Gerry: My goodness! Your eyes must be glazing over from staring at the screen that long! *Passes a plate of Christmas cookies and some eggnog*
We don't want your sacrifices to have any meaning ever, not even as a sad and unexpected consequence.
Elegantly summarized in a single sentence. Bravo!
Island Breeze wrote:
I have a question. Why did Valeris not know that Urza was dead if they're both in the realm of the ancestors together?
To avoid spilling a minor bean (some don't like spoilers, even little ones), I'll just say that Valeris might be hanging around because he has unfinished business: Things that he never told Brivari, the concern that Dee hadn't escaped or managed to deliver his message, etc. Urza, on the other hand, confessed both his and Vilandra's part in Antar's problems before he died and therefore has no unfinished business. So Urza isn't where Valeris is now, and Valeris could very well not know what happened to him. Of course that begs the question of what Quanah's grandfather is doing still hanging around....maybe he hasn't finished talking?
Okay, you had to go and make me feel sorry for Itza-chu, didn't you.
*chuckle* Itza-chu is no diplomat, but he's also no fool. He's right that "Nasedo" is different, and he's right to be wary of him. The two of them will need to come to terms with each other if Brivari's going to stay there.
About the peyote....I was never comfortable with the explanation that the heat from the sweat is what felled Nasedo. His reaction was systemic and seemed more likely to be caused by a foreign substance, kind of like a severe version of Max's "one little sip". And then there's the question of what River Dog kept throwing by handfuls onto the fire when Michael got sick in the sweat....and that's where the notion of peyote came from.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIFTEEN
May 27, 1949, 1700 hours
Eagle Rock Military Base
Yvonne gaped at Brivari, absolutely speechless.
Quite some time.... It had been so long since she'd seen him here, anywhere, a year and a half almost....and he looked like he'd never left. "What....why...." she stammered, uncertain of where to begin.
"The hunters are dead," Brivari said calmly, as though she'd asked him a question. "Yes, I am sure. The other four still live, but will find apprehending me difficult since I can recognize them on sight."
"But.....how...."
"Entering this building has never been a problem, and still isn't," Brivari continued. "I realize that movement around the compound is more restricted what with your 'x-ray' machines, but your quarters are unguarded and therefore accessible. And there seem to be fewer guards," he noted, folding up the paper and setting it on her beside table. "Has security become that lax?"
"Well...." Yvonne began, still absolutely flabbergasted at his sudden appearance. Where to begin? So much had changed since Brivari had left: John now worked a typical American work week, while she and Stephen and everyone else enjoyed a level of freedom they had only dreamed of before the x-ray's had been installed. Perhaps it was best to start with the question asked.
"There are fewer guards because John's not here, and—"
"Not here?" Brivari said sharply, rising to his feet. "Where is he?"
"No, no," Yvonne said hastily, realizing she should have rephrased that. "I mean he's not here
now. Or rather, he will be here later—any minute, in fact. It's almost dinner time. Look," she continued, realizing that none of what she'd just said made any sense as Brivari continued to stare at her with a puzzled and only slightly less alarmed expression, "John is fixing your ship. Every day he goes to the hangar nearby and works on it, and then he comes back here at night to sleep."
" 'Fixing our ship'?" Brivari echoed, his eyes widening. "The one we arrived in?"
"Of course," Yvonne answered. "Is there another one?"
"And Jaddo is allowed out of the compound to....'fix the ship'?"
"Yes. Has been since...oh, last July. Repairing the ship was the next big project after that night vision device he helped us make."
Several seconds passed as Brivari stared at Yvonne in utter amazement...and then he suddenly began to laugh. "What's so funny?" Yvonne asked, bewildered. Just seeing Brivari smile was a rare event; she couldn’t ever remember him laughing, unless one considered the odd chuckle a laugh.
"Repairing our ship," Brivari repeated, shaking his head as he laughed. "Outstanding. And wouldn't you know he finally got the message
after I disappeared."
"Who got what message?"
"Jaddo. I've argued all along that he needed to pass along a continuous stream of basically useless information in order to justify his existence, and he fought me every step of the way."
"I wouldn't call that night vision device 'useless'," Yvonne noted. "But he's been working directly with General Ramey, not Pierce, so that might have softened his attitude. I take it you don't think the ship can be fixed?"
"Absolutely not," Brivari said. "That ship was much too badly damaged. But no matter; I'm quite sure everyone is salivating at just the notion of a working ship. So General Ramey is still in charge?"
"Yes, and quite popular from what I hear," Yvonne replied.
"Good," Brivari said approvingly. "And Jaddo...I would imagine this latest turn of events agrees with him?"
"Completely," Yvonne nodded. "He's much calmer now, except on weekends, when he's not allowed out, and he spends those weekends planning the next week's work. Working on the ship kept him sane while you were gone." She paused. "He was relieved to hear you were all right last summer. After he realized you'd managed to kill a hunter all by yourself, I think he finally relaxed."
"You mean as much as he ever relaxes," Brivari said dryly. "But then I suppose that goes with the territory. Jaddo was always driven, never satisfied. Just like Rath."
"Rath?"
"Jaddo's Ward. They are very similar people; they worked well together, and hopefully they will again. Hopefully, this will not have all been for nothing."
Brivari's tone was wistful and relieved at the same time, the only evidence so far that he'd been on the run and out of the loop for over a year. "He's fine," Yvonne assured him. "Thriving, really, as much as anyone could under the circumstances. I can't figure out him not liking coffee anymore, but except for that, I—"
"He doesn't like coffee? Why not?"
"I'm not sure," Yvonne frowned. "This just started a couple of days ago. He said it was 'different'; it was a bit strong, but it's been stronger and he hasn't said anything. I just switched him to tea, and he didn't mind that. I'm sure it's nothing. He can't taste anything anyway....what's wrong?"
"This...'tea' you speak of," Brivari said, a disturbed expression on his face, "is it considered a stronger taste than coffee?"
"Milder, actually. Why?"
But Brivari was staring off into space. "How long has Jaddo been here?" he asked after a moment.
"Almost two years," Yvonne replied, wondering what that had to do with coffee. "Why?"
Brivari glanced at her quickly, then looked away. "Nothing. Don't tell him I mentioned it; that would only upset him. But could you pass along that the hunters are dead and I am now free to visit the base, if not his cell?"
"Stephen's already done a test run," Yvonne answered with a wide smile, "so I'm willing to bet we can do much better than that."
******************************************************
Copper Summit, Arizona
"This is a bad idea," Amar grumbled.
"Just hurry up," Malik said impatiently, throwing a worried glance at the door. They were alone for now, but there was no telling how long that would last.
"Look, do
you know how to access the logs on a communicator?" Amar demanded. "No? Then pipe down. Oh, by the way, did I mention this was a bad idea?"
"Several times. Pipe down yourself, and find that last transmission."
Amar sighed and picked up one of his tools. "You're taking an awful risk, Malik. If Orlon finds out—"
"He's upstairs sulking. And he won't."
"Why not?"
"Because for all that you're a pain in the ass sometimes, you're too good of an engineer to leave tracks," Malik said.
"Flattery will get you everywhere," Amar deadpanned. "But that's not what I meant. He won't track you through here—I'll see to that. But if you mess with his business, he'll find out one way or another, and when that happens, you'd best be on another planet...and I don't mean this one."
"You sound like Marana," Malik said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Since when were you two kindred spirits?"
"Since we both seem to know when to back off....and you don't," Amar said pointedly. "That was really stupid of you to challenge him yesterday and put Marana and me on the spot. I think I convinced him to let it go, but one more stunt like that, and nothing I say will matter."
"Why not?" Malik asked. "Aren't you the golden boy who's going to team up with Brivari's enemies?"
Amar looked away as Malik eyed him closely. Amar had been tight-lipped about his idea of approaching Brivari's enemies; Malik still had no idea who he was talking to, although it was a safe bet that it was someone at the base. And that put Malik in a quandary; should he make a preemptive strike and tell Spade why Antarians had first come to this planet before he learned it somewhere else? Turning the girl and her family against the Warders was one thing; turning their military allies against them would be catastrophic.
"Well?" Malik pressed. "Aren't you going to tell me what happened?"
"It didn't work," Amar said shortly.
"Why not? Who were you talking to?"
"Doesn't matter. Look, my point is that Orlon—"
"Is ambitious," Malik finished. "Yes, you said that. And for me, the point is that someone besides Khivar is holding Orlon's leash. We've seen him speak to Khivar in the past, we know he doesn't want to tell Khivar that he's lost all the hunters, but he's calling someone else to send more? Someone with that kind of authority? Someone like...who?"
"Could be anyone," Amar said. "Wherever there's a vacuum, something rushes in to fill it; when there's a power vacuum, that something is ambitious people, which in this case means dangerous people. There's no shortage of dangerous people at home, and it's not wise to cross dangerous people."
"It's not wise to cross us either," Malik said firmly. "Our agreement is with Khivar...but I get the impression we're not working for Khivar anymore. Maybe that's why Orlon is so disinterested in the emergents. It was Khivar who wanted Covari free of the king; perhaps Orlon's new master doesn't?" He leaned closer, looking Amar squarely in the eye. "The price of our assistance was the production of Covari free of any ties to the crown. And if we're not going to get paid, I'd like to know that. Wouldn't you?"
Amar returned his stare before returning to the communicator. "Of course I'd like to know. I'm here, aren't I? And that's despite the fact I know this is a bad idea. I just want you to be more careful, that's all."
"
You want
me to be careful?" Malik echoed in amazement. "Sage political advice, agreeing with a bioscientist, concerned for my welfare....who are you, anyway? Should I insist you identify?"
"I'm worried, that's what I am," Amar said, his eyes flashing with an annoyance that, for once, was comfortingly familiar. "At the rate we're going, we'll have to—"
"What?" a strange voice suddenly demanded.
"He killed the other two? And just when I thought you couldn't possibly make a bigger mess of things!"
Amar slowly withdrew the tool he'd been using. "Found the logs," he said, rather unnecessarily. "Let me back it up to the beginning of the last entry...."
A second later, Orlon's voice sounded from the communicator, a voice layered with resignation and defiance.
"This is Orlon. I'm afraid I have some bad news, but I assure you that I will persevere, and I have everything under control."
"What did you do now?" the voice they'd heard before demanded.
There was a pause before Orlon answered.
"The hunters are dead."
"What? exclaimed the second voice.
"He killed the other two? And just when I thought you couldn't possibly make a bigger mess of things!"
"Where's the hologram?" Malik asked.
"There is none," Amar said. "Orlon had the imager turned off, so none was recorded. It's audio only."
"I would hardly refer to four dead hunters as a 'minor setback'," the voice snapped.
"Are you sure they're all dead?"
"Brivari can't possibly be more annoying than you! Answer the question!"
"Well, can't you find him? There are four of you and only one of him!"
The recording was pocked with Orlon's responses; Amar listened with interest and Malik with impatience, having already heard that side of the conversation. He mentally filtered out Orlon's voice while trying to identify the other, a miasma of anger, condescension, sarcasm....and completely unfamiliar.
"Who is that?" Malik asked.
"No idea," Amar said, shaking his head. "Without an image, we might be out of luck."
"Then get Jaddo. Even you should be able to locate someone who's locked up! I want those hybrids, Orlon. Sooner or later, Khivar's going to discover that I ordered Zan and Ava killed, on your advice, no less, and even though I told them to leave Vilandra alive, he'll still blame me because they didn't. The only thing that will save my neck is having his precious lover's hybrid in my pocket."
"Good Lord," Malik breathed when the voice paused to listen to Orlon's response. "This is the one who ordered the king's assassination! So Khivar really didn't want them dead."
"I can't send trithium! If I dispatch a ship without authorization, I'm as good as dead!" Pause.
"If I can't send a ship, then obviously I can't send hunters or anyone else! What, did you shift your brain cells out of shape?"
The voice was growing angrier, and if Malik remembered correctly, the conversation was drawing to a close. It was unbelievably frustrating to not be able to identify the speaker. Malik tried to remember the various voices he'd heard, but it had been so long, and this wasn't the lackey he'd expected. The speaker was probably someone high up the chain, far from where Malik had been.
"Besides, what good would any of that do? This isn't a lack of resources, it's a lack of leadership! It's your ineptitude! It never ceases to amaze me how you people can't complete even the simplest of tasks. How you kept Zan and his father on the throne for so long, I'll never know. If I were ruler and not merely the second, I swear I'd rid myself of all of you!"
"Athenor!" Amar whispered. "Khivar's top military general. They say he actually stepped out from behind his troops and killed Rath himself."
"Shh—there's more" Malik said as Orlon proceeded to accuse everyone, including Khivar's second in command, of not having any judgment.
"Watch yourself, Covari, Athenor snapped angrily.
"No one who's failed as often as you have has any business finding fault with my judgment. And don't expect distance to protect you; the husks have begun to mature, so before long, there won't be a galaxy between us. Rouse your fellow idiots and make certain you have a warder by the time I arrive. And remember, the identities of my team are to remain secret. I will be the one called 'Nicholas'. Don't repeat that to those dogs you work with, or it will be the last thing you say. Do you think you can handle those simple instructions, or do I need to find a more competent operative?"
"Charming," Malik muttered, "and the feeling is mutual."
"Now you listen to me, came Orlon's furious voice.
"You put me here because of my knowledge of your quarry; I put you where you are, and I'll get you where you want to be. Either give me the tools to do that job faster, or accept the fact that it will take longer than you would like."
The communicator fell silent; several seconds passed before Amar spoke again. "I think that's the end of it. Does that square with what you heard?"
"Yes," Malik said darkly. "And I seriously doubt that's the end of it."
******************************************************
Proctor residence
"Dee!" Emily called as the screen door slammed, "don't slam the door! And what about your homework? You know you can't go outside until you've at least started it!"
Dee ignored her, stalking away from the house at a good clip, her hands shoved in her pocket. As far as she was concerned, her mother's banishing of Brivari from their house was absolutely, totally, completely unforgivable, and she never, ever wanted to speak to her again. She had never felt so betrayed in her life; the fact that it was her own mother doing the betraying just made it worse.
"Deanna!" Emily called behind her. "How much longer is this going to go on?"
As long as you make it go on, Mama, Dee thought sourly, heading down the sidewalk toward Anthony's house. All Anthony knew was that she and her mother had had a fight; he'd wisely stopped asking questions after learning that, and she'd been so embarrassed by Emily's behavior that she wouldn't have elaborated even if she'd been free to. What difference did it make if the people who ran Brivari's world had done some awful things? Hadn't the people on Earth done lots of awful things? Hadn't they just had a war because of all the awful things just one man had set in motion? And what about what was happening to Jaddo and what had already happened to Urza and Valeris? As far as Dee was concerned, for every bad alien, there was a bad human, and vice versa. Lumping all aliens together was every bit as wrong as lumping all humans together. Brivari had never done anything to hurt them; he'd saved her life. For that to be discarded because her mother took offense to something someone else had done a long time ago made Dee so mad, she couldn't see straight.
"Evenin', Dee," a voice called.
Dee stopped on the sidewalk. "Hi, Mac."
"Say, could you come over her and give me a hand? I'd sure appreciate it."
Dee walked up the Brazel's green lawn to where Mac was repairing one of the posts on their front porch. "Hold that there for a minute," Mac said, indicating the post, "while I pound these nails in."
Holding the post was hard; every whack of the hammer made it jerk, and Dee braced it with her leg to hold it steady until Mac was done. "That's better," he said approvingly when he'd finished. "Thanks."
"Sure," Dee said.
"So—what's up with you and your mama?" Mac asked, glancing over her shoulder.
Dee looked toward her house, where her mother was still standing in the doorway. "I'm mad at her," she announced.
"Hard to believe, but I figured that out already," Mac said dryly. "What I meant was, what's up with you not answering her?"
"I'm not speaking to her."
"Really?" Mac said casually. "How long do you think you can keep that up?"
"I'm never speaking to her again," Dee announced.
Mac's eyebrows rose. "Never's a long time. I'm not sure that's even doable."
"Watch me," Dee said confidently.
Mac stared at her a moment, then abruptly began laughing. "What's so funny?" Dee asked suspiciously.
"You're the spitting image of your mama," Mac chuckled, reaching for another nail. "Maybe your grandma wished too hard."
" 'Wished too hard'?" Dee echoed. "What does that mean?"
Mac smiled as he pounded the new nail into the porch post, now steady enough to work on without Dee holding it. "It means that all parents hope their kids will grow up and have kids exactly like them so they can see how hard their own parents had to work to raise them. Did you know I used to be a picky eater?"
"No," Dee said doubtfully, not seeing the connection between her mother's horrible behavior, grandparents' wishes, and Mac not eating his vegetables.
"Well, I was. I always left my crusts. Wouldn't touch casseroles because I didn't know what was in them. Only ate about a half dozen different foods at any one time. I drove my own mama crazy, and one day she said, 'Billy—' that's what I went by when I was younger because my name's William—'Billy, I hope that one day, you'll have a kid who doesn't eat just like you won't'."
"So what happened?" Dee asked.
"She wished too hard," Mac said with a twinkle in his eye. "My oldest ate mostly peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for at least six years. One night we told him he couldn't get up from the dinner table until he'd tried two peas—just
two peas—and he sat there until ten o'clock at night, when we finally gave up. Another time he tried them, and promptly threw up all over the living room rug. My mama watched all this and said, 'Oh, dear. He's worse than you ever were, Billy. I guess I wished too hard'. So," Mac concluded, with a nod in the direction of Dee's house, "maybe your grandma wished a little too hard that your mama would have a child just like her. Because you're every bit as stubborn and hard-headed as she is."
"I'm not hard-headed," Dee protested. "Mama's wrong, and she knows it."
"She'd probably say the same thing about you," Mac noted.
"Then she'd be wrong," Dee said firmly. "Because I'm not wrong, and I
know I'm not wrong."
Mac paused a moment in his hammering. "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe neither of you is wrong?"
"How? We can't both be right."
"Sure you can," Mac said. "There's lots of different ways of looking at things, and sometimes each of those ways is at least partially right."
"I'm not partially right, I'm completely right," Dee said firmly.
"You sure about that?" Mac asked, eyeing her closely. "Your mama's a good person, Dee; so are you. Are you absolutely certain that she doesn't have at least a few very good reasons for feeling the way she does?"
Mac didn't wait for an answer, just went back to his hammering as Dee sulked against the porch railing. She didn't blame every German for Hitler....but that didn't change the fact that Hitler was wrong to do what he did. And she didn't blame every Antarian for kidnapping children...but that didn't mean it was okay to do that. "Okay, maybe she has one good reason," she conceded grudgingly. "But that doesn't mean I agree with her, or that I'm not mad at her."
"Understood," Mac said. "We don't have to agree with everyone. Never will anyway. That's why it's important to learn to agree to disagree."
"You can't 'agree to disagree'," Dee countered. "You either agree, or you don't."
"That's where you're wrong," Mac said. "Like I said, we're never going to agree with everyone. That goes for parents and children, husbands and wives, friends—wherever people get together, they're going to disagree with each other. All those different experiences and opinions out there, it's inevitable. Just imagine what would happen if everyone stopped talking to each other just because they disagreed."
Dee said nothing, not liking where this was going. "Now, you take our government, for example," Mac went on. "The way the founding fathers set it up, they just assumed that everyone wasn't going to agree, a safe assumption if ever there was one. That's partly why we have voting and different houses of Congress, and not all branches of government have the same powers. And whatever the majority decides, that's the law, even for the ones who don't think it should be. They can keep trying to change the law, but they can't ignore it. Otherwise we'd have chaos."
"Are you saying you think we should vote on this?" Dee asked.
Mac set his hammer down. "No. I'm saying that you can't keep ignoring your mama forever just because you think she's wrong. Right or wrong, she's still your mama, and she's not ignoring you, just because she thinks
you're wrong. I think you should seriously consider agreeing to disagree."
"How do I do that, exactly?" Dee asked skeptically.
"You just accept the fact that she feels one way and you feel another, and go on with your life," Mac said, shrugging. "Doesn't mean you don't still think she's wrong; it just means that you realize she has a right to her own opinions just like you have a right to yours, and you're both just going to have to live with that. And why be miserable and not speak to each other while you're living with that? Because you're always going to have to live with that, Dee. No matter how old you are, or where you live, or who you live with, you're always going to disagree with somebody. It'll be a nasty life if you don't learn to disagree civilly."
"So, what, I just walk away and act like nothing happened?" Dee protested. "I can't do that! I'm still mad at her, and you can't just stop being mad at someone. Try it some time."
"All the more reason to talk to her," Mac answered. "It's a lot easier to make it clear that you're mad if you're talking to somebody. Just ask Mrs. Brazel," he added with a faint note of amusement.
Dee's eyes widened. "Do you mean you and Mrs. Brazel fight? I've never heard you fight!"
" 'Course we fight," Mac answered. "Everybody on the planet fights at one time or another. And off the planet too, from what I understand." He finished pounding in a nail and reached for another. "Will you at least think it over? For me?"
"Okay," Dee said reluctantly. "Do you need any more help?"
"Nope. That about does it. Thanks a bunch."
"You're welcome," Dee said, resuming her walk to Anthony's house. Mac might have a point that people disagreed about all kinds of things, but she had no intention of letting her mother off the hook by acting like nothing had happened. Maybe she couldn't maintain her silence forever, but she knew she could hold out for a good long while, long enough to make life in their house very uncomfortable indeed. Maybe uncomfortable enough that her mother would reconsider, or her father, who had yet to weigh in with his feelings on the subject, could talk some sense into her.
Dee rang Anthony's doorbell; a moment later, his mother appeared. "Come right in, dear," she said, smiling. "Anthony's upstairs."
"Thank you, Mrs. Evans," Dee said, glancing down at her house and pausing for a moment, her eyes narrowing. Mac and her mama were both clearly visible, the former on his front porch, the latter still standing in their side doorway. And for just a moment, she'd thought she'd seen Mac throw a sympathetic shrug her mother's way.
******************************************************
May 28, 1949, 0610 hours
Eagle Rock Military Base
Sergeant Brisson hurried down the hallway toward the prisoner's room, medical bag in hand. These early mornings were killers; unfortunately, his efforts to move the administration of the serum to evening had failed, largely because no one wanted to risk either administering two doses on the same day or delaying a dose by several hours. As the prisoner had been leaving for the hangar earlier and earlier, Brisson had been obliged to arrive earlier and earlier, and not being a morning person, that was a royal pain. Evening would be so much better, with the prisoner here for several hours and timing not being an issue. Rounding the corner into the main hallway, he came to a dead stop when he spied Captain Spade coming toward him.
"What?" Brisson exclaimed in disbelief, hastily checking his watch. "Am I late? But I can't be! Honestly, Captain, it's only 0610. If you want to leave this early, you really need to let me know."
"Relax, Sergeant," Spade answered. "The prisoner hasn't even had breakfast yet. You're fine."
"We really should be doing this in the evenings," Brisson grumbled, Spade falling in step beside him as they continued on toward the prisoner's cell. "Then you could leave in the middle of the night if you wanted to."
"Not up to me, Sergeant," Spade said calmly. "Take it up with Dr. Pierce. Good morning, Corporals," he added to the guards outside the alien's cell.
"Good morning, sirs," the guards said.
"I
have taken it up with Pierce," Brisson retorted, ignoring the guards' greetings as he stepped on the x-ray. "Fat lot of good that did me. A few extra hours between doses just one time wouldn't mean squat, and he knows it. Are you finished, Corporal, or have you decided I'm an alien?"
Corporal Thompson looked up from the x-ray's viewer. "No, sir. You're human. Corporal LaBella will get the door for you."
"It's about time," Brisson muttered, eager to be done with this daily, distasteful task. The alien was up and dressed as usual, its sleeve already rolled up as it studied a pile of papers on its lap, some of which it covered as he approached. It hated this procedure every bit as much as he did, resulting in silent agreement between them that they get it over with as fast as possible. Brisson certainly didn't mind; he had his bag open and the syringe out before he'd even set the bag down.
"Lieutenant White was not feeling well yesterday," the alien announced suddenly.
Brisson nearly dropped the syringe, he was so startled. The alien hadn't spoken to him since last summer when it had so memorably threatened to kill him if Pierce harmed Lieutenant White in his quest for an alien-human child. "She...she wasn't?" he stammered, syringe poised in midair.
"No," the alien answered, staring at its papers. "I do hope she's not ill."
"She looked okay when I saw her," Brisson said hurriedly. "I'm sure it's nothing."
"Really?" the alien said coldly. "I'm not."
It swung its head around to stare at him, those eyes burning holes in Brisson's as he stood rooted to the spot, terrified. "I'm telling you, she was fine when I saw her," Brisson said, embarrassed to hear his voice quavering. "If something was bothering her, it's not now."
"I should certainly hope not," the alien said in a low voice, its eyes still locked on Brisson's.
"She's fine," Brisson insisted, cold sweat pouring down his back. "I promise."
"Are you going to give that to me, or are you going to stand there gaping like an idiot?"
Brisson glanced toward the observation room window, or rather, where he knew the window was; the guard was no doubt wondering why he was standing there holding a syringe over the prisoner's arm and not doing anything but arguing about Lieutenant White. "I do hope she's feeling better today," the prisoner remarked casually as Brisson gave the injection with shaking hands. "It would be most unfortunate if she were not."
"I tell you, she's fine!" Brisson snapped, fear making his voice climb an octave. "You're not the only one who worries about her, you know!"
Silence. Brisson felt his face flushing as the alien stared at him with raised eyebrows. What on earth was he saying? Was he actually thinking that this...this
thing cared for Lieutenant White in any way? That was ridiculous. And besides, there was no need for concern; Pierce had never noticed the switched labels, using the so far unsuccessful alpha cells instead of the beta cells. Hopefully they'd be set for several more months until he decided to switch again. The "not feeling well" that the alien had noticed was likely cramping from the procedure itself, something far less dangerous to the Lieutenant than the alternative and which Brisson could do nothing about.
It's just worried it'll lose its biggest ally, he thought sourly, tossing the syringe in his bag and snapping it shut. Or maybe it wanted Pierce to fail. Maybe that's what this was all about—maybe the alien knew that Pierce was on the right track. This was probably nothing more than fear that Pierce would succeed, not genuine concern for the Lieutenant's welfare. Cursing himself for even briefly entertaining such nonsense, Brisson banged impatiently on the door, stalked out of the room when it opened.....and ran smack into Lieutenant White standing just outside holding a tray of breakfast.
"Sergeant?" she said quizzically.
"I.....you.....sorry. Excuse me," Brisson sputtered, fleeing down the hall and around the corner, knowing full well that if the alien was concerned that Pierce would succeed, he wasn't the only one.
So am I, Brisson thought heavily as he headed back to the lab.
So am I.
******************************************************
"What's his problem?" Thompson asked Spade after the disgruntled Brisson had disappeared inside the prisoner's room.
"Don't know, don't care," Spade replied shortly, his eyes drifting down the hall as though expecting someone. "Look, Thompson...." Spade moved between Thompson and LaBella, his back to the latter. "Lieutenant White will be here shortly with the prisoner's breakfast. I need you to let her in."
"Of course, sir," Thompson answered. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Understand me," Spade said, his voice dropping. "I
need you to let her in."
Thompson's eyes widened at their code word "need". "Is....anything wrong, sir?"
"Not at all," Spade replied. "I just need you to let her in. No matter what."
"Yes, sir," Thompson answered, completely befuddled. Everyone knew Lieutenant White appeared with the prisoner's meals every morning and evening like clockwork, and he had no idea why today would be any different than any other. He glanced at LaBella, but he was daydreaming as usual, completely unconcerned.
But something was up because Spade didn't leave; he lingered in the hallway, chatting with both of them, and Thompson noticed him tense slightly when Lieutenant White appeared around the corner with the requisite tray of breakfast. "Good morning, Lieutenant," Spade said promptly. "I'll hold that for you while Corporal Thompson checks you out."
"Thank you," Lieutenant White said, handing Spade the tray. She stepped up on the x-ray as Thompson peered in the viewer, more confused than ever as to what was going on. The Lieutenant appeared perfectly normal, didn't look ill, or angry, like Brisson, or different in any way. He waited patiently for her feet to stop moving, for the bones to come into clear view, still wondering what could possibly make Spade think the Lieutenant wouldn't be admitted like she always was.....and froze.
Thompson swallowed hard, pushing his face more firmly into the viewer in the hope that no one would notice he was panicking and that he wasn't really seeing what he thought he was seeing. The feet standing on the x-ray had none of the markers typical of the human foot, just long, thin bones with no joints.
It's an alien, Thompson realized, his heart pounding. This is why Spade had been so cryptic—he was letting an alien into the prisoner's room. But which alien? And why? Was this another attack? An escape attempt?
"I just need you to let her in. No matter what." Was this the "what", or was there more to come?
Slowly, Thompson straightened up, trying not to look into the Lieutenant's—or rather, the alien's—eyes, only inches away. He failed; those dark brown eyes he'd always secretly found so attractive bored into his own, daring him to say anything. Watchful eyes, eyes that held no malice or hatred, but were merely ready...for anything. These eyes were different than those of the one alien he'd already encountered. This alien had an aura of power the other lacked, of danger, of being accustomed to being obeyed. If Thompson said anything, if he gave it away, this one would kill him and never look back.
"Very good, Lieutenant," Thompson said, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Go right in."
"Thank you, Corporal," the alien said in a perfect imitation of Lieutenant White's voice as it retrieved the tray from Spade. LaBella slid the door open only to have Brisson come flying out of the prisoner's room and nearly collide with Lieutenant White...or rather, what
looked like Lieutenant White. He rushed off, gibbering apologies, completely unaware that he'd almost mowed down an alien. The fake Lieutenant had no sooner disappeared inside when a guard appeared at the end of the hall.
"LaBella? Phone call. Says it's urgent."
"Go ahead," Spade said promptly. "I'll take over until you get back."
"Thank you, sir," LaBella said, lumbering off, having no idea that he'd just let an alien into the prisoner's room and leaving Spade and Thompson alone in the hallway. It took a full minute for Thompson to find his voice.
"Timing was a bit off, wasn't it, sir?"
"Yeah," Spade sighed. "Short notice. Sorry about that. I'd hoped to have LaBella out of here before she—he—got here so I could give you a better heads up."
"Is that the one I met before?"
"No," Spade answered. "That's the one that got away."
"The one who guards a king."
"Right."
"I could tell," Thompson whispered, shivering inwardly at the memory of those eyes. "Is he here to break out the prisoner?"
"Nope. Just visiting."
Just visiting? Thompson stifled the urge to laugh; how did anyone "just visit" one of the most secure, top secret places in the country? "Does he....'visit' often, sir?"
"This is the first time since the x-rays were installed that's he's been able to see his friend."
Thompson looked at Spade in surprise. "That long? But that was..."
"A year and a half ago," Spade finished for him. "This is the first time it's been safe for him to come back given what was going on out there."
"So...he was coming here before that?" Thompson said, confused. "I know we didn't have the x-rays then, but...how did he get in?"
"We've never learned how he gets into the building, but he got in to see the prisoner the same way he did this time."
"But...." Thompson stopped, thunderstruck as realization washed over him.
Lieutenant White. She'd been letting the alien take her shape and visit the prisoner! And Spade must have known, given how casually he was talking. "How long....when....do you mean that wasn't always
her when I was talking to her?"
"Most of the time, it probably was," Spade said calmly. "It started right after he escaped, and it worked on a pretty strict schedule. She had to be herself most of the time, so he had to be careful about when and how often he was her."
Thomson had to repeat that last incredible sentence to himself several times before he could even begin to think that he might at least partially understand it. "He's going to have to be even more careful now," he said, his mind still whirling. "You're not going to be able to pull this off very often, sir."
"I know," Spade said. "I told him that. He can talk to us, pass things along, but actual contact will have to be minimal."
"If you don't mind, sir, I'd rather he didn't 'pass things along' through me," Thompson said, feeling slightly ill.
"Don't worry," Spade said. "He knows Yvonne and me, so he can work through us. I just need you to let him in once in awhile. Visits from his friend are the only thing that kept the prisoner sane."
And working on the ship is keeping him sane now, Thompson thought, suddenly understanding the single-minded ferocity with which the prisoner had attacked the rebuilding of his ship. Abruptly cut off from contact with the only other one of his kind—or the only other friendly one of his kind—he had thrown himself into work on the ship to keep his mind off it. "So what changed, sir?" Thompson asked. "Are the enemy aliens still out there?"
"They're still there, just not as many," Spade answered. "And the most dangerous of them are dead."
"So the scales have tipped in their direction?"
"More like balanced. For the moment, at least."
Thompson said nothing for a moment. "Is this ever going to end, sir?" he whispered.
"God, I hope so, Brian," Spade said quietly. "I hope so."
******************************************************
Immersed in the diagrams he'd drawn of possible ways to repair the ship, Jaddo didn't look up when his door opened again. He knew it was breakfast, and he intended to make short work of it. Today was Friday, the last day before the humans launched into their endlessly annoying "weekend", that two day period of alleged rest and recreation which meant nothing to him but boring confinement. This particular weekend was more aggravating than most as Jaddo had had a brainstorm last night. Even if Keyser could locate the crystals which controlled power distribution to the ship, it was looking more and more doubtful that the engine itself could ever fully be repaired. But communications....now, that was another matter entirely. Fixing the communications array was child's play compared to fixing the engines. And the communications array inside the ship could be set to transmit on several private frequencies known only to the royal family, unlike the typical portable communicator which cast a wider net. If he could manage to repair communications and contrive to be alone inside the ship for a short period, it was quite possible that he could contact sympathizers at home or their allies on other planets.
Sighing, Jaddo set the pad down on the a table, careful to close the cover. Contriving to be alone would be difficult, but first he would have to repair communications when he was supposed to be working on the engine. His drawings had to be cryptic; while most of these fools wouldn't know what he was doing, keeping Keyser in the dark would be more difficult. Even the nervous Sergeant Brisson had a brain, despite appearances to the contrary, which is why Jaddo had covered his work before issuing a reminder that Jaddo had meant what he'd said about holding Brisson responsible if Pierce succeeded in impregnating the Healer. While that was highly unlikely, she would probably not survive such an incident, and she was much too valuable to lose.
"Good morning," Lieutenant White said, sliding the breakfast tray onto the table.
"I'm glad to see you've brought tea," Jaddo replied, substituting a nod for a greeting. "I can't imagine what's happened to the coffee, but—" He stopped dead as he looked up into those familiar brown eyes...eyes which now bore the telltale infrared signature of a Covari.
*It's me,* Brivari's voice said quietly.
Jaddo just sat there, staring, too stunned to speak. He had imagined Brivari walking through that door so many times, he was ashamed to admit it, but he hadn't dared hope that such a thing would ever happen despite Malik's assurances that Brivari remained at large. All that blather about hope keeping one alive was nonsense. Hope was nothing less than excruciatingly painful.
*I don't have much time,* Brivari continued, throwing a glance toward the door. *I understand you're repairing the ship—a brilliant move, by the way—and you'll be leaving soon. Captain Spade tells me he can manage these meetings only very occasionally, so we shall have to send messages back and forth with our allies, a task made easier because they are no longer confined to this building. And we apparently have another ally, one called 'Thompson'. Spade assured me he'd let me in, but I confess I wondered there for a minute.*
There was a pause during which Jaddo remained both motionless and speechless. *All the hunters are dead,* Brivari continued. *That leaves Orlon, Marana, Malik, and Amar. They are unlikely to capture me, but it is still too dangerous to approach the pod chamber, so I'm afraid I don't know how our Wards fare. The odds of a successful escape are much higher now now that you are allowed outside the compound; once you are free, we can deal with the remaining four together.*
Silence. *For heaven's sake, Jaddo, say something!* Brivari said in exasperation. *Time is short, so I suggest you spend it talking instead of gaping. We have much to catch up on, you and I.*
Brivari's tone pulled Jaddo back to reality. *I....* He stopped, wondering where to start. Where did one begin after such a long absence, after so much had happened? How did one even begin to prioritize such a lengthy list? And Brivari must have an even longer list, meaning they wouldn't be able to say everything that needed to be said. Finally, Jaddo settled on the first thing that had come to mind.
*I am so
very glad to see you.*
The Healer's borrowed face softened. *As am I,* Brivari said gently. *As am I.*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Next week jumps to 1950 and Part 9, the last part in the book, where...
....Pierce's experiments meet with success...
....General Ramey loses his grip on the compound....
....alliances shift, and shift again as the struggle to control Jaddo's fate heats up for both humans and aliens.
I'll post Chapter 116 on Sunday, January 7, 2007. Happy New Year, everyone!
Yep!
