The Pirate Prince 1: A Slight Deception -- 4/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Jason Sweeney struggled frantically as the patrolman dragged him down the corridor. The Jilectan walked ahead, his chin elevated, not glancing back at the prisoner. Jason had never seen a Jilectan before his capture, and like most kids his age, he had formed his own image of what the aliens were like. But Rakinxvor was totally different from his imaginings. In the photos he had seen of the beings, Jason had never failed to be amused by their flaunting, effeminate attire and elaborate hairstyles. But being in the actual presence of a Jilectan was a different thing altogether. Rakinxvor stood well over two meters tall, his lithe, supple frame clad in skin tight, silver breeches and a loose, rose pink tunic, edged with silver fringe. He wore no jewels, except for a large, ornate silver ring on his first finger. His hair was styled in graceful curls that fell past his shoulders, and his features were handsome and strangely noble. Jason found him utterly terrifying.
He continued to struggle as the patrolman led him inexorably into a small room. A chair was placed directly in the center of it, like a seat of honor. Straps were fastened to the arms, legs and back of the chair. Jason knew the thing’s function. Although he had never seen one, he knew exactly what it was.
The patrolman unfastened Jason's restraints, lifted him easily and placed him in the chair, beginning to fasten him in. The boy fought uselessly. "Hey! What are you doing? Let me go!"
He was ignored. The patrolman finished securing the straps and stepped back, glancing at the Jilectan. The alien nodded, and the man stepped over beside a small panel. Rakinxvor moved lightly forward to stand directly before Jason, his eyes meeting Jason's squarely and seeming to probe his very soul. Jason swallowed and lowered his gaze. "What ... what do you want?" he asked weakly.
"Your name, Terran?" the alien snapped, in Basic.
The patrolman translated the words clumsily into English.
"I'm Jason — Jason Sweeney." Instinctively Jason answered the question in Basic. "Listen, you're making a mistake. I haven't done anything wrong."
"You speak Basic well." The Jilectan smiled coldly. "Unusual for a child your age — especially a child raised on a world in the Confederation — unless, of course, you are a member of the Terran Underground."
"The Underground?" Jason shook his head. "I'm not a member of the Underground."
Another frigid smile. "There is no use denying it, Terran. I want to know your mission and the name of your partner. Surely they would not send a child your age alone. Who is he?"
Jason shook his head. "I don't belong to the Underground!"
For just an instant the alien looked confused. The thin, carefully plucked brows drew together in a frown. He glanced sideways at the patrolman and nodded slightly. The man touched a button on the panel.
Terrible pain rocketed through Jason, surprising a scream from him. For what seemed like ages the agony continued, then slowly began to subside, leaving him trembling and sobbing. The Jilectan took a step nearer and placed a slim, soft hand on the side of his face. Jason tried to flinch away. "Don't! I'm not an Undergrounder! Let me go!"
"Lower your shielding, Terran!" The Jilectan's voice was suddenly harsh. "Obey me!”
"I can't! I don't have any shielding!" Jason looked frantically at the patrolman. "I didn't even know I was a psychic until you caught me! Don't! Please don't!"
The Jilectan nodded at the patrolman again, and once more pain enveloped him. Jason screamed again, and black spots jumped out of the air before him.
When his vision cleared, Jason saw Rakinxvor standing before him, his thin brows once again drawn together. He looked utterly perplexed, Jason thought dizzily. What was going on? Why did the alien suspect him of being an Undergrounder now? Jason had been a prisoner on this ship for close to three days. They had never bothered him before — except for the first day when the Jil had probed him — and he hadn't used the chair.
"Do you belong to the Terran Underground?" The Jilectan was again touching his face, eyes blazing. "No, do not look away from me, boy. Answer! Do you belong to the Terran Underground?"
"No!" Jason cried.
The alien's lips thinned to a straight, dangerous line. He no longer looked either handsome or noble. "Tell me your name again, Terran!"
"Jason Sweeney!"
"Your age?"
"I'm eleven Terran years old. Please let me go! I'm not an Undergrounder."
The Jilectan nodded to the patrolman, and once again pain tore through Jason. After a long, long time it subsided, leaving him sobbing. The face of the alien swam into view once more.
"Tell the truth, Terran," Rakinxvor said, "and I will cease using the neurostimulators.”
“I am!" Jason wailed. "I'm Jason Sweeney! I'm eleven years old, and I don’t belong to the Underground! Please ... no more!"
Another wash of pain. "You have family, Terran?"
Jason couldn't answer. The Jilectan's voice became remote. "Yes, I see you do. Two sisters ... and your father and mother." The cold, blue eyes fastened on him again. "Are your parents Undergrounders, Jason?"
“No! Oh, please, don't bring them into this!" Jason screamed again as pain tore through him. He felt sick, and his head was spinning.
“Are you from the Terran Underground, boy?" The Jilectan's voice escalated with anger. "Say you are! Say you belong to the Underground!"
"I'm not! I don't! Why do you think I do?" Sudden comprehension dawned. "That other guy! Did he say I was from the Underground?"
The Jilectan didn't reply. Jason swallowed painfully.
"I'm not," he whispered weakly. "Please believe me. I'm not."
The patrolman was watching the Jilectan, his features also mirroring puzzlement. The alien spoke softly, as though to himself, in the Jilectan dialect, then gestured curtly.
"Take him away and bring the other boy back!"
“Yes, M'lord." The patrolman removed the straps binding Jason to the chair, secured his hands again and tossed him to one shoulder. He was carried to his prison again and dumped unceremoniously on the deck.
He lay still far a moment, then roused at the terrified cries of another of the prisoners. Lifting his head, he saw the small, dark-haired young man being dragged from the room again.
Chapter 7
Kevin Bronson froze, intent on Alan's mind now forming within his. He was sick -- a natural result of awakening from a stunbolt, and through the link Kevin could also feel his violent, stunner-induced headache.
Mark began to gag almost at once. Leighton looked quickly at him. "What's wrong?"
Mark didn't answer. Kevin could feel his own nausea increasing, and tried to control it by taking deep breaths. It didn't work. His mouth filled with saliva.
Mark was lowering the window, cursing under his breath. Kevin emulated him.
Leighton reached into the rear, placing a hand on Mark's heaving shoulder, "Mr. Linley, are you all right? Is there anything I can do?"
Mark voiced a faint, gurgling sound and shook his head. "Be okay in a minute," he managed.
After what seemed a long time, the nausea began to subside. The link tightened painfully as the nausea receded and Alan became aware of his surroundings, and Kevin could feel through the link his partner's horror and confusion.
"What's going on?" Keith demanded.
"Kid's tryin’ t'figure it out," Mark said. "He's readin' someone, I think."
"Who? Mr. Westover?"
"Yeah. Yeah, he's readin' the guy. He'll tell as what's goin’ on in a minute."
Kevin could feel the restrainers encircling Alan's wrists, but the contact was strange. There was a feel of distance to it. Bronson glanced at his brother. "He's offworld, ain't he?"
"Yeah, I think so," Mark said. "He's awful damned far away."
Leighton's eyes widened. "You are psychics! I thought all Terran psychics were supposed to be small people."
Neither Kevin nor Mark answered. Alan was speaking, addressing them directly, obviously aware that the link was functioning. Mark muttered under his breath, and Kevin knew his brother was receiving the same communication.
He swore suddenly and explosively, hearing Linley cursing fluently at the same moment. Leighton's head snapped toward him.
"What?"
Kevin didn't answer. He grabbed the car’s videophone, tapping out Steed's code, and at the same time pressing buttons on the comp. The car swiveled around with a protesting squeal of engines. They headed north toward the spaceport.
"What are you doing?" Leighton demanded.
Kevin didn't answer. Steed's face appeared on the viewscreen.
"Cancel the backup!" Linley snapped, before the man could speak. "Alan's aboard a ship that just broke orbit around Banquin. They're due to go into hyperspace in a few minutes, headin' for Xenis. We're on our way to try'n stop 'em. I don't think we can, unless they're delayed, but we'll head right for Xenis. Call the nearest base an' tell 'em. Have 'em send ships on the double!"
There was a pause. Then, "Colonel, the nearest base is too far. There's no way we can get ships there before the hunters do."
"Well, send 'em anyway! Maybe Alan can figure a way t'slow things up. We gotta try, dammit! Get cruisers — as many as you can! Move!"
"Yessir!" The screen went blank.
Somewhere far behind them, Kevin heard the wail of a police siren. He was over the speed limit, but ahead the spaceport came into view — minutes away only. Alan's voice was speaking in his mind, and he grimaced at the transmitted fear from his partner.
He brought the car down toward their ship. It was a larger craft than usual for such trips — a Class One Terran scout, designed specifically for the Westover-Linley-Bronson psychic team. He punched in the code to open the escape hatch.
They roared directly through the rear of the ship, and Kevin brought the car to a sliding stop on the landing bay. Mark was out immediately before the doors closed behind them, yelling for Bronson to take care of the prisoners.
Kevin nodded and gestured with the blaster. "Okay, you two. Out. C'mon, Keith.
Keith Leighton got out, pushing one of the prisoners before him. "We're taking off?"
"Yeah."
"But what about my kids?"
"We'll call the Underground an' have 'em pick 'em up. C'mon. No time to go back now."
There was a jerk which sent them staggering backwards, then the sudden heaviness of acceleration. Mark had taken off, rather precipitously, and might need Kevin's help in a few minutes. Bronson pushed the prisoners forward into the spacious passenger compartment and shoved them into chairs. "Strap 'em in, Keith. I gotta go help Mark."
"Sure."
Bronson handed him his blaster. "If either of 'em gives you any trouble, stun 'em.
"Yes sir! Don't forget my kids!"
"I won't." Kevin ran into the control room and dropped into the navigator's chair.
A computerized voice was speaking from the communicator. "Terran scout Lucky Lady, you have not been cleared for takeoff. Please return to spaceport immediately."
Mark poured power into the repulsers. An annoyed Terran voice spoke from the unit a moment later. "Scout Ship 'Lucky Lady,' just what the hell do you think you're doing? You’re going to end up on a penal colony if you don't come back!"
Kevin ignored it. Mark leaned forward, switched the comp to scramble, and tapped out Steed’s number. Steed's face appeared. "Yes?"
"Major," Kevin said, "I want you to pick up a couple of kids for us. They're probably both you know what's, and we have their dad with us, who is also a you-know-what."
"I understand Captain. What are the names and address of the children?"
"Greta and Melissa Leighton. Their father works for the Education Department. You can get his address from that. Out."
"Message understood, over and out." The screen went blank.
"We got a couple of cops after us," Linley said. "Damn! There they go."
"Yeah." Kevin had also felt it as the ship containing Alan had converted to hyperspace. "Well, we head directly for Xenis. Keep us up to date, kid."
"Don't worry. He will." Mark glanced at the scanner. "Breakin' atmosphere."
"We'll be a few minutes behind him. Damn!"
Kevin tapped the computer. "We clear the pull in four point eight minutes. Dammitall! Here comes that cop!"
The spaceport patrol ship was coming up behind them, and a voice spoke over the comp. "Terran scout 'Lady Lucky' — or whatever your name is, you're in trouble. Don't make us shoot you down."
Mark didn't answer. Behind them blue fire crackled across the heavens. Kevin swore. "We're gonna hafta fight him."
"Yeah," Linley said. "Weapons computer on. Take over, Ernie."
"Yes, Mark." Ernie, the computer replied cheerfully, and there was a sound of blasters. A voice swore furiously over the unit. Blue fire flashed across the sky, nearer this time.
Their ship rocked.
"Near miss! He's gonna hold us up! Get him, Ernie!"
The computer fired again, missing. Kevin tapped a button. "We're clearin' the pull. Damn you, copper! Let us alone! We got important business."
Another shot, throwing them sideways. Their own comp fired, and this time scored a hit. The other ship abruptly decelerated.
"Hyperspace in three minutes," Mark said. “Here comes another one."
"He won't catch us," Kevin said. "Nice work, Ernie."
"Thank you, Kevin," the computer said, and went silent.
The voice was speaking over their com again, promising them arrest, lifetime on a penal colony, and every possible punishment short of public execution. Kevin ignored it, watching the readout. The seconds ticked by.
Alan's voice spoke suddenly in his mind, and Kevin felt powerful hands closing about his arms, pulling on him. Mark cussed softly. "Oh, no!"
"He’s in for it," Kevin said. "An' us, too, big brother."
"Yeah, I know. Dammit, it ain't fair!
"Life usually ain't. Hyperspace."
There was a jolt, and the stars on the viewscreen vanished. Kevin tapped the comp and cursed fluently. "We're nearly twenty-five minutes behind 'em! That damned cop --"
Mark grimaced. "Easy, kid," he muttered.
"Yeah, kid, don't panic." Kevin took a firm grip on his chair. He could feel Alan being strapped into the interrogation chair, the straps binding him as he wrenched against them.
"He won't panic," Mark said tightly.
Keith Leighton appeared in the door. "Is everything okay?"
The first jolt of pain transmitted from Alan's mind tore through Kevin. He gritted his teeth, hearing Mark yelp at the same instant. Alan's voice cried out in his mind.
"What's the matter?" Keith's query was alarmed. "Are you okay?"
"Nothin's wrong." Mark was getting to his feet. His jaw muscles were jumping. "Where's the prisoners?"
"In there. I stunned 'em both. They started making nasty comments about psychics." Keith raised an eyebrow. "How about my kids, Mr. Bronson? Did you take care of them?"
"I called the base. The C.O.'ll send people t'pick 'em up." Kevin started to follow his brother into the passenger compartment, then felt the next jolt of, pain tear along his nerves. He couldn't restrain an agonized groan, sinking forward to his knees.
When the pain subsided, he saw Keith Leighton looking down at him, his face contorted in a puzzled grimace. "You're in pain," he stated unnecessarily. "What is it?"
"Nothin'. I’m okay."
Comprehension dawned on the little man's features. "It’s Mr. Westover, isn't it. He's being interrogated!"
"Yeah." Kevin tightened his shielding. Keith was a powerful psychic. Alan had said so, and such psychics might easily pick up things by accident from individuals with poor shielding, such as Mark and Kevin. "Cut it out, Keith. Don't try'n read me."
"I wasn't!"
"Yeah you were! I know it ain't your fault, but this is none o' your business."
"Underground secrets, you mean?"
"Yeah. Now cut it out, willya?" Kevin doubled forward again, with a gasp of pain.
At long last the pain subsided, and he found himself leaning over a hand rail. Sweat dripped off his nose. Mark raised himself to his elbows from the deck, cursing. "I'm gonna get that Jil, an’ when I do --" He stopped abruptly. "Listen, Kev!"
"Yeah!" Kevin could hear Alan’s voice, in his mind, babbling something. His partner had a desperate plan, which he was trying hard to put into effect. There was another psychic power pack aboard, whom Alan was going to try to turn to their side.
"Holy hell!" Mark muttered. "He’s playin’ with fire!"
"Yeah, an’ he knows it, too."
Kevin felt hands on his arms, pulling on him, jerking him. Mark gave an exclamation. "He did it! He fooled the Jil! They’re takin' him outta the chair!"
"Yeah, an’ what happens now is all up to one damned ‘trol."
Leighton sighed. "I suppose you can't tell me what you’re talking about?"
Mark rose to his feet, grinning crookedly at the little man. "Sorry, Keith, but you ain't shielded. If things go screwy an’ we get caught, we don't need an unshielded mind broadcastin’ all kinds o’ interestin' dope for the Jils t'read. If we get through this in one piece you'll find out all about it. C’mon, let's go check on our uninvited guests. Sorta wish we could’a left 'em behind, but there wasn't no choice.”
The two psychic hunters were still strapped into the passenger chairs. One of, them was beginning to moan and retch. Leighton stepped before him, his face grim. "He was turning kids over to the Jils." His expression hardened. "What'll the Underground do to him?"
"Nothin’ good," Mark said. "You don't wanna know. You’re an empath."
Leighton nodded. "They'll kill him won't they? Both of them?"
"Yeah, they will." Mark shrugged. "We gotta make an impression on the psychic hunters. Psychic hunters meet violent ends. We make sure everyone who hunts psychics for profit dies, if we can manage it, and let it be known why. It's the only way to discourage other guys like 'em from huntin' psychics, no matter how well the Jils pay."
Keith nodded, watching the man throw up on the deck beside him. "They identified my little girl, and through her, my wife. Death is too good for them." He turned away from the prisoners, and Kevin read no sympathy in his face. Keith would have little pity for someone who had helped harm his psychic partner.
"That's right," Mark said. "Oh, 'scuse me, Kev. I never got a chance t'formally introduce you. This is Keith Leighton. Keith, this is m'baby brother, Kevin Bronson."
Keith put out his hand. "How do you do?"
"Jus’ fine, thanks. I take it you’re joinin’ us?"
"Looks like it," Keith said. "Mr. Westover tells me my wife was taken by the Jils." The little man's face jaw tightened. "She vanished a week ago. I got a note from her the next day — in her handwriting, saying she'd found someone else, and didn't love me anymore." He swallowed hard,and he cast a quick glance at the psychic hunters again. One of the men had recovered and was groaning with the headache. The other was losing his lunch on the floor of the passenger compartment.
Mark put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm really sorry, Keith,"
The little man nodded. "Thanks. I just keep thinking that she's still alive. It's like I can feel her." His voice was unsteady. "You will ... you will try to find her, won't you — after all this is over?"
"We'll try," Mark promised, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Maybe these guys can give us some information. We'll have a trained psychic try to find out."
"Thanks." Keith turned suddenly and ran into the latrine. The door closed behind him.
Kevin shook his head. "Poor guy. I guess him an’ his wife was psychic partners."
"Probably," Mark said grimly. "Poor li’l gal’s probably dead, an’ he knows it."
Kevin swallowed. "Maybe not. If she's his psychic partner, he might know without knowin' why, if she's still alive."
"Yeah." Mark found himself hoping that what his brother said was true. This being a psychic's partner was disconcerting at times, he thought. There had been a time when it wouldn't have mattered much to him one way or the other, but that was before Alan Westover had linked with him and subtly changed the way he looked at things. Now it mattered, at least when it involved people he knew.
Kevin seated himself in the chair next to the psychic hunters. The two men had straightened up and were watching Kevin and Mark warily. "Where are we going?" one demanded, clearly trying to make a show of bravery.
"None o’ your damned business," Mark told him harshly.
"What are you going to do with us?"
Kevin grinned savagely. "You’ve seen what happens to psychic hunters, twerp."
"I didn't know!"
"You didn't know!" Mark's voice was scornful. "You was workin' for the Jils, an' you was alterin' tests distributed t'kids. It'd take a real stupid guy not to figure out what was goin' on, an' somehow I don't think you're that stupid. Anyway, you don't hafta worry about it. When we get you back to the Underground, a Terran psychic'll probe you. He'll tell us what you were up to an' how much you knew. You won't be able to hide nothin' from him, an' if you're really innocent, like you say, you got nothin' t'worry about."
The man was silent, his face white. Leighton reappeared from the bathroom, looking more composed. "Sorry about that."
"It’s okay." Mark put an arm around the little man. "Siddown an' make yourself comfortable, Keith. We got a nerve wrackin' trip ahead of us, an' I ain't a bit sure how it's gonna turn out. Want some coffee? I'm gonna have some."
"Sure," Leighton said.
Mark went into the galley. Keith glanced at Kevin. "You both seem to understand how I feel. I mean ... It's like you've been through it, too. Are you married, Mr. Bronson?"
"You can call, me Kevin, Keith. No, I ain't married, but I do understand better'n you think, 'cause I understand psychics. I been livin' around 'em for some time, y'know. You an' your wife were probably psychic partners. It's a real special relationship to both psychics. They get really attached t'each other, an' --" Kevin stopped, feeling the link between himself, and Alan tightening again. Mark emerged from the galley, swearing.
"Stun 'em, Keith! Stun 'em both!"
Keith obeyed. The two psychic hunters slumped forward in their chairs.
"What is it?"
Kevin grimaced at the terrified cries in his mind. "It's Alan. He's gonna be interrogated again!"
"How do you know?"
"We know." Linley sat down in a chair, clutching the arms so that his knuckles stood out like, polished knobs. "Hold on, kid! Hold on!”
Chapter 8
Alan Westover fought the patrolman’s grasp as the man dragged him back toward the interrogation room. "Please ... please, not again! I've told M’Lord everything!"
He was, of course, ignored. They entered the room again, and Alan shrank back at the sight of Lord Rakinxvor. The Jilectan's frigid eyes regarded him balefully.
"Well, Terran psychic,” he intoned, "we meet again. You will now tell me the truth.”
Alan cowered back. "Please! I've told you everything!"
“Not everything, Terran," Rakinxvor said. He motioned curtly to the Patrolman. "Put him in."
Alan was dragged toward the chair and the patrolman fastened him in. For an instant he strained against the straps in panic. He couldn't go through this! Not again!
He had to! If he kept his wits, he might be able to save himself. If he lost them, he and the rest of the psychics on board were dead.
Rakinxvor was standing before him. "You tried to deceive me, Terran," he said coldly. "Do you know the penalty for attempting to deceive a Jilectan?"
Alan swallowed hard. “Are you talking about the boy?"
"I am talking about the boy."
Alan looked away. “I’m sorry, sir. I guess I should have told you, but I didn’t want to get him in trouble. Please, I know now how stupid I was. You read my mind, of course." Alan found his eyes straying toward the panel of controls. "Please – I’ll tell you everything now. I can read minds — a little — like I told you before. The little boy had his shields down before you showed up. I read him…"
“Why?" the Jilectan asked.
“Well," Alan gulped. "I -- I was sort of hoping there might be an Underground psychic in the group. You hear so many things about them — stories, you know — about how they turn up in the craziest places. I thought maybe the Underground might plant one here, so I started reading minds. I'd read at least a dozen of the older kids when I happened on him.” Alan bowed his head. "Please, don't hurt the little guy.”
The Jilectan stared at him, expression nonplussed. "Are you an Undergrounder, Terran?"
Alan opened his eyes wide in the most innocent expression he could manage. "Me, sir? Oh, no!"
The Jilectan nodded to the patrolman, and Alan felt the pain tear along his nerves. He screamed.
"Are you an Underground agent, Terran?"
Alan shook his head frantically. "No! Please, don't!"
There was a pause, and Alan could sense the Jilectan's blank puzzlement. What would the alien do now? M'lord would know, of course, that one of the Terrans was lying, using selective shielding. It must be humiliating for a species with a superiority complex like the Jils, to admit that Terrans could shield just as well, or even better than they.
He remained still, his head drooping. The patrolman glanced questioningly at his master, Rakinxvor nodded slightly.
Again the pain tore through him. Alan screamed. Perhaps if he confessed — many Terrans would at this point, after all. Confess, but let the Jil see clearly that the confession was a lie, and that he was only doing it to stop the pain.
"All right!" he cried desperately. "I'm an Undergrounder! Please ... no more!" He slumped forward, sobbing hysterically. "I’ll say whatever you want!"
There was another pause. The Jilectan was still watching, and Alan sensed total bewilderment. A slim, carefully manicured hand touched his face. "Say it again, Terran. Repeat your confession."
"I'm an Undergrounder," Alan whispered.
Rakinxvor removed his hand, wiping it fastidiously on a silken handkerchief. The patrolman looked from the prisoner to the Jilectan, then back at the prisoner.
"Is he, M’Lord?
"No!" There was quivering fury in the Jilectan’s tone. "The other boy is! Bring him back, and put this one in solitary."
"Yes, M'Lord!" The patrolman unfastened Alan from the chair and half carried him from the room.
**********
Corporal Richard Trevor pushed himself to his elbows on the examining table in the small infirmary. He grimaced at the twinges in his shoulder and leg muscles, but the dreadful pain had departed.
The young medic hovered near. "Are you all right now, sir?"
“I’m fine." Trevor sat up, rubbing his neck. "What the devil was it?"
“I’m not sure, sir." The medic averted his eyes. The doctor entered the room, frowning.
“Well, Corporal, you're looking better," he commented, his voice cynical and slightly amused. Trevor glowered at him.
“What was it?”
The doctor shrugged. "Beats me, Corporal. Nothing showed up on the scan."
“Well, the pain was real, dammit!"
“It appeared real, anyway."
Trevor glared at the man. "Are you saying it was all in my head, doctor?"
“No, Corporal, you are saying it. The scans, however, showed nothing."
“Or maybe the man reading them is incompetent!"
A thin eyebrow lifted. "Watch your mouth, Corporal."
Trevor didn’t reply. He bent, pulled on his boots, and strode from the room.
What had he felt during those terrible moments? Pain, certainly — incredible, unbearable pain; but there had been another sensation, too. It had been a voice -- a child's voice, which had screamed in his mind with each wash of pain. And there had been a face as well — the face of a young boy. Even now the features were sharp and clear, and somewhere in the background of his mind came the sound of soft sobs. Despair and anger filled him.
What was happening? The face he had seen before. It was the psychic kid whom Rakinxvor had taken for interrogation. Had the boy somehow communicated with him, transmitting his feelings to Trevor? The Corporal had heard many strange tales concerning Terran psychics, but he had always thought it impossible for them to communicate with non-psychics.
He strode toward the prison room, cursing softly to himself. If the boy had somehow done this, he was going to suffer for it! Trevor reached the door and entered.
The guards beside the entrance, both third classers, came to attention, saluting. Trevor returned the salute absently, eyes searching the whining, miserable children. There was the boy. Rich located him easily — a small youngster, as most psychics were. He was probably no older than eight or nine at the most. His hair was light brown and neatly trimmed, his body slight. He wore a blue sweater and dark slacks.
As though drawn by the Corporal’s gaze, the boy's head turned. Trevor found himself looking into a small, round face with bright, intelligent blue eyes and pale cheeks. The boy's gaze passed over him contemptuously.
Trevor strode over to the prisoner. "Your name, boy?"
"Jason Sweeney." The reply was sullen. Behind him the prison door opened and a patrolman entered. He strode over to Jason, bent, and jerked the boy to his feet.
"Let's go, kid."
The boy voiced a horrified cry, and Trevor experienced shock as he felt the youngster’s mind close violently with his. The sudden, vivid consciousness was incredible — horrible! Trevor barely repressed an exclamation.
Jason was being dragged toward the door. The boy struggled, kicking frantically. One small foot clipped his guard on the shin, and the man swore, slapping him. Trevor gave a surprised grunt.
By the stars! It was as though the patrolman had struck Trevor, himself! He felt the sting across his own cheek, and stars twinkled before his eyes. Then the patrolman and his prisoner had vanished out the door, but still the Corporal could feel the iron grasp, painfully tight, on his own upper arm. Holy space! He could even feel the restrainers on his wrists!
He followed the two out the door. "Patrolman!”
The man stopped. "Yes sir? Are you feelin' better now, sir?"
“Yeah, I am. Where are you taking the boy?"
“To Rakinxvor, sir. M’Lord thinks he's an Undergrounder."
"I’m not!" Jason shrilled. "Please, you've got to believe me!" As though on instinct, he turned to Trevor. "Please, Corporal, sir, please! I'm not an Undergrounder!"
Trevor met the boy's eyes, an odd feeling welling up within him.
“Please!" Jason began to cry. "Don't let him take me to the Jilectan again! Stop him! Please!"
Patrolman Niles voiced a short laugh. "C'mon, kid."
"No!" Jason aimed another kick at him. Niles caught the boy by the hair and yanked his head backward. Again Trevor grunted with pain at the transferred sensations. "Hey!"
The patrolman was proceeding to shake the boy into submission. Trevor stepped up. "Take it easy, Niles!"
"Huh?" The patrolman glanced up, obviously surprised.
"Just take the boy to Lord Rakinxvor. Don't break his neck."
"I just ... " Niles shut up, allowing the boy to slump to the deck. "Yessir," he growled, and pulled Jason upright again, grasping his arm. "Move it, kid."
Jason stumbled on beside his guard, and Trevor followed slowly. What the devil should he do? Tell the Jil what was happening? Somehow that didn't seem a very logical move at the moment. What would Rakinxvor do if Trevor did tell him? Would it make the Jil suspicious of Trevor? Was it possible that Trevor was really a psychic — perhaps a psychic with natural shielding? No! It couldn't be! Trevor had joined the Patrol five years ago, and had, at the time, been probed by a Jilectan, who had announced him fit for service in the Viceregal Patrol. There hadn't at any time been a question about his mental makeup. He'd done well, too, advancing rapidly.
But if he wasn't a psychic, how in blazes was the kid sending him such vivid, painful communications? Why, until three days ago, Trevor had not known that Jason Sweeney existed! The boy was doing it somehow! Through some trick, he was making Corporal Trevor suffer through the interrogations with him.
Ahead the boy disappeared into the interrogation room. Trevor paused outside, irresolute, then turned back toward the lift. Jason Sweeney’s face was sharp and clear before his eyes, and he felt the restrainers being removed. Hands gripped his wrists, forcing him down onto a hard, unyielding surface. Trevor began to run.
Jason’s voice cried out in terror. "No! Oh, no! I'm not an Undergrounder! Please, someone help me! Please!"
Trevor staggered into the infirmary, hands pressed tightly over his ears. The voice became louder.
“Please, you've got to believe me! No! Don't ... please!"
The pain tore through him, and Trevor screamed, doubling forward. The medic came running from the back room, his face horrified, mouth agape. "Corporal Trevor!"
Trevor managed to straighten up. "It's back! You've got to do something!"
“Get on the table, sir." The medic eased him down. "Try to relax."
"Drop your shielding, Terran!" The voice was faint, but there could be no doubt it was the voice of Rakinxvor, himself. Jason's voice, clear, terrified and unmistakable, answered. "I can't! I can't! I don't have any shielding! I don't know how to shield! Please, don't ... " The words ended in another agonized scream. Trevor screamed, too, writhing sideways off the table. The medic caught him before he fell, shouting for the doctor. The man appeared in the doorway and sprinted forward.
"I'm getting nothing, doctor," the medic said. "It's just like before, but his pressure and pulse rate are sky high. He's got to be feeling something!"
Jason was doing this! Trevor was sure of it, now. And if the kid knew how to transmit sensations and words to a non-psychic, then he must be the Undergrounder! Those crazy fools must have developed a new technique, and the boy was using it on him! It made sense. Trevor was the chief of security, and the logical one to wreak vengeance on, if Jason couldn't get the Jil, himself!
The little demon! Trevor felt fury shake him. He'd kill the kid for this — rip him apart!
Another wash of pain sent him writhing in the other direction. Jason was sobbing, and again his words reached Trevor clearly. "All right! Whatever you say! I belong to the Underground! I'm an agent here to spy on you! Now please stop! Please!" More sobs. "Help me! Somebody please help me!"
Trevor pushed himself to his elbows, feeling, as he had felt in the corridor only moments before, the crazy urge to go to the boy's aid. How utterly ridiculous!
"Yes! I'm an Undergrounder! Do you want to hear it again? I'm an Undergrounder! All right, I'll drop my shields! There! They're dropped. Please, please don't hurt me anymore!"
There was a pause. Again the Jilectan's voice spoke in the background, barely heard over Jason's sobs. Then came the sensation of hands grasping his wrists and lifting him.
"Are you all right now, sir?" It was the medic, face expressionless. "Cramps gone?"
Trevor glared balefully at the doctor. "And I suppose the scans didn't show anything?"
“Not at a thing," the doctor said. He shrugged. "You got something you need to get off your chest, Corporal? Has anything been bothering you lately?"
Trevor didn't answer. He sat up, swinging his feet to the deck.
"I think you ought to stay put for awhile, Corporal," the doctor said.
"I'm fine." Trevor stood up, feeling a little weak, but normal again. "I'm going to my quarters."
The doctor shrugged. "It's up to you, Corporal. Better lie down awhile, though."
"I will," Trevor said. He strode out.
Corporal Richard Trevor went rapidly back down the corridor toward the prison room. Jason's mind had faded slightly, but he could still hear the boy sobbing. There was a sensation of being dumped on a hard surface, cold beneath his damp cheek. A voice spoke faintly in the background.
Trevor reached the prison room and paused, frowning. Jason wasn't here. He was sure of that much. Where had they taken him?
He hesitated a moment longer, then turned, unable to fathom his impulse. Jason was this way. He knew it, although how he knew it he couldn't understand.
Patrolman Niles was coming down the corridor toward him. The man saluted.
"Niles!"
"Yes sir?"
"The Sweeney boy — where is he?"
"Lord Rakinxvor ordered me to put him in with the other suspect, sir. They're to be observed with the videocamera — see what they have to say to each other."
"So M’Lord didn't find anything?"
Niles shrugged. "The kid confessed, sir, but, just like the other one, he was just tryin' to please the Jil so he'd stop the neurostimulators." Niles frowned. "Crazy mess, sir. I'm beginnin’ to wonder about it."
Trevor shrugged.
"That older kid," Miles went on. "He said he'd read the little guy's mind and saw that he was an Undergrounder. Lord Rakinxvor thinks he's tellin' the truth, but the little guy denies it, an' it looks like he's tellin' the truth, too. I’m wonderin' if either one of em's an Undergrounder, y'know? I'm beginnin' t'think the older kid just dreamed it, or somethin'. The gauges on the chair said he was runnin' a fever. Maybe he hallucinated.”
“Maybe," Trevor said. "Who's watching the boys now?"
"Jaffers and Ming, sir."
Trevor nodded and strode past his subordinate to the observation room. He needed to talk to Jason in private, with no observers. He entered the room. Two faces turned toward him.
"Turn off the cameras, Patrolman Ming!" he barked.
Ming obeyed. "Something wrong, sir?"
"I'm going in to talk with the kids. Leave the cameras off until I'm out.”
"Yessir," Ming said, looking bewildered.
"Don’t turn them back on for any reason until I come out. It’s important."
"Yessir."
No need to explain his reasons to his subordinates. Trevor was chief of security. He strode past the men, reached the door which adjoined the observation room, and entered.
**********
tbc
