Mind Link: 6/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
12
The Utgard Mountains were the backbone of Midgard's largest continent, a mighty rampart, 4800 kilometers long, running raggedly east and west, and mostly unexplored. They were pale grey from a distance, eternally capped in white. From Muspelheim the residents had a clear if distant view of Odinn's Pinnacle, thrusting skyward like the ghostly castle of a giant. No one had yet conquered the Pinnacle, although every year a number of intrepid climbers tried. Several of them had paid for the attempt with their lives.
Mark turned up the heater as his car rose higher. Air whistled through the hole he had made in the locking mechanism but at least the cold, crisp air, mingled with the piney-peppermint scent of the evergreens was helping to sober him up. He felt almost normal as he passed the snow line and continued to gain altitude.
It was likely to be a long search, he knew. He had a vague idea of the escape craft's coordinates but the thunderstorm that it had passed through had mixed up the scanners. It left an area of perhaps two hundred square kilometers where the lifeboat could have gone down.
Anger burned within him, mixed with grief. Alan was dead. He was sure of it now. The link had not returned and it had been over ten hours since it had disappeared. Even when Alan had been drugged, the link had still remained. Linley had, for a while, tried to convince himself that Alan might be badly hurt and in a deep coma but try as he might, he couldn't do it. It so, he should still be able to feel *something*.
The slopes beneath him were thickly covered with pine forest. Mark aimed directly for the center of the likeliest area, keeping the car a few meters above treetop level, and began his search. He occasionally saw other Patrol cars searching but no one paid any attention to him. It was well past midday and clouds were massing to the north, but overhead the sky was still clear.
He found the site of the crash without difficulty. There were Patrol cars circling it and he saw patrolmen scraping through the charred remains.
Well, he thought, Kevin and Worley, if they had been in the craft, had probably bailed out. That was what he would have done, under the circumstances. At least it narrowed the area to be searched somewhat. He knew the direction the craft had been heading upon entering the atmosphere, so he began to backtrack from the site of the crash, his com wide open and monitoring all transmissions. He had learned, so far, that the escape craft had apparently exploded on impact and that the remains had been incinerated in the resulting fire. Also, he learned, there had been a body discovered in the remains of the planet hopper on Jotenheim's moon. It was burned beyond recognition but the Patrol doctors were presently trying to identify it. No survivors had been found at or near either crash site.
Trees skimmed past beneath. Mark scanned them, searching. His screen showed the occasional Patrol vehicle but none in the immediate vicinity. He had been searching for nearly an hour when he saw it. He blinked, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Something dark was tangled on a branch of one of the evergreens beneath.
He brought the car around and down within half a meter of the tree and set it on hover control. Opening the door, he reached down for the object, snagging it with the tips of his fingers.
It was a grav harness. So there *had* been at least one survivor. It meant only one thing to Mark. Someone was alive to tell him who was responsible for Alan's death. Mark meant to find him.
Twilight was deepening and there was no way he could hope to land the aircar on the thickly wooded slope below, so he started down in the straightest line possible toward civilization.
After ten minutes, the tree-studded slope ended in a steep cliff, almost a precipice, and beyond it lay a deep canyon, filled with evergreens, with an icy river flowing through it, but Mark was in no mood to enjoy the view. With the coming of evening, his sense of despair had intensified and he had to keep blinking back the tears blurring his eyes. Jotenheim glittered whitely overhead and Mark felt a lump rise in his throat as he thought of the charred body found in the remains of the planet hopper. Alan, his friend. The feeling of loss was a great aching emptiness, which seemed to fill his whole body. At last he gave up the struggle and began to sob hopelessly. The quiet, snow-shrouded scenery around him dissolved into a blur.
Finally, he managed to control himself, although his body still shook with those great, breathless sobs. Night was falling and he must try to find a place to wait until morning to continue his search. If it turned out that the person who had killed his partner was still alive -- Mark's fist clenched. Linley fully intended to interrogate the murderer personally and then kill him slowly and painfully. If Kevin was still alive, Mark would allow his brother to assist but not too much. He intended to inflict most of the justice himself.
He settled the car into the shadows of a large grove of bushy evergreens and sat back in the seat to wait for morning.
An aircar passed overhead, going north up the canyon. Mark didn't glance up, his mind still on his grief. Tears blurred his eyes again and now he didn't fight but let them fall, coursing slowly through the blond stubble on his cheeks.
Another aircar passed, and then another, both heading north. Mark glanced up and saw the small, greenish lights through a swimming blur. He wondered absently where they were going but the thought subsided instantly, drowned by the aching grief within him.
Two more aircars passed, both going north.
The car was cold. Mark dragged the emergency kit from beneath the front seat and pulled out blankets, wrapping himself tightly.
Something screamed thinly in the distance -- a bird, he supposed. The scream repeated several times and then stopped. Mark rested his head back against the seat, closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
He must have dozed eventually. He woke at least a dozen times during the night, each time hoping the feelings of grief had been caused by a dream, and each time becoming painfully aware of his cramped position and the cold air in his face. Desolation would overwhelm him again with each awakening.
At last, he opened his eyes to realize that light was staining the trees around him. Snow was falling heavily and the hood of the aircar was shrouded in the stuff. Mark blinked, rubbing his face. His eyelids felt heavy and he ached all over. Glancing in the car's mirror he saw a drawn, unshaven face, swollen, bloodshot eyes and a red, puffy nose. He decided morosely that he looked ready for the grave.
A sound snapped his head around. A great, bellowing roar that echoed and re-echoed from the canyon walls -- the report of a blaster set on emergency maximum.
For a moment he remained still, the thoughts whirling through his mind. Then he punched the button to open the hood, flung open the door and dashed around to the front. The motor roared to life.
**********
Alan opened his eyes. Kevin's hand was jiggling his shoulder, shaking him. "Wake up, kiddo."
Alan sat up slowly, aware of twinging muscles. "What's the matter?"
"Nothin'. Time for your watch. I can't keep my eyes open another minute."
"Oh." Alan rubbed his eyes. He felt better, although the sudden awakening had made his heart beat rapidly. He glanced at his chronometer. Kevin had let him sleep an extra two hours.
Bronson grinned, reading his thoughts. "That's okay. You looked like you needed it. G'night."
"Good night, Kev." Alan watched him settle down on the cave floor, pulling his half of the emergency blanket close around him.
Everything was still. The dark frozen night of the Utgard Mountains was undisturbed by any sound. Alan propped himself against the cave wall and shivered. It was bitingly cold and the blackness outside was impenetrable.
He tried to extend a mental probe toward Kevin's sleeping mind. He could sense nothing. The feeling of helplessness was frightening. If danger approached, he would have no warning.
He wondered if his psychic powers would ever return. Dr. Worley had seemed to think so but he hadn't been sure. That much he'd admitted. Alan was the unwilling test subject. The thought angered him. Oh well. Zuccherman was dead. He had paid the highest possible price for his greed.
Hours passed and at last light began to creep into the cave. It was snowing, he saw when he crawled through the tunnel far enough to see the outer world. The flakes were endless and thick and the drifts were piling high. Alan sighed. It would make travel more difficult but at least it was less likely that they would be tracked. The falling snow would obliterate all footprints.
He backed up into the cave again. His body was stiff and sore, but the soreness would improve after he started moving around, he knew. Kevin was still asleep, hunched against the cave wall, the blanket concealing everything but his shoes. Alan knelt beside him. "Kev?"
"Mmm?"
"Morning."
Bronson grunted and sat up, yawning. "Oh hell!"
"Yeah." Alan handed him one of the two remaining cans of emergency rations. "Here. Have some eggs and bacon."
Kevin grunted again, flexing his shoulders and arms. "Man! I slept like a log! What time is it?"
"0640. Time to rise and shine. At least the snow ought to keep the Patrol off our backs for a while."
Bronson peeled open the can. "Damn! It's froze solid!" He blew steam on the contents, trying to warm it with his hands.
"So's mine." Alan dug in the pack again. "How about a nutrowafer?"
"More of the guy's terrific emergency plannin'?" Bronson asked. "Sure. How many's he put in there?"
Alan counted silently. "Six, counting these two."
Kevin grunted.
They munched in silence. When they finished, Alan stowed the frozen cans back in the kit and slipped the somewhat lighter pack under his shirt once more. "Ready?"
"Yeah. Let's go."
They left the cave, crawling out into the storm, and stood up. The snow was coming down thickly, but not so thickly that they couldn't see clearly. An aircar hummed past overhead.
"Oh man," Kevin remarked, "let's hope this quits soon."
"Yeah, Alan agreed.
The area beyond the cave was a mixture of uneven ground, covered with a thick layer of snow, with pieces of rock jutting up sharply from the whiteness. Here and there, small trees and shrubs dotted the terrain. Perhaps a hundred yards away the taller trees began, the first ones small and scraggly, shading from there up to the giants they had seen a mile or so behind them.
"We should be getting close to the narrow part of the river," he told Kevin. "If we can get across, they'll be less likely to spot us and we can start south again. And if we're really lucky, we can climb out of this canyon and get away from the search area."
Bronson grunted. "Lotta ifs in that," he said, "but I got nothin' better to offer. You got any idea where we are?"
"Maybe," Alan said. "We're north of Muspelheim in the Utgard Mountains. I saw that much when we came down. I looked at Aaron's topological map of this area when we first got here, you know. We may be in Hel's Canyon. If we are, that's the Fjorm River. Once we get far enough south to be away from the search, we might be able to build a raft and float to within a few kilometers of Muspelheim."
"I'm all for that," Kevin said. "Let's go."
They started on, once again keeping close to the rock wall. Between that and the falling snow, Alan hoped that they could escape observation from passing aircars. It seemed unlikely that those who were hunting them had given up, but he had begun to believe that the aircars that passed by here, going north, were not involved in the search.
After a time, he became aware that the canyon walls were narrowing and shortly thereafter they could see the nearly frozen river. The water near its banks was definitely frozen, and only a portion in the middle still flowed, clogged by chunks of ice that had broken away from the edges. With luck, he thought, they would be able to find a spot narrow enough for them to cross.
Kevin was obviously thinking the same thing for he stopped, glancing back. "Think we can cross there?"
"Let's go on a little farther," Alan said. "I think it gets a little narrower, farther ahead."
Kevin shrugged. "You're the boss," he said. He led the way around an outcropping of rock. "Let's hope we find a good spot soon, and...Holy hell!"
One of the great, warm-blooded dinosaurs of Midgard was just emerging from a cave in the rocky wall, not five meters from them. Alan and Kevin came to a dead halt, frozen as the beast's head swung toward them. It voiced an ear-splitting roar and charged.
Bronson pushed Alan to one side and yanked out the blaster. The weapon spat once, catching the creature in the side. The monster gave an infuriated screech and lumbered toward Bronson.
Kevin leaped to one side, caught his foot on a snow-covered rock and fell backwards. The blaster went flying.
But Alan was already moving. He caught the weapon deftly in both hands and dove between Kevin and the approaching dinosaur, flipping the blaster to emergency maximum as he did so. He landed on one shoulder and came up in a roll, the creature looming over him. Alan fired.
The weapon gave up its charge in a single, mighty burst of flame. The creature's head, neck and upper torso vanished and the legs folded slowly. Alan rolled away as the remainder of the thing toppled toward him.
Then Kevin was lifting him to his feet. The ex-patrolman's eyes were wide and there was a half-ashamed grin on his lips. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Bronson turned to look at the remains of the dinosaur and then back at Alan. He cleared his throat.
"Like I said yesterday," he said, and Alan could hear his voice shaking slightly. "I'd sure hate to have you for an enemy."
There was the hum of an aircar and it was evident that the rushing of the river had muffled the sound of its approach and the falling snow, for it was horribly near. Kevin grabbed Alan's wrist and they began to run as the car swooped out of the whirling whiteness. It came to a sliding stop directly in front of them and two patrolmen leaped out, blasters in hand.
Alan and Kevin turned and started to run the other way, floundering clumsily in the snow. There was the hum of a stunbolt and Alan felt the electrical tingling jar through him. Blackness descended instantly.
13
The aircar containing Mark Linley sped swiftly toward the sound as fast as he could move without crashing. His sense of direction was off however, due to the snow and the echoes and after he had gone fifty meters he came to a stop, momentarily confused. Keeping his car close to the treetops, he began to trace large, lazy slowly widening circles through the whirling flakes.
After several minutes, the grey expanse of the canyon wall came into view through the snow, and beside it he saw the dark bulk of a Patrol aircar.
Two patrolmen were beside it, leaning over a crumpled form half buried in the snow. Beside them, very dead, lay the body of one of Midgard's great dinosaurs. As Mark brought his vehicle down to a soft landing three meters away, he saw one of the men straighten up, gripping a limp figure under the arms and heaving mightily. Mark's heart leaped. It was Kevin.
The other man also straightened, gripping Mark's brother under the knees. The men took two steps, floundering in the drifts and the one in front slipped and fell forward to one knee. Bronson's upper half vanished into the piled snow once more. Mark strapped on his helmet, opened the door of the aircar and stepped out.
"Sergeant!" he snapped.
The patrolman got to his feet again and the other one dropped Kevin's knees as he turned to look at Mark. They saluted smartly.
"Put the prisoner in my car," Mark ordered.
The two men looked at each other. The sergeant sighed. "Yes sir. Could you give us a hand? He's heavier'n a battlecruiser."
"You can manage him," Linley replied shortly.
The sergeant saluted. "Yes sir," he said, resentfully and bent down to grasp Kevin under the arms again.
Mark glanced sideways at the dead monster. Only the lower half of its body remained. Kevin must have hit the thing with emergency maximum. That had been the roar that he'd heard.
The two patrolmen had straightened up once more, Kevin's sagging body between them. They floundered toward his car, hauling valiantly at Kevin's limp form. Mark opened the rear door and moved back a couple of steps as if to give the men room, and as they began to load their burden into the car, Linley casually drew his blaster and fired two stunbolts.
The men collapsed and Kevin landed between them. Mark holstered the blaster and pulled the second patrolman off of Kevin. Moving quickly, he removed the restrainers from the sergeant's belt and cuffed their owner, but the second man's restrainers were missing. Mark unfastened the pair that went with his own uniform and cuffed the other man. While he was fastening the shackles, Kevin groaned.
Mark knelt beside his brother and lifted his shoulders.
"Kev." Mark pulled off his helmet and tossed it to the snow beside him. "It's me, Mark. What happened to Alan?"
Bronson's eyelids flickered and he began to retch.
"Kevin, answer me! What happened to Alan?"
Bronson turned weakly to one side, heaving more violently. Mark braced his shoulders, trying to be patient. He knew from personal experience how horrible his brother felt.
"Kevin," he began again.
A faint sound came to his ears and he turned his head. Someone else was moaning and retching by turns. The sounds were coming from the rear seat of the Patrol car.
Mark sprang to his feet, releasing Bronson, a sudden wild, unreasoning hope coursing through him, and his brother gave a startled yell as his head and shoulders vanished once more into the snow.
"Alan!" Mark shouted.
"Mark?" He couldn't be sure whether or not he'd imagined the voice but an instant later he was beyond doubt. A very familiar head covered with dark, curly hair appeared at the rear window of the other vehicle.
"Alan!" Mark shouted. He plunged forward, floundering and stumbling through the snow and yanked the door open. Alan Westover, his hands secured behind him with restrainers, half fell through the opening. Mark caught him, scarcely able to believe his eyes.
"Alan! You're alive!" Mark hugged his partner almost frantically. "Thank God! I can't believe it! Holy hell!" Mark dropped to his knees in the snow, clutching his partner convulsively against him. Tears were running down his face and he didn't even try to wipe them away. "Kid, I thought you were dead! I been thinkin' it since yesterday mornin'!" He hugged his partner again and then swiped at his face with the sleeve of his Patrol uniform. "What the hell happened? No, it's okay. Don't try to talk." He removed the restrainers from Alan's wrists and braced his shoulders as Alan heaved miserably.
When the heaves had subsided to faint hiccups Alan reached out to scoop up a handful of snow to wipe his face. Mark released him, almost afraid to do so for fear the whole episode would turn out to be a dream and his partner would vanish. Still, the situation felt fairly real. He normally didn't dream about his partner throwing up into the snow.
Alan wiped his chin with his sleeve and turned to look at him. His complexion was still faintly greenish. Mark could sympathize.
"Feelin' better?" he asked.
Alan nodded and coughed. "Yeah." He looked up at Linley's face and his eyes widened. "Hey, take it easy, pal; I'm okay. I'm just glad you are. I knew what you'd be thinking."
"Hell yes!" Mark hugged him again. "I'm fine now. In fact, I can't remember ever feelin' so good!" He grabbed Alan by the shoulders and kissed him hard on both cheeks. "Man, I feel *great*!"
Alan wiped his cheeks off. "Yuk! That's the second time in two days that I've been kissed by a man! I have to break it to you: Lyn does it a lot better. Oh, my head!"
Mark grinned broadly. "Man, kid! I ain't never been so glad t'hear somebody throwin' up in my life! Are you okay? Were you hurt? Who was it?"
"Zuccherman," Alan said. "He was going to turn us in for the reward."
"That bloody -- are you all right? You got a big goose egg on your head."
"I did that. I hit the exam table when Zuccherman stunned me." Alan rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Is Kevin all right?"
"Yeah, I think so." Mark gave him a hand to his feet and together they floundered over to the spot where Bronson still hunched miserably in the snow. "You okay, baby brother? How's the stomach?"
"Great," Kevin muttered. He straightened up with a groan.
"Get into the aircar and let's get outta here," Mark said.
"Sounds good t'me," Bronson said. "We been freezin' our butts off since yesterday. That damned Zuccherman didn't even let us take our capes."
"Yeah, I know," Linley said soberly. "You get in the car, too, kid. You're gonna catch pneumonia out here. I'll get these two guys."
Bronson cocked an eyebrow at him. "Whatcha bringin' em along for? Why not just leave 'em?"
"I don't want 'em reportin' that we're here," Mark said. "I figure we'll drop 'em off a ways from here." He stooped to remove the sergeant's blaster and helmet and tossed them into the passenger seat. A moment later the other man's helmet and blaster followed the sergeant's. Mark turned to pick up the helmet that he had worn and tossed it after the others. "Let's get 'em in the car."
"Good idea." Bronson helped him hoist the two men into the rear seat.
Mark turned to Kevin. "Think you can pilot the other one?"
"Sure," Bronson said. "Why?"
"We'd better hide it. We might need it again before we're outta this mess, and besides, I owe Major Waters another aircar. This one's got a busted door."
"Oh yeah?" Bronson turned to examine the door and the dangling wires where the sensor had been and looked back at his brother with a raised eyebrow, but made no other comment. He went to the other aircar and got in.
Alan had possessed himself of one of the blasters and now he turned in the seat to watch the two men. "I'll keep an eye on them. You drive."
"Right," Mark said. From the back he heard one of the men begin to gag.
The engine of the aircar was still running and they lifted smoothly off. Mark swiveled the vehicle around and headed back the way he had come.
**********
tbc
