The Mines of Kuloghi: 10/11
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
XXII
"Sir! Sir! Wake up! PLEASE!"
Alan sat up, his blaster half-raised before he identified the voice. Dalik was dragging at him, trying vainly to pull him to his feet. "Sir! Please get up, sir! You cannot stay here!"
"Dalik ..." Memory jarred through him. "Go after Mark. He needs help."
Dalik stared at him in consternation. "*You* needs help, sir! Not Mark. Mark, he is okay."
Alan thrust the blaster into Dalik's hands. "Hurry, Dalik. Go after him. That's an order! Hurry!"
"But what about *you*, sir?" Dalik was holding the blaster as though he expected it to bite him. "They will find you!"
"Do as I say! Run!"
Dalik backed away, staring at him. "But, sir --"
"I'll follow you!" Alan said, desperately. "Hurry up, or by the stars, I *will* turn you into a toad!"
Dalik whipped around and ran.
Alan blinked dizzily and looked around. Dawn was breaking and the sky was streaked with pale, pink clouds. In the shadow of the building, the air was cool and very still. Sleep drifted over him again.
A noise brought him sharply back to consciousness. Clear and distinct, he heard it: the crack of a blaster set to kill. Another shot, and then another.
The blood pounding in his ears, Alan heaved himself to hands and knees, beginning to crawl across the sand after Mark and Dalik.
XXIII
Mark crouched behind his protecting ridge of rock, effectively pinned by the blaster fire from the two remaining patrolmen. Sneaking a quick peek, he saw that the Jilectan had reached the ramp of his ship and was beginning to ascend. Julia was clutching the rail with both hands, kicking and writhing in the alien's grasp.
In sudden exasperation, the Jilectan wrenched her loose and spun her about. Linley saw him backhand her across the mouth, snapping her head to the side. Julia sagged.
He ducked again as blaster fire hissed close, and ground his teeth in rage and frustration.
More blaster fire erupted somewhere on his right. Sand sprayed up three meters to the left of the nearer patrolman, bringing startled exclamations from both men. It was all the distraction Linley needed.
He popped up above the ridge and fired twice. The patrolman on the left went down and fire seared the right arm of the second as he dove sideways, his weapon spinning to the sand. With a yell, he reeled backwards and disappeared suddenly from view, like a gopher going into its hole.
Mark couldn't guess who the atrocious marksman that had aided him might be, but there was no time to wonder. The Jilectan had almost reached the top of the ramp, Julia's limp form held before him like a shield. It would have to be a head shot, and the two of them were easily a hundred meters away. If his aim was a fraction off, Julia would fry, but there was no other choice.
Linley flicked his blaster to needle beam and dropped flat to the ground. He braced the butt of his weapon firmly in the yielding sand and squinted through the telescopic sights, taking careful aim. With infinite care, his index finger moved gently a fraction of a centimeter.
Only two months before his defection to the Terran Underground, Mark had been awarded the Nova Cluster for blaster marksmanship by the Commandant of the Viceregal Patrol. Linley knew himself to be one of the finest shots in the Sector, but never before had so much depended upon a single pull of the trigger.
Ganthzar crumpled where he stood, and Julia rolled down the ramp.
Mark lay still for a moment, hardly believing what he had done.
"There!" he said at last. "That'll teach him! Too bad you weren't awake to see it, honey."
From somewhere nearby there was a blood-curdling whoop. Linley's hair stood on end and he ducked behind the ridge once more. There was another whoop, the crack of a blaster, and then silence.
Mark lay still, his scalp crawling. A figure soared gracefully over the rock to land lightly in the sand beside him. He rolled, bringing the blaster up, before he saw that the native who stood grinning beside him was Dalik.
"Dalik! What the hell --"
"You gots him, Mark!" The native was pounding him enthusiastically on the shoulder, his white teeth gleaming in a delighted smile. "You gots him good!"
Linley grabbed him and pulled him down behind the ridge. "Getcher head down! There's another 'trol still alive over there somewhere!"
"Oh, he is gone now," Dalik assured him, blandly. "He falls into a gully when you blasts the Jil. I shoots at him and he takes off running." Dalik brandished the blaster. "That was a lotta fun, you bet!"
"Give me that thing!" Mark said.
Dalik presented the weapon, muzzle first. Mark deflected it with two fingers and removed it carefully from the native's hand. "Where the devil did you learn to shoot?"
"I have never shooted a blaster before," Dalik informed him proudly.
"I never woulda guessed." Mark was getting his breath back.
"Alan, he says you needs help. He tells me to go quick, so of course I does as he says." Dalik grinned broadly.
Mark peered over the rock at the Jilectan ship. There was no movement in the hatch and to all appearances the area was deserted, except for the bodies and Julia, who was beginning to stir feebly.
He mangled his lip. Probably it was safe. Anyone in the ship should have appeared during the fight to protect his boss's sacred hide. But he couldn't count on it.
Linley measured the distance between himself and Julia, mentally estimating the time it would take him to reach her. Too much.
He looked doubtfully at Dalik, who was watching him, his dark head protruding well above the ridge. Mark pulled him down again. If anyone appeared in the hatch, could the native hit him? Linley closed his eyes. Probably not. But at least it might discourage a possible sniper to have someone shooting at him, no matter how execrable the aim.
"C'mere, Dalik," he said. "I gotta go get Julia. You're gonna hafta cover me. Okay?"
"Sure!" Dalik reached for the blaster again.
"Just a minute." Linley positioned Dalik prone in the sand and sighted along the weapon, pinpointing the hatch in the crosshairs. "Okay, now, don't move. If you see anybody in the hatch, pull the trigger. *Don't* move the blaster. Got it?"
"Yes, Mark."
Hoping fervently that Dalik wouldn't get excited, Mark got to his feet and sprinted across the sand toward Julia. The seconds crawled by like minutes before he reached her and ducked beneath the boarding ramp. He stretched out a hand and seized her by the arm, dragging her to cover.
Still nothing moved. All was quiet. Mark hoisted the half-conscious girl to his shoulders, looked carefully out and then got to his feet and ran once more, expecting any second to feel the shock of a stunbolt from the rear.
But nothing happened. Linley ducked behind the rock, let Julia slide to the sand and paused to wipe sweat from his eyes. "Whew!"
Dalik was still poised in the sand, the blaster steady in both hands. Mark reached over to take the weapon again. "Thanks."
"I do not think there is anybody there," Dalik said wisely.
"Thanks anyway," Mark said. He turned Julia over.
She was awake, but looked dazed. Blood, caked with sand, coated her upper lip. Mark wiped it gently away and helped her to sit up.
Julia blinked and shook her head carefully. "What happened?" she whispered faintly. "How did you --"
Dalik couldn't restrain himself. "Mark, he pots the Jil! He blows his head off!"
Julia's eyes widened and she looked at Mark. "I'm sorry I missed the show," she said. "Thank you." She lifted her hands. "Do you think you could get these things off, now?"
"Sure," Linley said. He drew his blaster, made an adjustment to the weapon and carefully burned away the lock on the restrainers.
"We must go get Alan, now," Dalik said. "He was trying to follow."
"You found him?" Julia asked eagerly.
"Yeah," Mark said. "He helped break us outta the mine, but he's in bad shape. We gotta get him back to the hospital at home as fast as we can." He handed Julia the spare blaster and they headed back toward the Patrol station.
They found Alan sleeping peacefully in the sand only about fifteen meters behind the spot where Mark had lain when he shot the Jilectan. He was curled up against a ridge of rock and they didn't see him until Mark almost stepped on him. Linley went quickly to one knee beside his partner and turned him over.
"Alan? You still with us?" he demanded anxiously.
Green eyes opened and blinked at him sleepily, and then Alan grinned.
"That was a great shot, pal," he said. He closed his eyes and was instantly asleep again.
Julia sank to her knees beside him. "Oh, Alan!" She reached out carefully and brushed the dark curls back from his forehead. "Mark, will he --"
"He'll be fine!" Mark snapped. "Come on. Let's get him back --"
Julia reached across Alan, seized Linley by the ears, dragged him forward and kissed him hard on the mouth. Mark was surprised, but not too surprised to kiss back.
"Wow!" he said, when he could get his breath. "What was that for?"
"Reward for the hero," Julia said. "Just don't let it go to your head. Sorry; I got some blood on you." She wiped Mark's face and then her own.
Dalik was laughing. "Your wife, she is funny, isn't she, Mark?"
Mark's mouth opened in surprise. Then he grinned. "Damn right, kiddo," he said.
XXIV
Alan Westover swam back to wakefulness, aware that much time had passed. His body ached and his ribs jabbed him painfully each time he inhaled. Light was shining in his face and lifted a hand to block it out.
Something touched him. Alan started violently, his eyes flying open.
"Easy, kid." Mark Linley's face was bending over him. "It's okay. Howya feelin'?"
"Sore," Alan said.
"I ain't surprised. Just a minute." Mark turned, and the light dimmed somewhat. "That better?"
Alan nodded and closed his eyes again.
"That's it," Linley said. "Go back to sleep. You need it."
"Don't leave," Alan said.
"Not a chance. I'll be right here."
**********
Linley watched until his partner was asleep again and then lowered himself into the chair he had pulled up beside Alan's bed. He glanced at his chronometer.
It had been almost six hours since Julia and he had returned to the Patrol base. He had scouted out the situation before he had ventured to return, and it had been obvious within minutes that the slaves had been victorious. His partner had been soundly asleep, and hadn't stirred from the time that Mark lifted him from his bed in the sand until a few minutes ago. Linley sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing a thumb across the blond stubble on his chin.
The slaves had greeted him with a rousing cheer. Perhaps two thirds had survived the battle, but the patrolmen had been utterly annihilated. The slaves, anxious about Alan, had accompanied him to the tiny infirmary, and Mark, glancing around at the bloody shambles, had been thankful that Alan was not awake to see it.
The outworlders, led by Monty, took a boarding party into the Jilectan yacht and found, as Linley had suspected, that it was empty. The ecstatic group showered Mark and his unconscious partner with thanks and good wishes, and then blasted off, captained by the Arcturian, who had -- naturally -- survived. Linley cudgeled his brain to recall where they had met before, but to no avail. He'd always had trouble in telling members of that enigmatic species apart, anyway. He gave it up.
The natives had left shortly afterwards, sped on their way by the fear of the Patrol ship that would be arriving in about twelve hours to collect the crystals mined over the past days. All but Dalik. The native youth had hovered around the door of the infirmary until Mark descended on him in true Patrol fashion and told him to get moving. Julia set off in the scout craft, that they had located parked in the base garage, to return to their ship and at Linley's suggestion, took Dalik along as a passenger to drop him off at the oasis where he had been captured. He would, he assured them, be able to track down his tribe within a very short time, and they could return to meet the other former captives who were journeying to meet them. That solution had seemed the best from Linley's point of view. He definitely did not want his partner subjected to the long ride to the ship in the cramped quarters of the scout. He had remained behind with Alan.
Alan groaned and opened his eyes again. "Mark?"
Instantly, Linley was on his feet. "Right here. Go back to sleep."
Alan ran his tongue over dry lips. "Can I have a drink of water?"
"Sure. Just a minute." Mark brought him a cup of water. "Feelin' any better?"
Alan drank thirstily and settled back. "Yeah, a lot."
"Good." Mark turned and dimmed the lights further. "You go back to sleep. I want you to soak up all the shut-eye you can."
Alan closed his eyes. "Don't leave."
"I won't. Go to sleep." Linley settled back in his chair.
Alan was silent for a while. Mark was entertaining the hope that he was asleep again when he spoke. "Did we win?"
Mark grinned. "You mean our glorious revolution? Of course we won. We were the good guys." Linley's voice was bland and he had the satisfaction of seeing his partner's lips curve in a faint smile. "The natives left for home hours ago -- I had to throw your friend Dalik out on his ear -- and the offworlders are off to seek their fortunes in Lord Ganthzar's private yacht." He laughed. "Brother, they musta had fun. You shoulda *seen* what me an' Jul walked into when we got back here with you."
"I'm glad I didn't," Alan said. "Did they kill everybody?"
"Now take it easy, kid. You can't have a slave revolt without a few people gettin' killed." He hesitated, wishing he hadn't mentioned the slaughter to his kind-hearted partner. "All but one, actually. Your friend Monty saved one 'trol outta the bunch. I dunno why."
"Who?"
"Dunno. Monty told me his name, but I wasn't really listenin'. Some sarge or other. Fishbone or somethin'."
"Fishbine?"
"Yeah, that was it. Monty locked him in the brig before they left. You know him?"
"Yes," Alan said. "I met him once. He kept Edgebastion from working me over when we first came in. Monty talked about him some, and I guess he was a pretty decent guy -- said he kept Priddy from killing the slaves, even if he only did it because he hated slave raids."
"Well," Mark said, "whatever his reasons were, they saved his skin. Anyway --" He leaned back in his chair. "Your pal, Dalik, sends his regards and a free invitation to visit him any time you feel like it. Y'know, you really saved the day when you sent him to help me. The li'l guy can't shoot worth a damn, but he gave me the distraction I needed. Thanks."
"You're welcome," Alan said. He fell silent. Mark was quiet, glancing at his chronometer. He hoped Julia would be back soon. She had to cross half the continent to the ship, and she might have to hunt for it a while. They had not left a homing beacon on it for obvious reasons. She had been gone nearly five hours.
Linley got up and tiptoed quietly toward the door.
"Mark?"
Linley turned. "Yeah?"
"Don't leave."
"I wasn't," Mark said, retracing his steps. "I was just gonna see if there was any sign o' Jul, yet." He sat down once more.
"Where is she?"
"I sent her t'get the ship. She should be back soon. I wanna getcha to the hospital as soon as I can." Mark frowned at him. "Try'n sleep, kid. You don't look so good."
"I'll be okay. Mark --"
Linley sighed. "What?"
"They're mining some kind of crystal here."
"Yeah, I know. Edgebastion showed me the collection you'd given him."
Alan grimaced. "I managed to steal a piece of one. I looked at it when I got back to the slave pens. It's some kind of psychic structure."
Linley shook his head. "I mighta known you'd try somethin' like that. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. What'd you find out about it?"
"Well, I tried to probe it a little. I sent a psychic impulse into it. The crystal magnified it and sent it back. I lifted a half-full water barrel -- and it was *easy*! Even without you. Then the thing fell apart -- went to pieces in my hand."
Linley gave a low whistle. "So that's how they did it."
"Did what?"
"The Jils managed to spot Carl Wilkins -- right through his shieldin'."
"Carl!"
"Yeah."
"Oh no! How's Lisa?"
"Takin' it pretty hard. We'll hafta let Kaley know about this mine business when we get back. He'll know what to do."
Alan shifted uncomfortably. "They've got to be destroyed. If they aren't, this whole business is going to start up again."
Linley was slow to answer. "Yeah, I know. But what can we do? Blow up the mines or somethin'? We ain't got an awful lotta time, y'know, an' besides, we ain't got nothin' t'do it with. The Patrol ship'll be arrivin soon to pick up this week's worth o' crystals --"
"How soon?"
"In about six or seven hours."
"That's long enough," Alan said.
"Long enough to do what?"
"To blow up the mines."
"Kid, I just finished sayin' we ain't got nothin' to blow 'em up with!"
"I can do it," Alan said.
Mark stared at his partner, wondering momentarily if the head wound he had received was giving his partner delusions of grandeur. "Alan, be reasonable! How are you gonna blow up the mines, in the shape you're in, all by yourself, *without* any explosives?"
"Mark, listen to me! I can do it." Alan pushed himself to one elbow, his green eyes brilliant in the subdued lighting. Mark forced him back down.
"Take it easy. Lie down an' relax. I'm gonna getcha back to Matt as quick as I can."
Alan caught his wrist. "*Listen* to me!" he repeated. "While I was in the slave pens, I thought it over and figured out something that should work. I was going to try it if I could find another crystal. Then you showed up."
Linley was silent for a moment, watching his partner. Maybe Alan wasn't crazy after all. Alan had an almost instinctive grasp of psychic manipulations and had managed to pull off some things that all the psychic experts said could not be done. Not for nothing was the psychic Team of Westover and Linley considered one of the most valuable assets the Underground had ...
"Okay," Mark said. "How do we do it?"
Alan shifted uncomfortably and caught his breath in a sharp gasp as he inadvertently jarred broken ribs.
"Easy there. Let me help." Mark assisted him to turn and crammed pillows behind his back for support. "Better?"
"Yeah." Alan grinned a little. "You make a terrific nurse."
"My pleasure. You were sayin'?"
"Well," Alan said, "from what I can figure out, these crystals work on a resonating system. They're kind of an inorganic version of you -- a storehouse of psychic energy. The energy is the bonding force of the crystal and, unlike you, they can't replenish it. Once it's gone, the crystal turns into a useless powder. What we have to do is to make the things give up their energy."
"Okay, I'm all ears."
"Well, what happens is this. The psychic pumps a little power into one of the crystals and the crystal bounces it back -- along with its own contribution. That gives the psychic a lot of free energy to use. I think I can adapt that. As far as I've been able to find out, there's only two deposits of these things on the planet. They're a little deeper in the mountain. We hadn't reached the main nodes yet, but I could sense the power there. Once you showed up and I had the extra power to work with, I located the exact spots."
Mark grinned suddenly. "Glad I don't turn into powder when you draw power off me. Okay, go on."
"Well, I think I can set up a resonant flow of energy between the main nodes of the two mines. The crystals'll keep bouncing the power back and forth, amplifying it and releasing more and more energy, until it reaches a critical level, when everything will be converted into heat all at once. Most likely it'll rip the mountain apart too," he added thoughtfully.
Mark's voice sounded awed, even to himself. "*That's* what you were gonna do if I hadn't found you in time?"
"If I could have found the crystal to draw the energy from, sure." Alan smiled faintly at Linley's appalled expression. "I thought you were dead, and I didn't know anybody was coming for me. I wouldn't have made it through that second shift, anyway. I'd almost had it when you found me." He paused. "I didn't figure I had much to lose."
"Man!" Mark shook his head, a little taken aback. "For a nice kid, you sure have some pretty violent ideas. Can't say you ain't got guts, though. And I was worried about lanterns droppin' on my head!"
Alan's eyes widened, then he grinned. "Oh, you thought I might try to get back at Edgebastion, huh?"
"Yeah," Mark said. "I remembered how you came at me when I crossed you back on Midgard. I figured any 'trol who laid a hand on you better watch his step." He chuckled and then sobered abruptly. "By the way, what are *we* gonna be doin' while the mountain's rippin' itself apart under our feet?"
"Oh," Alan said, "I don't think it'll happen all at once. The crystals are embedded in rock. That'll damp the reaction for a little while, until we can get away." He stopped and then added, "At least, I hope so."
Linley put his face in one hand. "Oh, man!" He looked up. "What d'you think our chances are?"
"Pretty good," Alan said. He hesitated and added, "I guess."
Mark grimaced, looking doubtfully at his partner. Alan was in bad condition, he knew. Just how bad he wouldn't be able to tell until they got back to Lavirra.
"Are you sure you can pull this off in the shape you're in?" He asked, at last.
"I've got to," Alan said. "Once they get the mines going, there'll be slaves here again. Besides, I'll have to get in as close as I can to one of the deposits. We won't get another chance."
Linley considered. Alan was right. Something had to be done about the mines, not for the slaves -- a relatively extraneous consideration in Linley's eyes -- but for the Underground. "All right," he said finally. "You've talked me into it. We'll hafta wait'll Jul gets back with the ship, though, and I'll want to set up some things for a fast getaway. Be back as soon as I can." He got to his feet. "I want you to rest between now and then. No more talkin'. Sleep if you can. I'll wake you up when everythin's set. Okay?"
"Okay," Alan said. "Don't forget about Sergeant Fishbine, by the way."
"Don't worry about him. Looks like we'll hafta take the good sarge with us. After all o' Monty's trouble pluckin' him outta the jaws o' death, it don't seem strictly kosher leavin' him to get blown up in the brig. Go to sleep."
"All right." Alan closed his eyes and then opened them again. "Mark --"
Linley sighed. "What is it now?"
"Thanks. You saved my life."
"Hey," Mark said, with unaccustomed gentleness, "I seem to remember a time when a green kid from Terra saved a certain Strike Commander from turnin' into a dinosaur's midmornin' snack -- an' then later shot a Jil t'keep that same guy from fryin' in a blaster beam. It's a team effort all the way, an' I ain't gonna lose you without a helluva fight. Now for Pete's sake, go to sleep before I beltcha one!"
Alan sighed contentedly and closed his eyes. Mark turned and headed for the door.
XXV
Sergeant Travis Fishbine sat in the brig. His hands were secured behind him with restrainers and his feet were bound with a length of rope. He hoped devoutly that the slaves had forgotten about him.
He'd awakened uncounted hours ago in the barracks, hearing shouts and confusion. An unclad Procyon slave yanked him up by the hair and all around him in the darkness a slaughter was taking place. The Procyon voiced an unearthly screech, his blaster pointed directly at Fishbine's face, and Fishbine gave himself up for lost.
But before the creature could fire, a husky, dark-skinned Terran, clad only in a dirty loincloth, had appeared, speaking a sharp word to the alien. The slave stared at Fishbine for a long moment, his round, dark eyes wild with hatred, and turned away, blasting down two unarmed patrolmen in as many seconds. The Terran leveled his own weapon at Fishbine and the last thing he recalled was the tingling shock of a stunbolt.
What did they want with him? Why had he been spared when so many of his comrades had died? Fishbine shuddered. Perhaps he was the sacrifice -- the 'trol taken alive for all the slaves to wreak their vengeance upon when their conquest was complete.
The image was not a comforting one.
The station had become very quiet. The brig door was closed, of course, but the barely detectable vibrations that meant movement within the building were missing and had been for some hours now. The silence was eerie.
The vibrations returned suddenly. Footsteps were approaching and Fishbine readied himself. This was it, then. They'd remembered him. He hoped desperately that when the time came he could die like a man.
The sudden shrill whine of a blaster set on needle beam almost made him jump out of his skin. The door slid open and a tall, handsome Terran in Patrol uniform entered. He wore no helmet and the uniform tunic was halfway unsealed.
"Hi there," the newcomer said. The man was obviously a native of Shallock, Fishbine thought. "Sorry t'burn out the lock. I couldn't find the key."
Fishbine stared at him. His face was familiar, but for the moment Fishbine was unable to place him.
"What happened?" he demanded. The stranger was obviously no slave and was therefore probably a friend. "Was everybody killed?"
"Everybody but you, Sarge." The man knelt and efficiently cut the ropes binding Fishbine's feet. "C'mon. We gotta go."
"Go where? Take these damned restrainers off me, patrolman!"
"Sorry." The man took him by one arm and helped him to his feet. "You're gonna hafta keep 'em on for a while."
Fishbine's heart jerked and began to pound. Oh man! He was in for it, then! Who was this guy? He'd seen him before, somewhere, that was for sure.
The stranger led him from his cell. Sneaking a look at the other man, Fishbine saw that he was very tall -- taller even than Fishbine, and he had never considered himself a small man. He had blond, waving hair, a firm, square jaw, and dark blue eyes. He glanced sideways at Fishbine and grinned.
Where had he seen that grin before? It had been very recently.
They passed the main bulletin board and Fishbine's gaze passed absently over it and then snapped back. A poster grinned down at him. Some artist had been busy again, but of the identity there was no doubt. Fishbine's eyes jerked back to his escort's face.
It was *him*! Mark Linley, former Strike Commander of the "Wolverine", deserter, outlaw and notorious companion of the Jil killer, Alan Westover! The sergeant felt his knees go weak. What did the guy have in store for him?
Linley seemed almost to read his mind, for a faint grin hovered on his lips. "Take it easy, Sarge," he said. "You're sweatin'."
Fishbine realized that he was indeed perspiring. Drops of moisture were running into his eyes. He swallowed and cleared his throat.
"Where --" His voice squeaked shamefully. "Where are you taking me?"
"To a ship," Linley said. He led Fishbine through the entrance and out through the main doors.
A Terran scout craft stood at the entrance, its passenger door open. Linley helped him into the front seat and slid behind the controls. They started across the sand toward a scout ship sitting on the desert a short distance away.
Fishbine cleared his throat again. "What are *you* doing here, Strike Commander?"
"None o' your business," Linley said, cheerfully.
"But why did you save my life? Why are you taking me with you now?"
Linley cocked an eyebrow at him. "You don't wanna get blown up with the rest o' the place, do you?"
"Holy --" Fishbine swallowed again and licked his lips. "You can't! The Jils --"
Linley made a colorful and physically impossible suggestion concerning what the aliens could do about it.
"They'll kill me," Fishbine muttered.
"I doubt it," Linley told him. "You probably won't be in the hospital more than a week or two."
The sergeant groaned silently. He had no doubt the Strike Commander's prediction was accurate. The man gave him a comradely slap on the shoulder. "Cheer up, Sarge. It coulda been a lot worse."
Fishbine was silent. They pulled to a stop and Linley got out, coming around to open his door for him. "Move it, pal. Time's a wastin'."
They went up the ramp and into the ship's airlock. A stunning blond woman met them. Fishbine had seen her some hours ago and had thought her an exceptionally attractive female. She was even more so, now. "Hello, Sergeant Fishbine. Is everything ready, Mark?"
"Just about. I'm headin' back now. Can you take care o' the Sarge for me?"
"Of course." She smiled dazzlingly. "Come with me, Sergeant."
Linley vanished down the ramp and after a few seconds the engine of the scout craft faded into the distance. Julia Austell took Fishbine's elbow and steered him into the passenger section of the ship.
Ordinary scout ships met certain specifications, Fishbine knew, but he was also aware that the technical wizards in the Terran Underground had taken their smaller ships and equipped them with powerful, souped-up engines and heavy firepower. He knew a moment's disappointment as he surveyed the interior of the craft.
"Looks just like an ordinary scout," he remarked.
"Most of the modifications don't show," Julia Austell said. "Sit down, Sergeant, and don't worry. You're a privileged patrolman. We won't hurt you unless you make trouble."
He seated himself in one of the padded chairs and she fastened safety webbing across his body.
"I don't suppose you could take these things off?" he inquired hopefully. "You have a blaster. I wouldn't try anything."
The woman laughed outright. She had a beautiful laugh, he realized. In fact, she was probably the most beautiful woman he had seen in a long time. He hadn't seen *any* Terran female for over two months. He sighed faintly. "No, really," he said.
She laughed again. "Of course not," she said. "Only I'm going to be very busy shortly. Once Mark sets the explosion, we won't have much time to get out before it goes. I won't have time to keep an eye on you."
Fishbine gave up the attempt. He hadn't really expected her to fall for it, but it was worth a try. "Then could I have a drink of water?"
"Now that I can manage." She picked up a canteen that lay on the seat beside him and let him have a long drink. "Enough?"
He grinned. "Not really, but you wouldn't give me what I'd really like."
She laughed. "You 'trols! Don't you ever think of anything else?"
"Not after two months in this place, baby."
"You just survived a slave revolt!"
"Yeah," he said. "And now I've got to face the Jils and explain why. And I don't even *know* why! What did I do to make Linley decide I was worth saving?"
"He didn't," she said. "It was one of the slaves. You probably don't remember him -- but he remembered you."
"Who?"
"I don't know his full name. Mark called him Monty."
"Monty --" The name meant nothing, of course.
She smiled. "He was just another slave, Sergeant. He wanted to pay you back for the way you'd treated him -- and the others. He told Mark to tell you the debt's settled."
"Oh," Fishbine said blankly.
**********
tbc
