Wonderland Revisited -- 1/?
By Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
1
"C'mon," Kevin Bronson said. "You can do it. It ain't that big."
Alan Westover gripped Bronson's wrist, concentrating. Standing on his other side was a mirror image of Bronson -- Mark Linley, his older brother. The two, when together, served as a double power source for Alan. He could tap their reservoirs of psychic energy, increasing his power to over four times the level that he could produce alone.
"Shuttup, Kev." Linley glowered across Alan's dark head at his brother. "Take your time, kid. We ain't in no rush."
Alan tightened his grip on Linley's wrist, trying to concentrate. What was wrong with him? It shouldn't be this hard to move that silly chair. Kevin was right. It wasn't that big.
The chair stirred. Slowly and unsteadily, it rose from the ground, teetered a moment, centimeters from the floor, and floated toward them.
"Good," Mark said.
Alan gritted his teeth. The chair lost altitude and one of the legs, scraping the tiles. Its movement slackened and then stopped. Alan concentrated again. The chair tilted abruptly sideways, spun on one leg and crashed to the floor. Alan opened his eyes. "Oh, drat!"
Bronson snorted. "You busted it. Papa bear's gonna be mad." He hesitated. "Hey; are you okay? You're white as a sheet!"
Mark had him by the other arm and together the brothers eased him to the floor. Linley pushed his head into his lap. "Breathe deep."
Alan remained where he was, feeling the room lurch unsteadily. Mark disappeared for a moment and then reappeared. Alan felt a wet handkerchief laid across the back of his neck. His partner sounded worried. "Feel better yet?"
Alan sat up cautiously. The wet cloth fell down the back of his shirt and he fished for it with one hand. "Sorry about that."
Mark retrieved the handkerchief and handed him a cup of water. "Dammit, that's the second time you've done that today. What's the matter with you?"
"I don't know." Alan rubbed his face. "I feel sort of tired."
"Been pushin' it a bit," Kevin said. "Better cut it out for a while. Let's get some lunch. I'm starved."
Mark was watching his partner closely, frowning and rubbing a thumb across his chin. "I felt somethin' funny there. The power flow was wrong."
"Huh?" Alan looked up at him. "What do you mean?"
Linley shrugged. "I dunno exactly. It just felt wrong."
Kevin grinned and nudged him in the ribs. "You need more women in your life, kid. You're too young to get so serious about one. Now, I know a bar on the south side o' Moscow where the girls are just your type -- little, sweet an' sexy --"
Alan had gone scarlet. "You cut it out, Kev, or I'll --"
"Or if that type don't appeal to you, they got bigger ones -- kinda like Julia. Pretty, blond an' --" He made motions with his hands.
Mark jumped him, taking him by surprise and knocking him sideways. They went down in a grunting, swearing tangle and rolled across the tiles. Alan stood up and backed away as the two big men strained and cursed, each trying to get a hold on the other. "Hey, cut it out!"
He was ignored. Linley rolled against the already cracked chair, shoving it into the wall and smashing it to matchwood. He swore as one of the broken legs cracked him across the eye. Alan seized Bronson by the shirt. "Come on, you two! Stop it!"
"Get outta the way before you get squashed!" Bronson grunted, and swore as Mark got a hold on his arm, twisting it behind him. "Ouch!"
"Lay off the kid, you big ape!" Linley growled.
Bronson heaved backward, trying to bring up one knee and roll sideways in an attempt to dislodge his brother. Mark gave a bark of laughter and countered, shoving Kevin flat. He caught the other arm as well and planted a knee in Bronson's back. Kevin yelped and cussed again.
"Give up?"
"Not a chance, old man." Linley was five years older than his brother. Bronson twisted and strained, trying to break Mark's hold, with a notable lack of success. Alan walked over to the sink and filled the cup with water. Casually, he strolled back across the room and poured the contents of the container over the struggling men.
They came apart instantly, spluttering and protesting. Bronson rolled to his feet and started toward Alan. "All right, you little shrimp --"
Alan backed away. "Mark!"
Linley was wiping his face and hair. "You expect help after that?" He grinned. "Damn, but that water's cold!"
Alan's back was against the wall. "He's going to kill me!"
Mark laughed. "You don't need help from me. Handle him yourself."
Alan tried to dodge sideways. He almost made it but Bronson snagged him by the collar and yanked him around. Kicking and struggling, Alan was carried toward the sink. Holding him with one arm, Bronson reached over and turned on the water. "Okay, kid, you're gonna get a shampoo!"
Alan reached out a frantic mental finger and the water turned off. Bronson hesitated a moment, disconcerted, and then reached over to turn it on again. Alan squirmed suddenly and managed to wiggle free. He rolled to his feet, hearing Mark's laugh, and backed away from Bronson, getting the table between them.
He had forgotten his earlier dizziness, when it suddenly returned, stronger this time, sending him staggering sideways and clutching the table for support.
"Hey!" Mark grabbed him and half-carried him to the remaining chair. Bronson pushed his face into his lap this time.
"What's wrong, kid?" he inquired anxiously.
Alan was feeling scared, but trying not to show it. "Nothing. Maybe I'm coming down with the flu. I'm a bit dizzy."
The door opened and a young woman entered, holding a baby in one arm. "What the dickens is going on in here? What was all that smashing and profanity about?"
"Mark and Kevin were having a discussion," Alan said, sitting up. He had begun to feel better, the dizziness passing.
"It sounded like the battle of Landus II. What was it all about?" She glanced sharply at Alan. "Are you all right? You look pale."
"You're a nurse, aint'cha, Emma?" Mark inquired.
She nodded. "Why?"
"Alan ain't feelin' so good. Can you check him over?"
"What's the matter?" Emma came quickly over to him. Alan sighed. He, Alan Westover, top psychic in the Terran Underground, must be kept in good shape at all costs. Other members of the organization protected him solicitously. Why, he couldn't sneeze without one of them calling in the experts, he thought disgustedly.
"I'm okay, really," he said. "I felt a little dizzy. Mark's a worry wart."
Emma Connors motioned to the door. "Go in there and lie down on the couch," she directed.
Alan sighed and got to his feet. "Really, I'm okay," he protested. Emma ignored the comment, handed the baby absently to Kevin, and followed.
"Really, Emma, I'm fine," Alan said, sitting down on the couch.
"Shut up and lie down." Emma glanced at Mark. "Bring me that little case in the left hand cupboard, please."
Linley went to obey. Kevin entered the room, holding the baby awkwardly before him. "He's wet."
"There's diapers on the dresser in his room," Emma said.
Kevin looked horrified. Emma bent over Alan, a small light in one hand. "Look straight at the ceiling, Alan."
Alan obeyed and she flashed the light in his eyes. "Hmm, okay. Turn your head this way." Her fingers probed his neck and behind his ears. "Now, watch my finger but don't move your head. Just follow it with your eyes."
Alan did so, his embarrassment intensifying. Emma Connors was a pretty woman, at least ten years older than he but undeniably attractive. He blushed as she unbuttoned his shirt and held a small instrument over his chest. There was a long silence.
"Mmm --" Emma removed the instrument and dropped it into the case. She grinned suddenly. "You have a cute body, Alan."
He went scarlet and pulled his shirt together. Emma stood up. "Sorry, I couldn't resist." She looked at Mark. "You guys been working quite a while?"
Kevin swore as the baby turned over, dislodging the diaper he was trying to apply. "Hold still, squirt."
Mark was nodding. "Yeah."
Emma glanced at her chronometer. "He looks okay. Of course, I'm no doctor, but he's not running a temperature and his reflexes all check out. He might be coming down with something. There's a flu bug going around, you know. And his heartbeat's a little fast."
Linley grinned. "I don't think that's got nothin' to do with any flu bug, honey."
Alan, his flush beginning to subside, reddened again. Emma smiled. "I'll bring you some lunch. I think that will help." She glanced over at Bronson, who was struggling manfully to fasten the diaper. "Want me to do it?"
"Hell, no!" he grunted. "Lie still, you li'l worm! There! Got it!" He swung up the baby and the diaper slid.
Alan sat up, laughing. "Takes practice, Kev."
Bronson scowled at him, placing the baby on the carpet again. "I suppose *you* know all about it, Grampa!"
"Of course. I had a little sister."
Kevin muttered to himself. "Go get the kid some lunch, Emma. I'm gonna get this thing on or die tryin'."
"Spoken like a true 'trol." Mark laughed. "I never thought I'd see Kevin Bronson tryin' t'diaper a baby!"
Emma laughed too and went out. Alan stood up, starting to button his shirt, and went over to look down at the baby. "Pull it tighter, Kev -- that's right. Now, hold it with your thumb and index finger and fasten the clip...."
Kevin grunted disgustedly as the baby arched its body, trying to flip over. "Hold *still*, dammit!"
The baby gurgled happily, kicking its legs and reaching for Bronson's hair.
"Talk nice to him, Kev," Mark suggested. "Might help. There, you got it. Now, do like Alan said. Hold it together with your thumb and finger, while you --"
Kevin swore again, detaching the clip from his thumb. Mark laughed. "Clip it to the diaper, not yourself."
"Very funny." Bronson glowered down at the baby's smiling face. "You're a cute li'l bug, I gotta admit, but willya please hold still for one minute?"
Alan knelt beside the baby, offering the child his fingers to examine. Kevin succeeded at last, fastening the diaper and sitting back on his heels with a sigh of relief. "There you go, kiddo. Now, don't wet it again 'til I'm gone. I ain't goin' through that again for nothin'."
Mark leaned down and picked the baby up. "It gets easier after you've done it a few times."
Bronson stared at him. "What the hell are you talkin' about? You ain't never diapered a baby!"
"I sure have! When I was seven, you were still in diapers, you big jerk! I musta diapered you a million times! You were the wettin'est kid -- an' Mom had other things t'do. I got the chore most o' the time!"
Bronson grunted. "Sorry I asked."
Emma entered the room. "Here you are, guys. Alan, you sit down right now!"
"Yes ma'am." Alan seated himself on the couch and accepted the plate she held out to him. Mark sat down next to him, watching him closely.
"Feelin' better?"
"I'm fine now," Alan said. He took a bite of the stew. "Good. Guess I was just hungry."
Kevin dropped into the chair across from Mark and picked up a plate of the stew. He took a bite and his eyebrows rose. "Mm! The Patrol was never like this! How about marryin' me, Emma? We'll colonize to Midgard an' you can cook for me all the time. The food at the base is lousy."
She laughed at him, scooping the baby from Mark's lap. "But then you'd have to diaper the baby all the time."
"Just might be worth it." Bronson took another mouthful.
Emma looked at Alan. "How are you feeling now?"
"Better," Alan said. He met her eyes, suddenly sensing something wrong. "What's the matter? You're worried about something."
She looked annoyed. "Just because I have my shields down doesn't give you the license to read my mind, Colonel Westover!"
"I didn't!" Alan protested.
"Empathy," Mark said, glancing up from his own plate. "That's why he's so agreeable all the time. He won't read your mind without permission but the empathy's another matter. He don't do it on purpose."
"What's wrong?" Alan persisted.
She hesitated and then sat down, bouncing the baby on her knee. "Did you know about Subcommander Rannir?"
Alan froze, the spoon halfway to his mouth. "Oh no."
"One of our agents?" Mark asked.
She nodded. "He killed himself two hours ago -- set his blaster on emergency overload and took a squad of 'trols with him."
"An Arcturian?" Kevin asked. "You really got Arcturian spies in the Patrol, after all, huh?" He was new enough in the Underground that he was still learning many things about how the organization functioned. "What happened?"
"We're not sure of the details. Probably they caught on when he stole the information. He was trying to copy the plans to that new decode contraption the Jils are putting together. He got them, too." Emma paused. "He sent a message to the Sissali station. He'd copied the plans, and the Patrol knew he'd gotten something, but not what. He hid them several hours before he was caught. I understand he led the Patrol on a merry chase, too."
"Where did he hide them?" Mark asked.
Emma shook her head. "We're not sure. All Rannir managed to get through was that they're somewhere aboard the 'Patton'."
"The 'Patton'!" Mark and Alan chorused.
Emma nodded. "It was at the Coralan Municipal Spaceport at the time. You know the Jils never let a Terran Space Corps ship land at one of their military spaceports. We're going to have an awful time finding them, since we have nothing to connect them with, but Lee Burke suggested you might be able to do it, Alan, with Kevin and Mark to draw power from."
Alan shook his head. "We can't go aboard that ship. We'll be recognized. That was the ship that Strike Commander Foxe commandeered to take Mark to Corala, two years ago. There's bound to be people aboard that saw both of us."
"Where's the 'Patton', now?" Bronson asked.
"In hyperspace," Emma replied. "It took off from Corala half an hour before Rannir killed himself. He must have known it would take the Patrol time to trace the stolen plans back to the ship. They still haven't figured it out as far as we know, and the 'Patton' will be landing on Nindili, in the Aldebaran system, in about six hours. We can have the three of you there to meet it."
"Wait a minute," Mark said. "Didn'tcha hear? Alan an' me can't go aboard that ship. We'll be recognized."
"We'll figure out a disguise," Emma said. "The two Big Bosses are prepared to clear the way for you -- provide you with identities and so forth. I've already got an idea for you, Mark."
"What?"
"Well, for both you and Kevin, actually."
"So, spill it!"
"You're twin brothers. We'll dye your hair and give you contact lenses."
Alan finished his stew and refilled his coffee cup. "Hey, that's a great idea! Who'd think of looking for Mark Linley as one of a pair of twins? You two look an awful lot alike, anyway."
"But there's still Alan," Linley said. "He's so damn short he attracts attention, an' anybody on the ship that saw him before'll be sure to remember."
"I got it," Kevin said.
Alan looked at him with a sinking feeling. "What?"
"He can go aboard as a girl. Little Alice Woodruff."
Alan choked on a mouthful of coffee. "NO!"
Mark grinned broadly. "Hey, that's a great idea! You ain't too short for a girl, kid, an' --"
"NO!"
"Sure," Kevin said. "You'd make a real cute girl."
"NO!"
"And with a little makeup, an' a few curves in the right places --"
"And a wig, of course," Emma put in.
Alan jumped to his feet. "It's a crazy idea! Nobody's be fooled for a minute! My beard'll start to grow, and somebody will smell a rat!"
"You'll just have to shave a lot," Mark said. "Besides, we won't be there that long. Where's the 'Patton' going after Nindili, Emma?"
"Capella. It's only ten hours from Nindili."
"Yeah, I know. See, kid? No problem. If we don't find the thing by then, we're had, anyway."
"I don't look like a girl!" Alan protested.
"You will when I get through with you," Emma said.
**********
tbc
