At last Cheeky gave a small yeeep, and threw his arms around Blade's head. For a moment Blade was afraid his vision would be blocked and the guards would take advantage of that fact. Then Cheeky jumped down from Blade's shoulder and trotted over to the first guard.
«Give him your pistol,» said Blade. The guard stared at Blade, then at Cheeky, obviously wondering who was crazy. «You've got until I count four,» said Blade. «One, two-«
At «three» the guard decided that obeying Blade was his only chance of staying alive until he could figure out what was happening. He dropped his pistol onto the terrace, and Cheeky picked it up. The other two guards did the same, and Cheeky returned to Blade with one pistol in each hand and dragging the third with his tail.
For the moment, the immediate danger from the three guards was past. Blade suspected the next move was up to someone else.
Meanwhile, thick and greasy smoke kept pouring out the broken window. Blade wondered what Cheeky had done to escape. He got a reply in the form of a mental picture-Cheeky dashing around a laboratory, upsetting everything in sight until some chemicals finally spilled on a live wire. The feather-monkey also projected a picture of people in laboratory smocks running around screaming, their hair and clothing on fire. He seemed rather happy about their fate.
For the first time Blade noticed that Cheeky was so gaunt his ribs were showing. Some of his feathers had been singed off, and bare skin showed where others had been deliberately plucked out. He'd been treated as an experimental animal, and not too well-treated at that! If so, then it seemed to Blade that the Doimari Seekers were getting just about what they deserved.
The guards became more nervous as the uproar from the laboratory grew. They looked about ready to jump Blade, when suddenly the door flew open. A man in a smoke-grimed laboratory coat ran out, followed by a young woman. The man took one look at Cheeky on Blade's shoulder, then cursed.
«What are you doing with that little monster?» he snarled. «Give him back or-«
Blade showed the scientist the muzzle of his pistol. «First, you tell me where you found him and what you've been-«
«Who are you to ask me?» the scientist blustered, ignoring the pistol.
«Erhon, don't be foolish,» said the woman. «Blue Boy might have been that man's pet. He could tell-«
The scientist ignored his assistant just as thoroughly as he had ignored the pistol, and he plunged a hand into his pocket. Blade couldn't wait to find what might be in there. He put a bullet into the scientist's chest, then another as the man seemed slow to go down. The second shot slammed him up against the railing. He slid down into a sitting position as his coat turned red. A small laser fell out of his pocket as he rolled over on his side.
Blade picked up a second pistol, since there was no way to reload the one he had. The young woman was staring wildly at everything without focusing on anything.
«I'm sorry I had to shoot him,» said Blade quietly. «But he shouldn't have tried to draw on me. Now, will you calm down and go tell whoever's in charge here that I want to talk to him? Blue Boy was mine. I lost him a long time ago, and thought I'd never find him again. If you'll let both of us go free, you may learn something useful.» The girl hesitated, her mouth quivering. «Go on,» said Blade sharply. «You can have hysterics later!»
The girl ran back into the laboratory complex without closing the door behind her. Blade settled down to wait. He hoped she would get word to somebody sensible before somebody stupid decided to snipe Blade with a laser rifle. He shifted so that he could cover the guards and look around at the same time, but knew that precaution wouldn't help much. A laser rifle or even a gunpowder one would far outrange his pistols.
Instead of a laser's whipcrack, the next thing Blade heard was the whine of a lifter's propellers. Then a shadow passed overhead, and a disembodied voice boomed over the terrace.
«Commander Voros! You asked for whoever's in charge, I am he. Put down your pistols; and I give you my word of honor as a Seeker that no harm will come to you.»
«Tell those guards to move to the end of the terrace first,» shouted Blade. «I don't trust them.» He didn't trust the voice coming from the lifters either, but there was nothing he could do about that. And Blue Boy doesn't get hurt, either.» Cheeky yeeeped in agreement.
«All right. Move, you idiots!»
The guards jumped at the voice as if Blade had finally shot them. Then they scurried to the far end of the terrace, as the small lifter swept in. A laser jutted from its nose, and a pilot and a passenger sat in the cockpit. Ten feet above the terrace the passenger opened the door, and five feet up he jumped out without waiting for the machine to land.
He came down on his feet with catlike grace, not even going to his knees. He'd called himself a Seeker but to Blade he looked more like a rather sinister sort of soldier. He wore a black coverall, black boots, and a close-fitting black helmet. The only color on him anywhere was the dark red plastic butt of a heavy laser pistol in a black leather shoulder holster. His hair and eyes were also black.
He stepped up to Blade. He was about the same height but slimmer. «I am Detcharn, First Seeker and Du-Shro of Doimar.» That meant he was not only chief of scientific research but something like chief of staff of the armed forces. A man in charge indeed, thought Blade.
«I am honored,» he said.
«That remains to be seen,» replied Detcharn. «Tell me your story.»
Blade did so, emphasizing the bond between him and Cheeky/Blue Boy and how all efforts to learn anything about the feather-monkey would now be useless without his cooperation. He did not try to find out how Cheeky had wound up in Doimar. He badly wanted to know, but there would be better times to ask. . if he lived long enough!
When Blade was finished, Detcharn raised his bushy black eyebrows. «What makes you think we want to learn anything about this little beast worth letting you go free?»
«Don't try bluffing me, Detcharn. You know he's a telepath. Otherwise why would you have spent all this time and effort studying him?» Blade remembered how the scientist's assistant had started to say that Blade could tell them something. What it was exactly they needed to know was unclear, but Blade decided against quoting the girl. She would be in enough trouble without her slip being passed on to Detcharn, who did not look like a forgiving man.
«Indeed, you may be right. To be sure, we might need a telepath to examine you.»
Blade didn't hesitate. «Then get one. I don't have anywhere to go for a while, and neither do you.»
«It's hardly tactful to hold me hostage,» said Detcharn. Then he smiled, which gave him a sort of wolfish charm. «But in your position I wouldn't be tactful either. Very well.» He spoke briefly into a small radio on his wrist, and the lifter darted away.
Again Blade settled down to wait. It was a gamble, that a Doimari telepath could prove the link between him and Cheeky without revealing his identity. But he hardly had anything to lose. The alternative was tamely accepting certain and probably unpleasant death; this way he could at least hope to take one of Doimar's most valuable leaders with him.
The telepath couldn't have been far away. The lifter was back in less than twenty minutes, although they were a long twenty minutes for Blade. The guards were too far away to be dangerous, even if they'd wanted to defy their leader. Detcharn himself was another matter. From the way he moved, Blade knew he was in perfect condition and might be an unarmed-combat expert.