by Andre Norton
"It is like this," the sergeant began slowly, trying to put all these tangled feelings into the right words, to spread out before the others both sides of the question. "Do we have any right to walk out when we may be needed? On the other hand, if Cummi's anti-Bemmy talk puts you two in danger, you must go—"
"Why—?"
Zinga interrupted Fylh. "We don't go yet. But I see your point. Only, let me warn you, Kartr, there are times when a man—or a Bemmy—has to harden his heart. We needn't make any decisions tonight. A good rest—"
"Locked door or not, I'm suggesting a watch," Fylh stated.
"They won't try to reach us—that way." Kartr shook his head.
"You mean—mind touch!" Rolth whistled. "Then Fylh and I won't be much help."
"True. So Zinga and I will divide the night."
There followed uneasy hours. Three rolled in bedrolls, one on guard, slipping on unbooted feet from room to room, up and down, listening with both ears and mind. They did it in two-hour watches and Kartr had taken to his bed for the second time when Zinga hailed him with a low hiss. The sergeant pulled out with a sigh to join the Zacathan at an open window.
"Smitt is coming—across that other roof—"
The Zacathan was right; the mind pattern of the com-techneer identified him. And only a trained ranger could have sighted him. His dodging from shadow to shadow, his use of every bit of cover was Patrol work at its best.
"I'll go down to meet him." Before Zinga could protest Kartr was through the window and on that ladder of block design. Fortunately it was a cloudy night and he thought that unless someone were watching him through vision lenses he could not be seen, his uniform being almost the same shade as the stone.
As the sergeant came within a foot or two of the roof over which Smitt was advancing he gave a soft whistle of Patrol recognition. There was a moment of silence and then he was answered and the com-techneer came running to join him.
"Kartr here—"
"Thank the Spirit of Space! I've been trying to reach you for hours!"
"What's up?"
"The men—those against Cummi. They've taken our appearance here as a signal to fight him. The idiotic fools! He has a disruptor mounted in every main corridor, they can't get anywhere near him. And that Can-hound has knocked out two of the leaders—put them to sleep the same way you did Snyn back in the ship. It'll be nothing but raw murder if they try to storm Cummi's quarters! He had Jaksan locked up with the medico—and the techneers are under guard. He'll wipe out all opposition—"
"He's planted a force bomb at the foot of your tower stairs. If you try to come down—finish! And he and the Can-hound are cooking up something special to smoke you out—"
Something special! If the Ageratan believed that he was only dealing with a sensitive of equal powers there were many things he could try. But against a six point six and Zinga such attacks might backfire.
"I've got to get back." Smitt nursed his blaster in one hand. "I've got to keep those fools from attacking head on. Is there anything you can do?"
"I don't know. But we'll try. Hold off your men as long as you can. Maybe we can turn the tables—"
Smitt melted away into the night. If he kept his mental guard he was going to be a formidable addition to the rebel forces. Neither the Ageratan nor the Can-hound could get to him that way. Kartr climbed back up to the tower window to discover all the rangers waiting for him.
"That was Smitt." As usual darkness had not confused Rolth. "What did he want?"
"There's a rebellion against Cummi. The other side took our arrival for the signal to break loose."
"And Cummi, of course, has not been slumbering peacefully meanwhile. What have his merry men prepared for us?"
"Yes"—Rolth added his question to Fylh's—"what is ready and waiting for us?"
"Smitt said a force bomb at the foot of the stairs, ready to go off as we go down—"
"Play rough, don't they? Do you know, I think that somebody should put the old healthy fear of the Patrol into these gentlemen—"
"Where's Zinga?" Kartr interrupted the Faltharian.
"Gone below to do what he calls `listening.' " Fylh laid a torch on the floor, pulled the edge of his bedroll partially over it and by the shielded light began to count out the extra clips for their blasters. It did not, unfortunately, take him very long to finish the task.
"That all we have?" Kartr asked grimly.
"You have the charges now in your weapons and the extras in your belt loops—if you've followed regulations. These are the rest."
"All right. It comes to three apiece and the one over for Rolth. If this is to be a night fight we might as well give the advantage to the one who can make the best us of it."
The Faltharian was busy at a task of his own, securing their packs. If they did not have to make a run for it, they might be able to bring off their equipment too.
"They've moved our sled into the hallway down there and it is probably under guard now. If we win through—"
"If we win," Fylh broke in, "we can march right in and take it. We might just do that anyway. What's keeping the old lizard?"
Kartr had wondered about that, too, enough to send a questing thought which was answered instantly with a strong impression of danger. The sergeant scooped up his share of the blaster clips and tucked them into his belt before he crossed the room and went down to the green fish chamber. Zinga stood pressed against the door as if he wished to melt into its surface. Kartr joined him to "listen."
There were movements—not too far away—maybe just beyond the foot of the staircase. Two living things withdrew, a third remained—that was the Can-hound. But why did they leave that one on guard unless—
Unless, Zinga's thought answered him in a second's flash, they suspect that you—or I—are not what we seem. But they cannot know the full truth or they would not leave the Can-hound. Not after the way you handled him before. They must have discovered that—
Or is he—bait? Kartr thought back to Zinga, reveling in the freedom of this exchange which he had always longed to experience but had never found before.
That we shall see. This time the task is mine—brother!
Kartr withdrew mind touch and concentrated only on trying to sense the approach of any other who might break Zinga's control. He felt the Zacathan's body grow tense and guessed the agony Zinga was feeling.
It was as if they had stepped out of time—planet time. Kartr never knew how long they fought their soundless battle before he had to give a warning.
"One comes." He said that aloud, not daring to break in by thought.
Zinga hissed a long sigh. "He was bait of a sort," he answered in words, as if his thought power was almost exhausted. "But not as we had feared. He has been under observation all the time—if he withdrew against orders then they could assume that we were powerful enough to control him. So they suspect—but they do not know."
"You say—they—we face more than Cummi and the Can-hound?"
"Cummi has learned to tap the mind energy of some others—how many I do not know. If a five point nine can do that—"
"What will he be able to raise himself to?" A great deal of Kartr's confidence was wiped out by the thought of that. Even with Zinga could he face down a Cummi so reinforced?
"I suggest," Zinga said a little dryly as if he were shaken also, "that we continue to stick to blasters as offensive weapons for a while. That way the odds are easier to assess."
"And we'll have to get out of here to be able to use those. If we leave, that thing below will know it at once."
"Which leaves us only one answer—we'll have to split up for now. You and Rolth take the outside route down and see what you can do in the general melee. Fylh and I shall hold the fort and try to make two think as four."
Kartr could see the wisdom in that. As humans Rolth and he would have a better chance of getting co-operation from the rebels. At the same time the Bemmy scouts would be safe from ruthless shooting.
The climb down to the roof top across which Smitt had come was ridiculously easy. They paused there long enough to pull on their boots, and then snaked over it from shadow to shadow. When they reached the parapet Rolth looked over. Then he dropped back and put his lips close to Kartr's ear.
"One floor below there is a ledge. It leads to a lighted window. The drop is sheer, I do not think that anyone who may be in that room would expect company to arrive through the window—"
"And how do you reach the ledge?"
"Our belts hooked together and passed around this—here—" The Faltharian put his hand on a tooth-shaped projection ornamenting the parapet.
If Kartr had an instant picture of what it meant to dangle so precariously over the edge of a sheer drop he did not betray himself.
"It is good that we are both tall." Rolth buckled his belt to the one the sergeant reluctantly passed over. "A short man could not make it."
The Faltharian slipped the loop in one end of his improvised rope over the projection and climbed over the parapet. Holding his body at an angle he half slid, half walked down the stone. Kartr huddled against the edge and forced himself to watch. Then Rolth stopped and the belt swung loosely in the sergeant's fingers.
Not so skillfully as Rolth, Kartr made the same trip, keeping his eyes fast on the stone before him, trying not to think of the darkness below. He inched downward for an eternity and then Rolth's hand pulled him straight and his boots touched the path of the ledge. He found that it was wider than it appeared from above, he could get all but a small scrap of heel onto it.
"Anyone in the room?" Rolth demanded as they crept toward the window.
Kartr sent out the probe. "Not in the room—near though—"
The Faltharian answered that with a ghost of laughter. "We're almost as good as some of Fylh's feathered friends. Here goes!" He caught at the window frame and pulled himself against it, jamming open the casement with his knee. It gave a faint squeak of protest and Rolth landed lightly on his feet within where Kartr joined him a second later.
They were in a chamber where someone was at home. A pile of bedding lay on a bunk bed which had been obviously torn out of ship's fittings. Two expensive Valcunite luggage bags stood against the wall and a table, also ship use, was piled almost to the sagging point with personal belongings.
Rolth's nostrils wrinkled. "What a stink!" he commented under his breath.
Kartr tried to remember where he had smelled that too-sweet cura blossom fragrance before.
"Fortus Kan!" When they had run against the secretary in the corridor that morning he had certainly carried cura lily with him.
And as if that identification had been either a summons or an entrance cue, the Vice-Sector Lord's man was coming toward them now. Kartr had warning enough to plaster himself back against the wall by the door, and Rolth, seeing his move, did the same on the other side of the portal.
There was apprehension to be read in the mind of the man who was fumbling with the intricate ancient fastening. Fortus Kan was afraid. The fastening was defying him, too, so that exasperation began to drown out the fear. He lost command enough to kick the panel as it gave. With such a medley of emotions uncovered it would be easy for Kartr to—
The sergeant allowed him four steps into the room before he put the flat of his hand against the door and sent it shut again. Fortus Kan spun around—to face the small and deadly mouths of two Patrol blasters. And at the sight all his resistance crumbled at once.
"Please!" His hands went up to his working mouth. He retreated backward, without looking where he was going, until the cot caught him behind the knees and he plumped down upon it as if he were as boneless as a Lydian gelisar.
As Kartr walked toward him the little man cringed as if he wanted to burrow into the tangle of bedding.
"One would begin to think, Kartr, that this gentleman has a guilty conscience—"
Rolth's words might have been the lash of a Tullan slaver's whip the way Fortus Kan reacted. He stopped trying to pull himself under the covers and sat stone still, his mouth trembling, his eyes glassy with—Kartr recognized—pure fear.
"Please—" The secretary had to work to get that one word out, but it was a stopper which had held up the flood. "Please—I had nothing to do with it—nothing! I advised him not to antagonize the Patrol. I know the law— Why, I have a second cousin who is the clerk in your administration office on Sexti. I wouldn't go against the Patrol—never. I had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with it!"
His fear was so rank that it was almost an odor in the room. But what was he afraid of—the planting of the force bomb, that trick with the Can-hound? There was only one way to get at the full truth. And for the second time in his life Kartr ruthlessly invaded a fellow human's mind, breaking down the feeble block, exploring, learning what he wanted—in part. Fortus Kan whimpered, was quiet. He would be quiet for a while now. Kartr turned away. There was a lot to do. A pity that Cummi had not trusted the little man more, there were such big gaps in his information—gaps which might be fatal if the rangers were not careful.
The sergeant came back to Rolth. "There's a force bomb under the tower stairs, all right. And the Can-hound is set to trick us out and blow it up. Everyone is being moved out of the top floors here before it goes off. Kan came back for some precious personal possessions. The stairs are under guard—"
"We could blast through—rather noisy though."
"Yes. One thing I'm wondering about—why all these staircases when they had gravity wells, too. Odd—maybe important."
"This was a state building," Rolth reminded him. "Might use stairs for reasons of ceremony. Like those Opolti who fly everywhere except in the Affid's quarter. No evidence of any other way down from here. What about the boys? If that Can-hound gets tired of waiting for them to come out he may just set the bomb off anyway and trust to luck to bag the game."
"Yes—"
Kartr stood stiffly. He was blacking out, first the corridors, then this room, his awareness of Rolth, of Fortus Kan, of his own person. He did it! His mind touched Zinga's! He gave the warning. Then he was back in the frowzy room, shaking his head dazedly, to see Rolth crouched by the door listening. Men—two—three of them were coming along the hall outside—straight for this room!
10 — BATTLE
A sharp rap on the door froze both rangers.
"Kan! We're moving out now. Come along!"
But Fortus Kan was deep in a world of his own.
"Kan! You fool, come on!"
Kartr made mind contact. Out there was the young ship's officer he had met early in the day, two others—human, non-sensitive. They were impatient, impatient because of fear. And the fear won out. After some garbled conversation, which came through the door only as a murmur, they went on. Rolth glided to the window and studied what lay below.
"I take it that we have to move fast?" he asked without turning around.
"They were afraid—too afraid to linger very long. What's below?"
"Another roof outcrop, but so far down we couldn't hope to make it without a climber's sucker pads."
"We have a substitute for sucker pads." Kartr rolled Fortus Kan off the bed and set to work tearing its coverings into strips which Rolth caught up and knotted together. Working against time, but testing each knot, they produced a rough rope.
"You first," ordered the sergeant. "Then this." He touched Kan with the toe of his boot. "I'll come last. Over now—time must be running out fast or they wouldn't have been in such a hurry to clear out."
Rolth was gone almost before he finished speaking. Kartr hung over the window sill to watch but the Faltharian was so quickly hidden in the dark that only the movements of the rope told when he stopped climbing down and signaled a safe landing. Kartr pulled the clumsy line back into the room, his palms wet against the torn cloth. There was a terrible urgency goading him. He tied the cloth loop under Kan's arms and manhandled the secretary's limp body over the sill, lowering it as slowly as he could unti
l a sharp jerk told him Rolth was in charge. Kartr did not even wait until Kan was untied before he was descending hand over hand.
And as his feet hit the surface of the roof below it happened. There was no sound at first. But the support under him danced. He fell flat and buried his head in his arms, not daring to watch what was happening above. Force bomb all right. He had once before been caught in the backwash of one. Had Zinga and Fylh escaped in time? Resolutely he shut that fear out of his mind. There was a faint moan from Kan. Rolth—?
But on the edge of that thought came the Faltharian's voice.
"Quite a display! Cummi likes to play rough, doesn't he?"
The sergeant sat up. He was trembling—perhaps with reaction from that frenzied descent—but, he decided, mostly from the black rage which possessed him now whenever he thought of the Ageratan. A rage he must best or that other sensitive could turn it into a weapon against him.
"How do we get away from here?" He must depend on Rolth's ability to pierce the gloom. For it was real gloom which walled them in now. The dancing lights of the city were gone—they were crouched in the middle of a black blot.
"Window over there—not too high to reach. What about this prize package? Do we have to lug him along?"
"He'll wake by morning. Get him inside a room and leave him. I don't think they'll try another bomb."
"Not unless they want to bring the whole place down around their heads. Let's go. If you'll take Kan's legs, I'll heave his head."
Kartr stumbled along, trusting to Rolth to guide them. They reached a window, beat open the casement and crawled through with their unconscious burden.
"Aren't we in the wrong building now?" the sergeant wanted to know. "I thought we climbed down over there—"
"You're right. We're in a different one. But this was the easiest and quickest route out. Did the boys get away?"
