Copyright statement: This is an original work by the authors. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental. The writers retain all rights to this work, and the copyright may not be infringed.
For anyone wishing a background on the setting for this story, go here: http://www.lcficmbs.com/ubb/ultimatebb.php?ubb=get_topic;f=4;t=000002
and read the introduction. That should give you all the information you need.
A Family Resemblance
By Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
1
Mark Linley glanced casually at the time readout on his control board. "One minute to sublight," he announced.
Alan Westover appeared in the control room door. "Coffeepot's all put away, Mark, see? You didn't even have to remind me that time."
Kevin Bronson, Linley's half-brother, swiveled the copilot's chair around and scowled at him. "Go strap in, you crazy kid. Forty seconds."
"Yes, M'lord Bronson." Alan salaamed to Bronson and made a face at him as he ducked back into the passenger compartment.
"Twenty seconds," Mark said. "You all strapped in back there?"
"Yes Poppa." Alan leaned back in the seat. Bronson said something to his brother, but Alan wasn't listening.
"You gonna go visit your uncle while you're here, kid?" Linley called.
"I don't think so," Alan said.
"Why not?"
"If your name was Westover, would you want me knocking on your door?"
There was a slight jolt as the cargo ship emerged from hyperspace.
"Ah, hell," Linley said, "he's probably proud of you."
"I hope so," Alan said, sounding sober even to himself. "I haven't seen him since I was sixteen -- right after the accident that killed my parents. He was living in San Bruno then -- teaching math at a local high school. He wanted me to come live with him and his family, but I wanted to finish at T.S.A., so I stayed in Florida."
"He sounds like a nice guy, though," Mark said.
"He is," Alan said. "He was my dad's younger brother by two years. I really liked him a lot; Aunt Phyllis, too. They had a little girl -- Angela -- she was eleven, then." He smiled in memory. "Everyone at the funeral said we looked like twins."
"Oh yeah?" Mark said. "How tall is she?"
Alan was silent for a moment, thinking. "She was short," he said, finally. "A lot shorter than I was, and I was a real shrimp at sixteen."
"Hmm," Mark said, sounding thoughtful. "How about your uncle?"
Alan cleared his throat. "Maybe I'd *better* go see him while we're on Liskell ..."
The cargo ship set down at the Underground's depot on the planet.
Lord Lanthzor, then the Jilectan Viceroy, had granted Liskell to the Terran Confederation for colonization ten years ago. In topography, it was faintly similar to Terra. It was the third planet in its star system, and it's sun was even a G-2, like Sol, although it had two moons, one of them half the size of Luna and one somewhat smaller. There were three large continents, four smaller ones, two polar ice caps, many large islands, just a little too small to be called continents, and chains and chains of smaller islands. At present, there were three thriving Terran colonies on the world, and it had always been a source of vague incredulity to Alan that the Jilectans had given such a desirable planet to Terra.
He unstrapped his safety webbing and stood up as Kevin and Mark appeared from the control room, ducking their blond heads to avoid the low overhead. Alan led the way to the storage compartment and unsealed it. The little freighter was loaded with supplies for the Underground station in the otherwise uninhabited White Mountains of Liskell's largest northern continent. Mark and Kevin followed him into the hold.
Alan switched off the restraining field and dragged out the first crate. Mark grinned at him. "Take it easy, kid. I don't wantcha rupturin' somethin'."
Alan ignored him and hoisted the crate to one shoulder. It was certainly heavy, but he could manage it all right. That didn't stop his two power packs from ribbing him good-naturedly about his size, however. It was a standing joke with the two of them and Alan had to admit to a small tug of envy as the two hoisted their own selections without noticeable effort and followed him toward the anti-grav cart.
Mark and Kevin were only half-brothers but to the casual observer they inevitably appeared to be twins. In coloring and feature they had apparently taken after their common mother, for they were both golden-blond, blue-eyed and handsome, standing two meters tall in their bare feet and proportionately muscled. Alan sighed. He supposed he actually shouldn't be envious. He was the most gifted psychic in the Terran Undergound, and psychics were all small. As a general rule, the shorter the psychic, the more gifted he or she was likely to be, allowing for age and gender, of course. Alan watched the two big, handsome brothers loading the cart and considered the thought. Would he be willing, if given the choice, to sacrifice his powers to be larger? Certainly not. Still, it would be nice to be a little taller.
"Okay, the first load is all set," Kevin said. He loaded the last crate on the cart and wiped sweat from his forehead with one sleeve. Alan triggered the hatch.
A man was waiting for them as they emerged, with a group of men in white coveralls, obviously waiting to finish the unloading. Alan waved cheerfully to him as he trotted down the ramp. "Hey, Abe!"
"Colonel Westover!" The man saluted smartly, then grinned and shook Alan's extended hand. "Hey, Alan, it's nice to see you again! It's been years!"
"We miss you at the base," Alan told him. Abraham Cleveland had been stationed at the Lavirra Base when Alan and Mark had first arrived, but two years ago he had been assigned to command the ammunition depot on Liskell. He was a slim, dark-haired man of medium height, and at the moment he had a wide smile on his otherwise rather unremarkable features.
"Hiya, Abe!" Bronson called. "What's the news?"
The smile dimmed slightly. "Not all good, Captain," Abe said. "Alan, I have to talk to you right away."
"What?" Alan asked.
"Come with me. Mark, Kevin, leave that stuff. Jack'll take care of it." He turned and led the way swiftly across the camouflaged landing field toward the opening in the side of the hill that was actually the entrance to the base.
Abe's office was down a short corridor near the main entrance. Cleveland dropped into his desk chair and waved at the office coffeepot. "Have a seat. Coffee?"
"No thanks," Mark said. "I always drink enough on these long hauls to keep me awake for a month. Nothin' else t'do 'cept enjoy Kev's and Alan's scintillatin' conversation. An' there ain't much o' that when they're playin' chess. What's the problem?"
Abe tossed a newsstrip section across the table to them. "This appeared today. Read the story under your uncle's picture, Alan."
Alan did so.
"HOMETOWN TEACHER MAKES GOOD
Math Teacher Proves Financial Wizard
Until two Terran years ago, Professor Roger Westover was a math teacher at Tovalton High School in San Bruno, California, Terra. Then, 'on a whim', he began dabbling in the stock market. His profits until now have been considerable, but the crowning victory came last Thursday when Westover insisted on buying, against his agent's recommendation, a controlling share of 'Jasper's Cola Cooler'. The stock, which was falling rapidly at the time of purchase, made a sudden and spectacular recovery, to quadruple its former value. Roger Westover attributes his amazing good fortune to a calculation of stock market trends and his evaluation of the company's basic stability.
Roger Westover, age 47 Terran years, is presently residing on Liskell, with his lovely wife, Phyllis, and their two enchanting daughters, Angela, 20, and Susan, 4. Mrs. Westover is currently expecting another baby in six Terran months.
An interesting sidelight to this phenomenal history is that Roger Westover, a gentle man, well-loved by family and students, is an uncle of the infamous criminal, Alan Westover, who has slain five Jilectans in cold blood during the past seven years. Roger Westover declines comment about his notorious nephew, stating that the young criminal has had no contact with him or his family in the past seven years ..."
Mark cursed between his teeth. "Holy hell! This is bad!"
Alan stood up. "I've got to warn him! Good grief! I knew Uncle Roger had been playing with the stock market but I didn't realize it had gotten this serious!"
"Damn, whatta fool stunt!" Bronson commented. "You'd think a math teacher would know better. The Patrol's probably already on its way."
""Probably." Alan got to his feet. "I've got to go. Do you have an aircar, Abe?"
"Right out there," Abe said. "We were going to head out until I got the word that you'd be here within a couple of hours. It seemed more likely that your uncle would listen to you than a stranger. Be careful."
Mark and Kevin also stood up. "We're comin' with you," Mark stated in a tone that meant he wasn't going to argue.
Alan made no objection. Abe handed him a map. "The location of your uncle's home is shown. Good luck."
"I already know it," Alan said. "We've been corresponding off and on since I shot Salthvor."
"What? How did you get his letters?"
"Post office box on Terra," Alan said. "In Bristol, actually. A friend of mine used to pick them up and pass them along when he could. Guy by the name of Barney."
Abe grinned. "Of course. So simple that I'd never have thought of it. Bring him back, Alan."
"I will." Alan led the way out the door.
**********
2
The Northern Colony, where Roger Westover resided, was a large, cleared space of land, surrounded by dense forest. Six or seven hundred widely separated buildings dotted the landscape, surrounded by cultivated gardens and grazing land. Alan caught a glimpse of a man chopping wood in the rear of one of the houses, a woman removing clothing from a clothesline in the fading light and a few small children herding animals of some sort into a barn. The little settlement looked peaceful in the twilight. Smoke arose from chimneys and there was the smell of burning wood in the evening air. What a simple, uncomplicated life, he thought, as he settled the aircar into Roger Westover's back yard.
There was another car parked there: a sleek, new air limousine. Roger had done well, all right. Too well. He was obviously one of the wealthier residents of the town; Alan could see that from the appearance of the house, although he had seen several more aircars parked by a number of the houses. The residents of the colony had obviously availed themselves of some of the comforts of civilization, and after all, probably the only efficient transportation between the colonies was by aircar.
They got out and strode around to the front door. The house was large, compared to most of the others in the town, painted an attractive shade of light blue and surrounded by a real grass lawn. It was clear to Alan that someone had been making a valiant, if not too successful effort at keeping the weeds at bay. Tiny, brilliantly red flowers dotted the farther corners of the lawn, and a tall trellis adorned with large, deep purple blooms was entwined over the front porch. Somewhere, a dog began to bark as they approached.
Alan could sense the presence of unshielded psychics nearby. He swallowed as he and his companions ascended the steps and paused on the front porch.
Kevin knocked, and they waited.
Footsteps approached and the door opened, revealing a blond, pretty woman, clad in a loose blouse and shorts. A red handkerchief was tied around her hair.
"Hello," she said. "What can I ..." she stopped abruptly, and Alan heard her shrill intake of breath. "Good heavens! Alan! Thank God you've come! We've been waiting and hoping ..." She opened the door wider to allow them to enter.
"Hello, Phyllis," Alan said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I take it you know why we're here."
"Oh yes!" She shut the door and nodded emphatically. "Roger! It's Alan!" She took his hand. "Come into the sitting room, Alan. We'd almost given up on you coming. I was afraid we'd have to take off into the wilderness on our own." Her gaze went past him to Kevin and Mark. "One of you must be Strike Commander Linley ..."
Mark held out his hand. "I'm Mark Linley, Mrs. Westover. This is my brother, Kevin Bronson."
Phyllis took his hand in a nervous sort of way. "I'm ... I'm very pleased to meet you, Strike Commander ... and Subcommander Bronson, too. If you'll just come this way ..."
They entered a large sitting room and Roger Westover met them at the door. He was a small man, no taller than his wife, and resembled Alan to an unmistakable degree. He too was clad in shorts and sandals, with no shirt. His face and arms were sunburned.
"Alan!" He grabbed Alan by the shoulders and hugged him enthusiastically. "Boy! Have we been hoping you'd show up since that newsstrip came out!"
"Why'd you let 'em print it if you knew what would happen?" Kevin asked.
Roger released Alan, his green eyes resting on Bronson's big figure. "Have you ever tried to stop an eager reporter with a hot story in the offing?"
Kevin snorted. "Y'got a point there," he agreed.
"I tried to cover it up a little," Roger said, sounding resigned, "by talking about stock market trends. I don't think it did much good, though."
"Not with a name like Westover," Mark said. "The Jils'd check you out just on principle." He thrust out a hand. "I'm Mark Linley. This is my brother, Kevin Bronson."
"Glad to meet you," Roger said, politely, shaking hands.
"If you knew you were a psychic, though, why did you let such a thing happen in the first place?" Alan asked.
"He didn't know -- until it happened," Phyllis said, unhappily. "That's when he figured it out. Of course, we still aren't sure ..."
Roger looked at his nephew again. "*Am* I a psychic, Alan? Can you tell?"
Alan smiled. "Yes, to both questions, uncle."
"Heck!" Roger said.
Alan saw Mark grin. "Now I know where Alan gets his language. The whole family cusses like a bunch o' 'trols!"
Roger grinned too, a little sheepishly, and glanced at his wife. "That does it, honey. We'll have to leave. The Patrol will be here soon." He turned back to Alan. "We waited as long as we could. I was afraid you wouldn't be able to find us if we took off into the brush on our own. I sent you a letter, just in case we had to, but ..."
Alan smiled. "I happened to be here on other business, Uncle Roger. If I hadn't been, somebody else would have come, believe me. The Underground doesn't like to lose psychics to the Jils for any reason."
A girl appeared in the doorway, holding a small child by the hand. "Daddy?"
Roger turned. "Come on in, Angie. There's somebody I want you to meet. Phyllis, if there's something else you want to bring, you'd better put it in the suitcases now."
Phyllis went out as the two girls entered. Alan recognized one of them. Angela hadn't changed all that much in feature since she was eleven, except to become pleasantly rounded. Her eyes were still the same bright green as his own, her hair dark and curly. She was very short, coming about to the level of his nose, and she was clad in shorts and a thin, lacy blouse. Her feet were bare. Alan saw the appreciative glances of his two friends and grinned to himself.
"My daughters, Angela and Susan." Roger grinned too. "Angela's the big one."
"Holy ... I mean gosh ..." Bronson managed to stop before swearing in the presence of the two girls. "Angela looks just like Alan."
Angela smiled enchantingly. She would be a little over twenty by now, Alan thought, but she appeared to be no more than sixteen. Susan, in contrast to her sister, was fair and blue-eyed, with her mother's coloring. She also smiled, fluttering her eyelashes at the three males. She would be a beauty in about twelve years or so, Alan decided. Both girls were psychics like their father. He sensed the aura at once.
"Please sit down, gentlemen," Roger said. "I'm going to help Phyllis. Should be only a few minutes." He went out.
The room was carpeted and a small fire blazed in the fireplace. Firelight flickered on the girls' faces.
"Hi," Kevin said. "I'm Kevin Bronson and this is my big brother, Mark."
"He's no bigger than *you*!" Susan piped. "And I think *you're* handsomer!"
"*Susie*!" Angela gasped. She went bright red.
Mark burst out laughing. "That's okay, honey. If she still thinks the same in ten years, I'll start to worry."
"Hi, Angie," Alan said.
"Hello, Alan." Angela's flush began to subside. "My goodness, you haven't changed much. How old are you now?"
"Twenty-five," Alan said. "Almost, anyway. I'll probably look sixteen until I'm forty. Here, let me introduce you to my friends. This is Mark Linley -- Strike Commander Linley -- and this is Kevin Bronson."
"The Crazy Subcommander," Angela said, warmly. "I saw you on the video a couple of years back. I've heard a lot about you, too."
Kevin lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. "All good things, I hope."
"That depends on your point of view," Angela said. She had blushed slightly again at the kiss and withdrew her hand, turning to Mark. "How do you do, Strike Commander?"
Mark grinned at the formal address and also lifted her hand to his lips. "I'm fine, honey. Call me Mark, okay?"
"All right." She motioned them to chairs. "Would you like a coke? I guarantee it's the real article."
"Sure," Alan said.
"So would I," Kevin said. "I haven't tasted a genuine coke since I was on Midgard back in January, an' it was so damn cold, nobody wanted to drink cokes."
Angela smiled and went into the kitchen. Mark stood up to follow her. "Here, I'll give you a hand, honey."
Kevin also started to stand up, but was forestalled by Susan. The little girl was standing close by his chair and as he started to rise, she hooked tiny hands in his belt.
"Sit down, Kevin!" she piped. "Angie and Mark'll do just fine."
Kevin settled into the easy chair once more, looking confused. Susan leaned her elbows on his knees. "You like blondes?" she asked in a conspiratorial tone.
Bronson glanced at Alan over the top of her head. Alan smothered a grin. Kevin looked back at the little girl. "Sure. I like blondes fine."
"That's good. I do too." Susan gave a little jump, landing lightly in his lap. He looked up again as Mark and Angela appeared, both of the holding a coke in each hand.
"Are you sure this kid is only four?" Bronson inquired.
Angela frowned at her sister. "Have you been pestering Mr. Bronson, Susie?"
Susan snuggled into the curve of Kevin's arm. "Oh, no! Kevin tells me he really likes blondes!"
Mark chuckled softly. "He does, baby."
"Baby!" Susan's face went beet red. "Who are you calling a baby, you big ape?"
"Susie!" It was Angela. She set the cokes down on the coffee table with a sharp clink. "You be polite!"
"But he called me a baby!" She started to cry. "I'm *not* a baby!"
"Hey, I'm sorry, kid," Mark said. "That's just the way people talk on the planet I come from. You'd get used to it if you were around me enough."
"And I'm not a kid, either!" Susan wept. "My daddy says a kid as a baby goat!"
"Oh, for heaven's sake ..." Angela began.
"Easy, hon." Kevin put an arm around Susan, hugging her a little. "Don't cry, sweetie. My big brother didn't mean nothin', honest."
Mark was looking embarrassed. Alan threw him a grin. "Relax, pal. Drink your coke. You know how unpredictable women can be."
Susan stopped crying, wiping her eyes with both fists, and smiled shakily at Alan. Mark took a swig of coke. Alan handed a bottle to Kevin and the big man gave his youthful admirer a drink before swigging from the bottle, himself.
"Oh dear," Angie said. "Now she'll have to brush her teeth again. Oh well ..." She turned to Alan. "Where are you taking us?"
"To one of our bases," he replied. "The one we're stationed at, I think. We have facilities for families there, and schools, and somebody to train you ..."
Angela's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
"Uh ..." Alan cleared his throat. He'd forgotten that his cousin didn't know.
Mark leaned forward, setting his coke on the table. "He means you're a psychic, honey."
"*I* am? Oh no, I think you must be mistaken, Alan."
Alan shook his head. "There's no doubt, Angie. Psychic abilities are inherited, so it isn't a surprise. I was kind of expecting it."
Again, Angela shook her head. "How can you be so sure?"
Kevin chuckled. "He's a psychic, remember, honey? A trained psychic. He's the best we got."
"Everybody knows that!" Susan looked admiringly at her cousin. "Alan Westover is a psychic. The Jils say that makes him bad, but we know better."
Alan grinned. "Thanks, Susie."
She grinned expectantly back. "You're welcome. What about me? If Angie's a psychic, am I one, too?"
Bronson looked at the little girl in awe. "Man, this kid is right on the ball. Well?" He turned to Alan. "Is she?"
"Yes," Alan said.
"Oh dear!" Angela said. She looked very worried. "That means they won't only be after Dad, but us too. Listen, Susie, until Alan, Mark and Kevin have gotten us to safety, you mustn't say anything about this to anyone. Do you understand?"
The little girl shrugged. "Of course. The Jils'll kill you if they find out you're a psychic."
"Not just the Jils, kid," Bronson said, soberly. "There's some not too nice people in this galaxy who'll be all too glad to turn you over to them for the reward. Understand?"
"What's a reward, Kevin?" Susan fluttered her eyelashes at him again, to Alan's amusement.
"Money, baby," Bronson said.
Mark raised an eyebrow, obviously expecting tears to commence again, but Susan showed no sign of resentment when Kevin used the term.
"Oh!" she said, scornfully. "Money!"
"That's right, kid, money. An' some people will be glad to kill you for it. So do as your sis says. Keep quiet about bein' a psychic 'til we can get you to our boss."
"Sure, Kevin." Again the eyelashes fluttered. Mark grinned.
Angela turned to Alan. "What will I be able to do?"
"I don't know yet," he said. "You're an empath, certainly, and a telepath, too. I can't be sure about the rest until we have a chance to test you."
"You don't know if I'm a telekinetic? If I am a psychic, I'd sure like to be a telekinetic."
"I don't know," he repeated. "Only about twenty-five percent of Terran psychics are telekinetics. We'll find out when Colonel Burke tests you. He's the best psychic trainer at the base."
Susan turned in Kevin's lap. "Make something move with your mind, Alan."
"Susie," Angela said, reprovingly. "Alan's not here to do tricks for us. He's here to get us to safety."
Pleading blue eyes turned toward him. "*Please*, Alan?"
"Susie!"
Alan laughed. "That's okay, Angie. I don't mind. What would you like me to move, Susie?"
She glanced around. "Move that log over to the fireplace."
Alan shook his head. "It's too big, honey. I can't move things that big."
"Oh." She glanced around again. "Can you move my doll?"
Alan looked at the baby doll, dressed in a worn, checked dress and improvised diaper made of a dishtowel, obviously applied by the little girl. It lay in a corner of the room, the hair standing out wildly around its head. The doll lifted easily into the air, moved slowly across the room and dropped into Susan's lap. A moment later, the makeshift diaper, which had come off during the transfer, also landed in her lap.
She giggled delightedly. "Golly!"
Angela was looking at him wide-eyed. "That's wonderful, Alan!"
Kevin also looked at him. "Yeah," he said, wryly. "Nice thing to know how to do. Makes you the center of attention."
Alan flushed. "You seem to be doing okay, Kev," he replied. "Don't get jealous."
Bronson laughed. "Still, I wouldn't mind bein' a psychic."
"Yes you would," Alan said. "Being a telekinetic doesn't do you much good when everybody around you is taller than you are -- girls included. I used to have to arrive three hours early whenever there was a parade. My whole family did, in fact. I've never seen such a lot of shrimps. People used to laugh at us when we'd be in public -- thought we were a circus sideshow or something. I never even had a date until I was eighteen!"
Kevin laughed. "Yeah, I can see that'd be a problem, all right."
Susan turned to look at Bronson again. "Gosh you talk funny, Kevin. Why do you talk like that?"
Angela appeared resigned. "Susie ..."
"I'm from Shallock, honey," Bronson said. "So's Mark. Everybody there who learns English talks like we do. It's the accent we grew up with."
"I like it, though." Again the lashes fluttered. "Where's Shallock?"
"It's a planet about twenty hours from Terra."
"Do you like it there? Is it nice?"
"It's a Jil world, Susie. No, it ain't very nice."
"There's *Jils* there? Have *you* ever seen a Jil?"
Kevin nodded. "Lots of 'em. They ain't nothin' special."
Alan was beginning to feel uneasy. He stood up, going to the door through which Roger and Phyllis had disappeared. "I wish they'd hurry."
Mark glanced at him sharply. "Kid?"
"I'm okay, Mark." Alan turned back into the room.
There was a soft patter of feet and Phyllis appeared in the doorway, a suitcase in one hand and a pile of coats draped over her arm. "Angie!" she panted. "*Where* are the car keys?"
"The keys, Mom? I don't know."
Mark rose to take the articles from her hands. Roger appeared in the doorway behind his wife, lugging two more suitcases. Alan started forward to help him.
"I'll get 'em." Kevin stood up, setting Susan gently on the floor.
"Didn't you use the car this afternoon, honey?" Roger asked. He surrendered the bags with a sigh of relief as Bronson took them. "Here, I'll take one of them. You don't have to ..."
"I'll get 'em." Bronson hefted both cases easily. "Is the car unlocked?"
"Yes, but we can't start it without the keys. What did you do with them, Angie?"
The girl was frowning. "I put them back on your dresser ..." she stopped. "Oh, no!"
"What?" both of her parents demanded together.
"Georgie was in your room. He was lying on your bed when I put the keys back!"
"Heck!" Roger said.
"Georgie?" Mark inquired, in confusion.
"Our cat," Phyllis explained, hastily. "He's terrible about stealing things -- especially metal things. He took Roger's chronometer off the bedside stand a month ago and we still haven't found it."
"Don't you have a spare key?" It was obvious to Alan that Kevin found the situation amusing.
"He stole that one yesterday. I didn't dare go into Lawrence to get another one made for fear you'd show up while I was gone!"
"Look," Mark began, "I can hotwire the car if I have to. We don't have time ..."
Alan put a hand on his arm. "I'll take care of it." He turned back to Roger. "Where's the cat now?"
"On my bed," Susan answered.
"Go get him," Alan commanded. Precognition was beginning to crawl over his scalp, the feeling of uneasiness increasing. "Hurry."
"Okay." The little girl ran out. Alan turned to the others. "Get the suitcases to the car. I'll find the key."
"How?" Phyllis demanded. "We've looked everywhere!"
"Never mind. I'll find it."
"What about Matilda?" Angela was looking pleadingly at her mother.
"Matilda?" Mark sounded resigned. "Who's Matilda?"
"Our dog." Angela turned tearful eyes on Kevin. "Please let us bring her, Kevin! She won't be any trouble and we can take her in our car ..."
"Angie," Roger said, "we've talked about this already ..."
"*Please*, Daddy?"
"She can come," Alan said. "Go put her in the car, Angie."
"Thanks, Alan!" Angela ran to the door. "Thanks a lot!"
Mark and Kevin followed her, suitcases in hand. Susan came thumping down the stairs, a huge, yellow-striped tomcat dangling from her arms. "Here he is, Alan. Can he come, too?"
"Susie!" Roger said.
"It's okay, Uncle." Alan ran his hand over the cat's fur, closing his eyes as he did so. The creature purred hoarsely.
"What are you ..." Phyllis began and stopped.
The image formed easily in Alan's mind and he almost laughed. "Okay, Susie, go put Georgie in the car."
"Where's the key?" Roger demanded.
"Follow me." Alan led the way into the kitchen, passed through it and entered a small laundry room. There was a closet to one side of the washing machine. Alan opened the door, removing a large box of Christmas decorations.
"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Phyllis said.
Alan reached down the side of the box and withdrew a large, expensive-looking chronometer. He handed it to Roger, who burst out laughing.
"That crazy cat!" he said. "He was daffy over the Christmas decorations. I should have guessed.'
Alan reached into the box again, removing a gold, heart-shaped locket. Phyllis gave an exclamation of surprise. "So that's where he put it!"
Alan withdrew a key, tossing it to Roger, and a moment later, another key. The feeling of impending danger was growing stronger by the moment. Roger reached past him, took the whole box of ornaments and dumped them on the floor, disclosing a varied assortment of lights, tinsel, colored balls and dozens of small pieces of jewelry, two forks, a spoon, a child's sparkling, plastic ring, a dog's choke collar and four shining bottle caps.
"Oh my!" Angela was standing behind them and Kevin entered a moment later, Susan perched on his shoulders.
"Whatcha got?"
"Found Georgie's private stash," Roger said.
"Hurry!" Alan started to push Roger and Phyllis toward the door. His tingle of premonition was becoming uncomfortably pronounced. "Kevin, get the girls out, quick!"
"Move it, kids!" Bronson caught Angela by the hand and ran for the door, Susan still perched on his shoulders. From without came the frantic honking of a horn.
"Here they come!" Mark shouted. He was halfway across the lawn as they burst from the doorway. A patrol car came to a skidding stop a few meters from them and four black-and-scarlet clad figures emerged, blasters in hand.
"Hold it, Westover!" one barked.
Mark's blaster cracked and the man was thrown back against the aircar. The other three dived for cover, firing.
Alan pushed Phyllis through the door of the limousine and dove after her, yanking out his own blaster. From the rear seat he heard Mark shout, "Go, kid!"
"Angie!" Phyllis screamed. "Where's Angie and Susie?"
"Kevin got 'em in our car. They're already up!" He fired out the window at the crouching figures behind the Patrol vehicle. "Go!"
"The keys!" Alan also fired at the patrolmen. A shot struck the hood of their aircar and Phyllis screamed.
Roger thrust the keys into his hand and he jammed them into the ignition. Against the sky, he could see the approaching lights of another Patrol aircar as the limousine soared upward.
**********
tbc
