Turnabout: 5/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
7
By midafternoon, they noticed that the ground beneath their feet was becoming mushy. The pack following them had doubled in size at least. It was difficult for Alan to tell. His psychic powers were definitely dulling. There was a sense of fuzziness behind his eyes but there had been no further hallucinations ... yet.
Wolenski stumbled finally, going to one knee. Mark cursed vividly. "Damn 'trols! I won't talk!" He pushed himself up. Instantly, Alan was beside him, the blaster in his left hand steady on Hague.
"Lie down, Mark. It's okay."
Mark lay back. "They gotcha too, kid? Don't worry. We'll get out ..."
"Put him down," Alan ordered.
The two patrolmen obeyed. Alan gestured with the blaster. "Lie down on your faces."
Slowly, Hague obeyed. Wolenski remained on one knee, staring fixedly at a spot a few meters away. He shook his head sharply. "Kid, do you -- do you see anything there?"
Alan looked, but aside from a few shrubs and scattered leaves but he could see nothing. "No. What do you see?"
Wolenski blinked, rubbing his eyes. "Lord Halthzor."
"Halthzor," Mark muttered. "We gotta get away --" His voice trailed off.
"There's no one," Alan said.
Wolenski nodded. "Hallucination." His voice was matter-of-fact. "It's fading out now."
Hague lifted his head from the ground. "Sounds like you're gettin' it now, sir," he said, his voice faintly malicious. "If you don't get some help soon, you're likely gonna die."
Alan glanced at Hague. The man was looking at him, grinning. Then he was gone. Alan swallowed. It was Lyn, smiling at him. He took a deep breath. Another hallucination. It had to be. He glanced back at Wolenski. "Get a drink and sit down, Wolly. We'll rest for a while."
Lyn faded and became Hague again. Alan seated himself on the ground, trying to be calm. They still had at least thirty kilometers to go. By this time tomorrow, if the disease followed the same course, he'd be flat on his back.
Mark tried to sit up. "Alan! Where are you?"
"I'm right here," Alan put a hand on his shoulder. "Lie down."
Linley strained against his hands. "Where's Alan? What have you done with him? Alan!"
"Mark, it's me. I'm right here."
Mark fell back, grasping his hand. "Kid! I thoughtcha were gone! Did they hurtcha too bad?"
"I'm fine," Alan said. "Just relax. The Patrol hasn't got us. You've been dreaming."
"He's dyin'," Hague said. "Now listen here, kid --"
Alan lifted the blaster. "Shut *UP*!"
The man shut up.
Mark tried to sit up again. "Alan!" He rolled to the side, straining against Alan's hands. "Lemme go, you damned 'trol! Where's Alan?"
"I'm right here, Mark."
Linley ignored him, trying to climb off the litter. Alan, still trying to hold him, turned to Wolenski. "We're going to have to tie him down. Get a couple of vines from over there. You help him, Mr. Hague but be gentle."
The two patrolmen started to obey. Mark fought, cursing and shouting for Alan. Alan put a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"It's okay, Mark," he said despairingly. "Don't fight us, please! Things are bad enough."
Mark continued to struggle, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The two men finished securing him to the litter and Alan motioned them back once more. "Mark," he said again, "you must lie quiet."
"Help me, kid! They got me!"
Alan took a deep breath. "Mark, I'm getting you away from them but you've got to be quiet. They'll find us if you make any noise."
Mark became abruptly still. "Don't go 'way, kid."
"I'll be right here. Don't worry."
A smile tugged at Linley's lips. His eyes closed.
"Go to sleep," Alan said. "Everything's under control." He stood up, motioning to the two patrolmen. "Let's go."
The men picked up the litter and started on. Hague glanced at Alan.
"You're crazy, Westover. D'you think he'd go through all this for you? Leave him an' let's get outta here."
Alan didn't answer. Hague had heard all the stories about Westover and Linley, he knew from his contact with the patrolman's mind, but he apparently discounted them -- which wasn't surprising, considering his mindset. Friendship and loyalty were foreign concepts to him. He'd been a slum kid who had survived by putting himself first and foremost, without exception. The contrast with Mark Linley was astounding. Mark's background had been at least as rough as Hague's but somehow he had developed a completely different view of life.
Hague laughed. "He's an ex-trol, kid. He'd sacrifice you in a second if he thought --"
Alan swallowed a lump in his throat.
"C'mon, kid. Think about it. If he was in your place --"
"Shut up, Hague," Wolenski said.
"'Trols don't help nobody, 'less it's for themselves," Hague said. "Don't be a jerk."
"Be quiet," Alan said.
Hague grinned again, obviously gaining confidence. "You're startin' t'see reason now, ain'tcha, kid? C'mon; let's leave him behind --"
"Alan!" Mark shouted. "Get away! They're comin' back!"
"C'mon, kid," Hague said. He started to set down the litter.
"Don't do it, Mister," Alan said quietly.
Hague froze. "Now, listen --"
"No, you listen." Alan forced himself to speak quietly and levelly. "Mr. Hague, six years ago, Strike Commander Linley threw away his whole career for me. He didn't know that the Underground was looking for us at the time, so he figured we'd be on our own. He knew that the chances of survival were poor, but he did it anyway -- just for me: a dumb kid from Terra. In the process, he darned near got himself killed. Now you want me to leave him, to walk away from him when *he's* in trouble? Forget it, mister. Not for you, not for Wolenski, not for the leader of the Terran Underground, himself." He took a long breath. "Not for anyone!"
Hague was staring at him. "You really mean it, don'tcha?"
"I really mean it," Alan said. "And the natives are looking pretty hungry, so you'd better start moving."
Hague straightened up. "Okay," he said sullenly.
Wolenski glanced back again. "That's something I've always wondered about," he said. "Why *did* he do it? Somehow it didn't seem like the sort of stunt he'd pull."
"There were good reasons," Alan said, "but they're none of your business."
Wolenski grinned slightly. "No, I guess not."
"How are you feeling?" Alan inquired. "Any more hallucinations?"
Wolenski shook his head. "Not yet." He stopped abruptly, and Hague stumbled, almost falling. The litter was jostled and Mark swore, trying to sit up.
The reason for Wolenski's abrupt halt was clear. Shallow water spread out before them. Weeds grew from it in patches and large, brilliantly-colored insects hummed over the surface, pausing to light on the vegetation, their gauzy wings quivering. The air was hot, humid and still.
Alan blinked. Something was rising from the shallow water before him: a huge, bulky creature, covered with coarse, bluish scales. He swallowed. What the dickens was one of Midgard's dinosaurs doing on Troth?
He took a quick step backward, flipping his blaster to emergency maximum. The creature lumbered toward him.
And abruptly it was no longer there. In its place was a large, yellow-hued bird, gliding over the water with its neck outstretched. It gave a loud, hoarse honk as it saw them and veered upward into the trees. Its cry faded rapidly into the distance.
An aircar hummed out of the east toward them.
Hague gave a shout, dropped the litter and leaped forward, waving his arms frantically. Alan flipped the blaster to stun and fired. The patrolman landed face down in the muddy water. Alan swung the blaster toward Wolenski.
"Freeze!" he snapped, although the officer had not stirred. "Don't move until the aircar's gone!"
Wolenski remained motionless, watching Alan. The aircar circled at some distance from them and then hummed away to the west. Silence fell.
"Okay," Alan said, "Pull him out."
Wolenski heaved Hague from the water. The man was covered with slimy mud and his hair was full of tiny, black wormlike creatures. Wolenski wiped his face, trying to clear his mouth and nose. Hague choked and coughed, his eyes still closed. The Strike Commander glanced curiously at Alan. "Did you see something that shouldn't have been there, kid?"
Alan shook his head, glancing at Mark. Linley was muttering under his breath, trying to sit up. Alan knelt beside him. "Lie still, Mark. It's me, Alan. You're going to be okay if you just lie still."
Mark stopped fighting the bindings, his glazed blue eyes struggling to focus on Alan's face. "Kid?"
"Yes, it's me." Alan rested a hand on Linley's forehead for an instant. Linley's skin was hot and dry, his lips cracked. Alan unhooked the canteen from his belt. He had filled it at a small, swiftly-flowing stream that morning and sterilized it with a chlorotab from the kit. "Here. Have a drink."
Mark gulped several mouthfuls and lay back. "Where are we? Where's the 'trols?"
"We're escaping, Mark. I have two prisoners." He glanced dispassionately at Hague, who was beginning to stir and retch. "Lie still. We're going to be fine."
"Okay." Mark closed his eyes.
Alan looked down at him for several seconds and then at the gagging, moaning, cursing Hague. Wolenski was standing still, watching Alan in silence. Did the Strike Commander suspect that Alan was having hallucinations, too? He mustn't! If he found that out -- Alan swallowed. He was going to have to be extremely careful from now on. Wolenski must not know, or his goose was cooked, and Mark's too. Especially, the Strike Commander must not realize that it was becoming increasingly more difficult for Alan to focus his telepathic power. The disease was beginning to affect that as well and, of the two patrolmen, it had been obvious to him from the beginning that Wolenski was by far the more dangerous.
"Is he okay?" Alan inquired.
Hague lifted his head, still cursing. "You damned filth! I think you like t'use that thing!"
"That's right," Alan said. "Give me another excuse and I'll use it again. Get up."
Hague groaned.
"Now, Mr. Hague."
Hague got to his knees. "One o' these days I'm gonna catch you without a blaster in your hand --"
Alan flicked the weapon to needle beam and Hague staggered upright. "I always wondered before if the things the Jils say about Terran psychics was true. Now I know."
"You better believe it," Alan said. "Especially where you're concerned. Pick up the litter and move. Go right. We're going to circle this swamp."
Hague stumbled forward and jerked up the foot of the litter. Mark groaned.
"Careful!" Alan snapped. "Hurt him again and you're going to be short a toe!"
Wolenski lifted his end of the litter and they started forward once more.
**********
8
Tylla Wylie was monitoring Patrol transmissions while her husband dozed in the chair beside her.
There had been no word for some time concerning the fate of Westover and Linley. Agents of their organization were crawling all over the area and had been for days. So far, they had come up with nothing.
The com crackled. "Search Three to Patrol base. Come in."
Tylla sat up.
"Base here. Report."
"This is Sergeant Lilly, Search Three. We've located Strike Commander Wolenski's aircar. It's about fifty kilometers east of the base. Coordinates as follows ..."
"Fred!" Tylla cried.
Instantly, Wylie was awake. "What?"
"They've found the car!"
The voice was continuing. "Vehicle apparently made a forced landing in the treetops. Injuries certain. Large patch of blood on the right front seat. We need an analyzer."
"Team's on the way, Sarge." It was a new voice. "This is Lieutenant Packer. Search the surrounding area. We're notifying all teams to concentrate their efforts within a thirty kilometer radius of the car. Notify us at once of further developments."
"Roger, sir."
Wylie stood up. "Notify our men to start searching the area," he said, "and let's hope we can find 'em before the Patrol does."
Tylla was already speaking into another transmitter. "All right," she said a moment later. "They're on their way."
The com tuned into the Patrol frequencies spoke again. "Search Three here. We've found three empty blasters and two helmets -- one belonging to the Commander and the other to his driver -- Avery Hague. Looks like they're still prisoners, sir."
"Analyzer report?"
"They're working on it, sir. Wait --" There was background muttering. "We have a preliminary report, sir. There were four types of blood found. Traces of Wolenski's and Hague's, one unidentified, presumed to be Westover's. The big patch all over the right front seat and floor matches the sample of Linley's. He must be hurt pretty bad, sir."
"Good. They won't get far, then. Get those samples back here, quick."
"Yessir."
Wylie turned to Tylla again. "That does it. We've *got* to find 'em, and fast. Alan must have the situation under control for now, but there's no telling how long he can manage it. He's got him a Strike Commander for a prisoner, so he'll have his hands full."
Tylla stood up, running a hand through her brown, curly hair. "If only we could do something. I feel so helpless. How long before Bronson and Parnell arrive?"
Fred glanced at his chronometer. "Too long."
**********
8
Alan slogged on through ankle-deep mire, following the two patrolmen, his blaster trained on Hague's back. The air around them stank of rotting vegetation and the sun beat down blindingly. He was feeling light-headed and very scared. Mark had become frighteningly still on the litter, his face flushed and damp with perspiration. The pack of creatures was still following, scampering hopefully along on all sides, watching them with round, yellow eyes. Alan wondered if they ever slept.
The mire became deeper and the stench more unbearable as the hours went by. At last Hague paused, glancing back. "I think he's dead, kid."
Alan's heart jerked with sudden fear. With his psychic abilities dulled by the disease, he would have no way of knowing if Mark *did* die.
"He ain't moved for an hour. I can't see him breathin'."
Alan couldn't either. He swallowed convulsively.
Mark stirred on the litter. "There you go again, kid. What's scarin' you?"
Alan took a deep breath. "Nothing." He leveled the blaster at Hague and made his way around the patrolmen to the side of the litter. He rested a hand on his partner's forehead. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine, kid." Mark blinked through bloodshot eyes at him. "We got away yet?"
"Getting there," Alan said. "You're going to be okay. Just lie still."
"He's lyin', Linley!" Hague snapped. "You're a dyin' man, an' the Patrol's hot on our --"
Alan flipped the blaster to needle beam and fired without bothering to aim. Hague yipped as the shot singed his cheek. Blisters rose instantly. Alan swung the muzzle of the weapon to Hague's nose.
"Go on," he said softly. "Speak your mind, Mr. Hague! I'm just about ready to cut my losses and finish you, so go on. Help me make up my mind!"
Hague was silent, glaring back at him.
"All right," Alan said, "Give me one more excuse -- just one -- and you're a dead man." He glanced at Linley again. "You're sick, Mark, but you're going to be okay."
"Sure, I know," Mark said. "Take more'n a couple o' lousy 'trols to kill me. Mm'sleepy. Okay if I sleep? That climb up the mountain just about wore me out."
"Sure." Alan fixed his eyes warningly on Hague. "Go ahead."
Linley's eyes closed and Alan stepped back, motioning with the blaster. "Let's go."
They continued on. The pack was moving closer, apparently unaffected by the mud and sticky heat. There was a high giggling noise from behind them, echoed instantly by another from the trees on their left. Alan's heart jumped again. Fogged as his telepathic senses were now, he had no idea how many of the natives were following them. For the past four hours he had been completely unable to read the minds of the two patrolmen. The realization scared him. If Hague tried to jump him again, he would have no warning.
He heard the patrolman speaking to Wolenski, his voice low. "He looks like he ain't feelin' too good, sir. Think he's comin' down with it, too?"
Wolenski glanced back at Alan and also spoke quietly. "I don't think so. He looks okay to me."
"He's whiter'n a trenchcrawler's underside, sir," Hague whispered.
Wolenski studied Hague's heat-flushed face. "You're white, yourself. How do you feel?"
Alan looked at the Commander in surprise.
Hague's voice sounded worried. "I am? Holy hell -- I feel okay, sir."
Wolenski's voice fell further. "Look, Hague, stop giving him a hard time. You push him much farther and he's bound to lose his head and shoot us both. You've heard his reputation where Linley's concerned. Remember that business aboard the 'Patton'?"
"Aw, hell, sir, I don't swallow that story. Li'l shrimp like him? He musta had a lotta help."
Wolenski started to reply and then gave an alarmed cry. Alan saw him plunge downward, the water mushrooming up around him. The litter fell with a splash.
The Strike Commander's head popped above the surface at once and he spit out water, swearing. "There's a damn hole here!" He started to scramble to the shallower area.
Black tentacles rose suddenly from the water behind him, whipping around his body. He gave a strangled yell as the thing yanked him back down. There was a deep, gurgling noise.
Alan leaped forward, the blaster lifting. Water foamed around his feet and he caught a confused glimpse of writhing tentacles and of Wolenski's face, just vanishing beneath the surface of the pool. He fired, and the blaster beam struck the water, raising a cloud of steam.
Hague was moving. He leaped forward across the litter, and Alan spun back, bringing the blaster around.
Something whipped tightly around his ankle, throwing him off balance.
Mark grabbed the patrolman by the legs, tripping him. Hague went down, landing on his hands and knees beside the litter, swearing furiously. Alan automatically flipped the blaster to stun and fired.
The tentacle pulled him back and he felt the water close over his head. He located the tentacle with one hand, pressed the blaster against it and fired. His leg went numb and there was sudden, uncoordinated movement from the water creature. The tentacle let go and Alan lunged forward, dragging himself from the hole. The water around him was churning wildly.
Wolenski popped up, gasping and spluttering. He shook water from his face and Alan grabbed his hand, hauling him from the pit. There was another gurgling sound and the water stopped churning.
Alan stared at the Strike Commander. Wolenski's face and neck, as well as the backs of his hands, were thick with amorphous, greenish-brown globules. An instant later he became aware of a stinging sensation on his neck. He reached up a hand and jerked it back. Literally dozens of the things were clinging to him. He tugged at once on his arm experimentally, but it wouldn't move.
There was a gurgling screech behind them, rising simultaneously from many throats. Alan spun, the blaster lifting. Furry bodies were charging forward through the shallow water, their crocodile mouths wide open.
There was no other choice. Alan flipped the blaster to emergency maximum and fired.
There was a deafening roar of sound. Muddy water exploded into steam and the first rank of charging natives was engulfed. Alan spun back, lifting the exhausted blaster like a club.
But Wolenski wasn't looking at him. He was bending over the litter, tearing at the vines restraining Mark. The last one came free and the Strike Commander heaved Linley to his shoulders with a grunt of effort. "Come on, kid!" he barked. "They'll be after us in a minute!"
Together, they splashed through ankle-deep water, with Alan fitting another energy cell into the blaster as he ran. Wolenski stumbled and went to his knees in the sludge but was on his feet again an instant later.
The natives had fallen back after the initial blast but they hadn't given up the pursuit and were gaining rapidly. Wolenski staggered and gave a grunting curse as Mark's limp form slipped forward. Alan finished reloading the blaster and turned back, firing to cover their retreat.
The natives were persistent but after the fourth had fallen to a blaster bolt, they appeared to lose their enthusiasm for the chase and trailed their quarry at a more discreet distance. Gradually, the ground was becoming more solid.
They halted at last and Wolenski lowered Mark to the ground, sinking down beside him, gasping. A native appeared through the tall marsh grasses. Alan fired, and the thing was hurled backwards with a sharp giggle that cut off in the middle.
Wolenski glanced at Alan. "Man, kid, where did you learn to shoot? Do they teach that kind of marksmanship at the Terran Space Academy?"
Alan took a long breath and looked at Mark, on the ground beside Wolenski. "Mark won the Nova Cluster while he was in the Patrol, you know. He's been coaching me for six years." He began to pull at one of the creatures attached to his arm. It peeled away, leaving a dollop of blood behind. Alan shuddered, feeling slightly sick.
"Leeches of some kind," Wolenski said. He began to peel the things from his face and neck.
It took them nearly ten minutes to get all the leeches detached. Alan's arms and neck were streaked with trickles of blood, and so were Wolenski's. The Strike Commander pried the last one from his face and craned his neck, trying to see his back. "Did I get 'em all?"
Alan brushed two from Wolenski's uniform. "That's it."
"Thanks. Want me to check you?"
Alan didn't dare. He brushed at the back of his coverall with his free hand. "I got 'em all, sir. Thanks." He glanced back. "Do you suppose Hague's still alive?"
Wolenski glanced back, too. "I wouldn't want to bet on his chances. We better push on. It's getting dark."
Alan stood up, looking curiously at his companion. Wolenski could have jumped him back there. His blaster had been exhausted, but it was possible that the man had considered the risk too great. The natives had been attacking, of course. Perhaps Wolenski had reasoned that it was better to bide his time. Alan was obviously coming down with the disease, and if Wolenski could hold out, he might be able to capture the elusive Westover without violence or any particular risk to himself. And if the creatures attacked again while they were struggling, they would all have ended up like Lord Volithvor ...
He was too tired to figure it out. Alan knelt beside Mark, lifting his shoulders. "Mark? Can you hear me?"
Linley didn't move. Alan propped his head on one knee and checked his pulse and breathing. Mark's pulse was rapid and weak, his breathing almost inaudible. "Mark --"
"We've got to go," Wolenski said. "The light's fading. How is he?"
Alan stood up. "I'm not sure. He was stunned when I hit Hague but he should be waking up by now. I don't think Mr. Hague was very gentle with him during the scuffle."
"I didn't see what happened," Wolenski said. "I was too busy wrestling with that damned octopus." He bent down and lifted Mark carefully, heaving him to his shoulders. "What happened?"
Alan told him. "I saw him hit Mark as he fell, and then I stunned him. I caught Mark in the beam, too, but it's been over fifteen minutes since then." He paused. "I sure hope there aren't any internal injuries that we don't know about."
"Me too." Wolenski started through the ankle-deep mud. Alan followed, blaster in hand.
The light was fading rapidly and insects from the swamp swarmed around them, settling on exposed faces and arms. Wolenski swore, unable to brush the things away with his arms occupied. Alan dug in the pack and found the insect repellent again. He sprayed Mark and Wolenski liberally and then slathered himself. He was feeling worse, his head light and dizzy. Every muscle in his body ached and his eyes burned.
Something swooped out of the night toward him -- a great, white creature with outspread, naked wings and a gaping beak. It dove toward him and he stumbled back, bringing the weapon up. He heard Wolenski say something as he lost his balance and sat down with a splash in the water. The blaster cracked.
Then the creature faded and vanished. Wolenski was staring at him. "What the devil were you shooting at?"
Alan got ponderously to his feet, the blaster centered on Wolenski. He swallowed. "Nothing. Go on."
"Just fired it off for the hell of it, huh?" Wolenski gave him a knowing look. "You're not feeling so good, are you?"
Alan gestured with the blaster. "Go on, Wolly. Hurry."
"Okay." Wolenski shifted Mark slightly and trod forward. "I've been seeing a few oddball things, myself. I'm getting it, too. I can tell."
Alan didn't speak. They had gone on for fifteen minutes when Wolenski paused, gasping. "Gotta rest."
Alan nodded and watched as Wolenski lowered Mark carefully to the soggy ground, supporting his head on one knee. "Could I have a drink?"
Alan handed him the canteen. Something was rising from the water beside the Strike Commander: something that Alan knew could not possibly be there. He gulped, trying to ignore the vision. Lord Halthzor raised a thin eyebrow at him, his cold, grey eyes watching Alan contemptuously. His coppery red hair was immaculate as always, and he wore the formal robes of a Jilectan noble.
Wolenski extended the canteen. "Thanks. Man! I'm sweating like crazy! Isn't it going to cool off a bit tonight?"
The image was fading. Alan glanced at the Strike Commander, seeing the beads of sweat streaking his face. He realized, uncomfortably, that he wasn't feeling in the least bit warm. In fact, he was cold and it was hard to keep from shivering. He tried to tell himself that the night was really cool and the reason that Wolenski was feeling overheated was because of the exertion in which he had been engaging.
Wolenski stood up. "Guess we better go on. We've still got our escort."
Alan stood up. The man was being very cooperative and the fact worried him. Was the Strike Commander trying to get him off guard? Probably. Alan wished frantically that he could see into the other man's mind just for a moment but the wish was futile. His telepathic ability wasn't functioning at all, now. Wolenski's mind was a blurred jumble of thoughts before his probe. He could see nothing clearly.
They stopped twice more to allow Wolenski to rest. The last of the light was just fading as they reached the other side of the swamp. To Alan's relief, the jungle also ended here, the trees thinning abruptly. Wolenski pushed his way through the final stand of trees with Alan close behind him. The pack came as far as the jungle's edge and stopped. Alan looked back at the natives, barely able to believe his eyes.
"They're stopping!"
Wolenski turned, gasping from Mark's weight. "I'll be damned! At last we get a break! How are you feeling, kid?"
"Okay," he lied. The vertigo was increasing and so was the chilliness. His teeth began to chatter and he clenched them tightly together.
A field of waving grass lay before them, barely distinguishable in the dimness. One of Troth's three moons lay low on the horizon, a thin crescent against the blackness and the sky was spangled with stars. The night was very quiet and a soft wind blew. He glanced back at the jungle, wondering for a moment what kind of threat existed in the open fields that would prevent the natives from venturing onto the plains, but the thought quickly fled. Alan started across the field, following Wolenski who was staggering and stumbling under his burden.
"All right," Alan said at last, "we'd better stop. Put him down."
Wolenski lowered Mark to the ground and dropped beside him without a word. The grass waved around them, as high as Wolenski's waist when he stood. Alan sank down beside Mark and motioned with the blaster for the Strike Commander to move back.
Wolenski scooted back and Alan felt Mark's forehead. Linley's skin was burning hot and felt dry to the touch.
"Mark?"
Linley didn't respond. Alan carefully lifted his head and poured water between his partner's parched lips. Wolenski was watching him but Alan couldn't see his expression in the dimness. He looked quickly up at the Commander. "He won't wake up, Wolly."
Wolenski didn't reply at first but his eyes glowed faintly in the dimness. Then he moved forward hesitantly. "You know, I sure would have liked to have had you for a friend. I've never seen anybody so loyal to anyone. Want me to have a look at him?"
Alan moved back, the blaster trained on him. Wolenski checked Mark's pupils and breathing and then placed an ear against Linley's chest, listening to his heartbeat. At last, he straightened up.
"He's running a pretty high temperature," he said. "Better give him something for it." He reached out a hand. "Give me the emergency kit."
Alan shook his head. "I'll give it to him. Move back."
Wolenski obeyed. "You let me do it before." He sounded puzzled. "Why won't you let me, this time?"
Alan didn't answer. He didn't dare allow Wolenski to give Mark any medication. Alan had been unable to read the man's mind since midafternoon and Wolenski might well give Mark a shot of poison, for Alan would never know the difference.
Wolenski cleared his throat and Alan could almost feel his mind working. "You can't read my mind anymore, can you? You're afraid I'll poison him."
Strike Commanders were smart. That was why they were Strike Commanders. Alan gestured with the blaster. "Lie down, Wolly. One move and I'll stun you."
Wolenski did so and Alan fumbled around in the kit until he found the syringes. Carefully, he rolled up Mark's sleeve, gave him the shots and covered him with their one remaining blanket.
"Okay, you can get up," he told Wolenski. Alan took rations from the emergency kit, foregoing the cans for the dried cakes, and tossed one to his prisoner. "Go ahead and eat."
Wolenski tore off the plastic wrapping and grimaced at the contents. "Yuk. I'm getting sick of this stuff."
"Better eat it," Alan said. "You're going to need your strength tomorrow. You'll have to carry Mark all by yourself now."
Wolenski sniffed at the food and made a face. "I'm kid of queasy. I might bring it back up."
"Eat it," Alan said wearily.
Wolenski choked it down. "Now I suppose you're going to cuff me, right? Do I get stunned like Mr. Hague, or will you trust me to lie still while you do the job?"
"Lie down on your face," Alan said. "One false move and I grab the blaster."
"Yeah, sure, kid. I know. There's no way I'm going to get the jump on you, as fast as you've proven yourself to be. I'll behave."
Alan placed the cuffs on Wolenski's wrists. "Okay, now roll over beside Mark."
Wolenski hunched over beside Linley and lay down. Using the other pair of restrainers, Alan fastened the two men together and then seated himself beside them, trying to prop his eyelids open.
An aircar hummed out of the north, great beams of light sweeping the darkness. Alan hunched down in the grass, blaster in hand.
"Don't move, Wolly," he said. "If they see us, I'll set my blaster on emergency overload. I'll take you with me."
Wolenski didn't answer. Alan waited, scarcely breathing as the vehicle circled the area of the field north of them. It passed a little to the east and hummed away to the south, the lights playing over the grass. Alan relaxed.
There was a snore to his right, and it took him several seconds to realize that Wolenski was asleep. Alan remained still, listening to the man's soft snores and trying to keep his eyes open.
**********
tbc
