Here I am, trying to make up for the long time between the last two postings.
Nan
The Crystal Demon: 23/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Lord Linthvar relaxed in the seat of the luxurious crawler, trying to bridle his fury. The globe had *not* been where the Terran female had stated. They had searched for hours and it was clear that she had lied to him. He had been proven a fool before the eyes of Duke Halthzor. Julia Austell, a Terran *female* had made a fool of him! She would suffer for this! He would make her pay for the deception a thousand times over. Ahead of him, two crawlers lumbered forward, and behind him two more.
Terrans! He considered the species with revulsion and disgust. Sometimes he was inclined to agree with his cousin, Pomothvor, who believed that the species should be exterminated without delay, regardless of their usefulness as patrolmen. Terrans were insufferable. No other word could describe them!
A deafening roar jarred his thoughts back to the present. Fire erupted ahead of him, engulfing the lead crawler. With a startled curse, the driver of Linthvar's vehicle jammed on the brakes, throwing the Jilectan violently forward. The other crawlers veered to the sides and the doors opened, disgorging his bodyguards, their blasters drawn.
Then, incredibly, every patrolman emerging from the vehicles was dropping to the ground. There were no shots fired, and no apparent reason for what was happening. The patrolmen simply dropped: all of them.
A voice spoke in Linthvar's mind -- the telepathic voice of what was unmistakably a Terran psychic.
"Your crawler is covered, Lord Linthvar. Instruct your driver to attempt nothing heroic or no one in your crawler will live to tell the story of this incident."
The patrolman at the controls was staring at him. "It's a Terran psychic, isn't it!" It was a statement, not a question. "Holy space!"
The fellow must have guessed from his expression that he was receiving a communication. Linthvar's Procyon servant gave a shrill cluck as their situation registered in his slow, avian mind. "What shall we do, shir?"
"Open the doors." The Terran's voice spoke in his mind again. "Throw out your weapons and climb out. I'm reading the minds of both your servants. If you or they disobey, you saw what happened to the first crawler."
Linthvar glared around at the surrounding underbrush, but he could see nothing. For a moment he waited, irresolute. Would the Terran dare kill him? He was a Jilectan noble! The fate of a Terran who killed a Jilectan would be a hideous one.
But Salthvor had been a noble, and so had Danthvor and Ganthzar, and yet they had died at the hands of Terrans. The Terran psychic wasn't lying. He sensed deadly purpose in the hated mind touch that now spoke to him again. "You have five seconds, Lord Linthvar."
"Open the doors," Linthvar ordered. "Throw out your weapons."
The Procyon and Terran did so, their eyes on him. Linthvar took a deep breath. "There are outlaws covering our vehicle. If we resist, they will kill us. Get out and keep your hands above your heads."
His servants obeyed, climbing slowly from the crawler, their hands raised. Linthvar started to follow, when rage suddenly overwhelmed him. The desire for revenge was too much to bear. Twice already, he had suffered bodily injury at the hands of a Terran, and now he was about to suffer capture and further humiliation! He would not permit it! Better to die than that!
The resolution flashed through him all at once, and his hand darted for the blaster at his hip. The weapon was half-drawn when he heard the crack of the Terran's weapon. Fire seared his leg just above the old injury and he heard himself scream. He fell sideways, still endeavoring to raise his blaster.
The weapon writhed in his grip and twisted free. It spun away from him to vanish into the darkness beyond the circle of the crawler's lights. Belatedly, Linthvar realized that the Terran who had spoken to him telepathically must also be a telekinetic. The Terran had disarmed him as though he were a child. Linthvar cursed his lack of forethought. If he could only have held on a little tighter, he might have taken the outlaws with him ... set for overload ...
He lunged forward, the injured leg buckling beneath him, both hands outstretched in the direction of the Terran's mind. It didn't matter if he died. He would take the Terran with him!
Vaguely through his desperation, he was aware of the kneeling, retching figures of the men from the other crawlers. They writhed on the ground, gagging and moaning. Duke Halthzor had described symptoms among his own men, but whatever the Terrans had used, it apparently had no effect on Jilectans.
As he stumbled blindly forward toward the object of his hatred, a faint hissing sound reached his ears and abruptly, Linthvar's Procyon servant and Terran driver were sinking down to join their fellows, groaning and retching. Nausea washed over him, blotting out even the desire for revenge. He fell, curling into a ball and heaving helplessly.
The agony seemed to go on forever. Dimly, he was aware of the hum of stunbolts, and of figures moving like wraiths in the darkness around him. Strong, muscular hands pushed him to his belly and jerked his arms behind him. Restrainers clicked on his wrists.
"C'mon, M'lord." It was a Terran voice, speaking Basic with that abominable Shallockian accent. "Time to go."
Hands hauled him upward, and someone wiped his face. He was propelled back into the crawler and someone got in beside him. Faintly, he was aware of the sound of doors closing. Then, the vehicle ground into motion once more.
**********
XXVI
Mark Linley, now clad in the better-fitting attire of the Jilectan's driver, glanced back at the retching, groaning figure of Linthvar in the rear seat. He was certainly a determined Jil, Linley thought, with a touch of admiration. Never before had he seen one of the aliens so totally disregard his own safety. The fellow must be nuts, he decided. He must have known he hadn't had a prayer of succeeding. Weird, though, that the Shirva's nausea dust had worked on Linthvar but not on Halthzor. What was the difference?
In any case, it had also worked perfectly on the Jilectan's entourage, all of whom were cuffed to trees, with their transportation and communicators disabled. One man had been tied with ropes, and would eventually work his way free, but not before their own project was long since finished.
Lyn Parnell sat beside the Jilectan, and she was skillfully binding up the injured leg. It was the same leg, Mark noted, that Alan had injured before, once on Shallock and once in a hotel in Luna City. His partner certainly seemed to have an affinity for hitting Linthvar in the left leg ...
The cabin was dark, with the only illumination supplied by the glowing lights on the driver's instrument panel. Alan was dimly visible, seated beside him in the front seat, clad ridiculously in the too-large uniform of the Procyon servant. The breadth was okay, since Procyons in general tended to be slender and light-boned, but the length was excessive. As Linley watched, Alan bent forward and used his knife to slice off the extra length of the legs. He glanced sideways at Mark and smiled faintly.
"Do I look that bad, Sarge?"
Mark just grinned. Alan shrugged. "I don't know what I can do about the boots. My feet just aren't shaped like a Procyon's."
"You'd attract attention if you tried to wear 'em," Mark said. "Put your moccasins back on."
Alan did.
"The kids okay?" Mark asked, referring to the two Shirva who were concealed in the crawler's storage compartment.
"They're fine," Alan replied, tying the lace of the last moccasin.
Linley glanced into the rear again. "How you doin', M'lord?"
Linthvar groaned and slumped back against the seat. He glared at Mark.
"What do you intend to do with me?" he demanded, hoarsely.
"You're our ticket off this world," Mark said, "and Julia's ticket to safety."
"You intend to exchange me for the Terran female?"
Mark raised an eyebrow. "That about sums it up."
"We're approaching the outpost," Alan said.
"Punch in the access code."
Alan was already doing so. He had picked the code from the mind of the driver while they had been immobilizing Linthvar's party. A shrill beeping responded and a computerized voice spoke. "Cleared. Continue your present course."
Mark glanced sideways at his partner. This was the ticklish part of the job. If anyone on the base suspected that Lord Linthvar was in trouble, a trap would be set and waiting for them. Mark was depending on his partner to warn them if anything was wrong. As a clairvoyant and a short-range precog, he never failed to have some advance warning of trouble, albeit sometimes a little late for much to be done about it. But those times were few and far between, and had mostly occurred before Alan had received training from the Terran Underground. Mark felt fairly confident now that, so long as Alan sensed nothing, the Patrol and Halthzor still believed that all was well.
Alan met his gaze, his green eyes glowing faintly in the lights from the instrument board. "We're okay so far," he said.
Mark flicked him a thumbs-up gesture as the crawler trundled on. The com beeped suddenly. "Security Station to Crawler One. Come in Marx."
Linley nearly jumped out of his skin. Alan glanced at him. "Easy. That's your name."
Mark relaxed, glancing at the helmet on the seat beside him. His partner was quite correct. His assumed identity was one Sergeant L. Marx.
The communication was continuing. "Where are the other crawlers, sir? We've been unable to raise them on the com for the last thirty minutes."
That, of course, wasn't surprising, since the first thing Alan had done as the crawlers came within range had been to zap their communicators with telekinesis.
Alan's blaster centered on the Jilectan's nose. "One squeak, M'lord," he whispered, "and we'll take our chances without you. It's set on needle beam. Your flunkies won't hear a thing." He nodded at Lyn. "Gag him. Tight."
Mark pressed the transmit switch. "This is Marx," he replied, leisurely. "M'lord Linthvar ordered the rest o' the crew to continue the search, but I dunno why you can't raise 'em. I sure hope they ain't been attacked by the natives, or some damn thing."
"Yeah, me too." The other voice sounded worried. "Maybe I oughtta send out search parties."
"Maybe," Mark agreed. The shimmering energy barrier was coming up ahead, and as they approached, a gap opened in the field. The crawler trundled through.
Mark turned the vehicle toward the landing field, where he could see the lighted shapes of five Patrol craft. Beyond them, illuminated by floodlights, was the sleek, silver body of a Jilectan private yacht. Mark steered the crawler across the field and pulled to a stop near the base of the vessel.
"This yours, M'lord?" he inquired.
Linthvar didn't move. Alan's blaster hissed sharply, and the Jilectan gave a grunt of surprise through the gag.
"Is it?" his partner inquired softly.
The alien shook his head slightly.
"Halthzor's?" Alan asked.
Linthvar inclined his head.
"Nice," Linley said. "Probably all the Jils came in the same crate," he added to his partner. "Whatcha think?"
Alan's answer was to open the door of the crawler.
"Guard him, Lyn," he said. "We'll have this open in a jiffy."
Lyn nodded, looking confused. "But Alan," she protested, "can you do it? The locks on Jil yachts are designed to resist telekinetics. Why, I once heard Dad say that even the Jils can't open them." She stopped at a glance from Alan.
Mark grinned at her. "That's okay, honey. We got the access code."
Linthvar's eyes met his, amused and disdainful. The Jilectan didn't believe him, but of course it didn't matter. He would believe once the lock was opened.
Alan was speaking, his voice low. "I'll be scanning you at all times, M'lord. If I hear you start to call for help, Lyn is to kill you immediately. Do you understand?"
Linthvar looked coldly away, but Lyn nodded. "I understand, Alan."
"Okay." Mark motioned Alan ahead of him up the short ramp to the yacht's small cargo hold. His partner went softly up to the airlock and Mark stayed behind him, turning to survey the field, one hand on the butt of his blaster. If anyone got curious now, it would be his job to get them out of it, if he could, and if he could not, to see that neither he nor Alan was taken alive.
Alan stood before the closed hatch, concentrating. Mark reached out a hand and felt Alan grasp his arm. This was their specialty; one that no other psychic Team had. Linthvar had been amused, Lyn puzzled. How could Mark or Alan possibly have obtained the access code for Halthzor's private yacht? None but Halthzor would know it.
They had a right to be skeptical, Linley thought, with a trace of smugness. Such codes, he knew, were changed periodically to keep such information from getting out, and even Linthvar was probably unaware of the present code, even if they had read his mind.
But of course, Alan had no need of a code. They were the Armageddon Team. With Mark, his psychic power pack, from which to draw extra energy, Alan was over three times more powerful than the most powerful telekinetic in existence, Terran or Jilectan.
He could feel the energy drain as Alan concentrated. The drain increased, and then increased again. Wow! Linley thought, this was a tough one!
A final surge of energy, and there was a tiny click. Behind him, the hatch slid open with a soft sigh of air. He heard Alan draw a long breath and blow it out.
"Tough one," his partner muttered.
"You okay?"
"Sure." Another breath. Alan straightened up, shaking his head a little. "That was the worst one I ever tried."
"I'd guess they'd use their best on the Duke's yacht," Linley said. "Ol Halthzie's gonna be scratchin' his head for a month, an' Linthvar, too."
Alan gave a half-laugh. "Let's see, now --" He concentrated a moment. "There's a man on board -- a servant on the third deck. He's asleep. You go take care of him while I bring the crawler on board."
"Yessir, Colonel sir." Linley sketched a salute and headed across the hold toward the main body of the ship. Alan went back down the ramp.
The lift bore Linley upward, and he disembarked in a small lounge on the third deck. The servants quarters were not so elaborate as the ones intended for the noble owner and his guests, of course, but they were nice enough. A door stood open and Mark edged up to it, his blaster drawn. The Terran was there, all right, sound asleep on his bunk and snoring lustily. Mark went quietly over to him.
"Wake up, bud."
The man's eyes opened, dark and confused. "What's up?" he inquired.
Mark let him see the blaster. "Don't make no trouble an' you won't be hurt. Turn over on your face."
The servant stared at him. "Who *are* you?"
"*Move*!"
The man obeyed, turning his head to keep an eye on Mark. Mark caught his hands behind him and secured them with his last set of restrainers. Behind him were footsteps, and Mark turned to see Linthvar, Alan and Lyn enter the cabin. The two Terrans were supporting the Jilectan between them with obvious difficulty, and Mark hurried over to help. Together, they eased him to the carpet.
The servant twisted around on the bed. "M'lord!" he squeaked.
"Quiet," Linley said. "Okay, Your Lordship, we're gonna drug you. Don't make no trouble."
Linthvar glared at him as Alan opened his small emergency kit and removed a syringe. He injected the alien skillfully in the thigh and then replaced the syringe in the kit. "Okay, that does it." He removed the Jilectan's gag and then dodged as Linthvar spat at him. Mark moved instinctively, backhanding the Jilectan across the face. There was a horrified yelp from the servant.
Alan grabbed his partner's hand at the same instant. "Easy, Mark. He missed me."
Linley jerked his hand free and caught the Jilectan by the collar, dragging him upward. "Listen, Jil, you better learn a few manners fast, or I might decide you ain't worth returnin'. Understand?"
Linthvar didn't reply. Alan touched Mark's shoulder. "Mark --"
Linley released his prisoner, allowing him to thump back to the carpet. "You're too damned soft, kid," he said, and stood up, turning away.
There was a painful silence.
"Do you have another syringe, Alan?" It was Lyn.
"Sure." A pause, then the servant's voice, shrill with fright.
"What *is* that? What are you -- don't!"
"It's all right," Lyn said softly. "It won't hurt you."
Empaths, Mark thought resignedly. He glanced at the Jilectan again. Lord Linthvar was asleep, his face delicate and innocent, surrounded by its soft, feminine curls. Alan nodded to Lyn, and she went quietly from the cabin. She would bring back the Shirva, Mark knew, now that the Jilectan was unconscious, and the servant would be in a similar condition within a few moments.
"Sorry, Mark," Alan said. "You were probably right."
Mark found himself grinning slightly. "Hell, it ain't your fault, but damn! The nerve o' that character!"
"I know I'm too soft sometimes," Alan said. "You're right. I'll try to change."
Linley gave a bark of laughter. "Don'tcha dare change. You wouldn't be you if you weren't a little soft-hearted sometimes." He paused and added, "Most of the time."
Alan smiled. "I must drive you almost crazy. I don't know how you put up with me."
Mark considered that. "You're tough when it counts," he pointed out. "I remember what happened on Toomelli's Moon."
Alan flushed. "I was saving my own life."
"Not to mention all our lives. And then there was that business on the 'Patton'."
Alan's face darkened as it always did when that incident came up. "That was different," he said, shortly.
"Yeah, I know. I shouldn't get mad at you just 'cause you're nice to a damn Jil -- even if he don't deserve it." He glanced at the now-slumbering servant. "Let's get goin'."
"Lyn's coming now," Alan said. He glanced toward the door and as he did so, Lyn, accompanied by the two Shirva, appeared.
Mark removed the still-wrapped globe from his borrowed pouch. "I'm gonna put this damned thing in a safe place. If things go sour, Lyn, throw it down the matter converter or somethin'. For the luvvamike, don't let the Jils get their hands on it again."
"I won't," Lyn said.
Alan glanced at the unconscious servant on the bed. "He's nearer my size."
"Go ahead and change," Mark said, "but make it snappy."
Alan looked at Lyn. "Uh --"
She dimpled and vanished into the bathroom. Mark winked at his partner and helped him strip the servant of his uniform. Alan pulled on the new clothing, hitching up the breeches and tightening the belt. As though on cue, Lyn reappeared.
She came over to Alan and helped straighten the clothing. "Where's his hat?"
"Hat?"
"Yes," she said. "Jil body servants always have a hat with the colors of the Jil's House when they go out in public. At least, they're supposed to." She looked around. "There it is." She picked it up and set it on his head at an angle. "There."
Alan pulled on the boots. They were too large, as might be expected, reaching almost to his knees, but they certainly looked better than the moccasins or the Procyon's oddly heart-shaped foot-coverings. He set his discarded moccasins beside the bunk and straightened up. "How do I look?"
Mark surveyed him critically. "Not bad. You could use a shave."
"You need one worse," Lyn said. "Besides, no one will notice in the dark."
"Yeah, but somebody's bound to notice when we start banging around in the brig." Linley pulled the little shaver from the emergency kit and ran it quickly over his chin.
Alan touched his arm. "I think we should hurry."
"Okay. Shave on the way." Mark thrust the shaver into his hands and turned to Lyn. "You three stay here. Don't open the hatch for anybody until you hear Alan tellin' you to. Got it?"
Lyn nodded, but she was looking at Alan. He was also looking at her, and Mark knew suddenly that his half-formed thoughts of a few days ago had been more accurate than he had realized. Alan was stuck on Lyn, and she on him.
Jeel gave a cackle. "Well?" he piped in his strange mixture of Shallockian and Terran Basic, "are you gonna kiss her or not, kid?"
Alan jumped, turning pink. Lyn also flushed slightly, but went toward him, holding out her hands. "Well, kid?" she inquired.
Alan flushed pinker, but held out his arms. Mark glanced at the Shirva and winked. The little aliens winked back.
Alan slowly released Lyn and, with a deep breath, turned toward Mark. "Ready?"
"Ready." Mark led the way toward the lift.
**********
tbc
