Fan Fic and More

Hello to everyone reading!




CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT



July 3, 1948, 1630 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



"Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you?" Spade demanded, as "Johnson"—or rather, Malik—helped himself to Spade's tray.

"Why?" Malik asked. "Has something happened?"

"Nothing here," Spade admitted. "But John certainly would have liked hearing an update."

"There was nothing to report," Malik said, "which is why I didn't bother contacting you."

"So now there is something to report?"

"Brivari has killed another hunter," Malik replied. "Hunters are difficult to kill, so that's quite a feat. Now he only has two to deal with, which is a mixed blessing. Can I get some more of this?" he added, pointing to the now empty tray.

"Jesus, don't they feed you?" Spade said in disgust, irritated that the flow of information had once again been interrupted by the alien's apparently insatiable appetite.

"No, I feed them," Malik corrected. "I earn the money, and I do all the cooking. Which doesn't bother me, mind you—I just get tired of it. Try cooking for seven people for a few weeks, and you'll see what I mean."

Spade shot a guilty look toward the still-disgruntled server up at the counter. "You'd better go up," he said. "If I go up there, he'll have a fit."

Spade watched as Malik walked up to the counter, leaning over to speak to the server. A broad smile spread over the server's face, and he heaped Malik's—or rather, Spade's—tray so full of food that it was practically sliding off on the way back to the table. "There now," Malik said cheerfully, tucking into mystery vegetables. "Where were we?"

"What did you say to him?" Spade asked.

"I told him this was the best dinner I've ever had, and he should get a promotion. Oh, and I told him that morons who throw his food around should be locked up for a week."

"Brownnoser," Spade muttered.

"Don't you humans have a proverb about not biting the hand that feeds you?" Malik asked wryly. "Take my advice and follow it."

"Did you come here to weigh in on food fights, or to tell me what's going on?" Spade demanded in exasperation. "For example, why is being down a hunter a 'mixed blessing'? Isn't that good news?"

"Depends," Malik answered, sounding remarkably clear despite the fact that his mouth was full of mashed potatoes. "Hunters usually hunt in pairs. But then we lost one, and we didn't know where Brivari was, so our leader decided to have the remaining hunters hunt separately. That's probably why Brivari managed to bring one down—it was all alone. Now the remaining two are going to hunt as a pair, so while that makes it less likely that Brivari will encounter them, should he encounter them, it will be next to impossible to bring both down all by himself. I forgot the ketchup."

"What?" Spade said, confused as the subject once again shifted abruptly from aliens to food.

"The ketchup," Malik repeated. "Everyone always pours ketchup all over everything, don't they?"

"Well, yeah, but....don't I remember something about your people not being able to taste?"

"That's right."

"That explains your interest in Army food," Spade deadpanned, "but not your interest in ketchup. Why do you want it if you can't taste it?"

Malik said nothing, merely looked at him with raised eyebrows. Spade sighed and trooped up to the counter to fetch the ketchup, making quick work of it before the server decided to lock him in the freezer. "There," he said impatiently, plopping the bottle down on the table. "Now can we talk? Or do you need something else you can't taste, like foie gras or caviar?"

"You know, for a long time, my kind were not permitted to eat regular food," Malik said casually, coating his vegetables with a thick covering of ketchup. "No one could see the sense in allowing a race that couldn't taste to 'waste' food, as they put it." He paused, as Spade felt his face growing hot with embarrassment. "One of the first things the old king did—the father of the king Brivari seeks to restore—was to allow my people to eat anything they wanted. For the first time, we were allowed to sit with 'normal' people and eat what they ate. Not that there were many 'normal' people who wanted to eat with the likes of us, you understand, but.....it was the principle of the thing."

"I take it his son wasn't as generous?" Spade asked, anxious to move away from the fact that he'd just been guilty of intergalactic racism.

Malik shook his head. "His son expanded his father's reforms."

"If they made life so much better for you, then why did you leave?"

"There was a price for our new place in society," Malik answered. "A price I wasn't willing to pay."

"And now you are?"

"No. Now I see a chance to renegotiate. And since the king will be unavailable for quite some time, it is his Warders who will negotiate in his name—assuming those Warders survive, of course." He set his fork down, even aliens apparently having a limit on how much they could consume in one sitting. "I have been given a new assignment. Our leader has asked me to approach the Warders' human allies at this base and pose as a sympathizer to their cause."

"Isn't that what you've been doing?" Spade asked.

Malik's eyebrows rose. "You doubt my sincerity?"

"Let's just say the jury's still out on what your real intentions are," Spade said pointedly.

"In other words, you think I'm trying to get them captured," Malik said.

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"How can you say that after I came to you and warned you my people were planning an attack? Why would I do that if I wanted them captive?"

"Good question," Spade said. "And I have another: If you didn't want the Warders captive, why did you shoot John with a tranquilizer dart back when we first captured him despite the fact that he was winning the battle with your buddy? He wouldn't have been captured if you hadn't shot him."

"And Amar would be dead," Malik added.

"That's a bad thing?"

"Five of us went rogue," Malik explained, ignoring Spade's sarcasm. "Only Amar and I remain to give witness to why we left. And that witness will be important when it comes to that renegotiation I mentioned earlier."

"I wouldn't consider your buddy a reliable witness, but whatever," Spade said. "And what about when your people attacked? You shot John again, even though he might have escaped had you left him alone. That looks mighty odd to me, especially with you still going on about wanting him free."

"Correction—I said I wanted everyone free. Jaddo—John—was about to shoot our leader, which means our leader would have been captured. I couldn't let that happen."

"What difference does it make which one is captive?"

"A big difference," Malik answered. "You know how close Jaddo came to losing his life. He survived because of the relationship he'd forged with your General. How willing do you think your General would have been to fight for the life of a prisoner he knew nothing about?" He leaned in closer to Spade. "The point here is to keep everyone alive and free. Without the first, the second is irrelevant."

"And what happens when you realize you can't always have both?" Spade demanded. "I'll tell you what: You'll have to make a choice. You'll have to pick a side instead of hovering in the middle and making everyone doubt your intentions."

Malik sighed. "Then allow me to make my intentions clear—again. I've come to tell you that our leader believes Brivari will attempt to contact you soon in the wake of his successful hunt. If you see him, tell him he must leave at once. The hunters are waiting for him."

"Tell him yourself," Spade said flatly.

"What? Do you know where he is?"

"No. Haven't seen him since the last time we enjoyed each other's company. But if he's here, you're far more likely to find him than I am."

Malik sat back on the bench with a look of dismay. "The last time I tried to talk to Brivari, he tried to kill me. And very nearly succeeded, I might add."

"That was before the hunters."

"That makes no difference."

"Of course it makes a difference," Spade said. "Brivari's on the run now. That changes things."

"That will change nothing for him," Malik said.

"Sure as hell should," Spade argued.

"It should, but it won't," Malik insisted. "The minute he lays eyes on me, I guarantee he'll try to kill me."

"The way I see it, that's your problem," Spade said. "Look, if you really want to get John out of here, you're going to need Brivari's help, which means you're going to have to tolerate each other for at least as long as it takes to get that job done. Which means you're going to have to reach at least a short-lived truce, which means you're going to have to talk to each other. You want me to take a message to John, fine. I know you can't get to him. But if you want to talk to Brivari, you can do that yourself."

"If you won't warn him, he may be captured," Malik said worriedly. "Why would you let that happen? Now whose intentions are unclear?"

"Correction—if you won't warn him, he may be captured," Spade said firmly. "Why would you let that happen? If you really want to prove your good intentions, then be your own messenger boy."




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



Brazel residence



"Your mother's home, Dee," Rose Brazel called into the dining room where Dee was doing a puzzle on the dining room table. "You can go home now."

"Thanks, Mrs. Brazel," Dee answered, "but I need to talk to Mac. Do you mind if I wait for him?"

"Of course not, dear. I'm sure he'd love to see you."

Dee waited until Mrs. Brazel had returned to the kitchen before slipping out of the dining room and heading for the den. It was dark and cool in there despite the sweltering summer heat, and she positioned herself in a corner far from the door so that when Mac came in, he wouldn't see her. With any luck, she'd be able to see what he was carrying and solve the mystery of why Mac and her mother disappeared together twice a week. Ever since school had let out three weeks ago, Dee had been mystified by these appointments. Mac had finally found a job on a ranch south of Roswell, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays when he came home for lunch, he always returned to the ranch with her mother while Dee stayed with Mrs. Brazel.....and no one would say why. Endless inquiries to her parents had only confirmed that her father knew about these visits, although he was no more forthcoming about why they were occurring than her mother. When Mac and her mother arrived home, Dee would usually trot right outside, hoping to catch even the tiniest snippet of conversation. But her mother would just say goodbye to Mac and disappear into the house, and Mac would say a cheerful "hello" to Dee before disappearing inside his own house with his battered old tool box, heading straight for the den.

It was the tool box which had piqued Dee's interest the most. Mac's toolbox resided in his truck—why bring it into the den? Into the basement, perhaps, but the den? She'd tried following him, but he always closed the door. She'd tried following her mother, but Emily would merely set her purse down in her bedroom and proceed to be maddeningly vague. The official word was that her mother was "helping" Mac with something on the ranch, a fib Dee saw through right away. Something else was going on here, and she had decided that today was the day she would discover what.

Footsteps sounded outside the den door. Dee held her breath as the door opened and Mac walked inside, closing the door behind him without spying her in the corner, just like she'd hoped. Mac set the tool box down on the desk and fumbled with the catches as Dee waited impatiently in full view behind him. What did he have in there? What could possibly be so secret that both her parents and Mac refused to talk about it? Her fingers twitched against her sides as the toolbox lid opened and Mac reached inside and withdrew....

"A pistol?" Dee said out loud, as Mac jumped a mile. "A pistol? What on earth are you doing off with Mama and a pistol?"



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



"Tell me again what we're doing here?" Marana asked Amar in a bored tone from their perch high atop a tree in bird form.

"We're watching that house," Amar answered. "That's the house where Brivari's human allies live."

"And why are we watching said house? Shouldn't we be watching the allies?"

Amar threw her an irritated look. "Because Brivari may return here now that he's killed another hunter. Didn't you hear anything Orlon said?"

"And why would Brivari return here if he knows this is the first place we'd look for him?"

"Because this isn't the first place we'd look for him," Amar said impatiently. "The first place we'd look for him is the last place he was known to be, which was right in our very own town under our very own noses. Honestly, why did I have to get stuck with the bioscientist?" He pointed toward the ground. "There. That's the male of the family. Analyze him, and stop trying to understand strategy when you can't."

"Perhaps that's because your 'strategy' is nonexistent," Marana muttered, studying the human male figure who had just emerged from a vehicle below. "So this is the one who killed the hunter?"

"Yes."

"Interesting," Marana murmured. "I wouldn't have guessed. Such an unimposing specimen. Not particularly large or strong. Perhaps his intellectual capacity compensates for his physical shortcomings?"

"I have no idea, and I don't care," Amar said shortly.

"I'd dearly love to get my hands on him and see how he was able to defeat a hunter," Marana continued. "Perhaps his senses are more highly developed than that of other humans. Or perhaps—"

"Or perhaps he just took a lucky shot," Amar interrupted. "You should be more interested in her," he added, as two figures emerged from the house next door, a female child and a second male adult, older and portlier than the first. "She's his daughter, and she can both hear and speak telepathically."

"Nonsense," Marana scoffed. "I never believed that tale. You just made that up to cover yet another set of your mistakes."

"I did not!" Amar exclaimed petulantly. "She is fluent! I talked to her myself! And the female healer at the base could hear telepathic speech too, although she couldn't speak it."

"Amar," Marana said in the tone one uses with a child who thinks a monster is under his bed, "we tested hundreds of humans, and only a tiny percentage displayed slight telepathic development, nowhere near enough to be capable of speech. This species has only begun to evolve. The overwhelming majority of their brain lies dormant—"

"Not in that one, it doesn't," Amar argued. "But don't take my word for it. She's right there; say something to her. And make sure you try several times because that little rat can fake it."

"Wonderful," Marana said sourly. "First you insist she can do something no other human we have encountered can do, and then you void any attempt to test it by providing an excuse for failure. Don't waste my time, Amar. I'd have better luck talking to a rock than that child."

"I'd have better luck talking to a rock than to you," Amar retorted, taking off from the branch so quickly that Marana was nearly unseated.

"Idiot," Marana muttered as Amar flew off. But her eyes were on the child below, and she continued to stare at her long after Amar had left.




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



"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Mac exclaimed, clutching his chest with one hand and the pistol with another. "You nearly scared me half to death! What in blazes are you doing in here, lurking in the shadows like that?"

"Trying to find out what's going on," Dee said severely, walking up to the desk and staring at the gun in Mac's hand. "You go off with Mama twice a week, and no one will say why. And what could a pistol have to do with it? Mama hates guns! Although she did let Daddy keep his, and I've never figured out why—" She stopped, her eyes widening. "You're teaching her to shoot, aren't you?"

"Keep your voice down!" Mac whispered, pulling her farther away from the door. "No one's supposed to know!"

"That's why she wasn't mad at Daddy any more!" Dee exclaimed, offering no resistance as Mac hauled her further into the room. "I couldn't figure that out. But she couldn't very well make Daddy get rid of the gun if she's using it herself. Is she any good at it? I'll bet she's good at it," she concluded without waiting for confirmation. "Does Daddy know she's good at it? What changed her mind?"

"I don't know," Mac confessed. "She never said, and I never asked."

"Why not?" Dee demanded.

"Because it's none of my business," Mac said firmly, "and none of yours either, I might add."

"But aren't you even a little bit curious?"

"Of course I'm curious," Mac said, "but that's not a reason to go poking my nose where it doesn't belong. Now, you can't say anything about this. Not a word, understand?"

"I'll ask Daddy what changed her mind," Dee announced. "He would know. And—"

"Outside," Mac said severely, taking her by the shoulders and steering her out to the front porch, throwing a glance back toward the kitchen to make certain Mrs. Brazel hadn't seen them. "You and I need to have a little talk."

Once outside, Dee hoisted herself onto the porch railing and waited for the verbal thrashing which always accompanied that tone of voice from a grown-up. Bonanzas of information like the one she'd just scored frequently came bundled with a lecture, the necessary price for accomplishing the goal of learning what was going on, and a fair one, if you asked her.

"Now, you listen to me, young lady," Mac began, sounding far more stern than he usually did. "You will not—I repeat, not—say one word to either your mother or your father about any of this. Nor will you mention it to your friends, their parents, or even Mrs. Brazel. Got that?"

"But why not?" Dee asked. "Mama's not mad anymore. She hasn't said anything about it in months."

"Just because she hasn't said anything doesn't mean she isn't mad," Mac insisted. "This is between your mother and your father—no one else. A marriage is always two people, Dee; no more, no less. Those two people have to work out their differences in whatever way works best for them, and they have to do it by themselves—all the family or friends in the world can't do it for them. Just leave your parents alone, and let them work it out in peace."

"But they're not 'working it out'," Dee protested. "Didn't you hear me? They're not talking about it at all. If Mama's still mad, shouldn't they be talking about it?"

Mac chuckled and leaned against the porch railing beside Dee as Cleo, now grown into a long, sleek cat, rubbed against Mac's legs. "That's what all those psychologists would tell you. They say you have to 'talk to each other', and 'don't go to bed mad', and lots of other nonsense. I've been married thirty-two years, Dee, and believe me when I say there are some things best not talked about. Sometimes the only way to 'work something out' is to let it lie, sometimes for a good long while, sometimes forever. Sometimes talking actually makes things worse.....and this is one of those times. Listen to Mac, and leave this one alone."

"All right," Dee said doubtfully. She probably wouldn't be able to resist a few leading questions, but at least she knew what was up. "If you—"

*Can you hear me?*

Mac frowned as she abruptly fell silent. "What is it?"

Dee barely heard him, so focused was she on not reacting to what she'd just heard. Or thought she'd just heard. Had she really heard it? She hadn't heard telepathic speech in months, not since that day Brivari had left and never come back. Fortunately they'd learned that he'd escaped, but they hadn't heard from him since, hadn't heard anything from any aliens since, much to her mother's relief. Was this Brivari? Had he come back?

*Brivari?* she ventured tentatively.

No answer. Mac was still staring at her curiously. "Dee, are you all right?" he asked. "Look, I didn't mean to sound so angry. It's just that I don't want you going and stirring up a hornet's nest."

"It's okay," Dee said hurriedly. "I get it. I won't say anything. Goodbye, Mac. I have to get home for dinner."

She left quickly, Cleo padding behind, her interest in her mother's exploits forgotten. She paused at her side door, her mind straining for the slightest telepathic sound. All was silent, but she was still relieved when the door closed behind her and she was back in the safety of her own house.



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


"I didn't see Brivari anywhere," Amar announced, alighting on the branch next to Marana after his circuit of the neighborhood, his tone still stiff with injury. "Assuming you believe me, that is. Or do you think I'm making that up too?"

Marana didn't answer; she was staring hard at the human child, who was still talking to the human male. Impossible, she thought, unable to believe the dual astonishments that a human could use telepathic speech and Amar had been right. How had they missed this? Perhaps it didn't develop unless the subject was exposed, like the child had been when she had encountered the Warders?

"Did she say something?" Amar asked hopefully, his eyes narrowing when Marana continued to stare. "Wouldn't that be rich if you had admit you were wrong."

"Of course she didn't say anything," Marana said tonelessly, her eyes locked on the child. "And I didn't expect her to."



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


Mescalero Indian Reservation



Following River Dog, Brivari rounded a bend in the road and found himself in the midst of some sort of bazaar teeming with "white men", as River Dog referred to those who resembled the Proctors. Stalls and carts full of goods ranging from food to clothing to jewelry lined the main highway, along which were parked multiple cars. The purveyors of the goods, all Indian, haggled over prices with their customers, all white, the back and forth which typified trading everywhere producing a low drone that hung in the humid summer air like fog. "This way," River Dog said, skirting the edge of the business district and heading up a hill to one side with Brivari on his heels, glad to be away from such a large crowd.

The youth had appeared promptly at 5 p.m. as promised, leading him confidently through the woods as though he knew every rock, every tree, every patch of grass which lay between Brivari's cave and his own village. They had walked in companionable silence for a good half hour before leaving the woods, then another fifteen minutes down the main road before reaching the peddlers, causing Brivari to marvel that the boy had made this long trip as often as he had. Now they hiked up a hill, the sounds of commerce fading behind them as they climbed. Dwellings appeared, a few at first, then more. All were one story and a good deal smaller than the Proctors', many in need of various repairs. Smokey fires burned outside several homes, and virtually all had livestock corralled nearby. Children playing outside looked up as River Dog and Brivari passed, running inside their homes and returning moments later with a curious adult in tow. In the space of a few minutes, River Dog and Brivari were being politely followed by a small crowd.

"They are curious," River Dog said apologetically, nodding to people as they passed. "They have heard of you, but never seen you."

"Understandable," Brivari answered, unperturbed.

They rounded a corner and headed up a new path, the middle of which was occupied by an odd structure. Large and round with a domed roof, it appeared to be woven of tree branches and covered with grass. It was completely different from all the other dwellings which surrounded it, and Brivari stared openly as they approached. A long piece of what looked like fabric which covered the doorway was pulled aside and a man stepped outside, fixing an unwavering stare on Brivari, his expression as dark as the jet black hair plaited in a long braid which hung down his back.

River Dog paused, glancing back uncertainly toward Brivari. The crowd behind them also paused, holding its collective breath as they watched the man in the doorway, obviously one of great importance. He ignored them, his eyes never leaving Brivari, eyes full of questions, wariness...and challenge.

"This is Nasedo," River Dog said, addressing the strange man. "Nasedo, this is Itza-chu, our medicine man."

A healer, Brivari translated. Healers were held in high esteem in virtually any culture. He took half a step forward and bowed slightly.

A murmur rippled through the crowd. When Brivari rose from his bow, the man's face remained unchanged. But he gave a curt nod to River Dog, who smiled and promptly resumed his trek through the village, the crowd trailing behind them, heading for a dwelling a short ways beyond the healer's. As they approached, the front door opened and a man emerged, striding to meet them as several people crowded in the doorway to watch.

"Father!" River Dog said in surprise.

"Greetings," River Dog's father said to Brivari, who nodded. He was tall, with the dark eyes common to these people, his long, dark hair flowing loose around his shoulders like his son's.

"Shouldn't we go inside?" River Dog said uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the crowd and back to the medicine man, who was still standing outside his strange dwelling, staring at them.

"No," River Dog's father said firmly. "We should not."

Silence. Brivari's eyes flicked back and forth between River Dog's father, the medicine man, and the waiting, expectant crowd. River Dog glanced at Brivari, then at his father. "Father, this is Nasedo," he said after a moment. "Nasedo, this is my father, Quanah."

"It is an honor," Brivari said immediately, bowing slightly as he had to the healer. "I appreciate your gracious invitation."

Quanah smiled, a broad smile that nearly split his face in half. "You are welcome in my home," he announced, his booming voice carrying to the far reaches of the crowd. "You are welcome at my table."

"Thank you," Brivari replied, not missing the glances which flew between Quanah and the healer.

"Dinner is ready," Quanah said, gesturing toward his dwelling. "My wife will be angry if I keep you here talking and allow it to grow cold."

They moved toward the dwelling, Quanah walking ahead, River Dog and Brivari behind. "I am sorry," River Dog murmured. "I wasn't expecting him to do that."

"No need for apology," Brivari said as the crowd began to disperse. "Your father was making a statement."

"I don't see why he couldn't have made his 'statement' less public," River Dog said disapprovingly.

"Statements are public by definition," Brivari answered. "A statement's power lies in its audience. No audience—no statement."

"You know of such things?" River Dog asked, pausing on the steps to his front door.

Brivari smiled faintly. "A bit."

"Well, he certainly pulled in an audience," River Dog grumbled, opening the door.

Indeed, Brivari thought as he followed River Dog through the door, glancing back toward the odd round dwelling. An audience of one. The medicine man had moved from his doorway and now stood behind his dwelling, facing Quanah's with a straight back and a stare that was more than vaguely disapproving.



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

I'll post Chapter 89 on Saturday, June 17. Chapter 90 will be posted on Sunday, July 2, as I'll be on vacation in late June.

Hello to everyone reading!




CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE



July 3, 1948, 6:10 p.m.

Mescalero Indian Reservation



"This is my family," Quanah was saying.

Brivari tore his gaze away from the front door through which the "medicine man" with his stiff posture and expression was still visible. River Dog's family had formed a line, presumably for his inspection and presumably in some sort of order judging by the fact that the eldest were first and the youngest last.

"My father, Taklishim," Quanah said, as Brivari nodded to the elderly man Quanah had indicated. "Ish-keh, my mother. Leosanni, my wife. And my children—my eldest you know," he said, as River Dog smiled. "My youngest son, Grey Wolf. And my daughter, Bright Sun."

Brivari nodded to each in turn as they advanced down the line, noting that Grey Wolf was one of the youths who had found him in the cave and Bright Sun was the child Dee Proctor had defended with her usual stubbornness and disregard for odds not in her favor. The necklace she had given him just before his flight was back around Bright Sun's neck, the polished stones glinting in the low light.

"It is an honor to meet you all," Brivari said courteously as his hosts smiled.

"And you," Quanah said. "How do you wish to be addressed?"

"The name your children gave me is sufficient," Brivari answered, wondering if he would encounter any resistance to not offering his real name.

He did not. "This is Nasedo," Quanah announced to his family as he gestured toward a table laden with food a short ways away. "Shall we eat?"

Quanah took the seat at the head of the table while his wife shyly ushered Brivari to a chair at Quanah's right. The rest of the family seated themselves in roughly descending order of age, with the very youngest at the far end of the table. Food was passed and chatter began, covering everything from the condition of the livestock, apparently raised for food and profit, to the fortunes of the bazaar Brivari had passed on the way here, to the children's progress in their education. Care was obviously taken to include him in the conversation and simultaneously avoid asking any uncomfortable questions. As the meal progressed, Brivari's sharp eyes swept the dwelling, noting that it was but a third the size of the Proctor's, yet held twice as many people. Furniture was sparse, appliances few, clothing neatly mended, but worn. River Dog's family occupied a noticeably lower rung on the human economic ladder.

When the meal appeared to be over, Quanah nodded to his wife, who immediately rose and began clearing the table. Everyone else rose also, leaving Quanah and Brivari alone at the table for what Brivari knew was the real reason the dinner invitation had been issued: Quanah wanted some questions answered. Coincidentally, so did Brivari.

"The man in the strange dwelling," Brivari began. "Your son identified him as some kind of healer?"

Quanah nodded. "Itza-chu is our medicine man," he answered, "which is not the same thing as a doctor. We use the white doctors' medicine, but that heals only the body. Our medicine man heals the spirit, without which the body cannot function."

"His dwelling is different from all the others," Brivari remarked.

"Itza-chu lives in the traditional home of our ancestors, a 'wickiup'," Quanah explained. "He feels that living in a modern home would cloud his relationship with our ancestors, whom we rely upon for advice and support."

"I gather he does not approve of my presence here," Brivari said.

Quanah smiled. "Itza-chu is suspicious by nature. To be truthful, we are all suspicious of white men." He paused, leaning back in his chair. "For thousands of years, my people, the Apache, lived with this land, taking from it in order to survive, giving back in order that it may continue to thrive. And then the white men came, with their guns and their notions that everything they saw belonged to them. They herded my people by force onto these 'reservations', as they call them. They destroyed our way of life along with the buffalo herds and the land itself, leaving us only a shadow of our former selves."

Brivari nodded wordlessly, having heard the same tale with slight variations on virtually every world he'd visited. Conquest rarely benefited anyone but the conquerors.

"But you," Quanah continued, "you Itza-chu does not trust because although you look like a white man, he feels you are not."

"What does he think I am?"

"He is not sure. But he feels your presence here may pose a danger to us," Quanah replied.

"And do you share this view?" Brivari asked.

"I am undecided," Quanah said frankly, his voice dropping as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "What I wish to know from you is this: Why did you rescue my son when he was set upon by the white children last year?"

Brivari was silent for a moment, forming his reply carefully. "The tale you just told about the 'white man's' arrival," he said, "is not far removed from my own. Although the circumstances differed, the end result was much the same. My people are feared and distrusted, strictly controlled in ways you would find familiar. When I came upon your son, I recognized one in a similar situation. I was capable of rendering aid, so I did."

"My children say you appeared in a great light so strong, it hurt the eyes.....although it did not hurt their eyes."

"Your son was injured," Brivari said, "and your daughter terrified. Both may feel they saw things that weren't so."

Quanah smiled indulgently as he poured himself another glass of water. "We have a legend among our people of a time of war when a tribe was forced to flee. Among this tribe were two small boys, one crippled from birth, the other blind. Their families feared that their children would slow their flight, so they hid them in a cave nearby with enough food and water for several days, rolling a large stone across the entrance to hide them. The boys waited for many days, but no one returned. First they ran out of food, then water. The stone at the cave's mouth was much too heavy for them to move.

"Suddenly, when the end seemed near, the stone was flung away, and as the children drew back in terror, an unearthly glow filled the cave. Four spirits appeared, all bathed in this terrible glow. One struck the cave's wall and created a new opening, beckoning the boys to follow. They scrambled through the new passageway, the crippled boy helping his blind sibling, and emerged on a cliff overlooking a beautiful valley. Below them was their tribe, free of their pursuers. The spirits healed both children before disappearing and leaving them to run down the mountainside and tell their extraordinary tale to their tribe."

"So you believe I am one of these.....'spirits'?" Brivari asked.

"Our mountains are sacred to us," Quanah answered, "as are the spirits which guard both them and our people. I allow the possibility that you are a guardian mountain spirit....although I confess my grandfather disagrees."

"Your grandfather?" Brivari repeated, glancing at the old man several feet away. "Don't you mean your father?"

"No, I mean my grandfather. My father's father."

"He lives?" Brivari said in surprise, mentally double-checking his data on the average human lifespan. "He must be quite old by now."

"No," Quanah chuckled. "He died nearly fifteen years ago."

"Then....how do you know that your grandfather 'disagrees' with you?"

"We speak with our ancestors," Quanah answered calmly. "They continue to offer advice and support from the spirit world."

"I see," Brivari said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. The ability to commune with the dead was a common facet of primitive cultures, one he had not noticed among the Proctor's people. It was usually a dearly held belief, and those who held it did not take kindly to it being challenged. "So I gather your grandfather has a different theory about me?"

"He does," Quanah confirmed. "He tells me that you come from a place so far away that no one has ever been there."

A common theory, Brivari thought, wondering if this had come from the disapproving 'medicine man'.

"He also tells me," Quanah continued, "that you flee a great conflict that threatens to destroy you. A conflict that hunts you now, which is why you seek shelter in our woods."

Another safe assumption, Brivari thought, especially given the fact that he had told River Dog that someone was chasing him back when they had first discovered him in the cave.

"I also hear that that some of your people now reside in the spirit world. My condolences on your losses."

A prickle of unease crept through Brivari's mind. How could Quanah know that? It could be a lucky guess......but still. "Does your grandfather meet many of my people in this....'spirit world'?" he asked.

Quanah shook his head. "According to my grandfather, there are not 'many' of your people here. He says you originally numbered four, two of whom have now crossed over."

Brivari stiffened, every nerve in his body rigid. Quanah was staring at his glass on the table in front of him, a sober look on his face.....and no Covari infrared signature surrounding him. Hunter, Brivari thought, and then instantly began to argue with himself. Hunters did not toy with their prey in this manner; they lacked the emotional circuitry for that type of behavior. But how else to explain how this ostensibly human man had information only a few possessed? "Anything else?" Brivari asked, his voice tight.

Quanah nodded. "My grandfather has learned from your kinsmen that your presence here is not without purpose, that you had intended to appear in our mountains when something went wrong—"

Crash! The glass in Quanah's hand shattered, spraying shards everywhere. He shook the shards from his hands and excused himself to wash his bleeding hand, but not before Brivari had noted the color of the blood.

He is human, Brivari thought in wonder, sparing a brief moment of guilt for having injured his host....but it was necessary to know if it was really a hunter who sat only inches away from him, albeit an unusually skilled hunter. Now that he knew it was not a hunter, he was more puzzled than ever. How could Quanah have so much accurate, personal information about his people and their mission? At the moment, the only logical explanation was also the most fantastic: That Quanah's deceased grandfather had indeed been speaking with either Urza or Valeris. By the time Quanah returned to the table with a bandaged hand and his wife had swept up the glass, Brivari had dismissed this possibility as utterly ridiculous, although he had no competing theory to offer. "Are you all right?" he asked Quanah.

"Fine, fine," Quanah answered. "Only a small cut. Where were we?"

"You were saying that you believed me one of your mountain spirits, while your grandfather did not."

"That must sound crazy to you," Quanah allowed, "but the signs are there. The number four is sacred to our people, as are the mountains which surround us. If my grandfather's information is correct, your people numbered four and were headed for our mountains. You appeared in a bright light when you helped my children. And a mountain spirit would likely not be willing to identify himself even if recognized."

Brivari smiled faintly and said nothing. He had been mistaken for many things in his life; a "mountain spirit" had to be one of the most appealing. "And your grandfather does not accept this evidence?"

"He feels you are flesh and blood, not spirit, and Itza-chu agrees," Quanah said. "I do not feel it matters one way or the other. You saved the lives of my children, and you came to us wearing a token given to one who defended us. You have done us no harm these many months you have lived here, and so are welcome to your secrets and the safety our land affords you."

"I am grateful for your hospitality and your silence," Brivari answered sincerely, mentally shelving his puzzlement over Quanah's knowledge, for the moment at least. "I assure you I mean your people no harm. When it is safe for me to move on, I will."

"And in the meantime, you are welcome in my home," Quanah said warmly. "River Dog! Grey Wolf! Come," he commanded his sons, who appeared promptly. "Many wish to meet you," Quanah said to Brivari, "especially those friends of Grey Wolf's who were with him when he found you. Take Nasedo to meet Daklugie and Dasodaha," he told his children, who nodded.

"Why did you choose the name 'Nasedo'?" Brivari asked as he and Quanah rose from the table.

"We didn't," Quanah answered. "When you rescued my son, you identified yourself as a 'visitor'. 'Nasedo' is our word for 'visitor'. Would you prefer another name?"

"No," Brivari replied, smiling slightly. " 'Visitor' will do nicely."



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



July 4, 1948, 0110 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




Yvonne flicked on the light in her room, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it with her eyes closed. She was only twenty-six years old, and her personal list of strange experiences was already longer than most people's would be in a lifetime....and tonight, that list had just gotten longer.

She'd been awakened from a sound sleep about an hour ago by a wide-eyed Private LaBella, who'd had quite a long wait before she made it to her door, cracking it open to hide the fact she hadn't bothered to throw on a robe. "Lieutenant," LaBella had said breathlessly, "there's a phone call for you from General Ramey in Major Cavitt's office."

Yvonne had blinked, certain she hadn't heard right. "Come again, Private?"

"It's General Ramey, ma'am," LaBella had said urgently. "He's asking for you personally!"

"Private, is this some kind of joke?" Yvonne had asked wearily. "General Ramey would be talking to Major Cavitt, not me."

"He's already talked to Major Cavitt," LaBella insisted, "and now he's asked for you. Please, Lieutenant...he's on the line right now!"

Three minutes later, Yvonne found herself in Major Cavitt's office wearing a hastily donned robe and slippers and feeling absolutely ridiculous. Encountering Major Cavitt was difficult when fully dressed, never mind clad in one's pajamas, and it certainly didn't help that Cavitt himself was in full uniform. "Lieutenant," Cavitt said pleasantly, ignoring her discomfiture as she crammed her hands into the pockets of her robe and tried to appear dignified. "I believe this is for you."

Yvonne had stared at the receiver in Cavitt's hand, his own personal phone. "I can take it out at Harriet's desk, sir," she said, gesturing toward Cavitt's secretary's desk. "No need to inconvenience you."

"It's no inconvenience, Lieutenant," Cavitt said, rising to his feet and motioning her toward his chair. "Even I have to admit you've earned this one."

He left, closing the office door behind him. Yvonne stood, dumbfounded, for several seconds before cautiously lifting the receiver to her ear. "Hello?"

"Lieutenant!" boomed General Ramey's voice all the way from Washington. "I apologize for bothering you at this late hour, but I'm sure you're waiting to hear the news. And given how much you've personally contributed to this project, I wanted you to hear it firsthand."

The "news" turned out to be that the demonstration of the night vision device that Keyser and John had spent months working on had been a huge success. The powers that be were so excited that several more demonstrations had been arranged for later that day, the holiday notwithstanding. Ramey's decision to keep John alive had been vindicated beyond everyone's wildest dreams.

Yvonne had thanked the General for this news in what she hoped had sounded like an intelligent voice and headed back downstairs in a daze, only to bump into Stephen, who had pulled her aside with another bombshell: Malik had resurfaced with news of Brivari. For once, both she and Stephen had good news to tell each other. Only minutes after talking to Stephen, Yvonne was hurrying toward John's room, eager to share the first news they'd had in months. John, who had been sound asleep, sat up immediately when he heard the door to his room opening, looking very much like she had only a short while ago.

"The General called," she announced without preamble. "They're so excited in Washington, they're practically beside themselves."

John had switched on the light by his bed, squinting in the sudden brightness. "Of course they are," he said. "They're military men with a new toy. What did you expect?" He paused, taking in her appearance. "I have never seen you dressed this way."

"I don't sleep in my uniform," Yvonne said, not the least bit self-conscious as she had been with Cavitt. She and John were well on their way to developing a relationship which closely resembled that of an old, married couple. Make that a cantankerous old, married couple. "Ramey said he'd be here day after tomorrow—or rather, tomorrow—to talk about 'round two'. What does he mean by that?"

John sighed and sank back down on the bed. "As I mentioned earlier, the novelty of the new toy will wear off quickly and something new will be expected, preferably better than the last."

So soon? Yvonne thought with disappointment. Certainly John would be expected to produce another miracle, but she'd been hoping he'd be able to ride this current miracle for a little while at least. But no matter. There were other things to discuss.

*I have more good news,* she said privately. *Malik reappeared. Brivari killed another hunter.*

There was a long, long silence after that announcement. Yvonne waited, her hands in the pockets of her robe as John remained prone on the bed, staring at the ceiling, still as a stone. She started to speak and stopped herself at least half a dozen times, reminding herself that she had vowed she would wait for his response to this news and accept that response, whatever it may be. A moment later, he abruptly rolled over, turning his back toward her and his face to the wall.

All right, Yvonne thought as she knocked on the door for the guard. If that's the way he wanted it, that's the way it would be. *Goodnight, John,* she said quietly before she stepped into the hallway. She certainly had no intention of repeating her embarrassing performance from earlier that day when she'd behaved like a whiny third grader. If John chose to deal with Brivari's absence by ignoring it as much as possible, that was his prerogative, and it really should come as no shock that he was the type to bottle up his feelings. If she wanted to unload on the subject, she'd just have to make more of an effort to find Stephen at some time other than the wee small hours of the morning.

Now back in her quarters, Yvonne stripped off her robe and kicked off her slippers, wondering if she'd be able to sleep now that she was so wired. Perhaps she should read a bit or write a letter or two, activities she hadn't had much time for since Brivari's exit had brought about an end to the hours whiled away in her quarters while he was impersonating her. She had just plopped into her chair with a book when she felt a sudden gush.....and looked down in horror to see a wide red stain spreading across her nightgown.

Ten minutes later she was scrubbing the nightgown in her bathroom sink after having donned the thickest sanitary napkin she could find. Dull throbs pulsed through her abdomen, typical menstrual cramps as opposed to the sharp pains she'd felt earlier today. That was good news.....but she'd never had her period come on so quickly. Certainly she'd been surprised by it before, but that was usually when she hadn't been paying attention to the calendar. Even then it usually started slowly, increasing only on the second day. This was downright weird.

She spent a long time at the sink doing the best she could with the nightgown before hanging it over the shower rack to dry. It was just too late to run upstairs with a load of laundry, and she was too tired to bother. She sat down on the edge of her bed, froze, and hurried back into the bathroom.

Only half an hour had passed, and she already needed a new pad.



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


July 4, 1948, 11:35 a.m.

Downtown Corona




Anthony Evans threaded his way between the crowds lining the sidewalks of Corona's Main Street, craning his neck this way and that as he searched for Dee. She hadn't met him at 11:15 like she'd said she would, so he'd set off looking for her. But he couldn't find her anywhere, and the parade was due to start at noon. Granted it would take at least a few minutes after it started to wind its way down here, but Corona being small and its Main Street short, if you weren't around when the parade started, you pretty much missed it.

Dodging between people selling American flags, red-white-and-blue popsicles which seemed to be melting faster than people could eat them, and various other Independence Day souvenirs, Anthony kept his eyes peeled. He nearly did a double take when he passed Mr. and Mrs. Chambers' booth; Mrs. Chambers had baked lots and lots of her alien cookies and given them jaunty red-white-and-blue hats. The contrast between the green alien head and the flag-colored hats was jarring. Too bad she doesn't know they're gray, he thought absently as he walked by. Gray wouldn't have clashed with the hats.

Anthony reached the next side street and paused, looking up and down the street as he shaded his eyes with his hands, vainly trying to pick one face out of the crowd. Where was she? Wasn't she coming? After a moment, he decided that it was more likely that she was doing exactly what he was, wandering around looking for him while he was wandering around looking for her. Perhaps if he stayed put for a few minutes, she'd appear. And this was a likely place, it being a major corner which sported one of Corona's few traffic lights. It was oppressively hot, par for the course this time of year, and Anthony backed against the nearest building in a bid for some protection from the fierce sun as he settled down to wait. Five minutes, he thought to himself. He'd wait five minutes, then take off again.

He'd waited about five seconds when hands grabbled him from behind, pulling him around the side of the building into a patch of shade. His first thought was that the shade was most welcome. When he got a look at who had grabbed him, his second thought was that he'd rather be back in the sun. Trey Osborn's eyes looked twice as mean as they had that first day of school last year, which was probably owing to their proximity. Last year, his face hadn't been two inches away from Anthony's.

"Where's Proctor?" Osborn growled, the remnants of Denny Miltnor's gang arrayed behind him in a semi circle as he held Anthony against the wall.



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



Dee pushed between the throngs of people crowding Main Street, reaching the relative shade of a building overhang and enjoying a moment out of the sun. Where was he? She couldn't find Anthony anywhere. He was probably wandering around looking for her because she'd been late this morning on account of the fact that she hadn't slept much last night. She'd lain awake for a very long time, thinking about the voice she'd heard when she'd been talking to Mac, ticking down the list of possibilities and trying to decide what it meant.

One thing was certain—the voice hadn't belonged to Brivari. Brivari would have answered her, and Brivari wouldn't have had to ask if she could hear him because he knew perfectly well that she could. So did Malik and Malik's nasty friend. Besides, the voice didn't sound like what she remembered of Malik's, and it lacked the sarcasm of his friend or the cold, flat tone of a hunter, the memory of which still made her shiver. By process of elimination, she'd arrived at a disturbing conclusion: It was one of the others, one of those who'd come here to catch Brivari and Jaddo, but weren't hunters. Someone who didn't know or believe that she could hear their telepathic speech, someone who was testing her. And I failed, Dee thought ruefully as she had flipped over in bed for the umpteenth time. She shouldn't have said anything. Not only could a careless slip put Brivari in danger, but Malik too, not to mention the babies in the pods. Six months of peace had made her careless. She mustn't make that mistake again.

But after the shock of realizing who she'd probably been speaking to had worn off a bit, her mind had wandered in a different direction. Why was this person here now? They could be after Jaddo, but why come to her house? There could be only one answer: They were looking for Brivari. And that meant Brivari was alive, and they had some reason to think he'd be here. Which could mean they were getting desperate, because Dee's father had made it very clear that it wouldn't be safe for Brivari to come back to their house while the others were still out there. So what had happened to make them think Brivari would take that kind of risk?

After mulling all of this over for hours, Dee had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep which had made her over sleep, which had made her late to meet Anthony. She'd spent the last twenty minutes trying to find him, but as she scanned the faces of the crowd, she kept getting distracted. Instead of looking for Anthony, she found herself looking for Brivari, which was ridiculous because he wouldn't necessarily look like he did the last time she saw him. Any of these people could be one of the aliens, for that matter, and she'd never know. Time for a break, she thought, stepping out from the shelter of the overhang. Up ahead was a vendor selling popsicles, and she joined the line, fingering the coins in her pocket that her parents had given her that morning. If she had to march all over hell's half acre looking for Anthony, she may as well enjoy a popsicle while she marched.

The line moved quickly until the lady in front of Dee reached the front. A great deal of discussion ensued, with the tone of the vendor's voice moving from patience to strained politeness to exasperation. Sweating in the sun, Dee finally edged closer beneath the vendor's umbrella to find out what the hold-up was.

"This popsicle is ten cents, and this one is fifteen cents," the vendor was saying.

The woman's long, dark hair obscured her face as she glanced back and forth from the popsicles to her handful of coins. "And...how much is 'ten cents'?" she asked.

"That silver coin," the vendor said, pointing.

"I have three different silver coins," the woman said, bewildered.

"The small silver coin," the vendor clarified wearily.

"And the larger confection is worth more?" the woman inquired.

The vendor sighed. "Let's go over this again. Solid color popsicles are ten cents—that's the smallest silver coin. Red-white-and-blue popsicles are fifteen cents—that's one of the smallest silver coins and one of the bigger ones."

"This one?" the woman asked, holding up a quarter.

"No—that one," the vendor answered, pointing to a nickel. "You're not from around here, are you, lady?"

The woman shook her head, her dark hair swinging from side to side. "I'm sorry. Your currency is so confusing."

Currency. Dee's eyes widened, the sounds of the crowd around her fading as she focused every ounce of her attention on the woman beside her. She'd pushed her hair rather impatiently behind one ear, revealing a pretty face that was frowning at the coins in her hand. She was dressed appropriately in a summer cotton dress with a handbag over her arm, but she was standing there puzzling over mathematics a second grader should be able to do.

*Weren't you supposed to have all of this figured out before you got here?* Dee asked telepathically as the woman's head swung around sharply to stare at her in surprise.


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

I'll post Chapter 90 on Sunday, July 2.

we have to wait till JULY!!!!! with those cliffhangers!!!! sheesh.

enjoy your vacation. hurry back!

Hi karenbee! Glad you're still reading.




CHAPTER NINETY



July 4, 1948, 11:40 a.m.

Downtown Corona




Marana stared in shock at the questioning, slightly ironic face of the child who was Brivari's ally. Oh, how embarrassing! She was supposed to be tailing the child; to have said child walk right up beside her without her noticing was bad enough, but to be recognized....if Amar ever heard about this, she'd never hear the end of it. And here she'd been so proud of herself this morning when she'd convinced Amar to stay behind and watch the child's house when they had observed the family leaving.

"Where is everyone going?" Marana had asked, watching other human families nearby also climbing into the transportation devices known as "cars".

"It's a human holiday," Amar had said in a bored tone.

"Celebrating what?"

"I don't know, and I don't care," Amar had answered.

"Well, what do they do to celebrate?" she'd asked with mild exasperation. Malik would have given her a five minute lecture on the holiday's history and celebratory practices, something she'd found herself longing for right about then.

"They have parades, play incredibly stupid games, eat lots of sloppy food, and shoot explosives into the night sky," Amar had replied. "Boring."

But it hadn't sounded boring to Marana. She'd been going stir crazy cooped up in their house with no company but Malik and his seemingly endless supply of human friends, but being on a stakeout with Amar was even worse. "Shouldn't we follow them?" she'd asked hopefully. "What if Brivari finds them while they're away?"

"Brivari would come here first because he wouldn't know they were away," Amar answered, in a just-exactly-how-stupid-are-you tone of voice.

"He might, if he's aware of the holiday," Marana had argued. "Let's split up. You obviously want to stay here, so I'll go keep an eye on the family."

"Suit yourself," Amar had replied, yawning.

Fifteen minutes later, Marana had found herself at what appeared to be the town center, gazing down on a large assembly of excited humans. She'd scrutinized the women very carefully before crafting a suitable disguise for herself and spent several long minutes hovering in the doorway of a building before stepping out into the largest group of humans she had yet encountered. A jumble of sights and sounds had greeted her as she tottered along in footwear with heels that were uncomfortably high. Lowering the heels considerably had fixed that problem, and she had wandered, fascinated, for several minutes without even giving the girl or her family a passing thought. Humans of all ages gathered, the adults talking, the children playing, and everyone periodically gazing down the street, anticipating she knew not what. Shopkeepers lined the main thoroughfare selling all manner of strange confections and souvenirs. Color seemed to play a prominent role in this celebration, three colors in particular: Red, white, and blue. These were plastered on everything from food, to crockery, to clothing, to the more formal rectangles of cloth of varying sizes which bore those colors along with a field of white stars. Some kind of tribal banner, perhaps? If only Malik, were here. He would be not only able, but eager to answer her questions.

After a few minutes, she'd begun to feel the effects of Earth's hot sun. Being Covari, she was able to deal with the resulting perspiration without producing the unsightly clothing stains now visible on almost every human, but that didn't make her feel any less hot. So when she'd seen the vendor selling frozen confections, she'd steeled her nerves and approached him, pulling out the selection of currency Malik had given her in case she needed it. Of course, having it was not synonymous with understanding it as her current predicament proved. She'd learned a great deal about humans in the months she'd been here, enough to disguise herself for a short while at least in a variety of situations, but some things still escaped her. Currency was one of them.

*You've got people stacking up behind you,* the child observed, jolting Marana out of her reverie. *Tell him which popsicle you want, and let me pay for it.*

In a daze, Marana glanced back to find a long line of sweaty humans behind her, many edging sideways to find out what was causing the delay. I am, she thought ruefully, along with your stupid insistence on using currency.

"She'll take a blue popsicle," the child announced suddenly, plucking a small silver coin from Marana's hand and offering it to the relieved human shopkeeper.

"And one for the child as well," Marana said, guessing that she probably had enough currency to afford both.

"Okay. Then I'll have a red-white-and-blue one," the child said, plucking two more coins from Marana's hand. The shopkeeper handed one of the curious blue foods on a wooden stick to Marana and a similar tri-colored one to the child. "Thank you," he said, more to the child then Marana. "Next!"

The child took Marana by the arm and hauled her away from the confection display as the line of people surged forward behind them. *You'd better eat that before it melts,* she said.

Marana watched as the child began sucking, then did the same herself, finding the cold welcome. *Why do I have the monochrome confection while you have the tri-color?* she asked, feeling slightly ridiculous to even be asking.

*Color means flavor,* the child explained. *One color, one flavor; three colors, three flavors. You can't taste, so why waste the money?*

Marana's heart pounded in her chest as she ducked under the overhang of a building, feeling suddenly exposed. It was incredibly unsettling to have a human recognize her, speak to her telepathically, and have information about her species no human should have. *How did you know who I was?* she demanded of the child, who had paused along with Marana, still sucking on her confection. What did I do to give it away? she added to herself in silent embarrassment.

*I don't know who you are,* the child replied, giving her a steady stare. *I just know what you are. And I knew because you used the world 'currency'. That's what Urza called it.*

Urza. The child spoke the name of a Royal Warder casually, as though Urza were a close friend. Bizarre, to say the least.

*You're a girl,* the child said, eyeing Marana up and down. *I've never met a girl from Antar.*

*I'm not really a female,* Marana answered, doing her best to hide her surprise that the child knew the name of her planet. *I'm—*

*I know—Urza told me. You're not a boy or a girl. You're whatever you are at the moment.*

*Not quite,* Marana answered, more sure of herself now. Biology was familiar ground, and she desperately needed familiar ground at the moment. *Actually, I'm both. Most of us have reproductive cells from both genders.*

*Oh,* the child replied, obviously put out at not being in the know. *Why didn't Urza tell me that?*

*He was probably simplifying things for you,* Marana answered with a small smile, *though I would argue that was unnecessary.*

The child looked at her warily for a moment, ultimately deciding she was being complimented, not teased. *You look good,* she declared, examining Marana critically. *The dress is good. Purse is good. This is way better than Jaddo did.*

Jaddo. It was hard to imagine a human, never mind a child, on speaking terms with the most feared of the Royal Warders save for Brivari. *What exactly did Jaddo do?* Marana asked, wondering if she'd be able to fish any information out of the child.

But the child smiled at her indulgently and shook her head. *The only thing missing is that you're not sweating,* she continued, ignoring Marana's question. *How can you not be sweating in this heat?*

*I am perspiring,* Marana replied. *You just don't see it.*

*Why not?*

*Because I dispose of it before you see it.*

*How?*

Marana sighed. If she wanted to move the child along to more interesting subjects, she'd better get her off this one, and since the child obviously knew quite a bit about them, there was probably no harm in answering. *I.....I move it off myself,* she said, struggling for the right words. *I just......I loosen those cells and let them fall.*

*Neat,* the child commented as juice from her "popsicle" trailed down her arm. *Okay, let's get down to business. I don't know where Brivari is. We haven't seen him since all of you showed up at Christmas, so you can stop hanging around our house.*

Marana's eyes widened, startled by her bluntness. *Just because you haven't seen him doesn't mean he won't come back here.*

*Why do you think he's coming back here now? You weren't hanging around here before.*

*What makes you think that?*

The child gave her a pitying look. *If you'd been here before, you wouldn't have been able to resist testing me like you did yesterday.*

*Perhaps,* Marana said, unnerved at how quickly the child had made that deduction, *but just because I wasn't here doesn't mean someone else wasn't.*

As the child frowned at this announcement, apparently unable to come up with a rejoinder, Marana seized the opportunity to steer the conversation in another direction. *Did Brivari and the others tell you why they're here?*

*Sure,* the child said casually. *Their king got hurt, so they brought him here to get better.*

A reasonable fiction, Marana thought silently. The best lies always contained some truth. *Do you know where the King is now?*

The child shrugged. *They didn't say. I certainly never saw him. But even if I had, why would I tell you? You're working for the bad guy.*

Bad guy? Well, of course Brivari would have put everything in extremely simplistic terms that tilted in his favor. *The situation is far more complex than that,* Marana said, *although I wouldn't expect you to understand.*

The child stopped walking and turned to face her. *I understand a lot more than you think I do. And I've noticed that a lot of things that are supposed to be complicated really aren't.*

Marana smiled slightly. *Maybe you're not old enough to understand.*

The child returned her smile. *Or maybe grown-ups just make things more complicated than they really are.* She leaned in closer. *Brivari's not here. But go ahead and hang around. The longer you hang around here, the less chance there is that you'll catch him. And the more chance that someone from the Army will catch you.* She dropped her "popsicle" stick into a nearby waste receptacle. *Bye!*

The child walked away, and Marana stared after her for so long that when she finally came to her senses, there were two, big perspiration stains beneath the arms of her dress.



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



The hard wall pressed into Anthony's back as Trey Osborn held him firmly against it, his face only inches away. "Where is she?" Osborn demanded again. "We've been tailing you for awhile, and we're gettin' tired of it."

Anthony's eyes darted toward the happy Fourth of July crowd only feet away, but no one was looking this way. Funny how one could be so invisible while near so many people. "I don't know," he admitted, suddenly grateful that Dee wasn't with him. "I was looking for her myself."

"Yeah? Well, when you find her, you tell her we haven't forgotten that a year ago today is the day that Denny died. And we haven't forgotten that she knows something about that she's not tellin'."

"Okay," Anthony nodded, hoping they'd all leave now that their message had been delivered.

No such luck. "And we haven't forgotten that freaky handyman who did all those weird things neither."

Double negative, Anthony thought as he nodded again, clinging to Mr. Peters' grammar lessons as his life passed before his eyes.

"And we're gonna get it outa her," Osborn added, "one way or the other."

There was a great deal of smiling and nodding behind Osborn at this announcement as though this was everyone's favorite part of the speech. Anthony didn't join in the nodding this time, and Osborn punished this breach of etiquette by pulling him off the wall and slamming him into it a second time. "We're gonna," he repeated for emphasis, as though Anthony were actively disagreeing with him. "I promise you, we're gonna."

"Okay, okay," Anthony said hastily. "I'll tell her." And the Sheriff, he added silently, making a mental note to head for the nearest deputy first chance he got.

Assuming he'd get a chance that is. "You don't believe me, do you?" Osborn demanded, his eyes narrowing so far they were nearly closed. He was about to do the slam-him-into-wall routine again when Anthony held up his hands in supplication.

"I believe you," Anthony insisted. "I just don't know what all this is about. I wasn't even here at this time last year. We moved here after it happened."

Any faint hopes that Osborn and company would let him off the hook due to absence were dashed as wide smiles spread down the line of faces. Smiles were usually good news, except when worn by a group of thugs like this. "He's new in town!" crowed one of the gang, as Anthony mentally wondered how they could have missed that fact for an entire school year. "Let's show'im the welcome wagon, boys!"

"Let him go, Osborn!"

Anthony nearly sagged with relief when he saw a sheriff's deputy behind the row of gang members. A second later, he realized who it was....and so did Osborn. "You!" he said, releasing Anthony and pushing his way through the line, shaking a finger in Valenti's face. "I never heard anything from you! And you promised you'd check out that creepy handyman and make sure he paid for killing Denny!"

"Correction," Valenti said. "I told you I'd take your statement, which I did, and make some phone calls, which I also did. I didn't find anything."

"Are you calling us liars?" Osborn challenged.

"No," Valenti answered calmly. "I'm saying I didn't find anything worth investigating."

"Don't bullshit me!" Osborn exclaimed as angry exclamations rose from the others.

Anthony remained against the wall, holding his breath as Valenti stepped closer and gave a long, dramatic sniff. "You been drinkin', boys?"

Several pairs of eyes shifted, but no one answered. "Mm hmm," Valenti murmured. "Sure smells like it. Had you been drinking last year when you saw Denny with the handyman?"

"So you're sayin' it's all in our heads?" Osborn demanded angrily. "We made it all up?"

"I'm saying that a high school student who drinks before noon doesn't exactly qualify for the designation of 'credible witness', as we say in my line of work," Valenti said severely. "Come back when you're sober, Mr. Osborn, and we'll talk if you like. Now walk. And don't pull anything stupid today or tonight, or I'll be sure to point out to whoever makes the arrest that you were soused before noon. Got that?"

Valenti never moved a muscle as Osborn spit on the ground at his feet and stalked off, his friends following as they threw murderous looks Valenti's way. "Are you all right, Mr. Evans?" Valenti asked after they were gone.

"Yeah," Anthony said, his voice shaking slightly. "But I don't know how much longer I would have been."

"I'm sorry about that," Valenti said, running a hand over the damp spots on his uniform. "We were expecting them to cause trouble today, so we've been keeping an eye on them, but we can't keep an eye on them every minute."

"I know," Anthony said, wiping his own clammy hands on his shorts. "Thanks for the help."

"It was the least I could do," Valenti said softly.

They stared at each other, the noisy Independence Day crowd sounding far away in the silence between them. Anthony had seen Valenti from a distance, but he hadn't spoken to him even once since that awful day last December when he'd unwittingly saved him from that Army officer's clutches. And that was fine with Anthony because he'd really like to put that incident and his part in causing it behind him for good.

"Mr. Evans," Valenti said slowly, "I never got the chance to thank—"

"Don't," Anthony interrupted.

"Don't what?"

"Don't thank me."

"Why not?"

"Don't thank me," Anthony repeated. "Just don't."

Valenti looked flummoxed. "Mr. Evans, if it weren't for you and your quick thinking, I might not even be here right now. So whether you accept it or not, you have my thanks," he said, holding out his hand to shake Anthony's.

Anthony stared at the proffered hand and slowly shook his head, conscience trumping fear. "I don't deserve your thanks."

"You certainly do," Valenti objected.

"No, I don't!" Anthony exclaimed as Valenti dropped his hand in consternation. "I....I didn't call the Sheriff because I was afraid for you. I called him because I was afraid for Dee. Because I thought you were going to tell on her."

"Pardon my language, but I can truly say I don't give a damn why you called the Sheriff," Valenti said. "I'm just really glad you did. And whatever the reason you called, the end result was that you saved my bacon. Whether that was your original intention is beside the point."

"Was it really that bad?" Anthony whispered.

"Worse," Valenti said soberly.

"So....you really think that officer would have locked you up at the base and not let you out?"

Valenti shook his head. "I don't think so—I know so."

"So why'd you get in his car in the first place?"

"I didn't know he was going to do that," Valenti replied somewhat acerbically. "Well....maybe I should have....but the point is, I wasn't expecting him to outright abduct me if I didn't do what he wanted. I didn't think he'd go that far."

"You were going to tell on her, weren't you?" Anthony asked.

Valenti looked away. Behind him, the crowds continued to wander by, oblivious. "Yes, Mr. Evans," he said finally. "I was going to tell what I saw that night you called me to her house, if that's what you call 'telling on her'."

"That's what I thought," Anthony nodded. "I didn't really leave your house that day, you know. I left the side door open so you'd think I had, and then I went around to the living room and listened to everything you and that officer said."

Valenti's look of astonishment was slowly replaced by a small smile. "Good," he said approvingly. "Very good. So you already knew. Why'd you ask?"

"I wanted to see if you'd tell me the truth," Anthony answered.

"Well, I can certainly understand wanting to be told the truth," Valenti replied, a touch of irony in his voice. "And while we're both in a truthful mood, what about that day we first met when you set off all those firecrackers around my car and let the air out of my tires? Did you do that just to impress your new neighbors, or did you already know?"

"Sure I knew," Anthony said. "I knew you weren't telling me the truth about bird watching."

Boy and deputy stared at one another in silence for a moment before Valenti looked away. "I won't keep you, Mr. Evans. I'm glad you're all right, and I wouldn't worry about running into Osborn and company again. They've already been nicking food from the stalls, so I imagine they'll be rounded up and taken down to the station within the hour. We'll hold them overnight, so they won't be causing trouble tonight at the festival."

"Thanks," Anthony said. "I'll tell Dee."

"I haven't seen either of you for awhile," Valenti commented casually as they walked toward Main Street. "Everything quiet?"

"Totally quiet," Anthony answered, not needing a translation for "everything".

"Good," Valenti said. "I'd appreciate a heads up when that silence comes to an end."

"What makes you think that'll happen?"

Valenti stopped walking and turned to face Anthony. "I know you disagree with what I was about to do last Christmas, Mr. Evans, but I also know that whoever—or whatever—the Proctors are mixed up with will find its way back here. And when it does, all the good intentions in the world won't help. They can't defend themselves against what I saw. You know that; that's why you called me."

"There you are!" called an exasperated voice. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Dee materialized from the crowd, stopping short when she saw Valenti. "Oh. Hello," she said, looking back and forth from one to the other. "Is something wrong?"

"Not anymore," Anthony said quickly. "I'll tell you about it later. Let's go."

"Miss Proctor," Valenti said, eyeing her closely as he tipped his hat in greeting. "Good to see you. It's been awhile."

"Yeah, it has," Dee answered, returning his stare.

"We need to hurry, or we'll miss the parade," Anthony said, tugging Dee's arm. "Thanks again, Deputy. Goodbye."

"What is it?" Dee demanded as Anthony practically pulled her onto Main Street. "First you I couldn't find you, and now I find you with Valenti—"

"You were late," Anthony interrupted.

"Not that late. And what did Valenti want?"

"He was doing me a favor," Anthony said evasively. "And he wanted to know if everything was quiet, and I told him it was. And it is. Right?"

Dee stared at him a moment, her expression inscrutable "Yeah," she said finally. "Completely quiet."



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


Eagle Rock Military Base



"So there I was in my bathrobe and slippers, feeling like an absolute fool," Yvonne said, shaking her head at the memory. "Do you have any idea what it's like to deal with Major Cavitt in your pajamas?"

"It sounds like this is one time you didn't have to 'deal with him'," Corporal Brisson answered thoughtfully from his seat across from her in the compound's mess. "Offering you his personal phone, leaving you alone in his office, complementing you—that's incredible, especially considering the source. Cavitt's respect is very hard to earn."

"It might have just been posturing," Yvonne said, reaching for the salt shaker. "General Ramey was obviously pleased with me or he wouldn't have been asking for me personally, so Cavitt may have just been playing along."

Brisson shook his head. "Cavitt doesn't do that. Pierce does it, Lewis does it, but Cavitt doesn't—and he arguably should, if he wants to rise in the ranks. Generally speaking, the shinier the brass, the less it appreciates brutal honesty like Cavitt's."

" 'Generally' speaking?" Yvonne asked, one eyebrow raised.

"No pun intended," Brisson smiled. "But seriously, as much as Cavitt can be a cruel son of a bitch, I'd trust something he said long before I'd trust anything Pierce said. I almost prefer honest cruelty to dishonest kindness."

"Back when Ramey was telling us that he'd been ordered to have John executed, the first thing Pierce asked was whether he'd be able to perform the autopsy," Yvonne recalled, bitterness lacing her voice. "And here I thought he'd developed at least a little more respect for John than that. Anyone would have thought he was talking about a mouse in a cage."

Brisson hesitated for a moment. "You really think it's a person, don't you?"

Yvonne looked up in surprise. "And you don't?"

"Well, I......I don't see much of it," Brisson admitted. "I only administer the serum, which doesn't make me very popular with it, of course."

"Corporal," Yvonne said gently, "after everything John's done, helping Keyser and his engineers come up with this night vision device, reading books, making deals, even earning the General's respect, for heaven's sake....how could you not think of him as a person? If he's not a person, then how do you define the word?"

"Well, he's not a 'he'—I know that much," Brisson replied.

"Yes, I know," Yvonne sighed. "He's neither."

"Or both, depending on how you look at it," Brisson said. "Actually we've discovered that they seem to have two different kinds of reproductive cells which we can only speculate are male and female. I have no idea how they would mate if each of them has both, or even if that's the norm, but—"

He stopped, realizing that Yvonne was staring at him in astonishment. "I didn't know Dr. Pierce was studying their reproduction!" she exclaimed. "Is that what he's got under lock and key in the lab? Is that what Ramey referred to in that one briefing when he told Lewis that he didn't have high enough clearance to know about it?"

"I....uh.....well.....this was just something we discovered way back when it was captured," Brisson stammered. "You were removed from active medical duty shortly after that, so perhaps you just missed it."

"I would never have missed that," Yvonne objected. "And I've heard plenty about all of Pierce's other research on John, but I've never heard a peep about this. So what happens when you put those two cells together? I assume you've tried—ooh," she exclaimed suddenly, pressing a hand to her abdomen.

"Are you all right?" Brisson asked in alarm.

"Fine," Yvonne said, breathing hard as another wave of pain washed over her. "I just....excuse me."

"Of course," Brisson said, his face a mask of concern. "Can I do anything for you?"

"No, no, I'm fine," Yvonne said, attempting a smile as she slid off the bench and headed for the tiny bathroom out in the hall that served as a ladies room. The compound had previously been used as a medical facility, so there were men's and women's restrooms nearby. But given that the current ratio of males to females hovered around 100 to 1, all restrooms had been commandeered for men, with what used to be an officer's private bathroom reserved for her. It was only a one-holer, and Yvonne was glad of the privacy as she closed the door behind her, leaning on it for support. The heavy bleeding which had heralded the start of her period last night had eased somewhat, but the sharp, stabbing pains had reappeared. That last one had been particularly severe, and as Yvonne locked the door, another one hit, so severe this time that she literally gasped and slid to her knees as she felt something hot gush out of her.

Trembling, the tile floor cold beneath her legs, Yvonne clutched her abdomen protectively and waited. After a minute or so, she slowly straightened and headed for the toilet, her legs shaking. The sanitary pad she'd put on only about half an hour ago was completely soaked and her underwear soiled, but her uniform had been spared, thank goodness. She hadn't been looking forward to walking back to her quarters in a blood-stained uniform. Discarding the pad, she threaded another through her sanitary belt and washed her underwear in the sink. It felt cold and clammy when she put it back on, but that was the least of her worries. Why was her period so strange this month? She knew plenty of women who had heavy, erratic periods, but she'd never had. Perhaps it was this place, this bizarre situation in which she found herself. But then why hadn't this happened earlier when everything had been so much more unsettled?

Yvonne put herself back together as best she could before she realized something: The pain was gone. Completely gone. Not only that, but the bleeding seemed to have slowed considerably. Thank goodness, she thought, straightening her uniform as she headed back to the mess hall. Whatever it was, it appeared to be over.

"Is everything all right?" Brisson said when she arrived back at their table.

"I'm fine," Yvonne said. "I'm just not feeling very well."

"In what way?" Brisson asked sharply.

"I'm just.....tired, that's all," Yvonne said, taken aback by the forcefulness of his question. "I'm going back to my quarters to rest."

"Before you left, you looked like you were in pain," Brisson continued, eyeing her closely. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm sure," Yvonne said firmly. "Thank you for lunch, Corporal. I enjoyed it. Let's do it again sometime."

She left quickly before he had a chance to protest further. And so she missed seeing Brisson leave the mess hall only moments after she did and retrieve the trash from the little bathroom she'd just vacated.


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

I'll post Chapter 91 next Sunday.

I'm still reading! I just want you to know. :D I'll be back later with feedback.

Hi Gerry! Thanks for stopping by.



CHAPTER NINETY-ONE


July 4, 1948, 9:00 p.m.

Fourth of July Festival, Corona



"All right, everyone pair up," Mary Laura said in her very best school teacher voice as the Ferris wheel operator began emptying the wheel, seat by swinging seat. "Peter, you go with Mark, Ann, you go with Amy......"

Dee edged closer to Anthony, having already mentally counted down the line of children waiting for a ride on the Ferris wheel. "Rachel, you go with Dee," Mary Laura continued.

"No way!" Rachel objected, backing up several steps and staring at the ride like it wanted to eat her. "I'm not going on that thing again. I almost threw up last year."

"Okay," Mary Laura allowed, obviously annoyed that her system was being tampered with. "Then Dee, go with....Anthony, and I will go with...."

Dee suppressed a giggle as Mary Laura turned around and realized what Dee had already figured out. Ernie Hutton was standing behind her, grinning broadly. "You'll go with me!" Ernie crowed. "I hope you like rocking the seat."

"And I will go alone," Mary Laura said frostily, folding her arms across her chest.

"No you won't," Ernie said confidently. "See that sign? 'No single riders'. That's the rule."

Mary Laura frowned, looking left and right for a familiar face she could ride with. "Ask him if you can go alone and sit in the middle," Dee suggested, nodding toward the ride operator, who was heading toward them.

"I can't!" Mary Laura exclaimed indignantly as Dee rolled her eyes. Naturally, Mary Laura couldn't stomach the notion of bending, never mind breaking, a rule.

"So then go with someone else," Dee said, shrugging. "Anyone's gotta be better than Ernie."

The ride operator opened the gate and started collecting tickets. Mary Laura hesitated, torn between the equally unattractive options of riding with Ernie, riding with a total stranger, or—horrors!—not riding at all. "Let's go, then," she said grudgingly to a grinning Ernie, inexplicably deciding that he was the least of available evils. "But you're not rocking the seat."

"Sure," Ernie smiled unconvincingly as Dee and Anthony walked toward their seat. It was really too bad that Mary Laura and Ernie would be behind them. Dee had a strong suspicion that Ernie was going to wind up getting the worst of this, and she very much wanted to watch. A minute later, she and Anthony were stopped near the top of the Ferris wheel while more riders were loaded below.

"Wow," Anthony breathed. "Look at the all the people!"

"Sheriff Wilcox told Daddy that more people were coming to our festival this year because Roswell is full of alien stuff," Dee reported as a muffled shriek came from behind them, followed by a slap. "Something about the one year anniversary of the crash."

"That explains all the people I've never seen before," Anthony said, hanging over the side of their car. "Hey, there's your parents! And there's mine!" he added, waving furiously as a snort followed by an "Ouch!" wafted from behind. But Dee wasn't paying attention. Their seat had advanced to the very top, giving her a bird's eye view of the school grounds, and she swept her eyes left and right, looking for something she'd probably be better off not finding. Something she'd been looking for all night.

"This is a good spot," her mother had said a couple of hours earlier when they'd arrived at the festival. "Spread out the blanket, would you please, David, while I set up the chairs. And Dee, would you....."

But Dee hadn't been listening then either. She'd been scanning the crowd, already large at that early hour, for any sign of the enemy alien she'd met that afternoon at the parade....and she knew she shouldn't be. Not only because it was a useless gesture to look for a particular face when the owner of that face had most likely changed it already, but because she shouldn't be dallying with Brivari's enemies. She'd had the sinking feeling most of the afternoon that speaking to that woman had been a horrible mistake.

Granted, it hadn't seemed that way at first. The woman certainly hadn't looked or behaved like an "enemy"; on the contrary, she looked quite incompetent. And Dee's curiosity when she'd realized who was standing there had been so powerful that she'd completely abandoned her earlier vow to be careful and blurted out her remark without conscious thought, at which point the cat was out of the bag. The excitement of having met another alien had stayed with her for quite awhile, until reality had set in and she'd made a mental checklist of what could have happened. For example, what if the "woman" had kidnapped Dee? Or what if she'd try to "connect" with Dee the way Jaddo had with her father and discovered things about Brivari that she shouldn't know? What if she'd even discovered the hiding place of the pods? The information Dee and her family had could spell the end of the Warders' mission if it wound up in the wrong hands, and she mustn't let that happen.

Which means I need to keep my mouth shut, Dee thought darkly, remembering her answer when the woman had asked her if she knew of the reason for the Warders' presence here. Why, oh why, had she said anything about a king? Why hadn't she made something up, some story about their ship crashing by accident, which was true as far as that went, or something like that? Now the enemy aliens would know that she and her family had at least some knowledge of what was going on, and it was that slip that had haunted her all afternoon and had her scanning the crowd now. She desperately wanted another chat with the woman alien, just one more to drive home the point that she and her family knew nothing more about the king.

"Dee!"

Dee had whirled around to find their picnic spot all set up and both of her parents staring at her. "What?"

"I asked you to help me unpack the food," her mother had said. "Are you all right?" she'd added, casting meaningful looks in her father's direction.

"I'm fine, mother," Dee had answered, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice. She knew where this was heading. Her parents thought she was acting weird because of what had happened last year at the festival, what with Denny Miltnor almost killing her and all. Dee had considered for a moment what the reaction would likely be if her mother knew she was acting weird because of something that had happened this very morning and quickly decided to keep quiet. Her mother had been relieved to no longer be an alien headquarters, so she would not take kindly to the news that they were once again lurking outside her house.

"Maybe you should stay with us instead of running off with your friends," her mother had said, drawing a gasp of "Mother!" from Dee.

But her father had intervened. "Let her go, Em. She'll be all right."

The Ferris wheel gave a jerk, pulling Dee back to the present as the wheel whipped around in a backwards circle, drawing shrieks from its passengers. Anthony grinned broadly while gripping the safety bar very hard, and even Ernie Hutton seemed to have lost his nerve because the sounds of struggle in the seat behind them had ceased. Dee smiled, enjoying the dipping and swooping sensation and the wind in her hair for a full minute before Anthony squealed, "This is so neat! It's like flying!"

*Now I see why humans like this.*

"Oh? Why?"

*It is probably the nearest you will get to flying.*

The wheel began to slow as Dee stared soberly ahead, no longer smiling. The last time she'd been on this ride, she'd been with Urza, answering his questions about why it was considered fun and why people were screaming. Three days later, he was dead.....but not before he'd saved her life. Twice.

"Dee?"

Blinking, Dee turned to Anthony. "I was asking if you knew of a good place where we could watch the fireworks," he said, his hair all messed from the wind. "They'll be starting soon."

The Ferris wheel stopped just past the very top, and Dee's eyes strayed straight ahead, to the rooftop of the school where she'd watched the fireworks with Urza. "Yeah," she answered with satisfaction. "I know the perfect place."



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



"That'll be fifteen cents."

For the second time that day, Marana stared at the coins in her hand, trying to remember which ones the human child had used to pay for a tri-colored "popsicle". The human festival swirled around her, noisier and more confusing than anything she'd encountered that morning. Then she'd had crowds and vendors to deal with; now she had crowds, vendors, an odd assortment of mechanical devices humans liked to ride on, and an even odder assortment of games, some of which were downright strange. She'd never interacted with such a primitive species, and she found herself awash with a mixture of excitement and horrified fascination everywhere she went.

Hesitantly, Marana removed one small and one medium silver coin from her hand and placed them on the counter. "Thank you, next!" the human vendor said, sweeping the coins away with one hand and offering the popsicle with the other while leaning around her to look at the next customer in line. Delighted to have gotten it right, Marana ripped the paper off her "popsicle" with satisfaction. It was ridiculous, really. Here she was, a respected bioscientist on her own world feeling like she'd conquered a planet just because she'd figured out an archaic system of currency. She'd spent the entire afternoon carefully reading currency signs and watching what humans bought along with what types of currency they handed over, the end result being that she had achieved a basic competency in the subject. At least enough that it would no longer give her away as it had this morning.

Marana had found her encounter with the human child extremely unsettling, so unsettling that the first thing she'd done when it was over was to step into a sheltered spot and change her face and clothing. The child's casual familiarity with Royal Warders who were almost unapproachable on Antar and her pointed, personal questions were alarming, to say the least. And I answered her, Marana thought ruefully. She still found it hard to believe that she'd actually discussed her reproductive system with a human. Why had she done that? Partly because of the child's disarming frankness, and partly because it had been comforting to find herself on familiar ground. Still, she shouldn't have said anything at all. The child had been close enough to the Warders to have information on their species no one should have, and she had just made things worse by volunteering more. She must not make that mistake again. It was highly unlikely that the Warders had given their human allies any real information beyond the small amount in that yarn about the injured king, so speaking to the child again would serve no purpose but to invite further untimely disclosures and temptations.

And such temptations, Marana mused as she sucked on her popsicle amidst the clamor of the human festival. They had mapped the human brain extensively, but never had they encountered a specimen capable of such fluent telepathic speech. How had that happened? Did the child's exposure to the Warders cause it, or had that part of her brain always been active? Oh, if only she'd been able to bring the proper equipment! Just the thought of the things she could learn was intoxicating.

*Marana!*

Startled, Marana almost dropped her popsicle. *What are you doing here?* she demanded. *I thought you were going to stay at the house.*

*I was,* Amar answered, *but Orlon showed up. He wants to talk to us.* He cast a disparaging look at the gaily colored confection in her hand. *You do know where the girl and her family are, don't you?*

*Of course I do,* Marana said irritably. *Her parents are sitting over there,* she said, pointing, *and the child is—* She stopped, horrified to discover that the circular contraption the child had been riding now sported a new set of humans.

*And you don't know where the girl is because you were too busy buying dessert to pay attention,* Amar finished for her. *Wonderful. Orlon will love that.*

And you'll love telling him that I lost the girl, Marana thought sourly, walking fast to keep up with Amar's long strides. A few seconds later, it was clear that something else was going on. Not only was Orlon here, but Malik and the hunters too.

*What is that?* Orlon asked when he spied her popsicle. Behind him, Malik's eyebrows rose in amusement.

*It's a confection,* Marana said impatiently. *We are supposed to fit in, aren't we?*

*Have you seen or heard anything from Brivari?* Orlon asked, ignoring her question.

*No,* Marana answered, keeping her conversation with the child to herself. *Nothing.*

Orlon's face twisted. *He hasn't been at the base either. Where is he?* he demanded of no one in particular, his "voice" rising. *I know him! I know how he thinks! He would return to his allies in the hopes that confusion in our ranks over his latest victory would mask his approach. Why can't we find him?*

Everyone kept their faces carefully blank as Orlon thundered on, with the exception of the hunters, whose faces were always blank. Marana exchanged glances with Malik, who shook his head slightly. Apparently Orlon was growing restless for his quarry to make an appearance.

*After Brivari's narrow escape at the base months ago, don't you think he realizes that you know how he thinks?* Malik said reasonably. *He may very well be doing exactly the opposite of his first inclination, knowing that you expect otherwise.*

*He is here,* Orlon insisted, shaking his head vigorously, *and we are spread too thin. From now on, we travel together so that if we find him, we can bring him down before he has a chance to disappear. We will begin by searching this festival where we know his allies are in attendance. Split up into pairs. We will meet back here in one hour.*



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



Excellent, Brivari thought with satisfaction as he watched his enemies move off through the crowd. Orlon might pride himself on anticipating his moves, but often failed to remember that Brivari was similarly prescient. He'd seen this particular move coming early this morning. All he'd had to do was wait for it.

Granted, he had been extremely annoyed when he'd arrived at the base to find two of his enemies already there. Cursing, he'd withdrawn to the shelter of a rooftop and watched as they patrolled the base. He'd memorized the current human form used by the two remaining hunters when they spoke with their keepers, and noted that they now hunted in the traditional pair, no doubt a reaction to the fact that the one he'd just dispatched had been alone. The ordinary Covari had remained at the base while the hunters came and went, most likely visiting others stationed at the Proctor's dwelling. He'd stayed on that rooftop all day, waiting for Orlon to display his trademark impetuousness and rearrange the game board so he could make his move.

Which he had now done. Brivari watched as Orlon prowled below with one other, annoyance written all over him. Supremely impatient, he had been unwilling to wait for progress; he wanted everything now, which is why he had opposed Riall's ascension to the throne despite the benefits that ascension afforded his race. Those benefits did not represent everything Orlon wanted, so he had fought his people's support of Riall until the very moment the crown had touched his head. Unwilling to work in increments, he preferred no improvements to some because some was less than all, and all was all he would settle for. And now that impatience has sabotaged your own endeavor, Brivari thought. Orlon and the others were scanning only the crowd, missing the wooded area nearby where Brivari was currently hiding because they assumed he would need to approach his human allies in human form. They're half right, Brivari thought, with a wistful glance at David Proctor, whom he had looked forward to conversing with.

But that could wait. Not all of his allies need be approached in human form.



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



"The roof?" Anthony said in disbelief. "You want to watch the fireworks from the roof?"

"Sure," Dee answered. "The view is great. Best ever."

"You mean you've been up there before?" Anthony asked doubtfully, craning his neck and walking backwards, trying to see the top of the school building.

Dee nodded. "Last year."

"Okay. So how do we get up there?"

"I don't know."

"Well, how'd you get up there last year?"

Dee eyed him steadily. "That won't work this year."

Anthony opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. The handyman. Last year, Dee had been here with the infamous handyman who was still causing ripples with Denny Miltnor's friends. Of course, the handyman couldn't have been an alien because he looked human, but he must be working with the aliens, kind of like Mr. Langley.

"There must be a way up there," Dee was saying, having backed up even further than he had. "There's a bump on top of the building with a door in it."

"There should be a stairway inside," Anthony said. He surveyed the building critically for a moment before Dee grabbed his hand and pulled him along the side of the school.

"Where are we going?" Anthony asked.

"Inside," Dee answered. "They leave one of the doors open so people can use the bathrooms."

People were indeed streaming through the side doors to the school, and they waited until enough traffic cleared so they could slip past the bathrooms unnoticed. "The way to the roof should be somewhere around here," Anthony murmured, their sneakers making no sound on the tile floors. It was cool in here, and dark but for the festival lights filtering in the windows, making Anthony wish he had a flashlight. All the hallways were unfamiliar, this being the high school side of the building, and they wandered for several minutes, trying one door after another before they found a narrow staircase tucked away in a maintenance closet. The stairs led upwards to a nondescript door which was fortunately not locked. "Wow!" Anthony breathed, gazing out over the festival crowds below. "You're right. This is the greatest firework watching spot ever!"

"Told'ya," Dee said, settling herself well away from the edge. "If we sit too close to the edge, people could look up and see us," she added, patting the roof beside her.

She has done this before, Anthony thought as he curled up Indian style next to her, watching her with concern. Dee had been uncharacteristically subdued all day, the one exception being when he'd told her how he'd happened to run into Valenti and what they'd been talking about. "I'm glad he stopped them, and he should say 'thank you'," she'd announced severely. "After all, you did keep him from getting kidnapped even if you didn't know you were doing that." But that brief burst of spirit had also been the only burst of spirit, prompting Anthony to wonder what was wrong. And now that he knew what was wrong, he couldn't believe he'd been so dense. Denny Miltnor's death wasn't the only thing that had happened a year ago; Dee had been with a different companion last year at this very same festival, one who was no longer available.

"So....you were up here last year with the handyman?" Anthony said casually. Even though they'd long since abandoned their initial "don't-ask-don't-tell" arrangement, he was acutely aware that every single time he asked an alien-related question, Dee had to weigh whether or not she felt she could safely answer him. So he tried to ask only when he had to, and he hadn't asked her anything for months. Maybe things that happened a year ago were safe to talk about now.

Dee had tucked her knees under her chin, a favorite posture of hers and her mother's. "Yup. Just like you and I are now. But not right away. I took him around the festival first."

Anthony blinked. "Really? Doing what?"

"We watched a dart game, looked at the ponies, got some cotton candy. And we rode the Ferris wheel. He wanted to know why I liked it so much because all it did was go round and round. And then he suggested we come up here to watch the fireworks, and when I said we couldn't get up here, he..." She paused, glancing sideways at him as though trying to decide whether or not to continue, ultimately leaning in closer and lowering her voice. "He made the bricks stick out from the school wall so we could climb up them like a ladder."

Anthony's eyes widened. "How'd he do that?"

"I don't know."

Anthony thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't get it. I know that people like Mr. Langley and the handyman are working with.....well....you know....but I don't understand how they do what they do. I mean, I can see how Mr. Langley could get you that neat telescope, but I don't get how the handyman picked Denny up without touching him or made bricks stick out of a wall. Do they have some kind of special machine, or something?"

A dull thunk went off. Seconds later, a firework burst in the night sky, drawing cheers from below.

"Let's just watch, okay?" Dee said.



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


Marana had been quite sure that when Orlon had ordered them to split into pairs to look for Brivari, he had meant the pairs they were already in. So she watched with disgust as Amar sprinted after Orlon while the hunters took off in another direction, leaving her alone in the middle of the human throng.

*Your popsicle's melting.*

Marana turned around to find Malik standing behind her, smiling. *I take it you knew Amar was going to do that?* she asked, noting that her popsicle had indeed almost disappeared, running down her arm and making it all sticky.

*Amar isn't a complicated person to read,* Malik said tactfully, beginning to walk. *Want another one of those?*

*We're supposed to be looking for Brivari, not buying popsicles,* Marana said, dropping the popsicle stick in a waste receptacle they passed.

*That didn't stop you from buying one,* Malik noted. *Besides, we won't find him.*

*The last time you predicted Brivari wouldn't show up somewhere, he did.*

*I didn't say he wasn't here—I said we wouldn't find him.* "Two bomb pops, please," Malik added out loud to one of the human vendors.

Marana watched enviously as Malik bantered with the vendor in fluent human, casually fishing coins out of his pocket to pay for them. She did a quick mental calculation as to which coins should be used to pay for two tri-colored popsicles only to find she was wrong; Malik used completely different coins. *Here you go,* he said, handing over a "bomb pop". *Eat up—it's hot out here.*

*How did you learn all this stuff?* Marana asked in exasperation. *I would have used completely different currency to pay for—*

*Money,* Malik corrected. *You'll sound weird if you call it 'currency'.*

*Tell me about it,* Marana muttered.

*And you could have paid for these with a different combination of coins,* Malik continued. *Each popsicle is fifteen cents, so two are thirty cents, and there are several different combinations of coins which would equal thirty cents. I used a quarter, worth twenty-five cents, and five pennies, worth one cent each. What would you have used?*

*Uh...two....small silver coins, and two....uh....medium silver coins,* Marana answered, feeling absolutely ridiculous that she didn't know the names of the coins.

But Malik only nodded, ignoring her ignorance. *Two dimes and two nickels would also equal thirty cents. I offered to teach you all this,* he added, *but you weren't interested.*

*I'm interested now,* Marana said irritably. *I feel stupid.*

*You figured out how to buy the popsicle that melted.*

*No I didn't,* Marana admitted. *I guessed.*

*Guessing's one way to learn,* Malik smiled. *Look,* he added, stopping and turning to face her, *don't be so hard on yourself. Give yourself some time. I've been here five years.*

And it suits you, Marana thought privately as they hiked through the crowd. Malik looked so comfortable here, so happy, and the problems of home seemed so far away. It almost made her think....

Savagely shaking her head, Marana focused on scanning the crowd for a glimpse of an infrared signature without success.
*Told you we wouldn't find him,* Malik said casually, finishing off his popsicle and tossing away the stick. *This is a waste of time.*

*He underestimated us last time, and we almost caught him,* Marana pointed out.

*Exactly. He won't make that mistake again. He's too smart for that.*

*So what are we supposed to do? Just give up and let the hybrids emerge?*

*Fine by me.*

Marana stared at him in surprise; a moment later, an explosion behind her startled the daylights out of her. *What was that?* she gasped as the humans erupted into cheers.

*The fireworks,* Malik answered calmly. *You haven't seen any, have you? They're very pretty.*

Dimly recalling Amar saying something about explosions being part of this holiday, Marana watched as all artificial illumination was extinguished and humans settled on the ground, watching the sky. Malik pulled her down on the ground just as another firework exploded in the sky. Fortunately, she was facing in the right direction this time.

*Oh my,* she breathed.




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


Dee threw a surreptitious glance at Anthony as the fireworks continued to burst in the sky, mentally kicking herself for telling him about the bricks. Of course Anthony would think the "handyman" and "Mr. Langley" were human—they'd looked human. And his thinking they were human worked just fine until it came to those "humans" doing magical things. If she told him that the aliens could look human, he might wind up walking around scared of everyone because virtually anyone could be an alien. Me and my big mouth, she sighed. Here she'd taken a vow of silence, then promptly broken it with the alien woman this morning. Her vow of silence with Anthony had disappeared a long time ago, but she had been very careful not to say too much. Now she realized that even if she didn't say much at any one time, little bits leaked out over a period of time could add up to...well, saying too much. Anthony was smart; he'd put it together. No more, Dee though fiercely. No more careless admissions, no more currency lessons, no more answering unfamiliar voices. From now on, she was going to be as silent as a monk.

Another set of fireworks burst, three chrysanthemums in red, white, and blue, and the crowd below burst into applause. They were even better this year than last. Too bad James wasn't here to see them.

*Urza was quite taken with this event,* came a wondering voice in her mind, *and I never understood why. Now, I can safely say I do.*

Dee's eyes closed, momentarily blotting out the fireworks, the rooftop, Anthony......everything. This voice was safe to answer. This voice she knew.



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

I'll post Chapter 92 next Sunday.

Chapter 75

Well, I just finished chapter 75, and it was as good as it always has been! :D You portray so well how things used to be once upon a time when life was simpler (Well, I guess Emily Proctor wasn't thinking it was so simple, but...):

Outside, their street was quiet, with no trace of last night's theatrics. Later on, after their neighbors had returned from whatever Sunday services they attended, Emily knew there would be a steady parade of visitors wanting to hear the tale of what had happened last night and gawk over the damage to their house. Well....perhaps "gawk" was an uncharitable word. Most of the neighbors would appear with some kind of food so she wouldn't have to cook for awhile, along with offers of assistance or materials to repair the damage. Most likely the window would be fixed by nightfall.

People used to be like that, at least in the south. I remember my Grandmother telling me how when a neighbor's barn burned down, everybody pitched in and helped rebuild it. Community was more in touch back then. I barely know my neighbors now. But that's hardly surprising when people move in and back out in a year or two. Nobody stays put, and nobody cares to know anybody around them.

I was shocked when Emily dumped the dust, but it was in character... particularly under the circumstances... and it being a hunter...

Emily went to the kitchen closet and pulled the bag off the vacuum cleaner. There hadn't been time to empty it last night, and besides, the bag itself had been the safest receptacle for the alien dust they wanted no one to find. Now she had other ideas. Carrying the bag to the back porch, she opened the door, wincing as the cold wind blew right through her nightgown. But she'd found what she wanted—the puddle that always formed just to the left of the door. She flipped the bag over and shook it, watching with satisfaction as the contents plopped into the puddle, dissolved....and disappeared.

And this is so true! It's what I keep saying all the time! I wish certain people would remember it sometimes!

"Exactly," Wilcox interrupted. "People don't serve the law; the law serves the people. This is where you're losing your way, Deputy. The law doesn't exist in its own right. Its only authority is the protection of the people it serves, and when it fails at that task, our first duty is to correct that failure by protecting the people instead of the law."

Great chapter, Kathy!

Chapter 76

Woohoo! Hee! I loved the kids' awe at all the bullet holes!

Wow!" Peter repeated, peering into another bullet hole, virtually beside himself with awe. "That deputy actually shot a gun off in your house! That is just so neat!"

And this sounded foretelling to me (The last line particularly):

"Don't worry, Corporal," Pierce said kindly. "I'll take care of it—humanely, of course. I'll use a lethal injection; it'll probably still be unconscious at that point, and if it isn't, it'll just think it's another dose of serum. It'll never feel a thing."

"No, sir," Brisson whispered as the door closed behind Pierce. "And neither will you."

And now we have Anthony Evans, who's upset because he called Valenti. Hmmm. Evans. Now that just has to be somebody from Philip's past. His father?

"You made this mess, Evans," he said severely to his own reflection, "so you'll have to clean it up."

Oh, and I enjoyed all the pains they're going through to try to find a way to identify an alien! But Pierce makes me shudder. He's up to no good.

Chapter 77

Yikes! Brivari just sneaked up and surprised Emily Proctor! That has danger written all over it!

I loved how Valenti is piecing everything together!

"He locked Brazel up for a week?" Valenti repeated. "On what grounds?"

McMahon shot him a pitying look. "This is Cavitt we're talking about, Jim. You met him last night. Cavitt doesn't need 'grounds'."

"Do you mean to tell me," Valenti said slowly, "that he basically kidnapped Mr. Brazel with no formal charges, no due process, no anything?"

"Nothing," McMahon confirmed. "Took us most of a day to even find out where Brazel was. He just disappeared. His wife was going nuts. Guess the guy didn't get a phone call either."

"So how did Wilcox get him out?"

"Wilcox is no slouch when it comes to leaning on people," McMahon noted. "I don't know what he did, but if I were him, I would have threatened to go public. The Army already had a black eye about their famous 'weather balloon', and holding Brazel made everyone think twice about that story. Why hold a man over a weather balloon? Keeping Brazel was giving the lie to their own story."

Jesus, Valenti thought, leaning back in his chair, his doughnut forgotten. Is this what was going to happen to the Proctors if Cavitt got wind of what had really happened last night? Were they going to just disappear too? For that matter, what would happen to the Brazels? They didn't appear to have had anything to do with last night's events, but Cavitt had still tried anything he could think of to get into their house.

And I loved the conversation on the phone with Anthony Evans, too!

"Valenti!" someone called from across the room. "Phone's for you. Says it's urgent."

Still stunned, Valenti picked up the phone on his desk. "Hello?"

"Are you going to tell on Dee?" an angry voice demanded on the other end of the line.

And this:

"They'll find what they need at shoe stores," the alien repeated, before picking up the hammer and heading back to the spot where he'd been working earlier.

Ah! The old flouroscope. I think that's what it was called. Stick your foot on it and see the bones! Who knew about radiation effects back then! I actually remember seeing one of those in a shoe store when I was about 4 years old. I wanted to see my foot skeleton, but they weren't using it anymore, and I couldn't use it. I guess by then they knew radiation had cumulative effects. Apparently, they had kept it there all those years but stopped using it.

And back to Anthony vs Valenti:

"Dee heard you. She heard everything."

Of course she did, Valenti thought wearily. Of all the people available to overhear that particular conversation, young Miss Proctor was the worst. "If she heard everything, then she knows I didn't do it," Valenti said firmly.

Good point Valenti made, though!

And he is getting good at piecing those parts of the puzzle together!

The Proctors hadn't been caught off guard—they'd known trouble was coming and the nature of that trouble, which explained David's plea not to shoot, his cryptic comment, "They'd love it if you did their dirty work for them', and the fact that he knew how many assailants there were. Whatever the Proctors had been protecting had protected them in turn, advising them to hide. And he'd gone blundering right into the middle of it, pulling one of them out of the attic and into harm's way.

Loved it!

Hi Gerry! You've been busy! :mrgreen:

Island Breeze wrote: I remember my Grandmother telling me how when a neighbor's barn burned down, everybody pitched in and helped rebuild it. Community was more in touch back then.

I hear you. Both of my parents grew up in a small town, and the life they describe is very different from what I know. Then again, they both say they could have used a bit more privacy back then. I remember mentioning to a friend of mine that I wished for closer neighbors on our street, and she went off on a tear about how intrusive her neighbors were and how lucky I was to live where I did. I guess the grass really is always greener on the other side of the fence!

And this is so true! It's what I keep saying all the time! I wish certain people would remember it sometimes!

*Sigh* So do I. I resort to fanfiction and put words in charcters' mouths that I would like hear.

And now we have Anthony Evans, who's upset because he called Valenti. Hmmm. Evans. Now that just has to be somebody from Philip's past. His father?

At the end of Book 2, Anthony and Dee told each other that they each hated their middle names: Maximillion and Isabel.

Ah! The old flouroscope.

You've seen one? Cool! I read about those somewhere or other before I started writing, and I remember thinking that that could have been the predecessor to Pierce's computerized x-ray in our day.

Thanks for all the feedback! I'm really glad you're still enjoying the story.



CHAPTER NINETY-TWO



July 4, 1948, 9:45 p.m.

Fourth of July Festival, Corona



The first thought that went through Dee's mind when she heard Brivari's voice was one of relief that he was still alive. Her second thought was that he might not stay that way.

*You have to get out of here!* she said urgently, the most recent of her many vows of silence forgotten like the others. *The others are around here somewhere, and they're looking for you!*

*I am aware of that,* Brivari answered calmly, *although I am curious as to how you knew.*

*I....I heard something today,* Dee said, which wasn't exactly a fib. No need to go into how she'd snacked and chatted with one of his enemies. *But why are they here? Why are you here? Did something happen?*

*Something did,* Brivari confirmed. *I have dispensed with another hunter, which is no doubt causing consternation in certain quarters.*

*Wow!* Dee exclaimed, twisting from her cross-legged position onto her knees and drawing a smile from Anthony who was probably writing off her excitement to the fireworks which Dee was barely noticing. *So now there are only two, right?*

* 'Only' two, yes,* Brivari said dryly. *I had hoped that dismay over the hunter's death would give me a window to visit everyone, but I see my movements have been anticipated. But no matter. How are you faring?*

*We're fine,* Dee answered. *Deputy Valenti never said anything about what happened the night the first hunter died because Major Cavitt tried to kidnap him.*

*Did he, now?* Brivari said with a touch of amusement. *I imagine that was instructive for the enforcer.*

*And Daddy still wonders if you're okay. And Mama's glad—*

Dee stopped dead, suddenly tongue-tied. "And Mama's glad" what? And Mama's glad you're gone, was the technically correct statement that came to mind. Not entirely true, but true enough to be embarrassing.

*And your mother is enjoying the relative peace and quiet my absence has brought her,* Brivari finished.

*It's not that she doesn't care,* Dee assured him hastily. *She doesn't want anything bad to happen to you, she just....well.....*

*I do not begrudge your mother her peace,* Brivari answered. *She has been fighting a war of her own these past several years, and she deserves a respite.*

*But....the war ended three years ago,* Dee replied, confused.

*War can take various forms,* Brivari noted, *and the personal varieties are no less painful.*

Dee tucked her knees under her chin again as the fireworks finale began, one firework after another bursting in rapid succession. She had no idea what Brivari was talking about, but she was used to that. Grown-ups of any species were noted for making cryptic announcements. *At least she made up with Daddy,* she commented as Anthony bounced up and down with excitement beside her, completely unaware that she was carrying on a conversation with someone else. *At least I think she did. She's learning to shoot Daddy's gun. Mac's teaching her.*

There was a long pause before Brivari spoke again. *Indeed?* he said, a faint note of surprise in his voice. *I'm impressed.*

*Mac says not to talk to her about it,* Dee reported.

*Advice you would be wise to heed.*

*He also said she and Daddy aren't talking about it either.*

*No, I would imagine they're not,* Brivari replied. *Which might be best at this point.*

That's what Mac said, Dee thought with annoyance. Sometimes it felt like all grown-ups went to Grown-Up School and learned the same answers to kid's questions. *So have you seen Jaddo?* she asked, changing the subject. *Is he all right?*

*I am headed there next,* Brivari replied, still perfectly audible as the finale neared its final crescendo. A very handy feature of telepathic speech was that it was not muffled by outside noise. *And I must make certain the others don't follow.*

*So....they're here?* Dee asked.

*All six of them,* Brivari confirmed.

Six of them. The crowd applauded below her as fireworks continued to burst, and she shivered to think that there were six enemy aliens wandering around down there looking every bit as human as she did. Five, she corrected herself silently. Malik wasn't an enemy. Still, she didn't think five versus six would mean a thing to her mother if she found out. *But won't they see you leave?* she asked.

*I can leave undetected,* he replied, *but I need more than that—I need to make certain they stay here for some time after I leave. I shall have to employ a distraction.*

*You mean like the windows?* Dee asked warily, remembering the "distraction" Brivari had used when River Dog had been hurt and trying to imagine the look on her Mama's face if all the school windows were to break simultaneously.

*Nothing that dramatic,* Brivari said. *Something that my people will recognize, but that will not alarm yours.* He paused. *Almost time. Please give my regards to your parents.*

*What are you going to do?* Dee asked in alarm.

No answer. *Wait! What's going to happen?* she called again, rearing up on her knees just like Anthony was, but for a very different reason. *What are you going to do?*

The last of the fireworks exploded in the sky, their sparkling trails sliding down as the crowd below roared its approval. Anthony was clapping furiously and Dee joined in half-heartedly, completely distracted by wondering what Brivari was up to. Seconds later, the smoke began to clear, and the sound of folding lawn chairs and closing picnic baskets was audible even from the roof. It was over.

"Those were great!" Anthony said enthusiastically, climbing to his feet. "And this was the best spot to watch them from."

"Yeah," Dee said, trying to sound interested, "it was—"

A soft chunk sounded in the distance, the same sound the fireworks made when they were launched. "Did they miss one?" Anthony wondered, peering into the sky. The din from the crowd had waned, and Dee could see people pausing, staring up at the sky just like Anthony. A moment later, another firework burst....but the sparkling trails didn't spray into a circle or rain down into a chrysanthemum. Instead, they rocketed into a specific shape: The shape of the letter "V".

"Neat!" Anthony exclaimed. "I didn't know they could make letters! Too bad they couldn't do that back when everyone was making "V" signs for 'victory'."

But Dee said nothing, just stared open-mouthed at the familiar shape. Of course everyone would only see it as a "V", a letter of their alphabet and the symbol of the Allies triumph in the war. But she didn't see a "V"; she saw five stars blazing through the window of the ship in her dream. Five suns, with Antar's sun at the point. And there were six people below who saw exactly what she did.



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



"Beautiful," Emily murmured as she lay on her back on the blanket, staring up at the sky.

"Mmmhm," David replied from his position beside her.

"Who was Dee watching with?"

"Anthony," David answered. "She said they had a really neat viewing spot."

Fireworks continued to burst in the sky above as Emily stretched, her hands behind her head. What a perfect evening. The blazing heat of the day had ebbed. The mosquitoes had found someone else to bother. David had tomorrow off from work. Good food, good friends, good conversation.....and last, but not least, no aliens.

Emily shifted slightly, feeling that prickle of guilt that always accompanied any thought of Brivari or his people. It had taken her a good month to calm down after last December's antics, to stop fearing a knock at the door or a bump in the night. Then sometime in the spring, it had occurred to her that several weeks had gone by without her once thinking of the aliens. Brivari was gone, Valenti was chastened, Cavitt had come up empty-handed, and David was not likely to follow in his brother's lethal footsteps. She and her family were free in a way they hadn't been since last July....and that freedom left her feeling guilty. She wished the aliens well—she really did. She truly hoped that they managed to take their royal family back and fix whatever needed fixing. But as much as she hoped everything would work out for them, she didn't want to be part of that fixing. She'd already done that on her own world.

"So how are the lessons going with Mac?" David asked.

Emily turned her head to look at him. "You're asking me that now? In the middle of the fireworks?"

David shrugged. "The fireworks made me think of it. They use gun powder to set them off, you know."

"Nice try," Emily said dryly. "The lessons are going just fine, thank you."

"Mac says you're quite the shot."

"If you've already been talking to Mac about this, why are you asking me?"

"I wasn't talking to Mac. He just happened to mention that you're really good. He's proud of you."

"I don't consider operating a lethal weapon something to be proud of," Emily said.

David chuckled. "Half the guys in my unit would've given their eyeteeth to shoot like Mac says you do."

"Good for them."

"Em—"

"David, don't," Emily interrupted. "Just because I'm learning to shoot doesn't mean I've changed my opinions about guns. Okay, maybe James would have killed himself some other way, but he chose to pull that trigger because it was fast and easy and, according to you, painless. And maybe if he hadn't had access to such an easy and painless death, he would have thought about it more. Maybe if he'd had to choose between living or dying a slow, painful death, he would have chosen to live. Guns may have their uses, but most of the time they're just too powerful and too easy. It's way too easy to shoot first and ask questions later."

Several more fireworks burst before David said anything. "So then why are you learning to shoot?"

Because I scared myself, Emily thought silently. Because she really had intended to use that gun on Valenti if she'd had to. Because she knew it was there, tucked away on the closet shelf, and should the need arise, she knew she wouldn't be able to resist for the same reasons James hadn't been able to resist: It was powerful and easy. "Because I decided you were right," she said out loud to David. "I just said guns have their uses. Under the circumstances—our circumstances—I might have to defend our family. I hope to God that time doesn't come, but if it does, I want to know how to do that."

"From the sounds of things, you do," David said quietly. "And I must admit that I feel better knowing that you know how to use it. Just in case......well......you know."

"Let's not talk about that now, okay?"

David slipped his arm around her, and she slid sideways to lean her head on his shoulder. "Okay."

The finale started, several fireworks bursting at once overhead. A couple of minutes later, the last booms died out and applause rumbled through the crowd. David and Emily pushed themselves into sitting positions and joined in the clapping as the lights came back on around the school yard. "Wonderful every year!" bellowed old Mr. Rothman at his customary hundred decibels. "Just keeps getting' better' n' better!"

"They were lovely," Emily smiled, starting to gather up the remains of their picnic as David folded up the lawn chairs.

Another thunk sounded, and everyone turned. "Must have been one that didn't go off," David commented. Every head was looking skyward when the firework went off, and a collective gasp rose from the crowd at what they saw, followed by thunderous applause.

"Did'ja see that?" Mr. Rothman yelled, climbing out of his lawn chair with difficulty. "Did'ja? How'd they do that? Musta saved it for the very end!"

Mr. Rothman continued to enthuse and the crowd continued to applaud, with the exception of David and Emily. Both were staring at the sky, transfixed, as the familiar symbol hung in the air much longer than any other firework.

"David?" Emily said stiffly. "Tell me that's not what I think it is."



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



As the crowd below burst into applause for the wonderful new firework, Dee crept toward the edge of the roof and looked down. The lights had come on and people were on their feet, clapping and pointing at the "letter" in the sky, oblivious to what it meant. She scanned the crowd carefully, working in sections, her eyes swinging from one smiling group to another. Gradually the applause died down and everyone began packing up to go home.

"Shouldn't we go back down?" Anthony said behind her.

"In a minute," Dee said tightly, still looking. Everyone was packing, or chatting, or laughing....everyone, that is, but a small group near the pony rides, who were looking frantically this way and that, heads swinging sharply from side to side. One, two, three, four, five.....six, Dee counted, swallowing hard. Five men and one woman. Could that really be Brivari's enemies? They were a ways away from her parents, so with any luck, she could get back down there and leave right away.

And then one of the six looked toward the roof. One moment their eyes locked, and the next she was scrambling away from the edge. "C'mon!" she called frantically to Anthony. "We have to go!"

"Wait!" he exclaimed as she bolted for the door to the stairs. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

But Dee wasn't listening. She was careening toward the stairs, heedless of the noise she was making, Anthony scrambling to follow. Outside, outside, she chanted silently, willing herself to go faster, to reach the relative safety of the crowd as she hit the bottom of the stairs and bolted through the door into the hallway, skidding to a stop a second later.

A man stood toward the far end of the hall, absolutely still, blocking her path. Dee whirled around, panting, realizing that she was trapped. Behind her, the hall was a dead end; the stairs only led to the roof. The only way out was forward and around the corner, which meant the only way out was past him. This made the second year in a row that she'd been cornered by a nasty piece of work at this very festival, even if it was a different species this time.

But at least this time she wasn't alone. Anthony flew through the doorway, narrowly avoiding a collision. He stared at her in consternation for a moment before following her gaze down the hall. "We got lost," he said promptly, obviously thinking it was just some adult who'd discovered them lurking where they shouldn't be. "We're not used to this side of the school because it's the high school side, and we took a wrong turn. We're sorry."

"Where is he?" the man demanded angrily.

"Where is who?" Anthony asked, confused.

*I don't know,* Dee answered telepathically, her eyes darting left and right, looking for another escape route. Through a classroom, maybe? But they'd never make it out a window in time....

"Where is he?" the man bellowed furiously, as Anthony flinched.

*I said I don't know!* Dee said desperately. *I—*

"Tell me where he is!" the man shouted, striding down the hallway toward them as they both backed up until they hit the wall.

"Who?" Anthony repeated, his eyes swinging back and forth between her and the man.

"I don't know!" Dee shouted, abandoning telepathic speech in her fright. He was only a few feet away now, close enough to see in the light from the window behind them. She already knew she wouldn't recognize the face, but she certainly recognized the sheer rage on that face. "I don't know where he is, but he's not here!"

"Oh, yes he is," the man retorted, his voice ragged with hatred. "Only he would place the royal mark in your stinking sky. He's taunting us, trying to make us run around in circles looking for him. Well, I won't play his games!" he hissed, stepping closer as Dee and Anthony pressed against the wall. "You will tell me where he is and what he's told you if I have to stay here all night and drag it out of you!"

"What if that's what he wants?" Anthony said suddenly.

Silence. The man's furious eyes swung toward Anthony. "I mean....well.....you said he was trying to make you play games," Anthony elaborated hurriedly. "What if he knew you'd come here? What if he's counting on you staying here while he's out there? If you're in here, that means there's one less person looking for him right now......right?"

More silence. The man stared at Anthony, his face twisting, clearly not having considered this possibility. Dee took advantage of his hesitation to hammer the point home further. "Or maybe he wants to get you alone so he can take care of you himself. You and I both know what he can do," she added, trying to sound confident and knowing instead of scared senseless.

The man's eyes flew around the hallway, his head cocked, listening, as a new emotion joined the hatred on his face: Fear. A moment later, he whirled around and slammed through the door to the maintenance closet, heading noisily up the stairs toward the roof.

"Where's he going?" Anthony asked as Dee sagged against the wall with relief. "There's no way off the roof."

"There is for him," Dee whispered. "Let's go."

They took off down the hall and around the corner, drawing curious stares from people using the bathrooms. As they cleared the doors into the blessedly noisy crowd, Anthony started to run.

"No!" Dee protested, yanking him to a stop. "Just walk."

"But what if there are more of them?" Anthony said.

"That's exactly why we shouldn't run," Dee explained. "I don't have what they want, so if they're watching us, I don't want them to think I'm hiding something. Besides," she added, "I can't just run up to my parents. Then they'll know something's wrong."

Anthony's eyes widened. "You mean you're not going to tell them?"

"Not yet. Look," she said hurriedly as Anthony began to object, "the best thing we can all do right now is act normal, and what do you think is going to happen if I run up to my parents and tell them? They won't act normal, I can promise you that. And the last time something like this happened, Mama flipped and had a huge fight with Daddy. If this works the way I think it will, they'll watch me and my family for a little while, realize we don't know anything, and go away."

"Okay," Anthony said doubtfully. "Let's go."

"We should split up," Dee said. "You go to your family, I'll go to mine."

"No way!" he protested. "I'm not leaving you until you're back with your parents! And don't bother arguing," he interrupted, as she began to do just that. "You'd only be wasting your breath." He slipped his arm through hers, pulling her forward. "I don't care if there's a hundred of them, I'm not leaving you alone. And later on, when this is all over, you can tell me who's chasing whom and what the heck a 'royal mark' is."



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



Eagle Rock Military Base




"Fold."

"Fold."

A heavy sigh. "I fold," Lieutenant Ernstberger said sadly.

"I'm in," Spade said pleasantly, throwing a bill into the pot. "Kuhn?"

Every pair of eyes shifted between Captain Kuhn and Spade, the only two left in the game. Spade kept his pleasant expression firmly in place as Kuhn eyed him warily, trying to decide if he was bluffing. Kuhn could bid, in which case the game would be called and both remaining players would show their hands, or fold, in which case Spade would win the pot.

Kuhn studied Spade for several very long seconds before his eyes drifted to the very small pile of cash left in front of him. "I fold," he said finally, tossing his cards down with an air of disgust. "This better be good, Spade. I had a full house."

Spade grinned and set his cards down. "Two pair."

Kuhn spat out an epithet that would have made a sailor blush as everyone else at the table erupted in a chorus of congratulation. "Jesus Christ Almighty!" Kuhn thundered. "That was one hell of a bluff!"

"Aw, you're just mad that you lost to a lowly Lieutenant," Ernstberger needled.

"Am not!" Kuhn retorted. "Where the hell did you get a poker face like that, Spade? You were never this devious before."

"Last time we played, I wasn't an officer," Spade said blandly, using both arms to rake in his haul.

"Yep, that'll do it," chuckled Ernstberger.

That and dealing with aliens, Spade thought, ignoring the ensuing argument as he sorted his considerable winnings into neat piles. The near constant lying of the past year had left him jaded, paranoid.....and much better at poker than he had been previously. Not much of a payoff, but one took what one could get.

"Another round?" Spade asked casually, to a general outpouring of disbelief.

"You must be kidding!" Kuhn said bitterly. "No way am I letting you screw me over again!"

"I didn't 'screw you over', sir," Spade said evenly. "I won fair and square. If you'd bet, you would have won. That's a choice you made."

Uncomfortable silence fell over the table as Kuhn and Spade stared one another down. Finally, Kuhn backed off. "I suppose so," he said gruffly. "Just never been hoodwinked like that." He stood up. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen."

"Sheesh!" muttered a soldier after he'd walked away. "Sore loser."

"You've got balls, standing up to him like that," Ernstberger commented.

I've got enough balls for all of us, Spade thought as he nodded a good night to his departing fellow players. Chalk it up to another side effect of the past year—the unwillingness to take shit from anyone, including superior officers. Even over poker.

"You off tonight?" Ernstberger asked as Spade stuffed his winnings into his pocket.

"Nope."

"Too bad. I'm off to Roswell. Heard there was going to be quite a few goings on down there, some kind of 'crash festival' celebrating what everyone thinks happened last year. All kinds of UFO nuts and such. Thought I'd check it out."

"Have fun," Spade said, musing silently on how many people currently stationed here genuinely didn't know that there was both an alien ship and a live alien on this very base. Over the past year, most of those who knew the truth and weren't stationed at the compound had been quietly reassigned and no doubt thoroughly threatened if they talked. All that was left besides those assigned to the compound were a group of engineers and technicians working on the aliens' ship, housed in a well-guarded hangar. A year ago, every soldier on this base either knew or suspected that the weather balloon story was bogus. Now, most of them thought it was fact.

Spade stepped out of the building into the muggy July air, noting the small number of jeeps in a nearby parking lot. Lots of soldiers were off tonight, it being a holiday. He was supposed to have been off tonight, but Malik's visit had changed those plans. Despite his refusal to be a messenger boy, he harbored no hope that Malik would voluntarily approach Brivari and had no intention of leaving Brivari unwarned. He seriously doubted Brivari would risk showing up here again, but if he did, Spade wanted to be here. Which is why he had eschewed fireworks and festivals for meandering around the base, making himself as visible and available as possible. Not that he hadn't enjoyed his own personal fireworks show earlier today, and from a very familiar source.

"I need to talk to you, sir," Private Walker had announced earlier this afternoon, plopping down across from him in the compound's mess hall where Spade had been grabbing a cup of coffee.

"Sure," Spade had replied, his voice level and his heart heavy. Walker had walked a wide and typically sullen circle around Spade ever since he'd told Walker about the "possibility" of the dog being an alien, and Spade had privately enjoyed the respite. But all good things came to an end, as his respite apparently was now.

"Vallone's sick," Walker announced.

"I heard," Spade answered. "Dr. Pierce says it's some kind of stomach flu."

"Whatever," Walker said impatiently, with his typical concern for his fellow man. "The point is, he had a pass to go off base tonight."

"And?" Spade asked, knowing exactly where this was going and bracing himself for the worst.

"And now he can't use it," Walker said. "So can I have it?"

"Private, you know that passes are issued for specific personnel—"

"What difference does that made?" Walker interrupted. "Vallone was going, now he's not. There was going to be one less man here tonight anyway, and if I go instead, there's still one less man here."

"—so Vallone's pass was for him alone," Spade finished. "They're not generic, and they're not transferable. And if you or anyone else goes out tonight, there'll be two less men because Vallone's in no shape to fight."

"Fight what?" Walker demanded. "Nothing's happened since the last time the aliens attacked. What makes you think something'll happen tonight?"

"What makes you think it won't?" Spade countered. "Look," he continued as Walker started to work up a head of steam, "there are rules about how many people can be off base at the same time which make for very few slots and lots of competition for those slots, especially on holidays. The guys who are off tonight applied months ago—"

"Like I couldn't!" Walker broke in angrily. "Because I was restricted to the compound for two months and then the base for another two months! Cavitt wouldn't accept an application until my punishment was over, so the first time I can get off base is in September! And all because I got hit over the head by an alien!"

"No," Spade had said evenly, "you were punished because you had a bottle of alcohol in your pocket. The base is dry accept for designated areas."

"Like hell it is!" Walker exploded, drawing stares from nearby tables.

"Keep your voice down, Private, or this conversation is over," Spade had said stonily.

Walker had glared at him in silence for a moment before leaning in closer. "Everybody knows the base isn't dry!" he hissed. "That's not what's going on here. Cavitt blames me. You blame me. You all blame me for what happened, like I let them in, even though I was out cold and didn't know what the hell was going on!"

"Bullshit," Spade said bluntly. "Everybody knows how much you hate aliens, so no one thinks you 'let them in'. This isn't about blame, it's about you being drop dead stupid and breaking a rule the very moment your ass cleared the door. Here we'd been locked down for months, and you know just as well as anyone else what a hardass Cavitt is, and you go and piss him off and jeopardize the freedom we'd only just won because you don't think rules apply to you."

"I wasn't planning on getting caught!" Walker had protested. "If it hadn't been for that alien—"

"Don't you mean 'that dog'?"

"What is it with you and the dog?" Walker exclaimed in exasperation. "Even Pierce says the dog couldn't have been an alien!"

"And I think Pierce could be wrong," Spade had answered. "I told him so myself, I warned you about the possibility of the dog being an alien, and I asked you if you'd seen it."

"And I told you I hadn't," Walker said firmly.

"In other words, you lied."

Walker's face had flushed. "That dog was the only good thing that's happened to me here," he ground out, "and you won't even let me have that. Fine! Have your little fantasies. The point is, it's the alien's fault that anyone found out about the bottle in my pocket."

"Right. It's always someone else's fault, isn't it?" Spade had said sarcastically. "I hate to burst your bubble, but your restriction was your fault. If you hadn't had the bottle in your pocket, you wouldn't have been punished. That had nothing to do with the attack."

"Like hell it didn't!" Walker had shouted, rising to his feet, capturing the attention of virtually everyone in the room. "You all blame me, don't you? You'd all rather have me dead and that idiot Treyborn alive, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you? Admit it!" he'd bellowed at Spade as Spade rose to his feet. "You'd rather have me dead than him, right? Right?"

"I'll admit that just as soon as you admit that you don't give a shit that Treyborn's dead," Spade had said, keeping his voice level but still loud enough for everyone to hear.

Silence. Walker's head had swiveled left and right, taking in the expressions on the faces staring at them, expressions that ranged from startled to neutral to......angry. Many men still blamed Walker for the ease with which the aliens had breached security. They assumed that Walker's being drunk had made him easy prey, not to mention the focus of Cavitt's subsequent attempts to reinstate the hated lockdown. He was ultimately unsuccessful, but everyone was acutely aware of how close they'd come to losing what they'd only just regained. Only Spade knew that Walker wasn't as culpable as most assumed, that the aliens would have come one way or another, that Cavitt would have used the attack as an excuse to try to resurrect the lockdown anyway. So Spade had walked an uneasy tightrope between Walker and the rest of his men, trying to smooth out the tensions and having a hard time of it because Walker was a tough person to defend even when he deserved defending.

"You all wish it was me instead of Treyborn," Walker whispered, ignoring what Spade had said as everyone in the mess stared at him. "Well, y'all just keep wishing. Maybe someday those monsters will come back and finish what they started. That's what you all want, isn't it?"

Jesus, Spade had sighed as Walker stormed out of the room and low level muttering set in from the rest of the men. Maybe he should get Pierce to talk to Walker. He kept forgetting that Pierce was a psychiatrist because Pierce seemed to practice little psychiatry these days, or medicine, for that matter. Virtually all of John's time was given over to producing intelligence for Washington, making him unavailable for the kind of testing Pierce had performed at the beginning of his captivity.

Now Spade stuffed his hands in his well-moneyed pockets and headed back toward the compound. There were few people about, most probably off at various Fourth of July celebrations. It was a lovely night for fireworks, with little wind and lots of stars, and he was briefly sorry he'd decided to stay on the base. He was walking by an alley between two buildings when the lone light halfway down suddenly went out.

Stopping short, Spade stared up at the dark light parked on top of one of the buildings halfway down the alley. Did a bulb just blow out, or was it....something else? He peered down the alley, squinting in the darkness, wondering why it looked so familiar.....and then he remembered. This was the alley where he'd found Brivari the night he and John had rescued the sacs.

Spade pulled a flashlight from his pocket, now standard issue in the compound, and headed slowly down the alley, his shoes crunching on the dirt as he walked. He hadn't been back here since that awful night a year ago, and it hadn't changed, save for the repaired section of wall through which the aliens had escaped at the very end of the alley. The room where the doctors had been working on the sacs was just on the other side of that wall. He swung his flashlight around the end of the alley, remembering how angry he'd been about West's and Belmont's deaths, how he'd run to look at their bodies and discovered the handprints were false. Bad memories, all, and he turned to leave.

A man stood behind him, several feet away. Spade caught just a glimpse of him before his flashlight flickered out.

"How very appropriate that we should meet here," Brivari said, "where it all began."


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

I'll post Chapter 93 next Sunday.

Chapter 78

I Had to smile at Emily Proctor's relief at seeing Brivari again.

Emily Proctor stared at Brivari, ignoring the dishwater dripping from her hands onto her kitchen floor. He was sitting in the same chair Mac had vacated only minutes before, watching her steadily. "Where have you been?" she demanded in the tone a parent uses toward an absent child. "We were worried sick!

Then again when Brivari referred to them as mates. And Brivari's puzzled response to her reply!

" 'Husband'," Emily corrected, annoyed that David's gun was being sanctioned for the second time today. "He's not my 'mate', he's my 'husband'."

Brivari blinked. "You have not mated?"

Dee knows River dog!

"Down south," David said. "Right by the Indian Reservation."

"Indians?" Dee said. "You mean Bright Sun's and River Dog's people?"

When I read the part about the necklace, I thought of the necklace or pendant Isabel found in the geodesic dome house. Could it be the same one?"

"Wait right here!" Dee ordered Brivari. "Don't go until I come back!" She pounded up the front staircase and disappeared, reappearing seconds later and pounding back down. "Here," she said breathlessly, pressing something into Brivari's hand. "This is Bright Sun's necklace. She gave it to me after you helped us when all those boys beat up on her brother. If you do meet any Indians, it may help."

And I enjoyed Valenti saying how he had committed perjury but that the truth felt worse than the lie in this case and it shouldn't be that way. So, he has scruples! He was obsessed, but he had scruples. That conversation with Anthony was cute. :D

I thought the information about the flouroscope at the link you provided was interesting! I remember it having three view ports. I had forgotten that. However, I remember it being taller... almost as tall as me. Maybe because I was only four years old or so. It probably was as tall as me. I was surprised it was still in use as late as 1970 in Canada and Great Britain, and that the injuries ascribed to it were only to the operators and were not many... considering the potential. I had an idea that it caused a lot of foot cancers or something, since it was banned.


Great chapter!

Chapter 79

Wow! So Cavitt has kidnapped Valenti and intends to make him disappear. Somehow I doubt that Cavitt would release him now even if he did give the deposition Cavitt wants. Ironically, it might fall on deaf ears with General Ramsey. Now Valenti gets to use his backup weapon. Good thing he thought of that back there. I hope it works, but it seems the odds are long and against him.

I knew Cavitt had to be up to something when he approached Valenti...

"I was trying to figure out what would have kept you from being honest with me," Cavitt said, "and it occurred to me that all of this must look very different from your perspective, concerned as you must be with the safety of your constituents. Given how little you know, my actions last night must seem inappropriate, if not downright predatory. And your comment earlier today about my being stingy with answers has not fallen on deaf ears. You are correct—if we are to work together, I have an obligation to take you fully into my confidence so that you may understand the magnitude of what we are facing. I failed to do that. In short, I asked you to trust me without trusting you in return. I would like to rectify my error."

But now I see why. He doesn't expect Valenti to ever be able to tell anyone what he finds out.

So they built the infamous white room!

Major Lewis has already been given his orders, and is no doubt on the way here with bells on. That jackass," Ramey added bitterly, staring through the window. "All this time he was building this room, and I looked at the plans and the requisition sheets and never realized what it would look like. It looks like a tomb, a blinding white tomb. What kind of a man builds a room like that?"

I have to say, I was glad Ramsey finally sobered up and decided to do the right thing. (That would be the same General Ramsey the Airforce base was named after I'm sure.)

"It's been my life," Ramey repeated softly. And then his face hardened, and his voice along with it. "And I'll be damned if I'll have cold-blooded murder be my swan song. Or my epitaph for that matter." He leaned forward in his chair. "Now.....what exactly did you have in mind?"

And I loved these parts:

"The duty of the military is to protect the state. The duty of the police is to protect the people—from the state, if necessary." This morning, Valenti had found that announcement of Wilcox's preposterous when the state in question was the United States of America; it was amazing how much perspective could change in just a few short hours. "Oh, yes," Valenti said grimly. "I can confidently say that for the first time today, my duty is clear."

"Oh, spare me," Cavitt interrupted sharply. "This isn't some cops and robbers radio show, where everyone is honorable and never gets their hands dirty. These are the big leagues, where you have to have the balls to do whatever's necessary to get the job done. If you want to play in the big leagues, Deputy, you'll have to grow up."

"Funny you should mention that," Valenti said grimly, whipping out the second, smaller pistol his gut had insisted he take with him. "Unfortunately for you, I think I just did."

Chapter 80

What a great chapter! I really didn't see that coming... the sheriffs rescuing Valenti! That was great! But they really did make a dangerous enemy.

And then the car abruptly slowed. "I told you to keep going!" Cavitt shouted at the hapless driver.

"I can't, sir!" the driver protested. "The road is blocked!"

"Then go around!" Cavitt ordered angrily.

"I can't, sir!" the driver repeated, slowing the car further still. "Look!"

Valenti's mouth dropped open as he saw three sheriff's cruisers through the windshield, blocking the road ahead. Standing in front of the cruisers were Alan McMahon, Tom Woods, and Sheriff Wilcox himself, all staring directly at Cavitt's car, which came to a halt only feet away from them.

I liked Valenti's responses to Cavitt trying to get him to lower his gun...

"I wouldn't be wasting time speculating about that, if I were you," Valenti said severely, holding his pistol steady. "All you need to worry about right now is that this gun is aimed squarely between your eyeballs. And since I'm screwed either way, as you've so handily pointed out, I'll take my chances with the criminal justice system. So if you'd like to live to commit bribery another day, then tell the driver to stop the car."

And I just knew somehow that Brivari would find his way in there with Yvonne.

What are these devices?

The "voice" crashed into Yvonne's mind suddenly, catching her completely by surprise. She glanced around the room, terrified that Brivari was standing somewhere out in the open, but she saw nothing. Beside her, Brisson continued to dither, apparently unable—or unwilling—to say exactly what he meant. Where are you? she asked frantically. You shouldn't be here!

Where I am is irrelevant, Brivari's voice answered. What are these devices, and what is their function? There is one at the entrance.

Going back to the part about making an enemy, I loved Wilcox's statement about having enemies in his position, but did Cavitt just tell the truth!? Yes, he would push to the front of the line, I fear!

"You've made an enemy today, Sheriff," Cavitt said in a deadly voice. "I hope you realize that."

"Oh, please," Wilcox answered with a broad smile. "You don't scare me, Major. I've been Sheriff of this county for the past quarter century, and no one holds a position like that without making enemies. You're at the end of a very long line."

"I have a habit of pushing to the front of the line," Cavitt said softly.

I figured it was Anthony who let Wilcox know that Valenti was in trouble.

"A call?" Valenti echoed. "From whom?"

"Don't know," McMahon answered, coming up behind Wilcox. "Sounded panicky. Sounded young. But I knew something was up because Cavitt had called you earlier," he added, smiling proudly as though he'd pulled off a great piece of detective work.

Evans, Valenti thought. So he hadn't run away after all. He must have hung around long enough to see him leave with Cavitt, and then called the Sheriff. He owed his life to a nine year-old boy.

Great chapter... again! Do I ever say anything else? That's because I haven't found one yet that wasn't. :D But I have to say, Valenti's rescue was a highlight!

Island Breeze wrote: When I read the part about the necklace, I thought of the necklace or pendant Isabel found in the geodesic dome house. Could it be the same one?"

The necklace Dee gave Brivari is one that Bright Sun (River Dog's little sister) gave to Dee as a "thank you" for defending her during the brief time that she and her brother attended Dee's school. The pendant Isabel found had been given to Vilandra by Rath. David Proctor found it in the trunk of his car after he helped move the pods to safety and returned it to the Warders. I assume it's in the pod chamber now. Eventually it will wind up with Atherton in Book 4.

So, he has scruples! He was obsessed, but he had scruples.

Yup, he has both scruples and obsessions....and he's young and inexperienced. Probably the worst this young version of Grandpa Valenti has had to deal with is petty theft. Cavitt is quite a step up from that!

I was surprised it was still in use as late as 1970 in Canada and Great Britain, and that the injuries ascribed to it were only to the operators and were not many... considering the potential.

Probably due to frequency of exposure. This is why dental assistants run out of the room when they're doing those "safe" dental x-rays.

(That would be the same General Ramsey the Airforce base was named after I'm sure.)

Roger Ramey was the (real) Commander of the Eighth Air Force, and his name showed up in research I did on the "real" crash. Technically, the Army base in this story should be an Air Force base. I tried that for quite awhile and finally abandoned it, largely because (1) it sounded like Stargate and (2) there are more references to the Army being the aggressor both in the show and from the fans. I ultimately decided the important thing was that the military was involved, and exactly which branch didn't matter.

I loved Wilcox's statement about having enemies in his position, but did Cavitt just tell the truth!? Yes, he would push to the front of the line, I fear!

He certainly would. And I'm going to bet that Cavitt made a dangerous enemy too--Valenti. If Valenti turns that single-minded, obsessive nature of his on Cavitt, he might find out a few things that Cavitt would rather he not know.


Thanks for all the feedback! I'm so glad you're still enjoying the story.





CHAPTER NINETY-THREE


July 4, 1948, 10 p.m.

Eagle Rock Military Base



"Jesus!" Spade sputtered, momentarily scared out of his wits. "Brivari? Is that you? Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"I wasn't trying to 'sneak up on you'," Brivari answered calmly. He was just a silhouette now, but the face Spade had glimpsed briefly had been the same face Brivari had worn when he'd left. "I arrived looking for you, and here is where you happened to be. I just found it.....ironic."

"Yeah? I'd call it weird," Spade muttered, shaking his flashlight half-heartedly, knowing it wouldn't work. "Look, you shouldn't be here. The others—"

"Are otherwise engaged," Brivari said, "for a short while at least. But you are correct that I have little time, so let us make good use of it." He paused. "Does Jaddo live?"

His voice was tight, floating out of the darkness from his silhouetted shape, and Spade realized with a start that Brivari really didn't know if his friend was alive. All of that had been in a state of upheaval when he'd had to run at the end of last year, and they'd had no contact with him since. "He's fine," Spade said hurriedly, "although no one's been certain he'll stay that way until just recently. General Ramey was ordered to kill him, and he refused. Ramey won that battle, but he had to use blackmail to do it. It got a bit tense for awhile."

" 'Just recently'? What happened 'just recently'?"

"John—Jaddo—helped build something our military has wanted for ages," Spade explained, "something that gives us the ability to see in the dark. He and Keyser—the guy who figured out your math system—made some kind of 'night vision device' that works better than anything we've had previously. The brass loved it. Ramey's on top of the world right now, and John will have to be kept alive if they want him to make more toys. Yvonne said the only problem now is coming up with something sufficiently interesting to top the night vision thing."

"That should not be a problem," Brivari answered, his voice more relaxed now that he knew all was well. "Jaddo and I discussed—or perhaps I should say argued—this point many times, that the best way to stay alive was to make him too valuable to kill."

Brivari stopped as footsteps crunched by the mouth of the alley, and Spade momentarily stiffened before realizing that no one could see them. The alley's one light was out, no doubt courtesy of Brivari, and although Spade's own eyes had adjusted somewhat to the very low light levels, no one would be able to see anything in the gloom from the mouth of the alley. "Are the 'x-rays' still deployed? Is there any way I can see him?" Brivari asked after the footsteps had died away.

"The x-rays are everywhere," Spade answered. "At the entrance, the stairs.....and right outside John's room. You could probably get inside the compound the same way you did before, whatever that was, but you couldn't get into John's room. Your bone structure would give you away."

"That is unfortunate," Brivari said quietly. "I had hoped....." He paused, his disappointment obvious. "I imagine I shall have to rely on you to convey my best wishes to Jaddo and let him know I am still alive."

"He knows. We already told him that you just killed another hunter."

"How did you know that?" Brivari asked sharply.

"Malik was here," Spade said.

The muggy summer night air was suddenly thick with a good deal more than just humidity. "Malik was here?" Brivari repeated coldly, moving closer to him, his feet making no sound. "When?"

"Earlier today," Spade answered carefully, resisting the urge to back away. "He told me you'd killed another hunter and that whoever he's working for expected you to come back here. He wanted me to warn you. And I—"

"Did he, now?" Brivari interrupted. "Do you have regular chats with traitors, Lieutenant?"

"And I told him I wouldn't," Spade continued, annoyance creeping into his voice. "I told him to talk to you himself. And just for the record, what exactly are you accusing me of?"

Brivari stared at him in silence, and Spade forced himself to return the stare, an easier task than usual as he could only partially see Brivari's features. "You can't trust him," Brivari said after a moment. "You do know that, don't you?"

Spade's eyebrows rose. "When did I say I trust him? I said I saw him. Big difference."

"You also listened to him," Brivari pointed out. "Another 'big difference'."

"Look, I have my problems with him," Spade admitted, "but so far, his information has been dead on. Malik warned us about the attack last December, which kept John from being captured. The next day he told us about the x-ray machines which gave Ramey the ammunition to keep John alive. And—"

"Yes, he does seem to have an interest in keeping Jaddo alive and captive in this facility, doesn't he?"

"And the next day, he came back and told us you'd escaped," Spade continued, his hackles rising at the sarcasm in Brivari's voice, "despite the fact that the night before, I threw him against the wall because I was mad that one of my men died in the attack."

"So you had a moment of clarity," Brivari said flatly. "Would that you had seen fit to expand on that brief burst of intuition."

"But why would he do that?" Spade demanded in exasperation. "Why would he deliberately foil an attack by his own people? Why would he come back just to tell me you'd gotten away?"

"Why do you think?" Brivari said impatiently. "To assure you of his sincerity. To win your trust. Which I regret to note he appears to be well on his way to doing."

"You weren't there!" Spade said hotly. "Everything happened just the way Malik said it would! He's not on their side!"

"Perhaps not," Brivari said, "but that doesn't mean he is on my side. Has it not occurred to you that Malik is on no one's side? That he has personal motives for wanting neither side to win the upper hand? The enemy of my enemy is still my enemy, Lieutenant. I shouldn't have to point that out to you."

More people walked by the dark mouth of the alley, oblivious to those at the end. Spade stared at Brivari, thunderstruck, remembering all of Malik's protestations that he was on no one's side but his own. Remembering how he'd shot Jaddo with the tranquilizer dart a year ago, resulting in his capture. Remembering how he'd shot Jaddo a second time during the aliens' attack, claiming that Jaddo stood a better chance of surviving captivity than anyone else who might have been captured. Remembering all the little things that had bothered him about Malik from the beginning, the worst being the nasty suspicion that he, Spade, was being manipulated just as deftly as everything and everyone else.

"But he told me that," Spade objected, trying to make sense of it. "He told me point blank that he was on his own side, not your king's side or the other guy's side. Wouldn't he have kept that to himself? Why would he tell me that?"

"Because the best lies contain large helpings of truth," Brivari said darkly, "which makes them all the more dangerous. What exactly did he say?"

"He said...." Spade stopped, trying to remember. "He said.....he said he was on the side of his race, not the side of anybody who wanted to rule it. At least I think that's what he said."

"That's it exactly," a voice said nearby. "So you were listening after all."

Spade whirled around in shock. He couldn't see the face, but the voice coming from the vague shape several feet away was all too familiar. A strangled sound behind him made him turn back around; Brivari's hand was up, palm out.

"No!" Spade shouted, planting himself between the two. "Stop!"



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


Fourth of July Festival, Corona



"David, what is that?" Emily asked tightly, staring at the "V" in the sky above them that was only just beginning to fade.

"It's a 'V'," David answered wonderingly. "I had no idea they could make letters like that."

Emily rubbed her arms as though she were cold as the crowd continued to applaud around them. "I know it's a 'V'," she said with a touch of impatience. "But I would have sworn I saw.....I would have sworn that was...."

"Was what?" David asked.

She leaned in closer. "One of their symbols."

"Really? The only symbol I remember is the swirling one Dee made in the backyard with the sticks."

Emily shook her head. "This is a different one. This was in the drawings Dee made last summer when she all of a sudden went crayon crazy. Don't you remember?"

"No," David frowned. "I remember seeing the swirling symbol but...." He paused and shook his head. "She drew so many pictures....are you sure? Why would they have a letter of our alphabet as one of their symbols?"

"I don't know," Emily said. "But I know I've seen that somewhere, and not just as 'V' for 'victory'. Where's Dee?" she added, looking around in agitation. "Did she say where she and Anthony would be?"

"I'm sure she's fine," David said soothingly. "She's probably—there she is."

Emily followed her husband's pointing finger through the crowds to see her daughter and Anthony walking toward them unhurriedly. "See?" David said. "She's fine. Welcome back!" he called to Anthony and Dee. "What'd you think of the fireworks?"

"Neat!" Anthony enthused, "especially that last one."

"Where were you?" Emily asked suspiciously.

"Over that way," Anthony answered promptly, pointing to a nondescript section of the school yard. "I know it doesn't look like much, but there are a lot fewer trees in the way."

"Are you all right?" Emily persisted, eyeing her daughter closely.

"Sure I am," Dee answered, looking confused. "Why? Is something wrong?"

Emily looked at David, who raised an eyebrow. "No," she said finally. "No, I just....I just didn't know exactly where you were. Next time be sure you tell us so we can find you if we have to."

"That was my fault," David interrupted hastily. "I didn't ask. Well—Anthony, I imagine your folks will want help carrying their things back to the car. Glad you enjoyed your first Fourth here. It's been a year now, right?"

"Yes sir," Anthony smiled. "We were on the road for the Fourth last year."

As they continued talking, Emily's eyes wandered over the festival grounds. Nothing seemed amiss. Everyone was chatting and laughing as they packed up their chairs and picnic baskets and blankets, save for the occasional overtired child being carried away in tears. Dee had started folding up the blanket Emily and David had been sitting on, stopping to talk to Mr. Rothman, who was waxing philosophic about what Fourth of July celebrations had been like when he was a child decades ago. I'm just paranoid, she thought, closing her eyes in relief. After everything that had happened, especially last year at this very festival without their having the faintest idea what was going on, she was just jumpy. She hadn't been jumpy for awhile now, and she found the sensation most unpleasant.

"Good night, Dee," Anthony was saying. "Good night Mr. and Mrs. Proctor."

"Good night," they all called as Anthony walked off through the crowd. Dee handed her mother the folded blanket, David hoisted the picnic basket, and they trooped off to their car along with the dozens of other families, seeing nothing the faintest bit unfamiliar along the way. By the time she actually settled into the passenger seat, Emily had relaxed. It had just been a fancy firework. No one else had been alarmed by it. Nothing strange had happened.

Nothing to worry about.



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



Eagle Rock Military Base



When Brivari's "firework" had burst in Earth's sky, the humans surrounding Malik and Marana had gasped—and so had Malik, albeit for different reasons. The humans saw a letter of their alphabet closely associated with their recent military conflict, a letter flashed repeatedly both in writing and with a hand gesture. But Malik saw something else: The royal mark, the definitive identifier of an Antarian king. And he wasn't the only one; Orlon had appeared within seconds of the "V" shape exploding in the sky, followed shortly by Amar and the hunters. As they'd all spun around in every direction looking for Brivari, Malik had been flummoxed by this latest stunt. Brivari was obviously here, which was not surprising, and had obviously managed to avoid detection. He could easily have slipped away, so why reveal himself? What advantage was he looking to gain from such a brazen announcement?

A moment later, Malik had his answer. *Find him!* Orlon had roared, furious at being taunted so openly. *No one leaves this place until they find him!*

Everyone scattered in different directions; Malik had made a half-hearted circuit of the festival area before heading for the human military base, having figured out the ruse. For all that Orlon knew Brivari's movements, Brivari clearly also knew Orlon's. He knew Orlon would be furious by that open declaration of his presence and thrash around trying to find him. And with all of them here as opposed to scattered as they had been earlier, this gave Brivari an opportunity to visit the base unwatched and unmolested....and Malik an opportunity to knock some sense into his head, if such a thing were possible. When he'd found Brivari and the human soldier in the alley, he'd meant to merely call from a safe distance, but then........well.......perhaps some of that human idealism was rubbing off on him. Perhaps the presence of his human ally might cause Brivari to hold back just long enough for Malik to get a word in edgewise. Perhaps if he just kept trying, Brivari would eventually listen out of sheer curiosity. Or perhaps......

Or perhaps, as the humans say, I could just flap my arms and fly to the moon, Malik thought with a heavy sigh. The human soldier stood between them now, both arms outstretched as though he thought he could prevent an attack. Brivari's human face was a mask of fury, his arm outstretched, palm forward, in the same gesture he had used to destroy the basement laboratory chamber in Copper Summit. "Don't!" the human ordered, in a tone no Antarian would ever have dared use with a Royal Warder, assuming they wanted to live, of course. "That's him! That's Malik!"

"You have no idea who that is," Brivari answered, his voice edged like a knife, "and neither do I until he identifies. Identify!" he ordered Malik, his palm still raised.

*What? Here?* Malik asked in surprise.

*Identify!* Brivari ordered. *Or you die where you stand!*

Malik's eyes flew around the dark alley, measuring the risk. The alley's only entrance was several yards away, the light levels too low for a human to see down this far. The base seemed emptier tonight, most likely due to larger numbers of soldiers being off at the various holiday festivals. All was quiet where they were now, the only sound being that of the human soldier's head swinging left and right in consternation. And identifying was certainly preferable to death.

*All right,* Malik said slowly. *Both of us together, then.*



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



Spade looked back and forth from Brivari to Malik in confusion and no small amount of annoyance. Neither moved nor said a word, or none that he could hear at any rate, after Brivari's order to "identify", whatever the hell that meant. He was about to launch into an announcement about how if Malik were here, the others were likely not far behind when the men on either side of him....changed.

Or perhaps "changed" was too mild of a word. "Shrank" was more descriptive, or "collapsed". As Spade watched in amazement, the forms on either side of him, both barely silhouettes in the darkness, collapsed into shapes little more than half their human height. Their heads inflated, their arms and fingers lengthened, their feet widened. All of this happened in a period of less than five seconds, at the end of which Spade found himself standing between two obvious aliens and on the verge of panic. What if someone saw them? How in the name of God would he ever explain this? Granted, it was dark, and he was grateful that darkness obscured their more alarming features, like those huge blank, black eyes, but even their silhouettes were unmistakable to anyone who hadn't been living in a cave for the past year.

Spade was just about to ask them if they'd both lost their minds when both suddenly reinflated, swooping up to human height as he breathed a sigh of relief. "Why the hell did you do that?" he demanded of Brivari. "I thought you people could identify each other on sight!"

"We can identify another of our race, but not the individual unless we assume our native forms," Brivari answered. "And now that we have both done so, I can finish the task at hand. One must always be certain of the identity of those one is executing."

"Executing?" Spade repeated in astonishment. "What the hell are you talking about? No one's executing anybody!"

"He is a traitor," Brivari said coldly, "and traitors must die. Step aside."

"He's the only reason John's still alive!" Spade exclaimed, not budging.

"He is also one of the reasons my Ward is dead," Brivari replied bluntly. "Step aside."

"Look, I've been trying to get him to talk to you," Spade argued. "He keeps saying you'll just kill him on sight, and I said you were smart enough not to do that!"

"Then it appears Malik knows me better than you do," Brivari said sharply, "which is not surprising. For the last time—step aside!"

Malik's voice floated from behind him. "It's all right, Lieutenant. He won't listen. I appreciate your efforts, but this isn't your fight. You needn't involve yourself."

"Wise advice. Move," Brivari commanded.

The tone of his voice pushed Spade over the edge. Malik had done exactly what Spade had asked of him, and now Brivari was behaving exactly as Malik had predicted. How could Brivari be this incredibly pig-headed in the position he was in now? Didn't he realize how much he could gain from an informant in the enemy's camp, even if that informant's goals didn't exactly match his own? And who the hell did he think he was, ordering Spade around? "No," Spade said flatly.

"No?" Brivari echoed. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"Wow," Spade said sarcastically. "Even human two year-olds know what 'no' means. But since there aren't any handy to fill you in, allow me—'no' means I won't move."

Brivari's silhouette started at him a moment in silence. "You don't really think you present an obstacle to me, do you?" he asked incredulously.

"Oh, you bet I do," Spade said angrily, walking closer to Brivari. He still couldn't see his features clearly, which was probably just as well since he was challenging a being who could wipe the pavement with him without even touching him. "You think this isn't my fight? Well, you're wrong. This has been my fight ever since I decided to help you, and I can rescind that decision any time I want. Which I just might do, because if you don't at least hear him out, then we're through. No more playing messenger boy. No more fending off an enemy that isn't mine. They can have John; hell, I'll gift wrap him for them! Or you could just kill me," Spade added as he saw Brivari move slightly, "but so what? My own CO does that. Why should you be any better? Kill me, and you lose the most valuable ally you've got right now. Refuse to hear him out, and the same thing happens. If you want my help, that's my price."

Silence. Neither alien moved as Spade stood between them, smoldering. He was too angry to care what happened at this point, too furious at the risks all of them had taken on the aliens' behalf—him, Yvonne, even Ramey—to bother worrying about Brivari's reaction. If the aliens had been close enough, he would have knocked their heads together.

"Very well, then," Brivari said suddenly, his deadly cold voice startling Spade as it came out of the darkness. "Let him speak."



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



So certain was Malik that the human soldier's attempt at blackmail would fail that only seconds before Brivari's capitulation, he had been poised to flee. His spur-of-the-moment decision to attempt a meeting with Brivari had obviously been a bad one. What had he been thinking? Under current circumstances, the human tendencies toward obstinacy and idealism were merely euphemisms for suicide. Brivari would never listen, and he'd been foolish to ever entertain the notion that he would.

Which made it all the more surprising when he did. Even Spade looked stunned, as though surprised that his tantrum had actually produced results. He took a step back, still between them, but not directly, and nodded to Malik. "You're on. Talk. Out loud," he added sharply to both of them. "I've earned the right to know what this is all about."

Startled at finding himself suddenly holding the floor, Malik was momentarily at a loss for words. Where to begin? They didn't have long; Orlon and the others would miss his presence and figure out where he'd gone soon, if they hadn't already.

"All right," Malik said slowly. "I doubt we have much time, so I'll get straight to the point."

"Always a wise course of action when one has an unwilling audience," Brivari answered in that same deadly voice.

"Do you remember what I told you the last time we.....talked?" Malik finished, wincing at the inappropriateness of that word, but unwilling to spend time elaborating. "About how our people were being forced into the labs?"

Silence. "The way I understand it," Malik continued, "you and Riall struck a bargain; he won the support of our people in his bid for the throne and certain concessions from us, while we won a place in society and certain assurances from him and his descendants. Is that accurate?"

More silence. "Assuming it is," Malik ploughed on, "one of those assurances was that our people would no longer be indiscriminately used for laboratory experimentation. Only those who were defective, or ill, or too old to work would find themselves in the labs."

Malik paused again. Brivari still hadn't said a word, and Spade was looking from one to the other with a look of horror on his face.

"That's not what happened," Malik went on, his heart beginning to pound as he came to the point. "Both Zan and his father used the labs to get rid of those they found undesirable: Dissidents, malcontents, those who asked too many questions, and those who knew too much. The labs had become a dumping ground....a very quiet dumping ground. And we found out," he continued, "Amar and me and the others. We poked around, asked too many questions. A sympathizer in biosciences tipped us off that all five of us were scheduled for surgery after our return from the upcoming research expedition. Two days later, that sympathizer disappeared. Shortly after that, we came to Earth. The rest you know."

Nothing. Brivari stared at him with those hard eyes, his face impassive, his silence more unnerving every moment. "Aren't you going to say anything?" Malik asked impatiently. "Don't you care that the treaty you helped broker was being ignored right under your nose? Or did you know about it all along?"

Still nothing. "Say something!" Malik demanded, unable to bear the oppressive silence any longer.

"Those are serious accusations," Spade said to Brivari, "and you did say you'd talk to him."

"I said nothing of the sort," Brivari answered, never taking his eyes off Malik. "I merely granted him permission to speak, which is more than he deserved, I might add. As for his accusations, I am more concerned with their veracity than their gravity."

"So is what he says true?" Spade asked. "Was this treaty broken like he says it was?"

"I know nothing of such activity, and there is no way for something like that to happen without my knowledge," Brivari announced.

"Yes, there is," Malik insisted. "By using one of those concessions we agreed to, that you agreed to on our behalf. Both Zan and his father commanded those of our people they wished to get rid of to the labs."

Brivari walked closer, Spade sidestepping to keep ahead of him, Malik resisting the urge to back up. "Command was a safeguard," Brivari said, his voice harsh. "It was meant to protect the king from wayward Covari, of which there were many in the beginning, I'm sorry to say. Riall never used it with me, and neither did Zan."

"I'm sure they didn't," Malik said. "They didn't need to use it on you. But when they did need to use it, both found it very handy as a means of disposal. Just order people to the labs, and then order them not to reveal the fact that they'd been ordered. Simple. Elegant. Untraceable."

"I don't suppose you have any proof of this beyond your own testimony?"

"Valeris knew," Malik said.

"How convenient that you choose to invoke a dead man. Try again."

"Marana knows," Malik said desperately. "She even told me we were scheduled for surgery, so she would—"

"I don't believe this!" Brivari interrupted, turning away in disgust. "You make outrageous accusations, implicate the Queen's Warder, who is incapable of responding, and now you want me to consult yet another traitor?"

"Marana is not a traitor!" Malik said in exasperation. "She had nothing to do with Khivar before Zan's death, and neither did we for a full year after we ran!"

"So now you want credit for the time elapsed between desertion and outright treason? Why am I not surprised."

"No!" Malik erupted in frustration. "Look, my point is that we had very good reasons for leaving, and others had good reason for being upset with Zan. Something needed to be done."

"I'd say something was done, wouldn't you?" Brivari said acidly.

Malik walked directly up to Brivari, pushing Spade aside in the process. "I never wanted Zan dead," he said tightly. "I never even wanted him off the throne. I wanted things to change, not fall apart. And now that they have fallen apart, someone has to put it back together. But it can't go back the way it was before or we'll just wind up with the same problems. That treaty you made? It needs to be renegotiated. And in order for everyone to have a voice—"

"Is that what all this is about?" Brivari exclaimed in astonishment. "You think those with a stake in this are going to 'negotiate'?"

"They'll have to," Malik insisted. "No one will have enough support to trump the others, so they—"

"Listen to me!" Brivari hissed, grabbing Malik by the collar and swinging him around, slamming him into the side of the building behind them. "No one will 'negotiate'! No one. The history of our world should tell you this if nothing else does: The crown is both won and retained by force. It always has been."

"Hey! Back off!" Spade said tersely, trying to grab Brivari by the shoulders. He succeeded only in grabbing air, however, as Brivari literally shifted out of his grasp, shrinking and retaking human form a couple of feet away.

"Enough of this nonsense," Brivari said coldly, ignoring Spade as the latter stared blankly at his empty hands. "According to the Lieutenant, you claim you will not take the side of anyone who would rule us. That's exactly what Orlon did when Riall sought the throne, and I will tell you now exactly what I told him then—someone will always rule us. You can either participate in their selection by granting your support to one of the contenders, or excuse yourself from the process entirely and live with the result. At the moment, you've chosen the latter. I choose the former. Riall was not perfect," he continued, walking closer, with Spade not even bothering to intercept this time, "and Zan even less so. You had not yet emerged when Riall and I reached our understanding, but believe me, we could have done much worse....and we still can. Pray that you never live to see just how much worse as you sit all alone on your 'own side'. And as for you," he continued, addressing Spade, "surely you realize there is more than one side to a story, and you have heard only one. And the next time you decide to threaten me, make certain you intend to follow through."

"What makes you think I didn't?" Spade retorted.

"They're coming," Malik said suddenly, wincing as he pulled his head away from the wall. "They just called. Get out of here," he ordered Brivari. "Before the hunters get here. Go on—move!" he exclaimed when Brivari didn't budge. "I haven't busted my ass to keep you free only to see your anger with me get you captured. Go!"

Brivari stared at him for a moment before turning and disappearing into the gloom, leaving Malik alone with Spade in the dark alley.

"You okay?" Spade asked.

"Sure," Malik grimaced, wincing as he touched the back of his head. "That was nothing short of a stunning success."

Spade blinked. "You're serious?"

Malik smiled slightly. "I'm alive, and he listened. This is Brivari we're talking about. You have to measure him with a different yardstick."

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Spade asked. "Last I heard, you weren't planning on going anywhere near him."

"It appears your idealism is contagious," Malik said ruefully, "along with your poor judgment. You should leave too before the others get here. Unless you'd like to stick around and argue Brivari's case for him, although I wouldn't recommend it."

"Are you going to be all right?" Spade asked skeptically.

"I'll be fine," Malik insisted. "Go."

Spade gave him one last look before walking away, his footsteps crunching up the alley as Malik leaned wearily against the wall, exhausted. A minute later, dark shapes appeared in the distance, some obviously Covari, some not, all of whom soon gathered around him, eyeing him quizzically.

*What the hell are you doing here?* came Amar's voice.

*I thought the royal mark might be a distraction so Brivari could come here unimpeded,* Malik said.

*And did he?* Orlon asked.

*No,* Malik lied, doing a head count. *Where's Marana?*

*A similar thought occurred to us,* Orlon answered. *She is otherwise engaged.*



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



11:10 p.m.

Proctor residence



"I'm taking these lawn chairs back over to Mac," David called to Emily as he headed for the stairs. "I'll be back shortly."

"Good," Emily answered. "Mac doesn't have tomorrow off like you do, so don't stay all night."

"I won't. G'night, sweetheart," David said, leaning over to kiss Dee on the forehead. "I'll come tuck you in when I get back even if you're asleep."

Dee watched him from the top of the stairs as he headed out the front door, heard the scrape of the lawn chairs on the front porch as he retrieved them. She'd been ready for bed for awhile now, but hadn't felt the least bit sleepy until just recently. The trip home had been uneventful, their house dark and peaceful when they'd arrived...and empty. No Brivari, no enemy aliens, no one at all but Cleo, who was currently wrapping herself around Dee's legs.

"C'mon, you," Dee said, hoisting the cat into her arms. Cleo had recently blossomed into quite a large cat; she was an armful now, far from her early days as a kitten you could scoop up with one hand.

"You should get to bed, dear," Emily called as she bustled past on the way to the bathroom.

"Can I get a glass of water?"

"Sure. Use the kitchen."

Dee padded down the staircase to the kitchen in her summer pajamas, grateful that her mother seemed normal. For just a minute when she and Anthony had first found her parents after the fireworks, her mama had sounded.....odd. But then the moment had passed, and Dee had written it off to her mother having jitters similar to her own because of what had happened last year. Maybe she'd tell her parents about what happened tomorrow. Or maybe.....since nothing had happened, maybe she shouldn't tell them at all, or at least not her mama. She'd been so peaceful these last few months. It would be a shame to shatter that peace over nothing.

The doorbell rang. Dee turned off the faucet in surprise. Who would be ringing at this hour? "Now, who could that be?" her mother echoed as she skipped down the stairs, tying her robe around her. Dee left her glass on the kitchen counter and joined her at the front door just as it opened.

An extremely upset young woman stood on the front porch. "I'm terribly sorry to bother you at this hour," she said, "but my car has broken down. May I use your phone?"



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

I'll post Chapter 94 next Sunday.

Hello to everyone reading!




CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR


July 4, 1948, 11:15 p.m.

Proctor residence



"You poor thing!" Emily exclaimed to the flustered young woman on the front porch as she opened the door wider. "What a lousy time for something like that to happen! Of course you can use the phone—come right in."

"Oh, thank you!" the woman exclaimed with relief, stepping over the threshold. "I don't know a thing about cars, and it's so dark, and I don't know this area. I've never been so scared in my life."

Standing on the other side of the door, Dee eyed the woman suspiciously. Nothing about her appearance rang any alarm bells, and she certainly looked convincingly upset. Unfortunately, neither of those bench marks meant a thing.

"Where's your car?" Dee asked, peering out the still open front door. "I don't see it."

"Down that way," the woman said, gesturing south, "around the corner. You can't see it from here."

How convenient. "Well, why'd you come here?" Dee pressed. "You passed a lot of houses on the way."

"I know," the woman said with feeling. "And all of them were dark. Yours still had the lights on, so I figured at least I wouldn't be waking someone up."

"You didn't wake us," Emily said soothingly. "The phone is right there on the table, and I'll get you a cup of something while you're waiting. Just let me get my slippers," she added, heading up the stairs.

"I'm so sorry about the hour," the woman apologized. "Even if I didn't wake you, I'm sure you were on your way to bed, and—"

"Nonsense," Emily said firmly. "Things like this never happen on a schedule. I'll be right back."

"Thank you," the woman said gratefully, heading for the telephone. Dee leaned out the front door and inspected the houses south of them; they did indeed all have their lights out. She closed the front door and watched the woman closely as she pulled a lipstick out of her purse and used it to dial the phone.

"It was so nice of your mama to let me in," the woman said as the dial turned first one way, then another. "I know I'd be scared to answer the door at this time of night."

Would you? Dee thought, in a quandary over what to do. It was entirely possible, of course, that this was a real woman with a real broken car down the street and around the corner. It was also entirely possible that it wasn't. And since she was the only one in her house who knew there were aliens about tonight, it was up to her to find out.

*Brivari's upstairs,* she announced telepathically, deciding to use the same tactic that had been used on her a year ago. *If I were you, I wouldn't stick around until he finds out you're here.*

Nothing. The woman's face didn't so much as flicker, nor did the twirling lipstick falter as she finished dialing and lifted the receiver to her ear. Dee could faintly hear a phone ringing over and over and over, and after a long minute, the woman hung up.

"No one there," she said sadly. "Now what do I do?"

"Why would no one be home this late at night?" Dee asked as her mother appeared at the top of the stairs.

"My husband works the graveyard shift," the woman explained, "and I'd hoped to catch him before he left for work."

"You could call a taxi," Dee suggested.

"Of course you don't have to call a taxi," Emily said, throwing Dee a "don't be rude" look as she padded down the stairs in her slippers. "My husband will be back shortly, and he can take a look at your car or give you a ride home if need be. Come on in the kitchen and have a cup of tea while we wait."

"Oh, thank you!" the woman smiled. "You're too kind."

Dee trailed after her mother as she bustled into the kitchen and set the kettle over a high flame. "That should heat in just a minute; I haven't filled it very full," Emily was saying. "Do you take milk? Lemon?"

"Neither, thank you," the woman said.

"What kind of a car do you have?" Dee asked.

"It's a Ford," the woman said. "Brand new. They're supposed to be reliable, but now I'm not so sure."

"Ours acts up sometimes," Emily commented, pulling cups and saucers out of the cupboards. "I'm afraid I'm an idiot when it comes to cars, so I don't know why."

"Graveyard shift". "Ford". She knows how to talk "human", Dee thought, slipping into a kitchen chair as her mother and the woman chattered on about how little they each knew about cars. She'd also correctly used a lipstick to dial the phone, preserving her pretty painted nails, and if she were an alien, she should have reacted at least a little bit to the announcement that Brivari was here.

"Here you are," Emily said cheerfully, placing two steaming cups of tea on the table.

"Thank you," the woman said, and Dee watched her blow on the cup, lifting it carefully by the handle and the edge. Aliens had no problem with heat, so an alien wouldn't have had to do that. "Mmm," the woman said after taking a few sips. "What blend is this? It's delicious."

"Is it?" Emily asked.

Something in her mother's tone made Dee sit up straight. Emily's face was impassive, but she hadn't touched her tea.....which was odd, come to think of it. Her mother always put massive quantities of sugar in her tea, something her father teased her about all the time.

"Absolutely," the woman answered, continuing to sip. "Very smooth. A bit hot, though. I think I'll let it cool down some more."

"Wonderful," Emily said, smiling pleasantly, her hands moving as she spoke. "And while you do that, we can chat about who the hell you are and what you're doing in my house."

By the time Dee had digested that sentence, she was staring at the incredible sight of her mother pointing her father's pistol at the woman across the table.



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


2330 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




"Everything okay here?" Lieutenant Spade asked as he came abreast of Privates Oster and LaBella, the two guards outside John's room.

"Yes, sir," Private Oster replied. "All's quiet."

"Good. It's Thompson in the observation room tonight, right?"

"Yes, sir. Until 0200."

"I want both of you on the first floor at the stairwell for the remainder of your shift."

Oster glanced uncertainly at LaBella standing beside him. "Both of us, sir? But—"

"I'll take your position for the the rest of your shift," Spade said, answering the question before it was asked. "Vallone's sick, and we were short-handed already. This is just to tide us over until some of our guys get back from their leaves."

"Yes, sir," Oster said, fortunately satisfied with that explanation. "Are you extending our shifts?"

"No—you're off at 0100 as usual. Dismissed."

Oster and LaBella trooped away, leaving Spade alone in the hallway outside John's room, staring at the wall where he knew the door was even though it wasn't visible. When Brivari had asked him tonight if there were any way to get him in to see his friend, Spade's first reaction had been "no". But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that there was a way, a way that required exactly what Brivari needed and didn't have: Manpower. Enough people on your side to pull off whatever it was you were trying to do. One talented alien and two or three human allies weren't enough to free John, but, fortunately, Spade's objective was more obtainable. It would still require tricky maneuvering and a good deal of storytelling, but if the stars lined up, it could be done.

A glance at the duty roster had made it clear that the stars had obediently queued up tonight. An opportunity like this might not arise again for months, and since he had no idea when he'd be seeing Brivari again, it was important to be ready....and even more important to do a test run. Even if caught, he should be able to wiggle out of it given that so many personnel were out of the compound celebrating the Fourth of July and Vallone was puking his guts out in the infirmary. Just what I needed tonight, Spade thought dryly as he raised his hand to knock on the observation room door. More excitement.

The door opened to reveal a very surprised Private Thompson. "Sir!" he exclaimed, stepping back as Spade walked inside the tiny, dark room. "I thought you'd be off tonight."

"Nope. I'm holding down the fort while everyone else is off," Spade answered, his gaze drifting from the window which showed John's dimly lit room to the equipment arrayed nearby. "You know, it's been so long since we were all briefed on this stuff, and I haven't laid eyes on it since. Care to give me a refresher?"

"Slow night, huh sir?" Thompson smiled, sliding the door closed. "Okay, well.....these are the film cameras," he began, pointing to two dark shapes at opposite ends of the wide counter which spanned the width of John's room on the opposite side of the perforated wall. "They run constantly, taking one frame per minute on 8 mm film."

"You mean the cameras can see through the perforations?" Spade asked.

"Sure, as long as they're close enough. That's why the lenses are right up against the wall; any further away, and they'd focus on the wall itself."

"Mmhm," Spade murmured. "And what's this?"

"A tape recorder. There are microphones on all sides of the cell."

"And these run all the time?"

"Twenty-four hours a day," Thompson nodded.

"And what do you with them?"

"We make sure everything keeps running, and change the reels of film and tape when they need changing. Major Cavitt stops by first thing every morning to pick up the used reels."

"And does what with them?"

Thompson chuckled. "Probably projects them on his dart board and throws darts at.....sorry, sir," he added hastily, as Spade gave him a bemused look. "I have no idea what the Major does with them. All I know is that every single word that's said in that room is recorded, and two pictures are taken from two different angles once a minute."

"Ever turn them off?"

"No, sir. Well, we do when the General is here. He never wants his conversations with the prisoner recorded. And we change the reels, of course, but that's just a few seconds. We have replacement equipment in case any of this fails," he added, gesturing to boxes beneath the counter, "in which case whatever we were replacing would be off for the length of time it would take to replace it. But that's never happened."

Spade moved in closer, bending his head toward Thompson's. "Here's the thing, Brian," he said quietly. "I need them off."

"Off?" Thompson repeated blankly

"Yes, off. All of them. Can you do that?"

Thompson stared at him, no doubt noting the deliberate use of his first name and their code word "need". "Yes, sir," he said after a moment. "If you need them off, I can turn them off." He paused. "I take it it's not such a slow night after all?"

Spade shook his head. "Not for me."

Thompson's eyes widened. "Is anyone.........."

"Dead?" Spade finished. "No.....although it was touch and go there for a minute or two. But I need to see the prisoner, and I need it kept quiet."

"What about the guards?"

"Reassigned," Spade said. "Holiday and all, you know. I'll put you outside the door; no one needs to know this room is empty."

"Right," Thompson said. "Just give me a minute to take care of all this."

"Can't you just shut it off?"

"It's not that simple, sir," Thompson said. "I have to time it right. I can just shut off the tape recorder, but I need to shut off the cameras right after they've taken a frame of film; otherwise, there'll be more than a minute between frames, and Cavitt might notice."

"Right. Go ahead," Spade said, rattled that this was proving trickier than he'd expected, and grateful they wouldn't need to do any of this with Brivari because he could look and sound like Yvonne.

"You need to get that camera, sir, while I get this one," Thompson explained. "I can't reach them both at the same time. Put your hand on the switch and turn it off when I say 'now'."

"Gotcha," Spade said, reaching for the switch Thompson had indicated on the nearest camera. A tense period of silence followed that Spade would have sworn was a lot longer than sixty seconds, but finally the film reel clicked slightly.

"Now," Thompson said.

Two switches clicked simultaneously. Thompson reached for the tape recorder and shut that off too, the room falling into a eerie silence without the faint background whir of machinery. "You're officially off the record, sir," Thompson said.

"Good. Get your weapon," Spade ordered, opening the observation room door and peering cautiously out before stepping into the hallway. "If anyone asks why you're alone or where I am, send them on a wild goose chase and let me know."

"Yes, sir. And don't take too long, sir," Thompson added. "All the reels will be short by however long they're off. I doubt Cavitt watches night films when nothing's scheduled, but I can't say for sure."

"Right," Spade said dryly, imagining Cavitt camped out in front of a movie screen watching hours and hours of a sleeping alien. "I'll do my best."

They slid the door open; Spade walked inside, breathing deeply to quell the feeling of panic as it slid closed behind him. He'd been in here only once before, right after the attack last December, and he'd been surprised at how quickly he'd felt the walls closing in on him, the room seeming to shrink no matter which way he turned. The blinding white tile covering every square inch was disorienting and hard on the eyes, the observation room window invisible behind the perforated tile in front of it. If he were unlucky enough to be imprisoned in such a space, he was certain he'd go mad. This time the experience was less intense, largely because the lights were dimmed. And this time he had a different source of anxiety, which was currently sitting up in bed and staring at him curiously.

"Well. This is a surprise," John said.

"Yeah, it's been awhile," Spade replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"And to what do I owe the honor of this visit?" John said, shaking his head slightly in warning as his eyes flicked toward the wall which held the observation room window.

"We're off the record," Spade answered. "All the equipment's shut down, and no one's in the observation room."

John's eyes narrowed. "Are you certain?"

"Positive. I've got one man I trust outside the door, and a limited amount of time."

"I see." John swung his feet out of bed and grabbed a robe hanging on the back of a chair. It was disconcerting to see him wearing regular pajamas, pulling a robe on just like anyone else would. "Then you would be wise to come directly to the point. You only appear in times of crisis, so I gather your news is not good."

"No crisis," Spade said, shaking his head. "Just news. And a question. And....." He paused, remembering what Yvonne had told him just a few minutes ago. "And I need to talk to you. Not as guard to prisoner or human to alien, but.....soldier to soldier. I need to talk to you in a way I can't talk to Brivari because he's not coming from where you are, and he just doesn't get it."

John's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. Spade waited, his hands jammed in his pockets, hoping Yvonne was right. He'd been planning to send her in with the latest newscast and plea for sanity, but when the duty roster had made it clear that tonight was a good night to see if he could subvert the system, she had argued that he should present his case personally.

"John's more likely to listen to you about something like this," Yvonne had said earlier, looking uncharacteristically pale and brushing off his concern when he'd asked about it, saying she was fine. "You're both soldiers."

"He wasn't a soldier, he guarded a soldier," Spade had objected.

"Correction: He guarded a general," Yvonne pointed out. "One of the biggest reasons John and General Ramey have hit it off so well is that John understands Ramey's position, often before Ramey does. He knows how the military works. And whether you realize it or not, you earned his respect last December when you managed to beat his people back despite his predictions that you couldn't do it."

"The only reason I 'beat his people back' is because he was able to shoot them," Spade had answered peevishly.

"And the only reason he was able to shoot them is because you respected his judgment and handed over your weapon," Yvonne persisted patiently. "In the end, it was still your call....and it was the right one. John knows that. He'll listen to you on this subject long before he'll listen to me."

"Right," Spade had said glumly. "God knows I'm an expert at knocking sense into alien heads."

"Malik tried," Yvonne countered. "He said it would do no good for him to talk to Brivari, but you must have made an impression because he tried anyway."

"And he was right—it did no good," Spade had said crossly.

"It may have," Yvonne had said gently. "Trying to change Brivari's mind is like trying to turn a very big ship: It takes awhile. Brivari's caught up in what used to be, Malik's thrashing between two sides, but John....John's a prisoner. He knows which side he's on, knows better than anyone how much things have changed. You might have better luck with him."

Don't count on it, Spade thought, eyeing the skeptical expression on John's face, the spitting image of the one Pierce would wear if a chimpanzee suddenly announced it wanted to discuss medicine with him. Despite Spade's multiple encounters with both Brivari and Malik, he'd had very few with John. Yvonne knew him better than anyone here, but even her imprimatur wouldn't convince him that this particular alien was going to sit down and chat like an equal.

" 'Soldier to soldier'," John said, sounding faintly amused....but only faintly. "Interesting. Very well, then......Lieutenant. Have a seat."



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



Proctor residence



Were anyone so inclined to take a poll, those asked would probably agree that Dee Proctor had seen and done more in her short life than most adults ever would. At the tender age of nine, almost ten, she had crawled inside spaceships, learned to speak telepathically, watched aliens change their shapes, and even visited another planet, albeit in a dream. She had seen people of two different species killed, hidden from the military several times, and crossed verbal swords with sheriff's deputies and king's guardians. So how was it that, after all those fantastic experiences, the most mind-boggling experience on the list would be the sight of her own mother pointing her father's pistol at a stranger?

Nobody moved. Emily's face was set and grim, while the woman's mouth hung open in shock, or at least a credible imitation of same. Dee's eyes darted from her mother's face to the woman's, trying to figure out what she'd missed. Here she'd been close to certifying their guest human and harmless, and her mother had obviously picked up on something else.

"Dee, get over here," Emily commanded. She held the gun in both hands just like a pro, and she'd backed up a bit, putting more distance between her and their "guest", but Dee was still sitting at the kitchen table, only feet away. "Get over here now."

"Yes, Mama," Dee whispered, rising immediately, her legs sticking to the chair. She hadn't realized how much she was sweating.

"What—why—what on earth are you doing?" the woman gasped, rigid in her chair. "I—"

"Let me save us both a lot of time," Emily said, her voice calm and cold. "That tea you just pronounced delicious is full of cayenne pepper."

"Pepper?" the woman echoed. "You put pepper in my tea? Why would you do that?"

"Because I know you can't taste," Emily answered. "Or smell. A human would still be gagging....but you're not human, are you?"

For just a moment, Dee saw something flicker across the woman's face, something brief, but familiar. It was the same expression she'd seen this morning on a different face, an expression of shock at being discovered....and suddenly, Dee realized who they were dealing with.

"Look," the woman said in a shaky voice, "I don't know who—or what—you think I am, Mrs. Proctor, but—"

"There," Emily interrupted. "Right there. I never introduced myself. How did you know my name?"

Silence. The woman's mouth worked, trying to form an answer and failing. The sound of crickets chirping floated through the open kitchen window, sounding faintly ridiculous given what was happening.

"Now, here's the deal," Emily continued, holding the gun remarkably steady. "Brivari isn't here. We haven't seen him since the last time you charming folks dropped by last December. So you're going to get up now and leave my house. You will return to whatever lackey you're working for and tell them that if any of you ever darken my doorway again, I won't stop to chat next time—I'll shoot first, and ask questions later. I know you're mortal. I know that if I wound you when you look like a puddle of goo slithering across my floor, you'll still be wounded if you change your shape, and I doubt that a trip to a local hospital would be a good idea in your case. Anyone who pulls this act on me again will wind up dust before the day is through. Is that clear?"

The woman said nothing, just stared at Emily in silence as though trying to decide whether to continue the ruse or capitulate. *Give it up,* Dee advised solemnly. *Mama's got you. And when Mama's got you, it's all over. Believe me, I know.*

The woman's head never moved, but her eyes jerked toward Dee's for just a moment before they dropped. "You are clear," she said, folding her hands in her lap and staring at them. "And I wish to be equally clear. I meant your family no harm, Mrs. Proctor. I'm merely looking for a dangerous fugitive—"

"I told you we haven't seen him," Emily interrupted, a shade paler now that her suspicions had been confirmed.

"You may not have seen him, but he was obviously there at your festival tonight," the woman—or rather, alien—replied. "That last....'firework', I believe you call them?.....was the mark of the king Brivari guards."

"You mean the one you killed?"

The alien flushed slightly. "I had no part in the king's assassination, nor did I know anything about it until after it happened. And Brivari need not have made himself visible in order to communicate with at least one member of your family."

Dee felt her face growing hot, but fortunately her mother had other things on her mind. "You are absolutely out of your mind if you think we'd ever repeat anything he said to you."

"Mrs. Proctor," the alien said carefully, "has it occurred to you that perhaps you might be on the wrong side of this conflict?"

" 'Conflict'?" Emily repeated. "That's a funny name for a war."

"Call it what you like," the alien answered, "but do keep in mind that you've only heard one side of the story."

"And that's all I want to hear," Emily said curtly. "The only 'side' I'm on is the side of my family. The rest of you can take your war, or your 'conflict' if you prefer deluding yourselves, and go blow each others' brains out if you want to, but leave us out of it. We just finished a 'conflict' of our own, and I'm in no mood for another. Whatever's going on where you come from, it has nothing to do with us."

"That's where you're wrong," the alien insisted. "I'm assuming Brivari never told you why my people are on your planet?"

"Their ship crashed."

"I meant before that," the alien qualified. "We were here before that, long before that, and—"

"I'm assuming you feel whatever you're about to say will prejudice me against Brivari," Emily broke in. "And perhaps you're right. However, you might want to keep in mind that anything that would prejudice me against Brivari might also very well prejudice me against you.....and you are the one currently in front of my gun. So if you intend to shock me, or disgust me, or upset me in any way......let's just say I'd think twice about that if I were you."

"If you'd just let me explain—"

"Get out of my house," Emily ordered. "What you want isn't here, so you shouldn't be."

"Don't you even want to know—"

"Do you want to know what guns do to your people?" Emily said tersely. "Maybe you don't. In this case, I'd say ignorance is bliss. But if you absolutely must know, you're on the right track. Because if you don't leave immediately, I will shoot you."

Dee watched her mother cock the gun, the click sounding deafening in the still kitchen. She'll do it, she realized with horror, having seen that look of grim determination on her mother's face many times before. The same thought seemed to have occurred to the alien, whose face paled.

"All right," the alien said carefully. "I'll go. May I assume you won't shoot me on the way to the door?"

"You may assume nothing. Now walk," Emily commanded. "No changing your shape until you're off my property."

The alien rose carefully from her chair, keeping an eye on Emily as she hooked her handbag over her arm like any other woman would. Emily followed her to the front door, gun still raised, as Dee trailed behind.

"I will say this for Brivari," the woman said, pausing in the open front doorway. "He chose his allies well. But you, I'm afraid, have not chosen the recipients of your assistance very well, most likely because you don't have all the facts. Ask him sometime, Mrs. Proctor. Ask Brivari why my people are on your planet, and see how you feel about his answers."

The door closed behind her. Emily kept the gun raised for several seconds before slowly lowering it, only to whirl around and whip it up again as the side door banged open in the kitchen.

"I'm back!" Dee's father called. "See, I didn't stay all night. Mac said he wasn't tired anyway, and—" He stopped dead at the sight of his wife, wearing her nightgown and holding a loaded revolver in the front hallway.

"Emily?" David whispered in shock.

"Oh," Emily said in a brittle voice as she lowered the gun. "It's you. I thought....."

"You thought.....what?" David asked in astonishment.

Emily opened the barrel of the gun and let the bullets slide into her palm. "I think," she said slowly, caressing the barrel, "that these things are wonderful. And I want another one. For downstairs. I don't want to have to go upstairs to get it."



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



Eagle Rock Military Base



"So," John said softly when Spade had finished recounting what had happened earlier that evening, "Malik lived. Again. He's very adept at survival, I'll give him that."

"Never mind that," Spade said impatiently, checking his watch. Only five minutes had passed, but he was certain that five minutes felt like fifty to Thompson. "What about his claims? Could your king have 'commanded' people to the labs when he wasn't supposed to, and they just....went? Why would they do that? Malik called it a 'concession', one agreed to by Brivari on behalf of your people. Is that true?"

John was silent for so long that Spade started to fret, checking his watch every few seconds. He knew John was weighing how much to tell him, but they really didn't have time for this. He was about to say so when John spoke again.

"To make this clear, you need to understand the situation in which my people found themselves prior to the ascension of the old king, the current king's father. Covari—my race—lived on the edges of society at best. Those who can change their shape are universally distrusted, for obvious reasons. A lucky few were hired as Warders, what you would call a 'bodyguard'. Some were used as mercenaries, assassins, and suchlike. Some tried to elude the authorities, eking out an existence by thieving, among other things. Most were used as medical test subjects."

"Lovely," Spade muttered.

"Exactly. Which is why Brivari forged an alliance with Riall when Riall sought our world's throne: Our people would rally behind him and agree to certain concessions in exchange for better treatment. My people are hated because they are feared; the idea of Riall having a vast army of people who could change their appearance at will tipped the scales....for both of us. Riall gained the throne, and we gained a place in society."

"And the....'concessions'?"

"One you know: The creation of hunters to apprehend those of our people who broke the law. A second was that my people were genetically altered to prevent them from killing the king."

" 'Genetically altered'?" Spade echoed. "What does that mean?"

"It means their genes were encoded to prevent them from killing the king or contributing to his death by either withholding information or delegating the job."

"So you....physically changed.....everyone?"

"Yes."

"You can do that?"

"Of course. My world is highly advanced in bioengineering."

"Right," Spade said doubtfully. "Well....under the circumstances, I guess I can see the 'don't kill me' bit."

"There was a third concession," John continued, "and the most controversial, as I recall. My people were also genetically altered to obey a direct order from the king."

Obey a direct order... Spade felt himself go cold as he remembered Malik's words: "Just order people to the labs, and then order them not to tell. Simple. Elegant. Untraceable." "What does that mean, exactly?"

"It means just what I said," John replied. "All Covari must obey a direct order given personally by the king."

"What happens if they don't?"

John smiled slightly. "There is no 'don't', Lieutenant. Consider for a moment the dilemma you would face if you decided to stop breathing. You could hold your breath for awhile, but eventually you would gasp for air against your wishes."

"So....that means Malik was right," Spade said slowly. "Your king could have commanded your people to do virtually anything and they would have to obey."

"No, that does not mean Malik was right," John countered. "The ability to command us was a safeguard, an emergency measure. Indiscriminate use of it would not have been taken lightly by the other races on my planet, and I am unaware of the king ever having used it. He certainly never used it on me."

"That's what Brivari said," Spade answered, "but if the king ordered people not to tell anyone what happened, then no one would know, would they?"

"Of course they would," John said. "There are few places more public than a palace. And Malik is a rogue and a traitor, now employed by the king's greatest rival. He is not to be trusted."

"But the King could have done what Malik said he did," Spade pressed, "couldn't he?"

"The point is—"

"The point is that the king was perfectly capable of doing everything Malik said he did."

"Capability is not culpability—"

"But it is possible, isn't it?" Spade demanded.

John was silent for a moment. "Yes," he said finally. "It is possible. Unfortunately, there is no way to prove Malik's claims."

"Or disprove them," Spade said pointedly, as John's eyebrows rose. "The way I see it, a lack of proof means it could go either way. Which means that Malik deserves the benefit of the doubt."

"And what, exactly, does this have to do with me?" John asked, his voice a degree colder. "Surely you didn't go to the trouble to get in here just to have an argument that can never be settled."

"Here's what it has to do with you," Spade said, glancing at his watch again. Fifteen minutes had gone by, so he'd better talk fast. "You know as well as I do that you're not getting out of here without more help....and Malik is willing to help. Whatever his problems with the king, he doesn't seem very happy with whoever's in charge now—"

"What a shock," John said sarcastically.

"—and he's repeatedly said that he wants you free, just not at the expense of someone else being captured," Spade continued, ignoring the interruption. "If you were willing to work with him, you might have a chance."

"And what exactly makes you think his motives are genuine?" John asked. "What if he wants me 'free' so he can capture me himself and claim the credit? Or what if all of this is one giant ruse to secure your help in my escape, only to have his people waiting to recapture me? His goals may be very different from what he says they are."

Spade shook his head. "I just don't get that impression—"

"But it's possible, isn't it?" John asked.

"I don't think—"

"But it is possible...isn't it?"

John eyed him steadily as Spade realized he'd just been caught in his own trap. "Yes, it's possible," he said impatiently. "Anything's possible. And I realize this guy would normally be executed immediately for treason or whatever, but I shouldn't have to point out to you, of all people, that nothing is normal anymore......not for you or me. The usual protocols don't necessarily apply. If you want out of here, you're going to have to take some risks. Whatever his reasons, Malik is willing to help you escape, and I think you'd be a damned fool to pass that up under the circumstances."

"Things are stable here for the moment," John replied, "stable enough that I prefer the motives of your general to the motives of a traitor."

"Things could get unstable very quickly," Spade argued, "and—"

"This discussion is pointless," John said sharply. "Even if I were willing to accept the aid of a rogue, we would still need Brivari's help—and believe me, he would not."

"He might if you argue the case."

"How? I haven't seen him in months."

"I can get him in here the same way I got myself in," Spade said. "He can get into the compound on his own, damned if I know how, and then I only need to juggle the personnel assigned to this room. I don't even need to turn off all the recording devices because he'd look and sound like Yvonne."

"Really?" John replied, sounding at least faintly impressed. "Very good. But then what? You would have far better luck arguing your case yourself. You already have. Malik remains alive because of the threat you made."

"I doubt it. Brivari said he didn't believe me."

John gave him a pitying look. "You need to pay less attention to what Brivari says and more attention to what he does. He took your threat to withdraw your support very seriously, as well he should have. You have far more leverage with him at this point than I do because you have the power to withhold something he—we—desperately need."

"Then it's time to do some leveraging," Spade said firmly, glancing at his watch again—eighteen minutes and counting. "Brivari acts like he's still in a royal court, granting favors and dispensing punishments. That might be the way it used to be, but you'd have to be blind not to notice that things have changed—drastically. Both of you may need to accept help from sources you wouldn't normally touch. He needs to stop living in the past and take a good, hard look at the here and now."

John sighed and stood up, his back to Spade. "I told him as much shortly after we arrived," he said, his voice, for once, holding no traces of its usual severity or sarcasm. "It was Brivari who secured the support of my people to put Riall on the throne and supported his son after him. Brivari built that world, and he took its fall very personally. Many times I found him to be less than objective on the subject of how to proceed here." He paused. "I will convey your feelings on the matter should the opportunity arise, but that does not mean I share them, nor should you expect any dramatic reversals on Brivari's part. If you wish to press the matter, you will need to force his hand the same way you did tonight—by threatening to withdraw your support. Only this time—" John resumed his seat, staring hard at Spade—I strongly suggest that you mean it."

Spade felt himself flushing, grateful for the dim light until he remembered that dim light was no obstacle for John. He hadn't meant his threat; he'd just been angry, and it had seemed the best way to get Brivari's attention, if not the only way. He wasn't certain what he would have done if Brivari had called his bluff.

"Take some advice, Lieutenant," John said softly, "from one soldier to another: Never make idle threats to the King's Warder....and think twice before making real threats. You are free to withdraw from our alliance, of course, but if, in doing so, you appear to have allied yourself with our enemy, Brivari will respond accordingly. And I doubt he will be interested in a tale of your good intentions."

Silence. Spade's throat was dry, his hands clammy on the arms of his chair. He'd dealt with these people for so long that he sometimes forgot how powerful they were, how dangerous. He'd never even considered that his opinion of Malik might brand him an enemy in Brivari's eyes, or that he might have put his own life in danger by merely admitting he'd spoken to Malik. "Right," Spade said stiffly, checking his watch again. Twenty minutes. Thompson should be having kittens by now. "Well...it was worth a try." He stood up. "Good night."

"Lieutenant," John called as he neared the door. Spade turned around.

"If you should ever have the opportunity to.....to obtain access for Brivari, I would......" He paused, staring at the floor for a long moment before continuing in a whisper. "I would very much like to see him."

"I know you would," Spade answered, averting his eyes, knowing that John's voice had nearly betrayed him. "I'll do my best."


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

I'll post Chapter 95 next Sunday.

Chapter 81

Oh, boy! Valenti is back at the Proctors' house! I wonder what he wants. I liked Dee's surmising that it isn't the gun that's bad but the one holding it. And David adding "and what they do with it." But the example of why it would have been bad if Valeris had had a gun must be really confusing to Dee.

I was afraid Lewis was going to muscle his way in there for awhile. He certainly did not intend to give up. Ramey pulled off a bit of a miracle.

And talking about telling the truth...

"I thought you were on my side, Sheridan!"

"I'm on the winning side, Bernard," Cavitt answered, his voice cold. "You were winning. Now you're not. It's that simple."

Yep! That's the gospel truth.

Chapter 82

Okay, so is Brivari in trouble? I went back and reread that last paragraph twice, and it looks like he was outwitted. I guess I'll know soon. Anyway, great chapter! Too bad this Marana realized that the x-rays of the flouroscope represented a danger for them, although maybe it is better that way really. All of them together could likely overwhelm the soldiers even if one or two of them got killed.

I loved the conversation between Ramey and Jaddo, and his pithy observations...

"What will they do with you should they succeed?"

"What do you think?"

Ramey sighed and leaned against the glaring white wall. "So everyone wants you dead. My people. Your people. You're very popular, Mr. Doe, in a perverse sort of way." He paused, thinking. "Tell me—what would your people do if they were unable to retrieve you?"

And I liked this part, too...

"Brivari gets in there," Amar was saying. "How does he do it?"

"Brivari can manipulate matter," Marana reminded him. "I'm afraid we don't have such talents at our disposal."

"And whose fault is that?" Amar asked coldly.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Marana glared.

"Only that it was bioscientists like you who gave the Warders their so-called 'talents' in the first place," Amar said. "Are you proud of yourself now?"

"How was I supposed to know it would ever come to this?" Marana retorted. "It really is too bad you ran when you did, Amar. I could have fixed at least a few of the many things wrong with you."

I felt kind of sorry for Valenti. He was finally totally up front with David Proctor and got rebuffed. But it may have been for the best. If David had let him in, Emily might have blown him away!

Off to read some more...

Chapter 83

HeHe! No, that's no squirrel in the cave with them! I loved that part with Jimmy and Billy, the Indian kids!

And surprise, surprise! Emily taking target practice! But I wonder who this human is she imagined as the target! I don't think I would want to be him and get in her way! It must be Cavitt!

The gun kicked back hard, the jolt running all the way up both arms to her shoulders. A thin ribbon of vapor wafted from the barrel as she slowly lowered the gun.

"Jesus," Mac said faintly, giving her a wary look. "You nailed it right in the middle! What were you thinking of? An alien?"

"No," Emily said, easing the gun out of her cramped fingers. "A human." She shook her hand out, took hold of the gun again, and raised it toward the target. "Again?"

Chapter 84

Loved it! :D I knew it had to be Brivari in the cave. I expected Jimmy and Billy to get the daylights scared out of them. But I wasn't expecting River dog, as the older brother, to show up. Nice touch! I liked that they were so scared of River dog's authoritative manner.

And Malik really has become humanized, hasn't he!? He could teach Brivari a few things in that respect, but I guess who's to say, really, because humans have all kinds of different personalities anyway. Still, Malik has definitely blended in. Have to give him credit. And he made David and Dee happy.

Oh yeah, and Dee made Anthony happy.

Dee wasn't mad at him.....and he'd gotten a kiss. His first kiss, if kisses on the cheek counted, that is.

A few minutes later, Anthony climbed down from the treehouse. He'd decided that it did count, and he smiled all the way home.

Great chapter!

And now I really must go to bed, as much as I want to keep reading! But little by little I'm catching up. :D

Island Breeze wrote:I was afraid Lewis was going to muscle his way in there for awhile. He certainly did not intend to give up.

Lewis is the "Agent Lewis" Pierce Jr. refers to in WR when he reels off a list of people Max (or aliens in general) have killed. Pierce identifies Agent Lewis as the first head of the Special Unit, so, you're right--Lewis really doesn't give up. All the way into the future!

HeHe! No, that's no squirrel in the cave with them! I loved that part with Jimmy and Billy, the Indian kids!

:mrgreen: Thanks!

Of all the wondering I do about backstsory in Roswell, one of the biggest "wonderings" is what kind of a relationship the shapeshifter who lived in the cave on the reservation had with the Indians. River Dog tells us they didn't trust Nasedo at first, but also says Nasedo "befriended us all", so that initial mistrust must have changed. Couple that with River Dog's insistence on fulfilling his promise to Nasedo even after watching him kill someone, and I wonder where that loyalty came from and what changed the Indians' minds. Exploring all those questions has been very satisfying, and I hope it continues to come out well.








CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE


July 5, 1948, 0935 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




"Don't be so hard on yourself," Yvonne said gently. "You tried. And you're dealing with very difficult people."

"Tell me about it," Stephen grumbled.

Yvonne watched with concern as he slumped over his breakfast in the compound's mess. She had listened to his recounting of last night's conversation with John in sympathetic silence, sometimes nodding, sometimes prodding, but careful to bite her tongue and let him finish. Now that he had, she wasn't surprised at the outcome...and she'd never seen Stephen so depressed.

"I just don't know what to do," Stephen was saying. "Who's right? If Malik is right, then he had damned good reasons for deserting, but if he's lying, and I get Brivari to accept his help, I could be walking John and Brivari into a trap. I'd have to live with that....and I don't want to live with that." He dropped his spoon into his largely uneaten bowl of oatmeal with a sigh. "I keep saying this isn't my fight, that I don't want to be involved, and then I keep getting involved. Everyone knows how well it worked the last time I jumped to conclusions—Brivari and John were both captured. You'd think I'd learn."

"You keep getting involved because this is your fight, at least up to a point," Yvonne said. "We're all invested in this, some in more ways than others. And you care. That's why no one believed you when you said you wouldn't help anymore."

"In other words, they already know I make empty threats," Stephen said irritably.

"No—they already know you're a good person who wouldn't turn his back on them," Yvonne corrected. "Which is not a bad thing to be, by the way."

"Right," Stephen said glumly. "Keep trying."

"Look," Yvonne said, trying a different tack. "The way I see it, the problem here is that all of you are right to some degree. Brivari understandably won't trust someone who's already turned on him once. If Malik is telling the truth, then he's right to be wary of both Brivari and John and the king they represent. And you're right that things have changed, and Brivari should consider the need to take risks he wouldn't normally take."

"You're not helping," Stephen said sourly.

"But the 'right' I find the most compelling is John's: Everything here is stable," Yvonne continued, ignoring him. "He's safe for the moment, which means it probably isn't worth taking those risks right now. Just let it go for now, and see what happens. You accomplished a lot last night—you got people who swore they wouldn't talk to each other to do just that, and you learned a lot about how their people are treated and how all this came about...even if that is disturbing," she finished, her stomach churning at the details Stephen had provided of the function John's people had fulfilled. Apparently every world had its complement of Mengele's and Lewis's.

"Good morning, Lieutenants," a voice said nearby, startling them both. They'd deliberately picked a table tucked away in a corner and far from prying ears to have their conversation, and neither had been paying attention to the fact that someone was approaching.

"Good morning, Corporal," Yvonne said to Corporal Brisson, hovering nearby with a brimming tray of breakfast.

"Morning," Stephen said shortly.

"How are you feeling today, Lieutenant?" Brisson asked Yvonne.

"I'm feeling fine," Yvonne replied. "Why?"

"Yesterday at lunch, you looked a bit....under the weather," Brisson answered, watching her closely.

"Yeah, you did look kind of pale and shaky yesterday," Stephen added. "Were you sick?"

Yvonne stared at both expectant faces, momentarily at a loss for words. She'd forgotten all about the heavy menstrual bleeding yesterday, the worst of which had hit while she was having lunch with Brisson. As it turned out, that had been the end of it; she'd had no more cramps or episodes of heavy bleeding since then, although she had been very tired last night. She'd long since written the whole thing off to a fluke of nature, taken an iron pill, and put it out of her mind. "I'm fine, thank you," she said. "I....think it was just a stomach virus. Fortunately a short-lived one."

"Good," Stephen said.

"I'm glad to hear that," Brisson said, although he appeared unconvinced. "May I join you, or were you having a private conversation?"

"No," Stephen said promptly. "I was just leaving. Take my seat. I've enjoyed breakfast, Lieutenant," he said formally to Yvonne. "Perhaps we can do this again sometime."

"Any time," Yvonne answered, watching him walk away. Poor Stephen—it was bad enough to be caught between two adversaries, but three? "So," she continued to Brisson, who was sliding into Stephen's chair, "did you make any breakthroughs in alien reproduction yesterday?"

Crash! Brisson dropped his breakfast tray, which hadn't quite lowered to table level yet, upsetting his coffee cup in the process.
"It's okay," she said soothingly as Brisson began frantically mopping up the spill. "Don't get all upset over spilled coffee."

"I'm not studying alien reproduction," Brisson insisted, stabbing at the spilled coffee with his napkin. "Dr. Pierce is doing that."

Yvonne blinked. "Come again?"

"It isn't me, Lieutenant," Brisson said, stopping his cleaning to stare at her intently. "Whatever happens, I want to make it clear that it's Dr. Pierce who's doing that, not me."

"Calm down, Corporal," Yvonne said slowly, her eyes widening. "I wasn't accusing you of anything. I was just making a joke...albeit a bad one."

Brisson's expression softened. "I'm sorry," he said as he made a pile of soggy napkins near the edge of their table. "I'm just....excited, that's all. Word is that General Ramey is coming back from Washington with promotions today. I'd love to make Sergeant. Wouldn't you love to be a First Lieutenant?"

"Aside from the higher pay, I doubt it would make much difference for me," Yvonne answered. "Besides, that might mean having a 'Lieutenant Colonel Cavitt'. Not a happy thought."

"And a Lieutenant Colonel Pierce," Brisson said. "Ramey wouldn't be stupid enough to promote one and not the other."

Yvonne chatted politely for a few more minutes before excusing herself. She had no idea what had caused Brisson's outburst, but whatever it was, it had piqued her interest.....and she had access to the best source of information on alien reproduction, which wasn't either Corporal Brisson or Dr. Pierce.




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


Proctor residence



"Oh...hi, Mrs. Brazel. Dee asked me to come over. Is she here?" Anthony's voice floated up the stairway, sounding very faint.

"Yes, dear. She's upstairs in her room. You can go right up."

Kneeling beside her bed, Dee heard the front door close, along with more polite conversation between Mrs. Brazel and Anthony. On the bed in front of her was one of her pictures, one of the many she had drawn in such a fury right after the ship was discovered and Urza and Valeris were killed. She'd pulled out just this one, the only one she wanted Anthony to see. Or rather, left it out, after her mother had made her pull out the whole pile last night right after the alien woman had left.

"Emily, what on earth is going on?" Dee's father had asked in alarm after walking in to find his wife pointing his own gun at him.

"Deanna," Emily had ordered after she'd lowered the gun and removed the bullets, "go upstairs and get me the pictures you drew last summer. The ones you keep under your bed."

And Dee had complied immediately because she was still in shock at what had happened, and her mother had used her full name. It was always serious when parents used your full name. She couldn't have been gone more than a minute, but when she returned to the kitchen, her father was just returning from a circuit around the house, predictably finding nothing, and her mother was sitting stiffly in a kitchen chair. She took the pile of pictures and leafed through them quickly, stopping exactly where Dee knew she would.

"I didn't imagine it," Emily murmured with relief, as though having her memory vindicated was of the utmost importance. "What is this?"

"It's the group of stars where their planet is," Dee explained, her parents hanging on every word. "Their sun is the one at the bottom of the 'V'."

"But that...'woman' said it was the king's 'mark', or something."

"I didn't know that, Mama," Dee said quickly. "Urza never said anything about that."

"Makes sense, though," David said, staring at the picture. "Did you see Brivari tonight, Dee?"

"No," Dee had answered truthfully.

"Obviously, that doesn't mean a thing," Emily had said tersely. "He was there."

"But not with us," David said gently, "and now they know that."

"For the moment," her mother had allowed. "But what about next time? Because there will be a next time, David. I know it. You know it. And I, for one, am not going to just sit around waiting for it."

Her parents had stared at one another for several seconds before her father spoke. "Dee, go on upstairs to bed. Read a book if you can't sleep. Your mother and I need to talk."

Dee had been so relieved to escape further inquisition that she had left at once, grateful that she didn't have to choose between concealing what had happened this evening, or revealing it and sending her mother even further round the bend. Because that was where her mother must have gone to have brandished her father's pistol like that and actually been ready to fire it. Dee knew her mother very, very well, and there was no doubt in her mind that if the alien woman had not complied with her mother's order to leave their house, they would now be vacuuming up a pile of dust from their kitchen floor.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs; Anthony was on his way up. The question of how much to tell Anthony had kept Dee awake for a long time last night, long after her parents had finished talking and gone to bed. She'd vowed to tell him nothing more about the aliens unless absolutely necessary, and to her way of thinking, his saving her life last night—again—constituted "absolutely necessary". He needed to hear enough for him to make sense of what he'd seen, and God knows he'd earned it, but she still had to be careful not to spill too many beans. She was really souring on vows of silence; make one, and something was guaranteed to happen ten minutes later that would make you break it.

"Hi," Anthony said, walking into her bedroom. "I came as fast as I could. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," Dee answered.

"Why is Mrs. Brazel downstairs?"

"Mama and Daddy are talking to Mac, and Mrs. Brazel came over too," Dee answered, adding to herself, to keep an eye on me. As though that would do any good. Somehow, Dee couldn't see aliens being dissuaded by the sight of Mrs. Brazel answering the door. "Close the door," she said, nodding toward the telescope at the window. "We don't want anyone walking in on us."

Anthony followed her gaze and nodded, closing her bedroom door and sliding her chair in front of it they way they always did whenever they used the birthday telescope Brivari had given her during the daytime. Her parents knew Anthony used her telescope at night, of course, but if they knew he used it during the day, it would be a dead giveaway that he knew it was no ordinary telescope.

"Recognize this?" Dee asked, holding up her picture when Anthony was done securing the door.

"That's just like the firework we saw last night."

"Right. Now look through here, to the northwest. It's really small."

She waited while Anthony bent his head to the eyepiece. It would take him awhile to find it; the constellation was very faint, and only visible for a short time in the first half of the day, which is why she had called him first thing this morning and told him to come over as soon as he could. It had taken her ages to learn how to find it, bothering Brivari every chance she got to teach her how. Even so, it had taken her a full minute of solid searching to locate it this time.

"I see it!" Anthony said suddenly, his voice tight with excitement. "It's a perfect 'V', with almost no other stars around it!"

"See the star at the bottom of the 'V'?"

"Yup."

"That's their star. Their planet orbits that star."

"Amazing," Anthony breathed. She waited while he stared a good while longer before finally coming up for air. "So that's a 'royal mark'?"

"I didn't know that," Dee said, curling up on the bed, Anthony joining her. "They just told me their star was in a constellation that looked like that, and I drew this picture last summer. I didn't know it had anything to do with the king."

"What king?" Anthony asked.

"The king of their planet," Dee explained. "I guess someone else wanted to be king, because somebody killed him. And the people that worked for the king ran away, and—"

"Their ship crashed here!" Anthony finished. "And now the people who work for whoever killed the king are trying to find the king's people."

"Actually, they're trying to kill the king's people," Dee said darkly.

"Well, sure," Anthony said. "That's the way it works here too. Whenever somebody kills a king and takes over, one of the first things they do is try to kill the king's family, especially an heir, if there is one, and anyone who worked for the king. That happened in England, France—everywhere."

"Right. Everywhere," Dee sighed, having not paid a whole lot of attention in history class. "And I mean everywhere."

"So the....'people' you're helping are the king's people," Anthony said slowly, "and the man we saw last night must be looking for them. But...." He stopped, frowning. "What I can't figure out is how so many of our people got involved in this. There's people like Mr. Langley, who must be working with the king's people. And there's the handyman; I guess he was working for the king too because he was with you. And the man we saw last night must be working for whoever killed the king. And some of these people can do really neat things that regular people can't do, but I can't figure out how."

"Look, I don't know everything," Dee said, hoping the carefully chosen bits of information she'd given Anthony would do....for now, at least. "My parents and I just know the basics, and now you do too."

"Your mother was all worried last night," Anthony said. "She figured it out, didn't she?"

"She remembered my drawing," Dee admitted, omitting the part about her mother threatening to shoot an alien in their kitchen.

"So what happened?" Anthony asked. "Did she flip like you expected?"

Dee stared off into space for a moment before shaking her head. "Nope. Not at all like I expected."



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



"I like this one," Emily said, wrapping her hand around the tiny revolver. "It fits better in my hand than David's, and it's small enough to hide almost anywhere."

Across the dining room table, Mac and David stared at her with expressions which seemed to rotate like a wheel, passing through disbelief, skepticism, and wariness before cycling through again. Emily looked from one to the other several times before setting the revolver down and crossing her arms in front of her.

"You both think I've flipped, don't you?"

Mac and David exchanged glances. "Well," Mac said uncomfortably, "you must admit this is quite a change."

"Having an enemy alien sitting in my kitchen drinking tea is also 'quite a change'," Emily noted.

"True," Mac allowed. "It's just that this is so....sudden. And you don't have......" His voice trailed off as though he were afraid to finish the sentence.

Emily's eyebrows rose. "I don't have.....what?"

"What Mac is so diplomatically trying to say is that there's a difference between learning how to shoot a weapon and when to shoot a weapon," David answered. "Being able to hit the middle of a target is impressive, but no substitute for the judgment needed to know when to shoot and when not to."

"So you think I'm going to shoot the milk man?" Emily said dryly.

"I think that without the training Mac and I have had, you might wind up panicking and doing something you'll regret later," David answered.

Emily considered this in silence for a moment before leaning forward, arms on the table. "Gentlemen, you are the ones who have repeatedly told me that having a weapon in the house was wise given our current situation. Do I detect a whiff of hypocrisy here? Or—God forbid—male chauvinism?"

"If you were a man, I'd be telling you exactly the same thing," David countered. "As for the hypocrisy, I detect more than a whiff. Although from my perspective, it's coming from the other side of the table."

Silence. David and Emily looked daggers at one another across the dining room table as Mac inched his chair backward ever so slightly. "Look," he said awkwardly, "maybe we should do this later. I could—"

"All right," Emily said to David, ignoring Mac. "I had that coming. I concede that you were right, that our need to protect ourselves outweighs the opinion I still hold about how the availability of a quick, painless death is the reason your brother is dead. Happy?"

"No," David said promptly. "The need to have weapons in the house doesn't make me happy."

"David, Em, you're welcome to one of my guns if that's what you decide," Mac tried again, "but maybe now's not the time—"

"It certainly doesn't make me happy either," Emily said sharply. "But I've had your gun within reach for the past six months, and I've learned how to use it. Why are you suddenly objecting to my having one of my own?"

"Because having one of your own is different," David insisted. "Because at least you had to walk upstairs for mine, which gave you a few minutes to think. Because having one you can stash in your purse or stuff in a drawer means having one that's easier to use. And because having one that's easier to use means you're more likely to use it."

"So you do think I'm going to shoot the milk man."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

"I just think that having a quick and easy solution so close at hand should you ever suspect an alien nearby again might not be such a good idea."

"So 'quick' and 'easy' are bad? Now who's making a concession?"

"Actually, I'd call it an observation, but use any term you like," David said, his eyes locked on his wife. "If you object to my brother having an easy fix close at hand, then this should be no different. You tell me who the hypocrite is."

Mac's eyes widened. Emily pursed her lips and stared at David a moment before speaking again. "I see your point," she said, a tinge of ice in her voice, "although I think we're both guilty on the hypocrisy front. But I passed your test, David. I didn't shoot her, and I easily could have. I gave her a chance to leave, and let her go when she wisely chose to. I've already proven I don't have a trigger finger." She turned to Mac, who was looking distinctly uncomfortable. "If you don't want to get involved in this, I'll understand. This isn't your problem."

"No, no, that's all right," Mac said hurriedly. "I've collected guns for years, and you're welcome to have one. Glad to help. I just don't want to get in the middle of this. Trust me, I don't own that much life insurance. No one does."

Emily smiled slightly and picked up the tiny revolver. "Perhaps when you're giving me my lessons, you could also instruct me in whatever it is my husband thinks I'm lacking."

Mac's gaze flicked to David, then back to Emily. "I can't do that, Em. That can't be taught. That's something that comes through experience. You want more practice with that, just have more aliens drop by."

"I think they will anyway," Emily said quietly, flicking open the revolver's chamber. "Like it or not, I'll be getting all the practice I need."



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


Copper Summit, Arizona,



Lost in thought in front of one of the tanks, Marana heard the door to the lower basement level open. Having memorized everyone's gait, she could tell from the rhythm of the footsteps who it was. "Did you find him?" she asked without turning around.

"No," Malik answered. "Not that I expected to. Brivari long ago mastered the art of invisibility."

And I haven't, Marana thought heavily. Being invisible was a Covari's stock in trade, and she'd failed twice today, having been caught by two different humans in two different ways. "Humiliated" didn't even begin to described how she was feeling right now. She had been most unhappy when Orlon had ordered her to check the human family's house until she realized that she had the easier assignment; Brivari was much more likely to be at the military base. And she was well prepared, with a different face, no currency to contend with, and a performance to copy, that of a human female who had appeared on her own doorstep with a similar tale and Malik coming to her rescue. She hadn't expected the child to be up so late, nor had she been thrilled at being tested with telepathic speech, but she'd sailed through anyway, certain that she'd convinced the child that she was human. For the mother to then reveal her had been especially galling.

"Well, you were right," she said to Malik, returning to topics that weren't so embarrassing. "He was there, and the only reason we discovered that was because he chose to tell us."

"Apparently Brivari is every bit as skilled at playing Orlon as Orlon is at playing Brivari," Malik said. "Sometimes I get the feeling that we're just spectators, watching the two of them duke it out."

" 'Duke it out'?"

"Fight. Specifically, a reference to 'boxing', a human sport where the participants don protective gloves and hit each other."

Marana stared at him incredulously. "That's a 'sport'?" she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "They can appear so civilized.....sometimes I forget how primitive they really are."

"We do the same types of things," Malik shrugged. "We just dress it up and call it something else."

"If you say so," Marana said doubtfully. "So did you manage to speak with Brivari's allies at the base?"

Malik smiled ruefully. "I spoke with his male ally, and I told him what Orlon wanted me to—that I wanted to help Jaddo escape. He didn't believe me. They may be primitive, but they're not stupid."

"Tell me about it," Marana muttered.

Malik looked at her closely. "Is something wrong? Did you have any trouble with the girl's family?"

"Brivari wasn't there," Marana answered shortly, sidestepping the revelation that she'd been discovered and retreated at gunpoint. "What do you know about the child? Amar says you've both encountered her before."

Malik nodded. "Back when we first heard the Warders had come here. We went to the girl's house on a tip that they'd found a strange piece of 'metal' which we thought might be part of the ship, and Amar was certain that she'd understood our telepathic speech. She never reacted to anything he said, though, and the metal turned out to be an ordinary earth metal."

"But Amar claims she spoke to him after that."

"I know," Malik said. "Which means the girl was hiding her ability to hear us, and her father probably deliberately misled us."

"He's the one who killed the hunter," Marana murmured, regretting that her "visit" hadn't lasted long enough for her to encounter such a remarkable human. "And his child is capable of telepathic speech. Who would have thought?"

"You tell me," Malik said. "You're the bioscientist."

"It's certainly possible," Marana allowed, having spent a great deal of time pondering this subject. "Every human possesses that capability in a part of their brain typically dormant. But a child's brain is still growing, still forming connections. That's why we prefer to study children of any species; their brains are still full of possibilities, unlike the typical adult's brain, where unused sections have atrophied." She paused. "You know, it's amazing that Brivari's human allies aren't interested in why he knew of their world or what we were doing here. Perhaps we should press the point. Maybe that would change their allegiances."

"Maybe," Malik allowed. "Or maybe they would turn on us too. Do you really think Brivari isn't going to mention that Amar and I were directly involved? Or that the one who now occupies Zan's throne will probably continue that work in the future? And that's just the truth. He could easily make up something worse."

"So could we," Marana retorted. "We can say anything we want, and it's our word against his."

"And you think they'd take our word over Brivari's? Either way—" Malik stopped, staring into space. "Wait a minute," he said slowly. "How would you know how Brivari's allies feel about that?"

Damn! Marana stiffened, mortified at being caught yet a third time, this time by one of her own. "I.....Amar must have said something," she said, looking away.

"He did? I can't imagine Amar having a conversation with any human on that subject."

"Well, he must have," Marana said peevishly. "Or maybe you did."

"No, I didn't," Malik said with certainty, his eyes narrowing. "Marana.....what happened tonight? Were you talking to—"

A piercing beep cut off the rest of his sentence as Marana mentally sagged with relief. Saved by an errant pump, or some other wayward component that had set off an alarm. A moment later, her relief had turned to shock. The occupant of the tank she was closest to had begun moving erratically, his limbs thumping against the sides.

"What's happening?" Malik asked, his previous question fortunately forgotten.

"He's emerging," Marana whispered.


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

I'll post Chapter 96 next Sunday.