Fan Fic and More

Hello to everyone reading!







CHAPTER 40




October 29, 2000, 6:30 p.m.

Evans residence






"Could you pass the bread, please?" Max said.

"Sure, honey," his mother answered. "Izzie?"

Across the table, Isabel busied herself with her dinner plate and ignored them. "Isabel?" Diane persisted.

"What?" Isabel said.

"Your brother would like the bread," Diane said.

"So?" Isabel said.

Max watched his parents exchange glances. "So it's closest to you," Philip said. "Would you please pass it?"

Isabel grabbed the bread basket and passed it to Philip. "I didn't want it, sweetheart," Philip said. "Max did."

"So pass it to him," Isabel shrugged.

There was a brief pause before Philip handed the bread basket to Max, who took it without comment. Isabel had been angry with him since they'd returned from the pod chamber, which was okay with him because he was angry with her too. She'd obviously found that huge, glowing whatever-it-was a while ago, maybe even as long ago as the birthday party, and said nothing to anyone. That she would make such a momentous discovery and keep it to herself for even ten minutes was infuriating. That she would do so while they were in the midst of murderers and kidnappers was downright dangerous. They'd almost lost Isabel and Tess over that thing, and probably had lost Nasedo over it. To stay silent on a subject of such importance was completely unacceptable.

"So how was the game?" Philip asked.

"Fine," Isabel said.

"Not very descriptive," Diane noted.

"What's to describe?" Isabel said. "It's a football game. Someone yells 'Hut!', they all run and pile on top of each other, and then a whistle blows. Then they do it again. And again, and again."

"Pretty much describes football," Philip chuckled as Diane frowned. "Who won?"

No one said anything. His parents watched them both expectantly as Max debated fibbing his way through this, ultimately deciding that wasn't a good idea right now. "I don't know," he admitted. "I didn't see all of it. I left early."

"Oh?" Philip said. "Why?"

"There were some...things going on with our friends," Max said. "Taking care of that was more important than watching the game."

"Did you leave early too, sweetheart?" Diane asked Isabel.

"No," Isabel answered.

"Yes," Max said.

They had spoken simultaneously. Across the table, Isabel's eyes flashed as their parents stopped eating, their heads swinging slowly from one child to the other. "Well, which?" Philip asked. "Did Isabel leave early too, or not?"

There was a strained silence as Max and Isabel eyed each other across the table. "Yes," Max answered, "she did. We left together."

"Then...why did you say you hadn't?" Diane ventured.

"Because I don't want to give chapter and verse on every single thing I do," Isabel said peevishly.

"I can't speak for your mother, but I wasn't going to ask for chapter and verse," Philip said evenly. "Your friends are your business, and I'm glad they're more important to you than a football game."

Everyone resumed eating. No more lies, Iz, Max thought as a heavy silence settled over the table. Lies were precisely why his parents were exchanging meaningful glances from opposite ends of the table while Isabel fumed over her plate. Lies were why he was nursing a grudge against his own sister. The lies had to stop.

"Did...you two have a fight?" his father asked.

"No," Isabel said.

"Yes," Max said.

They had spoken simultaneously again. Diane sighed heavily as Philip looked questioningly at Isabel. "Sweetie?"

"Dad, don't call me 'sweetie'," Isabel said irritably. "My name is 'Isabel'."

"As one of the two people who named you, I know that," Philip said. "So you and Max had a fight."

"Why do you just assume he's right?" Isabel demanded.

"Because he was right the last time," Philip answered. "Your track record is less than stellar."

Isabel pushed her beans around her plate for a moment. "I just didn't want to get into it."

"You could have answered truthfully and still declined to 'get into it'," Philip said.

"I didn't lie," Isabel insisted.

"Yeah, honey, you kind of did," Philip said.

"More than 'kind of'," Diane observed.

"You asked if we'd had a fight," Isabel said. "It wasn't exactly a 'fight', so I didn't lie."

"I also asked where you were all those nights when you were supposedly at friends' houses," Diane said. "Are you going to tell me you weren't 'exactly' not there, so those weren't lies?"

"See, this is why I don't go into detail, because I always get the third degree," Isabel grumbled.

"Where you are isn't a 'detail'," Philip said. "It's something we have to know for your own safety."

" 'Safety'?" Isabel said scornfully. "That's a laugh. There's no such thing as 'safety'."

Max stayed on the sidelines even as his parents exchanged more worried glances. Isabel was right, of course, and he knew exactly what she meant, but there was no way to communicate that to their parents. On the contrary, doing so would only make things worse.

"Isabel, your father and I have decided it would be a good idea for you to see a therapist," Diane announced.

Finally, Max thought as a startled hush fell over the table. The cat was out of the bag, and Isabel certainly couldn't say he hadn't warned her. "What?" Isabel exclaimed, sounding genuinely surprised. "Why?"

"Because of all the lying," Diane said. "And the mood you've been in."

"And here we go again," Isabel said angrily. "You always overreact, and now you're doing it again! A therapist? Really?"

Not helping, Max thought wearily as his mother's eyes hardened. "Yes, really," Diane answered. "Now you're fighting with your brother, which you never do."

"Right, so Max and I have a fight, and I go to a therapist?" Isabel protested. "Why me and not him?"

"I just think something needs to be done," Diane said stubbornly.

"And your idea of 'doing something' is sending me to that therapist Max saw?" Isabel demanded.

"Definitely not that quack," Philip muttered.

"Philip!" Diane admonished. "He wasn't a quack. He helped Max; your own mother said so."

"Max, help me out here," Isabel begged. "So we had a disagreement...so what? Brothers and sisters always do that. That doesn't mean I need a therapist."

"Yes, Max, what do you think?" Diane said. "You've had some therapy, so do you think it's a good idea? Do you think that would help her?"

No, Max thought, keeping his eyes on his plate. Therapy wouldn't help Isabel, but something had to be done. He'd tried to warn her. He'd told her they were considering this, but here she was provoking them in spite of that warning. If she wanted to be mad at him, fine, but this show of hostility mere hours after he'd warned her this was coming was just plain stupid. Maybe she should go to therapy just to learn a lesson about keeping her mouth shut…

"Great," Isabel said stiffly, rising from her chair. "Thanks for nothing, Max."

"Isabel, wait!" Philip called as she stormed off.

"Izzie, honey, come back," Diane begged.

"I'll talk to her," Max said, pushing his chair back.

"Let him go," Philip said when Diane began to object. "If they had a fight, maybe they need to talk."

"Like they did here?" Diane said skeptically. "Because that was so helpful. This wasn't just a fight, Philip, this is part of a pattern. Why do you just shrug everything off?"

"Why do you blow it out of proportion?" Philip said. "Because she has a point…"

Max left his parents bickering and went down the hall to Isabel's room, where he encountered a locked door. "By all means, come right in," she said irritably when he made short work of that. "Because locking the door always means 'come right in'."

"So you're mad at me," Max said. "Join the club, because I'm pissed too. Why didn't you tell us what Whitaker said? Why didn't you tell us what you'd found in the pod chamber? Why did you wait so long?"

"And here we go again," Isabel sighed. "God, you're just like Mom! What difference does it make? Even Michael didn't care!"

"Michael's just covering his own ass because Michael did the same thing," Max said. "River Dog came to him, and he didn't tell us...and almost got himself killed."

"So now you're going to take that out on me?" Isabel demanded. "Because telling Mom to send me to a shrink will solve everything. It certainly did for you."

"I never said that—"

"No, you didn't say anything!" Isabel exclaimed. "You sweated therapy all summer, and we sweated with you, but you just sold me down the river!"

"Isabel, you did that to yourself," Max said sternly. "I warned you Mom was trying to get Dad to agree to a therapist, so what do you do? You throw a tantrum at the dinner table! Why would you do that when I'd already told you she'd all but talked him into it?"

"If he was already talked into it, then it didn't matter what I did," Isabel retorted.

Both of them eyed one another, seething in silence as Max reflected that this was only getting worse the angrier they became. "Okay," he said after a moment, trying to stifle his feelings, to find a middle ground. "I'm sorry I got angry with you. I almost lost you, so to find out that you hadn't told me something so important...it hurt. And it worried me. What if I can't protect you because of something I don't know?"

Isabel stared into space for what seemed like a long time before her expression softened. "I...I didn't know what to do. I...killed somebody, Max. I killed somebody. God," she said quietly, shaking her head. "It sounds so weird to say that out loud. Those are words I never thought I'd hear myself say." She paused. "The pod chamber was the one place I could go and be truly alone. No one would expect to find me there, not even you. And I didn't want to deal with what it meant because I wanted so badly for all of it to just go away. I knew the minute I told you what I'd found, you'd all be in there gawping at it, and I'd lose the one place I could be alone."

Max smiled faintly. " 'Gawping'. Is that what we were doing?"

"It's what I was doing," Isabel admitted.

Max sat down beside her, slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Okay, we were gawping. But you've gotta admit, it's gawp-worthy."

"It is," Isabel agreed. "Whatever it is, it's actually kind of…"

"Cool," Max finished.

"Yeah," Isabel said wonderingly. "That. And we made it. Our…'people', I mean. Wherever we come from, they can make things like that."

"Does...that make you want to know more about them?" Max asked.

Isabel was quiet for a moment. "Maybe," she whispered.

There was a brief knock at the door. "Oh, honey, look," Philip said, poking his head into the room as Max and Isabel spun around. "They've made up."

"For the moment," Diane allowed.

"But—"

"Philip," Diane said warningly, "we agreed. Tell them."

"Tell us what?" Isabel asked fearfully.

Their parents filled the doorway, one resolute, the other resigned. "Your mother and I have reached a compromise," Philip said. "I've agreed to a few sessions with a therapist as long as it's not the same therapist Max saw."

Max squeezed the hand his sister slipped into his, hoping she wouldn't overreact and validate their decision. "Maybe a different therapist is a good idea," he said as Isabel looked away, stunned.

"I'm glad you think so, sweetheart, because your sister had a point," Diane said. "If the two of you are fighting, maybe you could both use someone to talk to. So we'd like you to have some sessions too."

"And then you can both evaluate the new person," Philip went on, "and tell us if they're being helpful or not."

Max stared at him, the prospect of more months of lying looming ahead. "So it's a plan," Philip went on cheerfully, as though silence meant agreement. "I don't know who you'll be seeing, but your mother and I will look into other therapists."

"Grandma," Isabel said suddenly. "Ask Grandma Dee. Maybe she knows someone."

"My mother?" Philip said doubtfully. "Why would she know anything about—"

"What a good idea!" Diane broke in brightly. "I'll go call her right away."

"You will?" Philip said.

"Hush," Diane whispered as she led him away. "She loves your mother, and if it makes her feel better, I'll do just about anything…"

Max and Isabel sat in silence, watching the doorway as though hoping their parents would reappear and take everything back. "What is it they say about misery?" Isabel said finally.

"That it loves company?" Max said.

"Yeah," Isabel said dully. "That."







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





Valenti residence





Tess Harding passed a hand over the doorknob, sealing it shut. A moment later she reached under the bed, opening her secret hiding space. The alien box was cool and curved in her hand as she removed it and set it on the bed. Six whole weeks had gone by since Nasedo's death—would it open? Holding her breath, she held a hand over it and closed her eyes.

Nothing. The box remained closed, impervious to the power she sent through it. Crap, Tess thought disconsolately, flopping on the bed. Shouldn't it be open by now? How long had Nasedo expected her to wait? Wasn't six weeks long enough? She'd been so hopeful that the box would open, that something inside would tell them what that glowing thing in the pod chamber was for, what a "Granolith" was for. It was maddening that Nasedo had never told her about it, leaving her gawking like the rest of them, just like it was maddening that Isabel had been the one to find it. If she'd found it, she would have…what? Kept it to herself? Pretended she'd known all along? Probably impossible to do the first once that hole in the pods had revealed the light, and inadvisable to do the second; nothing good would come of the Others thinking she was keeping things from them. So why did she wish she had been the one to find it? Because I deserve to, she thought fiercely. The Others had lived an idyllic life in sunny Roswell while she'd spent her life on the run. Okay, maybe Michael's life hadn't been exactly "idyllic", but at least he'd had some semblance of a family with Max and Isabel and their human parents. Their world, their birthright, was all she had, so she should have been the one to find this huge, obviously Important Something and report it to the Others, and since she hadn't been, she should at least be the one to tell them what it was and how it worked. She was certain the answers to those questions must be in this box because how could something like that have been left in their pod chamber without an instruction manual of some sort? But the box remained stubbornly closed, taunting her. She had something none of the rest of them had, but what good did it do her if she couldn't use it?

A knock came at the door. "Tess?" Kyle's voice called. "Dinner's ready." The doorknob rattled. "Hey...is this locked?"

"Yeah," Tess answered, scrambling off the bed. "Just a sec."

"Why is the door locked?" Kyle said, rattling the knob some more.

"I'm changing my clothes," Tess said, shoving the box back into its hiding space. "People usually like to do that in private." She sealed the floorboard over the box and unlocked the bedroom door.

"You're...wearing the same clothes," Kyle noted.

"Yeah, I didn't like the new outfit, so I put this back on," Tess shrugged.

"Talk about a waste of time," Kyle said. "Is this a girl thing? Changing your clothes, then changing your mind, then changing them back, all behind a locked door?"

"What's the matter, Kyle?" Tess said coyly. "Haven't you ever done anything in your bedroom behind a locked door?"

Kyle promptly pinked, as she knew he would; the magazines under the bed had no doubt been well and truly thumbed with one hand down his pants, all behind that locked door. "No," he said quickly, his eyes widening as her eyebrows rose. "I mean...uh...well...dinner's ready! Come and get it!"

"Worst subject change ever," Tess noted as she followed him to the kitchen, where Sheriff Valenti was stirring something in the oven.

"Hey!" the sheriff called. "Have a seat—dinner's almost ready."

"Tater tots?" Tess asked.

"And chicken rondolets," Valenti said, adding proudly, "and I made salads."

Progress, Tess thought approvingly as she took a seat. Cooking at the Valenti household had more to do with microwaving than actual cooking. Most meals consisted of some sort of frozen, breaded product, often more than one, and only rarely anything consisting of fruit or vegetable matter. An actual salad, which required more than simply slapping grapes, bananas, or apples on the table, was unheard of. "So how'd you like that game, eh?" Valenti said. "Wasn't that fumble pretty spectacular? Won the game for our guys, that's for sure."

Tess blinked; she'd completely forgotten about the football game, and had no idea who'd won. "Yeah, spectacular," she agreed. "Totally."

"Hang on just a sec," Valenti said, scurrying back to the oven. "I think the tater tots are burning."

Kyle eyed her across the table. "Liar," he whispered.

"Hmm?" Tess murmured, privately wondering if it was possible to burn tater tots, and if doing so would make them taste better.

"You left the game early," Kyle said. "I saw you and the rest of them creeping away before the end of the first half."

" 'A', we weren't 'creeping', and 'B', weren't you supposed to be playing? How did you find time to scan the stands for just a few people several rows up? Why, Kyle Valenti," Tess went on with amusement as Kyle looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Were you looking for me? In the middle of a game? How sweet."

"Don't get all sappy," Kyle said crossly. "I just happened to see you all walking out between plays. Where'd you go?"

"None of your business," Tess answered calmly.

"Maybe not, but what was so important that you had to leave in the middle of a game?" Kyle said.

"Exactly what part of 'none of your business' are you having trouble with?" Tess asked.

Kyle leaned in closer. "You know, I could tell my dad that you just lied to him."

Tess leaned in closer. "You know, I could tell your dad that you were nasty to Max before the game."

"I was joking!" Kyle protested. "And besides, he was a real ass the night of Isabel's party, demanding to know where I'd taken her like she was his slave, or something."

"Oh, you mean like you're demanding to know where we went, and threatening me if I don't tell you?" Tess said. "So the way to protest Max being an ass is to be one yourself. Way to go, Kyle."

"I wasn't looking for you up in the stands," Kyle insisted.

"I know you weren't," Tess said. "You were looking for Isabel."

Kyle blushed furiously as Valenti set two large cookie sheets of previously frozen, breaded goodness on the table. "Here we go!" he announced gaily. "Let's celebrate your win!"

"With real food for a change," Kyle muttered, stabbing a rondolet.

"So did you know Tess was there cheering you on?" Valenti asked.

"Heck, no, Dad!" Kyle said brightly. "When I'm playing, I'm so busy I wouldn't even notice Martians in the stands."





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





Proctor residence





Yvonne White unzipped her suitcase, her stiff hands clutching at the zipper which ran clear around the case. The new fashion for soft luggage with loads of zippers was not kind to the arthritic, and she had to stop and start again several times, each time repositioning her hands to get a better grip. At last the lid gave way and she pulled it back, digging into the contents to remove what she'd buried in the middle, the better to protect it. The silver frame shone, it's glass undamaged, and the two faces in the photo it contained smiled back at her, young, healthy, full of promise. More digging produced a battered watch, a set of captain's bars, and a cardigan sweater which had seen better days. Yvonne unfolded it, smoothing the wrinkles and buttoning the buttons before holding it to her cheek and inhaling deeply. It still smelled like him.

"Yvonne?"

It was Dee, standing hesitantly in the doorway of the little bedroom which had been hers as a child. "If this is a bad time, I can come back later."

"No, no," Yvonne said. "It's not a bad time. No worse than any other."

Dee came into the room and laid a set of towels on the end of the bed. "I wish I could offer you your own bathroom, but I'm afraid we'll have to share the tub, at least. We put a powder room downstairs, but the only tub is up here…"

She stopped as Yvonne waved a dismissive hand. "No worries. Just let me know when the two of you usually take baths, and I'll be sure to pick a different time."

"But we don't want to disrupt your schedule," Dee protested.

Yvonne smiled faintly. "I do. When I'm doing new things...I miss him less."

Dee sat down on the end of the bed. "I'm so sorry," she said gently. "I can't imagine what it must be like to lose your husband."

"I should have been able to," Yvonne said. "Stephen had Alzheimer's for years, so I certainly had plenty of time to get used to what was coming. He'd reached the point where he didn't recognize me, where every time he saw me, it was like he was meeting me for the first time. So you'd think I'd be ready for it...but I wasn't. I wasn't," she said softly. "Not even close."

"How did it happen?" Dee asked.

Yvonne shrugged. "He didn't just wake up. He hadn't been ill, no more so than usual, that is. They found him in the morning. He was already cold, so he'd been gone for a while."

"So no warning," Dee said sadly.

"You don't feel it at first," Yvonne went on. "There's too much to do. Belongings to collect, death certificates to file, phone calls to make. It's afterwards that it hits you. I wasn't sure it would. I've lived without Stephen for so long now, I wasn't sure how much it would matter when he was truly gone...but it does. Sort of like couples who've lived together think getting married won't matter, but it does."

Dee looked at the little pile on the bed. "Were these his things?"

Yvonne nodded, fingering the buttons on the worn sweater. "Everyone always says that material possessions don't matter, that people are more important than things, and that's exactly right…until those people are gone. Then those things become terribly important because it's all you have left of them."

"And now Jaddo's dead too," Dee murmured. "Although I doubt Brivari has any 'things' of his to sort through."

"It's been a bad year across the board," Yvonne agreed. "How is he?"

"Angry," Dee answered. "And grieving, even if he won't admit it."

"Have you told him about Stephen?"

Dee shook her head. "No. God, no. The last thing he needed was more bad news. He's in quite the mood."

"Understandably," Yvonne said. "And how are the kids?"

"I wish I knew," Dee sighed. "We used to have at least some inkling of what they were up to because Tess would talk to Jaddo, and Jaddo would let us know. But since he died…"

"That line of communication no longer exists," Yvonne nodded. "And at the worst possible time, when Isabel has to deal with having killed someone."

"Brivari saw all that, so we knew what happened there," Dee said, "but there must be so much more. Courtney's trying hard to eavesdrop more, but she hasn't been able to come up with much. I swear I'm going to bug their bedrooms."

"A rather drastic measure," Yvonne said, "especially if they find the bug. They'll be terrified the Special Unit is back in town."

"Can't I just plant the bug, and 'fess up if they find it?" Dee said glumly.

"Frankly, I think it's time to 'fess up anyway," Yvonne said. "I understand why Brivari wants to stay in the background, but there's no reason you have to. Max can't compel you."

Dee looked troubled. "You should have seen him that night, after it was over and Isabel came back to the party. He was...well, he was downright insufferable. Ordering her to tell him where she'd been, snapping at me...he was rude, he was patronizing, he was everything he shouldn't be if he's going to handle that power responsibly. Brivari's right—he has to stay out of sight, at least for now."

Anthony appeared in the bedroom doorway. "It's Diane," he announced, brandishing a phone, "and she sounds...well, she sounds like Diane."

"Oh, good Lord, what's she hyperventilating about now?" Dee muttered, taking the phone. "Diane!" she said brightly as Yvonne raised an amused eyebrow. "Hello, dear! How is everyone this fine Sunday?"

There was a long pause while Dee listened. "I see," she murmured. "Yes, of course you're concerned, but...what? You want to do what?" she demanded, her voice rising abruptly. "Are you serious? After what happened last time…. Yes, but..." Dee rolled her eyes as an agitated voice floated from the phone. "Yes, I did say that, but do you really think that would help? That last doctor was just…" Dee stopped abruptly, her eyes fastening on Yvonne. "Actually, Diane, I do have a suggestion for you, one I think you'll like. Can I get back to you? In, say, an hour or so?"

"Goodness, what was that all about?" Anthony asked when Dee rang off.

"Our dear darling daughter-in-law wants to put Isabel in therapy because of the way she's been acting lately," Dee said.

"You can't blame her," Yvonne said gently. "Diane doesn't know what's wrong, but she knows something's wrong."

"It gets worse," Dee said. "She wants Max back in therapy too. My whitewashing his first doctor with all those "coping skills" makes her think they could both use more coping skills."

"The price of success," Anthony said ruefully.

"But she asked me to help her find a new doctor," Dee continued, "and I happen to know one with time on her hands. One Diane would welcome with open arms, and who would never blow them in no matter what they let slip."

"Oh, I don't know," Yvonne said doubtfully. "Do you think Philip would accept an old lady as his children's therapist?"

"I think Philip would accept anyone who wasn't that other doctor," Dee said. "What do you say? It would be much safer for the kids, and it would give you something to do. And maybe you could convince Diane that they're fine, and don't need therapists."

"I'm not sure any of us are 'fine'," Yvonne said. "But I'll help in any way I can. If you can get their parents to agree, I'll do it."

"Excellent!" Dee said. "At least if they have to put up with therapists again, this time it will be the right one. Okay...first crisis of the day averted. Will you join us downstairs for dinner?"

"I'd love to," Yvonne said. "I've spent years eating alone. It will be good to have someone to talk to." She reached for her bag, meaning to pack up the things she'd been going through, when Dee picked up the framed photograph.

"I remember when you both looked like this. Was this taken on the base?"

"In 1950," Yvonne nodded, "right before we had to run. We were on our way to look for Captain Carver to see what he knew about that reporter who died right after the crash."

"Whatever happened to Captain Carver after the compound was shut down?" Dee asked. "Cavitt was hounding him, wasn't he? Did Carver ever find out he was free?"

"No idea," Yvonne said. "We never saw him again."





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





Holiday Inn, Roswell





"Welcome to the 509th Reunion!" the cheerful, far-too-young lady trilled to the next attendee, perched on her folding chair behind a long table full of carefully Sharpied name tags. "May I get you your name tag?"

"I'm guessing I can find it myself," the man said, sounded vaguely irritated. "I know my own name."

"But that's my job!" the young lady admonished. "You wouldn't want to deprive a lady of her job, would you?"

For a moment, the man looked like he was going to argue that point. But then his expression softened, and he shook his head. "No, ma'am, I would not. It's Carver. Captain Harold Carver."




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



I'll post chapter 41 on Sunday, November 22.

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!





CHAPTER FORTY-ONE



October 30, 2000, 8:30 a.m.

Eagle Rock Military Base






"Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen!" chirped the perky tour guide. "In a short while, we'll reach the Eagle Rock Military Base! I'm sure all of you have fond memories of serving your country there, and are so excited to see it again and show it to your loved ones! We're so lucky to have a classic Roswell day to reacquaint yourself with this time in your lives, warm, sunny, and gorgeous!"

Sitting toward the back of the bus, Hal Carver winced. Warm and sunny? Try hot and dry. At least it wasn't summer, when a glass could melt on a desktop, but Roswell was still plenty balmy in October, not to mention downright arid. He'd downed a quart of water since breakfast, and he still felt thirsty. The end-every-sentence-with-an-exclamation-point guide droned on, pointing out the supposedly noteworthy features of the barren desert landscape until a dark smudge appeared on the horizon, and her voice took on a new measure of excitement.

"We're almost there!" she exclaimed grandly as though the bus was approaching Disneyland.

"Isn't this exciting?" the man across the aisle exclaimed. "There it is, after all these years! It's like going back in time!"

Wish I could, Carver thought darkly. If he'd known then what he knew now, he'd have kicked some ass and then some. His "fond memories" were precisely the reason he'd elected to leave his loved ones home, not that his kids, now grown, would have been interested anyway. His wife was another matter; the reunion package included spouses, and coming up with a good reason why he didn't want her to accompany him had been tricky. There was just no good way to say that you had strong suspicions you were going to wind up in jail because you'd gotten so angry that you'd thrown something through a window.

"The Eagle Rock Military Base was decommissioned in 1974," the guide continued. "But we obtained permission from the current owners to bring you all back to your old home!"

" 'Current owners'?" Carver called. "You mean the army doesn't own it any more? Who does?"

The entire bus turned to stare at him as the guide's smile froze. "We'll have access to the main building and the living quarters, and we can walk around the rest of the base!" she went on, ignoring him. "You can show your families where you lived while you were defending Uncle Sam!"

"You didn't answer my question," Carver pointed out. "Who bought the place?"

"Who cares?" the man sitting in front of him said. "What I want to know is why we only get to see the main building and barracks. What about the hangars? That's where I spent most of my time."

"We were unable to assess the safety of every structure, so for safety reasons, only sections will be available to us. But what stories you'll have to tell!" the guide gushed. "Just imagine being able to show your wives where you ate, where you slept, where you—"

"Hid your girlie magazines," someone tittered.

Nervous laugher echoed through the bus as the guide blushed and wives looked variously perplexed or pissed. Carver shook his head as a couple of dozen husbands hastily tried to brush off that last comment along with knowing laughter. It was said that porn drove the internet, but long before there was a world wide web, porn had driven military bases; always had, still did, and always would. The bigger question, drowned out in the chatter, was who would want to buy an Army base. Given what had been happening when he'd been booted, that list could have some pretty nefarious characters on it.

"Guess you don't get your question answered," his seatmate said.

Carver glanced at the unfamiliar man sitting next to him as the guide babbled on about "life in the 40's and 50's" as though she wasn't talking to a bunch of people who'd already lived it. "Guess not," he answered.

"Seems like it shouldn't be hard to answer," the man said. "Not exactly a state secret."

Carver shrugged. "Maybe she just doesn't know."

The stranger cocked an eyebrow. "You really believe that?"

"Do you?" Carver said.

"Hell, no," the stranger answered. "I was here in '47. I saw what went down."

"Oh, yeah?" Carver said. "What'd you see?"

The stranger's eyes strayed out the window. "Enough to know that was no weather balloon."

You think? Carver mused as the stranger fell silent. He had no idea who this guy was, but it didn't really matter; dozens of soldiers had seen the remains of that "weather balloon", so dozens of soldiers knew better. "You got a name?" Carver asked.

"Yeah. You?"

Carver smiled faintly. "I meant one you wanted to share. You're not wearing a name tag."

"Neither are you," the stranger noted.

"Hate the damned things," Carver said. "I feel like a kindergartener."

"I hate the way everyone leans over and peers at it instead of just asking like normal people would," the stranger said.

"Good to know I'm 'normal'," Carver said.

"I wouldn't go that far," the stranger demurred.

They sat in companionable silence, two smartasses who still hadn't exchanged names as the dark blob in the distance took shape and the guide babbled on, only half listened to as most of the wives were gazing suspiciously at their husbands. It was weird how he felt better now that a kindred spirit was close at hand. He didn't regret not bringing his wife, but it had been a lonely slog watching old friends reunite. His own reunion had been brief, the length of time it had taken to speak a single name at the Memorial, where the names of those who had fallen or passed had been read out.

Captain Richard Dodie

The speaker had continued down the list as Carver's hands clenched together, grateful that the room full of bowed heads couldn't see his face. The last time he'd seen Richie was when he'd knocked on his door in that dive in Alamogordo where he'd been holed up to keep Cavitt's greasy mitts off his family. They'd downed several beers and stayed up all night talking, carefully avoiding any mention of aliens, dead reporters, or other touchy subjects. Richie must have had quite the hangover when he'd boarded that plane to Korea the next morning; God knew he'd had quite the hangover as he'd packed his stuff and prepared to go home after Ritchie told him Cavitt was dead and could no longer hurt him or anyone he loved. He'd been glad he'd relented and invited Richie in. He was even more glad 8 months later when word came that Richie would never be coming home.

"We're hee-er!" the guide trilled, managing to stretch a one syllable word into two. "Now, when we reach the main building and disembark, remember to stay together."

" 'Disembark'?" Carver said. "Why doesn't she just say 'get off the bus'?"

"Could be worse," his seatmate noted. "When you get off a plane, you 'deplane'. This could be 'debus'."

Carver's chuckle died in his throat as he looked out the window when the bus came to a halt. Two men in dark suits opened the gate, closing it behind them after the bus went through and taking up positions in front of it. "What's with the suits?" Carver said. "They don't look like military."

"Because they're not," his seatmate said.

"Then who were they?"

"Representatives of the 'current owners', most likely," his seatmate answered.

The bus had arrived. Carver had to keep himself from smiling at the thought of "debussing" as they filed off, forming an amoeba-shaped crowd in front of the base's main building. "Welcome back to Eagle Rock!" their ever chipper tour guide called. "Let's form an orderly line! We'll begin our tour with the Mess Hall!"

"So everyone can throw up their breakfasts," murmured his companion, who had stayed toward the back of the group.

"More suits," Carver said.

"Yup."

"They've got earpieces," Carver noted.

"That they do."

"And sunglasses," Carver added.

"So you can't see where they're looking."

Carver stared at his seatmate. "Who are you, exactly? I still don't know your name."

"Don't know yours either," the man commented.

"It's Hal."

"I'm Brian," the man said. "Got a last name?"

"None I want to share," Carver said warily.

"Same here," Brian said.

An uneasy feeling stirred in Carver's gut as he surveyed the dark-suited men surrounding their little group. One of them unlocked the doors to the main building for their guide, who enthusiastically waved everyone inside. Carver and his enigmatic bus buddy were some of the last through, and there was no mistaking the click of the doors being locked behind them, or the fact that every single one of the suits took up posts outside.

"This was the main reception area!" the guide announced, always striving to make the mundane and obvious sound exciting. "Visitors checked in here, along with any personnel reporting for the first time. Follow me to the Mess Hall! Everyone stick together!"

"Looks clean," Carver commented as they trundled down the main hallway. He remembered being here, but it was different when it was empty; the place had a vaguely museum-like quality now, echoey and creepy.

"Too clean," Brian commented. "Way too clean for a place that's been 'abandoned'."

"Maybe they cleaned it up for us," Carver suggested, glancing down a side hallway. 'Or maybe...wait. What is—"

"Don't stare," Brian ordered. "Don't let them know you see them."

Carver pulled his eyes forward, tearing them away from the suit he'd seen in the shadows. They were everywhere, standing sentinel at side hallways and doorways, silent, unmoving, their covered eyes invisible. No one else seemed to notice. "What the hell is going on?" Carver hissed.

"I'm guessing they don't want anyone wandering off on their own," Brian said.

"Looks like some goddamned police state," Carver muttered as they filed into the Mess Hall, empty and gleaming like it never had back in the day.

"Good guess," Brian said. "Very close."

"How would you know?" Carver demanded. "Who the hell are they? Who the hell are you?"

"Why do you care?" Brian asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"I care because I put my ass on the line back in '47," Carver snapped, "and then I got my ass kicked. And I was one of the lucky ones, which will tell you what happened to some of the rest of them."

"Interesting," Brian said, studying him closely. "I don't remember you. When were you here?"

"None of your business," Carver retorted.

The superlative-loving tour guide was in full swing now, describing delicious meals and dedicated kitchen staff, along with other things which had never existed. "Look, we can spend our time becoming BFF's, or we can ditch this place and go on our own little magical mystery tour," Brian said.

Carver stared at him. "What the hell is a 'BFF'? And how are we supposed to 'tour' with the Men in Black watching?"

"Sorry," Brian said. "Picked up some of my daughter's slang. And I guarantee you that not a single one of these suits knows this place the way I do. If you're interested, stay close; if not, hang back. I won't wait for you."






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






Pod Chamber






"Michael!" Max called. "Michael, wait!"

Isabel and Tess exchanged glances as Max hurried after Michael, who was in one of his predictable snits. "I said we'd come back, and we will," Max said to Michael's retreating back. "But right now, we have school."

"Right," Michael said in a deeply skeptical voice. "Because everyone knows that school is so much more important than the Granolith."

"At the moment, yes," Max said. "Whatever this is, it's tucked in safe and sound. The best we can do in the meantime is go about our business like we haven't found it."

"I don't believe this," Michael muttered.

"See, this is one more reason I wasn't in a big hurry to tell everyone about this," Isabel whispered to Tess. "I knew this would happen. I didn't know why, but I was certain they'd find a reason to fight about it."

"Michael started it," Tess murmured. "Max is just defending his decision."

"The fact that Isabel and Tess didn't know what this is or where to find it is probably the reason they're still alive," Max argued. "Which means that could work for us too."

"Collective ignorance," Michael said ironically. "Always a great strategy."

"It is if it keeps you from getting killed," Tess noted.

"I might have known you'd defend him," Michael said.

"So you'd rather we be knowledgeable and dead?" Max said. "What good is it to know if the knowing kills you? For now, none of us knows this is here, and the best way to not know is to not be here."

"That is wrong on so many levels, I don't know where to start," Michael said darkly.

"So, what, we're just supposed to live here now?" Max said in exasperation. "Just move into the Granolith chamber and never leave?"

" 'Chamber'?" Isabel whispered. "We already have a pod 'chamber'. How does this thing get its own 'chamber'?"

"Sounds better than 'corner of the rock cave'," Tess shrugged. "More regal."

"You know, why do I bother?" Michael was saying as Isabel stifled a smile. "You just don't get it."

"I told you we'd go back, and I told you when," Max said coldly. "If that's not enough, too bad."

They were all outside the pod chamber now, working their way down the rocks with Michael and Max pulling ahead, their voices becoming less and less clear. "I feel a little guilty about not telling everyone about this right away," Isabel said as she and Tess followed at a slower pace, "but I gotta tell you, I don't miss not having to listen to this earlier. Michael even made the same argument about our not knowing being what saved us, but he's conveniently forgotten that now that Max said the same thing. It kind of doesn't matter what Max does; Michael will fight about it anyway."

"Because he doesn't think Max takes it seriously enough," Tess said. "And don't feel guilty; I didn't even remember that part of my conversation with Whitaker until you brought it up. We didn't talk much about what happened. Maybe we should have."

"Maybe," Isabel agreed. "I was coming here for some time to think alone, but now Mom's sending me to a therapist because I lied about where I was when I was here. Maybe if we'd talked, that wouldn't be happening."

"So she's really going through with it?" Tess said. "We can make up a story about a boyfriend, or something normal like that."

"Sounds like what we were trying to get Max to do," Isabel said.

"It would have worked for him; it'll work for you," Tess said. "And have your grandmother talk to your mom."

Done, Isabel thought. "Why?" she said out loud.

"Because it's always better for someone 'in the know' to try and influence things," Tess answered. "Take Valenti, for example. He made sure all the paperwork was right for me starting school this year, and made up some story about why I was staying with him, and so on."

"Okay," Isabel said uncertainly. "But what does that have to with my grandmother?"

"Everything!" Tess said. "Nasedo was always so suspicious of humans knowing about us, and I understand why, but I must admit it's a lot easier to navigate the human world with a human who knows. A lot easier. How long has your grandmother known about you?"

Isabel stopped walking. "Tess, what are you talking about? Grandma doesn't…'know'."

"Yes, she does," Tess said. "I didn't suspect until the night Nasedo died, but when my house was broken into, I was sure of it."

"No," Isabel said, shaking her head vigorously. "You've got it all wrong. Grandma Dee is really smart, and really outspoken, and doesn't get all emotional like Mom does, but she doesn't know about Max and me."

"She must," Tess argued. "Think about it—why was she there the night Nasedo died? Why was she there at that hour?"

"She stays up late," Isabel said. "She always has."

"At your house?" Tess said. "And why did she pull me away from your mother and scoot us all back to the bedroom? Because she knew, that's why. She knew why we were there because that's why she was there. But what really convinced me was when Max said he didn't want me to move in with you after my house got hit. I mean, yes, I was mad about that because I thought we could all be together and I'd get to have a mom for the first time in my life. But then Valenti said your dad would have figured out something was up right away because he had a nose like that. And I asked if your dad was Grandma Dee's son, and he said yes. And then it all made sense."

"What makes sense?" Isabel said. "Yes, Dad would sniff you out pretty fast, but that's why you're at Valenti's. What does that have to do with Grandma?"

"Where do you think your dad learned to do that?" Tess said. "I've met your grandmother. She's a force of nature. Do you really think it would be that hard for her to figure it out?"

Isabel started walking again, her mind working furiously. She'd had these same thoughts herself and so had Michael, but they'd grown up with Grandma; hearing it stated so matter-of-factly by a comparative stranger was jarring. But then there was the fact that Grandma had called her when they were out chasing Liz and Nasedo. And she'd deftly gotten Max off the hook with his psychologist. And just recently she'd let her go chasing after Tess after an enigmatic conversation that Isabel hadn't yet closely examined. It was really hard to argue that she didn't know something…

"I know what it is," Isabel said finally, a giant weight lifting from her shoulders. "Last year, before you got here, my mom accidentally started a fire in our kitchen. Max put the fire out with his powers, and when Mom asked him how he'd done it, he said he'd thrown a pot of water on it. But Valenti was sniffing around, and he told her it was a grease fire that water couldn't have put out. He was really poking around, and Mom started poking, and...well...Mom and Max wound up talking, and she agreed to drop it because she convinced herself that he could put the fire out because he's...special. You know, like people who can see the future, or talk to ghosts, or move things with their minds. So Grandma's probably just going along with that, that we're 'special', and—"

"Isabel," Tess broke in gently, "think. If your mom thinks Max is 'special', what does that have to do with you? Did you help put the fire out too?"

No, Isabel realized with dismay. "And I'm curious," Tess went on, "about where your mom got the idea about Max being 'special'. Did she come up with that on her own, or did your grandmother put the idea in her head?"

"I...don't know," Isabel admitted. "Does it matter? No, it doesn't," she rushed on before Tess could say anything. "It doesn't matter who thought of it, or if they think just Max or both of us is different. Grandma doesn't know. I'm sure of it."

Tess shrugged. "If you say so."







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






Eagle Rock Military Base





The perky tour guide had everyone waxing poetic about the good old days as Carver stood at the back of the enthusiastic crowd gathered in the mess hall with his odd bus companion, Brian, a man who seemed to know a great deal more about this base than he did. I won't wait for you. What the hell did that mean? Where exactly was the guy planning to go? There must be half a dozen Suits in this room alone, lurking along the edges of the crowd and near the various doors. The next 5 minutes went by with excruciating slowness as the tour guide babbled more fairy tales about military cuisine and then began to take questions as Brian slowly worked his way along the back edge of the group. Hal followed, driven by sheer curiosity and stubbornness, until Brian stopped behind a knot of portly airmen who all but obscured them from view.

"Ready?" Brian whispered.

"For what?" Carver said.

"To go AWOL."

"But how—"

"Shhh. We need the right moment. Stand here, right next to me."

The "right moment" came 30 seconds later when the crowd erupted in applause on behalf of the guide, who arguably deserved a standing ovation for the fiction she was spewing. Out of sight behind a line of middle-aged spread and with the noise covering them, Carver felt himself yanked backwards into a dark and manky-smelling place with a hand over his mouth. It all happened so fast that it took him several seconds to work out that Brian had pulled him through one of the doors into the kitchen, the sound of applause muffled by the closed door. Several yards in front of them, he could just make out the dim outline of another Suit, dark glasses, earpiece, and all, standing sentinel in front of another kitchen door at the other end. Carver's heart was galloping, but the Suit never looked their way. Seconds that felt like hours ticked by before he heard the group outside moving off, and the Suit moved with them, pushing through the kitchen door without a sound or a backward glance. They were alone.

"Sorry," Brian said when Carver wrenched himself away. "Thought you were going to squeal."

"Because that's what happens when you don't give a guy any warning!" Carver said furiously. "What the hell were you thinking? We could have barreled right into that Suit!"

"I saw him go in," Brian shrugged. "Besides, this is a service door. Not sure they even know this one exists."

"Hell of a way to find out," Carver said peevishly. "They've got eyes, don't they? If we can see it, they can see it."

"Not necessarily," Brian said. "It blends into the wall. Lots of guys missed in back in the day. Like I said, I know this place better than they ever will. You coming?"

"Coming where?" Carver demanded. "Where the hell are you going?"

"To take a look at stops that aren't on the tour," Brian said. "Go back if you'd rather. Tell'em you got lost. They'll believe you."

There was the faintest note of derision in his voice, just enough that Carver scowled but followed along behind as Brian headed for the other end of the kitchen, the condition of which made it clear that it hadn't made the renovation list. Several inches of dust covered counters, sinks, appliances, everything, while layers of grease gleamed in the little light which managed to get past the grime-covered windows. Here you could believe the base had been abandoned for years. Even the back door which Brian opened with difficulty drove that point home.

"What's this?" Carver said as they stepped through.

"Loading dock," Brian answered, shining a small flashlight into the darkness. "When you're feeding a thundering herd, you need shitloads of food delivered. Should be a door back here…"

There was. Carver stepped through, blinking in the sunlight, to find himself on the side of the main building facing west without a Suit in sight. "Not for nothing, but where are we going?" Carver said.

"Out that way," Brian said, pointing west. "I want to check on the building I bunked at."

"Living quarters are on the tour—"

"Not these living quarters," Brian said. "Trust me, these aren't on the tour."

"And what are we saying when they find us?" Carver asked. "That we got lost?"

"Sure," Brian shrugged. "Why not?"

Carver stared at him. "You're serious."

Brian pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "The tour should wind its way over there in about 20 minutes. We'll just melt back into the crowd. Or if that doesn't work, we'll admit we wandered off a bit and take the inevitable tongue-lashing."

"Where'd you get this?" Carver said, snatching the paper out of his hands.

"From the tour guide," Brian said.

"You stole her itinerary?" Carver said incredulously.

"I borrowed it from her bag," Brian said innocently. "I'll give it back. I promise." He paused. "You don't have to come. This is my gig. You struck me as the type who might like my tour better than hers. but if I'm wrong…"

The sentence trailed off, questioning, perhaps hopeful. "Of course I'm coming," Carver said. "You've got me curious. Besides, you've already put my ass in a sling, so why not?"

"I'm guessing you were pretty good at putting your ass in a sling long before we met," Brian said.

"What, and you weren't?" Carver retorted.

Brian smiled. "Hell, no. I'm a veritable choir boy." He tucked his flashlight in his pocket. "C'mon."

Moving furtively until they were out of sight of the main building, they headed due west across the base on paths untrod for decades. Brian moved easily, but Carver was soon puffing to keep up; they looked to be of similar ages, but Brian was thinner, more wiry, lacking the gut which Carver sported. It had been a long time since he'd hiked like this, driving a truck for a living requiring more sitting than hiking. Been a long time since he'd engaged in any cloak and dagger stuff too, and while part of him was thinking he was too old for this, the other part of him was loving every minute of it. Still, it was hard to forget the last time he'd cloaked and daggered, with everyone running after him, dogs chasing him, vaulting fences, dropping cameras…

"There it is," Brian said.

Thank God, Carver thought gratefully. It was downright embarrassing how out of shape he was from a simple five minute walk, although it could be argued that hotfooting it across an abandoned Army base didn't qualify as "simple". Semantics aside, he was very glad to stop beside a single story, nondescript building with a set of double doors which were securely padlocked shut.

"This is where you bunked?" Carver said, trying hard not to pant. "Never seen this place before."

"Few have," Brian said, fingering the padlock and the heavy chain it was attached to.

"Weird that it's locked," Carver said. "Nothing else is chained shut."

"Not for long," Brian said, pulling a long, slender tool out of his jacket pocket.

"What, you're...you're picking the lock?" Carver said. "What for?"

"Why do you think?" Brian said, inserting the pick into the lock. "I want to see inside."

"Okay, I didn't sign up for this," Carver protested. "I thought we were just going into buildings that weren't on the tour."

"Which is exactly what we're doing," Brian noted.

"No, now we're breaking and entering," Carver argued.

"Just entering," Brian said. "I don't intend to break a thing."

"Why?" Carver demanded. "What's so special about this building? Start talking," he ordered grimly when Brian said nothing," or I'm walking."

"So walk," Brian shrugged.

"Fine," Carver said hotly, doing just that.

"They held a live alien in this building for 3 years," Brian called after him.

Carver stopped dead in his tracks. He'd expected some kind of answer given that Brian had gone to some lengths to acquire companionship on his little escapade, but never in a million years had he expected that. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," Brian said. "I told you I was here in '47."

"So was I!" Carver snapped. "And, yes, I know that was no weather balloon. Better than most."

"That so?" Brian said. "Then why are you all goggle-eyed at the fact that an alien prisoner was held here for years?"

"Because that can't be!" Carver exclaimed. "I let them go! I pulled the fire alarm! I dumped the building! They should have been able to get away!"

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Not sure what you're talking about, but they didn't get away." There was a faint click. "Want to see?"

The doors swung open. Carver stared past them into a small entryway and another set of doors bearing a suspiciously modern keypad lock. "What the hell?" Brian muttered. "This wasn't here."

"Never mind that," Carver said, peering through the window. "Gimme your flashlight."

Brian pulled out his flashlight and shone it through the window as they cupped their hands around their eyes to see better. Carver's eyes had just started to adjust when they heard it.

"Shit! Get the lock back on," Carver commanded.

Brian fumbled with the chain as Carver peered around the corner. The tour had arrived, chirpy guide in the lead, several dozen former soldiers gratifyingly huffing and puffing behind her as she walked briskly along. Had they had more time, they could have stayed out of sight and melted into the back of the crowd. Now the best they could do was come at them sideways, drawing the stares of several Suits who gathered behind the astonished tour guide as she confronted them, perky frown firmly in place.

"Where are you coming from?" the tour guide demanded.

"Sorry," Carver said sheepishly. "Had to pee. Happens a lot ever since my surgery. I was hoping one of the old latrines was still useable."

The Suits promptly backed off, perhaps dismissing him as a threat, perhaps put off by the thought of the middle-aged urinary problems which loomed in their futures. "Do you want to get me in trouble?" the tour guide said crossly with a sideways glance at the Suits. "Do you have any idea what we had to go through to get access to this place?"

"Some," Brian murmured under his breath.

"Sorry, ma'am," Carver said. "I'd be happy to confess if you wind up in any kind of trouble on my account."

The guide considered that for a moment as the rest of the group dozed behind her, grateful for the pitstop. "There is something you can do to make it up to me. I've had a call from the local high school. They'd like some of their students to interview vets for a school project, so I'll put your name down…" She paused, searching for the name tag that wasn't there.

"Carver," Carver said. "Captain Carver."

"Captain Carver," the guide nodded, running a finger down her list before turning to Brian. "And you are…?"

"So sorry for the trouble," Brian said as she looked him up and down. "We didn't mean to interrupt your tour, ma'am. We won't hold it up any longer."

Brian headed back to the group. The guide looked like she was going to argue, but thought better of it after a glance at the hovering Suits. Carver fell in step beside Brian as the tour lumbered on.

"Nice save with the peeing," Brian murmured.

"You're welcome," Carver said. "Are you even with the 509th?"

"I'm a soldier," Brian said. "Did you see what I saw? New tile. Modern light fixtures. New signs."

"And everything clean as a whistle," Carver said. "They're still at it. Whatever went down there back in the '40's isn't over."


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


Happy Thanksgiving to you all! I'll post Chapter 42 on Sunday, December 13.

Hello to everyone reading!







CHAPTER FORTY-TWO






October 30, 2000, 9:00 a.m.

West Roswell High School






"Mr. Guerin! True or false? We're not even a month into the semester, and you're already failing my class. This is a new record."

Michael stifled a groan as a smug look settled over Mr. Vandermark's face, a fitting companion to his smug tone. What was it with the parade of whiny humans? First Maria, the current contender for Whiny Human of the Year, followed by Liz, not typically whiny, but certainly the winner of Distraction of the Year, if not the decade, when it came to their Fearless Leader. Now it was his history teacher objecting to his lack of interest in World War II, unsurprising given that he had his own war to fight, on another planet, no less, and it sounded like they were on a number way higher than two. How could he be expected to give a shit about another world's past when the future of his own hung in the balance?

"To be perfectly blunt with you, sir, World War II just doesn't do it for me," Michael said, careful to insert the honorific. Being called "sir" or "ma'am" really tickled adults for some reason.

"Well, try 'doing' this," Vandermark answered. "The 509th bomb group is in town this week for a reunion. Your biographical account of one veteran's wartime experience will be on my desk by 5 o'clock."

"Old people creep me out," Michael protested.

"Then think of them as living history," Vandermark suggested. He opened a folder, scanned a list. "Try this one," he said, scribbling on a piece of paper. "He's only in his early 70's."

"So he only occasionally wears Depends," Michael muttered.

"And if I hear that you've shown so much as a particle of disrespect to a United States soldier who sacrificed to make sure you have the right to stand in this hallway and shoot your mouth off, you won't be able to say 'revocation of emancipated minor status' before I have you back in court. Oh, yes," Vandermark continued when Michael's eyes widened. "I can do that. The court can remand you back into the care of state child protective services for several reasons, one of which is failure to complete the level of education you agreed to when emancipation was granted. You agreed to finish high school, did you not, Mr. Guerin?"

Yes, Michael thought darkly as the question hung in the air unanswered. "5 o'clock," Vandermark repeated. "And mind your manners, or I'll fail you even if you turn in the equivalent of War and Peace. Do we understand one another?"

"Yes, sir," Michael said tonelessly.

"Excellent! I look forward to reading it, and hearing what an interested and respectful student you were."

Shit, Michael sighed as Vandermark melted into the crowd. Just what he needed right now, a snarky teacher. They had enemies descending on them, a spectacular, hugely important something-or-other in the pod chamber, and a planet to save, but the agenda for the day involved talking to someone who probably couldn't piss standing up. Perfect.

"What was that all about?"

It was Max, both suspicious and concerned. "Nothing," Michael said.

"Like hell it wasn't," Max said. "What did you do now?"

"Nothing," Michael repeated. "Which is what it was about. I haven't exactly been a stellar student lately. Been a little busy."

" 'Haven't been stellar' as in not making the honor roll, or 'haven't been stellar' as in failing?" Michael, if you get a failing grade, that will be reported to the court," Max went on, reading the answer in the silence which followed. "The school has to report your grades until you graduate. You know that."

"Yes, I know that," Michael said impatiently. "I'll fix it. I've just had a few thousand more important things on my mind lately. We all have, hence our friendly chat earlier this morning at the pod chamber."

"But the rest of us aren't failing," Max said. "You can do this stuff in your sleep. You just don't want to."

"Wow," Michael deadpanned "What a hugely insightful...insight."

Max took a step closer. "I don't need this now, Michael. You don't need this now. You find fault with my priorities, but then you do something to jeopardize your independence? Don't be stupid. Keep your head down and blend in."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And watch your mouth," Max ordered. "You were mean to Maria, but what you said to Liz was inexcusable."

"Oh, of course," Michael said. "Because she's Liz."

"Because she's trying to cover for us," Max retorted. "The only reason the four of us are alive is because our friends have covered for us, lied for us, and literally saved our lives over and over. Have you forgotten how much they've done for us?"

"No, I haven't forgotten," Michael said impatiently. "I just don't see why them helping us before means we have to keep genuflecting no matter what else is happening."

"Since when is simple manners 'genuflecting'?" Max demanded. "And this isn't about them helping us before, this is about them helping us now. Liz is helping us now. Whitaker's been gone too long, and people are asking questions. The you-know-what is about to hit the fan, and she'll be the first to know just how big the splash is. Don't you think we should at least be civil to the person in that position?"

"I don't believe this!" Michael exclaimed. "We just found the coolest thing ever, and you're going on about me being "mean". This isn't about manners, it's about us!"

"Yes, it is about manners," Max said firmly, "because without manners, there are no friends, and without friends, there is no 'us'."

"You sound like Vandermark," Michael snorted. "He just read me the riot act about some ancient vet he wants me to interview. Said he won't accept my report if he hears I wasn't 'respectful'."

"Why wouldn't you be?" Max said. "You led my armies in that other life. If anyone should know enough to respect a soldier, it's you. So go do your report, get Vandermark off your back, and make certain you stay emancipated. The last thing you want is to go back into the system. Or face my father when you do."

Max loped off, one of the few people left in the hallway. Michael headed to his next class, clutching the piece of paper Vandermark had given him, walking furiously. If anyone should know enough to respect a soldier, it's you. God, he hated it when Max was right. He wasn't being much of a general by riffing on a veteran in Depends. Two classes crawled by before he was done for the day and could get this over with. The address was a motel not far from school.

"Captain Carver," the bored clerk intoned, reading Vandermark's scribble. "That'd be Hal Carver. Room 15."

Michael ran a hand through his hair and buttoned an extra button on his shirt before knocking on the door of Room 15. "Stay out of trouble," he muttered to himself. That would be the motto for the rest of the day, be it with a vet, a teacher, or the child protective system.






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






Pineview Motor Lodge

Room 15






"Can I help you?" a frosty voice had asked.

I'm in trouble, Hal Carver had thought, caught red-handed at the computer belonging to his inquisitor, a stick-thin brunette who looked young enough to be his daughter and mad enough to be his wife. He could still see her expression even though he was a mile away in his room at the motor lodge, absentmindedly trying to do a crossword puzzle while he waited for his penance, a.k.a. high school interviewer. 
The brunette had not been pleased.

"I'm trying to find another vet," he'd answered truthfully. "We just got back from touring the base, and I neglected to ask this fellow his name."

"So go find him," Brunette had advised with more than a touch of exasperation.

Love to, Carver had thought. After sitting beside him silent and somber all the way back from the base, the enigmatic "Brian" had melted into the crowd with maddening speed when they'd returned. Carver had been dying to talk to him, but with conversation on the bus being inadvisable given the subject matter, he'd waited with difficulty for a private moment that had never come. To say he was frustrated was a gross understatement.

"I tried to find him," Carver said. "He's gone, and I don't know where he's staying."

"So you decided to help yourself to my laptop," Brunette said.

"I was just checking the list of attendees," Carver said. "It was right here on your desktop. Maybe I didn't do it right?" he went on when she gave him the gimlet eye. "They didn't have computers in my day."

A pair of pursed lips later, Brunette apparently decided to buy his best impression of an old guy who didn't know that rifling through someone's computer was the equivalent of rifling through someone's wallet. "All right," she sighed. "What's his name?"

"Brian."

"Brian what?"

"I don't know," Carver said. "We never got to last names."

"Of course not," Brunette muttered, clicking away with admirable speed. "There is no 'Brian' attending this reunion."

No surprise there, Carver thought. "Was there a Brian in the 509th in the 1947 to 1950 time frame?" he asked. "Maybe his name just didn't make the official hit list. Attendance list," he corrected quickly when her eyes narrowed. "I mean attendance list. Sorry. Old habits. Soldier talk."

She relented, the clicking taking a lot longer this time. "I see no 'Brian' in the 509th during those years," she reported.

"What about the base proper?" Carver pressed. "Could you check?"

"What do you think I am, the Department of Defense?" Brunette huffed. "This is a reunion of the 509th. If he's not in the 509th, I don't know about him, and neither do you, because only a member of the 509th could have been on that tour. Maybe he gave you a nickname or a middle name, in which case we won't find him on my computer or any computer. You'd be better off spending your time looking for him than wasting my time. I'm an admin, not a secretary."

"What's the difference?" Carver asked.

Sheesh, Carver thought after receiving a look which could have frozen boiling water. What in blazes was wrong with being a secretary? Lots of women aspired to be secretaries in his day. Everyone knew it was really secretaries who kept the world running, whether in business, education, or the military. Titans of finance or General MacArthur could disappear, but if secretaries disappeared, everything ground to a halt. How could anyone possibly get huffy over being thought a secretary? He was still musing on the oddities of the modern age when he bumped into Chirpy Tour Guide.

"Why are you still here? Your student interview starts shortly, and your interviewer will meet you at your hotel."

"Motor lodge," Carver corrected.

"Don't let me down," she instructed firmly. "Better get a move on. You don't want to be late."

Don't I? Carver had thought darkly. But that was how he came to be sitting on this crappy little bed in this crappy little motor lodge, trying to occupy his mind with this crappy little crossword puzzle. It wasn't working. Clues swam in front of him, but all he could hear was Brian's voice in his mind.

"Not sure what you're talking about, but they didn't get away."

This was the crux of it, the part which had him in a chokehold, which invalidated his entire life in a single sentence. Because the one thing he'd always told himself, always hung onto with a grip like death, is that his "honorable", really dishonorable, discharge from the military had served a higher purpose, that of freeing whatever it was he'd freed from that morgue back in '47. That he'd been successful in doing so had never been in doubt; the confusion which had followed his escape from the base had lasted well into the night, longer than it would have for a false fire alarm and far longer than it should have had they actually caught something. He knew this because he'd watched from a distance as soldiers swarmed the base, dogs were deployed, and orders shouted. Not a safe distance, mind you, as there was no such thing as a "safe distance" from which to watch a military installation, but safe enough given that they'd abandoned their search for him as soon as they'd received word that they'd lost something far more precious. That had been his comfort in the years to come, sometimes his only comfort, that it had worked, that he'd won, that they'd lost whatever they'd captured. Through all the years Cavitt had hounded him, he'd sought solace in that loss, and satisfaction in the following years when he'd gotten on with his life. It remained the bravest thing he'd ever done in either his short military career or civilian life...and now it sounded like it was all a lie. What had he been thinking? How could anything have escaped that night, even shiny things from another world? With all those soldiers, all those dogs, how had he ever reached the conclusion that his ruse had worked? Because I wanted it to, he thought ruefully. He'd wanted it to work, so he'd convinced himself it had, only to have that shot down by an anonymous soldier who'd obviously lasted longer than he had. He should never have come back here. If he had just stayed home, he would have lived out his days thinking he'd been successful.

KnockKnock

Great, Carver thought sourly when he answered the door and found himself looking in a mirror. Being a smartass himself, he knew a smartass when he saw one, and there was no question that a smartass stood outside his room, albeit one who'd made at least a cursory effort to clean himself up. Some minutes later, after gruff introductions, inane questions, and only barely disguised contempt, Carver had had enough. To hell with the Chirpy Tour Guide, to hell with the Army, and to hell with this smartass. And to hell with sticking your neck out for what was right, because obviously that didn't work.

"Hey, look, kid, I'm not one of your hoodlum friends," Carver snapped, having reached the end of his rope. "You better start showing me a little respect, or I'll kick your ass through this door."

The kid eyed him for a moment, then stood up slowly and looked him in the eye. "Well, let me save you the effort. I'm just gonna take this," he said, holding up one of those flyers they hand out at reunions covered with photos from back in the day. "Then I'll be out of your hair, okay?"

It wasn't the answer Carver had been expecting, just like the news that his big night back in '47 hadn't turned out the way he'd expected. All of a sudden, he had the overwhelming urge to tell someone what had happened, to share it with another human being. And since the kid was doing a report for school, who knew? Maybe someone else would read it. Maybe someone would start asking questions, the kind of questions that would make whoever spruced up that building on the base think twice. Maybe keeping it to himself all these years hadn't been the right way to go about it. Maybe it was time to talk, and who better to listen to a smartass than another smartass?

"They have black eyes," Carver said, his back to the door through which Smartass was retreating. "Empty. Vacant. Ageless."

The kid stopped. Of course he did. It was better this way because what adult would take him seriously? Kids were easy to fool.

Not this one. "You're gonna teach me about aliens," Smartass said in a deeply skeptical voice.

Carver nodded. "Okay," Smartass shrugged. "Let's hear it."





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





Crashdown Cafe







"Can you do me a favor?"

Courtney looked up from the orders she was totaling. "Sure, Mikey G. What do you need?"

Rath aimed a thumb behind him. "I need you to babysit for a minute."

Courtney peered around Rath to find an older man who was looking around in astonishment. "Him? Looks like he's old enough to play by himself."

"Just get him a cup of coffee or something while I talk to Maria," Rath said. "It'll just take a minute."

"A minute?" Courtney said. "Talking to Maria? Nobody talks to Maria for a 'minute'."

"What the hell is all this shit?" the man demanded. "What happened to Parkers?"

"On the other hand, I like him," Courtney said as startled patrons stared. "Go ahead. I'll keep him busy. And good luck."

Rath gave her a knowing look and disappeared into the back. "Welcome to the Crashdown," Courtney said to Rath's disgruntled companion. "Can I get you something?"

"Yeah, you can get me Parkers," the man said in consternation. "This used to be a bar, a good bar. When did it turn into kitsch central?"

"Specifically? 1959," Courtney answered. "That's when the restaurant was added, and eventually the bar disappeared. When did you know it as Parkers?"

"1947," the man answered.

"Before my time," Courtney said.

The man snorted. "You think? You look 12. How old are you, anyway?"

Courtney did a quick mental calculation. "About 200. Ish," she amended. "Give or take."

"Another smartass," the man said darkly. "What's with the stupid aprons and the stupid...whatdya call those things?"

"Deely-boppers," Courtney answered. "And what's 'with them' is that all this stupidity brings in tourists, and tourists have money. Lots of money. Lots and lots of money. And that's how the current owner, Jeff Parker, son of the Parker you knew back in '47, feeds his wife and daughter."

The man's expression softened. "Right, right, I...sorry. I can be a bit of a smartass myself."

"Just a 'bit'?" Courtney teased. "Peace," she went on when the man's eyes flared. "We smartasses have to stick together. What can I get you? An Alien Blast? A Men in Black Burger?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what any of that is," the man grumbled. "Got a banana split?"

"Comin' right up," Courtney said. "Have a seat."

"Least it's still got a counter," the man muttered. "Sort of."

Courtney smiled as she dug into the ice cream container. It wasn't every day she got to talk to someone who remembered the cafe from back in the day when it hadn't been a cafe. Who was this guy, anyway, and what was Rath doing with him? Whatever, if the King's Second needed him babysat, then babysit she would. She'd just delivered the sundae when the door dingled.

"Brody Davis," Courtney said, pulling out her pad as Larak's host slid onto a stool. "What can I get you?"

"Actually," Brody said under his breath, "it's Larak."

Courtney almost dropped her pencil. "Larak?" she hissed. "It's been weeks! Where the hell have you been? And you're out in the daytime? Why?"

"Because it's that important," Larak said. "It took some doing, but the Five Planets have accepted the terms of the treaty. The war might finally be over."

Courtney bit her lip. "Um...we have a problem."






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







Evans Residence







"I can't tell you how relieved I am to have your support, Mom," Diane said, appearing with two mugs of tea. "Philip is against it, but I really think this is the best thing for the kids."

Seated on the couch, Dee accepted a mug of tea and held her tongue, albeit with difficulty. While she hardly supported Diane's insistence on both kids going into therapy, it would hard to argue otherwise given that she'd personally suggested Yvonne as a therapist. And yes, of course her son was against this latest Diane-o-gasm; whether or not he believed his children needed counseling, he could smell a fake a mile away, and that doctor Max had been seeing was a worthy candidate. At least they wouldn't have that particular problem this time.

"And then when you told me Dr. Johnson was in town, it was like the fates were confirming my suspicions," Diane went on, using the pseudonym Yvonne had adopted after escaping from the nearby Eagle Rock base back in 1950, that of "Marie Johnson". "Having her show up at the moment we needed her most...it's like the universe confirming that I'm on the right track."

"Mmm," Dee murmured, sipping tea to keep herself from saying something she'd regret later. She wasn't sure which was more objectionable, the notion that the universe was genuflecting to Diane or the announcement that this was the moment they needed Yvonne the most. The days after the kids had come out of the pods won her vote for that honor. It had been Yvonne who had looked them over and kept the medical system at bay, falsifying records and signing off on things she had no business signing off on. Without Yvonne, there was no telling where they would have wound up.

"What fantastic luck to have her here now!" Diane was saying. "I mean, really, how often do we get luck like that?"

Dee stared at her. "Diane, you did hear me when I said her husband just died, didn't you?"

"Right; right," Diane said quickly. "I'm so sorry."

"Could have fooled me," Dee said.

"Well, I'm not sorry she's here," Diane said, "but I am sorry for the reason she's here."

"Just please don't rattle on about how the universe sent her," Dee said. "That will sound like the universe killed off her husband just so you could have what you wanted."

"Mom, please!" Diane said in a wounded tone. "I'm not that cold. One of my worst nightmares is that Philip will die before me and I'll be left alone. Give me some credit." She paused. "I know you never approved of Max having therapy, but you said yourself that doctor taught him coping skills. Hopefully Izzie will learn the same thing."

Caught in my own lie, Dee thought ruefully. She'd invented the whole "coping skills" bit to spring Max from therapy, so it was especially galling to see it used to sentence Isabel to the same dungeon. "At least this time we'll be dealing with a better doctor," she said.

"But I thought you liked Max's doctor," Diane protested. "You even told me how well I'd done choosing him."

"Oh, of course," Dee said, backpedaling, "but it's always nicer to have someone you know and trust. Marie has known the kids from the beginning. Nothing will ever top that."

"Absolutely," Diane agreed. "So should I ring Dr. Marie at your house to set up the first session?"

Dee hesitated. "I'd wait a bit. Her husband only just died, and she only just got here. Give her a couple of weeks to settle in."

"A couple of weeks?" Diane said doubtfully. "Isabel has been in a mood for over a month now."

"So a couple more weeks won't really matter," Dee said. "Whatever's bothering the kids, it's not so bad that they can't wait a couple of weeks for their first session."

"I guess," Diane said reluctantly.

"And you'd wait at least that long for an appointment with any other doctor," Dee noted. "Probably longer."

Diane considered that for a moment. "True. Very true. For a minute there, I thought you were stalling."

"Nonsense," Dee said. "I know you well enough to know that if you've decided this is best for your children, then this is what's best for your children."

Diane brightened considerably. "Thank you, Mom. That means so much to me!"

And it buys them another two weeks, Dee added silently. Besides, she's learned the hard way that once Diane had made up her mind, it was wise to at least pretend to agree. Philip would make no secret of his reservations, so she would play along in the hopes that her show of support would leave Diane open to her influence. It was the best she could do for the kids at the moment.

"You know, I would really appreciate it if you would talk to Philip," Diane went on. "He's going along with it, but I know he's against it. Maybe you could change his mind?"

Dee quickly took a sip of her tea. "Oooh! Needs more sugar."

Diane blinked. "More sugar? I must have put three teaspoons in there."

"Guess it needs four," Dee said cheerfully. 'I'll be right back."

"You know, all that sugar isn't good for you," Diane called as Dee escaped to the kitchen and leaned against the counter, mentally leafing through available excuses for not trying to talk her son into something she was also against. Philip was usually willing to humor his wife, but in this case he was fighting back. Secretly she wanted to hug him for that, but of course she couldn't. Perhaps she could explain her "support" as just humoring his wife?

The doorbell rang. She heard the door open, followed by an exclamation of surprise. "Tess! Come in, dear."

Tess's voice floated into the kitchen. "Thank you, Mrs. Evans."

"Izzie's not home yet," Diane said, "but you can wait for her if you like."

"That'd be great," Tess said. "I also wanted to thank you again for not getting angry when Max and Isabel came to see me so late back when school started, and for the hot chocolate you offered. That was very nice of you."

"You're very welcome, dear," Diane said.

Dee frowned. Tess was referring to the cover story they'd used the night Jaddo had died and they'd had to retrieve his body from Max's bedroom. That had been weeks ago and was unlikely to be the reason for her visit.

"I was also thinking about all the photo albums you showed me when I first came to town," Tess went on. "It was so much fun looking at them. I'd love to look at them again."

"Certainly, dear," Diane said, always ready to pull out the pictures. "You and Izzie can look at them together."

"Can I start while I wait for her?" Tess asked.

"I don't see why not," Diane said. "I'll go grab one we didn't look at last time."

"Could I see one from when she was young?" Tess asked. "Like when she first came here after you adopted her? Isabel was telling me about her very earliest memories. That's what got me interested."

"I see," Diane said slowly. "Well…"

"Please?" Tess pleaded. "My mother died when I was very young, and we have very few pictures of me when I was little. I guess that's why I like looking at other people's pictures."

Dee's eyes narrowed. What was she up to? Something, no doubt, and rather clumsily too, much like her Warder. Guardian, she corrected sadly. Valeris had been Ava's Warder, not Jaddo. Diane, to her credit, hadn't just forked over her children's most personal moments, but she still hadn't answered. "That's much better," Dee said, going into the living room as though she didn't realize it contained a hybrid obviously fishing for something. "I do love sweet tea...oh! We have company!"

Just in time, Dee thought, as Diane looked like she'd been seconds away from falling for that line about dead mothers. Tess displayed only pleasant surprise, although Dee caught the whiff of annoyance which preceded it. "Mom, you remember Tess, don't you?" Diane said. "She was here the night you stopped so late a few weeks ago."

"Of course I remember," Dee said. "We actually saw each other at least once before that, didn't we, Tess? Nice to see you again."

"Nice to see you too, Mrs…"

"Call me 'Grandma'," Dee advised. "Everyone does, and it relieves the confusion of having two 'Mrs. Evans'."

" 'Grandma' it is then," Tess smiled.

"Tess is waiting for Isabel," Diane said. "She wants to look at some of the photo albums from when the kids were little. Like back when they were first adopted."

"Oh, my," Dee said. "That's a very personal subject."

"Oh, of course," Tess said. "But Isabel was telling me all about it, so—"

"So you wouldn't mind waiting to see how she feels about that," Dee broke in smoothly. "Right?"

"Right," Tess said quickly. "I wouldn't want to make anyone uncomfortable."

"Of course you wouldn't," Dee said. "And God knows there are plenty of photos to be enjoyed while you wait. Diane has mountains of them."

"Oh, stop!" Diane said with mock admonishment. "Lots of moms have mountains of pictures. I'll go grab a couple of albums for you, Tess."

Diane disappeared into the basement. Tess watched her leave, shaking her head. "So close," she murmured.

"Sorry?" Dee said.

"I might have known you'd be here," Tess said. "You always are, aren't you?"

"I'm not quite sure what you mean, dear," Dee said.

Dee sipped her tea in silence as they eyed one other, each with a secret they didn't want the other to know. "I mean, you're always there," Tess said in a tone which had become pointed, calculating. "Whenever something happens, you're always there."

"I'm a member of the family, so I fail to see how my presence would be considered unusual," Dee said. "And what exactly do you think is 'happening'?"

Tess considered that for a moment. "Isabel told me her parents want to put her in therapy."

"I heard," Dee said.

"I told her to have you talk to her mom," Tess went on. "I thought maybe you could talk her out of it."

"I'm afraid you give me too much credit," Dee chuckled. "There's no talking Mrs. Evans out of anything she thinks will help her children."

"But you'll try to make it better," Tess said. "Because...you know."

"Know what?" Dee said.

Tess leaned in closer and fixed her with a hard stare. "You know that Isabel and Max aren't human."




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



And with that, we break for Christmas! My son is home from New Zealand over the holidays and beyond, so I'll be back with Chapter 43 on Sunday, January 17, 2016. Here's wishing everyone wonderful holidays, and I'll see you again in the New Year!

Hi, everyone! I'm so sorry, but I'm not going to make it back for a couple more weeks. Real Life has gotten in the way (nothing awful, just awfully busy at work), and I don't want to post only to have it be a mess.

Right now I'm looking at Sunday, January 31 for Chapter 43. Sorry for the delay, and I'll see you then!

And we're back! Thank you to everyone reading!





CHAPTER FORTY-THREE





October 30, 2000, 3:30 p.m.

Evans residence








Over the years, Dee had gotten very good at lying, so good, in fact, that the speed and ease with which she fabricated and concealed could be unsettling. Anthony was fond of teasing that she really should hit Vegas and apply her skills to poker. He was assuming that Vegas would be the ultimate test, but it turned out the ultimate test was here, in her son's living room, with the Queen of Antar inches away and watching her closely. She'd been made, but not by the FBI, or Philip, or even her own grandchildren. Jaddo's charge wasn't just up to something, she was on to something. Too bad Jaddo wasn't alive. He would be so proud.

"I'm sorry," Dee said slowly, "but what did you say?"

"You know they're not human," Tess insisted. "You know they're aliens."

"Aliens," Dee repeated. "As in…'alien' aliens?"

"Don't bother denying it," Tess ordered. "I know."

"Is that so? And what exactly is it that you think you 'know'?"

"I know you were here the night Nasedo died," Tess said.

"Am I supposed to know who that is?" Dee said. "And to which night are you referring? I'm here lots of nights. I'm Philip's mother."

Tess eyed her in silence for a moment before sitting back in consternation, displeased by the lack of reaction. "I was hoping I could keep this between us, but I could just go to their mom. She already kind of knows. Isabel was talking about a fire Max put out with his powers, and their mom thinks he's 'special', or something."

Why, you little brat, Dee thought darkly, although she couldn't quite blame Tess completely; this had Jaddo written all over it, with confrontation followed by threats. "So," she said slowly, "if I understand you correctly, and this conversation is so very odd that it's quite possible I do not, you're insinuating that my grandchildren are not human and threatening to inform their mother. Is that a fair assessment? Because if it is, I should warn you that telling a woman who lives in Roswell, of all places, that her children are aliens is downright daft. You'd do better with the 'special' angle. Although I can't for the life of me figure out what you hope to gain with this extraordinary tale, or what any of this has to do with photo albums."

"You're good," Tess admitted. "Really good. But then, if you've been doing this for a while, you would be. Lying takes practice. I should know."

Dee arched an eyebrow. "Are you an accomplished liar, my dear?"

Footsteps sounded on the stairs; Diane was returning with the promised photos. "Admit you know, or I'll tell her," Tess warned. "Max and Isabel don't want her to know, and you must not either because you've helped to keep her in the dark all these years."

"Almost there," Diane called from the kitchen. "I couldn't carry them all at once, so I need one more trip."

Footsteps clattered back down the stairs as Dee resisted the urge to throttle Jaddo's charge. Unfortunately, the threat was real; Diane had enough suspicions about Max that she just might pursue even a laughable announcement that he was an alien. Pursuing Max would lead her to Isabel, and pursuit of either would awaken Philip's curiosity, at which point the cat would be out of the bag, or near enough. They faced off in silence, with Dee calculating the risks of various responses behind a mask of puzzled bafflement.

The kitchen door slammed. "I'm home!" Isabel's voice called.

Rummaging sounds came from the kitchen, the refrigerator opening, liquid pouring. "I gather you didn't expect her home so soon," Dee murmured as Tess stared at the kitchen in dismay.

"It doesn't change the fact that I know you know," Tess insisted.

"So certain, are you?" Dee said, leaning in closer. "Let me tell you something I'm certain of. Isabel and her mother are close. Very close. How do you think she'll respond if she learns you just threatened her mother?"

"I didn't threaten her," Tess protested. "I threatened to tell her. Big difference."

"Not to Isabel. Or so I'm guessing." Dee paused. "Shall we see if I'm right?"

Dee waited as a look of horror spread across Tess's face, the full extent of her peril becoming clear. Isabel was Tess's one friend among the hybrids; losing her would be devastating. If Isabel learned what had just happened here, the consequences would be severe.

Isabel appeared in the living room doorway a moment later. "Hey, Grandma...Tess?" she finished in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I...forgot you had a meeting after school," Tess said awkwardly.

"It got canceled," Isabel sighed, flopping on the couch. "So what'd I miss?"

Tess threw a pleading look in Dee's direction, but Dee's mind was already made up. To say nothing would give this little upstart power over her. This had to end now; a lesson must be learned, assuming she was capable of learning, that is. Jaddo certainly never had.

"I'm not quite sure," Dee said as Tess's head shook slowly, desperately. "Tess and I have been having the strangest conversation. She seems to think that you and your brother are...aliens."

The silence that descended on the living room was suffocating, a fog of shock and fear which was almost palpable. Isabel's eyes flared and darted to Tess, who stared at the floor. "That's not all," Dee said regretfully as both girls looked at her in terror. "It seems that your friend believes I am aware of this…'fact', and am hiding my knowledge from you. Now," she went on as Isabel recoiled in horror and Tess tried unsuccessfully to shrink into the woodwork, "under the circumstances, I have to ask...are either of you doing drugs? Or drinking? I won't tell," she went on quickly, "not either of your parents. It's common to experiment at your age. I just want you both to think about what you're doing to yourselves, to examine the choices you're making very carefully. I won't say anything, but if someone else does, life could get very complicated very fast. I'm told schools have a zero tolerance policy for that sort of thing. We could be looking at suspension, even prosecution, with court-ordered counseling. I'm quite certain neither of you want that."

Diane appeared in the living room, arms laden with photo albums. "Hi, sweetheart! Tess asked to look at some pictures while she waited for you to come home."

"Did she, now?" Isabel said coldly.

"She did," Dee confirmed. "She specifically asked to see those from when you and Max were first adopted."

"But I don't have those here," Diane said quickly when she saw the look on Isabel's face. "Grandma and I thought we should ask you first before showing her something so personal."

"Thank you," Isabel said tightly. "Tess, I need to talk to you. In the kitchen. Now."

Isabel retreated, with Tess following, ashen-faced. "Oh, dear," Diane said, setting the albums on the coffee table. "What do you suppose that was all about?"

"Who knows?" Dee shrugged. "Kids and their spats. Unfathomable."






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






Crashdown Cafe






"Dead?" Larak said in astonishment. "Vanessa is dead? How could she be dead that fast?"

" 'Fast'?" Courtney said in disbelief. "You've been gone for weeks! I've been checking and checking, and this is the first I've seen of you!"

The cafe was starting to fill up with teenagers fresh from school, the resulting noise making it unnecessary to even bother speaking quietly as Courtney and Larak faced off across the counter. Rath's charge sat several stools down, eagerly tucking into his banana split, unaware that two aliens were having a political debate only feet away from him. "But it doesn't make sense that Brivari would execute her before hearing what I had to say," Larak protested. "You told him I'd taken the terms back to Kerona, didn't you?"

"I did nothing of the sort," Courtney answered. "Brivari was in no mood to hear about treaties when he got back, especially after Vanessa kidnapped the Queen."

Larak stared at her, stunned. "She did what?"

Rath reappeared from the back. "Couldn't find Maria," he said to Courtney, "but she's on the schedule."

"School's out," Courtney noted. "She should be here soon."

"Can we get some lunch over here?" Rath asked, taking a seat beside his banana split-scarfing friend.

"Do not leave without an explanation," Larak warned.

"I have to take some orders," Courtney said. "You came all this way, you can wait a few more minutes."

"A few more minutes" turned into twenty minutes; by the time she'd taken several orders, the first were showing up. She'd just delivered lunch to Rath and his friend when she felt a familiar wave of hostility behind her.

"Who's that?" Maria asked eyeing Rath's companion suspiciously as she tied her apron.

"No idea," Courtney answered.

"You just brought him lunch," Maria noted.

"For which you don't need to produce ID," Courtney said. "Interrogating customers is your schtick."

"Is that for him? I'll take it," Maria announced, helping herself to the ketchup bottle in Courtney's hand.

"I've got the counter today," Courtney said.

"Not that seat, you don't," Maria replied.

Shrugging, Courtney returned to Larak with a sandwich which he promptly pushed away. "I didn't come here for food. I came here—"

"I know why you came here," Courtney interrupted. "You'll look weird if you don't eat, and I'll look even more weird if I'm talking to someone who isn't eating. Down the hatch."

"I'm not familiar with that human expression," Larak said testily.

"Eat," Courtney translated. "Your host likes this sandwich."

"Doesn't mean I do," Larak grumbled.

"No food, no story," Courtney said firmly.

Why is it that I'm always battling Warders, Kings, and Premieres? Courtney thought as Larak reluctantly picked up her offering. Was this what it was like to work with young children, constantly fighting to get them to do what they couldn't see was best for them? No wonder she'd never cottoned to day care centers or motherhood. Too damn much work.

"There, I took a bite," Larak said.

"Keep biting," Courtney instructed. "It's your cover, remember? Human eating at diner? And if that doesn't work, remember the no food, no story bit? Good," she continued when Larak resumed eating, albeit with a glare. "Vanessa panicked when Brivari got back to town after executing the operative that killed Jaddo. I warned her he was coming, told her to get out of town, but she decided she needed 'leverage'."

"And the queen was that leverage?" Larak said. "I'm surprised it wasn't the princess."

"She was going for the princess, but she didn't know which female hybrid was which," Courtney said. "Turns out she grabbed the queen, and held her for ransom. She claimed all she wanted was a sit down with Brivari so he could hear the terms of the treaty."

"But she'd threatened his Ward's wife, so of course he executed her," Larak said.

"I'm sure he would have, but Vilandra beat him to it."

Larak gaped at her. "Vilandra? Vilandra executed Vanessa?"

"I don't think she meant to," Courtney said. "Ava managed to call Vilandra to her, and—"

" 'Call her'?" Larak interrupted. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure," Courtney admitted. "But Ava was able to connect with Vilandra over a distance of several miles and give her enough information that they were able to find her. I think Vilandra was just trying to protect the two of them, not actually kill her, but it kind of doesn't matter; if she hadn't, Brivari would have done it anyway."

Larak was quiet for a moment. "I'm not sure which is more disturbing," he said finally, "the notion that the princess would execute someone without meaning to or the fact that they can form a connection over that distance."

"They're definitely powerful," Courtney said. "Brivari thinks they're more powerful than he is, but he's not in a big hurry to tell them that."

"Of course not," Larak said. "They will need to learn to use their new strength in responsible ways. We can't have them accidentally executing courtiers. Just as well everything was delayed."

"Delayed?" Courtney said hopefully. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"Hey, sweet cheeks!" Rath's friend called. "Gimme another banana split, would you?"

"You gonna talk all day, or you gonna work?" Maria said behind her. "You've got the counter."

"Except that seat," Courtney reminded her. "You wanted it, remember?"

"Well, now I don't," Maria informed her.

"You not only wanted it, you demanded it," Courtney said. "So yours it is! Besides, none of my cheeks are sweet, top or bottom."

"Maria?" Rath said impatiently. "Hurry up! My friend is hungry."

"See, he wants you," Courtney said. "Doesn't that make you happy?"

Maria dug into the ice cream savagely while Courtney returned to Larak. "Gracious," he murmured. "What was that all about?"

"Female sniping," Courtney said, declining to point out that Zan's Second sat only a few seats away from him. "It exists everywhere. So did the treaty fly or not?"

"It did," Larak answered. "The basic terms were accepted by the five planets, with the royalists on Antar pledging their support."

"So what's the 'but'?" Courtney said. "Because I know there is one."

" 'But'...everyone is at odds over what to do until the Royal Four reach adulthood," Larak continued. "No one wants to just leave Khivar there, but we don't have a good alternative. Ousting him and installing a temporary government, only to have that change a short while later could do more harm than good."

"Better the devil you know," Courtney remarked.

"Sorry?"

"A human expression," Courtney said. "Sometimes it's better to stay with the 'devil you know'."

"I'm not so sure about that in this case," Larak said. "I came back here hoping to have Vanessa sell it to the Argilians. Without Vanessa, you're the ranking Argilian who supports the treaty. It will now fall to you to bring your race on board."

"Shit," Courtney muttered.

Larak looked down at his nibbled sandwich. "If my host likes this, perhaps you should pack this up for him. I'm afraid he has an upset stomach at the moment."

"Him and me both," Courtney sighed.

"Then it looks like we'll both be feeling poorly when we deliver the news to Brivari."

Courtney blinked. " 'We'?"







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






Evans residence






Tess's heart was pounding as she followed an obviously furious Isabel into the kitchen. Talk about a left turn. Never had anything gone so badly for her so quickly, but then again, never had she taken on an opponent of such power and experience. If she didn't fix this fast, this just might go down in history as the single stupidest thing she'd ever done, including Chemistry class.

It certainly hadn't started that way. This had begun as nothing more than a reconnaissance mission, a way to gather information. Isabel had been reluctant to believe her grandmother knew more than she let on, while Tess thought otherwise; determined to prove her point, she'd chosen to launch her own investigation beginning with when Max and Isabel had come out of their pods. Isabel's memories of her earliest days were sketchy, and she was reluctant to talk about it as it wasn't her favorite subject, unsurprising given that it emphasized her otherness, something she wasn't comfortable with. Tess had decided the best place to start would be Diane Evans, always a sucker for stories and photos of her children, and she'd picked this afternoon because Isabel was supposed to be attending a meeting for some dance or other after school. She should have had an hour at least to pore over photos, but of course Isabel's grandmother had been here, and of course she'd steered Diane away from giving her what she wanted. And then...and then…

And then what? Tess thought despairingly. Any photos might have been helpful, and she might have been able to soften up Diane into producing the ones she wanted. But she hadn't thought that far ahead, instead bristling at the grandmother's intervention and confronting her head on. She'd expected at least a flicker of surprise when she'd announced Max and Isabel weren't human, at least a glimmer of recognition when she'd said Nasedo's name, but...nothing. Frustrated, she'd pressed harder, threatening to tell Diane, who pretty clearly didn't know her own children weren't human, but even that hadn't provoked the expected reaction from the Ice Queen. This lady was good. No, this lady was scary good because not only had she not batted an eyelash as her grandchildren's biggest secret was uttered aloud in their living room, she'd somehow managed to turn that around and use it as a battering ram, admitting the conversation to Isabel and adding another threat as well—if anyone even intimated she was using drugs, the school would indeed respond, and with Nasedo gone and her living basically illegally with the sheriff, that could get very messy indeed. What a masterful performance. If she weren't in such deep shit, she'd give her a standing ovation.

But she was in deep shit, and that came first. The kitchen door had barely closed behind her when Isabel rounded on her, both hands to her head as though she feared it would explode. "What did you do?" Isabel demanded. "What on earth were you thinking? What could you possibly—"

"Isabel, calm down," Tess said. "It's not—"

"Calm down?" Isabel repeated, her voice high-pitched and breathy like she'd just run a marathon. "Calm down? You just told my grandmother we're aliens! This is the one place where I feel safe, the one place I don't feel exposed, or hunted, or in danger, and you just ruined that!"

"No," Tess said soothingly. "This is still a safe place. This isn't what it looks like. It's not as bad as you think."

"Oh, no?" Isabel said, sounding downright hysterical. "Then what do you think it looks like, Tess? Because to me it looks like exactly what it is, and it's just as bad as it looks! So please, tell me why this isn't what it looks like, because I'm just not seeing it."

Isabel stopped, dropping—no, collapsing—into a chair, nearly in tears. Tess watched her miserably, the kitchen counter pressing into her back as soft voices floated in from the living room. This was her fault. She'd gotten irritated when the grandmother had stopped her, and gone all in, and then she'd made things worse by threatening to tell Diane. She held that back, Tess realized, noting that Grandma had not told Isabel that her mother had ever come up in their conversation. Well, of course not; good ol' Grandma would want something to ensure her silence in the future.

"Okay," Tess said, deciding to go all in again. "I think your Grandmother knows about you and Max, and I wanted to prove that to you."

"We talked about this!" Isabel exclaimed. "I told you she didn't! I told you about the fire, and Max being 'special', and—"

"I know," Tess said quickly. "I just don't think that explains the number of times she's right where she needs to be and seems to know exactly what you need."

"You've never had a grandmother," Isabel said bitterly. "That's what grandmothers do."

"So I decided to a little investigating," Tess went on. "I came over to—"

" 'Investigating'?" Isabel said in disbelief. "You call telling her I'm an alien 'investigating'?"

"I didn't mean to," Tess insisted. "I just wanted to look at pictures from when you were little to see if there was anything to learn from them. But then your grandmother stopped your mother from showing them to me, and I got...annoyed."

"So of course you blurted out my biggest secret," Isabel said miserably.

"I was trying to get a reaction out of her," Tess admitted. "I even said Nasedo's name just to see what she'd do."

Isabel's eyes snapped up. "What? What did she do?"

"Nothing," Tess answered. "She didn't react."

"Not even a little bit?" Isabel said.

Tess shook her head. "Not even a little."

Isabel visibly deflated. "Oh."

Tess studied her for a moment. "You want her to know, don't you?"

Isabel blinked. "What? No! It's not safe for her to know. It's better if she doesn't."

"But what if she already knows?" Tess said. "Because I think she does, so it's already 'not safe'. Don't you see?" she went on desperately. "I did this for you! Just think of how wonderful it would be for you to be able to talk to your grandmother, really talk to her. Just think of what it would be like to have someone like that on your side! Nasedo was a pain, but he was on our side. I know what it feels like to have that, and I know what it feels like to lose it. I wanted you to have that, us to have that. That's why I did it."

Isabel stared at her seemingly without comprehension as Tess stopped, waiting for an answer. When it came, it wasn't what she expected.

"I get it," Isabel said, sounding much calmer now. "I do. You had someone watching over you, and now you don't, so of course you want that back, and somehow you nominated my grandmother for the job. And I don't blame you, because she'd be great at it. But here's the thing, Tess—she's not Nasedo. I know it hurt to lose him, and I'm really sorry you did, but my grandmother can't take his place. She doesn't know, and as much as I'd love for her to know, I don't want her to because that would put her in danger. I'm not that selfish." Her eyes dropped. "At least not yet."

Tess stared at her, resisting the urge to gape. She'd wanted absolution, but she'd never expected it to come this way. "So," Isabel said briskly, "here's what we're going to do. You're going to go in there and tell Grandma that you were just pulling her leg, and then we're both going to forget this ever happened. And—

Isabel stopped as Diane came into the kitchen. "Is...everything okay, girls?" she asked warily.

"Yeah!" Isabel said brightly. "We just had to...talk...about a few things. But we're good now," she went on quickly. "It's all good."

"Glad to hear it," Diane said. "I left the photo albums on the coffee table for you."

"Thank you, Mrs. Evans," Tess said.

Diane disappeared into the back of the house. "Let's go now," Isabel whispered. "I don't want my Mom to hear any of this."

Tess followed Isabel into the living room, mentally noting there was no way in hell that grandma would ever believe she'd just been "pulling her leg". Said grandma was leafing through one of the photo albums, and she looked up when they entered the living room.

"I'd forgotten how cute you were when you were little," she commented.

"So I'm not cute now?" Isabel teased.

"Not even remotely," Grandma said. "Now you're drop dead gorgeous. So," she continued, closing the album, "where are we, ladies? Are the two of you all right?"

"Yes," Isabel said quickly. "We're not doing drugs, or anything like that. Tess was just trying to make a joke, and she'd like to apologize for upsetting you. She—"

"Why don't you let Tess speak for herself?" Grandma broke in. "I'm guessing she's perfectly capable of that."

Two pairs of eyes swung toward Tess. "I'm sorry," Tess said promptly. "What I said...didn't come out the way I intended."

Isabel stiffened at this very true statement, but Grandma didn't flinch. "I imagine it didn't," she agreed.

"Tess just lost someone really close to her," Isabel added. "He died a few weeks ago."

"Is that the person you mentioned to me?" Grandma asked. "The one you thought I knew had died? Well," she continued when Tess nodded, "I'm very sorry to hear that. It's hard to lose someone close to you. Makes you do and say all sorts of things you normally wouldn't."

"Exactly," Isabel said quickly, leaping on that explanation. "That's it exactly. So can we just drop this?"

"Of course," Grandma said briskly. "Especially since I doubt Max would appreciate having his species called into question in his own home."

Her tone was casual, but Tess nearly stopped breathing. Max. In all the hoopla, she hadn't given so much as a moment's thought as to how Max would react if he learned of her indiscretion, and it was clear from the look on Isabel's face that the same thing was dawning on her. If Max found out she'd outed him to his own grandmother, that would be worse than a whole year's worth of Chemistry class mindwarps. No explanation would suffice. He'd never speak to her again.

"Actually," Isabel said faintly, "instead of dropping it, can we just forget it ever happened?"

"Perhaps that would be best," Grandma agreed. "Unless I hear about it from you, you'll never hear about it from me."

"Thank you, Grandma," Isabel said in relief, giving her a hug.

"Don't you want the photo albums?" Grandma called as they started to flee.

Tess grabbed a couple with a brittle smile and followed Isabel out of the living room, but she didn't need them—she'd seen everything she needed to see, heard everything she needed to hear. The contract was clear—if she didn't bring this up again, Grandma wouldn't either. She still thought the woman knew the truth about them, but being "right" wasn't worth the loss of her husband. She would never, ever raise this subject again.





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





Langton residence






The Scotch sloshed into the glass, leaving a puddle on the table's polished wood. Brivari downed it in one gulp, not caring about the puddle or the way the liquor burned his throat even though he couldn't taste it. This was reportedly an acquired taste even among humans; many didn't like it. He couldn't comment on its aesthetic properties, but he liked the way it softened the edges of existence and dropped a gauzy curtain over the mess which had become his life. He sank into a chair, his eyes closing, the familiar dull ache receding a bit. A few more of these, and it would fade into the background, at least until the alcohol wore off.

KnockKnock

Go away, Brivari thought, life already beginning to blur. Probably a traveling salesman, or some schoolchild selling cookies. Vacuum cleaners and Thin Mints wouldn't do much for him, more's the pity.

"Mr. Langton?" a voice called. "I brought you a casserole."

Brivari's eyes flew open. Dee. Well, of course it was Dee. Wasn't it always Dee? She'd been knocking on their door all the way back to when that door had been on a spaceship, and she'd just have to keep knocking because he wasn't in the mood. He sat silently through several more rounds of knocking and doorknob rattling before the voice, predictably, became irritated.

"I need to speak to you," Dee said firmly. "Something's happened, something you should know about."

Sitting in his dark living room with his empty glass of Scotch, Brivari winced, halfway between a chuckle and a sob. Something's happened. Hadn't something always? And from now on, it would be his phone that would ring, his responsibility to fix whatever mess their troublesome hybrids had stumbled into or caused themselves. It was all in his lap now.

"Open the door," Dee was saying insistently. "They need you."

Of course they do, Brivari thought as she continued her harangue. Don't they always? But for the first time since their ship had crashed, since that little girl had knocked on their door…

...he didn't care.


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



I'll be back with Chapter 44 on Sunday, February 14.

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!








CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR




October 30, 2000, 4:30 p.m.

Langton Residence, Roswell






Stranded on Brivari's front porch holding a casserole dish in a wicker basket, Dee felt increasingly like an idiot. Located in one of the older sections of town, this was the house he'd lived in back in 1959 when he'd been a clapper loader for that awful movie, and the same house Courtney had lived in briefly that same year. He'd bought the place when the hybrids had first emerged thinking he'd be here more often to keep an eye on them, and he had been...at first. But as time had gone by with no mishaps or memories, he'd gradually spent more and more time in Los Angeles, returning only sporadically. It had only been in the last year that he'd spent measurable time at this place. They'd barely seen him these past few weeks, and she was guessing he was holed up here.

Or maybe not. She'd been knocking and calling with his current Roswell pseudonym for the past several minutes with no answer, but as he wasn't answering her messages, she wasn't satisfied with just walking away. Setting the casserole dish on his porch chair, she rummaged in her handbag. Other middle-aged women carried lipstick, Kleenex, and Tums; she carried lock picks, Mace, and a cellphone which could contact someone from another planet. If she was lucky, the resident nosy neighbor, because these neighborhoods always had a resident nosy neighbor, wouldn't suspect a woman of her age of doing exactly what she was doing. A couple of minutes later, she marched inside and stopped dead at the living room threshold.

"What the hell is this?" Dee demanded.

A shape in the easy chair shifted slightly in the gloom. "I believe it's referred to as a 'living room'. Or a 'parlor', although that would be the archaic form."

"Why didn't you answer the door?" Dee said. "Or at least open it. And why is it so dark in here?" She went to the window and threw the curtains open. Sunlight flooded the little room, drawing a wince of protest, and when she turned around, she saw why.

"So," she said slowly, taking in the slumped form, the half empty glass, and the more than half empty bottle. "This is what you've come to. Sitting in a dark room swilling Scotch and ignoring my phone calls, not to mention my presence."

"For all the good it did me," Brivari said. "Most people take a locked door as a 'no', but then you're not most people."

"You never gave me a key," Dee said.

"I obviously didn't need to," Brivari retorted. "Maybe I want to sit in a dark room swilling Scotch. Maybe I wasn't in the mood for company."

Dee pondered that for a moment. "No," she said finally. "That's not it. You could have sealed that door without moving a muscle, even parked on your ass and half sloshed as you are. You wanted me to come in."

"Now you're reaching," Brivari muttered.

"I told you something had happened," Dee noted. "Don't you even want to know what?"

"Why should I?" Brivari said. "Something's always 'happening', and whatever it is can't be serious or you'd be ringing my phone off the hook, not banging on my door brandishing a 'casserole', whatever the hell that is."

"I wasn't 'banging', I was 'knocking'," Dee protested.

"And yelling," Brivari added.

"Calling," Dee corrected.

"So you broke into my house to argue semantics?"

"Tess figured me out," Dee announced.

Brivari's head swung around. "Say again?"

Gotcha, Dee thought, secretly grateful she had a decent sized bomb to drop. "I said, Tess figured me out."

"Figured out what?" Brivari said. "That you're skilled at breaking and entering?"

"She told me Max and Isabel were aliens, and that she thought I knew that," Dee replied. "She claims I'm 'always there', including the night 'Nasedo' died. She actually said that name out loud in Philip's living room. And she threatened to tell Diane her children aren't human if I didn't 'fess up."

"Finally," Brivari said with a snort of disgust. "Jesus, I thought they'd never figure it out."

Dee blinked. "Say again?"

"But 'they' didn't figure it out, did they?" Brivari went on. "She figured it out. At least one of them has working brain cells."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dee demanded.

"It means that it should have been Zan and Vilandra saying this to you ages ago," Brivari retorted. "You're their grandmother—why haven't they noticed you lurking and eavesdropping and always conveniently nearby? Vilandra you can't expect much from, but Zan? He must have the powers of observation God gave a dead man. Or an idiot."

Dee took a seat across from him as he took another swig of Scotch, drained the glass, and poured another. Two religious references in a row meant he was frustrated beyond belief and reaching for outlandish ways to express that, similar to the way humans spat profanity when under duress. "So...you're not worried that Tess figured it out."

"Worried? Hell, no!" Brivari said sourly. "That one of them has a pulse and working eyeballs can only be good news. Not the one I would have expected, never mind wanted, but beggars can't be choosers."

"And you're not bothered that she confronted me about this?" Dee continued.

"And guts," Brivari said, raising his glass. "I'll drink to that."

"So you don't mind if they all find out that I know who they really are?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Brivari said crossly. "Of course I mind. If they find out about you, they find out about me because they won't stop hounding you, and you'll give in. But they won't find out because you stopped her."

Dee's eyes narrowed. "Are you so sure about that? Don't you think I just 'gave in'?"

"She's not one of your grandchildren, and she's no match for you," Brivari said. "You put a stop to it. The only question is how."

Dee's fingers tapped on the arm of the chair. "I told Isabel what she'd said."

"Really?" Brivari said, showing a flicker of interest. "And?"

"She made Tess apologize, and blamed it on a 'recent loss in her family'."

Brivari shook his head. "Someone tells her the truth to her face, and she still doesn't see it. Classic Vilandra. What's that expression…'you can't fix stupid'?"

"Maybe they're not as 'stupid' as you think," Dee said, finding it increasingly difficult to ignore his jabs at the kids. "Maybe they've noticed all the same things Tess did, but prefer to write it off to coincidence. Maybe they like it better that way."

"Yes, well, Zan was always good at ignoring anything he didn't want to be so," Brivari said darkly. "Why should this be any different?"

An uneasy silence settled over the room, still gloomy even though afternoon sunshine was pouring through the opened curtains. She'd seen him angry, usually with Jaddo, but this was a level of bitterness and detachment she'd never seen before, and she wasn't sure if the best way to counter it was to confront it or ignore it. "I also noted that Max would not be happy if he learned what she'd done," she went on, opting for the latter for the moment.

"And there we have the end bell," Brivari said. "She won't risk both Vilandra's good will and Zan's approval. She's having enough trouble as it is. Well played. By both of you."

"I'd hardly call her behavior 'well played'," Dee objected. "She attacked me in Zan's house. She threatened to tell Diane, which means Philip would have found out, which would have made things very messy. That's not guts, that's recklessness. That's myopia. That's selfishness."

Brivari stared at the glass in his hand. "And who does she sound like?" he said quietly. "She did exactly what he would have done."

"And you approve of that?" Dee said incredulously. "You've spent the last 50 years railing against Jaddo's way of doing things."

"Maybe if he'd kept doing it that way, he'd be here now," Brivari said.

"He was trying to broker peace!" Dee exclaimed. "You know, 'peace'? As in the absence of war?"

"And in the end, it was 'peace' that killed him," Brivari retorted. "Like I said, if he'd stuck to what he knew, he might still be alive. The universe does love irony."

"So you're saying there's no point in trying to end the war?" Dee demanded. "It'll just go on forever, and no one should lift a finger to stop it?"

"I'm saying you can't broker peace with people who are totally invested in war!" Brivari snapped.

Dee raised an eyebrow. "You mean like you?"

A chill settled over the living room as he stared at her, Scotch halfway to his lips. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," Dee said firmly, her patience exhausted. "You just described yourself. You've been locked in a defensive crouch for so long, you've forgotten how to get out of it. You've been fighting so long, you've forgotten that it's supposed to be a means to an end, not an end in and of itself. You won't even think of compromising, never mind talking about it. War has defined your existence for so long, it's become who you are. I would have expected that from Jaddo, not you. The universe loves irony even more than you thought."

The glass lowered, the hand that held it shaking. "How dare you," Brivari breathed. "How dare you!"

"Look at you," Dee went on, "entombed in a dark room, sloshed and acting like it's all hopeless. Jaddo died, Brivari, not you!"

"Don't you think I know that?" Brivari demanded. "Don't you think I know I'm the only one left?"

"And your solution to that is to have a pity party!" Dee said with savage cheerfulness. "Because that's so going to help!"

"Get out," Brivari snapped.

"Not likely," Dee fumed. "Somebody has to drag you back to the land of the living, and it looks like I'm elected. Lucky me!"

"Get out!" Brivari roared. "Now!"

"Make me!" Dee shouted.

The doorbell rang. "Oh, for Christ's sake, what is this?" Brivari snapped. "Grand Central Station? Get rid of whoever that is."

"I thought you just kicked me out," Dee reminded him. "Now I'm the butler?"

"Get rid of them, and then get rid of yourself," Brivari retorted.

"Not likely," Dee said grimly. "You'll have to actually get off your ass and throw me out, and that requires effort, something you're allergic to at the moment. I'll go usher in the little Girl Scouts, and you can pick out your cookies."

"Don't you dare bring one more human into this house, or I'll fry them for breakfast!" Brivari warned.

"You don't even know what time it is," Dee muttered as she stalked to the front door and threw it open, catching herself just in time when she saw who was standing on Brivari's front porch. Exactly how many curve balls did fate intend to throw her this afternoon? Because here was another, and three was too many.





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






Don't answer, Courtney prayed silently as Larak rang Brivari's doorbell. With any luck, he'd be out moping somewhere, anywhere, anywhere but here, and she might actually get to live another day.

"Tell me again why I'm here?" she said to Larak. "You don't need me for this."

"I certainly do," Larak answered. "You keep telling me Brivari won't support the treaty, so the more people who do support it, the more pressure it places on him, on everyone. With Vanessa's death, you are now the sole supporter representing your race—"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard," Courtney said crossly. "I just can't figure out how I'm supposed to do that. I haven't even tried getting the Resistance on board, and I can promise you Nicholas and Khivar won't give a rat's ass what I think."

"Nicholas and Khivar won't give a...won't care what anyone thinks," Larak finished. "I told you, the Resistance may be tiny here, but it has grown on Antar, and we have Khivar and his missteps to thank for that. Your opinion will carry a great deal of weight exactly where it's needed."

"Then shouldn't I write it down, or make a video, or something to make sure my holy opinion gets back to the right people?" Courtney said desperately. "Because he's going to kill me when he finds out I brought the treaty to you instead of him."

"He will do no such thing," Larak answered. "What's a 'video' again? Is that the same thing as a 'movie'?"

"Oh, good grief!" Courtney exclaimed. "Who cares? The point is—" She stopped, her heart nearly stopping with her as footsteps approached and the door opened.

"Thank God!" Courtney exclaimed, leaning against the porch wall with relief. "You're here! I might live through this after all."

"Everyone's got religion today," Dee said dryly, casting a suspicious eye on Larak. "Who's this?"

"It's okay; it's Larak," Courtney said.

"It is," Larak confirmed. "Premier of Kerona and ill-mannered ambassador to the court of King Zan. Or so you felt when we met several weeks ago."

"And I still do," Dee said, steely-eyed. "But I thought you only came out at night. Sort of like an Antarian vampire."

"I'm not familiar with 'vampires'," Larak confessed. "I do usually confine myself to nighttime visits, but this was too important to wait. We're here to see Brivari."

"You've been gone for weeks," Dee said. "This is about the treaty, isn't it? What happened? Was it accepted?"

"I'd prefer to deliver that message directly to the Crown," Larak said.

"If memory serves, I represented 'the crown' when we last met," Dee noted.

"In Brivari's absence," Larak said. "He is no longer absent."

Dee snorted softly. "Is that so? But of course you want to speak to him directly," she amended when Courtney gave her a please-shut-up-and-don't-pick-a-fight look. "Protocol, and all that." She stepped back and gestured grandly. "Come right in. I'm sure he'll be delighted to see you."





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






Michael's fingers tapped on the steering wheel as he waited for the light to change and looked nervously at his passenger. Hal Carver sat stiffly in the passenger seat, his gun on his lap, his eyes out the window. He'd been this way ever since their target practice had turned into something else entirely, climbing into the Jetta without a word and leaving Michael wishing he hadn't just gone and done a Max—he'd used his powers in front of strangers, but not to save a life, which had always been Max's failsafe excuse.

The only time I ever stuck my neck out to save anything...and it all went to hell.

Unbelievable, Michael thought darkly, mentally kicking himself. They'd ragged on Max for over a year now for using his powers in public, and even though one guy hardly counted as "public", he'd still just done exactly the same thing, partly because he'd felt sorry for him, partly because he'd felt responsible, but mostly because he'd felt…grateful, Michael realized grudgingly. He owed this man his life, this mouthy former soldier with a fondness for ice cream and expletives. Without him it was a good bet that none of them would be here, and he'd wanted Hal to know his ruse had worked, that pulling that fire alarm had somehow saved them. Hal had been flabbergasted, then hugged him—man, had that been awkward—then zombie-walked to the car and lapsed into a silence which continued to this moment.

"Dude, say something," Michael commanded.

Hal's eyes jerked sideways as though he'd forgotten Michael was there. "What?"

"Say something," Michael repeated. "You're freaking me out."

Hal looked blank. "What do you want me to say?"

"Something!" Michael exclaimed. "Anything! Recite the Gettysburg address. Or your grocery list. Or just yell and scream, but don't sit there like a stone with a loaded weapon in your lap like you're going to shoot me."

Hal's eyes dropped to the gun in his lap. "Oh...sorry," he said, abashed, as he tucked the gun into the back of his belt. "I was just...processing."

"Then try 'processing' out loud, because this is beyond awkward," Michael said.

"Right," Hal nodded. "Right. I...I've never met an alien before."

Michael raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Didn't you just get through telling me you did?"

"Wouldn't call that a 'meeting'," Hal said doubtfully.

"Fair point," Michael allowed. "If it makes you feel any better, I've never told anyone I'm an alien before. At least not voluntarily."

"So no one else knows?"

"Yeah, they know," Michael answered. "Just not because I gave them a demonstration."

"Say, can you...can you do that lighter thing again?" Hal said. "Just so I know I'm not crazy?"

Michael shot him an annoyed look. Seriously? Here he was all wrapped around an axle about doing it once, and the guy wanted him to do it again? But he'd already done it once, so what was the harm in doing it a second time? He held up a thumb, heard the gasp when the flame flickered from its tip.

"Show's over," Michael said when the traffic light changed.

"Wow," Hal said faintly. "So it was real. I was wondering if I'd just imagined it."

"You didn't imagine it," Michael confirmed.

"I thought you didn't make it out that night," Hal said. "Somebody told me they held an alien prisoner at the base for years."

"They did," Michael said. "Just not me. Or anyone else in those sacs you saw."

"Who, then?" Hal asked.

"Beats me. Must have been one of those glowy things."

"Don't you even know if one of your own people was held prisoner?" Hal said.

"My 'own people'? Dude, I don't even know what that means. We came out of those sacs looking like human kids, and we were adopted out. We don't know where we come from, or why we're here, or anything. We just know we're different."

"Sheesh," Hal muttered. "They didn't even send a travel book?"

Michael shrugged. "Maybe we never signed up with the alien AAA."

"That would explain the lack of roadside assistance when your ship crashed," Hal allowed.

The mood lightened. Hal was almost smiling, and Michael was feeling much better now that a loaded weapon wasn't parked inches away. Granted, he'd just equivocated—okay, lied—but given they'd known nothing for years, it was still an accurate description of most of their life to date. And he really couldn't afford to tell this guy any more than he already had, gratitude or no gratitude.

"So what's the rest of your story?" Michael said. "What happened after you left the base that night?"

"I already told you," Hal said. "I left, and never came back. Until now."

"That's it? You never found out who killed the reporter? Never saw Rosemary or Ritchie again? You just moved to the Bahamas and forgot all about it?"

"Tampa," Hal corrected, "and I never forgot about it. Never." He paused. "Like I said, I've never told anybody this much of the story."

"I'm not just 'anybody'," Michael noted.

Hal winced. "No argument there. Okay…" He thought for a moment as they continued down Roswell's main drag. "Cavitt found me. He was an asshole, but he wasn't stupid, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that the most likely candidate for a guy who had the nerve to yell 'Fire!' was the one who'd just missed a dishonorable discharge by the skin of his teeth. He was afraid I'd tell what I saw, so he bribed my landlords to watch me. As long as I stayed put and stayed quiet, he left me alone. I stayed away from my family because I didn't want them caught in his net."

"Jesus," Michael muttered.

"Almost three years later, that nurse I met after the crash and a captain from the base looked me up," Hal went on. "Don't remember how they found me, but they wanted to know what I'd seen. They said they thought they could get justice for Betty. They were working with the local sheriff, but he needed witnesses, and they wanted me to make a statement. I told'em no, but then I thought about it, thought about Betty and how she wouldn't have died if I hadn't handed her those classified files, and I changed my mind. So I went to the sheriff's station—"

"Wait—I thought you said you hadn't been back here until now?" Michael said.

"Not counting police statements. Don't interrupt. I found the deputy, somebody named...Valetti? Valento?"

Michael's eyes widened. "Valenti?"

"Yeah, that's it. I found him, and—"

"Jim Valenti?"

"You want me to tell this or not?" Hal said crossly. "How should I know what his—wait. There was a picture on this guy's desk that looked like a kid had drawn it, and it was signed 'Jimmy'."

"Holy crap," Michael muttered. "This just gets better and better."

"Anyway, I gave him my statement. A few weeks later, Ritchie shows up at my apartment."

"And?" Michael said. "Did you two duke it out?"

"Nah. Almost didn't let him in, but then he told me Cavitt was dead. Son of a bitch killed himself. He wanted me to know that Cavitt couldn't hurt me any more, that I was free. So I let him in."

"And then you duked it out," Michael said.

Hal shook his head. "We never mentioned any of that. We talked about old times, and we left that part out...and I'm glad. That was the last time I saw him. The next day, he flew to Korea. Got himself killed." He paused. "I should have been with him. If I hadn't gotten mixed up in the crash, I probably would have been."

"Then you might be dead," Michael noted.

"And my kids would never have been born," Hal added.

"Me neither."

Hal looked at him, startled, then looked away. "I'm glad you and Ritchie got to make up, sort of," Michael went on. "At least he wasn't a dick right to the end."

"Ritchie wasn't a bad guy," Hal said. "He thought he was doing the right thing. Had his head up his ass for a while there, but don't we all sometimes? I'll tell you, I thought of him every single time I applied for a job because a dishonorable discharge would have haunted me my entire life. It's worse than a prison record. Ritchie knew that, and he made sure that didn't happen. Even people who drive you crazy can have your back. He had my back even while he was being a dick. We're all dicks at some point or other."

"Don't I know it," Michael murmured.

They had reached the motel. "One more thing," Michael said. "You said you'd never told anyone the story before. Why'd you tell me?"

"Truth?" Hal said. "I was hoping you'd write it up and someone would notice, maybe look into it. That's the first and last time I tell it because if someone noticed, they might find you." He paused. "Do you think you'll ever go home?"

Michael shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. I don't know where 'home' is."

"I hope you find it," Hal said. "I mean that." He opened the car door. "I'm glad I met you, kid. You're okay. For a smart ass."

Michael smiled faintly. "You're not so bad yourself. Thanks for sticking your neck out. It didn't all go to hell."

"Guess not," Hal agreed. "Sorry I didn't give you anything to write your paper about. When's it due?"

"Today. I procrastinate," Michael allowed when Hal shook his head. "I'll punt, but I've gotta do something else first."

"I thought you were gonna flunk if you didn't get that paper in," Hal said.

"School's not the only thing you can flunk," Michael said. "I need to go talk to some people who drive me crazy, but always have my back."





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






Langton Residence





"This is very much like my host's dwelling," Larak remarked as he and Courtney stepped into Brivari's front hallway. "He moved in my absence."

"It's been quite a while since you've been back," Dee noted. "I suppose you could have left a message in the usual place you and Courtney use."

"I could have," Larak allowed, "but sending my host on a journey of that length in the middle of the night is risky, and my news is somewhat complex. We can still use the drop point at the museum and meet at my host's dwelling at a suitable hour."

"Assuming we live through this," Courtney said under her breath.

"Where will we find the King's Warder?" Larak asked.

"In there," Courtney said, pointing. "That's the living room."

"You've been here before, then?" Larak said. "I thought you said you hadn't."

"Not recently," Courtney said. "I lived here for a little while, back when I first came to Earth."

"She did," Dee confirmed. "Brivari lived downstairs and Courtney lived upstairs, until he found out she was an Argilian and she had to run for her life."

"And here I am, about to die again in the exact same place!" Courtney said with mock enthusiasm. "Points for consistency."

"No one is dying," Larak said, smoothing his jacket in the nearby mirror. "How do I look?"

"Just fine," Dee said. "Why?"

"I have quite the announcement," Larak said. "One wants to looks one's best. It's odd how I've become used to having hair," he continued, running a nervous hand through his host's hair. "Sometimes when I'm home, I find myself reaching up to touch it. It can produce rather strange looks from my colleagues which I'm not at liberty to address."

"Well, you needn't worry about this colleague," Dee said. "At the moment, he's unlikely to notice much of anything."

"A Royal Warder is not a 'colleague'," Larak noted. "Ever."

"Leave him alone," Courtney whispered to Dee, who frowned as Larak continued adjusting his host's clothing in front of the mirror. "Every second he spends out here is a second we don't spend in there."

"For all the good it will do," Dee whispered back disdainfully. "No one who stands there fussing with his hairdo is any match for what's in there. He's going to bow and scrape, and that will be the end of it."

"So I gather Brivari's no better?" Courtney said.

Dee shook her head. "Worse."

Great, Courtney groaned as Larak finished his preparations and motioned to her to follow him. The living room wasn't that far away, but it still felt like a death march. Brivari was slumped in a chair nursing a glass of Chivas Regal. Only the best for the King's Warder.

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in," he groused without looking up. "What part of 'not' do you not understand?"

"Brivari," Larak said, nodding slightly. "It's good to see you again."

"Oh," Brivari said, looking up in surprise. "It's you. Didn't expect to see you again. I thought you'd seen sense and stopped this nonsense."

"I was busy," Larak answered.

Brivari gave a snort of derision. "And I wasn't? Jaddo's dead."

"I heard," Larak said quietly. "It's a great loss, for you and for Antar. You have my deepest sympathy, and that of the Resistance, I'm sure."

Courtney, who had been doing her best to stay behind Larak, found herself front and center as Larak stepped aside. "What are you doing here?" Brivari said peevishly. "Come to think of it, what are any of you doing here? Is this some kind of intervention?"

"Because God knows you need one," Dee remarked.

"Oh, shut up," Brivari muttered.

Courtney watched Larak's eyes flick back and forth between Brivari and Dee, no doubt surprised at the intimacy of their relationship just as she had been. But then the moment ended, and dangerous business was back on the table. "I'm here about the treaty," Larak said.

"Then you can turn around and go right back where you came from," Brivari said, "because there is no treaty."

"There is if someone else agrees there is," Dee said. "You're not the only one who gets to weigh in on that."

"Quite right," Larak agreed.

"Like hell I'm not!" Brivari declared. "If you think for one second...wait," he said suddenly, looking at Dee. "Why do you two sound like you know each other? You've never met."

Larak looked at Dee, who raised an eyebrow. "Actually, we have," Larak said. "We met when the treaty was presented to me."

Brivari stared at him. " 'Presented' to you? By whom?"

"By the Argilian Resistance and the Crown," Larak replied.

Courtney's heart sank as Brivari's head swung from one to the other, his face like a thundercloud. "Per diplomatic protocol, I presented the treaty to a delegation from the five planets," Larak continued. "I am here to deliver their answer."

Brivari stood up so quickly, he knocked over his glass. Expensive Scotch seeped into the cream-colored carpet, leaving a ghastly stain. "You did what?"

"Congratulations," Dee said, her voice heavy with irony. "You've done what I couldn't. You got him out of that chair."






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





Evans Residence






Isabel's fingers hovered over the keyboard, the cursor blinking in the search box. She wanted to know, but she also didn't want to know. What would she do if she found what she thought she'd find? One thing at a time, she decided as her fingers began to move.

1947 Roswell C—

"Iz?"

Isabel jumped, her fingers spazzing on the keyboard so that last word turned into something other than she'd intended, causing AOL's search engine to have its own spasms trying to decide what to do with it. "Max! Don't scare me like that!"

Half in, half out of her bedroom doorway, Max looked puzzled. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Well, you did," Isabel said, her heart still racing as she quickly backspaced. "Did you want something?"

"Michael called. He wants us to meet him at the pod chamber."

"Why?" Isabel said irritably.

"Said he had something to tell us," Max shrugged. "Said it was important."

"Isn't it always?" Isabel muttered.

"Maybe he found the drink dispenser on the Granolith." Max paused, waiting for a smile from her which never came. "Anyway...I told him we'd come after dinner."

"Fine," Isabel said shortly.

Max gave her a strange look. "Are you okay?"

"Just really busy," Isabel answered. "And really not in the mood for Michael and his endless emergencies. And definitely not in the mood for that smelly pod chamber. And yes, I know I spent time holed up there. It still smelled."

"Okay," Max said. "Just checking."

"Shut the door on your way out."

Max gave her another strange look, but he complied, closing the door quietly behind him. Isabel stared at the now empty search box, wondering if the universe was trying to tell her something. Maybe she should just drop this. Maybe she should leave well enough alone. Could it be coincidence that she'd been interrupted at the very moment she'd started to look? But Michael was famous for interrupting just about anything with some life-shattering event or information, and if she tried to read warnings into all of those interruptions, she'd go crazy. Steadying her trembling fingers, she started again.

1947 Roswell Crash

She hit "enter" quickly, before she could change her mind, and a flood of hits appeared. It would probably sound curious to anyone who knew their secret, but she'd never actually read anything about the '47 crash. Living in the town where it happened, she heard about it constantly, so much so that she spent most of her time trying to get away from it. For a girl who wanted to be human, to be surrounded by constant reminders that she was not was difficult. She'd often wondered what it would have been like to live somewhere where she didn't encounter bulbous alien heads around every corner, where she could blissfully forget she was different, at least for a little while. But she didn't; she lived here, where alien lore was embedded in the very fabric of the town, its populace, its media, and its commerce. There was so much hype, so much embellishment, so much outright chicanery on the subject that trying to ferret out genuine details was worse than searching for a needle in a haystack, so why bother? They were here; nothing could undo that. The precise nature of their arrival was beside the point. Except now, when it wasn't, when she wanted to know.

Five minutes later, after combing the first few pages of links and eliminating the obvious ones like MUFON, she settled on some promising, supposedly eyewitness accounts. Names swam in front of her, mostly military as it was the military who'd discovered their ship. So far, so good, Isabel thought, breathing easier as familiar snippets of information enshrined in popular folklore floated past. The local military base had taken the call...Jesse Marcell…Sheridan Cavitt...found by Mac Brazel, a local rancher and his next door neighbor…

Isabel's hand flew to her mouth as she nearly stopped breathing.

Dee Proctor.




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


I won't be in town 2 weeks from now, so I'll post Chapter 45 on the following Sunday, March 6.

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!











CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE



October 30, 2000, 5:30 p.m.

Evans residence






Stripping off his jacket, Philip Evans set his briefcase on his desk and heaved himself into a chair. He'd actually made it home in time for dinner tonight, very much an open question for most of the day, but he still had work to do. Rolling up his sleeves, he leafed through the stack inside his briefcase, sorting the contents into piles of depositions, statements, rebuttals, and postponements which made a sort of thatched paper cover on his desk. Diane always wondered how he could find anything, and truthfully, he wasn't sure, but he always did. Messy desks were supposedly the sign of a creative mind, but lawyers weren't usually creative types, at least not in the classic sense of the word.

"Dad?"

Philip looked up. "Izzie! Come in!"

"I brought you some coffee," Isabel said, handing him a steaming mug.

"Thank you, sweetheart, that was very thoughtful," Philip smiled. God, he had great kids.

"Is...this a bad time?" Isabel asked, eyeing the mess on his desk.

"What? Oh...no, my desk frequently looks like this."

"Wow," Isabel remarked.

"Yeah, I know," Philip sighed. "That's what your Mom says. Well...actually, she usually says a lot more than just 'wow', but I never lose anything, so it works for me. How was school today?"

"Good," Isabel said, sliding into a chair. "I just wanted to ask you something."

Philip slipped his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "Is this about the counseling? Because I know you're not happy about it, and I'm not exactly thrilled, but your mother—"

"No," Isabel said quickly, "it's not about that. I mean, I'm not thrilled about it either, but...that's not it."

"Just try it," Philip advised. "If it's really awful, we can say you tried."

"Right," Isabel nodded. "Right, I...I wanted to ask you something. I'm doing a...a school report about the crash in '47, and—"

"You are?" Philip chuckled. "Didn't think any teacher here would give an assignment like that. Everyone usually avoids it like the plague. Sorry…go on."

"And I found something about the guy who discovered the crash site," Isabel went on. "It said he had his neighbor with him, a 'Dee Proctor'. Isn't 'Proctor' great-grandma and grandpa's name?"

Philip gulped his coffee, certain he'd need it now. "Yes," he answered, "yes, it is."

"So...is this 'Dee Proctor' any relation to grandma?" Isabel asked.

"You could say that," Philip allowed. "That Dee Proctor is your grandma."

Isabel's eyes widened. "It...what?"

" 'Fraid so," Philip said. "Congratulations, honey—you've just stumbled onto the big family secret. Not a bad one," he added hastily when Isabel paled, "just one we don't talk about. Everyone's got at least one skeleton in their closet. This one's ours. Could be worse."

"I guess," Isabel said faintly.

"Your grandmother lived next door to William Brazel," Philip went on, "the man who used to own Pohlman Ranch. She called him 'Mac'; I understand most people did. She used to go with him to the ranch sometimes, especially during the summer when school was off, and she went with him that day in '47 when he found...well...whatever it is people think he found."

"So...you're telling me grandma was with him when he found the ship?" Isabel said, flabbergasted.

" 'Ship'?" Philip said skeptically. "More like a Russian spy plane or an experimental aircraft. Must have been something unfamiliar to have tripped the UFO story, but it definitely wasn't a weather balloon judging by the tap dancing from the military."

"How come I never knew this?" Isabel said in astonishment. "My own grandmother was at the crash site, and I never knew?"

"We don't talk about it," Philip admitted. "It's not exactly something we want passed around."

"Why not?" Isabel said. "Some people go on and on about where they were during the crash."

"They do, don't they?" Philip said. "I gather it was pretty exciting. Roswell was in the news, reporters and tourists were pouring into town. But you have to remember that some people believed the hype. They actually believed an alien ship crashed on Pohlman Ranch, and they were scared. Some of them went after Brazel, and your Great-Grandmother Emily fended them off, if I remember the story correctly. I think she and your great-grandfather wanted to keep your grandmother's role in this very quiet, so she stayed out of the fray."

"Huh," Isabel said. "One of the sites I looked at thought Dee Proctor was a boy. That's why I wasn't sure it was grandma."

"And I think your great-grandparents would have liked to keep it that way," Philip said. "Most people around here don't bring it up unless they're trying to make money off it. I'm not knocking it; I know that's how Jeff Parker makes his living, and the UFO Museum, and if they didn't, someone else would. I just think that with all the tall tales that followed, and the tourists, and the kitsch, everyone just got tired of it. Now it's considered bad form to even bring it up, never mind believe it."

"Maybe it's better that way," Isabel murmured.

"Maybe," Philip agreed.

"So...who else knows?" Isabel asked.

"No one," Philip admitted. "At least not that I know of."

"Not even Mom?"

"She knows my mother was around here in '47, but I don't think she knows the details," Philip said. "Like I said, we don't talk about it. God knows your grandmother doesn't."

"Yeah," Isabel said quietly. "I bet."

"Which made it all the more weird that night we found you and your brother," Philip said.

Isabel blinked. "What? What was weird?"

Philip eased back in his chair, nursing his coffee. "I don't think your grandmother had set foot on that ranch since the crash. The government took it off Mac's hands right quick after whatever-it-was fell out of the sky, or at least the part of it they wanted. But the night we found you and your brother, we were driving nearby, and Grandma insisted we go onto the ranch. She even told me to drive past the 'No Trespassing' sign. Mom thought she'd gone nuts, although, to be fair, she thought that about my mother a lot. They didn't get along as well back then."

"But...why did she tell you to do that?" Isabel said.

"Honestly? I'm not sure," Philip admitted. "But we found you and Max not far past the sign, so we assumed she must have seen something."

"Like what?" Isabel said. "It was nighttime. It was dark, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Philip allowed, "but it's hard to argue with her given what we found." He put a hand over his daughter's. "Whatever made her do it, I'm awfully glad she did, sweetheart, because if she hadn't, we wouldn't have found you and your brother. Someone would have, but not us. I'm awfully glad it was us."

"Yeah," Isabel said, squeezing his hand, her voice husky. "Me, too."

"Say, why don't you call her?" Philip suggested. "She won't want to be included in your school report, but I'm sure she'll tell you the story off the record. It's family lore, after all. We've got a few minutes before dinner; maybe she's free tonight?"

"Good idea," Isabel said, taking the desk phone he handed her. "I guess she's not home," she said a minute later. "No one's answering."

"Probably out causing trouble," Philip chuckled. "My mother excels at that."





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






Langton Residence






The silence was deafening as two of the most powerful men in another part of the galaxy confronted each another, one furious, the other curiously serene. Perhaps serenity was a gift one earned by slavishly following the rules, but protocol wasn't going to save them. The only way to give the treaty a fighting chance was to bypass the king's wounded Warder, so furious with grief that he wasn't thinking straight and probably wouldn't be for a very long time. She predicted Brivari would bluster and Larak would bow out, leaving her to defend Courtney. What a monumental waste of everyone's time.

"Did I hear you correctly," Brivari said in a strained voice, "that you took the treaty to the five planets?"

"I did," Larak answered.

"And presented it to them like a...like a legitimate proposal?"

"Correct," Larak answered. "And they—"

"No!" Brivari said savagely, holding up a hand. "We're not there yet! Hell, we're not even close! What in the name of all that's holy could have convinced you that some cockamamie 'agreement' drummed up by the woman who killed Jaddo could ever be legitimate?"

"Vanessa killed Jaddo?" Larak said. "It's my understanding that an operative killed him after she released him from their custody."

"Details!" Brivari said impatiently. "He's dead because of her!"

"He's also dead because of a risk he willingly undertook for the good of all of us," Larak said. "It should be noted that Vanessa undertook that risk as well."

"Oh, it should, should it?" Brivari said sarcastically. "And did she also 'undertake a risk' when she kidnapped the Queen?"

"That was, of course, unforgivable," Larak answered. "I'm told Vilandra executed her, and rightly so. But none of that makes the treaty she and Jaddo constructed illegitimate."

"Like hell it doesn't," Brivari retorted. "And you," he went on, rounding on Courtney, "how dare you bring that infernal thing to another planet without consulting the Crown?"

"I represented the Crown," Dee said.

Brivari whirled around. "You? You? You're a freaking grandmother! You know nothing about Antarian politics!"

"Perhaps," Dee said coldly. "But I know plenty about unstable Royal Warders."

Dee held her ground as Brivari glared at her, Courtney's eyes widened, and Larak raised an eyebrow. "You overreached," Brivari said flatly. "Whatever you've done for the Crown does not qualify you to present treaties to neighboring governments. As you're not a subject of that Crown or a citizen of any neighboring planet, I'll let that go. But she," he continued, pointing to Courtney, "she is a subject of the Crown, and she certainly knew better."

"You weren't here!" Courtney protested.

"Then you should have waited until I got back!" Brivari said furiously.

"What for?" Courtney demanded. "You would have said 'no' if I'd waited until the cows came home!"

"Damn straight I would have," Brivari snapped. "Negotiating behind the King's back? Your actions amount to treason!"

"Great, so somebody else thinks I'm a traitor," Courtney said. "Just get in line behind Nicholas. I was trying to broker peace!"

"There is no 'peace' which denies my Ward his throne!" Brivari shouted. "And there is no excuse for your behavior! Do you remember what we do with traitors?"

"So execute me, already, and get it over with," Courtney retorted. "Because we all know you've got such a huge pile of allies that you can afford to just throw them away."

"You're no ally," Brivari said grimly, advancing on her as she shrank back. "You, I can afford to throw away."

"Stop."

Brivari pulled up short, and it took Dee a moment to realize why. She'd been all set to step between Courtney and Brivari, but Larak had beaten her to it. They faced off in an almost straight line, Larak in front of Courtney and Brivari in front of him, all only inches away from each other.

"Move," Brivari ordered.

"Your quarrel is not with her," Larak said. "Your quarrel is with me."

"You were equally stupid, but I'll get to that later," Brivari said impatiently. "At the moment—"

"You'll 'get to that' now," Larak said firmly. "Courtney presented nothing. I presented the treaty to the five planets. I negotiated with other governments. I contacted The Resistance and The Royalists on Antar."

"And you shouldn't have," Brivari said. "But these two probably made up something about me agreeing to this poppycock."

"They did no such thing," Larak said. "They made it clear that you were unaware of the existence of the treaty, never mind its contents, and that they fully expected you to reject it."

"Then why did you listen?" Brivari demanded. "You should have sent them both packing, not trot it home and wave it around!"

"They convinced me the circumstances were extraordinary enough to warrant a departure from the usual protocol," Larak answered. "Ultimately, I agreed. That was my decision."

"You had no right," Brivari said flatly.

"I had every right," Larak said firmly. "I rule a planet; you do not. You are a Warder, not a king."

Dee and Courtney exchanged glances. It was safe to say neither of them had been expecting this, nor had Brivari, judging by the look on his face.

"I may not be the king, but I speak for the King," Brivari said angrily. "I'm the only one left to do that, or haven't you been keeping up?"

"You speak for him only until he attains his majority and reclaims his throne," Larak corrected, "and only with an eye to the interim nature of your situation. Your primary duty is to keep the King alive so that he may rule."

"Oh, you want him to 'rule', do you?" Brivari said in astonishment. "Have you seen him? Do you know what condition he's in? He isn't fit to 'rule' on what he had for breakfast!"

"That's not fair," Dee protested. "He's learning. He's much further down that path than any of the rest of them."

"But he's not there yet," Brivari said, "which means that in the meantime, I—"

"Safeguard his person and his interests so he may reach maturity in his new form and render a decision on this or any other matter," Larak finished. "You have no authority to rule in his absence. That would fall to a second, a regent, or a council."

"None of which we have!" Brivari shouted. "Don't you get it? I'm it! After everything we've gone through for the last 50 years, I'm all that's left! So if I say the damned 'treaty' goes, it goes!"

Larak fixed him with a level stare. "You forget your limits. The service you've rendered the Crown does not qualify you to refuse overtures of peace in a time of war. Remember your place, Warder."

Larak's rebuke hung in the air like a slap as Brivari gaped at him. No one said anything for a moment.

"My 'place'?" Brivari said finally, nearly shaking with fury. "My place? I've been tanked here for 50 years! I've gone through hell for 50 years—50 years—and you presume to lecture me about my 'place'?"

"And what do you think the rest of us have been doing these past 50 years?" Larak said. "You're not the only one going through hell, Brivari; we all are. Jaddo and Vanessa's treaty is the first real chance we've had at peace, which is why the delegation from the five planets, including Antar, agreed with my re-interpretation of the boundaries of protocol and gave it their full consideration. I am here to deliver their answer."

"Oh, by all means, let's hear it," Brivari said, the scorn in his voice so thick, you could cut it with a knife. "I'm positively giddy with anticipation."

"They agreed to pursue it as the first step in the peace process. While by no means perfect," Larak continued as Brivari gave a snort of derision, "it struck enough of a balance to appeal to all, which isn't surprising given that it was written by two of the most severe personalities on their respective sides."

"So they bought it," Brivari said derisively, "hook, line, and sinker. I could have told you that. They're so desperate, they'd jump at anything!"

"It is, of course, contingent upon hammering out the details, upon the Royal Four reaching maturity, and upon Zan's approval once he does so," Larak went on, ignoring him. "This is only the beginning."

"It's also the end," Brivari declared angrily. "I have no intention of presenting this mess to the king, now or at any time in the future."

"You have no choice in the matter," Larak said. "It is your duty to relay this armistice to the king regardless of your personal feelings. You may, of course, offer your opinion if he wishes, but you may not withhold information. That is protocol, the very same protocol you've expressed such love for."

"And that you flushed down the toilet when it suited you," Brivari retorted. "If you can flush it, so can I."

"But I did not act independently," Larak noted. "When the vote was taken as to whether to consider the treaty under the circumstances it was presented, there were virtually no dissenters. Are you willing to put your re-interpretation of protocol to the same test?"

"You don't give me orders," Brivari said flatly.

Larak raised an eyebrow. "Shall I fetch the one who does?"

Dee closed her eyes briefly. The voice was soft, but the threat was real, and what a threat it was, hitting square in the middle of Brivari's biggest problem, the fact that the king could compel him. Defeated, Brivari sank back into his chair, his face set.

"Shall I tell the delegates the Crown is willing to pursue consideration of this treaty?" Larak asked.

"Tell the delegates to go to hell and stay there," Brivari said coldly.

"Is that what you really want me to say to your Ward's loyal subjects?" Larak asked.

"Why don't you ask her?" Brivari said irritably, stabbing a finger at Dee. "She 'represented the Crown' before. If I'm doing such a crap job, maybe she should be the King's Warder. I'll just retire to Florida and take up golf."

Larak's face remained impassive as he turned to Dee. "Madam, shall I tell the delegates the Crown is willing to pursue consideration of this treaty?"

Startled, Dee looked at each expectant face in turn. "Well?" Brivari demanded. "Answer him! Delegates from the Five Planets are awaiting your decision because it seems that you represent the Crown, and I don't."

"I...don't understand," Dee said. "Didn't I already weigh in on this?"

"You weighed in on whether to present the treaty to the Five Planets in the first place," Courtney explained. "Now they've all seen it, and maybe some changes were made or conditions imposed, so now everyone has to agree to keep pursuing it. There was no representative for the Crown there to cast a vote in the King's name, so Larak is here to collect that vote. It's just…"

"Protocol," Dee finished despairingly as the weight of responsibility became crushingly heavy. Changes? Conditions? What kind of changes and conditions? She hadn't been there for the discussion, so she had no idea, although Brivari certainly hadn't either…

"I wasn't present at these...negotiations," Dee said, "so before I give you an answer, I want to hear every detail of the discussion and any changes that were made."

"A fair request," Larak agreed. "I need to return my host's body before I attract suspicion, but we can arrange to meet at his house, although I fear the hour will be inhospitable."

"I'll come at any hour," Dee said. "And I'd like all of you there. Including you, Brivari."

Brivari turned hard eyes on her. "What for? Nobody cares what I think."

"I care very much what you think," Dee said. "I just don't care for the way your personal grief is overshadowing everything else."

"I'm terribly sorry my 'personal grief' arrived at such an inconvenient time for you," Brivari said acidly, "but it appears that you now speak for Antar. Good luck with that. You'll need it. Now get the hell out of my house, and stay out."





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





"Wow," Max said.

"Yeah," Tess said wonderingly from the jeep's back seat. "That's quite a story."

"Tell me about it," Michael said. "I've been listening to it all day, and it just kept getting better and better."

"Someone saw us when we were still in the pods," Isabel said faintly.

"Nasedo must have, but he never talked about it," Tess said.

"Hal didn't just see us, he saved us," Michael said firmly. "Lots of people saw us, but most of them didn't save us."

"I can't believe you showed him your powers," Isabel said. "You were taking a huge risk."

"He deserved to know," Michael said. "He thought the whole thing had gone bust, but it didn't. He deserved to know that what he did worked."

"Someone's singing a different tune," Max remarked.

Michael shook his head. "Already on it, Maxwell. I've been apologizing all afternoon, and yes, that includes Liz. Like I told Maria, we owe more than I could have imagined to all of our friends and some old guy named Hal who lives in Tampa and plays shuffleboard."

"Nasedo was held captive for three years, but he escaped because he had help, human help," Tess said. "I met one of them."

"You did?" Michael said, twisting around in his seat. "Who? When?"

"Some old lady," Tess said. "Before we moved here. She said she was a nurse at the base when he was captive. I'd never seen Nasedo act the way he did with her. He cleaned the house, fussed over the dinner, wanted me on my best behavior...he actually respected her."

"Did you get her name?" Max asked.

Tess shook her head. "Nasedo called her 'Marie', but I'm willing to bet good money that wasn't her real name."

"What was she like?" Isabel asked.

"She was...nice," Tess answered. "Calm. Friendly. And not afraid of him, which was weird because everyone was afraid of him. She said he was 'difficult to live with'."

"I think she got that right," Max remarked.

"I got the impression he was showing me off, like he wanted her to be proud of me," Tess continued. "He wanted her approval. He always hated humans, but not that one."

"Add her to the list of humans we owe buckets," Michael said.

"It's even longer than that," Isabel murmured.

"What do you mean?" Max asked.

Isabel looked up, startled that she'd said that out loud. "Nothing. I...was just thinking about how many people would have had to help to get Nasedo off the base when it was fully staffed. It took a small army to get you out with just a few Special Unit agents."

Murmurs and nods greeted this point, neatly covering her gaffe. Michael's momentous day with Captain Carver was huge, but her discovery today was even more so because her "Captain Carver" was her own grandmother. It simply couldn't be a coincidence that Grandma Dee had been there when their ship was discovered. It couldn't.

"Here I was going on about how we're separate, and we're alone, and we've never been alone," Michael was saying. "I feel like a dick."

"Because you were a dick," Max noted dryly. "Look, you apologized," he went on when Michael gave him a look. "We're all trying to find our way through this, and every time we think we have, something else happens or some new information pops up. We'll figure it out. And in the meantime, just stop being a dick or apologize when you are."

"I apologized to the sheriff," Tess said. "I was pretty nasty when he invited me to stay with him after my house was broken into. I wanted to stay with you and Isabel, and...I didn't behave very well that first night. But you were right, Max; it's so much nicer living with people who know. It would have been very hard to live with someone who didn't."

Seated behind Max, Isabel watched Max's eyes flick to hers in the rear view mirror. Neither of them had wanted Tess to live with them, albeit for different reasons. "I'm glad it's working out for you," Max said. "The Valenti's are good people, and we're lucky to have them on our side."

"Yeah, especially since one of them's law enforcement," Michael said, completely missing the subtext rippling past. "So...any thoughts on the other set of pods Hal saw?"

"Freaky," Isabel said.

"I meant useful thoughts," Michael clarified. "Did Nasedo ever say anything about more of us out there?"

"Nasedo never said much of anything," Tess said. "But he only showed me photographs of the three of you. You were 'The Others', and once we moved here, he only referenced you."

"Looks like there are other 'Others'," Max noted.

"Could be other family members," Tess suggested. "If the government was overthrown, I'm guessing a lot of people died, and more had to run."

"I'd love to know what happened," Michael said. "Who killed us? Why?"

"Enemies killed us," Max answered, "for the same reason they always do—power."

Shrinking further into the back seat, Isabel listened uncomfortably as the speculation continued. According to Whitaker, the motivation for their downfall had been quite different.


You had a great love, and for him...for us...you betrayed your brother, your race. You sacrificed him. You sacrificed everyone...even yourself.


It was that last part which had never made sense to her. If she had a "great love", why would she sacrifice herself? Wouldn't she have wanted to be with that great love? Had the great love died in the carnage? Had she flung herself from a rooftop somewhere in paroxysms of grief? She'd told herself over and over that Whitaker hadn't made sense because she was lying, that she shouldn't spend so much time on the proclamations of a crazy woman. But it wasn't working because deep down, on some level so hazy she was only barely aware of its existence, she knew Whitaker was right. Maybe not on all the details, but basically right nonetheless. Somehow, some way, she had had something to do with the downfall of their planet. It was not a comforting thought.

"Iz?"

Startled back to the present, Isabel found all eyes on her. "Are you okay?" Max asked, concerned. "You're, like, a million miles away tonight."

"We just found someone who saw us right after the crash," Isabel said. "Don't I get to be awed by that? Even Michael's awed by that. He's just louder about it."

"Of course you do," Tess said quickly. "We all are."

"You know what the most awesome thing about it is?" Isabel said, leaning her head against the side of the jeep. "We were babies."

Tess blinked. "What?"

"We were babies," Isabel repeated. "Carver told Michael that he saw human fetuses. That means we grew just like humans do, so at some point, we were babies."

"So?" Michael said.

"So we never knew that," Isabel said. "All we know is that we looked like 6 year-olds when we came out of the pods, but we never knew if we always looked like that. Now we know."

"I repeat," Michael said. "So?"

"So, haven't you ever gone over to a friend's house and seen all the baby pictures, and baby booties, and baby footprints, and baby everything?" Isabel said. "All of our pictures and stuff start from age 6. We never had that. And every single time I'd see one of those 'baby footprints' hanging on a wall, I'd be reminded all over again that we're different."

"That's because we are different," Tess said carefully.

"But now we know we grew just like everyone else," Isabel said. "We're not as different as we thought."

Isabel fell silent as Tess looked away and Michael stared at her like she'd lost her marbles; only Max shot her a sympathetic look. Of course Michael and Tess didn't care about not having baby pictures; Tess had lived in a world where she was never allowed to forget she was different, and a lack of baby pictures hadn't been Michael's biggest problem.

"We're here," Max said, helpfully changing the subject. "Are you sure this is okay, Michael?"

"Only one way to find out," Michael said.

They climbed out and filed after him, stopping in a tight huddle as he knocked on the motel room door. "Just a minute," growled a grumpy voice, followed by heavy footsteps and the rattle of a chain lock. A moment later, the door opened to reveal an older middle-aged man whose eyes widened when he saw them.

"Hey," Michael said. "I hope you don't mind...I've got some friends who want to meet you."

Total silence met this announcement. Carver gaped at them in astonishment as it lengthened, growing downright oppressive. "Maybe I should have called," Michael said finally. "I mean, I should have called. I'm sorry, I just...I'm sorry."

Carver stared at them wordlessly as Isabel felt a pang of sympathy for Michael, who never apologized but had apparently spent the entire day doing just that. "Um...maybe this was a bad idea," Michael allowed. "We'll just...we'll just go—"

"Four."

It was a whisper, such a quiet whisper that Isabel thought she may have heard wrong until he repeated it. "Four," Carver repeated. "Four of you." He looked them up and down as they shifted uncomfortably. "So you're...you're all…?"

Isabel felt her face burning. "Yeah," Michael finished self-consciously. "We're all..." He paused, glancing nervously around. None of them liked saying the "A" word out loud.

"Grateful," Max finished, gracefully filling the awkward silence. "We're all grateful, Captain, and that's why we're here." He held out a hand. "I'm Max Evans."

The prospect of a simple handshake seemed to shake Carver out of his fog. "Hal Carver," he said gruffly, grasping the proffered hand. "Glad to meet you."





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





Proctor residence






It was dark by the time Dee arrived home, having spent the last couple of hours nursing a cup of coffee at the Crashdown while Courtney shot her sympathetic glances as she rushed by serving the dinner crowd. She'd been ready to strangle Brivari, but by the time it all went pear shaped, she'd been feeling sorry for him. And now she had an appointment to negotiate with the leader of another planet? How the hell had that happened? Climbing out of the car, she trudged wearily toward the house, climbed the porch steps, and nearly jumped a foot.

"Isabel!" Dee exclaimed. "You scared me!"

"I'm sorry," Isabel said from her seat in the gloom. "I didn't mean to."

"How did you get here?" Dee asked. "I don't see the jeep."

"I had Max drop me off," Isabel said. "He went to get gas—he'll be back soon. I thought I'd missed you." She paused. "It's okay that I'm here, right?"

"Of course it is, sweetheart, but why? Is something wrong?"

Isabel's eyes dropped, and Dee's heart dropped along with them. She'd nearly forgotten about their afternoon encounter with Tess; what had been a big thing earlier today seemed small now that she'd suddenly been nominated to speak for a planet she'd never set foot on and probably never would—perspective, and all that. But the look on Isabel's face made it clear that something was up, and Dee was willing to bet that particular episode wasn't over yet.

"Honey?" Dee prompted. "Is this about what your friend said earlier? Because—"

"Is it true that you were with Mac Brazel when he found the crash site on his ranch back in '47?" Isabel blurted out.

Good Lord, Dee thought wearily. Curve ball number four.




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



I'll post Chapter 46 on Sunday, March 20.

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!





CHAPTER FORTY-SIX




October 30, 2000, 8 p.m.

Proctor Residence






Dee sank into a porch chair next to Isabel, whose face was only barely visible in the dark. Hopefully hers was equally inscrutable because she was mentally scrambling, preparing to dodge yet another bullet in the hail which seemed to keep coming. She'd been expecting something about Tess's monumental indiscretion, but she hadn't expected her granddaughter to go looking up crash stats. She'd long ago decided what to say if this subject ever came up, but that was when the kids were small and everyone thought they'd remember who they were in short order. Dodging near adults was another thing entirely.

"So," Dee said as Isabel sat silently beside her. "You uncovered the family secret."

Isabel's features remained in shadow, but from the way she stiffened, Dee was willing to bet she would have voted for something else as the top contender for "family secret". "I just...I didn't know," Isabel said. "How is it that no one ever mentioned it?"

"How is it that you found out? I can't imagine your father would have brought it up, and your mother doesn't know."

"I...was doing a school project," Isabel said.

"A school project?" Dee repeated in a deeply skeptical voice. "In Roswell? About the crash? That's the last thing anyone here wants to talk about."

"We had a sub. Look, I'm just surprised," Isabel said. "It's kind of weird when your own grandmother's name comes up in an internet search. Especially when some of them think you're a boy."

Good, Dee thought. Native Roswellians' natural reluctance to seriously talk about what had put their town on the map had come in handy for her and Anthony, who had wanted to suppress their role in events as much as possible. Anthony's part had never made it into the history books, hers had been somewhat garbled, and Philip had been told to keep mum so she wouldn't be bothered by tourists, something everyone here could understand.

"I was a tomboy," Dee allowed. "Is this where Tess got her odd ideas?"

"Maybe," Isabel said cautiously.

"Well, I hate to disappoint her, but I'm afraid it's not that interesting," Dee said. "I didn't do anything but go with my neighbor to his ranch and spend the rest of the summer watching the town go crazy."

Isabel twisted sideways in her chair. "What did you see? What did it look like?"

Dee shrugged. "A pile of metal. Mac called the military base nearby because that's where most planes came from around here. And they never let him back on his ranch."

"I know all that," Isabel said impatiently. "I mean what did you see?"

"I told you," Dee said patiently, "a pile of metal. I was 8 years old, and I liked to go to the ranch with Mac. He lived next door," she said, pointing to the house next door, "with his wife, Rose, and I was over there a lot. There was a storm the night before, with lots of thunder and lightning, and I thought I saw a star fall while I was watching out my bedroom window. I wanted to find my star."

Isabel shifted slightly. "Did you?"

"I guess I did," Dee answered, "assuming what I saw was that plane, or whatever it was. But they hustled Mac away so quickly that it hardly mattered. And then the reporters came, and the sightseers, and the Army, and...well, it was a right royal mess."

"So...what was it?" Isabel asked. "What fell out of the sky?"

"That's the million dollar question, isn't it?" Dee said. "It was big, and shiny, and very broken. Everyone's still debating what it was and why it was there."

There came a long pause. "That's it?" Isabel said finally.

"Why?" Dee said. "Did you think there'd be more?"

"Well...what about the night you found us?"

"What about it?" Dee said.

"Dad says you told him to go past the 'No Trespassing' signs on Pohlman Ranch," Isabel said. "Why would you do that? How did you know to do that?"

"I saw something," Dee said.

"It was dark. There are no lights out there."

"Cars have headlights," Dee said.

"But how could you have seen anything off the road?" Isabel persisted. "Headlights only show in front of the car."

"Roads have curves," Dee noted. "And how did we get from the crash to this subject?"

Isabel fell into a frustrated silence as Dee waited to see how far she was willing to take this. First Tess, now Isabel...It's about time one of them figured it out, Brivari had said, disappointed that it hadn't been Zan or Rath. He'd be even more disappointed when he heard both girls had gotten there first, assuming he was still speaking to her, that is, which was somewhat of an open question.

"Grandma," Isabel said slowly, "is there something you're not telling me?"

"Isabel," Dee said gently, "is there something you're not asking me?"

The silence that followed was long and more pregnant than a lifetime of pauses. "Okay," Isabel said carefully, "here's the thing. I think you know that Max and I are…"

"Are...what?" Dee prompted.

"Are...special," Isabel finished.

"Special," Dee repeated. " 'Special' how?"

" 'Special' like...like when Max put out that fire," Isabel said. "You convinced Mom that he was 'special', which means you know...don't you?"

"Well," Dee said slowly, "I 'know' that there are people who can do things no one else can, and none of us knows why. I 'know' what would happen to these people if the wrong sort got a hold of them, like the government, the military, and whatnot. They may mean well, but too many of them would never be able to resist the urge to profit from it. So I 'know' it's best that no one ever learns of that. And I know that you and your brother were found wandering together, so it makes sense that you might be related, and that what applies to him might also apply to you."

"I knew it," Isabel said, excitement mounting in her voice. "I knew it! I knew that's what it was! I told Tess that's what it was, but she still thinks we're…"

"Aliens?" Dee finished.

It suddenly got very quiet, even the bugs falling silent as the word no one ever said out loud in any kind of earnest hung in the air like an open invitation.

And then, just like that, the invitation was declined. "I told her it was just about the fire," Isabel said, "but she didn't believe me. Grandma," she went on intently, "you got Max out of seeing that psychologist, didn't you? You got him out of it because you knew, didn't you?"

Dee shrugged. "I didn't like the man anyway. And I really don't think he was doing a thing for your brother. I just had to convince your Mom of that."

"I need you to do that again," Isabel said urgently. "Mom's sending me to therapy, and I don't want to go."

"I'm afraid even I can't pull that off," Dee said sadly. "I only managed it with Max because he'd been going for a while and he was feeling better. Your mother's quite insistent that you both go."

"But what if whoever I'm seeing finds out?" Isabel said.

"Finds out what?" Dee said. "You haven't put out any strange fires, have you? Or is there something else you don't want anyone to find out?"

"Well, no, but…I'm still worried I'm going to say something I shouldn't," Isabel finished, declining yet another invitation for full disclosure.

"The only way out I can see is if you tell your mother what you just told me," Dee said.

"You mean...tell her I'm…"

"Yes," Dee said.

There followed a very long pause. "No," Isabel said finally. "I can't."

"Why not? She knows about Max."

"That's not the same," Isabel said. "She'd want details, lots of details."

"She didn't ask your brother for details," Dee noted.

"That's because he's Max. She'll want something different from me, something I can't give her."

Headlights appeared down the road, drew closer. "I think your ride is here," Dee said.

Isabel sat silently beside her as the jeep pulled into the driveway, her misery palpable even in the dark. "Okay, well...thanks, Grandma. Maybe—"

Dee took her hand, silencing wherever that last sentence had been heading. There was no getting the kids out of Diane's insistence on therapy, but new vistas had just opened. Isabel wasn't ready to share her deepest secret, settling instead for something close, if not quite there. But even this represented progress because she could now let on she knew something, even if she still had to pretend she didn't know everything. She could now reassure her in ways which before had been impossible.

"You're not going to the same doctor your brother saw," Dee said.

"I know," Isabel said miserably. "Dad said he insisted on someone different, but it doesn't really matter."

"It does," Dee corrected. "Because the doctor you're seeing is one I recommended, and I promise you, she will never betray you. There is nothing you can say to her or do in front of her that would make her betray your confidence. So you do have to go, but it's not like last time."

"Why?" Isabel asked warily. "What does she know?"

"Ask her," Dee advised. "She'll tell you. I promise you don't need to worry about saying the wrong thing. Not this time."

There was a pause before Dee found herself enveloped in a crushing hug. "Thank you, Grandma," Isabel whispered fiercely. "Thank you."

Dee watched the jeep back out of her driveway, waved to her grandchildren, then went inside. It was 8:30 p.m. She had exactly six hours before the next curve ball came her way.







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






Parker Residence






The bedroom door swung open. "Girlfriend, put those books away!" a voice boomed. "We are celebrating!"

Liz looked up from her trig homework, lost in a swamp of sines, cosines, and tangents. "Maria? I'm in the middle of...wait. Is that ice cream?"

"It certainly is," Maria confirmed, plopping a sweaty container down on her desk and narrowly missing a pile of trig notes as Liz scrambled to save them. "A whole half pint, just for you. And do not start with me about the 'whole half pint'. That's a real thing. It's a half pint, and it's a whole one."

"It's also melting," Liz noted, her math notes safely stashed in an ice cream-free zone. "What's the occasion?"

"First things first," Maria ordered, brandishing a spoon. "Begin!"

Lids came off. Spoons dipped. "Chocolate Fudge Brownie," Maria sighed. "Sheer heaven."

"I would have called this a drown-your-sorrows flavor," Liz said. "Are you going to tell me what we're celebrating, or do I have to guess?"

"Great idea! Guess," Maria commanded. "You'll never guess!"

"You…got a dispensation from having to take any more math courses?" Liz ventured.

"Good one," Maria allowed, "but no."

"You got the next month off from work with full pay?"

"Don't I wish," Maria sighed. "But no."

"You won an all-expenses-paid trip to the Bahamas?"

"Boooorring," Maria declared. "C'mon, what would I want more than any of those things? What have I been going on and on about? Okay, lots of stuff," she admitted when Liz raised an eyebrow, "but what's at the top of the list of things I've been going on and on about? Oh, never mind, I can't wait for you to guess," she declared. "Michael and I are back together!"

Liz blinked. "You are?"

"Yes!" Maria squealed, sending flecks of chocolate ice cream flying. "Can you believe it?"

No, Liz thought incredulously, having considered that for a you'll-never-guess scenario, but not voiced it, because to do so would be mean. Maria had been pining after Michael for months now without so much as a chink in the armor. What could possibly have brought that wall down?

"And the funny thing is, I can't believe I was so mean to that guy!" Maria went on. "I mean, yanking his chain about banana splits? I'd bring him a dozen banana splits now if they wouldn't melt before he ate them all. I just had no idea what they were talking about—"

"Maria?" Liz said.

"Although Michael did try to tell me this guy knew something important, but it really wasn't sinking because—"

"Maria?"

"—Space Boy was trying to borrow my keys, and Courtney was being, well, Courtney, which means, you know, insert-unprintable-four-letter-word—"

"Maria?"

"—and the guy was stuffing his face like he hadn't eaten in months and insisting on more, and I was just really aggravated, and—"

"Maria!" Liz exclaimed. "I don't know what you're talking about! What guy? What's with the banana splits? And what does any of this have to do with you and Michael?"

"Okay," Maria said, helping herself to a spoonful of Liz's ice cream. "Space Boy had to write a paper on a war veteran. The vet he interviewed happened to have been around on a certain day in 1947 when a certain something fell out of the sky."

"Lot of people were around," Liz said.

"But did lots of people see our Czechoslovakians while they were babes in the pod?"

Liz's eyes widened. "He...he what?"

Maria leaned in closer, so mesmerized by her tale that she momentarily forgot her ice cream. "This dude says he saw Space Boy and the rest of them as babies in their pods. He said they looked like 'human fetuses'. And he also says he rescued them, or let someone else rescue them. He pulled a fire alarm to let some glowy alien thingies get them off the base."

Liz stared at her, stunned. "Oh, my God, Maria, that's...that's huge!"

"Oh, it's bigger than 'huge'," Maria declared. "Space Boy figured out that humans have been saving his bacon ever since he got here, and he managed to connect the dots to those of us who've been saving his bacon since last year. He actually said 'thank you', out loud and in English, and he actually sounded like he meant it."

"That's why he apologized," Liz said faintly.

"Who apologized? Michael?"

"Yeah, he was really...abrupt this morning," Liz said.

"Meaning he was a jerk," Maria sighed. "Continue."

"I was telling Max that people were still calling about Congresswoman Whitaker, and what did he want me to say, and...well, we wound up talking later because Michael just cut us off. But then he showed up at the end of the day and said he was sorry, and that we'd figure it out."

"Space Boy has seen the light," Maria sighed happily. "Finally! So," she went on briskly, "what did you think of that thing in the pod chamber?"

"What thing in the pod chamber?"

"The thing that has had them all tied up in knots. The glowing thing?" Maria added when Liz looked blank. "The beam-me-up-thing? The upside down ice cream cone from another planet?"

"I...have no idea what you're talking about," Liz said.

Now it was Maria's turn to stare. "Max didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"I thought you said you talked to him?"

"I did," Liz said. "About Whitaker. That's it."

"So...you don't know what they found in the pod chamber? Behind the smelly pods in the space-agey room that they didn't even know was there?"

Liz felt her face growing warm. "Well, that's a...it's a really big rock formation, so there could be, you know, all kinds of things in there." She shoveled furiously, filling her mouth with ice cream so she wouldn't say something she shouldn't.

It didn't work. "It's okay," she babbled as Maria regarded her dubiously. "It's okay that Max didn't say anything because, you know, I've been saying that I want a fresh start, and obviously he listened. And—"

"Liz?"

"—he deserves one too because of the whole destiny thing, so of course he wouldn't tell me—"

"Liz?"

"—and that's perfectly okay because it's none of my business, not really, and—"

"Liz!"

"What?" Liz said.

Maria retrieved both spoons and set them down, denoting the gravity of the situation. "I knew Michael loved me," she said quietly. "I knew that. So I couldn't figure out why he kept pulling away, and I think it's because he was scared. He was scared of what they learned from that Mom-Bot, and he was scared he was going to hurt me or I was going to hurt him. And now he's not scared any more, or not enough to keep him away."

"That's...great, Maria," Liz said warily. "But what does that have to do with..."

"You?" Maria finished. "Everything! You're scared too. You're scared that Tess is better for him than you are. You're scared that you can't measure up to some alien wife ideal. You're scared that Max isn't going to pick you when he already has."

"No," Liz protested, shaking her head furiously. "No, that's not it. I'm giving him space. I'm staying out of his way. I'm—"

"Packaging it that way because it hides the fact that you'd rather cut him loose than the other way around," Maria finished. "You know, Max and I, we spent the whole summer trying to get through to you and Michael, hoping you'd come around. I never thought Michael would beat you to it."

Liz stabbed her spoon into her ice cream because she couldn't stab it into Maria. "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way," she said stiffly, "because you're wrong. I'm doing what's best for Max, for both of us."

"What you're doing isn't best for either of you," Maria said. "But if you really want me to believe you're 'doing what's best for Max', why would you do that if you didn't still love him?"

Liz's eyes dropped. "I never said I didn't love him."

"Then if you love him, and he loves you, why are so determined to make both of you miserable?" Maria demanded. "Isn't there enough misery in this world already? Hell, there's misery in their world, so there's plenty of misery to go around without you manufacturing more."

Liz was quiet for a moment before parking her spoon in her ice cream, where it rose from the container like the Sword in the Stone. "I think you should go. I have homework. Take the ice cream," she added, pushing the container away. "We've celebrated. I'm done."

Maria sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Okay. Maybe…maybe...I went a little too far there—"

" 'Maybe'?" Liz said skeptically.

"—but I will leave you with one last thought," Maria continued. "You know what Michael said to me today when he wanted to borrow my car, and I got all mad at him? He said, 'I'm an alien. You're human. Our lives do not mix.' Three hours later, he'd totally changed his tune. He'd figured out that not only do we mix, we're dependent on each other. We're dependent on each other because we're all in the same fight. You know how they talk about bullying at school, and how you can be the 'courageous bystander'? We're the courageous bystanders, Liz, but we're not standing by. We're right in the middle of it, and we should be, because it's not right for anyone to be treated the way Michael and the rest of them are being treated. And the people who treat them that way will treat anyone that way if they can get away with it, so we can't sit back and say, 'it's not us, it's just them'. The people who do that don't care about species. They're bullies, and species is just an excuse for them to bully."

"Is this just another slightly different, but long-winded announcement that they owe us?" Liz asked.

"No," Maria insisted. "I mean, yes, they do owe us, but we owe them too. If not for them, I wouldn't have a best friend. And we wouldn't be having this conversation because you'd be dead." She pushed Liz's phone toward her. "Call him."

"Call...who? Max? No," Liz said, shaking her head firmly. "No, calling him will just lead him on. Calling him will just get his hopes up, make him think—"

"That you love him?" Maria finished. "Oh, right! Because you do!"

"That I think we should get back together," Liz corrected. "Because I don't. Besides, I don't need to call him. You saw it; you can tell me without dragging Max into this."

Maria wagged a finger. "Nuh uh! You want to know? Call him. And keep the ice cream. You need it more than I do."

After Maria left, Liz stared at the phone for what felt like a very long time, long enough to form a small lake beneath the melting ice cream container. Finally she picked up the phone, put it down, picked it up again. Put it down, went back to her trig homework, gave up, picked it up again.

"Hi," she said shyly.

"Hi," Max said. "I haven't forgotten about Whitaker; we were just a little busy."

"I heard," Liz said. "Sounds like lots of things have been happening."

There was a pause. "Yeah, I...I knew you wanted your space, so I—"

"It's okay," Liz said quickly. "I get it. And I appreciate it. Although...I am a little curious."

Another pause, longer this time. "You are?"

The hope in his voice was heartbreaking, but even more heartbreaking was the way it made her own heart sing. Face it, Liz thought sadly. It wasn't Max's hopes she was afraid of raising.

It was her own.





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






October 31, 2000, 2:15 a.m.

Davis Residence







"You're quiet."

Dee pulled her eyes away from the dark house down the street. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Maybe," Courtney allowed. "Definitely unusual."

"Perhaps you'd like me to hop out and do a tango on the nearest lawn?" Dee suggested. "Throw a few rocks? Yell, 'Fire!' and see if anyone wakes up? No? Well, then, quiet it is."

"At least you're still sarcastic," Courtney said dryly. "You're not too far gone."

"Maybe I'm just trying to figure out how I came to be sitting outside someone's house in the middle of the night, nursing a cup of coffee and waiting to speak for a planet I've never set foot on and probably never will," Dee said.

"I wouldn't fret about it," Courtney said, taking a swig of her coffee. "As 'speaking' goes, you're not saying much. This is just a formality."

"Just 'protocol'," Dee said.

"Yes. That. I know, I know," Courtney went on. "You're not big on protocol. Join the club. But everyone has their 'protocol'; you just call it 'Robert's Rules of Order', or 'legislative protocol', or something like that. Same difference. It can work for you or against you. This time it worked in our favor."

"Did it?" Dee said sadly.

Courtney stared at her. "Don't tell me you're feeling sorry for Brivari."

"Aren't you?"

"Hell, no!" Courtney said. "Why should I? He all but threatened to kill me."

"He's not thinking straight," Dee said.

"Fat lot of good that'll do me if I'm dead," Courtney said darkly. "He got exactly what he deserved."

"He did just lose Jaddo," Dee reminded her. "And he has been holding down the fort for years."

"Big, fat, hairy deal," Courtney said flatly. "I've been here for years, I've lost people too, and I haven't turned into some maniacal warmonger. And he held that fort down with a lot of help, from you, Anthony, your parents, Malik, those soldiers at the base who helped free Jaddo, and now Valenti. He didn't exactly do it alone."

"Don't forget River Dog," Dee said. "An Indian from the nearby reservation," she explained.when Courtney looked blank. "They were quite close."

"Great," Courtney said sourly. "He makes friends with every Tom, Dick, and Tonto he runs across, but threatens to kill me."

"You know, right before you got there today, I was ready to throttle him," Dee said. "He actually ordered me out of the house."

"I'm glad you didn't go because my knees were knocking," Courtney said. "I knew he was going to flip, but even I didn't think he'd flip this bad."

"And then I thought Larak was going to bow, and scrape, and 'Yes, Your Majesty' right out of there," Dee went on. "I thought protocol would kill the discussion before it had a chance to start. I never thought it would be used to bludgeon him."

"Larak rules a planet," Courtney said. "He's not about to take any guff from a Warder. They're protectors, not politicians, and definitely not rulers."

"Brivari's been both these many years," Dee said. "A kind of battlefield promotion, I suppose."

"Only until the battle's over," Courtney noted, "and that's what we're trying to do—end the battle. He's not helping."

"Not sure I am either," Dee said.

"This is just a procedural vote," Courtney said. "They're voting on whether to seriously pursue the treaty, and that will take years. It doesn't matter that Zan can't vote on it now because they'll probably still be fighting over it when he reaches adulthood."

"I asked to hear about the discussion," Dee said, "but what for? I don't know any of these people. I don't know anything about where you come from. Brivari's right—I'm not qualified to do this."

"Do you think any of us are 'qualified' to do this?" Courtney demanded. "None of us are qualified to do this because none of us could have seen such a bizarre scenario coming. You may not know much about Antar, but you're willing to at least try to look forward. Brivari knows plenty, but he's too screwed up to care. 'Knowing' doesn't help unless you actually show up."

"I still don't like it that he's not here," Dee fretted. "He should be here."

"Yes, he should be," Courtney agreed, "and whose fault is it that he isn't? His, that's whose. It's not like we told him he couldn't come. He chose not to come because he's too busy feeling sorry for himself. Jaddo's death affects all of us, not just him."

"Someone's bitter tonight," Dee remarked, blowing on her too hot coffee.

"Bitter?" Courtney repeated with savage cheerfulness. "Me? Why would I be bitter? I stuck my neck out and almost got myself killed, but hey, it's all in a day's work."

Dee stared at her. "Are you okay?"

"You know what the weirdest part is?" Courtney went on. "I hated Jaddo. Hated him. I wouldn't even come back to Roswell until I knew he was gone, and yet now...now I'd give anything to be dealing with him instead of Brivari. Jaddo was a first class, top of the line asshole, but you knew that going in, so you could prepare yourself. You always knew where you stood with him because he always told you, whether you wanted to hear it or not. If their positions were swapped, he wouldn't be calling me a traitor. He'd understand."

"Would he, now?" Dee said skeptically. "I'm guessing he wouldn't call you a traitor because he wouldn't bother calling you anything—he'd just shoot first and ask questions later. At least Brivari gives you a chance to defend yourself. Jaddo wouldn't have waited that long."

"I'm not so sure about that," Courtney argued. "Jaddo was practical, ice cold practical, maybe, but practical all the same."

"He was practical where he was concerned," Dee allowed, "but that doesn't mean he would have extended that to you. One of Jaddo's biggest faults was his inability to see things from another's point of view. Don't be so quick to assume he'd 'understand' a blasted thing if this were Brivari's treaty that he didn't know about."

Courtney shook her head. "Doesn't matter. We'll never know anyway, so the only thing that matters is what we have now. I made some decisions after our lovely encounter this afternoon. It's time I started taking matters into my own hands."

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning I'm going to take your advice and act like the leader of the Resistance," Courtney said. "My husk is getting worse by the day; I don't have much time left. It's now or never."

"But Brivari said he would—"

"Find a way to save my life?" Courtney finished. "Yeah, he said that, didn't he. Wanna bet on how keen he is on that now? Vanessa said she'd get a new husk for me, but that's not going to happen. See, he really doesn't have to rouse himself from his chair to kill me. All he has to do is wait me out."

"I think you're being a bit melodramatic," Dee said. "He'll come around."

"Maybe," Courtney allowed. "Maybe not. Probably not in time to do me any good. If I'm going to do something, make any contribution to putting my world right, I have to move now. Sending this treaty back for formal consideration is one of those contributions. The other one is Rath."

"Michael?" Dee said. "What about him?"

Courtney swigged her coffee, taking a big gulp as though bracing herself. "I've been watching the hybrids for months now, and frankly, I think we had it right the first time—Rath would make the better ruler. And Rath and I would be good together, not to mention our marriage would unite two warring factions. I think Jaddo had the right idea."

"You know, it's amazing how the dead are suddenly sanctified," Dee said dryly. "I'll allow that he did a smart and unexpected thing with this treaty, but he's not the Second Coming."

"Didn't say he was. I just said he had the right idea."

"So, what, you're going to out yourself and propose marriage to Michael?" Dee chuckled.

"Something like that."

Dee stared at her. "I was joking."

Courtney shrugged. "I'm not."

"And...what about Maria?"

"What about her?" Courtney said. "He'll be leaving her behind when he goes home, and he knows that. It's time she did too."

"And if Michael says 'no'?" Dee asked.

Courtney's hand tightened, denting the paper cup slightly. "He won't. Not when he knows what's at stake."

"He might," Dee warned, "so if I were you, Ms. Leader, I'd have a Plan B."

"You were the one who wanted me to act like a leader," Courtney said crossly. "So why are you mocking me now?"

"Being a leader means being persuasive, considering all the possibilities, and having contingency plans," Dee said. "It doesn't mean bashing around like a bull in a china shop and bending everyone to your will."

"You mean like Brivari did today?"

Dee shook her head sadly. "I mean like he usually does. He wasn't being a leader today."

"Tell me about it. Larak's here," Courtney announced, pointing to his host's house, where a light now shone in the previously dark living room, their agreed upon signal. "Time to go be leaders."




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



I'll post Chapter 47 on Sunday, April 3.

Hello to everyone reading!






CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN





October 31, 2000, 7 a.m.

Pineview Lodge





Hal Carver methodically opened and closed drawers, leafed through the closet, and checked the bathroom. His long years of driving trucks had found him tanked in many a motel room, and he'd long ago devised a way of making certain he hadn't forgotten anything, a systematic check of every nook and cranny. It was easier to pack when leaving a motel than it was to pack when going in the first place; in the latter case, you were taking a subset of your stuff, with all the requisite handwringing about exactly which stuff to take, while in the former you simply removed everything that belonged to you. He smiled when he almost grabbed the extra soap and tiny bottles of shampoo from the bathroom; his kids were long past the time when trinkets like that would have excited them, yet he still collected them out of habit. Ten minutes later, he plunked his key on the front desk.

"Checking out?" said the manager. "But I thought the reunion lasted for two more days."

"It does," Carver confirmed, "but I'm done."

"Oh...I see," the manager said knowingly. "Didn't go so well, did it?"

"Sorry?"

"Reunions," the manager went on, shaking his head. "Never had much use for'em. Who wants to find out that everyone they knew has gotten old, bald, and fat? Or wants everyone to know they've gotten old, bald, and fat? No one, that's who."

"Speak for yourself," Carver muttered.

"I went to a high school reunion once," the manager continued as he swiped Carver's credit card. "The most beautiful girl in our class weighed at least 300 pounds and had three chins. The football stud had put on almost as much weight and could barely walk, never mind throw a ball. Now whenever I think of them, I can only see them that way. I liked it better when I remembered them the way they were when they were young. Wished I'd never gone at all. Is that what happened to you?"

"Not exactly," Carver said.

"You're smart to leave early," the manager advised. "Pull the plug on the misery, you know? There's your receipt, and look us up the next time you're in Roswell."

"There won't be a next time," Carver said. "I'm done. With reunions," he added when the manager looked blank. "Weren't you just telling me to be done with them?"

Fifteen minutes later, Carver watched the cab driver heave his suitcase into the trunk as he climbed into the back. It was a beautiful sunny day as he looked the window, watching the streets of Roswell roll past for the last time. As he'd told the manager, he had no intention of returning, but not because his reunion had been a bust. He had no intention of returning because he didn't need to. He'd only come in the first place because the memory of what had happened back in '47 haunted him to this day, both what he'd seen and what he'd done, how his military career had come to an abrupt end when he'd decided to stand on principle. He could have just let things go, turned a blind eye. Instead he'd chosen to whack the bees' nest, and he'd spent the rest of his life wondering if he'd done the right thing.

"Going home?" the cabbie called back.

"Yep," Carver answered. "Tampa."

"Ah," the cabbie nodded. "Warm, like the desert."

"Nah. Warm like an armpit."

The cabbie laughed. "True. Our heat is more like a furnace blast."

Tell me about it, Carver thought, having noticed Roswell's dry desert heat the moment he'd arrived, a heat he still associated with that summer of '47 when his life changed forever. Now it would be associated with the second time his life changed forever, when he'd learned his actions had not been in vain, that he'd tossed his career away for a good reason. Last night, four of those good reasons had huddled on the edge of his bed, nervous and shy as they'd thanked him for keeping them alive, a fitting end to a tumultuous day which had begun with that mysterious soldier convincing him to sneak away from the reunion's tour of the base to make their own tour. "Brian's" revelation that an alien had been held at the base for several years, coupled with the obvious remodeling done to one of the buildings, had him convinced he'd wasted his time standing up for those Privates whose parents had been lied to about the way they'd died, never mind what had been in those sacs. He'd been so upset that he'd told his story to a punk from the local high school, supposedly in the hopes that someone would see it and investigate, but really just because he'd needed to spill, only to find out that punk had been one of the inhabitants of those sacs. He could still see that flame flickering out of the kid's finger, still feel the astonishment as it had sunk in that they'd survived, that it had worked, that he'd done something right. Meeting the rest of them, seeing those fresh, young faces so like anyone else's, had filled him with a sense of peace he hadn't felt in ages. These weren't "evil aliens", they were kids. They could be anybody's kids; hell, they could be his kids. If his kids ever ran out of gas in a strange place, he could only hope there'd be someone nearby willing to lend a hand or go out on a limb, if need be. He'd always felt like something of an idiot for being among the willing, but no more. The biggest question of his life had now been settled.

And having been settled, his time here was done. He'd come to this reunion because he'd had unfinished business here, but that business was now finished. Now he could put that part of his life behind him, tuck it away in the mental scrapbook marked, "Here's what happened, here's what I did about it...and it was all worth it." The irony was that, having never told anyone the story, there was no one to tell about its final resolution. But didn't everyone have stories they never told, secret stories all their own? Those kids certainly did.

"Wait," Carver called suddenly. "Pull over."

The driver looked puzzled, but complied. "How much do I owe you," Carver asked, "and how much do you want to come back in an hour?"

The cab drove off as the Crashdown's sign flashed, gaudy even in early morning light. Yeah, it was kitschy, but it was all that was left of Parker's, his Parker's, and this was probably the last time he'd see it. It deserved one last look, for old time's sake. Trundling his suitcase behind him, he opened the door and went inside.

"Boo!"

"Jesus!" Carver gasped as a waitress with a fake nose and glasses grinned. "What was that for?"

"It's Halloween!" the waitress exclaimed. "That's why we're all dressed up!"

"Weren't you dressed up already?" Carver said.

"Dressed up different than usual," the waitress amended. "Okay, not much different because Mr. Parker won't let us lose the aprons, but we do get to lose the deely boppers. Take what you can get, that's my motto."

"A good motto," Carver agreed. "I'll just sit at the counter," he went on, waving away her offer of a booth and taking a seat one stool away from a man in a leather jacket.

"Cool. Coffee?" she asked. "Or...wait. I know you! You're the banana split guy!"

Carver blinked. "What?"

"I'm Maria! Remember me from yesterday?"

"Uh...not really," Carver confessed.

"Well, I guess I didn't exactly make the best impression. But I'm determined to make up for that," Maria announced. "I'm going to get you the biggest banana split you've ever had, on the house!"

"For breakfast?" Carver said.

"Sure, for breakfast. Why not for breakfast? Life is short. Live it up!"

"It'll be a lot shorter if I start eating ice cream for breakfast," Carver said. "Coffee, black, and toast with jam."

"Whatever you want," Maria assured him, "and it's all on the house."

"Why?" Carver said. "What'd I do?"

Maria gave him a dazzling smile. "I can't tell you. It's a secret."

"Fair enough," Carver said, being well acquainted with secrets. "Can I have my coffee now?"

"And can I have my check?" the man next to him asked.

Carver glanced sideways as Maria dug in her apron pocket and leafed through her checks. "Here you go," she said, setting the check down on the counter.

Carver's hand shot out. "He doesn't want his check," Carver said, pulling it toward him. "He's not done yet."

The man next to him, none other than the mysterious "Brian" from yesterday's tour of the base, smiled faintly. " 'Hal', wasn't it? But I do want my check."

"No check," Carver commanded. "He wants another cup of coffee."

Maria looked back and forth from one to the other in consternation. "What are you doing?" Brian demanded.

"What am I doing?" Carver said. "What the hell are you doing, leading me around by the nose, dropping tidbits, and then pulling a disappearing act?"

"As I recall, I didn't exactly have you on a leash, and we aren't married, so I can disappear if I feel like it," Brian retorted. "Check, please?"

"Love to, but he's got it," Maria noted.

"Then get me another check," Brian said.

"Get him a cup of coffee," Carver corrected. "He and I have some unfinished business."

"No, we don't," Brian said flatly.

"Yes, we do," Carver insisted.

"Boys!" Maria admonished sternly. "Don't make me come around this counter!"

"Stay out of this," Carver snapped.

Maria's eyes narrowed. "Look, pal, I may feel all warm and fuzzy over your recent contribution to my happiness, but that doesn't mean you get to rough up the customers, or me. Give him his check."

"He gets his check when I get an explanation," Carver said.

"Jesus," Brian muttered, fishing a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet. "Keep the change. Hey…! What, now you're taking my money?"

Carver waved the twenty in the air like a flag. "Come and get it!"

"Right, so now I'm working at a daycare with toddlers," Maria said sourly.

"Is there a problem here?"

It was a little old lady standing behind them, complete with a cane and a bemused expression. Just as Carver was about to tell her—politely—to mind her own business, he found himself looking into familiar eyes, the eyes of a young nurse from the base he'd put on a bus all those years ago, only to have her disappear into the night.

"Yvonne White?" Carver whispered, flabbergasted. "Is that you?"

"Lieutenant White?" Brian said, equally flabbergasted. "Is that you?"

"Wait," Carver commanded. "You know her?"

"How do you know her?" Brian retorted.

"Fascinating as it is to have men fight over me at my age, I'm of the opinion we should move somewhere more private," Lieutenant White said calmly. "I suggest we all retire to a booth, preferably the back one. Would you be a dear and bring whatever they've ordered over to the table?" she added to Maria.

"Gladly," Maria declared. "See? Want a problem solved? Ask a woman. Works every time. Up and at'em, boys! Fight Club's over."

Still in shock, Brian and Carver slid off their stools. "And I thought Czechoslovakians were high maintenance," Maria muttered as the now elderly Lieutenant White led them away.






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






West Roswell High School







"Happy Halloween!"

Tess peered around her locker. "Wow. That eye make-up looks painful."

"Only to take off," Isabel allowed, dabbing at the layers of glittered eyeshadow beneath her sprayed hair. "It's a good eighth of an inch thick. I wore this for the Crash Festival last year, but I never really got to enjoy it, what with Valenti chasing Max. And then we didn't go this year because...well, we were busy."

"With Nasedo dying," Tess said. "Sorry you missed it."

"I'm not," Isabel shrugged. "It was always a bit too personal for us, and now...well, now, just forget it. But Halloween is different. Aren't you dressing up?'

"I'm dressed," Tess shrugged. "Isn't that enough?"

"C'mon, Tess, it's Halloween!" Isabel said. "Halloween is really big around here."

"Tell me about it," Tess said. "Kyle made me leave the house first so I wouldn't see his costume. Doesn't Roswell kind of do Halloween every single day of the year?"

"No, it does aliens every single day of the year," Isabel said.

"Lot of those around today," Tess remarked, glancing up and down the crowded hallway. "Some have horns."

"And some have extra eyeballs. Look, it's fun to pretend you're someone else," Isabel said, "just for a little while."

"Right, because we never get to pretend we're someone else," Tess said dryly. "I do that every day. So do you."

Isabel shook her head. "No, I really don't. I'm Isabel Evans every day."

"You know what I mean," Tess said. "I just never got into the whole Halloween thing. It wasn't a big deal in my last school, and Nasedo never went in for human holidays."

"So, you never, like, trick-or-treated?"

"Never," Tess confirmed. "Or handed out candy, or bobbed for apples, or went to a haunted house."

"Really? So what happened when kids came to your door for candy?"

"We kept the lights off, which is supposed to mean no candy, but every year some would try," Tess said. "Nasedo would answer the door and glare at them, and that was pretty much that."

"Yeah, that would do it," Isabel agreed. "But that's so sad. What about Thanksgiving? Christmas? He didn't do Christmas?" she exclaimed when Tess shook her head. "How can you not do Christmas!"

"Maybe he was secretly Jewish," Tess deadpanned. "We lived together, but we weren't 'family', so family holidays didn't mean anything to us. Why have a Thanksgiving dinner with just me and Nasedo?"

Isabel made a face. "Right. Probably better to not do it at all. Speaking of families, I talked to my grandmother last night. She told me what she knows about me."

Tess's eyes dropped, not wanting to touch this subject with a ten foot pole. "Oh? What'd she say?"

"It's just what I thought—she thinks I'm 'special', like Max is 'special' because he put out that fire," Isabel said.

"She said that?"

"Yes. Out loud, and in English. So she knows something, but doesn't really 'know'."

"Are you going to tell Max?" Tess asked.

Isabel shook her head. "He already kind of knows because he knows Grandma influenced Mom over the whole fire thing, so I don't think he needs to hear chapter and verse."

Thank God, Tess thought, trying hard to keep her relief to herself. Raising this subject with Max in any way was likely to lead back to what had started it all in the first place, that being her massive underestimation of Isabel's grandmother. It was possible this was all her grandmother knew, just like it was possible she was lying through her teeth, but at this point, Tess didn't care if it turned out that Grandma was a shapeshifter just so long as her monumental mistake was not made known to her former husband.

"That must have been what I sensed," Tess said. "At least this way you can kind of talk to her, even if you can't give her all the details."

"She already said she found me a psychologist who won't blab on me...what on earth?" Isabel finished, looking behind Tess. "What are you supposed to be?"

"Guess!" Kyle chortled as Tess spun around to find him wearing high water pants, a pocket protector, horn rimmed glasses, and enough hair gel to lubricate the hinges on every locker on the first floor.

"Uh...you got me," Tess confessed.

"I'm a nerd!" Kyle exclaimed. "You know, Revenge of the Nerds?"

"Isn't that movie kind of old?" Isabel said.

"But still accurate," Kyle said. "And...wait. What the hell is that?"

" 'That' would be Alex," Tess answered.

"Hey, ladies!" Alex said, coming up to them. "Nice hair, Isabel."

"Funny...last time you mentioned the cones," Isabel said dryly.

"What are you supposed to be?" Kyle demanded as Alex flushed.

"You mean you can't tell?" Alex said. "I thought you, of all people, would know. I'm a jock!"

Isabel and Tess exchanged glances, then smiles. "So you think this is what a jock looks like?" Kyle said in astonishment. "Okay, number one, eye black is not eye liner—it only goes under the eyes. And how many pairs of shoulder pads are you wearing? And what's with the sunglasses?"

"Seemed pretty accurate to me," Alex shrugged. "What are you?"

"I'm a nerd, nerd," Kyle said in exasperation. "And jocks do not look like that!"

"Hey, it's cool," Alex assured him. "Nerds don't look like that either. Later, dude!"

"And we don't say stupid things like 'later, dude'!" Kyle called after him as Alex loped away, drawing admiring stares from several students. "What is with him?" Kyle demanded. "I don't look like that! Do you think I look like that?"

"Oh, c'mon, Kyle," Isabel protested. "Do you honestly believe Alex looks like that? Short pants and leather oxfords? He wears sneakers and jeans, for heaven's sake."

"Sheesh. Nobody can take a joke," Kyle muttered.

"Including you," Tess noted.

"I need a better audience," Kyle grumbled. "Hey, Paulie! Did you see Whitman? Can you believe it?"

"Children," Tess said, shaking her head as Kyle went in search of a sympathetic ear. "So that's why he commandeered the bathroom. I didn't think he had enough hair to hold all that gel."

"Aren't you just a little bit sorry you didn't dress up?" Isabel asked as they started down the hallway. "You're missing all the fun."

"This is what you call 'fun'?" Tess said skeptically. "If you enjoy this, whatever floats your boat, but just remember, none of this matters. None of this is real."

Isabel's expression changed. "Of course it's real," she said with an edge to her voice. "This isn't a video game—these are real people, living real lives on a real planet."

"Not our planet," Tess said.

"That doesn't mean it's not real," Isabel argued, "This is where we are now. This is our world. It may not have always been, and it may not always be, but it is for now, and we depend on the people we know here. My mom and dad and my grandmother may not be related to me by blood, but that doesn't mean they're not real or that they don't matter—I love them, and they love me, and that love is very real and absolutely matters. That love is what helps keep us safe. You of all people should know that because you're the one claiming my grandmother keeps intervening on my behalf."

"Okay, fine, it's a real planet, and you have real ties to it," Tess said. "But that's the point—Nasedo didn't want me to have ties here because he knew I wasn't staying."

"What a horrible way to live," Isabel said sadly. "We all need other people, and we need them wherever we are. Maybe Nasedo thought saying it wasn't 'real' would cover up the fact that you had this huge, gaping hole in your life."

"Maybe," Tess allowed, not wanting to get into another argument with Isabel for the second day in a row. "But I'm still not interested in Halloween. I wear a costume every day of my life."

Isabel raised an eyebrow. "Costume? Didn't you hear Captain Carver last night? The fetuses in those sacs looked human. This is no costume, Tess—this is what we look like, what we've always looked like." She leaned in closer. "Know what I think? I think you're the one working overtime to convince yourself that nothing 'matters' because that way, you have an excuse to be alone, and to hide your loneliness behind some 'higher purpose'. I watch Michael do it all the time. Crappy trade-off, if you ask me, but hey...whatever floats your boat."






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






Crashdown Cafe






Dying of curiosity, Carver slid into a booth opposite the enigmatic Brian and next to the much older Lieutenant White. Look who's talking, he thought gruffly, mentally noting he must look every bit as old to her as she did to him. The last time he'd seen Lieutenant White was when she and that mouthy Captain had flushed him out when he'd been hiding from Cavitt. Only the eyes were readily recognizable in the white-haired woman who sat next to him now, making him wonder if he bore any resemblance to the dashing pilot he'd been back then. Maybe the eyes, he thought. And the mouth. Definitely the mouth.

"So are you finally going to tell me who the hell you are?" Carver said.

"You know, I might have if you'd asked nicely," Brian retorted. "Are you going to tell me how you know Lieutenant White?"

"You first," Carver said.

"Why me?" Brian demanded.

"Because you're the one being a dick," Carver said.

"Breakfast!" announced Maria, swooping down on the table with Carver's toast and three cups of coffee. "Brought another cup for you," she told Yvonne. "Thought you might need it. You boys behaving yourselves?"

"Yes," Brian and Carver answered.

"No," Yvonne said simultaneously.

"Thought so," Maria said sagely. "Good luck."

"Thank you, dear," Yvonne said, waiting until she'd retreated before holding up both hands. "Quiet, both of you! Brian, may I present Captain Harold Carver. Captain Carver and I were there at the very beginning, right after the crash. We spoke of our various experiences before Cavitt kidnapped me and locked me inside the compound, and shortly after, the Captain resigned his commission. Captain Carver, this is Captain Brian Thompson. Brian was assigned to the compound at the same time I was. This is how you both know me, but I must confess, I never expected to find either of you here. What brings you to Roswell?"

"I'm here for the reunion," Carver said. "What's his excuse?"

"The same," Brian said. "I heard the 509th was giving tours of the base. Nobody's gotten near that base since the feds took it over, so I saw an opportunity."

"Wait—the feds?" Carver said. "The feds bought Eagle Rock? What for?"

"The FBI, to be precise," Yvonne answered. "And I think you know what for. It was already uniquely suited to holding alien prisoners."

Carver shifted uncomfortably. "So it's true, then? You held an alien there for three years, like he said?"

"Of course it's true," Brian said disdainfully. "You thought I just made that up?"

"I don't know what to believe, what with you swooping in and making announcements," Carver retorted. "You kept dropping hints, but never followed through, like a woman around Valentine's Day. Nothing personal, ma'am," Carver added quickly.

"Of course not," Yvonne sighed as Brian bristled at that last slap. "Is this true, Brian? Why were you stringing the Captain along like that?"

"Good question," Brian said darkly. "Especially since it sounds like he bailed after the first ten minutes."

"I didn't bail, I was kicked out!" Carver exclaimed. "It was resign or be dishonorably discharged, which would have followed me for life! Which would you have picked?"

"Kicked out?" Brian said. "For what? Your mouth?"

"For handing information on the deaths of two privates to a reporter, who was subsequently murdered," Carver said. "Those boys' parents deserved to know the truth about their deaths, not the trumped up story the Army made up. So yeah, I guess you could say it was my mouth."

"It was Captain Carver who caused the ruckus which let one of prisoners escape," Yvonne noted.

"Wait—you pulled that fire alarm?" Brian said.

"I told you I did!" Carver protested.

"And I thought you were lying," Brian shrugged. "Everyone knew someone did, but no one knew who." He paused for a moment, looking Carver up and down. "Good move," he allowed.

"Gee, thanks," Carver said sarcastically. "I can't tell you how much your approval means to me. God, could you get any more condescending? Why the hell did you hook up with me yesterday if your middle name is Pompous?"

Brian looked away. "Because you weren't like the rest of them. You weren't just following along like a sheep. Guess I saw a kindred spirit. And my memories of that time are some of the worst I have."

Carver's eyes dropped. "Yeah," he said gruffly. "Same here."

Everyone was quiet for a long moment. "It's the same for all of us," Yvonne said finally. "What happened here changed us. What we did here has shaped our lives, and will continue to shape them as long as we live. There is no 'closure', or whatever the term is now, not for something like this. There is only the knowledge that we did the right thing, regardless of how things turned out. Our choices don't always affect the outcome as much as we'd like, but they definitely affect us."

I did the right thing, Carver thought confidently, and not just because of last night's visitors. He'd always known he'd done the right thing. It was what had sustained him as he'd watched other men head into the sky and rise through the ranks, accumulating honors and accolades from an entity he no longer had any faith in. The Army had behaved so badly back in '47 that he would have had to walk away whether he'd been caught or not.

"Is the captain with you, ma'am?" Brian asked. "You haven't mentioned him."

"What captain?" Carver said. "The one who came with you to my place when you wanted me to spill what I knew about Betty?"

"Which you did, and we were so grateful," Yvonne said. "You helped put Cavitt away. Did you ever find out what happened to Cavitt?"

"Ritchie told me," Carver said. "Came to visit right before he left for Korea and got himself killed."

"I'm sorry about that," Yvonne said as Brian winced. "But, yes, the captain I was with was Stephen Spade. He was stationed at the compound with us, and we wound up getting married. We were married for 50 years."

"Fifty years!" Carver said, delighted to hear some good news. "Congratulations!"

"Wait…'were' married?" Brian said.

Oh, no, Carver thought as some of the light went out of Yvonne's eyes. "Stephen died about a month ago," she said. "He was actually gone for quite a while before that...Alzheimer's, you see. I've moved here temporarily to live with friends."

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," Carver murmured.

"Thank you," Yvonne said, squeezing his hand before turning to Brian, who sat across from him, silent and shaken. "We lived long, full, happy lives," she said gently, "even in hiding, even in spite of the hand fate dealt us, and sometimes because of it. I have no regrets, and I know Stephen didn't either."

"What a horrible way to go," Brian whispered. "He didn't deserve that."

"Most of us don't get to pick," Yvonne noted. "We just get the death we get."

"Look at us," Brian said bitterly, "three fossils from another time, coming back to the watering hole which isn't a watering hole any more, like some kind of demented homing pigeons."

"Parker's definitely looks different," Carver allowed. "But the building is the same. I can still see the outlines of our Parker's. I knocked back more than a few under this roof. Seems like yesterday...and now we're old."

"Old enough to die," Brian said soberly.

"Weren't we always old enough to die?" Yvonne said. "We were just younger then, with all the fearlessness that brings. None of us are sheep, gentlemen; we all share that quality. We all bristle at injustice and cruelty and deceit, even now, even decades later." She raised her glass. "To the rebels we were, and will always be."

Brian and Carver picked up their glasses. "Hear, hear."

Maria reappeared. "Wow," she remarked, dropping off a pile of napkins. "Mood's changed around here. Are we playing nice now, boys? Did she hit you over the nose with a rolled up newspaper?"

"Sweetheart, I know you think you're being amusing, but you're not," Brian said. "You have no idea what we're talking about, but I guarantee you we're not 'playing'."

Maria regarded him in silence for a moment. "Okay...I'll bite. Just how serious is this subject?"

"Life and death," Carver said. "We're all former soldiers from the nearby base."

"Fair enough," Maria said promptly. "I withdraw the snark."

"Don't be too hard on her," Yvonne advised as Maria swished away without so much as a single hard feeling. "That's the next generation of rebels. And we all know what it's like to be one of those."





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






6:30 p.m.

Proctor Residence






Dee had just started loading the trunk when a horn honked behind her, and she turned to find the jeep pulling into her driveway. "Hey, Grandma!" Isabel called. "We thought we'd start trick-or-treating at your house. Are we too early?"

"Heavens, no," Dee chuckled. "Your grandfather is inside and rarin' to go, if he hasn't eaten all the candy himself already. All the little ones should be coming out soon."

"I told Iz I thought we were getting a bit old for this," Max remarked.

"And I said you're never too old to have fun," Isabel said stoutly.

"I'm with you," Dee agreed. "Enjoy it while you can. I'm happy to hand out candy to anyone in a costume." She paused, looking Max up and down. "And you are…?"

"Men in Black," Max announced, brandishing a pair of dark sunglasses.

"Ah. Yes. And you are…?"

Isabel patted her heavily sprayed hair, which framed her heavily made-up face. "Visible from space. And open to interpretation. Are you going somewhere?"

"Over to a friend's house," Dee said. "He's not feeling well. I thought I'd help him hand out candy."

"Aw, that's sweet, Grandma," Isabel said, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"Go get your candy before your grandfather eats it all," Dee advised. "And have fun tonight!"

The kids headed for the front porch, Max loping after his sister, as Dee finished loading the trunk. Their one remaining Warder was getting company tonight, whether he liked it or not.





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




I'll post Chapter 48 on Sunday, April 17.

Hello to everyone reading!





CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT





October 31, 2000, 7:30 p.m.

Roswell






Maria let out a little shriek as she dug in her bag. "OhMyGod! Mallomars! Two Mallomars! Oh, this is heaven," she announced, tearing the wrapping off and taking a big, marshmallowy bite.

"Aren't we supposed to wait until we get home to eat the candy?" Max asked.

"Says who?" Maria demanded, a little unclearly as her mouth was full.

"Says common decency," Isabel answered primly. "Besides, we're not here for the candy. We're here to see and be seen."

"Speak for yourself," Maria advised. "I'm here for the candy. But if you're not, can I have your Mallomars?"

Sighing the sigh of the put-upon, Isabel passed her bag to Maria, who happily relieved her of two Mallomars as Max suppressed a smile. It was Halloween, that yearly bacchanal of costumes and candy, and the streets were full of both. Most of those their age were at least ostensibly of Isabel's persuasion, out and about to see and be seen, but he was willing to bet that would change once back in the privacy of their own homes. There would be a lot of sick stomachs tomorrow.

"Wait—you have a big Milky Way?" Maria said. "I don't have a big Milky Way, and we've been to all the same places. Who gives out big Milky Ways?"

"My grandparents," Isabel said.

"You trick-or-treat at your grandparents?" Maria said. "Don't they live in, like, Colorado?"

"Corona," Isabel corrected. "We've started our trick-or-treating at my grandparents ever since I can remember."

"And now we can drive ourselves there," Max added.

"Did you know that Corona is actually much closer to the crash site than Roswell?" Isabel said.

Max stared at her. "Where did that come from?"

"Yeah, where did that come from?" Maria said.

Isabel shrugged. "Just a little factoid I picked up recently. Come along, you two. You're holding up the line."

They were. Maria stuffed the last of her Mallomar into her mouth as they marched up to the next door, passing a group of doorbell-ringers on the way. It was a veritable assembly line, with many of the girls tottering on towering heels similar in height to Isabel's, which could have been flats given her solid gait. Maria had eschewed heels, probably just as well given that they demanded a great deal of attention which she preferred to give the contents of her bag.

"There you are!" said a costume-clad supplicant as they joined the end of the line. "I've been looking for you."

"Tess?" Isabel said in surprise. "But I thought you didn't do Halloween."

"You changed my mind," Tess said. "So I threw a costume together. What do you think?"

"Wonder Woman," Maria said promptly. "The red trunks gave it away."

"I didn't have much to work with," Tess admitted. "So I—"

Someone detached from the line leaving the front door. "Hey, everyone!" Kyle called, his horn-rimmed glasses perched firmly on his nose. "I didn't know you were coming out, Tess. You could have come with me."

"Really?" Tess said. "I would think you wouldn't want to be seen with me. Your 'reputation', and all."

"Nah," Kyle answered with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I may not be big on Martians, but you're still the Martian I know...best," he finished faintly as Isabel glared at him, Max raised an eyebrow, and Tess looked pained.

"Good one, Valenti," Maria said. "Excellent example of 'foot in mouth' disease."

"Heh...yeh," Kyle agreed uncomfortably. "Well...I am trick-or-treating as a nerd. Kinda goes with the territory, don't you think?"

"Not really," Isabel answered.

An awkward silence followed. "Well...um...great costume, Tess!" Kyle said finally. "Where'd you get it? Wait...isn't that my cape?"

"From last year's Crash Festival, if memory serves," Maria noted.

"I found it in your closet," Tess said. "It didn't look like something you wore every day."

"Heck, no!" Kyle agreed. "Not at all. I…" He stopped again, his eyes straying south before widening. "Are those...are those my…" He leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a strangled whisper. "Are those my Calvins?"

"I needed red trunks," Tess shrugged. "Wonder Woman has to have red trunks."

"So...so you're walking around the streets in my...in my..." Kyle stopped, eyes bulging. Max pressed his lips together hard to keep from smiling as Isabel hid a grin behind her hand, and Maria didn't bother hiding hers.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Tess said. "But honestly, who's gonna notice? It's not like you've got your name sewn into them, or anything—"

"You're wearing my underwear?" Kyle hissed in disbelief. "You're trick-or-treating in my underwear? Why don't you wear your own underwear?"

"Because none of them are red," Tess said.

"Nice shade," Maria giggled.

"Very manly," Isabel agreed.

"I don't believe this!" Kyle said furiously. "Would you just stay the hell out of my stuff?"

"Sorry," Tess said. "I was going to have them washed and back in your drawer before you even knew they were gone, but if you want, I'll give them back right now."

"No! No, I...oh, God," Kyle said frantically as Tess pushed the briefs to her knees. "Oh, God, this isn't happening. Is this really happening?"

"Really happening," Maria assured him.

"Definitely happening," Isabel agreed.

"One more vote for 'happening'," Max added.

"Great, you're all comedians," Kyle said sourly. "Lucky me."

"Valenti!"

It was Alex, still wearing his jock costume. "How's it goin', man?" Alex said, clapping Kyle on the back so hard, he coughed. "Everything coolio?"

"We do not say coolio!" Kyle exclaimed.

"Coolio!" Alex chanted, high-fiving Maria. "Later, dude!"

"And we don't say...oh, never mind," Kyle said crossly, stalking away in a huff, muttering to himself.

"Looks like you can keep the panties," Maria noted.

"Sheesh," Tess said, pulling them back up. "Can you say 'squeamish'?"

They had reached the top of the line. Bags were presented, cries of "trick or treat" uttered, and candy dutifully dropped into bags. "Peppermint Patties!" Maria squealed, tearing off another wrapper and sinking her teeth into a round chocolate disk. "I love these!"

"You love everything sugar," Isabel said disapprovingly. "If you keep stopping to eat everything, we'll never get any candy."

"I thought you didn't want to eat it," Maria said.

"I never said that," Isabel said coolly. "I just don't want to eat it now."

"Why don't you and Tess go on?" Max suggested. "Maria and I can trick-or-treat together."

Maria munched her Peppermint Patty as Isabel and Tess pulled ahead. "So...no Liz tonight?" Max said, trying to sound neutral.

"Probably studying," Maria said. "Or maybe she's not into Halloween. Kind of like Space Boy."

"I heard the two of you are back together," Max said.

"We are," Maria sighed happily, "and I have that Army captain to thank for that. I saw him again today."

"You did?" Max said. "When?"

"At the Crashdown. He was in for breakfast this morning, all huddled with a couple of ex-soldiers, from the reunion, I guess. Gave me a tongue-lashing when I got snarky. He's no pushover, that's for sure."

"No one who did what he did would be a pushover," Max noted.

"True," Maria said soberly. "And good thing, too, or none of you would be here."

They walked in silence for a time, Maria munching, Max musing, until they found themselves in sight of the Crashdown. "It's weird," Max said, stopping on the corner. "Never in a million years would I have thought that Michael would change his mind and Liz wouldn't."

"Me neither," Maria agreed.

"She did call me to ask about the Granolith," Max said. "I wanted to call her, but I thought she might not like it."

"She asked me to tell her about the Grano-whatever, and I told her to call you if she wanted to know," Maria said. "Obviously she wants to know. Liz doesn't need to 'change her mind', Max. She loves you; she always has. She thinks she's doing the right thing, that she's giving you space to follow your destiny."

"I don't want my 'destiny'," Max said. "I want Liz."

"To be fair, the day may come when you do want your destiny," Maria pointed out.

"And if that day comes, I'll want it with Liz," Max said firmly. "Wherever I go, whatever I do, I want to be with her. If I really did get a second chance at life, that means I get a second chance at everything. That includes deciding who I love."

Maria nodded slowly. "Well said. Trouble is, you're talking to the wrong person." She pointed to the Crashdown. "Tell her. And keep telling her. Tell her even if you think she won't like it. Tell her in a hundred different ways. Tell her even when she tells you to stop. You've been letting her drive this, backing away like some obedient puppy. That's sweet, but it's not getting you anywhere. Can you imagine if I'd done that with Michael?"

"You really think I should?" Max said doubtfully.

"Do something crazy," Maria advised. "Something unexpected. Something that will make her smile even as she tells you it's no use."

Max hovered uncertainly, looking at the Crashdown...and then suddenly, lightning struck. "Give me your bag," he ordered.

Maria blinked. "My bag? What for?"

"I need the M&M's you got earlier," Max said.

"No way, buddy!" Maria protested. "I love M&M's!"

"You just told me to do something crazy," Max said. "I'm about to do something crazy."

"I didn't mean with my candy," Maria said. "Mitts off!"

"Maria...please," Max begged.

Maria glared at him for a moment. "Oh, fine," she said crossly, handing over her bag. "But I don't see why my taste buds should have to suffer for your destiny. Where are you going?" she demanded as he sprinted across the street.

He left her protesting, and a minute later he was below Liz's window. "Liz!" he called. "Are you up there? Liz!"

She was, pencil in hand, probably doing homework as Maria had suggested. "Max?" she said in surprise. "I...what are you doing here? I thought all of you were trick-or treating."

"Not you," Max said.

"Yeah, I...I wasn't in the mood this year," Liz said.

"So I brought Halloween to you," Max said. "Catch!"

The package soared through the air, landing neatly in her hands as she stared at it in astonishment. "Open it," Max urged.

He heard plastic tearing. "They're all blue," Liz said faintly.

"Your favorite color," Max smiled. "Remember how happy you were when everyone voted for blue as the new M&M color?"

"That was years ago," Liz said. "We didn't even know each other."

"I knew you," Max said. "I've always known you."

They gazed at each other for a moment in silence, her hanging over the edge, him looking skywards. "Max, we can't...we just can't…"

"Of course we can," Max said. "I love you, Liz. I'll always love you, and I know you love me. And no book, no 'destiny', no past I don't even remember is going to change that."

"Max...no…"

"I'll be back," Max promised. "I'll come to your window every night if I have to, as long as it takes. I won't stop. If I have to turn every single M&M in this country blue, I'll do it. If I have to pile them all on your balcony, I'll do it. Just think...any time you need a sugar fix, all you have to do is reach outside."

Liz bit back a smile. "That might make it hard to see out the window. Or see you down there. Or fit in my jeans."

"I don't care," Max said. "I'm not giving up, Liz."

"This is because of Michael, isn't it?" Liz said. "Look, I'm happy for them, but—-"

"It's not because of Michael. It's because of me, and because of you." Max backed away, never taking his eyes off the balcony. "I'll see you tomorrow night."

He finally turned around when he reached the street; getting hit by a car wouldn't exactly be helpful. And that's how he missed the smile on her face as she hugged the bag of candy to her chest like it was a lot more than just candy.






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






Langley Residence






Lights had just begun to pop on when Dee reached Brivari's house, lugging her pile of containers up the front steps and setting them on a porch chair. No sense knocking; she knew he wouldn't answer. Assuming he's here, she amended as she made short work of the front door lock. She hadn't really worked out what she was going to do if he wasn't.

He was. The television blared in an otherwise dark living room as she closed the front door behind her. The chair had been turned to face the TV, but otherwise, it didn't look like much had changed, including his mood.

"I see you've permanently given up on the human custom of knocking," Brivari said sourly.

"Kind of a waste of time, don't you think?" Dee said.

"Didn't I throw you out?"

"You did," Dee confirmed.

"So what, may I ask, are you doing here?"

"I brought dinner!" Dee said cheerfully. "And candy. I figured you weren't keeping much of an eye on the calendar."

"Candy?" Brivari said. "What would I want that for?"

"All the little hobgoblins will be out soon," Dee said. "The youngest ones come out early."

Brivari stared at her in consternation for a moment before his eyes widened. "Wait...do you mean what I think you mean? Because I don't participate in human festivals."

"You do tonight," Dee said. "I left your porch light on."

"You what?" Brivari exclaimed, actually starting to get out of the chair when the doorbell suddenly rang.

"I'll get it!" Dee said as he glared at her, sailing to the door before he could stop her. A small collection of young trick-or-treaters was gathered on the front porch, with their wary parents huddled at the bottom of the steps.

"Trick-or-treat!" chorused the children, peering curiously inside.

"Is it okay that we're here?" a mother asked nervously. "I don't recall anyone ever handing out candy at this house."

"We're frequently out of town, but not this year," Dee answered, dropping miniature candy bars into not-so-miniature bags. "One for you, and one for you, and one for...oh my goodness. Are you Tigger? From Winne the Pooh? I loved Tigger! Can you bounce? You certainly can," she laughed as the pint-sized tiger obligingly jumped up and down, making the whole porch shake. "Happy Halloween, everyone!"

The group clattered down the steps. Closing the door, she turned around to find a scowling Warder behind her.

"Please tell me the children didn't see you," Dee said. "You'll give them nightmares for weeks."

"What the hell are you doing?" Brivari demanded.

"Participating in life," Dee said calmly. "You should try it some time. Come have some dinner."

"Another 'casserole'?" Brivari grumbled.

"Nope. Steak, green beans, rolls, and baked potatoes. And dessert. And wine. Shall we?"

"I'm not hungry," Brivari muttered.

"When was the last time you ate? Hmm? That's what I thought," Dee said when he didn't answer. "Come sit down, and I'll tell you all about how Isabel figured out that I know she's not human."

Dee marched into the kitchen, making him scurry after her. "Vilandra?" he said curiously, interested in spite of himself. "I thought you said it was Ava."

"And now it's both," Dee said, dishing food onto plates. "It appears the girls are ahead of the boys on this one. Oops, there's the doorbell. Back in a minute!"

Dee smiled as she left him tongue-tied and frustrated. If he really meant to throw her out, he was going to miss all the best intel, and she wanted to drive that point home. Another round of candy later, she returned to the kitchen where he was busily scarfing down one of his favorite meals. It was funny how horrified all the Warders had been by the notion of eating "flesh" when they'd first arrived. The two who had survived had not only gotten used to it, they'd actually come to prefer it. Steak was one of their favorites.

"What did Vilandra say?" Brivari demanded. "Do they all know now? Does your son know?"

"Working backwards, no and no," Dee answered, uncorking the wine. "And Isabel decided that I knew she was 'different' the way Max is supposedly 'different' because of the way he put out that fire."

"So...she didn't tell you she's not human?"

"No," Dee allowed, "although I certainly invited her to. I even used the 'A' word, but she didn't bite."

"Hmpf," Brivari said. "Sounds like she's nowhere near as far along as Ava."

"Or as far along as you are on that steak," Dee noted.

Brivari scowled at her, but kept eating. "I met with Larak last night," Dee said casually, "and I'm here with a report."

"About what? Everyone made it very clear they weren't the least bit interested in what I had to say."

"You have to admit you're a bit under the weather at the moment," Dee said.

"And you have to admit you're way out of your league," Brivari retorted.

"Of course I admit it," Dee said. "I admitted it yesterday, I'm admitting it again now...how many times do I have to say it? I'm nothing but a replacement, and a poor one at that. I went because you wouldn't."

"Of course I wouldn't," Brivari said crossly, but not as crossly as he might have, her admission appearing to have mollified him somewhat. "I'll never support a treaty which denies my Ward his throne."

"What makes you think he wants it?" Dee said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You heard me," Dee said. "What if Max doesn't want the throne? What if he turns it down? What then?"

Brivari stared at his plate. "When he finally remembers...that won't happen."

"If he remembers," Dee said, "and it might. Jaddo knew that. He was just acknowledging that when he—"

"Haven't we already had this conversation?" Brivari interrupted. "I refuse to support any 'treaty', or 'armistice', or whatever you want to call it that denies the King his rightful place. What was taken from him will be returned. Period."

Dee shook her head. "You and Jaddo. Just like Eamon de Valera and Michael Collins."

"Am I supposed to know who that is?" Brivari said peevishly. "Or care?"

"You should," Dee said. "Because history has a nasty habit of repeating itself. Granted that was Ireland in 1921, not Antar in 2000, but it appears the adage is universal in ways even I wasn't aware of."

"What are you talking about?" Brivari said in exasperation.

"Just this," Dee said. "Eamon de Valera and Michael Collins led the fight for Ireland's independence from Great Britain. De Valera sent Collins to London to hammer out a peace treaty, and demanded the establishment of an Irish Republic. Collins came back with a compromise, an Irish Free State. He said a republic was too big a step at that point, something they couldn't pull off until later. De Valera refused to accept that. His insistence on a republic started a civil war, and Collins was assassinated. That knocked some much-needed sense into everyone, and the Free State lasted until 1949, when de Valera finally got his republic. Too bad it came at the expense of his friend's life."

Brivari stared at her. "So you're saying I killed Jaddo?"

Dee's expression softened. "Of course not. I'm saying that what you want, what you're insisting on, is a step too far at this point in time. Simply parking Max on the throne will never fly. You have to start somewhere. It's a process, not a pronouncement."

"It should be a pronouncement," Brivari muttered.

"And maybe it would have been if things had gone as planned," Dee said. "If the hybrids had matured on schedule and been born as who they used to be, you would have been going back much earlier. But that's not how it worked out. It's been years, decades, and too much has happened, both here and back home. That's nobody's fault, least of all yours; it's just the way it happened, and it calls for a different strategy. You're a master of strategy, Brivari. You know this."

They ate in silence for several minutes, hers thoughtful, his sullen. She refilled his wine glass and waited until it was half gone before speaking again.

"So I asked Larak to fill me in on the discussion about the treaty. He had some interesting things to tell me."

"Unlikely" Brivari said. "They'll jump at anything."

"He says the Argilian Resistance has grown very strong," Dee continued, ignoring him. "Everyone is so unhappy with Khivar that the Resistance is quite popular. It would appear that Jaddo's idea of uniting Michael and Courtney is even better than we thought."

"He was just trying to get his Ward on the throne," Brivari said sourly.

"He was using marriage the old-fashioned way," Dee corrected, "as a way to unite two political tribes. But whichever way you see it, Courtney has decided to make a determined play for Michael. Not sure how that's going to turn out."

"It won't turn out unless she straight out tells him who she is," Brivari said. "But she won't. She'll do the girl thing and try to seduce him first."

"I take it you don't recommend that?" Dee said.

"Would you trust someone who lied to you about something like that?"

"I guess not," Dee allowed. "She also thinks you're going to renege on your offer to find a way to keep her alive past her husk's sell-by date."

"She committed treason," Brivari said flatly.

"She took a risk," Dee countered. "That's what leaders do."

"And sometimes they fail."

"And sometimes they don't," Dee said firmly. "Courtney has five planets behind her. I'd call that a win."

Brivari snorted softly and went back to eating, but didn't argue with her. Dee counted that as a win of her own and let the subject drop; they certainly weren't going to settle this tonight, but she'd wanted to get it on the table because there was no way in hell she would stand quietly by while he let Courtney die. "Larak also had some interesting news about Kathana and Sero," Dee went on. "I don't know either of them, but Courtney was certainly fascinated when he told us that one had slept with the other's wife."

Brivari's head snapped up. "What's this?"

"I gather it happened during peace talks between their planets," Dee chuckled. "Seems the talks were scuttled. Guess we can't blame Khivar for everything."

"Who?" Brivari demanded. "Which one slept with which?"

The doorbell rang. "Back in a few!" Dee said cheerfully.

"Damn it!" Brivari exclaimed. "This has got to be the most annoying holiday in the galaxy!"

Dee struggled to keep a straight face as she answered the door and dispensed more treats. Despite his kvetching, she could already see Brivari coming back to life. Nothing like a bit of flattery and some dirt from home to perk up one's spirits. She'd never cared for gossip, but under the circumstances, perhaps the universe would forgive her for engaging in a little interplanetary tittle-tattle. It was all for a good cause.





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






Two weeks later



November 14, 2000, 9:15 p.m.,

Crashdown Cafe






"No waitresses in the kitchen," Maria commanded.

"Hey, Mikey G. You got my order?" Courtney asked, ignoring her.

"Yeah, right there," Rath answered.

"Takeoff Tacos, Plutonium Platter, and the Greek God salad, light on the feta," Courtney smiled, planting a slap on Rath's behind. "You're such a good boy."

She left, studiously not looking as Maria's evil eye followed her. What incredibly bad luck that Rath should have a change of heart regarding Maria just as she'd had her own change of heart about aggressively pursuing Rath. This recent detente was apparently the result of an encounter between Rath and a human soldier who had saved the hybrids' lives shortly after the crash, a chance meeting they might never have learned of if said soldier hadn't spoken to a friend of Dee's from the same era. Jaddo's death was unfortunate in so many ways, but one of the most annoying was the dearth of information about what was happening in the hybrids' lives. Tess used to tell Jaddo, who told the rest of them; now that link was severed, and there was no good replacement. This time, they'd just been lucky.

"I'm just about done here," she heard Rath say when she returned to the back. "I'll see you later."

"I've still got a few more hours on my shift," Maria said. "Enjoy your freedom."

"That's so sweet of you," Courtney remarked when Maria exited the kitchen. "We will."

Maria's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Only that I'm off at the same time as Mikey G."

Maria came closer. "He's mine!" she hissed under her breath.

Courtney blinked. "Who is?"

"You know who," Maria accused.

"I do? Oh! Did you, like, get a dog, or something? No?" Courtney went on when Maria's eyes narrowed. "A gerbil, then? Or maybe a fish?"

"Just know this," Maria warned. "You mess with him, you mess with me."

"A threeway," Courtney said thoughtfully. "I'm up for that."

"Oh, forget it," Maria exclaimed in exasperation. "Just keep your hands off my stuff. All of my stuff."

Rath came out of the kitchen as Maria went into the cafe. "What was that all about?"

"She ordered me to keep her hands off her stuff," Courtney answered. "I don't go in her locker, so I have no idea what she's talking about, although I doubt it's the salt and pepper shakers."

"Her 'stuff'?" Rath repeated in disbelief. "She actually said 'stuff'?"

"She did," Courtney confirmed. "And not just 'stuff—all her stuff. Hope that doesn't mean the air she's breathing. So," she went on as Rath scowled, "I'm off too. Want to walk me home?"

Rath gave her a wary look. "Maybe some other time."

Well, shit, Courtney thought disconsolately. Rath was clearly interested in her overtures, but he was still hanging back. Much as it pained her to admit it, Brivari might be right. Dee had passed along his observation that the best course of action would be to simply out herself to the King's Second, and being the only person on this planet who had actually known Rath, he would know. But even though Brivari's mood was improving, she was still smarting from their dust-up two weeks ago and still unclear as to whether he viewed her as traitor or ally, both of which made her loathe to give his advice the time of day. Besides, the thought of simply saying, "Hey, I'm an alien!" was downright terrifying, even if they were technically from the same planet. Truth be told, she'd rather come clean to Zan, who didn't have the knee-jerk tendencies so typical of his Second.

"Okay, well...I'm off," Courtney said. "Don't stay up too late...wait. What is that?"

It was music, coming from outside, strings plucked and strung. "Oh my God," Courtney said, peering out a window as Rath came up behind her. "He's at it again!"

"What is it this time?" Rath sighed.

"Looks like some kind of band," Courtney reported. "And a big ass hat."

"A hat?" Rath said incredulously.

"Yeah. Big round thing. And he's...singing? Holy shit, he's singing! In Spanish!"

"No self respect," Rath muttered.

"Maybe," Courtney allowed. "But points for effort, don't you think?"

"Not from me," Rath said.

Courtney hung out the window as the strains of Zan's latest attempt to melt the iceberg named Liz Parker wafted inside. He'd come several nights over the past couple of weeks, always doing something corny like sending up chocolates on a helium balloon. These visitations had begun to attract attention, with some patrons speculating they were publicity stunts, but Courtney knew better. It was said Zan had done similar things to win over Ava, who had realized that being a queen wasn't as wonderful as the storytellers would have you believe. Got that right, she thought sadly. Being a queen had gotten Ava killed, and Liz Parker certainly possessed sufficient brain cells to recognize her peril.

Mr. Parker appeared behind them. "What is that noise?"

"Max Evans is outside," Courtney grinned. "Singing."

"Max?" Mr. Parker repeated. "Again?" He checked his watch. "Good grief," he muttered, taking the stairs two at a time.

"Hope he's almost done," Rath said to Courtney. "Because, like it or not, he's almost done."

Courtney leaned further out the window, just barely able to see Zan gazing upward with a smitten look on his face. This would be downright romantic if he'd picked someone of the right species. What was it with hybrids and humans? Presented with not only one of his own kind, but his own wife, Zan still preferred the human girlfriend; would Rath do the same? If she played her cards right, they'd find out soon enough.

"Sheesh," Mr. Parker grumbled on the way back down the stairs. "That was the weirdest one yet."

"Can't fault his taste in women," Courtney noted.

Mr. Parker's expression softened. "No, I can't. He seems like a nice kid, just a bit...intense."

"He always was," Courtney allowed. "Or so I'm told."

Mr. Parker blinked for a moment before removing something from his pocket. "I was supposed to give this to Lizzie, but I got all discombobulated, and I doubt she wants to see me again right after I chased her suitor off. Could you…?"

"No problem," Courtney said. "Mariachi bands can do that to you."

Courtney took the book Mr. Parker handed her and skipped up the stairs, where Liz's door was ajar. "Knock, knock?" she called, pushing the door open a bit. "Liz? Your dad asked me to…"

Courtney's voice trailed off as her eyes landed on who was standing next to a stricken Liz Parker. "Wow," Courtney said admiringly. "So you're not just a musician, you're a quick change artist."

"Oh, um, yeah, we're just...we're just going over costumes for something we're doing at school," Liz said hastily.

"Sure," Courtney said knowingly. "School. So, Latino boy band to Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome. Don't tell your dad."

The object of her scrutiny returned her stare, unblinking. Somehow, some way, Zan had managed to get upstairs in seconds and morph from wholesome small town boy to badass biker, complete with long hair and leather vest. Must be nice to have powers. "Please don't tell my dad," Liz was pleading. "Max isn't supposed to be up here, and...um…"

"Yeah," Courtney nodded. "School night. I heard. Pretty much the whole neighborhood heard. But no worries—this is so much better than the big ass hat. I approve."

"I'm not surprised," Zan said. "You were always quite the rebel."

Startled, Courtney stared at him; the twin appearance of past tense and the word "rebel" was jarring, and there was something about his tone, about the way his eyes fastened on hers, that made her uneasy. "Your dad wanted me to give this to you," she said, handing over the book. "Guess he thought you were mad at him."

"Yeah, thanks," Liz said. "And thanks for not saying anything."

"See you later," Zan added.

"Yeah...later," Courtney said uncertainly, shaking her head on the way back down the stairs and out the back door, where she found Rath waiting beside a...motorcycle?

"Want a ride?" Rath said.

Courtney broke into a wide smile. "Sweet! Where'd this come from?"

"It's on loan," Rath said. "Hop on."

With pleasure, Courtney thought, wrapping her arms around Rath's waist. This was an unexpected and welcome coup, so much so that it momentarily blotted out her uneasiness about her encounter with the weirdly dressed Zan.

For just a minute there, she could have sworn he knew who she was.





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



I'll post Chapter 49 on Sunday, May 8.

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!








CHAPTER FORTY-NINE





November 14, 2000, 10:30 p.m.

Valenti Residence






Hands on hips, Tess Harding surveyed her bedroom with a critical eye. Well...perhaps "her" bedroom wasn't entirely accurate. Which was ironic, really, given that one of the few constants in her notoriously varied life was the fact that she had always, always had a bedroom all to herself, and to decorate as she saw fit. It was one of the few perks of her and Nasedo's nomadic existence, and she'd been feeling its absence acutely these past few weeks. It had been kind of Kyle to offer his bedroom, but the fact remained that it was his bedroom, littered with guy stuff and guy decor, if "decor" could be used to describe its current state. She couldn't do much about the furniture, but she could certainly do something about the walls. All the sports posters would have to go, and perhaps the sheriff could be persuaded to let her "paint" the walls a different color, especially since she could put everything back exactly the way she'd found it with little effort. The questions was, what color? She'd just raised a hand to do a few experiments when the front door slammed.

Crap. Her two month review on living with the Valenti's was that while sometimes it was wonderful to have other people around, other times it was downright annoying. TV's blared at odd hours, food left in the fridge disappeared, messes weren't cleaned up, and invariably, just as she found herself wanting a little alone time, someone appeared. Like someone had now, although she had to give them credit for always providing a warning in the form of a slammed door.

"Anybody home?" Kyle bellowed. "Dad?"

"In here," Tess called, noting that she still hadn't made the list of "anybody".

Kyle appeared in the bedroom doorway. "Tess! Just the person I wanted to see. You'll never guess what I saw in town tonight. Go ahead...guess!"

"An alien," Tess said promptly.

"Oh, come on," Kyle admonished. "Really guess! No, wait," he added, frowning. "Max Evans is an alien, so I suppose I have to give you half credit."

"You saw Max?" Tess said. "So what? You see him every day."

Kyle shook his head. "Not wearing a sombrero and singing."

Tess blinked. "What?"

"You heard me," Kyle said, a wide smile on his face. "There I was in my car, and there was Evans wearing this big ol' hat, and with this weird band behind him wearing big ol' hats. So I rolled down the window, and he was singing! In Spanish! I think," he amended thoughtfully. "I'm not really sure what Spanish sounds like."

"Kyle," Tess said wearily, "you take Spanish in school."

"Doesn't mean I know what it sounds like," Kyle noted. "Anyway, he kept singing until Mr. Parker showed up and shooed him away. Weirdest thing he's done yet, and he's done some weird ones these past couple of weeks."

Tess's chest constricted. "Mr. Parker? What does Liz's father have to do with this?"

"Well, duh," Kyle said. "Max was singing to Liz. He's been mooning around outside her window almost every night for a couple of weeks now. Everyone's talking about it. Didn't you know?"

"I...no," Tess said, flustered. "I thought he and Liz weren't dating any more because Liz didn't want to."

"Word is she doesn't, but he's not taking no for an answer," Kyle said. "He's making a determined push to get her back. Maybe Michael and Maria getting back together inspired him."

"Michael and Maria? No way," Tess declared. "I mean, I know he was feeling really grateful toward humans after we heard about that soldier—"

"Way," Kyle said firmly. "Maria said so. And she's been hanging all over him. Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

"Kyle, she's always hanging all over him."

"True," Kyle agreed. "But he's letting her hang all over him. Or at least he's not leaving in disgust as quickly as he used to."

"That's your evidence?" Tess said skeptically. "Michael and Maria are back together because Michael isn't barfing on her?"

"Granted, it's not as obvious as Max," Kyle allowed. "His efforts could be seen from space. No pun intended."

"What exactly is he doing?" Tess asked warily.

"You mean besides public singing in a foreign language? Okay, try this," Kyle said. "He sent a blizzard of paper airplanes onto her balcony, just shot'em one by one from the street. There were so many, her entire balcony was covered like snow, and they all had 'I love you!' written on them."

"And you know this how?" Tess said. "Doesn't seem like something Liz would tell you."

"Word gets around. Everyone was wondering how he managed to land them all so accurately, but you and I know," Kyle said, tapping his temple with a sly smile. "Witchy woo."

"It's not 'witchy woo'," Tess said tartly. "And who exactly is 'everyone'?"

"Well, he's out on the street doing all this stuff," Kyle said, "so anyone coming in and out of the Crashdown sees him, anyone walking by sees him. I'm really surprised you haven't heard about this. Isn't this backwards? Isn't the girl supposed to know all this?"

"I'm an alien, remember? Maybe you're more 'girl' than I am. Kidding," Tess added when Kyle looked alarmed. "Just kidding. And don't go bench press a truck to prove your manhood."

"Okay," Kyle said doubtfully. "Anyway...everyone's betting on what Max will do next, so I was wondering if you'd like in? Although this latest is pretty darn cool, so just about anything would be a long shot…oh," he added when he saw the look on her face. "Oh geez, I forgot. Wasn't Evans supposed to be your squeeze? Or you wanted him to be your squeeze? Or—"

"We were married in our past lives," Tess interrupted, cutting him off before he said something else nauseating. "But he doesn't remember that."

"Does that mean you do?"

"Yes!" Tess answered impatiently. "I mean...sort of. A little. I remember what it felt like."

"That's not much," Kyle said dubiously.

"It's enough," Tess muttered.

"Does this mean you don't want to bet—"

"Yes, Kyle, it means I don't want to bet," Tess said crossly. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone. In my room," she clarified. "Okay, your room," she amended when he looked blank. "The room you offered me, remember? Or have you done a brain fart like Max? Out!"

"Right," Kyle said, skedaddling. She was closing the door when he put out a hand to stop it. "Just to be clear, what exactly were you doing when I came in? Because redecorating wasn't part of the—"

Tess pushed the door closed on his babbling and plopped on the bed, so agitated she could barely see straight. As unsettling as it was to hear that Max was making such a fool out of himself over Liz, it was even more unsettling to hear that Michael had caved. What was he thinking? Michael was the dependable one, the one who wanted to go home, who thought they had a responsibility to go home. Gratitude was all well and good, but couldn't he just thank Maria for her efforts on his behalf and be done with it? Did he have to actually go back to her? This was nuts.

Not as nuts as Max, she amended darkly. At least Michael wasn't hanging around on street corners making a total fool of himself. Singing in sombreros? A flock of paper airplanes? How corny. How childish. How embarrassing. How...utterly romantic, she admitted, tears welling in her eyes. It was hard to brand his behavior childish when she was pretty sure he'd done something similar in that previous life, and that time, he'd done it for her.

Doesn't matter, Tess decided, rising to her feet. They weren't there, they were here. This wasn't then, it was now. Here and now was all she could control, so she may as well get back to redecorating. And while she was it, maybe she should come up with a Plan B just in case Max never did manage to get with the program. If he was so determined to rewrite his destiny, perhaps she should consider rewriting her own.






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






Banks Residence






Courtney pulled her clothes off, turned the shower knob, and stepped back, letting the warm rain fall inside the tub as she sat down on the toilet seat beside it. She'd meant what she'd said when she'd told Rath she'd play any game he wanted to, but secretly she was glad he hadn't opted for a joint shower. Moisture was great for husks, but water pressure wasn't, at least not for husks as old as hers. If she'd showered tonight, she wouldn't have been able to do so again until next week, having long ago settled on the gentler sponge bath as a less damaging method of cleansing. She'd give it a few minutes, go out slightly damp in a towel, and then the real fun would begin because she had him—she knew she had him. Rath hadn't wanted to bring her home, but he had. He hadn't wanted to come in, but he had, and then he'd taken it to the next level by suggesting a shower. So now she was finally going to have sex the human way, with none other than the King's Second and, hopefully, her future husband. There was something deeply satisfying about that, and she leaned back on the seat, the steam from the shower soaking into her grateful husk.

"Maybe you should put on some tunes, baby," she called.

There was a pause before the reply came. "Good idea...baby."

Cute, Courtney thought with a smile. He sounded so hesitant, so awkward. The Rath she'd known...or rather, known of...had been anything but awkward in public life, although she couldn't speak for his private life. Maybe that's why he'd fallen for the vacuous Vilandra, an odd pairing if ever there was one, and she hadn't been the only one who'd thought so. Granted Vilandra was famously beautiful, but it had always seemed like Rath would have wanted more…and, honestly, maybe he had. Watching Isabel in this world had left no doubt that there had been more to Vilandra than anyone thought. Maybe Rath had seen something the rest of them had missed.

"By the way, you are an amazing kisser," Courtney added with a smile.

This remark was answered by the sound of raised voices. Curious, Courtney wrapped herself in a towel, turned off the shower, and went out to the living room. "Is somebody here?"

That somebody turned out to be a smoldering Maria. Excellent, Courtney thought, adopting what she hoped was a neutral expression as Maria hissed for several seconds before stalking off in a huff. Abashed, Rath turned to Courtney.

"I'm gonna go."

And just like that, her encounter with the King's Second was over. Left alone in her living room wearing nothing but a towel, Courtney sank onto the couch with a sigh as Rath's motorbike roared away. Well. That hadn't turned out the way she'd wanted. On the plus side, this little incident might stop the budding Maria/Rath romance from rekindling. Or it might drive them together, she admitted, although that was unlikely. Maria held a grudge better than anyone she'd met save for Nicholas, and that was saying something.

A knock came at the door. He's back! Courtney thought jubilantly, racing to answer it. Maybe he'd talked to Maria and then come back? Maybe he'd left just to throw her off? Just as the door swung open, it occurred to her that she hadn't heard a motorbike outside…

"Hi."

Courtney stared at her visitor in shock. It was Max Evans, and not the safe, suburban version she was accustomed to; he was still wearing the costume he'd had on in Liz's bedroom, all leather and long hair. "Max?" she said, abruptly aware that she was naked save for a towel. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," Max answered. "I told you I'd see you later."

"Guess you did," Courtney allowed. "Now's not a good time."

Max's eyes dropped as Courtney's hand clutched her towel tighter. "That's right," he said with a small smile. "You and Michael just...well...almost. Didn't you?"

"How did you know that?" Courtney demanded.

"Michael told me," Max shrugged.

"He just left!" Courtney exclaimed. "It's usually girls who spill that fast."

"You made quite an impression on him," Max said. "The two of you would have made a good pair. I would have approved."

"What does that mean?" Courtney said warily.

"We need to talk," Max said. "May I come in?"

"No, you may not," Courtney answered crossly. "I already told you this is a bad time."

"Let me in," Max insisted. "This isn't a discussion we should be having on the porch."

"What 'discussion'?" Courtney demanded. "I know I see you at the Crashdown, but I barely know you, and that certainly doesn't give you the right to—"

"I'm your king," Max announced. "Does that give me the right?"

Courtney gaped at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The eyes which fastened on hers did not belong to a teenager. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Courtney almost stopped breathing, one hand clutching her towel and the other the door as she braced herself to keep her knees from buckling. Jesus H. Christ, had it happened? Had it finally happened? "You remember," she said faintly. "When? When did you remember?"

"A while ago," Max answered.

"Define 'a while'," Courtney said, panic creeping in. "How long have you known? No—wait. You say you remember. Prove it. What do you remember?"

"I remember that you're the leader of the Argilian Resistance," Max said. "I remember you're wearing a husk which is at the end of its lifespan. I remember that you're my subject, so I don't need your permission to come inside."

Both hands clutched the towel now, a familiar physical object to hold on to as she stood face to face with the king she remembered, the one who insisted on having his way. "I'm not Covari," she said stiffly. "You can give me an order, but you can't make me obey it."

"I could force the point," Max noted.

"So why don't you?" Courtney said flatly.

Max gave her a level stare before looking away. "Because there's been too much of that. It's how we got into this mess in the first place. I just…" There came a lengthy, distinctly un-kingly pause. "I was just hoping you'd see the necessity of not having this conversation anywhere but somewhere private. So I'm asking you...may I please come in?"

"And what if I say no?" Courtney challenged.

"Don't," Max said. "Please. You know what's at stake. You know how many have died for what's at stake. Like your father."

They faced off, neither speaking, him with the hair and her with the towel. A car drove by, then a bicycle, then a kid on a skateboard. "Wait here," Courtney said finally. "I'm going to put some clothes on. If you're still here when I get back, I'll decide what to do with you then."

She closed the door without waiting for a reply, but didn't lock it. Retreating to her bedroom, she leaned against the door and discovered her hands were shaking...and to be honest, not just her hands. Zan remembered. He remembered. How? When? How long ago was "a while ago"? How long had she been slinging hash to a king who knew exactly who she was? Had the rest of them remembered too? Had she given herself away? Maybe he hadn't really remembered, but was testing her? But then where would he have gotten all those details? Dee knew those things, but there was no way she'd tell Max. Pulling on her clothes, she reached for her phone. A hybrid who remembered needed his Warder, and that Warder was just a phone call away.

A moment later, Courtney put the phone down. If they hadn't just quarreled, she would have called Brivari in an instant, but under the circumstances, perhaps that wasn't the best option. Brivari had charged her with treason, and even though Dee felt he'd never follow through with that, it wouldn't hurt to have the king in her back pocket just in case. Assuming that king was still out there, of course, and this wasn't all some big joke.

He was there, clearly irritated, but there. "So," Courtney said, "you didn't leave, and you didn't help yourself to my unlocked door. Points for that."

"You asked me to wait here," Max said.

"And you sounded like you didn't give a shit what I wanted," Courtney replied.

"I'm just...frustrated," Max said, sounding just that. "This hasn't been a good night, and I can pretty much guarantee it's going to get worse."

"And why exactly would I let you stick around and drag me into that?"

"Because if you don't, it'll get a whole lot worse," Max said. "You don't just have a dog in this fight, you have a whole pack. A pack otherwise known as the Argilian Resistance, currently holed up in—"

"Shhh!" Courtney hissed, eyes darting sideways. "Not out loud! Nicholas has spies everywhere!"

"I know," Max said gravely, "which is yet one more reason we shouldn't have this discussion on the porch. But since you won't let me in, I guess this is where we're having it. Not my first choice, but it seems to be yours."

Courtney stared at him a moment, undecided as to which was more disturbing—the fact that he seemed to know where the Resistance was bunkered, or that he hadn't flinched at the name "Nicholas". In the end, it didn't matter; she stepped back.

"Come in."

He stepped inside, and she closed the door. "Thank you," he said.

"Don't thank me yet," Courtney warned. "I may still decide to bounce you. Sit."

He did, perching on the edge of her couch while she brandished her Trithium Generator. "So you're not a shapeshifter," she announced when the telltale infrared signature which surrounded all Covari failed to appear. "There's that, at least. So how did you remember, Max? What unzipped the zip file? All the dead bodies recently?"

Max looked blank for a moment, then his eyes widened. "Oh, right! Nasedo just died, didn't he? And then Whitaker."

"Why do you sound like this is news?" Courtney said. "It just happened."

"I...forgot. We picked this time because it had implications for other reasons. I forgot what else had just happened."

"You're not making sense," Courtney announced.

Max hesitated. "Maybe you'd better sit down."

"No way," Courtney declared. "I'm still not sure exactly who I'm talking to or if I should trust you."

"Good," Max said soberly. "That's smart. And you're right—you don't know who you're talking to because I'm not who you think I am. I'm Max," he added hastily when she bristled, "and I was Zan. I'm just not the Max you know."

" 'Not the Max I know'," Courtney repeated, shaking her head. "Nope; still not making sense."

Max hands worked in front of him. "You saw me tonight, right? I remember you leaning out the window when I was singing to Liz."

"So I snooped," Courtney said. "So what?"

"So I'm not that Max. The Max you saw is my younger self."

"You know, the funny thing is, the more you say, the less sense you make," Courtney said impatiently. "Start making sense, or I'm going to stop listening."

Max fastened his eyes on her, those eyes that seemed to see right through her, that knew more than they should. "I really think you should sit down."






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






Valenti Residence






"Okay, so Max will be at the Crashdown tomorrow night," Liz said, "and you'll be there too."

"At one of the outside tables," Tess said. "So he has to pass me on the way in."

"And you'll be reading a book," Liz went on. "John Steinbeck is one of his favorite authors, and we're reading Of Mice and Men for English lit, so bring that."

"How about one of Steinbeck's less well known books?" Tess suggested. "Like To a God Unknown? Or Travels with Charley?"

Liz's eyes widened. "You...know Steinbeck?"

"You do a lot of reading when you don't have a lot of friends," Tess shrugged. "Nasedo and I moved around a lot, but books were always there. I was just thinking that a book Max was less likely to have read would be more of a conversation starter."

"Yeah," Liz nodded. "Right. Absolutely. So I'll leave it to you to pick the book. Okay, next thing—what you'll be wearing."

"What I'll be wearing?" Tess said. "I think I can dress myself, Liz."

"No, there's...I mean, yes, I know you can dress yourself, but there's this top that you have that...that Max likes," Liz finished awkwardly.

Tess raised an eyebrow. "And how would you know this?"

Liz shifted uncomfortably. "He...he told me."

"Max told you he liked a top I was wearing," Tess said skeptically.

"He didn't tell me in words," Liz amended. "I could tell he liked it because he was...staring."

"I see," Tess said as Liz did some staring herself, at the floor. "And which top would this be?"

"Um...it's black?"

"I have lots of black tops."

"Then we'll just have to find it," Liz said. "Where's your room?"

"Well, there's some debate over whether it's my room, but...follow me."

Tess led Max's former girlfriend toward Kyle's room, a weird turn of events which was just perfect for this weird evening. First it had been Kyle going on about Max serenading Liz on her balcony, then she'd gotten pissed and resolved to create a back-up plan in case the Others never accepted her, then Kyle had objected to her redecorating his room, then she'd gotten even more pissed, which had made Kyle...well...horny. Not that he wasn't always horny, just visibly horny. And just as she had her face fixed for some serious making out, Liz had appeared claiming to want to help her win Max over, and part of that was a particular item of clothing. It was all a bit surreal.

"So this is it," Tess announced when they reached Kyle's former closet. "I'll find all the black stuff, and you tell me which one he liked."

"Yeah, okay," Liz said, standing stiffly as Tess began pulling things out.

"I still don't get why you're doing this," Tess remarked as Liz shook her head at the first offering.

"I told you; Max's future is you," Liz answered. "He won't see that, and I can't move on until he does."

"Right," Tess said doubtfully.

"Look, I don't have to justify myself to you," Liz said, an edge to her voice. "You were there in the pod chamber. You saw me leave, you saw that nobody chased me out. You saw it was my decision, and you've seen me stick to that decision ever since. If you can see all that and still doubt me, that's your problem."

Tess smiled faintly. She'd never admit it to God or man, but she'd just acquired a good deal more respect for Liz now that she'd fought back. "So nothing in the closet. Onto the drawers." She pulled open the top drawer and removed a stack of clothing.

"That one," Liz said suddenly. "That's the one."

Liz held up a black tee shirt with a "V" which went all the way down to there. "Ah," Tess said knowingly. "A cleavage shirt. Makes sense. So...I wear that, I take the book, and I try to get him to sit down with me."

"He'll do it," Liz said soberly.

"You know," Tess said slowly, fingering the shirt, "it occurs to me that walking away the way you did is something you do when you love someone."

Liz fastened hard eyes on her. "I never said I didn't love him." She handed the shirt to Tess. "Wear the shirt, bring the book, tell him Steinbeck's your favorite author—it'll work. I'll let myself out."

Dismissed, Tess thought dryly as Liz left. Still, she couldn't blame her; Liz obviously still had feelings for Max, and if she could get something useful out of that, all the better. If Liz said it would work, it probably would.

And if it didn't, it would still be wise to come up with a Plan B.






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






Banks Residence






"You," Courtney said severely, "are certifiably crazy."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Max said.

"Fortunately, I'm not," Courtney went on, pacing back and forth in front of the couch on which Max was sitting calmly. "You're here from the future? Fourteen years in the future? Do you think I'm some kind of moron?"

"Not at all," Max answered. "You're one of the reasons I'm still alive."

"Oh, good," Courtney said sardonically. "Flattery will get you everywhere. So how'd you get here, future boy? In a DeLorean?"

"No. In a Granolith."

"Oh, of course!" Courtney said. "Because everyone knows the Granolith is a time machine!"

"It isn't supposed to be," Max allowed. "But we managed to modify it."

" 'We'? Who's we? Michael? Isabel?"

"Michael and Isabel are dead," Max said. "Tess left years ago, which is a different part of the problem. It was Serena, a friend of Liz's...or someone who will be her friend...who found a way to modify it."

"So where is it now?" Courtney said. "Did it crash in a field like your other ship? Are we going to hear about the latest sighting on the 6 o'clock news?"

"I had just enough time to get out before it burned up in the atmosphere," Max said. "Serena warned me that if it worked, the power required would basically destroy it. It was a one way trip, but it doesn't matter; at that point the entire planet was overrun, so things couldn't get worse."

"Overrun by whom?" Courtney demanded.

"Khivar," Max answered. "Sero. Hanar. Kathana. And Larak," he added wistfully. "My best friend. Unfortunately I didn't remember he was my best friend until it was too late."

"So you're saying the five planets united to take over Earth? That makes absolutely no sense," Courtney declared. "Ever since the coup, they haven't been able to agree on a grocery list, much less an invasion."

"I know," Max said. "But everything changed after your treaty was voted down."

Courtney breath caught in her throat. Of all the information he'd dropped so far, this was the most significant. " 'My' treaty?" she said warily. "It wasn't 'my' treaty."

"No," Max agreed. "It was Nasedo's and Whitaker's. But after they died, you took up the cause."

Yes, I did, Courtney thought, suddenly cold all over. That had only just happened...for her. "And...I'm guessing you're going to tell me what happened?"

"I already told you," Max said. "They voted it down. When that happened, all hope of peace was dashed, and when Khivar set his sights on Earth, they followed him because it turned his attention away from persecuting them."

"But why would they vote it down?" Courtney said. "It was reasonable. It was balanced. It was as fair as it was going to get." She paused. "Did you scuttle it? Did you refuse to consider the terms, or—"

"I didn't even know that treaty existed until the ships were in the sky," Max said. "I discovered most of this long after the fact, piece by piece over the years we were at war. A lot I got from Larak, who I met not far from here, in what was left of the Crashdown after Roswell was destroyed. He said he was sorry, but he had to do whatever saved the most lives. One dead Earth never stood a chance against five plundered planets."

"What else did Larak say?" Courtney asked, setting aside for a moment the incredible fact that she was actually buying into this outrageous story. "Because he's the one who took the treaty to the five planets in the first place, and he's plenty smart enough to figure out that he'd only bought himself a reprieve. Once Khivar was done trashing Earth, what's to stop him from turning around and trashing the five planets? Nothing, that's what! It's deal with him now, or deal with him later...what?" she demanded when Max smiled. "Did I say something funny?"

"No," Max allowed. "It's just that I've heard that speech before, pretty much verbatim. You see, I didn't go alone to the wreck of the Crashdown that day. You came with me, and you and Larak went round and round. You're quite intimidating when you get pissed."

Courtney sank onto the couch, stunned to have someone telling her what she'd done in...2014? "Wait a minute. I went with you to meet Larak? In 2014? I shouldn't even be alive in 2014. Did I get a new husk?"

Max hesitated. "Yes," he allowed finally, "but only you. The rest of the Resistance was kept alive in a special safe house. They helped us by jamming signals, cracking codes, and collecting and distributing intelligence, but they couldn't leave. You could go in, but they couldn't come out. Until Khivar found it, that is. He wiped them out. You were the only one left."

Courtney was speechless, her mind whirling. All the Resistance gone but her? And...Brivari. So he'd come through for her after all, for all of them, charges of treason aside. "Oh. Uh...okay. So...did my kickboxing with Larak tell you why the treaty was shot down? Because I thought that getting it looked at in the first place was the hard part, and once they saw it, it would just be details."

"It was a rather large detail," Max answered. "They worked out the final treaty, but...I rejected it."

Courtney blinked. "You? I thought you said you didn't know it existed until the ships were in the sky."

"I didn't," Max said soberly. "Someone rejected it on my behalf."

Courtney closed her eyes, suppressing a groan. Brivari. True to his word, he had rejected a treaty which didn't put everything back the way it was before. "And that's why I'm here," Max went on, his hands working in front of him. "It doesn't really matter what was in the treaty; the point was that as long as it was on the table, everyone was talking, not fighting, and united against Khivar because they had something to hope for. And because of that, Khivar was forced to deal with them, forced to watch himself so he didn't make everyone angrier. That treaty has to go forward." He paused. "I have to find him. That's why I came to you. I don't know where he was at this point in my life, but I know he'll be close. I'm betting you know where he is."

Courtney swallowed hard. "Who?"

"My Warder," Max said firmly. "I need to find my Warder." He leaned forward intently.

"Where is Brivari?"







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







All the houses were dark on the tree-lined street not far from the main drag as Zan walked along, his boots sounding hollow on the sidewalk. He must have walked past this street a million times, never knowing who lived here, never realizing that someone who could have answered all their questions was only a stone's throw away. He reached the house, an old, unassuming structure, and mounted the porch steps. It was better to be here, in a place he'd never been before. Seeing Liz so young, so innocent, had been hard, but it had also been hard seeing the places where he'd grown up still whole and healthy. He'd never been to this house, so it held no place in his memory, pulled no heart strings. Here he could be cold.

Five minutes later, after determined bell-ringing and pounding, the door was opened by a balding, middle-aged man in none-too-good of a mood. "What is it?" he snapped angrily. "Do you know what time it is? Do you—"

He stopped, staring at the apparition on his porch, finally processing who he was looking at despite the absence of a light. He didn't need one; Covari could see in the dark. "What the hell?" he breathed.

"Hello, Brivari," Zan said.

His Warder stumbled backwards, flabbergasted. "Stop," Zan commanded. "Open the door. Let me in."

There came a long moment where his Warder struggled against the genetic demands he'd just unleashed, his face a mask of fury. Zan was sorry about that, but there was nothing for it. There was too much to do and too little time in which to do it. He'd explained himself twice tonight, and it was exhausting, not to mention time-consuming. He simply didn't have the bandwidth for another go-round.

The door opened, slowly, reluctantly, but opened. "Thank you," Zan said, stepping inside. "Close and lock the door. Join me in the kitchen. I'm starving." He headed inside, not bothering to wait.

God, but it was so much easier when they had to do what you told them to.






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



I'll post Chapter 50 on Sunday, May 22.

Hello to everyone reading!





CHAPTER FIFTY





November 14, 2000, 11:30 p.m.

Parker Residence







"You're home late," Nancy remarked.

Liz Parker stopped at the foot of the stairs, her eyes toward the top, which she'd been desperately hoping to reach without encountering so much as a single member of any species. "Uh...yeah. I was...studying."

"With a friend?"

"Right," Liz said faintly. "With a friend."

"You don't usually do that," Nancy said. "Is there a test coming up?"

And how, Liz thought soberly. "Yeah. A big test."

"In November? It's too early for mid-terms, and way too early for finals," Nancy said.

"It's...one of those college practice tests," Liz lied.

"Ah," Nancy said knowingly. "I see. The ones where they tell you your entire future depends on how well you do."

"Definitely one of those," Liz agreed.

"Well, don't you believe a word of it," Nancy advised. "No one's future hinges on a single test no matter what they say. It's all hype." She kissed her on the forehead. "Get to bed, or you'll be too tired to take any kind of test. G'night, sweetheart."

Liz climbed the stairs, her legs like lead. No one's future hinges on a single test. Very true, that—try everyone's future hinged on a single test, the test she was now failing as she hung by a thread, only inches away from falling apart. She'd just spent the last hour counseling Max's former wife on how to get him back, which included rifling through said former wife's closet looking for the shirt with the down-to-there neckline which her former husband was convinced his younger self would notice. So Max had been eyeballing that shirt? While he'd been tossing up paper airplanes and roses, he'd also been checking out Tess's assets? As if it wasn't bad enough to have what she wanted most dropped in her lap and ripped away within the space of a few hours, even the image of Max singing in the street was now marred by that shirt. She should have been able to have that, if nothing else.

Her hand was on the doorknob before she remembered that her room wasn't her room any more. He was probably there, wanting a report as he ripped her dreams to shreds and added more details about their horrible future, made possible courtesy of yours truly. Because no matter what he said about the world falling apart due to the way he'd treated Tess, the fact remained that he'd treated Tess that way because he'd loved her. It was still her fault, even if it wasn't. She really wasn't in the mood for this, but lacking anywhere else to go, she opened the door.

He wasn't there. She checked the bedroom, the bathroom, the balcony, then sank down on the bed and let out a long, slow breath. She was alone. For the first time tonight, she had the luxury of time to process the current incredible thing she found herself in the middle of. Process? Liz thought bitterly. She didn't want to "process" anything. She wanted to curse. She wanted to scream. She wanted to…

A moment later, the mug was flying. It hit the opposite wall with a satisfying thunk, splintered in two, and fell to the floor, a worthy metaphor for her frustration and current predicament. She was fractured just like that mug, half of her believing Future Max's incredible tale, half of her not, half of her wanting to rectify the horrible outcome of their love, the other half not giving a damn. So far, the first half was winning. So far.

"Glad I'm not that mug," a voice remarked.

The voice was close and female, but it still took Liz a heart-stopping several seconds to locate its owner. "Maria? What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," Maria said.

"On the floor? You're practically behind the curtain."

"I'm hiding from your Mom," Maria said. "She came in with your laundry. I do my own laundry. Must be nice."

Liz glanced at the pile of neatly folded laundry on the bed, which hadn't even registered. "Yeah," she agreed. "Yeah, it is."

"So am I to assume you're having a shitty night too?" Maria said, hauling herself off the floor and plopping on the bed beside her. "Madame Vivian was a bust for me, but what's your problem? 'He chooses love. He chooses you. You will not be left wanting'."

Liz raised an eyebrow. "You were eavesdropping?"

"No, we were eavesdropping," Maria said. "Alex was told he'd never get laid, and I was told I had 48 hours, tops. Naturally we wanted to know what you heard, and all those gauzy drapes don't exactly make good sound dampeners."

"Alex was told that he and Isabel wouldn't...get together," Liz corrected, "not that he'd never get together with anyone. And what happened with you? It's nowhere near 48 hours."

"Turns out that was optimistic," Maria sighed, producing a photograph with Michael's face circled. "This is what I found in Courtney's locker, after Michael said he was suspicious of her and I decided to do a little investigating."

"No way," Liz said faintly.

"Way. And when I went to confront her with the incriminating evidence...well, I don't want to talk about it. Of course Space Boy claims it was all just a misunderstanding, but I'm not buying that."

"Well, maybe it was," Liz said.

"It wasn't," Maria declared.

"But what if it was?"

"It wasn't! And I said I didn't want to talk about it."

"You're the one who's talking about it," Liz shrugged.

"No, I'm not! I'm just...look, can't you just take my word for it?" Maria said in exasperation. "This is the part where you say, 'That's horrible, Maria! How could he?' "

"That's horrible, Maria, how could he?" Liz intoned.

"A little feeling, please?" Maria demanded.

"That's kinda hard when I don't even know what he did," Liz said. "I just think you should give him a chance to explain."

"Well, thank you very much, Dear Abbey," Maria said tartly. "So what's got you hurling crockery? Your true love was serenading you from the street tonight. How does it get better than that?"

Liz had no sooner opened her mouth to answer when she felt the weight of the future crashing down on her all over again. She couldn't say anything. She couldn't talk to anyone about this, not Maria, not Alex, and certainly not Max. The only one she could talk to was Future Max, who wasn't likely to be sympathetic to her point of view. This officially sucked.

"Maria," Liz said suddenly, "what if you were to find out that loving Michael meant something bad would happen?"

"Something bad just did," Maria said darkly.

"No, I mean really bad," Liz said. "Really, really bad."

"So we're playing the 'what if?' game," Maria said. "Don't worry," she added, holding up a hand before Liz could answer. "I get it. I see where you're going with this. I see way more than you think I do."

"I...you do?" Liz said, startled. Had Maria already seen Future Max? Maybe the cat was out of the bag, and she did have someone to talk to, which would be perfectly all right with her…

"Of course I do," Maria said, taking her hand. "I know you. You were worried Max would choose Tess over you, but now that you know he doesn't, you're worried that's not the right thing for him, that something bad will happen because of it."

"And what if something does?" Liz said.

"There's no way to know that," Maria answered. "We can't know the future. All we can do is follow our hearts in the here and now, and what happens, happens."

Liz faced her, taking both hands. "But what if we could know? What if there was a way to know that loving them, Max or Michael, would have really bad consequences?"

"Like what?" Maria said. "We give birth to something with six eyes?"

"Like their planet invades ours," Liz said soberly.

"Invades?" Maria chuckled. "Someone's been watching too much late-night TV—"

"Pay attention," Liz said sternly. "What if you could know for sure that their planet invades ours because they fell in love with a human? What if loving them brings down two planets? Is it still worth it? Do we have the right to be that selfish? Do they? Do any of us?"

Maria stared at her for a moment in silence. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Dead serious," Liz whispered.

Maria nodded slowly. "Okay. Well...no, I don't think we have the right to do something we know will ruin two planets. But I also don't think we have a choice."

"What do you mean?"

"We love them, Liz," Maria said softly. "It's not something we can turn on and off like a light switch. We love them. We just do. We can't stop, even if we try."

"But we can decide not to act on it," Liz argued. "We can walk away. We can think of someone besides ourselves, and walk away."

Maria shook her head sadly. "Maybe you can," she said, slipping an arm around Liz. "Me...I guess I'm just not that noble."

And there's the problem, Liz thought miserably. Neither am I.






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






Proctor Residence







"Is it ready?" Dee called as the opening strains of The Tonight Show sounded. "The show is starting."

"Coming," Anthony answered, emerging from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn. "Salt, no butter."

"And here's your tea," Dee said, handing him a mug.

"Tea and popcorn," Anthony mused. "That's a combination I bet we didn't see coming when we grew up."

"You know we can't drink soda this late at night or we'll gas up like balloons," Dee reminded him.

For the next several minutes, there was no sound in their living room except the crunch of popcorn and laughter, both theirs and that of the studio audience listening to Jay Leno's monologue. It was silly, really, how much pleasure she took from this little ritual, but she loved this part of the day. Sometimes they splurged on cookies, and sometimes they watched a movie or a TV show instead of Jay, but they always came together for snacking and stories at the end of the day. Most of the various crises and problems which had arisen throughout their lives had not done so at this hour, so this was pretty much sacrosanct. It was said that simple things amused the simple-minded, but sometimes it was handy to be simple-minded. One stood a much greater chance of being happy when one was easily amused.

Dee's cellphone rang. "Wrong number?" she asked hopefully when Anthony checked the display.

"Nope. Diane."

"Diane? At this hour? Ignore it. She'll think we've gone to bed."

But the phone rang twice more in the next minute. "Hello, Diane," Anthony said when they hit a commercial. "Can Dee call you back? She's...what? Who?" Ads blared from the television as he listened for moment in silence. "Okay. Okay, I'll...I'll get her. Hold...hold on."

Anthony hit the mute button as Dee rolled her eyes. "She's really worked up," he reported.

"What's new?" Dee sighed. "And what is it this time?"

"Jeff Parker called her. Something about Max singing in the street?"

"That's a new one," Dee admitted, taking the phone. "Diane? What's up?"

A torrent of frustration followed, an unlikely tale of girlfriend's fathers, lovesick sons, and Mariachi bands. "Pop a tape in, would you?" Dee whispered to Anthony when Leno came back on. "At least I can watch it later."

"That bad?" Anthony murmured.

"Worse. I'm sorry, Diane, but I don't see the problem," Dee announced when she could get a word in edgewise.

"What do you mean, you don't see the problem?" Diane huffed. "Jeff called me! At this hour! That's a problem!"

"I get that he's worried about it being a school night, but that's all I get," Dee said. "Most parents of kids this age are worried about them boinking in the back seat. You've got one serenading a girl, and you're carrying on like he got her pregnant."

"Honestly, you're as bad as Philip!" Diane admonished. "He said the same thing."

"Actually, I think it's Philip who's as bad as me, but whatever. Max's methods may have the grown-ups cringing, but most teenaged girls would kill for romantic gestures like that. Perhaps he could do his courting at earlier hours? Or only on weekends?"

"I don't think it's that simple," Diane complained. "Max has been doing things like this for the past two weeks. I think Jeff is creeped out about it."

"More popcorn?" Anthony whispered.

"You've eaten it already?" Dee said in astonishment.

"You're talking," Anthony reminded her. "Not eating."

"Mom, are you listening?" Diane said petulantly.

"Yes, more popcorn," Dee told Anthony, "and yes I'm here, Diane, and of course Jeff is creeped out. All fathers are creeped out when their daughters attract boys. Which isn't fair, when you think about it, because mothers aren't similarly creeped out when their sons attract girls."

"Well, thank you for that fascinating bit of social commentary," Diane said tartly.

"You're welcome. Tell Jeff that at least Max is doing his courting in public where he can watch. Most kids don't. He should count his blessings."

"Somehow I don't think that's what he wanted to hear from me," Diane said sourly.

"No, of course not. What he wanted to hear was that you'd truss up your son and never let him near his daughter again, but that's not how it works."

The doorbell rang. "Good gracious, is this a bus station?" Dee muttered. Anthony was in the kitchen, so she answered the door, opening it just as Diane launched into another stream of worry.

"Hang up," ordered a very tense-looking Courtney as she pushed past her into the living room.

Dee gaped at her a moment before recovering. "Uh...tell Max to record his love songs and send her the tape," she advised. "We'll have to continue this later. I'll call you tomorrow." She rung off with Diane still talking and turned to her latest unwelcome visitor. "May I assume this is about Max?"

"Of course it's about...wait," Courtney said. "You know? How do you know? Did he come here?"

"No, but he didn't have to," Dee said, resuming her seat on the couch. "He's got a mother who worries when he burps."

"That explains it," Courtney said. "She was bound to notice a few things. It was kinda hard to miss."

"So I gather. Come sit down," Dee said. "Why are you pacing? Don't tell me you're all wound up about this too."

" 'All wound up'?" Courtney said in astonishment. "Of course I'm 'all wound up'! You mean you're not?"

"Of course not," Dee said, praying for patience as she double-checked the VCR to make certain it was recording the show she was missing. "We have years before this could be a problem."

"Yeah, fourteen to be precise," Courtney said impatiently. "How could you not see this as a problem?"

"I just think we're jumping the gun," Dee said. "When the time comes, they may no longer be a couple. I know you have strong feelings about this since the treaty, but I really don't think a single serenade is going to bring the planet down."

""It may all be part of...wait," Courtney said suddenly. "What do you think we're talking about?"

"The same thing Diane and I were just talking about," Dee said, "Max singing to Liz in the street. Jeff Parker called her because he's less than pleased with Max's public courting methods."

"Yeah, he would be, and yeah, that was cringe-worthy, but that's not what I'm talking about," Courtney said.

"Then what are you all upset about?" Dee demanded. "If it's got you this worked up, it must be something big. Has Brivari been bugging you?"

"Not Brivari," Courtney said.

"Is Nicholas here?"

"That I could handle."

"Well, what then?" Dee said in exasperation. "Did Vanessa come back from the dead? Did Larak kiss you off? Did—"

"Worse," Courtney declared. "Way worse."

"Then spit it out!" Dee exclaimed. "Or let me watch my show in peace!"

"Shows? There won't be any shows to watch unless we fix this!" Courtney retorted. "No shows, no stupid Mariachi bands, no civilization as we know it!"

"So now you're predicting the end of the world?" Dee said.

"Not me," Courtney said. "Zan."

"Oh, now it's Max predicting the end of the world. Then why was he just out serenading Liz? A bit odd for someone who thinks the world is ending, don't you think?"

"Not our Zan, the other…" Courtney stopped, sank into a chair, and looped her hands around her knees. "I don't believe this. This night was going so well. I got Rath to come home with me, and we...we almost… And then Maria shows up, Rath leaves, I'm standing there wearing nothing but a towel, and Zan shows up. And then…"

"And then?" Dee prompted.

"And then it got complicated," Courtney said. "You're going to find this hard to believe. I know I did."

"Harder than usual?" Dee chuckled.

"A lot harder," Courtney whispered.

Dee felt a flicker of unease as Courtney rocked back and forth in a semi-fetal position. That had been meant as a joke—so much of what they'd been through was hard to believe. If Courtney truly felt this was worse...well, what could be that much worse?

The kitchen door swung open. "Popcorn!" Anthony announced. "Oh...hello, Courtney. Have some popcorn?"

"I think you should start at the beginning," Dee advised, "and don't leave anything out."

"I think she should have some popcorn and some tea," Anthony countered. "Looks like she needs it."

"You know, that's a great idea," Courtney announced, plopping herself down between them. "And turn up the TV. Leno is hilarious."

"What about the end of the world?" Dee said.

"It can wait," Courtney said, digging into the bowl. "No butter?"

"Dee hates butter," Anthony noted.

"My hands get all greasy. Shouldn't we at least warn Brivari that you're making apocalyptic predictions?" Dee said.

Courtney checked her watch. "I'm guessing he already knows."






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






Langley Residence







Over the years, Brivari's fondest wish had been that his Ward would regain his memories. Ostensibly that involved Zan becoming himself again, followed by a triumphant return home and his reinstallation on the throne, but that wasn't the whole story. The part between, the messy bit between remembering and actually going home, was a dark, hazy space his imagination had dared not touch. The business of coming face to face again, with the inevitable recriminations for the part each of them had played in the fall of Antar and the crimes Zan and his father had committed against Covari, plus the question of how they would treat each other in this new life, of how Zan would use the incredible power he possessed in his new incarnation, all cast a pall over the usually happy process of wishing. Best to keep one's wishes cheerful and dwell only on the good bits, especially since fulfillment of those wishes would be a long time coming, assuming it ever came at all.

Except now it had. Flabbergasted, Brivari walked slowly into the kitchen where his Ward was raiding the fridge. That it was his Ward was not in doubt; the pull of his genetic programming was unmistakable. No one else could have forced him to allow entry, to step aside when he didn't want to, to walk into the kitchen even though every part of him was screaming don't! His feet moved of their own accord. There was no stopping them.

"So this is where you were hiding," Zan said, piling bread, lunch meat, cheese, and milk on the kitchen table. "Figured you must have been close. Got any Tabasco?"

Brivari hesitated for so long that Zan, busy assembling sandwiches, finally looked up.

"No."

"Oh, that's right—you can't taste, and now I can taste too much. We were always a study in contrasts, you and I." Zan slapped the top piece of bread on a sandwich, sank into a chair, and took a bite. "What?" he said through a mouthful when Brivari just stared at him. "I'm starving; I haven't had anything to eat in a couple of days."

"A couple of days?" Brivari said. "Did your mom forget to go grocery shopping?"

Zan looked blank for a moment, then gestured to a chair. "Something like that. Have a seat. We'll talk in a minute."

It was not an order. Brivari sank into the indicated chair anyway and studied the man across from him, currently wolfing his food as though he had indeed not eaten for days. For "man" was an accurate term; this was no boy, the neat, suburban teenager having been replaced by the larger, more mature frame of a human male in his late twenties or early thirties with questionable hygiene. The long hair and dirty clothes were mere icing on the cake, but the physique was troubling. He was hardly a stranger to changing one's appearance, but why would Zan bother? Emergent hybrids were noted for exhibiting a certain level of confusion, but Zan's emergence had been complicated, occurring before he had fully matured. Regaining his memories may have completed that maturity, so perhaps the typical confusion was occurring now? Was he trying to make himself look older because he knew he should be older?

"What happened to you?" Brivari said.

"Long story," Zan said with his mouth full.

"I'm listening."

"I'm eating."

"And I'm waiting. I've been waiting for 50 years."

"Then another few minutes won't kill you," Zan said.

"Forgive me if I object to waiting one minute longer than I have to," Brivari persisted. "I'm not even sure who you are."

Zan fixed him with a steady stare. "Yes, you are."

Startled, Brivari looked into a pair of eyes which were simultaneously cold and world weary. Outward appearance was changeable, but that didn't change what was inside, and what was inside this one was born of experience. Is this what memory did to you? Did suddenly remembering the loss of your throne, your wife, your very life, confer enough weight to produce the hard pair of eyes which looked at him now?

"No, I'm not," Brivari answered. "My king never issued an order I couldn't refuse. At least not to me."

Zan held his gaze for a moment longer before dropping his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "It's just that I've been over it twice tonight, and it's so hard...no one believes me. Understandably, but still…"

Brivari blinked, unsure as to what was more surprising—the speed with which the apology had been issued, or the fact that an apology had been issued at all. Apparently Zan was the only one who had remembered. But all the hybrids knew the basics, so why wouldn't they believe him?

"So...are you Zan?"

Zan grabbed the mustard bottle, opened his second sandwich, and coated the contents. "No. I'm Max."

"You don't remember? But you knew my name."

Zan paused, his hunger at least partially sated as the second sandwich sat on his plate. "I remember...pieces. Fragments. I know I used to be Zan. I know you and I didn't always see eye to eye. It's like...like watching one of those home movies of yourself as a child. You know it's you, but you don't recall the details."

"So if you know you were Zan, then you are Zan," Brivari said. "You must be."

"No," Zan said firmly. "Now I'm Max Evans. I'm different because a lot has happened since then. I do remember parts of it, but that doesn't make me him. Just like you remember being a child, but that doesn't mean you are one now."

"What about when you were an adult?" Brivari said. "Do you remember how you—"

"No," Zan said quickly, before he had a chance to finish that sentence. "No, I don't."

Brivari frowned as he tucked into his second sandwich. "You don't remember the last thing that happened to you? I would think that would be the first thing to come back, your very last memory."

"Serena thought just the opposite," Zan said. "She said I didn't remember because it didn't really have time to take hold."

"Serena? Who's Serena?"

Zan looked startled, as though he'd said something he shouldn't. "A friend."

"I know all your friends," Brivari said. "I know each and every human who knows who and what you are, and not one of them is named 'Serena'."

"It doesn't matter," Zan said.

Not again, Brivari thought wearily. Zan may not remember, but this was well trod ground, with his Ward saying something wasn't important when his Warder knew otherwise. "Of course it matters," Brivari protested. "I wouldn't bother pressing the point if it didn't matter."

"We'll talk when I'm done eating," Zan insisted.

"We'll talk now," Brivari said flatly. "You referenced people who 'didn't believe you', and now you're discussing your murder with someone I don't know. Who else have you been blabbing to?"

Zan's eyes flashed. "I'll talk to whomever I like."

"I think you remember more than you're giving yourself credit for," Brivari retorted. "You're acting just like you used to."

"And you're not?" Zan demanded. "This is just like you, latching on to some little detail and refusing to let go of it."

"I'm your Warder!" Brivari exclaimed. "I have to know these things because it's my job to keep you safe!"

"Then how did I wind up dead?" Zan snapped.

Ward and Warder stared each other down as the question—or rather, accusation—reverberated like a thunderclap. "Impressive," Brivari said furiously. "That didn't take long. But if you think you're going to lay the blame for your fall at my feet, think again. The line of people responsible for that stretches around the goddamned galaxy—"

"I'm talking about the treaty," Zan interrupted. "Why didn't you back it?"

"What treaty?" Brivari demanded. "You think you lost your throne over a treaty?"

"What treaty?" Zan said angrily. "You know perfectly well what treaty! The treaty Nasedo died for! The treaty you refused to support! The treaty that let everyone see past Khivar! That treaty!"

Brivari gaped at him, stunned. "That's no memory," he said sharply. "That's recent. Someone told you that. Who told you that? Someone told you where to find me, so that someone must have also told you about the treaty," he went on, anger rising in him like a wave. "How dare they? What kind of idiot drops that kind of information on the equivalent of a toddler? Was it your grandmother? Did she do this?"

"My grandmother?" Zan said, looking genuinely puzzled. "What does she have to do with this?"

"Courtney, then," Brivari said bitterly. "Trying to get a pardon, trying to literally save her own skin. Just wait until I get my hands on—"

"No need," Zan interrupted. "You told me."

"I told you?" Brivari repeated in astonishment. "I think I'd remember that conversation."

"Not if we haven't had it yet," Zan said.

A prickle of fear crept up Brivari's spine. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Zan tossed his balled up napkin on the table, having managed to finish his snack mid-argument. "Aren't you just a tiny bit curious, Brivari? Here you are, refusing to see the forest because you're all wrapped up in the trees. You must have noticed that I've changed from the last time you saw me. I'm older, bigger, smarter—"

"That remains to be seen," Brivari muttered.

"—and you haven't wondered why? I'll tell you why—I'm not the Max Evans you know. I'm from the future."

"The 'future'," Brivari repeated.

"Yes. Fourteen years in the future, to be exact."

Good Lord, Brivari thought heavily. Confusion was common when hybrids regained their memories, but this…this wasn't confusion, it was delusion. "I saw you earlier today," he said, working hard to keep the irritation out of his tone, "and you were...as I know you. So obviously your memories returned in just the last few hours, and when that happens, there can be a period of confusion, when you don't know exactly who you are and where you are—"

"I'm not confused," Zan broke in. "I know who I am and where I am...and where I came from. I came from 2014, when Earth is overrun by a joint army from the five planets."

"A 'joint' army?" Brivari said incredulously. "Now I know you're confused. The five planets couldn't manage a gang toidy, never mind a gang war."

"Not now," Zan agreed. "But that will change, and we're both to blame for that."

"But—"

"No 'buts'," Zan said firmly. "Michael's dead. Isabel's dead. My parents are dead, my grandparents are dead. We're losing, Brivari. Losing. I came back to fix that. You're part of the way I fix that." He paused as Brivari stared at him in disbelief. "I don't expect you to just believe me. Why would you? It's an incredible story. So this is what's going to happen. I'm going to wait here while you find my younger self. I've already lived this, so I know exactly where I'll be—in my room, on the computer, hunting for tickets to a concert. Go to my house, and you'll see that I'm telling the truth."

"What good will that do?" Brivari said. "You can alter your appearance. If you really expect me to believe there are two of you, I need to see you together."

"No, you don't," Zan said. "Someone told me there's a way for you to tell if there's two of us. They said to remind you of that."

Brivari went cold. There was a way to tell, but the list of people who knew how was so short, it didn't even qualify as a list. "Who?" he demanded. "Who told you that?"

Zan paused before leaning forward, his eyes boring into his Warder. "You did. Right before you died."




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




I'll post Chapter 51 on Sunday, June 12.

Hello to everyone reading!





CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE




November 14, 2000, 11:55 p.m.

Evans Residence





Max glanced at his watch as he flew out of the jeep and up the front steps: 11:55 p.m. He was not only home on time, he was home with five minutes to spare. Chalk it up as one more thing which had gone right on this wonderful day. Any time he proclaimed his love for Liz was a wonderful day, or afternoon, or evening, but tonight had been special. Watching her on her balcony as he sang to her, he was convinced the ice was melting. His determination to make it clear how much he loved her, to refuse to back down, was paying off. At first awkward and uncertain about his overtures, tonight she'd actually smiled, and when she had, the sun had come out even though it was nighttime. It just didn't get any better than this.

"Jeff Parker called," his mother announced when he stepped inside the house.

Okay, maybe a little better, Max amended. He hadn't counted on Liz's father showing up mid-song, but it was hard to be upset with him. After all, it was a school night, and he had been coming to her window over and over these past couple of weeks. Besides, if he ever had a daughter who was anything like Liz, he'd lock her up and throw away the key. One had to feel for Mr. Parker.

"You're up late," Max said.

"Don't change the subject," Diane said crossly. "Did you hear what I said?"

"You said Mr. Parker called," Max answered. "What did he want?"

"I think you know what he wanted," Diane said. "He wants you to stop serenading his daughter on school nights. Or sending dozens of paper airplanes up to her balcony, or any of the other stunts you've pulled."

" 'Stunts'?" Max said. "I...thought it was romantic."

Diane's expression softened. "Oh, honey, it is romantic, but don't you think you're overdoing it just a bit? I mean, a Mariachi band? Really?"

Max shrugged. "It got her attention."

"I'm sure it did," Diane said wearily, "along with her father's. Could you cut it back to every other week and only on weekends?"

"But I don't love Liz every other week and only on weekends," Max said. "I love her every minute of every day."

His mother made a sound which sounded suspiciously like a snort of frustration, then stared at him in dismay. "Oh, God, you...you're serious, aren't you? Oh, Max, I'm sorry, I...I just forgot how intense young love could be. And if I've forgotten, it's a good bet Jeff Parker's forgotten too."

"That's sad," Max said. "I don't ever want to forget what this feels like."

Now thoroughly melted, Diane held a hand to his cheek. "I hope you don't, sweetheart. But some people do, and from their perspective, what you're doing looks...alarming. Could you tone it down, at least for a little while? Or at least save your romantic gestures for times when only Liz will see them?"

"I'll work on it," Max promised.

"Thank you," Diane said. "Oh, and Max? Try to be home earlier next time."

"I was on time," Max said reproachfully. "It wasn't midnight when I came in."

"No, it was four minutes till."

"Five," Max corrected.

"My watch said four," Diane noted.

"The kitchen clock says five, and what difference does it make? Both are before midnight. You said you wanted me home by midnight, and I was home by midnight. If you wanted me home earlier, you should have said so."

"Oh, good grief," Diane sighed. "You're the son of one lawyer and the grandson of another. Just try not to cut it so close next time, okay?" She stretched up to kiss him on the cheek without waiting for an answer. " 'Night, sweetheart."

" 'Night, Mom," Max said, privately wondering which part of him made him fuss over details like that, the my-father-and-grandmother-are-lawyers part or the I-was-a-king part. Probably both, he decided as he headed down the hallway to his room, wondering how he was going to replace his visits to Liz's balcony now that the pattern had been set. It was just so convenient to come to her there, close, but not too close, and so...poetic. So perfect. So Romeo and Juliet. Perhaps he could keep the location the same, but change the time. Perhaps Papa Parker would be mollified by afternoon serenades or early morning paper airplanes. Heck, he might not even notice at those hours, and so much the better.

"Well, look who's back," Isabel said, appearing only moments after he'd entered his bedroom. "The Frito Bandito, in the flesh."

"Very funny," Max said.

"Is it absolutely necessary that you make a total fool out of yourself in public?" Isabel asked, flopping on his bed.

"Yes," Max answered. "It is."

"Okay, then, is it absolutely necessary that you make a fool out of yourself with a song that includes the magnificent lyrics, 'Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay'?"

"Someone was listening carefully," Max smiled.

"No, Max, I didn't need to listen carefully," Isabel said tartly. "I didn't need to listen at all because, you see, lots of people saw you, and lots of people heard you, and lots of people called me wondering what I thought of my brother's antics."

" 'Lots'? Define 'lots'."

"Too many," Isabel said sourly.

"Numbers, please," Max insisted.

"Okay, three. But that was three too many!" Isabel exclaimed as Max shook his head. "If you're determined to make a fool out of yourself, can you at least not make a fool out of me?"

"This has nothing to do with you," Max said, "or your nosy friends. This is about me and Liz."

" 'Nosy'?" Isabel said skeptically. "Not sure if 'nosy' is the right word when you're singing in the street, but whatever. And if it's all about you and Liz, then keep it between you and Liz, not you, Liz, and the rest of Roswell."

"I don't care who hears me," Max said.

"Yeah, I noticed," Isabel sighed.

"I love Liz," Max declared, "and I don't care if the whole planet hears me, this one or any other. That's what the song was about. If anyone who was so busy listening had bothered to look it up, they'd see that it says things like, 'In your eyes, I lost myself'—"

"Stop!" Isabel commanded. "I do not want the details of your drippy love song! I just want you to find some other, more private way of slobbering over Liz Parker."

"Like what?"

"I don't know!" Isabel said in exasperation. "Teddy bears? Candy? Love notes in her locker? Make out at the movies, like, you know, way in the back corner where you won't make anyone hurl? Take her to a concert, where it's so loud that you can proclaim your love for her without bothering anyone else? Just anything where I don't have to listen, or watch, or hear about other people listening and watching—"

"A concert," Max broke in. "A concert! Gomez is this weekend, isn't it?"

"So what? It's way too late to get tickets," Isabel said.

"No, no, there's this new website where people sell tickets they can't use," Max said, pulling out his keyboard. "It's called 'StubHub'. Alex was talking about it."

Isabel climbed off the bed and joined him at the computer. " 'Stub Hub'? Sounds fishy."

"Here it is," Max said, typing "Gomez" into the search box. "Look, someone's selling their tickets!"

"Looks fishy," Isabel commented.

"I could always go back to serenading," Max noted. "Maybe something in French this time? Everyone says it's the language of love."

"Looks great!" Isabel exclaimed. "I'm sure it's totally legit! Go for it!"

"I need $150 by tomorrow afternoon," Max said. "That'll be tight."

"I can lend you some money," Isabel said.

Max smiled faintly. "You'd do that for me?"

"To keep you from singing in public? You bet," Isabel said. "Heck, I'd—"

The rest of that sentence was cut off by the sound of breaking glass. "What was that?" Isabel said, going to the bedroom window and peering outside.

"Maybe someone's putting garbage out and broke a bottle," Max shrugged.

"It's not garbage night," Isabel said. "And...Max," she went on, her voice strained. "It looks like someone's got a baseball bat, and they're smashing headlights."

"No one does that in this neighborhood," Max said, his eyes still on the screen.

"I'm telling you, that's what I'm seeing, and...Max, he's heading for the jeep!"

The tickets forgotten, Max went to the window. At first he didn't see anything, but a moment later he spied a dark figure holding something long and slender approaching the driveway. Across the street, shards of glass glittered in the streetlight behind a neighbor's car.

"What are you doing?" Isabel demanded when he opened the window. "You're not going out there, are you?"

"I'm not going to stand here while someone hurts my jeep," Max protested. "Hey! Hey, you! What are you doing?"

The figure stopped, stared at him...then walked determinedly toward the jeep. "Max, don't," Isabel ordered. "You can knock him over from here. Just do something to scare him, and he'll go away."

Max sent a wave of power toward the rapidly advancing figure, knocking it to the ground, but it rose undeterred and resumed it's advance on the jeep, raising the bat as it neared. "No!" he shouted. "Stop!"

Whoever it was paused, the bat suspended in the air...then the bat came down, crashing the back tail light. "Stop!" Max roared, vaulting out of the window with his sister scrambling after him.

Crash! went the jeep's other tail light. "Hey!" Max thundered, racing after the rapidly departing figure. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Come back here!"

"Seriously?" Isabel said, panting up behind him. "You expect him to come back and give himself up? Forget it, Max. He's gone."

Max came to a stop at the base of the driveway before coming back to inspect the jeep. "Oh, man!" he groaned, the broken glass littering the driveway. "Who does this? Why would someone do this?"

"Max?" a voice called. "Isabel? Are you all right?"

"Here comes the cavalry," Isabel murmured as their parents joined them, bathrobed and bewildered as they stepped gingerly across the damp lawn.

"What's all the shouting?" Philip asked, stopping short when he saw the jeep. "Oh...oh, my."

"What happened?" Diane exclaimed. "Who did this?"

"Some guy with a bat," Max said, "who neglected to show his I.D."

"Vandals," Philip said in disgust. "We usually don't get those here, but I suppose there's a first time for everything. All right, everyone—back inside. We'll call the sheriff in the morning."

"The morning?" Diane said in astonishment. "Why not call him now? This is a crime, Philip! And what are you two doing out here? Why would you go after someone with a baseball bat? You could have been killed!"

"But they weren't," Philip said soothingly. "And I'm not going to bother the sheriff over some petty vandal at this hour, which will keep us all up for hours. I'll call first thing in the morning. Insurance will cover it. Let's go in."

Max and Isabel followed their bickering parents into the house. "Why isn't this bothering me the way it's bothering Mom?" Isabel whispered.

"Because we know there's worse out there than vandals," Max said. "Now, about that $150 for those tickets…"






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






Town and Country Grocery,

Roswell







His face obscured by the hooded jacket he wore, Zan paused at the edge of the parking lot, the Town and Country in the distance a twinkling jewel in the night, brightly lit and bustling with shoppers even at this late hour who had no idea what fate had in store for them, no idea that their civilized world would go up in smoke only a few years from now. Brivari's food supply left something to be desired for those who could taste, so he'd gone in search of better eats, or at least that's what he'd told himself as he'd walked the streets of a town he knew as a blast site. To be honest, he wanted to see the place again, to see it as it lived in his memory, the place where he'd grown up, fallen in love with his high school sweetheart, and made friends who had protected him until they no longer could. It was strange to walk these clean, orderly streets again, to see a sheriff's deputy he dimly remembered chastising a kid for being out so late on a school night, hardly a concern where he came from. It was a marvel to see so many people unhurried and unafraid, driving their cars, walking the streets, eating in restaurants. There were no restaurants in his world, or cars, or grocery stores, not in Roswell, not anywhere. Khivar had commandeered the food supply, and gasoline was a distant memory, as were all the things he'd taken for granted when he'd lived here, like never being hungry, civic order…and safety. It was funny how he'd always felt unsafe here as a kid. Compared to where he'd just come from, he'd never been more safe than when he'd lived here under the watchful eyes of Liz, their friends and the sheriff. It really was all in the perspective.

But nostalgia only went so far, and he'd headed to Walmart only to remember that in the year 2000, it wasn't yet a supercenter—no groceries. So he'd hoofed it here, to the Town and Country at the edge of town, only to hesitate at the edge of the parking lot. What if someone recognized him? Liz had. He'd scarfed a hoodie from a school kid's backpack, feeling only slightly guilty—after all, if he was successful, maybe that kid would get to live—and pulled it partway across his face. Hopefully no one would take him for a two-bit thug and call the sheriff because he really, really didn't want to explain things to Valenti tonight.

Carts rattled past as he approached the glass doors, and then…swoosh! He froze for an instant, having not remembered the automatic doors; electricity was hard to come by in his world, and certainly not used like this. Once inside, the lights seemed way too bright, the colors too vivid, and the smells...oh my God, was that a bakery? Hanging a right, he sped through the store easily, noting that most of the people here this late were either teenagers or young adults; parents, teachers, and senior citizens were probably tucked safely in bed. He'd blend in well with this crowd, and he eagerly followed that wonderful smell to what he would have used to consider a rather barren display of picked over, day-old, slightly stale donuts and bread. Now, however, it looked like a palace banquet, and he almost stuffed a donut in his mouth before he remembered to use the tissue paper to fill a box. Manners didn't count for much where he came from. Manners could get you killed. Cart, Zan thought spying more wonders ahead. The glory didn't stop with donuts.

Twenty minutes later, he pushed a cart laden with delicacies those in 2014 could only image. Ground beef to make hamburgers, ketchup and mustard to put on them, frozen french fries to serve with them. Fresh produce like lettuce, onions, apples, and bananas. Milk, orange juice, and coffee. All the boxed stuff his mother used to save time like Hamburger Helper, instant potatoes, gravy in a jar. Snacks—he'd clean forgotten what potato chips tasted like, or Cherry Coke—candy, and peanut butter and jelly, that staple of American kitchens. And…Tabasco, Zan thought wistfully, grabbing three large bottles. Hadn't had that in ages either. Dietary quirks didn't mean much when you didn't have much to eat to begin with. Rounding a corner with his bulging cart, he came to an abrupt halt.

" 'Scuse me," a voice mumbled behind him.

"Oh...sorry," Zan said, a lump in his throat as he pulled over to let the people behind him pass. He had reached the pet food aisle, crammed with food, toys, and other sundries for dogs, cats, birds, and small critters like gerbils and hamsters. His family had never had pets, but he and Liz had adopted a cat shortly after they'd married. It had made a perfect low maintenance pet for a university couple, which is what they'd been at the time. It had also made a perfect dinner years later when they were starving. Food shortages had meant that most pets of any size had wound up on dinner plates right along with the pet food meant for those pets, and they'd wanted their beloved cat to feed them, not someone else who grabbed her. Gone were the days when you could afford to feed another creature out of mere companionship, and he passed a hand over a bag of Friskies, recalling how much his cat had loved it. He'd eaten the rest of their stores after the cat was gone, but Liz wouldn't touch it.

"You got enough?" the man in a passing couple said. "I've only got a twenty."

Money, Zan thought, something else which had gone the way of the dodo; after governments collapsed, everyone was back to bartering. A quick trip to the office supplies produced a notepad which he easily turned into a wad of cash. Ten minutes later, with his groceries all bagged, he counted out bills for the cashier.

"Thanks," the cashier said, flipping levers in his tray to put the bills away, only to stop and stare at them.

"Something wrong?" Zan asked.

The cashier blinked, held the bills further away. "Maybe I'm going crazy, but I think...does that say '2014'? It's only 2000."

Oops. "Let me see," Zan said, taking the stack back. "Nope; it says '1994'. This one is '1972'. And this one—"

"Okay, so I am crazy," the cashier said, shaking his head. "Have a good one, man."

"You too," Zan said, trundling his cart out to the parking lot before realizing that he had no way to get all this stuff back to Brivari's house. Time to improvise. Again.







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






Proctor Residence







"Say something," Courtney commanded.

Across from her, Dee and Anthony merely looked at her, their expressions blank. "Say something!" Courtney exclaimed. "Stop looking at me like that!"

"Okay, well...that's certainly...different," Anthony allowed.

"Courtney, have you been drinking?" Dee said bluntly. "Or doing drugs?"

Courtney looked back and forth from one to the other in disbelief. "You think I'm crazy. That's it, isn't it? You think I'm crazy!"

"You must admit it's a crazy story," Dee said. "First it was luring Michael to your house, then trying to lure him into your bed, and now this. I'm completely justified in asking what you're smoking."

"I'm telling you, it happened!" Courtney exclaimed. "There was 'our' Max in that lame ass hat singing to Liz and tossing up roses—"

"That part's true," Anthony whispered to Dee.

"—and then there was this biker goth Max in Liz's room just a few minutes later, all muscles and long hair. He looked totally different!"

"And then that Max came to your house and said he was from...the future?" Anthony ventured.

"Yes!" Courtney said in exasperation. "And I didn't believe it at first either."

"Then you know how we feel," Dee noted.

Courtney sighed heavily and flopped back on the couch. The TV was dark, Jay Leno having ended and the popcorn consumed before she'd told her incredible story, which had been met with blank stares and silence. "Okay," she said, throwing up her hands. "Okay, I give up. I've told you; that's all I can do. Good night."

Before she could stand up, the front door flew open and a very agitated Brivari blew into the room. "Have you seen him?" he demanded.

Everyone looked at everyone else. "Y-yes," Courtney stammered, frozen to the couch.

Brivari came closer, a wild look in his eyes. "And did you tell him about the treaty?"

"No," Courtney said firmly. "He brought that up. I didn't say much of anything. I was too busy being flabbergasted."

"Wait," Dee commanded. "Brivari, are you saying you saw this...person? You saw this other version of Max?"

"You mean it's real?" Anthony said when Brivari nodded.

"Oh, him you believe," Courtney said sourly. "Thanks loads."

"At first, I thought he'd just remembered," Brivari said, walking rapidly back and forth like he wasn't physically capable of slowing down, much the way she had when that Other Max had been telling his incredible story. "I thought his memory had finally kicked in, and this was the latest version of the breakdown they had the last time that happened."

"How do we know that's not what's happening?" Dee asked.

"Because I went to the other one, our Zan," Brivari said, "and he was still here."

"You 'went' to him," Dee said. "So you didn't see the two of them together? How else can you tell if there are really two? It could be Max."

"It wasn't," Brivari insisted. "There are two."

"So you really think it's him?" Courtney said. "I wasn't sure."

"Then why did you tell him where to find me?" Brivari demanded.

"Because whatever it was that happened, something obviously had," Courtney said. "He knew things, things 'Max' doesn't know. He knew about you—he asked me where to find you."

"And you told him," Brivari said in disgust. "He forced his way into my house! He ordered me to let him in, and I had to!"

"I'm not responsible for the concessions you made when you served his father," Courtney retorted. "You agreed to the Royal Mark. You agreed to the power it gave the bearer over every Covari. And besides, the King wanted his Warder. Are you saying I should have denied him that?"

"Back up," Dee commanded. "This…'other' Max gave you an order? But I thought there couldn't be two people who had that 'mark'. I thought it transferred, or something like that."

"If the King were to die, it would transfer," Brivari agreed. "But this...I can safely say this is a circumstance the makers of the mark never considered."

"Yes, well, there do seem to be a plethora of those," Dee said dryly. "This is just the latest in a long line of 'things they never thought of'. But no one's dead here. How can there be two?"

"And if there are two, how you be sure which is which?" Courtney said.

"There was a fail-safe built in," Brivari said, "in case someone found a way to copy it. Not many knew about it: Me, Zan, probably Valeris. Certainly not Jaddo. When this new Zan told me that he knew I had a way to tell if there were actually two of him here, I thought maybe he'd remembered, but he said I told him about it...right before I died."

The room grew very quiet. Courtney held her peace, reasonably certain this was not the best time to mention that she had apparently survived in that alternate reality, while the rest of the Resistance—and the King's Warder—had not. "In any case," Brivari went on, "if there is a copy, the older mark would take precedence over the newer one. It has a...a time stamp, if you will."

"And this Zan from the future is older," Courtney said, "meaning his mark takes precedence."

"I had to test it," Brivari said. "So I went to Zan's house to see if I had to obey an order he gave me."

"How did you get him to give you an order?" Dee said.

"I smashed his jeep with a bat."

"You vandalized his car?" Dee said in astonishment.

"What's at stake here is a bit more important than a car," Brivari said crossly. "His resulting commands to stop were all I needed. They didn't take. He couldn't command me."

"Holy shit, it really is him," Courtney breathed.

"But...what does that mean?" Dee asked, bewildered.

"It means that 14 years from now, it all goes to hell," Courtney said faintly.

Brivari nodded heavily. "And 14 years from now, we're all dead."

There was another long pause before Dee stood up. "Let me talk to him. I'm his grandmother. I'll be able to weigh in on whether or not it's actually Max."

"I already told you it's him," Brivari said.

"I want to see for myself," Dee said stoutly.

"That's not a good idea," Brivari said.

"Why not?" Dee demanded.

"Yeah, why not?" Courtney added. "He must know his grandmother's in on the deal by 2014."

"He might even be glad to see her again," Anthony added.

"I mentioned you when I was asking who told him where to find me," Brivari said. "He looked genuinely bewildered as to why I had, and asked me what you had to do with any of it."

"Do you mean to to tell me that 14 years from now, I still haven't told my grandkids the truth?" Dee said in astonishment.

"Well...13, anyway," Courtney said.

"Yes, thank you, I can do the math," Dee said tartly. "And that doesn't make it better."

"Of course it doesn't," Courtney agreed quickly.

"No one else should go near him until we figure out exactly what he's after," Brivari insisted.

"I think we're a little late for that," Courtney remarked. "We're not the first people he visited."

"What does that mean?" Brivari demanded. "Who else has he talked to?"






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







November 15, 2000, 1 a.m.

Langley Residence






The hamburgers sizzled in the pan, and Zan's mouth watered so much, he was afraid he would drool. When had he last had fresh meat? Spoiled meat? Any meat? Too long ago, that's when, and the four fat burgers he'd made from a pound of ground beef would put only a dent in that deficit. The sound of grease sizzling was such music to his ears that he almost missed the sound of a Covari sidling up behind him.

"Did you find him?" Zan asked. "Or rather, did you find me?"

Brivari looked startled. "You heard me?"

Zan touched an ear. "Hybrid hearing. I was merely Antarian before. But if it's any consolation, you're still awfully quiet."

"It isn't," Brivari said. "What's all this?"

"That's what you said the last time," Zan noted. "And this is dinner."

"You already had dinner."

"No, I had a snack. There are no hamburgers where I come from. I went shopping."

"So I see," Brivari said, eyeing the bulging bags on the table and countertop. "And not just food shopping. There's a car in my driveway that's not mine."

"I needed a way to get all this home," Zan said. "I'll put it back."

"So you stole a car," Brivari said, his voice laced with a disapproval which was oh-so-familiar even though he didn't precisely remember it. "The King of Antar is a car thief."

"No, the King of Antar wants a hamburger," Zan said. "I said I'll put it back."

"That makes me feel so much better," Brivari deadpanned.

"Good," Zan said. "It should. Because when the owner gets it back, it will not only not be harmed, I'll fix that muffler that's falling off."

"And that makes it okay?"

"Would you knock it off with the preaching?" Zan said crossly. "I said I'll put it back."

"Theft for a hamburger," Brivari mused. "Seems a fair trade."

"It's not just a hamburger," Zan retorted. "It's freedom, and safety, and Fourth of July picnics, and...and lots of things I've lost. You wouldn't understand."

"Oh, wouldn't I?" Brivari said sharply. "I lost everything for you! I've been here for fifty years for you! I've—"

"Have you been starving?" Zan broke in. "Have you been sleeping in bombed out buildings? Have you been fighting every single day for the past year?"

"Do you really want to have this conversation?" Brivari demanded. "Are you really prepared to play topper with me? Me? Okay, fine, Mr. I've-Had-It-Worse-Than-You-Ever-Will," he went on as Zan eyed him stonily. "Just tell me this—if things are so bad in the future that you've gone on a pilgrimage to the past to mend the error of your ways, why the hell was your first stop Liz Parker?"




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




I will be busy for the next few weeks (my dance school's year is coming to an end), so I will be back with Chapter 52 on Sunday, July 3.

Hello to everyone reading!










CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO





November 15, 2000, 12:45 a.m.

Langley Residence






Grease spattered from the pan on the stove as Zan stared at Brivari in consternation. The feeling's mutual, Brivari thought grimly. Ever since Courtney told him that the first place she'd seen this version of Zan was in Liz Parker's bedroom, he'd been absolutely beside himself. So that's who he'd been talking about when he'd said that "no one believed him"; he'd been blabbing to the Parker girl. Some things never changed.

"I don't believe it," Zan said incredulously. "That's your first question? I've come all the way back from 2014, all the way back from a bombed out Earth, and the first question you ask me, the very first question, is about Liz. Seriously?"

"Look at it another way," Brivari said coldly. "You claim to have come all the way back from 2014, spouting lofty speeches about saving the planet, and the first thing you do, the very first thing, is visit Liz Parker. Seriously?"

"So what?" Zan demanded.

"So you stood in this kitchen and claimed that the world was falling apart because of me, because I didn't support that damned treaty!" Brivari exclaimed. "Forgive me if I find it galling that the first thing you do is blab to your high school girlfriend! I thought you were supposed to be 'older and smarter'. 'Older and smarter' my ass."

"She's not my girlfriend," Zan said flatly. "She's my wife."

Brivari stared at him, dumbfounded. "You...you married her?"

"Yes. I mean, I will. Two years from now. Or maybe not," Zan amended. "Actually, I won't. If I succeed."

"Gibberish," Brivari declared. "Talk sense. Start with Ava. What did your wife think of your choice of wife?"

"Tess wasn't my wife," Zan said impatiently.

"She sure as hell used to be," Brivari declared.

"I remember," Zan said crossly. "I mean, I don't actually remember, I just...I remember some of it. I remember knowing her, but...I don't feel that way about her. Not this time." He paused. "But I do remember how you felt about her. You didn't think she was good enough for me."

"She was common," Brivari said. "You were the heir to a throne, to a dynasty. You deserved better, but you married her anyway. And now history has repeated itself."

"In more ways than one," Zan said darkly. "You don't like anyone I marry, no matter where, no matter when."

"You still haven't told me what happened to Ava," Brivari retorted. "You said Rath and Vilandra were dead. Is Ava dead too?"

Zan was quiet for a moment, flipping his hamburgers in a silence which stretched long enough to become awkward. "I don't know," he said finally. "She left."

" 'Left'? Left where?"

"I don't know," Zan said in frustration. "She just...left. We were never able to find her, so I don't know what happened to her or why she left."

"I do," Brivari said. "She left because of Liz Parker."

"No, she left because of me," Zan said impatiently. "She left because of the way I treated her."

"Is that the line you used on the Parker girl?" Brivari demanded. "That she wasn't to blame, that it was all you? Did she buy it? Because that's the biggest load of garbage I've heard in a long time."

"Don't blame this on Liz," Zan protested. "She's the reason I'm here."

"You think?" Brivari snorted.

"No, I mean she and her friend Serena were the ones who figured out how to send me back. Liz insisted I come back."

"Yes, well, since the planet was burning, I think that falls under the heading of 'hindsight is always twenty-twenty'," Brivari said sarcastically. "Talk about a Monday morning quarterback. At least one of you figured out that you'd screwed up."

"It wasn't Liz's fault," Zan insisted.

"Like hell it wasn't!" Brivari snapped. "Whatever happened to her stepping aside so you could follow your destiny? That's where she is now, and I admired her for it. What the hell happened?"

"I happened," Zan said. "I wouldn't give up. I loved her, and despite what she claimed, she loved me."

"I thought this was just a youthful infatuation," Brivari said. "I thought you'd grow out of it. I should have known better."

"If it's any consolation, I paid for it," Zan said. "Without Tess, we weren't as strong as we should have been. We functioned better as a unit, and when the ships came, we tried to find her, but we couldn't. For all I know, she was killed in the first wave."

"Doubtful," Brivari said. "Ava has shown remarkable resilience in this lifetime; I'm willing to bet she would have outlived you all. More likely she just wasn't interested in helping you, and why should she be if you drove her off by marrying another?"

"Maybe that wouldn't have happened if I'd understood better what was at stake," Zan retorted. "I had no idea there was a treaty on the table, no idea what kind of hijinks were going on behind my back. Where were you, Brivari? We only ever saw Nasedo, yet you were here all along. Why were you hiding?"

"You really need to ask me that after what you did?" Brivari said in astonishment. "You forced your way into my house!"

"I told you I was sorry!" Zan said hotly. "I was tired, and frustrated, and—"

"Who gives a shit?" Brivari shouted. "You're missing the point! You never used that prerogative on me back home! It was supposed to be an emergency measure, and you understood that, or so I thought, but here...here you can command me, and believe me, you will. You just did, and you've done it before. You got him killed!"

Zan blinked. "Wait...I got who killed?"

"When you had your meeting at the Crashdown about what to do about Pierce's bones," Brivari said. "You told Nasedo, 'We're not killing anyone. That's an order.' "

Zan paled. "I...I did?"

"Yes, you did," Brivari said grimly. "And shortly afterward he was fighting for his life, but he couldn't kill his assailant. His king had given him an order."

Zan's features had turned positively white. "But...I was talking about killing someone to get Michael out of jail, not killing someone who was trying to kill you. That's entirely different."

"You didn't specify," Brivari said furiously. "It was a blanket announcement. I didn't think it would be a problem because he certainly could wound someone, but then I didn't think he'd be in the situation in which he found himself only a day later. By the time he faced his killer, he was in such a state that he might not have had the energy to deal with nuances like 'wounding'."

"I didn't know!" Zan said desperately. "I had no idea what I was saying could do to him! And...and whose fault is that?" he went on, shock turning to anger. "How was I supposed to know that unless you told me?"

"It wouldn't do much good if I did," Brivari retorted. "If I tell you, the you who's here now, you'll abuse the privilege; if I don't, things like this happen. This is why I stayed away, why I'm staying away, why I'll continue to stay away. Introduce us now, and I'll be dead long before 2014."

Zan sank slowly into a chair. "I killed him? I killed him," he said faintly. "I killed Jaddo—wait. Why did I call him that?"

"Because that's his name," Brivari said. "I'm going to bed. Help yourself to a bedroom upstairs. We'll sort this out in the morning, assuming I live that long. By the way, your hamburger's burning."

Zan's head swung toward the stove where his dinner was charring rapidly. "Oh," he said dully. "I'm not hungry any more."






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






6 p.m.

Crashdown Cafe







Settled at a table outside the Crashdown, Tess looked at her watch for the third time and went over her mental checklist for the fourth. Book? Check. Hair tumbling over shoulders? Check. Push-up bra? Check. Black shirt with plunging neckline? Check. Actually the top wasn't doing its best job of showcasing her assets, and she subtly shifted her bra to widen the neckline even more. Every little bit helped.

"Hoik'em up any more, and they'll be pointing at the ceiling," a bored voice noted. "Not a good look. You gonna order anything, or are you just gonna sit here?"

Okay, maybe not so subtle, Tess thought as the perennially grumpy Agnes loomed over her...again. "Thanks for the advice," she said with a perfectly straight face, reasonably certain that Agnes did little in the way of "hoiking". "I told you, I'm—"

"Waiting for someone," Agnes finished with a sniff, her eyes on Tess's cleavage. "What exactly are you planning to do with this 'someone'?"

"Why?" Tess said. "Are you jealous?"

"Of what?" Agnes demanded.

"Well, the way you're looking at my breasts, I just wondered if you were a closet lesbian," Tess said blandly.

Agnes blinked, her pencil poised over her pad. "I'll have a Cherry Coke," Tess said sweetly. "And…" she leaned forward and lowered her voice "...your secret is safe with me."

Agnes blinked again before retreating without another word, Tess smiling at her consternation. She'd been in a good mood all day, and nothing was going to change that, not even Agnes. Odd as it had been to have been visited by Max's girlfriend, or rather, ex-girlfriend, it had made her heart sing to hear that he liked this top; so he had been looking at her after all. Good to know. Skeptical as she'd been about Liz's motives, she'd made her peace with it. She'd spent the day watching Liz, and Liz was definitely not in a good place. She looked tense, haunted, even, going out of her way to avoid Max whether by averting her eyes or hurrying away at lunch. Something was eating that girl; maybe she'd been pushed over the edge by Max's recent overtures. Whatever the reason for her discomfort, if the outcome was that she was willing to help return her husband, Tess was okay with that. Maybe she'd been too hasty in her pursuit of a "plan B". Maybe she just hadn't been patient enough. Maybe…

A chair scraped across from her, and Tess's heart leaped, only to have it fall when she saw who it was. "Hey Tess. Was that Agnes I saw walking away like a storm cloud?"

"Alex," Tess said, hoping her disappointment wasn't evident in her voice. "I was just yanking Agnes's chain."

"Great fun, and so easy," Alex nodded. "Like taking candy from a baby."

"I know," Tess agreed. "So what brings you here?"

"I've just finished tutoring a freshman in French," Alex said. "I need some American food, stat."

"You tutor French? I didn't know you liked it so much."

"I don't," Alex admitted, "but it turns out I'm good at it."

"At French? I thought you were into computers?"

"Oh, I am," Alex said. "But a computer language is just another language, so it turns out I'm good at languages period. And the money's good, so there's that. Buys a lot of RAM! That's 'Random Access Memory'...computer stuff," he finished when she looked blank. "It buys computer stuff."

Agnes reappeared, gave Alex a long look, set a Cherry Coke on the table, and retreated. "Good grief," Tess giggled. "She didn't even take your order!"

"What was that all about?" Alex said.

"I told her I was waiting for someone, but I don't think she believed me," Tess said. "And then I...well, that's when I yanked…"

Tess stopped, her eyes over Alex's shoulder. He's here! she thought, her heart skipping a beat. She'd been afraid he wasn't coming.

"Ah," Alex said softly, having turned around. "So that's who you're waiting for. Not judging," he added quickly when her eyes snapped back to his. "Just leaving. I'm leaving. Good luck."

He slipped away, unseen by Max, who was still a ways down the street. Tucking her hair more firmly behind one ear, Tess buried her nose in To a God Unknown, a less well known offering from Steinbeck and one that she was finding it hard to get into. Of course, that could be because she was preoccupied…

"Tess?"

Tess looked up. "Oh. Hi, Max!"

"I'm here to meet Liz," Max said. "Have you seen her?"

"No, but she might be inside," Tess answered. "I've been lost in this book…" She turned it so he could see the cover, and his eyes lit up.

"You like Steinbeck?"

"I love Steinbeck," Tess said. "He's one of my favorites."

"Really?" Max smiled, sliding into the seat recently vacated by Alex. "I don't hear that from too many people."

"Steinbeck is all about human behavior," Tess said. "Nasedo wasn't exactly the best source of information about that."

"No, I imagine he wasn't, Max agreed. "I haven't read that one. Do you like it?"

"To be honest, I'm finding it hard to get into," Tess admitted. "It's a bit of downer."

"A lot of Steinbeck's are," Max agreed.

"And it doesn't help that I...read the last page," Tess finished in a whisper.

Max broke into a wide, absolutely endearing grin. "You do that too?"

"Every time I read a book," Tess confessed. "Usually it doesn't make any sense until I get close to the end, but this time, I'm afraid I ran into a spoiler."

"That happened to me once, too," Max said. "Didn't stop me from reading the last page, though."

"Me neither," Tess smiled.

"That is so cool that you like to read," Max said. "People look at you weird when you say you like to read."

"You mean teenagers?" Tess said. "I didn't spend a lot of time around classmates. Nasedo was always afraid I would give myself way, and reading was something safe to do. I was alone a lot, and books helped."

Max's eyes dropped. "You were alone here too."

Tess shrugged. "Yeah...well…"

She let that sentence hang unfinished as Max looked increasingly uncomfortable. "I know we haven't been very welcoming," Max said. "I'm sorry about that." He paused, waiting for a response that didn't come. "Listen, I...I realize none of this is your fault," Max went on. "You just sought me out because it was your destiny."

"Hey, I...I can only imagine if you thought you'd found the love of your life, and someone comes to tell you that you're meant to be with someone else," Tess said.

"Exactly," Max agreed.

"You know if things change, they change," Tess went on. "If they don't, it's okay, Max."

"I don't think things will change," Max said softly.

"I know," Tess said, "but...it takes two, and if Liz isn't interested…" She stopped, afraid she'd gone too far.

One look at Max told her she had gone too far. "What do you mean, 'if Liz isn't interested'?" he said suspiciously.

"No, I...I didn't mean—"

"You were talking to Liz about this?" Max demanded.

"Not exactly," Tess said uncomfortably.

Max's head swung around, scanning the street. And just then the blinds in Whitaker's office flicked, then danced as someone abruptly let go of them when they realized they were being watched. Max got up without another word and jogged across the street, disappearing into Whitaker's office and out of sight. Shit, Tess thought disconsolately. Why had she said that? Why had she even mentioned Liz's name? Things had been going so well! Shit, shit, shit!

"Ouch," a voice said behind her.

It was Alex, sporting a tall glass of something or other. "You saw that," Tess said glumly.

"I admit, I was peeping," Alex said, sliding into the chair Max had just vacated.

"You're Liz's friend," Tess said. "You must think I'm awful."

"No," Alex said, "no, I don't. Liz has made if pretty clear that she thinks she and Max are over, and…"

"And what?"

"Well...you may know how I feel about Isabel," Alex said.

"Alex, everyone knows how you feel about Isabel," Tess assured him.

Alex flushed. "Yeah..well...let's just say that if I knew Isabel used to be my wife, I'd move heaven and Earth to get her back."

Tess smiled faintly. "Thanks."

"No problem. Well, I'm off," Alex said. "This time I'm tutoring in Spanish."

"You know Spanish too?"

" 'Know' Spanish? Not exactly," Alex chuckled. "I know just enough to be dangerous, and more than enough to tutor. Doesn't mean I 'know' it."

"Like you said, a language is a language," Tess said. "And it pays the bills. All that 'ram', or whatever."

"Right," Alex said. "See ya. And...good luck."

Alex loped off just as Max emerged from Whitaker's office. He looked at her briefly, dropped his eyes, then hurried away down the other side of the street. He knows, Tess thought sadly. Max knew it had been a set-up. Why the hell had Liz been watching? Couldn't she have settled for a report later on this evening? It looked like she'd be needing that "plan B" after all, although her efforts so far had been somewhat less than successful…

Tess's gaze strayed down the street, where Alex's lanky frame was still visible in the distance. Every inquiry she'd made to experts in lost languages had ended in failure or cold feet, but maybe she was going about this the wrong way. Maybe she didn't need an expert in lost languages. Maybe someone who was merely good with languages would be good enough for what she needed.






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






"Here's your Pluto Pasta," Courtney said, handing a dish to a salivating customer, "your Saturn Salad, and your Tachyon Tea. Anything else?"

"Yeah," the guy answered, all heavy black glasses and bad teeth. "Can you make it so I'm really eating this on Saturn and Pluto?"

"I'm good, but I'm not that good," Courtney answered. "Plus it's tough to be on two planets at once—I should know. Enjoy."

Nerds, Courtney thought affectionately. God knows Roswell was full of them and officially hated them, but she thought they'd gotten a bad rap. Alien-loving nerds struck her as friendlier to real aliens than anyone else. She'd take a nerd over a Pierce any day, and gladly.

Mr. Parker appeared. "Courtney, have you seen Maria? Whoa," he went on before she could answer, looking over her shoulder. "Is that...is that Max?"

Shit! Courtney whipped around, barely breathing. "Uh...yeah," she said, trying not to collapse with relief when she spied Zan's younger self at a table outside. "Looks like."

"He's sitting with that new girl, Tess," Mr. Parker noted hopefully.

"Well, they're classmates," Courtney said. "I wouldn't read too much into it. Especially what you're reading into it right now."

Mr. Parker shook his head. "A father can dream, right?"

"About locking up his daughter and throwing away the key?" Courtney said. "I'd keep that as just a dream, or she may never speak to you again. And Maria's in the back. She's doing her best to avoid me because she's mad at me."

"Oh? Why?"

"Because we both like Michael Guerin," Courtney answered.

Mr. Parker grimaced. "Boys. Again. I'll stay out of it."

"Good plan," Courtney agreed. "Although I should note that, at some point in the past, you were a boy."

"Don't remind me," Mr. Parker muttered. "Let's just leave the past in the past, shall we?"

Love to, Courtney thought, but she didn't have that luxury, not when a future version of the King of Antar was here in Roswell telling tales of doom. She had not laid eyes on him since last night, a fact she'd reported to Dee each and every time Dee had called today to find out if he'd reappeared. She hadn't seen Brivari either, but that was just as well given how pissed he'd been when she'd told him she'd found Future Zan in Liz Parker's bedroom. She'd spent the day walking on eggs, which is why she'd clutched at Mr. Parker's surprise, but really, she was being silly; Future Zan knew better than to just plop down outside the Crashdown in full view of this younger world. The odds were good she'd never see him again anyway because now that she'd pointed him toward his Warder, what did he need her for? It sounded like he didn't need her to change anything, so hopefully she could watch this weird little drama from a distance and be done with it. After taking a couple more orders, she headed for the back in search of more napkins.

"Slut," Maria said under her breath as they passed each other.

"Takes one to know one," Courtney answered.

Maria whipped around. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"I think it was pretty self-explanatory," Courtney remarked.

"I am not a slut!" Maria hissed.

"We both want something and we're both going after it," Courtney said. "If that's what you call a 'slut', that applies to you too."

"I'm not going after another woman's man," Maria protested.

"Neither am I," Courtney said. "Michael's not married."

"Yet," Maria countered.

"I'm glad you agree he's fair game," Courtney said. "May the best woman win."

Feeling just the tiniest bit sorry for Maria, Courtney left her smoldering and went in search of her napkins. To say that things were frostier than usual after last night's shower interruptus was something of an understatement, but it was hard to care given the stakes, which had just risen exponentially. Now the specter of their world falling apart was no longer just a specter; this world, at least, had fallen apart, and it didn't take a rocket scientist of any species to figure out that Antar would be next. The conquest of Earth would have been just a stalling tactic, a way for Khivar to get his ducks, or rather, troops, in a row before he dealt the killing blow. A lovelorn human girlfriend didn't hold a candle to that.

The back door opened, and a tear-stained Liz Parker slipped inside. "Liz?" Courtney said. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, I...I was just…" Liz stopped, looking utterly forlorn.

"Hoping to get upstairs before anyone saw you?" Courtney suggested. "Go ahead. I never saw a thing."

"Thank you," Liz whispered.

Courtney shook her head as Liz literally fled. Poor kid; Future Zan had obviously done a number on her. Which meant he wanted her to do something to change the future, and she idly wondered what that was as she walked into the storeroom and snapped on the light.

"Holy shit, don't do that to me!" Courtney exclaimed, hastily locking the door behind her. "You scared the hell out of me!"

"Sorry," Future Zan said, perched atop a box at the very back of the storeroom. "Guess I needed to see a friendly face, and I couldn't exactly get a table. Though I'd love to," he added wistfully. "These were some of the best times of my life."

"So I take it the great Warder reunion was a bust?" Courtney said. "Just FYI, lurking in storerooms is a bad idea. What if someone sees you?"

"I was careful," Zan said. "You know, it's weird remembering how often we saw you, and yet we never knew. I remember asking Liz on the morning of Isabel's birthday party why you seemed to know so much about us when you didn't know us. But you knew everything about us."

" 'Everything'?" Courtney said. "Hardly. Aren't you supposed to be out saving the future, or something? Anything? Anything that would let me get back to work without having to worry about explaining some biker version of Max Evans to Mr. Parker, who was so very happy to see the younger you sitting with Ava?"

Zan winced. "Yeah, so was I. It was all going so well. Until it wasn't."

"Meaning?" Courtney asked warily.

"Meaning that we got him to sit down with her," Max said, "and then he—I—figured it out. And now we're worse off than ever because he's more determined than before, and believe me, I was pretty determined before."

" 'He figured it out…' Wait. Are you saying you deliberately tried to get Ava and…'you' together? Is that why you went to Liz? But why?" Courtney said when Zan nodded. "How did it happen in your world?"

"In my world, Tess left Roswell not long after Liz and I got married," Zan said.

Married? Oh," Courtney said quietly. "I see. But...what difference does it make? You said this was about Brivari not backing the treaty."

"It was...is...whatever," Zan amended. "But I don't know exactly when things went south. Maybe it's fixable, or maybe the damage has already been done. Maybe I can convince Brivari to change his mind, or maybe I can't. But if that future happens anyway, we have to be prepared for the invasion to follow, which means Tess needs to be in Roswell."

"She's one person," Courtney said. "What difference can one person make?"

"A lot, it turns out." Zan was quiet for a moment. "When the ships first arrived, Larak found me. He told me he'd convinced the leaders of our sister planets to assassinate Khivar here, while he was more vulnerable."

"That's freaking brilliant!" Courtney exclaimed. "He'd only have a fraction of his usual troops, and there'd be way more of us than him. But...that didn't happen," she went on when she saw the look on Zan's face. "It should have happened. Why didn't it happen?"

"There was a catch," Zan said. "Before they would join us against Khivar, the leaders wanted to meet the Royal Four. But we weren't the Royal Four; we were the Royal Three, and the king was married to a human."

"So the hell what?" Courtney exclaimed. "Did they really think life would be better under Khivar? Did they really think they had a choice? They had a golden opportunity! Why didn't they take it?"

"They got cold feet," Zan said. "Khivar had made them lots of promises. Larak couldn't change their minds."

"Seriously?" Courtney said incredulously. "That's because they…" She stopped, realizing her voice was rising. "That's because they were out of their minds!" she hissed. "They've spent the last several decades under Khivar, so if they haven't figured out by now that he's a big fat liar, they never will! Bullies don't suddenly stop bullying when they win battles, they just bully more! I don't care if you were married to Bozo the Clown or a German Shepherd; anything would have been a better gamble than staying with a known nutcase...why are you smiling?" Courtney demanded. "What's so funny?"

"You," Zan said, chuckling. "I've heard this speech before. You blew up just like this at the summit in New York City where we all met to try and hash this out."

"Oh," Courtney said, taken aback. "I did? Did it work? Must not have."

Zan shook his head. "No, it didn't. In the end, only the Resistance backed me. Even Larak walked away."

"Jesus," Courtney muttered.

"So that's why Tess has to be here. We all had different strengths, and we were always stronger as a group, but it turned out our greatest strength was just the sight of us all together, the story of the royal family reunited at last. I don't necessarily need Tess and me to be together, but I need to keep her in Roswell. The only way I know to do that is to stay unattached so she still has hope."

"You mean string her along," Courtney translated, grabbing a pack of napkins. "Good luck with that. I've got to get back. Maria's on the warpath more than ever after last night, so if I'm missing too long, she'll come looking, and find more than just me."

"Ah, yes," Zan said, "the great Michael fight. You know, he would have married you."

Courtney nearly dropped the napkins. "What?"

"Michael. He was going to marry you. That was the plan, wasn't it? You said Jaddo came up with it." He paused. "I remembered his name last night. It just popped into my head, out of nowhere."

"Are you...are you saying Michael and I were...together?"

"Where do you think you got that new husk?" Zan said. "You and Michael were good together. If he'd lived, I bet you would have been great together."

"But...he was supposed to marry Isabel," Courtney said carefully.

Zan shook his head. "Bad idea. You were his match. If we change things, maybe it'll work out this time."

"Maybe," Courtney agreed faintly. "Be careful when you leave."

"No worries," Zan said. "I learned to be a ghost a long time ago."

Courtney slipped out of the storeroom and closed the door behind her, her heart beating so hard, she completely missed Maria bearing down on her. "Where have you been?" Maria demanded. "You've got orders up, sweetheart, and I'm not delivering them!"

Courtney blinked. "What? Oh...sorry. I'll get them. Thanks for telling me."

She left Maria open-mouthed with shock and delivered three tables worth of food in a trance. Maria didn't matter any more. Brivari didn't matter any more. He would have married you. You were his match. However awful Zan's future was, she had not only survived, but she and Rath were together in that future, and the King approved. Now they just had to come up with a version of the future where they both lived.






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






Whitman Residence






Alex tossed his keys on his desk and sank into his chair with a heavy sigh. Thank God for computers; they were just machines with no emotion, no agendas. If they didn't work, it was either a mechanical problem or a software problem, not someone trying to screw you over, or telling you they loved you right before turning up at some other girl's house with the girl in a towel. He had half a mind to give Michael Guerin a serious piece of his mind, but given that he probably wouldn't survive the encounter, perhaps he'd best get his affairs in order first.

Click

Alex glanced at the window. It sounded like someone had chucked a stone at it, and he went to the window and opened it, leaning out over the lawn below.

"Alex!" a voice called. "Over here!"

"I'll get the front door," Alex said.

"No—out here. Can we talk?"

Great, Alex sighed. Another alien, although not the one he was mad at. He made his way downstairs, past the living room where his parents were watching some sitcom or other, and into the front yard.

"Hey, Tess," Alex said. "What's up?"


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


I'm off to the west coast to meet our son from New Zealand! He's meeting us halfway--well, less than halfway for us, more than halfway for him. I'll be back at the end of the month with Chapter 53 on Sunday, July 31.

Hello everyone! We're back from the west coast, and we had a wonderful time! Having a child live so far way can be tough, so it was great to see him again.





CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE







November 15, 2000, 9 p.m.

Whitman Residence








A breeze blew as Tess stood in Alex's front yard, lit only by a streetlight a couple of houses down and the soft glow coming from the windows of his house. "You know, you could have rung the doorbell," Alex said. "And we don't have to hang in the front yard. You can come inside the house."

A car went by behind them; Tess waited until it passed before speaking. "I'd rather not. This is kind of...sensitive."

"Ah," Alex said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "So it's about Max."

"What? No," Tess said quickly. "I need a favor. I need your language skills."

"You need a tutor?" Alex said. "That's why we're standing in the yard?"

"No, I don't need a tutor, and we're standing in the yard because this is what I need help with."

Alex's eyes widened when he saw what she had in her hand. "What...what is that?"

"It's from our home," Tess said. "Go ahead—take it. It won't bite."

Alex gingerly took the alien book from her as though afraid it might self-destruct, and for all they knew, it might. She was taking a risk nicking it from the pod chamber, but this was important enough to gamble the ire of the Others if they found it missing. "Wow," Alex said softly. "It looks heavy, but it isn't. What's it made of?"

"No idea," Tess said. "And we also have no idea what it says. That's where you come in."

"If all of you don't know what this says, how am I supposed to?"

"You're good with languages," Tess said. "That's a language. Maybe you could figure it out."

"Looks more like hieroglyphs," Alex said, leafing through it. "And...whoa. Is that...is that all of you?"

"As children," Tess nodded, "and then older."

Alex stared at the etched drawings in dismay. "So they knew exactly what you all would look like? That's creepy." He flipped a page. "But not as creepy as this," he added, coming upon the etchings of her and Isabel. "Is this...are you…"

"Pregnant," Tess confirmed, "or that's what it looks like."

"And Michael's with Isabel," Alex murmured. "Good luck with that. He just screwed Maria over with Courtney."

"What I need to know is if you can decode this," Tess said, not the least bit interested in the latest ill-conceived love affair with a human.

"You'd need a lot more than just me," Alex said. "This calls for some serious computing power. You'd need a super computer."

"Oh," Tess said, crestfallen. "Where do I get one of those?"

"Usually a university," Alex said. "I think Las Cruces would be the closest one."

"Is there any way to copy this?" Tess said. "I can't very well hand this book to just anybody."

"Good point," Alex said. "I'm not even sure if this is made of something found here on Earth. But I can scan it and print out a paper copy, or we can put the scans on a floppy disk so you can carry it around more easily."

"Can we do that now? Without your parents seeing it?"

Alex glanced back at his house. "Come with me, and be very quiet."

He led her around to a back door, where they slipped inside and tiptoed to the stairs. Laughter roared from a television, masking any noise they made, and they arrived at Alex's room with no one the wiser. "Let me pop this on the scanner," Alex said, "and then we're in business."

Tess meandered around the room while Alex got to work. It was a typical geek's room, all computer stuff and books, with one important exception: It was clean. Most guys didn't have such neat bedrooms.

"Sorry about the mess," Alex said, heedless of the irony. "I didn't know I was expecting company."

"Mess?" Tess said. "This is white glove clean compared to Kyle's room."

"Really?" Alex said. "Interesting. And so is this," he added as the pages of the book appeared on his computer screen. "You know, this is really fascinating. And you have no idea what it says?"

"Nope. None."

The printer whirred, spitting out printed pages. "Here's your paper copy," Alex said, "and here's a floppy disk with a computer file of the same images. Now you can put the book in a safe place and just walk around with the contents."

"But is it safe to walk around with the contents?" Tess said doubtfully. "I'm not sure it's safe to show this to anyone. They're going to want to know where it came from, and what would I tell them?"

"If you want it translated, you'll have to show it to someone," Alex said.

"That's why I wanted you," Tess said. "You're good with languages, and you already know about us. You're the perfect person to do it."

"Like I said, you need more than just me," Alex said. "You need a super computer and a whole lot of time, and I don't have either. This isn't going to be easy to figure out. Whoever does it will have to look for something familiar, like...like these symbols under your pictures. The odds are good that these are your names, your alien names. That would be a good place to start."

"I don't even know our alien names," Tess sighed, sinking onto the bed. "And even if I did, I'd have to tell someone way too much in order to translate this."

"Max must think it's worth the risk or he wouldn't have you doing it," Alex said.

Tess's eyes dropped. "Max does know about this, doesn't he?" Alex said.

"Uh...not really," Tess admitted. "It's a surprise," she said quickly. "A gift, sort of. It's something we all want, but we just don't know how, so I decided to see if I could do it. If I can pull it off, I'm hoping he might see me as more of a partner than…"

"An interloper?" Alex suggested.

"Yeah," Tess admitted. "That."

Alex was quiet for a moment. "It's a nice thought, but you're going to have to spill a lot of information to whoever cracks this, so I think all of you need to be in on it just in case, you know, it goes south. Like things tend to."

"You're right," Tess nodded. "Well...thanks for the copies. You've been very helpful. Oh, and...I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention this to Max. I'd like to tell him myself."

"Sure thing," Alex said. "No problem."

Five minutes later, Tess leafed through the paper copy of the book as she headed back to the pod chamber. Max might very well see her as a partner if she pulled this off, but she had another reason for doing this. Max may never come around, and if he didn't, she had some decisions to make. Decisions required information, and there was information in this book that was out of her reach, out of all their reach. She wanted to see it first so she could decide what to do if the rest of them decided to abandon their world and settle down with humans because there was no way she was going to do that.

"You need a super computer and a whole lot of time, and I don't have either."

Perhaps that's the place to start, Tess thought. She'd found the perfect person to translate this. Now she just had to find him the right tools.






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






Evans Residence






Trig, Isabel thought distastefully, bent over her math book. Ugh. It wasn't that it was hard; she could do it if she wanted to, but the point was she didn't want to. Math was boring, just strings of numbers, or letters standing in for numbers arranged in puzzles called word problems or equations or theorems, and the only reward for solving those puzzles was getting the right answer, at which point you were handed yet another puzzle. It was a never-ending chain of work which resulted in no practical gain, and she glanced hopefully at the clock, wondering if now was a good time to take a break. After all, she'd been at it for nearly ten solid minutes.

Her phone rang. "Hello?" she said hopefully.

"What is it with women?" Michael's voice demanded. "Why are they so suspicious? Why do they just assume that whatever you say is wrong? Why do they just assume you're lying to them?"

Crap, Isabel thought wearily. She'd been so grateful for the distraction that she'd neglected to check who was calling, and now she was saddled with the only thing more boring that math problems—Michael's love life. "Do I take this to mean that you and Maria have hit a rough patch? What'd you do now?"

"More like a 'Maria freak-out patch', but...wait. What'd I do? What makes you think I did something? Why couldn't it be Maria doing something?"

"Fine, what'd she do?"

"She poked her nose where it didn't belong," Michael said. "I was investigating Courtney, and then she starts investigating Courtney—"

" 'Investigating'?" Isabel said. "Why are you investigating Courtney? What'd she do?"

"Nothing, but that's not the point," Michael said.

"It isn't? Then what is?"

"Would you just stop talking?" Michael said crossly. "I was investigating Courtney, and then Maria started doing the same thing. She found a picture of you, me, and Max in her locker with my face circled."

"Of course she did," Isabel said. "Everyone knows Courtney has the hots for you."

"She does?"

"Everyone but you, apparently," Isabel amended.

"Okay, but why a picture of the three of us?" Michael said.

"Maybe because we're together a lot?" Isabel said. "I know this is backwards because I'm usually the paranoid one, but I just don't find that alarming. So she had a picture. So what? Get to the part where you—I mean Maria—did something."

"She brought it over to Courtney's house," Michael said. "And I was already there, and she got all pissed off about it."

"Who? Maria or Courtney?"

"Maria," Michael said. "Courtney was in the shower."

"The shower?" Isabel said, suddenly interested. "What was she doing in the shower?"

"What'dya think? She was taking a shower. The point is—"

"The point is that you were in another girl's house while she was in the shower," Isabel interrupted. "That's weird."

"I told you, I was investigating her," Michael said impatiently. "I had to get her out of the way so I could nose around."

"And she wound up in the shower? How did that happen?" Isabel paused. "Michael," she said warningly when he didn't answer, "what did you say to her? What could you possibly have said to her that would make her take a shower?"

An exasperated sigh floated over the phone. "I kind of told her that a clean girl was a...a sexy girl."

"What?" Isabel exclaimed. "Do you mean you were...you were going to…"

"No! No way!" Michael declared. "I just needed her out of the way so I could nose around."

"Oh, I see," Isabel said with mock relief. "So insinuating that you going to sleep with her was the only way you could think of to get her out of the way so you could 'nose around'. And what exactly were you going to do when she got out of the shower?"

"Make up an excuse about why I had to go," Michael said. "I only needed a few minutes, and I didn't even get that because Maria showed up when I wasn't expecting her."

"Oh, for sure," Isabel said dryly. "Did Maria know Courtney was in the shower?"

"Well, Courtney came out wearing a towel while she was here, so, yeah, she did."

"A towel? Oh, God," Isabel groaned.

"I wasn't going to do it!" Michael exclaimed.

"Try telling that to Maria!" Isabel retorted. "Oh, that's right—you already did. Not surprised that one didn't go over."

"So, what, you think I'm lying too?"

"No," Isabel sighed. "No, Michael, I don't think you're lying, but I can see why Maria would."

"Hey, Maria was doing the same thing I was—investigating Courtney," Michael protested. "Why is it okay for her to do it and not me?"

"Because her way didn't involve being naked in a towel," Isabel said wearily. "It's not what you were doing, it's the way you were doing it. I don't see a way out of this one unless Courtney turns out to be a fang-gnashing alien."

"Thanks a heap," Michael said sourly.

The line went dead. Sighing, Isabel tossed her phone on the desk and tried to go back to math, but every little thing distracted her: Her father's chair scritching back and forth in his office, the canned laughter from the television show her mother was watching, that thump from Max's room…

Curious, Isabel went to the window. She knew the sound of a threshold being breached, and sure enough, a dark figure walked across the lawn. Smiling, Isabel abandoned her homework and went to her brother's bedroom.

"I take it all back," she said from the doorway. "The serenade worked."

Max sat motionless on the bed, hands clasped, eyes on the floor. "I heard the unmistakable sound of shoes on a windowsill," Isabel went on. "Fortunately Mom didn't. Sounds like the ice age is over—Liz Parker has paid you a visit." She paused. "Max? Why do you look like that? Isn't this good news?"

"She doesn't want to be with me," Max said dully.

Isabel stared at him for a moment. "Oh," she said finally, having forgotten that the pendulum could swing either way. "Oh, I...I'm sorry."

"She says she wants to be with normal boys," Max went on, in that toneless voice as though he couldn't quite believe it. "She wants to have kids, and she wants them to be safe." He looked up at last, his eyes haunted. "She says she doesn't want to die for me."

Isabel winced. Ouch. "Okay...Max, I know this must hurt like hell, but...can you blame her? She never asked to be sucked into this. And God knows she's gone to hell and back for us, so she's paid you back for saving her life. She doesn't owe us a dime."

"You think this is about owing us?" Max said. "I love her."

"I know," Isabel said patiently, "and for what it's worth, I think she loves you too. She's just not up for all the baggage that comes with loving you."

"Yes, she is," Max protested. "She's proven she is."

"Just because she can handle it doesn't mean she wants to," Isabel pointed out. "And if she's thinking of the future, of having children and what being married to you would mean for them, well, that's very different than anything she's done so far. And can we even have children? I mean with humans? Is that even possible?"

"Nasedo told Tess we have human bodies," Max argued. "Human bodies can produce human children."

"We don't know that for sure," Isabel said. "Maybe we can have kids with each other, but not humans. We don't know. Liz just doesn't want to be the guinea pig who finds out, and I can't blame her for that."

"But she doesn't mean it!" Max insisted. "She loves me. She was wavering. She was this close to coming back to me. I know she was."

"Maybe she was," Isabel allowed, "and then she thought better of it. People who are wavering can waver in either direction, not just the direction you want."

"I know her," Max insisted. "I know her. I know she loves me, and I know she was ready to get back together. Something else did this. Something changed her mind. What could do that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Isabel said. "Maybe the thought of having a kid with green scales?"

"You're not helping," Max muttered.

"Okay, then, how about having a normal kid who winds up dead because we're running for our lives? She's not just thinking about today or tomorrow, she's thinking about next year, and the year after that, and ten years down the road. Based on what's happened so far, you've got to admit it doesn't look good. But at least she told you," Isabel added gently. "And she had the guts to tell you to your face. I admire that, even if you don't like what she said."

Max slumped on the bed, thoroughly dejected. "What do I do?" he said miserably.

Give up, Isabel thought, knowing full well that her smitten brother would do no such thing. "My advice? Go to the one person who knows Liz better than anyone."

Max suddenly looked ever so slightly more alive. "Right. Yes. Good idea." He stood up and grabbed his jacket. "Uh...thanks, Iz."

"No problem," Isabel said. "Relationship advice is what I'm all about tonight."

Isabel returned to her desk, having had a change of heart. Numbers didn't love you or leave you. Word problems were hypothetical, not real. Equations bore no resemblance to reality. Their reality was so fragile, so volatile, so unpredictable; perhaps some abstraction was the way to keep sane.

Her mother appeared in the doorway. "How's the homework, sweetheart?"

"Just great, Mom," Isabel smiled. "I love math."






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






November 16, 2000, 7:30 a.m.

West Roswell High School







Liz Parker looked miserably down the hallway, her hands gripping the straps on her backpack as though it were a life preserver. She was heart sick and exhausted, having slept hardly a wink last night. Her bedroom, once a place a refuge, was now a place she spent as little time as possible because that's where Future Max was most likely to show up. She didn't want to see him again right now; after last night's debacle with Tess and her subsequent visit to Max's house, she was fresh out of ideas about how to turn him away from her and completely out of initiative. Since she wasn't sleeping anyway, she'd gotten up much earlier than usual and made excuses about needing to get to school so she could tutor someone; in reality, she'd crept into a corner of the theater and dozed, hoping no one would find her. No one had, and the sound of students spilling into the school had roused her, leaving her to face the second person she most wanted to avoid, in this timeline or any other.

"Hey, Tess," Liz said.

Sharp eyes peered from around the locker, bored into hers. "Look, I'm really sorry about last night," Liz rushed on. "I had no idea he'd see me."

"What were you even doing there?" Tess demanded. "What, you couldn't wait for a report? It was working, Liz! We were talking about the book, and then you had do the peeping Tom thing and mess the whole thing up."

"I'm really sorry," Liz said. "I just...I guess I just wanted to see if it worked. And I know I should have just waited. I...I screwed up."

"You think?" Tess muttered.

"I'll make it up to you," Liz promised. "I'll—"

"Don't," Tess said firmly. "It's almost like this whole thing was a set-up. Make me think you were helping me with Max, then screw it up so he thinks less of me than he ever did, if that's even possible."

"No!" Liz exclaimed in horror. "No, that's not...that's not at all what I was trying to do. I know we haven't exactly been friends, but...do you really think I'd do that to you?"

Tess's expression softened. "No. I don't. We may not have been friends, but you've always been decent to me, which is more than I can say for some. I don't think you were trying to screw me over, I just think you're crappy at setting up your ex-boyfriend. Just please, don't 'help' me any more. I'll take it from here. Assuming there's anything left to take."

Tess left, and Liz walked dejectedly to her own locker. Well...that could have gone worse. Maybe things were looking up, at least in that couldn't-be-worse sort of way.

"That's the look of a girl who tried to set up her boyfriend with his ex-wife, and got caught," a voice announced.

"Maria?" Liz said. "How do you know about that?"

Maria leaned against the lockers next to her. "I had a late night visitor from a certain Czechoslovakian of our mutual acquaintance."

Liz's eyes closed. "Max."

"He says you paid him a visit," Maria went on, "spouting Shakespeare and claiming he's dangerous."

"I was talking about how Romeo and Juliet is also a tragedy, not just a love story, and he is dangerous," Liz said. "And he's not my boyfriend. And Tess isn't his ex-wife; they were married when they died."

"Details," Maria said dismissively.

"Important details," Liz insisted. "Look, I don't want to get into it. I'm feeling bad enough as it is. And you of all people should understand because you don't want to tell me why you're mad at Michael."

"Still don't. The whole thing still makes smoke come out of my ears. And no worries," Maria went on. "We're on the same page. When Max told me what you'd done, I realized you meant business, and I told him so. I told him to let you go."

Liz paused, her hands full of books. "You did?"

"Yeah, I did. And for a moment there, I thought I had him. I thought he was actually going to throw in the towel. But then the moment passed, and he said he loved you, and he couldn't help it."

"When did this happen?" Liz asked.

"Last night when I was closing," Maria said.

Closing time… "The Kleenex box," Liz whispered. "He couldn't grab it, and then he could...it almost worked. It almost worked!"

"What are you talking about?" Maria said warily.

"I...never mind," Liz said. "It just...it seems like I almost got through to him."

"Yeah, well, don't get your hopes up," Maria sighed. "I predict more Max encounters in your future, and I don't even need Madam Vivian for that. See you in class.

Great, Liz thought disconsolately. She still had to come up with something which would make Max turn away from her permanently, but at least now she knew it could be done. She'd almost succeeded. Why didn't that feel like a good thing?

"Hey, Liz. You okay?"

"Alex!" Liz said. "Hi. Um...yeah. Why?"

Alex's face was wreathed with concern. "I was just wondering how you were getting on after that thing with Max and Tess didn't work last night."

Liz slammed her locker door in consternation. "You mean you know about that too? That was supposed to be a secret. Does everyone know about it? Was there a newspaper article, or a P.A. announcement, or something?"

"No," Alex said carefully, as though afraid she might explode. "I just happened to be at the Crashdown last night when it happened. And for what it's worth, if you really want something to be secret, don't do it at the Crashdown."

"Right," Liz said faintly. "Sorry. I'm sorry, I'm just...I'm not all here."

"You and Maria both," Alex said.

"Do you know what happened with her and Michael?" Liz said. "She won't tell me."

"I gather it involves Courtney wearing a towel," Alex said. "And nothing but a towel."

"Oh," Liz said faintly.

"Yeah, 'oh'," Alex said darkly. "I'd love to tell Guerin exactly what I think of him. I'd ask you to come with, but I think you've already got enough on your plate."

I'll say, Liz thought sadly as Alex walked away. If she didn't succeed in turning Max away from her, it wouldn't matter who was mad at whom because none of them would survive.






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






Langley Residence







Zan slipped through the front door as quietly as he could. He wasn't really in the mood for talking, never mind arguing, so it would be best if...

"Welcome back," a voice called from the kitchen.

Shit, Zan thought darkly. He'd been hoping that hybrid stealth would be a match for Covari hearing, but apparently not. He found Brivari in the kitchen tending pans of sizzling bacon and eggs.

"What's this?"

"Breakfast," Brivari replied. "You were so hungry yesterday, and humans do so love bacon. Perhaps that's why they call it the 'marijuana of meat'."

"How did you know I'd be here for breakfast?" Zan asked.

"Lucky guess. You were gone yesterday morning when I got up, you didn't come home last night, you tried to sneak in this morning...if I were the suspicious type, which I am, I might think you were avoiding me."

"I was busy," Zan said shortly.

"Saving the planet?" Brivari said.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact I was," Zan said. "Or trying to, anyway."

"I assume you're referring to your aborted attempt to reunite your younger self with your wife?"

Zan stared at him. "You're following me?"

"Of course I'm following you," Brivari said. "I'm not about to let you wander this timeline unchaperoned, and besides, it's my job."

"Then it's really too bad you didn't do your job when I was younger," Zan retorted. "We never so much as laid eyes on you."

"If you never saw me, how do you know where I was?" Brivari said. "And for the record, you did see me. Do you recall an evening not long after your hopelessly stupid healing of the Parker girl, in broad daylight and in public no less, when some friends of her then boyfriend paid you a visit?"

Kyle's friends, Zan thought, recalling that exceptionally painful encounter. "Yes," he said guardedly, "I remember. What about it?"

"Perhaps 'paid you a visit' is a bit of of a stretch," Brivari amended. "More like they beat the ever-loving shit out of you. You needed a hospital, which would have proven problematic, so I healed you in the street where you fell. Until you ordered me away, of course, but I was almost done by then. You did the rest."

Zan gazed at him in shock. "You were...you were that guy? That guy who bent over me and...that was you?"

Brivari raised an eyebrow. "Don't sound so surprised. I helped River Dog guide you in healing Michael when he almost died from his encounter with the sweat lodge. I was there when he fled his foster father, when you were held captive by the Special Unit, when your sister killed Vanessa Whitaker." He paused. "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."

Zan sank slowly into a chair, mentally rewriting some of the biggest events in his life. "So...you killed Hank? Is that what you're saying?"

"Jaddo and I disposed of that sorry excuse for a human being," Brivari confirmed.

"And...you knew River Dog?"

"River Dog is one of my oldest and dearest friends on this planet."

"So…you're Nasedo," Zan said. "River Dog's Nasedo, I mean."

Brivari smiled faintly. "He told you Nasedo 'befriended them all'. Does that sound like the Nasedo you knew?"

"No," Zan admitted, "it doesn't."

"Jaddo was never much into 'befriending'," Brivari said. "When he left with Tess, he needed something for her to call him. He knew River Dog called me 'Nasedo', and he inexplicably grabbed that."

"Why did he leave with Tess?" Zan asked.

"Didn't I explain that in your other life?"

"We were fighting a war," Zan said. "We didn't exactly have time for chitchat."

"The four of you emerged from your pods much too late and much too young," Brivari said. "You were supposed to have emerged much earlier and fully grown, and your memories should have returned in short order. Instead you emerged as young children who remembered nothing, and we disagreed over how to raise you. I thought you should be placed in families familiar with children, but Jaddo didn't want you raised by humans. He thought we should raise you ourselves."

"But why not two and two?" Zan said. "How did he wind up with only Tess?"

"Because she was the last to emerge, and he left without telling me," Brivari said. "I was furious with him for that, and I didn't know where he was for years. I could have found him, of course, but I found life much quieter without him. We disagreed, Jaddo and I. A lot."

"I remember," Zan chuckled. "You used to…" He stopped, puzzled. "How do I remember that? Why am I suddenly remembering things?"

"Spending time with those who knew you in your previous life will jog memories," Brivari said. "Your turn. I thought the future was in peril because I rejected the treaty. What does Ava have to do with it?"

Silence descended on the kitchen as Zan's eyes dropped. Admitting to Courtney that he'd inadvertently scuttled an alliance which could have saved the planet was one thing; admitting it to his Warder was another.

"Here's how this works," Brivari said, loading plates with food and plopping one down in front of him. "If you want me to support that treaty, you're going to tell me what happened in that other timeline. None of this 'I can't tell you much' crap that you plied the Parker girl with. You and I both know that if you succeed in changing the future, what happened before is irrelevant."

"No, it's not," Zan insisted. "Serena was very clear that even if we change the future, we may not change as much as we think. The same things could happen, just at a different time, or maybe we get there via a different route. We still need to know what happened originally so we can tell if we're still on that trajectory."

"Is this the 'Serena' you referenced before?"

"She's the one who helped us modify the Granolith so it would send me back in time," Zan said.

"The Granolith?" Brivari said skeptically. "So you're saying it's a time machine? Good thing I brought it with me."

"Good thing I told you to bring it with us if we ever needed to evacuate," Zan said. "If I figured out it could be used that way, others could too. Just imagine what would happen if Khivar gets his hands on it."

Brivari fixed him with a hard stare. "For the record, I think I'm smart enough to keep experimental technology away from the enemy without you telling me. I'm not an idiot."

"For the record, neither am I," Zan retorted. "I'm not the neophyte you remember, Brivari. I've been at war for months. I've had crash courses in politics, battle tactics, and public opinion that go way beyond anything you taught me. You haven't walked in my shoes, so stop acting like you know everything."

Brivari regarded him in silence for a moment. "Fine. Educate me. Tell me everything, and I do mean everything, that happened to you. Start at the beginning, and don't leave anything out."




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




I'll post Chapter 54 on Sunday, August 14.

Hello to everyone reading!






CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR




November 16, 2000, 10 a.m.

Banks Residence






The alarm buzzed. Eyes still closed, Courtney reached out a hand to whack it silent, rolled over...and smiled. For the first time in years, since arriving on this planet, really, she was genuinely happy. To have this unprecedented occurrence happen only weeks after losing Jaddo and mere days after the remaining Warder expressed a distressing desire to off her was surprising; to have it come at the hands of a king from the future was downright flabbergasting. But come it had, with that king confirming that not only had she survived, she had a brand new husk provided by his Second, who would have gladly married her if he'd had the chance. A peaceful Antar, a compatible husband, heck, even life itself was all within her grasp; she just needed to find a way to bring all those threads together in one timeline, not scattered between two. Smile still firmly in place, she took her time showering, spontaneously bursting into song, an old tune she'd heard on TV late last night.

"Oh, what a beautiful morning! Oh, what a beautiful day! I've got a wonderful feeling! Everything's going my way!"

Collapsing in giggles, she almost dropped the soap, did drop the soap, retrieved it, then belted the chorus again. Thank God she was in the shower; if her neighbors heard this, they'd have her committed. She was still humming several minutes later when she left the bedroom, breakfast on her mind.

"There you are," Dee said. "I was beginning to think you were never going to get up."

Courtney nearly jumped a foot. "Good God, you scared me! My shift doesn't start till noon, and what on earth are you doing in my living room?"

"Isn't it obvious? Waiting for you!"

"What, in stealth mode?" Courtney said crossly. "Say something! Send up a flare! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"I'm sitting on your sofa, and last I checked, I'm not so thin that I'm invisible," Dee said tartly. "No one is returning my calls, and I've got Grandson 2.0 wandering around town with no idea what he's up to."

"I told you I hadn't seen seen him," Courtney said.

"Need I remind you that you were just singing?" Dee retorted. "In the shower, no less? Correct me if I'm wrong, but that's highly unusual behavior, even if the song isn't some cheesy tune from an old musical. Out with it!"

"It's from a musical?"

"Oklahoma. Quit stalling."

"Huh. That must have been what I was watching last night."

"Courtney!"

"Okay, okay," Courtney said, plopping down in a chair. "I didn't call because there was nothing to tell you—"

"You don't sing," Dee interrupted, "not in the shower, not anywhere. Something happened to cause that, which means you have something to tell me."

"You didn't let me finish," Courtney said reproachfully. "There was nothing to tell you until late last night."

"So why didn't you call me then?" Dee demanded. "You know I stay up till a million o'clock...oh, never mind," she finished peevishly. "What happened?"

"Zan showed up at the Crashdown," Courtney said. "Future Zan, I mean. He was lurking in the storeroom, waiting for me. Kind of like you were."

"I would hardly compare sitting in your living room to hiding in a storeroom," Dee objected. "What did he say?"

"He said he was looking for a friendly face," Courtney answered. "Apparently he's leaning on Liz Parker to help him get him and Ava together, the younger him, that is. They tried last night, and it backfired when our Zan figured out what Liz was up to."

"Oh, dear," Dee sighed. "Why does he want him and Tess together? Does she side with the enemy, or something?"

"She didn't side with anyone," Courtney said. "She left Roswell, presumably because he married Liz. When the invasion arrived, Larak had convinced the leaders of our sister worlds to support the king, but they backed out when they found the queen gone and the king married to a human. He wants Tess here in 2014 in case his efforts to fix things with the treaty don't work. He thinks he could have convinced everyone to back him if the Royal Four had been intact."

"And what do you think?"

"I think they're out of their tiny little minds," Courtney said bluntly. "Zan would be infinitely better than Khivar even if he married a goat, and apparently I said so. But if they need this big symbol to get that point across...well...let's just say I'd try anything to head off this disaster, especially since…" She paused while Dee waited expectantly. "Dee, he told me that Rath was going to marry me," she went on, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. "He told me that we were a good match and that he approved! He told me the new husk I had in that future was from Rath—he got it for me. Can you believe it?"

"Oh, Courtney!" Dee said, her expression softening, "That's wonderful! I'm so happy for you!"

"Can you believe some things actually went right in that other timeline?" Courtney said. "I haven't screwed things up completely. There's still a chance to make this work. I just have to figure out how."

"And we will," Dee promised. "For starters, where is he?"

"Who? Zan?"

"No, the Easter Bunny," Dee said impatiently. "Yes, Zan! Or Max, rather. Where is he staying?"

" 'Staying'?" Courtney said. "You make it sound like he's on vacation in a hotel. I guess he's with Brivari, although I got the impression they didn't have a happy reunion. If he's not there, I don't know where he is. Why?"

"Because I want to meet him, that's why," Dee said.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Courtney said warily. "It's pretty clear he never knew you knew about him."

"Which is precisely why I want to meet him," Dee said. "You know Brivari and I have had a long-running argument about whether Max should know about me. Now we have the chance to find out, to ask him directly what he thinks I should do."

"But how would he know?" Courtney said. "He's 14 years older, Dee. He's been through hell. He has a totally different perspective than our Zan."

"Exactly," Dee said bitterly. "And what if I'm to blame for that? What if I could have pointed him in a different direction or steered things differently?"

"Wait...you think you're to blame for the Earth being invaded?" Courtney said. "Where did that come from?"

"I think the kids have no guidance," Dee clarified. "They have no adults they can confide in, unless you count the sheriff, who's all alone and in over his head."

"But there were a million factors that went into what went wrong," Courtney protested. "See, this is why it's not a good idea to know the future. You get paranoid."

"Says the one belting Rogers and Hammerstein," Dee said dryly. "Apparently it's okay to know your future if you like what you see."

"Okay," Courtney allowed reluctantly, "although I don't 'like' the fact that Rath is dead in that future. But I still don't see why you think you're responsible. And the sheriff isn't alone—he has you. And for years, the hybrids had no one."

"And that worked until that day Liz was shot," Dee said. "This past year has been hell on wheels, and just when they found a guardian, he was killed. I understand why Brivari won't step out of the shadows, but Max can't make me do a thing I don't want to."

"You sure about that?" Courtney said doubtfully. "Maybe he can't 'make' you, but he can sure put a lot of pressure on you. Zan is the intense type. Don't sell him short."

"I'm not," Dee insisted, "which is why I want to ask him. If he says, 'Don't tell me,' then things go on as they are. If he says, 'Tell me,' then maybe having a family member they can turn to will help change things."

"Or maybe he'll be so angry that you knew and didn't say anything that this warm family chat you're imagining won't go so well," Courtney said. "Did you ever think of that? But never mind," she went on when she saw the look on Dee's face. "You'll do what you want regardless of how I feel about it. Just keep in mind that when you change the future, you can make it worse as well as better."

"I will," Dee promised. "As long as you do the same."

"Sorry?"

"Oh, please," Dee said. "Do you really think I don't know that you intend to act on what you just learned about you and Michael? Do you really think that's wise? You're just as likely to mess up the future as I am."

Courtney squirmed, having been planning her next move ever since Zan's visit last night. "He fell in love with me once," she said stubbornly. "I don't see why it wouldn't happen again."

"Because the last time he fell in love with you, you didn't realize what was coming," Dee said. "Now you know, and that might make you do things differently, which might make things turn out differently. He may love you in the future, Courtney, but he doesn't feel that way now. Overplay your hand now, and that part of the future may never happen."






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





5 p.m.

Valenti Residence






"You're home early," Kyle said over the blare of the TV as his father closed the front door. "What's the occasion?"

"The occasion is I snuck away early," Valenti answered. "Is that basketball?"

"Yep. Illinois State and San Diego. Illinois is winning."

"Huh. Go figure. Is Tess home?"

"Nope. Said something about taking a book back to the library."

"You two getting along?"

"Yeah," Kyle answered. "We're good."

"Even though she has your room?"

"It's only temporary right?" Kyle said. " 'Do not dwell in the past; do not dream of the future. Concentrate the mind on the present moment'."

"Right," Valenti said warily. "Well, as long as you're okay with it, and it doesn't make you too miserable."

"Why would I be miserable?" Kyle said. "It makes Tess happy to have my room. 'Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared'."

"Guess not," Valenti allowed. "Glad to hear it's going well."

" 'He who gives away shall have real gain'," Kyle continued. " 'He who subdues himself shall be free—' "

"Not so glad that I want Buddha chanted at me all night," Valenti clarified. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Rock on," Kyle said. "That's me, not Buddha."

"Really?" his father said dryly. "I never would have guessed."

Kyle's eyes remained on the game as his father left, but his mind was elsewhere. Judging by the fact that he and Tess had very nearly knocked boots the other night, they were certainly getting along. At least that's what he thought had almost happened, quite probably would have happened if Liz Parker hadn't happened along at that exact moment, causing him to consider strangling her until he'd had a chance to calm down. Had he really been considering having sex with an alien? Could humans even do that? What happened when you had sex with an alien? Did the alien eat you after afterwards like a Black Widow Spider? Would his plumbing still work after he had sex with an alien? Could he get an alien pregnant? What would come out if he did? After a night spent dreaming of non-functioning anatomy and babies with extra eyeballs, Kyle had found himself feeling considerably more charitable toward Liz's interruption and had opted not to resurrect the subject of lamp trimming with Tess, who had similarly avoided it. Perhaps it had just been the heat of the moment. God knows she'd been pissed, and she certainly was hot when she was pissed. Or not pissed. Or tired. Or not tired. Or eating, or walking, or...well, face it. Tess was always hot.

The doorbell rang. Kyle's eyebrows rose when he saw who it was.

"I need your help," Liz Parker said.

"Why, Liz Parker," Kyle said. "Long time, no see."

"Yeah, I...I'm sorry about the other night," Liz said. "It looked like I interrupted something."

"No, no, no, that's all right," Kyle said. "No harm done. Come in."

Liz followed him into the living room, where Kyle muted the sound but left the game running. "So...my help. What could you possibly need my help with?"

Liz perched on the opposite end of the couch, straight-backed and awkward. "Well, you probably know that Max has been trying to get the two of us back together."

"I think people on Mars know that Max is trying to get the two of you back together," Kyle said. "He hasn't exactly been subtle."

"Right," Liz nodded. "Right. See, the thing is, I don't want to get back together with Max, but he won't leave me alone."

"Gotta watch out for those quiet ones," Kyle chuckled. "They look harmless, but they can be awfully stubborn. Silent, but deadly, just like a big ol' fart. Sorry," he added when she blinked at him. "Bad analogy. How can I help?"

"I want to do something which will make Max leave me alone," Liz said. "I...I want to give him the impression that we...that you and I...that we…"

"That we...what?" Kyle prompted. "That we're seeing each other again?"

"That we...that we slept together," Liz said, turning a particularly vivid shade of scarlet. "I mean, not really," she rushed on. "I just want it to look that way so he'll leave me alone."

Kyle stared at her in silence for a moment. "Wow," he said finally. "Wow, that's...that's harsh."

Liz crumpled suddenly, collapsing into the curve of the couch. "I know!" she said miserably. "I know, I just...I just can't think of what else to do! I've tried ignoring him, talking to him, pleading with him...nothing works! I am at my wits end here. If you have any ideas about what else I could do, I am all ears, Kyle. I mean it. Think like a guy. What can I do to make him stop?"

Kyle gazed at her sympathetically as she slumped dejectedly on the couch, very near tears. God, but he'd always had a soft spot for Liz Parker. "Well, Liz, you're in luck, because thinking like a guy is the only way I know how to think. And we guys can be a bit...territorial when it comes to girls we like. Look at me—I got that way just from Max visiting you at the hospital when your grandmother was sick."

"Yeah, I...I'm really sorry," Liz said, sounding even more miserable than before, if that was possible. "I know this is awkward for you because of...well, because of 'us', but...I just didn't feel comfortable asking anyone else. I...I mean, I could have asked Alex, but I don't think Max would have believed that."

"Good man," Kyle nodded. "Maybe Max is smarter than I thought. And Alex already donated when he did that striptease. This is actually less weird. No, seriously," he went on when she looked alarmed, "I don't have any better ideas for you. Although I can't help thinking there's more to this. I mean, Evans has been cheesy as hell, but he hasn't done anything that bad. I can't see you doing something this drastic just because he's still into you." He paused, watching closely as Liz dropped her eyes. "There is something else, isn't there? Must be pretty big."

"I don't want to talk about it," Liz said firmly.

"Fair enough," Kyle said. "Then if you're really at your wits end, maybe it's time for something else."

"But do you think this will work?" Liz said. "Nothing else has."

"I'm betting it will," Kyle answered. "We Neanderthals are famous for wanting the freedom to shop around, but our girlfriends aren't supposed to." He paused. "And if you quote me on that, I'll deny it until the day I die. Again."

"Scout's honor," Liz promised. "I'll never tell you divulged guy stuff."

"Good. Now...how exactly are we going to do this? Or rather, not do this?"

"Okay," Liz said, straightening up, better now that she had a list to make. "Max is coming over tomorrow night with concert tickets—"

"What concert?"

"Gomez. I told him I don't want to go, but he—"

"You're turning down Gomez?"

"Yeah. So I thought we'd—"

"Have you considered maybe going to Gomez, then doing this whole get-rid-of-Max bit?"

"Kyle, focus," Liz commanded. "This isn't about concerts, this is about making Max believe that I don't want to be with him any more."

" 'Making' him believe? Does that mean you really do want to be with him? Sorry," Kyle said when Liz looked ready to bite his head off. "I'm over-analyzing. So...tomorrow night, tickets, your place. Then what?"

"Well, I thought we'd be...we'd be in bed, and...and Max will show up and see us, and...and then hopefully he'll get the message."

"He'll definitely get a message," Kyle said. "So, what, are we naked?"

"No!" Liz said, shaking her head vigorously. "No, no, not naked."

"But how's he going to believe it if we're in bed with our clothes on? You want this to work, right?"

Liz stared at him for a moment. "Okay. Okay, then...we'll...we'll take something off. Like, we'll take our shirts off."

"And we should kiss," Kyle added.

"What?"

"Kiss. You know, touch lips? That will make it more realistic. It's not like we don't know how. We used to kiss when we were dating. Sometimes."

"Right," Liz said, looking supremely uncomfortable. "Right. Okay, we'll...we'll kiss. But no tongue."

"Chaste kissing," Kyle agreed.

"We just want him to think we're…you know," Liz said. "Just so he'll leave me alone."

"It's all an illusion," Kyle nodded. "Got it."

"Okay!" Liz said brightly. "So...tomorrow night, around 6:00 p.m., my place?"

"It's a date!" Kyle said. "I mean, a non-date. See you then."

Liz reached out, squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Kyle. I don't know anyone else I could have asked for a favor like this."

"No problem," Kyle assured her. "I'm honored to be the one you chose to have fake sex with."

Liz's smile faltered, reasserted itself, then faltered again. "Okay, I...I guess I'll see you tomorrow night."

How weird was that? Kyle thought, turning up the volume on the TV again as the front door closed behind his former girlfriend. He was finally going to get Liz Parker in bed, just not the way he'd wanted. The universe worked in mysterious ways.

"Did I hear someone else out here?" his father asked, coming into the living room.

"Yeah, Liz Parker," Kyle answered.

"Liz? What did she want?"

"She wanted me to sleep with her."

Kyle waited an excruciating moment before putting his dad out of his misery. "Kidding! She just wanted my help with something."

"God, don't do that!" Valenti exclaimed.

"Dad," Kyle admonished, "seriously? If I slept with a girl, do you think I'd tell you?"

"Please don't," Valenti said. "But you know you can come to me with anything, right?"

"And we've achieved mixed messages," Kyle said dryly. "Touchdown!"

"That's football," Valenti said crossly.

"Slam dunk, then!"

"I'm going to start dinner," Valenti said, changing the subject. "Looks like Tess won't be cooking tonight."

" "Work out your own salvation'," Kyle intoned. " 'Do not depend on others'."

"What say you turn off that game and come 'work out our own salvation' with me?" Valenti said. "You set the table. I'll cook."






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





Proctor Residence







"Come in, come in!" Dee exclaimed, throwing the front door wide open. "Anthony's almost ready to throw the steaks on the grill. I'm so glad you could make it for dinner on a weeknight."

"Are you kidding?" Diane chuckled. "I'm so glad I don't have to cook tonight."

"I'm so glad I don't have to listen to her cook tonight," Philip added, earning a playful swat from his wife.

"And I'm always glad to see you, anywhere, any time, for any reason," Isabel said, giving Dee a huge hug.

"Same here, sweetheart," Dee said, returning her hug. "Hello, Max! How are you this evening?"

Max hung back, silent and glum, in sharp contrast to his bubbling family members. "Max is glad to be here, too," Isabel assured her quickly. "He's just having a bad day."

"It's that girl," Diane sniffed. "What did she do this time?"

Max's eyes flashed. "She's not 'that girl', Mom," he said sharply. "She has a name, and you know what it is. I'd appreciate it if you used it."

"Fine," Diane sighed, "what did 'Liz' do this time? Because all she ever seems to do is make you unhappy."

"Don't dump on Liz," Max protested. "She literally saved my life. More than once."

"So dramatic," Diane clucked. "Teenagers think everything is a matter of life and death."

"Maybe it was," Dee said.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Diane scoffed.

"Honey, this is Max's business, not ours," Philip interjected. "We should stay out of it. He'll let us know if he needs us."

"Well, I say it's just—"

"Mom!" Isabel said warningly. "Leave it! You're just making things worse."

Startled by the wave of criticism, Diane faced her disapproving daughter, grave husband, and angry son. "All right," she said finally. "I certainly wouldn't want to make things worse. I just—"

"Look who's here!" Dee interrupted, cutting Diane off before she could dig herself in even deeper. "Everyone, we have a guest tonight, a very old friend of Grandpa's and mine. She's staying with us for a while, so I invited her to join us for dinner."

Yvonne smiled as she picked her way slowly down the stairs, her cane making faint thumps on each step. "Good evening, everyone. I appreciate you allowing me to join a family gathering."

"Oh, Dr. Johnson!" Diane said, using the pseudonym Yvonne had used for decades, ever since she'd fled Eagle Rock after Jaddo had escaped, making "Yvonne White" a dangerous name to have. "We're honored to have you join us. My mother-in-law told us about your husband. Please accept our deepest condolences on your loss."

"Thank you, dear," Yvonne said, patting Diane's hand. "You're very kind."

"You remember my husband, Philip," Diane said, "and these are our children, Max and Isabel."

"Of course," Yvonne said. "Hello, everyone."

"Have we...did we meet you once before?" Isabel ventured.

Max was more succinct. "Did you say 'doctor'?"

Dee and Diane exchanged glances. She'd convinced Diane to bring the kids for dinner so they could meet Yvonne before their sessions started, but there was no getting around the fact that neither of them wanted to be in therapy. "Yes, you've met Dr. Johnson before," Diane said, "about a year ago. And yes, Max, I did say 'doctor'. Dr. Johnson is the doctor you'll both be seeing for some help with whatever's bothering you."

There followed a long and painful silence. "Oh," Isabel said faintly while her brother merely stared, eyes burning.

"Diane, why don't you and Philip go help Anthony?" Dee suggested. "He hates grills, and I'm sure he could use your expertise on how long to cook the steaks."

"Great idea," Philip said immediately, more than happy to get away from the tension.

"It is?" Diane said doubtfully.

"Absolutely," Dee said firmly. "The kids and I will set the table, won't we kids?"

It took Isabel a moment, but she nodded. "Yeah," she said with a worried glance at her smoldering sibling. "Sure. Of course, we...we'll set the table."

"Run along, then," Dee said, shooing Diane and Philip toward the kitchen. "Don't come back without the steaks. Now, then," she went on briskly after Philip had steered Diane out of the room, "let's get the dishes."

"If you bring them to the table, I'll set it," Yvonne said.

"Is this supposed to make us accept therapy?" Max demanded.

"No," Yvonne replied evenly. "It's supposed to put dishes on the table so we can eat dinner."

"Max, just do it," Isabel whispered. "Grandma knows what she's doing."

Momentarily taken aback by the straight answer, Max followed his sister and Dee into the kitchen. She and Isabel hadn't spoken since Isabel's admission that she was "different", albeit in an unspecified way, but she'd assured her they needn't fear their new therapist, and Isabel seemed to remember that. Plates were produced, along with silverware, napkins, and glasses. No one spoke as these were ferried to the table, where Yvonne arranged them.

"So, do you have a...an office in town where we'll be seeing you?" Isabel asked, breaking the silence.

"Heavens, no," Yvonne said. "I'm not in practice any more; I'm doing this as a favor to your mother and grandmother. I'm staying here, so you'll come here to see me."

"Here?" Isabel repeated. "To Grandma's house?"

"Yes," Yvonne replied.

"Will you be here?" Isabel asked Dee eagerly.

"Of course I'll be here," Dee answered. "I live here, remember?"

All the tension drained out of Isabel as she sank into a chair, visibly relieved. "Oh, that's...that's wonderful!"

"Yeah, great," Max deadpanned. "So we sit in our grandparents' living room while you grill us about our feelings. That makes it so much better."

"I gather your last experience with therapy was with a traditional therapist," Yvonne said. "I won't be 'grilling' anyone about anything. I'm available to talk if you'd like, but if you'd rather, you can spend your time here some other way."

"Like what?" Max asked.

"Read a book," Yvonne suggested. "Do your homework. Whatever you want."

"And what if Isabel 'wants' to bake cookies with Grandma?" Max said.

"What a wonderful idea!" Yvonne smiled. "Chocolate chip, I hope. They're my favorite. Of course I'm not supposed to eat them, but I find the older I get, the less interested I am in 'supposed to'."

"And what if I want to just leave?" Max pressed, unmollified.

"Then you can leave," Yvonne said.

Max's eyes narrowed. "You'd let me?"

"I'm hardly in a position to physically restrain you," Yvonne noted, "and why would I? What would be the point?"

"What's the catch?" Max said suspiciously.

"Max!" Isabel hissed. "Don't be rude!"

"He's not being rude," Yvonne said. "He's merely investigating the boundaries of this new and unwelcome situation. You're free to leave if you wish, but I suppose the 'catch' is that I won't lie to your mother and say you stayed when you didn't. You'll need to explain yourself to her, not me."

Max fell into a frustrated silence, well aware of what facing Diane could mean. "Before your parents come back, I'd like to make something clear," Yvonne continued. "Your mother asked me if I thought you'd benefit from a therapist, and I said no. When it became clear she was going to pursue the matter anyway, I offered my services because I felt I could offer you more than the type of therapist you would have wound up with. Keep in mind that baking cookies with your grandmother is a type of 'therapy' in itself, and often the only kind most of us need."

"And you think Mom will be okay with that?" Max said dubiously.

"Leave your mother to me," Dee said.

After his attitude toward Yvonne, it was gratifying to see Max accept that without question. "Okay," he said, still wary, but conceding. "It just sounds too good to be true."

"Max!" Isabel chided. "We get to come here, and Grandma will be here. That's more than we could have hoped for."

A door opened in the kitchen. "Who wants steak?" Philip called.

Fifteen minutes later everyone was tucking into dinner, with Max obviously less enthusiastic than anyone else, but still looking like he felt better. He was passing the mashed potatoes when a cellphone went off.

"That's mine," Dee said. "Excuse me everyone."

She returned a few minutes later. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to step out. A friend of mine has just been hospitalized."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that Mom," Diane said.

"Which friend?" Anthony asked.

"No one you'd know. Sorry I'm missing the rest of dinner. We'll do this again soon, I promise!"

Yvonne gave her a curious look as she grabbed her purse, but Dee didn't have time to explain. She only had a short while, an hour at most, to accomplish what she wanted to. Explanations would have to wait.






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







Evans Residence







With a soft thump, Zan landed on the carpet in his old bedroom, shaking his head at the noise he'd just made. Good thing he wasn't back in his old world; even a slight noise like that would have given him away. He'd come in through the window out of pure nostalgia, remembering all the times he or Michael or Liz had climbed over this windowsill. But the window was smaller than he remembered, causing him to land less than gracefully. His bedroom also seemed smaller, but then he was quite a bit taller than he'd been at 17, having grown several inches in his early 20's. No wonder the house looked smaller, the doorways lower, the walls closer. He'd been a child here, with a child's body and a child's mind. What he wouldn't give to be that child again if only for a moment, to feel that peace, that safety. Even though he was quite certain his younger self would not describe this life as one of "peace" or "safety", it was a walk in the park compared to what it had turned into later.

Zan moved wistfully about the room, fingering textbooks, opening drawers, perusing the calendar. It was odd, really, that he'd find the house empty on this particular evening. This time period was seared into his brain, every moment remembered in minute detail because this was when Liz, who had been vacillating between her love for him and her insistence that they shouldn't be together, had finally tipped in the direction of love. He was quite certain that in that previous life, his family had not piled into the car for dinner at his grandparents' house the night before Gomez. That they had done so now was simultaneously exciting and disturbing; exciting because it meant he'd managed to change something, that change was indeed possible, and disturbing because he didn't know what it meant. Of all the things he wanted to change, dinner with his grandparents wasn't one of them, so where exactly had that ripple come from?

Doesn't matter, Zan thought, if it bought him this, another walk through the house where he'd been so happy. There was his parents' bedroom, his father's side messy while his mother's was neat as a pin. There was Isabel's room, with enough make-up to stock a department store counter and a closet packed to the gills. There were the little marks of civilization he'd so taken for granted, like a letter waiting to be mailed, a cake recipe on the fridge, his Mom's dirty gardening shoes by the kitchen door. No one mailed letters or baked cakes or gardened where he came from. Those were things you did in stable, peaceful societies which had the safety and resources necessary for leisure pursuits like that. There was nothing stable or peaceful about his world, nothing civilized or leisurely. Nothing like that huge TV in the living room, or the family photographs on the walls, or…

...Grandma on the couch?

"Hello, Max," Grandma Dee said.

Zan gaped at her, completely tongue-tied. What in blazes was she doing here? "Grandma!" he said, acutely conscious that he looked very different from the version of her grandson who had left this house only a short while ago. "What…why...I mean, I followed you here," he stammered, trying desperately to come up with an explanation. "I was afraid something was wrong."

"No, you didn't," Grandma said. "You're still at my house eating dinner with your family. Well...your younger self is, I mean."

Zan stood stock still, barely breathing. What had she said? Had she just said what he thought she'd said? But that meant…

"Sit down, Max," Grandma said softly. "We have a great deal to talk about."




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



Another vacation coming up (last one!), so I'll post Chapter 55 on Sunday, September 11.

Hello, everyone! We're back from all the various summer happenings. (I do so love summer. ) One of the things we did was tour the "other" side of Ellis Island, the hospital wings not currently open to the public. They're offering "Hard Hat Tours" to raise money for the renovations which will hopefully let them open that part of the island to the public in the future. It was fascinating to hear about those who stayed at Ellis Island, sometimes briefly, sometimes for years, and tour the old buildings. If you're interested, get your tickets early--they go fast!








CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE





November 16, 2000, 7:30 p.m.

Evans Residence








A car drove by outside, its silhouette snaking across the wall near the one light in the living room Philip and Diane always left on whenever they left the house. Dee waited quietly on the sofa while, across from her, a future and frankly unsettling version of her grandson sat motionless, silent and stunned. It had been Diane who had suggested they introduce the kids to their new therapist over dinner, and Dee had immediately seen the advantage of doing it at her house, quite certain that having the family home empty at night would be an opportunity the future version of Max would not be able to resist. Given how long she'd been waiting, she now had only a short time, an hour at best, before the rest of them reappeared. The clock was ticking, but she held her tongue, allowing him to process the extremely abbreviated information she'd just given him. She'd actually told him very little, but even that would be a lot to take in.

"So...you knew about us all along," Max said finally.

"Yes," Dee answered.

"Because...you found our ship when you were a child."

"I did," Dee confirmed.

"And...is that how we wound up with Mom and Dad?"

"You wound up with your parents because they fell in love with you," Dee said. "Your mother was having trouble conceiving, and she was very upset about that. I introduced her to you, but I couldn't make her love you. She did that herself."

Max was quiet for a moment. "Did you know Nasedo?"

"Yes."

"Did you know he died?"

"After it happened, yes."

"Did you know Brivari?"

"Yes."

"Did you know I was captured?"

Dee hesitated. "Yes."

The rapid fire questions came to a halt as Max's eyes widened. "You knew? You knew, and...and you didn't say anything?"

"I may have 'said' nothing, but I certainly did something," Dee said. "I was there that night at Eagle Rock, helping to get you out of there."

"You were there?" Max repeated wonderingly. "You were there. And you never let on."

It wasn't a question, so Dee didn't answer, the more than faintly accusatory tone hanging in the air like fog. This was exactly what she'd feared, that he would not take kindly to the news that she had kept her knowledge from him, and she found herself wishing, not for the first time, that she was making her confession to the younger version who would be more likely to cut her some slack. This older version of Max was taller, heavier...harder.

And angrier. "You knew!" Max repeated, his voice rising. "You knew! How could you not say something with everything that was happening to us? Do you have any idea what it would have meant to us to have you know?" He shook his head in disbelief as she watched him mutely, waiting for the storm to pass. "Isabel thought you knew. Michael thought you knew. I shut them both down on the subject several times."

"Why?" Dee asked.

"Because I wanted to keep you safe!" Max exclaimed. "Because I didn't want you to know, because it wasn't safe for you to know. And all along, you were right there in the thick of it anyway! Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you tell us?"

"I seriously considered it many times," Dee admitted.

"So why didn't you?" Max demanded. "God, the number of times we didn't know what to do, when we had no one to talk to...it could have changed everything!"

"Unlikely," Dee said. "The only thing that could have changed 'everything' is if you hadn't healed Liz Parker. Somehow I can't see you ringing me up to ask if I thought saving her was a good idea."

"So it's my fault?" Max said angrily. "You're saying what happened is all my fault?"

"Of course not," Dee said, "no more than it was my fault, which is what you just implied. But there's no getting around the fact that we both made choices that had certain repercussions—"

"You're saying I should have left her there," Max broke in. "I should have just left Liz bleeding on the floor and let her die."

"I did not say that," Dee said firmly. "Don't put words in my mouth."

"Then put words in your own mouth and tell me why you didn't tell us," Max shot back. "Answer me!" he shouted when she didn't. "Say something!"

"I'll answer you when you're ready to listen," Dee said in a steely tone. "And I don't appreciate being shouted at."

"Yeah, well, I don't appreciate being lied to," Max retorted.

"I don't recall you asking me if I knew about you," Dee said. "When, exactly, did I lie?"

"Don't," Max ordered, wagging a finger at her. "Don't do the semantics thing. You lied by omission, and you still haven't told me why."

"I'm not sure it would do any good, not while you're angry and incapable of processing information," Dee said. "You may not like it, but there were very good reasons I stayed in the background."

"Oh, come on!" Max exclaimed, out of his chair and pacing now, he was so upset. "What is it with you and Brivari, lurking in the dark and thinking it's better that way? Why does everyone do that?"

"Tell me something, Max. Since you arrived in this time period, have you given Brivari an order?"

Max stopped dead in his tracks, staring at her in astonishment. So you have, Dee thought grimly as the way suddenly became clear. She'd come here tonight to settle one of the most nagging issues of of her life. While she couldn't say she was pleased with the outcome, neither was she surprised.

"Well?" she prompted. "Have you given Brivari an order?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Max asked defensively.

"Everything," Dee answered. "Have you used your power to command him? To make him do as you wish? To turn him into a puppet?"

"No!" Max exclaimed. "Why do you care? I can't order you."

"Damn straight you can't," Dee said grimly. "But you can order him. And you did, shortly after you came out of the pods. You had all remembered who you were, and you ordered him to connect with you and show you what happened on your world. He begged you not to, but you insisted. You forced him to show you your own murders."

Max stopped pacing. "I did?"

"Yes, you did. And then you all had some kind of breakdown. You withdrew into a corner, Isabel screamed, and Michael flipped out and attacked her. That's why your mother never liked him."

For a moment, Dee thought she had him...but then his momentarily startled eyes hardened. "We were kids," he said dismissively. "We'd just come out of the pods. That has nothing to do with why you never told me you knew."

"If I'd told you, it wouldn't have taken you long to figure out I knew more than I should," Dee said. "And then you would have wanted to know how, and I wouldn't have told you...and you wouldn't have accepted that. When you couldn't wear me down, you would have followed me, tracked me, done whatever it took to find out who my contact was."

"You're exaggerating," Max scoffed.

"Am I? You've done it before."

She held his gaze, his eyes wary now, guarded. "And when you found him, it wouldn't have taken you long to figure out the power you had," Dee went on, "or very long to start using it. That's why I never told you, Max. You're not ready to know. I couldn't tell the others and put them in the position of having to keep it from you, and I couldn't tell you because you're not mature enough to use your power wisely."

" 'Wasn't'," Max corrected. "Wasn't mature enough. You're talking about the younger me. I'm not a kid any more."

"Aren't you? You just lied to me about giving Brivari an order."

Max's eyes grew cold. "If you think I'm such a child, why are you telling me this now?"

"Because if you succeed in changing your future...and I'm betting you will...it won't matter," Dee said. "I wanted your opinion. I told you I've often considered telling you. I thought talking to you might shed some light on the 'should I or shouldn't I' question...and it did. You're not ready. After all you've been through, you're still not ready, so the younger you definitely isn't. The havoc you could wreak is so great that it demands a higher level of maturity than you possess. I was right to keep it from you, and that's what I'll continue to do." She stood up. "I'm sorry for what you went through, but I'm glad we met. Build a better future, one where you have time to make yourself worthy of the power you've been given."

"How do I do that?" Max said in frustration. "I've fought so many battles, I've lost count! I watched Mom and Dad die, I watched you die, Isabel, Michael...how am I supposed to make myself 'worthy'?"

Dee considered that for a moment before shaking her head. "I'm not sure. Maybe you can't. Maybe it's too much of a temptation. Think about it…'absolute power corrupts absolutely'. No one should have that kind of power over another. Maybe the only way to be worthy of having it is to realize that."

"Where are you going?" Max demanded as she gathered up her purse and coat.

"The rest of them will be back soon," Dee said, "including you. I can't be here when they arrive, and you can't either. Have a last look around and be on your way."

"Grandma?" Max called as she walked away, sounding plaintive, almost desperate. "Grandma? Grandma, wait!"






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






November 17, 2000, 2:30 p.m.

West Roswell High School







The school secretary frowned, peering over her glasses with a stony look which made it quite clear she was not pleased. "Miss Harding," she said sternly, "do you have any idea how exclusive this program is?"

Someone else may have ditched right then and there, but Tess had learned a long time ago that it didn't pay to be easily intimidated. "I do," she answered, hoping her voice contained just the right amount of contrition, "but—"

"Do you have any idea how many apply and are turned down?" the secretary continued. "Do you have any idea the commitment involved for those who pass muster? And do you have any idea how far past the deadline you are?"

"I do," Tess said, sounding suitably chastened. "I'm sorry, really sorry. It's just that—"

"Not so sorry as to prevent you asking for paperwork which should have been submitted no later than when school started," the secretary scolded. "We have rules for a reason. We have schedules for a reason. Your convenience would not be that reason."

Bitch, Tess thought blandly. This one would be a tougher nut to crack. Time for the big guns.

"Of course not," Tess said, careful to put a catch in her voice. "I didn't mean to put you out, Mrs D'Antonio, I just...well, I just moved here at the end of last year, and I had no idea what this school offered. My father and I move around a lot—a lot—and I've never been to a school which had something like this. I thought only private schools did this sort of thing. I never expected to find it in a public school."

The thin line currently passing for Mrs. D'Antonio's mouth curved upward slightly. "Yes, well...that's a common misunderstanding," she said with no small amount of satisfaction. "Lots of people think public schools are wastelands and private schools are the promised land, but this country's public education system has a great deal to offer its students, including things you won't find in even the priciest private school."

"I should have looked sooner," Tess said sadly. "My dad and I meant to sit down and go over all the offerings for this year, but then he got posted to Europe so suddenly, and I had to move, and…" She paused, letting her eyes well up a bit. A tissue appeared, indicating that she was on the right track. "No, no, it's okay," she said, taking the tissue anyway. "I'm used to moving. I am. We move all the time, and I change schools every time we do. Every single time. But the one constant in my life, the one thing which made it bearable was that my dad was there, and now that he's not...I mean, the sheriff means well, and I'm forever grateful that he took me in while my dad's away, but...well, I guess his son isn't interested in stuff like this, so he didn't know about it either, and...and I'm babbling," she finished, blowing her nose. "I"m sorry, I'll just—"

"No, no," Mrs. D'Antonio said in a much less judgmental tone. "I forgot about all the upheaval in your life recently. I'm sure Sheriff Valenti means to do right by you, but let's face it—his Kyle is hardly the sort of student who would qualify for something like this, so we can't really expect him to be up on what the better students are doing, can we?"

Tess waited a beat for signs of capitulation. "I'm really grateful that you looked into this for me," she went on when none appeared, "and I'm sorry I'm so late. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to have a copy of all the paperwork so I can study it. I'll make sure I'm ready next year...if I'm still here."

That last bit was accompanied by near tears, and Mrs. D'Antonio's resolve crumpled. "There, there now," she murmured. "It's not as bad as all that. You've had extenuating circumstances, so I'm going to get you everything you need, and…" She leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. "You didn't hear it from me, but there's an opening coming up. Someone got cold feet. When that happens, they go over all the applicants again to pick another candidate. Have everything back to me by tomorrow morning, and I'll be sure your application is in that pile."

"Really?" Tess whispered, eyes appropriately wide. "You'd do that for me?"

"It's the least I can do, given all you've been through, dear," Mrs. D'Antonio answered, patting her hand.

"Oh, thank you!" Tess exclaimed, clasping the hand fervently. "You know, I never knew my mother—she died when I was a baby—but I bet she was as kind as you are."

It was a sentimental, gushing statement which had nothing to do with the subject at hand, but it had the desired effect. "Oh, sweetheart!" Mrs. D'Antonio exclaimed, obviously flattered. "That's so beautiful! Now, you wait right here, and I'll be back in a jiffy with everything you need."

Another hand pat, the clack of heels on a tile floor, and then Tess could dispense with the tearful, dying-of-gratitude expression. That had taken a bit more work than she'd expected. She'd been prepared to play the dad card, but she hadn't expected to have to push it quite so hard. The official explanation for her living with the Valenti's was that her father had been unexpectedly called to Europe on a classified assignment, necessitating his immediate departure. Sheriff Valenti had offered her shelter while her father was away, and all the necessary paperwork had been duly signed by "Edward Harding", legitimizing her living arrangements in the eyes of the school. It was hilarious, really, how easy it was to fake stuff like that. Edward Harding hadn't even needed to put in an appearance; invoking his military employment and uttering the world "classified" meant no one questioned his absence. The sheriff's assurances that he was able to contact Mr. Harding assuaged fears. And one part of that sob story she'd told Mrs. D'Antonio had been true—Nasedo had been the one constant during each of their many moves, the one rock she'd clung to, however hard and unpleasant. Now that rock was gone, and she was having to get inventive. Fortunately, he'd prepared her for that.

"Hey, Tess."

Tess resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "You've already apologized. I heard you the first time."

Liz Parker's eyebrows rose. "I'm not here to apologize."

It was a flat statement which was followed by silence. "So I guess I'm supposed to ask why you're here?" Tess prompted.

"I'm going to see Max later on," Liz said. "You might have another opportunity."

"Opportunity for what? Public humiliation?"

"To be the one who comforts him when he's upset," Liz answered, ignoring the jab. "Come to the Crashdown tonight. Make sure you can see the rooftop outside my room."

"Why?" Tess said dryly. "You gonna throw him off it?"

"If you want in on this, be there by 6:30," Liz said. "If not, forget it."

"Wait," Tess ordered when Liz started to leave. "What are you going to do?"

Liz fixed her with a level stare. "6:30. Don't be late."

Flustered, Tess fixed her eyes on a point across the school office as Liz walked away, feeling like she'd just been dismissed...or just plain dissed. What was it about Liz Parker, anyway? At first glance, she was just a goody two-shoes with perfect grades and stellar extracurriculars, the kind college counselors drooled over. But having seen her in a wide variety of stressful situations, it was clear this perfect student had a stubborn streak and, sometimes, a spine of steel. Like now, for example, when she'd ignored the barbs, made her an offer she couldn't refuse, and made it very clear that she thought Max would be getting a raw deal if that offer was accepted. It didn't help that what had happened at the Crashdown the other night wasn't entirely Liz's fault. No, the blame for that also rested on her shoulders.

"You were talking to Liz about this?"

"Not exactly."

Tess winced, wondering all over again what had possessed her to say such a stupid thing. "Not exactly"? What the hell was "not exactly"? That was the true public humiliation, the fact that she, veteran liar that she was, had simply blurted out a confession without a second thought. She should have been able to talk herself out of that one in a million different ways. "Talking to Liz? Of course not. Why would I do that? Why would she do that?", or "I overheard Liz and Maria talking. So sue me for eavesdropping", or "Max, everyone knows Liz wants out. She's made no secret of that." Any of those would have been worlds better than "not exactly". Hell, total silence would have been better than "not exactly".

"Hey, Tess!"

For a split second, Tess thought Liz had returned. But the voice was too cheerful and also male, so by the time she turned her head, she was breathing again.

"Alex! What brings you here?"

"Still trying to get all the computer AP's I can find," Alex said. "Listen, I thought some more about what you asked me, about translating the...you know."

Tess's heart skipped a beat. "Right! Right. And…?"

"And I decided that I'm still just not comfortable doing that without Max knowing," Alex said. "Have you told him?"

"I...there hasn't been a good time," Tess said.

"Well, whenever you do, just let me know and I'll get right on it," Alex said. "Assuming Max is okay with it, of course."

"Of course," Tess nodded. "Thanks, Alex."

"I really want to help," Alex added. "I just think it would be better if it wasn't on the sly. Too many chances for misinterpretations, you know? So let me know. Oh...hi, Mrs. D'Antonio."

"Hello, Alex," Mrs. D'Antonio beamed, having reappeared with a stack of papers in her hands. "Such a nice boy," she added to Tess as he walked away. "So polite, and so smart."

"Very nice," Tess agreed. "You said to have these back by tomorrow morning, right?"

"Yes, and I looked up the slot which has an opening," Mrs. D'Antonio whispered. "It's in Sweden."






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






Langley Residence







Where the hell is he? Brivari fumed, slamming his car door. The hybrids were safely ensconced in school, including the puppy version of Zan, but the older, problematic model had been MIA since last night. There were few things more annoying to a Warder than losing one's Ward, which seemed to be a regular occurrence of late. He'd worked up a good head of steam as he approached the house, mentally going down a list of anywhere he'd forgotten to check.

"Looking for me?"

Brivari stopped, craning his head upward. Oh. So that's why he hadn't been successful—he hadn't been looking in the right place, specifically the last place he'd thought to look. Five minutes later he'd heaved himself out a second story window and clambered up the steep roof to the ridge, plopping down with grunt.

"Surveying your dominion, Your Highness?"

Zan shook his head, ignoring the sarcasm. "No. Just thinking."

"And what kind of thinking requires a rooftop view?"

"The kind where you see your home alive and well, and full of people who aren't afraid to move around in the daytime," Zan said. "Look at that guy trying to walk that giant dog. I think the dog is walking him." He paused. "It's been a long time since I've seen Roswell this way. I wish Liz could be here now to see it. My Liz, I mean."

"So why didn't you bring her?"

"It took a massive amount of energy to send me here. There was only enough for one person."

"So sayeth Serena," Brivari murmured.

Zan smiled faintly. "Yes, Serena. Jealous that she managed to modify the Granolith?"

"More like suspicious," Brivari said.

Zan shook his head. "You never did like anyone who got close to me, did you?"

"I wouldn't be much of a Warder if I did. You know, we have a place for introspection and naval gazing," Brivari said, trying to find a comfortable spot on the roof ridge. "It's called a porch. I even have one."

"The view is better up here. And I got to watch you drive off in a snit," Zan added. "That's worth something."

Brivari glanced sideways, his curiosity piqued. Ever since his arrival, Zan had been by turns haughty, accusatory, impatient, driven, opinionated—himself, in other words. Now he was relaxed, conversational, even humorous. Something had changed.

"You're in a good mood," Brivari observed. "Anything I should know?"

Zan shrugged. "Just enjoying the sunshine. Remember when I used to hide from you as a kid?"

"And you're still doing it," Brivari said. "Wait...does this mean you remember?"

"It's coming back now," Zan said, watching an elderly neighbor trundle to the corner mailbox. "Just bits and pieces at first, like Jaddo's name, and then more. I used to hide, and time you at how long you took to find me. I think I just wanted to make sure you would find me. I knew you didn't like me."

It was not an accusation but a statement, and a matter-of-fact one at that, but Brivari still felt a prickle of unease. His unhappiness with Riall's wish that he ward his son was something he and that son had never discussed, not in words, at least. It came out in other ways, like a small boy playing annoying games of hide and seek, or a snarky adolescent with a sharp tongue. He'd certainly never expected to get into it with the war-hardened manchild who sat beside him now.

"It's okay," Zan said, as though reading his mind. "I get it. You loved my father."

"I did," Brivari agreed. "Which is why I still look for his son, even as he continues to play hide and seek."

"I'm glad you did," Zan said. "It was fun to have one last game.

"Why does that sound like a goodbye?"

"Because it might be. Liz and I are going to take another stab at pushing…'me'...away. I don't have a lot of hope for it, but if it works, I won't be here any more."

"So you're still on that tack," Brivari said. "I thought this was all about me not supporting the treaty."

"It's both," Zan said. "This part is up to me, or rather, Liz."

"And you think you'll just disappear if you manage to throw a bucket of water on your ardor?"

"Serena said that if I changed the timeline in any significant way, my timeline would cease to exist, and so would I," Zan said. "It works. I started to fade once already."

" 'Fade'?"

Zan held up a hand. "My hands...I couldn't touch anything, couldn't pick up anything. My hands just went right through solid objects. It was kind of...freaky."

"Freaky?" Brivari said doubtfully. "Not terrifying?"

"Maybe for a moment," Zan admitted, "but then I was okay with it. It's what I came here for, so it's a good thing. Unfortunately, we won't know right away if we made things better. All we'll know for sure is that it will be different; as for how, we'll have to wait and see."

On the street below, the senior citizen finally reached the mailbox. "I'm glad I got to see this again," Zan went on. "If I have to fade out of existence, this is the way I want to go, with everyone I love still alive, my home still in one piece, and the most loyal person I've ever met sitting beside me."

"Let's not get all misty-eyed," Brivari said dryly.

"I'm serious," Zan said. "It's a miracle you're still here. All these years later, all this crap later, and you're still here, still hunting me down, still bristling at anyone who comes near me. You could have given up ages ago, made a life for yourself, passed as human. No one would have blamed you." He paused. "Thank you."

Brivari eyed him warily. "Have you been drinking?"

"If I'd been drinking, you'd know. We hybrids don't hold our liquor well, remember?"

"Vividly," Brivari said with feeling. "You've set me quite the pace this past year."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Brivari looked at him in astonishment. Gratitude and an apology, and in rapid succession? "Are you quite sure you haven't been drinking?"

Zan smiled faintly. "Just a little nostalgic, I guess. I've realized a great many things right at the end, but at least I got there. And because of that...I have one last order for you."

The atmosphere changed abruptly, the air turning to lead as Brivari stiffened. So this was the reason for all the compliments and apologies—Zan was going to clean up loose ends before he "faded" by forcing him to do something. This was all just a way to soften the blow. So much for actually entertaining the harebrained notion that this large child's mind had actually grown to fit his body. No such luck.

"What do you want?" Brivari said coldly.

Zan shifted sideways on the roof to face him. "I order you," he said slowly, "to never again regard a command from me as something you must do. From now on, you have the right to refuse any order I give you, including an order which rescinds this one."

Brivari blinked. "What?"

"You heard me," Zan said. "You don't have to obey me any more."

Brivari's mouth worked for a moment. "I...but...does that even work?"

"I'm not sure," Zan admitted. "It was the only way I could think of to fix it. Try it—Brivari, get down off the roof."

Flabbergasted, Brivari's heart began to pound. The king's ability to control Covari had already caused disaster when the hybrids were children. It was the single, most important reason he had stayed in the shadows all these years, why Dee had kept her knowledge to herself, the one insurmountable roadblock between monarch and Warder. Was this even possible? Could it really be that easy? Not easy, he corrected, because no king, not even Riall, would have given up such power...

"Well?" Zan demanded. "Is it working?"

"I...I don't know," Brivari said, flustered. "Try again. Make it more forceful."

"Brivari, I order you to leave this roof," Zan said firmly. "Go downstairs and wait for me." He paused, and a moment later, the stern visage vanished. "Did it work? You're not moving. Does that mean it worked?"

Brivari looked down at his hands, his feet, his precarious perch on the steeply sloped roof. There was nothing pulling him from his uncomfortable seat, no urge to leave, except…

"It's hard to tell," he said in frustration. "I want to get down from here, so it's all mixed up. Order me to do something I don't want to do."

"Brivari, stay here while I go inside," Zan said.

Zan stood up and left, navigating the roof with ease, folding himself through the bedroom window. Brivari waited for a moment before gingerly making his way to the window and climbing inside, with more effort...but no road blocks. Nothing stopped him. Nothing called for him to return to where his king had ordered him to stay. No genetic imperative screamed that he was going the wrong way, doing the wrong thing. He felt, quite literally...nothing.

"Well?" Zan said.

"Holy shit," Brivari breathed, looking at the spot outside where he'd been ordered to stay. "Holy shit, it worked! It worked!"

"Congratulations," Zan said softly. "You're free."

"I'm free," Brivari whispered, still looking at his former seat on the roof as though it would rise up and grab him at any moment. "I'm free! But...why?" he finished wonderingly. "What brought this on?"

Zan gave a small shrug. "In that other life, I led armies. Some of the soldiers from the five planets supported me, just not nearly enough. All of them followed me willingly. We had our disagreements, and it got noisy sometimes, but we worked them out. I couldn't force any of them to do anything...and that's the way it should be. I finally realized that this was the cause of so many of our problems. It's why you were afraid to come near me, it may have killed Jaddo...can you imagine how different things would have been if you could have been there from the beginning? If you could have told me 'no'? This power, it had to go. No one should have that kind of power because no one can resist using it. It really is a kind of slavery."

Still shaking, Brivari raised his eyes to the man he'd wanted to throttle only moments before. "Thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome," Zan said. "Enjoy it while you can. If Liz and I are successful tonight, I'll disappear, and the younger me will take over."

"But...he can do this too, can't he? If you can do it, he can do it."

"He can...but he won't. He's not there yet. He may never be."

"But you got there!" Brivari said desperately, the specter of losing something he'd never hoped to gain unbearably painful. "If you got there, he should be able to get there!"

"I had to go through a war to get there," Zan said. "If I succeed in changing the future, that won't happen, or at least I certainly hope not. But that also might mean he never figures out what I have, never reaches a point where he can let go." He paused. "You were right to stay away, Brivari. If you hadn't, it wouldn't have taken me long to figure out what I could do, and then...and then I don't want to think about what would have happened. If I'd learned that when I was younger, it wouldn't have ended well. Make sure you stay away from me unless you know I can handle it. Ask my grandmother. She'll know." He stopped, looking awkwardly at the floor as Brivari gazed at him, speechless. "Well...I guess this is it. Good luck with whatever happens now. I hope it's better than the first time."

"Wait—you're leaving now?" Brivari demanded. "But I just...we just…"

"Had our first genuinely adult conversation? I know," Zan said gently. "But I have to go. I don't know what a new future will hold for any of us, but I know the one I left was a mess. I have to change that."

"Then do it later," Brivari pleaded. "Do whatever you're going to do tomorrow, or the next day. The future's waited this long. It can wait a bit longer."

"No, it can't," Zan said sadly. "It has to be tonight. Tonight is the make or break night for me and Liz, and I have to make sure that this time, we…'break'. I owe you my life a thousand times over, and maybe someday, if we're lucky, the younger me will be smart enough to thank you for that, and wise enough to realize that I can't keep the power I have."

"But what about the treaty?" Brivari said. "We haven't hashed that out."

"We don't need to," Zan said. "I told you what happened, how everyone felt and behaved. Now it's up to you. Do what you think is best. You were always far better at politics than I ever was."

"Wait," Brivari begged. "It's not that I didn't like you, you were just too young. You were a naive child, and I…I only ever knew you as a boy. I'd love to talk to the man."

"And I'd love to talk to the Warder as a man," Zan said, "but, ironically, I'm out of time."

Brivari swallowed hard, a completely unfamiliar emotion welling in him. "I don't want you to go!" he blurted.

Zan smiled faintly. "You know, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.






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I'll post Chapter 56 on Sunday, September 25.