Two Giants For David: 3/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
3
Ahead of them, Mark saw the buildings of the Terran Space Corps Headquarters. His shoulders hurt from the unnatural position of his arms, and his head still throbbed slightly. The car settled slowly beside the Administration building and a squad of six patrolmen surrounded them as Murphy pulled him from the car. Behind him, at a distance of twenty meters or so, he caught a glimpse of a crowd of Terrans in the soft, brown uniforms of the Terran Space Corps. They watched in silence as the patrolmen marched him forward, up a short flight of steps and into the building.
They entered a small room and the door slid shut behind them. Mark found himself looking into the face of Timothy Foxe, the Strike Commander of the Patrol Cruiser "Juggernaut".
The Lieutenant saluted smartly. "Prisoner Mark Linley, sir."
The Strike Commander casually returned the salute, never removing his gaze from Mark. "Good work, Lieutenant," he said absently.
"Thank you, sir."
A side door opened and Mark saw a man in the uniform of an officer in the Terran Space Corps. The man's sleeves were embroidered with an elaborate crusting of thick gold stripes. This, apparently, was Admiral Walter Powell, the commanding officer of the base. He met Mark's eyes for a fleeting instant, and then looked past him at Foxe.
The Strike Commander was speaking again. "We blast off in 10.4 hours. In the meantime, Linley's to be interrogated and we want the word to get out -- unofficially, of course. Westover will know that official broadcasts could be a setup, so take him to the ship and make it good. Every spacer on the station's out there waiting. We'll never have a better audience."
The lieutenant saluted. "Yes sir."
"Congratulations, Tim," Mark said. "This is a nice feather in your cap."
Foxe smiled thinly. "Thank you, Mark." He gestured to the lieutenant. "Get going, Osborne."
Mark braced himself. Here it came. He cursed under his breath. Alan must be half out of his mind by now and Foxe knew it. What better way to ensnare the wily Alan Westover than to mistreat his friend and partner before an indignant audience, which would certainly spread the word? Alan was almost certainly on his way here by now, and would learn of it. Linley grimaced, hoping desperately that when the news reached him, haste would not make his partner careless.
The patrolmen herded him out of the building and one of them gave him a push. He stumbled, half falling down the short flight of steps and bruising both knees. Hands grasped his arms, hauling him to his feet again, and he was propelled roughly across the compound toward the landing field. They wouldn't take the aircar, he thought resignedly. Foxe's orders were to make a good show and the Patrol was carrying them out with enthusiasm. One of the men kicked his feet from under him and he sprawled forward, unable to catch himself with his hands secured behind him. A booted foot kicked him in the side and he barely managed to bite back a gasp of pain.
"On your feet, Linley." The man nudged him again. Mark lay still, cursing between his teeth. He'd be damned if he'd go peaceably. Let them drag him.
Someone bent over him and a hand caught his collar, yanking him to his knees. The man cracked him across the mouth, knocking him down once more. He landed hard, his forehead striking the icy ground and he saw stars.
"Take it easy, Zimmerman." He heard the lieutenant's voice through the buzzing in his ears. "Save a little for the interrogation."
The boot nudged him in the ribs a third time. "Get up, Linley."
Mark didn't move. Hands grasped his arms, yanking him to his feet. The spacers were still there, watching the proceedings in stony silence. They were within easy earshot and must have heard Osborne's apparently casual mention of the interrogation. Now Alan would hear of it. Careful, kid, he thought. Don't let it throw you.
The ship drew nearer as the patrolmen dragged him across the landing field. Mark twisted his head around to see that the spacers were still watching. Then the cruiser was looming over him and he was being half-carried up the ramp. The hatch opened to admit them and then closed with the soft click of finality. Mark was dragged down the corridor toward the lift.
**********
Behind the controls of the aircar, Alan headed toward his destination without consideration for the speed limit. He was nearly there and his chronometer informed him that he still had nine hours before the Patrol ship would depart. The sun was swimming on the horizon and twilight had begun to settle over the bleak, winter landscape.
He steeled himself and turned on the radio.
"...This will be mandatory viewing by all Terrans by order of the Jilectan Viceroy, Lord Lanthzor, illustrious ruler of --"
"KBIF," Alan said to the device.
The station changed at once. "...Report that the prisoner, former Strike Commander, Mark Linley, arrived at the Terran Space Corps Headquarters in New York City approximately one hour ago. An eyewitness reports that he was taken aboard the Patrol Battlecruiser 'Juggernaut' for interrogation --"
Well, they were playing it up, all right, hoping to drag him in. Alan forced himself to listen to the rest of the newscast and then switched off the radio. New York lay ahead, its many millions of lights blinking against the deepening twilight. To the west of the city, no more than a dozen kilometers away, he could see the circle of pale blue lights that surrounded Terran Space Corps Headquarters.
He brought the aircar down into a side street in downtown Manhattan and climbed out. The shadows were creeping over the streets and many of the smaller shops were already closed for the night. Alan glanced at his chronometer again and then around at the darkening city. He needed a cosmetic shop.
He locked the car and walked briskly down the street, avoiding shady-looking characters. A young woman in tight, shimmery red pants beckoned invitingly as he passed but Alan ignored her, his attention all for the place he sought. He had always had an uncanny gift for finding things -- part of his psychic talents, he presumed -- and within ten minutes he located the tiny store, set a little back from the street. The faint, bluish glimmer of force fields covered the door and windows, which were also wired with the inevitable burglar alarms.
Alan looked carefully around and then strolled up to the entrance. Folding his arms, he leaned casually against the wall. It was cold here in the open, now that he was stationary, and his breath was a white mist in the dimness. Carefully, he envisioned the alarm system. A finger of telekinetic energy reached out and a wire jerked free. There. The alarm was disabled. Now for the force field.
In his mind, he located the control without difficulty and telekinetic energy reached and gripped. The faint flickering blue of the field vanished.
He glanced quickly around, feeling a prickle of warning crawl over him. Was he being watched? The sensation was faint, but definite. Whoever it was, the watcher was unsure of himself. Alan hesitated, wondering what he should do. Then, all at once, the feeling departed.
Whoever it was, he must have gone. Alan took a deep breath and rested a hand on the latch. He was good at locks, and the action was quite automatic. He was hardly aware of the telekinetic finger that reached out, located the locking mechanism and pushed. There was a tiny, almost inaudible click, and the door slid quietly open.
It was very dark inside the shop. Alan moved slowly forward and almost jumped out of his skin as something soft and warm brushed against his ankles. A throaty purring reached his ears and Alan relaxed. It was a cat.
He flicked on his small handlight, running the tiny beam over the shelves. He needed a wig -- something smooth and inconspicuous, to hide his own dark, unruly hair.
He selected one and pulled it on. The cat jumped up on the shelf beside him, purring and bumping her head against his hand. He stroked her absently, looking around for a mirror.
And suddenly a face was staring at him across the room. He started convulsively, his hand darting for the blaster under his coat.
The figure moved as he did. Good grief! It was his own reflection. The smooth, light brown hair had changed his appearance dramatically, giving him a suave, surprisingly adult look. Alan smiled coolly and lifted an eyebrow, watching the effect with satisfaction. Good. Very good. Now, for his eyes.
During his imprisonment at the Underground station, Phil must have removed his contacts, for he had noticed, shortly after his escape, that they were gone. He must find others, for his own eyes were far too noticeable, being large and bright green in color. His wanted posters described them as his most distinguishing feature. The description was quite accurate.
He located the lenses in the rear of the shop. The cat followed him, swiping playfully at his shoelaces, and then leaped gracefully to his shoulder as he bent over the drawer. The lenses were of the best quality, being soft, non-irritating and designed to mold to the shape of any eye. He selected a pair of dark brown ones, hoping the color would help diminish the size of his eyes. He applied them carefully and surveyed the results critically. Well, they didn't look that much smaller, he was forced to admit, but at least he appeared older. Now, perhaps a mustache...
He took one from another drawer and pressed it firmly to his upper lip. The cat was purring loudly, striking playfully at his hands. Alan removed her absently, once again surveying himself in the mirror. No, the mustache was excessive. It looked like a fake -- or, perhaps, as Mark had once said, his features were too juvenile for such a thing to look authentic. Still, a mustache would certainly help to alter his appearance. Maybe he could find a smaller once that wouldn't look quite so ridiculous.
He removed another from its casing and applied it, surveying the results doubtfully. Not too bad. Now, if there were only some way to add about sixteen centimeters to his height the disguise would be complete. Unfortunately, he was already wearing elevator shoes, which raised him to the height of the average Terran female. There was really nothing more he could do about that. "Think tall," Mark had always said. "If a guy acts sure of himself, people won't notice his size." Alan took a deep breath and turned toward the door.
Then he froze, flicking off his penlight. Cautiously, he stepped back into the darker shadows. Someone was coming -- several someones, in fact. He identified three different presences outside the door.
Alan carefully drew his blaster and retreated still farther as the panel slid aside and dark figures entered the room. The door closed softly and a dim light appeared, shining from the hand that held it. He heard voices, speaking in whispers.
"He must be gone. Man! That guy's gotta be slick. How the hell did he do it without tripping any alarms?"
"Not to mention the force field and the dead bolt," one of the other voices pointed out. "Let's just hope he left something for us. I'll check the safe."
The three men crept silently across the room. One of them jumped convulsively and swore as the cat leaped up beside him, purring. Alan scrunched back farther. The man aimed a blow at the animal, which missed, and the cat skittered quickly away with an alarmed squall.
"Here it is," the first man said, speaking more loudly now. "Locked, too. Far as I can tell, it ain't been touched."
Alan reached toward the man with telekinesis, and the light twisted from his hand and leaped away. There was a shattering sound as it struck the floor, and darkness descended. The man cursed.
"What the hell did you do?" There was a scrabbling sound as one of the others searched for a light. The beam appeared, shining yellow through the darkness. Alan reached again.
The light flipped from his hand and smashed to the floor. The beam went out.
For a moment there was complete silence. Alan sensed sudden apprehension and puzzlement. The third man drew in his breath sharply. "What the devil --"
"Damned thing jumped right out of my hand." The second man's voice shook slightly.
"So did mine."
Fear radiated from the three minds. "Let's get out of here," the first man said.
"Yeah," another chimed in. "I don't like this. Something's weird."
"You got a light, Will? I can't see a damned thing."
Will fumbled in his pocket and a third beam came on, shining faintly. Will's power cell must be low, Alan thought. He reached out.
The light flipped away and Will grabbed for it with a yell. The other two men echoed him and, as the light vanished with a shattering sound, the thieves bolted for the door.
They reached it, and he heard them fumbling frantically for the control. Alan extended a finger of energy one last time, giving the nearest man a light touch on the neck. The thief yelped in terror, hurling himself against the still-closed door.
His two companions pulled him back and one of them succeeded at last in finding the control. The panel slid open and the intruders departed in haste.
Alan waited for several seconds, while the dark figures disappeared. The cat appeared again from wherever she had fled, and stropped against his ankles, apparently completely unafraid of him. Alan stroked her absently, and pressed the control to open the door. Gently, he prevented the animal from following him out, reconnected the door lock, reactivated the force field and reconnected the alarm. A moment later, he was striding back toward the spot where he had left the aircar.
As he reached the door, a dark face peered out the window at him. Alan jumped back, one hand darting for his blaster. It took him three heart-shaking seconds to realize the face was his own reflection in the glass. He wondered if Mark would recognize him.
He climbed into the car and touched a control. Pain stabbed him suddenly, faint but definite. It felt almost as though someone had struck him. Was it possible that Mark was being interrogated already and that he was sensing his partner's distress through the link?
Alan felt as though a block of ice had settled into his stomach. Was he imagining things? He and Mark were linked, but never before had the link operated on anything but a one-way basis. Could it be that he was now sensing his partner's pain through the tie?
He didn't know, nor did he have time to figure it out. He was approaching Terran Space Corps Headquarters. The ring of blue lights blinked mockingly at him in the darkness.
Alan settled the aircar into a side street half a kilometer from the station and set the brake. Even from here, he could see the ghostly shimmer of the force field that surrounded the place. That would have to be neutralized, of course, and the act would announce his entrance to the base. If there was only some way of getting in without putting the force field out of commission! Was there any means by which he could obtain a spacer's I.D.?
Three people, clad in the uniforms of the Terran Space Corps passed the car. They were engaged in earnest conversation, and he caught the name Linley, spoken twice. He frowned after them thoughtfully.
If he were to abduct anyone, he would have to catch that person alone. He couldn't risk dragging other people into this affair. Most spacers were sympathetic with the Underground's goals, but there were always a few who were too afraid of the Jilectans, or too tempted by the reward money, to be trusted.
Alan sighed. The force field would have to be neutralized. There was no other way.
Another crowd of spacers was approaching and he recognized a man who had been an upper classman when Alan, himself, had been in the Academy in Miami. Alan knew that many of the new grads drew their first assignments here and it was likely that once he got on the station he would encounter others that he knew. He would have to be very careful. The chances were far better that he would be recognized by someone who had known him personally than by someone who had simply seen his face on a wanted poster.
Well, he was wasting time. It was now barely eight hours before the ship was due to depart.
Again came that faint but painful sensation across his jawbone. Mark was being interrogated. He knew it now beyond doubt.
Someone else was approaching and Alan sensed the lone presence easily. He extended a quick probe and a wild surge of hope went through him at the emanations radiating from the other mind. Perhaps, after all, there was a chance of getting on the base undetected. He opened the car door. "Deena?"
The young woman in the soft, brown uniform and loose overcoat of the Space Corps, turned, her eyes searching the darkness. "Yes?"
Alan slipped out of the car and Deena gave a half scream as she saw the blaster in his hand. He gestured with the weapon. "In the car! Quick!"
She obeyed and Alan leaped in beside her, keeping the blaster centered on her. Her face had gone stark white and her eyes were wide with terror. "What do you want? Don't hurt me!"
Alan took a deep breath. "I won't hurt you, Deena, but you'll have to do as I say. I need your uniform and your I.D. card."
"How do you know my name?" She cowered back from him, half-sobbing in terror. Alan gestured with the blaster again.
"Take off your clothes. I need them."
She began to unseal her tunic, her hands trembling. "Please don't hurt me! Please!" She began to cry.
"Deena." Alan spoke as gently as possible. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just need your uniform to get on the station. I'm Alan. Alan Westover."
Her face came up and for a moment she stared at him in disbelief. Alan reached up with his free hand and removed the wig. "See?"
"Alan!" Her white face went whiter still and then flushed bright red. "Alan! By the stars, it *is* you!"
He smiled. "Hi."
"My god, you gave me an awful turn! I thought I was in for it!" Deena slumped back against the seat, laughing a little hysterically. Alan waited, still holding the blaster on her.
At last, she straightened up. "Good heavens, why didn't you say who you were right away? You wouldn't have had to abduct me if you'd just identified yourself." She glanced at the blaster. "Put that thing away, for heaven's sake. You don't need to hold me at blaster point."
Alan shook his head. "I need your uniform. And if the Jils find out you cooperated with me, they'll kill you. It's safer for you this way."
"Oh." Her eyes widened. "You're here to save Mark Linley! Oh, thank heavens! They're treating him horribly! They kicked him and knocked him down with all of us watching."
Cold fury went through him. "When?"
"About an hour ago. They were taking him aboard the 'Juggernaut' for interrogation." She bit her lip. "There was nothing we could do to help him, either. He was so brave about it -- he didn't make a sound through the whole thing. Does he know you're coming for him?"
"I think so," Alan said tensely. "Is he still on the battlecruiser?"
"Yes -- unless they've taken him off in the last thirty minutes. I had to leave the base for something and I was on my way back just now." She glanced at the blaster again. "My uniform isn't going to fit you very well. I'm taller than you and a lot thinner."
"I know, but there's no help for it. Start taking your clothes off."
She smiled faintly. "Now if I didn't know better, I'd think I was being propositioned. Listen, I can help you and I don't need to be involved at all. Tell me your plan."
Alan hesitated. Deena was a nice girl and he really didn't want her dragged up before the Jils for a mind probe, especially considering her sympathies. "Okay, maybe you can help me. Tell me -- is there a light cruiser scheduled to leave in the next twenty-four hours or so -- one that would be all ready to go?"
"You mean, besides the 'Juggernaut'?" She paused, obviously thinking. "The 'Patton' is due to depart for Ceregon at 0900 tomorrow. Why?"
"Because," Alan said, "The 'Juggernaut' is going to have engine trouble and Strike Commander Foxe will be commandeering one of your ships."
"Oh?" She was watching him. "I see."
"But first, I need to get on the base, and for that I'll need an I.D."
"Of course." She smiled suddenly. "And a uniform from someone pretty close to your size. Would it help if he was also someone who's going to be aboard the 'Patton' -- someone, let us say, relatively new, so his face isn't too well known?"
Alan caught his breath. "Can you do it?"
She shoved the blaster unceremoniously aside and threw her arms around him. "You bet I can, sweetie! They think they can treat Mark like that in front of everybody and get away with it, they've got another think coming! They're after you, you know -- that was why they put on that little show. They wanted the news to reach you off the broadcasts, so you'll know it's the real thing. Well, it's reached you all right -- and I hope you give them a black eye they'll never forget! They think we're a bunch of spineless cowards, too afraid of the Jils to help our own people. Well, they're wrong!"
Alan took her hands. "Be careful."
"I will. Now don't worry. I'll be back soon." She started to open the door.
"Deena --"
She turned. "Yes?"
"Not a word to anyone."
"Of course not."
He looked searchingly into her clear, dark eyes and she met his look squarely. "Go ahead. Read my mind. It's all right."
Alan didn't tell her he already had. "Thanks."
She smiled again and got out, the door sliding shut behind her. Alan relaxed back in the seat and closed his eyes.
*Mark.* He spoke his partner's name aloud, reaching and groping through the blackness, trying to make contact. It should be possible. He and Mark were linked and, even though Linley wasn't a psychic, the link should carry his words.
Carefully, he envisioned the battlecruiser and spoke Mark's name again. Drat! It *ought* to work! Why must it always be Alan who was in danger before the link would function above the subconscious level? *Mark! It's me!*
He touched something, faint and blurred, and again there was the sensation of pain. Desperately, he struggled to strengthen the contact. *Mark! Mark, can you hear me?*
There was no reply but again he caught the brief impression of pain, intermixed with despair. *Mark, hold on! I'm coming!*
And suddenly, Linley's face was hovering before him, dim and unsteady, like a poorly focused hologram.
*Mark! I'm coming, Mark!*
The picture wavered and steadied slightly. There was blood streaking his partner's mouth and chin, and a bleeding gash over one eye. Mark's drooping head came up and Alan saw him look wildly around.
*Alan!* Mark's lips framed the word, although Alan heard no sound. *Kid, is that you?*
*Yes! Hold on!" Alan realized he was shouting the words aloud. *I'm coming! Just hold on!*
*Kid, where are you?*
The contact began to fade and Alan strove to strengthen it. His efforts were in vain and Mark's face blurred and vanished in a burst of pain. Then Alan was alone again in the front seat of the aircar and the lights of Headquarters shone pale blue against the sky. Damn them! They'd pay for this! If Alan Westover had anything to say about it, they'd pay a thousand times over!
**********
tbc
