A Family Resemblance: 2/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
III
Kevin Bronson pushed Angela Westover into the Underground's aircar and tossed Susan after her. A blaster cracked, close enough to scorch his face and the beam warped the metal hood of their car. He leaped in beside the two girls, jamming the lift control down as he did so. The car motor roared and they vaulted into the air. A blaster cracked again.
"Keep your heads down!" Bronson snapped, as the vehicle soared upward. "Here comes his friend." With one hand, he switched on the weapons computer.
Susan screamed as their car shot away into the spring air and blaster fire exploded into blue flame across the sky in front of them. Angela grabbed her sister.
"It's okay, Susie, it's okay." Her voice was remarkably calm, considering the circumstances. "Kevin'll take care of us."
Susan continued to scream. Wishing fervently that he could share Angela's sentiments, Bronson accelerated across the settlement, trying frantically to keep the Westover limousine in sight.
The pursuing Patrol craft fired at them again and their own computer returned the fire. The enemy vehicle went spiraling down.
"Here comes the other one," Angela said.
"Yeah." Kevin glanced at his instruments. "Pickin' up transmissions. He's callin' for help."
Alan's face, clear and sharp in his mind when the danger had commenced, was beginning to fade. He must have gotten his charges out of danger. Bronson could no longer see the limousine on the scanners but it was no doubt flying low to avoid the Patrol scanners as well. He reached out to switch on the car's speakers. The other Patrol car was close behind them and its blasters went off again. Their own car rocked sharply and Susan screamed shrilly.
"Patrol Scout 14, we are on our way," a voice said from the communicator. "Attempt to detain the fugitives until we can arrive."
"Just try it," Bronson muttered, under his breath.
Alan's link with him closed again, more intensely. Bronson didn't have time to analyze it. The pursuing aircar was trying to cut them off and Bronson slowed his speed purposely. Their weapons computer fired at the approaching car, and the Patrol car's blasters went off simultaneously. Susan screamed piercingly as their car lurched forward, listing sharply to one side.
"Hang on kids, we're goin' down." Bronson yanked at the controls, extending the glide wings. The Patrol vehicle shot past their nose, flame streaming from its rear. As he watched, two men bailed out, their grav harnesses allowing them to float gently to the ground.
Bronson wrestled with the controls. He didn't dare stay in the air long, as the other Patrol car would no doubt be there soon, but below him his scanners showed only a dense growth of vegetation. Infrared sensors showed the locations of Liskell's forest denizens. Lots of life down there. It would make the Patrol's sensors practically useless in locating them. It would have to be a ground search.
"I'm gonna hafta set her down in the treetops," he told the two girls. "Hold on tight."
Bronson was an excellent pilot. The Terran Underground had given him instruction that had made his Patrol training seem like child's play. He brought them skillfully down toward the waving greenery below them. The aircar struck amid a loud cracking and snapping of branches, and came to a stop nose down, ten meters above the planet's surface.
Then everything was still. For a moment nobody moved, then Bronson blew out his breath and looked at his two passengers. "You kids okay?"
"Yes." Angela sounded breathless. Susan was sobbing hysterically in her sister's arms.
"Okay, we gotta get out quick. That Patrol car'll be here in a few minutes. They may waste some time lookin' for us in the air, but after that' they'll turn their metal detectors loose on the forest. We gotta be away from here before they do." Kevin grabbed the emergency kit from its recess under the seat, unfastening his safety webbing with his other hand. Angela began to fumble with hers.
It came free, releasing both girls, who had been fastened into the same webbing. Bronson pushed the door open, flicked on his handlight and looked down. He gulped. He couldn't see the ground, and burdened with the two girls, he couldn't see how he was going to get down. The Patrol would be here in no time, too.
"What's wrong?" Angela peered out, too.
"We're a long way up," he said. "I dunno how I'm gonna getcha both down."
Angela looked down again, then glanced at her sister. "Can you hang onto Kevin's shoulders, Susie?"
The little girl had more or less stopped crying and was gulping back sobs. She nodded.
"Can you manage with her on your back, Kevin?"
"I guess so, but what about *you*?"
She gave a shaky smile. "I'll follow you. I'm a pretty good climber. Go ahead."
Bronson hooked the emergency kit to his belt in the front and swung Susan to his back. "Hang on tight, baby. I'm gonna need both my hands."
"Okay, Kevin." She sounded calmer, now.
"Don't let go. I won't be able to catch you if you do."
He switched off the handlight, and darkness descended like a blanket. Night was falling. The branches around them blocked out the last vestiges of sunset and the light of Liskell's larger moon, riding above the light dusting of clouds that laced the sky. He hooked the little cylinder to his belt, waiting for his eyes to adjust, then eased his way carefully out onto the nearest limb and started to descend. Angela followed him, showing a surprising dexterity and fearlessness for heights. Susan clung tightly to his back as he moved carefully downward through the tangled branches, trying to hurry as much as possible. Angela kept pace with him.
Before he realized how far they had come, the ground was suddenly within sight. It was still a long drop: at least three meters into underbrush. He disengaged Susan from his back and set her on the limb beside Angela.
"Stay here," he told her, hung from the branch by his hands and dropped.
He landed knee-deep in tangled shrubbery and there was an insane shrieking and giggling as he hit. At least a dozen small, dark forms flapped madly around his head for a moment, then shot away in single file into the darkness. Kevin held up his arms. "Jump, Susie."
"I can't," Susan said. "It's too far."
"C'mon, baby, I'll catch you. Jump!"
Susan closed her eyes and jumped. He caught her easily, then held up his arms to Angela. She slid lightly off the branch, hung by her hands for an instant and dropped, landing lightly beside him. He steadied her until she had her balance. "You okay, baby?"
"Sure." She looked up at him in the dimness and then stiffened slightly. Far away, he heard the hum of an aircar.
"Let's get outta here," he said, taking her by the arm. "Hurry!"
"Come on, Susie!" Angela lifted her small sister and Bronson took the child from her, swinging her onto his back once more.
"Hang on, sweetie. We gotta make tracks." Rapidly, and for the moment disregarding the noise in favor of speed, he led the two girls away into the forest.
The undergrowth was thick here, and the woods were almost pitch dark. The leaves and branches whispered faintly in the night breeze. All about them, he could hear the stealthy sounds of Liskell's nocturnal life. Kevin traced a straight line -- or as straight as he could manage -- away from their crash site, trying to put as much distance between them and the aircar as he could before the Patrol cars started using their infra-red sensors. He wanted to blend with the other denizens of the forest. After about twenty minutes, he stopped and spoke in a whisper. "Now, we gotta be real quiet. They're gonna have search parties lookin' for us. No noise, got it?"
He saw Angela nod in the dimness. They continued on, trying to be completely silent.
It was perhaps forty minutes later that there was sound ahead and Kevin caught the flicker of a handlight. Without speaking, he ducked back into the bushy undergrowth, pulling Angela down beside him. There was an ear-piercing shriek and a creature bolted away from them, crashing madly through shrubbery toward the approaching lights. Bronson heard a startled exclamation, a curse and the crack of a blaster. The animal voiced another wild scream and changed direction, plunging noisily away. Kevin and Angela remained perfectly still. He heard her breathing light and fast, her bare arm pressed tightly against his. He could smell her perfume, soft and sweet -- the fragrance of strawberries, he thought, or maybe calanfruit.
The voices of the men ahead were distinct in the sudden silence.
"Missed. What the hell was that, Roy?"
"Some kind of native animal, I guess. Watch yourself. Something might be close by -- whatever disturbed it."
"Maybe it was us."
"Maybe. Maybe not."
"Yeah." The first voice sounded worried. "Y'know, Roy, I ain't written my mom in a year now."
"Take it easy, kid."
"If it's Westover and Linley we're chasing, we could die tonight."
"Don't think that way, Stan. It's unhealthy."
The two men went past so near that Kevin could almost have touched them. He didn't move and neither did the girls until the footsteps of the patrolmen had dwindled into the distance.
Angela let out her breath and Bronson put an arm around her. "You okay?"
Her face was a shadowy mask against the dark background. In the blackness he could almost believe that it was Alan crouching beside him, except for the soft scent of her perfume. She nodded, her green eyes glowing like a cat's in the dimness.
"Okay, let's go." He helped her to her feet. "You kids did good. We run into any more 'trols, do exactly the same. Keep quiet an' don't move a muscle."
Susan's arms tightened around his neck. "I'm cold, Kevin."
"So am I," Angela said.
He'd forgotten that the girls were so lightly clad. "Hang on. I'll try to getcha somethin' to wear. I'd pull out the blankets, but they'd be devilish hard to manage in this underbrush an' right now we gotta get outta this area."
"I'm okay," Angela told him. "I'll probably warm up when we start moving."
"So am I," Susan piped. She snuggled close to Bronson. "You're nice and warm, Kevin."
He caught the flash of Angela's teeth in the darkness and found himself wondering fleetingly what it would be like to make love to a woman who looked so much like Alan. Mark had once commented that things would have been much simpler if Alan had only been female. Psychic partners of opposite genders tended to become deeply involved very rapidly. Alan, a very masculine young man, had been embarrassed and appalled, he remembered with a slight grin.
He led Angela quietly forward again. Twice more they hid as Patrol scouting parties went by, all of them discussing their quarry in hushed tones. It seemed to be the collective opinion of all those involved in the hunt that the fugitives being pursued were the terrifying Alan Westover and the equally deadly Strike Commander Linley. Someone had caught a glimpse of them as they piled into the aircar, apparently, and of course the word had spread like wildfire. None of the patrolmen so encountered appeared at all enthusiastic about actually meeting the infamous pair.
"Where are we going, Kevin?" Angela whispered at last as they paused to rest.
He leaned close to her. "Right now I'm just tryin' to get us away from this place. There's search parties everywhere, but if we can just get outta the area ..."
"But ... oh, Kevin, do you *know* how much of this planet is *jungle*? It goes on for thousands and thousands of kilometers!"
"Yeah. We flew over a lot of it on the way to your place, baby. Don't worry. Alan and Mark'll find us."
"But Kevin, how *can* they? We're lost, and they won't even have any idea where to look ..." The girl sounded close to tears. Susan began to sniffle in his ear.
"Sh!" Bronson ruffled her hair. "Hey, honey, take it easy. Alan's the best psychic tracer in the business. Remember how he found the keys Georgie buried? O' course he can find us."
She gulped. "Do you really think so?"
"I *know* so," Kevin said. "I've seen him do it before -- lotsa times. All we gotta do is stay away from the search parties 'til he finds us."
"You're sure?"
"Sure, I'm sure. Don't cry, Susie. We're gonna be okay ... Sh!"
There was the flicker of a handlight through the surrounding trees and far away, the murmur of voices. Kevin pushed Angela behind a big tree, thanking his lucky stars that the patrolmen sent on this mission had not come equipped for such a search. They had come to arrest a simple landowner and ended up chasing the two most wanted men in the Sector -- or so they thought -- through dense forest. Once more men arrived, with the right equipment, avoiding them was going to get more difficult.
"Stay there," he breathed.
"What are you ..." Angela began.
"Sh!" Bronson eased the blaster from his holster and crept silently forward. The men were getting closer, the flicker of their lights becoming brighter and their low voices more distinct. Kevin waited.
The men passed close to him and he stepped out behind them, blaster leveled. The weapon hummed softly, twice.
He waited for several seconds, straining his ears for sounds. Then he crept to the men he had stunned, measuring them with his eye. Yes, the corporal was definitely larger. Without further ado, he began to pull off the man's uniform and helmet. "Strip that other guy, Angie," he commanded. "Be sure to get his helmet so he can't contact his ship."
"Come on, Susie!" Angela said in a whisper. Together, the two girls began to remove the second man's clothes. While they were busy, Bronson dressed himself in the black and scarlet uniform, noting from the small patch on one shoulder that they were attached to the 'Juggernaut'. After a moment's consideration, he pulled his victim upright against a good-sized tree and instructed the two girls to do the same. With their own restrainers, he cuffed the men together.
The corporal groaned, beginning to retch. Bronson stood back, waiting until the spasms ceased. The second man also began to gag and almost absently, Kevin stunned him again.
The corporal finished throwing up and began to take an interest in his situation. He pulled at the restrainers and looked up, squinting at the light that Bronson was shining in his face. He was a large, muscular black man, and from the expression on his face, Kevin decided that he had pretty much figured out what had happened.
"I want the latest reports," he told the man abruptly. "Have they caught anybody yet?"
The corporal's dark eyes widened slightly. "Linley? Oh my god ..."
"*Have* they?"
The man swallowed. "Not that I know of, Strike Commander," he replied with careful courtesy.
"All right," Bronson said. "I'm gonna gag you. Don't make trouble an' you'll live through this." He glanced over his shoulder at Angela. "Gimme his pants."
Angela did so. With matter of fact motions, Bronson flipped the blaster to needle beam and cut away one leg of the garment. He started to gag the man, then noticed his gaze riveted on Angela.
"What's eatin' you, bud?" he inquired.
"Holy space!" his victim stuttered. "Westover's a girl!"
Bronson grinned and proceeded to gag him, then went on to the other man. Still in silence, he gathered up the scattered clothing, helmet and equipment belt, and gestured his two charges silently after him.
They had gone on in silence for some distance before Bronson stopped. "Okay. Susie, you put on my shirt. It'll help keep you warm. Angie, you put on the other Patrol tunic an' the belt. Have you ever fired a laser pistol?"
"No, but I've used a laser rifle," she said.
"Okay. I'll show you how to use a blaster tomorrow, just in case," he said, keeping his voice matter-of-fact.
"Okay. Kevin, that man thought I was Alan!"
"Yeah, I know." Bronson chuckled. "Bet that causes an uproar when he reports it to his bosses."
Susan giggled. Angela laughed too, but sobered quickly. "Kevin, should we just leave them like that? Suppose something finds them?"
Bronson sighed. He should be used to empaths by now. "Honey, we couldn't let 'em go. They'd o' reported to their superiors about us, an' *us* gettin' killed wouldn't've bothered them one bit."
"Yes, but ..."
"We gave 'em a chance, an' it's more'n they deserve. They'll get those gags off after while an' start yellin', an' sooner or later, a search party'll find 'em. We gotta make tracks before that happens, or we'll end up in the execution chair, so let's move."
"I guess ..." She changed the subject abruptly. "What should we do with the rest of this stuff?"
"Dump the helmet here, but we'll take the belt along. We might need the stuff in it. An' the undershirts. They'll help keep you an' Susie warm tonight. You don't mind if they smell a little sweaty, do you?"
"Of course not." Angela sealed the Patrol tunic. It came to her knees and she had to roll up the sleeves. Bronson grinned at her and wadded up the shirts, jamming them into the emergency pack.
"You ready to go, baby?" he asked Susan.
"Almost." Susan had the shirt buttoned incorrectly. He remedied the problem and boosted her to his back once more. Her arms, swathed in the flowing sleeves, clasped him about the neck. The doll dangled down his front.
He glanced down at Angela's solemn face. "I know how you feel, honey -- well, I don't *know*, but I do understand. You're soft-hearted. All empaths are. Alan's the same way."
"Am *I* an empath, Kevin?" Susan asked.
"Could be, sweetie. Most Terran psychics are. C'mon, Angie." He took her hand and they went quietly on through the underbrush.
He led them in the direction opposite the colony, hoping to confuse their pursuers. The stars overhead were almost obscured by the trees, but every time he found a clear patch, he corrected his course. The compass on his chronometer must have been broken in their previous activities, because the direction indicator seemed to be unable to fix on any direction for more than a few minutes at a time.
The ammunition depot from which they had come lay in this direction as well, but it was at least 2500 kilometers away as the crow flew ... whatever a crow was. He presumed it was some flying thing from Earth, since the saying seemed to be rooted in Terran English, but he had never seen the creature referred to in the phrase.
Alan and Mark would find them soon, he told himself firmly. If they didn't, well ...
The ground had begun to slope steadily upward and the night had become very chilly. Susan was asleep on his back, and her hand finally released the doll. He caught it as it fell and tucked it into his belt. Angela had kept up with him but she looked very tired. Bronson was tired himself, his shoulders aching under Susan's weight.
"Doin' okay, honey?" he asked.
She nodded. "Do you have any idea where we are, Kevin?"
"I ain't real sure. The Patrol chased us about sixty or seventy kilometers before they got us. We were headin' due west, I'm pretty sure, an' now the ground's risin'. We must be pretty close to those mountains we flew over on the way here."
"The White Mountains," Angela said. "They're covered with snow all year round."
"Great," Kevin said.
After a while, they again heard the sound of voices and saw the flicker of lights. They crouched down in the underbrush, Kevin holding Susan on his knee, one hand ready to muffle any sound in case the little girl should awaken.
The two patrolmen paused three meters from them and one of the men swore wearily, removing his helmet.
"I'm about up to here with this. The place is crawlin' with big, nasty critters. I can see why the Jils gave it away."
"Me too, sir." Bronson saw the flare of a lighter. The men were stopping to enjoy a forbidden cigarette. Oh well, he thought, why shouldn't they? The Jilectans, who couldn't bear the odor of cigarette smoke, never set foot on Liskell. Once again, he wondered why. Ferocious animals couldn't possibly be the answer. The aliens would simply have their servants exterminate the bothersome creatures.
"They're probably nowhere near here, anyway," the first man remarked. The light that the other man carried glinted off the insignia of a corporal.
"Probably." The second man agreed. "Besides, I don't think anyone really wants to find 'em."
The corporal guffawed. "That's for sure, kid. I ain't got no hankerin' to get killed." He took a long drag on his cigarette.
"Me neither." The younger man hesitated. "That reward sure would be nice, though."
"Yeah -- if you could live long enough to collect it. So far, nobody's been able to. Look at what happened to that Bronson guy. Actually caught Westover, then went nuts an' rescued him. Linley did the same thing, way back when. Not to mention them two other Strike Commanders. Only thing I can figure is Westover somehow brainwashed 'em all, an' who knows how many other guys we don't know about. Them psychics are dangerous. Steer clear of 'em."
"Yeah." The younger man puffed his cigarette in silence for a moment. "You know, sir, I've been thinking ..."
"Dangerous pastime. Whatcha thinkin' about?"
"Well, it seems to me that if the Jils'd only teach us how to mind shield like the Underground teaches their people, one of us might be able to catch Westover, but how the devil do you catch somebody who can hear you coming kilometers away?"
"It ain't that simple, Jock." The other man took a last drag on his cigarette and tossed it away. It landed softly in the dry leaves a meter and a half from Angela's foot. A thin curl of smoke arose.
The corporal was continuing. "If the Jils taught us to shield, we'd be able to shield our minds from them. Then how could they know who to trust? Believe me, Jock, it ain't worth it."
"Well, they could make us keep our shields down while they were around ..."
"And it's make it devilish easy for the Underground to plant spies."
The wisp of cigarette smoke was becoming more pronounced, white against the darkness, and the burning butt glowed cherry red. Bronson watched it anxiously. If the dry leaves caught fire, the patrolmen would come over to put it out and they would certainly be discovered. He wished fervently that they would go away.
Jock again extracted his pack of cigarettes, offering them to his superior officer, then took one, himself. The lighter flared again.
The other man spoke into his helmet com. "Lindeman reportin' for search party 12. No sign of 'em yet."
"Can't the Jils tell if someone's shielded?" Jock asked.
"Most of the time they can," Lindeman agreed. "But if the guy's real careful, sometimes they can't. That 'trol, Bradley -- remember him? Been in the business ten years. Made sergeant before they spotted him, an' then only because somebody saw him where he didn't have no business bein'." The man paused. "Guy made off with somethin' that made the resident Jil real upset. Damn near killed the security chief, or so I heard. I was on the base when it happened, an' they brought all of us in for deep mind probes, but didn't turn up any more ... which don't really mean nothin' ..."
Bronson remembered the incident, too. He wished the men would finish and get on with their search. The leaves where the cigarette butt lay were smoldering now, and Angela didn't dare try to put them out. If she did, it would make a noise and they would be discovered.
"So you see, kid, it wouldn't work," the corporal concluded.
"Yeah, I guess so." The young patrolman sounded disgusted. In the smoking leaves, there was a tiny flicker of flame.
"Want another cigarette?" Lindeman asked.
Angela's eyes met Bronson's, desperate in the dimness. The fire was gaining headway, slowly but surely, licking at the leaves and twigs.
Jock took one. "Thanks. I guess I won't get another chance for a while after we get back ... hey, look!'
The corporal swore and took two long steps, stamping on the burning leaves. His eyes lit on Angela, just as Bronson's blaster hummed. The patrolman dropped like a stone.
Angela was on her feet as Jock leaped forward. "Freeze!" she snapped.
Jock obeyed, his weapon half drawn. Bronson fired a second time.
Leaving the two men stripped, cuffed and gagged, they hurried on their way, taking the things they had stolen along. After a short distance, Bronson discarded the clothing in dense shrubbery, emptied the belt pouches of everything useful and tossed them and the emptied blasters after the rest.
"Why did you take their boots?" Angela asked, curiously.
Bronson grinned wickedly. "Anythin' to slow 'em down," he told her. "Can you see anybody walkin' through this stuff in their bare feet?"
Angela giggled softly. "I hadn't thought of that," she admitted. "Kevin, that man had an accent like yours."
"Yeah, he's from Shallock," Bronson said. "There's lots of us in the Patrol. It's a big recruitin' pool for 'trols."
"Why?" she asked, curiously.
"Life there is pretty bad for most o' the human population," he said. "It's been a Jil world for longer than humans have been in space, an' Jils are kinda careless with planets, which is weird, because they need livin' space. Lotsa deterioratin' cities, lotsa slums, lotsa quakes, hot as hell, and weather like I've ain't seen on any other planet in the Sector. Lousy place."
"That's where you and Mark are from?"
"Yep. We both came from Scaifen. That's the capital city on the planet. Crummy place."
"And that's why you joined the Patrol?"
"Yeah, kinda. Let's not talk right now, honey. We need to be as quiet as we can."
They traveled on for another four hours, avoiding scouting parties occasionally. At last, the number of searchers seemed to diminish. For the final hour they encountered no one and Bronson began to entertain the hope that they might have outdistanced their pursuers, at least for the time being. Although she had said nothing, he knew Angela must be terribly tired, so finally he stopped, letting Susan slide gently to the ground.
"We'd better try to get some rest," he told the older girl.
She looked up at him in the darkness, the green of her eyes glowing faintly in the light of the larger moon which could barely be seen through the canopy of branches overhead. "Do we dare, Kevin?"
"I think so, for a little while, anyway." Turning his light on low, he flashed it around. The undergrowth was thick here and he chose a spot sheltered by tangled branches and vines to hide their presence. With great care, they crawled through underbrush on their hands and knees, and Bronson erased the signs of their passage behind them. Crouching in their living tent of growing things, he set the handlight on end to give them enough light to work and set about making their camp.
He wrapped Susan, who had barely awakened, in one of the undershirts that they had taken from their first victims. Angela slipped the other one over her head. Bronson surveyed her with a grin, but said nothing. Instead, he drew one of the thin, emergency blankets from the pack he carried and spread it on the damp ground. "We can sleep on this. If we put Susie in the middle, she won't get cold."
"All right." Angela smiled at him, settling down on the blanket next to her sister. Bronson lay down on the other side, spread a second blanket over them and switched off the light. For a long time he lay awake, straining his ears for indications of Patrol search parties, but there was nothing but the sounds of Liskell's nightlife. He finally fell asleep, but he slept lightly, some part of his mind still aware of danger even in his sleep.
**********
IV
The aircar containing Mark, Alan, Roger and Phyllis Westover, Matilda and Georgie raced away from the scene of combat, just skimming the treetops. Phyllis was still sobbing her daughters' names. The dog barked frantically.
"We've lost the pursuit," Mark said, peering out the rear window. "Take it easy, Mrs. Westover. Kevin'll take care of your girls."
"But the Patrol's after them!"
Alan glanced sideways at her. "Those Underground aircars are pretty souped up, Phyllis. He'll probably be able to outrun them."
"But what will we *do*?"
"We're heading for our ship," Alan said. "We parked it a little ways off and came in by aircar. From there, we'll go on to the base."
"What base?" Roger asked.
"The one on this planet. We have an ammunition depot here," Alan explained. "Kevin and the girls may be waiting for us at the ship. Let's not worry until we know there's something to worry about." He glanced back at his uncle, and Matilda's rough, wet tongue licked him on the ear. "Kevin's a good guy, Aunt Phyllis. I'm not just saying that. He's smart and very resourceful. I owe him my life more than once. He'll take care of Angela and Susie."
Georgie leaped up on the back of the seat, lost his balance and half-fell into Mark's lap, claws extended. Linley swore, and the cat emitted a terrified yowl.
"Sorry about the menagerie," Roger said, disengaging Georgie's claws from Linley's thigh. "Somehow, I guess I never really thought about what the Terran Underground is engaged in before. An ammunition depot here on Liskell ... it's really a sort of war, isn't it?"
"Not sort of," Mark said. "It *is* a war, and the Jils know it -- and so does the Underground. If we don't win it, Terrans'll be crowded out sooner or later -- just as soon as we take up the space the Jils need for their population. They don't recognize the right o' anybody to live where their people want to. We humans are nothin' but domestic animals as far as they're concerned, an' we don't make good pets."
"I never realized it was that serious," Roger said.
"Most people don't." Mark's voice sounded grim. "Even I didn't think much about it when I was in the Patrol. Oh, I didn't have no illusions about the Jils. 'Trols don't, much. But I hadn't carried the idea any farther than realizin' that I'd better watch out for my skin, 'cause the Jils sure weren't gonna. Terran psychics ... they put us on a par with the Jils. They've never had a real competitor before, an' they don't quite know how to handle 'em. We Terrans are the first real threat they've met up with since they made it into space, an' they don't like the idea one bit."
"Do you really think the girls will be all right?" Phyllis whispered.
"Sure I do," Alan said. "Kevin's a very smart guy, Aunt Phyllis. He was once a Patrol subcommander, you know." He paused, instantly sorry for reminding his aunt of that not too respectable fact. Patrolmen were well known for their lack of morals, especially concerning women, and anyone even glancing at Kevin Bronson would know instantly that he was anything but inexperienced with the opposite sex. Alan, himself, would not care to vouch for Bronson's honor, should the former patrolman be isolated for an extended period with a young, attractive, scantily clad girl. The memory of Angela's bare legs below the shorts came to mind.
Roger was speaking. "At least they have a chance now, dear. If the Patrol had taken them, they wouldn't have had even that."
"Why would the Patrol hurt Angie and Susie? They're innocent ..."
"Until a Jilectan cleared them, they'd be prisoners," Roger reminded her. "I'm not sure I'd want to bet on their safety on board a Patrol cruiser."
"Neither would I," Mark said, somewhat grimly. "Lotsa those guys ain't seen a woman in weeks, or months. The Jils don't care what happens to Terran women, Phyllis. I didn't put up with it when I was in command o' the 'Wolverine', -- at least not when I knew about it -- but lotsa times, the Strike Commander don't find out or he don't give a damn either way. Sides ..." He broke off. "You better tell 'em, kid."
"Tell us what?" Roger asked.
Alan had forgotten that neither his uncle nor aunt had been present when he'd broken the news to Angela and Susan. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Angela and Susan are psychics, Aunt Phyllis," he said, soberly. "Both of them."
"What?" Roger leaned over the seat, staring at him. "Matilda, shut *up*! What are you saying, Alan?"
He nodded reluctantly. "I'm afraid it's true, Uncle Roger. I sensed it as soon as they came into the room. They've inherited the talent from you. It kind of runs in our family. My mom and dad were both psychics, as far as we can figure out, and you are and so are Susie and Angela. I wonder if Aunt Lyla is ... it never occurred to me before."
Phyllis began to cry again. Roger glanced at her and patted her on the shoulder. "Easy, dear." He turned back to Alan. "What about Phyllis? Is she ...?
"No," Alan said, staring straight ahead. "Just your girls."
"Good Lord! What about the baby that's coming? Is he ..."
"She," Alan said, before he thought. "Yes."
Phyllis's sobs grew more violent.
"None o' you are innocent in the Jils' eyes, Phyllis," Mark said gently. "Your husband and daughters are psychics, and the baby you're carryin' will be a psychic."
"Another girl," Roger said. "I had a feeling it was, but I was sort of hoping for a boy, this time." He patted his wife's shoulder again, then got up and climbed over the seat between her and Alan. Mark was left in the rear, alone except for the yapping dog and the cat, which was staring out the window with dilated eyes and whiskers that appeared twice as long as usual. The long, canine tongue licked Alan's ear and a trickle of saliva dribbled down the back of his shirt.
They were coming up on the ship now, and Alan triggered the cargo hatch by remote control. The cargo ship was parked in a small open space, concealed by a large, spreading tree. There was no sign of the other aircar.
"They aren't here," Roger said.
Alan looked at Mark. His partner met his gaze over the body of the cat, whose claws were dug in a death grip into the leather of the seat's back. The dog continued to bark.
"Shut *up*, Matilda!" Phyllis snapped. The dog did not shut up.
"Now what do we do?" Roger inquired.
"We wait," Mark said, as Alan maneuvered the aircar into the cargo hatch. "Here kid, take this damned cat. I'll go warm up the engines an' get things ready. Maybe Abe's picked up somethin' we ain't."
Alan cut the engines and received the cat. The animal strained for a moment in his hold, claws sinking into his leg. Mark opened the door and got out. The dog made a bolt for freedom but Mark shut the door before she could escape.
Phyllis was weeping quietly on her husband's shoulder and Alan watched her unhappily. "Please don't cry, Aunt Phyllis," he begged. "Kevin will take care of them."
"I don't *trust* Kevin!" Phyllis sobbed. "He's an ex-patrolman!"
Alan had sensed as much, but still he felt a little twinge of resentment at her implication.
"Phyllis," Roger said firmly, "Subcommander Bronson may have once been a patrolmen, but do you remember why he relinquished his profession? It was to save Alan from a particularly unpleasant death. You saw what he did. Do you think he'd try to hurt us now? I don't."
"I know!" Phyllis sobbed. "I'm sorry, Alan. I'm just so worried ..."
Alan sighed. "It's all right, Phyllis, I understand. Believe me, Kevin's going to have his mind on other things besides Angela. Remember, if the Patrol catches them, he's in for it, too."
"I know, but he ..."
"Besides," Alan continued, quietly, "Kevin would never do *anything* to hurt me or my family. I *know*. Angela is perfectly safe from him." He paused, hoping fervently that he was speaking the truth. It *was* the truth, he told himself. Kevin was always a gentleman with the pretty girls. Of course, if the pretty girls decided that Bronson was *their* type, he wouldn't tell them no. And Kevin wasn't above trying to seduce a girl ...
He shook off the thought. Mark was closing the cargo hatch and as the doors clicked shut, Alan unfastened the safety webbing and opened the door. The dog leaped over the seat, shot across his lap in a scramble of claws and fur, and landed on the smooth deck. The cat sprang gracefully after his fellow sufferer and Roger grabbed him.
Alan slid from the aircar and Roger followed him still holding the cat. Phyllis disembarked after the two men, still sniffling a little. They followed Alan through the hatch into the main body of the ship. There were two cabins, each opening from the short corridor, and past them, the corridor opened on the main cabin, on one side of which was the galley and on the other the latrine. Forward of the main cabin was the control room. Mark stuck his head through the opening as they entered the main cabin, his face very sober.
"Just picked up a transmission," he said rapidly in Basic. "Kevin's aircar was shot down seventy-two kilometers from the settlement -- almost at the foot of the White Mountain Range."
"And?" Alan glanced sideways at his relatives. It was obvious that Phyllis hadn't understood, but his uncle had, judging from his emotional emanations.
"They ain't caught 'em. Kevin made a landin' in the treetops an' there weren't no bodies found, so they're probably okay. The Patrol's lookin' for 'em, but they ain't turned up nothin' yet."
Roger let out his breath. Phyllis looked from one to the other. "What is it? What's happened?" she demanded.
Roger told her. Phyllis's face went white. "Oh, my God ..."
Mark came over to her, putting a large, muscular arm around her. "They'll be okay, Phyl," he said, comfortingly. "My baby brother's sharp."
"She's worried because he's an ex-'trol, Mark," Alan said, bluntly.
"Oh," Mark said. He chuckled. "Don't worry about that, honey. Kevin ain't no knight in shinin' armor, but he knows how to behave himself when he has to, an' right now he has to. He has a very smart little four-year-old with a heavy crush on him watchin' every move he makes." He paused a moment and continued, "Besides, Angie is Alan's cousin. Kev thinks more o' Alan than just about anybody else in the galaxy. He wouldn't hurt Alan for nothin' -- no more'n I would. He'll take good care o' those girls. Don't you worry."
Alan edged past him into the control room. "We'd better move, Mark."
"Yeah." Mark glanced at their two passengers. "You two go strap in. Better shut the cat and dog into the latrine."
Phyllis took Matilda by the collar, starting to pull her toward the door. There was very little room in the latrine. They couldn't get into much trouble in there -- at least, Alan hoped not. He dropped into the pilot's chair. Mark took the copilot's position and the whine of engines began.
Roger and Phyllis appeared in the doorway behind them as Alan was about to trigger the repulsers. Mark glanced at them in annoyance. "I said go strap in."
"Alan," Phyllis said, her voice much calmer suddenly. "I want to go look for my children. I can't just leave them like this."
Mark shook his head. "You *can't*, baby, " he began.
Alan put a hand on his arm and Linley stopped. Of the two of them, Alan was by far the most diplomatic. It was better that he do the talking in emotionally charged situations.
"Take over, Mark," he said. "I'll explain."
"Sure thing, Colonel, sir," Linley said, with a slight grin. "I'll yell if I needja."
Alan rose from his seat. "Come into the main cabin, please, Phyllis. And strap in."
Roger and Phyllis obeyed. Alan seated himself between them, fastening the safety webbing across his lap. The whine of engines increased and there was a momentary heaviness of acceleration.
"We'll find them, Phyllis," Alan said. "As soon as we have you safe, Mark and I will go after them."
"But how *can* you, Alan? I mean, the Patrol's looking too, but they haven't found them yet. How are *you* going to ..."
"I'm a psychic," Alan said. "A trained psychic. I'm also a psychic tracer. I'll find them all right."
"Then go now! Don't wait. Mark can get us to safety. *You* go find Angela and Susie!"
Alan shook his head. "I can't." He paused, listening to the scream of air against the hull and wondering how on Earth to explain Linley's relationship to him as a psychic power pack. "For one thing, I have orders from my commanding officer not to undertake anything like this on my own. Mark's my partner and backup, and he's a former Strike Commander. He knows how to deal with the Patrol."
"But you ..."
"I'm the Underground's top psychic, Aunt Phyllis. I'm not *allowed* to take risks like that without Mark. Mark is also my power pack. I'm over three times as powerful when he's with me."
"What do you mean?" Roger asked blankly.
Again Alan hesitated. "This is a secret of the Underground, Roger. The Jils don't know that people like Mark exist -- and it's a terrific advantage for our side. If they were ever to find out ..." He paused. "It's like this. Both Mark and Kevin are psychics, but they're a very special sort, and they're very rare. They produce psychic energy, but they lack the control factor. I don't really understand it completely, myself. Nobody does, but when a person like Mark or Kevin comes in contact with a psychic whose mind is a perfect complement of his, the psychic can tap that energy, draw on it unconsciously. I do it all the time with Mark, and with Kevin too, but my link with him has never been as strong as the one with Mark. We're unconsciously linked all the time. It's pretty complicated, and as I said, I don't really understand it at all. You'd have to talk to our experts about the whys and hows."
"But you say Kevin and Mark are psychics?" Roger said. "Both of them were in the Patrol. Wouldn't the Jilectans have detected them?"
"No," Alan told his uncle. "The missing control factor has something to do with it, we think. Neither can control their powers, their mind shielding is poor and psychics can't sense their psychic energy. The only way to detect a psychic power pack is when a psychic links with one of them, or by genetic test. Or ..." He hesitated. "Or if one of them produces a psychic child. Most non-psychics have the control factor. They have to, to shield. Mark ..." He hesitated again. "Mark has a psychic son. He's eleven years old. His mother isn't a psychic." He stopped.
"That's fascinating," Roger said. "And you say, you're a better psychic when Mark is with you? I've always been interested in genetics, you know. You aren't related to Mark, are you?"
"Not that we know of," Alan said. "But our minds *are* perfect complements. We know of another such case ... two of them, actually. In one of them, the psychic and his power pack are full brothers. The other one is a power pack whose psychic was killed years ago -- at least we think that was the case. My fiancee's father is a power pack without a psychic. She's a psychic, and a very powerful one."
"Interesting," Roger said, again. "It makes me wonder if any of your relatives, Alan, might be able to do the same thing with Mark or Kevin. Would we know it if we did?"
Alan felt a little twinge of jealousy. He didn't want to share his link with Mark with anyone else, silly as it seemed. Their link and their friendship were very special to him.
"Neither of us knew it when we linked on Midgard, and neither did the other two I told you about, even though they must have been psychic partners for years. The link only becomes conscious in a time of crisis, and even then I can't feel it, but Mark can." He paused. "Janice isn't linked with either of them, though."
"Janice?" Phyllis spoke sharply. "You mean, your sister?"
Alan nodded. "She wasn't killed in that accident like we thought. Instead, she was kidnapped by the Jilectans and used to experiment on so they could learn more about Terran psychics. Mark and I rescued her a while back. You remember when Mark killed Lanthzor? She was the state prisoner that we rescued."
"Holy ..." Roger shook his head. "So that's what actually happened. I can see why he did what he did."
"Actually," Alan said, "he didn't mean to. It was sort of an accident. Anyway, you see why I can't take off out of the blue to trace Kevin and the girls, but as soon as we ..."
"Alan!" Mark bellowed. "C'mere, quick!"
Alan yanked off his safety webbing. "Excuse me, please," he said, and ran for the control room.
He saw the cruiser at once, a big, sleek silver disk on the screen. Alan dropped into the pilot's seat, activating the weapons computer as he did so.
"He's gainin'," Mark said. "We can't head for the base."
Alan didn't answer for the moment, busy with the computer. "It's the 'Juggernaut'," he said at last. "Oh gosh! Phyllis isn't going to like this a bit."
"Can't be helped," Mark replied. "We can't circle around up here forever with a cruiser after us."
"Unidentified cargo ship!" a deep, masculine voice boomed, "this is the Patrol battlecruiser 'Juggernaut'. Identify yourself at once!"
Alan glanced at Mark. "This is the Terran cargo ship 'My Lulu', Registry code 22471190037Z. Go bother somebody else, 'trol! We're in Terran space!"
The cruiser continued to pursue them. "Cargo ship, you are ordered to lay to and prepare for boarding."
Alan did not reply. After it became apparent that the cargo ship did not intend to obey the order, the communicator fell silent. Blue flame blossomed suddenly across the darkness after them, and their own weapons computer returned the fire.
"Well," Alan said, "now they know we aren't friendly."
Another shot, closer. Linley examined the readout. "The next one'll get us. Settin' for hyperspace."
"What's going on?" Roger called.
"Stay put!" Mark shouted back. "Don't take your webbin' off! We got a Patrol battlecruiser after us!" He bent over the console before him.
"Twenty seconds," Alan said. "Shields up at full power."
"Hope we make it." Linley glanced anxiously at the screen. Their computer fired again, the shot deflected by the battlecruiser's screens.
"Terran cargo ship, this is Strike Commander Bell!" a different voice boomed from the speaker, this one carrying the unmistakable accent of Shallock. "Surrender at once!"
"Ten seconds," Alan said. He glanced at the screen. "Another Shallockian. You know him, Mark?"
Linley grinned. There was a slight jolt as their ship converted to hyperspace.
"Yeah, I know him. Old Clarence Bell an' me were in boot camp together. Helluva good 'trol."
"Clarence?" Alan said, incredulously.
"Oh, we didn't call him that. His buddies call him 'Red'. He's got fiery copper hair, sorta like Halthzor's."
Alan chuckled softly, then sobered. "I hope Kevin can hold out down there."
"I'm sure he'll manage for a while. The hard part's gonna be convincin' your aunt an' uncle o' that -- 'specially that pretty li'l aunt o' yours."
"I know," Alan said, unhappily. "Must be awful to be a mother. My mom was the same way, only not quite as bad -- probably because I was a boy."
"Yeah," Mark said. "Guess they figure they gotta protect their daughters from guys like Kev an' me." He grinned slightly. "I wonder what Jul's mom woulda thought o' her gettin' engaged to an ex-'trol."
"I think she would have said Julia was pretty lucky," Alan said, quite seriously. "At least with you around, nobody else is going to dare try anything with her."
"I guess," Mark agreed, thoughtfully. "Any mom would worry about a daughter with her looks, I s'pose. Not that she can't take care o' herself. It'll probably keep me on my toes when I have daughters, if they look anythin' like her."
Alan grinned. "Or you. I'm afraid to guess what they'll look like. With the two of you for parents, they shouldn't have any complaints."
Mark grinned, not answering. He touched something on the control board. "I'm bringin' us outta hyperspace in a minute -- just beyond the system. There." He leaned back in his seat. "Your aunt's right to worry about that li'l Angie, though. Cute li'l thing. Sorta what you'd have looked like if you was a girl, kid."
Alan flushed. "Cut it out!"
"Baby face, an' those eyes. Could charm the wart right off Halthzor's nose."
Alan laughed. "Halthzor doesn't have a wart.
"He did -- at least, that's what I hear. Had it taken off, though."
"I didn't know that." Alan leaned back, too. "Ten seconds."
"Anyway, I can sure see why she's worried. If Kev don't fall head over heels for her, I'll wonder about him."
"Me too," Alan agreed. "I hope he behaves himself."
"Sh!" Mark grinned. "Yeah, I hope so, too. 'Course, her sis is there too, but four-year-olds hafta sleep sometimes ..."
There was a slight jolt as they came out of hyperspace.
"Okay," Mark said. He started to remove his safety webbing. Roger and Phyllis appeared in the doorway.
"Are we at the station?" Phyllis asked.
"Uh ..." Alan cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Aunt Phyllis, but we got chased by a battlecruiser. We had to go into hyperspace to escape it. We didn't *dare* head for the depot."
Phyllis started to cry again. Roger put his arm around her. "Where are we, Alan?"
"Just outside the system. We'll have to wait a while now before we can go back. They're going to be watching for us." He paused. "I'm sorry, Roger, there's nothing else we can do. Getting shot out of space or captured won't do Angela any good, either."
"But what about Angie and Susie?" Phyllis sobbed.
"They're gonna be all right," Mark said, firmly. "Kevin'll take care of them, honey. He'll behave himself, too. You'll see. My baby brother ain't no fool."
**********
tbc
