Turning Point (7 page)

While the officer remained with his energy rifle trained on them, the other three soldiers began to search the room and its contents. Bottles were swiped from the shelves, tankards from the bar, and the pockets of any coats on the rack were gone through.

Carrie had gradually edged her way to the back of the group of people, taking Kusac with her. His growls had now subsided to a low rumble of discontent.

She was confused. For a moment she was sure she had felt her mental companion, but then he was gone. Why? Was he nearby, was that why she had felt his fear and anger? Could he see the Valtegans? She searched within her mind but, beyond the fact of his presence, she could not touch him.

The soldiers had turned their attention to the villagers now and had taken one of the men aside to search. They were not being gentle about it. Coming from a heavier world than Earth or Keiss, despite their apparent frailty, they were far stronger than the Terrans and were uncaring about compensating for it when dealing with them.

Carrie began to study the officer. If seen from behind, the Valtegans did appear Terran, although they were slightly taller and slimmer. The main differences were around the head and face, little things in themselves, but taken all together they made the Valtegans more grossly Alien. They seemed to have no foreheads. Instead, the line of their faces in profile curved smoothly down from the crown of the head, ending at the tip of the nose. Set on either side, their eyes were rounder, and of a universally dark green that contrasted badly with their pallid skins.

There were other differences, like the lack of eyebrows and the tiny, rounded ears, but it took longer to notice them.

As if aware of her gaze, the soldier turned to look at her. His eyes seemed to get rounder and larger as he, in his turn, momentarily studied her.

Fear gripped her stomach. It was never wise for Terran women to attract the personal attention of a Valtegan officer. Quickly she made her eyes seem lackluster and vacant, letting her facial muscles relax into a semblance of congenital idiocy, and began projecting the image toward the officer.

His round pupils narrowed, becoming vertical slits. After a moment, he looked away.

This search was different. They seemed to be looking for something specific this time. Perhaps she could touch their minds and find out what. Carefully she sent out a faint questing thought, only to feel it seized and returned to her.

Reeling back in shock, she leaned against the wall, gasping for air.

Your thought was too faint,
said someone inside her mind.
Try to imagine it as a beam of light. It must be strong yet infinitely fine. Yours was too diverse and would have aroused the Valtegan's notice. Let me teach you how to read another mind unnoticed.

“Who are you?” whispered Carrie, glancing around the room in panic. “Where are you? Show yourself!”

The man in front of her turned round, frowning.

“Hush,” he said. “Don't cause any more trouble.”

I have alarmed you,
said the voice, its tone one of contrition.
I had forgotten that I had not yet spoken to you. Don't you know me?

“Yes,” she murmured, barely talking as she took a deep breath to steady herself. “But
who
are you?”

I had to stop you quickly,
he said apologetically,
otherwise you would have given yourself away. Just “say” your words in your mind, I can hear them.

Who are you?
she asked.

Much better, he replied. You can talk at normal speed, you know. Any time you want to speak to me, just reach out here,
he showed her,
and you'll find me.

Let me show you how to reach for the Valtegans. I will lead your mind, so relax your control. Relax,
he urged, and Carrie felt a slight tug as he took over.

She could almost see their minds narrow down, sending a thin feeler toward the Valtegan officer. Matching brain waves, they looked for the surface thoughts, and finding the soldier's mind beginning to wander, tapped into the ongoing ramblings of his consciousness.

At once Carrie was aware of the differences in the Valtegan's mind. It was a cold, alien place, empty of emotions and filled only with the lust for fighting and hatred of his superiors for keeping him on Keiss. Vague impressions of winning glory and promotion by finding the Alien artifact began to creep in.

Again she felt the flash of a fear not her own. That was it. They had found what they were looking for. Before they withdrew, they felt the soldier change his mind, deciding that it was merely an exercise dreamed up for the hell of it to get them out of their barracks on a cold night. Since he had to suffer, everyone around him could suffer, too, not least these ... beings!

Carrie felt the presence fade and tried to hold onto it.

No, don't go,
she thought.
Who are you? Come back!
but he had gone, leaving only the echo of his presence.

“So Richard was right after all,” Carrie said to herself.

Thoughts began to race through her head. Until six weeks ago, no one had touched her mind but Elise. It was rare, her father and others had told her, for there to be any mental link between people. Yet just as Elise had died, this new contact had been established. If Richard was right, it had happened the same day that the object, presumably some kind of spacecraft, had fallen to the ground.

Could her contact possibly be one of the Aliens? No, that was impossible! Yet it couldn't be one of the colonists or she would have recognized the feel of his mind. Besides, he seemed to know a lot about this extra sense, something which even Jack Reynolds knew only what little he'd learned from studying her.

Could he be a Valtegan? Every few months one of their ships came in with a load of injured, tired, and bored soldiers ready for a couple of months of high living at the pleasure cities of Geshader and Tashkerra. The turnover of personnel, except for those forming the permanent garrisons, was tremendous. Could it be one of them? She shuddered, feeling physically ill at the thought. It had to be another Alien: please God that it was.

Who are you? Where are you from?
she asked.
Are you one of the Aliens?
There was no reply although she kept repeating the question.

Kusac trod firmly on her foot, drawing her attention back to her surroundings.

“Ouch!” she said as she pulled her foot from under his paw.

The Valtegans had searched a good half of the people in the room by now she realized as she looked around. Those who had been checked already were sitting or standing at the other end of the bar under the watchful gaze of a soldier.

“What's that Jim Healey up to?” she heard Ted Meredith ask his neighbor.

“No good, I'll be bound,” John Innes muttered in reply. “Never could stand the man. Slimy little toad.”

Curious, Carrie turned to follow their gaze. Jim was edging closer and closer to the officer—at least he was trying to. The unoccupied guard stepped forward and pushed him back.

“No move,” he hissed.

“I need to speak to your officer,” Jim said, stumbling against Ted and clutching at his arm for support.

Ted pushed him away.

“No talk.”

Jim moved forward again.

The soldier waved the rifle threateningly. “Stay.”

Jim glanced around like a frightened chicken. Everyone was looking at him.

“Look, I need to speak to your officer in private,” he said, trying to keep his voice low. “I can help you.”

“How help?” asked the guard.

Again Jim looked round frantically, as if hoping for a way to escape.

“I can help,” he said. “I know what you're looking for.”

“The bastard's a damned collaborator!” exclaimed Bill.

“Give!” demanded the soldier, holding out his hand.

“I want protection from this lot first,” Jim said, his confidence coming back a little now that he had burned his bridges.

“Give,” insisted the Valtegan.

Jim shook his head. “Oh, no, I want my ...”

The rest of his sentence was strangled as the officer turned and reached out, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him half a meter into the air.

“So, you have all the time,” hissed the officer, giving Jim a slight shake. “Waste our time. Give now!”

Jim, turning a distinct shade of blue, scrabbled at his right hand trouser pocket and drew out a small translucent cube.

Letting his gun swing free, the Valtegan took the object from him and examined it perfunctorily.

“Why we don't get sooner?”

“I'd gotten it back for you, I just hadn't had time to hand it over.” His voice was hoarse and barely audible as he tried to hang onto the Valtegan's arm. “I'll be quicker next time!”

“No next time,” hissed the Valtegan. “You no use now.”

He tightened his grip, nonretractable claws pressing sharp tips into the man's throat.

Jim scrabbled frantically at the clawed hand, trying to prize it open, but inexorably it closed.

The claws punctured his throat, sending blood flowing down the Valtegan's hand and arm. The man twitched several times before his head lolled limply and he hung in midair like a broken doll.

“Messy,” hissed the Valtegan with distaste before opening his hand and casting the body to one side. Blood splattered around the room.

With a sharp word in his own language, he turned and walked out of the Inn, the other three soldiers following him.

“Get the women out of here,” said Carrie's father, breaking the horrified silence.

She could taste the metallic smell of blood in her mouth.

“Blood follows me around,” she said dazedly to Richard as he took her by the arm and pulled her toward their private quarters. “Tell me it's only a nightmare and that soon I'll wake up,” she pleaded, stumbling after him.

“God knows, I wish I could, love,” he said, keeping the door open for Kusac to follow them. “I'm afraid it's all too real and there is no escape.”

 

About an hour later Richard came up to her room. He found her lying hunched up on her bed.

“Come on, love,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and helping her to sit up.

“Everyone's gone now. Dad wants us in his office.”

Their father got up from his desk as they entered. His usually somber face was lit with something akin to excitement. He was a good man, but one rarely given to showing his emotions.

“One of our contacts from Seaport was at the Inn tonight. I managed to get some information from him regarding the object the Valtegans were looking for.

“Apparently they did shoot down an Alien craft. It was a light scouter, large enough to carry about eight people—given our morphology. When they reached the crash site, the Valtegans found the scouter on fire, but they suspect that several of the crew managed to escape.”

“Do they know what the crew looked like?” asked Richard, escorting Carrie to a chair.

“No. The fire virtually gutted the craft. Any bodies were too charred to be of use, but they did find that crystal cube amongst the wreckage. I want to know what it's for.”

Carrie began to come to life again as she felt a faint wave of relief from her friend.

“Did our contact have this information verified?” she asked.

“Not all of it,” her father admitted, “but the guerrillas were able to piece it together from what they did find out, and they did have the cube for a few days.”

“What exactly did they see?”

“Their precise words aren't important,” said her father irritably. “What matters is that there are Aliens.”

“Has anyone actually seen either the wreck or these Aliens?” insisted Carrie.

“Yes, they've seen the wreck!” snapped her father. “Really, Carrie, you're in a strange mood! I know that business in there was traumatic for you, but it's affected us all. What's got into you?”

“She's tired, Dad. That ... business took a lot out of her,” said Richard placatingly.

“In that case you had better go to bed and rest now. I want you at your best for tomorrow evening. I've invited someone over for dinner.”

“What about the new Aliens?” asked Richard hastily, seeing that Carrie was about to speak again.

“Oh, yes. We must get to them first. If they came in a scouter, it couldn't have come far, so they must have a Mothership. I'm assuming the survivors will have some way of contacting their people, and if we help them, they might return the favor by sending a message to Earth.

“They may even help us against the Valtegans. Unless we can do something to rid the planet of them, we must stop that colony ship before it reaches midpoint. Can you imagine the catastrophic effect of our technology, scientists, engineers, and such falling into Valtegan hands?”

“What do you want us to do?” Richard inquired.

“Our agent is officially courting a girl here so he can't leave for a day or two. Get some pigeons sent with coded messages to the agents in the other towns. Tell them to contact the other members of our group and get them to keep their eyes and ears open for anything resembling another species of Aliens. Tell them to be careful. They're to report anything out of the ordinary to you or me. I also want a message about what's happened tonight sent to our contact in Seaport.

“You'd better get started now,” he ordered.

“All right,” said Richard. “I don't suppose you have the slightest idea of what these Aliens look like, do you?”

“None. But since the Valtegans are humanoid, I expect they're likely to be the same. The bodies were apparently bilateral.”