). No more vacations until next June.Brivari is unaware of what's going down at the compound. He was there that morning, wrote off the telepathic "whisper" he heard to Yvonne's still-developing abilities with telepathic speech, and isn't due back until later that night or the next morning. So he has no idea what's happening, although he's going to find out soon.
It's the very end of October in 1947, so 2 1/2 months have passed since Jaddo was captured. After this part is finished, the next part jumps to December of '47, after which we start making bigger jumps: Six months (summer, 1948), ten months (spring, 1949), and another ten months (spring, 1950), which brings us to the end. There is an end in sight! :mrgreen:
The shapeshifters have another fifty years to turn into the people we saw on the show, and a lot will happen in that time. The Skins show up, the hybrids don't grow at the expected rate, and to top it off, they "hatch" as children, something the Warders didn't expect to have to deal with. Their subsequent argument over how to handle that is the reason the hybrids wind up where they do. I can't wait to write that part! I'm dying to get to the part where the characters we know actually get to say something.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
October 31, 1947, 1500 hours
Eagle Rock Military Base
Lieutenant Spade stepped into the hallway and closed the door to Cavitt's office behind him as Cavitt's secretary threw him one last sympathetic look. Once safely outside, he exhaled slowly and leaned against the stone wall, which felt inexplicably cold to him. He looked down—his uniform was drenched, dark stains spreading under his arms and down his chest. God, I'm a mess, Spade thought, wrinkling his nose in distaste. But mess or no mess, it was a miracle he was here in the first place. He didn't know what cataclysmic event had taken place during the time he'd been in that office, but something extraordinary must have happened to account for what hadn't happened. Perhaps the Earth had stopped rotating? Perhaps the magnetic field had reversed direction? Because for some inexplicable reason, Spade found himself standing here with both his eardrums and his commission intact when he'd expected to be screamed at and demoted in short order.
To be sure, Cavitt had gotten off to a good start after hauling Spade back to his office and demanding an explanation. "A dog?" Cavitt had said in disbelief. "Did I hear you correctly, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir," Spade had answered wearily.
"A dog?" Cavitt repeated. "You let a dog into my compound?"
"No, sir, I didn't let him in," Spade had replied impatiently. "I—"
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Lieutenant, but to the best of my knowledge, dogs are incapable of working doorknobs," Cavitt had said, his eyes like nails. "They are similarly incapable of speaking or passing checkpoints. So someone had to have let the dog in."
"My men did, sir," Spade had said, not bothering to point out that working doorknobs was toward the low end of this particular dog's bag of tricks.
"Your men did," Cavitt echoed, tenting his fingertips. "I see. And you failed to notice the presence of this dog? Or perhaps you thought the Army was now enlisting canines as a means of meeting our quotas?"
"I never saw the dog until today, sir," Spade had answered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "I—"
"Lieutenant, do you, or do you not, conduct surprise inspections of the various posts under your command in this compound?"
"Yes, sir," Spade answered. But not like I used to. Corporal Brisson wasn't the only one getting lax about security. Spade's "surprise inspections" hadn't been much of a surprise for awhile now.
"Is there something wrong with your eyesight, Lieutenant?"
"Not that I know of, sir," Spade grated out. "The dog was small, and the men were very good at hiding it."
"Who?" Cavitt demanded. "Which men?"
Damned near all of them. "I'm not sure, sir," Spade lied, unwilling to give Cavitt anything he didn't absolutely have to. "I only learned of the dog minutes before you saw it. I haven't had time to conduct an investigation."
Cavitt had leaned back in his chair and stared at him as Spade kept his eyes focused directly above Cavitt's head, awaiting his fate. Based on previous experience with Cavitt, he fully expected to at least be confined to quarters. Eventually, he was almost certain to be relieved of command; if he was really lucky, that's all he would be relieved of. At this point, it was the 'confined to quarters' that bothered him the most. Yvonne was still unconscious. If he went down for this, so be it, but if he could spare her what would inevitably happen if anyone discovered she'd had contact with an alien on the loose, he meant to do that. Unfortunately, he couldn't do that while he was locked in his quarters.
"Conduct your investigation, Lieutenant," Cavitt said abruptly. "I expect a report on my desk by 0500. I will inform General Ramey of the security breach when he arrives tomorrow."
Spade blinked. "General Ramey?"
"Corporal Keyser has made a breakthrough in understanding the alien technology," Cavitt answered, "so the General will be here tomorrow to hear the Corporal's report. And mine," he added pointedly. "If I were you, I'd pack my bags. Dismissed."
" 'Dismissed'?" Spade had echoed in disbelief.
"Yes, dismissed," Cavitt repeated irritably. "Don't tell me your hearing has been compromised along with your eyesight. You have your orders. I suggest you get started."
Cavitt had picked up the telephone, indicating their encounter was over. Spade had saluted and left the office, still unable to believe that he was walking away a free man, at least for the moment....and maybe only for a moment. Cavitt obviously wasn't aiming for either a reprimand or demotion, neither of which involved luggage. More likely he would argue for some kind of discharge and then pick Spade off once he rejoined the civilian population. Doesn't matter, Spade thought, pushing himself off the wall and plucking at his clammy shirt. He still had a few hours of freedom left, and Yvonne still needed help. And there was only one person in this compound who might know how to counteract an alien sedative.
******************************************************
October 31, 1947, 3:15 p.m.
Chaves County Sheriff's Station
Deputy Valenti heard the phones ringing as he pulled his car into the parking lot of the Sheriff's station. He shifted into park, shut off the engine, and sat there for a moment, listening to the voices floating out the nearby open window. Tired voices, exasperated voices, voices straining to be patient and understanding. Here it comes, he thought ruefully, settling back into his seat, savoring the last few minutes before he had to jump into the fray. Halloween night was always a busy night for any Sheriff's office, but Halloween night in Chaves County had taken on new meaning this year. This year, Halloween was going to be a nightmare, and not of the ghoulish kind.
Time had passed since that alien ship—or weather balloon, if one believed the Army's version—had crashed on Pohlman ranch, but time had not dimmed the apprehension it had caused. People were still as jumpy as a bunch of long-tailed cats in a room full of rocking chairs, calling the Sheriff for every imaginable noise or bump in the night—or the daytime, for that matter. The approach of Halloween had only made things worse, partly because of the nature of the holiday, and partly because the usual Halloween pranksters had recognized the fact that there were lots of nervous people out there more ripe for scaring than usual....and this overabundance of easily frightened people had in turn encouraged even more pranks and pranksters. It all boiled down to the simple economics of supply and demand.
Ironically, the one group of people in the county not constantly calling the Sheriff's office were the tourists, the number of which seemed to be increasing by the week. Pohlman Ranch had been bought by the government and closed off, something many people, Valenti included, found very telling indeed. But that hadn't stopped the alien enthusiasts, the UFO hunters, and the just plain curious from descending on Chaves County in droves. The focal point seemed to be Roswell, the closest town to the crash site of sufficient size to accommodate the influx. And the people of Roswell had taken notice—just this morning as Valenti had backed out of his driveway, he'd noticed yet another "Room for Rent" sign, which seemed to be springing up like mushrooms. Two new restaurants had opened since the crash, and more were in the works. Certainly all of Chaves County was feeling the affects of the sudden interest in the area—Essie Chambers' alien cookies were still hot sellers at Chambers Grocery—but Roswell seemed to be going out of its way to take the newcomers to heart.
Looking at his watch, Valenti sighed and picked up his hat. Roswell would be having its share of problems tonight too, but Roswell was only a blip on the Chaves County map. George Wilcox had his hands full trying to manage an entire county of jumpy people and exhausted deputies, which is why Valenti was still here, still on loan from Sheriff Hemming in Roswell....and that suited Valenti just fine. He was one of the few people who knew what "real" alien activity looked like and where it was likely to be centered: Not in Roswell, but in the nearby town of Corona, where a nine year-old girl was a veritable alien magnet.
Although not recently. Valenti hadn't gotten so much as a whiff of aliens since early last month when the Indian boy, River Dog, had been attacked by a pack of high school boys in Corona. His subsequent rescue continued to puzzle everyone but Valenti, what with mysteriously breaking windows in the gymnasium and an unexplainable bright light which had blinded everyone in the gym. No—not everyone, Valenti mentally amended. Because Dee Proctor had been there, as she frequently was when anything related to aliens was happening, along with River Dog's little sister, Bright Sun, and the ever-present Anthony Evans. All three of them had somehow had the foresight to close their eyes before the bright light hit, sparing them its affects. Everyone else thought they were just lucky. Valenti knew better.
Fortunately, the school had settled after that outburst. River Dog's arm had healed nicely, as had his attackers' eyes. It took a few hours, and some of them were seeing spots for days afterwards, but eventually they'd recovered. After they'd all been booked on assault charges, that is, something which Valenti had once again had to push for when all those teenagers began filling up the Chaves County Sheriff's station. But push for it he had, and in the end he'd gotten his way and a pat on the back from Sheriff Wilcox besides. Every single one of River Dog's attackers was arrested and charged, and every single of one of those attackers had left him completely alone since then, the process of being fingerprinted and photographed having had the desired effect. River Dog's parents had declined to press charges just as everyone had expected, but the message had been clear. That, and the addition of more deputies around Corona's school had no doubt contributed to the lack of problems since that incident. It had also contributed to Wilcox's personnel problems, shrinking an already strained workforce. Fortunately it was only temporary, as the deputies would be recalled once River Dog and his sister left the school at the end of the year.
Valenti rolled up his window, plopped his hat on his head, and climbed out of his car. Time to face the music. Which was probably only fair, since he'd done his share of toilet papering houses and soaping windows when he'd been a kid. He just didn't need all that on top of all the bogus alien calls. Valenti had answered as many of those as he'd dared while trying not to look too eager, or too annoyed when someone tittered "Deputy Martian" behind his back....but no luck. The aliens had been very, very quiet. He'd pay real money for a real alien call.
"Hello."
Valenti turned in surprise to find the last person he'd expect to see lurking behind the Sheriff's station—Dee Proctor, sitting on the bottom step of a short flight of stairs, holding a book in her lap that was easily half as big as she was. Ask and you shall receive, Valenti thought. An encounter with young Miss Proctor was about as close as one could get to a real alien encounter.
"Hello yourself," Valenti answered, smiling as he removed his hat. "This is a surprise. What are you doing out here?"
"I have something to show you," she answered.
Something to show him? Valenti mentally sat on his rising excitement as he walked over to her, staring at the book in her lap. This made the second time she had approached him voluntarily, and even though he hadn't learned much of anything during their first encounter, the fact that she was willing to risk a second was good news.
"And you want to show me.....whatever you have.....in the back of the Sheriff's station?"
"I don't think it's a good idea that we're seen together," she answered cagily.
Valenti smiled again, shaking his head in disbelief. Anyone overhearing would think there was some kind of clandestine affair going on instead of a conversation between an adult law enforcement officer and a nine year-old girl. But she was right—Sheriff Wilcox was good friends with her parents, and word might get back that she'd been there. That would not sit well with the Proctors.
"I see your point," Valenti agreed, taking a seat beside her on the step. "So—I haven't seen you in awhile."
Dee shook her head gravely. "Not since those boys beat up River Dog. They've left him alone, you know. Nobody's bothered either River Dog or Bright Sun since then. And that's because of you."
"Because of me?"
"Because you made them arrest those boys," she clarified. "That really scared them. I hear things," she added.
"I'm sure you do," Valenti said sincerely. "And it should have scared them. But it wasn't just me. Sheriff Wilcox wanted them arrested too."
"I know. But you started it," she said, unwilling to let Wilcox share his spotlight.
"I did my duty, Miss Proctor," Valenti said, glancing down at the book in her lap, the cover of which appeared to be blank, trying to decide how to get her off the subject of Indians and onto aliens. Perhaps some light conversation was in order first.
"So what are you dressing up as tonight?"
"If you don't mind, I don't have a lot of time," she answered seriously. "So I'd like to come right to the point."
All business, Valenti thought with amusement. Just like me. He could respect that. "I'm a little pressed for time myself," he admitted. "I'm due inside in just a few minutes, so by all means, go ahead."
She nodded. "Do you remember what we talked about back when River Dog got hurt? About how you told those other deputies who didn't want to arrest those boys that the law said you had to?"
"Yes," Valenti said slowly, wondering where this was going.
"And then you said people couldn't come to this country without the right papers, and that there were laws about that sort of thing? And we talked about whether those laws were meant for everyone or not?"
"As I recall, the discussion centered around whether those laws applied only to humans," Valenti reminded her, watching her closely.
But she never batted an eyelash. "You said it would depend on how the law was worded," she continued. "You said you had to follow 'the letter of the law'. Well, I have the law right here, and I wanted to show you how it's worded."
Shifting sideways on the step so that her back was against the stair railing, she opened the huge book in her lap to a bookmarked spot. Just before she flipped the book open, Valenti caught a glimpse of a title on the spine: Statutes of the State of New Mexico.
"It says here," she went on, ignoring the flabbergasted look on his face, "that these laws are for anybody who isn't a citizen of the United States. See?" Her right index finger strayed over a blob of tiny type. "They're always called 'non-citizens', or 'immigrants'. That's all. It never says they have to be human."
"They're also called 'illegal aliens'," Valenti said, throwing caution to the winds and using the 'a' word right in front of her, still in shock that she'd actually gone and looked up New Mexico immigration law.
"I know," she answered without missing a beat. "Mr. Peter told me that."
"Who's Mr. Peter?"
"My teacher. He used to be a law professor at the University of Santa Fe."
"So why's he teaching fourth grade?"
"He got this book for me," she continued, ignoring the jibe, "and showed me all the laws about immigrants and non-citizens. And," she went on, flipping to another bookmarked page, "he also showed me the part where it talks about what police can and can't do. It doesn't say anything about humans there either."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning that the law applies to everyone," she explained. "You said you had to follow the 'letter of the law', and Mr. Peter said that too. So I'm showing you the 'letter of the law'."
Valenti digested this extraordinary statement in silence for a moment, trying to decide how to respond. He had said that, but never in a million years had he thought she would actually go and look up the statutes and shove them under his nose. Way back when he'd first watched her jump out of that alien ship and wind her way through a crowd that inexplicably couldn't see her, he'd thought at first that he must be wrong—no child would have the guts to do that. Seeing her sitting here now, arguing legal code with a sheriff's deputy, he could easily believe that she'd jump out of an alien ship, and a lot more besides.
"Miss Proctor," Valenti began slowly, treading carefully, "I'm impressed with all the work you did to look that up. But I'm afraid the connection you're trying to make just isn't there."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean those laws don't say what you want them to say."
"But you said 'the letter of the law'," she insisted, "and so did Mr. Peter. This is the letter of the law, and it doesn't say 'human'."
"Of course it doesn't," Valenti answered patiently. "It doesn't say that because there's no way the people who wrote and approved those laws could have been thinking about what you're thinking about. Just like the Framers of the Constitution couldn't have been thinking about automobiles when they wrote about interstate commerce because cars hadn't been invented yet."
"But these laws are about people," she pointed out, "people who aren't citizens of our country. People had been invented when these laws were written, hadn't they?"
"Yes, but....." Valenti stopped, frustrated. He always wound up frustrated when he tried to spar with any of the Proctors. "There's something else too," he went on, abandoning his former tack, "something other than 'the letter of the law'. That's important, just like I said and your teacher said, but it's not the only thing to consider. You also have to take into consideration the spirit of the law."
"What's that?"
"The original intent of the law, what the people who wrote it were trying to accomplish. There's a long-standing legal tradition that says you can't use the letter of the law to violate the spirit of the law."
"Mr. Peter told me these laws were written to make sure that only United States citizens used the benefits of being a citizen....like voting, for instance," she replied.
"True," Valenti allowed. "But there's another reason, a bigger, reason these laws were written—to protect the American people."
"From what?"
"From anything that might hurt them," Valenti answered. "From threats to their safety."
"You think there's a threat to their safety?"
"Can you tell me there isn't?" Valenti asked, looking her directly in the eye. She never looked away, this one. Just nailed you with that steady gaze that was positively unnerving on a face so young. "I know what we're dealing with here. I know we're dealing with something a lot stronger than we are. I know there's a threat."
She pondered that for a moment while Valenti awaited her verdict, staring down at the ground, slowly spinning his hat in his hand. What would she say to that? Try to convince him the aliens weren't threats? He might learn more from her that way than he ever had.
"You're stronger than I am," she said suddenly. "You're bigger and stronger. Does that mean you're a threat?"
"That's not what I meant—"
"Now that I think of it," she went on, ignoring him, "every single grown-up I know is bigger and stronger. Does that mean they're all threats too?"
"Of course not!" Valenti said impatiently, irritated at finding himself backed into the proverbial corner yet again. "I wasn't referring to someone you know. I was referring to strangers."
"Okay," she said slowly, "so someone I know who's bigger and stronger is not a threat. But what about Beth Ward? Her own father kidnapped her right out of her bed and took her away from her mother. He was bigger and stronger, and she certainly knew him. What about that?"
Valenti's mouth opened, then closed as her eyes bored into him, and he fumbled for some way out of this. Nothing came to mind.
"Besides, it's not up to you," she announced, flipping to yet another part of the massive book on her lap. "According to this, you have to follow the law, and then a judge decides the rest. And—"
"Not quite," Valenti interrupted, delighted to be a solid ground once more. "I have some discretion when it comes to the 'letter of the law'. My primary duty is to protect the people, so if I think following the law prevents me from doing that, I can make that decision. I'd have to explain myself to a judge later, but I can assure you, Miss Proctor, there's no judge in the country who would think me wrong in this case."
"I know," she said thoughtfully, closing the book. "That's why I'm talking to you. It'll start with you. With what you decide if anything happens."
"Why?" Valenti asked, suddenly wary. "Is something going to happen?"
She shook her head. "Not that I know of. But something might. And when it does, I wanted you to know what the law says."
"And you think that will make a difference?"
"Sure I do. I heard you telling those deputies to arrest those boys. I heard what you said, about how it's your job to protect all the people, not just the one's they wanted to protect, or the one's who look like us." She leaned forward, her arms resting on the book. "You're so close," she said softly. "You just need to go a little farther."
Staring at that earnest little face, Valenti was suddenly overcome with the urge to let her down gently. She was trying—he had to give her that. And she'd made an argument that even he had to admit might give some legal eagles pause.
"I'm sorry, Miss Proctor," he said gently, "but I can't go where you want me to." Her face fell, and he added hastily, "But you've made some valid points. I promise you I'll keep them in mind should anything ever......happen."
She perked up then, smiling and nodding, looking just like the nine year-old she was. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "Even if you just think about it, that's better than nothing."
Hoisting the book on one hip, she stood up. "I have to go now. The school bus will be coming back around soon, and I'll ride it back home."
"I was wondering how you got out here," Valenti admitted, rising to his feet and donning his hat. "And how you knew I'd be here now."
She shrugged. "That's not hard. I'm here a lot with my father, and there's a schedule on the bulletin board."
"I was wondering something else," Valenti said, falling in step beside her as they headed toward the street. "It's all well and good to make your arguments to me, but it won't necessarily be me who shows up. What are you going to do then?"
"Oh, it'll be you," she said confidently. "If anything ever happens, I know it'll be you that comes. You'll be the first one there." She stopped, turning to face him. "I should go on from here by myself. Thanks for listening."
Valenti watched her walk away, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're wrong about that, Miss Proctor," he murmured to himself. "If anything ever 'happens', as you put it, I won't be the first one there.....you will."
******************************************************
Eagle Rock Military Base
The guards outside John's door looked up curiously as Spade approached, scoping out his adversaries as he drew closer. He'd gotten lucky last time—they'd let him in without question because they'd heard he was looking for Yvonne, who they'd thought was inside. He was unlikely to be that lucky a second time. Jelfo, Spade thought, eyeing the guard on the right. And Thompson. Thompson, with whom he'd had that odd, brief encounter when Thompson had offered his availability should Spade ever "need" anything. He needed something now, so if things didn't go his way, perhaps it was time to cash in that chip.
Private Jelfo dropped his eyes to the floor as Spade came abreast of him. He knew. They all knew. They knew the dog had gotten loose, knew it had escaped, knew he'd been closeted with Cavitt catching hell for it, and they knew they'd catch hell for it later. That knowledge was etched on every single face Spade had passed, that expression repeated a dozen times over as he'd walked toward John's room. Jelfo was probably expecting to get his head blown off.
Later, Spade thought. "Is there anyone in the observation room?" he asked as he came abreast of the two of them.
"No, sir," Jelfo replied, still looking at the floor.
"Good. I need to see the prisoner," Spade said to Jelfo, hoping against hope that Jelfo's guilt would come in handy. "Unlock the door, Private."
"But.....you're not on the list, sir. You—"
"I know," Spade interrupted impatiently. "Nevertheless, I need to see the prisoner. Unlock the door."
"But I can't!" Jelfo objected. "Believe me, sir, I know how much trouble I'm—we're—already in, and I'm not doing anything else to piss off Cavitt. Major Cavitt," Jelfo amended hastily. "Sir."
"Right now, Cavitt is the least of my worries," Spade said, as Jelfo's eyes widened at the notion that there were worse worries than Cavitt.
"I'm sorry, sir, I can't!" Jelfo repeated nervously. "And he can't either," he added, as Spade turned to Thompson, who had been watching this exchange silently. "You'll have to get permission from Dr. Pierce."
Spade stepped between the two Privates, his back to Jelfo, his eyes locked on Thompson's. "I need to see the prisoner," he said quietly, deliberately stressing the word "need". "It's very important." Get the message, Spade thought, mentally going over his available options if neither of them moved, not liking any of them.
"Yes, sir," Thompson said, his head inclining in an ever-so-slight nod. He slipped his hand into his pocket for the keys just as Jelfo started to protest.
"And if you so much as think of uttering a peep," Spade said severely, stopping Jelfo in his tracks, "I swear to God I'll tell Cavitt that you personally brought that dog in here and fed it the bacon meant for his breakfast table."
Jelfo fell silent, his face turning white as he backed away. Thompson unlocked the door and swung it open. "Will you be needing a guard, sir?" Thompson asked.
"No. I'll go alone. Wait out here."
"Bu—!" Jelfo sputtered.
"Yes, sir," Thompson answered firmly, cutting off Jelfo. "We'll wait out here."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The door closed behind Spade, the key turning in the lock. John was just inside, agitated, his face a mask of fury. "Where is he?" John demanded.
"Escaped," Spade answered shortly.
John's eyebrows rose. "He escaped? And yet you live? By what stroke of luck did you manage that?"
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Spade said darkly. "I am a trained soldier, you know."
"Training has nothing to do with it," John announced flatly. "Had it been convenient for him to kill you, he would have."
"Then I guess it wasn't 'convenient'," Spade said sharply, "nor was it 'convenient' to kill Yvonne. That's why I'm here. I want to know what he did to her, and how to reverse it."
But John's eyes had gone wide, that permanently disgruntled look he always seemed to be wearing dissolving into one of wonder. "I was certain he was lying," he whispered. "She lives?"
"I think so."
"You think so?" John echoed. "What do you mean you think so? Is she injured?"
"I don't know!" Spade said, exasperated. "She's unconscious, but she looks okay. She doesn't appear to be hurt, she's breathing all right, but I can't wake her up. What did he do to her? What do I do?"
John had gone still and silent, his eyes staring into space. "Nothing," he said finally, seemingly to sag a bit. "There is nothing to be done."
Spade stared at him in disbelief for a moment before every over-stretched nerve in his body suddenly snapped. "Wrong answer!" he hissed, grabbing John by the collar of his scrub suit, whirling him sideways, pushing him up against the wall. "Look, buddy, I know you don't give a rat's ass about humans, but I care about her! And one of your people did this, so you're going to undo it, or tell me how to undo it! Now!.
John's eyebrows had resumed their ascent, but he made no move to fight back. "What I meant," he said carefully, "was there is nothing that needs to be done. I believe the Healer will reawaken on her own."
"That's not what the other one told me," Spade retorted, all the tension of the past several hours pouring into the grip he had on John's collar. "I offered to let him go if he fixed Yvonne. He claimed she wouldn't wake up without him."
"Of course he did," John answered. "I believe he lied. Which should come as no surprise."
"Lied how?"
"This is not my area of expertise, but I believe he used an agent on the Healer similar to what was used to subdue me. I am unaware of any antidote, and would be unable to obtain it in any case. Unfortunately, our scientist is dead and unavailable for consultation. You would do best to consult my colleague when he returns. He would know more about this than I would."
As this information began to sink in, Spade slowly began to calm down. It made sense. Yvonne looked asleep, not ill, and a sedative would account for that. And sedatives wore off. At least human sedatives wore off. He wasn't sure about alien sedatives.
"So what do we do?" Spade demanded.
"We wait," John answered. "As I said, I believe the Healer will reawaken on her own. Your challenge will be to explain her absence."
"How do I do that?"
"How should I know?" John replied coldly. "You're the 'trained soldier'. I have every confidence you'll think of something. I know you may find this hard to believe," he continued, "but I share your concern for the Healer. And I would strongly advise you to take your hands off me."
Spade's throat went dry at the look in John's eyes. Even without his powers, John was strong enough to overpower any human. Now, with his powers on the way back, he was more dangerous than ever....and he was not likely to take kindly to being shoved into a wall. Which is exactly where he was, nose to nose with Spade, whose hands still held the neckline of his shirt in a death grip.
A key rattled in the lock. Both their heads turned as the door swung open to reveal Private Thompson, whose eyes went round as dinner plates at the sight in front of his eyes.
"Sir?" Thompson said, flabbergasted.
His face coloring, Spade released John, his hands stiff from the force with which he'd gripped John's shirt. "What is it, Thompson?"
"Uh.....it's Lieutenant White, sir," Thompson said, his eyes still round.
Spade's eyes flicked over to meet John's, both thinking the same thing: They found her. We're too late.
"What about Lieutenant White, Private?" Spade asked, trying to keep the angry resignation out of his voice.
"She's asking for you, sir. She wants you to come to her quarters right away."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 53 next Sunday.
But with the new year starting, I'm going to make a super effort to catch up on all I've been missing of this wonderful story! It's one of the 
