Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Original Fiction Rainy Season 8/8

Rainy Season: 8/8
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick

VII

The renegade psychic was in actuality only two rooms away, being drawn by the psychic aura of the now-awakening twin. Alan closed his own shields tightly and stepped through the doorway into darkness.

He didn't dare show a light. Might as well shout "here I am!" to the predator he hunted; the predator who had hidden among his fellows and camouflaged his true nature behind a façade of charm and friendship. Letting instinct guide him, Alan moved softly across the room to the next doorway: a pale rectangle in the blackness.

The light had a source. Alan waited a moment then cracked his shields slightly, figuratively peering between them at the psychic world that was not perceived by the general run of humanity. An instant later he closed them again, smiling thinly. Lefty was there, all right, and approaching cautiously. Alan melted through the door into the adjoining room. The soft glow was coming from the next room.

Alan crossed the floor and flattened himself against the far wall beside the broken doorway.

The light grew brighter. The psychic boy had to be tracking their movements through Dwayne and Matt. Mark's marginal shielding most likely was protecting him at least somewhat from the hunter, but the psychic twin and Dwayne's completely unshielded mind made it pathetically easy for another Terran psychic to pinpoint their locations. But he couldn't sense Alan. With his shields in place, no other mindreader had ever been able to do so and it was very unlikely that a self-trained psychic could accomplish such a feat. Alan waited, straining his ears, but the approaching boy made no sound.

A pale circle of light appeared suddenly through the doorway: a cigarette lighter held in a small, grimy hand. In the other hand was a genuine Patrol Issue blaster.

As expected, the psychic didn't see him. He went softly across the room, and suddenly the light went out. The hunter was preparing to move in on his prey.

Alan opened his shields and stepped silently away from the door, his own blaster leveled at the boy's spine. To a clairvoyant, the lack of lighting made no difference at all. "Freeze, Lefty," he said.

The boy spun, the blaster lifting. Alan was expecting it, however. The weapon twisted free of Lefty's hand and leaped straight across the room to Alan. He caught it deftly and shoved it into his belt.

"Put your hands on top of your head," he instructed. "Clasp your fingers together."

The boy obeyed at once. Alan gestured with the blaster. "Walk ahead of me. One false move and I shoot."

"Don't hurt me!" The voice was a pathetic whimper. "I won't never do it again, honest!" The boy sank to his knees, beginning to sob. "Please don't give me to the gang! They'll kill me!"

"Get up," Alan said.

The psychic did so, continuing to sob and plead for Alan not to take him to the gang. His very real distress touched Alan in spite of himself. The boy was an empath, he thought. He must be in order to manipulate Alan's feelings so easily. Was it possible that empathy could be perverted in such a way that the psychic could turn off the feelings of his fellows at will? Five minutes ago, this boy had been contemplating cold-blooded murder. Now he was a terrified youngster, pleading for his life. An empath dealing with an empath ...

"Please!" the boy entreated, "I won't never do it again! I'll disappear, I promise!"

Alan herded him through the last door and into the room where Mark and Dwayne waited. Matt Eckland lay on the floor beside Linley. He was curled into a ball and sobbing softly. As Alan approached, he saw his partner pat the boy's shoulder. Matt flinched away from him.

Linley looked up as he herded Lefty toward them and his white teeth flashed in a grin. "Good work, kid."

Alan nodded, but his attention was on Dwayne Seymour, whose whole attention was focused on Lefty. His leg had been bandaged, Alan saw in the glow of the handlight his partner held, and Mark had apparently cut away the last of the tattered trouser leg. Dwayne looked shocky and sick but his eyes never left the prisoner.

"I'm gonna kill you," he said, quite clinically.

Lefty swallowed and glanced back at Alan but said nothing.

"We've got to move," Alan said. "The Jil's getting closer."

"All right." Mark got to his feet. "I'm gonna hafta carry Matt, here. He's still sorta groggy." He bent to lift the boy in his arms. The twin flinched away from him again and Mark sighed. "Easy there, kid. I ain't gonna hurtcha."

Matt Eckland moaned, beginning to struggle. Alan reached telepathically, touching the boy's mind. *Calm down, Matt.* He tried to put all the reassurance possible into the mental words. *We're here to help you. We're taking you somewhere safe.*

"It ain't true, Matt!" Lefty shrilled. "They're takin' you t'the Jils!"

Matt tensed once more, beginning to fight. Alan jammed the muzzle of his blaster against the psychic's spine. "Shut up, Lefty," he said. "One more outburst like that, and I won't bother with you anymore. I'll stun you, handcuff you and leave you behind for the Patrol to find."

Left froze in genuine horror and Alan could sense the real fear in his mind.

"I'm sorry." He began to sob again.

Not all of it was an act, Alan realized. Lefty was in terror of his fate at the hands of the Jilectans, but the cold calculations behind the flood of emotions that he sensed in the psychic made a chill run up his spine. Lefty looked no older than Dwayne, but he was nearly twenty, and had survived for years by using his abilities to his advantage. Arnie hadn't been the first psychic that he had turned over to the aliens for a reward.

Mark looked disgusted. "Let's move, kid." He tightened his grip on Matt's wrists. "Calm down, buddy. We ain't takin' you t'the Jils. We're tryin' t'steer clear of 'em, ourselves."

It must have been the Shallockian accent, Alan thought, a touch of home that somehow reassured young Matt, for he suddenly went limp on Mark's shoulders. Mark nodded to Alan. "Lead on, kid. I'll follow."

Alan bent and helped Dwayne to his feet, at the same time keeping his blaster trained on Lefty's back. "Okay," he directed the renegade psychic. "Walk ahead of me through that door. Try anything, and I'll be sure the Jil catches up with you."

"I won't try nothin'."

"Good. Now, I want to know how you got here. There must be another entrance."

The boy glanced furtively at Dwayne. "Yeah, there is. I came up by the fire escape."

"Then lead us to it."

"If I do will you keep the gang from killin' me?"

Dwayne glowered at him. "We ain't makin' no deals."

"If you don't," Alan said, "you're no use to us and you stay here -- stunned. Take your pick."

Lefty swallowed. "Please, Mr. Westover ..."

"Show us the way out. Don't even try to lead us the wrong way. I'll know. I can go through your shields if I have to. They're not perfect by a long shot."

Lefty considered and then nodded reluctantly. "Okay. You win."

He hadn't given up, Alan thought. Behind the other psychic's shields, he could sense the mind working feverishly but couldn't spare the time or effort to penetrate them. The Jilectan's mind was looming closer every second.

The boy led them through another room and into a long hall in slightly better condition than the rooms they had left, but only slightly. This gave into another one, this one half collapsed, and at the end was an exit that opened onto the fire escape.

Alan nodded to Mark. "You and Matt should go first."

"Right." His partner glanced sideways at Lefty and spoke to Dwayne. "You follow me, kid. Alan's gonna have his hands full watchin' Lefty."

Dwayne snorted. "Why bother? Kill him an' get it over with."

"That's not the way we work," Alan said mildly. "Even Lefty deserves a fair hearing. Hurry up. We're not out of the woods yet."

"C'mon, kid," Mark said. "We gotta move."

Surprisingly, Dwayne didn't argue, but moved into position behind Linley. The youngster's face was damp with sweat, Alan noted, and his eyes looked glassy. Shock, so common with even a minor blaster burn, was setting in.

They began to descend the ladder. Mark went first, with Matt Eckland clinging groggily to his broad shoulders. Dwayne followed, his hands clumsy on the rungs, and behind him came Lefty. Alan took the rear, his blaster holstered but trying to keep a empathic finger on the emotional traces that the boy was broadcasting. The menacing mind of the Jil overshadowed everything else, and he could feel the hairs on his neck rising with apprehension.

They were halfway down when the vague feeling crystallized in a jolt of alarm. He jerked his attention back to the door they had just exited. "Mark!"

Linley's head also came up. Above them, from the fire escape door, the Jilectan appeared and behind him, Alan could see the black-clad forms of several Viceregal Patrolmen.

Instantly, Alan's blaster was in his hand. The weapon cracked and the alien dove back into the building, nearly trampling the men behind him. "Drop, Mark!" Alan shouted. "I'll cover you!"

Linley obeyed as two patrolmen appeared again, firing at the fugitives. Alan returned the fire. A shriek reached him faintly through the rain and wind and one of the black clad men collapsed on the platform. The other man fired again and from below he heard a scream. A blaster cracked so close beneath him that Alan barely restrained a jump. The shot winged the patrolman, who dived for cover.

Alan looked down. Dwayne was clinging to the ladder looking ready to collapse, but in one hand he clutched a blaster. In the street beneath, a body floated face down, its back charred open by a blaster bolt.

"Lefty," Dwayne said. "He tried to get away an' the 'trol got him. Stupid."

"Move, kid!" Mark's voice shouted. "I'll cover!"

"Go on, Dwayne," he said. "Hurry!"

The boy stuffed the blaster back into his shorts and started down again. Alan followed, crowding the boy slightly, keeping an anxious eye on him for fear he would slip on the wet rungs. Above him, a blaster cracked. Mark returned the fire. "Hurry!"

Alan and Dwayne half-fell the rest of the way down. Alan landed with a splash in the muddy, stinking water. It came up to his waist now, he realized with horror. Mark's blaster cracked again and above him there was another report. Water exploded into steam half a meter away.

"Let's go!" Mark shouted. He fired into the rain and wind and Alan heard a pained yell.

He half-hauled Dwayne to his feet. The youngster was giving out rapidly, he realized with dismay.

Mark led the way down the flooded sidewalk, keeping close to the buildings. Alan brought up the rear, firing occasionally to cover their retreat. Young Matt, he saw, was now clinging to Linley's back of his own accord. The twin's mind was once again active and beginning to broadcast waves of fear.

Linley paused, half-concealed behind a pile of floating rubbish. "We're cut off. We can't get to the car from here."

"I know." Alan braced himself against the rush of the water. Rain poured down and the wind howled around them, whipping the rushing water into whitecaps and making it even more difficult for him to keep his feet. The water was being funneled toward them from the high land to the north, west and south. It was rising every minute and the pull of the current was strong.

Mark's big hand clamped around his the upper arm, his grip almost painfully tight. "You stay right beside me, Alan. You could get swept away in this stuff, an' it ain't gonna get any better very soon."

Alan nodded, too breathless to answer. He hung onto Dwayne almost as tightly as Mark was hanging onto him and for the same reason. Off to their right, he caught movement and turned his head. The silhouette of a towering building slowly and majestically collapsed, the sound barely audible in the racket produced by the wind and rain. Lightning flashed brilliantly overhead, illuminating the flooded landscape and thunder crashed, shaking the ground. Debris from the collapsing structure swirled past in the ever-stronger current.

Mark was moving, dragging his three companions through the water toward the corner of the building beside them. Alan knew, of course, that Mark was strong but now he found himself marveling at his partner's strength. With Matt still clinging to his back, Linley was using his weight as an anchor for all of them.

They reached the corner at last. Dwayne was almost limp, his head sagging sideways, and Alan had to fight to keep the boy's head above the water. Mark paused, panting. "You okay back there?

"I'm fine," Alan managed, "but Dwayne's about out."

Linley swore under his breath. "Try an' hold him up a few more minutes."

"I'm doing my best," Alan assured him, gripping Dwayne's shoulder and using his free hand to keep the boy's mouth and nose in the air.

"Good. Okay, straight ahead."

They started forward against the current. The ground sloped upward here and the water roared past. Alan felt his feet lose their purchase but Linley's steel grip kept him above the water until he regained his footing.

"Okay there?" Mark asked.

"Yeah. What now?"

Mark hauled him sideways and suddenly the pull of the current lessened. They had retreated to the partial shelter of one of the building's doorways. Mark leaned against the ancient stone, breathing hard. "There's no way we're gonna get up that hill in this current. Look, there's a buildin' across the street. If we can get over there, we oughtta be able to make it back to the car through the inside. It'll cut some of the current. What do you think?"

"Sounds okay, if we can get over there."

"There's the problem of the Jil," Mark added. "Somehow, I can't see no Jil riskin' his sacred neck in this stuff, though. That water's pourin' down from the hills. I'm kinda surprised His Lordship's stuck with it as long as he has."

Alan was, too, and the circumstance made him uneasy. "Let's not count on it, then."

"You're right about that. Hang on. I'll tow you across. How's Dwayne doin'?"

Alan gave a faint grin. "Typical Shallockian. He's hanging in there."

"That kid's Undergrounder material. Hang onto him tight."

"I am."

Linley's hand clamped tighter on his upper arm and he stepped out into the rising flood.

The water roared past like a living thing, pulling ferociously at them. Almost at once, Alan lost his footing and was swept sideways. Mark hauled him upward with one hand and somehow, Alan got his feet under him again. Dwayne was still there but the boy was completely limp. He looked dead and without his psychic abilities, Alan might have thought that he was. Again, the water yanked his feet from under him and he felt Mark haul him upward once more. They were almost to the middle of the street and the current was fierce. Alan regained his footing, only to lose it again a second later.

Mark hung on, forging ahead step by slow step through the flood. Alan gripped Dwayne with both arms and concentrated on keeping the boy's face out of the water. And suddenly, the current lessened. Mark's arm released him and Alan found that he was standing on a solid surface, and they were inside the building. The water was barely moving here, but the fact that it came up to his chest was far from comforting.

"You okay?" Linley gasped.

"Yeah." Alan extended a quick probe toward the Jilectan's still-present mind. The alien had changed course and was moving toward them again. "The Jil's getting nearer."

"*Again*?" Linley swore colorfully. "Who th'hell *is* this guy? Has he got some kinda personal grudge against us or somethin'?"

"I think maybe he does." Alan was picking up uneasy sensations from the Jilectan's mind. "But I think he's in trouble."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Tune in your communicator."

Linley lifted his chronometer above the water. "Damned good thing this thing's waterproof. Patrol frequency?"

"Yes."

Mark turned up the sound so that they could both hear and the sing-song, grammatically correct voice of the alien could be heard. "... Trapped and cannot reach the aircar."

"Do you want me to pick you up, M'lord?" That was the voice of a Terran, presumably the driver.

"That would be convenient, Terran, if you were able to drive the car into the building!" The Jilectan's tone was rich with sarcasm. "But since you cannot, I wish you to meet me on the roof of the building beside us. Be quick!"

"Yes, M'lord." The voice of the driver was subdued.

Mark grinned. "Glad I ain't with that bunch. M'lord sounds like he's in a foul temper. Wonder who he is, anyway?"

Alan wondered, too. This Jilectan was much too determined for comfort. Not many of the alien species would be willing to risk their lives this way even to apprehend Alan Westover and Mark Linley. He hoped sincerely that they had not encountered one of the few Jils who had a personal score to settle with them. Such Jilectans, he knew, could be fanatical in their quests to avenge a kinsman.

Mark was watching him. "Somethin' botherin' you, kid?"

"No, not really." He shrugged, readjusting Dwayne's position against him and thanking their lucky stars that in spite of the weather, the climate was warm. Even the water was a comfortable temperature. Shallock had to have *some* good points, he thought. The tropical climate that produced these devastating storms also meant a planet without cold or snow, except on the very tallest of mountaintops. "Well ... yes, actually. This whole situation bothers me."

"Yeah, me too." Mark's teeth flashed in the pale light of the slowly fading handlights. "No use hangin' around here, though. Let's mush."

"Okay." Alan began to slog through the chest-high water after his partner, towing Dwayne. "If we find some stairs let's go up. I could travel faster if the water weren't so deep."

Mark glanced back with an expression of amusement. "By golly, I never woulda thought o' that!"

"Yeah." Alan laughed. "Sorry."

"How's our buddy, there?"

""I think he's starting to come out of it, believe it or not. If we do find some stairs, you're probably going to have to carry him, though. He's a pretty big kid."

"No problem. Li'l Matt here'll be able to walk on his own pretty soon. I think I see some stairs over there." He flashed the pale circle of the handlight across the room and Alan could faintly make out the silhouette of stairs rising out of the sloshing water. "Yup, there they are."

Together, they sloshed and splashed their way over to the staircase. Several of the steps were broken or missing, but compared to what they had seen in the other buildings, the thing was in excellent condition. Mark paused, allowing Matt to slide to the floor. The water came nearly to his chin. "Here ya go, kid. You're gonna hafta walk for awhile. Step up there, outta the water. Alan, help me tie Dwayne onto my shoulders, wouldya? I got the feelin' I'm gonna need both hands."

The next few minutes were occupied as they employed the emergency line to fasten Dwayne Seymour to Linley's back. At last, Mark straightened. "I think that'll hold him."

"Who *are* you guys?" Matt's voice was hoarse and weak. "Why'd you come after me?"

Mark glanced at him. "We're friends, kid. We're from the Terran Underground and we're here to save you from the Jils -- if we can manage it."

The boy stared at them, his mouth open. "You ain't lyin', are you?"

Alan grinned briefly at him. "No, we aren't lying, Matt. We have Stan and Brenda safe, and we promised Stan we'd bail you out if we could. But we have to get back to our aircar first. I know your chin's pretty sore but we're going to need you to walk. Can you do it?"

"Sure." The boy was still staring at them, his mouth half-open. "You look awful familiar," he said suddenly.

"I should," Alan said. "I'm Alan Westover. You've probably seen my wanted posters now and then."

"Holy hell, yes! Stan an' me got your poster on our wall!" The boy gaped at him. "You mean the Terran Underground sent *you* after me?"

"Yeah," Mark said. "Why?"

Matt gulped. "I just ... well ... it's kinda hard t'believe that the Underground'd go to all this trouble an' risk their star player for *me*!"

Mark chuckled. "Makes you feel sorta important, don't it?"

"Yeah." The boy stared at him in the faint light. "Halthzor's holy hangnails! You're Strike Commander Linley! You mean they sent you, too?"

"That's right, kid. C'mon; let's get outta this swamp an' onto dry ground."

"You got it, sir!" The boy's bruised face split into a broad grin. "Anythin' you say!"

"This way." Mark led the way up the broken stairs. As they reached the fifth step, they emerged from the water. Mark grunted, trying to shift Dwayne slightly. "Man, this kid's heavier than he looks. How're we doin', kid? You keepin' tabs on the Jil?"

Alan nodded. "He's trying to reach the place where the aircar's supposed to meet him. I'm not worrying about my shields, Mark. M'lord knows exactly where we are."

Mark glanced at Matt. "I know."

The boy gulped. "He's sensing me?

"Yeah, o' course." Mark beckoned. "Follow me." He reached the top of the steps and started down a shattered hallway.

"What'll I *do*?" Matt sounded almost panicky again and Alan felt the psychic aura increase, magnified by the fear emanations. "If he can tell where I am, show me how to keep him out!"

"I can't," Alan said. "Not now. It takes some time and we don't have it. Don't worry; we'll take care of it. You try to stay calm. I want you to think as hard as you can of a brick wall around your thoughts. Concentrate on building it up. Got that?"

The boy nodded vigorously. "Where are we goin'?"

"We're tryin' to get back to our aircar," Mark said. He led the way down another long passage. "This place musta been a hotel or somethin'. Goes on a long way but eventually we're gonna hafta cross to the next one."

"Where's the aircar hid?" Matt asked.

Linley's teeth flashed white in the dimness. "Can't tellya -- not 'til we're there. His Lordship might pick it out of your mind, an' there's nothin' you could do t'stop him. Then maybe we'd have 'trols an' the Jil, too, waitin' for us."

"I didn't know they could readya from so far away!" The boy sounded horrified.

"They usually can't," Alan said, "but you're a psychic; a powerful one. He can sense your psychic energy even from where he is. The fact that you're scared makes it easier for him to sense you. It always works that way with psychics."

"I ain't *scared*!" Matt said, indignantly.

Alan had to smile. "Matt, I'm scared too, and so is Mark but we have the shielding to hide it. That's the only difference between us."

Matt started to say something, then apparently thought better of it. The hallway they were following branched and Mark came to a halt, glancing at Alan. "Which way?"

Alan paused for a moment, undecided. The branch to the right appealed to him; the one to the left didn't. "Right."

Mark obeyed without hesitation, heading down the corridor at a brisk walk. On his back, Dwayne stirred, moaning softly. Linley glanced back. "Easy, kid. Just stay still."

Dwayne relaxed, muttering under his breath. The hallway ended abruptly in a small room, the door of which was completely gone. Beyond the room, another corridor continued.

"Looks like it mighta been a lounge," Linley commented. "We've come quite a ways. Think we might be gettin' close?"

"I think so." Alan glanced around the room. "There's another flight of stairs over there. Shall we go see?"

"Yeah, let's. I'm sick o' messin' around in this dump."

The water level on the first floor had risen to Alan's chin, they discovered, and the bodies of rats and trenchcrawlers floated past, pale in the darkness. Matt floated next to him, hanging onto his neck, and Alan knew the boy's feet were not touching the floor. Mark peered out the doorway and cussed softly.

"Well?" Matt demanded.

Linley shook his head. "We only got about a dozen meters t'go, but this buildin' won't take us no closer."

"We can make it!" Matt protested. "Holy hell! Just a dozen meters ..."

Mark grabbed for him as he released Alan's neck and floundered toward the door. His head disappeared under the surface.

Mark hauled him out. "Forget it, kid. You're swimmin' in here. Out there, the current would sweep you away like a dead sloof."

Matt spit out water. "But ..."

Alan interrupted. "Mark's right."

"But we can't just sit here!"

"I think we can," Mark said. "No Jil in his right mind is gonna risk his neck in this stuff. We'll be safe for a while."

Alan said nothing, but he did not wholly agree with his partner. So far, this Jilectan had proven far more determined than any he had encountered before, but there was nothing to be done about it with the current outside the building as strong as it was. He touched Linley's arm again. "Come on, Mark. Let's go back upstairs where it's dry."

"Okay." Linley turned back and Alan followed, half-carrying Matt. They ascended the steps once more.

They reached the second floor once more and located a window opening from an alcove in the hall. A number of rats, mice, trenchcrawlers and other more exotic vermin had also taken refuge up here, Alan noted but he ignored them, peering out into the storm. He could feel the building vibrating in the gale, but it seemed more likely to hold up than the first one had, as long as no one tossed around any overloaded blasters in it.

What he saw made his heart attempt to climb into his throat. The black bulk of a Patrol aircar was settling onto the roof of the building across the street. Lights glowed through the driving rain and an instant later he saw the tall, slender form of the Jilectan emerge from the shadows. He could almost imagine the alien's eyes glittering from the darkness and felt the sharp, intelligent mind as it fastened suddenly on him. For an instant, he sensed varied emotions, the primary ones anger and the lust for revenge. This was Garthvar, the younger brother of Harthvar, who had died by his hand on the Terran Light Cruiser "Patton", almost four years ago. The alien's mind closed with his and Alan pulled away with a gasp, his shields snapping closed.

"What's wrong?" Mark demanded.

"The Jil!" Alan said. "He's in that aircar and he's headed this way!"

Mark cussed. "I don't believe this guy! He's riskin' his neck tryin' to catch us. Okay, guys, it's time to exercise the better part o' valor."

Together, they retreated down the hallway. Alan opened his shields cautiously and instantly felt the psychic aura of the Jilectan. He was much closer now and Alan could feel his mind, searching for his. He closed his shields again. "Mark, I have an idea."

"What?"

"This Jil is Garthvar, the brother of Harthvar. Remember him?"

"The Jil from the 'Patton'?"

""Yeah. Garthvar's determined to get us or bust. He's on a Kin Vendetta."

Linley cussed. "All right, what's your idea?"

"There's no time to explain. Just do exactly as I say."

Mark came to a sudden halt, glowering at him. "That's a helluvan order. I want to know if you're gonna take any crazy risks."

"I'm going to get us an aircar. Don't worry; Garthvar will never know I was around."

Linley hesitated, glancing uncertainly at Matt. "I see your point. What do you want me to do?"

"Head for the roof as fast as you can. I'll meet you there with the aircar."

Mark gave a businesslike nod. "All right; be careful."

"I will." Alan glanced over his shoulder. "Matt, remember: keep thinking as hard as you can about a brick wall. Got it?"

Matt gulped and nodded. "Will it help?"

"Believe me, it will. Hurry now. He's coming."

Linley turned and herded Matt ahead of him down the hallway. Alan closed his shields and retreated into a darkened doorway. It proved to be a small storage room, crawling with vermin. Trenchcrawlers scuttled away from his feet. Alan waited, his shields closed and his nerves jumping.

If the Jil ordered his 'trols to check the room, he was done for, but he shouldn't, Alan reasoned. The mind of the unshielded boy must be reaching Garthvar loud and clear. Hopefully, he would be thinking so hard about the brick wall that his mind would reflect little else, which was exactly what Alan had intended. His Lordship would have no reason to believe that anyone had stayed behind. Logically, he should still be fleeing with the others of the party.

Footsteps approaching. Alan flattened himself against the door, holding his body rigid. He knew the sound of those footfalls all too well: the unmuted clatter of Patrol boots, three sets at least, and the soft, light step of a Jilectan.

They passed close enough that he could have reached out and touched them. Alan waited until the sounds had dwindled with distance, then stepped out into the hall.

On feet as light as those of the Jilectan, himself, Alan ran back the way he had come.

The aircar would be hovering outside the window from which they had watched the Jilectan board the aircar of course, at least that would be the logical course of action for the alien to order the driver to wait there for him.

Alan approached cautiously, keeping close to the wall. Everything now depended on his ability to secure the aircar.

There it was, all right: tethered to the window, exactly where he had expected it to be. Cautiously, Alan stepped to the opening and fired point blank at the driver.

The stunbeam hummed and he saw the man jerk convulsively and slump sideways against the window.

But he wasn't unconscious. Alan's shot, although it had caught the driver dead center, had first needed to pass through the thick plastic of the aircar's window. The patrolman was stunned but not wholly incapacitated. Alan knew he must act quickly.

With telekinesis, he reached for the lock of the aircar and felt the mechanism in his mind. The lock clicked back. Alan reached through the window, caught the door handle and yanked it open.

He needn't have hurried. The driver was still fumbling with numbed fingers for the blaster in its holster. Alan removed it the same way he had opened the lock, caught it and stuffed it into his own belt. "Okay, mister, climb out of the car."

The man stared at him with glazed eyes and slack mouth. He gave a strangled croak.

"Out," Alan said. "Move!"

The patrolman tried to obey, crawling clumsily across the seat on knees and elbows, moving with maddening slowness. In desperation, Alan gestured again. "Okay, never mind." He fired a second stunbolt and the man slumped forward.

Alan leaped into the seat beside him, pushing him aside, and an instant later released the tether that held the car to the building. The aircar shot forward and then swooped upward.

And nearly went into a spin. The wind caught it and the vehicle dipped, rolled sideways and plunged downward nose first. Alan managed to bring it back up, overdid it and was hurled upward into a wildly jagged loop. Once again he managed to right the car, held it a moment, his spine prickling, and tried to direct it upward, his hands rigid on the controls. Instantly the wind caught him again, making the car dip frantically.

He had to hurry! The Jilectan wouldn't be far behind Mark and the others now. The aliens were strong, fast and agile, despite their size, a convenient by-product of their home world's gravity that measured 1.54 times that of Terra. Of course Garthvar, believing that the outlaws had no chance of escape, would be slowing his pace to accommodate his Terran bodyguard, but patrolmen were not slow by Terran standards, and Mark, burdened by Dwayne, was bound to have trouble staying ahead of his pursuers.

Later, Alan could never explain how he had done it. Sheer force of will, probably, for suddenly the roof of the building came into sight. He fought the car to a rough landing beside a synthastone wall. Seven meters away was the door to the stairwell, illuminated by the beams of his headlights. There was no sign of Mark.

Alan didn't dare lower his shields to check on the location of his companions; not with the Jilectan so near. He opened the car door, and as he did so the roof door flew open. Matt came through at a run and Mark followed, Dwayne still draped across his shoulders. Alan saw that he held a blaster and was firing over his shoulder. So, the Jil had nearly caught up.

He reached back and triggered the mechanism that opened the rear doors. The stunned patrolman moaned, beginning to stir but Alan had no time to bother with him at the moment. Mark was running toward him and Matt was halfway to the car, shouting something that Alan couldn't hear through the wind. At that instant, black-clad forms appeared in the doorway, firing.

Alan leaped from the car, his blaster out. Mark staggered and fell, Dwayne landing on top of him, and he saw with horror that his partner was hurt. He fired at the men behind Mark and a patrolman fell, clutching his thigh, his blaster skidding away. The others dove for cover.

The Jilectan was shouting orders that Alan couldn't hear and Matt was scrambling into the rear seat of the aircar.

"Matt!" Alan shouted. "Help Mark and Dwayne into the car! I'll cover you!"

Matt's face turned toward him, his face a pale oval in the darkness. Alan fired at the nearest patrolman, causing him to duck back behind his cover of a ventilator fan. "Hurry!" he yelled.

Matt Eckland nodded abruptly and ran back to Mark who was crawling painfully toward the aircar. "C'mon, Colonel." His voice was surprisingly calm, considering the circumstances. "I'll help you. Dwayne, get the hell in the car!"

"His blaster!" Alan shouted.

Matt snatched up Mark's fallen blaster and fired. Someone returned the fire and Alan shot back. Dwayne was crawling toward the car, a loop of the rope that Mark had used to tie him to his shoulders still dangling from one wrist. Alan saw him hook fingers over the door and haul himself upward. Matt had Mark on his feet and was helping him toward the car.

A patrolman appeared and Alan fired at the same instant. The man went down.

"Get them!" This time Garthvar's voice reached Alan as the Jilectan shouted at his remaining patrolman. "If you let them get away, Sergeant, I shall put you in the chair in their place!"

A black-clad Terran appeared but Alan was ready for him. He fired, just as the patrolman hurled something at them.

The man dropped as the object arched through the air, hardly visible through the pouring rain, but Alan knew what it was. It was a blaster set on emergency overload, effectively a grenade thrown at them in a last, desperate attempt by the Patrol sergeant to stop their escape.

Alan struck upward with telekinesis. The weapon, which was arching downward, swooped back upward, soared over their heads and down the side of the building.

A deafening roar jolted them, throwing Alan sideways from behind the protective cover of the aircar's door. Stars leaped out of the blackness before him and a buzzing filled his ears.

Slowly, his vision cleared. He was on his belly, he realized, his blaster still clutched in one aching hand. He looked frantically around.

Through a shifting blur he saw Mark, slumped half in and half out of the aircar. Matt lay beside the vehicle, his forehead bleeding what looked like gallons of blood, and Dwayne was propped on his elbows in the rear seat, his dazed eyes staring at something beyond Alan.

"Look out!" The boy's lips moved, forming the words. Alan turned his head.

The Jilectan was staggering toward him, his jeweled blaster lifting, the tiny red stones that encrusted the weapon glinting evilly in the scattered beam of a single handlight that lay on the roof's broken surface.

A surge of alarm sent adrenaline jolting through his bloodstream. He rolled to his back as the alien's blaster cracked and steam hissed angrily from the spot where he had lain, half an instant before. The shot was followed by a second shot, so closely that it might have been no more than a sharp echo, but the blaster in Alan's hand kicked back sharply and the Jilectan was thrown backward, half his chest blown away. He landed with a jarring thump on the flat rooftop. Bits of masonry pattered around him from a tall smokestack above. As Alan stared, the scenery began to revolve around him, spinning in slow, lazy circles. He had to get Mark and Matt in the car. He had to get rid of the stunned patrolman in the front seat, who was certainly waking up by now. He ...

**********

VII

Dwayne Seymour witnessed the exchange of blaster fire between the awesome, towering form of the Jilectan and the comparatively small, insignificant Terran. Of the two, Westover had proved the better marksman, for incredibly, the alien lay on the pavement, obviously dead. Rain poured down and wind buffeted the aircar.

Westover was turning toward him, trying to rise. The psychic managed to lift himself to his hands and knees before slumping forward again. He was hurt, Dwayne realized. Blood was trickling down his face, mixing with the rain.

It was up to him. Dwayne managed to sit up, clutching his leg. How in the galaxy was he going to get his three companions into the car?

Someone was groaning in the front seat of the vehicle. Dwayne leaned forward, peered over the seat and stifled a yell of alarm. A black-clad patrolman was just straightening up, pulling off a silvery helmet with one hand. Holy space! A 'trol! And Dwayne didn't even have a blaster!

He slammed his fist down on the man's head as hard as he could.

The patrolman groaned again, much louder, and brought his arms up, trying to fend off Dwayne's next blow. "Hey!" he yelled.

Dwayne hit him again. "Stay down!" he yelled. "Stay down or I'll blow you away!"

The man froze, face down in the seat. Dwayne cleared his throat. "M'blaster's aimed right at you. You do what I say or I'll kill you right here! I got nothin' t'lose!"

The man cleared his throat. "Don't kill me, boy. I'll do what you want."

The patrolman couldn't see him. If he could, he would already have realized that his captor was unarmed. Somehow, Dwayne had to go on making the man believe that he was holding a blaster. He made his voice as menacing as possible.

"Climb out and drag Westover into the car. Keep your hands where I can see 'em all the time. Don't try an' pick him up. If I see you tryin' t'put him between us, I'll shoot. I won't wait."

"Okay." The patrolman crawled painfully from the car, not looking at Dwayne, and staggered toward Westover. Carefully, he lifted his shoulders, held him beneath the armpits and dragged him toward the car. Gently, he loaded him into the front seat. "Now what?"

Dwayne gestured in the darkness with the imaginary blaster. "Lift the kid into the front beside him."

The man obeyed, loading Matt into the seat beside Alan. Linley groaned, starting to raise his head.

"Go stand in front of the car. Colonel, climb into the back seat," Dwayne said, raising his voice to be heard over the pounding rain and wind. "Hurry. I'd help you, but I gotta keep my blaster on this guy."

Linley's eyes focused on his empty hands and Dwayne saw him grin slightly. "Right, kid," he croaked.

Dwayne extended a hand, speaking at the same time to the patrolman, who stood in the glare of the headlights, his arms high above his head. "Lie down on your face, 'trol. Keep your hands up."

The patrolman did so, moving very slowly as Dwayne assisted Linley into the aircar. Linley groaned as Dwayne helped him onto the seat. Remembering his own leg wound, Dwayne could well understand.

"Where's Alan?" Linley croaked.

"In the front. The 'trol put him an' Matt in for me." Dwayne climbed carefully from the car, supporting himself with the door, and reached over to pick up a blaster that lay half a meter beneath the vehicle. It had been within his reach all the time, he realized with a sense of mild hysteria. Probably dropped by Linley or Matt when the 'trol had thrown that bomb or whatever it had been at them.

The patrolman on the rooftop spoke, his voice shaking. "You aren't going to kill me, are you boy? I did what you said."

"Don't kill him, Dwayne." Mark Linley might have been reading his mind.

"I know. It ain't the way the Underground does things," Dwayne said. "Look, I ain't never fired a blaster before today. How do I set it for stun?"

"Move the switch on the bottom all the way to the left. Yeah," Linley said, as Dwayne followed his instructions. "That's it."

Dwayne aimed at the patrolman and fired. The stun beam hummed and the man's tense form went slack.

Linley was laughing painfully. "Dwayne, that hadta be one o' the best bluffs I've seen in my life. I'd like to play poker against you someday! You're gonna do real well in the Underground."

"Me?" Dwayne found that he was grinning widely at Linley. "I could be an Undergrounder?"

"You bet your life, pal. Now, let's get outta here. You think you can handle this heap in the wind?"

"I can sure try!" Dwayne shut the rear door and climbed behind the controls. "Where do I take us?"

"I'll tell you once we're up." The large man's voice was growing weaker and Dwayne recalled his own diminishing consciousness after the blaster wound. If Linley passed out before telling him where to take them, they could be in trouble.

"Hurry," Linley said. "I ain't feelin' so good but I can't tellya where to take us until I'm sure we ain't gonna be caught. Take us up."

Dwayne gripped the controls and the car lifted from the roof of the ancient hotel.

VIII

"Shuddup, Tim!" Gene snapped. "They're gonna be back."

"You mean you *hope* they will!" Tim glowered at his leader. "*I* think we been had. They got their twin an' took off."

"I don't believe it," Gene retorted. "Like Linley said, they got their reputation to pertect. It gets out that they stiffed us, nobody'll trust 'em."

"Yeah? An' who's gonna believe *us*?"

"It don't matter. Once the *rumor* even gets around, they're sunk. They'll be back." Gene wished he were as certain as his voice sounded.

"Nice t'hear that kinda faith," an amused voice said behind him. Gene and Tim turned.

Mark Linley lounged in the doorway, grinning lazily at them, and beside him stood the short, muscular form of Alan Westover. Gene wondered a little uncomfortably how long the two had been listening to the conversation and was suddenly glad he had not voiced his doubts aloud.

Linley came toward them, limping slightly, using a cane for support, and Westover followed. The famous psychic had a patch of white above one eyebrow and the newscasts they had heard in the last couple of days came into Gene's mind. He wondered if that was where the two had picked up their souvenirs. He wouldn't be at all surprised. Tangling with a Jil ...

Four more men followed them into the room: tall, muscular men, all carrying crates with antigrav units attached to their sides. Following them were three other people.

Gene blinked. Two were slim, dark-haired boys, carrying leather briefcases, and, except for the patch of bandage in the middle of his forehead, a black eye and a fading bruise on the chin of the one on the right, they were identical. They must be the psychic twins, Stan and Matt Eckland.

The third ... Gene blinked again, belatedly recognizing him. The Weasel, Dwayne Seymour, was dressed in a neat, dark shirt and jeans, with what appeared to be new shoes and *socks* on his feet. His hair had been cut and combed neatly.

"Weasel?" he said, blankly. "What in hell ...?"

Linley interrupted him, waving at the crates that his men had set on the floor. "We brought a few things extra," he informed them. "Stuff for dinner. An' I got somethin' else here for you." He beckoned and the twins stepped forward, setting their burdens in front of Gene. "Here you go, Captain." He opened one of the bags, revealing bundles of crisp, new credits. "Five thousand credits in small denominations for your help, and five thousand for the results. You can thank Dwayne here, for that. He turned in one helluva job." He clapped the Weasel lightly on the shoulder and waited while the murmur of voices rose and fell. "I got somebody else here who wants to say somethin'."

The twin wearing the bandage moved up beside him.

"Thanks," he said, soberly. "You guys saved my skin by helpin' Colonel Westover an' Colonel Linley t'find me. If any o' you ever need a psychic, Stan an' me are your men."

"That's for sure," the other boy said.

Linley stepped into the silence that followed.

"An' now, I got an offer for you guys from our boss."

There was a quick murmur of sound from the listeners and they moved expectantly forward. Gene grinned. He'd hoped that something like this might happen. "Okay, let's hear it."

Linley took a seat on an overturned crate, favoring his leg a little. "That's better. Okay, it's this way. After you guys helped us like you did, you can't, any o' you, join the Patrol, especially after what happened. But the Terran Underground could use a smart street gang workin' for us. The pay's good, an' the ones o' you that want to could get special trainin' and end up doin' work for us off world. It ain't no cakewalk, but the Underground is a lot better'n the Patrol. I know. I been in both places."

Gene was silent, looking at the famous Strike Commander.

Membership in the Terran Underground? Certainly no more difficult to live in than the Viceregal Patrol and so far above life in the slums of Shallock that there could be no comparison; it was a dream come true as far as he was concerned. The exploits of the Underground were the stuff of legend: stories surrounded by glamour, romance, excitement and danger.

And the Patrol was barred to *him*, anyway. This would be his one and only chance to reach for more, something better than a filthy, rat-ridden cellar in a stinking, garbage-filled city on a world overrun with Jils; better than leading a small, ragged band of toughs and scratching out a marginal existence in this decaying slum ...

He had already made his decision. Gene knew that Linley had once been in his place. There was no reason that *he* couldn't be like Linley, someday, if he played his cards right.

He cleared his throat. "I'm sure we can work somethin' out."

"Be worth your while," the Weasel said, suddenly. "I've already joined. They swore me in yesterday. I'm leavin for their base with 'em this evenin' -- goin' for trainin'. They're even gonna teach me t' read! After that ..." He grinned. "Who knows?"

Gene squinted at the boy. Something else had changed. Not his new haircut or clothing; not even his new confidence, but ...

"Hey! You got your fangs fixed!"

The Weasel's grin grew wider, displaying two rows of white, perfect teeth. "Sure did. They got me a dentist an' had 'em fixed first thing. I'm Cadet Seymour, now." He buffed his nails on his shirt. "I'm gonna be an officer someday."

"I vote yes!" Tim shouted. "We could do a helluva lot worse, Gene!"

"I vote yes, too!" Vicki Wilcox was on her feet. There was a sudden chorus of agreement.

Linley held up a hand and as if by magic, the voices died. "Talk it over an' make up your minds," he said. "There's no rush."

"We've already decided," Gene said. "We're with you, Linley." He frowned. "By the way, Weasel, we ain't seen Lefty for two days. You know where he is?"

Weasel's smile disappeared. "Yeah, I seen him. Lefty was sellin' out on us. It was him that turned Arnie over to the Jils, an' killed Pete when he found out."

"Lefty?" Gene felt as if the floor had dropped from under him, succeeded instantly by fury. "Where is he?" he demanded as levelly as he could.

"Dead," Weasel said. "He got shot by a 'trol, tryin' t'run."

"Good," Gene said.

Silence.

Gene glanced suddenly at Alan Westover, standing quietly among his taller companions. The psychic met his gaze with a little smile. "Yes, Gene?"

"We ..." Gene swallowed and started again. "We heard about Lord Garthvar on the radio."

"And?"

"Is it really true?"

Westover smiled faintly. "Yes."

"Yeah!" Weasel chimed in. "I saw it!"

"It was Dwayne that saved us in the end, though," Alan said. "We owe him a lot."

"Three cheers for the Little Giant!" Tim shouted suddenly.

A rousing cheer went up.

"I say he should join the gang," Vicki said. "He's a Saberclaw all over!"

Dwayne nodded vigorously.

"Make him a 'Claw!" somebody in the back shouted.

"I dunno ..." Gene felt oddly embarrassed. "We're nothin' but a rinky-dink outfit. What's he want with us?"

Linley grinned down at his partner. "Whatcha think, buddy? Ain't everybody that gets invited to join the 'Claws."

Westover didn't even smile. "If they're good enough for you, Mark, they're good enough for me."

Gene felt himself start to grin. After all, how many of Scaifen's gangs could claim even in secret that Alan Westover and Mark Linley belonged to them?

As if on cue, Tim shouted, "Linley, too! Make him a 'Claw again!"

Gene raised his hands. "I want a vote. All in favor?"

An enthusiastic cheer went up.

"Opposed?"

Silence.

"Okay, then." Gene turned back to Linley. "You're in."

Linley clapped Westover on the back and flashed his famous grin at the gang. "Feels good t'be back. I'd say this calls for a celebration. Let's break out the chow. You an' us got a lotta business to do."

Gene watched as the gang members assaulted the crates. It was a beginning, he thought. A good beginning. The future had suddenly become limitless in its possibilities. He could hardly wait.


The End