Rainy Season: 6/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
V
Even flying low, the buffeting of the wind made it difficult to control the car. Alan kept them only a few feet above the flooded pavement in an effort to minimize the problem but he could feel the stabilizers fighting the gusts that battered the car about like a kite in a windstorm.
Linley turned on the radio and tuned in to the Patrol frequency. They listened for some minutes to the transmissions and it became quickly apparent that a search was indeed being conducted, and not only for the missing twin. Rumors were flying that Westover and Linley were also in the area. Several of the searchers had failed to report in and more parties were being dispatched.
"They *do* know!" Dwayne sounded angry but not surprised. "Man, whoever that trencher is, he didn't waste no time, did he?"
"No," Alan said.
The boy leaned forward over the back seat. "You think maybe they'll mention his name?"
Mark shook his head. "I doubt it. If I were an informer on the Saberclaws I sure wouldn't give 'em my real name. Too much chance of it gettin' back to the folks at home." He drew a finger across his throat.
Dwayne nodded. "Yeah, you're right, but when I do find out who he is, he's gonna be plenty sorry."
Mark clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll find out, kid. Alan's real good at findin' out stuff that the bad guys don't want him to know. Besides, this guy's scared. He ain't gonna give up now. He'll be back, an' when he shows, we'll get him."
Dwayne nodded, looking back and forth between them, and Alan sensed admiration. "It must be great t'be an Undergrounder."
Linley grinned. "It ain't bad," he said. "Beats the hell outta the Patrol."
"Yeah," Dwayne said. "I'm probably gonna be big enough to join the Patrol in a couple o' years." His voice trailed off. "There really ain't much else a kid like me can do with m'self. I can't even read, an' I ain't trained in nothin' but street fightin'."
"Not a bad thing for an Undergrounder to know," Mark said.
"Undergrounder? Me?"
Alan judged it was time for him to step in. He had been sensing the emotions in the boy since they had met. Dwayne envied and admired them, and wanted desperately to be like them. He had grown up abused and half-starved but in spite of it all, he had managed to survive, unbroken. His was the type of personality that the Underground was looking for. The only thing holding young "Weasel" back was the underlying fear that he wasn't good enough. If Alan could squelch that now -- tactfully, of course ...
"You know, Dwayne," he said, "when I joined the Underground, I was eighteen, but I was as green as they come. I wouldn't have known *what* to do if someone had pulled a knife on me. The Underground taught me everything I needed to know. They have the best instructors there -- in fact, they have the best of just about everything, and if you get into trouble, you know there's always someone there to back you up. Do you remember Mark Warwick? He told me that he was a 'Claw."
"Yeah." Weasel nodded. "He usta say that his dad was Strike Commander Linley."
"I am," Linley said. "Him and his mom are in the Underground, now. Mark's a cadet, on his way to bein' an officer someday. He didn't know much more'n you when he came in -- but now he's doin' great."
Dwayne was silent but Alan could feel the boy watching them. Around them, the dark, crumbling buildings of Scaifen's inner city slid by, becoming even more dilapidated as they progressed. They must be approaching the Fitzwater section.
Dwayne drew in his breath to speak, then apparently changed his mind. Alan said nothing, figuring that he had planted the seed and it would sprout in due time. Instead, he glanced at the radio. "Weather report," he said.
The channels obediently flipped over. "... Tropical storm Glavishvor movin' in from the ocean is causin' conditions to worsen," an announcer informed them. "Residents of the low-lyin' areas are strongly urged to move to higher ground until the danger has passed. A mudslide in the Trenthvor Mountains has caused extensive damage to the mansion of Lord Strevinthvor. Lady Linthvill, M'lord's fourth wife, was trapped briefly in her room after the slide but was pulled to safety by rescue workers minutes later. She was taken to Drinthvor Medical Center and treated for shock and minor injuries. Four of the house servants perished in the incident ..."
"Yeah, an' you can tell the Jils are real tore up over it, too," Mark said, acidly. "They didn't even mention it until they got finished tellin' about Lady Linthvill's harrowin' experience."
Alan shrugged philosophically. "You expected anything else?"
"Nope. I worked for 'em for ten years. Wouldn't go back for nothin'."
"The danger o' flash floods is growin'," the announcer continued. "A number of residents have perished when a buildin' collapsed in the Kinwat section o' the city. Fortunately, no Jilectans were injured, however a number of Terrans and three Procyons were among the victims."
"We're gonna hafta be careful," Dwayne said. "There's plenty o' buildin's in the Fitzwater district that's ready t'go, too. We're about there, Colonel."
Alan noted with amusement that, although both he and Mark had given the kids leave to call them by their first name, none of them, not even the leader, had done so. In spite of the Saberclaws' devil-may-care attitude, they must still hold the Terran Underground in grudging respect, which was reasonable, considering its reputation.
"Right here," Dwayne said. "One of our guys said the guy he talked to saw him between Fourth and Fifth on Eden Way."
"Okay." Alan settled the car into a cul-de-sac. The place was pitch-dark except for the lights of the aircar. The illumination revealed broken streets with vegetation sprouting between the cracks, pulled and tugged by the running water. The wind-whipped surface of the water that covered it half a meter in depth was alive with pattering raindrops. Towering buildings rose on all sides and what little he could see informed him that they were in an even greater state of disintegration than the buildings in the section of town from which they had just come.
Mark hadn't opened the door. "How about it?" he asked. "Any unfriendly natives around?"
"No." He pointed at a darker square of darkness that loomed across the alley from the cul-de-sac. "There's a drunk in that dumpster. People here and there -- none close by. Hold on, I'm scanning a little farther away." He rested a hand on Linley's arm, drawing power from his partner. And there it was, a bright spot of psychic energy, standing out from the other, non-psychic minds, human and otherwise, within his range of perception. Fear, bordering on terror, reached him, loud and distinct as such signals usually were when the source was an unshielded psychic.
"I'm picking him up," Alan said. "He's not that far away and broadcasting like crazy."
"Great. Can we take the car?"
"I don't think so. It feels like he's inside something -- one of the buildings, maybe. To the left and moving -- somewhere above us. I think we can go faster on foot."
"You're the boss. How about the car?"
"Nobody's going to find it here," he said, switching off the lights as he spoke. "You couldn't see it standing a meter from it right now."
"He's right," Dwayne said. "I can't see nothin'."
"That's what we thought last time," Linley muttered.
"That was earlier," Alan said. "The storm's much worse now."
"That ain't necessarily a good thing, kid," Mark said as Alan pushed the door open and stepped out into water that came past his knees. Mark and Dwayne also got out, locking the doors behind them, not that it would do any good against a determined assault by the denizens of Shallock's slums.
Although he was physically blind, his clairvoyant sense told him everything that was around them. Mark had his blaster out and Dwayne was clutching the one they had taken from the unfortunate driver of the car, holding it with the grip of someone who had some familiarity with the weapon. The slum kids of Shallock learned such things early, he knew. If you couldn't defend yourself from a very young age, you didn't get much older.
"Don't show a light," he told them. "I'm going to guide both of you out of here."
"How can you see?" Dwayne protested.
"Just do as he says," Linley's voice said from the darkness. "Remember who you're talkin' to."
Alan reached out and grasped Dwayne lightly by the forearm. An instant later, he caught his partner by the upper arm. "This way."
He led the way out of the alley, fighting the tug of the water. They emerged onto the flooded street and braced themselves against the wind that hit them the second they stepped out of the shelter of the alley. Alan released his companions' arms. "Follow me."
The psychic broadcast was coming from the crumbling building across the next street and to their left. Somewhere in that deathtrap that swayed and creaked in the buffeting wind, was a Terran youngster who would certainly die soon if they didn't locate him. Alan reached out toward the boy's mind, trying to attract his attention. If he could only talk to the small fugitive, tell him that they were friends ...
He touched the boy's thoughts at once. Telepathic ability flickered in strong, uncontrolled waves from his mind. Matt Eckland was a powerful psychic, all right, just like his twin brother. His earlier suspicion that the two must be double-gene psychics seemed more likely than ever.
"Matt." He spoke the name in the boy's mind. "Matt, can you hear me?"
The boy was trying to detach himself, to pull away from Alan's mental touch. Alan tried again. "Matt, listen to me! You're a psychic. I want to help you."
Matt was paying no attention. Fear changed to blind, panicky flight and Alan got a blurred, terrified impression of movement ... running ... pain in one foot and the ache of a bruised shin.
His partner's hand closed on his upper arm, snapping him back to the outer world. Linley pulled him behind a two-meter-high pile of garbage, and even before he saw the Patrol car, Alan sensed something else: something that made the hair on his neck prickle. His shields snapped up.
Mark pushed him backward and down. "Watch it, kid!" he whispered.
"Mark, there's a Jil in that car!"
Linley cursed under his breath. "Well, dammitall! That tears it wide open! He's gonna be after the kid, too -- probably already is. Did he sense you?"
"I don't think so. You're right, though; he can't help but sense poor Matt. We have to hurry. This way."
Linley started to protest, then closed his mouth with a snap and followed Alan down a flooded alley, skirting garbage and debris. Dwayne kept pace with them. A yawning black hole in the building appeared in the wall and Alan turned into it. Dwayne and Linley followed.
Inside the building, Alan flicked his handlight to low, paused and carefully lowered his shielding. Yes, there was the strong, terrified mind of young Matt, overriding even the menacing aura of the Jilectan behind it. He started to close his shields again and paused.
Was he imagining things? For an instant, he thought so but a moment later he knew he wasn't. There was another psychic nearby -- the same one he had sensed before. A Terran mind, worried and unfriendly.
It *had* to be the informer! Desperately, for the moment ignoring the hovering threat of the Jilectan's mind, Alan reached for the mind of the Terran, groping for a name. He felt the other mind sense him and the sudden wrench of panic. The psychic's mind closed, shutting him out.
Something struck him across the shins, knocking his feet from under him. He went down in a swirl of stinking garbage and rushing water. Mark grabbed him and hauled him instantly upright. Alan spluttered, spitting out water. Something skittered down his shoulder and dropped off with a splash into the flood.
"You okay, kid?"
"Yeah." Alan coughed up more water, trying not to think about the contents. "We have to hurry. The Jil's coming, and I just sensed the informer, again. He's following us."
"Didja see what he looked like?" Dwayne asked.
"No. I was trying to get his name but he closed his shields too fast. Whoever he is, he's smart."
"He's gonna be sorry," Dwayne said. Alan could almost hear him gritting his teeth. "When I find out who he is ..."
Alan cracked his shields a fraction. There was the Jil again, and the mind of the twin, moving away. Would the alien risk his life coming into these rickety structures after his quarry? Alan doubted it. Most likely he would send a bunch of expendable patrolmen, instead.
"This way." He led them across the flooded room. This building had to be in the last stages of disintegration. In fact, from what he could see of it in the flickering illumination of the handlights, it was a little surprising that it hadn't toppled long ago. The thought made his spine tingle. They had to hurry!
Mark said what he was thinking. "This place is gonna come down before long in this wind. Y'know that, don'tcha?"
"I'm doing my best," he said. He led them down a decaying hallway and through another shuttered room. Even in the building, the water came almost to his knees. The smell was nearly suffocating.
Dwayne stumbled and fell with a noisy splash. Something squealed and Alan heard the boy curse softly. Mark hauled him up, one-handed. "You okay, kid?"
"Yeah, fine." The reply was breathless. Above them, a small piece of masonry detached itself and rattled downward, dislodging a few more pieces in its passage. Alan could hear the ancient structure creaking and swaying in the gale.
They went through a half-collapsed doorway and into another room. The Jilectan was definitely closer and with him, Alan could sense less clearly the wary, non-psychic minds of patrolmen. Had the alien entered the crumbling tenements? Was M'lord so bent on capturing the psychic fugitive that he would risk his diamond-studded skin to do it?
There were stairs to his left and the psychic broadcast of the frightened boy was somewhere above. He concentrated again. "Matt, can you hear me? I'm here to help you! Don't run away."
The boy heard him. He was sure of that. Young Matt was now aware not only of him but of the Jilectan as well and abruptly, for the first time, the alien seemed to become aware of Alan. There was a brief, unpleasant moment as the Jilectan's thoughts touched his. Forcibly, Alan tore his mind free, raising his shields at the same instant.
Had the alien identified him? M'lord had been searching for the mind of a Terran psychic, and, like Alan, could have been aware of a shielded Terran psychic in the vicinity. It was possible that he might think Alan was that psychic and ignore him in lieu of securing the easier prey: the unshielded psychic. But the alternative was just as likely -- that the Jil would look upon the trained psychic as the more valuable catch and come after him, especially since the rumor had been spread that Alan Westover, the Jil Killer, was in the area.
They reached the next level of the stair. A broken doorway opened beside them, and more stairs extended upward into darkness, but the twin was on this level and not far away. Emerging unexpectedly into the open area, Alan staggered as the wind caught them again, throwing them all sideways.
"It's a parkin' lot!" Linley had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind. "Most o' these got three, maybe four levels. Where's our twin?"
"He's here." Alan turned in the direction where he had last sensed the boy. Yes, he was still there and scared silly. The broadcasting waves of terror were almost enough to drown out the mental signature of the Jilectan. Before anything else, they must somehow put a stop to the panic that was leading the pursuers directly to them.
"Easy, Matt." Hopelessly, he tried once again to speak to the boy. "We aren't going to hurt you."
"Lemme alone!" the boy's voice screamed through his brain. "I ain't done nothin' to you! Lemme alone!"
"Matt ..." Alan gave up. There was no reasoning with someone who was that terrified. He spoke to his partner.
"He's straight ahead of us, and scared out of his wits. Watch yourself; he has a blaster."
Even as he spoke, a flash of warning shot through him. He threw himself sideways at his partner just as Matt fired. The shot missed, but just barely. Water burst into steam behind them and Matt's voice came to them, carrying thinly through the rain and wind. "Get the blazes away from me you damn Jil! You come any nearer an' I'll fry your golden hide!"
"Stay down, Mark," Alan said. "He thinks you're a Jil."
Linley cussed. "Where *is* he?"
Alan could almost see the boy, crouched behind a crumbling pillar perhaps fifteen meters away. With Mark's help, he might be able to disarm him with telekinesis, he thought.
Dwayne's voice rose above the roar of the wind and rain. "Don't be a fool, Matt! They're Undergrounders! They're tryin' t'help you!"
No answer. Alan could feel the boy's fear like a living thing, his determination not to be taken by the Jilectan. He reached for his partner's wrist and felt the immediate surge of psychic power. Matt Eckland was crouching behind the pillar, a blaster in one hand. Very carefully, Alan hooked his telekinetic fingers behind the weapon and pulled.
The blaster leaped upward through the air, skidded across the wet pavement toward them.
"You got it!" Mark yelled. "C'mon, Dwayne!"
The boy was up at once, and together he and Mark charged. Alan heard a terrified scream from the fugitive and a clatter of footsteps. Alan also scrambled to his feet and ran forward, pausing to pick up the blaster that he had yanked from Matt's hand. Ahead of him he heard another scream and the sounds of a struggle. Alan hurried toward the scene of conflict.
Dwayne had young Matt in an armhold, but the psychic boy was struggling fiercely. As Alan approached, the captive executed a lithe, seemingly impossible contortion and managed to twist free. Mark caught him by one wrist and ducked as Matt aimed a wild swing at him, nearly clipping him.
"Matt!" Alan shouted, "it's okay! Take it easy!"
"Lemme go!" Matt screamed. "I ain't a psychic! Lemme go!"
The fear broadcast was incredible. Alan tried to touch the boy's shoulder, then leaped back as Matt aimed a wild kick at him. Mark moved suddenly and there was a sharp crack of flesh on bone. Matt Eckland sagged.
"Easy, kid." Mark was speaking before Alan could say anything. "I hit him real careful. He ain't hurt."
Alan nodded. It was obvious from his emotional output that Mark hadn't wanted to hit the boy but had felt it necessary. "It was just as well that you did," he said, unhappily. "He was broadcasting like crazy. At least you put a stop to that."
"I figured he had to be," Mark said, "an' you can just bet the Jil was homin' right in on it, too."
"He is." Alan knelt beside the limp figure, checking his breathing. A quick examination told him that Matt wasn't seriously hurt.
Linley scooped Matt up and settled him across his shoulders. "He's gonna have a sore jaw but it's better'n bein' dead. Where's the Jil?"
Alan cracked his shields again. The panicky fear broadcast had vanished when the boy had become unconscious but his psychic aura was still definitely present, and so was that of the Jil, not far away and coming closer.
"He's in the room below us," Alan said, "and coming this way." He glanced quickly around, trying to discern the layout of the parking structure. As he did so, movement caught his eye. A shadowy form flitted from one pillar to another and there was a glint of metal in the darkness.
Alan yelled and threw himself down as a blaster cracked, the sound partly drowned in a rumble of thunder. Water burst into steam behind him.
Mark splashed down beside him, his blaster out and leveled. Dwayne landed on his other side. "Is it the Jil?" he demanded, his voice squeaking slightly.
"No. Stay put." Alan scrambled to his feet and ran in the direction from which the shot had come. He *had* to get this guy! The very thought of a Terran psychic who would turn another Terran psychic in to the Jils infuriated him. He had met two such individuals and each time, *he* had been the psychic who had been the one intended to be turned in. The memories spurred him on.
His quarry was running. Alan saw a lithe, dark form vanish into the stairwell. He followed, his shields wide open and reaching out with all his extra-sensory equipment. The Terran psychic had paused on the landing above him and was waiting, probably to ambush him if he chose to follow, and below him he could sense the Jilectan. The alien was approaching the stairwell, drawn by Alan's unshielded mind.
The alien was accompanied by patrolmen, Alan knew. The non-psychic minds were much clearer now, which meant they were that much closer. For an instant the Jilectan's mind brushed his.
Alan wrenched his thoughts away. He couldn't put his shields up again, at least completely, because of the need to track both the stalker and the Jilectan. The alien was close, he thought. The patrolmen had entered the stairwell and were starting to ascend cautiously. Amazingly, the alien was with them, if somewhat in the rear.
Death below and death above. What was he going to do?
As usual, in a bad spot, Alan found himself thinking clearly. He clutched his blaster tightly and his elbow brushed the one that he had stuck in his belt, the one belonging to Matt Eckland. The answer hit him suddenly.
He pulled Matt's blaster from his belt, flipped it to emergency overload, tossed it down the stairs and ran. Sudden alarm colored the minds below him. Alan dived, rolling, for the shelter of one of the stone pillars, covering his head with both hands. A brief pause, and a concussion rocked the ancient building. Plaster and stone rained downward.
**********
tbc
