The Alien Trace [Cord 01] (13 page)

    He pulled out a compact telescoping ladder and the climbing hook. The ladder, opened to its full extent, was about half the wall's height. He propped it up, sinking its foot in the sandy soil after extending the spikes which would increase its stability-he hoped. The wall might be so friction-free that the ladder would not remain against it. He hefted the climbing hook and calculated his throw. It might be his only one. if he missed and it flew over the wall…

    It spun up and up and came down-engaged! The rope hung past the top rung of the ladder and no farther. Cord was more relieved than he would have cared to admit.

    His last action before beginning was to find a length of cord and make a loop in one end. Once more he shouldered the case and fastened its straps around his broad shoulders.

    The climbing went slowly. With the ladder so insecurely balanced, and his weight greatly increased by his burden, all his concentration and strength were needed. He preferred not to remember that the ladder, collapsed, was less than the length of his arm and far less in diameter.

    When he had climbed as high as he could, he halted. One-handed, he took out the cord and slipped the loop over his belt. The other end he tied to the last rung of the ladder.

    Carefully, he gripped the climbing rope and started up, pulling the ladder along with him. He could not brace his feet against the wall-it was too slippery-so he had to use the handholds for his feet as well. It was not easy to get toeholds in the loops, sliding against the ladder swinging free beneath him. There was no way he could fold the ladder now, and the weight of a double burden taxed his muscles unbearably.

    He was getting tired, and he feared he would be seen, so high up against the gleaming black. The camouflage generator could not cover both the rope and the ladder, which dangled beneath him like some fantastically oversized sexual organ.

    Muscles bulging under the strain, Cord neared the top, which was in sight. Suddenly, he nearly lost his hold-brutally assaulted by a new rush of feeling from Bird.

    Pain… unendurable… unending…

    Ancestors! For the space of a breath, Cord wondered if he was dying. The rope slip-slid out of his moist hands, but his forearms came to rest up his thighs; his feet still kept their toeholds while his tail wrapped around the rope too. His body doubled over as the torrent of raw emotion pounded him. He fought to shield his mind to his utmost ability.

    Bird's emotional outpouring muted-then ceased. Her signal had not stopped entirely, but she was sending at a normal level, no longer in pain. Fear and despair were now dominant.

    He pulled himself up and started for the top again. By the time he reached it, he was winded and drained. Wrapping himself around the rope, he untied the ladder and swung it up, across the broad ledge of the top. He pulled himself alongside and lay there, panting.

    From his vantage point, he surveyed the spaceport. In the distance, the main building loomed, towering higher than the wall, windowless on the outward-facing side and windowless entirely until the upper floors. Cord doubted he could reach it directly. However, there were outlying maintenance buildings perfect for his purposes. Adjoining the wall and lower than it were those buildings utilized only when a trading ship was in port. Far out on the field, several small spacecraft were parked. Relying on what he'd seen and heard previously, he felt that such landing area crews were not on continuous duty.

    Against the wall, not too far from Cord's perch, was a small shed. Estimating, Cord thought that the climbing rope would reach its roof-or very nearly, he reflected grimly. It should at least bring him close enough to drop off the rope's end safely.

    With the climbing -hook looped over one wrist and the now-folded ladder still suspended from his belt, Cord crept along the wall. His progress was neither fast nor graceful, but Cord was indifferent to appearances-as long as there was no one to see him.

    At last he was over the service building. He let the rope down; it fell a scant half body length short of the roof. Cord grinned and breathed praise to his ancestors-now including his father and mother-as he eased down.

    He moved silently across the roof, wondering whether the humans realized how easily their compound could be breached, even with comparatively primitive equipment. Would it be as simple to get into the main building?

    The rope served to lower him from the roof to the ground.

    Then, pressed close to the wall, he made his way toward his main objective.

    In the lower level of the building there were great doors: the loading dock where cargo was brought in from the ships, and from which Mehiran cargo was transferred to outbound vessels. Several huge freight-handling machines stood in front of the closed doors. The lack of activity was a fortunate thing. When a freighter was in port, this area might be busy all day and all night, too, making it impossible to slip inside. If no better opportunity offered itself (he had a sudden fantasy of opportunity personified by a lavishly breasted woman with friendly thighs), he would wait until dark and cut his way through the doors, which apparently were not of the black substance-merely metal. But it troubled him to think of what Bird might have to endure in the hours until dark.

    There was a small door beside the machine doors. Cord wondered whether it was left unlocked. The humans seemed to place such confidence in their first line of defense. If no unauthorized person could get into the spaceport, why bother to secure the doors inside? Faulty logic, since it was based on an incorrect premise.

    Cord was debating whether to take a chance and try it, as there was no one in sight outside, when a faint whirring 'warned him, back. Pressed close to the treads of a freight handler, he peered out at the field.

    A small vehicle, similar to a skim but wheeled, was rolling toward the loading dock. It had evidently come from a shed opposite Cord's hiding place. It stopped near the small door with a "wheeesh!" and its driver jumped down and trotted to the entrance. At his approach it opened automatically, giving Cord a glimpse of warehouse. Faintly a voice reached him:

    "Hey, hurry up. Everybody's already gone to the cafeteria."

    The closing of the door cut off any further sounds of conversation. Cord took it as an omen. He counted one hundred, then ran for the door.

    It opened for him, too, suggesting that the aliens weren't as sophisticated in some ways as one might expect. If his family had designed the facility, they'd have fixed it so that only those workers assigned to the area could activate the door.

    No one was inside. Cord breathed deeply and again gave silent thanks to his ancestors. In a corner behind some crates he paused to stow the unneeded climbing tackle and ladder in his case and take out his anesthetic gun. He did not depend on the noon meal to keep the corridors clear. The gun was fully charged, though he could not expect to bring down more than twenty to thirty beings with it. The complex was very large. If he had to search it room by room to find Bird…

    Bird had become his main goal. He could think about trading with the humans once he had established that Bird was safe. How to find her was his problem at present. He needed a base of operations.

    He thought of Julia McKay. Perhaps she would help him. She seemed sympathetic, and a missionary's purpose was to do good, wasn't it? She had said something like that. So he would go to her quarters-if he could get there.

    What worried him was the trans tube in the busier sections. He was going to be very conspicuous.

    A memory came to him of Julia, saying to his mother during their tour:

    "Under some circumstances the power might fail, in which case it would still be possible to move from level to level. The stationary corridors you've seen-they're used because the speedwalks aren't always convenient for short distances. But even in a power failure, we could still go from floor to floor by the stairs. They are located at several places throughout the building. I'd hate to have to climb all the way from ground level to my residence level, but it would be possible."

    Cord grinned. This was like a challenging criminal-catching expedition. He moved swiftly past stacks of goods and crates, the paraphernalia common to all warehouses. He slipped out into the corridor and glanced both ways. Here he was very close to one end of the building, and here, as he expected, were the emergency stairs. No good to him, unfortunately. He needed to come out as near Julia's door as possible. Cord turned away from the first set of stairs.

    The next area in the lower level was the custodial, but it, too, was empty. If anyone's plumbing went out of order, it was going to have to wait until the midday break was over.

    Next, storerooms.

    Then-the second set of stairs. Now he drew his gun from his belt. He expected no menace beyond the metal door, but his training made him cautious. He threw the door wide and scanned the stairwell. Nothing. Cord began to climb, keeping the gun at ready. The many blind turns made him jumpy.

    At intervals he came to exits, each marked with the level number. Third level. Fourth. Past the fifth, Cord paused to steel himself for the dangerous foray into the corridor. Up the last few steps. He hesitated at the door leading to the sixth level. It was solid and tight-fitting, offering no physical way of checking for the presence of humans beyond. Fortunately, another sense was available to him. He opened himself completely to psychic impressions, leaning against the doorframe.

    Far off, he felt human emotions, but none of them were near. Good. He had also caught a trace of Bird, but she seemed distant, as though she might be in a troubled sleep.

    Gun in hand, he stepped into the hall. Empty-as his empathic sense had told him. He noted the color coding of walls and floor; he was closer to Julia's room than he had expected. It should be to the left, then down a transverse passage. He reached out to sense her impulse. The odd, almost nonexistent trace of her was present. If he had not been seeking her, he might not have noticed it at all, although he was now at her door. Cord touched the plate set in the wall beside it.

    She opened the door; her eyes widened but she spoke quietly.

    "Hello, Cord."

    He pressed in past her and shut the door.

    "I need your help, Julia," he began. He had no time to waste on polite exchanges. Cord noted, reassured, that there was no alteration in her psychic currents. Julia McKay was still almost unreachable, still cool and detached. The only change he noticed was that today she was clad in a form-fitting brown overall that molded her generous breasts and hips. Perceiving no need for further empathic contact, he broke it.

    "What can I do?" She led him into the main room and seated herself on the edge of the cushioned area that served as a bed. She beckoned him to sit beside her.

    Unstrapping his gear, Cord dropped it in a corner where it was out of the way but still near at hand. He dropped wearily onto the bed next to her. He was glad she was so… collected. No demands for explanations, no cries of surprise. Merely, "What can I do?"

    "My friend-Bird-is being detained here," he explained.

    I think she may have been accused of murdering my parents and the others who died." Was it yesterday? It seemed a long time ago.

    "Yes," Julia agreed. "She was charged with the murders. The security department has been interrogating her all morning."

    Cord's stomach contracted.

    "They are hurting her?" He made a question, since there was no way he could reveal his knowledge, even to Julia.

    "Yes," she said again. "They want her to confess. Then they could execute her as an example, you see, and no one could deny them the right."

    The idea of forcing someone to confess was so alien that Cord could scarcely comprehend what the woman was saying. Among Mehirans, where one's own emotions would betray one, a confession was superfluous. Still, humans, with no empathic sense, would be handicapped when it came to proving guilt. The important thing was to get Bird away. He said so.

    "All right. How shall we do it?"

    "You will help me, Julia?"

    "I said I would, Cord. Tell me what to do."

    "Can you find out where Bird is being held? Exactly? It would help if I knew how many are with her, but I suppose that would be harder to learn."

    "Not at all. I was with her this morning. Besides myself, there was the security chief and a technician." Julia recited the level, section, and room number of Bird's prison.

    "How… how did you happen to be there?"

    "I wanted to be there." She went on, "You are a friend of mine, and she is a friend of yours. And also, if I am to be a missionary, I must be willing to share suffering with those I am trying to help." For a single heartbeat, Julia's emotional aura seemed to blaze up so that Cord could feel it without trying. He had known the phenomenon to occur with Mehirans who spoke of ideals to which they were devoted, but it wasn't common. It was a sign of dedication or of passionate interest.

    Cord regarded the human with some awe, but he could think of nothing to say, except, "Thank you, Julia. That was kind of you." Even allowing for the humans' lack of empathic contact, it could not have been pleasant to witness such horror. He turned his mind from that thought. "We will have to plan this carefully, so no one suspects you, and to make escape as easy as possible for Bird. How badly is she injured?"

    "She is not physically impaired. Theoretically, one can undergo direct brain stimulation indefinitely without harm," Julia told him. "Indefinitely…" Her eyes were very wide, the pupils dilated.

    Cord thought that if he gazed into them long enough, he would begin to fall into their depths. How beautiful she was, in her alien way, and how kind!