Cops and Robbers: 5/?
by Linda Garrick
Revised and edited by Nancy Smith
IV
"West, I think." Alan was slumped back in the seat, his forehead puckered in a weary frown. "He's not moving anymore."
"Well, that's good, anyway. Are we gettin' close?" Mark turned the car a little more to the west. Behind them the horizon was beginning to glow pink. Dawn wasn't far away.
"I think so." Alan sounded tired. "How long have we been at this?"
"Too long." Mark glanced at his chronometer. "About three hours. It's nearly seven."
"Seven?" Alan said, the words almost swallowed by a huge yawn. "I think we're off a bit. Turn more to the north."
"Okay." Mark glanced at his partner. Alan was tiring. He'd been up all night, and had had very little sleep the night before. "Maybe you oughta get some rest."
"I can't -- not yet. We've got to find him!"
"Kid, you're shot."
"No I'm not. I'm fine."
Linley shut his mouth. There was no deterring Alan now. He intended to find Madison or bust. Tired or not, Alan would eventually succeed. It might just take him a little longer than it would if he were fresh and well rested.
Alan's closed his eyes. His features were utterly relaxed and controlled. If Linley hadn't known better he might have thought his partner was asleep but in one hand he clutched the photo taken from Lord Linthvar.
"More to the west, I think," Alan said suddenly. "We're a lot closer, and I think he's coming to." He shifted uncomfortably. "He's conscious, all right, and he's talking to someone. I'm picking up that much."
Silence. Alan opened his eyes suddenly and sat up. "He's in trouble!"
"Huh? What's goin' on?"
Alan was shaking his head. "Fear! He knows he's in for it! Hurry!"
"I'm hurryin'!"
Alan squeezed his eyes shut. "He's calling...trying to get help! It's a psychic call. He must know he's a psychic."
"An' that we're after him, maybe? Tell him we're comin'. Tell him t'try'n hold out."
"I am." Alan's face quivered with effort. "He isn't listening. He's too scared. Someone's with him, and he's trying to talk his way out of it, but he's too weak. I can feel the empathic energy. He's working with everything he's got..." Alan winced. "He's in a lot of pain but he's trying to get up. The person with him won't let him. West a little more. Hurry!"
"I am." Mark urged the speedometer another ten kilometers over the speed limit. Snow covered fields and greenery flashed by beneath them. Ahead Linley caught sight of red, flashing lights converging on a small, rundown motel. He swallowed. "I think we're too late."
Alan had followed his gaze. "He's in that building. Someone's found him and called the cops."
Linley cussed between his teeth and circled over the building. Other cars were also circling, so it was unlikely they would be noticed. "They're carryin' him out. We could gas 'em, but there's more comin'. We'd have a fight on our hands."
Alan tuned the com into the official channels. Beneath them, young Madison was being stowed inside the ambulance. Two more police cars were converging on the scene.
The story came out quickly. A maid had gotten her wires crossed and had gone in to tidy the room, and had found the injured boy on the bed, asleep. He had clearly been abandoned and alone. Horrified, she had summoned the police. Two officers had arrived within minutes, and one of them had identified the injured boy to be, in actuality, Randolph Madison, wanted for suspicion of drug possession and illegal dealing of contraband substances. He had called at once for an ambulance and a back up, in case Madison's associate, Tyler Brown, was still in the area. However, as yet there had been no sign of the second criminal, and Madison denied having seen him since awakening...
The ambulance was pulling away. Alan concentrated a moment. "They're heading for Garden Crest Community Hospital."
Mark punched in coordinates. "We gotta get him outta there before the Patrol arrives, an' we're gonna hafta move."
"How?"
Mark gunned the engine. "I'm gonna hafta turn into a 'trol quick.""
"Listen!"
A new voice was emerging from the communicator, the accent that of a Shallockian native, speaking in poor, but understandable English. "This is Lieutenant Yang, Viceregal Patrol! We got news you just picked up Madison? That right?"
A moment of silence. Then, "Yes, Lieutenant, we have." The reply was confused and resentful. "What's it to you?"
"We are gonna be takin' him -- orders o' M'lord Halthzor."
"But...why? His offense is against Terra, not the Autonomy."
"We's takin' him. You gotta complaint, write a letter t'the Viceroy."
"But..."
"Tell your people. Got it?"
"But..."
"Be damn sure your people understand, cop, unless you want a bunch of 'em dead. We'll be at the hospital t'get him in about an hour. Be sure he's ready." The transmission cut off.
"Tactful fellow," Alan said softly. "There's an Underground substation only eight kilometers from here. They've probably got a Patrol uniform in stock."
"Right. Let's move." The car changed course slightly. "We should be there in five minutes," Mark added.
Thirteen and a half minutes later, with Mark clad impressively as a Patrol Sergeant, they were again en route to the Garden Crest Community Hospital. Mark leaned out the window to wave at the farmer's young wife who had supplied them with the uniform.
"Cute," he remarked.
"And very married," Alan reminded him.
"So'm'I, but I can still look, can't I?"
"I suppose so." Alan smiled slightly. "Julia'd probably worry if you stopped looking."
"I know she would. She'd figure I was on my deathbed. Man, it'll be nice t'get this business over with. I wanna go home."
"Me too." Alan shifted uncomfortably. Mark glanced at him sharply. "Somethin' eatin' you?"
Alan nodded, lips compressed. "I have a funny feeling that we're running out of time."
"We are. The Patrol'll be there t' pick him up in about forty five minutes."
"No...it's not that." Alan fell silent, and Mark cussed under his breath, settling the helmet on his head and trying to adjust the too tight breeches. He knew better than anyone that Alan's hunches were never false alarms. If he thought they were running low on time, then they probably were.
"How far?"
"Two minutes. There it is now."
The aircar circled down before the building. Alan pulled into a loading zone. "Go. Hurry. I'll be waiting at the entrance when you bring him out."
Mark got out of the car and mounted the hospital steps three at a time. The doors slid open and he strode briskly across the lobby to the information desk, pushing past two people who were waiting in line.
He flashed his official I.D., which the young woman at the substation had supplied him with. There had been no time to prepare a special one with his face on it, but it probably wouldn't matter under the circumstances. Besides, he had the helmet on, which concealed his features. "Sergeant Flemin', Viceregal Patrol. I'm here for Madison. Where is he?"
The receptionist looked up, her face a mask of hostility. "Get in line, 'trol. You'll have to wait your turn like everybody else."
"I'm under orders from Lord Halthzor, himself, Lady. Where's the prisoner?"
The woman sprang to her feet, her face reddening. "Get in line, Mister. You cause trouble, and I'm calling Security."
"Dammit! I thought Lieutenant Yang made it clear when he called. You want trouble, Lady, an' you'll get it in spades."
The others in the line were murmuring among themselves, and those seated in the lobby were watching. He could feel the anger and resentment surrounding him. These were true Terrans, born and bred on their home world. They hated the Viceregal Patrol with a passion, and were far more volatile and dangerous than Terrans from the Jilectan dominated worlds where the oppression of the Overlords was an accepted and common occurrence. The men who worked for the Jilectan Viceroy disliked intensely the assignments that forced them to deal with Terran citizens on the Terrans' home world, and more than one patrolman had lost his life in such encounters. Few patrolmen ventured into such situations alone. But Mark had no choice.
His wrist communicator gave him a faint shock. He lifted it to his lips. "Yeah?"
"He's in room 302, sir," Alan's voice spoke from the device. So, Alan had been following him telepathically, and had picked up the trouble. He must have acquired the necessary information somehow. It was reassuring to know Alan was with him, even if only in spirit.
"Thanks, Woodruff." Mark favored the clerk with a frosty stare, which she met unflinchingly. "Your name will be included in my report to the Lieutenant, Miss Hanes!" he snapped. Turning, he strode toward the lift. Behind him he heard a derisive laugh, punctuated by a Bronx cheer. A wad of chewed chewing gum whizzed past his ear. He didn't glance back.
The lift took him nonstop to the third level. He stepped off, locating with ease room 302. There was no guard at the door, a circumstance that he found a trifle disconcerting. Perhaps the woman at the desk had called ahead and informed the guard of the Patrol's presence. The man might have deserted his post rather than face a miffed patrolman, Mark thought, although it didn't seem likely.
He entered the room. The bed was against one wall, and trays of equipment lay in disorder around it. No doctors or nurses were present, but a small figure lay on the bed, quiet and still, covered by a single sheet. Mark frowned. Was it possible everyone had cleared out when the news about the p.o.'d 'trol had reached them? No! This was too easy! All his instincts cried out against it. He went cautiously over to the bed, blaster in hand, and looked down at the patient. The tag on the bed, and the chart on the table beside it, informed him that this was Randolph Madison, age 22, diagnosis a head injury, shoulder burn and sprained wrist. But the fellow in the bed looked nothing at all like the picture Mark had seen of Madison. He also looked older than the stated 22 years.
His communicator shocked him. Mark lifted it to his lips. "Kid, somethin's weird."
"I'll say something's weird! Madison's moving. Do you have him?"
"I don't think so. I'm in the room, and there's a guy here in the bed, but I don't think he's Madison. Besides, he's not movin' right now. He's just lyin' there. Ain't got no injuries I can see."
"I knew it! Someone else has him! He knows it, too, and he's not scared. It must be his partner. Wait a minute. I'm coming up to you."
"But..." Mark shut up. "Okay. Hurry, but be careful."
There was no response. Mark stood staring down at the man on the bed. The door slid open, revealing a woman in a white lab coat. "Eddie, here's the..." Her words trailed off. Swiftly she set an envelope on the table beside the door and ducked out, sliding the panel shut behind her.
It opened again an instant later and Alan entered. His glance passed over the figure on the bed. "That's not Madison," he said briefly, and turned to the bathroom, sliding the door open. Two unmoving figures were slumped on the floor.
Alan's green eyes met Mark's squarely through the dark visor. "Come on!" he commanded. "Quick!"
V
The lift doors slid open and Brown entered, pushing the linen hamper ahead of him. Two maintenance men were already in the car, a huge, unwieldy contraption of unimaginable origin balanced between them. They were clearly in a hurry to dispose of the thing, for one of them frowned darkly at Tyler. "Hey, mister, you can use the laundry chute for that. No need to escort it down, y'know."
"I know," Tyler said, trying to put a harried note in his reply and succeeding rather well, he thought. "I just need a break, and this was an excuse. Sorry to hold you up."
"Don't blame you." The second man grinned. "Know how it is."
The lift came to a halt and the doors slid open, revealing the grey, nondescript walls of the basement. Tyler exited, glancing around, then back at the two men who were just coming off the lift behind him. "Which way to the laundry?"
One of them nodded left. "That way. Just dump it in the pile with the rest. This hospital sends its laundry out -- Blivvens Laundry and Cleaning takes care of it -- and don't leave anything in your pockets or you'll never see it again. They got guys over there who're in business for 'emselves...ugh! Dammit, Joe! Hold 'er steady!"
"Sorry."
Tyler left the two men wrestling with the contraption and guided the laundry container down the hallway. He had heard no announcement of Randy's escape, so evidently the 'trol had been taken in by the apparent patient on the bed and had not realized anything was amiss. He would soon, of course, when one of the people he had stunned regained consciousness. But by that time he hoped to be safely away.
Ahead a laundry cart, piled high with bags, appeared from an adjoining corridor. The driver, a tremendously fat individual, saw him and pulled the conveyance to a stop. "I'll get it, Mister. Thanks for your trouble." He lumbered from the driver's seat and reached for the laundry cart.
Brown glanced quickly around as the man began to unfasten the bag from the wheeled container. No one was in sight. Stepping back, he drew his blaster from beneath the lab coat and fired.
The laundry man slumped forward. Tyler ran swiftly forward, caught him beneath the arms and tried to lift him to the laundry cart with the piled bags.
He couldn't do it. The man was huge -- nearly twice Tyler's size, and a dead weight beneath his grip. Frantically Brown tugged once more and then gave it up. His time was running out. Leaving the stunned figure on the floor, he grabbed the wheeled container and once more propelled it toward the exit. He reached a corner and turned again, following the signs posted on the wall above. A young woman in a trim white uniform passed him, heading down the corridor where he had left the laundry cart and the unconscious attendant.
The exit was ahead. Tyler glanced at his chronometer. Fifteen minutes since he had taken Randy from the room. The personnel he had stunned would be recovering by now, and the alarm was undoubtedly spreading.
He reached the exit. Rapidly he disengaged the bag from the wheeled holder, swung Randy into his arms, still encased as he was in the concealing laundry bag, and bundled him to one shoulder. Grunting with effort, he hurried through the doors. Randy remained motionless in his hold, making his task easier.
A laundry truck was waiting in the loading zone. Tyler hurried down the steps, and hurried over to the truck. A young man seated at the controls glanced up from his magazine. "Just pitch it in the back, Mister."
Tyler let the laundry bag slide to the ground, straightened up and glanced around. Across the loading zone, three men were working on a piece of equipment, but paying no attention to anything else. The driver of the truck gave him an annoyed glance. "Hey! You brought it out here, and you put it in. I'm not..."
Tyler drew his blaster, aiming it at the man's nose. "Out!" he hissed.
The driver stared for a moment in horror, opened the door and jumped down, hands high above his head. Tyler gestured with the weapon. "Pick up the bag and put it in the front seat. Be careful with it."
The driver gulped and bent to obey, lifting Randy with ease and stowing him in the front seat. Again Tyler gestured. "Back up."
The man obeyed. Tyler stunned him and leaped into the driver's seat. The motor roared to life.
Behind him the hospital doors opened and a small man burst through, followed instantly by the Viceregal Patrolman. They were shouting, and the little man waved his arms frantically. Tyler laughed sardonically.
"Explain it to the Jils, suckers!" he said, and the truck leaped forward, soaring upward into the dim, cloudy sky.
VI
"Damn!" Mark stared after the departing van. "There he goes again."
"Hurry!" Alan had him by the sleeve, pulling him down the ramp. They sprinted around the building and toward the car, still parked in the loading zone. A pale pink slip of paper fluttered beneath one windshield wiper.
"Hold it!" a voice snapped.
Mark turned, catching Alan by one wrist and pushing him back. A security guard was coming toward them, his mouth a grim line. "What's going on here?"
Alan tried to wiggle away, but Mark restrained him forcibly. "None o' your business!" he snapped. "Get lost an' forget what you saw."
A stunner was suddenly in the guard's hand. "No I won't, trol," he said levelly. "Maybe on the Jil worlds you can get away with stuff like this, but it won't work on Terra. I heard what you did to Dr. Lang and Dr. Edwards -- and that poor nurse, not to mention the guy you stunned in the basement. Now, let the boy go, or by God, you'll be waking up with a headache."
Mark released Alan. "He ain't a prisoner, dammit! He..."
The man stepped quickly forward, caught Alan's shoulder and pushed, sending him stumbling to one side. "Get out of the way, you little dope!"
Alan almost regained his balance, then skidded on the icy pavement and sat down hard. The security man ignored him. "Now, 'trol, put your hands on top of your head. Lace your fingers tog...what th'...!"
The stunner had flipped upward from the man's hand. It spun in a smooth arc through the air and skidded to a stop at Mark's feet. The man yelped, then froze as he saw Linley's weapon centered on him. His gaze went to Alan, who was getting to his feet, rubbing his backside.
"You okay?" Mark asked.
Alan nodded ruefully. "Ouch."
"Undergrounders!" the guard whispered.
Alan picked up the stunner and glanced at the guard with a rueful grin. "Thanks for trying to help me, Mr. Clyne."
"Westover! You're Alan Westover!"
"Yes. Sorry about this." He handed the stunner discreetly to Mark, jerking his head minutely toward a group of pedestrians approaching along the slidewalk. The crowd stopped, milling confusedly, staring at the scene before them.
Mark tossed the stunner at the guard. "Let's go." He punched the remote that activated the doors of the car and they scrambled inside. He had the car in the air almost before the doors finished sliding shut.
They headed into the nearest traffic lane, and Mark activated the piloting computer, glancing at Alan. "Man! Native Terrans! No one on Shallock'd ever try somethin' like that guy just did!"
Alan smiled. "Native Terrans don't like the Patrol much. Did you ever visit a public restroom on one of those college campuses?"
"Nope, but I guess I oughta. Man! I used to hate assignments here when I was in the Patrol. Did I ever tellya that a couple o' the guys from the Wolverine vanished while we was searchin' for you?"
"No. What happened?"
"They was found two days after we left. Poor guys was beaten half t'death an left tied up in a utility closet. They didn't remember nothin' about it, neither."
"Gosh!" Alan said.
"Native Terrans!" Mark repeated, shaking his head. He raised an eyebrow at his partner. "Well, I guess we start over again, huh? Ready for a rest, or you gonna begin right away?"
Alan sighed. "I'll begin right away."
"You must be beat."
"I am, but we need to find him." He grinned suddenly. "Boy, are the Jils ever going to be upset when they find out their little cop's given them the slip again."
"Don't forget, kid, he's given us the slip a coupl'a times, too."
"Yes." Alan leaned back against the seat. "Turn west."
VII
Randy wiggled from the laundry bag, and Brown reached over to help pull the bag off. "Man, I'm getting a whole new education, today. I wonder if this is what Undergrounders go through when they're running rings around the Jils."
"Good question," Randy said. He fished through the various cloth articles that had emerged from the bag with him. "Somehow, I think they've probably got better methods. I owe you one."
"I'll be sure to keep track." Tyler grinned at him. "Did they fix you up okay?"
"I guess so." Randy felt gingerly of his bandaged shoulder and began to squirm into the doctor's slacks. They were too large, of course but he pulled the belt tight around his waist. "My concussion's resolving, they said, and the burn's healing okay. The wrist'll take awhile. You're a good doctor. They said you must have known what you were doing when you gave me first aid. An M.D. couldn't have done a better job."
Tyler laughed. "I guess not. Dr. Aaron would be pleased."
"Who's Dr. Aaron?"
"Doc I took you to after you were shot. He took care of you at blasterpoint."
"What happened?"
"The news came over the video while I was at his house about us being drug dealers."
Randy was silent. Tyler sighed. "You were hurt bad. I had to get help. I didn't hurt them, and I paid them for their services."
"Them?"
"Dr. Aaron and his wife."
"Oh." Again Randy was silent, leaning his head back in the seat. Tyler adjusted their course and glanced at his chronometer. Randy caught the movement. "What time is it? They took my chronometer."
"About 1030. We've got to head for that prep school."
"You didn't call anyone?"
"I didn't have time. I sort of had a feeling that you were in trouble -- and I was right. I headed back for the motel as quick as I could." He paused, frowning in memory. "Did you...I mean..." He stopped, unsure how to form the question.
But Randy said it for him.
"You mean, did I try to call you for help?'
"Yeah. Did you?"
Randy looked thoughtful. "That crazy maid came into the room and screamed her brains out when she saw me. I tried to talk to her, to tell her I was all right, but the first thing I knew she was on the phone calling the police. I tried to get up, but she was big as a light cruiser, and she held me down, babbling at me to lie still. That's when I tried to call. I figured there might be an Underground psychic in the area who might hear me. I didn't think you possibly could, though."
"Well, I sure felt something." Brown shook his head slowly. "I can't even describe it well. It was nothing definite, you know -- just a feeling that you were in danger and needed help."
Randy hesitated. "Ty, I don't think psychics can contact nons -- at least I've never heard of such a thing. Of course, that doesn't mean much." He hesitated. "Is it possible that you're a psychic?"
Tyler laughed. "No, it isn't. I've never done anything incredible. Besides, I'm too big. Psychics are little people -- like you."
Randy grinned tolerantly. "Well, I know you feel big when you're around me, Inspector Brown, sir, but you're not really, you know. Bev's taller than you."
"Bev's a big gal."
"Not that big."
Tyler brushed him off. He wasn't a psychic, and knew it. "If I was a psychic, you'd know it, wouldn't you? Can't you sense other psychics?"
Again Randy hesitated. "Well, yes."
"And you don't sense psychic...whatever...in me?"
"Energy? No."
"See?"
"But..."
"Forget it. I'm not a psychic. There's got to be some other explanation, and if the Underground finds us, we'll ask 'em what it is."
"When the Underground finds us," Randy said.
"Right. "Look, you better shut up for awhile. Take a nap. You're going to need your strength. We'll be on campus in a few minutes."
"I've been thinking, this van is awfully conspicuous."
"We haven't got anything else right now. Are you suggesting we steal a car?"
"No, but I think we should do something to cover that insignia about Blivvens Laundry on the side? There must be an APB out for us by now."
"But how can we cover it?"
"Well, any variety store should have decals big enough to do the job."
Brown glanced at his partner. "For a guy with a bump on the head, you're right on the ball! Well, sure, that would do it." He glanced at his chronometer again. "It's 1050. Think we've got enough time?"
"I hope so. We'd better make that call soon. Do you think it'll do any good?"
"I hope so. Calls like that are usually taken seriously, even though they're usually cranks."
"I know. Look, I think we should take care of the truck first. If we get caught again, we aren't going to do Carol any good."
"True." Brown brought the van down into a shopping center parking lot and cut the engine. "Stay right here. Be back in a few minutes."
Randy nodded. "I won't move."
"I've heard that before." Brown pulled off the lab coat. "Put this on. Damn! I wish I had something less conspicuous to wear."
Randy put on the coat and reached into the bottom of the van. "Here's something."
Randy's find proved to be a ragged sweater, filthy from the floor upon which it had lain. There were holes in both elbows.
"It'll do." Tyler threw off his blue and gold uniform coat and pulled on the sweater, buttoning it all the way down the front. It was much too big for him, of course, but he rolled up the sleeves and ran a hand through his neatly combed hair, mussing it. "There. How do I look?"
"Like a tramp."
"Good. As long as I don't look like a cop. How about the trousers?"
"No one's going to look at them while you have that thing on, and the bristles add a touch of realism."
Tyler ran a hand across his jaw. "Good. Back in a minute." He jumped from the van and trotted across the lot toward the shopping center.
**********
Randy relaxed in the seat, trying not to worry. Tyler would be all right, he assured himself. No one would recognize him as the hunted cop on the video the night before. Why, it was more of a risk to be sitting here in the van, the name of which was probably being broadcast over every station on the planet right now...
Deliberately he turned his thoughts from that and reached for the shirt that had accompanied the doctor's slacks. He began to pull it clumsily on, favoring his hurt shoulder and wrist.
Carol Wong, the Chancellor's youngest daughter, was going to be kidnapped if they didn't somehow prevent it, he thought. If only there was some way to contact the Terran Underground! He and Tyler would become outlaws, members of a criminal organization, but then they were already outlaws, hunted by the Jils and the Terran cops alike. Their status would hardly change much if they joined the Underground. It might even improve.
His thoughts went to Tyler. Poor Ty, dragged unwittingly into this, his career ruined because of Randy's psychic abilities. Had Randy done wrong to involve him in this? Could he have managed on his own? Randy considered the idea coldly. Probably not, he decided unhappily. He was too inexperienced. Tyler was unquestionably the leader -- the older, more seasoned cop. He'd get them out of it, if anyone could.
Blasted Jils. Randy considered the aliens, calling them a few highly uncomplimentary names in his mind. First they had killed Jeanne and her death had left him alone in a way he could never explain, even to himself. For years no other girls had interested him. At last, more from a sense of duty and an attempt to ease the loneliness, he had begun dating again. Everyone had liked him. Everyone always liked him. Randy's dad had told him it was because he was an empath, and that, because of the empathy, he knew instinctively how to treat people in order to win their affection.
Tyler had been the exception, though. The man had seemed to dislike him intensely at first, but in spite of that, Randy had found himself liking Inspector Brown, as well as respecting him and sympathizing with him in his loss. And deep within him, somehow, the aching loss of his own wife had eased somewhat. And then had come that business in the Manhattan apartment building. He had saved Tyler's life. It had been pure instinct -- a flash of warning -- something that had happened many times previously, which had moved him to leap at his companion and hurl him from the line of fire. Tyler had been grateful, and had credited Randy with saving his life, but there had been no forethought in the action. Pure instinct, and nothing else, unlike what Tyler had done for him -- twice, now.
And still, although Tyler seemed to like him well enough, Randy could hardly ever pick up emotions from the man. It was frustrating. Everyone else was easy, but not Brown. There was a barrier around him. Had it been erected when Tyler's wife was killed, blocking out friendship and emotion of any sort for fear of another hurt? Randy knew about that all too well. Or was there something else involved?
Here came Tyler now, running lightly across the lot, the sweater flapping loosely around his compact, muscular form. He jumped nimbly into the van and tossed his purchases to the roomy seat. "Here. Have a look at those."
Randy extracted two huge, psychedelic decals from the bag. "Good grief! Well, we sure won't look like a laundry truck anymore!"
"The selection was a bit limited. It was that, or a pair of nudes. I figured this would draw less attention."
Randy found himself laughing, the movement sending small, sharp pains through his head. "What's in the other bag?"
"Street clothes for me and a shirt for you. That one's too fancy for the way you look, right now, and a lot too big. Get dressed while I conceal the evidence." He jumped from the van, a decal clutched in either hand.
Slowly, Randy removed the too large shirt and fished in the bag for Brown's purchase. It was an ordinary, long-sleeved polo shirt, but it was still too large -- just not as large as the other. He began to do up the buttons at the neck and rolled up the sleeves once.
Tyler opened the door and jumped to the seat of the van again. "Job's done. We look like a couple of delinquents..." He surveyed Randy and grinned. "Too big, huh? I got you a size smaller than I wear. What was that you were saying about not being that much littler than me?"
Randy made a face at him. "I'll bet yours are big, too. These things are cheap. Cheap clothes always run large."
Tyler chuckled and pulled clothing out for himself. "Well, I didn't have that much cash on me, you know. I didn't realize what I was in for when you came bursting in, and anyway, I'd just finished grocery shopping..." He stopped, looking silly. "Damn!"
"What?"
"You put on the shirt I got for me."
"Oh, yeah?" Randy laughed, beginning to strip it off. "Here."
The second shirt fit better, although it was still a trifle large. Tyler looked like a punk in his new outfit. The dark pullover sweater that he slipped on over the shirt outlined his well-muscled shoulders, and the dark growth of beard was now very noticeable. Randy carefully pulled on the sweater that Brown had bought for him. It was too big. Oh well, it didn't really matter.
"I hope the cops don't stop us just on principle," Randy said. "I probably would if I saw a van like this with a couple of guys dressed like us in it."
"No you wouldn't," Brown said. "I've never known you to judge anybody by appearance, and we'll behave ourselves and not attract attention. I got you some tennis shoes, too. Dig 'em out of the bottom of the bag."
Randy did. "You practically bought me the whole wardrobe."
"Had to. Couldn't let you go bumming around the way you were. You'd get frostbitten."
Randy laughed again and then sobered. "Let's go."
"Sure. How do the shoes fit?"
"A little big. They're okay."
"That was the smallest size on the shelf. I did my best."
"It's not unusual. My feet are used to it."
The van soared upward. Tyler glanced at him and grinned. "You have a knack of knowing how to make people feel better. Has anyone ever told you that?"
"It's the degenerate empath in me. I can't help it."
"Nice talent to have. Wish I had it."
"It's a mixed blessing, you know."
"What? Being an empath?"
"Sure. Sometimes I feel sorry for people who don't deserve it. Kind of hard to be a cop and an empath at the same time."
"Yeah, I guess. I didn't think of that." Tyler paused. "You do okay, though, empathy or no. I've never seen you weaken at a vital moment."
Randy shrugged. "I only weaken on the inside. There's the prep school ahead."
"Yeah. Now we just have to find the chick."
"I think we should put in that call."
"Yeah, me too." Tyler brought the van down beside a videophone booth and got out. Randy remained where he was, looking warily around. His nerves were on edge.
Tyler was in the booth, inserting coins into the slot. Randy closed his eyes, reaching out mentally to the presences around him. Students passed on the slidewalks, glancing curiously at the van. In his mind's eye he could see them, and half see their thoughts. They were preoccupied with the things students usually think of -- assignments, girl and boyfriends, political issues, and sex.
Through the partially open window, Tyler's voice reached him faintly. His partner was speaking to someone but, as usual, Randy could pick up no emanations from Tyler's mind. He opened his eyes. A girl was passing, smiling at him. He smiled back, feeling her interest in him, and enjoying it.
His nerves were still jumping, and a sense of urgency was growing in him. Somewhere inside him there was a little voice, telling him that they were running out of time. Tyler was still speaking into the videophone. The sensation was magnifying, and fear ran along his skin, lifting the hair on his head. Before he realized what he was doing, he had pulled the door open. "Ty!"
He saw Brown's face jerk around. Their eyes connected, and he saw the puzzled expression change instantly to understanding. Tyler slammed down the receiver and ran toward him.
"Hurry, Ty!"
Brown was leaping into the van. "They're coming?"
"Hurry!"
"Where?"
"I don't know...yes I do! Straight ahead!"
The van surged forward.
Randy reached out, searching. There was a psychic mind somewhere nearby, and, straight ahead, a sensation of violence and apprehension. "Around that corner!"
Tyler took them around the corner so hard Randy felt the safety webbing catch him as he slid. Before them was a large, low building, and students were emerging from it in droves.
The danger was intensifying, and Randy couldn't restrain a gasp. Tyler swore unimaginatively, and somewhere ahead there was the sharp crack of a blaster.
"It's on!" Tyler sent the van forward full speed, and Randy saw ahead the blue crackle of blaster fire against the snow. Someone screamed. A young, dark-haired girl was ducking sideways, scrambling for cover, and students scattered from the scene, screaming and shouting. A car had pulled up to the curb below, and three men were emerging from it, blasters in hand. One jumped for the girl, whom Randy now recognized as Chancellor Wong's daughter.
The security men guarding the girl were rushing forward, but on the lawn below Randy could see the bodies of three more men in the same uniform, sprawled unmoving. The remaining three hastened to surround the girl, their blasters out and pointed, incredibly, in her direction.
"The damned guards are in on it!" Tyler said. The van dove toward the scene, air whistling past the windows. Faces turned up to them, mouths agape, and blasters came up, firing.
Randy didn't need Tyler to tell him what to do. With one hand he pressed the emergency override button, opening the door of the airvan. The kidnappers dived for cover as the vehicle screamed past, slowed abruptly, and slewed around just above the dark-haired girl. Her face came up, and she threw her arms up to him, screaming something Randy couldn't hear. Her hand closed on his, gripping convulsively.
The van swerved wildly, lunged forward, dragging the girl along, then swooped upward again, engines snarling in protest. Randy's arm was nearly ripped from its socket as her full weight was suddenly thrown on it, but he gritted his teeth and held on grimly as the van accelerated upward, gaining altitude and speed. A blaster cracked behind them and the shot struck the open door. The girl screamed breathlessly, and the metal of the door warped beneath the heat of the beam.
The rescued girl was suddenly limp in his hold, her hand relaxing. Randy gripped tighter. "Ty!" he gasped.
Tyler reached across, caught her wrist, and lifted her bodily inside. She slumped across Randy's lap, her form quiet and unresponsive. Randy leaned over and tried to pull the door shut.
The warped metal prevented him. After two attempts he gave up and lifted the girl to the seat beside him.
Carol Wong lay quiet, her head lolling. Randy reached for her wrist, locating her pulse after a moment.
"How is she?" Tyler asked.
"I don't know. They got her." Randy began to pull off the furry jacket. The evidence of the blaster burn showed clearly on the fur, but the major damage appeared to be her leg. The beam had apparently caught her just above the kneecap, burning away the material of her jeans and searing the skin beneath. A swelling bruise was becoming evident over one eye, and blood trickled from both nostrils.
"How bad!" Tyler glanced in the rear view mirror. "I don't see anyone after us...not yet, anyway."
"We took 'em by surprise. They weren't expecting rescue from the skies." Randy bent over the Chancellor's daughter again. "It's bad. She's got a blaster burn on her leg, and a big bump between her eyes. I think the door hit her when that guy fired the last time."
"Check her pupils."
"I did. They're fine, but she's out cold."
"Damn!"
"We'll have to get her to a doctor."
"A doctor? We can't do that. We're wanted criminals, remember?"
"But..." Randy looked down at Carol, and a sensation crawled over his skin. He concentrated a moment, and suspicion became certainty. "Ty..."
"What?"
"She's a psychic."
"Huh? Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure."
Randy heard Tyler say something under his breath. "Well, now we know why the Jils were after her."
"Yeah." Randy considered the matter. "It wouldn't look real good for Terra if one of our leader's kids turns out to be a degenerate psychic."
"That's for sure."
"Most people don't believe that stuff, though."
Tyler raised a cynical eyebrow. "There's plenty of chowderheads around -- people who believe everything they read, and never take a moment to really think an issue out -- enough to make problems if this become public knowledge. And the Jils want to get Wong out of office. He's too tough, and they can't bully him the way they'd like to. If they could just discredit him enough that he'd be ousted, they could stick one of their puppets in his place."
"Yeah, I get it. Damned Jils!"
"I was thinking of less complimentary things. But there's more. Psychics run in families. If this girl's a psychic, that means one or both of her parents are also psychics."
Randy considered the statement. "They can't be."
"Why?"
"Think about it. Both Mrs. Wong and the Chancellor are really good-sized people. I read somewhere that he's close to two meters tall, and she comes past his shoulder."
"You're right. And they've produced a psychic kid. Either that, or Mrs. Wong's been fooling around on her husband."
"I don't believe that," Randy said.
"She might. First Ladies are human, too, and the Chancellor's away from home a lot in his job. Nice scandal for the Jils to drop in our laps, huh?"
"It couldn't be. Look, it must be possible for two nons to produce a psychic. She looks like her dad."
Tyler looked dubious, then shrugged. "I've always heard it isn't, but maybe you're right. Wouldn't be the first time some inaccurate information got spread around about psychics. Let's hope so." He glanced over at the girl and wiped blood from her upper lip with his hand. "How old do you suppose she is?"
"She's fifteen," Randy said.
"How do you know?"
"I remember when she was born. It was my seventh birthday."
"Hey, no kidding?"
"No kidding. My dad took me to the amusement park, and I got sick on the Ferris wheel. I remember it like it was yesterday." Randy stretched the girl out on the seat, examining her features. She was tiny and delicate boned, as expected, and her straight, dark hair was tied back from her face and allowed to fall freely to her waist. The section above her forehead was sticky with blood. "She's got another cut -- just above the hairline. Looks kind of deep."
"Great. Can you patch her up?"
"Some, but we'd better manage a doctor somehow. If she dies, we're in real trouble." He swabbed the blood from her hair. "How about an emergency room? We don't have to tell them who she is."
"It won't wash. That damned Jil operative's going to be watching for her. Besides, someone might recognize us and call the cops. They'd have to do that, anyway. The girl has an obvious blaster burn. Blaster burns have to be reported. One way or another, we'd be questioned, and we can't just leave her. That Jil op'll be monitoring every broadcast the cops make. We've got to get a private doctor and take the guy with us. An emergency room ought to do for that. They usually have a doc standing by. We'll just have to pick a small hospital that won't have a million employees hanging around to ask embarrassing questions."
Randy looked down at the glimmering lights below. "Head west. There should be lots of small communities there, with private hospitals there are bound to be quiet. At least, I hope so."
"Okay. Do what you can for her in the meantime. Damn! Isn't there even an emergency kit in this thing?"
Randy opened the glove compartment and rummaged through it. "Nothing but candy bars and magazines." Carefully he elevated the girl's feet in his lap and reached clumsily into the back of the van, drawing crumpled sheets and blankets from a laundry bag. Icy air whistled through the damaged door, and even unconscious, the girl was shivering. Randy wrapped her snugly in the blankets, noting with concern her increasing pallor. He felt her pulse. Rapid and weak. "She's going into shock."
Tyler scanned the landscape beneath. They were beyond the city now, and scattered houses and buildings showed the outskirts of the town. Snowflakes whirled past the van, and the wind was picking up.
"Not here," Tyler said. "We'll have to get farther away. Ten more minutes, maybe."
Randy looked at the girl. "She doesn't look good."
"A few minutes more. She'll be okay. People survive worse injuries all the time."
They flew on in silence, except for the slap of snow against the window. The wind was definitely increasing, and so was the precipitation. Flakes swirled thickly on the windshield.
Beneath them the landscape now consisted of rolling farmlands. To their right, lights blinked through the storm.
"There's a town," Randy said. "There might be a hospital."
"Okay." Tyler altered course and a few moments later they were over a small community.
"Look, I think that's a hospital?"
Tyler peered down at the low, nondescript building. "Could be. I'll get closer." The van circled down. "Rockland Community Hospital. Just what the doctor ordered, and let's hope there's a doctor around."
"There's the emergency room entrance."
Tyler drew a breath and settled the van into the emergency parking area. "Okay, you stay put. I'll go get our man."
"I'll go," Randy said.
"With your bandages? They'll be treating you before you can get a word out. I'm the one. Be just a minute. Be ready to back me up when he catches on."
Randy gave up the attempt. "Be careful."
Tyler jumped from the van and headed for the building at a trot.
tbc
