Empath: 5/?
by Linda Garrick and Nancy Smith
VI
Alan bit his lower lip, staring in consternation at Lady Travinthzill. Her Highness, first wife of the Jilectan Viceroy met his gaze squarely, but her eyes still brimmed with tears. Abruptly her shoulders began to shake, and she doubled forward, whimpering and moaning.
Somehow he had to help her. Alan dropped to his knees, feeling, in spite of everything, a twinge of pity.
"It's all right." He spoke as gently and soothingly as possible. "M'Lady, it's all right. Don't be afraid. I'm going to take care of you.”
For a moment the whimpering continued. Then she straightened up, lifting angry eyes to his face and tossing back her hair.
"Don't be a fool!" she snapped. "You're a Terran -- and my husband's bitter enemy! I don't trust you, and even if I did, you have no medical training -- especially not where Jilectans are concerned!”
Alan drew back his hand, anger flashing through him. The Lady's eyes swept him contemptuously, then looked away.
"Go find your friends!" she snapped. "I'd rather be killed by a wild beast than have you touch me.”
Alan gritted his teeth. Blasted Jilectans! As Mark had often said, they understood Terrans very well. The Lady seemed to know instinctively how to anger him –- in spite of his shielding. For a moment memory tugged at him, and he frowned in thought. Why, you’d almost think that --
The thought ended abruptly. The Lady was bending forward again, sobbing and moaning. Alan felt his anger draining away, and hesitated, trying to harden his heart. If he tried to help her, she would undoubtedly insult him again. And yet, he couldn't just sit here and watch -- nor could he walk away and leave her to the mercy of this wild, hostile world.
The Lady toppled sideways, screaming. Without thinking, Alan bent forward, slipping an arm beneath her shoulders.
"M’Lady,” he said firmly," "I want you to breathe with the pain -- slow, even breaths. M’Lady look at me.”
She didn’t obey. Her sobs became more violent, and suddenly she began to scream again, those wild, hysterical screams he had first heard upon awakening.
"Stop it!” He tightened the arm across her shoulders, shaking her a little. “You're not helping yourself, or your child! Stop that screaming!"
To his surprise, she obeyed. The screams turned to trembling whimpers, then stopped. Gently, Alan smoothed the hair back from her face. “I'm going to help you, Your Highness,” he said firmly. "If you do as I say, everything will be all right.”
She looked at him, face incredulous. "Are you mad, Terran?" she inquired coldly. "You know nothing of Jilectans! How can you --”
"I know enough," Alan interrupted. "I can help you -- if you'll let me.”
"Why should you want to help me, Terran? If my child dies, it's nothing to you. And you already have me hostage.”
Alan stared at her, aghast. How could she think him so heartless? "M'Lady, don't talk like that. I'm going to help you, and the child won't die. I promise.”
Her face crumpled again, and she screamed, doubling forward. Alan caught her in his arms, holding her tightly against him. She didn't protest this time, and her golden head came down on his shoulder. She sobbed hysterically against him, and he held her gently, trying to remember everything he had ever read about childbirth. Physically, he knew, Jilectans were very much like Terrans -- more so than any other species in the galaxy. Delivering a Jilectan's baby, therefore, should he quite similar to delivering the child of a Terran woman.
Except that Alan had never delivered any baby, Terran or Jilectan. But Lady Travinthzill must not realize that. Somehow he had to gain her confidence, and her trust if this child was to be born safely.
Slowly her sobs ceased and she moved restlessly against him, her breathing quick and shallow.
"It hurts," she whispered shrilly. "Why does it hurt so much?"
He released her. "It’s supposed to hurt, Your Highness.”
Again she stared at him, incredulous. "Supposed to! It never hurt with my other children.”
Alan was taken aback. "It didn't?”
She moved disdainfully away from him. "Of course not."
"Oh." Alan frowned at her, worried. Was something wrong? Was it possible that giving birth was not painful for Jilectans? Alan had never studied the subject and had certainly never planned on having to deliver a Jilectan's baby -- much less the child of the Viceroy!
Boy, what a spot! If anything happened to this baby, Halthzor was sure to blame him, whether it was his fault or not. Alan surveyed the Lady again, trying to think calmly. In all likelihood, Her Highness knew little about the subject, either.
She was, after all, an aristocrat -- the pampered daughter of a Jilectan noble during her youth, then later the treasured first wife of Duke Halthzor and still later the Vicerienne -- Her Highness -- First Lady of the Sector. She had probably never studied childbirth, nor had it ever occurred to her that she would need to.
Then the answer was clear to him. Of course the Lady's earlier childbirths had caused her no pain! Why should they? What doctor wouldn't do his utmost to be sure that a Jilectan of importance like Lady Travinthzill would suffer no pain in childbirth?
She screamed again, bending forward. Alan caught her in his arms once more, speaking soothing words. She became still almost at once, face tight against his shoulder. He waited until the pain ended, then released her and moved around behind her.
“What are you doing?” she inquired sharply.
Alan didn't reply, but began to tug at the wet ropes on her wrists. They were difficult to untie, but he managed it at last, and tossed them to one side. The skin beneath where the bindings had been was raw, he realized with a stab of remorse. Gently he lifted one of the Lady's hands, beginning to massage her wrist.
She turned abruptly, eyes fastening on him. "Why did you do that?”
He moved back from her, a little afraid in spite of himself. But he had his blaster. If worse came to the worst, he could fire a stunbolt. It wouldn't stop her -- Jilectans were relatively insensitive to stunner fire, but it might slow her down and give him a chance to get away.
She didn't attack him, but repeated her question, eyes never leaving him. "Why did you do that?”
Alan swallowed. "I don't know. I guess I felt sorry for you.”
She smiled coldly, then grasped her stomach, bending forward and sobbing. Alan drew his blaster and placed it well out of her reach, but within his own before placing a hand on her arm.
"Don't be afraid, Your Highness," he repeated. "It's supposed to hurt.”
She struck at him, barely missing his face. Alan leaped back, rolling to his feet, blaster instantly in his hand.
The Lady still crouched on the ground, clutching her belly. "That's a lie, Terran!" Her lips curled in distaste. "Terran psychic! Empath!" She spoke the word as though it was an insult -- as, Alan supposed, it was to her. Empathic ability was looked upon by the Jilectans as a weakness, not a strength.
Alan drew a deep breath and tried to speak with conviction. "It is not a lie, M’Lady. I've seen a Terran woman give birth outside a hospital. She suffered a good deal. With your other children they must have given you drugs -- used everything they had to keep you from feeling the pain. But it's different out here. I have nothing to give you, so it’s going to hurt. You’ll be all right, though. Just relax and do as I say.”
She stared at him, lower lip pinched between her teeth. The pain ended, and she straightened up slowly. Her eyes weren't hostile now, but searching his face. "Alan?” she whispered, “Are you speaking the truth?”
He nodded. "It'll hurt, Your, Highness, but there's nothing wrong. I promise."
Her face crumbled suddenly. "You’re sure?"
Again he nodded. "I'm sure," Again he felt the twinge of pity. Poor Lady! She'd been through hell, and then to have this happen right on top of everything else. Not knowing the contractions were supposed to be painful, she must have been terribly frightened by their intensity. There was no wonder she had behaved as she had -- and with only Alan Westover, the famous Jil killer to help her.
She was crying openly now, but no screams or whimpers accompanied the sobs. She reached for him and clutched his hand so tightly that he gasped with the pain.
He gritted his teeth, waiting for the contraction to subside. The bones in his hand crunched suddenly, bringing a cry from him. The Lady released his hand, straightening up, and brushing tears from her eyes. "Was I hurting you?" Her voice shook slightly. "You should have spoken. I did not realize, and your hand is so small."
"It's okay," Alan said.
She smiled suddenly, her lips still trembling a little. "I will do as you say, Alan. I know nothing of childbirth." Her voice had changed almost imperceptibly. "You said to breathe with the pain, did you not?"
He returned the smile, his anger forgotten, and nodded. "Yes, Your Highness, breathe with it -- slow, even breaths. Keep your eyes on me. I'll breathe with you and help you. Don't be afraid of the pain. Just remember, it's all normal, and it'll be gone in a minute.”
She inclined her head, still smiling faintly, and reached for his hand again. "I will not squeeze so tightly this time, Alan," she said. “But it helps to have something to hold when the pains come.”
Her hand was large, and he could feel the strength behind her slim fingers. The contraction began, and her fingers tightened. Tears flooded her eyes, but she continued to breathe as he had instructed. Alan caught her other hand. She didn't look away, and the tears trickled down her cheeks. Alan was a little amazed that she had become so compliant in such a short space of time. Jilectans, on the whole, were highly intolerant of all the lower species. And yet, Lady Travinthzill was now treating him almost as though he was an equal, and obeying his instructions implicitly. She was even making small concessions to his feelings. True, there had been no apologies, nor did he expect any. Jils never apologized for anything. And, of course, she hadn't thanked him for untying her. Still, Alan felt that somehow he had achieved something like a truce between them -- a real accomplishment where a Jilectan was concerned.
The contraction ended and the Lady slumped against him limply. He held her, speaking softly and soothingly. "That was good, Your Highness. You're a quick learner."
She straightened up, smiling faintly with a trace of the old contempt.
"I'm a Jilectan, Terran. We are the superior species.”
For an instant Alan felt a twinge of annoyance. Then he laughed.
"I'd he a fool to deny that, your Highness," he said.
Surprise crossed her features for a moment. Then the contempt vanished, and her smile became warm and real. "You are very different from what I had envisioned, Alan Westover. So you concede that the Jilectans are superior to Terrans?"
He looked at her soberly. "I never denied it, Your Highness. You're larger, stronger and quicker than us, and besides that, all of you are psychics. You attained space travel centuries before we did, and your abilities have made you the rulers of the galaxy.”
"And yet you fight us.”
He nodded slowly. "If I hadn’t fought, I’d have died eight years ago, M’Lady. I never questioned your authority until Lord Salthvor ordered my capture and execution. I killed him to save my life -- and Mark’s life." He wormed his hand free of her grasp, realizing that he should refrain from contact with her unless absolutely necessary. No Terran male touched a Jilectan Lady without proper justification. Such an act was punishable by death should the Lady's Lord hear of it.
"But you should not have killed him, Alan," she said slowly.
"He was going to kill me, M'Lady! What else could I do?"
"He was a Jilectan. He had the right to kill you if he so chose."
Alan shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid I'll never agree with you about that, your Highness.”
"No, of course not.” The Lady gave another cry, groping for his hands again. He caught her hands, fixing her eyes with his own.
"Come on, M'Lady. Breathe with me."
She obeyed, her grasp once again becoming painful. Together they made it through the pain, although Alan's fingers were aching by the time her grip loosened.
"Good,” he told her. "You're doing wonderfully, Your Highness.”
"Give me some water, Alan," she commanded.
He handed her the canteen, his thoughts returning to Mark. Desperately, and for the thousandth time, he wished their link operated consciously, as other psychic links did. If only he could know whether Mark was dead or alive....
“Take the canteen, Terran!" The Lady’s sharp voice cut through his thoughts, and he obeyed, replacing the container on his belt.
"Sorry, M’Lady. I was thinking...”
She wasn’t listening, for she was speaking, not looking at him. "I do hope the child will be healthy. He is not due for another seven days." Her eyes turned to Alan. "You are a clairvoyant, are you not, Alan? Yes, of course you are. Can you tell me if the child is doing well?”
Alan swallowed. “He’s alive, M’Lady. I know that much."
"I know that myself -- I am feeling him move. But is he healthy?"
"Uh..." Alan's gaze went to her belly. "I believe so.”
She pulled up her dress, revealing elegant, shimmery underclothing adorned with silver embroidery and tiny glistening jewels. “You may touch me, Alan, if it will help you see. I give my permission.”
Alan gulped. Her stomach rose above the panties, white, smooth and without blemish. Carefully he reached forward, placing a hand on it.
"Don't try to read me, M’Lady,” he said. "I'm lowering my shielding.”
She didn’t speak. Alan ran his hand over her belly, and an image formed before his eyes. A small, mobile form, floating in a sea of fluid and surrounded by a snug, red wall. Alan probed deeper, trying to see clearly.
She gave a cry, jerking him back to the present. Quickly he grasped her hands again. "Breathe, M'Lady. Breathe with me."
At last the pain ended and Alan released her hands, pulling her dress down again. "The child seems healthy, M’Lady," he told her. "It is a boy, as you say.” He smiled. "And I saw red hair. He’s moving, and his heart's beating, but that's all I can tell.” He hesitated. "Psychic powers in Terrans don't function well through living tissue.”
"Nor in Jilectans," the Lady admitted. "You saw nothing else?"'
He shook his head. "I'm sorry.”
A faint smile tugged at her lips and she reached up, touching his cheek softly. Involuntarily he jerked away. She laughed a little, drawing her hand back. "Terran males," Again her voice was faintly mocking. "Such insecure little creatures.”
Alan felt his face grow warm.
"Still," the Vicerienne continued, "I find you oddly attractive." Her eyes swept his figure once again, but this time appraisingly and without contempt.
He cleared his throat. "Are Jilectan babies usually born on the expected date, M'Lady?"
She looked surprised. "What do you mean?”
"Uh...I mean, in Terran women the baby usually comes within one or two weeks of the day the doctor predicts. I was wondering if it was different with Jilectans.”
"Our gestation is exactly three hundred and nineteen days on Riskell," the Lady informed him.
"Oh." Alan wished he could stop blushing. "I see. But this baby is coming early. I guess what you've been through in the last few days probably speeded things up a little."
"Quite likely," she agreed. Her face darkened. "Those savages!”
“The Raghiki?”
“Yes!” She wasn't looking at him, eyes fixed on the horizon where Tovala's moon now floated, a dark, glowing orange sphere against the pale sky.
"I'm sorry," Alan said uncomfortably. "We came as fast as we could.”
She glanced at him, then back at the horizon. "There is no reason for you to be sorry, Alan. You were very gallant, and did all you could to help me." Again she frowned. “Savages," she repeated. “They struck me many times, and they gave me no food or water!”
Alan's mind was turning back to Mark.
"They would have killed me,” she continued. "If I ever catch him --" She broke off abruptly, and began to breathe slowly and deeply. Alan waited until the pain had passed, noting with satisfaction that the Lady seemed in good control of herself. Some of his coaching had helped, anyway.
"Who, M’Lady?" he inquired, when she had finished.
"The one who escaped. His name was Jaka, and of the three, he was the most cruel. It was he who struck me in the beginning, and who did this." Again she touched the blaster burn on her cheek. "And he kept talking...telling me what they would do to me when my husband paid the ransom." She drew in her breath sharply. "I will never forget him...those terrible eyes, and the way he grinned at me." She shuddered, touching the burn again thoughtfully. "If he is ever apprehended, I will have him publicly executed -- after I execute his family before his eyes."
Alan felt his breath catch. "But M’Lady --"
Her eyes fastened on him again, colder than a glacier. "Do have an opinion, Terran?“
Alan closed his mouth and shook his head, hoping devoutly that Jaka would remove himself and his family from the Jilectans’ reach before Halthzor discovered the truth.
The Lady gave a shrill cry.
"Breathe, Your Highness. Breathe with me." She obeyed, face twisting with pain. When the contraction ended, she half collapsed against him. Gently he disengaged her arms and lowered her to the ground.
"It hurts!" she whimpered. "Oh, Alan, it hurts! And the pains are becoming closer.” Tears gathered in her eyes. "Oh, Alan, do you suppose something really is wrong?" She reached for him, gripping him tightly by the wrists. “I have borne six daughters!" Her voice quavered, then broke. "This child must be born alive! It means so much to my husband." She stopped, sucking in her breath sharply , her eyes growing larger. “Alan --” She released him suddenly, shoving him back. "You won't harm my child when he is born, will you?”
Alan stared at her. "Of course not! Why should I do that?”
“To get revenge on my husband. You hate him, and you know how important this child is to him. I am already your hostage. You don't need the child too. Is that why you are helping me, Alan So that you may kill my child when he is born?”
Alan shook his head vehemently. “I wouldn't kill a baby for anything, M’Lady, not even to have revenge on Halthzor.”
She was silent a long moment before she inclined her head. "I believe you are speaking the truth.”
"I am, M’Lady. I promise, I won't hurt your baby.”
She reached toward him again, grasping his hands. Alan began to breathe with her. "That's it, your Highness. It shouldn't be too much longer....”
The last of the light faded, and Tovala's moon rose higher, shining brightly in the star studded sky and illuminating the hill with a soft, white light. The air remained very warm, and the pseudo Luna-moths had returned, pestering Alan unmercifully. They showed no interest at all in the Lady. Alan swatted at them viciously, regretting now even more the loss of his pack, which had contained, among other things, insect repellent.
To his right there was a deep, terrifying growl. Alan snatched up his blaster and swiveled around on his knees as a great, catlike shape emerged from the underbrush less than three meters away.
It was much larger than Alan, its body covered with sleek, reddish brown fur, and rippling with muscles. The mouth opened in a strangely human smile, and the creature voiced a low, menacing snarl. The Lady screamed.
At her cry the creature sprang. Alan fired and the thing gave a wild screech. The heavy, limp body landed on top of him, throwing him backwards. His blaster went spinning away.
For a moment he lay stunned and gasping, the weight of the creature crushing him. Then, miraculously, the weight was gone, and the Lady's hand was clasping him by the arm, lifting him to a sitting position. "Alan! Alan, are you hurt?”
He blinked up at her. "No...thank you, Lady. I'm fine." He stopped, seeing the blaster gripped in her hand.
She moved quickly back from him, leveling the weapon. There was a long, terrible moment of silence. Alan got to his feet, eyes on the weapon.
The Lady's brow puckered, and she looked, for a moment a little confused. Then she gestured with the blaster. "Sit down,” she commanded.
He shook his head. "What are you going to do?”
"I won't hurt you," she said. "But I can't take the chance of you hurting my child. You will continue to care for me as you have been doing. Now sit down.”
He took a step backwards, shaking his head. "I won't care for you at blaster point, M'Lady.”
Her mouth hardened. "Sit down.”
"No," Alan said. Anger was beginning to blossom within him, replacing the fear. "Kill me if you want. I won't stay here with you and be turned over to the Patrol when you have no more use for me."
"Sit down," she repeated.
"No." He took another step backward. "Put the blaster down, Your Highness, or I leave right now.”
"If you try to leave, I'll kill you.”
"Kill me then. I won't be given to the Patrol.” He took another step backward, bracing himself. He didn't know what the Lady would do, but he meant what he said.
The Lady chewed her lower lip. "I won't give you to the Patrol, Alan, I promise you that. But you must stay and help me -- and I can't run the risk of you hurting my child." She paused, wincing a little. "Don't you see? You have no reason to want my child delivered alive. Another Jilectan -- someday your bitter enemy." She winced again. "Alan, there's a pain coming! Help me!”
He stood still, watching her, She writhed, face twisting, the hand which held the blaster shaking visibly. "Come here, Alan!” she screamed.
He didn't reply, nor did he move toward her. She screamed again, but Alan forced himself to stand still. If he helped her at blaster point it would be conceding defeat.
The contraction ended and the Lady went slack, panting. Alan took a deep breath.
"Goodbye, Your Highness," he said, and turned away from her.
There was the hum of a stunbolt.
**********
The sensations were those of a recurring nightmare as Alan swam sluggishly back to consciousness. Someone was screaming shrilly in the background, and the great, moth-like insects were swarming over him, settling on his face and neck. His head throbbed unbearably and he was sick -- terribly sick.
He groaned, lifting a hand to his face, and brushing at the creatures. He had never felt more miserable in his life, he decided. The Lady had stunned him, drat her!
His stomach heaved, and Alan flopped to one side, retching. The screaming continued, and dimly he heard the Lady calling his name. He couldn't reply, nor did he feel any desire to. Damn the damned Jil! as Mark would have said. He'd had it with her!
The spasms ceased at last, and Alan pushed himself to his elbows, stifling a groan. His head still ached horribly, and his eyes burned.
"Alan!" the Lady screamed. "Wake up!" Her hand seized his arm, pulling him forcibly around toward her. "You must wake up! I order you to wake up!”
Alan groaned, feeling his stomach lurch again. "Let me go!" He heard his own voice, devoid of courtesy. "Don't shake me, blast it, or you're bound to be sorry.”
She released him quickly. Alan got to his knees, dizzy and sick, and stared resentfully at the Lady.
Her lovely eyes were wide with fright. "Oh, Alan, I was so afraid!" She seemed unaware of his misery. "If the baby had come while you were unconscious...oh, Alan, are you all right?" For the first time she seemed to take in his appearance. "You look terrible.”
"I'll be okay." He sank back on his heels, wiping his hand across his eyes to clear his vision. "Stunbolts are hard on us Terrans.”
"I know." Her voice was very low.
He blinked at her, then at the blaster, lying in the dirt beside him. The Lady didn't speak again, but lay back on the ground, her eyes closing. Alan picked up the weapon, examining it, and finding the energy cell still in place. Lady Travinthzill must have decided to trust him at last.
She screamed, curling into a ball. Alan moved quickly to her side and grasped her hand. "Okay, Your Highness, I want you to start breathing faster now -- little panting breaths. Come on. I'll breathe with you.”
She began to obey, still sobbing a little, but no longer screaming. Slowly the pain subsided, and Alan sat back, sinking his head onto his knees. He still felt wretched, although the nausea was subsiding. To his undying gratitude, the Lady remained silent.
Gradually the headache diminished and Alan lifted his head carefully to look at the Lady again. She lay on her side, her blond head cushioned on one arm, watching him. He smiled at her encouragingly, and she returned the smile.
Neither of them mentioned the incident with the blaster.
An hour passed, and the moon rose higher in the sky, flooding the scene with its soft rays. The Lady's labor was progressing rapidly, the contractions now much harder and very close together. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her in control as the labor accelerated, and several times she had become hysterical, sobbing in his arms until a pain had passed. Another hour went by, and Alan knew that the birth was becoming imminent. He found himself praying silently that everything would go all right.
An aircar buzzed past overhead.
Alan ducked, crouching down in the underbrush, snatching up his blaster in the same motion. The Lady screamed shrilly again, beginning to sob his name.
He rose cautiously to hands and knees glancing up at the vehicles' retreating lights. If the Patrol found them, he would have to run and leave the Lady to the medical skills of a Viceregal patrolman. Would it be possible to hold her hostage, though, and buy his own freedom? And that of his friends -- if any of them were still alive.
Then he froze, drawing in a quick breath.
The voice of Angela Westover was speaking in his mind.
**********
tbc
