he couldn't be sure.
Robles paused suddenly, pulling one foot back. Mark stared down at the thing on the ground before them. It was a large, bluish growth that projected from a rotten tree trunk. The growth was shaped roughly like a fat banana, but much larger, and now showed a large indentation where Robles foot had descended upon it. Milky fluid oozed from the edges and coated the sole and heel of Robles boot.
"C'mon," Mark said.
"Sure." Robles gulped. "What the hell was it?"
"Fungus o' some kind. C'mon." Mark slogged on. The thing above hurled another mass of bursting ripe berries at them and cackled delightedly. Mark wiped juice from his face. "Man! This reminds me o' the time we were tryin' to rescue Halthzor's first lady from the Raghiki. Remember that, kid?"
"I sure do," Alan shook his head. "Poor Lady Travinthzill. She must be half out of her mind over her husband by now. I sure hope she doesn't believe the Underground's taken him."
"Me too," Mark said. He kept his face carefully sober, but the memory of Alan and Lady Travinthzill and their adventure on Tovala never failed to amuse him. Alan, the empath, had used his talent unwittingly and had succeeded in making a loyal friend of the Vicereine. She, in turn, had used her hidden talent of empathy on Alan. Alan had delivered her son during the drama, thereby earning the unwilling gratitude and cooperation of her husband in releasing Mark Linley.
A handful of nuts peppered them and then another bunch of ripe berries. The thing overhead cackled.
Mark wiped juice from his face and swore under his breath. Alan glanced at the odometer built into his chronometer. "I think we should bear east now Mark, or we're going to end up in the open. We'll cut through the river valley to minimize that." The party had studied the map and layout of Scwinthzor's lodge and grounds carefully during their journey. Mark knew they would still have to cross a portion of the plain, but cutting through the river valley would keep that part to a minimum.
They turned east and went on, the thing overhead following merrily and continuing to pepper them with objects. Robles muttered to himself and Mark glanced toward him. "Problem, Sarge?"
"Yeah. My boot's disintegrating, sir."
Alan turned, and Mark and Krebbs bent to examine the boot. The Sarge was right. The material of the boot had developed a mass of tiny holes all over the sole and heel. For a moment Mark couldn't imagine what had caused it, but Krebbs spoke up suddenly.
"The fungus you stepped on, sir! There's a thing like that in the lowlands on Corala. It puts out a slow acting acid--and it'll eat your whole boot away and start in on your sock and then your foot if you don't wash it off!"
Mark started to pull the canteen from his belt.
"Not enough, sir! The foot has to immersed in water or the stuff sticks--at least that's what the Corallan ones do. You have to immerse it and scrub."
"He's right." Robles sounded very worried. "The stuff's like tree sap."
"Let's go," Alan said. "There's a river in the valley less than a kilometer from here. That ought to take care of it. Hurry."
They hurried. Ripe fruit, twigs and droppings continued to shower them, and Robles' boot continued to disintegrate. Mark noted several more of the banana shaped fungi as they proceeded.
At last the sound of the river reached them. They lunged ahead, slid down a small, rocky embankment and came to the water. Robles took off his boot and Mark saw that the material had been eaten halfway through. The Sergeant plunged the boot into the water and began to scrub it with leaves. Krebbs helped him.
Mark straightened up. Alan was looking northwest. He must be sensing the aura of the Jilectans by now, Mark thought. They were getting close.
"I think that does it." Robles straightened up, examining the boot carefully. "How about it, Private? Did we get it all off?"
"I think so, sir."
Mark looked at the river again. It was a swift, rushing torrent, swollen by the summer rainfall. Alan looked doubtfully at it, too.
Mark clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll hold onto you, kid."
"Thanks, Mark." Alan turned to Robles and Krebbs. "You two help each other."
"Yes sir," Robles said.
"You'd better go first," Mark said. "I'm gonna give the General a piggyback ride across."
"Yessir." The two stepped forward into the stream, bracing themselves together against the current. Mark swung Alan to his back.
"Hold on tight, pal."
"Yes, Mark." Alan's muscular hands gripped his shoulders and Linley hooked his elbows under his partner's knees. Alan had grown not a bit since their first meeting over twelve years ago, he thought. The most gifted psychic in the Terran Underground was also the shortest, allowing for age and gender. He accepted his diminutive stature philosophically, Mark knew. Terran psychics were all small, and as a rule, the more gifted the psychic, the smaller he was.
The current was powerful. It tore at his legs, and he had to fight to keep his balance. The water came to his hips, and then, as he proceeded further, to his waist. Ahead, he saw Krebbs steadying his shorter comrade. Sergeant Robles was compactly and toughly built, but he probably massed only about eighty kilos. Krebbs was taller and heavier by at least eight kilos. The boy braced his legs, clamping an arm around the sergeant. "Easy, sir," he gasped. "One step at a time."
The sergeant obeyed. They reached the halfway point, and Mark found it was all he could do to keep moving. Ahead, Robles wavered and staggered. Krebbs grabbed him, almost losing his own balance. Alan's arms closed tightly around Linley's neck.
"Let go of my legs, Mark. I can hold on. You need your arms for balance."
Mark obeyed, and came up with his two struggling companions. With one hand he caught the young private, steadying him. "Okay, kid, I've got you. C'mon, Sarge."
Robles managed to straighten up, teeth gritted. Krebbs gasped out something which Mark couldn't hear, and urged the Sergeant forward once more.
Gradually, a step at a time, they reached the weaker current. The water pulled only at Mark's knees now, and it was with a sense of relief that he saw Robles and Krebbs staggering through the shallows to the far shore.
Alan moved suddenly and convulsively on his back. "Mark! Run! Run!"
Linley didn't question. He charged forward, splashing recklessly through the shallow water. Behind him something broke the surface, and he saw Krebbs glance back. He gave a shout of alarm. Robles also turned, drew his blaster, flicked the setting and fired. There was a sharp zing! of a needle beam, an angry hiss of steam and a maddened bellow from behind them. Mark leaped to the shore and glanced back. The thing was coming through the shallows toward them, a huge, sleek body, propelled along on a bunch of flipper legs--Mark didn't bother to count the number. The thing's mouth was wide open, revealing two rows of long, razor-sharp teeth. A charred streak on it's upper body indicated the spot where Robles' beam had landed. The Sergeant took careful aim and fired again. Another blackened smoking streak appeared across the creature's huge flattened head. Another maddened bellow sounded, and the thing increased it's pace.
"Run, Mark!" Alan gasped. He slid to the ground, grabbing Linley by the wrist. They charged frantically forward across the tumbled stones toward the forest beyond.
Behind them there was a flurry of movement and a shrill shriek. Mark glanced back, then came to a gasping halt. Their attacker had abandoned the pursuit in favor of easier game, and was now retreating again toward the water, dragging with it a crablike creature the size of a Great Dane. The crab was shrieking and protesting uselessly as the flippered thing reached the river again, floundered through the shallows, and disappeared from view.
Mark leaned against a tree, gasping for breath, and watched the bubbles swirl away in the current. Krebbs and Robles came up beside him, also staring in silence. Alan began to laugh a little hysterically.
"That one wouldn't listen!" he gasped. "I tried to suggest it not bother with us. I don't think it even noticed."
Mark rested a hand on his shoulder. "That's okay, kid. The thing can't be very intelligent the way it kept coming in spite of the needle beams."
"It isn't," Alan said. "It's an eating machine--rather like a Terran shark. Looked a little like a shark, too."
"Yeah!" Robles agreed breathlessly. "I didn't dare use anything but a needle beam this close to the lodge. I didn't think stun would bother it."
"Probably not," Alan agreed. "Except maybe sting it a little. It was too big, and it's nervous system was too primitive." He glanced around, looking uneasy again. "Let's get going."
Chapter VI
Lord Halthzor, Viceroy of the Rovalli Sector, strained uselessly against the chains which secured him to the cot. It was hopeless. The shackles were thick enough to hold a fighting sabreclaw, and were equipped with psychic proof locks. His wrists were fastened above him to the frame of the cot, and his ankles were also secured to the lower part of the frame. He was alone in the room, but he knew well that two of those disgusting Arcturians were guarding the door.
Of his capture and transport to this place, Halthzor had only the dimmest of memories. He had awakened in his berth aboard his private yacht by the shrilling of an alarm, and had leaped form his bed, only to hear the hiss of sleeping vapor flooding his cabin. He had tried to reach his breathing mask on the wall, only to discover that it had been removed. Again he had tried to reach the door, but it was apparently jammed from the outside. He remembered nothing more until his awakening in this place.
At first he had shouted for help, but after ten minutes of that a scaled Arcturian had entered. The creature had hit him full force with a shocker beam, tearing a scream of agony from him.
"You are advised, My Lord, to be quiet," he hissed, and departed, leaving Halthzor still writhing on the cot.
Where was he? For the hundredth time since his awakening he asked himself that question. Had he been taken by the Terran Underground? It was the most logical answer to the question, but somehow this just didn't seem quite the Underground's style. Leaving him alone here, with Arcturian guards just didn't make sense. Surely they would have Terran psychics watching him, and yet, try as he might, Halthzor could sense no other psychic minds in the area.
How long had he been here? It seemed like days, but he was sure it wasn't. Would his captors leave him here until he died--let him perish of hunger and thirst in this dismal prison?
He looked around, striving again to deduce where he was from his surroundings. He was in a room with two windows, but both of them were shut, with heavy, expensive draperies drawn across them. The embroidery and workmanship was of Jilectan origin. He was sure of that much--and the rug on the floor was fine stuff as well, probably from Riskell or Corala. The door slid open. Halthzor's head jerked toward it and his heart froze in his chest.
His cousin, Scwinthzor, stood framed in the doorway. Handsome, regular features relaxed in a smile of pleasure.
"Ah, my dearest cousin!" His tones were rich and smooth. "I trust my servants have made you comfortable?"
Halthzor glared at him. "How dare you!"
A soft mocking laugh. "I dare very easily, my dear cousin. You see, the Terran Underground is taking the blame for your disappearance. Your lovely first wife has been pleading with them on the video to name their price for your release. It was very touching. Brought tears to my eyes, it did."
Halthzor clenched his fists, straining against the confining chains. Scwinthzor approached and stood looking down at him, his expression amused. "Don't worry, my loving cousin. When you are dead, I shall marry your wives and shall comfort Lady Travinthzill in her grief."
Halthzor gritted his teeth and was silent. Scwinthzor's plan had become painfully obvious now. With Halthzor dead, Scwinthzor would become Regent, and custom dictated that he, as Halthzor's next of kin, must take the Viceroy's Ladies to wife. Halthzor's minor sons and nephew would undoubtedly die conveniently over the next years, and Scwinthzor would become Viceroy.
Scwinthzor bent and ran a smooth, delicately manicured finger down his cheek. "I have dreamed of this day for a long time, dear cousin." A sharp fingernail dug suddenly into the skin beneath his nose and ripped. Halthzor gritted his teeth and remained silent.
"A very long time." Scwinthzor's nail sliced a thin cut across his cheek and he laughed, smearing one finger through the oozing blood.
"When will you kill me?" Halthzor couldn't quite keep his voice steady, and Scwinthzor noticed. He laughed again.
"And how? How shall I kill you, my dear cousin? As slowly and painfully as I can, I assure you. But when, and the exact method of execution, I have not yet decided. Are you hungry?"
"No," Halthzor said.
"Thirsty?"
"No."
Scwinthzor lifted a goblet of wine, sipped from it, then tipped the container, pouring the rest of the contents into the Viceroy's upturned face. The alcohol stung on the newly inflicted cuts. Scwinthzor chuckled.
"I must go. Pleasant dreams, my dear cousin." He went to the door, made a cheerful gesture of farewell, and went out. The door closed behind him.
Halthzor lay rigid for a few moments, fighting back the weakness of despair. He must escape! He must! He began to strain at his bindings again, muscles popping with the effort.
At last he gave it up, arms and legs aching and tingling with the effort. His wrists hurt unbearably, and he could feel a warm slipperiness around them. It was useless. He would die now, and his sadistic, ruthless cousin would take charge of his wives, his children and the welfare of the Rovalli Sector ...
He was startled out of his musings by a touch--at least it felt like a touch--a telepathic nudge which seemed somehow very familiar. Instantly he was on the alert, his screens wide open and straining. Again came the sensation--a cautious telepathic nudge without words, and this time he recognized it as the mind of Alan Westover.
Automatically his shields snapped shut. His deadly enemy, Westover, was here. Why? Was the wretched little Terran somehow in league with Scwinthzor? No, that couldn't be! Westover had been afraid of discovery. Nothing else could explain his hesitating, cautious contact. And it was obvious that his contact with Halthzor had been deliberate. That could mean only one thing. He was afraid Scwinthzor would sense him.
Cautiously Halthzor relaxed his shields again. Instantly he sensed the Terran's mind nearby, and felt it home in on him. Their consciousness touched and he sensed calm reassurance from the Terran, although no words were voiced. Westover was afraid of discovery, but he was not afraid of Halthzor. That meant that he must realize the Viceroy was a prisoner and presently unable to harm him.
*Westover?* He voiced the name in his mind.
Instantly the sensation changed. The need for caution filled his mind.
*You are afraid Scwinthzor will detect you? Do not fear, Terran. My execrable cousin is neither telepath nor empath. Why are you here?*
The reply astonished him. *We're a rescue party, Your Highness, and are presently right outside your cousin's lodge. Leave your shields at least partly down so that I can trace you more easily.*
*I will do so.* Halthzor relaxed on the cot, his shields open wide. The Terrans must have an ulterior motive for their actions, he knew. There was no reason that he could fathom that they should risk their lives for his sake, and yet, it appeared that was exactly what they were doing.
Relief swept him. Whatever their reasons, he would cooperate in every possible way. They were his only hope at the moment, and whatever their hidden motives, he could deal with those later.
Westover's mind touched his again very briefly. *We hope to have you free within a very few minutes, Your Highness. Be ready.*
Then the Terran's mind vanished behind shielding. Fist's clenched, jaw set, Halthzor lay still, waiting.
**********
(tbc)
