Rescue Mission: 7/7
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Chapter VII
Alan Westover opened his eyes. He was lying face down on a cold, stone floor, and around him there was silence. His head was throbbing, and when he tried to move it, the action brought an involuntary exclamation to his lips, for one side of his neck was very sore.
A large hand closed on his shoulder and he jerked about with a thrill of primitive terror as he saw the form of Lord Halthzor kneeling beside him. He voiced a yelp, trying to jerk away.
The hand released him, and Halthzor smiled faintly. "Do not fear, Alan Westover. You and I remain comrades in arms."
Memory returned and he relaxed, propping himself up on one elbow and reaching up to rub the side of his neck.
"It is quite painful, I have no doubt," Halthzor informed him. "You started to regain consciousness while in the aircar, and the Arcturian hit you. That was approximately thirty minutes ago."
"I'm okay." Alan pushed himself to a sitting position. Halthzor helped him.
They were in a small, square room, with walls of rough stone, which contained a single exit: a door, large enough for Alan to exit without stooping. The door consisted of metal bars set close together.
The room tilted for a moment, then righted itself. Halthzor's grip on his arm tightened, but not painfully. "Are you recovered?" he inquired.
"Yes, I think so." Alan licked dry lips and swallowed. He felt slightly dizzy still. "Where are we?"
"In a pen of my cousin's arena."
"Arena? You mean..." Alan felt the cold prick of panic, and quelled it forcibly.
Halthzor raised an eyebrow in a remarkably Terran expression. "So you know of my infamous cousin's proclivities, Terran?"
Alan swallowed hard. His throat was dry, too, and he wished for a drink of water. "It's rumored that he's a sadist."
Halthzor regarded him expressionlessly for a moment, then made an abrupt gesture of anger and helplessness. "The rumors are quite true. I suppose I should continue the charade for my family's honor, but I no longer choose to do so. My cousin is a sadist, a dishonor to my family and an even greater dishonor to the family of the Warlord. It is only his close kinship to His Majesty which has kept him immune to discipline up until now. He is in line to the throne, as you may know."
Alan did know. Halthzor and Scwinthzor were both great grandsons of Gavalthzor who was brother to the grandfather of the present Warlord, Havalthzor IV. Scwinthzor was behind Halthzor in line for the throne, although there were several young minor children between them. However, if Scwinthzor became Regent, the chances of those young Jilectans reaching their majority was next to nothing. Alan was well aware of that, and Halthzor must be, too. Alan could sense his controlled anger and desperation.
He glanced past Halthzor at the barred door. The Jilectan stood up and with one hand lifted Alan to his feet. "How is your neck, Alan?"
His tone was neither patronizing nor overbearing, and the use of his given name surprised Alan. He smiled, feeling very small and powerless beside the huge figure of the Viceroy. "Pretty good now, M'lord." He went past the Viceroy and over to the door. Halthzor came up beside him, grasped the bars in his powerful hands, and wrenched. Muscles bulged in his arms as he strained. Alan reached up beside him and added his own efforts.
The bars remained immobile. After a few moments Halthzor gave up and leaned against the wall of the cell, breathing hard. Alan peered out through the bars.
Without was the arena, a huge, open space, apparently carved from native rock, and ringed with seats for the spectators. Beyond the seats a forest could be seen, but there was little hope of reaching it, since it was cut off by the shimmer of a protecting force field.
Alan glanced at Halthzor. "Any idea what he has in mind for us?"
"Ah, yes, Alan. I have no doubt that my cousin intends for us to do battle with some kind of native animal."
Alan nodded. "I figured as much." He produced a smile that felt strained. "We aren't beaten yet, Your Highness."
"Indeed, Alan? I had thought we were."
"Maybe not." Alan opened his shields wide scanning. Halthzor was doing the same, for the Terran could detect the aura strongly, although the alien overlord's thoughts made no attempt to invade his own.
"What do you have in mind, Alan?" The question was pleasant and respectful, not the tone a Jilectan usually employed with a Terran.
Alan glanced up, feeling like a midget beside the huge form of the Viceroy. "Well, sir, I..." He stopped with a muted cry.
A voice was in his mind, calling his name; a telepathic voice which he had never heard before, and yet which seemed very familiar. It took him a moment of sheer confusion to convince himself that it was, indeed, the voice of Mark Linley.
*Kid! Where are you?*
Instinctively Alan spoke a tentative reply. *Is that you?*
*Damn right. Where are you?*
*We're in a cell in Scwinthzor's arena.* This couldn't be happening! Mark Linley had no controllable psychic abilities. He... The truth hit him. Mark had somehow managed to take some of Worley's drug. He had become a functioning psychic.
"Who is it?" Halthzor's hand closed on Alan's shoulder. "Your psychic partner?"
"What? Oh ... yes." Alan had to take a moment to rearrange his thoughts. Halthzor must have picked up the call, but hadn't recognized who it was. If they could keep it that way, so much the better. "Yes, he's ... he's on his way." Alan spoke to Mark again. *Where are you?*
Mark must have realized what was going on. *On my way, Alan. Where's Scwinthzor, and what's going on?*
*I don't know where Scwinthzor is,* Alan began.
He was interrupted by Halthzor's voice, breaking in telepathically on the line of communication. *My deplorable cousin is keeping his shields up, so as not to ruin the suspense.*
Alan continued, *We're in a cell beside the arena. I don't know where that is, but...*
*I know.* Again Halthzor's voice interjected. *It is about ten kilometers east of the lodge. Where are you, Partner of Alan Westover?*
*I'm on my way, M'lord. He hasn't got you fighting anything yet?*
*Negative, but it will not be long.*
*Hurry,* Alan said.
*I will. Listen, Alan, Scwinthzor has that package I was carrying. Be good if we could get it back.*
Alan swallowed. *I'll try.*
*Maybe together we'll succeed. I'll be there with my men very shortly.*
*You had best hurry, partner of Alan Westover,* Halthzor's voice interjected again. *I have the feeling that time is getting short.*
*Me too,* Alan said. He glanced at Halthzor, wondering now if the Viceroy had recognized his newfound partner for who he was, but Halthzor's eyes met his, uncomprehending. He wasn't faking it. Why should he? The idea that Mark Linley could be a psychic was simply too ridiculous for consideration.
In a way the knowledge that Mark, his fully functioning psychic partner, was coming, was encouraging, and another aspect it was disconcerting since he knew now that he no longer possessed his power pack. Halthzor must be wondering, too, at the strength of the aura behind this approaching Terran psychic. Mark's aura was incredibly powerful; by far the most powerful psychic Alan had ever sensed. Linley's powers were probably quite equal to his own.
Halthzor spoke, his voice thoughtful. "Your partner is a very powerful psychic, Alan. His aura is quite impressive; equal with your own, I would say."
Alan couldn't think of an answer. Halthzor regarded him soberly for a moment, then continued thoughtfully. "I had hoped the Terran psychics like yourself were uncommon among your species, but I fear now that it is not so."
Alan shrugged uneasily. "We have our share of powerful psychics, but very few of them are as powerful as that one. He's a very unusual psychic."
Halthzor smiled faintly. "Are you, by chance, trying to comfort me, little empath?"
"Comfort you? I just..."
His words were cut off as a speaker above their heads came suddenly to life. The voice of a Jilectan speaking the alien's native language issued from it.
Alan spoke the Jilectan language, although not fluently, and understood most of what was being said. The tone of the voice was a rich hearty baritone.
"Greetings, dearest cousin! You know why you are here! You shall do combat with..." The name of the creature was strange to Alan, and he missed a few of the following words in trying to translate. "... Are not stupid and know me better than that! But who knows? Maybe you will think of a way to get the better of me. Do try! The ones who try are far more amusing than those who do not..."
Alan shuddered, glancing at Halthzor. The Viceroy's mouth was a grim line, his eyes hard. Surprisingly for a fleeting moment, he reminded Alan of Mark Linley.
The voice was continuing. "I am releasing my..." again the name of the creature, "now. Do come out and get acquainted before it comes in there after you and spreads your guts all over my clean cell!"
The Viceroy made a soft growling sound in his throat. Alan swallowed hard and forced a grin. "Pleasant fellow, your cousin."
Halthzor's eyes focussed abruptly on Alan. For an instant he looked startled and annoyed. Then his face cleared and he smiled sardonically. "I have never become accustomed to Terran humor, but then, never before has it been directed at me in such a manner. Yes, my cousin is most pleasant." A short laugh. "Ah, Alan, if only..." He stopped abruptly, and to Alan's surprise bent and placed a large, gentle hand on his shoulder. "I fear we are doomed, my friendly enemy."
"What did he say we were to fight? I didn't catch it."
"But you understood the rest? Quite commendable for a Terran. We are about to do battle with a tarj. It is a large, ferocious animal native to... but you shall soon see for yourself, for I fear our moment has come."
The gate was sliding open. Alan peered out of their prison and saw, across the field, another gate opening. The entire arena was surrounded by a high stone wall.
Alan waited, feeling his heart thumping hard against his ribs. *Better hurry!* He voiced the words in his mind.
*Coming, kid, fast as I can. Try to hold on.*
A creature lumbered through the other opening, and instantly Alan recognized it as a slightly larger replica of the animal he had used to break down Scwinthzor's fence when they had first entered the estate. Sudden, wild hope shot through him. If only...
He caught Halthzor's arm. "My Lord! I have an idea!"
The Viceroy turned to look at him, his face white. Alan could see a pulse jumping in the alien's throat. "Yes?"
Scwinthzor might have their cell bugged. He'd better use telepathy. Quickly Alan erected his selective shielding to hide Underground secrets and reached telepathically toward Halthzor's mind.
*My Lord, I have the ability to control animals. I'm just learning how, but I did control a tarj earlier when we first came through Scwinthzor's defenses.*
An eyebrow lifted, and Halthzor's eyes widened. *And you think you may be able to do the same with this one?*
*It might be difficult, sir. This one's hungry; but I can try.*
*I fail to see how that will help us, however. My cousin will soon realize what is happening...*
*Hold on, sir. I'm not finished.* Quickly he outlined his plan, one eye on the tarj, which was standing motionless in the center of the field, tentacles and trunk lifted into the soft breeze. His shields were wide open, and even as he spoke, he was scanning. Halthzor listened in silence as he outlined his plan. The tarj's tentacles waved aimlessly for several moments, then steadied, all of them now pointing in their direction.
Halthzor's hand once again closed on his shoulder. *A daring and dangerous plan, Terran, but indeed, probably our only chance. Are you certain you can control this creature?*
Alan shrugged philosophically. *No, M'lord, I'm not. I'm just learning, and I'm not terribly good at it yet.*
Halthzor sighed. *Never did I think the time would come when I would wish that a Terran psychic had more training.* Another sigh. *My son, Salthzar, had this talent, so I know its usage well. Very well, my friendly enemy, this is the technique for melding with and controlling the mind of a non psychic, be it beast or intelligent being. The greatest precision is necessary ...*
Alan listened, unaware that Halthzor was clasping his shoulders as the most powerful of Jilectan lords schooled him in psychic technique. It took perhaps a minute. Then Halthzor, released him, turning him around hard to face the opening. Both his shoulders felt bruised.
"It is coming, Alan. We had best go face it before, as my cousin prophesied, it eats us in our pen."
Alan nodded and stepped from the enclosure, Halthzor beside him.
The tarj was lumbering toward them, making soft growling noises. To their left, as he had already seen with clairvoyance, was Scwinthzor, enthroned in a special, very ornate cushioned chair, strategically located to oversee the entire arena. To his right, Jones was seated in a small chair of his own, and behind these two stood six Arcturians and a Procyon, who were, apparently shielded, for Alan could sense nothing from their minds. Alan knew a moment of surprise that Scwinthzor should so freely teach shielding to his servants, then realized why. Scwinthzor was taking no chances of his slaves being read by Halthzor, and probably only Jones would survive this little episode, anyway. Scwinthzor would, undoubtedly, dispose of the others as soon as it was finished.
The tarj was closing the distance, and Alan found himself shrinking toward Halthzor, feeling panic contract his throat. The thing was tremendous, and its eyes glared at them from beneath the shaggy black fur. It was larger than the one they had seen in the forest, and much hungrier. Alan could sense it's eager anticipation as it lumbered toward them on it's eight thick legs.
Swiftly he located the mind, sensing again the sharp twinge of hunger and anticipation. Again panic touched him, and he willed it back. Trying to follow Halthzor's instructions exactly, he gripped the thing's consciousness tight and turned.
The tarj gave a short howl, swerved, and began lumbering across the arena toward Scwinthzor. Even intent as he was upon his task, Alan sensed the sudden confusion from Scwinthzor's mind. Would the alien catch on? Probably not. He would know Halthzor wasn't a non psychic controller, and he didn't know that Alan was a psychic. However it wouldn't take him long to add up two and two. He wasn't dumb, in spite of his other tendencies.
Halthzor grasped Alan's wrist and together they sprinted after the creature.
He was pulled along like a doll, and the Viceroy's speed was incredible. The warm breeze whistled past his face. The control to open the arena door materialized before his eyes. It was within Scwinthzor's box seat, too far away for him to trigger it without one of his power packs to help him.
They were approaching the wall, and Alan felt his nerves tightening. He was going to have to move fast, because there were going to be several people shooting at him at once. When his desperate plan was put into effect, Scwinthzor was going to figure out quick that he was dealing with a Terran psychic, and take action. Already the Viceroy's cousin was leaning forward, puzzlement and concern radiating from his mind.
The wall was before them. Halthzor's hand suddenly released Alan's wrist and extended itself. Alan stepped into the Viceroy's palm and felt himself surge upward at a powerful thrust from the ruler's uninjured arm.
He literally sailed upward through the air and landed heavily upon the tarj's back. For a second he wavered, then regained his footing. Ducking the aimlessly lashing trunk, he took one step forward and leaped again.
His fingers met the six meter wall, hooked over it, and pulled. Adrenaline leant him strength and he heaved himself upward, got a leg over the wall, and scrambled to the summit. Halthzor was shouting something, trying his best to distract the observers for a few vital seconds. Scwinthzor's chair was less than three meters away, and Alan located again the control to open the arena. He triggered it with telekinesis, then scrambled across the flat top of the wall, and dropped to freedom.
Chapter VIII
Halthzor watched with amazement as the lithe little Terran hit the tarj's back. Westover never paused, but leaped upward toward the wall of their prison. It was a long jump, and for one heart shaking instant Halthzor thought he wouldn't make it. Then he had caught the wall and was scrambling nimbly upward.
Scwinthzor had come to his feet, and Halthzor saw the blaster in his cousin's hand. Shouting as loudly as he could in an attempt to distract his kinsman, Halthzor charged for the exit.
It slid open before him. Dimly he heard his cousin's surprised oath, and saw him reaching for the control to close it.
Then he was through, hearing the door click shut behind him. Alan's voice shouted in his mind, asking him if he was all right. He replied hastily that he was as he bolted away from the door in the direction that he knew Westover to be.
The spectators, Scwinthzor included, were swarming from their seats like zeezees from their tree. Halthzor fled away from them, seeing the force field ahead, cutting him off from the safety of the forest. The Arcturians had gone after Westover. The Procyon, Jones and Scwinthzor had reached the ground and were coming after him. They had him cut off, and he dodged behind some tumbled boulders. There was little concealment here, and he couldn't hope to evade his cousin for long. He could sense Scwinthzor's mind, the eager anticipation of the hunter, coupled with the knowledge that things were now getting a bit out of hand. Cousin Halthzor and his tame Terran psychic might well beat his subordinates, get armed, and come after him. That, of course, would never do.
However, Halthzor knew that the chances were still hopelessly against him and his friendly enemy. He and Westover were unarmed, and they had seven armed beings after them.
A blaster hissed past the boulder where he had taken refuge, and he retreated to another one, cursing between his teeth. He caught a glance of his pursuers during the transfer, and saw that his cousin was grinning. They knew they had him, of course. If Alan Westover's partner didn't show up soon, he was done for.
*Alan!* he shouted telepathically.
*Here, M'lord!* came the response.
*I need help!*
*They've got me pinned, M'lord.* The reply was surprisingly calm. *Try to hold on. My partner will be here in a minute!*
Halthzor glanced frantically around. To his right were more boulders and a few scraggly trees. He leaped toward them, scrabbling on all fours, and felt a blaster beam hiss close past his head. Running feet behind him, and a blaster beam spat. He leaped behind another boulder, aware now that Scwinthzor was playing with him.
From somewhere came the hum of an aircar. Halthzor, flattened behind a boulder, heard sudden, abrupt orders from Scwinthzor, then the sound of running feet. Not far away was the crack of a blaster set to kill, followed instantly by the hum of stunbeams.
Scwinthzor was approaching. Halthzor looked desperately around, but there was no cover, save the scraggly trees. Hopelessly he leaped for them, heard Scwinthzor laugh, and felt the beam of a blaster hiss past his leg.
"Ah, my dear kinsman." Scwinthzor's voice was directly behind him. Halthzor rolled to his back and saw his cousin's form standing over him. Platinum blond hair moved softly in the light breeze, and brilliant green eyes regarded him with amusement. Behind him stood Jones and the Procyon, blasters also drawn and held tightly in both hands.
Scwinthzor took another step forward, grinning. "Ah, my dearest cousin, you have been a most amusing specimen. Really, I never thought that you, of all Jilectans, would stoop to using a Terran psychic, but then, he has proved a most clever little fellow, has he not? Come, my dear kinsman, get up. You wish to die on your feet, do you not?"
Halthzor pushed himself to a sitting position and began to stand up.
Scwinthzor's weapon cracked suddenly, and he couldn't restrain a gasp as the beam passed his face, close enough to raise blisters on the skin. Again Scwinthzor laughed. "You may wish to die on your feet, cousin, but I wish for you to die groveling on your belly." Another shot, and Halthzor had to twist sideways away from the heat of the beam. The jewels of the blaster glinted softly in the illumination of the hand lights held by the two servants.
"Have you any last words?" Scwinthzor fired again, and he yelped as the beam singed his leg, burning away the fine material of his jumpsuit. He found himself on his stomach on the ground, his head raised to his cousin's grinning face.
"Ah, Halthzor, my dear, this posture suits you well." The blaster descended until it was only a meter from his face. "The time has now come to make an end to this most enjoyable charade; even more enjoyable than I had anticipated, thanks to your little pet psychic. But do not grieve for your ladies, cousin. They will not be lonely for long, and I shall so enjoy taking your dear Travinthzill to wife ..."
And then, incredibly, unbelievably, the tiny form of Alan Westover appeared from behind the concealing boulders at Scwinthzor's left flank, a blaster clutched in both hands. Scwinthzor's precognitive powers warned him at the same instant and he spun, the motion a blur to Halthzor's watching eyes.
The weapons spat together. Scwinthzor voiced a scream and continued his spiral to sprawl to the ground in an ungainly heap.
Jones and the Procyon were moving, both of them leaping toward Alan, their weapons lifted. Halthzor found himself on his feet at the same instant and charging forward. His mad rush bowled Jones completely over, and he felt the Terran's vertebrae crack beneath his foot. The Procyon gave a startled squawk as Halthzor swept him up. They surged past Alan, knocking the Terran to the ground, and landed hard against the boulder. The Procyon gave an agonized screech and there was a sickening snap.
Then all was still. Jones lay motionless on the ground, quite dead, and the Procyon clutching a broken wrist, remained passive in Halthzor's grip. Alan, from his sitting position on the ground, stared up at the Viceroy with wide, dazed eyes.
Halthzor hurled the Procyon to the ground and placed a foot on the creature's skinny neck, beginning to apply the necessary pressure to extinguish its life as well.
And stopped at Alan's sharp intake of breath. The Terran's gaze had shifted to the writhing, screeching Procyon, and his expression had altered to one of distress and sympathy. Ridiculously, Halthzor found himself releasing some of the pressure. There was, he told himself, no point in upsetting the empath. This stupid bird could be taken care of later, far from Alan's empathic sensibilities.
He bent, picked up the blaster, flipped the weapon to stun, and fired. The Procyon subsided, and Halthzor extended a hand to help the Terran psychic to his feet. "Come, Alan. We must escape from here. Where did those four Arcturians vanish to?"
"I got two of 'em." Alan sounded breathless. "They charged me, and I disarmed 'em both. My friends went after the other two in the aircar."
"Indeed?" Halthzor found himself smiling warmly at his small rival. "I do hope your partner returns for us soon. I shall be most pleased to conclude this unpleasant business as rapidly as possible."
"Me too." Alan was concentrating, and Halthzor picked up snatches of telepathic communication between Westover and his powerful partner. The mind of the other psychic seemed hauntingly familiar to him, but he simply couldn't place it.
Alan smiled. "They're on their way back. They got the other two Arcturians."
"Excellent." Halthzor heaved a deep sigh and seated himself on the boulder, rubbing his injured arm.
Alan's touched his wrist a little timidly. "Lord Halthzor?"
"Yes?" Halthzor looked at his Terran comrade. Standing beside him, Alan came just to his shoulder, where he sat on the rock, and looked absurdly short and slight. Why, the Viceroy thought, the Terran was no taller than the average six-year-old Jilectan child!
Alan spoke soberly. "You saved my life a moment ago, and I realize you didn't have to. With Scwinthzor dead, you could certainly have handled Jones and Ch'Grik." He glanced down at the still form of the Procyon, then up to meet Halthzor's gaze again. "Thank you."
Impulsively, Halthzor took the Terran's hand in his own and clasped it warmly. "I now understand my Lady Travinthzill's affection for you, Alan. You are a most pleasant Terran with which to associate. Your thanks are accepted, and I now render my own thanks for your timely rescue." He stopped, regarding the little man with genuine regret. "Ah, Alan Westover, my dear enemy, if circumstances were only different ..."
Epilogue
Mark Linley, his shields up tight to hide his newfound psychic abilities from the powerful mind of the Viceroy, followed Alan and Halthzor through the doors of the lifeboat bays. They had taken off from Trachum some two hours ago in the private luxury yacht in which they had come to the ringed world, and had now emerged from hyperspace to allow Halthzor to return to Corala in one of their lifeboats.
Mark paused in the doorway watching as Halthzor and Alan stopped before the lifeboat.
The Viceroy extended both hands and clasped the Terran's shoulders in the Jilectan equivalent of an embrace.
"Goodbye, my friendly enemy. I shall always remember you."
Alan clasped the Jilectan's elbows. "And I, you, Your Highness. I must say it's been educational, and I'm glad I've been able to get to know you better."
"For me, also, it has been educational, Alan. I never imagined I could be so friendly with a Terran psychic."
Alan nodded, smiling. "I suppose the truce is over now, sir."
"I fear so." Halthzor held Alan away from him, regarding the little Terran soberly. "It is my duty, distasteful as it is, to oppose you." For a moment he gazed deeply into Alan's eyes, then continued, "I find this most regrettable."
"So do I," Alan said, quietly. "I like you, Lord Halthzor."
The Jilectan clasped his hand, Terran fashion. "And I you, Alan. I have learned this last day, what a human empath can be, and shall never regard such an ability again as a weakness. Truly, I envy this elusive psychic partner of yours. With you at my side, there is nothing we might not accomplish."
Alan smiled. "You could be right, Your Highness."
Halthzor returned the smile. "And, I assume, you are not going to reveal to me who this secret partner of yours is?"
Alan's smile widened. "No, M'lord."
"Ah, the Underground and its secrets! Most intriguing." Halthzor shook Alan's hand solemnly. "Goodbye, my friendly enemy."
"Goodbye, Your Highness."
Halthzor released his hand, turned, and strode into the lifeboat. The hanger doors slid shut. A red light came on over the door.
Mark came up to stand beside Alan and dropped an arm across his partner's shoulders. Alan looked up at him and smiled. Above the door, the light changed from red to green.
"He's gone," Mark said, unnecessarily. "Okay, kid, what was all that about?"
Alan sighed. "He saved my life, Mark, right after I shot Scwinthzor. He kept two of his cousin's flunkies from killing me."
"No kiddin'?"
"He sure did."
"Man! You must'a really impressed him, pal, but I guess if anyone could, it'd hafta be you."
Alan flushed. "Hey! Cut it out."
"Okay. By the way, is he gonna clear the Underground o' suspicion in this mess?"
"Yes, Mark. In fact, he's already done it; part of it, anyway. Right after we came aboard, he headed for the com and sent a hyperspace message to Lady Travinthzill that he was safe, and that we'd had nothing to do with his disappearance."
"I wondered why you two headed off like that. Didja get to speak to his Lady, kid?"
Alan's flush deepened. "Yes, I did. She thanked me."
"Man! You made history again, pal!" Mark laughed and gave him a slap on the back that nearly knocked him down. "Y'know, I gotta feelin' His Highness really likes you."
"Yes, I think he does. You know, it's funny, Mark; I mean, Halthzor's caused me a lot of pain and inconvenience in my life, and yet, when I got to know him, I really liked him, too. If things were different, we could have been friends; maybe good friends."
Mark digested that. "Y'know, Alan, it's a funny thing, but I sorta liked him, too, and I sure as hell respected him." He paused, then grinned. "But I'll betcha that won't make one bit o' difference if he ever catches us again."
"You're right." Alan sighed and changed the subject. "Well, Mark, how do you like being a psychic?"
"It's a whole new world li'l pal. I sorta like it, too. Y'know, it's gonna be wearin' off soon, an' I wonder if you'd gimmie a few pointers before it does. Who knows; I might hafta turn psychic again some time, an' it'd be nice to know what I'm doin'. This was a sorta sink or swim business an' it was real nerve wrackin'."
"Sure," Alan said. He grinned. "Partner."
"Yeah, that was a nice touch, too; that we're still partners. Looks like it was fated to be, huh?"
Alan nodded. "It was a relief, too. Look Mark, which powers are you sure you have? We'll try the whole lot and go from there."
"Well, I can shield ..."
"And how! You've got that down to a science!"
"Lot's of practice, kid. Lemme see, I'm a telepath and a clairvoyant, and a telekinetic..."
"Are you an empath?" Alan asked, eagerly.
"Hell no. None o' that sissy stuff for me, kid."
"Oh." Alan looked disappointed. "I was sort of hoping you were."
Mark grinned widely. "Man! I guess my shields really are good. That's the first time I've ever been able to put anythin' over on you!"
"You mean ... you *are* an empath?"
Mark sighed. "I'm afraid so."
"Oh good!" Alan laughed.
"Whatcha mean, good! It's hell!"
"I know," Alan said. "And now you know, too!"
THE END
