Revolt!: 5/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Chapter VI
Three hours later Chris stood at the living room window of the farmhouse, watching the last of the captive patrolmen being led out to their waiting aircar. Roddy appeared beside him. "News just came in. The Tormheits and the Daviki have both declared for Terra."
"Good." Chris felt a little glow of triumph. He hadn't been sure about the Daviki. No one had. "What about the Raghiki?"
Roddy laughed. "What do you think?"
"That they aren't getting involved in Terra's insanity--that we can commit suicide if we like, and it's none of their business."
Roddy laughed again. "Well they haven't said anything yet, but I'll bet you've hit the nail pretty squarely on the head."
Chris nodded. "It's snowing."
"Yeah." Roddy also looked out. The light, feathery flakes were just beginning to drift from the leaden sky. "Going to cover up all the evidence of our heroism."
Chris nodded. "I've never been a hero before, he remarked conversationally. "I'm not sure I like it."
"No?" Roddy grinned. "It has its good points, though. Look how Amy's been acting toward us since we risked our necks. Before we were just boys. Now we're *men*." He blew on his knuckles and buffed them on his shirt.
Chris chuckled. "Maybe she's acting like that toward you, but not me. I think she has a heavy crush on you."
Roddy's grin broadened. "Maybe. And why not? I'm charming, handsome, kind to children and old ladies --"
"And young ladies in particular," Chris put in. "Better watch yourself. I'm pretty sure she's underage."
"So am I," Roddy admitted. "Anyway, she's a blond, and I'm partial to brunettes --"
Tidd appeared in the doorway. "Big news, boys. The Terran fleet has raided the Patrol base on Phobos."
Chris and Roddy ran for the family room. The man in the turtleneck had been replaced by a young woman in a dark, ruffled blouse. She was speaking, her voice soft but excited.
" -- On Phobos," she was saying. "This occurred two hours ago, with an overwhelming victory on the part of Terra. No lives have been reported lost, and the base has now been claimed as Terran soil --"
"That ought to show the Jils we mean business!" It was one of the farmer's sons, watching the broadcast with shining eyes. His mother glanced at him and sighed.
The scene on the video changed to the Tidds' living room, and Chris and Roddy watched themselves interviewed again for what seemed like the hundredth time. Roddy muttered an imprecation under his breath. Harold Tidd glanced over his shoulder and grinned at them. "Nobody on this planet is ever going to forget your faces, boys."
"I think they're keeping that piece in reserve," Roddy said bitterly. "And every time they run out of news, they just stick it on to fill in the gap."
"Probably," the farmer agreed comfortably.
The interview came to a close. Roddy grimaced at his parting salutation and turned away. "If I have to watch that one more time, I think I'm going to throw up."
"Me, too," Chris agreed.
"Hey! Listen!" That was Herbert Tidd, the farmer's eldest son. "More news."
"-- Major battle has commenced in the Centauri system. Ships from the Patrol Base on Jotenheim have tried to bomb the Terran Space Corps Station on Midgard. The Patrol ships were intercepted however, and the conflict quickly escalated to a violent battle. The Terran fleet is being assisted by another fleet of ships, the commander of which identified himself as one Colonel Kurt McDougal of the Terran Underground. The Commander of the Terran Fleet, Admiral Redmond, reports that McDougal's fleet has so far been of invaluable assistance to him in turning the tide of the battle. This person, calling himself Colonel McDougal, apparently is the same Lieutenant Kurt McDougal who joined the Terran Underground after successfully aiding Alan Westover in the rescue of Mark Linley from the Terran Light Cruiser 'Patton' --"
Chris didn't remember it, of course. It had occurred six years before he was born. But he had heard about it. Such stories lost little in the telling.
Tidd was nodding. "I remember that incident real well," he said. "I was about fifty at the time, and a bit thinner." He patted his middle. "They'd picked up Linley back east somewhere's, and were using him as bait to try'n lure in Westover. Well, they must'a succeeded, all right, cause not much later somebody threw a bomb through the repulsor hatch of the Patrol cruiser --"
"Not a bomb, Harry," Mrs. Tidd said quietly. "A blaster set to overload."
"Yeah. Well, whatever it was, it did the job in spades. The Strike Commander of the ship commandeered the 'Patton'. But Westover must've sneaked on board -- at least they think it was him, although no one knows for sure. It took off, and the next thing we heard it had come out of hyperspace for emergency repairs. The Strike Commander and a bunch of 'trols on board were dead or had disappeared and two officers and Linley were missing. McDougal was one -- and, interestingly enough, after all this was over it came out that young Kurt was Alan Westover's best friend and bunkmate while they were cadets at T.S.A."
"And the other boy who was missing," Mrs. Tidd chimed in, "was found in his underwear back at T.S.C. headquarters. But according to the log, he came aboard." She laughed. "No one remembered seeing him -- but then, he was new, and no one was really looking."
"Mom!" Herbert said. "I'm sure they've heard the story before!"
Roddy grinned. "It's one of those stories that doesn't get old, though," he commented. "Wish I could meet Westover someday --"
"Me too!" Chris said wholeheartedly.
Chancellor Mugamba's face appeared again. "Citizens of the Terran Confederation," she began. "I have an important announcement concerning the fleet which arrived recently in the Centauri system to assist Admiral Redmond in his battle against the invading Patrol vessels. The commander of this fleet, Colonel Kurt McDougal, is a member of the Terran Underground. The Underground, as you know, is presumably a lawless, radical organization, which opposes the Jilectans. However, I wish now to publicly announce that the Terran Underground has long been a special branch of Terran Military Intelligence. They have protected Terra however, by hiding behind the guise of a revolutionary organization. They are not what they appeared to be. The Underground has been fully sanctioned by the government of the Terran Confederation from the beginning." She glanced sideways, and the scene widened to show a row of government officials, and a tall man advancing across the floor toward her. Two meters from her he stopped and came to attention, saluting.
She turned toward him with a welcoming smile. "Citizens of Terra, may I present to you, Admiral Michael Weaver, Commander in Chief of Terran Special Intelligence, otherwise known as the Terran Underground."
Michael Weaver was a tall, silver-haired individual, who must, Chris thought, be close to two hundred. He stood straight as a ruler. His hawk-nosed face, with its firm chin and dark, piercing eyes, made Chris want to stiffen instinctively to attention. If this man had led the Terran Underground all these years, he could understand how the organization had been such a thorn in the side of the Jilectan Autonomy for three decades.
Chancellor Mugamba glanced at one of the other officials, who also approached and placed something in her hand -- a piece of silver, with a ribbon attached.
She stepped forward to pin the medal on Weaver's uniform. "The Terran Confederation is grateful for your yeoman's work, Admiral, and I want to add my sincere personal appreciation for an outstanding job in preparing Terra and its allies for this inevitable crisis."
"Thank you, Madame Chancellor."
There was a rattle of applause from the assembled officials. The Chancellor turned to address the public again. "Let it be known," she said, "that from this moment on, all members of the Terran Underground are officially recognized as members of the Confederation Armed Forces. Their ranks will be recognized as official, and any criminal records acquired as a result of their covert activities are to be considered acts in the line of duty, and free of any criminal taint."
Tidd applauded, and his sons, wife, and the two cadets joined in. "Yahoo!" Herbert yelled.
The Admiral shook the Chancellor's hand again. The scene flickered out and the female announcer reappeared.
"Wow!" Tidd said. "Do you get the feeling, folks, that a lot of this stuff was arranged way ahead of time?"
"I sure do," his wife said. "Terra's prepared. Well prepared."
"The folks in charge knew this would happen, somehow or other," the farmer said slowly. "The Autonomy has been pushing us harder every year. They were bound to step over the line eventually. Everybody knew it, except the lamebrains that were scared to say boo about the Jils." He chuckled grimly. "Those characters used to make me so mad --"
"Easy, Dad," Herbert said. "Don't get worked up. Remember your blood pressure."
The farmer scowled at his son. "Watch your mouth, boy. You aren't too old to spank yet."
Chris and Roddy retired discretely from the room. Members of the Regional Militia were still around, and DeSoto appeared from nowhere, grinning. "Hello, kids. Seen yourself on video enough for one day?"
"For sure!" Chris replied fervently.
"Thought so. I managed to get word to T.S.A. that you're all right." His grin broadened. "They already knew. They'd seen you on the video a few dozen times and knew the whole story."
Chris sighed. "We're never going to live it down. What are the chances of getting back to the shuttleport soon, sir?"
"Hmm --" DeSoto glanced at his chronometer. "It's 1600 now, and most of the 'trols in the locality have been cleared out -- at least, as well as we could hope. You sure the shuttleport's back in operation, though? They were a bit disrupted, you know."
"Well, if they're not, I guess we could always come back," Chris said. "Could one of your men give us a ride?"
"Hmm, sure, why not?" In fact, any of the folks who arrived with you can come along. Assemble on the porch in fifteen minutes."
"Okay," Chris said. "Thanks." He turned and went back into the sitting room. "Uh -- Mr. Tidd -- Mrs. Tidd --"
"Sh! Just a minute, Chris." The farmer was watching the videoscreen where the female announcer was again speaking calmly.
" -- Orions and Voria have declared that they will support Terra in its cause against the Jilectan Autonomy. The Raghiki, however--" The announcer smiled faintly. "-- Have stated firmly that they will not become involved in Terra's madness --" She paused, and the scene widened to show her handsome male partner seated beside her. The man smiled and shrugged philosophically.
"Well, the Raghiki have never disappointed us by supporting Terra before -- I don't know why they should begin now."
The young woman smiled. "Very true, Fred."
"Excuse me, Mr. Tidd," Chris said.
Tidd glanced at him. "Yeah?"
"We'll be leaving in a few minutes, and we just wanted to say goodbye -- and thanks for everything you did for us."
Tidd frowned. "Heading for the shuttleport? They might not be operating, y'know."
"If not, DeSoto's men'll bring us back," Roddy said. He extended a hand. "Thanks a lot for everything."
Tidd shook his hand and then Chris's. The two boys did the same, and Mrs. Tidd kissed them both. "You come visit us again if you're ever in the neighborhood. Promise?"
They promised. Tidd clapped Roddy heartily on the back. "Be careful boys," he advised.
"We will." They headed for the door. "Better find the others and tell 'em --"
Five minutes later the hastily assembled group was crowded on the front porch. Chris glanced around, suddenly aware that Roddy was no longer beside him. He peered through the door, then down the hallway. "Roddy?"
No reply. Mrs. Tidd appeared from nowhere, pressing two neatly bagged lunches into his hands. "Roddy will be here in a minute, Chris. He's saying goodbye to Amy."
"Oh," Chris said.
The farmer's wife kissed him again. "My daughter could do a lot worse, I think."
Chris felt himself flush, but nodded in agreement. A moment later Roddy appeared, looking pink, one arm around Amy's slender shoulders. They weren't too badly matched in height, Chris thought. The girl came just to Roddy's eyebrows, but then, she was only sixteen at the most.
"Hi, Chris," Roddy said.
Chris winked at him. "Hi."
Two militia aircars settled on the driveway. Chris headed for one then glanced back to see his friend depositing a rather passionate kiss on Amy's lips. Then he too was heading for the aircar.
The doors closed and the vehicle lifted and soared upward. Wyatt Benson was in the front seat along with Jay Wilson. Roddy, Chris, with two of the children on the laps, and one of the teenaged girls were jammed into the rear. A second aircar was transporting the rest of the group of escapees.
The snow had grown heavier, slapping against the windshield. Chris relaxed in the warmth of the aircar and the bodies hemming him in, feeling, at last, a little sleepy. His head began to droop, and the little boy in his lap sagged suddenly against him, sound asleep. Roddy nudged him.
"Wake up, pal. We're almost there."
Chris started awake. Ahead loomed the shuttleport, its blue lights blinking dimly in the gathering dusk. The aircar settled before it, and Wyatt Benson opened the door.
"Everybody just stay here," he told them. "I'll go find out if we can get a shuttle." He closed the door smartly.
They waited. Chris glanced at Roddy and grinned. "Isn't she a little young?" he whispered.
Roddy shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "She's in love with me -- or so she says. What was I supposed to do -- tell her no?"
"I didn't see you fighting very hard."
Roddy grinned. "You're just jealous 'cause she didn't come after you."
Wyatt Benson reappeared, opening the aircar door. "All okay. Come on."
They piled out, thanked their driver, and trotted across to the building. Snow slapped their faces.
It was warm in the lobby, though, and a smattering of people occupied the waiting area. The occupants came to their feet with cheers as Chris and Roddy appeared. Belatedly, Chris recognized most of the passengers who had been aboard the shuttle when they had been waylaid by the Patrol.
The people crowded forward, surrounding Chris and Roddy. A young, muscular fellow clapped Chris on the back, nearly knocking him down. Somebody else grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously.
"We saw you on the video," the young man explained. "Jil catchers and heroes -- or so they say. Is it true?"
"Well --" Chris knew he was red to the hairline. "We did catch Lord Pomithvor, even though a lot of it was luck --"
"Chris did the hard part," Roddy assured his admirers. "I just distracted the Patrol while he grabbed the Jil --"
"Shut up, Roddy," Chris said. "There were a whole bunch of patrolmen. Roddy held them off for the time it took for me to get a blaster in the Jil's ribs. Then he grabbed His Lordship, too --"
Laughter, talking, and back-slapping. A young, pretty woman, her clothing torn in several places, kissed him, then Roddy. In state they were conducted to two of the best seats. A shuttle official appeared to see what the excitement was about, and quickly sent word to the manager that the two boys who had captured the Jil had arrived. A few minutes later the manager, himself, arrived, adding his congratulations and praise to those of the shuttle passengers. The next shuttle for Miami would be leaving in about an hour. Things were back in operation here, albeit a bit sluggishly. If they needed anything, not to hesitate to call, and of course they would be assured passage on the first departing shuttle.
Somewhat flushed by the unexpected fuss, they settled down to wait. After a few minutes, the other passengers lost interest and returned to their own seats. Chris sat still, staring out the frosted window at the darkening sky. The shuttle lobby was warm, but he no longer felt sleepy. Something was nagging at him, although he wasn't sure what.
Roddy didn't speak. Chris continued to stare out the window, but he was no longer admiring the wintry landscape. The feeling was growing, and slowly he began to recognize it for what it was. They were being watched.
Psychic intuition? No! Roddy perhaps, but not him. He couldn't be a psychic! Neither of his parents was anywhere near small enough to be a psychic, and psychics produced psychics. Everybody knew that.
Unless he was a freak -- a mutation. It was possible, he supposed. The first psychic had to have started somewhere. Perhaps he was another such mutation. Or perhaps his parents had adopted him and never informed him of the fact.
Except that he looked so much like his mother.
Well, it could be co-incidence, he supposed. Many times adopted children turned out looking like their parents.
"Chris," Roddy said softly.
And instantly Chris was certain of what Roddy was going to say. Roddy had felt it, too.
"Yes?"
"I feel funny."
Chris nodded slightly. "So do I."
Roddy's eyes met his. "What do you think it is?"
Chris hesitated. "Someone's watching us?"
Roddy was nodding. "That's what I think, too."
Silence. Roddy shifted uncomfortably. "I don't think it's imagination, Chris."
"Roddy," Chris protested weakly. "This is crazy. I'm not a psychic. My parents --"
"Maybe you were adopted," Roddy said softly. "Or maybe your Mom had you before she married your dad. There's lots of possibilities --"
"But --"
"Besides, I've heard rumors that Mark Linley's son is a psychic."
Chris had heard that, too. "I've heard Linley's a psychic, though --"
"He's two meters tall!"
Chris fell silent. What Roddy had said was true, but --
"Besides," said Roddy softly, "like the Chancellor said, psychics are needed, now. If we are psychics, then we're a premium item, I'm pretty sure I am, and I think you are, too." He grinned suddenly. "We're psychic partners."
"Roddy, I don't think I am!"
Roddy shrugged. "It doesn't really matter right now. The point is, we both have the feeling that we're being watched. Now think. Who would be watching us?"
"Uh -- some of Pomithvor's flunkies?"
"Probably. And why are they watching us?"
Chris thought about it. "I don't know. Revenge? We humiliated their master, you know."
"Maybe," Roddy whispered. "But I don't think so."
Comprehension dawned. "That rock Dad gave me! Do you think the plans for that secret weapon are in it?"
"I think it's possible," Roddy said softly. He shifted uneasily. "Whoever's watching us, he doesn't like us."
Chris nodded and gulped. "We've got to get rid of the thing."
"But -- how?"
Chris thought about it, then stood up. "Come on. Let's take a walk."
"All right."
Chris led the way into the restroom, glancing quickly around. No one was there, and rapidly he removed the rock from his coat pocket. "Here. Put it in your pocket. Quick!"
Roddy did so. He was looking very pale -- almost green. "Chris, we've got to get out of here!"
They exited the restroom. Chris glanced covertly around, but could see no one watching them. The feeling was still present, though, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. The strolled through the shuttleport toward the souvenir shops. Chris glanced through the windows at the many charming, if useless, gifts.
And a moment later he knew what to do. The shop was selling rocks -- rocks of all sizes, shapes and colors, highly polished and very pretty to look at --
"Come on, Roddy!" He strode into the shop.
"What?"
"I've got an idea. Somebody wants a rock, we'll give 'em one."
"What?" Roddy's eyes lit on the display, and understanding came over his face. "Oh!"
"Give me the rock -- quick, but don't let anyone see you," Chris instructed.
Roddy slipped a hand into his coat pocket, shielding himself at the same time by standing a little behind Chris. Deftly he drew out the stone and pressed it into Chris's hand.
Chris glanced at it covertly, then at the many colored stones before him. "We need one about the same size."
"Chris --" Roddy's whisper shook. "I think he's coming closer."
Chris restrained his impulse to glance over his shoulder. "Go look at the magazines by the door. Keep an eye out. I don't think he'll dare try anything out in the open like this. Too many people around."
Roddy nodded and drifted toward the door. Chris studied the display of rocks, then quickly selected one of about the same size and shape of the one his father had given him. There were differences, of course. This stone was somewhat larger, a little more oblong in shape, and of a slightly darker hue. But presumably the man who was after it didn't know precisely what it looked like.
He started to turn away and paused. They should, of course, cover their tracks as thoroughly as possible --
Rapidly, he gathered up half a dozen more pretty rocks and strode over to the counter. A young woman greeted him, smiling. "Hello there! My goodness! Aren't you one of the boys who --"
"Yes," Chris said, trying to appear at ease.
"That was great!" The girl told him admiringly. Casually, she began to enter the prices of the rocks on her computerized register. "Capturing a Jil! Weren't you scared?"
"Petrified," Chris said. He glanced toward Roddy, who was lounging against the wall, a comic book opened before him, apparently oblivious to everything else. The girl followed his gaze.
"Oh! Is that the boy who helped you?"
"Yes," Chris said, trying to conceal his impatience.
Leisurely she finished entering the prices of the rocks. "That'll be 4.8 credits, please."
Chris opened the wallet, which he and Roddy had confiscated from the patrolman the day before. A roll of bills met his eyes. Wow! The guy was loaded! Terran credits, too. Did the Patrol pay their second classers this much? Probably not, he decided a moment later. The guy had probably taken all this money from the shuttle passengers. Feeling smug, Chris paid for the rocks. "Uh --I'd like to have them gift wrapped, please."
"That window over there." The girl pointed, and then came around the counter and headed for Roddy. Chris gathered up his package and strolled toward the gift-wrapping booth. Halfway there he slipped behind a counter, drew out the rock his father had given him from his pocket, and slipped it into the bag as well. Then he continued on to the booth.
An elderly man glanced up. "Yes?"
"I'd like to have some items gift-wrapped and mailed," Chris said. He opened the bag and took out his father's rock. "I want this one sent special delivery to Sheila Jones --" Quickly he gave the address of T.S.A. and his girlfriend's dormitory. The man punched it into the computer, then placed the rock in a gift box.
"I'd like to enclose a note," Chris said.
"Sure." The man handed him a small, greeting card. "This okay?"
"Fine." Chris took the card and opened it. "Dear Sheila," he scribbled rapidly, "Please give this rock to Dr. Wyler right away! Real important! Thanks. Love you! Chris."
Quickly he placed the card in the envelope and handed it to the clerk. The man placed it in the gift box and shoved it into the packager. A moment later it emerged, neatly gift wrapped, with Sheila's address affixed to the side. Chris drew out the next rock. "And I'd like this one to go to Martin Thomas, also at T.S.A --" Again he gave an address.
"You want to enclose a note with this one, too?" the man inquired, looking annoyed.
"Sure," Chris said blithely. Quickly he scribbled out a short greeting card and watched the man enclose it with the rock. Five more times he repeated the process, sending all the stones to different students. The clerk appeared resigned by the time he reached the last one.
"You got a lot of friends, don't'cha?" he remarked, packaging the final note with the rock.
"Oh, yes," Chris told him innocently.
The man inserted the box. "That'll be 6.9 credits."
Chris produced the cash, added a modest tip for the man's patience, and turned away.
Roddy was still leafing through magazines at the door. The cashier had returned to her register, and all appeared peaceful. But the sensation of watching eyes remained, and intensified as he emerged from the shop. Roddy followed and came up beside him.
"What did you do with it?" he whispered.
"Sent it to Sheila," Chris whispered back. "Now, we need to let our watcher know we've still got our stone. C'mon, let's go have a sandwich or something."
"Okay." Roddy followed him into the snack bar, where they each purchased a ham sandwich and a carton of milk. Then they seated themselves at a booth, and Chris took out the newly purchased rock, placing it on the table between them, half concealed by the napkin dispenser.
"Come and get it, friend," he thought.
"That the rock your Dad gave you?" Roddy asked in a clear, unmuffled voice.
"Yeah." Chris unwrapped his sandwich and picked up the rock again. "Blasted thing's been poking me in the seat since we left."
"I'll keep it," Roddy volunteered.
"No, that's okay." Chris examined it a moment. "Sort of pretty, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Roddy agreed, taking a bite from his sandwich. "Is it valuable?"
Chris shook his head. "I doubt it, but I'm really not enough of a mineralogist to know for sure." He grinned, finishing his sandwich and gulping down his milk. The hair on his neck prickled with anticipation, and he could see Roddy's hands shaking.
But nothing happened, and a few moments later the intercom came to life, announcing the departure of the Miami shuttle in thirty minutes.
Their eyes met across the table, and slowly they both stood up. Chris stuffed the rock into his coat pocket again and they headed slowly across the shuttleport. Chris's skin crawled, and every nerve was jumping. Roddy was pale, the freckles standing out against the white background of his face.
As they arrived at the gate, a loudspeaker announced that shuttle boarding would begin immediately. The passed through the gate and proceeded toward the craft.
Other people were boarding, as they walked down the passageway. Wyatt Benson grinned at them.
"Hi, boys. Going to give it another try?"
"Sure," Chris said, trying to make his voice amused. "Why let a bunch of nasty 'trols and a stupid old Jil ruin your day? If at first you don't succeed --"
"Just capture the Jil," Benson finished for him, and laughed. "Sorry, boys. I'm sure you've heard enough about that to last a lifetime."
"And how!" Chris said.
They boarded the shuttle and took their seats. Wyatt Benson sat across from them, relaxed and opened a magazine. The two teenaged girls who had been with them on the first shuttle then boarded, and waved when they saw them.
"Hi, Chris!" one called. "Hi, Roddy!"
"Hi, Lavinnia," Chris said. He raised a hand to the other girl. "Hi, Paula."
The girls both smiled winningly and scooted into the seats directly ahead of them. A moment later Jay Wilson appeared.
The shuttle car was perhaps half full when the doors swished shut. A short period of waiting followed, and Chris fidgeted. Finally, with a soft shuddering sigh, the craft moved forward. They were again on their way to Miami.
The sense of unease had not diminished, and Chris could feel the tension in Roddy as well. Minutes crept by. Outside, it was now completely dark. Snow melted on the window beside them. Then the door leading to the control room slid aside and a man stepped through. He was tall and muscular, and clad in civilian clothing, but at the sight of him Chris felt his heart contract in panic. Beside him he heard Roddy's sudden sharp intake of breath.
The man reached beneath his coat and casually produced a blaster.
"Okay folks," he said in flawless English. "Everybody behaves, and nobody'll get hurt."
**********
tbc
