The Crystal Demon: 8/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
For those who don't remember where we were last time:
Another meteor shot across the sky, vanishing behind the dark, towering trees, and Alan wondered for a moment why there were so many meteors, and then figuratively kicked himself. The answer was obvious. The magnificent set of rings, of course. Something had caused them -- maybe an exploding moon, or something -- and every now and then a piece of debris would be pulled in by the planet. He wondered idly how life on Kasal had altered after the cataclysm.
He closed his eyes and let his mind drift. Lyn's face appeared again, but not angry this time. She was as he had last seen her, her lips curving in a smile. That smile! There was something strange -- almost triumphant -- in it.
Somewhere in the thicket to his right, a night bird began to chant slowly and rhythmically. Alan slept.
**********
And now: Part 8:
VIII
General Walter Kaley started awake at the sound of pounding fists on his door. He glanced at his chronometer. 0110 ship's time. Now who the devil would that be? They should still be in hyperspace.
"What is it?"
"Lieutenant Vogleman, sir!"
Kaley sat up. "Come in."
The door slid instantly aside, revealing the young psychic, clad in dark blue pajamas and a knee-length robe, his hair standing up on one side like a bluejay's crest. "Sir, Alan's gone!"
Kaley's heart almost literally jumped into his throat. "What do you mean, gone?"
"He's gone, sir! I've looked everywhere! He's not in his quarters, and I can't sense him anywhere on the ship, so unless he's hiding somewhere with his shields up, he's gone!"
Kaley slid out of bed, reaching for his robe. "Have Lieutenant Austell report to me at once."
"I already tried to find her, sir. She's gone, too."
"She can't be!" Kaley bit off the last word and reached for the shipwide intercom. "Colonel Westover, Lieutenant Austell, respond please."
Silence. Eric watched him. Did the boy look suspicious? It wouldn't do for the real circumstances to get out. They had barely averted a full-scale revolt by the psychics during the Patton incident. He'd wanted to protect his top psychic from the danger represented by the globe, but he'd been uneasily aware that he was skirting the edges of the policy laid down by the Commander-in-Chief of their organization regarding psychics and their partners. And though his foolish threat might not get around, his psychics were bound to suspect that something untoward had happened. Already Eric was drawing his own conclusions. He could see the way the boy was watching him narrowly, and reassured himself that his shields were firmly in place. Eric couldn't possibly sense his emotions. The boy wasn't an empath.
The quarters occupied by Alan Westover and Mark Linley were near his own. As Eric had stated, there was no one there and the room had the air of a hasty departure. Alan's bunk was rumpled and a thin bathrobe lay in an abandoned heap on the deck. Kaley pushed open the sliding closet door. Two uniforms hung neatly from the rack.
"His flight suit's gone." Eric's voice had lost all expression. "Just a minute ..." He picked up the robe from the deck, rubbing the thin cloth between his thumb and forefinger. Eric was the strongest clairvoyant in the Underground, with the exception of Alan Westover. His expression went vacant, and he turned unhesitatingly toward the door. "This way."
Kaley followed him from the cabin. Eric strode rapidly along, the robe still clutched in his hands. Kaley took his elbow, guiding him around several persons traversing the corridor. People stared curiously, but no one asked any questions. They reached the lift and descended to the engineering level.
"He went this way," Eric said. "Toward the hangars."
Hangars opened on both sides of the corridor as they proceeded. Eric passed four without stopping and finally paused before one of the nondescript doors. Without hesitation, he triggered the opening mechanism. It slid open before them, and Eric took two steps into the hangar. He stopped. He looked at Kaley. "The trail ends here."
"You were right then; he's gone." Kaley surveyed the spot where the little scout ship had been, a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. A Security man appeared in the doorway behind them. His jaw dropped at the sight of his commanding officer and the otherwise empty hangar.
"Did you check this hangar when you came on duty, Private?" Kaley demanded.
"No, sir." The guard had gone pale. "I had no reason to. Charlie -- I mean Private Gibson -- said everything was fine!"
"Have Gibson report to my office!" Kaley spun on his heel and left the hangar, Eric half-skipping, half-running to keep up.
They reached the control room minutes later and half a dozen surprised faces came up as they entered. The men straightened up, looking confused. Kaley saw Lieutenant Maverick push a cup of coffee into an alcove. "Uh ... sir?"
"Bring us out of hyperspace, Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir." Maverick seated himself before the controls and an instant later there was a modest jolt. The stars reappeared on the viewscreen. Kaley sat down, motioning for Eric to do the same. "Strap in, Lieutenant. Maverick, set course for the Bethera System."
Maverick obeyed at once. Eric's face was grim as he watched the forward viewscreen.
"Wait a minute," he said suddenly. He unstrapped his safety webbing and got quickly to his feet. "Turn on the Patrol frequencies, Jim."
Kaley opened his mouth to countermand the order, then closed it again. Psychics were inscrutable, amazing little people and sometimes they came up with things that technically were unexplainable, even from the view of the psychic experts.
The man at the communications board had obeyed the command and snatches of Patrol broadcasts emerged from the speakers. Eric hurried to the board and leaned over the controls with a murmured apology to the communications tech.
A voice came suddenly over the unit, punctuated by bursts of static. "No, sir, Parnell ain't no agent. He's been interrogated, and don't know nothin'. We'll be transportin' him to Corala for public execution, orders of Lord Dronthvor. His Lordship's bringin' him personally -- on his yacht. They'll be takin' off in 44 minutes, and expect to arrive in twenty-six point two hours."
"Very well, Yakima. We'll be ready. Any extraordinary security measures needed?"
"Lord Dronthvor don't believe so, sir. Parnell ain't an Undergrounder. Dronthvor read him without half-tryin'. He was just tryin' to get his kid back in one piece. There's no reason for the Underground to get involved. He's just another 'trol."
Eric looked up, frowning. "They must have caught on. Major Linley's walking into a trap. That's why Colonel Westover left."
Kaley nodded, trying to keep his expression professionally sober. He had to salvage the situation somehow. Technically the patrolman was correct. The ex-Base Commander was nothing to them, but if they *could* retrieve him from the jaws of death, as it were, it would be a nice propaganda piece for the Underground. The Base Commander, betrayed by the Jilectans, embraced by the Underground for attempting to keep faith with them, or something like that. The propaganda experts could fix it up, and if they *could* save him, the next time a patrolman was in a spot, he might not be so hesitant to deal ...
He glanced at Lieutenant Zhimmar at the communications board. "Jim, send a coded message to the Xenis base. Tell them I want Parnell rescued if at all possible."
"At once, ssir." The Arcturian's fangs gleamed in his race's equivalent of a smile and he turned swiftly back to his board.
The control room was silent for several minutes until the Arcturian straightened up. "Messashe is out, ssir."
"Very well." Kaley nodded to Maverick. "Take us into hyperspace."
**********
Chapter IX
"Alan?" Mark's hand on his shoulder brought Alan awake instantly.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothin'. It's time for your watch, but I ain't sure about this idea o' yours. You still look pretty shot. Why don'tcha go back to sleep an' I'll wake Julia up. She won't mind if we ..."
"I'm okay," Alan said firmly, or as firmly as he could through a jaw-cracking yawn.
"Yeah, right."
"No, really." He shoved himself into a sitting position, smothering another yawn. "I'm wide awake. I won't get sleepy again for a few hours. When I do, I'll wake Julia."
Mark looked dubious, but finally gave in. "All right, I guess so. I'm about dead, anyway." His partner stretched out on the patch of leaves that Alan had vacated. "Be sure you *do* wake her up, or we'll never hear the end of it."
"I know," Alan said. "Go to sleep."
Mark began to snore within five minutes. Alan leaned back against the huge trunk of the big tree, then stood upright. In spite of what he had told his partner, he was still tired, but he wasn't about to admit it. The members of the Underground coddled and protected him, much against his will, because he was their best psychic -- the Terran answer to Halthzor, he'd once overheard Kaley describe him to a visiting fellow general. He knew the logic behind it but he didn't have to like it, especially when he'd already proven that he could manage as well as any other officer of their organization, and better than most.
He yawned again, straightening up. Maybe a drink of water would help him to wake up. He went over to the stream, looking down into the dark, swirling water. It looked clear and unpolluted, but he checked it anyway with the "taster" that was part of every emergency kit, Terran Underground or Patrol Issue.
The device informed him quickly that the water was fit to drink. He did so, and opened his eyes a little at the taste. Ordinary water had never been so delicious.
The air was nippy. Shivering a little, he pulled the emergency blanket over his shoulders and knotted two corners in front, glancing at Mark, lying sound asleep on the soft leaves and ferns. His partner's snores were a comforting sound. For nearly four years now, since he had been eighteen, he had been hearing those snores before he went to sleep at night. Mark Linley, former Strike Commander in the Viceregal Patrol, was the best friend he'd ever had and had been closer than a brother since they had met.
The grasses and ferns whispered softly, and the giant trees overhead sighed sadly in the night breeze. Alan paced the clearing, trying to keep warm, but his mind was active. Kasal was a lovely planet and must be a very tempting acquisition for the Jils, in spite of the cool climate. It was midsummer, and they were within a hundred kilometers of the equator and yet the night was far from balmy. Lucky, he thought, that the Jils preferred warm climates. He wondered idly why the planet hadn't been given to one of the lower species for colonization -- the Arcturians, perhaps. *They* didn't mind extremes in temperature ...
The forest around him hummed with life. Alan leaned back against the big tree again, closing his eyes and letting his telepathic sense scan the area.
Animal life in abundance was immediately apparent to him, but that was all. No consciousness that even bordered on higher intelligence was within range. He reached, straining, and tried to envision Lyn Parnell's face.
Almost at once he sensed her -- a flicker of psychic energy off to his right. His heart jumped. Before, he had not been able to sense her at all, and now, all of a sudden ...
Perhaps her shields had been up before, although for what reason he couldn't imagine.
*Lyn!* He voiced her name in his mind, reaching mentally for her. He could sense her mental signature with surprising clarity, considering that she must be some distance away. He frowned. The direction was wrong. How had Lyn come to be closer to the Patrol base than they were?
*Lyn!* He pronounced her name again in his mind, willing her to hear him. *Lyn, it's Alan! Answer me!*
No response. She was crying softly and through his link with her, he sensed fright and overwhelming weariness, coupled with grief.
*Lyn! Can you hear me?*
No reply. Her mind was drifting away into sleep, and as she did so her shields closed, blocking him out -- the automatic reflex of a psychic with shielding.
Another sensation brought him sharply back to the present -- a sound this time, very close at hand. The animal was nearby, and coming nearer by the moment. Alan tensed, drawing his blaster.
A dark shape emerged from the underbrush across the stream and Alan caught a glimpse of yellow, faintly luminous eyes as the creature approached. It didn't stop at the riverbank but lumbered into the stream, making harsh, muttering sounds in its throat. Alan watched it, trying to determine whether it was dangerous or not.
More muttering sounds, then a sudden splash. For a second, the thing remained hunched over the water, then straightened up, a fish flopping in its paws. It made a soft, satisfied sound and began to eat noisily.
Alan remained still, watching it. The creature finished the fish and hunched over the water again.
Abruptly there was another sound, and instantly Alan identified it. The hum of an approaching aircar.
Mark and Julia sat up together, blasters out. Alan didn't move, but watched as the craft passed a little to the west of them, its small, blue lights blinking brightly against the starry sky. It vanished within moments, the purr of its engines fading into the background noise.
"Well," Mark's voice said from the darkness, "they're lookin'."
As he spoke, the thing in the stream straightened up, its head swinging around. With a horrified squeal that hurt the ears, it lumbered to shore, water flying in every direction, and vanished into the underbrush.
Julia let out her breath. "What was *that*?"
Alan smiled at her. "A bear."
"A *bear*?"
"Well, this planet's equivalent of one, I guess. It was catching fish in the stream, and I wasn't going to bother it as long as it didn't bother us. Guess I sort of forgot about it when I heard the aircar."
Mark's white teeth flashed in the darkness. "G'night, kid."
"Good night, Mark."
Julia started to stand up. "Isn't it time for my watch?"
"Not yet," Alan said. "You have another hour. Lie down."
Julia subsided, pulling the blanket around her once more. Alan went back to the stream and took another drink of the cold, sparkling water. The Patrol might be looking, but with the amount of animal life in the vicinity, it would be difficult to pick them out, even if the searchers managed to get close enough to seem them on the sensors. What a nice planet!
Alan could feel himself relaxing, a sense of well-being flowing through him. The burns on his arms didn't feel as bad, now -- in fact, he felt strangely at peace in spite of the uncertain circumstances.
Again, he extended his telepathic probe, searching for Lyn's mind. He could no longer sense her. She must be asleep, her shields up tightly. Alan sighed. Tomorrow he would try again.
A prickle traced its way over his scalp. They were being watched again. Alan turned in the direction from whence the sensation came, feeling again the gooseflesh lifting on his neck. The presence was stronger than it had been before. Feeling, for some reason, as if he were tiptoeing on cracked eggs, Alan extended a careful probe. There was a mind there, but it was shielded. He was sure of that, but wisps of thought still brushed him.
He made contact and experienced a shock. Psychic energy -- powerful psychic energy. For one heart-shaking instant, he thought he had contacted a Jilectan, but in the same instant he realized it wasn't so. There was a quick sensation of surprise and sudden fear. The fear changed a moment later to blind panic. The creature's mind wrenched almost painfully away from his. A blur of motion and a snapping sensation as the creature raised its mind shields. Then nothing.
**********
tbc
