Birthright, Shapeshifters, S2, TEEN, Chpater 75, 12/31/19

[Kathy W 2200]

Banner by Misha. Thanks a million, Misha!


TITLE: Birthright, the 6th and final book in the Shapeshifters series. This thread contains the second part of the book which covers Season Two.

Link to Birthright, Season One:

http://majiksfanfic.com/phpbb/viewtopic.php?f=2&t=3151


SUMMARY: We've finally arrived where this series was heading from the beginning: September, 1999, and a particular shooting at a particular café with which we are all particularly familiar. This is the book which runs alongside all 3 seasons of the show, expanding what we saw on screen, filling in blanks, and adding the perspectives of the shapeshifters, along with others entrusted with protecting the Royal Four. Once again this leaves the show intact; I've stayed 99% faithful to what we saw on screen with minor exceptions, such as when the dates given in the show didn't line up with the actual calendar, or setting the events of two episodes in close proximity even though those episodes aired a week apart. This book is divided into 3 parts (1 for each season) which are further divided into chapters. It begins with the shooting at the Crashdown and ends a few weeks after the final episode of the series.


CAN YOU JUMP IN AT BOOK 6? : Yes! The opening posts for the first part of this book (which covers Season One) contain a character guide and synopses of the first 5 books. That, along with what you know from the show, will give you enough background to start reading with Book 6.

Note: I've tried very hard not to rehash scenes from the show unless I'm adding another angle to them. If it's been a while since you've watched Roswell, you may want to break out your tapes/VCD's/DVD's and watch again as this book expands on the series.



AUTHOR: Kathy W


RATING: TEEN, for occasional language.


CATEGORY: Backstory/Conventional. All couples as they were on the show.


PERSPECTIVE: As always, the main perspective is that of those responsible for making it happen—the shapeshifters.


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

This is the story from the viewpoint of the shapeshifters, my own little fantasy about what happened, why it happened, and what went wrong. This is the sixth and last book in the series, each a sequel to the others and which have closely tracked the show; my intention is not to rewrite Roswell, but to fill in some of the blanks. The story began on the ship headed to Earth and will end a few weeks after the last episode of the series.


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

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



SEQUEL TO:


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

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

Comes The Inquisitor: Third book in the series. Covers the period from 1947-1950 when one of the shapeshifters was held captive by the U.S. military. Can be found here: http://majiksfanfic.com/phpbb/viewtopic ... 61&start=0

All Too Human: Fourth book in the series. Covers a period of several months in 1959 including the filming of the movie "They Are Among Us" in Roswell, James Atherton's friendship with one of the shapeshifters, and the formation of the Special Unit. Can be found here: http://majiksfanfic.com/phpbb/viewtopic.php?f=2&t=1448

Awakening: Fifth book in the series. Covers the period when the hybrids emerge from the pods, including the final fall of Grandpa Valenti and the rise of Daniel Pierce Jr. (Pierce from the show.) Explains how Max and Isabel wound up with the Evans family, Michael landed in foster care, and Tess went with Nasedo....and why they don't remember who they are. Can be found here: http://majiksfanfic.com/phpbb/viewtopic.php?f=2&t=3006

[Kathy W 2200]

Welcome to Season 2! And the story continues...





BIRTHRIGHT—SEASON TWO





CHAPTER ONE



August 31, 2000, 9 a.m.

Longview Plaza, Roswell





"Why don't you sit down, Mom? I'll go let them know we're here."

Why bother? Dee thought, taking a seat as Diane informed the doctor's secretary/admin/whatever they called themselves these days of their arrival, hardly necessary in a waiting room this size with the desk all of five feet away. God, how she hated medical offices, which she avoided like the plague unless she had the plague. No matter how well decorated, they always smelled like antiseptic, were painted some so-called "calming color", and had weird magazines which were several months out of date as though the office were stuck in some kind of time warp, which, given how long one was typically stranded here, could very well be.

"All set," Diane said briskly, having duly reported their arrival. "She said the doctor would just be a few minutes."

"They always say that," Dee commented.

"He was reasonably on time the last time I was here," Diane noted.

"Define 'reasonably'."

"Look, I know you don't like doctor's offices, so I'm grateful you agreed to come with me," Diane said.

"Nonsense," Dee deadpanned. "I love sitting in mauve waiting rooms with months old copies of Field and Stream and a whiff of Pine Sol."

"Yes, well, I couldn't bring Philip," Diane said, ignoring her sarcasm. "He was so against Max seeing anyone, and I know he would just be awful in there."

"And I won't be?" Dee chuckled. "Of course I won't," she added hastily when Diane raised an eyebrow. "I want what's best for Max, of course. We both do."

"We're both mothers," Diane said, putting a hand on Dee's arm. "You understand in ways Philip never will. Plus you know that Max is...'special'."

"I do indeed," Dee agreed, patting Diane's hand in the hope that she'd remove it before she got all misty-eyed. "Max will be fine, Diane. All teenagers go through rough patches."

Diane sat back in her chair, her eyes far away. "This was more than just a 'rough patch', Mom. I can feel it in my bones."

Those damnable bones, Dee thought, busying herself with the March issue of Field and Stream and a fascinating article on fishing lures. It hadn't taken long for Max's reaction to his capture and torture by the Special Unit to set in; by the end of May he was having regular nightmares and stomach aches, eschewing the upstairs shower in favor of the shower stall in the basement, startling easily, jumping every time the phone rang, and conveniently "forgetting" three different appointments for his annual school physical until it was late enough that Diane was unable to get another before school started. Always tuned to her son's frequency, Diane had known something was wrong and responded accordingly, convincing Milton to give Max the summer off from his job at the UFO center, arguably a good thing what with all those much-too-close-to-the-truth exhibits, and beseeching Philip's blessing on a limited number of sessions with a psychologist, even enlisting Yvonne's help to get him to agree. Personally she'd found the whole thing a terrible idea; how was it going to help Max to have one more person to keep secrets from? Yvonne saw her point, but was more neutral. It was possible, she felt, that counseling might teach Max some generic coping skills that he'd find useful and also possible that it would have a calming effect on Diane, always a good thing for Max. Their sessions almost at an end, this appointment was the doctor's report for Diane, and Dee had absolutely no confidence that it would go well.

The office door opened. "Mrs. Evans," a bespectacled gentleman smiled. "So good to see you again."

"I brought my mother-in-law with me," Diane said. "I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not," the man said, holding out a hand. "I'm Dr. Otterloop."

"I'm also Mrs. Evans," Dee answered with as straight a face as she could muster. "Otterloop"? Really?

"I'll try to keep the two of you straight," the doctor said. "Come in, please. I must confess I'm a bit surprised not to see Mr. Evans here today."

"Philip still thinks Max is just going through a phase," Diane sighed.

"Not entirely incorrect," the doctor allowed as they took their seats. "It does appear he's been going through a difficult time."

"Oh, he has," Diane said unhappily.

He's not the only one, Dee thought. Isabel and Michael were also dealing with the fallout from Pierce Inc., the former worried about invading enemies, the latter sharing that worry along with a truckload of guilt for having dispatched Pierce. Isabel had had her share of nightmares and moodiness, but somehow that had escaped her mother, who was totally focused on Max.

"How is he, doctor?" Diane was asking anxiously.

"I'm afraid I've been unable to coax Max into telling me exactly what's bothering him," the doctor confessed.

"It's that girl, that Liz," Diane fretted. "She left for the summer, you know. I'll bet good money something went wrong between the two of them."

"Possibly," the doctor admitted, "although he hasn't said anything about her. But whatever the reason, he's much more relaxed now than he was when we started several weeks ago, so the therapy has helped him nonetheless."

"He is," Diane agreed, "and it has."

Bullshit, Dee thought. Max was 'more relaxed' because everyone who knew anything knew that the only thing which would help him were assurances that what had happened in May would not recur. It being dicey for Jaddo to contact Max given that the king could command him, they had decided to pass information through Tess. After Tess had delivered the first news report from "Nasedo", Dee had felt a pang of something suspiciously like guilt; it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why Liz Parker had decided to summer several states away or to decipher the smile on Tess' face. She must be loving this, with Liz gone and her the main conduit of information between Max and Jaddo, and the Warders were certainly pleased to be sending the queen to help the king. News of Jaddo's systematic undermining of the Special Unit had indeed calmed Max, but something else had as well, an unexpected something—Tess. While the rest of them worried and wallowed, she alone did neither, steady and serene amid the fallout. "She's used to this," Brivari had noted when Dee commented on her lack of discomfiture. "She's lived her entire life running from the Special Unit. She's learned to live with fear, to manage it instead of letting it manage her. She's a voice of experience, which is just what he needs right now."

As the weeks had gone by, the news from Washington had grown better and better, and Max had relaxed more and more. Tess's visits to the Evans household grew more frequent, it now being usual for the four of them to spend time together during the long summer nights, causing Brivari to note with satisfaction that the Royal Four were four once more. "Maybe this will actually work out," he'd said wistfully, watching all of them play badminton in the backyard one evening. "Wouldn't that be ironic, after everything that's gone wrong."

"...absolutely did the right thing bringing him here, Mrs. Evans," the doctor was saying. "Modern psychotherapy could help most of us, and I'm so glad I've been able to help Max."

"So now that he's better, he's done, right?" Dee said. "No more sessions?"

"Well...I'd like to go on helping him," the doctor answered. "He would benefit from more sessions. He still hasn't told me exactly what happened."

Because it's none of your business, Dee thought irritably. "How much 'more' is 'more'?" she asked.

"Another six months," the doctor replied.

"Six months?" Dee said incredulously. "School is starting! How is he going to have time for appointments on top of that? Besides, Philip only agreed to 8 sessions, so he has only, what, one left?"

"Well...if it's helping, he might agree to more," Diane said doubtfully.

"Oh, it's definitely helping," the doctor boasted. "You agreed he's much better now."

"I'm confused," Dee said, resisting the urge to smack the man for taking credit for something he actually had nothing to do with. "Didn't you say Max never told you what was bothering him?"

"Well...yes, but..."

"Then how exactly did you 'help' him?"

"By listening," the doctor answered.

"To what? You just said he didn't tell you anything."

"Well...no, but my experience with others makes me a good sounding board," the doctor said.

"A 'sounding board' for what?" Dee said. "For what he's not telling you?"

Silence. "Well...I meant that I have a great deal of advice to offer," the doctor amended finally.

"Advice about what?" Diane asked. "If he hasn't told you what's wrong, how can you advise him?"

"Well...it's just the standard of care," the doctor said, beginning to fidget. "As a licensed professional, I of course need to..."

Dee tuned out as Diane listened, albeit with commendable skepticism. Long story short, this guy was put out that Max hadn't spilled and wanted more time to lean on him. He probably thought the very real improvement in Max's mood was entirely his doing, leading one to wonder what other marvels of modern medicine were merely just charades. Two things were certain: Whenever they trotted out the "standard of care" excuse, all hope of reasoned discourse was over, and Max needed to get away from this nosy man pronto. How to accomplish that? If only Brivari were here. He frequently found a way to get the outcome he wanted and send everyone home happy at the same time, but that took patient maneuvering while she was far more prone to impatient exasperation...

"I think I understand!" Dee said suddenly, cutting off the doctor's long-winded defense. "Doctor, you're brilliant!"

"He is?" Diane said.

The doctor gaped at her. "I...I am?"

"Of course!" Dee exclaimed. "Faced with a patient who refused to talk, he did the next best thing—he taught Max coping skills, generic coping skills which work with all kinds of stress, and allowed him to sort through them to find the ones which worked best for his situation."

Utter silence and blank stares greeted this announcement. "And what a marvelous solution that was!" Dee went on enthusiastically. "Max is much better. We've all seen it."

"He is much better," Diane agreed.

"But—" the doctor began.

"And how could he be better if, by the doctor's own admission, Max has told him precisely nothing?" Dee interrupted. "I'll tell you how—because of his brilliant therapy! Respecting your patient's right to privacy. Giving him the means to help himself. Trusting that he would make the right choices...and it worked! He gave Max the tools to manage his own stress, and now that he's done so successfully, he won't be needing any more sessions. Which is only right, because the goal, of course, was to help Max be self-sufficient in managing his own stress."

The doctor blinked. "It was? It was!" he amended quickly when Diane raised an eyebrow. "Of course it was."

"So, exactly what 'coping skills' did you teach Max?" Diane asked.

"I...well...I have several, of course," the doctor stammered as Dee gave him a Mona Lisa smile, knowing full well the doctor likely hadn't imparted anything but impatience. "Knowing which ones to teach, that's the key."

"But...how could you know that if Max didn't tell you what was wrong?" Diane ventured.

"Oh, come now, Diane," Dee said, noting that now was not the time for Diane to suddenly be quick on the uptake. "This man is obviously a consummate professional. I must say, doctor, I'm impressed you managed to help Max so skillfully with so little information. To have done so much with so little bespeaks a sharp intellect, a great deal of empathy, and an admirable rapport with your patient."

"I do my best," the doctor said, trying and failing to look humble as he puffed with pride and succumbed completely to the tsunami of praise.

"And you, Diane," Dee went on, "so quick to notice something was wrong, so stalwart in your insistence that something had to be done. You were unflagging in your efforts to ease his way, convincing his employer to give him the summer off and his father to give his blessing to these sessions. What Max has learned here will stay with him the rest of his life, and you can both be justifiably proud of that."

"Thank you," the doctor beamed as Diane, to her credit, looked wary.

"So," Dee said briskly, rising from her chair, "let's be on our way and leave this dedicated professional to what he does best. Doctor, thank you so much for helping my grandson. You've made such a difference!"

"I...thank you," the doctor answered, flustered, as Dee ushered Diane out, tossing another wave of gratitude in the secretary's direction as they rushed past. Diane said nothing until the elevator door closed in front of them.

"I thought you hated doctors?"

"Not that one," Dee lied. "He's obviously on the ball. Did you choose him, or did Philip?"

"I did," Diane answered, sounding slightly proud of herself. "He seemed...competent."

"I'll say," Dee agreed. "Max is so much better. He's very lucky to have you for a mother."

Smiling faintly, Diane finally allowing herself to accept the praise, having surrendered far more slowly than the windbag back in that office. Dee settled into the car with enormous satisfaction, having produced a beaming doctor who'd just been told he was brilliant and might actually start talking about coping skills, a proud parent who felt she'd done right by her child, and an end to useless therapy sessions for Max. Everyone was happy, and she'd gotten what she wanted.

Just wait until Brivari got back from Washington and learned that the impatient little girl who'd stumbled across his ship all those years ago had learned a thing or two from the King's Warder after all.




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




Pierce residence,

Washington, D.C.





"Daniel, this is extraordinary," Vanessa murmured, leafing through the sheaf of papers. "Absolutely extraordinary."

"Tell me about it."

Vanessa cocked an eyebrow as he appeared au natural in the bedroom doorway. "Put some clothes on," she said dryly. "You'll scare the cockroaches."

"I have cockroaches?"

"You're right—even they wilt in this heat," Vanessa grumbled.

"Thought the heat would be good for your eczema," Daniel said.

Vanessa felt her arms unconsciously sliding further into her long sleeves. A more accurate observation was that Washington's famous summer heat was bad for husks. It turned out that husks liked cool climates at the end of their lifespan, a factoid they'd hoped never to encounter. The capitol's humidity was a bit less ferocious than Copper Summit's dry heat, but both were bad, and made worse by her cautionary habit of wearing long sleeves. So far she'd been able to write off her shedding to the human condition called "eczema", and fortunately Pierce had other things on his mind these days.

"I'm glad you finally decided to trust me," Vanessa said, "although I would have preferred to have this dropped in my lap back in June."

"Because I do so love dropping things in your lap," Pierce murmured, nuzzling her neck.

"Would you get your mind out of the gutter for just 10 minutes?" Vanessa said in exasperation, pushing him away. "We're showered and dressed, or I am, anyway. So we're done."

"Are we ever truly done?" Pierce asked with mock innocence, his hands tracing a not-so-innocent path down her back.

"Well, you certainly aren't," Vanessa laughed. "But you only get to do that because you're also mid-firing, and some of us aren't so fortunate. Some of us have actual work to do, work that would be so much easier if you'd delivered the means to do it one hell of a lot earlier so we could get on with the business of getting you un-fired."

"Work, work,work," Pierce muttered with mock annoyance, flopping down beside her. "Is that all you ever do?"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Vannesa teased. "Is that all you ever do?"

"I'm making up for lost time," Pierce said.

"And whose fault is that?" Vanessa said. "You were the one with the round-the-clock, super-secret, oh-so-classified job. But I was here. I was available."

"For what? Working or fucking?"

"Both," Vanessa said firmly, "as evidenced by the fact that we just finished one and started the other. Now...after all your bleating about everything being 'classified', what made you decide to turn over classified documents to the one person who might save your ass as well as lick it?"

Pierce burst out laughing, causing her to smile in spite of herself. God, he was handsome. And smart, and persistent, and calculating, and very, very good with his hands. Those hands could reach places she hadn't even known she owned, and they never, ever tired. Maybe she should have gotten Daniel fired earlier...

"Penny for your thoughts?" Pierce teased. "Hope they're dirty. Bet they are."

"Oh, stop it," Vanessa said crossly. "Cadmium X. Start talking."

"About what? It's all in there. It's how we know an alien has killed someone. Well, that and the fact that their insides are cooked from the inside without leaving anything outside. That too."

"I mean why didn't you tell me sooner?" Vanessa clarified. "This might have delayed the hearings or stopped them altogether. It certainly will carry weight with the committee when all my protests have been for naught."

"Only because you've been using big words they don't understand," Pierce said.

"Only because they haven't seen a shred of evidence that aliens actually exist," Vanessa corrected. "Your Director has been very good about clamping down on any and all leaks. He's making you look like some kind of demented Obi Wan off on some damned fool idealistic crusade."

"Love, love, love the Star Wars reference," Daniel chuckled. "But he's not 'my' Director, and what did you expect? I told you he'd never air the Bureau's dirty laundry in public. He just wants me branded a nutcase so he can reassure everyone that aliens aren't real, and then turn around and go fight them without me."

"So why are you giving me this now?" Vanessa asked. "Why not earlier?"

"Because I didn't think he'd actually go through with it," Pierce answered. "He's bluffed and blustered before, and nothing came of it. I figured he'd bluff and bluster a bit more this time, then back off because we scrubbed the base clean before we left. I didn't expect him to go after the whole damned Unit, just me. I can lay low for a while and rise again, but the Unit must go on. The threat is too real."

"On that, we agree," Vanessa assured him, "and I will do everything in my power to see that it continues. It's why I maneuvered my way onto the committee in the first place, because there needed to be at least one true believer to separate the wheat from the chaff."

" 'Maneuvered'?" Pierce chuckled. "Don't you mean 'slept'?"

"Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe," Vanessa smiled.

"You know, you've never told me how you became a believer," Pierce said. "Do you have an abduction story?"

"You know, you've never told me why you went to Roswell," Vanessa countered. "Do you have a capture story?"

" 'Capture'? I said I'd 'found' something. What makes you think I captured something?"

"Because you don't need an abandoned Army base unless you've got something to put in it," Vanessa answered. "And you certainly don't need to 'scrub it clean' unless you've used it, and you wouldn't have used it unless you'd captured something."

"Let's hear it for circuitous logic," Pierce said dryly. "Has it not occurred to you that I was preparing for something that never happened? Why would I scrub it if I'd actually had something? Pissed-off-director or no pissed-off-director, that evidence would be all I'd need to at least keep the Unit running, if not my job. I wish."

The sigh which accompanied that last sentence was genuine enough that Vanessa felt a prickle of doubt. She'd been certain Pierce's Unit had found a hybrid or a Warder, but he was right—if he had, why hadn't he brandished the photographs, the videos, the medical exams in his defense? Why just this interesting-but-hardly -definitive study on a weird isotope humans weren't familiar with?

"That's too bad," Vanessa said with genuine regret. "I was hoping you were sitting on the evidence gathered from that capture, and just waiting to see if you needed to trot it out. Which you do, by the way, if you have it. They'll vote you down, Daniel. I know they will."

"I know it too," Pierce said. "Which is why I just gave you genuine lab work about a genuine substance which is genuinely extra-terrestrial."

"But this can't be all you have," Vanessa protested. "How long has the Unit been around? Since 1950? There must be more—"

"Of course there is," Pierce said. "But I'm persona non grata, remember? Clearance revoked, weapon confiscated, blah, blah, blah. I can't just waltz in there and help myself to the Unit's evidence, and the Director certainly isn't going to let any of it see the light of day if he can help it. I only got the Cadmium X stuff because I could lift it from the lab which did the work."

"Good idea; let's go at this sideways," Vanessa suggested. "Who else besides the Unit has evidence of alien life on this planet? The Army?"

"Forget it," Pierce said. "There's always been a tug-of-war between the Army and the Bureau. The military would love to see the Unit go under."

"Scratch the Army," Vanessa noted. "Who else?"

"There is no one else, or no one your esteemed colleagues would listen to. Unless you'd like to hit up a UFO convention or two. I hear their attendees can be quite inspirational."

"Not the kind of inspiration I was looking for," Vanessa said, "but I'll keep looking, and you should too. For evidence, that is, not down your pants."

"I don't look down my pants," Pierce said reproachfully. "I look down yours."

"Don't I know it," Vanessa said wryly. "You can look down them later, after I save your ass on the Hill."

"You really think that'll do it?"

He was suddenly serious, very serious indeed if he was ignoring a reference to sex. "I will find a way to fix this," she told him, "if it's the last thing I do. I promise."

"But why?" Pierce said. "Why is this so important to you?"

"You're important to me," Vanessa answered. "I need you, in ways you could never imagine."

A sly smile spread across his face. "I could try."

"And there's my Daniel," Vanessa laughed. "Keep your engines revved. I'll be back." Pausing in the doorway, she struck a pose, bending a knee, raising her skirt high enough to raise blood pressure.

"Good morning."

Vanessa whirled around, startled. A man stood in Daniel's living room, suit, briefcase, nice watch. "Who the hell are you?" she sputtered, dropping her skirt.

"My ten o'clock," Pierce said casually, not the least bit perturbed that he was still stark naked. "Forgot about him. Oops."

"How long were you standing there?" Vanessa demanded, flushing.

"Long enough," Pierce chuckled.

"Am I...interrupting something?" the man asked.

"Like you care!" Vanessa said hotly, bristling at the faint note of amusement in the voice and the less-than-faint amusement on Pierce's face. "The least you could have done is announce yourself."

"Mea culpa," the man allowed. "Should I come back so you can...finish?"

"Don't bother," Vanessa said tightly. "We're finished."

"Nice...'seeing' you," the stranger said blandly.

Vanessa left, still flushing and trying not to because heat, any heat, caused her husk to peel. Where the hell had he come from? She usually had better hearing than that, and most humans moved like elephants, not cats. She was still smarting as she reached the ground floor, her phone to her ear.

"What?" Nicholas's voice said.

"He finally gave me something to work with. Humans have discovered a radioactive isotope they don't recognize in the bones of those the Warders have executed."

"Clever apes. How does this help us?"

"It helps us keep the Unit alive," Vanessa answered, "which is paramount now that he actually trusts me. Even if they fire him, he's got enough followers that he'll just go underground, and I'll go with him. You know, so he can clear his name, and get his job back, and all that happy stuff."

"Such a loyal mistress," Nicholas said dryly. "But let's not put all our eggs in one basket. We're still working other angles."

"Of course, but this is huge," Vanessa argued. "He's never confided in me before."

"I'll congratulate you when you actually produce something of value," Nicholas said. "Will this isotope stuff sway that troglodyte committee of yours?"

"Oh, you bet," Vanessa assured him. "When I get through with them, they'll be swinging in the breeze."




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




"Interesting choice of clothing," Brivari remarked after Vanessa had fled.

"It's called a 'birthday suit'," Jaddo informed him, "ironic for one who was never born. Why didn't you ever tell me human mating was so much fun?"

"You were markedly disinterested. To the point of being disdainful, if I recall."

"Well, shame on me," Jaddo chuckled. "It's more wrestling match than mating. It's positively violent."

"Speak for yourself," Brivari said. "Did I just overhear you handing evidence of our existence to Nicholas' main squeeze?"

"You did, indeed," Jaddo replied.

"And you find that wise?"

"I find it absolutely hilarious!" Jaddo chortled. "It was enough to be taking down the Unit, but this is even better."

"Care to elaborate?" Brivari suggested.

"By the time I'm done," Jaddo said enormous satisfaction, "not only will the Unit have fallen, but Vanessa will have helped deal its death blow...and in the process, her own."


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


RL has been eating my lunch lately, so I'll be posting every other Sunday. Chapter 2 will go up on Sunday, March 16.

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello to everyone reading!




CHAPTER TWO



August 31, 2000, 10:15 a.m.

Pierce residence, Washington, D.C.






Brilliant sunshine poured in Pierce's windows, the stifling heat of a summer in Washington palpable even through air conditioning. Brivari had spent a good deal of time in this humid sweat box these last few months posing as this or that human as he and Jaddo worked together to bring the Unit to its knees, a job which had proven more difficult than expected. For all that the FBI's director was eager to get rid of Pierce, he was considerably less eager to allow others to poke their respective noses into what he considered his business. Their goal being the destruction of not just Pierce, but the Unit itself, it had taken some determined wrangling on both their parts to ensure the upcoming congressional hearings on the future of the Unit actually took place, which made the notion of Jaddo putting them in jeopardy especially unappealing.

"You expect Vanessa to deal the Unit's death blow," Brivari said. "And why would she do that? She obviously cosied up to Pierce because she wanted to know what the Unit knew. Why would she undermine it?"

"She won't be doing it willingly," Jaddo said. "I gave her information about the 'unidentified element' found in the bodies of those we've executed so she'd use it as justification for keeping the Unit alive."

"And...?"

"And when she does, I'll say we made it up. She'll look like a total fool, and so will anyone else she's been lobbying to support the Unit. Nice, eh?"

Brivari resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Our purpose here was to bring down the Unit," he said patiently. "The Unit, not the Argilians. We already brought them down back in 1950, remember? We destroyed their next crop of husks? Commandeered their ship? Sent it back home with a love note from Zan that made Khivar so angry, he spanked Nicholas across the galaxy? This ringing any bells?"

"A church tower full," Jaddo answered cheerfully. "So what? What's a little more humiliation among enemies? Why not kill two birds with one stone?"

"Because we're trying to kill one bird," Brivari reminded him. "One big ass bird. One. When you try to kill two, you frequently wind up killing neither. We can't afford to take that chance."

"What 'chance'?" Jaddo said. "There's no 'chance' about it. She'll bring it to the committee. I know she will. And when she does—"

"She'll realize that she's been had," Brivari finished. "And then what?"

"And then...what?" Jaddo shrugged. "You don't really expect me to go all fuzzy wuzzy about her feelings, do you?"

"I expect you to keep your eye on the prize," Brivari said pointedly. "The Unit is our chief enemy at the moment, not Nicholas. At this point he's just a washed up former First with a paltry collection of soldiers blundering around the globe."

"Oh, of course," Jaddo said dryly. "Which is why you installed an Argilian rebel in Roswell to warn us at the first sign of his arrival following the hybrids stupidly using that communicator. No, of course Nicholas is nothing. We can just ignore him."

"I'm not suggesting we ignore him, and I'm not ignoring him," Brivari said, "which is why said rebel is currently bussing tables at the Crashdown. I would simply prefer not to fight on two fronts simultaneously. Take the Unit down first, and then we'll be free to turn our full attention to Nicholas if and when that becomes necessary."

" 'If and when'? What, you think he's going to ignore that signal?"

"He has so far," Brivari noted. "And I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible."

"Your point?"

"Is that...put some clothes on, would you?" Brivari finished crossly. "Better yet, shift. I'm getting tired of looking at the man who almost killed my Ward."

"Sensitive, aren't we?" Jaddo said dryly, nevertheless plopping into a nearby chair wearing a new shape and clothing. "I believe you were mid-point?"

Brivari paused, both hands clasped in front of him. "I haven't brought this up because I was hoping I wouldn't have to—"

"Here it comes," Jaddo muttered.

"—and because I know how much you like it here," Brivari continued, ignoring him. "I haven't seen you this happy in ages."

"Indeed," Jaddo agreed, "and why not? They may pride themselves on their 'democracy', but this city is every bit as full of scandal and intrigue as any palace in any monarchy. The wheeling and dealing, the back-stabbing, the constantly changing alliances...democracy, my foot."

"It's politics," Brivari shrugged. "Monarchies and democracies are merely systems of government, and government, any government, is merely a framework for politics. The framework may change, but the politics don't."

"Call it what you like, I love it!" Jaddo said with relish. "And I'm good at it. And I sense you're now about to rain on my parade."

"I know you love it, and I agree you're good at it," Brivari said. "I can do it, but I don't enjoy it the way you do. Parade all you want."

"Then what?" Jaddo said. "Or perhaps I should say, what now?"

"You're already taking a huge risk by posing as Pierce for this long," Brivari said. "You're taking an even bigger risk by posing as a lover, and a bigger risk still by posing as a lover to Nicholas's lover. She's not stupid."

"Didn't say she was. And it's worth noting that neither am I. I'm very careful."

"I'm sure you are, but it wouldn't be any one thing," Brivari said. "It would be a long list of small things which, by themselves, wouldn't trip any alarms. You can fool his underlings, but fooling a lover is something else entirely."

"Well, thanks so much for telling me that!" Jaddo said with mock gratitude. "I would never have guessed! Honestly, what would I do without you around to point out the screamingly obvious?"

"Jaddo—"

"Do you seriously believe I didn't think of this?" Jaddo demanded, reverting to his more familiar fury. "Do you seriously think I don't know how to do this? How do you think I've lasted this long? Sheer luck?"

"Partly," Brivari admitted. "And—"

"Bullshit!" Jaddo declared. "Pierce held Vanessa at arm's length—hate to say it, but he wasn't entirely stupid—so I was careful to keep her at arm's length and ignore her pleas for information until just now because doing so earlier would have been a departure from his usual behavior. Avoiding his underlings has been easy; Pierce is a sinking ship, and no one wants to get too close lest they go down with it. The man had no friends to speak of save that Brian creature, and I maneuvered Congressional hearings on the Unit despite Freeh paddling as fast as he could in the opposite direction."

"Actually, we maneuvered Congressional hearings, but whatever," Brivari noted. "And I didn't say you didn't know what you're doing—"

"Then pray tell what are you saying?"

Brivari fixed him with a level stare. "I'm saying you know exactly what you're doing. This isn't just about bringing the Unit down any more. This is a personal vendetta."

Jaddo's expression darkened. "And what if it is?"

Brivari sighed heavily. "Shit. I was hoping I was wrong."

"Why?" Jaddo demanded. "Nicholas killed my Ward. He killed your Ward and our king, and now he's ensconced in a seat of power. So what if I want to punish him for the first and neutralize the second? So what if the opportunity to do so unexpectedly dropped into my lap?"

"So the one thing Nicholas hates most of all is humiliation," Brivari said, "and Vanessa is no different. You may think you've fooled her, but believe me, you haven't. She's amassed a list of oddities which she just hasn't had a good reason to pay close attention to. What you're proposing will give her that reason."

"Great," Jaddo said savagely. "First you dismiss me from Roswell because my performance wasn't up to par, and now you take issue with my performance here? I may not be tuned in to adolescent angst, but I'm completely tuned in to every single thing that goes on in this nest of vipers, and contrary to your assessment, I know exactly what I'm doing, Brivari—I always have."

"If that's the case, then you know she's likely going to figure you out," Brivari said.

"She won't get the chance," Jaddo retorted. "As soon as she serves my purpose, she's dead."

Brivari raised an eyebrow. "You're going to execute Vanessa?"

"Yes. And when she disappears, he'll come running to Washington. And then I'll execute him."

"I see," Brivari sighed. "You've got it all planned out, have you?"

"Of course I do. This is what I know. This is what I do. So you run along back to Roswell and get all touchy feely with Zan's psychiatrist, or whoever those human parents of his have him seeing now. That's what you do."

"Indeed," Brivari murmured. "And something else I 'do' is predict how people will behave, a skill you noticeably lack. You're assuming you know how all the various players in your drama will behave...but that's not what you do, Jaddo. It never has been."

"So, what, now I'm supposed to leave Washington too?" Jaddo demanded. "Are you going to banish me from yet another venue?"

Brivari shook his head. "Wouldn't help. Just promise me this—when the time comes, kill her quickly. Before she kills you."





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





Crashdown Cafe, Roswell





"So what'cha got planned for the rest of this fine summer day?"

Michael looked up from his locker. "Nothing special."

"I remember summers when I was your age," Mr. Parker said, leaning against a nearby locker. "Two months of total freedom. God, I miss that. Guess yours ended a little earlier than most, but at least you don't have school in the summer." He paused. "We're glad to have you here, Michael, but how's the job working out for you? I know it was hard working and going to school."

"Cost of doing business," Michael shrugged.

"You sure? Because we could cut your hours this fall if we needed to—"

"No," Michael said quickly. "It's all good, Mr. P. And I'm really grateful you gave me the chance to support myself."

"Well, you let me know if you need some breathing room," Mr. Parker said. "And enjoy these last few days of summer."

As if I could, Michael thought wearily as Mr. Parker left. Summer used to mean freedom, long stretches of time while Hank was at the plant and no homework. Then he got emancipated, and summer meant more work, but no homework. And then all hell broke loose last May, and summer meant more work and feverishly preparing for an ambush that could strike at any moment and take any form. Oh, for those lazy days of summer and his good friend, ignorance.

Set off those orbs, and you have no idea who you may be leading straight to us.

He'd wanted to know. Tess had certainly wanted to know, and in a surprising twist, even Max had wanted to know. Only Isabel had been a holdout. None of that, however, excused the fact that he had ploughed ahead in the face of Nasedo's direct warning and sent out a clarion call to their enemies. At first, in the initial flush of knowledge, he'd ignored that, considering it well worth the risk to finally get some information about their origins. But then Tess had come back with the answer to a question she'd asked Nasedo during one of those rare visits to Roswell where he communed only with her and which the rest of them only learned of after the fact. What, he'd wanted to know, did "second in command" mean, exactly? How could one be "second in command" to a king? What did that make him, a Vice King? Junior King? Assistant King? None of those things, as it turned out. You were the head of Max's armies, Tess reported. Kind of like our world's version of General MacArthur.

He'd spent an entire night on his couch staring into space, digesting that one. Having not expected any answer, he was startled to not only receive one, but to discover that his former profession appealed to him. A military man. A protector. A commander of armies. Somewhere deep inside him, that felt right and proper and true. But that made his lapse in judgment all the more unforgivable; how was it that their protector had turned them into a huge blinking target? It's not like he hadn't been warned. Not a day had gone by when he didn't ask himself if he'd do it again, if he'd activate those orbs knowing what he knew now. Part of him said that if enemies were out there, they were likely to show up anyway, so wasn't it better to choose the time and place of their meeting? The other part of him said that none of them were ready, that they'd barely survived the scrape with enemies from this world, never mind another. Both could be right...or wrong. But what was done was done, so the only thing left was to prepare. If disaster struck, it would be on his head because he knew that even if everyone else had voted down activating the orbs, he would have returned to the pod chamber alone and done it himself.

"Hey."

"Oh...hey," Michael said as Maria hovered nearby.

"So...what do you have planned for the rest of the day?"

"Nothing much," Michael said evasively. "Gotta run."

"Have you gotten any of my messages?" Maria asked, stepping in front of him as he tried to move around her.

"Yes, Maria, I've gotten every single one of your 1,452 messages," Michael answered. "And it doesn't matter. I don't have time for this now. I've got more important things on my mind."

"Like what?" Maria demanded. "Nothing's happened. There are no spaceships hovering over Roswell except the kitschy kind, no one-eyed lizards, no Stay Puft Marshmallow Man storming through the streets."

"Thank you for trivializing my very existence," Michael deadpanned. "Excuse me."

"I just meant that destroying us, what we had together, doesn't serve any useful purpose," Maria said desperately. "It's not doing anyone any good."

"You mean it's not doing you any good," Michael translated. "It's doing me plenty of good. I need to keep my focus and keep practicing."

" 'Practicing'?" Maria said. "Practicing for what, exactly? Is this why you're never home after work?"

"What, now you're stalking me?" Michael demanded. "Nice one, Maria. Move."

"Not until you tell me what you're doing!" Maria said stubbornly. "I can help you, you know."

"No, you really can't," Michael said.

"Yes, I can! I—"

Maria stopped as Tess came in the back door. "Hey, Michael," Tess called. "Ready?"

"So ready," Michael answered. "Let's go."

" 'Go'?" Maria echoed incredulously. "With her? Where in the world are you going with her?"

" 'Her' has a name," Tess said pointedly, "one I know you're familiar with and would appreciate you using."

"So you and her...you and her are..." Maria stopped with a look of horror on her face, unable to complete that sentence.

"No, we're not dating," Tess said. "I'm helping Michael learn to use his powers so we'll all be ready."

"Ready for what?" Maria demanded.

"For anything," Michael answered. "For everything. And don't tell me 'nothing's happened'," he went on, cutting her off mid-sentence. "What you mean is, 'Nothing's happened yet'."

"And may not," Maria said stubbornly.

"But probably will," Michael corrected. "Nasedo may be a dick, but he's right about most things."

"Exactly," Tess agreed. "If Nasedo says we have enemies, we have enemies. If he's worried those communicators tipped them off to where we are, we should be worried too."

"And that includes you," Michael said. "I'm doing this for you too, you know."

"For me?" Maria repeated. "For me. Oh, that's rich. I never asked you to do this. I never—"

"You don't get it, do you?" Michael said in exasperation. "Everything isn't always about you. This isn't just about you, or me, or Max, or anyone. This is about a planet. An entire world. My world."

"Our world," Tess amended.

"If I'm not ready, I'm not just letting everyone here down," Michael went on, "I'm letting everyone on an entire planet down. We're responsible for them. We're supposed to go back and save them, and I don't have the first idea how to do that. So this is my way of getting a first idea about how to do that."

"But...you live here," Maria protested. "You don't even remember them."

"I did," Michael said quietly. "After the sweat. I know I did."

"And if our enemies come for us, they'll come for anyone who helps us," Tess added. "They'll come for you, Maria, and Liz, and Alex, and the sheriff. This is for you, too, for all of you."

"So if we're all in trouble, shouldn't we all stick together?" Maria argued.

"Have you mentioned that to Liz?" Michael asked. "Because I'm pretty sure high-tailing it to Florida isn't 'sticking together'. And no, I don't need another lecture about how 'hurt' she was, and how wounded, and how whatever," he went on as Tess's eyes dropped. "I'm just sayin'. And now I'm saying goodbye. There's Courtney—why don't you go pick on her. That seems to be your main form of entertainment these days."




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





"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just peachy," Maria muttered. "Freakin' wonderful."

So I see, Courtney thought, watching Rath and Ava leave through the back door as Maria scowled. "Good," she said lightly. "Can you cover me?"

"What, again?" Maria demanded. "That's the second time in an hour!"

"You can count," Courtney observed. "I like that in a woman. Or a man."

Maria gave her the evil eye. "What are you doing in there, anyway? The backstroke?"

Courtney raised an eyebrow. "You want details?"

"You want me to throw up? Go," Maria said irritably. "Make it snappy."

Escaping into the bathroom, Courtney stared into the mirror. Her husk was getting worse, noticeably worse than it had been in Seattle's cooler climate. The good news was that Nicholas and company would be suffering a similar decline in the heat of Copper Summit, at least as hot, if not hotter, than Roswell. The bad news was that she was too. She went through a bottle of moisturizer a day, but that had only slightly stemmed the tide of decaying skin cells which peeled off like a reptile's skin. She'd come to recognize the symptoms, the tight feeling at her hairline, around her upper arm, or inside her leg, followed by a tab of skin coming loose, followed by a blizzard of flakes. Fortunately her shedding skin could pass for human skin most of the time, but she knew what it meant; when humans shed, the old skin cells were making way for the new, but when her skin shed, it was dying. No new cells for her. What she had was all she had, and when it was gone, it was gone for good.

The tightness this time was in her neck. Digging her fingernails beneath her jaw line, Courtney found the tab she was looking for and began to pull. She'd learned that she could stem the tide of flaking by preemptively peeling off a sheet of skin while it still held together, and she did so now, carefully removing a sheet roughly the size and shape of the front half of her neck. I'm like one of those zip-open boxes, she thought, holding it up for inspection, only my rip strips keep moving. The sheet shimmered in the fluorescent bathroom light, semi-transparent, seemingly substantial...and then abruptly disintegrated, showering flakes all over her arm, the sink, the floor. Cursing, she wet a paper towel and began mopping up. Usually she got the sheet into the toilet and flushed it before it went all flaky on her, but of course this time she had to lose herself in introspection and make a mess.

That disappearing sheet of cells could be a metaphor for her presence here, a presence which had seemed so necessary three months ago but now seemed anti-climactic because precisely nothing had happened. Nicholas had not appeared as feared, probably assuming the Royal Four had moved on, which they should have, of course. Zan had not fallen to pieces after his capture. The Special Unit was circling the drain courtesy of the Warders. No one had figured out that the Daniel Pierce currently in Washington wasn't really Daniel Pierce. No one had figured out that she wasn't human. After taking Brivari's advice to be a less efficient waitress, Maria had cut back on the hounding, settling instead for a kind of weary disgust which was amusing when it wasn't annoying. None of the expected bogeymen had come home to roost, good news, certainly, but also bad news in that she had nothing to do but wait tables, and fret, and piss off Maria by repeatedly going to the bathroom to peel off sheets of skin. Everyone needs a hobby, she thought as she left the bathroom, or so the humans said.

"You okay?"

It was a genuinely concerned looking Mr. Parker, with a genuinely annoyed looking Maria behind him. "Yeah. Everything's good," Courtney assured him.

Mr. Parker hesitated. "Maria says you've been...um..."

"Going to the bathroom a lot?" Courtney finished. "Yeah, that happens when you have your period."

Mr. Parker promptly displayed the typical male human response when confronted with the reality of a female's monthly reproductive cycle—he backed up so far, he was practically on Antar. "Oh...oh God," he stammered, flushing. "I didn't know. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Courtney answered. "It's not your fault."

"No, I don't...I didn't mean...look, why don't you take the rest of the day off?" Mr. Parker said, still squirming.

"Why?" Maria demanded.

"Yeah, why?" Courtney agreed. "I don't have cancer, I just have my period. It's not a tragedy; it's just a nuisance."

But a second mention of the "P" word sent Mr. Parker over the edge. "I insist," he insisted, putting an arm around Courtney's shoulders and steering her toward the lockers. "Go rest. Go lie down. Go..."

"Go do whatever we do when we have our periods?" Courtney suggested as he winced once again at the "P" word. "Actually, we pretty much just get on with it. Kinda have to."

"But if you're in the bathroom so much, that must mean it's...it's...look, the workload is light today, so it's okay," Mr. Parker babbled, backing hastily out of the corner he'd just backed himself into. "You can take Agnes' shift tomorrow and make up the hours. She just called in sick."

"Does she have her period?" Courtney asked.

"No, she's too old for...no," Mr. Parker finished, turning beet red. "Hope you feel better. Gotta run."

And run he did, practically sprinting away before even worse words than "period" were spoken, like "flow" and "cramps" and "menopause". Men, Courtney thought with amusement. They were the same everywhere. Antarian females didn't have periods they way humans did, but they certainly had reproductive cycles which were every bit as terrifying to males. Funny how some things stayed the same even while lots of other things were different.

"Happy?" Maria demanded. "He's probably scarred for life."

"The guy's got a wife and a daughter," Courtney said. "If he's scarred, I'm not the one who scarred him. Besides, I think it's all just about men being terrified of childbirth or anything even vaguely connected with childbirth. If the propagation of the species were up to men, we'd all die."

"You can say that again," Maria chuckled. "Wimps, all of them. 'Weaker sex', my ass—wait," she added warily. "Are we bonding?"

"Beats me," Courtney shrugged. "Are we?"

"Absolutely not," Maria said firmly. "Because I'm not buying this."

"Guess we're not bonding then," Courtney said. "Bummer."

"Great," Maria said sourly. "Sarcasm."

"Mmm," Courtney agreed. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Maria's eyes flared. "Honey, this is the oldest trick in the book," she said crossly. "It gets us out of gym class, chores, homework, and now work work. Everyone knows men hide under the couch if we even mention our periods, but don't expect me to hide with him."

Courtney pulled her purse out of her locker. "Do I look like I'm expecting that? I offered you details, and you declined. Offer's still open—would you like to check? We can go in the bathroom, and I'll drop my drawers, and you can...whoa! Where are you going? Say, does this qualify as 'hiding under the couch'?"

Maria uttered something not entirely comprehensible, but probably unprintable as she threw both hands in the air and rapidly retreated. Just as well, really, as she certainly had nothing to show her; for all that husks admirably simulated human systems including the act of mating, the illusion ended there. She probably shouldn't bait her, but Maria was just so easy to bait; sarcastic and suspicious, always ready with a pithy remark or retort—in short, just the kind of friend the Royal Four needed. Of their human friends, Maria was the only one she'd seen enough to evaluate, with Zan's girlfriend being gone all summer, the tall one—Alex?—off at a computer camp for weeks, and the sheriff's son at some kind of sports camp. Perhaps she should think of these confrontations as keeping Maria in good fighting shape during this down time, because for all that nothing was happening now, something surely would, and then they'd need every bit of that sass to get them through it.

The sun was high in the sky as Courtney walked home, regretting having been dismissed. Having nothing to do just gave her more time to fret, with no shortage of things to fret about despite the relative calm in Roswell. She fretted about her failing husk, a daily reminder that the clock was running out. She fretted about the fate of Antar, whose people were pinning their hopes on a king who did little else besides pine for his human girlfriend, a princess who was becoming borderline paranoid, and a queen who was already borderline marginalized. For while Zan's expected breakdown had not occurred, the fact remained that he was moody and withdrawn beyond the usual described to her by both Dee and Brivari, more interested in Liz's absence than the fate of his planet or the possible arrival of enemies. Vilandra, by contrast, seemed to think of nothing else, jumping at the slightest thing, always with a wild look in her eye as though she were trying to stop herself from screaming. Ava, on the other hand, was calm, cool, almost detached...and unwelcome. Not officially, of course, as the Four hung together often, but when they did, she could tell—there was the three of them, and Ava. If this bothered Ava, she didn't show it, and that itself was unnerving, as was the fact that she'd been virtually raised by Jaddo. Covari were only barely tolerable on a good day, so to have one as a "parent" was too awful a notion to even contemplate. What kind of "child" would result from such an experiment?

The key turned in the lock, and Courtney opened the front door of the house Brivari had provided her. She was a kept woman, no doubt about it, and no argument either; here, at the end of her life, she would just as well not have to deal with things like food and shelter. Tossing her purse on the table, she opened the doors on the cabinet in the living room and feasted her eyes on the one thing Antar still had going for it—Rath. Alone among the Four, Rath appeared to have been steadied by the events last spring. While Zan was distracted, he was focused. While Vilandra was frightened, he was resolute. While Ava was left out, he still had the ear of both the king and his sister. Rath knew his priorities and had his eyes on home, so much so that Maria had pursued him all summer without success. "He says he can't get involved with me again!" she'd sobbed to Liz via phone one summer evening. "He says he can't get distracted!" You go, boy, Courtney had thought approvingly...and sadly. That promise her father had made all those years ago to Jaddo, the one she'd been loathe to fulfill, was now looking like an excellent idea. Trouble was she wouldn't live to fulfill it, and she reached out to brush her finger over a photograph, wondering if there was any way...

"Hello?"

Courtney hastily closed the cabinet doors. "Saw the door open, so I just let myself in," Dee said. "Is that a new cabinet?"

She didn't see, Courtney thought, relieved. "Yep; brand new," she said out loud. "Gotta love being on the crown's tab."

"He might have gotten you a bigger house," Dee said.

"That would have looked even weirder than this one on a waitress's salary," Courtney noted. "It's a sweet deal. Basically I just buy stuff, and Brivari pays for it. I don't know if he's being magnanimous, or if he's planning on having a giant garage sale after I'm gone."

"Then he'll have to hold off on pasting all the little price stickers," Dee said dryly. "You're not gone yet."

"But I will be," Courtney answered.

"But you're not yet," Dee insisted. "It's never over 'till it's over, and it's not over."

"The oracle hath spoken," Courtney chuckled. "You're wasting your time, but I gotta tell you, it tickles me to know you'll defy fate right up to the moment the fat lady sings or my husk explodes. Whichever comes first."

"Up to and including," Dee said firmly. "I don't believe in fate. And I don't give up easy."

"Don't I know it," Courtney said fondly.

"Good," Dee said. "So you'll know better than to dodge me when I ask you why your shiny new cabinet is chock full of pictures of Michael."





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

I'll post Chapter 3 on Sunday, March 30.

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello to everyone reading!




CHAPTER THREE



August 31, 2000, 1 p.m.

Banks residence




Courtney sighed heavily as an awkward silence hung in the living room and Dee's question hung in the air. Of course she'd seen. It had been too much to ask to expect that she hadn't. Seeing Dee looking so much older was still odd, but the fact remained that Dee was still Dee, still sounded and acted like her old self even if she didn't look like her old self. Sometimes she forgot that, like now, for example, when she hadn't closed the cabinet doors fast enough. The Dee2000 model was no less persistent than the 1959 model, maybe more so.

"Courtney?" Dee prompted. "I asked you why you have pictures of Michael in your living room. Please tell me you aren't planning to tell me I'm seeing things."

"I thought older humans were supposed to have slower reaction times?" Courtney said. "And failing eyesight. Where's decrepitude when I need it?"

"Very funny," Dee said tartly, marching past her and throwing open the cabinet doors. "What's all this? It looks like a high school kid's locker, and you and I both know you're no kid."

"It's...pictures."

"I can see that," Dee said in exasperation. "It's not just pictures, it's a vertical scrapbook. Why are you scrapbooking Michael?"

Courtney shrugged slightly. "Don't you already know the answer to that?"

"Should I?"

"Well, you know why we came here. In the first place, I mean."

Dee stared at her. "What, you mean you've changed your mind? Now you want Michael on the throne?"

"We never 'changed our minds'," Courtney noted. "We just agreed to support Zan because we knew he'd be better accepted after Khivar. Doesn't mean we thought he'd be better at it, just that he had better PR."

Dee's eyes swept the display, and Courtney knew that explanation wouldn't be enough. "This is more than that," Dee announced. "Much more than that. What are you not telling me? And what's so funny?"

"You," Courtney chuckled. "Never could put one past you."

"Then stop trying," Dee ordered.

"I'm not," Courtney protested. "I'm not dodging, just...delaying."

"Fine," Dee said crisply, closing the cabinet doors. "I'll just ask Brivari what's going on."

"No!" Courtney said quickly. "He...doesn't know."

Dee's eyebrows rose. " 'Doesn't know'? 'Doesn't know' what? That you're angling to get Rath on the throne?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Courtney said crossly. "I'd take just about anyone on the throne besides Khivar. I'd take Casper the Friendly Ghost, or Bozo the Clown, or hell, I'd take you."

"Nice to know I'm outranked by cartoon characters and clowns," Dee said dryly. "Put it this way: Either you tell me, or I go to Brivari. Take your pick."

"Okay, okay," Courtney sighed, plopping down on the couch. "Remember when my father talked Jaddo into giving him two sets of hybrids to hide? The big argument about the danger of keeping them all in one place, and only the Warders knowing where they were?"

"Vividly," Dee answered. "One set was destroyed, the other lost. And?"

"And...in order to get Jaddo to give him those sets, my father had to promise something in return."

Dee's eyes narrowed. "You never mentioned this."

"I thought it might never happen," Courtney said. "I thought it probably wouldn't. And now that I'm here...God, I can hardly believe I'm saying this, but now that I'm here...I'm wishing it would. Or at least that it could. But it can't, and it won't. I guess that's what your 'scrapbook' is about."

"Gracious," Dee muttered. "Spit it out, would you? What on earth are you talking about?"

Courtney hesitated. She'd never told Dee the details of her father's agreement with Jaddo. It had hardly seemed necessary given that it would likely never happen, and Dee would have been aghast, as she was probably about to be now. "In order to gain possession of those two sets of hybrids, my father promised Jaddo...me."

"You?" Dee echoed. "He gave you to Jaddo? For what? A pool girl?"

"No," Courtney said patiently. "He gave me to Jaddo for Rath."

"For R—Michael? But why? What were you supposed to be? His secretary? His Argilian ambassador?"

"Neither," Courtney said. "I was supposed to be his wife."





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





Roswell International Airport




She was his wife.

Liz Parker stood in front of the terminal window, marveling that even after ten weeks, it still wasn't over. And not just any ten weeks—ten weeks in Florida, home of a humidity so oppressive, you could see how it had earned the nickname "armpit of the nation". Ten weeks at the home of a great aunt whose life was so boring, she could market it as a cure for insomnia. Ten weeks without a car chase, a rattling midnight phone call, or so much as a whisper of the world "alien". Ten weeks of Mickey Mouse, Gatorland, and orange groves. Ten weeks of retirement community bingo, golf, and sing-alongs. Ten weeks in a place like that should have taken her mind off things, yet not a day had gone by when she hadn't thought exactly what she was thinking now as she gazed out toward the desert. Somewhere out there, inside a huge rock formation, there was an alien chamber where she'd learned that the boy she loved was a married man. A chamber she'd been dismissed from, then allowed to stay, then wished she hadn't. A chamber his wife could access, but she could not. That's where she'd really been these past ten weeks, not in Florida, but inside that chamber with Nasedo's announcement, She doesn't belong here, ringing in her ears, followed by that message playing over and over again like a tape stuck on a perpetual loop. Lather, rinse, repeat.

"Liz! Liz, over here!"

Five seconds later, Liz was engulfed in the fiercest hug of her life as both parents nearly squeezed the stuffing out of her. "You're back!" her dad cried, always a fan of the obvious. "It's been so quiet without you!"

"Yeah, because I'm usually so loud," Liz quipped.

"We just weren't quite ready for 'empty nest syndrome'," her mother admitted. "Did you have a good time? What's Florida like?"

"Hot," Liz answered. "Really hot."

"So it's like here," Jeff said as they headed down the escalator.

"No, not like here. It's so humid, you can barely breathe. And it rains—no, thunderstorms, every single day like clockwork in the mid to late afternoon. After that it's even more humid. I've decided I like deserts over swamps."

"So we won't lose you to Florida any time soon," Jeff said, sounding relieved. "Unless you fell in love with Mickey Mouse."

"Disneyworld was fun," Liz allowed. "Gatorland not so much. I'm not much of reptile girl."

"And how was my Aunt Pat?" Nancy asked. "I haven't seen her in ages."

"She was...great," Liz said diplomatically. "Just great."

"But she's no Grandma Claudia," Nancy said gently.

Liz's eyes dropped. "No."

" 'Course not," Jeff agreed. "My mother was one of a kind."

A squawk followed by a flashing rotary beacon announced the arrival of luggage. "Jeff, why don't you go get Lizzie's suitcase," Nancy suggested.

"What, now?" Jeff said. "There's a scrum up there. Looks like the entire state of Florida came back with you. I'll wait until the crowd thins out—"

"Jeff?" Nancy broke in. "Please. I'm sure Liz wants to get home as soon as possible and catch up with her friends."

No need, Liz thought as her father took the hint and edged toward the mob at the baggage carousel. Maria had left voicemails almost daily, mostly whinging that Michael still insisted they couldn't be together. Max, on the other hand, had respected her request for privacy and hadn't called her once. She wasn't certain whether that made her glad or sad.

"So," Nancy said once her father had disappeared into the crowd of sweaty tourists. "Did it work?"

Liz blinked. "What?"

"Oh please, Liz, don't play dumb with me," Nancy sighed. "You up and leave for an ancient aunt of mine in another state? Really? Come on. This isn't about you developing a sudden hankering to play bingo in church halls. This is about Max, who's been moping around the diner for the entire summer. You and I both know something happened, and you left to put some distance between the two of you. So...did it work?"

Liz closed her eyes briefly, cursing her mother and her damnable radar. "No," she admitted. "It didn't."

"Mmm," Nancy murmured. "Then it's serious. Really serious."

"It always was," Liz answered.

"So what are you going to do?"

"Not much I can do," Liz said sadly.

"Nonsense," Nancy said. "There's always something you can do."

"Not when his life is all laid out for him," Liz said.

"By whom?" Nancy asked. "Max's life is his own, Liz. Unless he's some kind of royalty and next in line for the throne."

Try on the throne, Liz thought, shaking her head at her mother's uncanny way of putting her finger on it even when there seemed no way she could. Then again, she would never have guessed she'd wind up dating a married man before finishing high school. Life was just full of surprises.

"Here you go!" Jeff said cheerfully, emerging relatively intact with her red suitcase. "Did you tell her?"

"Tell her what?" Nancy asked.

"Tell me what?" Liz echoed.

"I assumed that's why you wanted me gone, so you could tell her," Jeff said. "About the job."

"What job?" Liz said.

Nancy put an arm around her. "School called. There's a job opportunity opening up, and you're on a short list of honor students being considered. We thought you might want to expand your working horizons beyond diner food."

"What kind of job?" Liz asked warily.

Jeff broke into a wide smile. "How would you like to work for a United States Congresswoman?"





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




Washington, D.C.





"I'm sorry, sir, but there's nothing I can tell you," Agent Samuels said. "That's classified information, and I haven't been given permission to answer."

"Agent Samuels," Senator Belfrey said with a heavy sigh, "you've given that same response to every single question we've put to you, be it about personnel, expenditures, or missions. Is there anything you can tell us? Anything at all?"

"You're kidding, right?" Senator Batz chuckled. "The way this kid's going, he can't even tell us if he needs to use the little boy's room. How's about it, Agent Samuels? Need a wee-wee? Need a tinkle? Or is that 'classified' too?"

Titters sounded around the table as Agent Samuels flushed and Vanessa Whitaker suppressed a smile. Daniel's right-hand man was doing a fine job of obstruction, refusing to answer even the simplest queries put to him by the committee convened to examine the FBI's Special Unit, the existence of which was just about the only thing Samuels had tacitly admitted, if only by omission. The committee was perilously close to canceling the public hearings on the Unit, and the FBI, of course, wanted nothing more; the last thing Director Freeh wanted was for the Bureau's business to be blared through everyone's television. No, Freeh wanted to make Daniel and his Unit go away in private, away from prying eyes, and she had no intention of letting that happen. They needed that Unit and the intelligence it collected to find that wretched king and his wretched family so they could get back into Khivar's good graces and go home. The Unit would survive if she had to personally tackle every single one of the apes on Capitol Hill.

"I say we just shut the thing down," Belfrey declared. "Why waste more time asking questions if no one's going to answer them?"

"Not to mention that TV time costs money," Batz agreed.

Murmurs of agreement sounded around the table. Agent Samuels looked relieved. Vanessa held her tongue. "All in favor, say 'aye'," Belfrey announced. "All opposed—"

"Nay," Vanessa said loudly.

Every head turned her way. "Congresswoman Whitaker?" Belfrey said. "I take it you're bored and want some drama?"

"Typical woman," Batz muttered.

"What I want, gentlemen, is the truth," Vanessa replied, resisting the urge to strangle yet another human male who had a problem with females in power. "I have proof that aliens exist. I wish to present this before the committee when the hearings go live."

Eight pairs of startled eyes greeted this announcement, nine including Agent Samuels. " 'Proof'," Belfrey repeated, "that 'aliens exist'. And where, exactly, did you come by this 'proof'?"

"She's probably got a landing strip in her backyard," Batz joked. "Either that or that boyfriend of hers gave it to her. Maybe that's why we're not learning anything from Agent Samuels. We haven't tried sleeping with him."

"You may be onto something there," Vanessa said smoothly as Samuels flushed. "After all, you've learned so much from sleeping with Senator Belfrey's wife, haven't you? My point," she continued as Batz froze and Belfrey's eyes widened, "is that a unanimous vote is needed to cancel the public hearings. You don't have one, so we're done here. I'll present my proof at the hearings. Do have yourselves a nice day."

The room exploded as Vanessa rose serenely from her seat and left the room, leaving Batz and Belfrey nearly tearing each other apart and the rest of the committee trying to prevent bloodshed. She was halfway down the hall when someone called her name.

"Congresswoman Whitaker," Agent Samuels said, puffing up behind her. "My, but you walk fast."

"Agent Samuels," Vanessa said. "My, but you dodge questions fast. Did you want something?"

Samuels leaned in closer. "Look, I don't know what Danny told you, but whatever it was, he shouldn't have. Everything the Unit does is—"

"Classified," Vanessa finished. "So you keep saying. Now, shut the hell up and take a good look around," she continued sharply. "It's not classified any more, you idiot! They're about to do public hearings which will be beamed around the planet! Your Unit is about to be eviscerated, and knowing that aliens are real is the only thing that will stop that! Capisce?"

"I...didn't know you were Italian," Samuels stammered.

"Oh, sweetheart," Vanessa said sadly, "you have no idea what I am. Now you toddle along and do your duty, which seems to be not doing your duty, and let me do the hard work of keeping your Unit alive."

"What did he tell you?" Samuels demanded when she started to walk away. "Was it about the Parker girl? Because that is the only example of a silver handprint healing anyone. It's not the least bit representative because every single other handprint has killed. So if you've got it in your head that we're going to make peace with these things, or forge an alliance, or—"

"Where on earth did you get that idea?" Vanessa interrupted.

"You're a woman," Samuels said. "Don't women usually try to do that sort of thing?"

Vanessa smiled faintly and stepped closer, so close that Samuels tried to back up and failed, the wall behind him impeding his progress. "Agent Samuels, I can assure you that I am completely unlike any woman you have ever met or will likely ever meet. I'm not forging alliances. I'm not making peace. I want those aliens dead, every last one of them. I want their cold corpses to rot in unmarked graves. I want them erased from existence, and I want your Unit to help me do that, which is why I'm unwilling to let it commit suicide. And if you ever reference my gender again, I'll cut your dick off and feed it to my cats. Are we clear?"

Samuels' eyes were bulging. "Clear."

"Excellent," Vanessa purred. "See you at the hearings."

She left him there against the wall, breathing heavily and clutching his family jewels. Parker. Handprints. Healing. Interesting. Very interesting indeed.




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




Banks residence




The silence in the room was deafening. Courtney waited while Dee stood stock still, silent and flabbergasted, for a very long time. When she finally moved, it was only to sink down on the opposite side of the couch, her mouth a big round "O".

"Wow," Courtney said. "I don't believe...wait, let me think...no. Nope. Never seen you speechless. Must be a cold day somewhere."

"His...his 'wife'," Dee said slowly. "His wife. His...wife?"

"Definitely a cold day somewhere," Courtney decided. "Downright freezing if you need a definition for something you already are."

"But...but..."

"Can I get you something?" Courtney suggested. "Glass of water? Hot tea? Stiff drink? No? Okay, now I'm starting to get pissed," she announced when even sarcasm failed to breach Dee's shock. "Why is it so unthinkable that I'd be his wife? Am I that awful?"

"No!" Dee exclaimed, coming to at last. "No, I...I just...did you...did you agree to this?"

"Of course not," Courtney said. "I didn't find out until after the ink was dry. Oh, don't look so shocked," she added when Dee did just that. "I know enough of your history to know that Earth cultures practice arranged marriage."

"Used to practice arranged marriage," Dee corrected. "Used to. It's rare now, and considered..."

"Old-fashioned?" Courtney suggested.

"Medieval," Dee said.

"Sorry, I'm not up on every single period of Earth history," Courtney said. "But I do know that political marriages exist everywhere there's politics, and politics exist everywhere there's people. Besides, do you really think Vilandra was consulted before she was engaged to Rath? Hell, no! Rath wanted her, and her brother thought it was a peachy idea, so her opinion didn't count. Until it did, that is, and trashed the planet."

"Further proof this is a very bad idea," Dee noted.

"Only when you don't have buy-in," Courtney said. "And I bought in, partly because I figured it would never happen and partly because even if it did, it wasn't a bad idea."

"And what was that 'idea'?" Dee demanded. "What was Jaddo trying to accomplish? Besides removing Isabel from the equation, that is. I know he hates her."

"He was trying to broker peace," Courtney said. "If the King's second married the daughter of the Argilian Resistance leader, that would—"

"Do what, exactly?" Dee interrupted. "That might impact the resistance, but the rest of your people would just see it as selling out, and there are a lot more of them than there are of you."

Courtney shook her head. "You know us as this tiny little band of rebels amongst a much larger group of enemies, but that's not what it's like at home. It was really hard to worm our way into Nicholas's expedition here, which is why there are so few of us Earthside. But back home, we're a much bigger group composed largely of moderates who would respond to seeing one of their own so close to the throne."

"Then how did Khivar seize power?" Dee asked. "Where were all these 'moderates' when that happened?"

"Blind-sided," Courtney said sadly. "The zealots may be a smaller group, but they were smart enough to keep their plans from the larger group they knew wouldn't approve. And they moved fast; it was over before anyone who felt differently could do anything about it. But the Resistance grew even larger after Khivar's stunt, and it's bigger now than ever because the longer he stays in power, the worse he gets. If Zan showed up tomorrow, the vast majority of Argilians would fall at his feet. Initially, anyway."

Dee shook her head slowly. "Wow. Just...wow. Does Michael have anything to say about this?"

"Of course he does," Courtney answered. "He's the King's Second, so he could veto the whole thing, which was another reason I thought it would never happen. Even Vilandra's monumental stupidity might not be enough to stop that train, although I imagine she'll have something to say about it this time around. I can't wait to see Zan's face when he realizes it was his sister who caused all this."

"Then you may have a very long wait," Dee said. "They're not who they were, Courtney, and not just because their memories were compromised. Even if they eventually remember, they've spent so long as other people that the end result will be different."

"Yeah," Courtney sighed, "I noticed. Which is why I've changed my mind. From what I can see, Rath would make the better king."

"What you think you 'see' is highly suspect," Dee said. "They're not even adults yet. And given how hot-headed and knee-jerk Michael is, I fail to see how that makes a better king. Those traits wouldn't be appreciated even in a soldier."

"Rath is focused," Courtney argued. "He wants to go home. He's serious about defending them if and when it comes to that. Zan spent the whole summer ignoring his queen and mooning over his girlfriend."

"No, Max spend the whole summer recovering from being tortured," Dee said. "And he has no concept of Tess as his wife because that's not how it is here, Mom-o-gram's notwithstanding."

" 'Mom-o-gram'?" Courtney chuckled. "I'm sure the Queen Mother will be thrilled to know her message to her lost children has been reduced to a balloon-o-gram. But you're missing the point. You don't live in a monarchy; I do. I know what makes a king and what doesn't."

" 'King' is just another word for 'leader', and I'm well aware what makes a leader," Dee argued. "I've watched Max and Michael grow up, and Max is the better leader. I should know; he's my grandson."

"And he's my king," Courtney countered.

"Was your king," Dee corrected. "The person you knew is gone, replaced by a hybrid who shares some of that other person's characteristics, but not all. I have this argument with the Warders all the time. All the time."

"See, this is the problem," Courtney said, sidestepping the incredible notion of anyone arguing with a Royal Warder and living to tell of it. "To you, he's family. Not a king, but your grandson. That will always color your opinion. You can't be objective."

"And you can?" Dee said. "You're stuck on who he used to be, someone who doesn't exist any more. How is that 'objective'?"

Courtney folded her arms. "So you're saying I'm wrong."

"I'm saying we're both wrong," Dee said. "And we're both right. You knew Zan, I know Max...the current version is somewhere between the two. Defining that version requires both of us because we're both looking at this from different angles. But I can tell you this much with complete confidence," she went on, glancing at the cabinet. "I know Michael, and he's not going to go for this, not this way. He doesn't like being told what to do."

Courtney smiled faintly. "No kidding. We have that in common, not that it matters. He'll never find out about this. I won't live long enough; none of my people will. You'd better hope the Warders survive, because pretty soon they'll be the only ones left who remember how it used to be."




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





10 p.m.,

Roswell UFO Museum





"Receipt's comin' up," the cab driver said, producing a clipboard and a well-chewed pencil. "Sign here."

Brody Davis gingerly accepted the pencil, trying to find an unchewed spot to hang onto while he signed his name. "Thanks," he said, wiping a hand on his pants as he handed it back.

"Sure thing," the driver grinned, popping the pencil back in his mouth. "Have a good night! Hey," he added, leaning in confidentially. "You okay here, buddy? I mean, it's dark out, and you're all alone in a museum about aliens. Aren't you afraid they'll come get you?"

"They already have," Brody answered.

The driver, busy laughing at his own joke, laughed even harder until he realized Brody wasn't smiling. "What, you mean...you mean you...I mean they..."

"Yeah," Brody said. "They did."

The driver's eyes popped. "Wow! No kiddin'! Say, what'd they do to you? Did they, you know, stick those probes up your..." He stopped, beet red even in the dim glow of the street lights.

"That's a rather personal question," Brody allowed. "But I will tell you this—they listen very carefully to my recommendations about who to take next. Very carefully."

Brody kept his expression neutral as the driver's eyes widened in terror and he stumbled backward, backing up all the way to his cab and literally falling into the driver's seat. The cab roared to life and careened onto the road, leaving Brody alone with a suitcase, a set of keys, and a locked door. He glanced up and down Roswell's little main street, surprised at how quiet and dumpy it was. So this was the alien Mecca? Then again, maybe aliens had liked it because it was quiet and dumpy.

Turning around, he studied the doors to his new business venture. He'd bought the place sight unseen, having never crossed the threshold. Now he slid the key into the lock and opened the door into a dank front hallway, flipped on the lights, and dropped his suitcase at the top of a set of stairs. A fallout shelter, he recalled from one of his few conversations with the previous owner. An alien museum in a fallout shelter, a delicious irony if ever there was one.

Ten minutes later he'd completed a whirlwind self-guided tour of his new acquisition, one he didn't quite remember deciding to buy. He recalled being intrigued by Milton's website and the Easter eggs he'd buried there, and he recalled beginning an exploratory e-mail about the possibility of buying this place, but that was it. Imagine his surprise the next morning when he awakened from a surprisingly refreshing night's sleep to find a flood of e-mails accepting his seven figure offer to buy the museum. Initially flabbergasted when he'd pulled up the e-mail where he'd made the offer, one he didn't remember completing, never mind sending, he'd warmed to the idea when Milton had agreed to sell the entire place, lock, stock, and barrel, including his library and research. "I'll even throw in the toilet paper!" he'd said enthusiastically. "You won't need to buy any for at least a year!" Queried about why he was so eager to give up his life's work, he'd claimed he had copies of everything. "And copies of the copies, and copies of the copies of the copies," he'd added. "Have to. I never know when they'll come for me."

Further conversation revealed that "they" never had come for him, but Milton remained undeterred. And tired, he said, of the hordes of tourists, the children with their grubby little hands which messed up his exhibits, the teenagers who played with the alien dolls, the moms who left soggy diapers in his restrooms, the unbelievers who dogged his every step. He'd be delighted to chuck the whole thing and do real research with no one to answer to but himself. The sale had proceeded with lightning speed, the only reason he was arriving now being that he'd waited until his daughter was back in school. They were still in the process of revising the custody agreement, and Sharon wasn't cooperating, but there was a silver lining in that cloud: When he had Sydney now, he'd hopefully have her all to himself for a chunk of time with no ex-wife hovering in the wings.

The door in front of him was locked. Ah, yes, Brody thought, thumbing through the huge key ring Milton had bequeathed. The inner sanctum. The whole reason he'd bought the place, and it didn't disappoint when the door swung open to reveal shelves of books, computers, charts, you name it. Milton really had just up and left, and Brody wandered the room, delighted; maybe he'd finally get some answers about what had been happening to him for the past several years. But right now he was exhausted, and even more so when he spied a futon. As luck would have it, he wouldn't close on his new house for another few days, so until then, this was home. Milton had slept here, so why shouldn't he? Stretching out with a contented sigh, he closed his eyes. There'd be time to go through his new horde tomorrow.


::::::::::::::::::::


Larak opened his eyes. He was in unfamiliar territory with only a tenuous hold on his host, so he had to keep this short. Grabbing an envelope off a nearby desk, he eagerly scanned the address.

Roswell UFO Museum.

Breaking into a wide smile, Larak lay back down. His host was not deeply asleep, not yet. But he would be, and when he was, Larak would be ready.

Time to find some Warders.



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



I'll Post Chapter 4 on Sunday, April 13.

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello to everyone reading!





CHAPTER FOUR



September 1, 2000, 1:30 a.m.

Roswell UFO Museum





It was the middle of an Earth night when Larak tried again, this time securing full control of his host's body. His host was tired, making re-entry easier, so it took little time before he was up and about his new stomping grounds. He'd taken the precaution of making his host's new dwelling available several weeks after his arrival in Roswell, so for the time being his host would be staying here, right where he needed him. If he was going to locate the Royal Four and the Warders, this would be the best place to do so.

So this is a 'museum', Larak thought, snapping on some lights. Looked more like a library with all the books and computers, or so he suspected. For all the time he'd spent in this body, he'd done precious little sightseeing; there hadn't been time, especially with the need to be careful with his extremely receptive and valuable host. It wasn't until he left the room and reached the first exhibit that he truly understood the meaning of the term "museum". Not bad, Larak allowed, examining the first of several dioramas depicting the 1947 crash, famous on five worlds because everyone knew the victims and on this one because no one did. The likeness was close enough, unsurprising given that there was an entire subculture on this distant planet based on the famous—or perhaps he should say "infamous"—Antarian medical experiments, the results of which had been used to disturbing effect on the Royal Warders and allegedly spectacular effect on the Royal Four. They would see.

Several dioramas later, Larak managed to find an exterior door, stepping from the cool interior into surprising heat even at this late hour. The street outside was obviously an important one given the number of commercial establishments represented, but was dark, quiet, and empty, surprising for a place which was technically listed as a city. He was just about to go back inside when a vehicle rounded the corner and came to a halt in front of him.

"Somethin' wrong, sir?" asked a man in a uniform.

Law enforcement, Larak thought, noting the markings on the car. "No, thank you, officer," he replied. "I was just...getting some air."

"I'm a sheriff's deputy, not a police officer," the man informed him. "Name's Hanson. Yours?"

"Brody," Larak answered. "Brody Davis."

"So Mr. Davis, you're 'getting some air' past midnight?" Hanson asked skeptically. "Haven't seen you around these parts. You new?"

Larak smiled faintly as Hanson looked him up and down, no doubt searching for evidence of some kind of intoxication. "Brand new. I bought this museum from Milton, and I just arrived tonight."

"Must be some kind of magician if you got Milt to sell," Hanson chuckled. "How'd you do that?"

"Wasn't hard," Larak shrugged. "Lots of zeros."

"Really? Gee whiz," Hanson said wonderingly. "Never thought ol' Milt would sell, even for a bunch of zeros. He was a true believer. Spent plenty of time in our cells after we picked him up for trespassing here or there, and never seemed to mind a bit."

"Rest assured, I won't be emulating him," Larak promised.

"So you're not a true believer?"

"Oh, I'm a believer," Larak assured him. "Just not one who likes spending time in custody."

"Glad to hear that," Hanson replied. "Well...welcome to Roswell, Mr. Davis. Can't wait to see what you do with the place."

"The sale hasn't gone public," Larak noted, "so I'd appreciate it if you kept this our little secret until it does. And thank you, deputy, for stopping to check on me. It's reassuring to know you're keeping an eye on things."

Hanson beamed the way people in power always did when complimented, waved, and drove off, leaving Larak with a conundrum. He'd prodded his host toward Roswell so that he could have direct access to the Royal Four and their Warders, but he'd neglected to factor in one roadblock, that being the townspeople would know, or come to know, his host. Their previous city had been large and impersonal, but that would not be the case here; if his host was seen wandering at odd hours, questions would be asked. This called for a reassessment—he would need to find a way to bring the Warders to him.

A short while later, he was back inside. It was reasonable to assume the Warders kept up with the local news. Hopefully their eyes were as sharp as ever.




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




9 a.m.

Evans residence




The smell wafted down the hallway, under the bathroom door and all the way into the shower. Max turned off the water and sighed as the unmistakable scent of bacon and eggs filled the room. Water no longer terrified him, but his stomach was still a bit on the dodgy side when he got tense, and he was tense now. He always was on Fridays, at least until they'd gotten through the weekly charade. Hadn't she figured that out yet?

Five minutes later, Isabel looked up as he entered the kitchen and smiled. "It's only a little burned," she said quickly, arranging blackened strips of bacon on a plate in a vain effort to make them look more attractive. "And the eggs came out great this time, see? No plastic. Practice makes perfect!"

"They...look better," Max allowed, noting the absence of the lacy, plastic-looking, overcooked edges which were usually a prominent feature of Isabel's fried eggs. "But you know I'm not hungry on Fridays. Ever."

"But you need to eat today," Isabel said earnestly. "You can't have an empty stomach distracting you. Today's the eighth session. Dad only agreed to eight, so that makes this the last day, and it needs to be the last day. The very last day."

"I'm not sure I can pull that off," Max admitted.

"You have to," Isabel said firmly. "This is killing you, Max. You're not stressing about...that...any more, you're stressing about this. It's not fair. It has to stop."

Love it to, Max thought wearily, but how? His parents had noticed the changes in him since his capture by the Unit, and being conscientious parents, they'd sent him to a psychologist. These weekly sessions had become the bane of his existence as he geared himself up each week to not say anything he shouldn't. Actually he hadn't said much of anything at all, good news for them as he'd managed not to give anything away, bad news for him as the psychologist was clearly frustrated. And a frustrated psychologist wasn't likely to discharge him, so the likelihood that this would be the "last" day was very small indeed.

"I don't know how to stop it," Max said, pulling up a chair that wasn't in front of the eggs. "I can't tell him what happened, so I can't tell him anything. In his head that means I'm still screwed up."

"Of course you can tell him something," Isabel said, taking a seat across from him. "We've been saying this all summer: Make something up. Something, anything, just tell him what he wants to hear so Mom and Dad will make him go away."

"But if I lie, I have to keep up with the lie," Max said. "That's dangerous. What if I get the details mixed up? And as soon as I tell him something, he's going to want more. It's easier to just not give him anything at all."

"Maybe in the beginning, but not now," Isabel said. "You can't keep doing this, Max. It's too much. Every single week you have to tiptoe through the tulips, being so careful not to give us away. Every single week you wind up revisiting what you shouldn't be thinking about, remembering what you should be forgetting. And school is starting soon, meaning you'll be busier and even more distracted, so this just has to go. So," she continued briskly, "we've worked out a story for you. It's just an outline, so you can adjust the details as needed, but it'll give you what you need to make him shut up."

Max took the sheet of paper she pushed across the table and scanned it. "I...broke up with my girlfriend?"

"Well...you kind of did, didn't you? Or rather, she broke up with you, which is what that says, by the way. That's the classic reason for a teenager to be upset, so this is exactly what he'll expect, and voila! He'll be off your case in no time."

"Or on it even worse," Max said dryly. "He's a doctor, Isabel. He'll keep digging until he hits bedrock."

"And your strategy so far has been to make certain rock is all he ever hits," Isabel noted. "But that's why it's backfiring—he never got anything out of you. Throw him a bone, for God's sake! Something typical, something expected, something that will make him feel like a great doctor and everyone else breathe easier and go, 'Oh, it's just normal teenage stuff!' "

Already tried that, Max thought, fingering the paper which outlined a classic tale of woe which didn't hold a candle to the real one. He hadn't heard from Liz all summer, wouldn't even know if she was still alive except for the fact that Maria wasn't in mourning, which was as good an indicator as any. But maybe Iz had a point; maybe it was time to rethink things. After two months of painful weekly meetings, maybe it was time for a new approach.

"I'll think about it," Max promised, pushing the paper back toward her.

"Good," Isabel said. "Now eat."

"Not hungry."

"Max—"

"Iz, no," Max said firmly. "I'll barf. Then they'll have me seeing even more doctors."

"But—"

"I'm not going to blow our cover," Max interrupted. "I know that's what you're all worried about, but I won't. I know better than any of you what will happen if I'm not careful."

Isabel reached across the table and took his hand. "We're worried about you," she said gently. "Which is why I get up with you every single Friday—"

"—and make me a breakfast I won't eat."

"Okay, so it's also an excuse to practice cooking," Isabel said impatiently. "God knows I need it."

Max smiled faintly. "If nothing else comes of this, at least my sister has learned how to make semi-edible food. Sort of."

"Max, are you ready?" Diane called, coming into the kitchen just as Isabel swatted him. "Izzie! Why are you hitting your brother?"

"Don't worry, Mom," Isabel said sweetly. "Max is a big boy, and he can take care of himself." She paused. "Why are you in jeans? You never go to the doctor's office in jeans. You always wear a suit."

"Oh. Well, I...okay," Diane said, pulling up a chair. "Since you're both here, I might as well talk to both of you. Max, honey," she began as Max and Isabel exchanged fearful glances, "how would you feel if we didn't go to see the doctor any more?"

"Not...go," Max repeated slowly as Isabel's eyes widened. "Not go?"

"Right," Diane said. "You see, I was thinking...or actually it was Grandma Dee who was thinking that maybe you've gotten enough from your sessions. I mean, the doctor says you haven't really opened up to him about what was bothering you, but Grandma feels that's your private business and that the doctor has taught you valuable coping skills to deal with it, which is why you're feeling so much better. And the doctor agreed you're better, and agreed that all those coping skills are probably why, so...oh dear, I'm rambling. How would you feel about stopping? Do you feel confident enough to do that?"

"I...yes!" Max said quickly. "The...'coping skills' really helped. Really, really helped."

"Oh, good!" Diane exclaimed. "Honestly, that grandmother of yours is something, isn't she? I had no idea the doctor was doing that, so how did she know? But whatever," she continued. "Since we're up anyway, I thought we'd celebrate by going out to breakfast. Although it seems Izzie already made you some."

"No!" Isabel said quickly. "I mean, go ahead. This doesn't really count as breakfast. Or food, even."

"Gracious, sweetheart, it's not that bad," Diane chided. "The eggs look pretty good, and the bacon looks...crisp."

"Nice try, Mom," Isabel said dryly. "But I appreciate it."

"Say, why don't you come too?" Diane said. "We're all up anyway, so we'll make a real outing of it."

"Love to," Isabel smiled.

"Great!" Diane paused. "There is just one thing," she said to Max. "I don't want to pry, sweetheart, but...could you at least tell me if this is about Liz?"

Silence. Isabel looked at Diane, who looked at Max, who looked at the table, noting that while it had been easy to blow off the psychologist, it was a lot harder blowing off his mother. What to say? Yes, it was about Liz, and no, it was about so much more. So what to say that wouldn't bring a torrent of further unwanted questions?

"Max?" Diane pressed.

"Yes," Isabel blurted.

Max and Diane stared at her in surprise. "Well...it's not exactly a secret that she wasn't in town this summer," Isabel said.

"Which is exactly what I suspected," Diane said, sounding relieved. "Don't worry," she added when she saw the look on his face. "I'm not digging for details. This is your business, not mine. I just wanted to know it wasn't something...I mean, I know this must have been awful for you, but I'm glad it wasn't something..."

"Catastrophic?" Isabel suggested faintly.

"Yes," Diane agreed. "That." She rose from her seat. "Meet you in the car in 10 minutes."

"Max, don't," Isabel said severely after she'd left the kitchen. "Just don't."

"You're telling me 'don't'?" Max retorted. "I'm not the one who just ran off at the mouth!"

"Don't you get it?" Isabel demanded. "Your not saying anything is freaking people out! It's making them determined to find out, so just tell them something they expect to hear, and that'll be the end of it!"

"Until they want details," Max muttered. "And then I get lost in the weeds."

"She doesn't want details," Isabel argued. "You heard her."

"She doesn't want details now," Max corrected. "Just give her a few days, and that'll change."

"Okay, fine, but at least it's Mom," Isabel said. "You're off the hook with the doctor, which is all we really wanted. Why didn't you mention all those wonderful 'coping skills' earlier? They might have let you stop earlier."

"Because he hasn't taught me any 'coping skills'," Max answered, "or any kind of skills at all. All he does is ask me what's wrong, and all I do is tap dance around that while—"

"Wait," Isabel broke in. "He didn't do the coping skills thing? Then what's Grandma talking about? And why did the doctor agree with her if he hasn't done that?"

"How should I know?" Max said. "Maybe Grandma guilted him into it. It's Grandma; she could sell ice to Eskimos."

"But why would she even..." Isabel stopped, looking troubled. "Max," she said slowly, "do you think Grandma...knows?"

"Knows what?"

"I mean 'knows'," Isabel said. "As in...knows."

"What, you mean about...us?" Max said. "That we're..."

"Yeah," Isabel said. "That."

"But...how? How would she know?"

Isabel shook her head. "I don't know. It's just that...remember when Michael ran away? He ran into Grandma at that truck stop. What was Grandma doing at a truck stop? The very same truck stop Michael stopped at? And remember when she called me when were chasing Nasedo after he took Liz? Grandma rarely calls me; I usually call her."

"I thought she said it was something about borrowing a sweater."

"She did, but that's lame," Isabel said. "Why would she call me that late at night on a weekend about a sweater? How did she know?"

"Know what?" Max said. "So she called about a sweater; so what? So she was at a truck stop; so what?"

"Michael had this exact same thought when you were...you know," Isabel finished. "He thought maybe she knew, and—"

"If Michael started this, I know it's nuts," Max broke in. "It's coincidence, Iz. Or it had better be. One of the few things that went right when Pierce took me is that Mom and Dad didn't know. Can you imagine what he would have done to them if they did? He was here, in this house, because I told him where the orb was so he wouldn't hurt any of you, but he left Mom and Dad alone because he knows they don't know. I don't want them to know, any of them. It's not safe."

He stood up. "C'mon. Let's go celebrate another kind of safety—no more doctors."




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




5 p.m.

Proctor residence





"Hmm," Brivari murmured. "Not a bad idea."

Dee blinked. "Did you hear what I said? Jaddo arranged with Courtney's father to have her marry Michael. Marry him."

"I heard you," Brivari said. "And I repeat, not a bad idea. One of his better ones, actually."

" 'Not a bad idea'?" Dee repeated incredulously. "How is it not a bad idea to buy and sell people without consulting them?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't believe any money changed hands," Brivari answered. "And to be specific, she was supposed to marry Rath, not 'Michael'. And Rath would certainly have veto power if he didn't agree."

"And Courtney?" Dee demanded. "What if she didn't agree?"

"Sounds like she did," Brivari shrugged.

"You're dodging," Dee said sharply. "Answer the question."

"No one could have forced her to marry," Brivari said. "Not technically. But there was no reason not to; it would be an incredibly good match for the daughter of the Argilian Resistance leader. To be that close to the throne—"

"Oh, good grief, now you sound like her," Dee grumbled. "And what about Michael? Do Warders typically act as matchmakers?"

"Sometimes," Brivari allowed. "And it's pretty clear his engagement with Vilandra didn't work out, and won't in the future. Which leaves him in need of a new mate, and I can't fault Jaddo's logic. Courtney would be far more suitable for Rath than the princess ever was."

"I don't believe this!" Dee exclaimed. "Don't people get to decide who they love for themselves?"

"This isn't about 'love'," Brivari said. "This is about marriage, or more specifically, a political partnership, which is what marriage is for the powerful."

Dee stared at him. "Okay, that's what I'd expect from Jaddo, not you. Which one are you again?"

Brivari smiled faintly. "I'm who I've always been. And for the record, Jaddo regards 'love' as a useless emotion which always leads one astray. I've never said that. I'm merely pointing out that marrying for love is all well and good for ordinary people, but we're not talking about ordinary people. Rath is the king's second; he would take the throne in the absence of an heir or act as regent in the presence of a young heir. Courtney is the daughter of the Argilian Resistance leader; who she marries would be closely watched. An alliance between the throne and the Resistance would be a massive statement and send a huge message—"

"Yes, yes, yes," Dee said impatiently. "That wasn't my point, and you know it."

"So what was your point?" Brivari said. "Because it sounds like Courtney's fine with it. It sounds like she even likes him. Given what I've seen at the Crashdown, I'm guessing he feels the same. So if they were to wind up approving, who cares whose idea it was?"

"It's just...medieval," Dee complained. "It's backwards. It's presumptuous. It's—"

"An alliance," Brivari finished. "The details vary from one system to another, but the chief goal of politics is to gain power, and making alliances is one way to do that."

"Whoop de doo," Dee muttered.

"There are other ways, certainly, but making alliances is a lot less messy than assassination or war," Brivari pointed out. "Marriage is one form of alliance. It's that simple."

"Not quite," Dee noted. "Courtney probably won't live long enough to see this 'wonderful idea' happen even if they do both agree."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, she's not going to die," Brivari sighed. "Do you really think I'd allow that? She's the reigning daughter of the Resistance, and she's essentially on our side. She's incredibly valuable, as are all the Resistance members."

"But...she thinks—"

"I know what she thinks," Brivari said. "I haven't discussed this with her because I want all the details in place before I present her with her meager list of options."

" 'Options'?"

"I can't grow her a new husk," Brivari said, "nor can I extend the lifespan of the one she now wears. But I can create a suitable environment for her. When I found Malik and Amar years ago, they had an Argilian scientist living in their basement in an artificial environment which mimicked Antar's atmosphere. I can replicate that, at least until we come up with something else."

" 'Artificial'...what kind of 'artificial environment' could they have had in their basement?" Dee asked.

"The kind which had an airlock," Brivari answered. "And it's own air intake. I had a good look at it when we chatted before I..."

"Killed him?" Dee suggested.

"Executed him," Brivari corrected. "As an active enemy of the crown."

"After you 'chatted'? Do you always chat up your executions? How terribly civilized."

"There was no need to be rude," Brivari said. "He was a loyal subject of the king before he became treasonous. And I granted his request for a quick and painless death."

"You take requests?" Dee said dryly. "Good to know. And no, I'm not turning this into a referendum on the need to dispose of enemies," she went on when he raised an eyebrow. "I knew Amar, and Orlon, and Marana. They chased me too, remember? So how large is this 'artificial environment' if it fit in a basement?"

"Not large," Brivari admitted. "I'd have to construct one large enough to include all Resistance members, and once erected it will be difficult, if not impossible, to move. I'll have to be very careful where I place it, and further careful that it not be discovered."

"So she'd be stuck there," Dee said. "She'd be a prisoner."

"She'd be alive," Brivari reminded her. "The alternative is to explode when her husk does. She'll agree. I just need more details, and I'll need the input of Resistance members to build it. Jaddo and I will have time for that after we put the Special Unit to bed. Assuming he doesn't get himself killed in the process, that is."

"What?" Dee said sharply. "I thought everything was going swimmingly in Washington?"

Brivari was quiet for a moment. "There's a wrinkle I haven't mentioned. Pierce's lover was an Argilian who got close to him in an effort to find the hybrids. When Jaddo took Pierce's place, he also acquired this...companion."

Dee closed her eyes for a moment at the thought of Jaddo being anyone's "lover". "And how does that work, exactly? Not the 'lover' part," she added quickly. "Spare me the details. Don't the Argilians have that pentagonal thingie that can identify a shapeshifter?"

"They did," Brivari answered. "They have few of them left, and Jaddo disabled that particular feature on hers. No doubt there's an Argilian tech somewhere who will be executed for that. At any rate, he's aiming to bring her down along with the Unit."

"Bring her down from where? How high up is she?"

"She's a congresswoman," Brivari answered. "Your congresswoman."

"Wait—my congresswoman is an alien? Good Lord," Dee groaned when he nodded. "Suddenly, all those Saturday serials about aliens infiltrating the government are coming to life."

"It makes sense," Brivari noted. "She wanted a position of power from which to search for the hybrids, and she knew Pierce could be of assistance, although he wasn't; discretion appears to have been his one redeeming value."

"But what if she finds out 'Pierce' isn't really Pierce?"

"Exactly my point," Brivari agreed. "Bring down the Unit, deal with her later, I told him. But you can never tell Jaddo anything."

Something hit the front door with a soft thunk. "The afternoon paper," Dee explained, heading for the front porch while trying to decide which was worse—an alien congresswoman or Courtney as a "bubble girl". Neither, she decided—"worse" was having her grandson held hostage. As long as they could avoid that, she'd deal with the rest. "So what's up on my planet?" she sighed, unfolding the top section and leafing through it. "President Clinton met with the British Prime Minister...the expressway is reduced to two lanes for repairs...a new 'healthier' potato salad recipe...and yet another article about how to deal with 'clutter'. Honestly, do we really need help with that? Is it so hard that we need 'organizational experts'? Sort through your junk, throw some of it away, and organize the rest—"

"What's that?" Brivari interrupted sharply.

Dee peered at the side of the paper facing Brivari, a solid wall of ads. "What's what? It's just a bunch of local ads—"

The rest of that sentence was cut off when Brivari leaned forward and plucked the page from her hands. "That's just the standard ad for the UFO Museum," she said when she saw what he was looking at. "It's in there every week, and it's always the same. Milton hasn't changed it in years."

"No," Brivari whispered, staring at the ad intently. "Not the same." A moment later he was on his feet and out the door without another word, taking the paper with him.

"What do you mean?" Dee called after him. "What's wrong? What's—"

But when she reached the porch, he was gone, of course, disappearing the way they always did. Shaking her head in disgust, she went back inside the house.

At least he hadn't snatched the comics.





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





September 2, 2000, 2 a.m.,

Roswell UFO Center




Larak paced the floor of his host's new workplace nervously, eyes peeled. Despite the hour, all the lights were on, a perk which came from being in a fallout shelter which lacked the usual windows. The lights should have calmed his nerves, but they didn't; he was waiting for a Royal Warder, a Covari, a shapeshifter who could look like anyone, sound like anyone. They were the unseen menace, always lurking in the background, ready to strike should their Wards be threatened. They moved silently, appearing seemingly out of nowhere and disappearing just as fast, enhanced with unusual abilities he'd heard of but rarely seen. Brivari he knew; being Zan's closest confidante meant he'd seen a good deal of the king's Warder, while Jaddo, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. Apart from a couple of conversations during their exile on Earth, he'd rarely seen Rath's Warder. He had no idea which Warder would appear, and while he desperately hoped it would be Brivari, he couldn't be choosy; his time in his host's body was limited, and his means of contacting the Warders even more so. He'd have to take what he could get and hope he lived long enough to prove he was who he said he was, possible with Brivari but a difficult task with Jaddo, renowned for his short temper and suspicious nature...

Larak's next thought evaporated when he turned around and found himself nose to nose with a relatively short, bald human with very, very black eyes. "Which one?" he blurted. "Brivari or Jaddo?"

Slam!

Gasping against the force which gripped him like a vise, Larak's eyes widened as his host's body began to rise, the feet clearing the floor, his host's shirt lifting behind him. "Interesting," the Warder murmured as he circled. "No seal, at least not in the usual place. How is it that a human could issue an invitation in Antarian? How is it that a human knows either of those names?"

"I'm not human!" Larak protested, his feet dangling above the floor, his chest constricting from the pressure holding him aloft. "I mean, the body is human, but I'm just using it."

The Warder gave him a pitying look. "Seriously? That's your story? Who are you working with?"

"I'm working with you!" Larak exclaimed. "I'm working with Zan!"

The Warder shook his head. "Sorry, I don't currently have any human UFO museum owners on the payroll. An interesting notion, perhaps, but I find they're a bit on the hysterical side."

Larak nearly collapsed with relief, or as much as he could given the fact that he was airborne; he knew that tone, that dry humor, that style of speech. "Brivari! Thank God it's you. I figured you were the more likely one to read the newspaper, but—"

Larak's throat constricted, cutting off the flow of words. "I assure you it's far too early to be conveying thanks to any deity you could name," the Warder said flatly. "Choose your next words very carefully. You may not have the opportunity to speak again."

The vise on his throat lifted. Larak hung in the air, debating which of his previous encounters with the King's Warder would be most likely to prove his identity, to save the lives of himself and his host. None, he finally decided. All took far too long to convey. Best to keep it simple.

"I'm Larak."



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


I'll post Chapter 5 on Sunday, April 27. Happy Easter to all who celebrate it!

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!




CHAPTER FIVE



September 2, 2000, 2:15 a.m.

Roswell UFO Center




The human dangled in the air, helpless as a fly stuck on a no-pest strip as Brivari sighed inwardly and shook his head. Here they were, on the verge of vanquishing the Special Unit, only to discover a new threat—Nicholas was recruiting humans. At least that was the only plausible explanation for having found a personal invitation to this very place at this very time in Roswell's newspaper, buried in an ad for the UFO Center and written in Antarian, no less. Honestly, couldn't they find at least a few months of peace before the next whirlwind hit?

"Did you hear me?" the human bleated. "I said 'I'm Larak—"

"I heard you," Brivari interrupted. "Apparently it was you who did not hear me. I told you to choose your next words carefully, and you blew it."

"How so?" the human demanded. "I just told you I'm the king's closest friend!"

"So you name-dropped," Brivari said. "You've been name-dropping since you opened your mouth. Besides, I know Larak, and I can assure you he doesn't look anything at all like the current owner of this establishment, one indisputably human Brody Davis, who looks suspiciously like...you."

"Yes, this is Brody's body," the human said impatiently, "but his mind is asleep right now. I'm borrowing—"

"Are we still on that tack?" Brivari interrupted. "If you're going to make up a story, at least make up a good one."

"It's not a story," the human insisted. "You know that. We were working on it before you left!"

"We were working on a number of things," Brivari said, "and the key word there is 'working'. That one never panned out. How much is he paying you?"

"He...who?"

"Nicholas," Brivari said. "Or whichever henchman you deal with. Whatever he promised you, I can assure you he won't deliver. You'll be dead just as soon as he gets what he wants, or figures out he never will."

"Okay, now I'm getting pissed," the human said crossly. "I haven't spent all these years fighting Khivar only to be accused of working with him. I'm telling you, I'm Larak, and I'm borrowing this human's body so I can communicate with you without Khivar knowing. We perfected the process long after you left—"

"Yada, yada, yada," Brivari said in a bored tone. "And since when does Larak use the word 'pissed'?"

"Since I learned it from my host!" the human retorted. "Since when does the King's Warder say 'yada, yada, yada'?"

"Since I learned it watching far too much human television. If you spent more time with the TV, maybe you wouldn't be dying so young. Any last words?"

"At Zan's wedding," the human said, "I sat with his father, and Riall told me you were in the wedding party. I almost missed the vows trying to figure out which one was you. How would I know that if I wasn't there?"

"Because somebody told you," Brivari answered. "Half of Antar was at that wedding. Try harder."

"Half of Antar sat next to Riall during his son's wedding?" the human said. "I very much doubt that."

"So something wound its way through the palace gravevine and landed here," Brivari shrugged. "Unlikely, I'll grant, but hardly unthinkable."

"When Zan found out his father had asked you to Ward him, he was furious," the human said desperately. "The first time you formally called on him as his Warder, he wouldn't let you in. I was there that day. I watched him slam the door in your face."

Brivari regarded the dangling human with new interest. Zan had indeed denied him entry, and Larak had been with him that day; he'd glimpsed him inside the room as the door had closed. That was a private event, the news of which was much less likely to have traveled far. Certainly many knew that Zan had been less than pleased with his father's choice of Warder, but these details...

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Brivari, wake up!" the human shouted. "We can't just jump in a ship and come visit, or Khivar would blow us out of the sky! Do you really think bioscience shut down after you left? Is it that inconceivable that we learned something new during the decades you've been gone? I've been trying to make contact for ages, and now I've finally found you, and you won't even hear me out! It's not like we're evenly matched, so what are you afraid of? That I might be right? That I—"

With a soft thump, the human's body dropped to the floor; he landed hard and winced, one hand to his back as Brivari frowned in consternation. His prisoner had a point—the building was empty, he wasn't a Skin, and he didn't seem to have any way of fighting back save by talking. There seemed no threat to hand, but as for his story...that was another matter.

"So," Brivari said slowly, squatting before the groaning would-be Larak. "I'm supposed to believe you're Larak." He paused, studying him carefully. "Nope. Not feeling it."

The human started to laugh, hacking guffaws that sounded more like coughs and appeared to cause pain, judging by the way he cradled his midsection. "Oh, this is too funny," he chuckled. "If you hadn't just about broken my host's body, I'd be rolling."

"Apparently I missed the joke," Brivari observed.

"Well you shouldn't have, because the joke is you," the human said. "Look at you there, all in a knot trying to figure out if it's really me. Usually it's the rest of us trying to figure out if a Covari is who they say they are, but this time it's your turn. If only the others could see me now. It's quite the turn-around. I expect you and I will have a laugh about it someday."

"But not today," Brivari noted. "So if you're Larak in a human body, what happened to the human?"

"He's asleep," the human answered, pushing himself into a sitting position with some difficulty. "Or thinks he is. Transference is easier when they're asleep; they fight you less and write off anything they remember as a dream, assuming you return them to where you found them."

" 'Transference'.…?"

"Stop bluffing," the human said crossly. "It may have been experimental in your day, but you're familiar with the basic concept—I've transferred my consciousness into another mind. We can't do it with just anyone, and this particular host is unusually receptive, which is why I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't break him. We've spent years perfecting this, and I've spent years grooming him and looking for you. It'd be a pity to throw it all away just because you're having a senior moment."

"Amazing how you've picked up the lingo," Brivari said dryly.

"I've had plenty of time," the human noted. "Did I not just mention that?"

"So...'Larak'...where are you, exactly?" Brivari asked. "Your body, I mean."

The human's smile faded. "Locked down tight. We're helpless when we do this, Brivari. Sitting ducks. It'd be child's play to kill us, which is probably why Kathana and the rest of them delegated the job to others."

"But you didn't."

The human fixed him with a level stare. "I was Zan's best friend. And I knew you, at least a little. Look how you're reacting when it's me; how would you have reacted if I'd sent someone you didn't know? They'd be dead by now, that's how. The rest of them agreed with me, but personal safety trumped all, and no surprise—several of the delegates have been assassinated. Hunting for 'Earth-walkers' has become something of a sport on the five planets."

"And yet you survived!" Brivari said cheerfully. "What a miracle!"

"Don't be a jackass," the human retorted. "I survived because no one believes I'm doing this myself; they assume I delegated like the rest of them, so they spend their time looking for those phantom delegates. I learned early on to plant a few for them to find so they wouldn't get wind of the truth, and that kept them busy...but then the message came."

"What message?" Brivari asked innocently.

"Oh, stop it," the human said wearily. "They initiated communication, all four of them, and triggered a message left by the Queen Mother. Everyone's been in an uproar ever since, none more so than Khivar; can you imagine his worst nightmare come true? Zan lives! He called home! I sent my host on a treasure hunt to find out where the signal came from, and here I am. Right where you started." He paused. "We don't have a lot of time, Brivari. We've kept the mechanics of transference from Khivar, but eventually he'll figure it out, and when he does, you'll have even more trouble figuring out who's who. We really should get down to business."

"And what business would that be, exactly?"

"The business of establishing trust so we can accomplish something," the human said. "I didn't take this risk and finally find you only to have you blow me off."

Brivari considered this in silence for a moment. The tone was definitely Larak, and the story intriguing, if implausible...but not unthinkable. They'd managed stranger things in their time. And the benefits of speaking directly to a leader of one of the five planets who was not only sympathetic to Zan's cause but a personal friend as well were immeasurable.

"Agreed," Brivari said. "So where do we start?"

"Two places," the human answered, shifting painfully on the floor. "First, if you still have contact with the Argilian Resistance, they know about this. They can vouch for the process, if not me personally."

"The Resistance knows?" Brivari murmured. "Interesting. And the second?"

"This host has been useful, and I daresay you broke something. It's not his fault that our worlds are a mess. Fetch a healing stone, would you? This hurts like hell."

Brivari raised an eyebrow. "All that human vernacular, and you still didn't pick up the magic word?"

"I cross light years, and he wants me to beg," the human grumbled. "Wait till Zan hears about this. Very well, then...'please'?"




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




11 a.m.

Crashdown Cafe





"Order up!"

Pocketing her order pad, Courtney approached the passthrough. "That was speedy," she said to Michael. "You're getting faster in your old age."

"Like you'd know about old age."

"You never know," Courtney said, loading up plates. "Maybe I'm secretly way older than you."

"Uh huh. Not those," Michael said, pulling back a couple of plates which had been off to the side. "I'm delivering those personally."

"Giving up cooking for waitressing? Take my advice, and don't."

"We're celebrating," Michael corrected, nodding to someplace behind her. "And I'm on break, so I'm celebrating with them."

Courtney turned around to find Max and Isabel in a booth, both looking much happier than they had been recently. "Celebrating what? School starting?"

"Very funny. Back in 20."

"Twenty whole minutes without you?" Courtney said innocently. "How will I survive?"

Michael smiled faintly. "You'll live. Just yank Julio's chain instead."

"It's just not the same as your chain," Courtney sighed.

"Yeah? Well, no one yanks the way you do," Michael said. "Just ask Maria."

"Who's quite the yanker herself," Courtney noted. "You keep throwing around compliments like that, and I might start thinking you like me, Mikey G."

They parted with mutual smiles, Michael with his plates and she with hers. Michael was always up for a joust, and their banter was the highlight of her day. "Just a sec," she told a customer who called for coffee as she sailed by, returning a minute later, coffee pot in hand, only to freeze momentarily.

"You know, I think the black eyes are growing on me," Courtney remarked. "But I gotta wonder, why are you never a woman? Don't you ever get tired of being a guy? All those fiddly bits."

"Amusing," Brivari deadpanned. "Males are dominant in human society. And I don't have to have 'fiddly bits' unless I need them."

"Good point," Courtney allowed. "You should have heard the first of us to put on a male husk. They couldn't believe what humans had hanging out, until they figured out what they could do with it, that is."

"Speaking of which, were you ever going to tell me that you're Rath's intended?"

Courtney set the coffee pot down with a smile. "Wow. That was fast. I only talked to Dee yesterday, and she got to you already?"

"With all the requisite shock and indignation," Brivari noted. "Which I don't share, by the way. I think it's a wonderful idea."

Courtney blinked. "Wait...you do? You think it's a good idea."

"I do," Brivari nodded. "One of Jaddo's best. It's about time he came up with a good one."

"Did not see that one coming," Courtney admitted. "I thought you'd go all 'suitable marriage' on me."

"How is the daughter of the Argilian Resistance leader unsuitable? That union might do more to bring peace than anything else. Besides, I've been watching you flirt over the frittatas all summer. He likes you."

"Yeah, well...he doesn't really know me," Courtney said. "Not yet." She glanced beyond him to where the Royal Three were seated. "So what's making His Highness all giddy? He's almost smiling. Emphasis on 'almost'."

"Dee managed to convince Zan's mother that he no longer needed to visit the doctor," Brivari explained.

"Suh-weet!" Courtney exclaimed. "Dee was so busy going all 'arranged marriage' on me that she never even mentioned it. How'd she pull that off?"

"With a combination of her usual tenacity and some skillful manipulation which she learned from yours truly," Brivari answered, a hint of pride in his voice.

"Yep, you're one master manipulator," Courtney agreed. "I'll have to give her an attagirl next time I see her. If I can get her to shut up about the other stuff, that is."

"So what do you know about transference?"

Courtney blinked. "And...how did we get from the king's head shrinker to transference?"

"So it's real?" Brivari asked.

"Yeah, of course it's real. I'm just more used to Jaddo doing an ADD 'look-a-chicken' moment...wait. That was the point, wasn't it? To see how I'd react? Sometimes I hate you," Courtney went on when he gave her a small smile. "Make that most of the time."

"I'm flattered," Brivari said.

"You would be," Courtney muttered. "But what brought that up? No one's transferred for years, at least not that I know of."

"So you've interacted with individuals claiming to practice this? Personally, or is this hearsay?"

Courtney raised an eyebrow. "And just when I was occasionally forgetting that you're a palace wonk. Yes, I've 'personally interacted', which is what normal people call 'talking'. It was kinda cool but awfully dangerous, and basically unnecessary. With the right precautions, we could use communicators to do the same thing with a lot less risk. Why?"

Brivari was quiet for a moment. "I have been approached by someone claiming to have...'transferred'. I hadn't realized it had moved beyond the experimental stage."

"Of course you didn't. You've been basically incommunicado for ages now. But why would..." Courtney stopped, thinking. "Of course. You can't use a communicator. You can't pick up and move when they trace the signal because the hybrids can't pick up and move, so transference might be the only way to talk to you directly. They'd just have to find you; that would be the hard part."

"Made easier by hybrids who activate communicators against their Warders' advice," Brivari noted. "How does it work, this 'transference'?"

"What, your contact didn't explain that? Oh...I get it!" she exclaimed, breaking into a wide smile. "You're not sure whether to trust them! So you want to compare what I know about it with what they told you so you can see if they're really who they say they are. Damn! Now you know how we feel—"

"The irony of the situation has been pointed out to me," Brivari broke in with a pained expression. "Many times. Can we skip the gloating and get to the comparing part?"

"Hell, no!" Courtney declared. "I'm going to gloat, and you can't stop me. Back in a few!"

She left him stewing and took her sweet time checking her tables and taking a new order, humming the whole way at the thought of a Covari struggling to identify someone who didn't look the way they should. Served him right, and he was thoroughly and satisfyingly impatient by the time she reappeared.

"Took you long enough," he groused.

"You want me to lose my job?" Courtney asked, shrugging innocently. "Now...Transference 101. This is all courtesy of the experiments your king—"

"And yours."

"—conducted on this planet," Courtney continued, ignoring him. "The human brain produces electrical signals which can be intercepted like...okay, think of them as radio waves, and each mind is at a different spot on the dial. As you move the dial, you pick up different brains the same way you pick up different radio stations, and just like stations, sometimes they come in strong, sometimes weak, sometimes not at all. Transference allows you to tune in to one station—think brain—and piggyback on to that signal. If you can do that, you basically take over the host's body, and suddenly you're walking around on planet Earth, and all without having to return your tray table to its upright and locked position."

"Hilarious," Brivari muttered. "Go on."

"Trouble is, it's hard," Courtney continued. "Finding a receptive mind with a strong enough signal which won't fight you is like looking for a needle in a haystack. And then there's the problem of what happens to your body back home. You're helpless, so if someone finds you while you're transferred, they can bump you off, no problem. That's why it was abandoned; so many people died doing it, and even those who lived didn't get very far. Finding four hybrids and two Warders among several billion people isn't easy. Just ask Nicholas."

"I'd rather not. So what happened to the people you met who 'transferred'?"

"One of them had to stop when his host got grouchy," Courtney answered. "Another died on Antar, leaving us with a very confused human who woke up several states away from where he last remembered being. Most of the 'alien abduction' stories from the 70's and 80's are actually transference."

The Crashdown's door jingled, and Ava appeared, sliding into the booth with the other three. "Think they'll ever be the 'Royal Four' again?" Courtney murmured. "Seems more like the 'Royal Three'."

"They'll get there," Brivari said, fishing through his wallet. "Just give them time."

"Ava's helping Rath practice using his powers," Courtney noted. "She seems to have more in common with Rath than Zan."

"Are you worried you have competition?" Brivari teased, leaving a pile of bills much larger than his tab on the counter. "Keep the change."

"The only reason I put up with you is you're such a big tipper," Courtney remarked.

"Ask me sometime why I put up with you," Brivari said blandly, donning his cap.

"You won't have to much longer," Courtney sighed, picking at a skin flake on her wrist. "I'm shedding more than ever."

"Oh, come now," Brivari said. "Do you really think I'd let one of the King's best allies and Rath's future wife simply expire?"

Courtney's eyes widened. "What, you mean...what do you mean?"

"Ask Dee. We have some decisions to make." He tipped his cap. "Miss Banks."

Flabbergasted, Courtney watched him leave. Had she just heard right? Had the King's Warder just told her he'd save her life? Because love him or hate him, Brivari was the one person on two planets who might be able to pull that off; he'd almost singlehandedly built a dynasty, and was closer to restoring it than he realized. But what about the Resistance? Was this just for her, or did it include the rest of them? Because, however tempting, she could never accept anything that would leave out the rest of the Resistance members, all of whom were suffering the same fate as she...

Lost in thought, Courtney pushed through the door into the back and smacked right into a startled Liz Parker. "Liz! I...didn't know you were back."

Liz shook her head so hard, it might have fallen off. "I'm not," she blurted.

"Not...what?" Courtney asked. "Back? Because if you're still in Florida, this is one hell of a hologram."

"No, I mean I'm back, but I'm not really back," Liz babbled. "I mean I am back, but..." She stopped, flustered, as Courtney raised an eyebrow. "Look, I'd really appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything."

"About....?"

"About...me. About me being..."

"Back, but not back?" Courtney suggested.

Liz stood there, tongue-tied, glancing over Courtney's shoulder through the window in the swinging door, where the Royal Four were perfectly framed. "Ah," Courtney said knowingly. "Got it."

"I'd just really appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourself," Liz pleaded.

"Keep what to myself?" Courtney asked innocently.

It took Liz a moment to translate that. "Thank you," she said with obvious relief. "Thank you."

Girl's got issues, Courtney thought as Liz scrambled upstairs so quickly, it was a wonder she didn't trip. But she had bigger questions on her mind than Zan's love life, so that would have to wait. "Maria!" Courtney said cheerfully as Maria appeared, fresh from her break. "Good to see you. Could you—"

"Do not say 'cover me'," Maria commanded.

"—cover me?"

"Ugh! I just got off break!" Maria exclaimed.

"Right, so now it's my turn," Courtney said sweetly. "Michael should be back soon; he's out there celebrating with Max and Isabel and Tess."

"Celebrating what?" Maria demanded.

Courtney shrugged. "Didn't say. Back in a few."

She left Maria sputtering like a mobile volcano as she stripped off her apron and grabbed her purse. No bathroom this time; her destination was across the street because that's where Brivari had gone after dropping his bomb about lifting her death sentence.

What in blazes was the King's Warder doing at the UFO museum?




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




Washington, D.C.




"Members of the committee," Vanessa intoned. "In 1972, the Special Unit of the FBI investigated a murder. Several curiosities surrounded the event. No murder weapon. No entry wound, apart from the presence of silver markings left on the skin, which subsequently vanished. Yet the internal organs and tissues of the victim were completely decimated." She paused, letting that sink in. "Now, nuclear analysis of the victim's bones showed traces of a substance dubbed 'Cadmium-X', an element which doesn't exist on earth. It is, simply put...not human."

Eyes widened. Quiet gasps escaped. Glances were exchanged, some furtive, some alarmed. Vanessa waited as a heavy silence settled over the congressional subcommittee whose job it was to fire Daniel. This was her big moment, the critical moment when, after hours of damning testimony about his under-the-table leadership of the Special Unit, she got to save his ass and earn his undying gratitude. After this, he owed her.

"Mr. Pierce," said Congressman Belfrey, he of the fornicating wife, "in all records, materials, and other findings appropriated from your offices, we have found no mention of anything known as 'Cadmium-X' Can you explain that to us?"

Here it comes, Vanessa thought as Daniel's eyes found hers. She held herself steady, ready for the deluge. Jesus, but Belfrey was going to look like a bigger asshole than he really was, which would be some feat.

"There is no record in our files of the substance called 'Cadmium-X'," Daniel said slowly, "because there is no substance called 'Cadmium-X'. 'Cadmium-X' is a hoax that we invented."


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


I'll post Chapter 6 on Sunday, May 11.

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello to everyone reading!







CHAPTER SIX



September 2, 2000, 11:30 a.m

Washington, D.C.




Vanessa Whitaker pushed her way toward the exit past a horde of reporters, a litter of interns, and way too many grinning lawmakers, with those who weren't grinning shaking their heads. Murmurs of, "Proof, huh?" and "She bought that? Really?" swirled around her, stage whispers barely heard, but audible nonetheless. Her moment of triumph had just ended in humiliation as Daniel had done the unthinkable, worse than merely denying the facts of the presented case, something she would have been able to refute with the documents he'd handed her. No, he'd claimed that his Unit had invented the extra-terrestrial substance found in the victim's bones, a claim she knew was bullshit, but couldn't prove. Now she fled the room, her face on fire as she thrust past the microphones shoved in her face, hot on the heels of Daniel and his lapdog, Agent Samuels. Daniel appeared to have evaporated, but she caught up with Samuels high-tailing it for the exit, hooking him by the arm and nearly hurling him into a nearby conference room, using those oh-so-helpful powers bestowed upon certain of their number to lock the door. Make that 'melt' the door, she thought grimly, softening the metal as reporters pounded away on the other side. Whatever was about to happen in here stayed in here.

"Jesus!" Samuels had gasped as she'd shoved him inside, a gasp repeated as he tugged at the door handle to no avail, finally turning as she advanced on him with murder in her eyes.

"What the hell just happened?" Vanessa snapped as he quailed. "This is your doing, isn't it? You got to him. You convinced him to leave me hanging out there like yesterday's laundry. You—"

"No!" Samuels shouted above her tirade. "I didn't do this, Vanessa—"

"That's Congresswoman Whitaker to you, you little prick!"

"Congresswoman," Samuels corrected hastily. "I didn't do this. Daniel did this. He did exactly what he should have."

"And how do you figure that?" Vanessa demanded. "I was trying to save his Unit! He wanted my help saving his Unit!"

"He should never have given you classified information," Samuels declared, "and he was right to deny its existence when you blabbed it to the world."

"Because you told him to!" Vanessa said savagely as Samuels recoiled, his back against the door. "You talked him out of it, didn't you? Didn't you?"

"I made my opinion clear," Samuels said stoutly, "but he didn't say anything one way or another. I was just as surprised as you were when he denied it. The only difference is I'm happy about it."

Vanessa moved in so close, he nearly became one with the paint on the door. "And that's why you're a blithering idiot," she hissed. "I could have saved his ass, your ass, the Unit's ass, but no! That would have made too much sense. Now the Unit is gone, he's fired, and you're all screwed!"

"Correction—we're all free to resurrect the Unit in a useful form," Samuels countered. "Look, if you'd convinced the committee to keep the Unit alive, three things would have happened, none of them good. One, Director Freeh would have been furious at being undermined. Two, he would have fired Danny anyway, and three, he would have rendered the Unit useless, either by micro-managing it or by stripping it of its powers. On the surface you would have won, but in reality you would have lost. With it officially gone, we can remake the Unit into what it should be, what it used to be. You want it to work, don't you? What's the point of having it if it doesn't work?"

"What's the point of humiliating me on national television?" Vanessa retorted. "He made a laughingstock of me! Once that airs, anyone who looks at me will see nothing but a congresswoman who fucked an FBI agent and believed every stupid thing he told her. STOP grinning!" she roared when the corners of Samuels' mouth began to twitch, "or I swear to God, I'll make an agent sandwich out of you and feed you to my dog for breakfast! Where is he?"

"Gone," Samuels said. "He left immediately after the hearing and went to ground so the media can't find him, which means you can't either. And if you throttle me, you never will," he added pointedly when her gaze settled on his throat, "because I'm the only one who can find him."

"Then find him," Vanessa ordered.

"Why?" Samuels demanded. "So you can bitch him out too? What for? This is the first time he's acted like himself in months. He's been weird ever since—"

"Since he got back from Roswell," Vanessa finished.

The thrum of the media surge in the hallway faded as she and Samuels stared at each other in shock, having spoken those last six words in unison. Daniel was different, and in more ways than even Samuels knew. Something had happened out there, something big, something soul shaking. The fact that they'd both noticed was unsettling.

But not so unsettling that she was willing to forgive. "Find him," Vanessa ordered again. "Find him now."

"No," Samuels said stubbornly. "It's too soon. He'll find you, and when he does, you'll hear everything I've just said directly from him. Maybe then you'll believe me."

Vanessa's eyes narrowed. "Get. Out. Of. My. Sight. NOW!"

Samuels' eyes widened as he scrabbled furiously at the melted lock. Reaching behind him, Vanessa wrenched the door open with sheer force and shoved him through it, closing it again before the reporters reached her, desperately trying to think. What was she going to do? She'd just been dismissed in front of the committee, the Hill, her constituents, and, as of later today, the whole damned nation, to say nothing of how Nicholas would react. Latching onto the coattails of the Special Unit was the best way they knew of finding those Godforsaken hybrids. She paced the floor of the conference room, running a hand through her hair, realizing she was a complete mess—sweaty, disheveled, and mad enough to kill. How the hell did she get out of this one?

Her phone rang. "What?" she barked after making certain it wasn't Nicholas.

"Thought you could use some good news," her lackey's voice said carefully. "Especially now."

"Does he know?" Vanessa asked wearily.

"Judging from the way he's throwing the furniture around, yes," the lackey answered. "Best way out of this is Plan B."

"How so?" Vanessa retorted. "I was always going to Roswell after the hearings, but I was supposed to be going with the Unit in my pocket. Now I'm nothing but a humiliated Congresswoman."

"Not quite," the lackey noted. "Remember that name you gave me, 'Parker'?"

"What about it?" Vanessa said impatiently, barely recalling the tidbits Samuels had inadvertently dropped yesterday.

"Get this—'Parker' is a girl who was allegedly shot last fall during a fight at the diner where she works...in Roswell."

" 'Allegedly' shot?" Vanessa said. "One is either shot or not shot, and why do I care?"

"Because some witnesses claim that a boy healed the waitress's gunshot wound."

Vanessa stopped pacing. "A 'boy'? How old is this kid?"

"He was 16 when it happened; he's 17 now."

Impossible, Vanessa thought, followed by why? Something had clearly gone awry with the hybrids given that they should have been fully grown and back home ruining Antar long before this. They'd thought the time limit on their husks wouldn't matter because they wouldn't be here that long, but here they were, shedding and exploding 50 years later; just yesterday, two of them had died when their husks had failed. It was like the king was waiting them out, knowing that every husk which didn't last until the harvest was one less enemy he had to deal with. And what better way to hide than as a teenager? No one would ever suspect a child, not with the way humans doted on their offspring.

"Didn't you mention Samuels talking about a handprint that healed?" the lackey continued. "Well, here's an alleged healing. That would be well within Zan's capability if he's really as powerful in this new incarnation as he's supposed to be, or any of them, for that matter. It could even be Rath."

"Doesn't matter," Vanessa noted, calmer now that she had a lead, her mind whirling through the possibilities. "The first one we look for is the princess—that's our mandate. Are any of these kids still in Roswell?"

"Yep. Parker's on your list of honor-students-as-potential-interns."

"As of right now, there's only one person on that list," Vanessa declared. "I want this 'Parker' working for me. Make it happen."




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




UFO Center




"What?" Brody exclaimed in disbelief when someone pounded on the door for the fourth time today, pushing back from the computer in disgust and stalking out to the museum's front door, which he whipped open only to find a gun thrust in his face.

"Bang! Bang!" shouted the child holding a toy space blaster. "You're dead!"

"Yeah!" announced his much shorter sidekick, poking a smaller weapon into Brody's leg. "You're an alien, and you're dead!"

"I'm sorry," said the harried woman behind them with a bag over each arm and a toddler clinging to each leg. "I was just wondering if you were open."

Brody closed his eyes briefly and prayed for patience. "Do you see this?" he asked, pointing to a large sign on the door inches from her nose. "A rhetorical question at best because no on else today has seen it either, so let me read it to you—it says 'Closed'. It says that because we're closed. Does that answer your question?"

"But why?" the woman asked as the Buck Rogers twins tried to kill each other and the pint-sized Kling-ons whined. "The website—"

"Will be updated shortly. We're closed until further notice."

"But where's Milton?" the woman asked.

"Milton sold the UFO Center to me," Brody said wearily, having been through this already with all the other door knockers. "Yes, it was sudden. No, I don't know exactly why. No, I don't know where to find him. No, I don't have a timetable for the renovations we're doing. Keep checking the website, and thanks for stopping by."

He closed the door on her further protests and leaned against the wall. God, but he was exhausted; he'd slept well last night, but you'd never know it by the way he was dragging around today. It didn't help that his lower back was killing him and he didn't know why, or that he had to keep answering the door when prospective customers refused to believe their own eyes. Which wasn't really their fault, if he were honest; Milton apparently hadn't told a soul he was leaving, and it appeared Roswellians really liked their UFO Museum. Or rather the tourists did; native Roswell dwellers might feel differently. Judging by the caliber of those knocking on his door, he was having serious second thoughts about whether he wanted to open to the public at all. He'd only been interested in the museum for his own research, and Milton certainly hadn't been too thrilled about all the little kids with grubby hands and teenagers messing with his exhibits. Maybe he needed a different sign on the door. Maybe he needed lots of signs on the door.

He was headed back to his office when he pulled up short. There was a man standing several yards in front of him, a man who most definitely hadn't entered by the front door. "Who the hell are you?" Brody demanded. "How did you get in here?"

There was a moment of silence while the man cocked his head, seemingly unperturbed by his temper. "Back door," he answered. "I make deliveries for Milton. Are you new here?"

"You could say that," Brody replied. "I own the place now; Milton's gone. And yes, I know he didn't tell anybody, and yes, no one ever thought he'd sell because this is his life's work, and so on and so forth. And if you have anything else to add in that vein, please don't."

The man smiled faintly. "Rough day?"

Both the smile and the sympathy were unexpected, and Brody felt suddenly guilty. "Look, I...I'm sorry. I'm exhausted, and cranky, and..." He stopped, one hand to his sore back.

"Hurt yourself?" the man asked.

"Yeah," Brody answered, massaging his back. "Although for the life of me, I don't remember how."

"Probably slept funny," the man shrugged. "I do that all the time."

"That's usually my neck," Brody said. "This is weird. But whatever—I'll take more Tylenol. What are you delivering?"

"Paper products," the man answered, producing a clipboard and a pencil. "Toilet paper, paper towels, Kleenex, that sort of thing. You need to sign for them."

Brody took the clipboard with a sigh. "Must be the year's supply of toilet paper he promised. Look, I'm sorry Milton left everyone in the lurch, but I really haven't inventoried anything, so...what's this gibberish?" he asked, staring at incomprehensible markings on the invoice.

"Hmm," the man said when Brody handed it back. "Don't know. Maybe the truck driver who dropped them off with me had a little too much beer last night."

"Not a bad idea," Brody allowed. "I could use one myself. Could you give me a week or two to sort things out? I'd really appreciate it."

"No problem," the man agreed. "Sorry to bother you, Mr...."

"Davis," Brody answered, extending a hand. "Brody Davis. I'll be in touch with all of Milton's suppliers soon, I promise."

"I'll leave you with a copy of the order," the man said.

Five minutes later Brody sank onto the futon in his office with a sigh, tossing the order on his desk. He felt like he'd run a marathon and his back was killing him, but hopefully a nap would help. Just before he stretched out, he took another look at the truck driver's drunken scribblings. Funny how it didn't look like scribbles. Funny how it looked like discrete words in an actual sentence.

That must have been some beer.




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




Crashdown Cafe




"I'm back," Michael announced, striding into the kitchen like he owned it.

"Yippie yi yo ki yay," Maria muttered.

"What?"

"Just an old cowboy expression," Maria said. "Where were you?"

"On break."

"I know that. What were you celebrating on break?"

"How did you know I was celebrating anything?" Michael asked suspiciously.

"I know, Michael, because you told Courtney, and Courtney told me," Maria said crossly. "Why am I always the last one to find out anything around here? Including people who have no idea what's going on?"

Michael drew closer. "We're celebrating because Max doesn't have to go to the shrink any more. His grandmother managed to spring him."

"Oh," Maria said, taken aback. "That's...good news."

"No, that's great news," Michael corrected. "Happy?"

"That Courtney knew and I didn't? No."

"I told her I was celebrating; I didn't tell her why," Michael said. "And this isn't about Courtney; it's about us. Only there is no 'us', so that's why you're picking on her. Good luck with that."

Maria resisted the urge to hurl something at him as he calmly donned an apron and began cooking. Her shift didn't start for a while, long enough to drown her sorrows in some ice cream, and she left the kitchen only to pull up short. "Geez, Louise!" she exclaimed in exasperation. "I really am the last one to know anything!"

Liz's eyes were round as she pulled away from the door she'd been peeking through. "Oh, Maria, I...I just got home, and I...I..."

"Didn't call?" Maria finished helpfully. "Or visit? Or even squeak?"

Liz flushed. "I just wanted...I was just..."

"Avoiding me," Maria said tartly. "Get in line."

Liz blinked. "There's a line of people avoiding you?"

Maria glanced into the kitchen. "A line of one," she said sadly, holding out her arms. "Come here."

They hugged fiercely, swaying in the back room like there wasn't a diner full of customers only feet away. "I missed you," Liz whispered. "And I was avoiding everyone, not just you. Just ask Mom and Dad."

"So," Maria said, pulling away and regarding her closely. "Did you get what you wanted? Did you wash that man right out of your hair?"

Liz looked back toward the diner. "Not really."

"Me neither," Maria sighed. "Michael's still all, 'we can't be together', and 'I have to be alone'."

"Maybe he's right," Liz said.

"He's an idiot," Maria said stoutly. "Without us, they'd be dog food. Besides, Max isn't doing that. He's been pining for you all summer, and I'm guessing you were pining for him too."

"Wow, SAT word," Liz teased, smiling briefly before sobering again. "But wanting something doesn't mean it's possible. Or right. Or..." She paled as she looked through the window again, where Tess was reaching across the table for Max's hand.

"Not what you think!" Maria declared. "Michael just told me they're celebrating...well, it was Courtney who told me, because Courtney seems to know everything before I do, which is really annoying, and she's constantly asking me to cover for her, which is really annoying—"

"Maria?"

"—but my point is that they're celebrating Max not having to go to the doctor any more," Maria continued. "So at least that's over with."

"Doctor?" Liz repeated blankly. "Why was he seeing a doctor? Is he sick?"

Maria stared at her. "You don't know? No, of course you don't; you've been incommunicado for weeks now—"

"Not so 'incommunicado' that you didn't leave me millions of messages," Liz noted.

"Hundreds, babe, not millions. Big difference. But whatever—Max's mom knew something was up, and of course they couldn't tell her what, so she made him see a shrink all summer. She even got Milton to let him off work until fall."

Liz's mouth widened to a big round "O". "Oh, my God," she whispered. "That's awful! He would have had to make something up, and keep the details straight, and...oh, that's awful."

"Yeah, it's been a real bummer," Maria agreed. "But it's over now. Guess his grandmother got his sentence reduced to time served."

"God, I miss Grandma Claudia," Liz said sadly. "She'd know what to do with all of this."

"No, Liz, she wouldn't," Maria said. "Much as I loved Grandma Claudia, we wouldn't have been able to tell her a thing, and you know it."

"I could have extrapolated," Liz said.

"Mmm. And I wonder where she would have come down with that? Because it's weird that you agree with Michael instead of Max, and I agree with Max instead of Michael. I've spent more time with Max this summer than I ever have with Michael because misery loves company."

"Yeah, he looks miserable," Liz murmured, looking through the window.

"What, that? That's nothing," Maria scoffed. "He and Tess are not an item. I mean, yeah, they all hang together because they're all Czechoslovakians, but Max and Tess? No way."

"Not according to that message in the pod chamber," Liz said.

"Will you leave off already about the stupid message?" Maria exclaimed. "Yes, Isabel filled me in about the whole 'glorious leader' and 'young bride' bit, but so what? Isabel and Michael were supposedly engaged, but they're not now because they don't want to be. If Michael can walk, why can't Max?"

"Because Max is the king," Liz answered. "And he and Tess were married. Michael and Isabel weren't married yet."

"Details!" Maria declared. "From a long, long time ago on a world far, far away! Doesn't count."

"What doesn't count?"

It was Michael, wiping his hands on his apron. "What, you ignore me, and now you're eavesdropping?" Maria demanded. "Buddy, you don't get to ignore and eavesdrop. Pick one."

"Hey, Liz," Michael said, ignoring her. "Didn't know you were back."

Liz shook her head vigorously. "I'm not."

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Maria muttered.

But Michael didn't bat an eyelash. "Got it. Never saw you."

"Thank you," Liz said gratefully.

"For nothing," Maria added savagely.

"Any time," Michael answered, breezing back into the kitchen as though she hadn't just verbally swatted him.

"Can you believe that?" Maria exclaimed. "We saved their asses, and he's acting like that's it, it's over!"

"Because it is," Liz said in a hollow voice, her eyes on the window. "It is over, Maria. Yeah, we saved their asses, but we decided to do that; no one made us. And now they've moved on, and so should we."

"No," Maria said firmly. "No, no, no, no—"

"Liz!"

It was Mrs. Parker, breathless and smiling and waving a piece of paper. "Guess what? The school just called, and you've got an interview with the Congresswoman tomorrow!"

"Interview?" Maria said. "Congresswoman? What's this?"

Liz took the piece of paper from her excited mother. "It's called moving on, Maria," she said soberly. "It's called a fresh start. You should try it."




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





Harding residence





"Watch carefully," Tess said. "Here we go."

The orange in the middle of the kitchen table was bright against the formica as she trained her eyes on it, focused her attention. A moment later it rose, hovering an inch or so off the table before slowly rising into the air, reaching eye level, suspended by nothing.

"Wow," Michael murmured.

"And when you really get good at it, you can do this," Tess said, her eyes still on the orange which began to dip and swoop, swinging left, then right like a pendulum before spinning like a top, then settling back down to the table. "Now you try," she said. "Nothing fancy. Just try to raise it off the table a little bit."

Michael looked dubious, but obediently stared at the orange. Nothing happened.

"Try again," Tess coaxed. "You're not used to this. It'll take time."

"Not sure we have loads of that," Michael muttered, fixing the fruit with a baleful glare as though it were resisting him. Still nothing.

"One more time," Tess said soothingly as Michael gave a snort of disgust. This time his fists clenched and he held his breath as though he were lifting something heavy. The orange wobbled a bit, but that was it.

"It moved!" Tess exclaimed. "That's wonderful!"

"Yippie yi yo ki yay," Michael muttered.

"What?"

"Never mind. And I'd hardly call it wonderful."

"But it moved," Tess said stubbornly. "That's better than nothing."

"Not much," Michael allowed. "I wanna try it my way."

"Okay, we talked about this," Tess said. "You don't need hands."

"It helps me concentrate," Michael argued, raising a hand to the orange. Tess drew back in alarm as the fruit began to shake violently...

...then squeezed her eyes shut as it exploded, spraying juice everywhere. "See, this always happens," Michael huffed.

"When you use your hands," Tess noted as she wiped pulp off her face. "We're trying to levitate it, not blow it up—"

"I know that. You think I don't know that?"

"—and when you use your hand, you seem to think it's some kind of ray gun, and you overdo it" Tess finished. "Which is why I don't want you to use your hand. I want you to think about it differently, to develop a different mindset—"

"You mean you'd rather get your orange juice in a carton?"

"—to control the flow of power instead of just flinging it," Tess finished, praying for patience. "It's not a fire hose, Michael, not unless you want it to be. It should be more like a tap, where you increase or decrease the pressure—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Michael interrupted. "I get it, I just can't do it. Face it—I am a fire hose, and I do what fire hoses do. That's why drinking fountains aren't hooked up to fire hoses, and you don't put out a house fire with a drinking fountain." He rose abruptly from the table. "We're wasting our time."

"No, we're not," Tess protested. "It's only been a few weeks. We just need to—"

"And this house gives me the creeps," Michael added, looking around uncomfortably. "I don't know what there is about it, I just...maybe that's why I can't think straight. And I have to because we have enemies, and when those enemies show up, I need to be ready. We need to be ready—"

"Okay, Michael? Take a breath," Tess ordered. "Let me think about this. Sit down, and let me think. Just give me 5 minutes, okay?"

Michael reluctantly resumed his seat, legs sprawled, arms crossed, the very picture of disapproval as Tess turned the problem over in her mind. She couldn't afford to lose this because this marked the first time that one of the Others had come to her for help. Despite their hanging together all summer, none of them trusted her; she was barely tolerated, and she knew it. She'd spent the last three months alone in this house with only the occasional visit from Nasedo and even more occasional visits from Isabel; apparently Michael wasn't the only one creeped out about coming here. His asking for help controlling his powers was a huge step, one she was not willing to relinquish lightly; he was the one most interested in going home, the one most likely to see things her way. She'd been teaching him the way Nasedo had taught her, but maybe that wasn't the way to go. Maybe Michael required a different approach.

"Okay, let's turn this around," Tess said as Michael regarded her skeptically. "Instead of starting with what you don't know, let's start with what you do know. What can you do with your powers? What have you done with them in the past? What are you good at?"

"You saw it," Michael shrugged, nodding toward the unfortunate fruit. "I blow things up."

"Okay, then let's start there," Tess said. "We can use smaller and smaller objects to perfect your aim. And let's use something like wood or metal, something sturdier."

"And less sticky?"

"That too. And we'll go somewhere else," Tess added, warming to the new approach. "Somewhere you're comfortable."

Michael's fingers tapped on the kitchen table. "My apartment."

"It's a plan," Tess agreed. "Don't give up, Michael. You're right that we need to be prepared, and I think you're doing the right thing taking this seriously."

"Max doesn't," Michael said. "He feels like no one's here yet, so no one's coming."

"Just because they're not here today doesn't mean they won't be here tomorrow," Tess noted.

"See, that's what I keep telling him," Michael said. "But he doesn't want to hear it."

"Max has been through a lot," Tess said, feeling the need to support him. "And frankly, I don't 'want' to hear it either. None of us do."

"But you know that not wanting to hear it won't make it not happen," Michael said. "Better to be prepared and not need it than the other way around."

"Agreed," Tess said, pulling out her phone as it buzzed in her pocket. It was Nasedo's number, and four words stared up at her from the screen.

The Unit is dead.

"What?" Michael said when he saw the enormous grin on her face.

"This," Tess smiled, brandishing her phone. "We have so got to watch the news. See? Things are looking up!"




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




Roswell Sheriff's Station





"You did the right thing by bringing this to my attention, Mr. Sorenson," Valenti said. "I'll look into it immediately."

"Sure thing, Sheriff," Sorenson answered.

"You don't even need to say it, Sheriff," Hanson announced. "I'll get an excavation team out there right away."

Sorenson left, his duty done. Hanson scurried out, his duty clear. Alone in his office, Valenti put his head in his hands and cursed the fates which would now shine literal floodlights on the day he'd done his duty in a most unconventional way.

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


I'll post Chapter 7 on Sunday, May 25.

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!





CHAPTER SEVEN


September 3, 2000, 5:30 a.m.

Evans residence




Birdsong woke Max, the steady chatter of an avian spat, probably over bird real estate. He lay there listening with his eyes closed, a small smile on his face as he imagined his father's grumbling. It was his mother who had a love affair with small critters, and it was at her insistence that his father erected a bird house every year. The resulting noise from several crops of baby birds could be deafening if you couldn't sleep through it, which his father apparently couldn't. Even worse were the territorial disputes when one bird decided to covet its neighbors' house, or the sheer panic which ensued when a larger bird tried to steal eggs or babies. More than once his father had threatened to introduce their yard dwellers to the workings of a BB gun, followed by horrified protests from his mother. But the birds were still there, still raising families, squabbling, and defending their nests in the face of would-be squatters, cradle-robbers, and murderous humans. Survivors, all. Just like him.

Rolling over, Max stared at the ceiling through half closed eyes, enjoying for the first time this summer the blissful laziness of having nothing pressing to do, nowhere pressing to go...and nothing pressing to worry about. That last was the greatest blessing, the greatest gift. The Special Unit was dead, voted out of existence on national television courtesy of Nasedo. He had no doctor to lie to courtesy of his grandmother. No enemies had appeared, most likely courtesy of good luck. And despite Maria's reluctance to admit it, Liz was back in town. That he hadn't seen her yet did nothing to dampen the sense of peace that realization brought, the feeling of wholeness. Roswell just wasn't right without Liz. Whatever else had picked at the edges of his frayed nerves this summer, it was her absence which had affected him most profoundly. He could forget about the Unit until it popped up on TV, forget about enemies who hadn't appeared, forget the doctor's office between appointments, but he couldn't forget about Liz. Every single thing reminded him of her. Every time he crossed the Crashdown's threshold, answered the phone, or saw the light blinking on his answering machine, he looked for her, listened for her voice, only to feel empty when she wasn't there. Knowing that he'd see her soon even if she didn't want anything to do with him filled him with an almost ridiculous sense of joy. Hope must really spring eternal if mere geographic proximity could send his spirits soaring...and make him lunge for his phone when it rang, hoping it was her.

It wasn't. "Hello?" Max said warily, the number unfamiliar.

"Max," a familiar voice answered. "Jim Valenti. I'm outside." He paused. "We need to talk."

"Okay," Max said slowly. "I'll...be right out."

Five minutes later Max climbed out his bedroom window, not taking even the slightest chance of waking his family, it being too early even for his parents to be up. He'd seen little of Valenti this summer, with contact limited to occasional passing nods, usually in the Crashdown. There seemed to be an unspoken consensus that they should acknowledge each other as little as possible, and he was happy to comply if only because it helped him forget. The grass outside was wet, the sun warm even at this hour as he padded into the yard, wondering where Valenti was as there wasn't a car in sight. Turned out he was around the side of the house, sans uniform and cruiser.

"I parked down a side street," Valenti said, answering Max's unspoken question. "And no, I don't usually lurk outside people's houses at this hour. I was just looking for something more private than the Crashdown."

"And to avoid my mother," Max said dryly.

"That too," Valenti agreed. "Maybe I shouldn't have told you about that whole post-kitchen fire debacle."

"No, no, it's good," Max said. "Good to know she's got my back, even if she doesn't know why." He paused. "So...why are we standing in my yard at the crack of dawn?"

Valenti's eyes dropped. "There's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to come out and say it. Someone found Pierce's bones."

Max felt his chest constrict as that wonderful bubble of contentment burst. Although Valenti's timing was odd, he hadn't been really concerned because what could go wrong now? The Special Unit was dissolved, and no enemies had shown. There shouldn't be anything on the "problem" list, not now, and certainly not this.

"How?" Max said when he could speak. "We buried those in—"

"The middle of nowhere," Valenti agreed. "I know. Guy's a geologist, and he was doing a survey. Right in the middle of nowhere."

"What are the odds?" Max muttered.

"A million to one," Valenti sighed. "But don't panic. We burned them, which will make them pretty much impossible to identify. I have to launch an official investigation, but I can't see it turning up anything incriminating...although he did tell me something I wasn't expecting. Turns out he wasn't just randomly digging. He found the bones with a metal detector."

"A metal detector?" Max said. "Why would a metal detector detect bones?"

Valenti shook his head. "Don't know. Haven't figured that out yet, and it really doesn't matter; he found them. My enthusiastic deputy has arranged for an excavation tonight, and this might wind up in the papers. Needless to say, none of us know anything." He paused. "So how are you doing, Max? Haven't seen you much since...school ended."

"I was doing better before this," Max admitted. "Nasedo got the Special Unit shut down."

"Saw that on television," Valenti nodded. "Thank God. For all of us."

"My grandmother convinced my mother that I don't need to see the psychologist any more," Max went on, "so no more dodging on that score."

"Bet that's a relief," Valenti said. "How'd your grandmother pull that off?"

"Don't know," Max admitted. "But I always say Grandma Dee could sell ice to Eskimos. Do you...know my grandmother?" he asked when Valenti's faint smile turned broad.

"No," Valenti said quickly. "No, no, I...was just extrapolating. I mean, your father's a force to be reckoned with, so it followed that his mother might be."

"Runs in the family," Max agreed. "So how's Kyle?"

"Coming home soon," Valenti answered. "He needed to get away for a while."

"I can relate," Max said.

"Yeah, well...he can get away," Valenti said. "You can't. Not really."

"I hope it helped," Max said, meaning it. "I'm really sorry he got dragged into this, sheriff. You, too. I never wanted either of you to be in that position."

"I appreciate that," Valenti said, "but in a way, I'm kind of glad that at least I know what's what. It settled a lot of things for me, things now, and...and things from a long time ago."

"So are things better with your dad?"

Valenti's face clouded. "I'm afraid it's not that easy. There's a bit too much water under that bridge."

"But maybe someday," Max said.

"Yeah," Valenti agreed, sounding skeptical. "Maybe. Well...I'd better be going. I just wanted you to hear about this from me, not the news. I'll be right in the middle of it, so I'll be the first to know if anything unfortunate turns up, but I doubt it; it'll just go down in the books as a mystery. My advice is to forget about it and enjoy your last few days of summer."

"I'll try," Max said. "Thanks, sheriff."

A few minutes later he was back in bed with his grass-stained jeans in a ball on the floor and surprisingly sleepy. Pierce's bones resurfacing should be tweaking him more, but it wasn't. The Unit was dead; who cared if its boss's bones had been found? Liz was back in town; who cared about anything? No, he felt almost as peaceful as he had pre-chat, with the exception of how he was going to break this to Michael. That was really the only concern, and it could wait. His eyes began to close against the backdrop of yet another bird fight.

Just before he drifted off to sleep, it occurred to him that he didn't remember telling Valenti that Grandma Dee was his father's mother.




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




Washington, D.C.




The bed was empty. Jaddo's hand explored the divot in the mattress for a moment before he opened his eyes. Mussed sheets and a scrunched pillow were the only remaining evidence of last night's companion, who had apparently decided to leave early. Very early, he amended, squinting at the clock on the bedside table before dropping his head back onto his pillow. He'd been fired. No need for him to get up.

"She left."

Jaddo's head whipped around. Brivari was lounging in a chair nearby, flipping through a copy of the Washington Post with a cup of coffee steaming nearby. "Let me guess," Jaddo sighed. "You evicted her."

"I did no such thing," Brivari answered, looking wounded. "She left on her own. Probably got tired of being attached to a sinking ship."

"Doubtful," Jaddo said. "The one thing humans love more than power is—"

"Chocolate?"

"Funny. Celebrity," Jaddo went on. "If you've been in the news—for anything, mind you, including mass murder—they flock to your door. I had my pick of the litter last night."

"Lucky you. Nice digs, by the way," Brivari added, looking around the hotel suite. "Nicer than your apartment."

"Yes, well, it didn't seem prudent to remain at the same address in the wake of the hearings, and why not live it up while in exile?"

"You made the news," Brivari announced, turning the paper around to a headline which screamed "Blushing Bureau!", accompanied by a shot of Pierce sitting calmly in front of a microphone. "And so did Vanessa," he added, flipping the page to a remarkably unflattering shot of a gaping Argilian, this one sporting the headline "Credulous Congresswoman!"

"Outstanding," Jaddo chuckled. "They caught her at just the right moment. That flushing noise you hear is her credibility going right down the proverbial toilet."

"As long as you don't get flushed with it," Brivari noted. "Word is she's furious."

"Not as furious as Nicholas, I'm sure," Jaddo said, stretching languidly. "And she'll have to find me before she can flush me. You don't really think I left a trail of breadcrumbs, do you?"

"You haven't really forgotten that you're dealing with an Argilian soldier, have you?"

"That's something I never forget," Jaddo answered. "She's remarkable, you know. Passionate. Smart. Cunning. Ruthless. It's really a pity she's on the wrong side."

Brivari raised an eyebrow. "Interesting order there. Since when does 'passionate' outrank 'ruthless'?"

"Maybe that's me feeling ever-so-slightly sorry for her," Jaddo shrugged. "Her career in Congress is basically over. She'll probably keep her seat, human memory being short and fickle, but the image of her salivating over little green men will linger long in the minds of her fellow lawmakers. No one will take her seriously."

Brivari's finger tapped on his coffee cup. "Am I the only one who found her less of a threat when she was gainfully employed?"

"Here we go," Jaddo sighed, flopping back on his pillow. "This is the part where you tell me I've done it all wrong, screwed the whole thing up, and we're all going to die. Go on, get it over with so I can have my breakfast in peace."

"On the contrary, I found your gutting of the Unit to be complete and masterful," Brivari said. "This is your true medium, Jaddo, what you're best at and where you belong. I'm guessing we'll get at least a year out of the resulting confusion and finger-pointing, maybe two."

Jaddo raised an eyebrow. "Well, well! Must be a cold day somewhere. May I have that in writing? Before you get to the 'but', that is, because I know there's a 'but' coming. Maybe you want our enemy posing as a lawmaker?"

"I want our enemy engaged in something she finds worthwhile," Brivari corrected. "And I want to influence that something so as to focus her gaze on the wrong thing and lead her astray, all without her realizing who's really in control of the game. You managed that beautifully these last few months before resorting to petty backstabbing which leaves her both adrift and focused on you, which is, needless to say, bad on both counts."

"That 'petty backstabbing' was why the Unit fell so hard," Jaddo argued. "The notion that we're inventing things and leading Congress astray with those inventions did more to kill the Unit than anything else."

"So you're telling me there was no other way to set that up? It had to go through Vanessa? No, of course it didn't," Brivari continued when Jaddo remained silent. "You wanted to bring her down."

"So I brought both down at once," Jaddo shrugged. "Big deal. If anything, I should get points for killing two birds with one stone."

"She's not dead," Brivari said pointedly, "just wounded, and all the more dangerous for it. What you see as economy—or poetry—I see as recklessness. But what else is new."

"Yes, what else?" Jaddo said impatiently, climbing out of bed. "Are we done? I'd like a cup of coffee, and I'd like to enjoy it. And if we're not done, I need one all the more—what's so funny?"

"Just something Courtney said," Brivari chuckled as Jaddo padded toward the kitchenette wearing Pierce's birthday suit. "About human shapes and 'fiddly bits'."

"Human anatomy isn't exactly compact," Jaddo agreed, "at least not the male variety. How is our favorite rebel?"

"Dewey-eyed. I had no idea her father had given her hand in marriage all the way back in '59."

Jaddo's hand paused on the coffee pot before he resumed pouring. "She told you?"

"She told Dee, who told me."

"Same difference," Jaddo muttered. "Okay, maybe, maybe you have a point about Vanessa, but not about Courtney. You and I both know that a marriage between Rath and Vilandra would have been disastrous, independent of my intense dislike—"

But Brivari held up a hand. "Peace. It's a great idea. Probably the best you've ever had."

The coffee pot slowly descended as Jaddo gaped at him. "What did you say?"

Brivari smiled faintly. "You heard me. You do have them, you know. Now and then."

"Seriously?" Jaddo said incredulously, ignoring the sarcasm. "No lectures about pulling strings behind your back? No pious proclamations about the sanctity of your Ward's sister?"

" 'Sanctity'?" Brivari said. "I don't believe I've ever used that word in a sentence with 'Vilandra'. But I agree it was a poor match. Seeing them now as more siblings than anything else, I realize they relate to each other much better that way, not to mention it neatly solves the problem that Rath wanted to marry her. Now he likes Courtney...and she likes him."

Jaddo's eyes shone as he plopped into a chair beside Brivari. "He does? She does? Oh, I wish I could see this! What have I been missing?"

"Not much. Lots of flirting. Lots of pouting on the part of his human girlfriend, whom he still avoids as an unacceptable encumbrance."

"Finally, one of them sees sense!" Jaddo said. "And Zan?"

"Too soon to tell. The Parker girl has been absent the entire summer, although I imagine she'll return soon if she hasn't already."

"You know your Ward," Jaddo said, dumping heaping teaspoons of sugar into his coffee. "What do you think?"

Brivari was quiet for a moment. "I think we're not going to get off so easy."

"Well, eventually he'll have to drop her," Jaddo argued. "He can't very well take her back to Antar with him."

"That would pose certain...difficulties," Brivari allowed.

"But we're getting ahead of ourselves," Jaddo said briskly. "No one's going home any time soon, so we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Brivari blinked. "Isn't that my line?"

"See? You're rubbing off on me!" Jaddo said. "So...what's the timetable for Pierce disappearing? A week? Two?"

"I'll leave that up to you," Brivari said. "I have a question for you. What do you know about transference?"

"Very little. Some kind of bioscience mumbo jumbo, as I recall, about taking control of a human's body. Why?"

"What if," Brivari said slowly, "we were to meet someone who claimed to be...'transferring'?"

Jaddo's eyes narrowed. "Has this happened, or is this a hypothetical question?"

"I'm just curious," Brivari answered.

"Good," Jaddo said severely. "Because any human who claimed to be hosting someone from our planet shouldn't live long enough to utter one more word."

"You'd execute them? Without knowing for sure if it were true?"

"Knowing what?" Jaddo said. "This is your area, not mine, but I believe they never got the kinks out; something about 'host resistance', or other such techno babble. It's far more likely that we'd be dealing with a spy pretending to be a transfer, so yes, I'd take the safer path and eliminate them immediately."

"We've been gone a long time," Brivari noted, "long enough for them to have 'ironed the kinks out'. What if they've perfected it? We'd have no way of knowing."

"Which is precisely why I'd remove the threat," Jaddo said. "We have no way of knowing, so we can't confirm or deny."

"What if they claimed to be someone we knew well?"

"Then I'd be doubly suspicious because that's exactly what a spy would do—they'd be given the identity of someone we'd hesitate to execute, not Gary the Garbage Man. Besides, anyone we were familiar with is far too high up the food chain to take a risk like transference. And if it does exist now, no one would be foolish enough to approach us that way because they'd know we wouldn't be familiar with it and wouldn't believe them, and they know what happens when we don't believe them." Jaddo paused. "So what brought this up?"

"Courtney," Brivari shrugged. "She mentioned it. I was just curious what you knew."

Jaddo fixed him with a level stare. "And may I assume that, were you to encounter someone claiming to be utilizing this practice, you would let me know?"

"You have my word," Brivari assured him, "that I would take the appropriate steps."




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




11:30 a.m.

Crashdown Cafe





"I've got a delivery," Mr. Parker called. "Who wants it?"

"I do!" Courtney shouted over the din. "I could use a walk."

"It's in the kitchen," Mr. Parker said. "Address is on the bag; it's just down the street."

Five minutes later, Courtney slipped a hastily constructed lunch into her pocket before going in search of the official delivery, which she spotted on a counter behind Maria. "Hey, Maria, could you—"

"No!" Maria interrupted furiously. "No, no, no! If you ask me to cover for you one more time, I swear I'll scream!"

Courtney raised an eyebrow. "I was going to ask you to hand me that bag behind you. I'm doing a delivery."

"Why?" Maria asked suspiciously.

"Because someone ordered something?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Maria said crossly. "Why are you delivering it?"

"Because I offered?"

"Okay, now I know something's fishy," Maria declared. "Why would you offer?"

"Because it's my job?"

Mr. Parker chose that moment to poke his head into the kitchen. "Maria!" he exclaimed. "Good. I need you to cover for Courtney while she makes a delivery."

If looks could kill, the one Maria was wearing would outdo Vesuvius. "Gotta run," Courtney said lightly, plucking the bag off the counter before Maria could hold it hostage. "Back in a few."

"Make it a very few!" Maria thundered as Courtney sailed out the door, marveling at her radar. Something was indeed afoot, which is why she had an extra, unordered delivery in her pocket as she crossed the street to the UFO center. The real delivery would have to wait until she got a good look at whatever had so interested Brivari yesterday. She hadn't come up with a better idea, so she'd decided to simply knock on the front door bearing gifts and see who, if anyone, answered.

"Yes?" snapped the grumpy looking, grumpy sounding man who answered her knock.

"Hi," Courtney said. "I'm from the Crashdown across the street, and I have a delivery."

"Add the invoice to the pile and tell me where to sign," the man sighed, handing her a clipboard jammed with various pieces of paper. "God, how much stuff did Milton have on order? The bell is ringing every fifteen minutes with one thing or another. It isn't more toilet paper, is it? Because I've already got enough to wipe the asses of the entire population of Vulcan...oh...sorry," he amended when Courtney smiled faintly. "I'm Brody Davis, the new owner of the UFO museum. I just got here, and things are a bit chaotic."

"No problem," Courtney said quickly, seeing scaffolding for her ruse. "I'm just delivering a welcome-to-Roswell lunch, on the house!"

Brody's expression grew wary, making Courtney like him immediately. "Why?"

"Because the Crashdown and the UFO museum have a kind of...symbiotic relationship," Courtney answered. "The Crashdown functions as a kind of food court for the UFO museum, and lots of people who stop at the Crashdown wind up going to the museum. So we're really glad to see someone taking over the place."

"That's funny," Brody said. "No one seemed to know Milton was leaving."

"Word trickles out unevenly sometimes," Courtney said lightly, holding out the bag. "Here you go; a sandwich, an apple, and a cookie. Enjoy!"

Brody looked taken aback. "Uh...thanks. Look, I didn't mean to sound like...sorry," he finished, sounding abashed. "This is really nice of them. Please thank…?"

"Mr. Parker," Courtney finished. "Jeff Parker. He owns the Crashdown. And I will. And you're welcome. Here's your..." She stopped, staring at the top invoice on the clipboard. "Here's your clipboard back," she finished. "Sorry it wasn't toilet paper, or something else important."

"I'm not!" Brody declared. "This is the best delivery I've had yet."

"Glad to make your day," Courtney smiled. "See you around."

Jesus, she thought when the door closed, leaning against it with a long slow breath. Brivari's interest in this nerdy, suspicious guy must be pretty fierce; scribbled on the invoice was the chilling announcement, "Confess, or you'll be executed where you stand," followed by a date and time...and it was written in Antarian. Which could only mean one thing—this was the subject of that conversation about transference. That this host was the owner of a UFO museum was simultaneously hilarious and brilliant; what better way for a transfer to hide than in the body of someone who studied aliens? The thought of speaking with someone from Antar was unbearably exciting, right up there with the much-anticipated conversation with Dee about how Brivari planned to keep her alive and the demise of the Special Unit, personally witnessed by at least three of the Royal Four courtesy of C-Span. It was a safe bet she'd be making many more visits to the UFO Center, probably at odd hours; transfers worked better when hosts were asleep. Humming to herself at the thought of someone else from home to talk to and the general concept of not dying, she made her way down the street to the address of the official delivery, a small storefront currently crammed with boxes and a harassed looking woman, who brightened when she saw her.

"Turkey club on wheat, hold the tomato?" she said hopefully.

"Um...don't know," Courtney admitted. "I'm just the delivery girl. Better check it; if it's wrong, I'll fix it."

"Nope, everything's there," the woman said happily, rummaging through the bag. "I can't tell you how thrilled I was to find a diner just a few doors down. With the hours we put in, sometimes food is a distant memory. The congresswoman will be so pleased."

"Is that what this is?" Courtney said as two men hefting a desk trundled by. "A congressional office?"

"Yep; brand new," the woman answered. "I'm Rose, by the way."

"Courtney," Courtney said. "So I guess I'll be seeing you."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be seeing both of us," Rose assured her. "Congresswoman Whitaker isn't one to stay at her desk."

"Wait," Courtney demanded. "Who?"

"Vanessa Whitaker," Rose said, "the congressional representative for this district."

"This is Whitaker's office?" Courtney said incredulously.

"Do you...know her?" Rose asked, her voice a shade less friendly.

"I...no," Courtney stammered. "I just thought that...someone as important as her wouldn't be in a place like this. Don't those congress-type-people have nice offices in Washington?"

Rose smiled indulgently at Courtney's impersonation of the classic, politically clueless American. "They do," she confirmed. "But Congresswoman Whitaker likes to make herself available to her constituents."

"I'll bet," Courtney muttered.

"Sorry?"

"I said that's great," Courtney said. "Very...commendable."

"Yes, but she's only doing her job," Rose said seriously. "A congressional representative is always, at the end of the day, an elected representative of the people, nothing more, nothing less. Some officials forget that, but Vanessa Whitaker never does."

"That's great," Courtney said. "Well...nice to meet you, and enjoy your lunch."

"Do you always do the deliveries?" Rose asked hopefully.

No freakin' way. "We trade off," Courtney said. "But I'm sure we'll see each other again."

"I'm sure we will," Rose smiled. "After all, we're just down the street from each other!"

Don't remind me, Courtney thought as she escaped to the street, feeling nauseous. Vanessa just a few doors down? How the hell was she going to avoid her? Why hadn't Brivari mentioned this? Did that mean he didn't know? How could the King's Warder not know about a threat of this magnitude? Or maybe he did know, and was hoping Vanessa would bump her off? Maybe instead of finding a way to keep her alive, he'd found a convenient way to rid himself of her?

Stop it, Courtney told herself severely. Sheesh; one glimpse of another Argilian, and she was going all paranoid, although it was terribly ironic that her heart had just been going all pitty pat about talking to someone from home only to have the wrong person from home show up. Not exactly what she'd had in mind, although it certainly could be worse—it could be Nicholas. Vanessa was far less dangerous, with a sell-by date that matched Courtney's and no Royal Warder watching her back. All they really had to do was wait them out, and most, if not all, of Nicholas' troops would vanish in a puff of skin flakes. When one considered what could be going wrong, they were lucky this was all that was going wrong.




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




Old Clovis Highway,

Roswell




The lights flared to life, dozens of them, setting the desert sand on fire and causing Valenti to squint in the glare. "Jesus, Hanson," he protested, one hand shielding his eyes. "You trying to blind everyone?"

The grin Hanson had been wearing slid from his face. "Oh...no, sir," he answered earnestly. "That's just...well, an interesting fact, sir, is that sand is really little bits of glass. So the light reflects off the sand the same way—"

The look on Valenti's face made Hanson flush. "Right. Anyway...we need to see in order to—"

"I know that," Valenti said, praying for patience. "Shall we?"

Hanson broke into a wide smile. "Absolutely, sir! I can't tell you how exciting this is, sir. I mean, I know a man died, and we owe whoever it was our utmost respect, but don't you think this is exciting?"

The last thing we owe that little shit is "respect". "Definitely a change of pace," Valenti allowed.

But Hanson, awash in excitement, completely missed his boss's neutral tone. "It sure is, sir! Let's go dig up some bones!"

Yeah, Valenti thought heavily, trailing behind his enthusiastic deputy. Let's.


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


I'll post Chapter 8 on Sunday, June 8.

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!





CHAPTER EIGHT



September 4, 2000, 1 p.m.

Roswell Sheriff's Station




"Listen, do yourself a favor," Valenti said. "The next time you're going off to break the law somewhere, don't leave a calling card."

"Yes, sir," Michael answered.

"Get the hell out of here," Valenti ordered.

Gladly, Michael thought, not missing the suspicious look from Valenti's deputy, who scowled at him as he disappeared into the hallway. Let's not panic, Max had said. Valenti's handling the investigation, he'd reported. Valenti has it under control, he'd assured him. Sorry to differ, Fearless Leader, Michael thought, but wrong on both counts. Two things were clear: Valenti wasn't the one handling the investigation, and he didn't have anything under control. The one doing the "handling", and supposedly the one with all the control, was that eager beaver deputy who'd collared him at the end of his shift at the Crashdown, demanding that he accompany him to the station but refusing to say why. Can I panic now? Michael had wondered as he'd tagged along willingly but reluctantly, absolutely certain this had something to do with Pierce's bones. Jesus, what was it with that guy? He was not only dead, he'd been hacked into pieces with the help of that incriminating knife, burnt to a crisp, parked way more than 6 feet under in the middle of nowhere, and replaced by a shapeshifter, but the guy was still a monumental pain in the ass. It took a special talent to pose that large of a problem after being so thoroughly deleted. Pierce was probably sitting in hell laughing at them. Whatever he's doing, he'd damn well better be in hell, Michael thought darkly as he made his way down the stairs, only to be pulled up short by a hand on his arm.

"I see you," Deputy Eager Beaver announced, his beady eyes boring into Michael's.

"Congrats, dude," Michael said in bored tone. "I've laid off the ice cream lately, but I know I'm not exactly invisible."

"Don't get fresh with me," Beaver hissed, wagging a finger in his face. "I know you're hiding something. I always know."

"Was hiding something," Michael corrected. "Was, as in past tense. You know about tense, right? Good," he went on as Beaver reddened. "When you showed me the knife, you'll notice I didn't exactly volunteer my previous brush with the law. But the cat's out of the bag now."

"Thought you could keep that from me, did you?" Beaver said smugly.

"And I apparently did...until the sheriff brought it up," Michael noted. "So much for 'always knowing'."

Beaver's face reddened again. "You're still hiding something. You may have come clean on that one because you had to, but there's more. I can tell."

Michael shrugged. "Cool. Hope that works out better for you than it just did. Later."

Beaver grabbed his arm again as he started back down the stairs. "I'm watching you," he warned.

"Yeah, I heard," Michael said impatiently. "So when I see someone peeking in my window when I'm padding around in my skivvies, I'll know it's you. Point made. Now let go of me."

Sheesh, Michael thought sourly after pulling his arm out of Beaver's grip. First a nosy geologist, now a nosy deputy. He hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, opting for the back door when Beaver brushed past him with eyes like ice picks. Deputies traveled in packs, like wolves or girls going to the bathroom. There'd be a lot more ice picks out front once Beaver got there.

"Michael?"

It was Valenti, lurking near the back door. "Did Max talk to you?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Michael answered, "and he said you were handling it. Guess not."

"I am handling it," Valenti insisted. "I can't exactly toss off a pile of bones as no big deal."

"It's not the bones you need to handle, it's Barney Fife," Michael said. "That guy's way too into his job."

Valenti's eyebrows rose. "You watch Andy Griffith?"

"Entertainment's hard to come by when you don't have any money," Michael answered. "Long live the TV rerun. Seriously, you gotta rein that guy in. He's trouble."

Valenti shook his head. "Hanson? Nah. Just let him do his thing, and this'll run it's course. I threw him off the trail."

"No, you didn't," Michael argued. "The guy just pulled me aside and said he was 'watching me', and that he could tell I was hiding something. Which is interesting, because he apparently can't tell you're hiding something."

"Thank God for that," Valenti said ruefully. "Hanson's just excited because we don't get much more than drunk and disorderlies around here...that he knows of, anyway. Even if they eventually ID the bones, there's no way to trace them back to us."

"Sheriff?"

Michael backed hastily out of the way as another deputy appeared at the end of the hall. "There's someone here to see you," the deputy reported. "A 'Congresswoman Whitaker'."

"Be right there," Valenti called. "And you," he added to Michael after the deputy left, "pipe down and stay out of trouble. Hanson may not be the brightest bulb in the box, but he's not the dimmest either, and at the end of the day, he's just doing his job."

"That's what Pierce said," Michael reminded him.

"Just leave it alone," Valenti advised. "Don't do anything stupid."

"And now you sound like Max," Michael retorted. "I really don't need someone else calling me stupid."

"I didn't call you stupid, I...look, we'll talk later. I'll find you."

Michael pushed through the back door into the afternoon sunshine, his hands locked behind his head. Absent from their little discussion had been the reason for it in the first place: he'd screwed up. There's no way to trace them back to us, the sheriff had said, except they just had, and it was his fault—if he hadn't left the knife there, he wouldn't be here, bones or no bones. He'd be catching hell for this from all quarters; might as well get it all over with at once.

"Max?" Michael said when Max answered his phone. "We've got a problem. I just got hauled into Valenti's office because they found one of my knives out near Pierce's bones."

There was a pause. "And?" Max said finally.

"And...nothing," Michael admitted. "Valenti made up a story about busting me out there earlier, and he claims it'll all blow over."

"Then it probably will," Max said.

"You hope. Listen, we've gotta get Nasedo back here in case this goes south."

"He's probably on his way back anyway," Max said. "We'll talk to him when he gets here."

"And what if he isn't? We should talk to him now," Michael insisted. "He needs to know what's going on."

"Nothing's 'going on'," Max said, his voice laced with irritation. "Some geologist dug up some bones in the desert, and they found a knife nearby that Valenti says you dropped ages ago. Case closed."

"Easy for you to say," Michael retorted. "You didn't just get your ass hauled into the sheriff's office."

"No, I got my ass hauled into that white room. Wanna trade?"

Shit, Michael thought. Much as he hated what had happened to Max, it could be annoying that no other suffering would ever measure up to it. "Look, can we just call Nasedo? Let him decide what to do about it."

There came a huff of irritation over the phone. "Fine, but...later. We'll talk about it later."

"Why later?" Michael demanded. "Why not now?"

Another pause. "Liz is back," Max said.

"So?"

"So I'm kind of distracted," Max said impatiently. "We'll talk about it later."

The line went dead as Michael stared at his phone in disbelief. Liz? Really? The girl had been gone all summer, and now her reappearance rated higher than someone digging up Pierce's bones? Guy's still got priority issues, Michael grumbled, marching up the street to a fast disappearing relic, the pay phone. Nasedo had left strict instructions about how to contact him. He'd also left strict instructions about who could contact him, but whatever. Sometimes you just had to improvise.




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




Vanessa Whitaker's office,

Roswell




"Another box?" Rose chuckled. "Put it over there. At the rate we're going, we won't be able to find each other."

Liz dropped the latest delivery on the ever-growing pile. "How is this all getting here so fast?"

"Overnight delivery," Rose explained. "And experience. Congresswoman Whitaker is adept at these 'pop-up offices'; it's one of the ways she stays in touch with her constituents. An office in Washington and another in the state capital just doesn't cut it if you want to get out there and talk to real people."

"Wow, that's great," Liz said. "Very different from the typical politician."

"The congresswoman is no ordinary politician," Rose agreed. "That's why she likes to hire young people as interns. Keeps her grounded, not to mention that most voters are middle-aged or older. You get a one-sided view if you only listen to one side."

"I can't tell you how grateful I am for this opportunity," Liz said. "I—"

But Rose held up a hand. "No need to gush; you've got the job. And thank goodness because I needed a hand, and then some. Why don't you start unpacking that stack? I'll start over here, and between the two of us, we can have this office up and running by the end of the day."

Liz flushed faintly, embarrassed to be seen as "gushing", and busied herself opening the nearest box. Turned out it was full of legal pads, notepads, and Post-It Notes, and she breathed deeply, reveling in the delicious aroma of fresh, unsullied paper products. God, she loved this time of year. School shopping was almost better than Christmas what with all the new notebooks, sharp pencils, shiny folders, and an empty planner just waiting to be filled. Outfitting an entire office with brand new supplies was like heaven, not to mention a welcome distraction from life. Seeing Max on the street had rattled her badly, so having something else to think about was a godsend.

"Mmm," Rose murmured over her shoulder. "Smells good, doesn't it?" She smiled when Liz's head whipped around. "Let me guess—you love getting new school supplies every year, right? Thought so," she went on when Liz gave her a guilty smile. "I used to love it too. I thought a new notebook smelled better than chocolate. The only thing better was a new textbook."

"Oh, they're the best!" Liz exclaimed. "All shiny, and no one's written in them or torn pages out, and when you open the cover for the very first time...sorry," she said self-consciously when Rose grinned. "I really sound like a dork, don't I?"

"Good thing this is a dork-safe zone," Rose said cheerfully. "And besides, it's nice to find someone else who's thrilled to be the first to crack the spine of a brand new book."

"Let me guess," another voice said. "She's sniffing, isn't she?"

It was Maria, deely-boppers bopping, paper bag in hand. "Someone ordered lunch?"

"I did!" Rose said. "And you're not Courtney."

"I most definitely am not Courtney," Maria agreed. "Thanks for noticing."

"That's Maria," Liz offered. "We're friends."

"We are," Maria confirmed. "Which is how I know what Liz does with brand new school supplies. She's the only person I know who can get high off the smell of graphite."

"Well, now you know two," Rose laughed. "I'm right there with her. Want some?" she asked Liz, holding the bag aloft.

"Oh, no, I've eaten," Liz said. "Help yourself."

"Unbelievable," Maria said when Rose retired to dig through the paper bag. "You mean there are more people who thrill to the start of school every year? What happens to all of you when you graduate? Do you all go into endless mourning?"

"No, we work in offices," Liz said crisply. "Or in my case, hopefully a lab."

"Formaldehyde," Maria muttered. "Yuck. Give me pencils any day." She wandered amongst the stacked boxes, peeking inside. "So you're actually enjoying this? Working before school even starts?"

"Maria, this is an incredible opportunity," Liz said. "To be in on the ground floor of a new congressional office? It's exciting. It's exhilarating. It's—"

"Whoa!" Maria interrupted. "Enough with the commercial. I get it—this is your 'fresh start'."

"It is," Liz agreed. "It's great to have something to do that doesn't have anything to do with...you know."

" 'You know'?" Maria chuckled. "And here I thought 'Czechoslovakian' was a pretty fierce code word. Speaking of which...have you seen Max yet?"

Liz's eyes dropped. "Yeah."

"And?"

"And...nothing."

"Nothing? You literally pulled the guy out of the clutches of the Special Unit, and just...nothing?"

"Maria, we've been over this," Liz said with a pained expression. "He's someone else's husband—"

"Was someone else's husband. Was."

"It's hard to say 'was' when his wife is right here," Liz noted.

"It's easy to say 'was' when neither of them remember each other," Maria argued. "She's just going on what Nasedo told her, and he's been very clear...oh never mind," she sighed, flopping down in a brand new desk chair. "God, I would love to have your boyfriend. Can I have your boyfriend?"

Liz shrugged. "Seeing as he's not my boyfriend any more...sure. Go ahead."

"No, I mean I want Michael to be like Max," Maria said. "If we could just swap out their views on this one subject, I'd be a happy camper."

"So you want to do a limited personality-ectomy," Liz said dryly. "Good luck with that one. How's the Crashdown getting along without me? Dad says everything's fine, but he would."

"Horrible," Maria grumped. "I'm lonesome. All I've got for company is Agnes, who's out smoking, and Courtney, who's out...well, I don't know what she does when she's out, but she's out a lot. It's just me and Max, drowning our sorrows in Cherry Coke. I can't wait 'till you come back."

"And since when do you drink Cherry Coke?"

Maria raised an eyebrow. "Since I have sorrows to drown?"

"Mmm," Liz murmured, grateful all over again to have a job which didn't put her in the position of seeing Max any more than necessary. "Well, I won't be back any time soon. We worked out a school and weekend schedule for when school starts."

"So you're gonna go straight from school to this?" Maria said doubtfully. "Looks like more of the same. At least waiting tables doesn't involve paper."

"Except order pads," Liz said. "And napkins. And menus. And schedules. And money. And paychecks—"

"Must you be so literal?" Maria demanded. "If you—"

The office door flew open. "Rose!" Congresswoman Whitaker called. "I need you!"

Rose appeared, hastily wiping mayonnaise from her mouth. The two huddled for several minutes, Rose frantically scribbling notes. "I'll get right on it," Rose promised.

"Good," Whitaker said, pausing when she saw the girls. "Parker," she nodded. "Parker's friend."

"Oh...Maria was just delivering lunch," Liz said hastily. "I'm still working."

"Relax, Parker, your resume is impeccable," Whitaker said. "I'm sure you can talk and work at the same time; couldn't pull off that grade point average any other way. Nice to meet you, Maria. Always good to meet a future voter."

She disappeared, leaving Rose fumbling through the phone book. "Is...there anything I can help with?" Liz asked. "I've lived here all my life."

"I'm looking for the address of the coroner's office," Rose answered.

Liz and Maria exchanged glances. "Um...you mean coroner as in...dead bodies?" Liz asked.

Rose glanced at the door Whitaker had just left through before leaning in closer. "Not a body," she said in a low voice. "Bones."

Liz blinked. "Bones?"

"A skeleton," Rose nodded. "Some geologist found it buried out in the middle of the desert."

"Where?" Maria demanded, sitting up straight. "Where in the middle of the desert?"

"Oh, Maria watches way too much late night TV," Liz said quickly when Rose's eyes widened. "This is real life, Maria, not television."

"Right," Rose said, consulting her notes. "Some place called 'Clovis Highway'. 'Old Clovis Highway', actually. Guess it's not a highway any more."

Liz felt Maria stiffen beside her. "Um...the sheriff's office could probably just give you the address without you having to look it up. And directions."

"Good idea," Rose agreed, retreating to their one working phone as Maria slowly shook her head.

"It can't be," she whispered. "It just can't be."

"It must be," Liz murmured. "Who else's bones would be buried in the middle of the desert?"

"Holy crap," Maria said faintly. "We have to tell them."

"Yeah, maybe we should call..." Liz stopped, having been about to say Michael. But Michael wasn't the best one to hand this information to, nor was Isabel.

"Max," Maria said, reaching the same conclusion on her own. "We have to call Max." She paused, looking at Liz's stricken face. "I'll do it," she said quietly. "I'll call him."




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




Proctor residence




Jim Valenti pulled up in front of the old two-story house and shut off the engine, hardly able to believe he was doing this. Was one piece of bad luck all it took to make him cave? Two pieces, he amended. No, three. There had been a serious run of bad luck in the past twenty-four hours, so it could be argued that this didn't count as "caving". Still, perhaps he'd gone soft, what with a summer so quiet it could serve as counterpoint for an exceptionally noisy spring. Roswell had been downright boring this summer with no aliens incidents, alien hunters, or aliens for that matter, him having only occasionally seen any of the kids, including his own—Kyle had spent the summer at football camp, the entire summer this time instead of the usual three weeks. Santa Fe hadn't made a peep about the disposition of "Deputy Fisher", no one had noticed the goings-on at the UFO Center, and Pierce's bones had slumbered beneath the desert sand, his absence unnoticed because he didn't appear to be absent. There were days where he actually forgot—briefly—that aliens were real, that he'd almost lost his son, that they'd hacked and burnt the body of a man hell bent on killing all of them. To have that peace shattered so quickly and spectacularly was jarring to say the least.

"Sheriff!" Anthony Evans exclaimed when he answered the door. "Haven't seen you in a while. Which is a good thing I suppose." He paused. "Don't take that the way it sounded."

"No, it's okay," Valenti smiled. "I get it. Is Dee in?"

"She's out back in the garden," Anthony said. "Is...something wrong?"

Valenti felt his smile wavering. "Ah," Anthony said knowingly. "I see. Come right in."

"You're awfully calm," Valenti noted, stepping inside.

"Practice," Anthony shrugged. "I've been doing this a long time. These things come in waves. Make yourself comfortable; I'll go get Dee."

Valenti wandered through the 1940's era living room and into the 1940's era dining room, marveling at the way time seemed to have stopped what with all the original furniture still here. What had it been like to live here back in '47 when the world turned upside down? What was it like to grow up knowing aliens were real? What was it like to know my father? he thought, asking the truly pressing question. These people had known his father as a young man, had fought with him, hidden from him, conspired with him. His father was still a sore subject in the Valenti household, subsequent visits having found nothing more than a senile old man who remembered none of what had happened when Hubble had been here. His father was getting worse, and the prospects of actually sharing his newfound knowledge with him grew dimmer with each passing day. If only he could...

Valenti stopped, staring at a dark spot on the dining room wall. Was...was that...

"Your eyes do not deceive you," a voice said as he whirled around. "That is indeed a bullet hole."

Dee stood in the doorway, all dirty hands and knees. "How'd it get there?" Valenti asked. "And how'd I miss it when I was over for dinner?"

"You had a few other things on your mind," Dee noted. "It's from my father. He shot an alien. Not the ones we were helping," she clarified. "They'd send a 'hunter' to kill them. They brought it down, but not before it almost killed us. So...how's your summer been, Sheriff?" she went on, as though talking about murderous aliens was par for the course. "Quiet, I hope?"

"Very," Valenti answered. "Until now."

"Yes, well...I'm afraid that's the way it goes," Dee said, nodding regretfully. "Anything I can help with?"

"That's why I'm here," Valenti said uncomfortably, feeling like a small boy looking for his mother. "I could use someone to talk to. They...they found Pierce's bones."

Dee's eyebrows rose. "Oh, my. This calls for a pot of tea. Unless you'd like something stronger. Maybe a lot stronger."

Valenti shook his head. "Tea's good. I need to keep my wits about me."

Thirty minutes later, near the end of both his second cup and his story, Dee shook her head sadly. "What a mess," she said sadly. "Michael's leaving the knife out there just makes it worse. Good thing you thought fast."

"Maybe not fast enough," Valenti said sadly. "It's not over yet."

"Of course it isn't," Dee said. "You have to let this play out, or you'll draw suspicion. You've done exactly the right thing."

"Is this geologist anyone we know?" Anthony asked.

"I honestly think he just stumbled into this," Valenti answered. "Congresswoman Whitaker is another matter. She's looking for trouble, and—"

"What's this?" Dee said sharply. "Vanessa Whitaker?"

"She apparently knew Pierce," Valenti explained. "She's the one he hung out to dry during the hearings, so she's got a bone to pick...no pun intended...and when she heard the coroner going on about some weird kind of radiation, she was off and running. Been on a rampage ever since. I think she wants her credibility back."

"Sounds like she has more than just 'a' bone to pick," Dee commented. "More like a bushel."

"Do bones come in bushels?" Anthony asked.

"Fine, a bouquet," Dee said dryly.

"Think I liked 'bushel' better," Anthony remarked.

Flabbergasted, Valenti looked from one to the other. "You're joking," he said in disbelief. "At a time like this?"

"When you've been at this as long as we have, Sheriff, there are lots of 'times like this'," Anthony said. "You sort of get used to it."

"How long does that take?" Valenti asked ruefully. "Because I could use some of that kind of calm."

"You'll get there," Dee promised. "That's the good news. The bad news is that the only way you get there is by going through things like this enough times that it becomes routine."

"Wonderful," Valenti muttered. "I might get lots of practice. Hanson's eating this up. He's trying to get an arrest warrant to bring in Michael."

"Why would Michael be implicated?" Anthony said. "You made up that report to explain the knife, and I don't see how anyone would think a teenager could have anything to do with weirdly fused bones."

"I don't either," Valenti admitted, "but at this stage of the game, that doesn't matter. We have a death, we have a body, or what's left of it, and we have a suspect near the crime scene. That might be enough until there's more information." His phone rang. "Excuse me a minute," he said, fishing it out of his pocket.

"Let me guess," Dee murmured when he hung up a minute later with a troubled look on his face. "More bad news?"

"Hanson got the warrant," Valenti said. "And now I have to go arrest Michael Guerin."




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




Washington, D.C.




Seriously? Jaddo thought when he saw the number on his Caller ID. He'd heard the lectures about how his Ward wasn't himself, how he couldn't be expected to know how to behave, but these breaches of etiquette were really quite tiring. "I already told you not to call me," he said crossly when he answered the phone, drawing a pout from the female previously hanging on that arm. "I was very specific that only Max—"

"This is Max."

Startled, Jaddo checked the incoming number again; but, of course. Roswell only had a handful of pay phones, the only approved instrument for the hybrids to contact him; it would be impossible to tell who was calling if they all used the same phone. The good news was it wasn't his Ward, who had apparently listened after all. The bad news was...it wasn't his Ward. It would take a great deal more to induce Zan to contact him.

"You were not to call me unless it was an emergency," Jaddo said in a neutral tone.

"This is an emergency," Zan said. "Michael's been arrested. Someone dug up Pierce's bones, and now they think he killed him."

Slowly, Jaddo rose from his bar stool, shaking off the pouting female who had migrated to his other arm and retreating to the shadows. "Who? Who dug them up?"

"Some geologist," Zan answered. "He was doing some kind of survey. Now they say they're fused weird, that they were hit with some kind of radiation."

Wonderful, Jaddo thought darkly. Contrary to the tale he'd spun during the hearings, "cadmium-X", the human name given to the byproduct of their use of their powers, certainly did exist, and the Bureau certainly knew that. The blast Rath had used to kill Pierce had been unpracticed, uncontrolled, massive; he'd probably left behind enough cadmium-X to make a stockpile. To have it surface now was desperately inconvenient.

"I appreciate you letting me know," Jaddo said as he checked his watch; Brivari was on his way back to Roswell, but his flight would not arrive for several hours. "I assume Sheriff Valenti made the arrest?"

"Yeah," Zan said warily. "Why?"

"Because he's on our side," Jaddo answered, "or at least he was last I knew."

"He still is," Zan said, "and he's trying, but this just keeps getting worse. You need to come back."

"I'll be back soon," Jaddo said. "They won't be able to tie Michael to this that quickly. Sit tight."

"That's what I've been saying, but now I'm not so sure. You should come back."

"And I will," Jaddo promised, "but—"

"Look, you're done there," Zan argued. "Come back. Please."

"I said I will," Jaddo answered. "This won't move fast enough to be a problem for at least a few more days—"

"It's already moving faster than it has any right to," Zan insisted. "We need you. Michael needs you. Come back now."

Jaddo stiffened as the full force of his genetic encoding flared, trumping both Brivari's ban and his own desires. There was no getting around it.

"Very well, then," he said heavily. "As you wish."



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


I'll post Chapter 9 on Sunday, June 22.

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!




CHAPTER NINE




September 4, 2000, 9 p.m.

Roswell Sheriff's Station




Streetlights cast long shadows as Isabel paced back and forth beside the jeep, musing on the fact that trouble always came from the direction in which you weren't looking. Though they'd been braced all summer for alien enemies, it was no horde of little green men—or women—currently beating on their door, but the bones of a man several months dead, a man who seemed hell bent on hounding them even in death. Not a single one of the sleepless nights she'd spent this summer had featured this particular problem, nor had a single one of her many nightmares. Pierce's bones were safely buried, the very last thing she'd thought they'd had to fear, behind even their parents finding out their children weren't human or accidental exposure via random cafe shootings. This was just nuts.

"Did you reach Nasedo?" she demanded when Max reappeared.

"Yeah."

"What did he say?"

"He didn't think it was a problem. But he's coming back," Max added when he saw the look on her face. "I told him we needed him to come back."

"Not a problem?" Isabel echoed incredulously. "Michael's in jail! How is that not a problem?"

"Calm down, Iz—"

"Do not tell me to calm down!" Isabel exclaimed. "You buried those bones literally in the middle of nowhere, and someone digs them up? How did that even happen? How did we get here?"

"Looks like spectacularly bad luck," Max answered, "unless that geologist guy is in on it somehow. You talked to him. You tell me."

Isabel sighed and leaned against the jeep. "No. No, he's just...he's just a guy. I didn't get so much as one weird vibe off him."

"Okay, so...when someone finds a skeleton, they investigate, and according to what Valenti told Michael, when they investigated this skeleton, they found something weird," Max said. "And here we are."

"Yeah, here we are," Isabel said acidly. "Why didn't we just shoot him? Nice and simple, nice and human."

"Never thought I'd see the day my sister would be wishing we'd shot somebody," Max said dryly. "We thought he was tied up, remember? We had to improvise."

"Well, we have to improvise now," Isabel insisted. "We can't just leave him in there."

"We have to," Max said. "You know what it's going to look like if he tries to break out. Look, let's just go talk to him," he went on soothingly. "I know what Valenti told me; let's see what Michael knows before we storm the Bastille and make things worse."

"They can get worse?" Isabel muttered.

The look Max gave her was enough to pull her up short. Of course they can get worse, she thought, having seen "worse" last May, having seen the after effects of "worse" every single day since. It had taken Max weeks to recover from his incarceration, but nothing like that would happen to Michael, at least not while he was in Valenti's custody. "Fine," she said heavily. "We'll talk. I'll behave," she added when Max gave her a skeptical look. "I promise."

"Good," Max said.

"For the moment," Isabel amended.

"Iz—"

"That's as good as it gets," Isabel said crossly. "Let's go before I change my mind."

Max hesitated before apparently accepting that as the best he could get, a wise move under the circumstances. The station was largely empty at this time of night, and the familiar deputy at the front desk merely glanced at them as they approached. "Help you folks?"

"Yeah, we're here to see Michael Guerin," Max said.

The deputy paused, looking them up and down. "Max and Isabel Evans, right?"

Max and Isabel exchanged glances. "Yes."

"Uh huh," the deputy said doubtfully. "So...you're not family."

Isabel blinked. " 'Family'? Michael doesn't have any real 'family'. We're all the family he has."

"Sorry, kids," the deputy said briskly. "Visitors are restricted to immediate family."

Isabel arched an eyebrow. "When did we change from 'folks' to 'kids'?"

"We'd really appreciate it if we could see him," Max said, giving her a warning glance. "Like Isabel said, Michael doesn't have any immediate family. He's an orphan."

"Be that as it may, rules are rules," the deputy said. "Sorry about that."

"No you're not."

The statement was cold, flat, and came out unbidden, but Isabel wasn't the least bit sorry when the deputy's expression took on a distinct air of frost. "Excuse me?"

"I said, no, you're not," Isabel repeated. "You don't look the least bit sorry. On the contrary, you look glad. Satisfied. Even smug."

Max's eyes went round as the deputy's narrowed. "Perhaps it's time for you to move along, Miss."

"What is this, an intensive care ward?" Isabel demanded. "Since when do jails have 'immediate family' policies?"

"You ever been in jail, Miss? I thought not," the deputy noted when she didn't answer. "Then how would you know what policies jails have?"

"You can't just lock someone up and refuse them visitors!" Isabel exclaimed. "Michael's just a kid, just a high school student! He's not even 18! Don't you have to call someone, or tell someone, or something?"

"Well, that's the thing, isn't it?" the deputy replied, sounding even more smug. "Your Mr. Guerin may be under age, but he's an emancipated minor, meaning there's no one we have to call."

"But he still has rights," Isabel argued.

"That he does," the deputy agreed. "He got his one phone call, and—"

"And he called me," Max broke in. "Because we're his family."

"In name only," the deputy said. "Maybe he should have thought of this before he went and got emancipated. Excuse me."

"No!" Isabel exclaimed. "You are not excused. I...I think we should call Dad," she said to Max, suddenly having an idea. "He handled Michael's emancipation, and Michael will be needing a lawyer. You know our father, right?" she asked the deputy sweetly. "Philip Evans?"

The deputy's bravado faltered. "Uh...yeah. Might have heard of him."

"Max, get Dad on the phone," Isabel ordered.

"Um...Iz?" Max whispered. "That might not be—"

"Get Dad on the phone," Isabel insisted, eager to take advantage of the deputy's nervousness. "I'd really like to know what he has to say about this 'immediate family' nonsense."

"Hanson?"

The deputy bounded out of his chair as Valenti appeared, eyeing them warily. "Sheriff! I...didn't know you were here."

"I work here," Valenti deadpanned. "Everything okay?"

"No, everything is most certainly not okay," Isabel said tartly. "This deputy claims we can't visit Michael because we're not 'immediate family', even though we explained that Michael doesn't have any immediate family and that we are his immediate family—"

Isabel stopped as Valenti held up a hand and cast a skeptical eye on his deputy. "Hanson? What's this all about?"

"I...well...we don't usually allow just anyone to visit prisoners," Hanson stammered, flushing.

"We don't usually have prisoners," Valenti said pointedly.

"No, but...it's counsel or immediate family," Hanson said stubbornly. "Those are the rules."

Valenti raised an eyebrow. "C'mon, Hanson. You know Guerin's situation. Do you really think law enforcement will fall apart if we expand the definition of 'family' just a titch?"

"And we're not 'just anyone'," Max added. "Michael used his one phone call to call me. And here I am."

"I still say we should get Dad down here," Isabel said staunchly, looking daggers at the red-faced deputy. "Sounds like Michael could use a lawyer sooner rather than later."

"That won't be necessary. Come on back," Valenti said, waving them on. "I'll take you to see him. And as for you," he added to the chagrined Hanson, "we'll talk later about what we 'usually' do with prisoners."

"Yes, sir," Hanson said meekly.

They followed Valenti into the back. "What is it with Mr. Law and Order?" Isabel hissed when they were only barely out of earshot. "I'd swear he's enjoying this!"

"He is," Valenti confirmed, "but only because we don't get much real police work down this way. It's nothing personal. So don't take it that way," he added when he saw she was working up a head of steam. "Hanson's not your biggest problem, believe me."

"What is?" Max asked.

Valenti's eyes drifted right, then left, but they were alone in the corridor. "The coroner found something odd about Pierce's bones. They were fused together in a way that he said could only be caused by a burst of radiation."

"Radiation?" Isabel whispered.

"From our powers," Max said faintly.

"That's what I thought," Valenti nodded. "It might have ended there with a big fat question mark, but Congresswoman Whitaker has her nose in it."

"Wait...the one on TV?" Isabel asked. "The one Nasedo..."

"Made a fool out of?" Valenti finished. "That's the one. I have a hunch she's looking to prove her 'cadmium X' is real."

"So if they find it on Pierce's bones, we're screwed," Max said.

"Exactly," Valenti said. "And if they find it, she doesn't look the fool anymore. That's a powerful motivator. She's the one who insisted we arrest Michael, and she's working directly with the FBI."

"Who knows cadmium X is real," Isabel said, panic rising like fog. "Oh, God, Max, we've got to get Michael out of here before—"

"No," Valenti broke in firmly. "That's the last thing you should do. He needs to sit there and look innocent, and you need to help him do that. No needling deputies, no jailbreaks. And no calling your father, at least not yet."

"But Michael needs a lawyer," Isabel protested, "and who better than Dad?"

"If he needs one, I agree," Valenti said. "But let's work on this first. The whole thing is so incredible, we might be able to waylay it somehow without dragging your father into this."

"But—"

"No, Iz," Max said. "If Dad gets involved, he'll see too much."

"But Michael's the one in jail, not us," Isabel argued.

"He'll figure it out," Max said. "You know Dad; he's smart. And once he gets a whiff, there'll be no stopping him."

"Max is right," Valenti agreed. "From what I know of your father, I wouldn't call him in unless you're willing to have him learn the truth because that's what's likely to happen. Still want to call him?"

Isabel stiffened as both of them looked at her. "Uh...no. Not just yet. Let's see how things go. Although I don't see how they're going to get better if we've got a nosy Congresswoman with a chip on her shoulder in the mix now."

"Nasedo's coming back tomorrow," Max said. "Maybe he'll have some ideas."

"Yeah, like killing people," Isabel muttered.

"Hope not," Valenti said. "The last thing we need is more bodies." He gestured down the hall. "This way."

Jail cells, Isabel thought distastefully as the sheriff led them into the back. The mere thought of being locked up in here was alarming; seeing someone she loved behind a set of those bars was even more so. "Michael," she breathed, grasping the bars with both hands as though it were her inside. "Are you all right?"

"I'm good," Michael said quickly. "I'm okay."

"Take your time," Valenti said, unlocking the door. "I'll be around when you're done."

Isabel didn't look as the door closed behind them and the key turned in the lock, but the sound was enough to turn her stomach. "What happened?" she asked Michael. "What did you hear?"

"Not much," Michael shrugged. "Valenti came to my door, read me my rights, whispered a few things in my ear, and...here I am. That's pretty much it."

"You called Nasedo," Max said.

"Yeah, I did," Michael answered. "So?"

"So you weren't supposed to call him unless I told you to," Max said.

"Max, now?" Isabel said incredulously. "You're really going to do this now?"

"He told you?" Michael asked, ignoring her.

"Not exactly," Max allowed. "He just answered his phone with, 'I already told you not to call me'."

"Wait," Michael said. "You called him?"

"Yes, Michael, I called him because I decided that you being arrested was a good reason to call him."

"So I just didn't wait for a big enough emergency," Michael said dryly. "Guess I should be glad I qualify as an emergency."

"Okay, enough with the pissing match," Isabel said crossly. "We've got bigger problems than who can spray the wall from ten feet."

Michael snorted softly. "Seriously? I could do twenty without trying hard."

"Michael!"

"Relax, Isabel, I'm teasing," Michael said. "Maybe I've had a while to sit here and think about all our 'bigger problems'. Maybe I just wanted to take a break for ten seconds. So shoot me."

"Don't even joke about that," Isabel admonished. "Just don't."

"Valenti said the 'something weird' they found on the bones is some kind of fusing that can only be caused by radiation," Max said.

"Radiation?" Michael said. "Is that what we're shooting out when we...shoot? That rots."

"That Congresswoman who was talking about 'cadmium X' during the Special Unit hearings is here in town," Max went on, "and Valenti thinks she's trying to prove cadmium X is real to salvage her career. He thinks she's going to push this."

"That must have been the chick with the flinty eyes who was with him when he arrested me," Michael sighed. "Great."

"Yeah, it is great," Max agreed, "because now I know where to go next—Liz."

"Not now, Maxwell," Michael said wearily. "This is no time for whining about Liz."

"I'm not whining," Max objected. "Liz just got a job as an intern for Whitaker. She may be able to find out something for us."

"What makes you think she'd do that?" Michael asked.

"Yeah, I heard she blew you off," Isabel noted.

A flicker of pain crossed Max's face. "She might not do it for me," he allowed. "But I think I know someone she would do it for."




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




Crashdown Cafe






Pens, Liz thought happily, setting two packages aside. Pencils, some mechanical, some not because she couldn't decide which was better—a freshly sharpened pencil or one that never went dull. Six notebooks with matching folders, half a dozen packs of college-ruled paper, new binders with unbroken spines, unwritten-on dividers...the list of brand new, fresh smelling school supplies went on and on. She'd spent an entire day unpacking brand new office supplies, so to have brand new school supplies mere hours later was sheer heaven. This was her favorite time of year, and this year it bore a special significance for the simple reason that she was still alive. After everything that had happened to her, she was still here to open fresh packs of paper and carefully write her name in untouched folders. After everything that had happened to her, she had a new appreciation for just how precious the ordinary things in life really were.

"A skeleton. Some geologist found it buried out in the middle of the desert."

Stop, Liz told herself severely as the latest alien crisis forced its way into her thoughts once more. This was not her doing. This was not her responsibility. This was not her problem to fix. She had fulfilled any responsibility by reporting it...albeit by proxy, as Maria had reported it...and that was the end of it. After all, one of the upsides to not being with Max was that his problems were no longer her problems; now they were Tess's problems, and Tess had certainly proved herself up to the task of helping him solve them, not to mention eager for the job. Which was just fine with her because that meant she could get back to normal things like school, and work, and girls' night out, and anything that didn't involve almost getting killed or watching people you love get killed...

KnockKnock. "Liz? It's Maria."

"Come on in," Liz called. "And hold your nose."

"Why?" Maria asked as the door opened, only to clamp her hand over her face. "Phew! Lord Almighty, it smells like an Office Max in here!"

"I know," Liz smiled. "Isn't it wonderful?"

" 'Wonderful' is not the word I'd use," Maria noted, throwing the windows open. "What, did you close these to keep it inside?"

"No, I closed them because it was raining earlier," Liz said. "I didn't want all my brand new paper getting wet."

"Suppose that's better than trying to get high off all the glue," Maria said doubtfully, nudging a speckled black and white composition book with her toe. "Why do they still make us buy these, anyway? We've used them since grade school, and there's enough glue on the binding to hold the Picts and the Scots together."

"Wow! Who was listening in Social Studies?" Liz teased. "And they glue them like that precisely because little kids use them, and why shouldn't we use them too? It's kind of nostalgic to buy those every year; it reminds me of when we were little and crayons were always on the school list."

"History is always more memorable when people are trying to kill each other, and crayons smelled better," Maria sniffed. "Most things smell better."

"Well, don't let me keep you," Liz said. "I'd hate to see you get busted for drugs when all you were doing was sniffing my notebooks."

Maria's eyes dropped. "I didn't come here to inhale. I came here with a request...from Max."

Liz kept her eyes on the shiny refills of Scotch tape. "Max? What does he want?"

"They arrested Michael," Maria said. "He's in Valenti's jail now."

Liz's mouth fell open. "What? Why? Did they ID the bones? Did they—"

"No, no, they don't know who it is," Maria broke in. "But I guess they found a knife Michael left out there when...you know...and that's how he got dragged into this. And now the coroner says that the bones are melted together weird—"

"Bones don't melt," Liz said.

"So I hear," Maria sighed. "Okay, 'fused' together, pick your word, but the point is that the coroner claims that can only happen if there's a blast of radiation. So that made everyone all suspicious—"

"Radiation?" Liz said, puzzled. "Is that what comes out when they...when they..."

"Maybe," Maria allowed. "Maybe it's like a hundred x-rays all at once, just without the cute doctors. Anyway, Max said that Valenti said that your Congresswoman Whitaker is rarin' to go on this because she's pissed that Pierce made a fool out of her during the hearings. He says she wants to prove this 'cadmium-X' is real, and she's not gonna let this one go."

Liz slowly sat down on the bed. "Okay, so...what's this 'request'?"

Maria hesitated. "Max wants to know if you'll help figure out what Whitaker's up to. So we can get Michael out of jail!" she added when Liz's eyes flared. "That's the goal here, to get Michael out of jail."

"Seriously?" Liz said. "I just started working for her—just started—and already they want me to spy on her?"

"Not 'spy', not exactly," Maria argued. "Just tell us what you hear. Like we did today when we heard about the bones."

"I don't believe this," Liz said incredulously. "This always happens! I've been home all of two days, and already I'm falling face first in yet another pile of—"

"Liz!" Maria exclaimed. "Stop dramatizing! Nothing...I mean nothing...has happened all summer. Zip! Zilch! Nada! This is the first time anything even remotely alien has happened since—"

"Since I left," Liz finished. "So, what, you're saying I bring this with me? I attract trouble?"

"No!" Maria exclaimed. "That isn't what I'm saying at all! Geez, Louise, girlfriend, first drama, now paranoia."

"It's not paranoia if it's actually happening," Liz argued. "And this is actually happening. You're actually asking me to spy on my employer."

Maria stared at her for a moment in consternation. "Liz, Michael is in jail. You know, 'jail'? The big room with the bars that they lock you inside of, and you have to pee in front of everyone like a wino?"

"I know what jail looks like, Maria. I was there with Alex, remember? And it's a little room, but who's measuring."

"My point," Maria said sternly, "is that if they manage to find anything on those bones, or even think they find anything on those bones, they're going to go after Michael. And since we just went through this, we know what they'd do to him. We can't let that happen."

Liz sat on the bed clutching one of her brand new notebooks to her chest like it was armor. Not again. Her whole body had tensed, her heart was beating rapidly, her fingers clenching and unclenching on the spine of the notebook, bending the perfect spiral. All that worry, all that fear...she hadn't missed that this summer. She hadn't welcomed it when it had briefly reared its ugly head earlier today, hadn't minded it subsiding when Maria had volunteered to call Max. Job done. Obligation fulfilled. Case closed. Guess not.

"Maria," she said slowly, "I can't...I just can't get involved in this again."

"You're not 'getting involved', you're just passing along what you hear," Maria insisted. " 'Getting involved' would mean doing something about it, and you won't be. You won't even know what we're doing about it."

"I hate to break it to you, but that's still 'getting involved'," Liz said. "Maybe not as 'involved' as before, but still involved. I'm done with that."

"You can't be 'done with that'," Maria objected. "This is Michael's life we're talking about!"

"And I'm sure you'll all figure it out," Liz said. "You've got Valenti now, and Max has Tess—"

"This has nothing—nothing—to do with Tess," Maria said sharply, "or Max and Tess, or you and Max, or Max and Mommy, or any other combination. This has to do with Michael, our Michael, my Michael, even if he doesn't think so. We have to help him."

"So help him," Liz said. "Just leave me out of it."

"We can't 'leave you out of it'!" Maria exclaimed. "You work for Whitaker, you know, the one who's trying to fricassee Michael? You're the only one who can do this!"

Liz swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I just can't."

Maria's eyes narrowed. "What's gotten into you? The Liz Parker I know doesn't treat friends this way. They're all still our friends, right? Max is still your friend, right? You're not wishing him back inside that white room, are you?"

"No!" Liz exclaimed. "Of course not!"

"And Michael never did anything to you that would make him deserve to be abandoned now—"

"I'm not 'abandoning' anyone," Liz argued. "He's not my responsibility."

"They're all our responsibility," Maria said firmly. "It's our responsibility—yours, mine, Alex's, Kyle's, Valenti's—to fight any human who tries to hurt them just because they exist. Everyone else is doing their part. What's your problem?"

"Kyle's not home yet," Liz noted.

Maria stared at her so long that Liz began to squirm, her fingers working up and down the now crushed spiral of the now not-so-new notebook. The clock ticked. Downstairs, the Crashdown's door dingled once, twice.

"Okay," Maria said, her voice a study in barely controlled rage. "I get it. You didn't get what you wanted, and punishing Max isn't enough; now you're punishing everyone within reach."

"What? No!" Liz exclaimed. "I'm not—"

"Selfish?" Maria finished as Liz blanched. "You know, suddenly Isabel's making sense."

Liz recoiled as though she'd been physically struck. "How can you say that?" she whispered. "You know what Max and I went through when we ran from the Unit."

"So, what, that gets you off the hook forever?" Maria demanded. "That absolves you from any and all responsibility to do what you can to prevent something like that from ever happening again? Because I don't think it does." She paused. "You may not want to be 'involved', Liz, but you're 'involved' whether you like it or not. You're involved because you know. And since you know, if you do nothing to prevent what we both know will happen if we don't stop this, it's almost as bad as if you're doing it yourself. Maybe not even 'almost'."

Maria stood up. "Thanks for nothing. And if you should see my friend Liz Parker, tell her to give me a call. I miss her."





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




UFO Center





It was after midnight when Brivari approached the UFO Center, having headed there immediately after arriving at the airport. He'd just pulled the car over when his cellphone pinged as queued up messages began filing in. When he saw who had sent them, he started with the second one.

It's me. I'm coming back to Roswell, but not by choice. The King ordered me there, and with good reason—we have a problem. You can try calling me when you get this, but if I don't answer, I'm already on a plane. Please, please don't do anything stupid like revealing yourself to the king. At least wait until I fill you in.

Wonderful, Brivari thought. He'd been gone a mere forty-eight hours, so of course all hell was breaking loose, and it must be some hell to cause Zan to pull "Nasedo" back in; which hell exactly was answered by the first message, which he pulled up when Jaddo didn't pick up his phone.

Brivari, it's Dee, Dee's worried voice said. Valenti was just here...

Five minutes later, Brivari pocketed his phone with a heavy sigh. While it was nice to be right, being right all the time lost its luster, as it had long ago concerning Jaddo. His rebuke of Vanessa Whitaker had—predictably—sent her on the warpath, a path which led straight to Roswell. That it also lead straight to Jaddo's Ward's door might have been classified under "sweet justice" if it weren't so problematic. Evading humans was relatively easy at this point; evading an Argilian soldier was another matter entirely. Idiot, he thought sourly as he climbed out of the car. Leave it to Jaddo to take three months of unparalleled success and screw them up with one petty gesture.

There were no lights on outside the museum as he approached, but of course he didn't need any to see well in the dark. Nor did he need any to read the sheet of paper taped to the door, the invoice he'd scribbled on in Antarian having had another note added, also in Antarian. Really, Brivari, scolded the scrawl right next to his threat to execute the host, I already outlined how difficult it was to find a host. Are we getting twitchy in our old age?

Brivari smiled faintly, but the smile faded quickly. The humor was Larak's, but it proved nothing; anyone who knew him could have written that or instructed someone else to. Slipping the invoice in his pocket, he tried the door; it was unlocked, and the lights were on inside. He was expected.

Five minutes later, after a thorough search of the premises revealed no one else present, he approached the host, who was seated in full view reading a newspaper. "Incredible," the host remarked, not even looking up. "All this fuss over the state of Vermont legalizing 'civil unions'. Is human sexuality really still that tied to gender?"

"Gender, race, class, you name it," Brivari answered. "It's one of their biggest taboos."

"And one of their biggest interests," the host murmured. "You're late, by the way."

"I was having a look 'round," Brivari noted.

"So you know I'm alone," the host said, folding up the newspaper. "And here as requested, although 'requested' might be too ambitious a word for the death threat you scrawled on that invoice. Thank goodness my host can't read Antarian. He's had enough problems of late."

"You mean since you came into his life?" Brivari said.

The host's eyes dropped. "Unfortunately, yes. That's exactly what I mean. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I obviously read your note. Where does this leave us?"

"Not much of anywhere, I'm afraid," Brivari answered, pulling the invoice from his pocket. "Someone else could have read it for you. Got a pen?"

The host smiled faintly, but nodded toward a "Comment Card" display nearby complete with pens. "Harmless," the host allowed when Brivari handed him a list of instructions. "I was afraid you were going to order me to strip naked and run down Main Street, a bit awkward even at this hour." He walked over to the "Comments" display and rearranged it per the instructions, after which Brivari wrote another set of instructions in a different language.

"So you're personally fluent in at least two languages," Brivari observed when the host finished the second rearrangement. "On to the next question."

"I'd like to ask this one."

Startled, Brivari whirled around. "Well, well!" the host said as Courtney stepped from the shadows, holding up her shirt behind her and briefly revealing the seal on her husk. "A party, is it?"

"It is not!" Brivari said crossly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Same thing you are," Courtney said, pointing to the host. "Looking for him."



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


I'll post Chapter 10 on Sunday, July 6.

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello to everyone reading!






CHAPTER TEN



September 5, 12:05 a.m.

UFO Center, Roswell





Courtney waited patiently as two people stared at her, one with interest, the other fury. True, she hadn't been invited to this particular get-together. But having seen the date and time scribbled in Antarian on the new museum owner's invoice with him completely unaware, she just couldn't stay away. She hadn't spoken to anyone from home in years, so the chance to do so now was a chance she wasn't willing to pass up even if it did mean pissing off a Royal Warder, not to mention a Royal Warder who had strongly hinted he planned to save her life. Actually she'd only been planning to eavesdrop, but that had all gone out the window when she'd heard the transfer speak. She'd met several transfers and two things were clear, the first being that this was a transfer; only someone fluent in whatever languages Brivari had used could have followed his intricate instructions about how to rearrange the comment cards. The second was that this was no ordinary messenger—he and Brivari had history. That alone made it worth any temporary angst her presence might cause.

"So," Courtney said finally, "does this quality as a Mexican stand-off?"

"Couldn't say," the transfer allowed, "although I'm fairly certain none of us qualifies as a Mexican. Is that a species?"

"Nationality," Courtney corrected. "You new at this?"

"Not even remotely," the transfer sighed, "but I don't get out much. Given that he hasn't killed you yet, I'm guessing you're Resistance?"

"You're guessing right," Courtney said. "Which planet are you from?"

"Will you drop the chitchat and answer my question?" Brivari broke in furiously. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Don't mind him," Courtney advised the transfer. "He's just pissed because he missed me."

"I did not 'miss you'," Brivari huffed. "Obviously you arrived after my sweep."

"Wrong-O, Warder Boy," Courtney grinned. "You missed me. Or was that someone else who spent all that time sniffing around the potties?"

If Warders could blush, this one did. "Stalls must be checked," he said tartly. "Clearly I didn't check thoroughly enough."

"Nah, you did," Courtney said breezily. "I wasn't in the bathroom."

"Then where were you?" Brivari demanded.

"So you did miss me! Tsk Tsk," Courtney teased, waving a finger. "Bad Warder! Missing a hidden Argilian won't look good on your performance review."

"I don't have 'performance reviews'," Brivari retorted.

"Oh. Sorry," Courtney shrugged. "I had mine recently, so they're on my mind. Do you lose fewer points because you missed an ally instead of an enemy?"

"Are you finished?" Brivari demanded.

"Heck, no!" Courtney crowed. "I ditched you! Ditched you! Do you have any idea how hard that is? I had to stop breathing for, like, minutes! No way did I think it was gonna work, and I'm still not sure why it did."

"Nor am I," Brivari muttered.

"You could practice," the transfer suggested. "She could hide, and you could try to find her...what do the humans call it? Hide and Seek?"

"Do you mind?" Brivari thundered.

Far from being frightened by an angry Royal Warder, the transfer actually smiled. "Someone's grumpy," he remarked casually to Courtney. "But I suppose we've had our fun. Sorry," he added to Brivari. "Well, not completely, but..."

The sentence trailed off as the transfer smiled, Brivari scowled, and Courtney stared at him in shock. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"Ladies first," the transfer said.

"No, transfers first," Courtney said firmly. "That's the way it works. If you've been around as long as you say you have, you should know that."

"As I mentioned, I don't get out much," the transfer said. "This is the first time I've had to identify to anyone, so I'm a bit behind on the etiquette."

"The first time?" Courtney said in surprise. "Okay, you identify first because you're the one wearing a human body."

"And you're the one wearing a human skin," the transfer replied. "I'd call us even."

Courtney shook her head. "Wrong. Brivari and I already know each other."

"More's the pity," Brivari muttered.

"No, seriously, who are you?" Courtney persisted. "No one needles a Royal Warder."

"You just did," the transfer noted.

"And you have no idea how long it took me to get there," Courtney said.

"Not long enough, apparently," Brivari said sourly.

"The only other person who can do that is Dee," Courtney continued, ignoring him, "and the first time she did, I was positive you were going to kill her."

"The first time she did that, she was only 8," Brivari said, "and we needed her. Not to mention that executing a child seemed..."

"Childish?" suggested the transfer.

"See, there it is again!" Courtney exclaimed. "Seriously, who are you?"

"I still don't know who you are," the transfer pointed out.

Courtney smiled faintly. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

The transfer burst out laughing, proof that he'd picked up at least a few human idioms even if he didn't get out much. "Shall we put her out of her misery?" he asked Brivari, who was still sulking.

"No," Brivari said darkly. "I'm enjoying her misery."

"Then perhaps you'd put me out of mine," the transfer said. "Unless you're still deciding if I am who I say I am."

"If you're still not convinced he's not wearing a husk, I can tell you he's not," Courtney said. "I know you already checked, and the seal is only ever in one place. We tried putting them in dozens of different places—the armpit, the mouth, body cavities—"

"Awkward," murmured the transfer.

"—but it never worked. If it's not where mine is, he's legit."

"Thank you," the transfer said. "Brivari?"

"I'd already decided," Brivari said irritably, giving her an annoyed look. "I just didn't want to be rushed." He paused. "This is Courtney, the current leader of the Resistance, having risen to the position after her father died."

The mood in the room turned suddenly serious, all teasing gone. "Oh, my," the transfer said soberly. "My condolences for your loss."

"Thank you," Courtney said quietly. "It was a long time ago."

The transfer shook his head. "Doesn't matter. One never really recovers from a loss like that, does one?"

"No," Courtney agreed. "They don't. And once again, you don't sound like the typical messenger boy."

"Because he's not," Brivari said sharply. "Have a little respect."

"Respect for who?" Courtney demanded. "He knows who I am. Who is this?"

"Larak," the transfer said with a slight bow, "at your service."

Courtney's mouth fell open. "Larak?" she repeated incredulously. "You mean...you mean the Larak?"

"Of course, 'the' Larak," Brivari said crossly. "Who else would he mean?"

"Is there more than one?" Larak asked dryly.

Courtney stared at him in shock. Larak was the leader of Kerona, one of Antar's four sister planets, the equivalent of its king although he used a different title. To have him show up here, in the pokey little UFO Museum, was like finding the President of the United States cleaning public toilets. Not to mention...

"Are you crazy?" Courtney exclaimed. "You must be crazy! How long have you been doing this? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"

"Calm down," Brivari ordered.

"Let's see...in order, that would be 'no', 'not', 'about 25 years', and 'hell, yes'," Larak answered.

"I know how this works," Courtney persisted. "You're defenseless. Your body is—"

"Quite safe," Larak broke in, "because, you see, I know how this works."

"He has the resources to ensure his safety," Brivari said.

"So did the others, supposedly," Courtney scoffed. "They were all 'protected' by their sponsors, or so they thought before they were killed mid-transfer."

"Yes, well, the quality of protection always rises when one is protecting oneself, doesn't it?" Larak said. "And the biggest factor protecting me is the reaction you just had, which would be the same reaction anyone wishing to assassinate me would have—it's so very unlikely that I would transfer myself instead of sending an envoy that most wouldn't even consider the possibility. The list of those who know I do this is so small that finding a traitor, should there be one, would not be problematic. Keeps people honest."

"How so?" Courtney demanded. "If the list is so small, it wouldn't be 'problematic' for said traitor to kill the rest of those on the list, and you'd still wind up dead."

Larak looked at Brivari. "She's good," he observed.

"One of the many reasons I put up with her," Brivari answered.

"Allow me to expand your list," Courtney retorted. "While you were off gallivanting in Washington—"

"You 'gallivant'?" Larak said innocently.

"—Vanessa showed up," Courtney went on as Brivari scowled at Larak. "She—"

"I heard," Brivari broke in, "about finding Pierce's body and the resulting drama. A human alien hunter," he added to Larak. "Briefly got his hands on the king, but now dead."

"A dead alien hunter," Larak remarked. "The best kind."

"Yeah, well, he's plenty dangerous even dead," Courtney said. "The sheriff is digging up the bones, and I followed Rath out to the excavation site—"

"Relax," Brivari said. "We'll get him out of jail—"

"Rath is in jail?" Courtney said in astonishment. "They put him in jail over that knife?"

"No, they put him in jail because they found radioactive changes to Pierce's bones," Brivari corrected. "We'll sort it out; I promise."

"It gets worse," Courtney said. "Vanessa's here, as in here here. As in moving to town and setting up an office."

Brivari paused. "She set up an office?"

"Yes!" Courtney exclaimed. "Right down the street from the Crashdown! I can't go to work because I can't let her see me."

"That won't fly," Brivari said. "You have to go back to work. Change your appearance, maybe a different hairstyle or eye color—"

"And you think that will fly?" Courtney said incredulously. "With Vanessa? Don't you get it—she knows something! Nothing else would induce her to up stakes and plop down in Warder Land. She'd have to have pretty compelling information to take that kind of risk, and if I were you, I'd be losing sleep over what that information is. Hell, I'm not you, and I'm still losing sleep over it."

"Is this 'Vanessa' who I think it is?" Larak asked. "As in Athenor's paramour?"

"The same," Brivari said darkly. "He goes by 'Nicholas' here."

"I heard," Larak said. "Child's husk, sexual organs disabled...inventive. I had to give Khivar credit for that particular bit of discipline. But I agree with Courtney. If Vanessa has established a presence here, she's much too close to something, probably identifying the Royal Four."

"Or Jaddo," Brivari said. "Jaddo has been impersonating that dead alien hunter. And Pierce and Vanessa were lovers."

Larak's eyebrows rose. "Interesting. And how was that working?"

"Just fine, until he got it in his head to make a fool of her," Brivari sighed. "I told him not to do it. I told him it would backfire."

"As I recall, he wasn't much of one for conversation," Larak remarked. "If she's sussed him out, he's in trouble."

"I don't think she knows where he is," Courtney said. "It's all over the news that 'Pierce' pretty much disappeared after the hearings."

"He did," Brivari said heavily. "But Zan was sufficiently alarmed by Rath's imprisonment to order Jaddo back to Roswell, and because it was an order, he couldn't refuse. He'll be here tomorrow."

Courtney sank wearily into a chair. "Shit."




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





Congresswoman Whitaker's Office,

Roswell




"Pretty exciting day, huh?" Rose said, plopping yet another stack of papers on the desk. "Bones, and coroners, and sheriffs, oh my!"

"Yeah," Vanessa agreed tonelessly. "Oh my." She paused. "How's the new intern working out?"

"Great!" Rose exclaimed. "Smart, dependable, hard-working—maybe a little too hard-working, but hey, better to lean that way than the other."

"She had a friend here today?"

"That wasn't what it looked like," Rose said. "That was a waitress from the Crashdown delivering my lunch, and Liz knew her. Her parents own the diner, and she worked there herself before she started here."

Vanessa's fingers tapped on the desk blotter. "So no teenage confabs? Anyone else come visit? Maybe a boyfriend?"

Rose shook her head. "Nope. No one."

"Mmm."

"Is there...something I should know?" Rose asked. "Some problem with Parker—"

"No," Vanessa said quickly. "You know how teens can be sometimes. Flighty. Social. Inappropriate."

"This one's none of those," Rose declared. "She's better than some adults I've worked with. Maybe most."

"Good to know," Vanessa smiled. "Go home, Rose. You must be tired."

"You must be too," Rose said. "And besides, what's the rush to go 'home' to a hotel room?"

"I hear you," Vanessa allowed, "but we're no good to anyone if we fall face first onto our desks. Get some sleep. We'll need to be sharp for tomorrow."

Vanessa waited until Rose's car had pulled away from the curb before retrieving the bottle of whiskey she kept in a desk drawer and pouring herself a drink. What the hell was she doing here? Why was she drinking alone in a dark, messy office, chasing a phantom which may not be there? Because I'm pissed, she thought darkly, swirling the whiskey in her glass. Because I was had. Because I was used. Because...

Her phone rang. Because I need redemption, she thought, groaning when she saw the number. She'd managed to put this off so far, but she couldn't put it off forever. "I'm here," she sighed into the phone.

"You're also dodging," Nicholas' petulant voice said.

"I'm not dodging, I'm busy."

"Yeah, busy setting up an office in the middle of nowhere."

"Roswell is hardly the 'middle of nowhere'," Vanessa countered. "And I'm renowned for my pop-up offices. It's my trademark, and a useful way to cover moving to an area of interest."

"We've already been 'interested'," Nicholas snapped. "And then we got uninterested when they left. No way would they have stayed after activating a communicator. Explain to me why Roswell's suddenly interesting in the wake of your public humiliation."

"Roswell is interesting because of my 'public humiliation'," Vanessa argued. "I learned—"

"He used you," Nicholas interrupted bluntly. " 'I've got this', you said. 'He's starting to trust me', you said. 'We're finally getting somewhere', you said. So much for that."

"If you'd just let me finish—"

"You've been fucking this guy for years, and you still haven't a thing to show for it! I'm thinking this whole thing needs a fresh pair of eyes."

"No!" Vanessa exclaimed. "This is my gig! And I was getting somewhere, and something derailed me. Someone got to him. Now I need to find out who."

"Seriously? Vanessa, sweetie, I've got a little secret for you," Nicholas said. "Men are pigs, on every planet; I should know. And that's how I know this one played you like a fiddle. Jesus, do I have to tell you everything?"

"Think about it," Vanessa ordered. "Why would he want me to bring up cadmium-X when he was planning on denying its existence? He shot himself in the foot, Nicholas. He committed suicide. And why would he do that? Because he wants to go underground, that's why. He'll never be allowed back inside a Bureau Unit, so the only way to maintain control of it was to kill it and start another. Jesus, do I have to tell you everything?"

"Is that what he told you?" Nicholas chortled. "And you bought it? My God, you really do believe anything you hear!"

"No, his closest associate told me," Vanessa retorted. "Don't you get it? I'm in! Once he emerges...and I whup his ass for hanging me out to dry...I'll have access to any new Unit he starts, and—"

"And nothing," Nicholas declared. "He played you. I don't care what he told you, or his lackey told you, or your horoscope told you—he played you. I'm a champion player, and I know played when I see it. Come home."

"I'm not going anywhere," Vanessa declared. "I started this, and I'm going to finish it. This was the last place Daniel was before the shit hit the fan and something happened here, something which changed him. I'm going to find out what."

"This sounds like a bad soap opera," Nicholas muttered.

"Not to mention that some geologist just found a skeleton buried in the desert belonging to someone who was obviously killed by a Warder," Vanessa added, playing her trump card. "Or a hybrid."

There was a pause. "Was this recent?"

"Don't know yet," Vanessa answered. "But I'd like to. Wouldn't you?"

Another pause, longer this time. "Find out," Nicholas ordered, as though it was his idea. "And don't get too comfy there. We're not spending one more iota of our resources chasing Danny Boy, no matter how much you like fucking him."

The line went dead. Vanessa let out a long, slow breath as she tossed her phone on the desk and took a deep gulp of whiskey. It was no use going into that other development, that tidbit dropped by Agent Samuels about the miraculously healed waitress. If Nicholas thought she was nuts now, what would he think if she told him she was entertaining the notion that the hybrids were not only here, but teenagers? It sounded preposterous, but that neatly explained why so many years had passed without a peep from them. It even explained the signal last spring; no Warder would be foolish enough to activate a communicator where they could intercept it, but a wandering hybrid would. She'd observed the kid Valenti had just arrested with great interest, but he was little more than a common hood, hardly hybrid material. But she had the waitress working in her office, so if she could just hold out long enough, she should be able to learn something. Imagine being the one who found Khivar's precious princess! Nicholas would take credit, of course, but she had ways of letting Khivar know exactly where to aim his gratitude, especially since he wouldn't want to reward Nicholas given that he blamed him for Vilandra's death. She'd bought herself a reprieve to keep looking, but she needed to look harder...

Vanessa stared at her phone. Should she? Heck, why not. After all, she'd told Valenti she'd consult with the FBI. She just hadn't said how.

"Agent Samuels? Vanessa Whitaker."

Samuels voice was taut and guarded. "I already told you, I can't tell you where he is—"

"I'm not calling to find out where Daniel is," Vanessa interrupted. "I know you can't tell me, and I know why. I'm calling because of something you said yesterday, a rare moment of rapport between us."

" 'Rapport'?"

"Yes, 'rapport'," Vanessa replied, smiling faintly; maybe he needed a dictionary. "We both seemed to be in agreement that Daniel's changed since he came back from Roswell. I know why I feel that way; now I want to know what makes you feel that way. What did he do or say that would make you say that?"

"If you're trying to find out why we were there, that's classified," Samuels answered. "I can't tell you—"

"I know you can't," Vanessa said soothingly, grateful for the telephone link which kept her from strangling him. "I understand that. I...got a little emotional yesterday. I apologize. You were only protecting him, which is what I want also. We're on the same page more than either of us might think, Agent Samuels, so if we've both noticed that Daniel is behaving strangely, we should put our heads together and do something about it."

There followed a very long pause. Vanessa forced herself to maintain silence, placing the burden of lifting it on Samuels and privately muttering that there was no way he was getting a bigger apology than that when he deserved none at all. The seconds ticked by in the dark office, feeling like minutes.

"I can't give you details about our assignment," Samuels said finally, "but Danny was doing some strange things. Like ordering all of us out to a gas station outside town until he came to collect us, and then not telling us why."

"He may have had his reasons," Vanessa noted.

"Maybe," Samuels allowed. "But then he went on a spending spree right before we came back. Ferragamo shoes, Brioni suits, high-end threads all the way. And he flew first class back to Washington and left the rest of us stuck back in coach."

"Sounds like a mid-life crisis," Vanessa remarked, breathing easier. None of this sounded threatening, more like a man who'd been disappointed, which he'd already admitted.

"Maybe," Samuels said doubtfully. "But the weirdest part was when we got back to Washington. We'd just hit the terminal, and when I saw you, I said, 'There's Vanessa', and he said, 'Who?' "

Vanessa's hand froze on her glass. "What?"

"He didn't seem to know you for a moment," Samuels said. "And then I said, 'You know, Vanessa? Your girlfriend?' And then it was gone, and he just laughed."

" 'Girlfriend'?" Vanessa said with a brittle laugh. "I'm a little past 'girlfriend'. Or at least I hope so. And he certainly seemed to know me on the way home, but I'll spare you the details."

"Please do," Samuels said darkly. "My point is that for a minute there, it was if he didn't know you. But I learned later that Freeh had just fired him via phone on the way off the plane, so maybe that was it."

"Maybe," Vanessa agreed. "Anything else?"

"Only that he gave you classified information right before the hearings," Samuels said disapprovingly. "But then at the actual hearings, I realized why. Now we're free to start another Unit, a real Unit, the way it used to be. I'd say he's back to his old self."

"Good to know," Vanessa said. "Thank you, Agent Samuels. I appreciate your candor. If you see Daniel, please tell him I'm thinking of him."

"Thinking of killing him?" Samuels said dryly.

"I won't pretend to be thrilled with his stunt," Vanessa allowed, "but you explained the reasoning behind it. I'll settle for maiming."

"I'll let him know," Samuels promised.

Vanessa hung up, tossed the phone on her desk, and downed the rest of her drink in one gulp, a good half glass. Now it was clear what had happened. She should have thought of this before. They got to you, Daniel, she thought darkly. And we'll have to do something about that.




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




September 6, 9:00 a.m.

Crashdown Cafe





I give up, Liz sighed, rolling over in bed as the sound of clinking dishes floated up the stairs. It was faint, to be sure, but every single time another clink! hit her ears, she woke up a little more. What was wrong with her? When she'd waited tables, she could have slept through a tsunami of customers; now that she wasn't, every little noise reached her ears awake or asleep. She didn't need to be at the office until noon and had been looking forward to sleeping in, but it was not to be; might as well put her wakefulness and this sunny morning to good use. Thirty minutes later, she headed downstairs, nearly colliding with Maria, whose arms were laden with dirty plates.

"Hey," Liz said awkwardly. "Nice day."

"Liz, I promise you there is nothing 'nice' about a day when Michael is in jail," Maria said tartly. "And seriously? 'Nice day?' You're so short on conversation starters that you're reaching for the weather? Is someone feeling a bit guilty?"

Liz blinked at the barrage. "Uh...no, but—"

"Because you should be," Maria went on. "I can't believe that you'd just leave him there and not lift a finger to help him."

Liz gaped at her while Maria stacked dishes so furiously, it was a wonder they didn't break. Diner noise may have awakened her, but truth be told, she'd hadn't been sleeping well anyway, and this was why. "I'm not trying to 'leave him there'," she said desperately. "I just..."

"Just what?" Maria demanded. "Just trying to leave him there?"

Liz swallowed hard. "I'm just afraid that if I start this again, I won't be able to stop."

"Of course you 'won't stop'," Maria said. "You love Max, and you know it. You don't want to stop. You were the one who told me that, and it's as true now as it was then. Michael shouldn't have to rot in jail—or worse—because you don't want to stop. That's just—"

"Maria—"

"Selfish," Maria finished flatly. "Excuse me. I have tables."

Stricken, Liz watched Maria stalk off only moments before her father's voice floated around the corner. "I just don't understand," her dad was saying. "What does Michael have to do with this?"

Liz crept forward and peeked around the corner; her father and Sheriff Valenti were standing near the back door, and neither looked happy. "Frankly, Jeff, I don't think he has anything to do with it," Valenti answered. "But I have to follow procedure."

"But it sounds like all you've got is a knife," her father protested. "That's it? Just drop something, and you're in trouble?"

"Drop it near a body, and yes, you are," Valenti replied. "I agree this is all circumstantial, but until we have an ID on those bones, I'm afraid 'circumstantial' rules the day. It wouldn't get him convicted, but it can get him arrested until we have more information."

Convicted. Liz bit her lip as her father continued to argue, unaware that Michael's worst nightmare wasn't getting convicted. Plenty of awful things could happen to him with no conviction, no trial, no charges at all.

"I'm short a cook," her father complained. "How long is this going to take?"

"If it were just me, no time at all," Valenti sighed. "He wouldn't even be there. But I'm not the one driving this, Jeff. It's Congresswoman Whitaker who's pounced on this like a duck on a Junebug. I'm guessing she's pissed about being shown up during those congressional hearings, and wants to make herself look credible again."

"Then tell her to go make herself look credible somewhere else," Jeff said crossly. "I need my cook!"

"It's not that simple," Valenti said patiently. "She's pulled the FBI in on this, and the last thing I want to do is piss off the Feds. I'll let you know just as soon as I hear anything." He donned his hat, his eyes settling on her. "Miss Parker, Mr. Parker...I'll try to end this as soon as I can."

Which won't be very soon, Liz thought, her heart beating rapidly. She's pulled the FBI in on this... So it didn't matter what they found or didn't find on the bones—Whitaker had already contacted the FBI. And even though the Special Unit was officially disbanded, everyone who knew aliens were real was still there...

"Can you believe this?" her dad was saying furiously. "They've arrested Michael over some old bones dug up in the desert! And it sounds like your new boss is the one spearheading the witch hunt. Sorry, Lizzie," he amended gruffly when he saw the look on her face. "It's not your fault. I'm just annoyed."

"It's okay, Dad," Liz assured him.

"We need to fight this," Jeff declared. "I'll hit the phones and see what I can do. Maybe your mother can play cook for a bit until we can rustle up another one..."

He walked off still talking, and Liz watched him go with a heavy heart, knowing that all the phone calls in the world weren't going to turn this one around. I'm stuck, she realized. She was going to have to get involved, and if she did, if she allowed herself to be sucked into the vortex again, she wouldn't be able to stay away from Max because Maria was right—she loved him. Being away from him all summer had done nothing but drive that point home. Trying to stay away from him had been her attempt at circumventing that realization. And it might have worked, had not fate intervened once more.

A minute later, Liz found Maria. "Okay. I'll do it."

"You'll do what?" Maria asked tonelessly, not looking at her.

"I'll spy," Liz answered. "I'll find out whatever I can from Whitaker's office."

Maria swung hard eyes her way. "Why?" she demanded.

"What do you mean, 'why'?" Liz said, taken aback. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

"Yes, but only if you mean it," Maria answered. "Five minutes ago you were all, 'I don't want to get sucked in again'. What changed?"

"I overheard my father and Valenti talking," Liz said. "Valenti said Whitaker called the FBI."

Maria's eyes grew round. "Already?"

"So tell Max I'm in," Liz went on. "Ask him what he wants me to start with, and I'll look today when I...what?" she said when Maria shook her head. " 'No', what?"

"Tell Max yourself," Maria said. "He's out in the cafe."

"He...he is?"

"Yes. I'm done being your messenger girl. If you really mean it, go tell him yourself."

Liz's heart sank when Maria walked away without another word. She doesn't believe me, she thought sadly. Maria wanted proof, and in order to give her that, she would have to do the one thing she'd thought she could avoid: Talk to Max. Here she thought she'd just convey anything she learned via Maria, but apparently not, and there was no backing out of it now. Her heart in her throat, she pushed through the swinging door into the cafe. What would she say to him?

Make that "them". Not just Max, but Isabel and Tess were huddled in a booth, heads bent over various drinks, talking earnestly. Great, Liz thought heavily. Her humiliation would be witnessed by an audience. This just got better and better.

"What do you want?" Isabel said bluntly when she hesitantly approached their table.

Max looked startled, but recovered quickly. "Hi."

Tess didn't say anything, but she didn't look angry. Why did she have to be here? This was hard enough as it was. "Uh...Maria told me about...you know, about what happened to Michael," Liz said haltingly.

"Yeah," Isabel said stonily. "We heard."

Liz stiffened at the hostility, but the one good thing about it was that it made it easier to look at Max, which she did now, ignoring the other two. "I just wanted to tell you that I'll help. With Whitaker, I mean."

The hopeful look on Max's face was heartbreaking. "You will?"

"Liz, that's great," Tess said with a pointed look at Isabel, whose eyes dropped.

"So...I'll be going to Whitaker's office this afternoon," Liz went on. "What do you need?"

"I'm not sure yet," Max answered.

"Nasedo's coming back today," Tess explained. "He'll be able to point us in the right direction."

"But you don't have to see him," Max added quickly. "We'll talk to him, and then I'll let you—"

"No," Liz broke in. "I'll be there. When is this?"

"Liz, you don't have to," Max said.

"Yeah, no one would blame you for not wanting to see him again after what he did to you," Tess added.

Liz managed a small smile. "He doesn't scare me. Not much would after what he pulled, so he has himself to thank for that. Just tell me when and where, and I'll be there."



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


I'll post Chapter 11 on Sunday, July 20.

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello to everyone reading!






CHAPTER ELEVEN



September 6, 2000, 9 a.m.

Roswell International Airport




"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Roswell," the flight attendant's voice intoned. "Please remain seated with your seat belt fastened until the captain has turned off the seat belt sign. If you have baggage to collect, you can find it at Carousel 3. Thank you for flying American Airlines, and enjoy your stay in sunny New Mexico."

Jaddo gazed out the window at "sunny New Mexico" and wondered all over again what foul finger of fate had deposited them here, in a barren desert climate that more closely resembled an oven than "sunny" anything. Logically, he knew the answer; they'd been aiming for the nearby mountains and hadn't quite made it. At times like these, however, it felt more like an unseen hand had slapped them down hard. If fate existed, it was more of a bitch than anyone knew.

"You shouldn't do that," a disapproving voice said.

Jaddo's head swung around to the passenger across the aisle, a squat middle-aged woman with a hairy upper lip set in a thin line. "I shouldn't do what?"

"Unbuckle your seat belt," the woman answered primly. "The seat belt sign is still on."

"Why, so it is," Jaddo said. "You can read!"

The glare she gave him would have frozen boiling water if he cared...but he didn't. The seat belt sign abruptly clicked off, and the plane rose as one, including Jaddo. "Have a nice day," he told the scowling woman, glancing at her seat belt as he joined the throng in the aisle. He'd only moved up one row when he heard it.

"I can't get it open," a frantic voice said. "It won't open. It won't open!"

Serves you right, Jaddo thought with satisfaction, pushing past the milling humans craning their necks to see what was the matter. He was first off the plane and first to hit the terminal, where a row of taxi drivers holding cards with various names were arrayed, including one which briefly flashed from "Smith" to "disgraced FBI agents" in the hands of a driver who bore a faint infrared signature.

"Need a ride?" Brivari asked innocently.

"Hilarious," Jaddo deadpanned. "Please tell me you haven't gone and done something stupid."

"Isn't that my line?" Brivari said.

"It's not my fault," Jaddo said peevishly. " It wasn't my idea to come back here. I had no idea—"

"Relax," Brivari advised, holding up a hand. "I get it. The king gave you an order, and you couldn't refuse." He paused as a harried flight attendant hurried off the jetway and began an earnest conversation with the gate agent.

"We're going to need a knife, or something," she was saying. "Her seat belt buckle looks like it melted."

"Melted?" the gate agent said quizzically. "How on earth would that happen?"

"Let me guess," Brivari said. "That one is your fault."

"She had it coming," Jaddo said darkly. "Busybody. It's bad enough getting yanked back here without the seat belt police making it worse."

"I thought you didn't want to leave," Brivari remarked.

"I didn't want to be told to leave," Jaddo corrected. "Just like I didn't want to be told to return. I hate this."

"I'm not exactly thrilled about it," Brivari allowed.

"That's not what I meant. I hate..." Jaddo paused. "I'm not used to this," he confided. "I saw the king a fair bit back home, but had little actual contact with him. I'm not accustomed to being...compelled."

"Someone's been watching vampire flicks," Brivari chuckled.

"I'm serious," Jaddo insisted. "I actually found myself praying the plane would be canceled or at least delayed, and then wondering what would happen if it were. Would I have to commit hari kari if I was prevented from obeying his order?"

"It must be serious if you found yourself 'praying'," Brivari said. "Either that, or hell just froze over. And no, you wouldn't self harm or anything else unless the order specifically contained instructions to do so. If something prevents you from following an order, you just can't follow it. If your plane had been delayed, you would have booked the next available flight, that's all. This was designed as a fail-safe for wayward Covari, not a punitive measure."

"Whatever it was 'designed as', it's now a pain in the ass," Jaddo grumbled. "Are you sure we can't turn it off?"

"I'm sure," Brivari sighed. "He has to agree to not use it. If I thought he'd do that, I'd tell him the score right this minute...but I don't think he will. He may want to, but he lacks the necessary maturity and restraint to pull it off, and would likely wind up abusing the privilege. Silence is still our best option, albeit a weak one."

"Wonderful," Jaddo muttered. "So why am I here, exactly? What's my Ward doing in Valenti's jail? I thought he was an ally."

"He is," Brivari said. "Valenti's not the one driving this. That would be Vanessa."

"Vanessa?" Jaddo said sharply. "Do you mean my Vanessa?"

"Now I'm certain hell's frozen over," Brivari said dryly. "First you're praying, now it's 'my' Vanessa? Yes, 'your' Vanessa. She's here. As in Roswell. As in moved in and set up housekeeping. She's erected one of her 'pop-up offices' and hired the Parker girl as an intern. Interesting choice, don't you think?"

Jaddo's eyes narrowed. "Does she know that 'Michael' is Rath?"

"Doesn't appear to," Brivari answered, "but Courtney is convinced she knows something she's not supposed to, and Courtney would know."

"Then she has to go," Jaddo declared. "Where is this office of hers?"

"One thing at a time," Brivari counseled. "You have an appointment with the king."

Jaddo thought for a moment. "No, I actually don't. All he ordered me to do was return immediately, and I've done that. He didn't order me to go directly to him when I got here. At this point, I have no orders."

"No, you have common sense," Brivari said. "The king summoned you, so of course he wishes to see you."

"Is this the same king you just said lacked maturity and restraint?"

"Yes," Brivari said patiently, "but it's worth noting that he summoned you with good reason and only when the situation became dire, although he doesn't realize just how dire because he doesn't know Vanessa is an enemy. According to bits and pieces Courtney overheard, Zan resisted Rath's entreaties to contact you until the arrest was made. In this particular case, he did show restraint and responded appropriately once things escalated. We should reward that behavior."

"Brivari, Vanessa has to go!" Jaddo exclaimed. "She—"

"Will be taken care of," Brivari finished. "By me. I don't want you anywhere near her. What if it's your identity that she's discovered?"

"Impossible," Jaddo scoffed. "I would have known."

"Not if she's figured it out since the hearing, where you shot her in the back. I'll remove her," Brivari promised, "but carefully. The last thing we need is to have Nicholas and company descend upon Roswell. Now, let's get you to the Crashdown."

"Brivari—"

"You're the only Warder they know," Brivari interrupted firmly. "We need to re-acquaint the king with his Warders and how that relationship works."

"Fine, then reacquaint him with his Warder," Jaddo said crossly. "Why me?"

"Because we agreed that one of us has to stay in the shadows as insurance against just exactly what's happening here. He can't 'compel' me if he doesn't know I exist. We have a massive task ahead of us," Brivari continued as Jaddo huffed impatiently. "It was no small potatoes to turn him into a monarch, and now he'll have to do more than that; he has to take back a planet. Baby steps, Jaddo. He's summoned you with good reason. Attend him."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Jaddo muttered. "What a time to go all 'palace etiquette' on me. This is no palace."

"It sure as hell isn't," Brivari agreed. "It's a war zone. Let's not lose sight of that."

A crowd arrived from the jetway, three flight attendants and several passengers escorting a portly woman who looked ready to faint. "I couldn't get it open!" she moaned. "It was awful! I was trapped!"

"Tell me about it," Jaddo said darkly. "You and me both, sweetheart. You and me both."




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



Crashdown Cafe




"Here's one Moons of Jupiter," Courtney said, handing a plate across a table to an eager pair of hands, "one Beam Me Up Burger—careful, that plate is hot—and one..."

Her voice trailed off as the bell on the Crashdown's door dingled. "One Men in Black Burrito," she finished, delivering the last plate. "Anything else I can get you?"

A moment later, the bell dingled again as she was fetching hot sauce and napkins. I can't keep doing this, she thought wearily, craning her neck around the cake plate. She was more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, wilting with relief every single time that door opened and it wasn't Vanessa. Perhaps she should take Larak's words to heart; before they'd parted last night, he'd asked what sort of establishment the Crashdown was.

"Just a diner," Courtney had shrugged. "You know, greasy food and coffee, except this one is all done up in alien kitsch."

"I'm afraid I don't know," Larak had said sadly. "I need to preserve this host, so I do my best to restrict myself to nighttime hours which don't leave much room for 'diners'. But it sounds like you have nothing to worry about; the Vanessa I know would sooner eat dirt than wallow in a lowbrow place like that. You're probably safe, for a while at least, and even if she does show up or finds you some other way, she wouldn't kill you. She'd just watch you because she'll want to find the rest of the Resistance. Nicholas has little tolerance for disloyalty."

He's right, Courtney thought. And God knows he should be; Larak was a "Premier", not a king, but for all practical purposes they were one and the same, which would account for the friendship between Larak and Zan as the children of their world's respective rulers. It had been a shock to find herself chatting with Kerona's ruler, but then again so was jousting with Royal Warders and watching the King of Antar knock back a Cherry Coke. It still boggled the mind that Larak himself had become a transfer, and for so many years. It was an incredibly dangerous thing to do, but it sounded like he'd taken as many precautions as...

Courtney smiled suddenly, having been about to say as humanly possible. You knew you'd been here too long when you started thinking in human expressions. Even Larak of the limited exposure was doing that, although she'd barely noticed beside the twin astonishments of Michael having been arrested and her managing to slip a Royal Warder. Granted more of that last one had been luck than she'd let on, but watching Brivari squirm with embarrassment that he'd missed her had been sweet, as had Larak's suggestion that they concoct a method of communication that would be invisible to his host and accessible to all three of them. Brivari hadn't exactly been thrilled about her being included in that, but Larak had been firm, and to her astonishment, Brivari had relented. So there was someone else he listened to besides Dee. Good to know.

"Welcome to the Crashdown," Courtney said to her newest customer, a grumpy-looking man who had just slid onto a stool at the counter. "What can I get you?"

"Coffee," the man answered, "preferably strong enough to grow hair on your chest. And a king who doesn't yank me back here like a dog on a leash. That's it for starters."

Courtney's pencil tapped on her pad. "We're fresh out of coffee that'll grow hair on my chest. How about some that'll grow hair on yours?"

"You and Brivari," Jaddo said, shaking his head in disgust. "Comedians, both."

"I should have known you were back in town by the giant thundercloud that follows you everywhere you go," Courtney remarked as Jaddo scowled at her. "As for the king, of course he 'yanked' you back. His Second is in jail, courtesy of—"

"Vanessa," Jaddo finished. "I heard."

Courtney leaned in closer. "And I heard that Vanessa and Pierce were lovers. How does that work, exactly?"

"The same way any human mating works. Given how long you've been here, may I assume you've figured that out?"

Courtney's eyes widened in horror. "You mean...you mean you two...you actually..."

"I mean I've been banging her all summer," Jaddo announced.

"Whoa!" Courtney exclaimed, throwing up both hands as though warding off a physical attack. "That is a visual I do not need."

"Which would be your problem," Jaddo said irritably. "You asked for it."

"I asked to barf on the counter? Not," Courtney retorted. "I mean, 'banging'? That is just...gross!"

"Then which human colloquialism would you prefer I use? Fucking? Diddling? Tapping?"

"None of them!" Courtney said quickly. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

"Whanking?" Jaddo continued, ignoring her. "Knocking boots? Dancing the Mattress Jig? Well, it certainly didn't always involve a mattress—"

"Stop!" Courtney ordered, both hands over her ears. "God, now I need to wash my eyes and my ears!"

"Everything okay here?"

It was Mr. Parker, looking quizzically at her and more than a little suspiciously at Jaddo, who was eyeing him as though he were on the menu. "Oh...sure," Courtney said, feeling foolish as she lowered her hands. "We were just...um..."

"Is this customer bothering you?" Mr. Parker asked.

"No," Courtney said quickly. "We were just discussing something...disturbing. Very disturbing."

"I assure you, it was an above board, intellectual discussion," Jaddo said with a perfectly straight face. "I apologize if the subject matter upset her."

"Really upset her," Mr. Parker remarked. "What was it? War? Death?"

"Worse," Courtney said promptly. "Way worse."

"Worse than war and death?"

"You'd be surprised," Courtney muttered. "We're fine," she added, lest Mr. Parker press for more information. "Seriously. I'm not the type to take anyone's sh—put up with any funny stuff," she amended quickly.

"She is not," Jaddo confirmed. "Quite the opposite."

"Mmm," Mr. Parker murmured, still skeptical. "Okay, well...if you need me, I'll be in the back. Just a stone's throw away," he added with a pointed look at Jaddo. "Enjoy your meal, sir."

"So," Jaddo said after Mr. Parker had walked away, albeit with several backward glances, "you have a knight in shining armor. How quaint."

"God, you are so full of it," Courtney groaned. " 'Intellectual discussion'? 'Quite the opposite'? Please go back where you came from and stay there. I'd almost rather have Vanessa."

" 'Almost'?," Jaddo chuckled. "What a ringing endorsement. And I'd love to, darling, but I'm not here by choice, nor am I 'full of' anything. It was an intellectual discussion about human colloquialisms, and you don't take anyone's shit. Including mine."

Courtney gaped at him. "What did you say?"

Jaddo eyed her beadily. "May I have my coffee?"

Flabbergasted, Courtney grabbed a pot and a cup. "Did you...did you just compliment me? As in say something nice? As in voluntarily? As in without someone putting a gun to your head?"

"Don't get all excited," Jaddo advised, dumping copious amounts of sugar in his coffee. "It doesn't take much to outdo that piece of seaweed known as 'Vilandra'." He stirred, producing more of a sludge than a beverage. "I hear you and Rath are getting along famously. Is that true?"

Courtney felt herself flush as she checked to make certain Maria wasn't close by. "Uh...well...I like him. He's sharp. And funny. And he wants to go home, which is more than I can say for the rest of them."

"And does my Ward return your affections?"

" 'Affections'? That's a bit much," Courtney said. "And he likes Maria too, although he's trying not to."

"Commendable," Jaddo said. "Although 'Maria' is a serious improvement over the vapid Parker girl."

" 'Vapid'?" Courtney said skeptically. "First 'seaweed', now 'vapid'? I don't know Liz very well, but she doesn't strike me as 'vapid'. And she just got back after politely excusing herself for the entire summer. And Maria is quite the attack dog—"

"Irrelevant," Jaddo said crisply. "They're both the wrong species."

"At least half of Antar would say the same about me," Courtney reminded him.

"But Brivari didn't," Jaddo noted. "He actually likes the idea, although he did spend most of his time blathering on about transference. He says he talked to you about it. What brought that up?"

Courtney stared at him for a moment before shaking her head. "No idea."

"And no matter," Jaddo said, "as we both agreed on the need to promptly execute anyone who claimed to be a transfer." He checked his watch. "I'm supposed to be meeting them here at 11 a.m. Where are they?"

"It's only 10:15," Courtney said. "They're probably—"

"I suppose I'll have to go fetch them, then," Jaddo sighed. "Let's get this over with."

"—on their way. Look, if you leave, you'll probably pass them on the way here, and—"

Slam!

"—have to turn around and come back," Courtney finished, shaking her head. God, but he was annoying. Not to mention he'd left at least a 1/4 inch of sludge in his coffee cup.

"Excuse me? I'm looking for Max Evans."

It was the sheriff, hat in hand and no doubt here for the big meeting. "Sorry," Courtney said. "Haven't seen him. Would you like to leave him a message?"

Valenti checked his watch. "Nah. I'm a little early. I'll have a cup of coffee while I'm waiting. If I leave now, I'll just have to turn around and come back."





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




Max pushed open the door to the Crashdown, his eyes scanning the interior; no Maria, no Alex, no Valenti, and most especially, no Liz. Nasedo wasn't due for a while yet, but the rest of them were supposed to be here. The only person he recognized was Courtney, at the counter writing up a bill.

"Hey, if anybody comes in looking for me, I'm in the back," Max told her.

" 'Anybody'?" Courtney asked, not looking up from her pad. "You sure about that?"

Max blinked. "Meaning?"

"Meaning 'anybody' is pretty inclusive," Courtney answered. "You really mean 'anybody'? Friends? Enemies? Snipers? Avon Ladies? People wearing name tags which say, 'Hi! My name is Anybody!'?" When he said nothing, she finally looked up. "Right," she nodded sagely. "So I'll send 'anybody' looking for you back there."

"Good," Max said, vaguely confused. "Thanks."

"No problem. Oh, by the way, there's someone back there who was looking for you."

"And...you didn't think to mention that?" Max said.

Now it was Courtney's turn to blink. "I just did."

Max smiled faintly. "Talking to you is like talking to Michael."

Courtney broke into a wide smile. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all day."

Definitely confused, Max thought as she grinned like he'd just told her she was the most beautiful girl in the world. Actually, talking to Courtney wasn't exactly like talking to Michael; while both were blunt, Courtney was more likely to cloak her frankness in a wit so dry, it defied decryption. Maybe that's why Michael got along with her so well; she was Michael 2.0.

The back room was empty save for Valenti, who rose when Max entered. "Are you the only one here?" Max asked.

"I'm early," Valenti allowed.

"How's Michael?"

"Okay," Valenti answered. "Quiet. I was afraid he wouldn't be."

"Michael's a hothead sometimes, but he usually knows when he's in too deep for that to do any good," Max noted.

"I've been wracking my brain trying to think of a way out of this, and I'm afraid I haven't come up with anything," Valenti admitted.

"We'll think of something," Max promised. "Or Nasedo will. He should be here shortly."

"Which one is this?" Valenti asked.

"Nasedo," Max repeated. "The one who got shot when all of you rescued me from Pierce? He's our guardian; there's only one."

"Right," Valenti said quickly. "Right, I...I don't think I've met him."

"I can pretty much guarantee you won't like him," Max said. "Nobody seems to. I'll apologize now for anything offensive he might say."

"What are you apologizing for?"

It was Tess, with Maria and Alex behind her. "Hey, Max," Alex said. "Courtney said you were back here. At least I think she did. When we asked her if you were here, she asked us if we were 'anybody' and pointed to the back."

"She's weird," Maria declared. "Ignore her. I do."

"Doesn't look that way," Tess commented as Maria raised an eyebrow. "So what were you apologizing for, Max?"

"I was just telling Valenti that Nasedo was coming, and pointing out that he probably wouldn't like him," Max said. "I know—we may not like him, but we need him." His eyes raked the room, the staircase nearby, his watch. It was ten minutes to eleven.

"Don't worry," Tess said, putting a reassuring hand on his arm. "He'll be here."

"It's not Nasedo he's worried about, genius," Maria said dryly. "Don't worry," she added to Max. "She'll be here. Yes, 'she'," Maria confirmed when Tess gave her a quizzical look. "As in Liz."

"That's what you're worried about?" Tess said incredulously. "I mean, it would be nice to have her help, but we don't need her anywhere near as much as we need Nasedo..."

Tess's voice trailed off as Maria's eyebrows joined her hairline, Alex made a slicing motion across his throat, Valenti looked confused, and Max felt his face growing warm. "Liz promised," Maria reminded him. "That means she'll be here." She threw Tess a dazzling smile. "And won't that be 'nice'?"





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




On pins and needles, Brivari paced the floor outside one of the Crashdown's back rooms, more wary than he'd been since Pierce's arrival. Jaddo was in there with Zan, Ava, and Vilandra, several of their human friends, and Sheriff Valenti, after having arrived late, presumably because he was too impatient to await their arrival. Although Jaddo had managed to welcome the sheriff with more or less good grace, he'd moved on to a cringe-inducing description of his relationship with Whitaker, proving once again that one could never quite tell how things would go with Jaddo around. If they made it out of this without a major mistake, it would be a major miracle.

"Tell me how far this information has been leaked," Jaddo was saying. "I need to extinguish every human who has this information."

Wonderful, Brivari groaned. Like that was going to go over well with a king who had human friends. Jaddo had learned nothing, but then he hadn't really expected him to.

"I'm going to assume present company is excluded?" the Whitman boy said.

"Isn't murder what got you into this situation to begin with?" a female voice demanded.

Brivari peeked inside. Liz Parker had appeared, and if she bore any scars from her time with Jaddo, they were not on display now as she faced him defiantly, as though daring him to pull something. Jaddo noticed it too, sizing her up for a moment before apparently reaching the same conclusion.

"My job is to protect the Royal Four," he told the company at large in a less provocative tone. "Their survival is critical to the survival of an entire race."

"No one's going to die," Zan said. "Killing people isn't going to solve anything."

*Let it go,* Brivari said quickly when he saw the look on Jaddo's face. *Don't start something.*

*He already started it,* Jaddo growled telepathically. *And he has to learn!* "Oh, my," he said out loud, his voice dripping sarcasm. "A pacifist for a king. Shall we all just commit joint suicide right now, or shall we wait for our enemies to show up and have a nice boxed lunch of us?"

Shit, Brivari muttered. Sarcasm had never gone over well with Zan, and while he wasn't bristling as much as he'd used to, the eyes he turned on Rath's Warder were hard.

"We're not killing anyone," Zan said firmly. "That's an order."

The room grew very still. Even without knowing the genetic impact of those words, everyone still realized this was a seminal moment. Heads turned from Zan to Jaddo, awaiting a response from a Warder who suddenly realized he'd pushed too far.

"As you wish," Jaddo said. "The feds know about Cadmium X. If they find it on the bones, their first order of business will be to do to Michael what they did to you in the White Room."

"We can't let that happen," Zan said.

"Where are the bones now?" Jaddo asked.

"Whitaker took them out of the coroner's office," Valenti answered. "I don't know where they are."

"Even if we knew where they were, what would we do with them?" Vilandra asked. "Hiding them isn't going to solve the problem."

Zan was quiet for a moment. "I know what to do," he said finally. His eyes moved to the Parker girl, who nodded.

"I'll help you find out where they are," she said.

"How's it going?" a voice whispered in Brivari's ear.

"You tell me," Brivari said to Courtney, who had sidled up beside him. "First he turned their stomachs with a description of his relationship with Vanessa, and then he accused the king of being a pacifist."

"So not as bad as it could be," Courtney remarked. "This is Jaddo, after all."

"Mmm," Brivari murmured. "The king just ordered him not to kill anyone."

" 'Anyone'? As in 'anyone', anyone?"

"Those were his exact words," Brivari answered. "Remember, he doesn't realize what effect they have."

"Then someone should tell him, tout suite!" Courtney declared. "That could be one hell of a problem if he runs into Nicholas."

"Which is why one of us remains hidden...and free," Brivari said. "I'd love to think that making the king aware of his power would convince him not to use it, but I don't think that's the way it would work out."

"Well, that sucks," Courtney muttered.

"It does," Brivari agreed. "But he wasn't ordered not to wound anyone. He can still do plenty of harm without killing them."

"He can still do plenty of harm just by opening his mouth," Courtney noted. She paused. "You didn't tell him about Larak."

"No," Brivari agreed, "I didn't. Did you?"

Courtney eyed him warily. "Given that he seems to think executing any transfer is the way to go, I didn't either. Why? Wait...was this some kind of test?"

"Not exactly," Brivari answered. "I was just curious."

"About what?" Courtney demanded. "And what would you have done if I'd spilled the beans? I could have told him accidentally."

"You, volunteer information to Jaddo?" Brivari said. "Highly unlikely. It was far more likely that he'd bring it up, you'd realize he wasn't up to date and wonder why...and reach a decision about whether he should be. I was curious what decision you would make. And pretty sure what it would be."

"Warders," Courtney said, shaking her head in disgust. "You suck."

"Perhaps," Brivari allowed. "But Jaddo is highly useful in certain circumstances. He's here whether we like it or not, so I needed to be certain you had the chops to deal with him."

"So I passed?" Courtney said.

"I would have been surprised if you hadn't," Brivari admitted.

Courtney gave a snort of disgust. "Well, go me! Good luck with the attack dog. Looks like you'll need it."

Brivari smiled faintly as she huffed off. Whatever else was wrong with Jaddo, he'd chosen a worthy mate for Rath. The discussion about how to locate Pierce's bones concluded, with the Whitman boy leaving and the Parker girl moving to the family's kitchen...

Oh, dear, Brivari sighed when Jaddo followed her. And just when he thought everything was going reasonably well.



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



I'll post Chapter 12 on Sunday, August 3.

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello to everyone reading!





CHAPTER TWELVE



September 6, 2000, 11:30 a.m.

Crashdown Cafe





Liz pulled a cup out of the cupboard and grabbed the coffee pot, hoping her father had made the coffee this morning instead of her mother because she could use a cup of high test right now. Was she really doing this? Had she really just made plans to spy on her new employer? Was she actually going to rifle through the desk of a Member of Congress, rummage through her files, listen to her phone messages? What had happened to "not getting involved"? What had become of that "fresh start"? It had vanished in a puff of smoke the moment she'd envisioned Michael trapped the way Max had been, that's what. All that blather about staying out of it had gone right out the window, and she'd slipped back into the familiar cloak and dagger routine with an internal sigh which had felt suspiciously like relief. Is this what she'd wanted all along, a surefire, un-ignorable reason to jump back into the fray without looking like she was pining after Max? A convenient excuse to be useful that didn't involve admitting that this felt good, that it was exciting to be needed, exciting that he needed her? Because there was no doubt about it—this felt good. It felt right. It felt...normal, she realized with a shiver. Her perception of normal must have been permanently skewed.

"You're back," a voice announced behind her.

Normal...except for that, Liz thought darkly. She'd delayed re-entry until Nasedo's arrival, lurking at the top of the stairs, unsure of her reaction. But seeing her kidnapper again hadn't filled her with fear, it had filled her with disgust. Anger. Rage, almost. She'd had a tough time swallowing it during the discussion about how to proceed. Now she might not bother.

"So are you," she answered tonelessly.

"I'm surprised to see you," Nasedo said.

"Shouldn't be; I live here. What's your excuse?"

And I was doing so well, Liz thought as the flat delivery of those first two sentences gave way to the defiance of the third. Nasedo heard it, as evidenced by his raised eyebrows. "I heard you were away all summer," he went on, apparently doing some swallowing of his own.

"I heard the same thing about you," Liz said. "Your point?"

"Is that I thought you'd gotten the point," Nasedo said deliberately. "Max belongs to Tess, not you."

"This has nothing to do with Max or me," Liz said. "This has to do with Michael. You know, one of those 'Royal Four' you're sworn to protect, but seem to have forgotten because you're too busy playing matchmaker?"

The jab hit home. "Given what you know about me," Nasedo snapped, "is it really wise of you to provoke me?"

Liz glared at him in silence before walking up to him like she had only minutes ago and looking him straight in the eye. "You don't scare me."

They faced off, her steady, him...surprised. That last declaration hadn't been defiant, or angry, or any of those things; it had been calm. Controlled. Merely fact. "Oh, I don't, don't I?" he said, his tone equal parts amusement and curiosity. "Then perhaps you're not as smart as I thought you were."

"You think I'm smart? News to me. But you want to know what does scare me?" Liz went on. "Seeing Max get kidnapped because of your incompetence. You're supposed to be protecting him, and you almost got him killed. That's what scares me, and if you had any working brain cells in that alien head of yours, it would scare you too. But you don't, so it doesn't."

"Do tell!" Nasedo said with mock surprise. "Another performance review? This is becoming a regular feature of our encounters. How does rescuing him from the clutches of the Special Unit not count as 'protecting him'?"

Liz's blood began to boil. "You didn't rescue him—I did. You are the reason he wound up there in the first place."

"He wound up there because he blundered into the trap I set for Pierce," Nasedo retorted.

"He wound up there because you kidnapped me," Liz corrected. "None of us would have been anywhere near your stupid trap if you hadn't taken me. And Max would have been hauled right back there if I hadn't helped him hide while you stayed behind to settle a personal score instead of finishing the job of getting him out! Didn't anyone ever teach you how to prioritize in guardian school? Maybe you were out that day?"

Nasedo was smoldering now, working up a head of steam to match her own. Part of Liz said it was stupid to poke the bear like this, but a bigger part of her didn't care. All that Max had gone through, all that torture, all the risks they'd taken to free him...it was all unnecessary, all caused by one stupid move by a so-called "guardian". It was downright infuriating.

"Maybe," Nasedo said tightly, "the king would have been better off if you hadn't come back."

"Maybe," Liz allowed. "But when it comes to the question of whether he'd be better off if you hadn't come back, there's no 'maybe' about it. If you're the best his world has to offer, then 'maybe' he's better off with us humans."

That got him. "Insufferable brat!" Nasedo hissed. "How dare you—"

"Is there a problem here?"

Two heads jerked sideways. Max was standing in the kitchen doorway, regarding them with deep suspicion. "Liz?" he said slowly. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Liz said flatly.

"Sure looks that way," Max remarked. "Is he bothering you?"

For a brief moment, Liz seriously considered conjuring up some kind of story; from the look on Max's face, he'd believe it. "Not at all," she answered, deciding Nasedo had done himself in far better than she ever could. "I was just having a little chat with your...'guardian'."

No one missed the copious amount of contempt wreathing that last word. "What kind of 'chat'?" Max asked warily.

"Oh, you know," Liz said with a false smile. "The friendly kind. Right, Nasedo?"

"Absolutely," Nasedo said stonily.

Max watched them skeptically, clearly not buying it, and why should he? They both looked ready to kill each other. "Liz, would you excuse us for a moment?" Max said. "I'd like to have a little 'chat' of my own."

"Sure," Liz answered. She paused in the doorway, looking directly at Nasedo.

"Still think I'm 'fantastic company'?"




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




It was a repeat of the previous evening, with the Warder, the transfer, and the Rebel Argilian replaced by a Warder, a hybrid king, and a furious human. Zan and Jaddo faced off as the Parker girl left and Brivari lurked in the background unseen, having slipped in behind Jaddo before the drama began. And what a drama it had been, with accusations long hurled from other sources now hurled from a new one, plus an accusation that he'd been neglecting his own Ward. The Parker girl had always shown mettle, mettle which now more closely resembled solid steel. Put simply, when she'd looked Jaddo in the eye and told him he didn't scare her, he'd believed her...and so had Jaddo.

"What was that all about?" Zan asked, his voice quiet, controlled, suspicious.

"Like she said, just a friendly chat," Jaddo answered.

Zan raised an eyebrow. "Is that your final answer?"

"So you think this is a game show?" Jaddo said sardonically.

"What I think," Zan said deliberately, "is that you and I never really had it out about what you did to Liz. I'm a little busy now, so let me make it simple for you. You are not to go near her ever again."

"You're right—we are busy now," Jaddo retorted. "Too busy to waste time on a human—"

"I'm gonna stop you right there because it's pretty clear you just don't get it," Zan said sharply. "Liz isn't a 'waste of time'. Humans aren't a 'waste of time'. Liz kept me alive when you couldn't. All of them—Valenti, Maria, Alex—kept me alive when you couldn't."

"You wouldn't have been around to keep alive if not for me!" Jaddo exclaimed. "I got you out of there—"

"And then left me," Zan said. "It was Michael who got me out, and you stayed behind. You shouldn't have done that. You should have come with us."

Ouch. Brivari watched Jaddo bristle as yet another voice joined the chorus...but this time, it was different. It was one thing to hear this from a fellow Warder, another to hear it from a human ally like Dee...and quite another to hear it from one's king. The rebuke hung in the air, a statement of fact delivered in a tone which brooked no argument. At the end of the day, the only "performance review" which mattered was this one.

"I'm sorry you found me wanting," Jaddo said stiffly. "After you'd been safely rescued, I only sought to remove a long time enemy."

"That's just it—I wasn't 'safely rescued'," Zan said. "It doesn't do any good to remove an enemy while that enemy still has me. Pierce wasn't acting alone, and you knew that; even if you'd managed to take him out, there was no guarantee Michael and I would have made it out of there, and what about the aftermath? What about getting us away from the base and the fact that we couldn't just go home again? We settled all that, but we had to do it without you because you were in a body bag. You should have come with us."

Jaddo's jaw clenched. "Noted."

"None of which changes the fact that none of that would have been necessary if you'd left Liz alone in the first place," Zan went on. "Your taking her is what got me captured. She's the reason I made it out, she and all those other 'wastes of time' who did your job when you couldn't."

"So now you're comparing my service to theirs?" Jaddo said tightly. "Something tells me I've been at this longer than they have. Decades longer."

There followed a long pause. "You're the one Pierce was talking about, aren't you?" Zan said finally. "The alien who was held for 3 years in that white room."

Not exactly, Brivari thought. Major Lewis's white room had come later in Jaddo's captivity, but 3 years was still 3 years no matter how you counted. "I know you've given up a lot for us," Zan went on when Jaddo didn't reply, "and I'm grateful for that. But that doesn't give you the right to use the people I love."

"And there's the problem," Jaddo said in exasperation. "That's what this is really about, you being in love with a human. You heard your mother in the pod chamber. You heard—"

"What I heard was someone I don't know and don't remember telling me how things used to be," Zan interrupted. "What I don't hear is you urging Isabel and Michael to get together like the book suggested. If you want everything the way it used to be, you should want that too."

Jaddo's jaw twitched as he remained silent, his back against the wall of his own argument; he most emphatically did not want Rath and Vilandra together now any more than he ever had. "I understand that it used to be different," Zan went on, "but that was a long time ago, and we don't even remember it. You can't expect everything to turn out the same as it did before. Did I make my own choices the last time?"

Yes, Brivari answered silently. Riall had not interfered with his son's choice of wife, not that he'd had any reason to. "That's what I thought," Zan said when Jaddo didn't answer. "I get to make my own choices this time too."

"As you wish," Jaddo said with obvious disapproval.

"Look at it this way," Zan said. "We have very few friends, people who know who we really are. That 'ever-burgeoning I Know An Alien Club' doesn't seem so 'burgeoning' to me. You may not like Liz, but she's an ally. Throwing away one of the few allies we have doesn't strike me as very smart."

"Fine, she's an ally," Jaddo said impatiently. "But not going near her is going to make tonight's festivities rather problematic. I'll have to 'go near her' if we're to follow the plan."

"I'm not talking about that," Zan said. "I mean on your own. You are not to touch her, or speak to her, or interact with her in any way unless I say so or you're saving her life. Am I clear?"

Warder and monarch stared each other down. "As you wish," Jaddo said finally.

"Good. I'll see you this evening. Don't be late."

Zan left. Jaddo remained in the empty kitchen, silent and stung. "Well," Brivari said slowly. "That was interesting."

Jaddo spun around. "When did you get here?" he demanded. "How much of that did you hear?"

Brivari shrugged. "A long time ago, all of it, and...I'm impressed."

" 'Impressed'? With what? Impudent child," Jaddo huffed. "He only learned he was a king a few months ago, and here he is critiquing my decisions and giving me orders."

"Perhaps," Brivari allowed. "But you left out the part about him being right. Oh, don't look at me like that," he continued when Jaddo looked daggers at him. "Every single person who learns of this has reached the same conclusion—you shouldn't have stayed behind. Is it really such a surprise the king has too?"

"The same king you called 'immature' and—"

"Yes," Brivari broke in. "I did, and he is. But this time..." He paused. "Don't forget, I've watched this once already. His growing up. His ascension to the throne. His teething as he turned into a monarch. The Zan I knew took years to learn how to deliver a rebuke like that without sulking or shouting; this time it's only been months. It's going faster this time."

"Well, bully for him," Jaddo said sourly. "At least it was the king who 'impressed' you, not that insufferable female."

"Oh, she impressed me too," Brivari said. "She's growing on me."

"Right, like fungus," Jaddo said derisively. "Everyone likes the Parker girl; she's everyone's favorite puppy. Too bad she isn't housebroken. Did you hear how defiant she was?"

"Definitely growing on me," Brivari confirmed.

"Joke all you want, but I still say she did this," Jaddo declared. "She turned him against me."

"Right," Brivari said skeptically. "And I suppose she did that while she was gone all summer and not in contact with him? And why bother when you're doing such a bang-up job yourself? Face it, Jaddo, you blew it. Perhaps the best way to impress the king was by rescuing him from murderous kidnappers, not filling up your house with antiques and artwork."

"All right," Jaddo sighed. "Maybe—maybe—I miscalculated."

"Well, glory hallelujah," Brivari said dryly. "Can I get that in writing? No? Not surprised," he went on when Jaddo glared at him. "What exactly did you mean by tonight's 'festivities'? I missed the nitty gritty when I was talking to Courtney."

"I'm to distract Vanessa so Zan and the puppy can rifle through her office to find out what she's done with Pierce's bones," Jaddo answered.

"You're seeing Vanessa again? Is that wise?"

"Doesn't matter if it's 'wise' or not," Jaddo said. "Those are my 'orders'. And besides, I'm the best person to find out anything from Vanessa. I told the king as much, but he insists on showing up himself because the puppy offered to 'help'. But no matter; I'll find out where the bones are long before they're through emptying file cabinets and canoodling in her office."

"Don't you mean 'diddling'?"

Jaddo's expression darkened. "Don't even think it. Honestly, Ava is right here! I thought he'd have come around by now."

"He might never come around," Brivari remarked.

Jaddo stared at him. "You can't be serious."

"Can't I?" Brivari shook his head. "As I mentioned, I've watched this once already. I've seen him fall in love, and that's how I know he's serious."

"So, what, are we going to drag her back to Antar with us?" Jaddo demanded. "Install a human as queen?"

"I think the king has made it pretty clear we're not 'dragging' her anywhere," Brivari noted. "But if the time comes and they're a couple—"

"No," Jaddo said firmly. "This is unacceptable. He's just being stubborn. I am not bringing a human home with them. He can indulge his whims for now, but when push comes to shove, he'll have to face facts."

"Or we will," Brivari murmured.

"This is just an infatuation," Jaddo insisted. "It will pass. It's not passing as fast as I'd like, but it will pass. I will not accept this."

"Like I said," Brivari repeated, "I've seen him in love before. So when 'push comes to shove'...we may not have a choice."





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




Congresswoman Whitaker's office,

Roswell





"Agent Samuels? Vanessa Whitaker."

There came a deep sigh over the phone Whitaker had pressed to her ear. "Look, I'm sorry to keep calling you, but I'm worried about Daniel," Vanessa rushed on. "I...I thought of something last night, something having to do with what we talked about, about how he's been so different since he came back from Roswell, and I...have you heard anything, Brian? Anything at all?"

"I'm not at liberty to tell you if I had," Samuels answered. "I told you, he's laying low. I have no idea when or where he'll resurface."

A file drawer slammed. Vanessa spun in her chair, turning her back toward her diligent intern and the curious glances she was sending her way. "Well, when he does, will you please tell him I'm concerned about him?"

"Does that mean you've given up wanting to kill him?"

"Actually, yes," Vanessa confirmed. "I think I've figured out why he's so different, and if I'm right, none of this is his fault."

"Why?" Samuels said curiously. "Why do you think he's different?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to go into details," Vanessa said, "but put it this way—if I'm right, I may be the only one who can help him."

"The 'only one'?" Samuels snorted. "Presumptuous, much?"

"Believe it or not, I'm not trying to be presumptuous," Vanessa said. "I'm just stating a fact."

"Don't you get it?" Samuels retorted. "It's the fact that you think you're stating a fact that's presumptuous. You've known Danny for what, a little over a year? I've known him a lot longer than that. Get off your high horse."

"Get off your own!" Vanessa exclaimed, her patience evaporating. "I don't care if you both shit in the same diaper as toddlers; that doesn't mean you know what's wrong now, or how to fix it!"

"Ah, there's the Vanessa I know and love," Samuels said ironically. "You had me going. For a minute there, I thought you actually cared."

"I do care, you little prat—"

"Danny will come up for air when he's ready," Samuels went on, ignoring her. "He'll do it wherever he feels safest, and that's with me. When I see him, I'll be sure and tell him how much you 'care'. Now stop calling me, or I'll block your number."

"Shit!" Vanessa exclaimed, turning back to face her desk...and her wide-eyed intern.

"Is...anything wrong?" Parker ventured.

"Nothing I can't handle," Vanessa said with a brittle smile. "Go home, Parker. You can finish all this tomorrow."

"I'm almost done," Parker said. "I hate to leave a job half done."

You and me both, Vanessa thought darkly as Parker returned to the stacks of files she'd been methodically finding homes for in their newly arrived cabinets. She'd slept fitfully last night, more certain than ever that either Warders or kings or both had gotten to Daniel and thrashing over the best way to help him out from under whatever threats he had hanging over his head. Not to mention that if she was right, Daniel had made actual contact with their sworn enemies and would have invaluable information to share, information which would go a long way toward improving her status with Nicholas. She'd been hoping to coast on Brian's mutual concern for Daniel's well-being, but of course he had to be the top dog. And so do I, she admitted privately. Brian was right; Danny was likely to go to him first, and he shouldn't, because she was the only one who knew how to deal with the people holding a gun to his head.

Slam! "Please," Vanessa said wearily, wanting peace and quiet to think. "I have a headache, and all this drawer slamming isn't helping."

"Oh...sorry," Parker said, abashed. "I'll be sure not to slam. I'm almost done. Please, just let me finish. I literally don't sleep if I leave something like this unfinished. Just 5 minutes. That's all I need."

"Parker, go home," Vanessa said firmly. "It's late."

"No, it's okay," Parker said. "I want to make sure you're organized."

"I don't want to be hit with a child labor suit," Vanessa said.

"I promise," Parker said.

Vanessa smiled faintly; at least someone wasn't abandoning her. She turned around...and caught her breath, hardly able to believe who she saw standing in her doorway.

"Agent Pierce," she breathed.

"Just Daniel," he said quietly. "I'm a civilian now."

And you're here, Vanessa thought triumphantly. "Danny will come up for air when he's ready. He'll do it wherever he feels safest." This was where he'd reappeared, so this was where he felt safest. He'd followed her here. There was no greater testament.

"Uh...this is Liz Parker," Vanessa said as Parker stared while trying to look like she wasn't. "She's my new intern."

"Pleasure," Pierce nodded.

"Hi," Parker said shyly.

"So," Vanessa said, standing very close, drinking him in. "What brings an out-of-work FBI agent to Roswell? Seems like the worst place to be for a recovering alien hunter."

"I might be out here hunting something else," Daniel murmured.

Vanessa's heart skipped a beat. "And what might that be?"

Daniel glanced sideways. "Nothing I could say in front of your new intern."

"Oh, she's a big girl," Vanessa smiled as the intern in question stiffened. "I think she can handle it. Right, Parker?"

"Um...I'm just gonna go get some more folders," Parker said uncomfortably. "Excuse me."

Parker pushed past into the other room, leaving her alone with Daniel, who moved closer. "I needed to see you," he whispered.

"Well, you should have thought of that before you publicly humiliated me on TV," Vanessa countered, trying to dredge up at least a modicum of dignity and resist the urge to jump into his arms.

"Don't let politics come between us," Daniel protested.

Vanessa smiled faintly. "Politics is the reason you slept with me to begin with."

"Well, maybe...at first," Daniel allowed. "But it's more than that now," he went on, his voice dropping as his hand rose, smoothing a strand of her hair. "You showed me a side of myself...I didn't know existed."

His lips brushed her cheek as she shivered slightly. She'd thrilled to the touch of his hand but held her composure; now she practically melted, smelling his breath, his aftershave, that musky smell he always gave off when he was horny. God, if there weren't so many people around, she'd shove him on that desk and...

But there were. Parker reappeared, gaping unabashedly, abandoning all pretense of staring-but-not-staring. "Parker, can you lock up on your way out?" Vanessa said, pulling hastily away and grabbing her things. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Parker said awkwardly as her boss fled. "Have a good night."

The air outside was cooler, bracing, almost, and Vanessa breathed deeply; she had to keep a clear head. She couldn't let emotion overwhelm her, not if she was going to convince him to tell her what happened. She really had to keep her mind on...

A hand brushed her arm, and all of a sudden, all those lofty thoughts went right out the window. "God, I missed you," Daniel murmured into her hair. "You have no idea."

"No, I don't," Vanessa said, struggling to hold still. "You ran out of that hearing like your pants were on fire, and I haven't heard a word from you since."

"I'm here now," Daniel said.

"But where have you been?" Vanessa demanded. "Why'd you wait so long?"

"Honestly? I thought you'd kill me."

Vanessa twisted around, but he wasn't smiling, let alone laughing. "Because you had a reason to," Daniel went on. "I knew you were mad. I knew you'd be mad when I realized what I had to do, but it was the only way. The Unit can't survive under Freeh. It has to go underground, deep enough underground that he can't find it, and the only way to accomplish that is to make him think he's successfully killed it."

"Brian said you'd go to him," Vanessa noted with deep satisfaction. "He said you'd resurface where you felt 'safest'. Kind of odd that you feel 'safest' with a woman you thought would kill you."

"Brian," Daniel sighed. "Such an eager puppy, but he doesn't really understand me; he never did. None of them do. I realize that now. That's why they're always mad at me, always telling me I'm doing everything wrong. It's the weirdest thing, but sometimes I'd swear you're the only one who truly understands me."

"Why is that weird?"

Daniel smiled faintly. "If I tell you, I'll have to kill you."

Not that one again, Vanessa muttered silently. "So...you used me. You used me to get what you wanted."

For a moment she thought he was going to deny it...but then he nodded. "Yes. Yes, I used you. I'm sorry it upset you, but I'm not sorry I did it."

The half apology was deeply honest and strangely comforting. "But why not just tell me? We think alike, Daniel. I'd have understood."

"Because I needed it to look real," Daniel said. "I needed all of them to see real shock, real fury. And darling, no one, but no one, does fury the way you do. Which brings me back to why I ran out the door. Because no one, but no one, knows what you were capable of right after that hearing better than I do."

Vanessa arched an eyebrow. "You think I'm not capable of that now?"

"Of course you are," he answered, wrapping his arms around her. "But correct me if I'm wrong...you did just say 'I'd have understood'...right?"

"Right," she said warily.

"Which means you understand now...right?"

"Doesn't mean I forgive you," she informed him. "Or that you're going to get any."

"Of course not," he whispered in her ear. "Isn't that your car over there? In the back? Where no one can see us?"

A split second later they were running, diving into the back seat, fumbling at each other's clothes like teenagers. She hadn't done it fully clothed in ages, but that would have to wait. "Daniel?" she said hastily while she still could. "We have to talk."

"Absolutely," he agreed as the hooks on her bra gave way.

"No...really," she insisted, grabbing his wrists. "I meant it when I said we think alike. I know what you're after, I know what happened to you, and I think we should join forces."

"So do I," he smiled, his hands going south.

"Not what I meant," Vanessa said firmly. "I—"

"Vanessa, darling, stop talking. This could very well be our last time together, so let's not let politics spoil it."

She pushed him away then, sat up straight. " 'Last time'? What do you mean?"

"What I always mean—exactly what I said. I came out of hiding to see you, but that doesn't mean I can re-enter public life. I'm going back underground, and it'll be safer for both of us if we don't see each other again. So let's make the most of—"

"No!" Vanessa exclaimed. "No, you can't just disappear! I know what they did to you, and I'm the only one who can help you!"

He looked at her curiously. " 'Did to me'? You know what who did to me?"

"The aliens," Vanessa said, taking his face in both hands. "I know why you've been so odd since you came back. You said you found them. They threatened you, didn't they? They're watching you, aren't they?"

"Is that what you think?" he said slowly.

"It's what I know," she said firmly. "It's the only thing that makes sense. But you can fight them. I can help you."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "You can help me fight aliens. How?"

He waited as she sat there, tongue tied. What could she say? She was supposed to be a Member of Congress, not an alien hunter. There was only one way out of this, and an impossible way at that, but what choice did she have? If he disappeared again, she might never find him, might never learn what he'd learned. If she let him out of her sight one more time, this might be the last time she ever saw him. Why was she holding back? He was an alien hunter. Why not give him what he wanted?

"That's what I thought," Daniel said, misinterpreting her silence. "How about we get back to 'joining forces'—"

"Stop!" she commanded. "I can help you because..."

His face hovered over hers, curious, expecting. "Because...?"

Am I really doing this? Vanessa thought. Yes, she decided suddenly. Yes, she was really doing this.

"Because I'm an alien."


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



I'll post Chapter 13 on Sunday, August 17.

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello to everyone reading!




CHAPTER THIRTEEN




September 6, 2000, 5:45 p.m.

Congresswoman Whitaker's office, Roswell






The phone rang and rang. Liz checked her watch, waited through three more rings, checked it again. Were they too late?

"Maybe they're closed," Max said.

Liz shook her head. "It's a college. They never close, not completely. I might get rerouted, or—"

"Las-Cruces-University-how-may-I-direct-your-call?" a harried voice answered abruptly.

"Uh...this is Congresswoman Whitaker's office," Liz said. "I'm trying to reach the Particle Physics Lab—"

The line clicked. Liz pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it.

"What?" Max said.

"I...think she just hung up on me."

"Maybe you just got cut off," Max suggested. "Try again."

Liz hung up and dialed again, waiting while it rang once, twice, three times. "I really appreciate you doing this," Max said. "Are you sure this won't get you in trouble?"

"How could it?" Liz shrugged. "I'm just Whitaker's intern confirming her boss's schedule. And if I'm wrong, well, I'm just an intern."

Max smiled faintly. "Somehow I doubt you're 'just' an intern."

"That's my story, and I'm sticking to it," Liz smiled. "You know, I really don't think they're coming back," she went on when Max's eyes drifted to the door. "The way they were slobbering all over each other, I think they're off...'diddling'. How does that work with shapeshifters, exactly?"

"I wouldn't know," Max answered. "I'm not a shapeshifter."

"Oh...no," Liz said self-consciously. "Of course you aren't."

"So were you and Nasedo really just 'talking' earlier?"

Liz averted her eyes. "Yeah, we were just talking."

"You don't need to be afraid of him, you know," Max said. "I told him to stay away from you."

"And you think that'll actually work?" Liz said skeptically.

"It will," Max insisted. "He can't do anything to you. I told him to stay away from you, so he has to."

"He does? Why?"

Max looked blank for a moment, then puzzled. "I...don't know. I just know that's the way it is."

"Well, I appreciate—"

"LasCrucesUniversityhowmayIdirectyourcall?" a voice on the phone spat, faster and more breathless this time.

"Particle Physics Lab," Liz said, abbreviating her earlier request.

"Onemomentplease," the voice announced, followed by a more reassuring click.

"What happened?" Max asked anxiously.

"I think I'm on hold," Liz whispered.

"You 'think'?"

"It's hard to tell when you're talking to someone who turns a sentence into a single word. I might be—"

"ParticlePhysics," a different voice barked.

"Oh—hi!" Liz answered, flustered. "Um...I'm calling from Congresswoman Whitaker's office to confirm her...appointment."

"Whatappointment?"

Crap, Liz thought, having hoped she wouldn't have to go into detail. "Well...the Congresswoman is having some...bones...examined in your lab, and I just wanted to confirm the date and time so I can—"

"Hangon."

No "click" this time. Liz held her breath as various rummaging and muttering sounds drifted over the phone. "She's down for day after tomorrow at 10 a.m.," the voice announced, speaking at a more conventional speed. "That still okay?"

"Yeah! I mean, yes, of course," Liz amended in a more professional voice. "Is there anything special she should bring with her?"

"Nope. The specimens will be delivered a couple of hours before that, so they should be prepped and ready to go when she gets here."

"I'll let her know," Liz said. "Thank you so—"

Click.

"—much," she finished. Sheesh, was everyone in college this harried?

"Well?" Max prompted. "Is that where they're going?"

Liz broke into a wide smile. "Yep. Day after tomorrow. The bones arrive early in the morning, she gets there at 10 a.m."

"Excellent!" Max said. "You were right."

I was, Liz thought with supreme satisfaction. She had correctly guessed where Pierce's bones were headed, not Max, or Nasedo, or most especially not Tess. No, this time they'd needed a human who understood what Whitaker was looking for and where to find it.

"Thank you, Liz," Max said. "You didn't have to do this. I could have looked into it myself without you having to go out on a limb for us."

"But then you would have had to pretend," Liz said. "I didn't have to, so if anything came up—"

"You would have gotten in trouble," Max finished. "Maria said you wanted to stay out of this, and I totally understand. You deserve a break."

"Oh, I...Alex!" Liz said suddenly. "Alex is here. I'll go let him in."

She hurried away, grateful for the interruption. How to explain after all the carrying on about "fresh starts" that she was thoroughly enjoying being the hero, the one who'd figured it out? She'd had a good long break this summer which had only served to drive home the point that she'd missed this, that she was good at this. The last time she'd felt this high was when they'd rescued Max from Pierce.

"Hey!" Alex said when she unlocked the door for him. "I got your message...your exceptionally urgent, cryptic message."

"Yeah, well, I didn't want to say too much over the phone," Liz said. "Come on in. We're the only ones here."

"Ah," Alex said knowingly. "One of those messages. And who, might I ask, is 'we'?"

"Just me and Max," Liz said.

"So no Nasedo," Alex said. "Good; that...'guy'...gives me the creeps. No offense," he added quickly to Max, who had just appeared from the other room.

"None taken," Max said. "Thanks for coming."

"You're welcome," Alex answered, "although I'm still not sure why I'm here."

"Alex," Liz said slowly, "is it possible for you to hack into the computer system at Las Cruces?"

"You mean the university?" Alex said. "Uh...yeah, I guess so. I doubt their servers are locked down like Fort Knox, but...can I ask why?"

"We need to see the layout of the Particle Physics Lab," Max explained. "That's where Pierce's bones are being taken to be examined."

"Really? Sweet!" Alex exclaimed. "I mean, not sweet for you," he amended hastily, "but it sounds like a cool place. There was an article in Popular Science which said...uh...nothing you want to hear," he finished when Max raised an eyebrow.

"I'd like to hear it," Liz commented.

"Maybe later," Alex allowed. "So you just want the floor plan? That probably doesn't need a hack. Students are given maps all the time."

"And the cyclotron," Liz said. "If you can find it."

"Might have to hunt for that one, but the cyclotron has been featured in so many publications, it shouldn't be hard to find something," Alex said. "And here I thought you wanted me to hack into their bank account."

"I think it's going to take a lot more than money to get us out of this one," Max said. "I'll keep an eye on the door while you work. Call me if you need anything."

"He's still worried Whitaker and Nasedo are going to come back," Liz said after Max left. "Fat chance. You should have seen them slobbering all over each other; he was kissing her, and she was—"

"Could we not do this?" Alex interrupted. "I just ate. And I had enough TMI this morning to last a lifetime. Okay, so...I brought my laptop. Where should I set up?"

"Nowhere," Liz said crisply. "Use one of our computers. That way if anyone traces it back here, it'll make sense; it'll just be one of Whitaker's employees doing some due diligence. If they trace it back to you..."

"I'm screwed," Alex nodded. "Got it. Lead the way, Mata Hari! That was a compliment," he added when he saw the look on her face. "Really."

That was the truth, Liz amended as she led him through the office. Mata Hari had been a spy, and now she was spying. And lying. And doing all the things she'd sworn she wouldn't do again. "How's this?" she asked.

"New and shiny," Alex said appreciatively, settling in front of a brand new computer. "Even the keyboard's pristine."

"Everything in this office is new," Liz said. "Will it work?"

"As long as it's connected to the internet, we're good to go," Alex said, flexing his fingers over the keyboard. "Lemme see...Las Cruces..."

"I bookmarked their site," Liz noted.

"Nah, we don't want their main site," Alex said. "That's for students and parents. And donors. We want the employee section, preferably the maintenance staff. All I need is a url for something employee-related, and I can go from there." His fingers tapped away as several windows opened on the screen. "So...how's things?"

"Good," Liz answered, settling into a chair beside him. "Really good. I got this job, and—"

"I meant with Max."

Liz paused, taken aback. "Oh. Oh, I...I mean 'we'...are still friends. Good friends."

" 'Good friends'?" Alex said doubtfully. "That was no 'good friend' who went charging after you when Nasedo carted you off. Or who went to Valenti and begged him to walk into an FBI base to rescue Max."

Liz's eyes fell. "Yeah, well...things change."

"They do," Alex agreed. "Sometimes. But from where I sit, nothing's changed."

"Given that this is the first time you've sat at this desk, that doesn't mean a whole lot," Liz noted.

"Very funny...I'm in!" Alex said suddenly. "Got in through an employee parking permit link."

"Don't you need a password?" Liz asked, leaning in closer so she could see the screen.

"I would if I were hacking into an employee's account, but I'm looking for...blueprints! Bingo! Here's the lab itself," Alex went on as a floor plan appeared. "Now I just need the cyclotron." He tapped away for a moment in silence as Liz leaned on the desk beside him. "Maybe it's none of my business, but—"

"But it's a well known fact that sentences which start with 'Maybe it's none of my business' really aren't," Liz said. "Your business, that is."

Alex smiled faintly. "It's also a well known fact that friends get some leeway about the definition of what's our 'business'. So maybe it's none of my business, but don't you think you're taking this whole video thing a bit too far?"

" 'Video thing'?"

"Yeah, the recording, or whatever it was, that set you off in the first place," Alex said. "The one that said Max and Tess were married."

"You've been talking to Maria," Liz sighed.

"No, most of the time it's Maria who's talking to me," Alex said. "It's tough to talk to Maria because it's hard to get a word in edgewise. But if you listen to Maria, you can learn a lot. And it sounds like a tale of what used to be, not what it is now."

"You weren't there," Liz argued. "You didn't hear it."

"And you haven't been here all summer," Alex countered. "You didn't see it."

"See what?"

"See Max and Tess not getting together," Alex said. "I was here all summer, Liz, and nothing happened. We all saw each other a lot, but they didn't hit it off. Max spent the whole summer pining after you. With you gone, wouldn't that be the perfect time for sparks to fly? And if they didn't fly then, after a big life-threatening crisis and with the girlfriend gone, they're just not going to. So what's with the 'good friends' bit?"

"Maybe I've changed," Liz shrugged. "Maybe I just got tired of it all, and that was the last straw."

Alex gave her a pitying look. "Oh, please. You love this. And don't bother telling me you don't because I know you too well. You love this, and you love him...and he loves you. Maybe you can fool yourself otherwise, but good luck fooling me."

The printer whirred as Liz looked away. "Did you find something?" Max called from the doorway.

"Sure did," Alex answered. "Here's detailed floor plans for the building which houses the Particle Physics Lab, and a breakdown of the cyclotron. That should be enough to get you where you need to go."

"Great!" Max said. "Wow, that was fast. I thought it would be a lot harder."

Alex's eyes fastened on Liz. "Some things just look hard when they're really pretty easy. Sometimes we make them harder than they need to be." He shouldered his backpack. "Good luck with your bones."

"Yeah...thanks," Max said, throwing Liz a puzzled look as Alex walked away. "What was that all about?"

Liz shrugged, hoping her face wasn't really as red as it felt. "No idea."




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




Holiday Inn,

Roswell





"What do you mean you don't have a room service menu?" Vanessa snapped. "You have room service, don't you? Then you should have a room service menu in every room. How else do we order room service? Are the staff supposed to recite every offering like the ice cream man and his 102 flavors? Don't you think a menu is more expedient? Then get one up here pronto!"

Vanessa slammed the phone down and sank onto the room's hard bed. She was used to the Savoy or the Ritz, but outside of Washington, availing herself of a five star hotel would be considered gauche. Hoity-toity. Spendthrift. Five star hotels being scarce in Roswell anyway, she'd made a grand gesture by settling for a Holiday Inn, where a smiling desk clerk had offered her congresswoman an "upgrade" to an "executive room" which turned out to be a tiny room with a tiny bathroom...and no room service menu. What she wouldn't give now for a separate bedroom, a tub she could stretch out in, a fluffy white robe, and a bottle of wine. Heck, she'd settle for dinner, but she couldn't even get that because the incompetent housecleaning service had made off with the room service menu. The last thing she wanted to do was go down to the plebian restaurant which would be full of human constituents who would recognize her, abandon their burgers and fries to come over and say hello, and force her to be friendly when all she wanted to do was hurl something across the room.

Her phone rang. Not now, Vanessa groaned when she saw the number. "What?" she said sharply.

"What, 'what'?" Nicholas retorted. "Try 'what have you got for me'?"

"I've arranged to have the bones examined by one of their gigantic scanning machines," Vanessa answered. "I'll have something for you day after tomorrow."

"How about Pierce? Anything more on him?"

"Not yet. He'll surface," Vanessa promised when Nicholas made a noise which sounded suspiciously like disgust. "I know he will."

"If he really felt for you the way you think he does, he would have already," Nicholas declared.

And he did, Vanessa thought silently, completely unable to reveal that without also revealing the rest. Somehow she didn't think Nicholas would take kindly to hearing, "Oh, yes, Daniel appeared, and then we dove in my car to screw each other's lights out, and then I told him I was an alien, after which he looked at me like I was crazy, zipped his fly, and left without a word." No, that would most definitely not go over well.

"Give him some time," Vanessa said. "The hearing was only a few days ago."

"A few days too many," Nicholas complained. "I'm sending someone out there."

"You most certainly are not," Vanessa declared. "I told you, this one's mine. I see so much as one familiar face out here, and I'll make it my business to see that you regret it."

"Ye gads!" Nicholas exclaimed in mock surprise. "That almost sounded like a threat."

Vanessa's hand gripped the phone more tightly. "Nicholas, darling? I'm very busy now, too busy to waste time on you...and that's a good thing. In fact, if you have any sense at all, you will hit your bony knees and pray I never find you worthy of my complete attention because you, of all people, know just how devastating my complete attention can be. I repeat—this one's mine. Stay out of it."

She cut the line before Nicholas could respond and tossed the phone on the bed; it practically bounced on the cheap, hard mattress, which would explain why she ached all over. Great—empty stomach, crappy hotel room, and now a pissed off lover, although frankly, she and Nicholas hadn't been lovers for a while now. No, that honor went to Daniel, who she'd just scared off with an announcement so insane, it boggled the mind. What the hell had she been thinking?

Someone knocked on the door. "Finally," Vanessa muttered, opening it only to step hastily back as Daniel blew past her into the room and whirled around, his face like thunder.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded.

Startled, it took Vanessa moment to recover. "You came back," she whispered, closing the door. "You came back to me."

"Yes I 'came back to you', because I had to find out why you've gone off your rocker!" Daniel retorted. "You're an 'alien'? Just how stupid do you think I am! Or maybe you think this is funny? Is this some kind of sick joke? Because if it is, this is not the time—"

Ffffffffffffft!

The lamp beside Daniel abruptly flared, sparked...and blew out. He scrambled backward, looking back and forth from the ruined lamp to her outstretched hand. "Did...you do that?" he ventured.

"Yes," Vanessa confirmed.

"How can you do that?" he whispered. "You're not supposed to be able to do that."

"Long story. Short story—I'm not human, Daniel. I'm an alien. I'm from a world called 'Antar'."

His eyes widened. "And I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be telling me that."

"I think we're way past 'supposed to'," Vanessa said. "Look, the point is I'm an 'alien hunter' too. I'm hunting the same aliens you are. That's why we should work together—"

"Stop!" Daniel ordered. "This is crazy! So you blew up a lamp; big deal. You probably had it rigged. This whole thing is just too...too..."

His voice trailed off as she turned around, lifted her shirt, lowered her waistband. He'd never found the flap which concealed her husk's seal. Given that he'd been over every single inch of her more times than she could count, she'd sometimes found that odd. Now she was grateful he hadn't, that she hadn't had to explain it away as some kind of implant. Now it looked just exactly like what it was—alien.

The silence behind her was deafening. Vanessa lowered the flap and turned around to find him wearing a hard stare. "What the hell was that?" he said flatly.

"The seal on my husk," Vanessa answered. "I don't really look like this. I'm shorter, and grayer, and...oh, never mind the particulars—I look different. I'm wearing a human skin; not from an actual human," she added hastily when his eyes widened. "We made them ourselves, so we could blend in and because we can't survive in Earth's environment. The skin is like a...like a pressure suit. The seal is what closes it."

"Why would you tell me this?" Daniel demanded. "I hunt aliens! Now I have to hunt you!"

"No!" Vanessa exclaimed. "No, you don't, because like I said, we want the same thing. I'm not your problem, Daniel! I'm not the one who's been leaving silver handprints all over the country for years. Those are the aliens I'm chasing, and since I know far more about them than you do, I can help you find them."

"Oh, of course," he said sarcastically. " 'I'm an alien, but you can trust me because I'm a 'good' alien. It's the other aliens who are the 'bad' aliens'.' Why do I get the funny feeling those 'other' aliens would say the same thing about you?"

"There was a coup on my world," Vanessa said. "We deposed the king, but he got away. He fled here with his family, and we followed him."

"What for?" Daniel said. "If you deposed him, why not just let him go?"

"Because he's powerful," Vanessa answered. "Incredibly powerful. Too powerful. Suffice it to say he can do way more than just blow up lamps, and so can his guardians. They're the ones leaving handprints all over the place." She paused. "You met them, didn't you? Or you got close. Something happened when you were in Roswell, something that changed you. You said you 'found something', but then you 'lost it'. What did you find? Who did you find?"

"I don't believe this," Daniel muttered.

"Believe it," Vanessa said, coming closer. "We may not be the same species, but we're the same, you and I. We've always had a lot in common, but now you're...cold. Ambitious. Ruthless."

She'd covered the space between them, and he hadn't backed away. "Nice try," he said , "but I was always cold, ambitious, and ruthless. Funny you never noticed."

"Oh, I noticed," Vanessa said, close enough to touch him now. "It's what drew me to you."

"Oh, really?" Daniel said softly "And here I thought you slept with me just to find out what I know."

They were together now, foreheads touching. "Well...maybe," Vanessa allowed. "At first. But it's more than that now. When you came back from Roswell, you were...different. Colder. More ambitious. More ruthless. You've got a nasty streak that wasn't there before, and...and I like it."

"Why, Vanessa," Daniel said with the ghost of a smile. "I do believe you like the bad boys."

"The badder, the better," she whispered.

KnockKnock

The bubble burst. Fuming, Vanessa went to the door and retrieved her missing room service menu. Funny how just a few minutes ago she was starving, but now food was the last thing on her mind. "Hungry?" she asked, coming back into the room. "Let's discuss this civilly. I was going to order..."

She stopped short at the sight of Daniel stretched full length on the bed; she'd had no idea he could undress that fast. "Definitely hungry," he confirmed. "But not for anything on that menu. And I don't have the slightest interest in being civil."





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





UFO Center





The back door opened abruptly. "Who are you?" Brody demanded.

Startled, Courtney pushed herself to her feet. She'd been summoned via their new communication method and was here as requested, but it was a bit early; Larak had said midnight, and it was only 11:45. What rotten luck to be caught by his host. "I'm Courtney, remember? I work at the Crashdown across the street. I brought you your lunch the other day."

"I don't care if you're the Tooth Fairy, I still want to know why you're lurking by my back door," Brody retorted.

"I'm waiting for a friend of mine," Courtney answered, thinking fast. "He's going to pick me up."

"By the back door?" Brody said suspiciously.

"It's hard to stop on Main Street and get in a car with a bunch of traffic waiting behind you," Courtney noted.

Brody considered that for a moment. "Okay, then why are you in my doorway? You could just as easily wait up near the corner."

"It's kind of dark on this street, and you have a light by the door. I felt safer here."

"Looks to me like you're casing the joint," Brody said accusingly.

"People don't 'case joints' under lights," Courtney protested. "The whole point of 'casing' is that you're invisible. I'm hardly invisible, or at least you seemed to find me pretty fast. Look, I'm going," she went on, shouldering her bag. "No need to get all pissed off."

There was a long pause while Brody looked her up and down, and Courtney was certain she was about to have a tango with the sheriff...but then he inexplicably broke into a wide smile. "It's Larak," Larak grinned, as though pleased with his little joke. "I was just yanking your chain. Come on in."

" 'Yanking my...' what?" Courtney sputtered, following him inside. "Jesus! What the hell was that all about?"

"Jesus," Larak recited, as though reading from a book. "Of Nazareth, also known as the Christ, regarded as a deity by one of Earth's largest religious denominations called..."

"Christians," Courtney finished crossly. "And he was the son of a deity, although I gather he was also a god in his own right."

"So you got religion?" Larak said.

"No, we got clothes, and food, and lots of other things from the Salvation Army," Courtney answered, "but in return we had to sit through church services. It was a fair exchange. Now what's with the act? I'm here like you asked, and you go all host on my ass?"

"I was testing you," Larak said. "I wanted to see how quickly you thought on your feet. And what your reaction would be when you found out who I really was."

"Testing me?" Courtney said incredulously. "What is it with the testing today? First I've got a Warder 'testing me' to see if I've blathered to another Warder, and now I've got Kerona's Premiere 'testing me' to see...what? What are you after?"

They'd reached the main exhibition hall, sporting soft lights, lots of boxes, and...that was it. "Where's Brivari?" Courtney asked.

"Not coming," Larak answered.

"Why? Did something happen?"

" 'Not coming' as in 'not invited'," Larak corrected. "I wanted to spend some time alone with you."

Courtney raised an eyebrow. "Why?" she asked warily.

"Because you're not entirely comfortable around him," Larak said, "and I need you to be completely honest with me."

"No one's 'entirely comfortable' around Royal Warders," Courtney reminded him. "And you want me to be honest with you about what?"

"Please," Larak said, indicating a makeshift table he'd constructed from boxes. "Have a seat."

Courtney gripped her bag tighter. "I don't think so. All of a sudden, I'm not 'entirely comfortable' around you."

To her surprise, Larak broke into an easy laugh. "See, there it is," he said as she stared him down. "That refusal to bow down. Even to the King's Warder, or the Premiere of Kerona. And I'll bet even to the King of Antar."

"That one's not hard," Courtney said. "The King of Antar is a human teenager who likes burgers and shakes and has a curfew on school nights. Not much 'bowing' going on there. And you still haven't answered my question."

"True," Larak allowed, clasping his hands together, pausing for a moment. "I need honesty, brutal honesty. I have exactly three people from whom to obtain this honesty, two of whom are Royal Warders so heavily invested in this enterprise that their opinions are suspect."

"And one of whom would execute you on sight," Courtney added. "Which is why he's not 'in the know'."

"Ah," Larak nodded. "I see. But either way, that leaves me with...you. You see, I have a unique problem. I have 5 planets in an uproar because Antar has heard from its king for the first time in decades, and everyone is looking to me because I was friends with that king. But frankly, given everything I've heard, if we bring him home now, I'm not exactly certain who...or what...I'll be bringing back. I need to know the current status of the players on the board and, like it or not, you're the most objective commentator out there."

Courtney raised an eyebrow. "I am many things, but I promise you I am not objective."

"Maybe not," Larak allowed, "but merely saying that makes you more objective than my other choices. 'Choice'," he amended. "Guess I can't count the murderous one. Are you sure he's still in the dark?"

"I'm sure," Courtney said. "Besides, he's otherwise engaged tonight. From what I hear, he's sleeping with the enemy. Literally."





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




September 7, 2000, 12:15 a.m.

Holiday Inn





Vanessa stirred, stretched, opened her eyes—the remnants of dinner spilled off two trays at the foot of the bed, and Daniel sat beside her, tapping away at a laptop. "Morning, sunshine," he said.

Morning? Ah. The mangy clock on the particle board table confirmed that it was 12:15 a.m. "How long did I sleep?" she whispered.

"Couple of hours. But then we did get quite a workout."

"And how," Vanessa agreed, noting that they'd have to put the room back together; rough sex tended to wreak havoc on interior decorating. "How about that—you fucked an alien."

"Correction: I fucked an alien again. Those 'husks' of yours are dead ringers for the real thing. And have nerve endings in all the right places."

"Don't I know it," Vanessa murmured. "So you believe me?"

"Let's call it a working hypothesis," Daniel said. "And while you were snoring, I decided to get a jump on what our resident 'alien' congressional representative was up to."

Vanessa blinked. "Wait. Is that...is that my laptop? How did you get my password?" she demanded, sitting up straight. "And what makes you think you have any right—"

The hand she'd reached up to snatch back her computer was abruptly snatched itself, an iron grip that brooked no argument. "Seriously?" Daniel said. "I'm FBI Special Unit; you really think I can't get past a simple password? And who the hell is 'Nicholas', anyway? But whatever...when you said you wanted to 'join forces', I was assuming you meant more than just bending over the desk. Not that I didn't enjoy your bending over the desk. Or just plain bending over."

His grip softened, and Vanessa pulled her hand back. "Are you...are you saying you're willing to work with me?"

"I'm saying I'm willing to do anything to get what I want," Daniel answered. "So what do you say...partner?"



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



We're away over Labor Day weekend, so I'll post Chapter 14 on Sunday, September 7.

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello, everyone! I have the coolest thing to show you! We had my (somewhat belated) birthday celebration since I was last here, and one of my presents was...*drum roll please*...ALL OF MY BOOKS IN PRINT!



I was beyond gobsmacked. This represents the combined efforts of my husband, a friend of his, and our very own Misha! Misha did all the artwork, the covers, and the summaries on the back, each of which matches the chapters included in that volume. My husband's friend had the task of formatting the text for print, including the removal of all those bulletin board tags. The amount of work this represents is mind-boggling, and I am so very, very grateful to everyone who made it happen.

Okay. *breathes deeply* I'll come down off my high just long enough to put up another chapter...






CHAPTER FOURTEEN




September 7, 2000, 10 a.m.

Route 70 West, New Mexico





"How's it going?" Isabel called.

"Not bad, not great," Max answered from the back. "I'm remembering some of it."

'Keep trying," Isabel advised.

"Want me to quiz you again?" Tess asked.

""Let me get one more look," Max said.

The maps Alex had provided swam in front of him, campus maps, building maps, cyclotron maps. He wouldn't have time to consult them tomorrow, so he was trying to commit them to memory and then test that memory when they reached Las Cruces for a dry run of tomorrow's latest meeting with destiny. Isabel was driving to give him more time to pore over the maps, which had made for an awkward situation when they'd picked up Tess. Always something of a third wheel even when they were four, she was even more so now that they were three. Usually it was guys in front, girls in back, but with Isabel driving and him in the passenger seat, Tess would have been alone in the back, and that had just seemed...rude. Obvious. Even calculated, although it wasn't. Isabel had felt it too, judging from her stricken expression after they'd paused in Tess's driveway and honked the horn. Tess, for her part, had plopped into the back seat and buckled her seat belt without so much as a moment's hesitation as he and Isabel had struggled silently with the new seating arrangement.

"I'll sit in the back," Max had said suddenly.

"Yeah, that'd be good," Isabel agreed.

Tess had eyed him warily as he'd climbed into the back with her. "I don't need a babysitter," she'd objected.

"I'm not babysitting," Max had said. "I need more room to spread out all these maps."

She'd given him a pitying look. "Seriously? I know you don't like me. It's not like it's a big secret."

Something had stirred in Max then, something annoyed, and rebellious, and...pissed. "What I don't like is having my life planned out for me," he retorted. "What I don't like is being told my opinion doesn't matter, that the way it used to be is the way it must be in the future. I don't like any of that, but none of that means I don't like you. On the contrary, I could use your help. You're way more skilled at this kind of stuff than we are."

Tess' eyes had dropped. "Oh. Sorry," she said, taken aback. "You're all pretty good at this yourselves. You were doing fine before I showed up."

"But you're more used to it," Isabel said. "We can do it, but it's harder for us. You stay cooler, keep a clearer head. We need that."

"And your experience," Max added. "Will you help us, or would you rather pout because you're not my wife? Because if that's what you're doing, you can do that at home."

"Of course I'll help," Tess said firmly. "Anything. Just name it."

And so had commenced the three and half hour drive, a flurry of studying and being quizzed. He was getting better, but not fast enough. Gathering up the maps, he handed them to Tess.

"Okay...quiz me."

She pulled one of the maps out of the pile. "If you're going north on Campus Boulevard, which way do you turn to get to the Particle Physics Lab?"

"Right," Max said promptly, "or east."

"Yes," Tess confirmed. "Inside the lab, do you take the north or the west staircase to get to the cyclotron?"

"North. The west stairs don't go down to that floor."

"Good. How many elevator shafts go all the way to the top of the building?"

Max hesitated, struggling to recall. "Time," Tess said after 10 seconds had passed, their predetermined time limit for recalling crucial information. "You're doing better."

"I'm doing crap," Max sighed, taking the maps back. "Each time I remember and forget different stuff, and any of it could be important."

"Keep trying," Tess urged. "I'll keep helping."

"Or one of us could go with you," Isabel suggested. "Two people might remember more details."

"No," Max said firmly. "We went over this. The more people in the building, the more likely one of us will get caught."

"Okay, then, what about that 'scanning' thing Nasedo was talking about," Isabel went on. "At the base, remember?

"What's this?" Max asked.

"When we were getting ready to rescue you," Isabel explained. "Nasedo gave Michael a map of the base and told him to 'scan it into his brain'."

Max looked at Tess. "Do you know anything about this?"

"Yeah," she admitted. "I do it all the time. Some humans do it too; they call it 'photographic memory', although our version tends to be on the more intense end of the scale."

Max shook his head. "Not following."

"Okay...think of your brain as a computer," Tess said. "When you scan something, it's just like when you scan something onto your hard drive—you make a copy you can look at later, only this one's in your head.

"Don't we do that already?" Isabel said. "Max and I routinely remember all sorts of stuff for school. We read textbooks, and then we don't have to reread it because we remember it."

"This is more than just remembering," Tess said. "Suppose there was something in that textbook you didn't remember. Could you call up those pages again in your mind, like they were right there in front of you, and reread them to find out what you were missing?"

"No," Isabel allowed.

"But that's exactly what I need," Max said eagerly. "So you can do this?"

"Nasedo taught me a long time ago," Tess nodded. "It's how I always knew where we lived and always remembered the new escape route even though we moved a lot. It's like having a portable library in your head."

"Can you show me how?"

"I can try," Tess said. "But one thing you should know is that it's always faster to remember. If you've scanned something, you can look up what you need to know, but it takes time. Remembering is always faster, and that takes work, just like you're doing now."

"Got it," Max said. "What do I do?"

Tess looked down at the top map, one of the campus. "I'm...not sure. I was really little when I learned."

"Show me," Max said, handing her the map.

Silence descended as Tess stared at the map, Max watched closely, and Isabel swerved slightly because she was looking in the rear view mirror. About five seconds later, Tess looked up. "Done. Test me," she said, handing the map to Max.

"But you'll remember a lot of this stuff," Max said. "You're been quizzing me about it for hours now."

"Then pick something I haven't asked you," Tess said. "Find something that's far away from the lab, something that wouldn't have anything to do with why we're there. We haven't been paying any attention to that."

Well...I haven't, Max thought, combing the map for something that would be a true test. He found it in the lower right hand corner, so faint that he had to work at reading it. "The publication date," he said. "What is it?"

Tess closed her eyes for much longer than five seconds this time, frowning after a few before breaking into a smile. "Found it! Man, that's tiny. It's smudged, but I think it's...1998. Could be 1999 because it's the '8' that's smudged."

"Wow," Max said wonderingly. "Incredible!"

"Give her something she's never seen before," Isabel suggested. "Like the car manual. It's in the glove compartment."

"Good idea." Max leaned into the front seat to fetch it and selected a page with a dense table of information. Tess spent no longer gazing at the manual than she had at the map.

"Okay. Test me."

"What's the title?" Max asked.

"Normal Maintenance Replacement Parts," Tess recited.

"What's it say under 'PCV Valve'?"

"Code 8 Base Model, part number 94859406. Code 8 AWD Model, part number 94859404. Code L, part number 88969512."

"What about the spark plugs? The Code 8 kind."

"DENSO SK16R11, NGK IFR5A88 or part number 94859448," Tess answered.

"Is that right? Oh, my God!" Isabel exclaimed when Max nodded. "You didn't look at that anywhere near long enough to memorize all that!"

"Because I'm not memorizing," Tess reminded her. "I'm scanning. Scanning means you just read it, the same way Max is reading it off the page."

"I'm sold," Max announced. "How do I do it?"

"Well...you concentrate on what you're scanning, and..."

"Throw power at it?" Isabel suggested.

"Read it?" Max added.

"No...no, I'm not reading it, and I'm not using power, at least not in the conventional sense," Tess said. "I'm not exactly sure how I do it. I just concentrate on it, and think about scanning it. You try," she suggested, taking the manual from him. "Here...this is a good one.

Max looked at the list entitled "Instrument Panel Fuse Block". "Do I read it, or—"

"No," Tess said. "It's not reading, it's scanning; you can read it after you scan it. You don't read, you just look at it."

"Okay," Max said doubtfully, staring at the page and feeling slightly silly as he fought to overcome the natural urge to read what he wanted to remember. This was an alien power, so shouldn't he be using his powers? Closing his eyes, he cautiously aimed power at the page...

...only to have it snatched out of his hands. "It was smoking," Tess said, slapping at a darkened corner of the book. "You're trying to scan it, not burn it."

"I don't know what that means," Max said in frustration.

Tess's expression softened. "I know. I'm sorry I don't have a better explanation."

"Maybe it's something only you can do?" Isabel suggested.

"Maybe," Tess allowed, "but I doubt it. Nasedo made it sound like it was a small thing, not a big power like your dreamwalking."

"A 'small thing'," Max said ironically. "Just another 'small thing' we don't know."

"So let's find out," Isabel said. "Try again, Max. Maybe it's like one of those 3D pictures hidden inside another picture. Remember how Dad could see them, but Mom couldn't? But she kept looking at it, and eventually she figured it out. It had something to do with what she was focusing on. Keep trying."

Max sighed and settled back into the corner, his eyes on the page. He did remember his dad teasing his mom because he could see the 3D pictures right away while she couldn't, and as he recalled, it wasn't what she was focusing on that finally made them visible to her—it was figuring out what not to focus on. Holding the manual tightly, Max stared at the page again, but this time he crossed his eyes hard. Then he slowly let the two images come together until they were hovering just near the edge of symmetry...

"Got it," Max breathed a moment later.

"You did?" Isabel said. "What did you do?"

"I...I'm not sure," Max admitted. "I'm not even sure how I know it worked, but it did."

"Let's test it," Tess said, taking the manual from him. "What's the fourth fuse down on the lefthand list?"

Incredible, Max thought as the page appeared before him as though he held it in his hands. "AM2," he read. "Charging System, Starter System, Engine Control."

"How about the sixth one down on the right?"

" 'CIG'," Max read. "Cigarette Lighter, Power Outlets, Audio System, Automatic Transaxle Control System."

"He did it!" Tess said. "You really did it!"

"Give me the maps," Max said eagerly.

It took longer this time. Beginner's luck, Max thought when it took him a full ten minutes with three breaks to scan the campus map. The building layout was slightly less difficult, though, and by the time he confronted the most confusing of the three, the cyclotron, it was noticeably easier. "This is amazing!" he exclaimed, leafing through the maps in his head. "It really is just like having them right in front of you."

"We're here," Isabel announced.

They were. New Mexico State University blared the huge sign beside the wide drive Isabel had turned onto, only to slam on the brakes when she encountered a long line of traffic. "What the...!" she exclaimed. "The place is crawling!"

"Looks like freshmen are moving in," Max said.

"Good," Tess said. "The bigger the crowd, the less anyone will notice us."

"And if we wind up in the wrong place, we're just three lost freshman looking for our dorm," Max said. "That would be 'Garcia'," he added after consulting his internal university map. "It's the furthest from the Particle Physics Lab."

"Knock'em dead, Max," Tess smiled.




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




"Egads; this must be freshman orientation," Vanessa grimaced, steering the car between throngs of bewildered teenagers and their equally bewildered parents. "I'm so glad you came to your senses, Daniel. You won't regret it."

"Well, what choice did I have?" Daniel said. "It was either that or hand you over to the Unit. Whatever Unit I wind up forming, that is."

Vanessa glanced sideways; he was smiling, at least faintly, but still...she couldn't quite tell where they stood. He'd agreed to work with her, and on the surface he was, but the signals he was sending were mixed at best. "So...a school?" he went on, gazing out the window at the mobs. "When I agreed to 'join forces', I didn't expect to wind up in a day care. Never took you for a schoolmarm."

"Good," Vanessa said. "I loathe children. We're here for something we need, something we can only find here. Something that will hopefully restore my credibility."

"Mine's shot already," Daniel shrugged.

"At the Bureau, perhaps," Vanessa noted, "and via self-inflicted wound. But not everywhere, and you'll need it back. You want to start your own Unit, and to do that, you'll need agents. This will get you those agents."

"So we can find 'our' aliens," Daniel said.

"Exactly," Vanessa answered. "We both want the same thing, so we'd be foolish not to work together."

"Too bad you didn't just say that," Daniel said. "Before you started fucking me, that is."

"Excuse me?" Vanessa protested. "I thought we'd established that your hopping into my bed was also politically motivated?"

"Of course it was," Daniel said. "That doesn't change the fact that you came looking for me because you knew I could help you find what you wanted. But it's a grand human tradition to sleep your way to what you want. Maybe you're more human than you think."

Vanessa's hands gripped the steering wheel harder as yet another barb flew her way. Give him time, she counseled herself. She'd just told an alien hunter she was an alien, and every bone in his body must be itching to haul her in, to use her to get his job back. He was either having trouble getting his head around it or he was truly still on the fence, and if the latter, she'd have to convince him otherwise.

They reached the Particle Physics Lab, and she pulled into a parking space, killed the engine, and sat in silence, staring straight ahead. "Please tell me your people don't meditate," Daniel said.

"Some do," Vanessa allowed, "but I was just thinking...it's not just a human tradition. Our new king used it to depose the old one, although it didn't quite work out the way he'd intended. Sleeping your way to power is more of a sentient species tradition."

"So we're considered 'sentient'," Daniel said dryly. "Delighted, I'm sure. I gather you think you have 'power' where you come from?"

"I have power everywhere I go," Vanessa assured him. "I'm attached to our king's 'second', meaning his second in command and heir."

"Vanessa, darling," Daniel chuckled, "I don't know how they do math in your part of the solar system—"

"Galaxy."

"Whatever. I hate to break it to you, but hanging with number two doesn't make you number three—it makes you number zero. So you have no power. No wonder you wanted some here."

"I have the ear of the king's second," Vanessa said crossly. "Haven't you ever heard of the 'power behind the throne'? That holds on whichever planet the throne happens to be sitting."

"If you say so," Daniel said skeptically.

"Why all the hostility?" Vanessa demanded, losing her patience. "Do we have a problem here?"

"Of course we 'have a problem here'," Daniel said testily. "You keep banging on about 'working together', but I still don't know what that means. Yes, I know you said you're chasing deposed kings, but what if you're planning an invasion? What if I'm literally sleeping with the enemy?"

"If we've been planning an invasion for the past 40 odd years, we must be pretty crappy at it," Vanessa noted.

"Supposedly you've been hunting that king for the past 40 odd years, so does that mean you're 'crappy' at that?" Daniel retorted.

Vanessa had just opened her mouth to let rip on that one when she pulled up short...and started laughing instead. ""Did I say something funny?" Daniel said peevishly. "Do tell."

"It's just that...it looks that way," Vanessa chuckled. "I mean, it must. I've been stranded on this backwater rock for almost half a century, and I can safely assure you that I can't wait to get home. That's why I slept with you, why I wanted to know what you knew, because the faster we found what we were looking for, the sooner we could get out of here. And if you do manage to start your own Unit, if you share with me what you find, I...I might actually get to go home. Finally." She stopped, suddenly self-conscious as her throat constricted with very unwelcome emotion. "Let's go in."

They walked inside in silence, pushing through the throngs of students and parents. "Congresswoman Whitaker!" an official looking someone wearing a name tag said in surprise. "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow—"

"No worries," Vanessa said, holding up a hand. "I'm showing a colleague of mine what we'll be doing tomorrow. We just wanted a look at the cyclotron."

"You and the rest of the universe," the woman chuckled. "It's not in use today, so the viewing windows are open. Go right up." She paused, staring at Daniel. "Hey...aren't you that FBI agent—"

"No," Daniel said flatly. '" 'Cyclotron'?" he murmured as they joined the line climbing the wide staircase. "What the hell is that?"

"It's a machine," Vanessa answered, "a huge, slow, inefficient machine. But everyone will listen to the results it produces, and that's what matters."

"I take it you think your...'people'...could do better?"

"Of course we could," Vanessa said, not missing the jab, "but we don't have the right materials on this planet. This will have to do."

"Do what, exactly?"

They'd reached the second floor. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows ringed an oval in the center where, two floors below, was the cyclotron, a massive construct that filled a major part of the basement level. "You may have found it politically expedient to deny the existence of cadmium-X on national television," Vanessa said as they joined the crowds at the windows, "but fate has sent a murder victim my way, a man killed by the very aliens we're both chasing. His skeleton will prove that cadmium-X is real. This machine is crude, but it will get the job done."

"So?" Daniel said. "The Bureau already knows cadmium-X is real, and has a herd of similar skeletons. And I don't care how much you want 'credibility, you can't go public with this. We don't want hordes of people hunting aliens they've suddenly been told are real, especially since some of them are bound to be sympathizers. The last thing we want is to find them new friends."

"Gracious, do you think I'm stupid?" Vanessa demanded. "This isn't for the public; it's for us."

"And here I thought this was just for you," Daniel said sardonically. "Oh, wait—it is just for you!"

"It's for you, too," Vanessa argued. "How do you think you're going to rally people to your Unit? This will never go public, but word will get around, inside the Bureau and the halls of Congress. When that happens you'll have more than just Unit agents flocking to your cause, plus some serious financial backers that you'll need to get up and running."

"So you can get 'up and running'," Daniel said. "As in 'running home'. So is 'home' all it's cracked up to be? Are you really that much better off there than here?"

Am I? Vanessa thought, staring through the glass at the machine which might get her what she needed, the prospect of going home suddenly looming larger than it had in ages.

"No," she admitted. "Not really."





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





"Crowded," Tess murmured as they nudged their way toward the glass windows which formed a ring on the second floor of the Physics Building.

"Very," Isabel agreed, looking down at the machine which might get Michael killed. "So what do we do? Can we break it?"

"That won't help," Max said, "for the same reason stealing the bones won't help. It'll just look suspicious, and eventually they'd fix it or ship the bones somewhere else where we can't reach them. We have to come up with a way to get an answer they'll accept which will also get Michael off the hook."

"Can you take the cadmium-X out of the bones?" Tess suggested.

"Maybe," Max allowed.

"But if the cadmium-X comes from our powers, won't anything we do to them with those powers leave that behind?" Isabel said.

"Crap," Tess sighed. "How about if we alter the test result? You know, have the computer say it didn't find anything even if it did?"

"That would throw them off," Max agreed.

"Wouldn't we need Alex for that?" Isabel said.

"I'll talk to him," Max said. "Maybe he has some ideas. If that won't work, I can try and do something to the bones, but I'll need access to them."

"Nasedo can help with that," Tess said. "He can look like anybody, so he can go anywhere."

"Yeah, hopefully without leaving a pile of bodies behind," Isabel muttered.

"No more bodies," Max said firmly. "I'll talk to..." He stopped suddenly, shrinking back into the crowd, pulling Tess and Isabel with him. "Back up," he said urgently. "Look who's here."

They followed his gaze across the chasm to where Congresswoman Whitaker and Pierce, or rather Nasedo looking like Pierce, stood on the other side of the oval. "What are they doing here?" Isabel hissed.

"Probably the same thing we are," Max said. "Let's go. We still have to check out all the entrances and exits. I can figure out what I'm going to do later."

They melted into the crowd, hurrying as fast as possible in the opposite direction, with Max only stopping once to read a poster advertising an upcoming presentation.

Nuclear Weapons Testing in New Mexico—How Were We Affected?




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




Students and parents wandered by, looking through the windows and exclaiming over the university's latest toy as Vanessa and Daniel stood in awkward silence, her flushing, him gaping. Had she actually just said that out loud? Had she actually just said she was better off here than on Antar?

"Wow," Daniel said softly. "Did not see that one coming."

Vanessa leaned against the glass, overcome with a sudden, unfamiliar urge. She couldn't talk about this with anyone, certainly not Nicholas, but not anyone else either; she'd be reported in a heartbeat and her career, if not her life, would be over. But Daniel was safe. He wouldn't go ratting her out to Nicholas, couldn't even if he wanted to. For the first time in years, she found herself with an option to be something she rarely was: Honest.

"What I'm about to say doesn't leave this room," she whispered. "And never gets repeated to anyone, your species or mine."

Daniel smiled faintly. "It's not exactly a 'room', but I can certainly do the species part. You're the only alien I know. That I haven't killed yet, anyway."

"Stop posturing," Vanessa said impatiently. "You haven't killed any aliens; if you had, I'd know." She paused. "Here's the deal—Antar is a mess. Our new king was never accepted by the people, and they've been fighting him ever since the coup...and let's just say he's not doing much to win them over."

"I see," Daniel murmured. "And the old king? Was it that bad under the old regime?"

"No," Vanessa admitted. "We were peaceful. Prosperous. Stable."

"So you traded peace, prosperity, and stability for chaos? Doesn't sound like a fair trade to me. What moron made a deal like that?"

"The same moron who makes any deal like that," Vanessa said savagely. "A man. The old dynasty had their problems, chief among them that they didn't give my faction its due. But since the old king escaped with his family, everyone's been waiting for him to return, and that just infuriates our new king. He's been throwing a tantrum ever since and blaming it on everyone who won't accept him, when all he's really doing is proving he isn't fit for the post."

"What about this 'second' you mentioned," Daniel said. "Would he do a better job?"

"God, no," Vanessa said bitterly. "He's worse."

"And this is what you're dying to go back to?" Daniel said skeptically.

"Because I can't fix it from here," Vanessa said sadly. "I'm stranded here while my world is falling apart, and the fastest way to fix that is to find the king and his family. If I can't—"

"This is all deeply touching," Daniel interrupted, "but it doesn't have a damned thing to do with me. If you find cadmium X in your skeleton, so what? Even if that gets me a Unit, we're no closer to finding the aliens, and what happens when we do? You jet off home with your prizes and leave me with nothing? Because that's not gonna work for me." He leaned in closer. "Get to the part where I get something out of this. Give me something I can use."

"Right," Vanessa said, noting that one of the reasons she'd fallen in love with him was that he was a hardass like her. "The ones who make the silver handprints are the royal family's guardians. There are two of them, and they're shapeshifters; they can look like anyone or any thing. You can identify them because their bodies glow in infrared light."

" 'Glow'?" Daniel chuckled. "What, like lightening bugs?"

"Don't joke," Vanessa said crossly. "The royal family numbers four, and they look human."

"Do they glow? Do you glow?"

"No," Vanessa said, praying for patience, "and we can't change shape. Don't get mired in the details. I can help you find them, and when we do, I just need the king's sister. The rest are yours."

Daniel blinked. "What...the sister? You don't want the old king? What about the guardians?"

"Just the sister," Vanessa repeated. "I can get home with just her."

"Okay, this throws your whole story into doubt," Daniel said. "You came here chasing a deposed king, but now you're making him the booby prize? That doesn't make any sense."

"It does when you realize what would happen if that king ever sets foot on my planet again," Vanessa said. "If anyone gets wind of his presence, there will be an uprising to end all uprisings, and he'd be back on the throne in a heartbeat. The sister is who the new king is in love with; she could give him the legitimacy he's never been able to claim for himself. The sister is all I need."

"And your boss agrees with this?"

"Of course not," Vanessa said impatiently. "It's not what he wants, it's what will work. This is why the powers behind thrones are always the ones who get things done; the ones closest to thrones can't see straight."

"Huh," Daniel murmured. "What about the guardians? Don't you want them?"

"I especially don't want them," Vanessa said darkly. "They're incredibly powerful and incredibly dangerous—you can have them and the rest of the royal family. There's just one catch."

"There always is," Daniel agreed.

"Don't kill the king," Vanessa said. "Do what you want with the rest of them, but keep the king alive."

"Why?"

Vanessa hesitated. "Because if all else fails...we may need him."

A slow smile spread across Daniel's face. "A back-up plan. With offsite storage. That's positively devious."

"Like I said," Vanessa smiled, "we have a lot in common." She leaned in closer, her lips close to his ear. "So...do we have a deal?"

His lips brushed her forehead as grossed out teenagers shied away. "I'll take it under consideration."

He'll do it, Vanessa thought, noting the smile on his face as he walked away. No way would he turn down a grand total of five aliens even if he did have to warehouse one. She followed him, working through the crowds with Daniel ahead of her when a family pushed in front of her. And that was when, from a vantage point several yards back, she saw his entire body briefly light up like a flare.

Stunned, Vanessa stood stock still. It had only been there for a second when he passed an open doorway, and she pushed her way through, ignoring the startled yelps of protest. "What is this place?" she demanded when she arrived in the doorway of what looked like a lab. "What are you doing here?"

Startled students in lab coats gaped at her. "Uh...it's freshman orientation," one of them said uncertainly. "We're demonstrating—"

"Demonstrating what?" Vanessa broke in. "What is that?"

"It's...night vision," one of the students stammered.

"Night vision," Vanessa whispered, looking after Daniel's retreating figure. "Which uses...infrared."




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




I'll post Chapter 15 on Sunday, September 21.

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello to everyone reading!




CHAPTER FIFTEEN



September 7, 2000, 2 p.m.

Harding residence





"So we'll be here at 6 a.m. tomorrow," Max said as Tess climbed out. "Is that too early?"

"Of course not," Tess answered. "I'll be ready."

"Good. See you then."

The jeep pulled out of the driveway, and Tess waited until it rounded the corner before sinking down onto her front step. God, what an exhausting day. Being with the Others was always tiring because she had to be constantly on guard lest she do or say something to upset them, but without Michael it was even worse. No one understood her the way Michael did. Michael wanted to go home; Max and Isabel clearly wanted to stay here. Michael felt a sense of responsibility to those on their home planet; Max and Isabel did not. Granted Michael didn't exactly trust her, but then he didn't really trust anyone, nor did he just default to the worst possible interpretation of anything she said or did. She and Isabel were still technically friends, but with Max there was always the specter of that message in the pod chamber, not to mention the looming shadow of that day in Chemistry class when her few minutes of fun had destroyed the possibility of them ever trusting her. Chemistry class was always on Max's mind and sometimes on Isabel's, but Michael seemed to have moved on; he was a pragmatist, and her only real ally. Which made it all the more important that they get him out of his current predicament, and in a way which settled the matter for good.

Bills, Tess thought, emptying the contents of the mailbox. Electric, water, and what looked like the school tax bill topped the stack of mostly junk mail which she tucked under her arm as she fished her keys out of her purse. She'd been living alone all summer now, and despite her earlier misgivings, she'd gotten used to it. Far from being a lonely desert, the empty house had become an oasis where she didn't have to be so careful about every single thing she said or did. In some ways, all the time she'd spent with the Others had been wonderful; their shared crises had created something vaguely resembling a bond between them. But eventually—and inevitably—their innate distrust of her would rear its ugly head, making retreat wise and the empty house welcome. Empty houses, by default, were always glad to see you, not to mention they never argued with you, yelled at you for not taking out the trash, or forgot to get groceries. She'd seen Nasedo all of twice this summer, and each time had only driven home the point that life was better without him. Each and every time he'd returned had resulted in arguments and a huffy parting, and this latest visit would likely prove no exception. They needed their protector, but he was a lot easier to stomach from afar, so better that he do his protecting elsewhere; he could always be recalled if need be, as he had been this time. At least he'd been diluted by the group yesterday, and she had a few hours of precious solitude before the games began again. Food, she thought as the front door swung open, and maybe a movie. She'd just tossed her keys on the table when she heard it—someone was upstairs.

In stealth mode now, Tess crept up the stairs soundlessly. The noises were coming from Nasedo's bedroom, and whoever it was sounded like they were ransacking the place. Had the FBI caught up with them? Had the Others' paranoia reached a level where they'd decided to take advantage of a time when they knew she'd be out of the house? The former was worse, but the latter was galling, and she'd worked up a good head of steam by the time she reached the top of the stairs.

"I can hear you," a voice announced.

Tess froze, blinked...and rounded the corner into the bedroom. "You did better coming up the stairs," Nasedo allowed, "not that it mattered; everyone on the other side of the galaxy heard you when you came in."

"I don't usually creep around in my own home," Tess said crossly.

"This is not 'home'," Nasedo said. "This is where you happen to be living at the moment, and it could be compromised at any time. If you've learned nothing else from me, you should have learned that."

"What are you even doing here?" Tess said, abandoning an argument she knew she'd lose. "I thought you were going all snugglebunnies with the congresswoman at the university."

Nasedo paused, looking gratifyingly startled. "How did you know that?"

"We were there," Tess said nonchalantly. "Max and Isabel and me."

"Why?" Nasedo demanded.

"Scoping out the place. For tomorrow."

Nasedo considered that for a moment. "Not a bad idea," he remarked. "Did Michael think of that?"

"No; Max did. Michael's in jail," Tess reminded him when he looked disgruntled. "He's not exactly available for chit chat."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," Nasedo said. He glanced around the messy bedroom. "Love what you've done with the place."

"All I did was save everything," Tess protested. "You're the one who messed it up."

"Kind of had to," Nasedo said. "Your filing system leaves a lot to be desired. I went through the bills, but I couldn't find the school tax bill—"

"It's right here," Tess said, holding it out. "It came today."

"Good. I thought you'd lost it."

Smoldering, Tess sank down on the edge of the bed. Nasedo's bedroom was where she'd been keeping the mountain of paperwork which came with running a house; it had seemed a fitting place given that his bedroom housed the mysterious box with the mysterious lock. Everything from bills to receipts to bank statements were arrayed in neat little piles on the bed, the dresser, the windowsill, in descending order with the most recent on top. Or what she'd thought were neat little piles; of course he didn't approve. When did he? "If you wanted a particular filing system, you should have told me," she said. "Don't specify, and you get what you get."

"I didn't realize that failing to 'specify' meant I'd get 'mounds'. Is there a reason everything's splattered like a cyclone hit?"

"It was fine before you got here," Tess retorted. "You're the cyclone. And where exactly did you want it? Arrayed on the dining room table for everyone else to see?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of a filing cabinet, one that wasn't bedroom sized," Nasedo said, tossing a stack of bank statements onto the bed. "How are you and Max getting along?"

"Well enough," Tess answered

"What does that mean?'

"It means 'well enough'. He tolerates me. They all do."

"Mmm, and whose fault is that?" Nasedo said. "You just had a golden opportunity, an entire summer without the Parker girl, and you squandered it on a few minutes of idiocy."

"I know, I know!" Tess wailed, flopping back on the bed, causing the piles nearest her to jump. "Believe me, I'm reminded of that every single day. Happy?"

"Not happy," Nasedo corrected. "You'll have to do a lot better than 'tolerated' if you want to get back to where you were."

Tess was quiet for a moment while Nasedo leafed through mail. "Aren't you going to ask me about Michael and Isabel?"

"What about them?"

"What do you mean, 'what about them'? I thought…" Tess stared at the ceiling, thinking. "Come to think of it, you never ask me about them. Why not? Why aren't you in a great big hurry for them to get back together too?"

"They weren't married, just betrothed," Nasedo answered. "And you're the queen; it's more important for the monarch and his wife to be united."

Tess sat up. "That's not it. It's because you hate her, isn't it? You've hated Isabel from the moment you saw her. You...you don't want them to get back together, do you? You don't want him to marry her."

"Now you're just making things up," Nasedo muttered.

"Am I?" Tess challenged. "You hate Isabel, you love Michael, wanting good ideas to be his and so on, and you never ever ask me how they're 'doing'. You don't want them to get married. You're trying to change things."

"Is there a point to this conversation?" Nasedo snapped.

"It's not a 'conversation' if all you do is bitch, but yes, there is," Tess retorted. "If it's so all-fired important that things stay the same, then why are you hoping so hard they won't?"

"I'm done with this conversation," Nasedo announced.

"It's not a conversation!" Tess exclaimed. "And why won't you—"

"Call it what you like; I'm finished."

"If you get to change things, then why don't we?" Tess demanded.

Nasedo gave her a level stare. "You want to change things? So you don't want to be the king's wife?"

"I didn't say that," Tess protested.

"Don't let the Parker girl hear that," Nasedo went on. "I'm sure she'd love it. Is there anything to eat in the house? I'm starving."

"You're also changing the subject," Tess muttered.

"Yes," Nasedo said firmly. "To food. You knew I was returning. Did you by any chance lay in provisions?"

"Yes," Tess sighed. "But I didn't know how much to get because I didn't know how long you'd be here."

"Not long," Nasedo said. "Only long enough to settle this business with Michael, and then I'll be off."

"Off where? You already took care of Pierce."

"And now I'll take care of other things," Nasedo said. "Besides, you and I don't exactly mesh; I think we do better apart. But get a different filing system. I don't want to come back to another cyclone."

Tess flopped back onto the bed as his footsteps faded down the stairs, secretly relieved. He hadn't answered her question about Michael and Isabel, but he had answered another, more disturbing one. Once the Special Unit had been disbanded, she'd been expecting him to move back here...and hadn't been looking forward to it. That he wasn't was hands down the best news she'd had all summer.





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





Crashdown Cafe





"Did we have to meet here?" Jaddo grumbled. "I can safely say I'm sick of this place."

Brivari raised an eyebrow as a hand shot out and he was promptly relieved of his lunch. "Doesn't seem to have killed your appetite," he remarked.

"I never said the food was bad," Jaddo countered. "Are you going to finish that?"

Brivari pushed his drink across the table. "Help yourself. Although I should note that if you order enough 'Alien Encounters', they don't sound so odd any more."

"Precisely my point," Jaddo said through a mouthful of sandwich. "Come here often enough, and you drink the Kool-Aid."

"Then be grateful there's no chance of that happening," Brivari said. "Just one more perk of not living here."

"Add it to the list," Jaddo said, scarfing up fries. "I haven't missed dealing with hormonal teenagers."

"I'd wager they haven't missed dealing with you either," Brivari noted. "So let's end everyone's torment by solving the current crisis and moving along. Did you learn anything from your 'girlfriend'?"

A completely uncharacteristic smile spread across Jaddo's face. "Did I! You are not going to believe this."

"Quite possible," Brivari allowed. "Anything which makes you smile like that is, by definition, unbelievable."

"Very funny. Vanessa confessed to me."

" 'Confessed'?" Brivari echoed. " 'Confessed' to what? Working for a madman?"

"Even better." Jaddo leaned in closer. "She told me she's an alien."

Brivari blinked. "Come again?"

"She told me she's an alien. Or she told Pierce, that is."

Brivari stared at him in shocked silence. "She told what she thinks is a human alien hunter that she's an alien?"

"Yes! Told you you wouldn't believe it."

"And you were right," Brivari said flatly. "I don't. Nor do I find this the best time for humor."

"I'm serious!" Jaddo insisted. "I didn't believe it either; I actually walked away from her for a couple of hours because I couldn't get my head around it. And since when do I joke?"

Good point, Brivari thought. Jaddo's rare attempts to be funny were usually sad swipes in the general direction of humor, not out-and-out whoppers. "Okay," he said carefully. "Assuming for the moment that this incredible tale is true, what on Earth would induce her to take a risk like that?"

"Maybe it's a 'near death experience'," Jaddo suggested. "Their husks are failing."

"So what?" Brivari said. "We know they have replacements. Did something happen to them?"

"Not that I know of," Jaddo answered. "And who cares what caused it? All I care about is what we get out of it, which was access to her laptop and a guided tour of the lab where she intends to have Pierce's bones evaluated."

"Her laptop?" Brivari repeated incredulously. "What, you think she has intimate conversations with Nicholas filling up her in-basket?"

"Of course not," Jaddo said impatiently. "I learned that Pierce is her only FBI contact; there's no evidence of another, something I've wondered about for some time. So when I—or, rather, Pierce—disappears, she'll be out in the cold, which might explain her current behavior."

"Hardly," Brivari argued. "The only thing which would explain anything this drastic is something dire with Khivar or Nicholas, but the Resistance hasn't mentioned anything. What exactly did she tell you?"

"Plenty," Jaddo said. "She was remarkably candid about why she was here. She abbreviated, of course, but the basic outline was correct—overthrown king, escaped royal family, usurper not doing well. She even named our planet. She actually said 'Antar' out loud."

"That's a low risk," Brivari noted. "It doesn't mean a thing to anyone except us. Even the hybrids don't remember."

"She made a bulb blow out," Jaddo continued. "It appears at least some of the Skins have telekenetic powers now."

"They must have done some upgrades," Brivari said. "They've certainly been here long enough to do the research."

"But the best part," Jaddo went on, "was when I asked her what good it would do me to help her round up her hit list, she told me I could keep everyone but Vilandra...but that I couldn't kill the king because they might need him."

"They might," Brivari agreed. "They'll first try to validate Khivar by bunking him with the princess, and if that fails, they'll have to pull Zan out of a hat."

"No kidding," Jaddo said with satisfaction. "She flat out admitted that if Zan sets foot on Antar, Khivar will be unceremoniously pushed off the throne in a heartbeat. She also mentioned us...said we were 'incredibly powerful and incredibly dangerous', and wasn't interested in having us back either."

"Of course she isn't," Brivari said dryly. "She's Argilian, not stupid. She just wants to use Pierce to do her dirty work, and she's afraid he'll disappear along with her best lead. She must be banking on his insatiable lust for an alien to keep him from taking her as a prize, at least until she gets what she wants."

"Naturally," Jaddo agreed. "But there's more. She fingered Khivar as a failure and Nicholas as worse. She claims that leaving everyone here but Vilandra will anger both Nicholas and Khivar, but that's the only way it will work."

Brivari stared at him, thunderstruck. "She gave you ammunition?" he said incredulously. "She told you something that could literally get her executed? Why would she do that?"

"Bloody stupid if you ask me," Jaddo said cheerfully.

"Precisely," Brivari said. "She's not stupid. So why would she do that?"

"Who cares?" Jaddo said.

"I care," Brivari retorted, "and you should too. It's always a red flag when an enemy behaves in uncharacteristic ways. There must be an explanation. What are you not telling me?"

"Only the drippy stuff," Jaddo said. "You know, the 'we're alike, Daniel', and 'you changed after you came back from Roswell', and 'they threatened you, didn't they?', and 'I can help you'."

"She said you'd changed?" Brivari said sharply. "How so?"

"She said I was 'hard' and 'cold'," Jaddo chuckled. "And when I pointed out that I—or rather, Pierce—had always been hard and cold, she claimed I had a nasty streak that wasn't there before, and she liked that. God, it was all I could do to keep a straight face. That is so unlike her to play the mushy card."

Brivari sat back in the booth, his eyes far away. "Holy crap," he whispered. "She's in love."

"What, with Pierce?" Jaddo said. "Unlikely. He's merely a means to an end--"

Jaddo stopped mid-sentence as the hand reaching for yet another french fry was seized before it reached the plate. "Not with Pierce, jackass—with you."

Jaddo blinked. "Me?"

"Yes, you! Vanessa is in love with you!"

There were a couple of seconds of shocked silence before Jaddo burst out laughing. Releasing his hand, Brivari watched him stonily while he guffawed, drawing the attention of several cafe patrons seated nearby, not to mention wandering servers. "Oh, my," Jaddo chortled when he finally caught his breath. "I haven't laughed like that in ages."

"And you have no reason to laugh like that now," Brivari said sternly. "This is serious. Take it seriously."

"You can't be serious," Jaddo said, still chuckling. "The notion of Vanessa 'in love' with anyone is preposterous. Next thing you know, you'll be telling me she's 'in love' with Nicholas."

"Of course not," Brivari said. "She'd never dare tell Nicholas anything damaging. But she told you."

"No, she told Pierce."

"No, she told you," Brivari corrected. "You are the 'change' she speaks of, the 'colder' Pierce, the 'harder' Pierce. You're the one she confessed to, not the earlier version. You said yourself it was odd. How do you explain it?"

"Not that way, that's for sure," Jaddo said. "I still say it's desperation. She wants Pierce to believe her, so she's feigning honesty."

"Only she's not feigning," Brivari noted. "Unlike Pierce, you're in a position to gauge her level of honesty. If I'm not mistaken, 'remarkably candid' were the words you used."

A flicker of unease clouded Jaddo's features. "So she got the details right. So what? It's a huge leap from there to 'in love'."

Brivari shook his head. "Why do I bother? You can't see it; you won't see it. You never have, and you never will. Your inability to see it almost got the king killed, and now it's blinding you to—"

"What?" Jaddo demanded. "Blinding me to what? Let's say you're right—she's head-over-heels in love with me, me, not Pierce. What difference does it make? After I settle this business with Rath, 'Pierce' will disappear, that will be the end of whatever it is, and whatever it was won't matter any more."

"You hope," Brivari said sadly. "As you've often noted, people in love do strange things. You don't by any chance feel the same way about her, do you? You were just telling me how much you admired her and what a pity it was that she wasn't on our side."

Jaddo fixed him with a hard stare, all traces of mirth gone. "Under different circumstances I might be curious as to how you got from admiration to 'love', but I have no desire to join you in Sillyville. I'm done with this ridiculous conversation. I'll let you know when the bones have been safely disposed of. I plan to catch up with Zan later to coordinate our efforts and mention the presence of a wife whom he also 'loved' , or so I'm told. The Parker girl's multi-month absence has failed to remind him of that, although I will. Loudly."

Brivari shook his head as Jaddo stalked out of the cafe. "If only it were that easy," he murmured, "but it won't be. Not for Ava, and not for you."





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





Liz cracked the back door open and peeked inside; the coast was clear, so she eased in, closing the door soundlessly behind her. Slipping her shoes off, she balanced them on the stack of folders in her arms as she tiptoed across the floor. She hadn't wanted to come in this way, but with her arms full, the ladder to her balcony had not looked inviting. If she was really, really lucky, no one would see her and report her presence...

There was a noise behind her. Right behind her. Holding her breath, Liz turned around. "Oh, good," she said, deflating. "You're not Maria."

"Is that a good thing?" Courtney asked, bemused. "And is there a reason you're creeping into your own home? Because a mid-afternoon curfew for someone your age is a bit aggressive, if you ask me."

"Oh...no, I...I just have a lot to do," Liz finished. "So I'm just trying to avoid, you know, anything that'll help me procrastinate and slow me down. So I'd really appreciate it if you wouldn't tell Maria you saw me."

"The good news is that we don't exactly 'talk', Maria and I," Courtney noted. "More like she bitches at me, and I bitch back."

Liz's eyes widened. "Really? Still? I thought that would be over...wait. The 'good' news...you mean there's 'bad' news?"

Courtney nodded sadly. "Incoming."

Liz blinked. "Huh?"

A squeal behind her answered that question. "Liz!" Maria's voice exclaimed, followed by a hug which crushed the breath out of her. "I've been looking for you all day!"

"Hi, Maria," Liz said weakly. "Look, I've got a ton of—"

"Oh, no you don't," Maria scolded, wagging a finger. "We haven't even started school yet, so don't you dare beg off with homework. I want to know what happened!" she exclaimed, literally hopping on her sensibly sneaker-clad feet. "Tell me what happened!"

"Does the bouncing help?" Courtney asked blandly.

Liz bit back a smile as Maria stopped bouncing. "Why are you still here?" she said tartly. "Can't you tell this is a private conversation? Don't you have some orders to deliver late and cold?"

"A private conversation in a public area accompanied by squealing and bouncing," Courtney said thoughtfully. "You're right—this is the epitome of stealth and discretion. I'm sure a career in the CIA awaits you. In the meantime, I'll explain to your tables that their food will arrive late and cold because you're having a 'private conversation'."

"Unbelieveable!" Maria groused as Courtney retreated. "Who does she think she is?"

"I think she's someone who gives as good as she gets," Liz noted dryly. "Why are you so down on her? My father says she's a good waitress."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Maria scowled. "But enough about her—I want to hear about yesterday! What happened?"

"Nothing 'happened'—"

"Nuh uh," Maria protested. "Alex already told me how you went all Mata Hari on him."

"I did not go all 'Mata Hari'," Liz objected. "And if Alex told you, why are you asking?"

"Because I want to hear it from you! Alex said you saved the day by finding out where the bones are and how to get to them."

"Correction: We found out where the bones are and how to get to them," Liz said. "All I did was use a little deductive reasoning and make a phone call. Alex pulled up the maps and gave them to Max, and they were all going to the university today to scope the place out."

"Yes, yes, but they wouldn't have known where to go unless you'd figured it out," Maria insisted. "Take that away, and none of the rest happens. It all hinges on you."

"Maria," Liz said carefully, "I said I'd help, and I did, but this does not mean Max and I are back together."

"Did I say it did?" Maria asked innocently.

"Nor does it have anything to do with you and Michael," Liz added.

"Did I say it did?" Maria repeated.

"You didn't have to," Liz said. "Everything is about Michael."

"Well, he is kind of in jail—"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Liz said. "And he won't be there much longer; Congresswoman Whitaker is having the bones examined tomorrow, so I'm sure Max will find a way to make whatever she finds out work in Michael's favor."

"Are you going with them?" Maria asked.

"Of course not. Are you?"

"Well...no, but—"

"But there's no reason for us to go with them," Liz said patiently. "The kind of help Max needs tomorrow comes from the kinds of things Tess and Isabel can do, not me, not you. I already helped him as much as I could."

"See, this is what this is really about," Maria said. "Not me, not Max, not even Michael; it's about this idea you've got in your head that you're useless because you're human. But you're the one who found the bones, Liz. Yeah, I know Alex helped, but why was Alex there in the first place? What, he just happened to stop by? Or maybe you called him because you knew they'd need his skills? Eh? That's what I thought," she went on when Liz's eyes dropped. "You keep saying, 'He needs Tess. He needs someone stronger, or with fancy powers, or who can make FBI agents party at gas stations,' but he also needs the kind of things you do. And someone who loves him."

"Tess loves him," Liz said dully. "Just ask her."

"Tess thinks she loves him," Maria corrected. "But Tess doesn't even know him. She's in love with who she thinks he used to be. You're in love with who you know he is. What do you think he needs more—someone who lives in the present, or someone who lives in the past?" She glanced back toward the kitchen as Courtney walked past with laden arms. "Think about it. I've got tables."

Think about it? Liz thought wearily, leaning against the wall. She wouldn't have admitted it out loud under torture, but the fact was that was all she thought about, and the last thing she needed was someone else thinking about it. Next time she came home with her arms full, she was climbing that ladder to her balcony even if she had to go up and down ten times.





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





"How have you and Tess been getting along?"

Walking in step beside him, Jaddo felt the king stiffen, only slightly, but enough to notice. So Tess was right; things had not improved despite the absence of that perennial distraction, Liz Parker. "Well, I haven't performed any mating rituals, if that's what you're asking," Zan answered.

"You heard your destiny," Jaddo noted. "You heard it with your own ears."

"I just want to get Michael out of jail and go back to my life," Zan retorted. "I am not a king, and we are not at war."

News to me, Jaddo thought. "You're the boss," he said out loud. "I would just be careful not to confuse what you want to be true with what really is true."

Zan stopped and turned to face him. "How do I know what's 'true'?" he demanded. "How do I know that what I heard on that recording, or whatever it was, is true? How do I know that you're telling me the truth? You never bothered to mention that you were at the university yesterday with Whitaker, so you probably already knew when the bones were going to be there."

"You never bothered to mention that you were there also," Jaddo said, "and what difference does it make? Our information matches, which is a good thing, isn't it?"

"I'm supposed to be your king," Zan shot back, "which means you're supposed to tell me everything."

"You just told me you weren't a king," Jaddo reminded him. "Which is it? You can't be a king when it suits you and toss off the crown when it doesn't. You can't have it both ways. Make up your mind, Your Highness. If you won't shoulder your responsibilities, I'll have to find someone who will because our people need a leader, even if you find that inconvenient."

Zan stared at him, stricken. "Right," he said after a moment, chastened. "Let's start by getting Michael out of jail."

"Agreed," Jaddo said. "I'll see you tomorrow...whoever you decide to be tomorrow."

Jaddo walked away, leaving Zan staring at the ground. Good, he thought darkly as he headed for his car. Feel guilty. It was high time someone took this boy king in hand. Perhaps he was a child by human standards, but he was embroiled in a man's game. He needed to grow up fast, and the sooner he realized that, the safer they'd all be. Brivari may have been his father's Warder, but the truth was he'd always coddled Zan more than he should have, so it was no surprise that history would repeat itself…

Jaddo stopped dead, his keys dangling from his hand. A piece of skin lay on the ground beside his car, an unmistakable remnant of an Argilian husk that was highly unlikely to have come from Vanessa; she'd always been meticulous about keeping that part of her existence from Pierce. Which could only mean one thing--reinforcements.

"Oh, no," Jaddo whispered, looking warily around. A town full of royal hybrids and Argilians...not a good mix. He stamped out the piece of skin with his foot and climbed into the car; he'd dropped Vanessa at her office earlier, but cruising by, it appeared closed, so he headed for her hotel. "C'mon, c'mon," he muttered during the interminable wait for the elevator, stepping in first when it arrived and closing the doors behind him, drawing yelps of protest from the crowd left behind. "Vanessa?" he called, knocking on her door. "It's Daniel. Are you there?"

The door opened immediately. "Didn't expect to see you just yet," Vanessa said.

"We have a problem," Jaddo said tightly, hurrying into the room, still debating how to frame this without letting on that he knew…

The light changed abruptly, the yellow-tinged incandescents replaced by a pinkish glow which was emanating from the five-sided device he hadn't seen in her hand, just like the cold stare he hadn't seen in her eyes.

"And what problem might that be...Warder?"


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


I'll post Chapter 16 on Sunday, October 5.

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!








CHAPTER SIXTEEN




September 7, 2000, 9 p.m.

Holiday Inn, Roswell





The hotel room was small, just a square, really, and the pinkish infrared wash reached every corner of that square including Jaddo. Interesting how species which couldn't see in the infrared spectrum always tinted their attempts to correct that; humans used green, Argilians red. Across from him, Vanessa's cold look had been replaced by sheer horror as her eyes swept him top to bottom in disbelief, and she fumbled with the trithium generator in her hand while her other hand fumbled in her pocket.

"Don't try anything," she warned. "You can't use your powers now."

"Neither can you," Jaddo noted. "The light bulbs are safe from both of us. For the moment."

She smiled faintly, caught herself. "If I remember correctly," Jaddo went on, "none of this affects my ability to shift." He shifted abruptly and was promptly rewarded with a gasp.

"You bastard!" Vanessa sputtered. "Why'd you have to look like him? Change back!"

Jaddo shrugged. "I merely chose a form you would recognize," reverting to the guise of Pierce. "Rumor has it you know Nicholas well."

"So why haven't you shifted out of here?" Vanessa demanded. "You could have been long gone by now."

"Good question," Jaddo said. "Maybe because I'm curious as to why you didn't use that tranquilizer."

Vanessa's left hand twitched in her pocket, neither confirming nor denying. Sedation being pretty much the only way to hold a Covari, it was a safe bet she would never have taken the risk of confronting him without a way to subdue him, but she'd missed her chance; even if she tried to use it now, she'd never get her hand out of that pocket in time. He could move much faster, and she knew it.

"Which one?" Vanessa demanded.

Jaddo blinked. "Sorry?"

"Which one!" Vanessa repeated savagely. "Which one are you? Brivari or Jaddo?"

"Ah," Jaddo said knowingly. "You mean, 'which one did I sleep with'. Although we didn't do much sleeping—"

"Which one?"

Jaddo raised an eyebrow. "Jaddo."

"That...makes sense," she said slowly. "Brivari's all talk and diplomacy."

"At times," Jaddo allowed. "But I can assure you that if he were to learn I'd been discovered, there would be no talk. And he'd be anything but diplomatic."

The hand holding the trithium generator faltered as she did the math. For all that their powers received top billing, it was their ability to change shape which made them truly powerful; Antarians had feared shapeshifters long before any Royal Warder was enhanced, and with good reason. "He would have killed me already," she said faintly.

"Undoubtedly," Jaddo agreed.

"So why haven't you?"

"Yet another interesting question."

They stared each other down for nearly a full minute, him leaning casually against the hotel's excuse for a desk, her planted stiffly in front of the door as though she could block his escape, one hand outstretched, her stocking-clad toes curling into the thin carpet. "Oh, for heaven's sake, put that thing down," Jaddo said finally. "You look silly holding it out in front of you like a gun, and I can relieve you of it any time I want to."

The hand lowered slightly. "But you haven't."

"No need to," Jaddo said. "I can leave any time I want. And at the moment...I don't want to."

"You're toying with me," she accused.

"Never," Jaddo said gravely. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that you're not to be toyed with."

The hand lowered the rest of the way. Another minute passed as he waited and she stood there looking vaguely foolish. "So," Jaddo said at length. "What gave me away?"

"Students...at the university," Vanessa answered, nonplussed. "They were using infrared light. You walked through it."

"Mmm," Jaddo murmured. "So nothing I did. There's a small victory there even if this was unexpected. And unfortunate."

" 'Unfortunate'?" Vanessa repeated, her voice rising. "Unfortunate? I've told you things I've never told anyone! I...I've done things with you I've never done with anyone!"

"Just this morning," Jaddo agreed matter-of-factly as she looked nauseous. "And unless I'm much mistaken...you liked it."

"You tricked me!" she said savagely.

"Says the one wearing the husk," Jaddo said dryly. "Talk about the pot calling the kettle black."

"This is different," Vanessa insisted. "You knew who I was when you took Daniel's place."

"Just like you knew who he was when you insinuated yourself into his life," Jaddo noted. "Pot and kettle."

"He was an alien hunter!" Vanessa protested.

"And you're an enemy," Jaddo countered. "Face it, darling, any accusation you hurl at me also holds for you, save one: I had no idea Pierce was bunking with you. I just stumbled into that, while you sought him out for the express purpose of using him to get what you wanted."

"I was trying to save my world!" she exclaimed.

"Our world," Jaddo corrected. "Our. And so am I. What did you think I was doing? Playing tiddlywinks?"

"Oh, right," Vanessa said scornfully. "Let's save the day by reinstalling a deposed king."

"Says the one whose candidate for the position is doing such a bang up job!" Jaddo said with false cheerfulness. "And Zan wasn't deposed, he was assassinated."

"I know Covari don't attend school, but I can assure you that in this case, 'assassinated' and 'deposed' are virtually indistinguishable," Vanessa said acidly.

"Who needs formal education when yours was so obviously lacking?" Jaddo retorted. "You're clearly in need of a dictionary if you think Khivar's manipulation of a young girl's affections constitutes 'deposition'. He must have known he could never overthrow Zan directly. That's why he hid behind Vilandra's skirts, and tries to hide there still."

Vanessa's eyes flashed. "Why you…you jackass!"

"You know you've been somewhere much too long when you start hurling their insults," Jaddo noted as she reddened. "Not to mention that by your own admission, Antar has been clamoring for Zan's return since the moment Khivar's backside hit the throne. Did you forget that you confessed to me?"

"I thought I was talking to Daniel!" Vanessa exclaimed.

"And you were," Jaddo allowed, "or what you thought was Daniel. Things must be very bad in Nicholas land for you to blurt out your species to an alien hunter."

"What did you expect?" Vanessa demanded. "You destroyed our first harvest and our ship, our only way home. You stranded us here!"

"A risk you took when you decided to pursue us," Jaddo said. "And we didn't 'strand you' here—Khivar did, by refusing to send another ship. It's not like he doesn't have a garage full."

"And you have the Granolith," Vanessa accused. "Care to share? No, I thought not."

"The Granolith belongs to the king," Jaddo said sternly. "It's not a bus for everyone and their mother to hop on when it suits them."

"Which is exactly why I needed Daniel," Vanessa argued. "I want to go home! We want to go home! What did you do with him? Where is he?"

"He's dead."

She paled slightly. "You...killed him?"

"Me? Sadly, no," Jaddo said. "I was denied the pleasure. Rath killed him."

This time around Vanessa paled much more than slightly. "Rath is...here?"

"Rath lives," Jaddo corrected. "I never said where."

"This was the last place Daniel came, so this is where...the bones," Vanessa said suddenly. "They're his, aren't they? I was thinking you'd taken him hostage, but…"

"But Royal Warders don't take hostages," Jaddo finished softly.

She stared at him then, her eyes widening. A second later she'd made a break for the door, not even coming close to reaching it before he was behind her, one arm around her neck, the other wrenching the trithium generator out of her hand, crushing it to bits before vaporizing it with his newly returned powers. "That will be quite enough of that," Jaddo said briskly, heaving her onto the bed as she fumbled in her pocket for the tranquilizers which were no longer there. "You didn't really think I'd miss those, did you?" he added when she came up empty-handed. "Now we're even. Or as even as we'll ever be with whatever paltry powers you managed to add to your husks."

"Hardly," Vanessa said bitterly. "I can't change my shape, or fly across a room, or kill someone with a touch."

"I haven't changed shape, and I'm not Superman; I don't 'fly'," Jaddo said. "I just move fast. If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. I don't need powers for that."

Her eyes smoldered, but she was silent as she pushed herself into a sitting position, smoothed her hair, and straightened her skirt much the way cats wash themselves when they've missed a kill. "I hate this place," she murmured.

"It's a crappy little room," Jaddo agreed. "Doesn't being a congressional representative give you a bigger budget?"

"Not this place, moron, this planet!" Vanessa snapped. "I've been stuck here for 50 years, and it feels like 500. Sometimes it feels like I'll never seen home again; I'll just die here on this backwater rock with Antar in shreds, wondering what it was all for."

Same here, Jaddo thought silently. The closer he came to going home, the more impatient he grew with Earth, with humans, with hybrids who thought they were human. His most recent conversation with Zan was certainly not encouraging. I am not a king, and we are not at war. He was dead wrong about the second part, but what about the first? What if Zan never agreed to fulfill his obligations, or only with caveats? Brivari's suggestion that they might need to consider bringing a human with them had been jarring. What if Zan married a human and started a family before agreeing to do his duty? Would they have to bring them all back? As if it wasn't complicated enough, this entire situation had grown more complicated still what with reluctant kings and their human mates. Was it fair to ask Antar to wait until Zan acknowledged his obligations? Was it fair to ask any of them to wait for something that might never happen?

"For what it's worth," Jaddo began, "I was thinking—"

"Yay for you," Vanessa muttered.

"—about what you said earlier," Jaddo went on, ignoring her, "about how the powers behind thrones are the ones who see clearly."

"Yeah, well, visual clarity isn't showing me much of anything useful right now," Vanessa said crossly.

"Stop whining, darling," Jaddo said as she scowled at him. "I'm trying to pay you a compliment, and everyone tells me I'm bad at it. My point is that you have a point. Both of us are fighting for things that neither of us can have."

Vanessa regarded him warily. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said," Jaddo answered. "That's one of the few perks I offer, that I don't do the double talk you excel at."

"Is this another compliment?" Vanessa asked tartly. "Sounds like a left-handed one. You know, more your usual variety."

"Told you I stank at it. Consider," Jaddo continued, "that you think a princess in your pocket will give Khivar credibility, yet you know perfectly well it won't. I want to waltz back home with a king in mine and put everything back the way it was, but I know perfectly well I can't. Too much time has passed, too much has happened; it won't be that simple, and we, being powers behind our respective thrones, both know that."

Vanessa shrugged impatiently. "Maybe so, but so what?"

"So," Jaddo said slowly, "what if we craft a different solution? A joint solution. A solution that we think will work."

She stared at him in silence for a moment. "Are you saying...are you saying you want to make a deal?"

"Why not?" Jaddo said. "I'm sick of this place too. I want to go home too. Antar suffers while Khivar pines after credibility he'll never have and Zan looks for a safe way home which will never materialize. Why should we all be held captive to this situation? You said you want to join forces. Let's join forces and fix this."

"I thought I was talking to Daniel, not a Covari Warder," Vanessa retorted.

"But your larger point applies nonetheless," Jaddo argued. "We both want the same thing—peace in our time. We were so close. Whatever you think of Zan, there's no denying Antar was more peaceful, more prosperous, more stable than it had ever been—you said as much yourself."

"Did I?" Vanessa muttered. "Oh, yeah...I did."

"And you were right," Jaddo said. "We both want that back, and we want a peace that lasts, not evaporates in some silly partisan squabble which will plunge the planet back into chaos. Each of us might be able to pull that off alone, but only at great cost. Together we could accomplish it much faster, and at a bargain rate."

Vanessa's expression was a curious mixture of suspicion and hope. "Okay," she said after a moment. "Say, for the sake of argument, that you're right...and I'm not saying you are. We wouldn't be able to do this alone. First we'd have to convince Nicholas and Brivari, and that will never happen for all the reasons you've already stated."

Jaddo fixed her with a steady stare. "Then let's leave them out of it."

Vanessa's eyes narrowed. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Brivari and Nicholas are too invested in the status quo, or what used to be the status quo. What we need is a new vision...and neither of them can provide that."

"How does that help?" Vanessa demanded. "Fine, ignore them, but eventually we'll have to sell whatever we come up with to people worse than either—Khivar and Zan. Khivar will never give up the throne, and Zan will never give up his claim to it."

"Then whatever we come up with will have to allow both of them to save face," Jaddo said. "And if Khivar and Zan accept the terms, Brivari and Nicholas will have no choice but to comply."

Vanessa paused for a moment, thinking. "No," she declared. "There isn't a solution in any world you could land on that would satisfy both of them."

"But how do we know until we try?" Jaddo said. "You're fond of saying that we're very much alike. You thought you were talking about Pierce when you were really talking about me, but we are very much alike, which is why we both have similar positions and struggle with similar types of people who can't seem to see past the way it's always been. Maybe we are exactly what Antar needs to settle this dispute once and for all."

Vanessa shook her head. "This is crazy," she muttered.

"Crazier than the alternative? Which is one or both of us dies?"

"Oh, of course," Vanessa said acidly. "Leave it to you to offer a 'choice' between negotiation or execution."

"Like your minions will offer me a different choice," Jaddo said. "I can handle one of you; more than one is another matter."

"What are you talking about?" Vanessa demanded. "I don't have any 'minions', not here, anyway. Daniel is—was—my responsibility, and I made that very clear to Nicholas."

"Then I regret to inform you that he or someone close to him doesn't share that opinion," Jaddo said. "I know how meticulous you are about your husk, and yet I found a piece of skin beside my car before I came here. I'm pretty sure it wasn't yours."

Vanessa's eyes burned. "Damn it!" she exclaimed. "I told him I'd wring his little neck if he…" She paused, fuming. "Greer," she said flatly. "He'll say Greer did it."

"And maybe he did...or maybe he didn't," Jaddo noted. "One thing's for sure—someone doesn't think much of your ability to handle yourself. What say we teach them otherwise?"

Vanessa walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside. "Come here," she ordered. "I need your eyes." She waited while he joined her, flinching only slightly as he came up behind her, his breath stirring her hair. "There will be two of them," she went on. "Our numbers have thinned over the years; that will be all they can spare. They're probably watching the hotel entrance."

Jaddo scanned the nighttime streets with eyes which saw more than hers. "Brown car halfway down the block," he reported. "Two males just sitting there."

"That little shit," Vanessa muttered, flinging the curtain closed. She stood with her back to him for almost a full minute before turning to face him.

"All right, Covari. Let's deal."




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





September 8, 2000, 5:00 a.m.

Harding residence






Tess slapped her hand on the shrieking clock which had just launched into something or other from Iron Maiden and squinted at the time. God, she groaned, rolling over in the blessed silence. It wasn't even light yet, too early for man or beast. But Max would be here in an hour and she needed to be washed, dressed, and fed before they hit the road, not to mention more prepared than she'd been yesterday. That had been an embarrassment she had no intention of repeating, which meant she didn't have the luxury of waiting for another bonk at the snooze button. Swinging her legs to the floor, she sat on the edge of the bed with her eyes half closed, willing herself to wake up. She needed to be 100% with it if Max presented her with another opportunity to be indispensable, an opportunity she'd almost squandered. She mustn't make that mistake again.

Tess winced, more awake now as she recalled how helpless she'd felt when Max had asked her how to scan something for later retrieval. It was a skill she'd learned at such a young age that she'd forgotten how she'd learned it, although knowing Nasedo, it had probably involved lots of yelling. Given the number of times they'd moved and changed identities, it had been something of a necessity what with all the names, addresses, backstories, and other minutiae which frequently had to be in place on short notice. Scanning had given her the means to keep everything straight and give the right answers to the inevitable questions which arose when living a life like theirs, and it had been the first thing which had come to mind when Max had begun the tedious task of memorizing the campus maps. That he was trying to memorize them meant he wasn't familiar with scanning, and she'd wrestled with whether or not to bring it up, ultimately deciding not to for several reasons, not the least of which was that she had no idea how to teach someone how to do that. But the subject had come up on its own, of course, exposing that lack of knowledge and making her look like an idiot. Way to go, Tess, she thought wearily. Nice job.

Pushing herself off the bed, she shambled into the shower, feeling marginally better or at least more awake twenty minutes later. She was on her way downstairs when she heard it, a strange noise—no, two strange noises—coming from the kitchen: Humming and...cooking?

"What on earth are you doing?" Tess said in astonishment from the kitchen doorway.

Nasedo looked up from the bowl of whatever he was stirring, a towel flung over one shoulder. "Making breakfast. Pancakes, to be precise. Hungry?"

Tess blinked. "You...don't cook."

"Not typically," he agreed.

"But you can't taste," Tess said.

"Which is why I'm using a mix," Nasedo answered, holding up a box of Aunt Jemima Pancake Mix. "I figured I couldn't go wrong if I just followed the directions. Look, they even tell you when to flip them…'when bubbles form on the top' for lighter pancakes and 'when the bubbles break' for darker ones. Even I can pull this off."

He returned to humming and stirring as she gaped at him, the wooden spoon in the bowl being one of the incongruent sounds she'd heard on the way down. "But...why would you want to?" Tess pressed. "You've never cooked before. You always said you couldn't."

"Perhaps I was a bit hasty in that assessment," Nasedo allowed. "I always assumed I couldn't, but then I'm currently on a roll of doing things I'd always assumed were impossible, so I thought, why not add to the list?"

"This isn't making any sense," Tess protested.

"This is breakfast, not Middle Eastern philosophy," Nasedo said dryly. "It doesn't 'make sense', it just is. Have a seat."

Tess stared at the fully set table complete with flowers in a vase as Nasedo plopped mounds of batter on the griddle and pulled the lid off a frying pan, releasing the aroma of bacon. "You're cooking bacon too?" she said in disbelief.

"Something else supposedly easy," Nasedo said. "Just wait until it gets brown and crispy. This is one time I really wish I could taste," he added, briskly flipping strips as grease spattered. "This stuff drives humans crazy."

Tess watched in disbelief as he continued to move around the kitchen, checking pancakes, flipping bacon, pouring glasses of milk. "Real maple syrup," he announced, setting a tiny jug on the table. "I'm told it's far better than the fake variety."

"By whom?" Tess muttered.

"An associate," he answered, ignoring her tone. "We were up all night working on...a project, and then we popped in to an all night diner for something to eat. And that was when it dawned on me—I've never even tried to cook, not really. I figured I'd try something new."

He's lost it, Tess thought frantically, and at the worst possible time. Nasedo never cooked, never hummed, never expressed regret about not being able to taste, never showed the slightest interest in anyone else's opinions. "What is all this?" she demanded. "You never act like this! What's really going on?"

"Break-fast," Nasedo replied with exaggerated patience. "Surely you can wrap your head around a simple concept like breakfast?"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it!" Tess retorted. "You don't hum—"

"Ah, ah, ah, you accused me of humming before I left for Washington," Nasedo reminded her, wagging a finger. "While I was selecting Pierce's wardrobe, if memory serves."

"—you don't cook, and you don't wander around the kitchen acting like little Suzy Homemaker! Did you snap, or something?"

"Bacon's done," Nasedo announced, lining a plate with a paper towel. "For the record, I don't bear the slightest resemblance to 'Suzy Homemaker', and I would hardly consider the preparation of food to be 'snapping'. Sit down."

"It is for you!" Tess said hotly. "We can't afford to have you snap, not today! We have to fix this thing with Pierce's bones and get Michael out of jail, or did you forget that somewhere between the eggs and the maple syrup? Did you—"

"Sit down," he repeated tersely. "And stop bitching. You're getting on my nerves." He paused. "How would you like to go home?"

Tess, who had only just started breathing easier at the familiar hostility, nearly stopped. "What...home? As in…home? As in my real home?"

"Is there any other?" Nasedo asked.

"You're serious," Tess said faintly.

"When am I not?"

There was a soft fwump as Tess lowered herself into a chair. "Home," she whispered. "I...I didn't think it was coming so quickly."

"Nor did I," Nasedo agreed. "But an opportunity has arisen for all of you to not only go home, but go home safely."

"What kind of opportunity?" Tess asked warily.

"You're skeptical," Nasedo noted. "Good. You should be. Suffice it to say that I have constructed a compromise which benefits you all."

"You?" Tess said doubtfully. "Compromise?"

Nasedo raised an eyebrow. "I imagine I had that coming. But yes, me, and yes, a compromise. One that will bring peace to our planet and keep all of us alive."

"But...how is that possible?" Tess said.

"The way all compromise is possible—each side gives a little, each side gets a little. It wasn't easy, and I'm not done, but the framework is in place. The question is, are you ready to go home?"

Tess stared at him stupidly, surprised to find that she wasn't celebrating. Why not? Isn't this what she'd always dreamed of? Isn't this what she'd always wanted? Why was she hesitating? What was holding her back?"

"Are you coming with us?" Tess asked.

Nasedo crunched a piece of bacon. "Yes."

"Will you still be my protector?"

He glanced at her, then back at his plate. "There were originally four of us, you know. One for each of you."

"No, I didn't...wait," Tess said. " 'Were' four of us? You mean there aren't now?"

"They died."

She nodded slowly, swallowed hard. "And were you...my protector?"

"No."

So mine died, Tess thought, a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. "And...will you still protect me if—when—we go back?"

"Initially," Nasedo allowed. "But I belong to another. We'll need to find you a suitable replacement."

"Oh," Tess said faintly.

She picked at her food in silence as he ate heartily, suddenly feeling very alone. "So when do we leave?"

"Don't pack your bags just yet," Nasedo advised. "I have to sell it first."

"To our enemies?" Tess asked.

"Worse," Nasedo sighed. "To our friends."





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





Proctor residence






"Well? What do you think?"

Stunned, Dee looked at Anthony, who shrugged helplessly. "Uh...I'm still stuck on the part where she figured out who you are."

"You mean 'what'," Dee corrected. "I'm still stuck on the part where he volunteered the 'who'."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, that's ancient history," Jaddo said impatiently. "What do you think of my proposal?"

Dee stared at him. "Your...wait. Why are you here again?"

"Coup. 1947. Crash. Do try to keep up. Fine," Jaddo sighed when she raised an eyebrow. "I'm here because Brivari will never buy this if you don't. And since you and he think so much alike, you make a good test subject."

"Brivari's not the only one who has to 'buy' it," Dee said. "What about Khivar?"

"Khivar is Vanessa's problem, and one I can't help with. And if I don't deliver my half of the bargain, it won't matter what Khivar says."

"Okay, then what about Max?" Dee said.

"This is perfect for Zan because it gets him off the hook," Jaddo answered. "He doesn't want to go home; he wants to stay here, with his human family and his human girlfriend. This allows him to do that while still fulfilling his obligation to Antar."

"Then what about Isabel?" Dee said. "You're playing her like a chess piece!"

"All she has to do is listen," Jaddo said. "It's the least she can do given that she's the reason we're here. Yes, yes, I know you consider her to be a different person now, but whether or not that's true, there is no contesting the fact that her behavior put all of them in this position. Being different today—"

"But she doesn't even remember it!"

"—or not remembering it doesn't change the fact that it happened, or alleviate her responsibility to correct what she did," Jaddo finished. "She can't just wish it away. None of us can, not if we're going to fix this."

"Mmm," Anthony murmured.

Dee stared at him in astonishment. "You're okay with this?"

"That's a bit of a stretch," Anthony allowed. "But he has a point. Several, actually. And it would allow the kids to live in peace."

"Not all of them," Dee protested.

"The ones who want to stay here," Anthony amended. "And we know that not all of them do."

"And this would allow the returnees to do so safely," Jaddo noted, "or as safely as anyone can manage. Right now, if any of them went home, they'd have bulls-eyes on their chests in minutes."

"And you think that won't happen?" Dee said. "You actually believe everyone's going to just lay down their arms and give up?"

"I believe they want peace," Jaddo answered, "and I know from experience that no one can lead an army they don't have."

"And I know that all it takes is one bullet—one—to bring one of them down," Dee protested. "You don't need an army. You don't need—"

"But you do need to start somewhere," Anthony interrupted gently. "There's no such thing as perfect safety, not here, not there. We know that."

Dee sank back into the couch, at a very uncharacteristic loss for words. "Okay...let's do this in order. The details actually aren't my first concern; my first concern is Vanessa. Do you actually expect me to trust her? Do you trust her?"

"That's a bit of a stretch," Jaddo noted.

"He doesn't trust anyone," Anthony agreed.

"But you're going to have to," Dee argued. "And more to the point, you're asking me to. You're asking me to trust someone you've identified as an enemy with my grandchildren's lives. Why would I do that? Why are you doing that? You're the last person I'd expect to show up brandishing a treaty with anyone, never mind her."

Jaddo sighed heavily and fell silent for a moment. "I don't 'trust' her," he said at length, "not in the conventional sense. But I trust that she will do what's best for her...and she's tired. She's sick of being stuck here just like I am. She wants to go home, and when she goes home, she wants to find it in one piece. Both of us remember Antar before the fall, and it was beautiful. It was the best I'd seen it in my lifetime. Same for her."

"And that's when it fell apart?" Dee said. "When everything was going so well?"

"When everything was going so well that we all got sloppy," Jaddo corrected. "Fighting is a skill like any other; it must be practiced. When you haven't had to fight for a while, you get out of the habit. You become complacent...and cocky. Zan pushed Vilandra to marry Rath to help secure the dynasty, and Vilandra rebelled by—"

"I know the story," Dee broke in crossly. "Get back to the part where I'm supposed to trust Vanessa."

"Don't trust her," Jaddo said. "I don't. But I do trust that she wants to rule more than she wants to fight, and you can't rule from a battlefield. She'll try to pull this off, if only because she stands to gain so much. But even if she's driven by purely selfish motives, that doesn't mean we can't use that to our advantage. We can make her selfishness work for us."

"There we are!" Dee said with relief. "That makes more sense. There's the Jaddo I know."

"You mean the Jaddo whose chain you've yanked for years for being too harsh, and the minute I'm not, you get fussy," Jaddo said dryly. "I have to get to the university; Rath should be free before the day is over. Think it over. I'll be back later."

"Wait," Dee called. "I…" She hesitated as both Jaddo and Anthony looked at her. "I may be skeptical, but I will think about it, and I do appreciate the effort. Come for dinner? Maybe this will all sound more plausible with some wine."

"Maybe a good deal more than 'some'," Anthony suggested.

"Perhaps," Jaddo allowed. "And I accept."

"You know, even if you sell it to me, Brivari's another matter entirely," Dee warned. "Perhaps we should call Yvonne."

"Good idea," Jaddo said. "And actually...there is someone he would listen to ahead of you or The Healer. If you think he wouldn't mind…"

"He wouldn't," Dee said. "I'll get in touch with him."




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





Particle Physics Laboratory,

New Mexico State University at Las Cruces






Vanessa Whitaker folded her arms as she gazed through the window at the bones which had proven so problematic. "How soon?" she asked.

"We'll be ready to start in 2 minutes," a tech answered.

Vanessa smiled. "Let's make history."




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



I'll post Chapter 17 on Sunday, October 19.

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello to everyone reading!







CHAPTER SEVENTEEN





September 8, 2000, 10:15 a.m.

New Mexico State University at Las Cruces






Isabel paced beside the jeep, striding back and forth on a sidewalk crowded with students. "Where is he?" she demanded for the umpteenth time. "He should be here by now."

"He'll be here," Tess promised. "Nasedo wouldn't miss this."

"Yeah, well, I would have thought he wouldn't 'miss' getting Max out of that Army base, but he did," Isabel said.

"Maybe he is here," Max suggested. "Maybe he just didn't feel the need to check in."

"He didn't feel the need to check in with the king?" Isabel said skeptically. "How's that work?"

It doesn't, Max thought as he leaned against the jeep with Tess, leaving Isabel to fret on the sidewalk. He knew deep down that Nasedo would come to him first; he wasn't sure how he knew, but he did. "Maybe he's coming with Whitaker," he suggested. "She's not here yet; maybe that's why he's not here yet."

"That must be it," Tess agreed. "He's still pretending to be Pierce, and they're still a couple."

"Don't remind me," Isabel muttered. "You're sure he said he was coming?"

"I'm sure," Tess said. "I had breakfast with him this morning, and he said he'd see me here. He's coming."

Isabel shook her head. "Breakfast with Nasedo. Not sure I'd have much of an appetite. Hey!" she snapped as a bewildered student nearly careened into her. "Watch where you're going!"

"I'm...just looking for the library," the kid stammered.

"Up that way," Max advised, pointing. "Turn right where you see the benches, and it's a little ways down on the left."

"Thanks!" the kid said. "Hey, are you guys upperclassmen?"

"No," Isabel said flatly. "You're welcome. Goodbye."

"Iz?" Max said gently after the startled student scuttled off. "Cool it. It's not that kid's fault that Nasedo isn't here yet."

"Next time, give him an appointment time," Isabel said crossly. "I'm going up to the corner to watch the front door."

"Try not to mow down any freshman, okay?" Max said.

"Wow," Tess murmured as Isabel stalked off. "Is she okay?"

"She's worried," Max said. "She gets like this when she's worried." He paused. "So why didn't you tell me about the whole scanning thing yesterday?"

The warm sun suddenly felt a bit less warm as Tess shifted almost imperceptibly away from him. "What do you mean?"

"I spent at least an hour in the car trying to memorize maps, and you never mentioned it until Isabel brought it up," Max said. "That's what I mean."

"I didn't mention it because I had no idea how to explain it," Tess said. "I can do it, but I don't know how I do it. "

"But what would you have done if it hadn't come up? You must have known we could really use that."

"I scanned the maps the first time you handed them to me," Tess said. "At least one of us would have known which way to go."

"Mmm," Max murmured. "So what else haven't you told us about? What else can you do—can we do—that we don't know about yet?"

"See, this is why it doesn't much matter what I do," Tess said in exasperation. "Bring it up, and I'll be accused of showing off or trying to make you fall in love with me; don't bring it up, and you'll think I'm keeping secrets. I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't, and that makes me lean toward the 'don't' because it's a lot less work for the same result."

Ouch. Max fell silent as a crowd of chattering students passed, the kind who are thrilled to be at college. Up on the corner, Isabel paced in a new location, looking irritated even from this distance. "Okay...I had that coming," he allowed. "And Isabel tried to figure it out for hours last night, but she couldn't get it."

Tess looked surprised. "Really?'

"Really. Guess it really is like those 3D pictures we were talking about. My mom isn't the only one who struggles with those; Isabel does too."

"Then we're lucky you were such a quick study," Tess said.

"Next time, bring it up even if it's hard to explain or you think we'll blame you for it," Max said. "And if we do, then call us on it. Because if we do that, we're wrong and should be called on it. Deal?"

Tess's expression softened. "Deal."

"Max! Max!"

It was Isabel, tearing down the sidewalk, blasting through packs of startled students. "She's here! Whitaker's here, and Nasedo's not with her!"

Max looked at Tess, who shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. He said he'd be here."

"Well, he isn't, and she just went inside," Isabel panted. "We have to do something."

Max nodded reluctantly. "You're right. This way."

"Where are we going?" Tess asked as they scrambled after him.

"In," Max answered.

"What are you going to do?" Isabel demanded.

"I had a back-up plan," Max said. "The last time I needed Nasedo, he wasn't there, so I felt better having a Plan B."

"He'll be here," Tess insisted. "He may not admit it, but he knows he let you down before. He won't do that again."

"So we hedge our bets," Max said. "We'll be ready with the back-up plan, and if he shows—"

"When he shows," Tess corrected.

"Okay, 'when' he shows, let me know," Max finished. "But we can't afford to wait around until he does."

"But what are you going to do?" Isabel persisted as Tess's eyes fell.

Max shook his head. "No time to go into the details. I need to get into the lab," he said to Tess. "I need you to make me invisible. Can you do that?"

"What?" Isabel exclaimed. "Is this some other power you have—"

"He means he wants me to make it so no one can see him," Tess broke in. "And yes, I can do that, just as long as there aren't too many people."

"How many is too many?" Max asked.

"It depends," Tess answered. "It's easier to make people see something they'd expect to see anyway. They won't be expecting to see you, so making them see nobody should be fairly simple."

"I'll call you when I get in and let you know how many people are there," Max said as they rounded the side of the building. "Can you do it from a distance, or do you have to come with me?"

"I can do it from out here, but I should be as close to the control room as I can be." Tess surveyed the building with a critical eye. "Over there, by that staircase. Call me when you're ready."

They split up, Max and Isabel continuing on. "Where are we going?" Isabel demanded. "And why won't you tell me what this 'Plan B' is?"

"To a side door I saw yesterday, and I already told you there's no time—" Max stopped in his tracks, throwing out an arm. "Get back," he whispered, pulling Isabel back. "Damn it! There wasn't a security guard there yesterday."

Isabel peered around the corner at the pudgy security guard parked in a chair reading a magazine. "I believe this is my area of expertise," she announced, tugging her top lower to display impressive cleavage. "Hey!" she added when Max's eyebrows rose. "I get to have at least one. Just give me a minute, and there won't be a guard in our way."





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





15 minutes earlier





"Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Vanessa's driver half turned in his seat, puzzled. "Yes, ma'am. I guess."

"You 'guess'?" Vanessa said. "The sky is so blue! And just look at that sun! Huge. Bright. Gorgeous. It makes the sand positively sparkle. Have you ever seen a sun that big and bright?"

"Uh...yes. No!" the driver amended hastily. "It sure is beautiful, ma'am. Right you are."

Ass kisser, Vanessa thought, her head leaning against the window as she drank in the sights. No wonder her driver was confused; he'd never heard her compliment Earth's geology, cosmology, meteorology, or any other 'ology' you could name. She'd always found Earth's gigantic sun distressingly large and hot, its single moon tiny and cold, its topography boring, its place at the end of a dark alley in space suffocating...but today it all looked different. Today the sun was glorious and the desert landscape breathtakingly beautiful. Today she was wishing she'd spent less time hating Earth and more time exploring it because, fate willing, she'd never make it back this way again. Maybe it was time for one of those "bucket lists", or whatever the short-lived humans called it.

"Thomas, have you ever been to Hawaii?"

"Ma'am?"

"Hawaii," Vanessa repeated. "I hear it's lovely. Ever been there?"

"Uh...no, ma'am, I haven't. Can't afford it."

"Mmm," Vanessa murmured. "So if you could afford it, what places would you like to see?"

There was a brief moment of startled silence. "Well...I've always had a hankering to go to London."

"London? What's there?"

"The queen!" Thomas laughed. "Buckingham Palace. Westminster Abbey. Stonehenge. The Tower. Lots of history in London."

"Interesting," Vanessa said. "Where else?"

"Maybe the Taj Mahal?" Thomas suggested. "Or the Sydney Opera House? I hear New Zealand is beautiful. Paris, too. And the Northern Lights," he added eagerly, warming to his subject. "I've always wanted to see the Northern Lights."

"What exactly are the 'Northern Lights'?"

"Ah...pretty colors in the sky," Thomas said sheepishly. "Sorry, that's all I know. But I hear it's quite a spectacle. Maybe one of the geeks here can explain it," he added as they turned into the university's main entrance."

Vanessa smiled faintly. " 'Geeks'?"

"Scientists," Thomas corrected quickly. "I meant scientists."

Thomas fell into a flustered silence punctuated by fearful glances into the back seat, but he needn't have worried. She was in much too good of a mood today to let anything bother her. It was instructive how quickly things could change. She'd been here just yesterday with what she thought was a human only to learn he was one of their most hated and powerful enemies, a discovery which had her begging off driving him back to Roswell while she reeled from the thought of what she'd told him, what she'd done with him. "Daniel" had merely shrugged, unperturbed by finding his own way back, and why shouldn't he be? He was not only Covari, he was enhanced Covari, a pit bull for the crown, a terror on two feet assuming he was in a shape which had feet. She must have thrown up every meal she'd eaten with him in the hours between discovery and confrontation as she'd prepared to take him hostage and serve him up to Nicholas on a platter. The brownie points she'd get for this would make Betty Crocker weep. All she had to do was keep her discovery quiet, lure him in, divest him of his powers with the push of a button, and knock him out.

"Here we are, ma'am," Thomas said as he pulled up beside the lab, cheerful once more because he hadn't been chastised. "The truck is right behind us. Will you be needing anything else before you head back?"

"No," Vanessa said. "Thank you, I'm good until we're done. Why don't you go get yourself something to eat? On me," she added, digging in her purse. "Bon appetit."

Thomas stared at the bill she'd handed him. "Uh...ma'am? This is a hundred dollar bill."

"So make it somewhere nice," Vanessa advised. "As in not McDonald's. And keep the change. I'll call you when I'm done."

She climbed out of the car as Thomas gaped, certain he'd skip breakfast, lunch, and dinner if it meant pocketing that $100 bill. Good for him—it's what she would do, what Jaddo would do. That's what had ultimately stayed her hand, the realization that the man she'd developed a reluctant admiration for, the man whose ruthlessness mirrored her own had not been Daniel Pierce, but Warder to the king's second. This never would have happened had she known who he was from the start, but she hadn't, and her opinion, once formed, would not be denied. She was curious as to how he would look to her now that she knew the truth, so she'd decided to string him along. He must have known who she was long before she'd divulged that nugget of information, and he hadn't killed her when he easily could have, so she had some time to do a little reconnaissance. There was so much she could learn now that she was in the know, or so she told herself when she'd answered his knock at the door, only to lose her nerve and brandish her trithium generator, effectively killing any chance she had of overpowering him. Although Royal Warders had impressive powers, their most impressive power wasn't a power, but a fundamental element of their biology. He was a shapeshifter, and she was not; he could make himself large, small, anything he wanted. She'd lost her advantage the moment he'd learned she knew the truth, and the fact that she'd been the one who'd told him made her wince even more than the memory of how she'd blurted out her species to someone who already knew that. How foolish she must have looked to him, how utterly crazy to make such an admission. In that moment, he must have thought her as useless as Nicholas did.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Vanessa told the men holding the box with Daniel's bones. "Shall we?"

Her eyes swept the atrium as they entered the building, but she saw no sign of her handlers, those Nicholas had so unwisely sent to do her work for her. It was their presence which had turned the tide, making her so angry that she was actually willing to try making a deal with a Royal Warder if for no other reason than she knew it would infuriate Nicholas. Besides, now that she had back-up, however unwelcome it may be, she also had an out—she need only call in the handlers when she tired of the game. And so it had come as a huge surprise when they had actually reached an agreement, a compromise which seemed to satisfy the giant egos afflicting Antar, including, it must be admitted, her own. Everyone gave a little, everyone got a little; isn't that how compromises worked? Even more surprising than their success was how much she'd enjoyed the process. Life in a hierarchal culture like hers was a lonely one; only those at the very bottom of the totem pole enjoyed anything even close to friendship. Everyone else had to be careful what was said to whom because virtually everyone they spoke with could bring them down or rat them out to someone who would. In Jaddo she'd found a parallel relationship, someone bound to the one playing second fiddle and every bit as frustrated by that as she was, someone who couldn't give her up without risking his own neck and who was every bit as tired as she was of their exile on this planet. It had been enormously satisfying to talk to someone from their world who shared her desire to end this war so they could go home, and actually had a clue about how to do that.

"Congresswoman!" called a geek—er, scientist—clad in the regulation lab coat. "We're delighted you're here! I'm Dr. Shapiro, director of this facility, and I'll be overseeing the tests on the samples you've brought."

"Nice to meet you," Vanessa smiled as they entered the elevator, waiting until the door closed and they had some privacy. "I had a question for you, doctor—what are the 'northern lights'?"

"Northern Lights is the colloquial expression for the aurora borealis," Dr. Shapiro answered. "Technically it's the collision of energetic charged particles with atoms in the thermosphere—it's pretty colored lights in the sky," he amended when she raised an eyebrow. "Mostly green, with red and blue sometimes, although those are rarer."

"And where do I see this?"

"High latitudes," he answered. "Way up north or way down south. Does...this have something to do with the tests we're doing today?"

Vanessa shook her head. "No. Just curious. I'm making vacation plans."

"Well, you can't go wrong with an aurora," Dr. Shapiro said. "It's quite the spectacle, considered one of the most beautiful natural phenomenons on Earth."

The elevator door opened, revealing a control room full of white coat-clad technicians. "Then I'll have to see it," Vanessa said. "I appreciate the help. I'm betting you weren't expecting to be a travel agent today."

"No, just a scientist," Dr. Shapiro laughed. "Everything loaded?" he asked one of the techs.

"Almost," the tech answered. "We'll be ready to start in two minutes."

"Let's make history," Vanessa said.

Fingers flew over keyboards as she gazed through the window at Daniel's bones, one slice of her pound of flesh in the brave new world in which she found herself. Perhaps it had been petty of her to insist on this given that she was leaving, but it turned out she cared about her image even when in disguise. When Vanessa Whitaker disappeared, she didn't want her relegated to the annals of Earth's history wearing a dunce cap. Petty or no, she wanted this, and Jaddo had agreed. Daniel would never have agreed. Daniel had been an alien hunter who she never could have bargained with, which made it fortuitous that he was dead. She could have used him, but he would never have been an equal or seen her as a equal. This was so much better.

"Ready to go," the tech said.

"Gentlemen," Vanessa smiled. "Start your engines."





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





Tess paced outside the lab, newly vacated by a doughy security guard who had led Isabel away with puppy dog eyes and nary a look back. "She'll be fine," she'd assured a disturbed-sounding Max who had called her as he'd watched his sister walk away with a man whose tongue was very close to hanging. "Remember, she can pin him to the wall if she wants to. Or worse."

"True," Max had allowed. "And she asked about the Student Union. That's a good long ways away."

"Call me when you get inside and let me know how many people are in there," Tess said. "It'll give me an idea of how much juice to throw at it."

"Why? Shouldn't you just throw all the juice you've got at it?"

"I...it helps to know what I'm aiming at," Tess had answered. "Especially when I can't see anything."

"Right," Max had nodded. "Forgot about that. Call you in a few."

He'd hung up, leaving her to fret outside. Where on earth was Nasedo? There was no way he'd miss this, not with Michael in jail and him all excited this morning about going home. She wasn't exactly sure which was more noteworthy—seeing Nasedo excited or the notion of actually going home, something she'd always longed for but assumed was far in her future, or far enough to make mooning over it a waste of time. But all of a sudden it wasn't, and she'd thought of that when Max had asked her about the scanning business. He and Isabel wouldn't take kindly to the notion of going home when they felt their home was here, while Michael just might. But their world needed the royal family, not the royal few, and she was pretty sure a queen was no good without her king. Maybe going home was still far in her future anyway because that's how long it would take to convince the rest of them.

Tense and on edge, Tess checked again to see if Nasedo had left her a message, but her inbox remained empty. Where could he be? She was so used to him sweeping in and cleaning house that it had felt like her world had turned upside down when he hadn't been around to do that when they'd rescued Max from the Unit. Now she felt upside down all over again as she waited to do something she hadn't planned on doing and wasn't absolutely certain she could pull off. While it was true that it was easier to make people see what they wanted to see, what they expected to see, what she hadn't pointed out was that it would take a good deal of power to make that happen for the length of time Max would need to do whatever it was he was going to do. She could handle a few people for a longer time or several people for a shorter time. If she wound up with several people for a longer time, she'd need to push harder, the results of which could be...unsettling.

The sun was hot, and she'd been sweating only a few minutes ago, but Tess felt cold all over as she recalled the nosy neighbor who had become the unwitting subject of an experiment she hadn't even realized she was doing. There was at least one nosy neighbor in every neighborhood, very often more than one, and they seemed to lose no time finding her and Nasedo. One of them, a Mrs. Mack, had proven especially meddlesome, employing binoculars and all manner of other snoopery, the result being that she'd seen some things she shouldn't. In a panic one day after Mrs. Mack had seen her use her powers, Tess had thrown a hasty mindwarp her way, not exactly sure how that would work; the neighbor had seen what she'd seen, and when she told Nasedo, which she inevitably would, he'd be furious. She was thinking of all that when she started the mindwarp, of how much she'd love it if the woman would just forget what she'd seen, if she could just wipe it away like chalk on a chalkboard...

To her amazement, it worked. Mrs. Mack had looked blank for a moment, then looked around as though she didn't know how she'd come to be standing at the fence which divided their yards with a pair of binoculars in her hand. Tess had asked innocently if she'd been birdwatching, and Mrs. Mack had quickly taken the proffered excuse and disappeared back inside her house. Weak with relief and certain she'd she'd just gotten lucky, Tess had vowed to be more vigilant, a vow which had slipped in due course, finding her right back in the same position. This time she'd proceeded more deliberately, pinpointing the moment in time before Mrs. Mack had seen something she wasn't supposed to. It had worked again, and it kept on working as Tess relaxed her vigilance, secure now in the knowledge that she could rewind if necessary. Until the day she'd come home to find Mrs. Mack only seconds away from regaling Nasedo with a tale of a recent indiscretion and, in a panic, thrown a blast of power her way. It had worked again, but not quite the way she'd intended. Mrs. Mack, it turned out, had forgotten more than she'd intended.

Mrs. Mack had forgotten her name.

Recalling this now, Tess felt that same sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that she'd felt as the rest of that day had unfolded. Neighbors had been consulted over the wandering, confused Mrs. Mack. An ambulance arrived, then a son who lived nearby. "Humans," Nasedo had said in disgust. "So fragile. She probably had a stroke."

"She's not that old," Tess had said faintly.

"Then all the snooping made her pop a cork," Nasedo had said. "Serves her right."

Does it? Tess had thought despairingly. Yes, Mrs. Mack was nosy, but the fact remained that if she'd been observing Nasedo's rules as closely as she should have been, there would have been nothing for Mrs. Mack to see. It was a long week before Mrs. Mack came home from the hospital and another long week before she was back to normal, recovering from the ailment her doctors had never been able to diagnose. More subdued now after her brush with disaster, Mrs. Mack did less snooping and Tess toed the line so hard, she practically turned it into a fault line. She never wanted to do anything like that again. And now she might have to, to save Michael.

Her phone rang. Please be Nasedo, she begged, looking at the Caller ID. No such luck.

"Max?"

"Where's Nasedo?" Max demanded.

"He's still not here," Tess said heavily.

"We can't wait any longer. Are you ready?"

"Yeah."

"I see 8 people in the control room," Max said.

Shit. "That's a lot of people," Tess said.

"Tess, we need you," Max said firmly. "Can you do this or not?"

"I think so."

"You can't let anyone in that room see me," Max warned.

The fear in his voice galvanized her. "I got it," she promised. "I won't let you down. But with this many people, I can only sustain the mindwarp for a couple of minutes."

"It'll have to do," Max allowed.

"Okay. Bye."

Tess rung off, closed her eyes, and concentrated. Show time…

She found them immediately, several minds busily attending to whatever they were attending to in a calm and orderly fashion. Good, Tess thought, relaxing as she instructed all of them to see nothing unusual, nothing they weren't expecting. All was going smoothly, no ripples, no surprises. Maybe she'd be able to hold this longer after all. She'd dearly love to wait until Max was back by her side before dropping it, and with no resistance, no one to convince, it would be doable…

One of the minds abruptly pushed back, probing the edges of the wall she'd erected to shield Max from view. The objection was sudden and sharp, making her gasp and grab a nearby railing for support. Who the hell was this? Whoever it was was strong, stronger than anyone she'd ever mindwarped before. It was common to encounter resistance when showing someone something they didn't expect or want to see, but to feel this large of a challenge while someone was seeing what they expected to see was...well, that was downright weird, not to mention damned inconvenient. The rebel was taking a disproportionate share of her focus, meaning the rest of them, if they looked hard enough, just might see something they shouldn't.

Hurry, Max, Tess thought, breaking into a sweat as she held the protective wall in place by sheer force of will. I can't keep this up much longer.





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




Route 285 North





"What's the hold up?" Vanessa demanded. "Why is it taking twice as long to get back to Roswell as it did to get to Las Cruces?"

"We got caught in some traffic, but it's clearing up," Thomas answered. "We should hit town in about 10 minutes."

Vanessa sank into sullen silence, punctuated by Thomas's worried glances in the rearview mirror. She was absolutely furious, her dream day having gone to hell, her validation up in smoke. Hours had passed, but she was still smarting as though hearing the words for the first time.

The results are pretty conclusive. There's no evidence of Cadmium-X anywhere.

That had been the first bombshell. The second was even worse.

These bones have been out in that desert for 42 years.

Bullshit, Vanessa thought darkly. Those bones hadn't even been out in that desert for 42 weeks. Those bones belonged to Daniel, and there should be Cadmium-X all over them. He'd promised there would be Cadmium-X all over them.

"Almost there, ma'am," Thomas said nervously. "Sit tight."

Like I have another choice, Vanessa thought bitterly. After being trapped in a car for hours, heads were going to roll all the harder when she was finally released. For all the back and forth she and Jaddo had engaged in, this was one point on which there had been none—she'd demanded validation and Jaddo had agreed, albeit with snarky remarks about validating people who didn't exist. Vanessa Whitaker may not exist in the strictest sense, but for all practical purposes she was Whitaker, and Whitaker had recently been made to look the fool. Neither she nor Jaddo had any illusions about how long this was going to take; it was clear to both of them that she would be Whitaker for a while longer, quite probably a good while longer, and while she was being Whitaker, she wanted Whitaker vindicated. She wanted Cadmium-X found on those bones so she could wave them under the noses of snooty senators and any other interested parties. The Bureau would never admit anything, of course, but word would leak, not just on the Hill but to the public as well, through the UFO community and the conspiracy theorists, perhaps, but leak just the same. At least she'd be able to spend her remaining days here looking considerably less ridiculous, not to mention it would silence Nicholas, as much as anything ever did, anyway.

And then it had all disappeared, up in smoke with a scan and a carbon dating. She'd tried to look merely confused instead of infuriated, but she'd never been good at hiding her emotions, and the lab's director had privately offered to repeat the tests on the outside chance that something had gone awry. Something did, she'd thought sourly as she'd politely declined, assuring her loyal constituent that she had the utmost faith in the results even if she didn't understand them. What had gone awry was a Royal Warder, but how the hell had he pulled that off? She'd walked those bones right into the cyclotron, so when had Jaddo gotten to them? Or maybe it hadn't been Jaddo, but Brivari? But she'd thought of that, surreptitiously using her trithium generator to check for Covari who didn't keep their word, prompting grumbles about the "lights going weird", so when had he managed to sneak past her? Was he what she'd been feeling during the test itself, that niggling feeling that something was there that shouldn't be, just visible out of the corner of her eye but not there when she looked straight at it?

"Here we are, ma'am," Thomas said with what sounded suspiciously like relief.

"Not the Holiday Inn," Vanessa said. "Take me to the Doubletree."

"Ah, much nicer, ma'am," Thomas smiled. "If you ask me, that Holiday Inn is getting pretty ratty. A congresswoman deserves better."

"I'm meeting someone there," Vanessa said frostily. "I'm careful with my constituents' funds."

"Of course you are, ma'am," Thomas said quickly.

Although Jaddo said the same thing, Vanessa admitted silently. The first thing he'd done after giving the slip to her babysitters was whisk them away to the nicer hotel where he was staying. Must be nice to be a shapeshifter; she had to settle for one face, one persona, and the economic strata it occupied. Still, she'd appreciated the space and the room service they'd kept coming all night as they'd thrashed out the details, surprising even themselves by reaching a rudimentary understanding by morning. And here she'd been all starry-eyed, ready to go on a farewell tour of Earth before they held hands and sang Kumbaya. So much for that.

"Here you are, ma'am," Thomas said, opening the door for her. "Will you be needing any further assistance?"

"I won't, but someone will when I get through with him," Vanessa said darkly. "Never mind," she added when Thomas looked blank. "I'll call you when I need you again."

"Um...I never...went to lunch," Thomas stammered, pulling her hundred dollar bill out of his pocket. "It was awfully generous of you, ma'am, but...would you like your Ben Franklin back?"

Vanessa's expression softened. "You keep it. One of us should have a good day, don't you think?"

She left Thomas bewildered by the front door, fumed all the way up in the elevator, and nearly exploded into the hotel room. "You!" she spat at the figure in the easy chair, his back to her. "You promised me I'd have my Cadmium-X! What the hell did you do?"

No answer. Vanessa stormed toward him, practically apoplectic. "Don't you dare ignore me!" she thundered, wrenching the chair around…

...only to see the head loll sideways, the eyes closed on a face she'd never seen before. Startled, she backed up so quickly she bumped into a table. "What the…?"

"Hello, Vanessa."

Flabbergasted, Vanessa whirled around to find one of Nicholas's nominees for babysitter. "What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded. "And who the hell is this?"

The babysitter, who went by the name of Nathan, gave her a level stare. "I got you a present," he answered. "A little something to take back to Nicholas. One Royal Warder, to go."




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



I'll post Chapter 18 on Sunday, November 2.

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello to everyone reading!







CHAPTER EIGHTEEN




September 8, 2000, 6 p.m.

Doubletree Inn & Suites, Roswell






Total silence reigned in the hotel room as Vanessa stared in astonishment, first at the unfamiliar man tied to a chair, then at Nathan, one of two minions sent by Nicholas after she'd explicitly told him to leave her alone. Royal Warder? This was a Royal Warder? Neither Nathan nor his companion were much to write home about, so the odds of either managing to apprehend a Covari, let alone a Royal Warder, were slim to none. "Very funny," she said sourly. "Who is this really?"

"I told you," Nathan answered. "It's a Royal Warder. Or a Covari, at least, and as far as I know, the Warders are the only ones left."

"So you expect me to believe that you captured a Warder," Vanessa said, her voice dripping sarcasm. "Just like that."

Nathan's triumphant expression faltered. "Well...I didn't know what it was. We thought we were grabbing Pierce."

"This isn't Pierce," Vanessa said impatiently.

Nathan shrugged. "Was when I nabbed him."

A cold tendril of fear snaked up Vanessa's spine. "What do you mean?" she demanded. "Talk!" she added savagely when Nathan remained silent. "I told Nicholas to leave me alone, so the fact that you're here at all puts you in a very bad position. You'd be wise not to piss me off any more than you already have and cough up your orders. Who are you here with? What are you up to?"

Nathan studied her for a moment in silence. "I'm here with Vincent," he answered, apparently deciding to humor her. "And Nicholas did exactly as you asked—we were to leave you alone. Our orders were to grab Pierce. We were supposed to rough him up, you know, put the fear of God in him, or the fear of you, anyway. You weren't supposed to know about it."

"So this is his idea of 'leaving me alone'?" Vanessa muttered.

"We figured out where he was staying," Nathan went on, ignoring her. "The tranquilizer darts we used for Covari would be quieter than just grabbing him, so we rigged up a dart to nail him when he came in. But Vince forgot that the dosage is different for a human, so I told him to go on without me while I came back to fix the dose. We weren't supposed to kill him."

"And?" Vanessa demanded.

"And when I got here, he was thrashing around and...changing," Nathan said with that particular level of disgust Antarians reserved for Covari. "First he looked like Pierce, then this, then something else. It took him a few minutes to go completely out; if I hadn't come back when I did, I would have thought it was just another human, but..." He pulled his trithium generator out of his pocket and turned on the infrared wash. The outline around the man in the chair made it all too clear what he was.

Wonderful, Vanessa thought wearily. On the cusp of a deal, on the eve of their way home, two barely qualified soldiers had managed to capture a Warder by sheer accident. If Nathan had used the correct human dose, the Warder would have been able to escape; if he'd gotten here just a few minutes later, he probably would have thought he'd nabbed a hotel employee, dragged him off to a supply closet, and never realized what he had. This was a simply spectacular run of bad luck.

"So," Nathan said slowly, watching her with interest. "Did you know you were fucking a Covari?"

Vanessa kept her eyes on the distinctly unattractive, middle-aged male in the chair, head lolling on his chest. This was the million dollar question, wasn't it—how much did she know? That was why the Warder was positioned with his back to the door, why Nathan had remained hidden until he'd seen her reaction. Her mind flew back over what she'd said when she'd arrived—had she given herself away? No, she didn't think so. Should she give herself away now? She wasn't even certain which Warder this was; Brivari was every bit as capable of looking like Pierce as Jaddo. And then there was the issue of hierarchy. Accident or no, this was a career making catch; whose career, however, would depend on who seized the advantage.

Slam!

Nathan flew backwards, colliding with the wall before hitting the floor with a painful-sounding thud. "How dare you?" Vanessa hissed at him, her hand outstretched. "How dare you imply such a thing? Is that the tale you plan to tell Nicholas, that I've been sleeping with the enemy? You think you're going to claim this one for yourself? Well, think twice, soldier. I am your superior, and you haven't got a shred of proof that whoever this is has been impersonating Pierce for any longer than the time it took him to walk into this room. If I were you, I'd tread carefully."

"Then where is he?" Nathan said sullenly, gingerly touching the back of his head. "He wasn't with you at Las Cruces."

Vanessa's eyes narrowed. "Says who? You weren't…" She stopped, suddenly realizing the implications of what he'd said earlier. I told him to go on without me while I came back to fix the dose. "You were following me," she said softly, advancing on Nathan as he hastily pushed himself to his feet. "You came back, but Vince went on. I thought Nicholas told you to leave me alone?"

"We were just supposed to watch," Nathan said. "I called Vince. He said Pierce wasn't with you."

Vanessa stepped closer, causing Nathan to step back. "Did you tell him what you'd found?"

" 'Course not," Nathan answered. "Protocol requires that I report to a superior officer."

And handily provides one less person to take credit, Vanessa thought, although it was noteworthy that Nathan was being more careful since his literal and figurative slap. "Good," Vanessa said. "Vincent needs his eyes examined because Daniel was there. Not in the lab because he's not Bureau any more, but he was there. He left after I did. He could be back any time now."

"Then I guess we'll just have to wait," Nathan said. "For either him to come back, or someone to come looking for this."

Damn it, Vanessa groaned inwardly as Nathan shuffled off, eyeing her warily. She'd established her dominance, but not for long; Daniel was dead, there was no question this was a Covari, and both of Nicholas's henchman wouldn't hesitate to exploit this for all they were worth. And then there was the matter of which Covari this was.

If it was Jaddo, all those dreams of going home may have just gone up in smoke.





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





Roswell Sheriff's Station






Jim Valenti flipped a page, noting the next page number—32. That many? he thought wearily, hefting the remainder of the report he was still trying to make his way through without success. Had he really read 32 pages? How could that be when he didn't remember those 32 pages? Leafing back through, he realized they looked vaguely familiar, having passed before his eyes, but he still had no idea what they said. So he hadn't "read" them, he'd just looked at them. Big difference.

With a heavy sigh, Valenti pushed away from the desk and closed his eyes. It was no use; all his attempts to take his mind off the kid locked in a cell beneath his feet had been futile. Not a kid, he reminded himself ruefully; alien warlord, an alien warlord who was passively accepting his fate like he deserved it when every bone in Valenti's body raged against it. They had switched, he and Mr. Guerin, the latter calm and resigned, the former struggling to keep his mind on his job when all he really wanted to do was pick up a chair and throw it against the wall. How incredibly ironic that after all their efforts to cover up Pierce's death, his bones had been dug up with near scary dispatch and been latched onto by a politician with an axe to grind. Max's assurances that he and Nasedo would right things had not quelled his doubts. That test was supposed to have been this morning, yet he still hadn't heard a thing from anyone of any species, human, alien, or politician. If something didn't happen soon, he'd scream, a rather unprofessional reaction from a man of the law, when he wasn't breaking it, that is.

The intercom buzzed. "Yes?" Valenti said, nearly knocking over his coffee cup in his eagerness to answer it.

"Got another report for you, sir!" Hanson's cheerful voice announced as though he'd just discovered a long lost Christmas present. "Want me to send it up?"

Shit, Valenti sighed, deflating. "Uh...sure. Say, Hanson, have you—"

"Heard anything?" Hanson finished. "No, sir, the congresswoman hasn't called. Just like she hasn't called the other 15 times you've asked."

Valenti felt himself flushing. "Sorry. I'm a little on edge."

"Don't you worry, sir," Hanson advised. "One way or another, justice will be done."

"You're just young enough to still believe that," Valenti said dryly. "I've seen too many situations where justice got drop-kicked by power."

"But you won't let that happen, sir," Hanson said stoutly, with all the blinkered optimism of youth. "We won't let that happen. If Guerin is innocent, he'll walk just like he should."

"Guerin is innocent," Valenti insisted. "Whitaker just wanted a poster boy for her lynch mob, and he was unlucky enough to have dropped his knife in the wrong spot. He shouldn't have to pay for her ambition."

"I'm sure it'll all work out," Hanson said soothingly. "You need to take your mind off this. Why don't I bring up this—"

"No," Valenti broke in. "Still working on the first one."

" 'Still'?"

"Gimme a break, Hanson; it's 68 pages. Brevity is a virtue you should cultivate."

"Uh...yes, sir," Hanson said, abashed. "I'll…keep that in mind."

Idiot, Valenti thought as he hung up. Him and his big mouth. Hanson would no doubt spend the rest of the afternoon paring down the report he'd just finished…which, upon reflection, wasn't such a bad idea as the little progress he'd made on the first made it clear his concentration was shot. He was holed up in his office ostensibly doing work when he was really babysitting the phone. Maybe he should go for a walk…

His cell rang. "Hello?" he said breathlessly.

There was a brief pause before a puzzled voice said, "Dad?"

"Kyle," Valenti said, deflating again. "Oh...hi."

"I know it's exciting to hear from me, Dad, but try not to get the phone all sweaty," Kyle deadpanned.

"No, no, you just caught me—"

"In the middle of something," Kyle finished. "Just for the record, when are you not in the middle of something?"

"Says the guy who couldn't get off the phone fast enough when I called last week," Valenti said crossly.

"You called during a practice," Kyle objected. "I was a little busy."

"You called during a work day," Valenti said. "I'm a little busy."

Touché, Valenti thought as he was rewarded with an annoyed sigh. Getting the jump on an adolescent was a skill which required regular practice, something he hadn't had for the last month that Kyle had been away at football camp. While Kyle had needed to get away and he'd needed to stop worrying about him, he was out of practice dealing with snark. "So," Kyle went on, changing the subject the way he usually did when dear old Dad had made a point, "I just wanted to make sure you're still picking me up tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Tomorrow!" Valenti corrected quickly, flipping a page on his calendar. "Absolutely."

"You...did remember I was coming home tomorrow, right?" Kyle said suspiciously.

" 'Course I did," Valenti lied. "Got you down right here. So how's things? Everything still going well?"

"No one's shot me, if that's what you mean," Kyle answered. "No crazy FBI agents, or aliens, or clueless deputies."

"Glad to hear it," Valenti said, ignoring the dig. "We'll try to keep it that way."

"But you know what they say," Kyle went on. " 'Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment'. That's what I'm all about."

"Right," Valenti said slowly. "Glad to hear you're not dwelling on it."

"I can't," Kyle said seriously. " 'We are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think.' That's not something I want to become, so I don't think about it."

"Are you okay?" Valenti asked warily.

"Never better," Kyle said. " 'Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.' I don't want to get burned, so I've let go of my anger."

"Uh...good," Valenti said uncertainly. "That's good. I guess."

" 'Course it is. See you tomorrow, Dad. Don't forget. And good luck with whatever's bugging you."

"I'm...waiting for a phone call," Valenti admitted, having been about to say I'm not bugged. "Have been all day."

" 'Work out your own salvation. Do not depend on others'."

Valenti blinked. "Huh?"

"Call them instead," Kyle translated. "Bye."

What the hell? Valenti thought wearily as he hung up. His kid sounded like some kind of holy roller, a fate more terrifying than any alien. But he had a point, and a couple of minutes later, Valenti was on the phone to the director of the Particle Physics Lab at Las Cruces, one Dr. Shapiro. "This is Sheriff Jim Valenti from Roswell," Valenti explained. "I've got a suspect in custody awaiting the results of a test on some human remains that was ordered by Congresswoman Vanessa Whitaker. Did that test take place?"

"It did," Shapiro acknowledged, "although I'm not sure I'm at liberty to divulge the results. You should talk to the congresswoman."

"Look, I've got a kid parked in a jail cell over this," Valenti said. "He's been here for a couple of days already—"

"Wait—a 'kid'? How old is this 'kid'?"

"17," Valenti answered. "Why?"

"Then that kid is off the hook," Shapiro answered. "We carbon dated the bones to 42 years ago."

"Years?" Valenti repeated.

"That's right. Those bones have been out there over twice as long as your suspect's been alive. Does that help?"

Valenti sank back into his chair with relief. "It does. Thank you. Thank you so much."

Ten minutes later he approached the cell where Michael was stretched out on the cot. "Mr. Guerin," he said, keeping his face neutral as Hanson looked on, "you're free to go."

"I am?" Michael said suspiciously.

"They carbon dated the bones," Hanson explained. "Guess they've been out in that desert some 42 years, since long before you were born."

Michael stared at them a moment before grabbing what little stuff he had and stepping outside. "What happened?" he whispered when Hanson was far enough ahead to be out of earshot.

"I'm guessing Nasedo happened," Valenti replied. "When you see him, give him a high five for me."





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





Crashdown Cafe






"Maria?" Courtney said. "Closing? Counting the cash box? Hello?"

Maria's head turned slowly, her eyes vacant. "What?"

"You've been counting the same pile of twenties for like, the past ten minutes," Courtney said. "And then you just stopped. Like you'd given up."

Maria's eyes dropped to the open cash drawer in front of her, the wad of bills in her hand. "Oh. Oh, I...I…"

"Why don't I finish," Courtney suggested. "You go clock out."

Maria stared at her. "Really?"

"Really. We're almost done anyway. Go on; get out of here."

"Oh, God, thank you," Maria said earnestly, thrusting the bills into Courtney's hand and making a beeline for her locker. It had been so weird today, with Maria preoccupied and uninterested in their usual game of thrust and parry. No cutting remarks, no stage whispered slights, no rolled eyes, nothing; it was almost as odd as allying with a Royal Warder or having her opinion sought by the Premier of Kerona. Brivari, Larak, Maria—all were harsh critics, and all were in unusually good moods at the moment.

The reason for Maria's good mood arrived 20 minutes later. "What took you so long?" Zan asked as Rath was enveloped in a hug from Vilandra. "Valenti called hours ago."

"Yeah, well, it turns out 'free to go' means 'free to go as soon as we finish the mountain of paperwork that goes with getting out of jail'," Rath answered. "And then I wanted a shower, and a change of clothes, and something to eat—"

"Who cares?" Vilandra interrupted happily. "You're out; that's all that matters."

"We can help with the something to eat," Alex said, brandishing cardboard boxes. "Pizza!"

"Sweet," Rath said. "So Nasedo came through for us, huh Maxwell?"

Zan hesitated. "We managed," Vilandra answered. "And Tess totally came through for us. You should have seen Congresswoman Whitaker. She was mad as a hornet."

"C'mon, sit down," Zan said as Ava flushed from the rare compliment, "and we'll tell you all about it."

The Royal Four and their friends repaired to a booth to discuss the particulars as Courtney took her time and continued to eavesdrop. She'd have a good long list of things to tell Brivari next time she talked to him, although she planned on leaving out the part about the private picnic with Larak; while most of what she'd told him about the Warders had been relatively complimentary, emphasis on "relatively", not all of it had been. Best to leave that part out. She finished closing, had a brief exchange with startled hybrids who seemed to have forgotten she was there, and walked home, arriving just as her phone buzzed.

"Figured you'd call," Courtney said. "Rath's out, Vilandra's beaming, and Ava's actually part of the group for once—"

"Have you seen Jaddo?" Brivari interrupted.

"No. Why?"

"He's not answering his phone, he hasn't left me any messages, and yet Rath is free," Brivari said. "He should be crowing, at least via phone."

Courtney hesitated. "That's weird."

"Why?" Brivari demanded. "Why is that weird?"

"Well...according to what I heard...Jaddo never showed."





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





Holiday Inn,

Roswell





He could hear before he could see. Not much, just background noise, really, but enough that he suspected he was alive, debatable what with his pounding head, mouth like cotton, and near inability to move a muscle, including his eyelids. Maybe it was better that way; he had the distinct impression he wouldn't like what he saw.

"Finally!" a female voice hissed nearby. "Wake up. Wake up!"

Someone grabbed him by the shoulders, shook him roughly. He used the momentum to open his eyelids and fought to keep them open, unsure he'd be able to summon the energy to do so again. Words hung in front of him, on an angle as his head was lolling sideways. Guest Services. Pleasing People The World Over.

"I must have died and gone to hell," Jaddo said, his voice thick from the cottony throat. "And hell looks just like the Holiday Inn. Figures." His eyes worked better now, and he swung them over to find a stunned Vanessa. "And you here haranguing me. Definitely hell."

"Shit," Vanessa said darkly. "It is you. I was hoping it wasn't."

Jaddo flexed his hands, bound behind him, then his feet, bound in front. "If you wanted to tie me up...you only had to ask," he said haltingly, his tongue still not behaving itself. "Not that you ever did before."

"Will you stop?" Vanessa demanded. "We have a problem!"

"No shit, Sherlock," Jaddo retorted, only to find himself immediately rewarded with a coughing fit. "Although I'd argue I'm the one with the problem," he added when he could speak again. "Way to keep a deal, sweetheart."

"What, you think I did this?" Vanessa said in astonishment. "I did not do this."

Jaddo shifted painfully in his chair, his head clearer now. "Of course you didn't. That's why I'm tied up in your hotel room, because you didn't do this."

"You...I...how dare you?" Vanessa sputtered savagely. "You'd still be out cold if not for me!"

"Which doesn't explain why I was out cold in the first place," Jaddo said, his eyes closing again as the effort of repartee became overwhelming.

Slap!

Pain had a way of focusing one's attention, and it did so now as Jaddo's eyes flew open, taking in the tired hotel room, the dirty dishes nearby, the furious face hovering in front of his. "Wake up!" Vanessa ordered as though sheer force of will would produce that result. "This is all going to end very badly if you don't wake up and help me out of this!"

"Help you?" Jaddo said, the scornful chuckle he was aiming for reverting to a cough. "Refresh my memory—which one of us is tied to a chair?"

"All right, help us out of this," Vanessa amended. "I made sure you didn't get another dose of the sedative, but we don't have much time."

"Then use that time to fill me in, because from where I'm sitting...or rather, restrained...it looks like you're one hell of a deal breaker."

"Me?" Vanessa retorted. "What about you? I didn't get my promised validation. The tests on Daniel's bones not only didn't show any Cadmium-X, they also dated them to the 50's. I thought you'd sold me out."

"I'm not the only one capable of influencing the outcome of that test," Jaddo noted.

"Then it must have been Brivari," Vanessa said.

"Nor is he."

Vanessa looked startled, then sour. "Right," she said darkly. "We have an enhanced royal family now. Lucky us. Okay...so neither of us sold the other out. What's the last thing you remember?"

"My hotel room," Jaddo said. "Your turn."

"They thought they were grabbing Pierce," Vanessa said. "My babysitters, that is. They rigged a tranquilizer dart to nab him, and nabbed you instead. Unfortunately one of them got there before you went out completely, and he saw you trying to shift. That's how he knew you weren't Pierce."

"Ironic," Jaddo said wearily. "That bastard haunts me even in death."

"Who?" Vanessa said. "Daniel? What did you have against him? He'd barely even started hunting your precious royals."

Jaddo was quiet for a moment. "You may have heard that I was held captive by the human military for 3 years following the crash."

"I recall something about that. What of it?"

"Pierce's father was one of my captors."

Vanessa's eyes widened. "A family affair! That explains a lot. And that makes this personal. Personal vendettas are something I understand very well."

"No kidding," Jaddo muttered.

Vanessa's eyes hardened. "Jaddo, listen to me. "I know what this looks like, but I did not do this. I had no idea they'd captured a Warder until I came back from Las Cruces, and I did my best to cover for you in case it was you. I let Nathan think he was giving you a second dose of the sedative when he wasn't, and I had you moved here so I could be here when you woke up. I left Nathan in your hotel room to keep him out of the way."

Jaddo laughed, a raw sound which turned into another cough. "God, you make yourself out to be such a martyr. You had me moved because you were afraid that if it was me, Brivari would show up and blast you to Kingdom Come. And you left your lackey there because you were hoping one of us would take care of your babysitter problem for you."

"Okay, yes, that's part of it," Vanessa said impatiently, "but so what? I still had you moved. I'm still on your side."

"Bullshit," Jaddo said. "You're on your own side. And the way I know this? So I am. We're alike, remember? We're both very much on our own sides."

"Enough with the personality analysis," Vanessa snapped. "You have to break free."

"I have to...Vanessa, darling, you've got it a bit backwards," Jaddo said, making a feeble stab at his powers and not surprised to feel only the barest of stirrings. "I don't have to break free, you have to free me."

"I can't," Vanessa said.

"Flunked knot tying in Girl Scouts?" Jaddo sighed. "Relax. This is knot untying. Piece of cake. I just need a knife."

"I mean I won't," Vanessa clarified. "I'll let you go, but you'll have to do it yourself. Shift out of the ropes."

"What? I barely have enough strength to talk, let alone—"

"Spare me," Vanessa interrupted. "I'm from Antar, remember? I know Shapeshifter 101. You won't need much energy to shift just your hands and feet. And make sure you leave the ropes tied, because I don't want this coming back on me."

"Always saving your ass," Jaddo said dryly. "That's my girl."

"Do you want this deal or not?" Vanessa demanded. "Because I do, and we're the only two people who can ram it down the throats of our fat-headed superiors. But if you want out, I'll find another way home if I have to—"

"All right, all right," Jaddo broke in, flexing his hands and feet; they complied, albeit with difficulty. "I can get free, but what then? It'll be a while before the drugs wear off; I won't get far."

"Then I suggest you start sooner rather than later," Vanessa said, "because one or both of my babysitters will be back any minute now, and you don't want to be here when they are."

"You're missing the obvious way out of this," Jaddo said. "Kill them."

Vanessa blinked. "What?"

"I said, kill them," Jaddo repeated. "As in execute them. Bump them off. Remove them from the equation."

"I know what you meant," Vanessa said testily, "but you don't really expect me to kill my own people, do you?"

"You don't really expect me to believe you're not capable of that, do you? You'd mow down anyone in your way on any planet, and you know it."

"Once, perhaps," Vanessa allowed. "But here...our existence here is precarious. There are a finite number of us, only our skins keep us alive, and they're dying. We've had to alter our thinking when it comes to executions. Every life is precious."

"There are only a finite number of Warders, but we didn't descend into religious mumbo jumbo," Jaddo retorted. "Dispose of the babysitters, and we both recover in safety."

Vanessa's expression hardened. "No."

A key rattled in the lock. Two startled faces turned toward the door as a man walked in, a manilla envelope in hand. "I left a message for Vince, told him what we've got; he should be back any time now," the Skin reported. "And you won't believe who I found, right here in Roswell. Nicholas will freak…" He stopped, flabbergasted, as Jaddo stared back at him. "What the hell…?"

"Allow me to introduce myself," Jaddo said. "I am Jaddo, Warder to Rath, the King's Second, and Vanessa and I have reached an agreement about how to end our mutual exile and restore peace to Antar. Care to join us?"

There followed a long pause where Jaddo waited calmly as the flabbergasted Skin and Vanessa stared at one another in silence. The Skin moved first; there was a brief tussle, a loud bang, then a shower of skin flakes.

"Impressive," Jaddo allowed. "I thought you'd at least have to work for it."

"You bastard," Vanessa breathed, her hair a mess, her suit askew. "You made me—"

"Ah, ah," Jaddo interrupted, shaking his head. "I didn't 'make' you do a thing. I was just counting on your equally impressive survival instinct working to my benefit."

"Damn you!" Vanessa exclaimed. "I should just kill you right now! Do you have any idea how many points that would get me with Khivar?"

"Oh, I do," Jaddo said. "And I also know all the points in the world won't get you what you really want—to go home. Only I can get you that." He shifted his hands and feet, making them smaller, pulling them loose from the ropes before rising on shaky legs. "We are so very much alike, you and I," he said softly. "When we get back, we could make beautiful music together." He glanced at the pile of skin flakes. "Tell your other 'babysitter' that I'm to blame for this. It's the truth, after all."

He shuffled toward the door, stiff from having been in one position for hours. "Just promise me one thing," Vanessa said behind him. "When we make this…'beautiful music'...promise me you won't be in the shape of an ugly middle-aged human."

"Darling," Jaddo said, "I'm a shapeshifter. I can look like anything I want." He paused. "Or anything you want."

The ghost of a smile crossed her lips. "I'll hold you to that."

They gazed at each other in silence for a moment before her eyes dropped. "Go on, get out of here," she said roughly. "Call me. You know, in a few days. After I've mopped up. And...I'm sorry about this."

"I'm sorry you missed your vindication," Jaddo said.

"I'll get it out of you," Vanessa assured him. "One way or another."

"I look forward to it," Jaddo said.

Jaddo winced as he closed the door behind him and started down the hallway on legs which complained with every step. As expected, verbal sparring was one thing, physical movement another matter entirely. Sedatives left you exhausted, a problem when both shifting and powers required energy. He needed to get somewhere safe under his own steam, preferably somewhere near a phone so he could call Brivari; fortunately he knew a back way out of the hotel where he wouldn't attract attention. He made it to the elevator and leaned heavily against the wall while it rose, the floors ticking up one by one. Taking the stairs might be safer, but even the thought of climbing down all those flights was daunting. Better to preserve what little strength he had in case he needed it. The elevator dinged, the door opened…

...and an astonished Skin stared at him for a moment before pulling a trithium generator out of his pocket, bathing the hallway in a pink glow which made it all too clear who the disheveled human in the elevator doorway really was. A moment later the generator sparked, destroyed by a burst of energy dredged from a very empty well.

It was altogether too unfortunate that he hadn't taken the stairs.


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


I'll post Chapter 19 on Sunday, November 16.

[Kathy W 2200]

Hello to everyone reading!






CHAPTER NINETEEN




September 8, 2000, 10:30 p.m.

Crashdown Cafe





"Okay, that stinks," Alex sighed. "First Courtney, now Maria—here we were all happy, and it just went down the tubes."

Max glanced down the counter where Michael and Maria were engaged in an obviously not-very-happy conversation. "They'll be okay," Max said. "Michael's just jumpy. He did just get out of jail."

"Nice try, Max, but Michael's jumpy even when he hasn't just gotten out of jail," Alex noted. "We need an intervention." He grabbed a pizza box. "More pizza? Everyone get their pizza!"

Max smiled faintly as Alex's pizza delivery guy impression momentarily interrupted Michael and Maria's argument. Trouble between those two was hardly novel, but he could sympathize with Alex's desire to hang onto joy wherever they found it. Joy had been in somewhat short supply of late.

"They'll be okay," Tess said, sliding onto a stool beside him.

"I just told Alex that," Max said. "He's bummed because we were all happy, and then they weren't."

" 'Happy'," Tess shrugged. "That's an alien concept for me, no pun intended. To me, 'happy' means 'safe'. So, yeah, I'm happy. I'm happy that we're as safe as we can be at this particular moment."

Max's eyes swept the diner, which lacked the one person he wanted most. "Happy" to him meant Liz, and Liz wasn't here. He also felt safe, or its closest approximation, which is all they could ever manage anyway, along with relief that Michael was free and…and pride. That last one was surprising after today's nail-biter, but he was proud that he'd come up with a way to get Michael off the hook without raising further suspicion and actually managed to pull it off.

"About that," Max said, noting that he hadn't pulled it off alone. "Isabel was right—you really came through for us today. That was a compliment," he added when her face inexplicably clouded.

"I know," she said quickly. "I just...I don't know why Nasedo wasn't there. He was coming; I know he was. It doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe something happened with the congresswoman," Max suggested. "She was plenty mad after the test."

"Whatever happened, he should have at least left a message," Tess said.

"He didn't right after Pierce caught me," Max reminded her. "You said you didn't know where he was until he showed up at the base."

"True," Tess allowed. "And that was because something awful had happened."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Max said gently. "It could be nothing. What's important now is that we succeeded. I know you were worried about how many people were in that lab, but you pulled it off. You said you wouldn't let me down, and you didn't...and the thing is, I knew you wouldn't."

Tess's hand crept over his. "I will never let you down," she said softly.

A face loomed behind them. "Guys, we have a problem," Isabel said as Tess hastily pulled her hand back. "There are major bad vibes coming from those two."

Tess glanced at Maria and Michael, recently—and sourly—separated. "Music," she said decisively. "We need some music, some dancing...we need a party."

Isabel's face lit up. "Yes! Help me pick some CD's."

"Have fun," Max said, climbing off the stool. "I'm going home."

"What, now?" Isabel said. "Why? We're going to celebrate!"

"So am I," Max said, "by hitting the hay. I'm tired. I'll leave you the jeep. G'night."

"How tired can you be if you're walking?" Isabel protested.

"Let him go," Tess advised. "He's had a rough day."

"We all had a rough day," Isabel said tartly. "You certainly had a rough day, convincing a bunch of people he wasn't there when he was."

"Rough couple of minutes," Tess corrected. "It was longer for Max. He's earned whatever break he wants, whether it's sleeping or dancing. Good night, Max."

Max slipped gratefully away as Tess distracted Isabel with music choices, but he hadn't taken more than two steps when he was stopped again. "I saw that little hand grab," Maria said in his ear. "What's up with that?"

"Nothing's 'up with that'," Max answered. "Like Isabel said, Tess came through today. I was just thanking her, and you should too. She's a big part of the reason Michael's here tonight instead of in jail."

"It's just that after all the Liz pining you've been doing, it was kind of startling to see the two of you all cozy—"

"Stop it, Maria," Max said firmly. "I know you're upset with Michael, but don't take it out on me. I can be grateful for Tess's help and still love Liz. They're not mutually exclusive."

Maria's eyebrows rose. "Whoa—SAT words! But you're in the same boat, lover boy. You want it back the way it was, and you can't have it either."

"We'll see," Max said. "Good night."

Maria scowled at him as he headed for the door, and as luck would have it, finally saw the one person he'd been missing. "Hey," Liz said self-consciously just outside the Crashdown.

"Hey," Max answered. She started to walk around him, and he put up a hand, stopping her.

"Let me ask you a question," Max said. "I know what you said...that things couldn't go back to the way they were. But pretend they could for just one second." He paused. "Could you and I go back too?"

She stared at him. "I...I can't pretend, Max."

He gave her a resigned smile, then reached out and touched her arm...and was instantly rewarded with a flood of images. Their first date. Their first kiss. The junkyard after he'd escaped the Special Unit. When she'd opened her eyes after he'd healed her. He dropped his hand, and the images faded...but the look on her face was strange.

"What?" Max said.

Slowly, she shook her head. "Nothing." She paused. "Good night," she whispered.

Puzzled, Max watched her walk into the Crashdown. What was that all about? He was halfway home before he figured it out, that she'd seen something too, and he almost floated the rest of the way. Whatever she said, their connection was still intact. Whatever she said, it was still possible to go back, even if it took time, even lots of time. He'd wait for her forever.

"You're home early," his mother called from the bedroom, her book propped on her lap. "I thought you and Izzie would be out enjoying your last hurrah before school starts."

"She is," Max said. "I'm turning in early. Where's Dad?"

"Still working," Diane sighed. "Rough day?"

"Good day," Max corrected. "I'm just tired."

"Max, are...are you okay with stopping the doctor visits?" Diane asked. "I know your grandmother thinks it was all bunkum, but if you feel otherwise—"

"No," Max said quickly. "I mean, I think they helped...I just think I'm done with them."

Diane's expression softened. "Okay. Just wanted to make sure. G'night, sweetheart."

" 'Night, Mom."

Max closed the door to his bedroom, pulled off his shirt, and flopped on the bed, grateful for the silence and the solitude. The psychiatrist hadn't done a thing for him, but his mother's motives had been pure—she'd only been trying to help, so letting her think it had done him some good was a kindness he was all too willing to do her. What had helped was successfully fending off another threat. The best defense was a good offense, or so the sports nuts said. Maybe he'd ask Kyle Valenti how true that was when school started, assuming Kyle was still speaking to him, that is. He really couldn't blame him if he wasn't.

Knock. Knock. Knock

Crap, Max thought wearily. So much for peace and quiet. Michael probably wanted to debrief, but honestly, couldn't it wait until tomorrow? Couldn't life just take a pause while he closed his eyes for a few minutes?

KnockKnockKnockKnockKnock

This second set was more urgent, and Max sighed heavily as he climbed off the bed and opened the window. "Michael, what is it?"





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





"Didn't show?" Brivari repeated. "What do you mean he 'didn't show'?"

"That's just what I heard," Courtney's voice came over the phone. "Zan and Ava did something that changed the test results and really pissed off Vanessa. But they said 'Nasedo' never showed up."

"And you haven't seen him today?" Brivari pressed. "Not in town, not at the Crashdown?"

"Not anywhere," Courtney answered. "Haven't you?"

No, Brivari thought uneasily. Jaddo had asked him to shadow Nicholas's minions, and he'd followed the one who was obviously heading to the party at Las Cruces. He hadn't seen Jaddo there, but then he hadn't seen anyone; the Skin had merely hovered on the edges of the university and then, predictably, enjoyed some R&R on the way back, hitting a blackjack parlor where Brivari had left him. A cruise of the sheriff's station revealed Rath to have been released, and he'd located all of their Wards at the cafe...but where was Jaddo? "I'll call you back," Brivari said abruptly, heading for Jaddo's house, which was dark and empty, then his hotel room, similarly empty. He was on his way to check Vanessa's hotel when he passed the Crashdown and noticed his Ward was missing, which meant a detour to Zan's house. Zan was just arriving home and, uneasy now, Brivari swept the neighborhood. Nothing was amiss. He hadn't better be canoodling with Vanessa, Brivari thought darkly as he drove past Zan's house one last time…

...only to see Zan burst through his bedroom window, panicked and shirtless, and take off down the road, pursued by...nothing? He gazed open-mouthed at the astonishing sight of the King of Antar running, seemingly for his life, before hurrying to the bedroom window. When one's Ward was running away from something, one looked behind rather than in front of them. What could possibly be in here which would have provoked that kind of reaction?

What he found underscored the popular advice to not ask questions you didn't want answered.

"Jaddo?" Brivari exclaimed, kneeling beside the battered shape on the floor of the dark room. "Jaddo! What happened?"

But Jaddo was unresponsive, whether unconscious or worse it was hard to tell. He'd clearly been in one hell of a fight, and the bruising on his face and head was not encouraging—brain injuries were the one thing a Covari may not recover from because healing required that brain's assistance. His hands shaking, Brivari produced a healing stone and pushed with all his might for what seemed like a very long time with no response from the still form on the floor until finally, at last, there was a small spark…

"Jaddo, wake up!" Brivari said urgently, dropping the stone, shaking him gently as his eyes fluttered. "Can you hear me?"

The eyes wandered in his direction, focused. "Brivari…?" he whispered.

"What the hell happened to you?" Brivari said, propping him up with one arm. "Who did this? Why—"

Jaddo's hand came up, clutched him. "No...time," he ground out. "I warned...king. They...know…"

"Who knows what?" Brivari demanded. "Did Vanessa do this? God help me, I'll—"

"No!" Jaddo croaked. "She...let me go. The others...Nicholas sent…"

Jesus, Brivari thought heavily. He'd been following one of the two Nicholas had sent, so it must have been the one who'd stayed behind who'd done this. He'd been in the wrong place all day. "But he's dead, right? You killed him? So now we just need to get Zan back here so he can heal you—"

"Tried," Jaddo rasped out. "Can't. Too...far gone."

"Nonsense," Brivari said firmly. "We've got a king who can do things we can't do; hell, they can probably all do things we can't do. We'll rope them all into it and their allies besides, even if I have to reveal myself—"

"Stop," Jaddo commanded, his voice suddenly stronger, his hand clutching tighter. "Not...much time. Stop...talking. Listen."

Brivari swallowed hard and fell silent. He'd known this, of course. The effort required to have produced this small amount of consciousness had been enormous, which meant the damage was grave, maybe too grave. "All right," he said, struggling to keep his composure. "I'm listening."

Jaddo's hand clutched even tighter as a flood of jumbled images poured into Brivari's mind. The connection was weak, and what it transmitted made little sense, but he watched dutifully, hoping to make sense of it later. "Skin...injured, not dead," Jaddo ground out, as if realizing he wasn't making sense. "Followed me…here...knows where...Zan lives. He's...out there...somewhere. Find him before he...before..."

"I will," Brivari said grimly. "He's not long for this world.

"Vanessa," Jaddo continued, his grip growing weaker. "Find her. We...agreed. Best chance...peace."

"I'll find her," Brivari answered, having not the slightest idea what Jaddo was talking about.

"Go...now," Jaddo urged, his voice weaker. "Don't let...get too far."

"I won't," Brivari assured him. "Rest now. Preserve your strength until Zan can—"

The hand on his arm suddenly clutched like a vise. "Brivari?" Jaddo whispered, his eyes wide, his voice suddenly strong and clear. "Get them home. Promise me you'll get them home!"

"I promise," Brivari said intently. "I'll get them home, no matter what it takes. I'll…"

The rest of that sentence died in his throat as Jaddo slumped in his arms. Brivari set him down gently, knowing what that last burst of clarity had cost him. Every bone in his body wanted to drag the hybrids back here, by the hair if necessary, yet he knew he couldn't—if someone had seen Jaddo enter this house, this house would soon become of interest. That knowledge had to be extinguished, but what to do with Jaddo in the meantime? He couldn't just leave a broken and battered alien on the floor…

"I need you to come to Philip's house," Brivari said tersely when Dee answered her phone. "Now."





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




"No, don't turn in!" Dee said. "Park on the street!"

Anthony drove past the driveway and stopped the car just past the mailbox. "And why, may I ask, are we out in the road?"

"Because they'll hear the car in the driveway," Dee said.

"So?" Anthony said. "What were you planning on doing? Climbing in the window?"

The look on her face served as answer. "Wait—you are planning on climbing in the window," Anthony said as they got out of the car. "You're worried about them hearing a car in the driveway, but you don't think they'll hear a couple of senior citizens scrambling over a windowsill?"

"I don't know about you, but I don't 'scramble' much of anywhere these days," Dee retorted. "Do you have a better idea?"

"Yes—ring the doorbell," Anthony said. "Then one of us distracts them while the other goes to Max's room under the pretense of going to the bathroom."

"And then what?" Dee demanded. "We can't just leave him there! We can't leave a d—we can't leave an alien on the floor of their son's room," she amended, dropping the modifier in what she meant to be a calm, neutral tone.

But being married to someone for over forty years meant they could read you like a book. Anthony caught her arm as they approached Max's window. "We don't know anything right now," he said gently. "We were here once before, remember? And that—"

"Of course I remember," Dee said crossly. "Much too short a time ago, and how could I forget?"

"—didn't work out the way we'd feared," Anthony finished. "Let's not jump to any conclusions."

"I'm not jumping to conclusions," Dee said. "Brivari was."

They stood in silence on their son's front lawn, the dark night like a curtain in this sleepy neighborhood with few streetlights. She hadn't elaborated, but she didn't need to—of all of them, Brivari was the least likely to overreact. If he said he feared Jaddo was dead, the likelihood that he actually was skyrocketed.

"Look, let's just… let's just look inside and see what we can see," Dee said. "Maybe Max is back, or maybe we'll see something which will help us choose our next move."

Anthony shrugged and trudged along behind her, his shoes squishing on the grass. Brivari had left the window ajar, and Dee opened it warily, expecting it to squeak. But it swung open soundlessly on a dark room, and she stepped on a paving brick to boost herself up so she could peer inside. "What do you see?" Anthony asked urgently, forgetting that he'd been against this.

Dee lowered herself slowly. "Empty," she said in a hollow voice. "Except for the body on the floor right below the window."

Anthony deflated somewhat. "Oh. I was hoping…"

"That somehow everything had fixed itself on our way over here?" Dee said sadly. "Me too."

The porch light popped on. Dee forgot her earlier prohibition on scrambling and scrambled away from the window with Anthony on her heels just as the front door opened and Diane appeared in a bathrobe. "Mom?" she said quizzically, peering into the dark yard. "Dad? Is that you?"

"Oh dear, did we wake you?" Anthony said. "We're so sorry."

"I had to use the bathroom," Dee babbled, latching onto Anthony's suggestion, "and I suggested we see if you were still up because, you know, Corona is a ways away."

Diane stared at them. "So...what are you doing in the yard?"

Dee's mouth opened, closed. What were they doing in the yard? "Ah…"

"Checking," Anthony said brightly. "We figured if we saw lights on, we'd knock, and if not, she'd just hold it."

Diane digested that for a moment, then smiled. "You could have just knocked. Someone's always up at least until midnight. Come on in! I could use the company. Philip and Izzie are out, and Max went to bed early."

Dee and Anthony exchanged glances as they followed Diane into the house. Thank God for a husband who was quick with a story because she was definitely off her game tonight. "Mom, go ahead," Diane said helpfully. "You probably drank a lot of tea, didn't you?"

"More like a bucket," Anthony said cheerfully. "You know your mother; she's a bottomless cup. Say, do you mind if I...I mean, I didn't have much because we were a ways away, but now that I'm closer to home…"

Diane held up a hand and laughed. "Say no more. One cup of tea, coming up. Would you like one, Mom? After you get rid of what you already had, that is."

"She'd love one," Anthony said when Dee hesitated. "Wouldn't you, sweetheart? She just doesn't want to admit it."

"Oh, Dad, that's lovely," Diane smiled. "I don't know if I've ever heard you call Mom 'sweetheart'."

"She's too far away to smack me," Anthony deadpanned.

"You wouldn't do that, would you?" Diane admonished Dee. "Philip calls me sweetheart all the time. He must have learned it from his father."

"And I'll bet you don't smack him," Anthony said, steering her into the kitchen. "Now, as I recall, you've got an Irish blend that's positively divine…"

They disappeared into the kitchen and Dee escaped gratefully down the hallway, remembering at the last minute to turn on the bathroom light and fan and close the door before venturing toward Max's room. The door was locked...he'd thought of everything, that grandson of theirs...but this was hardly the first lock she'd picked her way past, and this door wasn't exactly Fort Knox. It swung open with little prompting.

A faint breeze stirred the curtains as she quietly closed the door behind her and stood there, unmoving, her eyes on the motionless shape on the floor. She'd heard the tales of how her mother had ventured into her Uncle's apartment after he'd committed suicide in a post-war haze now known as post-traumatic stress, how she'd hesitated on the threshold before doing what had to be done. And now it's my turn, Mama, she thought sadly, wishing with all her might that her mother were here with all that experience and all that nerve. She'd seen a fair number of dead bodies in her lifetime, more than most people, but the irony was that few had belonged to anyone close to her.

Move! she ordered herself brusquely, forcing a foot forward. Diane wouldn't be held off forever, and if Jaddo truly was dead, he wouldn't be any less dead later. Fortunately it was only a few steps to the window, making her wonder how far her mother had had to force her feet to move in her Uncle's apartment—God knows hers were dragging. Her knees cracked as she knelt down and held out a hand which hovered in the air over his body, shaking, uncertain. One didn't touch Warders. One didn't hug them, or shake their hands, or throw an arm around them; they were by their very nature separate, other, like a guide dog which couldn't be petted because it was working, if the guide dog looked like Cerberus, that is. The three-headed hound of Hades, Dee thought sadly. Jaddo would have loved the comparison.

The door opened behind her, and she had a moment of panic before Anthony appeared. "Diane thinks I'm in the basement answering the call of nature in the downstairs bathroom," he explained. "Is he...oh my," he whispered, fumbling in his pocket for his glasses. "You're sure it's him? Yes, of course you are," he added, unable to see the look on her face and not needing to anyway. "It's just that it's so dark…"

"No," Dee said when he pulled out a penlight. "I can see all I need to see. The last thing I need right now is more light."

"Well...I imagine he looked pretty bad with the gunshot wound too," Anthony noted.

"He's cold," Dee said dully.

"I imagine he was cold after the gunshot wound too," Anthony said.

"After the gunshot wound, Brivari said he could be revived it they got to him in time. He didn't say that this time."

"Okay...well…"

Anthony wisely stopped talking, kneeling beside her in silence. The minutes stretched; if Diane walked in now, she'd find her in-laws kneeling beside the battered body of an ostensible human man. They really should go…

"I never liked him," Dee whispered.

Beside her, Anthony stirred slightly. "Come again?"

"I never liked him. I tolerated him. I worked with him. But I never liked him."

"Then the two of you had a lot in common because he didn't like anybody," Anthony said. "Except perhaps Yvonne."

" 'Had'," Dee said sadly. " 'Had' a lot in common."

" 'Have'," Anthony corrected hastily. "I meant 'have'."

Dee shook her head. "No, you didn't."

They sat in silence for another minute before she felt a hand on her arm. "We can't sit here all night," Anthony said gently. "We have to get him out of here."

"But what will Max think?" Dee said. "He left him here. He'll expect him to be here when he gets back."

"He'll think 'Nasedo' got up and walked away," Anthony said. "I'd be more worried about what Diane will think if she walks in and finds us with…

"A dead body?" Dee suggested.

"A body," Anthony corrected, "which may or may not be dead. Either way, we can't…"

He stopped as bright lights flashed through the window, craning his neck to see.

"Uh...is that Max?"






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






"Slow down!" Tess exclaimed as Michael careened around a corner. "You're going too fast!"

"No," Michael said flatly. "Nasedo's dead, and another alien killed him. As far as I'm concerned, there's no such thing as 'too fast'."

"Michael, slow down," Isabel ordered from the back seat. "Wrapping us around a pole isn't going to solve anything."

"I'd think you'd want to get home as fast as possible if Nasedo's dead on Max's bedroom floor," Michael retorted. "What happens if your precious mother finds him?"

"Don't you dare bring my mother into this!" Isabel said furiously. "Which you'll do if you land me in the hospital. Slow down."

"Isabel, I'm the second-in-command," Michael said. "So I—"

"Right, second," Isabel interrupted. "You're not the king."

"Yeah, well, the king is kind of indisposed right now, which means I'm in charge."

"If anyone's in charge, it's me," Tess argued. "I'm the most experienced. I've dealt with situations like this more than any of you."

"Oh, really?" Michael challenged. "How many times have you dealt with Nasedo being dead? Because I could have sworn that number was only 'one', and that one happened with all of us last May, which means you're no more 'experienced' than the rest of us. You're just the queen."

"And I'm 'just a princess'," Isabel snapped, "and believe me when I say this princess is going to knock you flat if you don't slow down!"

A breathless voice drifted from the back seat. "Michael…"

Tess's pounding heart slowed a fraction as the car slowed by a similar amount. Max had said nothing after collapsing in the Crashdown; he'd been bundled into the car, ashen-faced and exhausted, slumping in the back seat with eyes that were alternately glassy or closed. This was the first time he'd spoken, and predictably, his was the only voice which would sway Michael's hand, or foot as the case may be. "You heard him, Michael," Isabel warned. "Maybe he didn't finish the sentence, but—"

"I get it!" Michael snapped.

"I should have driven," Isabel muttered.

Got that right, Tess thought as Michael reluctantly slowed the car a bit more and Isabel hovered worriedly over Max, slumped again as though that single word had emptied him. If Isabel had taken the wheel, she would have been back there with Max where she belonged. Instead, Isabel had commandeered her brother while she was left to arm wrestle Michael for control of the situation. You're just the queen. Interesting how what had once sounded so important and grand now reduced her to a mere hood ornament. For all his protests and heavy leaden foot, Michael didn't look very second-in-commandish; he looked closer to panicking, which didn't bode well. She, on the other hand, was surprisingly calm, having already freaked out the first time Nasedo had "died" only to have him spring back to life, sullen and surly as ever. Her main concern had been retrieving his body before anyone found it until that had been replaced by the need to merely survive until they reached it. When they arrived at Max's house, there would likely be another fight.

"When we get there, the first order of business will be to get Nasedo to the pod chamber," Tess said. "We all need to go—"

"Of course we do," Michael said. "Why wouldn't we?"

"Well...I thought you'd want to look for whoever killed him," Tess said.

"I do. But not until we fix Nasedo."

"Good," Tess said, having fully expected pushback on this subject and been unwilling to accept any—it had taken every single one of them to bring Nasedo back the last time, so every single one of them was needed this time. "Now, about getting the body out—"

"We sneak it out the window," Michael said. "Unless you want to march it past Mrs. Evans."

"Right. So pull in as close to the window as you can—"

"No way," Michael interrupted. "We park away from the house, maybe down the block or around the corner."

Tess blinked. "Why?"

"Why? So nobody sees us, that's why."

"The best way to make certain no one sees us is to be close, so we can get his body into the jeep as quickly as possible," Tess said. "Someone's bound to notice us dragging a body through the neighborhood."

"At this hour?" Michael said. "I think they're a lot more likely to notice the sound of a car. These are soccer moms. They live in cars. They'll hear the car."

Tess shook her head as Michael rounded a corner and Max's house came into view. "Not if we do it right. I can bring the car in virtually silent. Shut the engine off, and I'll take over."

"You will not," Michael declared. "We're doing this my way. I don't know what makes you think you're in charge—"

The rest of that sentence was cut off as the engine died. Utter silence descended as Tess steered the jeep deftly, mentally taking the wheel right out of Michael's hands. That had always been an option, albeit one she'd known would infuriate him, so she'd saved it as a last resort, one they needed now as he was about to embark upon a course of action she knew wouldn't work. As promised, the jeep made no sound as it glided to the driveway and rounded the corner, smooth as silk...

Screeeeeech!

Michael slammed on the brake, causing the jeep to skid down the driveway with an ear-splitting shriek. Everyone lurched forward, then back as the car came to an abrupt and painful halt right about where she'd been aiming anyway. "Michael, what the hell?" Isabel demanded.

"She does not take control of my car!" Michael snapped.

"It's not your car!" Isabel exclaimed. "What do you think you're doing?"

"And she doesn't take control of a situation either," Michael went on, ignoring her. "We didn't agree to this."

"We didn't agree to your way either," Tess retorted, "but you did manage to drop the car right where I wanted it."

"Even if it was loud enough to wake the dead," Isabel said scornfully. "Thanks, Einstein."

"What's the big deal?" Michael demanded. "We floated him all the way up a rock the last time this happened."

"That was in the middle of the desert!" Tess exclaimed. "There was no one else around! You think we're going to levitate a body through a suburban neighborhood, and no one will notice?"

"Maybe they wouldn't have if he hadn't made so much noise," Isabel said in exasperation, "but Michael took care of that."

"No, she took care of that," Michael retorted. "Now, turn the engine back on so we can get out of here before the soccer moms—"

Light flooded the yard. Everyone froze as the front door opened, and Isabel's mom poked her head outside. "Max?" she called when she saw the jeep. "Is that you?"




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



Happy Thanksgiving to all , and I'll be back after the holiday on Sunday, December 7.