Cops and Robbers: 4/?
by Linda Garrick
Revised and edited by Nancy Smith
The aircar rose swiftly from the street, and Mark leveled off in the lower, uncontrolled traffic lane. He glanced at Alan, waiting for instructions.
"Head east," Alan said. Very cautiously he relaxed his shields and began to broadcast thoughts of fright, pain and confusion. It took only a moment. Then the Jilectan's mind touched his with the eager quiver of the hunter. Automatically he tried to wrench away, and had to forcibly restrain himself from closing his mind shields. The Jil's mind pursued, striving, a little clumsily due to the distance between them, to stay with him.
"You okay?" Mark's hand closed tightly on his shoulder. "You're linkin' with me some."
Alan nodded. "He's after us. Head west. I'll lead him on."
Mark performed a graceful loop and headed due west at a rapid clip. The alien's mind faded slightly, only to strengthen again a moment later. M'lord was in pursuit.
"Faster. He's gaining."
Linley obeyed. "Cat an' mouse. This game's gonna be nerve wrackin'. An' y'know, I don't see no end to it. We could keep baitin' His Lordship all night, but eventually he's gonna catch on, or you'll tire out. You can't fool him forever."
Alan knew Mark was right. "What do you think I should do, then? If I shut him out completely, he'll be after that other psychic in a flash."
Their com beeped and a light flashed, indicating that a coded message was coming through. Linley reached across to press the translator. "Here."
The computer spoke, its translation carrying a fair imitation of Colonel Katalin's voice.
"Recent information from the police transmissions. Approximately 90 minutes ago officers answered a call reporting blaster fire in the Neeley section of Manhattan at the apartment of one Tyler Brown. Upon investigation, Brown's apartment was found to have been rifled. There was evidence of blaster fire, both to the fire escape and the street below the fire escape. Brown could not be located. The car belonging to his friend and partner, Randolph Madison, was found in the apartment parking area. A quantity of contraband drugs was discovered beneath a mattress and in a drawer in Brown's apartment. Madison's apartment was then searched, and drugs also discovered there. An APB has been issued for Brown and Madison upon suspicion of drug dealing."
"Well, surprise, surprise," Mark said dryly. He pressed the transmit control. "Thanks, Colonel."
"Don't mention it," the comp said politely.
Alan leaned back, again feeling the quiver of the Jilectan's mind near at hand. "He's getting closer. Look isn't there some way to put him out of commission so we can hunt for Madison ourselves? I mean, this Jil doesn't know he's dealing with a trained psychic team. We'll have the advantage."
"You plannin' t'murder a Jil on Terran soil?"
"Well, not murder him, maybe, but incapacitate him so he can't go on tracing. They won't want to advertise what he's doing here, you know, so they'll probably hush it up."
"That, or invent some plausible explanation as to why he was here without the knowledge of the Terran authorities. Better not kill him, though. It'd look bad for Terra. Avoid knockin' him off if you can."
"They'd just blame it on the Terran Underground as usual."
"Yeah, probably, but it'll still cause a big stink."
"Okay. I'll try to let him live." Alan grinned nervously at his partner. "I'm sure he'll be properly grateful."
"No doubt. Whatcha got in mind?"
Alan considered a moment. "Okay, see what you think of this. Take us toward the city limits. We'll have to get to a pretty desolate area to pull this one off."
III
The aircar buzzed across in the dark, deserted landscape. Mark Linley stared straight ahead. He didn't like the plan Alan had formulated, but he had to admit that, short of abandoning the unknown psychic to his fate, there was little else they could do. Alan was the best psychic the Terran Underground had yet discovered, and Mark knew from personal experience that the kid was a gifted actor. The chances were excellent that he could deceive the Jil, even at close range.
But if he couldn't, they were going to be in the soup.
Linley swallowed hard. If Alan failed, he would probably die. The risk of the venture hardly involved Mark at all. It was Alan who would be in danger. And Jils were smart, as well as powerful psychics. True, few of them possessed the talent of precognition, but a few did, and what if this Jil was one of that select few?
Alan must have sensed his misgivings, for he glanced at Mark with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. I have a good feeling about this. We'll be okay."
"I sure hope you're right," Linley said.
Alan had turned away and was looking out the window at the dark landscape below. "There. That looks like a pretty good spot. Lots of cover."
Linley circled. "Okay, do your stuff."
Alan leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. He was scared, of course. Mark knew that for certain, since the link was still hovering on the edge of his awareness. Then, faintly through that link, he sensed the fear increasing, bordering on panic, although the connection with Alan's mind did not increase in proportion to the fear. That meant it was an act, but Mark would never have known it, if not for the mental link. He felt his own heart begin to pound suffocatingly and tried to steady it by drawing deep breaths. Alan was broadcasting the fear on purpose, of course. Such emanations, accompanied by waves of unshielded psychic energy, should attract the Jil the way blood attracted a hungry shark.
He brought the aircar down until it rested at an erratic angle against a clump of bushes. Alan didn't move, but the fear increased even more so that, even knowing most of the sensation was mere act, could hardly bear it. The link became slightly more evident, but still not in proportion to the sensation of fear.
"Easy, kid," he croaked. "You're killin' me."
Alan glanced at him. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was linked with you. I guess I am a *little* scared."
"It's okay. Keep it up. You're doin' great."
"You better go. He's getting close."
Mark opened the door, scrambled from the vehicle and sprinted across the frozen ground to a clump of bushy evergreens. Trembling with something besides the cold, he crouched behind the concealing branches, his blaster leveled and his mind shields up as tightly as he could manage.
His mental shielding was hopelessly inadequate, of course. He was pitifully easy for even a poor telepath to read. As he waited for the approach of the Jilectan, he could only hope that the psychic waves of raw terror from the apparently downed aircar would mask the inadequately shielded non-psychic mind in the underbrush.
The link was increasing in evidence. Alan was scared, in spite of his convincing show of courage. The terror from his mind was intensifying, and Mark fought back the impulse to start toward the aircar. He waited.
Then, incredibly, he heard Alan's voice crying out in his mind, and jumped involuntarily at the sound. His partner's words were loud and clear through the link, and most certainly His Lordship was now hearing them as well.
*Tyler! Tyler, please, wake up! I can't move! I think my back is broken! Tyler, please! They're coming for us!* Hoarse sobs of abject terror. *He's dead! My God, he's dead! Help! Please, somebody, help me!* The words dissolved into more sobs. Mark smiled grimly. The Jil should now assume that the Terran psychic's partner had been killed in the crash, and the psychic, himself, injured and alone, would have no means of defense. It should work, unless, of course, the Jil was a precog, or had other reasons to suspect that a trained psychic in the downed craft was attempting to deceive him.
Mark waited tensely as the Jilectan's vehicle approached, losing altitude gradually. It settled gently to the ground a discreet ten meters from the apparently disabled craft.
Their pursuers, Mark saw, had not arrived in one of the flashy Jil limos, nor in a black and scarlet Patrol vehicle. The aircar that alighted was of modest Terran design, perhaps three years old, and certainly nothing to attract attention. The door opened and two men jumped out into the snow and scrambled immediately to a position of concealment behind the car. But the Jilectan didn't appear -- too cold for His Magnificence, Mark thought sardonically. Let the peons do the uncomfortable, dangerous work. No need for M'lord to get his toes nipped.
One of them men lifted a device to his lips. His voice boomed out loud in the stillness. "You're covered, Mister. Throw out your blaster and come out with your hands up."
There was a silence. Then the door slowly opened and Alan's blaster was tossed through to land in the snow.
"I give up." Alan's voice sounded faint, as though with pain and weakness. "Don't shoot!"
"Come out!" the patrolman barked harshly. "Hands up!"
"I can't move my legs." The last word ended on a sob. "Don't shoot!" There was movement inside the car, and Alan half fell through the door, landing face down in the snow. He stirred weakly, as though trying to rise, and then slumped forward again. The two patrollers emerged from concealment and went cautiously toward him, blasters in hand. Mark took careful aim.
His weapon cracked and the first man dropped without a sound. The second spun sideways as Mark fired again. The fellow voiced an agonized scream, dropping his blaster. The weapon flipped upward, changing direction as it did so and shot straight toward Alan. Alan rolled nimbly to his knees in the snow, and the weapon landed neatly in his hands.
The wounded man was bolting for the shrubbery. Mark fired after him, and at that moment the aircar in which their pursuers had come lunged forward. The Jilectan, obviously realizing the error of his ways, had decided to depart. Once in the air, the men on the ground would be at his mercy.
"Down, Mark!" Alan's shout reached him faintly over the growl of the vehicle's engines, and clearly through the mental link, and instinctively he obeyed, dropping flat to the snow. As he did so he saw the blaster Alan had confiscated arcing through the air toward the departing craft.
It was an incredibly long throw, and Linley realized at once that Alan must have given the weapon an extra boost with telekinesis. It soared gracefully across the space, still in a rising trajectory, and struck the side of the departing aircar with a dull clunk. It rebounded, began to fall, and exploded.
The blast nearly deafened Mark, and water, dirt and dead leaves rained down on him. The aircar lurched sideways, spun out of control, collided hard with a tree trunk and pancaked to earth. Flames billowed from beneath it and around it, roaring in the wind. The door opened and the Jilectan fell through, staggered to hands and knees, crawled over burning debris and collapsed, shrieking, to the ground.
Alan was running toward the Jilectan before Mark could move. In four long, leaps he was beside the writhing alien. He bent and scooped up snow, pelting and extinguishing the burning areas on His Lordship's clothing. Mark leaped forward. "Get back! She's gonna blow!"
"Help me, quick!" Alan was attempting to drag the injured alien away from the flaming vehicle. Cursing savagely, Linley helped him, hauling the big figure back. They reached their own aircar, both of them gasping for breath, and again Alan bent over the alien, slapping at two still smoldering places on the fur robe. At that moment the burning aircar exploded. Orange flames mushroomed from beneath it, and a tremendous concussion rent the air.
Alan hardly seemed to notice. He was straightening up, his face white in the dimness. "It's Linthvar!" His partner looked sick. "I just saved his life!"
"What?" Linley's eyes went to the rescued alien. He swore. "Don't worry. I'll fix that." He leveled his blaster.
Lord Linthvar flinched back. Alan reached out, his hand closing on Linley's wrist. "No."
"Aw, hell, why not? He deserves it, if anybody does."
"We're on Terra, remember? Besides, we can't -- not in cold blood like this."
"I can," Mark said flatly.
"No," Alan said.
Linthvar was blinking up at them. His hair was scorched, the delicate curls singed and blackened. His eyebrows and eyelashes were gone.
"Alan Westover!" he croaked. "You will die for this!"
Mark cussed softly. "Aw, c'mon, kid. Lemme finish him."
"No wonder his mind felt familiar," Alan said.
Linley shoved the Jilectan savagely back down. "Keep your mouth shut, Jil!" he snapped. "Or I might lose control an' disobey orders." He spoke to Alan. "C'mon, kid. Help me get him in the aircar."
Alan's head whipped around and he voiced a cry of warning, leaping toward his partner. Instantly Mark knew what had happened and went with him as Alan's body bore him sideways. There was the crack of a blaster from the trees and snow exploded into steam three meters to their left.
Alan rolled nimbly to his feet. "The aircar!" His shout was shrill over the howl of the wind. "Get in! Hurry!" He fired toward the bushes, and there was a startled yell.
Together they dashed for the vehicle. Behind them more snow erupted into steam, and again Alan returned the fire. There was a scream of pain from the concealing underbrush. They reached the aircar and scrambled within. Alan slapped a control and the craft leaped into the air.
"Aircar on the scanner," Mark said. "The guy must've radioed for help. Let's get outta here. They won't chase us. They'll stop an' collect His Loveliness down there, first."
Their car shot away into the night. Alan kept them low to avoid the other vehicle's scanners, and flew steadily onward, hands clenched on the controls.
Mark, one eye on the scanners, glanced briefly at him. "You okay?"
"Yes. Good grief! Linthvar! Of all Jils to run into..."
"Wish you'd let me finish him off. He's a pain in the --"
Alan winced slightly. "Well, at least he's in no condition to do any more tracking tonight."
"He sure ain't. An' now he's got even more reason t'love you. Seems like every time you two clash, he comes out the worse for it. Funny, though..."
"What?"
"This time it was you that pulled him outta the fiery furnaces."
"If I'd known it was him," said Alan shortly, "I'm not sure I would have."
"Aw, yes, you would'a. It ain't like you t'let anythin' suffer -- even a lousy Jil."
Alan was silent. He drew an object from his pocket and looked at it. "This was in Linthvar's hand when I reached him. I think it's what he was using to trace Madison."
Mark studied the picture. It was a small photo of a pretty girl, no older than thirteen. She had soft, dark hair, tied back from her face, and large, soulful, dark eyes. She was dressed in shorts and a skimpy top, and was smiling, revealing braces on her teeth. Mark frowned.
"S'pose this is the dead wife, maybe? She looks like a little kid."
"Remember, she was only seventeen when she died. They hadn't been married for long."
Mark turned the picture over. "Jeanne Kendall, age fifteen."
"His wife's name was Jeanne," said Alan. "I remember that from the comp." He gave Mark the controls and took the photo, studying it closely. "Hmm...plenty of sentimental attachment here..." He became silent.
"Well, let's get crackin'," Mark said. "Maybe we'll get some sleep tonight, after all." He glanced at his chronometer. "It's only 0300."
Alan's lips quirked, although his expression remained vacant. "Sure we will." A pause. "I think our man is still moving. Fly low. This shouldn't take long."
**********
Tyler Brown brought the vehicle down before a large, poorly maintained motel. He was far off the main traffic lanes and many kilometers from the city. The countryside around was mostly snow-shrouded fields, dotted with an occasional farmhouse. The wind blew strongly, rocking the car. Snowflakes flicked through the air.
He glanced at his chronometer. It was nearly 5 in the morning. He had been flying at random since leaving the doctor's home more than four hours ago. Randy had not stirred, and still lay quiet on the seat beside him, huddled on his side and snoring faintly. His features were still and composed, his face deathly pale.
Tyler swallowed hard. He somehow must help his partner -- see him through this mess safely. Randy was hurt badly, and the doctor had said he must have quiet and rest -- and fluids. Perhaps if they could hole up here for a few days, the kid would awaken and be okay.
Tyler got out of the car and went across the small lot to the office. The humans had all retired long ago, of course, but the autoclerk blinked into awareness the moment he crossed the threshold. "Yes sir?" it intoned, the words carrying a faint grating twang, showing that the robot was not in the best repair. "May I serve you?"
"Yes," Tyler said. "I need a room for two."
"For how long, sir?" the machine inquired.
"At least 24 hours."
"Yes sir. That will be twenty five credits."
Tyler inserted credit slips into the narrow slit on the side of the machine. It whirred softly, then presented him with a plastic key. "Room 19, sir. Have a pleasant night."
Tyler picked up the key and went back to his car.
He located room 19 without difficulty and parked the aircar before it. Hurrying, he stepped out, reached inside the car, and lifted Randy into his arms. With a quick glance around, he straightened up, got his partner to one shoulder, and walked rapidly into their rented room, kicking the unpowered door shut behind him. Gently he deposited his friend on one of the beds and removed his shoes.
Randy had not stirred, but at least his breathing was regular. Brown drew blankets over him and straightened up, thinking. Could he get Randy to drink something, even comatose as he was? He had to. The doctor had said to get as much liquid into him as he could.
Tyler went into the bathroom, filled a paper cup with water and brought it back to the bed. Carefully he slipped an arm behind his partner's shoulders and lifted him. "C'mon, Ran, try'n drink some of this."
He held the cup to his friend's lips. Randy docilely swallowed a few mouthfuls, and Tyler eased him back to the pillow.
That had gone more easily than he'd expected. Tyler set the cup on the nightstand. He was suddenly very tired, and began languidly to remove his shoes. He must get a little sleep. He was shot. Perhaps after he had rested, he could figure out his next move.
He lowered himself to other bed and tried to relax. Tired as he was, he was as yet too wound up to sleep. What was happening out there? Who were these jokers who had somehow managed to implicate Randy and him into the drug scene?
He pressed a control on the bedside table and the video came on, revealing an ancient movie with an improbable space battle between Terrans and bumbling silver creatures, which must represent robots of some sort. Tyler instructed the set to find a news station.
The picture switched over, revealing the smoldering remains of an aircar, an ambulance, emergency vehicles, and a figure being lifted gently to an antigrav conveyance. Tyler watched idly, noticing that the injured man, whoever he was, appeared incredibly large.
The news cameras zoomed in briefly, framing a close up of the victim's face. Tyler's breath caught.
Blond, kinked hair, glittering pink earrings, the large, aristocratic features contorted in pain and anger. That was no Terran! He turned up the audio.
"...The crash of an aircar containing a Jilectan noble. Details are as yet lacking, but Milord's servant states that he was on Terra incognito for official diplomatic purposes, and that his aircar was attacked and shot down by members of the criminal organization known as the Terran Underground..."
Tyler's jaw fell.
"M'lords servant, who was in the aircar with His Lordship, reports that the Underground vehicle, a dark blue, medium sized Chevrolet, shot at them without provocation, forcing them to crash land in the snow. The incident occurred perhaps thirty minutes ago..."
And what, Tyler asked himself, was a Jilectan Lord doing, tootling around the upstate New York countryside at three in the morning?
"M'lord's servant was also injured by the outlaws in the subsequent battle, and had to flee for his life. From hiding he held off two of the outlaws who were attempting to kill the injured Jilectan noble." The announcer's face reappeared on the screen, and Tyler was certain that he did not merely imagine the amusement in the man's eyes, although his expression remained carefully neutral. "Two other passengers in the vehicle apparently perished in the explosion which occurred when the car crashed...
Tyler shook his head slowly. There were too many holes in that story for his analytical detective's mind to accept. Probably the whole truth would never come out, and in the meantime he had his own problems to cope with.
Undergrounders. He stared blankly at the screen. Terran Underground members were here, doing combat with the Jilectans right in Tyler's home territory. Could this conflict possibly involve the plot to kidnap the Chancellor's daughter? Had the Underground somehow discovered what the Jils were planning and taken steps to prevent it or was their presence here completely coincidental? He would probably never know. Another scene appeared on the screen, showing a blazing building -- another contribution of the arsonist who had been plaguing the city for the past six months, no doubt. Damn! Weren't they ever going to catch the guy? Three firemen had already been injured battling the blaze and several tenants trapped in the building were presumed dead...
His own and Randy's faces appeared on the screen and the announcement he had heard earlier in the doctor's home was repeated with embellishments. It now appeared that Randy's apartment had also been searched and illegal drugs discovered there as well. Brown cussed to himself. Drugs! Couldn't they come up with anything better than that?
The scene switched to the interstellar news. There was another flood on Shallock, which had demolished Lord Somebody or other's private mansion and killed thousands of the lower species. A large quake on Riskell had demolished a dozen slums and knocked a few tiles off the porches of Lord Revolthvor's newly rebuilt mansion...
He must have slept, for suddenly the room was brightening and the scene on the video had changed to the same old movie he had viewed briefly on the other channel. From without came muted voices and the sounds of people going past the room. Tyler started up, glancing at his chronometer.
It was nearly 0730. He'd slept for over two hours.
He sat up, rubbing a hand across his eyes, fogged and stupid still from his short, heavy sleep. Randy lay quiet on the bed beside him, looking, in spite of his five o'clock shadow, like a boy of about fifteen recovering from a bicycle accident. He was breathing softly, and his face appeared less white and pinched than it had the previous night. The wrinkles had smoothed out, and his expression was calm and placid. Tyler lifted his wrist, counting the pulse. It was strong and slow.
"Randy." He shook his partner's shoulder lightly. "Randy, can you hear me?"
The smooth forehead wrinkled in a frown. He groaned. "Jeannie..."
"Randy, wake up."
"Ty?" It was a faint mumble, hardly audible, but Tyler felt suddenly as though tight ropes around his chest had loosened and let go. The kid knew him. Randy was going to be all right.
"Yeah, it's me."
"Thirsty..."
"I'll get you some water." Tyler went to the bathroom and filled a cup, and returned quickly. Carefully he lifted Randy's shoulders and held the cup to his lips. Randy swallowed eagerly, then lay back as though exhausted, his eyes closed. Brown went back to the bathroom, dampened a washcloth and returned to wipe Randy's face and hands. Randy's eyes flickered and opened.
"Ty..."
"Easy, there. Don't try to talk. You've been hurt, but you're going to be all right."
"W'appened? Don' remember."
"You found out about the kidnapping plot, remember? The Chancellor's daughter..."
Randy moved convulsively, his eyes flying open. "Ty! The Chancellor's daughter! How long...?"
"It's about 0730. If what you picked up from that Jil operative is correct, the kidnapping won't happen until this afternoon."
Randy tried to push himself up on one elbow. "We've got to warn someone!"
"Take it easy. I'll take care of it. You just relax."
Randy obeyed, dropping back to the pillow. "Hurts..." he whispered.
"What hurts? Your shoulder?"
"Yes."
"Blaster burn -- not too bad."
Randy didn't respond. Tyler spoke clearly. "Listen to me. I'm going to go get us some food and try to call the authorities and warn them about this. We stir up enough hornets and the Jils are bound to call this business off."
Randy's eyes opened again. "Okay."
"I want you to stay right here. I won't be gone any longer than I have to. I'd call from the room, but if they managed to trace it, we'd be in real trouble. They've managed to trump up some drug charges on us."
Randy started. "Drug charges?"
"That's right. They're trying to discredit up -- make us criminal and fugitives, hunted by our own people. It's the same racket they've used on the psychics. You should know all about that."
Randy nodded.
"Look, we'll worry about clearing ourselves later. Right now we've got to throw a spanner in this rotten little scheme of theirs."
"Yeah." Randy looked past him at the videoscreen. Tyler turned to look as well. The move had concluded and a newsflash had come on, repeating the announcement concerning the Underground and the Jilectan, which Tyler had heard the night before.
"Easy. It's got nothing to do with us."
"Ty!"
"What?"
"That guy! The one who's supposed to have saved the Jil -- that's Wendlemere!"
Tyler looked again. The scene was a close up of the man's face as he had seen it a few hours ago. He was telling of the atrocities of the Underground, but seemed to be trying to shield his face at the same time. The screen flicked back to the announcer.
"Who?" Tyler asked.
"Wendlemere! He's the guy I read -- the one I found out about the kidnapping plot from! He's the one in the restaurant! I'm sure of it!"
"Holy space!" Brown's mind was racing. The Jil was with him! It couldn't just be co-incidence, then! This whole, crazy mess had to be tied together. Randy was thinking the same thing, apparently, and, even injured as he was, he put it into words first.
"The Underground must be looking for us. That Jil -- Wendlemere must have told him about me...I mean us, and he was tracking us. The Underground stopped him -- shot him down."
"Hold on. That doesn't mean the Underground knows about us. It just means they attacked a Jil who was probably on Terra illegally."
"But why would they do that? It was sort of dangerous, you know, to attack a Jil out of the blue. They had no reason for doing it -- unless they knew he was up to no good."
"What Jil is ever up to any good where Terrans are concerned?" Tyler frowned. "But you're right. The Underground's got to have realized something is funny or they wouldn't have done it. But it still doesn't mean they know about us. They couldn't. I haven't left any tracks -- not as far as I know, anyway. How could they possibly have found out?"
"I don't know." Randy lay back, looking white.
Tyler glanced at the screen again. "Look, at least they got the Jil off of us. We're safe, and we didn't even know we were in danger." He grinned. "Now, you just rest awhile. Get your strength back."
Randy looked up at him. "Ty..."
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. You saved my life."
Tyler grinned. "Guess we're even at last, huh?"
"What? Oh, that. Yeah, I guess so."
"Look, you stay put. I'm going to go make that call and get us something to eat. We'll probably have to stay here a few days until the hunt for us dies down -- or until the Underground finds us -- if they *are* looking for us."
Randy nodded.
"And if they happen to come by while I'm gone, don't let them leave without me."
"No sir."
"I'll 'sir' you." Tyler turned toward the door. "Don't go away. I'll be right back."
Randy's eyes closed. "Right," he whispered.
Tyler put on his shoes, picked up his coat, and went out, locking the door behind him.
It was cold outside, and the wind was like ice. Dark clouds raced overhead, but as yet there was no snow. Brown got into his car and started the engine. Staying carefully within the local speed limit, he headed for the nearest town, just ten kilometers distant, its lights blinking dimly through the cloudy dawn.
As he entered the outskirts of town, a small market caught his eye. He brought the car down before it, drew his muffler around his face, ostensibly to shield it from the cold, and strode within.
He couldn't forget that his face had been on the video this morning and last night, and it was likely that the people within the market had seen the newscasts. Of course, the chances were excellent that no one would remember him. Wanted criminals walked around in society constantly, and went unrecognized. Still, it was a little unnerving to think that he had now joined the ranks of those criminals. He hurried down the aisles of groceries, picking up cans of soup and sandwich material. Quickly he dumped them in the little cart, added a container of juice and some soda, a roll of gauze bandage and some fruits. Uneasiness was growing within him. He didn't like leaving Randy alone like this. Anything could happen.
He pushed his cart through the checkout counter, watched the checker tabulate his purchases, slid credit slips into the computer and received his change. A sluggish automaton packaged the groceries, and Brown helped it, stuffing the last of the cans within the bag and dropping the bread on top. The automaton hefted the bag and presented it to him. Tyler took it and half ran from the store.
The sense of uneasiness was increasing. Was it his imagination, or was it possible that Randy, being a psychic, was sending out an unconscious appeal for help?
Brown found himself back in the car and heading for the motel as fast as he could. Randy needed him -- at least, Tyler thought he did. It might be imagination, but Tyler had never been a fanciful man, and he didn't know enough about psychics to make even a good guess at what was going on. But he did know that he had been aware of Randy's moods since they had met, and it wasn't out of the question that the boy had the ability to call for aid if danger threatened. He had heard rumors that Alan Westover did exactly that with his associate, Strike Commander Mark Linley, although Linley certainly could not be a psychic. Perhaps Randy was doing the same thing with him.
The motel was ahead, and fear coursed through him as he saw the red, flashing lights before it. Emergency vehicles were here. He saw an ambulance and two police cars, all parked before room 19, and a gurney was being wheeled from the room. Randy, covered by a white sheet, was strapped to the conveyance. He was conscious, too, and looking around frantically. His eyes fastened on the aircar, and again Tyler could have sworn he heard the young man's voice, calling frantically. The words didn't actually form, but he could feel the fear. His heart began to pound hard.
Armed officers escorted the ambulance attendants to the ambulance and got in with them. Another officer was talking to the motel manager.
Tyler switched on his car's radio, instructing it to monitor police transmissions. The little device did so, and abruptly a voice was speaking from the unit.
"This is emergency vehicle 798, en route to Garden Crest Community Hospital, ETA 7 minutes 24 seconds. We have a young male here with a head injury, probably sustained some hours ago. He also has a blaster burn to the left shoulder and an injured wrist, both of which have apparently been treated already by a person with medical knowledge. He is alert and oriented. Vital signs are within normal limits. Handle code P."
Helplessly Tyler watched the ambulance pull away. There was no doubt in his mind that Randy had been recognized and that his capture had already been reported. As soon as the news reached the Patrol, they would be on their way to Garden Crest Hospital to collect him. Explanations would be requested by the Terrans and ignored by the Patrol. The Jils gave no explanations unless it suited them. An official protest would be blandly ignored, and there the matter would end.
Tyler followed the ambulance with its police escort at a discreet distance, his mind racing. He would have to act fast. In the trunk of the car he drove was a police uniform, which had been there since his promotion to plainclothes detective five years ago. It should get him into Randy's room. His thoughts raced ahead, formulating and discarding plans.
The ambulance entered the hospital grounds and drew up before the emergency room entrance. Tyler parked his own car in a far corner of the visitors' lot, jumped out and rand around to open the trunk.
The uniform was still there, and still encased in its protective bag. Tyler pulled it out, closed the compartment and re-entered the car. Hastily, he donned the clothing. He hadn't worn the uniform since well before Mary's death, and it proved to be too large for him now. He'd lost weight since she had died. Everyone in the office told him he looked thinner, but in the last month or so he had begun to regain the lost weight. He still had a way to go, though.
He pulled the belt tight and sealed the tunic, then ran a palm across his scratchy chin. He needed a shave badly. Oh well, probably no one would notice. Settling his cap firmly on his head, he got out of the car and strode toward the main entrance.
His chronometer informed him that it was almost 0900. The doctors would be making their rounds about now. Tyler ran up the hospital steps and entered the main lobby.
It was a busy place, with people hurrying here and there, children crying, and machines humming and clicking. A Christmas tree sparkled in the corner, and two children were standing before it, gazing enraptured at the presents piled beneath.
Tyler strode up to the main desk, flashing his badge quickly so the receptionist wouldn't have time to look at the name. "Officer Barnes," he identified himself briskly. "Where have they taken Madison?"
"Madison, Officer? Oh, you mean the man who..."
"The officer who just came through the emergency room -- the one wanted for drug possession."
"Yes sir. He's been admitted to room 302, third level. Take the lift and go left. You can't miss it."
"Thanks." Tyler strode across the room toward the lifts.
The lift bore him quickly upward. He disembarked and paused before a map on the wall. The map showed the layout of the building, and Brown studied it, noting particularly the location of the utility elevator.
Room 302 was easily found. A police officer stood on guard outside. Tyler flashed his badge. "Sergeant Barnes, officer. Come with me."
"Yes sir." The man looked surprised but followed. They entered the room.
Randy lay on the bed, and two doctors and a nurse were bending over him. Randy was speaking, his voice weak, but each word carrying conviction.
"Please, you must listen -- all of you. They'll be here soon to take me, and you won't be able to stop them. The Jils want me because they know I've found out about their dirty work. They already tried to kill me once..." His words ended in a shrill intake of breath.
"Sorry," one of the doctors told him. "Try to hold still. This will hurt some."
Tyler drew his blaster and stepped back, flipping the setting to stun. He fired and the officer gave a surprised yelp then slumped limply to the floor. The doctors and nurse turned from the patient, mouths opening in surprise.
Tyler gestured with the weapon. "Over here, quick, and get down on your faces!"
They obeyed quickly. Tyler spoke again. "Every word Madison said is true. The Jils are behind this, and I've got to get him out of here before they arrive. He knows too much, and they want to shut him up real bad. Sorry about this, folks."
Deliberately, then, he stunned all three figures, and turned to Randy.
His partner had made it to his feet and was gripping the bed for support, his face white and an astonished expression on his features. Tyler caught him, putting a firm arm around him. "Now listen; you do as I say, and don't ask questions. Understand?"
Randy nodded.
"I'm going to put you in the linen hamper over there. Where's your clothes?"
Randy glanced down at the light patient gown. "I'm not sure. They took them off, and someone took 'em out."
"Okay, we don't have time to find 'em. Out of that gown, quick!"
"But..." Randy shut up and started to pull off the gown. Tyler helped him.
"Okay, into the hamper." He helped his partner to climb inside. Tyler pulled a blanket from the bed and dropped it on top of him, then bent, hauled the smallest of the three men into the bed and yanked off his clothing. He dropped the clothing on top of Randy, then hastily shoved the doctor's arms into the sleeves of the patient gown. The nurse was wearing a lab coat, and he stripped it off of her, donning it himself. It should conceal his uniform adequately, for it came nearly to his calves. He pulled off the uniform cap, dropped it into the hamper, then opened the bathroom door and dragged all the remaining medical personnel inside. Panting, he drew his blaster, stunned them all once more, fired a last bolt at the man on the bed, and returned the weapon to its place beneath the lab coat.
"Okay, here we go. Just keep quiet and we'll be good."
No answer. Tyler started for the door.
The video speaker on the bedside table chirped. "Doctor Beasey, this is Cathy at the reception desk. We've got a Viceregal Patrolman here -- says he's coming to get Mr. Madison. He's on his way."
"Well, tell him to hold on, dammit!" Tyler snapped. "The boy's in bad shape. He can't have him yet."
"He won't wait, sir. I tried. He says he's under orders.
Brown swore to himself and pushed the linen hamper before him out the door. There were people passing in the corridor, of course, but as yet no sign of the Viceregal Jerk. Tyler headed for the utility elevator as fast as he could. As he paused before it, he glanced back. The patrolman, an imposing figure clad in the black and scarlet of the Viceregal Patrol, had just emerged from the lift. Tyler waited, spine prickling, as the man strode down the corridor, ignoring hostile and curious stares, and entered the room that Tyler and Randy had just vacated.
**********
tbc
