Rescue Mission: 4/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Chapter VII
"Okay," Alan said softly, "He's got his shields wide open so I can trace him. He's suspicious, but cooperating."
"Pretty puzzled, too, I'll bet," Mark said. "Okay, kid, how do we get to him?"
Alan concentrated. "I don't have to be quite so careful," he told him absently. "According to Halthzor, Lord Scwinthzor's neither a telepath or an empath, although he's probably a clairvoyant. Most Jils are. Let me see...there's about six Procyons in the lodge and around a dozen Arcturians. We should be able to avoid them if I'm careful. Here goes the force field then. Mark...?"
Linley grasped his wrist and in his mind Alan located the alarm rigged into the force field. It was psychic proof, but with Mark beside him that was no problem. Alan rapidly disabled the alarm, then deactivated the force field control. The flickering energy barrier vanished.
They went quickly through and Alan reconnected first the force field, then the alarm. They advanced softly, keeping to the shrubbery, and again Alan stopped them. "Okay, the scanner system begins about ten meters ahead." He paused, concentrating.
While studying the layout of the lodge, Alan had noted carefully the junction of the power cable that brought power to the lodge. It was underground, near the aircar garage and buried under two meters of synthastone and dirt for protection. In his mind he located it, feeling it with his psychic senses. "Mark, I'm going to need you again."
Linley grasped his wrist. Alan concentrated. The cable was heavy and tightly fastened. He strained at it, gritting his teeth. Mark gave a soft exclamation.
At last Alan paused to rest. "I don't know, pal," he whispered. "It's awfully tight. Maybe we should have brought Kevin, too."
A second power pack would be convenient, but it wasn't an option. "If you can't do it, we'll figure somethin' else out," Linley said.
"Let me try again." Alan concentrated. His earlier efforts must have loosened it, for suddenly he felt it give. The scanners flickered out, and ahead the windows of the lodge went dark.
Only for an instant, though. Then the lights flickered and returned as the auxiliary cut in. Behind them the force field's shimmer resumed, but the scanners did not. Considering all the other security measures, these scanners were considered extraneous, as Alan had already been aware of from his study of the layout of the place. However, repair of the power cable should occupy Scwinthzor's servants for awhile, as well as providing them with the freedom of the grounds.
They skirted the lodge and approached a side entrance. Alan remained alert, his senses scanning. Presences were departing from the lodge, no doubt to investigate the power failure. Faintly through the gathering darkness, voices reached them. Alan went up to the small side door, Mark right beside him, blaster in hand. The other two stood at readiness within the shrubbery, weapons also drawn and waiting. Rapidly Alan located the alarm and disabled it, then reached for the telekinetic-proof lock. Beneath a finger of energy it moved silently back. The door hissed open.
"Let's go!" Mark whispered. He went through, Alan right behind him, and the other two in the rear. The door hissed silently closed again. Krebbs locked it, and with telekinesis, Alan reconnected the alarm.
"This way." Alan trod quietly forward, his shields now lowered, and following his link with Halthzor's mind. The Viceroy had not attempted to communicate again, nor had he made any indication of attempting to probe the mind of his would-be rescuers. Halthzor wasn't dumb, Alan thought with faint amusement.
Ahead was a carpeted stairway. Gripping his own blaster, Alan ascended, the others flanking him. No one was around. Most of the lodge servants were probably dealing with the difficulties caused by the power outage, he thought. The emergency generator would only cover the essentials, though what a Jil would consider essential might not jibe with a Terran's priorities.
As they reached the second floor, a Procyon clad in the red and silver livery of a Jilectan house servant stepped into view, obviously intending to descend the stairway. He froze, a tray of half-eaten food held stiffly before him in his taloned hands. A strangled squawk came from his throat.
Robles stunned him and Alan leaped forward, catching the tray before it fell. Krebbs hefted the servant to one shoulder, glancing at Mark questioningly.
"This way." Mark went across the hallway to a utility closet and Krebbs hauled his burden inside. Working quickly, they bound him with a piece of Linley's nylon climbing rope, and gagged him with a soiled napkin from the tray. Mark put a bucket over his head. "Okay, that does it. Let's mush on."
Alan went to the door, placed a hand on it, concentrated briefly, and pushed it open. They went quietly back to the stairs and ascended to the third level. Alan concentrated a moment. "No, he's still above us."
They went on to the fourth.
As they neared the landing, Alan paused again. "He's just a little way down the hall, and the room's guarded. The guards'll see us as we reach the top of the stairs. Wait a minute. I'm going to see if I can get Halthzor to distract them." Alan concentrated. *Your Highness?*
The reply was immediate. *Yes, Alan Westover?*
*We'll need your help with the guards. Can you make some noise to distract them?*
*That I can do, Terran.*
There was a pause. Then faintly they heard the mighty voice of Halthzor raised in an enraged bellow. Ahead Alan sensed the surprise of the two Arcturian guards, and felt them turn toward the room. There was the sound of a door sliding open.
"Now!" Alan whispered.
They went silently up the remainder of the carpeted stairway. The door to the room in which the Viceroy was being held prisoner was standing wide open, and Alan sprinted toward it, feeling the jolt of fear from Halthzor's mind. Then he was leaping through, his blaster at ready, his companions right behind him.
The guards were standing over the Viceroy, and one of them held a shocker in his clawed hand. As Alan entered, static electricity crackled from the device, engulfing Halthzor's body. He screamed.
Alan fired a stunbolt, and at the same instant Robles' weapon hummed. The two Arcturians folded silently to the floor.
Alan found that his shields were up tight in an automatic attempt to protect himself from Halthzor's transmitted pain. Now, carefully, he relaxed his shields and motioned to Krebbs and Robles. Both of them went quickly over to guard the door. Alan and Mark hurried over to Halthzor.
The Viceroy was still writhing slightly from the bolt of electrical energy, and his lip was clenched tightly between his teeth, but from his position on the cot his eyes met Alan's, undaunted. The frame of the bed, Alan saw, had been bent from Halthzor's struggle to break the chains binding him to it. His wrists and ankles were bruised and raw.
Mark bent over him and quickly employed the needle beam of his blaster on the links of the chain. They parted, leaving the Viceroy with two metal bracelets and an identical pair of anklets. "Okay, Your Highness, on your feet." Mark extended a hand to help him.
Halthzor ignored the hand and rose to his feet unassisted. He staggered slightly, then gripped the frame of the cot for balance. Alan went to the door and concentrated, then motioned to the Viceroy again. "Come on, Your Highness. Mark will help you if you feel a bit weak. We haven't got much time."
Halthzor glanced at Linley who lifted an eyebrow and offered his arm again. The Viceroy hesitated, then took the arm, steadying himself by leaning rather heavily on Linley's shoulder.
"I shall be recovered in a moment," he said. Alan opened the door, motioned Krebbs and Robles through. Mark followed, still steadying the Viceroy.
Chapter VIII
Lord Halthzor clutched the Terran's shoulder, trying to hurry. His legs felt wobbly and weak, and his muscles still twinged from the jolt of the shocker. Westover bent over the two Arcturian guards, removed the weapons from their belts, and followed his companions and the rescued Viceroy out the door. He shut the panel between them and locked it from the outside.
"Let's go," he whispered.
"You should kill them!" Halthzor said. He glared in stony anger at the closed door.
The Terran psychic didn't answer. He glanced up at Halthzor, his expression perfectly calm. "There's no time to waste," he said.
Halthzor set his lips and followed Westover down the hall toward the stairway. Linley slipped an arm around his waist and Halthzor felt secretly glad. He was very weak still, and for a Terran, Linley was quite strong. They reached the steps and descended, Westover going ahead. Linley followed, still steadying Halthzor, and the other two non-psychics took up the rear. Halthzor could read awe on the face of the younger one, but the other's expression was about as yielding as a steel trap, and his eyes were a hard, light blue. He returned Halthzor's quick glance levelly. The Viceroy became suddenly aware that his outer robes must have been removed while he was unconscious, for he wore only his sparkling green union suit which fitted so well beneath the flowing robes of a Jilectan noble. Just as well. It would enable him to move more quietly once they reached the underbrush.
They reached the third floor landing and Westover stopped, his body tense, a distant expression on his features.
"We can't go any further," he said suddenly. "There's activity below us."
"Great," Linley muttered. "What'll we do now, kid?"
"This way." Westover led the way forward, his face troubled. "I have a feeling..." The Terran glanced at Halthzor. "I think we should hurry."
Westover was a precog, then, Halthzor thought. Linley urged him forward and he stepped off the landing, the other two Terrans following.
Across the hallway a lift opened and an Arcturian emerged. His yellow eyes took in the scene and he reached for the blaster at his hip.
From behind him, Halthzor heard the "sszzing!" of a needle beam and the alien dropped. One of the Terrans leaped forward to catch the body. The other Terran helped, dragging the alien back against the wall.
"Hurry!" Westover whispered.
"Wait!" Halthzor disengaged himself from Linley's grasp and bent over the still form, taking the blaster and extra energy cells. Linley was beside him at once, weapon in hand, and reaching for the confiscated blaster.
Halthzor held it away. "I shall keep it, Terran. You have my word of honor that I shall not use it against you."
Linley shoved his own weapon into Halthzor's ribs. "Nothin' doin', Your Highness. Hand it over."
Halthzor's eyes met the bright blue eyes of the Terran. "I swear upon my word of honor, Mark Linley, I shall not use it against you. We are at present allies against a common foe."
"Quit yappin' an' hand it over."
"Mark." It was Westover. The Terran psychic didn't raise his voice, but immediately Linley's attention turned to him. Westover spoke again, his voice quiet but firm. "Let him keep it. He's telling the truth, and he's a good shot. We may need him."
Linley, to Halthzor's surprise, instantly gave way. "Okay, kid. Where to now?"
It was Westover who was in command, Halthzor thought, somewhat to his surprise, even over the former Strike Commander.
"This way." Westover led the way over to one of the level's many bedrooms and, unhesitatingly, the door slid aside. They entered, and one of the other men locked the door behind them.
The bedroom was large and luxurious as any of those belonging to Halthzor's ladies. Deep pile carpeting was on the floor, and lavish decorations covered the walls and ceiling. There was a mirror above the bed, polished crystal clear. In the corner stood a long, leather whip and a set of manacles dangled from a hook on the wall. Other implements, the purpose of which he would rather not imagine hung from other hooks. Halthzor surveyed the array with distaste. Scwinthzor's poor Ladies! What a fate to be tied to that sadistic... The Viceroy employed an uncomplimentary term in the Jilectan language to describe his odious cousin. If the Terrans ever got him out of this, nothing would save Scwinthzor, Warlord's kin or not, and he had no doubt that his cousin's Ladies would prefer him as a husband over their present Lord ...
Which brought him back to the question of why the Terrans had chosen to save him. It was clear that they must have some very strong reason. Linley and Westover hated him. He was sure of that much. They had no reason not to. So why were they risking their lives for his sake? Was it an attempt to make him less severe with psychics and Underground members who were captured? No, that couldn't be. This would make no difference in the long run. Terran psychics were a threat, and must be disposed of. Westover and Linley must know that.
The two had been examining the room carefully, and now paused beside one of the locked, barred windows. The fastenings would be telekinetic proof, of course. Did they think they could somehow unfasten it? Or were they, perhaps, intending to blow the window out and therefore announce their presence to the entire mansion? Needle beams wouldn't work on that. The lock was embedded in the window and could only be opened with the proper voice code.
Westover turned toward him. "Your Highness, please stay over there with Private Krebbs and Sergeant Robles."
Halthzor felt his anger rising. "I do not take orders from Terrans!" He started across the room.
Westover met his eyes levelly. "My Lord, do as I say. It's important."
Halthzor paused, suddenly understanding. Westover and Linley were about to perform some secret Underground trick. If he caused trouble it would simply delay things.
"Very well, Alan Westover," he said, and retreated to the far side of the room, staring with distaste at the Private and Sergeant.
The young Terran was frightened and awed of him. Halthzor could read that much in his eyes, although his shields were up tight, blocking out all stray thoughts. The other Terran returned his gaze and shrugged, appearing unimpressed.
Haughty, insubordinate Terrans, the Viceroy thought with irritation. The man was showing no deference or respect. There was no point in displaying any airs or graces before these people. The young private was the only one who might be impressed by any such tactics. The Sergeant would regard them with contempt and annoyance, and Westover and Linley might well become exasperated with him if he displayed such mannerisms, and exasperating his rescuers was, at the moment, something he could hardly afford.
"Why are you doing this?" he demanded.
The eyebrow went up again. "Why are we doing what?"
No title--no acknowledgement of respect--but then, as a member of the Terran Underground he was under no obligation to give it, Halthzor supposed. "Why have you risked your lives for me--your greatest enemy?"
The Sergeant shrugged and gave him a cynical smile. "I'd think it was obvious, Lord Halthzor. You're no bargain as rulers go, but you're a damn sight better than Scwinthzor would be. No one wants him--and if you bite the dust, he becomes Regent, kills off the younger competition and takes over as Viceroy. He'd be bound to start a war just for the hell of it, and not even the Underground wants that."
The Terran's viewpoint was imminently sensible, Halthzor thought. He nodded briefly and turned to survey the younger man, watching him stiffen beneath the scrutiny. "You are Krebbs?"
A brief nod. "Yes, M'lord."
Halthzor raised an eyebrow. "You need not fear me, Terran. I have given your leader my word."
Krebbs glanced at the older Terran, Robles, Westover had called him. The man looked back at him, unimpressed. Unwillingly, Halthzor had to give the human a measure of respect.
"They're signaling, sir," Krebbs said.
Halthzor went toward the window where Westover and Linley were waiting. As they approached, the metal bars of the window began to swing open. Somehow, Westover had disabled the psychic proof alarm, Halthzor realized, as well as opened the psychic proof lock.
"How did you do that?" he whispered.
Westover didn't answer. One of the sides of the window had opened completely now, but the other had slowed, and suddenly jammed, halfway.
Linley pulled at it, his muscles standing out, then wrenched. The window refused to budge.
The Terrans would be able to get out with only one side open, Halthzor realized, but he was far too large to negotiate it.
Young Krebbs stepped up beside Linley, adding his strength to that of the ex-Strike Commander. Together, for the count of ten, they strained at it.
Halthzor watched them, then eyed the window appraisingly. The hinges were thick and solidly riveted to the window, but he thought he could do it. Robles was adding his strength to that of his two comrades, quite without result. Halthzor stepped forward, brushed the Terrans aside like so many children, and seized the bars in his hands. He heaved with all his strength, and, with a loud squeal of rending metal the entire window came loose in his hands. He turned to place it on the floor, and knew an instant of satisfaction at the awe in Westover's expression.
Linley cleared his throat. "Thanks, Your Highness." He motioned. "You first, Sergeant." He hooked a grappling line to the window, letting the length of the rope fall. The Sergeant climbed nimbly up to the sill and over. A moment later he disappeared from view. Westover followed. LInley watched him descend, then motioned to the Viceroy. "You next, Lord Halthzor."
Halthzor stepped over to the window and looked down. It was a long drop, and if he fell, he would be killed. The rope, too, looked very insubstantial. Still, there was no other way.
He swung himself over the sill, grasped the rope and began to descend, hand over hand. The rope held, and seconds later his feet touched the solid ground. Robles and Westover tried to steady him, but he drew his arms distastefully away. "I need no assistance, Terrans. I am quite recovered from my ordeal."
Robles shrugged, and he saw Westover hide a smile. Young Krebbs arrived beside them, and an instant later, Linley himself.
"All okay?" he whispered.
Westover nodded and spoke to Halthzor. "Keep your shielding up, Your Highness. It'll make it harder for Scwinthzor to trace us."
Halthzor smiled faintly at the empath's attempt at tact. "And besides, Alan Westover, should I accidentally read the mind of one of your companions, the Sector will have a new Viceroy despite preferences, is it not so?"
He saw the Terran smiling. "It is so, Your Highness."
"At least you are honorable enemies," Halthzor told him, "unlike that son of unwed parents who claims kinship with me."
Again he saw the psychic hide a smile, and Linley chuckled softly. "Let's get a move on, folks," he said. "Alan, you'd better lead."
Westover concentrated a moment. "We can't go out the way we came in. There's a bunch of people over there working on the power coupling. Let's head for the other side."
"You're the boss, kid," said Linley.
Halthzor raised and eyebrow. It was evident to him that the rumors of close friendship between Westover and Linley had not been exaggerated.
Westover went past him and started to circle the lodge in the other direction. Halthzor could see the shimmer of the force field all around them, and wondered abstractedly how these rash little Terrans planned to get out. Surely there must be a sensor net, too. How had the Terrans entered the lodge, anyway? Clearly Westover had some amazing abilities of which the Autonomy was unaware. The Viceroy wished for a fleeting moment he could discover what they were, then abandoned the wish as unfeasible for the moment. Westover intended to keep his secrets, and should Halthzor discover them the Terrans would most likely abandon him to the mercies of Scwinthzor or even kill him, themselves. The price was simply too high.
They were approaching the force field. It flickered ominously ahead of them, and Halthzor increased his pace, coming up beside Westover and Linley. In a few moments, if the Terran psychic could manage the force field, they would be safe.
Westover paused, looking uneasy. "Something's wrong," he whispered.
A man stepped from around the corner of the lodge and the beam of a torch centered on them. "Who goes there ... Ah!"
The fellow leaped backward, and raised a deafening shout. Linley fired, and the needle beam hissed past the fellow's shoulder as he vanished around the side of the lodge.
"He's shielded!" Westover gasped. "Quick! Follow me!"
An alarm went off. Westover dashed forward, Linley right beside him. With his shields up, Halthzor sensed nothing, but suddenly the force field flickered out. There was no sign of the sensor net.
"Arcturians!" Westover warned them.
The aliens were rushing across the lawn toward them, and a blaster spat. Westover and Linley both fired in return, and two of the newcomers went down. The remaining two ducked for cover behind concealing shrubbery. From behind another shrub, the Terran who had given the alarm appeared and fired. Halthzor felt a red hot brand sear his forearm, and staggered backwards, clutching it. Sergeant Robles fired back, and the fellow shrieked.
A red haze was floating before Halthzor's eyes. Dimly, he felt hands on his arms.
"Come on, Your Highness!" It was the voice of young Krebbs. The air cleared, and he realized the boy was tugging him to his feet by sheer force. Linley appeared on his other side, gripping his arm, and together they rushed him past the neutralized force field. Blaster bolts struck the path behind them.
Chapter IX
Mark clutched the Viceroy's injured arm and pulled him behind a concealing shrub as Alan paused to reconnect the force field. His partner rested a hand on his shoulder, and Linley felt Alan tapping him for power. The field came back on, cutting them off from their pursuers. The Viceroy started to move again, but Mark retrained him. "Just a minute. He's got somethin' else to do."
Halthzor didn't ask what. He was clutching the injured arm, his handsome face set. Linley knew, however, what Alan was doing. His partner's mind was linked tightly with his at the moment, and he could feel the kid's thoughts easily. Alan was disconnecting the control switch and connecting the wires that led to the generator directly to the power supply. Good thinking. Alan was always one to keep his head in an emergency. Now, unless Scwinthzor was an awfully good telekinetic and also a very good electronic technician, the field could only be turned off by dismantling the generator mechanism, itself. Also the generator was buried deep in the ground, since the unit was designed to last half a century without replacement. Alan's quick thinking would buy them time, as Scwinthzor and his minions would be unable to get to the aircars, since the garage was separate from the lodge, and outside the lodge's force field. The garage, however was protected by it's own force field which could only be turned off from within the house. Too bad. An aircar would be convenient about now, Mark thought, wistfully.
Alan completed his task. "Let's go. Can you manage, Your Highness?"
"I can manage." The Viceroy spoke between clenched teeth. They sprinted across the remainder of the lawn and plunged into the woods. Mark and Krebbs still held the Viceroy's arms, guiding him along. Halthzor was saying something in the Jilectan language of which Linley understood only a smattering. "What was that, Your Highness?" he panted.
Halthzor didn't answer. He muttered something else, and this time Mark caught the sexual reference. He grinned to himself at the realization that His Highness, Lord Halthzor, godlike Viceroy of the Rovalli Sector, was cussing in his native tongue.
Alan dodged through the trees, feet noiseless and sure in the near darkness. Mark, Krebbs and the Viceroy panted along behind him, and Robles took up the rear, watching behind them. Overhead there was a loud cackling sound, very familiar to Linley, and a piece of rotten fruit dropped through the branches to splash moistly on Halthzor's back. The Viceroy added another descriptive term in his native language as Krebbs reached up to wipe the stuff way, never slowing. A barrage of bursting ripe berries showered them, and again there was a cackle, joined an instant later by more laughter, higher pitched than the first, and farther ahead. Liquid showered through the branches.
"What are they?" the Viceroy gasped.
"Native," Mark panted in return. "One of 'em followed us quite a ways while we were comin' for you. Alan says they're just playin'."
More liquid showered through the trees, followed by noxious smelling pods, which burst as they struck the fugitives. Mark tried to ignore them and pulled the Viceroy on. The Jilectan was beginning to stumble more now, his legs weaving slightly. Hold on, Your Highness, Mark thought. Don't give out now.
If they could make it across the plain from the river, Linley knew their chances of escape would improve tremendously. Scwinthzor had no military connections, and his aircars were standard aircars, and not equipped with weapons, or special sensor and scanner devices like the Patrol. If they could just put some distance between themselves and the lodge now, while Alan's delaying tactics were still operative, they would probably be able to make it.
For Mark knew well, as the rest of them surely did, too, that the force field generator would be disabled as fast as Scwinthzor could manage it, even if he had to incinerate it with a blaster on overload. It might take several tries to cut through but eventually Scwinthzor and his servants would manage it. The Jilectan and his minions would know, of course, that if Halthzor escaped, all of them, Scwinthzor included, would probably die in the execution chair. One did not plot the murder of the Viceroy and get off easily--not even the Viceroy's cousin.
Ahead he could hear the roar of the water. Alan paused suddenly as though listening. Rotten fruit pummeled him, and he wiped it away absently. Halthzor was clutching Mark's arm, now, and Linley saw that Krebbs, whose head reached slightly higher than the bottom of the Jilectan's ribcage, had a firm grip around Halthzor's waist. Then Alan jogged to the right and ran again. Linley didn't bother to ask what the problem had been. He ran again, striving to keep up with his lithe little friend.
They broke free of the forest, and ahead Mark saw the rolling waters of the river, black and ominous in the dimness. Alan ran toward it, his gaze turned upriver. Mark followed his glance.
The sky of Trachum was not pitch black. Two of the moons were visible, lending a ghostly radiance to the landscape, and the rings glittered brightly overhead, but on the horizon Linley now saw what had drawn Alan's attention. A dark mass of clouds lay close against the hills, their outline sharply defined against the lighter sky above. A flicker of lightning appeared suddenly, then vanished.
Robles muttered under his breath. Halthzor spoke, his voice weak.
"Summer is the season for flash floods on Trachum. We had best hurry."
"Yes!" Alan ran forward toward the rolling water. Mark turned to Robles.
"Sergeant, you take Krebbs place--help the Viceroy. Krebbs, can you carry the General?"
"Yessir." The Private surrendered Halthzor's arm to Robles and went swiftly forward. "General?"
Alan scrambled up on the young Private's back. Krebbs hoisted him higher. "You okay, sir?"
"I'm fine, Marv. Let's hurry. Don't worry about holding onto me. You'll need your arms for balance."
"Yessir." Krebbs strode forward into the water. Mark followed. Again, as before, the current caught them, tugging unmercifully. He was taking the brunt of it, though, and told himself firmly that Robles and he would get the Viceroy across all right. Halthzor, injured as he was, was still a Jil. Jils were tough, as well as big.
The force of the water intensified, seeming to rip his legs from under him. He clenched his teeth, trying not to think of that shark creature that had chased them from the river before. Halthzor gave a sudden exclamation, pulled his uninjured arm free of Mark's grasp, and reached across to seize Robles and lift him out of the water with one hand. Linley saw then that the Sergeant's feet must have been swept from under him by the force of the current, and realized with a sensation of incredulity, that Halthzor had just saved Sergeant Robles from being swept downstream.
Mark grabbed the sergeant, taking the load from the injured Jilectan. Was it his imagination, or was the river higher and swifter now than it had been upon their earlier crossing?
Krebbs, struggling to keep his balance, had glanced back, looking worried. Mark, once again clinging to the Viceroy, steadied Robles. "Go on!" he yelled. "Get Alan to shore!"
Krebbs turned, struggling on. Halthzor was wavering, and Mark clamped an arm around him. The private reached the shallows, allowed Alan to slide from his back, and turned to wade in once more.
The river was higher. The roaring water reached his breastbone now. It was no wonder Robles had been swept off his feet!
Krebbs was abruptly beside him again. The private was nearly up to his neck in the river, but his stamina proved better than Mark would have believed. The young man grasped Robles around the waist and began to wade toward shore, making progress slowly but surely. Mark followed, steadying the Viceroy. Halthzor was weaving now, his legs buckling.
"Hang on, Your Highness," he gasped. "We're almost there!"
Halthzor didn't answer. Slowly, a little at a time, they reached the shallows. Alan splashed out, up to his waist in the water, and caught the Viceroy's other arm. Together they supported him up the bank. As they reached dry land, Halthzor fell forward to his knees.
"Come on, M'lord!" Mark tugged, but the Viceroy didn't move. Krebbs and Robles arrived beside them, still gasping slightly.
"Gimmie a hand," Mark grunted, and gripped the Jilectan beneath the arm. Krebbs caught the other arm and Robles heaved Halthzor up by his belt. Grunting and straining, they managed to haul him across the rocks and into the shelter of an overhanging bank on the river's edge. Alan knelt beside him, beginning to cut away the sleeve of the union suit. Robles also knelt, pulling something from his backpack. "Here, M'lord." He slipped an arm beneath the Jilectan's head and lifted him slightly. Mark saw the brandy flask in his hand, and watched with interest as he pressed it to Halthzor's lips and tilted it up. The Viceroy's drooping eyelids flew open and he began to cough violently. Robles withdrew the flask and waited a moment. After a few seconds Halthzor recovered, reached out and seized the flask, taking it forcibly from Robles hand. Mark watched with awe as he tilted it up again, took four generous swallows, and handed it back.
Robles' eyes widened as he examined the considerably depleted bottle. Mark grinned.
Alan finished cutting away the Viceroy's sleeve and examined the wound carefully. He muttered something under his breath.
"How bad, Terran?" the ruler asked.
Alan hesitated. "Not good," he said at last. "It's pretty deep, and I'm afraid it got the big nerve in there. Is your hand feeling numb, M'lord?"
"Quite," Halthzor returned, expressionlessly.
"I thought so. You're going to have to have surgery on this, M'lord. I don't think it's totally severed, and they should be able to regenerate it okay. But you won't be able to use it well for awhile."
Halthzor looked at the injured arm, his lips set. "I believe you are correct, Terran." He turned his head, looking deliberately a way. "I would like some more of that beverage, Terran."
Robles produced the bottle. "Here you are, sir. And by the way, thanks for grabbing me out there in the river. You saved my skin."
"It was a debt," Halthzor said coolly. He took the bottle and tilted it up again. He swallowed twice and again returned the container. Robles glanced at the fluid level in the bottle and lifted a respectful eyebrow.
The Viceroy didn't notice. He lay back, closing his eyes as Alan applied antiseptic to the injured arm and bandaged it carefully. "There, that should hold it awhile. I can't do much else here. You didn't bleed at all. The blaster bolt cauterized it beautifully."
Halthzor grunted. "As I shall cauterize my cousin when I am out of this."
Mark turned to look at Halthzor with surprise. Alan was putting supplies back in the kit, his face carefully expressionless. Robles assisted Halthzor to a sitting position. "More brandy, Your Highness? You might as well finish it."
Halthzor did so. "Ah! I am feeling much better now." He rose to his feet, towering over the Terrans, and surveyed the clouds on the horizon again. He frowned. "Those look rather bad. I think it would be well for us to hasten.'
"I think so, too," Alan said. "Can you make it, Your Highness?"
"I am sufficiently recovered, my little Terran." The Jilectan gave Alan a crooked grin. "You know your medicine, I can see." He glanced at his neatly bandaged arm. "Are you a doctor, as my wife believed?"
"I'm a medic, sir. It's not quite the same thing."
"Sufficient for our purposes, though, I would say." The Viceroy sounded almost jovial, thought Mark. It must be the whisky.
Alan led the way across the river valley, almost running. The others followed, Halthzor keeping up easily with long strides.
"Something's wrong." His partner was frowning. "We need to hurry."
"I agree," Halthzor said. "I would surmise that my odious cousin has managed to free himself and is looking for us."
"I think so, too," said Alan. He scrambled up a slope of pebbles and tumbled rocks. Ahead the forest came into view.
"I do not like this." Halthzor sounded worried.
"They're coming," Alan said. He turned suddenly upstream. "Aircar!"
Then Mark heard it, too--the hum of engines over the roar of the stream. Alan was diving for cover under an embankment, and the others followed.
They crouched in darkness, waiting. The lights of the aircar moved past their hiding place, sweeping the river and tumbled stones. Mark watched it, chewing his lower lip. Surely it would depart soon and give them a chance to reach the concealment of the trees. Once there, Scwinthzor's minions would never find them.
But the aircar didn't leave. It continued to circle, great lights sweeping the darkened plain. Alan watched it, green eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. Halthzor was also watching, and Linley saw the two psychics almost unconsciously exchange a glance.
"What'll we do?" he demanded.
"I think we should move," Alan said. "We could head downstream, staying under the embankment. We can't cross the plain, or he'll see us, but if we keep moving downstream we'll eventually come to forest again."
"It's gonna take awhile," Mark said, doubtfully. "But I sure don't see no other choice."
"Neither do I," Halthzor said, unexpectedly. "The Terran psychic is correct. Let us go."
They came out from under the bank and began to hurry along as fast as they could, trying to hug the rock and soil of the embankment. The aircar remained in sight, circling and quartering the canyon.
Halthzor strode lightly along now, apparently completely recovered from his earlier weakness. Mark was hard put to keep up, and noted several times that the Viceroy was employing his injured arm to steady himself in an uneven spot. So, the Jilectan must have some feeling in the hand, in spite of the damaged nerve.
"My cousin shall pay for this," he stated once, his voice flat and cold. "Never again shall I attempt to shield him to avoid scandal."
"You have before, then?" Mark inquired, breathlessly.
The Viceroy didn't answer. Again Alan glanced behind them, his lips compressed. "Danger," he muttered. "Lord Halthzor, do you sense anything."
The Viceroy paused and also turned to look upstream. Alan had gone pale, Mark saw, his eyes haunted in the brilliant moonlight. Halthzor frowned, concentrating, then spoke a cuss word under his breath in the Jilectan tongue.
"There's a flash flood coming!" Alan's voice was suddenly shrill with fright. "We've got to get out of here!"
"Up the embankment!" Mark turned toward the slope and swore furiously. They were at an almost unclimbable position--the side of the embankment curving outward almost backward. Alan started to run. "Here, Mark! Hurry!"
Linley was beside him at once, now ignoring the others. Psychic partners protected one another in an emergency, as any Undergrounder knew. When Alan was out of danger, he would take time for the others.
"It's coming!" Halthzor's deep voice had changed also, becoming higher and of a different timber. He also began to scramble up the embankment, proving more dexterous and sure than Linley would have imagined, considering his injured arm. Alan lost his grip and slid back. Mark caught him by the belt and tossed him upward. Alan grasped a projecting stone and glanced back. "Mark! Mark, hurry!"
He could feel the link functioning--Alan's mind within his own. His partner's words rang through him, loud and clear in spite of the roar of the river behind them. Involuntarily he glanced back. The water was rising, overflowing the riverbank and spreading across the tumbled rocks and soil of the river valley. The Sergeant and Krebbs were scrambling up the embankment beside him, assisting one another. He saw the boy slide and Robles grabbed him. Halthzor had almost reached the top of the embankment, Alan close behind him. He saw his partner glance back and heard him scream something. A roaring noise filled his ears, growing rapidly louder. He turned his head, and felt a jolt of primitive fear course through him at the sight of the wall of water bearing down upon them with speed of an express train; and in that moment he knew that none of them were going to make it.
**********
(tbc)
