I took a short break from the accounting. I've gone through it three times and gotten three different answers, none of them right, so I decided to post another part first. Then it's back to the salt mines. Enjoy.
Defector: 11/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Sven Thoroski restrained the urge to hurry as the Patrol car hummed softly toward the landing field. As the car lifted over the storage huts, he heard the alarm at the hospital go off and knew that if he did anything suspicious now, he would certainly be stopped. Watching the rear scanners with half of his attention, he saw a cloud of Patrol cars converging on the scene. An official Jilectan limousine went tearing past him, less than fifteen meters away, and the swarm of Patrol vehicles followed in screaming pursuit. He stared after them for a moment, perplexed, and then leaned forward to flip on the communicator.
"...Vehicles in the vicinity. Lord Chalthzor has been found shot to death in the hospital room of the Underground prisoner...."
Thoroski's jaw dropped. More aircars screamed past him in pursuit of the fleeing Jilectan limo.
"...The criminals are now attempting to escape in a stolen Jilectan official car. All units give chase...repeat, all units give chase...."
Another voice cut into the broadcast, this one with a pronounced Terran accent. "Attention all Patrol cars! I am the Underground agent presently piloting Lord Revolthvor's aircar. If you chase me, I will run, and if I run too fast, it is possible I will have an accident. That would be most unfortunate for Lord Revolthvor, who is in the trunk of this vehicle..."
Thoroski surprised himself with a gasp of laughter. Lord Revolthvor? Holy space! His shoulders began to shake with mirth that was half amusement and half stress relief.
On his scanners, the Patrol cars were slackening their speed, their drivers obviously undecided about what to do. The fleeing Jilectan limousine dwindled on the screen and finally vanished in the distance.
Thoroski blew out his breath, hoping that the enterprising outlaws managed to escape the pursuit. On the dashboard, the com came suddenly to life.
"Orders from Lord Drevolthvar, second son of Lord Revolthvor, to all Patrol cars. The criminals are not to be pursued. No attempt is to be made to capture them until Lord Revolthvor is safe. In the meantime, the hospital and its grounds are to be searched, as the prisoner apparently was not with the criminals when they escaped...."
His com continued to chatter, but Thoroski was no longer listening. He brought the aircar down to the nearest surface street and rolled slowly along, obeying the speed limit meticulously. The landing field was just ahead. He glanced at his chronometer. It was time for the "Leviathan's" shift change. Better wait a few minutes before going in.
He pulled the car to the side of the street, lowered the windows a few inches and cut the engine. Overhead the sky was a cloudless blue -- a typical Coralan summer day. It was noon, but, of course, the ship was on Fleet time, not Corala time. There was no way the Patrol ships could be on planet time, with all the different planets they visited.
The minutes crawled slowly past. Thoroski could see the main gate from where he sat. As he watched, a Jilectan aircar roared through the gate, never stopping, or even slowing down, followed instantly by another one. The sentry leaped aside, barely escaping the front fender of the foremost vehicle. Thoroski opened the door of his car and hurried over to the guard shack.
The sentry was picking himself up from the pavement, cursing, and Thoroski leant him a hand. The patrolman thanked him briefly and began to brush dirt from his uniform. Thoroski helped him. "Who the devil was *that*?"
"One of Chalthzor's kin." The guard grunted disgustedly and favored the unknown Jilectan with a short, pithy description of his parentage.
"Yeah," Thoroski agreed. "It's going to get worse, too. We'll have Jils coming out of our ears before the day's over."
The guard grunted. "Damn that damned Underground! Why couldn't they blast the trenchcrawler somewhere besides *this* base?"
Thoroski shrugged. "Just our luck, I guess. Do they know who did it yet?"
"They think it was Westover again. He was seen in the lobby o' the hospital."
"No kidding! Was Linley there?"
"They didn't see 'em, but he probably was. Not the guy with Westover, though. Big guy with black hair. They're tryin' t'identify 'im now." He grimaced. "Didn't get the prisoner, though."
"Huh! Who did, then?"
"Didn'tcha hear it on the com? It was all over it a minute ago."
"Damn thing's been on the blink all day. I missed half of it. What happened?"
"Some guy dressed like a doctor walked in an' gassed 'em."
"Who was he?"
"They dunno. None of 'em got much of a look at 'im before the fire alarm went off, an' they didn't see nothin' but the back of his head on the camera. Then the thing conked out. The fire in Security was set, naturally. Real slick job, accordin' to the arson squad. Weird, huh?"
"Weird," Thoroski agreed. "Sounds like somebody got their wires crossed."
"Yeah. Or maybe that other batch was a diversion or somethin'. Drevolthvar's steamed."
"I'll bet. What's the latest on Revolthvor?"
"They made it to a scout and blasted off. Took His Lordship along. Betcha they kill him." The guard's voice held a distinct note of optimism. Thoroski snorted.
"You never know." He broke off. "Uh oh. Here comes another one."
"Yeah." The guard and Thoroski saluted sharply as another Jilectan limousine roared through the gate. As the car disappeared around a corner, the guard flicked a rude gesture after it.
Thoroski laughed. "You know, if our lords and masters'd submit to letting us check their cars, those guys would never have gotten in. Ten to one, they got through in Revolthvor's limo."
"Yeah." The other man made a face. "Tell *them* that."
"No thanks." Thoroski shook his head. "I've got to get going. Try not to get run over."
"No kiddin'." The guard wiped the back of his neck below the helmet with a handkerchief. Thoroski didn't blame him. The day was scorching. Even with the windows partly open, Lyn was probably roasting in that laundry bag. He turned and strode back toward his aircar.
The "Leviathan" glittered in the sunlight ahead as Thoroski guided his appropriated vehicle toward the landing field. He turned the air conditioner on high and surveyed the lay of the land thoughtfully, planning his next step.
The landing field was not empty. Maintenance techs, field crewmen and a few patrolmen moved unenthusiastically about in the oven-like heat. Thoroski brought the aircar down onto the pavement by the big crates of supplies that were waiting to be loaded onto the battlecruiser. The ship was leaving for Riskell in about two hours and forty-five minutes, and, of course, the Strike Commander's quarters were empty. He glanced at his chronometer, visualizing what would be going on right now, just after the shift change. If he was careful, he could manage it.
Of course, a diversion of some sort would probably help. Well, he could manage that, too.
Wondering how he had managed to so completely slide into the role of subversive, Thoroski got out of the aircar and leaned into the back seat to lift the laundry bag carefully in his arms. A loader, already half full of crates, stood beside the pile of waiting supplies, and he set the bag on it. Moving quickly, he loaded several more crates onto the machine and then turned back to the car.
The engine was still running. He made several adjustments to the controls and set the vehicle for high speed. Then, a faint grin on his lips, he flipped Patrolman Oscarson's blaster to emergency overload, tossed it into the rear seat and stood back. The door slid shut as the vehicle rose, pivoted quickly and shot away into the sky, headed in the direction of the firing range. Thoroski didn't pause, but got behind the controls of the loader and started the engine. The machine trundled openly across the landing field toward the "Leviathan".
In the distance, in the clear air above the firing range, there was a flash of light and a few seconds later a muffled boom reached his ears. He turned, looking curiously in the direction of the sound, just in time to see what remained of the falling debris burst outward in another explosion as what was left of the car's power unit ignited. Aircars were already speeding toward the scene.
Thoroski turned back, guiding the loader carefully toward the ship, feeling good. There was no way he could have gotten rid of all the fingerprints in the Patrol car and be sure he'd managed to erase all of them. He'd been careful in the hospital room, but the aircar was another story. The blaster, however, had done the job for him, with the additional benefit of providing one more confusing distraction for the Jilectans and the Patrol to unravel.
The loading ramp of the ship was down, but the hatch was still sealed. For the Strike Commander of the ship, however, that was not an obstacle, as he knew the verbal code to open it. The hatch slid aside and he guided the machine up the ramp.
The storage compartment of the big ship was empty, as he had expected, although he had been prepared to bluff his way through if someone had inexplicably turned out to be there. Thoroski parked the loader to one side and cut the engine. Sooner or later, somebody would discover it and the fur would fly, but that was no business of his, and there was no reason anyone should connect it with the escaped Underground prisoner. He told the hatch to close, jumped down from the loader and lifted the laundry bag from the machine.
The great battlecruiser was very quiet. Most of the crew would be ashore, attending to various business, or at their stations, involved in the pre-launch routine. If he was careful, he should be able to avoid running into the Security patrols. Thoroski checked and then strode rapidly down the corridor toward the nearest lift. It whisked silently upwards and the doors opened obediently at the desired level. Again he checked the corridor and then made his way quickly toward the Strike Commander's quarters.
No one was to be seen. He reached the door to his quarters, removing the electronic key from his pocket. Holding Lyn in one arm, he tapped the three number combination quickly into the device. A short distance away, he could now hear the slow, measured steps of the Security guard approaching. The door seemed to take an inordinately long time opening, but that was probably nerves, he thought. It swished aside and he stepped quickly over the threshold, breathing a sigh of relief as it closed behind him with a tiny click. He'd made it.
Very quietly, he locked the door behind him and moved over to the neatly made bunk. With care, he lowered Lyn Parnell onto it. She stirred and moaned as he drew the laundry bag away from her. The young, pretty face looked white and pinched, her dark hair wildly tangled and wet with perspiration. She was clad only in the light hospital gown, which clung damply to her body. Thoroski scowled. Damn Parks! The guy had somehow survived. He would have to do something about that, if he ever got the chance, now.
The girl moaned softly again and turned her head on the pillow, licking her lips. He went into the bathroom and filled a cup with water. He was going to have to take care of her for at least twenty-four hours, until the "Leviathan" reached Riskell. Maybe by then she'd be awake enough to tell him how to contact the Underground, and he could get them both to safety.
Kneeling beside the bunk, he slid an arm under her shoulders and lifted her slightly. "Here, honey. Drink some of this."
Her eyelids flickered and her lips formed the word, "Alan?"
"No, I'm not Alan, but I'm going to help you. Don't be afraid." He held the cup to her lips. She swallowed twice and choked. Thoroski withdrew the cup, while she got her breath, and then lowered her back to the pillow. Her eyes were still closed, but her small hand came up to grip his. Her pale lips smiled faintly.
"Thanks, Mark," she whispered, and was instantly asleep again.
The ship blasted off two hours later.
**********
XI
"We're getting close." Lewis Stevens glanced at his chronometer. "She's staying in one place now. Has been for about two hours. Go east just a smidge, Kev."
Bronson turned the nondescript civilian aircar toward the east. "We're headin straight toward the base."
"Yeah." Stevens frowned. "What the devil do you suppose she's still there for? If she escaped on her own, she'd try to get as far away as she could."
"Maybe she's layin' low 'til the thunder and lightnin' die down," Bronson suggested.
Griffen frowned dubiously. "Alan was sure she'd been there, and that guy at the door said I was the third doctor to visit. We only saw one on the floor, so what happened to the other one?"
"Good question." Bronson squinted through the windshield toward the distant base. "Could be he was the one that got her out. Wonder who --" He broke off, glancing up. "There goes the 'Leviathan'. Good riddance."
Stevens stared at the ring in his hand and then up at the dwindling toy ship. "She's on the battlecruiser!"
"What?"
"She's on the 'Leviathan!'"
Griffen stared up at the almost invisible speck against the sky. "Are you sure?"
Stevens nodded. "Positive."
"They musta caught her again," Bronson said. "D'you think this fuss could be a setup to throw us off?"
"Maybe," Griffen said. "Damn! Where are they headed?"
"Riskell, last I heard," Stevens said. "Funny...."
"What?"
Stevens clutched the ring tightly. "I have a feeling...." He paused. "Let's get back to the ship. We'll have to go after her."
"Yeah." Bronson turned the car around and they headed back toward their ship. "We don't even know for sure that's where they're goin'. That could be a setup, too."
"I don't think so," Stevens said. The vague feeling was crystallizing into near-certainty.
"Why not?"
He lifted the ring, holding it between thumb and forefinger so that the diamond caught the rays of the early-afternoon sun, and stared at it fixedly. "I'm not the best empath," he said slowly, "but I'm getting the definite impression that she's not afraid. She's only about half-awake, but she's not scared. It's like she senses she's with a friend. I think she's with someone that's trying to help her, and he put her on board the ship to get her off the planet."
"Holy hell!" Bronson muttered.
"Let's hurry," Stevens said. "They just went into hyperspace. If we move, we shouldn't be too far behind."
**********
Mark Linley had set the scout ship in a deep valley, overhung by high, snow-capped mountains on either side. He set the automatic alarms and returned to the tiny sick bay with his partner. Matt Philips looked at him.
"Take it easy, Mark. He's going to be all right. He'll be waking up soon."
"Wish he would," Linley said.
"I'm going to check with Kurt." Philips vanished out the door.
Mark got to his feet and stretched, and then bent closer to his partner. "Kid, it's Mark. Can you hear me?"
Alan moved his head and his eyes opened. He raised a hand gingerly to his forehead.
Mark caught the hand and lowered it back to the bed. "Better leave that alone," he said. "You cracked your head open."
"Huh?" Alan blinked up at him. "What happened?"
"You got a fracture there, kiddo. Matt says you're supposed to keep quiet."
Alan closed his eyes. "Lyn?" he asked.
"Kev's out with Lew and Ron, trying to trace her with her ring."
"Oh." Alan put a hand across his eyes. "My head hurts."
"I ain't surprised," Linley said.
"How long have they --"
Linley hesitated. "They've been gone just over two hours. Now take it easy! Lie *down*!"
Alan subsided. Matt Philips entered the cabin. "They just landed. Ah, Alan's awake. How do you feel?"
"He says his head hurts," Linley supplied.
"Anybody home?" Bronson's voice called.
"In here," Linley replied.
"Kurt's warming up the engines," Griffen's voice said. "I'll help him."
Lewis Stevens appeared in the doorway. "We're taking off," he said unnecessarily. "Better strap in. Hi, Alan. How's the head?"
Alan grinned faintly. "Better, now that I've seen your smiling face. Did you find her?"
"Not exactly, but we know where she is, and I'm pretty sure she's okay."
"Where is she?" Mark asked.
"Aboard the 'Leviathan.' It's on its way to Riskell." Stevens sat down and fastened his safety webbing as the ship's engines rose to a crescendo.
"The 'Leviathan!'"
"Yeah, but don't worry. She's with a friend."
"But who...." Alan's eyes widened. "Oh!"
"Oh, what?" Linley asked.
"Nothing," Stevens said. He grinned faintly. "Whoever he is, he's made a friend for life."
"A lot of 'em," Mark said. "Hope he's got her hidden good, though."
The intercom crackled. "Hi, back there," Kurt's voice said.
"Hi, Kurt," Alan said.
"Feel better, buddy?" Kurt's voice asked.
"Fine."
"Great. You just take it easy and let Ron and me handle things for a while." A pause. "Aha! Here comes the welcoming committee!"
"Patrol battlecruiser 'Sentinel' to scout ship! You are in violation of the order banning the departure of private ships from Corala! You will land at the Drevelle Spaceport at once and prepare for --"
"Cool it, Cliff," Griffen's voice said.
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the voice of the "Sentinel's" Strike Commander returned. "Ron?"
"It's me, all right. Just keep your distance, if you value old Revolthvor's hide. We've got him aboard, and we don't plan on stopping."
Strike Commander Smilvinski's voice sounded appalled. "Lord Revolthvor's aboard? Allow me to speak with him at once!"
Kurt's voice cut in. "He's taking a nap right now, Strike Commander, and snoring loud enough to shake the bulkheads. You'll get him back when we don't need him anymore, as long as you behave yourselves. His chauffeur should be showing up with the limo any time now. We turned him loose a few minutes before we took off. Sorry about the car's communicator, but we didn't want him alerting people too soon for our convenience."
Smilvinski sounded annoyed. "The hell with the chauffeur! Ron, if you kill Revolthvor, the Jils'll retaliate. You know that. Tell your associates --"
"Don't worry about that," Griffen told him casually. "He'll be fine. But if you attack us and kill him, it's your hide on the line. Clear the way, now. Oh, by the way," he added, as if in afterthought, "I'd probably better clear up a misconception. Alan Westover didn't shoot Chalthzor. I did. Bye, now."
Smilvinski didn't answer.
"What's goin' on?" Linley called.
"They're moving," Kurt's voice said. "Always nice to have a Jil aboard. It makes the flunkies treat you with proper respect."
"How come his Lordship's clothes are lyin' on the deck in there?" Kevin Bronson inquired. He appeared in the entrance to the Sick Bay, grasping both sides of the opening. "He's got a blanket over him, an' snorin' like a trooper. Can't say I really look forward t'seein' him in the altogether when he wakes up."
"You can take it," Mark told him. "Hey, Kurt, give my regards t'Cliff, wouldja?"
"He heard you," Kurt said. "The transmitter's still on. Goodbye now, Strike Commander. Lord Revolthvor will be fine, I guarantee you."
There was a jolt as the ship converted to hyperspace.
"Why'd you tell him about Chalthzor?" Alan asked weakly. "You could have let them blame me for it."
"Doesn't matter," Griffen's voice said. "If I get caught, I'm dead anyway. I'm listed as an accessory for Valthzor, you know. Besides, I kind of like the status. I might as well go for something big as something small. Besides, it's good for morale. It shows the subject races that the Jils aren't invincible."
"He's right," Mark said. "As long as we don't go around shootin' Jils in the back, it shows everybody that Jils can lose, too."
"You know," Alan said thoughtfully, "what I've always wondered is why the Jils *don't* retaliate when one of us killed one of them. They sure don't hesitate when they want one of our planets."
"Actually they do," Linley said soberly. He'd thought about the subject a lot, and it hadn't been long before the answer dawned on him. "I told you they understand us pretty well. It's just that they know our breakin' point." He grinned, thinking of the history professor he'd had in one of the classes he'd taken back on Lavirra. The man had had a habit of enumerating his points with his fingers, just as Mark discovered that he was doing. "When they met us, eighty years or so back, they thought they could just waltz in an' grab the Bellian colony. It nearly pushed Terra into a war. We couldn't have won, but we'd have torn 'em up plenty. That's how the Terran-Jilectan Treaty got goin': they agreed t'let us keep what we have, and that we could colonize anywhere they didn't want. 'Course they don't intend for us t'stay independent in the long run, but Jils prefer takin' over space travelin' nations the subtle way, so they don't screw up planets they can use. Didja know an average Jil Lady has somethin' like thirty kids in her lifetime, most of 'em female? An' an average Jil male has somethin' like ten wives. They need the planets, 'cause they're expandin' like crazy, an' crowdin' us out."
"I see why they need the planets," Matt Philips said.
"Exactly," Linley said. "Takin' over hostile aliens ain't new to the Jils. They been doin' it for two hundred years or so. But we're different, 'cause of our psychics. An' Terrans in general are stubborn cusses. If they start punishin' our colonies for what a buncha outlaws do, the Terran government might get pushed into a war by the people, and we got the resources -- an' the psychics -- to make things pretty hot for 'em. Boppin' off an occasional colony is one thing, but they gotta have a good excuse. If they knew how well-prepared we really are, o' course, they'd come after us now, an' save 'emselves some trouble later. Hell," he added, "that's the reason we let 'em think we're wild-eyed revolutionaries, doin' cornball things like we did with Halthzor, last time. When I was in the Patrol, we all thought the Terran Underground was a royal pain in the tail, but that was all. So when you zapped Salthvor, they hadta blame it on a criminal psychic, but they couldn't retaliate against Terra. O' course," he added judicially, "we can't go hog-wild, either, an' if they catch one of us, we gotta pay for it, but they can't go massacrin' on a grand scale for what we do. It ain't smart."
"I guess not," Alan said. "You know, Mark, you'd make a good history instructor."
"Nah," Mark said. "High school kids drive me nuts."
**********
Sven Thoroski was seated beside his bunk, trying not to doze. Lyn Parnell was still asleep, but a little color had crept into her pale cheeks. The Strike Commander checked her pulse and breathing, satisfying herself that she was doing all right.
The ship was in hyperspace, and had been for nearly eight hours. If all went well, they should arrive on Riskell in another sixteen hours, and he would try to sneak her off the ship as soon as it was dark.
Lyn stirred suddenly and moaned. Thoroski sat up abruptly. "Easy, honey."
Brown eyes opened. Thoroski smiled at her. "It's okay, Miss Parnell. You're safe."
Her eyes focused on him and she shrank back. "No! Oh, no!"
"Easy, honey! I'm not going to hurt you!"
"Don't touch me! Alan! Mark!"
Thoroski caught her shoulders, gripping them tightly. "Will you listen..."
Her mouth opened to scream. Thoroski clapped a hand over her lips and then swore as she bit him. He released her abruptly and got to his feet, lifting his hands over his head. "Lyn, will you listen? I won't hurt you! My name is Sven Thoroski and I've taken you away from the Patrol! You're safe for now. They don't know where you are."
She was staring at him in disbelief. "You're a patrolman!"
Thoroski grinned suddenly. "I'm better than that, Miss Parnell. I'm the Strike Commander of this battlecruiser. You're aboard the 'Leviathan,' in my quarters."
She had relaxed against the pillow. "Why?" she whispered.
Thoroski brought her a cup of water. "Here you go." He slipped an arm under her shoulders and held the container for her while she drank. "Why? Because I want to join the Underground." He set the cup on the metal shelf beside the bunk and dropped into the chair again. "I've got several reasons, but the main one is that I can't stay here, now. As soon as a Jil reads my mind, I'm done for. My loyalties have changed -- rather drastically, I'm afraid. Can the Underground use another experienced Strike Commander, do you think?"
She seemed to go limp all at once, and tears began to roll down her face. Thoroski leaned forward, taking her into his arms. She clutched him tightly, sobbing into his chest. He sat still, holding her patiently, until the sobs ceased.
"All right now?" he asked finally.
She nodded, making no effort to release herself from his embrace. "I'm sorry I bit you." Her voice was muffled.
He laughed. "Think nothing of it."
"I didn't know.... When they first brought me in, there was a 'trol there named Parks --"
Thoroski's arms tightened around her. "Parks?"
Her head moved slightly. "Yes. All he did was guide the stretcher, but I could see what he was thinking. He was going to be one of my guards." She stopped. "You look a little like him."
"I know," Thoroski said. "Mister Parks and I are acquainted." He lowered her gently back to the bunk. "You'd better lie still, honey. You were hurt pretty bad. How does your side feel?"
"It hurts a little."
Thoroski hesitated. "I really ought to put more burn salve on it, and clean bandages. It's been over eight hours since I got you out of the hospital on Corala. Will you let me?"
She smiled and nodded again. Thoroski went for the first aid kit in the closet. "I'm afraid this is the extent of my medical supplies, but we'll be on Riskell in about sixteen hours, and you can tell me where to take you."
"Sure." She rolled carefully away from him, pulling the gown up so he could see the wound. Thoroski winced a little as he started to remove the bandages, and she moved convulsively. "Maybe I ought to wait...."
She shook her head. "No; go on. I'm okay."
Thoroski peeled the bandages back. The wound looked bad, as blaster burns usually did, but he could see that, in actuality, she had been very lucky. A centimeter or two deeper and she would have been dead, but as it was, the burn salve was already at work, stimulating the healing process. In a month or so, there would be no sign of the terrible wound except, perhaps, the pinkness of healthy, new skin.
Thoroski applied more salve, spreading the stuff on thickly. Lyn lay quiet now, accepting his ministrations without protest. Trying to be extremely gentle, and not hurt her, he re-bandaged the wound.
"There: all done. It looks pretty good. You're going to be okay."
Her hand clutched his for a moment, her lips paper white, and he could see sweat beading her forehead. He bit his lip. "I'm sorry. I tried not to hurt you."
"It's all right." Her voice was faint.
Thoroski withdrew his hand and reached into the kit. "Hold on, sweetie. I'm going to give you something for the pain."
She shook her head. "Don't. I'm afraid to sleep. I'm afraid I'll wake up and find out you were a dream."
He grinned a little. "I've been called a lot of things during my life, but never a dream. I'm real, all right. I'll get you our when we reach Riskell, but right now you need to sleep. Give me your arm."
Slowly, she obeyed and Thoroski gave her the injection. "How's that. They used to say in field training that I gave a good shot."
"You do," Lyn said. "Almost as good as Alan."
"Oh? When did he ever give you a shot?" Thoroski asked, intrigued.
"When Mark first kidnapped me. Alan realized I was a psychic, and they were afraid I'd tell my father things when they returned me." She smiled, and then yawned. "I bit Mark, too. He slapped me for it."
Thoroski's face darkened. "Why that --"
She smiled. "Oh, I deserved it," she said, unexpectedly. "He saved my life later, you know, and so did Alan. Alan and I are engaged to be married now, and Mark is a good friend of mine."
Thoroski took her hand. "I hope I am, too. You started out as just a convenient ticket to the Underground, you know, but not anymore."
She closed her eyes, returning the clasp on his hand. "I know. Thank you."
"I only wish I'd known what that damned Parks was like before. I'd have busted him to the Borantium Cinnabar Mines long ago."
She smiled slightly again."
"How's Subcommander Bronson doing, by the way?"
"Kevin?" Her eyes opened wide. "That's right! You were his Strike Commander!" She giggled. "He talks a lot about you." A faint flush had begun to creep into her pale cheeks.
"Oh yeah? What did he say?"
"He liked you a lot."
"Is that all?"
She wasn't looking at him. "Pretty much."
"Then why are you blushing? Come on, honey; what did the infamous brother of Mark Linley say about his Strike Commander?"
Her flush deepened. "I can't say it in his words...."
"I'll bet you can't! Come on."
"Well, he said you were sort of a ladies' man, and that you and he used to go out to the bars together when you were on shore leave...." She stopped again. Thoroski laughed softly.
"Bet he put it a little different than that!"
She laughed too, and caught at her side. "Just a little."
Thoroski laughed again. Lyn's flush was beginning to subside. They fell silent, and she yawned again. "Where did you ever get a name like Sven Thoroski?"
"Huh? Oh, that. My dad was Polish and my mother was Swedish. They named me after her father. Why?"
"I just wondered." Again she was silent, watching him covertly.
"What are you thinking about, honey?"
"Nothing."
"Wondering if all those things Kev said about me are true?"
"Oh, I'm sure they were." She smiled. "My father was a Base Commander, remember. I've met Patrol officers before." A third yawn caught at her, and she covered her mouth with one slim palm. "I'm sleepy."
"Then go to sleep. Don't be afraid."
Her hand tightened in his. "I'm not afraid anymore. How did you get me out?"
He grinned. "It helps to know the ropes. Actually, I guess I got there just a little before your fiance."
"Alan?"
"Uh huh."
"Is he okay?"
"As far as I know. They went tearing past us in Lord Revolthvor's limo. They did take out another Jil in the process, though."
"Oh my! Lord Revolthvor?"
"No: Lord Chalthzor. He was some kind of kin to Halthzor -- one of his uncles, I think."
"Oh!"
"That's more or less what I said. But they did take Revolthvor hostage. Still had him, last I heard. They'd stuffed him in the trunk of his aircar."
"Oh!"
"Anyway, they'll be okay. They're pretty smart."
Lyn nodded, her eyelids beginning to droop. "I know."
"Go to sleep, sweetie. I'll be right here."
Her eyelids closed. Thoroski waited until she was asleep and then disengaged his hand, watching her drawn young face. She looked about fourteen in the dim light of the cabin. Damn Parks, anyway!
After a moment, he stood up. He was worn out. He'd been over twenty-four hours without sleep and fatigue was starting to catch up with him. After a moment, Thoroski lay down on the thin carpet of his cabin and cushioned his head with his hands. He slept at once.
**********
tbc
