Gerry: We've probably all met people who communicate like Cavitt--with threats. It's especially frightening when such types are in positions of power.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-SEVEN
June 9, 1950, 1630 hours
Eagle Rock Military Base
It was amazing how quickly perspective could change. One minute, General Ramey had been ready to summon the guards to take this unauthorized civilian into custody while he ripped into his new and obviously still not up to speed head of security; the next, he was gripping the edges of the table hard, his throat constricting to the point where summoning guards would have been impossible. He'd only seen photographs of the aliens in their natural form, but the one feature which remained ingrained in his memory were the black, depthless eyes with no pupils. Eyes like those that faced him now, staring out of a completely human face....and then they were gone, fading back to hazel-colored human eyes, leaving Ramey wondering if he could trust his senses or if he'd imagined the whole thing.
"I apologize for appearing so suddenly," the stranger was saying, "but as I'm sure you're well aware, time is of the essence. I approached your chief of security a short while ago and asked to see you. I could have approached you myself, of course, but I prefer an introduction."
It's real, Ramey thought in shock. A live, unfettered alien was standing right in front of him perfectly capable of changing its shape, not to mention all the other things he'd heard of but never seen, like blowing holes in walls and killing with a touch. Those forty years of experience he'd referenced suddenly seemed like forty minutes as Ramey realized that nothing in his decades long career had prepared him for this moment. One wouldn't find "negotiating with aliens" in any training manual no matter how many stars one wore.
As he sat there, tongue-tied and flabbergasted, it was Captain Spade who came to the rescue—again. Moving to Ramey's side, he bent over and whispered in his ear, "Sir...if I may....treat him like any other ambassador you've dealt with. What would be the first thing you'd do in a meeting with an ambassador?"
...the first thing you'd do.... That simple directive brought Ramey to his senses, along with the fact that Spade obviously didn't fear this individual, had in fact had prior contact with him and lived to tell about it. If a Captain could pull that off, surely a Major General ought to be able to stop gaping like an idiot and pull himself together.
"Yes. Right," Ramey said gruffly, rising to his feet and hoping it wasn't obvious that he was relying mightily on the table for support. "Well, then....I am Major General Roger Ramey of the United States Army, commander of this facility. Please....have a seat."
"Thank you," the alien said as a chair six feet away slid forward of its own accord and was promptly occupied. Ramey sank down slowly into his own chair, eyes wide at his first encounter with what Dr. Pierce had referred to as "telekinesis".
"Can I get you something to drink?" Ramey asked stiffly.
"No, thank you," the alien replied, adding, "but please—help yourself," when he saw Ramey cast a longing look in the direction of the cabinet from which he had so recently fetched Scotch for General West. If West had badly needed a drink then, Ramey needed one twice as badly now. "We must speak," the alien continued as Ramey poured himself a drink. "The colleague with whom you recently conferred will return shortly."
"How do you know that?" Ramey asked.
"I know a great deal about what goes on in this compound," the alien replied. "I was captive here myself several years ago, albeit briefly."
"So you're another 'guardian'?"
"I guarded the king, to be precise," the alien answered. "My colleague downstairs guarded the king's chief military commander."
Ramey capped his Scotch and set the bottle down, ignoring the glass he'd just poured. "Of course," he breathed, information momentarily trumping fear. "That's why Mr. Doe was always on the same page, if not one step ahead of me. He's military."
"He is not military," the alien clarified. "He guarded one who was. A distinction I fear would be lost were your colleagues to learn this piece of information."
Ramey nodded as he gratefully helped himself to his Scotch. He'd never told anyone what Mr. Doe had confided about how he and his companions were royal guardians fleeing an overthrown monarchy; that information would no doubt set Cavitt and many others off on a tear, not to mention the notion that their prisoner had guarded an alien warlord. "Cavitt wouldn't be the only one who would have a field day with that one," Ramey admitted. "Are you the reason the ship is now locked?"
The alien shook his head. "No. I'm afraid that was nothing more than what Sergeant Keyser said it was: A mistake on his part. I don't care about the ship—I care about my colleague. You plan to execute him....and I do not intend to let you."
Ramey set his glass down and stared at his visitor as the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. The alien's tone was a study in layers: Calm, almost conversational on the surface, followed by layers of command and certainty of success, ending with a layer of unmistakable menace. Ramey hesitated, momentarily uncertain which layer to respond to. "I don't plan to execute your colleague," he said, beginning with a simple correction. "I have worked tirelessly these last three years to keep him alive, often at my own expense."
"The crown is aware of and grateful for the sacrifices you have made and the risks you have taken on its behalf," the alien said. "That is precisely why I am here. I could take matters into my own hands, but doing so would place the lives of your men at risk. I offer you the opportunity to avoid that."
"You didn't offer me this 'opportunity' the last time your colleague's life was in danger," Ramey noted.
"I was unable to," the alien replied. "I was unaware that my enemies planned to attack this facility, and when they did, I, too, became a target. I was on the run for several years before it was safe to come out of hiding."
"What happened to them?" Ramey asked.
"They are no longer a concern," the alien answered.
He killed them, Ramey translated, reaching for his Scotch again. Aliens had been killing aliens these past several years, and no one had noticed. In some respects, that was good news; clearly these people were not interested in harming humanity if they'd been staging their own private little war for years with no one the wiser. "I'm not sure what I can do for you," Ramey said. "Were I to give an order to free the prisoner, no one would follow it. Smuggling him out of here may have worked prior to the arrival of so many of my own colleagues, but not now, not with all of them hanging around the front door like vultures. Even an attempt to take him to the hangar would be intercepted."
"Of course it would," the alien agreed, "which is why we need to combine our efforts."
"What will you do if you succeed?"
"We will leave this world as soon as possible," the alien answered. "We have business at home to attend to."
"And what assurance do I have that you won't seek revenge for our treatment of you once both of you are free?" Ramey asked.
The alien's answer was short and succinct. "None."
Ramey locked eyes with the alien, glanced behind him at Spade, who was listening intently, then let his gaze drift out the window. He had no stomach for McMullen's power grabs, and even less for murder, but there was no denying that Mr. Doe was a huge security risk should he escape. Were he to return to his own world with the knowledge he'd gained about the American people and their military, he could easily wreak havoc. Then again, the alien currently sitting in front of him could do the same with or without his companion, and their ability to change their appearance, coupled with their high level of technology, made such information almost moot.
"I have guarded heads of state for a very long time," the alien said as Ramey sat deep in thought, "so perhaps I can summarize the situation for you. Your colleagues plan to execute mine, and I will not simply stand by and allow that to happen. I will attempt to stop that execution any way I can; however, doing so alone lowers my chances of success and raises the likelihood of casualties on both sides. Our working together improves the odds for each of us. I can easily escape this room without detection, so detaining me is not an option. And if your concern is for the safety of your world, keep in mind that given your current level of technology, there is no way to stop us from invading were we so inclined. My colleague's death will not make you any safer. The only element under your control at the moment is whether you will choose the more or less risky path with regard to the safety of your own men."
"I'd complement you on your excellent summary if it weren't for the fact that the king you once served is now dead," Ramey observed.
"That king's father attained the throne with my help and lived to a ripe old age precisely because he listened to me," the alien replied. "His son did not." He leaned in closer, fixing Ramey with a piercing stare that was most unnerving. "Which one will you emulate?"
******************************************************
"Absolutely not," Cavitt said firmly. "Under no circumstances should we allow those do-gooders to conduct the execution."
"Funny how you were working with 'those do-gooders' only hours ago," General West said dryly as Cavitt scowled. "I think Roger has made a reasonable request. His people have worked with the prisoner for three years, so his people should finish the job."
"Which is precisely the problem," Cavitt said impatiently. "They won't 'finish the job'. Knowing Ramey, he'll say he's killed it while he's really walked it out the back door."
Murmurs echoed around the large table which was in a locked room at the main base; it would not do to have anyone overhearing this particular conversation. "Do you really think he'd do that?" asked General Andrews. "Do you really think he'd let it go behind our backs?"
"Of course he wouldn't," West snapped before Cavitt could answer. "Roger could have done that the last time he clashed with us or at any time since, for that matter, but he didn't. We all heard him say that he was ready to dispose of the prisoner if they couldn't find a quick way to identify the aliens—"
"So he said," Major Lewis interjected, his neatly manicured hands folded in his lap. "He can't prove that he would have actually gone through with it."
"And you can't prove that he wouldn't have," West said testily. "I would like to remind everyone that we're all, ostensibly at least, on the same side. Disagreements aside, General Ramey is a member of this coalition, one who has gifted our armed forces with the huge advantage of being able to move in the dark and supplied us with a largely repaired alien craft. Talking about him like he's the enemy is way out of line."
"Perhaps not as far out of line as you would like," Cavitt countered darkly.
"Just because he beat you at your own game is no reason to throw tantrums," West retorted. "You lost, Colonel. It happens, even to the best of us....and you're not the best of us. Get over it."
"Gentlemen, please," General McMullen interjected as Cavitt reddened, "let's not go off on tangents. The most important point is that Ramey has agreed to the execution. What we're discussing now are the details: Ramey wants his people to perform the execution, while we wish to do it ourselves."
"We do?" Andrews said. "Why? If Ramey wants to do the dirty deed himself, I say let him."
Heads nodded around the table, and West smiled inwardly as McMullen's fingers began tapping, a sure sign that he was annoyed. While McMullen was outwardly pleased at Ramey's capitulation, West knew the truth—McMullen had been spoiling for a fight and was disappointed that Ramey's cooperation, however grudging, had deprived him of that, not to mention depriving his protégé, Lewis, the joy of participating in the inevitable autopsy. Ramey's response effectively left him in power, which was exactly what McMullen hadn't wanted.
"We have no way of knowing for certain that the prisoner has actually been executed unless we are present at that execution," Cavitt argued. "Ramey simply appearing at the front door and announcing it's over will never be enough for me."
"Nor me," Lewis echoed.
"Executions always have witnesses," Andrews noted. "Isn't there some sort of peephole where you can watch this thing? Can't one of us just look through there?"
""There's more than a peephole," West replied, eyeing Cavitt across the table. "I understand there's an observation room equipped with cameras, microphones, and one-way glass."
"Micro-perforations," Lewis corrected. "Much more technically advanced than one-way glass."
"Whatever," Andrews said dismissively as Cavitt shot Lewis a keep-your-mouth-shut look. "How many people can fit in this 'observation room'?"
"Certainly not all of us," Cavitt replied.
"But how many?" West pressed.
Everyone looked questioningly at Cavitt. "Comfortably? About four," he answered, clearly unhappy. "Maybe half a dozen, tops."
"Why, that's plenty!" Andrews exclaimed. "I say let Roger's people do their touchy-feely thing with the alien while four of us observe from the observation room."
"An excellent compromise," West agreed.
"I disagree," Lewis said flatly. "I wish to be present in the room during the execution."
"Roger will never go for that," West warned.
"Then I say we force the issue," Cavitt declared.
"Why? He's already agreed to kill it," Andrews objected.
"Colonel, if I didn't know better, I'd say that you're just dying to take the compound by force come hell or high water," West said to Cavitt. "Are you really that willing to pit American soldiers against each other for no better reason than your own bruised ego?"
Cavitt's face contorted with fury. "If you're suggesting—"
"I'm not 'suggesting' anything," West said severely. "I'm saying straight out that you're putting your own agenda ahead of that of your country and your men. Roger disagreed with this coalition two and half years ago, and that time, he won. This time he lost, and he's accepted that, for the good of his country and his men. Roger's actions have proven that he has his priorities in order. What about yours?"
Uneasy silence blanketed the room as men shifted in their chairs, eyeing one another. The looks flying between McMullen, Lewis, and Cavitt could have ignited the conference room table. "I, for one," General Andrews said, "will not support the use of force as long as Roger has agreed to execute the prisoner. As far as I'm concerned, he's welcome to keep his command and see to the disposition of both his personnel and the prisoner, with witnesses of course. This operation has been his baby for three years now, and he's delivered in spades. I won't raise a hand against him without a damned good reason, and frankly, I don't see one."
"Hear, hear," the others murmured, nodding their agreement as West kept his eyes locked on the trio near the head of the table. McMullen needed a great deal of support to take a fellow general by force, and he didn't have it.
"Then it's settled," McMullen said, a false smile on his face. "Ramey's people will conduct the execution as he wishes while we observe."
"I want to see it after it's dead," Cavitt declared. "And I want Bernard to check and make certain it's dead."
"Of course," Major Lewis said, nodding.
"I'm sure Roger will agree to that," West said. "Which of us will observe? "
"We'll draw straws," McMullen said. "Let's all meet down in the lobby in half an hour."
Let me guess—Cavitt, Lewis, and McMullen will all draw short straws, West thought dryly as everyone rose to leave but the three at the head of the table. West lingered behind the group as it left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar and waiting for everyone to disappear around a far corner before pressing his ear to the crack.
".....got to learn when to shut up, Sheridan!" McMullen was saying angrily. "Your mouth gets you in trouble every single time!"
"We can't let Ramey have his way!" Cavitt exclaimed. "The goal was to get him out out of the way!"
"A goal you have now made more unreachable than ever," McMullen argued. "Taking out a Major General is no small matter, Colonel. I need a virtually unanimous verdict against him, and it's taken me three years to get it. It took you precisely three minutes to screw that up!"
"In the Colonel's defense," came Major Lewis's smooth voice, "the real mistake was letting Stanford West present our case. As a friend of Ramey's, he would of course seek a compromise, which is not what we wanted. One of us should have gone in and provoked Ramey into a confrontation."
"We can still do that," Cavitt declared.
"No, we can't," McMullen said irritably. "Any such move on our part now will look like a witch hunt."
"Well, we could have done it before Bernard here rattled on about his precious observation room and how 'technically advanced' it is," Cavitt said sourly. "What were you thinking? No one here besides us has even seen the observation room, so we could have demanded to be in the cell itself!"
"Do you really think Ramey wouldn't have pointed out the observation room's ammenities?" Lewis said coolly. "And as for rattling on, this all started going downhill when we were stopped at the door by the new head of security's order that no one was to enter without a pass. Now, where did that come from? Did you say something to tip off Captain Spade before you left?"
His ear pressed to the door, West smiled at the furious silence that followed this question. It was rare to see Cavitt and Lewis go at each other.
"What's done is done," McMullen sighed. "At least we got half of what we wanted, gentlemen—the alien will be dead. As for the ship, I'll let everyone know that I have the key after the alien's gone."
"Are you sure you have it?" Cavitt asked. "I wasn't able to pry a description out of Keyser."
"I've been collecting crystals for months now," McMullen answered. "One of them must be it. Once I've proven I can open and close it, I'm ordering it moved where no one will ever find it unless I want them to."
You bastard, West thought angrily. So McMullen had been running his own sabotage effort on the side. This wasn't just about killing the alien—they wanted Ramey's command and the prize he'd delivered. Starlight was indisputably his, but the ship could yield secrets for years yet, and whoever had it would get the credit.
"Let's get this over with," McMullen was saying. "And make certain West doesn't draw a short straw."
Like I'm going to wait for you to roll your loaded dice, West thought darkly as he slipped down the hallway, heading out a back door, completely bypassing the gathering in the lobby.
******************************************************
Proctor residence
"Dee, would you set the table, please?" Emily called from the dining room.
"Sure, Mama," Dee answered as she began to clear her school books off the kitchen table. School was almost over, but there were those annoying final exams to deal with. As she carried the stack of books out to the living room, she caught a glimpse of her mother and marveled again at how the anger that had flared for the past year whenever they were together or even just in each other's orbit was now gone. Not smaller, not damped down, but gone. Completely gone. So was the knot in her stomach that made it hard to eat sometimes, along with the quiet rage that made it hard to sleep, hard to even think. She'd been surprised by the intensity of the physical effects of anger, and she was equally surprised at how quickly they could disappear.
Dee had spent the last two days pondering why she was no longer angry with her mother. At first she'd thought it had just been a side effect of the incredible release she'd felt upon learning that Urza's last moments had been spent with a good person who had bent over backwards to protect him. That had taken a great deal of the sting out of his death, but that death wasn't something she blamed her mother for. The fact that Emily had been willing to fib about why she was late to school so she could find out what had happened to Urza certainly helped, but didn't change the fact that she'd thrown Brivari out of the house. Dee still firmly disagreed with that course of action, and although she hadn't asked, she was certain that her mother still felt completely justified in what she'd done. So on the outside, nothing had changed; both were on opposite sides, and neither had budged an inch. So what had happened?
In the end, it had come down to something Dee would very much like to forget: The verbal slap her mother had administered, or rather, the reason for that slap. Much as she hated to admit it, Emily was right—Dee hadn't given so much as a moment's thought to the plight of the nurse upon learning of her presence in their house and the reason for it. All of her attention had been focused on the fact that her mother had not only allowed Brivari in, but had condoned the use of the healing stones, something that would not work on a human without the human brain tissue that, at least in some fashion, had been taken from the children his people had experimented on and was the very reason Emily had thrown him out in the first place. That move had struck Dee as so incredibly hypocritical that it had blocked all other thought, and when her mother announced that she'd been behaving selfishly, Dee had been shocked into a reflective silence that had lasted for a full day. Was anger really a selfish emotion? Was it possible to be justifiably angry about something, but have that anger grow to the point where it eclipsed other things that were more important? How could she have put her anger ahead of someone else's life? And how would she have felt if her mother had stayed true to her original position and refused Brivari entrance, meaning that the nurse would have died? Was it possible to make an exception to a dearly held belief and still hold that belief? Was it possible to think someone was dead wrong about something, but not be angry with them?
In the process of trying to work through all of this, Dee had come to one major realization: She was no longer angry with Emily. She still felt her mother was wrong to evict Brivari, and would likely always feel that way, but she no longer felt angry about it. So the answer to that last question was "yes", however inexplicably. After failing to come up with a satisfactory explanation for this, Dee had simply dropped the matter and enjoyed the new calm, and her mother appeared to be doing the same.
"Oh, I should have told you that we're eating in the dining room tonight," her mother said just as Dee set a pile of silverware on the kitchen table. "And set one extra place."
"Why?" Dee asked, pulling more silverware out a drawer.
"Marana will be eating with us."
"Eating with us?" Dee echoed. "I thought you didn't want anything to do with her."
"She's changed her tune these last couple of days," Emily answered.
"Why?" Dee repeated.
"I think maybe she's realized a few things," Emily replied. "Like how all of this looks from our perspective, and the fact that we essentially saved her life. At any rate, she helped me prepare last night's dinner, and then helped me hang the laundry today. She also ran the vacuum cleaner and dusted. I don't think the house has ever been this clean. Turns out you can reach more places when you can change the shape of your arm."
Dee shut the drawer with a bang. "What brought this on?" she demanded.
Emily stopped stirring the beans. "What do you mean?"
"Well, don't you think it's a little weird that she was all nasty and sarcastic, and now she's helping you do laundry?"
"What, you mean like you?" Emily said, smiling faintly as Dee blushed. "People can change, Dee. Or maybe all that hostility was just a defensive reaction to her being attacked and waking up to find herself in a strange place."
"Or maybe she's pulling your leg," Dee countered. "Don't trust her, Mama. She's up to something."
"Who said anything about trusting her?" Emily asked. "She's being much nicer, so I thought I'd be nicer. That's all."
"No, it's not all," Dee argued. "I'll bet she just wants to know where the babies are."
"Well that would be too bad, because we have no idea where the babies are," Emily said.
What is she talking about? Dee thought. They knew exactly where those babies were, could lead Marana right to them if they wanted to. She was about to protest when she saw the look on her mother's face and realized she was fibbing again.
"I wasn't born yesterday, Deanna," Emily said calmly. "I'm well aware of the political situation we are unfortunately in the middle of, and I have no intention of telling her a blessed thing. I agree she could be fishing, but since it won't work, it doesn't really matter. I'm just enjoying the thaw. And I'm finding this rather amusing. I would think you'd be delighted that I'm being nicer to an alien, and here you're all suspicious."
"I wouldn't be if she were on the right side," Dee muttered.
"Supper's ready," Emily said. "Call your father, will you? And behave yourself, please," she added pointedly. "No nasty remarks whether I can hear them or not, understand?"
Grumbling under her breath, Dee went to fetch her father from the back porch. When they arrived in the dining room, both Marana and Emily were already there, and the look on David's face made it clear that he was every bit as surprised as Dee. "Marana will be joining us for dinner tonight," Emily said casually, as though that made perfect sense.
"She will?" David said, looking from Marana to her mother as though he'd missed something.
"Mr. Proctor, I realize I've been very difficult to live with, and I do apologize," Marana said hastily. "My life has just been one upheaval after another recently, and I haven't always handled it well. I'm feeling better every day, so Malik and I will be leaving soon. I'd like to thank you for all you've done for us."
"Well....you're welcome," David said, still looking slightly confused as he took his seat. Everyone else sat down also, and an awkward silence ensued as the food was passed. "So....you were there when the coup occurred, right?" David said after a moment. "That must have been difficult."
"It was," Marana answered. "No one knew exactly what was going on for quite a long time. We knew that the king's rival had prevailed—"
"Khivar?" David said.
Marana looked startled for a moment before continuing. "Yes. Khivar. We knew that he had seized the throne, but we weren't sure how, or whether any of the royal family had survived. Rumors were rampant, and real information was hard to come by."
"I would imagine," David murmured.
"And then we heard that the Warders had escaped and no one could find the royal family alive or dead, so it was surmised that the king had either survived or could be brought back," Marana continued. "But then you already know about that because you've seen the hybrids."
Dee's eyes, which she had carefully trained on her plate lest she say something she knew would get her in trouble and upset the fragile peace she was enjoying, flicked up. So did her mother's. But her father never missed a beat. "And what was the reaction to the notion that the king might return?" he asked.
"Elation," Marana said. "And resistance. The possibility that the king might not be gone for good encouraged the growth of a rebel movement which was gaining quite a bit of momentum when I left. Not many want Khivar to rule."
"You do," David said casually.
Marana stopped chewing. "Excuse me?"
"Well, you are—or were—working for him, aren't you?" David asked.
"We were all 'working for him'," Marana answered, her eyes on her plate. "We had to, or we would have been killed. Khivar doesn't like us Covari. We had to be very careful about anything we said or did, or even whom we associated with."
"Then it must be a relief for you to be here, where he can't reach you and you don't have to hide your true feelings," David answered.
Dee watched her father's eyes lock with Marana's for a moment before she looked down again, then saw her parent's exchanging glances. "So, Mr. Proctor," Marana said, recovering quickly, "Your mate—wife—tells me you were a soldier in your world's recent war. That must have been difficult for you."
"It was," David allowed, "although it was a bit different for me because my home and family weren't threatened."
"They weren't?"
"Our enemy didn't have the technology to easily reach our country," David explained.
"So you were fighting someone else's war?"
"The man who started it was evil," David answered, "and that evil impacted all of us whether or not we were personally affected. He needed to be stopped, and it took the combined forces of several countries to do it."
"My goodness," Marana said to Emily. "How hard that must have been to risk losing your husband to a war that didn't threaten you."
"It was no walk in the park," Emily said quietly.
"And then to have my people show up so soon afterwards and drag you into this—that must have been very upsetting so soon after your own conflict," Marana continued.
"We weren't 'dragged'," Dee said, feeling her mother's sharp gaze but unable to stay silent any longer. "We volunteered."
"But still, from what I've heard of what happened after the Warders' ship crashed, it must have been very hard for you," Marana pressed. "What with them being injured and two of them dying, and the hybrids being captured—I believe you helped with their rescue, didn't you?" she added to Emily.
"More salad?" Emily asked lightly, picking up a bowl.
"You know what I found to be the hardest thing during the war?" David commented as Dee bit both her physical and telepathic tongues. "Figuring out which side people were on. Did you have trouble with that?"
"How so?" Marana asked uncertainly.
"Well, in addition to the usual double agents, people switched sides so often," David said. "One day they were feeding you information, the next they were turning you in. Sometimes I think people genuinely didn't know which side they were on until push came to shove. I learned the hard way not to trust anyone, especially if they claimed to have switched allegiances. After all, if someone will switch once, they could switch again. Dee, would you pass the rolls please?"
Silence. Marana looked like she'd just been slapped. Dee stifled a smile as she handed over the rolls and tucked into the rest of her dinner, secure in the knowledge that her parents knew what was up. How could she ever have thought otherwise.
******************************************************
Eagle Rock Military Base
"You must be joking!" General West exclaimed.
"If you observe me closely, you may notice that I'm not laughing," Ramey replied.
"But—"
"No buts," Ramey interrupted firmly. "I've made my decision."
West closed his eyes briefly, then opened them as though hoping to find something different than he'd seen previously. No luck. He'd run over here ahead of the pack to confer with Ramey before anyone else arrived, only to find his friend doing the last thing he'd expected.
"But you can't!" West protested. "I went to bat for you! Everyone supported your insistence on your own people seeing this through! What about your concern for the prisoner? Do you have any idea what will happen to it?"
"Either way, the prisoner winds up dead, so I don't see as that makes much difference," Ramey answered. "Besides, since when do you care how it's done? I thought that didn't matter because he isn't human."
"It isn't human, but that doesn't mean I condone torture," West said. "And I certainly didn't think you did either."
"I don't," Ramey said flatly. "I don't condone anything about any of this, which is precisely why I made this decision. I don't want the prisoner's blood on my hands."
"But, Roger, they're after you too!" West exclaimed. "Don't you see? I overheard them talking, McMullen and Lewis and Cavitt. They don't just want the prisoner dead, they want your command!"
"And you think I don't know that?" Ramey retorted. "What difference does it make? There's not much of a command left anyway. As soon as the prisoner is dead, this entire compound will be scrubbed clean as a museum, everyone will be reassigned, and I'll be on to other things anyway."
"Wait," West said desperately, as Ramey picked up his briefcase. "There's more. McMullen's been hoarding those 'crystals' you were looking for, and he thinks he has the one that opens the ship."
Ramey paused, smiling faintly. "Well, I'll be damned. He was right."
"Who?"
"The prisoner. He told me he thought someone was trying to sabotage the repairs by withholding crystals."
West blinked. "The prisoner told you that?"
" 'Alien' isn't synonymous with 'stupid'," Ramey said dryly. "Too bad you never met him, or you'd know that. None of you ever met him. You all show up for his murder, but not to say hello, not to spend so much as five minutes conversing with the first visitor we know of from another world. What does that say about you? What does that say about us as a country, as a species?" He paused as West shifted uncomfortably. "We're like children, Stan," Ramey continued regretfully, "seeing monsters under the bed where there aren't any and lashing out without thought. We've got Joe McCarthy running around accusing everyone and their mother of being a communist without due process, and now we're executing people out of fear. We're not ready. The prisoner told me that back when he was first captured, and I took offense. I thought we were better than that. I was wrong."
"Okay, fine," West said impatiently, "so we're not what we could be. I'll give you that. So why not show us how you think it should be done?"
"I've done that for three years now, and look where it's gotten me," Ramey said.
"You're making a huge mistake," West warned. "You're so upset that you don't know what you're doing!"
"On the contrary," Ramey said, "I know exactly what I'm doing."
"Roger, wait!" West called desperately, scuttling after Ramey as he ordered Captain Spade to join him and headed down the main hallway at a good clip, drawing stares from the guards who obviously hadn't been kept up to date. "Don't do this! You'll regret it for the rest of your life! Roger!"
The guards held the door open for Ramey as he passed with Spade and West in his wake, and as they reached the end of the long entranceway, West's heart sank when he saw the coalition assembled outside headed by McMullen, whose face darkened when he saw them. "Stan," McMullen said coldly. "We wondered where you were."
"How convenient to have you all here, gentlemen," Ramey said cheerfully. "I want you all to know that I'm stepping down. The compound and the prisoner are yours."
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I'll post Chapter 138 next Sunday.
I'm going to enjoy watching him come up against Brivari... I hope. And Ramey may be slyer than I thought. If he worked out a way to spring Jaddo, with Brivari and Malik's help, now McMullen and his cronies will get all the blame for the escape. After all, they came in and upset the apple cart, took over the base by force (for all practical purposes), and put themselves in charge, which exonerates Ramey. Then the highly classified alien escapes right under their noses due to their interference. I'd say that would merit a LOT OF explaining higher up. And I'm guessing the rest of that coalition is going to point their fingers at McMullen and Cavitt to protect their own butts. No loyalty in a hanging among this group. 