A Family Resemblance: 5/5
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
VIII
"What the blazes ..." Bronson chewed his lip in utter confusion. "What the devil's *that* doin' here?"
"What kind of ship is it?" Angela's whisper, close to his ear, sounded breathless. "I've never seen anything like it before."
"I have." Bronson frowned in perplexity at the great craft. "That design ..." He fell silent, studying the outlines of the vessel. "It's old," he said at last. "Very old. Probably been here since these passages were built. What did you say -- three, four hundred years?"
She nodded. "Maybe more."
"Umph! An' now the question is, is there anybody on board to give us an argument?" He glanced over his shoulder, seeing Angela's face very close to his, then down at the child beside him. "Whatcha think, kids? Anybody home?"
Angela moved uneasily on his back. "I suppose that Alan could tell you just by looking at it, couldn't he?"
Bronson grinned, letting her slide gently to the ground. "Yeah, he could. And you'd be able to, too, if you'd been trained by the teachers we got at the base."
She smiled up at him. "Do you think I'll ever be as good as he is, Kevin?"
"We ... e ... ll ..." He hesitated. "Alan's the best there is. We've never found anybody else quite as good. We're pretty sure both o' his parents were psychics, but only one o' yours is. You'll be good, though. Both of you will."
Susan fluttered her eyelashes at him. "I don't think anyone's on board, Kevin."
Angela looked down at her small sister. "You don't *know* that, Susie."
She shrugged. "I don't think there is, though."
Bronson grinned. "She's a psychic, baby. What do *your* instincts tell you?"
Angela grimaced, staring at the ship. "Well, I don't *think* there is, but I'm not sure."
"Okay, we'll be careful" He took her arm and drew his blaster again. "Come on."
Very cautiously they approached the ship, watching alertly for any sign of life. There was none.
The boarding ramp was down but the ship's airlock was closed and sealed. Bronson ran his hand over it hopelessly. There was no way to open the vessel from the outside without the access code.
He glanced at his blaster. He might try to burn out the lock, but normally it took more than a standard blaster to accomplish the task, unless he were to put it on max, and then the damage would almost certainly preclude their use of the ship. If they could get it open and it still worked, and was space-worthy, they might have transport out of this place -- if they could figure out how to open the top of this huge spaceship hangar. After all, it had to have been opened to get the ship into this place, he reasoned. That was a lot of ifs, of course, but it was beginning to look like they weren't going to have a better chance to escape this mess.
But the hatch was sealed. Blast it! If only Alan were here! Locks were no barrier to him. Telekinesis was one of Alan's strongest talents and with Mark or Kevin to draw power from, not even locks designed to resist psychics could withstand him.
Bronson's eyes strayed to Angela. She had unlocked the restrainers for him. She was his psychic partner now, and he was her power pack. An Armageddon Team. Why couldn't she unlock the hatch as well?
"Angie?"
"What?"
"Honey, we gotta get this thing open. If we do, we might be able to get off the planet without waitin' for Alan an' Mark to find us. I needja to unlock it."
Her green eyes glowed like a cat's in the low lighting. "You want me to unlock it? But, I don't know how."
Kevin nodded. "I know, but I got somethin' to tell you -- a little story. Remember when I toldya about the time I first met Alan?"
"Yes."
"Well, honey, I put restrainers on him an' started to march him back to my ship. I didn't know he was linked with me then; I didn't even know such a thing was possible. Alan didn't know we were linked either, but he figured it out real quick. You see, there's one thing that goes along with that kind o' link that I didn't tellya. Alan taps Mark an' me for psychic power. We're what they call psychic power packs. He can use that extra power to do stuff that ordinary psychics can't do."
"Like what?"
Kevin smiled. "Restrainers are designed to hold psychics, but usin' the power he was pullin' off of me, he undid the restrainers faster'n scat, snatched a blaster from one o' my men and zapped both of 'em with it. Woulda got me too, if he hadn't been tryin' not to kill me."
"But I ..."
"Lemme finish. The Underground's worked with him ever since, tryin' to figure out how he did it. He's the only psychic in the galaxy so far as we know, Terran or Jilectan, who's ever done it. That is -- until you took the restrainers off me, yesterday."
Her eyes widened. "But ..."
"You can open that lock, honey -- the same way that Alan did, by drawin' power off me."
"I thought you said Alan was the only one who could do that."
"He was." Bronson grinned widely. "That is, until you came along. How do you think you did what you did, yesterday?"
Her eyes grew wider. "You mean *I'm* linked with you, too?"
"That's right. I didn't mean to tell you right away, like this, but I realized it after you undid the cuffs. You're linked with me, sure enough, and the link's stronger than the one I have with Alan. We must suit better or somethin', I guess. Anyhow, you can use it the same way Alan does an' open this lock, just like yesterday."
"But I don't know *how*!"
"I know. Now listen to me. I'll describe it the way Alan's told me. There was a first time for him too, y'know."
"But he had the Underground to train him."
Kevin shook his head. "Not in the beginnin', he didn't. After him and Mark got away from the 'Wolverine', they were on their own. All he had to teach him was Mark, an' Mark knew a lot less than I do right now. But I attended a class on psychic trainin'. I wanted to know how to teach a psychic in case I ever had to -- like right now. Willya try?"
She looked doubtful. "Well ... all right."
"Okay." Kevin drew a breath. Now he got to see if he'd really understood what they'd tried to teach him in that class. "I want you to make fingers with your imagination. Make 'em, an' think of 'em as real an' solid. They *are* real, remember. You used 'em yesterday. Then, think about the lock. Try to see the inside in your mind and reach for it with the fingers. They can go right through the solid metal, remember." He clasped both of her hands tightly. "I'll be helpin' you, even though you can't feel it. Now try."
**********
IX
Angela Westover clasped Kevin's hands tightly, closed her eyes and tried to obey his instructions.
Mental fingers. Carefully, she envisioned them in her mind. Think of them as real, he had said. Alan was capable of this. She had seen him pick up the bedraggled doll that still hung from Kevin's belt. He had made it look easy.
She bit her lip, forming the picture in her mind. Kevin's big hands clasped hers warmly and reassuringly. She had to do this for all of them, but especially for Kevin, who had risked so much to save them both, and who obviously believed that she could do what he had described.
The image of the lock formed in her mind with surprising ease. It was so real an image that she could have almost reached out and touched it. She *must* reach out and touch it, not with her hand, but with those imaginary fingers.
Not imaginary; real! Real and solid as the ones she clasped in Kevin's hands. She strained with them, groping frantically. It was hard to control them, to make them go where she wished. At last she touched the image, surprised that she could feel it. Somehow she must release the lock and the seal that closed the airlock to them.
There was the mechanism that controlled the door. She must move it a fraction of a centimeter, close one tiny connection, and the door would open. Somehow she knew that, never wondering how she knew. Not until later did she realize that the knowledge must have come directly from Kevin's mind, through the link that would tie them together for the rest of their lives.
Clumsily, she hooked her mental fingers around the mechanism and exerted pressure.
Nothing happened. The feel of the metal was immovable. How could anyone move something with her mind? It was completely impossible ..."
She shook her head slowly. "I can't, Kevin. It's crazy even to ..."
He caught her shoulders, shaking her a little. "Angie, you *can*. Yesterday you unfastened those restrainers on my wrists without even thinkin' about it. Nobody's *ever* done that but Alan Westover, himself! You can do it, baby. Just try! Reach for the lock an' make it move!"
She stared into his face. "Do you really think I can?"
He took her face between his hands. His palms were large and rough, but very gentle on her cheeks. His fingers moved, pushing the tangled curls back from her eyes.
"Angie," he said firmly, "I know you can. I've seen it done, by Terrans smaller than you. There's nothin' to openin' a lock. Alan's a whiz at it. His fiancee, little Lyn Parnell, is almost as good, an' Alan's little sis, Jan, can do it without battin' an eye. Colonel Burke, our psychic trainer, took a whole five minutes to teach her how to use her telekinesis. You just gotta believe in yourself. *I* believe in you. I know you can do it."
She was silent, staring into his determined face, then nodded. "Okay, I'll give it another try."
"Good." He took her hand again. Angela closed her eyes in order to concentrate.
It was amazing how quickly the picture of the lock formed in her mind this time, sharp and clear, as if she were staring directly at it without the layer of the ship's hull to block her vision. The mental fingers materialized almost as easily. Trying to keep them steady, she reached out, grasping the mechanism, feeling it in her mind as she did so. It was like holding something with her material hand, she thought, feeling it carefully with this new extension of herself. The insubstantial fingers had no nerves or muscles except those given to it by the strange power that she wielded, but she could feel it plainly. She was grasping the mechanism in a hand, a solid, substantial hand with an infinitely delicate touch. The connection resisted beneath her mental fingers. She could feel its stiffness. It didn't want to move, but she clenched her jaw and squeezed.
The metal stirred. There was a click and a soft hum. Angela opened her eyes.
The airlock was open.
"You did it!" Kevin grabbed her around the waist and swung her into the air, planting an enthusiastic kiss on her mouth. "I *told* you you could!"
Angela could feel her face stretching in a wide grin as he set her down once more. "It wasn't so hard, once I believed I could do it!"
"'Course not! An' it'll get easier every time, now. C'mon, kids, let's go see what's in there." He gripped her hand again. "Stick close, Susie."
Angela took her small sister's hand as Kevin started forward, into the lock.
The airlock was large and empty. Kevin touched a control under a row of multicolored lights. The outer door closed behind them and the inner one slid aside with a soft hiss. A puff of cool air emerged, bearing a faint metallic odor. Kevin paused for a moment and Angela knew he was listening, but strain her own ears as she might, she could hear no sound.
Stepping softly, Kevin moved ahead, the blaster clutched in his left hand. A little surprised, Angela realized that he was left-handed, like her. She hadn't noticed before.
A passageway stretched ahead, larger than any that she had ever entered; considerably larger than the passages of the ship that had brought her family to Liskell a little over two years ago. They trod softly down it and Kevin turned unexpectedly to touch a button on one side of a door. It slid silently open and Angela beheld what could only be a compartment for many passengers, furnished with row upon row of acceleration chairs. Kevin frowned at the padded seats.
"Look at the size of 'em!"
The chairs were large, obviously meant to accommodate humanoids, but much bigger than would be comfortable even for someone as large as Kevin. She glanced up at him. "What were they?"
"Jils," Kevin said. "Or maybe Raghiki ... but the design's wrong for them, and anyway, the Raghiki didn't start space travel 'til about fifty years ago. It's gotta be Jilectan, except ..." He broke off.
"I've never seen a Jilectan," Angela said. "Except in pictures, of course. Except what?"
"Well, the Jils didn't come into the sector until a lot later." He frowned. "I dunno. Let's find the log. It'll answer a lotta questions we'll never get just guessin'."
They left the lounge and continued on down the corridor toward a lift. The doors stood open and Kevin started to enter. Angela hesitated, then followed, Susan still clutching her hand. "What kind of ship is it, Kevin?"
"Colony ship," Kevin said, absently. "It's too big to be anythin' else, really. 'Sides, I've seen 'em at the spaceports. What I can't figure out is what it's doin' *here*. Jils never come to Liskell ... not anymore, anyway. I've never heard o' one ever settin' foot on the planet."
"Neither have I," Angela said.
Kevin grinned sourly. "There must be some reason, even if we don't know what it is. I was flabbergasted when I heard ol' Lanthzor'd given it to Terra. I mean, Jils don't *do* that sorta thing. They're territory-hungry, an' they don't recognize the right o' nobody to own planets but them. We ain't people, far as they're concerned -- just smart animals. So why'd they hand over Liskell to us just like that, unless there was a real good reason?"
"I have no idea," Angela said. "Liskell's a wonderful planet. I've loved living here the past two years. We've never found anything wrong with it, except that you have to be really careful if you go off somewhere you've never been. You have to be sure of your landmarks so you know how to get back again. Compasses don't work here."
"I thought mine was broken," Kevin said.
She shook her head. "No. It's the magnetic fields. They shift all the time. I guess in the beginning they had a lot of exploring parties get lost until they realized what the problem was. Explorers here navigate by satellite positioning systems because compasses aren't reliable. It's just one of the things Terran had to adapt to when we came. Most of us get pretty good at telling directions by the stars, actually."
"I've never heard o' anythin' like that before," Kevin said. "I wonder if there's any connection?"
A bell chimed softly as the lift came to a stop on the first level. Kevin disembarked and Angela and Susan followed. He glanced around at a mass of instrumentation and various consoles that had no meaning to Angela.
"Control room, all right," he said. "It's similar to the designs of Jil ships I've been on, but ..."
He strode over to a panel covered with pinpoint lights, now unlit, and dark panels of various sizes and shapes, and dropped into one of the huge chairs. Angela tiptoed over to stand behind him.
She had seen very few control rooms of any sort in her life. Once, on a field trip with her high school science class, she had toured the control room of one of the big passenger liners of Terra, and her family owned a small, Terran skippership that she had been learning to pilot, but the design was totally different from these alien instruments with their alien readings now before her. Still, the controls seemed oddly clumsy, almost archaic. Kevin bent over the board before him, swearing under his breath in Basic. He had been speaking Terran English to her since they met with the ease of a Terran native, except for the heavy Shallockian accent, but she realized suddenly that Basic must be his native language. She sat down beside him, tugging Susan into her lap. Her little sister was looking tired, her eyelids beginning to droop.
"Now, lemme see ..." His fingers moved skillfully over the panel. "What've we got here ..."
He pressed a button and three lights came on in unison. There was a shrill bleep. Kevin muttered to himself and pressed the control again. The lights went off and the beeping subsided.
"Hmm ..." He pressed something else. A screen came suddenly to life on the wall above the control panel, revealing the grey, rock walls of the cavern without. Kevin muttered to himself. "I think it's Jil design all right, but it's changed a lot in three or four hundred years. I guess that's expectable. Lemme see ..."
Angela watched as he pressed another button. "Ah, there it is!"
There was a musical beep and a small screen flickered to life beneath the larger one. A large blond face appeared, framed within the screen. Angela looked quickly at Kevin.
"Is that ...?"
"It's a Jil," he confirmed, studying the image intently, "an he don't look so good."
She looked back at the screen. "Is he sick?"
"I'd say so. I ain't never seen one of our lords an' masters lookin' so bad."
Angela stared at the screen. Now that Kevin had pointed it out, the alien's face *did* look a bit haggard. The large, pale green eyes were bloodshot and dark smudges like bruises underlined them. The pale, almost translucent skin glistened with a sheen of perspiration.
"Let's hear what he has to say." Kevin pressed another control and the image moved. Unintelligible words emerged from the cracked lips. Kevin frowned, concentrating. Angela started to speak but he motioned her to silence.
The alien was obviously having difficulties. He paused frequently during the speech, trying to catch his breath. Kevin didn't move a muscle, his gaze intent on the screen. Several times he stopped the recording and reversed it, replaying sections. The alien paused at last and rubbed the back of his six-fingered hand across his mouth. He spoke one last sentence, his voice dying to a mere whisper, and put his head in his hands on the desk before him. There was a bleep and the image vanished.
"What did he say?" Angela asked.
He was frowning at the now blank screen. "I didn't understand it all," he said. "It was an older form of the Jils' native language. Also, there's been some degradation o' the recordin' -- but I think I got the gist o' what happened."
Susan shifted uncomfortably in Angela's lap. Angela ignored her. "What *did* happen?"
"Well ..." Kevin leaned back in the seat. "This is a colony ship, like we thought -- a real early one. The Jils' population was getting' out of hand, and they were tryin' to spread out some. This one was headed for a yellow star with a habitable planet not too far from their home system. They hadn't left their own section of space yet, from what I could tell. Anyway, they were in hyperspace when somethin' went wrong, or somebody goofed, or somethin'. They weren't as good at handlin' hyperspace back then, y'know. The ship got off course and they came out of hyperspace over Liskell. They didn't know if they could find their way back, so since it was a habitable world, they landed and set up camp."
Susan shifted again and Angela felt a little shiver of nervousness crawl over her skin. She forced it back. "So, what happened?"
He didn't answer for a moment, then pressed the control again. The blond features of the Jilectan appeared once more.
"I ain't real sure about it. The recordin's too old, an' I ain't that good at the Jils' native language anyhow. Picked up some when I was in the Patrol, and the Underground taught me what they've managed to learn." He flashed her a grin. "I'm good at languages," he added. "Always have been, but the Jil language has the screwiest structure, and to complicate things, they have all kinds o' prefixes an' suffixes that change the meanin' o' words completely. It's a tonal language, too. Hard as hell to figure out. As far as I can tell, the colony had been here about a year when they got hit with some kind o' disease. Didn't miss nobody, an' it killed 'em off real quick. This guy here, Rinxvar, one o' the ship's doctors, was tryin' to explain it, but my Jil ain't that good, an' I don't think he was really sure o' what was the matter, anyway. He knew he didn't have long, either. Whatever it was, it got their slaves, too. Dunno who they were. Rinxvar called 'em 'prinx' -- slaves in the Jil language. Probably one o' the first batches they conquered. He was sayin' somethin' about the magnetic shifts. I think that might be somethin' we oughtta look into when we get back home, if we ..." He broke off.
The uneasiness was becoming stronger. Could it be a premonition?" Angela wondered.
Kevin pressed another button on the panel. A row of lights to Angela's left lit up abruptly with an enthusiastic beeping and clicking. Susan jumped to her feet, grabbing Kevin's arm.
"Kevin!" she squealed, "I don't feel good!"
"Huh?" He looked at her and then at Angela. "Whatcha mean? Maybe you'd better lie down, sweetie."
"No!" She shook her head, the blond curls bouncing in the cabin's reddish lighting. "I feel funny -- like something's going to happen!"
"Holy space!" He looked at Angela. "How about you?"
She nodded reluctantly. "I feel the same," she admitted, "but I figured it was just nerves."
"Honey, you're a psychic! Don't ever figure that!" He turned back to the panel. "Get us killed quick! Now, lemme see here ..."
Susan's eyes got bigger. "It's getting worse, Kevin!" Her voice was shrill, bordering on panic. "My stomach feels funny!"
"Angie!" he commanded sharply. "Strap her in -- strap both o' you in." He punched several of the controls in quick succession. More lights came on. "I'll be damned, the thing still runs." He turned to the computer. "Oh man, what a monstrosity!" He did more things and unreadable symbols flickered onto the board. A male voice spoke gibberish out of the air.
"Can you fly it?" Angela whispered.
He nodded absently. "Sure. I been pilotin' ships since I was nineteen. This is a bit cruder, but pretty much the same. Hmmm ..." He pushed more buttons. "The computer don't do as much, an' there ain't as many automatic controls, but I think I can manage. Now, if I can just figure out how to open the hangar ..."
Susan screamed and hid her face against Angela's shoulder. Kevin swore softly. "It's gotta be here someplace."
Angela watched helplessly as he searched. One big hand was resting on a large, black button and the other hand played over the panel. Susan began to cry. Kevin pressed another button and the scene on the large screen shifted, showing the opening of the passage through which they had come. Even as the image appeared, Angela saw the foremost patrolman emerge from the tunnel.
"Here they come," Kevin said. "Just a few minutes before they burn out the lock and then we've had it." He swore vividly.
Angela could never explain later why she did what she did next. She reached past Kevin, placed her hand on top of his where it lay on the black button and pushed the mechanism all the way down. There was a sharp click and a warning siren began to sound throughout the ship. Kevin started and swore, brushing her hand away. Then he stopped, staring upward.
The entire ceiling of the control room seemed to dissolve. Angela saw the grey, stone roof of the hangar over their heads, but even as she looked, the roof slid back like an enormous skylight and she saw above them the night sky of Liskell. The clouds were clearing; only a few patches remained, and the sky was spangled with stars. Against the stars moved the circling lights of aircars.
A tremendous roar shook the cavern and for a moment they were pressed heavily back into the soft, cushioned seats. The lights of the aircars leaped toward them, to vanish behind as the huge ship surged upward and out.
X
"Yeahhooo!" Bronson bellowed, triumphantly. "That'll teach you to meddle with the Westovers, you bloody jerks!"
"What happened?" Angela sounded a little dazed.
Bronson found himself to be grinning widely. "We upset a few aircars when we took off. You were great, Angie! I never woulda guessed the same control that fired the repulsers opened the hangar, too."
"Oh." Angela sounded awed. "I didn't know, either. I just guessed."
"You're one helluva good guesser, baby! You and Susie both! Breakin' atmosphere ... oh oh, battlecruiser on the scanner. They musta hollered for help when we took off."
"What'll we do?"
Bronson swore softly under his breath. "No weapons. Guess they didn't plan on havin' to fight. We're gonna hafta run for it. Let's hope we're too big for 'em to do much damage 'til we can go into hyperspace."
"What about Mommy and Daddy?" Susan asked suddenly. "They'll still be looking for us."
"It's okay," Bronson said, abstractedly. "I'll have the Underground notify 'em as soon as we're outta danger. Man, that guy's gettin' close! This big crate ain't gonna stay ahead of him for long!"
The com crackled and a voice spoke over the unit. "Unidentified ship, this is the Patrol! Surrender at once! We know you 'ave civilians aboard. Surrender and they will be released un'armed."
"Yeah," Bronson muttered, recognizing the voice without difficulty. "Sure they will, Toyoma ol' pal." He glanced at the girls. "That's the 'Javelin' out there. I recognize the Strike Commander's voice. Served under him for three years. Four minutes before we clear the pull." He cursed lividly. "Here comes another one!"
"'Juggernaut' to colony transport! Respond at once!"
Bronson swore again and glanced at the two girls beside him. "Well, honey?"
Angela met his eyes. "They won't let us go, will they, Kevin."
He shook his head.
"You won't let them take you alive, will you?"
Again he shook his head. "I ain't hankerin' for a public execution."
She swallowed. "No, Kevin. If I have to die, I'd rather it was here and now, with you."
He nodded, looking quickly away from her. Their ship rocked violently a moment later and Bronson clenched his jaw, his hands flying over the controls. "There's no destruct control. I'll hafta use the blaster if it comes down to it ..."
Their ship rocked again. "'Javelin' to colony transport, this is Strike Commander Toyoma! Surrender at once!"
"Kevin ..." Angela's voice sounded strained. He hardly heard her, his attention all on the approaching ships. He had never really expected it to come down to this, especially not with Angela with him. He didn't want to die. He especially didn't want *her* to die, but ...
Angela moved convulsively. "Kevin! It's Alan!"
"Huh?" He spun, staring at her in sudden wild hope. "Is he callin' you, honey?"
She nodded jerkily, both hands pressed to her temples. "Oh my! It sounds like he's right here in the room with us!"
"I hear him too!" Susan squealed. "Alan! Alan! We're in trouble!"
Mark Linley's deep voice erupted suddenly from the communicator. "Hang on, kids, we'll hold 'em off. Just head for the base. We'll meetcha there."
Bronson slapped a control on the panel. "Where the hell have you been?"
Roger Westover's voice replaced Linley's. "Girls, are you both all right?"
"Daddy!" Susan shouted.
"Hi, Dad," Angela called.
Phyllis's voice. "Angela, are you all right?"
"Mommy!" the four-year-old screamed. "Boy have we had fun!"
Bronson stared at the child in wonder. "Fun ...?"
"'Juggernaut' to cargo ship, you are ordered to ..."
"Oh, dry up, Clarence," Mark Linley's voice said. "You know damn well we ain't gonna surrender. You want us, come and get us."
Bronson began to laugh in sheer relief. He glanced at Angela. "He hates his real name."
She smiled nervously in return. "Can they really hold them off?"
He nodded. "All we need is a couple of minutes. The hyperspace coordinates are all set."
The cargo ship flashed past and flame erupted from the side of the Javelin. Bronson glanced at the computer. "Thirty seconds to hyperspace."
Blue flame blossomed across space after the fleeing cargo ship. Bronson mangled his lip. "'Juggernaut's gettin' awful close. Twenty seconds."
The cargo ship was suddenly there again, flashing past the enormous battlecruiser, firing almost into its gunports. Bronson held his breath as the tiny ship executed an incredible one-eighty degree turn and whisked under the belly of the larger ship, almost grazing its hull on the silver skin of the cruiser.
Bronson breathed out explosively. "What the devil's Mark lettin' him take chances like that for?"
The communicator was squawking indignantly and somebody cursed fluently in Basic. There was a jolt that rattled Bronson's teeth and the stars on their screen vanished.
He let out his breath, surprised to find that he had been holding it again and turned to Angela. "You okay, honey?"
Angela grinned at him, a bit shakily. "I'm fine."
"You linked with me, you know," he told her. "All the time we were bein' chased. Man! Whatta feelin'!"
"Oh," Angela said. "Sorry. I guess I was sort of scared."
"Yeah," Bronson agreed. "So was I. Bet those two cruisers were the reason Alan an' Mark couldn't get back to us any sooner."
"I hope they'll be all right," Angela said, unfastening her safety webbing.
"You got more to worry about with hot pilot Westover at the controls than those battlecruisers. They probably went into hyperspace right after we did. They'll be fine," Bronson assured her. He also unfastened his safety webbing and stood up, stretching to his full height. "I'm hungry. I just noticed."
Angela giggled. "Emergency rations?"
He made a face. "Yuk. I don't suppose there's anythin' on board worth eatin' ... not after three hundred years."
"I don't know. They might have some canned stuff, or maybe dried."
Bronson opened his pack and removed the ration cakes, distributing them to his companions. "I'd like to check out this crate, but I'm afraid to leave the control room."
"I'll do it," Angela said.
Bronson looked doubtfully at her. "I think we all better stay here, at least for now. Here." He pushed an indentation on the side of the huge, padded chair next to the pilot's station and the back moved slowly down. "You get in that one, Susie, an' wrap up in the blanket. You look like you could use a nap."
The child obeyed. Angela tucked the battered blanket around her and she snuggled into the cushioning. Bronson smiled and bent down to kiss her forehead. "Good night, punkin."
"Good night, Kevin." The big blue eyes -- blue, with a hint of green, he saw now -- flickered to his face. She smiled drowsily. "Are you going to marry my sister?" she asked.
"Susie!" Angela gasped, going bright red; a characteristic -- one of many, Bronson thought wryly -- that she shared with her cousin.
He grinned at her embarrassed face. "We'll see, punkin," he said. "Good night."
XI
"Sublight in ten minutes," Bronson said. "You all strapped in, Susie?"
"Yes. I hate safety belts," Susan informed him with four-year-old scorn.
Bronson grinned. "The way this thing jolts when we convert, you oughtta be glad to have it, baby. I was able to adjust the gravity, but I couldn't do nothin' about the rest. These guys sure didn't worry much about shakin' their passengers around." He glanced at Angela, seated beside him in the co-pilot's chair. He had spent a good part of the trip back explaining the workings of the ship to her. She had learned, as expected, with amazing speed.
"Where are we?" she asked. "Can you tell me now?"
"In nine point three minutes," he told her. "This ship went blooey once in hyperspace and we got no way o' knowin' if it's gonna do it again. I'd rather not pop outta hyperspace over Corala with two unconditioned psychics broadcastin' the location of the base to every Jil interested in takin' a peek at your minds."
"What about you, Kevin?" she asked. "You're conditioned, aren't you? Would they be able to get it from you"
Bronson looked away. "I can't let them take me alive, Angie. My shieldin's lousy. I hafta keep away from Jils." He paused and pressed a button on the panel. "It looks okay, though."
"Why is your shielding so bad?"
Bronson grimaced. "It's why I'm a power pack instead of a psychic. Mark and me, neither of us have the control factor. Talk to the guys in genetics if you wanna know more about it. We got researchers workin' on it all the time to try'n figure it out. That's how we found out Mark and me were psychics. They had us up to our necks in a research project a while back." He made a face. "Never again. I'll let Jeff Parnell be the guinea pig next time." He stretched. "It sure don't seem fair, us producin' all that energy an' not bein' able to use it."
"No, it doesn't," Angela agreed. She fell silent, her gaze on the blank viewscreen before her. Bronson studied her profile covertly: the large, dark-lashed eyes, the small snub nose, and the soft, generous mouth with the slightly prominent upper lip. She was still wearing the Patrol tunic with the sleeves turned up. Again he thought of Patrolman Fairchild with a flood of anger toward the man. Very slowly, he reached over and put a hand on top of hers where it lay on the chair arm. She started slightly and smiled at him.
"Are you okay now, baby?" he asked in an undertone.
She nodded. "Of course, Kevin."
"Good." He removed the hand and turned back to the viewscreen.
She was just a girl, he tried to tell himself. A pretty girl, but not really his type. Why Lori Evans was prettier, and a lot less inhibited. And Nola Warwick -- now there was a real dish! Angela was nothing beside her. And little Holly Stevens -- she was his dream girl. A psychic, sure, but with a female partner, which made her available for dating. Holly had red hair that hung past her waist and huge hazel eyes. She was gorgeous. He forced himself not to look at Angela. If he did, he would automatically decide that she was prettier than all of the others put together.
Angela leaned forward, studying the computer readout. "One minute." Her tunic opened slightly and his gaze went involuntarily to the skin of her throat and the dark, curling hair clinging to her neck below her ears. She was wearing earrings, he noted for the first time, small, red stones that glittered softly against her skin.
He'd been without a woman too long; that was it. As soon as they reached the base he'd visit Holly's quarters and repair things as quick as he could ...
"Sublight," Angela said. There was a bone-shaking jolt as the ship converted to normal space. Bronson peered at the screen and at the readout before him. "Yep, right coordinates and the constellations are right. We're there."
"Where's here?" Angela inquired.
"Ladreen system," Bronson told her.
"Where's that? Wait a minute -- isn't Ladreen the star in the middle of the Devil's Pitchfork?"
"Yep. Makes up the tip of the middle prong."
"But it isn't a colonized system. It doesn't have any habitable planets. If it did, the Jilectans ..."
"... Would have colonized it already. Don't believe everythin' you read. The Underground had a couple o' guys on that survey expedition. The report the colonial planners got back wasn't exactly the same as the one that got written to start with. Lavirra's the fourth planet."
"And," Angela said, "that's where you have your base."
The big colony transport settled on the edge of the base's landing field. It was late evening on this part of Lavirra, but a gathering of at least a dozen people was waiting for them as they disembarked. Angela leaned on Bronson's arm as they descended the ramp, but Susan ran ahead, straight into the arms of her father, who swung her high over his head.
"Hi, Susie!" He kissed her on the cheek and then surrendered her to her mother. "Angie? Are you all right? What happened to your foot?"
"I twisted it," Angela said. "I'm fine, Dad, really." She beamed at Kevin. "Captain Bronson took good care of us."
Mark Linley, standing to one side, next to Alan, breathed an audible sigh of relief. Bronson glanced sardonically at him but refrained from comment as he brother stepped over beside him.
"Glad you're back, baby brother," Linley said, briskly. "Kaley sent us to welcome you. He's sendin' a team of experts to look over this heap you stole or hijacked or whatever. What the blazes is it, anyway?"
"Old Jil colony ship," Bronson told him. "Musta landed on Liskell three, four hundred years ago, or so Angie says." He glanced at Alan, who was standing silently beside his partner. "Kaley wants a full report, right?"
"Yes, he does." Alan's voice sounded odd, and there was a distant expression on his face.
"Somethin' wrong, kid?" Kevin asked.
"Nope." Alan glanced at Angela and smiled. "Glad you're all right, Angie."
XII
"So that's about it," Bronson concluded. "We went into hyperspace twenty-seven hours ago and the ship brought us here, nice and neat. Just took a bit longer than modern ships, that's all."
"Excellent job, Captain," the General commended him.
"Thank you, sir." Bronson stood up. "Now, I think Angie really oughtta have that ankle looked at. It's been neglected too long. I'd like to take her over to the infirmary."
"Certainly, Captain," the General said. He stood up. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Westover," he added. "We'll take care of the paperwork tomorrow. You must be quite tired. After you've seen her to the infirmary, Captain, you might show her to her room. She's been assigned as Captain Evans' roommate. You know where that is, I'm sure."
"Yessir," Bronson said, woodenly, turning a bit red. He didn't look at Angela as he escorted her to the door.
Kaley raised an eyebrow as the two went out. Mark glanced at his partner, a little puzzled.
"She's kinda cute, but somehow she don't seem quite his type. Why are you lookin' like the cat that swallowed the canary -- whatever a canary is?"
Alan chuckled. "She's exactly his type, Mark. In fact, she's perfect for him."
Kaley turned to stare at him. "Are you saying that Miss Westover and Captain Bronson are psychically linked?"
"Yes sir," Alan said, sounding pleased. "A strong link, too -- stronger than the one he has with me. I picked it out right away. She's an unshielded psychic, you know."
Mark burst out laughing and a wry smile quirked the General's lips.
"Well, well," their commanding officer said. "Life becomes more interesting on this base every day."
"Yes, sir," Alan agreed. "It looks like Kevin's wandering days are numbered. He's hooked, but he hasn't quit fighting, yet. It shouldn't be long, though. Too bad she couldn't have been a redhead."
Mark clapped him on the back, almost knocking him down. "She's just right the way she is," he said. "I always did say that things woulda been a helluva lot easier if you'd been born a girl."
Alan punched him in the ribs. "You've got Julia, you idiot. What are you complaining about?"
Epilogue
Kevin Bronson paused outside General Kaley's office, one arm around Angela's shoulders. Phyllis Westover was waiting, her expression more than a little concerned.
"How's your ankle, Angie?"
Angela smiled brightly. "Kevin's taking me to the infirmary, now, Mom. I'm sure it's just a sprain."
Phyllis took a step forward. "I can take you, dear. K ... Captain Bronson must be very tired after all you've been through." She smiled at Bronson a little nervously. "You'd like to rest, wouldn't you, Captain?"
Roger Westover appeared around the corner, looking amused. "Phyllis, Susan's asking for you. She won't go to sleep in a strange bed until you come kiss her good night."
Phyllis glanced at him in annoyance. "I'll be there in a minute, Roger. Right now, I want to take Angela to the infirmary."
"Angie looks like she's in very capable hands to me." Bronson was certain he didn't simply imagine the amusement in Roger Westover's voice this time. "Come on, dear. Susie needs you right now a lot more than Angie does. Susie's told me some of what you did for my girls, Captain. Thank you." He took his wife's arm. "Come on, Phyllis."
"I'm fine, Mom," Angela assured her.
Still reluctant, Phyllis allowed herself to be led away. Angela followed Bronson down the pebbled walkway toward the dark bulk of the infirmary, a short distance across the compound. Angela was smiling in the light of Lavirra's three moons, all of which were in the sky and lighting the country with a ghostly radiance. "I'm sorry, Kevin. You were once a patrolman -- and Mom can be a little overprotective at times."
"It's okay, honey," Bronson said, gruffly. "How's the ankle?"
"All right."
They reached the infirmary a few moments later. Kevin helped her through the door and Matt Philips looked up from a magazine as the doors swung shut, then got quietly to his feet.
"You must be Angela. Alan said you'd be showing up."
"How did you know?" Angela asked, looking surprised.
Philips smiled. "You're a psychic and you look just like Alan. I've already met your father and mother. He brought her in right after they arrived so I could check her over." The little man took her other arm, assisting her to a seat. "I'm a psychic, myself, you know."
"My goodness," Angela said. "I've never met so many psychics in my life."
"There's a lot of us here," Philips said. "This base was established as a refuge for us, until we could increase in numbers enough to stand a chance against the Jils." He knelt, beginning to remove the bandage from her foot. "What happened, Kevin?"
"She fell," Bronson told him. "Down a hole. About four meters."
"Hmm ..." Philips examined the foot, then drew a small instrument from a drawer and ran it across her ankle. "Simple sprain, Miss Westover. Keep off it for a few days. I'll fit you with a pair of crutches." He rummaged in the drawer again. "Now, where the dickens ..." He paused, his expression going blank for a moment.
The door to the inner office opened and a young man clad in a white uniform entered. "Hi, Matt. Here you go." He handed the doctor a roll of bandage.
"Thanks." Philips accepted the bandage and turned to Angela. "This is my psychic partner, Lewis Stevens. He's a medical technician at our base hospital. Lew, I'd like you to meet Angela Westover."
"Alan's cousin?" Lewis Stevens smiled charmingly. "How do you do, Miss Westover. How nice to have more of Alan's relatives coming to stay. May I call you Angela?"
"Angie, please." Angela smiled shyly into his interested face. Lewis Stevens, Holly's brother, took after his sister in appearance. He was very good-looking, his features almost too regular and his head was covered with thick, flaming red hair. Prettier than his sister, Bronson thought, sourly. Although short, being a psychic, he was well built for his size, too. The young man took a seat beside Angela, ignoring Bronson as if he didn't exist.
"Listen, Angie," he was saying, "I'll bet you're hungry for a real meal. Those ration cakes are bad enough to consider starving as an alternative."
"Now that you mention it, I am," Angela said. "How did you know what happened to us?"
"This base is loaded with psychics," Stevens told her. "News travels fast. Alan and Mark arrived a few hours ago with quite a story. Alan apparently picked up some of what happened to you when he communicated with you, just as you were leaving Liskell. Why don't you let me show you to your quarters, and you can shower and change, and then we'll head down to the mess hall. They always have sandwiches and soup for the people who draw the night shift. The sandwiches aren't much, but the soup's great and ..."
Bronson stepped forward. "Hi, Lew."
The young man glanced up at him. "Oh hi, Kevin. Nice to have you back."
"Thanks," Bronson said, whitely.
Stevens' eyes widened and he turned slightly pale. "Oops," he muttered.
Philips was grinning slightly as he finished winding the bandage around Angela's foot. "Lew," he said blandly, "see if you can find a pair of crutches in the equipment room, will you?"
"Sure." Stevens went quickly into the back. Philips stood up, trying to erase the grin from his features.
"Take it easy on that ankle for a few days, Angela. It'll be sore for a while. Put it up whenever you sit down and stay off it as much as you can."
"All right." Angela stood up carefully. Bronson took her arm.
Lewis Stevens reappeared with a pair of crutches in his hands. "Here, Angie. See if these fit."
Angela propped them under her arms. "They're fine. Thanks."
Stevens cleared his throat, carefully not glancing at Bronson. "Well, I guess Kevin was already taking care of you and it'd be rude of me to horn in. Good night, Angie. It sure was nice meeting you."
**********
A short time later, properly showered and wearing a pair of dark slacks and a flowered blouse, Angela approached the mess hall, accompanied by Kevin Bronson. A very pretty, red-haired woman was just leaving, and she paused beside them, smiling provocatively at Bronson.
"Kevin, dahling!" she purred. "So *glad* you're back!"
Bronson cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Hi, Holly. This is Angela."
Holly glanced indifferently at the newcomer, then returned to Bronson. Angela felt herself redden. Obviously there was something between these two. You didn't need to be a psychic to see that.
"I'm going on in, Kevin." She tried to speak lightly. "If you feel like turning in, it's all right. I don't need any company. I'm a little tired, myself."
As she turned away, Angela saw the other woman take Bronson's arm, snuggling close to him. Her cheeks flushed, she limped forward on her crutches into the mess hall.
Bronson was suddenly beside her again. "Hey, honey, whatcha in such a hurry for? I ain't leavin' you alone in here with all these wolves around ..." He broke off suddenly and, to Angela's surprise, blushed dark red. "Besides," he ended lamely, "how're you gonna carry your tray and manage them crutches, too?"
"Somebody would have helped me," Angela said, quietly. "I thought you might have something more important to take care of."
He went even redder. "Siddown, for the luvvamike. I'll getcha some soup an' one o' those stale sandwiches."
Angela lowered herself into a chair at one of the small tables. "All right," she said.
"Back in a minute, baby," Bronson said. He paused for a moment and took her chin gently between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. "You an' me got a lotta talkin' to do."
The End
