Why Turtle? Why can't you?

I don't have my shell. The Great and Powerful Turtle could make chopped liver of these pukes, but not me. I'm just plain old Tom- He jerked back, but the rest of the thought came clearly through to Tachyon.

Tom Tudbury.

Fortunately the name meant nothing to Tachyon. So Turtle's secret identity was to all intents and purposes still intact.

It's all right, he soothed. It probably wouldn't have worked anyway. The plan would depend on us taking them out one by one, and the minute you ripped open the door Hellcat would scream for Zabb, and they'd be all over us. And even if we did succeed I'd be right back to the original dilemma-how to handle Hellcat.

Who?

The ship. She's sentient.

Then, she must be a little startled, because there's some guy floating around inside her.

You saw? What

"YOU!" enunciated a voice, filling the word with all the throbbing outrage possible.

Tach's eyes flew open, the concentration necessary to maintain so private a telepathic link completely lost. An eerie blue-glowing figure stood in the center of the cabin. Swiftly he rolled off the bed, the blade sliding down his sleeve and into his hand. He dropped into a knife-fighting pose, the blade and his free hand weaving an intricate and confusing pattern before! him. From behind the barrier of his mental shields he put out a telepathic probe, and met a powerful mindblock.

"Oh, do put that away, you dreadful little man! You cannot harm me."

"That's not what I'm concerned about. I'm a little more worried about your intentions toward me."

The creature drew itself up, its strange eyes glittering like sparklers in the featureless face. "This is all your fault. I tried to keep that drug-soaked hippie from this outrageous course, but he was intractable, utterly intractable! Father to the aces, indeed. He has a perfectly good father who would never encourage him in this type of juvenescent irresponsibility. The world would have gone on very nicely indeed without your interference."

"It's not enough that you should subject us to strange and unnatural alien substances, now you must needs bring your family in on us. A whole tribe of you! Our only hope is that they are as bumbling and ineffectual as you have shown yourself to be. First you lose the virus, then permit its release, help harry and harass your friends and lovers into prison, insane asylums, and-"

"SILENCE!" roared Tachyon. Oh, Blythe, he cried, and the thought acted like water on a fire, extinguishing his blazing anger, and leaving behind only a cold slimy mess of mud and ashes.

Still, his eruption seemed to have had an effect on his visitor. The man's mouth pinched tightly closed, and he was pulling in sharp little breaths through narrowed nostrils. Then with supreme dignity he began to sink through the floor. For an instant Tachyon goggled, but only for an instant. This man could be useful, and he had stupidly driven him away. He prided himself on his astuteness, and on his ability to read and handle people. Now was the moment to test out just how real that ability was.

He rushed forward. "No, wait, I pray you, good sir. Do allow me to apologize for my rudeness and lack of manners." The apparition paused, only his head and upper torso visible above the floor. "I haven't had the honor of making your acquaintance. I am Dr. Tachyon."

"Cosmic Traveler."

"You must excuse me. I… I've been under rather a great deal of stress today. I was unattentive when you arrived, or I would have been aware from the beginning of your puissance."

Traveler simpered, then an expression of Olympian calm and wisdom swept over his features. And Tachyon realized that he need not even struggle for subtlety. With this man even the most blatant of flattery would serve.

"Will you please stay? My mind is all in a whirl, and I feel certain that even a few moments of conversation with you would help." Traveler graciously floated back out of the floor, and settled onto a chair. As he did so, the lines of his body became firmer and more well defined.

So, he can become substantial, mused Tachyon. "You've seen the other prisoners?"

"Yes. When that pathetic moron Trips was taken to the cabin, I noticed a tubby little man in blue jeans and tee shirt, and a most strikingly beautiful young woman." The tip of his tongue appeared from between his thin lips, moistened his upper lip, and disappeared.

"Where were you?"_

"I was… present," he said cagily. "Fortunately I was able to get free. I shudder to think what might have happened if one of those other bumptious fools had appeared. They have not the slightest concern for my well-being." He glared at Tachyon, obviously including him in the statement.

Tach was rather at sea with all this talk of other persons, and drug-soaked hippies. Meadows perhaps? But at the moment he was less concerned with the metaphysical problems presented by Cosmic Traveler, and far more interested in his unique abilities.

"Traveler, I think with your help we can escape, and return to Earth."

"Oh?" Suspicion laced the word.

"Go back to the cabin where Turtle and the Captain and the woman are being held-"

"The Captain is no longer there."

"Eh?"

"I'm here."

"Oh… yes… well, whatever. Anyway, go to the cabin, and tell them to stand ready. Then lead Zabb and his goons to the far end of the ship." Tachyon cocked his head to the side, and contemplated his strange ally. "It would save time if you didn't have to return here to report. Would you be willing to drop your mental block so I could remain in telepathic contact with you?"

"No! Allow some alien Peeping Tom into my head? It's out of the question."

Tachyon stared at him in exasperation. "I'm not particularly interested in what's in your head. I'm interested in-" The door lensed open, and Traveler went, sinking elegantly through the chair and the floor, still in a seated position. Zabb with five of his soldiers came tumbling into the room. Tach closed his mouth, and arranged his face into an expression of innocent interest.

"Where is he?" gritted Zabb.

Tach pointed a finger downward. "He went that way."

Things were becoming increasingly confusing. First the hippie had disappeared, then the blue-glowing apparition had vanished and the Takisians had pelted off in hot, if somewhat disorganized, pursuit; then Tachyon had contacted him, and now he had broken off abruptly in the midst of their telepathic conversation. Tom kept trying to regain the contact with his friend, even going so far as to murmur "Tach?" several times under his breath. He looked up, met Asta's wary lqok, and ran a self-conscious hand through his hair.

"I… I was trying to get in touch with Tach."

"Right." And the fact that she clearly thought he was a nut did nothing to bolster his already-sagging spirits.

If the Turtle were here she wouldn't be looking at him like that, he thought, torn between resentment and weariness. She would be scrabbling for safety atop his shell, while he burst from the cabin, scattering Takisians like ninepins, rescued Tach, and flew them triumphantly home. Or, rather, forced the Takisians to fly them home. There wasn't room in the shell for passengers, nor did he know how tightly sealed it was. He'd look like a real dork if they all suffocated…

He jammed a fist into his thigh, cutting off the tantalizing but pointless thoughts. He wasn't Turtle; he was just Tom Tudbury, the New Jersey boy who in thirty years had managed to move two blocks. He closed his eyes, and watched the dark, ghostly images of ships passing down the Kill, running lights reflected in the dark, unseen waters. And he realized that he was finally about to go on a voyage, though not one of his own choosing.

A squeak from Asta brought his head up. The creature was back.