Blind Mission: 3/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
4
Mark stared sourly at the Viceregal patrolman who stood by the door to the prison block, one hand resting lightly on his blaster. The man's mouth below the visor was twisted in a grin. Linley deliberately turned his back and sat down on the floor next to Alan.
His partner didn't stir. He had been neutralized for some time to come -- a prudent move on Mombasa's part, Mark acknowledged. In the other man's place, Linley would have done the same.
Mark took off his light jacket and folded it up. As he slipped it beneath Alan's head, a thought occurred to him. Carefully, he positioned the jacket and glanced at Eric. Mombasa hadn't considered the possibility that Mark might have other psychics to work with. Alan was the most versatile and, with his power pack -- Mark -- the strongest. But he wasn't the only one by any means. And there were other ways to open a lock besides telekinesis.
Linley considered. He had two psychics at hand with unseen but formidable powers and, more important, unsuspected ones. Eric was a clairvoyant tracer, as well as one of the best telepaths in the Underground, and his partner, Ruthy Channing, was also a telepath with a rather rare specialty among psychics...
The guard by the door almost certainly did not have the key to these cells but on his hip was another sort of key -- a standard, Patrol-issue blaster. At the very least, Mark could see to it that they weren't taken alive...
He glanced back at his partner, thinking hard. After a moment He nodded fractionally. *Okay, kid, wish me luck.*
He looked deliberately at Eric. The boy was watching him expectantly. He fixed Eric's eyes with his own and tapped his forehead. His lips moved silently. "Read my mind!"
Eric nodded infinitesimally. Mark lowered his shielding completely and concentrated hard, outlining his plan. He saw Eric's expression go distant and after several seconds the young telepath's left eyelid flickered ever so quickly in a wink. He glanced deliberately at the patrolman and then turned to look at Ruthy. Mark got to his feet and readied himself.
**********
Patrolman Adam Jacobs stood by the prison door, one hand resting on the butt of his blaster. Mark Linley was standing in the center of his cell by the unconscious form of Alan Westover. Jacobs had heard stories about Linley, of course, and fantastic tales of the human psychic, Westover. Before today he'd had an image of Westover in his mind that contrasted sharply with the harmless appearance of the boy. Adams was now inclined to believe that the whole legend had been overblown.
He grinned at Linley's obvious frustration. He might once have been a high-up officer in the Patrol but he wasn't any better than Jacobs. In fact, he was a lot worse off. Jacobs figured he'd had to be pretty stupid to let Westover talk him into deserting the Patrol and joining that bunch of losers in the Terran Underground. Now he was going to be taken back and publicly executed. It served him right and Jacobs intended to enjoy every second of the show.
As Jacobs had expected, Linley had tried to tell that alien critter what was really going on but that animated carrot hadn't believed a word he said. Trust Mombasa for that! The guys who'd been involved in this whole little scam were due for a nice fat bonus, he figured, and when they brought in Westover and Linley, the Jils would probably tack on another bonus. Things were looking up all right.
"What's the matter, Linley? Lost without that little shrimp you call a partner?" Jacobs knew he wasn't supposed to talk to the prisoners but he couldn't resist. Besides, how could it hurt? "Don't worry, pretty boy. You'll be on your way to the Jils in a few hours -- and peewee, too."
The former Strike Commander ignored him. He walked over to the side of the cage and rattled the mesh. The patrolman grinned again.
"Whatcha gonna do, hero? Rip it out with your bare hands?"
Linley raised an eyebrow at him and deliberately turned his back again.
The tall, slim black man in the cage with the kid came to the front of the cell and leaned casually against the mesh. He grinned sardonically at Jacobs.
"You know," he said conversationally, "for a trenchcrawler, you've sure got a big mouth." He grinned. "A toady like you probably needs it, though -- you've got to be able to swallow a lot of crud, licking all those Jil boots." He added a highly insulting term and a rude gesture.
Jacobs flushed, forgetting Linley for a moment. "Watch it, crumb," he said.
The pilot's grin became nasty. "That isn't half as bad as what we used to call you 'trols in the Terran Space Corps," he said. "*I* don't take orders from Jil lovers. Why don't you come over here and lick *my* boots for some variety?"
Jacobs could feel his face growing red. Terran Space Corpsmen and members of the Viceregal Patrol did not get along, to put it mildly. It was a sore point with patrolmen that the Terran Space Corps held them in contempt for their subservience to the Jilectans. Of course, the Space Corpsmen knew it and rubbed the fact in vigorously whenever the opportunity presented itself. "Shut your mouth!"
The man gave him a mocking grin and a one-finger salute. "*I* don't say hail and amen every time a Jil blows his sacred nose," he remarked.
Jacobs took a step toward him. The other man repeated his gesture and followed it with another, even more insulting. "What are you going to do, Jil lover? Come in and use a little muscle?"
The boy laughed. "Man, kissing up to Jils like that'd turn my stomach but I guess some people can swallow anything."
Jacobs started to pull out his blaster. "I said shut up!"
The pilot shrugged. "Sure, sucker. It's too late anyway." He nodded toward Linley.
Jacobs glanced involuntarily at the other cage and froze for an instant in shock. He swore.
Mark Linley dangled from the top of the cage. His shirt had been used to make a noose and had been secured to the mesh above. His body hung slackly, his face a curious purple hue.
Jacobs didn't stop to consider that the time elapsed since he had taken his eyes from the prisoner was insufficient for him to have accomplished this feat. The top of the cage was a good four meters from the floor as well. Logically considered, what he saw was impossible but one does not argue with plainly established facts.
He pressed the transmit control on his helmet. "Emergency!" he shouted.
Nothing. There wasn't even the hum of an open circuit. He tried again. "Emergency! Answer me, dammit!"
Still nothing. Precious seconds were ticking away, and he was well aware that if Linley died his hide would be on the line.
But perhaps Linley could still be revived. It had been less than two minutes. Without further internal debate, Jacobs whipped out his blaster and fired. The lock on Linley's cell dissolved into a lump of molten metal and the door swung open. Jacobs rushed into the enclosure, nearly tripping over Westover.
A large, powerful arm hooked about his throat and contracted. The last thing Jacobs saw was a glimpse of Mark Linley's face, and he knew that, somehow, the legendary Strike Commander had done it again.
**********
Mark wrenched the blaster from the patrolman's loosening grip. Leaving the man sprawled on the floor beside his partner, he moved quickly to the exit door of the cellblock and flattened himself against the wall beside it, a finger to his lips.
They waited tensely, but nothing happened. Apparently the thick prison walls had deadened the sound of the shot. Mark let out his breath and stepped quickly over to Ruthy's cell. "Stand back, honey."
Ruthy obeyed and the blaster cracked. The cell door swung open. Mark gave her shoulders a quick squeeze as she stepped out to join him. "Good work, baby. That musta been one helluvan illusion. Wish I'd seen it."
Ruthy smiled modestly. Linley turned to the next cell and the weapon cracked again, releasing Welling and Eric. Ruthy flung herself into her partner's arms and Eric received her with great willingness. Welling raised an eyebrow at Mark, who grinned tolerantly. He stuffed the blaster into his belt and went back to kneel by Alan.
"Kid? Kid, wake up!" Linley slapped his face lightly. There was no response. Alan's eyes remained firmly closed. Linley sighed and picked him up without effort and started to lift him to his shoulders.
"I'll carry him, sir," Welling said.
Mark hesitated and then surrendered his partner to the pilot.
Welling lifted Alan to his shoulders. "What happened to his face?"
"Control panel caught fire," Mark told him.
"Ouch," Welling said. "He's lucky to just have a few singes and blisters. Now what?"
Mark grinned sourly. "Now we probably get ourselves killed. Eric --"
"Yes sir?"
"You're a clairvoyant, right?"
Eric nodded. "Telepathy, precog, clairaudiant and clairvoyant. Lee says I have a couple of others that he hasn't figured out yet, too."
"You ain't the only one o' those," Linley told him. "He says Alan has a couple he can't figure out, either. Look, kid, I want you to find me a spot here where there's as few people as possible on the other side. We sure as hell can't go out by the door, so we're gonna hafta make one."
"Gotcha." Eric went to the wall, closed his eyes and began to walk along it, trailing his fingers along the material and frowning in concentration. He paused. "There's no one on the other side here. But --"
"Yeah?"
"There's a whole bunch of passages under our feet. I don't sense anybody in 'em, either."
"Great. Where?"
"All over the place."
"Okay, get back here and everybody get down on the floor."
Eric obeyed and they all hunched down. Welling set Alan on the floor and then crouched over him, shielding him with his own body. Mark stepped around the cells, which were grouped in the center of the room, flicked the blaster to emergency overload and tossed it against the spot that Eric had indicated. He dived for cover behind the cells just as the weapon exploded.
Before the echoes of the blast had died away, Mark was on his feet, his ears still ringing faintly from the blast, and sprinted back to the cell they had just vacated. The blaster had torn a huge hole in both wall and floor and the air was thick with dust. Welling scrambled upright, swinging Alan over his shoulders as Mark arrived beside him, dragging the body of the patrolman.
The room revealed by the ravaged wall was a storeroom of sorts, its contents hurled around by the explosion. Mark dragged the patrolman toward it, Eric and Ruthy helping him. "Everybody down below, quick!"
They obeyed, dropping into a corridor dimly illuminated by light from the cellblock. Mark heaved the patrolman down and jumped after the others. As he did so, the prison door clanged open.
Mark seized the patrolman and heaved the man to his shoulders. It would take the men coming to investigate the blast several seconds to figure out what had happened with all the dust clouding the air back there. He led the way down the corridor at a trot.
The way branched several meters farther on and Mark turned to the right. The dim light remained, coming from some unseen source. Again the way branched and Mark turned left. Several meters farther on, they came to a break in the wall. Two ramps began, one leading up, one down. Mark took the downward one.
Faintly behind him he could hear the shouts and sounds of pursuit. Mark kept the pace even and steady. The last thing they needed was a noisy fall.
The ramp reached a landing. Mark disembarked and glanced at Eric. "Anybody around?" he whispered.
The boy shook his head. "We're way under the building now. What're you going to do?"
"Right now I'm just tryin' t'find a place to hide." Mark headed away into the corridor beyond. He turned right. The passage had become narrower and away from the landing the light faded out slowly into total darkness. "Hold it!" Mark said.
They paused. Mark lowered the patrolman to the floor and fumbled in the man's belt pouches until he found the small handlight that was standard equipment for the uniforms. He flicked it on low and handed it to Eric. Then he swung the patrolman to his shoulders and led the way forward again.
The corridor branched once more. Mark turned right. They came to another ramp going up and down. Mark turned upward.
The sounds of pursuit had long since disappeared. They came to a landing and again the dim light enveloped them. Eric flicked off the handlight. Mark glanced at him and the boy shook his head. "I don't sense anybody nearby. There's a bunch that way, a couple of corridors over, but they're not getting any closer."
"Good," Mark said. "Keep your feelers skinned for a place to hole up."
They had passed a number of closed doors during their flight. Eric pointed to one on their left. "That one's unlocked."
"What's inside?"
Eric shrugged. "Nothing alive." He pushed the door open and they peered in.
It was pitch dark inside. Mark nodded to Eric, who flicked on the light again and flashed it around.
It was a small room piled with pieces of machinery and lined with shelves bearing containers with various labels marked with unreadable characters. As far as they could tell in the limited illumination of the handlight, everything bore a thick coat of dust.
Without further ceremony, Mark gestured his companions through and followed them. With a grunt, he eased the patrolman's body to the floor and turned to close the door behind them.
**********
tbc
