Comes The Inquisitor, Shapeshifters, TEEN, Complete-9/23

[Kathy W 2200]

Banner by Misha. Thanks a million, Misha!



April 18, 2006




TITLE: Comes the Inquisitor, Book 3 in the Shapeshifters series.


SUMMARY: It's 1947, and the four Warders (shapeshifters) have managed to hide both the Granolith and the pods in the pod chamber before two of their number are killed and two captured. Follow the three year captivity of one of the aliens along with the power struggles within the military, see the construction of the White Room, watch a shapeshifter befriend an Indian boy named River Dog and the events described in "The Balance" take place.


AUTHOR: Kathy W


LENGTH: 151 Chapters, divided into 9 parts


RATING: TEEN (For occasional language and medical situations)


GENRE: Prequel/backstory. I consider this a "canon" story because with extremely rare and negligible exceptions, what happened on the show happens here. My intention is to provide backstory and explanations for what we saw onscreen, not to change what we saw onscreen.


COUPLES: No couples. Unless you consider Nasedo and Langley a couple.


PERSPECTIVE: Those responsible for making it happen—the shapeshifters.


SERIES SUMMARY: I’ve always been fascinated with what happened before the pod squad hatched, and I’ve had a million questions. Why don’t the hybrids remember more? Why was the Destiny Book in the library instead of in the pod chamber? Why did the Dupes wind up in a sewer in New York City? Was Nasedo really working for the Skins? Why was Langley so unwilling to help Max? And so on and so forth.

This is the story from the viewpoint of the shapeshifters, my own little fantasy about what happened, why it happened, and what went wrong, comprising six to eight separate stories, each a sequel to the other. They will closely track the show; my intention is not to rewrite Roswell, but to fill in some of the blanks. The story starts on the ship headed to Earth, and will likely end with Max’s encounter with Langley many years in the future.



SEQUEL TO:

And the Stars Fell From the Sky: First book in the series. Chronicles the shapeshifters journey to Earth and the creation of the hybrids. It can be found here: http://majiksfanfic.com/phpbb/viewtopic ... 6292#16292


Alien Sky: Second book in the series. Covers the aftermath of the crash and the capture of the two surviving shapeshifters. around and through the Roswell episode "Summer of '47". Found here: http://majiksfanfic.com/phpbb/viewtopic ... c&start=10


DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Nothing anyone wants, anyway. :mrgreen: I’m just borrowing these wonderful characters to amuse myself. And hopefully you.

Some of the events in this story are taken from Roswell episodes, and some are taken from eyewitness accounts of the “crash”. In addition to characters from the show, there are a few real people in this story. I know precisely none of these people, and am borrowing them strictly for this little tale.



Pronunciation and Character Guide:

Aliens

Brivari—Zan’s Warder: “var” rhymes with “far”
Jaddo—Rath’s Warder: “a” as in “ah”, soft “J”
Valeris—Ava’s Warder, now dead: “ler” sounds like “lair”
Urza—Vilandra’s Warder, now dead: sounds like it looks
Covari—The name of the shapeshifters’ race: Rhymes with “Brivari”
Riall—Zan’s father: Ree-all
Argilians—The name of Khivar’s race: “g” is soft, like “j”
Malik, Amar—Two of the five shapeshifters who faked their own deaths and remained behind while on a mission to Earth several years ago. They now work for the Argilians (Skins). The other three of the five are now dead. Ma-lick ("a" as in apple), A-mar (rhymes with “far”)




Humans

Civilians:

Dee Proctor—the 8 year-old girl who first discovered the Antarians’ ship on Pohlman Ranch
David Proctor—Dee’s father
Emily Proctor—Dee’s mother
Mac and Rose Brazel—The Proctor’s next door neighbors. Mac works on Pohlman Ranch. It was Mac who first brought the ship fragments that he and Dee Proctor found to the attention of authorities.
George Wilcox—Chaves County Sheriff (Roswell and the crash site are in Chaves county.)
Charles Hemming—Roswell Sheriff.
James Valenti—Roswell sheriff’s deputy, future father of Sheriff Jim Valenti from the show.


The Army:

Major Sheridan Cavitt—Formerly Captain Cavitt. Co-commander of the operation concerned with experimenting on the aliens. In charge of security and military intelligence.
Major (Dr.) Daniel Pierce—MD/Psychiatrist and co-commander of the operation concerned with experimenting on the aliens; in charge of the medical and psychological aspects. Future father of Special Unit Head Daniel Pierce.
Lieutenant Stephen Spade—Formerly Private Spade. In command of the security detail in the compound.
Lieutenant (Nurse) Yvonne White—Assigned to assist in experimentation on the captive aliens.




The shifters refer to each other by their Antarian names. See if you can figure out which is Langley and which is Nasedo. :-D



Note: This story is divided into parts, which are subdivided into chapters. It begins one day after Alien Sky left off.

[Kathy W 2200]

COMES THE INQUISITOR



PART ONE: ESCAPE



PROLOGUE


July 13, 1947, 2000 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




Anyone stumbling by chance into the little room in an abandoned section of the Army base would have found those assembled inside to be a motley crew. It was crammed with people of different stripes, all tensed, all holding their collective breaths. Every light blazed, casting a glow so intense it hurt the eyes. The tension, the sense of danger, was palpable.

Ringing the perimeter of the room was a circle of soldiers holding unusual looking rifles, cocked and ready to fire, all aimed at the same target. The next layer consisted of white-coated medical personnel, all peering over the tops of their surgical masks, some straining onto their tiptoes in an effort to see over or past their colleagues. The inner layer was the smallest—and strangest—of all. Two men wearing the insignia of Army Majors crouched over a table, intent, waiting. One wore a standard Army uniform, while the other was clearly wearing a similar uniform under his hospital whites, judging from the oak leaves visible on his collar. Both were staring at the occupant of the table; indeed, every gaze, every weapon, every thought in that room was focused on the strange figure strapped to the table, silent, unmoving.

The figure was short, about half to two thirds of average human height, with leathery skin, hairless and gray. The head was oddly shaped and much too big for the body, as were the eyes, almond-shaped and huge. It had two arms and two legs, two hands and two feet, but the fingers were impossibly long, and the feet strangely shaped. It was unquestionably not human; humanoid, yes, but not human.

The figure lay strapped to the table, eyes closed, appearing unconscious. About a dozen wires were pasted to its head, connected to a machine which had a roll of paper silently whirring through it; a pen scratched wavy lines as the paper rolled past. The eyes of the Major wearing the hospital whites flicked back and forth from the figure to the machine’s readout, while the eyes of the other Major remained focused on the figure itself, wearing a look of utter disgust.

Time passed. People started shifting uneasily. Upstairs, in a windowed observation room, a couple dozen more onlookers leaned forward, their noses only inches from the glass.

Nothing happened.

The uniformed Major cast a sharp look at the hospital gowned Major. “Why isn’t it waking up—Doctor,” he added, with more than a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

“I’m not sure,” the doctor mused, staring at the nearby machine’s readout.

“You should administer another dose at once,” the Major announced.

“I’d rather not do that,” the doctor answered in a worried tone. “I’ve already used more than I’d planned to. According to the EEG, it should be substantially awake already. Given what these things can do, I don’t want to risk reviving it completely, and I doubt you do either.”

“Why not? What about your precious serum, which you swore up and down would allow us to hold it?”

“In order to test the serum, I need to be able to see what effect it has,” the doctor answered, a trace of weariness in his voice as though he’d explained this many times before. “And in order to do that, I need the creature at least partially revived. Which is exactly what I’m trying to do now. One thing at a time.”

The Major sighed dramatically. “Can’t you handle a simple medical procedure like counteracting a sedative?”

“ ‘Simple’ according to whom?” the doctor queried evenly, not rising to the Major’s bait. “Obviously, we’ve never worked with this physiology before. The sedative may take longer to wear off than in humans, just like it took more of it to work in the first place. Or the stimulant may take longer to work. We should give it more time.”

The minutes dragged by, with the doctor waiting calmly, the Major impatiently. The crowd began to mutter.

Finally, after fifteen minutes had passed, the Major said, “Well?”

The doctor looked nonplussed. “I don’t understand it. I would have expected it be awake by now, even given how little we know about it.”

“Administer another dose of the stimulant,” the Major ordered a nearby, white-coated medic. The medic hesitated.

“I said administer another dose!” the Major repeated severely.

“He can’t,” the doctor replied, a faint note of satisfaction in his voice. “You know perfectly well that I am in command of this aspect of the Operation. He will only obey my orders.”

“Yes,” the Major said contemptuously, “and you’ve done such a wonderful job, haven’t you?” He leaned in further across the table. “You told me you could wake it up and hold it. That was the only reason I agreed to this nonsense in the first place!”

“Agreed?” the doctor echoed. “You had orders, Sheridan. You didn’t ‘agree’ to a damned thing. If the fiction that you ‘agreed’ to anything at all makes you feel better, then by all means, amuse yourself.”

“Can you do what you promised, or can’t you?” the Major demanded.

Ignoring the Major’s temper, the doctor turned to the one nurse in the room. “Check for a heart beat,” he ordered.

The nurse reported the heart rate as strong and steady. “Let me study these readings,” the doctor said, as the Major fumed. “They might shed some light on the subject. We have to be careful not to kill it, and given our level of ignorance, we could very easily do that. How do you think General Ramey would react if we killed it? How would you react? You keep telling everyone it’s ‘your prize’; you don’t want it dead, do you?”

More minutes ticked by. The doctor studied the EEG readings as the Major continued to kvetch. The nurse dropped her stethoscope, and bent to retrieve it.

Finally, the Major had had enough. “This is a waste of time!” he said angrily, turning to the assembled crowd. “Dismissed! Until such a time as the doctor has figured out how to ply his trade.”

One by one, the soldiers lowered their odd-looking guns. Everyone started filing out of the room. Some of those watching through the window upstairs began to drift away.

The Major cast a triumphant look at the doctor, who was still gazing thoughtfully at the figure on the table. “Not a very auspicious beginning, was it? I’m sure the General will be so pleased.”

“The General, unlike you, understands that this could take time,” the doctor replied. “You won’t be able to hold this one over my head.”

“We’ll see about that,” the Major said darkly.

The doctor sighed with exasperation. “Honestly, isn’t it time to end this school boy rivalry? One of these days, you’re going to grow up, Sheridan, and I just hope I live long enough to see it.” He frowned at the strips of paper in his hand. “This just doesn’t make any sense. Granted, this thing isn’t human, but still, given the way the sedative worked, I would expect to be able to make some extrapolations…” He broke off suddenly. “Unless….”

“Unless what?” the Major said impatiently.

“Sheridan,” the doctor said slowly. “Bring the soldiers back.”

“What? Why?”

“Bring them back!” the doctor said sharply.

Suddenly the EEG machine started going crazy, the recording needle swerving wildly.

“What is that doing?” the Major asked in alarm, stepping closer. “What does it mean?”

“It means it should be wide awake—and more,” the doctor said wonderingly.

The Major snorted. “So much for modern medicine. It doesn’t even look slightly awake, never mind wide awake.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” the doctor warned. “Now get those soldiers back!”

Too late. The huge eyes flew open, black as midnight, no pupils. In the space of seconds, several things happened at once.

Both the Major and the doctor were flung against the far walls and held there, suspended, pinned by unseen hands. Both tried to speak and failed, the breath knocked out of them. The glass in the window of the upstairs observation room shattered, blowing inward upon the startled occupants and raining down on the few remaining people left in the room below. The wires on the head of the figure popped off as one, and the EEG machine sparked, smoke rising from the back.

The lights flickered and died, throwing the room into inky darkness.







CHAPTER ONE


Earlier that day, July 13, 1947, 0900 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



Lieutenant Spade strode down the hallway toward Major Cavitt’s office, wondering what the hold up was. General Ramey had reaffirmed Pierce’s status as the one in charge of the medical aspect of this operation in the wee small hours of the morning, and Pierce had duly appeared about 0700 this morning to begin the process of awakening the prisoners. But according to those who had been there at the time, Pierce had been rebuffed by soldiers stationed outside the aliens’ room by Cavitt, whose eagerness to see his prizes awake had apparently been trumped by his need to trump Pierce. Both Pierce and Cavitt had retired to Cavitt’s office to argue the matter further. Two hours later, no one had seen hide nor hair of either of them.

Spade pondered his feelings for the new doctor as he headed for Cavitt’s office. On the one hand, it was very satisfying to watch Pierce needle Cavitt. Cavitt badly needed someone to check his enormous ego and endless ambitions, and Pierce was the perfect person to do that. Not only was there personal water under their bridge, but Pierce was also a Major and co-commander, so neither Pierce nor Cavitt outranked the other. Someone else would always have to step in to referee their disputes, and that unfortunate duty would likely fall to General Ramey, who seemed happy to fulfill that roll—for now. Whether he would remain so was another matter entirely.

On the other hand, Spade had been disturbed by the doctor’s skepticism about the aliens having feelings and emotions similar to humans, despite the fact that they had attacked only when provoked and returned time and again for what had been taken from them, including the remains of their colleagues. He could understand the ordinary, grunt-level soldier having a rough time with this concept, but Pierce was a psychiatrist—he should know better. Spade had gotten the uncomfortable feeling that Pierce considered the aliens his own personal toys, in a different way than Cavitt perhaps, but no less so. They were interesting specimens, objects to be studied, not people in their own right. That was not encouraging.

He was nearing the office, and began walking faster. Rounding the corner of the hallway which led to Cavitt’s office, he ran smack into someone. His eyes widened when he saw who it was.

Yvonne White.

Her eyes had widened too, as she jumped back in surprise. Then her face hardened, her mouth setting in a thin line.

“Excuse me,” she said coldly, stepping around him.

Spade’s throat tightened. “Wait,” he said, catching her arm as she swept past. “Yvonne…..let me explain.”

Yvonne cast a withering look at his hand, which was holding her right arm. “Lieutenant, if you want to keep that hand, you’d best remove it from my arm.”

Spade swallowed and let go. “I’m…..I’m sorry. It’s just…..I know what you’re probably thinking, and there are things you don’t know.”

“Nor do I care to,” Yvonne responded icily. “Good day, Lieutenant.”

Yvonne turned and stalked off back the way she had come, Spade watching her helplessly. Just as she passed Cavitt’s office door, it burst open, disgorging both Cavitt and Pierce in a heated argument. Spade and Yvonne stood on either side of the angry officers, openmouthed, watching.

“The General will not be happy about this, Sheridan,” Pierce said angrily. “Defying his direct orders is not the way to get on his good side.”

“I’m not defying his orders,” Cavitt snapped, face flushing. “There has merely been a slight delay as the staff—my staff, which you so unceremoniously dismissed—completes the work they were doing. And stop referring to me by my first name!”

“My staff can finish anything your staff began, and then some,” Pierce announced flatly. “This is political grandstanding, and you know it. You can’t win—you know that too. You’re just going to drag this out as long as possible for no better reason other than you can. Is that it?”

Cavitt stood mutely, the expression of satisfaction in his eyes unmistakable.

Pierce sighed wearily. “So tell me….how many dozens of favors did you have to call in for this little display of hubris?”

“All of them,” Cavitt said flatly.

Pierce’s eyebrows rose. “Really? All of them? For just a few hours delay? That was an extraordinarily high price to pay for such a small benefit. Either that, or perhaps there weren’t that many favors to call in.”

“Are we finished?” Cavitt snapped. “Because my doctors—real doctors—require my presence as they finish their work.”

“Do they now?” Pierce said dryly. “Amazing. Never thought I’d see the day a ‘great warrior’ like you would lower himself to darken the door of a lab. But all for a good cause, I suppose,” he added, as Cavitt’s eyes flared. “You haven’t won, you know,” Pierce continued, his tone becoming hard. “General Ramey confirmed that I’m still in charge of the medical end of things here, whether you like it or not.”

“Obviously, the General doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground,” Cavitt muttered.

“I’ll pass that along,” Pierce said pleasantly, ignoring the withering look Cavitt shot his way. “Favors notwithstanding, the General made it perfectly clear you were to turn them over to me today.”

Cavitt smiled as though he’d just won an important point. “Exactly. Unless I’m much mistaken, ‘today’ consists of a period of twenty-four hours. We are currently not even halfway through that twenty-four hour period. As long as I release the aliens to you before the end of that period, I am in compliance with the General’s orders.”

Pierce rolled his eyes. “You really think he’s going to buy that, Sheridan?”

“For the last time, stop referring to me by my first name!” Cavitt exploded. “You will address me by my title!”

“Which one?” Pierce asked blandly. “High King of America? Supreme Ruler of the Universe?”

Cavitt opened his mouth to retort, then restrained himself with obvious effort. “Since you need specific direction, you will address me as ‘Major Cavitt’ or ‘Major’ at all times.”

“Ah, yes. The hard fought for moniker of ‘Major’,” Pierce said in a bored tone, as Cavitt turned a vivid shade of scarlet. “I can understand how you’d be all aglow about your new rank, which I earned two years ago, but let me introduce you to the concept of ‘parity’. I’ll use your title if you use mine. Which you haven’t. Ever..”

“You have made it clear that you don’t wish to be addressed as ‘Major’,” Cavitt pointed out.

“Correct; I wish to be addressed by my other title of ‘Doctor’,” Pierce answered pointedly.

Cavitt’s expression became even harder, if that were possible. “Some of us do not have the luxury of two titles to choose from. And not all of us who do deserve them.”

“Be that as it may,” Pierce said, “It’s either ‘Sheridan and Daniel’, or ‘Major and Doctor’. Your choice.”

A tense silence fell over the hallway. Spade watched Cavitt’s jaw working fiercely; he looked like he wanted to pummel Pierce right then and there. Neither Cavitt nor Pierce had taken any notice of him or Yvonne, standing several feet away on the other side of the dueling pair, her eyes wide.

“Very well, then,” Cavitt said, his voice a virtual iceberg. “Sheridan and Daniel it is. I would prefer not to address you at all, but when addressing you becomes unavoidable, I would be more comfortable using your Christian name. At least that’s not a lie.”

For a split second, fire flared in Pierce’s eyes. It died as quickly as it flamed, but Cavitt had managed to hit a hot button. He saw it, and gave a smile of triumph.

“Turn the subjects over to me now, or I’ll have to go back to the General and tell him you’ve been a bad boy,” Pierce said, in a tone of mock dismay.

The triumphant smile dropped from Cavitt’s face, replaced by a scowl. “Run to daddy if it amuses you,” he growled. “This has already been settled. You will have your lab rats before the day is out. Protest if you wish, but even Ramey won’t listen to your whining now.”

“Oh, I shall protest,” Pierce said, “if only to establish what I just know is going to be a pattern. I’d like to give the General fair warning.”

“If you’re not going to awaken them right away, at least let me feed them, sir,” said a female voice.

Both Cavitt and Pierce whirled toward Yvonne. Their expressions made it clear that they had been unaware of their audience, and unhappy to learn of it now. Spade took advantage of the distraction to duck into a nearby doorway. If they were perturbed at one person watching them, they would likely be even more so about two.

“Lieutenant,” Cavitt said tersely, “I didn’t realize you were there. In the future, it would be wise not to eavesdrop on private conversations.”

“It would also be wise to hold private conversations in private,” Yvonne answered. Her voice shook slightly, but her eyes were burning. “Sir,” she added as an afterthought.

Cavitt flushed. Pierce didn’t bother to suppress a smile. Spade, peering cautiously from the doorway, was momentarily taken aback at the challenge in Yvonne’s tone. She had been so mild mannered and serene when he had last see her; now she sounded angry and defiant.

Yvonne ploughed ahead without waiting for a reply. “May I remind the Major that the first subject captured has gone without any kind of nourishment for over forty-eight hours?”

“Good,” Cavitt said shortly. “I don’t want them well fed. I want them weak and at least partially sedated, until we figure out how to control them.”

“But sir,” Yvonne protested, “the humane treatment of prisoners is well outlined in….”

“ ‘Humane’?” Cavitt echoed, a grim smile on his face. “What an interesting choice of words, Lieutenant. There’s just one problem with the concept of ‘humane’ treatment in this case—the prisoners are not human. Which effectively rules out all bleating on the subject of ‘humane treatment’, does it not?”

“ ‘Humane treatment’ refers to both the treatment a prisoner receives, and the behavior of the captor,” Yvonne said firmly. “The prisoners may not be human, but what about you, Major?”

Spade caught his breath. Stop! he begged silently. Yvonne was absolutely right, of course, more right than even she knew. But if Cavitt thought she was sympathetic to the aliens…..

Cavitt had gone scarlet at Yvonne’s implication. He stepped toward her, stopping just inches from her face. Yvonne’s eyes widened in alarm, but she held her ground.

“Did you know, Lieutenant,” Cavitt said softly, “that I initially opposed your involvement in this operation? Women are weak and soft, sympathetic to things that do not deserve sympathy. But my doctors insisted; they argued for a nurse to do their bidding, and when I reflected on how well you handled yourself during the autopsies, I acquiesced and chose you. Perhaps you, who had handled their decidedly non-human entrails, were capable of grasping the gravity of this situation.” He paused. “I hope I wasn’t wrong.”

He swept past her, boots clicking on the tile floor. Undeterred, Yvonne turned back to Pierce, who had been watching this exchange silently with raised eyebrows.

“Doctor?” she appealed. “Can’t you do anything?”

Pierce shook his head sadly. “Much as it pains me to agree with Sheridan, he’s right. Their weakness might be the only thing that saves our hides. I have no intention of letting them starve,” he added, seeing the look on her face. “They are worthless to me if they are injured or dead. But they are also worthless if we fail to retain them, so that must be our first priority.”

“I don’t expect the Major to understand, but you’re a doctor,” Yvonne persisted, as Spade winced. The more she pressed this particular point, the more danger she was in. “You took an oath to ‘first do no harm’, didn’t you?”

Pierce sighed, and as he did so, Spade could see annoyance in his eyes. “Lieutenant, I have spent more time than I care to lately being lectured by Major Cavitt. I don’t need you joining the parade. Nor do I need you to remind me of my oath, my duty, or the fact that the first casualties in this situation were human, not alien. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Pierce turned and walked away as Yvonne took a step forward and opened her mouth, obviously intending to pursue the argument. She never got there. A hand clamped over her mouth, a strong arm flung itself around her, and she was pulled back into the shadows as Doctor Pierce’s footsteps faded away up the corridor.

[Kathy W 2200]

CHAPTER TWO


July 13, 1947, 0930 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



Yvonne kicked furiously as she felt herself being dragged backward. This was the second time she’d been dragged away with a hand clamped over her mouth, and she lashed out with all the remembered indignation of the first time, plus her fury at this latest assault. She felt her elbow connect with ribs and heard a satisfying “Oof! in her ear. Good. Maybe that would teach someone better manners.

Whoever the culprit was this time apparently didn’t have an accomplice. Yvonne continued to fight, drawing several gasps of pain from her assailant, as she was pulled into a nearby closet. She heard the door being kicked shut, the closet plunged into total darkness, and she panicked. With a mighty heave, she wrenched herself from her captor’s grasp and flung herself forward, connecting painfully with shelves on the other side of the room. She heard a scratching sound, a dim light clicked on, and Yvonne found herself staring into the eyes of Stephen Spade.

The two stared at each other in silence for a moment. Both were disheveled and panting. Yvonne rubbed her arm where Spade’s hand had gripped painfully, and Spade nursed his repeatedly wounded ribs. But he was standing squarely in front of the closet door, and the expression on his face made it clear she wouldn’t get out without a fight. Whatever he was up to, he was determined.

“What in the name of all that’s holy has gotten into you?” Yvonne spat at him. “Wasn’t it enough to capture aliens? I take it you’ve decided to branch out a bit and capture a few women now? I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t think you’re going to get as many points for me as you did for them.”

Her voice was dripping sarcasm, and she was surprised to see that he seemed genuinely bothered by this. He leaned against the door, looking at the floor, and Yvonne risked a step forward. No dice. His head flew up, and his eyes grew hard.

“You are not leaving this room until you’ve heard my side of the story and I’ve told you what you’re up against,” he said firmly. “There are things you don’t know.”

“Surely, you don’t expect me to genuflect with the rest of the base, do you?” Yvonne said angrily. “I’m not the least bit interested in a blow by blow account of how heroic and brilliant you are. If you think….”

“Would you just shut up a minute?”, Spade exploded. Yvonne fell silent. Spade leaned toward her, his eyes intense. “Your life is in danger, and never more so than when you express sympathy for the aliens. You can’t afford to keep doing what you just did with Cavitt. No matter how right you are, it’s too dangerous.”

Yvonne stared. He looked genuinely frightened, but what on earth was he talking about? “So what if Cavitt thinks I sympathize? What’s he going to do about it? Reassign me? Don’t I wish. Demote me? Discharge me? At this point, I don’t care. I do not want to be here.”

“Listen to me, Yvonne,” Spade said earnestly. “If Cavitt decides he can’t keep you here, you’re going to wind up with something a lot worse than a dishonorable discharge. You’re going to wind up dead.”



******************************************************



Proctor residence



Dee Proctor propped the rubbing she’d just made against the lamp on her desk and contemplated it. The faces stood out more sharply in 2D, and she studied them for several minutes, looking back and forth from her rubbing to the metal book which lay open on her desk. No matter which rendering she gazed at, one thing was certain: Both men were handsome and both women were beautiful. Whoever had decided what they would look like obviously had some grasp of human ideals of beauty.

She yawned and stretched in her chair. Warm summer sunshine was streaming in the window. It was already hot and muggy, typical summer weather. Few sounds drifted in through the window, this being a Sunday morning. It had only been a week ago that she had told her father about the aliens, only six days since the Army had found them. Six days, and it felt like six years.

Dee glanced around the room, thinking of the evidence she had of all that had happened in the past week or so: A fragment of the aliens’ ship, safely hidden between her mattress and the box spring. Five amber-colored stones. A metal container with an alien inscription. And the metal book now laying open on her desk. And memories, she thought sadly. Lots of memories, not all of them good. Someday, perhaps, she’d learn to remember the fireworks and the spaceship ahead of the guns. They had helped the aliens hide the sacs containing the recreations of their royalty, and even helped rescue the two sacs the army had taken. But the price had been high: Two of the aliens were dead, and the other two were missing, probably captured or dead. Hopefully the former. Much as she didn’t want them caught, captured was far preferable to dead.

Dee looked back at the book. It’s cover was smooth and blank, although she would have sworn she saw markings on it for just a moment last night. The pages were etched with strange symbols cut deep into the surface of the page. The symbols didn’t look like an alphabet; they reminded her of pictographs or Egyptian hieroglyphs. She had stayed up for hours, painstakingly copying every single symbol.

Her efforts to copy the pictures had been less successful. There were three sets, one of which showed the two women pregnant. A lump formed in her throat as she remembered Valeris’s message to Brivari, memorized in haste while soldiers swarmed around their ship and still locked firmly in her memory. “I have one more name to add to the list of the slain: Antar’s Crown Prince, the heir to Zan’s throne. Ava was pregnant with a son. Her unborn child died with her, and I placed him in his mother’s stasis unit and sent them out together.”

Will she remember?, Dee wondered, running her finger over the etchings of one of the pregnant women. When Valeris’s Queen woke up in a brand new, completely different body, would she remember the baby she had lost? According to Jaddo they were all supposed to be born fully grown, with all the memories of the people they had been. Somehow she could see it being a kindness if this particular memory was left behind.

It was the remaining drawings that had intrigued Dee the most. There were two more sets, each consisting of four human faces, two male, two female. One set depicted children, the other set those same children as adults. She’d tried to copy these freehand, but couldn’t do the faces justice. She’d tried placing a sheet of paper over the page and tracing, but her pencil poked through, just as it had when she’d tried the same method to copy the symbols.

Finally she’d tried rubbing, with spectacular results. The four faces sprang to startling life, gazing back at her with solemn expressions. Brivari’s King, she thought, looking at the lead male. She had no idea what color his hair or eyes would be, but she was willing to bet he’d be a dark, brooding type. Jaddo’s General was handsome and dangerous looking, while Valeris’s Queen seemed fragile and beautiful. And the last one….

Dee looked sadly at the fourth rubbing, the future face of Urza’s princess. The one who had supposedly started the war by falling in love with the enemy and trying to run away with him. She knew these people had looked nothing like this when they had lived before, but seeing them like this wearing faces like her own made them seem more real.

A sound drifted through her open window, made her turn. She knew that sound—that was the crunch of gravel as a car pulled into the Brazel’s driveway. Something she hadn’t heard for a whole week, ever since the Army had taken Mac into custody.

Racing to the window, Dee clambered onto the window bench and looked down. The Brazel’s car was in their driveway, and as she watched, delighted, both Mac and his wife Rose climbed out.

“They’re back!” she shouted joyfully to no one in particular, running for the stairs.




******************************************************



Eagle Rock Military Base




“Dead?” Yvonne repeated. “What do you mean I’ll wind up dead?”

Spade nursed his swollen ribs. Man, that woman had mean elbows. “I mean if Cavitt thinks he can’t trust you anymore, he will kill you himself, or have you killed—probably the latter.”

Yvonne’s eyes narrowed. “Major Cavitt is a bully and a control freak, but he’s no murderer. You, on the other hand, are well known for turning on a dime, helping someone one minute, and hunting them down the next. At least Cavitt is consistent. Why should I believe you?”

“If I tell you…will you let me finish before you decide to beat me up again?”

The ghost of a smile played across Yvonne’s face. “You had that coming, Lieutenant. You were the one who gagged me and dragged me in here, remember?”

“You were about to say something else to Dr. Pierce,” Spade reminded her. “You’re already in trouble with Cavitt, and I had to shut you up. You don’t realize what the consequences could be.”

Yvonne eyed him for a moment before settling herself on top of a nearby box. “All right. I’m listening.”

Spade got right to the point. “On Thursday morning, Cavitt called me into his office and told me that two soldiers I knew, Private West and Private Belmont, had been killed in their beds by aliens in the middle of the night. He let me view the bodies from a distance. Both had silver handprints on their chests.”

Yvonne’s eyes widened. “I never heard this. Who were these people?”

Spade slid down to the floor, his back against the door, relieved she was listening. “Private Belmont was one of the four of us who first discovered the ship. Two were killed that morning, and now Belmont’s dead; I’m the only surviving member of that group. Private West was the one who killed the alien who surrendered, the one who never woke up.”

“So….the aliens killed them in retaliation?”

Spade shook his head. “The aliens didn’t kill them. Oh, I believed Cavitt. I was furious, which is why I agreed to help him try to catch them. Which was exactly what he wanted, as it turned out,” he added angrily. “The night we caught the first alien, I found him before anyone else did. I asked him why he had murdered them in their sleep, and he denied it; he said I’d been lied to. So I went to the morgue to find out who was telling the truth.”

He paused. Yvonne waited a moment before saying, “And?”

Spade looked her in the eye. “The silver handprint was paint, Yvonne. Aliens didn’t kill them. I don’t know what did—poison, maybe, because I couldn’t find any obvious wounds. But the handprint was fake, and Cavitt must have known. The doctors who were there must have known too, but the aliens killed them the night the first alien was captured.”

The implications of this last statement were washing over Yvonne’s face. “You think….Cavitt killed them?”

“Either he killed them, or he had them killed,” Spade answered, “probably the latter. I doubt he’d want to get his own hands dirty. It was win-win for him; in one fell swoop, he brought me into his camp and got rid of two more eyewitnesses.”

Yvonne sat rigid on her box, her hands working in her lap. “Do you know how I came to be here?”

“I assume you were reassigned,” Spade said, wondering what she was getting at. “You were originally going to London, right?”

Yvonne gave a bitter laugh. “No, that was just a sham. I was about to get on the bus when someone clapped their hand over my mouth and dragged me off. I fought them, and they conked me over the head. I woke up with a concussion locked in a room on the base, and then Cavitt showed up and announced I’d been ‘chosen’ for an important assignment. He also tried to blackmail me by threatening to have me court-martialed because I talked to that reporter.”

Spade’s eyes widened. “You talked to a reporter?”

“I had to talk to someone,” Yvonne said defensively. “I didn’t know where you were, and Betty was willing to listen. I didn’t tell her much. Just enough to keep her interested. I was hoping something would get published, that the world’s attention would be focused here, and would make people think twice about what they were doing.” She paused, thinking. “But that was Tuesday, before those two men were killed, and before any of the aliens were captured. What would Cavitt have done with me if you hadn’t been converted, or he hadn’t captured them?”

“He might have killed you,” Spade said quietly. “He might have killed me too if he’d thought he hadn’t managed to ‘convert’ me, as you put it.”

“Well, he did ‘convert’ you, didn’t he?” Yvonne asked, her eyes boring into his. “In spite of what you just told me, you still helped capture the second alien.”

“That was an accident,” Spade insisted. “I haven’t let on to Cavitt that I’m onto him because I know I’m dead if I do. I decided to stay and work against him. I was trying to prevent the other alien being captured, but I hadn’t counted on yet another obstacle—another alien. At least one, maybe more. They were fighting, and that muddied everything up.”

“But they said there were only the four of them!”

“They also said they were hiding from their enemies,” Spade pointed out. “The new one I saw was definitely an enemy.”

Yvonne was quiet for a minute. At length, she shook her head. “This is a pretty wild story, Lieutenant. One of our CO’s a murderer, more aliens out there—how do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Spade pushed himself to his feet. “You don’t,” he said simply. “Just please, don’t piss off Cavitt. And be careful with Dr. Pierce. I’m not sure he’s much of an improvement.”

“He must be—he’s a doctor. You heard him say he doesn’t intend to mistreat them. It’ll be a cold day somewhere before we hear Cavitt say anything like that.”

“Pay attention to why he said they won’t be mistreated,” Spade cautioned. “Not because they’re people in their own right. Not because it’s wrong. Because they’re of no use to him if they’re hurt or dead. He sees them as things, as test subjects—not people.”

“So you think he will mistreat them?”

“No,” Spade said soberly. “I think he won’t. For all the wrong reasons. And someone who thinks like that is every bit as dangerous as someone like Cavitt. Maybe more so.”

Yvonne stared at him silently, clearly unconvinced.

“Look,” Spade sighed, “just be careful, okay? Watch what you say. If they see you as an obstacle, you won’t just be reassigned or kicked out—you might be dead. We’ve got enough bodies stacked up on both sides of the line. Don’t give Cavitt or whoever it was a reason to add to the pile.”

Yvonne didn’t respond. Spade waited a moment, then opened the door to the hallway, checking carefully in case anyone was nearby. He turned back to Yvonne.

“I’m sorry I grabbed you,” he mumbled, slipping out the door.

“Stephen….wait!” Yvonne called. Spade paused, taking it as a good sign that she was willing to use his name again..

“What’s going to happen when this is all over?” Yvonne asked, her eyes round with alarm. “There are at least a hundred people here now, and almost all of them are eyewitnesses to something or other. What will happen to us then?”

Spade shook his head. “I don’t know. And I don’t even want to think about it.”

He turned and walked out of the closet, leaving Yvonne shivering inside.




******************************************************




Proctor residence





“Daddy, Mama, Mac is back!” Dee called excitedly as she raced down the stairs, practically tripping herself in the process. Her father was standing at the window, coffee cup in hand, gazing toward the Brazel’s house with a grim expression on his face.

Dee stopped at the bottom of the stairs, puzzled. “Mac is back,” she repeated, walking slowly to stand behind her father. “Don’t you want to go over and say hello?”

“Did you see who came with him?” her father asked, not taking his eyes off the window.

“Mrs. Brazel is with him,” Dee answered, with a growing sense of dread. What had she missed with her quick glance out the window upstairs?

“Come here,” David said, motioning toward her. Dee came abreast of the window, leaning her hands on the windowsill. “Look in the back seat of their car—no, wait. You won’t have to. They’re getting out.”

Dee’s throat tightened as she watched two armed soldiers climb out of the back seat of the Brazel’s car. They took up positions on either side of the Brazel’s front door and proceeded to ignore both Brazel’s, who were lugging suitcases into the house.

“What are they doing here?” Dee whispered.

“I would imagine they’re here to dissuade anyone who might get the bright idea of running over and talking to Mac,” David said. His voice was level, but Dee could hear the undercurrent of anger. “And looking at the neighborhood, I’d say they’re succeeding.”

Dee swept her gaze over the rest of the houses on her block that she could see. People were staring at the Brazel’s house, watching out their windows, standing in their doorways or on their front porches. The expressions on their faces were curious…and fearful. No one made a move toward the Brazels. Normally half the neighborhood would be over there by now, spaceship or no spaceship.

Dee tightened her grip on the windowsill. “They can’t stay there forever,” she said fiercely, more to herself than her father. “Can they even be there at all? Is Mac under arrest, or something? And if he is, why did they let him come home?”

Dee twisted around to look at her father, who had a curious expression on his face. He looked down at her abruptly. “Good question,” he said. “I’ll go find out. And you,” he added, as she started to follow him, “are staying here. At least for now,” he amended, upon seeing her crestfallen expression.

“Wrong. Both of you are staying here,” said a voice behind them.

Both Dee and her father turned to see Dee’s mother, Emily Proctor, standing with her arms crossed and wearing her familiar, don’t-even-think-about-it expression.

“Don’t you dare go stirring things up by marching over there just minutes after they’ve arrived home,” Emily said firmly. “The last thing we need is for the Army to be reminded that Mac originally claimed he had a child with him when he found those ship fragments. They seem to have forgotten that, and I’d like to leave it that way.”

“I’m just a next door neighbor checking up on some friends,” David said, trying, and failing, to sound innocent.

“Forget it, dear,” Emily said blandly. “I’m not buying it, and they won’t either.”

“So you think we should just roll over and put up with this?” David demanded.

“I’m not certain there’s a ‘this’ to put up with,” Emily pointed out. “They only just got back; the soldiers may leave soon. Let’s see how this plays out before you go storming over there awash in self-righteous indignation.”

“Emily…..” David began.

“David—no! We have been through too much lately, and if you ask me, you’re getting far too comfortable with the concept of playing Superman.”

David’s face colored. “I’m not trying to play Superman. This is about right and wrong. They’re trying to prevent people from talking to each other, to intimidate them into silence, and that’s exactly how Europe started going downhill. Hell, it’s probably not even legal to have soldiers stationed at a civilian’s house like that.”

“Fine,” Emily sighed. “If you think it’s illegal, call the Sheriff. But please don’t put all of us through any more than we’ve already been through on the basis of five minutes of observation.”

Dee returned to the window as her parents continued to argue. The Brazels had just finished bringing the last of their luggage into the house, and Mrs. Brazel appeared at the front door, no doubt heading out to check her beloved flower beds. But the soldiers stopped her, pointing back inside, and she disappeared into the house with a frightened look on her face.

Bullies! Dee thought angrily. She had been calmer lately after helping to rescue the last two of the alien sacs and Urza’s makeshift funeral, but now she felt the old anger and resentment flaring again. Her mother had a point, but so did her father.

No one else appeared at the door of the Brazel’s house. Her parents continued their passionate discussion. Dee resolved to wait and see what happened. It was still morning; maybe the soldiers would go away after awhile. Besides, she knew there were ways into the Brazel’s house that had nothing to do with the front door.




******************************************************




1600 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




The secretary waved her on, and Yvonne White paused outside Major Cavitt’s office door, at war with herself about whether or not she really wanted to do this. Was it wise to whack this particular bee’s nest? Was this one of those times when ignorance was bliss? It would be so easy to walk away, to dismiss Stephen’s wild claims as the workings of a guilt wracked mind. To forget all about his allegations, and what they could mean for her. For everyone.

No. Even if she could forget Stephen’s claims, the one thing she would not be able to forget was the look on his face when he told her. Yvonne was very good at reading faces, non-verbal communication being common in her line of work. Stephen had really believed what he had told her about Cavitt, had been frightened for both of them. He’d probably have a heart attack if he knew what she was up to now.

Yvonne had given a good deal of thought to Stephen’s assertions, but it bothered her that he had no proof of such a serious charge. Much as she hated Cavitt for the way he had treated both her and the aliens, she had not thought him capable of cold-blooded murder. Now she had her doubts. She’d taken the liberty of doing some checking, as much as could be done by telephone given that she still wasn’t allowed to leave the compound, and what she’d discovered was not encouraging. And along with those discoveries had come another: She needed to know. And if knowing wasn’t possible, she needed to hedge her bets against the chance that Stephen might be right, even if she couldn’t prove it. Which is how she came to find herself kibitzing outside Cavitt’s office door, wondering if she really had the acting skills to pull this off.

Guess we’ll find out soon enough. She raised her hand and knocked.

“Enter,” came a sharp, slightly irritated voice.

Damn! She’d been half hoping he wouldn’t be here. More than half hoping, if she were honest with herself. But there was no going back now, which was probably a good thing; no doubt she’d talk herself out of it given the chance. She carefully smoothed her uniform and walked into the office.

Major Cavitt was sitting at his desk sorting through a large stack of papers. He looked up briefly when she entered, then looked back at his papers just as quickly.

“What is it, Lieutenant?”

“I wanted to speak with you, sir,” Yvonne said, “concerning our earlier.....discussion.”

“What do our prisoners deserve now?” Cavitt said, annoyed, still sifting through his papers. “Manicures? Facials? Lord knows they could use them.”

Yvonne let the sarcasm wash over her, ignoring it. She had expected this, and had prepared a response which she hoped would appeal to Cavitt’s vanity and competitiveness. “You misinterpret my intentions, Major.”

Now he did look up briefly. “Do I? Enlighten me.”

“The Army is about rules, Major,” Yvonne said steadily, keeping her face blank. “It’s important that we follow the rules, including the rules pertaining to prisoners of war. Without rules, we would fall into chaos. It is our adherence to the rules that has made the American military the mightiest force on Earth.”

Cavitt stopped shuffling and sat back in his chair, regarding her seriously. “I’m glad to hear you say that. But I’m at a bit of a loss as to why you think the rules regarding prisoners of war should apply to extraterrestrials.”

“Major,” Yvonne said, stepping closer and doing her level best to look earnest, as opposed to repulsed, “it’s very important that we do this right. This operation is top secret now, as well it should be, but eventually the world will hear of it. And when it does, it will judge us on our conduct here. That conduct must be impeccable. That conduct must be beyond reproach. History will remember not only what you did, but how you did it. How do you wish to be remembered, sir?”

Yvonne waited while Cavitt pondered this speech in silence. She knew he dearly wanted to go down in history as the man who had discovered extraterrestrial life. Her best weapon at this point was the suggestion that he might be vilified by future generations for his behavior.

“As you are well aware, sir,” Yvonne continued, “there are always pacifists in any generation. Those who claimed it was heartless to drop the bombs on Japan, for example. Or those who contend we should attempt to work with the Communists.” Cavitt snorted softly, and Yvonne knew she now had his full attention.

“Someday, there will be those who will study this operation and pass judgment if they feel the subjects were mistreated. We must make certain we leave them no ammunition, nothing to point to that will sully the memory of the brave men who are making history here and now.”

Good Lord. She was nearly making herself sick with her own overwrought argument. But if she was successful, Cavitt would have a reason he could accept for her defense of the aliens, a reason which would hopefully stop him from suspecting her real motives. A reason which might even serve to mitigate his own behavior. She waited, holding her breath. Would he buy it?

After several long moments, he did. “You make a valid point,” Cavitt said thoughtfully. “I should be more careful, if only to ward off future misrepresentations of our work here. History will indeed judge us, and as Commanding Officer, it is my responsibility to make certain we are judged rightly.”

Yvonne had to deliberately refrain from rolling her eyes, and from pointing out that he wasn’t the only “commanding officer”. His tone was so sanctimonious and his face so sober that it was almost comic. She knew damned well that Cavitt wasn’t the least bit concerned about history’s judgment regarding anyone but his own sweet self.

“Was there anything else, Lieutenant?”

Down to business. “Yes, sir. I wasn’t certain who I should approach with this, but I decided the primary issue here is security, so I’m bringing it to you. I can always take it to Dr. Pierce if you prefer.”

“No, that’s all right,” Cavitt assured her. “Dr. Pierce and I are in constant communication, so there is really little distinction between us. What’s this about?”

“The bodies of all personnel killed by the aliens have been transferred here for study, but it has come to my attention that two are missing,” Yvonne said, privately doubting that Pierce would agree there was “little distinction” between him and Cavitt. “A Private Belmont and a Private West, to be exact.”

Yvonne watched Cavitt’s face carefully. His expression was bland—a bit too bland, perhaps.

“Those two will not be transferred here,” Cavitt said casually. “Tests will be conducted off site.”

“But they’re still here, sir,” Yvonne noted, with an earnest, efficient expression. “I checked. I can have them sent up from the morgue; all I need is your authorization.” She withdrew the requisite form from her pocket and placed it smartly in front of him on his desk.

Cavitt’s eyes flicked down toward the form, then back up to her. “That will not be necessary. Dismissed.”

“But what if they’re found?” Yvonne asked with genuine alarm, albeit from a source Cavitt did not suspect. “Isn’t their presence in the morgue a security risk?”

Cavitt watched her carefully for a moment as Yvonne kept the concerned, earnest expression plastered firmly on her face. “You’re right,” he finally said. “I will have the bodies transferred to a more secure location immediately.”

“But….don’t you want them here, sir?” she asked innocently. “We already have the bodies of all the others. The more specimens we have, the more we will learn.”

“We have plenty of specimens here,” Cavitt said . “They’ve certainly killed enough people.”

“Yes, sir,” Yvonne responded promptly. “I’ll handle the transfer myself.”

“No,” Cavitt said quickly. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Yes sir. Then I’ll make certain that copies of the work already done on the bodies are sent here before they leave.”

“No! Cavitt snapped. Yvonne jumped.

“I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, Lieutenant,” Cavitt said, regaining his composure, “but I will see to this matter myself. You are not to pursue it in any way. Is that understood?”

“Of course, sir,” Yvonne replied.

“Good. Dismissed.”

Yvonne left the office, closing the door quietly behind her and leaning against it, closing her eyes as she felt herself beginning to shake. The only way she’d managed to get through that was to not think about the implications of what Cavitt had been saying, but now that it was over....

“Lieutenant?”

Startled, Yvonne jerked her eyes open. Cavitt’s secretary, Harriet, was staring at her over her typewriter, a look of mingled sympathy and concern on her face.

“Are you all right, Lieutenant?”

“Of course,” Yvonne answered. “I’m fine, thank you. Just a little......” She paused, struggling to find something diplomatic to say.

“No need to explain,” Harriet said wryly. “I’ve worked for him for the past six years. I know what he’s like.”

I doubt it. “I’m fine,” Yvonne repeated, trying to sound causal. “Just tired, that’s all. It’s all been quite a whirlwind.”

“For me too,” Harriet agreed, “what with the Major being promoted, and everything else that’s going on......” As she spoke, she swept her hand across her teeming desk, knocking a pile of papers onto the floor in the process. “Oh, good grief!” she grumbled, bending over to retrieve everything. Yvonne joined her, grateful for something mindless to do, reaching under the desk for some papers that had slid underneath, her eyes coming to rest on the wastebasket as she did so. What she saw there made her breath catch in her throat.

It was a newspaper, the Roswell Daily Record. She hadn’t seen a newspaper in days, hadn’t even seen the sun until early this morning, the first time she’d been allowed upstairs since being brought here. It was one of the headlines on the front page that caught her eye and the photograph below it, at once both familiar and chilling.

“Did you get them all?” Harriet was asking.

Swiftly, Yvonne plucked the paper out of the wastebasket and tucked it behind her. “Yes, I did,” she said to Harriet, standing up and handing her the pile of papers with one hand while holding the newspaper behind her back with the other, praying that Cavitt wouldn’t choose this incredibly inconvenient moment to pop out of his office. “I should be going now. Lots to do.”

“Thanks for the help,” Harriet said, so busy rearranging everything that it was no problem at all to slip out the door with the newspaper. Once outside, Yvonne tucked it into her uniform as best she could and headed for the basement, barely holding herself together as she passed the checkpoint and flew to her quarters. Closing the door firmly behind her, she pulled her desk chair in front of it and flopped on the bed, pulling the paper out. It was dated July 11th. That would be Friday, and this was Sunday—two days ago. Betty’s face, looking just as she had last Tuesday morning over the breakfast table at the restaurant in Roswell, stared back at her with accusing eyes.





YOUNG REPORTER DIES IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT


Miss Elizabeth Ann Osorio, 28, reporter for the Fort Worth Star Telegram, died in an automobile accident in the early hours of Thursday morning on rural road #68 just north of Roswell. Miss Osorio was found slumped over the steering wheel of her car on July 10th at approximately 2:30 a.m. The sheriff’s deputy who found the car said Miss Osorio had apparently run off the road, and could find no discernable cause for the accident. No witnesses have come forward. Foul play has been ruled out.

Miss Osorio’s body has been returned to her family in Texas. Internment will be on Sunday, July 13, in Holy Cross Cemetery, Fort Worth, Texas.

The people of Roswell extend their sincerest condolences to Miss Osorio’s family, colleagues, and friends for the tragic loss of this young woman’s life.






Hands shaking, Yvonne set the paper down on the bed and pulled her knees up to her chest, looping her arms around them and rocking back and forth, shaking. Betty’s dead she said to herself over and over, as though repeating it would make her believe it. The bright, vivacious, kind woman who had lent her an ear was dead, buried this very day. Yvonne didn’t believe for one minute that her death was an accident. And she was willing to bet very good money on who was responsible.

A full twenty minutes later, Yvonne pulled herself unsteadily to her feet and walked into the bathroom. Her make-up was a mess, mascara smears making her look like a raccoon. She leaned over the sink, splashing water on her face, scrubbing away the dirt and tears. When she was finished, she dried her face with a towel, looking at her puffy eyes in the mirror.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Grandma White had been fond of saying. “You might get it.” “You got what you wanted,” Yvonne whispered to her own reflection. By most measures, her little visit to Cavitt’s office had been a rousing success. With any luck Cavitt would think twice before doing anything too awful to the prisoners. Hopefully her own sympathy toward them would be interpreted in a different light. And she’d gotten the proof she’d wanted about Stephen’s accusations.

He was right. They were working for a murderer.

[Kathy W 2200]

CHAPTER THREE


July 13, 1947, 5 p.m.

Proctor residence




Dee Proctor walked into the kitchen, the door banging behind her. “Sorry!” she called automatically. Door banging was not appreciated in the Proctor household. But when she found her mother, she seemed not to have heard. Emily Proctor was holding a cup of coffee and gazing out the window toward the Brazel’s house.

“What’s going on?” Dee asked. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Emily sighed, “and that’s the problem. Mac and Rose aren’t answering their phone. The soldiers are still there, still preventing them from coming out or the few brave souls who have tried from going in. And your father’s about to pop.”

“He’s not the only one,” Dee noted. She had spent the afternoon at various neighborhood houses and had heard a great deal of discussion on the subject of the Brazel’s current predicament. “Everybody’s steamed. Mr. Rothman says he’s going to go over there and see if the Army wants to tangle with an eighty-one year old man who walks with a cane.” Emily closed her eyes and shook her head, as though trying to clear her mind of the image of Mr. Rothman beating the soldiers with his cane. “Why are they doing this anyway?” Dee continued, plopping on a nearby kitchen chair. “Sorry,” she repeated, as her mother shot her a disapproving look. Becoming airborne before connecting with a piece of furniture was also not appreciated in the Proctor household. “They already had Mac locked up; if they wanted to keep him that way, why did they let him come home?”

“Probably because Sheriff Wilcox has been leaning on them,” Emily said. “And the Daily Record has been asking a lot of questions. So has Mr. Joyce down at the radio station. It’s becoming a PR problem.”

“What’s a PR problem?”

Emily smiled. “ ‘Public relations’. How people perceive the Army, whether they like them or not, whether they think they’re doing a good job.”

Dee scowled. She didn’t need to tell her mother what she thought of the Army just now. “Well, I think Daddy’s right. I think we should go over there and raise hell. I mean ‘heck’,” she added hastily, as her mother’s eyebrows rose. “Hell” certainly wasn’t the worst cuss word out there, but it was still frowned upon. “I’m sure he said ‘go over there and raise heck’.”

“I’m sure,” Emily said dryly, obviously not buying it. She sighed, leaning against the window, her coffee cup forgotten. “Your father’s right—this is foul, and something needs to be done. I just don’t want this family to be at the head of the line. The Army seems to have forgotten about us, and I’d just as soon leave it that way.”

“Why do we have to be at the head of the line?” Dee asked.

Her mother didn’t answer for a moment. She just kept staring out the window, a blank expression on her face, until suddenly she turned to look at Dee, beaming.

“You’re absolutely right. And you’ve just given me a wonderful idea. Several wonderful ideas, actually.” She handed her coffee cup to Dee. “Take care of this, will you? I have a few dozen phone calls to make.”

Dee watched her mother bustle off, mystified. What was she up to? Her mother was no less apt than her father to attack a problem; she just tended to come at things sideways, as opposed to her father’s more direct approach. That’s why it had been so surprising to see her mother spit it all out to that soldier in the culvert when they were rescuing the sacs, while her father verbally tap danced. Direct confrontation was more her father’s style.

Shrugging, Dee carried the cup to the sink and looked out the kitchen window toward the Brazel’s. You do what you need to do, Mama, she thought serenely, and I’ll do what I need to do.



******************************************************



Brazel residence




Stepping carefully so as not to make noise, Dee climbed the Brazel’s basement steps. She must have grown; it had been harder to slip through the chained doors of their walk-out basement than it had been the last time she’d tried it. The lock had broken on those doors last year, and Mac had chained them loosely shut. Enough to bar admittance to an adult, but not enough to keep out a determined, relatively small kid.

She paused at the top of the steps. How best to proceed? If she just burst out, she’d probably scare both Brazels half to death. Better to knock. Granted, it would be weird for them to hear someone knocking on the other side of their basement door, but that couldn’t be helped. She raised her fist and knocked.

Nothing happened. She knocked again, louder this time. It would probably take them awhile to figure out what was going on and find her. Assuming they were even downstairs, that is.

After three full minutes of intermittent knocking, Dee decided they were probably upstairs and reached for the door handle. But it turned before she could grab it, and the door swung open to reveal an astonished face.

“Dee?” Mac whispered, as though he didn’t believe it.

Dee grinned at him. “Hi, Mac!”

“Dee!” Mac shouted, scooping her up in his arms and twirling her around the Brazel’s kitchen. “You’re all right! Thank God!”

“Pipe down!” Mrs. Brazel whispered, her expression fearful. “What if they hear you?”

“Ah, nertz to them,” Mac said sourly. “It’s my house, last I checked. Oh, it’s so good to see you again!” he continued, twirling Dee again. “I’ve missed everyone so much!”

As Dee watched the world swirl in front of her eyes, she saw Mrs. Brazel, mouth hanging open, glancing down the basement stairs as if expecting soldiers to appear at any moment. “How did you get in here?” Mrs. Brazel asked. “Did anyone see you?”

Mac set Dee down with a sigh. “Can we drop the third degree, Rose? She squeezed through the gap in the basement doors. They don’t lock tight. I’m surprised you still fit,” he added to Dee in a teasing tone. “You’re bigger this year.”

“So are you,” Dee deadpanned, poking Mac in the waist and making him roar with laughter. Mrs. Brazel jumped.

Mac sighed again. “You’ll have to forgive Rose. It’s been a bit tense. And she’s not quite the rebel I am—we are,” he amended with a wink.

Dee looked over at Mrs. Brazel, who seemed to be struggling to decide whether she should welcome Dee or panic. “Are you okay?” Dee asked gently.

Mrs. Brazel abruptly reached a decision as tears filled her eyes and she swept Dee into an enormous hug. “I’m sorry, dear,” Mrs. Brazel said. “It’s not that I’m not delighted to see you—I am. This past week has just been so frightening! I wasn’t certain they’d ever let Mac go, and now I’m not certain they’ll ever let us out of our own house.” She abruptly released Dee and started bustling around the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink? We don’t have much in the house yet, but I could offer you some milk, and I know I have some chocolate.”

Dee was about to say, “No, thanks,” when she saw Mac nod his head very deliberately. “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Brazel. I’d love some.” Mrs. Brazel actually smiled and scurried around, pouring and stirring.

“I’ve been dying to know what’s going on out here,” Mac said, steering Dee to a kitchen chair. “I think that was the worst part of the whole thing: No newspapers, no radio, no nothing. What’s been happening?”

Dee hesitated for a moment. When one has had a week full of aliens hiding in your home, healing aliens, rescuing alien sacs, and fighting hostile aliens, how did one start? When one has learned that your two favorite aliens are dead, and buried one of them, where did one begin?

“A lot,” she answered quietly. “An awful lot happened.” Mac looked at her sympathetically, and Mrs. Brazel paused in her stirring. “But we’re okay. They didn’t find out about us. What about you? What did they do to you? Did they hurt you?”

“Nah,” Mac scoffed. “Just locked me up and sat on the key. Wouldn’t let me out till I agreed to go back on the radio and take everything back. But I got’em back,” he said with satisfaction. “Anyone listening closely would’ve caught it.”

“The part about them not being green?”

Mac smiled. “You heard it?”

“Nope. Anthony did.”

“Anthony?”

“Anthony Evans. He’s the new kid down the street. He heard what you said, and he also thought they wouldn’t let you go until you gave another interview.”

“Smart kid,” Mac said, impressed. “I’ll have to meet him sometime.”

Mrs. Brazel set the chocolate milk in front of Dee and sat down at the kitchen table. “Do your parents know you’re over here?”

“Well…no,” Dee admitted, “but Mama’s working on some kind of plan to bust you out of here, so I don’t think she’ll mind.” Not true of course...her mother would mind in spades. She’d worry about that later.

“Emily?” Mrs. Brazel looked surprised. “That sounds more like David than Emily. I hope she doesn’t do anything reckless.”

You have no idea what she’s had to do in the past week, Dee thought to herself. “Daddy wanted to have it out with the soldiers this morning, but Mama made him wait. I think she’s afraid someone’s going to remember that my name came up in all of this.”

“You don’t want them to remember that,” Mac agreed soberly. “They’re happy now that they’ve got two aliens to play with, so just let’em play, and don’t remind them that you ever had anything to do with any of this.”

“ ‘Two aliens to play with’?” Dee echoed. She leaned forward eagerly in her chair. “How do you know that? Did you hear something?”

Mac and his wife exchanged glances. “You’d better tell her,” Mrs. Brazel said quietly.

Dee looked questioningly at Mac, who stared at the floor as he spoke. “The soldiers who guarded the room where they were keeping me had very lose lips,” he said with a slight smile. “Cavitt’d probably have a fit if he heard what they said. Anyway….according to the guards, they captured two aliens, the first one last Thursday night, and the second one the next night. I’m sorry,” he added, stealing a peek at her as though he were afraid she might explode.

“You mean….they’re alive?”

“Oh yeah, they’re alive,” Mac said grimly. “You should’ve heard them crowing about it. Or maybe it’s just as well you didn’t,” he added as an afterthought.

“Yipee!” Dee yelled, jostling her glass of chocolate milk and causing Mac and his wife to jump in alarm. “That’s great news!”

Both Brazels were astonished. “It is?” Mac asked, flabbergasted.

“Yes!” Dee exclaimed. “It means they’re alive! I was afraid they were dead like the other two they caught.”

These words had a curious effect on Mac. He rose from the table and went to the side window, staring silently. Mrs. Brazel shot him a sympathetic look, but said nothing.

“I’m really sorry about all this, Dee,” Mac said gruffly, without looking at her. “This is all my fault.”

Now it was Dee’s turn to be flabbergasted. “Your fault?”

Mac nodded. “If I hadn’t gone to the Sheriff, none of this would’ve happened.”

“But…if I hadn’t made you go out to that part of the ranch in the first place, you wouldn’t have found anything to take to the Sheriff,” Dee objected. “So it’s really my fault.”

“Nonsense,” Mac said firmly. “You weren’t trying to turn anyone in. You thought it was just a falling star.”

“And you thought it was a Russian plane,” Dee pointed out. “And everyone says Russia is the enemy.”

“But…” Mac began.

He got no further. “Stop it, both of you!” Rose Brazel exclaimed in exasperation. “You might just as well blame me for doing the laundry early and finding those metal pieces before Mac went back to the ranch after lunch. Or blame the woman at the base who took George’s phone call—if she hadn’t been at her desk, maybe George wouldn’t have gotten through so fast. Or blame George for placing the call in the first place. This could go round in circles forever. What happened, happened,” she said, eyeing both people in front of her severely. “No one wanted it to happen. No one was trying to hurt anyone. Everyone acted in good faith. No one is to blame. Or if you must blame someone, we’re all to blame. Personally, I like the former.”

“ ‘Sometimes even when we do everything right, things don’t work out right anyway’,” Dee murmured, remembering what the soldier had told her the night they rescued the sacs from the culvert.

“True,” Mac allowed, “but I would hardly call what the Army is doing ‘acting in good faith’.”

“Perhaps they’ll come ‘round,” Mrs. Brazel said. Her face wore the expression of one who is trying valiantly to be charitable, with little success. “One can only hope cooler heads will prevail.”

“Assuming they have any cooler heads,” Mac muttered.

A noise outside caught Dee’s ear. “What was that?”

“Probably just Mutt and Jeff banging around on the porch,” Mac said irritably.

But Dee didn’t think so. All the soldiers she’d seen had moved stealthily, not banged around. She walked to the bay window in the living room and broke into a wide grin.

“I don’t think it matters what the Army thinks anymore,” she said to Mac and Rose. “I think the whole thing’s been decided for them.”





******************************************************



5:45 p.m.

Sheriff’s station, Roswell




Deputy Valenti banged his locker door shut and bent down to tie his shoe. He was on duty in fifteen minutes, and he was running late. Another locker opened beside him, and Valenti looked up to see Jake Cook.

“Jim,” Jake said, nodding in Valenti’s direction as he began to strip off his uniform.

“Evening, Jake,” Valenti answered.

“So,” Jake said, his tone sly. “Seen any more aliens lately?”

Valenti shot Jake a dirty look. “No. Have you?”

“I never saw any to begin with,” Jake said, smiling, as he pulled a pair of work boots out of his locker. “Just wanted to make sure I’m ready in case an invasion’s coming.”

Valenti had a powerful urge to wipe the smirk off Jake’s face, but starting a brawl in the locker room wasn’t exactly the way to stay off Hemming’s shit list. “When I find out the exact date and time, I’ll let you know,” he said sarcastically.

“You do that,” Jake said seriously. “I’d hate to be caught unprepared.”

Valenti fumed as he banged his locker door shut, wishing mightily that he could bang it straight into the chuckling Jake’s face. Rounding a corner at mach ten, he collided head on with John Donniger, the deputy who had found him passed out in his car. Just my luck, Valenti thought sourly. Both at once. Taunting was always worse in stereo.

“Jim! Whoa, I didn’t see you there!” Donniger said. “Sorry. Say,” he continued, seeing the scowl on Valenti’s face, “are you all right?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I’ve seen any aliens?” Valenti barked. “I’ve only been here twenty minutes, and I’ve already been asked that three times. I thought Hemming said the whole thing was going to be kept quiet?”

Donniger shifted his gaze uneasily left and right as though looking for eavesdroppers. “He did tell me to keep quiet about it,” he said, “and I did. But….well Jim, you just can’t keep things like that quiet. Not in a station this small, and not even in a larger one, I suspect.”

“Wonderful,” Valenti snapped. “So now they all think I’m crazy?”

“No. They think you were drunk,” Donniger admitted. “The jury’s still out on whether or not it was wise to try the alien defense to weasel out of it.”

“I’m not..” Valenti began shouting, then lowered his voice as someone walked by, throwing them a curious stare. “I’m not trying to ‘weasel out’ of anything!” Valenti hissed. “I wasn’t drunk, and I did see an alien! Honestly, why would I say something like that if it weren’t true? Why would I risk being thought a nutcase unless I was absolutely sure of what I saw?”

Donniger sighed. “Look Jim, I like you. You’re a good deputy, you’re a great guy, and I’ve never known you to be the type to go on a bender and cook up a tale. But I know what I saw—I found you passed out in a car with eight empty bottles of beer. I didn’t find any signs of tampering, either human or….alien. There’s just no proof of what you’re claiming.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong!”

“It also doesn’t mean you’re right,” Donniger pointed out, “and with a story that weird, you need proof.” He paused. “Look, I need to get going. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah. Fine,” Valenti said shortly.

“Well…g’night, then,” Donniger said, and beat a hasty exit.

Valenti leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He’d almost had proof. Twice now he’d almost had proof, and both times he’d been foiled, once by an alien and once by that damned kid with the firecrackers. That whole episode with the kid had almost gone south on him when the kid had accused him of being a peeping tom and the mother had started to buy it. Fortunately, Valenti hadn’t identified himself. Even if she had believed her son, it would have taken some work to track him down.

Still, Valenti had stiffened every time the phone rang over the weekend, wondering if the mother had found him and filed a complaint. Given the way his colleagues were acting toward him now, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch for them to believe the worst of him. An incident like that could get him yanked from the force.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway nearby. Valenti abruptly pushed off the wall as another deputy, Ian Hunt, rounded the corner.

“Jim,” Hunt called. “I’ve been looking for you. Hemming wants to see you.”

“Why?” Valenti asked, in a tone that said a little too obviously, what now?

Hunt must have heard it, because his face broke into a wide smile. “Not sure. Said something about a phone call.”

Shit. He’d spoken too soon; the kid’s mother had called anyway. Valenti took off up the hallway, muttering under his breath, only to stop when Hunt called, “Hey, Jim!”

Valenti turned around. “What?”

“I just wanted to tell you that I thought the whole alien angle was brilliant. Too bad it didn’t work.”

Valenti didn’t answer. He spun around and continued up the hallway, mentally cursing the entire human race.





******************************************************



Brazel residence





Mac and Mrs. Brazel hurried to the window. Now three faces, two astonished and one delighted, looked out on the scene outside.

What appeared to be the entire population of Baldwin street was heading for the Brazel’s front yard. A knot of about thirty people were already arranged at the edge of the front porch, and many more streamed into the yard from every direction. Many carried a dish of some food or other as though this were some sort of bizarre housewarming, and all wore determined expressions. Dee saw Anthony and both of his folks near the back; she caught a glimpse of her parents and ducked further behind the curtain.

“Sweet Jesus,” Mrs. Brazel breathed. “There must be sixty or seventy people out there!”

“More than that,” Dee said cheerfully. “More like a hundred, after you count all the kids.” It was true; whole families were grouped outside, mothers holding babies, fathers holding the hands of toddlers. It looked like another block party.

At the head of the pack was a wizened old man leaning on a cane who beamed at the assembled residents like a proud father. “Just a minute here, and we’ll get started!” he bellowed back toward the crowd. “We’re just waiting for a few more ‘guests’!” Everyone smiled when he said the word “guests”. Dee twisted around so she could see the faces of the two soldiers guarding the Brazel’s front door. They were shifting uneasily from one foot to another with nervous expressions on their young faces.

“Good ol’ Rothman,” Mac said admiringly. “Eighty-one years old and not afraid of anything.”

“Do you think this will work?” Mrs. Brazel asked worriedly.

Mac was grinning broadly. “I do now!”

Dee looked away from the soldiers to where Mac was staring. Two cars had pulled into the Brazel’s driveway; the crowd obligingly parted to make way for them. The first car disgorged a man who was obviously a reporter, as well as a second man holding a large camera. The second car was driven by none other than Frank Joyce of KFGL radio station, the man who had interviewed Mac both times about the aliens.

“Ah, there you are!” shouted Mr. Rothman amiably. Step right up, step right up….let’em through!” he squawked at some Baldwin street residents who weren’t moving fast enough to suit him. “Let’em by!”

The crowd parted further, and soon one reporter, one camera man, and one radio announcer were standing feet away from the now thoroughly flustered soldiers, various recording implements in hand and eager expressions on their faces.

“Now then, young man,” Mr. Rothman hollered to the nearest of the two hapless soldiers, “we’re here to see the Brazels. Stand aside!”

Dee smiled as Mr. Rothman’s decibel level practically flattened hairs on the soldier’s head. Mr. Rothman was quite deaf, and shouted even at those only inches away. Normally that was annoying, but now it was downright useful.

The soldier that Mr. Rothman had addressed drew himself up. “No one is to enter the Brazel’s house by order of Major Sheridan Cavitt, United States Army,” he announced in a noticeably uncertain voice.

Mr. Rothman’s face broke into an ear-splitting grin. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who ordered it, sonny!” he bawled at the top of his lungs. “This isn’t the Army base, it’s small town America! You can’t hold people hostage like this—it’s against the Constitution! It’s un-American! It’s against everything we fought for in the war!”

Applause erupted from the crowd as heads large and small bobbed in agreement. Dee knew there was likely not a soul in that crowd except for the very youngest who hadn’t done something to aid the war effort, whether it was collecting scrap for the munitions factories like she and her friends, keeping Victory Gardens like the mothers, or actually serving like the fathers and brothers and uncles. Some families had paid the ultimate price, and Dee noticed as she scanned the crowd that these had removed the gold stars that marked the loss of a family member in the war from their windows and pinned them to their shirts. The stars glinted in the late afternoon sun, silent protests to what was happening right in front of them.

“We’re not going to stand for this!” Rothman screeched, clearly enjoying himself enormously. “There are a lot more of us than there are of you! Now stand aside, I say, before we trample you!” This last was delivered in a hopeful tone, as though Mr. Rothman, at least, would dearly love to do just that.

A flashbulb popped. The reporter and the radio announcer scribbled. The two soldiers guarding the front door were looking decidedly nonplussed. “All of you, go home!” one of them barked, with a notable lack of conviction. “You’ll be in real trouble if you attempt to enter this house!” His hand moved to the hilt of his gun as if to emphasize his point.

Big mistake, Dee thought. The faces in the crowd turned angry, and their muttering grew louder.

“Real trouble, you say?” boomed Mr. Rothman. “What’dya gonna do, sonny—shoot me? Get a picture of this!” he shouted excitedly at the photographer standing six inches away from him. “Get a picture of them threatening to shoot me!”

A flashbulb popped again. The soldier cast an uneasy glance at the large crowd of potential witnesses before them and looked Mr. Rothman up and down, taking in his bent frame, wooden cane, and practically useless hearing aid. His hand fell from his gun.

“I’m Frank Tepper, from the Daily Record,” announced the reporter from his perch on the bottom step of the porch. “Is Mr. Brazel under arrest?”

“Well....no…” one of the soldiers said uncertainly.

“Then why are you here?” Mr. Joyce demanded. “The Army isn’t local law enforcement. What right do you have to hold a citizen under house arrest?”

“I….well….” the soldier stammered. He looked at the other guard, who gave a tiny shrug.

“Look, you’ll have to take this up with Major Cavitt,” the shrugging soldier said. “We’re just following orders.”

“Orders?! shrieked Mr. Rothman, waving his cane threateningly at the soldier, who backed away in alarm. “Orders to lock a man and his missus in their own home? I’d like to see the dimwit who gave those orders! I’d give him a piece of my mind he wouldn’t soon forget!”

Mr. Rothman was now beet red in the face. The rest of the crowd didn’t look much calmer. The soldiers were rattled, but stood their ground. The wind was blowing in another direction; both reporter and radio announcer leaned forward eagerly, sniffing the air like hunters stalking their prey.

Mac let the curtain drop. “Enough,” he said firmly. “Someone’s going to get hurt.”

“What are you going to do?” Mrs. Brazel asked in alarm.

“Calm down, Rose,” Mac said. “I’m just going to open the front door—my front door,” he added pointedly. “I have a right to open my front door, don’t I?”

Mrs. Brazel never got a chance to answer. Mac flung the door open wide and beamed at the crowd in his yard, which instantly broke into a cheer and surged forward.

The denizens of Baldwin Street piled into the Brazel’s house, pushing aside the frustrated guards. The soldiers made helpless and exasperated gestures to one another over the heads of the milling crowd, but they were clearly outnumbered and they knew it. After five minutes of fruitless attempts to stem the flow, they gave up and left.

Dee curled up in the bay window seat and watched them leave. They might be back, of course, but for now, the power of public opinion—or perhaps the fear of it—had trumped the Army. In the kitchen, both Mr. Joyce and Mr. Tepper were busy talking to Mac, while anyone within earshot listened intently. The house was almost full, more people were streaming in, and there were still more out in the yard then there were inside.

Tucked inside her special spot away from the crowd, Dee closed her eyes and savored the happy hum of the crowd. She wanted to make this moment last as long as possible. This was the first time in what seemed like a long time that she felt proud to belong to the human race.





******************************************************





1800 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base


Dr. Pierce entered the room where aliens were being held and checked his watch, frowning. A technician handed him a clipboard full of data, which he examined for a full five minutes before tossing it onto a nearby table with an air of defeat.

“No change?” he asked one of the technicians.

“None,” the technician confirmed. Both men stared at the short, gray figure strapped to the table. Electrodes covered its bald head and its chest, stretching to machines off to the side. “We withheld the last two doses of sedative; we’re coming up on the next dose in an hour or so.”

“And you haven’t observed any change? Yes, yes, I know the data didn’t show anything,” Pierce said impatiently, as the technician gestured toward the discarded clipboard, “but we don’t really know what we’re looking at, do we? We can measure its heart rate and respiration, but we don’t know what the normal values are, so those measurements aren’t very useful at the moment. What about your eyes, Corporal? You do still know how to use them, don’t you?”

“The subject has not displayed any signs of regaining consciousness, Doctor,” the tech replied, ignoring Pierce’s sarcasm.

Pierce sat down on the end of the stretcher and gazed worriedly at the “subject”. “What’s wrong?” he asked, talking more to himself than the tech. “I would have expected the drug to at least begin wearing off by now, in a human patient at least. I hope we didn’t put it into a coma by keeping it continuously sedated,” he added, with a worried glance at the second, human-appearing alien, unconscious on a nearby stretcher.

“We don’t understand this creature’s metabolism,” the tech pointed out. “Perhaps it just takes longer to wear off. Or perhaps it will require a stimulant to help the process along.”

“Perhaps,” Pierce murmured. “The danger there is waking it too much. I don’t want it conscious, just slightly so. Just enough to glean an idea of how it produces the energy it’s capable of wielding. If it’s fully conscious, we’ll never be able to hold it.”

Pierce mused for a moment, arms folded, fingers tapping on his elbows. “We’ll wait one more hour,” he said finally, “and then we’ll intervene.”

“Yes, doctor,” the assistant replied. “Shall I notify Major Cavitt, or won’t he be attending?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be there with bells on, if only to chronicle all my alleged ‘mistakes’,” Pierce said dryly. “Do you know it took me three phone calls to General Ramey just to make him turn the subjects over to me? But I only have a limited time in which to wake them and demonstrate control over them; otherwise, Ramey wants them kept sedated. I have to get this right fast.”

Pierce slid off the end of the table and headed for the door. “I’ll be back at 1900 hours. Call me if anything changes.”

“Yes, Doctor,” the technician replied.

Neither were looking at the gray figure as they parted, so both missed the flickering of the huge gray eyelids and the twitching of the long-fingered hands.

[Kathy W 2200]

CHAPTER FOUR


July 13, 1947, 6 p.m.

Roswell Sheriff’s Station




Deputy Valenti knocked on Sheriff Hemming’s office door with a feeling of foreboding. The Sheriff wanted to talk to him about a phone call? That couldn’t be good. He could think of at least three different people who wouldn’t have good things to say about him now.

“Come in!” Hemming’s voice called. Bracing himself, Valenti entered the office.

“Ah, hello Jim,” Hemming said, looking up from his desk. “Close the door and have a seat.”

Valenti studied Hemming’s face as he obeyed. He didn’t look angry, or worried—just serious. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought.

“I received a call from the County Sheriff, George Wilcox. You know him?”

Valenti’s heart sank. So Wilcox had finally blown him in for confronting him last week in his office. Or maybe the Proctors, or that kid’s mother had complained. “Yes, sir,” Valenti said, trying to keep his voice even, his head swirling with ways to get out of this one.

“I guess a few of his guys aren’t doing so well, what with the all the hoopla lately. Two of them just up and quit, and George wants to give a few more some time off, just to get away from it for a bit. He’s asked me if I can spare some men temporarily. I’m sending you over to him.”

It took a moment for this announcement to sink in. “Over to….you mean I’ll be working for Chaves County instead of Roswell?” Valenti asked.

Hemming nodded. “Yep. I can sympathize with George,” he added, with a beady look at Valenti. “I think some of my people could stand to get away from it too.”

“I see,” Valenti said, smarting. “And you think that you’re going to ‘get me away from this’ by reassigning me to the precinct where others are dropping like flies?”

Hemming leaned back in his chair and gave his deputy a level stare. “No,” he answered. “The only way to get away from this nuttiness is to leave the damned state. But it will get you away from this department for awhile, and I think that would be a good thing. I destroyed the report on your adventures the other night, but you must have noticed that word’s gotten out. Everyone’s wondering if you were joshing or serious.”

Valenti kept his face blank and said nothing.

“So I think it would be a good idea for you to disappear for a little while until the chattering dies down,” Hemming continued. “I also think it would be good for you to have a larger area to work with, some of which has nothing to do with flying saucers. It’ll keep you busy. Hopefully busy enough that you’ll stay away from the beer.”

Five minutes ago, a comment like that would have brought an angry outburst, but Valenti didn’t reply. Something had just occurred to him, something that would have been immediately obvious if he hadn’t been so busy taking umbrage at Hemming’s attitude.

Corona was in Chaves County.

Corona being as small as it was, its residents used the Chaves County Sheriff’s department as their police department.

The Proctors lived in Corona.

Working for Chaves County meant that he had authority in Corona.

Valenti’s pulse quickened. This could be just the break he needed. He’d have to get Wilcox to accept him, of course, and that could be tricky, given their last altercation. But his fellow deputies’ reactions to him lately had given him an idea of how to tackle that problem.

“You will be staying away from the beer, right Jim?” Hemming was saying.

Valenti tightened his grip on the arms of the chair. This wasn’t going to be pleasant, but he didn’t see any other way out of it. He was going to have to eat some crow, even if meant lying through his teeth. Besides, no one believed him anyway.

“I’m grateful for this opportunity, sir,” Valenti said, hoping he sounded humble. “I…I’ve been meaning to tell you that….that you were right about the other night. I really thought I’d make it home in spite of how much I’d had to drink, so I made up….well, I don’t know what came over me. I guess I just panicked.”

Hemming’s expression softened. “That’s all right, Jim. No harm done. As I said, you weren’t doing anything illegal. We’ve all gone on a bender now and then, eh?”

Valenti managed a wan smile. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He stood up. “When do I report to Sheriff Wilcox?”

“Immediately,” Hemming answered. “George isn’t on duty tonight, but the deputies there will show you the ropes. And Jim,” he added, as Valenti turned to leave. “I’m glad you came clean about what happened. Although I must admit, you were so sure of yourself……you really had me going there for a while.”

Hemming smiled, and Valenti worked hard at looking chagrined. The two men shook hands, and Valenti exited the office, only to bump into two more deputies.

“Well, if it isn’t the alien party boy!” one of them said, clapping Valenti on the back and grinning. “Say, do you think maybe the aliens drank some of that beer?”

Swallowing the retort rising like bile in his throat, Valenti tried to look sheepish. “It was worth a try, wasn’t it? With everything that’s been going on, it might’ve worked.”

The two deputies smiled and laughed. “It might’ve at that,” one of them agreed. “Nice try, Valenti. Too bad no one bought it.”

The two walked off laughing, and Valenti closed his eyes a moment to steady himself. God, this was going to be hard. But better everyone think him a one time drunk with a tall tale than a crazy man. That left him free to do whatever he had to do to find out what the hell was going on around here.




******************************************************




7 p.m.

Proctor residence




The doorbell rang, and Emily Proctor opened it to find Sheriff Wilcox on her front porch. “George! This is a surprise.”

“I’ve just come from visiting Mac and Rose,” George said, removing his hat. “I heard you stared a rumble today.”

“Who? Me?” Emily asked innocently. “Why, Sheriff, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you here to arrest me?”

George shook his head, smiling. “Nope. Not enough evidence. May I come in?”

“Are you sure you want to be seen entering the house of an alleged subversive?” Emily asked dryly as she stepped back and held the door for him.

“I’ll take my chances,” George said, following her into the kitchen.

“Coffee?”

“Please. Can’t get enough of the stuff today.”

“Today’s Sunday, George,” Emily said, fishing in the cupboard for a cup. “It’s a day of rest, remember? Cream?”

“Black, thank you. And ‘day of rest’, my ass.” George looked around suddenly. “Where’s Dee?”

“At a friend’s house,” Emily answered calmly. “Don’t worry—she’s not here to hear you swearing like a sailor.”

“Good,” George said, sitting down at the kitchen table and accepting the cup Emily placed in front of him. “That means she won’t be able to hear the rest of it too.” He sipped his coffee. “Want to know how I spent my ‘day of rest’?”

“Seeing as you already know about mine, I suppose it’s only good manners to listen to yours,” Emily said.

“I spent my morning with the phone ringing off the hook with people furious about the guards placed outside the Brazel’s house,” Mac said. “My afternoon was spent at the base, trying to get them to call off their dogs. I kicked up enough of a fuss that Major Cavitt himself decided to deal with me personally, and….”

“ ‘Major’ Cavitt?” Emily said in disbelief. “I thought he was a Captain!”

“He was. He got promoted.”

“They made that jackass a Major?” Emily exclaimed, flabbergasted.

George smiled. “Now who’s swearing like a sailor? Yes, they made him a Major. Isn’t it nice to know that our armed forces reward such brilliant individuals? Anyway,” he continued, “I was getting nowhere until word arrived that the residents of Baldwin Street had risen up in revolt. And that certain representatives of the media were in attendance recording every word. That changed their tune quite a bit. The last thing they want right now is publicity.”

“And what makes you think I had anything to do with this?” Emily asked.

George shrugged. “I figured it out. You did a good job; you covered your tracks well. Fortunately I had to do an awful lot of digging to find out where it started.”

Now it was Emily’s turn to shrug. “I made a few phones calls, and asked everyone else to call two other people, who asked those people to call two other people. Everyone heard from someone different, so we would be hard to track.” She paused. “What do you mean, ‘fortunately’?”

George fiddled with his coffee cup. “I have news, Emily. None of it good, I’m afraid.” He hesitated a moment, then glanced up at Emily, who was staring at him soberly, waiting for it. “When I was at the base, Cavitt quizzed me about the kid who was supposedly with Mac when he first found the debris from the ship. It’s my fault he knew about that at all,” he added uncomfortably, looking away. “I’m the one who mentioned it to him in the first place.”

“Stop it, George,” Emily said gently. “I know you didn’t mean us any harm. You had no idea what was coming—none of us did. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.”

“Damned hindsight,” George muttered. “Anyway, I threw Cavitt off, but I was surprised he’d remembered; no one’s bothered to pursue that angle since that night before they found the ship. All of you still need to keep your heads down. It’s not safe at this point to remind anybody that your name ever came into this in any way, even as a misstatement.”

Emily relaxed a bit. “I figured as much. That’s why I spent my day trying to prevent my husband from storming the Bastille all by himself, and insisted on involving as much of the neighborhood as we could this afternoon. There’s strength—and anonymity—in numbers.”

“And it worked—beautifully,” George said admiringly.

“For the moment,” Emily cautioned. “They could be back.”

George shook his head. “They won’t be back. The newspapers are watching, the radio jocks are watching, hell, everyone’s watching. Or they will be, after all this comes out in the Daily Record tomorrow. They won’t try that again. Something else, maybe, but not that. They want this whole spaceship thing kept totally quiet.”

“I’ll bet they do,” Emily said sourly.

“Which leads me to the second piece of bad news,” George said. “Cavitt may be standing on his head trying to keep this quiet, but his base is buzzing. It wasn’t hard to find some lose lips.” He paused, as if reluctant to continue. “They’ve got your….friends, Emily. Two of them. They’re still alive, and I take it they’re being kept sedated.”

“We know,” Emily said sadly. “Mac heard that too, and he told us this afternoon. Privately,” she added hastily, as George’s face lit up in alarm at the thought of Mac Brazel announcing to a huge crowd that the Army was holding two space aliens.

“I gathered the other two were dead, although I wasn’t able to confirm that,” George said.

“Oh, they’re quite dead,” Emily said soberly. “At least one of them is.”

George frowned. “The Army could be lying about that. How do you know?”

Emily rose and carried her coffee cup to the sink. She stood gazing out the kitchen window for a long moment before answering.

“We buried him—in a manner of speaking.”

“Oh,” George said uncomfortably. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I never met him,” Emily mused, as though to herself. “I hear he liked people—our people—and that he argued for Dee’s life when she was injured.”

George was silent. Emily looked around abruptly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go all maudlin on you. It’s just that we haven’t seen you in awhile, and you have no idea what’s been going on around here.”

“Maybe I do,” George said. “I heard other things on the base. Something about one of aliens getting away the night the first was captured. It took something with him, something the Army badly wants back. They combed the area for hours, and never found whatever it was.” He gave Emily a pointed look. “You lot wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”

“Sometimes I wish we hadn’t,” Emily said truthfully. “Other times, I’m proud we did.”

“I see,” George said, eyes wide. “And is this….something….going to turn up in my county somewhere?”

“No,” Emily answered. “It’s hidden. It’s safe.”

“Good,” George said. He sighed, stood up from the table, and headed for the front door, Emily trailing after him. “If it makes you feel any better, my life’s been hell recently too. The whole county is in an uproar, with alien sightings everywhere and people in a panic. Some of my deputies couldn’t take it. I had to call down to Roswell for some temps while some of my guys took a break, so don’t be surprised if you see some new faces around here soon.”

Emily opened the door, and shouts rang out from across the street. Dee and some other children were running around, pelting each other with water balloons.

“She looks normal,” George said, smiling. “How’s she doing?”

Emily’s face bore a wistful expression. “ ‘Normal’ is rather a dirty word around here at the moment. Nothing will ever be ‘normal’ again. We’re going to have to come up with a new definition.”

When George looked at her quizzically, she continued, “Can you guess what Dee said when she found out the two had been captured?”

“I’d imagine she was very upset.”

Emily shook her head. “Nope. She was thrilled. Thrilled they were still alive. You know the world has gone dark when a little girl thinks being captured is cause for celebration because she knows from personal experience that the alternative is worse.”

George leaned against the door jamb and sighed. “We didn’t acquit ourselves very well, did we? Our first contact with people from another world, and we acted like animals.”

“Worse,” Emily said darkly. “Animals would have treated them better.”

“True,” George said heavily. “One more thing before I go….I heard they’re going to try and wake up those two they have. What’s going to happen when they do? I’ve heard they can do some pretty amazing things. Can they hold them?”

“Not from what I’ve seen.”

“I see,” George said slowly. “So that means when they break out….”

“…they’ll be loose in your county,” Emily finished for him, nodding. She studied the look on George’s face for a moment before continuing. “You know, George, if you don’t want to get mixed up in all this, we’ll understand.”

George plopped his hat on his head. “Nonsense,” he said firmly. “I’m the law here, and I’m sworn to protect the people. I’ve decided that means all the people, even those who don’t look like us. I can’t make sense of my oath any other way.”

Emily gave him a warm smile. “Call us anytime, day or night. We’ll get the phone.”

“I’ll do that,” George said, heading down the porch steps. He turned when he reached the bottom.

“You really think they can’t hold them?”

Emily shook her head. “No way.”




******************************************************




1900 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



Dr. Pierce entered the room where the aliens were being held to find it packed. Soldiers with tranquilizer rifles ringed the room, and more soldiers with real guns ringed the second, human-looking alien who was still heavily sedated. Major Cavitt was pacing; he looked up and scowled as Pierce approached.

“Subtle. Very subtle,” Pierce said sardonically, nodding toward the soldiers with guns trained on the second alien. “But then, subtlety was always your best trait, wasn’t it?”

“You haven’t seen what these things can do,” Cavitt retorted. “If you manage to wake it, threatening its friend might be the only leverage we have.”

“How do you know they’re friends?” Pierce asked cheerfully. “They could be mortal enemies, or co-workers, or lovers, or just bosom buddies like you and me.”

“Do you mind?” Cavitt groused, frowning, as the assembled soldiers stifled smiles.

“I was merely pointing out that we know nothing about the social order of these creatures,” Pierce said calmly. “You may not have the leverage you think you have.”

“Nevertheless, they stay,” Cavitt said firmly. “I have to be prepared in case you fail.”

“Your confidence is touching,” Pierce deadpanned.

“I knew you wouldn’t take this seriously,” Cavitt said furiously. “You never took anything seriously.”

“And you take everything too seriously,” Pierce commented. “Now…shall we get started, or is there some religious rite you’d like to perform first? With you as the deity, of course.”

More stifled smiles. Cavitt’s face was an interesting shade of purple. Pierce leaned in and whispered softly so that only Cavitt could hear. “You know, baiting you was always one of my favorite pastimes.”

Leaning back, Pierce turned to the nearest technician as Cavitt’s face darkened further. “Still no change?”

“No, doctor,” the tech answered. “None at all.”

Pierce nodded. “Then let’s begin.”





******************************************************





Copper Summit, Arizona




Malik tensed as he heard the airlock begin to hiss. He already knew the likely outcome of Amar’s confrontation with The Leader, and he was not looking forward to its aftermath. He waited in tense silence for the outer airlock door to hiss open and disgorge a likely furious Amar.

It had taken Amar well over twenty-four hours to clear the human tranquilizer from his system. He had stayed in the abandoned farm house the entire time while Malik roamed about, obtaining food and water and keeping an eye out for humans. Malik had also tried to keep an eye on Brivari and Jaddo, to no avail; gaining entrance to the human military compound was now more difficult than ever. He had tried once more, right after his visit to the pod chamber, with no success. The compound was buttoned up tight, and the risk of discovery should he have taken the form of one of those authorized to enter it was too great.

They had waited until this afternoon to return to Copper Summit. Amar had wanted to be absolutely certain he was completely recovered before the trial they dreaded—that of standing before The Leader and admitting they had lost both Royal Covari to the humans. Failing to capture them was bad enough, but to have the humans capture them instead was downright embarrassing. Privately, Malik was impressed the humans had found a way to deal with people so much more powerful than they were. Their success was further proof that humans were not as stupid as Amar thought.

The second airlock door hissed open. Malik sighed; his grace period was up. He had spent two hours inside the atmospheric chamber himself, giving his account of what happened right after Amar had finished his. The Leader had then spent a good hour conferring with those on Antar, after which Amar had been called back. No doubt The Leader would want to speak to Malik again now that he had finished with Amar; that was the way it usually worked. Covari were questioned separately as a means of finding inconsistencies in their stories, then questioned and re-questioned to nitpick the details. It was an unfortunate consequence of finding oneself a member of a race that was universally distrusted.

Amar stomped out and began pulling boxes off shelves, rifling through storage cabinets, and generally making a mess. Malik, who had risen in anticipation of being ordered back inside the chamber, paused uncertainly.

“Doesn’t he want to see me again?”

“No,” Amar said flatly.

“No?” Malik repeated, bewildered. “Why not? Not that I crave his company, but…”

“We are to drop the matter of the Royals for now,” Amar said shortly. “We are to work on perfecting the seal instead.”

Malik blinked. It worked? He had tried very hard to induce The Leader to drop the matter of the Royals, at least for the moment. Technically he was preaching to the choir; he knew The Leader would dearly love to rid himself of this troublesome distraction, especially now, when he was so close to achieving what he’d come here for. That decision would actually be made by those in power on Antar, and Malik had been careful to feed The Leader several well-grounded arguments for strategic waiting, hoping he would pass them along to the powers that be.

“ ‘Drop the matter’,” he echoed, as though this were a new concept. “You mean we are to just…..leave them there?”

“Shit!” Amar slammed a pile of research papers on the table, and Malik jumped. “I do not believe this!” he thundered. “We have them, Malik! We know right where they are! They are helpless, friendless, defenseless….and we’re just going to walk away? Is he crazy?”

“Well…we don’t ‘have’ them,” Malik pointed out, refraining from noting that, for one who supposedly disdained human expressions, Amar seemed to use quite a lot of them. Particularly those of the profane variety. “Actually, it’s the humans who ‘have’ them.”

“Semantics!” Amar said crossly. “Someone has them. We don’t have to hunt them down. But as soon as the humans let them wake up, you know perfectly well they won’t be able to hold them. They’ll vanish into thin air, and we could spend years looking for them after that.”

“We both heard the humans say that they don’t plan to awaken them,” Malik said. “They know they can’t hold them. And we wouldn’t be able to hold them either.”

“Of course we would! We have the generator!” Amar said, indicating the ruined, five-sided device that had blocked Jaddo’s abilities, lying in a heap on a nearby workbench. “What?” he demanded when he saw the look on Malik’s face. “It worked! It needs a little tweaking, but it worked.”

“Amar,” Malik said, choosing his works with care, “if we tried to use that to control the Warders, we would wind up knocking out power over a huge area. If we leave it on, we risk exposing ourselves; if we turn it off, we risk their abilities. The generator isn’t usable right now. Even if we can remove them from the human compound, we need a better way to hold them before we even attempt to pull them out of there.”

“Pull them out of where?” Amar asked irritably. “Weren’t you listening? Weren’t you watching? The humans won’t be able to resist waking them forever, and when they do, it won’t be long before Brivari and Jaddo won’t be ‘there’. We need to move now, while they are still sedated.”

“And what does The Leader say?”

Amar plopped into a chair wearing a thoroughly disgusted expression. “He says the same thing you just did—we could not hold them with the current technology. No one back home is in a hurry; apparently, it will take a couple of decades for the hybrids to mature, so we have plenty of time. They’re planning on sending reinforcements at some point in the future, so he’s unwilling to risk us right now. He feels the humans will not take the risk of trying to awaken them any time soon. But I’m willing to bet they’ll try to wake them sooner rather than later, at which point the Warders will escape and go to ground. And we’ll be left combing this goddamned planet for them for the rest of our miserable lives,” he concluded, with his usual optimism.

“We’ll have help,” Malik pointed out.

“Not soon enough,” Amar countered. “They’ll still have plenty of time to run. He’s crazy, I tell you! We were so close, so close…”

Malik was silent for a moment, watching Amar chew on his frustration. Malik would be perfectly happy to have the Warders escape, of course. They would need to be free agents at the bargaining table that might very well exist in the not too distant future. Their contact on Antar always led them to believe that things were going well back home. But The Leader was careless with the details about what was really going on, and it didn’t take much of an imagination to fill in the blanks.

Filling in those blanks produced a story far darker than the one being fed them through official channels: The populace was in an uproar over the coup, and Khivar was not doing well. He had taken the throne in what had been the standard fashion on Antar for centuries—armed conquest. But Riall had changed everyone’s expectations by choosing peaceful conquest, and Zan’s ascension had given Antar something it had never had in living memory: A peaceful succession. For the first time, the transfer of power had been cause for national unity and celebration instead of fear and strife. So now, as Khivar expected to be accepted by the people after having played the game by the rules, he found the rules changed, the old ways no longer welcome. Zan’s allies were defiant; even his detractors, sensing the public mood, refused to ally themselves with the new regime.

Public unhappiness with his tactics wasn’t Khivar’s only problem. Without the body of the King he had conquered, he was technically unable to claim the crown. And it got worse—unable to produce the body of a single member of the royal family, Khivar found the public unwilling to believe they were dead. Rumors had spread that they were being held prisoner by Khivar, or that they had been spirited away to a secret location from which they would eventually emerge and reclaim the throne. This ‘secret location’ was widely believed to be one of the neighboring planets, and the unrest at home was spreading to their sister worlds as fingers were pointed and accusations made that various places were providing sanctuary.

Even Khivar had become suspicious. His generals had assured them the Royals were dead, but only one had actually seen one of the bodies: Athenor, Khivar’s second in command, claimed he had killed Rath himself. He could not vouch for the other royals, however, and as time went by and the bodies were not found, everyone’s imaginations began working overtime. Trust Brivari to pull that off, Malik thought admiringly. It must have been quite a feat, killing anyone who had seen the Royals dead, removing the bodies without anyone seeing them, disposing of them so no one could ever find them. You could pull that off with one body, perhaps, but four? That was nothing short of incredible.

So Khivar sat alone atop a still warm throne, caught in a web of his own making. He had killed Zan, but he could not prove it, could not claim Zan’s crown, could not stop the people from turning Zan into a legend and clamoring for his return. Khivar ruled, but he had seriously misjudged the reaction to his bid for power; the people had had just enough of a taste of peace to realize what had been taken from them, and he was viewed not as a conqueror, but as a usurper. He had succeeded in theory, but failed in practice, a perfect example of someone who had won the battle but lost the war.

“Stupid seal,” Amar groused, poking at the latest model lying on the workbench. “I don’t understand why they can’t do all this back home. They have better materials, better equipment. We have to scrounge for parts whenever a revision is needed….”

“They do do most of it at home,” Malik interrupted. “We just test it.”

“They can test it at home,” Amar said peevishly, determined to be miserable.

“They can’t duplicate the Earth’s atmosphere that precisely,” Malik pointed out. “They can come close, but field testing is better. Look,” he said as Amar began to vent again, “we’re almost done. The skins are almost fully mature. All they need is a reliable way to seal them. As soon as they have that, they can send a team of their own out here to work on the rest, and we will have fulfilled our part of the deal. Then it’s their turn to fulfill theirs.”

“The Leader should at least let us go back to Roswell to check on what’s going on. They’re going to escape, I just know it!”

“We are the only two left—without us, he is helpless,” Malik pointed out, nodding toward the airlock. “He’s afraid we’ll be caught just as the Warders were.” He frowned. “Wouldn’t you be worried about that too, Amar? The human base is a difficult place to infiltrate. You might be captured yourself. I would think you wouldn’t find it worth the risk.”

Amar was silent, glowering at the tools scattered on the workbench.

“But it is worth the risk for you, isn’t it,” Malik said, eyeing him closely, “if it means you get to watch Brivari suffer, get to gloat over him as he lies helpless. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”

Amar scowled at him. “Is that so much to ask? I have that coming.”

Malik sighed. “Torturing Brivari won’t change the past.

“No,” Amar answered bitterly. “But it’s a start.”





******************************************************





2000 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




“Why isn’t it waking up, ‘Doctor’?” Major Cavitt said sarcastically.

“I’m not sure,” Dr. Pierce answered, sounding faintly bewildered.

Yvonne White looked down at the motionless gray figure on the table in front of her, sharing the doctor’s puzzlement. The alien had now missed three doses of the sedative; some was undoubtedly still in its system, but enough should have worn off to permit it to regain consciousness. On top of that, it had been given a stimulant at twice the usual dosage for its weight. In human terms, it should not only be awake, but wide awake.

Perhaps it’s better this way, Yvonne thought sadly, as Cavitt and Pierce proceeded to trade barbs. She had argued for its revival, but in retrospect, that might not have been such a wonderful idea given what awaited once it regained consciousness. Assuming they could hold it, of course, and she was sincerely hoping they couldn’t. Especially now that she knew her commanding officer was nothing less than a cold-blooded murderer.

The EEG machine continued to scratch out lines that looked as though the creature were conscious, even though it continued to appear just the opposite. Major Cavitt was demanding it be given another dose of stimulant. Yvonne started at the narrow strip of paper sliding out of the EEG machine, reflecting on just how little they knew. They were interpreting everything—the EEG, drug dosages, expected reactions, everything—in human terms, the only terms with which they were familiar. But human terms may mean nothing in this situation, and might even be harmful.

Several more minutes went by. “Check for a heartbeat,” Dr. Pierce ordered her, while Major Cavitt was drawing a breath to begin a fresh round of carping. Yvonne placed her stethoscope on the leathery gray chest directly over the organ which passed as the creature’s heart and heard a strong, fast, steady thump.

“Heart rate steady and strong at...” Yvonne consulted her watch… “123 beats per minute,” she said. Pierce nodded, apparently satisfied that they had not yet done anything dire, and went back to arguing with Cavitt.

Yvonne removed the stethoscope from around her neck. Out of habit, her hand slid under the sheet and moved automatically to the creature’s wrist, checking for a pulse, before she remembered that this was an alien, not a human patient. Before she could pull away, the long gray fingers closed purposefully over her hand.

Yvonne was so startled that she dropped the stethoscope. It clattered to the floor, sounding like a machine gun in the tense atmosphere of the room, silent but for the Majors’ bickering. The gray fingers were still closed around her hand, under the sheet where no one else could see. She squeezed the hand once, and it promptly squeezed back

Yvonne suddenly found her own heart beating at least as fast as the creature’s. That was no mere muscle twitch, or the feeble movement of someone heavily sedated. The alien was awake, very likely wide awake, despite all appearances to the contrary.

Cavitt had turned and frowned at the sound of the dropping stethoscope; Pierce spared a glance, then went back to studying the EEG printouts. She pulled her hand away from the creature; it did not resist. Bending down to pick up the stethoscope, her mind raced, putting together all the pieces from earlier in the day and just now.

Dr. Pierce had been puzzling over the creature’s EEG readouts for the past several hours. They had shown a very slow, but steady rise in brain activity which should have been mirrored by an increase in consciousness. But the creature had shown no sign of waking, and finally Pierce had decided to administer a stimulant to speed the process along.

It’s awake, Yvonne thought wildly. It’s probably been awake for hours. But it would have been groggy at first, most likely unable to escape. It had hidden its increasing consciousness, no doubt banking on their own unfamiliarity with the data they were trying to interpret. And it had worked—perfectly. The creature was now fully or very near fully conscious, and no one but she was the wiser.

Major Cavitt abruptly ordered the soldiers out of the room. They filed out, and Yvonne watched them leave with relief. If the creature was on the verge of attempting escape, the fewer people in the room, the better.

The last of the soldiers disappeared through the doorway, taking up positions outside the room. Now there was just Major Cavitt, Dr. Pierce, herself, and a couple of medical technicians left. One of them replaced the curtain around the human-appearing alien while the other milled around, fidgeting.

“This just doesn’t make any sense,” Pierce said. “Granted, this thing isn’t human, but still, given the way the sedative worked, I would expect to be able to make some extrapolations…” He broke off suddenly. “Unless….”

“Unless what?” Cavitt said impatiently.

“Sheridan,” Pierce said slowly. “Bring the soldiers back.”

Yvonne froze. Pierce wasn’t looking at the creature, he was studying the EEG printouts. Had he reached the same conclusion she had?

“What? Why?”

“Bring them back!” Pierce said sharply.

Suddenly, the EEG machine went crazy. For a moment, every eye in the room was on the machine as the recording arm skittered wildly back and forth, making pronounced scratching noises that grew louder by the second. Yvonne felt a faint crackling in the air, almost like static electricity. Then she heard a voice, a voice that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

<Step back!>

Confused, Yvonne looked around. She couldn’t figure out who had just spoken. Everyone was staring silently at the EEG machine, frozen in place as though someone had deliberately halted time at this very moment.

<Step back!> the voice repeated. Instinctively, Yvonne obeyed, moving back as far as she could until her back was against the wall.

The creature’s eyes flew open.

And then all hell broke loose.

[Kathy W 2200]

CHAPTER FIVE


July 13, 1947, 2020 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base





Her back against the wall, Yvonne instinctively threw her arms over her head and slid to the floor as the glass from the observation room window upstairs shattered, raining upon the occupants of both rooms. Shards tinkled on the floor around her, pieces pelted her arms and head, stinging as they broke the skin. Risking a peek from her hunched position on the floor, she saw the technicians cowering just as she was, their heads still buried in their arms, unable to see what she saw. And what she saw was no less than completely astonishing.

Major Cavitt and Dr. Pierce were literally pinned to opposite walls, held by an invisible force. Both tried to speak and failed; they appeared to have had the breath knocked out of them. The EEG machine began to smoke, the leads attached to the skull of the creature suddenly popped off as one, and the gray figure everyone had assumed was sedated sat up. Black eyes raked the room, taking in the commotion in the ruined observation room, the captive officers, the cowering techs, and finally, Yvonne, who stared at those bottomless black eyes as though held in some sort of spell.

There was an electrical crackling sound as the lights flickered; seconds later a voice shouted, “Hold your fire!”. Suddenly the lights died, plunging the room into blackness as chaos erupted in the hallway: Shouting, running feet, the clatter of weapons, people stumbling in the almost total darkness. “Hold your fire!” the voice shouted again only seconds before an explosion shook the room, causing more debris to rain down on Yvonne and everyone else. And then….

….silence. Time seemed suspended for a moment as everyone held their breaths.

Emergency generators kicked on, bathing the room in a soft glow just as Cavitt and Pierce slid abruptly to the floor, landing hard on their respective tailbones. The dim light broke the spell of silence; tense, urgent voices filled the observation room upstairs and the hallway outside, punctuated by the occasional profanity as people struggled to navigate the gloom. Yvonne watched Cavitt clamber to his feet, wincing. Soldiers burst through the door, alert, rifles at the ready. But they had nothing to aim for, as it was immediately apparent that the prisoner was missing.

“Are you all right, sirs?” a soldier asked, glancing from Cavitt to Pierce.

“Never mind us, find it!” roared Cavitt, rubbing his sore backside. “I want that thing back!”

The soldiers hustled out, followed by the technicians, their feet crunching on the shards of glass coating the floor, the instruments—everything. Yvonne stood up slowly, carefully brushing glass from her hair and uniform. She glanced over at the human-appearing alien; the curtain surrounding his stretcher seemed to have deflected the brunt of the exploding glass. Or had the escaping alien protected its friend? She couldn’t say.

Cavitt rounded on Pierce, brushing glass off his own uniform, eyes blazing. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Pierce was still sitting on the floor, an expression of amazement on his face. He looked at Cavitt as though noticing him for the first time.

“Well?” Cavitt demanded again.

“Amazing,” Pierce whispered.

“Do you mean to tell me,” Cavitt hissed, “that you just lost one of the most important prisoners we will ever have, and all you have to say for it is ‘amazing’?”

Pierce was silent for a moment. Then he looked up at Cavitt and abruptly began to laugh.

Both Yvonne and Cavitt stared as Pierce’s laugh grew from a chuckle to a knee-slapping belly laugh. The sight of him sitting on the floor, covered in glass from the shattered window and laughing uncontrollably was supremely disconcerting. Cavitt’s expression shifted to include disbelief along with the rage. Yvonne began to wonder if Pierce had cracked.

“Why are you laughing?” Cavitt whispered fiercely. Pierce laughed harder. “Why are you laughing?” Cavitt repeated, absolutely beside himself.

A moment later Pierce’s laughter began to abate. Cavitt peered at him closely, worried now. “Daniel?” he said tentatively.

Yvonne watched silently, afraid to move, afraid to alert them of her presence when they seemed to have forgotten her. The look on Cavitt’s face was surprising. It had not taken long for word of his enmity toward Dr. Pierce to travel the compound, and just about everyone had now heard the tales of how Cavitt and Pierce had trained together and now hated each other. Just about everyone had also seen evidence of the latter with their own two eyes. But for a fleeting moment Yvonne glimpsed a different Cavitt, and realized with a start that Pierce and Cavitt had not merely been acquaintances—they had been friends.

Pierce had finally stopped laughing, but he looked up at Cavitt with amusement in his eyes. “We’ve been had, Sheridan. Royally had.”

Anger flowed back into Cavitt’s expression. “What do you mean?” he demanded. “ ‘Had’ by whom? That thing? You said it was asleep! You said it wasn’t waking up!”

“I think it’s safe to say I was wrong, don’t you?”

“You….what….how….” Cavitt stopped, so furious he was speechless.

Pierce pushed himself to his feet and dusted the glass shards from his white coat. Reaching for the stack of EEG printouts, he arranged them on the now empty table, end to end in a straight line.

“Look at these,” Pierce said to Cavitt. “Those readings were taken earlier today,” he said, indicating the left most edge of the line, “and the rest were taken at successive intervals throughout the late afternoon and evening. I’ve laid them out in chronological order.”

Cavitt stared, first at Pierce, then at the papers on the table. “I’m not a doctor. What am I looking at?”

“As you can see, the readings slowly—very slowly—climbed over a period of about three hours, then leveled off,” Pierce said, pointing to a reading midway through the pack. “This would seem to indicate that….”

“Never mind the medical mumbo jumbo!” Cavitt said with exasperation. “What does it mean?”

“That’s exactly my point,” Pierce said. “I thought it meant one thing, when it really meant another. I misinterpreted the data.”

“And?” Cavitt said impatiently.

Pierce sighed, sinking down on a nearby stool after first brushing glass off it. “It appears that the creature has been at least partially awake for quite some time now. My administering the stimulant no doubt furthered that process.”

“Do you mean to tell me,” Cavitt said slowly, “that that—that thing has been awake for hours?”

Pierce nodded. “If I’m interpreting the data correctly this time—and there is no guarantee that I am—I believe so, yes.”

“And you couldn’t figure this out?” Cavitt asked incredulously. “You, with those medical degrees you keep shoving in my face, couldn’t determine whether it was asleep or awake?”

“My medical degree is for human physiology,” Pierce replied evenly. “Need I remind you that these creatures are not human?”

Cavitt opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by the arrival of a soldier, who glanced nervously around the room at the wreckage. “Report!” Cavitt ordered.

“There were no casualties, sir,” the soldier replied. “Only minor cuts and scrapes, things like….”

“I don’t care about casualties, Private!” Cavitt exploded, causing both Yvonne and the soldier to jump. “Where is the prisoner?”

The soldier’s jaw dropped. Everyone knew Cavitt was aggressive and driven, but this blatant lack of regard for the safety of his own men was apparently a surprise. As late as this morning it would have been a surprise to Yvonne too. Now she knew better.

“I’m relieved no one was injured,” Cavitt said hastily, backpedaling as he realized he’d made a strategic error. “Of course I am,” he added, as though trying to make himself believe it. “Now—do you have the prisoner?”

The soldier hesitated, swinging a terrified glance back and forth from Cavitt to Pierce. “It’s—it’s gone, sir. It blew a hole straight through the doors. It escaped.”

“And you let it?” Cavitt spat in disbelief. “Why didn’t someone shoot it, Private? Why did I spend all that money outfitting everyone with tranquilizer rifles?”

“We were ordered to hold our fire, sir,” the soldier replied in a shaky voice.

Cavitt’s face darkened. “By whom?”

“Lieutenant Spade, sir.”

Yvonne closed her eyes. Stephen. He had said he intended to work against Cavitt, and she’d been fretting all day over whether or not to believe him. Here was the proof, and he would no doubt catch hell for it.

Cavitt’s skin tone became mottled; he looked like someone was strangling him. “Find it,” he whispered. “I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care what you have to do or who you have to mow down to do it, but get that thing back here!

“Yes, sir!” sputtered the terrified soldier, who fled the room before Cavitt turned to Pierce, who had watched the scene in silence, his eyebrows hovering somewhere around ceiling level.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself! Do you realize what you’ve done? We just lost the….”

“Sheridan,” Pierce interrupted, “before you get a good head of steam going, just calm down. We know these things have digestive tracts of some sort or other, and we know it hasn’t had any nourishment for at least three days. It’ll also be dealing with all the drugs we’ve given it. It’s weak; it won’t get far. We’ll find it.”

“Is that supposed to be reassuring? Look at this!” Cavitt fumed, gesturing to the wrecked room. “Now you’re not reading a report, Daniel. Now you have first hand evidence of how dangerous these things are! Can you just imagine what it will do it gets out into the community?”

“Dangerous, yes,” Pierce agreed, staring at the EEG data, “but only to those who oppose them. It didn’t kill anyone. Not even you and me.”

“It probably wasn’t strong enough to kill us and escape,” Cavitt argued. “Under different circumstances, we would be dead.”

“Perhaps,” Pierce said. “But I see no pattern of wanton cruelty. I’ve found no evidence that they kill for sport. I doubt it will harm anyone. More likely it will just hide.”

“You’re sure of this? As sure as you were that it was still unconscious?”

“Much more so, actually,” Pierce replied calmly. “It’s intelligent and cunning. It profited from our ignorance of its physiology and used that ignorance against us. It’s too smart to waste its strength and risk discovery by going on a killing spree.”

“You sound as though you admire it,” Cavitt said peevishly.

“I do,” Pierce admitted. “I always bow to a superior move by an opponent.”

“Well, I don’t!” Cavitt snapped. “I bow to no opponent, superior or otherwise.”

Pierce sighed. “Yes, I know. It’s one of your more enduring character flaws.”

Cavitt nostrils flared; he took a step toward Pierce, and for a moment, Yvonne was convinced he was going to strike the doctor. Pierce remained where he was, looking Cavitt directly in the eye, challenging him to cross the line.

At length, Cavitt appeared to get control of himself. “If you will need me, I will be in my office speaking with General Ramey about this…incident.”

“I’m sure you will,” Pierce said seriously. “Don’t forget to include the bit about you not caring about casualties. I know I won’t.”

Cavitt opened his mouth as if to reply, and then apparently thought better of it, stalking out of the room, barging past knots of soldiers who scrambled to get out of his way. Yvonne waited a few more moments, hoping Dr. Pierce would leave. When he made no move to go, she decided she could no longer stay here when her help might be needed outside to tend to those who were injured. She took a step toward the door, causing several pieces of glass to tinkle onto the floor.

Pierce looked up in surprise. “Lieutenant! I had no idea you were there. Are you injured?”

“Just a few minor cuts. Nothing serious.”

Pierce raised his eyebrows. “Have you been here all along?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Yvonne said reluctantly. “I was a bit dazed, and…and…I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Pierce smiled. “You mean you didn’t want to waltz into the middle of a war zone? Smart thinking, Lieutenant, smart thinking.” He sighed and glanced down at the EEG printouts splayed across the table. “I guess I can’t blame Sheridan for feeling the way he does. I’m not happy about this myself, although I’m more chagrined then angry. It was obviously listening to every word we said; when I insisted the soldiers be called back, it apparently decided it couldn’t wait any longer.”

Yvonne said nothing. That was exactly what had happened, of course, but it would be a cold day somewhere before she admitted she knew that.

“Still,” Pierce continued, “our little gray friend left us some extremely useful information, although inadvertently, I’m sure.”

Yvonne’s throat tightened. “What’s that, doctor?”

Pierce waved a hand over the EEG printouts. “It was still hooked up to the EEG when it began its little light show. I now have evidence of what’s going on in its brain when it does whatever it does to produce the energy fields it utilizes.” He picked up a printout and stared at it. “I suspected as much, but I wasn’t certain,” he murmured. “I need to have a fellow neurologist take a look at this, but if I’m right…”—Pierce paused and looked up at Yvonne—“…if I’m right, then in the act of escaping, our alien guest has handed us the means to keep the other. Indefinitely.”






******************************************************





9:00 p.m.

Chaves County Sheriff’s Station




Chaves County Sheriff’s Deputy Sean Donovan let the door of the station slam shut behind him, not bothering to close it quietly. He tossed his hat and his flashlight on a desk and headed straight for the coffee pot, pouring himself a large mug of black coffee before joining the other deputies seated around another desk in the front office.

“So—where was the alien this time?” Tom Woods asked, as Donovan sank gratefully into a chair.

“Under Mrs. Amos’s shed,” Donovan replied, rolling his eyes. “Or so she says.”

“What makes her think an alien was under there?” queried Alan McMahon, who reached for another doughnut after handing one to the deputy seated next to him, someone Donovan did not recognize.

“Her dog was digging at something under the shed,” Donovan explained wearily, “and when she went out to look, she swears she saw an alien.”

“What exactly did she see?” asked the strange deputy.

“Sean, Jim Valenti from Roswell, the first member of the relief squad to arrive,” Woods said, indicating the new deputy. “Jim, this is Sean Donovan. He drew the short straw for checking out the latest alien sighting.” McMahon snickered as he chewed his doughnut.

Donovan held out his hand. “Good to meet you… ‘Valenti’, is it?”

“Call me ‘Jim’,” Valenti replied, shaking Donovan’s hand. “So what did this woman see?”

“The same thing everyone sees, most likely,” Woods replied, as Donovan nodded grumpily and lost himself in his coffee cup. “Short, big head, black eyes. Just like the sketch that got out when this broke.” The phone rang, and he picked it up.

“I’d sure like to know where that sketch came from,” McMahon said absently.

But Valenti was looking at Donovan. “Did you see anything?”

“Not a bloomin’ thing,” Donovan grumbled. “Can’t see much under there anyway because the space is so small. Didn’t help that my flashlight died.”

Valenti sat forward in his chair. “Your flashlight died? Why?”

“How should I know?” Donovan said impatiently. “I put brand new batteries in it just last week. Anyway, there was definitely something under there because the dog was going crazy, but I couldn’t see or hear anything. Probably a ’coon or something. Hell if I know.”

“Is your flashlight working now?” Valenti asked.

Donovan reached over, picked up his flashlight, and turned it on. “I’ll be damned,” he said wonderingly, as the bulb glowed brilliantly. “Looks fine now.”

“You have to turn it ‘on’, you know,” McMahon said, with a huge grin on his face. “That’s what that switch on the side is for.” He ducked as Donovan aimed a punch at his arm and missed. “Maybe the aliens turned it off,” McMahon went on, still grinning in spite of the warning glare Donovan was sending his way. “Oooooh, I’m skeered!”

“Oh, shut up,” Donovan said conversationally. “You’ll have to forgive my colleague,” he added to Valenti. “We’re all fed up with the constant ‘alien sightings’ that aren’t alien sightings, and we’re getting a bit punchy. Not that he was any better to begin with,” he added, ducking a return punch from McMahon.

“Maybe Mrs. Amos wasn’t so crazy after all,” Woods interrupted, setting down the phone. “That was the Army base. They want us to be on the lookout for an escaped prisoner.”

The mood in the station suddenly changed, with everyone sobering immediately.

“Prisoner?” Donovan repeated. “What kind of prisoner?”

Woods shook his head. “Didn’t say. Just that they wanted us to keep an eye out for anything acting suspicious, but to be careful not to alarm the public—as if we could alarm the public more than the Army already has,” he added darkly. “We’re just supposed to call them.”

“ ‘Anything’?” Valenti said curiously. “They said ‘anything’ instead of ‘anyone’?”

“Yeah,” Woods mused. “Yeah, they did. Weird.”

“No, it ain’t,” McMahon said, reaching for another doughnut. He lowered his voice. “I’m telling you, they got Commies up there. Commies deserve to be called ‘things’.” He cast a wily glance in Donovan’s direction. “Maybe that’s what was under Mrs. Amos’s shed, Donovan. It was a Russian, and you missed it!” McMahon and Woods started chuckling.

Donovan scowled. “There wasn’t any Russian under there,” he said crossly. “Ain’t enough space under there for the damned dog, let alone a Russian.”

“How would you know? Ever seen one?” McMahon challenged.

“No, I ain’t ever ‘seen one’, lamebrain,” Donovan answered in a singsong voice. “I don’t have to. Russians are the same size as us, and even a small person wouldn’t fit under that shed.”

“Maybe it was a really small Russian,” McMahon said, warming to his theory. “They don’t need to be big, y’know, ’cos their brains are so small.”

“I’ve seen the Amos’s shed,” Woods said, as McMahon dissolved into laughter at his own joke. “You couldn’t fit even a small Russian under there.”

“I know they got Russians up there,” McMahon said, nodding eagerly. “That’s where this whole ‘spaceship’ crap came from. They don’t want anyone to know, so they made up that cock-n-bull story about aliens to cover it up.”

“Then why do you suppose they retracted it?” Valenti asked.

“Cuz it backfired,” Donovan replied, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed. “Everybody took’em seriously and panicked. So they took it back and came up with the equally cock-n-bull weather balloon story.”

“Too bad they didn’t start with that one,” Woods said ruefully. “Would’ve made our lives a whole lot easier.”

The phone rang again. Woods sighed, and picked it up. After a brief conversation, he hung up and shot a sympathetic look at Donovan.

“That was Mrs. Amos again,” he said. “She says there’s still something under her shed, and she swears it has a big head and black eyes.”

“Original,” McMahon deadpanned, his mouth full of doughnut.

“We’d better check it out,” Woods said resignedly, “now that we know something’s out there that shouldn’t be.”

“Well, it won’t be me this time,” Donovan said, sitting up in his chair and glaring at all of them. “I am not going back out there and crawling around on my belly in the mud with that damned mutt sniffing my crotch! Ain’t gonna happen! One of you can have the pleasure this time!”

Woods opened a desk drawer. “I’ll get the straws.”

“I’ll go,” Valenti said.

Three surprised faces turned toward him. “Where is the place?” Valenti asked, rising from his chair.

“Just north of Warner’s creek,” Woods answered, “off the Ridge Road. You know where that is?”

Valenti nodded. “I spent the afternoon memorizing maps of the county.”

“Bootlicker,” McMahon said under his breath. Valenti gave him a hard stare, which McMahon returned for only a moment before looking away.

“Are you sure you want to volunteer?” Woods continued, ignoring McMahon. “You lot must have been getting your fair share of this down in Roswell. Aren’t you sick of it?”

“We’ve only had Roswell to worry about,” Valenti replied, “while all of you have had to listen to the entire county. Let me go, give you guys a rest. It’s what I’m here for.”

“Fine by me,” Donovan said, settling back into his chair. “You want to be a glutton for punishment, be my guest. Oh, and mind that dog,” he added darkly. “That one seems to like ball sandwiches.”

Woods and McMahon laughed. “How much you wanna bet Valenti here finds your tiny Russian, Donovan?” McMahon teased. “You were probably too busy worrying about your balls.”





~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~





More laughter erupted as Valenti wrote down the address on a slip of paper. He smiled at the guffawing McMahon, the grinning Woods, and the scowling Donovan as he picked up his hat, grabbed a set of keys, and headed for the door.

So—the Army lost one of them, Valenti thought with satisfaction. He was willing to bet the rent that what the Army had wasn’t even remotely Russian. He also had reason to believe that aliens could affect mechanical devices like his car, and perhaps could make themselves look like different things. Like maybe something small enough to fit under that shed.

Striding down the hallway toward the outside door, he passed Sheriff Wilcox’s office on the way out. He was grateful that Wilcox wasn’t there tonight; their last meeting had not been friendly, and he was going to have to do some major sucking up tomorrow. Hopefully Wilcox needed help badly enough that he’d be willing to accept what would sound like a heartfelt apology.

Valenti climbed into the front seat of a Chaves County patrol car and set the slip of paper on the dash. He’d never dreamed he would be so lucky.

He’d only been here a couple of hours, and already he’d hit paydirt.

[Kathy W 2200]

CHAPTER SIX


July 13, 1947, 9:35 p.m.

Amos Residence, Chaves County, New Mexico



His knees digging into the soft dirt beside the Amos’s shed, Deputy Valenti rocked back on his heels and switched his flashlight off. It was almost completely dark out, which had the helpful effect of making his flashlight seem brighter in the space underneath the shed, measuring no more than ten inches high. Valenti had looked from all four sides and all four corners before reaching a conclusion: There wasn’t a damned thing under this shed.

Sighing, Valenti tucked his flashlight into his back pocket. He shouldn’t really be surprised. Careful questioning of Mrs. Amos, something Deputy Donovan had apparently failed to do, revealed that she hadn’t actually seen a thing except the dog scrabbling at the edges of the shed. The fact that there were dozens of varmints that could fit under the shed failed to sway her, as did Valenti’s incredulous stare when he learned that the description of the alien had come from none other than Mrs. Amos’s four year-old son, Toby, who stood about 3 ½ feet high, thumb in mouth, something that probably used to be a blanket in hand, and could hardly be considered a credible witness.

Nevertheless, just in case, Valenti had agreed to check under the shed, not the least bit surprised when he found absolutely nothing. Now that he had fulfilled his duty as a public servant, it was time to cross this one off his list and chalk it up to public hysteria. No wonder Donovan was so peeved.

“He’s gone.”

Valenti whirled around, startled. Four year-old Toby was standing behind him, thumb cocked to one side, blanket dragging in the dirt.

“Who’s gone?”

“The little man.”

Valenti smiled indulgently. “Your name’s Toby, right?” The little boy nodded solemnly. “Your mama told me you saw something out here. So where is he?”

“Gone,” Toby repeated.

“Gone? He just up and walked away?”

Toby shook his head vigorously. “Ran away. Rufus chased him off.”

Ah, yes, Valenti thought. Rufus, the ball-eating dog. Donovan had certainly been right about that, and Valenti had insisted Mrs. Amos keep Rufus safely indoors. He didn’t relish the idea of leaning over, butt to the wind, with Rufus anywhere within a hundred yard radius.

“I see,” Valenti said. “And what did this ‘little man’ look like?”

“He had big black eyes,” Toby said, “and a big head.”

Standard newspaper description, Valenti thought. “Uh huh. Anything else?”

Toby nodded. “He had really long fingers. About…” he measured with his hands… “about this long.”

Valenti’s ears pricked. Long fingers? That was a new one.

“How tall was this man? As tall as you? As tall as me?”

“Dunno,” Toby answered. “He was all curled up in a ball. He looked sick. I let him borrow my blanket,” he added, with a wistful look at the scrap of cloth in his hand that had once resembled a blanket.

“Really?” An escaped prisoner might look sick. And the long fingers bit was a new detail.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Toby said reproachfully.

“Well, Toby, it’s like this,” Valenti said, settling himself on the ground. “Nobody else saw what you saw. And there’s nothing under this shed now. I looked very thoroughly.”

“He’s gone now,” Toby insisted. “Rufus chased him off.”

“You said that,” Valenti acknowledged, “but Rufus could have chased off anything. I can’t find anything that makes me think a ‘little man’ was here. So there’s no way to know for sure if you’re telling the truth or not.”

“Is too,” Toby insisted.

Valenti studied the child for a moment, then decided to take the bait. “Show me.”

Toby promptly turned and headed for the door of the shed, blanket dragging on the ground. Then he opened the shed door and stepped back.

Slowly, Valenti stood up and walked to the door of the shed. It was pitch black inside, and he moved his flashlight across the interior, flitting past a wheelbarrow, a lawn mower, and various gardening tools. Nothing unusual here.

“What am I supposed to see, Toby? This is a just a shed, full of all the things that sheds are usually full of.”

Toby pushed past Valenti to the center of the shed. Dropping his blanket on the dusty floor, he reached down and pulled up a loose floor board. He looked down into the space underneath, then gestured for Valenti to do the same.

Valenti stepped slowly into the shed and walked to the hole in the floor. Training his flashlight on the opening, he peered inside.

Below the loose board was an oval hollowed in the dirt beneath the shed. It looked unremarkable; any number of animals could have curled up there, and undoubtedly would have, the spot being exactly in the middle, furthest from all the edges. But as Valenti looked more closely, he saw something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his heart begin to pound. He got down on his hands and knees and peered into the hole, his face inches away from the surrounding boards.

There, on the bottom of the depression in the earth, was the imprint of a long-fingered hand.

Valenti reached into the depression and held his own, shaking hand up to the imprint. The palm of the imprint was larger, the four fingers half again as long. There appeared to be no thumb; was it possible these creatures had never developed opposable thumbs? Waving his flashlight from side to side, Valenti saw other imprints, most of them partial and faint, but unmistakable now that he knew what to look for.

“Told’ya,” Toby said in a satisfied voice.

Valenti sat up, breathing heavily. After everything he’d seen—spaceships, children jumping out of spaceships, glowing things in the back of a truck, windows that magically fixed themselves, shoes that suddenly changed color—this was the first clear evidence that something living had survived the crash of that ship, the first clear evidence that someone besides himself could see. “Did you show this to anyone else?” he demanded. Toby shook his head.

“Not even the other deputy that was out here?” Another head shake.

“Why not?”

“He didn’t ask,” Toby said simply, as though that were obvious.

“You said the dog chased it off,” Valenti said, urgently. Could it still be close? “How long ago? Where did it go?”

Valenti swung his flashlight around the shed as he spoke, looking for any sign of where the creature may have gone. Toby said nothing. After a moment Valenti trained his flashlight on the child’s face.

“When did Rufus chase it away? Which way did it go?”

Toby remained silent, watching him solemnly. “Which way?” Valenti barked, making the child flinch.

Too late, Valenti realized his mistake. The look on Toby’s face had shifted from vindication to suspicion.

“What are you gonna do to him?” Toby asked warily.

Controlling himself with an effort, Valenti attempted to adopt a more even tone. “I just want to find it....him.”

“Why?”

“I need to find him.”

“Why?”

“So we can talk to him.”

“Why?”

“We need to find out why he’s here.”

“Why?”

Chafing with exasperation, Valenti stood up. Terrific. His first real evidence of aliens, and it had to come bundled with a circular discussion with a four year-old. “Look, Toby, you said the little man looked sick, right?” Toby nodded slowly. “Well, I want to help him. It’s not good for him to be running around sick, right? We should find him and make him better, right?”

Toby’s eyes narrowed as he considered this argument. Seeing that he had his attention, Valenti pressed on.

“I’m going to go back to the house and call some more policemen,” Valenti said. “They’ll come out here, and I’ll show them what I found….”

“…what I found,” Toby interjected stubbornly.

“….what you found,” Valenti corrected himself, “and we’ll take pictures so other people who aren’t here can look at it too, and then we’ll go looking for the little man. So we can help him,” he added hastily, as the pint-sized eyes began to narrow again. “But we can’t help him unless you tell us where he went.”

Toby continued to regard him in silence. A few seconds later, he rendered his verdict.

“Liar,” he announced firmly. “You want to hurt the little man!” And before Valenti could stop him, Toby lunged into the hole and rubbed the alien imprint out of the soft dirt with his own chubby paw.

“NO! Valenti shouted, pulling the kid back by the scruff of the neck. But he was too late. The damage had been done, the evidence obliterated. “Damn it!” Valenti growled, glaring at the boy.

Toby, for his part, appeared uncowed and extremely pleased with himself. “I’m not tellin’ you nuthin’,” he said defiantly, and he grabbed his blanket and fled.

Swearing inwardly, Valenti pocketed his flashlight and stomped back to the house. A frazzled Mrs. Amos met him at the door.

“Did you find it?” she asked in an agitated voice. “Did you get rid of it?”

“Whatever it was is gone now, ma’am,” Valenti said, struggling to keep the anger and impatience out of his voice, “but I need to use your phone.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Amos said, ushering him to the telephone and hovering nervously nearby.

Still fuming, Valenti dialed the sheriff’s station. “Deputy McMahon,” a thick voice answered between chewing noises. McMahon must still be feeding.

“It’s Valenti,” Valenti said shortly. “Look, have you gotten any other calls about anything like here at the Amos’s?”

“Funny you should mention that,” McMahon said, apparently between mouthfuls. “Seems you stirred up somethin’ out there. Two calls came in, about twenty minutes apart. People claim they saw a weird animal, or a deformed child, somethin’ like that.”

“Where?” Valenti demanded. “Where did they see this?”

“Just a minute, I’ll find it. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” There was a pause while rummaging sounds could be heard. “Okay,” McMahon said at length, “the first one was just south of Warner’s creek on Stone Road, and the second was about two miles further down, on Long Pond Road.”

“Thanks. I’ll check back in later,” Valenti said shortly.

“Go get’im, alien hunter,” McMahon guffawed.

Valenti slammed the phone down, cursing. He couldn’t believe it; he’d only been on this job a few hours, and already he’d earned that moniker.

“Is everything all right?” Mrs. Amos asked hesitantly, staring at her phone.

“Fine,” Valenti said curtly. “Whatever was under your shed is long gone. You’re safe.”

He banged out the front door, Mrs. Amos at his heels, walking fast. McMahon had just confirmed what he’d suspected: The creature was heading south. Toward Corona.

Toward the Proctors.





******************************************************





2230 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base.




Lieutenant Spade stood at attention before Major Cavitt’s desk. The Major’s hands were clasped tightly in front of him, so tightly one might get the impression he was afraid of what he might do with said hands should they be loosed. His expression was a study in fury.

“Report,” Cavitt ordered, his voice like ice.

“We have been unable to locate the prisoner, either in the compound or on the base,” Spade replied. “We are continuing to search the base; permission to organize an off-site search, sir?”

Cavitt sat back stiffly in his chair, bringing his tightly clasped hands with him. “You gave an order during the escape, Lieutenant. An order I want explained.”

“What order was that, sir?”

“You ordered your men to hold their fire.”

Spade fixed his eyes on a point directly above Cavitt’s head. “Yes, sir. I did, sir.”

“Why?” Cavitt whispered, as though he could no longer trust his voice as well as his hands.

“I was concerned for the safety of my men, sir.”

“You were concerned for the safety of your men,” Cavitt echoed. “How so? Did the creature attack?”

“No, sir. It headed directly for the door. At least I think it did. The lights were out, and the emergency power hadn’t come on yet.”

Cavitt shifted in his chair. “Explain to me, Lieutenant, how the safety of your men was in jeopardy.”

“You increased the dosage of the tranquilizer in each dart,” Spade replied. “It might be enough to kill a grown man. If we had attempted to shoot the prisoner in the dark, a number of those darts would likely have hit our own men.”

“I see,” Cavitt replied softly, “I see. What I do not see, Lieutenant, is why you ordered the men to hold their fire before the lights went out, when there was presumably plenty of light by which to apprehend the prisoner without imperiling our own people.”

“The lights were flickering, sir. They were going to go out any second.”

“You knew this for certain?”

“I’ve seen this phenomenon before,” Spade replied pointedly. “The power failed exactly the same way it did when we captured the second alien.”

“I see,” Cavitt repeated. “And a tranquilizer dart aimed at the prisoner while the lights were flickering and the shooter could still see would not find its mark if the lights went out while the dart was still en route?”

Spade paused. “As I said, sir, I was unwilling to risk the lives of the men….”

“YOU were unwilling!” Cavitt exploded, vaulting from his chair, eyes blazing. “I don’t give a God damn whether you were ‘willing’ or not! It is not your place to decide whether you are ‘willing’ or ‘unwilling’ to risk either your life or the lives of others! You will risk life when I tell you, as often as I tell you! Is that clear?”

Spade remained rooted to the spot, neither flinching nor betraying the slightest surprise at the violence of Cavitt’s outburst. He’d expected this a good deal sooner.

“I said, is that clear?” Cavitt repeated.

“Clear, sir,” Spade said stonily. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“DENIED!” Cavitt roared, “along with permission to do anything freely! I don’t want you thinking freely, acting freely, hell, I don’t even want you breathing freely! You will do what I tell you, when I tell you, or I will kill you myself! Is that clear?”

I know you will, Spade thought, his jaw twitching as he nodded, visions of fake silver handprints whirling through his mind.

“I can’t hear you!” Cavitt barked.

“Clear, sir!” Spade ground out between clenched teeth.

“Now—refresh my memory,” Cavitt said, sinking back down into his chair, his face shifting from mottled purple to red. “What exactly were your orders when I stationed you outside the treatment room?”

“To apprehend the prisoner should it escape,” Spade replied flatly.

“And did you carry out those orders?”

“We tried, sir.”

“Oh you did, did you?” Cavitt said scornfully. “And what do we have to show for your efforts? One less prisoner!”

Spade fixed Cavitt with a level stare. “My ‘efforts’ are the only reason you had a prisoner to lose in the first place, if I may say so, sir.”

“You may not,” Cavitt snapped. “I’m afraid your previous efforts won’t exonerate you now. It does no good to assist in capture if you then turn around and aid escape with your incompetence.”

Spade felt the color rising to his face , but he said nothing. Cavitt wasn’t the only one on the verge of losing his temper.

“Just in case you need a reminder, Lieutenant, you are a soldier in the United States Army,” Cavitt said contemptuously. “As such, you are called upon to protect and defend this country, and while you do, your life is forfeit. The safety of the men under your command does not take precedence over your mission, whatever that mission may be. Need I point out to you how important these prisoners are? Need I remind you what will happen if the public learns of their existence? Even the President has been kept in the dark! Not to mention what will happen if the Russians should find them.”

“What do the Russians have to do with this, sir?”

Cavitt gave him a pitying glance. “These creatures are obviously technologically advanced. What will happen if the Russians get their hands on this technology? Or, worse yet, if they convince these…things to ally with them? Do you realize how many lives are at stake here? Against the havoc these things could wreak, the lives of a few soldiers are paltry indeed.

“So we’re expendable, sir?”

“Of course you’re expendable, you idiot! We’re at war, Lieutenant. Soldiers are always expendable in war.”

“We are not at war, sir,” Spade said firmly. “The aliens have not attacked us. Besides, only Congress can declare war, and…..”

“Do not presume to lecture me about the laws of this nation!” Cavitt erupted, his face purpling again.

Spade fell silent, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Cavitt’s chest was heaving, his breathing harsh and loud in the suffocating office.

“Now,” Cavitt continued, making a Herculean effort to calm himself, “in future, I don’t want to hear any more cries of ‘Hold your fire!’. If Dr. Pierce should display his typical lack of skill with the second prisoner and the same result should ensue, you will fire at that thing no matter what; I don’t care if the lights go out in the whole damned state! Is that clear?”

“What if you happen to be in the line of fire, sir?”

Cavitt stopped short. “What?”

“If this happens again, and my men fire indiscriminately, we may very well hit you,” Spade said, working hard to keep the note of satisfaction out of his voice. “Are you expendable?”

Cavitt stared at Spade, speechless. Spade waited silently, his eyes still fixed on a point about a foot above Cavitt’s head. A phone rang. A moment later, there was a knock on the door, and Cavitt’s secretary poked her head in. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” she said, “but General Ramey’s on the line.”

“Thank you, Harriet,” Cavitt answered, released from his stunned silence. He waited until she’d left before speaking to Spade.

“Dismissed.”

Spade saluted smartly, turned on his heel, and left the office.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




Having walked until he was at least three corridors away from Major Cavitt’s office, Lieutenant Spade leaned against the wall in a deserted section of hallway and closed his eyes, sweating. God, that had been close.

If either of the aliens had ever escaped, he had been planning all along to give the order to hold fire based on the dosage of medication in the darts. He had overheard one of the doctors saying that there was enough in there to stop a horse, so it stood to reason there was enough to kill a grown man, or close to it. It was an excuse he knew would enrage Cavitt, an excuse he could only use once. The fact that the power had failed was a bonus that provided further reason to give the order in the first place.

But he had spoken a bit too soon. Spade vividly recalled seeing the short, gray figure appear in the doorway, the huge bald head balanced impossibly on the tiny neck. It had been staggering, but its appearance had startled his men, who had stood down after Cavitt gave the order to withdraw. They had scrambled for their weapons just as the lights began to flicker, and Spade had been hopeful that the darkness he was certain would follow would give him cover later when Cavitt called him on the carpet, as he inevitably would. But the lights had continued to flicker, the soldiers had aimed their weapons, and Spade had realized the alien wasn’t going to make it……..

So he had given the order to hold fire, and the alien had turned and looked at him, the expression in its black eyes unreadable. Then the lights had finally failed, an explosion followed, which Spade now knew was one of the doors to the first floor flying straight off its hinges....and it was gone. Those stationed on the first floor had heard the commotion, but hadn’t seen a thing.

The cold of the wall tile was unexpectedly soothing. After a few moments, Spade pushed himself off the wall and continued down the hallway. He had known Cavitt would be livid, of course, but that was a small price to pay to earn some redemption for what he had done. Were it not for him, no one would even be here.

I’ve done all I can, Mr. Alien, he thought as he headed back downstairs. Now you’re on your own.





******************************************************




10:45 p.m.

St. Bridgit’s Church, Corona, New Mexico




Father O’Neill had just made the sign of the cross and begun rising from his genuflection before the altar when he heard a commotion outside.

Curious, he began making his way down the main aisle of the sanctuary. About halfway to the front doors of the church he heard shouting, pounding footsteps, and the rattling of windowpanes in the vestibule. Running the rest of the way down the aisle, he arrived at the huge, double doors breathless and panting. When was the last time he had actually run? He couldn’t remember.

He paused before the massive oak doors. All was silent outside; had he imagined the sounds he had heard?

Grasping the large, iron door handles, O’Neill cautiously pulled the doors open. Directly outside stood a man wearing a sheriff’s deputy’s uniform who was also breathless and panting.

And he had a gun pointed directly at Father O’Neill’s face.

[Kathy W 2200]

CHAPTER SEVEN


July 13, 1947, 11:05 p.m.

St. Bridgit’s Church, Corona, New Mexico




Father O’Neill gaped at the deputy standing before him. The unfamiliar man had a wild look in his eyes, his breath was coming in gasps as though he’d just been running, and the hands that held the gun leveled at the priest’s nose were none too steady.

“What is the meaning of this?” O’Neill sputtered.

“Who are you?” the deputy demanded, his voice ragged.

“Who…What? What are you talking about?”

“Who are you?” the deputy repeated savagely. “Identify yourself!”

Given that the deputy appeared rather unhinged, O’Neill decided to comply. “I am the Reverend Robert O’Neill, pastor of St. Bridgit’s Church. Who are you? And why are you pointing a weapon at me?”

The deputy studied him closely for a moment, eyes narrowed as if deciding whether or not to believe him. “It could have known that,” he muttered under his breath.

“Who could have known what?” O’Neill asked, more confused than ever.

The deputy took a firmer grip on his gun. “Who started the Protestant Reformation?”

“What in God’s name are you talking about?” O’Neill said, astonished.

“I can’t be certain you are who you say you are!” the deputy barked. “Now who started the Protestant Reformation?”

O’Neill’s eyes blazed as his astonishment gave way to anger. “I have been pastor here for twenty years, young man!” he said tartly. “Ask anyone in Corona. And I do not see how failing to give you the name of Martin Luther would prove otherwise!”

The deputy hesitated; the gun he gripped so tightly in both hands lowered a couple of inches.

O’Neill had had enough. “Put that thing down!” he ordered in his best Sunday morning homily, fire and brimstone voice.

Slowly, the deputy lowered the gun, and some of the fanatical light left his eyes. “I’m sorry, Father,” he said, after a long moment spent staring at the priest. “I’ve been chasing an escaped prisoner, and I think he went into the church.”

“Oh, I see,” O’Neill said sarcastically. “So of course you decided to aim a weapon at my head and quiz me about church history.”

The deputy swallowed. “This prisoner I’m chasing can….disguise himself in many ways. I thought perhaps you were…..” His voice trailed off.

O’Neill’s eyebrows rose so high they could have tickled a seraphim’s toes. “You thought perhaps I was an escaped prisoner? Pray tell how could an escaped prisoner have had the time to disguise himself as a middle-aged priest in mere seconds, Deputy….Valenti?” O’Neill finished, peering at the deputy’s name tag.

“Right,” Valenti mumbled. He holstered his weapon. “Sorry. But I’m sure he was heading for this church,” he added, in a more confident voice. “I’ll need to have a look inside.” He took a step forward.

But O’Neill blocked his path. “You will do no such thing!”

Valenti pulled up short. “Why not?”

“In the first place, I will allow no weapons in this house, the Lord,” O’Neill said firmly. “In the second place, this escaped prisoner may be seeking sanctuary, which I am duty-bound to give.”

“Sanctuary?” Valenti repeated incredulously.

“Yes, young man, sanctuary,” the priest repeated slowly, as though speaking to someone quite slow. “Holy Mother Church’s rendition of asylum, a ….”

“I know what sanctuary is, Father,” Valenti said impatiently. “It’s a medieval notion that has no place in 1947.”

“Nevertheless, the church still recognizes it,” O’Neill answered.

“Well, the State of New Mexico doesn’t,” Valenti retorted.

“Then I’m very much afraid the State of New Mexico will lose this particular argument,” O’Neill said stoutly. “I answer to a higher authority. And so do you,” he added pointedly.

“Father, I…”

“I will search for this escaped prisoner of yours,” O’Neill interrupted. “What you will do, young man, is wait right here for me to return. You will not enter this building without my consent. You will not brandish your weapon, or threaten me or anyone else who may be in this house of God in any way. Have I made myself clear?”

“And if you find anyone in there?”

“Then I will inform you of that, and we will discuss the matter. Quietly. Calmly. And in a civilized manner,” O’Neill said sternly.

“How will I know if you’re telling the truth?” Valenti asked suspiciously.

“Are you suggesting I’m a liar?” O’Neill flared, causing the deputy to take a step backwards. “I am an ordained priest, an intermediary between God and man! How dare you suggest such a thing!”

Valenti apparently decided not to push his luck. He sighed, and folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll wait here,” he said sullenly, “but don’t take too long.”

“I won’t,” O’Neill answered shortly, closing the door to the church with a bang that made the deputy jump.




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~





The priest was gone a long time.

Valenti paced impatiently back and forth outside the massive double doors, the single dim light overhead throwing shadows everywhere as the minutes ticked by. He was so close, so close…. To be stopped at this juncture by a pudgy priest was infuriating.

He had tracked the creature for the past hour, stopping at households who had called to report what most called a prowler, using their phones to check in with the station and get the next location. It was heading south as he had suspected, and it was growing careless. A number of people had seen it, although between the distance and the darkness, no one else had labeled it an alien. It had scuttled under porches, knocked over garbage cans, and scared various pets, always managing to be gone by the time Valenti arrived.

But the last few houses Valenti had visited had been so close together, he hadn’t even needed to call the station. There had been noises, the sounds of something fleeing heedlessly, mingled with the occasional shout or cry of surprise. He’d followed the ruckus all the way down this street, never catching a glimpse of what he was chasing until just moments ago, when he had seen a shape the size of a child heading straight for this church.

Valenti swore under his breath. He knew it was here somewhere. He could sense its exhaustion, feel its desperation as it threw stealth to the winds and ran for its life. Now was the best time to catch it, when it was weak, and desperate, and….

The door to the church opened, and the priest’s round face appeared.

“There is no one in this church but me,” he announced.

Valenti gave an impatient snort. “With all due respect, Father, you may have missed something. This…person can hide in ways you can’t imagine.”

“And I know this church better than you can imagine,” the priest answered sharply. “I’m telling you, there is no other person present in this building. If, as you say, your prisoner headed in this direction, he must have veered away. Perhaps he was expecting the church to be empty, and was frightened off by my presence. Regardless, there is no one here. Continue your search elsewhere.”

He began to close the door. Valenti jammed his shoulder into the door, holding it open.

“Now, see here, Father,” he said indignantly. “I’m the law! I have the right to search any building, including this church, and you have no business stopping me.”

The priest had his considerable bulk jammed against the door, which didn’t budge. “Do you have a warrant?” he demanded.

“This is public property, Father. I don’t need a warrant!”

“Public property? Oh, really?” the priest said archly. “Won’t that come as a surprise to the Diocese? I hate to burst your bubble, Deputy, but this property belongs to the Roman Catholic Church, not the town of Corona or the State of New Mexico. Produce a warrant, and I will, of course, obey the law. Barring a warrant, you have given me no reason to do you any favors. You have behaved rather rudely, and, if I do say so myself, irrationally. If you continue to harass me further, I shall take up the matter at once with Sheriff Wilcox.”

Valenti paled at the mention of Wilcox. The last thing he needed right now was to have Wilcox mad at him. Infuriating as this situation was, if he could just hang around long enough, he was sure to catch it. It couldn’t hide forever.

“I’m sorry, Father,” Valenti said, hoping he sounded contrite as he eased up on the door. “I was just trying to do my job. A number of people have reported a prowler tonight, and I thought the person I saw heading for your church might be our man. I’m on loan from Roswell, trying to spell your guys who need a break, and I didn’t want this one to get away on my watch.”

“I’m afraid that doesn’t completely explain your behavior tonight,” the priest replied frostily, “but I wish you luck in your search. Oh, and Deputy?”

Valenti looked at him questioningly.

“Do try not to shoot any innocent people like you almost shot me. Recapturing this prisoner is not worth the life of an innocent man, and it would behoove you to remember that even the prisoner is a child of God.”

Valenti swallowed hard. “Yes, Father. I’ll be more careful.”

“I certainly hope so,” the priest replied darkly, shutting the door in Valenti’s face.

Valenti stood on the front steps of the church for a long minute before making a circuit of the building, checking carefully behind bushes, looking everywhere. Finding nothing, he headed back to the station to see if a prowler had been reported anywhere else.

He seriously doubted that was the case.




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Father O’Neill leaned against the closed door and closed his eyes. The sheer stubbornness and iron will of the Irish had held him together—barely. Now he began to tremble, and within seconds, he was shaking uncontrollably.

What am I going to do? he wondered frantically. He had no idea of where to start or how to proceed. He was ashamed to admit that, for a moment there, he had seriously considered telling the deputy the truth.

The truth. O’Neill winced. He had castigated the deputy for implying he might lie, and then he had gone and done just exactly that. Well, perhaps not in the strictest sense of the word. He had said, “There is no other person present in this building,” and perhaps he had been right. What he had found hardly fit either the popular or classical definition of a “person”.

Semantics, O’Neill thought despairingly. Semantics would not save him. He had lied, in spirit if not in fact. Forgive me, Father, he prayed silently, but at the time, it seemed Your will.

O’Neill pushed himself off the door and headed unsteadily up the main aisle toward the altar. When he reached it, he paused, as if preparing himself for what lay ahead. Finally he ascended the steps and pulled back the drapery which obscured the area beneath the altar, wincing anew at what he saw there.

“I want to know if God is the God of everyone,” young Deanna Proctor had asked him only yesterday. “Of course,” O’Neill had answered confidently.

The resolve with which he had answered that question was about to be tested.





******************************************************




23:30 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




Lieutenant Spade entered his quarters, Cavitt’s shouting about the order to hold fire still ringing in his ears. He’d been sweating like a pig during that confrontation, and he needed a new shirt. Actually he needed a shower, but that would have to wait until he’d had some sleep. He let the door close behind him without bothering to turn on the light and headed for his locker.

“If it makes you feel any better, my encounter with the Major did not go much better.”

Spade jumped a foot and lurched back toward the door, reaching for the light switch. He flipped it on and whirled around.

Dr. Pierce was sitting in the room’s one chair, yawning and stretching as though he’d been asleep. He looked like hell; his eyes were bloodshot and his face haggard as he shifted stiffly in the straight backed wooden chair.

“What the hell are you doing in my quarters?” Spade demanded in astonishment. “Sir,” he added quickly. He was overjoyed that the one alien had managed to escape, and that he had aided that escape. But he’d already pissed off one commanding officer, and as much as he enjoyed pissing off Cavitt, doing so was exhausting. No sense pissing off a second CO this soon.

Pierce smiled faintly. “Please. Call me ‘doctor’. And unlike Major Cavitt, you may always assume you have my permission to speak freely unless otherwise informed.”

Spade eyed him narrowly. “You didn’t answer my question, doctor. And I had no idea you made a habit of eavesdropping.”

“A ‘habit’? Goodness, no. Only when I feel it would be to my advantage.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Spade pointed out, trying to decide which to pay more attention to—the doctor’s disarming honesty, or the fact that he had deliberately snooped on a private conversation.

Pierce shrugged. “I needed some place private to speak with you, and this seemed the best place.”

“Why do you need to speak with me privately?”

“I think it better that no one else hear this particular exchange.”

Spade was silent, waiting. Now what? More questions about why he had ordered his men to hold their fire? But that was Cavitt’s bailiwick, not Pierce’s. He shouldn’t have to catch it from both of them.

“I had some time earlier today,” Pierce continued in a conversational tone, “time in between snits with Major Cavitt, you understand. So I decided to avail myself of the opportunity to study the bodies of those the aliens had killed. And while I was in the morgue, I made an interesting discovery.”

He found them, Spade thought, his pulse quickening. He found the fake handprints.

“What interesting discovery?”

“I discovered that two of the soldiers, a Private West and a Private Belmont, had false silver handprints on their chests, apparently made with paint. The handprints have faded on all the other bodies where that method of execution was used, so the fact that these two prints were still visible was immediately noticeable. It appears those two may not have been killed by aliens, but someone obviously went to some trouble to make it appear as though they had been.”

“If that’s true, then why are you here?” Spade challenged. “You should be reporting this to the General, not hiding in my quarters in the dark.”

“I wasn’t ‘hiding’,” Pierce replied patiently. “You didn’t find me under the bed or lurking in your locker, did you? Besides, I was rather enjoying the dark. It’s been a trying day. For both of us, I imagine.”

“Does it always take two or three repetitions before you answer a question?” Spade asked shortly.

The faint smile returned to Pierce’s face. “Are you trying to make me regret that carte blanche regarding permission to speak freely, Lieutenant?”

“No. I’m trying to find out what you want. And I’m not having much luck.”

Spade and Pierce stared at each other a moment in silence while Spade waited for the axe to fall. No doubt he’d stepped over even Dr. Pierce’s distant line of insubordination, but he was too tired and fed up with this whole mess to care. And Pierce had given him permission to speak freely. Might as well use it.

To Spade’s surprise, Pierce let it drop. “I learned something else interesting, even more interesting then fake silver handprints,” he said, ignoring Spade’s temper.

“Oh?”

“I learned from the very helpful and very admiring guard that you had visited that very morgue on the night the first creature was captured and cajoled him into granting you admittance. By my estimation, you visited mere minutes after its capture.”

Damned guard. Pierce was watching him closely; Spade kept his face impassive. He wasn’t certain what was going on here. Was Pierce looking for another witness so he could bring Cavitt down? That was an intriguing possibility because Pierce was a doctor. He could determine what had killed West and Belmont. Unless, of course, he was here to silence him forever, which was a distinct possibility.

“So—you know about this,” Pierce said. It was not a question. “Who did you tell?”

Spade paused a good long while before making a decision. “No one.”

“No one?” Pierce said in surprise. “You discovered that two of your fellow soldiers died by suspicious means, and you told no one?”

“Who was there to tell?” Spade said bitterly. He grabbed a shirt from inside his locker and started pulling off his old one. If he had just signed his death warrant by admitting he was the only one who knew, he may as well die wearing a clean shirt. “No one would have believed me. If I’d attempted to reach anyone outside the base with a claim like that, you can bet the bodies would have been gone by the time anyone got there, and my goose would have been cooked.”

“Smart thinking,” Pierce mused. “They’re gone now.”

Spade stopped buttoning his new shirt. “What? I thought you said they were there earlier?”

“They were. I returned later this afternoon for further study, and they were gone. No one knew where. No one knew why. No surprise,” he added.

Spade sat down heavily on his bed. “Did you find out what killed them?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing obvious, I can tell you that much,” Pierce said. “Neither died by either of the two known methods of execution used by the aliens. There were no marks, no wounds, nothing to indicate trauma of any kind. The answers to what killed them lie inside; I would need tissue samples, blood samples, preferably a full autopsy, which is, of course, out of the question now.”

“So what now?”

Pierce paused a moment. “Now, Lieutenant, I’m afraid there is nothing else to be done.”

Spade looked at him in astonishment. “What do you mean there’s nothing else to be done? You’re a doctor and and an officer; they’ll listen to you the way they never would have listened to me! You just confirmed the handprints were fake and that they died by foul play!”

“No, I confirmed that aliens did not kill them, at least not by any method they’ve used thus far,” Pierce corrected. “There is obviously subterfuge at work here because someone planted those fake handprints. But the fact that the handprints are fake does not automatically prove murder, nor does it even prove that aliens didn’t kill them. They may have other ways of killing, ways we haven’t seen yet.”

Spade was fuming. “Now that you know about this, you have to make some effort to find out who’s responsible!”

“I’m afraid it’s nigh impossible to find whoever’s responsible,” Pierce said soberly. “Even if I could prove a human-induced cause of death, there is still the difficulty of linking that to a specific individual or individuals. The doctors whose signatures are on the death certificates are dead, killed by the aliens the night the first was captured, so I’m afraid they are unable to assist us. And, of course, there is the problem that no one further up the chain of command would give a rat’s ass about any of this.”

“Meaning?” Spade asked irritably, although he thought he probably already knew the answer.

Pierce sighed. “As you’ve already discovered, Lieutenant, the soldiers assigned to this operation are considered expendable. Precious few upstairs would care if those two died by shady means, as long as they got what they wanted—alien prisoners. Even if we had incontrovertible proof—hell, even if we had a confession from someone—I’m certain too many of the powers that be would turn a deaf ear to the whole thing. They want their aliens, and they don’t care who they have to walk over to get them.”

“I can’t believe this!” Spade muttered, rising and slamming his locker door so hard the entire locker shook. “I know Cavitt did this! I know he did! And you know it too!”

“I know nothing of the sort,” Pierce said reasonably. “I have no evidence he was involved in it. I admit that’s a distinct possibility, but absent proof, it’s a moot point. Even if Sheridan is involved, it would be very difficult to pin it on him even under the best of circumstances. He wouldn’t have done it himself; he’s too smart for that. He would have contracted that out, put several layers between himself and the dirty deed. He would be very hard to reach.”

“So we do nothing, is that it? You’ve just told me that two of my buddies were murdered—probably murdered,” Spade amended, as Pierce began to object, “and there’s absolutely nothing we can do about it?”

“Looks like.” Pierce leaned forward in his chair. “A word of advice, Lieutenant?” he said softly. “Major Cavitt is riding high at the moment. The top brass are very pleased with him for obvious reasons; it’s a bad time to oppose him, even if you had Jesus Christ sitting in your witness box. Even I have to tread carefully. Accusing him of something this dire without proof is suicide.”

“You mean he’d kill me,” Spade said flatly.

“I mean that someone—we don’t know who—might have been willing to kill for this mission, and it stands to reason they’d be willing to kill again,” Pierce said pointedly. “Dead men tell no tales. Make certain few know you have a tale to tell.”

Spade stared at the doctor uncomprehendingly. “Why are you telling me this?” he demanded fiercely. “You know I knew about it. You claim nothing can be done about it. So why are you here? Did you come to finish off the last witness to what happened? To make certain I don’t have a ‘tale to tell’?”

Pierce shook his head sadly. “Lieutenant, Lieutenant, Lieutenant,” he said wearily. “Such paranoia. Then again, you do work for Sheridan. That might explain it.”

Spade took a step closer to Pierce, who was still lounging in the chair, as much as one could lounge in such an unforgiving seat. “You didn’t answer my question. How many times do I have to ask this time? Four? Five?”

Pierce stood up, which placed him only inches from Spade’s nose. Spade didn’t back up.

“Once will suffice,” Pierce said levelly. “I am here, Lieutenant, because I want to know what made you leave the most triumphant moment of your career to date and head for that morgue. I want to know how you knew to look there. You’re not the only one who knows. Someone told you, so there’s someone else who knows. I want to know who that someone is.”

“The answer might surprise you,” Spade whispered.

“Try me,” Pierce said firmly.

A full minute passed while officer and soldier stared each other down. Neither moved.

“The alien told me,” Spade said finally.

Pierce’s eyes widened in surprise. “The alien told you?” he repeated. “The alien you had just captured?” Spade nodded. “That would be the one in alien form, correct?” Spade nodded again.

Pierce moved away, standing with his back to Spade. “They can speak in that form?” he continued, still sounding shocked. “They don’t appear to have the facial muscles necessary for speech! It spoke English?”

“Yes.”

“And what did it say?”

“I asked it why it had killed my friends in their sleep, and it denied it,” Spade said, closing his eyes against the memory. “It said I had been lied to.”

“And you believed it?”

“I wasn’t sure what to believe,” Spade said. “I needed to know for sure.” He paused. “And it didn’t kill them. It was right.”

“So it was,” Pierce murmured, “so it was. Well. That’s interesting. I had no idea they could speak our language in that form. Most interesting, indeed.”

“Will that be all, Doctor?” Spade asked, anxious to steer the conversation away from dangerous waters.

“What? Oh, yes, Lieutenant. I appreciate the information. And I am sorry I can’t be of more help in tracking down exactly what happened.”

Maybe. Maybe not, Spade thought, as he stretched out on his bed, knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight.

“Good night, Doctor.”

“Good night, Lieutenant,” Pierce answered heading for the door. He flicked off the light switch and paused in the doorway. “One more thing,” he said slowly. “Exactly why did you order your men to hold their fire tonight?”

Spade was grateful for the darkness between him and Dr. Pierce. Grateful that he didn’t have to worry about the expression on his own face, grateful that he didn’t have to look at Pierce’s. He only had to worry about his voice. That had to be steady.

“I already explained that to Major Cavitt. And since you’ve admitted you were eavesdropping, you heard my answer. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a trying day. For both of us, I imagine.”

“Of course. Good night, Lieutenant,” Pierce said softly, closing the door behind him as he left, leaving Spade frustrated, sweating, and in need of yet another new shirt.





******************************************************




July 14, 1947, 12:10 a.m.

St. Bridgit’s Church, Corona, New Mexico




A soft double knock sounded on the church front doors. Father O’Neill scurried down the main aisle to answer it, asking himself for the hundredth time in the last hour whether or not he was doing the right thing. Having just rebuffed one officer of the law, was it really wise to be voluntarily consulting with another?

But O’Neill placed great stock in that still, small voice inside that the world liked to refer to as “intuition”, and which he called “God”. It was that voice which had warned him against cooperating with the deputy who had been here earlier, and the same voice now told him to trust the man now standing just outside. By the time O’Neill reached the doors, he was able to open them without hesitation. Chaves County Sheriff George Wilcox stood there, wide awake and in uniform, giving no indication he’d just been pulled from his bed at an ungodly hour.

“Thank you so much for coming, Sheriff,” O’Neill whispered, opening the door wider so the sheriff could step inside. “I am so sorry to wake you at such a late hour, but I….I….well frankly, Sheriff, I just don’t know what to do,” he finished, flustered.

“That’s quite all right,” the Sheriff told him. “Always glad to be of service. Although I’m still not clear as to why my deputies couldn’t handle whatever’s bothering you. You were mighty vague on the phone.”

“That will become clear in just a moment,” O’Neill assured him, still whispering as he closed the door firmly behind the Sheriff. “Follow me.”

“Father?” the Sheriff whispered as O’Neill headed toward the sanctuary.

“Yes?” O’Neill said, turning around.

“Why are we whispering? There’s no one else here.”

“That’s what you think,” O’Neill said gravely, and he turned and marched up the aisle of the deserted sanctuary, the Sheriff trailing with a puzzled expression on his face.

When O’Neill reached the main altar, he climbed the steps confidently, the Sheriff lingering behind at the bottom, unwilling to follow. “You will need to join me up here,” O’Neill said firmly. “Believe me, the Lord won’t mind,” he added, when the Sheriff continued to hesitate. “We have much bigger problems here than who is walking on altars.”

Reluctantly, the Sheriff climbed the steps and joined the priest in front of the altar table. Without comment, O’Neill reached down and pulled aside the linen which hid the area underneath the table.

O’Neill watched Wilcox’s face carefully. Had he done the right thing by calling him here? For a moment, he thought perhaps not; the expression on Wilcox’s face was not one he was expecting. It took O’Neill a moment of careful thought before he recognized it; not revulsion, or horror, or even surprise, but....recognition.

“You’ve seen this before, haven’t you?” O’Neill asked.

“Once. From a distance,” the Sheriff allowed, not taking his eyes off the gray creature curled beneath the altar table for even a moment. “Is it alive?”

“It hasn’t moved since I found it here,” O’Neill answered. “I’m afraid I’m not sure.”

As if on cue, the creature’s eyes flew open, revealing black, pupil-less depths. The long fingers curled and uncurled, and it shifted in its hiding place as though it were in pain.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” O’Neill breathed.

Wilcox shook his head gravely. “With all due respect, Father, I’m afraid you’re talking to the wrong people.” He retreated down the altar steps, calling behind him, “I’ll need to use your phone.”





******************************************************




12:20 p.m.


Proctor residence



The jangling phone on the table in the hallway reverberated through the Proctor household like a siren, startling all of them awake. It was Emily who managed to make her way downstairs first, one hand on the wall to steady herself. She’d gotten up much too fast.

“ ‘lo?” she said thickly, still half asleep.

“Emily, it’s George,” came a worried voice on the other end of the line. “I’m terribly sorry to wake you so late, but I need your help.”

“Our help?” Emily repeated. “George it’s....”—she consulted the grandfather clock by the front door— “....it’s past midnight.”

“I know that,” George replied impatiently, “but you’re the only people who can do this job.”

“Job? What job?”

“Remember our conversation earlier?” George asked. “You said I could call anytime, day or night.”

Understanding flooded over Emily. She was instantly wide awake.

“Let me guess,” she said, leaning wearily against the wall. “I’m about to regret having said that.”

[Kathy W 2200]

CHAPTER EIGHT


July 14, 1947, 1:05 a.m.

Corona, New Mexico





The streets of Corona were silent and deserted as David Proctor drove through the main part of town. Up ahead St. Bridgit’s Church loomed, its bulk a silhouette against the night sky. Alien emergencies always seemed to happen in the wee small, and as David neared the church, he reflected on the fact that in the past week, he’d seen more of Corona at night than he had in his entire life, despite the fact that he’d been born and raised here.

David pulled into the church’s parking lot, looking for George Wilcox’s car. It was hard to see; the only light was a single, dim lamp over the double front doors of the church, and that did nothing to help the parking lot. George’s car was at the far end of the lot, enveloped in gloom and virtually invisible from the road. Not a bad idea, David thought, parking his own car next to George’s. It would be just his luck to wind up with witnesses, however unlikely that may be. Or perhaps it was the aliens who had all the bad luck. His own luck, come to think of it, had held up pretty well; it was the aliens who had not been so fortunate.

Closing the car door as quietly as he could, David headed for the church’s side door, the one near the sacristy. George had been cryptic on the phone just in case anyone was listening—damned party lines—so David wasn’t exactly sure what he was walking into. A live body? A dead body? At home, both his wife and his daughter were anxiously awaiting news. Best to get on with it. He raised his hand to the door and knocked twice, as instructed.

A few seconds later footsteps echoed inside, and the massive door creaked as it opened a few inches. Father O’Neill’s anxious face appeared in the resulting crack, his features practically melting with relief when he spied David.

“Oh, thank goodness!” the priest said, opening the door wider and almost pulling David inside. “I apologize for the lateness of the hour, Mr. Proctor, but Sheriff Wilcox says you are the resident expert on….er….well…..”

“Aliens?” David finished helpfully.

“Er….yes. I suppose,” the priest answered uncertainly. He made a flustered gesture toward the sanctuary. “This way.”

David followed through the little hallway that housed the sacristy, across the front of the altar, and up the altar steps, where George Wilcox was standing with a worried expression on his face.

“Dave,” George said with a nod, “thanks for coming. This one’s out of my league.”

“And mine,” Father O’Neill chimed in. “I’m afraid it’s not in very good shape, and I haven’t the faintest idea what to do for it.” He reached down and lifted the linen drape that hid the area underneath the altar table.

David sank slowly into a squatting position to get a better look at the huddled figure on the floor underneath the altar. He had seen Brivari injured while in this form, but this looked much worse. The gray skin was shriveled as though the skeleton underneath—assuming they even had a skeleton—had shrunk. It was curled in a fetal position, eyes closed, small mouth open, long fingers slack. It looked dead.

“Jesus,” David whispered.

“Don’t blame Him,” Father O’Neill said soberly. “I can assure you, He had nothing to do with this. This is man’s work.”

“Has he moved at all?” David asked.

“A little, several minutes ago, before we called you,” Father O’Neill answered. “So this is a ….. ‘him’?”

Deciding that now was not the time to attempt an explanation of the aliens’ gender bending abilities, David replied, “For all practical purposes, he’s a ‘he’.” The priest’s eyes grew round.

“And you know this one?” George queried.

David hesitated. This was probably Brivari or Jaddo, although he had no way of identifying them in this form, and no way of being certain this wasn’t one of the hostile aliens. “I think so,” he allowed, ignoring the look of concern on George’s face. “I’ll take him back to the house. I need some blankets from my car. I’ll be right back.”

“I have some,” Father O’Neill said, rising from his crouched position. “I was going to put something over it—him—anyway because it—he—looks so cold,” the priest continued, stumbling over his pronouns. “And then you knocked, and I was afraid you were that awful deputy again.”

“What awful deputy?” George demanded.

“The one who was chasing this….being. At least I think he was. He said he was chasing a prowler, but I rather doubt that now. He was awfully worked up, that one. It took a few minutes to get him to stop pointing his gun at me.”

“One of my deputies pointed a gun at you?” George asked, astonished.

“He wasn’t one of yours, at least not anyone I know,” O’Neill responded. “He wore a different uniform, and he said he was on loan from Roswell.”

“I did ask Sheriff Hemming down in Roswell if he could spare a couple of people,” George confirmed. “Some of mine are really unraveling, what with everything that’s been going on.” He stopped and looked down at the gray figure, stark evidence of what had been “going on”. “Guess he sent someone over tonight. I’m awfully sorry about this, Father. Did you get his name?”

“Yes. It was ‘Valenti’.”

“Valenti?!” both George and David exclaimed simultaneously. Each looked at the other, surprised.

“You know him?” David asked.

“You know him?” George said. “How?”

“Later,” David said firmly. “If Valenti’s hanging around, it’s more important than ever that I get him out of here,” he said, looking at the curled figure under the altar table.

George looked at him a long minute. “All right,” he said finally. “But I want to hear all of it, chapter and verse, just as soon as this is settled. Same goes for you, Father,” he said, turning to the bewildered priest. “I want to know everything Valenti said and did while he was here.”

“Of course, Sheriff, of course,” O’Neill answered, bustling off to the sacristy and returning a few moments later with a large blanket.

Kneeling down, David helped the priest spread the blanket on the altar floor beside the alien. He was only a bit larger than his daughter, so the blanket would be able to cover him completely. The hairless skin was dry, leathery, and cold to the touch as, grimacing, David slid his hands underneath the body, preparing to help lift him onto the blanket. He was unprepared for what happened next.

A dead King lying in state….

…a young King, newly crowned, with beautiful women on either side of him…..

...a young boy, eyes flying open, screaming in panic, his features oddly familiar....

…a pitched battle watched from a window high in a building….

…a girl lying on the floor of a wooded area, her arm bent at an impossible angle, blood running down her face….

…bright lights…a white ceiling…faces looming overhead…one face in particular….an explosion….

…being chased….pursued…..hunted. Panicking…..his pursuer was getting closer, and he was getting weaker………

The images stopped, and the church swam back into view. David was still kneeling beside the alien, but he had let go, and he was shaking, sweating profusely. Both George and Father O’Neill were bending over, staring at him worriedly.

“Dave?” George said tentatively.

David looked back and forth from one to the other, momentarily at a loss for words. He had forgotten all about what had happened the last time he had touched Jaddo, the rush of images and the feelings they had provoked. It had been overpowering then, and this time was no different.

But why was this happening? Jaddo had deliberately formed what he had called a “telepathic connection”; this alien didn’t appear conscious enough to perform such a feat. And Jaddo had made it clear that David could not form such a connection himself; he needed to touch someone who could, which he had apparently just done.

“Are you all right, Mr. Proctor?” came O’Neill’s anxious voice.

“Fine. Fine,” David replied, waving them away. “Just a little woozy, that’s all. I did get up rather fast, and it is the middle of the night.”

George looked unconvinced. “Are you sure you want to do this? Because I’ll understand perfectly if you don’t.”

“I do,” David said firmly, meaning it. He reached out and gingerly slid his hands underneath the upper half of the gray body, bracing himself against what he might see. But no images came this time, and with the priest’s help, they transferred the alien to the blanket and wrapped it snugly.

“You should put it—him—in the trunk,” George said as they headed out of the church. “I know it sounds awful, but you can’t take the risk of anyone finding that in your back seat.”

“Agreed,” David said, the bundled alien in his arms so lightweight it was frightening. Whoever would guess a being this small and fragile-looking could be so powerful? “He’s unconscious anyway; he won’t mind. Father, could you fish my car keys out of my pocket and open my trunk?”

The priest hurried to comply, and the threesome made their way into the parking lot where their burden was safely hidden away in David’s trunk.

“Thank you, Father,” David said, “for everything. Not everyone would have been so understanding.”

“Your daughter asked me only yesterday if God was the God of everyone,” O’Neill replied thoughtfully. “I answered ‘yes’ without hesitation. That was no idle answer.”

David nodded, and turned to the Sheriff. “Thanks, George. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to know you’re on our side.”

“Anytime, Dave, anytime,” George said. “Are you going to make it home okay, or should I follow you?”

“I’ll be fine,” David answered, climbing into the front seat.

“I’ll follow you for a bit anyway, just in case,” George said.

David started the car and headed out of the parking lot, the Sheriff trailing, Father O’Neill heading back into the church. He pulled out onto the road, unable to keep the images he had seen out of his mind. Many he didn’t recognize, but a few made sense. The two kings, one dead, one alive, made it clear who that was in his trunk; it was Brivari who had guarded a king. He had been captured three days ago. This was what they’d managed to do to him in only three days.

Two other images he had recognized immediately. One was the face of the man hovering in the brightly lit room, a face he had seen before on his own front porch as they had led Mac away that fateful night before the ship was discovered. Cavitt got what he wanted, David thought grimly, just the memory of that face filling him with fury.

Still, he found that fury preferable to the memory of the second recognizable image, an image so terrifying that even now, it filled him with a cold dread that was practically paralyzing. The young girl lying on the ground, her face covered in blood, her arm clearly broken, alone in the woods even though her own parents were only a short ways away, oblivious to what was happening.

His own daughter.






******************************************************




2:20 a.m.

Proctor residence





Emily Proctor closed her eyes and leaned back wearily in the rocking chair, letting the amber colored rock drop from her cupped hands into her lap. A few feet away, the gray figure curled on the guest room bed moved slightly, then was still.

“Is he going to be okay?” Dee asked worriedly. She was sitting cross-legged at the very end of the bed, watching Brivari with rapt attention.

“I hope so,” David answered. “He looks better already, but he’s still got a ways to go.”

“What did they do to him?” Dee whispered.

David shook his head sadly. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t get the impression they did anything too awful,” Emily said, opening her eyes. “He’s not injured, not in the conventional sense. He’s mainly just exhausted, and really, really weak.”

“They probably drugged him to keep him asleep just like they did with Jaddo,” David commented.

“That was three days ago,” Emily said. “If he’s been asleep from then till now, that means he hasn’t had anything to eat or drink in three days. No wonder he’s so weak.”

“Isn’t there anything else we can do?” Dee pleaded to her mother.

“I don’t think so, honey. He’s pulled a lot of our energy through these rocks, but we don’t have anything more to give at the moment, and I’m not sure he’s up to using any more. We’ll have to wait till morning.”

Dee’s face turned sullen. “I hate the people who did this,” she said angrily. “I hate them!”

“Don’t,” Emily said firmly.

Dee stared at her mother in astonishment. “You think what they did to him is okay?”

“Of course not,” Emily answered with a touch of exasperation. “It’s just that hate is a wasted emotion. It consumes the hater and fixes nothing. Spend your time and energy helping him get better, or helping to hide him. That will work against the people who did this far more than you just sitting there hating. The people who did this don’t care if you hate them or not.”

“Off to bed with you,” David said, as Dee appeared ready to argue the point. “We’ve done all we can for now. He needs to rest. Do you need me to go with you?” he added, when Dee swayed a little as she climbed off the bed.

“No,” Dee said stubbornly. “I’m okay.”

David and Emily exchanged glances as they watched their daughter pad back to her own room. Both Emily and Dee had used the healing rocks on Brivari when David had first brought him in, but David had made Dee stop when she began to feel faint and her lips had turned gray. Brivari was sucking the energy out of both of them, using the rocks as a kind of straw. Emily had the sense to hold back, to take breaks, but Dee just threw herself into it heart and soul, not knowing when to quit.

“I shouldn’t have let her do this,” David sighed.

“You couldn’t have stopped her if you’d wanted to,” Emily replied. “Besides, she needed to do this. She needed to feel useful, to feel like she somehow made this better. We pulled her out in time.”

“And what about you?”

Emily gave him a tired smile. “I’ll be all right. I’m a hell of a lot better off than he is,” she added, gazing at the huddled figure on the bed. She paused. “You’re sure it’s Brivari?” David nodded.

“How do you know?”

“I….I saw things again,” David admitted, “like I did with Jaddo.”

Emily’s eyes widened. “What things?”

“Kings. One older and dead, one younger and alive. I think the younger one is the one who just died in their war.”

“Brivari is the one who guarded a king,” Emily murmured.

“I saw something else,” David continued. He had been mulling over whether to tell her this, but he found the image so disturbing that he found himself selfishly wanting to share it, as if sharing it would somehow lessen its horror. “I saw Dee lying on the ground in the woods behind the school after Denny Miltnor attacked her. Her arm was all twisted, and there was blood running down her face…” David’s voice cracked. “She looked awful, Em. She looked.....dead.”

Emily’s face had gone white as a sheet. “Why did you see that?” she whispered.

“It’s what he saw the night they healed her,” David explained. “I see things the way they saw them, and I feel what they were feeling at the time.”

“And what was he feeling as he looked down at our dying daughter?” Emily asked in a tentative voice, as if afraid of the answer.

“Fear,” David answered simply. “Fear that she would expose them. Not deliberately, but carelessly, because she was a child. But there was something else mixed in…a sense of duty, of responsibility, of owing her. He told me that the night I helped them move, when I asked him why they had saved her. He said they owed her protection because she had risked her life in the King’s service. He didn’t lie to me. He really did feel that way. And it’s a good thing, too. Can you just imagine where we’d be now if.......” He stopped, unwilling to finish the sentence.

Emily was silent for a long, long time, her face still white, her fingers twitching in her lap. At length, David rose and headed for the door.

“Coming to bed?”

“In a minute.” She picked up the amber colored rock again. “Let me try one more time.”





******************************************************




July 14, 1947, 8 a.m.

Proctor residence




Emily Proctor quietly entered the guestroom holding a plate of toast in one hand and a glass of milk in another. Brivari lay curled on the bed in what looked like the same position as last night. He did not appear to have moved.

And he may never move, Emily thought sadly. They had given him what energy they had to spare, but it might not be enough. Emily wasn’t exactly certain how she gleaned the information she did from those glowing rocks—perhaps they facilitated some kind of “connection” similar to the one David had experienced, though mercifully free of home movies—but she did get a sense of how the injured person was feeling when she used them. And the most overwhelming sensation she’d received from Brivari was one of exhaustion, an exhaustion so profound it frightened her. The next most prominent sensation had been one of hunger, hence the milk and toast. He didn’t strike her as capable of consuming them, but should she be wrong about that, at least something would be there for him.

Emily set the plate and glass on the bedside table next to the bed and turned to the window. Hesitating at first, she drew back the curtains, letting the summer morning sunshine stream into the room. If I were going to die, she thought, I’d rather die in the sunshine than in the dark. She turned around.

His eyes were open.

Emily stared for a moment at the huge, almond-shaped black eyes with no pupils, then broke into a smile.

“Good morning,” she said softly. “Welcome back.”





******************************************************





0830 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base





The first thing he heard was sound. Beeping noises, feet shuffling, even the sound of breaths being held. Gradually the sounds grew louder, and he moved his head from side to side to hear them better. And that was when he realized how very, very weak he was. Even moving his head took effort.

Jaddo opened his eyes. Several seconds passed before he was able to discern shapes against the background of bright, white light surrounding him.

Humans.

“Doctor!” a fearful voice exclaimed. “I think its waking up!”

Faces came into focus, faces full of mingled curiosity and fear. One human stepped forward; dark hair, a white coat, some kind of rank insignia near the neck. “You are awake,” the dark-haired human said with interest. “And no light show this time. Can you hear me?”

Jaddo didn’t answer. He doubted he had the strength to tackle physical speech even if he’d wanted to....and he didn’t want to. He had obviously been captured—the less said, the better.

“I’m going to assume you can,” the human continued. “I am Dr. Pierce,” he said, gesturing to himself, “and you are a….” here the human paused as if searching for the right word “…..a guest of the United States Government.”

He smiled a completely unconvincing smile. “Welcome to Earth.”



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


End Of Part One

[Kathy W 2200]

PART TWO—AWAKENING



CHAPTER NINE


Four days later

July 18, 1947, 1000 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base





Doctor Pierce jumped as Major Cavitt careened into his office, slamming the door back against the wall in the process. "Why didn't you tell me it was awake?" Cavitt demanded angrily.

Pierce rocked back in his desk chair and smiled. "Good morning, Sheridan. I'm fine, thank you. Nice of you to ask. And you?"

"Don't play games with me, Daniel," Cavitt retorted. "You said you would notify me immediately once the prisoner was fully conscious!"

"Correction: I said I would notify you immediately when I found the prisoner safe to approach and sufficiently recovered to withstand interrogation," Pierce said calmly. "There's a difference."

"So is it safe to approach?"

"I believe so," Pierce replied. "I watched it try to free itself from the restraints, and fail. It hasn't changed its shape either. Perhaps it's too weak, or perhaps the serum suppresses that too. A pity, though that would certainly make our job easier."

"How long has it been awake?"

Pierce sighed. "The sedative wore off completely yesterday morning."

"Yesterday morning? And why, may I ask, did you not see fit to disclose this information to me?"

"Because I was afraid you would barge in there and pop your cork—like you're doing now," Pierce said, as Cavitt's face reddened. "You're forgetting the 'sufficiently recovered' part, and no, I don't think it is sufficiently recovered. I have no idea how our medications affected its physiology. The last thing we need is to give it the alien equivalent of a heart attack."

Cavitt gave a snort of exasperation. "Will you at least do me the courtesy of telling me what it's said?"

"Of course. Nothing."

"Nothing?" Cavitt repeated incredulously. "Nothing at all?"

"Not a word."

"But they speak!" Cavitt protested. "Lieutenant Spade said they speak English."

Pierce shrugged. "Perhaps this one doesn't. Or perhaps it doesn't want to."

"I'm afraid it doesn't have a choice in the matter," Cavitt replied darkly. "When can I have it?"

"Not yet."

"Just exactly how long do you think you can get away with this? You've been stringing me along for four days now, pretending it wasn't awake yet, and now…."

"I wasn't pretending," Pierce interrupted sharply. "I deliberately kept it partially sedated while we tested the serum. I didn't want a repeat of what happened with its shipmate."

"Which was your fault," Cavitt said pointedly.

"Which was no one's fault," Pierce replied firmly. "In case you haven't noticed, this is a completely different species. How was I supposed to know what their vital signs were or anything else about them, for that matter? If it makes you feel any better, the information we gleaned from the other one's escape is precisely what allowed us to hold this one."

"Oh, I see," Cavitt said sarcastically. "Losing one of the most important prisoners this country has ever held on my watch is supposed to make me feel better?"

"Have you found it yet?"

Cavitt looked away. "No."

"Well, that would be your fault," Pierce said placidly. "You're the soldier, or so you keep reminding me at every available opportunity."

"If you hadn't screwed up, I wouldn't need to be looking for it in the first place!"

"Blaming others for your own shortcomings. Not exactly a career path, Sheridan." Pierce shook his head in mock sadness as Cavitt flushed again. "Honestly, you are so easy to rile. You fall for it every time, do you realize that?"

"And you enjoy taunting me," Cavitt retorted. "Do you realize that?"

"Of course," Pierce replied casually. "But that doesn't mean you have to make it so easy for me." He reached for his coffee cup and headed for the coffee pot behind his desk. "Have some?" he asked, gesturing to the pot. "But then I suppose you don't need any more caffeine, do you?"

"When can I begin the interrogation?" Cavitt demanded, not taking the bait this time.

"I'm not sure," Pierce replied, setting the pot back down.

"And why not?"

Pierce sat down heavily in his chair. "We've been over this already," he said in a tone one would use with an underperforming student. "But since you don't seem to have understood it the first several times, why don't you have a seat and I'll have a go at explaining it again."

Pierce waited. Cavitt remained standing in front of the desk, ignoring the chair in front of it only inches away from him.

"Very well then," Pierce said, sipping his coffee. "Same song, umpteenth verse. This is a species we've never encountered before. I have no idea how the drugs we used will affect it. We're still tweaking the dosage of serum; that suppresses brain activity, specifically the portions of the brain the first one used when it escaped. We're still not clear on how these drugs work even in humans, so it took some time to suppress the correct areas of the brain and to discover the correct dosage. Too little and we could lose this one; too much, and it won't be worth interrogating. That wouldn't be much fun for you, now would it?"

"This is all fascinating," Cavitt said acidly, "but you still haven't answered my question. When can I have it?"

"When I am certain it's stable. It's still quite weak from all it's been through, not to mention exhausted."

"And since when do we have to wait for our prisoners to be well rested before interrogating them?"

Pierce set down his coffee cup. "You know, I think that's the problem here. You see the alien as a prisoner; I see it as a test subject."

"You mean a lab rat," Cavitt said derisively.

"Semantics," Pierce said dismissively. "Call it what you will, but my point is that test subjects, or 'lab rats' if you prefer, are always well treated. One does not glean useful or consistent information from sick, weak subjects. Scientists know this. But then, you're not a scientist, are you?"

Cavitt leaned forward, his hands on the desk, looking Pierce directly in the eye. "If you think for one minute that you stand on somehow higher moral ground because you are a 'scientist' with a 'test subject', then you're an even bigger fool that I thought. I know you—you will use that thing in there to find out what you want to know, just like I will. You will hurt it, threaten it, manipulate it, do anything to it you must to make it divulge its secrets, just like I will. The difference is that I don't cloak my actions in pretty words. I don't need to. Have you given any thought to why you need to?"

Pierce stared silently at Cavitt, his expression inscrutable. After a moment, Cavitt stood up.

"You fancy yourself better than me, Daniel. And you're not. Except perhaps in the one way you wouldn't want to be: You're a better liar."

As Cavitt turned and stalked out the door, Pierce leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He was exhausted; the last four days of constant work and little sleep had taken their toll. He hadn't bothered to tell Cavitt about the near misses: The overdose of serum that had almost put the alien into a coma. The under dose that had allowed it to marshal some small amount of whatever energy it used, rattling the equipment around them, causing the lights to blink, breaking the straps that bound it, and sending them scrambling to administer another dose. Now he thought he had it right, but it was a delicate balance. A balance that could change at any moment, because this was uncharted territory.

Pierce stood up and reached for his lab coat. He had other problems besides serum dosage. Speaking wasn't the only thing the alien wasn't doing. It was already very weak, and the longer this continued, the weaker—and less useful—it would become.

Just what I need right now, Pierce thought wearily as he headed out the door of his office. An alien hunger strike.



******************************************************



Yvonne White carefully balanced the tray of food as she walked down the hallway toward the room where the alien was being held. He had been allowed to fully awaken yesterday, although so far he had moved little, still hadn't spoken, and, most distressingly, refused to eat. This last was a huge concern for Dr. Pierce, who continued to fret over the creature's health and how they might be harming him without meaning to. Yvonne strongly suspected Pierce was far more worried about the personal consequences of losing yet another hugely important prisoner than he was about the alien's health, but it was still refreshing to see someone actually trying not to hurt him.

Whatever his reasons, Yvonne had to give Pierce credit for effort. She had prevailed upon him to begin intravenous feeding just as soon as it had become clear that the serum he'd developed to suppress the alien's powers was working. But he had continued to weaken, and Pierce had suspended the feedings amid concerns that the intravenous solution formulated to meet the most basic nutritional needs of humans was doing more harm than good. All attempts to induce the alien to consume something, anything, had so far been unsuccessful. The debate had already started as to how this would be addressed. Having had the unhappy duty of participating in forced feedings, she was determined to prevent that from happening. These people, whoever they were, had been through enough already.

Now that the alien was awake, the mood in the compound had changed considerably, the tension heightened. More guards were on duty, all equipped with tranquilizer rifles. Yvonne could feel their eyes on her as she headed for the door to the prisoner's room where four more soldiers were stationed, two on each side of the door. She addressed one of the guards on the right whose expression appeared a bit more friendly. "Private Thompson," she said, reading his name tag. "I'm here to check on the patient."

" 'Patient'?" muttered one of the guards to the left. He glanced down at her tray, loaded with a variety of foodstuffs because they weren't certain what aliens ate. "So you're gonna try and get it to eat too? You're the latest in a long parade. Dr. Pierce was just in there, and he got nowhere."

"I know," Yvonne replied. "Dr. Pierce asked me to try because I have experience with this problem. I might be able to convince him to eat."

"That ain't no 'he'," the soldier said, glancing toward the window in the door. "It may look like a 'he' on the outside, but I hear it sure don't look like one on the inside."

"It just seems rude to refer to a living being as 'it'," Yvonne remarked.

The soldier looked astonished. "Rude? Why? It ain't human."

"Does that matter?"

"Hell, sure it matters," the soldier replied, in a tone which suggested that was a stupid question.

Yvonne decided to skip the moral debate with this one. "Would you let me in, please?"

""Don't know why everyone's so damned concerned about it and all," the guard said, scowling. "It's a monster. Who cares if it wants to starve itself?"

Yvonne bit back a sharp reply. Unfortunately this was the prevailing attitude in the compound toward the alien, and it had only gotten worse of late. Cavitt had been livid when the first had been lost, and the troops, still smarting from the tongue lashing they'd received, seemed to be taking it out on the second alien.

"I need to go in," Yvonne said, addressing Thompson, who had remained silent. "Would you please unlock the door for me?"

"Of course, Lieutenant," Thompson replied courteously. He shot a disapproving look at his fellow soldier, who glared back. "Maybe what it needs is a woman's touch." He gestured to the two other guards. "LaBella, Walker, accompany the Lieutenant inside. For your protection, ma'am," he added to Yvonne. "Doc thinks he's got that thing muzzled, but you never know."

The door swung open and, closely followed by the two guards, Yvonne stepped inside.




******************************************************




12:00 p.m.

Proctor residence




Several miles away, another woman with a similar tray full of food entered another room which held yet another alien.

Emily Proctor emptied the contents of the tray onto the bedside table in the guest room. Brivari lay curled on the bed in a fetal position, asleep. He hadn't spoken a word since he'd been here. She had occasionally seen his eyes open like she had earlier in the week, but his gaze was unfocused, and he didn't seem to be aware of her presence. To the casual observer, he appeared to be in some kind of weird, waking coma.

But Emily knew better. All the food she had been leaving had been disappearing, and yesterday morning she had arrived with breakfast to find Brivari in human form once again. It was a different form than he had previously used, and that had momentarily rattled her. But she had nevertheless breathed a sigh of relief; the only bathroom in the house was upstairs, and whenever any of Dee's friends had used it, Emily had held her breath. They kept the door to the guest room closed, and he certainly wasn't making any noise, but still….the thought of someone stumbling into the guest room and seeing….what they would see…..was unsettling, to say the least.

He had eaten nothing for several hours after that; the act of changing shape had apparently worn him out all over again. But then food began disappearing again, and she had noticed that he was usually in a different position when she looked in on him which meant he was moving more often. These were good signs, and the whole family continued to hope he would recover, especially Dee. She hadn't been sleeping well lately, and Emily had begun to worry afresh about how all this was affecting her daughter.

Emily finished emptying the tray and turned to the window. The afternoon sun was uncomfortably bright; probably time to close the curtains a bit. She took one step away from the bed......and flinched as a hand closed around her wrist.





******************************************************




Eagle Rock Military Base





The tray of food in her hands, Yvonne stepped over the threshold, the two soldiers on her heels. The door swung shut behind them, and she could hear the sound of a key turning in the lock.

"We'll wait back here, where we can get a clear shot at it," one of the soldiers whispered to her. She turned to look at them, saw the fear in their faces. The eyes of one were round, his hands gripping the barrel of his gun very hard. The other's eyes were hard; he looked like he wanted a reason to shoot. Hopefully he'd leave disappointed.

Yvonne turned back toward the motionless figure lying several feet ahead. She had been in here many times since this nightmare began, always bearing a cocktail of emotions: Pity, anger, regret, shame. Now she could add awkwardness to the list. Now he was awake, and she was going to attempt actual conversation. Conversation meant that eventually she would have to answer for the behavior of her own people. She wasn't looking forward to that.

Yvonne walked forward, gripping the tray as hard as the soldiers were gripping their guns. The alien lay on a hospital bed which had replaced the metal operating table on which he had previously lain. She had lobbied for that bed, along with the hospital gown he now wore, and despite some grumbling, had managed to arouse enough uneasiness in those who made such decisions that she had won both battles. Apparently the fact that the alien looked human had trumped the fact that he wasn't.

Reaching the edge of the bed, Yvonne stopped, hovering nervously. The alien was motionless, his head turned toward the opposite wall, eyes open. He was restrained in several places with wide, leather straps that buckled like belts: Wrists, ankles, chest, waist. If she cranked the bed into a sitting position and moved his rolling bed table as close as possible, there would be just enough play in the straps that held his arms for him to reach the tray of food. Barely.

Assuming she could convince him to eat, that is. This was not a new dilemma; it was common for soldiers to refuse food, especially after awakening to find lost limbs, dead friends, or themselves in captivity. She'd faced this problem dozens of times—why was this time so hard?

Yvonne turned around and looked at the two soldiers, still hovering by the door, waiting for her to make a move. She glanced at the window of the observation room, which she knew held at least one guard. There were no microphones in the observation room, but the soldiers behind her could overhear. Whatever she did, whatever she said, it would be quite public. Being in this room was like being in a zoo.

"Hello," she ventured, deciding that the best start was a simple one.

No response.

"I've brought you some food," Yvonne continued, undaunted. Nurses were used to one way conversations. "You haven't had anything to eat in several days. You really should eat something."

Still no response. Yvonne set the tray down on the bed table and was instantly sorry she'd done that. Now she had nothing to do with her hands.

"Listen, I know you're not thrilled about this," she said. "Neither am I. But it's in your best interests to eat. If you don't, we'll have to force you to eat, and that won't be any fun for anyone, myself included. So do yourself a favor, and avoid that."

Waiting, Yvonne watched the alien's face closely for any sign that he had heard. He didn't so much as twitch; his eyes remained open, staring straight ahead, his expression fixed. She remembered this one—this was the testier one of the two who had come to rescue their captured companions. While he certainly hadn't been polite to her, or anyone else for that matter, it was still difficult to see him this way, trussed up like an animal. Even in this predicament he gave the impression of a caged lion, just waiting for his chance to strike. To restrain a creature this powerful and dangerous struck her as foolish, to say the least.

Yvonne moved to the foot of the bed to get a better look at him. Soldiers in this condition usually exhibited hopelessness; countering that hopelessness meant finding something that gave them a reason to live. "Think of your loved ones," she would say, "and how upset they would be to hear you're in this condition." Sometimes merely threatening to inform a soldier's family of their refusal to eat was enough to turn the tide.

Enemy soldiers required a different tack. Since they were frequently convinced they'd never see their loved ones again, that argument didn't work. "The war may end soon," she'd say, "or even if it doesn't, there are always prisoner exchanges. If you're not healthy, your government won't consider you for an exchange. Don't miss that chance."

But neither of those approaches would work here. The alien had no family to live for, unless one counted its escaped companion, assuming that one was even still alive. He had no government to negotiate for his release, no war that might end sooner than expected. What did this one have to live for?

It was the expression on his face that gave Yvonne her answer. Now that she wasn't looking at him sideways, she could see that what she had taken for a blank expression was really tinged with something else—defiance. His not eating wasn't a sign of illness, or depression, or even exhaustion: He wasn't eating because they wanted him to. It was the one thing he still had control over in this uncontrollable situation. But in the end he was only hurting himself, and it was her job as his nurse to make him see that.

Yvonne mentally ticked over everything she knew, everything she remembered about this particular alien before deciding how to proceed. She moved to the other side of the bed and crouched down by his head. Now he would either have to look in her general direction or turn away.

"Look," she said firmly in a low voice, too low for the soldiers at the door to hear. "I'm going to give it to you straight. Because we've met before, and from what I remember, you're the type who appreciates hearing it straight. Am I right?"

The alien still wasn't looking at her; his eyes were fixed on a point over her left shoulder. But she thought she saw those eyes twitch just a bit, just enough to let her know he'd heard.

"The fact is," Yvonne continued, "you're a prisoner here, and there's not much you can do about that right now. The doctors found a way to block the part of your brain that lets you do the things you do, so you won't be able to blast yourself out of here. You're stuck—and so am I. I'm a prisoner here every bit as much as you are. If I tried to leave, they'd probably kill me."

This time she was positive she saw the eyes flicker. He still wasn't looking at her, but she knew he was listening.

"The best you can do right now is get your strength back. Because you and I both know you're not going to be here forever. Sooner or later you'll find a way out, and when you do, you'll need all the endurance you can muster. You'll never make it if you're weak. So don't be weak. Eat, and make certain you're ready when the opportunity comes. You may not get another chance."

Now the eyes did flicker toward her, coming to rest directly on her face with a glare that could have bored holes in iron. Yvonne braced herself against the side of the bed and forced herself to look directly into that awful gaze without shrinking. She could feel the rage rolling off him in waves; she let it wash over her, reminding herself that she wasn't responsible for his predicament and that she was angry too, for very similar reasons.

"I know you're angry," she said, "and I don't blame you. I'm angry too. I never wanted this to happen. I was powerless to stop it, but I'm not powerless to affect it. And neither are you. I know you're strong enough to feed yourself. If you don't eat voluntarily, do you know what they're going to do? They're going to force a tube down your throat and feed you that way. And I'll have to help. I don't want to do that, but I won't have a choice."

His eyes continued to bore into her as she came to her point.

"Do you have any idea how many people here would love to do that to you? To watch you suffer? Don't give them that satisfaction. Deny them that privilege. Don't give them a reason to hurt you further. You've been through enough. Eat the food, and leave them disappointed that they won't get to force the issue."

Yvonne paused; surely that would get through to someone with a personality like this. But the eyes drifted away, and she couldn't tell if he was considering what she had said or rejecting it. He may need some time to think about it. Hopefully he wouldn't take too much time. She straightened up, cranked the bed into a semi-sitting position, and adjusted the bed table so it would be within range of the straps that held his arms.

"Think about it," she said, noticing the two soldiers' ears prick up now that they could hear her. "But don't take too long. They won't wait much longer."

The alien remained motionless, his head turned away, staring at the wall. Yvonne was about to leave when she remembered she had one more card to play, one more piece of information that might be a powerful motivator.

"Your friend escaped."

Yvonne jumped as the head whipped around and those words, those words with no sound that she'd heard when the other alien escaped pounded inside her head. The words she'd assumed she'd imagined in the heat of the moment, and now realized she hadn't.

<He's gone?>

Behind her, the soldiers were scrambling. "It moved!" one of them shouted.

"What….who?" Yvonne said, confused. What was that? Was that how they talked? They had somehow communicated without words the first night she had seen them; was that what it sounded like? Why could she hear it now, but not then?"

<When?> Yvonne heard the word clearly, but not with her ears. Only seconds prior to that, she couldn't have imagined "hearing" anything without using her ears. The alien's eyes were still fixed on her, his gaze so intense she could imagine it producing heat.

"Four days ago," she whispered. "They never found him."

The door behind her burst open and more soldiers spilled into the room. One of them pulled her backwards while the rest ringed the bed, guns raised.




******************************************************



Proctor residence




Emily looked down, startled, to find Brivari with his eyes wide open, gripping her wrist. Instinctively she tried to pull away, but his grasp was surprisingly strong for one who had appeared unconscious only moments ago.

"God, you scared me!" Emily exclaimed, her heart beating a tattoo inside her chest. "I'm awfully glad to see you awake, but I'm not going anywhere, so you can let me go."

But the hand gripped harder, and her eyes widened in alarm. "Hybrids," Brivari whispered in a raspy voice. "What happened?"

[Kathy W 2200]

CHAPTER TEN


July 18, 1947, 12:15 p.m.

Proctor residence




"What....happened?" Brivari repeated haltingly.

Emily looked down in astonishment at the hand gripping her wrist as she struggled for an appropriate answer to Brivari's question. So much had happened since he had been out of commission that a brief answer was basically impossible. Where would she start? The rival aliens? The rescued sacs? Jaddo's capture? Was he even capable of following such a convoluted train of thought in his present state?

"Hybrids!" Brivari gasped again impatiently.

"Safe," Emily answered, reverting to one word answers for simplicity.

"Jaddo?"

"Captured," Emily said quietly.

The hand fell from her wrist, sank back down on the bed. "We think he's alive," Emily hastened to add. "But your….hybrids are safe. I know that much."

Brivari started to sit up. "Have to....go," he said, pushing himself up with difficulty as Emily watched in alarm. He wasn't in any shape to walk down the hall, never mind wander out into the desert, in this form or any other.

"You can't," Emily said firmly, and was rewarded with an answering glare that made it clear his personality was still very much intact despite his present physical condition. "You're not strong enough," she clarified, wondering for the umpteenth time why she had to wind up with the grumpier aliens on the planet. "You'll never make it."

Brivari ignored her and tried to stand up, with "tried" being the operative word. Emily pushed him back down by the shoulders. "I don't know if you remember this, but you almost got caught after you escaped," she said in stern, parental tones. "Now is not the best time to go blundering about in full view. And don't even think about turning into something else," she added, as she perceived his shoulders beginning to recede, although that might have been her imagination. "If you do that, you'll never have enough energy to get there, never mind get yourself back."

Brivari tried to stand up again; this time he was more successful, although he had to clutch the bedside table for support. Emily shook her head as he walked unsteadily to the window and looked out at the bright summer day. He looked like hell. She knew where he was going, and he'd never make it.

"Okay, I give up," she said in exasperation. "Frankly, I don't think you're well enough to stand up, never mind go anywhere. But we've knocked ourselves out keeping you in one piece, so if you're foolish enough to go anyway, I may as well help. I'll drive you there."

"No," Brivari said at once, in a steadier voice than he had previously used. "No....offense, but this is....not for you."

"No argument there," Emily said tartly, "but if you insist on going right now, you don't have a choice."

"I will go alone," Brivari insisted, his voice taking on an edge.

Emily sighed. "Look, I won't go into the cave with you if you don't want me to. I'll just park at the base and wait. Or if you can't make the climb alone, and I seriously doubt you can, I'll do what I can to help you up and then I'll wait….."

She stopped, her mouth open, her next word dying on her lips as she stared at the expression on Brivari's face. His eyes glittered, his expression feral, as he advanced on her with menace in every shaky step. Even in this condition, he could still intimidate.

"How do you know about that?" he hissed furiously.

Emily backed up, stopping abruptly as she reached the wall. A moment ago, she would have sworn he wasn't strong enough to swat a fly. Now she was seriously reminded of a wild animal who had just discovered some hapless human stumbling into its nest. Could he hurt her? Would he hurt her? After all they'd done for him? For all of them?

"I will ask you one more time," Brivari said in a dangerous voice. "How do you know of the hybrids' hiding place?"

"Jaddo," Emily answered quickly, back pressed against the wall. "He took me there."

A look of puzzlement crossed Brivari's face. "Jaddo took you there?" he echoed.

"Yes, Jaddo," Emily repeated. "And you know him—you know what he's like. If he took me there, he must have had an awfully good reason."

Brivari pondered this for a moment. "Why?" he finally demanded. "Why did he take you there?"

Determined not to look as unnerved as she felt, Emily pushed herself off the wall and took two steps forward to stand directly in front of him. Two steps were all she could take. "A lot has happened since you were captured," she said, keeping her voice steady with effort. "You disappeared seven days ago. You were held prisoner for three days before you escaped, and you've been unconscious for all practical purposes for the past four days. Now, I can stand here and go through the whole story if you like, or I can drive you out to the cave and do the storytelling later. You're the guardian. It's your call."

Brivari stared at her for so long that Emily began to doubt he would speak at all. She forced herself to hold his gaze, determined not to be the one who blinked first. A torrent of emotions was crossing his face: Confusion, anger, fear. She kept her eyes locked on his, watching his feelings roll past like numbers on a carnival wheel, wondering where it would stop.

Finally he spoke. "Take me there.

Emily nodded. "Give me ten minutes."

"No. Now."

"No," Emily replied firmly. "I need a few minutes to make arrangements for someone to look after Dee while I'm gone. I'm her guardian. That's my call."

She saw him turn away in frustration as she walked out of the room, watched him sink into the rocking chair as she rounded the doorway. He was back to looking weak and helpless, all traces of strength gone. Could he really have hurt her, or was that all an act? Emily decided she'd rather not know. If it was an act, it was a damned good one.

Hurrying down the stairs, Emily headed for the phone. Dee was playing at Anthony Evans's house; perhaps Dee could stay there while she was out. Dee would be disappointed later that she missed the trip, but she really didn't want to drag her daughter into all of this again while she was happily engaged in something normal.

Picking up the phone, Emily dialed the Evans's number, tapping her foot impatiently while the phone rang. This would be so much easier if it were Jaddo that were here now. He knew what had happened; he'd brought her to the cave himself. It would take ages to explain to Brivari what she wouldn't have had to explain to Jaddo at all.

Ironic, isn't it? Emily thought, as she waited for someone to answer the phone. Who would have thought the day would come when she was desperately wishing she had Jaddo to deal with instead of Brivari.




******************************************************





Eagle Rock Military Base




Jaddo stared at the human female as soldiers pulled her backwards toward the door to his prison. Her eyes were wide with incomprehension but, to her credit, she wasn't panicking like the rest of them. Humans, Jaddo thought derisively. They were capable of so much, and they accomplished so little. Ordinarily, discovering that he was able to have a semi-private conversation with one of his more sympathetic captors would have been good news. Under the circumstances, however, it meant nothing. It would not change what was coming.

The female was literally pulled from the room as more agitated humans swarmed in, some dressed in uniforms, some in those glaring white coats. The soldiers ringed his bed, pointing their loathsome weapons full of drugs at him, while the white-coated variety, who appeared to fancy themselves some sort of healers, excitedly checked their machines, applied strange instruments to him, and chattered nonstop to each other. Jaddo ignored them. He rolled his head back to face the far wall and resumed his motionless pose. Let them play with their new toy. He would not give them the satisfaction of twitching so much as a finger.

As the humans dithered amongst themselves, Jaddo pondered the information the female had given him. So....Brivari had escaped. David Proctor had been right. The girl's father had argued against Jaddo's rescue attempt, saying that Brivari might escape all by himself, and it appeared he had done just that. So all this was for nothing, Jaddo thought bitterly. I am captive for nothing.

At least now his course of action was clear. Uncertain as to whether or not Brivari remained captive or even lived, Jaddo had wavered over whether or not to attempt to postpone the inevitable. If he were the last remaining Warder, it was his duty to keep himself alive as long as possible. Now that he knew Brivari had successfully freed himself, that question was settled. There was no point in prolonging his agony. He could just let go.

The humans' chatter abruptly stopped as another human male entered the room. Jaddo recognized him—this had been the first face he had seen when he initially awakened. This one was of higher rank, and it showed; he did not get excited and flap about as many of the other idiots did. His gaze was thoughtful. Appraising. Challenging.

Jaddo was careful not to look directly at the higher-ranking human; his Covari peripheral vision enabled him to observe the human quite closely while still appearing to stare fixedly at the wall. The human studied him in total silence for a very long time, causing Jaddo to feel a passing admiration for his level of self control. Most of the humans he had seen here were excitable, high-strung creatures. This one was different.

The human circled him several times, staring at him with that measuring gaze. At one point he knelt down directly in Jaddo's line of vision, and Jaddo carefully fixed his gaze on a hair on the human's head to avoid looking him in the eye. He knew that if he did look the human in the eye, he would lose his own self control, and that would do him no good. Because nothing was working; he could summon no energy to free himself from these restraints. He couldn't burst the glass containers that held that vile medication in the soldiers' guns like he should have been able to, or dim the lights, or use any of his enhancements. Most horrifying of all, he could not shift. He was trapped, in this form, in this room, with these contemptible creatures, and he did not know how.

When he had first awakened and realized his limitations, Jaddo had thought that maybe the humans had obtained one of the five-sided devices that Amar had used during their confrontation. Although he had watched the human soldier destroy the device, that did not mean there weren't more of them. But that device had not prevented him from shifting, and its effects had felt different. Fighting Amar, Jaddo could still feel his power building within him—he just couldn't release it, like water held back by a dam. Now there was no water; no power surged within him, no energy, nothing. It wasn't a case of something unable to break free. There was simply nothing there to begin with.

But no matter. His enhancements were relatively new; a Covari's real weapon was his ability to shapeshift. Power or no power, he could still change his shape to something no restraint could hold, could make himself look like anyone or anything and make his escape. But his cells refused to respond to his attempts to expand or contract them. At first he had written off this failure to exhaustion, but even then, he had known. Even when too tired to shift, he should still be able to feel his cells attempting to obey him. Instead he felt nothing, and realizing what that meant he had panicked, thrashing about like the caged animal he was only to be drugged again, sinking back down into an oblivion that was curiously welcome. Consciousness would be far worse, he was certain.

And it was. Lying here, strapped down, trapped in every imaginable sense of the word, he had his first real taste of how humans existed, and it made him hate them all the more. How did they stand being trapped in one shape? How was it possible that their brains held such enormous potential and they used practically none of it? They were weak, wasteful creatures, like animals with technology they didn't even know existed, much less know how to use. We should never have come here, Jaddo thought bitterly. They aren't worth it.

Jaddo watched from the corner of his eye as the high-ranking human continued to study him. The gun-toting soldiers and white-coated "healers" had been dismissed. They were the only two left in the room.

"So," the human said in a wondering tone. "You responded to our nurse. That's interesting."

Jaddo ignored him, continuing to stare at the wall in the waking trance he had lapsed into over the last few hours as a refuge from the rage boiling inside him.

"We can have her come back, if you like," the human continued.

When Jaddo neither moved nor spoke, the human sighed. "Perhaps we should start over again," he said with exaggerated patience. "I know you can hear me. I know you can understand me. I know you could respond if you wanted to. Your EEG readings—a kind of brain scan—make it clear you're conscious and alert. You're not responding because you choose not to. I can understand that. But eating doesn't require responding; refusing to eat hurts only you. If you don't eat, I'll have to force you to eat. There are those here who would enjoy watching that. If I were you, I wouldn't give them the pleasure."

Curious, Jaddo thought. That was the same argument the female healer had used. It was a valid argument, one that would have resonated with him under normal circumstances....but these were not normal circumstances.

"I'm not one of those who would like to see you suffer," the human continued. "My name is Daniel Pierce, and I'm a doctor, someone who helps people's minds and bodies get well when they've been sick. Those in my profession don't hurt people, and I have no interest in hurting you or watching others do so. I would like to learn about you and your people, and in order to do that, you need to be alive and healthy." He paused, leaning in closer. "I should point out that most others don't share those opinions. I could protect you from a great deal of.......unpleasantness. You would do well to ally yourself with me. "

Unlikely, Jaddo thought acidly, keeping his eyes averted. After a moment the human straightened up and sighed dramatically.

"Very well then. Think it over. And do keep in mind that you will eat, one way or the other. We can do this the easy way or the hard way; if you're as intelligent as I think you are, you'll choose the easy way."

My 'choice' is irrelevant, Jaddo thought as the human left the room, and so is yours. Because he could not shift, and every Covari knew what happened to those who could not shift.

They died.




******************************************************





1 p.m.

Pod chamber




They look dead, Brivari thought, as the door slid shut behind them.

He and Emily Proctor stood in the pod chamber staring at the sacs, all of which had now split into four pods just as Valeris had predicted. They were propped against the far wall, taking advantage of the heat from the Granolith chamber, but just a glance was enough to tell Brivari that hadn't been enough to save some of them. A little over half of the pods were glowing brightly; the rest glowed dimly, or not at all. A few had turned black.

Brivari glanced at the human woman standing next to him. He had been silent on the drive here, trying to recover, trying to consider what extraordinary circumstances could have occurred that would have induced Jaddo, of all people, to bring her here, of all places. "A lot has happened since you were captured," she had said. Indeed. The planet must have all but stopped rotating if Jaddo had seen fit to bring her here.

When they had arrived at the rock formation, the woman had followed him, keeping her distance but following him nonetheless. He knew she was worried he wouldn't be able to handle the climb on his own, and though he never would have admitted it, he had shared that worry. But he had made it, stopping a couple of times to rest, the woman always trailing a discreet distance behind. She had hung back when they had reached the door, showing no surprise whatsoever when he revealed the opening handprint. She had been here before, and knowing Jaddo the way he did, she must have earned the right to be here. So he had beckoned her inside, secretly glad of the company. He knew what he was going to find.

Brivari's heart sank when he saw how many appeared compromised. So many, he thought sadly. We've lost so many. A quick count told him they still had four viable sets, down from six, plus one extra Rath hybrid. The rest would have to be disposed of, a distasteful task that Valeris had always handled. Now that task fell to him. He walked to one end of the row and began rearranging the pods, sorting them by viability. The woman headed for the other end where one set glowed brilliantly, a sight for sore eyes.

"They've all split into fours," she commented as she walked past. "Only some of them had split the last time I was here."

Brivari was silent. The last time he had been here, none of them had split.

"These still look good," she continued, squatting down beside two sets at the opposite end of the row, one brilliantly glowing, the other somewhat less so. "In fact, this one looks better. It wasn't glowing this brightly the night we rescued them."

Brivari stopped. "The night you rescued them?"

"Jaddo made it to our house and collapsed the night you rescued these…the night you were caught," she explained. "Whatever drug they'd given him made him sleep for a long time. He did manage to tell us where they were, though, so Dee and David and I went out and got them. We brought them back to our house until Jaddo was well enough to bring them here."

Brivari resumed his sorting. Not only had Jaddo not made it back to the pod chamber, but he apparently had not been able to find a suitable hiding place for the hybrids. Things must have been bad indeed for him to voluntarily seek the help of humans. And he'd noticed something else—the door to the Granolith chamber had been hidden by a wall, smoothed over as though the door had never existed in the first place. The handprint lock on this chamber would accept only the genetic codes of the Warders and the Royal Four; why would Jaddo feel the need to further hide something already so well hidden?

"So," Brivari said gravely, as he pulled one of the blackened pods in front of him. "It seems we are in your debt once again, Emily Proctor." He ran a glowing hand down the length of the blackened pod, the human woman recoiling as black, viscous fluid spilled onto the floor carrying with it a tiny, curled figure no bigger than his human hand and obviously dead. A Vilandra hybrid.

The woman stooped to examine it, carefully avoiding the swirling pool of blackened gestational fluid snaking across the floor. "Poor thing," she whispered.

"Spare your pity. It is her fault we are here at all."

"Whatever she did, it looks like she paid for it," the woman commented.

"We have all paid for it," Brivari said bitterly. "Her family. Her entire world. And you," he added pointedly.

He readied another pod for disposal, and as he did so, the Vilandra hybrid collapsed into a thin layer of dust that floated on top of the black lake of fluid for just moments before dissolving into it.

"Dust," the woman said wonderingly. "Dee said it was dust, not ashes, but I didn't understand." As she spoke Brivari slit open another pod. More black fluid gushed out, along with another hybrid which collapsed like the first.

"Is this what happens to all of them when they die?" she asked, watching closely.

"They were engineered that way," Brivari explained shortly, reaching for another almost dead pod, "so no one can study them."

"But this happened to your people too when they died. Does that mean you were… 'engineered' that way?"

Brivari ignored her. There was no need for her to know the answer to that question. That was always the problem with spilling some of your secrets. Those you spilled to always wanted to know more, often more than you were willing to tell. Jaddo knew this, which made his willingness to share privileged information all the more inexplicable.

"There's more to it than just rescuing the pods, isn't there?" Brivari said, as he slit another one open. "Something else went wrong, something that would make Jaddo willing to bring you here." He looked up at her as another dead hybrid spilled onto the floor. "What happened?"

"A lot," she answered quietly. "An awful lot. I….." She broke off suddenly, staring to her left.

"What's wrong?"

The woman knelt in front of one of the pods she had rescued with a look of concern on her face. "What is that?" she asked.

Glancing in her direction, Brivari said, "What is what?"

The woman was still staring. "Its head was glowing. Is that supposed to happen?"

Brivari looked up sharply. Abandoning the dead pod he had been opening, he hurried over to where the woman crouched beside….Oh, God. It was a Zan hybrid.

"What did you see?" he demanded, kneeling beside her.

"Little glittery specks of light," the woman answered, unfazed by his abruptness. She was probably used to it by now.

"Are you sure you weren't just looking at the gestational fluid glowing?"

" 'Gestational fluid'?" the woman repeated. "Is that the goo they're floating in?" She shook her head. "That's not what I saw. This was something on the baby itself."

"Where on the fetus?"

"On its head," she said pointing to the hybrid's tiny head. "There were little dots that flashed on and off. They're gone now."

His breath catching in his throat, Brivari caught the fetus floating in the pod between two hands and studied it. There was nothing there now. Nothing at all.

"Are you sure you saw this?" Brivari asked in a husky voice.

The woman nodded. "I'm sure. Is....something wrong?"

"No," Brivari whispered. "If you truly saw what you think you saw, then everything is right." As he spoke, the Zan hybrid squirmed unhappily in his grip.

"He doesn't like you holding him like that," the woman commented.

"He never did," Brivari said, releasing the fetus which seemed to wrench itself imperiously from his grasp.

Brivari returned to work on the dead pod with a heavy heart. He had let himself hope….he shouldn't do that. It was just that he so badly wanted a sign that things would work out right, that all this anguish wasn't for nothing.

"You know," the woman said slowly behind him, "if you really mean to bring them back and restore what was lost…you're going to have to forgive them first."

Brivari glanced at her briefly before resuming his task.

"I can't."

[Kathy W 2200]

CHAPTER ELEVEN


July 18, 1947, 1 p.m.

Chaves County Sheriff's Station




"Come in," George Wilcox called, as a knock sounded on his door.

George eyed the man who entered warily. He wasn't looking forward to this. He'd had the report on his desk for two days now, and the conclusion he had reached was disturbing. "Deputy Valenti, have a seat," George said, indicating the chair in front of his desk.

Valenti obediently sat down, his expression neutral.

"I understand you've been a big help around here," George began, using the age-old method of beginning with the positive. "I really appreciate that. It's a big difference from your attitude the last time I saw you."

"May I say something, sir, before we go any further?" Valenti asked suddenly.

"Go ahead."

"I just wanted to apologize for my former behavior, sir," Valenti said, with what sounded like total sincerity. "I was absolutely out of line to come in here and accuse you of covering up….anything. I was just caught up in the madness that was going around, and I got carried away. I was overreacting—I see that now. It won't happen again."

That's not the only thing that hadn't better happen again, George thought darkly. He'd had a long conversation with David Proctor about Valenti's antics. George had wanted to nail Valenti to the wall, but David had begged him not to. "If you go after him, you'll have to say why," David had argued. "Don't call attention to us. Even if people think Valenti's some crackpot, word could get back to the wrong people."

"If he keeps this up, word could still get back to the wrong people," George had protested. "You're not safe either way."

"I'm safer if we don't make a big deal out of it," David had insisted. "And besides, I have a hard time faulting the guy for pursuing the truth. He's right."

"I know he's right," George had said soberly. "That's precisely what makes him so dangerous."

Now George studied Valenti, sitting there in front of him looking so eagerly contrite. Had he really given up, or had he just figured out that it didn't pay to voice his suspicions?

"Apology accepted," George said pleasantly. "I'm glad to see you've calmed down. At least I think you've calmed down," he added, tossing a folder across his desk. "After reading this, I'm not so sure."

Valenti glanced at the folder. "What's that?"

" 'That' is your report of the prowler incident from the night of the thirteenth," George said. "And this..."—he indicated a stapled sheaf of papers inside the folder—"...is the testimony of one Reverend Robert O'Neill, pastor of St. Bridgit's church." George folded his arms across his chest, studying Valenti closely. "I have a few questions."

"Of course, sir," Valenti replied smoothly, his hands tightening on the arms of his chair.

"According to this, it all started with a report from the Amos family about an alien under their shed."

"It was the kid who thought there was an alien under the shed," Valenti clarified. "Turned out the mother—she's the one who made the report—never saw what it was."

"Uh huh. So you didn't find anything at the Amos's house, but subsequent calls from other addresses sent you tracking this 'prowler'. Is that right?"

Valenti nodded, his face impassive.

"And then you tracked the prowler to Corona." Another nod. "And you thought he went into St. Bridgit's." Another nod. "So of course you pulled your gun on the pastor."

"An error, sir," Valenti said quickly—a little too quickly. "I thought the pastor was the prowler."

"I see," George said. "And when the pastor opened the front door of the church—a dead giveaway right there, Deputy, if I do say so myself, because prowlers aren't given to opening the front doors of anything—you proceeded to demand that this man wearing a Roman collar identify himself. At gunpoint."

Valenti swallowed "I…I'm not familiar with Corona residents. I've never met Father O'Neill."

"Of course," George said evenly. "So after he…. 'introduced' himself, you then demanded to know who started the Protestant reformation."

Silence.

"And accused him of not being who he said he was."

More silence.

"And announced that your 'prowler' may have disguised himself, though you say in the report you never actually saw him, and therefore couldn't know a disguise from his true appearance."

"I thought he went into the church," Valenti said finally.

"That explains why you went to the church in the first place. What it doesn't explain is why you continued to hold your weapon on a Catholic priest and insist he might not be who he said he was."

"I guess I got a little carried away," Valenti said, his fingers beginning to drum on the armrest of the chair.

" A 'little' carried away?" George queried, eyebrows raised.

"Okay, more than a little carried away," Valenti allowed. "Look, it was my first night here. I didn't want to drop the ball. I wanted to do a good job."

"Okay....so you got carried away and overreacted. Where have I heard that before?"

'This was different," Valenti insisted defensively. "We had actual reports I was responding to. That's my job, isn't it? To protect the people?"

"Let me ask you something, Deputy," George said, leaning forward on his desk. "Did this 'prowler' of yours hurt anyone?"

Valenti hesitated. "No, sir."

"Threaten anyone?"

"No, sir."

"Damage any property?"

"No, sir." Irritation was creeping into Valenti's voice.

"Then I suggest you proceed a bit less aggressively in the future," George said pointedly. "The people in this county are riled enough as it is. They don't need you out there waving guns at them for no good reason."

"Just because it wasn't violent to start with doesn't mean it won't turn violent," Valenti said flatly.

" 'It'?"

" 'He'. I meant 'he'," Valenti corrected.

He knows, George thought. Valenti had known exactly what he was chasing. And somehow he'd figured out the aliens could change their shapes; that was the only plausible explanation for him questioning the priest's identity. Ordinarily George would be impressed with such investigative skills; at the moment, however, they were a pain in the ass.

"Thinking ahead is a fine skill, Deputy. But that doesn't give you the right to terrorize a priest because you think someone who knocked over a few garbage cans might be hiding in his church."

A flicker of annoyance flashed in Valenti's eyes, dying as quickly as it had flared. "I'll apologize to Father O'Neill," he said, once again sounding absolutely sincere. "It won't happen again."

"That makes the second time you've assured me of that in the past ten minutes," George noted. "I hope I can believe both assurances."

The two men stared at each other a moment before George pushed the report across the desk. "I'm sure Father O'Neill would appreciate an apology. You can file this away. Dismissed."

"Thank you, sir." Valenti took the report and stood up.

"I take it you didn't catch your potentially violent prowler?" George asked as Valenti headed for the door.

"No, sir. The trail ended at St. Bridgit's. But don't you worry," Valenti added, pausing in the open doorway, his tone every bit as sincere as it had been a moment ago. "Whoever he is, he'll try it again. And when he does, I'll be here. I'm a patient man. I'll get him. You can count on that." Smiling pleasantly, he walked out, closing the door behind him.

George sank back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. Shit. As if it wasn't bad enough to have an alien lose in his county, now he had an alien hunter to go with it.

Just what he needed. A matched set.



******************************************************



17:00 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base





Lieutenant Spade knocked on Major Cavitt's door, glancing down at the folder in his hand. He'd taken his sweet time gathering the information it contained, giving himself plenty of leeway to doctor the results if necessary. In the end, it hadn't been. The evidence was in there, but it was so mixed up with other garbage that it was difficult to find.

"Come in," came the answer to his knock. Spade entered and saluted. "Report," Cavitt ordered.

"I have the reports from the sheriffs' departments, sir," Spade answered.

"It's about time. The prisoner escaped five days ago. What the hell took so long?"

"Well, sir, everybody and their mother claims to have seen an alien," Spade replied. "Sifting through all this while maintaining a low profile took some time." He paused as Cavitt gave him a flinty look. "We certainly didn't want to alert the media again after the incident with William Brazel, sir."

Cavitt scowled as he took the folder Spade offered him and leafed through it; the subject of William Brazel was still a sore one. Spade knew the Army couldn't afford to set off any more alarms, especially after the riot induced by the Army's treatment of Brazel. Public reaction to the men Cavitt had assigned to make certain Brazel kept his mouth shut, along with articles in the newspaper and mentions on the radio, had put the Army in a dicey position.

"There must be hundreds of calls in here," Cavitt said in disbelief as he shuffled through the papers.

"Yes, sir. This is what the Roswell and Chaves County Sheriffs have to put up with right now."

"Did you follow up on them?"

"Yes, sir. Every one."

"And?"

"Most everyone claims to have seen an alien with a big head and slanted black eyes. Most of those were probably attention seekers or just plain scared."

"But some might be true," Cavitt objected.

"Unfortunately, there's no way to tell the difference, sir."

Cavitt dropped the folder on his desk with a sigh. "What about the night it escaped? That would be the most likely time for anyone to have seen it."

"There were several reports of prowlers that night in Chaves County, sir," Spade replied, "and one report of an alien hiding under a shed. Turned out it was the five year-old in the family who thought it was an alien. Adults didn't see a thing."

"What about the other reports?"

"No one saw anything specific. Deputies investigated, but didn't find anything."

Spade held his breath while Cavitt examined the entries for the night of the thirteenth, running his index finger slowly down the list. Don't see it, he prayed silently, hands clasped behind his back, fingers tapping in silent impatience. Nothing to see there. Just move on by.

No such luck. "What's this? Someone reported a 'deformed child' in their back yard rooting through garbage bins only hours after the escape."

Shit. "Yes, sir. That call is representative of calls coming in from all over the county ever since the discovery. It was investigated, and nothing was found."

"But this call was one of a series of calls that night, all reporting prowlers or disturbances of some sort," Cavitt pointed out. "You can't just look at individual calls, Lieutenant. You have to look for patterns, look at the bigger picture."

"Yes, sir."

Spade fidgeted as Cavitt pulled out a map of the area and began marking the addresses of the various prowler calls, numbering them in the order in which the calls came in. "They stop here," he murmured, hunched over the map, his finger moving from point to point along the same trajectory as Spade's had yesterday when he'd been researching the "bigger picture". "And the nearest town is Corona." His finger tapped on the map. "William Brazel lives in Corona."

He's not the only one, Spade thought silently. He hadn't investigated for fear of someone questioning his curiosity, but he was willing to bet someone else lived in or around Corona: A family with a father who was a former Army Captain, a mother bold as brass, and a daughter with more guts than half the soldiers on this base. "You think he has something to do with this?" Spade asked out loud.

"It survived, Lieutenant," Cavitt said with grim certainty. "Others think it died and turned to dust behind some rock, but I have a hunch it didn't. And if my hunch is correct, it not only survived, but got some poor sap to help it, someone who has no idea what they're helping. We'd best keep an eye out for dead bodies."

Takes one to know one, Spade thought sourly, thinking of the fake handprints on West's and Belmont's bodies.

"At the moment, Brazel is the likeliest suspect," Cavitt continued. "Choose men from the main base and put a tail on him."

"With all due respect, sir," Spade said carefully, "is that wise? We can't afford any more bad press."

"Don't restrict his movements," Cavitt directed. "Put the men in civilian clothes, and just watch him. From a distance. Soldiers have always frequented the towns around the base; as long as they're discreet, they shouldn't arouse suspicion."

"Yes, sir. Will that be all, sir?"

"No." Cavitt leaned back in his chair, pushing the map aside. "We need to beef up security. From now on I want two guards on both sides of all doors, with the exception of the exterior doors. Guards posted outside the compound would arouse too much curiosity. I want everyone to pass through two sets of completely different guards on their way upstairs or downstairs. Also, the list of security questions must be expanded; tell everyone to be sure of their knowledge of their extended families as well as their immediate families."

"Yes, sir," Spade answered. "You think it will come back here?"

"I'm sure of it," Cavitt said darkly. "We hold one of its own, and if history is any teacher, it will return to free it. And when it does return it will be able to look like anyone, so our job is to make its job as difficult as possible."

"So we can recapture it," Spade said.

"Or kill it," Cavitt answered shortly. "Don't look at me that way, Lieutenant," he added when he saw the expression on Spade's face. "Come hell or high water, I'm not letting the other one escape. I'll kill it myself if I have to. A dead alien in the hand is better than a live alien on the loose."

"Yes, sir," Spade said tightly.

"One more thing," Cavitt said. "From now on, all personnel save for certain exceptions are restricted to the compound."

Spade's eyes widened. "You're putting us on lockdown?"

"I said 'restricted'," Cavitt clarified. "We'll still be receiving select visitors who want to see what we've caught."

Thank God, Spade thought, breathing a mental sigh of relief. Lockdowns were murder. During a lockdown, no one could leave or enter the designated area, which usually resulted in everyone climbing the walls in short order.

"How long will the men be restricted to the base, sir?"

"I didn't say they were restricted to the base," Cavitt answered. "I said they were restricted to the compound."

Spade felt his throat go dry. "The.....compound, sir?"

Cavitt sighed impatiently. "Is there something wrong with your hearing today, Lieutenant? Yes, the compound. As in this building, and the two floors it contains. No one assigned to this facility is to leave without prior authorization."

"But....." Spade paused, thinking of the compound's one meager recreation room versus all the amenities available on the rest of the base.

"But what?" Cavitt demanded.

Spade hesitated for just a moment before taking the plunge. "Permission to speak freely, sir."

Cavitt waited so long to nod that by the time he finally did, Spade was convinced such permission would not be forthcoming and had resolved to speak anyway. He may be new to the officer bit, but he knew very well that his men and their wellbeing were his responsibility. This type of restriction was going to make a difficult assignment ten times more difficult.

"I understand why you want restrictions, sir," Spade began, hoping to mollify Cavitt by agreeing with him at least in part. "But can't we just restrict them to the base? This level of restriction is essentially a lockdown, and....."

"......and they can look like anyone, Lieutenant," Cavitt broke in, his eyes hard. "Anyone. You know that as well as I, perhaps better. I shouldn't need to explain to you how important it is that this facility not be compromised, or how easily it could be now that one of those things is free. I wish to remove as many such opportunities as possible."

"But if visitors are still coming in......"

"They will be carefully screened," Cavitt said dismissively. "Besides, they don't make good targets for infiltration. They're not as available as the personnel assigned here, and their presence at an unexpected time would draw instant notice."

A knock sounded at the door. "Come in, Harriet," Cavitt called. The door opened a crack, and Harriet's head poked through. "Just a reminder, sir, Colonel Blanchard is waiting for you in the second floor conference room at the base."

"Thank you, Harriet," Cavitt said, as she disappeared. "Dismissed," he added to Spade, who couldn't believe his ears.

"But sir....I don't understand. I thought you just said everyone assigned here was restricted to the compound."

"Good Lord, Lieutenant," Cavitt said irritably, rising from his chair and plopping his briefcase on the desk. "That doesn't include me."

Spade felt his temperature rising. "Why doesn't it include you, sir?" he demanded, as Cavitt's eyebrows rose. "You could be compromised just as easily as any of the rest of us."

"I disagree," Cavitt said, stuffing papers in his briefcase. "I am much too high profile to be valuable to an alien invader. They are far more likely to choose a less conspicuous target. Besides," he continued, apparently unaware that Spade was reaching a boiling point, "it would be impractical to keep one hundred percent of assigned personnel in the compound. Major Pierce and I meet with dozens of dignitaries on a regular basis, not all of whom have clearance to actually enter this facility. You will need to leave to muster a surveillance detail for William Brazel. Exceptions will need to be made. The point is to reduce the number of potential targets to as close to zero as possible. That, plus our other security measures, will lower the risk of infiltration enormously."

He's right, Spade thought reluctantly. Much as it killed him to admit it, Cavitt was right. The fewer people they had coming in and out, the harder it would be for an alien to get in there. Harder—but not impossible. In the meantime, Cavitt would come and go as he pleased while everyone else was locked up like rats in a cage. The resulting impact on morale didn't seem to be on Cavitt's mind.

"Sir, since I know they'll be asking, may I give the men some idea of how long they'll be restricted to this tiny area with practically nothing to do while you come and go as you please?"

Cavitt's eyes flicked up as he slammed his briefcase closed, Spade's sarcasm hanging in the air like fog. Picking up his briefcase, he walked around the desk until he stood face to face with Spade.

"You may tell your men, Lieutenant, that they will be restricted to this compound until such a time as the escaped alien is either found or killed. Until then, they will do their duty, and they will do it cheerfully, as befits soldiers in the United States Army."

"With all due respect, sir, the other alien may never be found!" Spade protested. "If it died out there somewhere, we may never know if......."

"We will cross that bridge if and when we come to it," Cavitt interrupted. "Until then, my orders stand.....and just in case anyone should get any bright ideas, General Ramey has already cleared them. Dismissed."

"But...."

"I said dismissed, Lieutenant," Cavitt said coldly. "I seem to be repeating myself a great deal today. Perhaps you really should have your hearing checked."

Cavitt swept past Spade, leaving the door open as he left. Spade saw Harriet shoot him a sympathetic glance, and she made no move to shoo him out as he sank down on the edge of the desk, letting out a long, slow breath.

How does this keep happening? Spade thought wearily. Every time he tried to make things better, he wound up making them worse. He'd tried to keep the second alien from getting captured, and failed. He'd managed to free the first one, but that very freedom now meant that everyone here was as much a prisoner as the alien they still held.

No matter the species, it seemed that Stephen Spade was virtually everyone's bad luck charm.




******************************************************




2330 hours




Private Walker leaned back in his chair and looked at the clock on the observation room wall for the fifth time in the past fifteen minutes. Only 2330, 11:30 p.m. civilian time. "Normal people" time, they liked to call it. He still had a half hour to go. A half hour of babysitting that thing down in the room below, a half hour of watching it lie there while a parade of concerned people marched in and out, trying to get it to eat, to talk, to do something. General Ramey was due in two days, and everyone wanted it tap dancing by then.

The door opened behind him, and Walker swiveled in his chair to find his replacement, Private Lomonaco, arriving early. "What are you doing here?" Walker asked. "You're not due till 2400."

"I woke up early. Thought you might be bored. Are you?" he added, sitting down next to Walker.

Walker snorted. "Hell, yes! But this duty is better than guarding the doors," he added, indicating the room below. "This way I get to watch everyone making jackasses out of themselves."

Lomonaco leaned toward the window and gazed down at the motionless figure strapped to the bed below. "Is it awake?"

"Yeah, it's awake," Walker said. "Just wants us to think it isn't."

"Has it said anything?"

Walker shook his head. "Nope. Not a word. Won't eat, either. Doesn't even move." He stuck a toothpick in his mouth which bobbed up and down when he talked. "Well, that ain't true. It did move once today, when that pretty nurse went in and tried to talk it into eating. Whipped its head around mighty fast to get a look at that cake," he said, grinning. "Guess it's got some taste. Hey—know what I was thinking?"

Lomonaco was still staring at the alien. "Fortunately, no."

Walker laughed and punched Lomonaco's arm. "I was thinking…what if they came here to breed with us?"

"Breed with you?"

"Well, not me," Walker qualified. "I mean our women. Maybe that's why it moved for the first time when the nurse went in. Maybe it knows a good thing when it sees it." Walker wiggled his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

"If it's alien, how could it possibly breed with our women?"

Walker leaned in toward Lomonaco and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Word is it has the right parts. A pecker and both balls. That's what I heard."

Lomonaco considered this for a moment, then leaned his own head toward Walker. "Do you know what I think?"

"No. What?" Walker said eagerly.

"I think we shouldn't jump to conclusions about our women," Lomonaco said quietly. "Maybe they don't have different genders on their planet. So if they came here to breed with us, maybe they'd try to breed with anyone….even you."

Walker's eyes grew round. "Man!" he breathed. "Do you really think it would try to…." He stopped, horrified. "Oh, man! That's just gross!"

"I agree," Lomonaco said seriously. "The thought of anyone wanting to reproduce with you defies comprehension."

Walker's mouth hung open for just a moment, the toothpick dangling precariously, before he burst out laughing. "You had me going there!" he chortled. "When'd you get to be so funny?"

"You inspire me," Lomonaco deadpanned.

"Well, thank you. Thank you very much," Walker grinned. "Hey—I had another thought, about why that thing isn't talking. Wanna hear it?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Walker grinned. "Nope. I was thinking—what if it's not talking because it can't? Maybe it's too stupid to know how to talk. Hell, maybe it's too stupid to know how to feed itself! Maybe it's like…oh, I don't know, like a pet, or a zoo animal. Yeah!" Walker continued, warming to his subject. "Maybe it's like a dog or something! And here we are, begging it to eat, and talk, and assuming its smarter than we are, and it ain't. What'dya think? Wouldn't that be amazing?"

Lomonaco looked back toward the window. "I think it's amazing that you think at all."

Walker burst out laughing again. "Man, you're killing me tonight!".

"Don't tempt me."

" 'Don't tempt me'," Walker mimicked, still laughing. "God, I never knew you were so funny!"

"You know very little about me, I suspect," Lomonaco observed. "Now—since I'm here, why don't you take advantage of the chance to leave early."

"Right," Walker said, rising from his chair still grinning. "I appreciate it, man. It's dead boring in here, what with that thing laying there like a slug."

"Perhaps it doesn't realize its purpose in life is to amuse you."

Lomonaco successfully ducked yet another punch on the arm as Walker laughed again. "Man, you are killing me!" He picked up his weapon, still chuckling. "Be seeing you."

"Remember," Lomonaco warned. "I don't want to get in trouble for this, so I'm not officially here now. If they ask me later, I'll deny it."

"No problemo," Walker said. He made a zipping motion across his lips. "I'll head straight for my quarters, and I won't tell a soul. My lips are sealed."

"I doubt I'm that lucky."

Walker doubled over again, clapping Lomonaco on the back so hard that the wheeled chair in which he was seated lurched a few inches to one side.

"Well, I'm off," Walker said, as Lomonaco righted his chair. "Have fun babysitting. And remember," he added in a stern voice. "No funny stuff between you two. I don't care what it turns into."

Laughing at his own joke, Walker headed out the door. Lomonaco watched him leave, watched the door swing shut behind him. "Idiot," he breathed. Rising from his seat, he looked down on the motionless figure in the room below.

<Jaddo. Wake up.>

Below, Jaddo stirred, his eyes sweeping the room for the source of the telepathic voice, ultimately coming to rest on the observation room window. His face twisted.

<What are you doing here?>

[Kathy W 2200]

CHAPTER TWELVE



July 18, 1947, 2340 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




Jaddo glared at the figure visible in the window of the observation room. The infrared signature surrounding it gave away the fact that it was Covari, not human, and the voice gave away its identity.

<Are you pleased with this outcome, Brivari?> Jaddo said, his voice laced with bitterness. <You considered me a traitor, so perhaps you find this fitting.>

<What are you talking about?> Brivari snapped. <You sound every bit as idiotic as that human who just left.>

<Why didn't you tell me about the others?> Jaddo demanded.

<Because I thought you might be working with them.>

<And what exactly gave you that bright idea?>

<The signal from the transponder you planted on our ship was what gave away our position, Jaddo. I had every reason to suspect you.>

<I had no idea they were even here!> Jaddo shouted, struggling against the straps that held him. <When did you know they were here?>

<We do not have time for this,> Brivari said impatiently. <In a few minutes, the human who owns this form will arrive, and….>

<Make time!> Jaddo roared. <It's because of them I am here in the first place! I may not have succeeded in rescuing you that night, but I would not have been caught were it not for the rogues! When did you know they were here?>

Brivari gave an irritated sigh. <I suspected ever since Urza accused you of following him to that human festival when we both knew none of us had. Then the child told me two of our people had been to her house, posing as humans and looking for the ship fragments.>

<And by what stroke of genius did you not see fit to involve the rest of us at that point? If I had known, I wouldn't be here now!>

<You wouldn't be here now if you hadn't planted the transponder in the first place,> Brivari pointed out. <You also wouldn't be here if you hadn't stupidly activated a communicator that led them right to you.>

<I didn't know!> Jaddo erupted. <If you had told me, I would never have….>

<I did tell you!> Brivari retorted. <I ordered communication silence! Did it not occur to you that I might have had a valid reason for doing so?>

<I had no idea if you had a genuine reason or if you were merely being paranoid.>

<And now do you think I had a good reason?>

Jaddo was silent, seething. Brivari waited a moment before asking the question Jaddo knew was coming.

<Who were you trying to contact?>

<Home. Other Covari. Anyone. We needed help, Brivari! You were captured, possibly dead, the others were dead, I was going in after you—it was all falling apart. And don't go on about the risk of contacting someone loyal to Khivar. Considering all that had gone wrong, it was a risk we had to take…a risk I had to take. I had no idea my transmission stood any chance of being intercepted, and you have no one to blame for that but yourself.>

<Look,> Brivari said impatiently, <we can sit here and debate the merits of our respective actions, a useless activity in my opinion, or we can work on getting you out of here. How many other Covari are we dealing with?>

Jaddo looked away, lapsing into sullen silence. He'd made mistakes, but he certainly wasn't the only one. And of course Brivari didn't want to discuss his own shortcomings. Much as he hated to admit it, however, Brivari was right. There would be plenty of time for recrimination after he was free.

<You tell me how many there are,> Jaddo muttered. <You're the one who knows so much.>

<Five supposedly died on that expedition, but I don't know how many actually died, how many defected, or how many are left. Now, how many Covari did you encounter?>

<There are two that I know of,> Jaddo replied, glaring at him. <One of them approached me at the child's house.>

<Was that Malik?>

<Yes,> Jaddo sighed. <He approached me here later that day and advised me against trying to rescue you. Would that I had listened.>

<And the other?>

<He called himself 'Amar'.>



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Brivari muttered a mental expletive, his human hands tightening their grip on the windowsill. The rogues would have used every resource they had. If Jaddo had seen only two, that meant only two remained. To have Amar be one of those two survivors was yet another bitter blow to add to an ever growing list.

<Friend of yours?> Jaddo asked sarcastically.

<Hardly,> Brivari said darkly. <He suffers from a quick temper, poor judgment, and a persecution complex, a bad combination under any circumstances. The only reason we kept him on the science team was his technical skill.>

Jaddo snorted. <That would explain his ranting against Zan. And he was false—he took your form to deceive me. And his 'technical skill' has been put to use in ways you couldn't imagine.>

<What do you mean?> Brivari asked sharply.

Jaddo fixed Brivari with a penetrating stare. <He has a device which blocks our new abilities, a device developed with Argilian resources. He and Malik are working for Khivar.>

Brivari was silent for a moment. <I am not surprised,> he said after a moment. <The Argilians knew of our plans for the project. It would make sense that they would seek to nullify it, or bend it to their own uses. And Covari would be useful to them in achieving those goals; we can function here, and they cannot.>

<Exactly what your little friend said.>

<He is not my 'friend', little or otherwise,> Brivari said shortly. <Where is this device?>

<Destroyed,> Jaddo said, <by one of the human soldiers. But not soon enough for me.>

<Stop feeling sorry for yourself,> Brivari said impatiently. <I'm going to get you out of here. Are you injured?>

<Worse. I'm powerless.>

<What do you mean, 'powerless'? I thought you said the device was destroyed?>

<It was. Something else is causing this.>

Brivari felt his heart sinking. He had expected Jaddo to be compromised, but not this compromised. This made a difficult task ten times more difficult.

<The others could be nearby,> he said, trying to reason this out. <If they made one of these devices, they could make more.>

Jaddo shook his head. <This is different. It feels different. Before, I could summon energy—I just couldn't release it. Now I can't even summon it. And there's more.>

More? What else could be wrong? <What?> Brivari asked, dreading the answer.

<I can't shift.>

Brivari stared through the window, stunned. <Are you sure?>

<Quite sure,> Jaddo answered grimly. <How could I possibly be wrong about something like that?>

Brivari's throat had gone dry. A Covari who couldn't shift was helpless in the worst possible way. It happened sometimes to the old or the ill. It was one of their biggest fears.

<Perhaps you're just tired,> Brivari said hopefully. <The human soldier said you were refusing to eat. Perhaps you just need to…>

<I can't shift!> Jaddo shouted, his telepathic words exploding in Brivari's mind. <Do you hear me? I am trapped, trapped in this form, trapped in this place! Helpless! No better….>

<Stop it!> Brivari said firmly.

<….than those pathetic, puny humans who somehow managed to put me in this condition to begin with! Do you….>

<Stop it!> Brivari ordered.

<….have any idea what this means? Do you have any idea what it feels like to be strapped down and poked at like….>

<SILENCE!>

Jaddo fell silent, chest heaving, eyes blazing, a study in fury. Brivari waited a moment, his mind racing as to what this did mean. With Jaddo deprived of his abilities, it would be much more difficult to free him; his being deprived of shifting too made it next to impossible. And then there was the question of how this had happened in the first place, and how he was going to hold Jaddo together until it could be undone.

<I know this is difficult for you,> Brivari began, trying to keep his own panic out of his voice, <but what is happening to you now is little different from the way life was before Riall's reign. You don't remember that—I do. I survived it, and so will you. Perhaps now you can understand why I take the fall of our world so 'personally', as you put it. I know what will happen to us now that Khivar is in control.>

<This is different,> Jaddo argued. <You were not prevented from shifting. You were not trapped like this!>

<Do not presume,> Brivari hissed, <to lecture me about being trapped. In the past, the best most of us could hope for was to be mercenaries for hire, and the usual fate for many was medical experimentation. We were difficult to capture, but there were always other Covari willing to undertake that task in exchange for immunity from the experiments. And once captured, the only way to subdue us and still leave us conscious was to starve us. They could not prevent us from shifting, but they could make us pay for it.>

Jaddo looked away, still breathing hard, but silent.

<Now, you can lie there and feel sorry for yourself, or you can help me figure this out. Did Amar's device prevent you from shifting?>

<No,> Jaddo answered sullenly.

<Then this is something that happened afterwards. Were you injured here? Did they perform surgery on you?>

<How should I know?> Jaddo replied irritably. <I only regained consciousness a short while ago. I have no idea what transpired while I was unconscious.>

<What about your hearing? Vision? Strength? Are you compromised in any other way?>

<No,> Jaddo said. <I could easily break these straps, but the last time I did so I was promptly sedated again. Although at this point, that might be preferable.>

<Drop the pity, and think!> Brivari ordered. <What have you learned about the chain of command here? Who should I follow? Is anyone sympathetic?>

Jaddo sighed. <The female healer is here, the one who helped Urza. She was in here earlier, trying to convince me to eat.>

<You need every bit of strength you can muster if you want to get out of here. Why would you refuse food?>

<Because it pains them,> Jaddo answered, a note of satisfaction creeping into his voice, <and because it pleases me to see them pained. And why shouldn't I enjoy myself one last time? You know perfectly well what happens to us when we can no longer shift.>

<This is different,> Brivari insisted. <Covari who can't shift usually emerge defective or don't survive their first shift. Or they're old, or ill. That's not what's happening here.>

<You don't know what's happening here,> Jaddo retorted.

<Which is precisely why you shouldn't be giving up so easily!> Brivari shot back.

<Why would I wish to prolong this delightful existence one minute longer than necessary? We all know that not shifting means death!>

Brivari stepped so close to the window that his human nose was almost touching it, desperately wishing he could go down there and shake some sense into Jaddo. <What I know,> he said in a menacing tone, <is that your primary duty is to your Ward and your world. You have a duty, especially in the present circumstances, to keep yourself alive as long as possible, regardless of what you think might happen to you, regardless of your desire to spite your captors. Depriving us of food was one of the ways used to control us in the past, to weaken us, to subdue us. I will not have you voluntarily starve yourself, Jaddo. If I have to, I will shove food into you myself! And trust me, you do not want that to happen!>

Brivari stopped abruptly as the door to the observation room opened behind him.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Private Lomonaco climbed the stairs and stood staring at the soldier silhouetted in the window, facing away. "Walker?" Lomonaco said tentatively.

The soldier turned around. "It is you," Lomonaco said with a sheepish grin. "For a minute there, you looked like someone else.

"Who?" Walker asked.

"I dunno. Just not like yourself. I guess I'm just creeped out, what with those things, n'all," Lomonaco said. "You know they say they can look like any of us? Can you imagine?"

"So maybe I'm not really Walker," Walker said. "Maybe I'm really a space alien who just looks like Walker."

Lomonaco stared for a moment. Then Walker smiled, and Lomonaco collapsed in laughter. "You had me going there for a minute!" he chuckled. "You really did!"

"What gave it away?"

"Well, if you really were a space alien, you wouldn't go around admitting it, now would you? Go on, git outa here," Lomonaco said amiably. "My turn to babysit."

Walker left, and Lomonaco settled into a chair, glancing out the window toward the room below as he did so. "Damned monster," he muttered. "I hope they let it starve."




******************************************************




July 19, 1947, 0015 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




Yvonne White turned over in bed for what must be the fiftieth time in the past hour. Then flipped again, for the fifty-first time. Then gave up. When one reached a point where one was counting the number of times one tossed and turned, it was time to throw in the towel.

Climbing out of bed, Yvonne trudged toward her bathroom, her bare feet silent on the tile floor. She was still agitated from her debriefing with Major Cavitt and Dr. Pierce, even though that had taken place hours before. It had been a grueling fifty-five minutes, and she was still seething. Pierce had been intrigued by the alien's response, but Cavitt had been furious that she'd revealed the other alien's escape; apparently he'd been planning to use threats to torture the escaped alien as an incentive for the one they still had. Her admission had foiled that, and frankly, she was glad.

Flipping on the bathroom light, she bent over the sink, splashing water on her face. She was exhausted, but she couldn't sleep. She really couldn't afford to keep getting all worked up like this. Given the circumstances, she was bound to find plenty of things she violently disagreed with. If she allowed herself to become enraged every single time, she'd go crazy, from lack of sleep if nothing else.

Reaching for a towel, Yvonne dried her face and examined herself in the mirror over the sink. The yellow-tinged light bulbs made her skin look sallow. She hated artificial light, and she'd seen way too much of that lately. Most of those assigned here had their quarters on the first floor, the "public" floor, the outward face of the operation. Both Cavitt and Pierce had their offices on the first floor; the rec room, the mess hall, and the mail room were there too. Anything important was in the heavily guarded basement: The prisoner himself, of course, all medical facilities, and quarters for a few, namely the medical technicians, a few of the senior soldiers like Lieutenant Spade, and—unfortunately—herself. Lately she'd found herself looking for any excuse to go upstairs and stare longingly out the window at the sun and the sky. She was feeling hemmed in, irritable, and very sympathetic to the alien's hunger strike. Maybe I should try that, she thought. I wonder what they'd do if I refused to eat?

Probably nothing. Just one less person who knew about the aliens to worry about. Yvonne rehung her towel and turned back toward her room. Maybe if she read for awhile, she'd get sleepy. Although she was tired of reading too, it being basically the only pastime she had in this dismal place. Her hand was on the light switch when she saw him.

A soldier was standing several feet away, barely outlined by the light from the bathroom. Even from this distance, she recognized him.

"Private Walker?" Yvonne said, feeling suddenly exposed standing there in her sleeveless nightgown, not to mention confused. She hadn't heard the door open, much less heard anyone knock.

The soldier took a step forward. She could seem him more clearly now—it was Walker, all right, and that was not encouraging. Of all the soldiers stationed here, Walker would definitely not be at the top of any list she might make of whom she'd like to unexpectedly find in her quarters.

"What are you doing in my quarters?"

"I am not Private Walker."

"Excuse me?"

"I only look like Private Walker."

Yvonne hesitated, listening. The compound was silent. That meant the alien hadn't escaped; all hell would have broken loose if he had. Probably just another of Walker's attempts at humor; she'd already noticed in the short time she'd been here that what Walker regarded as funny was what most people referred to as rude.

"Private, I hope you have a very good reason for inviting yourself into my quarters at this time of night, and playing silly games hadn't better be it," Yvonne said sternly in her best Lieutenant's voice. Given what it meant to be the only woman in a group of several dozen men, she had found that rank had its privileges. Only a handful outranked her.

"I apologize for the intrusion, but I need your help," Walker said. "And I am not Private Walker."

Yvonne stared, her eyes narrowing. The language was formal, the tone courteous....almost courtly. This person didn't sound anything like the Walker she knew. But how could it be an alien? No alien in its right mind would willingly come to this place, much less announce itself. Perhaps the rest of the soldiers were beginning to crack, just like she felt she was? Today's announcement that they were all restricted to the compound had not been taken well. Still, this was an odd game, to say the least.

"Okay then," she said impatiently, playing along for the moment. "If you're not Private Walker, then who are you?"

"Walker" didn't answer, just stepped closer, the light from the bathroom illuminating him better. It was certainly Walker, and as he took yet another step toward her, Yvonne grew alarmed and took a step back. Life in the compound was hard on everyone, herself included, but that didn't give him the right to enter her quarters without permission and scare her like this. He'd have to find some other way to amuse himself. She opened her mouth, preparing to launch into a full scale officer's rant.

Then his eyes changed, blackness rolling down from the eyelids like oil, leaving them dark, pupil-less, and oh-so-familiar.

[Kathy W 2200]

CHAPTER THIRTEEN


July 19, 1947, 0025 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



Yvonne's mouth went dry. She wrapped her arms around herself as "Private Walker's" ink-black eyes bored into her, willing her to understand. She did. Only too well.

"Who are you?" she demanded, fear making her voice a bit louder than expected. Was this the one who escaped, or one of the other aliens Stephen had been talking about?

"The one whose escape you assisted," the alien who looked like Private Walker said.

Opening her mouth to protest that she had no way of confirming that, Yvonne realized she did. Looking past the eyes, she noticed something she'd missed before: "Private Walker" looked like he'd been through hell. His face was drawn, his hands shaking. "You shouldn't be here!" she whispered urgently. "You look like you're going to fall over any minute!"

"Shifting requires energy," the alien replied, "something I find in short supply at the moment. But my limitations are not the problem—I need to know what they've done to my companion."

"How did you even get in here?" Yvonne exclaimed, perplexed. "There are guards everywhere, and all sorts of precautions. How did you manage it?"

"Getting in is not the problem," the alien said. "What I need to know is how they're preventing my companion from using his powers. Do you know?"

Yvonne stiffened as she heard footsteps pass outside. She put a finger to her lips, waiting until the footsteps passed. "I need to turn this light off," she whispered, biting her lip and glancing at the brilliant light pouring from the bathroom, "and we need to keep our voices down. They'll get suspicious if they hear me talking to someone."

She snapped the light off. The room instantly became dark as pitch except for the thin strip of light coming in under the door. Yvonne stood there in the dark, mentally calculating which light was furthest from the door and least likely to draw notice. She began to move forward, choosing her route from memory, desperately hoping she wouldn't knock anything over and attract attention.

A soft glow arose from nowhere, gently illuminating the room. As though reading her mind, the alien was holding his hand over the lamp near her bed, the one furthest from the door. Somehow the bulb wasn't fully glowing; it was dimmed to only about a third of its usual brilliance. He had done something similar the night they had come for their injured friends. Yvonne felt a shiver run through her as she stared at the alien. For all that she disagreed with almost everything happening in the compound, the things these people could do were downright unsettling.

The alien lowered his hand; the light continued to glow dimly. "You are a prisoner here too, aren't you?"

Yvonne nodded mutely as she slipped into her robe, wrapping it tightly around herself.

"Then it is in your best interests to help free my companion. With him gone, there is no one left to study. Rescuing him will be difficult," the alien continued. "This would be child's play were the other two still alive, but with me alone and my companion deprived of his abilities, things have become much more complicated. What have they done to him?"

Yvonne sat down on the bed, never taking her eyes off the alien. The light may go unnoticed, but voices were still a concern, and the bed was in the farthest corner of the room. "Rescuing him will be difficult anyway," she said in a low voice. "There are guards everywhere, all with those tranquilizer guns. You can do things we can't, but you're badly outnumbered."

"How did they stifle his powers?" the alien asked again, more urgently this time. "Have they subjected him to some kind of surgery?"

"No," Yvonne said quickly. "Nothing like that.....not yet. It's a serum, a drug, that suppresses certain areas of his brain."

The alien's eyebrows rose. "I wasn't aware human science had advanced sufficiently to develop something like that."

"It hasn't. I mean they're not really sure why it works," Yvonne admitted. "They don't even know why it works on humans. They got the idea from the autopsies we did on the two who died. They noticed your brain tissue resembled our own, so they gambled that drugs which affected our brains in a certain way might affect yours the same way. When you…escaped…., you were hooked up to something we call an electroencephalograph that records brain waves. Dr. Pierce was able to see what part of your brain you were using when you….did what you did. That's how he figured it out."

The alien sank wearily into a chair, his expression grim, his fingers tapping on the arms . Yvonne wrapped her robe more tightly around her. Fear was making her cold. Being in the presence of a powerful, angry, albeit exhausted creature could do that to you.

"How is this 'serum' administered?" the alien demanded.

"By injection."

"How often?"

"Once a day."

"Then all I need to do is destroy the supply," he murmured. "Where is it kept?"

Yvonne shook her head. "It won't be that easy. They know that serum is the only thing that allows us to hold him. They've taken unbelievably elaborate precautions to safeguard it."

"Such as?"

"Well, for starters, it isn't stored in just one place. It's stored in several different places within the compound, and I suspect a few places outside. And missing just one dose won't do it—based on the time it took to build up the levels in his bloodstream, your friend would probably have to miss about a full week's worth of doses to have it completely wear off. That's seven days," she added, unsure as to whether these people knew what a "week" was. "But even if you destroyed all the different sources at the same time and made certain they couldn't get any more for a week, that still wouldn't be enough. The minute you touch it, they'll know you're here because each batch is tested before it's administered to make certain it hasn't been tampered with. And if they find out you're here....." She paused, letting the sentence dangle.

"They will likely kill my companion," the alien finished for her, as Yvonne nodded sympathetically. She was so miserable here she'd given serious thought to disrupting the supply of serum, which is how she'd learned how impossible it was. "I….I might be able to get you a sample," she said tentatively. "Is there someone among you who could work out an antidote, or something similar that would fool their testing?"

"There was," the alien said quietly, "but no more. He was one of the ones who died."

Yvonne closed her eyes, remembering the two aliens with whom she'd spent that long day and night, one riddled with gunshot wounds and the other who lived for only a few hours. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "Perhaps we could ask Stephen for help."

"Stephen?"

"Lieutenant Spade. He's in charge of all the guards. We'll need his help anyway, because any attempt to rescue your friend will have to include avoiding the tranquilizer darts in the soldiers' guns. If either of you are hit with one of those, it's all over."

"Spade," the alien snorted, his expression growing darker. "He betrayed us."

"Only because Major Cavitt made him think you'd murdered two soldiers in their sleep," Yvonne said quickly. "You told him otherwise, and he found the bodies—they had silver handprints on them that were made with paint. He's really sorry about what he did."

"That does me no good now."

"Look," Yvonne said, growing irritated in spite of her fear, "he tried to make up for it. He kept everyone away from those sacs with the babies inside. He tried to keep your friend from being caught, but the other alien intervened. And he's the reason you're free," she added pointedly. "He ordered the men to hold their fire when you escaped. If they'd shot you with those darts, you'd still be captive too."

The alien looked away, obviously unhappy about the prospect of Spade being his rescuer. Yvonne decided to change the subject.

"You probably don't know it, but you have a more immediate problem. Your friend refuses to eat. He's too weak to even consider rescuing now. If he doesn't eat soon, they'll force him to."

"I have already spoken with him about that. Hopefully, he will see sense."

"You spoke to him?" Yvonne asked, surprised. "How?"

"I used the same subterfuge we used the first time. I took the form of a soldier and reported early for duty."

"You shouldn't do that!" Yvonne admonished, alarmed. "They'll figure it out! You shouldn't even be here in the first place. You can't help him if you're captured again!"

"I also can't help him if I do nothing," the alien pointed out. "As I said before, gaining access to this place is not a problem. Gaining access to my companion is another matter entirely." He rose from his chair, a hand on each temple as though he had a headache. "How many soldiers are here?"

"About a hundred, from what I can tell," Yvonne replied. "They function solely as guards, and they live here. We all do. And since you escaped, we're not allowed to leave. They don't want you impersonating anyone on their way back in."

"No one leaves?"

"Major Cavitt and Dr. Pierce come and go freely, but that won't help. They have to answer questions that only they know the answers to in order to get back in. We all have to do that just to go upstairs and downstairs, and the questions change every day. They've taken a lot of precautions," she added with a touch of irony in her voice, "to make certain you can't do exactly what you're doing right now."

The alien smiled slightly, more of a grimace, really. "Who has access to my companion? Who sees him regularly?"

"Dr. Pierce," Yvonne said, ticking down the list, "several technicians, and myself. That's it."

The alien sat down in the chair again, perched on the edge, eyeing her closely. The expression on his face made her cold all over again.

"I need something from you."




******************************************************




0030 hours




Yawning, Dr. Pierce entered the lab and headed for the lone occupied table, its one light piercing the darkness. On the table was a microscope; the technician hunched over it jumped to his feet when Pierce approached.

"I'm sorry to bother you at this late hour, Doctor," the tech began, "but I....

"The creature moved again?" Pierce broke in hopefully.

"No, sir. It hasn't responded to anyone at all except Lieutenant White."

"Then it's eating?"

"No, sir," the tech answered uncertainly. "There's been no change."

"Interesting," Pierce murmured. "Maddening, but interesting. So, Brisson—what else could be so important that you had to summon me at this hour?"

"I....I'm sorry, sir," Brisson answered. "I thought you'd like to see this right away. I was cleaning out the fridge, throwing out all the tissue samples that had turned to dust, and I found this," he said, pointing to the microscope.

Pierce removed his glasses and peered through the eyepiece. "I've seen these before. What's so special about this crop?"

"Look at the date," Brisson said. "They're a week old."

Pierce slowly pulled his eyes away from the eyepiece and inspected the date on the slide. "So they are," he murmured. "So they are. But how can that be? All of our samples have turned to dust within twenty-four hours at most."

"I looked more closely after finding these," Brisson went on enthusiastically, warming to his subject. "Every single sample of this kind of cell is still intact. None of them have disintegrated. And look at this." He produced another slide, sliding it under the microscope in place of the first. Pierce bent his head again to peer, letting out a long, low whistle.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Brisson asked, his eyes shining.

Pierce stood up and thought for a moment. "It make sense," he said slowly. "It would be counterproductive to have this type of cell disintegrate upon leaving the body."

"Exactly," Brisson said. "And this means…."

"Yes," Pierce interrupted. "I can see what this means, Corporal. Dismissed."

Brisson's mouth dropped open. "But…"

"I appreciate you bringing this to my attention. Dismissed."

"But I could….."

"I'll let you know if I need anything else," Pierce said, walking to the door and holding it open.

"Yes, sir," Brisson said weakly, practically backing through the door, his eyes widening as Pierce closed and locked it after him.

As soon as the door was locked, Pierce lost no time combing the lab thoroughly for any sign of listening devices. This was his lab and he guarded it jealously; still, what was happening here was so groundbreaking, so sought after by others, that it wouldn't surprise him in the least if he were to find something. So far he hadn't, and tonight proved to be no exception. Good. Now more than ever, he needed secrecy.

Moving back to the microscope, Pierce stared for a long time before finally leaning back on his stool, a wide smile spreading across his face. This would be it—the crowning achievement of his career. He would rewrite the science books, the medical books, and the military manuals all in one fell swoop. The possibilities were breathtaking.

Providing he could hang onto it, of course. It was absolutely essential that this information not leave this laboratory. This particular branch of medicine was not his specialty, but no matter; he would simply have to consult—discreetly—with various experts in the field. Absolute secrecy was paramount—the moment any of those experts got so much as a whiff of where he was heading, they would converge on Roswell like a swarm of locusts. He must not lose control of this.

Grabbing a nearby notepad, Pierce began to list all the things he would need, all readily obtainable except for the one most important thing of all. He chewed on the end of his pencil, mentally sifting through the various possibilities before reaching the obvious conclusion.

Lieutenant White.

Of course! She was perfect. She was young, smart, a captive audience—all things that other choices might not be. Granted it was always better to have more than one specimen, but under the circumstances, he would just have to make do. And she would go down in the history books along with him—he would see to that. It would be the least he could do to express his appreciation.

Pierce carefully packed up the slides and returned them to the refrigerator, locking the door and pocketing the key. Corporal Brisson would no doubt squawk tomorrow when he found the key missing, but he couldn't be allowed any further information about this matter until certain things had been explained to him. Besides, someone would be needed for reconnaissance and experiments, and Brisson would be a good choice. Providing he would play ball, of course. Most likely he would, especially if offered the chance to participate in the most provocative human endeavor to date.

First things first, however. He needed to package this proposal in such a way that General Ramey could understand it—and approve it. Plus there were other issues to consider. Keeping the alien alive was essential, as they would need fresh supplies of those cells periodically. And Lieutenant White…..Lieutenant White must be kept gainfully employed. Given a role, a reason to be here other than simply assisting doctors and restocking supplies. Something that sparked her interest......something that kept her happy.

A minute later, he had it. Yes, Pierce thought with satisfaction. That would do nicely on several fronts, satisfying desires she'd already expressed and silencing her critics. Her being unhappy or upset could throw the whole thing off, so it was now very important Lieutenant White be kept as content as possible under the circumstances.

Pierce headed for the door, his list of necessities in hand. He had a long night ahead of him, but the hardest part was finished. Now the most daunting task which lay ahead was deciding exactly where he'd display his Nobel prize.





******************************************************





7:15 a.m.

Proctor residence


David Proctor came downstairs to find Emily at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread out in front of her. "Any news?" he asked, rolling up his shirt sleeves. It was early on a sunny Saturday morning, and hot already.

"No headlines about escaped alien prisoners, if that's what you mean," Emily deadpanned. "But it does say someone's invented a new kind of oven that cooks food in just a few minutes instead of hours. They call it a 'microwave'. Whoever manages to get that into my kitchen deserves a medal."

David smiled as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "Anything else?"

"They've created a blacklist for Hollywood actors who are suspected of being Communist sympathizers."

David stopped pouring. "You're kidding."

"I wish I were," Emily said darkly. "God bless America; land of the paranoid and home of the blacklisted. Pour another cup," she added, nodding toward the coffee pot.

"You're not finished yet," David said, staring at her half drunk cup of coffee.

"Not for me. For him," Emily said, with a pointed look toward the back porch. "I'm willing to bet he's finished his first cup already."

David turned to look toward the porch. "Brivari's back?"

"He was here when I came downstairs. He'd already made coffee. That water was boiled with alien voodoo, by the way," she added, as David cast a nervous glance at the cup in his hands. "It was nice having the coffee ready. I could get used to having an alien housekeeper."

David shot her a look, and they both smiled. Both knew that Brivari was about as far from a "housekeeper" as one could get. "Good luck," Emily called after him as David poured a second cup of coffee and headed for the back porch.

He found Brivari staring out the windows, empty cup in his hands. He looked tired, but certainly much better than he had just the previous day. Emily had told him about their trip to the cave where the sacs—or "pods", as she said Brivari had called them—were hidden. The loss of several more of the infants was not good news, but at least the ones they had helped rescue were still alive.

David set the new coffee cup down beside Brivari's empty one and took a seat opposite, studying him. He was in a completely different form than the one he had used prior to his capture, but he had managed to look every bit as nondescript.

"You are staring, David Proctor," Brivari said, lifting the full coffee cup with a nod that David took as a "thank you". "Is that not considered rude in your culture?"

"Usually," David admitted. "I was just thinking that it isn't difficult for me to believe it's really you, even though you look totally unfamiliar. I guess I'm getting used to the idea of someone who can look different at will."

"Then you have come further than many on my own planet," Brivari observed.

"So," David said, getting right down to business. "Is he alive?"

"Yes," Brivari answered quietly.

"Tortured?"

"No. Not yet, anyway."

"Injured?"

"In a manner of speaking. A human doctor has developed a drug that prevents Jaddo from using his powers," Brivari explained when David looked at him questioningly. "All of his powers. Including shapeshifting. To put that in terms you could understand, imagine if you were suddenly deprived of the ability to use your arms and legs."

David tapped his fingers against his coffee cup. "So you can't count on any help from him in a rescue attempt," he said. "And you're all by yourself."

"Exactly. To make matters worse, he's refusing to eat. They're threatening to force the issue."

"There's a switch," David said.

"A 'switch'?"

"During the war, it was common practice to starve enemy soldiers. Not officially, of course," David added, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. "That would have broken all sorts of national and international rules. They were given just barely enough to keep them alive, and promised more food if they talked. I wonder what would've happened if a prisoner had actually refused food. I never saw one do that. And Jaddo doesn't seem like the type to go on a hunger strike."

Brivari stood up and walked to the window, gazing out toward the morning sky. "My race is not accustomed to being captured. We are very difficult to find, as you may well imagine, and even more difficult to hold. We usually escape, and the rare times we do not, we are either starved in an attempt to gain our cooperation much as you just described, or killed. Capture is not something we are taught to endure."

"How did you get out?" David asked.

"I feigned unconsciousness for hours. I would have continued longer, but one of the humans divined my deception; I had a choice of trying to escape then or being sedated again. I chose the former."

"You traveled quite a ways," David mused. "It's several miles from the base to the church where I found you."

"I stopped to rest first," Brivari said, turning around and leaning against the windowsill. "A child found me, a boy, younger than your daughter. I considered myself fortunate; children have not yet learned everything their culture says they should fear. They act on instinct, and this child's instinct correctly told him I would not harm him. But he told his mother, and she panicked and called for enforcers. One of them pursued me all the way to your 'church'."

David remembered the feelings of panic, of being pursued, hunted, while he was locked in the telepathic connection with Brivari. Those feelings had been paralyzing even when presented as memories; it was a wonder Brivari had been able to function at all. Should he tell him about that connection, about the things he'd seen? After a moment's reflection, he decided now was not the time. Brivari had enough to worry about at the moment without learning a human had been inside his head. "It was smart to head for the church," David said, sticking with a safer subject.

"I wagered I had a somewhat better chance at a place of worship than with a private citizen," Brivari answered.

"Only somewhat?"

"Places of worship can be havens, or they can be bastions of hate. One is never sure which." Brivari smiled when David looked surprised. "I scanned your history on the way here. Do the 'Crusades' sound familiar? The 'Inquisition'? 'Salem witch trials'?"

"Those were all a long time ago," David objected. "Churches don't act that way now."

"Really? Even if confronted with evidence to the contrary of one of your holy books, which states that 'God made man in His own image'?"

David fell into flustered silence. Brivari was right—an awful lot of supposedly pious people would probably have behaved decidedly impiously should they have discovered a live alien hiding in their church.

"I was fortunate that the holy man at your place of worship was of the more enlightened variety," Brivari went on. "And further fortunate that you were willing to come for me."

"You were even more fortunate that that," David said. "It was the local Sheriff—'enforcer', to you—who phoned me and kept his mouth shut. And Father O'Neill also got rid of the one chasing you. It was Valenti, that deputy we had a problem with before. The one who found Dee's shoe."

"I believe I predicted he would be trouble."

"Yes. Yes, you did," David said, rising to his feet and looking Brivari directly in the eye. "And I believe I told you that Jaddo wasn't working with those others. So I guess we were both right."

Brivari didn't answer, merely stared at him, his expression inscrutable. After a moment, David reached for his empty coffee cup. "Good luck with the hunger strike," he said, heading for the door. "I have errands to run."

"There is something else you told me," Brivari called after him.

David stopped. "What was that?"

"You have something that belonged to me, something you promised to return. I am asking you to return it now."




******************************************************





Emily Proctor had just reopened her newspaper after seeing David off to the grocery store when Brivari appeared in the doorway. "I understand you disposed of Urza's remains," he announced without preamble.

"Yes," Emily answered, her coffee cup halfway to her lips.

"Where?"

"Right outside the cave where the pods are."

"Why?"

"Because Jaddo asked me to."

"You had no right."

Emily set her cup down, staring at the pattern on the Formica tabletop. She didn't disagree with him—she'd been uncomfortable from the moment Jaddo had asked her if she would be willing to take care of this particular bit of unfinished alien business. Uncomfortable.....and surprised. Surprised that something like that would matter so much to someone who seemed so hard-boiled.

"But I didn't even know him," she'd protested when Jaddo had first asked. "I never met him."

"Irrelevant," Jaddo had answered, in his typical blunt fashion. "Familiarity is not necessary to honor the dead."

"No," Emily had allowed, "but it certainly helps. Why don't I have David take care of it? He actually met this person, and....."

"I would prefer it be you."

"Why?" Emily had asked, flustered. "Why me?"

"You child tells me there was a death in your family recently, and that you saw to the disposition of the remains."

Remains. A fitting word, that. What had "remained" of David's brother James had probably qualified as a "body" in the coroner's lexicon, but certainly not in hers. Just the memory of the sight inside that apartment churned her stomach almost an entire year later.

But that had nothing to do with the current situation. Perhaps it was the women on Jaddo's planet who took care of things like this. Or perhaps he just wanted peace of mind before he headed off to attempt a difficult task which might very well fail. Whatever it was, it would be selfish of her to refuse.

"All right," she'd said reluctantly. "What do you want me to do?"

"The dust must be released into the wind so that it flies for some distance," he'd answered. "There is much more to the rite, but that is the most important part. Observing that will suffice."

And that was why Emily, who wanted to do more than that which would merely "suffice", suggested they attend Joan Wentworth's funeral and bring what was left of Urza along. If he couldn't have whatever rite he would have had on his home planet, at least she could substitute another....along with an enthusiastic attendant. Dee had suffered none of her mother's misgivings about the Proctors being the sole mourners at Urza's memorial. She clearly felt she had every right to be doing what they were doing, and David seemed to share that opinion. Perhaps Emily would have too if she had met Urza herself, but under the circumstances, she'd gratefully allowed Dee to lead the way, hanging back and feeling out of place throughout the entire process.

"Perhaps not," Emily said slowly to Brivari. "Perhaps we didn't have a right. But it was Jaddo who asked me to do it. Surely he had a right."

"He did not," Brivari said flatly. "Neither of you did."

"You weren't here to argue the point," Emily reminded him.

Brivari's eyes flashed. "It was not your place."

"No," Emily replied, her voice firm. "It was yours. And as I recall, you weren't interested. Look," she continued, her discomfort giving way to irritation, "I know you've been through a lot recently. But so have the rest of us, including Jaddo. You'd been captured, the sacs almost fell back into the hands of the Army, and we had an unexpected visit the following day from someone I gather isn't exactly a friend of yours. Things were looking worse by the minute, and he wanted to make certain that, at least, would be taken care of. And I give him a lot of credit for bothering to see to that in the middle of everything else that was going on. He must have had a great deal of respect for this 'Urza'."

"He couldn't stand Urza," Brivari said sharply.

"Then Jaddo deserves even more credit. It's easy to show respect for someone we like. It takes more effort to show respect for someone we don't."

"You are not one of us," Brivari insisted. "I have no idea if you observed the rite properly."

"We did the best we could," Emily said impatiently. "And I find this an odd attitude from someone who was going to dump the dust on the ground, which I now know is the ultimate insult. It was your tantrum which left your friend in the hands of strangers. If you were so worried that everything be done correctly, why the hell didn't you do it yourself when you had the chance?"




******************************************************




Because he didn't want to, Dee thought, as she sat curled by the upstairs railing, listening to the confrontation below. She was glad Brivari was okay, glad that they hadn't lost all the babies, glad that her parents were still willing to help him. But she didn't much care whether he approved of what they'd done with Urza or not. They'd done the right thing by Urza. She was sure of it.

Dee headed back to her room, not bothering to wait for Brivari's answer to her mother's rebuke. Let them yell at each other. Grown-ups always loved to argue about things that were over and done with, a waste of time if anyone asked her. Right now she had something else on her mind: The alien book, carefully hidden under her mattress along with her ship piece and the drawings she'd made of the dream she'd spent with Urza.

Kneeling down beside her bed, Dee slipped her hand between the mattress and the box spring and pulled out the metal book. Brivari would no doubt come for it soon, and she was loathe to give it up. Even though she had painstakingly copied every single page, it still felt good to hold it, to feel its weight in her hands. Having the book made her feel closer to Urza and Valeris. She was willing to bet it was one of them who had made it in the first place.

Dee set the book on her lap and opened it, running her finger over the etched symbols she could not read, gazing at the two sets of faces, one younger, one older. In many ways the rubbings she'd made were better pictures, but she still found herself drawn to the original etchings. Vilandra, she thought, running a finger over the etching of the woman she thought was Urza's princess. Such a beautiful name for someone who did such a bad thing. "Sometime within your lifetime our Wards will emerge and return here to take back what was theirs," Urza had said to her. "Tell Vilandra that I loved her, and I'm sorry I will not be there with her when she returns." And I will, Dee silently promised herself. Somehow, someway, she would find them before they left and deliver Urza's message.

Reluctantly, Dee closed the book, ready to return it to its hiding place under the mattress. She stopped short when her eyes fell on the cover.

The book's cover, which had previously been empty, was glowing. Symbols were appearing, first one, then another, then several, forming a pattern of glowing light that took her breath away. Once before she had thought she'd seen symbols on the cover, but they had vanished as quickly as she'd see them. She watched the new symbols with trepidation, but these symbols weren't vanishing. They remained, but only on the surface of the metal cover, not etched like those inside.

Dee hesitated for just a moment before scrambling for her desk and her pencils. Pulling out a sheet of paper, she hastily began to copy the symbols one by one. She worked fast, which was a good thing. By the time she'd reached the last symbol, the pictures on the cover had almost completely faded away.

[Kathy W 2200]

CHAPTER FOURTEEN


July 19, 1947, 0900 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



Stephen Spade gripped the barrel of his tranquilizer rifle, aimed at the alien strapped to the bed and still studiously ignoring everyone. About fifteen of his men were arrayed around the room, wide-eyed and jumpy. A couple of medical technicians hovered, gazing uneasily at the equipment arrayed nearby that would be used to force food down the alien's throat. After dozens of appeals, threats, and even more appeals, either the alien ate something or they were going to make him eat something. Spade and his men were here to guard against the possibility that the medical personnel might not be able to subdue the alien by force, but they had strict orders not to fire unless ordered to do so—Cavitt didn't want the prisoner unconscious for the General's visit tomorrow if that could be avoided. His men shifted nervously, clearly unhappy about the prospect of watching what everyone knew was likely to happen any minute now.

"Where is Dr. Pierce?" Major Cavitt demanded, pacing back and forth in front of the alien's bed.

"I believe he was talking to Lieutenant White," one of the techs answered nervously. The techs didn't have much contact with Cavitt, which was just as well because he scared the beJesus out of them.

"Has it eaten?"

"No, sir."

"Has anyone told it what will happen if it doesn't?"

"Well.....sure, sir," the tech said uncertainly. "Several times. But..."

"I mean now, Private," Cavitt clarified. "Has anyone explained what is about to happen if it doesn't comply with our request that it eat?"

"N....no, sir," the tech replied, with a fleeting glance at the alien that made it clear he'd rather step in front of a speeding bus then try to explain anything to it.

Cavitt sighed dramatically. "Then I suppose I should make one last appeal before we do what must be done." Stepping around the bed, he positioned himself in front of the alien. "Do you know who I am?" Cavitt asked imperiously.

Silence. "I am your captor," Cavitt continued, as though the alien had only one captor. "I have decided to put an end to this little 'hunger strike' of yours one way or another. Which way will be up to you. Either you eat...."—Cavitt indicated the tray of food on the bed table nearby—"...or we will make you eat. Do you understand me?"

"Very touching, Sheridan. You really should go into medicine. All of your patients would dread your arrival so much they'd either get well immediately or commit suicide."

Several soldiers, Spade included, worked hard to stifle smiles as Dr. Pierce swept into the room followed by Yvonne White. Watching Pierce and Cavitt go at it was great fun, but resisting the urge to burst out laughing was becoming harder all the time, especially in a room so fraught with tension as this one.

"I am merely clarifying the situation," Cavitt said, ignoring Pierce's sarcasm. "We have tried all available means to make the creature eat. It's life is in danger if it continues to refuse food, and we have no intention of endangering its life or allowing it to do so. I wish to make it clear to the prisoner, to all present, and to those who will judge our work in the future that this is concern, not mere torture."

I know where this is coming from, Spade thought, his eyes on Yvonne, who was standing behind Dr. Pierce on the other side of the bed. He hadn't had a chance to speak with her since early this week when they had both met briefly to trade stories about Spade's joust with Pierce and the missing bodies, and Yvonne's joust with Cavitt and the likely reason for those missing bodies. Spade had been flabbergasted when she'd told him the risk she'd taken. Hadn't she heard a word he'd said? Hadn't she believed him even a little bit, even enough so that she'd be smart enough not to march up to a murderer and poke him with a stick?

But Spade simmered down as the week had passed and Cavitt truly did seem to be holding back a bit. And he couldn't argue with the information she'd garnered—he was certain that Cavitt was responsible for West's and Belmont's bodies disappearing right out from under Dr. Pierce's nose mere hours after Yvonne had oh-so-innocently offered to have them transferred. And the reporter.....Spade shivered in spite of himself, even though the room was oppressively warm. It was bad enough that Cavitt was capable of killing his own men, but to think that his influence extended beyond the base was downright terrifying.

"Well?" Cavitt was demanding as the alien, still strapped to the bed, semi-upright, and wide awake, continued to ignore him. "I know you can hear me. Stop pretending you can't, and look at me!"

To Spade's surprise, the alien did look, turning his head toward Cavitt and fixing him with a stare that Spade would swear could have frozen boiling water. Even Cavitt appeared startled by the force of that glare, visibly paling as it bored holes in him. Spade remembered this particular alien; certainly both had been intimidating, but this one had been enormously so. Spade felt his men tense, saw hands gripping weapons more tightly.

"That's better," Cavitt said. "Now, you....."

But Cavitt stopped as the alien looked away again, cutting him off in mid-sentence. Cavitt hated being ignored, but being dismissed was even worse. Flushing angrily, he rounded on Pierce. "This is pointless. Begin the procedure."

"For the last time, I give the medical orders," Pierce answered. "Gracious, but your memory is poor. Shall we go over our respective roles again?"

"General Ramey has already approved the forced feeding," Cavitt argued, "and it has refused our best efforts to get it to cooperate. There is no reason to wait any longer."

"You call that our 'best effort'?" Pierce asked dryly. "God help America." Mental smoke seeped from Cavitt's ears as Pierce smiled. Cavitt was getting better at deflecting Pierce's barbs, but he could only ignore just so many before his temper took over. "I have a different definition of 'best efforts'," Pierce continued. "Lieutenant White would like to try again."

"Lieutenant White?" Cavitt echoed. "It only responded to her once, and all of her subsequent efforts have failed. What could she possibly have to say that she hasn't already said?"

"The Lieutenant would like one more chance to reach the prisoner, and I see no reason to deny her that. What's wrong?" Pierce added. "Afraid she might succeed?"

Of course he is, Spade thought. He knew darned well that Cavitt would dearly love to shove food down the alien's throat. The irony was that Yvonne's earlier appeal to 'history's judgment' might actually be providing justification for that. Having a weak, limp-looking alien, albeit one with an attitude, wasn't the best way to prove one was taking good care of the nation's most important prisoner. Spade could just see the wheels turning in Cavitt's mind as he justified force under the guise of "saving it".

"Of course I'm not afraid she'll succeed," Cavitt said sharply. "Very well, then, go ahead. Just as long as I'm not treated to another 'alien rights' lecture, and she intends to do her duty when her efforts are once again unsuccessful."

"You're such an optimist," Pierce observed blandly. "And for the record, I wasn't seeking your approval. I don't need it."

Cavitt scowled as Pierce gestured to Yvonne. "It's all yours Lieutenant."

Spade didn't take his eyes off Yvonne as she stepped around Dr. Pierce to stand beside the alien's bed. She had listened to the exchange between Pierce and Cavitt with a detached air, as though she were growing bored with their fencing. He tried to catch her eye to offer some silent encouragement, but her attention was focused completely on the alien, who was still looking away, seemingly oblivious to the discussion about its fate taking place right in front of it.

"Look at me," she commanded, in a tone Spade had never heard her use.

"I tried that already," Cavitt said impatiently.

Yvonne turned flinty eyes on him. "Perhaps he doesn't find you much to look at."

Every pair of eyes in the room save Yvonne's and the alien's widened, everyone no doubt thinking the same thing Spade was—what did she say? You're going to regret that, Spade groaned inwardly as he saw Cavitt go absolutely speechless with indignation. Even Pierce managed to layer surprise on top of his usual amusement whenever anyone needled Cavitt. But Yvonne appeared unrepentant and unworried, her huge brown eyes more like pieces of coal as she took advantage of Cavitt's tongue-tied astonishment to refocus her attention on the alien.

"I said, look at me," she demanded again.

Spade averted his eyes, not willing to watch as she failed. This wasn't going to work. And when it didn't—and maybe even if it did—Cavitt would have her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She'd gotten lucky when she'd taken Cavitt on the last time, but being lucky twice in one week was too much to ask.

Or....maybe not. Slowly, the alien turned its head toward Yvonne, and when its eyes fell on her, they widened. The two stared at each other for a full minute in total silence while the rest of the room watched, wondering what in blazes was going on. Even Cavitt appeared taken aback, a rarity if ever there was one.

Yvonne broke the silence first. "You hate him, don't you?" she said intently, nodding her head toward Cavitt, whose mouth dropped open. "You'd love to do to him what he's doing to you, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you?"

Everyone waited, holding their collective breaths as if actually expecting an answer. The alien continued to stare at Yvonne in shock.

"You'll get your chance to take your revenge," Yvonne continued, "but not if you don't eat. And while you're waiting for that chance, there are dozens of ways to annoy him that don't involve compromising yourself. Think how much fun it will be to toy with him. Think how much more fun toying with him will be if you're well fed and rested. So eat. Now." she added, the last word ringing through the room like a command.

Slowly, reluctantly, the alien reached for the tray of food on the table in front of it. The play in the straps which bound its arms was just long enough to allow it to reach. It picked up a fork, stabbing the food violently as though pretending it were Cavitt, never taking its eyes off Yvonne. A silent sigh of relief rippled through the room as it swallowed the first bite.

Yvonne crossed her arms in front of herself with an air of finality and turned to Pierce, whose eyebrows were now grazing the ceiling, and Cavitt, who looked ready to explode. "There. He's eating."

"So it is," Pierce murmured in astonishment, watching the alien shovel as though he couldn't believe it. "So it is. Well done, Lieutenant. A bit of an…….er……..unorthodox approach, but successful nonetheless."

"Just a minute!" Cavitt hissed, his face purple. "Explain yourself, Lieutenant!"

"Now, Sheridan," Pierce sighed, "don't get your dander up. The Lieutenant was successful. How that was accomplished isn't the point, is it?"

"I'd be happy to 'explain myself'," Yvonne broke in coolly. "He hates you. Why shouldn't he? I merely used that simple fact to point out why eating would be in his best interests." She paused. "But that's not your real objection, is it? You wanted me to fail. You wanted to force the issue. You were looking forward to that....weren't you?"

A shocked silence settled over the room. Cavitt appeared too angry for speech. Spade had to actively prevent his mouth from dropping open. What had gotten into her? She'd been defiant when she'd gone after Cavitt about feeding the prisoners earlier this week, but this was different. Her voice was so.....cold. So hard. There was a taunting edge to it now, like she was toying with someone she knew she could best. She's wrong about that, Spade thought sadly. She'd survived her last brush with Cavitt, but he seriously doubted she'd survive this one.

Cavitt's eyes swept the room, taking in the number of witnesses. "You did accomplish the objective, Lieutenant," he said tightly, ignoring her accusations about his true desires, "but your attitude, as usual, needs adjustment. I will see you in my office in five minutes." He turned on his heel, striding from the room without waiting for a reply, shoving past soldiers who scrambled out of his way.

"Wait," Pierce said to Yvonne in a low voice as Cavitt's footsteps faded away. "Make that thirty minutes, Lieutenant. Let me talk to him first. Lieutenant Spade," he continued, "you may dismiss your men. We can take it from here."

"Assuming it keeps eating," one of the techs said under his breath, watching the alien eat while sending murderous glares Yvonne's way.

"Oh, he'll keep eating," Yvonne said with mystifying certainty. "I can assure you of that."

"Dismissed," Spade said curtly as Pierce left the room with Yvonne on his heels, Spade hurrying to follow. Pierce might succeed in fending Cavitt off, but if he didn't, they needed a contingency plan that didn't have Yvonne winding up face down wearing a fake silver handprint.

He caught up with her at the end of the hallway outside the alien's room. "Hey!" Spade called, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as he grabbed her arm and steered her toward an empty room. Most of the rooms down here were empty, as most of the soldiers were quartered upstairs. "I need to talk to you. In here." He checked quickly to make sure no one was in sight before whisking her inside.

As the door closed behind them, Yvonne gave him a measuring look. "Do you make a habit of grabbing females and dragging them around, Lieutenant?"

Spade's voice stuck in his throat. This was the second time he'd done something like this. "Look, I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "But for some reason, you seem to have developed a death wish, and I have a problem with that."

Her eyebrows rose. "Meaning?"

"Meaning I don't think you're going to get out of this one alive no matter how much you got Cavitt to care about 'history's judgment'," Spade said. "What were you thinking, going after him in public like that?"

"Do I take this to mean that you disagreed with my assessment of his true desires?"

Spade shook his head impatiently. "No, of course not. You're absolutely right about what he wanted. But couldn't you have kept that to yourself? You got what you wanted—why did you have to rub it in? Wasn't thwarting his 'true desires' rubbing it in enough?"

"No," she announced, after a moment's consideration. "It was not enough. I wanted to...... 'rub it in' more."

Sighing, Spade leaned against the door. "I'm willing to bet there'll be a high price tag on that. Maybe I can get you out of here." He was quiet for a moment, thinking. "I'm still on a pedestal for catching the aliens—maybe I can bribe some of my guys to keep quiet while I sneak you out. I......"

"That won't be necessary," Yvonne interrupted, her voice dropping several degrees, that hard look back in her eyes. "I assure you I can handle Major Cavitt. You needn't squander your celebrity on my behalf."

"Why not? Might as well use it for something."

"I believe I can confidently say that I could do without any more of your so-called 'help'," Yvonne said frostily.

Spade stared at her in confusion. "What are you talking about? Why do you sound like you're mad at me? I told you how Cavitt tricked me into helping him capture the first alien. I'm not happy about it, but at least I helped one of them escape. Doesn't that count for something?"

Apparently not. She didn't answer, just stared at him, those beautiful brown eyes boring into his as Spade wondered what he'd done to anger her this time. "I'd love to hang around and find out what I've done to piss you off this time, but you don't have that kind of time," he said shortly. "You're supposed to see Cavitt in just a few minutes, and we need to talk about how to keep you alive in case he gets the urge to murder again. We......."

Spade stopped, suddenly realizing that this might be the last time he'd see Yvonne. If anything happened to her, that would leave him as the only one who knew the score, leave him all alone with no one to talk to. The only reason this experience had been the least bit tolerable was because she was here; without her, it would be downright unbearable.

Impulsively, he took her face in his hands and kissed her.

She stiffened, but didn't pull away. When he released her a few seconds later, the brown eyes had turned ironic.

"You call that 'talking'?"

"Sorry," Spade mumbled. "I just….it's just.......I might never see you again," he finished in a whisper.

"I swear I will never understand you humans as long as I live."

"I…..what did you say?"

Then her eyes changed, blackness rolling over them, and Spade backed up until he hit the wall behind him.





******************************************************





9:30 a.m.

Chambers Grocery Store, Corona, New Mexico



"Throw in a another pound of coffee for me, will you Bill?"

"Sure thing," Bill Chambers answered. "What's with all the food? You got company?"

In a manner of speaking, David Proctor thought, watching the grocer bag his purchases. Alien company. But alien or no, Brivari was another mouth to feed. Food had been disappearing fast, and coffee even faster.

"So," Bill Chambers said as he punched buttons on the cash register, "what do you make of all this alien business?"

David reached for his wallet. "The Army said they made a mistake. I tend to believe them."

"Well, I don't," Bill said stoutly. "That'll be $24.36."

"Really? Why not?" David asked, counting out bills on the counter.

"For starters, they've still got the north half of Pohlman ranch blocked off. And besides, how can you confuse a flying saucer with a weather balloon? If people in the Army make 'mistakes' like that, we've got bigger problems than aliens. I don't believe that weather balloon bit for a second."

"Oh, I think they found something," David said, fishing in his pocket for thirty-six cents. "Everyone seems to think it was a Russian plane, or something like that. I can see where they wouldn't want that to get out, but I agree the weather balloon story wasn't particularly inspired."

"But what about what Dee saw?" Bill asked as David handed him the change.

" 'What Dee saw'?" David repeated, his heart beginning to beat faster. "What do you mean?"

"She was in here with Mac just two weeks ago on the Fourth, and Mac was saying she told him she'd seen a spaceship out there."

David managed a smile. "She was just pulling his leg."

"That's what she said," Bill answered. "But you must admit it's damned funny that she said that, and then just days later the Army announced it'd found a flying saucer."

David shrugged. He didn't know what to say. Bill was right—it did look too coincidental for words. Probably because it was.

"And what about that handyman that showed up and disappeared?" Bill continued.

"What about him?"

"He was weird," Bill said, leaning on the counter. "Dressed all wrong, barely said a word. Tangled with that Miltnor thug, who went and got plastered that very night and mauled by a coyote, not that that's any great loss."

David gathered up his bags. "Dressing weird and not being chatty doesn't make someone an alien, Bill."

"You didn't hear what Miltnor's cronies said. At the time I wrote it off; they're not exactly what you'd call trustworthy. But now….I wonder."

"What did they say?" David asked, wondering if Dee had told him what Urza had done that day he'd played delivery boy for Bill.

"They said the handyman was holding Miltnor up in the air against the wall without touching him. How about that?" Bill said triumphantly, eyes gleaming.

"Did you actually see this?"

Bill's face fell. "No; Miltnor was on the ground when I got there. But he was scared stiff, and that alone is strange where Denny Miltnor is concerned. Was concerned," he amended. "Say, did Dee see anything weird? You should ask her!"

"I will," David said politely. "But I think she would have noticed if Denny were hanging in midair."

"Yeah, I suppose she would have," Bill said, deflating again. "Still….I was thinking…."

You think too much, David thought wearily. "What?"

"Well…if that handyman was a space alien…I've got no complaints," Bill said thoughtfully. "He did the work I asked him to do. He kept my merchandise safe, and he protected your daughter."

You have no idea, David thought sadly. He'd grown fond of Urza in the short time he'd known him. It was odd to miss someone you'd known for such a short time.

"So if he was an alien, maybe they're not bad," Bill was musing. "They even look like us. Maybe we're panicking for nothing."

"I think we're panicking for nothing, aliens or no," David said amiably. He hoisted his bags off the counter, pausing when his eyes fell on the bakery case. "I see your wife has hopped on the bandwagon."

"Those are selling like hotcakes!" Bill beamed. "Want some?"

David stared at the cookies in the case. Essie Chambers had made her Easter egg cookie cutter do double duty, turning the egg shape upside down and frosting the cookies in a startlingly accurate resemblance to Brivari and his people.

"Here, take a couple for Em and Dee. My treat," Bill said, bustling around and bagging two cookies. "Ship or no ship, this business could transform this town. Notice all the strangers? They're here because of the headlines. Essie can't bake these fast enough."

David gave a wan smile as Bill plopped the cookies into one of his grocery bags. Dee would go nuts when she saw these. Either that, or she'd laugh. And what would Brivari think?

"Thanks, Bill," David said, heading for the door. "Much appreciate it."

"And there's another reason I think that's no weather balloon up there," Bill said darkly, looking out the window. "Just look at that."

David glanced out the window to see Mac Brazel climbing out of his truck across the street. As he headed into the nearby hardware store, a car parked a couple of spaces behind Mac rolled its windows down.

"See that car?" Bill asked, indicating the car with the newly rolled down windows. "I know those guys; they're Army. I bet they're following Mac. Why go to all that trouble for a weather balloon?"

David's hands clenched more tightly around his bags. From what he could see the men looked perfectly ordinary, wearing civilian clothes and sitting in an ordinary car. Cavitt had apparently decided to get crafty after Emily foiled the direct approach. And here they thought they'd gotten the Army off Mac's tail.

Bill Chambers shot him a knowing look. "Weather balloon my foot."



******************************************************



TruValue Hardware Store




The tiny bell on the door tinkled faintly as David closed the door of the hardware store behind him. He had kept an eye on the two men in the car close to Mac's as he loaded the groceries into his trunk. They didn't get out, weren't looking at maps, weren't doing anything but sitting there. They were indeed dressed in civilian clothes, but that meant nothing. Bill Chambers saw everything and everybody that went through here, including a few things he didn't even realize he'd seen. If he said they were Army, they were Army.

Mac was in the back of the store sorting through various sizes of worm gear hose clamps. "Morning, Mac," David said.

"Morning, Dave," Mac replied. He looked drawn and tired, not at all like his usually cheerful self.

David cast a careful glance around. No one was nearby. "Look, I was just wondering if you'd noticed….."

"Saw'em," Mac said shortly, not looking at him. "Started following me yesterday."

"Following you?"

"They always hang back," Mac said in a low voice, still picking through the clamps. "Never approach me directly. But they've been following me everywhere I go. When I'm home, their car is parked a ways up the street."

David digested this in silence. This was much more low key then the Army's previous attempt to bully Mac into silence. This would be harder to stop.

"So," Mac continued, still not looking at him. "Did something happen?"

"Happen?"

"Well, they left me alone for several days, then all of a sudden they're back. So I was wondering if you knew of anything that would make them do that."

Oh, yeah, David thought grimly. The Army had lost Brivari; no doubt they thought Mac might be hiding him.

"No details," Mac muttered, as David opened his mouth to reply. "I can't tell what I don't know. Not sure I want to know anyway. I'm getting sick of this crap. So just nod or shake your head—is there a reason for them to be following me?"

Mutely, David nodded.

"Then I think it's best we not be seen together much," Mac said, finally choosing two hose clamps.

"Mac, we're neighbors," David protested.

"Seeing as what they're looking for is probably only one house away, I still think it's better that we not be too chummy. Not now. Am I right?"

David hesitated, then nodded again. Mac was right—the Army was closer than it knew. Too close.

"Nice seeing you, Dave," Mac said in a normal voice, as he turned and headed toward the cashier.

"Nice seeing you too," David answered, his heart heavy.

David left the hardware store while Mac was still paying, crossing the street to where he'd left his car in the grocery store parking lot. He pulled out onto the road, heading for home, but as he came abreast of the car with the soldiers, he stopped and stared directly into the eyes of the startled young soldier in the passenger seat.

There was no one behind him, so David stared for a good long minute. He counted the seconds in his head, watching both the soldiers squirm as they realized they'd been made. Then he drove off, smiling with satisfaction.

He probably shouldn't have done that, but God, that had felt good.




******************************************************




Eagle Rock Military Base




Spade pressed himself against the wall, horrified, gaping at the alien wearing Yvonne's face, not to mention her body. He reached for his rifle only to have it ripped away by invisible hands, landing with a clatter in the far corner of the room. He glanced at the door, but the alien got there first, planting Yvonne's sensible rubber-soled shoes firmly in front of it. He was trapped.

"Who are you?" Spade whispered.

The alien raised Yvonne's eyebrows. "You mean you haven't figured that out? You didn't strike me as that stupid before."

"No, I mean which one are you?" Spade demanded. "The one who escaped, or the other one? And what happened to Yvonne?"

Yvonne's borrowed eyes flashed. He'd had no idea her face could look that angry. "I am the one you whacked with a stick, breaking several of my bones. I am the one who spared your miserable life later that night. I am the one you betrayed and left in a ditch for that asinine superior of yours to find. Does that answer your question?"

Spade swallowed hard, but kept his voice level. "If that's true, then you're also the one I helped escape a few days ago by ordering my men not to shoot. And no, that doesn't entirely answer my question. Where's Yvonne?"

"Presumably right where I left her."

"Right where you…..did you…..you didn't…."

"Didn't what?" the alien asked. "Kill her?"

Spade's throat tightened. "If you hurt her…if you harmed so much as one hair on her head, I swear to God I'll make you pay for it!"

The alien tilted Yvonne's head and gave Spade a long, measuring stare. Spade's fingers twitched at his side. His threat had been an empty one, of course. Any move he made would likely render him dead in seconds.

"She is in the last place anyone would look for her while on duty—her quarters," the alien said finally. "Surely you don't think I'd be so foolish as to harm the only ally I have in this charming place, do you?"

"You.....you mean......she knows you're doing this?"

"Of course. I am here with her consent in an attempt to free my companion. Which will, by extension, free the rest of you as well."

Jesus! Spade's head spun as the implications of such a scheme swam before his eyes. Here he'd thought she'd been taking a horrible risk going up against Cavitt, and now this?

"You care for the healer, don't you?" the alien was asking, running a thoughtful hand over Yvonne's lips. "Is that why you did….whatever it was you just did?" It paused. "What was that that we just did, anyway?"

"You know so much about humans," Spade said defensively, feeling his face growing warm. He couldn't believe he'd just kissed........oh God, he didn't even want to think about it. "Don't you know?"

"I studied human anatomy. I didn't bother to study human physical practices." A look of disgust crossed its face. "Good Lord. We'd didn't just mate did we?"

"No! Of course not!" Spade sputtered, his face virtually on fire. "That would be a lot more…complicated."

"Not everywhere, it wouldn't," the alien replied casually. "Why is your face so red?"

"Can we stay on the subject?" Spade said crossly. "You shouldn't be here!"

"You have only yourself to blame for that," the alien replied, eyes glinting. "You put me here."

"I also got you out of here!" Spade retorted. "I've had my butt in a sling ever since because of that, and what do you do? You waltz back in here and turn yourself into a nurse!"

"You expect me to leave my companion to your 'Major Cavitt's' tender mercies?"

"If you get yourself captured again, you'll both be enjoying Cavitt's 'tender mercies'!"

The alien shook Yvonne's head sadly. "Humans. Such a contrary race. First you accuse me of being a murderer, and now you object to my loyalty to my colleague. I suppose if I just left him here, you'd decide I was a cold-hearted bastard."

Spade sighed in exasperation. "Look, I just don't want to see them nail you again. And Yvonne is not your only ally. You were right—the two soldiers Cavitt said you killed had fake handprints painted on their bodies. He was lying. I found out the night they caught you, and I've been trying to make it up to you ever since."

"If you truly wish to 'make it up to me', as you put it, you can start by telling me what happened the night my companion was captured," the alien said. "But not now. I have a meeting with your Major Cavitt that I'm thoroughly looking forward to."

"Yeah, about that," Spade said testily, "do you realize how much trouble you've gotten her into? What's going to happen to her after you leave and she gets to bear the brunt of your big mouth?"

The alien looked surprised. "You think I have endangered the Healer?"

"No, I don't think you've endangered her, I know you've endangered her. I don't know what they call it wherever you come from, but here it's called 'insubordination', and officers don't take kindly to it."

"Nonsense," the alien said dismissively. "On the contrary, I have made your Healer invaluable to her superiors."

"How?" Spade demanded. "By bitching at Major Cavitt? By insulting him in front of everyone in sight?"

The alien studied him a moment before settling down into a nearby chair, crossing Yvonne's legs just exactly the way she did. "You don't know how this works, do you?"

"Sure I know 'how it works'," Spade said sarcastically, trying to take his mind off the fact that the alien had managed to assume not only Yvonne's form, but her posture and habits as well. "You pop your cork and she gets to pay the piper."

The alien blinked. "I have no idea what bottle stoppers and musicians have to do with this, but I fear you misunderstand. Your government has recently acquired a very valuable possession—my colleague. Any time an item of value is acquired, be it people, technology, intelligence, whatever, there will inevitably be a bid for power, for the opportunity to control and manipulate the valued item. Your superiors will soon be inundated with attempts to take their prize from them, if they haven't been already. They will need to prove to their superiors that they have a right to maintain control."

"How does all that make Yvonne so valuable?"

"Do try to stay with me here," the alien said, sounding like a weary school teacher. "My companion has responded to no one but your Healer—the fact that it was I who convinced him to eat is irrelevant because everyone else saw only the Healer. Everyone else believes that she is the only one who has managed to reach him, to influence his behavior. Your Major Cavitt cannot afford to harm such a valuable tool, however infuriated he may find himself. Her success may well be the only thing that allows him to keep his position as jailer, something he desires more than the obeisance of his inferiors."

Sheesh. This guy—girl?—sounded like a walking dictionary. "Are you some sort of politician? Or professor?"

"Neither. And both." It rose, patting Yvonne's uniform back into place just as she would have. It was downright creepy standing there in front of Yvonne when it really wasn't Yvonne. "I will see you later tonight, in your quarters after you're off duty."

"All right," Spade said uneasily. He wouldn't be off duty until after dark, and he wasn't thrilled at the prospect of a nocturnal visitor. "But how are you getting in here? We've got the place locked up six ways to Sunday."

"I have my ways," the alien replied cryptically. "And you can't tell what you don't know." It brushed past him, heading for the door.

"Wait!" Spade called. "Don't you need to know where my quarters are and when I'm off?"

The alien turned and gave Spade a sardonic smile. "I know where your quarters are, Lieutenant. I know where everyone's quarters are. I can tell you when every single soldier in this compound is on or off duty. I know what all of you ate for breakfast, that you're having something called 'chipped beef on toast' for lunch, and that a soldier named 'Walker' likes to smoke in the lavatory down the hall. I have already been here for hours."

Spade stomach churned as he listened to this recital. After all Cavitt had gone through to make this place impregnable, none of it had worked. "One more thing," he added. "When I see you—I mean Yvonne—how do I know if it's you or her?"

The alien smiled a truly disturbing smile. "You won't."





******************************************************




Pierce sat comfortably in Cavitt's office chair, enjoying the various shades of disbelief and hope alternately marching across Cavitt's face. It was always amusing to watch military men trying to grasp abstract concepts. So many of them simply didn't believe what they couldn't see, couldn't fathom what they couldn't touch. They were literalists, driven by their senses, impatient with the hypothetical. Not all of them, of course—the truly great military men didn't suffer this particular shortcoming, a huge factor in why they became great in the first place. But the lower one went in the ranks, the more literalists one would generally find, until you scraped bottom when you arrived at the types who only knew how to talk with their fists. Sheridan Cavitt was a slightly more socially acceptable version of this bottom dweller....but only slightly.

After watching Lieutenant White commit gross insubordination with Major Cavitt, Pierce had decided that Cavitt would have to be brought into the loop on his latest discovery. The Lieutenant was becoming bold as brass, and Cavitt was no doubt itching to swat her with his brass, so something had to be done. Upsetting the Lieutenant would be very bad for business right about now. Of course, this meant having to explain the hypothetical to Sheridan, and that was quite a piece of work. Pierce leaned back in the chair, relishing the respite while Cavitt's meager brain worked through the relatively simple explanation he'd just heard.

"Is this even possible?" Cavitt asked, his eyes narrowing as though Pierce were trying to put one over on him.

"Of course it's possible. My preliminary tests were very encouraging," Pierce said patiently. "Just think, Sheridan," he continued, knowing full well that he'd be far more likely to win Cavitt's cooperation by appealing to his lust for power than his piddling sense of reason. "You could have the Army you've always dreamed of. And with a discovery like this, you'd be leading it."

"You don't care about the Army," Cavitt said suspiciously.

"Of course I don't. And you don't care about the Nobel I want either," Pierce replied. "So what if we have different motivations? We can both benefit from this."

Cavitt was silent, still churning. "You know, I didn't have to come to you with this," Pierce said pointedly. "I could have pursued it and left you out entirely."

"So why didn't you?"

Pierce shifted in his chair. "Because I have a far greater chance of success with your cooperation."

"My cooperation?" Cavitt echoed. "I'm not a doctor. What could you possibly need from me?"

"Two things. First, your complicity."

"Complicity?"

"You know what the reaction would be if people found out what we're attempting here," Pierce said sagely. "Of course we'll tell General Ramey the basics—and that will virtually ensure that we stay in command, by the way—but I have no intention of revealing the rest. Do you have a problem with that?"

Cavitt's face darkened. "How dare you ask me that! I have never shied away from doing what must be done, no matter how difficult the decision. And neither did you; you could always see clearly. We both could. And then you decided you had a nobler calling and hid behind a caduceus, thinking that would soften the more difficult decisions, or justify them—as if they needed that." He paused. "You were a good soldier, Daniel. You should never have left."

"According to the oak leaves on my shoulder, I haven't left," Pierce remarked. "And I am still a soldier, Sheridan. I merely fight on a different battlefield, using tactics that escape you and yours. Do I have your complicity?"

"Of course. And the second thing?"

"Your patience," Pierce said carefully, knowing he was approaching dangerous ground. "It will take months to gather the necessary data before we can proceed with the first attempt. Natural processes can't be rushed…and they can be interfered with. That is why you must give Lieutenant White a long leash."

"Impossible!" Cavitt snapped. "She is guilty of insubordination, public insubordination. I can't allow that to go unpunished! Can you just imagine the effect that will have on the rest of the troops? No, you probably can't, because….."

"Must we go over this tired ground again?" Pierce interrupted wearily. "Let's not, and say we did. I will speak with the Lieutenant and attempt to rein her in, but you must make an effort as well. We mustn't upset her; that will throw everything off. This will never work if you keep fouling up the research."

Cavitt sighed, fuming, and stared at the ceiling. Pierce let him fret for a moment before speaking again. "Perhaps a compromise would be to craft a situation where the Lieutenant's occasional 'insubordination' would not be considered unusual."

"There is no such 'situation'," Cavitt said darkly.

"There is if we create one," Pierce said firmly. "Perception is highly personal, but it can be crafted. Directed. Encouraged. Don't you even want to hear the details?" He leaned forward, fixing Cavitt with a hard stare. "As a nurse, Lieutenant White is mine to assign. I can do this without you, but there is an enormously greater chance of success with you. But are you up to it? Are you capable of setting aside your personal feelings to get the job done? Do you want this, or don't you?"

Cavitt's eye's flamed, swinging to meet Pierce's.

"What did you have in mind?"

[Kathy W 2200]

CHAPTER FIFTEEN


July 19, 1947, 1000 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



Alone in her quarters with only the light from the bathroom to see by, Yvonne White paced back and forth, back and forth, waiting for the alien to return. The number of misgivings she had about this particular strategy would fill an encyclopedia. What had she been thinking when she agreed to this ridiculous plan? How could the alien ever pull off being her?

To be sure, he could look like her. When he had first announced he needed something and she had asked what that was, he had responded by holding his hand over the light once again, making the room dark for just a few seconds. By the time Yvonne had opened her mouth to protest, the light was back and she was staring at herself without benefit of a mirror.

"No," she had whispered, backing away from the carbon copy of herself, perfect right down to the slightly crooked left upper eye tooth. "No, no, no, NO." There was something unholy about seeing oneself replicated like this, something almost sacrilegious. "This is wrong," she had insisted, horrified. "It will never work!"

Over the course of the next half hour, the alien had worn her down. After changing back to his original shape, of course, which she had insisted he do immediately if he wanted her to even consider this. He had pointed out that she had regular access to his companion, and that the captured alien would respond to him in ways he would never respond to humans. "I need to keep his spirits up," the alien had argued. "The loss of his abilities is for him the equivalent of what losing all your limbs would be for you. I am the only other one of his kind on this planet—he needs me if he is going to endure long enough for me to find a way to get him out of here. And everyone will think he is responding to you, further increasing your value to your commander."

"But how will he even know it's you?" Yvonne had asked, bewildered. "You can't just walk up to him and announce, 'It's me!'."

"We are capable of identifying other members of our race on sight," the alien had answered. "He will know."

"But you can't talk to each other," she had persisted. "He's always surrounded by several people, and there's always someone in the observation room."

"We have other ways of communicating."

" 'Other ways'? What…….." Then she'd stopped, remembering the conversation the aliens had had with one another the night she first met them, a conversation with no sound. And remembering the words she'd heard in her head twice now. The words she had heard without her ears. The words she'd convinced herself she'd imagined.

"Is that what I heard the night you escaped?" Yvonne had asked. "You told me to 'back up', but I never saw your mouth move."

The alien had looked at her in surprise. "You heard me?"

Yvonne had nodded. "I heard you, but no one else did. It was the same thing earlier with your friend; he said something to me the same way, I think, and I was the only one who heard it."

"Your understanding telepathic speech would be advantageous," the alien had murmured, more to himself than to her.

" 'Telepathic speech'?"

<Direct mind to mind communication.>

"But humans can't do that," she had begun to protest, her eyes widening as she realized a moment later that she just had. Again.

The alien had shaken his head and smiled slightly, the first indication of a smile she'd seen on either of them. "Can't they now? The human brain is capable of so much more than you realize. It's astonishing how little of it you use."

"Wait a minute…." Yvonne had said, struggling to think as that strange speech echoed in her mind. "How do you know what the human brain is capable of? Have you been here before? I mean for some other reason than hiding your children?"

"We are wasting time," the alien had said impatiently. And the conversation had turned back to how they might accomplish the switch, and what he would need to know to pose as Yvonne.

Checking her watch for the fifth time in the past ten minutes, Yvonne saw that the alien was a good twenty minutes overdue. What could be keeping him? Had something gone wrong? She hadn't heard any alarms sound, and no one had come looking for her, so presumably he hadn't been discovered.

She had no sooner thought this when she heard the stealthy sound of a slowly turning doorknob.

Racing for the bathroom, Yvonne pulled the door almost closed and turned off the bathroom light. Her doorknob was turning, and whoever was turning it must have crept up very quietly; she usually heard anyone approaching her door. Perhaps it was the alien returning? But the knob was turning much too carefully for it to be someone posing as her. She would never have opened the door to her own quarters so quietly. It had to be someone else.

Yvonne held her breath has the door to her quarters opened, admitting a shaft of light and a booted foot.




******************************************************



"Lieutenant," Major Cavitt said crisply. "Close the door and take a seat."

"Yes sir."

Brivari, still wearing the form of the female healer, performed the hand gesture known as a 'salute' as the Healer had taught him before obediently taking a seat, studying the two humans across from him as he did so. The one called 'Cavitt' was seated at his desk, while the one called 'Pierce' was standing behind him. The former was merely a high-placed thug, a common failing of the military. The latter appeared less cruel, but Brivari had the uncomfortable impression he was the more dangerous of the two. Regardless, he would have to deal with them both. They were the linchpins in the system—at least for the moment. As he had pointed out to the one called 'Spade', that could change at any moment.

"The Major and I are delighted with your success today," Dr. Pierce began, cutting off Cavitt, who had only just opened his mouth to speak. "General Ramey will be very pleased with your ability to reach the prisoner. That's why Major Cavitt has agreed to overlook your.....er.....somewhat novel approach. In this case, the end more than justified the means, didn't it, Major?"

The glare Cavitt directed at the doctor was almost as toxic as the one earlier directed toward Jaddo, making it clear that Cavitt hadn't "agreed" to anything of the sort. They hate each other, Brivari thought. Good. As the human book known as the "Bible" correctly noted, houses divided against themselves rarely remained standing. Certainly the threat of losing their prize could be expected to make that 'house' less divided than usual, but only somewhat. The mutual enmity evident here could be put to very good use.

"I won't quarrel with your success today, Lieutenant," Cavitt said icily, "but perhaps in the future, you could find a source of motivation other than hatred of me. I would also appreciate it if you would refrain from accusations that I enjoy torture."

"I understand," Brivari said promptly. "One should never make such predilections public. I was indiscreet. I apologize."

"We have a proposal for you, Lieutenant," Pierce said hastily, as Cavitt struggled to decide whether to give more weight to the apology or the veiled jab. "A new assignment, actually."

"I'm being reassigned?" Brivari asked, suddenly wary. The last thing he needed was for the Healer to be removed from this place.

"You're staying here," Pierce confirmed. "We're merely altering your focus." He moved to the front of the desk, perching casually on a corner. "It likes you, Lieutenant. You're the only one it's responded to. We'd like you to spend more time with it. Get close to it. Befriend it, if possible."

"You think he'll be more likely to spill the secrets of the universe into my ears than yours?" Brivari asked, suppressing a smile.

"We think it more likely to cooperate with us if it has an advocate, someone who's there to look after its welfare," Pierce said smoothly. "That will be your new assignment. Given your oft-voiced feelings about how it's being treated and your demonstrated skill in understanding its motivations, the Major and I feel you are absolutely the best person to convince it that cooperating with us is in its best interests."

"In other words, the two of you are more likely to remain in command if you can demonstrate that you are likely to gain its cooperation," Brivari said dryly. "I would imagine this is more about your best interests."

"And yours, Lieutenant," Cavitt said pointedly. "How indulgent do you think new commanders would be with your now habitual insubordination?"

"You've heard me say that I don't wish to harm the creature," Pierce added. "I mean that quite sincerely. It's of no use to me dead or injured. I wish to study it, to learn from it. Unfortunately, there are those who feel differently....and their voices are growing louder. If you are truly interested in its welfare, Lieutenant, you'll do everything in your power to make certain it cooperates with us. Should other interests gain control...."—he sighed dramatically—"....let's just say I don't think you would be pleased with the outcome. Nor would I."

I'm sure you wouldn't, Brivari thought darkly. Still, this "assignment" could only work to his advantage. Access would no longer be a problem, and as it might take awhile to get Jaddo out of here, having the female healer as a companion of sorts would be preferable to being alone and bored senseless.

"Very well, then," Brivari said. "I'll do my best. What would you like me to do?"

"Excellent!" Pierce smiled. "You'll begin by taking all your meals with it, encourage it to keep eating. We'll send you in with the next meal. And you'll be excused from most medical duties in the future. We don't want it to associate you with anything....unpleasant."

"Are you planning on doing something unpleasant?" Brivari asked.

"You will still be responsible for your other duties, however," Pierce added, as Cavitt's eyes narrowed. "Dismissed."

Brivari shot one more appraising look Cavitt's way before rising and saluting. As expected, Cavitt had submerged his desire for revenge beneath his desire for dominance, albeit reluctantly. And much as he hated to admit it, Pierce may have a point. Brivari didn't believe for a moment that he only wanted to "learn" from Jaddo, but it was quite possible that Pierce was the lesser of several available evils.

"Lieutenant," called a voice behind him as he headed into the hallway. Brivari turned. Pierce had followed him out of Cavitt's office and fell into step beside him. "Getting bold, aren't you, Lieutenant?"

"Oh?"

"I know you're not happy here," Pierce said. "I know you're especially unhappy with Major Cavitt, but if I were you, I wouldn't push my luck."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you should drop the habit of constantly needling the Major."

"An activity in which you engage on a regular basis," Brivari noted.

"Touché," Pierce replied, smiling slightly. "I won't argue that it's not a pleasant pastime, or that he doesn't deserve it. I would argue that I know when to quit, and I have a measure of protection you don't, as in Major Cavitt outranks you. The consequences of your behavior could be severe."

"Such as?" Brivari said, stopping and turning to face Pierce. "Demotion? Meaningless in this situation. Reassignment? Dismissal? I know far too much to have me running loose."

"How about court martial?" Pierce asked.

"Where I would air all your alien laundry for others to hear? I don't think so," Brivari said acidly. "If it came to that, he wouldn't court martial me, Doctor. He'd kill me."

Pierce's eyebrows rose. "That's a bit harsh."

"But it won't come to that," Brivari continued. "As you pointed out, I am the only one who has managed to influence the behavior of his precious prisoner. That makes me invaluable to Major Cavitt because he values his position as jailer above all else. And as he is fond of pointing out, I am here whether I want to be or not. We're stuck with each other, the Major and I, and given that fact, I'll be bold when I see fit. He put me here. He has no one to blame for that but himself."

Pierce eyed the Healer's form for a moment in silence. "I suppose you have a point," he said at last. "Circumstances do give you a certain leeway as far as your behavior goes. I'm surprised," he continued, beginning to walk again. "You never struck me as a strategist."

"You have no idea how much you don't know about me," Brivari said with a perfectly straight face.

"Apparently," Pierce agreed. "But I do know a great deal about Major Cavitt. I've managed to bring him to heel in this situation, but should you continue this behavior, my luck—our luck—might just run out. Do everyone a favor, and back off on the insults."

Pierce fell silent as both of them passed the stairway checkpoints which led to the basement, Brivari using the personal information the Healer had given him to answer the questions posed. "I know this hasn't been easy for you, Lieutenant," Pierce continued as they entered the basement hallway, "but I think you'll find your situation less onerous now. I know you sympathize with the creature. That's why I feel this particular assignment is much more in tune with your needs. And our needs compliment each other's. You need to see the creature well treated, to feel you are positively affecting a situation with which you disagree. I need its cooperation. We can help each other, you and I, and you needn't be constantly aggravating the Major in order to do that. Besides," he added with a smile, "aggravating the Major is my job."

"One you do very well," Brivari admitted.

"I try," Pierce answered with mock seriousness. "I have a good feeling about this, Lieutenant. You've already connected with it. Perhaps it senses your sympathy. Spend time with it. Get to know it. Develop a….relationship with it, if you will. There's no telling where that could lead." He veered off into a side hallway. "I'll see you at lunch."

Brivari watched Pierce walk away, wondering what the doctor was getting at. Something in his tone had given him the uncomfortable feeling that what had stayed Cavitt's hand was more than just his desire to stay in command. Cavitt had almost lashed out several times, withdrawing reluctantly only when Pierce had reined him in. Which meant Pierce had something Cavitt wanted, something more than the value of the Healer as a conduit.

A couple of soldiers passed by, smiling suggestively at the Healer's form. Brivari had already noticed this form tended to render the male of the species virtually idiotic. For just a moment he had a flash of sympathy for Vilandra, who had been lusted after with every breath she drew. Is this what that felt like? No wonder she'd been the way she was. He headed for the Healer's quarters, only to stop again when it dawned on him what Cavitt and Pierce might be after.

Good Lord, Brivari thought, lapsing into the human expression as he shook his head, smiling. How very ambitious of the good doctor....and how arrogant. Then again, the younger races frequently were, thinking they could pull of feats well ahead of their time. But no matter. If his suspicions were correct, that would serve his purposes well. Jaddo's safety would be assured as the humans occupied themselves pursuing something that Brivari knew was downright impossible.




******************************************************




Hidden in her bathroom, the door ever so slightly ajar, Yvonne watched the owner of the booted foot walk into her quarters and quietly close the door behind him. Whoever it was was taking great pains to be silent; his feet made no sound on the tile floor, and the door closed virtually noiselessly, cutting off the light from the hall and throwing the room into complete darkness. She waited, holding her breath, not trusting herself to breathe quietly.

"Yvonne?" a voice whispered.

Yvonne's heart skipped a beat. There was only one person in this compound who addressed her by her first name.

Suddenly the light clicked on. The glare was blinding after the total darkness, and she squinted for a few seconds until her eyes adjusted and she could see if her ears were correct.

They were. Stephen Spade stood in front of her door, eyes carefully scanning the room. What was he doing here? If they'd caught the alien, there would have been an audible commotion. But the compound had been quiet, so Spade's presence couldn't have anything to do with the alien.

Spade hesitated for a good long minute before beginning to systematically search her room. Yvonne watched in astonishment as he rifled through her wardrobe, checked under her bed, and looked behind furniture, a frantic look on his face. What on earth was he doing? And why? Had he lied to her when he said he no longer trusted Cavitt? Was he really working for him, luring her along, waiting to betray her?

Spade was peeking behind her nightstand. Despite the fact that her quarters were luxurious by military standards, there still wasn't much in them. He would no doubt head for the bathroom any minute now, and Yvonne decided to take matters into her own hands. Better that she should surprise him rather than the other way around.

"Can I help you, Lieutenant?" Yvonne said suddenly, throwing open the bathroom door, her hand on the light switch as though she had just finished using the facilities.

Spade spun around, flabbergasted, a book from her nightstand in his hands.

"I said, can I help you, Lieutenant?" Yvonne repeated with as much ice in her tone as she could muster. "Or perhaps you don't need assistance ransacking my room?"

Spade closed his mouth, which had flopped open at the sight of her. "You're okay," he whispered. "Thank God. When I saw the light off and couldn't find you, I was afraid....." His eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" he asked suspiciously.

Now it was Yvonne's turn to be flabbergasted. "I beg your pardon?"

"Where did we meet right before you were supposedly transferred?" Spade demanded.

"Lieutenant, what are you…."

"Where?" Spade demanded again.

"In my barracks," Yvonne replied, exasperated. "You snuck in. What does this have to do with you trespassing in my quarters?"

Spade's face softened. He set the book down gently. "I had to be sure it was you and not….him," he finished deliberately.

Him? Yvonne's hand flew to her mouth. They'd found him? Already?

"He wasn't discovered," Spade said hastily, reading her mind. "No one else knows but me."

Yvonne allowed herself to start breathing again, and sank down on the bed. "How did you know?"

Spade suddenly flushed a brilliant red from his hairline to his collar. "That doesn't matter. I wanted to make sure you were all right. He said he hadn't hurt you, and I….I guess I didn't believe him."

"He didn't hurt me," Yvonne confirmed, wondering what could have happened to make Spade blush like that, but deciding to leave it alone for the moment. "He came here last night. He'd managed to get inside, even said it was easy."

"I'd love to see Cavitt's face if he heard that," Spade muttered.

"But he said getting close to the other one was hard. We both know how heavily he's guarded. Last night he pulled the same trick you used the night we first saw them, posing as a soldier and showing up early for duty so he could talk to his friend."

"He shouldn't do that. Everyone knows that's the ruse they used the last time."

"I told him that," Yvonne said hastily, "and he knows he can't keep doing that. That's why he wanted to pose as me. I have direct access to his friend."

"If his cover is blown, do you know what they'll do to you?"

"We went over all that," Yvonne said patiently. "I'll deny any knowledge of it at all, and they'll just do a blood test to confirm I'm human. There's no reason for them to suspect I allowed him to impersonate me."

"But you're a nurse!" Spade protested, plopping down on the bed beside her. "How could he know everything you know as a nurse?"

"We'll only do it for short periods," Yvonne assured him. "We'll have to be careful to avoid times when he'd need specific medical knowledge, such as when I'm on duty in the infirmary, but that won't be difficult—he wants to see the other one, so he'll only be taking my place when I'm scheduled to be with the prisoner. We'll go slowly," she added gently, seeing the alarm on Spade's face. "We'll figure it out."

Spade shook his head. "I don't like it. It's too risky."

Yvonne sighed. "Stephen, we have to do something. I don't know about you, but I have no intention of staying here indefinitely. If the alien escapes, they have no reason to keep us here. They'll have to reassign us."

Spade raised his eyes to hers, saying nothing. "They will let us go if there's no alien to study, won't they?" Yvonne asked, a chill going through her. "They can't kill this many people and get away with it….can they?"

"I don't know what they'd do with us," Spade said slowly. "It's hard to believe they'd be able to get rid of that many people, but it's also hard to believe they'd let that many people just wander off to other assignments, knowing what they know. Controlling that much information out there would be difficult. I could see somebody taking the easy way out."

"How?" Yvonne said, a bit more shrilly than she had intended. "How would they pull off a mass execution like that?"

"It wouldn't be easy," Spade admitted, "and it wouldn't necessarily happen here. We know that Cavitt's reach extends beyond the base because that reporter is dead. He's killing civilians, Yvonne—or somebody is. Somebody wants this kept quiet badly enough that they're willing to commit murder on both sides of the green line. That doesn't bode well for the rest of us."

Yvonne pulled her sweater tighter around her. She hadn't considered this possibility. She'd been convinced that freedom for the captured alien meant her freedom as well.

"I don't get it, Stephen. You tried to keep the second alien from being captured. You ordered everyone to hold their fire so the first one could escape. You want to help them too…but why, if you think we might not survive anyway?"

Spade was silent for a moment, staring at his hands. When he spoke, his tone of quiet finality was chilling.

"I'm a marked man, Yvonne. I know that. I know the only way I'll probably leave here is feet first. I'm still on record calling Cavitt a liar about the alien who surrendered. Everyone else who had direct contact with the aliens before their capture is dead. Everyone but me. And you."

"So what you're saying is, I'm marked too," Yvonne whispered.

"Maybe not," Spade said. "They think you only had contact with dead aliens before, remember? I'm in trouble anyway, so it doesn't matter what I do, but you still have a chance. I want to help the aliens escape, but I never intended to involve you. Now you're involved. Directly involved," he added, his voice growing husky. "And that scares me."

"How 'involved' I am is my decision," Yvonne said gently. "I agree this is frightening, but do you know what frightens me more? Sitting here like a good little prisoner, doing nothing. Capitulating. Giving in. Giving up. Just sitting around and waiting for them to get me in my sleep like they did the other two."

Spade sighed resignedly. "So I can't talk you out of this?"

Yvonne shook her head firmly. "I'm the closest to the prisoner. I'm in the best position to help."

Spade looked at her a moment, then slowly stood up and headed for the door. He turned before he opened it.

"You're sure I can't talk you out of this?"

"You should get back before they miss you," Yvonne said softly. She paused. "You never told me how you knew it wasn't me."

"Not going to, either," Spade said with a small smile. He leaned in closer, his face near hers . "You be careful."

"I will," Yvonne promised.

The room plunged into darkness as Spade hit the light switch. Yvonne watched for the shaft of light as the door opened, preparing to back up so no one would see her. But the door didn't open right away.

"I was just thinking," Spade said slowly, his voice floating out of the darkness right next to her ear, "that from now on, whenever I see you......I'll never know if it's really you."




******************************************************




1245 hours




<Would you just look at them,> Jaddo said irritably. <They act like they've never watched anyone eat before.>

Brivari shifted his eyes hard left to look at the half dozen or so people standing in the observation room, their noses all but pressed to the window pane in anticipation.

<They're not watching anyone eat,> he reminded Jaddo. <You haven't started eating yet.>

<Neither have you.>

<You first.>

Jaddo was still strapped in the hospital bed, which had been raised to a sitting position for the occasion of the midday meal. Brivari, in the female healer's form, was seated in a chair beside the bed, a tray of food in his lap, eyeing his companion critically. Jaddo was uninjured, but very weak. It would take some time to regain his strength.

Jaddo gave a dramatic mental sigh, and picked up a utensil. <Pray tell why can I expect this ridiculous scenario to be played out three times a day?>

<They have asked the female healer to take meals with you, Jaddo> Brivari said, a touch of amusement in his voice. <They seem to think you like her.>

<And is she aware of this assignment?> Jaddo grumbled, fumbling with a piece of food on his tray.

<She is. Don't bite that. You have to peel it first.> Brivari took the long yellow fruit out of Jaddo's hands and showed him how to peel the skin off in long strips.

<What is this, anyway?> Jaddo asked, staring at the mushy insides.

<It's called a 'banana'. A type of fruit, I believe. I observed soldiers eating these earlier. As I was saying, I explained the situation to the Healer. She actually seemed pleased.>

<Oh, really?> Jaddo asked sarcastically.

<Yes, really,> Brivari said dryly. <It was an honest mistake, I'm sure. She doesn't yet know what charming company you make.>

Jaddo glared at him and took a bite of the mushy fruit as Brivari sighed. <Don't take it out on the Healer; it's not her fault you're here. She's a prisoner here too, and no happier about being here than you are. You could do a lot worse,> he added, with a glance at the observation room window. <You could be eating with one of them.>

<The Healer is not disagreeable,> Jaddo grudged, chewing. <Just timid. She reminds me of a frightened animal.>

<Then it will be your job to calm her fears,> Brivari said firmly. <I need access to you, Jaddo. This is the best way to obtain it. Behave yourself. Don't upset her.>

<Whatever gave them the ridiculous notion that I liked her?>

<From their perspective, it was she who ended your 'hunger strike', as they call it.>

<Hmph,> Jaddo said, swirling a utensil around a bowl of glistening, yellowish stuff. <Little did they know it was only you, threatening to take great pleasure in watching what they were planning to do to me.>

<I spent far more time reminding you of your duty.>

<One cannot perform one's duty when one is dead.>

<You're not dead yet!> Brivari snapped. <And we have no idea if that will be the result of this situation. Unless and until you are, you will serve your Ward! Is that clear?>

Jaddo turned exasperated eyes on Brivari's borrowed form. <I fail to see how eating this glop could be construed as 'serving my Ward'.>

<As you have already so helpfully pointed out, you cannot serve if you are dead,> Brivari said coldly. <It is your duty to keep yourself alive in any way possible so that you may escape. It is my duty to use any means at my disposal to help you escape. And stop glaring at me like that. If they think the Healer is making you unhappy, they might end this arrangement, and that would severely curtail my access to you.>

<Aren't you supposed to be eating too?>

Brivari realized with a start that he had completely forgotten the tray he had filled up in the aptly named "mess hall" only minutes earlier. He picked up a utensil. <What is this red stuff the food preparer put all over my food?> he grumbled.

<Malik told me humans love the red stuff,> Jaddo said. <Go ask him.>

The two ate in silence for a moment. <He did try to warn you,> Brivari noted. <Perhaps time on Khivar's payroll has rendered him a bit more flexible.>

<Have you seen them?>

<No,> Brivari said. <But they'll be back. It's only a matter of time.>

<And this drug you say they are using to stifle my powers?>

<It will take some time to figure out how to keep it out of your system long enough to make a difference. You're going to have to keep them busy while I sort it all out.>

Jaddo looked at him blankly. <Busy?>

<Yes, 'busy'. A high-ranking officer is coming tomorrow to see you. I understand he will decide the fate of this 'operation', as they call it. I need you to make him happy.>

<By doing what, exactly?>

Brivari leaned forward. <Listen to me, Jaddo. If this officer does not believe the ones currently in charge are being successful at their task of extracting information from you, you may be moved. Moved away from your Ward, away from the allies we have carefully cultivated here, away from the allies we have on this base right now. I need you to stay here. I need you to do anything, say anything, that will keep this officer content to leave things as they are.>

<Why don't I just translate our database for them?> Jaddo said, his eyes knife points.

<Oh, for heaven's sake!> Brivari snapped. <I know you're not this thick! Of course you won't tell them anything of value! Tell them something of no value, like the color of our sun, or what you like for breakfast. They know next to nothing about us, so any information at all should be enough to convince them they're getting somewhere. I need time! I will work as fast as I can, but you will need to hold up your end of things too.>

The pair were silent for several moments, each eating and casting sour glances in each other's direction. The assembled throng in the observation room pressed right up against the glass, no doubt wondering why they both looked so ill-tempered.

<How do you plan to go about locating the serum?> Jaddo asked after a few minutes silence.

<Hopefully, Spade will be of some assistance.>

<Spade? You shouldn't trust him. He betrayed us.>

<He had a reason, and has since recanted,> Brivari said, reaching for his glass. <I will be paying him a visit later tonight. I want to know what he saw the night you were captured.> He took a sip and grimaced. <What is it with humans and gas in their beverages?>

<Mine is the same,> Jaddo said, pushing his glass away with disdain. Then his expression changed. <Be careful, Brivari. I don't want you to wind up here too. Humans are not to be trusted.>

Brivari set his glass down with a thud. <Strange words from someone who brought humans to the pod chamber.>

<I told you, they had earned it,> Jaddo replied, not looking at him. <All of them.>

<Is that why you asked them to disperse Urza's dust? Because they had 'earned' it?>

Jaddo sat back in the bed and gave Brivari a level stare. <No. I did so because I did not know whether you were alive or dead, and because I did not know whether I would wind up alive or dead in my attempt to rescue you. But now that you mention it, you're right. Given what you originally planned to do with Urza's dust, the child was the better choice to perform the rite.>

Brivari's borrowed face flushed. He rose from his seat, tray in hand, and marched out of the room, the guards scrambling aside to let him pass.

<Oh dear,> Jaddo said ironically as he watched Brivari leave. <I do seem to have upset her.>




******************************************************




"What just happened?" Cavitt demanded, as Lieutenant White stalked out of the room below. "What was in the glass?"

"Relatively flat ginger ale, sir," a tech replied nervously. "All the food on the prisoner's tray is standard for someone who hasn't had any solid food for some time, like the ginger ale, applesauce, bananas, toast....."

"It wasn't the drink that made her leave," Pierce mused. "If I didn't know better, I'd say they'd quarreled."

"Quarreled? They weren't even speaking to each other! Find her," Cavitt ordered the nearest technician. "I want to know why she left early. The rest of you are dismissed."

The techs scurried out. Cavitt turned back to Pierce, who was still standing by the window, arms crossed, watching the alien eat. "What are we going to do? We have basically nothing to present to the General tomorrow except smoke and mirrors."

" 'Nothing', Sheridan?" Pierce queried, still watching the alien. "Nothing at all? The General hasn't set foot in this place. You have an alien ship in the hangar, still basically intact, not to mention crates of artifacts. We have photographs from the autopsies of the two aliens that died, and more photographs of the one that escaped. We have a living, breathing alien who, despite its outward human appearance is anything but, as evidenced by various x-rays and blood tests. We've demonstrated our ability to suppress its powers enough to hold it captive, plus we have a demonstrated response to one of our personnel. I would hardly say we have 'nothing' to present."

"You know as well as I do that the line of others who want a piece of this action would probably stretch around the globe," Cavitt fretted, "and no, I'm not exaggerating. If we don't come up with something soon…."

"I am well aware of the competition," Pierce said dismissively. "We have enough to keep it here. That's all we need right now."

"It still hasn't uttered a peep," Cavitt said, worry creasing his forehead, "and we still have no idea where it's from or what it's doing here. Those are the key questions the General will want answered."

"And he shall have his answers," Pierce said, sitting down on the window ledge. "Eventually. What we already have, plus our proposal, is more than enough to placate the General for the moment."

"That 'proposal' is nothing more than a theory," Cavitt complained. "I'm already starting to doubt my sanity in agreeing to it in the first place."

"Ah, but you did agree," Pierce noted, "for the same reason Ramey will agree. The prospect of success is just too enticing."

"Just exactly what is the prospect of success?" Cavitt demanded.

"Good enough to pursue it," Pierce answered impatiently. "Look, there is still much work to be done before we can begin trials. Data will have to be collected and lab work done. I've already ordered weekly blood tests for all personnel to see if there are any observable changes from exposure to these creatures, so much of the lab work will be invisible. We'll get there....but it will take time."

"How long?" demanded Cavitt.

"As long as it takes," Pierce said testily. "These are natural processes, Sheridan. You can't rush them. Rummage around in that attic of yours and find the door marked 'patience'. It's probably rusted shut from years of disuse, so get a crowbar and crank it open. You're going to need it."

"It is not my patience you need to court," Cavitt pointed out, "but the General's."

"The General won't be a problem," Pierce said, smiling at the alien below. "When he hears what I—we—have in mind, he'll be willing to give us all the time we need."

[Kathy W 2200]

CHAPTER SIXTEEN



July 19, 1947, 4:30 p.m.

Corona, New Mexico




"Tell me this isn't going to be a regular thing," Emily Proctor said, as the family car headed down the main street of town toward home. "A church picnic today, and you promised him we'd be at Mass tomorrow? That's enough church to last me the rest of the summer."

"I thought we owed Father O'Neill," David said a little defensively. "He did just do us an enormous favor."

"You mean he did Brivari an enormous favor," Emily corrected.

David shook his head. "Us too. He kept his mouth shut, Em. An awful lot of people wouldn't have done that."

"I'll grant you that," Emily said wryly. In her experience, one of the things Catholic priests did not do well was keep their mouths shut about anything. "But that still doesn't explain why we had to stay late and help clean up."

"I didn't mind," Dee piped up from the back seat. "I had fun. At the picnic, that is. Mass is boring. Why couldn't we just go to the picnic? Doesn't God go to picnics?"

David shot a look at Emily, who smiled. "I don't know," she said, twisting in her seat to look at her daughter. "What do you think?"

"I think He'd rather go to the picnic," Dee said seriously. Her gaze drifted out the window. "Where is everyone going?"

A long stream of cars was heading east, out of town. Traffic was backed up at the light just ahead, a rare occurrence in Corona. The only time Corona saw bumper-to-bumper traffic was during parades.

"What the devil is going on?" David muttered. "Are those tourists?"

"Nope," said Emily, who saw a number of people she knew sitting in the traffic jam. "There's Bill Chambers," she added, pointing to a figure standing outside Chambers Grocery Store. "Maybe he knows what's up."

David pulled the car over to the curb beside Bill. "Afternoon, Bill," Emily called. "Where's everyone headed? Don't tell me another spaceship landed."

"In a way, I guess one did," Bill answered, leaning over to peer into the car. "Afternoon, David. Dee."

"What do you mean, 'one did'?" Emily asked suspiciously.

Bill Chambers's eyes fastened on Dee's face. "I mean the Army's opened up Pohlman Ranch. You can go up there now."



******************************************************




"That must have been some weather balloon," Emily murmured, a tinge of sarcasm in her voice as they walked through the throngs of people fanning out over the ranch.

"Mmm hmm," David agreed.

"So where was it?"

"Over there," David said with a slight nod, not wanting to point. "At the base of that rise up ahead."

"Think it'll work?" Emily asked, "them letting people out here to dispel the myth?"

"Nope," David said, shaking his head firmly. "Too many people saw it....or saw something connected with it. I'm afraid that myth is around for a long time to come."

Dee trailed behind her parents, scarcely able to believe her eyes. Practically the whole town was up here along with a generous helping of tourists, wandering, poking, staring at…..nothing. There was nothing here. No ship. No metal pieces. Nothing. Just lots of tire tracks and fresh dirt that squished under her feet as she walked. It looked like half the pasture had been dug up, as if someone had been trying to plant an enormous garden.

Dee trudged toward the rise against which the ship had rested, half-heartedly nodding to the people she knew and ignoring the strangers. She saw several kids from her block off in the distance, including Rachel, Peter, Mary Laura, Anthony.....and Ernie Hutton, who seemed to have whipped up yet another game of "Capture the Alien". Disgusted, she walked faster until she reached the little hill and began to climb it as she had done so many times before.

There was nothing to see from the top but tons of fresh earth, dumped there no doubt to cover the imprint of the ship, and dozens of people milling around, completely unaware that they were standing right where the ship had been. The Army had clearly gone to great pains to dump dirt over a wide area, so this particular spot didn't look much different from any other. Even standing here now, knowing exactly where the ship had been, it was hard to picture it.

Dee sat down on the grass, crossing her legs in front of her. What were Brivari and Jaddo going to do now that the Army had their ship? How would they get home? Would they have to use that round radio thing Jaddo had to call home for another ship? Granted, they'd be here for many years, but eventually they'd have to leave. At the very least, the King and his family would be going back. How would they do that without a ship?

Footsteps pounded up the hillside in front of her, and Peter sprang over the edge of the rise, yelling, "You can't catch me!", missing Dee by inches. Ernie Hutton followed in hot pursuit, hands clasped together like a gun, hollering, "I got me an alien! I got me an alien!" He paused for a moment, pointing his "gun" straight at Dee. "Bang!" he announced dramatically. "I got me an alien!"

"Get lost, Ernie," Dee snapped. <Idiot,> she muttered silently, as Ernie scowled and slunk away.

<Friend of yours?>

The familiar voice came from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. It was maddeningly difficult to locate the source of telepathic speech. The aliens seemed to be able to do it, but she hadn't gotten the knack of it yet.

<Hardly,> she answered. <He's a neighbor. I put up with him because I have to.>

There was a bit of a smile in the answering voice. <I assure you that people on every world have lists of those they put up with because they have to.>

The crowd shifted, revealing Brivari alone amongst a sea of humans. An alien who looked human surrounded by humans looking for an alien. If there was a God, she was willing to bet He was shaking his head at the irony. Or better yet, laughing at it.

<They took your ship.>

<It doesn't matter. It was too damaged to fly again anyway.>

<But how will the King get home?>

<We have another way to get home.>

Brivari had been walking toward her as they spoke, and now he climbed the hill and sat down beside her, copying her sitting position.

<You can hear me,> Dee observed, rather unnecessarily.

<I noticed.> He paused. <How long have we been here?>

Dee thought for a moment. <Two and a half weeks. Almost three. Why?>

<I was just wondering how long it took you to become proficient in both hearing and speaking telepathic speech.>

<Does it matter?>

<Not really. Just curious.>

They sat in silence for awhile, watching the disappointed townsfolk wandering by, unhappy because there was nothing to look at. Here and there, little knots of people gathered to discuss what they hadn't found as Dee sat quietly beside what they were looking for.

<How is Jaddo?>

<Ill-tempered, argumentative, and thoroughly miserable,> Brivari said casually.

<So he's back to normal,> Dee said.

<Daddy said they haven't hurt him.>

<No, they have not.>

<Can you get him out?>

<Eventually. It's going to take awhile.>

<Are you going to live with us?>

<If your mother will let me, I'd like that,> Brivari said, as Dee smiled. He had correctly identified the parent who would make that decision.

<Are you still mad about what we did with Urza's dust?>

Brivari was silent so long Dee began to think he wasn't going to answer her. <Who disposed of it?> he finally asked.

<We didn't 'dispose of it',> Dee said with a touch of asperity. <You were the one who was going to dump it, remember?>

More silence. <I was angry,> he said at length.

<I did it, right outside the cave, right where Jaddo told us to,> Dee continued. <And I made sure every bit of it flew with the wind.>

<I thought Jaddo asked your mother to do it?>

<I wanted to do it, so Mama let me. Urza was my friend, not hers.>

Dee glanced sideways to see how he was taking this. Brivari was staring off into space, unseeing, his face set.

<Are you mad at me now?> Dee asked, fully prepared to get mad right back if he said yes.

Brivari dropped his eyes to the ground in front of him. <No. You and your parents only did what was asked of you.> He paused. <Urza would have been pleased.>

Yes, he would have, Dee thought with satisfaction, glad that Brivari had come to his senses. <Can I ask you something?>

<Would it make a difference if I said 'no'?>

There was just enough amusement in the tone that Dee chose to ignore this remark. <Jaddo said the dust had to fly with the wind because that was the only way you could be free. Is that right?>

<Yes.>

<That sounds awful,> Dee said bluntly. <Why would you even want to go back there if life is so bad that the only time you can be free is when you die?>

<It is a very old rite, begun hundreds of years ago, long before the current King's father made life better for us.>

<If life got better, why do you still do it?>

<Because it is important to remember. What has happened once could happen again. Is happening again.>

<What did they do to you? Why was life so bad?>

<When you can make yourself look different anytime you want, no one trusts you. They can never be sure you are who you look like.>

<So, what did they do?>

<Suffice it to say we frightened people,> Brivari said evasively. <We still do. Your 'neighbor' is creeping up the hill toward us.>

<What?>

Hands clasped in the shape of a gun appeared over the edge of the rise, followed by Ernie Hutton's face. "Gotcha!" he announced, his "gun" pointed straight at Brivari, whose eyebrows had traveled skyward.

Ernie had apparently been expecting to find Dee in front of him instead of some strange man wearing a rather dangerous expression. Never the brightest bulb in the box, he held his post for a full five seconds before deflating, only to re-inflate seconds later and swing his "weapon" toward Dee, inches from her face.

"Bang! You're dead!" he announced dramatically.

Dee snorted. "You don't learn, do you?" she said severely. "Don't you remember what happened the last time you did this?"

His nose still faintly black and blue from the Dee's well-placed punch last week, Ernie wavered momentarily and backed up, only to find that distance made him bolder.

"You wouldn't dare hit me again," he taunted, his feet tantalizingly close to the edge of the rise.

"Don't bet on it," Dee said darkly.

"Come get me then," Ernie teased, still keeping a respectable distance. "Bet you can't catch me!"

"I don't have to," Dee said pleasantly, and lunged forward.

She never reached Ernie. She hadn't intended to. But Ernie didn't know that and hastily backed up, only to find himself stumbling and tumbling down the side of the hill to a chorus of laughter from nearby children. Dee leaned over the edge of the rise and watched with interest as Ernie finally reached the bottom and picked himself up, glowering.

"I'm telling, Proctor!"

"Telling what?" Dee called down innocently. "I never laid a hand on you."

More laughter. Dee saw Mary Laura in the crowd with her hand over her mouth, Anthony suppressing a smile, and Peter chuckling openly. Ernie was usually merely annoying, but there were times when he seemed to have the same career goals as Denny Miltnor. Maybe they should see to it that he fell down a few more hills.

Ernie, who had started to walk away, paused when he heard the laughter. Face flushed with embarrassment, he headed back up the hill toward Dee.

"I'm gonna make you pay for that!"

Dee's fists clenched. As if it wasn't bad enough to sit here where two of her friends had died, now she had this nitwit to deal with. "I'd like to see you try," she answered furiously, climbing to her feet. Children crept closer, lured by the prospect of a fight. The situation had not yet registered on the radar of the adults nearby, although that would change once fists started flying.

A flicker of movement caught Dee's eye. Brivari fingers flipped outward, and suddenly Ernie slipped. There wasn't much in the way of loose dirt on the hill, but somehow he slipped to his knees.

<You do seem to get yourself into situations like this, don't you?> Brivari said wearily.

<You don't have to do that,> she answered crossly. <I can take him.>

<I'm sure you can. The real question is, would it be wise to do so?>

Ernie had picked himself up and was climbing again, madder than ever. Flick! went Brivari's fingers. Down went Ernie.

<He has it coming!> Dee protested. <He's an idiot!>

<He's a child,> Brivari corrected, <and he's acting like a child. Incidentally, so are you. But does he really merit a public brawl?>

Gamely trying again, Ernie advanced more slowly this time, leaning forward to place his hands on the hill as he climbed. Flick! This time he landed on his stomach and slid most of the way back down. Children standing nearby tittered.

<You keep trying to tell me what is and isn't my fight!> Dee stormed at Brivari. <This is definitely my fight! It's none of your business!>

<I seem to recall that argument failing when I used it on you,> Brivari said dryly.

Ernie had risen to his feet again and was apparently trying to decide if another attempt was worth the effort.

<Pick your battles carefully,> Brivari continued. <You can't right every wrong or reform every 'idiot' you meet. Save it for the things that really matter. This one doesn't.>

<Did you know you can be really annoying sometimes?> Dee fumed.

Brivari smiled slightly. <I do seem to recall a few people mentioning that.>

<Did you drive your King this crazy?>

<Absolutely,> Brivari said casually. <At the moment, you remind me of him. He didn't use his fists, but he didn't always pick his battles carefully either. You could stand to learn from his mistakes.>

With a snort of exasperation, Dee marched off, leaving Ernie below pondering whether to follow her. Apparently deciding against it, he slunk off through the crowd in the opposite direction, filthy and scowling.

The excitement over, the children nearby drifted away. All but one. Unlike the others, Anthony Evans had not been watching Ernie Hutton's aborted trek to the top of the hill. Instead, he'd been watching the stranger sitting beside Dee, and he continued to watch him longer after she had left.




******************************************************



1730 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




Yvonne White steadied the heavy tray in front of her as she waited for the soldier to unlock the prisoner's door. Two trays actually, stacked one on top of another, with dinner for two piled on the top tray. Dinner with an alien; it sounded like some wacky radio contest. A few weeks ago she would have thought it was just that; now, however, it was her reality.

The door swung open, and Yvonne entered the room, feeling all eyes in the observation room trained on her. She felt a tingle of excitement, a deep-seated sense of satisfaction. I've got a secret, she thought, glancing at Major Cavitt in the upstairs window. The alien was still a prisoner, she was still a prisoner, but she no longer felt so helpless and angry. Now she was doing something to undermine this whole situation and she found that exhilarating, despite the inherent danger. Stephen's worries aside, it was amazing what a little rebellion could do for one's morale. Okay, she argued with herself, a lot of rebellion. Voluntarily letting someone else pose as yourself most likely qualified as a lot of rebellion.

The free alien—she still didn't know his name—had returned about two hours later than expected, and had filled her in completely on what had transpired when he was posing as her. He had impressed upon her the importance of keeping each other informed; with the two of them changing places as they were, it was imperative they each know what had happened when the other was out and about. In some ways it was bizarre having someone else living part of her life, interacting with people who thought he was her.

On the other hand, it could also be amusing. Yvonne had found herself smiling at the account of what "she" had said to Cavitt about him not being much to look at. As often as she had stood up to him, it had usually not been in public; she didn't quite have the guts for that. The alien, of course, had no such reservations, and she had felt obliged to point out that he'd best not get her into so much trouble that she wasn't able to get out of it.

"If you're going to be me, you have to sound like me," she'd reminded him. "And I don't sound like that....not very often, anyway."

"Your Lieutenant Spade expressed similar concerns," the alien had admitted.

"Speaking of Lieutenant Spade, how did he find out it was you and not me? He wouldn't tell me."

"Wouldn't he, now? I am not surprised. Perhaps I was enjoying myself a bit too much with Cavitt," he had continued, dropping the subject of how Stephen had discovered his identity every bit as quickly as Stephen had. "Your Dr. Pierce advised caution as well. I will curb my enjoyment in the future," he said resignedly, as though relinquishing a much loved pastime. "Pierce will think you took his advice, which should keep him happy."

"You still haven't told me what happened with Stephen," Yvonne had reminded him.

"Nor will I," the alien had answered, the hint of a smile in his voice, if not on his face. "I have many faults, but indiscretion isn't one of them."

"I thought we were supposed to spill everything that happened when we switch?" Yvonne had said, more curious than ever now.

"That particular detail is irrelevant," the alien had announced, in a tone that made it clear he wouldn't discuss it further. Yvonne had decided to drop the matter....but only for the moment. She could always pursue the question later. Unfortunately, she wasn't going anywhere.

She had received the news that she was now expected to "befriend" the captured alien with mixed emotions. On the one hand, her new assignment was a welcome respite from all the medical testing she'd been engaged in, as well as being right up her alley. As a nurse she frequently found herself advocating for patients with doctors, CO's, and family members, to name a few. She had already been acting as an advocate for the aliens; now the position was formal, and that would silence a specific fear of Stephen's: That her defense of the aliens would mark her as a sympathizer. Now she would be able to pass off such defense as part of her job, at least to a certain extent.

But her initial enthusiasm had been dampened a bit by the free alien's cautions about the prisoner. "He is a very difficult person to deal with, even under the best of circumstances," he had said, in the tone of one who knew this from personal experience. "Needless to say, these are not the best of circumstances. I will apologize in advance for his rudeness. He won't be pleasant company."

The alien had gone on to admit that he and his colleague had quarreled during "her" first meal with the prisoner, and the subsequent questions this prompted from Major Cavitt. Yvonne had listened to many, many, private details of people's lives, yet she still found such listening awkward at times. It was obviously awkward for the alien to relate the experience, even though he hadn't divulged what they had been arguing about. She understood that she had to know what had happened in case she was questioned about it later—he was, after all, posing as her—but that did little to ease her discomfort. It occurred to her that she, too, would need to relate everything that had happened to her, and that might prove difficult. She and the alien were going to learn a great deal more about each other than perhaps each wanted to know.

Still, as dinner time drew near, Yvonne found herself less and less bothered by the alien's description of his grumpy colleague. She had dealt with all sorts, from civilians to Privates to Major Generals, and she had yet to meet a nut she couldn't crack. She had headed to the mess hall to collect the food, spending a full five minutes arguing with Dr. Pierce for the pot of coffee on the tray in her hands, and feeling enormously satisfied when she won. Now she stood in the doorway, confident that the prisoner couldn't be all that bad now that his companion had filled him in on what was happening.

The door closed behind her, two soldiers armed with the requisite tranquilizer rifles taking up positions on either side of it. The alien was still strapped to the bed, silent, staring at the wall.

"Good evening," Yvonne said pleasantly when she reached the bed. "I have your dinner. Our dinners, actually."

The alien didn't move, or give any indication that he had heard her. Was he asleep? Yvonne walked around the bed to stand on the opposite side. No, he was most definitely awake.

She tried again. "I brought you some coffee," she said, indicating the pot on the tray with a nod. "I heard….I thought you might prefer that," she amended quickly, silently chastising herself for stumbling over the truth. She was going to have to be very, very careful about how she phrased things. Just one more thing to remember about her strange new existence.

Still no response from the alien. Yvonne stood there a moment, nonplussed. Why was he ignoring her? He had known she would be coming, and he must know it was her, not his colleague; the free alien had explained how those of his kind could identify each other on sight, although he hadn't explained how.

"Well," she said after a moment. "I'll just set up the meal."

She set the tray down on the wheeled bed table and cranked the bed into a sitting position. He continued to ignore her, not betraying any sign at all that he knew she was there. Mystified, she separated the two trays and began dividing up the food.

"The other one did tell you I was coming, didn't he?" she said under her breath so the soldiers couldn't hear her.

No response. Yvonne finished divvying up the food and pushed the bed table closer to the alien, wondering if perhaps he had reinstated his hunger strike. Was that why he was acting like this?

A moment later she had her answer. As soon as the bed table was within range of the play on the straps around his wrists, the alien promptly picked up a spoon and began eating. He still didn't look at her and he ate mechanically, as though obeying an order he didn't wish to obey....but he ate nonetheless.

So, Yvonne thought grimly, this is how it's going to be. All she had gone through on their behalf apparently didn't even merit acknowledgement of her existence.

The alien reached for the coffee pot. The coffee she had been told he liked. The coffee she had wrangled out of Dr. Pierce. The pot hovered over the cup, tipping, tipping. And suddenly, Yvonne snapped.

Snatching the coffee cup, Yvonne threw it against the wall where it shattered into a half dozen pieces with a spectacular crash. The alien's eyes jerked upward in surprise, looking at her for the first time. Yvonne heard the soldiers raise their weapons, sensed the tension from the observation room above her. She kept her eyes locked on the alien's, willing herself not to blink.

"So. You do know I'm here. I guess you're not completely stupid."

<What did you do that for?> he demanded.

The voice pounded in her head, angry and surprised. The free alien had tried their "telepathic speech" earlier in the day, and despite the fact that she had heard him last night, this time she had heard nothing. He had explained that it would take time for the previously unused part of her brain responsible for using telepathic speech to become proficient. Now, awash in indignation, she could hear perfectly.

"I see I managed to surprise you," she said coolly. "Score one for me."

<I said, what did you do that for?>

"If you think for one minute that you're just going to sit there and ignore me, think again," Yvonne said severely.

The alien's expression hardened, if that were possible. <I do not make a habit of conversing with my captors.>

"I am not your captor, and you know it!" Yvonne snapped, remembering at the last minute to keep her voice low enough so only the tone would carry, although that was difficult given how angry she was. "I'm a prisoner here too, and because of you, I might add. The way I see it, we can either make each other more miserable or less miserable. I vote for less. How about you?"

<I had no idea you could be so violent,> the alien observed, though in a less acerbic tone.

"And I had no idea you could be so rude," she responded tartly, ignoring for the moment the fact that she had been forewarned. "Now, this is how it works. You are going to behave yourself. You will acknowledge my presence. You will mind your manners. You will remember to speak out loud at least some of the time lest they figure out that you have another means of communicating. You will eat, you will tell them what you safely can, and you will keep them occupied while your friend and I work on getting you out of here. My only way out is if you're out, and I will not let you screw that up for me. Pull the silent treatment one more time and you'll be drinking ginger ale from now on. Are we clear? Or do I have to go on breaking crockery?"

Yvonne felt the soldiers still tensed behind her, probably responding to the tone of her diatribe, the only part they could hear. The faces in the observation room were practically smashed against the window, their owners no doubt wondering why she and the alien were angry at each other "again". The alien just stared at her, his eyes narrowing, and for a moment, Yvonne had the sense of being sized up....measured....appraised. It was not a comfortable feeling.

<We are clear,> he said at last. "Now may I have the coffee?" he added out loud.

Yvonne plucked her cup off the second tray and held it out of his reach. "What's the magic word?"

" 'Magic word'?" he echoed, looking completely blank. He paused for a moment, staring off into space, then refocused his gaze on her. <The only 'magic word' I have in my scans is 'Abracadabra'.>

Yvonne blinked. Every single time she thought this situation couldn't get any more bizarre, she was wrong.

"I was referring to the polite way to ask for things in our culture," she replied. "If you're not familiar with that, I'll teach you."

<Oh,> he said dismissively. <That.> "I believe the word is 'please'."

"Yes, it is," Yvonne said, setting the cup down on his tray.

"And that one word makes it all better?" the alien asked with thinly veiled sarcasm.

"No," Yvonne admitted with a small smile. "But it's a start."

[Kathy W 2200]

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


July 20, 1947, 9:42 a.m.

Proctor residence



Anthony Evans cupped his hand around his eyes and peered through the Proctor's living room window. He was very surprised to find them not home this fine Sunday morning, especially given that Mr. Proctor had specifically suggested Sunday morning as a good time to drop off the item Anthony had tucked under one arm, the item they had discussed the last time Anthony had come to dinner four days ago. He tried the doorbell again just in case someone hadn't heard. He'd already checked the backyard, and chucked an experimental stone up at Dee's bedroom window. When there was still no response, he tried the doorknob.

The front door was open. Anthony hesitated for just a moment before slipping inside and closing the door behind him.

The interior of the house was heavy with silence, despite the windows left open in a vain attempt to mitigate the summer heat. Anthony debated for a moment where exactly would be the best place to leave his burden. He didn't want Dee to see it, so that ruled out public rooms like the living room or the kitchen. He could leave it in Mr. and Mrs. Proctor's bedroom, but the thought of waltzing into someone's bedroom uninvited was…uninviting. Besides, there was that not so little matter of temptation. Dee's bedroom was also upstairs, and he wasn't entirely sure he had the wherewithal to resist paying it a visit.

Anthony moved to the base of the front stairs, gazing longingly up at the landing. What time was it? He checked the nearby grandfather clock; it was 9:43 a.m., and he really had no idea where the Proctors were. It would be so easy to just slip up the stairs into Dee's room, and solve the mystery. Find the proof he was aching to find, the proof he was absolutely certain was up there. Because Dee knew something; he wasn't sure what, exactly, but she had basically admitted she knew something. The fact that the Army had recently reinstated its practice of following Mr. Brazel around, although much more coyly this time, only confirmed this suspicion. The Army obviously thought Mr. Brazel knew something about the aliens.....the Brazels lived right next door to the Proctors, and were good friends with them.....the Proctors had mysteriously driven off in the middle of the night, and someone was watching their house the very next day....Dee had made those cryptic remarks about Jupiter's moons and the aliens being gray. Both the Brazels and the Proctors knew something. It fit.

But Anthony had promised not to ask, and he took his promises very seriously, even if that did mean biting his tongue until he was certain it would fall off. Now, standing so close to what might be the answers to his questions, he wavered. It would be so easy….just slip up there and find out without ever having to ask. No need for her to tell; no need for him to break his promise. He'd just stumble across it by accident while dropping something off for Mr. Proctor. Find out the answer to his question all by himself: Were there really space aliens in Roswell?

The grandfather clock clanged the quarter hour, making Anthony jump and simultaneously knocking some sense into him. What was he thinking? The Proctors could walk through that door at any moment, and if they found him snooping, he'd never be welcome here again. Not to mention the fact he'd lose the one good friend he'd made since moving here. No, it was too risky. Reluctantly, Anthony turned away from the stairs toward the doorway into the kitchen....and froze.

A man stood before him, framed in the kitchen doorway, blocking his path. He looked vaguely familiar. And more than a little vaguely upset.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" the man demanded.




******************************************************



0945 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



"He'll be here any minute now!" squeaked the overeager Private Treyborn to Spade. "A General! Can you believe it, sir? A real General!"

"You were expecting a fake one?" Spade rejoined, smiling as Treyborn stared at him in disbelief. He and Treyborn were standing behind Majors Pierce and Cavitt at the door to the hangar which housed the alien spacecraft, waiting for the arrival of Major General Roger Ramey, the man currently in charge of this operation. This marked Ramey's first visit to Roswell, and Spade could feel Cavitt's apprehension clouding the air like fog; Pierce, on the other hand, looked cool as a cucumber.

"It's a General, sir!" Treyborn said, still goggling at Spade's blasphemy. "A two-star General! That's so exciting!"

Not next to meeting aliens, it isn't, Spade thought, stifling a yawn. He hadn't bothered going to bed last night, not wanting to be caught asleep and off guard when his alien visitor arrived, which he had at about 2 a.m. The free alien's arrival had been silent, catching Spade completely by surprise even though he was sitting bolt upright in a chair waiting for it. That level of stealth was disquieting, to say the least. After he left, Spade had tossed and turned for the rest of the night, sleeping fitfully, if at all. He was currently running on too little sleep and too little coffee.

Nevertheless, Spade had found the exercise of telling the story of the now captive alien's capture to be therapeutic. He still felt badly that he had failed in his attempt to keep the second alien out of harm's way, but spending an hour or so going over the event in the great detail the free alien demanded had driven home the point that he had done everything he could. The free alien had asked many questions about the hostile alien, and confirmed a point about which Spade had still been unclear: There were two hostile aliens, something he'd suspected for some time now. While that wasn't exactly comforting news, it was nice to know he wasn't merely being paranoid.

Spade was still less than enthusiastic about the concept of the free alien pretending to be Yvonne. He and Yvonne had worked out a signal to identify her when she was herself, but they had agreed to use it only in private or when absolutely necessary. Which meant that every time he passed her in the hall or spied her in the mess, his heart skipped a beat as he wondered who it really was. It was very unnerving to realize you couldn't trust your own eyes, or even your own intuition—hard as he looked, he simply couldn't tell the difference. At least he didn't have to worry about that today. The General's visit meant far more security than usual, so the free alien had deemed it wise to stay away. Yvonne would really be Yvonne, at least while the General was here.

"I've never seen a General," the enthusiastic Treyborn was saying. "Aren't you excited, sir?"

"Not really," Spade answered indifferently. He'd developed a certain antipathy to authority figures. "I figure he pees standing up just like the rest of us."

Treyborn's horrified reply was cut short as Major General Roger Ramey, flanked by two Lieutenants, rounded the corner and came to a halt in front of Pierce and Cavitt. Everyone snapped a salute, none faster than Treyborn. Spade could have sworn he heard something crack.

"Welcome, General," Cavitt beamed, as everyone's hands lowered. "May I just say how honored we are to…."

"No, you may not," General Ramey replied pleasantly. "Let's skip the pontificating and get to the good stuff, shall we? And son?" he added, leaning around Major Pierce toward the bug-eyed Treyborn, still locked in a salute. "At ease. Before you hurt something."

Treyborn reddened and lowered his hand. Cavitt fell into a flustered silence.

"I must say, it's a treat to see the two of you standing here side by side and unmaimed," Ramey continued cheerfully.

"Sir?" Cavitt said quizzically.

"What I mean, Major, is that I would have thought you and Major Pierce would have killed each other by now," Ramey clarified. "Nice to know you haven't. Yet."

Now it was Cavitt's turn to redden. Pierce raised his eyebrows. Spade mouth twisted as he suppressed a smile. Treyborn's eyes were saucers.

"The Doctor and I have our differences," Cavitt said stiffly, but...."

"Major, I didn't come all this way to hear tales from the sandbox," Ramey said. "I want to see the toys. Now."

Taken aback once again, Cavitt turned and nodded curtly to Spade and Treyborn, who opened the doors and ushered the General inside.

Ramey stood with his mouth open for a full minute before uttering the high command's first pronouncement on its first personal inspection of the goings on in Roswell.

"Jesus H. Christ!"




******************************************************



Proctor residence



Anthony clutched the catalog to his chest and stared at the man in front of him, thunderstruck. He was fairly young, and dressed in the collared shirt and suspendered work pants common to men everywhere. His face, however, was another matter. That was the face of a school principal collaring a truant, or a policeman nabbing a petty thief. Anthony suddenly felt guilty even though he hadn't done anything wrong.

"I said who are you and what are you doing here?" the man demanded again.

"I…..I…..I……" Anthony paused as recognition chased away fear. "I remember you," he finished.

The man's eyebrows rose. "You remember me?" The tone of his voice gave Anthony the distinct impression that remembering this particular person was perhaps not such a good idea.

"From….from yesterday," Anthony said hesitantly, hugging the catalog even harder. "You were the one with Dee out on the ranch when Ernie was bugging her." The one Dee was so mad at even though you weren't talking to each other, he finished silently, keeping that peculiar bit of information to himself for the moment.

The man's expression became ever so slightly less flinty. "That does not answer my question. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"I'm Anthony. I'm a friend of Dee's. I have something for Mr. Proctor, and he said to bring it by on Sunday morning. But he's not here," Anthony finished unnecessarily.

"Obviously. Why were you looking up at the stairs?"

"I wasn't sure where to leave this," Anthony answered, slightly annoyed at the man's commanding tone. "Where are the Proctors? And who are you?"

"I am a relative," the man answered after a moment, "and the Proctors are attending their place of worship."

" 'Place of'….oh. You mean church?" Anthony asked.

"Yes. Church," the man replied curtly. "Leave your parcel on the table," he said, nodding toward the living room. "I will tell them you were here."

Parcel? "I'd rather not," Anthony said. "This is about Dee's birthday present, and I don't want her to guess what it is."

"Her birthdate?" The man's tone had changed.

"Um….yeah. Dee's birthday," Anthony said uncertainly. "It's coming up soon. August 8th."

"I see." The man's tone had definitely changed. He didn't sound accusing now, merely interested. "And what will be her gift?"

"She wants a telescope," Anthony said slowly. He still wasn't sure exactly who this man was, or if he should be discussing Dee's present with him. "This is a catalog that sells telescopes, and Mr. Proctor wanted to look at them so he could pick one out for her."

"She wants a telescope?" the man asked. "Why?"

"Well….because she likes to look at the stars," Anthony said.

"Does she now?" The man's tone was quiet now, almost wistful.

"We've been using my telescope," Anthony continued, bolder now that the man didn't appear to be suspicious of him. "It's a pretty good one, but it was kind of expensive. I'm not sure Mr. Proctor could afford one like that. I know a little about telescopes, so I told him I'd help him find one." He paused. "I bet a lot of people will want telescopes now, after…well, after what supposedly happened here," he finished.

"Indeed," the man murmured. He held out a hand. "May I see that?"

Wordlessly, Anthony handed him the catalog and watched as the man flipped through it.

"I will assist you in choosing a… 'telescope'," the man said abruptly, heading for the living room couch. "Join me." It was not a request.

"You know about telescopes?" Anthony asked hopefully, padding over to the couch.

The man sat down. "You could say that."

"Neat!" Anthony said, delighted at the prospect of learning more about one of his favorite hobbies. "Um…are you sure I'm not bothering you?"

This time the man actually smiled slightly. "I am in need of a distraction at the moment, and this will do nicely. Sit," he said, indicating the spot next to him, "and tell me what you know about telescopes."




******************************************************



Eagle Rock Military Base



"Amazing," General Ramey breathed, staring up at the alien spaceship. "Absolutely amazing!"

Standing behind him, Spade had to agree. The ship no longer made his skin crawl like it used to, like it had in the beginning. Now it was beautiful, a gleaming work of art that shone in the sun that managed to stubbornly stream through the covered windows high on the walls near the ceiling.

"Power source?" Ramey was asking Cavitt.

Cavitt's lip twitched. "We don't know yet."

"Weapons?"

"We don't know yet," Cavitt repeated.

Ramey looked at Cavitt a moment. "All right, let's try this from the opposite direction. Why don't you tell me what you do know."

"Very little," Pierce broke in. "Although we have reason to believe they understand our language, the alien hasn't spoken a word since its capture, so we have learned nothing from it that couldn't be learned from medical testing."

"We have conducted tests on the substance the ship is composed of," Cavitt said hurriedly, indicating the piece of silvery stuff the General had been handed a minute ago. "It has properties of both a solid and a liquid, and has no known counterpart on Earth."

"I would think not," Ramey said dryly. "If we had something like this, I would think I'd have been told."

"Yes. Of course," Cavitt said stiffly. "As you can see, the material is extremely malleable and durable, although not impossible to damage, as evidenced by the breaches in the hull."

The General nodded. "Anything else?"

Cavitt opened his mouth, and then closed it. "No, sir. We've been spending the lion's share of our resources studying the aliens themselves."

"Don't you mean the alien, Major? You lost one, correct?"

"That was Major Pierce's fault, sir," Cavitt said hurriedly, as Pierce's eyes flashed. "He failed to realize that the creature had regained consciousness and…."

"Oh, come off it Major!" Ramey snapped. "I don't expect Major Pierce to be fluent in alien biology! I do expect you to be prepared for the consequences that come with the learning curve associated with alien biology. You were supposed to have a plan in place for this eventuality. What happened?"

"Lieutenant Spade happened, sir," Cavitt said, turning beady eyes on Spade, who glared back at him. "He ordered his men to hold their fire. Not one of them fired, and the alien escaped."

Ramey spun around, following Cavitt's gaze and eyeballing Spade's nametag. "Spade," he said slowly. "I remember that name. You basically captured all of them, didn't you?"

"You could put it that way, sir," Spade responded in a toneless voice.

"So you held fire, did you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?" Ramey demanded, stepping forward so they were nose to nose.

"Out of concern for my men, sir. The syringes in our rifles were filled with doses of sedative possibly high enough to kill a man. The alien caused the power to fail, so the lights were out. We couldn't see who we were shooting."

Ramey turned to Pierce. "Is this true, what he's saying about the darts?"

"A man could survive one dart," Pierce replied. "More than that, and he'd need immediate medical attention."

"So," Ramey said, turning back to Spade. "You decided, all by yourself, that the risk was too great?"

"Soldiers could have died," Spade pointed out.

"Soldiers always die," Ramey observed, his eyes hard.

Spade could feel Treyborn at his right elbow, radiating a fear so intense it should have melted the alien metal. Oddly enough, he didn't share that fear. Only a month ago, a conversation like this with any superior officer, never mind a General, would have turned his knees to jelly. But that was one advantage of knowing you might be a dead man on borrowed time: You stopped caring what other people thought because what difference did it make if they got angry with you? Chances were you weren't going to be around much longer anyway. Might as well speak your piece. Spade was seized with a sudden affection for his elderly, irascible grandfather, whom he now suddenly understood and would likely never see again.

"We already had one alien," Spade said firmly, looking the General straight in the eye. "We've lost several men already. I didn't see the point in losing more."

"Oh, you didn't, did you?"

"No sir, I didn't."

"Did it ever occur to you, Lieutenant, that that wasn't your decision to make?"

"With all due respect sir, yes it was."

Spade heard the sound of a collective breath being sucked in. Behind the General, Pierce shook his head regretfully while Cavitt scowled. Treyborn appeared ready to faint. Ramey's eyebrows rose.

"Explain," Ramey commanded.

"Major Cavitt placed me in command of the security detail," Spade answered. "He gave no specific orders concerning a situation such as that we faced that evening, so it fell to me, the one placed in command, to make that decision. If the Major feels I acted improperly, he is always free to remove my command."

One could have heard a pin drop in the ensuing silence. Ramey continued to stare at Spade, and Spade held his gaze, willing himself not to blink. After what seemed like an eternity but was probably only about a minute, the General relaxed his expression and stepped back.

"I respect a man who stands by his decisions, even if I do disagree with them," Ramey said, nodding approvingly. "I also respect a man who takes responsibility for his actions instead of blaming everyone around him," he added, with a pointed look at a scarlet Major Cavitt. "At any rate, what's done is done. Now," Ramey said, nodding to Spade and the terrified Treyborn, "I think it's time I saw this monster for myself."



******************************************************



Proctor residence



"Not that one," Anthony protested, shaking his head at the telescope the Proctor's relative was pointing to. "It's way too small. Dee won't be able to see much of anything with that."

"Why does its size concern you?"

"The bigger the lenses, the more light it can gather and the more you can see," Anthony replied. "I don't know everything about telescopes, but I do know that much."

The man looked thoughtful. "Yes, I can see why you would think that."

"I don't just 'think that'—it's true," Anthony said with a touch of impatience. "I thought you said you knew something about telescopes?"

"What exactly happened with the child called 'Ernie'?" the man asked, suddenly changing the subject.

"Ernie's an idiot," Anthony said offhandedly.

"So I hear. He said something about being struck?"

"Yup. Dee punched him in the nose."

"She did? Why?"

"Ernie made up this game he calls 'Capture the Alien'. He picks someone to be the alien, and then everyone runs around trying to shoot it. He made Dee be the alien even though she didn't want to play, and he kept pretending to shoot her. She finally got tired of it and popped him. And I don't blame her," Anthony added. "Some people just don't get it until you pop them."

"Most definitely," the man agreed. Anthony stared at him, surprised. Most grown-ups he knew would have objected to any kind of assertion that sometimes it was necessary to pop someone.

"I don't even know why Ernie keeps playing that stupid game," Anthony went on. "He says he doesn't believe in aliens."

"And what about you?" the man asked. "Do you believe in aliens?"

Anthony opened his mouth to answer....and then hesitated. The man was looking at the catalog and his tone was casual, but there was something in his voice, something Anthony couldn't quite put his finger on that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

But why? This was the question on everyone's lips for miles around, a query so ubiquitous it rivaled "how are you?" for sheer use. Everybody was asking everybody whether or not they believed in aliens. Anthony had asked and been asked that questions dozens of times. This time should be no different.

Then the man looked up at him, waiting for an answer, and the look in his eyes made the hair on the back of Anthony's neck stop prickling and literally stand up, his eyes widening with shock as something occurred to him that hadn't before.

Could it be? Could it possibly be?

[Kathy W 2200]

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN



July 20, 1947, 1030 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



"That's an alien?" General Ramey asked skeptically.

"Yes, sir," Major Cavitt replied.

"It doesn't look like an alien."

"But the photographs, sir…."

"The photographs were of the other alien, the one that escaped."

"Yes, but the x-rays," Pierce noted, pointing to a set of x-ray films on a nearby viewer. "These x-rays are of that creature you see before you, and prove incontrovertibly that it is not human. I can't even begin to identify some of these organs."

From the corner of the observation room, Yvonne watched as Dr. Pierce made a futile effort to point out the differences in alien anatomy, with the General looking more and more befuddled as he droned on. "Excuse me doctor," she interjected, "but perhaps it would help to show the General a normal human x-ray so he could view them side by side and note the differences."

"Good thinking, Lieutenant," Ramey said, as Pierce nodded his approval. As she leafed through the pile of x-rays searching for the clearest examples to non-medical eyes, she glanced out the observation room window at the alien below, still strapped to his bed. He was passive, looking away as if unaware of the throng above staring at him, but Yvonne knew better. He was planning something, and she found herself in the uncomfortable position of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

After their scuffle yesterday evening at dinner, the rest of the meal had passed uneventfully. And silently. All attempts on her part at some kind of conversation were met with only "yes" or "no" answers or noncommital grunts. Still, he had bid her good night when she had left, and he definitely wasn't ignoring her anymore. She had left the room satisfied that she had made some progress.

Later, when the free alien had come to her quarters for an update and Yvonne had told him what she had done, she had been surprised to see him break into a genuine smile.

<You broke something?> he had said with amusement, using the telepathic speech which she was having no trouble hearing now. <I would have loved to have seen the look on his face when you did that. You didn't strike either of us as the type to hurl objects.>

"I was mad," Yvonne had admitted, a bit sheepishly. "He was so rude. Did I go too far?"

<He is usually rude,> the free alien had answered matter-of-factly. <And you did exactly the right thing. Strong emotions are something he can understand.> And then he had asked her a very strange question.

<How is his health? Do you get the impression that he is....dying?>

"Dying?" Yvonne had repeated. "Well.....no. I mean, I know next to nothing about your physiology, but......"

<You saw my other companion as he lay dying,> the free alien reminded her, <so you have a reference point. What does your intuition tell you?>

Images of Urza had marched through Yvonne's mind; the skin that looked off color even through it was a strange color, the shallow breathing, the loss of consciousness. She hadn't known about his physiology either, but she'd been certain he was dying.

"This one isn't dying," she had answered with confidence. "He just seems weak to me, and he's better now that he's had some food. Dr. Pierce is pushing very hard to let him recover before they start interrogating him, so as long as he keeps eating, he should continue to improve. Why would he be dying?"

<No reason,> the free alien had answered enigmatically. <Now, about your General's visit tomorrow.......>

They had gone on to decide that it was too risky for him to assume Yvonne's shape until after the General's visit, which meant more men in the compound and a heightened level of security. The free alien had also impressed upon her the importance of getting the captive alien to say something that would make General Ramey feel those currently holding him were doing their jobs.

"I'll try," Yvonne had said, doubtful that anything she said would have any affect on the captive alien if it took broken crockery just to get his attention in the first place. She had lain awake for quite some time trying to figure out how to broach the subject. As it turned out, she hadn't needed to.

<Why is everyone so agitated?> the captive alien had demanded the next morning when she had arrived for breakfast, tray in hand.

"Good morning," Yvonne had said smoothly, mentally reminding herself not to sound like she was answering his questions. "You're having a visitor today."

<Oh. Yes. My companion mentioned that. Someone of higher rank than the imbeciles here, I take it?>

"General Ramey is coming to see you," Yvonne replied, setting up the breakfast trays. "He makes the final decisions about what happens to you."

<What rank is 'General'?>

"General is the highest rank there is," Yvonne had answered, "distinguished by the number of stars they've earned. They can earn up to five—General Ramey is a two-star General, which means he's of much higher rank than the other imbe….officers around here. It would be a good idea to keep him satisfied."

<A General,> the alien had said with a gleam in his eyes, ignoring her last remark. <Good.>

Then he had silently tucked into his breakfast with unusual gusto while Yvonne sat there wondering why he was so happy. Further attempts at conversation were rebuffed. He had bid her a perfunctory goodbye when she had left, still wondering exactly what that gleam in his eyes meant.

Yvonne placed the normal x-rays she had chosen alongside the alien's, and Pierce immediately launched into a comparative explanation which Ramey allowed to continue for a full ten seconds before interrupting him.

"Yes, yes," he said impatiently. "Let me get this straight—this thing can change the look of its face and its body?"

"Correct," Cavitt confirmed. "That's the reason for the stringent security procedures you no doubt noticed…."

"Hard not to," Ramey said wryly. "I expected the next question to be my underwear size."

"I'm sorry if it seems intrusive, but I assure you it is necessary," Cavitt replied rather huffily. "We have reason to believe the escaped alien survived. It could return at any time looking like virtually anyone."

"What about its supposed ability to move objects without touching them, or affect electric fields?" Ramey asked. "Can you demonstrate any of these 'powers' you've been talking about?"

"They're not 'supposed' abilities," Cavitt objected. "I'm certain you've read the reports of the numerous witnesses to…."

"I've read the reports, but I'd like to see a demonstration," Ramey interrupted.

"With all due respect, General, if you were to see such a 'demonstration', that might be the last thing you'd ever see," Cavitt pointed out.

"The serum we've developed prevents the creature from using its abilities," Pierce added. "I don't see how we could hold it unless its powers were suppressed."

"So in other words, gentlemen, other than the ship, what you've got is a whole lot of nothing," Ramey said flatly.

Pierce and Cavitt exchanged glances. Both began talking at once until Ramey silenced them with a wave of his hand.

"Think about it, Majors. You say you had a little gray alien, but it escaped. You say you had two dead little gray aliens, but their bodies vamoosed, or something. You say you had dead soldiers with silver handprints on their bodies, but the handprints aren't there anymore. You say these creatures can do all manner of magical stuff, but this one can't because you stopped it. You say that's an alien, but it looks perfectly human to me. Forgive me, gentlemen," Ramey finished, "but all of this is an awful lot to swallow."

"But......." Cavitt began blustering, only to have Ramey cut him off again.

"If you don't mind, Major, I'd like to hear from Dr. Pierce first. The ship is your department; this is his department. I'm sure you can wait a few minutes to tell me about how all of this is someone else's fault."

Cavitt pinked. Behind him, Yvonne suppressed a smile.

Pierce removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I see your point, sir. The only evidence we have of the silver handprints and the aliens in their alien form are photographs and eyewitness accounts. As for the alien's unique abilities, we simply don't have a way to detain them while they have the use of their powers. I agree that prevents us from studying those powers. But there is so much more to learn about than just its powers: It's origins, its purpose here, what it knows about life beyond our planet, which we now have proof exists. Plus there are other avenues of research that don't involve any cooperation on its part that you and I need to discuss. There are possibilities here far beyond its powers. I implore you to keep that in mind before making any decisions."

Ramey looked through the window at the tethered form on the bed below. "Has anyone tried to interrogate it?"

"I wanted to, but Dr. Pierce wouldn't let me," Cavitt began, only to fall silent when Ramey shot him a withering look.

"Not yet, sir," Pierce said smoothly, ignoring Cavitt. "There were other issues I felt took precedence. For example, we needed to settle the issue of possible contamination. We've been unable to detect any foreign bacteria, so it should be safe to approach, but I've ordered weekly blood tests for all personnel just to be on the safe side. And we've spent the week adjusting the dosage of serum—the creature only fully awakened three days ago. At the moment, it's quite weak. Initially it refused to eat. Our Lieutenant White here managed to convince it that eating was in its best interests. So far, the Lieutenant is the only person it has responded to positively."

"That so?" Ramey threw an appreciative look Yvonne's way. "At least we know it has good taste." Yvonne blushed.

"We've decided to have Lieutenant White take meals with the creature because it seems to like her and we believe she's making progress," Pierce continued. "We need more time for the creature to regain its strength, and for the Lieutenant to continue her efforts to reach it."

"So what you're saying is, no one's tried to talk to it and it hasn't said squat."

"Sir, its been through a lot in the past week," Pierce said persuasively. "We're still tweaking the serum dosage, and because the serum alters brain chemistry, albeit in a way we don't yet fully understand, that does take a physical toll on the creature. We don't understand its physiology; we could easily hurt it without meaning to, and where would we be then? This is the only one we have—we can't afford to lose it. I want it stronger before letting the Major off his leash. Let us settle the immediate medical questions before actively pursuing intel. And frankly, I think we stand a better chance of obtaining information through a non-threatening source like Lieutenant White. One frequently catches more flies with honey."

Ramey shook his head. "That may be, doctor, but I'm afraid I can't wait—I've got too many dogs nipping at my heels. If I don't go back to Washington with something, anything, I won't be in command much longer, and neither will either of you. Your concern for its welfare is touching, but time's up. I'm going in there."



******************************************************




Proctor residence




Anthony Evans sat on the Proctor's couch as the man he'd seen with Dee on Pohlman Ranch regarded him gravely, the telescope catalog forgotten in his lap. "Do you believe in aliens?" the man had asked. Such a simple question, and such a common one these days. But coming from this individual, it sounded unexpectedly disconcerting. So disconcerting that Anthony found his throat closing even though he was trying to talk.

"I.......I........."

The man's eyebrows rose. That simple gesture snapped Anthony out of the stupor in which he found himself. Stop being silly! he chastised himself severely, pushing his glasses back up his sweaty nose. They wouldn't look human!

"I don't know what happened on the ranch," Anthony said honestly, "but I do believe in aliens."

"Oh? And why is that?"

The questions sounded more innocent this time, merely curious, lacking whatever weight he'd previously thought they carried. "Well.....the universe is so big," Anthony said. "It just doesn't make sense that we're the only people in it."

"It does not," the man confirmed, as though he knew this for a fact. "A well reasoned viewpoint."

Anthony throat began to relax. What had he been thinking? It was ludicrous, really. Completely nuts. He'd been reading too many space novels.

Suddenly the door opened and Mr. Proctor entered, all dressed up for church, stopping short when he saw the two people sitting on his couch.

"Anthony!" Mr. Proctor said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Your daughter's young friend and I were discussing gifts," the man said, briefly turning the cover of the catalog toward Mr. Proctor. "Should we hide this?"

"No, no, that's all right," Mr. Proctor said, shutting the door behind him. "Dee and Emily are over at the Brazel's for the next few minutes. I'll take it. Thanks for bringing it over," he added to Anthony.

"Sure, Mr. Proctor," Anthony answered, feeling much better now that he'd come to his senses. He climbed off the couch. "I should be going. Mother's probably wondering where I am. It was nice meeting you, Mr…." He paused. "You never told me your name."

Silence. Anthony looked back and forth from the man to Mr. Proctor, both of whom were looking at each other.

"Langley," Mr. Proctor said suddenly. "This is Mr. Langley, an old friend of the family."

"He....said he was a relative," Anthony said uncertainly.

"Right. Well….he's such a close friend, we think of him like family," Mr. Proctor said, smiling.

"Oh…well, nice to meet you," Anthony said politely to Mr. Langley, who nodded rather formally. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Anthony. Thanks again for the catalog," Mr. Proctor called as Anthony headed out the front door.

Outside on the porch, Anthony leaned against a porch post, shaking his head at his own stupidity. What was the matter with him? Why did he have those ridiculous notions running through his head? She said they were gray, he reminded himself. That man in there certainly wasn't gray. He did have weird ideas about telescopes, but maybe he didn't know as much as he thought he did. Grown-ups were funny that way; they never liked to admit it when kids were smarter. Hopefully he'd have a chance to get to Mr. Proctor before he followed Mr. Langley's advice and bought a worthless telescope.

Smiling at his own silliness, Anthony climbed down the front steps and headed for home, sparing a glance at the Brazel's house. He'd only known Dee for a short time, but he already knew her well enough to know she'd be back as soon as possible, if only to get out of the dress she would have had to wear to church. Hopefully Mr. Proctor would hide the catalog fast.

If he had waited just a moment longer, he might not have missed the voices floating out the nearby open living room window.

"Mr. 'Langley'?"

"My 9th grade science teacher. I thought it was appropriate."

A rustling noise. "Buy her the telescope that will cost you the least currency, and I will take care of the rest."




******************************************************





Eagle Rock Military Base



Advancing ahead of the three senior officers, Lieutenant Spade and a contingent of soldiers entered the room holding the captive alien. General Ramey had insisted on speaking to the prisoner, and it looked like the entire complement of the compound had turned out for the occasion judging from the packed observation room. Out of the corner of his eye he spied Yvonne standing beside one of the med techs; she looked unusually nervous, and he wondered why. Was she expecting something to happen? He knew she had been communicating with it using that "telepathic speech", or whatever she had called it. Did she know something he didn't?

The soldiers took up positions around the alien, still strapped to the bed and ignoring them all. Every rifle was raised, every finger tensed on the trigger. Spade saw Private Treyborn across the room, looking every bit as frightened as he had when Ramey had first appeared.....no big surprise as Treyborn was all of eighteen, barely old enough to shave. All of his men were young, and most were Privates, with a few Pfc.'s and Corporal's sprinkled in. Perhaps Cavitt thought younger, greener soldiers were easier to browbeat.

As soon as the prisoner was surrounded, General Ramey, Major Cavitt, and Dr. Pierce entered. Cavitt was wearing the scowl he always wore when he was around the prisoner, Pierce appeared neutral, and Ramey.....Ramey looked interested. For the second time that day, Spade allowed a tiny bit of hope to creep through his certainty that few of them would get out of this alive. First impressions could be deceiving and officially he was reserving judgment, but it appeared that by some stroke of fate, divine providence, or perhaps sheer dumb luck, a decent person with a level head on his shoulders had finally entered the fray. Spade wasn't sure what he'd been expecting when he had been so devastatingly blunt with Ramey earlier about his order to hold fire, but he certainly hadn't expect him to get mad, disagree.....and then drop the subject after praising him for sticking to his guns. Maybe they weren't all dead after all. Maybe.

True to form, Ramey wasted no time getting started. He walked straight up to the bed, unlike most others who typically kept their distance, and studied the figure it contained closely before turning to Pierce.

"Can it understand me, doctor?"

"Oh, yes," Pierce replied. "On some level, at least. It certainly responded to Lieutenant White."

"You said they spoke our language?"

"So we've heard," Pierce said. "Although this one hasn't said a word since it woke up."

"General," Cavitt interrupted, "I believe you're wasting your time here. We have no idea if this particular specimen is capable of speech, or even intelligent thought. I…."

He broke off suddenly as the alien turned its head in one swift movement and fixed upon Cavitt a glare that could have easily frozen boiling water. Everyone gasped; the tension in the room skyrocketed. Spade felt his throat constrict. He had a bad feeling about this.

"You were saying?" Ramey said dryly to a stunned Major Cavitt.

"Well…that means nothing," Cavitt sputtered. "Even infants can pick up on someone's tone. Other aliens have apparently spoken English, but that doesn't mean this one can. Perhaps this one can't speak. Or perhaps Dr. Pierce damaged it in some way. Or perhaps…."

"….or perhaps you are just a blithering idiot, a sorry 'specimen' of your race, never mind your military, who likely hasn't suffered an intelligent thought in your entire life."

The alien's voice rang through the room, harsh and raspy, as though from a throat which had seen little use of late. Every pair of eyes in the room popped. Spade's heart rate went from double to triple digits in a matter of seconds. Pierce's eyebrows had risen so far they had disappeared beneath his hair, although he appeared more interested than surprised. Cavitt, initially shocked that the alien had spoken, turned scarlet as he processed what it had said.

Ramey recovered first. "So, Major," he said to the flushing Cavitt. "Would you still like to argue it's not capable of intelligent thought?"

Cavitt opened his mouth, then closed it, wisely choosing to remain silent. Ramey gave the alien an appraising look. "Found your tongue, I see. I am Major General Roger Ramey. Who are you, and where do you come from?"

"I will 'find my tongue' for you, and only you," the alien answered, ignoring the General's questions.

"And why is that?"

"Because you are the closest thing present to a representative of your government. I wish to speak with you as a representative of mine."

Ramey blinked. "Go ahead."

"Privately," the alien qualified. "Face to face and unbound."

Ramey's eyebrows rose. "I see. And the reason I would agree to such a preposterous arrangement is….what exactly?"

"Because you are curious," the alien replied, "and because you will be the one who approaches your superiors with anything I might say. You will be the first person to converse with the representative of another world, something that, prior to my arrival, you didn't even know existed. Don't you want that honor, General?"

Not the first person, Spade thought to himself, thinking of a spunky little girl who wore red sneakers. Still, the alien was definitely pushing all the right buttons, dangling the bait that would entice an ambitious man.

But Ramey wasn't biting. "This isn't about my 'honor'," he snapped. "Given your people's behavior, you're in no position to pass yourself off as a diplomat."

"Which leads me to the most important reason of all you should agree to speak with me—that your people's behavior is much worse than mine," the alien replied angrily. "We did nothing to you. You at least owe me an audience."

"Come again?" Ramey exclaimed in disbelief. "You did 'nothing'? That's not what I heard, and I don't owe you a damned thing! I have absolutely no good reason to remove your restraints, never mind grant you a private audience."

The alien's eyes narrowed. "I see. Then I suppose I shall have to try harder to provide one."

What happened next happened so fast that, even afterwards, no one could agree on the exact sequence of events. What everyone did agree on was hearing the snap of the leather straps that bound the creature, the clatter of a rifle on the tile floor, and a strangled cry.

The next thing Spade knew, the alien was squatting on the bed free of his restraints with one arm firmly around Private Walker's neck, whose rifle was on the floor several feet away.

"Tell me, General," the alien demanded, its eyes hard. "Does the impending death of one of your men constitute sufficient reason?"

[Kathy W 2200]

CHAPTER NINETEEN


July 20, 1947, 1100 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base





His finger on the trigger, Lieutenant Spade hesitated, waiting for an order. The alien had inexplicably broken its restraints and now had a death grip on Private Walker, one arm pinning Walker's arms to his side, the other around his neck. Walker's eyes bulged as his lower arms clawed uselessly at nothing; he didn't look like he was getting much in the way of air. Was this what Yvonne had been waiting for? A quick glance in her direction answered Spade's question—her eyes were round as saucers, her mouth a wide "O". She hadn't been expecting this either.

Ramey rounded angrily on Pierce. "I thought you said it couldn't..."

"It can't," Pierce interrupted, eyeing the now useless restraints which had bound the alien only seconds ago. "This isn't manipulation of an electrical field like we've seen in the past. This is brute strength."

"You said you wanted it stronger," Ramey said, sarcasm tingeing his voice as Pierce looked distinctly uncomfortable. "It appears you've gotten your wish." He turned back to the alien, who was watching him closely. "Release him, or I'll order my men to shoot."

"A useless order," the alien challenged. Walker gasped as the arm around his throat tightened. "The drug will not take affect fast enough to prevent me breaking his neck."

"Fire!" Cavitt ordered.

"Belay that order!" Ramey bellowed.

"But, sir!" Major Cavitt protested. "It refused...."

"Silence!" Ramey snapped, as he and Cavitt glared furiously at each other. The soldiers froze, taut as bowstrings; Pierce, as usual, merely looked intrigued, as though he were watching some psychiatric patient lose their marbles. Those in the observation room couldn't hear what was being said below, but it was clear from the expressions on their faces that they didn't need to.

Ramey turned his attention back to the alien, leaving Cavitt smoldering beside him. "You don't really believe this charming little display is going to convince me to meet with you, do you? Because if you do, you're every bit as stupid as the Major thinks you are."

The alien gave a grim smile. "I know only too well how little value you place on the life of this drone. I imagine you consider him quite expendable. Although," it added, as Walker's terrified eyes came to rest on Ramey, "I warrant he might find his expendability something of a shock."

Ramey flushed. "If you feel I hold the lives of my men in such low esteem, then what exactly do you expect to gain by this?"

"Your attention," the alien answered, "which it now appears I have. Consider this, General," it continued, as Walker struggled in its grasp. "I know you value information. Grant me the private audience I desire, and you will learn something....and this wretch will live. Refuse and he will die, and I will no doubt be sedated. Which means you will learn nothing—nothing about me, my people, my planet, the reason for my presence here—nothing. And when I awaken, I will repeat this procedure. As you have no doubt noticed, your so-called 'restraints' cannot hold me."

All eyes shifted to the broken restraints. The metal buckles and rings which held the various leather pieces together had broken; even the bed frame itself appeared bent. A being that strong couldn't be held. Nervous looks were exchanged as reality sank in; there were many who had been brave enough to approach the alien only because it had been tied down. And all along, those restraints had meant nothing.

"What makes you think we'll let you wake up again?" Ramey asked coldly.

The alien smiled sardonically. "Come now, General. You can't afford to lose yet another 'specimen'. I'm sure even these simpletons have noticed how quickly our bodies disintegrate after our deaths. Kill me, and you truly learn nothing. Kill me, and you lose."

"And if I meet with you, what's to stop you pulling a similar stunt with me as the hostage?" Ramey demanded. "It won't work. I'll leave orders that I not be rescued. Every soldier is expendable in defense of his country, including me."

"Very noble of you, I'm sure," the alien said sarcastically. "The difference, of course, is that you chose your level of expendability, while this unfortunate is in the process of having it chosen for him while his fellows watch, wondering why you would sentence him to death when the price of his safety is a simple meeting with me. Or perhaps you are too frightened?"

Ramey's eyes narrowed as he realized he was standing on the verge of a morale nightmare. The alien had successfully maneuvered him into that tricky spot between a rock and a hard place. If he refused to meet with it, Walker would die and Ramey would be branded a coward who placed his own safety above the lives of his men; if he did agree to a meeting, it might kill Ramey instead. But it won't, Spade thought privately. The alien had nothing to gain and everything to lose by killing someone of such importance. If it was smart enough to back him into this corner, it was also smart enough to know that.

"I will meet with you privately in one hour," Ramey said, as Major Cavitt's mouth dropped open. "Now release him."

"First have your men lower their weapons," the alien countered.

"What assurance do I have that you won't just kill him anyway?"

"What assurance do I have that you won't just shoot me anyway if I release him?"

"You have my word," Ramey said firmly, "which is a damned sight better than the word of a known killer."

"Oh, you think so, do you?" the alien retorted. "You expect me to take the word of a race which attacked us without provocation and murdered my people in cold blood ?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ramey snapped. "I have ten dead soldiers because of you and yours! Do you deny that?"

"You struck first!" the alien said angrily. "You murdered our people and stole our property! Would you not have defended yourselves in a similar situation?"

"The reports say that you attacked us!" Ramey said heatedly, perilously close to losing his temper now. "I don't suppose you have any witnesses to your version of events, do you?"

Just me, Spade thought, as a bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Of the five people who had witnessed confrontations with the aliens, four were dead; two killed by aliens, two by their own people. He was the only living witness, the only one left who had seen Fifer lose his temper and West lose his wits. The last thing he wanted was more dead bodies of any species, but if he spoke up for an alien who was presently engaged in the act of strangling a human soldier there would be hell to pay from both Cavitt and his own men. And just minutes after daring to hope he might actually live through all this.

"That's what I thought," Ramey said with grim satisfaction. "Now release him!"

"No," the alien said flatly. "I won't release him until your weapons are lowered."

"Release him, or I'll have you pumped so full of that sedative you'll never wake up!" Ramey exploded in frustration, losing his temper at last. He wasn't the only one; judging by the anger flaring in the eyes of every soldier in the room, Spade wasn't the least bit certain they'd obey an order to stand down. If this standoff continued, one of them was going to fire with or without an order.

"If you are that willing to kill me, then I am already dead," the alien said soberly, "and this man along with me. You can't threaten a dead man, General. Dead men have nothing to lose." As he spoke, the alien's hand slid to Walker's chin, catching it in an iron grip at just the right angle to snap his neck.

Dead men have nothing to lose. A sentiment Spade could sympathize with, having already reached that conclusion on his own. No one spoke. The eyes of both the General and the alien were locked on one other, each daring the other to call his bluff. Across the room, Yvonne looked as though she hadn't drawn breath since the drama began. Walker, who could now breathe easier but stood only millimeters from death, struggled briefly in the alien's new grasp, then gave up. Why here? Spade thought wearily. He couldn't have picked a worse venue if he'd tried. Still, this was far preferable to penning a letter to Walker's parents full of some fiction about how he'd died.

"I'm a witness, sir."

Silence. Spade waited for the reaction, grateful that his need to keep his eyes on the alien meant that he didn't have to actually look at the General, or anyone else for that matter. If this was a bad time to have this conversation, it was an even worse time to lose his nerve.

"Excuse me?" General Ramey said in disbelief.

"I'm a witness," Spade repeated, his knuckles white from gripping his rifle so hard in an effort to camouflage his shaking hands. "I was there when we first found the ship; I saw what happened. I was there when the other one surrendered; I saw that too. I'm the last man alive who did."

" 'Surrendered'?" echoed the General. "Did I hear you say it 'surrendered'?"

He doesn't know, Spade thought...but that should come as no surprise. The statement he'd given about the surrendering alien that conflicted sharply with Cavitt's invented version of events had likely been used to line the nearest waste basket. Fortunately Cavitt hadn't cleaned house completely, because Spade was still alive with vivid memories of that afternoon. He'd be more than happy to file a second statement.

"I'm certain the Lieutenant misspoke," came Cavitt's voice, cold as ice. "Didn't you Lieutenant?"

"No, sir," Spade said firmly. "One of the aliens surrendered. I accepted that surrender."

"Did you give a statement concerning this, Lieutenant?" Ramey asked.

"I did, sir."

Now it was Ramey's voice that had gone cold. "I ordered you to turn over all paperwork on this operation. Why didn't I see this statement?"

"Sir, I gave you the bulk of…." Cavitt began.

"You mean you withheld information," Ramey said flatly.

"I…."

"What part of 'all' don't you understand, Major?"

"With respect, sir, 'all' information would have been a pile several feet high! I passed on what I felt was pertinent…."

"Pertinent?!" Ramey roared. "Pertinent?! Since when do you decide what's 'pertinent'? And since when does 'pertinent' not include testimony that conflicts with your own?"

Spade risked a peek around the room, starting with Yvonne. She actually looked relieved, and promptly gave him an encouraging nod as though she'd been waiting to make eye contact. Cavitt was seething of course, anger and humiliation surrounding him like a cloud. Most just looked confused, holding their collective breaths, waiting to see which way the wind would blow. The alien remained on the bed, Walker's chin in its hand, watching the drama play itself out. And Ramey....Ramey looked back and forth from Spade to Cavitt, his face a study in fury as he once again found himself with his back against the proverbial wall, this time courtesy of his own men.

"Soldiers," Ramey said at last, "stand down."

Relief washing over him, Spade released his cramped trigger finger and lowered his weapon. He was the only one who did.

"I said, stand down!" Ramey barked.

Slowly, reluctantly, the soldiers lowered their weapons, their faces a collective mask of hatred.

"Your turn," Ramey said to the alien coldly.

After sweeping his gaze across every weapon in the room, the alien nodded. He removed his arm from Walker's neck and gave him a two handed shove toward Spade, who was almost knocked back against the wall as he caught him. Clicking noises followed, and Spade looked up from the coughing and gasping Walker to find that several of the soldiers had raised their weapons again.

"I gave you an order!" Ramey shouted. "Stand down!"

"Don't you want us to fire, sir?" one of the soldiers asked hopefully.

"Let me make myself perfectly clear," Ramey seethed. "If even one of you fires against my explicit order, I will personally court-martial every hairy ass in this room! Is that clear?"

No one moved. No one lowered their weapons. Spade, who had just been thanking God for narrowly averting disaster, realized he had prayed too soon. Only the alien appeared unconcerned, watching with interest as Ramey struggled to control his subordinates.

"I said, IS THAT CLEAR?" Ramey bellowed, his face reddening almost as much as Cavitt's had earlier.

Resentment burning in their eyes, the soldiers lowered their weapons.

"Now, get out of here!" Ramey ordered. "Before I bring the lot of you up on charges!"

Spade watched the soldiers file out sullenly, throwing dark looks his way. He'd just made a lot of enemies....including Walker, it seemed, who glared at him as a couple of med techs helped him up and carried him away toward the infirmary. Whoever said "the truth will set you free" was full of it.

"Lieutenant 'Spade', isn't it?" Ramey asked, as Spade watched the angry looks march by. "Get a guard detail in here, people you can trust. Lieutenant White," he continued, addressing Yvonne and throwing a look of undisguised disgust at the alien, still crouched on the bed wearing a hospital gown that left little to the imagination. "Clean this thing up and get it some clothes. And Majors," he finished pointedly, turning to Pierce and Cavitt, "You're with me."





******************************************************



Proctor residence




Sitting at the desk in her bedroom, Dee Proctor heard the footsteps on the stairs and sighed. She'd been listening to the conversation below, and she knew what was coming. It was time to give it back, and she wasn't looking forward to it.

The footsteps stopped at her bedroom door. <I'm surprised you're here,> she said, not bothering to turn around. <Why aren't you with Jaddo? Isn't this the day the General visits?>

<That's precisely why I am not there,> Brivari replied, sitting down on the bed behind her. <I am concerned my presence might make him go and do something stupid.>

<That could happen anyway,> Dee said, smiling slightly.

<True,> Brivari allowed, <but there is no need for me to help it happen.>

Dee closed the book she had been reading. <Aren't you afraid they're going to hurt him?>

<He is safe at the moment. They are too enamored of their prize to do him any injury.> Brivari looked beside him on the bed where Dee had laid her scratchy Sunday dress after changing into shorts and a blouse. <Did you enjoy your visit to your place of worship?>

<No.>

<Oh? Why not?>

<Father O'Neill—that's the priest who helped you—said I couldn't be an altar boy, or altar girl, rather. He said he was very sorry, but only boys could do it,> Dee said, scowling at the memory.

<What duties does this 'altar boy' have?>

<They help out during Mass. They hands things to the priest, and light the candles, and stuff like that.>

<And your anatomy prevents you performing these tasks?>

<Of course not,> Dee said scornfully. <Girls could do it just as well as boys. I asked Father O'Neill why girls weren't allowed, and he said that's just the way it is. He wouldn't tell me why.>

Brivari smiled faintly. <I can. It is because of fear, or prejudice to be more exact. Prejudice is always based on fear. In this case, it appears to be fear of losing the power which comes with being the ones who perform these rites.>

<It's stupid, is what it is,> Dee grumbled.

<Not to those who stand to lose power, it isn't,> Brivari pointed out. <Similar situations exist everywhere. On my world, my race is kept largely separate from others. There are only certain jobs we are allowed to do, and there are certain places we may not go.>

<Why do they treat you like that?>

<We are considered untrustworthy because we can change our appearance at will. Others who cannot do that are uncomfortable around us.>

Dee shook her head in consternation. <That doesn't make any sense.>

<It makes a great deal more sense than some of the attitudes I've encountered here,> Brivari noted. <People fear us because we can do something they cannot. But you were just refused participation because of your gender, even though your gender does not seem to afford you skills others lack. And I seem to remember that skin hue is an issue on this world, although I can't imagine why.>

Dee was quiet for a moment, thinking. She had heard that black people had their own schools and churches, even water fountains and parks, although she couldn't say for certain because there were no black people in Corona. Around here it was Indians who lived apart. They lived on the reservation south of town, going to their own schools and keeping to themselves. She'd always been a little afraid of Indians, staring at the few she'd seen and wondering if all the tales she'd heard were true. Now that she had a different frame of reference, everything she thought she knew about Indians was suddenly suspect.

<Everything looks different now,> Dee said soberly. <Now that I know you and the others—and I've seen the way people just assume you're bad even though they don't know anything at all about you....well….I guess I never really thought about it before, but now it bothers me. And when I grow up, I'm going to stop it,> she announced.

<You can't stop it,> Brivari said. <It happens everywhere, in one form or another on every world I've ever visited. Prejudice is universal.>

<I can try, can't I?>

<I wouldn't dream of trying to stop you,> Brivari said with a wry smile. He looked around. <Your father tells me you have something of mine. I'd like it back.>

Sighing, Dee reluctantly stood up. <You'll have to get off the bed.> Brivari rose, and Dee dug under the mattress, pulling out the metal book and laying it on the bed.

<I thought we'd lost this,> Brivari said wistfully, running his hand over the now empty cover. <I'm glad you found it.>

Dee had a million questions about this book, and she wanted at least the major ones answered before she never saw it again and was reduced to staring at her etchings. <What is it? Who's it for?>

<It is instructions for the hybrids,> Brivari answered, <things they will need to know when they emerge.>

<But…won't they know already if they're born all grown up?>

<They should.....but we are not certain. Much has gone wrong, even more since Valeris wrote this. Many years will pass before they emerge, and much can happen in that time. He felt it best to leave a guide.>

So…Valeris had written the book. Dee could almost see him, sitting in that odd little room where they had hidden when the Army had found them, hunched over that little table, making this. <Is this what your language looks like?>

<Yes.>

<It's pretty,> Dee commented, running her fingers over the deep etchings. She liked to touch them for some reason, trace them with her fingertip. <And the pictures…which is which? I think this is the King,> she said, pointing. <And this is the Queen, and this is Princess. The last one must be the General.>

<Correct,> Brivari answered, running the tip of his own finger over the King's human face.

<Are you still mad at him?>

Brivari's finger hesitated over the etching of the King. <Yes.>

<Why? I thought it was the Princess's fault.>

<It was. But the King created a climate whereby his enemy was allowed to prosper. He shares the blame.>

<She's really pretty,> Dee said, gazing at the etching of the Princess. <Well…I mean her human shape is pretty. I don't know what she looked like before.>

<She was considered beautiful then too,> Brivari said softly. <No doubt Vilandra will be beautiful wherever she goes.>

Dee was quiet for a moment. <Jaddo didn't think Vilandra did whatever she did on purpose.>

<Probably not,> Brivari answered. <But that doesn't change what happened, does it?>

<No...but it does mean she's not as bad as you think, doesn't it?>

Brivari didn't answer. Dee decided to drop that particular subject. She didn't want to get him all worked up about the Princess before she had her questions answered.

<Do you know why the cover changes?>

Brivari looked up sharply. <What?>

<The cover,> Dee said, pointing to the now smooth, empty cover of the book. <Sometimes there are pictures on it. They just appear for a few minutes, then they go away. It's weird.>

Suddenly Brivari grabbed her by the shoulders. <What did you see?> he demanded.

<I….I'm not sure,> Dee stammered, hoping he wasn't mad at her. <Does it matter?>

<I'm sorry,> Brivari said, releasing her when he saw the look on her face. <I didn't mean to startle you, but this is very important: Do you remember what you saw on the cover?>

Dee hesitated, torn. She didn't want to tell Brivari that she'd copied every single page in that book, including the strange symbols on the cover during the brief time they had last appeared. But she wouldn't have to; she'd looked at her drawings so often that she remembered them by heart. <I'll draw them for you,> she said, heading over to her desk and grabbling a pencil, sketching quickly on a piece of scrap paper. Brivari bent over her, watching her draw, his eyes growing wider with every stroke. When she had finished he snatched the paper out from under her and stared at what she had drawn.

<Are you sure this was what you saw?> he demanded.

<Pretty sure,> Dee said. <It's close anyway.> More like exact, actually, but no way was she telling him that when he was in this mood. So much for not getting him all worked up. <What does it mean?>

<My God,> Brivari breathed. <Zan.>