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Cops and Robbers: 6/7
by Linda Garrick
Revised and edited by Nancy Smith

VIII

"West a little," Alan said from his slumped position on the seat. "He's still moving."

Mark adjusted their course, glancing at his chronometer. "It's nearly noon. Damn! I'm shot. Feel like I could sleep for a week. Where th'hell is this guy leadin' us?"

Alan was too tired to answer. His whole consciousness was centered on the tenuous guide. Through that consciousness, very subtly, there intruded a presence, and at the touch of that presence a thrill of alarm shot through him. His shields snapped shut. Mark jerked at the same instant and swore. "Jil?"

"Yeah." Alan steadied his voice through willpower alone. "Another one! Oh, drat! Drat! Drat! Drat!"

"Watch the language," Mark told him. "M'ears are burnin'. They probably called in the troops when ol' Linthvar got winged. Damn! They didn't waste no time, did they?"

"They sure didn't. He must be tracing our cop again. Wonder what they've got to do it with this time."

"They got their pick. They can get into his apartment, an' we can't."

"I suppose. They sure aren't giving up easily, are they?"

"Uh uh. How close is he?"

"Uh..." Cautiously Alan opened his shields. Again, almost immediately, he touched the alien's mind. It leaped toward him, darting, searching, eager for the kill. Alan's shields snapped shut a second time.

"He's close." Alan found that he had clenched both fists. "Almost as close as our cop. He feels pretty powerful, too -- very strong aura. Almost as good as Halthzor's."

Mark glanced sharply at him. "You sure it ain't him?"

"Yes. He's strong, but it's not the same. Besides, what would the Viceroy be doing chasing us through the Terran countryside? You know, it's kind of weird, but it still feels sort of like Linthvar. Linthvar's sort of a weak telepath, you know, and this guy is kind of like a real powerful Linthvar."

"Could be a relative of his. If it is, he's probably mad as hell at you for puttin' his kinsman in the hospital."

"It could be, I guess." Somehow, Alan had never figured on Linthvar having a relative with a mind like this one.

"You never know with Jils. Am I still headed right?"

Cautiously Alan opened his shields again, checking his direction. He touched the Terran psychic's mind, and an instant later felt the seeking quiver of the Jil's consciousness. He snapped his shields shut, the reflex as automatic as blinking.

"North a little," he said.

Linley adjusted their course again and there was silence, except for the slap of snow on the windshield.

Mark cleared his throat. "You say this Jil is powerful. Think he might o' figured out who you are?"

Alan had been considering the possibility. "Well, he knows I'm a trained psychic. Linthvar didn't even pick that up when he was right beside us. Of course, with Linthvar I was trying to fool him."

"But if this character's pickin' up your mind the way you're pickin' up his, he might start gettin' a little suspicious by now."

"I know, but what can I do? I have to keep opening my shields to trace Madison, and every time I do, he senses me."

"Yeah. Y'know, I'm gettin' real interested in this Madison guy. The Jils are goin' to a helluva lotta trouble tryin' t'get their paws on him. He must be awful important. Am I headin' right? There's a Prep school straight ahead."

Alan squinted at the sign. "Blake Preparatory College..." A bell rang in his memory. "This is where one of the Chancellor's kids goes to school."

"Huh? You sure?"

"Yes." Carefully, Alan checked their direction, managing this time to shut out the Jilectan's mind before it touched his. "We're headed right. There's something nasty going on here."

"Yeah, no kiddin'."

Linley sent the vehicle ahead as fast as possible. Alan opened his shields to check their direction, and gave an involuntary gasp at the vivid sensation of desperate urgency from Madison's mind. The Jil had sensed it, too, and was homing in on it rapidly.

"What is it?" Mark asked.

"I'm not sure. Something's wrong." Alan grimaced at the sensation. "Hurry. He's straight ahead. A little to the right, now." The Jil was still there, but his mind was ignoring Alan, aware of the Terran psychic's approach, but disregarding it for the moment. "Holy space! There's trouble! A little to the right again. Randy!" He heard his own voice speaking aloud in an attempt to contact the other psychic. "Listen to me! We're coming for you! Hang on!"

There was a vivid sensation of their quarry reaching downward, and a sudden heavy weight on his arms. Mark gave an exclamation. "Look! There's shootin'!"

Alan opened his eyes. Ahead was a long, low building, and before it milled a crowd of people. Bodies lay on the sidewalk, and even as they approached, police and emergency vehicles roared up beside it. Uniformed figures hopped out.

"Trouble in spades." Mark circled the car over the scene. "Is our cop down there?"

"No. He's heading northwest. Something happened here, though. Do we stay and find out what it was, or go on?"

"We must'a almost had him, dammit!"

"For the third time," Alan said wryly. "This is getting to be a familiar pattern, isn't it?"

"How far away is he?"

"Just a kilometer or so. We should still be able to catch him. Blast that Jil! Every time I open my shields, he's after me again. He quit for a few minutes, but now he's back. I think he's around here somewhere."

"Then let's get outta here."

"I'm with you." Alan opened his shields again, checking the alien's location.
"He's farther away, now. I think he's after our cop again."

"Then let's get goin'..."

"Wait!"

"What?"

"That wounded man down there. I just read him. He was a bodyguard to the Chancellor's daughter, Carol. She's been kidnapped."

"Holy hell!"

Alan concentrated again, feeling the flicker of the Jilectan's mind. "He isn't sure exactly what happened. A car showed up, and some men tried to grab her. He jumped forward to protect her, and one of the other security men shot him. Then another car showed up, and there was a lot of confusion. Then one of the cars -- or maybe it was a van -- took off, and a minute later the other one took off, too. The girl was gone, and he doesn't know what happened to her." Alan grimaced. "Poor guy."

"Let's head after our cop again. Betcha anythin' he can tell us what happened."

"You're right...whoops. Look out. We've attracted attention."

A police car was moving toward them, its red light flashing. "Oh great. Just what we need. Good thing you got rid of that Patrol outfit. I sure hope he doesn't recognize us."

"I hope that damned Jil don't catch our cop while we're stalled here." Mark settled the car to the street.

Alan relaxed back in his seat, assuming what he hoped was an interested but unworried expression. Mark lowered the window as the policeman approached.

"Hello, officer," Alan said.

"Out of the car -- both of you!"

Alan and Mark complied. Alan lowered his shields. The Jils' mind was farther away now -- far enough that he felt safe keeping his shields down. The officer, he saw, was upset, mildly suspicious, and worried about his girlfriend, whom he suspected was seeing another man...

"Your identification!"

They produced it. Alan spoke, knowing that his Terran accent was less likely to cause comment than Linley's heavily accented Shallockian speech.

"What's going on, Officer? It looks like something big. Was it a gang shootout or something?"

The cop was examining their forged I.D.'s. "Never mind. What were you doing here? What's your business?"

"We just saw all the excitement and..." Alan shrugged, trying to look sheepish. "Sorry, sir."

"All right." Their I.D.s were thrust back at them. "Get out of here, now. This is none of your business."

"No sir. Sorry, Officer." Alan climbed back into the car and Mark followed. Their vehicle rose quietly into the air and circled away from the scene.

"Well?" Mark said.

"It was the Chancellor's daughter, all right, but he...Officer Connors...wasn't sure what happened, and nobody else is, either. Only three of the girl's bodyguards could be found, and two of 'em are dead. The third's on his way to the hospital, too badly hurt to answer questions yet. That's all Connors knows."

"Damn! Let's find Madison."

"Right. Back to business. Northwest a little more, I think. He's really moving."

Snow spattered against the windshield and the wind buffeted the little craft. Mark swore under his breath. "Helluva lot of snow. It's gonna make things more difficult, as if they wasn't bad enough. Our Jil still hangin' on back there?"
"Yes. I sense him every time I open my shields. I think he's sort of cater-cornered to us -- off to the west a bit, but heading toward Madison just like us."

"Terrific." Linley glanced at his chronometer. "I sure hope this guy's worth it when we find him."

"I have a hunch he will be. A little more to the north."

IX


Tyler Brown pushed open the door to the emergency room and found himself in a small waiting area. A young woman, seated behind a glass covered reception window, glanced up. "Yes? May I help you?"

"My wife's having a baby in the car!" Tyler said. "Get the doctor, quick!"

The woman came to her feet, pressing a button on the panel before her. A moment later a door slid aside and a man, wearing a lab coat, emerged. The woman from the reception desk was beside him. "He says his wife's having a baby in the car, doctor."

The man said something under his breath, snatched a small kit from a recessed alcove and headed for the door. "Come on, nurse!"

Tyler led the way, the doctor and nurse following. He reached door of the van and yanked it open, drawing his blaster at the same instant. "Inside!" he snapped. "Quick!"

For an instant neither of the moved, both staring with white, astounded faces. Then the woman obeyed, climbing into the van. Randy reached out his good hand to help her, and Tyler heard him speaking apologetically.

The doctor had not moved, and was staring at the weapon as though mesmerized.

Tyler gestured again. "I said into the van, Doctor. Move it!"

"Doctor, snap out of it!" the woman cried, her voice edging toward hysteria.
The doctor seemed to comprehend at last. He climbed into the vehicle and Tyler jumped in after him, his weapon still steady on his two captives. Randy hit the accelerator and the craft soared upward, leveling off a moment later.

The doctor found his voice. "What do you want? If it's drugs, you're out of luck. We carry only standard meds in these kits -- no narcotics or anything like that."

"It's not drugs," Randy said. "We need medical help, and we're in no position to get it through standard methods. The girl's hurt."

The doctor glanced at Carol. "What happened to her?"

"Blaster burn, and she hit her head." Randy lifted the Chancellor's daughter slightly, placing her feet on the seat and peeling back the burned material.

The doctor muttered under his breath. "Blaster burn. Robbery attempt?"

"Kidnapping," Randy said. "Never mind the details. Just treat her."

"And if I refuse?"

Tyler shoved the blaster against the doctor's side. "Does this answer your question?"

The woman drew in her breath sharply. "For God's sake, doctor, do as they say! Are you trying to get us both killed?" She turned to Randy. "I'll take care of her. I'm a nurse."

"Shut up, Jennings!" the doctor snapped. "Don't lose your head, or you'll be the one getting us killed." He spoke to Tyler. "These are rather poor conditions, you know. The girl's in shock. Can't you close the door?"

"No," Randy said. "The kidnappers hit it with a blaster bolt."

"Well, we need to get her someplace where she can lie down in comfort." The doctor's tone was sullen. "She's in shock, and right now that's more life threatening then the burn -- or the head injury."

"I know." Randy glanced at Tyler.

"I'm looking." Brown studied the scanners. "We're going to have to stop, anyway. This storm's turning into a blizzard." He gritted his teeth as the big van was blown sideways by the wind. The doctor cursed and he heard the nurse inhale sharply. The van steadied again.

The nurse was running a scanner across the Chancellor's daughter's neck and face. "Poor vitals, doctor. Pulse 128, BP 82/40 and dropping. Temp 33 degrees."

The doctor muttered under his breath again and burrowed through the medical bag. Tyler paid no attention, for ahead the scanners now showed the faint blurry outline of a building. The wind tossed them sideways again, and he righted them by sheer will power, then dropped the craft lower, squinting through the driving snow. A small, broken down shack came into view, it's door sagging open.

"Looks deserted," Randy commented hopefully.

"Looks cold, too, but maybe we can manage something." Tyler settled the car into the snow and spoke to Randy. "Watch 'em. I'll check it out."

Randy produced one of the weapons they had taken from Doctor Aaron. "We'll be fine. Go ahead."

Tyler jumped from the van and headed for the building. Snow whipped his face, stinging his eyes, and he sank into the snow to his knees with every step. Ahead the structure loomed closer, and he stumbled up to a rickety porch. Pulling the sagging door wide, he peered within.

The place was empty. It consisted of a single room with a rotting wooden floor, coated with dirt and littered with frozen, decaying leaves and dirt. The single window was broken, but an ancient fireplace caught his eye. The place would do -- if they could manage to heat it up.

Behind him he heard a scream, faint through the howl of the wind. Spinning about he floundered back through the drifts toward the airvan.

"What's wrong?" He peered through the broken door, blinking snow from his lashes. Randy didn't turn his head.

"The doctor made a grab for the blaster. I had to stun him."

Tyler nodded, drawing a deep breath. The doctor was slumped forward across his patient's legs, and the nurse was staring at Randy, her eyes wide with fear.
He spoke to her reassuringly, if absently, then addressed Tyler again. "How's the place look?"

"It's a mess, but I think it'll do. Bring the nurse along, and I'll tote Carol in."

"What about Dr. Simons?" the nurse inquired in a low voice.

"I'll get him in a minute. Out of the car, now. Let's go."

She obeyed, and Brown reached in, lifted Carol in his arms and swung her to one shoulder. Her small body was utterly limp and felt cold to the touch. Tyler knew a pang of fear at the realization. Carol was hurt badly. She might die, and if she did, the blame would be placed squarely on the shoulders of Randolph Madison and Tyler Brown.

They reached the shack and Tyler carried the girl over beside the fireplace. Randy was busily clearing a place on the floor. "I'll take care of her. Go get some blankets. Hurry. Anything you can find."

Tyler ran back to the van and snatched bags of dirty linen from the rear. The doctor hadn't stirred, and for the moment Tyler let him lie. Stumbling, he ran back to their newfound shelter and dropped the bags on the floor. "Here. See what you can do with this."

"Thanks." Madison began pulling stained and crumpled linens from the nearest bag. The nurse bent over Carol, arranging her comfortably and tucking rolls of sheets beneath her feet.

"Wrap her tight," she ordered. "We've got to get her warm somehow. Where's Dr. Simons?"

"He should be coming to in a minute. I'll get him." Tyler went out into the storm once more.

The doctor, as he had predicted, was just beginning to stir, groaning miserably. He was a big man, and Brown knew it would be impossible to carry him through the snow to the shack. He'd have to walk.

Brown jumped behind the controls of the van and guided the vehicle forward into a mass of evergreens, concealing it from aerial view, should someone, by some unlucky chance, pass by overhead. By the time they were securely settled, the man had recovered sufficiently and was glaring at him.

Tyler gestured with the blaster. "Out, Mister. Walk."

The doctor obeyed, muttering imprecations under his breath. Tyler ignored it and hurried him toward the shack. They entered and Tyler closed the door behind them, using a soiled towel from the linen truck to wedge it shut.

It was dim in the cabin, but some light filtered in from the broken window -- enough to see by, anyway. Tyler gestured with the weapon again. "Get over there and help Miss Jennings."

Growling, the doctor went to kneel beside the Chancellor's daughter. Randy and the nurse had wrapped the patient tightly in blankets, leaving only the wounded leg free. The nurse was spreading burn salve over the wound, and Randy knelt beside her, holding a roll of bandage.

The nurse spoke to Dr. Simons. "Her vitals are improving, Doctor. BP now 92/52, pulse 112. Her temperature's come up to 35.2." Her eyes searched the man's face. "Do you think she's stable enough for a stimulant?"

Tyler spoke to Randy. "Keep 'em covered. I'm going to try to get some wood and warm this place up."

"Okay." Randy hardly glanced up. Tyler went out again and circled the house. As he had hoped, there was a small wood box wedged against one wall. Upon opening it, he discovered a stack of rotting wood. Heaving half a dozen logs into his arms, he headed back into the shack.

The scene was much the same as he had left it. The doctor crouched, shivering, beside the empty fireplace, sheets and blankets wrapped around him for warmth. He was rummaging through the emergency bag, and the nurse was finishing the bandaging job on the girl's injured leg. Randy knelt beside them, blaster in hand, but not pointed at either of the prisoners.

Tyler allowed the wood to crash to the floor, selected three good-sized pieces, and strode over to the pit. "Hang on. I'm going to warm this place up." He placed the tinder in the fireplace and adjusted the setting on his blaster.

"There. That should do it." He aimed at the wood and fired.

With a hiss and a sputter, the wood caught and blazed up, gloriously hot in the freezing cold room. The flames reflected the faces of the people, glinting on the nurse's brown hair and on the syringe in the doctor's hand.

"What are you doing, doctor?" the nurse asked.

The doctor didn't reply. He adjusted the fluid level in the syringe and started to pull the blanket away from the girl's shoulder.

"Doctor!" The nurse's protest drew their attention. Randy's face snapped around and his hand shot out, catching the man's wrist.

"Hold it, Doctor," he said quietly.

The doctor twisted suddenly jerking free of Randy's grasp. He rolled nimbly to his feet and made a dash for the door. Tyler's blaster hummed, and the beam caught the doctor in the legs. He stumbled and crashed forward onto the littered floor.

Randy picked up the syringe from the floor. He handed it to the nurse, then went over to the doctor, who was pushing himself to his elbows, shaking his head. He placed a hand on the man's face, concentrating. The doctor jerked away with an oath.

"Don't move, mister!" Tyler snapped.

Randy said nothing. He placed his hand on the man's face again, his mouth a grim line. Tyler watched him, feeling, not for the first time, a mixture of awe and respect for his young partner.

"Linafee," said Randy softly. "Twice the recommended dosage. It's a tranquilizer, and in Carol's condition, the drug almost certainly would have killed her. Dr. Simons was planning to try to escape when we became distracted by her death."

Dr. Simon's jaw dropped. Tyler growled softly. "What the hell kind of doctor are you, anyway?"

"A psychic!" the doctor hissed, staring at Randy in horror.

Tyler bent over the man, grasping him by the collar. "Listen, you idiot, do you know who this girl is?"

"Your daughter, no doubt!" the doctor snapped. "A father and daughter criminal team! How cozy!"

"She's Chancellor Wong's daughter, you nitwit!"

The nurse gave a shrill gasp. "I knew I'd seen her before. Dr. Simons, it's true! This is Carol Wong, the girl who was kidnapped! Remember? The newsflash came over the video just before...before all this started."

"Someone tried to kidnap her," Randy said, speaking levelly, his gaze on the nurse's face. "We saw it and prevented it."

"Oh, yeah sure you did!" Simons snapped. "That's why you had to kidnap a doctor and a nurse to take care of her!"

Tyler shoved the man to the floor. "Okay, Dr. Pinhead, I've had about all I can stand out of you. You give me just one excuse, and you get stunned again. Got it?" Without waiting for a reply, he turned to the nurse. "What's your name, Miss?"

"Yvonne Jennings," she replied, her voice low.

"Okay, Miss Jennings, I'm going to have to ask you to treat the girl. You're better qualified than anyone else here, including Dr. Pinhead over there. Don't worry. We aren't going to hurt you. After all this is over, you'll be released. I promise."

The doctor laughed sarcastically. In sudden fury, Tyler turned and fired a stunbolt. Simons collapsed to the floor. The nurse gasped shrilly.

"Easy," Randy said, his voice soothing. "Nothing is going to happen to you -- or to Dr. Simons, either. He's being a nuisance; that's all. If we were real villains, Yvonne, we'd have killed him for what he just tried, wouldn't we?"

She nodded, biting her lip, and bent over the emergency kit, withdrawing a syringe. Tyler watched as she measured the patient with her eyes. "I don't suppose you know how much she weighs?"

Tyler shrugged, smiling. "We just met her an hour ago. Haven't had a chance to ask her yet."

"About forty kilos, I'd say," Randy said.

The nurse nodded. "That's about what I figured." Carefully she injected the girl in her arm, then drew the blankets around her again. Tyler threw two more logs on the fire.

"How's she doing?"

The nurse checked the patient with the scanner again. "Her vital signs are definitely improving. She's warmer, too."

"Then what's wrong? Why doesn't she wake up?"

"The shock, I expect. Maybe the head injury. I don't know. I'd need other instruments to tell." The nurse hesitated, looking sideways at Randy. "You two don't look like very desperate criminals to me. But the doctor's right, you know. If you didn't kidnap her, why won't you take her to a hospital?"

The doctor groaned.

Randy shifted uncomfortably and glanced sideways at Tyler. Tyler shrugged. "You won't believe us, Miss."

"Try me."

Brown found himself looking at the nurse with more interest. In some ways she was rather like Mary. Her eyes reminded him of his dead wife, as well as her attitude concerning something she didn't understand. But there the resemblance ended. Yvonne was too tall -- at least half a head taller than he, and she was nowhere near as pretty as Mary had been.

The nurse leaned forward, eyes meeting his squarely. "Try me," she repeated. "Believe me, nurses hear all sorts of incredible things every day."

Randy spoke. "Miss Jennings, if we tell you the whole story, you'll be in danger from the Jilectans, just as we are."

She moved convulsively. "The Jilectans?"

"Yes. We're caught in a plot of theirs. I learned something I shouldn't have, and I told Tyler. We're a danger to them, and they're trying very hard to get rid of us."

"Which is why you're hiding?"

"Which is why we're hiding."

A pause. The doctor had ceased his retching and was watching Tyler balefully.

Yvonne turned back to Brown. "But what does this have to do with the Chancellor's daughter?"

Tyler hesitated, then shook his head. "If we tell you any more, you'll be in danger, too."

The doctor swore under his breath. "And if you believe all that, Yvonne, m'dear, you're a bigger fool than I thought."

She looked at him with a trace of annoyance. "If I were you, I'd keep quiet, doctor."

The man scowled at her. "Getting real chummy with our kidnappers, aren't you, dear?"

"Shut up, doctor," Tyler said. He threw a last chunk of wood on the fire. It blazed up, driving back the cold. On the floor, the Chancellor's daughter moaned softly. The nurse bent over her again, checking her vital signs.

"Carol," she said softly. "Open your eyes."

Another moan. The girl's lips moved and shaped the word, "Mom".

The nurse straightened up, smiling. "She should be waking up soon. I think she's going to be all right."

"I'll get some more wood." Tyler stood up. "Watch Dr. Pinhead."

"I will," Randy said.


X

"Where are we?" Alan asked.

Mark checked their location on the computer. "Upstate New York. Man! Whatta place!" He swore wearily as the wind tossed the car sideways for the twentieth time. "We're gonna hafta land soon. We can't keep goin' in this stuff."

"We're close," Alan said. "I don't want to quit now."

Linley mangled his lower lip and glanced at his partner. Alan's face, framed by the fur hood, was white with strain and exhaustion. His eyes were dark smudges against it. For a second those eyes widened and dilated, becoming unfocused. The link quivered on the edge of awareness, then faded. Alan's eyes focused again.
"He's straight ahead, and the Jil's a lot closer, too. He hasn't stopped."

Linley groaned. "We need help. They gotta send somebody." He tapped the transmit control on the com. "Colonel Katalin, can you read me? Come in!"

A roar of static answered. Mark tried again, this time giving their approximate location on the outside chance the transmission was somehow getting through.

Alan shifted uneasily. "Mark..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm getting a warning." His head jerked up. "Look out!"

"Huh? What?"

Alan grabbed for the controls, and, at the same instant, a gust of wind tossed them hard to the side. Alan cried out, and the link closed with an almost physical impact.

Another vehicle loomed out of the storm before them. The scanner detected it at the same instant and an alarm shrilled on the control board.

The other car was clearly out of control, bucking wildly in the wind, its headlights glaring at a crazy angle out of the howling snow. Alan shouted something, trying to pull them to one side.

Mark had a confused impression of the sleek, golden body of a Jilectan limousine an instant before the craft collided decisively with their front fender. There was a crash and the sickening crunch of rending metal. Mark felt himself thrown forward, the safety webbing receiving him tenderly. Something cracked him between the eyes. He saw stars, and Alan's link with him was abruptly gone.

It was not he who had been hit, he realized blearily, but Alan. He had felt the impact through the link.

But there was no time for deeper thought. Their aircar bounced sideways, ricocheted off the much larger vehicle, and careened wildly away. They landed hard in the snow, skidded crazily forward, sideswiped a tree, bucked madly for a moment as Mark fought for control, and at last came to a stop, the car's nose buried in a snow bank.

Mark sat still for a moment, trying to regain his breath. Except for the howling blizzard without, all was very still. Alan was slumped limply forward in the seat beside him, his body supported by the safety webbing.

"Kid? You okay?"

No reply. Mark unfastened his own webbing, feeling pain in the left side of his face, although he could not remember hitting anything. The knuckles of his right hand were scraped and bleeding, and the wrist was also scraped raw. He hadn't felt that, either.

The emergency kit lay on the seat between them, the lid ajar, and its contents strewn around the cabin. The kit was probably the object which had struck Alan during the crash, he realized belatedly. His partner was always terrible about putting things away.

"Alan, are you okay? Answer me!"

Alan didn't respond. Mark checked him over quickly, determining that he was still breathing. A large goose egg adorned his forehead, right between the eyes. Aside from that, he could find no injuries. Undoubtedly he would come to in time and until he did, it was up to Mark alone to see that neither of them was taken alive.

He peered out the frost-covered window and saw, almost at once, the dark shape of the Jilectan limousine. It was perhaps four meters away, and had clearly made a much worse landing than they had. The craft had come to rest upside down in a snowdrift, its entire front crumpled against a tree. One door hung open at a mad angle. There was no sign of life, but, of course that certainly didn't mean that everyone was dead.

And if anyone was still alive, it was probably the Jil, Mark decided bleakly. And no Jil was going to risk his golden skin attempting to apprehend desperate criminals single-handed. Of course, it was equally possible that one or more patrolmen were also still alive and functional. There was no way he could know without Alan to help him.

"Alan, wake up!" He touched his partner's shoulder. "Kid, please! I gotta have help."

No response. Mark turned desperately to the silent controls and pressed buttons, willing some response. The engine gave a faint groan and went silent. Damn!

What should he do? Venturing out into the storm might well mean death for both of them, but if they remained here they might be captured at any time. And death by freezing was infinitely preferable to death at the hands of the Jils. Alternately, however, retreat might at this point be completely unnecessary. Everyone in the limo might be dead.

Or alive...

Every second he waited could be fatal, he told himself. He and Alan were warmly clad. As long as he kept moving, they should be all right. The Underground must know by now that they were in trouble. Even if his broadcast had failed to get through, the lack of communication would send Katalin scurrying for a psychic tracer. But with the storm and all, it could be hours.

And he couldn't wait. He didn't dare. Moving quickly, now that his mind was made up, Mark released Alan's safety webbing and hefted his partner across the seat toward him.

And froze. Through the dancing snow, he could just make out the shape of a human being emerging from the overturned vehicle.

XI

Marvin C. Wendlemere groaned. He opened his eyes and blinked, aware dimly that something was vastly wrong. He was terribly uncomfortable, and his head throbbed like a trip hammer. His eyes refused to focus.

After an eternity, he came to the conclusion that he was upside down. Around him, his foggy surroundings were gradually solidifying. The control panel of the limousine came into view.

There had been an accident. Dimly now, he recalled the other vehicle careening wildly out of the blizzard, the driver's mad attempt to avoid the collision, and after that, only darkness. How long had it been?

His chronometer informed him that it was nearly 1430 hours, Terran time. So he'd been unconscious only a few minutes. Something warm was running into his eyes and a salty taste was in his mouth.

Assorted moans of pain reached him, and through the gaping door beside him, the blizzard howled in.

He turned his head. Beside him another patrolman hung head down from the seat. The man was badly hurt, blood welling from a deep cut over one eye and dripping from his hair. His eyes were closed, his face ashen pale. Beyond him, Wendlemere could make out the form of another patrolman, this one writhing weakly in the safety webbing and swearing feebly.

There had been a third patrolman, too, hadn't there? Yes, of course there had. The man had been jammed between Wendlemere and another patrolman, and had not been fastened in with the webbing. There were only three safety webs in the front, and, of course, the Jilectan would permit no Terran to share the rear seat with him.

Wendlemere located the third man then, crumpled on the ceiling, which had now become the floor of the vehicle. The fellow's head was a shattered ruin beneath the dislodged helmet, and there was no sign of life. Wendlemere swallowed convulsively. Poor jerk. Well, those were the breaks when you worked for the Jils...

And where was Agrinthvar? Wendlemere tried to twist around, and the movement sent wracking pains through his ribs. He took a deep breath, which terminated in a spasm of coughing.

From behind him came the Jilectan's voice, sounding weak and pained. "Help me, Terran! I am injured!"

Again Wendlemere tried to turn and failed. Gritting his teeth, he reached up, attempting to unfasten his safety webbing. On the third try he made it, and the fastening came free. He tried to let himself down slowly, but lost his grip and fell with a crash on top of the dead patrolman.

Groaning between clenched teeth, he wiggled free and made it to his feet. His head throbbed, and one ankle twinged agonizingly when he tried to put his weight on it. Blood dripped on him from the two men still suspended above him.

Now he saw the Jilectan for the first time. The big alien also hung head down, suspended by his safety webbing. The broad, handsome face had been cut badly, and Wendlemere could make out little, except for the blood. The alien's fine clothing was torn in several places and soiled with blood from his injuries.

"Help me, Terran!"

"I'm coming, Milord." Wendlemere tried desperately to reach him, but the seat was too high. "Try to release your webbing, Milord. I can't reach you."

The Jilectan groaned. "Help me, Terran, at once!"

"Yes, Milord." Frantically Wendlemere caught the edge of the rear window and managed to pull himself up, trying to steady himself with a strap from his now vacant safety webbing. His injuries protested, but somehow he managed to reach Lord Agrinthvar's webbing and release it. The Jilectan fell with a crash.

"Milord! Milord, are you hurt?"

The Jilectan groaned and struck at him, barely missing his face. "You hopeless fool!"

"Beg pardon, Milord. Your face is cut. Please lie still while I bandage you."

"My face?" The Jilectan's eyes fixed his. "How badly? Will there be scarring?"

Wendlemere had forgotten how hung up on his appearance old Agrinthvar was. "It's possible, Milord, but with a good plastic surgeon..."

Agrinthvar grasped him by the coat, yanking him forward, and Wendlemere felt the Jilectan's mind probe touch his shields. Automatically he relaxed them, allowing the alien to invade his thoughts, and hating the sensation. Agrinthvar's features contorted with fury.

"I am scarred!" he wailed. "Those outlaws will pay for this! Where are they?" He peered from the gaping door.

"Their car is over there, M'lord," Wendlemere told him. "I can see it."

The conscious patrolman was fumbling with his safety webbing and finally managed to loosen it. He tumbled down beside Agrinthvar with an agonized groan. The Jilectan didn't seem to notice. He spoke to Wendlemere. "Go, Terran! Capture the outlaws!"

"Milord, please, I..."

"Go, Terran! I command you!"

"Milord, please listen. Be reasonable. Those are members of the Terran Underground -- Terran psychics. They..."

"GO!"

Wendlemere gulped, slipping his blaster from its shoulder holster, a vision of himself single handedly charging an aircar filled with desperate Undergrounders flitting through his mind. Maybe he should defect after all. This job was really getting to be a little much. "Yes, Milord."

He eased himself over to the open door, the blaster clutched firmly in his hand. He could just make out the shape of the Underground's vehicle through the whirling snow. There was no sign of life. With extreme caution, he eased himself through the open door.

Blue flame licked savagely toward him, and snow exploded into steam almost at his feet. He dodged to one side and floundered through drifts to get behind the limousine. Flame licked at his heels as he took refuge there, his body shielded by the aircar's bulk.

Very cautiously, then, he peered around the side of the craft, trying to catch a glimpse of his assailant. For a moment he caught a flicker of movement, which vanished instantly. Taking careful aim, he fired.

There was an angry hiss, succeeded by a billowing cloud of steam, and then silence except for the howling of the wind. Wendlemere swore softly. The Jil obviously wasn't thinking rationally. How could Wendlemere possibly capture an aircar full of desperate Undergrounders all alone? The alien's injuries must have temporarily unbalanced him -- not that he had seemed particularly well balanced to begin with.

There was no sound or movement from the other aircar. Wendlemere fired again, and watched the steam billow and swirl away to dissipate in the hellish wind. This was futile. How could he...

The door beside him opened and a patrolman catapulted out. The figure landed in a roll and came to a sitting position and cursing breathlessly.

"Over here," Wendlemere croaked.

The man crawled toward him. "That Jil's crazy, Mr. Wendlemere. He's all upset about his face bein' cut up. He told me t'get out here an' help you. He told poor Tim t'go too, but Tim's out cold."

The aircar door opened and two limp bodies catapulted out to land in the snow beside them. The door closed again. The patrolman said something between his teeth, and made a despairing gesture. "He's bats, Mr. Wendlemere. Damn! I hate this sort of spot." The kid was from Shallock, Wendlemere noted, and the youngsters from that world often seemed more resourceful to him, than the fellows from elsewhere. The young man uttered another short, indecent phrase under his breath, something that sounded halfway between an oath and a prayer. "Cover me, sir," he said suddenly.

"What are you..."

"Just cover me. If we don't try somethin' that Jil's gonna kill us, or else we're gonna freeze to death out here. Ready?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

The young man leaped forward over the vehicle to land, half buried, in the snow. As Wendlemere watched, amazed, he rolled rapidly sideways, came to his knees, and scrambled on hands and knees over a tree and flattened himself behind it.

Wendlemere fired three quick shots at the other aircar and ducked back, waiting. Nothing happened. Perhaps, even now, the Undergrounders were creeping into range, preparing to hurl an overloaded blaster at the helpless Jil limo...

The patrolman was moving again, and again Wendlemere leaned out to fire several shots.

Still nothing. Patrolman Hendricks was over halfway there, crawling on elbows and knees, and moving pretty well, in spite of his injuries. Wendlemere couldn't help but admire him. The kid was certainly distinguishing himself right now. He'd probably go far, if he survived this situation.

Quickly he fired another rapid burst of shots and ducked back. Again there was no response. Why didn't someone return the fire? The silence was eerie. Since those initial, nearly fatal shots, there had been nothing at all.

Hendricks reached the other car. With one hand he fumbled at the door and pulled it open, firing into the interior in the same motion. Wendlemere couldn't hear the hum of the stunbeam in the racket of the storm, but he saw Hendricks fire a second time, then a third, twisting sideways at the third shot and dropping flat.

All was still. Wendlemere waited a moment and then stepped from behind the car and approached cautiously, blaster held at ready. Hendricks was rising to his knees. He flipped the visor of his helmet back and glanced up as Wendlemere arrived.

"They're gone, Mr. Wendlemere." There was unmistakable relief in his tone. "Holy hell, they've gone off into this blizzard. What the devil's his Lordship gonna order us to do now, sir?"

XII

Mark staggered through the snow, Alan's form draped across one shoulder. The wind whipped his face fiercely and the snow came to his knees. Cursing breathlessly, he stumbled on, dodging evergreen trees that loomed out of the whiteness before him.

Mark Linley had spent most of his boyhood in the slums of the tropical world of Shallock, and would never become accustomed to these extremes of cold and the untamed wilderness. Branches caught maddeningly at his feet, and brambles snagged his clothing. It was freezing cold and, even unconscious, Alan was shivering. Linley clutched his partner against him, pulling the fur cape around them both.

"Alan!" he gasped. "Kid, you gotta wake up an' help! Alan!"

Alan moaned softly and subsided. He must be exhausted, Mark knew, and that exhaustion was probably prolonging the effects of the blow to his head. Alan had been awake for thirty-six hours straight, and a good portion of that time he'd been actively engaged in tracing their elusive psychic cop. Tracing required intense concentration and energy, and even Alan, the best tracer in the Underground, must rest sometimes.

Swearing, he shifted Alan to the other shoulder and bent to untangle his trouser legs from the naked blackberry canes that had snagged them. Snow went down his boot, and more fell on him from the weighted branches overhead.

Furiously he yanked his leg free, tearing cloth and skin. Above, he heard a weird hooting sound and something large, feathered and snow white swooped out of the tree. It went past, almost brushing his face, and vanished into the storm.

How much time had passed? Surely the light was beginning to fade. Mark squinted at his chronometer. The small square face informed him that it was 1633, Terran time. It would be dark soon, and they would be dead.

He stumbled blindly on, clutching Alan to him. The light faded until he could hardly see the dim forms of the trees around him. How long had he been walking in this howling wilderness? Again he glanced at his chronometer. 1720. If he didn't find shelter soon...

Wasn't that a light ahead? Mark blinked snow from his lashes and squinted through the storm. He could see nothing now. Imagination, he told himself. Imagination, and wishful thinking...

But he altered course slightly, turning in the direction of the light. The compass on his chronometer informed him that he had been walking almost due south, and somehow been keeping a relatively straight line. He had gone perhaps three kilometers from the spot where they had crashed. Alan shivered against him, and automatically he clutched his partner more closely. At least he was warm where Alan lay across his shoulder and back.

There was the light again -- a faint flickering will-o-the-wisp. He couldn't tell how far away it was, but stumbled frantically toward it. Whoever it was, they were going to have a surprise visit, Mark thought grimly. Give the good citizens of Terra something to tell their grandchildren...

The building loomed suddenly out of the snow. It was nearer than he had expected, and now, seeing it up close, Mark realized that it was no more than a tumbledown shack. It's single window was broken, but it was from there that the light came. Someone had made a halfhearted attempt to cover the opening with cloth, but still the light seeped through. Some hermit must live here, thought Mark. Poor old dude was about to get the shock of his life.

Shifting Alan to the other shoulder, Mark staggered up to the door and pounded.
It opened instantly, revealing a short man, clad in jeans and a heavy overcoat, which concealed everything but his face. A pair of steely brown eyes met Linley's gaze unflinchingly, and in one hand he held a blaster.

"Freeze, mister!" he snapped.

Mark obeyed. "What th'...?"

The man surveyed him, his mouth a thin, hard line. Then he jerked his head. "Okay, come on in. One false move and I kill you."

The man retreated, weapon still steady on Mark's midriff. Linley entered slowly, his mind racing.

The cabin was dim, illuminated only by a fireplace, which sputtered and crackled in one wall, and a hand torch, held by someone beside the fire. Mark had the impression that there were several other occupants in the room, but at the moment his attention was on his captor.

The man gestured with the weapon, his movements quick and professional. "Okay, mister, put him down -- slowly."

Mark obeyed. "What's all this? Who are you?"

The man ignored the question. "Now, hands on top of your head. Lace your fingers together."

Mark measured the distance between them, noting carefully the other's practiced hold on the blaster, and decided to obey. The man waited as he did so. "That's good. Just do as you're told, and you won't be hurt." A pause. "You have an accent. What is it?"

"Shallockian." It was the figure holding the light, and the voice was a soft tenor. "But he speaks English very well."

"Who are you?" his captor demanded.

Mark hesitated, glancing now at the rooms' other occupants. A large figure was slumped unconscious beside one wall, and before the flickering fireplace a woman knelt. Beside her was a small figure, so swaddled in blankets that Mark could not determine even its sex.

"Shallockian, huh?" The man's mouth hardened even more. "You a 'trol, mister?"

Mark shook his head.

The man gestured again. "Okay, get on your face. Keep your hands over your head. Ran, come here."

Mark opened his mouth to protest, but the man cut him off. "Lie down or fall down, Mister. I'm not playing games."

Mark lay down, cursing himself inwardly for his lack of caution. The man holding the light was approaching, and stopped beside him. Mark tensed, waiting for he knew not what. The newcomer was wearing brand new tennis shoes, soaked through, and too large for him.

"I've got you covered," the larger man told him. "So don't try anything. Go ahead, Ran."

The second man knelt and a small hand was placed on Mark's temple. A sharp, very familiar sensation penetrated his brain. Automatically his shields snapped up, shutting the psychic mind out, and at the same instant the truth hit him.
The psychic's hand jerked with surprise and he cried out. The other voiced a sharp question.

"Shielding!" The reply was shrill. 'Ty, he's got shielding, just like that damned Jil operative! He shut me out!"

Mark lifted his head. "I ain't a Jil operative, dammit! I..."

"Shut up!" The first man's voice was harsh and Mark saw him step back. "Out of the way, Ran."

"No, wait!" Mark started to push himself to his elbows. "You don't understand! I'm..."

A stunbolt hummed and the numbing tingle coursed over him. Darkness fell.

XIII

Tyler stepped back from the now slack form, fingering the setting on his blaster. "Dammitall! They've found us! We'll have to move again!" He picked up a sheet and tore a strip from it. Yanking the unconscious man's hands behind him, he began to tie them, pausing a moment to remove a blaster from beneath his coat. "Yeah, he's armed." Rapidly he finished the job, pulling the knots tight. The guy was big and very muscular -- a typical 'trol.

In the corner the doctor, whom he had stunned when Randy had sensed the operative's approach, groaned. Tyler ignored him, finishing the job of binding his captive. "Should we wait for him to come to before we go? He's awfully big. He'll be a terrific headache to bring along."

Randy was looking steadily at the unconscious man. "Ty..."

"Yeah?"

The doctor groaned again and began to retch. Randy's gaze flicked to him, and then back to the captive. Tyler finished tying him and stood up.

Randy was kneeling beside the captive again. "Ty, there's something weird about this guy's shielding."

"Yeah?"

"It feels weak to me. Maybe the Jils did kind of a half-baked job on him, huh? I might be able to go through it."

"You think you can?"

"I sure do." Randy placed a hand on the unconscious man's face, his expression becoming intent. "Watch the doc," he added almost absently.

Tyler looked quickly at Doctor Simons. The man had almost recovered from the stunbolt and was glaring balefully at him. Tyler gestured with the weapon.
"And if you don't want it to happen again, Dr. Pinhead, you'll stay right where you are and not move."

Randy drew back the unconscious man's hood and tried to turn him over. Tyler reached over to help him, and the man flopped loosely to his back. Waving blond hair shone in the light of the fire, and the man's features were regular and handsome -- a real pretty boy, Tyler thought.

"He looks familiar," Randy said. His hand moved across the man's forehead and he frowned in concentration. "Yes...I think I...Ah! I'm through! Got it!"

There was a silence. Tyler waited, watching Randy expectantly. An odd expression flickered suddenly across his partner's face, and he muttered as though to himself.

"What?"

"Oh, dammit!" A red flush began to creep up Randy's neck. He removed his hand and stood up, glancing at the younger man who had been carried in by the larger. "We goofed."

"What?"

"You won't believe it. This is Colonel Mark Linley of the Terran Underground, and the guy he carried in is Alan Westover."

Tyler felt as though someone had hit him a sharp clip in the stomach. He stared down at the prisoner, the features leaping out at him. He gulped.

"We just captured Mark Linley," Randy said in an unbelieving voice. "Oh brother, is he going to be mad!"

"Hell!" The word was a croak. "Now what'll we do?"

Linley groaned, beginning to stir.

"He was looking for us," Randy said. "He and Alan Westover have been tracing us since all this began. They had a wreck out there, and Westover was hurt. Linley carried him out into the snow to get away from a Jil who was after them. He saw our light and headed for us. He didn't know who we were, though, until I started to read his mind. I think he was confused by all the extra people here. He was only expecting us two, and possibly the Chancellor's daughter."

Linley was groaning and retching miserably. Tyler knelt beside him, supporting his shoulders and trying ineffectually to unfasten the bonds. Linley's heaving prevented him. He waited until the spasms ceased and then began to tug at the knots, utterly at a loss for words. What could he possibly say to mend what had happened? Nothing would suffice.

Randy put a hand on Linley's shoulder. "Colonel Linley..."

Linley groaned. Tyler managed at last to free his hands. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Colonel," he tried.

Linley groaned again, covering his eyes with his hands. Randy met Tyler's gaze miserably. "What'll we do?" he whispered.

"Dunno." Brown cleared his throat again. "Colonel...?"

Linley grunted and tried to push himself to his elbows. Brown helped him, half lifting him upright.

"I'm sorry, Colonel," Randy said. "It was my fault."

Linley lifted his head to look at Randy and there was, as expected, anger mirrored in their depths. "You went through m'shieldin', didn'tcha!" he croaked.

Randy nodded. "I'm sorry, sir. We...I thought you were another Jil operative...like the one who got us into this mess."

Linley glared at him. "How much did you see?"

"Huh?"

"When you read me. I want to know how much you saw."

"Uh..." Randy swallowed hard. "I saw something about a base..."

"Okay, shut up." Linley rubbed a hand across his face. "I take it you're Randolph Madison?"

"Yes sir."

"And he's Tyler Brown." Linley glanced briefly at the Inspector. "Are you a psychic, too?"

"No." Tyler harrumphed. "Look, sir, don't blame Randy. I told him to do what he did. It was my order. I'm his superior officer."

Linley's expression relaxed slightly, although he still looked grim. Randy opened his mouth to speak, but the colonel cut him off. "I understand why you did it, but it still makes things damn precarious. You guys know too much, now. Neither one o' you is conditioned, an' there's a real p.o.'d Jil out there still lookin' for me -- an' you. He catches us now, an...well, I'll hafta take steps t'be sure none o' us is taken alive, includin' you an' li'l Madison, there. Got it?"

"Sure," Brown said. "If they catch us, we're dead anyway. Better to go your way than theirs."

Linley smiled grimly. "You got some sense, anyway." He glanced at the room's other occupants. "Who're they?"

"Oh." Brown moistened his lips. "The hurt kid is the Chancellor's daughter, Carol Wong. The Jils had a plot going to kidnap her, and Randy picked it up, accidentally sort of, by reading the operative's mind. Then Randy came to me and told me, and then the guy caught up with us."

"An' little Ran here was hurt an' taken to the hospital, an' you broke him out."

"Yeah." Tyler stared at him. "But not right away. I hid him for awhile."

"Yeah, I know -- after conscriptin' the services of a retired doctor."

Randy laughed softly. Tyler frowned at Linley. "You know a lot, don't you?"

"Some, but not all. Go on."

"So, after I got him out, we headed for the prep school, and tried to call the authorities. We'd just managed to get the word out when the Jil operatives tried to carry through. Ran and I had to take steps to stop 'em. Carol was hit during the skirmish, but Randy and I managed to pull her out and we got away. We stopped by a hospital and brought along a doctor and nurse to take care of her. The doctor's been a royal pain in the...neck, but the nurse cooperated. Carol's going to be all right, although she hasn't come around yet." Tyler stopped, clearing his throat. "We holed up here because of the storm, and then Randy sensed you coming."

Linley nodded. The anger had departed from his expression, and now he looked alert and thoughtful. He spoke to the nurse. "Could you have a look at Alan, Miss? He got bumped when I crashed into that stinkin' Jil an' hasn't woke up. I'm sort' worried about him."

She stood up. "Could you bring him over here?"

"I'll get him." Brown went over to the little man. Westover appeared about sixteen, although he certainly must be older, for Tyler could see a dark shadow of beard on his face. He wasn't even as large as Randy. Brown lifted him easily and carried him over to the fire. Yvonne knelt beside him.

"I need to get wood," Brown said. "The fire's getting low. Randy..."

"I'll watch 'em," Randy said.

"So will I," Linley said with amusement, "if you'll return m'blaster."

"Oh. Right." Tyler did so and went out. The storm had intensified, and he could hardly hold the lid up to heft out the frozen wood. Staggering, he headed back to the door. Randy opened it for him and ushered him through.

Linley was kneeling beside the nurse, and Yvonne was dabbing the cut on Westover's forehead with antiseptic. "...Be all right," she was saying. "His pupils are responding. A mild concussion, maybe not even that bad. He'll probably come to pretty soon."

"He hasn't had any sleep since night before last," Linley said. "An' he only got about three hours then."

"Oh. Well, that could explain why he hasn't come to yet." The nurse finished the job and straightened up, regarding Linley with admiration. Tyler felt a tug of annoyance and quelled it at once.

"How long do you think we can stay here?" he asked. "Is that Jil likely to come after us?"

"He might," Linley said. "You can never tell with a Jil. They regard their comforts an' safety highly, but sometimes one of 'em really gets a bee in his bonnet about somethin', an' then they can be as stubborn an' stupid as any Terran. This guy who's after us -- Alan thinks he's a relative o' Linthvar's. An Lord Linthvar is one Jil who's got a real gripe against Alan an' me."

"Why?"

Linley grinned. "Linthvar and Alan go way back. A few years ago Alan got cornered by him an' threw an overloaded blaster at him. He's limped ever since."

Randy laughed. "I never heard about that! Was that before or after Salthvor?"

"Bout two weeks after, but it ain't all. Linthvar an' Alan've clashed quite a few times since. Last time was just yesterday. Didja know you had a Jil after you?"

"Yesterday?" Tyler said. "Well, we knew a Jil had been in an accident..."

"Yeah. Linthie baby was tracin' you, an' Madison. Alan an' me got him off your track. Managed t'wreck his aircar for him, too. He got sorta scorched in the accident."

Tyler was silent, staring at Linley. "We saw it on the video, of course, and we figured that might have been what happened, but we had no idea who..." He stopped.

"Here, Madison, I think this is yours," Linley said. He drew a small photo from Westover's coat pocket and handed it to Randy. Madison took it, swallowing. "My wife, Jeannie," he said, voice not quite steady.

"Yeah, I know." Linley's tone was suddenly gentle. "An' I'm sorry as I can be about that, kid. If the Underground'd known, we'd'a come for you both."

Madison looked up at him. "You know...what happened to her?"

"Yeah."

"You seem to know a lot," Brown said slowly.

"That's how the Underground survives, Inspector," Linley replied. "We have to do our best to stay one step ahead of the Jils."

There was a silence. Randy looked up into the large man's eyes. "Are we...will we be accepted into the Underground, Colonel?"

Linley grinned. "Yeah. You don't have a choice. You read me." He sobered. "I radioed for help just before we crashed. They'll have tracers after us -- I hope. We just gotta hold out awhile. I just hope that damned Jil is too scared, or too banged up t'come after us."

"How could he find us, though? You took the photo away from Linthvar."

"He's probably usin' somethin' they took from Randy while he was in the hospital -- a piece o' clothin' or somethin' like that. It ain't as good as somethin' o' sentimental value, like the photo, but it'll do if the psychic's a real good tracer. Also, remember, we got an unshielded psychic in this room. Psychics broadcast like crazy."

Randy looked appalled. "Me?"

"Who else?"

"Holy smoke! Can you teach me how to shield?"

Linley sighed. "It takes awhile. I ain't real good at shieldin' m'self -- as I guess you already know."

Randy looked uncomfortable. "I thought an Undergrounder would be harder to read."

"Most of 'em are," Linley said.

The Chancellor's daughter stirred and cried out softly. The nurse bent over her. "Carol?"

Her eyes flickered. "Thirsty..."

"Here's some water. Lie still."

The girl took a swallow and half fell back. The nurse eased her down. "Everything's okay."

"Kidnappers!" Her eyes flickered again and opened. "They..."

"They didn't get you. You're safe."

The girl's eyes flicked to Randy, who was bending over her. She smiled, relaxing. "Oh, hi..."

"Hi," Randy said.

Carol's eyes closed, and once again she began to breathe deeply and regularly.

Tyler glanced at his partner. "Have you met her before?"

Randy shook his head. "Just when she reached for me when those guys were trying to grab her. I'm not sure, but I think she realized I'm a psychic."

Linley looked startled. "How could she know that?"

Brown knew a small glow of satisfaction. Linley didn't know everything, after all. "She's a psychic, too."

"No kiddin'!" Linley looked puzzled. "You're sure...yeah, o' course you are." He scowled. "I wonder who..."

"We were wondering that, too," Randy said. "Both of them are pretty good-sized people."

"Yeah."

"How did the Underground find out that we were in trouble in the first place, sir?" Brown asked suddenly. "We thought we were completely on our own until we heard that business about Linthvar. We had no way of contacting you, and I still can't figure out how you found out."

Linley grinned slightly. "Look, you don't hafta call me sir anymore. I ain't mad now about Madison readin' me. You did exactly what I would'a done in your spot, so ease up. It's okay."

Tyler returned the grin, feeling relieved. "But how did you find out?"

Linley grinned again, a little more widely. "Trade secret. Tellya later."

Randy shifted uncomfortably, absently rubbing his stomach.

"Now..." Linley turned on him, "Suppose you tell me everythin' you saw in that Jil operative's mind."

"Do you think it's safe?" Randy asked, glancing worriedly at the nurse. "I mean, the Jils are going to be awfully upset about this, and they'll probably want to probe Yvonne, and the doctor, too. I really don't care a whole lot about him, and I don't think the Jils will, either. But Yvonne's different. They might --" He let the sentence hang.

Linley frowned. "Yeah, you got a point."

The doctor muttered under his breath. Linley grinned at him. "Take it easy, doc. You ain't the first bystander t'get dragged into the fight, an' you sure won't be the last."

Another muttered imprecation. Brown tossed a piece of wood on the fire, thinking uneasily of the dwindling supply in the wood box. Randy seemed to read his thoughts. "How much wood is left out there?"

"Not much. Maybe enough left for one more load, and a few pieces stuck to the bottom and sides of the box."

Linley said something under his breath in Basic. Beside him, Westover groaned, moving his head restlessly. The nurse bent over him, touching his shoulder gently. "Mr. Westover," she said.

"Hmm?"

Randy shifted, the hand on his stomach again. "I don't feel well."

Linley and Tyler turned together to look at him.

"I feel sick." Randy was white around the mouth. "Danger..."

Linley was on his feet. "Here comes that damned Jil. Let's get outta here!" He bent over Westover. Tyler started to lift Carol.

The doctor moved. With incredible speed and dexterity considering his size, he was across the room and landing heavily on Randy, knocking the smaller man flat. Randy cried out with pain as his wounded arm doubled beneath him. Then the doctor was on his feet, Randy clutched before him, a blaster pressed hard against the little man's neck.

"One move and I blow him away! Back! All of you, get back!"

Randy writhed in the man's grasp. "My arm!" he choked.

"Shut up, degenerate!"

Linley took a deep breath. "You kill him an' you're a dead man, doc. The Undeground'll see to that."

The doctor grinned mirthlessly. "It's a little late or me to worry about that, isn't it, Linley?" He jerked Randy's arm, bringing another yelp from him. Tyler seemed to feel the pain, himself, and sudden, furious anger engulfed him. No one hurt his partner like that and got away with it!

The blaster writhed suddenly in the doctor's grasp. He gave a surprised yell and then a strangled, "Oof!", doubling over. The weapon twisted free and went spinning away. The doctor howled in pain, clapping both hands to his eyes. The blaster clattered to the floor, spun, slid sideways, and leaped into Brown's grasp. Incredibly he felt his hands close around the metal hilt. Randy fell to his knees, groaning.

Tyler fired and the doctor spun away with a scream to fall hard against the opposite wall. Linley leaped forward, his weapon centered on the man. "I oughta kill you, you bastard -- right now!"

Randy gave a wordless yell, and Linley spun, the blaster lifting.

The door crashed open, revealing two figures, both clad in heavy winter clothing. Linley fired, and at the same moment there was the hum of a stunbeam. One of the figures spun away with a cry, and Linley crumpled unconscious to the floor. Tyler ducked sideways, trying to get a shot at the other figure. Randy shouted something. Tyler fired and missed. Then a stunbeam hummed and he felt the numbing tingle. The boards of the shanty floor were suddenly before his eyes. Far away he heard another report and a cry. A blaster clattered past him, lifted, and vanished from his range of vision. Tyler lifted his head.

Both newcomers sprawled on the floor, groaning, but in the doorway stood the tall, magnificently robed form of a Jilectan. The alien held a jeweled blaster in one hand, and in the other was the little one that Brown had taken from Dr. Aaron hours ago at his home: the one with which Randy had been armed. Randy, fully conscious, was half reclining on the floor, supported on the elbow of his good arm. The Jilectan's weapon was centered on him.

"Do not move, Terran psychic," the alien said coldly.

Something made Tyler turn his head. Alan Westover's eyes looked directly into his from clear across the room.

**********
tbc