You evil woman, you!!!!!
Can't wait to see what happens next!! Gosh, this can become such a disaster!!
Misha
Comes The Inquisitor *Series*(AU,TEEN) Complete - 9/23
Moderators: Anniepoo98, Rowedog, ISLANDGIRL5, Itzstacie, truelovepooh, FSU/MSW-94, Hunter, Island Breeze, Forum Moderators
Misha: I accept your judgment of evilness. I have to give you a reason to come back. 
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
October 31, 1947, 1400 hours
Eagle Rock Military Base
"Good afternoon," Amar said in physical speech for the benefit of the guards, the stolen Healer's voice grating in Jaddo's ears as he stared in disbelief. No! How was this possible? What were the odds that this rogue would reappear on the eve of his escape?
<Aren't you glad to see me?> Amar asked, that maddening smile looking odd on the Healer's face. <I must admit I'm glad to see you in such good health. Khivar wants you alive and well, at least initially. I was afraid these idiot humans had messed that up.>
Jaddo felt a crackling sensation as power surged through him, fueled by an anger so intense it threatened to betray him. Much as he would like to fry this sarcastic upstart, revealing even so much as a hint of his rapidly returning abilities would bring the humans' complacency to an abrupt end, along with his chance of escape.
<For goodness sake, Jaddo, say something! The apes will get suspicious if we don't talk to each other.>
<How did you get in here?> Jaddo whispered, the tingling feeling worsening as he spoke.
<I meant out loud,> Amar said, <so they can hear you.>
<How did you get in here?>
Amar sighed. <Must I do everything myself?> He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and offered it to Jaddo. "I have a few more things for you to check over," he said out loud. "I'll wait while you look."
Wordlessly, Jaddo took the paper and unfolded it; it was blank. It was a ruse, a way for them to speak privately so the guards wouldn't think it odd that they didn't appear to be speaking at all. <I repeat,> Jaddo ground out, slapping the paper down on the table, <how did you get in here?>
<It's a brilliant story, and I'd love to tell you sometime,> Amar said impatiently, <but you need to look at that paper, or even these fools will figure out something's up.>
<And why should I care if you're apprehended?>
<Because if I'm caught, you lose your precious nurse,> Amar said casually, crossing one stolen leg over the other, <which means your visits from Brivari will cease. Then you will be truly alone in this wonderful place. Is that what you want?>
<You expect me to believe you haven't already killed her?>
<I considered it,> Amar admitted, <but I was pressed for time. Besides, if she's dead, she's no longer useful. Oh, she'll tell him, I know,> he added, smiling. <Don't fret. I can subdue Brivari as easily as I subdued you.>
<You didn't 'subdue' me,> Jaddo reminded him angrily. <You were nearly spent, and you know it. It was your associate who brought our confrontation to an unfortunately premature end.>
Amar frowned. <I'd have to agree with you on the 'premature' bit. But we're getting off topic. I have not harmed your nurse. Obviously you'll just have to take my word for that. If you reveal me, I'll pass along what she's been up to recently. And even if you kill me before I can do that,> he added, as Jaddo's hands twitched at his sides <she will still be under such scrutiny that Brivari's visits would end. I'd be captured, of course, or dead. But somehow I imagine that would be poor payment for such a great loss.>
Even greater than you think, Jaddo thought sourly. Revealing such a huge security breach would likely have the same effect as revealing his returning powers—any chance for escape would vanish like a puff of smoke.
<I see we understand each other,> Amar said with satisfaction. "I really need you to look at this," he said out loud, pushing the piece of paper in Jaddo's direction.
<As soon as I am free, I promise you will be the first to die,> Jaddo said angrily, snatching the paper with such force that a corner of it tore. One of the guards shifted uneasily from side to side.
<Oh, please,> Amar said dismissively. <You are in no position to make threats.>
<Neither are you.>
<I haven't threatened you. I've merely pointed out the unfortunate consequences of certain choices which are admittedly yours to make. And I understand you're running low on choices these days,> he added, watching Jaddo closely. <Is it true that they've blocked your powers and trapped you in this form with some kind of drug?>
Jaddo's eyes flicked up from the paper, but he said nothing. Amar's eyes widened. <It is true! How long have you been in this form?>
<Too long,> Jaddo said shortly.
Amar leaned forward eagerly. <And has anything changed?>
<Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?> Jaddo demanded.
<It does make a good one in the current circumstances, don't you think?> Amar replied, smiling as Jaddo's eyes burned. <But no—I was referring to the stories Covari dissidents tell. They've long believed that our physiology changes once we stop shifting. Rumor has it that once one retains a form for a certain length of time, synaptic pathways begin to form. It's said that some who stopped shifting achieved the ability to smell and taste....even procreate. I've never met anyone who stayed in one form for any length of time, so I was wondering—>
<I can't believe you risked exposure in enemy territory to inquire about ridiculous rumors,> Jaddo interrupted coldly.
Amar's eyes hardened. <I 'risked exposure' to see how you like being a test subject. And to see if your opinion has changed now that you have suffered the same fate as me.>
******************************************************
His heart pounding, Lieutenant Spade shook Yvonne several more times, her head lolling from side to side, her hair spilling from the clip that held it before finally realizing that this particular strategy wasn't doing any good. Stunned, he stepped back from the bed for a moment, staring at the limp body in front of him, his mind racing wildly as he struggled to keep a lid on his panic. Focus, he ordered himself severely. Dredging up the memory of his cursory medical training, he went over her head to toe. Yvonne's pulse was normal, her breathing even, her color good. She had no visible injuries, her pupils were reactive to light, her skin warm to the touch. Granted she was still unconscious, but she didn't appear to be in any immediate danger. And now that his heart wasn't beating a mile a minute, he could sit down and think clearly about what to do.
And what should he do? His gut reaction was that this unnatural unconsciousness was alien-induced, and the missing dog no dog at all. Much as his brain told him to summon Dr. Pierce at once, his instincts told him that Pierce wouldn't be able to figure this one out. Furthermore, he wasn't certain what would happen to Yvonne if this was alien-induced and Pierce—or Lewis—found out about it. That scenario conjured images Spade would rather not think about.
Spade sat for several minutes pondering the myriad possibilities before reaching a conclusion. Yvonne did not appear to be in need of immediate medical aid, so it seemed safest to simply leave her here for the moment, crazy as that sounded. In the meantime, he was going to have a chat with John. There was very likely an alien out there right now wearing Yvonne's shape, and John would know best how to find another of his people. He might also be able to tell Spade what had happened to Yvonne without exposing her to Pierce and company. The fact that whoever it was hadn't killed her outright was encouraging—perhaps this new alien wasn't an enemy, but a friend come to rescue them.
Spade did his best arranging Yvonne in what appeared to be a comfortable position on the bed, covering her up with the bedspread in case she got cold. He gave her one long, last look before slipping out into the hallway and heading for the prisoner's room. Getting in could be a bit sticky; Spade wasn't on the "visitor's list". Still, he was in command of the men guarding the room, so that should count for something. He'd have to pay the piper when Cavitt found out, but he was talking to John come hell or high water.
He had a cover story all worked out as he approached John's room when one of the guards outside broke into a smile.
"There you are, sir! We've been expecting you."
Spade stopped short. "Expecting me? Why?"
"We heard you were looking for Lieutenant White," the other guard explained, unlocking the door. "She's inside."
Spade had exactly four seconds to digest the ramifications of that statement before the door opened, and he found himself staring into a very familiar pair of eyes.
******************************************************
<You were not a test subject,> Jaddo said flatly.
<Thanks to my quick thinking and defection, no, I wasn't,> Amar retorted. <But I was slated to be. Perhaps we should finish the conversation we started all those months ago in that air vent. For the second time, subjects for medical testing were not all volunteers, or defectives, or criminals as we were told. Some of them were particular specimens the bioengineers wanted. Some of them were targeted because they had enemies in the wrong places. And some of them had been branded troublemakers, with the labs a convenient way to get rid of them. I think that's what happened to me.>
<Really?> Jaddo said sarcastically. <I can't imagine why.>
<Do you deny it?> Amar demanded, the Healer's face coloring. <Do you deny that Zan used the biosciences division to silence people?>
<I had nothing to do with biosciences,> Jaddo said impatiently. <That wasn't Rath's domain.>
<So you deny it!>
<I can neither confirm nor deny something I have no knowledge of!> Jaddo snapped. <And if Zan did behave as you say, then his strategy failed, as evidenced by the fact that you are still here.>
<Only because I was smart enough to run!> Amar said angrily. <I—>
Voices were heard outside, a key turned in the lock, and the door swung open to reveal a single soldier, staring at both of them wide-eyed.
******************************************************
Spade stood frozen to the spot, staring at a version of Yvonne that was perfect to the last detail. Every button on her uniform, every freckle on her nose was in place, right down to the tiny birthmark on the back of her right hand. Had he not just left Yvonne's unconscious body lying on her bed, he would have accepted this facsimile without hesitation.
But Yvonne was lying on her bed, which meant this Yvonne was an alien. But which alien? The free alien took Yvonne's shape on a daily basis, and even Spade wasn't privy to their schedule. Was this alien friend or foe?
One glance at John gave Spade his answer. John had never been noted for being good natured, but the burning hatred in his eyes surprised even Spade. This was no rescue mission; this was one of their enemies, quite possibly the same one who'd come after him before. And given that John had a fair number of his powers back, it must be very hard indeed to sit there and not use them.
The three of them stared at each other in silence while Spade frantically tried to decide what to do. How could he get the alien out of here? And what should he do with it after he'd accomplished that? They were so close to springing John, and springing John meant springing everyone else here, including himself. The last thing Spade wanted was to mess that up. This sudden arrival was horribly inconvenient.
"There you are, Lieutenant," Spade said, reaching a decision and walking into the room, plastering as realistic a smile on his face as he could manage. "Major Cavitt wants you in his office ASAP."
A flicker of very un-Yvonne like annoyance crossed Yvonne's features. "I trained them myself," the free alien had said of their alien enemies. Either the free alien wasn't much of a teacher, or the alien taking Yvonne's shape wasn't much of a pupil.
"I'm not quite finished here," the fake Yvonne said. "I'll be along shortly."
"Negative," Spade said firmly. "Major Cavitt wants you there pronto. I'm to escort you to his office. Please," he added, gesturing toward the door.
For a moment, Spade didn't think the alien was going to comply. John eyes were practically bulging out his sockets, but unfortunately there was no way for Spade to reassure him that he knew this was not Yvonne. John would have to wait for an explanation. Right now, Spade just wanted to get this imposter out of here, pin it to the wall, and make it fix Yvonne. The million dollar question was how to make it do that. Know your enemy....that was the first rule of any battle. As the seconds ticked by with the alien apparently still weighing an answer, Spade reflected on what this particular enemy feared most—exposure.
"Is something wrong, Lieutenant?" Spade asked solicitously. "You look......"—he paused, allowing the words to hang suggestively in the air—"you look different."
There. That was definitely alarm he saw in those stolen eyes. Spade was willing to bet that telling these people they looked "different" was high on their list of insults.
"Are you feeling all right?" Spade continued. "I know you weren't feeling well yesterday. If you like, I could take you directly to Dr. Pierce for a medical exam and make your excuses to Major Cavitt."
"That won't be necessary," the alien broke in, its voice cold. "I'm fine, Lieutenant. I will of course accompany you as requested."
******************************************************
"So," Spade said to the fake Yvonne as she—it—fell in step beside him as they walked down the hallway, "are you feeling better today?"
"Yes," the alien replied shortly.
"Any more symptoms?"
"No."
Spade's eyes darted left and right, his mind drifting from the lame conversation as he tried to decide the best place to bail. He couldn't take it upstairs because that meant going past the checkpoints. The alien seemed to be thinking along the same lines; he could sense it growing agitated as the double doors at the end of the hallway loomed into view as they rounded a corner. It had seen firsthand what would happen to it if it were captured. That was a card Spade intended to play.
There. An empty room on the right, the door mercifully windowless. People would probably see them going inside, but that was a risk he had to take. "In here," he instructed, opening the door and ushering the fake Yvonne inside. "Major Cavitt is waiting for you through the door at the other end of the room."
It headed for the other side slowly, as if it sensed something was afoot. Spade closed the door and unslung his rifle, waiting.
"What door?" it said irritably after a cursory investigation revealed nothing but bare wall.
"Turn around," Spade ordered.
The alien turned, allowing Yvonne's beautiful brown eyes to widen in shock when it saw the rifle pointed right toward it. "Lieutenant?" it asked in a perfectly pitched, frightened female voice.
"Let me save us both a lot of time," Spade said grimly, keeping himself planted firmly in front of the only way out of the room. "I know you aren't Lieutenant White. I know what you are. I know how you've been getting into this compound. And I know you did something to the Lieutenant, which is why she is now unconscious in her quarters. So—you are going to tell me, right here, right now, exactly what you did to Lieutenant White and how to undo it. Or I'm going to pump you so full of knock-out juice, you won't wake up for a week."
The look of astonishment in the brown eyes never wavered. Perhaps he'd been wrong about the caliber of pupil this alien had been. "Lieutenant," it breathed, sounding genuinely panicky, "what's come over you! You're talking nonsense! I—"
"Don't insult my intelligence!" Spade hissed, raising the rifle further. "Answer me!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Amar kept the Healer's face appropriately horrified while seething inwardly, cursing his fate. What were the odds that he would encounter not one, but two humans with enough working brain cells to figure this out? The overwhelming majority of the humans he'd met didn't have any intelligence worth insulting, so of course he had to be facing one of the rare exceptions. It didn't help that the human was blocking the only exit, and that attack at such a distance would likely prove unsuccessful.
"Don't try it," the human said suddenly. "You're too far away. I can shoot you before you get here. Sure, you could kill me, but would that really make you feel better when you woke up the same way you just found your friend?"
"He is not my friend," Amar said angrily, dropping all pretenses, furious that this annoying human seemed to always be one step ahead of him. "He is my enemy!"
"I don't give a shit about your social life," the human retorted. "Just keep in mind that if you try to take me out, you'll wind up bunking here permanently. And you've probably figured out that you'll be staying in whatever shape you're in when I shoot you. Do you want to be a woman for years? Or a dog?"
He knows. So that ruse would no longer work. But no matter. Amar's main quarry was free and reachable. Removing Jaddo from this place was secondary. Let him rot here as long as it took to bring reinforcements from home.
But Amar had no intention of rotting with him. He knew from personal experience how potent the human sedative was, and he had no intention of going through that again. "What do you want?" he asked the human carefully, keeping a wary eye on the rifle.
"I want you to undo whatever you did to Lieutenant White," the human answered.
"And what do I get in return?" Amar asked, walking slowly to his right, vying for a better angle with the door.
Click! The sound of the rifle cocking made Amar stop. "One more step and I shoot," the human said firmly, raising the rifle higher.
"Shoot, and I won't fix your precious Lieutenant."
"Oh, yes you will," the human replied stonily. "When they wake you up, they'll get that out of you, and a lot more besides."
Abruptly, Amar shifted to a male form. Shifting usually alarmed solid species on his own planet; it should leave a human downright terrified. But it didn't have the desired effect; the human paled visibly, but held his ground, the rifle still pointed straight at him.
"You never answered my question," Amar said impatiently, truly out of options now that instilling fear had failed. "If I help your girlfriend, what's in it for me?"
"I'll get you out of here without your being caught," the human answered.
Amar snorted softly. "And you expect me to believe that?"
"Add that to the list of things I don't give a shit about," the human said sharply. "Either help the Lieutenant, or you check into the Humanity Hilton. Those are your choices—make a decision!"
Amar's throat tightened in anger at the commanding tone, but there was little he could do while trapped in this room. He had to get out, and in order to do so, he had to agree to the human's terms. "All right," he said in a more conciliatory voice, hoping the soldier might let his guard down just a bit. "My freedom for your Lieutenant's life. It's a fair trade."
No dice. The soldier remained as suspicious as ever. "Change back to Yvonne's shape," he ordered.
Amar complied, making it a point to shift more slowly this time, drawing out every facet of the transformation and noting with satisfaction how the human's face paled again.
"Now—we're going to walk to her quarters," the soldier said, his voice remarkably steady given his white face. "Once we're there, you'll undo whatever you did. And then, and only then, will I escort you outside."
"And no one will wonder why you're holding a weapon on one of your own people?"
"I always have my weapon," the soldier answered, "and you'd best keep in mind that there are at least fifty other soldiers between you and the great outdoors, all with rifles like mine. Don't pull anything."
Amar considered this in silence for a moment, noting the one thing the soldier seemed to have forgotten. Then he nodded. "I see your point."
"Good. Move."
******************************************************
Spade walked stiffly down the hallway, the alien beside him, his rifle pointed at what he knew was an odd angle. That couldn't be helped, and hopefully no one would notice. Unfortunately, the alien had been right—there was no way he could escort "Lieutenant White" to her quarters at gunpoint without raising a lot more than just eyebrows. Fortunately, the sedative wasn't fussy; the dart could land anywhere and still be effective. Which is why his rifle was now pointed at the alien's ankles, two moving targets that made aiming difficult.
The alien seemed to have made its peace with their bargain because it walked steadily along, heading toward Yvonne's quarters without benefit of direction, making no move to escape. It felt downright weird to be walking next to "Yvonne" when it wasn't really Yvonne.
"I know you," the alien said suddenly, Yvonne's voice sounding strange in Spade's ears. "You're the fool who destroyed my device when the one you now hold was captured." It shook Yvonne's head. "I will never understand why my associate didn't kill you when he had the chance."
"If that's true, then you're the one who knows damned well just how effective this sedative is," Spade retorted softly. "So shut up and keep walking, unless you want to find that out all over again."
"What fairy tales did my esteemed colleagues tell you to win your trust?" the alien continued, ignoring him. "Stories about their ship accidentally crashing, and trying to save their children?"
"What makes you think they won my trust?"
"Did you know that the one who escaped has been making regular visits to the one you now hold by taking your nurse's shape?"
It was looking at him curiously, and it seemed to draw its conclusions immediately. "So you did know. And yet you've kept it to yourself. Which means you're protecting them."
"That doesn't mean I trust them," Spade replied shortly.
"No, but it's in the same ball park, isn't it?"
Spade shot a curious glance at the alien, watching it stride easily down the hallway, a bland expression on its face. "Ball park"? This one's speech was different; it used human expressions much more easily than the others. What did that mean?
"Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?" the alien asked. "The two you protect are wanted for serious crimes on my world. I've been charged with apprehending them and bringing them to justice. Judging from that recent party you call 'World War II', that's a concept you humans seem to like. The tales I could tell you—"
"......wouldn't make me trust you any more than I do them," Spade interrupted firmly. "Look, I don't care about your politics. Or their politics. I don't know what they're supposedly accused of, and I don't need to. What I do know is that whatever you think they did, they didn't do it to me. I just want to get the one we've got out of here. After that, I don't care if you people blow each other's brains out. Go settle your differences somewhere else, and leave us out of it."
The alien has raised Yvonne's eyebrows at this speech. "Then we each want the same thing. Which means I'm agreeing with an ape. Must be a cold day somewhere."
"We're here," Spade said coldly. "Open it."
They had arrived at the door to Yvonne's quarters. The alien put his hand on the door.....and abruptly collapsed into the shape of a dog.
What the hell? Spade's rifle dropped, pointed squarely at the panting dog at his feet. His finger was on the trigger when someone called, "Lieutenant! Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"
Confused, Spade looked up. One of his men had rounded the corner and was staring at the dog, a wide grin on his face. He could have sworn the dog was grinning too, and now that Spade knew it wasn't really a dog, he caught a hint of something else: Triumph.
Of course! How could he have been so stupid? Practically the whole compound knew about the "dog", had been enjoying the "dog" for the past three months now. Everyone was looking for it, no one would want him to shoot it—it was the perfect disguise, the perfect way to get hustled out of here without having to lift a finger on Yvonne's behalf. Oh, no you don't! Spade thought grimly, cocking his rifle. If he had to sedate it and lock it in his own quarters, that thing was not getting out of here until it had helped Yvonne.
"Wait!" the soldier was yelling. "I can explain! It's just—" But he never got any further because the dog took off, scampering away just like the puppy it looked like
"Stop that dog!" Spade yelled, hurling himself down the hallway after it, his rifle at the ready.
The soldier hesitated, looking back and forth from Spade to the dog as it hurtled past him, its nails scratching as it slid around the corner. Spade watched the soldier glance down the main hall, toward the double doors leading to the first floor, and realized in horror what was about to happen.
"Open the door!" the soldier shouted, glancing back at Spade, who was bearing down on him like a freight train. "He's gonna shoot it!"
Damn it! Spade barreled around the corner to see the guards at the doors swinging them open for the dog, now only yards away. "Close the doors!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, heedless of who heard him.
His men ignored him. Of course they did. What they saw was an armed soldier chasing a puppy they'd all grown attached to. In their eyes, they were merely saving the life of an innocent animal, and he mentally cursed his idiocy for not recognizing how easy it would be for the alien to escape in dog form.
The double doors were open now. One of the guards was calling upstairs, telling them the dog was on its way, while the other was urging the puppy along. "C'mon, boy! C'mon! We won't let him get you!"
The dog was almost to the door. It was now or never.
"It's not a dog, it's an alien!"
Startled faces turned Spade's way. He saw Private Thompson poke his head out of a side room and stare at him curiously as he went flying by. Revealing the dog as an alien would shut down John's escape attempt, but there was no other alternative. If that thing got away, Yvonne might never wake up.
The brief moment of indecision ended. "He's just saying that to make you stop it!" someone yelled. "Let it go!"
"No! Spade screamed, as the dog flew through the doors and headed up the stairway, the guards moving to block Spade's path.
"Don't shoot it, sir," one of the guards begged. "It's just a puppy. It—"
"It's an alien, you idiot!" Spade hollered, smashing into the wall of guards before they got the doors shut, sending two of them sprawling as he hit the stairs at mach ten. Taking the stairs three at a time, he finally came within sight of the doors at the top of the stairs. Make that the open doors at the top of the stairs, helpfully held wide to let the dog through.
"Catch it!" Spade shouted, pelting through these doors as he'd done below, his lungs threatening to burst. "Stop it!"
Spade realized he wasn't going to make it long before the dog reached the set of doors that led to the outside world. Soldiers were spilling out of the mess hall and the rec room to see what all the noise was about. Bleary-eyed men from the night shift were sticking their heads out of their quarters, taking a few seconds to process what they saw but reaching the same conclusion as everyone else already had. Cries of "go boy!", and "this way!" echoed down the interminably long hallway as Spade continued to plead for someone, anyone to stop it.
A knot of well-wishers suddenly slowed the dog down. Scrambling for a way between the forest of legs, Spade saw it look back with fear in its eyes. He put out a burst of speed, narrowing the distance between them by a fair amount. The first set of doors at the end was now open, but he was getting closer......
"Move back!" someone called. "Let it through!"
Someone opened the outside doors as the dog came closer, Spade practically on its heels now. Warm October air poured in as the dog skidded through, Spade right behind it. He might still be able to catch it even if it got out. It couldn't risk changing its shape right in front of everyone, so it would have to stay a dog at least until it found a hiding place in which to change. If he was really lucky, he might have a few seconds to.......
Bam! Spade fell to the ground, the wind knocked out of him as whoever he had just run headlong into also hit the ground beside him. Shit! Swearing under what little breath he had left, Spade's heart sank as he watched the dog scamper a safe distance away, stop, and turn around briefly, staring at him with a maddeningly triumphant expression.
"Lieutenant?" growled a voice in his ear.
Spade turned......and blanched. Sitting beside him was none other than a very disheveled Major Cavitt, who was staring at the puppy, now heading right for the fence.
"I imagine," Cavitt said in a strained voice, "that you have a good explanation for this, Lieutenant?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 52 next Sunday.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
October 31, 1947, 1400 hours
Eagle Rock Military Base
"Good afternoon," Amar said in physical speech for the benefit of the guards, the stolen Healer's voice grating in Jaddo's ears as he stared in disbelief. No! How was this possible? What were the odds that this rogue would reappear on the eve of his escape?
<Aren't you glad to see me?> Amar asked, that maddening smile looking odd on the Healer's face. <I must admit I'm glad to see you in such good health. Khivar wants you alive and well, at least initially. I was afraid these idiot humans had messed that up.>
Jaddo felt a crackling sensation as power surged through him, fueled by an anger so intense it threatened to betray him. Much as he would like to fry this sarcastic upstart, revealing even so much as a hint of his rapidly returning abilities would bring the humans' complacency to an abrupt end, along with his chance of escape.
<For goodness sake, Jaddo, say something! The apes will get suspicious if we don't talk to each other.>
<How did you get in here?> Jaddo whispered, the tingling feeling worsening as he spoke.
<I meant out loud,> Amar said, <so they can hear you.>
<How did you get in here?>
Amar sighed. <Must I do everything myself?> He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and offered it to Jaddo. "I have a few more things for you to check over," he said out loud. "I'll wait while you look."
Wordlessly, Jaddo took the paper and unfolded it; it was blank. It was a ruse, a way for them to speak privately so the guards wouldn't think it odd that they didn't appear to be speaking at all. <I repeat,> Jaddo ground out, slapping the paper down on the table, <how did you get in here?>
<It's a brilliant story, and I'd love to tell you sometime,> Amar said impatiently, <but you need to look at that paper, or even these fools will figure out something's up.>
<And why should I care if you're apprehended?>
<Because if I'm caught, you lose your precious nurse,> Amar said casually, crossing one stolen leg over the other, <which means your visits from Brivari will cease. Then you will be truly alone in this wonderful place. Is that what you want?>
<You expect me to believe you haven't already killed her?>
<I considered it,> Amar admitted, <but I was pressed for time. Besides, if she's dead, she's no longer useful. Oh, she'll tell him, I know,> he added, smiling. <Don't fret. I can subdue Brivari as easily as I subdued you.>
<You didn't 'subdue' me,> Jaddo reminded him angrily. <You were nearly spent, and you know it. It was your associate who brought our confrontation to an unfortunately premature end.>
Amar frowned. <I'd have to agree with you on the 'premature' bit. But we're getting off topic. I have not harmed your nurse. Obviously you'll just have to take my word for that. If you reveal me, I'll pass along what she's been up to recently. And even if you kill me before I can do that,> he added, as Jaddo's hands twitched at his sides <she will still be under such scrutiny that Brivari's visits would end. I'd be captured, of course, or dead. But somehow I imagine that would be poor payment for such a great loss.>
Even greater than you think, Jaddo thought sourly. Revealing such a huge security breach would likely have the same effect as revealing his returning powers—any chance for escape would vanish like a puff of smoke.
<I see we understand each other,> Amar said with satisfaction. "I really need you to look at this," he said out loud, pushing the piece of paper in Jaddo's direction.
<As soon as I am free, I promise you will be the first to die,> Jaddo said angrily, snatching the paper with such force that a corner of it tore. One of the guards shifted uneasily from side to side.
<Oh, please,> Amar said dismissively. <You are in no position to make threats.>
<Neither are you.>
<I haven't threatened you. I've merely pointed out the unfortunate consequences of certain choices which are admittedly yours to make. And I understand you're running low on choices these days,> he added, watching Jaddo closely. <Is it true that they've blocked your powers and trapped you in this form with some kind of drug?>
Jaddo's eyes flicked up from the paper, but he said nothing. Amar's eyes widened. <It is true! How long have you been in this form?>
<Too long,> Jaddo said shortly.
Amar leaned forward eagerly. <And has anything changed?>
<Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?> Jaddo demanded.
<It does make a good one in the current circumstances, don't you think?> Amar replied, smiling as Jaddo's eyes burned. <But no—I was referring to the stories Covari dissidents tell. They've long believed that our physiology changes once we stop shifting. Rumor has it that once one retains a form for a certain length of time, synaptic pathways begin to form. It's said that some who stopped shifting achieved the ability to smell and taste....even procreate. I've never met anyone who stayed in one form for any length of time, so I was wondering—>
<I can't believe you risked exposure in enemy territory to inquire about ridiculous rumors,> Jaddo interrupted coldly.
Amar's eyes hardened. <I 'risked exposure' to see how you like being a test subject. And to see if your opinion has changed now that you have suffered the same fate as me.>
******************************************************
His heart pounding, Lieutenant Spade shook Yvonne several more times, her head lolling from side to side, her hair spilling from the clip that held it before finally realizing that this particular strategy wasn't doing any good. Stunned, he stepped back from the bed for a moment, staring at the limp body in front of him, his mind racing wildly as he struggled to keep a lid on his panic. Focus, he ordered himself severely. Dredging up the memory of his cursory medical training, he went over her head to toe. Yvonne's pulse was normal, her breathing even, her color good. She had no visible injuries, her pupils were reactive to light, her skin warm to the touch. Granted she was still unconscious, but she didn't appear to be in any immediate danger. And now that his heart wasn't beating a mile a minute, he could sit down and think clearly about what to do.
And what should he do? His gut reaction was that this unnatural unconsciousness was alien-induced, and the missing dog no dog at all. Much as his brain told him to summon Dr. Pierce at once, his instincts told him that Pierce wouldn't be able to figure this one out. Furthermore, he wasn't certain what would happen to Yvonne if this was alien-induced and Pierce—or Lewis—found out about it. That scenario conjured images Spade would rather not think about.
Spade sat for several minutes pondering the myriad possibilities before reaching a conclusion. Yvonne did not appear to be in need of immediate medical aid, so it seemed safest to simply leave her here for the moment, crazy as that sounded. In the meantime, he was going to have a chat with John. There was very likely an alien out there right now wearing Yvonne's shape, and John would know best how to find another of his people. He might also be able to tell Spade what had happened to Yvonne without exposing her to Pierce and company. The fact that whoever it was hadn't killed her outright was encouraging—perhaps this new alien wasn't an enemy, but a friend come to rescue them.
Spade did his best arranging Yvonne in what appeared to be a comfortable position on the bed, covering her up with the bedspread in case she got cold. He gave her one long, last look before slipping out into the hallway and heading for the prisoner's room. Getting in could be a bit sticky; Spade wasn't on the "visitor's list". Still, he was in command of the men guarding the room, so that should count for something. He'd have to pay the piper when Cavitt found out, but he was talking to John come hell or high water.
He had a cover story all worked out as he approached John's room when one of the guards outside broke into a smile.
"There you are, sir! We've been expecting you."
Spade stopped short. "Expecting me? Why?"
"We heard you were looking for Lieutenant White," the other guard explained, unlocking the door. "She's inside."
Spade had exactly four seconds to digest the ramifications of that statement before the door opened, and he found himself staring into a very familiar pair of eyes.
******************************************************
<You were not a test subject,> Jaddo said flatly.
<Thanks to my quick thinking and defection, no, I wasn't,> Amar retorted. <But I was slated to be. Perhaps we should finish the conversation we started all those months ago in that air vent. For the second time, subjects for medical testing were not all volunteers, or defectives, or criminals as we were told. Some of them were particular specimens the bioengineers wanted. Some of them were targeted because they had enemies in the wrong places. And some of them had been branded troublemakers, with the labs a convenient way to get rid of them. I think that's what happened to me.>
<Really?> Jaddo said sarcastically. <I can't imagine why.>
<Do you deny it?> Amar demanded, the Healer's face coloring. <Do you deny that Zan used the biosciences division to silence people?>
<I had nothing to do with biosciences,> Jaddo said impatiently. <That wasn't Rath's domain.>
<So you deny it!>
<I can neither confirm nor deny something I have no knowledge of!> Jaddo snapped. <And if Zan did behave as you say, then his strategy failed, as evidenced by the fact that you are still here.>
<Only because I was smart enough to run!> Amar said angrily. <I—>
Voices were heard outside, a key turned in the lock, and the door swung open to reveal a single soldier, staring at both of them wide-eyed.
******************************************************
Spade stood frozen to the spot, staring at a version of Yvonne that was perfect to the last detail. Every button on her uniform, every freckle on her nose was in place, right down to the tiny birthmark on the back of her right hand. Had he not just left Yvonne's unconscious body lying on her bed, he would have accepted this facsimile without hesitation.
But Yvonne was lying on her bed, which meant this Yvonne was an alien. But which alien? The free alien took Yvonne's shape on a daily basis, and even Spade wasn't privy to their schedule. Was this alien friend or foe?
One glance at John gave Spade his answer. John had never been noted for being good natured, but the burning hatred in his eyes surprised even Spade. This was no rescue mission; this was one of their enemies, quite possibly the same one who'd come after him before. And given that John had a fair number of his powers back, it must be very hard indeed to sit there and not use them.
The three of them stared at each other in silence while Spade frantically tried to decide what to do. How could he get the alien out of here? And what should he do with it after he'd accomplished that? They were so close to springing John, and springing John meant springing everyone else here, including himself. The last thing Spade wanted was to mess that up. This sudden arrival was horribly inconvenient.
"There you are, Lieutenant," Spade said, reaching a decision and walking into the room, plastering as realistic a smile on his face as he could manage. "Major Cavitt wants you in his office ASAP."
A flicker of very un-Yvonne like annoyance crossed Yvonne's features. "I trained them myself," the free alien had said of their alien enemies. Either the free alien wasn't much of a teacher, or the alien taking Yvonne's shape wasn't much of a pupil.
"I'm not quite finished here," the fake Yvonne said. "I'll be along shortly."
"Negative," Spade said firmly. "Major Cavitt wants you there pronto. I'm to escort you to his office. Please," he added, gesturing toward the door.
For a moment, Spade didn't think the alien was going to comply. John eyes were practically bulging out his sockets, but unfortunately there was no way for Spade to reassure him that he knew this was not Yvonne. John would have to wait for an explanation. Right now, Spade just wanted to get this imposter out of here, pin it to the wall, and make it fix Yvonne. The million dollar question was how to make it do that. Know your enemy....that was the first rule of any battle. As the seconds ticked by with the alien apparently still weighing an answer, Spade reflected on what this particular enemy feared most—exposure.
"Is something wrong, Lieutenant?" Spade asked solicitously. "You look......"—he paused, allowing the words to hang suggestively in the air—"you look different."
There. That was definitely alarm he saw in those stolen eyes. Spade was willing to bet that telling these people they looked "different" was high on their list of insults.
"Are you feeling all right?" Spade continued. "I know you weren't feeling well yesterday. If you like, I could take you directly to Dr. Pierce for a medical exam and make your excuses to Major Cavitt."
"That won't be necessary," the alien broke in, its voice cold. "I'm fine, Lieutenant. I will of course accompany you as requested."
******************************************************
"So," Spade said to the fake Yvonne as she—it—fell in step beside him as they walked down the hallway, "are you feeling better today?"
"Yes," the alien replied shortly.
"Any more symptoms?"
"No."
Spade's eyes darted left and right, his mind drifting from the lame conversation as he tried to decide the best place to bail. He couldn't take it upstairs because that meant going past the checkpoints. The alien seemed to be thinking along the same lines; he could sense it growing agitated as the double doors at the end of the hallway loomed into view as they rounded a corner. It had seen firsthand what would happen to it if it were captured. That was a card Spade intended to play.
There. An empty room on the right, the door mercifully windowless. People would probably see them going inside, but that was a risk he had to take. "In here," he instructed, opening the door and ushering the fake Yvonne inside. "Major Cavitt is waiting for you through the door at the other end of the room."
It headed for the other side slowly, as if it sensed something was afoot. Spade closed the door and unslung his rifle, waiting.
"What door?" it said irritably after a cursory investigation revealed nothing but bare wall.
"Turn around," Spade ordered.
The alien turned, allowing Yvonne's beautiful brown eyes to widen in shock when it saw the rifle pointed right toward it. "Lieutenant?" it asked in a perfectly pitched, frightened female voice.
"Let me save us both a lot of time," Spade said grimly, keeping himself planted firmly in front of the only way out of the room. "I know you aren't Lieutenant White. I know what you are. I know how you've been getting into this compound. And I know you did something to the Lieutenant, which is why she is now unconscious in her quarters. So—you are going to tell me, right here, right now, exactly what you did to Lieutenant White and how to undo it. Or I'm going to pump you so full of knock-out juice, you won't wake up for a week."
The look of astonishment in the brown eyes never wavered. Perhaps he'd been wrong about the caliber of pupil this alien had been. "Lieutenant," it breathed, sounding genuinely panicky, "what's come over you! You're talking nonsense! I—"
"Don't insult my intelligence!" Spade hissed, raising the rifle further. "Answer me!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Amar kept the Healer's face appropriately horrified while seething inwardly, cursing his fate. What were the odds that he would encounter not one, but two humans with enough working brain cells to figure this out? The overwhelming majority of the humans he'd met didn't have any intelligence worth insulting, so of course he had to be facing one of the rare exceptions. It didn't help that the human was blocking the only exit, and that attack at such a distance would likely prove unsuccessful.
"Don't try it," the human said suddenly. "You're too far away. I can shoot you before you get here. Sure, you could kill me, but would that really make you feel better when you woke up the same way you just found your friend?"
"He is not my friend," Amar said angrily, dropping all pretenses, furious that this annoying human seemed to always be one step ahead of him. "He is my enemy!"
"I don't give a shit about your social life," the human retorted. "Just keep in mind that if you try to take me out, you'll wind up bunking here permanently. And you've probably figured out that you'll be staying in whatever shape you're in when I shoot you. Do you want to be a woman for years? Or a dog?"
He knows. So that ruse would no longer work. But no matter. Amar's main quarry was free and reachable. Removing Jaddo from this place was secondary. Let him rot here as long as it took to bring reinforcements from home.
But Amar had no intention of rotting with him. He knew from personal experience how potent the human sedative was, and he had no intention of going through that again. "What do you want?" he asked the human carefully, keeping a wary eye on the rifle.
"I want you to undo whatever you did to Lieutenant White," the human answered.
"And what do I get in return?" Amar asked, walking slowly to his right, vying for a better angle with the door.
Click! The sound of the rifle cocking made Amar stop. "One more step and I shoot," the human said firmly, raising the rifle higher.
"Shoot, and I won't fix your precious Lieutenant."
"Oh, yes you will," the human replied stonily. "When they wake you up, they'll get that out of you, and a lot more besides."
Abruptly, Amar shifted to a male form. Shifting usually alarmed solid species on his own planet; it should leave a human downright terrified. But it didn't have the desired effect; the human paled visibly, but held his ground, the rifle still pointed straight at him.
"You never answered my question," Amar said impatiently, truly out of options now that instilling fear had failed. "If I help your girlfriend, what's in it for me?"
"I'll get you out of here without your being caught," the human answered.
Amar snorted softly. "And you expect me to believe that?"
"Add that to the list of things I don't give a shit about," the human said sharply. "Either help the Lieutenant, or you check into the Humanity Hilton. Those are your choices—make a decision!"
Amar's throat tightened in anger at the commanding tone, but there was little he could do while trapped in this room. He had to get out, and in order to do so, he had to agree to the human's terms. "All right," he said in a more conciliatory voice, hoping the soldier might let his guard down just a bit. "My freedom for your Lieutenant's life. It's a fair trade."
No dice. The soldier remained as suspicious as ever. "Change back to Yvonne's shape," he ordered.
Amar complied, making it a point to shift more slowly this time, drawing out every facet of the transformation and noting with satisfaction how the human's face paled again.
"Now—we're going to walk to her quarters," the soldier said, his voice remarkably steady given his white face. "Once we're there, you'll undo whatever you did. And then, and only then, will I escort you outside."
"And no one will wonder why you're holding a weapon on one of your own people?"
"I always have my weapon," the soldier answered, "and you'd best keep in mind that there are at least fifty other soldiers between you and the great outdoors, all with rifles like mine. Don't pull anything."
Amar considered this in silence for a moment, noting the one thing the soldier seemed to have forgotten. Then he nodded. "I see your point."
"Good. Move."
******************************************************
Spade walked stiffly down the hallway, the alien beside him, his rifle pointed at what he knew was an odd angle. That couldn't be helped, and hopefully no one would notice. Unfortunately, the alien had been right—there was no way he could escort "Lieutenant White" to her quarters at gunpoint without raising a lot more than just eyebrows. Fortunately, the sedative wasn't fussy; the dart could land anywhere and still be effective. Which is why his rifle was now pointed at the alien's ankles, two moving targets that made aiming difficult.
The alien seemed to have made its peace with their bargain because it walked steadily along, heading toward Yvonne's quarters without benefit of direction, making no move to escape. It felt downright weird to be walking next to "Yvonne" when it wasn't really Yvonne.
"I know you," the alien said suddenly, Yvonne's voice sounding strange in Spade's ears. "You're the fool who destroyed my device when the one you now hold was captured." It shook Yvonne's head. "I will never understand why my associate didn't kill you when he had the chance."
"If that's true, then you're the one who knows damned well just how effective this sedative is," Spade retorted softly. "So shut up and keep walking, unless you want to find that out all over again."
"What fairy tales did my esteemed colleagues tell you to win your trust?" the alien continued, ignoring him. "Stories about their ship accidentally crashing, and trying to save their children?"
"What makes you think they won my trust?"
"Did you know that the one who escaped has been making regular visits to the one you now hold by taking your nurse's shape?"
It was looking at him curiously, and it seemed to draw its conclusions immediately. "So you did know. And yet you've kept it to yourself. Which means you're protecting them."
"That doesn't mean I trust them," Spade replied shortly.
"No, but it's in the same ball park, isn't it?"
Spade shot a curious glance at the alien, watching it stride easily down the hallway, a bland expression on its face. "Ball park"? This one's speech was different; it used human expressions much more easily than the others. What did that mean?
"Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?" the alien asked. "The two you protect are wanted for serious crimes on my world. I've been charged with apprehending them and bringing them to justice. Judging from that recent party you call 'World War II', that's a concept you humans seem to like. The tales I could tell you—"
"......wouldn't make me trust you any more than I do them," Spade interrupted firmly. "Look, I don't care about your politics. Or their politics. I don't know what they're supposedly accused of, and I don't need to. What I do know is that whatever you think they did, they didn't do it to me. I just want to get the one we've got out of here. After that, I don't care if you people blow each other's brains out. Go settle your differences somewhere else, and leave us out of it."
The alien has raised Yvonne's eyebrows at this speech. "Then we each want the same thing. Which means I'm agreeing with an ape. Must be a cold day somewhere."
"We're here," Spade said coldly. "Open it."
They had arrived at the door to Yvonne's quarters. The alien put his hand on the door.....and abruptly collapsed into the shape of a dog.
What the hell? Spade's rifle dropped, pointed squarely at the panting dog at his feet. His finger was on the trigger when someone called, "Lieutenant! Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"
Confused, Spade looked up. One of his men had rounded the corner and was staring at the dog, a wide grin on his face. He could have sworn the dog was grinning too, and now that Spade knew it wasn't really a dog, he caught a hint of something else: Triumph.
Of course! How could he have been so stupid? Practically the whole compound knew about the "dog", had been enjoying the "dog" for the past three months now. Everyone was looking for it, no one would want him to shoot it—it was the perfect disguise, the perfect way to get hustled out of here without having to lift a finger on Yvonne's behalf. Oh, no you don't! Spade thought grimly, cocking his rifle. If he had to sedate it and lock it in his own quarters, that thing was not getting out of here until it had helped Yvonne.
"Wait!" the soldier was yelling. "I can explain! It's just—" But he never got any further because the dog took off, scampering away just like the puppy it looked like
"Stop that dog!" Spade yelled, hurling himself down the hallway after it, his rifle at the ready.
The soldier hesitated, looking back and forth from Spade to the dog as it hurtled past him, its nails scratching as it slid around the corner. Spade watched the soldier glance down the main hall, toward the double doors leading to the first floor, and realized in horror what was about to happen.
"Open the door!" the soldier shouted, glancing back at Spade, who was bearing down on him like a freight train. "He's gonna shoot it!"
Damn it! Spade barreled around the corner to see the guards at the doors swinging them open for the dog, now only yards away. "Close the doors!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, heedless of who heard him.
His men ignored him. Of course they did. What they saw was an armed soldier chasing a puppy they'd all grown attached to. In their eyes, they were merely saving the life of an innocent animal, and he mentally cursed his idiocy for not recognizing how easy it would be for the alien to escape in dog form.
The double doors were open now. One of the guards was calling upstairs, telling them the dog was on its way, while the other was urging the puppy along. "C'mon, boy! C'mon! We won't let him get you!"
The dog was almost to the door. It was now or never.
"It's not a dog, it's an alien!"
Startled faces turned Spade's way. He saw Private Thompson poke his head out of a side room and stare at him curiously as he went flying by. Revealing the dog as an alien would shut down John's escape attempt, but there was no other alternative. If that thing got away, Yvonne might never wake up.
The brief moment of indecision ended. "He's just saying that to make you stop it!" someone yelled. "Let it go!"
"No! Spade screamed, as the dog flew through the doors and headed up the stairway, the guards moving to block Spade's path.
"Don't shoot it, sir," one of the guards begged. "It's just a puppy. It—"
"It's an alien, you idiot!" Spade hollered, smashing into the wall of guards before they got the doors shut, sending two of them sprawling as he hit the stairs at mach ten. Taking the stairs three at a time, he finally came within sight of the doors at the top of the stairs. Make that the open doors at the top of the stairs, helpfully held wide to let the dog through.
"Catch it!" Spade shouted, pelting through these doors as he'd done below, his lungs threatening to burst. "Stop it!"
Spade realized he wasn't going to make it long before the dog reached the set of doors that led to the outside world. Soldiers were spilling out of the mess hall and the rec room to see what all the noise was about. Bleary-eyed men from the night shift were sticking their heads out of their quarters, taking a few seconds to process what they saw but reaching the same conclusion as everyone else already had. Cries of "go boy!", and "this way!" echoed down the interminably long hallway as Spade continued to plead for someone, anyone to stop it.
A knot of well-wishers suddenly slowed the dog down. Scrambling for a way between the forest of legs, Spade saw it look back with fear in its eyes. He put out a burst of speed, narrowing the distance between them by a fair amount. The first set of doors at the end was now open, but he was getting closer......
"Move back!" someone called. "Let it through!"
Someone opened the outside doors as the dog came closer, Spade practically on its heels now. Warm October air poured in as the dog skidded through, Spade right behind it. He might still be able to catch it even if it got out. It couldn't risk changing its shape right in front of everyone, so it would have to stay a dog at least until it found a hiding place in which to change. If he was really lucky, he might have a few seconds to.......
Bam! Spade fell to the ground, the wind knocked out of him as whoever he had just run headlong into also hit the ground beside him. Shit! Swearing under what little breath he had left, Spade's heart sank as he watched the dog scamper a safe distance away, stop, and turn around briefly, staring at him with a maddeningly triumphant expression.
"Lieutenant?" growled a voice in his ear.
Spade turned......and blanched. Sitting beside him was none other than a very disheveled Major Cavitt, who was staring at the puppy, now heading right for the fence.
"I imagine," Cavitt said in a strained voice, "that you have a good explanation for this, Lieutenant?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 52 next Sunday.
BRIVARI: "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."
Hello and thank you to everyone reading!
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
October 31, 1947, 1500 hours
Eagle Rock Military Base
Lieutenant Spade stepped into the hallway and closed the door to Cavitt's office behind him as Cavitt's secretary threw him one last sympathetic look. Once safely outside, he exhaled slowly and leaned against the stone wall, which felt inexplicably cold to him. He looked down—his uniform was drenched, dark stains spreading under his arms and down his chest. God, I'm a mess, Spade thought, wrinkling his nose in distaste. But mess or no mess, it was a miracle he was here in the first place. He didn't know what cataclysmic event had taken place during the time he'd been in that office, but something extraordinary must have happened to account for what hadn't happened. Perhaps the Earth had stopped rotating? Perhaps the magnetic field had reversed direction? Because for some inexplicable reason, Spade found himself standing here with both his eardrums and his commission intact when he'd expected to be screamed at and demoted in short order.
To be sure, Cavitt had gotten off to a good start after hauling Spade back to his office and demanding an explanation. "A dog?" Cavitt had said in disbelief. "Did I hear you correctly, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir," Spade had answered wearily.
"A dog?" Cavitt repeated. "You let a dog into my compound?"
"No, sir, I didn't let him in," Spade had replied impatiently. "I—"
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Lieutenant, but to the best of my knowledge, dogs are incapable of working doorknobs," Cavitt had said, his eyes like nails. "They are similarly incapable of speaking or passing checkpoints. So someone had to have let the dog in."
"My men did, sir," Spade had said, not bothering to point out that working doorknobs was toward the low end of this particular dog's bag of tricks.
"Your men did," Cavitt echoed, tenting his fingertips. "I see. And you failed to notice the presence of this dog? Or perhaps you thought the Army was now enlisting canines as a means of meeting our quotas?"
"I never saw the dog until today, sir," Spade had answered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "I—"
"Lieutenant, do you, or do you not, conduct surprise inspections of the various posts under your command in this compound?"
"Yes, sir," Spade answered. But not like I used to. Corporal Brisson wasn't the only one getting lax about security. Spade's "surprise inspections" hadn't been much of a surprise for awhile now.
"Is there something wrong with your eyesight, Lieutenant?"
"Not that I know of, sir," Spade grated out. "The dog was small, and the men were very good at hiding it."
"Who?" Cavitt demanded. "Which men?"
Damned near all of them. "I'm not sure, sir," Spade lied, unwilling to give Cavitt anything he didn't absolutely have to. "I only learned of the dog minutes before you saw it. I haven't had time to conduct an investigation."
Cavitt had leaned back in his chair and stared at him as Spade kept his eyes focused directly above Cavitt's head, awaiting his fate. Based on previous experience with Cavitt, he fully expected to at least be confined to quarters. Eventually, he was almost certain to be relieved of command; if he was really lucky, that's all he would be relieved of. At this point, it was the 'confined to quarters' that bothered him the most. Yvonne was still unconscious. If he went down for this, so be it, but if he could spare her what would inevitably happen if anyone discovered she'd had contact with an alien on the loose, he meant to do that. Unfortunately, he couldn't do that while he was locked in his quarters.
"Conduct your investigation, Lieutenant," Cavitt said abruptly. "I expect a report on my desk by 0500. I will inform General Ramey of the security breach when he arrives tomorrow."
Spade blinked. "General Ramey?"
"Corporal Keyser has made a breakthrough in understanding the alien technology," Cavitt answered, "so the General will be here tomorrow to hear the Corporal's report. And mine," he added pointedly. "If I were you, I'd pack my bags. Dismissed."
" 'Dismissed'?" Spade had echoed in disbelief.
"Yes, dismissed," Cavitt repeated irritably. "Don't tell me your hearing has been compromised along with your eyesight. You have your orders. I suggest you get started."
Cavitt had picked up the telephone, indicating their encounter was over. Spade had saluted and left the office, still unable to believe that he was walking away a free man, at least for the moment....and maybe only for a moment. Cavitt obviously wasn't aiming for either a reprimand or demotion, neither of which involved luggage. More likely he would argue for some kind of discharge and then pick Spade off once he rejoined the civilian population. Doesn't matter, Spade thought, pushing himself off the wall and plucking at his clammy shirt. He still had a few hours of freedom left, and Yvonne still needed help. And there was only one person in this compound who might know how to counteract an alien sedative.
******************************************************
October 31, 1947, 3:15 p.m.
Chaves County Sheriff's Station
Deputy Valenti heard the phones ringing as he pulled his car into the parking lot of the Sheriff's station. He shifted into park, shut off the engine, and sat there for a moment, listening to the voices floating out the nearby open window. Tired voices, exasperated voices, voices straining to be patient and understanding. Here it comes, he thought ruefully, settling back into his seat, savoring the last few minutes before he had to jump into the fray. Halloween night was always a busy night for any Sheriff's office, but Halloween night in Chaves County had taken on new meaning this year. This year, Halloween was going to be a nightmare, and not of the ghoulish kind.
Time had passed since that alien ship—or weather balloon, if one believed the Army's version—had crashed on Pohlman ranch, but time had not dimmed the apprehension it had caused. People were still as jumpy as a bunch of long-tailed cats in a room full of rocking chairs, calling the Sheriff for every imaginable noise or bump in the night—or the daytime, for that matter. The approach of Halloween had only made things worse, partly because of the nature of the holiday, and partly because the usual Halloween pranksters had recognized the fact that there were lots of nervous people out there more ripe for scaring than usual....and this overabundance of easily frightened people had in turn encouraged even more pranks and pranksters. It all boiled down to the simple economics of supply and demand.
Ironically, the one group of people in the county not constantly calling the Sheriff's office were the tourists, the number of which seemed to be increasing by the week. Pohlman Ranch had been bought by the government and closed off, something many people, Valenti included, found very telling indeed. But that hadn't stopped the alien enthusiasts, the UFO hunters, and the just plain curious from descending on Chaves County in droves. The focal point seemed to be Roswell, the closest town to the crash site of sufficient size to accommodate the influx. And the people of Roswell had taken notice—just this morning as Valenti had backed out of his driveway, he'd noticed yet another "Room for Rent" sign, which seemed to be springing up like mushrooms. Two new restaurants had opened since the crash, and more were in the works. Certainly all of Chaves County was feeling the affects of the sudden interest in the area—Essie Chambers' alien cookies were still hot sellers at Chambers Grocery—but Roswell seemed to be going out of its way to take the newcomers to heart.
Looking at his watch, Valenti sighed and picked up his hat. Roswell would be having its share of problems tonight too, but Roswell was only a blip on the Chaves County map. George Wilcox had his hands full trying to manage an entire county of jumpy people and exhausted deputies, which is why Valenti was still here, still on loan from Sheriff Hemming in Roswell....and that suited Valenti just fine. He was one of the few people who knew what "real" alien activity looked like and where it was likely to be centered: Not in Roswell, but in the nearby town of Corona, where a nine year-old girl was a veritable alien magnet.
Although not recently. Valenti hadn't gotten so much as a whiff of aliens since early last month when the Indian boy, River Dog, had been attacked by a pack of high school boys in Corona. His subsequent rescue continued to puzzle everyone but Valenti, what with mysteriously breaking windows in the gymnasium and an unexplainable bright light which had blinded everyone in the gym. No—not everyone, Valenti mentally amended. Because Dee Proctor had been there, as she frequently was when anything related to aliens was happening, along with River Dog's little sister, Bright Sun, and the ever-present Anthony Evans. All three of them had somehow had the foresight to close their eyes before the bright light hit, sparing them its affects. Everyone else thought they were just lucky. Valenti knew better.
Fortunately, the school had settled after that outburst. River Dog's arm had healed nicely, as had his attackers' eyes. It took a few hours, and some of them were seeing spots for days afterwards, but eventually they'd recovered. After they'd all been booked on assault charges, that is, something which Valenti had once again had to push for when all those teenagers began filling up the Chaves County Sheriff's station. But push for it he had, and in the end he'd gotten his way and a pat on the back from Sheriff Wilcox besides. Every single one of River Dog's attackers was arrested and charged, and every single of one of those attackers had left him completely alone since then, the process of being fingerprinted and photographed having had the desired effect. River Dog's parents had declined to press charges just as everyone had expected, but the message had been clear. That, and the addition of more deputies around Corona's school had no doubt contributed to the lack of problems since that incident. It had also contributed to Wilcox's personnel problems, shrinking an already strained workforce. Fortunately it was only temporary, as the deputies would be recalled once River Dog and his sister left the school at the end of the year.
Valenti rolled up his window, plopped his hat on his head, and climbed out of his car. Time to face the music. Which was probably only fair, since he'd done his share of toilet papering houses and soaping windows when he'd been a kid. He just didn't need all that on top of all the bogus alien calls. Valenti had answered as many of those as he'd dared while trying not to look too eager, or too annoyed when someone tittered "Deputy Martian" behind his back....but no luck. The aliens had been very, very quiet. He'd pay real money for a real alien call.
"Hello."
Valenti turned in surprise to find the last person he'd expect to see lurking behind the Sheriff's station—Dee Proctor, sitting on the bottom step of a short flight of stairs, holding a book in her lap that was easily half as big as she was. Ask and you shall receive, Valenti thought. An encounter with young Miss Proctor was about as close as one could get to a real alien encounter.
"Hello yourself," Valenti answered, smiling as he removed his hat. "This is a surprise. What are you doing out here?"
"I have something to show you," she answered.
Something to show him? Valenti mentally sat on his rising excitement as he walked over to her, staring at the book in her lap. This made the second time she had approached him voluntarily, and even though he hadn't learned much of anything during their first encounter, the fact that she was willing to risk a second was good news.
"And you want to show me.....whatever you have.....in the back of the Sheriff's station?"
"I don't think it's a good idea that we're seen together," she answered cagily.
Valenti smiled again, shaking his head in disbelief. Anyone overhearing would think there was some kind of clandestine affair going on instead of a conversation between an adult law enforcement officer and a nine year-old girl. But she was right—Sheriff Wilcox was good friends with her parents, and word might get back that she'd been there. That would not sit well with the Proctors.
"I see your point," Valenti agreed, taking a seat beside her on the step. "So—I haven't seen you in awhile."
Dee shook her head gravely. "Not since those boys beat up River Dog. They've left him alone, you know. Nobody's bothered either River Dog or Bright Sun since then. And that's because of you."
"Because of me?"
"Because you made them arrest those boys," she clarified. "That really scared them. I hear things," she added.
"I'm sure you do," Valenti said sincerely. "And it should have scared them. But it wasn't just me. Sheriff Wilcox wanted them arrested too."
"I know. But you started it," she said, unwilling to let Wilcox share his spotlight.
"I did my duty, Miss Proctor," Valenti said, glancing down at the book in her lap, the cover of which appeared to be blank, trying to decide how to get her off the subject of Indians and onto aliens. Perhaps some light conversation was in order first.
"So what are you dressing up as tonight?"
"If you don't mind, I don't have a lot of time," she answered seriously. "So I'd like to come right to the point."
All business, Valenti thought with amusement. Just like me. He could respect that. "I'm a little pressed for time myself," he admitted. "I'm due inside in just a few minutes, so by all means, go ahead."
She nodded. "Do you remember what we talked about back when River Dog got hurt? About how you told those other deputies who didn't want to arrest those boys that the law said you had to?"
"Yes," Valenti said slowly, wondering where this was going.
"And then you said people couldn't come to this country without the right papers, and that there were laws about that sort of thing? And we talked about whether those laws were meant for everyone or not?"
"As I recall, the discussion centered around whether those laws applied only to humans," Valenti reminded her, watching her closely.
But she never batted an eyelash. "You said it would depend on how the law was worded," she continued. "You said you had to follow 'the letter of the law'. Well, I have the law right here, and I wanted to show you how it's worded."
Shifting sideways on the step so that her back was against the stair railing, she opened the huge book in her lap to a bookmarked spot. Just before she flipped the book open, Valenti caught a glimpse of a title on the spine: Statutes of the State of New Mexico.
"It says here," she went on, ignoring the flabbergasted look on his face, "that these laws are for anybody who isn't a citizen of the United States. See?" Her right index finger strayed over a blob of tiny type. "They're always called 'non-citizens', or 'immigrants'. That's all. It never says they have to be human."
"They're also called 'illegal aliens'," Valenti said, throwing caution to the winds and using the 'a' word right in front of her, still in shock that she'd actually gone and looked up New Mexico immigration law.
"I know," she answered without missing a beat. "Mr. Peter told me that."
"Who's Mr. Peter?"
"My teacher. He used to be a law professor at the University of Santa Fe."
"So why's he teaching fourth grade?"
"He got this book for me," she continued, ignoring the jibe, "and showed me all the laws about immigrants and non-citizens. And," she went on, flipping to another bookmarked page, "he also showed me the part where it talks about what police can and can't do. It doesn't say anything about humans there either."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning that the law applies to everyone," she explained. "You said you had to follow the 'letter of the law', and Mr. Peter said that too. So I'm showing you the 'letter of the law'."
Valenti digested this extraordinary statement in silence for a moment, trying to decide how to respond. He had said that, but never in a million years had he thought she would actually go and look up the statutes and shove them under his nose. Way back when he'd first watched her jump out of that alien ship and wind her way through a crowd that inexplicably couldn't see her, he'd thought at first that he must be wrong—no child would have the guts to do that. Seeing her sitting here now, arguing legal code with a sheriff's deputy, he could easily believe that she'd jump out of an alien ship, and a lot more besides.
"Miss Proctor," Valenti began slowly, treading carefully, "I'm impressed with all the work you did to look that up. But I'm afraid the connection you're trying to make just isn't there."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean those laws don't say what you want them to say."
"But you said 'the letter of the law'," she insisted, "and so did Mr. Peter. This is the letter of the law, and it doesn't say 'human'."
"Of course it doesn't," Valenti answered patiently. "It doesn't say that because there's no way the people who wrote and approved those laws could have been thinking about what you're thinking about. Just like the Framers of the Constitution couldn't have been thinking about automobiles when they wrote about interstate commerce because cars hadn't been invented yet."
"But these laws are about people," she pointed out, "people who aren't citizens of our country. People had been invented when these laws were written, hadn't they?"
"Yes, but....." Valenti stopped, frustrated. He always wound up frustrated when he tried to spar with any of the Proctors. "There's something else too," he went on, abandoning his former tack, "something other than 'the letter of the law'. That's important, just like I said and your teacher said, but it's not the only thing to consider. You also have to take into consideration the spirit of the law."
"What's that?"
"The original intent of the law, what the people who wrote it were trying to accomplish. There's a long-standing legal tradition that says you can't use the letter of the law to violate the spirit of the law."
"Mr. Peter told me these laws were written to make sure that only United States citizens used the benefits of being a citizen....like voting, for instance," she replied.
"True," Valenti allowed. "But there's another reason, a bigger, reason these laws were written—to protect the American people."
"From what?"
"From anything that might hurt them," Valenti answered. "From threats to their safety."
"You think there's a threat to their safety?"
"Can you tell me there isn't?" Valenti asked, looking her directly in the eye. She never looked away, this one. Just nailed you with that steady gaze that was positively unnerving on a face so young. "I know what we're dealing with here. I know we're dealing with something a lot stronger than we are. I know there's a threat."
She pondered that for a moment while Valenti awaited her verdict, staring down at the ground, slowly spinning his hat in his hand. What would she say to that? Try to convince him the aliens weren't threats? He might learn more from her that way than he ever had.
"You're stronger than I am," she said suddenly. "You're bigger and stronger. Does that mean you're a threat?"
"That's not what I meant—"
"Now that I think of it," she went on, ignoring him, "every single grown-up I know is bigger and stronger. Does that mean they're all threats too?"
"Of course not!" Valenti said impatiently, irritated at finding himself backed into the proverbial corner yet again. "I wasn't referring to someone you know. I was referring to strangers."
"Okay," she said slowly, "so someone I know who's bigger and stronger is not a threat. But what about Beth Ward? Her own father kidnapped her right out of her bed and took her away from her mother. He was bigger and stronger, and she certainly knew him. What about that?"
Valenti's mouth opened, then closed as her eyes bored into him, and he fumbled for some way out of this. Nothing came to mind.
"Besides, it's not up to you," she announced, flipping to yet another part of the massive book on her lap. "According to this, you have to follow the law, and then a judge decides the rest. And—"
"Not quite," Valenti interrupted, delighted to be a solid ground once more. "I have some discretion when it comes to the 'letter of the law'. My primary duty is to protect the people, so if I think following the law prevents me from doing that, I can make that decision. I'd have to explain myself to a judge later, but I can assure you, Miss Proctor, there's no judge in the country who would think me wrong in this case."
"I know," she said thoughtfully, closing the book. "That's why I'm talking to you. It'll start with you. With what you decide if anything happens."
"Why?" Valenti asked, suddenly wary. "Is something going to happen?"
She shook her head. "Not that I know of. But something might. And when it does, I wanted you to know what the law says."
"And you think that will make a difference?"
"Sure I do. I heard you telling those deputies to arrest those boys. I heard what you said, about how it's your job to protect all the people, not just the one's they wanted to protect, or the one's who look like us." She leaned forward, her arms resting on the book. "You're so close," she said softly. "You just need to go a little farther."
Staring at that earnest little face, Valenti was suddenly overcome with the urge to let her down gently. She was trying—he had to give her that. And she'd made an argument that even he had to admit might give some legal eagles pause.
"I'm sorry, Miss Proctor," he said gently, "but I can't go where you want me to." Her face fell, and he added hastily, "But you've made some valid points. I promise you I'll keep them in mind should anything ever......happen."
She perked up then, smiling and nodding, looking just like the nine year-old she was. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "Even if you just think about it, that's better than nothing."
Hoisting the book on one hip, she stood up. "I have to go now. The school bus will be coming back around soon, and I'll ride it back home."
"I was wondering how you got out here," Valenti admitted, rising to his feet and donning his hat. "And how you knew I'd be here now."
She shrugged. "That's not hard. I'm here a lot with my father, and there's a schedule on the bulletin board."
"I was wondering something else," Valenti said, falling in step beside her as they headed toward the street. "It's all well and good to make your arguments to me, but it won't necessarily be me who shows up. What are you going to do then?"
"Oh, it'll be you," she said confidently. "If anything ever happens, I know it'll be you that comes. You'll be the first one there." She stopped, turning to face him. "I should go on from here by myself. Thanks for listening."
Valenti watched her walk away, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're wrong about that, Miss Proctor," he murmured to himself. "If anything ever 'happens', as you put it, I won't be the first one there.....you will."
******************************************************
Eagle Rock Military Base
The guards outside John's door looked up curiously as Spade approached, scoping out his adversaries as he drew closer. He'd gotten lucky last time—they'd let him in without question because they'd heard he was looking for Yvonne, who they'd thought was inside. He was unlikely to be that lucky a second time. Jelfo, Spade thought, eyeing the guard on the right. And Thompson. Thompson, with whom he'd had that odd, brief encounter when Thompson had offered his availability should Spade ever "need" anything. He needed something now, so if things didn't go his way, perhaps it was time to cash in that chip.
Private Jelfo dropped his eyes to the floor as Spade came abreast of him. He knew. They all knew. They knew the dog had gotten loose, knew it had escaped, knew he'd been closeted with Cavitt catching hell for it, and they knew they'd catch hell for it later. That knowledge was etched on every single face Spade had passed, that expression repeated a dozen times over as he'd walked toward John's room. Jelfo was probably expecting to get his head blown off.
Later, Spade thought. "Is there anyone in the observation room?" he asked as he came abreast of the two of them.
"No, sir," Jelfo replied, still looking at the floor.
"Good. I need to see the prisoner," Spade said to Jelfo, hoping against hope that Jelfo's guilt would come in handy. "Unlock the door, Private."
"But.....you're not on the list, sir. You—"
"I know," Spade interrupted impatiently. "Nevertheless, I need to see the prisoner. Unlock the door."
"But I can't!" Jelfo objected. "Believe me, sir, I know how much trouble I'm—we're—already in, and I'm not doing anything else to piss off Cavitt. Major Cavitt," Jelfo amended hastily. "Sir."
"Right now, Cavitt is the least of my worries," Spade said, as Jelfo's eyes widened at the notion that there were worse worries than Cavitt.
"I'm sorry, sir, I can't!" Jelfo repeated nervously. "And he can't either," he added, as Spade turned to Thompson, who had been watching this exchange silently. "You'll have to get permission from Dr. Pierce."
Spade stepped between the two Privates, his back to Jelfo, his eyes locked on Thompson's. "I need to see the prisoner," he said quietly, deliberately stressing the word "need". "It's very important." Get the message, Spade thought, mentally going over his available options if neither of them moved, not liking any of them.
"Yes, sir," Thompson said, his head inclining in an ever-so-slight nod. He slipped his hand into his pocket for the keys just as Jelfo started to protest.
"And if you so much as think of uttering a peep," Spade said severely, stopping Jelfo in his tracks, "I swear to God I'll tell Cavitt that you personally brought that dog in here and fed it the bacon meant for his breakfast table."
Jelfo fell silent, his face turning white as he backed away. Thompson unlocked the door and swung it open. "Will you be needing a guard, sir?" Thompson asked.
"No. I'll go alone. Wait out here."
"Bu—!" Jelfo sputtered.
"Yes, sir," Thompson answered firmly, cutting off Jelfo. "We'll wait out here."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The door closed behind Spade, the key turning in the lock. John was just inside, agitated, his face a mask of fury. "Where is he?" John demanded.
"Escaped," Spade answered shortly.
John's eyebrows rose. "He escaped? And yet you live? By what stroke of luck did you manage that?"
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Spade said darkly. "I am a trained soldier, you know."
"Training has nothing to do with it," John announced flatly. "Had it been convenient for him to kill you, he would have."
"Then I guess it wasn't 'convenient'," Spade said sharply, "nor was it 'convenient' to kill Yvonne. That's why I'm here. I want to know what he did to her, and how to reverse it."
But John's eyes had gone wide, that permanently disgruntled look he always seemed to be wearing dissolving into one of wonder. "I was certain he was lying," he whispered. "She lives?"
"I think so."
"You think so?" John echoed. "What do you mean you think so? Is she injured?"
"I don't know!" Spade said, exasperated. "She's unconscious, but she looks okay. She doesn't appear to be hurt, she's breathing all right, but I can't wake her up. What did he do to her? What do I do?"
John had gone still and silent, his eyes staring into space. "Nothing," he said finally, seemingly to sag a bit. "There is nothing to be done."
Spade stared at him in disbelief for a moment before every over-stretched nerve in his body suddenly snapped. "Wrong answer!" he hissed, grabbing John by the collar of his scrub suit, whirling him sideways, pushing him up against the wall. "Look, buddy, I know you don't give a rat's ass about humans, but I care about her! And one of your people did this, so you're going to undo it, or tell me how to undo it! Now!.
John's eyebrows had resumed their ascent, but he made no move to fight back. "What I meant," he said carefully, "was there is nothing that needs to be done. I believe the Healer will reawaken on her own."
"That's not what the other one told me," Spade retorted, all the tension of the past several hours pouring into the grip he had on John's collar. "I offered to let him go if he fixed Yvonne. He claimed she wouldn't wake up without him."
"Of course he did," John answered. "I believe he lied. Which should come as no surprise."
"Lied how?"
"This is not my area of expertise, but I believe he used an agent on the Healer similar to what was used to subdue me. I am unaware of any antidote, and would be unable to obtain it in any case. Unfortunately, our scientist is dead and unavailable for consultation. You would do best to consult my colleague when he returns. He would know more about this than I would."
As this information began to sink in, Spade slowly began to calm down. It made sense. Yvonne looked asleep, not ill, and a sedative would account for that. And sedatives wore off. At least human sedatives wore off. He wasn't sure about alien sedatives.
"So what do we do?" Spade demanded.
"We wait," John answered. "As I said, I believe the Healer will reawaken on her own. Your challenge will be to explain her absence."
"How do I do that?"
"How should I know?" John replied coldly. "You're the 'trained soldier'. I have every confidence you'll think of something. I know you may find this hard to believe," he continued, "but I share your concern for the Healer. And I would strongly advise you to take your hands off me."
Spade's throat went dry at the look in John's eyes. Even without his powers, John was strong enough to overpower any human. Now, with his powers on the way back, he was more dangerous than ever....and he was not likely to take kindly to being shoved into a wall. Which is exactly where he was, nose to nose with Spade, whose hands still held the neckline of his shirt in a death grip.
A key rattled in the lock. Both their heads turned as the door swung open to reveal Private Thompson, whose eyes went round as dinner plates at the sight in front of his eyes.
"Sir?" Thompson said, flabbergasted.
His face coloring, Spade released John, his hands stiff from the force with which he'd gripped John's shirt. "What is it, Thompson?"
"Uh.....it's Lieutenant White, sir," Thompson said, his eyes still round.
Spade's eyes flicked over to meet John's, both thinking the same thing: They found her. We're too late.
"What about Lieutenant White, Private?" Spade asked, trying to keep the angry resignation out of his voice.
"She's asking for you, sir. She wants you to come to her quarters right away."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 53 next Sunday.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
October 31, 1947, 1500 hours
Eagle Rock Military Base
Lieutenant Spade stepped into the hallway and closed the door to Cavitt's office behind him as Cavitt's secretary threw him one last sympathetic look. Once safely outside, he exhaled slowly and leaned against the stone wall, which felt inexplicably cold to him. He looked down—his uniform was drenched, dark stains spreading under his arms and down his chest. God, I'm a mess, Spade thought, wrinkling his nose in distaste. But mess or no mess, it was a miracle he was here in the first place. He didn't know what cataclysmic event had taken place during the time he'd been in that office, but something extraordinary must have happened to account for what hadn't happened. Perhaps the Earth had stopped rotating? Perhaps the magnetic field had reversed direction? Because for some inexplicable reason, Spade found himself standing here with both his eardrums and his commission intact when he'd expected to be screamed at and demoted in short order.
To be sure, Cavitt had gotten off to a good start after hauling Spade back to his office and demanding an explanation. "A dog?" Cavitt had said in disbelief. "Did I hear you correctly, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir," Spade had answered wearily.
"A dog?" Cavitt repeated. "You let a dog into my compound?"
"No, sir, I didn't let him in," Spade had replied impatiently. "I—"
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Lieutenant, but to the best of my knowledge, dogs are incapable of working doorknobs," Cavitt had said, his eyes like nails. "They are similarly incapable of speaking or passing checkpoints. So someone had to have let the dog in."
"My men did, sir," Spade had said, not bothering to point out that working doorknobs was toward the low end of this particular dog's bag of tricks.
"Your men did," Cavitt echoed, tenting his fingertips. "I see. And you failed to notice the presence of this dog? Or perhaps you thought the Army was now enlisting canines as a means of meeting our quotas?"
"I never saw the dog until today, sir," Spade had answered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "I—"
"Lieutenant, do you, or do you not, conduct surprise inspections of the various posts under your command in this compound?"
"Yes, sir," Spade answered. But not like I used to. Corporal Brisson wasn't the only one getting lax about security. Spade's "surprise inspections" hadn't been much of a surprise for awhile now.
"Is there something wrong with your eyesight, Lieutenant?"
"Not that I know of, sir," Spade grated out. "The dog was small, and the men were very good at hiding it."
"Who?" Cavitt demanded. "Which men?"
Damned near all of them. "I'm not sure, sir," Spade lied, unwilling to give Cavitt anything he didn't absolutely have to. "I only learned of the dog minutes before you saw it. I haven't had time to conduct an investigation."
Cavitt had leaned back in his chair and stared at him as Spade kept his eyes focused directly above Cavitt's head, awaiting his fate. Based on previous experience with Cavitt, he fully expected to at least be confined to quarters. Eventually, he was almost certain to be relieved of command; if he was really lucky, that's all he would be relieved of. At this point, it was the 'confined to quarters' that bothered him the most. Yvonne was still unconscious. If he went down for this, so be it, but if he could spare her what would inevitably happen if anyone discovered she'd had contact with an alien on the loose, he meant to do that. Unfortunately, he couldn't do that while he was locked in his quarters.
"Conduct your investigation, Lieutenant," Cavitt said abruptly. "I expect a report on my desk by 0500. I will inform General Ramey of the security breach when he arrives tomorrow."
Spade blinked. "General Ramey?"
"Corporal Keyser has made a breakthrough in understanding the alien technology," Cavitt answered, "so the General will be here tomorrow to hear the Corporal's report. And mine," he added pointedly. "If I were you, I'd pack my bags. Dismissed."
" 'Dismissed'?" Spade had echoed in disbelief.
"Yes, dismissed," Cavitt repeated irritably. "Don't tell me your hearing has been compromised along with your eyesight. You have your orders. I suggest you get started."
Cavitt had picked up the telephone, indicating their encounter was over. Spade had saluted and left the office, still unable to believe that he was walking away a free man, at least for the moment....and maybe only for a moment. Cavitt obviously wasn't aiming for either a reprimand or demotion, neither of which involved luggage. More likely he would argue for some kind of discharge and then pick Spade off once he rejoined the civilian population. Doesn't matter, Spade thought, pushing himself off the wall and plucking at his clammy shirt. He still had a few hours of freedom left, and Yvonne still needed help. And there was only one person in this compound who might know how to counteract an alien sedative.
******************************************************
October 31, 1947, 3:15 p.m.
Chaves County Sheriff's Station
Deputy Valenti heard the phones ringing as he pulled his car into the parking lot of the Sheriff's station. He shifted into park, shut off the engine, and sat there for a moment, listening to the voices floating out the nearby open window. Tired voices, exasperated voices, voices straining to be patient and understanding. Here it comes, he thought ruefully, settling back into his seat, savoring the last few minutes before he had to jump into the fray. Halloween night was always a busy night for any Sheriff's office, but Halloween night in Chaves County had taken on new meaning this year. This year, Halloween was going to be a nightmare, and not of the ghoulish kind.
Time had passed since that alien ship—or weather balloon, if one believed the Army's version—had crashed on Pohlman ranch, but time had not dimmed the apprehension it had caused. People were still as jumpy as a bunch of long-tailed cats in a room full of rocking chairs, calling the Sheriff for every imaginable noise or bump in the night—or the daytime, for that matter. The approach of Halloween had only made things worse, partly because of the nature of the holiday, and partly because the usual Halloween pranksters had recognized the fact that there were lots of nervous people out there more ripe for scaring than usual....and this overabundance of easily frightened people had in turn encouraged even more pranks and pranksters. It all boiled down to the simple economics of supply and demand.
Ironically, the one group of people in the county not constantly calling the Sheriff's office were the tourists, the number of which seemed to be increasing by the week. Pohlman Ranch had been bought by the government and closed off, something many people, Valenti included, found very telling indeed. But that hadn't stopped the alien enthusiasts, the UFO hunters, and the just plain curious from descending on Chaves County in droves. The focal point seemed to be Roswell, the closest town to the crash site of sufficient size to accommodate the influx. And the people of Roswell had taken notice—just this morning as Valenti had backed out of his driveway, he'd noticed yet another "Room for Rent" sign, which seemed to be springing up like mushrooms. Two new restaurants had opened since the crash, and more were in the works. Certainly all of Chaves County was feeling the affects of the sudden interest in the area—Essie Chambers' alien cookies were still hot sellers at Chambers Grocery—but Roswell seemed to be going out of its way to take the newcomers to heart.
Looking at his watch, Valenti sighed and picked up his hat. Roswell would be having its share of problems tonight too, but Roswell was only a blip on the Chaves County map. George Wilcox had his hands full trying to manage an entire county of jumpy people and exhausted deputies, which is why Valenti was still here, still on loan from Sheriff Hemming in Roswell....and that suited Valenti just fine. He was one of the few people who knew what "real" alien activity looked like and where it was likely to be centered: Not in Roswell, but in the nearby town of Corona, where a nine year-old girl was a veritable alien magnet.
Although not recently. Valenti hadn't gotten so much as a whiff of aliens since early last month when the Indian boy, River Dog, had been attacked by a pack of high school boys in Corona. His subsequent rescue continued to puzzle everyone but Valenti, what with mysteriously breaking windows in the gymnasium and an unexplainable bright light which had blinded everyone in the gym. No—not everyone, Valenti mentally amended. Because Dee Proctor had been there, as she frequently was when anything related to aliens was happening, along with River Dog's little sister, Bright Sun, and the ever-present Anthony Evans. All three of them had somehow had the foresight to close their eyes before the bright light hit, sparing them its affects. Everyone else thought they were just lucky. Valenti knew better.
Fortunately, the school had settled after that outburst. River Dog's arm had healed nicely, as had his attackers' eyes. It took a few hours, and some of them were seeing spots for days afterwards, but eventually they'd recovered. After they'd all been booked on assault charges, that is, something which Valenti had once again had to push for when all those teenagers began filling up the Chaves County Sheriff's station. But push for it he had, and in the end he'd gotten his way and a pat on the back from Sheriff Wilcox besides. Every single one of River Dog's attackers was arrested and charged, and every single of one of those attackers had left him completely alone since then, the process of being fingerprinted and photographed having had the desired effect. River Dog's parents had declined to press charges just as everyone had expected, but the message had been clear. That, and the addition of more deputies around Corona's school had no doubt contributed to the lack of problems since that incident. It had also contributed to Wilcox's personnel problems, shrinking an already strained workforce. Fortunately it was only temporary, as the deputies would be recalled once River Dog and his sister left the school at the end of the year.
Valenti rolled up his window, plopped his hat on his head, and climbed out of his car. Time to face the music. Which was probably only fair, since he'd done his share of toilet papering houses and soaping windows when he'd been a kid. He just didn't need all that on top of all the bogus alien calls. Valenti had answered as many of those as he'd dared while trying not to look too eager, or too annoyed when someone tittered "Deputy Martian" behind his back....but no luck. The aliens had been very, very quiet. He'd pay real money for a real alien call.
"Hello."
Valenti turned in surprise to find the last person he'd expect to see lurking behind the Sheriff's station—Dee Proctor, sitting on the bottom step of a short flight of stairs, holding a book in her lap that was easily half as big as she was. Ask and you shall receive, Valenti thought. An encounter with young Miss Proctor was about as close as one could get to a real alien encounter.
"Hello yourself," Valenti answered, smiling as he removed his hat. "This is a surprise. What are you doing out here?"
"I have something to show you," she answered.
Something to show him? Valenti mentally sat on his rising excitement as he walked over to her, staring at the book in her lap. This made the second time she had approached him voluntarily, and even though he hadn't learned much of anything during their first encounter, the fact that she was willing to risk a second was good news.
"And you want to show me.....whatever you have.....in the back of the Sheriff's station?"
"I don't think it's a good idea that we're seen together," she answered cagily.
Valenti smiled again, shaking his head in disbelief. Anyone overhearing would think there was some kind of clandestine affair going on instead of a conversation between an adult law enforcement officer and a nine year-old girl. But she was right—Sheriff Wilcox was good friends with her parents, and word might get back that she'd been there. That would not sit well with the Proctors.
"I see your point," Valenti agreed, taking a seat beside her on the step. "So—I haven't seen you in awhile."
Dee shook her head gravely. "Not since those boys beat up River Dog. They've left him alone, you know. Nobody's bothered either River Dog or Bright Sun since then. And that's because of you."
"Because of me?"
"Because you made them arrest those boys," she clarified. "That really scared them. I hear things," she added.
"I'm sure you do," Valenti said sincerely. "And it should have scared them. But it wasn't just me. Sheriff Wilcox wanted them arrested too."
"I know. But you started it," she said, unwilling to let Wilcox share his spotlight.
"I did my duty, Miss Proctor," Valenti said, glancing down at the book in her lap, the cover of which appeared to be blank, trying to decide how to get her off the subject of Indians and onto aliens. Perhaps some light conversation was in order first.
"So what are you dressing up as tonight?"
"If you don't mind, I don't have a lot of time," she answered seriously. "So I'd like to come right to the point."
All business, Valenti thought with amusement. Just like me. He could respect that. "I'm a little pressed for time myself," he admitted. "I'm due inside in just a few minutes, so by all means, go ahead."
She nodded. "Do you remember what we talked about back when River Dog got hurt? About how you told those other deputies who didn't want to arrest those boys that the law said you had to?"
"Yes," Valenti said slowly, wondering where this was going.
"And then you said people couldn't come to this country without the right papers, and that there were laws about that sort of thing? And we talked about whether those laws were meant for everyone or not?"
"As I recall, the discussion centered around whether those laws applied only to humans," Valenti reminded her, watching her closely.
But she never batted an eyelash. "You said it would depend on how the law was worded," she continued. "You said you had to follow 'the letter of the law'. Well, I have the law right here, and I wanted to show you how it's worded."
Shifting sideways on the step so that her back was against the stair railing, she opened the huge book in her lap to a bookmarked spot. Just before she flipped the book open, Valenti caught a glimpse of a title on the spine: Statutes of the State of New Mexico.
"It says here," she went on, ignoring the flabbergasted look on his face, "that these laws are for anybody who isn't a citizen of the United States. See?" Her right index finger strayed over a blob of tiny type. "They're always called 'non-citizens', or 'immigrants'. That's all. It never says they have to be human."
"They're also called 'illegal aliens'," Valenti said, throwing caution to the winds and using the 'a' word right in front of her, still in shock that she'd actually gone and looked up New Mexico immigration law.
"I know," she answered without missing a beat. "Mr. Peter told me that."
"Who's Mr. Peter?"
"My teacher. He used to be a law professor at the University of Santa Fe."
"So why's he teaching fourth grade?"
"He got this book for me," she continued, ignoring the jibe, "and showed me all the laws about immigrants and non-citizens. And," she went on, flipping to another bookmarked page, "he also showed me the part where it talks about what police can and can't do. It doesn't say anything about humans there either."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning that the law applies to everyone," she explained. "You said you had to follow the 'letter of the law', and Mr. Peter said that too. So I'm showing you the 'letter of the law'."
Valenti digested this extraordinary statement in silence for a moment, trying to decide how to respond. He had said that, but never in a million years had he thought she would actually go and look up the statutes and shove them under his nose. Way back when he'd first watched her jump out of that alien ship and wind her way through a crowd that inexplicably couldn't see her, he'd thought at first that he must be wrong—no child would have the guts to do that. Seeing her sitting here now, arguing legal code with a sheriff's deputy, he could easily believe that she'd jump out of an alien ship, and a lot more besides.
"Miss Proctor," Valenti began slowly, treading carefully, "I'm impressed with all the work you did to look that up. But I'm afraid the connection you're trying to make just isn't there."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean those laws don't say what you want them to say."
"But you said 'the letter of the law'," she insisted, "and so did Mr. Peter. This is the letter of the law, and it doesn't say 'human'."
"Of course it doesn't," Valenti answered patiently. "It doesn't say that because there's no way the people who wrote and approved those laws could have been thinking about what you're thinking about. Just like the Framers of the Constitution couldn't have been thinking about automobiles when they wrote about interstate commerce because cars hadn't been invented yet."
"But these laws are about people," she pointed out, "people who aren't citizens of our country. People had been invented when these laws were written, hadn't they?"
"Yes, but....." Valenti stopped, frustrated. He always wound up frustrated when he tried to spar with any of the Proctors. "There's something else too," he went on, abandoning his former tack, "something other than 'the letter of the law'. That's important, just like I said and your teacher said, but it's not the only thing to consider. You also have to take into consideration the spirit of the law."
"What's that?"
"The original intent of the law, what the people who wrote it were trying to accomplish. There's a long-standing legal tradition that says you can't use the letter of the law to violate the spirit of the law."
"Mr. Peter told me these laws were written to make sure that only United States citizens used the benefits of being a citizen....like voting, for instance," she replied.
"True," Valenti allowed. "But there's another reason, a bigger, reason these laws were written—to protect the American people."
"From what?"
"From anything that might hurt them," Valenti answered. "From threats to their safety."
"You think there's a threat to their safety?"
"Can you tell me there isn't?" Valenti asked, looking her directly in the eye. She never looked away, this one. Just nailed you with that steady gaze that was positively unnerving on a face so young. "I know what we're dealing with here. I know we're dealing with something a lot stronger than we are. I know there's a threat."
She pondered that for a moment while Valenti awaited her verdict, staring down at the ground, slowly spinning his hat in his hand. What would she say to that? Try to convince him the aliens weren't threats? He might learn more from her that way than he ever had.
"You're stronger than I am," she said suddenly. "You're bigger and stronger. Does that mean you're a threat?"
"That's not what I meant—"
"Now that I think of it," she went on, ignoring him, "every single grown-up I know is bigger and stronger. Does that mean they're all threats too?"
"Of course not!" Valenti said impatiently, irritated at finding himself backed into the proverbial corner yet again. "I wasn't referring to someone you know. I was referring to strangers."
"Okay," she said slowly, "so someone I know who's bigger and stronger is not a threat. But what about Beth Ward? Her own father kidnapped her right out of her bed and took her away from her mother. He was bigger and stronger, and she certainly knew him. What about that?"
Valenti's mouth opened, then closed as her eyes bored into him, and he fumbled for some way out of this. Nothing came to mind.
"Besides, it's not up to you," she announced, flipping to yet another part of the massive book on her lap. "According to this, you have to follow the law, and then a judge decides the rest. And—"
"Not quite," Valenti interrupted, delighted to be a solid ground once more. "I have some discretion when it comes to the 'letter of the law'. My primary duty is to protect the people, so if I think following the law prevents me from doing that, I can make that decision. I'd have to explain myself to a judge later, but I can assure you, Miss Proctor, there's no judge in the country who would think me wrong in this case."
"I know," she said thoughtfully, closing the book. "That's why I'm talking to you. It'll start with you. With what you decide if anything happens."
"Why?" Valenti asked, suddenly wary. "Is something going to happen?"
She shook her head. "Not that I know of. But something might. And when it does, I wanted you to know what the law says."
"And you think that will make a difference?"
"Sure I do. I heard you telling those deputies to arrest those boys. I heard what you said, about how it's your job to protect all the people, not just the one's they wanted to protect, or the one's who look like us." She leaned forward, her arms resting on the book. "You're so close," she said softly. "You just need to go a little farther."
Staring at that earnest little face, Valenti was suddenly overcome with the urge to let her down gently. She was trying—he had to give her that. And she'd made an argument that even he had to admit might give some legal eagles pause.
"I'm sorry, Miss Proctor," he said gently, "but I can't go where you want me to." Her face fell, and he added hastily, "But you've made some valid points. I promise you I'll keep them in mind should anything ever......happen."
She perked up then, smiling and nodding, looking just like the nine year-old she was. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "Even if you just think about it, that's better than nothing."
Hoisting the book on one hip, she stood up. "I have to go now. The school bus will be coming back around soon, and I'll ride it back home."
"I was wondering how you got out here," Valenti admitted, rising to his feet and donning his hat. "And how you knew I'd be here now."
She shrugged. "That's not hard. I'm here a lot with my father, and there's a schedule on the bulletin board."
"I was wondering something else," Valenti said, falling in step beside her as they headed toward the street. "It's all well and good to make your arguments to me, but it won't necessarily be me who shows up. What are you going to do then?"
"Oh, it'll be you," she said confidently. "If anything ever happens, I know it'll be you that comes. You'll be the first one there." She stopped, turning to face him. "I should go on from here by myself. Thanks for listening."
Valenti watched her walk away, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're wrong about that, Miss Proctor," he murmured to himself. "If anything ever 'happens', as you put it, I won't be the first one there.....you will."
******************************************************
Eagle Rock Military Base
The guards outside John's door looked up curiously as Spade approached, scoping out his adversaries as he drew closer. He'd gotten lucky last time—they'd let him in without question because they'd heard he was looking for Yvonne, who they'd thought was inside. He was unlikely to be that lucky a second time. Jelfo, Spade thought, eyeing the guard on the right. And Thompson. Thompson, with whom he'd had that odd, brief encounter when Thompson had offered his availability should Spade ever "need" anything. He needed something now, so if things didn't go his way, perhaps it was time to cash in that chip.
Private Jelfo dropped his eyes to the floor as Spade came abreast of him. He knew. They all knew. They knew the dog had gotten loose, knew it had escaped, knew he'd been closeted with Cavitt catching hell for it, and they knew they'd catch hell for it later. That knowledge was etched on every single face Spade had passed, that expression repeated a dozen times over as he'd walked toward John's room. Jelfo was probably expecting to get his head blown off.
Later, Spade thought. "Is there anyone in the observation room?" he asked as he came abreast of the two of them.
"No, sir," Jelfo replied, still looking at the floor.
"Good. I need to see the prisoner," Spade said to Jelfo, hoping against hope that Jelfo's guilt would come in handy. "Unlock the door, Private."
"But.....you're not on the list, sir. You—"
"I know," Spade interrupted impatiently. "Nevertheless, I need to see the prisoner. Unlock the door."
"But I can't!" Jelfo objected. "Believe me, sir, I know how much trouble I'm—we're—already in, and I'm not doing anything else to piss off Cavitt. Major Cavitt," Jelfo amended hastily. "Sir."
"Right now, Cavitt is the least of my worries," Spade said, as Jelfo's eyes widened at the notion that there were worse worries than Cavitt.
"I'm sorry, sir, I can't!" Jelfo repeated nervously. "And he can't either," he added, as Spade turned to Thompson, who had been watching this exchange silently. "You'll have to get permission from Dr. Pierce."
Spade stepped between the two Privates, his back to Jelfo, his eyes locked on Thompson's. "I need to see the prisoner," he said quietly, deliberately stressing the word "need". "It's very important." Get the message, Spade thought, mentally going over his available options if neither of them moved, not liking any of them.
"Yes, sir," Thompson said, his head inclining in an ever-so-slight nod. He slipped his hand into his pocket for the keys just as Jelfo started to protest.
"And if you so much as think of uttering a peep," Spade said severely, stopping Jelfo in his tracks, "I swear to God I'll tell Cavitt that you personally brought that dog in here and fed it the bacon meant for his breakfast table."
Jelfo fell silent, his face turning white as he backed away. Thompson unlocked the door and swung it open. "Will you be needing a guard, sir?" Thompson asked.
"No. I'll go alone. Wait out here."
"Bu—!" Jelfo sputtered.
"Yes, sir," Thompson answered firmly, cutting off Jelfo. "We'll wait out here."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The door closed behind Spade, the key turning in the lock. John was just inside, agitated, his face a mask of fury. "Where is he?" John demanded.
"Escaped," Spade answered shortly.
John's eyebrows rose. "He escaped? And yet you live? By what stroke of luck did you manage that?"
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Spade said darkly. "I am a trained soldier, you know."
"Training has nothing to do with it," John announced flatly. "Had it been convenient for him to kill you, he would have."
"Then I guess it wasn't 'convenient'," Spade said sharply, "nor was it 'convenient' to kill Yvonne. That's why I'm here. I want to know what he did to her, and how to reverse it."
But John's eyes had gone wide, that permanently disgruntled look he always seemed to be wearing dissolving into one of wonder. "I was certain he was lying," he whispered. "She lives?"
"I think so."
"You think so?" John echoed. "What do you mean you think so? Is she injured?"
"I don't know!" Spade said, exasperated. "She's unconscious, but she looks okay. She doesn't appear to be hurt, she's breathing all right, but I can't wake her up. What did he do to her? What do I do?"
John had gone still and silent, his eyes staring into space. "Nothing," he said finally, seemingly to sag a bit. "There is nothing to be done."
Spade stared at him in disbelief for a moment before every over-stretched nerve in his body suddenly snapped. "Wrong answer!" he hissed, grabbing John by the collar of his scrub suit, whirling him sideways, pushing him up against the wall. "Look, buddy, I know you don't give a rat's ass about humans, but I care about her! And one of your people did this, so you're going to undo it, or tell me how to undo it! Now!.
John's eyebrows had resumed their ascent, but he made no move to fight back. "What I meant," he said carefully, "was there is nothing that needs to be done. I believe the Healer will reawaken on her own."
"That's not what the other one told me," Spade retorted, all the tension of the past several hours pouring into the grip he had on John's collar. "I offered to let him go if he fixed Yvonne. He claimed she wouldn't wake up without him."
"Of course he did," John answered. "I believe he lied. Which should come as no surprise."
"Lied how?"
"This is not my area of expertise, but I believe he used an agent on the Healer similar to what was used to subdue me. I am unaware of any antidote, and would be unable to obtain it in any case. Unfortunately, our scientist is dead and unavailable for consultation. You would do best to consult my colleague when he returns. He would know more about this than I would."
As this information began to sink in, Spade slowly began to calm down. It made sense. Yvonne looked asleep, not ill, and a sedative would account for that. And sedatives wore off. At least human sedatives wore off. He wasn't sure about alien sedatives.
"So what do we do?" Spade demanded.
"We wait," John answered. "As I said, I believe the Healer will reawaken on her own. Your challenge will be to explain her absence."
"How do I do that?"
"How should I know?" John replied coldly. "You're the 'trained soldier'. I have every confidence you'll think of something. I know you may find this hard to believe," he continued, "but I share your concern for the Healer. And I would strongly advise you to take your hands off me."
Spade's throat went dry at the look in John's eyes. Even without his powers, John was strong enough to overpower any human. Now, with his powers on the way back, he was more dangerous than ever....and he was not likely to take kindly to being shoved into a wall. Which is exactly where he was, nose to nose with Spade, whose hands still held the neckline of his shirt in a death grip.
A key rattled in the lock. Both their heads turned as the door swung open to reveal Private Thompson, whose eyes went round as dinner plates at the sight in front of his eyes.
"Sir?" Thompson said, flabbergasted.
His face coloring, Spade released John, his hands stiff from the force with which he'd gripped John's shirt. "What is it, Thompson?"
"Uh.....it's Lieutenant White, sir," Thompson said, his eyes still round.
Spade's eyes flicked over to meet John's, both thinking the same thing: They found her. We're too late.
"What about Lieutenant White, Private?" Spade asked, trying to keep the angry resignation out of his voice.
"She's asking for you, sir. She wants you to come to her quarters right away."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 53 next Sunday.
BRIVARI: "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."
kittens: I'm sure Jaddo would have loved to swap with Amar. If anyone deserves to be locked up, it's Amar.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
October 31, 1947, 1535 hours
Eagle Rock Military Base
Cold water dripped from Yvonne's face as she reached for a towel with her eyes closed. She dried her face, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, her make-up a mess, her uniform askew, her hair all wet from the water she'd splashed heedlessly about in an effort to stop the shakes. The water didn't help, and she wound up sinking down on the toilet seat, arms wrapped tightly around herself, trying to piece together what had happened.
The last thing she remembered was sitting on her bed with the alien's hand over her mouth, listening helplessly as Stephen knocked on her door. And then.......and then she'd awakened just a few minutes ago to find the alien gone and herself with no memory of how she'd come to be lying on the bed. After a few seconds of utter confusion, her eyes had fallen on the clock, and she'd realized with horror that two hours had gone by from the time she remembered coming to her quarters after lunch.
Two hours? How could two hours have gone by? Where was the alien? What had he done to her that made her forget two whole hours of her life? She'd sat up on the edge of the bed, her hair spilling over her shoulders, the clip which usually held it lying on the pillow. Why was her hair down? What had he done to her?
Suddenly consumed with panic, Yvonne had run to the bathroom and stripped off her uniform, fearing the worst. She'd checked herself over as best she could and found nothing: No signs of assault, no injuries, no needle marks, no indication whatsoever of what had happened or how. While that was good news, it still left her with no answers, and she stood in the middle of her bathroom for several long minutes, naked and shivering, before tugging her uniform back on and splashing water on her face in an attempt to calm herself.
Why can't I remember? Yvonne thought desperately. And how had the alien done whatever he'd done without leaving any footprints? Her first thought was that she'd been drugged, but even though that fit the position in which she'd awakened and the missing time, it didn't fit her current physical state. Because despite her fear and her shakes, she had awakened feeling just fine, as though she'd had a very refreshing sleep. Sedatives left one feeling drowsy, dizzy, dry-mouthed, nauseous, and a whole host of other, similarly distasteful symptoms she didn't have. And yet she bore no signs of injury, so the alien hadn't simply knocked her out with a blow. What in God's name had he done? And where was he now?
Yvonne felt herself going cold all over again as it dawned on her that the alien could be walking around right now wearing her face, could have been walking around for the past couple of hours doing God knows what. She had a sudden urge to run and find Stephen, or go to John and ask him what to do, but that wouldn't be wise if there was another Yvonne White walking around. And the free alien hadn't been returning until late at night after his daily switch of the serum, so he wouldn't be available for awhile yet.
After pondering her situation for another few minutes, Yvonne reached a decision. She washed her face again, more carefully this time, fixed her hair, settled her uniform, and reapplied her make-up. No one must know anything was amiss. Then she waited by the door for passing footsteps, opening it only when they were close, praying that whoever it was wouldn't think she was in two places at the same time.
"I need Lieutenant Spade," Yvonne said after flagging down the soldier in the hallway. "Have him come to my quarters right away. Tell him it's urgent."
******************************************************
Spade practically ran down the basement corridors, ignoring the curious stares of other soldiers as he headed for Yvonne's quarters. "Yvonne!" he whispered urgently, knocking on her door. "It's Stephen!"
The door opened a crack and she was there, looking wide-eyed, but perfectly normal. Spade slipped through the door and closed it behind him, getting a good look at her for the first time, instantly realizing something was wrong. She looked good—too good. When he'd left her before, her hair had come undone, her uniform was rumpled; now she was the picture of neatness. And it suddenly occurred to Spade that he now had less reason than ever to believe this was really her. Instinctively, he raised his rifle.
"Who are you?" Spade demanded.
The same thought had apparently occurred to Yvonne because she backed up hastily, putting the bed between them. "Who are you?" she demanded in return. "Stephen wouldn't pull a gun on me!"
Her eyes were still wide, and her voice was one of someone on the edge of panic. She looked like Yvonne, sounded like Yvonne, acted like Yvonne would be acting if she'd just woken up realizing there was a stray alien on the loose. Unfortunately, none of that meant anything. Experience had taught them both that the only way to be certain of anyone's identity was to exchange information that only that person would know.
"I came to your quarters in the nurses' barracks right before you were to leave," Spade said, keeping his rifle raised while Yvonne remained warily on the other side of the bed. "You were packing. You'd just been transferred to......" He paused, waiting for her to finish the sentence. Or not.
"......to London," she finished, sagging with relief. "I'd just been transferred to London. Or so I thought," she added ruefully. "Some transfer that turned out to be."
"It's you!" Spade said with relief, dropping his rifle on the bed and coming around to take her by the shoulders. She didn't back away from him this time. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Just....confused," she answered. "Listen, Stephen, there's another alien here. He was waiting for me in my quarters, and he.....did something to me. I'm not sure what. One minute he was here, and the next minute I was on the bed and two hours had passed."
"I know," Spade said soothingly. "It's okay. He's gone."
"Gone?" she repeated in astonishment. "You knew? How? What did he do? How did he get in here in the first place? What—"
"One thing at a time," Spade interrupted. "What happened to you?"
"He was waiting for me in here," Yvonne said, her eyes darting nervously around the room as if expecting the alien to materialize from the walls at any moment. "He didn't realize one of them had escaped, and he tried to get me to help him. He told me the other two were criminals."
"Yeah, he was real chatty with me too," Spade said darkly. "As if I'd believe a word he said. Then what?"
"Then you knocked," Yvonne said. "But he had his hand over my mouth and I couldn't answer you. After that......I don't know. I can't remember!" she added in frustration.
"We can talk about that later," Spade said. "The important thing is that you're okay and he's gone."
"How on earth did he get in here, Stephen?"
"He was getting in here as a dog. My men have been letting him in for months now, thinking he was a stray puppy. I found you in here unconscious, so I went to John to see if he knew anything, and......you were there. I mean the alien was there," he amended, "looking like you."
"Good Lord," Yvonne breathed, sinking down on the bed. "What happened?"
"I fished him out of there. Told him I knew what he was, and I'd let him go if he fixed whatever he'd done to you. He said he would, but then he turned back into a dog and escaped. Everybody let him go because they thought I was a madman chasing a puppy with a gun."
"I had no idea they could turn into animals," Yvonne said wonderingly.
"Well, it worked," Spade said. "Beautifully. Right now, all my men are out there mourning the loss of their 'pet'."
"You mean they don't know?"
"I called it an alien when I was trying to catch it, trying to get someone to stop it, but no one believed me....and maybe that's a good thing. No one knows what it really was but you, me, and John."
"So.....John could still escape?" Yvonne asked hopefully, echoing his own thoughts. It was a measure of just how desperate they were to get out of here that the first thing on both their minds after an alien infiltration was whether or not the planned escape attempt would be interrupted.
"Hopefully," Spade answered. "That means hopefully the rest of you will be off the hook as well. But I'm afraid I wasn't so lucky."
"What do you mean?" Yvonne asked in alarm.
"Cavitt saw the dog. It ran out the front doors right past him with me charging after it like a maniac. It hasn't occurred to him yet that it might have been an alien, but even so, my goose is cooked. It was my men who let the dog in, and I failed to discover that."
Yvonne rose from the bed and slowly crossed the room, her face troubled. "What will he do to you?" she asked after a moment. "He can't afford to just transfer you—you know too much."
"I'm not sure," Spade admitted. "Ordinarily, I'd probably wind up with just a tongue lashing and an unsatisfactory mark on my record. But this isn't an ordinary situation. A breach of security here is going to be treated much more seriously than anywhere else. And Cavitt's wanted to get rid of me for awhile. I've been a marked man ever since I went on record to the General about what really happened with the alien who surrendered."
Yvonne shook her head "I don't think he can get away with what he pulled before, having you killed and blaming it on the aliens. That would be admitting his own security procedures weren't working."
"He wouldn't do it that way," Spade said quietly. "Cavitt's not stupid. He'd have me discharged, and then once I'm outside....." He paused. "Let's just say that once I'm outside, all kinds of accidents could happen, and they would be very hard to trace back here. And who would even try once I have a discharge against my name?"
"Only a court can hand out a dishonorable discharge, and Cavitt wouldn't risk a court-martial," Yvonne argued. "He wouldn't want you talking in an open forum like that."
"He wouldn't need a dishonorable," Spade said. "He could go for an unsatisfactory discharge, or even just a general discharge. Either way, I'd be gone."
And either way, I'd be screwed, Spade added silently, as Yvonne sank back down on the bed in defeat. He knew what she was thinking; he'd already been over this in his own head a dozen times already. Anything less than an honorable discharge from the military was tantamount to being fired, a black mark for life which made it difficult to get jobs, credit, insurance, and all other manner of life's necessities. If someone with such a mark against him met an untimely end.....well......probably few would notice. It would be the perfect cover.
"Cavitt ordered me to do a full investigation, so we have a little time," Spade said gently as Yvonne continued to fret. "If we're lucky, no one will figure out what really happened, John will escape, and none of this will matter anyway."
"Maybe we should tell them what really happened, or some of it at least," Yvonne said. "What if the alien comes back? Shouldn't they know their 'pet' isn't really a dog?"
Spade shook his head. "His cover was blown. He won't be back, not as a dog, anyway. Spilling the beans now would just send Cavitt even further over the edge and ruin any chance John has of escaping. The truth isn't going to do anyone any good this time."
"But what if he does come back?" Yvonne persisted, sounding frightened. "What do we do? How do we really know he's gone? What's he going to do next?"
Spade thought for a moment. "He knows he can't get to John again, and he didn't know the other one was free. So I would imagine he'd go after the free alien."
******************************************************
5:30 p.m.
Corona, New Mexico
Snapping his wings with impatience, Amar flew over the human settlement below, recognizing nothing. He'd been at this for hours now with no success, growing more irritable by the minute. Just another failure to add to the string of failures that had marred what could have been—and had started as—a glorious day. Talk about adding insult to injury.
Though he was loathe to admit it, Amar had been terrified when he had run from the human soldier virtually right outside the healer's door. He had been growing more and more desperate as they drew near her quarters because he knew full well there was nothing he could do to revive her sooner than she would normally revive anyway. He also knew full well the potency of the human sedative, crude though it was by Antarian standards, so the weapon the human soldier kept carefully aimed in his direction posed a real threat. He'd been hoping for a distraction prior to reaching the healer's quarters, and, failing that, he had planned to attempt an attack once they arrived. But the necessary distraction had arrived in the nick of time; he had heard the sound of approaching footsteps long before the human's inferior ears, and had taken that opportunity to shift to the one form almost everyone in that compound would be loathe to harm—the dog.
Not that that guaranteed success. Amar had been only too well aware how much square footage lay between him and freedom. He had almost panicked when the human soldier had identified him as an alien, but fortunately no one listened; all those hours chasing that disgusting soggy ball, performing those stupid tricks, and nuzzling up to apes had finally paid off. All they saw was their beloved pet being chased by someone who wanted to hurt it, and they had moved aside to let him pass at every turn.
Who would have thought? Amar grumbled as he circled and circled in the air, looking for something familiar. Who would have thought that the one time he managed to breach the humans' security—and in an absolutely brilliant way, if he did say so himself—he'd be discovered in mere minutes by a human who actually had a brain? That annoyingly persistent soldier had ruined everything. Amar had planned to return to the healer's room after he was through with Jaddo, kill her, and lie in wait for Brivari in or near her quarters, where he knew Brivari would show up eventually. Thanks to the soldier discovering him, the compound was no longer safe for him, even as a dog. Perhaps especially as a dog. Which meant that he would have to seek out Brivari on his own instead of waiting for Brivari to come to him....and that was damned inconvenient. Amar had resigned himself to staking out various parts of the base when he had remembered something, something which had gotten lost in all the excitement.
And that would be that the human healer could hear his telepathic speech, proving that there were humans capable of doing so. Which meant that the human child Malik had been so certain had not been able to hear them months ago might very well have been faking. Given the fervor with which these idiot apes protected the Warders, it was quite possible that a child could have been won over by one of their tales of woe. Which is how Amar came to be hovering over the settlement below, trying to remember where she lived. He and Malik had looked so many places that it was all a blur, but if he could just find that child, he was certain to get something useful out of her. Children are easy to frighten, he thought to himself with satisfaction, mentally ignoring the fact that this particular specimen of childhood had not proven so easy to sway.
There! Swooping downward, Amar alighted on a branch and studied the houses in front of him. That one......that was the first house they'd come to, where they'd first met the child. And there......that was the child's house, where she had managed to maintain complete silence and throw them off the trail. What had they said in there, wide open to anyone capable of hearing telepathic speech? Had she heard? Reported what they'd said back to Brivari and company? How could Malik, who knew more about humans than any of them, have been so wrong about this one?
No matter. This was the place. And from the looks of things, he had arrived at an opportune time. One look around the neighborhood was enough to tell Amar that this was the evening of that ridiculous human festival which involved outrageous clothing, vandalism, and sweets, in no particular order. And that gave Amar an idea, one that might well get him the information he needed and provide some entertainment at the same time.
Perhaps today wouldn't be such a waste after all.
******************************************************
Proctor residence
Emily Proctor stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the living room. She had just sent Dee upstairs to change into her costume after both of them had worked like beavers to get everything set up, and now she ran over a mental list of what had already been done and what still needed doing. Dinner dishes washed and put away? Check. Apples piled for bobbing? Check. Pumpkins and paints arrayed for pumpkin painting? Check. A footstool available at the sink for the inevitable paint spills? Check. Kool-Aid mixed? Check. Everything seemed to be in order in the living room. Now on to the dining room, to put the finishing touches on the haunted house before their guests arrived for what Baldwin Street residents only semi-affectionately referred to as the "witching hour".
Too bad it's not really an hour, Emily thought, as she lugged a tub full of props into the dining room. The "witching hour" was the name given to that period of time between the end of dinner on Halloween and the fall of sufficient darkness to begin trick-or-treating. It lasted roughly an hour and a half to two hours, a wait found to be interminable by parents and children alike. Halloween was second only to Christmas in its ability to produce spastic, over-excited children who bounced off not just walls, but every available surface. Christmas came well equipped with Santa Claus, whose infamous "list" was useful as a disciplinary tool for the entire period between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Halloween provided no such authority figure, leaving parents to contend with the results.
The residents of Baldwin street who had children of trick-or-treating age had long managed those results by holding Halloween parties. While this didn't cut down on the bouncing, it did at least direct the bouncing in carefully predetermined directions. Each year a different family had the dubious honor of hosting the annual Halloween party, a torch that was passed by strict rules to be certain that no one was allowed to send their children to others' parties year after year without eventually hosting one of their own. This year was David's and Emily's turn, and Dee had taken to the notion with her usual gusto, insisting on more than the usual bobbing for apples, pumpkin painting, and musical chairs. No, Dee wanted something bigger and grander than anyone else had ever had: She wanted a "haunted house". The dining room was chosen as the location, it being the only room in the house bounded on three sides by other rooms and therefore easier to darken.
Emily set the tub down and wrinkled her nose at the portions of the "house" already set up. Dee and her friends had spent hours coming up with ideas, each grislier than the last. As the weeks had gone by with the "house" growing ghastlier by the minute, Emily had confided to David that she was worried—was Dee's interest in the macabre a remnant of what had happened to her this summer? David had smiled and pointed out that lots of children were contributing ideas, not just Dee, and if she was working out some issues left over from the summer's adventures, so what? This was a safe and socially acceptable way to do just that.
And Emily had dropped the subject, partly because David had a point and partly because she was basking in the glow of.....nothing. In just a few days they would reach the two month anniversary of having nothing unusual or upsetting happen to them, be it human or alien. The Army hadn't rung their doorbell. Deputy Valenti had not approached, even though she had seen him on a few occasions and heard him referred to as "Deputy Martian" on several. Dee hadn't clocked anyone else. The Indian children were no longer being targeted. There had been no more alien emergencies. There had been nothing but blessed peace and quiet, minus the occasional skirmish over homework or bedtimes, and Emily would gladly set up a hundred haunted houses if she could hang onto that as long as possible.
Emily set out the last of the props meant to represent various body parts, wincing as she did so. There was another reason she wasn't thrilled with the haunted house idea—it brought back some very bad memories.
"Use these for brains, Mama," Dee had said enthusiastically, handing her some large gray sponges. "These look just like brains."
No, they don't, Emily had thought silently to herself. And I should know.
Shaking her head, Emily pushed those thoughts out of her mind. Now was not the time. She turned her attention back to the dining room and took inventory again, deliberately avoiding looking at the "brains". Dee had already helpfully strung a rope around the perimeter of the room to guide the haunted house visitors as they groped their way through in total darkness. Emily had placed a bucket of water and a stack of towels at the exit to wash gooey hands and feet, and she'd also taken the precaution of hiding a flashlight in a discreet location for when the time came to fetch some hysterically frightened child. The last thing to be done was to darken the windows. She grabbed the stack of black construction paper and a roll of tape and began taping the sheets to the windows in the dining room.
"Curious," said a voice behind her.
Emily turned to find Brivari inspecting the various haunted house offerings, a look of utter puzzlement on his face. She hadn't heard him come in and wasn't surprised—she usually didn't. She'd grown so completely used to his presence and his unpredictable comings and goings that half the time she completely forgot he was an alien.
"What's curious?" Emily asked, taping up another sheet of paper.
"Try as I may, the reasoning behind this particular festival escapes me," Brivari said, examining a pile of soft-boiled eggs which doubled as eyeballs.
"I think Dee would be the one to tell you that."
"Your daughter has already tried. Four times. Unfortunately, the conclusions I have reached from our discussions make no sense."
Emily smiled. Brivari had recently begun occasionally referring to Dee as a "daughter" instead of a "child". He was picking up human expressions in spite of himself.
"So what have you got so far?" she asked, taping up the last sheet of paper and reaching for a nearby blanket to cover the window.
"Human children dress up as monsters and roam from house to house, begging for candy and threatening those who do not provide it."
Emily burst out laughing, nearly dropping the blanket as she hooked it over one end of the curtain rod. "It sounds pretty bad when you put it that way," she said, still chuckling as she stepped back to inspect the window.
"Perhaps you would care to enlighten me?" Brivari asked hopefully, eyeing a puddle of glycerin in a saucer.
"I can try," Emily agreed, sitting down in the chair she'd used to reach the curtain rod. "Let's see......you probably can't figure out the reasons behind Halloween because the reasons no longer apply. At least not here."
"How so?"
"Well, a long time ago, over in Ireland and England—those are other places on this planet, where many of the people who live in this country came from—people believed that tonight was a special night. They believed this was the one night every year when the dead could walk the Earth and talk to the living."
"Such beliefs are common among primitive cultures," Brivari observed, inspecting a spider web made of dental floss.
"People also believed that some of the dead weren't very happy, either about being dead or about something they'd left undone," Emily continued, ignoring his comment. She'd learned long ago that it didn't pay to take too much of what these people said personally. "So people left things out to appease the dead, like food or clothing. They believed that if they didn't leave these 'treats', the dead would play 'tricks' on them, meaning do something bad to them."
"And people still believe this?"
"No. What you're seeing is just an echo, a remnant of what Halloween used to be. Children dress up as the spirits that people used to fear, although these days not everyone is a 'monster'. The candy we give out is all that's left of the offerings that used to be left for the dead, and the phrase 'trick or treat' is all that's left of the old belief that if those offerings weren't made, the spirits would do something to harm the stingy. It's a classic case of the meaning being lost but the festival continuing, albeit in a different form."
"That makes more sense," Brivari said thoughtfully, sidestepping a pan of jello meant for bare feet. "Your daughter was attempting to explain how all this"—he waved a hand around the dining room—"was considered 'fun'."
"It's not my cup of tea," Emily admitted.
"Nor mine. I have seen too much of this in my lifetime already."
A picture flashed into Emily's mind unbidden......a door opening.....a foul smell, overpowering.......a body lying on the floor, unrecognizable because it's former owner had.........
No. Not now. She wasn't going to go dredging all that up again now. Emily rubbed her arms, suddenly cold even though the night was warm, and stood up. "If you'll excuse me, I have a few more things to do before the thundering herd arrives," she said, surprised to find her voice shaking.
" 'Thundering herd'?" Brivari repeated blankly. "You are expecting animals?"
"No," Emily said, grateful for something to smile at. "I meant the party guests." Apparently Brivari still had some colloquialisms to work on.
"Ah." He turned back to one of the displays as she headed for the door. "You were thinking of your mate's brother just now, weren't you?"
Emily stopped in her tracks. "What?"
"I was thinking of my associates as well," Brivari continued. "Perhaps we do this because we both know those who have died a violent death."
Emily felt the blood drain from her face. "What makes you say that?"
"Your mate's sibling died a violent death, did he not?"
"I just said he killed himself," Emily said, her throat going dry. "I never said it was violent."
"No, you didn't," Brivari said quietly. "But it was....wasn't it?"
"If you'll excuse me," Emily said stiffly, "I have more party preparations to attend to."
Brivari didn't answer as she escaped into the kitchen, closing the door behind her and leaning against the wall, breathing hard. Either these people could read minds, or she was a lot more transparent than she liked to think she was.
******************************************************
The doorbell rang again as Dee Proctor hurried toward the front staircase, stopping just in time to gather up the skirts of her long dress. The worst part of being a princess for Halloween was the dress. Short dresses were bad enough, but long dresses were worse; they made you trip. The best part of being a princess was the crown. Dee was no different than any other little girl in that she loved wearing crowns. This year's model had been carefully fashioned from wire and draped with a couple of old necklaces with glass stones that Mrs. Brazel had loaned her for the occasion. Up close, her crown looked like.....well, it looked like a bit of wire with costume jewelry tied to it. From a distance, however, it dazzled, and that was good enough for Dee.
"Coming!" she called as she reached the bottom of the stairs, dropped her skirts, and flung the door open, hoping it was Anthony.
It was. Dee stepped aside to let him in. His cardboard box spaceship was covered with shiny aluminum foil and decorated with various gadgets: Doorknobs, drawer pulls, a chain lock from a door, some pieces of rolled paper painted to look like engines. His arms stuck out the sides, and his head perched on top like a ball, covered on three sides by a kind of stiff hood made of construction paper that had been painted with pictures of knobs and dials.
"Wow," Dee said, impressed. "I thought it was just going to be a piece of cardboard with a picture on it."
"I think it looks more realistic this way," Anthony said seriously, as Dee smiled, thinking of what a real spaceship looked like. "This is the cockpit," he explained, pointing to the construction paper hood.
"How do you go to the bathroom in that?" Dee asked with typical nine year-old tact.
"How do you go in that?" Anthony asked, looking at her voluminous dress.
"I don't," Dee admitted. "I have to take it off."
"Same here," Anthony said. "No toilets on this spaceship." His eyes shifted left and right as he leaned in closer. "So what did he say?"
"What did who say?"
"Valenti. What did he say when you showed him the law book?"
"Oh. Him." In all the excitement of getting ready for Halloween, she'd forgotten about Deputy Valenti even though she'd talked to him just this afternoon. "He said that the laws weren't written to mean what I want them to mean, and that basically nobody would ever read them the way I do. Which is pretty much what he said before. And so did you," she added ruefully.
"That's too bad," Anthony said, disappointed.
"He also said that I'd made some good arguments, and he'd think it over."
Anthony blinked in surprise. "Really?"
"He was probably just trying to make me feel better."
Anthony considered this in silence for a moment before shaking his head inside his paper cockpit. "Nope. I don't think he's like that. He's not the type to say something he doesn't mean just to make somebody feel better."
"Maybe," Dee said doubtfully. "Your engine is falling off."
"What? Oh," Anthony said, looking at his dangling port engine.
"I'll get some tape," Dee said heading toward the kitchen drawer where such things were stored.
"I'll get the door," Anthony called as the bell sounded again.
It was Rachel, also decked out as a princess. Hot on her heels were younger children from down the street, most done up as scarecrows, ghosts, or witches. Dee's mother appeared from the kitchen looking a bit flustered, but Dee didn't have time to wonder why. The doorbell had rung again, and she opened it to find a gaggle of aliens on her doorstep, Peter leading the pack.
"Aren't you going to let us in?" Peter demanded through his homemade mask with the large, almond-shaped eyes and tiny mouth.
"Oh. Sure," Dee said, stepping aside hastily as the group trooped by. She'd been momentarily startled when she'd opened the door because they'd done a pretty good job of getting it right....except for the green. All the "aliens" were green but Peter, who had apparently listened carefully to Mac's second radio interview.
<Where did this notion of green come from?> came a wondering voice in her head.
Great, Dee groaned silently. Of course Brivari was doing his usual lurking, and of course he'd have to see this display of what humans thought his people looked like. How embarrassing.
<I'm not sure where that comes from,> she said uncomfortably. <Everybody thinks of aliens as 'little green men'.>
<Interesting,> Brivari murmured. <Perhaps a similar phenomenon as on my world, where your race was once thought of as blue-skinned.>
<Blue? Why would they think we're blue?>
<Your planet is blue.>
Dee was about to argue that that was absolutely ridiculous when she realized that was no more ridiculous than the 'little green men' theory. A lot less, actually. The doorbell rang again and another pack of aliens arrived, all of them green this time.
<I take it we are the new 'monster' of choice?> Brivari asked, sounding faintly amused.
<I'm sorry,> Dee said miserably, her face growing hot. <I didn't expect you to be here tonight.>
<I take no offense, > Brivari answered calmly. <I am rather impressed that so many details are correct. Curious, given that our very existence, not to mention our forms, is considered classified by your military. It is always instructive to see what information leaks in spite of attempts to stop it.>
Ring! This time it was Ernie Hutton, tricked out in a heavily altered officer's uniform with captain's bars borrowed from his father, his nervous mother close behind.
<I have to give him high marks for consistency,> Brivari said blandly, as Dee cast flinty eyes on Ernie, causing Mrs. Hutton to pale visibly. Ernie actually took a step backward, although he probably would have died rather than admit it. "Good evening, Mrs. Hutton," Dee said, ignoring Ernie, her stomach churning at the sight of the uniform.
"Good evening," Mrs. Hutton answered somewhat tentatively, shooing Ernie inside quickly, no doubt afraid they'd start pummeling each other.
It was now six o'clock, and there was a lull in the arrivals. Only about two dozen people had arrived out of an expected three or four dozen. Dee saw her father steering guests away from the dining room/haunted house while her mother bustled around passing out cups of Kool-Aid. Cleo had curled up in the relative safety of the top shelf of a bookcase, gazing down at the scene below with interest. Mary Laura, who was dressed as Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, couldn't stop showing off her ruby slippers, fashioned from an old pair of red shoes which had been carefully covered with sequins. "There's no place like home!" she kept saying, over and over, clicking her heels together. "There's no place like home!"
"Maybe if she keeps doing that, she'll actually go home," Peter groused. He and his fellow aliens were engaged in a lively debate over which color was correct. Peter was the only gray alien in the room, and listening to him hotly defending his choice of color in spite of majority opinion made Dee smile. She knew perfectly well that Peter was the only one who'd gotten it right.
The doorbell rang again. "I'll get it!" chirped Mary Laura, who was nearest the door, clicking away. She swung the door open....and stopped clicking.
Slowly, a hush fell over the room as the mouths of those nearest the door fell open one by one. Others further away crowded close to see, their mouths falling open too, their eyes widening. What, did somebody come stark naked like Lady Godiva? Dee thought, giggling to herself. Why was everybody staring?
Her first inkling that something was genuinely wrong was when she saw her own mother. Emily was standing in the kitchen doorway, clearly visible over the heads of the guests. The look on her face sent Dee scrambling to see for herself what stood on her doorstep. She shouldered her way unceremoniously through the crowd and leaned around the doorjamb, peering over the heads of two shocked tiny children.
There was another alien on her doorstep. Short, gray, big head, big eyes. Only this time, it was real.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 54 next Sunday.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
October 31, 1947, 1535 hours
Eagle Rock Military Base
Cold water dripped from Yvonne's face as she reached for a towel with her eyes closed. She dried her face, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, her make-up a mess, her uniform askew, her hair all wet from the water she'd splashed heedlessly about in an effort to stop the shakes. The water didn't help, and she wound up sinking down on the toilet seat, arms wrapped tightly around herself, trying to piece together what had happened.
The last thing she remembered was sitting on her bed with the alien's hand over her mouth, listening helplessly as Stephen knocked on her door. And then.......and then she'd awakened just a few minutes ago to find the alien gone and herself with no memory of how she'd come to be lying on the bed. After a few seconds of utter confusion, her eyes had fallen on the clock, and she'd realized with horror that two hours had gone by from the time she remembered coming to her quarters after lunch.
Two hours? How could two hours have gone by? Where was the alien? What had he done to her that made her forget two whole hours of her life? She'd sat up on the edge of the bed, her hair spilling over her shoulders, the clip which usually held it lying on the pillow. Why was her hair down? What had he done to her?
Suddenly consumed with panic, Yvonne had run to the bathroom and stripped off her uniform, fearing the worst. She'd checked herself over as best she could and found nothing: No signs of assault, no injuries, no needle marks, no indication whatsoever of what had happened or how. While that was good news, it still left her with no answers, and she stood in the middle of her bathroom for several long minutes, naked and shivering, before tugging her uniform back on and splashing water on her face in an attempt to calm herself.
Why can't I remember? Yvonne thought desperately. And how had the alien done whatever he'd done without leaving any footprints? Her first thought was that she'd been drugged, but even though that fit the position in which she'd awakened and the missing time, it didn't fit her current physical state. Because despite her fear and her shakes, she had awakened feeling just fine, as though she'd had a very refreshing sleep. Sedatives left one feeling drowsy, dizzy, dry-mouthed, nauseous, and a whole host of other, similarly distasteful symptoms she didn't have. And yet she bore no signs of injury, so the alien hadn't simply knocked her out with a blow. What in God's name had he done? And where was he now?
Yvonne felt herself going cold all over again as it dawned on her that the alien could be walking around right now wearing her face, could have been walking around for the past couple of hours doing God knows what. She had a sudden urge to run and find Stephen, or go to John and ask him what to do, but that wouldn't be wise if there was another Yvonne White walking around. And the free alien hadn't been returning until late at night after his daily switch of the serum, so he wouldn't be available for awhile yet.
After pondering her situation for another few minutes, Yvonne reached a decision. She washed her face again, more carefully this time, fixed her hair, settled her uniform, and reapplied her make-up. No one must know anything was amiss. Then she waited by the door for passing footsteps, opening it only when they were close, praying that whoever it was wouldn't think she was in two places at the same time.
"I need Lieutenant Spade," Yvonne said after flagging down the soldier in the hallway. "Have him come to my quarters right away. Tell him it's urgent."
******************************************************
Spade practically ran down the basement corridors, ignoring the curious stares of other soldiers as he headed for Yvonne's quarters. "Yvonne!" he whispered urgently, knocking on her door. "It's Stephen!"
The door opened a crack and she was there, looking wide-eyed, but perfectly normal. Spade slipped through the door and closed it behind him, getting a good look at her for the first time, instantly realizing something was wrong. She looked good—too good. When he'd left her before, her hair had come undone, her uniform was rumpled; now she was the picture of neatness. And it suddenly occurred to Spade that he now had less reason than ever to believe this was really her. Instinctively, he raised his rifle.
"Who are you?" Spade demanded.
The same thought had apparently occurred to Yvonne because she backed up hastily, putting the bed between them. "Who are you?" she demanded in return. "Stephen wouldn't pull a gun on me!"
Her eyes were still wide, and her voice was one of someone on the edge of panic. She looked like Yvonne, sounded like Yvonne, acted like Yvonne would be acting if she'd just woken up realizing there was a stray alien on the loose. Unfortunately, none of that meant anything. Experience had taught them both that the only way to be certain of anyone's identity was to exchange information that only that person would know.
"I came to your quarters in the nurses' barracks right before you were to leave," Spade said, keeping his rifle raised while Yvonne remained warily on the other side of the bed. "You were packing. You'd just been transferred to......" He paused, waiting for her to finish the sentence. Or not.
"......to London," she finished, sagging with relief. "I'd just been transferred to London. Or so I thought," she added ruefully. "Some transfer that turned out to be."
"It's you!" Spade said with relief, dropping his rifle on the bed and coming around to take her by the shoulders. She didn't back away from him this time. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Just....confused," she answered. "Listen, Stephen, there's another alien here. He was waiting for me in my quarters, and he.....did something to me. I'm not sure what. One minute he was here, and the next minute I was on the bed and two hours had passed."
"I know," Spade said soothingly. "It's okay. He's gone."
"Gone?" she repeated in astonishment. "You knew? How? What did he do? How did he get in here in the first place? What—"
"One thing at a time," Spade interrupted. "What happened to you?"
"He was waiting for me in here," Yvonne said, her eyes darting nervously around the room as if expecting the alien to materialize from the walls at any moment. "He didn't realize one of them had escaped, and he tried to get me to help him. He told me the other two were criminals."
"Yeah, he was real chatty with me too," Spade said darkly. "As if I'd believe a word he said. Then what?"
"Then you knocked," Yvonne said. "But he had his hand over my mouth and I couldn't answer you. After that......I don't know. I can't remember!" she added in frustration.
"We can talk about that later," Spade said. "The important thing is that you're okay and he's gone."
"How on earth did he get in here, Stephen?"
"He was getting in here as a dog. My men have been letting him in for months now, thinking he was a stray puppy. I found you in here unconscious, so I went to John to see if he knew anything, and......you were there. I mean the alien was there," he amended, "looking like you."
"Good Lord," Yvonne breathed, sinking down on the bed. "What happened?"
"I fished him out of there. Told him I knew what he was, and I'd let him go if he fixed whatever he'd done to you. He said he would, but then he turned back into a dog and escaped. Everybody let him go because they thought I was a madman chasing a puppy with a gun."
"I had no idea they could turn into animals," Yvonne said wonderingly.
"Well, it worked," Spade said. "Beautifully. Right now, all my men are out there mourning the loss of their 'pet'."
"You mean they don't know?"
"I called it an alien when I was trying to catch it, trying to get someone to stop it, but no one believed me....and maybe that's a good thing. No one knows what it really was but you, me, and John."
"So.....John could still escape?" Yvonne asked hopefully, echoing his own thoughts. It was a measure of just how desperate they were to get out of here that the first thing on both their minds after an alien infiltration was whether or not the planned escape attempt would be interrupted.
"Hopefully," Spade answered. "That means hopefully the rest of you will be off the hook as well. But I'm afraid I wasn't so lucky."
"What do you mean?" Yvonne asked in alarm.
"Cavitt saw the dog. It ran out the front doors right past him with me charging after it like a maniac. It hasn't occurred to him yet that it might have been an alien, but even so, my goose is cooked. It was my men who let the dog in, and I failed to discover that."
Yvonne rose from the bed and slowly crossed the room, her face troubled. "What will he do to you?" she asked after a moment. "He can't afford to just transfer you—you know too much."
"I'm not sure," Spade admitted. "Ordinarily, I'd probably wind up with just a tongue lashing and an unsatisfactory mark on my record. But this isn't an ordinary situation. A breach of security here is going to be treated much more seriously than anywhere else. And Cavitt's wanted to get rid of me for awhile. I've been a marked man ever since I went on record to the General about what really happened with the alien who surrendered."
Yvonne shook her head "I don't think he can get away with what he pulled before, having you killed and blaming it on the aliens. That would be admitting his own security procedures weren't working."
"He wouldn't do it that way," Spade said quietly. "Cavitt's not stupid. He'd have me discharged, and then once I'm outside....." He paused. "Let's just say that once I'm outside, all kinds of accidents could happen, and they would be very hard to trace back here. And who would even try once I have a discharge against my name?"
"Only a court can hand out a dishonorable discharge, and Cavitt wouldn't risk a court-martial," Yvonne argued. "He wouldn't want you talking in an open forum like that."
"He wouldn't need a dishonorable," Spade said. "He could go for an unsatisfactory discharge, or even just a general discharge. Either way, I'd be gone."
And either way, I'd be screwed, Spade added silently, as Yvonne sank back down on the bed in defeat. He knew what she was thinking; he'd already been over this in his own head a dozen times already. Anything less than an honorable discharge from the military was tantamount to being fired, a black mark for life which made it difficult to get jobs, credit, insurance, and all other manner of life's necessities. If someone with such a mark against him met an untimely end.....well......probably few would notice. It would be the perfect cover.
"Cavitt ordered me to do a full investigation, so we have a little time," Spade said gently as Yvonne continued to fret. "If we're lucky, no one will figure out what really happened, John will escape, and none of this will matter anyway."
"Maybe we should tell them what really happened, or some of it at least," Yvonne said. "What if the alien comes back? Shouldn't they know their 'pet' isn't really a dog?"
Spade shook his head. "His cover was blown. He won't be back, not as a dog, anyway. Spilling the beans now would just send Cavitt even further over the edge and ruin any chance John has of escaping. The truth isn't going to do anyone any good this time."
"But what if he does come back?" Yvonne persisted, sounding frightened. "What do we do? How do we really know he's gone? What's he going to do next?"
Spade thought for a moment. "He knows he can't get to John again, and he didn't know the other one was free. So I would imagine he'd go after the free alien."
******************************************************
5:30 p.m.
Corona, New Mexico
Snapping his wings with impatience, Amar flew over the human settlement below, recognizing nothing. He'd been at this for hours now with no success, growing more irritable by the minute. Just another failure to add to the string of failures that had marred what could have been—and had started as—a glorious day. Talk about adding insult to injury.
Though he was loathe to admit it, Amar had been terrified when he had run from the human soldier virtually right outside the healer's door. He had been growing more and more desperate as they drew near her quarters because he knew full well there was nothing he could do to revive her sooner than she would normally revive anyway. He also knew full well the potency of the human sedative, crude though it was by Antarian standards, so the weapon the human soldier kept carefully aimed in his direction posed a real threat. He'd been hoping for a distraction prior to reaching the healer's quarters, and, failing that, he had planned to attempt an attack once they arrived. But the necessary distraction had arrived in the nick of time; he had heard the sound of approaching footsteps long before the human's inferior ears, and had taken that opportunity to shift to the one form almost everyone in that compound would be loathe to harm—the dog.
Not that that guaranteed success. Amar had been only too well aware how much square footage lay between him and freedom. He had almost panicked when the human soldier had identified him as an alien, but fortunately no one listened; all those hours chasing that disgusting soggy ball, performing those stupid tricks, and nuzzling up to apes had finally paid off. All they saw was their beloved pet being chased by someone who wanted to hurt it, and they had moved aside to let him pass at every turn.
Who would have thought? Amar grumbled as he circled and circled in the air, looking for something familiar. Who would have thought that the one time he managed to breach the humans' security—and in an absolutely brilliant way, if he did say so himself—he'd be discovered in mere minutes by a human who actually had a brain? That annoyingly persistent soldier had ruined everything. Amar had planned to return to the healer's room after he was through with Jaddo, kill her, and lie in wait for Brivari in or near her quarters, where he knew Brivari would show up eventually. Thanks to the soldier discovering him, the compound was no longer safe for him, even as a dog. Perhaps especially as a dog. Which meant that he would have to seek out Brivari on his own instead of waiting for Brivari to come to him....and that was damned inconvenient. Amar had resigned himself to staking out various parts of the base when he had remembered something, something which had gotten lost in all the excitement.
And that would be that the human healer could hear his telepathic speech, proving that there were humans capable of doing so. Which meant that the human child Malik had been so certain had not been able to hear them months ago might very well have been faking. Given the fervor with which these idiot apes protected the Warders, it was quite possible that a child could have been won over by one of their tales of woe. Which is how Amar came to be hovering over the settlement below, trying to remember where she lived. He and Malik had looked so many places that it was all a blur, but if he could just find that child, he was certain to get something useful out of her. Children are easy to frighten, he thought to himself with satisfaction, mentally ignoring the fact that this particular specimen of childhood had not proven so easy to sway.
There! Swooping downward, Amar alighted on a branch and studied the houses in front of him. That one......that was the first house they'd come to, where they'd first met the child. And there......that was the child's house, where she had managed to maintain complete silence and throw them off the trail. What had they said in there, wide open to anyone capable of hearing telepathic speech? Had she heard? Reported what they'd said back to Brivari and company? How could Malik, who knew more about humans than any of them, have been so wrong about this one?
No matter. This was the place. And from the looks of things, he had arrived at an opportune time. One look around the neighborhood was enough to tell Amar that this was the evening of that ridiculous human festival which involved outrageous clothing, vandalism, and sweets, in no particular order. And that gave Amar an idea, one that might well get him the information he needed and provide some entertainment at the same time.
Perhaps today wouldn't be such a waste after all.
******************************************************
Proctor residence
Emily Proctor stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the living room. She had just sent Dee upstairs to change into her costume after both of them had worked like beavers to get everything set up, and now she ran over a mental list of what had already been done and what still needed doing. Dinner dishes washed and put away? Check. Apples piled for bobbing? Check. Pumpkins and paints arrayed for pumpkin painting? Check. A footstool available at the sink for the inevitable paint spills? Check. Kool-Aid mixed? Check. Everything seemed to be in order in the living room. Now on to the dining room, to put the finishing touches on the haunted house before their guests arrived for what Baldwin Street residents only semi-affectionately referred to as the "witching hour".
Too bad it's not really an hour, Emily thought, as she lugged a tub full of props into the dining room. The "witching hour" was the name given to that period of time between the end of dinner on Halloween and the fall of sufficient darkness to begin trick-or-treating. It lasted roughly an hour and a half to two hours, a wait found to be interminable by parents and children alike. Halloween was second only to Christmas in its ability to produce spastic, over-excited children who bounced off not just walls, but every available surface. Christmas came well equipped with Santa Claus, whose infamous "list" was useful as a disciplinary tool for the entire period between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Halloween provided no such authority figure, leaving parents to contend with the results.
The residents of Baldwin street who had children of trick-or-treating age had long managed those results by holding Halloween parties. While this didn't cut down on the bouncing, it did at least direct the bouncing in carefully predetermined directions. Each year a different family had the dubious honor of hosting the annual Halloween party, a torch that was passed by strict rules to be certain that no one was allowed to send their children to others' parties year after year without eventually hosting one of their own. This year was David's and Emily's turn, and Dee had taken to the notion with her usual gusto, insisting on more than the usual bobbing for apples, pumpkin painting, and musical chairs. No, Dee wanted something bigger and grander than anyone else had ever had: She wanted a "haunted house". The dining room was chosen as the location, it being the only room in the house bounded on three sides by other rooms and therefore easier to darken.
Emily set the tub down and wrinkled her nose at the portions of the "house" already set up. Dee and her friends had spent hours coming up with ideas, each grislier than the last. As the weeks had gone by with the "house" growing ghastlier by the minute, Emily had confided to David that she was worried—was Dee's interest in the macabre a remnant of what had happened to her this summer? David had smiled and pointed out that lots of children were contributing ideas, not just Dee, and if she was working out some issues left over from the summer's adventures, so what? This was a safe and socially acceptable way to do just that.
And Emily had dropped the subject, partly because David had a point and partly because she was basking in the glow of.....nothing. In just a few days they would reach the two month anniversary of having nothing unusual or upsetting happen to them, be it human or alien. The Army hadn't rung their doorbell. Deputy Valenti had not approached, even though she had seen him on a few occasions and heard him referred to as "Deputy Martian" on several. Dee hadn't clocked anyone else. The Indian children were no longer being targeted. There had been no more alien emergencies. There had been nothing but blessed peace and quiet, minus the occasional skirmish over homework or bedtimes, and Emily would gladly set up a hundred haunted houses if she could hang onto that as long as possible.
Emily set out the last of the props meant to represent various body parts, wincing as she did so. There was another reason she wasn't thrilled with the haunted house idea—it brought back some very bad memories.
"Use these for brains, Mama," Dee had said enthusiastically, handing her some large gray sponges. "These look just like brains."
No, they don't, Emily had thought silently to herself. And I should know.
Shaking her head, Emily pushed those thoughts out of her mind. Now was not the time. She turned her attention back to the dining room and took inventory again, deliberately avoiding looking at the "brains". Dee had already helpfully strung a rope around the perimeter of the room to guide the haunted house visitors as they groped their way through in total darkness. Emily had placed a bucket of water and a stack of towels at the exit to wash gooey hands and feet, and she'd also taken the precaution of hiding a flashlight in a discreet location for when the time came to fetch some hysterically frightened child. The last thing to be done was to darken the windows. She grabbed the stack of black construction paper and a roll of tape and began taping the sheets to the windows in the dining room.
"Curious," said a voice behind her.
Emily turned to find Brivari inspecting the various haunted house offerings, a look of utter puzzlement on his face. She hadn't heard him come in and wasn't surprised—she usually didn't. She'd grown so completely used to his presence and his unpredictable comings and goings that half the time she completely forgot he was an alien.
"What's curious?" Emily asked, taping up another sheet of paper.
"Try as I may, the reasoning behind this particular festival escapes me," Brivari said, examining a pile of soft-boiled eggs which doubled as eyeballs.
"I think Dee would be the one to tell you that."
"Your daughter has already tried. Four times. Unfortunately, the conclusions I have reached from our discussions make no sense."
Emily smiled. Brivari had recently begun occasionally referring to Dee as a "daughter" instead of a "child". He was picking up human expressions in spite of himself.
"So what have you got so far?" she asked, taping up the last sheet of paper and reaching for a nearby blanket to cover the window.
"Human children dress up as monsters and roam from house to house, begging for candy and threatening those who do not provide it."
Emily burst out laughing, nearly dropping the blanket as she hooked it over one end of the curtain rod. "It sounds pretty bad when you put it that way," she said, still chuckling as she stepped back to inspect the window.
"Perhaps you would care to enlighten me?" Brivari asked hopefully, eyeing a puddle of glycerin in a saucer.
"I can try," Emily agreed, sitting down in the chair she'd used to reach the curtain rod. "Let's see......you probably can't figure out the reasons behind Halloween because the reasons no longer apply. At least not here."
"How so?"
"Well, a long time ago, over in Ireland and England—those are other places on this planet, where many of the people who live in this country came from—people believed that tonight was a special night. They believed this was the one night every year when the dead could walk the Earth and talk to the living."
"Such beliefs are common among primitive cultures," Brivari observed, inspecting a spider web made of dental floss.
"People also believed that some of the dead weren't very happy, either about being dead or about something they'd left undone," Emily continued, ignoring his comment. She'd learned long ago that it didn't pay to take too much of what these people said personally. "So people left things out to appease the dead, like food or clothing. They believed that if they didn't leave these 'treats', the dead would play 'tricks' on them, meaning do something bad to them."
"And people still believe this?"
"No. What you're seeing is just an echo, a remnant of what Halloween used to be. Children dress up as the spirits that people used to fear, although these days not everyone is a 'monster'. The candy we give out is all that's left of the offerings that used to be left for the dead, and the phrase 'trick or treat' is all that's left of the old belief that if those offerings weren't made, the spirits would do something to harm the stingy. It's a classic case of the meaning being lost but the festival continuing, albeit in a different form."
"That makes more sense," Brivari said thoughtfully, sidestepping a pan of jello meant for bare feet. "Your daughter was attempting to explain how all this"—he waved a hand around the dining room—"was considered 'fun'."
"It's not my cup of tea," Emily admitted.
"Nor mine. I have seen too much of this in my lifetime already."
A picture flashed into Emily's mind unbidden......a door opening.....a foul smell, overpowering.......a body lying on the floor, unrecognizable because it's former owner had.........
No. Not now. She wasn't going to go dredging all that up again now. Emily rubbed her arms, suddenly cold even though the night was warm, and stood up. "If you'll excuse me, I have a few more things to do before the thundering herd arrives," she said, surprised to find her voice shaking.
" 'Thundering herd'?" Brivari repeated blankly. "You are expecting animals?"
"No," Emily said, grateful for something to smile at. "I meant the party guests." Apparently Brivari still had some colloquialisms to work on.
"Ah." He turned back to one of the displays as she headed for the door. "You were thinking of your mate's brother just now, weren't you?"
Emily stopped in her tracks. "What?"
"I was thinking of my associates as well," Brivari continued. "Perhaps we do this because we both know those who have died a violent death."
Emily felt the blood drain from her face. "What makes you say that?"
"Your mate's sibling died a violent death, did he not?"
"I just said he killed himself," Emily said, her throat going dry. "I never said it was violent."
"No, you didn't," Brivari said quietly. "But it was....wasn't it?"
"If you'll excuse me," Emily said stiffly, "I have more party preparations to attend to."
Brivari didn't answer as she escaped into the kitchen, closing the door behind her and leaning against the wall, breathing hard. Either these people could read minds, or she was a lot more transparent than she liked to think she was.
******************************************************
The doorbell rang again as Dee Proctor hurried toward the front staircase, stopping just in time to gather up the skirts of her long dress. The worst part of being a princess for Halloween was the dress. Short dresses were bad enough, but long dresses were worse; they made you trip. The best part of being a princess was the crown. Dee was no different than any other little girl in that she loved wearing crowns. This year's model had been carefully fashioned from wire and draped with a couple of old necklaces with glass stones that Mrs. Brazel had loaned her for the occasion. Up close, her crown looked like.....well, it looked like a bit of wire with costume jewelry tied to it. From a distance, however, it dazzled, and that was good enough for Dee.
"Coming!" she called as she reached the bottom of the stairs, dropped her skirts, and flung the door open, hoping it was Anthony.
It was. Dee stepped aside to let him in. His cardboard box spaceship was covered with shiny aluminum foil and decorated with various gadgets: Doorknobs, drawer pulls, a chain lock from a door, some pieces of rolled paper painted to look like engines. His arms stuck out the sides, and his head perched on top like a ball, covered on three sides by a kind of stiff hood made of construction paper that had been painted with pictures of knobs and dials.
"Wow," Dee said, impressed. "I thought it was just going to be a piece of cardboard with a picture on it."
"I think it looks more realistic this way," Anthony said seriously, as Dee smiled, thinking of what a real spaceship looked like. "This is the cockpit," he explained, pointing to the construction paper hood.
"How do you go to the bathroom in that?" Dee asked with typical nine year-old tact.
"How do you go in that?" Anthony asked, looking at her voluminous dress.
"I don't," Dee admitted. "I have to take it off."
"Same here," Anthony said. "No toilets on this spaceship." His eyes shifted left and right as he leaned in closer. "So what did he say?"
"What did who say?"
"Valenti. What did he say when you showed him the law book?"
"Oh. Him." In all the excitement of getting ready for Halloween, she'd forgotten about Deputy Valenti even though she'd talked to him just this afternoon. "He said that the laws weren't written to mean what I want them to mean, and that basically nobody would ever read them the way I do. Which is pretty much what he said before. And so did you," she added ruefully.
"That's too bad," Anthony said, disappointed.
"He also said that I'd made some good arguments, and he'd think it over."
Anthony blinked in surprise. "Really?"
"He was probably just trying to make me feel better."
Anthony considered this in silence for a moment before shaking his head inside his paper cockpit. "Nope. I don't think he's like that. He's not the type to say something he doesn't mean just to make somebody feel better."
"Maybe," Dee said doubtfully. "Your engine is falling off."
"What? Oh," Anthony said, looking at his dangling port engine.
"I'll get some tape," Dee said heading toward the kitchen drawer where such things were stored.
"I'll get the door," Anthony called as the bell sounded again.
It was Rachel, also decked out as a princess. Hot on her heels were younger children from down the street, most done up as scarecrows, ghosts, or witches. Dee's mother appeared from the kitchen looking a bit flustered, but Dee didn't have time to wonder why. The doorbell had rung again, and she opened it to find a gaggle of aliens on her doorstep, Peter leading the pack.
"Aren't you going to let us in?" Peter demanded through his homemade mask with the large, almond-shaped eyes and tiny mouth.
"Oh. Sure," Dee said, stepping aside hastily as the group trooped by. She'd been momentarily startled when she'd opened the door because they'd done a pretty good job of getting it right....except for the green. All the "aliens" were green but Peter, who had apparently listened carefully to Mac's second radio interview.
<Where did this notion of green come from?> came a wondering voice in her head.
Great, Dee groaned silently. Of course Brivari was doing his usual lurking, and of course he'd have to see this display of what humans thought his people looked like. How embarrassing.
<I'm not sure where that comes from,> she said uncomfortably. <Everybody thinks of aliens as 'little green men'.>
<Interesting,> Brivari murmured. <Perhaps a similar phenomenon as on my world, where your race was once thought of as blue-skinned.>
<Blue? Why would they think we're blue?>
<Your planet is blue.>
Dee was about to argue that that was absolutely ridiculous when she realized that was no more ridiculous than the 'little green men' theory. A lot less, actually. The doorbell rang again and another pack of aliens arrived, all of them green this time.
<I take it we are the new 'monster' of choice?> Brivari asked, sounding faintly amused.
<I'm sorry,> Dee said miserably, her face growing hot. <I didn't expect you to be here tonight.>
<I take no offense, > Brivari answered calmly. <I am rather impressed that so many details are correct. Curious, given that our very existence, not to mention our forms, is considered classified by your military. It is always instructive to see what information leaks in spite of attempts to stop it.>
Ring! This time it was Ernie Hutton, tricked out in a heavily altered officer's uniform with captain's bars borrowed from his father, his nervous mother close behind.
<I have to give him high marks for consistency,> Brivari said blandly, as Dee cast flinty eyes on Ernie, causing Mrs. Hutton to pale visibly. Ernie actually took a step backward, although he probably would have died rather than admit it. "Good evening, Mrs. Hutton," Dee said, ignoring Ernie, her stomach churning at the sight of the uniform.
"Good evening," Mrs. Hutton answered somewhat tentatively, shooing Ernie inside quickly, no doubt afraid they'd start pummeling each other.
It was now six o'clock, and there was a lull in the arrivals. Only about two dozen people had arrived out of an expected three or four dozen. Dee saw her father steering guests away from the dining room/haunted house while her mother bustled around passing out cups of Kool-Aid. Cleo had curled up in the relative safety of the top shelf of a bookcase, gazing down at the scene below with interest. Mary Laura, who was dressed as Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, couldn't stop showing off her ruby slippers, fashioned from an old pair of red shoes which had been carefully covered with sequins. "There's no place like home!" she kept saying, over and over, clicking her heels together. "There's no place like home!"
"Maybe if she keeps doing that, she'll actually go home," Peter groused. He and his fellow aliens were engaged in a lively debate over which color was correct. Peter was the only gray alien in the room, and listening to him hotly defending his choice of color in spite of majority opinion made Dee smile. She knew perfectly well that Peter was the only one who'd gotten it right.
The doorbell rang again. "I'll get it!" chirped Mary Laura, who was nearest the door, clicking away. She swung the door open....and stopped clicking.
Slowly, a hush fell over the room as the mouths of those nearest the door fell open one by one. Others further away crowded close to see, their mouths falling open too, their eyes widening. What, did somebody come stark naked like Lady Godiva? Dee thought, giggling to herself. Why was everybody staring?
Her first inkling that something was genuinely wrong was when she saw her own mother. Emily was standing in the kitchen doorway, clearly visible over the heads of the guests. The look on her face sent Dee scrambling to see for herself what stood on her doorstep. She shouldered her way unceremoniously through the crowd and leaned around the doorjamb, peering over the heads of two shocked tiny children.
There was another alien on her doorstep. Short, gray, big head, big eyes. Only this time, it was real.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 54 next Sunday.
BRIVARI: "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."
Hello to everyone reading!
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
October 31, 1947, 6:10 p.m.
Proctor residence
One could have heard a pin drop in the Proctor's living room, which only moments before had been noisy with pint-sized Halloween partygoers. Those partygoers were completely silent now, every pair of eyes fastened on what stood on the front porch, every mind churning with the same question: Is that real?
A similar question was swirling around the mind of the one partygoer who knew the answer. Dee Proctor stared at the figure on her doorstep, unable to fathom why any of the aliens would choose to expose themselves this way. It certainly wasn't Brivari. If Jaddo has escaped, he'd never do anything like this. It couldn't be one of the bad aliens—they had always hidden their identities too. Hiding your identity was pretty much standard procedure for aliens, so Dee was mystified as to why this one wasn't doing that. Was it a brand new alien? One who didn't realize what kind of danger it was in? Urza had told her that not everyone on their planet could change their shapes; perhaps this was one of those people?
Taking advantage of the general state of suspended animation, Dee surveyed the room. Her mother clearly knew perfectly well what was on her porch. So did her father, standing toward the back of the crowd with a grave expression on his face. Cleo had risen to her four feet atop the bookcase, her back arched, her fur bristling, something she'd never done with Brivari. Everyone else appeared to be a mixture of puzzled and stunned, as if they couldn't decide whether this was a real alien or just someone who'd pulled off a truly excellent Halloween costume.
Everyone, that is, except Anthony. Anthony wasn't looking at the alien, he was looking at her, starring at Dee, reading the answer to the question on everyone's mind in her eyes. Then he shifted his gaze back to the alien, his eyes darting left and right, up and down, as though he wanted to get as much information as possible before it vanished. Brivari hadn't made a peep, so Dee decided it was up to her to communicate with this stranger and point out that it wasn't safe to be doing what it was doing. She was on the verge of saying something when the alien spoke first.
<So,> came a derisive voice in her mind, <we meet again. And this time, don't bother trying to pretend you can't hear me. I know better.>
<You!> Dee said angrily, recognizing the voice as that of the first enemy alien, the one who had threatened to kill her family in an effort to see if she could hear his telepathic speech. <You're going to be really sorry you pulled this.>
<Spare me,> the alien said dismissively, turning its head toward her, its eyes blinking. <You can't harm me. Now—where is Brivari?>
All ready with a stinging retort, Dee was interrupted again. The crowd inside the Proctor's living room, teetering between admiration and horror for the past several seconds, had apparently reached a consensus for one simple reason: The alien had moved. Reaction to this verdict was swift—and loud.
Several children screamed. A number of the younger ones burst into tears, tried to run, and couldn't, packed in as they were. Cleo launched into a full scale hiss. Mrs. Hutton shrieked and ran, heading for the back of the house. And Ernie Hutton, suited up as an Army Captain, stayed in character by shouting "Get it!" and charging forward, toy pistol in hand.
Perhaps craving direction, a few in the crowd followed his "order", surging forward, pushing the alien out further onto the porch while others sought the safety of the living room windows so they could watch without being in the thick of things. Dee saw her mother throw her father a frantic glance and watched him head for the kitchen door, probably planning to come around the house and approach it from the side. <Brivari!> Dee called, elbowing her way up to the nearest living room window. <Where are you?>
The situation looked even worse from the window. Many party guests were only now approaching the Proctor's house, and they froze in their steps, gaping at the apparition on the front porch. Dee's heart sank as she saw adults poking their heads out doors and windows to see what the fuss was about, and Mrs. Brazel walking down her front lawn, staring curiously at the front porch. Wonderful, Dee thought wildly, turning around and locking eyes with her mother. Dee knew what she was thinking: If the Army had missed their family's involvement with the aliens before, they certainly weren't going to now.
Turning back to the window, Dee could see that the alien was still on the porch. Ernie's bravery had apparently extended no further than the doorway as he had stopped there, still holding that ridiculous toy pistol, his eyes practically popping out of his head. Cries of "Get it, Ernie, get it!" rang through the pack of children at his back, but Ernie didn't move. He seemed to be regretting his decision to lead the charge, but he certainly wasn't going to back down now, not with all those witnesses behind him. The alien appeared completely unperturbed. It stared at Ernie, its head cocked slightly to one side as if it were examining a particularly interesting bug, and made no move to run. And why should it? What could any of them do? Brivari didn't seem to be around anymore, and Dee frantically wracked her brain, trying to think of a way to defend themselves should it try to carry out its threat from months ago. She could only come up with one, one thing so awful it made her blood run cold: Mac's guns. Mac had several, and aliens were certainly vulnerable to bullets. But could she actually go to Mac and ask him to shoot it after watching the same thing happen to her friends?
Suddenly, looking past the alien to the Brazel's house, Dee saw that her father was way ahead of her. Mac and David had joined Mrs. Brazel on her front lawn, and Mac had his hunting rifle in his hands. Dee hadn't laid eyes on a gun since she'd been trapped on the ship, and her reaction was immediate and visceral: Don't! she screamed silently. Don't shoot!
A second later, the decision was taken out of her hands.
******************************************************
Eagle Rock Military Base
"Good evening, Lieutenant," the guard outside John's door said, reaching for his keys. "We were beginning to wonder where you were."
"Good evening, Private," Yvonne replied, tightening her grip on the tray of food she held as the soldier unlocked the door. Her watch was reading a little after 1800 hours, which was late for dinner, but it couldn't be helped. She'd waited as long as she'd dared, trying to calm down, trying to get her head together before approaching John.
After she and Stephen had finished exchanging notes about their experiences with the enemy alien, and Stephen had left to begin his "investigation", her first reaction had been to run to John and demand an explanation of what had been done to her. According to Stephen, John felt she'd been given some kind of sedative, although if that were the case, this alien sedative wasn't behaving like any sedative she was familiar with. But just as she was about to leave her quarters, something had occurred to her—what if the reaction was delayed? She'd awakened feeling fine, and she felt fine now, but that didn't mean a reaction couldn't develop later. Her initial relief at finding herself unharmed had given way to all sorts of worries. What if she had some kind of reaction while outside her quarters where everyone could see? What if the weekly blood tests which Dr. Pierce ran on virtually everyone to test for possible side effects of exposure to aliens were to turn up something unusual? The possibilities were endless, and for a short while, Yvonne had been paralyzed by them, afraid to leave her quarters lest something happen to her in public.
Desperate for something useful to do, she'd made a list of everything the enemy alien had said to her or Stephen about the two they were helping, making certain to limit her entries to cryptic initials or single words which wouldn't mean anything to anyone who might find it. Organizing her thoughts calmed her as it usually did, and after an hour or so had passed and nothing untoward had happened, she'd reached two conclusions: There did not seem to be any negative side effects to the alien sedative, at least in the short term, and the people she and Stephen were knocking themselves out to help—literally—had told them precious little about themselves. There wasn't much she could do about the first in any case, but plenty she could do about the second.
The door swung open, and Yvonne entered, two guards following her inside as usual. John was on his feet, staring at her closely. Jaddo, the other had called him. It was an odd name that had sounded strange to her ears, yet seemed to fit the individual in front of her much better than the innocuous "John".
<Are you all right?> he asked silently, with what seemed like genuine concern, his "voice" bearing no trace of his usual impatience and sarcasm. "You're late," he added out loud, echoing the guard's sentiments.
"I'm fine," Yvonne said, attempting a smile as she set the tray down on the table in the far corner. "I was just....delayed."
Delayed. Such a weak word for what had happened. John was watching her curiously, but he took his seat and so did she, her back to the guards as usual, blocking their view.
<What happened?> John asked, ignoring the food in front of him, even though she knew he must be hungry. She'd already noticed that his caloric needs increased in direct proportion to the extent of his powers, even if he wasn't using them much. Using them more would probably make him even hungrier.
"Plenty," Yvonne answered in a low voice as she poured coffee, her hand shaking a bit despite her efforts to keep it steady. "He talked a lot, and he knocked me out somehow. And then.....well, then I don't know." She set the coffee pot down, her hands still shaking. It was amazing just how frightening it was to lose time the way she had, to not know what had happened to her.
<I take it he has not returned?>
"No. Not yet, anyway."
John stared into space for a moment, apparently disturbed by this information, a sentiment Yvonne did not share. She leaned in closer and got right to the point. "Tell me what he did to me."
<I believe he used an agent on you similar to what you call a 'sedative',> John replied, his mind still elsewhere.
"That's what you told Stephen," Yvonne murmured, just loud enough so the guard would hear her talking but not be able to hear what she said. "But it doesn't behave like any sedative I know. What do you know about it?"
<Not enough to be of assistance.>
"Try me."
John shook his head slightly. <All I know is that it takes effect immediately and wears off immediately.>
That fits, Yvonne thought, pushing her food around on her plate, her appetite having fled long ago. Whatever it was had knocked her out very fast and had worn off so quickly she hadn't even felt sleepy.
"How did he get it into me?"
<Most likely the easiest way: Inhalation.>
Inhalation. Yvonne paused, remembering. That smell.....that sweet smell she had pulled into her lungs with that first big breath after he'd moved the hand over her nose and mouth....yes, that must have been it. She'd inhaled whatever had knocked her out, and he'd deliberately cut off her breath to make her do that.
"Do you know if it's dangerous?"
<If it were, I believe we would know by now,> John answered. <I know very little about it. This is not my area of expertise.>
"So I hear," Yvonne said, looking him in the eye. "I understand you're in the military."
She watched him carefully, saw his eyes flick upward, lock on hers. He said nothing, just stared at her a moment before dropping his eyes. Much as she hated the attitude of the enemy alien, he had made a valid point: "You already decided to help them, on the basis of practically no information, I might add. Which is really stupid, but then you're only human." The more Yvonne had thought about it, the more she'd felt she deserved to know more about the people she was risking her own life to help. Whether or not they'd be willing to share should prove interesting.
And it appeared they wouldn't be. Seconds passed, a minute, two minutes. Yvonne took a bite of meatloaf even though she still wasn't hungry, filling her mouth in an effort to keep it closed. Her instinct as a nurse was to fill gaps in conversation, so she had to force herself to say nothing, to leave the ball in his court. If John didn't speak for the duration of the meal, then no one would.
<I am not in the military. I ward one who is.>
Yvonne looked up in surprise; so much time had passed that she'd decided he wasn't willing to talk, and that she'd have to have a showdown with the free alien instead. John was staring at his plate, his face grave, his tone subdued. He clearly wasn't happy about answering her. But this information fit what the enemy alien had told her; even the language fit, with his odd use of the word "ward". She swallowed quickly and pressed on, eager for answers.
"I'm told you guarded the equivalent of a General."
<Yes.>
"Is that why you wanted to speak to the General in the beginning? Because you're used to dealing with generals?"
<The one I guard holds far more power than your General,> John answered. <He is second only to the King.>
"The King your friend guarded; the one named 'Brivari'."
This time John said nothing, and Yvonne set her fork down in consternation. The tap had opened for just a moment, only to be slammed shut again over such a simple thing: A name. Even Urza had told her his name. How could they except her to help them when they wouldn't tell her their names? Why had she agreed to help them for so long without even this most basic information?
"Look," Yvonne said, keeping her voice low so the guards couldn't overhear, "obviously the other one told me things about you, things that I don't know if they're true or not. He found it very amusing that we were helping you even though we know next to nothing about you, and as much as I hate to admit it, he had a point. Prior to this, I might have argued it didn't matter, that the behavior of my own people was reason enough to try and help you escape. But now....now I'm in the middle of something I don't understand. I'm in no position to judge whatever your conflict is, but since I'm being pulled into it, I at least want to know what's going on. Before today I only had to fear my people. And now...." Her voice caught, and she paused a moment. "He could have killed me today. And I still don't know why."
<I'm surprised he didn't kill you,> John answered, having listened to this speech in silence. < He could have killed you easily, and would have done so without remorse.>
"Lovely," Yvonne said grimly. "Now, I want to know who you are and why you're here. I want to know why he says you're all criminals on your world. I want to know what I'm stuck in the middle of. After all I've done for you, I think I deserve to know."
<And you are right,> John said quietly, startling Yvonne, who had been expecting silence at least, an argument at worst. He sighed and sat back in his chair. <My colleagues and I ward members of the royal family on our world. My two companions who died warded the Queen and the King's sister; I ward the commander of the King's armies, and Brivari wards the King.>
"And the King died," Yvonne said.
John's eyes grew cold. <Yes. Along with his entire family. They were murdered by a usurper, the one by whom my enemy is now employed. I and my colleague represent the regime which just fell, which is why he is so interested in me.>
"That's not all he's interested in," Yvonne said. "He wants whatever is in those sacs you rescued, and he just laughed when I told him you'd said they held your children."
<We did not say that,> John reminded her. <That was your own conclusion. We merely did not correct you.>
"In a manner of speaking." That had been Urza's response when she had asked him if the sacs contained their children. Not such a different response from that of the enemy alien, who had referred to the notion as "an inspired lie". "So what is in the sacs?" she asked.
<His worst fears,> John answered. <The King and his family.>
Yvonne stared. "But.....you said they died! And he said they were 'fetuses'. Your king isn't a 'fetus', is he?"
<He is if we are recreating him.>
Yvonne sat back in her chair, stunned, once again grateful that her back was toward the guards. " 'Recreating'?" she whispered. "Can you do that?"
<Our scientist created copies of the King and his family,> John answered. <These copies need to grow and mature just as their original bodies did.>
Clones, Yvonne thought incredulously. He was talking about clones. Just a theory in her world, but apparently a reality in his. She'd known John's people were advanced far beyond humans, but this.....this was something she'd never dreamed of. Good Lord—what would Pierce and Cavitt do if they knew about this?
"So.....you and the other three brought the..... 'copies' of your royalty here because......because whoever stole the king's throne can't survive here," Yvonne said slowly, remembering what both Urza and the enemy alien had told her. "And you were going to wait for these...... 'copies' to mature, and then.........what?"
<Return home,> John said gravely. <Restore the King to his rightful place.>
"Which the others don't want, of course. Which means I'm in the middle of a political coup." Yvonne paused, staring at John thoughtfully. "Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"
<We told you what you needed to know. Information can be misinterpreted. For example, what do you think the reaction would be were your people to learn I have any ties at all to the military?>
Yvonne was silent for a moment. "They would probably think you're here as a precursor to an invasion."
<Exactly. That would not be true, and I would have no way to prove otherwise. We told you the most important point—that we were not here for you or your world, but only to hide until the time came to return. What we were hiding and why was irrelevant.>
"And I can't tell what I don't know.....right?" Yvonne prompted.
<You know as well as I do how dangerous knowledge can be,> John said. <You, indeed everyone here, are captives because of what they know. Your knowledge has made you dangerous to those you serve. Information brings power, but it also makes one a target.> He sighed. <And I am afraid you are not the only one who will suffer this day from a surfeit of knowledge. My enemy has not returned because he now knows Brivari is free. I am captive and difficult to reach. Brivari is another matter.>
"Is there any way he could locate your friend?" Yvonne asked.
<Yes,> John said soberly, staring into space. <I'm afraid there is.>
******************************************************
Proctor residence
Before Mac had a chance to take aim, something moving too fast to identify came barreling around the front porch, knocking the alien sideways, carrying it skidding past the windows where Dee and the children were watching. Ernie abandoned all pretence of bravery and stumbled backwards, bumping into the knot of children behind him and bringing down several, domino fashion. People screamed inside and out, causing Dee to clamp her hands over her ears. That drowned out the human noise, but it couldn't drown out the alien noise, the telepathic hiss of shock, anger, and sheer hatred that poured into her mind from the two beings wrestling outside.
Then......silence. Complete silence. Human and alien silence. Dee took her hands from her ears and peered around. The aliens had vanished. People outside stood in shocked silence, staring in the direction the aliens had gone. Inside, noses were pressed against the windows, with the exception of the puddle near the door, on top of which was Ernie Hutton. Her mother appeared to have stopped breathing. Several children, especially the younger ones, were pressed up against the inside walls, as far from the windows and door as they could get. They looked petrified.
A hand closed on Dee's. She glanced sideways to find Anthony staring at her with huge eyes. He leaned in toward her, difficult to do in his bulky box costume, and whispered something in her ear.
"Follow me."
What? Dee stared at him blankly as he dropped his eyes and her hand and stared out the window. Follow him? Follow him where? Did he think they could run away? They'd have to run very fast indeed to outrun the consequences of having this happen right on their doorstep. She and her parents had been lucky so far, but this time, Dee was willing to bet their luck had run out.
"Wow!" Anthony said suddenly, his voice sounding unusually loud in the stunned silence. "You told me you had a surprise planned, but I never thought it would be anything like this!"
Huh? Every head turned in his direction, including Dee's. What on earth was he talking about?
"I thought it was just going to be something extra in the haunted house," Anthony went on, still staring out the window as though he just couldn't believe it. "But that was so much keener! I mean, that looked so real!"
Anthony was now commanding virtually everyone's attention. The pile at the door had picked themselves up and headed their way, Ernie in the lead once more, looking more confident now that his adversary was gone. Dee glanced at her mother, who appeared every bit as flabbergasted as everyone else. She didn't see her father anywhere. Mac and his gun had retreated, and several of the outdoor onlookers were now cautiously approaching the house.
"Tell me how you did it!" Anthony insisted. "You must have been planning this for weeks! Please tell me how you did it?"
Dee stared at him stupidly, speechless. Mrs. Hutton reappeared, hovering nervously at the back of the crowd, her face as white as the sheet of the tiny ghost clinging to her kneecaps.
"Okay, if you won't tell me now, will you tell me later?" Anthony begged. "Keep your secret through Halloween, but will you tell us tomorrow?"
Ernie Hutton looked like he was about to pop. "Do you mean that was fake?" he demanded, waving his toy pistol toward the porch.
Dee stared at Anthony, who met her gaze unblinkingly. Follow me. Did he really think this was going to work? After so many different people had seen it, watched it move, watched those huge eyes blink....did he really think they could convince everyone it was just another Halloween stunt? Dee stared at the questioning faces surrounding her, eagerly waiting for her to answer the question and thought, why not? What did they have to lose? If it didn't work...well, then they were no worse off than they had been.
"So what'd you think?" she asked Ernie, forcing her face into a wide smile. "Did you like it?"
There was a brief hush, and then everyone began talking at once.
"You faked that?" Ernie spat in disbelief.
"Fooled you, didn't I?" Dee said serenely, as Ernie scowled.
"Thank God!" Rachel said, practically sagging with relief.
"I knew it wasn't real," remarked a green alien. "Wrong color."
"Was not!" Peter said hotly, his gray alien head quivering with indignation.
"Wanna go home!" whined a tiny witch, her face tear-streaked, her pointy hat hanging by the chin strap.
"Wait a minute," commanded a skeptical voice.
Dee turned to see Mary Laura, arms crossed in front of her, the toe of one now forgotten ruby slipper tapping on the living room floor. "How could you have faked that?" Mary Laura demanded. "Its eyes blinked. Even if you could get somebody to fit into a costume like that, you couldn't get the eyes to blink."
Oh hush up! Dee thought sourly. She'd just been trading furtive "we did it!" glances with Anthony, and now this. "It was really good, wasn't it?" she said coolly to Mary Laura, whose eyes narrowed. "We worked hard on it."
"But it moved," Mary Laura protested. "And it didn't move like a regular person. And the arms and neck were too skinny. Nobody has a neck that skinny. That couldn't have been faked."
The crowd had fallen silent again as they pondered this worrisome new viewpoint. Everyone looked at Dee, once again waiting for an answer. And Dee didn't have one. How was she ever going to explain the unexplainable? Mary Laura was right....damn her. Alien necks were much thinner than human necks, and there was no getting around that.
"What do you think, Ernie?" Anthony asked.
Ernie? Dee stared at Anthony, who was looking expectantly at Ernie. Why was he dragging that idiot into this? Wasn't it bad enough to have Mary Laura snooping around asking maddeningly sensible questions?
"Yes, what do you think, Ernie?" Mary Laura echoed. "You thought it was real too, or you wouldn't have gone after it like you did."
"Or been so afraid of it," Anthony added casually.
Ernie, who had been looking distinctly uncomfortable as every pair of eyes in the room fastened on him, flushed scarlet. "Of course it wasn't real. I knew that. I was just playing along."
"You were just playing along when you backed up in terror and knocked us all over?" Mary Laura asked dryly.
"Sure," Ernie claimed, his voice growing more confident. "I knew right away it couldn't be real."
"How?" Mary Laura demanded.
"Geez, for someone who gets straight A's, you're awfully stupid," Ernie scoffed. "If it was a real alien, it'd be hiding, not standing on somebody's porch where everybody could see it."
"How do we know what a 'real' alien would be doing?" Mary Laura countered, unwilling as ever to concede a point. Even Dee had to admit it was a very good point, much as it pained her to give Ernie Hutton credit for anything. Others must have agreed, because a quick check of nearby expressions told her that public opinion was once again listing in the right direction.
"You're just sore because you fell for it," Ernie said, grinning.
"If it wasn't real, then it should have looked like someone wearing a costume!" Mary Laura said desperately, realizing she was losing her audience. "Like these things," she added with disgust, flipping her hand toward Peter, who was standing nearby.
"Aw, click your heels and go home," Peter retorted. "Better yet, click them a few more times and disappear."
A few children snickered. The mood in the living room lightened considerably. Dee noticed that even Mrs. Hutton, who had been listening carefully to every word of this, was looking a tad less white. Mary Laura had the stronger argument by far, but she was losing the battle. It was amazing, really, how easy it was to sway people when you sounded absolutely confident and told them what they wanted to hear.
"Is this true, Emily?" Mrs. Hutton asked Dee's mother in a quavery voice, cutting off Mary Laura who had been about to jump down Peter's throat. "Was this a fabrication?"
"I'm afraid this is all my fault," came a voice from the door before Emily could answer.
Still pressed up against the window, Dee had to crane her neck around the sea of children to see her father and Mac coming in the front door. It was her father who had spoken, and Dee noticed he was sending her mother silent "let me handle this" signals.
"Your fault?" repeated Mrs. Hutton.
"Yes, my fault," David said firmly. "I helped cook up this little display, and I had no idea people would react this way. I'm afraid I overdid it a bit."
"A 'bit'," Mrs. Hutton said rather huffily. "I would call that an understatement, David."
"I'm sorry, Wilma," Dee's father said. "I didn't mean for everyone to get so frightened. I underestimated how startling it would be."
"He even got me going," Mac chuckled. "I went and got my hunting rifle, and David had to come over and let me in on the joke before I used it."
" 'Joke'?" Mrs. Hutton said severely. "This was no 'joke', Mr. Brazel! What if you had fired? Someone could have been injured, or, God forbid, killed!"
"Yes, ma'am," Mac said contritely. "I'm aware of that."
"So how did you do it, Mr. Proctor?" Mary Laura asked frostily, still miffed that her misgivings had been dismissed. "How did you get the neck so skinny and the eyes to blink?"
Her father paused, seeming to consider the question carefully as everyone in the room, Dee included, held their collective breaths. "I think," David said slowly, "that it would be better if I didn't answer that. This whole thing proved to be much more upsetting than I had foreseen, and I don't want anyone else trying to copy it. Which I'm sure someone will do if I give details. So I'm going to sit on that, if you don't mind."
Heads nodded and murmurs of agreement rippled through the living room as Mary Laura, who minded very much indeed, tried hard to come up with a counterargument, her face practically contorting with the effort. No one else bothered. A collective sigh seemed to slide through the room as everyone finally relaxed and people started chattering again.
"Now, I suggest we put this behind us and get back to the party," David went on. "No sense letting one little incident that got out of hand ruin everyone's Halloween. We still have pumpkins to carve, a haunted house to go through, lots of refreshments, and then....." He paused dramatically as several munchkin-sized guests started jumping up and down. "Trick-or-treating!" they all chirped as they spun around and headed for the living room, the big bad alien forgotten.
Dee saw her mother ask Wilma Hutton to steer the older children toward the pumpkin carving table while Emily herded the younger ones toward the refreshments. Her father and Mac slipped out the front door, probably to repeat the "mea culpa" to those gathered outside who had missed it. Peter and the green aliens resumed their debate about which color was correct, and Ernie Hutton bucked traffic and aimed for the refreshments, carrying on about how he'd known all along it was fake. Only Mary Laura looked out of sorts, standing there in the middle of the room and watching the festivities resume like she just couldn't believe it.
"Don't worry about her," Anthony said to Dee in a low voice. "She'll be clicking her heels again any minute now."
They were alone by the window now, all of the other children having happily headed back to the party. For the first time, Dee felt the magnitude of what Anthony had done. He had single-handedly turned what could have been a disaster into a near miss.
"How did you know it would work?" she whispered. "Or that Ernie didn't think it was real?"
Anthony shrugged. "People believe what they want to. And Ernie probably did think it was real. But then he would have had to admit that he was really scared, and I was betting he wouldn't want to do that."
"Thank you," Dee said, squeezing his hand.
"Don't thank me yet," Anthony said gravely. "Do you know what Mrs. Hutton did when she ran out of the room?"
"No," said a voice behind them. "What did Mrs. Hutton do?"
Dee swallowed hard as she and Anthony whirled around to find Emily standing behind them, her eyes wide. How much had she heard?
"What did Mrs. Hutton do?" Emily prodded Anthony, who glanced guiltily at Dee before answering.
"She called the sheriff," Anthony said.
Dee and her mother looked at each other for a moment before Dee returned her gaze to the window. They both knew what that meant.
Deputy Valenti should be here any minute.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 55 next Sunday.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
October 31, 1947, 6:10 p.m.
Proctor residence
One could have heard a pin drop in the Proctor's living room, which only moments before had been noisy with pint-sized Halloween partygoers. Those partygoers were completely silent now, every pair of eyes fastened on what stood on the front porch, every mind churning with the same question: Is that real?
A similar question was swirling around the mind of the one partygoer who knew the answer. Dee Proctor stared at the figure on her doorstep, unable to fathom why any of the aliens would choose to expose themselves this way. It certainly wasn't Brivari. If Jaddo has escaped, he'd never do anything like this. It couldn't be one of the bad aliens—they had always hidden their identities too. Hiding your identity was pretty much standard procedure for aliens, so Dee was mystified as to why this one wasn't doing that. Was it a brand new alien? One who didn't realize what kind of danger it was in? Urza had told her that not everyone on their planet could change their shapes; perhaps this was one of those people?
Taking advantage of the general state of suspended animation, Dee surveyed the room. Her mother clearly knew perfectly well what was on her porch. So did her father, standing toward the back of the crowd with a grave expression on his face. Cleo had risen to her four feet atop the bookcase, her back arched, her fur bristling, something she'd never done with Brivari. Everyone else appeared to be a mixture of puzzled and stunned, as if they couldn't decide whether this was a real alien or just someone who'd pulled off a truly excellent Halloween costume.
Everyone, that is, except Anthony. Anthony wasn't looking at the alien, he was looking at her, starring at Dee, reading the answer to the question on everyone's mind in her eyes. Then he shifted his gaze back to the alien, his eyes darting left and right, up and down, as though he wanted to get as much information as possible before it vanished. Brivari hadn't made a peep, so Dee decided it was up to her to communicate with this stranger and point out that it wasn't safe to be doing what it was doing. She was on the verge of saying something when the alien spoke first.
<So,> came a derisive voice in her mind, <we meet again. And this time, don't bother trying to pretend you can't hear me. I know better.>
<You!> Dee said angrily, recognizing the voice as that of the first enemy alien, the one who had threatened to kill her family in an effort to see if she could hear his telepathic speech. <You're going to be really sorry you pulled this.>
<Spare me,> the alien said dismissively, turning its head toward her, its eyes blinking. <You can't harm me. Now—where is Brivari?>
All ready with a stinging retort, Dee was interrupted again. The crowd inside the Proctor's living room, teetering between admiration and horror for the past several seconds, had apparently reached a consensus for one simple reason: The alien had moved. Reaction to this verdict was swift—and loud.
Several children screamed. A number of the younger ones burst into tears, tried to run, and couldn't, packed in as they were. Cleo launched into a full scale hiss. Mrs. Hutton shrieked and ran, heading for the back of the house. And Ernie Hutton, suited up as an Army Captain, stayed in character by shouting "Get it!" and charging forward, toy pistol in hand.
Perhaps craving direction, a few in the crowd followed his "order", surging forward, pushing the alien out further onto the porch while others sought the safety of the living room windows so they could watch without being in the thick of things. Dee saw her mother throw her father a frantic glance and watched him head for the kitchen door, probably planning to come around the house and approach it from the side. <Brivari!> Dee called, elbowing her way up to the nearest living room window. <Where are you?>
The situation looked even worse from the window. Many party guests were only now approaching the Proctor's house, and they froze in their steps, gaping at the apparition on the front porch. Dee's heart sank as she saw adults poking their heads out doors and windows to see what the fuss was about, and Mrs. Brazel walking down her front lawn, staring curiously at the front porch. Wonderful, Dee thought wildly, turning around and locking eyes with her mother. Dee knew what she was thinking: If the Army had missed their family's involvement with the aliens before, they certainly weren't going to now.
Turning back to the window, Dee could see that the alien was still on the porch. Ernie's bravery had apparently extended no further than the doorway as he had stopped there, still holding that ridiculous toy pistol, his eyes practically popping out of his head. Cries of "Get it, Ernie, get it!" rang through the pack of children at his back, but Ernie didn't move. He seemed to be regretting his decision to lead the charge, but he certainly wasn't going to back down now, not with all those witnesses behind him. The alien appeared completely unperturbed. It stared at Ernie, its head cocked slightly to one side as if it were examining a particularly interesting bug, and made no move to run. And why should it? What could any of them do? Brivari didn't seem to be around anymore, and Dee frantically wracked her brain, trying to think of a way to defend themselves should it try to carry out its threat from months ago. She could only come up with one, one thing so awful it made her blood run cold: Mac's guns. Mac had several, and aliens were certainly vulnerable to bullets. But could she actually go to Mac and ask him to shoot it after watching the same thing happen to her friends?
Suddenly, looking past the alien to the Brazel's house, Dee saw that her father was way ahead of her. Mac and David had joined Mrs. Brazel on her front lawn, and Mac had his hunting rifle in his hands. Dee hadn't laid eyes on a gun since she'd been trapped on the ship, and her reaction was immediate and visceral: Don't! she screamed silently. Don't shoot!
A second later, the decision was taken out of her hands.
******************************************************
Eagle Rock Military Base
"Good evening, Lieutenant," the guard outside John's door said, reaching for his keys. "We were beginning to wonder where you were."
"Good evening, Private," Yvonne replied, tightening her grip on the tray of food she held as the soldier unlocked the door. Her watch was reading a little after 1800 hours, which was late for dinner, but it couldn't be helped. She'd waited as long as she'd dared, trying to calm down, trying to get her head together before approaching John.
After she and Stephen had finished exchanging notes about their experiences with the enemy alien, and Stephen had left to begin his "investigation", her first reaction had been to run to John and demand an explanation of what had been done to her. According to Stephen, John felt she'd been given some kind of sedative, although if that were the case, this alien sedative wasn't behaving like any sedative she was familiar with. But just as she was about to leave her quarters, something had occurred to her—what if the reaction was delayed? She'd awakened feeling fine, and she felt fine now, but that didn't mean a reaction couldn't develop later. Her initial relief at finding herself unharmed had given way to all sorts of worries. What if she had some kind of reaction while outside her quarters where everyone could see? What if the weekly blood tests which Dr. Pierce ran on virtually everyone to test for possible side effects of exposure to aliens were to turn up something unusual? The possibilities were endless, and for a short while, Yvonne had been paralyzed by them, afraid to leave her quarters lest something happen to her in public.
Desperate for something useful to do, she'd made a list of everything the enemy alien had said to her or Stephen about the two they were helping, making certain to limit her entries to cryptic initials or single words which wouldn't mean anything to anyone who might find it. Organizing her thoughts calmed her as it usually did, and after an hour or so had passed and nothing untoward had happened, she'd reached two conclusions: There did not seem to be any negative side effects to the alien sedative, at least in the short term, and the people she and Stephen were knocking themselves out to help—literally—had told them precious little about themselves. There wasn't much she could do about the first in any case, but plenty she could do about the second.
The door swung open, and Yvonne entered, two guards following her inside as usual. John was on his feet, staring at her closely. Jaddo, the other had called him. It was an odd name that had sounded strange to her ears, yet seemed to fit the individual in front of her much better than the innocuous "John".
<Are you all right?> he asked silently, with what seemed like genuine concern, his "voice" bearing no trace of his usual impatience and sarcasm. "You're late," he added out loud, echoing the guard's sentiments.
"I'm fine," Yvonne said, attempting a smile as she set the tray down on the table in the far corner. "I was just....delayed."
Delayed. Such a weak word for what had happened. John was watching her curiously, but he took his seat and so did she, her back to the guards as usual, blocking their view.
<What happened?> John asked, ignoring the food in front of him, even though she knew he must be hungry. She'd already noticed that his caloric needs increased in direct proportion to the extent of his powers, even if he wasn't using them much. Using them more would probably make him even hungrier.
"Plenty," Yvonne answered in a low voice as she poured coffee, her hand shaking a bit despite her efforts to keep it steady. "He talked a lot, and he knocked me out somehow. And then.....well, then I don't know." She set the coffee pot down, her hands still shaking. It was amazing just how frightening it was to lose time the way she had, to not know what had happened to her.
<I take it he has not returned?>
"No. Not yet, anyway."
John stared into space for a moment, apparently disturbed by this information, a sentiment Yvonne did not share. She leaned in closer and got right to the point. "Tell me what he did to me."
<I believe he used an agent on you similar to what you call a 'sedative',> John replied, his mind still elsewhere.
"That's what you told Stephen," Yvonne murmured, just loud enough so the guard would hear her talking but not be able to hear what she said. "But it doesn't behave like any sedative I know. What do you know about it?"
<Not enough to be of assistance.>
"Try me."
John shook his head slightly. <All I know is that it takes effect immediately and wears off immediately.>
That fits, Yvonne thought, pushing her food around on her plate, her appetite having fled long ago. Whatever it was had knocked her out very fast and had worn off so quickly she hadn't even felt sleepy.
"How did he get it into me?"
<Most likely the easiest way: Inhalation.>
Inhalation. Yvonne paused, remembering. That smell.....that sweet smell she had pulled into her lungs with that first big breath after he'd moved the hand over her nose and mouth....yes, that must have been it. She'd inhaled whatever had knocked her out, and he'd deliberately cut off her breath to make her do that.
"Do you know if it's dangerous?"
<If it were, I believe we would know by now,> John answered. <I know very little about it. This is not my area of expertise.>
"So I hear," Yvonne said, looking him in the eye. "I understand you're in the military."
She watched him carefully, saw his eyes flick upward, lock on hers. He said nothing, just stared at her a moment before dropping his eyes. Much as she hated the attitude of the enemy alien, he had made a valid point: "You already decided to help them, on the basis of practically no information, I might add. Which is really stupid, but then you're only human." The more Yvonne had thought about it, the more she'd felt she deserved to know more about the people she was risking her own life to help. Whether or not they'd be willing to share should prove interesting.
And it appeared they wouldn't be. Seconds passed, a minute, two minutes. Yvonne took a bite of meatloaf even though she still wasn't hungry, filling her mouth in an effort to keep it closed. Her instinct as a nurse was to fill gaps in conversation, so she had to force herself to say nothing, to leave the ball in his court. If John didn't speak for the duration of the meal, then no one would.
<I am not in the military. I ward one who is.>
Yvonne looked up in surprise; so much time had passed that she'd decided he wasn't willing to talk, and that she'd have to have a showdown with the free alien instead. John was staring at his plate, his face grave, his tone subdued. He clearly wasn't happy about answering her. But this information fit what the enemy alien had told her; even the language fit, with his odd use of the word "ward". She swallowed quickly and pressed on, eager for answers.
"I'm told you guarded the equivalent of a General."
<Yes.>
"Is that why you wanted to speak to the General in the beginning? Because you're used to dealing with generals?"
<The one I guard holds far more power than your General,> John answered. <He is second only to the King.>
"The King your friend guarded; the one named 'Brivari'."
This time John said nothing, and Yvonne set her fork down in consternation. The tap had opened for just a moment, only to be slammed shut again over such a simple thing: A name. Even Urza had told her his name. How could they except her to help them when they wouldn't tell her their names? Why had she agreed to help them for so long without even this most basic information?
"Look," Yvonne said, keeping her voice low so the guards couldn't overhear, "obviously the other one told me things about you, things that I don't know if they're true or not. He found it very amusing that we were helping you even though we know next to nothing about you, and as much as I hate to admit it, he had a point. Prior to this, I might have argued it didn't matter, that the behavior of my own people was reason enough to try and help you escape. But now....now I'm in the middle of something I don't understand. I'm in no position to judge whatever your conflict is, but since I'm being pulled into it, I at least want to know what's going on. Before today I only had to fear my people. And now...." Her voice caught, and she paused a moment. "He could have killed me today. And I still don't know why."
<I'm surprised he didn't kill you,> John answered, having listened to this speech in silence. < He could have killed you easily, and would have done so without remorse.>
"Lovely," Yvonne said grimly. "Now, I want to know who you are and why you're here. I want to know why he says you're all criminals on your world. I want to know what I'm stuck in the middle of. After all I've done for you, I think I deserve to know."
<And you are right,> John said quietly, startling Yvonne, who had been expecting silence at least, an argument at worst. He sighed and sat back in his chair. <My colleagues and I ward members of the royal family on our world. My two companions who died warded the Queen and the King's sister; I ward the commander of the King's armies, and Brivari wards the King.>
"And the King died," Yvonne said.
John's eyes grew cold. <Yes. Along with his entire family. They were murdered by a usurper, the one by whom my enemy is now employed. I and my colleague represent the regime which just fell, which is why he is so interested in me.>
"That's not all he's interested in," Yvonne said. "He wants whatever is in those sacs you rescued, and he just laughed when I told him you'd said they held your children."
<We did not say that,> John reminded her. <That was your own conclusion. We merely did not correct you.>
"In a manner of speaking." That had been Urza's response when she had asked him if the sacs contained their children. Not such a different response from that of the enemy alien, who had referred to the notion as "an inspired lie". "So what is in the sacs?" she asked.
<His worst fears,> John answered. <The King and his family.>
Yvonne stared. "But.....you said they died! And he said they were 'fetuses'. Your king isn't a 'fetus', is he?"
<He is if we are recreating him.>
Yvonne sat back in her chair, stunned, once again grateful that her back was toward the guards. " 'Recreating'?" she whispered. "Can you do that?"
<Our scientist created copies of the King and his family,> John answered. <These copies need to grow and mature just as their original bodies did.>
Clones, Yvonne thought incredulously. He was talking about clones. Just a theory in her world, but apparently a reality in his. She'd known John's people were advanced far beyond humans, but this.....this was something she'd never dreamed of. Good Lord—what would Pierce and Cavitt do if they knew about this?
"So.....you and the other three brought the..... 'copies' of your royalty here because......because whoever stole the king's throne can't survive here," Yvonne said slowly, remembering what both Urza and the enemy alien had told her. "And you were going to wait for these...... 'copies' to mature, and then.........what?"
<Return home,> John said gravely. <Restore the King to his rightful place.>
"Which the others don't want, of course. Which means I'm in the middle of a political coup." Yvonne paused, staring at John thoughtfully. "Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"
<We told you what you needed to know. Information can be misinterpreted. For example, what do you think the reaction would be were your people to learn I have any ties at all to the military?>
Yvonne was silent for a moment. "They would probably think you're here as a precursor to an invasion."
<Exactly. That would not be true, and I would have no way to prove otherwise. We told you the most important point—that we were not here for you or your world, but only to hide until the time came to return. What we were hiding and why was irrelevant.>
"And I can't tell what I don't know.....right?" Yvonne prompted.
<You know as well as I do how dangerous knowledge can be,> John said. <You, indeed everyone here, are captives because of what they know. Your knowledge has made you dangerous to those you serve. Information brings power, but it also makes one a target.> He sighed. <And I am afraid you are not the only one who will suffer this day from a surfeit of knowledge. My enemy has not returned because he now knows Brivari is free. I am captive and difficult to reach. Brivari is another matter.>
"Is there any way he could locate your friend?" Yvonne asked.
<Yes,> John said soberly, staring into space. <I'm afraid there is.>
******************************************************
Proctor residence
Before Mac had a chance to take aim, something moving too fast to identify came barreling around the front porch, knocking the alien sideways, carrying it skidding past the windows where Dee and the children were watching. Ernie abandoned all pretence of bravery and stumbled backwards, bumping into the knot of children behind him and bringing down several, domino fashion. People screamed inside and out, causing Dee to clamp her hands over her ears. That drowned out the human noise, but it couldn't drown out the alien noise, the telepathic hiss of shock, anger, and sheer hatred that poured into her mind from the two beings wrestling outside.
Then......silence. Complete silence. Human and alien silence. Dee took her hands from her ears and peered around. The aliens had vanished. People outside stood in shocked silence, staring in the direction the aliens had gone. Inside, noses were pressed against the windows, with the exception of the puddle near the door, on top of which was Ernie Hutton. Her mother appeared to have stopped breathing. Several children, especially the younger ones, were pressed up against the inside walls, as far from the windows and door as they could get. They looked petrified.
A hand closed on Dee's. She glanced sideways to find Anthony staring at her with huge eyes. He leaned in toward her, difficult to do in his bulky box costume, and whispered something in her ear.
"Follow me."
What? Dee stared at him blankly as he dropped his eyes and her hand and stared out the window. Follow him? Follow him where? Did he think they could run away? They'd have to run very fast indeed to outrun the consequences of having this happen right on their doorstep. She and her parents had been lucky so far, but this time, Dee was willing to bet their luck had run out.
"Wow!" Anthony said suddenly, his voice sounding unusually loud in the stunned silence. "You told me you had a surprise planned, but I never thought it would be anything like this!"
Huh? Every head turned in his direction, including Dee's. What on earth was he talking about?
"I thought it was just going to be something extra in the haunted house," Anthony went on, still staring out the window as though he just couldn't believe it. "But that was so much keener! I mean, that looked so real!"
Anthony was now commanding virtually everyone's attention. The pile at the door had picked themselves up and headed their way, Ernie in the lead once more, looking more confident now that his adversary was gone. Dee glanced at her mother, who appeared every bit as flabbergasted as everyone else. She didn't see her father anywhere. Mac and his gun had retreated, and several of the outdoor onlookers were now cautiously approaching the house.
"Tell me how you did it!" Anthony insisted. "You must have been planning this for weeks! Please tell me how you did it?"
Dee stared at him stupidly, speechless. Mrs. Hutton reappeared, hovering nervously at the back of the crowd, her face as white as the sheet of the tiny ghost clinging to her kneecaps.
"Okay, if you won't tell me now, will you tell me later?" Anthony begged. "Keep your secret through Halloween, but will you tell us tomorrow?"
Ernie Hutton looked like he was about to pop. "Do you mean that was fake?" he demanded, waving his toy pistol toward the porch.
Dee stared at Anthony, who met her gaze unblinkingly. Follow me. Did he really think this was going to work? After so many different people had seen it, watched it move, watched those huge eyes blink....did he really think they could convince everyone it was just another Halloween stunt? Dee stared at the questioning faces surrounding her, eagerly waiting for her to answer the question and thought, why not? What did they have to lose? If it didn't work...well, then they were no worse off than they had been.
"So what'd you think?" she asked Ernie, forcing her face into a wide smile. "Did you like it?"
There was a brief hush, and then everyone began talking at once.
"You faked that?" Ernie spat in disbelief.
"Fooled you, didn't I?" Dee said serenely, as Ernie scowled.
"Thank God!" Rachel said, practically sagging with relief.
"I knew it wasn't real," remarked a green alien. "Wrong color."
"Was not!" Peter said hotly, his gray alien head quivering with indignation.
"Wanna go home!" whined a tiny witch, her face tear-streaked, her pointy hat hanging by the chin strap.
"Wait a minute," commanded a skeptical voice.
Dee turned to see Mary Laura, arms crossed in front of her, the toe of one now forgotten ruby slipper tapping on the living room floor. "How could you have faked that?" Mary Laura demanded. "Its eyes blinked. Even if you could get somebody to fit into a costume like that, you couldn't get the eyes to blink."
Oh hush up! Dee thought sourly. She'd just been trading furtive "we did it!" glances with Anthony, and now this. "It was really good, wasn't it?" she said coolly to Mary Laura, whose eyes narrowed. "We worked hard on it."
"But it moved," Mary Laura protested. "And it didn't move like a regular person. And the arms and neck were too skinny. Nobody has a neck that skinny. That couldn't have been faked."
The crowd had fallen silent again as they pondered this worrisome new viewpoint. Everyone looked at Dee, once again waiting for an answer. And Dee didn't have one. How was she ever going to explain the unexplainable? Mary Laura was right....damn her. Alien necks were much thinner than human necks, and there was no getting around that.
"What do you think, Ernie?" Anthony asked.
Ernie? Dee stared at Anthony, who was looking expectantly at Ernie. Why was he dragging that idiot into this? Wasn't it bad enough to have Mary Laura snooping around asking maddeningly sensible questions?
"Yes, what do you think, Ernie?" Mary Laura echoed. "You thought it was real too, or you wouldn't have gone after it like you did."
"Or been so afraid of it," Anthony added casually.
Ernie, who had been looking distinctly uncomfortable as every pair of eyes in the room fastened on him, flushed scarlet. "Of course it wasn't real. I knew that. I was just playing along."
"You were just playing along when you backed up in terror and knocked us all over?" Mary Laura asked dryly.
"Sure," Ernie claimed, his voice growing more confident. "I knew right away it couldn't be real."
"How?" Mary Laura demanded.
"Geez, for someone who gets straight A's, you're awfully stupid," Ernie scoffed. "If it was a real alien, it'd be hiding, not standing on somebody's porch where everybody could see it."
"How do we know what a 'real' alien would be doing?" Mary Laura countered, unwilling as ever to concede a point. Even Dee had to admit it was a very good point, much as it pained her to give Ernie Hutton credit for anything. Others must have agreed, because a quick check of nearby expressions told her that public opinion was once again listing in the right direction.
"You're just sore because you fell for it," Ernie said, grinning.
"If it wasn't real, then it should have looked like someone wearing a costume!" Mary Laura said desperately, realizing she was losing her audience. "Like these things," she added with disgust, flipping her hand toward Peter, who was standing nearby.
"Aw, click your heels and go home," Peter retorted. "Better yet, click them a few more times and disappear."
A few children snickered. The mood in the living room lightened considerably. Dee noticed that even Mrs. Hutton, who had been listening carefully to every word of this, was looking a tad less white. Mary Laura had the stronger argument by far, but she was losing the battle. It was amazing, really, how easy it was to sway people when you sounded absolutely confident and told them what they wanted to hear.
"Is this true, Emily?" Mrs. Hutton asked Dee's mother in a quavery voice, cutting off Mary Laura who had been about to jump down Peter's throat. "Was this a fabrication?"
"I'm afraid this is all my fault," came a voice from the door before Emily could answer.
Still pressed up against the window, Dee had to crane her neck around the sea of children to see her father and Mac coming in the front door. It was her father who had spoken, and Dee noticed he was sending her mother silent "let me handle this" signals.
"Your fault?" repeated Mrs. Hutton.
"Yes, my fault," David said firmly. "I helped cook up this little display, and I had no idea people would react this way. I'm afraid I overdid it a bit."
"A 'bit'," Mrs. Hutton said rather huffily. "I would call that an understatement, David."
"I'm sorry, Wilma," Dee's father said. "I didn't mean for everyone to get so frightened. I underestimated how startling it would be."
"He even got me going," Mac chuckled. "I went and got my hunting rifle, and David had to come over and let me in on the joke before I used it."
" 'Joke'?" Mrs. Hutton said severely. "This was no 'joke', Mr. Brazel! What if you had fired? Someone could have been injured, or, God forbid, killed!"
"Yes, ma'am," Mac said contritely. "I'm aware of that."
"So how did you do it, Mr. Proctor?" Mary Laura asked frostily, still miffed that her misgivings had been dismissed. "How did you get the neck so skinny and the eyes to blink?"
Her father paused, seeming to consider the question carefully as everyone in the room, Dee included, held their collective breaths. "I think," David said slowly, "that it would be better if I didn't answer that. This whole thing proved to be much more upsetting than I had foreseen, and I don't want anyone else trying to copy it. Which I'm sure someone will do if I give details. So I'm going to sit on that, if you don't mind."
Heads nodded and murmurs of agreement rippled through the living room as Mary Laura, who minded very much indeed, tried hard to come up with a counterargument, her face practically contorting with the effort. No one else bothered. A collective sigh seemed to slide through the room as everyone finally relaxed and people started chattering again.
"Now, I suggest we put this behind us and get back to the party," David went on. "No sense letting one little incident that got out of hand ruin everyone's Halloween. We still have pumpkins to carve, a haunted house to go through, lots of refreshments, and then....." He paused dramatically as several munchkin-sized guests started jumping up and down. "Trick-or-treating!" they all chirped as they spun around and headed for the living room, the big bad alien forgotten.
Dee saw her mother ask Wilma Hutton to steer the older children toward the pumpkin carving table while Emily herded the younger ones toward the refreshments. Her father and Mac slipped out the front door, probably to repeat the "mea culpa" to those gathered outside who had missed it. Peter and the green aliens resumed their debate about which color was correct, and Ernie Hutton bucked traffic and aimed for the refreshments, carrying on about how he'd known all along it was fake. Only Mary Laura looked out of sorts, standing there in the middle of the room and watching the festivities resume like she just couldn't believe it.
"Don't worry about her," Anthony said to Dee in a low voice. "She'll be clicking her heels again any minute now."
They were alone by the window now, all of the other children having happily headed back to the party. For the first time, Dee felt the magnitude of what Anthony had done. He had single-handedly turned what could have been a disaster into a near miss.
"How did you know it would work?" she whispered. "Or that Ernie didn't think it was real?"
Anthony shrugged. "People believe what they want to. And Ernie probably did think it was real. But then he would have had to admit that he was really scared, and I was betting he wouldn't want to do that."
"Thank you," Dee said, squeezing his hand.
"Don't thank me yet," Anthony said gravely. "Do you know what Mrs. Hutton did when she ran out of the room?"
"No," said a voice behind them. "What did Mrs. Hutton do?"
Dee swallowed hard as she and Anthony whirled around to find Emily standing behind them, her eyes wide. How much had she heard?
"What did Mrs. Hutton do?" Emily prodded Anthony, who glanced guiltily at Dee before answering.
"She called the sheriff," Anthony said.
Dee and her mother looked at each other for a moment before Dee returned her gaze to the window. They both knew what that meant.
Deputy Valenti should be here any minute.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 55 next Sunday.
BRIVARI: "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."
-
Misha
- Addicted Roswellian
- Posts: 443
- Joined: Thu Jun 20, 2002 10:44 am
- Location: Guatemala City, Guatemala
You know, last week I ended up saying: "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
And this time, just when I was about to sigh in relief, "aaaaahhhhh......", you end up with that???!!!!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Leaving the AAHH part aside, it was really surprising to see Jaddo willing to talk that much, hehe, but not only did Yvonne deserved to know, Jaddo is also thinking he's going to be free, so, why not, uh? I wonder what Brivari is going to say about that though... hhhmmmm
And, you know, "Jaddo" is far better name for him than "John"
Misha
And this time, just when I was about to sigh in relief, "aaaaahhhhh......", you end up with that???!!!!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Leaving the AAHH part aside, it was really surprising to see Jaddo willing to talk that much, hehe, but not only did Yvonne deserved to know, Jaddo is also thinking he's going to be free, so, why not, uh? I wonder what Brivari is going to say about that though... hhhmmmm
And, you know, "Jaddo" is far better name for him than "John"
Misha
"There's addiction, and there's Roswell!"
Misha: Yup, Jaddo expects to be free soon....and if he isn't, he and Brivari can't afford to lose one of the few "friends" they've made in the compound, so they'd better both start talking pronto. I wonder if Yvonne realizes how much leverage she has. A different personality would have used that leverage long before this.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
October 31, 1947, 6:35 p.m.
Proctor residence
Dee sat on the hard kitchen chair, her princess dress billowing around her, listening to the sounds of the party she was missing and watching her mother pace. Right after hearing Anthony say that Ernie's mother had phoned the sheriff, Emily had asked Rose Brazel to take over for a little while, steered Dee into the kitchen, then left to find her father. She'd returned a minute or two later and begun pacing back and forth, saying nothing.
Dee, who had been expecting a barrage of questions about what had happened instead of total silence, found it unnerving to see her mother so rattled. Guests for the Halloween party were still arriving, and every time the doorbell rang, Emily would jump. The last time she'd done that was during the war when Dee's father had been away and everyone had dreaded the arrival of a telegram. The Army used telegrams to tell people if soldiers were injured or missing or dead; the only thing worse was an actual Army officer standing on your doorstep. Dee's memory of those times was cloudy because she'd been quite young, but one memory which stood out quite clearly was of her mother staring out the window, arms crossed in a fierce self-hug just like now, watching the delivery boy to see who would get the bad news this time.
The kitchen door opened, and Dee's father slipped inside, latching the door behind him. Her mother stopped pacing and stared at him like she'd stared at those Western Union boys years ago. "Well?" she asked tightly.
"I talked to George and explained what happened," David answered. "Well, not what happened, but.....you know what I mean. He was all too happy to scratch a call off his list. Or 'calls', rather. I gather the sheriff's office heard from more than just Wilma Hutton about this one."
"So no one's coming?" Emily asked hopefully.
"Nope."
Wrong, Dee thought, shaking her head sadly. Valenti was coming; she was sure of it. Maybe not right now, maybe not even tonight, but soon....and he'd come to her. She'd have to think about what she was going to say to him when the time came.
"Oh, thank God!" Emily exclaimed, sinking into a chair with relief, unaware that her own daughter was consorting with the enemy. "Somehow I think the Army might have noticed a fleet of deputies on our doorstep."
"Maybe not," David said. "George said there's all sorts of shenanigans going on tonight, and a lot of them are about aliens. This is just one more Halloween prank among dozens. We should be okay. Do you know who that was?" he asked Dee.
"One of the two who came here this summer looking for the metal pieces Mac had found," Dee answered.
Her mother paled. "You mean the ones who threatened to kill us?" Dee nodded, and her mother let out a long breath. "I suppose it's too much to ask for that to have been the sympathetic one."
Dee shook her head. "It wasn't Malik. It was the other one."
"How do you know?" her father asked.
"He talked to me," Dee admitted.
"He talked to you?" Emily echoed incredulously. "What did he say?"
"He said, 'We meet again'. And he said to not even bother trying to pretend I couldn't hear him because this time he knew better. And he asked where Brivari was."
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Emily breathed, looking rattled all over again.
"Did you say anything?" her father asked curiously.
"Of course she did," Emily said, rolling her eyes heavenward as though praying for strength. "She's my daughter."
"I told him he was going to be really sorry he'd come here," Dee said firmly.
"You threatened him?" Emily said in disbelief. "Great. Just wonderful."
"Emily, I know this is upsetting," David broke in, cutting off Dee's indignant reply, "but we have to keep in mind that he wasn't here for us. He was here looking for Brivari, and he found him—and given what I've heard Brivari say, I'm willing to bet our uninvited guest is one very unhappy camper right now."
"So what if he wasn't 'here for us'?" Emily asked irritably. "He was standing on our porch. In broad daylight, in front of practically the entire neighborhood. That affects us whether he's 'here for us' or not."
"And we handled it," David said soothingly, sitting down beside her mother and shooting Dee a parental "keep your mouth shut" look. "George says Halloween is always a busy night, and this year it's worse than ever. We can easily get lost in the crush."
"Just what I've always wanted," Emily muttered. "To be on the list of Halloween pranksters."
"That's better than being on the Army's list of suspected alien sympathizers," David pointed out.
Emily sighed and closed her eyes. "I suppose. Five days," she murmured. "We almost made it."
"Made it to what?" David asked.
"Made it to two whole months without some kind of alien emergency," Emily said, shaking her head. "What I can't figure out is why he was standing out in the open like that. That doesn't make any sense. I know from personal experience that they can look like anything, including floors and counters. Why would he stand there like some giant dart board?"
"Because he's a show-off," Dee said sourly. "He knew it was Halloween, and he knew people dress up. He knew he could get away with it. He's just another Ernie Hutton with long fingers."
"The reason he got away with it is the same reason we'll get away with it," David noted. "That and the fact that Anthony was expecting something spectacular. Looks like he got more than he bargained for."
"What was all that about, anyway?" Emily asked, fixing a curious stare on her daughter. "If he hadn't jumped in the way he did, I never would have thought of that as a cover." Her eyes narrowed. "Deanna....you didn't tell Anthony anything, did you?"
"Of course not," Dee answered quickly, pushing the words through a throat gone dry as she realized her mother had come dangerously close to the truth. "I just told him I had a surprise planned that I hadn't told anyone about, and he must have thought that was it."
"And fortunately, everyone believed him," David said. "By the time we get to trick-or-treating, they'll have forgotten all about this."
"Trick-or treating?" Emily repeated. "David, we can't let these children out after dark when there's......that running around out there!"
"He's not 'running around'," David said patiently. "You saw Brivari go after him. And what else can we do, Em? We said it was a stunt; if we shut everything down and hole up in our house, it'll look like a lot more than just a stunt. Look," he added, "I'll walk around with everyone tonight, and I'm sure Mac will join me. He's outside right now keeping an eye on the house....just in case. But I really don't think anything else is going to happen; I think our 'guest' was acting alone."
"Mac is outside?" Emily repeated coldly. "Does he still have his gun?"
The temperature in the kitchen dropped suddenly, and Dee, who had been only half listening to the back and forth between her parents, suddenly started paying attention. The expression on her mother's face had changed from worried to....angry.
"Yes, he has his gun," her father said evenly. "Not the rifle; he has a pistol in his pocket. No one will see it."
"I hope you made it clear that he can't come in this house with a gun," Emily said, her voice dripping icicles.
"I did not," David said firmly. "And you won't either."
Dee's mouth dropped open. Like all kids, she kept a lengthy mental list of her parents' various hot buttons, but somehow she'd missed this one completely. And this appeared to be a mutual hot button judging from the two impossible things that had just happened: She couldn't recall ever hearing her father give her mother a direct order, and prior to this moment, she couldn't have fathomed Mac Brazel ever being unwelcome in her house for any reason.
"David, you know how I feel about guns," Emily said warningly.
"Mac got his gun because I asked him to," David retorted. "You heard Dee—that was the one who threatened to kill us last summer. What if he'd attacked? Would it have been okay to have the gun then?"
Dee sat frozen to her chair as her angry parents stared each other down. Her mother being angry was nothing new, but her father? And her father openly angry with her mother? And where was all of this coming from anyway? Dee hadn't been thrilled when she'd seen Mac with his rifle, but she did know why her father had asked him to get it, and couldn't understand why her mother didn't see that.
"This isn't the time for this discussion," her father said when her mother didn't answer. "We should go back to the party and act like all this was exactly what we said it was—a Halloween joke."
"Fine," her mother said in a hard voice. "But he's not to set foot in this house with a gun, and that's final."
Dee watched her father shake his head as her mother stalked out of the kitchen. "Daddy," she said slowly, "why is Mama so mad?"
"It's a long story, sweetheart," her father said quietly.
"But why is she so mad about Mac's gun?" Dee persisted. "Is it because of the war?"
"Sort of," her father answered evasively. "C'mon. We should get back to the party."
"I know Mama's still mad at you for going to the war without being drafted," Dee said as she clambered off the chair, her dress slowing her down.
Her father sighed. "I know she is. Add it to the list. But I was doing what I thought was right then, and I did what I thought was right tonight."
"Daddy?"
"Hmm?"
"Mac would have shot it, wouldn't he?"
Her father paused for a moment with his hand on the kitchen door. "Yes, he would have," he answered heavily. "I know that upsets you, and I know why. Believe me, I do. I've seen as much of that as I ever want to see. But we had no other way to fight back, Dee. My job is to protect you and your mother, and tonight, everyone else here in my house at a party we invited them to, just like it's Brivari's job to protect those babies. Whoever was on our porch tonight threatened to kill us the last time he was here. I don't know if he actually would have gone through with that, but it's enough that he made the threat. He's dangerous. It's that simple."
"I know, Daddy," Dee said solemnly. "But.....I'm still really glad Mac didn't have to shoot him."
David reached up and resettled her makeshift crown on her head. "Me too."
******************************************************
9:10 p.m.
Copper Summit, Arizona
"Trick or treat, Carl!" chorused the children as Malik opened the door, the required bowl of candy in hand, smiling at the motley collection of characters arrayed on his front porch. He'd long ago given up trying to decipher the origins of this human festival, but the end result was clear: Children dressed up as what humans feared, and demanded offerings, much as deities on every world Malik had ever visited demanded offerings in exchange for favors or safety. The custom had taken a peculiar form on this planet, but it was still recognizable. Every world had its demons, and Antar was no exception.
Judging from what he'd seen tonight, humans appeared to have acquired yet another demon to add to their already lengthy list. Near the back of the current troop of "trick-or-treaters" stood a collection of costumed aliens, some green, some gray, one red, and one a startling blue. Malik had been taken aback the first time he'd opened the door this evening to find representations of his own people ranging from the comical to the startlingly accurate, but he'd quickly gotten over it and even enjoyed it when the inevitable bickering began.
"So," Malik said, candy still undistributed. "What's the consensus? Green or gray?"
An excited babble of voices promptly filled the porch as the various colored aliens and their non-alien counterparts argued the merits of one color over the other. "That guy on the radio said they weren't green!" trumpeted a gray alien.
"But he didn't say what color they were," countered the blue alien. "So we don't know for sure. We just know they aren't green."
"Everybody knows space aliens are green!" scoffed a green with eyes twice as big as Malik's in his native form.
"Martians are red," announced a red version.
"The newspapers said gray," pointed out a gray alien, whose eyeglasses could be seen through the holes in his homemade alien mask.
"Who cares?" asked a girl with a tall pointy hat. "Trick or treat!"
Malik started passing out candy as the argument continued, wondering what the children would think if they knew a real alien was standing right in front of them, and that he could be any color they could imagine—and a few they couldn't. That was only true of Covari of course; the two solid species on Antar, Antarians and Argilians, were very similar in appearance and were indeed quite gray.
"What do you think, Carl?" the gray alien with the glasses asked.
"Why do they have to be only one color? Perhaps they're different colors," Malik suggested. "Different races on Earth have very differently colored skin. Perhaps the same is true on other worlds too."
This observation apparently made too much sense because the children fell silent, pondering the idea. It was amusing sometimes to hear humans speculate about other worlds; they always assumed everyone on another planet would look the same, even though that obviously wasn't the case on their own. "There you go," Malik said, dropping an odd confection known as a "Tootsie Roll" into the last of the paper sacks. "Go on to Mrs. Rahn's house now. I hear she made candy apples."
The group trouped off noisily to Mrs. Rahn's house next door, the argument about alien colors forgotten. Across the street he could see other festival revelers moving from one brightly lit house to another, trudging a bit now as it was getting late. Only the older children were out at this hour, the younger ones having tired long ago. Malik lingered in the doorway, watching other doors open, listening to the cries of of that strange invocation, "trick or treat!", and thinking of last year when Amar, who hated human festivals as a general rule, or human anything for that matter, had shifted into something exceptionally frightening and scared the daylights out of some Copper Summit small fry. Malik had spent a good deal of time covering for that debacle, and he'd been dreading a repeat this year. But Amar had not yet returned, having been gone since last evening. Exactly what that meant Malik could only speculate, but he'd stopped worrying about Amar's exploits weeks ago. Amar was a big boy; if he got himself in trouble, it would be no one's fault but his own. His absence would no doubt pique The Leader's interest soon, and when that time came, Malik intended to tell him just exactly where Amar likely was and what he was likely doing, and—what was the human expression?—let the chips fall where they may.
He had the door halfway closed when something rocketed past him, knocking the door open and flying toward the back of the house. A second later Amar stood there in human form, shaking and exhausted. "Close the door!" he croaked breathlessly.
"What the......what happened to you?" Malik asked in astonishment.
"Close the damned door!" Amar hissed, heading for a nearby window and drawing the curtains over the already closed blinds, flipping the light switch off as he went by.
"Okay, okay. Calm down." No sooner had Malik shut the door then Amar lurched over and locked it, rushing past it to turn off the other light and draw the curtains on yet another set of windows. "What are you doing?" Malik asked, mystified, as he watched Amar systematically cloak every single window on the first floor and lock the back door in the kitchen before returning to the living room, panting.
"I think I lost him," Amar said in a strained voice, standing in the middle of the dark room, as far from the windows as he could get. "I think we're okay."
Malik's eyes narrowed. "Lost who?"
"We're okay," Amar repeated as though trying to convince himself, pacing back and forth rapidly in the very middle of the living room like a spastic hamster in a small cage. "We're okay."
Malik set the bowl of candy down with a thunk. "You screwed up, didn't you? You went to the human military compound and somebody saw you, didn't they?"
Amar stopped pacing and stared at him, dumbfounded. Malik laughed bitterly and shook his head. "Honestly, Amar, did you really think I bought that cockamamie story about scrounging for parts? I know where you were. And so will The Leader when he pulls his head out of whatever he's doing at the moment and finds out about the latest banana peel you deliberately stepped on. I'm not taking the fall for this one."
"Oh really?" Amar said angrily, forgetting his aversion to windows and striding over to Malik. "Okay, while you're off telling tales about me, perhaps I should mention those little late night chats with your girlfriend, Marana. Honestly, Malik, did you really think I didn't know about that?" he added, when Malik's eyes widened. "I'm an engineer, for God's sake! Nobody touches a communicator here without leaving a trail of breadcrumbs, and you can bet I was mighty surprised to find out where your particular trail led. I'm sure Khivar will be thrilled to find out you and Marana have both defied his orders. He can't get to you here, but he can sure get to her." He paused. "I wonder what he'll do to her."
"You wouldn't!" Malik said incredulously. "Giving her up won't save your ass!"
"If I go down, we all go down," Amar said firmly. "You pick."
Amar retreated to the middle of the room and stood there sullenly, waiting, while Malik watched him with undisguised disgust. If there was one thing Marana had made very clear, it was that now was an especially bad time to be a Covari on Antar. Khivar was more suspicious and paranoid than ever, and Covari were first on the list of those he deemed untrustworthy. If Khivar found out Marana had been contacting Earth without permission, things could get very ugly indeed.
"Fine," Malik said tersely. "We keep each other's little secrets. Now.....what happened?"
"Brivari is free," Amar said bluntly.
"What?" Malik exclaimed in disbelief. "For how long?"
"I don't know. Awhile, I think," Amar answered, resuming his pacing, his hands jammed into his pockets. "I got into the compound. I made it all the way to Jaddo." Amar's eyes shone, as though he were especially proud of this feat. "They've developed some kind of drug that halts his powers and keeps him from shifting. Can you imagine? He's—"
"Yeah, yeah, he's captive, and conscious, and you're loving it," Malik said impatiently, setting aside for the moment the horrific notion of being trapped in one form. "I get the picture. What about Brivari?"
Amar moved to the nearest window and cautiously peered out through the blinds. "I found him," he whispered.
Malik suddenly went very cold. "You found him? What do you mean you 'found him'?"
"Well....actually he found me," Amar amended grudgingly. "See, I figured something out. There was a human, a female healer at the compound who could hear telepathic speech. And that got me thinking......"
Oh, no, Malik thought. Bad things happened when Amar started thinking.
"......that maybe that kid could hear us after all. So I found her house, and I was right—she can hear us."
"So you were right," Malik said, remembering how the girl and her family had lugged the pods to safety. "Good for you. What does any of this have to do with Brivari?"
"He was there," Amar said reluctantly, as though he wasn't especially fond of the next part of his story. "He....he attacked me."
"Jesus H. Christ!" Malik exploded, using a favorite expletive of Mr. Rahn's.....when Mrs. Rahn wasn't within earshot, that is. "You went after Brivari all by yourself with no back up and no way to defend yourself? Are you out of your mind?"
"I wasn't trying to 'go after him'!" Amar protested. "I figured the kid would know where he was, and I wanted her to tell me. I didn't think he'd actually be there."
"Wait," Malik said, as Amar moved nervously to another window and peered out. "When you first blew in here, which was an exceptionally stupid thing to do I might add, given all the humans who are out and about tonight, you said, 'I think I lost him'. Is 'him' who I think it is?"
Amar was silent for a moment. "He took off after me," he finally answered, not looking at Malik. "But I think I lost him about halfway here," he added hastily, as Malik eyes practically popped out of his head. "I mean, I did lose him. I know I did."
Malik was so flabbergasted that for a moment, he couldn't speak. When he did find his voice, he was angrier than he could ever remember being.
"Are you crazy?" he burst out, as Amar glowered at him. "Brivari followed you? He followed you here? Do you have any idea what he'll do to us when he gets here? Your device is in pieces downstairs! How are—"
"Now who needs to calm down?" Amar interrupted irritably. "I said I lost him. Didn't you hear me? I haven't seen him at least since I crossed the New Mexico border."
Malik pressed his fists to his forehead, certain that his head would explode any moment. "You idiot! Brivari is the King's Warder! Not just any Warder, but the King's Warder! You don't get to be the King's Warder by losing your prey! You didn't lose him, he just let you think he did, and he knows you well enough to know that you were probably patting yourself on the back for being so clever, while all along he was following you right back here!"
Amar's face went white. "I lost him," he whispered, as if repetition made it so. "I know I lost him."
The doorbell rang. Both Malik and Amar jumped, the bell sounding unusually loud now that they knew they were squarely in the crosshairs of the most dangerous being on the planet. "Don't answer that!" Amar ordered.
"I have to," Malik said, his heart beating a wild tattoo against his chest. Certainly he'd wanted to approach Brivari for months now, but on his own terms, not this way. "I've been handing out candy all night. People will think it's weird if I suddenly stop. Besides, we're safer in public. Brivari won't do anything if anyone's watching, and—"
"Don't answer that door!" Amar said frantically, grabbing Malik by the arm and pulling him down the basement stairs. Flying to the wall, he slapped his hand on the handprint and pulled Malik through the door with him. "We'll hide in here," Amar said as the door rumbled closed behind them. "He can't find us here."
Malik sighed and sank into a nearby chair. "Of course he can find us here. We can't hide from him unless we leave now....and maybe not even then."
"He can't find us here," Amar muttered, nodding his head up and down. "The basement looks perfectly normal. He'll think we're gone. He'll look somewhere else, and then we can......"
Amar stopped suddenly, staring at the ceiling. Malik heard it too...a faint telepathic sound, broadcast widely, meant for them.
Malik turned to Amar, who was so terrified he'd practically stopped breathing.
"He's here."
******************************************************
"Over here, Mrs. Rahn!"
"Yeah, over here!"
"All right, children, all right!" Mrs. Rahn said, huffing and puffing as they hurried her along. "I'm coming. I just don't move as fast as you do."
Mrs. Rahn was a large woman whose longest walk was typically to the mailbox by the side of the road. So she was rather out of breath after the pack of worried neighborhood children had hurried her across both her's and Carl's front lawns and up the steps of Carl's front porch. "Mercy," she said when she'd heaved her bulk up the last step. "What's wrong? Did someone get hurt?"
"Carl isn't answering his door," announced a small ghost.
Mrs. Rahn started at Carl's closed front door. "Oh. Is that all? I thought something was wrong."
"But that is wrong," insisted a diminutive demon. "He was handing out candy just a few minutes ago, and now he's not answering the door."
"I bet he had to pee," remarked a pirate thoughtfully.
"Perhaps he's using the restroom," Mrs. Rahn corrected, throwing a disapproving look in the pirate's direction. "Or perhaps he had to answer the telephone."
"But all the lights are off," said another child. "And all the curtains are closed, all the way around the house. They weren't just a minute ago."
Mrs. Rahn leaned back against the porch railing and surveyed Carl's house. The child was right; there didn't appear to be a single light on anywhere and every single curtain was drawn, in the front at least. And she herself had seen Carl handing out candy only a few minutes ago.
"Perhaps he had to step out for a minute. Has anyone knocked?" Mrs. Rahn asked.
"Sure. Over and over," said the ghost. "Nobody answers."
"Maybe Tom made him stop," observed the pirate. "He doesn't like us."
"He doesn't like anybody," added another.
"Tom scares me," said the demon, moving closer to Mrs. Rahn.
"Now children, it's rude to speak of people that way," Mrs. Rahn scolded, while privately noting that as much as she'd always liked Carl, she'd never cared for Tom. "Tom is just....busy, that's all. Not everyone likes to have children running around underfoot."
"So what do we do?" the pirate asked.
"Go on about your trick-or-treating," Mrs. Rahn instructed them all firmly. "I'm sure there's a good reason why Carl seems to have so suddenly disappeared."
"We should try the door," announced the ghost, reaching for the knob. A moment later she turned around, puzzled. "It's locked."
Mrs. Rahn looked back and forth from the ghost to the door before trying the knob herself. It was indeed locked, and that was very odd. No one locked their doors in Copper Summit, even if they were going on a long vacation. Perhaps especially if they were going on a long vacation, because the neighbors would need to get in to bring in the mail, feed the pets, and do all the myriad things that needed doing.
"Why would Carl lock the door, close the curtains, and turn off all the lights?" wondered the pirate.
"Maybe he's hurt!" the ghost offered. "My mama says the only reason Mr. Felder is still alive is because the neighbors found him when he fell one day."
"Does that mean all the Tootsie Rolls are on the floor?" the demon asked sadly.
"But if he fell, then the lights would still be on," reasoned the pirate. "You don't know ahead of time when you're going to fall."
"Maybe he fell because he turned the lights off, because it was dark," the ghost said stubbornly.
"Children," Mrs. Rahn broke in, "it appears Carl has stepped out. We don't know why, and it's really none of our business, now is it? Run along, and you can ask him tomorrow."
"But what if he is hurt?" the ghost argued. "We're his neighbors. Aren't we supposed to help him?"
Mrs. Rahn hesitated, rocking back and forth from one large foot to another. She did have an odd feeling about this. Still, there was little she could do short of summoning her husband to actually break in, and that thought gave her pause. Not because of the breaking in part—Carl would forgive her when he discovered she had acted out of concern for his safety, although Tom would likely view things differently—but because there was something strange about the house. Minutes ago it had been brightly lit and welcoming; now it was dark and deserted. Strange, to say the least.
"I will keep my eyes open," Mrs. Rahn promised the assorted trick-or-treaters, "and if I don't see either Carl or Tom within a.....oh!"
Mrs. Rahn stopped short. Standing at the base of the porch steps was a man she had not heard approaching in spite of all the crunchy leaves on the front walk. "I'm sorry," Mrs. Rahn said, her hand to her chest, the children clustering around her, staring at the newcomer. "I didn't see you there. I.....do I know you?"
"Good evening," the man answered politely. He looked to be about thirty-five or forty, dark hair, dark eyes.....but then it was dark out here, especially with all the house lights off. "My apologies for startling you. I am here to pay a visit," he added, with a nod toward the house.
"You know Carl and Tom?" the pirate asked with interest.
"How?" demanded the ghost.
"Why does Tom hate us?" queried the demon.
"Children!" gasped Mrs. Rahn. "Such terrible manners! I'm terribly sorry, Mr......I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
But the man was watching the children, who hadn't taken their eyes off him. "I am a business associate," he said, answering the ghost's question, "and I shall certainly inquire as to why you are hated," he added to the demon, who paled.
"Don't be silly," Mrs. Rahn said, flustered. "I'm afraid you've come at a bad time. Carl was here just a moment ago handing out candy, but he seems to have stepped out."
"I will wait inside," the man announced, climbing the steps, the sea of children parting to let him through.
"But the door's locked!" protested the ghost.
"You could wait on the porch," offered the pirate.
"Nonsense," Mrs. Rahn said firmly. "A friend of Carl's is a friend of mine. My house is just next door. Why don't you come over, and I'll get you something to eat while you're waiting."
"You are most kind," the stranger answered, "but I was advised they might not be in when I called, and further advised that the front door sometimes proves difficult to open."
"This is more than that," Mrs. Rahn answered. "The children are right—the door is locked. I tried it myself."
The man gestured toward the door. "May I?"
"Of course," Mrs. Rahn answered, stepping back uncertainly to give him room. The man reached for the doorknob, jiggled it once, and.....and it turned smoothly, the door swinging open to reveal a dark foyer. Heads peered inside, but nothing was visible.
A sudden breeze flew by the front porch carrying a tornado of leaves, and for just a moment, something inside Mrs. Rahn turned cold. There was something wrong, something off about this whole situation. The suddenly dark and draperied house, and the oddly formal stranger appearing out of nowhere, able to open a door which she would have sworn was locked and had never seen locked before....it was downright unsettling.
"I will await their return," the man announced, giving Mrs. Rahn a slight bow.
"Oh," Mrs. Rahn said, flustered all over again. "Well....if you're sure they're expecting you......."
The man's eyes appeared to glitter in the moonlight. "I assure you they are."
"Well....good night, then," Mrs. Rahn said.
"Good night," the man answered. "And thank you for your offer of hospitality." Then he disappeared inside the house, closing the door firmly behind him. A moment later a light flicked on, but none of the curtains opened. The group on the porch stood in silence for a moment.
"Do you suppose he'll give out tricks or treats?" asked the demon hopefully.
"Run along now, children," Mrs. Rahn said briskly. "It's getting late, and your parents will be expecting you home soon. If you don't hurry up, you won't be getting any more candy."
That did it. The children hurried off, anxious to make the most of what little Halloween they had left. Mrs. Rahn headed back across the yards, casting puzzled glances back at Carl's house, still dark but for that lone light in the front window. It wasn't until she was safely back inside her own home that it dawned on her that the stranger had never told her his name.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 56 next Sunday.
A different personality would have used that leverage long before this.CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
October 31, 1947, 6:35 p.m.
Proctor residence
Dee sat on the hard kitchen chair, her princess dress billowing around her, listening to the sounds of the party she was missing and watching her mother pace. Right after hearing Anthony say that Ernie's mother had phoned the sheriff, Emily had asked Rose Brazel to take over for a little while, steered Dee into the kitchen, then left to find her father. She'd returned a minute or two later and begun pacing back and forth, saying nothing.
Dee, who had been expecting a barrage of questions about what had happened instead of total silence, found it unnerving to see her mother so rattled. Guests for the Halloween party were still arriving, and every time the doorbell rang, Emily would jump. The last time she'd done that was during the war when Dee's father had been away and everyone had dreaded the arrival of a telegram. The Army used telegrams to tell people if soldiers were injured or missing or dead; the only thing worse was an actual Army officer standing on your doorstep. Dee's memory of those times was cloudy because she'd been quite young, but one memory which stood out quite clearly was of her mother staring out the window, arms crossed in a fierce self-hug just like now, watching the delivery boy to see who would get the bad news this time.
The kitchen door opened, and Dee's father slipped inside, latching the door behind him. Her mother stopped pacing and stared at him like she'd stared at those Western Union boys years ago. "Well?" she asked tightly.
"I talked to George and explained what happened," David answered. "Well, not what happened, but.....you know what I mean. He was all too happy to scratch a call off his list. Or 'calls', rather. I gather the sheriff's office heard from more than just Wilma Hutton about this one."
"So no one's coming?" Emily asked hopefully.
"Nope."
Wrong, Dee thought, shaking her head sadly. Valenti was coming; she was sure of it. Maybe not right now, maybe not even tonight, but soon....and he'd come to her. She'd have to think about what she was going to say to him when the time came.
"Oh, thank God!" Emily exclaimed, sinking into a chair with relief, unaware that her own daughter was consorting with the enemy. "Somehow I think the Army might have noticed a fleet of deputies on our doorstep."
"Maybe not," David said. "George said there's all sorts of shenanigans going on tonight, and a lot of them are about aliens. This is just one more Halloween prank among dozens. We should be okay. Do you know who that was?" he asked Dee.
"One of the two who came here this summer looking for the metal pieces Mac had found," Dee answered.
Her mother paled. "You mean the ones who threatened to kill us?" Dee nodded, and her mother let out a long breath. "I suppose it's too much to ask for that to have been the sympathetic one."
Dee shook her head. "It wasn't Malik. It was the other one."
"How do you know?" her father asked.
"He talked to me," Dee admitted.
"He talked to you?" Emily echoed incredulously. "What did he say?"
"He said, 'We meet again'. And he said to not even bother trying to pretend I couldn't hear him because this time he knew better. And he asked where Brivari was."
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Emily breathed, looking rattled all over again.
"Did you say anything?" her father asked curiously.
"Of course she did," Emily said, rolling her eyes heavenward as though praying for strength. "She's my daughter."
"I told him he was going to be really sorry he'd come here," Dee said firmly.
"You threatened him?" Emily said in disbelief. "Great. Just wonderful."
"Emily, I know this is upsetting," David broke in, cutting off Dee's indignant reply, "but we have to keep in mind that he wasn't here for us. He was here looking for Brivari, and he found him—and given what I've heard Brivari say, I'm willing to bet our uninvited guest is one very unhappy camper right now."
"So what if he wasn't 'here for us'?" Emily asked irritably. "He was standing on our porch. In broad daylight, in front of practically the entire neighborhood. That affects us whether he's 'here for us' or not."
"And we handled it," David said soothingly, sitting down beside her mother and shooting Dee a parental "keep your mouth shut" look. "George says Halloween is always a busy night, and this year it's worse than ever. We can easily get lost in the crush."
"Just what I've always wanted," Emily muttered. "To be on the list of Halloween pranksters."
"That's better than being on the Army's list of suspected alien sympathizers," David pointed out.
Emily sighed and closed her eyes. "I suppose. Five days," she murmured. "We almost made it."
"Made it to what?" David asked.
"Made it to two whole months without some kind of alien emergency," Emily said, shaking her head. "What I can't figure out is why he was standing out in the open like that. That doesn't make any sense. I know from personal experience that they can look like anything, including floors and counters. Why would he stand there like some giant dart board?"
"Because he's a show-off," Dee said sourly. "He knew it was Halloween, and he knew people dress up. He knew he could get away with it. He's just another Ernie Hutton with long fingers."
"The reason he got away with it is the same reason we'll get away with it," David noted. "That and the fact that Anthony was expecting something spectacular. Looks like he got more than he bargained for."
"What was all that about, anyway?" Emily asked, fixing a curious stare on her daughter. "If he hadn't jumped in the way he did, I never would have thought of that as a cover." Her eyes narrowed. "Deanna....you didn't tell Anthony anything, did you?"
"Of course not," Dee answered quickly, pushing the words through a throat gone dry as she realized her mother had come dangerously close to the truth. "I just told him I had a surprise planned that I hadn't told anyone about, and he must have thought that was it."
"And fortunately, everyone believed him," David said. "By the time we get to trick-or-treating, they'll have forgotten all about this."
"Trick-or treating?" Emily repeated. "David, we can't let these children out after dark when there's......that running around out there!"
"He's not 'running around'," David said patiently. "You saw Brivari go after him. And what else can we do, Em? We said it was a stunt; if we shut everything down and hole up in our house, it'll look like a lot more than just a stunt. Look," he added, "I'll walk around with everyone tonight, and I'm sure Mac will join me. He's outside right now keeping an eye on the house....just in case. But I really don't think anything else is going to happen; I think our 'guest' was acting alone."
"Mac is outside?" Emily repeated coldly. "Does he still have his gun?"
The temperature in the kitchen dropped suddenly, and Dee, who had been only half listening to the back and forth between her parents, suddenly started paying attention. The expression on her mother's face had changed from worried to....angry.
"Yes, he has his gun," her father said evenly. "Not the rifle; he has a pistol in his pocket. No one will see it."
"I hope you made it clear that he can't come in this house with a gun," Emily said, her voice dripping icicles.
"I did not," David said firmly. "And you won't either."
Dee's mouth dropped open. Like all kids, she kept a lengthy mental list of her parents' various hot buttons, but somehow she'd missed this one completely. And this appeared to be a mutual hot button judging from the two impossible things that had just happened: She couldn't recall ever hearing her father give her mother a direct order, and prior to this moment, she couldn't have fathomed Mac Brazel ever being unwelcome in her house for any reason.
"David, you know how I feel about guns," Emily said warningly.
"Mac got his gun because I asked him to," David retorted. "You heard Dee—that was the one who threatened to kill us last summer. What if he'd attacked? Would it have been okay to have the gun then?"
Dee sat frozen to her chair as her angry parents stared each other down. Her mother being angry was nothing new, but her father? And her father openly angry with her mother? And where was all of this coming from anyway? Dee hadn't been thrilled when she'd seen Mac with his rifle, but she did know why her father had asked him to get it, and couldn't understand why her mother didn't see that.
"This isn't the time for this discussion," her father said when her mother didn't answer. "We should go back to the party and act like all this was exactly what we said it was—a Halloween joke."
"Fine," her mother said in a hard voice. "But he's not to set foot in this house with a gun, and that's final."
Dee watched her father shake his head as her mother stalked out of the kitchen. "Daddy," she said slowly, "why is Mama so mad?"
"It's a long story, sweetheart," her father said quietly.
"But why is she so mad about Mac's gun?" Dee persisted. "Is it because of the war?"
"Sort of," her father answered evasively. "C'mon. We should get back to the party."
"I know Mama's still mad at you for going to the war without being drafted," Dee said as she clambered off the chair, her dress slowing her down.
Her father sighed. "I know she is. Add it to the list. But I was doing what I thought was right then, and I did what I thought was right tonight."
"Daddy?"
"Hmm?"
"Mac would have shot it, wouldn't he?"
Her father paused for a moment with his hand on the kitchen door. "Yes, he would have," he answered heavily. "I know that upsets you, and I know why. Believe me, I do. I've seen as much of that as I ever want to see. But we had no other way to fight back, Dee. My job is to protect you and your mother, and tonight, everyone else here in my house at a party we invited them to, just like it's Brivari's job to protect those babies. Whoever was on our porch tonight threatened to kill us the last time he was here. I don't know if he actually would have gone through with that, but it's enough that he made the threat. He's dangerous. It's that simple."
"I know, Daddy," Dee said solemnly. "But.....I'm still really glad Mac didn't have to shoot him."
David reached up and resettled her makeshift crown on her head. "Me too."
******************************************************
9:10 p.m.
Copper Summit, Arizona
"Trick or treat, Carl!" chorused the children as Malik opened the door, the required bowl of candy in hand, smiling at the motley collection of characters arrayed on his front porch. He'd long ago given up trying to decipher the origins of this human festival, but the end result was clear: Children dressed up as what humans feared, and demanded offerings, much as deities on every world Malik had ever visited demanded offerings in exchange for favors or safety. The custom had taken a peculiar form on this planet, but it was still recognizable. Every world had its demons, and Antar was no exception.
Judging from what he'd seen tonight, humans appeared to have acquired yet another demon to add to their already lengthy list. Near the back of the current troop of "trick-or-treaters" stood a collection of costumed aliens, some green, some gray, one red, and one a startling blue. Malik had been taken aback the first time he'd opened the door this evening to find representations of his own people ranging from the comical to the startlingly accurate, but he'd quickly gotten over it and even enjoyed it when the inevitable bickering began.
"So," Malik said, candy still undistributed. "What's the consensus? Green or gray?"
An excited babble of voices promptly filled the porch as the various colored aliens and their non-alien counterparts argued the merits of one color over the other. "That guy on the radio said they weren't green!" trumpeted a gray alien.
"But he didn't say what color they were," countered the blue alien. "So we don't know for sure. We just know they aren't green."
"Everybody knows space aliens are green!" scoffed a green with eyes twice as big as Malik's in his native form.
"Martians are red," announced a red version.
"The newspapers said gray," pointed out a gray alien, whose eyeglasses could be seen through the holes in his homemade alien mask.
"Who cares?" asked a girl with a tall pointy hat. "Trick or treat!"
Malik started passing out candy as the argument continued, wondering what the children would think if they knew a real alien was standing right in front of them, and that he could be any color they could imagine—and a few they couldn't. That was only true of Covari of course; the two solid species on Antar, Antarians and Argilians, were very similar in appearance and were indeed quite gray.
"What do you think, Carl?" the gray alien with the glasses asked.
"Why do they have to be only one color? Perhaps they're different colors," Malik suggested. "Different races on Earth have very differently colored skin. Perhaps the same is true on other worlds too."
This observation apparently made too much sense because the children fell silent, pondering the idea. It was amusing sometimes to hear humans speculate about other worlds; they always assumed everyone on another planet would look the same, even though that obviously wasn't the case on their own. "There you go," Malik said, dropping an odd confection known as a "Tootsie Roll" into the last of the paper sacks. "Go on to Mrs. Rahn's house now. I hear she made candy apples."
The group trouped off noisily to Mrs. Rahn's house next door, the argument about alien colors forgotten. Across the street he could see other festival revelers moving from one brightly lit house to another, trudging a bit now as it was getting late. Only the older children were out at this hour, the younger ones having tired long ago. Malik lingered in the doorway, watching other doors open, listening to the cries of of that strange invocation, "trick or treat!", and thinking of last year when Amar, who hated human festivals as a general rule, or human anything for that matter, had shifted into something exceptionally frightening and scared the daylights out of some Copper Summit small fry. Malik had spent a good deal of time covering for that debacle, and he'd been dreading a repeat this year. But Amar had not yet returned, having been gone since last evening. Exactly what that meant Malik could only speculate, but he'd stopped worrying about Amar's exploits weeks ago. Amar was a big boy; if he got himself in trouble, it would be no one's fault but his own. His absence would no doubt pique The Leader's interest soon, and when that time came, Malik intended to tell him just exactly where Amar likely was and what he was likely doing, and—what was the human expression?—let the chips fall where they may.
He had the door halfway closed when something rocketed past him, knocking the door open and flying toward the back of the house. A second later Amar stood there in human form, shaking and exhausted. "Close the door!" he croaked breathlessly.
"What the......what happened to you?" Malik asked in astonishment.
"Close the damned door!" Amar hissed, heading for a nearby window and drawing the curtains over the already closed blinds, flipping the light switch off as he went by.
"Okay, okay. Calm down." No sooner had Malik shut the door then Amar lurched over and locked it, rushing past it to turn off the other light and draw the curtains on yet another set of windows. "What are you doing?" Malik asked, mystified, as he watched Amar systematically cloak every single window on the first floor and lock the back door in the kitchen before returning to the living room, panting.
"I think I lost him," Amar said in a strained voice, standing in the middle of the dark room, as far from the windows as he could get. "I think we're okay."
Malik's eyes narrowed. "Lost who?"
"We're okay," Amar repeated as though trying to convince himself, pacing back and forth rapidly in the very middle of the living room like a spastic hamster in a small cage. "We're okay."
Malik set the bowl of candy down with a thunk. "You screwed up, didn't you? You went to the human military compound and somebody saw you, didn't they?"
Amar stopped pacing and stared at him, dumbfounded. Malik laughed bitterly and shook his head. "Honestly, Amar, did you really think I bought that cockamamie story about scrounging for parts? I know where you were. And so will The Leader when he pulls his head out of whatever he's doing at the moment and finds out about the latest banana peel you deliberately stepped on. I'm not taking the fall for this one."
"Oh really?" Amar said angrily, forgetting his aversion to windows and striding over to Malik. "Okay, while you're off telling tales about me, perhaps I should mention those little late night chats with your girlfriend, Marana. Honestly, Malik, did you really think I didn't know about that?" he added, when Malik's eyes widened. "I'm an engineer, for God's sake! Nobody touches a communicator here without leaving a trail of breadcrumbs, and you can bet I was mighty surprised to find out where your particular trail led. I'm sure Khivar will be thrilled to find out you and Marana have both defied his orders. He can't get to you here, but he can sure get to her." He paused. "I wonder what he'll do to her."
"You wouldn't!" Malik said incredulously. "Giving her up won't save your ass!"
"If I go down, we all go down," Amar said firmly. "You pick."
Amar retreated to the middle of the room and stood there sullenly, waiting, while Malik watched him with undisguised disgust. If there was one thing Marana had made very clear, it was that now was an especially bad time to be a Covari on Antar. Khivar was more suspicious and paranoid than ever, and Covari were first on the list of those he deemed untrustworthy. If Khivar found out Marana had been contacting Earth without permission, things could get very ugly indeed.
"Fine," Malik said tersely. "We keep each other's little secrets. Now.....what happened?"
"Brivari is free," Amar said bluntly.
"What?" Malik exclaimed in disbelief. "For how long?"
"I don't know. Awhile, I think," Amar answered, resuming his pacing, his hands jammed into his pockets. "I got into the compound. I made it all the way to Jaddo." Amar's eyes shone, as though he were especially proud of this feat. "They've developed some kind of drug that halts his powers and keeps him from shifting. Can you imagine? He's—"
"Yeah, yeah, he's captive, and conscious, and you're loving it," Malik said impatiently, setting aside for the moment the horrific notion of being trapped in one form. "I get the picture. What about Brivari?"
Amar moved to the nearest window and cautiously peered out through the blinds. "I found him," he whispered.
Malik suddenly went very cold. "You found him? What do you mean you 'found him'?"
"Well....actually he found me," Amar amended grudgingly. "See, I figured something out. There was a human, a female healer at the compound who could hear telepathic speech. And that got me thinking......"
Oh, no, Malik thought. Bad things happened when Amar started thinking.
"......that maybe that kid could hear us after all. So I found her house, and I was right—she can hear us."
"So you were right," Malik said, remembering how the girl and her family had lugged the pods to safety. "Good for you. What does any of this have to do with Brivari?"
"He was there," Amar said reluctantly, as though he wasn't especially fond of the next part of his story. "He....he attacked me."
"Jesus H. Christ!" Malik exploded, using a favorite expletive of Mr. Rahn's.....when Mrs. Rahn wasn't within earshot, that is. "You went after Brivari all by yourself with no back up and no way to defend yourself? Are you out of your mind?"
"I wasn't trying to 'go after him'!" Amar protested. "I figured the kid would know where he was, and I wanted her to tell me. I didn't think he'd actually be there."
"Wait," Malik said, as Amar moved nervously to another window and peered out. "When you first blew in here, which was an exceptionally stupid thing to do I might add, given all the humans who are out and about tonight, you said, 'I think I lost him'. Is 'him' who I think it is?"
Amar was silent for a moment. "He took off after me," he finally answered, not looking at Malik. "But I think I lost him about halfway here," he added hastily, as Malik eyes practically popped out of his head. "I mean, I did lose him. I know I did."
Malik was so flabbergasted that for a moment, he couldn't speak. When he did find his voice, he was angrier than he could ever remember being.
"Are you crazy?" he burst out, as Amar glowered at him. "Brivari followed you? He followed you here? Do you have any idea what he'll do to us when he gets here? Your device is in pieces downstairs! How are—"
"Now who needs to calm down?" Amar interrupted irritably. "I said I lost him. Didn't you hear me? I haven't seen him at least since I crossed the New Mexico border."
Malik pressed his fists to his forehead, certain that his head would explode any moment. "You idiot! Brivari is the King's Warder! Not just any Warder, but the King's Warder! You don't get to be the King's Warder by losing your prey! You didn't lose him, he just let you think he did, and he knows you well enough to know that you were probably patting yourself on the back for being so clever, while all along he was following you right back here!"
Amar's face went white. "I lost him," he whispered, as if repetition made it so. "I know I lost him."
The doorbell rang. Both Malik and Amar jumped, the bell sounding unusually loud now that they knew they were squarely in the crosshairs of the most dangerous being on the planet. "Don't answer that!" Amar ordered.
"I have to," Malik said, his heart beating a wild tattoo against his chest. Certainly he'd wanted to approach Brivari for months now, but on his own terms, not this way. "I've been handing out candy all night. People will think it's weird if I suddenly stop. Besides, we're safer in public. Brivari won't do anything if anyone's watching, and—"
"Don't answer that door!" Amar said frantically, grabbing Malik by the arm and pulling him down the basement stairs. Flying to the wall, he slapped his hand on the handprint and pulled Malik through the door with him. "We'll hide in here," Amar said as the door rumbled closed behind them. "He can't find us here."
Malik sighed and sank into a nearby chair. "Of course he can find us here. We can't hide from him unless we leave now....and maybe not even then."
"He can't find us here," Amar muttered, nodding his head up and down. "The basement looks perfectly normal. He'll think we're gone. He'll look somewhere else, and then we can......"
Amar stopped suddenly, staring at the ceiling. Malik heard it too...a faint telepathic sound, broadcast widely, meant for them.
Malik turned to Amar, who was so terrified he'd practically stopped breathing.
"He's here."
******************************************************
"Over here, Mrs. Rahn!"
"Yeah, over here!"
"All right, children, all right!" Mrs. Rahn said, huffing and puffing as they hurried her along. "I'm coming. I just don't move as fast as you do."
Mrs. Rahn was a large woman whose longest walk was typically to the mailbox by the side of the road. So she was rather out of breath after the pack of worried neighborhood children had hurried her across both her's and Carl's front lawns and up the steps of Carl's front porch. "Mercy," she said when she'd heaved her bulk up the last step. "What's wrong? Did someone get hurt?"
"Carl isn't answering his door," announced a small ghost.
Mrs. Rahn started at Carl's closed front door. "Oh. Is that all? I thought something was wrong."
"But that is wrong," insisted a diminutive demon. "He was handing out candy just a few minutes ago, and now he's not answering the door."
"I bet he had to pee," remarked a pirate thoughtfully.
"Perhaps he's using the restroom," Mrs. Rahn corrected, throwing a disapproving look in the pirate's direction. "Or perhaps he had to answer the telephone."
"But all the lights are off," said another child. "And all the curtains are closed, all the way around the house. They weren't just a minute ago."
Mrs. Rahn leaned back against the porch railing and surveyed Carl's house. The child was right; there didn't appear to be a single light on anywhere and every single curtain was drawn, in the front at least. And she herself had seen Carl handing out candy only a few minutes ago.
"Perhaps he had to step out for a minute. Has anyone knocked?" Mrs. Rahn asked.
"Sure. Over and over," said the ghost. "Nobody answers."
"Maybe Tom made him stop," observed the pirate. "He doesn't like us."
"He doesn't like anybody," added another.
"Tom scares me," said the demon, moving closer to Mrs. Rahn.
"Now children, it's rude to speak of people that way," Mrs. Rahn scolded, while privately noting that as much as she'd always liked Carl, she'd never cared for Tom. "Tom is just....busy, that's all. Not everyone likes to have children running around underfoot."
"So what do we do?" the pirate asked.
"Go on about your trick-or-treating," Mrs. Rahn instructed them all firmly. "I'm sure there's a good reason why Carl seems to have so suddenly disappeared."
"We should try the door," announced the ghost, reaching for the knob. A moment later she turned around, puzzled. "It's locked."
Mrs. Rahn looked back and forth from the ghost to the door before trying the knob herself. It was indeed locked, and that was very odd. No one locked their doors in Copper Summit, even if they were going on a long vacation. Perhaps especially if they were going on a long vacation, because the neighbors would need to get in to bring in the mail, feed the pets, and do all the myriad things that needed doing.
"Why would Carl lock the door, close the curtains, and turn off all the lights?" wondered the pirate.
"Maybe he's hurt!" the ghost offered. "My mama says the only reason Mr. Felder is still alive is because the neighbors found him when he fell one day."
"Does that mean all the Tootsie Rolls are on the floor?" the demon asked sadly.
"But if he fell, then the lights would still be on," reasoned the pirate. "You don't know ahead of time when you're going to fall."
"Maybe he fell because he turned the lights off, because it was dark," the ghost said stubbornly.
"Children," Mrs. Rahn broke in, "it appears Carl has stepped out. We don't know why, and it's really none of our business, now is it? Run along, and you can ask him tomorrow."
"But what if he is hurt?" the ghost argued. "We're his neighbors. Aren't we supposed to help him?"
Mrs. Rahn hesitated, rocking back and forth from one large foot to another. She did have an odd feeling about this. Still, there was little she could do short of summoning her husband to actually break in, and that thought gave her pause. Not because of the breaking in part—Carl would forgive her when he discovered she had acted out of concern for his safety, although Tom would likely view things differently—but because there was something strange about the house. Minutes ago it had been brightly lit and welcoming; now it was dark and deserted. Strange, to say the least.
"I will keep my eyes open," Mrs. Rahn promised the assorted trick-or-treaters, "and if I don't see either Carl or Tom within a.....oh!"
Mrs. Rahn stopped short. Standing at the base of the porch steps was a man she had not heard approaching in spite of all the crunchy leaves on the front walk. "I'm sorry," Mrs. Rahn said, her hand to her chest, the children clustering around her, staring at the newcomer. "I didn't see you there. I.....do I know you?"
"Good evening," the man answered politely. He looked to be about thirty-five or forty, dark hair, dark eyes.....but then it was dark out here, especially with all the house lights off. "My apologies for startling you. I am here to pay a visit," he added, with a nod toward the house.
"You know Carl and Tom?" the pirate asked with interest.
"How?" demanded the ghost.
"Why does Tom hate us?" queried the demon.
"Children!" gasped Mrs. Rahn. "Such terrible manners! I'm terribly sorry, Mr......I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
But the man was watching the children, who hadn't taken their eyes off him. "I am a business associate," he said, answering the ghost's question, "and I shall certainly inquire as to why you are hated," he added to the demon, who paled.
"Don't be silly," Mrs. Rahn said, flustered. "I'm afraid you've come at a bad time. Carl was here just a moment ago handing out candy, but he seems to have stepped out."
"I will wait inside," the man announced, climbing the steps, the sea of children parting to let him through.
"But the door's locked!" protested the ghost.
"You could wait on the porch," offered the pirate.
"Nonsense," Mrs. Rahn said firmly. "A friend of Carl's is a friend of mine. My house is just next door. Why don't you come over, and I'll get you something to eat while you're waiting."
"You are most kind," the stranger answered, "but I was advised they might not be in when I called, and further advised that the front door sometimes proves difficult to open."
"This is more than that," Mrs. Rahn answered. "The children are right—the door is locked. I tried it myself."
The man gestured toward the door. "May I?"
"Of course," Mrs. Rahn answered, stepping back uncertainly to give him room. The man reached for the doorknob, jiggled it once, and.....and it turned smoothly, the door swinging open to reveal a dark foyer. Heads peered inside, but nothing was visible.
A sudden breeze flew by the front porch carrying a tornado of leaves, and for just a moment, something inside Mrs. Rahn turned cold. There was something wrong, something off about this whole situation. The suddenly dark and draperied house, and the oddly formal stranger appearing out of nowhere, able to open a door which she would have sworn was locked and had never seen locked before....it was downright unsettling.
"I will await their return," the man announced, giving Mrs. Rahn a slight bow.
"Oh," Mrs. Rahn said, flustered all over again. "Well....if you're sure they're expecting you......."
The man's eyes appeared to glitter in the moonlight. "I assure you they are."
"Well....good night, then," Mrs. Rahn said.
"Good night," the man answered. "And thank you for your offer of hospitality." Then he disappeared inside the house, closing the door firmly behind him. A moment later a light flicked on, but none of the curtains opened. The group on the porch stood in silence for a moment.
"Do you suppose he'll give out tricks or treats?" asked the demon hopefully.
"Run along now, children," Mrs. Rahn said briskly. "It's getting late, and your parents will be expecting you home soon. If you don't hurry up, you won't be getting any more candy."
That did it. The children hurried off, anxious to make the most of what little Halloween they had left. Mrs. Rahn headed back across the yards, casting puzzled glances back at Carl's house, still dark but for that lone light in the front window. It wasn't until she was safely back inside her own home that it dawned on her that the stranger had never told her his name.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 56 next Sunday.
BRIVARI: "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."
Misha: Good! I intended to make him scary.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
October 31, 1947, 9:30 p.m.
Copper Summit, Arizona
Interesting, Brivari thought as he stood in the front room of the dwelling Amar had entered only minutes before. The humans' festival had not ended, as evidenced by the group he had just met outside, yet this dwelling was dark; no lights shone, and all the window coverings had been closed. That must mean that Amar suspected he was being followed, on some level at least. So why had he come here? Was this their base of operations, or merely the first convenient human dwelling? The receptacle by the road which the humans used for delivery of correspondence read "Smith", a common human supplemental name to Brivari's understanding. But that meant nothing; if the rogues wished to retain a human appearance, they would have needed to adopt a supplemental name to avoid suspicion.
Moving unhurriedly from room to room, Brivari inspected the first floor and found nothing remarkable, no evidence of Antarian habitation with the exception of the food storage unit referred to by the Proctors as a "fridge", which contained no meat of any kind. All the humans he had met ate meat, so this might very well be the rogues' base, or one of them at least. Not the smartest move to lead a suspected pursuer right to your home base, but then Amar had never suffered from a surfeit of intelligence. Moving to the staircase, Brivari headed toward the underground room humans called a "basement", ignoring the stairs leading to the upper level. What he was looking for would not be found anywhere human eyes could see.
The basement was windowless, completely dark, and devoid of light fixtures. Humans would never be able to see in such inky blackness; any venturing down here would likely turn back. Covari, of course, had no trouble seeing in the dark, so this was the perfect cover for what Brivari was certain would be an underground chamber hidden from human view. Slowly, he began to pass his hand over the walls, searching for the handprint he knew was there.
When he had first seen Amar standing brazenly on the Proctor's front porch, Brivari had been tempted to let the Proctor's neighbor use the weapon he'd brandished. Idiot, Brivari had thought sourly. Amar was a traitor who deserved death anyway, and death in front of a gawping alien audience would serve him right. Amar had been a passable engineer, but his arrogance typically outweighed his common sense, this latest stunt being a perfect example. But his death on the Proctor's property would draw unwanted attention, and Amar had information he needed. So he'd pulled Amar away and let him escape, following him visibly for a good long while, then invisibly thereafter, allowing him to congratulate himself on having lost his pursuer when he'd really done nothing of the sort.
And the fool led me right where I wanted to go, Brivari thought with satisfaction, moving to another section of basement wall. Perhaps Amar was hoping for support from Malik. Or perhaps he was retrieving the five-sided device which had been used to disable Jaddo. No matter. Jaddo had been weak and exhausted when Amar had encountered him, but Brivari was rested and strong. Even if he did manage to block his powers, Amar's fate would not change; he would die tonight, after telling Brivari everything he wanted to know.
Light flared as a handprint appeared on the wall. Brivari smiled, pressed his hand to it, and the basement wall rumbled open.
******************************************************
"Where is he?" Amar whispered, staring at the ceiling, afraid to move. "Is he inside?"
"Of course he's inside," Malik said. "You heard the door close."
"That was ten minutes ago," Amar said. "What's he doing?"
"Probably looking around. Probably wondering how even you could be so stupid as to lead him right where he wanted to go."
"Maybe it's not him," Amar said hopefully, ignoring Malik's sarcasm. "Maybe it's one of those awful children roaming around tonight."
Malik sighed impatiently. "You locked the doors, remember? Besides, no human could be that quiet, and any one of those 'awful children' would have had the sense not to lead a pursuer straight home!"
"I didn't know he was still after me!" Amar protested, his face flushing.
"Of course you didn't," Malik deadpanned. "That's why you flew into the house at a hundred miles an hour and proceeded to lock the doors and close all the curtains. You do that all the time, right?"
"That's because I thought he might be after me," Amar sulked. "But I hadn't seen him for a long time, and I just wanted to make sure, just in case he was close enough to see."
"Guess what? He was close enough to see."
"That doesn't mean he'll find us," Amar said petulantly. "Maybe—"
He stopped short as faint footsteps were heard beyond the door hidden in the basement wall. They paused briefly, then were heard again further away, in the far front corner of the basement. A few seconds later, they moved a bit closer.
"You were saying?" Malik asked.
Amar had begun to shake, his arms crossed tightly in front of himself, his eyes wide. "We still don't know it's him. Maybe it is one of the humans."
"A human wouldn't be able to see," Malik pointed out. "No lights, remember?" He shook his head. "Brivari's looking for the handprint because he knows it's there. And when he finds it, we're in trouble. There's no other way out of here. Forget it," he added, as Amar's gaze strayed toward his workbench where his power blocking device lay in pieces. "You'll never get it working in time."
"Then what do we do?"
"You're the one who spent months trying to get close to him. You tell me."
"I thought he was unconscious!" Amar snapped.
"You thought he was unconscious when you went to that child's house tonight?"
"I told you, I didn't think he was actually going to be there! Look, can we drop the finger-pointing and figure out how to get out of this?"
Malik was all prepared with a sharp reply, but he swallowed it when he saw how genuinely frightened Amar was. Not that Amar wasn't directly responsible for the situation in which they both now found themselves—he was. It was just that Amar had trouble thinking straight even on a good day; get him tense and frightened, and his already low capacity for common sense would drop even lower. And that made an already dangerous situation even more dangerous.
"I only see one possible way out of this," Malik said quietly. "Surrender."
"What?"
"We both know how powerful Brivari is," Malik said. "It's only a matter of time before he finds us, there's no other way out of here, and we can't fight back. Our best bet is to give ourselves up and make it worth his while to keep us alive."
"How?" Amar asked in astonishment.
"Information," Malik said promptly. "For example, we could offer all the details of what we've been doing here."
"Oh, great. Terrific," Amar said sarcastically. "That'll buy us.....what? An hour? Maybe two? Big deal. I have a better idea." He nodded his head toward the atmospheric chamber, where The Leader was likely still awake and toiling away, oblivious to the fact that an enemy was so close. "We can disconnect the air intake for the chamber and leave through the vents."
Malik stared at Amar in disbelief. "You're willing to do that just to save yourself?"
"Spare me the sermon," Amar said impatiently. "He's dead anyway."
"That won't be just any death!" Malik exclaimed, still unable to believe what he was hearing. "If we shut down the ventilation system, he'll use up whatever air he has and then—"
"He'll suffocate," Amar interrupted. "I built that chamber, so I know exactly what will happen. And whatever happens will be far better than he can expect from Brivari."
"We don't know that!" Malik objected. "Without comm equipment, The Leader is harmless. He can't function on this planet unaided, and if he can't call home, he's completely trapped. Brivari may very well just destroy all the communicators and hold him hostage."
"Oh, knock it off, Malik!" Amar said in exasperation. "You're deluding yourself if you think The Leader will survive for even a minute after Brivari finds him. His fate is sealed, and ours will be too if we don't stop standing around and having moral debates in the middle of an emergency!"
"Perhaps you should remember that the next time you decide to cause an emergency!"
"Don't change the subject!" Amar snapped. "Help me with the vents."
"No," Malik said firmly. "I'm not going to commit murder on the basis of what someone else may or may not do."
"Since when do you care about The Leader?"
"Since when is not caring for someone synonymous with free rein to murder?" Malik retorted. "If that's the case, I'd strongly advise you to stay far away from me."
"I'll keep that in mind," Amar said darkly, heading for the conduits that brought in fresh air from the outside before transforming it into an atmosphere in which an Argilian could function.
"What about those below?" Malik demanded, trailing after him. "These systems are connected; shut the air off up here, and they won't get any air down there either!"
"If we get out of this alive, we can come back and turn everything back on."
"And if we don't?"
"Then they die," Amar said shortly. "So what?"
"So they're innocent!" Malik argued. "We accepted responsibility for their safety!"
" 'Safety'?" Amar repeated. " 'Innocent'? There's no such thing as 'safe' or 'innocent' in a war. Like it or not, realize it or not, they're every bit as eligible to be Zan's victims as we are."
"But they don't even know what's going on!" Malik exclaimed.
"All the more reason not to fret," Amar said angrily. "Because they don't know what's going on. Better them than me. I stayed behind on this wretched rock so I could live, and I will live, even if you've decided you'd rather not." He wrapped his hands around one of the conduits snaking into the basement wall. "Enjoy your reunion....assuming you live long enough to have one."
Desperate now, Malik launched himself at Amar, knocking him off balance. Both tumbled to the floor just as they heard footsteps right outside the door.
******************************************************
Ah, Brivari thought with satisfaction as the handprint appeared on the basement wall. Yes. There it was. He pressed his palm to the print, wondering if the rogues had secured the lock with a genetic code as Valeris had done with the pod chamber and the Granolith.
They had not. The door rumbled smoothly open, and Brivari stepped inside a very different room than any he had seen thus far. To his left was a work area strewn with tools no human had ever seen; to his right, a communication center, no doubt the very one which had picked up the transponder Jaddo had so unwisely placed on their ship and later intercepted his aborted attempt to call for help. Straight ahead was a huge atmospheric chamber which occupied the vast majority of the room. Its presence meant that not only did the Argilians have Covari sympathizers working for them on Earth, but that there were Argilians here also, or had been. They must be very serious indeed to sentence any of their number to such a fate because their captivity would be total. "Amazing," Brivari murmured to himself, circling the chamber, inspecting it closely. Amazing....but irrelevant at the moment. If anyone was inside, they were no threat to him. First things first.
Brivari moved to the communication equipment, working the controls. When he'd discovered what he wanted to know, he laid a hand on the main console; seconds later, its internal circuitry was fused, rendering it useless; this particular batch of comm equipment would never trouble them again. Next he headed for the work area, his eyes raking the mess on the work surface, another indicator that Amar lived here. A single object caught his eye. He reached out and picked up a five-sided device small enough to hold in one hand.
So—this is what had blocked Jaddo's powers the night he was captured. The device was largely disassembled, but enough remained for inspection. Pulling up a chair, Brivari sat down and carefully examined it, along with anything nearby that appeared to be a companion piece. He was no engineer, but being the King's Warder meant one developed passable abilities in many different areas; ten minutes later, he sat back in the chair, thinking.
Trithium. Amar had used trithium to power his toy. This was not surprising, as trithium was the main source of power for the engines which drove Antarian ships, thus readily available. Whatever ship had brought Argilians to Earth would have been powered by a trithium generator, which explained the supply of trithium now stored beneath this work station.
What puzzled Brivari was how Amar had managed to use the trithium the way he had. Trithium was certainly capable of generating a dampening field which would block bioelectric energy, the basis of all the Royal Warders' genetic enhancements. Normally one would need an unwieldy amount of trithium to produce such an effect, but Amar had found a way to amplify the effects of a tiny amount, an amount small enough to fit into a portable device. Ingenious, really. Amar had brains; all too often, he simply didn't put them to good use. And when he did, he frequently did so for all the wrong reasons, just as he was doing here.
Brivari stepped back and raised a palm to the workbench. Whatever Amar was using to amplify the trithium's output was irrelevant if he had no trithium to begin with. Seconds later the workbench was in ruins, smoke curling from its surface and everything beneath it. Closer inspection revealed no more such devices, and Brivari turned his attention to the atmospheric chamber. He would need to destroy any occupants, of course, but first......first, he needed to know.
The airlock door opened as he approached. Brivari stepped inside as the door closed behind him, a hiss announcing the exchange of gasses and modulation of pressure and humidity. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply as the atmosphere of home poured into his lungs for the first time in months, a heavier, more pressurized mixture of more oxygen and less nitrogen. The air sacs in his lungs, long ago expanded to human size to extract more oxygen from Earth's thinner air, shivered under the sudden onslaught of oxygen and higher pressure, and he briefly felt dizzy. This is what the hybrids will feel, he thought as the dizziness abated, when they return to Antar with human lungs. Antarian bioengineers had long ago determined that humans could thrive in Antar's atmosphere after a short period of adjustment just like Antarians could survive on Earth, but Argilians were not so adaptable.
The hissing stopped. The adjustment was complete. The inner airlock door was small, too small to be comfortable for a human form. Apparently whoever was, or used to be, within did not want his Covari servants approaching in anything but their native form. He had no need to hide his identity, so as the inner door opened, Brivari obliged, shrinking to nearly half his human height. He had not worn this form in months, and he noted with uneasiness that it felt odd.
A lone Argilian was standing at the far end of the chamber, hunched over a work area nearly as messy as Amar's, his back to the door. He didn't bother turning around when he heard the door close.
"Where have you been?" the Argilian muttered in annoyance. "You've been gone since last evening. These frequent absences of yours are slowing me down, Amar. I'm beginning to regret our association."
"I could have told you that would happen," Brivari answered, as the Argilian turned in shock, "had you but bothered to ask."
******************************************************
"Why didn't he find us?" Malik whispered from their hiding place behind the generator that powered the atmospheric chamber.
"Let's go," Amar said urgently, heading for the door, sparing only a passing glance for his ruined workbench. "He won't be in there long."
"But why didn't he find us?" Malik repeated. "It doesn't make sense. He didn't even really look."
"Who cares?" Amar said irritably. "I'm leaving. We'll come back later and see if anything's left." Passing his hand over the stone wall, he revealed the handprint and pressed his palm to it. Nothing happened.
"What the.....?" Amar tried again, with no success. After two more unsuccessful attempts, he gestured frantically to Malik. "You try."
"It won't work," Malik said quietly. "That's why he didn't bother looking. He didn't need to—he'd sealed the door."
"Try!" Amar demanded.
Malik sighed and pressed his own palm to the handprint. "See? We're stuck."
"This won't open either," Amar said, panic edging his voice as he pressed his palm to the handprint which normally would have opened the door to the lower level. "How could he know about this door?"
"He probably doesn't," Malik said. "It's on the same wall—if he altered the entire wall, he would have sealed the other door too without even realizing it."
"But he can't do that!" Amar erupted, running between the handprints, slapping his hand angrily on each one in turn. "How the hell did he do that?"
"They can kill with a touch," Malik reminded him. "They can levitate objects, produce energy fields, manipulate matter—shall I go on?"
"You're awfully calm for someone who's about to die," Amar muttered.
Malik shrugged. "Why panic? You're panicking enough for the both of us. Besides," he added, as Amar glowered, "why bother? There's truly no way out now. Both doors are sealed, and we'd never make it through the vents without Brivari noticing. We're worse off than we were before."
Amar's eyes strayed to the communication console. "Maybe not."
******************************************************
"Brivari?" the Argilian said in disbelief, looking him up and down as though trying to convince himself to believe his own eyes. After a moment's inspection, he sank into a nearby seat, moving stiffly as though his joints were painful. "It's really you, isn't it?" he said, his voice a marriage of resignation and relief. "I've been expecting you for some time now. I knew the humans couldn't hold you for long."
Brivari's eyes narrowed. "Do I know you?"
The Argilian chuckled. "Good heavens, no. I don't believe so, anyway. I'm merely an old scientist; I don't travel in your lofty circles. But I know you, of course. Everyone knows the King's Warder." He rose from his seat and headed for a nearby counter. "Would you like a cup of jero? I would imagine your supplies have run out, what with you leaving so quickly. I understand the humans have something similar they refer to as 'coffee', but I can't abide the stuff. Have you tried it?"
"Coffee suffices," Brivari answered shortly, puzzled as to why this man was downright jovial.
The Argilian turned in surprise. "It does? Oh! Of course. You can't taste it. I must confess, in this particular case a lack of taste would be welcome. Vile stuff, this 'coffee'. Have a seat," he offered, gesturing toward a small table in the middle of the chamber nearly as messy as the workbench.
Brivari didn't move, at a complete loss as to how to respond. Of all the reactions he had expected, hospitality was not one of them.
The Argilian had retrieved two cups from yet another pile and was busily cleaning off the table. "Gracious, I'm becoming slovenly, aren't I," he chattered, more to himself than Brivari. "But I suppose that's to be expected. After all," he added, gesturing around the chamber and smiling faintly, "it's not like I get much in the way of visitors."
Valeris. A lump formed in Brivari's throat as the sight of the scientist with his messy pile and dry humor reminded him of his old friend. Valeris's death had left an empty place in Brivari, a raw wound he had dared not touch under the current circumstances. There would be time for grief later, after Jaddo was free. But now, wearing his own form for the first time in a long time and being offered hospitality by someone from his own world, that carefully corralled grief threatened to break free. He had spent so long looking human and interacting with humans—even Jaddo looked human—that the urge to simply sit with this man, to drink his jero and be Antarian for just a little while, was overpowering.
"Come now, Brivari," the Argilian said quietly, watching as Brivari hesitated. "Our world is in chaos. We both know why you are here. Can we not be civilized for a short while, you and I, before attending to the inevitable?"
A moment later Brivari was seated at the table holding a proper sized cup of jero in a proper sized hand. The Argilian scientist seated himself across the table, sipping from his own cup. From this new vantage point Brivari could see clearly what he'd been working on.
"You are constructing shells for them," Brivari said after a minute's study.
"Indeed," the scientist readily admitted, "and they are almost finished. I had not thought to get this far; I was expecting you much sooner."
"So you are a bioscientist?"
"A biomechanic, to be precise. I work with the machinery which interacts with living tissue. At the moment, I am working on the seal which renders the shell impregnable."
A pity, Brivari thought sadly. He had hoped for a moment that this oddly cheerful man might be induced to come up with a suitable doppelganger for the serum which held Jaddo hostage. Hopefully that would not be needed, especially with Jaddo so close to escape right now, but if anything went wrong.......
"I suppose I needn't ask who funded this endeavor?"
The scientist smiled. "Perhaps you should. Because in the beginning, it was Zan's father."
Brivari blinked. "Riall bade you construct shells for your people?"
"Not exactly," the scientist amended. "Back when the human genome project began and people from our world first came to this planet, I was assigned to devise a method of applying the results to my race. Which proved difficult, as I'm sure you know. And then Riall stopped my work, ostensibly because my objective was impossible. That wasn't it at all, of course. He didn't want we Argilians to share in the progress the project offered." He sighed. "I suppose I can't blame him for that, given what has happened. He always did have an uncanny knack for sizing up his adversaries. A knack his son did not share, I'm sorry to say."
"But you didn't stop, I take it?" Brivari asked, privately agreeing with the assessment of Zan. "And it was at that point that you betrayed your King."
The scientist shook his head. "I betrayed no one. Riall did not order me to stop—he merely withdrew his support. He was savvy enough to know that others would step in, but I doubt he cared. What I was trying to do was considered impossible. And so it was, and remained so for years. And likely would be so now, if not for the defection of some of your own."
Brivari's throat tightened. The scientist was regarding him steadily. "Their presence here opened up new possibilities. Suddenly we had eyes and hands in a world previously closed to us. I guided them from a distance until they had exhausted their own capabilities, and then I came here myself. By then only two remained....but they were enough."
"How long have you been here?" Brivari asked, genuinely curious.
"Almost two human years," the scientist answered.
"Unbelievable," Brivari murmured. "What crime could have caused Khivar to sentence you to utter captivity?"
The Argilian chuckled. "Coming here was my idea. I came because I wished to finish what I started, because my work excites me and always has, because the best place to do this work was in the target environment. And there were other.....compensations." He sighed, fingering his cup of jero. "I'm an old man, Brivari. To be able to work, free of the encumbrances of politics and pettiness, of royalty and rivalry and all the other trappings of so-called 'civilization' was a gift. The quicksand of society was not for me. I have never regretted my decision. At the time I left, Zan was King, and no one had reason to believe he would not remain so for a good long while, least of all me. I had no idea I'd find myself in the middle of a bloody coup, or in the position of bounty hunter when you so inconveniently fell from my sky. As far as I was concerned, you and yours were not my problem, though those at home disagreed. And when the humans captured you and Jaddo, I washed my hands of the entire affair."
"I'm afraid it's not that simple," Brivari said.
The scientist smiled and shook his head. "No. I suppose not." He paused. "I should make something clear, Brivari. I care not whose head wears the crown, nor who else is vying for it at the moment. I never expected Zan to be assassinated, nor would I have supported such an endeavor, but neither do I oppose Khivar's claim to the throne. I simply do not care who claims it, or in what manner. I am loyal to science, and nothing else. And no one else."
Brivari set down his now empty cup. "I am sorry to hear that," he said quietly.
"Yes," the Argilian sighed, regret tingeing his voice. "I do believe you are." He was silent for a moment. "In that case, I propose an exchange: Information for one last boon."
Brivari nodded. "Agreed."
"I have fashioned the template for their shells, an organic husk capable of appearing lifelike," the scientist said. "But these shells are not merely constructed; they must be grown, and growing them takes time. I estimate you have two years, three at most before you will face the results of my work."
"Understood," Brivari said, rising to his feet. "And your boon?"
"Is simple," the Argilian whispered. "Do be quick about it."
******************************************************
Rummaging beneath the ruined communication console, Amar pulled out a portable communicator. "He missed this," he noted with satisfaction. "We can call home!"
"Call home for what?" Malik asked. "What can anyone on Antar do about this?"
"We can at least let them know what's happening," Amar answered.
"Do you really think they won't figure that out for themselves when none of their communications get through? Not everyone's as dense as you are, Amar."
"Maybe they'll send back-up faster," Amar argued, holding his hand over the communicator. "We should at least tell them Brivari's free; right now they think both he and Jaddo are captive, which means they'll be in for a rude awakening when they get here."
The symbol on top of the communicator began to glow, and Malik didn't bother to object. It didn't matter one way or the other if Amar called home or not. Besides, the exercise was keeping Amar occupied, keeping his panic in check, and that could only be a good thing. Because the only way out of this particular conundrum was to talk their way out, and that task would fall to Malik. The less Amar said, the better.
"No one's answering," Amar said after a moment.
"They're not expecting a communication from us, remember? We don't contact them—they contact us."
"But you contacted your girlfriend all the time."
"She's not my girlfriend."
"I don't care what you call her!" Amar snapped. "You contact her—I know you did. So get over here and call her!"
Malik sighed and stood up....only to be knocked off his feet by a shock wave that sent them both flying.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 57 next Sunday.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
October 31, 1947, 9:30 p.m.
Copper Summit, Arizona
Interesting, Brivari thought as he stood in the front room of the dwelling Amar had entered only minutes before. The humans' festival had not ended, as evidenced by the group he had just met outside, yet this dwelling was dark; no lights shone, and all the window coverings had been closed. That must mean that Amar suspected he was being followed, on some level at least. So why had he come here? Was this their base of operations, or merely the first convenient human dwelling? The receptacle by the road which the humans used for delivery of correspondence read "Smith", a common human supplemental name to Brivari's understanding. But that meant nothing; if the rogues wished to retain a human appearance, they would have needed to adopt a supplemental name to avoid suspicion.
Moving unhurriedly from room to room, Brivari inspected the first floor and found nothing remarkable, no evidence of Antarian habitation with the exception of the food storage unit referred to by the Proctors as a "fridge", which contained no meat of any kind. All the humans he had met ate meat, so this might very well be the rogues' base, or one of them at least. Not the smartest move to lead a suspected pursuer right to your home base, but then Amar had never suffered from a surfeit of intelligence. Moving to the staircase, Brivari headed toward the underground room humans called a "basement", ignoring the stairs leading to the upper level. What he was looking for would not be found anywhere human eyes could see.
The basement was windowless, completely dark, and devoid of light fixtures. Humans would never be able to see in such inky blackness; any venturing down here would likely turn back. Covari, of course, had no trouble seeing in the dark, so this was the perfect cover for what Brivari was certain would be an underground chamber hidden from human view. Slowly, he began to pass his hand over the walls, searching for the handprint he knew was there.
When he had first seen Amar standing brazenly on the Proctor's front porch, Brivari had been tempted to let the Proctor's neighbor use the weapon he'd brandished. Idiot, Brivari had thought sourly. Amar was a traitor who deserved death anyway, and death in front of a gawping alien audience would serve him right. Amar had been a passable engineer, but his arrogance typically outweighed his common sense, this latest stunt being a perfect example. But his death on the Proctor's property would draw unwanted attention, and Amar had information he needed. So he'd pulled Amar away and let him escape, following him visibly for a good long while, then invisibly thereafter, allowing him to congratulate himself on having lost his pursuer when he'd really done nothing of the sort.
And the fool led me right where I wanted to go, Brivari thought with satisfaction, moving to another section of basement wall. Perhaps Amar was hoping for support from Malik. Or perhaps he was retrieving the five-sided device which had been used to disable Jaddo. No matter. Jaddo had been weak and exhausted when Amar had encountered him, but Brivari was rested and strong. Even if he did manage to block his powers, Amar's fate would not change; he would die tonight, after telling Brivari everything he wanted to know.
Light flared as a handprint appeared on the wall. Brivari smiled, pressed his hand to it, and the basement wall rumbled open.
******************************************************
"Where is he?" Amar whispered, staring at the ceiling, afraid to move. "Is he inside?"
"Of course he's inside," Malik said. "You heard the door close."
"That was ten minutes ago," Amar said. "What's he doing?"
"Probably looking around. Probably wondering how even you could be so stupid as to lead him right where he wanted to go."
"Maybe it's not him," Amar said hopefully, ignoring Malik's sarcasm. "Maybe it's one of those awful children roaming around tonight."
Malik sighed impatiently. "You locked the doors, remember? Besides, no human could be that quiet, and any one of those 'awful children' would have had the sense not to lead a pursuer straight home!"
"I didn't know he was still after me!" Amar protested, his face flushing.
"Of course you didn't," Malik deadpanned. "That's why you flew into the house at a hundred miles an hour and proceeded to lock the doors and close all the curtains. You do that all the time, right?"
"That's because I thought he might be after me," Amar sulked. "But I hadn't seen him for a long time, and I just wanted to make sure, just in case he was close enough to see."
"Guess what? He was close enough to see."
"That doesn't mean he'll find us," Amar said petulantly. "Maybe—"
He stopped short as faint footsteps were heard beyond the door hidden in the basement wall. They paused briefly, then were heard again further away, in the far front corner of the basement. A few seconds later, they moved a bit closer.
"You were saying?" Malik asked.
Amar had begun to shake, his arms crossed tightly in front of himself, his eyes wide. "We still don't know it's him. Maybe it is one of the humans."
"A human wouldn't be able to see," Malik pointed out. "No lights, remember?" He shook his head. "Brivari's looking for the handprint because he knows it's there. And when he finds it, we're in trouble. There's no other way out of here. Forget it," he added, as Amar's gaze strayed toward his workbench where his power blocking device lay in pieces. "You'll never get it working in time."
"Then what do we do?"
"You're the one who spent months trying to get close to him. You tell me."
"I thought he was unconscious!" Amar snapped.
"You thought he was unconscious when you went to that child's house tonight?"
"I told you, I didn't think he was actually going to be there! Look, can we drop the finger-pointing and figure out how to get out of this?"
Malik was all prepared with a sharp reply, but he swallowed it when he saw how genuinely frightened Amar was. Not that Amar wasn't directly responsible for the situation in which they both now found themselves—he was. It was just that Amar had trouble thinking straight even on a good day; get him tense and frightened, and his already low capacity for common sense would drop even lower. And that made an already dangerous situation even more dangerous.
"I only see one possible way out of this," Malik said quietly. "Surrender."
"What?"
"We both know how powerful Brivari is," Malik said. "It's only a matter of time before he finds us, there's no other way out of here, and we can't fight back. Our best bet is to give ourselves up and make it worth his while to keep us alive."
"How?" Amar asked in astonishment.
"Information," Malik said promptly. "For example, we could offer all the details of what we've been doing here."
"Oh, great. Terrific," Amar said sarcastically. "That'll buy us.....what? An hour? Maybe two? Big deal. I have a better idea." He nodded his head toward the atmospheric chamber, where The Leader was likely still awake and toiling away, oblivious to the fact that an enemy was so close. "We can disconnect the air intake for the chamber and leave through the vents."
Malik stared at Amar in disbelief. "You're willing to do that just to save yourself?"
"Spare me the sermon," Amar said impatiently. "He's dead anyway."
"That won't be just any death!" Malik exclaimed, still unable to believe what he was hearing. "If we shut down the ventilation system, he'll use up whatever air he has and then—"
"He'll suffocate," Amar interrupted. "I built that chamber, so I know exactly what will happen. And whatever happens will be far better than he can expect from Brivari."
"We don't know that!" Malik objected. "Without comm equipment, The Leader is harmless. He can't function on this planet unaided, and if he can't call home, he's completely trapped. Brivari may very well just destroy all the communicators and hold him hostage."
"Oh, knock it off, Malik!" Amar said in exasperation. "You're deluding yourself if you think The Leader will survive for even a minute after Brivari finds him. His fate is sealed, and ours will be too if we don't stop standing around and having moral debates in the middle of an emergency!"
"Perhaps you should remember that the next time you decide to cause an emergency!"
"Don't change the subject!" Amar snapped. "Help me with the vents."
"No," Malik said firmly. "I'm not going to commit murder on the basis of what someone else may or may not do."
"Since when do you care about The Leader?"
"Since when is not caring for someone synonymous with free rein to murder?" Malik retorted. "If that's the case, I'd strongly advise you to stay far away from me."
"I'll keep that in mind," Amar said darkly, heading for the conduits that brought in fresh air from the outside before transforming it into an atmosphere in which an Argilian could function.
"What about those below?" Malik demanded, trailing after him. "These systems are connected; shut the air off up here, and they won't get any air down there either!"
"If we get out of this alive, we can come back and turn everything back on."
"And if we don't?"
"Then they die," Amar said shortly. "So what?"
"So they're innocent!" Malik argued. "We accepted responsibility for their safety!"
" 'Safety'?" Amar repeated. " 'Innocent'? There's no such thing as 'safe' or 'innocent' in a war. Like it or not, realize it or not, they're every bit as eligible to be Zan's victims as we are."
"But they don't even know what's going on!" Malik exclaimed.
"All the more reason not to fret," Amar said angrily. "Because they don't know what's going on. Better them than me. I stayed behind on this wretched rock so I could live, and I will live, even if you've decided you'd rather not." He wrapped his hands around one of the conduits snaking into the basement wall. "Enjoy your reunion....assuming you live long enough to have one."
Desperate now, Malik launched himself at Amar, knocking him off balance. Both tumbled to the floor just as they heard footsteps right outside the door.
******************************************************
Ah, Brivari thought with satisfaction as the handprint appeared on the basement wall. Yes. There it was. He pressed his palm to the print, wondering if the rogues had secured the lock with a genetic code as Valeris had done with the pod chamber and the Granolith.
They had not. The door rumbled smoothly open, and Brivari stepped inside a very different room than any he had seen thus far. To his left was a work area strewn with tools no human had ever seen; to his right, a communication center, no doubt the very one which had picked up the transponder Jaddo had so unwisely placed on their ship and later intercepted his aborted attempt to call for help. Straight ahead was a huge atmospheric chamber which occupied the vast majority of the room. Its presence meant that not only did the Argilians have Covari sympathizers working for them on Earth, but that there were Argilians here also, or had been. They must be very serious indeed to sentence any of their number to such a fate because their captivity would be total. "Amazing," Brivari murmured to himself, circling the chamber, inspecting it closely. Amazing....but irrelevant at the moment. If anyone was inside, they were no threat to him. First things first.
Brivari moved to the communication equipment, working the controls. When he'd discovered what he wanted to know, he laid a hand on the main console; seconds later, its internal circuitry was fused, rendering it useless; this particular batch of comm equipment would never trouble them again. Next he headed for the work area, his eyes raking the mess on the work surface, another indicator that Amar lived here. A single object caught his eye. He reached out and picked up a five-sided device small enough to hold in one hand.
So—this is what had blocked Jaddo's powers the night he was captured. The device was largely disassembled, but enough remained for inspection. Pulling up a chair, Brivari sat down and carefully examined it, along with anything nearby that appeared to be a companion piece. He was no engineer, but being the King's Warder meant one developed passable abilities in many different areas; ten minutes later, he sat back in the chair, thinking.
Trithium. Amar had used trithium to power his toy. This was not surprising, as trithium was the main source of power for the engines which drove Antarian ships, thus readily available. Whatever ship had brought Argilians to Earth would have been powered by a trithium generator, which explained the supply of trithium now stored beneath this work station.
What puzzled Brivari was how Amar had managed to use the trithium the way he had. Trithium was certainly capable of generating a dampening field which would block bioelectric energy, the basis of all the Royal Warders' genetic enhancements. Normally one would need an unwieldy amount of trithium to produce such an effect, but Amar had found a way to amplify the effects of a tiny amount, an amount small enough to fit into a portable device. Ingenious, really. Amar had brains; all too often, he simply didn't put them to good use. And when he did, he frequently did so for all the wrong reasons, just as he was doing here.
Brivari stepped back and raised a palm to the workbench. Whatever Amar was using to amplify the trithium's output was irrelevant if he had no trithium to begin with. Seconds later the workbench was in ruins, smoke curling from its surface and everything beneath it. Closer inspection revealed no more such devices, and Brivari turned his attention to the atmospheric chamber. He would need to destroy any occupants, of course, but first......first, he needed to know.
The airlock door opened as he approached. Brivari stepped inside as the door closed behind him, a hiss announcing the exchange of gasses and modulation of pressure and humidity. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply as the atmosphere of home poured into his lungs for the first time in months, a heavier, more pressurized mixture of more oxygen and less nitrogen. The air sacs in his lungs, long ago expanded to human size to extract more oxygen from Earth's thinner air, shivered under the sudden onslaught of oxygen and higher pressure, and he briefly felt dizzy. This is what the hybrids will feel, he thought as the dizziness abated, when they return to Antar with human lungs. Antarian bioengineers had long ago determined that humans could thrive in Antar's atmosphere after a short period of adjustment just like Antarians could survive on Earth, but Argilians were not so adaptable.
The hissing stopped. The adjustment was complete. The inner airlock door was small, too small to be comfortable for a human form. Apparently whoever was, or used to be, within did not want his Covari servants approaching in anything but their native form. He had no need to hide his identity, so as the inner door opened, Brivari obliged, shrinking to nearly half his human height. He had not worn this form in months, and he noted with uneasiness that it felt odd.
A lone Argilian was standing at the far end of the chamber, hunched over a work area nearly as messy as Amar's, his back to the door. He didn't bother turning around when he heard the door close.
"Where have you been?" the Argilian muttered in annoyance. "You've been gone since last evening. These frequent absences of yours are slowing me down, Amar. I'm beginning to regret our association."
"I could have told you that would happen," Brivari answered, as the Argilian turned in shock, "had you but bothered to ask."
******************************************************
"Why didn't he find us?" Malik whispered from their hiding place behind the generator that powered the atmospheric chamber.
"Let's go," Amar said urgently, heading for the door, sparing only a passing glance for his ruined workbench. "He won't be in there long."
"But why didn't he find us?" Malik repeated. "It doesn't make sense. He didn't even really look."
"Who cares?" Amar said irritably. "I'm leaving. We'll come back later and see if anything's left." Passing his hand over the stone wall, he revealed the handprint and pressed his palm to it. Nothing happened.
"What the.....?" Amar tried again, with no success. After two more unsuccessful attempts, he gestured frantically to Malik. "You try."
"It won't work," Malik said quietly. "That's why he didn't bother looking. He didn't need to—he'd sealed the door."
"Try!" Amar demanded.
Malik sighed and pressed his own palm to the handprint. "See? We're stuck."
"This won't open either," Amar said, panic edging his voice as he pressed his palm to the handprint which normally would have opened the door to the lower level. "How could he know about this door?"
"He probably doesn't," Malik said. "It's on the same wall—if he altered the entire wall, he would have sealed the other door too without even realizing it."
"But he can't do that!" Amar erupted, running between the handprints, slapping his hand angrily on each one in turn. "How the hell did he do that?"
"They can kill with a touch," Malik reminded him. "They can levitate objects, produce energy fields, manipulate matter—shall I go on?"
"You're awfully calm for someone who's about to die," Amar muttered.
Malik shrugged. "Why panic? You're panicking enough for the both of us. Besides," he added, as Amar glowered, "why bother? There's truly no way out now. Both doors are sealed, and we'd never make it through the vents without Brivari noticing. We're worse off than we were before."
Amar's eyes strayed to the communication console. "Maybe not."
******************************************************
"Brivari?" the Argilian said in disbelief, looking him up and down as though trying to convince himself to believe his own eyes. After a moment's inspection, he sank into a nearby seat, moving stiffly as though his joints were painful. "It's really you, isn't it?" he said, his voice a marriage of resignation and relief. "I've been expecting you for some time now. I knew the humans couldn't hold you for long."
Brivari's eyes narrowed. "Do I know you?"
The Argilian chuckled. "Good heavens, no. I don't believe so, anyway. I'm merely an old scientist; I don't travel in your lofty circles. But I know you, of course. Everyone knows the King's Warder." He rose from his seat and headed for a nearby counter. "Would you like a cup of jero? I would imagine your supplies have run out, what with you leaving so quickly. I understand the humans have something similar they refer to as 'coffee', but I can't abide the stuff. Have you tried it?"
"Coffee suffices," Brivari answered shortly, puzzled as to why this man was downright jovial.
The Argilian turned in surprise. "It does? Oh! Of course. You can't taste it. I must confess, in this particular case a lack of taste would be welcome. Vile stuff, this 'coffee'. Have a seat," he offered, gesturing toward a small table in the middle of the chamber nearly as messy as the workbench.
Brivari didn't move, at a complete loss as to how to respond. Of all the reactions he had expected, hospitality was not one of them.
The Argilian had retrieved two cups from yet another pile and was busily cleaning off the table. "Gracious, I'm becoming slovenly, aren't I," he chattered, more to himself than Brivari. "But I suppose that's to be expected. After all," he added, gesturing around the chamber and smiling faintly, "it's not like I get much in the way of visitors."
Valeris. A lump formed in Brivari's throat as the sight of the scientist with his messy pile and dry humor reminded him of his old friend. Valeris's death had left an empty place in Brivari, a raw wound he had dared not touch under the current circumstances. There would be time for grief later, after Jaddo was free. But now, wearing his own form for the first time in a long time and being offered hospitality by someone from his own world, that carefully corralled grief threatened to break free. He had spent so long looking human and interacting with humans—even Jaddo looked human—that the urge to simply sit with this man, to drink his jero and be Antarian for just a little while, was overpowering.
"Come now, Brivari," the Argilian said quietly, watching as Brivari hesitated. "Our world is in chaos. We both know why you are here. Can we not be civilized for a short while, you and I, before attending to the inevitable?"
A moment later Brivari was seated at the table holding a proper sized cup of jero in a proper sized hand. The Argilian scientist seated himself across the table, sipping from his own cup. From this new vantage point Brivari could see clearly what he'd been working on.
"You are constructing shells for them," Brivari said after a minute's study.
"Indeed," the scientist readily admitted, "and they are almost finished. I had not thought to get this far; I was expecting you much sooner."
"So you are a bioscientist?"
"A biomechanic, to be precise. I work with the machinery which interacts with living tissue. At the moment, I am working on the seal which renders the shell impregnable."
A pity, Brivari thought sadly. He had hoped for a moment that this oddly cheerful man might be induced to come up with a suitable doppelganger for the serum which held Jaddo hostage. Hopefully that would not be needed, especially with Jaddo so close to escape right now, but if anything went wrong.......
"I suppose I needn't ask who funded this endeavor?"
The scientist smiled. "Perhaps you should. Because in the beginning, it was Zan's father."
Brivari blinked. "Riall bade you construct shells for your people?"
"Not exactly," the scientist amended. "Back when the human genome project began and people from our world first came to this planet, I was assigned to devise a method of applying the results to my race. Which proved difficult, as I'm sure you know. And then Riall stopped my work, ostensibly because my objective was impossible. That wasn't it at all, of course. He didn't want we Argilians to share in the progress the project offered." He sighed. "I suppose I can't blame him for that, given what has happened. He always did have an uncanny knack for sizing up his adversaries. A knack his son did not share, I'm sorry to say."
"But you didn't stop, I take it?" Brivari asked, privately agreeing with the assessment of Zan. "And it was at that point that you betrayed your King."
The scientist shook his head. "I betrayed no one. Riall did not order me to stop—he merely withdrew his support. He was savvy enough to know that others would step in, but I doubt he cared. What I was trying to do was considered impossible. And so it was, and remained so for years. And likely would be so now, if not for the defection of some of your own."
Brivari's throat tightened. The scientist was regarding him steadily. "Their presence here opened up new possibilities. Suddenly we had eyes and hands in a world previously closed to us. I guided them from a distance until they had exhausted their own capabilities, and then I came here myself. By then only two remained....but they were enough."
"How long have you been here?" Brivari asked, genuinely curious.
"Almost two human years," the scientist answered.
"Unbelievable," Brivari murmured. "What crime could have caused Khivar to sentence you to utter captivity?"
The Argilian chuckled. "Coming here was my idea. I came because I wished to finish what I started, because my work excites me and always has, because the best place to do this work was in the target environment. And there were other.....compensations." He sighed, fingering his cup of jero. "I'm an old man, Brivari. To be able to work, free of the encumbrances of politics and pettiness, of royalty and rivalry and all the other trappings of so-called 'civilization' was a gift. The quicksand of society was not for me. I have never regretted my decision. At the time I left, Zan was King, and no one had reason to believe he would not remain so for a good long while, least of all me. I had no idea I'd find myself in the middle of a bloody coup, or in the position of bounty hunter when you so inconveniently fell from my sky. As far as I was concerned, you and yours were not my problem, though those at home disagreed. And when the humans captured you and Jaddo, I washed my hands of the entire affair."
"I'm afraid it's not that simple," Brivari said.
The scientist smiled and shook his head. "No. I suppose not." He paused. "I should make something clear, Brivari. I care not whose head wears the crown, nor who else is vying for it at the moment. I never expected Zan to be assassinated, nor would I have supported such an endeavor, but neither do I oppose Khivar's claim to the throne. I simply do not care who claims it, or in what manner. I am loyal to science, and nothing else. And no one else."
Brivari set down his now empty cup. "I am sorry to hear that," he said quietly.
"Yes," the Argilian sighed, regret tingeing his voice. "I do believe you are." He was silent for a moment. "In that case, I propose an exchange: Information for one last boon."
Brivari nodded. "Agreed."
"I have fashioned the template for their shells, an organic husk capable of appearing lifelike," the scientist said. "But these shells are not merely constructed; they must be grown, and growing them takes time. I estimate you have two years, three at most before you will face the results of my work."
"Understood," Brivari said, rising to his feet. "And your boon?"
"Is simple," the Argilian whispered. "Do be quick about it."
******************************************************
Rummaging beneath the ruined communication console, Amar pulled out a portable communicator. "He missed this," he noted with satisfaction. "We can call home!"
"Call home for what?" Malik asked. "What can anyone on Antar do about this?"
"We can at least let them know what's happening," Amar answered.
"Do you really think they won't figure that out for themselves when none of their communications get through? Not everyone's as dense as you are, Amar."
"Maybe they'll send back-up faster," Amar argued, holding his hand over the communicator. "We should at least tell them Brivari's free; right now they think both he and Jaddo are captive, which means they'll be in for a rude awakening when they get here."
The symbol on top of the communicator began to glow, and Malik didn't bother to object. It didn't matter one way or the other if Amar called home or not. Besides, the exercise was keeping Amar occupied, keeping his panic in check, and that could only be a good thing. Because the only way out of this particular conundrum was to talk their way out, and that task would fall to Malik. The less Amar said, the better.
"No one's answering," Amar said after a moment.
"They're not expecting a communication from us, remember? We don't contact them—they contact us."
"But you contacted your girlfriend all the time."
"She's not my girlfriend."
"I don't care what you call her!" Amar snapped. "You contact her—I know you did. So get over here and call her!"
Malik sighed and stood up....only to be knocked off his feet by a shock wave that sent them both flying.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 57 next Sunday.
BRIVARI: "In our language, the root of the word 'Covari' means 'hidden'. I'm always there, Your Highness, even if you don't see me."