Kathy W-Shapeshifters Series-Books 1 & 2

[Kathy W 2200]

PART FIFTY-ONE


July 8, 1947, 8 a.m.

Proctor residence




“Dee,” Emily said carefully, struggling to keep her voice even, “walk out and close the door. I’ll handle this.” Even as she spoke, Emily had no idea how she would “handle” this. But whoever this new alien was, he had attacked her, and she didn’t want her daughter anywhere near him.

“It’s okay, Mama,” Dee said gravely, as though apologizing for an unruly relative. “He’s just like that.”

“You know him?” Emily asked, incredulous. Dee nodded, and Emily glanced down at the alien to find him looking quite different than he had earlier. All the fight seemed to have gone out of him. He had slumped back to the floor and closed his eyes, relaxing in a way that made it clear he felt safe. Safe in the presence of her eight year-old. Don’t get too comfortable, buster, Emily thought grimly. You’re not safe in my presence.

The tension in the room had evaporated. Still kneeling beside the prone alien, Dee proceeded to have the most incredible conversation.

“Urza died.”

Urza. The name sounded familiar, but Emily had heard so many names, most of them strange. Her husband and her daughter had told her so much yesterday, and she hadn’t been able to digest it all. Much of it had gone in one ear and out the other.

The alien’s eyes flicked open. “He came to me in a dream,” Dee said, as if answering an unspoken question. “He….” her voice trembled a little “……he died in my dream.”

The alien’s eyes closed, whether from exhaustion or grief, Emily could not tell. More silence. Dee looked as though she were listening. At length, she said, “He told me Valeris was dead. Is that true?”

This time the silence was longer. Emily grew increasingly uncomfortable that her daughter could communicate semi-privately with this person, effectively shutting her out of the conversation. A long time passed while Emily looked from one to the other, trying to figure out what was happening. She got her answer when Dee suddenly broke down in tears. Dee hated crying in front of anyone, so whatever she had heard must have been very upsetting indeed.

Moving for the first time since she had broken free of the alien’s grasp, Emily pulled her daughter into her lap and hugged her tightly, stroking her hair and murmuring softly. “What is it, sweetheart? What happened?”

“They shot him, Mama!” Dee sobbed, sounding angry as well as sad. “He was surrendering, and they shot him! They can’t do that, can they? If someone surrenders they’re not supposed to shoot, are they? Didn’t Daddy say that? Didn’t he?”

Emily closed her eyes and rocked her daughter back and forth, back and forth. How did one explain that angry, frightened people frequently don’t follow the rules? The whole idea of something as messy and chaotic as war actually having ‘rules’ was a notion she had always found ridiculous. Perhaps it was a way to insert sanity into an insane situation, and perhaps she should be grateful that someone had bothered to try. But somehow she doubted that would be any consolation to the sobbing child in her arms .

I shouldn’t have to console her at all, Emily thought bitterly, as Dee continued to cry. She and David had jumped through all sorts of hoops trying to keep as much of the war as possible from their daughter. They had hidden the newspapers, listened to the radio only at night after she went to bed, and been careful what was said in front of her. Who would have thought that after all they went through to preserve her innocence from the war on this planet, it would be a war on another that would prove its thief.

Emily hugged Dee tightly and threw a murderous glare at the alien on the floor, who was watching them through half open eyes. If it were anyone else, Emily might have considered the expression on his face to be one of regret, but given who they were dealing with, it might only be exhaustion. “I hate what you people have done to her!” she hissed over her daughter’s heartbroken sobs.

“It was not my people who did this to her,” the alien replied wearily. “It was yours.”



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



11:45 a.m.

Office of The Roswell Daily Record, Roswell, New Mexico.




Frank Tepper bit into the glazed doughnut, feeling only slightly guilty that it was almost lunch time. So he was eating lunch backwards…..so what? What difference did it make if one ate one’s dessert first? It was all going to the same place, right? No different than reading his newspaper back to front instead of the other way around. Frank eased his portly frame into the chair behind his newsroom desk and made short work of the doughnut.

The door to the newsroom flew open suddenly, banging into the wall with such force that Frank almost dropped the second doughnut he had just picked up. Looking up in surprise, he saw Jack Armstrong, cub reporter, barging into the newsroom waving a sheet of paper and calling excitedly, “Frank! You’re not going to believe this!”

“Believe what?” Frank asked through a mouthful of doughnut. He looked around the room for rescue, but none was at hand; everyone had already left for lunch, apparently deciding to bake elsewhere in the New Mexico summer heat for at least a little while. Frank made a mental note to make another attempt at convincing his supervisors that the notion of “siesta” made perfect sense in their climate. It’s not like they would be missing much—nothing ever happened in Roswell anyway. It was definitely not on anyone’s map.

“You are not going to believe this!” Jack repeated. He slapped the paper down on Frank’s desk and proceeded to announce triumphantly, “An alien ship has crashed up on Pohlman Ranch!”

Frank sighed, spitting doughnut crumbs as he did so. Jack was brand new, nineteen years-old, fresh out of high school, an eager worker and a total pushover. Basically the kid believed everything he heard. How many times had he come crashing in here with some wild tale or other? Frank had lost count. Honestly, the crazies out there must love Jack Armstrong. He fell for everything hook, line, and sinker.

“Jack, Jack, Jack, how many times have I told you not to believe everything you hear?” Frank said in a bored tone, still chewing. “I swear, the way you believe even the nuttiest stories, you’re walking around with a bulls eye on your forehead. And every nut in town has their bow cocked, ready to shoot.”

Jack was unfazed. “This time I’m right,” he said confidently. “I have proof!”

Frank shook his head in exasperation. “Proof? What proof? Another drunk that had a spiritual vision? Oh, wait, I forgot; it’s a spaceship this time. So the drunk saw God on a spaceship—right?”

Jack tapped the paper on the desk. “This press release is from the Eagle Rock Base. Says they found a crashed flying saucer.” He grinned smugly. “Read it and weep, Frank. This time, I’m right!”

Frank stopped chewing. The Army base? He picked up the paper and began to read. About halfway through, the doughnut dropped from his hands, and he clutched the document in both sets of sticky fingers as he finished reading it.

By God, the kid was right. It was official. The United States Army was actually admitting that an alien spaceship had crashed north of Roswell on Pohlman Ranch. “Where did you get this?” he asked in a shaky voice.

“United Press Bureau,” Jack answered, beaming. “They got it from Frank Joyce down at the radio station. This was delivered to KGFL a little while ago, and Frank sent it on to United Press.”

Frank hastily rummaged through his desk for a notebook and a pencil. “Go,” he ordered Jack. “Get anything you can. Anything. If the radio has broadcast this, then everyone in town knows, or they will shortly.”

“Will do,” Jack said happily. “But….where are you going?”

“The Army base, of course,” Frank replied. “No hard feelings, kid,” he added upon seeing Jack’s crestfallen look. “Seniority, you know. Now, move.”

Jack scurried away while Frank scrambled for his car keys. Lunch would have to wait.

Roswell was now officially on the map.



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



Brazel residence




Shielding her eyes from the bright summer sunshine, Dee Proctor peered into the front window of Mac Brazel’s house. Empty. No one was home, not even Mrs. Brazel, and that worried her. She kept telling herself that Mac could take care of himself, but she had felt the same way about Urza and Valeris, and look what had happened to them.

She moved to the front door and tried it—locked. That was weird. No one in Corona locked their doors. She trudged around the back and tried the back door, but that was locked too. Frustrated, she circled back around to the front and banged on the door, shouting, “Mac! Mac! Are you home?” Maybe he was hiding because he didn’t want the Army to find him again. Or maybe he just didn’t want to talk to anyone at all after what had happened, something she could certainly understand. But no one answered, and she slid to her knees in frustration, those damnable tears sliding down her face once again.

Dee swiped her hand furiously across her face. How much longer was this going to go on? Just when she thought she couldn’t cry anymore, she did. No one she’d been close to had ever died before. She remembered Uncle James’s funeral, but she hadn’t been that close to him. He had gone to war when she was very young, and her memories of him back then were vague. After the war he had been sad and quiet, but not unfriendly. He had seemed to perk up when she was around, which was probably why her father kept bringing her with him whenever he visited his brother. Not that it had helped in the end.

Dee thought back to the funeral and the sad time afterward, realizing that, for the first time, she understood just a little of what her father had gone through. For the first time she understood why his throat would seem to catch and he would just stop talking, why he would abruptly get up from the dinner table and disappear for no apparent reason. It was because the hurt was always there. It never went away, and when it bubbled to the surface unbidden you just started crying, and there was nothing you could do about it.

She had sat for a very long time watching the fireworks burst in Antar’s reddish sky, refusing to look at what she knew would be an empty space where Urza had been sitting. She had tried to tell herself that his absence didn’t necessarily mean he was dead; he might be just exhausted and unable to keep himself in her dream. But he had told her he was dying, and in her heart she had known he was right. She had sat there for ages, delaying the moment when she would have to admit he was dead, and the next thing she knew she was hearing the sounds of scuffling and her mother’s angry voice. And she had walked into the guest room, still half asleep, and asked Jaddo what had happened. “He was attacked with a human projectile weapon,” he had answered. “We were unable to save him.”

How could they shoot him? Dee wondered furiously, clenching her fists. They broke the rules! Grown-ups had no business breaking rules, what with the way they carried on about children following them. And she was the one who had told Valeris what to do, how to surrender, and they had let her down. Her own people had let her down.

Dee pulled herself to her feet, her face set. The tears had stopped, and she found herself feeling more angry than sad. If she had learned one thing, it was this: Never trust grown-ups. They didn’t even follow their own rules. She would never make the mistake of trusting a grown-up again.

“Hey there, Missy.”

Dee whirled around to see a sheriff’s deputy standing at the bottom of the front porch steps. She knew most of Sheriff Wilcox’s deputies, but this man was unfamiliar. His uniform was different too.

“Hello,” she said warily.

The deputy smiled and put a foot up on the first step. It was a careful smile, a fake smile. The smile of someone who wants something.

“I’ve been lookin’ for you,” the deputy said.

Dee’s eyes narrowed. “Looking for me? Why?”

“I’ve got something that belongs to you. Thought I’d bring it by.”

Dee didn’t reply. She didn’t get the feeling this man was one of those other aliens, but all the same she didn’t like him. His face was smiling, but his eyes were hungry. Predatory.

The deputy waited for a response and, when none was forthcoming, pulled one hand from behind his back. A hand that held a sneaker. A red sneaker. Her sneaker. The one she had left in the hallway of the ship to mark the invisible door.

“Why do you think that’s mine?” she asked, careful to keep her face expressionless. Now she knew what he wanted, and she meant to see he didn’t get it.

“I see you’re wearing red sneakers,” the deputy answered, still smiling.

“If you can see that, you can also see I’m wearing two red sneakers,” Dee said flatly. “What would I do with a third?” She silently thanked her lucky stars that she had a pack rat mother who bought clothes ahead of time when they were on sale. These new red sneakers, a size larger than she usually wore, had been dutifully tucked away in the closet, awaiting the day she would need them. And boy had she needed them.

The deputy’s mouth twitched a little, as though holding that false smile was becoming a mite difficult. “Are you saying this isn’t yours?”

“I’m saying I don’t have a third foot to put it on,” Dee replied tartly. She started down the porch steps, only to have Mr. Fake Smile block her path.

“I know this is yours, missy,” the deputy said evenly. “Don’t lie to me.”

Lie? We’ll see about lying. “Where did you find it?” Dee challenged, wondering if he would have the nerve to tell the truth, and doubting very much that he would.

Several long seconds passed. Dee watched with satisfaction as the deputy hesitated, obviously weighing his options. Finally he seemed to reach some inner compromise. “I found it up on Pohlman Ranch,” he said carefully, “in a place where I wouldn’t have expected to see something like this.”

Not bad, Dee thought, impressed in spite of herself. But not good enough for someone who just called her a liar. She shrugged and pushed past him, marching toward her house.

A hand caught her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “Let go of me,” she ordered coldly.

Her tone surprise him and he dropped her arm, but his eyes were hard. “Look here, sweetheart,” the deputy snapped, dropping all pretense of cheerfulness. “You and I both know where I found this shoe. I was hoping we could keep this between ourselves, but if I have to I’ll…..”

“You’ll what?” Dee interrupted. “Tell my parents?” She had the sudden, irrational urge to laugh at the lunacy of that. Just a few days ago that would have been a viable threat, but now? No way.

“I know where you live,” the deputy pointed out.

“Big deal,” Dee said in a bored tone. “Everyone in Corona knows where I live. Everyone in Corona knows where everyone else in Corona lives.” She turned and started walking away again.

“I mean it!” he called after her, a tinge of desperation in his voice. “I’ll talk to your parents!”

“Go right ahead,” she called back without turning around. “But I’ll warn you—my Mama’s in a mood today.” She smiled as she kept walking, hearing no footsteps behind her. He didn’t really want to talk to her parents. He didn’t want to have to admit where he found that sneaker because then he’d sound like a crazy man. He probably had plenty of crazy people to deal with in his job, and didn’t want to look like one himself.

As Dee kept walking, she felt those traitorous tears welling up in her eyes again. Seeing that shoe had been hard. It was covered with dark stains that most people would have taken for dirt, but she knew better.

It was Urza’s blood.



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



Proctor residence



Emily Proctor turned the grilled cheese sandwiches in the frying pan, noting with no small amount of satisfaction that her hands had finally stopped shaking. There’s a record, she thought ironically. It only took four hours this time.

A noise behind her made her jump. Whirling around, she was chagrined to see a bird tapping on the kitchen window. Good Lord. Even birds were setting her off now. Having aliens in the house could do that to you.

She had sat for a long time on the guest room floor, cradling her sobbing child and only barely resisting the urge to clobber the prone alien on the floor. He was right and she hated him for it: It was her people who were to blame for her daughter’s current state, not his. All that time she and David had spent shielding Dee from what happened during the war, only to have to sit there and watch her child’s innocence stripped away by something she never could have even imagined. It was like watching her being skinned alive.

After she had calmed down, Dee had insisted on using the special stones on the two aliens, saying that she would take Brivari and Emily should help the other, more injured one because the stones seemed to work better for her. Emily had been less than enthusiastic about this idea, and the injured alien, whom Dee kept referring to as “Jaddo”, looked extremely skeptical. But he must have learned something about her because he wisely kept his mouth shut, offering no objection when she knelt beside him and gingerly picked up one of the strange rocks. It burst to life just as quickly as before, causing the alien to suck in his breath in surprise. Emily had found herself a bit more adept using the stones this time, although she still didn’t really understand what she was doing with them. She had sent the alien so much energy so quickly that the wound on his chest rippled and disappeared before their eyes. The speed with which it healed looked almost painful, but she had been unable to summon pity for him. That’s for grabbing me around the neck, she had thought sourly.

Afterward, Dee had explained that Jaddo and Brivari had been trying to rescue the two others when they had been discovered and attacked. The last thing Jaddo said he remembered was being shot and falling to the floor on the Army base; the next thing he remembered was waking up in their guest room with Emily reaching over him. She had felt slightly guilty upon hearing that. No wonder he had grabbed her, if the last thing he remembered was being shot.

Emily reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of milk; there was none. Damn! In all the “excitement” she’d forgotten to get the fresh bottles out of the milk box this morning. Hopefully the milk hadn’t spoiled. On the way to the side door she glanced up the back stairway. They had heard nothing from either alien for the past several hours. Jaddo had seemed to fall into a deep sleep after he had healed, while Brivari merely stirred a bit. They had decided to leave them on the floor where they were, a strategy which had certain advantages: The two aliens were invisible from the doorway. Emily wasn’t exactly sure why this fact gave her comfort. It was as if she expected the Army to descend at any moment and arrest them for harboring fugitives.

Emily reached for the door handle only to have her daughter appear out of nowhere, whisking the door open before Emily could reach it. As the screen door slammed, Dee deliberately closed the main door, which was odd given that it was already ninety degrees in the shade. “What’s wrong?” Emily asked in alarm, silently adding to herself, I mean, what’s wrong now. “Did something happen?”

“There’s a sheriff’s deputy on the way over here with my shoe, the one I lost in the spaceship,” Dee said without preamble. “He’s trying to make me admit I was out there, but I wouldn’t. He said he’s coming over here.”

Emily dimly remembered seeing David hide the mate to Dee’s lost shoe far under her bed. At the time, she’d thought that perhaps he’d snapped. Now she saw the sense in what he’d done. But no matter. George Wilcox was a good friend of the family, and he knew of all these shenanigans. One phone call to George should smooth this all out. “Go upstairs,” Emily said calmly, kissing the top of her daughter’s head. “I’ll handle this.” After everything else she’d handled, this should be a piece of cake.

Dee nodded and headed up the stairs wordlessly. Emily watched her go, uneasy about the hard look in her daughter’s eyes. She had never seen her look so stony. The skinned alive look had been replaced by a hard, impenetrable shell. It was not an improvement.

There was a knock at the side door. Emily opened the main door and peered through the screen, expecting to see a familiar face. Chaves County was not huge, and the Proctors had at least met all of George’s deputies. But the man at the door was wearing a Roswell uniform, and his face was unfamiliar. Not to mention covered with an irritatingly fake smile. Emily disliked him immediately.

Plastering a similar smile on her own face and placing her hand on the screen door handle just in case, Emily said, “Morning, Deputy. Or is it afternoon? Can I help you?”

“Morning, Mrs. Proctor,” the deputy replied pointedly. “I came to return something that belongs to your daughter.”

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Deputy,” Emily replied, annoyed that he had sought to intimidate her by using her name. Corona being such a small town, that was hardly difficult information to come by.

“My apologies, ma’am. Deputy Valenti.” He doffed his hat politely, and Emily nodded perfunctorily. “As I said, I have something that belongs to your daughter.”

“And what might that be?”

The deputy produced Dee’s red sneaker, covered in black stains that looked like tar. Emily knew perfectly well the stains were not tar, and wasn’t currently interested in speculating on just what they might be. “I’m sorry,” Emily said sweetly, “but my daughter has both of her sneakers. I’m afraid that belongs to someone else.”

“Oh it’s hers, all right,” the deputy replied lightly. “I’m sure of that.”

“And why is that?” Emily asked, watching Deputy Valenti’s appraising glance as he tried to decide if she knew anything.

After several seconds he had apparently decided she didn’t. “She left it somewhere. Somewhere she shouldn’t have been. I saw her.”

“ ‘Somewhere’, Deputy? If you’re implying my daughter has broken a law, you’ll have to do much better than that.”

The deputy leaned in toward the screen door and lowered his voice. “I know this may come as a shock to you, Mrs. Proctor, but your daughter has information which is vital to national security. She may not even realize she has it. I’d be much obliged if you’d let me in to have a look around and speak with her.”

Emily managed a light laugh. “My daughter? National security? Nonsense! Besides, if my daughter has such valuable information, why are you here? You’re just a local Sheriff’s Deputy.”

Deputy Valenti dropped his voice to a whisper. “I was hoping to leave other authorities out of this,” he said cryptically. “There’s no telling how they’d react if they knew she knows something. It would be a lot safer for her if you would just let me handle this. If you don’t, and they find out, well……..” He let the sentence drop suggestively.

“Why, that sounds suspiciously like a threat,” Emily said coolly, letting her words and change in tone sink in for a moment before moving in for the kill. “Let me get this straight. You announce that sneaker belongs to my daughter without a shred of proof. You imply she has committed some kind of wrongdoing, but you won’t say what, or where. You produce no evidence to back up any of these nebulous claims, only a sneaker, the likes of which are probably worn by dozens of children in this town alone. How am I doing so far, Deputy?”

“Your daughter’s current pair of sneakers is obviously brand new,” Valenti pointed out.

“So? Is wearing new sneakers a crime?”

Deputy Valenti’s casual smile evaporated, replaced by a look of grim determination. “Let me in, Mrs. Proctor, and things will go much easier for you.”

“Get off my property,” Emily ordered.

Then two things happened in swift succession—Valenti whipped open the screen door, tearing it from her hands. And Emily threw the inner door closed, realizing at the last minute that Valenti’s hand was on the doorjamb, right in line with the rapidly closing door.

Afterwards Emily would remember this moment as a turning point for her. At the time, all she could think of was that she couldn’t under any circumstances let that deputy in her house. He wasn’t likely to find the mate to the missing sneaker buried under Dee’s bed, but there were a couple of other things lying around upstairs he was bound to notice. He had no solid evidence now, and it was her job to make sure he didn’t find any, because he was right about one thing—she had no doubt that horrible things would happen to Dee if her involvement in all of this came to light.

So Emily slammed the door right on Valenti’s hand, provoking a howl of rage and pain. She leaned her shoulder against the door, the deputy’s struggling fingers only inches from her nose, and pushed as hard as she could. Even as she did it, she couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe she was willfully inflicting pain on another human being out of fear.

After what seemed like an eternity of pushing and howling, Emily released the door. The hand abruptly disappeared. The screen door slammed. Opening the door, she found a steaming mad Valenti outside, nursing his swollen hand and glaring at her furiously.

Emily plastered a beatific smile on her face. “Honestly, Deputy, you should be more careful. It’s a bad idea to stick your hand where it doesn’t belong.”

Then she closed the inner door and locked it, leaning her head against the door and breathing hard. “I can’t believe I did that,” she whispered out loud. “I can’t believe I hurt him.”

“Why not?” said an unfamiliar voice behind her.

Emily whirled around to find Brivari at the top of the stairs behind her.

“You should not feel guilty,” he continued casually, as though he were discussing the weather. “Protection sometimes requires violence. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

[Kathy W 2200]

PART FIFTY-TWO


July 8, 1947, 12:30 p.m.

Proctor residence



Emily Proctor closed her eyes for a moment. Her heart had already been beating at about a million miles per hour. She really didn’t need to find an alien standing behind her, eavesdropping on the most despicable thing she’d ever done.

After several deep breaths in blessed darkness, Emily opened her eyes to find that Brivari had descended the staircase halfway. Instinctively she backed up, bumping into the recently closed door. The recently closed door that probably had the blood of a Roswell sheriff’s deputy on it.

He made no move to come closer, and Emily was grateful for that. She had never seen him up and about, never heard him speak. She had briefly seen him in this form yesterday, but he had been injured then, and….well, buck naked. She liked him much better clothed and speaking English. He looked so…..normal. Even if the casual way he had dismissed what she had just done did chill her to the bone.

“How can you say I shouldn’t feel guilty?” Emily asked in disbelief. “Did you see what I did to him?”

“I doubt he was permanently injured,” Brivari replied calmly, as if that made it all right. “You made it clear you would not tolerate threats to the one you guard. I believe he understood your point.”

“But I don’t know that he meant any real harm,” Emily objected. “He may have just been curious.”

“Even if he meant no harm, consider the ones he would tell, whether out of fear or a desire to profit from this information. You don’t really think he would keep such knowledge to himself, do you?”

“I……” Emily stopped. She had been about to argue that the deputy’s kinder, gentler instincts may have taken over if he had learned the truth, but she didn’t really believe that. Not for a moment. “You just got here. What makes you think you’re such an excellent judge of human nature?” she said irritably, annoyed in spite of herself.

Brivari sat down on the stairs, even that small movement causing Emily to back more firmly into the door. For the first time she noticed how haggard he looked. He had been exhausted when he left yesterday; he couldn’t be much better off today.

“Not human nature—sentient nature,” he replied patiently, as though explaining something to a child. “All sentient species are essentially the same: They crave self-preservation and self-advancement.” He paused. “You are ordinary people. You have likely not had to face danger of this magnitude and the choices it presents. I have lived a long time, with most of that time spent guarding those who are constantly in danger due to their station. My job was to keep my charges alive by any means necessary, and there were times when those means were violent. I have learned to quickly assess the danger a given individual poses. And that one,” he said, indicating the nearest window, “poses a danger—of that I am certain. And so are you, which is why you acted to neutralize that danger.”

“That still doesn’t give me the right to hurt anybody,” Emily said, though with less certainty. Her guilt was beginning to evaporate, and she wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

“Nonsense,” Brivari said firmly. “If he would harm those you guard, you have a responsibility to prevent that. You do have some grasp of what they would do to your child were they to learn of her involvement with us, do you not?”

Emily didn’t answer. She wanted to argue that the better angels of our natures should at least be given a chance to assert themselves before being slapped aside by violence. She wanted to argue that, despite all his alleged experience, and despite all the alarms going off in her own head, neither of them really knew for certain what would have happened if she had let that deputy into the house. Perhaps he would have found nothing and been thrown off the trail, dispensing with the need for crushed knuckles. But she couldn’t, because she didn’t believe any of that herself. The choice had been the deputy or her family, and she had chosen her family. An obvious choice for her…but what about Brivari?

“Why do you care about what would happen to Dee?” Emily asked, her eyes narrowing, “She’s not your concern.”

His reply was succinct. “At the moment, her safety and mine are inextricably linked.”

“So that’s it,” Emily said, tight-lipped. “You’re not worried about the safety of who I guard—you’re worried about the safety of who you guard.”

“Of course I am,” he answered calmly, and without the slightest tinge of regret. “Just as you are more concerned about your daughter than about us. If you had to make a choice, would you give me up to save your child?”

In a heartbeat, Emily thought, feeling selfish even as she thought it.

“Of course you would,” Brivari answered for her. “And that is as it should be. You are a Warder, Emily Proctor, whether you realize it or not. Your daughter is fortunate that you know what must be done and are not afraid to do it. Warders who behave otherwise often find they have no one left to Ward.”

Your daughter…. That reminded her….. “Where is Dee?” Emily asked, a touch of alarm in her voice. She had disappeared upstairs after announcing the deputy was on his way, and Emily had not seen her since.

“She is in her bedchamber,” Brivari replied, adding quickly, “I have not disturbed her. Nor did I disturb her last night when we arrived at your house.”

Emily allowed herself a small smile. That was true—Brivari had disturbed none of them last night, choosing instead to do what he could by himself until he collapsed, even though help was only a few feet away. She must have scared the daylights out of him yesterday when she threatened to dump him on the lawn and call the Army.

Dee appeared at the top of the stairs. “He’s leaving, Mama. I was waiting until he left just in case he decided to try again.”

“What?” Emily turned and gazed out the window, just barely able to make out the deputy’s retreating car. “I thought he’d left. Do you mean to tell me that he was sitting out there in his car all this time?”

Then she caught Brivari’s penetrating stare, and sighed. She wasn’t really surprised. Deputy Valenti wasn’t one to give up easily. Not only had he sat out there, probably waiting for her to run out and burn the other sneaker, but he would probably be back. She knew that. What she couldn’t figure out was why knowing that bothered her so much. And why Brivari’s on the spot, accurate assessment of someone he’d never met was so unnerving.

Brivari stood up and headed back up the stairs. “Wait,” Emily called.

She walked, a little stiffly, to the base of the stairs. She still found his viewpoint disturbing, but he had eased her guilt somewhat. “You must be hungry. Would you like to join us for lunch?”

“We’re having grilled cheese,” Dee added helpfully. “That’s soft. I think you’d like it.”

The three of them went into the kitchen, where Emily found herself nervous about the prospect of eating with a space alien. It had been one thing to set down a plate and walk away, but to actually eat with one? Did they sit at tables? Eat off plates? Drink out of glasses? There was no way to answer that, so Emily served up plates of sandwiches and glasses of milk and hoped for the best. She was relieved to find that Brivari seemed accustomed to furniture and tableware, and marveled anew at her daughter’s ease with these people. Dee had sat down right next to him; Emily still preferred to keep her distance. She glanced out of the corner of her eye as Dee cut her sandwich in half with a knife, with Brivari watching. He looked so normal, so human. Perhaps if she just pretended he was human she would finally be able to calm her ever spiraling heart rate.

And then Brivari raised his hand, held it a couple of inches over his own sandwich, and neatly sliced it in two. No knife. No anything.

“Neat!” Dee said enthusiastically, unaware that her mother had practically stopped breathing. “Could you cut my other sandwich that way?”

Brivari obliged, and Emily reached a shaking hand toward the radio. So much for pretending he was human. She was badly in need of a distraction; the radio should give her something to focus on besides the extraterrestrial sitting at her kitchen table slicing sandwiches with thin air. She turned the dial….

……..and a voice boomed out, tense and urgent. “The Army has refused to release any more details about the crashed flying saucer it admits has been found on Pohlman Ranch. But we have here in our studio a witness to the recovery effort. Mr. Brazel, what did you see?”

Three heads swung toward the radio.

“Oh no,” Dee whispered.



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



3 p.m.

Chaves County Sheriff’s Station



Sheriff George Wilcox angrily clicked off the radio. KGFL kept playing and replaying the interview with that idiot Mac. What was he thinking? the Sheriff wondered for what must be the umpteenth time. They’re going to hang him out to dry like yesterday’s laundry.

George sat back in his chair and sighed, listening to the phone ring yet again. Ever since the press release, all hell had broken loose. So many people had flooded into the station that he had sent deputies outside to screen those who entered—anyone here on UFO business got turned away. The phone was ringing off the hook. It wasn’t exactly panic in the streets, but it was getting pretty damned close.

Picking up the press release that had started all this, George once again wondered what Major Marcel had been thinking when he had let the cat out of the bag. Mac had mentioned that Marcel was a decent sort, so he was probably trying to make sure the whole thing didn’t get swept under the rug. That was commendable, but George wasn’t entirely certain this was the best way to communicate the news that Earth had been visited by its first extraterrestrials. Judging by the reaction, people just weren’t ready for this. Hell, he even knew what was going on better than the Army did, and even he wasn’t ready for this.

George plopped the press release down and pushed his chair away from his desk. Time to face the music. He’d been making periodic visits to the crowd outside, reassuring them that aliens were not running amok in the streets and that any new information received would be passed along posthaste. So far that had been working; regular Sheriff sightings seemed to be a good thing. This time he made it only as far as the door before he found himself blocked by a very unwelcome sight: That chomping-at-the-bit Roswell deputy who had visited yesterday with Dee Proctor’s shoe in tow.

The Corona deputy behind Valenti looked worried. “Sorry, sir,” he said, seeing the look on his boss’s face. “He’s from the Roswell, station, so I thought…..”

“It’s all right, Deputy. That’ll be all.” The deputy gave a curt nod, then scurried away to return to the joys of crowd control.

“Deputy Valenti,” George said icily, by way of greeting. “What brings you so unwisely back here?”

“You wanted proof, Sheriff. I have your proof,” Valenti announced smugly.

Shit. “Oh, really? Let’s see it then,” George said in a bored tone, hoping against hope that he’d be able to either bury or explain whatever it was. There was no way in hell he was going to let the Army get their hands on David Proctor’s daughter.

Valenti’s triumphant expression suddenly looked a tad less triumphant. “Haven’t you been listening to the radio, Sheriff? The Army admitted finding a spaceship. What do you have to say about that?”

George blinked. That was it? “Deputy, did you happen to notice a large crowd outside this station when you arrived?”

Valenti bristled at the sarcasm in George’s voice, but he played along and nodded.

“Oh, good,” George purred. “And by any chance did you happen to notice how the phone never stops ringing?”

Valenti looked furious, but nodded again.

“Excellent powers of observation,” George said dryly. “I’m impressed. Now, given all that’s happening, how is it that you come to be standing in my station asking me if I know what’s going on?”

“There is an alien craft of unknown origin out on that ranch,” Valenti said hotly. “I saw it! You must have seen it. The Army admitted it!”

“ ‘Alien craft of unknown origin’—isn’t that an oxymoron?” George asked. “Since I’m not aware of us knowing any aliens, any alien craft would, by definition, be of ‘unknown origin’.”

“Sheriff, are you going to stand here and play word games with me, or are you going to tell me the truth?” Valenti snapped.

“The truth about what? The alleged spaceship parked on Pohlman Ranch? Haven’t a clue. Ask the Army.”

“You wanted proof,” Valenti said, his voice rising. “There’s your proof. There is something out there on that ranch!”

“That wasn’t what you were spouting off about this morning, son,” George retorted. “You came in here going on about little girls and red sneakers. Nothing the Army has said has anything to do with that. So…do you have proof that this fictitious little girl was in this alleged spaceship, or whatever it was you said? Is there someone else who saw this incredible event take place, or does it still reside only in the recesses of your imagination?”

Valenti’s face reddened. His character was being called into question, and he was livid. George didn’t blame him for that. The kid really had seen what he thought he’d seen, and George felt a tad guilty for snowing him like this. But only a tad. Young Valenti was going about this all wrong, barging in here with his accusations and threats. Trust had to be earned, and this was not the way to earn someone’s trust.

“Sheriff, you and I both know there is an alien craft out on Pohlman Ranch,” Valenti said, struggling to keep his voice level. “You and I also both know that a female child wearing only one red sneaker jumped from this craft yesterday morning and ran toward three figures on the nearby rise, one of whom was you. Her other sneaker had already been found by the Army. I know this. You know this. And if you don’t start talking, I’m going to the base and point the finger straight at Dee Proctor.”

“Dee Proctor?” George echoed, as a cold, invisible hand grabbed his insides. “David Proctor’s daughter? The eight year-old?” George shook his head and smiled. “Really now. What would an eight year-old girl have to do with a spaceship? Honestly, Deputy, listen to yourself. You sound positively whacked.”

But Valenti now appeared immune to insults. “I mean it, Sheriff. You can either talk to me or to the Army. It’s your choice.”

George’s face darkened. “I never placed that call to your boss, but I still can. I don’t like threats.”

“And I don’t like being called a liar and a kook,” Valenti replied stonily.

George paused as he and Valenti eyed one another. He had to give the boy credit for pluck and persistence, but that’s as far as his admiration went. Valenti had no idea what he’d just stepped in, or how he was endangering the life of an innocent child. And if he went to the Army, George had no doubt the Army would listen. The entire Proctor family would likely be taken into custody. It would not be a pretty sight.

But how to stop him? George’s own threats didn’t seem to be working anymore. Valenti had apparently decided that the truth was more important than his job. A noble sentiment, to be sure, but badly misplaced in this instance.

“Sheriff? Sorry to bother you again, but this just came in.” The Corona deputy handed George a sheet of paper with a look of relief on his face, and disappeared. George skimmed it quickly, a smile spreading over his face.

“Well now, Deputy. It seems there’s been a mistake.”

“What ‘mistake’?” Valenti asked, scowling.

“This is a press release from the United States Army stating that the report of a crashed flying saucer was in error. It was, in fact, a weather balloon.”

“What?! A weather balloon?” Valenti snatched the paper from George’s hands and read it, eyes wide. “But you saw the number of men they had out there! They closed down the ranch, they were hauling away debris, they…..” He stopped, and his eyes narrowed. “Sheriff Wilcox, you and I both know that was no weather balloon!”

“Are you saying the United States Army is lying?” George asked, eyebrows raised.

Valenti’s face clouded. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.

“How exactly do you think the United States Army would feel about someone continuing to spread a story they’ve just refuted?” George asked pointedly.

Eyes smoldering, Valenti handed the press release back to George, and as he did so, George noticed the red, swollen knuckles on his right hand. “That’s a nasty injury you have there. Get in a fight with someone?”

His face reddening, Valenti turned on his heel and strode away without another word. George walked to his office window and waited until Valenti had climbed into his cruiser, slammed the door behind him, and driven away. He could still go to the Army, and they might still listen. But the price for doing so had just risen sky high. If the Army was going to dance the cover-up tango, it wouldn’t want anyone else dancing the blow-its-cover foxtrot. If Valenti talked, he’d go down. George sincerely hoped that was a trade off he wasn’t willing to make.

George strode down the station hallway and walked out through the front doors, smiling and waving the press release. He certainly wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of lying to people, but at the moment, lies appeared kinder than the truth.

“I have good news, ladies and gentleman!” he boomed to the expectant crowd. “The Army was in error! There is no spaceship! There are no aliens here!”




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


Proctor residence



Emily Proctor rubbed her sore ear as she climbed the stairs to the second floor. She’d been on the phone for the lion’s share of the past couple of hours. People were so afraid of aliens descending upon them that they phoned instead, refusing to visit even their neighbors for fear of an alien attack. Only my neighbors need to worry about that, Emily thought ironically, as she paused outside the door to the guest room.

“Have tempers calmed?” came a voice from inside.

Brivari was sitting in the rocking chair, staring out the window. The other alien was lying on the bed, still unconscious. He didn’t look much better.

“The Army just issued another press release saying that there is no spaceship,” Emily reported. “They claim it was a weather balloon.”

“And will your people believe this tale?”

“Probably. Not all of them. But most of them will. And that may be just as well,” she added with a sigh. “People are going crazy. They’re terrified; they’re afraid to even leave their houses. They think aliens are taking over the Earth.”

“All one of me,” Brivari deadpanned.

Emily stared in surprise. She certainly hadn’t expected humor from him, and her feelings must have been written on her face.

“One of my colleagues was very fond of joking,” Brivari said quietly, as though reading her mind. “He claimed it made difficult situations easier to bear.”

“I think it does,” Emily agreed. “Don’t you?”

“No.” He paused. “At least not as of yet. And that colleague is now dead. I will not have the opportunity to argue the point with him again.”

Emily paused awkwardly at this sad announcement. This was familiar ground, unfortunately, for herself and everyone else in town. How many times had she had to offer condolences to people who had lost sons, husbands, brothers, and fathers to the war? She’d had plenty of practice; she should be better at this by now. But no matter what she said, it never sounded right, and she doubted she’d be any more adept at offering condolences to an alien.

“Look,” she said finally, taking the easy way out. “I just came up here to see if you needed anything.”

“He will recover,” Brivari said, glancing at the figure on the bed. “There is nothing we require at this time.” He paused. “I extend to you the King’s gratitude for all that you, your mate, and your child have done for us. You have placed yourselves in danger on our behalf. I would not have expected that from so primitive a race.”

Emily blinked. Talk about a left-handed compliment. Was that even a compliment? Hard to tell, really, but despite the zinger at the end, nothing in his tone suggested he meant to insult. He was still staring out the window, his face serious….and sad.

“You’re welcome,” Emily answered, a bit uncertainly. “And…” she bit her lip and decided that however inadequate words may be, some words were better than none. “I’m sorry about the two who died,” she added sincerely. “I wish we could have done more to help all of you.”

Brivari turned to stare at her in surprise. “The ‘two’ who died?” he repeated. “I am aware of only one who died.”

With a start, Emily realized that Brivari had still been unconscious this morning when Dee and the other one had had their only partly audible conversation. And since the other one hadn’t woken up yet, and Dee had spent most of her time hanging around Mac’s house waiting for him to come back, it was possible Brivari didn’t know about the death of yet another of their group. Wonderful, she thought ruefully. I get to be the bearer of the glad tidings.

“This morning,” Emily began carefully, “when we found you here, Dee told that one…”—she indicated the alien on the bed—“…that one of you had died. I think she said he came to her in a dream? And died in her dream? But that doesn’t make sense,” she finished, feeling foolish. “I must have heard wrong.”

But Brivari had turned back to the window, his face hard. “You heard correctly,” he said in a tight voice.

“Then I gather that whoever Dee was talking about is dead,” Emily said gently, “and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Brivari said flatly. “He received a better death than he deserved.”

Stunned, Emily was silent for a long moment before slipping away, mentally kicking herself for having raised the subject in the first place. Grief she had expected, but not this cold fury. She had no idea who they were talking about, but judging from the almost palpable anger in Brivari’s voice, perhaps dying in her daughter’s dream was not such a bad fate after all.

[Kathy W 2200]

PART FIFTY-THREE


July 8, 1947, 1630 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



Private Spade risked another peek around the corner. No such luck—Battle Axe was still there. At least that was what he had nicknamed the portly nurse who stood guard in the reception area of the women’s barracks. He had been watching for a while now, and he had observed that Battle Axe always took a constitutional every half hour, on the half hour. Regularity was a wonderful thing, to be sure.

C’mon—git! he thought fiercely. As if on cue, Battle Axe rose and lumbered away from the desk. Spade crept quietly by, musing once again on why most of the nurses he encountered weighed at least two hundred pounds and sported faces that would scare their own mothers. It probably wouldn’t do to put more nurses like Yvonne White in medical wards. Men would be “dying” to get in.

He reached the main hallway and ceased creeping. Now that he was past the desk anyone who saw him would assume he was here with the pope’s blessing, so creeping guiltily along would not do. Of course sneaking into the women’s barracks wasn’t exactly a smart idea either, but at the moment, it would be better to be caught doing that as opposed to being caught with Lieutenant White. Cavitt had limited social skills, but he had a good grasp of basic math. If the two people who were near alien intruders just last night were found together, he’d be able to put one and one together just fine.

Spade had awakened that morning feeling much better, so much better, in fact, that debriefing had begun almost immediately. Captain Cavitt, Colonel Cassidy, and Major Marcel had grilled him for hours, making him go over and over the events of the previous evening. Before Yvonne had left the night before, she had given him a tip: Concussions frequently cause short term memory loss. He had made heavy use of this handy fact, insisting that he could remember little other than being coerced into guiding the aliens to the hangar. When asked what the aliens were after in that hangar, his memory loss had suddenly become severe, and it had remained so when he was questioned about the events which had led to their discovery.

A doctor was called in to certify that such memory loss was possible with concussions. Upon hearing that it was, Cassidy and Marcel were satisfied, at least for the moment. Not so Cavitt. Cavitt was an asshole, but he was a shrewd asshole. He knew damned well there was more to it, and Spade wisely didn’t refute that. He merely kept saying that he couldn’t remember.

Still, it had been wearying repeating himself hour after hour after hour. At long last, he had been saved the way one is usually saved when the wolves are out for blood—by the substitution of one victim for another. Word of Marcel’s press release had filtered back to the base, and Cavitt had promptly chosen another target. Spade and his unfortunate lack of memory were forgotten in the ensuing hullabaloo as a cover up story was hastily concocted and Marcel was hung out to dry.

Spade had no doubt that Cavitt would try again after things had calmed down, so he needed to be extra careful not to be seen with Lieutenant White. But he had to see her; he needed to know what had happened while he’d been out of commission. He knew the two aliens had definitely escaped, but little else. Had they returned? What about the one she’d been watching who had still been alive? Had Yvonne’s involvement in all this been discovered? He had to know, and she was the only person he could talk to.

Slipping down hallways, doing his best to look nonchalant, Spade read the names posted outside the rooms and honed in on his target. He knew she was here; he’d managed to weasel that out of someone currently on duty. She shouldn’t be that hard to find because the nurses were bunked alphabetically. The military was nothing if not efficient.

There! “Yvonne White” read the sign, directly above “Bernadette Wiley”. The door was open, and Spade cautiously peered inside to make certain that Bernadette was not currently in residence. She wasn’t. Yvonne was, her back to him, folding piles of clothes and…..packing?

“Lieutenant?”

She turned around and her eyes grew wide. Coming to the door, she cast a nervous glance up and down the deserted hallway before pulling him into the room and closing the door.

“Stephen! How did you get in here? When I couldn’t find you this morning, I was worried!”

She called me ‘Stephen’. And she was worried about me. Spade allowed himself a small, inward smile. If nothing else good came of this mess, he’d take that, and gladly.

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “I was so much better this morning that they started debriefing me as soon as I woke up.”

She bit her lip. “What did you tell them?”

“Not much. Your memory loss bit worked wonders. What happened with you?”

Yvonne sat down on the bed, tears welling in her eyes. Whatever had happened, it couldn’t have been good. “Tell me,” he said gently, sitting down beside her.

“It was horrible. The doctors came right after I left you last night, and they started the autopsies right away. I managed to get them to start on the alien that was already dead, but then….he collapsed.”

“Collapsed?” Spade puzzled. “He was already dead. How could he collapse?”

“I mean his body collapsed. Just disintegrated, right before our very eyes. Everything disintegrated into this fine, powdery dust. The body, the blood samples, tissue samples, bone fragments…”

“I get the picture,” Spade said, cutting her off before his stomach did somersaults. “What about the other one?”

“They autopsied him too,” Yvonne answered in a stricken voice. “I think he was dead. That one alien—the grumpy one—told me that they’d be able to help him even if he appeared dead to us, but I couldn’t stop them,” she said, staring at her hands. “He’s certainly dead now.”

“That must have been hard to watch,” Spade said sympathetically, putting his hand over hers and instantly wondering if he was being too forward.

But she didn’t pull away. “It was awful,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I kept wondering if he was really dead. If he could feel anything. They could have saved him if they’d made it back. That’s all I could think about.”

Spade squeezed her hand. “It wasn’t your fault. You did all that you could.”

Yvonne was silent for a moment. Spade let her sit for a minute before asking another question. “You said the first alien ‘disintegrated’. What about the second one?”

“His body did the same thing just a short while ago. Everything turned to dust: The body, every sample we took. Everything.”

“Incredible,” Spade murmured. “Is that some sort of protective mechanism so no one can study them?”

“Maybe,” she agreed. “It certainly worked. All they have left are the pictures.”

“What else?” Spade asked. “Did anyone find out anything more about what really happened? Did the other aliens come back?”

Yvonne shook her head. “They debriefed me just like they did you, but I didn’t tell them a thing. I just said I never saw the aliens, never heard anything happening outside my door. They figure the aliens didn’t come into the room where I was because they knew the two we had were dead. And no one’s seen or heard from the two who escaped.”

They sat in heavy silence for a moment before Yvonne wiped her eyes, pulled her hand away, and stood up. “I have to finish packing.”

“Packing? Where are you going?”

“I’ve been transferred to London. I just got the orders an hour ago.”

Spade felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “Did you ask for the transfer?”

“No. Why?”

Spade spent a long minute staring at nothing before abruptly getting to his feet and beginning to pace. “I don’t like this.”

Yvonne smiled. “I’m flattered, Private. But you know very well that we can’t fraternize with…..”

“That’s not what I meant,” he interrupted, hastily adding, “not that I wouldn’t love to fraternize with you,” as Yvonne flushed. “It’s just that they’re treating you differently than the rest of us, and that’s rarely a good sign.”

Her brow furrowed. “Who is ‘us’? And differently how?”

“Cavitt is keeping everyone who’s had any contact with the aliens close to him. That’s a pretty small group: Private Belmont, who was with us when we first discovered the craft, Private West, the one who panicked and shot the surrendering alien, and me, of course. We’ve all been given posts close to Cavitt, and everyone who set foot on that crash site has been threatened with a fate worse than death if they talk.”

“I know,” Yvonne said. “I was debriefed twice this morning, and they threatened me too.”

“Did they say anything about the transfer then?”

“No. Nothing. Look, Stephen, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’m glad I’m leaving. I’ve had enough. I want to get away from Roswell and just forget any of this every happened.”

Spade sighed, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m not sure what I’m thinking. It’s just weird. Why would they keep the rest of us so close, but send you halfway around the world? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Sense or no, I’m leaving,” she said firmly. “I….I wish we had met under better circumstances. Perhaps if things had been different….” She paused awkwardly before continuing. “I wish you all the best, Stephen. I know…. ‘they’ will be back, and they’ll need help. Do what you can for them. For me. Will you?”

Spade nodded. He still didn’t like the sound of this, but she was obviously glad to be leaving, and there was no sense worrying her.

Yvonne made a small gesture toward the door. “You’d better go. We shouldn’t be seen together.”

Spade paused at the door. “Two more things.”

“What?”

“First, what happened to their children? Or whatever it was they were trying to rescue from the hangar. They looked like big, glowing lumps to me.”

“I would imagine the doctors have them. I never saw them. I don’t want to,” she added with conviction. “Everything else from the ship is still in the hangar, with the exception of the remains of the two who died. They’re locked in Med Lab C.”

“Okay. And second…..” He pursed his lips. Should he, or shouldn’t he?

Aw, what the heck……

In one fluid movement, Spade swept Yvonne into his arms and planted a kiss squarely on her beautiful mouth. She didn’t pull away, and when he came up for air a few seconds later, he smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry. I just couldn’t resist.”

Her cheeks were pink. “Goodbye, Stephen. And good luck.”

“You too,” he replied softly.



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



As she watched him go, Yvonne put a hand to her lips and smiled. But her smile promptly faded when she remembered Stephen’s misgivings about her transfer. Was it possible someone had seen her talking to that reporter this morning? She’d been very careful about what she said, not wanting to give away all of the details of her involvement, but just enough so that the truth would get out. Unfortunately, Betty’s other guest, one Captain Carver, had left without speaking to her. A pity. She would have dearly loved to compare notes with him.

Time to finish packing. If the alternative to London was staying here under that awful Cavitt’s watchful eye, she’d choose London any day.

Down the hall, the phone rang. Yvonne heard someone answer it, then footsteps coming toward her room. “Lieutenant White?”

She turned from her suitcase to see a fellow nurse at the door. “Yes?”

“Phone call for you. Fellow by the name of Carver.”



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




Proctor residence




David Proctor approached his house, anxiously scanning the neighborhood. He’d tried to call Emily twice since news of the crash had broken at midday, both times getting a busy signal. Reactions on his end of things had ranged from nervous laughter, to uneasiness, to something uncomfortably close to panic. The retraction issued a few hours later had pretty much calmed everyone down, but the evening newspaper was sure to stir them up again. David glanced at the Roswell Daily Record on the seat next to him, its headline screaming, “UFO CRASHES!” The morning papers would probably carry that ridiculous weather balloon story, but the evening papers like the Daily Record had already been put to bed by the time the retraction arrived.

And then there had been Mac Brazel’s infamous radio interview, broadcast and rebroadcast throughout the day. When the Army said something, that was one thing, but when one of your own said something, that was another. Mac had refused to take back a word of what he’d so unwisely said earlier that day, retraction or no retraction. His stubbornness was giving many pause when it came to the question of which of the Army’s two very different tales was correct. God, they’re going to get him for this, David thought apprehensively. Just like I know they’ll get Jesse Marcel.

He pulled into his driveway, relieved to find his house peaceful, and disturbed to find the Brazel’s house looking empty. Grabbing the newspaper, he climbed out of the car and shut the door.

“David Proctor?”

David turned to find a Roswell sheriff’s deputy standing there, hands on hips, a determined expression on his face. And not just any sheriff’s deputy. This was the deputy who’d been planted outside his house just this morning. “Valenti”, his name tag read. David felt his stomach knot.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Proctor, I need to have a word with you.”

“Is something wrong, Deputy?” David asked, trying to sound casual. “Something that would bring a Roswell deputy to my door?”

The mention of jurisdiction was not lost on the deputy. “Now, Mr. Proctor, I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to point out that this isn’t my town. And you’re right, it isn’t. But we have bigger fish to fry, you and I. Bigger than Roswell, bigger than Chaves County, bigger even than the state of New Mexico.”

David raised his eyebrows. “Really? And what might this ‘fish’ be?”

Valenti adjusted his hat. “Mr. Proctor, I’m going to be straight with you. I know you were up on Pohlman Ranch yesterday morning. And you and I both know that ain’t no weather balloon up there. Another thing you and I both know is that your daughter, Dee, was also up there. I saw her jump from the craft wearing only one red sneaker. She ran up a nearby hill to three people, one of whom was Sheriff Wilcox, and another of whom I’m certain was you. The Army found her other sneaker, which I have right here.”

Valenti produced the sneaker from behind his back, stained black in several places. Anyone else would have taken those stains for mud, but knowing what he knew, David strongly suspected otherwise.

“I know your daughter wears red sneakers, Mr. Proctor,” Valenti continued. “I have witnesses that place you at the crash site yesterday morning. I want to know why your daughter was in that craft, and if you won’t talk to me, I’m going to take what I know to the Army and let them decide what to do with you.”

David stood silently during this recital. Apparently he, Mac, and George weren’t the only ones outside the range of Valeris’s deception. Still, if there had been other witnesses Valenti would not now be standing in his driveway looking desperate. He’d obviously asked around—he must not have been able to find another witness. All he had to back up his story was that sneaker.

“That’s quite a tale,” David said calmly, leaning against the car. “I was at the ranch yesterday helping out Sheriff Wilcox, but my daughter wasn’t with me. She was out of town with her mother. As for the rest of it, I have no idea where that’s coming from. I’m sure it has nothing to do with me.”

“Your daughter wears red sneakers,” Valenti observed.

“So? Lots of kids wear red sneakers.”

“Sure they do,” Valenti smiled. “Boys wear red sneakers. Or black sneakers. Girls wear white sneakers. Know of any other girls who wear red sneakers, Mr. Proctor?”

“Sorry, I haven’t had time to do a poll,” David said, in what he hoped was an amused tone. He desperately wanted to throttle this nosey man right then and there. “You said you have witnesses who place me at the ranch yesterday morning—that’s common knowledge. Do you have any witnesses who saw my daughter at the ranch?”

Deputy Valenti’s face clouded. David paused for effect before continuing. “Did it ever occur to you, Deputy, that the reason there are no other witnesses is because she wasn’t there?”

“I know what I saw!” Valenti said tersely, stepping closer to David. “And you know what I saw. I’m sure of it!”

David breathed an inward sigh of relief. He was right—Valenti didn’t have anything else but the sneaker and his own eyeballs. In David’s experience, people who had ammunition used it. “If you’re so sure of it, then what do you need me for?” he asked reasonably, starting for the house. “Good evening, Deputy.”

Valenti scooted past him and planted himself in front of David. “I don’t care what happens to me,” he said in a low voice, “but I swear, even it costs me my job, I am going to get to the bottom of this. And in order to do that, I need you.”

“You have an odd way of asking for help,” David said frostily. “Now, would you be so kind as to get the hell out of my way?”


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



Emily Proctor watched from the window as the confrontation in their driveway grew louder. David was trying to get to the house, but Deputy Valenti was still in front of him, walking backwards and arguing every step of the way. He’s not going to give up this time, she thought to herself with alarm.

Emily crossed to the bottom of the stairs and stood there, looking up at the top. Should she do this? It wasn’t a question of pride—she knew when she was in over her head. But she feared the outcome of what she had in mind almost as much as she feared the results of the commotion in her front yard.

Loud voices wafted through the window. David had reached the front steps. It was now or never.

Moving quickly lest she lose her nerve, Emily skipped up the steps and marched straight to the door of the guest room. She had feared she would need to waken him but he was already awake, sitting in the rocking chair just as before, staring at her. He had heard her coming.

Emily took a moment to compose herself before speaking. “Do you remember what we talked about earlier? That bit about assessing danger?”

Brivari didn’t answer, merely raised his eyebrows.

Emily took a deep breath. “I need your help.”




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



David Proctor was getting desperate. He’d spent the last ten minutes trying to keep both his temper and his panic in check. Both were wearing thin, and it was anyone’s guess which would go first.

Deputy Valenti refused to give up. Like a dog with his teeth in your leg, he just wouldn’t let go. Under other circumstances, David might have admired such persistence. But when the circumstances in question involved the safety of his child, he found no room for admiration, or explanation, or even restraint. Valenti obviously had no idea what he’d just stepped in. David did.

Valenti continued his harangue, his temper clearly getting ragged around the edges. David glanced at the front door. Where was Emily? The main door was closed, which never happened in the summer unless they left the house. Perhaps she wasn’t home? He could have used her right now to help him decide what to do. Valenti clearly wasn’t going away of his own accord, and David was afraid that if he drove him off his property, he would go straight to the Army. The evidence he had was slim, but it would be enough to pique the interest of someone like Cavitt who was already suspicious. David hadn’t heard anything more about anyone pursuing the child Mac initially said was with him when he found the alien metal; no doubt everyone was too busy climbing all over their new alien booty. The Army appeared to have forgotten Mac’s first rendition of events, for the moment at least, but it wouldn’t take much for them to remember. He should call George Wilcox; he would know best how to handle this.

“Well, Mr. Proctor?” Valenti was saying.

David managed a cold smile. “Deputy, I’ve already answered your questions. Those answers haven’t changed, so I’ll save both of us the time and effort of repeating them. I’m going inside now. Have a good evening.”

David turned toward the door, but Valenti blocked his path.

“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me the truth!”


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



“Do something!” Emily said impatiently. “What are you waiting for?”

Emily folded her arms across her chest in exasperation as Brivari calmly watched the altercation only feet away on the other side of the door. She wasn’t exactly certain what she wanted Brivari to do. She just knew she wanted her husband safe inside and that meddling deputy out of her life.

“I am waiting to see how the confrontation progresses,” Brivari answered calmly, not moving a muscle from the window where he’d been watching for the past several minutes.

“Progresses? It’s not progressing. As in he’s not leaving,” she said hotly, indicating the deputy.

Brivari gave her a level stare. “Always know your enemy, Emily Proctor. Observe. Listen. The better you know your enemy, the easier is will be to bring him down.”

“I don’t want to ‘know him’,” Emily said, her voice rising. “And you’re in no position to lecture me about ‘knowing your enemy’. If you’re so great at that, why are the people you protect dead?”

His face darkened, and she was instantly sorry she’d said that. He had come at once when she had asked for his help, and she really had no idea what had happened on his planet.

“Our failure to keep our Wards alive is a perfect example of the need to know your enemy,” he replied in a tight voice. “And the need to know exactly who your enemy is.” He stepped away from the window. “Open the door.”

“What?”

“Open the door. Let them in.”

“What….why?” Emily said, flabbergasted. “I don’t want Valenti in my house!”

“Weren’t you just abjuring me to ‘do something’?”

“This isn’t what I had in mind,” Emily objected. “If I wanted him in the house, I could have done that myself!”

“You will open the door and allow him to enter,” Brivari said firmly. “I need to be close to him.”

It was the middle of summer, and the hottest part of the day, but Emily suddenly felt very cold. “Why?” she asked, wondering if she had done the right thing by dragging Brivari into this. “You’re not going to….you’re not going to kill him……are you?”

“Killing him would focus attention on this dwelling, something that would be detrimental to both of us,” Brivari replied in a perfectly logical tone, as if cold-blooded murder was merely an unattractive option. “I doubt it will be necessary.”

“ ‘Necessary’,” Emily echoed. “And what if it were….’necessary’?”

Brivari gave her a hard stare. “We already had this discussion, did we not?”

Emily suddenly got cold feet. “Look, I know you feel indebted to Dee for helping you, and I know I asked for your help, but maybe I overreacted,” she said quickly. “We can take care of this ourselves.”

“Unlikely,” Brivari said flatly. “And this concerns me as well as you. If they find your daughter, they are far more likely to find me. And if they find me, they find what I protect. I cannot, and will not, allow that to happen.” He took a step closer. “Now, open the door.”

It was not a request. Emily put her hand on the door…and hesitated. Too long, apparently. Brivari took the decision—and the door—out of her hands by raising one of his own. The door abruptly flew open, so quickly she had to jump back to avoid being hit by it.

Two heads swung to look at her; two startled pairs of eyes locked with hers. Emily shot Brivari an angry look, but it was too late; she had to play along.

“Deputy Valenti,” Emily said frostily. “I hardly expected to see you here again. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, are you?”

She stepped back as Valenti flushed angrily. “Why don’t you step inside before you frighten the neighbors,” Emily continued, “and we’ll finish this nonsense. Once and for all.”

[Kathy W 2200]

PART FIFTY-FOUR


July 8, 1947, 5:50 p.m.

Proctor residence



David gazed at his wife in shock. She had looked as surprised as he was when the door first opened, but now she just looked angry. How did she know this guy, and why was she inviting him in? The last thing they wanted was Valenti in their house. Granted he wasn’t likely to find the mate to that sneaker he was holding, but still…the thought of having someone so close to the truth actually inside his house was unnerving.

Valenti didn’t wait for a second invitation. He quickly stepped inside the house and David promptly followed. The three of them—David, Valenti, and Emily—stood beside the open front door, staring at each other with expressions ranging from wariness to fury. Valenti’s eyes darted around the house as though he expected an alien to pop up at any moment.

“Deputy Valenti has been here before,” Emily explained, her eyes flashing. “First he went after Dee over on the Brazel’s front porch, and then he came after me. And I believe I made it clear at that time that you were not welcome here,” she added icily. “Apparently you learn slowly.”

David felt the color drain from his face. This jackass had already been here harassing his wife and daughter? “How dare you!” David growled, forgetting his resolve to remain calm and throwing caution to the winds. “You have no right to harass my family with your cockamamie stories and threats! After I report this you’ll be lucky to walk away with your job. And if have anything to say about it, you won’t.”

Valenti said something in reply, but David wasn’t listening. The door behind the deputy had begun to swing closed of its own accord. Slowly, slowly, it moved, revealing a figure standing behind it.

Brivari.

David was still digesting this information when Brivari’s hand moved toward Valenti.

He’s going to kill him, was the first thought that passed through David’s mind. No great loss, was his second, shocking thought. No, given what could happen to his child, it would be difficult for David to summon much in the way of grief if Deputy Valenti were to meet with an unfortunate accident right here and now.

Good God—what’s happening to me? David couldn’t believe he had just thought that. He had told Dee that fear caused people to do all sorts of things they would normally never do, but he had never expected to be a living, breathing example of that unfortunate fact.

He glanced at Emily. She was careful to look at Valenti, but her face was tight, her eyes wide and staring as Brivari’s hand crept closer and closer. She seemed to be having an inner battle with herself, probably for the same reasons he was. If one of them didn’t intervene soon, Valenti could be dead in seconds. All it would take was one gesture to the room behind him, one well-placed interruption.

But neither David nor Emily moved, and the hand crept closer, until it connected with……

….no, not Valenti. With the sneaker he was holding at his side. His daughter’s red sneaker with those odd stains. The sneaker that was rapidly turning…black?

David forced himself not to stare at the shoe, lest he give it all away. After a few more seconds of Valenti’s tirade about the virtues of trusting local law enforcement, David looked down again to see the sneaker had turned completely black. No trace of red, no trace of stains. It had been completely transformed.

He destroyed the evidence, David thought, with no small amount of relief. Now there was nothing left but Valenti’s own eyewitness account of something that only he had seen.

Emily’s eyes had gone wide with shock. Valenti hadn’t reacted to this, most likely because he thought she was afraid of what he was saying. “Excuse me…Deputy?” David interrupted.

Valenti folded his arms across his chest, one hand still holding the now black sneaker. “Are you ready to talk now?”

““Didn’t you say you had a red sneaker?” David asked innocently.

By way of answer, the deputy held up the sneaker. The look on his face when he saw the color change was priceless.

David let him stare in silence for a full minute before speaking again. “As you can see, that sneaker does not match my daughter’s. Now, if you’re through haranguing me and my family, I’d much appreciate it if you’d get the hell out of here.”

Valenti’s head swung left and right as he peered suspiciously into the parts of the house he could see. David’s heart skipped a beat as Valenti whipped the front door closed, but there was no one there. Brivari had vanished.

Finally, shaking his head in consternation, Valenti walked up to David until they were almost nose to nose. “I know your kid was up there, Proctor,” he said flatly. “I don’t know how you did what you just did, but I promise you, I will get answers. Come hell or high water, someday I will.”

“Confrontation. Intimidation. Threats.” David shook his head sadly. “And after all those excellent reasons you gave to trust local law enforcement.”

Valenti’s eyes grew hard. “Mr. Proctor,” he said, nodding curtly. “Mrs. Proctor. Have yourselves a good evening.” He walked through the open doorway, then stopped. “I’ll be watching,” he added without turning around.

David waited until Valenti had driven off before closing the door and asking the single, most important question on his mind: “Where is Dee?”

“Across the street,” Emily said tensely, arms folded tightly across her chest as if to stabilize herself. “I sent her over to play with the neighbors. I thought she could use a bit of normalcy.” She laughed suddenly, a raw sound that held no humor. “Normalcy. Listen to me. What the hell is normalcy?” She drew a deep breath and looked around nervously. “Where did he go, David?”

As if on cue, Brivari literally walked out of the wall on the other side of the front door. David watched Emily sympathetically as she tried to come to grips with this new information about their uninvited houseguest. Other than the frantic, pain-racked shapeshifting she had seen yesterday, she had not seen any of them use their other…talents. David remembered how unnerving it had been to watch Brivari materialize from the seat of the car two days ago. No wonder his kind made people uncomfortable on their planet. How could you trust someone who could change their appearance so completely?

Brivari, for his part, was completely unperturbed. “David Proctor,” he said by way of greeting.

“Brivari,” David nodded. “Did things go well last night?”

“They did not,” Brivari said shortly.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” David said. He ruffled a hand through his hair uncomfortably. “Thanks for getting rid of him…I mean, throwing him off the trail,” he amended quickly.

“The piece of clothing was his only evidence,” Brivari replied. “With that gone, he has only his recollection of events to use as evidence, a recollection that others do not share. Hopefully he values his credibility too much to push this particular point further.”

David sighed. “I certainly hope so.” He looked at Emily, who was watching their “guest” with a mixture of discomfort and what looked like annoyance. “I should call George and let him know this guy is after us. Maybe he could file a complaint with the Sheriff in Roswell, or…”

“That would not be wise,” Brivari interrupted. “That will only call further attention to his claims.”

“Excuse me,” Emily snapped, “but this is our decision, not yours.”

Brivari’s eyebrows almost hit the ceiling. “And if your decision conflicts with the guarding of my Wards?”

“That’s your problem,” Emily replied coolly. “Just like it’s my problem when your decisions conflict with the guarding of my daughter. If I were you, I’d hit my knees and pray that doesn’t happen.”

A small smile played across Brivari’s lips. Then he nodded slightly, climbed the staircase, and disappeared down the upstairs hallway.

David watched him go with his mouth hanging open. “What on earth was that all about?”



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



“Why didn’t you call me?” David asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee and sinking into a nearby chair.

“Because I felt like an idiot,” Emily replied with exasperation, leaning against the kitchen counter. She had just finished a recital of how Brivari had commandeered the situation with Valenti. “I’d only just sent you off to work this morning, insisting this was all over, and then I go upstairs to find them on the floor of the guest room. So much for it being ‘over’.”

“Them? Who else is here?”

“Someone Dee calls ‘Jaddo’. He was shot last night doing whatever they were doing, and Brivari brought him back here.”

“Did they find the others?”

“Yes.” Emily paused. “They’re dead.”

David set down his coffee cup, rose, and crossed to the window. He was silent for so long that Emily finally went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head on his shoulder. “You should have seen Dee when she found out,” she whispered. “She was heartbroken. She cried for so long…I’ve never seen her cry like that. Never.”

“She’s never had anyone close to her die,” David said quietly.

“Close? She was ‘close’ to the two who died?”

David nodded. “One of those two was the first she befriended. He was the one who convinced the others to help when Miltnor attacked her. The other got her off that ship in one piece without anyone seeing. Almost anyone,” he amended, with a rueful look toward the front door. “They both saved her life; she tried to save theirs and failed. I know what that feels like.”

“Look,” Emily said, “I’m really sorry about what happened to these people. I don’t think they mean to hurt us. I don’t think they deserve what they’re getting. But I hate what all this is doing to us. To Dee. She’s different now. She seems cold. Hard. She seems like….” She paused, as if unwilling to say what she was thinking.

“…..she seems like an awful lot of the soldiers who came back from the war,” David finished for her.

Emily nodded reluctantly. “I don’t like it.”

David sighed. “I don’t either. But this is what you go through when you have to confront the truth that sometimes the world is an awful place and there’s not much you can do about it. You go through a stage where you’re mad at everything and everyone. It seems like nothing you do matters, like you’re helpless to change anything. That’s not true of course, and most people work their way through that swamp and come out safely on the other side. And she will too. I’ve been amazed at the way she’s handled herself lately. She’s a lot tougher than we think she is.”

“Not everyone comes out safely on the other side,” Emily said sadly. “Your brother didn’t.”

“Dee will,” David said firmly. “She’ll find her way through this, and we’ll help her do that.”

“How could we let this happen?” Emily murmured into his shoulder. “We didn’t want this to happen to her.”

“We didn’t ‘let’ it happen. It just happened,” David said, holding her tightly. “Nobody wanted this, least of all Brivari and his people. They wanted to land somewhere in the mountains and never have anything to do with us. They didn’t mean to crash their ship. And Dee was just trying to help them out. Nobody expected it to turn out this way.”

“I know that,” Emily said, pulling away. “But I still don’t like it. He could have killed Valenti.”

“Then why did you ask for his help? What did you expect him to do?”

“I don’t know!” Emily exclaimed in frustration. “It was just that I didn’t have any ideas, and I thought he might.”

“And he did,” David pointed out. “He took care of it, and without bloodshed, I might add, despite what you and I were thinking. They’re not indiscriminate killers. If they were, we’d all be dead.”

“But bloodshed was on his list of possibilities,” Emily protested. “It sure as hell wasn’t on mine. You didn’t hear what he said.”

“And you didn’t see what I saw yesterday morning,” David pointed out. “There are two sides to this coin. I saw far more aggression from the Army then I ever have from the aliens.”

“What about the way he took over? He didn’t tell me what he had in mind, he just ripped the door out of my hands. And now he’s telling us not to call George!”

“Maybe we shouldn’t.”

Emily blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Look, Em, I’m in over my head here,” David said uncomfortably. “I fought in the war, but that was different. I’ve never been personally pursued like this, had my child hunted like this. Brivari knows a lot more about this than we do. We should at least consider what he has to say.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Emily protested. “He could have killed him!”

“He could have killed him,” David repeated. “But he didn’t.”

“But not because it was wrong; just because it was ‘unnecessary’,” Emily argued. “Because it was inconvenient.”

David stared out the window a moment, then turned to look at her squarely. “Emily, you and I both thought Brivari might kill. I saw it in your eyes. But neither of us moved to stop him.”

Emily dropped her eyes. “I know,” she said in a hollow voice. “And that’s what scares me.”



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



9:09 p.m.

Proctor residence


Thunder pounded and lightning flashed as David Proctor stood in the doorway of his daughter’s bedroom. It was pouring outside, adding to the already oppressive mugginess. Dee was sitting cross-legged on her bed, all of her bedroom lights off, staring out the window at the storm. No doubt remembering the last storm she had watched, when things had been different. A lot different.

Their “guests” had been completely quiet. After the encounter with Valenti, Brivari had retired to the guest room and apparently fallen asleep. David guessed he must be exhausted after being injured yesterday, and then healing Jaddo basically by himself soon after that. As for Jaddo, he still lay in bed, whether unconscious or sleeping David could not tell.

Dee had returned home for dinner, and David had been struck by the change in her. She was withdrawn, terse, with an edge to her that hadn’t been there before. David had carefully avoided the subject of Urza and Valeris, but he had told her what Brivari had done about Valenti, noting that both he and her mother had been concerned that Valenti would wind up hurt. Or worse.

“Why? Valenti would have hurt me. He certainly would have hurt them,” Dee had responded flatly, indicating the upstairs with a nod. She had not sounded fearful, or worried, or hesitant—just angry. Her world and its inhabitants had not lived up to her expectations, and she was furious.

David was of two minds about her anger. In his own experience, anger was preferable to fear or despair; the angry ones were the ones who tended to survive. But anger ultimately took one of two paths: It either consumed its owner, or it motivated them to change what they felt was wrong. Many times one had to pass through the fire of the first in order to arrive at the second. It was a journey he had seen grown men fail to navigate successfully. Dee was just a child; to say that he feared for her now would be a gross understatement.

But navigate it she must, and it was his job to help her do that. And the first thing to do was to get her talking, however much she didn’t want to. He had made several overtures that evening, hoping that she would say something about what had happened, but she had firmly rejected all of them. He’d just gotten off the phone with Rose Brazel, and he was hoping that would interest her. Now he eased into the room and sat on the end of the bed. Not quite next to her, but not behind her either.

“Hi.”

Dee didn’t respond. He hadn’t expected her to. “That was Mrs. Brazel on the phone.”

Now she turned to look at him. “And?”

“The Army has Mac at the base. Rose got to see him for a little while. She says he’s okay, but madder than a hornet.”

“So why isn’t he home?” Dee demanded. “What are they doing to him?”

David sighed. “I guess they’re not ‘doing’ anything to him, Dee. They’re just not letting him go home yet. We think they want to make it clear that he can’t talk about what happened, especially since they’re denying it now.” He paused. “Rose is staying with friends until this blows over. She says their eldest son might drop by next door. He’s going to look after the ranch until Mac gets back.”

His daughter leveled a hard stare at him. “Are they going to shoot Mac too?”

David stared at his eight-year old and felt a wave of sadness wash over him. Just a few days ago, she would never have asked a question like that. Just a few days ago, she wouldn’t have had a reason to. And the troubling thing was, it was a legitimate question.

“Too many people know Mac,” David said, keeping his voice level. “The radio station is still hammering the Army for news about him after that interview he gave. Too many questions would be asked if he just disappeared. Mac will be all right.”

“Right,” Dee said in a strained voice. “Just like Valeris was ‘all right’.”

There it was. The opening. “Dee, I heard about Urza and Valeris dying. I’m so sorry. I know how hard you tried to prevent that from happening.”

“Not hard enough, obviously,” she said in a low voice.

“Nonsense,” David said firmly. “Their deaths were not your fault. You did everything you could have done. That’s all you can do.”

Silence. David tried again. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“No.”

“I…”

“Daddy, I’m fine.”

“It doesn’t sound like you were ‘fine’ this morning.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, Dee, it’s not okay,” David said passionately. “Two people you cared about are dead. That’s not okay. It will never be okay. It’s not supposed to be okay.” He paused. “It hurts because it’s supposed to hurt. What kind of people would we be if it didn’t?”

Glancing sideways at her, he thought he saw her lower lip quiver. “Maybe,” she whispered, “we would be better off.”

“I don’t think so,” David protested gently. “I think pain is one of the things that motivates us to change the things in our world that need changing. Without it, we wouldn’t grow.”

Now she twisted to look at him, her eyes flashing. “If that’s what I’m going to grow up to be, then I don’t want to grow up!” she said fiercely. “Daddy, they shot them! They didn’t try to talk to them, or find out why they were here. They just shot them. Like animals!”

“They were scared,” David argued. “I know they shouldn’t have done what they did, but try to look at it from their perspective, just for a moment. We didn’t even know there was life anywhere else but here. And then these….beings show up, obviously more advanced than we are, and they don’t come forward to say why they’re here, they just hid…”

“Exactly,” Dee interrupted. “They hid. They didn’t attack anyone, or try to take over the world. They just came here to hide.”

“But we didn’t know that,” David countered.

“We didn’t ask. We didn’t even try to find out why they were here.”

David sighed. “Remember what I told you about people when they’re afraid? How they do things they normally wouldn’t do?”

“That’s just it, Daddy,” Dee said in a brittle voice. “I’m not so sure those people were doing things they normally wouldn’t do.”

Ouch. She had him there. People like Cavitt most certainly were not merely reacting out of fear, but out of a need to control, to dominate.

“Some people are like that,” David allowed. “But most were just plain scared.”

“And that’s an excuse for killing someone?”

“Of course not. But our people aren’t the only ones who killed,” David said firmly. “Urza and the others killed too. You saw it happen.”

“They killed to save my life. And because they knew what would happen if they were found. And they were right,” she added bitterly. “What excuse did we have? There are a lot more of us than there are of them. No one was hunting us. No one was going to hurt us.”

“But how were we supposed to know that?”

“I can’t believe you’re defending them!” Dee said angrily.

“I’m not defending them,” David said, feeling his own temper rising. “I’m only pointing out that there is always another side to the story. And if you’re only willing to look at one side, you’ll never find out what really happened.”

They both sat, irritated and silent, for several minutes before David decided that he had gone as far as he could go just then. “I’m really sorry about your friends,” he said gently. “But I can see why both sides did what they did. They were all afraid. And fear is rarely a good decision maker, in my experience.”

“So what happens when both sides are afraid?” Dee asked, a twinge of despair in her voice. “What happens if nobody’s willing to talk and everybody just shoots because they’re scared?” She paused. “Valeris was willing to talk. He tried, Daddy. They wouldn’t listen. How do we make people listen?”

“We don’t give up,” David answered. “It’s hard to get people to listen, but I guarantee you they will never listen if we stop trying to make them listen.”

He reached for her hand. She flinched, but didn’t pull away. “Don’t give up on us, Dee. We’re not all like that. You and I and your mother, we’re living proof of that. There are other people who would listen. I’m sure of that.”

She didn’t answer, and after a moment David stood up. “Would you like me to tuck you in?”

“No.”

“All right. Good night then.”

“Daddy?”

“What?”

“Do you remember the night their ship crashed? How there was a storm just like tonight? And I sat in my room watching for falling stars?” He nodded.

“I wish I hadn’t been looking.”

David’s heart broke as he saw the look on her face and realized she meant every word she said. He certainly couldn’t blame her for feeling that way, but he wasn’t willing to let this conversation end on such a dour note. “Well, I’m glad you were looking,” he said firmly. “And I’m willing to bet that Urza and his people are glad you were looking too.”

Dee didn’t answer. David left the room, pulling the door ajar the way she usually liked it at night and leaned against the wall, eyes closed, reflecting on the fact that some of the worst casualties of war were not those who wound up dead.



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



10:30 p.m.

Roswell, New Mexico




Yvonne White climbed out the car into the pouring rain, so eager to leave that she barely even noticed the downpour. Hopefully what she had just told Captain Carver had been enough to pique his interest without giving too much away. Certainly she had said nothing about her involvement in all of this other than her participation in the autopsy. But she had drawn him a sketch of what they looked like, just like the one she had drawn for Betty, and hopefully he and Betty would be able to get the word out.

She was more convinced than ever now that word must get out about what had happened here in Roswell. She had heard whispers that evening that plans were being laid to trap the two remaining aliens, and she had no illusions about what would happen if those plans succeeded. People like Captain Cavitt thrived on secrecy and ignorance. Hopefully she had played some small part in destroying that ignorance.

Yvonne reached the end of the bus line, fretting over how slowly it was moving. She might be soaked by the time she boarded, but, upon reflection, it was a worthy trade-off. She couldn’t wait to get out of here. Halfway around the world didn’t seem far enough.

“Yvonne White?”

Yvonne turned around. Who was calling her?

“Hello?”

“Lieutenant White?”

Yvonne took a tentative step forward. She was at the end of the line; there was no one behind her. “Who’s calling?”

“Lieutenant White?” the voice repeated.

Who was that? Was it Captain Carver? She walked forward toward the darkness between two buildings, the rain obscuring her vision. “Who is it?”

Two figures loomed out of the darkness, both dressed in uniform and bearing the insignia of Privates, neither too well groomed.

“Who are you?” Yvonne demanded.

“We have orders, Lieutenant,” the left hand Private said, ignoring her question. “You’re to come with us. We’ll deliver you to your next posting.”

“My next posting is London,” Yvonne said frostily. “I’m on my way to the airport now. And now if you’ll excuse me, I have no intention of missing my bus.”

“You’re not getting on the bus, Lieutenant,” the left hand Private said with a distinctly unpleasant smile, “and you’re not going to London.”

“Shhhh!” the other hissed, drawing a sour look from the first.

“Not going to London?” Yvonne repeated. “Don’t be ridiculous. I have my transfer papers right here. And besides,” she added tartly, “If there’s been a change of plans, the Army certainly wouldn’t choose to notify me via two Privates lurking in a dark alley. Good evening.”

Yvonne turned on her heel. Honestly. They shouldn’t let these young ones off the base if they were going to get drunk and harass people like this.

Hands grabbed her from behind. She managed one scream before a hand was clamped firmly over her mouth, her arms were pinned behind her, and she was dragged into the darkness of the alley. Struggling mightily, peering over the dirty hand, she saw Captain Carver run up to the bus and talk to the driver. But the driver wouldn’t know anything about her because she’d never made it onto the bus.

“Now, Lieutenant,” said a voice in her ear, “no need for such a fuss. We just have our orders, is all. We’re to deliver you to your next posting, one way or another.” Over the hand, Yvonne watched with rising panic as the bus pulled away. Moments later, Captain Carver’s car went by. She was alone.

“It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it,” the voice in her ear continued suggestively, adding, “I ain’t never been this close to a Lieutenant before.” Yvonne stiffened as another hand briefly caressed her neck before straying south.

“Stop it!” the other Private said severely, the one pinning her arms behind her. “We’re supposed to deliver her, not feel her up!”

“Awright, awright,” a grumpy voice answered. “I didn’t hurt her. Just admirin’ the scenery.”

“Lieutenant,” the Private behind her said pleadingly, “we do have orders. Now why don’t you just calm down and come with us. We don’t want to have to tie you up.”

“Speak for yourself,” a voice said in her ear.

Yvonne’s eyes darted frantically left and right. She still couldn’t see her captors, not that that would help, and she sincerely doubted they were acting on orders. More likely she’d wind up raped and dead by the side of the road. But there were two of them and one of her, and at the moment, she was pinned down. She’d have to break free in order to have any chance of escaping them. Instinctively, she relaxed.

“There now,” the voice in her ear crooned. “That’s better. Be a good girl.”

Slowly, the hand moved away from her mouth, hovering for a moment in case she screamed again. She didn’t. The hand disappeared, and she felt her arms released behind her. First her left, then her right.

Good. She was right-handed.

Whirling around, Yvonne aimed her right fist in the direction of the jackass whose hands had been on her breasts only moments before. Her hand connected with a satisfying smack, drawing an even more satisfying howl from the recipient. A mighty shove sent the second Private flying, and then she was off, running up the alley, splashing through puddles, kicking off her shoes as she ran. If she could just reach the street, she could call for help….

They caught her only a few yards from the road, lunging at her from behind, pinning her to the ground. She kicked like a fiend, sank her teeth into a passing arm, and poked a nail into a passing eyeball, drawing a shriek from its owner.

“Feisty one, eh?” a voice said admiringly.

Admiring or no, she was losing the battle. Desperate now, Yvonne began struggling mightily.

“She’s kicking like a mule,” complained another voice, frantically trying to restrain her. “He won’t like it if she’s hurt.”

Who won’t like it if I’m hurt? Yvonne had no idea, but she was inspired to kick even harder. If someone didn’t want her hurt, perhaps these two thugs would think twice about doing anything drastic.

“This is no good,” the second voice said despairingly. “He’ll have our heads.”

A second later, Yvonne felt a sharp rap on the back of her head. Then her vision dimmed, and darkness fell.

[Kathy W 2200]

PART FIFTY-FIVE



July 9, 1947, 6:30 a.m.

Proctor residence




Emily Proctor’s fingers flew dangerously close to the knife as she cut the bacon into strips and tossed it into the frying pan, heedless of the spatter. She hadn’t slept well last night, and to make matters worse she was running late. She could clean up later.

She heard footsteps behind her entering the kitchen. “Oh, good. You’re up,” she said, without turning around. “Put the coffee on, will you? The bacon and eggs will be done in a few minutes.”

There was silence behind her. No footsteps moving to the stove, no telltale plunk of a coffee pot. “You’re either going to miss breakfast or be late to work if we don’t hurry,” she called back, still slicing.

Still not hearing a sound behind her, Emily slapped the knife down in frustration. “Is it too much to ask you to do something?”

“What exactly does it mean to ‘put the coffee on’? I’m familiar with ‘coffee’, but what do I put it on?”

Emily whirled around. That’s not David’s voice. The plate she had been holding to collect the cooked bacon fell to the floor, shattering into several pieces at Brivari’s feet.

“I….I’m sorry. I thought you were David,” Emily said, flustered. She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Brivari since their altercation the day before. This sudden, unexpected appearance of their sudden, unexpected guest wasn’t exactly welcome at this hour of the morning.

Brivari looked from the plate, to her, to the coffee pot, and back. “You wanted me to do something with the coffee?”

“I don’t expect you to know what to do with the coffee,” Emily said, stepping over the mess on the floor that would have to wait until breakfast was ready and bustling over to the stove. “ ‘Put the coffee on’ means to put the pot on the stove and let it heat up.”

“You want it heated?” Brivari asked. When she nodded, he looked somewhat miffed. “Why didn’t you say so?”

Her eyes widened as he touched the coffee pot; steam wafted from the pot, and the smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. It was way too early for new information, but she had to admit this was one alien trick that had practical use. Instant coffee, anyone?

“Thank you,” Emily said, a bit awkwardly. “That will make breakfast go faster.” She handed him a cup and filled it with coffee. “So is your friend any better?”

“He is not my friend.”

There was obvious bitterness in his voice, and no small amount of anger. Gracious, was there anyone he wasn’t mad at? She flipped the bacon again, pondering whether or not now was a good time to settle what had been bothering her ever since Valenti had left yesterday evening, and ultimately deciding that now was as good a time as any. Besides, she wanted it off her conscience.

“I never thanked you for what you did with that sheriff’s deputy yesterday,” she said, studying the bacon like she had to take a test on it. “I don’t like the way you did it, but….but I am grateful for your help.”

“You were afraid I would kill him.”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. These people didn’t beat around the bush. Emily didn’t turn around, but after a moment’s hesitation, she nodded.

“But I did not kill him.”

“No,” Emily allowed. “But I thought you might.”

There was silence behind her for a moment. Then, “Do humans always expend this much energy worrying about things that might have happened, but did not?”

Annoyed, Emily plopped the lid on the frying pan with a bang. “What didn’t happen yesterday might happen today. Or tomorrow. Surely you’re familiar with the concept of trying to avoid those things you hope won’t happen?”

“Absolutely,” Brivari said in a tone which bordered suspiciously on amusement. “For example, I shall continue to hope that the interests of my Ward and yours do not conflict. That, I think, would be something worth avoiding.”

His tone was casual, but Emily still felt a chill run through her as she turned to face him. “Was that a threat?” she asked sharply.

“I never threaten in such a way that one has to wonder if that was my intention,” Brivari replied levelly.

“Funny. Neither do I,” Emily replied, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking the way her nerves were.

“I know,” Brivari answered, sipping his coffee. “We are much alike, you and I.” He paused, regarding her closely. “I suspect that bothers you.”

“I’ll just go a get a broom to clean up the plate,” Emily said, and fled to the broom closet in the basement stairway, leaning against the wall of the closet, trying to coax her racing heart into slowing down. I suspect that bothers you….he was wrong about that. Their similarities didn’t merely bother her—they scared the ever-loving shit out of her.

Emily scrubbed her sweaty palms on her robe and reached for the broom. She’d only been up for twenty minutes, and she’d already had enough excitement to last the entire day. Bandying words with that one was exhausting.

Reentering the kitchen, broom and dustpan in hand, Emily stared in confusion at the empty kitchen and the empty floor. Brivari was gone, but where was the plate? Was sweeping another alien talent? If so, she really had to put that guy to work.

When she finally gave up inspecting the floor, her eyes fell on the kitchen table.

And there was the plate, whole and pristine, with nary a crack to be seen.



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



David Proctor paused in the doorway, mentally sighing with relief. During breakfast he had asked Emily whose voice he’d heard in the kitchen and she had nodded wordlessly toward the back porch, making him wonder if Jaddo was up. He really wasn’t in the mood to make that one’s acquaintance at this hour, and was very glad to find Brivari instead. Not that he felt comfortable around Brivari—when dealing with aliens, comfort was a relative thing at best—but what he had to say was for Brivari’s ears alone.

Brivari was staring out the window at the early morning sun, lost in thought. It was really quite remarkable how unremarkable these people could make themselves look. It was hard to believe this perfectly normal looking “man” was capable of walking out of walls, melting into car seats, and changing colors with a touch. Not to mention doing other things with a touch.

“Good morning,” David said, sitting down in a nearby chair, his coffee in one hand and yesterday evening’s newspaper in the other.

Brivari looked at him in confusion. “ ‘Good morning’? Is that a greeting, or a statement of fact?”

Well, perhaps now someone would find him a bit odd. “It’s a greeting,” David confirmed. “We might say ‘Good morning’, ‘Good afternoon’, ‘Good evening’, or ‘Good night’, depending on the time of day.”

“Good Lord,” Brivari deadpanned, drawing a chuckle from David. “How many different ways does one need to say ‘Hello’?”

“Tell me, how is that you know the phrase, ‘Good Lord’, but not ‘Good morning’?”

“Always study religious references,” Brivari said seriously. “They frequently come in handy.”

“I’ll remember that if I crash on any alien planets,” David replied, dropping his smile when he saw the sober look on Brivari’s face. “Sorry,” he amended. “Bad joke.”

Brivari stared down at his cup. “Valeris would have approved.”

David pondered pursuing the subject of Valeris, but decided not to. He was running late; better to stick to the matter at hand. “I thought you should see this,” he said, handing over the copy of yesterday evening’s Roswell Daily Record. “It’s yesterday evening’s newspaper, which was printed before the Army issued their retraction. Which means that most of information in here is true.”

“Paper,” Brivari commented, fingering the newspaper. “How quaint.” He went back to sipping his coffee. “Why are you showing me this? I have already heard both versions of their story. People will believe what they want to believe.”

“I’m not thinking of my people,” David answered. “I’m thinking of yours. Specifically the ones who are hunting you. The ones you didn’t want the rest of your people to know about.”

Brivari’s expression turned guarded. “What of them?”

“There are lots of evening newspapers,” David answered. “If those…others have been here awhile, it’s a good bet they know how to read a newspaper. They’re going to see this. They’re going to come back.”

Brivari was silent for a time. “There is nothing I can do about that,” he said finally, “except retrieve what the soldiers took from us as quickly as possible and go into hiding.”

“You’re going to tell Jaddo about this, aren’t you?” David asked. “He should know.”

“What if he already knows?”

“So you told him?”

“That is not what I meant.”

David stared. “You think he led them to you?”

“I think that is a possibility I can ill afford to ignore, David Proctor.”

David leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember everything he’d been told about the alien upstairs. He’d been told a great deal over the last two days. Much of it was a jumble, but he remembered key details. At length he shook his head.

“It doesn’t add up. If he were working with them, why didn’t they find you when they were here before? Why did a couple of days go by before they got here in the first place? If he’s a spy, he’s a damned incompetent one. I can think of many words I’d use to describe him, not many of them flattering,” David admitted. “But ‘incompetent’ isn’t one of them.”

“I have asked myself the same questions,” Brivari answered. “All I know for certain at this point is that something Jaddo did—something he admitted doing—led those others here, whether by accident or design, I do not know.”

“Then you’d better find out. Ask him.”

Now it was Brivari’s turn to stare. “And reveal what I’ve discovered?”

“Look,” David said, leaning forward in his chair, “I’m not certain exactly what you’re doing here, but I can count—there are only two of you left. Without him, you’re on your own. Are you prepared to carry out whatever it is you’re doing all by yourself?”

“Since you can count, count again,” Brivari answered. “If he is a traitor, he has others to back him up. I have no one. If I force his hand too quickly, I will be alone and badly outnumbered.”

“True,” David allowed, “But if he is a traitor, you can’t trust him. Do you really want him working with you? If you confront him and he leaves, at least he won’t know what you’re planning.” He paused. “I don’t see as you have much choice. You have to find out, one way or the other.”

Brivari was silent, tapping his coffee cup with his index finger in a decidedly human gesture. “Valeris thought as you did,” he said finally.

“Valeris was a smart man,” David allowed. “You can’t afford to lose another one of you unnecessarily. If there’s even a small chance that he’s not a spy, you owe it to your mission—and yourself—to find out for certain before you wind up all alone in this.”

Brivari didn’t answer. Emily appeared in the doorway, holding his lunch and tapping her watch. “I need to be on my way,” David said, rising. “I just thought you should see that.”

David took the lunch from Emily, noting the wary look she was sending Brivari’s way. She had declined to elaborate when he had asked her what she and Brivari had been talking about earlier, and her silence was a dead giveaway that whatever the subject, she had found it annoying. And then there was the plate she had grabbed away from him when he’d been trying to dish up bacon and eggs, snatching it away and handing him a new one without explanation, setting the other aside and watching it carefully as though it were a grenade that might explode at any moment. Dee wasn’t the only one acting strangely.

“I can trust you two to play nice together—right?” David asked, only half-joking.

“We’ll be fine,” Emily assured him, looking at Brivari, who didn’t look up from his coffee. “I doubt it’ll be necessary to kill him.”

David gaped as Emily handed him his lunch and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “See you after work,” she said sweetly, and walked out.

“I’m sure she was only joking,” David said awkwardly to Brivari, who, for some reason, was smiling slightly.

“I am equally sure she wasn’t,” Brivari said calmly. “A remarkable woman, your mate,” he murmured. “Remarkable.”

“Uh…yes. Remarkable,” David echoed, wondering why Brivari found a not-so-implied threat worthy of praise. Add that to the list of unexplained phenomena this morning. “I’ll see you later.”

As he left the porch, David’s eyes fell on the headline of the newspaper beside Brivari, remembering the two other aliens who had stood in his kitchen and frightened his daughter so badly, and desperately hoping they didn’t read newspapers.



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



7 a.m.

Copper Summit, Arizona


Hank Walker plopped yet another bundle of newspapers on the counter of his newsstand and reached for a pair of scissors to cut the twine. Business was brisk this morning, so brisk he was only a bundle away from selling out. He hadn’t sold this many papers since V-J day. Turned out spaceships were good for business.

Hank added the papers from the bundle to the display, the last of the evening papers that were selling like hotcakes. Everyone wanted to read about the flying saucer that had crashed in a field north of Roswell; comparatively few wanted to read the Army’s “Oops!” available in the morning papers. Even when Hank pointed out to his customers that there were two versions of the story issued on the same day, few showed any interest in the retraction. Watching their eyes glow, Hank realized they actually wanted flying saucers and big-eyed aliens. People were weird, plain and simple.

A car pulled up. Hank smiled and waved when he saw its occupant, one of his best customers. Carl stopped by every day like clockwork and bought one of every single paper, except when he was out of town, which he seemed to be a lot lately. But when he was gone, Hank saved a copy of every issue, and Carl dutifully purchased them when he returned. When Hank had started to get close to selling out this morning, he’d made certain to save one of every issue containing either version of the flying saucer story for Carl, stashing them under the counter where other customers wouldn’t find them. It was always good business to keep your best customers happy, even if that meant fibbing about being “sold out” to your less than best customers.

“Mornin’, Carl!” Hank called as he climbed out of his car. Carl was the local handyman, and a damned good one at that; it was downright uncanny the way he could fix just about anything a body could own. He and Tom, that surly friend of his that lived with him, had shown up here several years ago and bought a house on the outskirts of town. Actually, if Hank recollected correctly, there had been more of them at first than just Carl and Tom. Had there been three? Or four? Hank couldn’t remember, nor could he remember hearing what had happened to the other one or two. But no matter. Carl was a good-natured fellow who’d been his best customer almost since he’d moved in.

“Mornin’, Hank!” Carl said, walking up to the counter. “Any news today?”

Hank beamed. Carl asked that every morning, and today he actually had an answer. “Is there ever! Wait’ll you see this!” Hank pulled two newspapers out from behind the counter, The Roswell Daily Record and the Chicago Tribune, the former sporting a flying saucer, the latter a weather balloon. Arraying the papers with a flourish, he waited expectantly to see how Carl would react. Hank had been cataloging people’s reactions all morning, and he was eager to add one more to his tally.

He was completely unprepared, however, for this latest reaction. Carl’s face clouded as he scanned both papers, moving from alarmed to angry in the space of half an article, and he uttered a word the likes of which Hank had never heard.

“What did you say?” Hank asked in surprise.

Carl looked up in surprise as though unaware he had spoken out loud. “Sorry,” he said to Hank. “Just a little profanity in my native language.”

“What language might that be?” Hank wondered.

“Nothing you’d be familiar with,” Carl said absentmindedly, opening the Record and continuing to scan the article. “Is there any more on this?”

“Sure,” Hank replied, baffled. A lot of people had laughed when they’d seen the headlines. Some had gotten nervous, and a few frantic types had gone off the deep end. But Carl was the first to become genuinely angry. “It’s everywhere. First the Army said it had found a flying saucer; that was early yesterday afternoon. Then a few hours later they took it all back and said they’d just found a weather balloon. Deadlines for the evening papers had passed at that point, so the evening editions have the saucer story. All the morning editions have the weather balloon story. I saved one of each for you,” he added, pulling all of them out from under the counter.

Carl leafed through the papers in stoney silence as Hank continued to puzzle over why he was so agitated. “All right,” Carl said finally, “I’ll take one of each that have the weather balloon story.”

Hank’s mouth dropped open. “But…don’t you want to read about the flying saucer? And the bodies they supposedly found?” He couldn’t believe it. Everyone wanted to read about the flying saucer and the bodies. Everyone.

“No, I don’t.”

“They said they was gray, with big black eyes,” Hank noted, finding it hard to believe this was the first day that Carl hadn’t bought one of every single paper. “Black eyes, with no pupils.”

“Really?” Carl said flatly. “Imagine that.” He handed Hank some money, scooped up his papers, and headed back to his car wearing an expression like grim death. Throwing the papers in the passenger seat, Carl gunned the engine and roared off without so much as a “goodbye”.

Hank leaned over the newsstand and watched the dust cloud left in his wake. Now, what in blazes was bugging him?



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



“Carl” headed away from downtown Copper Summit, heedless of the fact he was driving way over the speed limit, heedless of everything except what he had just learned. What would he say? He had to tell them something. He couldn’t just show up without any newspapers—they would immediately be suspicious. So far he was fairly certain he had managed to avoid arousing suspicion, and now was certainly not the time to start.

He glanced at the half dozen or so papers in the passenger seat. Even though all of those carried the retraction, they still inevitably referred to the original story. That was bad, but not as bad as the other papers with only the flying saucer story.

Fretting, he began chewing on his fingernails, a habit he’d developed ever since habitually having fingernails to chew on. He would just have to do the best he could. Maybe they would buy the weather balloon story. Perhaps the military’s attempt to hide this would work in his favor. He could play up the ordinary bits of metal the girl’s father had shown them as further evidence of human stupidity, something they regarded as an article of faith. It was worth a try.

Reaching a deserted section of country road, he pulled over and stopped. He needed to read every single word of every single article before they did. One word leaped out at him: Bodies. Two bodies, according to one article, gray with large black eyes. But which two? Who had it been?

Damn it, Brivari! Malik thought fiercely. You almost made it!



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



0900 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base


Two MP’s snapped to attention and saluted as Captain Cavitt and his aide de camp approached the room they were guarding. Raising the shade which obscured the window, Cavitt peered through for several seconds before lowering it and turning to his aide.

“Report.”

“She suffered a concussion, sir,” the aide replied nervously, as Cavitt glowered. “Apparently she put up a fair amount of resistance.”

“Resistance that necessitated a head injury?” Cavitt snapped. “You sent two men after her, Lieutenant. Do you really expect me to believe that two men couldn’t restrain one woman without injuring her? Need I point out to you that she is of no use to me damaged?”

“The doctor says she’ll recover, sir,” the aide replied quickly. “I’ve reprimanded the messengers, and I’ve rethought the way the others will be approached.”

“Good,” Cavitt muttered. “If you take the “dark alley at night” approach with a male soldier, it’s your witless “messengers” who will likely wind up with concussions.”

The aide swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

Cavitt turned and began walking down the hallway as the aide fell in step beside him. “What about the reporter?”

“She’ll be taken care of, sir.”

“And Captain Carver?”

“The papers are being drawn up now, sir. Did you want me to…..”

“No,” Cavitt said quickly. “I have that under control. Captain Dodie will be handling that matter.”

“Dodie, sir?” the aide said quizzically. “Aren’t Carver and Dodie friends?”

“Not such good friends that Dodie can’t see his duty clearly,” Cavitt replied. “And Private Spade?”

“Hasn’t offered any new information, sir.”

“I see. I see,” Cavitt murmured. “Well, we’ll just have to do something about that, won’t we?”

“Sir?”

Cavitt stopped and glanced at the aide. “Don’t worry about Spade; I’ll take care of him. You just take care of that reporter, and see to it that whatever happens can’t be traced anywhere near this base. Dismissed.”

The aide scuttled away as Cavitt reflected that it was always better to spread out unpleasant duties such as these. Sharing the burden meant there were just that many more people who had a reason to stay silent should some do-gooder come along and make inconvenient discoveries. It also meant that events were harder to trace back to the source. It was galling, really, to have to go to these lengths when one was only doing one’s duty by God and country, but there you had it.

Still, he had to admit that things were going better than expected. Cavitt had never been the athletic sort; he’d taken a good deal of ribbing for that in school. Bowling had been one of the few sports in which he could hold his own, and even that was not something he excelled at. But bowling had taught him a useful lesson: Even if one couldn’t finesse a strike, if one was persistent, the pins kept falling. And falling.

Smiling, Cavitt headed back to his office. Who would have thought that bowling would yield such salient life lessons.

The pins were falling, one by one.

[Kathy W 2200]

PART FIFTY-SIX


July 9, 1947, 11:55 a.m.

Proctor residence




Earth’s huge sun was high in the sky before Jaddo began to stir. Brivari watched him turn stiffly in the bed, squinting against the light streaming in the window. He propped himself up on one elbow, gazing around the room with a confused expression, until his eyes fell upon Brivari.

Jaddo dropped back down on the bed and closed his eyes. Brivari was silent, waiting.

“Where am I?”

“In the Proctor’s dwelling,” Brivari answered in a cold voice.

“How did I get here?”

“I brought you here.”

Jaddo twisted his head so he could look at Brivari. “Why?”

“Believe me, I have asked myself the same question several times,” Brivari replied stonily. “I almost didn’t bother.”

“So why did you?”

“Because unfortunately, I still have need of you, untrustworthy though you are.”

Jaddo lifted his head to look at his side, gingerly touching the place where the wound had been. “You healed me?”

“I did what I could, which wasn’t much given the state I was in. The human woman did the rest. She has an unusual facility with the stones.”

“I remember her,” Jaddo said, wincing as he touched his other side, where Emily’s elbow had connected so well. “A hellion, that one.”

“At least she isn’t a traitor.”

Jaddo sighed, rubbing his eyes with his hands. “I am not a traitor, Brivari.”

Brivari sat forward in his chair. “Who were you signaling with that transponder?”

“Signaling?” Jaddo echoed, managing only a fraction of his usual level of sarcasm. “From this distance, I would hardly refer to it as ‘signaling’.”

“Who?” Brivari demanded, rising from the chair. “Answer me!”

“We need allies, Brivari, allies on our own….”

“Spare me the sermon!” Brivari snapped. “Get to the part where you turned our ship into a huge, blinking target!”

Jaddo struggled into a sitting position. “The rebels. I was signaling the rebels that we had landed safely.”

“What ‘rebels’?”

“The Argilian rebels. Not to put too fine a point on it, but the rebels who are against Khivar.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but aren’t these the same rebels who want Rath on the throne?” Brivari asked sarcastically.

“Yes, but…”

“Yes, but what?” Brivari spat. “There is no ‘but’, Jaddo! These people sought to usurp the rightful King! That makes them traitors; that makes you a traitor for conspiring with them. I am surrounded by traitors!” Brivari finished angrily, beginning to pace.

“Only some openly espoused placing Rath on the throne,” Jaddo said carefully, as if afraid Brivari might explode. “Others were more moderate. They merely wanted Rath to have more of a hand in the decision making process. They felt his personality was better suited to dealing with people like Khivar, and…”

“I don’t care what they wanted!” Brivari exploded. “Tell me what you set in motion with that transponder!”

“Nothing was ‘set in motion’…” Jaddo protested.

“Are they on their way here now?” Brivari went on, still pacing. “Are they planning to kill Zan’s hybrids so there will be no chance of him returning to the throne?”

Jaddo stared at Brivari a long moment before replying. “You may find this hard to believe, but I would never allow that. And they don’t know where ‘here’ is. You know perfectly well that distance would have made the signal too weak to tell them much more than that we had landed.”

“You’re right, Jaddo. I do find that hard to believe. And why else would you plant that transponder if not to give away our position?”

Jaddo studied Brivari for several seconds, watching him pace. “Well?” Brivari said impatiently.

“This is not about the transponder,” Jaddo said quietly. “This is about your mistakes.”

“My mistakes?” Brivari flared, advancing on Jaddo till they were all but nose to nose. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this one. Explain to me, if you’d be so kind, just exactly how this is about my mistakes.”

“We missed it,” Jaddo said with resignation, ignoring the sarcasm dripping from Brivari’s voice. “We all did. Not just Urza. We all missed Vilandra’s deception, and we, of all people, should have thought of it. We were not blinded by love for her as Urza was. We should have been suspicious of her abrupt change of mood. We’re as much to blame as Urza is.”

Brivari’s eyes shot fire. “We had no idea what was going on!” he fumed. “Urza did.”

“And why didn’t we know?” Jaddo demanded. “Why didn’t you know? I’ll tell you why—because Zan kept his knowledge of Vilandra’s and Khivar’s affair from us. Zan kept it from you. He didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to hear you bitch!”

“You’re off topic, Jaddo,” Brivari ground out. “You still haven’t told me what you were up to.”

“You have interrupted me every single time I have tried to explain!” Jaddo said angrily.

“Tell me!”

“Then shut up and listen to me!”

Two hands shot up. Two bodies thumped rather weakly into two walls. Brivari and Jaddo glared at each other from across the room, panting. Neither had the strength to do much damage to the other.

“Well?” Brivari said at length. “I’ve shut up. I’m listening. Although I can’t imagine anything you could say that would make this any better.”

“Brivari, you fool,” Jaddo whispered, leaning heavily against the wall. “You shortsighted fool. You are so busy finding allies on this planet that you have neglected to recognize allies on our own.”

“We need allies on this planet,” Brivari retorted. “If I had listened to you when you advised me not to heal the child, where would we be now? Where would our Wards be? We have sanctuary here because of that one act. Most of the hybrids are safe now because of that one act. For all we know, the fact that we are still alive may well be because of that one act.”

Jaddo sighed. “I concede the point: We need allies on this planet. But we also need allies at home. The plan is still to go home, isn’t it? We aren’t staying here forever, are we?”

“We already have allies at home.”

“Not allies like these,” Jaddo said pointedly. “Think, Brivari! The rebels hate Khivar just as we do, maybe more. They have infiltrated his ranks almost to the top level. They are in a unique position to help us bring him down. When we return with our Wards, we will need that inside support.”

“What ‘inside support’?” Brivari said acidly. “The moment we set foot on Antarian soil with our Wards, our interests and those of the rebels diverge. They may not want Khivar, but neither do they want Zan.”

“At the moment, we both want the same thing,” Jaddo argued. “We both want Khivar weakened. The rebels can help us do that, and we would be foolish to refuse their assistance.”

“Haven’t we already had this discussion?” Brivari said irritably, pulling himself to his feet. “As I recall the subject was Orlon, but the gist was the same. And my answer is the same: It is too dangerous to ally ourselves with people who want Zan off the throne. Wanting the same thing ‘at the moment’ is not good enough. One never knows when that ‘moment’ will shift, and alleged allies suddenly become enemies.”

“We have years, decades even, to sort that out,” Jaddo said wearily. “At least give them a chance.” He paused. “They found him, you know,” he said softly.

“Found who?”

“Rath. It was the rebels who took me to his body, and told me that Athenor had killed him. One of them handed me the transponder and asked me to take it.”

“And you just took it?” Brivari said incredulously. “Without discussing it with anyone?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Jaddo said, exasperated. “You were there! You know what a mess it was! There wasn’t time to discuss it in committee.”

“There was plenty of time for the ‘committee’ to discuss it en route,” Brivari pointed out. “Why didn’t you bring it up then?” Jaddo sat in sullen silence, not answering. “We were supposed to make contact when we reached Earth,” Brivari continued angrily. “Wouldn’t that have been sufficient? Why the transponder?”

“They don’t trust what Khivar tells them. They wanted to know for themselves if we had made it, if there was any hope at all of the Royal Four’s return.”

“You mean Rath’s return. And they don’t know if we made it, do they? You turned the transponder off just as we were entering the atmosphere. Why?”

Jaddo swallowed. “I….I was suspicious when the braking thrusters didn’t fire. I didn’t see how the transponder had anything to do with that, but just to be certain, I turned it off.”

“Amazing,” Brivari said sarcastically. “Common sense prevailed at the last possible moment. Imagine that.”

“I….wait a minute,” Jaddo said, eyes narrowing. He pushed himself to his feet with obvious effort. “How did you know when I turned it off? We’ve never discussed this.”

Brivari stopped pacing and glared at his fellow Warder. Should he answer? Should he point out that he knew there were rogue Covari on this planet for whom that transponder signal would have been the equivalent of one of the humans’ air raid sirens?

No, he finally decided. It sounded like Jaddo didn’t know about Malik and the others, but if he did—and if Brivari let slip that he was aware of their presence—that might induce them to make their next move sooner. He couldn’t risk that, not with being so weak from events thus far. He needed every ounce of strength to rescue the captured hybrids. Assuming there were still hybrids left to rescue.

“Never mind,” Brivari answered coldly. “I know—that is all that matters. Have you contacted these ‘rebels’ since our arrival?”

“Of course not. You ordered me to maintain radio silence.”

“And am I to believe that you actually obeyed that order?”

Jaddo fixed Brivari with a hard stare. “I know we frequently disagree with one another. Too often you behave like an overbearing know-it-all, paranoid about all the wrong things. But I have never questioned your intentions, or your intelligence. If you wanted radio silence maintained, you must have a reason, unfathomable as that reason may be. I have contacted no one since our arrival.”

“There’s one piece of good news,” Brivari grumbled. “We could use some about now.”

Jaddo sank down onto the bed. “Have you been back to the humans’ military base?”

“I have not had the strength,” Brivari replied. “I used up what little I had healing you.”

“And I nearly killed myself yesterday looking for you,” Jaddo pointed out.

“Then we’re even,” Brivari said shortly. He headed for the door. “I will go back tonight and see if I can locate the hybrids. Hopefully the humans will be intrigued enough that they haven’t harmed them. And you,” he said, pointing at Jaddo, “get some rest. I will speak with the human woman about getting you something to eat. We can’t wait much longer.”

“Can we trust these humans?” Jaddo asked, as Brivari reached the door. “I know we have successfully trusted the child in the past, but what of her parents?”

Brivari did not turn around. “At the moment, Jaddo, I trust these humans more than I trust you.”




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



12 p.m.

Copper Summit, Arizona.



Malik parked the car in the driveway and climbed out, the stack of papers tucked under his arm. Their neat, two-story house was in a tree-lined neighborhood on the edge of town, a town chosen for its proximity to the raw materials they needed. He climbed the stairs to the front porch and headed for the front door, picking up the note caught between the screen and the main door as he opened it.

Carl,

Refrigerator’s on the fritz. Food will spoil. Come as soon as possible, please.

Margaret Tantillo

Malik smiled as he dropped the papers and the note on the kitchen table. People always left notes when he wasn’t in because they didn’t want to talk to Amar, who went by the human name of “Tom”. Amar wanted as little as possible to do with the humans in whose midst they lived; Malik was their public face in a world where one needed currency to survive, and where not being employed would raise inconvenient questions. He didn’t mind. He found Amar’s company less than easy, the humans welcoming, and their primitive machinery easy to repair. Every now and then he would tweak one of their “washing machines” or “lawn mowers”, rendering them markedly more efficient and less prone to breakage. The humans had no idea what he was doing, of course, but his reputation as a “handyman”, as they called him, had spread quite far. He earned a considerable amount of currency doing what he did, more than enough to squelch any curiosity about the fact that “Tom” didn’t appear to be gainfully employed. And he enjoyed his work, something he certainly couldn’t say about his previous occupation.

Pulling open the refrigerator door, Malik pulled out a pitcher of orange juice, poured himself a glass, picked up his papers and headed for the basement. Turns out the papers weren’t as bad as he had feared; Hank had been engaging in selective reporting. True, some editions did have an accurate description of Antarian forms, but some veered in other directions, changing colors and adding or subtracting body parts. Green seemed to be running neck and neck with gray for body color, and speculation abounded as to how many fingers the aliens had and how long they were. There were enough different descriptions that Malik was fairly certain he’d be able to pull off what he was planning. As the humans said about that ridiculous game with the oddly shaped ball, the best defense was a good offense.

Reaching the bottom of the basement staircase, Malik headed for the back wall. The basement appeared unremarkable, dark and a bit dank, filled with the usual assortment of cast-off furniture and boxes. Unless one knew where to look, of course. Malik passed his hand over an innocuous place on the stone wall, causing a shimmering silver handprint to appear. Pressing his hand to the print, the seemingly solid wall slid open to reveal a doorway to another section of the basement. He walked through, the stone door sliding closed behind him.

Amar was there, hunched over his workbench. He’d left early that morning, and had still been gone when Malik had left for Hank’s newsstand. That was unusual; Amar wasn’t typically an early riser.

“Where were you?” Malik asked, setting his orange juice down on the workbench. “You were gone early.”

“Looking for raw material,” Amar said, scorn evident in his voice. “We’re so close to a seal, but this damned planet is so primitive it’s getting harder and harder to find usable material. Honestly, if it weren’t for the uprising back home, I’d be at a serious loss as to why we shouldn’t get the hell off this rock.”

Malik let Amar continue his tirade uninterrupted. He was familiar with the other’s disdain for Earth and its inhabitants, a disdain he paid lip service to for appearance’s sake, but did not share. He’d learned to tune out the majority of it, so he sipped his juice in silence while Amar went on and on. Malik had grown quite fond of orange juice. He couldn’t taste it, of course, but it had an acidic texture that sizzled on the tongue, which he found interesting.

“What are they thinking, attempting something this difficult in such a godforsaken place?” Amar wondered for the umpteenth time, shaking his head in frustration. “We should be doing this back home.”

“You already know the answer to that,” Malik sighed. “They felt it would be better to develop the seal….”

“…..in the environment in which it will be used,” Amar finished impatiently. “Yes, yes, I know. It’s just that the more I try to refine it, the harder it becomes because I don’t have the right materials.”

“You never have the right materials,” Malik said casually, having never yet met an engineer who didn’t complain about not having the right materials. “They did do most of the design at home. Do you want me to go back to the ship and scrounge around?”

Amar looked up in surprise. “ ‘Scrounge around’? Honestly, it frightens me sometimes, the way you’ve picked up human speech patterns.” He shook his head. “I have everything we can get from the ship—I just need to find the right alloy that will resist this atmosphere without harming their physiology. So far everything I’ve come up with does either one or the other, not both. Damned thing,” he muttered, shoving his latest prototype away in a typical fit of bad temper.

“Now who’s picking up human speech patterns?” Malik teased.

Amar threw him an exasperated look, his eyes falling on the newspapers. “So—any news of our wayward Royals?”

“No, but look at this,” Malik said, trying to sound amused. “Remember those plain old metal pieces some guy was going on about near Roswell?” Amar nodded. “Looks like he got someone else all excited about them too. Look at this…can humans get any more stupid?”

Malik passed the first newspaper to Amar, trying to look excited and mocking and eager to share. Amar was smiling when he took the paper, but the smile froze when he saw the headline. By the time he had finished skimming the article, his smile had melted completely.

“We missed something,” he said flatly.

“Nonsense,” Malik scoffed, hoping desperately he sounded convincing. “You saw what they had. It was ordinary steel, nothing more. I’ve never understood why humans put so much stock in imagination. A rather worthless trait, if you ask me.”

“This says they found bodies,” Amar said slowly, reading the account. “Sounds like Antarian bodies.”

“Maybe in that issue,” Malik allowed. “Look at this one.” He handed Amar another paper with a decidedly different description. “This one says they’re green; this one here says blue. This one says they look ‘Chinese’, whatever that means.” He shook his head dismissively. “Stories like this have been going around for years, ever since we started coming here. Sometimes their memories come back, hard as we tried to prevent it. We’re heard this before.”

Amar was staring at yet another newspaper. “Are you sure you didn’t hear that child say something?”

Malik shook his head firmly. “Positive. You know humans can’t communicate telepathically. You’re hearing things.”

Amar continued to laboriously pick his way through the newspaper articles while Malik fretted silently. Amar was a slow reader. Had it been any other subject he likely would have given up in frustration, but his hatred of Brivari and the king were apparently severe enough to warrant extra effort. Several minutes passed before he put the papers down.

“Should we tell him?” he asked uncertainly, indicating the airlock with a nod of his head.

Malik shrugged. “Don’t see why we should. Why bother him with some human folk tale that’s just like hundreds of others we’ve heard?”

“That’s just it,” Amar said, puzzled. “This one seems different. More intense. I mean, you’re right, we have heard versions of this before. But for some reason….” He paused. “You’d better tell him. Just in case he wants us to go back there. I’ll let you do it,” he added uneasily, passing the papers to Malik. “I’ve already been the bearer of bad news once today.”

“What bad news?”

“We heard from home while you were out,” Amar said, casting a sidelong glance at the communicator nearby. “The population’s in an uproar, Khivar’s position is very shaky, the Royals are dead when they weren’t supposed to be, the bodies are missing, the Warders escaped—just about everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. They’re really putting the pressure on us to finish this as soon as possible, plus find the Warders. Everyone wants some good news; they didn’t expect things to go this way.”

“Neither did I,” Malik said quietly, staring at his empty glass.

“Doesn’t matter,” Amar replied firmly. “We do our job, we get what we want. From our perspective, nothing’s changed.”

Of course it has, Malik thought soberly. Things always changed when the pendulum of power swung sharply to one side. That the pendulum had just unexpectedly ricocheted in the opposite direction was no comfort; there was still a lack of balance, and finding balance was the very reason Malik had agreed to participate in all this in the first place. That, and the fact that, had he not agreed to participate, he would likely now be dead.

“You’re not going all sentimental on me now, are you?” Amar asked, watching him closely. “Don’t you think we’re better off?”

“I never wanted the king assassinated,” Malik replied, “and, no, not necessarily.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Khivar didn’t want him assassinated either—not yet anyway,” Amar said, a nasty smile on his face. “It’s still not clear how that happened. But however it happened, it’s done, and we get the happy job of picking up the pieces.” He thrust the newspapers into Malik’s hands and nodded toward the airlock. “Good luck. He’s under a lot more pressure now, and he’s not happy to have more on his plate.”

Good, Malik thought. That would make diverting his attention all the easier. Malik picked up the papers and headed for the airlock that sealed off the atmospheric chamber from the rest of the planet. As he stepped inside, the door sealed shut behind him; a hissing noise announced that Earth’s oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere was being replaced with a different mixture, and the relative humidity rose, fogging the windows in the doors. It mattered little to Malik, of course. He was Covari; he could tolerate many different atmospheric compositions. The one inside the atmospheric chamber was not so blessed. His existence here was due solely to Malik’s and Amar’s cooperation, their willingness to be his eyes, ears, and hands in a world where he normally would be unable to function. Leaving this enclosure would kill him.

The atmospheric exchange began to level off, and the mist to evaporate from the windows. Malik could see him now, hunched over his experiments, paying him no mind. He was a scientist, a bioengineer to be precise, one of the Argilian’s finest, charged with the task of finding a way for their race to live on this planet so that they might avail themselves of the same advantages that Riall, and Zan after him, had sought here. They had never been told his name, but as he had led the team of scientists back home whose efforts had brought them so close to their goal, they had taken to calling him “The Leader”. Not precisely unpleasant, he was the typical, focused scientist, intent upon his work and little else. Malik knew he had no appetite for politics, and no patience with anything that interrupted his work. Hopefully that impatience extended to the political nightmare that had quite literally fallen out of Earth’s sky into his lap.

And hopefully that impatience could be used to buy more time for the surviving Warders. More time for them to hide what Malik hoped they’d succeeded in creating. More time to begin the long process of restoring the balance of power.



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



4:30 p.m.

Proctor residence




Dee reached for another red crayon, her third this afternoon. She had only one more red one left, but that should be enough. She’d been drawing for at least a couple of hours now, and she was nearly finished.

She smiled as she rubbed the crayon across the paper, thinking of all the dozens of boxes of crayons she had received as gifts that had gone unused. Grown-ups seemed to think all children loved coloring, hence all children would love to have yet another box of crayons. Every birthday and Christmas that Dee could remember had been laden with crayons. Teachers gave out crayons as prizes, as if every kid on the planet didn’t have zillions already. Her church passed out coloring pages and crayons and called it Sunday School; teachers passed out crayons and coloring pages when they needed something to keep kids quiet and couldn’t think of anything better for them to do. Sometimes Dee thought the national pastime wasn’t baseball, it was coloring.

There was just one problem: Dee hated coloring. It was the most boring thing she had ever done. Filling in the blanks on someone else’s outlined picture was tedious beyond belief, all the more so because she was expected to love it. Dee liked to draw her own pictures, and her instrument of choice was a pencil. Crayons were too fat and imprecise. Crayons were for little kids.

But crayons were exactly what she needed now, so she had dug around in her closet and produced the seemingly endless boxes of crayons received on so many different occasions. With some prodding her mother had produced paper, accompanied by a mystified expression when she saw all the crayons arrayed on Dee’s bed. But she had wisely said nothing, just looked back a bit wistfully as she left the room, with Dee stretched out on her bed, coloring away as if her life depended on it.

In a way, it did. Dee didn’t want to forget one moment of her dream journey with Urza, so she had filled sheets and sheets with what she had seen from the window of their ‘spaceship’: Planets, stars, the “V” constellation that Urza had said was his home. More sheets chronicled Antar, with its tiny red sun and orangey moons. Still more traced the outlines of the interior of the ship. It had hurt to do these last, but it also felt good somehow to draw the room where she had spent her last hours with Valeris, and the box in the corner that held what was so important to them. She’d even drawn the sacs with the tiny babies inside. She wanted to draw everything, every single thing that had happened to her in the past few days, all in vivid color.

Something nudged her mind. Not words, exactly….a presence. She looked up to find Brivari standing in the doorway, watching her. Dee glanced down at her current picture, one of Urza in his alien shape holding that huge crystal “key” up in the air as the swirly alien symbol glowed on the side of the ship. Instinctively she slid another, more innocuous picture of Saturn over top of it and gathered the rest into a pile as casually as she could. She wasn’t certain how Brivari would feel about what Urza had done.

<You said you have a message for me.>

Dee swallowed hard. She’d practiced the message several times a day for the past couple of days so she wouldn’t forget it, and it’d be good to get it over with, but still, she wasn’t looking forward to this. Valeris had said that Brivari would be furious upon hearing his message, and Valeris would know.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “But first, I want you to know that Valeris said you would be really mad when you heard it. And that if you took it out on me, he’d come back to haunt you.”

Brivari smiled faintly. <Will he, now? I don’t doubt it.> He walked into the room and sat down on the end of the bed. Dee backed up until she was sitting on the pillow. If he did get really angry, she didn’t want to be too close to him.

<No doubt his message has something to do with pressing on to the bitter end no matter what happens—right?>

“Part of it,” Dee admitted.

Brivari nodded. <That sounds like Valeris. But why would that make me angry?>

“There’s more,” Dee said, “something he didn’t tell you before.” She closed her eyes and prepared to recite the way she did in English class.

<What?> Brivari asked sharply.

Dee’s eyes flew open. “Look, I memorized this, okay? I don’t understand most of it, so I hope you do. But I promised him I would do this for him, and I don’t want to mess it up. So just be quiet a minute and let me think!”

Brivari raised an eyebrow at this mini tirade, but said nothing. Dee needed to think; she’d memorized Valeris’s message line for line, word for word because she’d had to—it was long, and had a million big words in it she didn’t understand. She had been instructed to leave certain parts out if she wound up delivering it to someone other than Brivari, but that wasn’t an issue now. Dee closed her eyes; she didn’t want to see his face while she recited, and the darkness would help her to concentrate, to place herself once again in that little room on the ship, with Valeris sitting on the floor propped against the counter, and their time running out.

“Brivari, if you are receiving this message, then I am dead. I am sorry to leave you in a time of such dire need. Please know that I did everything in my power to protect our Wards. I have the utmost confidence in you, and am pleased to leave Ava in your care. No matter what happened to cause my death, you must not give up hope: Our mission will never be over unless the very last hybrid dies. So long as even one of them survives, there is still a chance.

“There is something I have not told you, something that had no bearing on our current situation, but may become important in the future if certain individuals were to stand trial for treason. 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. The child was in such an early state of development that his body was not suitable for hybridization.

“I did not tell you this because, at the time, I did not see the point in upsetting you further. I meant to disclose this information when we were safely hidden, but, as you are well aware, things did not work out as we had hoped. Forgive me. I meant only to shield you from further pain at a time when I felt we all had enough to deal with as it was.

“Years from now our Wards will emerge, and you will return them to their rightful place. You have no idea how much I wish I could be there with you. All of my hopes go with you on your long and difficult journey. Make it work, Brivari. Bring them back and set things right. Our world will be waiting.

“And Brivari, since I know you so well, I have two more things to add. While you are waiting, don’t forget how to laugh. And don’t forget to live.

“Goodbye, old friend.”

Dee felt one of those annoying tears roll down her cheek. She had never really stopped to think about what she had been memorizing. There hadn’t been time, there was too much of it, and it hadn’t made a whole lot of sense. Now that she’d actually said it to someone, it made more sense, and it seemed so sad. So final.

She opened her eyes, glad it was over. The room seemed bright after having her eyes closed for so long. She cast a tentative glance at Brivari, but he didn’t look angry. He didn’t look…anything. He had a completely blank expression on his face, as though he were in shock. She waited, expecting him to react, to do something. Hopefully he wouldn’t ask her to repeat the message. She wasn’t sure she could do that again.

The minutes ticked by, and still Brivari didn’t move. At least he’s not mad, she thought with relief. There was that much to be grateful for.

Suddenly Brivari stood up, and his face didn’t look blank anymore. His current expression made Dee instinctively dive for cover, rolling off the bed onto the floor. She was just in time. Brivari let out a roar of rage, and she heard the sound of glass shattering. Dee cowered on the floor, her hands over her head as bits of glass stung her arms and tinkled around her everywhere.

Then there was silence. After a few seconds of quiet, she cautiously raised her head.

Brivari was gone.

[Kathy W 2200]

PART FIFTY-SEVEN


July 9, 1947, 4:45 p.m.

Proctor residence


Dee stared in astonishment at the carnage in her room. Her window frame was a gaping hole. Shattered glass covered the floor in front of the window. Unfortunately she had rolled off the side of the bed nearest the window, so there was glass on her too. What a mess.

Footsteps came charging up the stairs. Dee’s mother screeched to a halt in the doorway, eyes wide, taking in the scene. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she breathed, using her favorite substitute for swear words. “What in the name of all that’s holy happened here? Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Dee said, brushing glass out of her hair. “He was just mad.”

“Who was mad?” Emily demanded, stepping gingerly over the mess and pulling Dee away from the worst of it.

“Brivari was mad,” Dee answered, as she picked off the last few shards. She didn’t seem to have any cuts or scratches, despite all the glass. “He’s gone now.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“How should I know?” Dee answered crossly. “I’m not his secretary.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow, then apparently decided to ignore her sass, at least for the moment. “What was he so mad about that he decided to take it out on a window?”

Dee sighed. “I delivered a message to him from Valeris—one of the others who died. Valeris said he would be mad, and I guess he was right.”

“What message?”

Dee gave her mother a level stare. “It was a private message just for him. I didn’t understand much of it, and you wouldn’t either.”

Dee’s mother turned to face her, arms crossed in front of her chest. That was bad. Her mother’s hands-on-hips stance meant she was annoyed. Her arms-crossed stance meant she was angry. Really angry.

“I want to know what you told him that made him break your bedroom window,” she said in a steely tone. “Now.”

“It’s none of your business,” Dee said flatly.

Emily sucked in a breath. “Anything that happens under my roof is my business, young lady! Answer me!”

“No.”

Her mother promptly turned at least two interesting shades of purple. Dee didn’t care. She was tired of people taking things that didn’t belong to them, whether it was ships, or babies, or other people. Or other people’s messages.

Emily stood smoldering for several seconds while Dee waited calmly for the storm she knew was coming. She wasn’t worried. What could her mother do? She couldn’t drag it out of her. The worst she would do was ground her, or give her extra chores. Big deal. After what she’d been through in the last few days, that was nothing.

“Very well,” Emily finally said in a clipped tone. “We will go downstairs and get the broom and the vacuum cleaner. I’ll decide what to do with you while we clean this up.”

Fair enough. As Dee followed her fuming mother out of the room, she saw something move out of the corner of her eye, and turned to look down the hall. Jaddo was standing just outside the guest room, watching her closely.

Dee continued down the stairs without speaking to him. That message had been for Brivari. It wasn’t any of his business either.



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



1700 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



Captain Cavitt strode purposefully down the hallway, looking neither right nor left as he walked. He strode purposefully everywhere he went these days because his life had suddenly taken on new meaning, a meaning it seemed to have lost after the war had ended. Cavitt was born to protect, to fend off the enemy. It was something he relished doing, and he did it well. So when the war had ended and there was no enemy left to vanquish, he had felt aimless. There were many others who felt as he did, and like them, he had turned his attention to the Communist threat. But that was distant and hard to quantify. Not very satisfying.

Which was precisely why this new alien threat was so galvanizing. Here was an enemy he could see. Here was physical evidence of their presence, their technical superiority, their willingness to kill. The thought of it gave Cavitt an adrenaline rush the likes of which he hadn’t felt since D-Day. People scoffed at stories of the ancient Celts and their battle madness, but Cavitt could identify. He had felt it himself.

The first step had already been accomplished: Plausible deniability. After that idiot Marcel had leaked the truth to the press, and that even bigger idiot Brazel had yapped about it on the radio, pulling off plausible deniability had been harder than he had first expected. But newspapers everywhere were now running the weather balloon story, Marcel had been tactfully reassigned, and Brazel was being held on the base pending a promise to go back on the air and retract his story, a promise which he had so far been resistant to make.

No matter. More important than a retraction was making it very clear to Mr. Brazel that, in future, he had to keep his mouth shut. Cavitt’s own men knew the importance of keeping their mouths shut, not to mention the price they would pay if they talked. Law enforcement like Sheriff Wilcox knew the value of keeping their mouths shut—they didn’t want the general population to panic. Which is exactly what would happen if word got out, indeed had happened when word had oh-so-unfortunately gotten out. The American public was not ready for what was happening here; Cavitt was certain of that.

Rounding a corner in a little-used section of the base, he reached a room guarded by two MP’s. Both snapped to attention and stepped aside as he entered.

Cavitt felt his dinner threaten to come back up as he surveyed the room. The two doctors who had autopsied the alien corpses were busy examining the huge, glowing sacs that had been found inside the ship. Disgusting, Cavitt thought. The sight of those sacs made his skin crawl. His one brief glimpse of what was inside was all the evidence he’d needed that he was doing the right thing.

“I was told you had something for me?” Cavitt said, addressing one of the doctors, the one called “Perkins”.

Dr. Perkins gestured to an illuminator on the wall. “Over here. Take a look at this.” He snapped on the light, illuminating several x-rays.

Cavitt blinked. “I’m a soldier, not a doctor. What am I looking at?”

“Human fetuses,” the doctor replied. “Or at least what look like human fetuses.”

“Human? But these were found on the ship, hidden in some kind of container.”

Perkins nodded. “Near as we can tell, that ‘container’ was an incubator. It makes sense these things would need a controlled environment.” He gestured to the nearest sac. “Each sac contains four fetuses: Two males, two females. These preliminary films are fuzzy, but what we can see of their bone structure and organs appears to be human.”

“But…the bodies you autopsied were definitely not human.”

The doctor shook his head. “Not at all, except that one anomaly.”

“And has that been confirmed?”

By way of answer, Perkins plucked two of the x-rays off the illuminator and replaced them with new ones that were obviously alien. The huge, misshapen heads looked grotesque even as negatives. “As you know, all we have left of the two bodies are the photographs and x-rays. Everything else disintegrated into dust: The bodies, the blood samples, tissue samples, everything. I airmailed selected copies of what we have to three of the finest neurologists in the country…”

“…without telling them exactly what they were looking at, I hope?” Cavitt interrupted.

The doctor threw him an irritated look. “Of course not,” he said defensively. “All of them agreed this looks remarkably like human brain tissue.”

“Human brain tissue inside an alien brain?”

“I don’t think so,” the doctor replied, shaking his head. “It doesn’t look grafted on. Perhaps their race is related to ours? Perhaps we’re an offshoot of their race, or vice versa. Or we could have a common ancestor…..”

“Doctor,” Cavitt interrupted, “I’m sure you find the particulars fascinating, but what I want to know is, how does this help us?”

Perkins shrugged. “If this brain tissue is similar to human brain tissue, I would imagine it would be affected by agents that affect the human brain.”

“Like sedatives?”

“Quite possibly.”

“Good,” Cavitt said with satisfaction. He turned and looked at the sacs with an expression of repugnance. “What’s next?”

“We have more tests we’d like to run,” the doctor answered. “After that we’d like to open one of the sacs and autopsy the fetuses. We’ll leave the other one intact to see what it does.”

“All right,” Cavitt said doubtfully, “but under no circumstances are you to allow these things to reach maturity. Is that clear?”

“Is that wise?” Perkins asked skeptically. “How are we supposed to know what they’re up to if we don’t let at least one of them mature?”

Cavitt gave an exasperated sigh. Sometimes it seemed he was surrounded by simpletons who failed to see the danger right in front of them. “I already know what they’re up to, Doctor. And so would you, if you’d just haul your eyeballs away from your microscope and take a good look. Think about it: Why would aliens be breeding fetuses that look completely human?”

“You think they’re planning an invasion?”

“What else? What better way to infiltrate our planet than to use doppelgangers who look human inside and out?”

“I think you’re jumping to conclusions,” Perkins objected. “As I said, our races could be related; these fetuses may look human simply because they’re in such an early stage of development, much the same way that human fetuses have vestigial tails for a short period of time. And besides these people, whoever they are, are obviously highly advanced. What could they possibly want with us?”

“Who knows?” Cavitt replied impatiently. “Who cares? Maybe they want Earth’s natural resources. Maybe they’re looking for a food supply. Maybe they just like to conquer. Now, is that all you have for me?”

The doctor sighed and switched off the viewer. “At the moment. I’ll let you know if we find anything else.”

“Very good. And one more thing,” Cavitt added. “All information about this stays here. Only a handful of people have seen what’s inside these things, and I’d like to keep it that way. I don’t want this getting out yet, or we’ll have a different kind of invasion, and I’ll lose control of the situation for sure. And if I lose control, you likely will too.”

“All right, all right,” Perkins said somewhat peevishly. “I see your point. We’ll keep this quiet until you decide otherwise.”

Good. Perhaps this one wasn’t quite as much of a simpleton as he’d thought. Cavitt spared one more distasteful glance for the glowing sacs before striding toward the door.

He stopped when he came abreast of the door. Something wasn’t right with the tile on the left side. It looked like it didn’t quite match the surrounding tile, and for one brief moment, he thought he had seen it…move.

Cavitt moved closer to the tile, peering at it. Why did it look strange? He reached out a finger to touch it…….

…..and jumped as something clattered across the room behind him. Every head swiveled toward the sound. The second doctor walked over and picked up a metal instrument table that had fallen over. “How did that happen?” he muttered.

Cavitt turned back to the wall; it looked fine now. He touched it with his hand, but felt nothing unusual. Just cold tile.

“Is something wrong, Captain?” Perkins asked.

Cavitt hesitated, then shook his head. “No. For a moment there…never mind. Carry on.”

Cavitt left the room, ignoring the guards who once again snapped to attention. That had been odd. For a moment there, looking at that wall, he had had the strangest feeling. A feeling honed by years on the front lines, and more years in the Counter Intelligence Corps.

The feeling that he was being watched.



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



Proctor residence



Emily Proctor stomped up the staircase, vacuum cleaner in hand. After making sure that Dee hadn’t been hurt in this latest alien debacle, she had sent her out with a pair of heavy rubber gloves and a broom to sweep up what she could of the glass underneath her bedroom window. Dee had seemed grateful that she would be cleaning alone, and frankly, Emily felt the same way. She needed time to think about how best to address the change in her daughter’s attitude. She also needed to decide if she still wanted these people in her house. It was bad enough that their arrival had shattered her child’s fiercely protected innocence. Now they were shattering her house too.

She hauled the cleaner into Dee’s bedroom, passing the bed on the way to the ruined window. A pile of pictures lay there along with several boxes of crayons, further evidence that the world had indeed turned upside down. Dee, who hated crayons, had spent the entire afternoon in her hot, stuffy, upstairs bedroom, coloring as if her life depended on it. Curiosity overcame Emily, and she peered at the top picture. It was a planet with huge rings against a backdrop of stars. And it’s good, Emily mused, wondering from whose gene pool Dee had gotten her artistic talent. Certainly not Emily’s.

The second picture was of a circular ship, a short gray figure with huge black eyes standing in front, holding something aloft in his long-fingered hand. And on the ship a symbol, two swirls with a triangle in the center. The same symbol from the metal fragment currently hidden under the bed. There was no mistaking the figure; she had grabbed a skinny gray arm just like that one only two days ago.

The third made her breath catch in her throat. A gray figure lay on the floor, an angry wound in its chest. Dee had drawn the wound perfectly, leaving no doubt as to what caused it; it was a gunshot wound, drawn by the hand of someone who knew what they looked like. Good Lord, Emily thought despairingly. No wonder she’s so upset.

A soft noise made her looked up. The second alien, the one David had referred to as “Jaddo”, stood in the doorway, staring curiously at the broken window. Just what she needed. More aliens.

“Are you here to break something?” Emily asked him, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “Because if you are, I’m afraid the other one beat you to it.”

He fixed her with a penetrating stare. “With all that’s happened, I can certainly see why a broken window would be at the top of your list of concerns.”

Emily stiffened, her face flushing. Why did speaking with these people always leave her feeling lectured to and looked down upon?

“How would you know what concerns me?” she said angrily, barely controlling her temper. As if it wasn’t bad enough to have a smart aleck daughter, now she had a smart aleck alien to deal with. Brivari could be irritating, but he hadn’t been sarcastic. Yet. “I want to know why your buddy there felt the need to damage my house!”

“Obviously he was angry about something,” the alien responded, in a tone that made it clear she should have been able to figure that one out on her own. “I have no idea what. This is not like him. Angry outbursts are usually my department. And yours, I’m told.”

Emily couldn’t believe her ears. “Do you make a habit of insulting people who help you and hide you from the bad guys?” she retorted angrily. “Because if you do, it’s a wonder you’re still alive. And no wonder whoever you worked for isn’t. Now, if you’re quite finished—because, really, I’d hate to interrupt—I have some cleaning to do. Unless, of course, you’d like to help?”

The alien gave her an annoyed look, then raised his palm in the direction of the window. Shards of glass leaped off the floor and into the air, tinkling as they moved, flying into the empty window frame like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. For one brief moment the window merely looked cracked; then the lines fuzzed and faded, leaving a perfectly whole, undamaged window.

The alien lowered his hand. “Your property has been repaired,” he announced.

Well. That was better. “Thank you,” Emily said, slightly mollified. She noted that she wasn’t too awfully surprised at this latest manifestation of alien voodoo. She seemed to be losing her capacity for astonishment. “Too bad you couldn’t fix my daughter just as easily.”

“We did repair your daughter’s injuries,” the alien said sharply. “Has she been injured again?”

“Not physically,” Emily said, rewrapping the cord for the cleaner with sharp, jerky motions. “She used to be friendly and trusting. Now she’s angry, she’s sullen, she’s smart-mouthed, she’s….” Emily paused a moment, a hand over her mouth. Why was she telling him this?

“Your daughter has recently been through battle,” the alien said, sounding exactly like the general she’d been told he worked for. “She has discovered that not all of her people have good intentions, and that even those who do are perfectly capable of wreaking havoc, whether through ignorance or fear. Her feelings have merit.”

“She’s a child,”Emily argued. “She shouldn’t have to go through this at this age. That’s not what we wanted!”

“What you ‘want’ is irrelevant. You should expend your energies dealing with what happens, not waste them lamenting what you would have chosen instead.”

“Wonderful. An alien philosopher,” Emily said sarcastically. “Of all the places you could have dropped out of the sky, why did have to do it on top of my daughter?”

“We did not choose to ‘drop out of your sky’,” the alien said coldly. “Nor did we choose to have our world fall apart. Further proof that the universe is not interested in our preferences.”

“We agree on that much, at least,” Emily said, plopping down on the bed and staring out the newly reconstructed window. “I can’t believe this. After all we went through to keep the war away from her, hiding the newspapers, turning off the radio…and it didn’t work.”

“Thank goodness.”

Emily blinked. “I…excuse me?”

The alien fixed her with a hard stare. “You said your child was ‘trusting’. Why then, did she not alert others to our presence immediately? Why was she willing to enter the house of her neighbor and remove what he considered his property? Why did she not surrender to the soldiers of your world when they discovered our ship? Because she knew they could not be trusted,” he continued, as Emily stared at him, wide-eyed. “Where did she learn that? She must have learned that somewhere. Not everyone can or should be trusted. Knowing that may well have saved her life. Not to mention ours.”

Thunderstruck, Emily stared at him. Much as she hated to admit it, he was right. The child she had always thought of as so trusting and innocent had lied, stolen, and run rings around the United States Army. A week ago, she would never have thought her daughter capable of such things.

“How could she have done all that?” she whispered. “She’s just a child.”

“Yes, she is a child,” the alien replied. “That means she is inexperienced, not stupid. Did you really think you could keep your daughter ignorant of her own world? Or that such ignorance was desirable? It is your responsibility to teach her how to navigate the perils of life. You do her no favors when you attempt to keep them from her.”

Emily closed her eyes. She really wished he would shut up. First she’d had one alien psychiatrist announcing that it was her duty to protect her child, and now she had another announcing that was impossible.

“Great,” she said in a hollow voice. “So my daughter is a liar and a thief, and she learned it all at my knee, despite all my efforts to raise a decent human being. Thanks loads. That makes me feel a lot better.”

“Your daughter responded to a crisis she could not have dreamed of with an intelligence and bravery I frankly did not think she possessed,” the alien responded, with no trace of his earlier sarcasm. “Why should that make you anything less than proud? Your time would be better spent helping her make sense of what has happened to her, rather than being angry that reality has intruded. It always does.”

Emily reached behind her and picked up the picture of the injured alien. “But how do I help her through it?” she asked, feeling more than a bit foolish for asking him this question. “I have no idea who these people are who died. I’ve heard only bits and pieces of what she went through.” She held up the picture. “How do I help her through this?”

The alien’s eyes widened as he stared at the drawing Dee had done. He glanced down at the pile of similar drawings on the bed and began leafing through them, pausing at one Emily hadn’t reached yet: A reddish-yellow planet with what looked like a small red sun and three orange moons.

“Where did these come from?” the alien whispered.

“From…from my daughter,” Emily answered uncertainly, trying to decide if he was whispering because he was furious or merely shocked. “She mentioned this. Yesterday, when you told Dee that…the others….were dead, and she got all upset, she said something about one of them coming to her in a dream. I thought she was just dreaming, but she seemed to think he was really there, in her dream. She said he took her to see his world….your world,” she amended. “This must be it.”

The alien was silent, still staring at the drawing of the strange planet. “I don’t know what she was talking about,” Emily continued. “She was so upset…I mean, you can’t actually…do that, can you? Go into people’s dreams, I mean?”

The alien pulled his gaze away from the drawing and stared at her. He said nothing; he didn’t need to. His silence was answer enough.




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




Deputy Valenti stared intently through his binoculars, which were fixed on the window of a certain room in the second story of a perfectly normal looking house up the street. But it wasn’t a perfectly normal house, or a perfectly normal family. Unfortunately, he was one of the few people around who realized that.

And now he had just seen further evidence that something was awry in the Proctor household. Only minutes before, the glass in the window of the upstairs bedroom had shattered from the inside, ruling out the usual cause of broken upstairs windows: Baseballs. Seconds later, a bird had flown from the window, rocketing over the rooftops in the direction of the Army base.

And now this. He’d tried very hard to watch without interruption, but it was difficult; Corona was the classic small town where everyone knew everyone else, and everyone minded everyone else’s business. Even though he was sitting in his own car in civilian clothes, he still attracted stares from curious passers-by, all the more so if he had a pair of binoculars glued to his face. From time to time he’d had to put the binoculars down and resume his ruse of reading the newspaper, and the last time he’d had to do that it had cost him dearly. Because the upstairs window of the Proctor’s house now looked unbroken, the late afternoon summer sun reflecting off a shimmering pane that didn’t even look cracked. For a moment Valenti wondered if he’d imagined it, but then movement from below caught his eye, and he lowered the binoculars to find eight year-old Dee Proctor sweeping up something from the ground below that glittered in the late afternoon sun—glass.

Valenti lowered the binoculars and tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. He had seen the window break; that’s why the kid was picking up pieces of glass. How could they have repaired it so quickly? More questions about the puzzle that was the Proctors.

Yet another puzzle was why they hadn’t filed a complaint about his visits to their house yesterday. As far as Valenti was concerned, that was proof positive that the Proctors had something to hide; if they turned him in, they risked raising the subject of why he’d been there in the first place. He had debated going to the Army with what he suspected, but decided against it. Not only did he no longer have any proof, but the Army’s strident denial of what was really on that ranch meant that they wouldn’t be exactly eager to share information with him. They would probably follow up on his lead, but given their position, they would be forced to discredit him. Or worse. If he wanted to find out what was going on, he would have to find out himself.

Another Corona resident gave him a curious stare, and Valenti decided not to push his luck. There were few good vantage points from which to spy on the Proctors from a sufficient distance that they wouldn’t notice him. He had driven by a couple of times today, but he’d been in uniform in his patrol car. Doing that too many times was risky and not very informative to boot; he’d never have seen what he’d just seen if he’d only been driving by. He needed places to sit and watch for extended periods of time, but he had to move periodically or he’d arouse suspicion.

Valenti set the binoculars down on the passenger seat next to the inexplicably changed sneaker that he was certain belonged to the Proctor’s daughter and started his car. The child was the key to all of this; he was sure of it. Come hell or high water, he was going to find out how.

[Kathy W 2200]

PART FIFTY-EIGHT

July 9, 1947, 7:00 p.m.

Proctor residence




Dee Proctor paused on the staircase, looking back down toward the kitchen. Dinner had been weird. Her mother hadn’t raised the subject of the window at all, neither to punish her nor to complain to her father about aliens who broke things. She’d seemed lost in thought, forgetting to turn the oven off and putting plain milk in the cream pitcher. Her father had looked back and forth from Dee to her mother with raised eyebrows, but Dee had said nothing. She’d probably be punished later for sassing her mother, and she would just as soon put that off.

Hearing nothing, Dee continued upstairs. She noticed two things when she walked into her room for the first time since Brivari broke the window, the first of which explained her Mother’s silence: The glass was inexplicably repaired, looking good as new…and her drawings were missing. She was willing to bet the second had something to do with the first.

She turned around and marched to the guest bedroom. Jaddo was there, sitting in the rocking chair. He had pulled it up to the bed, which was covered with her drawings. All of them. Wonderful. Now he was probably mad at her too.

“Those are mine,” Dee announced, bracing herself for an argument.

“I was trying to decide which was my favorite,” Jaddo replied without looking up. “Definitely not those,” he added, indicating a pile to his left which was topped by a picture of Urza studded with bullet holes. “I believe I’ve narrowed it down to these three. What do you think?”

Dee gave him a calculating look. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“I rarely joke,” Jaddo observed. “Valeris was fond of reminding me of that.”

Dee was still wary. “You mean…you’re not mad?”

His eyes flicked up to meet hers. “My dear, when I’m angry, I make that clear enough that no one needs to ponder the question. You’ve seen me angry, so you should know that.”

“Don’t remind me. You accused me of leading the Army right to you.”

“That I did.”

“Care to take that back?”

Jaddo sat back in the chair and almost smiled. “You know, I opposed your involvement with us from the very beginning. I even told Brivari he shouldn’t heal you.”

“I don’t like you either,” Dee said flatly.

“Urza and Valeris thought you could be trusted,” he went on, ignoring her. “And later, that your father could be trusted.”

“And they were right.”

“I take it he came to you in a dream,” Jaddo continued, sifting through the pictures. “He was alive when we left him, but just barely. I’m curious—what did he say?”

“What do you care?” Dee challenged. “You never liked him, or Valeris. You’re probably glad they’re dead.

Jaddo gave her a level stare. “I see I’m not the only one guilty of misjudgment. It appears we have each misjudged the other.”

Dee stared at him skeptically. She had seen very little of Jaddo, and that was just fine with her. He always sounded irritable, or sarcastic, or just plain mad; she’d never heard him sound even remotely friendly. Yet Valeris had insisted there was more to him than his rough exterior. “Look deeper, and you may be surprised what you will find.” And she found herself longing to talk about what had happened with someone who had known her two friends. Still…

“I know you didn’t like them,” Dee said, wondering if he would admit it.

“No, I didn’t,” he replied calmly. “But it’s not necessary to like someone in order to work with them. And it’s a long way from not liking someone to celebrating their demise.”

Dee sat down on the bed. “They shouldn’t be dead,” she muttered furiously. “They weren’t hurting anybody. It’s not fair!”

“No, it isn’t.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you agreeing with me just to make me feel better?”

“I don’t think it’s possible to make you ‘feel better’ just now. And I would not presume to try.”

Good. Dee didn’t want to feel better, didn’t want to lose her protective shell of anger. Being angry meant you could forget how sad you were.

“So what did you think of our world?” Jaddo asked, holding her drawing of his planet.

“I think I liked it better when Urza was in it,” Dee said bluntly. “You said he was alive when you left him. Why did you leave him? Why didn’t you get him out of there?”

“We meant to,” Jaddo answered. “We were going to go back after we had rescued our Wards. But things went awry, we were discovered…and you know the rest.”

“I don’t get it!” Dee said angrily. “You have so many of those babies! Daddy helped you hide most of them. But Valeris wouldn’t help Urza because of the babies, and now you say you left him because of the babies. You have lots of babies, but there was only one Urza. Why couldn’t you have saved him and gone back for the babies later? You didn’t get them anyway. Urza shouldn’t have died, and he wouldn’t have if you’d saved him when you had the chance.”

More of those damned tears rolled down her face after this outburst. She swiped them away irritably and waited almost eagerly for Jaddo to yell at her, to tell her this wasn’t any of her business, or that she was just a stupid child, or a stupid human. Her anger didn’t seem to upset him the way it did Mama, and she was itching to lash out at someone—anyone. Even him. Perhaps especially him.

Ironically, the one time she was spoiling for an argument, Jaddo wasn’t. “Protection of our Wards comes first; we are secondary,” he answered levelly. “Urza would have done the same in our position.”

“He did do the same,” Dee said miserably. “He wouldn’t help Valeris until the babies were put away in that box. And after he was shot, he wouldn’t let me get Valeris to help him because Valeris was making everyone think the room wasn’t there.”

“Of course he wouldn’t. Whatever I may have thought of him, Urza was a Royal Warder. He knew his duty.”

“I didn’t get it then, and I don’t get it now,” Dee said crossly.

Jaddo was silent for a time, elbows resting on the armrests of the rocking chair, fingers forming a tent. “Tell me,” he said at length, “why do you think so many, including your own father, were willing to fight in your recent war?”

“Because they wanted to stop Hitler,” Dee answered, swiping at her face again. “He was taking over countries and killing people.”

“But those who fought may have died. Many did.”

“Well…yes, but a lot more would have died if they hadn’t stopped him”

“I see,” Jaddo said thoughtfully. “So those who fought considered stopping this ‘Hitler’ more important than any one of them. Important enough to die for.” He paused. “It is the same for us. Those we protect represent our entire planet. We are part of something much bigger and more important than any one person. We know we might die in the effort. We accept that, just as your soldiers did when they went to fight your war.”

“Urza said that,” Dee said slowly. “He said your world was worth fighting for. And dying for,” she added reluctantly, because she didn’t feel quite as angry as she had a few minutes ago, and that scared her. “It’s just that they shouldn’t have had to die! We were all trying so hard to stop it, and we couldn’t.”

“Lack of success does not invalidate the effort. Surely you don’t feel you shouldn’t have tried because success was not guaranteed?”

“No, of course not,” she grumbled, feeling the welcome anger come flooding back, this time because he was making sense and she didn’t want him to. Rising abruptly, she began gathering up the pictures on the bed, noticing as she did so the three he had picked out as his favorites: The three moons, Dimaras Rock, and the stars in the shape of a “V”. Dee stared at the drawing wistfully, remembering how pretty she had found that particular constellation, how thrilled she had been when she had realized Urza was going to show her his home planet, and how certain she had been that he was better. And how wrong.

“This one was my favorite,” she said, holding up the “V” picture. “I’ve always liked stars, and…well, I used to like stars. I used to like people too,” she added darkly, picking up the pictures and heading for the door.”

“In that case, there is one more thing you should know,” Jaddo called after her.

Dee stopped and rolled her eyes, her back still turned. Now what? She had managed to make herself angry again and she didn’t want to lose that, didn’t want it drowned out by reason, or logic, or higher purposes. Especially from such an unlikely source.

“There was someone with Urza at the end. A female; a healer of some kind, I believe. He said she had been kind to him. She helped us when we were there, as did one of the soldiers.”

Dee held her lower lip steady with an effort. Someone had been kind to him? Someone had helped them? That sounded too good to be true.

“Do not misjudge your entire race,” Jaddo said behind her. “Do not make the same mistake I did.”

Dee walked out of the room without replying, her drawings clutched to her chest. She’d had no idea there were so many things lethal to anger—not only logic and higher purposes, it seemed, but something else, something she’d thought she might never feel again.

Hope.



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



July 10, 1947, 0130 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




Captain Cavitt marched angrily into the room in the medical wing, waving aside the two nervous MP’s at the center. “What happened?” he demanded.

“I…we’re not sure, sir,” one of the MP’s said uncertainly. “We were doing our usual thirty minute sweep of the room, and we found one of the refrigeration units open. Nothing else looked disturbed. We’re not sure if anything is missing. I just thought you should know.”

Cavitt gazed into the open refrigeration unit, already knowing what he would find. Or, more to the point, what he wouldn’t find: The remains of the two alien bodies. Of course these two simpletons wouldn’t know that. They’d had no idea what they were guarding.

“There is something missing, Lieutenant,” Cavitt said in an icy voice. “Now, you tell me—how is that possible? There are no windows in this room. There are no doors leading to other rooms. The only way into this room was through that door,” he said, pointing. “And the two of you have been stationed right in front of that door for the past four hours, have you not?”

“Yes, sir, four hours sir,” the lieutenant said earnestly.

“And you didn’t see or hear anything?”

“No, sir,” the lieutenant said, swallowing hard and casting a nervous glance at his fellow officer. “Neither of us heard or saw anything.” The other MP’s head bobbed in agreement.

“Lieutenant,” Cavitt said slowly, “whatever got into this room had to go past you. Or over you, or under you, or through you. Not to mention the fact that it had to leave carrying the.…carrying what it took,” he finished. “How could it have gotten past you without either of you noticing?”

“Uh…Captain?”

“What?” Cavitt said with exasperation.

“Why are you referring to the thief as ‘it’?”

Cavitt took a deep breath and closed his eyes. If he wanted to keep this information to himself, he really needed to be more careful. “Carry on, men,” he said, without answering the lieutenant’s question. “Notify me at once if anything else happens.”

“Yes, sir,” they both chorused, looking confused.

Cavitt took off up the hall at a fast trot. He was angry, and when he was angry he liked to walk fast. He marched until he reached the section where the alien fetuses were being held. The two MP’s outside snapped to attention as he approached.

“Is everything all right in there?” he asked.

The two MP’s exchanged curious glances. “Yes, sir. All’s quiet.”

“Open the door,” Cavitt commanded.

The MP on the right opened the door, and Cavitt peeked inside. The sacs were still there, the doctors still working. “Get four more men down here,” Cavitt ordered the MP. “I want two more on the door, and one at each end of the corridor.”

“Yes, sir,” the MP replied.

“And call down to the hangar,” Cavitt continued. “Have them double the guards down there as well.”

“Yes, sir. Is something wrong, sir?”

“Just do your job, soldier,” Cavitt ordered.

You got something, you alien bastards, he thought grimly as he strode off, but I’ve got what you really want. He couldn’t imagine they were really after the dust. What were they going to do? Add water and stir? No, they would either be after their ship or whatever those abominations were back in that room. His earlier feeling of being watched had been genuine. They had been there earlier, and they would be back. He was certain of it.

Striding quickly down yet another corridor, Cavitt reached a decision. Not a pleasant one, mind you, but that was his job: To make the hard decisions others didn’t have the stomach for. Aliens had infiltrated his base twice now without anyone noticing. He did not intend to let that happen again.




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




Dr. Perkins looked up from the microscope and yawned. He really should get some sleep. He’d been staring at the sample of fluid from one of the sacs for a good half hour, his jaw dropping with each new discovery. Somehow the fluid generated its own heat, its own oxygen, and seemed to contain some kind of protein, possibly food for the fetuses. Something like this could cause prenatal medicine to leap forward by years, maybe even decades. It was the perfect synthetic womb, proof that whoever had made it was advanced far beyond humans in the sciences of bioengineering and biochemistry.

As were the beings floating in it. Replacing his glasses, he moved to the new set of x-rays on the wall. There was now no question about it—the fetuses were human, inside and out. It had been hard to get clear pictures what with them moving around as much as they did, but patience and persistence had paid off. According to the x-rays their skeletal structure was human, nothing at all like what they’d seen in the autopsies. Their organs were all present and accounted for. Their development was appropriate for their gestational age. Either these things were created by someone who had studied humans in great detail, or they were actual human fetuses, acquired by God only knew what method. Neither idea was a pleasant thought.

Perkins pulled the x-rays off the viewer, carefully placed them in an unmarked, unobtrusive envelope, locked them in a cabinet, and pocketed the key. He wasn’t going to tell Cavitt about this just yet. Cavitt had reacted so strongly to just the hint of information like this earlier that Perkins was afraid he would order the fetuses destroyed before they had a chance to take a good look at them. Naturally they would have to destroy one set in order to get some answers, but the other should be left intact. There were things one could only learn from live specimens. He wouldn’t be able to keep a lid on this for more than a few days, but that might be enough to convince some friends in high places that the other set should live. It was worth a try.

Gathering up his things, Dr. Perkins switched off the lights. The sacs glowed more brilliantly in the dark, and he examined them again. Each set of four was arranged in a square, with a male and female on top and another male and female just below, males on the left, females on the right. One set was sluggish, barely moving. Something might be wrong with that set; that was likely the one they would autopsy. The other set was vigorously active, kicking and twisting in their glowing worlds, their eyes not yet open. The male fetus in the upper left hand corner was sucking his thumb. And…

Blinking, Perkins removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, then put them back on. It was still there. He knew it hadn’t been there before. They had examined every single fetus carefully, and he hadn’t seen anything like this.

His hands shaking, Dr. Perkins fumbled for a pair of rubber gloves. Pushing down on the sac, he managed to catch the head of the upper male fetus, earning a surprisingly furious kick in the process. Whoever this was already possessed a formidable personality.

Formidable or no, the doctor was still much bigger and stronger, and he pressed down on the sac, anchoring the tiny head in place, much to the distress of its owner. One needed just the right angle to see it, but there was definitely something on the forehead of this fetus that he hadn’t seen before: Five pinpricks of light in the shape of a “V”.

A savage kick from the male directly below startled Perkins. Surprised, he released the fetus, staring in astonishment as the three others briefly thrashed vigorously. The male with the dots curled away, turning its back as if to hide the emblem on its forehead from prying eyes.

Reaching for the upper left male again, Perkins was startled anew as the male fetus directly below responded with yet another savage flurry of kicking. For one brief, bizarre moment, the doctor got the distinct impression the lower fetus was trying to protect the upper one.

Good Lord, he thought, pulling off his rubber gloves. He was more tired than he realized. Now he was so exhausted that he was ascribing conscious thought to fetuses. Whatever those dots were, they would have to wait until morning. He pulled heavy blankets over the sacs to shield them from the prying eyes of the guards who would take up residence in this room after his departure, and headed out the door.

Underneath the blanket where no one could see, the fetus Perkins had been restraining rolled over again, the dots of light now clearly visible on its forehead. The dots flared briefly, brilliantly, before gradually fading out altogether.

Silence descended on the room as the King of the Antarians slept.

[Kathy W 2200]

PART FIFTY-NINE


July 10, 1947, 0500 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




Private Spade lurched through the door of the lavatory and flung himself into the nearest stall, leaning over the toilet. Never mind that he hadn’t had anything to eat in hours. He heaved, acid burning his throat as whatever was left in his stomach came up. He kept heaving long after it was empty.

Finally he sat up, clutching his cramping abdomen. Reaching behind him, he locked the door of the stall and leaned against it. He needed privacy, and there were precious few places to find it on an Army base. This was one of those places.

What the hell am I going to do? Questions rattled around his brain, questions with no answers, no good answers, anyway. All of his options looked bad. He was going to lose this one no matter which way it went down.

Spade had just come from Captain Cavitt’s office, having been summoned there at the ungodly hour, even for the Army, of 0430 hours. Assuming this was another unscheduled “talk”, Cavitt’s current, useless euphemism for an interrogation, Spade had taken his time dressing and trudging down there. He was still saying he didn’t remember much of what happened the night the two aliens were there, and Cavitt still didn’t believe him, despite the fact the doctors said his lack of memory was quite possible. So Cavitt had taken to having these so called “talks” with him, going over and over every little detail. So far, Cavitt hadn’t managed to trip him up. It must be driving him crazy.

But Cavitt wasn’t interested in “talking” this time. Spade knew something was up because other officers with grim faces were there, one of them a doctor. And then Cavitt had informed him in a somber tone that Privates West and Belmont were dead, murdered in their sleep by an alien hand.

“We assume they’re trying to remove anyone who saw them alive,” Cavitt had said. “Or perhaps trying to avenge the deaths of their comrades. Private West was responsible for the death of the second alien, however justified that death may have been.”

In a stupor over this news, Spade had waited for Cavitt to go into that still disputed incident, and the fact that Spade had never retracted his very different version of that event. But he hadn’t.

“Private Belmont, as you well know, was one of the original four who discovered the craft,” Cavitt went on. “You are the only remaining survivor of that mission. We can only imagine that you are next on the list.”

“Wait,” Spade had protested. “How did the aliens find West and Belmont? I’m the one they had the most contact with. I’m the one they should have come after first.”

Cavitt had shrugged. “Perhaps they had difficulty locating you. Or perhaps they didn’t have time. The remains of the two dead aliens were stolen last night; our intruders were busy.”

Spade had broken into a cold sweat. If they were able to flush out West and Belmont with no one the wiser till morning, they’d be able to flush him out also. Thank God Yvonne had left for London, or she might be dead now too.

“We were wondering if there was anything else you could tell us, Private,” Cavitt had continued. “Anything at all. If there’s any way you could help us, you might be saving your own life. No detail is unimportant.”

And Spade had sat there, speechless, his mind churning with the possibilities. If he said nothing, he was likely signing his own death warrant. Yet he knew what the aliens were really after. If he admitted that, he might be signing his own dishonorable discharge. Or worse.

Leaning against the wall of the bathroom stall, Spade closed his eyes. None of this made sense. There was no good reason the aliens wouldn’t have been able to find him last night. There was no good reason for them to waste their precious time and energy on retribution. They would have had to find out who West and Belmont were and track them down. That would have taken time, time they could have been spending rescuing those glowing sacs that held their children.

Still, he had stood at the observation window in the morgue after the doctor had marched him there and seen the silver handprints emblazoned on the chests of his fellow soldiers. Aliens had killed them—there was no denying that. He remembered seeing the hand rising, hearing the sizzling noise it made when it connected with its target, smelling the acrid odor of burning flesh. He couldn’t deny they were killers, and this was the way they killed. But they had only seemed to kill when they needed to, and they had left him and Yvonne alive. Why?

Maybe they lacked the energy that night, Spade argued with himself. Or the time. Maybe they had left them alive, then thought better of it. Whatever the reason, Spade was in an unenviable position: He was the base’s only survivor of encounters with live aliens. For the moment, at least.

Spade unlatched the door and poked his head out of the stall. The lavatory was empty. He went to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face, leaning on the sink afterwards as his stomach threatened to betray him again.

He hadn’t told anyone much of anything about the night the aliens had been here. They already knew most of the important stuff: The aliens could change their shape, taking someone else’s form right down to the voice. They could unlock doors, knock people over from a distance, and kill with a touch. All of this had been clear without Spade having to say anything. But the one thing no one had been able to figure out for certain was what the aliens had been after the night he and Yvonne had seen them. They had killed the guard outside the room where the bodies were…but left the bodies. They had gone after the truck in the hangar, but those glowing sacs weren’t the only things inside the truck, nor in the hangar.

Now the top brass wanted to lay a trap for the aliens, and in order to do that they needed to know where they would be headed next. Spade knew very well what they were after. But could he risk telling Cavitt that? How would he explain this sudden burst of memory? Cavitt would never buy it.

Spade shook the water off his hands and dried his face on his sleeve. In the long run, it didn’t matter if Cavitt bought it. If he said nothing, he was as good as dead. The aliens had missed him once; it was unlikely they would miss him twice. If he said something, Cavitt might work that into a dishonorable discharge or even a court martial. But at least he’d still be alive.

Alive or dead? That’s a toughie.

Straightening his uniform, Spade marched out the door, heading for Captain Cavitt’s office. He had given the aliens the benefit of the doubt once and they had repaid him with more death. Death that benefited no one, brought them no closer to their goal. It was revenge, pure and simple.

And revenge was a game two could play.




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




Proctor residence




Brivari entered the upstairs window silently and headed for a nearby table. Jaddo looked to be asleep, but as Brivari placed his burdens on the table, he heard a voice behind him.

“Where have you been?”

“Why? Has something happened?”

Jaddo propped himself up on one elbow. “Only that you nearly got us kicked out of here with your charming display last night. Honestly, Brivari, what got into you? Tantrums aren’t your style.”

“I can repair the window.”

“I already have. And I attempted to repair the ‘alliance’ as well. Your behavior is interesting for one who goes on and on about making alliances with humans.”

Brivari shot him an irritated glance. “If you repaired the window, then what was the problem?”

Jaddo pulled himself to a sitting position. “The human woman is concerned about the effect all of this is having on her child.”

“Her child is strong. She will be fine,” Brivari said shortly.

“The very point I attempted to make,” Jaddo answered. “I have never understood why these humans spend so much time fretting over something that has already happened and cannot be changed.”

“They also fret over things that never happened,” Brivari noted dryly. He turned around, still standing in front of what he had been carrying. “But we have a more pressing problem. The hybrids are being moved.”

“When? Where?” Jaddo asked sharply.

“Tonight at 2200 hours, human military time. They’re being flown to another part of the country, but I haven’t managed to find out where yet. It doesn’t matter—we must rescue them tonight before they leave.”

“Are they still unharmed?”

“For the moment. I’ve been keeping an eye on them. So far, the humans have run only non-invasive tests, and that was scheduled to continue for several more days before they attempted to open one of the sacs.”

“What changed?”

“It doesn’t matter. One of those sets was our best set. Valeris saved it for last to keep it in the incubator the longest. We have to get them back tonight, whether or not you are fully recovered.”

Jaddo nodded. “If we scout the area carefully ahead of time, I should be fine.”

“I will keep an eye on them throughout the day,” Brivari said. “You rest. You will need as much of your energy as possible.”

Brivari moved aside, and for the first time, Jaddo saw what he had been carrying. “What are those?”

“Urza’s and Valeris’s remains. I found them at the military base. We can perform the dispersal later—for Valeris, anyway,” Brivari added darkly. “Urza deserves no such consideration.”

Jaddo looked at Brivari suspiciously. “I heard the child say she had a message from Valeris. What could he have possibly have had to say that would have sent you into such a temper? Was it something else about Urza?”

Brivari began to pace. “Things were even worse than we thought,” he said grimly. “Ava was pregnant, with a prince, no less. I saw Valeris putting something into her stasis unit. I thought it was a failed hybrid, but that didn’t make sense. Urza was already mourning one of Vilandra’s failed hybrids, but Valeris was a scientist. It wasn’t like him to become attached like that, but it never occurred to me that it was anything other than a hybrid. I never thought…” He stopped, his voice cracking with anger.

Jaddo stared at Brivari for several long moments. “That’s it?” he said finally. “You jeopardized your precious alliance with these humans by damaging their property over that?”

Brivari gave him a withering look. “Surely you realize what this means, Jaddo.”

“Yes, let’s take a close look at what it means,” Jaddo said seriously. “Prior to this information, the royal family was dead, we were attempting to bring them back, our ship had been discovered, two of our colleagues were dead, and two sets of hybrids were in danger. After this information, the royal family remains dead, we are still attempting to bring them back, our ship remains discovered, two of our colleagues are no less dead, and two sets of hybrids still require rescue.” He paused a moment for effect. “I don’t see a difference. Do be so kind as to point it out to me.”

“There was an heir to the throne!” Brivari snapped. “An heir that would have ensured what would have been only the second peaceful transition of power in centuries!”

“Ensured? That’s a bit of a stretch,” Jaddo commented. “Our history makes the point that nothing is ever ‘ensured’. But heir or no heir, the result is the same: Our Wards are dead. We are here. Our task remains unchanged.”

“Easy for you to say,” Brivari said coldly. “You don’t remember what it was like before Riall. You have no idea what it was like to live through that. You have no idea how hard it was to build what we built, and…”

“…and you and Riall vanquished the night and made a shiny, new world, elevated our race to new heights, etc., etc., etc.,” Jaddo said impatiently. “I have heard this tale countless times, and every time you make it sound like the two of you accomplished this all by yourselves. Like you have a personal claim on our society.”

“Don’t I?”

“No,” Jaddo replied curtly. “The vast majority of our people backed Riall, as did most of his rivals when they found we had allied with him. Everyone made it happen. You have no business acting like you have more of a right to take personal offense at recent events.”

“You idiot!” Brivari thundered. “This isn’t about me!”

“Really? You had me fooled.”

“Don’t you realize how this could have changed things?” Brivari went on, ignoring him. “The presence of an heir would have strengthened Zan’s position immeasurably. The people would have rejoiced; Zan’s allies would not have dared turn against him.”

“Are you suffering from memory loss?” Jaddo said caustically. “It was not his allies that were the problem! None of them turned against him. Besides, even if a fetal prince would have been enough to galvanize Zan’s allies, it would also have galvanized his enemies. They would not have been thrilled about the prospect of his line continuing. Valeris may have had to set aside his test tubes and books and seriously ward Ava after all.”

“We can debate what may have been, but one thing is clear,” Brivari said bitterly. “Urza did not just bring down the monarchy—he brought down the dynasty.”

“Urza brought down nothing—his Ward did. Without meaning to, I might add.”

“You, defending Vilandra?” Brivari said, astonished. “I never thought I’d live to see the day! Especially now that you have something specific to pin on her, rather than just grousing that she was vain and superficial.”

Jaddo sighed with exasperation. “As I said before, neither Urza nor Vilandra plotted to bring down Zan. That was the unfortunate result of her idiocy and his incompetence, but it was not deliberate.”

“I disagree,” Brivari said firmly. “His remains will be disposed of as befits a traitor.”

Jaddo stared at Brivari a moment, then slowly rose to his feet. “You have no right to deny him dispersal. He died protecting his Ward and his King. He deserves the proper rites.”

“I will allow that he did regret his actions,” Brivari replied, “but he died trying to mop up his own mess.”

“You have just invalidated your own argument,” Jaddo said. “Even if Urza were held as traitor, the one and only way to wipe that charge from the record is death in defense of the King. Urza has paid any debt, even the largest debt a Covari can owe. He deserves dispersal.”

“Urza died in the basement of a human military facility,” Brivari said flatly. “He was nowhere near his King or his Ward.”

“He would have been near them had not the human child left him for others to find,” Jaddo argued. “Most likely he would have died in the lab if she had not intervened. And what difference does it make where he died? His death was a direct result of an attack upon the King; the actions he took that led to his death were taken in defense of the King. I repeat, though I shouldn’t have to: You have no right to deny him his due as one who has died in the King’s service. ”

“I would hardly term what his lack of attention brought about as ‘service’.”

“Your words betray you, Brivari,” Jaddo said, eyes narrowing. “Referring to Urza’s mistakes as a ‘lack of attention’ is exactly right. And that is a long way from treason. A very long way.”

“Urza is to blame for what happened!” Brivari said hotly. “Do you deny that?”

“I do not deny that Urza is partially to blame, but there is plenty of blame to go around. If you’re so eager to point fingers, find a mirror and point one at yourself.”

Brivari stopped pacing, astonished. “What, now I am to blame for the fall of our civilization?”

“You created a climate in which Zan was unwilling to talk to you,” Jaddo said accusingly. “If he had told you the subject of his argument with Vilandra, you would not have hesitated to have her watched around the clock.”

“There is no way I could have known what was happening!” Brivari said defensively.

“And what about Zan?” Jaddo continued. “He forced his sister into an engagement she did not want, effectively pushing her back against the wall. He knew what she was like better than any of us, better even than Urza. Should he not have suspected that her sudden change of heart was anything but? He need not have pulled you into it; he could have ordered anyone to follow her. He is as much to blame as Urza, perhaps more so. At least Urza figured it out. And I…” Jaddo broke off suddenly.

“What about you?” Brivari asked suspiciously.

Jaddo sighed. “I heard something that now makes sense,” he said quietly. He walked to the window and stared out, not looking at Brivari. “When we met with the Argilian rebels, one of them told us that some of Khivar’s people were unhappy with him because he had fallen in love. The rebels did not know who the woman was, but there was sufficient unrest in Khivar’s camp that they were hoping to recruit new people to their cause. I assumed he’d fallen for some doxie or other. I never dreamed it was Vilandra.”

“That must have been who killed her,” Brivari said slowly. “And the others. Even with Khivar on the throne, there are those who would be most unhappy to see Zan’s sister at his side.”

“And Khivar might have let the rest of them live because of her,” Jaddo added. “That would not have gone over well either.” He paused. “We were all to blame, Brivari. We didn’t communicate with each other. If you insist on holding Urza as traitor, you must hold the rest of as well.”

Brivari shook his head stubbornly. “It was Urza’s Ward who plotted the invasion.”

“For the hundredth time,” Jaddo said with exasperation, “she was not plotting an invasion! Honestly, you give her more credit than she deserves. Vilandra wasn’t smart enough to plot an invasion! Besides, you know perfectly well that Warders are not responsible for their Ward’s behavior, only their safety. Which is a good thing, considering what you frequently thought of Zan’s behavior,” he added pointedly.

“I see. So you consider Urza successful in his efforts to secure his Ward’s safety?” Brivari said sarcastically.

“All of us attempted to secure our Wards’ safety. And all of us were unsuccessful. Lack of success does not constitute treason. Nor, as I pointed out to the human child, does lack of success invalidate the effort. Urza died in the service of his King. Whatever your personal feelings about him, you owe him respect for that if nothing else.”

Brivari shot him a calculating look. “You always hated Urza. What do you care?”

“An odd question from one who agreed with Valeris’s argument that we should save the human child out of principle,” Jaddo retorted. “Where are your precious principles now, Brivari? Or do you only trot them out and dust them off when it’s convenient for you?”

Brivari took a step toward him, hands twitching at his sides.

“I have neither the time nor the energy for this,” he said at length, “and you have even less. We will settle this later. In the meantime, I suggest you recuperate. You will need all your strength tonight.” He paused. “I can count on you to do your duty, can’t I?”

Jaddo stared at him a moment, eyes aflame. “If I were you,” he said in a menacing tone, “I would not make the mistake of asking me that question again. Ever.”

Brivari stared at him a moment longer before abruptly collapsing into bird shape and flying out the window. After he was gone, Jaddo sank onto the bed, lost in thought. He had hoped it would not come to this. He was feeling much better now, but still…

Jaddo wrestled with himself for several minutes before reaching a decision. He took his time shifting, doing it slowly so as not to exhaust himself. Then he took flight, soaring out the upstairs window after Brivari.

For several minutes after his departure, the room lay in silence, the warm summer sun shining in the window. Then a pair of small feet, owned by one who had been listening to their conversation, padded quietly across the floor, coming to rest in front of the two metal containers.

[Kathy W 2200]

PART SIXTY

July 10, 1947, 3:30 p.m.

Proctor residence




Jaddo flew inside the open upstairs window and landed on the bed. Carefully setting down what he was carrying, he fluttered to the floor and shot ceilingward into human shape. He had spent the day alternately resting, scouting the area immediately around the base, and pondering his decision earlier that morning. He was relieved to find himself feeling stronger. There might be hope for tonight after all.

Moving the object on the bed closer, Jaddo held his hand over it, preparing to send his energy through the symbol inscribed on the top. But just before he unleashed it, he hesitated.

Was he doing the right thing? Brivari likely did have a reason for ordering communication silence. But after listening to him this morning, Jaddo was no longer willing to assume that reason was valid. And since he wouldn’t tell him what the reason was, there was no way to evaluate its validity. Brivari was taking the fall of their world so personally that he was acting irrationally.

So now it falls to me to do what must be done, Jaddo thought wearily. There were only two of them left, and there might be less than that after tonight. Safeguards must be put in place.

Jaddo extended a more confident hand over the communicator. The symbol on top began to glow, accompanied by a resonating hum.

And then he jumped, startled, as a voice from behind said, “What is that?”



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


Eagle Rock Military Base



Yvonne White paced the small room in which she found herself a prisoner, arms folded across her chest, eyes flashing. She had awoken here yesterday with a throat that felt like cotton and a head that hurt like hell. Judging by the two MP’s stationed outside her door, she was in a military facility, but she had no idea where. She’d seen no one except for the MP’s and a doctor she’d never seen before, with whom she had not been terribly cooperative. He had pronounced her exploding head to be a mild concussion, and remained impassive when she demanded to know where she was and why she was being held against her will.

Yvonne continued to pace like a caged animal, back and forth, back and forth. She was growing madder by the minute, and increasingly desperate. The room in which she was held had a small bathroom attached, so there was no reason for them to let her out, even for a few minutes. The room’s only door had a window which was covered, preventing her from seeing anything. Wherever she was, it sounded deserted. Yvonne was used to the constant patter of footsteps and the continual hum of activity that permeated Army bases. There was never much privacy anywhere on a base, but she had rarely heard footsteps or voices outside her door except three times a day at mealtime. The doctor’s arrival at an odd hour at excited her, but nothing had come of it—he left her just as ignorant as he had found her. The silence was oppressive, the boredom intense.

Yvonne was seriously considering something more drastic, such as feigning illness, when she heard footsteps approaching. It was probably the doctor again, but this time she had no intention of letting him leave without learning something. She pressed her ear to the door, straining to her the slightest sound.

A conversation in low voices was being held outside. She heard the rattle of keys. Whoever it was, they were coming in. With a flash of inspiration, Yvonne flattened herself against the wall near where the door opened. If she timed it right, she should swing around and startle whoever was coming in. She couldn’t fend them off, of course, but she might make it far enough outside to get at least a glimpse of where she was.

She held her breath and waited as keys chinked in the lock. The doorknob turned…the door started to open…Now! Yvonne swung around forcefully, only to come nose to nose with the last person she expected to see.

“Lieutenant White. So glad to see you up and about.”

Captain Cavitt?

Thunderstruck, Yvonne swung back toward the wall, hitting her head against it in the process. Wincing, she raised a hand to her still tender head.

“I’m terribly sorry about…that,” Cavitt said as he entered, with an airy wave toward her sore head. The door closed behind him, reminding her that she hadn’t managed to see a thing beyond it. “But absolute secrecy was required, and you were a bit….ah….exuberant in your resistance. Did you know you broke that Private’s nose? You required quite a bit more persuasion than I thought you would.” This last was delivered with a smile Yvonne did not find the least bit inviting.

“Where am I?” she demanded, trying, and failing, to keep her voice from shaking. She was too shocked at the moment to feel much of anything. Later she would be certain to summon a large helping of indignation. Later, when her mind had stopped spinning at the thought of betrayal by one of her own.

“ ‘Here’ is your latest posting,” Cavitt replied pleasantly, “undoubtedly the most important posting of your career. Of anyone’s career. Lieutenant, you have a unique opportunity at your disposal. You have a chance to serve your country in a way no one else ever has. You will be on the front lines of the most groundbreaking experiments ever done in human history. You should be proud to have been chosen for this exceptionally important, covert mission.”

Yvonne listened to this oratory in utter confusion. What in the name of God was Cavitt going on about? She was supposed to be in London. Did this mean Cavitt was also in London? What would he be doing in London when he had an alien ship to play with?

“I was on my way to London, Captain,” she said carefully, seriously wondering if Cavitt was playing with a full deck. “I had been reassigned to London. Is this London?”

Cavitt shook his head regretfully. “No, this is not London. I’m afraid some subterfuge was necessary so that people would not go looking for you. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, you are, indeed, in London.”

“If I’m not in London, then….where am I?”

“All in good time, Lieutenant. I have your first assignment,” he continued casually, as though kidnapping people were a daily occurrence. “The MP’s outside will take you to where you’ll be working. There are a number of supplies that need to be stocked, rooms that need to be cleaned, that sort of thing. Place hasn’t been used in a while. At least not for this. But then I suppose there isn’t any place in the world that’s been used for this, is there?” he said, chuckling at his private joke. Yvonne just stared at him.

“Oh, and the MP’s will also show you to your new quarters. Your belongings have been sent there. I left instructions on how to proceed should you require anything else. That will be all for now.” He turned to leave.

Yvonne watched him heading for the door, and the indignation she had intended to save for later rushed over her like a tidal wave. That would be all for now? Like hell it would.

“I have a right to know where I’m posted, Captain!” she protested, placing herself squarely between Cavitt and the door. “And you have no right to kidnap me and hold me prisoner!”

Cavitt’s eyebrows rose. “ ‘Kidnap’? How dramatic. You have merely been reassigned, and kept here until the doctor felt you had recovered sufficiently to perform your duties. For your own safety, of course. Stop blowing things out of proportion. Now step aside.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s insubordination, Lieutenant. I’d watch my step if I were you.”

“I’m being held prisoner by one of my own” Yvonne retorted. “You mean things could get worse?”

“After your unfortunate meeting with that reporter, I would say yes, things could get worse.”

Yvonne’s breath caught in her throat. She could feel the hard door against her back and was suddenly grateful for something to lean against. “What reporter?”

Cavitt reached into his uniform jacket and withdrew a photograph, handing it to her for her inspection. She didn’t take it, merely stared at it. It had been brilliantly sunny last Tuesday morning, and the sun coming through the window of the restaurant where she had met Betty Osorio illuminated their faces beautifully. “We’re heading for downtown Roswell. That should be far enough away to throw off Cavitt’s goons,” Betty had said. Apparently it hadn’t been far enough away. Not by a long shot.

“Surely you’re not going to tell me this is your evil twin?” Cavitt was saying.

“So I had breakfast with someone,” Yvonne said, desperately grasping for a way out of this. “It’s not illegal to go out for breakfast, Captain.”

“This isn’t just anyone,” Cavitt said, his eyes boring into hers. “This is one Betty Osorio, a reporter from some Texas newspaper and a gargantuan pain in the ass. Whom you met, I might add, mere hours after being sternly warned not to speak to anyone about recent events at this base. You have a short memory, Lieutenant.”

“What makes you think I was talking about…..that?” Yvonne asked, hoping against hope that whoever had taken that beautifully lit photograph hadn’t also been toting a tape recorder. “You have no proof I said anything about…..”

“Oh, spare me!” Cavitt erupted, causing her to back more firmly into the door. “I may be many things, Lieutenant, but stupid isn’t one of them. I have an excellent idea what the two of you were talking about, and it wasn’t hemlines. You do realize this is grounds for a court-martial?”

“If you feel that way, then have me arrested,” Yvonne said, anger beginning to replace her initial shock.

“That remains an option,” Cavitt said pointedly. “But my doctors wanted a nurse, and they specifically asked for you. They were impressed with the way you handled yourself under very unusual circumstances, and I couldn’t disagree with that.”

Doctors? This must have something to do with the aliens. Had they killed more of them? Captured one? No, she couldn’t imagine that happening, given what she’d seen so far of alien powers. But if another alien was dead, they would need to move quickly before the body disintegrated, which didn’t square with her being locked up in here. None of this made any sense.

“So I decided to give you another chance,” Cavitt continued. “I’m willing to overlook this….”—he slipped the photograph back into his jacket—“….if you are willing to accept your new assignment gracefully and refrain from any further security breaches. I hadn’t planned on bringing this up until you were settled, but then you do seem to be a bit lacking in grace just now.”

“I don’t even know where my ‘new assignment’ is,” Yvonne said angrily. “This isn’t about my being ‘graceful’, this is about you engaging in kidnapping! Even if I’m charged with a crime, I still have rights, Captain.”

Cavitt shook his head sadly. “Your country has need of you, Lieutenant White. That supercedes any ‘rights’ you think you have. And I think you’ve underestimated the favor I’ve done you. A court martial is not a pleasant process. You’d be marked for life. Not only have I not prosecuted you for your blatant refusal to follow orders, I’ve also kept all of this off your record. You can thank me later.”

Thank him? Even in the fog that currently passed for her mind, Yvonne knew perfectly well that Cavitt’s restraint had nothing to do with altruism. He wanted her for something, and if she were prosecuted, she wouldn’t be available to him. It was that simple. What’s more, he could trot this out and threaten her with it at any time in the future unless she left the military, and maybe even if she did. For a moment Yvonne considered refusing the blackmail and taking her chances with a court martial. But the prison time that would likely accompany a conviction on a subject this important to the Army would not be trivial. And the past two days had shown her what it was like to be locked up.

“Ah, I see the wheels turning,” Cavitt said softly, eyeing her. “I believe we understand each other now, do we not?”

“I understand you’re blackmailing me,” Yvonne said coldly, “but I still don’t understand where I am or what I’m doing here.”

“ ‘Blackmail’? Hardly. I have merely forestalled the unfortunate consequences of your own indiscretion. An indiscretion you committed of your own volition, I might add. You have no one to blame for that but yourself. As for the rest….as I said before, all in good time. That information is on a need to know basis, and right now, you don’t need to know that. The only thing you do need to know is something I can see you’ve already figured out.”

He leaned in closer as Yvonne recoiled, so close their faces were almost touching.

“You belong to me.”



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



Proctor residence.



Jaddo snatched his hand away from the communicator the way an ordinary person would from a flame. The symbol on top ceased glowing, the hum died away, and he turned to face what had startled him. The human child was standing in the corner looking decidedly sheepish.

<Lurking in other people’s quarters is concerned rude even in human circles, is it not?>

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she answered, “and I wasn’t exactly ‘lurking’.”

<Then why are you here?> he asked sharply.

“I was looking at those,” she replied, pointing to the two metal containers containing Urza’s and Valeris’s dust, taking no umbrage whatsoever at his temper. “What are they?”

Jaddo hesitated. Undoubtedly she would not be happy to hear what was in those containers. Discussing duty and battle with her was one thing; discussing death was quite another. He had never been good with children. He had been assigned to Rath when Rath was eighteen, and that had suited Jaddo just fine.

Still, the human child was a child in name only; her recent actions on their behalf had proven that. And she had assisted both Urza and Valeris at the end of their lives. She deserved to know.

<That is dust,> he said at length, deciding to go with the simple explanation. <That is what remains of the bodies of my kind after we die.>

She looked from the containers, to him, and back again. “You mean…that’s what’s left of Urza? And Valeris?” He nodded.

“My Uncle James was cremated when he died. Is that what happened to them?”

Jaddo mentally searched the data he had scanned on her language for a definition. < ‘Cremate—to incinerate a corpse’. No, they have not been incinerated. Our bodies merely…collapse.>

“Into…‘dust’?”

<Yes.>

The child looked at the two containers curiously. “Can I look? I won’t get scared, or throw up, or anything,” she said hastily. “I looked at Uncle James’s ashes. I wasn’t supposed to,” she added, with a conspiratorial glance at the door, “but I wanted to know what they looked like, so I sneaked the lid off the urn when no one was looking.”

<Now, why does that not surprise me?> Jaddo said dryly. He sighed. <Very well, then. You may look.>

The child moved at once to the nearest container and removed the lid. She peered inside for a long moment, shifting the container from side to side as she watched the dust swirl within. Then she replaced the lid and inspected the second container.

“You’re right—this looks different from ashes,” she commented, sounding remarkably like the scientist whose remains she currently held. “Do you know which is which?”

<You are holding Valeris’s remains.>

“How can you tell?”

<Look at the bottom of the container, near the base. Brivari inscribed their names there, in our language, of course.>

She found the etching, looking carefully at Valeris’s name, then Urza’s. He knew she was memorizing them. Finally, she turned around. “Why is Brivari so mad at Urza?”

<What makes you think he’s mad at Urza?>

She gave him a pitying, ‘don’t try to fool me’ look. “I heard you this morning. Well, I heard him. He was practically shouting; he would’ve woken up the entire block if they could have heard it.”

Jaddo closed his eyes. Brivari, you idiot, he thought wearily. In his fit of pique, he had obviously forgotten that this child was the one human with whom they needed to be careful about their telepathic speech. <What did you hear?>

“Everything,” she said firmly. “He seems to think Urza is a traitor, that either he, or his Princess, or both are to blame for what happened back on Antar.”

Jaddo blinked. Hearing the name of their planet, even a translation, come out of a human mouth was…unsettling. Of course, it didn’t make sense that Urza would take her there and not tell her its name.

“And he was saying something about not letting Urza have something, something…oh, what did he call it…I don’t remember, but it sounded like a funeral.”

<So—you heard all that just because Brivari wasn’t being quiet? Not eavesdropping, were you?>

“Of course I was,” she responded without so much as a hint of contrition. “I learned a long time ago that if I want to know what’s going on, I have to eavesdrop. Every kid knows that. There are lots of things grown-ups won’t tell us.”

Jaddo raised an eyebrow…and suppressed a smile. He had a particular fondness for those who laid their cards plainly on the table. The Argilian rebels had done that too, which no doubt contributed to his willingness to give them a chance.

“What does Brivari think Urza did?” the child was asking.

Jaddo hesitated, unwilling to elaborate on what was really none of her business. But he was anxious to complete his task before Brivari’s return and well acquainted with the child’s stubbornness; she was unlikely to leave until she received an answer. Besides, if she’d heard their conversation, even only Brivari’s half of it, she already knew most of it already.

<It is not what he did; it is what he did not do,> Jaddo replied, deliberately being vague. <Urza’s Ward—the ‘princess’, as you call her—did something she shouldn’t have, and Urza failed to discover that until it was too late.>

“She fell in love with the bad guy, right?”

<Well…yes,> Jaddo said, nonplussed. Apparently she had heard “everything”.

The child shook her head. “Then there wasn’t anything Urza could have done about it.”

<Why do you say that?>

“Because of my cousin,” the child said, sighing and plopping down on the bed. “See, I have this cousin, Amanda, that I used to love to play with. She was always a lot of fun. But one summer she fell in love with this boy…,”—the child rolled her eyes, as if this was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard—“and her parents got mad and said she couldn’t see him anymore. Fat lot of good that did,” she snorted. “She started seeing him in secret, sneaking out at night, lying to her parents, you name it. Everybody tried to talk to her: Her parents, my parents, the minister, the doctor, some of her teachers. Nothing worked. She was down to her last marble by the end of the summer.”

<Is there a point to this story?>

“There will be if you be quiet and let me finish,” the child answered firmly, as Jaddo raised an eyebrow again. “Amanda ran away from home. Nothing anybody said to her did any good. I think everyone just made it worse by trying so hard.” She paused. “So it doesn’t matter what Urza found out, or didn’t find out. Whatever happened would probably have happened anyway. It might have taken longer, but it would have happened. Boys make you stupid,” she concluded with finality.

Jaddo reflected on this in silence. Despite her youth, the child’s instincts, as usual, were excellent. He had always been of the opinion that romance rendered one idiotic, and Vilandra was a shining example of that axiom. Short of making her a virtual prisoner, which Zan would never have done, she would eventually have found a way to have what she wanted. She always did. It was just that what she wanted didn’t usually have such dire consequences.

“You don’t think Urza was a traitor, do you?”

<No,> Jaddo said, <I don’t. And I have argued his case. For all the good it will do,> he added ruefully.

“You’re not going to let Brivari do whatever it was he was going to do, are you? Or not do whatever it was he wasn’t going to do?”

<I’m afraid I don’t have much choice in the matter. If circumstances were different, I could oppose him. But we still must rescue our Wards; that is my top priority. I must save my strength for that. I don’t have the energy to fight both battles.> And I’m not exactly in Brivari’s good graces at the moment, Jaddo added silently. The last thing he needed to do was squander what little of Brivari’s good will he had left on something as insignificant as dust.

“Well, I won’t let him,” the child said firmly, arms folded across her chest in a perfect imitation of her mother.

Both of Jaddo’s eyebrows rose this time. <You intend to challenge the King’s Warder?>

“I don’t care if he works for God,” the child announced tartly. “I won’t let him hurt Urza.”

<He can’t hurt Urza. Urza’s dead.>

“Then I won’t let him hurt his dust,” she answered stubbornly. “He deserves better.” She gave him a wary look. “Are you going to try and stop me?”

<Goodness, no,> Jaddo replied mildly. <I respect resolve when I see it, however misplaced it may be.> Not to mention the fact that he’d love to see the look on Brivari’s face when this human child challenged his authority. Although lately he’d gotten the impression she already had, on more than one occasion.

“Good,” the child replied approvingly, as though he had made the right choice. “You never told me what that thing does,” she added, pointing to the communicator.

<It is a communication device.>

“Like a radio?”

Jaddo smiled indulgently. His communicator was like one of the humans’ radios the way a grain of sand was like a planet. <In a manner of speaking.>

She pursed her lips. “Should you be turning that thing on? What if someone else hears it?”

Instantly, every nerve in Jaddo’s body was alert. <What do you mean?> he demanded sharply.

“I know that they could find other people’s radio transmissions during the war. I heard my father talking about it,” she said, once again oblivious to his temper. “I was just wondering if someone here could pick up your…uh…radio transmission.”

Jaddo paused, his mind racing. Was this why Brivari had ordered communication silence? But human technology seemed much too primitive to intercept a communicator signal. Did Brivari know otherwise?

“Maybe you shouldn’t be using that,” the child was saying gravely. “Just to be on the safe side.”

Their eyes locked, and for just a moment, Jaddo got the distinct impression that she knew something he didn’t. Something important. Some reason he shouldn’t use the communicator that had nothing to do with weak human technology.

Then the moment passed, and he chastised himself for being so paranoid. He was beginning to sound like Brivari. <I doubt your people would be able to detect my communication device.>

“That’s good,” she said, standing up. “I have to go now. My mother wants me to go out and play. She wants everything ‘back to normal’,” she added with a snort, making it quite clear just exactly what her opinion of that endeavor was.

Jaddo watched her go, recognizing the set of the shoulders and the look in the eyes, having seen both only yesterday in a taller, older version. Surely her mother had seen the same resemblance; how had she ever thought that she could keep knowledge of a war that encompassed a large part of her planet away from such an individual? It was a wasted effort, doomed from the outset.

He pondered the communicator in front of him, finally reaching a decision. He would wait. The child’s words had awakened a niggling seed of doubt, and experience had taught him her intuition was worth trusting. Besides, Brivari might be a big unhinged lately, but he was still no fool. He deserved another chance, just in case he really did have a compelling reason to stay silent.

Although he hadn’t been completely silent. The communicator had been almost fully activated when the child had startled him. Almost, but not quite. What if…..

Jaddo shook his head and set the communicator aside. He was just being paranoid again. There was no way anyone could pick up such a fleeting signal unless they were literally searching for it and knew exactly what to look for. He seriously doubted he had done any damage.



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



Copper Summit, Arizona




Malik walked between the rows of tanks in the lower level of the basement, inspecting the gauges on each one carefully, gazing at the forms inside. It wouldn’t be long now, and when they emerged they would be free, and bound to no one. He had waited for that day for the past four years. The tanks in this room and what they contained were the reason that he, Amar, and the others had agreed to help the Argilians in the first place.

He reached the end of the last row and headed back toward the staircase to the upper basement level. Everything had been quiet of late, for which he was grateful. The daily papers had continued to scream of a cover-up in Roswell, but the Leader had been uninterested in pursuing it. He was much too preoccupied with the faulty seal and the pressure from home, and much too disdainful of humans to take this seriously without further proof. Malik and Amar had already gallivanted all over the place with nothing to show for it, and the Leader seemed very willing at this point to believe that the transponder signal they thought they’d picked up was nothing more than a stray blip. It made no sense that the Royal Warders would have a transponder broadcasting from their ship. They were here; everyone was sure of that. But it would take years for the hybrids to grow, assuming they had managed to create them in the first place. There was plenty of time to find the Warders later.

Malik had encouraged this point of view at every available opportunity. He wanted to give Brivari, or whoever had survived, a chance to safely hide and settle down before he attempted to approach them. Depending on who was left, that approach could be tricky. Valeris might listen. Jaddo warded a military man, thus was unlikely to be sympathetic. Urza was a totally unknown quantity. Brivari would certainly take the defection years ago very personally and respond accordingly. Despite that, Malik found himself hoping that Brivari had survived. Brivari had brokered the agreement between the Covari and Zan’s father years ago, and even though Malik felt that had gone bad, he still believed Brivari’s motives had been honorable. There would be new agreements to broker in the future; it would be fitting if Brivari were there to participate.

A piercing tone filled the air, making him jump. Malik was instantly wide awake, eyes wide, heart racing. He knew that sound. He would know it anywhere.

Racing back to the upper level, he found Amar bent over a console, a look of triumph on his face.

“We’ve got them!”

[Kathy W 2200]

PART SIXTY-ONE

July 10, 1947

Copper Summit, Arizona


“Got ‘em!” Amar cried gleefully. “I knew it was only a matter of time before one of them activated a communicator!”

“But…are you sure that was a communicator?” Malik said, trying to sound doubtful instead of hopeful. “It was just one tone.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Amar said. “That was no Earth frequency. Those apes don’t even know those frequencies exist.”

“Did you get enough to triangulate the position?” Malik asked, hoping against hope that the answer was no.

It wasn’t. “You bet!” Amar said with satisfaction. “And guess where it is? Roswell. Hard to believe, but it looks like those humans aren’t so dumb after all.” He stood up. “I’ll tell the Leader,” he announced smugly, obviously anticipating that his news would be welcome.

Don’t bet on it, Malik thought bitterly as Amar headed for the airlock. The last thing the Leader wanted was anything interrupting his work, and losing his engineer for even a short time would do just that. And given the rumored new abilities of the Royal Warders, there was always the possibility he would lose both his engineer and his interface with the human world permanently. He was unlikely to receive this news cheerfully.

The minutes ticked by as Malik fretted. How could this have happened? He was absolutely certain that child could hear him. Had she not delivered the message? But she must have. She had certainly proven her pluck resisting Amar’s telepathic threats; delivering his message should have been simple by comparison. But what other reason could there be? Certainly Brivari would have warned everyone not to use a communicator. What was going on that would make someone feel the need to take that kind of risk?

Finally Amar emerged from the airlock looking decidedly less smug than when he went in. “What happened?” Malik asked.

“He’s angry,” Amar said grimly. “Says we missed something. And he wants to know why none of them have activated a communicator until now, and even that looks like it was a mistake. I told him that Brivari must have suspected we were here.” He paused. “You don’t think that girl could hear us, do you?”

“Absolutely not,” Malik said firmly, “and this is the proof. If she could hear us, if she knew anything at all about them, she would have warned them, and none of them would have been stupid enough to go anywhere near a communicator. We did not miss anything.”

“Oh, we missed something all right,” Amar said, with a dark look at the communications console. “But not this time. We’re leaving in five minutes.”

Amar stalked off. Malik waited until the door ground shut behind him before slamming his fist down on the workbench in frustration. Damn it! He had hoped to approach them alone, without Amar in tow. Now any meeting was destined to be a messy confrontation.

Sighing, Malik followed Amar out the door. He had managed to stall them for a few days, at least.

He could only hope that had been enough.



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



5:00 p.m.

Proctor residence




Dee Proctor sat glumly on the back steps in the hot afternoon sunshine, waiting for the neighborhood kids to reach a decision about what to play next. They had already played kickball, gotten all sweaty, run through sprinklers, played hopscotch, gotten all sweaty again, and run through sprinklers again. Those that didn’t mind getting sweaty—mostly the boys—were advocating something like baseball, while those who did mind getting sweaty—mostly the girls—were pushing for something quieter indoors, preferably in the basement where it was cooler.

Dee, who normally enjoyed all of these activities, really didn’t care what they picked. The only reason she was out here at all was because her mother had this nutsy idea that everything could go back to “normal”. As if. She couldn’t wait until her father got home. He might be able to understand that the definition of “normal” had been forever, irrevocably changed.

Pulling her knees up under her chin, she listened to the bickering with increasing impatience. Honestly, who cared if they played kick the can or gossip when there were innocent people out there being shot just because they existed? So much of her life now seemed pointless. She didn’t want to be sitting out here listening to this nonsense. She wanted to be back upstairs drawing more pictures, or figuring out how to prevent Brivari from doing anything bad to what was left of Urza.

Most of all she wanted to talk to Jaddo some more. Never in a million years would she have expected that Jaddo would turn out to be someone whose company she would seek. It was surprising how good it felt to talk to someone who didn’t take it personally when she got surly, who understood the reason for her anger. Granted, he wasn’t the warm and cuddly type, but that suited Dee just fine. What she was feeling now was predominantly anger; warm and cuddly was the last thing she wanted.

“What about you? What do you want to do?” came a voice, jerking her back to reality.

Ernie Hutton was standing there, staring at her curiously. They were all standing there staring at her curiously. Her drastically changed attitude had not gone unnoticed, although the boys, being boys, hadn’t said much. The girls had exchanged looks and whispers amongst themselves, but taken their lead from Rachel, who had tactfully ignored Dee’s mood. Poor Rachel. Dee longed to pull her aside and spill. But she knew what would happen if she did that: Either Rachel would think she was nuts, or she would get scared and tell her parents, and the Army would promptly descend upon them. No, she couldn’t tell anyone anything, and that fact was really beginning to sting.

“I don’t care. You pick,” Dee answered tonelessly.

“Proctor, what’s the matter with you?” Ernie demanded. “You’ve been moping around all day. What’sa matter—did you hurt your big toe, or something?”

“If you wanna hang onto your toes, you’ll shut up,” Dee said coolly.

“Just leave her alone!” Rachel said sharply. Ernie’s eyes widened, but he held up both hands. “Okay, okay. Girl stuff. We get it, don’t we guys?” He sniggered, and the rest of the boys followed suit with the exception of Anthony, the new kid from three doors down. Rachel and the rest of the girls rolled their eyes.

“Hey, I’ve got it!” Ernie said suddenly. “A new game!”

“What?” everyone chorused. The old games did get mighty dull after awhile.

“We can play…”—Ernie paused dramatically—“…Capture the Alien!”

Dee’s eyes flicked upward. “Excuse me?”

An uncomfortable silence descended on the backyard. Ernie looked from one face to another in disbelief. “Come on, haven’t you all been listening? It’s in all the papers. There are aliens in Roswell! We should do our patriotic duty and capture them!”

“The Army said it was a weather balloon,” Rachel announced flatly.

“My mom was so worried she wouldn’t even leave the house last Monday,” Betty said, looking around her nervously as though expecting a spaceship to land in the backyard any moment.

“My dad says it’s all bunk,” announced Peter. “He says it was just some troublemaker in the Army trying to stir things up.”

“Well, something must be out there,” reasoned Mary Laura, the bookworm of the group. “If it really was just a weather balloon and they could prove that, there wouldn’t still be all this fuss.”

“Mr. Brazel never took back what he said on the radio,” Betty said even more nervously. “Why would he lie? And where is he, anyway?” she added, with a glance at the Brazel’s empty house.

“Maybe it’s true!” Ernie said with mock anxiety, enjoying the look on Betty’s face. “Maybe they’re here right now, and they’re going to start kidnapping us and stealing our bodies! Or maybe they want us for food! Or maybe…”

“Or maybe they took one look at you and decided it wasn’t worth it,” snapped Dee, whose eyes had gone dangerously hard.

“Do you really think they would want to steal our bodies?” shrilled Betty, as Ernie glared at Dee.

“Maybe they want to study us,” suggested Mary Laura.

“Yeah, before they decide if we’re the main course or dessert!” said Peter, who apparently didn’t share his father’s opinions on the subject at hand.

“Why do they have to be bad? Maybe they’re friendly,” suggested Anthony. As he spoke, he pushed his glasses further up his freckled nose.

Everyone looked at Anthony, who, prior to this, hadn’t contributed to any of their conversations. Dee shot him a grateful look, and he smiled back. He had a nice face, Anthony. A good-natured, intelligent face.

“Everyone knows aliens are bad,” Ernie scoffed. “I say we get’em!”

Dee snorted softly. It seemed that for every person like her or Anthony, there were five others like Ernie. Math wasn’t her favorite subject, but she knew a bad ratio when she saw one.

Ernie was still radiating enthusiasm for his new game. “Some of us can be alien hunters, and some of us can be aliens. Who wants to be who?”

Nobody moved. Expressions ranged from Dee’s stony one, to Rachel’s exasperated one, to Betty’s fearful one. Even the boys looked iffy. Finally, Anthony, who seemed to be a bit quicker on the uptake than the average boy, said quietly, “No one seems to want to play that game.”

“Oh, all right,” said Ernie, who wasn’t the least bit quick on the uptake. “I’ll make assignments. The boys can be the alien hunters, and you girls can be the aliens. Dee’s acting so weird today that she’d make a perfect alien,” he finished, smirking. “Now…you run, and we’ll chase you.” He made the shape of a gun with his hand. “Go on—run aliens! Run!”

The girls gave in and started running. The boys charged around with their make believe guns, chasing the “aliens” hither and yon. Shouts of “Bang! You’re dead!” rang out over the yard. Dee remained on the back porch step and watched them all with hatred burning in her gut. Idiots! They had no idea what they were doing, not a single one. No wonder Urza had looked the way he had when she had suggested telling people the truth. He had known this would happen. How could she have been so stupid?

And suddenly Ernie was standing in front of her, fake gun outstretched, triumph on his face. “Run, alien!”

Dee gave him a look that could have frozen boiling water. “Get lost, Ernie.”

“If you don’t run, I’ll kill you,” Ernie warned.

Dee slowly stood up, fists twitching at her sides. “I mean it, Ernie,” she said in a dangerous voice. “Leave me out of your stupid game.”

“She doesn’t have to play if she doesn’t want to,” Anthony said, coming up behind Ernie.

But Ernie was way too caught up in his wonderful new game to listen to reason, and way too thick to notice the warning signs right in front of him. “She has to run,” he said in a singsong voice. “Because if she doesn’t, I’m gonna get her, and cut her up into little pieces!”

“Ernie, that’s disgusting!” Rachel announced. She turned to the others. “Let’s play something else. I don’t like this game.” Heads bobbed in agreement.

But Ernie didn’t budge. “Look at her,” he taunted. “Stupid alien! Aliens are supposed to be smarter than we are, aren’t they? They should be smart enough to run away, smart enough not to get caught. But this alien’s just standing there, so I guess I’ll have to shoot it.”

Both of Dee’s fists were curled into tight little balls. Ernie hadn’t noticed, but Anthony had. “I wouldn’t push her any further if I were you,” he warned. “You might not like what happens.”

“BANG!” Ernie shouted suddenly, making everyone but Dee jump. “BANG! BANG! You’re dead, Proctor! Did’ya hear me? You’re dead!”

And Dee’s fist flew up, landing squarely on Ernie Hutton’s nose.



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



Emily Proctor looked out the window over the kitchen sink as she set some dishes to soak. Another perfect summer day, complete with blazing sunshine, oppressive heat and humidity—and no aliens. She hadn’t seen either of their troublesome guests since yesterday evening, and that was quite all right with her.

David had been calm about Dee’s attitude. “She’s angry. She has a right to be,” he had said when she told him how scared she was about the changes she saw in Dee. “I spent most of the war angry, about one thing or another. She’ll have to work through that. We just have to be patient.”

The broken window had bothered him even less. “Their world fell apart, Em,” he said quietly, with a glance toward his late brother’s picture. “And now this world is falling apart on them too. If all Brivari broke was a window, then he’s doing well.”

So Emily had backed off. She had not imposed a punishment for talking back, had left Dee alone, hard as that was, and was relieved to see her looking somewhat better in the morning. She was still quiet, but the edge of her anger seemed blunted. Emily had thought it might do her some good to get away from it all for awhile, so when she had spied a group of neighborhood children, including that new boy from down the street, she had invited them over to play. Dee had trooped outside looking very uninterested, but at least she had gone without complaint or eruption. At this point, Emily figured she should be grateful for small favors.

And now it was almost dinner time, and Emily had enjoyed an afternoon full of the normal sounds of children playing in the yard. She headed for the backyard, meaning to call Dee in for dinner and send everyone else home, arriving at the door of the back porch just in time to see her daughter’s fist connect with Ernie Hutton’s nose.

“Deanna! Emily flew out the door to Ernie, who was sprawled on the ground, howling and clutching his nose. Blood was seeping through his fingers.

“Rachel, run get a washcloth from the linen closet,” Emily commanded. Rachel moved, but none too quickly, and Emily glanced up at the other faces gathered around. None of them looked shocked, or even sorry. Dee, however, was the very picture of a miniature Fury. Her fists were still clenched, and there was blood on her right hand. “Deanna, what got into you?” Emily demanded. “Apologize this instant!”

“He had it coming, Mrs. Proctor,” Mary Laura piped up from the gawping crowd.

“I don’t care what he did,” Emily said firmly. She looked back at Dee, who hadn’t budged or squeaked. “Apologize!”

“I’m really sorry, Ernie,” Dee said in a toneless voice.

Ernie scowled up at her, obviously not believing a word she said. Emily didn’t either, but it would have to do.

“I’m really sorry that I didn’t hit you harder,” Dee amended.

“DeANNA! Emily barked furiously. “That’s enough!”

Rachel returned with the washcloth. Emily mopped up Ernie’s nose as best she could. It had stopped bleeding, and appeared more bruised than anything else.

“Mrs. Proctor, he was…” began Rachel.

“I said I don’t care what he did,” Emily interrupted her. “Whatever it was, that’s no excuse to hit someone!”

“But don’t you even want to know what caused this?” came a new voice from the back.

Emily looked up to see the new boy, the only one of the group she didn’t recognize, staring at her. “He…”—the new boy indicated Ernie—“…invented a new game called ‘Capture the Alien’.”

“Capture…what?”

“ ‘Capture the Alien’,” the new boy repeated. “Dee didn’t want to play, but Ernie insisted she had to be an alien and pretended to shoot her.”

Oh my God. Emily’s head swiveled from Ernie’s sullen face, to the other children’s accusing ones, to her daughter’s.

“Is this what you call ‘normal’, Mama?” Dee whispered furiously in Emily’s ear. “Because if this is ‘normal’, you can keep it.”

Dee turned on her heel and marched back inside the house, slamming the door for effect. Ernie handed the bloody washcloth back to a still stricken Emily. “I’m going home,” he mumbled.

“You do that,” Emily said, her throat dry. “And Ernie—don’t you ever play that game with my daughter again.”

“We were just playing,” Ernie muttered.

“I said don’t play it here,” Emily said firmly.

Ernie trudged off, and Emily turned to the rest of them. “It’s time for supper. Go on, all of you,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

They filed away, many with sympathetic looks toward the door through which Dee had recently vanished. She waited until they were gone before collapsing on the back porch step, head in her hands.

What had she been thinking? Of course the other children had heard the stories flying around. She had been so busy in her own, insane little world that she had forgotten everyone else knew something about this too….or thought they did. Listening to everyone talk about it, speculate about it, was going to be very hard. It would likely never be safe to tell anyone what really happened.

She had just sent her daughter out here to take her mind off what had happened, and instead, she had made her relive the worst experience of her life.



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



Brivari flew in the open upstairs window. He was dimly aware of some altercation taking place in the space behind the house, but he ignored it. Whatever it was, it didn’t involve him.

Jaddo was asleep, but he awakened before Brivari finished shifting. <What did you discover?>

<I found them,> Brivari said. <They’ve been put in some sort of container for the move.>

<I want a look at where they are,> Jaddo said, rising. <Hopefully we can find at least two escape routes prior to this evening.>

<Are you up to it?>

<I’m much improved. Still, it’s better I look now and then rest before tonight.>

<Good. We can perform the dispersal, then proceed to the base.>

Jaddo gave him a questioning look. <You have changed your mind about Urza’s remains?>

<I have not,> Brivari said flatly. <I will find some filthy pool of water or garbage heap in which to dispose of him, as befits one who destroyed his world.>

“You will not!” came an angry voice from the door.

Brivari and Jaddo turned to see the child standing in the doorway. She was clearly in a state, what with her tense posture and balled up fists, one of which had what appeared to have blood on it.

<What happened to you?> Jaddo asked, staring at her messy hand.

“Oh, nothing,” the child answered, glaring furiously at Brivari. “I was just dealing with an idiot, and now I come upstairs and find another one.”

Brivari cast a questioning look at Jaddo, whose face was unreadable. <What is this all about?>

“You will not just dump Urza somewhere!” the child said angrily. “I don’t care what you think he did…or didn’t do,” she added darkly.

<And how exactly do you have any idea what I think Urza did or didn’t do?> Brivari asked, with a stern look at Jaddo.

“Don’t blame him,” she ordered, taking another step into the room. “You’re the one with the big mouth. Did you forget I could hear you?”

Brivari paused, looking from one to the other with consternation. He had quite forgotten she could hear their telepathic speech. She had likely gotten an earful that morning, given how angry he had been.

But no matter. <“I don’t care what you heard…or think you heard. Urza is one of our people, and we are responsible for the disposal of his remains.>

“Then why don’t you act responsible?” she challenged. “Urza died protecting those sacs. I was there. You weren’t,” she added accusingly. “He doesn’t deserve to be dumped on a garbage heap, and I won’t let you do that!”

<And how exactly do you plan to stop me?> Brivari asked coldly.

By way of answer, the child streaked forward, grabbed the container holding Urza’s remains, and returned to the doorway, hugging it tightly to her chest. “You can’t have him,” she announced flatly.

Brivari raised his eyebrows. It was laughable, really, that this slip of a human girl would challenge his authority concerning a member of his own race. Her tantrum had been surprising, even mildly amusing, for a moment. Now it was just plain irritating.

“Put that back,” Brivari demanded, reverting to physical speech. “That doesn’t belong to you.”

“Like hell it doesn’t!” she shot back. “I was with him. I know what he went through. He was with me when he died. I have something to say about this too!”

“ ‘With you when he died’—what is she talking about?” Brivari said impatiently to Jaddo.

“Urza apparently visited her in a dream shortly after we left him,” Jaddo said. “She says he died in her dream.” Jaddo paused. “He showed her our world, Brivari.”

“ He did what?” Brivari said sharply.

“He took me to Antar,” the child broke in, obviously enjoying the look on Brivari’s face when he realized she knew the name of their home planet. “He told me he wanted to show me what he was fighting for. He said Antar was worth fighting for and worth dying for. Maybe it is, if it’s full of people like him, but if it’s full of people like you…” She let the sentence dangle, its meaning implicit.

Enough! Brivari took a deliberate step toward her. “I know you were fond of Urza,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level, “but you do not understand. My patience grows short, and my time even shorter. Now give that back.”

Tightening her grip on the container, the child backed up . “You want him?” she said fiercely. “Come and get him!”

[Kathy W 2200]

PART SIXTY-TWO


July 10, 1947, 5:35 p.m.

Proctor residence



Dee Proctor stood in the doorway to the guest room, eyes blazing, her arms holding the container with Urza’s remains in a death grip. Brivari stood in front of her, clearly angry, clearly trying to control himself. Behind him stood Jaddo, his expression inscrutable . She knew Jaddo agreed with her, but that didn’t mean he was willing to help her on this one. He had specifically told her to stay out of it and was probably angry with her because she hadn’t.

Frankly, she didn’t care how angry either of them became. They were not taking Urza, and that was that; she had had it, had it, had it. It was bad enough to watch idiots like Ernie pretend to shoot them, but to watch them turn on each other like this was unbearable.

“Your fondness for Urza doesn’t change the fact that he was a traitor,” Brivari was saying in that same strained voice. “He failed his Ward and his King.”

“He was not a traitor!” Dee shouted. “Even Jaddo doesn’t think so! And if he ‘failed his Ward and his King’, then why aren’t you treating Valeris the same way? Isn’t the queen dead too? And what about you? Your Ward is the King, and he’s dead!”

“I have no intention of debating this with you,” Brivari said coldly. “I would prefer you return my property voluntarily, but if you insist, I will take it from you.”

Dee backed up a step. “I’ll tell,” she said flatly. You know what happened to Urza and Valeris, so you know what will happen if I turn you in.”

Brivari’s eyebrows rose. “Have you considered what will happen to you if you turn us in?”

“Can we dispense with the threats?” Jaddo said impatiently. “We are missing the point.”

“Yes, let’s skip the threats, shall we?” came a voice very nearly at Dee’s elbow.

Still hugging the container to her chest, Dee backed all the way up against the doorframe as her father stepped into view. He must have just gotten home from work; she hadn’t even heard him come upstairs. This was not good; he would probably side with Brivari and tell her all of this was none of her business. Grown-ups always stuck together. Now she had two people to fight.

“David Proctor,” Brivari said, in a tone bordering on relief. “Perhaps you can be of assistance here.”

Dee looked hopefully at her father. He had listened to her before—maybe he would listen to her now. But he gave her a grave look, the kind of look she knew always came right before he told her something he knew she wouldn’t want to hear, and her heart sank.

“Daddy, he says Urza is a traitor, and I know he’s not!” The words came out in a rush, quickly, before her father could speak. “He says he’s going to dump him somewhere, and he doesn’t deserve that, not after all he did! I saw, I was there…”

“Dee….” her father began.

“…and there’s no way he could be a traitor! This is wrong! We can’t let them…”

But her father had held up a hand for silence. “I get the idea. I heard most of it.”

“Then you heard the charges against him,” Brivari said firmly. “This does not concern you. Neither of you are one of us.”

“Agreed,” her father said, as Dee shook her head in horror and clutched the container as if her life depended on it, “but he is one of you,” he added, with a nod toward Jaddo. “What does he have to say about all this?”



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

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




David and Jaddo locked eyes, the former curious, the latter wary. This was the one Brivari had suspected of treason, and looking at him now, David could understand his concern—even when silent, this was a formidable individual, definitely not someone you would want working against you. He’d never spoken with Jaddo, but Emily had. She had found him blunt and tactless, but there had been a lot of truth in what he had said to her. He may be short on diplomacy, but if Dee had reason to think that Jaddo agreed Urza was not a traitor, then David wanted to hear why.

“Well?” David prompted. “You said they were ‘missing the point’. What point is it, exactly, that’s being missed?”

All eyes turned his way; Jaddo looked none too pleased at being put on the spot. “I have made my feelings on this subject clear. To those that matter,” he added, making it very clear he didn’t feel David was one of those who mattered. “However, I am not foolish enough to think I can change Brivari’s mind.”

“Wise advice,” Brivari said. “This is none of your business, David Proctor.”

“Perhaps,” David allowed. “But Urza argued for my daughter’s life. If he hadn’t done that, she’d probably be dead now. You may not feel you owe him anything, but I do.”

“Very touching, but off topic,” Brivari said sharply. “We have another rescue mission to embark upon, and I do not have time to indulge your need to pay a perceived debt. This is my decision to make, and I have made it.”

“So, if you were home right now, you would be responsible for the disposition of Urza’s remains?”

“He would not,” Jaddo interjected, before Brivari could say anything. “The rites due a Warder are performed by one’s Ward.”

“And that would be……the princess? Right?”

“The princess who is not here,” Brivari pointed out.

“But she will be,” David said. “According to Valeris, you came here to heal your royalty. So assuming you’re successful, this princess will return at some point in the future. Would she approve of this?”

“She would not,” Jaddo announced firmly, as Brivari whirled on him in fury. “She knows what happened. She knows perfectly well that Urza was no traitor.”

“If that’s the case,” David said slowly, “then someday you will have to face whoever Urza guarded and explain yourself. Are you prepared to do that?”

Brivari looked entirely at a loss. He glanced back and forth from David to Jaddo, glaring at both, saying nothing, clearly torn. David pressed his advantage. “Look, you have more important things to do right now, don’t you? Urza is dead. He will still be dead after you’re finished rescuing whatever it is you’re rescuing. Leave his remains here while you take care of everything else. You can always do this later, but once you do it, there’s no going back.”

“And you will return him to me when I ask?” Brivari challenged.

“Yes,” David said firmly, hushing Dee’s loud objections.

Brivari’s eyes raked the three of them; after a moment, he apparently decided not to fight this battle.

“I have work to do tonight,” he said, “and, frankly, Urza does not deserve this much of my time and energy. Keep him, if it pleases you. And should you not keep your word when I ask you to return him to me, I will still have the comfort of knowing he was denied the rites of his own people.”

“Unworthy though that may be,” Jaddo said softly.

Glaring at him, Brivari snatched the container of Valeris’s dust. Then he stalked to the window, snapped into bird shape, and flew away, leaving David wondering what had happened to the container he’d been holding. Dee, for her part, wasted no time. She raced to her own room with her burden and slammed the door, locking it behind her. David and Jaddo were left alone.

“You were foolish to oppose him when he was so angry,” Jaddo announced.

“If I heard you right, then you agree with me,” David countered.

“I do. But Urza is dead. He has no way of knowing how his remains are disposed of. This is wasted effort.”

“Funerals aren’t for the dead,” David protested. “They’re for the people left behind. If Brivari goes through with this, he can’t take it back. He’s angry now—he can’t think straight. Believe me, I know how that works. I just wanted him to have some time to calm down before he makes a decision he’ll regret.”

Jaddo gave him an appraising look, and when he spoke again, his tone had softened slightly. “Brivari knows he is wrong,” he said, moving to the window. “But he must reach a point where he is willing to admit that. Neither you nor I can force that process. You would be unwise to confront him further on this subject. Whatever debt you feel you owe Urza, Brivari is still the King’s Warder.”

Then he, too, snapped into bird shape and flew out the window, leaving David leaning against the doorframe, his eyes closed against the headache he felt coming on. He’d been home all of fifteen minutes and already he’d argued with two aliens, seen both deflate into birds and fly away, and watched his daughter lock herself into her bedroom with an urn full of alien dust.

Just another day in the Proctor household.





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



Pod Chamber




Standing in the shadow of the rock formation that housed the pod chamber, Brivari turned his back to the wind and let Valeris’s dust fly. It swirled away, glinting in the light of a huge sun in an alien sky, and a large portion of his anger seemed to go with it. As he watched the wind carry away what remained of his closest friend, it occurred to him again just how wrong this was. Valeris should not be dispersed on a foreign planet, nor by anyone but his Ward.

Jaddo stood behind him, respectfully silent. He had answered David Proctor’s question correctly: Normally one’s own Ward performed the dispersal when death occurred in their service. But as neither Ava nor her husband were exactly up to the task, Valeris would just have to settle for her husband’s Warder. Brivari had chosen this spot, just outside the chamber where the hybrids kicked and tumbled in their glowing sacs, as the closest he could reasonably come to having Ava here. He had considered saving the dust until she could perform the rite herself, but had found that he himself had a burning need to do this, to impose some kind of order on the madness that had become their lives. Besides, he was more mine than yours, he thought to himself. I knew him long before you ever caught Zan’s eye.

He glanced up at Jaddo, and was immediately sorry he had done so. As the Warder of Vilandra’s betrothed, it would have been Jaddo’s responsibility to disperse Urza’s remains, and his face bore the unmistakable stamp of one who felt a wrong had been committed. And he’s right, Brivari thought guiltily. Vilandra would have been furious at his treatment of Urza, and, frankly, Zan would have been no less displeased. Valeris would have objected even more loudly. Urza should be here with them, outside the chamber that held the recreation of the one he had guarded since birth.

“I can retrieve him, if you wish,” Jaddo said in a low voice, as though reading his mind. “I will tell them you have reconsidered.”

“The child won’t believe you,” Brivari said. And why should she? Now that his anger had eased somewhat, he felt ashamed of his behavior. And to think that two humans had seen fit to defend one of his own when he himself would not. It was humiliating.

“I believe the child’s father will keep his word,” Jaddo said. “I am confident we will be able to retrieve him later.”

“We will have to,” Brivari said heavily, climbing to his feet. “We have work to do.”

Jaddo nodded, and seconds later, two hawks were winging their way northeast.



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


Pohlman Ranch




“So—we didn’t miss anything,” Amar deadpanned. “I’d call that ‘missing something’, wouldn’t you?”

Sitting on a branch beside Amar, both in the shape of birds, Malik stared at the ship and the swarm of humans surrounding it. It was only a cargo ship, and an older one at that. But its damaged hull gleamed in Earth’s sun, an evening sun which had turned almost as red as Antar’s, and a wave of homesickness washed over him. The last time he had been on a similar vessel, he had been en route to Earth, and he had never gone back. He had questioned that decision many times since then. This was one more time to add to the list.

“It took quite a beating, didn’t it?” Malik said, staring at the damage. “They were lucky to survive.”

“And we were unlucky,” Amar said darkly. “Too bad they didn’t all die and save us the trouble of hunting them down.” He sighed, staring at the ship, missing Malik’s glare. “It appears only certain of the humans are allowed inside the ship, so I think our best bet will be to keep our current shape and try to fly in. Once inside, we’re going to have to search very thoroughly. And that’s going to be hard, given the number of apes crawling all over it. We’ll have to be very careful.”

“You think they’re still on the ship?”

“Could be. Word is Valeris was able to do some pretty tricky stuff after he was altered, and we don’t know which two survived, or even if those reports are accurate. The hybrids may be in there, or the bodies; that would help out those back home. From what I hear, not having the bodies to show the people is becoming problematic.”

You won’t find the bodies, Malik thought. The Warders would have destroyed them; that’s what he would have done, were he in their place. He seriously doubted they’d find anything; judging from when they’d received the transponder signal, several days had passed before the human military had found the ship, enough time to empty it of anything Amar would wish to find. But he kept silent; if Amar hadn’t done the math and thought there was still something to find in there, let him look. The longer he spent prowling the ship, the better.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go,” Malik said impatiently, taking wing and heading for one of the holes in the hull. Amar chuckled and followed, no doubt misreading the source of his enthusiasm. Malik wasn’t interested in capturing anyone or anything. He just wanted to plant his feet once more on something that had come from home.



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



Proctor residence



The doorbell rang. Dee Proctor shook her soapy hands over the sink and reached for a towel. “I’ll get it,” she said, grateful for any chance at all to leave the kitchen.

This had to rank as one of the worst dinners ever. Not the food—her parents. Perhaps she should have followed her first instinct, which was to stay in her room and skip dinner entirely. But anger apparently made her hungry, and she was angry enough over Ernie’s idiocy and Brivari’s treatment of Urza to eat an entire buffet.

First, her father had started in about Ernie Hutton.

“People are going to talk, Dee, and they don’t know what happened. There’s no way they could know. You can’t run around popping people for things they don’t know.”

“I wasn’t popping him for things he didn’t know,” Dee had replied stonily. “I was popping him because he wouldn’t leave me alone. And because he’s a jerk.”

That had been the wrong thing to say. A lecture followed on how she would meet many “jerks” in her life, and the classic right hook was really not the best way to deal with them. Coulda fooled me, Dee had thought, as she slapped some mashed potatoes on her plate. In her experience, the right hook, or the left hook for that matter, was an excellent way of dealing with jerks. After that, they left you alone.

Still, the Ernie conversation was nothing compared to the look on her mother’s face when she learned that alien remains currently resided in her daughter’s bedroom.

“He’s better off in my bedroom,” Dee had said, mentally picturing the deepest, darkest recesses of her closet where she had stashed the container. “Can you believe what Brivari was going to do with him?”

“He’ll come around,” her father said quietly. “He’s angry. Just like you are.”

Dee gave her father a long look. “And what if he doesn’t ‘come around’?”

But her mother hadn’t even made it to that part of the conversation. “Remains?” she had said in a faint voice, her fork halfway up to her mouth. “What kind of…remains?”

“Dust,” Dee said casually, as though that were obvious. “Sort of like Uncle James’s ashes, but lighter weight, and lighter colored.”

Her parents exchanged silent glances.

“And how do you know what Uncle James’s ashes looked like?” her mother finally asked, in a tone that implied she might be better off not knowing.

“I just popped the top off when no one was looking,” Dee answered, sprinkling salt on her corn. “I didn’t think you could burn a body that way. I wanted to see what it looked like.”

“I don’t recall you asking permission to do that,” her mother said, while her father looked carefully at the ceiling.

Dee gave her mother a level stare. “Of course I didn’t ask. You didn’t want me to look. You probably thought it would give me nightmares or something like that. Everybody acted like it was this big secret, and then I looked and it was just ashes, just like in the fireplace.” She paused. Her mother’s eyebrows were practically grazing the light fixtures. “Someday, Mama, you’re going to figure out that it’s the stuff I don’t see that gives me nightmares.”

“I see,” her mother said evenly. “So it’s a good thing, then, that you saw several people killed a few days ago, because now you won’t have nightmares?”

And Dee had plunked her fork down on her plate and looked daggers at her mother. “May I be excused?”

Everyone had been silent during the washing up. While silence was preferable to conversation, it was still irritating to see all the supposedly covert glances her parents were sending each other’s way. Which is why she was all too glad to escape and answer the door. At this point, she’d even welcome that nosy Deputy Valenti.

But it was Anthony standing behind the front screen door. Anthony, the new kid from down the street. The one with the sandy hair and glasses that always seemed to be sliding down his nose. The one who had suggested that maybe aliens could be friendly.

“Hi,” he said casually, hands in his pockets.

Dee felt some of the anger leach out of her. “Hi,” she answered. “What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to see if you’re okay,” he replied. “Are your folks all upset about you popping Ernie?”

No, actually they’re more upset about the alien dust in my bedroom, she thought, suppressing a giggle. And suppressing a sudden urge to say just exactly that. God, her life had become so weird.

“I got the standard lecture about using words instead of fists, and so on and so forth.”

Anthony shook his head gravely. “People like Ernie never listen to words unless they come with fists. Kids know that.”

Dee felt more of her anger slipping away. He was absolutely right, of course, and it was wonderful to talk to someone who knew that.

“So do you think there are aliens out on Pohlman Ranch?”

Dee blinked. “What?”

Anthony shrugged. “Well, you seemed to feel pretty strongly about it. I just wondered what you thought.”

“I…well, I…I guess there could be,” she said lamely, mentally kicking herself for not being prepared for this question. Of course someone was bound to ask her that eventually. “But I think it’s a pretty far out story,” she added quickly. “Don’t you?”

“Not really,” he answered seriously. “I mean, if there is a ship, and it crashed, that would be the perfect place to crash, right? I heard whatever’s out there is in an unused pasture. No one would find it for days.”

Sure they wouldn’t, Dee thought guiltily. Unless a nosy kid was looking out the window when it crashed and went looking for it the next day.

“I wonder if anyone helped them,” Anthony said casually.

“Helped who?” Dee asked, all her alarms going off.

“The aliens, of course.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

Push went the glasses. “Maybe they are friendly.” He paused. “I’d help them if they were friendly.”

“Really?”

“And if I had helped them, and they were friendly,” Anthony continued, “I’d be really mad if anyone hurt them.”

“That’s a lot of ‘ifs’,” Dee said, hoping her voice was steady. Does he know? she thought frantically. How could he?

They stared at each other through the screen door for a moment, neither of them speaking. Finally, Anthony leaned in closer to the screen and whispered, “And if they did need help, I’d hope they’d be lucky enough to find someone like you instead of someone like Ernie.”

Dee gave a little shrug, but said nothing. Her heart was pounding, and she didn’t trust her voice.

“Well, I’ll be seeing you,” Anthony smiled. “Bye.”

“Bye,” she answered. He walked away, and was almost all the way to his own house before she really started breathing again, deciding that he was just a kid with a big imagination…and a lot more common sense than most grown-ups, never mind kids. Too bad she couldn’t tell him anything. He might understand.

”I’d hope they’d be lucky enough to find someone like you instead of someone like Ernie.” Dee leaned her head against the screen door, a single tear trickling down her cheek. Oh, they were lucky all right. They were so lucky to have met her that they’d wound up exactly the same way they would have if they’d met Ernie instead.



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



Pohlman Ranch




Malik bent down to touch the patch on the floor with one long, skinny, gray finger. Blood. Or it had been, at least. It had long since turned to dust, but the pattern was unmistakable. Someone had been injured here.

He straightened up and looked around the abandoned lab with a powerful sense of longing. It had been so long, five Earth years….he had left without so much as a backward glance, and now he found himself wanting to do nothing but look back. It was strange, really, how perspective changed everything.

Moving through the lab, he opened drawers and cupboards, expecting nothing, finding nothing. This entire ship had been picked clean, whether by Warders or human soldiers, he could not tell. He had held his breath when he had opened the incubators, but all of them were fortunately empty. At this point, it would be better for the Royals to be in the hands of human soldiers than in the hands of their own people.

Malik opened the last of the drawers, and a glint caught his eye. Reaching far into the back, he withdrew an eating utensil missed by whoever was clearing this room. He held it in his hand a moment, reflecting on the fact that, most of the time, anything made by humans felt enormous because they were so much taller and bigger than Antarians. One of the few exceptions was anything made to be used with the hands, since Antarian hands were so much larger. This utensil was a perfect example. It bore the most resemblance to what humans would call a “fork”, but they would have found it ridiculously oversized. He turned it over and over in his huge hand, savoring the feel of a properly sized utensil in a properly sized hand, grateful that they had needed to assume their native forms in order to move discreetly on this vessel. It had been a long time since he had looked and felt like himself.

“Are you finished?” a voice whispered behind him. Malik turned to see Amar dart through the damaged doorway. “I…” He stopped. Scuffling sounds were heard, the sound of a human lumbering clumsily down the too-small-for-them corridor. Instantly, both moved to the walls and melted into them.

The scuffling noises passed, and Malik and Amar reappeared from the wall. They had been at this for hours, shifting to their native forms to scour the ship, and melting up against whatever was handy when humans approached. Shifting so much was exhausting, no doubt contributing to Amar’s obviously foul mood.

“There’s nothing here, is there?” Amar said sourly, listing the main reason for his foul mood. Malik shook his head.

“It’s the same everywhere I looked. Everything’s gone. The stasis units are empty, the cargo hold is empty. They—or somebody—took everything.”

“Cargo hold?” Malik echoed. “The bodies would have been in the stasis units, the hybrids in here. What were you looking for in the hold?”

Amar leaned closer. “Zan was working on a secret project,” he whispered, eyes darting sideways as though afraid someone would overhear their telepathic speech. “Some kind of technology.”

“Big deal,” Malik said in a bored tone. “Every major faction on the five planets is working on some sort of secret technology. Why should Zan be any different?”

“He signed the treaty,” Amar said reproachfully. “He was supposed to share all new technology.”

“The others signed the treaty too,” Malik pointed out, “and that didn’t stop them.”

“They think it’s a weapon,” Amar said, whispering more quietly still. “Something that could take out the four sister planets and his own enemies besides.”

“Nope,” Malik shook his head firmly. “That wasn’t Zan’s style. He wanted to unite the five planets, sometimes foolishly so.”

“Whatever,” Amar said impatiently. “They think it was sent along with Zan, to be hidden here until he could claim it.”

“Good,” Malik said shortly. “If it’s something you think Zan shouldn’t have, it’s a good bet Khivar shouldn’t have it either.”

Amar’s face flushed. “You always had a soft spot for that idiot, didn’t you?”

“I never thought he was as bad as you did,” Malik answered coolly.

“How can you say that, after what he did to us?”

“After what Riall did to us,” Malik corrected. “I was not around when Zan’s father took the throne, but I would imagine he had reasons for what he did. Zan had started to change things. He just wasn’t moving fast enough to suit you.”

“Or you either,” Amar said acidly, “or do you now claim that you were held here against your will?”

Malik shot him a withering look. “I do not. But I wanted reform, Amar. I did not expect Zan to be overthrown, never mind assassinated. He was a long way from perfect, but there is far worse out there.”

“No one expected Zan to be overthrown,” Amar answered. “The opportunity just presented itself. Prior to that, the Argilians were merely trying to even the score, and we were trying to win freedom for our race. We are much closer to that now, thanks to Khivar.”

“Are we?”

Amar’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you think we are?”

“Perhaps. We shall see,” Malik replied thoughtfully. “Covari have always been used; it is a matter of degree. We shall have to see to what degree Khivar uses us.”

Scuffling noises echoed from the hallway again. “We should leave,” Amar said abruptly. “We can debate political science later. I overheard one of the soldiers saying that material from the ship was being taken to the nearby Army base. That will be our next stop.”

A few minutes later, two birds flew from one of the holes in the hull, drawing stares from nearby soldiers. Malik cast one last glance at the ship as they sped off. It was a remnant of his world, a world that had fallen. As much as he thought some aspects of that world should have fallen, he had not expected to lose it completely.

Many times he had debated going back; now there was nothing to go back to.

[Kathy W 2200]

PART SIXTY-THREE


July 10, 1947, 2115 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




Private Spade gripped the barrel of his specially altered rifle and checked his watch one more time. Where the hell were they? The alien sacs had been crated and ready to go for hours; they were scheduled to be flown elsewhere in only forty-five minutes. If anyone wanted to rescue them, they’d better hurry up.

Spade shifted uncomfortably on the floor of the hallway. He and another soldier, one Private Waters, were stationed outside the room where the crates were being held. Dozens of pairs of soldiers were hidden in and around the room, all with specially equipped rifles. Cavitt wanted his hostages, and he wanted them alive.

It had been Spade’s idea to use the sacs as bait, although he had been very careful not to let on that he knew what had been in that truck. He didn’t, really, having never gotten more than a quick look at the glowing, pulsing lumps. “Whatever was in the truck—that’s what they want more than anything,” he had told Cavitt earlier “That’s what they were after the night they got me.” He had offered no explanation for this sudden burst of memory, and mercifully Cavitt had asked for none. He had merely given Spade a look that made it clear this was a trade: Spade would give information, and Cavitt would not pursue the fact that he knew damned well Spade had been lying about not remembering all along. It was a fair trade, as far as Spade was concerned. He kept his neck, and the bastards responsible for killing his buddies would go down.

They’d go down if they ever got here, that is. Where were they? Cavitt had made certain the information about the sacs being removed was accessible. The altered rifles had been Cavitt’s idea, the number of soldiers, Spade’s. “They get tired,” he had told Cavitt. “Using their…their…. ‘powers’ too much makes them weak.” Spade was certain the aliens could be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. They couldn’t blast everyone at once, and it only took one rifle to hit the mark. Impatiently, he checked his watch again.

“How many times you gonna look at that watch?” Private Waters said suddenly. “Got a hot date?”

Spade shot him a testy look. “They should’ve been here by now. I know they want what’s in there. Bad.”

Waters smiled, glanced sideways, and leaned in close to Spade, who grimaced at the smell of stale cigarettes. “Maybe they found out,” he whispered, grinning.

Spade stared at him. “Maybe they found out what?”



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



Dr. Perkins wore a grim expression as he pulled on his rubber gloves. He cast a glance at Dr. Boardman across from him, similarly dressed in surgical scrubs, and wondered again if it was safe to tell him what he’d discovered about the fetus’ human bone structure. He had told no one his findings so far, although he had brought his research with him tonight just in case he decided to share it. Eventually Boardman was bound to find out, and Perkins thought it might be better to try and control the situation by telling him before he discovered it on his own.

But…first things first. Perkins eagerly reached for a scalpel and poised it over the corner of the sac with the sluggish fetuses. He’d been waiting for this all day. Cavitt had gone dotty, boxing up the sacs under the pretence of moving them elsewhere, the notion of which had sent Perkins into an apoplectic fit until Cavitt had assured him it was merely a ruse. He had released the sacs only a short time ago, insisting he and Boardman work in secrecy in the morgue wing with all major lights off, no guard outside, no indication whatsoever that the room was occupied. Perkins had no idea what Cavitt was up to and didn’t much care. He wanted at that one sac while the other one was left alone, and so far, he had managed to get what he wanted.

Hand poised over the corner of the sac, Perkins made the first cut. Or tried to, rather. Whatever the sac was made of, it was incredibly tough. It took four tries and the combined efforts of both he and Boardman to open a small hole in the corner of the sac.

“Good Lord,” Boardman muttered under his mask. “What is this stuff? Dragon hide?”

Foul looking gray liquid had begun draining, caught in a basin hastily placed there by Boardman. “I wonder why the fluid is gray?” Perkins said. “It’s still glowing inside the sac, but it’s gray outside.”

“I believe that has something to do with a chemical reaction once the fluid is exposed to the air,” said a voice behind Perkins, who whirled around in shock.

“Although I doubt you will find that information helpful at this point,” added a silky voice behind Boardman, who also whirled around.

The building containing the morgue had been so successfully emptied by Captain Cavitt that no one was on hand to hear them scream.



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



“Maybe they found out what?” Spade repeated to a grinning Private Waters.

Waters leaned in closer, the smirk on the his face reminiscent of Spade’s the day that he and his friends had spray painted Miss Strobel’s chair when she wasn’t looking, and watched with glee while she sat down and stood up again, unaware there was a large yellow blotch on her backside. “I was listening,” Waters confided. “Whatever’s supposed to be in there isn’t in there anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” Spade asked sharply.

“They moved it,” Waters said, pitching his voice lower still. “Coupla hours ago. To the morgue, over in Building 7354. Whatever them aliens are coming for ain’t there. They’ll just think it’s in there. It’s a decoy—get it?”

“Oh, I get it,” Spade said, feeling the blood rush to his face. “Just how stupid can one Captain be?”

Waters looked around nervously at this announcement. “What’s wrong, man? Don’t you think it’s brilliant, messing with their heads like that? Assuming they have heads,” he added with a grin.

Spade abruptly rose to his feet and threw his gun on the floor. Waters’s jaw dropped, and other soldiers nearby peered out of their hiding places in surprise. “What an idiot!” he raged. “Does he ever stop to think before he does anything? Is a serious lack of brain cells a requirement for promotion?”

Waters was goggling now. Spade grabbed him by the collar and pulled him so close their noses were touching. “You. Listen. You are to go to Cavitt and tell him he’s a flaming moron,” Spade commanded. “The aliens aren’t here because they’re wherever he sent what was in those crates. Tell him to send everyone over there now!”

“But…” Waters seemed to have difficulty swallowing the prospect of delivering such a message to Cavitt. “…but how could they know? They was real careful about how they did it, and…”

“Doesn’t anyone listen to me?” shouted Spade, making Waters jump. “These people can look like anyone, sound like anyone. Shit, for all you know, I’m an alien!”

This idea clearly didn’t sit well with Private Waters, who shrank back into his corner with a look of utter terror. Spade cast a furious look around at the various wide-eyed faces poking out of various places before reaching a decision.

“Never mind. I’ll do it myself.” He grabbed his rifle and sprinted for the exit.

Waters watched him go, his mouth hanging open. A full five minutes would pass before he worked up the courage to approach Captain Cavitt.



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



“I have repaired the cut, but it’s still oozing,” Jaddo announced, holding his glowing palm over the incision made only moments before. “Has the other set been damaged?”

“No,” Brivari replied with relief. They had made it just in time. Their best set was still intact, and apparently unharmed. “We might lose the one you’re repairing, but this one appears to be fine.”

“Good,” Jaddo said grimly, straightening up. “We could use a bit of good news right now.” He looked around, eyeing the walls. “I’ll search for a suitable escape route. It will be too risky to carry these through the halls.”

Nodding, Brivari stepped carefully over the two bodies on the floor and rummaged through the piles of instruments nearby, searching for whatever information the humans had been able to glean from the sacs. Then he noticed a conveyance of some sort on a counter. It was locked; a glowing hand made short work of the lock. “Look at this,” he called to Jaddo, rifling through the papers and images inside. “They’ve discovered the hybrids have human bodies.”

“Good for them,” Jaddo said sarcastically. “I’m impressed.”

Brivari slapped the handful of papers he was holding down on a nearby table. “No doubt they think we’re planning an invasion, or some other such rot.”

“No doubt,” Jaddo agreed from the corner of the room he was investigating.

“I hate to disabuse them of that notion, but I’m afraid I must,” Brivari said with mock contrition. He held up his palm toward the assembled mass of papers and x-ray films, reducing all of it to ashes in seconds.

“Come here,” Jaddo called. Brivari joined him in the corner. “If we remove these blocks, I believe we will find ourselves in a narrow passageway between two buildings, the end of which is relatively close to the metal enclosure they have around this compound.”

Both of them set to work, using their energy to force the blocks from the wall, creating a narrow gap.

“That’s wide enough for our native form,” Brivari noted, pulling back his hand. “The humans will not be able to fit through. That will slow them down.”

“Agreed,” Jaddo said. “And we should keep our native form even after we leave. Our size and color will serve as better camouflage.”

Brivari nodded. “Let’s go.”

Both shifted to their native forms, pausing afterward to catch their breaths. The hybrids had not been where Brivari had found them earlier, and they had been led on a merry chase, having to shift dozens of times in their quest to locate them. The exhaustion they had been fighting ever since the crash was evident in their labored breathing.

“Are you all right?” Brivari asked Jaddo.

“Yes,” Jaddo replied, panting. “But I sincerely hope we won’t have to do this again.”

“We’re almost out,” Brivari said soothingly. “Let’s get the sacs.”

Footsteps abruptly sounded outside. Someone inserted a key into the locked door.

“Over here!” Jaddo called urgently, pointing to a sort of curtain hanging on a frame. The two Warders silently slipped behind it as the door opened, and someone stepped inside.



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



Spade’s running feet pounded, sounding abnormally loud in the empty hallway. He’d been in this building just this morning to view West’s and Belmont’s bodies; the memory churned his stomach and made him run even faster. Where was everybody? Granted it was late, but somebody should be down here. Wonderful, he thought grimly, as he continued to sprint. Why didn’t you just gift wrap’em, Cavitt? Here he’d gone and put his ass on the line by admitting he knew more than he’d been telling, and Cavitt had ignored him, setting up this harebrained scheme that the aliens had probably figured out in five minutes flat. Granted, finding where the sacs actually were would take time. But according to Waters, a couple of hours had passed since he’d heard they’d been moved. A couple of hours was a long time.

Spade whizzed around a corner, clutching his altered rifle and praying he’d make it there in time. His worst fear, other than that they’d escape, was that someone else would find the aliens and react exactly like West had. Spade didn’t want the aliens dead—yet. He wanted them to live just long enough so he could hold a gun to their heads and demand an explanation as to why they had hunted down his buddies and killed them for no good reason.

He skipped down a flight of steps two at a time, rounded another corner, and came to a screeching halt.

Rows of doors lined the corridor facing him, which seemed to go on forever. “To the morgue,” Private Waters had said. But the morgue wasn’t just one room; it occupied an entire section of this building, with several operating rooms and several different storage facilities like the one he’d visited this morning to view the bodies. Cavitt could have hidden the sacs anywhere. He stood motionless, silent, straining to catch the slightest sound. Where were they?

Hearing nothing, Spade tried the nearest door. Locked. He started down the hallway, trying one door after another.



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



Brivari and Jaddo watched from their hiding space behind the curtain as a single, male human dressed in uniform entered the room. The human gaped at the sacs for several seconds before raising a large, unfamiliar device to his face. Pushing a button on the device, a light flared.

<What is that?> Jaddo asked.

<A primitive recording device,> Brivari answered.

The human had noticed the bodies on the floor. After gathering his wits, he pointed his huge recording device at them, and the light flashed several more times.

<Enough of this,> Jaddo said sharply. <We can’t wait any longer. We should neutralize him now.>

<I’d rather not,> Brivari said worriedly. <We are both exhausted, and we still have to get off the base. He appears to be unarmed—perhaps we can frighten him away? We should still have a few minutes before he summons aid.>

Jaddo threw a glance at the narrow gap they had made in the wall and the glowing sacs resting nearby. <Whatever we do, we need to do it quickly,> he urged.

Brivari considered a moment. <We will prepare to strike,> he decided, <but only if necessary. If he attacks, we will act together. That will weaken each of us less than if we act alone.>

Jaddo looked a bit irritated at this conservative approach, but he nodded and immediately began gathering energy; Brivari did the same, producing a bright, white glow all around him. If the human moved an inch toward them, they would release that energy, killing him instantly. They began to move out from behind the curtain.

The human paused in his frantic snapping of the recording device. Seeing them reflected in a nearby mirror, he slowly turned around.

Brivari could feel Jaddo readying a strike. <Wait!>

<What for?> Jaddo asked irritably.

<Wait and see what he does,> Brivari commanded. <We are nearly spent, Jaddo. We can’t afford to use power unnecessarily.>

But the human made no move toward them, merely stood there, staring. His gaze shifted to the sacs which lay between them, then back to the two glowing figures standing motionless across the room.

Hoping to save his strength for their escape, Brivari decided to try something. He spoke in his native tongue, well aware that it’s strangeness combined with the inevitable distortion that would come with hearing it through his energy field would produce a sound incomprehensible to human ears.

<What are you doing?> Jaddo hissed.

<Hoping he’ll get the message,> Brivari answered.

For a moment, it appeared he would not. The human continued to look back and forth between the Warders and the sacs until movement in one of the sacs caught his eye. A tiny figure had drifted close to the outside of one of the sacs, visible through the glowing fluid within. The human’s eyes widened; even from a distance, that shape was unmistakable. He stared for another long moment, and when he raised his eyes to the Warders again, he had clearly reached a decision.

“Save them,” he said, and moved out the door, closing it behind him.

<Amazing,> Jaddo said softly. <He caught on quickly, for a human.>

<And we are no more depleted than we were,> Brivari said, beginning to move one of the sacs.

<Not so fast,> Jaddo growled, causing Brivari to turn around. <What do you suggest we do with this one?>

For running feet had sounded outside the door, and as Brivari was turning, another human entered the room. He gaped at them for a fraction of a second, then pulled a weapon from his belt.




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



Private Spade ran from door to door, increasingly frantic. He had seen no one else—apparently Cavitt hadn’t believed Waters, or maybe Waters was too yellow to approach him. He was certain the aliens had figured out the switch; if they didn’t catch them soon, they would lose their chance. After they had those sacs, he doubted they’d be back.

A door opened at the far end of the hall. Spade turned in surprise to see an agitated Captain heading for the exit. The Captain paused and looked back the way he had come as three soldiers came running around the far corner.

“Hey!” the Captain called, pulling the fire alarm and sprinting away toward the main door. Two of the pursuing soldiers followed the fleeing Captain, while the other entered the room the Captain had just left.

Heart pounding, Spade ran down the corridor. He was going to be too late; he could feel it. Sure enough, just as he reached the door a brilliant light flared, blinding him even through the partially opened doorway. Clutching his rifle and shielding his eyes, he stumbled inside.

Even though Spade knew what was happening better than anyone else on the base, he was not prepared for the carnage in that room. The soldier who had entered moments before was dead, his body charred, smoke wafting in little tendrils from the burned flesh. Nearby lay two men dressed as doctors, silver handprints burned into their chests. The aliens had been busy tonight.

It took almost a full minute before Spade’s eyes recovered from the flare. Holding his hand over his mouth, gagging against the smell of burned flesh, he peered around the room and saw two short, spindly gray figures disappearing with the sacs through what appeared to be a hole in the wall.

He raised his rifle, took careful aim, and fired.


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

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



Jaddo jumped as he felt a stinging sensation. What was that? Looking down, he saw a curious, dart-like object protruding from his shoulder. He reached around and removed it, holding it up for inspection. It was a narrow tube, half filled with some kind of liquid.

Brivari, who had thrown the all-too-familiar human who had fired it hard against the far wall, looked at it grimly. <Drugs,> he said flatly. <Go. Quickly. Before it takes affect.>

<I didn’t get it all,> Jaddo said, nevertheless moving one of the sacs through the opening in the wall, Brivari following with the other, both breathing hard. Brivari had been right—that last burst of energy had dangerously weakened them, and they still had a ways to go.

A soft swishing sound caught Jaddo’s ear, then another. He looked back to see Brivari pulling not one, but two of the strange darts out of his side. <Never mind me!> Brivari snapped, pushing him forward. <Go!>

Jaddo nodded and continued through the opening, his heart sinking. He had managed to remove the dart before it could empty, but Brivari had been hit with two of them.

Once outside they moved silently down the passageway, each with a sac hovering in front. Loud bells were clanging wildly; human feet could be heard pounding inside and out, rushing this way and that in obvious confusion. They saw no one, heard no sounds of pursuit from behind as they moved closer to the metal enclosure surrounding the base.

Two thirds of the way down the passage, Jaddo heard Brivari stumble. Looking back, he saw him falter and fall to his knees. Jaddo backtracked a bit, setting the sac he was carrying down gently beside the one that Brivari had lost control of. <Come,> he said gruffly. <I will carry all of you.>

<You can’t,> Brivari answered, breathing heavily, fighting whatever was in his system. <You’ll never make it.>

<I can try,> Jaddo insisted.

<No,> Brivari said firmly, despite the fact his breath was coming in ragged gasps. <Your duty is clear. Our Wards take precedence over either one of us.>

<I’m surprised you trust me with our Wards, Brivari.>

Brivari raised his huge head to look at his fellow Warder. <I’m surprised you are concerned enough about me to even suggest compromising our Ward’s safety. Are you going soft, Jaddo?>

For a moment, it looked like Jaddo was going to give one of his typical irritable replies. But he looked away for a moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was hushed.

<I do not wish to be alone in this alien world.>

<Nor do I,> Brivari responded sincerely. <But if that is what happens, so be it. Someone recently told me that we should expend our energy dealing with what has happened, rather than waste it lamenting what we would have preferred.>

Their eyes locked. <They will find you,> Jaddo said.

<They haven’t….found me yet,> Brivari answered shortly. It was getting harder for him to talk. <Go. Now. While there is….still time.>

Jaddo didn’t answer. He glanced around the passageway, which was littered with what looked like garbage containers, boxes, and all manner of other things. Helping Brivari behind a pile of boxes, he carved a small hole for him with a glowing hand and helped him curl inside. <This will make you harder to find. And I will come back for you.>

<No,> Brivari said as firmly as he could muster. <Too… dangerous. Must have at least…one of us…left. Do not…attempt a rescue.> He paused for breath. <You…go. Now. Before…however much…of the drug you got…takes effect.>

Jaddo hesitated for just a moment. Then, with one last look at Brivari, he levitated the two sacs and sped down the passageway.

[Kathy W 2200]

PART SIXTY-FOUR


July 10, 1947, 2205 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




Private Spade pushed himself to his feet. His head was spinning, and he paused for a moment to get his bearings, leaning against a nearby table. He still had his rifle clutched in a death grip. Setting it on the table, he examined it carefully. All three cartridges were gone.

Something stank, and he looked around for the source, wrinkling his nose. He spied a metal basin on one of the tables that had held the alien sacs. It was full of a thick, grayish-black substance that reeked. One of those dead doctors must have been cutting the sacs open.

Heading over to the opening in the wall, he peered through the narrow crack, too narrow for a person to fit through. He could hear people running and shouting, both in the hallway and outside, but no one was in the room with him. Probably looking for the nonexistent fire, Spade thought sourly. Whoever that fleeing Captain had been, he’d caused a wonderful diversion from the aliens’ point of view. Likely none of those people running around out there had any idea what was really going on.

Careful to bend over and stand up slowly, Spade examined the walls, the floor, the furniture, everything surrounding the opening. He found his three cartridges on the floor; two were half empty, one was mostly empty. Good, he thought grimly. That means I got’em.

Four soldiers barged into the room, led by Private Waters. They gaped at the bodies on the floor, two with silver handprints, one charred beyond recognition, before spotting him in the corner.

“Spade!” Waters said, with a guilty look. “I’m sorry it took so long. Cavitt needed some convincing, and he was furious you ran off like that.”

Spade gave him a severe look. “Yeah, right. More likely you peed your pants for a few minutes before telling him.”

Waters flushed scarlet. “Did they come? Did they get…what we were guarding?”

“Yes,” Spade answered curtly. “There were two, but I managed to shoot one or both of them…both, I think. They left through here,” he said, indicating the opening in the wall. “Send everyone out there to look.”

“But…”

“Just do it,” Spade shouted. “There’s no fire; that was a ruse. Don’t wait for Cavitt, don’t wait for anyone! We don’t have time!”

Waters hesitated for just a moment before nodding and scurrying out the door with the rest of them. Apparently he had decided that, for the moment at least, Spade was more worrisome than Cavitt.

Spade leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He’d been spared the worst of the invisible punch that had thrown him several feet, partly because his head had hit some boxes instead of the wall, and partly because the punch hadn’t been that strong in the first place. That was good; that meant they’d been weakening even before he shot them. Still, getting thrown against a wall several times in just a few days was hard on the bod, and his recently concussed head was still complaining. Let the others do the legwork for a few minutes.

About ten minutes later, Waters’s voice floated through the opening in the wall. “All clear, Spade. Nothing out here.”

Spade jerked his eyes open. That couldn’t be right. He knew he’d hit at least one of them, and he was pretty sure he’d hit both. Then it dawned on him that the soldiers in his detail had been told to look for human assailants.

“You’re not looking for something human,” he said to Waters, whose eyes grew round as saucers. “You’re looking for something about four feet tall, big head, big black eyes, gray skin.” He moved closer to the opening and looked out at the night. “That would be the perfect disguise out here. They’re small, they’d blend in with the dark better. That’s what they both looked like when they left, Waters. That’s what you have to look for.”

Waters’s eyes were practically popping out of his head now. “Right…right…um….I’ll get right on it.”

Spade sighed. If you want something done right, do it yourself. He headed outside, dodging the scurrying crowds of people looking for a fire that wasn’t there, trying to shake off the spots dancing in front of his eyes.

He was one of the few people on this base who knew exactly what they were looking for. It was up to him.



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



Spade halted at the upper end of the alley that lay outside the room where the sacs had been secretly—or not so secretly—held. His flashlight beam cut a swath through the darkness, adding to the feeble glow from the lights on the roofs of nearby buildings. Slowly, moving his light from side to side, he started down the alley.

It had to be here. After the alley there was nowhere to hide, only open pavement and a bit of lawn before the fence. But the alley, with its dumpsters and boxes and darkness, was the perfect place for a tranquilized, little gray alien to lay low. And he was going to find it, if he had to tear this place apart with his bare hands.

“Hey!” a voice called.

Spade turned, and was instantly blinded by the flashlight of a fellow soldier. “What?” he asked irritably, holding up one hand against the light.

“We already checked down there,” the voice called.

“Well, I’m checking again. You got a problem with that?”

There was a pause. Then the light bobbed away, its owner retreating. “They checked,” Spade muttered with disgust. The rest of them didn’t even know what they were looking for. They’d probably look right past it if it were lying on the tarmac at their feet.

He reached the end of the alley, briefly glanced at the hole in the wall through which he could hear the excited voices of a whole lot more people than had been in there previously, and turned around. Methodically, he started examining every single thing lining the alley. He opened bags of garbage, moved boxes, even found a stick and sifted through the dumpster. He was a little more than halfway up the alley when movement caught his eye as he heaved some boxes aside. Swinging his flashlight around, he trained it on the dark space behind.

It was curled in a fetal position, occupying so little space that he never would have thought to look there had he not been doing a systematic search. Its eyes were screwed shut against the light, its huge hands over its face. It looked scared, pathetic, and for one brief moment, Spade wondered if he was doing the right thing.

Then he remembered his friends, murdered in their beds as they slept, and his mouth set in a hard line. He lowered his light a bit. “Look at me,” he commanded.

The eyes opened a bit, and it suddenly occurred to Spade that he really didn’t know if this alien was one of the two he had dealt with. How could he tell? Were there more? Then the huge black eyes widened in obvious recognition. Apparently some expressions were universal.

“You know me, don’t you,” Spade said tersely. The huge head gave a slight nod.

“I helped you,” Spade went on in a fierce whisper. “I did the best I could to get your children out of here, to get you and your buddy out of here. Is that a fair statement?”

Another slight nod.

“Then why,” Spade said through gritted teeth, “would you repay me by killing my friends?”

A thin, weak voice, high-pitched like a child’s, came from the huddled gray figure at Spade’s feet. “They were…cutting…had to…stop them.”

“I don’t mean the doctors in there,” Spade said impatiently, remembering the basin of foul smelling liquid with distaste. “I can understand you wanting to save your children. What I don’t understand is hunting down my friends while they slept!”

This time the huge head gave a more pronounced shake. No.

“You deny you were here last night?”

Another shake. No.

“You deny you murdered two people who weren’t doing a damn thing to you?”

“I…was here,” the weak voice confirmed. “I took the remains of the two who died…the two you saw.”

“And then you killed two soldiers in their beds!”

Another, more vigorous head shake. “No. I…killed no one.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Spade hissed furiously. “I saw the bodies! They had silver handprints on the chests, just like that guard you killed outside my door.”

“Lying,” the voice breathed, and there was a trace of bitterness in it now.

“I saw them!” Spade would have dearly loved to grab this thing by its scrawny neck, but he was reluctant to touch it. “I saw the bodies with my own eyes!”

“Saw…how? Close?”

Spade hesitated. No, he hadn’t seen the bodies up close. He had see them at quite a distance, actually, because they wouldn’t let him go inside. Spade hadn’t questioned it at the time, but now….

“Lying,” the voice whispered again. One huge, gray hand lifted, a bony looking, impossibly long finger pointing at….

Him? No. It was pointing over his right shoulder. But there wasn’t anyone else out here, and….

“Well, well,” said a soft voice behind him. “What have we here?”

Spade whirled around to find Captain Cavitt and six other soldiers standing behind him, staring at the alien with expressions ranging from interest, to shock, to utter revulsion.

“Excellent, Private, excellent,” Cavitt continued in that soft, dangerous voice. “I am so pleased. Granted, I was furious with you for running off the way you did. We’ll have a chat about that later. But this….” He paused, gazing down at the gray figure with a hungry expression. “…this means you’re now a Corporal. You have done your country a great service tonight.”

Murmurs of approval rose from the assembled soldiers. Spade looked from the alien, to Cavitt, and back, oblivious to the fact that he had just been promoted. That huge accusing finger was still pointing straight at Cavitt, who obviously had not grasped its meaning.

“Would you look at that thing?” Cavitt breathed, as six additional heads crowded closer to peer. “Such an ugly little beast! Was this the only one?”

“N…no,” Spade said haltingly. His voice wasn’t cooperating. “There was another.”

“And did you hit them both?”

“I….I think so.”

Cavitt cocked his head as he stared at the alien, as though examining a particularly interesting zoo animal. “It’s still awake. Curious. The doctors assured me there was enough in just one of those syringes to stop a horse. But no matter.”

Unceremoniously appropriating the rifle of the nearest soldier, Cavitt extracted a syringe. As Spade watched in horror, he leaned over and plunged the needle into the alien’s back.

The gray body convulsed, shaking violently. The huge hand dropped. For the second time that day, Spade felt like he was going to be sick. He shifted slightly, and the beam from his flashlight fell on Cavitt’s face. He looked positively transported—he was actually enjoying this.

“Yes,” Cavitt said with enormous satisfaction, as he watched the small, gray body twitch. “I’ll bet that hurts, doesn’t it?”

Spade whirled around, fell to his knees, and vomited into the dark alleyway.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, man,” a sympathetic voice said. “I almost threw up when I saw that thing too.”

Spade continued to heave as squeaking sounds filled the alley behind him. A stretcher had been summoned to take the prisoner away.

A pair of booted feet stepped in front of him. Spade looked up into Captain Cavitt’s hungry eyes.

“Once you’ve recovered, I want you to organize a detail to search the area outside the base,” Cavitt said, oblivious to the puddle of vomit at his feet. “If you did manage to shoot the other one too, it won’t have made it far. If we don’t find it on the base, it’s a good bet it’s somewhere close by.” He laid a firm hand on Spade’s shoulder. “Get me the other one, and I’ll make you a Lieutenant.”

Spade stayed on his hands and knees as the stretcher squeaked off, the footsteps following. He waited several minutes for his stomach to calm down before rising unsteadily to his feet and heading back inside. There was one thing that needed doing before he could be certain how to organize the search.

He needed to be absolutely sure just exactly who his enemy was.




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




11:00 p.m.

Proctor residence



David Proctor was dreaming.

It was the same dream he’d had for years now, so familiar to him that, even now, half asleep as he was, he knew he was dreaming, and he knew how it would end.

He was running, running hard, his lungs complaining. Several pairs of feet echoed his, pounding over the grassy, uneven ground. Up ahead was a fence that he and his men had to get over because everyone knew what happened when the enemy captured American soldiers.

It seemed to take forever to reach the fence. When he did, he flung himself up three feet and started to climb, feeling the fence wobble as others also hurled themselves at it. After what seemed an eternity, he reached the top and looked back at the slew of enemy uniforms trying to reach them. One of his men slipped and fell, down, down, on the wrong side of the fence…

No!

David stirred, twisting himself around in his bed. He didn’t want to see the next part. He had become adept at waking himself at just this moment so he wouldn’t have to watch Christianson go down again and again and again.

A hand closed over his. Must be Emily; she frequently reached out to comfort him when he had nightmares. He let her hold his hand, and sank back down into the pillow, confident that the dream would not return. It only ever came once.

Suddenly he was running, running hard, his lungs complaining. No, this can’t be right! His feet inexplicably made no sound on the pavement. What happened to the grass? Up ahead was a fence he had to get through, because everyone knew what would happen if he were captured.

No feet echoed his own. He was alone, the sole runner, and he was carrying something with him. No…..not carrying: Transporting. He tried to look down to see what it was, but his head wouldn’t move; his eyes were locked on the goal, the fence just ahead. Despite being unable to see what he transported, he knew it was important. Terribly important. Important enough to die for.

Suddenly, a set of footsteps joined his own. He had reached the fence, and instead of climbing over it, he held up his hand, an inexplicably huge, long-fingered hand, and a portion of the fence melted away. Just as he was about to escape to freedom, a voice behind him said in English, “Halt!”

English? The enemy didn’t speak English. He turned around to find a soldier in an American uniform pointing an odd-looking rifle directly at him.

David thrashed in his sleep. He had no idea why the dream had come twice, or why it was so different this time, but he knew he had to get away from that soldier. The lives of millions depended on it.

Panic filled him. He felt an odd burning sensation filling him, consuming him. He held up a huge, glowing hand; there was a brilliant, blinding flash of light. David sagged against the fence for a moment, exhausted. The soldier pursuing him lay on the ground, rifle still clutched in his hands—and he was burned to a crisp.

David cried out and sat up in bed, flinging his free hand to his face. Good God—where had that come from? He was sweating profusely, and very dizzy; he closed his eyes to stop the spinning just as he heard Emily say, “David, are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he answered in a ragged voice, eyes still closed. “Just a dream. A weird one.”

“What was.…David?” Emily’s voice suddenly took on a harder edge.

“I’ll be all right,” David assured her, still breathing hard.

“David? David!”

“Just give me a minute, will you?” he snapped. “And let go of my hand!”

“David…I’m not holding your hand,” Emily said in a strained voice.

Not holding…what? David opened his eyes; Emily was on his right, a soft silhouette in the dark room. But it was his left hand that someone was holding, and judging from the fact that both of Emily’s hands were now pressed to her face in horror, she wasn’t the one doing the holding.

“Emily?” David said carefully. “Get the light.”

She fumbled for the switch and scrambled back, as both of them looked over the side of the bed toward the source of the hand that had a death grip on David’s wrist.

[Kathy W 2200]

PART SIXTY-FIVE


July 10, 1947, 11:10 p.m.

Proctor residence




David and Emily Proctor exchanged astonished glances. Jaddo lay sprawled on the floor of their bedroom beside David’s side of the bed, his eyes closed, his left hand still gripping David’s wrist. As David moved to peel Jaddo’s hand away, images exploded in his mind.

Two large, glowing sacs, floating in front of him, floating toward the hole he had just made in the fence. A feeling of dread, of panic, that what he guarded would be found. Again.

The images vanished. The bedroom spun back into view, with Emily’s worried face gazing into his own.

“What happened?” she asked. “You…it was like you blanked out there for a minute.”

David stared at her, thoroughly confused. That dream—the first dream had been his, but the second couldn’t have been. His hand had been the size of an alien’s, and he had done impossible things, like burn a hole in a the fence, and….and cook that soldier.

But at least that was a dream. What had just happened now? He wasn’t asleep now. What had he just seen?

Emily was still watching closely. “I don’t know what happened,” he confessed, freeing himself from Jaddo’s grip. “But I think we have bigger problems.” He slid down off the bed and knelt beside Jaddo. His medic training was about to come in handy once more.

“What’s wrong with him?” Emily asked in a hushed voice. “Has he been…”

“…shot?” David finished. “I don’t think so.” He carefully felt Jaddo’s arms and legs. “He’s breathing all right, no broken bones, no bleeding I can see. I’m not sure what happened to him.” He looked up at Emily. “They left those stones in the guest room. Go get them.” Emily nodded, and scurried off.

David looked over Jaddo again, checking for anything he might have missed. He couldn’t find anything obviously wrong with him. “What happened to you?” he murmured, mystified. As he spoke, his hand strayed close to Jaddo’s hand. Jaddo’s eyes flickered half open, and his hand grabbed David’s arm.

A stab of pain in his lower left leg. He looked down to see a skinny, gray leg with an odd looking dart protruding from it. Anger surged through him; he reached down to pluck it out with a gray, long-fingered hand.

“David?”

The images stopped. David looked up at Emily, who was breathing hard and holding the bag with the stones. “Did I…blank out again?”

She nodded, her eyes wide with concern. “What happened?”

“I’m seeing things, Em,” David said slowly, pulling his hand out of Jaddo’s, whose eyes had closed again; he appeared to be unconscious.

“Seeing…things?”

“It’s like…it’s like I’m him,” David said, nodding at Jaddo, “and I’m seeing what happened to him through his eyes. And feeling what he felt,” he added, remembering the panicky feeling as he had piloted the sacs through the hole in the fence.

Emily glanced nervously from one to the other of them, pulling her hastily donned robe closer around her. “Is this what Dee calls their ‘mind speech’? Can you do it now?”

“I don’t think so,” David said, frowning. “She always described that as just talking, like thinking the words instead of saying them. She never mentioned watching someone else’s home movies.” He shook his head. “Whatever it is, it’s not helping. Try the stones.”

Emily knelt down on the floor beside Jaddo and took one of the strange rocks from the bag. It immediately gave off a brilliant glow, and she sat for several minutes with her eyes closed, the glowing stone in her hand. At length, she opened her eyes and shook her head.

“It’s not working,” she reported, “and it feels different. You said he doesn’t seem to be injured, so maybe these only work on injuries.”

“I wish I knew what all those images meant,” David said.

“Maybe he’s trying to communicate with you some other way,” Emily suggested.

Suddenly, Jaddo began to move. His eyes fluttered and his mouth moved, but no sound came out. He seemed to be fighting the effects of whatever had happened to him, struggling to stay conscious.

“What happened to you?” David whispered. “Was that dream really a dream?

“What dream?” Emily asked, sounding genuinely frightened now.

“I had a weird dream,” David said slowly. “I was running from an American soldier, and my hand was large, with really long fingers, just like theirs. And…Emily,” David said slowly. “I think he’s trying to show me what happened to him.”

His eyes still flickering, Jaddo gave a barely perceptible nod.

“But you’re awake now,” Emily argued. “You just blanked out twice when you were wide awake. That was no dream.”

Jaddo’s fingers twitched. He tried to raise his hand and failed. His eyes were open now, staring intently at David.

“You have to touch me, don’t you?” David said. “That’s why you keep grabbing my arm.” No nod this time, but Jaddo’s fingers kept twitching.

“What do you mean he has to ‘touch you’?” Emily asked with alarm. “What is he doing to you?”

“He’s showing me what happened to him,” David explained. “When he touches me, I can see what he saw.”

“How?” Emily demanded, her voice rising a notch.

“Hell, I don’t know,” David said. “But it makes sense. We already know they can communicate telepathically with words—why not pictures?” He moved his hand toward Jaddo’s. “Show me,” he said firmly.

“No!” Emily said, lunging forward and grabbing David’s arm. “Don’t do it!”

“Why not?”

“David, you don’t know what that’ll do to you! Maybe they can communicate telepathically, but humans don’t. It could be dangerous!”

“I want to know what happened to him,” David insisted. “Someone did this to him; I want to know who and how. And where’s Brivari?”

At the mention of Brivari’s name, Jaddo summoned the strength to reach up and over Emily’s arm and grab David’s hand. Images began flashing so fast that David had trouble keeping up with them.

Pulling out the dart….

A soldier in the distance, firing that strange rifle….

Turning around to see a short, gray alien behind him pulling two darts out of his leg….

An alien curled in a fetal position, lying in what looked like an alley outside a building….

Running, running for the fence….burning a hole….the soldier behind him….the raised, glowing hand….the blinding flash of light….two glowing sacs being set down….

David came back to reality with a gasp. Emily was on her hands and knees, staring at him. She looked absolutely terrified.

David waited a moment for his breathing to slow. He felt as though he had been the one pulling the needle out of his leg, he had been the one leaving his friend behind, he had been the one running, running. His heart was racing, his mind whirling as though all of that had just happened to him. By contrast, Jaddo’s hand had fallen back to his side, and he appeared unconscious once more.

“What did you see?” Emily whispered after a minute.

“It was the Army,” David said grimly, putting it all together. “They shot him and Brivari with some kind of tranquilizer dart. That’s why he doesn’t look injured, why the stones won’t work. He’s been drugged.”

“Tranquilizer dart?” Emily repeated. “Like the ones they use in zoos?”

“Probably.”

“So where’s Brivari?”

“At the Army base,” David answered. “He was hit with two darts, and he couldn’t go on. Jaddo managed to get out with two of those sacs I helped them move the other night. There were two left on the ship when the Army found it—I was heading back to get them when George told me what happened. Those sacs are what they’re guarding. That’s what the other two died trying to save. They must not have been able to get them off the ship.”

“But where are they?” Emily asked, looking around nervously, no doubt wondering what else she’d find in her bedroom besides a collapsed alien. “Did he bring them here?”

“I don’t know,” David answered, putting his hand to his forehead and closing his eyes. He felt a headache coming on. “I saw him put them down, but it looked like grass…water…I don’t know where.”

“What’s in them?”

“People.”

“ ‘People’?” Emily echoed blankly.

“From what I understand, their world was attacked unexpectedly,” David explained. “Their royalty, the people they guard, were injured. They brought them here to recover. That’s why these sacs are so important to them. They contain their leaders.”

“Wonderful,” Emily sighed. “More aliens.” She looked down at Jaddo on the floor. “He’s waking up again.”

Jaddo’s eyes had indeed opened again, his hand twitching like before. David hesitated just a moment before reaching for it. Just before taking Jaddo’s hand, he closed his own eyes, hoping that would make things easier.

The sacs gently floated to the ground. It was dark, wet. He could smell the humidity in the air, hear water running. He felt so weak…so weak. A feeling of panic engulfed him. Those sacs must not be found…he must save them…

David felt Jaddo release his hand. The images stopped; David opened his eyes. He felt better this time, less disoriented. Closing his eyes and preparing for it ahead of time had definitely made the whole experience less…unnerving.

“He left the sacs somewhere,” David said to Emily, who was tensely awaiting a report. “Somewhere dark, with running water—I didn’t recognize it. But I know why he came here.”

“Why?” Emily asked, in a voice that sounded as if she wasn’t sure she wanted an answer.

“You want me to go get those sacs, don’t you?” David asked Jaddo.

Another faint nod.

“But…how can you do that if you don’t know where they are?” Emily protested.

David thought a moment. “Go wake up Dee.”

“What?!”

“I said go wake up Dee,” David replied shortly. “She knows these people far better than we do. He might be able to tell her where the sacs are using their telepathic speech.”

Emily scrambled to her feet. “No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“Leave her out of this, David!” Emily said in a warning voice. “She’s gone through too much already as it is.”

“If we’re going to find those sacs before the Army does, we need to find out where they are,” David insisted. “I need her help. And she would want to help,” he added.

“I don’t care what she wants,” Emily said firmly. “I don’t want her involved in this!”

“She’s already involved in this!” David snapped, causing Emily to jump. “We’re all involved in this! Closing your eyes and refusing to look at it will not make it just go away!”

“Look, we’ve already helped these people,” Emily argued, beginning to sound desperate. “We hid them, we fed them, we helped them hide whatever it was they’re hiding. But enough is enough! We’ve got a Sheriff’s deputy on our tail, our child is falling apart, and you want to do more? It’s not safe!”

“This isn’t about what’s ‘safe’,” David said hotly. “This is about what’s right. Is it right to attack people who haven’t attacked you? Is it right to take what doesn’t belong to you? Is it right to shoot darts at them like they’re elephants in a circus? They’ve probably got Brivari, Em. Want to take bets on what they’re going to do to him?”

Emily’s eyes dropped, and she looked away, but said nothing.

David pushed himself to his feet. “I enlisted in the Army five years ago not because it was safe, but because it was right. Someone had to say, enough. Someone had to draw a line in the sand, and I wanted to be one of the people who drew that line. I feel exactly the same way now: Someone has to help these people, and there’s no one else out there to help them but us.”

Emily stared at him a moment, then sank down on the bed, her face stricken. David paused, feeling abashed, his hands on his hips, his eyes on the floor. Where had that come from? It wasn’t like him to lose his temper like this. His enlistment had been a very sore point at the time, was still a sore point. Dee had been only four years old, and Emily had hoped to God that he wouldn’t be drafted. So when he had actually volunteered, she had been furious. And frightened.

“Look….I’m sorry,” he said, sitting down beside her one the bed. “I didn’t mean to bring that up again. That has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, yes it does,” she said, her voice strained. “It has everything to do with this. I know it was horrible over there, but believe me, it was no picnic here either.” She wiped her face with her hand. “Do you know what it’s like,” she continued, “to wonder each and every day if your husband is still alive? To tremble every time the phone rings, every time someone knocks on the door, because it might be bad news? I’d spot the Western Union man on the street, and I’d just go cold. I’d go inside and shut the doors, and look through the curtains to see if he was heading this way. And sometimes he was heading this way. And then I’d back away from the door and wait for it. Wait for the knock, wait for the telegram that was for me.”

Emily paused, her eyes widening at the memory. “But he never knocked. He always passed by this house and headed to someone else’s. Someone else would get the news that their husband, or their son, or their brother was injured. Or missing. Or captured. Or worse,” she added in a whisper. “A few minutes after he left, the whole neighborhood would head for that house, offering to help, promising meals, and money, and ration coupons. And inside, all the time, every one of us was privately thanking God that it was them, and not us.”

David was silent. There was nothing to say. He’d been in hell overseas, but so had she—hell had many mansions, just like heaven did.

“I lived with that for almost three years,” Emily went on, her voice breaking. “And now I’m living with it again. Only now it’s not just you I could lose, it’s our daughter too. I already went through that once. I don’t want to go through it again. I don’t want to live that way again.”

Emily swiped her hands across her face again. David took his wife in his arms, letting her hide her face in his shoulder, knowing how much she hated to cry in front of other people. Dee was the same way.

“I don’t want to live that way again either,” he said gently. “But no matter what happens, no matter what we decide to do tonight, I will always have to live with myself. And I can’t live with myself if I just sit back and watch this happen without trying to stop it.”

Emily shook her head. “We don’t owe them anything, David. We’ve already repaid what they did for Dee several times over. You felt obligated to defend your country, but this isn’t your country, or even your planet. You have no allegiance to them.”

“No, I don’t,” David admitted, rubbing her shoulder as he spoke. “But I do have an allegiance to myself. To what I think is the decent thing to do. And I have an allegiance to Dee. She started this fight, and I believe it’s a just fight. And deep down, I know you believe that too. How is it going to look to her if we just abandon these people now?”

Emily sighed. “If you feel strongly that you have to do this, I can’t stop you. But leave Dee out of it. She doesn’t need this on top of everything else she’s been through.”

“It’s not right to leave her out of this precisely because of everything else she’s been through,” David said. “Dee is angry because she fought and lost. She feels helpless because someone took something from her, and she was powerless to stop it. This is a chance for her to do something to fix at least some of what’s wrong, to shake off that feeling of powerlessness and the anger that goes with it. Don’t deny her that chance.”

“David, please, just leave her out of it!” Emily insisted.

“Leave me out of what?” came a voice from the door.



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

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



David and Emily stared at the small figure of their daughter, standing in the bedroom doorway, blinking her eyes against the light. They had forgotten their voices would carry, and of course she’d heard them. None of them was sleeping well these days.

“Leave me out of what?” Dee repeated, eyes sweeping the bedroom.

“Nothing, dear,” Emily said, moving swiftly to stand in front of Dee. “Your father and I were just having a discussion.”

“Sounded more like an argument to me,” Dee said frankly, twisting to look around her mother.

“It’s none of your concern,” Emily said firmly. “Back to bed.”

David shook his head sadly. This most definitely was Dee’s concern, more hers than any of theirs. He needed her help, and she needed the opportunity to apply some justice to a world in which she felt there was none.

He hesitated just a moment before stepping sideways so that Dee, looking around her mother, had a clear view of Jaddo’s feet sticking out from the end of the bed. An instant later, she was past her mother and bounding over the bed.

“Jaddo!” she cried. “What happened to him? Is he all right? Did they shoot him too?”

“No,” David assured her hastily, “he hasn’t been shot. At least not with a bullet,” he added. Emily was looking daggers at him, and Dee was regarding him suspiciously too. Lately, he always seemed to be at a place where both of the women in his life were mad at him for some reason or another. “He’s been given some kind of drug that makes him sleep,” David explained, choosing his words carefully.

“Who gave it to him?” Dee demanded, eyes narrowing.

“The Army,” David replied shortly. “Look, near as I can tell, he and Brivari were trying to rescue two of those sacs I helped them move, the two that the Army got hold of. Both of them were given this drug, and Brivari had to stay behind. Jaddo managed to get the sacs out, but he had to leave them somewhere, and he wants me to go get them. But I don’t know where they are.”

But Dee, whose eyes had widened with fear at the mention of Brivari’s fate, had her mind on other things. “They have Brivari?” she asked in a trembling voice. “Oh God, Daddy, what are they going to do to him? Will they kill him?”

“Oh, this is wonderful,” Emily said scornfully. “This is really helping.”

“Be quiet!” Dee shouted at her mother, causing Emily to blanch. Dee turned back to her father. “Will they kill him, Daddy? Will they?”

“I doubt it,” David said carefully, keeping his voice level in the hopes that would calm his daughter. “They deliberately shot them with a drug, not bullets. That means they want them alive. And whatever they did to Brivari doesn’t give you the right to shout at your mother.”

“She doesn’t have the right to not tell me what’s going on!” Dee said hotly. “I pulled Urza out thinking someone would help him. I told Valeris how to surrender, for all the good it did him. I did everything I could think of to keep them alive and none of it worked! It is too my business!”

Dee’s face was contorted with anger. Emily, still white as a sheet, seemed to be at a loss for words.

“Dee, I need your help,” David said, abruptly switching tactics. There wasn’t time to get into this now, and he was hoping that needing her help would draw her attention away from fighting with Emily.

It did. Dee’s eyes snapped to his. “How?”

“He’s trying to tell me where he left the sacs,” David said, indicating Jaddo, “but I can’t figure it out. What is it like when you talk to them with that ‘mind speech’? Is it like watching a movie, like pictures passing through your mind?”

Dee frowned. “No. It’s just like hearing you talk, but the words are in your head, not coming through your ears. But it’s just words; I never saw any pictures.”

“Try to talk to him,” David urged, ignoring the sounds of anguish Emily was making behind him. “Ask him where the sacs are.”

Dee stared hard at Jaddo for several long moments. His eyes still flickered open every few seconds, and when they did, they were fastened on Dee. David sat on the edge of the bed and waited while his wife paced, her hand pressed to her mouth in a posture of despair.

“He’s almost asleep,” Dee reported worriedly after a minute or two. “I can barely hear him, and what I did hear won’t help much. He says he left the sacs in a big metal tube by the water not too far from the base.”

“Big metal tube?”

“That’s what he said.”

“A culvert,” Emily said quietly.

Both David and Dee turned to look at her, surprised.

“A culvert,” Emily repeated. “Warner’s Creek runs for miles south of the base. He would have had to pass it on the way here. There are at least a half dozen bridges that cross it, and each one has a culvert underneath it.”

“But which one?” David asked. “We could spend half the night searching all of them, and I’ll bet the Army is searching too.”

“What were these ‘pictures’ you were talking about, Daddy?” Dee asked.

“I’m not sure,” David said slowly. “When he touched me I could see what happened to him the way he saw it. It’s a little like I’m watching a movie, but I’m seeing it through his eyes, as though I’m him.”

“Did he show you where he put the sacs?”

“Yes….once. But I couldn’t see much—it could have been anywhere.”

“Why don’t I try,” Dee said confidently, reaching for Jaddo’s hand. “Maybe I…”

But she stopped, because Jaddo had just come rather violently to life, pulling his hand away and shaking his head. He raised a shaking finger, pointing it straight at David.

“I think he wants me to do it,” David said.

“Why wouldn’t he want me to do it?” Dee asked, sounding hurt.

“Maybe there are things he doesn’t want you to see,” Emily said, with a pointed look at David. “It would be nice if someone tried to protect the child, even it has to be the alien in the room.”

David considered this while Emily continued to pace. She had a point. He definitely didn’t want Dee seeing that soldier incinerated….

Rising from the bed, David knelt beside Jaddo, who watched him from eyes that were nearly closed. “Can you show me where you put the sacs? Show me where they are, and we’ll go get them. Wait,” he added hastily, as Jaddo’s hand started to rise. “Let me start it. It’s easier on me that way.” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and placed his hand on Jaddo’s.

Images swam in front of his closed eyes, a chaotic mix of pictures that didn’t seem to be related. There were too many to process, all rushing by at dizzying speed. He struggled to pick out a few…

A pink sky with a small red sun and three orangish moons, one of them alarmingly large…

A man slipping a necklace around the neck of a beautiful woman…

Standing somewhere on an upper floor, watching a gray figure with a large head walk alone toward a set of gates…

Dragging that same gray figure, covered in blood, beaten almost beyond recognition…

One of the sacs leaking thick, grayish fluid into a basin…

Two glowing sacs lying in the dark, surrounded by metal walls, water running…

David let go of Jaddo’s hand. Both of their eyes opened simultaneously.

“Well?” Dee asked impatiently. “Did you see where they are?”

“I saw them,” David answered, his voice rough. “But only inside the culvert. That doesn’t tell me which culvert.” He looked down at Jaddo, whose eyes were almost closed. “He’s almost unconscious. He’s finding it hard to focus.”

“Then hurry up! Before he can’t tell us any more! Jaddo,” Dee said urgently, turning to the prone figure on the rug. His eyes flicked open a little wider at the sound of her voice. “Don’t show Daddy the sacs; that doesn’t help. Show him what it looked like when you reached the place where you found the big metal tube. Show him what’s around it.” She nodded to her father. “Try again.”

David closed his eyes and reached for Jaddo’s hand again. This might be his last chance. Jaddo was clearly struggling to remain conscious, but soon he would lose the fight.

More images…too many…fighting….slaughter….blood everywhere….death. People were running, shouting, panic stricken…

The body was on the ground, surrounded by people pummeling it, kicking it. Enraged, he charged into the fray, holding up a huge, gray hand, knocking everyone away with a furious burst of power….

The badly beaten body being dragged into a beam of light…

Four dead bodies, laid out in a row, with four exhausted looking people gathered around them….sadness….desolation…

David released Jaddo’s hand with a gasp. The emotions were raw, overpowering. The feelings of anger and despair were paralyzing. No wonder Jaddo hadn’t wanted Dee to do this.

“What, Daddy? What’s wrong?”

“I’m okay,” David answered, shaking his head to clear the image of that horribly battered body. “It’s just that…I not only see what he saw….I feel what he felt. And it’s kind of overwhelming sometimes.”

“What did you see?” she asked in a hushed voice. “Did you see their planet?”

“Never mind,” David said firmly. “I have to try again. He’s having trouble focusing; I think I’m just seeing whatever’s there in his mind at the moment. Maybe if I think hard about the sacs, he will too.” He closed his eyes and began again.

He was back at the scene of the slaughter…NO! Not here…what he needed wasn’t here. Think of the sacs, Jaddo, the sacs….

The sacs were lying in darkness, surrounded by metal walls and water…not good enough. Back up.

He was flying backwards, becoming airborne, watching the culvert, and then the bridge, recede. A huge weeping willow fell away to his left, and….

The images abruptly faded. David’s eyes snapped open.

“I’ve got it!”

[Kathy W 2200]

PART SIXTY-SIX



July 10, 1947, 11:55 p.m.

Proctor residence




“Where?” Dee asked excitedly. “Where are they?”

David was already on his feet, rifling through his closet. “I think he blacked out right at the end there, but I saw a weeping willow. There’s a line of those along part of the creek, which is weird because they usually don’t grow here. It doesn’t tell us which bridge they’re under, but it does narrow it down to two or three.”

“So you’re going then,” Emily said heavily.

David looked over at her as he pulled on a pair of dark pants. “Of course I’m going. He put the sacs in the culvert because he didn’t have the strength to cover them up, but they’re still glowing like beacons. Someone is going to find those things, and I think it should be the right someone. Whatever they gave him will wear off eventually,” he added with a nod toward Jaddo, who did look completely unconscious now. “When he wakes up, he’ll be able to take care of them.”

“I’m going too,” Dee announced, slipping off the bed.

“No,” Emily said firmly. “If your father is determined to do this, so be it, but you don’t have to.”

“Two of my friends died trying to save what’s in those sacs,” Dee said, ignoring her mother and addressing her father. “I don’t want them to have died for nothing. Please, Daddy. I need to go.”

David looked from his daughter to his wife, who was throwing all sorts of warning looks his way. Then he nodded to Dee, who turned and sprinted for her room. “Wear something dark!” he called after her. “Something with long sleeves!”

“I don’t believe this!” Emily exclaimed. “Asking her to talk to him was one thing, but taking her with you? What for?”

“Haven’t we been over this?” David answered, fumbling with a pair of socks.

“No. We haven’t,” Emily argued. “You never mentioned taking her with you! She’s eight years-old, for God’s sake! She doesn’t have any experience with.......”

“With what?” David interrupted. “Hiding from the Army? Keeping aliens safe? She’s way ahead of me on both counts.”

“You were an Army officer,” Emily said severely. “And accidentally getting trapped inside their ship is not what I’d call ‘experience’!”

“Emily, you said you were worried about Dee, about how angry she’s been. Letting her do something tangible is one way to counter that anger. And I need the help—these things are big, and they looked heavy. We’ll probably have to haul them out of a culvert into the car.”

“Why? Why bring them here? Just hide them better, or move them somewhere else. You don’t have to bring them here!”

“Do you remember what I told you was in those sacs?” David demanded.

Emily swallowed. “Yes. Their injured royalty.”

“Right. They are completely and utterly defenseless. You didn’t answer me a few minutes ago when I asked you if you knew what they’d do to Brivari. What do think they’re going to do to whoever’s in those sacs?”

Emily stared at the floor, saying nothing. David stopped dressing and put his hands on her shoulders. “I know you’re not thrilled about this,” he said gently, “and I don’t blame you. I’m not either. But this is the right thing to do. I’m sure of it.”

As David pulled a black sweater out of a dresser drawer, Emily abruptly stood up. He fully expected her to stalk out of the room in a huff, and was surprised when she headed for the closet, shrugging off her robe.

“What are you doing?”

“Coming with you.”

“Coming? But….I thought you disapproved.”

“Look, I have no objection to helping these people,” Emily said, pulling out some dark pants and shutting the closet door with a bang, “but I have wild objections to sacrificing my family in the process. We came way too close to losing our daughter a few days ago for my comfort. But, since you’re determined, and since both of you seem to have inexplicably developed a death wish, it’s best that I go. Three heads are better than one. Besides,” she added, with a catch in her voice, “if they find you......I’d rather go with you than be left alone here.”

“They won’t find us,” David said softly, watching her pull on a long-sleeved, dark shirt. “We can always say we were out for a stroll.”

Emily shot him a withering look. “In the middle of the night? Oh, I’m sure they’d buy that.” She disappeared into the hallway, returning with a stack of blankets just as David finished dressing.

“What are those for?”

“You said those things are glowing, right?”

“Yes.”

“And how big are they?”

“One filled the trunk,” David said, remembering. “I guess we’ll have to stick the other one in the back seat.”

“Splendid. And do you want huge, alien, glowing things shining for all the world to see?” Emily asked, holding up the stack of blankets like a waitress with a tray of drinks.

“No,” David replied with a sheepish look, “I don’t.” He plopped the blankets down on the bed and took her in his arms. “See? We’re already better off having you in the gang.”

“I’m only trying to make sure everyone gets back in one piece,” Emily said dryly, just as Dee came back into the room.

“I’m ready,” she announced, pulling up short at the sight of her mother. “Mama? Are you coming too?”

David cleared his throat. “Your mother has decided that the chances of this mission’s success are far greater if she joins us,” he announced, as Emily rolled her eyes.

“She’s right,” Dee answered seriously, plopping down on the bed. “That’s the way it worked on the Underground Railroad. Whole families were in on it—they picked up black people and hid them until they could get them to Canada.”

“I’m glad to see you were listening in history class,” Emily commented.

“The same thing happened when people were helping the Jews get away from Hitler,” Dee added.

David and Emily stared at their daughter, who gazed placidly back at them. Emily’s eyes swiveled around to rest upon her husband, who looked mildly surprised. But only mildly.

“I swear,” he said, holding up his right hand, “I always put the newspapers at the bottom of the trash can. Scout’s honor.”

“I found them,” Dee said simply.

“I noticed,” Emily said, with a touch of irony in her voice. “But I doubt we can compare this to either Jews or negroes.”

“What’s the difference? People hated them because they were different. Some people were willing to help them, and some people wanted to, but were too scared.”

Emily glanced sharply at her daughter, the implied accusation hanging in the air. “I can sympathize,” she said after a moment, her voice shaking a little. “They had good reasons to be scared.”

“Maybe,” Dee allowed.

“Definitely,” Emily said. “Now why don’t you go downstairs and find us some flashlights. And extra batteries.”

Dee left, and David watched sympathetically as Emily sank down on the bed, staring at Jaddo on the floor at her feet. Dee had always been opinionated—and God knows she didn’t get that from the trees—but this was a level of challenge they’d never had to deal with before. If this was any indication of what adolescence would be like, they’d best brace themselves.

“Did we really think we could keep our daughter ignorant of her own world?” Emily whispered suddenly.

David blinked. “What?”

“He asked me that,” Emily said quietly, nodding toward Jaddo, “in his usual diplomatic way. I’ve been chewing on an answer ever since. She paused, hugging herself as though she were cold. “We tried so hard to keep the war away from her. Did any of it work? Was it even worth it?”

“I think it was worth a try,” David answered. “At least we toned it down so it wasn’t in her face all the time. But perhaps we expected too much. You can’t hide something like a world war, Em. You can’t hide the fact that your father’s gone, and some of your friend’s fathers and brothers won’t be coming home. It’s too damned big to hide, and she was bound to be curious.”

“So she found out by digging newspapers out of a trash can. He was right,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “We should have been sitting beside her when she learned all this, filtering it, interpreting it, answering her questions. It was our job to control the flow of information, not cut it off entirely. That didn’t work anyway.”

David sat down beside his wife, tucking his feet into his boots. “We did what we felt was best for her at the time. And I would argue we were right, at least at first. She was a lot younger then. She’s going to be nine shortly; she’s not a little girl anymore. Maybe we just did what was initially the right thing for a bit too long.”

“How are we supposed to know what’s too long?”

“By paying attention to signs like these,” David answered. “Other than that, we don’t know. Kids don’t come with manuals. We just do the best we can. Just like we’re doing now.” He picked up the stack of blankets and held out his hand. “Come on. We’d better get going.”

Emily sighed and followed him to the door, grabbing his arm as they reached it. “Promise me one thing,” she said, glancing over at Jaddo.”

“What?”

“Don’t you ever tell him I agreed with him.”

David smiled and slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Your secret is safe with me.”




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



Eagle Rock Military Base




Spade hurried down one of the now teeming hallways of Building 7354. Doors that were previously locked were now open as soldiers searched feverishly for any further signs of alien activity. He knew they wouldn’t find any. The aliens had only wanted one thing, and from the looks of things, they’d gotten away with it.

He turned a corner, running now, no one noticing because everyone was running one way or the other. When he reached the room where he’d viewed West’s and Belmont’s bodies, it was open. The window he’d looked through was straight ahead, the storage area for bodies beyond it.

A guard appeared out of nowhere, keys jingling on his belt. “Don’t waste your time—they already searched. There’s nothin’ here.”

“I need to get in there,” Spade said shortly, indicating the room behind the window. He knew he’d get flack, and he didn’t care. He was ready to beat this guy senseless for his keys if necessary.

“Only the docs go in…..Hey!” the guard said, peering at his name tag. “ ‘Spade’ Are you the Private Spade? The one who caught the monsters?”

Spade winced inwardly at word ‘monsters’. He had a very bad feeling the monster wasn’t who he thought it was. He was about to bark at the guard when he saw the look of admiration on his face, and decided that admiration could be put to good use.

“Well…yeah. I am,” Spade said, managing a small smile and not bothering to correct the guard’s use of the plural. “I guess word travels fast.”

“Wow! Good on you!” The guard was positively beaming. “How’d you do it? Catch’em, I mean.”

“Look…I need a favor,” Spade said, deliberately making his voice shaky. “Those…monsters killed two of my friends and I really, really want to see the bodies one more time.”

The guard now looked doubtful as well as impressed. “I’d love to help you, man, but I’m not supposed to let anyone back there without authorization.” He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “That’s where they’ve got’em all, y’know. All the ones killed by aliens. They don’t want anyone else to know.”

“I already know,” Spade pointed out, matching the guard’s whisper.

That settled it for the guard. “You’re right. You’re right! Besides, it’s the least I can do for the guy who caught the monsters. Anything for a hero! But you can’t tell anyone I let you in there. It’d be my neck.” He led Spade over to the inner door and produced a set of keys. “Just a few minutes, now. The lights are to the right of the door. If I see someone coming, I’ll knock twice on the window. That means you have to turn the lights out. Got it?”

Spade nodded. The guard unlocked the door and hustled Spade inside. Then he retreated to the main doorway, turned around, and gave Spade a thumbs up sign, his face still positively radiating admiration.

Spade fumbled for the light switch. The lights were incredibly bright, so much so that Spade saw the guard outside closing the main door a bit more so the brilliant light couldn’t be seen from the hallway. Refrigerated drawers lined the walls, each neatly labeled with a name. The room was cold, and Spade moved along the rows of labels, shivering as he read them.

He had to go through two rows of drawers before he found the first one: “West, Arthur, Private”. He hesitated, his hand on the drawer handle, torn between wanting and not wanting the answer. The cold started to sting his hand as he stood there, steeling himself against what he would see. Or wouldn’t see. It was hard to decide which was worse.

Finally, he closed his eyes and pulled the drawer open. He took several deep breaths before opening his eyes.

West lay as though asleep, white as a sheet, stiff as a board. There was indeed a silver handprint on his left upper chest, just as he had seen this morning. But then he had been looking through the window; seeing it up close for the first time, he instinctively knew something was awry. The handprints he had seen had been literally burned into the victim’s flesh, the surrounding skin raw and reddened. But West’s chest looked untouched. There was no evidence of burning anywhere.

A horrible suspicion came over Spade. Slowly, hesitantly, he raised his hand to touch the handprint. He winced when his fingers connected with cold, dead flesh, but he squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to touch it, rub his fingers over it.

When he pulled his hand away, his fingertips were silver.

Breathing hard, Spade raised his shaking hand in front of his face. Paint. He fingered the silver tint on his hands, held it to his nose—it was paint. Someone had faked this, to make it look like an alien death.

Cavitt.

A flush of anger crept up Spade’s face. With a speed bordering on panic, Spade slammed West’s drawer shut and began looking frantically for Belmont. He found him at the end of the row sporting the same painted handprint. He slammed the door shut with such force they probably heard him three rooms over and let our a howl, pounding his fists on the wall. He murdered them! The stinking bastard murdered them!

Trembling violently, Spade turned around and slid down the wall to the floor. How stupid could he have been? Cavitt had killed West and Belmont to keep them quiet, and had used their deaths to extract information from him. Cavitt had played him like a fiddle, and he had fallen for it completely.

“We assume they’re trying to remove anyone who saw them alive.” A true statement; he had just misidentified the pronoun, “they”. And this answered the question about why he had been left alive: Cavitt couldn’t afford to kill him. Spade had information he hadn’t shared, and Cavitt knew that. He had known full well that Spade was likely to get angry at this cock-and-bull story, and Spade had not let him down.

So now what? Now that Cavitt had what he wanted, would he try to murder Spade too? And what should he do now that he had this information? Would it do any good to blow Cavitt in? Spade had no proof that Cavitt was behind it, no idea what had really killed West and Belmont. Cavitt must have higher-ups in on this, or he never would have gotten away with it in the first place—at the very least, the doctors must have known. Should he resign now that he knew his commanding officer murdered in cold blood? Would they even let him?

Spade forced himself to his feet and headed for the door. If he stayed here any longer, he’d be sick again. He clicked off the lights and opened the door to the main room; the guard at the door turned and looked at him, alarmed.

“Are you okay? You look terrible!”

“Yeah, I…I’m fine,” Spade said. His voice was shaking despite his attempts to steady it. “It’s just…hard…looking at them…you know.”

“Look at it this way,” the guard said sympathetically. “You got the monsters who did it. I bet that’s a good feeling, ain’t it? Knowing that they got what was coming to them, and that you stopped’em from doing it again.”

Spade stared at the guard so long that the guard started to fidget. Then his mouth set in a hard line.

“You’re right,” he said to the guard, who was looking at him as though he feared Spade had become unhinged during his time in the inner room. “It’s a good feeling to get the one who did it.” He clapped the guard on the shoulder. “Thanks. You just pointed the way.”

Spade took off out the door, ignoring the guard’s puzzled look, absolutely sure now of his direction. Cavitt had just promoted him and praised him to the skies. He still didn’t know Spade knew about the murders, and Spade meant to keep it that way. Ratting Cavitt out wouldn’t help; Cavitt would just destroy the evidence, and he’d wind up just like his buddies, lying in a refrigerated drawer with a fake silver handprint. No—he would stay, and worm his way even further into whatever Cavitt was planning for the captured alien. He would be the thorn in Cavitt’s side, the bane of his existence. He would make his life a living hell.

Smiling, Spade jogged outside into the starry night. He had been ordered to muster a detail and search the surrounding area, and he would do just that.

And do his damnedest to make certain nothing was found.



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



Soldiers streamed by, hurrying to and fro. The base was a flurry of activity, so no one noticed two soldiers slip into a quiet alcove, stand near each other, and face each other as if to speak.

<They were here,> Amar said tensely. <Two of them. So were the hybrids. They managed to rescue them.>

Malik allowed himself an invisible sigh of relief. They had been searching fruitlessly at the base for the past several hours, finding nothing but materials that the humans had removed from the ship. When the alarms had sounded, it had taken them awhile to find the source. It was all over by the time they got there, rumors were rife, and they’d had to eavesdrop on many a conversation before they’d learned anything useful.

<Do we know where they are now?>

<They got one of them,> Amar said with a nasty smile. <I don’t know which one. Shot him with some sort of drug that knocked him out. The other one got away, but the word is he was shot too. That one took the hybrids with him, and he’s out there somewhere. I don’t know how far he could have made it.>

<I heard something as well,> Malik replied. <There were two captured earlier this week; both are dead.>

<They’ve undoubtedly gone to dust by now,> Amar said. <We won’t be able to tell who died until we see who lived.> He glanced at the soldiers hurrying by. <There’s a search party being formed for the one that got away. I’m going on ahead of them. You stay here and see if you can get close to whoever it is they caught.>

<Wouldn’t you rather do that?> Malik said quickly.

A little too quickly. <Why?> Amar asked, with a touch of suspicion in his voice.

Malik thought fast. If it was Brivari who had escaped, the last person he wanted to find him would be Amar. If there was any chance of being reinstated, any chance of effecting any change at all, it lay with Brivari: He had the King’s ear, as much as anyone could. And if Brivari had been captured, he was likely safe from Amar for the moment. Amar would need help to remove him from the human compound.

<What if it was Brivari who was captured? Just think, Amar,> Malik said slowly, <of what it would feel like to find Brivari helpless. Defenseless. Completely at your mercy.>

Malik watched a distinctly unpleasant smile spread across his partner’s face as Amar’s baser instincts took hold, never a long wait even on a good day. Amar blamed Brivari for the state in which they had found themselves when they had decided to defect; unjustifiably so, in Malik’s opinion. True, Brivari had led the coalition that had supported Riall’s bid for the throne, and accepted the conditions he had imposed all those years ago. But Brivari had merely been the leader. He was supported by the vast majority of the Covari, and Malik did not feel that Brivari alone should be held to account for the manner in which those conditions had been used.

Amar, however, was of the opinion that Brivari should be held personally responsible for the way things had slid downhill. His hatred of Brivari was legendary. Malik knew perfectly well that Amar would give a lot to see Brivari brought to his knees.

<It might not be Brivari who was captured,> Amar was saying, in the tone of someone who is trying to talk himself out of something. <It might be any of the other three.>

<But what if it is?> Malik said suggestively, raising an eyebrow. <Besides, even if it isn’t, wouldn’t it be satisfying to see any of them in that condition?>

That settled it. <It would,> Amar breathed, smiling, happy to have been handed an excuse. <It would indeed. You go,> he said to Malik, <and find whoever escaped, or the hybrids—he may have had to abandon them. Make sure you’re ahead of the humans. I will stay here and see if I can find whoever they captured.> He walked away quickly, eagerly, eyes shining like a hunter who had finally picked up the scent of his prey.

Some people crave war, Malik mused as he watched Amar’s retreating figure. They simply could not find a place for themselves in peace. Khivar was like that; so was Amar. And then there were those like Brivari, willing to make enormous concessions to gain peace. Malik agreed that peace was a laudable goal, but sometimes the ‘peace’ which came at such a high price was really no peace at all.

Malik walked out into the night, observing the search party being formed as he slipped into shadow and took to the air. He had decided where to start, but he had no idea who or what he would find, or what would happen when he got there. The answer to that probably depended on whether the one he found was more like those who craved war, or more like those who craved peace.



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



July 11, 1947, 12:25 a.m.

Proctor residence



Deputy Valenti jerked awake. His decision to keep watch on the Proctor’s house during the night had made him less visible, but it was much harder to stay awake. He had almost nodded off several times tonight already. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea.

Noises caught his ear, soft noises that would have gone unnoticed in the daytime, but were magnified at night. He grabbed his binoculars. He was stationed much closer to the Proctor household than he could safely manage during the day, although the darkness rather cut back on that advantage. Still, he could see plenty, and what he saw made his heart race.

The Proctors were leaving. All three of them were heading toward their car, dark, shadowy figures dressed in dark clothing. Valenti watched the girl climb into the back seat, while the parents opened the trunk and put something inside.

Now, where on earth were they going at this time of night? And with the kid? Dressed in dark clothes? Valenti heard their car start, and was suddenly gripped with indecision. Should he follow them, or use this golden opportunity to get inside their house? He swung his binoculars toward the house, dark and silent against the night sky. There would never be a better time.

Still undecided, Valenti watched the Proctor’s car back out of the driveway, unaware that two more pairs of eyes watched from close by, one of which was pondering the same question.

[Kathy W 2200]

PART SIXTY-SEVEN

July 11, 1947, 12:50 a.m.

Warner’s Creek, south of Eagle Rock Military Base




“Stay up here and let us know if you see anyone coming,” David Proctor said to his daughter, as he and his wife clambered down the bank to the culvert that supported the bridge over this part of Warner’s Creek. “Just take a stick, or a stone, and throw it into the culvert. We’ll hear it. And don’t turn on your flashlight unless you absolutely have to.”

Dee nodded, and watched as her parents entered the near end of the culvert. On the way here they had consulted the map in the glove compartment of their car and identified three bridges they were pretty sure were near weeping willows. This was the first one on the list. The other two lay ahead, the second one relatively close, the third a good ways further off. The crescent moon gave off a fair amount of light as she looked west to where the third bridge lay, wishing her parents would hurry up. Then she saw something that nearly made her stop breathing.

Lights had appeared in the direction of the third bridge, tiny pinpoints that looked like fireflies from this distance. But unless she was seeing the world’s first ever firefly marching band, these lights were way too organized to be anything other than flashlights. Flashlights likely held by soldiers who were likely looking for the same thing she was.

Dee held her breath as the lights reached the third bridge, and some descended into the creek bed. She strained her ears to hear commotion, any shouts of alarm. But the night was silent while the lights continued to mill around in semi-organized fashion. They hadn’t found them. And that meant that unless her father had completely misinterpreted what Jaddo had shown him, the sacs had to be in one of the first two culverts—the one her parents were in now, or the one in the middle.

Dee looked impatiently down at the culvert. She couldn’t see her parents, or hear anything other than vague scuffling sounds from below. Her father had said the sacs were out in the open, glowing for all to see. If they were in this culvert, they might be able to get them out in time, or at least hide them until the Army had passed. But if they were in the second one…

Hurry up! Dee thought frantically. The tiny lights were still milling around far away, probably searching not just the culvert but the entire creek bed. She and her parents knew the sacs were in a culvert, so they had an advantage, but if her parents took too long, that advantage would be useless.

In the distance, a tiny light detached itself from the throng and started moving slowly down the creek toward the second bridge. Alarmed, Dee looked back and forth from the solitary light to the culvert her parents were searching. She could tell them, but they couldn’t just hop in the car and drive up to the second bridge; even with their lights off, the car would be heard.

“We will not have another chance to do this. So many have died; we cannot afford to lose even one more unnecessarily. There have been too many mishaps. Too many mistakes.”

The lone light was moving east slowly, but steadily. Dee tucked her flashlight into her pocket and took off at a run, knowing that she was closer to the second bridge than the bearer of that light, and determined this would not turn into yet another mistake.



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



Proctor residence




Soft footsteps roamed the empty rooms of the Proctor household. Silently they moved from the kitchen, to the back porch, to the living room. They ascended the front stairs, pausing only for a moment when the eighth step creaked, as it always did.

At the top of the stairs, the footsteps paused, listening. Gravitating toward the first bedroom on the right, they stood in the doorway for just a moment before moving into the room, to the other side of the bed, where a figure lay on the floor, absolutely still in the pale moonlight.

The owner of the footsteps, a mere shadow in the dark bedroom, knelt beside the figure on the floor, examining it carefully. Instruments were produced; the shadow hovered over the prone figure for several minutes, but the figure never moved.

At length the shadow rose, and the footsteps padded softly back downstairs, leaving no trace they had ever been there at all.




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



Warner’s Creek



“See anything?” David Proctor called to his wife, the water up to his ankles as he sifted through the debris inside the culvert, most of which was rocks and dirt and a few stray leaves.

“Nothing on this side,” Emily called, having worked her way to the other end. “If they’re here, they’re well hidden.”

“Let’s move to the next one then,” David said, heading out the end of the culvert, with his wife following.

They clambered up the bank, arms swinging, shoes squishing. When they reached the top, both heads swiveled first in one direction, then another.

“Do you think she went to the car?” Emily asked, in an I-just-knew-something-like-this-was-going-to-happen tone of voice.

David shook his head. “No way.” Then he noticed the pinpoints of light to the west, and one single light approaching the second bridge over the creek.

“Emily,” David said quickly, “get in the car. Now!”



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



Dee slipped and slid down the relatively short bank into the creek. She’d lost sight of the solitary light about two thirds of the way here, which hopefully meant that whoever was wielding it had given up pursuit. Even if they hadn’t, she’d been moving far faster than the light bearer, so she should have at least a few minutes to make some decisions if decisions proved necessary.

She reached the end of the culvert and peered cautiously inside. Once glance told her what she needed to know. Unfortunately, one glance would tell anyone what they needed to know.

The sacs were halfway down the culvert, lying on rocks which kept them out of the water. Or likely had kept them out of the water initially. One of the sacs had slipped partway off the rock into the chilly water, and Dee thought worriedly about the special box in which they had been placed on the ship. Probably to keep them warm, she thought. That sac halfway in the water would be anything but warm.

Dee splashed through the creek water, partly soaking herself in the process, until she reached them. They weren’t glowing as brightly as she remembered, but in the darkness of the culvert, they might just as well have been lighthouses. With difficulty, she heaved the slipping sac out of the water, grabbing the leathery skin and pulling, grunting with the effort. God, that thing was heavy.

When she finally had most of it out of the water, she started looking around for something to cover them with. Nothing suitable was at hand. Maybe some tree branches? Would that be enough to hide two big, glowing things from nosy soldiers? Probably not, but she would have to try. She headed back for the opening of the culvert. Halfway there, a noise made her look up. A bird flew across the end of the culvert, and her heart leapt with hope. Was that Jaddo? Had he recovered enough to come and help them?

But the noise was coming from above her head; footsteps. Someone was walking over the culvert, and before she could process this fact, choose a course of action, or even simply panic, skidding noises could be heard, and a lone figure holding a flashlight came into view at the end of the culvert. It stood silhouetted against the summer night sky for just a moment before swinging its flashlight inside the culvert.

Swiftly, Dee whipped out her flashlight and trained it on the figure, blinding it just as its flashlight blinded her.

“Who are you?” barked a male voice. “Get that light out of my eyes!”

Definitely not Jaddo. “Not until you get your light out of my eyes,” Dee retorted.

More footsteps. The figure was coming closer. Dee couldn’t retreat because the sacs were behind her, so she moved forward instead, holding her flashlight as steady as she could given the fact that her hands were trembling badly. She was still blinded by the other light, so she couldn’t see who was coming, but as long as whoever he was blinded by her light, she hoped he wouldn’t be able to see the sacs. And the further she was from the sacs when she had to stop, the better.

The footsteps stopped about ten feet in front of her. The glare from the light was almost unbearable; she had to squint fiercely to see anything at all. He was close enough now that she could see bits of the uniform, and her heart sank. She was too late.

The light dipped a little. For a moment, Dee saw the face of the soldier. He looked familiar.

“Red sneakers,” he whispered. “We found a red sneaker. And someone said they saw a little girl.” The light returned to her face. “You were on the ship, weren’t you?”

And suddenly Dee realized why this soldier looked familiar. He was the one she had seen squatting outside the room where she’d pulled Urza, holding the red sneaker she had left outside to mark the door.

Anger boiled over in her. What are the odds, she thought, that the very soldier who found my shoe would be here now? This was the second time she had found herself facing the Army with her back against the proverbial wall. At that moment, she would have sworn the universe was out to get her.

“Go away!” she hissed at the soldier, who had inched forward and was standing uncomfortably close to her now. “Can’t you just leave us alone? Do you have to destroy everything you touch? Leave us alone!”

She would have gladly gone on, given how mad she was, but she was cut off by sounds of splashing ahead. The soldier whipped around, training his flashlight on the opening of the culvert just as her parents came into view.



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



0100 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



Yvonne White plopped what seemed like the two hundredth box of supplies down on the table and sighed. She had been cleaning rooms and unpacking a dizzying array of supplies all day, and she was exhausted. Not to mention confused, worried, furious, and a few other adjectives that probably didn’t bear repeating in polite company.

Not that she had any company. The only people she had seen so far were guards, and though there were certainly plenty of those, she could hardly refer to them as ‘company’. Her new world consisted of one main hallway with several shorter hallways branching off, all sporting rooms that looked as though they hadn’t been touched in years. She’d been able to discern only three major pieces of information so far: Wherever she was had once been a medical facility judging from the operating rooms and labs, it was likely a basement because none of the rooms had windows, and the only way out was through a set of heavily guarded double doors at one end of the long main hall, from which she had been firmly shooed away every single time she had attempted to approach them.

She had been shown to her new quarters this morning, marched out of the room in which she had been locked and down the hall to a more spacious room with an attached bath that she would have coveted under different circumstances. The room was actually furnished with real furniture: A bed, dresser, wardrobe, desk, easy chair, a small table, and various lamps. Her luggage was there as promised by Captain Cavitt, along with a large assortment of personal products such as soap, shampoo, and bubble bath. A note on the dresser instructed her to write down anything she needed, and it would be acquired for her and delivered directly to her room. A second note inquired as to her favorite foods so that the kitchen could be sure to have them in stock.

How about some answers? Yvonne had thought irritably when she had read that. How about some freedom? If Cavitt thought that creating this hotel room complete with a concierge would cancel out kidnapping and blackmail, he was crazy.

Still, she had been curious as to the limits of her new existence, so she had left a note that the brand of toothpaste in the bathroom was unacceptable, along with her preferred brand, and that the sheets on the bed were too rough. Both of these were astonishing announcements from anyone in this man’s army; nevertheless, she had returned to her room shortly before lunch to find that new sheets and the required brand of toothpaste had mysteriously appeared.

Lunch had been delivered to her quarters on a tray, making her wonder where the “kitchen” mentioned in the note was located. After lunch had come the delivery of several pieces of equipment, some medical—x-ray machines, operating room equipment, laboratory supplies—and some not. There were sheets, towels, laundry supplies, even a huge stock of stationery complete with pens and pencils. More of the same arrived after dinner. Whatever was going on here, the place was being prepared for long term occupation of some sort. But what sort? Had they found the aliens? From what she’d seen, Yvonne doubted they could be captured alive. Perhaps it was a highly prized prisoner, such as a German or a Russian? Perhaps a highly placed government official was ill and wished it kept secret?

Yvonne finished emptying the last box of supplies into a cabinet, closed the door, and leaned her head against it. Time for bed. Cavitt had been very insistent that everything had to be unpacked and ready to go as soon as possible, although she had certainly seen no reason for the rush. Walking out into the main hallway, she headed for her room. She had memorized the layout of the place, and she meant to scribble a map before she went to sleep. Tomorrow she would start paying attention to where guards were posted and when their shifts changed. Tomorrow, when she could see straight.

As Yvonne trudged back to her room, a commotion at the far end of the hall made her look up. The guarded double doors had burst open, and several excited people spilled through, pushing a stretcher which was rocketed down the hall and around a corner into a short side hallway. If she remembered rightly, the only thing down that particular hallway was an old operating room.

Yvonne’s heart pounded as she reached the junction of the side and main hallways. A crowd of people was milling around outside the operating room, but she paid no attention; her eyes were focused on the double doors at the end of the main hallway, which, in all the excitement, stood wide open. Walk—don’t run, she told herself severely. She started to walk down the hall, eyes forward, forcing herself to move at a leisurely pace. Soldiers were rushing by, talking in excited tones, oblivious to her bearing down on them. If she moved fast, she might be able to scoot through the doors just long enough to see something, anything, that might tell her where she was.

Forty feet. Thirty. Twenty. Ten. The doors were still wide open, people were still streaming through, and now she was close enough to see. Unfortunately, what she could see was not helpful; just another nondescript stairway. But what she could hear was far more exciting; voices were floating down from the top of the stairway. One of the voices called for a jeep, and another voice noted there was one just outside.

Somewhere near the top of that staircase was the outside world.

A figure detached itself from the throng coming through the doors, blocking her path. Annoyed, Yvonne didn’t look up, but merely tried to step around whoever it was. Until they grabbed her arm.

“Ah, Lieutenant,” said a familiar voice. “What excellent timing. I was just about to send for you.”

Damn! Yvonne looked up into Cavitt’s triumphant face. At first she thought his expression was the result of foiling her attempt to reach an open door, but the look of pure joy he wore was out of proportion to such small potatoes. Cavitt looked positively transported, like a kid on Christmas. Still holding her arm, he steered her back down the main hallway— “No!”—down the side hallway, and into the room where the stretcher had been taken, barking, “Shut that door!” over his shoulder as they crossed the threshold.

“I’m delighted to see you have everything in such tip top shape, Lieutenant,” Cavitt was purring in her ear. “And now, I’d like to introduce you to your new project. Just look what I have for you!”

He ushered her through the crowd of staring people, which parted as they advanced. As the last of them moved aside, Yvonne’s hand went to her mouth, and a hush descended over the room.

“I got you a live one,” Cavitt was saying with enormous satisfaction, as though presenting her with an especially rare pet. “Would you just look at that? Isn’t it hideous?”

Yvonne felt herself trembling all over. The all-too-familiar gray figure was curled in a fetal position, apparently unconscious, blessedly unaware of what Cavitt was hissing in her ear.

“Surely now you can understand why all of this….” he indicated the room with an airy wave “....had to be undertaken with the utmost secrecy. No one can know it’s here but a select, chosen few. And you, Lieutenant, are one my most select. You will have the unique opportunity to personally participate in the world’s first ever experiments on an extra-terrestrial life form. You should feel exceptionally fortunate; only a handful of people on this planet will be able to say that.”

Her hand still pressed to her mouth, Yvonne moved her other hand to her stomach. Dinner had been hours ago, but whatever was left was now threatening to come up the way it had gone down.

“We’ll have to be careful not to kill it,” Cavitt was saying thoughtfully. “You remember what happened to the dead ones, I’m sure. We can’t let that happen this time, at least not too soon. Not until we’re finished with it.”

Cavitt swiveled his head around to look at her. “Well, Lieutenant? Say something!”

Yvonne looked back and forth from the figure on the stretcher to Cavitt’s exuberant face. Everyone was silent, staring, waiting for some kind of proclamation from her as to how pleased she was to have been chosen for this ‘unique opportunity’.

She gave them one. Bending over, Yvonne was sick all over Captain Cavitt’s shiny black shoes.




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



Warner’s Creek



David Proctor skidded to a halt in the opening of the culvert, his wife at his elbow, the beams of their flashlights dancing in front of them. He felt Emily stiffen even though they weren’t touching, and he could see why. Straight ahead was their current worst nightmare.

Dee was standing about twenty feet ahead, holding her flashlight in front of her like a weapon, clearly frightened but standing her ground. The beam of her flashlight was aimed squarely at the face of the soldier who stood halfway between them and their daughter, blocking the light with his hand. And visible beyond Dee, even in the glare of all the various flashlights, were two glowing lumps, pulsing cheerfully in the darkness like neon signs on a lonely highway at night. Emily’s sharp intake of breath told him that she had seen them too. And if they could see them, surely the soldier could see them. They’d be hard to miss.

“Lower your light,” David called firmly to Dee, remembering at the last minute not to use her name. Never give away any information unnecessarily. That was rule number one in situations like this.

Dee didn’t move.

“You’re frightening him more by blinding him,” David said, keeping his voice calm and reasonable. “Remember what I told you about frightened people?”

There was a moment’s hesitation, then Dee slowly dropped her light a few inches.

The soldier blinked, swinging his light swiftly from them to Dee and back again, clearly taken aback by their arrival. He never looked toward the sacs, but he must have seen them. He was young, wore Private’s stripes, and was alarmed enough to have raised his hand to his gun. It was as yet unholstered, but that was a mere technicality.

“Okay, everyone,” David said in the most neutral voice he could muster. “Let’s not lose our heads.”

“Who are you?” the soldier demanded. “Why are you here?”

“We’re her folks,” David answered, indicating Dee. “We’ve been looking for her.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“We got separated,” David said carefully.

“You expect me to believe you take family strolls in the middle of the night?”

“Believe what you like. Incidentally, what are you doing out here at this hour?”

“I’m asking the questions here, Mister!”

“No, actually you’re not,” Emily broke in.

Her voice startled the soldier, who swung his light around as though he hadn’t yet registered she was there. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not police, Private,” Emily said firmly. “And this is public property. There’s no law against walking on public property at any hour.”

The soldier raised an eyebrow, hesitated, then apparently decided to try a different approach.

“I found your kid’s sneaker on Monday, right where she lost it.”

“My daughter hasn’t lost a sneaker,” David answered.

“She did on Monday,” the soldier said, giving David an appraising stare. “And you know where I found it.”

“I do?”

“You were up there, weren’t you?”

“Up where?”

“You know where. And so do I!”

“If you know, then why are you asking?”

“You were on the ship, weren’t you?”

“What ship?”

“Enough!” the soldier barked, making them all jump. His hand closed more firmly on his gun.

“I agree,” Emily said in exasperation, taking a step toward the soldier; he looked wary, but didn’t back up. “Look, we don’t have a lot of time. We saw the lights up there; we know you have more people with you. If we’re going to save them, we have to move now.”

“Save what?” the soldier asked suspiciously.

“Save those,” Emily said, pointing her light squarely at the alien sacs.

[Kathy W 2200]

PART SIXTY-EIGHT


July 11, 1947, 1:10 a.m.

Warner’s Creek, Roswell




Emily held her flashlight directly on the alien sacs, although they certainly needed no light to illuminate them. Dee had gasped with dismay; David held his breath. He had been hoping that if they ignored the sacs, the soldier might believe the three of them didn’t know a thing, and let them go. The sacs would still be lost, but at this point, they were lost anyway.

The soldier’s eyes were flicking rapidly from one face to the other, his hand still on his weapon, Emily’s unexpected bluntness having apparently left him nonplussed. She waited for just a moment before trying again.

“Please don’t waste our time by pretending you don’t see them,” Emily said severely. “We know you’re not blind. I repeat—our time is running out. We need to get those out of here.”

“And do what with them?” the soldier asked warily.

“Return them to their rightful owners,” David replied evenly. “What do you intend to do with them?”

The soldier’s eyes narrowed. The beam of his flashlight moved from one face to another, finally coming to rest on Dee.

“What species are you?” he demanded.

“I…what?” Dee spluttered.

“Are you human?”

“Of course I’m human!” Dee answered angrily. “What else would I be?” She paused, her eyes widening. “You thought I was one of them, didn’t you?”

“You’re the right size,” the soldier said softly. “When I first looked down here, I thought…” He broke off and was silent for a moment before moving the flashlight to David’s face.

“Human,” David answered, before the soldier could ask. “We’re all human.”

The soldier considered this in silence for a moment before swinging his light back to Dee. “You were on the ship when we found it, weren’t you?”

Dee shot a look toward her parents. David saw Emily give a small nod.

“Yes,” Dee answered, “I was on the ship.”

“Why?” the soldier demanded.

“I was helping them. Trying to help them,” she amended darkly.

“And that’s what we’re doing now,” David pointed out. “We’re just trying to help out some people who need a hand.”

For a long moment the soldier did nothing, just stood there and looked at all of them with an inscrutable expression on his face. Then he abruptly lowered his flashlight and removed his hand from his gun.

“Good. I would have had a bitch of a time trying to cover up those things.”

David blinked. He and Emily exchanged glances.

“Okay, here’s how it works,” the soldier said briskly. His manner was relaxed now, his tone all business. “I’ve got about thirty men west of this position—you said you saw them. I need to get back to them soon, or they’ll come looking for me. I’ll tell them I didn’t see anything down here, but you’re still going to have to be careful. Did you come in a car?”

Emily nodded, her eyebrows nearly level with her hairline.

“You’ll have to get those things into your car without being seen or heard,” the soldier continued. “Don’t use your flashlights; make as little noise as possible. Make sure you don’t turn on your headlights until you reach a main road. I’ll keep’em busy over there as long as I can, but eventually someone’s going to wander over this way. I can guarantee you fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. After that, all bets are off. If they find you, it’s all over. And,” he added slowly, taking a step toward David, “if they find you, I don’t know you. We never had this conversation. Understood?”

David nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Good.” The soldier nodded toward Emily and Dee. “Ma’am. Miss. Good luck.”

“Wait!” Dee called as he started out of the culvert. “You said I was the right size to be an alien. How do you know what size they are?”

The soldier turned. “I’ve seen them,” he said quietly.

“You did?” Dee said eagerly. “Do you know what happened to the two who…who…I mean, I know they died, but…” She paused, swallowing. “I told him to surrender,” she said, in a voice that threatened to crack. “I told him exactly what to do, and I told him no one would hurt him if he said he surrendered. Didn’t I tell him right?”

The soldier’s eyes widened in shock. “That’s how he knew!” he whispered. “I wondered how he would know something like that, but.....” He stopped, aware that the three of them were openly staring at him. He was now close enough for David to see his name tag: It read, “Spade”.

“You were there? And he did surrender? But then why…” Dee’s voice trailed off, as if she couldn’t bear to finish the thought.

Private Spade was looking distinctly uncomfortable. He focused his gaze on the ground, the ceiling, out the opening of the culvert....anywhere but on the hurt, accusing little face in front of him. He glanced at David, who raised a questioning eyebrow, then at Emily, who nodded, and moved to stand behind her daughter, her hands protectively on her shoulders.

“Tell her the truth,” Emily said.

Spade scratched the back of his head. “Ma’am, I’m not certain that’s such a good idea.”

“The truth, Private,” Emily said firmly. “Please. She may never get another chance to hear it, and she deserves to know.”

“She thinks what happened was her fault,” David added, “that she gave poor instructions. Since you were there, can you shed any light on that?”

Private Spade hesitated a moment; then, nodding reluctantly, he walked back to Dee and knelt down on one knee so he could look her in the eye.

“You didn’t tell him wrong, sweetheart,” he said gently. “You told him just right, and he did it just right. It’s just that…well…a buddy of mine, he got scared. He saw the....”—he paused—“he saw your friend, and just lost his marbles. He…he shot him.”

David saw Emily’s hands tighten on Dee’s shoulders as Dee struggled valiantly not to cry. Poor Valeris. Shot at point blank range. He hadn’t stood a chance.

“We think he died pretty much right away,” Spade continued, staring at Dee’s feet now. “My friend felt real bad about it. He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but by the time he calmed down, it was too late.”

A single tear trickled down Dee’s cheek; she wiped her face with the back of her sleeve as she slowly lost the battle with her emotions. Behind her, Emily shot David an anguished look. She was finding this hard to listen to, and she didn’t even know these people; it must be ten times harder for Dee.

“But I want you to understand something,” Spade went on firmly. “It wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t your friend’s fault either. You did everything right. He did everything right. It’s just that....well......even when we do everything right…sometimes things just don’t work out right anyway.”

“And what about the other one?” Dee asked in a shaky voice.

“The other one lived for awhile. He got to stay with a really pretty nurse who played the radio for him all day, and made sure no one bothered him until he’d….passed away.”

“What about they one they just caught?” David asked.

Spade jerked his head up. “How do you know about that?” he demanded.

“The same way I knew where to look for those,” David replied, nodding toward the cheerfully glowing sacs.

Spade rose and moved to stand face to face with David, his back towards Emily and Dee. “Tell the other one something for me,” he whispered tensely. “Don’t come back. They’ll be waiting for him, just like they were tonight.”

David watched him impassively; offering any reaction would be tantamount to admitting he knew where the “other one” was. Spade waited a moment, and then nodded approvingly .

“You’re Army, right?”

“I was.”

“Rank?”

“Captain.”

Spade pulled his right hand into a salute. “Good luck, sir.”

“I’m not in the Army anymore, Private,” David pointed out.

“No. But it’s been several days since I’ve found someone I felt was worth saluting.”

Spade turned and walked out of the culvert, creating waves as he splashed through the ankle deep water. No one said anything for a long time. Emily was silent, staring into space; Dee looked positively stricken.

Finally David broke the silence. “We should get going,” he said gently. “Let’s not let this turn into yet another sad story.”




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



Deputy Valenti peered through his binoculars, hands shaking with excitement. This was it! He would have given a whoop of joy if it had been safe to do so. He couldn’t wait to see the expression on George Wilcox’s face, or on everyone’s face, for that matter, when he personally hauled in whatever it was the Proctor family was hauling out right this very minute.

Valenti had followed them up here to Warner’s Creek, driving with his lights off, carefully keeping his distance. They had disappeared down into the creek bed near one of the bridges, only to reappear and drive further west toward the next bridge. Proctor had kept his headlights off for that second trip, which had piqued Valenti’s interest. Then he had seen the lights bobbing in the distance and realized he was on the right track. The Army was also here.

Crouched in the bushes, Valenti kept his eyes glued to the binoculars. Not five minutes ago he had observed a soldier climb out of the creek bed and head west, toward the rest of the bobbing lights. A few minutes later, dark figures emerged from the creek bed, heaving something between them. Whatever it was appeared to be covered, but a corner of it flashed for just a moment, pulsing and glowing. He knew what that was. He’d seen one of those things in the back of the truck at the crash site four days ago. As he watched, the bundle was settled into the trunk of their car, the trunk was closed, and the dark figures descended into the creek bed once more. There must be more to retrieve.

Valenti tucked his binoculars away, pulled out his flashlight, and headed back toward his car, careful to keep the light pointed at the ground. It was time to introduce himself to the Proctors once again. He’d head out for the main road with his lights off and wait for the them to go by. Then he’d pull them over and settle this business once and for all. Perhaps when he caught them red handed, they’d be a little more forthcoming about what the hell was going on.

Up ahead his car loomed, a dark blot against the night. He was about ten feet away when the headlights flared, blinding him, then winked out.

Valenti stopped cold in his tracks. What the hell?

“Who’s in there?” he called warily.

As if in answer, the headlights blinked again.

Valenti whipped his gun out. “I’m armed,” he called to whoever was in the car, stepping sideways in case the headlights were to flare again. “Step out with your hands in the air!”

No answer. The car sat dark and still, deserted looking.

“I said, step out of the car!” Valenti said severely. “I’m armed. Don’t fool with me!”

Silence. Valenti slowly approached the driver’s side of his car, both gun and flashlight raised. When he was close enough to see inside, he stopped in confusion.

There was no one there.

Valenti’s eyes darted sideways. He saw nothing, heard nothing; all the doors were closed. Shining his flashlight further into the car, he could see nothing, neither on the passenger’s side nor in the back seat. His keys were still in the ignition, right where he’d left them.

After walking carefully around the car without finding anything amiss, Valenti began to relax a little. Maybe it was just some freak electrical thing. His mind was still on the Proctors; if he didn’t hurry up, they’d be gone, and if they managed to get whatever it was they had into their house, he’d need a search warrant. He climbed carefully into the driver’s seat and looked around once more. Nothing. Relaxing a bit more, he reholstered his gun, placed his flashlight on the passenger’s seat, and reached for the keys.

His keys were gone.

Shit! What the hell was going on here? The keys had been there only seconds before! A thorough search of the seats and floor proved fruitless. Valenti grabbed his flashlight and climbed out of the car, searching the ground nearby, and then in ever-widening circles. Still no keys.

Swearing loudly, Valenti looked back and forth from his car to the direction in which the bridge lay. He could probably make it to the bridge before the Proctors left. He took off at a run, every nerve in his body jangling. This was getting downright creepy.

But not half so creepy as things became about fifteen yards from his car. Valenti skidded to a halt, his trembling hand making the flashlight bream shake. Standing in front of him like a sentinel was a coyote, teeth bared. As he gaped at it, a low growl rose from its throat.

Valenti’s own throat went dry. Out here there would be no one to hear him scream. Except the Proctors, of course, and somehow he doubted they’d care. Moving slowly, he reached for his gun. He didn’t want to use it unless he had to. The sound of a gunshot would give away his position and draw the Army this way immediately; if they got to the Proctors first, he’d never find out what was going on. But Army or no Army, if he had to, that thing was going to coyote heaven.

His gun was gone.

Oh, no…NO! Valenti pawed frantically at his empty holster for several seconds before giving up. The coyote hadn’t moved.

Man and beast stared each other down for one very long minute before Valenti began to slowly back up. The coyote moved with him, still growling, still displaying an impressive set of teeth, but still keeping its distance, and Valenti got the uncomfortable impression he was being.....herded. Were there more of them? A glance backward answered that question—there was nothing between him and his car.

Sprinting for the car, Valenti reached the driver’s side, and hurled himself inside, expecting at any moment to feel teeth sinking into his leg. He locked all four doors and sat, panting, staring out the windows, watching for the coyote.

There was no sign of it anywhere.

Still breathing hard, Valenti put his head down on the steering wheel. His hands were shaking, his heart pounding. This had to be the weirdest night of his life, not to mention one of man’s closer shaves with coyotes. Searching frantically, he checked the floor, the backseat......everywhere. His gun had been in a holster on his hip, for God’s sake, and now it was nowhere to be found.

“Okay. Calm down, Jim, calm down,” Valenti muttered to himself, his heart beating a wild tattoo inside his chest. “It can’t get you in the car, and you can hotwire this thing. Just drive on out of here and wait for them. Sort this out later.”

Minutes later he had broken open the ignition, clamping the flashlight between his legs as he fumbled for the two relevant wires, touching them together. The engine roared to life. Sighing with relief, Valenti shifted the car into gear.

“Gracious, you’re thick,” a casual voice said from the back seat. “I would have thought you’d have gotten the message by now,”

Thunderstruck, Valenti raised his eyes to the rearview mirror.

And screamed.




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



Eagle Rock Military Base




Corporal Darron yawned as he headed for the latrine. Men’s Room he corrected himself with a smile. Now that they had a lone nurse in the compound, there was an actual Ladies’ Room on the premises, not to be confused with the various Men’s Rooms. Not that I’d mind confusing them, he thought with a grin. That nurse was a real looker. He was currently feeling very sympathetic toward her after watching her toss her cookies all over Captain Cavitt’s spit polished shoes. The sight of that thing Cavitt had captured was enough to make anyone sick.

Taking his glasses off, Darron bent over the sink and splashed cold water on his face. This had been one hell of a long day, and it was only going to get longer; what he really needed was coffee, but for now, cold water would have to do. He heard the door to the men’s room open; footsteps approached, stopping directly behind him.

“Grab another sink,” Darron called when the footsteps didn’t move.

Darron continued splashing. The footsteps still didn’t move.

“I said grab another sink, man,” Darron repeated, water dripping from his nose.

Silence. What, is there something sacred about this sink? he thought impatiently. His eyes squeezed shut, Darron grabbed a paper towel, dried off, and opened his eyes to face the mirror over the sink.

Over his left shoulder, his own face looked back at him.

As his head came down hard on the porcelain sink, the last thought to pass through Corporal Darron’s mind was that he’d had no idea his face was capable of such a nasty smile.

[Kathy W 2200]

PART SIXTY-NINE



July 11, 1947, 0135 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



Yvonne White sat with her head in her hands, elbows resting on the table. Her stomach, though blessedly empty, was still churning violently; she felt she would be sick again any minute. The image of that gray body, drugged and helpless against the taunts and looks of disgust, was impossible to get out of her mind.

The door opened. She heard footsteps walk toward her, and something heavy clink on the table beside her. The delicious odor of fresh coffee wafted her way, and her stomach began to settle in anticipation. She reached for the cup and lifted it with shaking hands.

“I thought that might make you feel better,” a familiar voice said.

Yvonne jerked her head up to see Captain Cavitt. The next instant, she’d hurled the coffee cup across the room. It smashed into the wall, causing a spectacular noise, a spectacular stain, and the appearance of several spectacularly startled MP’s.

Captain Cavitt gave a heavy sigh. “That’s all right, that’s all right,” he said, waving away the soldiers, who wandered back outside the room after giving her looks ranging from dark to sympathetic.

Cavitt closed the door and sat down beside her. Instinctively, Yvonne backed her chair away from him. She had neither seen nor spoken to him since losing her dinner all over his shoes, and she only wished she’d had the foresight to aim higher. Shoes were too easy to clean.

Cavitt sat in silence for several moments before speaking. “I gather, Lieutenant,” he said at length, “that you are angry with me.”

Brilliant, Yvonne thought sarcastically. She kept her eyes fixed on a point on the wall straight ahead. She didn’t want to look at him, to see that triumphant smirk cover his face the way it had when he had first shown her the alien. It was the look of one who enjoyed inflicting pain, who felt he had a right to inflict pain. Yvonne had watched other soldiers go this same route, and the results were never pretty.

“Would it make any difference if I were to tell you that all the other soldiers are here under exactly the same conditions you are? None of them chose this duty; they were assigned. They had no more choice in the matter than you did.”

“Really?” Yvonne said with mock surprise. “I see you’ve been busy then, Captain. Kidnapping all those people must have been quite an undertaking. Did they all wind up with concussions like me, or is that something special you save for female recruits?”

“I apologize once again for the manner in which you arrived here,” Cavitt said in a remarkably calm voice. “I did not intend to ‘kidnap’ you, as you so dramatically put it, but merely to divert you. It was necessary for the rest of the world to think you had been reassigned elsewhere. Those I sent to intercept you were a bit more…aggressive than they needed to be. And, as I have already pointed out, your resistance was more than they expected.”

“They attacked me!” Yvonne said, her voice rising. “They assaulted me! Is that how the other soldiers arrived? With someone’s hands all over their breasts?”

For the first time since Yvonne had met him, Cavitt actually looked shocked. “I didn’t know about that! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“As if you would have cared,” Yvonne said angrily.

“You misjudge me,” Cavitt protested. “I have no intention of tolerating such behavior. The soldiers responsible will be severely punished, I assure you. I apologize for their actions; I do not apologize for the deception involved in bringing you here. You were being reassigned to a covert operation. Absolute secrecy was required. Reassignment is within the Army’s rights, Lieutenant. Surely you knew that when you enlisted.”

“Reassignment is not synonymous with kidnapping,” Yvonne said, struggling to keep her voice level. “But then kidnapping does seem to be your forte lately, regardless of species.”

Cavitt sighed again. He was silent so long this time that Yvonne risked a peek. She was surprised to find no trace of anger or triumph in his expression. His fingers were tented, his eyes staring off into space, deep in thought. She waited.

“Look,” Cavitt said at last, “I know this has been hard on you, and I am truly sorry for that. I have attempted to make it up to each and every one of you by providing you with things you would not normally have. Your quarters, for example, are far larger than would normally be accorded someone of your rank. I meant it when I said you could have anything you wanted. Food, clothing, toiletries, books—simply name it, and I will see it is procured. The same goes for the others. I realize I ask a great deal of you, and I am prepared to give a great deal in return.” He paused. “You did get the toothpaste and sheets you requested, didn’t you?”

“Damn it, Captain!” Yvonne exploded. “Do you really think this is about toothpaste and sheets? This isn’t about things! It’s about basic freedoms accorded by our Constitution, the very same Constitution I swore to uphold—that you swore to uphold! I have a right to know where I am and what I am expected to do! Do you really think you can just buy me off with a set of sheets?”

Cavitt was silent during this tirade, his hands still tented, eyebrows raised. Yvonne was certain she was going to be reprimanded for insubordination. She’d already said enough to qualify for several reprimands, and she didn’t care. She was so angry she was literally shaking.

“Very well,” Cavitt said quietly. “I must confess you have a point. I have the utmost respect for you and all the soldiers stationed here. I personally chose all of you. I shall answer your questions as best I can. You are currently right where you were before—in Roswell, New Mexico, at the Eagle Rock Military Base. This is an isolated section which served as a medical facility of a sort in the not too distant past. We are currently on the basement level; there is another floor above us. This area has been converted to an experimentation facility and living environment for those who will carry out said experiments or provide security for this operation.”

“ ‘Experimentation’?,” Yvonne said, eyes widening. “What kind of ‘experimentation’?”

“I would think that would be obvious after what you saw tonight,” Cavitt answered.

“My, how the mighty have fallen,” Yvonne said with bitter sarcasm. “After waging war against one who carried out campaigns of incarceration, experimentation, and extermination, we are going to do exactly the same.”

Cavitt’s raised his eyebrows. “You feel sorry for it?”

“Let’s just say I have a soft spot right now for anyone who is taken against their will,” Yvonne said pointedly.

Cavitt’s eyes grew sharp. “Let me remind you of something, Lieutenant. While you’re busy feeling sorry for that creature, it and another like it have infiltrated this base three times with no one the wiser. They can make themselves look like anyone, sound like anyone. It was sheer luck we knew of their presence the first time; the second time they escaped before we even knew they were here. Despite the fact that we laid what I thought was a very clever trap for them tonight, they saw through it, and would have escaped again were it not for the forethought of Private Spade.”

Spade? Oh, Stephen, no! Yvonne thought despairingly. Why would he help Cavitt? This didn’t make any sense.

“ ‘Know your enemy’,” Cavitt went on. “That is one of the oldest rules of the battlefield, and its worth was proven again tonight. And that is exactly what we intend to do; we intend to ‘know our enemy’ as well as we can, so we may be better prepared to fight them should that time arise. The best way to do that is to detain them here and study them, and that is what we—what you—will do.”

“They’re calling it a monster,” Yvonne whispered. “But they’re wrong. You’re the monster.”

Cavitt’s jaw tightened. “I realize I am not a popular man. There are always those who must make the hard decisions, the messy decisions, and in this particular situation, that burden has fallen on my shoulders. If you hate me for that, so be it. History has always hated those with such foresight. I am in good company.”

Yvonne couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He actually thought his actions were not only excusable, but noble?

“How we feel about each other is, however, irrelevant,” Cavitt continued. “Whether you like it or not, you have been assigned here, and I require you to perform your duty to the best of your ability or suffer the consequences.”

“Oh, I know how you feel about me, Captain,” Yvonne said tightly. “You kidnapped me. You locked me up. You treated me just like that creature in there. That right there tells me how much you ‘respect’ me.”

Cavitt’s expression grew weary. “I have apologized for that many times. How many more times must I apologize before you believe me when I say I that things got out of hand?” He leaned forward. “My doctors weren’t the only ones impressed with you,” he said earnestly. I was impressed with the way you handled yourself during those autopsies. Many a hardened soldier would have fallen apart. I was even more impressed that you managed to sit alone in a room with two dead aliens without once complaining. You made not one single phone call during that entire time, Lieutenant. Not one. Anyone else would have been climbing the walls, calling for release or at the very least bothering the guards. You did none of that. That’s how I knew you were the right person for this post.”

Yvonne stared at him, speechless. What he was taking as evidence of bravery and character were actually her attempts to deceive him into thinking both aliens were dead.

“You are welcome to the night off,” Cavitt continued. “I expect you to report for duty at 0600 tomorrow morning at the latest. Incidentally, you received some mail. We will have a mail room installed shortly, but in the meantime, I’ve taken the liberty of sending it to your quarters.”

Yvonne blinked. “Mail? From whom?”

Cavitt looked at her blankly. “Why, from your family, I presume.”

“My family?” Yvonne repeated. “The family who thinks I’m in London? The family you lied to about my whereabouts?”

Cavitt gave another careworn sigh. “Your family does believe you are in London, and they are addressing their correspondence to you there. I have had your mail rerouted here, just as I have everyone else’s from whatever locations their families were told they were stationed. You are free to answer provided you do not give away your location or mission. Your correspondence will be censored, of course, and sent to London first before being forwarded to the recipients. This is not unusual; many soldiers on covert missions find themselves in exactly the same situation.”

“Tell me something, Captain,” Yvonne said slowly. “Do you actually sleep at night? Actually sleep?”

Cavitt’s eyes narrowed. “I am not a monster, Lieutenant, despite what you may think of me. I have sworn to defend my country against all enemies, both foreign and domestic; I believe that oath covers both alien intruders and tantrum-throwing soldiers unable to see the larger picture. I do what I do for the good of the American people. It is my job to keep them safe, and I intend to do just that.” He rose to his feet, indicating that their conversation was over.

“That’s what Hitler said,” Yvonne said softly.

Cavitt stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“That was Hitler’s argument,” Yvonne said, her eyes boring into Cavitt’s. “He claimed he did what he did for the good of the German people, for their own protection. He also claimed he was misunderstood and unjustly vilified. He was every bit as pompous and self righteous as you are, Captain.”

Cavitt had gone rigid; Yvonne could see his jaw clenching and unclenching as he struggled to control himself. “Actually, it’s ‘Major’ now, or will be soon,” he said, eyes flashing. “I have been indulgent, Lieutenant, because I know this has been difficult for you. That indulgence ends here. Any further remarks of this kind will be taken as insubordination and treated accordingly. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Yvonne replied stiffly.

“Good. Dismissed.”

Cavitt stood there, waiting, while Yvonne stared at him defiantly. “I believe it is customary to salute one’s commanding officer upon dismissal, is it not?” he said in a dangerous voice.

Yvonne slowly rose to her feet. He wanted a salute? Fine. She’d give him a salute. But not the one he was expecting—the one he deserved. Hesitating only a moment, she raised her arm in a perfect mimic of a Nazi salute.

Cavitt paled, his face a miasma of emotion as he struggled to decide how to respond. Yvonne stood with her hand in the air, hardly able to believe she was doing this. She who had rarely so much as even questioned a doctor had now committed acts so grievous that Cavitt had several grounds on which to lock her up, even without her chat with the reporter. But he’s already locked me up, she thought fiercely. What was the difference? Being court-martialed sounded more inviting than being forced to violate every oath she’d ever taken, to her country or her profession. There were some things she simply would not do, no matter what the cost.

At length, Cavitt reached a decision: He raised his own hand in a classic salute. Both he and Yvonne dropped their hands and stood glaring at each other.

“Your salute is a bit stiff, Lieutenant,” Cavitt said in a voice that dripped rage. “Specifically, you need to learn how to bend. That which refuses to bend, will break. I’d keep that in mind, if I were you.” Then he turned on his heel and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Yvonne sank back into her chair, ignoring the curious looks of the MP’s staring through the window, no doubt wondering how anyone could anger Cavitt so intensely and live to tell the tale. She was wondering the same thing herself. She had pushed him to the brink, and she was still here. Which meant that Cavitt meant to keep her here in spite of her attitude, and that she’d best watch her step. He could make life very difficult for her indeed.

However he chose to characterize her situation, she was a prisoner in this place every bit as much as that alien.




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




Amar climbed the stairs to the observation room, every nerve in his body twitching with anticipation. It had taken a surprising amount of time just to locate where they had taken the captured Covari and slip inside. There were two checkpoints through which one must pass, both heavily guarded. Everyone coming through those doors had to have the proper pass, and their names were double checked against a master list. Pitiful security precautions by Antarian standards, but probably the best the humans could do. And still enough to be extremely annoying.

He stood at the back of the room, taking in his surroundings. Ahead of him, the entire far wall was comprised of large windows. Several apes were standing in front of these windows, gawping down at the scene below. That told him he had likely found the right place.

Amar moved forward cautiously, watching to see if anyone noticed. No one paid him any mind; everyone’s attention was focused on whatever was in the room below. As he neared the window, one of the apes gave him a smile and a nod, apparently friendly with the one whose shape Amar had taken. Amar nodded curtly in return, ignoring both the puzzled look from the ape and the need to be careful with his borrowed shape so as not to call attention to himself. Every fiber in his being was focused on reaching that window. He slipped closer, right up to the edge, and looked down.

He was looking into a single room, some kind of medical facility by the looks of it. A horde of apes was below, all dressed in those garish white outfits human healers always wore. They were crowded around a small gray figure that was stretched on a table, spread-eagled, with a primitive imaging device arranged above it. The device blocked the face of the figure, and Amar snorted with impatience.

“Yeah, I know,” the ape closest to him said without turning around. “Aren’t they ugly?”

Look who’s talking, Amar thought angrily. But then the imaging device swung aside, and he was able to see who it was that lay upon that table. His heart began to pound, and he placed one hand on the glass as though touching it would somehow bring him closer to the figure below.

Brivari.

At last, Amar thought, his breath quickening, at last. At long last it was Brivari who was the captive, helpless, held against his will. At last he would learn exactly how it felt to be captured, imprisoned, and tortured in the name of ‘progress’. Finally, the tables had turned.

There is no King to rescue you now, Amar thought with enormous satisfaction. No palace in which to hide, no title to protect you. Brivari, along with others of his rank, had reaped nothing but benefits from the so-called “reforms” Zan’s father had ushered in. Now he would taste what life was like at the other end of the Covari food chain.

But it won’t be the same, will it? Amar thought bitterly. It couldn’t be the same, because it would be humans who would do this to him, not his own kind. It was so much worse when one’s tormentors were one’s own kind. Perhaps he could arrange to slip in here on a regular basis and provide a demonstration of just what it felt like to have one’s own turn against you.

That thought made Amar burn with desire. He slapped his other hand on the glass, his mind swirling with all the various ways he could make that very important point.

“You want a piece of that, Darron?” a voice said in his ear.

Amar jerked his hands off the glass and stared at the ape next to him, who was smiling. Amar managed a small smile in return.

The ape nodded. “We all want a piece of that. Did you see what they did tonight? Four people dead. Two had that weird silver handprint, the other two were burned to a crisp. These things are goddamned killing machines.”

“How exactly did they subdue them?” Amar asked. He’d been dying to know this ever since he’d heard of the capture.

“ ‘Subdue’?” said the ape with mock gravity. “Whoo-hoo! Such big words! Been hittin’ the old dictionary, bud?” The ape gave him a slap on the back. Amar flinched.

The idiot ape appeared not to notice. Of course not—one of the human race’s biggest weaknesses was all they failed to notice. “They used some kind of tranquilizer,” the ape was saying. “You know, a knock-out drug. Knocked it out cold. I guess they’re giving it regular boosters because they don’t want it to wake up too soon.”

“There were two,” Amar said. “What happened to the other one?”

“Got away,” the ape answered. “But we’ll get’im. He fried a guy on the way out and burned a hole in the fence. We know which way he went.”

Figures, Amar snorted silently. And they called this “enhancement”? Leaving a trail of destruction that any idiot could follow? He failed to see how that could be construed as ‘enhancement’. For generations, Covari had been prized precisely because they were invisible. Anyone could be hired to assassinate; Covari assassinated invisibly. Anyone could be hired to steal; Covari stole invisibly. Anyone could be hired to spy; Covari spied invisibly. They could make themselves look like anyone or anything, and their trademark was attracting no attention, leaving no trace of where they had been, no tracks to follow. Now these so called “enhanced” Covari left not only tracks, but calling cards that danced and sang. It was embarrassing.

“Rather stupid, don’t you think?” Amar asked the ape at his elbow. “Leaving such an obvious trail to follow?”

“Oh, but you should see what these things can do,” the ape countered. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping as though sharing a secret. “They can levitate things, make them float, without touching them. They can throw somebody up against a wall from several feet away. They can open locks just by touching them.” The human sighed. “What I wouldn’t give to be able to do things like that,” he said, obviously impressed.

Blithering idiot, Amar thought acidly. The only reason Brivari and company could do those things was because humans could, but humans were too stupid to know that. He looked away, irritated by the ape’s infatuation with Royal Covari’s advanced abilities. They were an abomination.

Down below, the figure on the table was rolled over and the imager reset. Amar leaned his head on the glass, scowling. He knew that when Brivari awoke, the humans would not be able to hold him long without tranquilizing him again. He should be enjoying this while he had the chance, but there was something curiously anticlimactic about all of it. He wanted to revel at seeing one he hated so thoroughly tied hand and foot, but he couldn’t. He wanted to gloat at seeing him at the mercy of his enemies, but he didn’t. Something was missing, and after a moment, Amar put his finger on it.

He’s asleep, he thought bitterly to himself. He has no idea what’s happening. This was simply no fun if Brivari was going to sleep through it all. He wanted to see the dismay on his face, the anger in his eyes, the astonishment when he realized that he, Amar, yet lived, and had returned to take his vengeance. <Wake up!> he mentally commanded the figure down below.

Amar placed both hands on the glass. <Wake up!>

Still nothing. Pounding the glass with his fist, Amar shouted, <WAKE UP!>

The low level muttering that had filled the room abruptly ceased. Amar was suddenly aware of several pairs of curious eyes on him.

“Darron…buddy…are you okay?” the ape next to him asked.

Amar took his hands from the glass. His right hand was still clenched in a tight fist, which he relaxed with difficulty. Everyone was staring at him, some with surprise, some with sympathy.

“I’m okay,” he said. “I’m just…angry.”

“I hear you,” the ape said sympathetically. “We’d all like to get our hands on one of those things, isn’t that right guys?”

A murmur of assent rippled through the “guys”, all of whom were blissfully unaware that one of “those things” was standing right in front of them.

“Hey Darron,” came another voice. “Where are your glasses?”

Amar blinked at the faces waiting expectantly for an answer, remembering. The human whose form he had assumed had been wearing eyeglasses, which he had removed before washing. Those glasses were still sitting right where the human had left them, a testimony to Amar’s carelessness.

“I must have left them somewhere,” Amar mumbled, backing toward the door. “I’ll go find them.”

“Go take a break,” another ape advised. “You look like you need to get away from this for awhile.”

The apes resumed gawping. Amar slipped down the stairs and out the door, silently cursing himself for his lack of vigilance. He had been so intent on getting inside, on seeing who had been captured and how, that he not been careful. Mistakes like that could—and had—cost Covari their lives. He needed to be more cautious. If he were to be captured, he had seen firsthand exactly what would happen to him.



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



2:25 a.m.

Proctor residence



Emily Proctor pulled the last window shade on the back porch closed, checked the door one more time to be sure it was locked, then sank gratefully onto the porch swing. Every muscle in her body ached, including a distressing number of muscles she didn’t even know she had. She closed her eyes, letting the stillness of the summer night close around her, almost missing the sound of her husband entering the room and plopping into a chair across from her.

“How is he?” she murmured.

“Right where we left him. Still out cold,” David answered. He paused. “Tired?” he asked.

She nodded without opening her eyes. “Those suckers are heavy,” she said, with a wave in the direction of the two alien sacs wrapped in blankets on the floor. “They feel like they each weigh a ton. Must be all the liquid in there. The aliens don’t look that heavy.”

“By the way,” David said, “I have a favor to ask of you.”

Emily rolled her head sideways and cracked an eyelid. “Are you kidding? I am fresh out of favors for you tonight, buddy.”

“Yes, a favor,” David said, ignoring her. “The next time you decide to try the ‘confuse’em with the truth’ tactic, let me know ahead of time so I can bring a clean pair of shorts.”

Emily grabbed a pillow off the porch swing and chucked it at him.

“You can’t be that tired,” David said, his eyes twinkling. “You still have enough strength to attack me.”

“I have more ammunition,” Emily warned, pointing to the rest of the pillows on the swing.

“Seriously,” David said. “That was an awful risk you took, Em. What made you think that guy would let us go, with or without the sacs?”

“What made you think he’d fall for that ‘strolling through culverts in the middle of the night’ shtick? I can’t believe you actually tried that.”

“He couldn’t prove anything,” David pointed out, “especially if we didn’t acknowledge having seen the sacs. Then you went and blew my brilliant plan by doing just that.”

Emily chucked another pillow at him, but only half-heartedly. “It just didn’t add up. Why was he all by himself? Why didn’t he yell for someone else as soon as he found her? There’s no way he could have missed these things. He was fishing too much, asking too many questions. Any ordinary soldier would’ve arrested us on the spot.”

“I thought they didn’t have jurisdiction,” David teased.

“Like that would’ve mattered,” Emily said bitterly, turning her head in the direction of the Brazel’s empty house. “It certainly didn’t matter with Mac.” She sighed. “Isn’t Dee ready for bed yet?”

“She’s taking a bath. Again,” David replied. “She said she’d be down as soon as she’s done to tuck them in.”

“ ‘Tuck them in’?” Emily echoed. David nodded toward the sacs and shrugged.

Emily suddenly sat up and stared at the two large lumps on the floor. “David…did you ever look inside these things?”

“Nope,” he replied promptly. “Never got close enough to them, and that’s fine with me.”

“But aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

“No,” David said firmly. “Valeris told me the people they guard were injured, and they’d brought them here to recover. I’m really not interested in seeing some injured aliens, royalty or no.”

“Well, I want to see what’s in them,” Emily said, sliding off the porch swing to kneel on the floor beside one of the sacs. “I just busted a gut hauling these things around. That gives me the right to a peek, doesn’t it?”

“Suit yourself,” David said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “Not interested.”

Emily tentatively raised a corner of the blanket. There was warmth coming from the sac that could be felt several inches away. She knew the material the sacs were made of felt wrinkled and leathery, and she’d already figured out that the glow was coming from the fluid inside the sac, not the material of the sac itself. She’d also seen things…floating...inside the sacs, and she’d tried very hard to ignore that. Now, safely back inside her own house, she found herself wanting to know.

She pushed the blanket back a bit further. The sac was creased into four separate sections, or pockets, and she focused her attention on the nearest one. Something was moving inside, something very small. She peered more closely, but whatever it was too far down in the watery depths of its pocket to be seen clearly.

Emily hesitated, unsure of how far she wanted to go. They had made a hammock out of blankets for the sacs, one blanket on the bottom, one on the top to hide the glow. But first they had had to maneuver the sacs onto the blankets, and for that, she’d had to touch them. Emily wasn’t the squeamish sort, but she had to admit that touching alien sacs was a bit…gross. She had paid as little attention to them as possible while she was handling them. But now she would have to touch them again if she really wanted to see what was in there.

She really did. Stop being such a baby! Emily chided herself. Grimacing, she pushed down on the nearest pocket, causing the fluid inside to bulge to the sides. Something came into view…and moved.

“David!” Emily exclaimed.

David, who had dropped off to sleep in his chair, jumped. “What? What is it?”

“Come here!” Emily said excitedly, her hands still on the sac. “Come look at this!”

“I told you, I’m not interested,” David said when he saw what she was doing.

“No, really David, you have to see this! They’re…they’re babies!”

David blinked. “Babies?”

“Yes!” Emily exclaimed. “Tiny ones, and they look….”

David sat up. “What?”

Emily looked up at him with wide eyes. “They’re human.”

“Human? How could they be human?”

“They only look human,” said a voice from the door.

David and Emily looked up to see Dee standing there in her sleeveless summer nightgown. She crossed to where the sacs were, and knelt down beside her mother. “Aren’t they cute, Mama?”

Emily had peeled back the rest of the blanket and was inspecting the other pockets. “Two boys, two girls.....I think,” she announced at length. “All fingers and toes present and accounted for. Oh, look!” she added, smiling. “That little boy is sucking his thumb!”

David’s mouth was hanging open. “I don’t understand,” he said in confusion. “Valeris told me these were their royalty. He said they brought them here to heal from war injuries.”

“They didn’t just get hurt—they died,” Dee said, curling into a sitting position. “They’re growing them again, right from babies. I told him I wished they could have done that with Uncle James.”

“That’s a neat trick,” David admitted, “but why do they look human?”

“Valeris and Urza called them ‘hybrids’,” Dee said.

“What does that mean?” Emily asked.

“I think it means that they look human, but they’re really Antarian,” Dee said, frowning.

Emily paused in her inspection of the sacs. “ ‘Antarian’?”

“The name of their planet is ‘Antar’,” Dee replied solemnly. “It’s got a red sun and three moons. It didn’t look like it had as many colors as earth, mostly reds and oranges. Maybe that’s why Urza liked color so much.”

Emily shot a look at David over the nearest sac. They hadn’t heard about this before. What else did their daughter know about these people that they didn’t?”

“Urza came into my dream the night they found the ship,” Dee went on, staring off into space. “He said he was in my dream but his body was somewhere else, just like I was in my dream, but my body was asleep in my bed. He…” Her voice faltered a moment, and she swallowed. “He said we could do anything because it was a dream. So I told him I wanted to see his ship, and he took me for a ride to his own planet. He said he wanted to show me what they were fighting for. And he said that no matter what happened, we had managed to save most of the babies, and that meant we had won.”

David opened his mouth to say something, but Emily shook her head quickly, cautioning silence. Dee had never talked this much about what had happened to her, and she needed to. This was the stage David’s brother James had never reached. Instead of talking about his awful experiences in the war, he had turned inward, shut down, and ultimately, imploded.

“But I don’t feel like we’ve won,” Dee went on, her voice dropping to a whisper. “He died in my dream. He was….he was sitting right next to me, and then the next minute he wasn’t. He just…disappeared. I knew he was dead, but I didn’t want to believe it. But then Jaddo said they were both dead, and Brivari came back with those containers. And Valeris did surrender just like I told him to, but they killed him anyway......”

Dee stopped, her voice finally failing her, and then she put her head in her hands and sobbed.

Emily’s eyes locked with David’s over their weeping daughter. He’d already been through the wringer on this one, trying to get Dee to talk, defending her anger, pointing to ways she might crawl out of the pit she’d fallen into. And Emily had balked at every turn, clinging to some phantom definition of “innocence” that no longer existed, that apparently hadn’t existed for quite some time. She certainly hadn’t been making his job any easier.

Silently, Emily inclined her head toward the door. Let me handle this, the nod said. It was her turn at bat. She’d missed the ball too many times already. Let him sit this one out.

David nodded and silently left the room, closing the porch door quietly behind him. The porch was dark, the only light coming from the glowing alien sac she was still kneeling beside, the only sound from her heartbroken child, hiccupping as she tried to quiet herself, to hold in what had to come out.

Emily pulled the blanket back over the sac and resumed her seat on the porch swing. Holding out her arms in the universal posture of mothers everywhere, she spoke gently to her daughter. “Come here.”

Dee looked up, and in an instant was curled on her mother’s lap, crying uncontrollably. Emily tucked herself into the corner of the porch swing, one leg on the floor, and rocked it back and forth, back and forth, stroking her child’s hair, saying nothing. There was nothing to say. She was wise enough not to murmur idiocies like “that’s okay”, or “don’t cry”. It wasn’t okay, and Dee had dozens of excellent reasons to cry.

After several minutes her sobs began to subside, and after several more minutes, they ceased. Mother and daughter lay curled on the porch swing, rocking, rocking.

“Is this how you and Daddy felt when Uncle James died?” Dee whispered.

“Pretty much,” Emily said quietly.

“Does it ever get better? Does it ever go away?”

“It gets better,” Emily said, “but it doesn’t go away. And it shouldn’t, really. If you really care about someone, you never completely stop missing them.”

“I want it to go away,” Dee whispered, her eyes screwed tightly shut. “I don’t ever want to feel this way again.”

“You could do that,” Emily said slowly, “but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Why not? This is awful, Mama! I think about it all the time. I dream about it every night. I keep wanting to cry all the time. The only thing that stops it is being mad. But being mad is no good either.”

Emily stroked her daughter’s hair and kissed her head. “Honey, there are two kinds of people in this world: Those who can feel, and those who are numb. The people who feel, feel everything, the good things and the bad things. The people who are numb feel nothing, the bad things......or the good things. That’s the way feelings are; they’re a package deal. You can’t feel only the good and not the bad.”

“The numb ones don’t sound so bad,” Dee said in a voice husky from crying. “At least they don’t have to hurt like this.”

“True,” Emily agreed, “but that also means they can’t feel joy. And being numb doesn’t take away whatever awful thing happened to make them want to be numb in the first place. So they’re left with the bad memories, and no way to experience happy things to offset them. They’re still miserable, and they’ve cut themselves off from the only way to end that misery.”

Emily stopped rocking and pulled her daughter up so they were facing each other. “That’s what happened to Uncle James. He didn’t want to feel sadness, and that meant he couldn’t feel happiness either. But he still had the memories of the war, and because he wouldn’t let himself feel, that’s all he wound up having. That’s why he killed himself. He let himself go numb.”

Emily wiped Dee’s tear stained face with her hands. “Don’t do that, sweetheart. I know it hurts. It hurts like hell. But it hurts for a reason, a good reason. People you cared about are gone, and you miss them. Our people behaved badly. You’re sad, and you’re angry, and you have a right to be. That sadness is what made you so willing to go out tonight and try to fix what you saw as wrong. Your anger is what made you stand up for your friend earlier today when you thought he was being treated unfairly. Even bad feelings have their uses; without them, we wouldn’t find the courage or the strength to fix what’s wrong. And without being open to bad feelings, we’re also not open to good ones, and that’s no way to live. Being numb isn’t living; it’s just existing. There’s a difference.”

Emily stopped talking; the lecture was already long enough, and long lectures seldom got the point across. Dee looked at her for a moment, then curled up against her once more.

“Urza wasn’t angry,” Dee said in a calmer voice, “even though I was. Neither was Valeris. Valeris said that the soldiers were just afraid, and that they had a right to be. He thought he could talk to one of them. He said that everywhere you go, there’s someone whose curiosity outweighs their fear.”

“Valeris sounds like a smart guy,” Emily said, resuming their rocking. “And Urza sounds like a lot of fun. Wasn’t he the one you spent time with at the festival?” Dee nodded, her head still against her mother’s chest.

“You’ve never told me about them,” Emily said softly.

“You never asked.”

Emily swallowed. No, she hadn’t asked, because she’d been too busy trying to forget, to haul everything back to “normal”. It was time for that nonsense to stop.

“Well, I’m asking now,” she said firmly. “Tell me about them. Tell me what you did with them, and what they said, and what kind of people they were. Emily brushed her daughter’s hair out of her eyes and smiled down at her. “Tell me about your friends.”

[Kathy W 2200]

PART SEVENTY


July 11, 1947, 7 a.m.

Roswell Sheriff’s Station




Roswell Sheriff Charles Hemming slammed his coffee cup down so hard on the table that coffee slopped out, spattering the folder he had slammed onto the very same table only moments before. The deputy whose unfortunate job it had been to hand him the folder jumped.

“Damn!” Hemming fumed, furious. “This is all I need! As if I don’t already have a three ring circus going on, now my own deputies are climbing up to the high wire and trying to join the act!”

“Er…yes, sir,” the deputy replied, backing up a step.

Hemming sighed. “Fine way to start a Friday morning. Where is he?”

“In your office, Sheriff.”

“Who else knows about this?”

“Only me,” the deputy replied nervously. “I…I haven’t filed that yet. Didn’t even make a copy. I thought you should see it first.”

“Thank God,” Hemming muttered. “I’m glad at least some of my men have some sense.” He waggled a finger in the deputy’s face. “Not a word to anyone about this, you hear? Not one word!”

“Not a word,” the deputy repeated, wide eyed. He turned to leave, then paused. “Sheriff, perhaps….well….I just wanted to point out….”

Hemming grabbed a napkin and wiped off his dripping coffee cup. “What is it? Spit it out! I haven’t got all day! Especially now,” he grumbled, with a withering look at the folder on the table.

“Well…all that’s been going on is bound to affect us too, Sheriff. We’re only human.”

Sheriff Hemming fixed beady eyes on him, and the deputy momentarily quailed. “I just thought you might want to keep that in mind, sir,” he finished in a rush, then left quickly before the Sheriff could reply.

“Is that so?” Hemming muttered after the rapidly retreating deputy. “We’re paid to not be affected by all this nonsense. We’re supposed to be the sane ones.”

Hemming gave an exasperated snort, grabbed the folder and his coffee, and headed down the hall to his office, slamming the door behind him, making the figure seated in front of his desk flinch. Striding to his chair, he plopped down and tossed the troublesome folder across his desk. “Explain yourself!”

Seated stiffly in the chair, hands massaging the arm rests, Deputy Valenti hesitated. “Explain…I already gave a statement, Sheriff. Which part do you want me to explain?”

“Explain to me why you thought for even one second that I’d buy this cockamamie story!”

Valenti swallowed. “That’s not a ‘story’, sir. That’s the truth. That’s what happened.”

Hemming sat back in his chair. “Deputy, you do realize what’s going on out there, don’t you?”

Valenti cast a puzzled glance in the direction of the window. “No. Why? Did something hap…”

“You know what I mean!” Hemming roared, making Valenti flinch again. “I’ve got a population in a panic! I’ve got an Army that says it had something, then turned around hours later and said it didn’t—after the damage was done. I’ve got phones ringing off the hook with reports of aliens everywhere. As we speak, I can confidently guarantee that at least three dozen people in town are convinced there is an alien ship hanging over their house or crashed in their backyard. A bunch more are convinced they found a piece of such a ship, or, better yet, a piece of an actual alien! There are aliens everywhere, Deputy! They’re in bedrooms, boardrooms, bordellos, and beauty parlors. They’re in dry cleaners, deli’s, department stores, and dentist’s offices. I’ve got reports of aliens coming in from all over Roswell, and now I’m told there’s one more place I need to look—the back seat of your car!”

Valenti was gripping the arms of his chair so hard his knuckles were beginning to turn white, but he said nothing.

“It’s my job to ensure the public’s safety,” Hemming continued, rising from his chair and beginning to pace. “It’s my job to keep people from panicking. It’s my job to restore a sense of order and common sense. And how, pray tell, am I supposed to do that when my own employees are losing it?”

“Sheriff, I swear, that’s the God’s honest truth,” Valenti objected, pointing to the folder on the desk. “That’s what I saw. That’s what I remember. I…”

“You were found passed out face down on the steering wheel, with eight empty bottles of beer in your car,” Hemming interrupted. “After eight bottles of beer, I’m more than a little surprised you remember anything.”

“I wasn’t drinking!” Valenti retorted, his face flushing. “I said that! I…”

“Yes, I know you said that,” Hemming spat. “You weren’t drinking, and you have no idea where those beer bottles came from. Here’s a thought—how about your refrigerator? That is the brand of beer you drink, you know.”

“Here’s another thought!” Valenti flared, rising to his feet. “Why would I make up a story like that? If I were going to invent a tale, wouldn’t you think I’d at least be smart enough to invent one that people would believe?”

“Normally, I would think so,” Hemming replied soberly. “Now, I’m not so sure.”

The two men stared each other down for a moment before Hemming broke the silence. “Sit down, Jim.”

“Sheriff, I…”

“I said, sit down.”

Reluctantly, Valenti sat, eyes still blazing.

Sinking into his own chair, Hemming drummed his fingers on the arms for a moment before speaking in a slightly calmer tone. “Look, Jim. Pretty soon I’ll start grooming one of you to take over this job when I retire. And I think you’d make an excellent Sheriff. But you can’t pull stunts like this without fessing up. It’s bad enough that one of my deputies was found passed out drunk in his car, and this..”—he indicated the report on the desk— “…this just makes it worse.”

“I was not drinking!” Valenti ground out.

“There’s no need for this!” Hemming protested. “I know it doesn’t look good, but you weren’t doing anything illegal. You weren’t on duty, you weren’t in uniform, you weren’t in a patrol car. You were parked, not driving. It’s mighty weird to go sit out in a car and get sloshed all by yourself, but drinking ain’t illegal. This kind of thing has never happened with you before, and if you’re smart, you’ll never let it happen again. I really don’t think one little incident like this would ruin your chances for the job. There’s no need to go jumping on the alien bandwagon trying to cover your ass.”

Valenti gave a snort of impatience. “Sheriff, would you consider just for one second, just one second, that what I’m saying is true? You know I’m no liar, and you know damned well that was no weather balloon up on that ranch!”

“No, it wasn’t,” Hemming replied sharply. “But I don’t know what it really was, and the Army’s not talking. I do know that they have officially denied that whatever they found was of extraterrestrial origin, and they will be most displeased if a deputy in my employ is going around saying they’re lying.”

“But what if it was a spaceship?” Valenti persisted. “You said it was our job to protect the public safety. We have a right to know what’s really going on. We have to know in order to do our jobs.”

Hemming leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Fine. There was an alien in the back seat of your car. So—what did this alien do?”

“It’s all there in the report, sir.”

“Oh, yes. The report.” Hemming reached for the folder and flipped it open. “Let’s see…you say the alien blinked your headlights?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Well, isn’t that special?” Hemming interrupted, his eyes wide in mock surprise. “It turned on your lights all by itself? A three year-old could do that! Very scary stuff, Jim. Very alien.”

“I know that wasn’t especially weird,” Valenti said impatiently, but.....”

“And then the apparently invisible alien took your keys,” Hemming interrupted. “Is that right?”

Valenti’s fingers curled on the arms of the chair. “My keys just vanished! One minute they were in the ignition, next minute they weren’t anywhere inside the car or out.”

“We found your keys in the ignition, Jim.”

“They weren’t there when I saw that thing in the mirror!”

“Great. Now you’re seeing things that aren’t there, and you’re not seeing things that are there,” Hemming deadpanned.

“It took my gun,” Valenti said desperately.

“Your gun was in the glove compartment.”

“But it wasn’t there!” Valenti protested. “I looked!”

“And you didn’t find it after consuming eight bottles of beer?” Hemming said dryly. “Imagine that.”

“I wasn’t drinking!” Valenti shouted, finally losing his temper.

“Then where did the beer bottles come from?” Hemming thundered back.

“I don’t know! It must have put them there!”

“Oh, I see. The alien put them there,” Hemming said sarcastically.

“What about the coyote?” Valenti demanded desperately.

“What about it?” Hemming retorted. “There was a coyote attack here just last weekend. You investigated it yourself. You do remember that, don’t you?”

“Of course I remember it! But this one was acting strangely. It’s.....it’s like it was herding me toward my car.”

Hemming shook his head impatiently. “You said it looked like it might attack you. That’s what wild animals do, Jim. That’s why we call them ‘wild’.”

Valenti shook his head furiously. “But what if it wasn’t really a coyote?”

“What, now the coyote is the alien?” Hemming said in astonishment. “Honestly, this just gets better and better! I suppose I should thank God for small favors that the alien isn’t invisible any more. But why would aliens look like coyotes?”

“Maybe......I don’t know, maybe the alien was controlling a coyote,” Valenti said, exasperated. “Or maybe they can make you think they look like coyotes. It’s the perfect disguise! Coyotes are the only animals that are plentiful around here and known to kill humans.”

“But it didn’t kill you,” Hemming pointed out.

“Exactly!” Valenti said triumphantly. “Why not? A real coyote would have tried!”

“So now the coyote’s an alien because it didn’t kill you? And it put eight empty bottles of beer in your car?” Hemming shook his head in disbelief. “You know, I thought this couldn’t get any worse, but I was wrong. Why in the name of God would an alien be even the slightest bit interested in framing you with eight empty bottles of beer? And why didn’t it kill you? According to your ‘report’, it certainly had the opportunity.”

“I don’t…..” Valenti stopped suddenly, staring off into space. “That’s it,” he said softly.

Hemming looked blank. “What’s it?”

“It could’ve killed me,” Valenti said slowly, “but it was too smart for that. Killing me would have called attention to itself; that would have left a body, or a missing person. It didn’t want me dead…it just didn’t want me interfering,” he whispered, completely ignoring the Sheriff, who was rolling his eyes. “It disabled my car, disarmed me, kept me from leaving, and finally intervened when I got the car started anyway.” He paused, eyes wide. “It was protecting them.”

“Protecting whom?” Hemming demanded.

Valenti jerked his head up as though he had momentarily forgotten the Sheriff was there. Hemming’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you see?” Valenti said earnestly. “If it can discredit me, it can also discredit any other reports like this, at least up to a point. I’m worth more to it alive and discredited then dead and silent.”

“So now you think the alien is trying to discredit you? Fine. Allow me to be the instrument of its failure.”

Hemming removed the report from the folder and ceremoniously ripped it in half, then again into quarters.

“This never happened,” Hemming announced. “Your fellow deputy never found you slumped over your steering wheel with eight empty bottles of beer in your car. You never went off the deep end insisting you were being chased by aliens with a personal vendetta against you. We never had this conversation. Is that clear?”

Valenti swallowed visibly. “Yes, sir.”

“And furthermore,” Hemming went on, standing up and leaning forward, hands resting on his desk, “this bullshit stops here. Don’t get yourself into situations where you feel you have to act like a dimwit in order to save your ass. I don’t want to hear another word out of you about spaceships, or aliens, or alien coyotes. You copy?”

“Copy,” Valenti echoed, his mouth set in a hard line.

Hemming’s face softened a bit. “You’re a good deputy, Jim. You’d make a good Sheriff. Don’t screw all of that up by acting like those nutcases you’re always going on about, the ones with Jesus in the outhouse and vampires in the bathtub.

“It was Jesus in the bathtub, and vampires in the outhouse.”

“Whatever!” Hemming said sharply. “Just don’t get yourself painted with that same brush. You’re supposed to prevent public panic, not foster it.”

“I’m also supposed to uphold the truth, aren’t I?” Valenti asked angrily. “Whatever truth that may be, even if some people don’t want to hear it? Or even if it makes me look crazy?”

“Jim, sometimes the truth doesn’t want to be found.”

“What if I want to find it anyway?”

“Then you risk ruining your career,” Hemming said firmly. “Look, I won’t be able to pull this off again. You do this again, you go down for it. So whatever you decide to do in your pursuit of the ‘truth’, make sure you keep it completely to yourself.”

“I’ll do that sir,” Valenti replied. He stood up. “Will that be all?”

“It’s been more than enough already,” Hemming said darkly. “Too much, in fact. Take the day off, Jim. Think about what I said.”

Valenti nodded curtly, and left the office.

Sheriff Hemming leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Alien coyotes,” he muttered. Jesus. It wasn’t even 8 a.m. yet, and already he needed a drink.




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



7:10 a.m.

Proctor residence



Yawning, David Proctor headed down the back stairs toward the kitchen. He’d been so exhausted last night that he’d slept soundly, which fortunately meant no more dreams watching Christianson fall from that fence. Unfortunately, the reason he’d slept soundly also meant that he’d slept far too little. He was going to have trouble staying awake today for sure.

“Sleep well?” David asked, as he reached the kitchen where Emily was cooking breakfast.

“Like the dead. No pun intended,” Emily answered. “Is Dee still asleep?”

David nodded. “But someone else isn’t.” He looked around the kitchen. “Where is he?”

Emily gestured toward the back porch. “In there.”

“Is he all right?”

“Seems to be,” Emily answered, stirring the scrambled eggs. “In fact, I’d say he looks better than I’ve ever seen him. Maybe in some ways that enforced deep sleep was good for him.”

“Did he say anything?”

Emily shook her head. “He just appeared, and looked at me, and I pointed, and off he went. Not a word. Didn’t even say ‘thank you’,” she added.

“He probably will later,” David said, staring out the kitchen window at the Brazel’s empty house. “But that wouldn’t be the first thing on his mind. If there was one thing I learned from whatever happened between us last night, it’s that he has one purpose and one purpose only—to keep those babies alive any way he can.”

Emily gave him a skeptical look. “You’re an alien psychologist now, are you?”

“You didn’t see what I saw,” David said soberly. “It was awful.”

Emily stopped feeding bread into the toaster. “What did you see?”

David continued to stare out the window, his eyes glassy, as if he were looking into a different world. “It was a surprise attack….a massacre…..blood everywhere, bodies everywhere. They were pulling the bodies of the people they had guarded behind them, onto the ship, and his hands kept slipping because his person was a mess. Beaten to a bloody pulp. It was…” He paused, as if at a loss for words to describe what he had seen.

Emily pushed the lever on the toaster down. “Was it worse than what you went through?”

“Yes,” David said slowly. “Because it was…personal.”

“Personal?”

“It’s hard to describe,” David said, “but I didn’t just see what he was seeing. I felt what he was feeling. And what he was feeling was a sense of personal loss that I’ve never felt. All the time I was overseas, my little world here was secure. I knew you and Dee were safe, I knew the States probably wouldn’t be touched. But his world fell apart. I’ve never experienced that kind of devastation. I hope I never have to.”

The toaster popped. David watched Emily butter the toast before speaking again. “I think I understand them better now, Em. Imagine if Hitler had come here and taken over our country, and killed the people you loved most. How would you feel?”

A long moment passed before Emily answered. “I would probably go mad,” she said quietly.

“Then let’s congratulate them,” David said, heading toward the back porch. “All they’ve done so far is get on our nerves and break a window. All thing’s considered, I’d say they’re doing pretty well.”

“Wait,” Emily called as he headed out of the room. “I found this in your pants pocket when I was folding laundry this morning.” As she spoke, she pulled something out of the pocket of her robe and held it out for him to see. “It belongs to them, doesn’t it?”

Dangling from her hand was a pendant with the swirling symbol on it, the same pendant that the sheriff’s deputy had found in the trunk of his car the night David had helped them move. “It’s theirs,” David confirmed. “I slipped it into my pocket. Must have forgotten it.” He reached for the necklace, but his hand froze halfway there, tense and rigid.

“What’s wrong?” Emily asked in alarm.

“I know this!” David exclaimed. “It’s familiar now!”

Emily looked confused. “I know you know it,” she said a little uncertainly. “You said you put it in your pocket when…”

“That’s not what I mean,” David said, taking the pendant from her and staring at it, wide eyed. “I remember it from all the things I was seeing last night through Jaddo.” He paused. “This was hers.”

“Hers?”

“The Princess. The one Urza guarded. This was hers. It was around her neck when they pulled her body away.”

Emily stared at him. “Remind me to thank him for not showing me the movies,” she said warily. “None of them sound good.”

“There’s more,” David said, screwing his eyes shut. “I can see him giving it to her…putting it around her neck….I know him…his name is…is…” He paused a moment, then opened his eyes. “Rath.”

“Why are you seeing all this now?” Emily asked in a voice that bordered on alarm. “You’re not touching him now. Where is all this coming from?”

David fingered the pendant and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe you should go talk to him about what happened,” Emily said, concerned. She walked over to the stove and poured two cups of coffee. “Here,” she said, pressing them into David’s hands. “One for each of you. You probably both need it.”




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



David found Jaddo on the back porch, squatting beside one of the sacs. He had pulled the blanket aside, revealing a dull, cheerless light that contrasted sharply with what David remembered from last night as a brilliant glow.

“Is it just me, or doesn’t that one look very good?” David asked, setting the cup of coffee down on the floor beside Jaddo.

Jaddo glanced up at him, his face a mask of concern. Emily was right—he looked stronger, well rested. “We will likely lose this one,” he said heavily, looking at the dully glowing sac.

“Because of something we did?”asked David, sitting down in a nearby chair.

Jaddo shook his head. “All of the sacs were in incubators that lost power when we crashed. We restored power, but some were irreparably damaged. Now they have been removed prematurely again, and it is inevitable that more will be affected. Still….” His voice trailed off.

“It’s hard to watch,” David finished for him.

Jaddo shot him a wary look. They locked eyes.

“Yes,” Jaddo finally admitted, in a voice that made it clear he was uncertain whether to admit that. “It is very hard to watch.”

David held out the pendant. “Emily found this. It was in the trunk of my car the night I helped you moved the rest of those,” he said, indicating the sacs with a nod of his head. “I put it in my pocket and completely forgot about it.”

Jaddo’s face paled when he saw the pendant. He looked at it a long moment before taking it from David. “Thank you.”

David sipped his coffee. “He gave it to her, didn’t he?”

Jaddo didn’t look at him. He was looking at the pendant, and for a moment, David thought perhaps he hadn’t heard. “Yes,” he finally whispered.

“It was night time,” David said, closing his eyes, as images swam before them. “They were in…some sort of garden, with a pond, or small lake. All three moons were full. It was her birthday present…..”

David paused; he knew that woman’s name. It was right on the tip of his tongue….

“Vilandra.”

David opened his eyes to find Jaddo staring at him uncomfortably. He dropped his eyes when David’s met his.

“How did I know that?” David whispered.

When Jaddo spoke, his voice was hoarse. He sounded like one who was making a confession. “Last night, I formed a telepathic connection with you,” he said, still not looking at David. “It is something all races on my planet can do, to one degree or another. It enables us to share thoughts and experiences with one another.”

“And feelings,” David murmured.

Jaddo shot him a sidelong glance. “And feelings,” he confirmed reluctantly. “It is…it is an intimate form of communication usually reserved for those closest to you. I risked it last night because I was too weak to speak, and had no other way to communicate.”

“ ‘Risked’ it?” David asked.

“I wasn’t certain if you would be capable of receiving what I was sending,” Jaddo explained, still looking supremely uncomfortable. “Normally one can control what thoughts are visible, but in my weakened state, I could not do that. I was unable to edit or organize my thoughts, and given what has been on my mind of late, I knew what whomever I connected with would be likely to see.” He hesitated. “I am certain I could have formed a connection with either your daughter or your mate, but I chose you because you had been a soldier. You were more likely to understand what you would see, to make sense of it.”

“I’m very grateful you didn’t show all that to my daughter,” David admitted.

Jaddo expression hardened. “I would have, if I’d had to.”

“I know you would have,” David said quietly. “So… you have to touch someone to form this… ‘connection’?”

“Usually.”

“So whenever you people touch each other, you form a connection? No one keeps their own thoughts private?”

“Connection is a consensual event,” Jaddo said, and here he looked uncomfortable again. “It can be blocked if one does not consent. Forcing connection against someone’s will is akin to what you would term ‘rape’. I…was not able to seek your consent last night.”

“No, no, it’s all right,” David said hastily, reacting to Jaddo’s apologetic tone even though no apology had actually been offered. “I’m just confused. I remembered that bit about the pendant when Emily showed it to me just now in the kitchen. But we weren’t touching then—what happened?”

“My thoughts were jumbled,” Jaddo said, still looking away. “I wasn’t able to show you only what you needed to know. You saw a great deal, most of which you probably weren’t able to process at the time, but it was still transmitted. In the future, something—like the pendant—may trigger more of the memories you saw.”

David nodded slowly. For some reason he had the nagging feeling that Jaddo wasn’t telling him everything. “So is this going to happen now whenever I touch someone?”

“No. You would need to touch someone capable of—and willing to—form a telepathic connection. You did not form it, you merely received it.”

“Good,” David said with obvious relief. While this “telepathic connection” had served its purpose last night, he was in no hurry to repeat the experience. “So—I assume you want to move these after dark?” he asked, indicating the sacs on the floor.

Jaddo nodded. “Yes. Then I will attempt to free Brivari.”

“Is that wise?” David asked, remembering Private Spade’s warning. “They’ll be waiting for you. They’ll know right where you’re headed.”

“Of course they will,” Jaddo said darkly. “And I know how they will attempt to subdue me, so I am one step ahead of them.”

“He might get out on his own,” David said. “I doubt they’ll be able to hold him once he wakes up.”

Jaddo shot him an appraising look. “You were a soldier. What would you do?”

David hesitated for a moment. “I’d go back,” he admitted. “I’d go back, come hell or high water.” He smiled slightly. Here he was, giving advice that he wouldn’t follow himself.

“Besides,” Jaddo added, “I do not wish to be alone in this strange place.”

But you’re not alone, David thought. Should he tell him about the others of his kind now that Brivari was captured? He had spoken of that to no one but Dee, not even Emily. She’d had enough to swallow lately without being told that there was a war on yet another front. They had heard nothing, seen nothing that would indicate the others were back. And Brivari was no fool—if he suspected Jaddo of treason, he must have his reasons, although David was even more certain now than he had been before that this was not likely to be the case.

No, he finally decided. He would stay out of it. That seemed the wisest course of action.

“Well,” David said. “I need to get going.” He picked up his coffee cup and headed for the kitchen.

“Did your men make it over the fence, David Proctor?”

David stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

Jaddo looked him directly in the eye. “I said, did your men make it over the fence?”

“What fence?”

“The fence that you and the other human soldiers were heading toward when I first established the connection. You were under attack, and attempting to climb a fence to escape.”

It took David a moment to realize exactly what this meant, and when he did, his heart began to pound.

“This ‘connection’…it goes both ways, doesn’t it?”

Jaddo looked away and nodded. “I was too weak to see much. But I did see the dream you were having.”

For a split second, David could see why Jaddo’s people considered a nonconsensual connection to be rape. He felt invaded, violated. The idea that someone had been leafing through the file cabinets in his own mind was disquieting, to say the least.

“Uh....yeah,” he replied uncertainly, not quite certain how to take this latest revelation. “Most of them made it over the fence.”

“But one didn’t.”

“Christianson,” David said, his throat tightening at the memory. “He was just a kid. Only eighteen.”

“He was captured.”

“He was,” David admitted. “On my watch.”

“I saw him fall,” Jaddo said softly. “I saw what they did to him.”

David closed his eyes. He said nothing.

“You blame yourself for this.”

“Yeah,” David said heavily, “Yeah I do. Just like you blame yourself for that guy who stood all alone at the gate.”

Jaddo’s head whipped around, his eyes burning into David’s, and suddenly David realized he wasn’t the only one feeling violated. This intensely private, intense individual had just made a relative stranger, and a human, no less, privy to some of his most private thoughts. And not just his thoughts, but his regrets. His fears. His embarrassments. His guilt. Everything anyone wouldn’t want anyone else to see.

Jaddo stared at him silently for a long minute before turning his attention back to the sacs without replying. David slipped out the porch door, deciding not to press this particular issue any further. Not yet, anyway. The image of that lone figure standing before the gate behind which an army seethed was powerful, as was the regret that accompanied it. And even though the figure in the image was alien—short, gray, large-headed—the situation was not. Replace the alien with a human, and the result would be instantly recognizable to anyone on planet Earth.

Be it Christianson or whoever had stood at Jaddo’s gate, it appeared guilt was a universal constant.