Birthright *Series* Season 2 (CC, TEEN), Chapter 75, 12/31/19

[Kathy W]

^^ *sigh* I, too, wish the kids' parents had been "in the know", or that they'd at least had more adults in their lives to guide them. They grappled with more than most people do in their lifetimes--they shouldn't have had to do it with so few mentors, or at least shoulders to cry on.






CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE





September 13, 2000, 4 p.m.

Pod Chamber






Isabel stared straight ahead, ignoring the hand knocking on her window and Michael's muffled voice saying, "C'mon, let's go!" It was a windy day, so they'd driven here with the jeep's top up to cut down on the sand swirling around them. She really should thank the weather gods for this little windstorm which had bought her these last few precious minutes of peace and quiet before it all blew up again, because it would—she knew it would. Max and Michael knew it too, and they were all responding in predictable ways; Michael had leaped out of the jeep, ready and eager to fight, while Max had climbed out slowly, dreading the inevitable, and she was rooted to the spot. Some things never changed, including the propensity of their world to go to shit faster than you could say, "I'm an alien."

Michael knocked again, even more impatiently this time if that was possible. A third pass was thwarted by Max, who pulled him aside and spoke to him for a moment, after which Michael bounded up the jutting rock formation which housed the pod chamber like it was coated with rubber mats instead of rocks and sand. "Take your time," Max's muffled voice counseled her. "He's going on ahead of us."

Well, crap, Isabel thought, curiosity immediately getting the better of her. She resisted for a whopping sixty seconds before climbing out and joining her brother, who was leaning casually against the front end of the jeep.

"I hate this place," she said sourly.

"I know," Max said.

"Michael loves this place."

"I know."

"Is that why you let him go on ahead of us?"

Max shrugged. "He was raring to go, you needed more time, so I figured why not let him check the symbols against the book? Then he can say he got there first."

"Except that Tess thought of it," Isabel noted.

Max gave her a faint smile. "Details."

"They're going to match, you know," Isabel said. "Whatever Brody has, it's real."

"I know."

"For somebody who 'knows' so much, you're doing an awful lot of nothing," Isabel said crossly.

"Yeah, well, some of us climb rocks like monkeys, some of us refuse to look, and some of us just stand back and let the chips fall where they may," Max said.

"I'm not refusing to look," Isabel protested. "I just know what we're going to find, so excuse me if I'm not thrilled about it."

"So that's why you argued against coming here?"

"I had plans, okay?" Isabel huffed. "I had plans yesterday too, but no, we had to tear Tess's house apart instead. And today we had to come back to this smelly place that looks like an ancient placenta to find out what we already know."

"What we already think we know," Max corrected. "We need to know for sure, so we need to double check."

"And what about you?" Isabel demanded. "Michael's right, you know. It's weird that Milton disappeared without saying anything, weird that Brody showed up just as Nasedo is murdered, and even more weird that he's got something with alien writing on it and knows that something happened on May 14th. That's an awful lot of stuff you're refusing to look at."

"Don't you think I thought of all that?" Max said. "Every single one of those things and more occurred to me after I went home yesterday, and every single one of those things could be explained in a much different way. Like you said, none of them really proves anything. We have to be sure. We can't jump to conclusions. Who'd you have plans with?"

It was slipped in there so quietly, so unobtrusively, that Isabel almost answered before she caught herself: With Grant. "Friends," she said shortly. "Why?"

"Just wondered," Max said.

"So are we voting on whether or not I get to see my friends?" Isabel said irritably. "Or are you just going to render a decision from on high?"

"Depends," Max said. "Who are these 'friends'?"

"And since when do you show any interest in my friends?" Isabel demanded. "You're acting like they're dangerous."

"You said it, not me."

Isabel kept her eyes on the rocks even as she felt her brother's penetrating stare. Did he know? But how could he? He doesn't, she decided. He just suspected, and if she wasn't careful, she'd confirm that suspicion. If her parents found out she was interested in an older man, they'd freak. "All I 'said' was that I'd rather be somewhere else right now. And that," she went on, nodding toward the rocks, "is way more dangerous than any of my friends. You're barking up the wrong tree, big brother."

Max's eyes swung skyward where Michael was excitedly gesturing for them to come up. "He won't wait for you to pow wow with Valenti, you know," Isabel said. "No matter what you say."

"I know," Max said. "Let's go."

"Wait—why?" Isabel said as Max started forward. "He obviously found a match, or he wouldn't be so excited. Why do we have to go up there?"

"Because he gets excited," Max answered. "And when he gets excited, his judgment isn't the best. I want to see this for myself, and you should too. Look at it this way...the sooner we check this out, the sooner you can get back to your friends."

"I hate this place," Isabel muttered, following him.

Max kept walking. "I know."






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






UFO Center






Nothing, Courtney thought with a sigh at the side entrance to the UFO Museum, where there was no message from Larak in their usual place. He'd had twenty-four hours to deliver the terms of the treaty, so what was taking so long? Impatient, much? she thought dryly. The notion of a treaty between Rath's Warder and Khivar's Second's lover would send jaws dropping, then flapping throughout the five planets; she'd probably have to wait the better part of a week before anyone would calm down enough to actually consider the terms, and given the message she'd just received from Brivari, she could safely say she didn't have a week.

Found him.

Good ol' Brivari, Courtney thought ruefully; only he could be exceedingly brief and speak volumes simultaneously. She'd suspected that he'd located the errant operative when the mysterious communication glitches which had plagued the southwest had ceased. His confirmation had sent her scurrying and, interestingly, pissed off Dee, who had heard nothing from him and was none too pleased about that. But Dee was not the one tasked with finding the mysterious box, nor the one held responsible for the fact that they hadn't despite a second middle-of-the-night trip to the Harding house. If she had no leverage when Brivari returned, Vanessa would be dead in short order and the treaty along with it, and leverage only came in the form of the box or Larak's influence, neither of which she had. She was halfway through scribbling a message on her order pad when the door suddenly opened.

"You again!" a furious Brody declared. "Why do I keep finding you out here?"

"No one answered the front door," Courtney said smoothly, holding up a paper bag she'd prepared for just this eventuality. "So I thought I'd try—"

"What is it with people snooping today?" Brody demanded. "You're snooping, my employees are snooping. Next thing you know, I'll find the CIA in my bathroom staring up at me from my toilet. I'd like to see them do something with that view."

Wow. Courtney's eyebrows rose as Brody glared at her, genuinely angry. He was always acerbic and suspicious, but this was a new level of paranoia. "Somehow I don't think delivering dinner qualifies as 'snooping'," she said calmly. "And by 'employees', do you mean you've hired more people? Because I thought you only had one."

"See, that's the thing," Brivari said flatly. "I didn't order anything today. As for 'employees', I have none, because I fired the one I had."

"Okay, maybe somebody thought you'd ordered…wait, what? You fired Max Evans?"

"Damn right I did," Brody said. "Like I said, he was snooping."

"But...he works here," Courtney said. "How can he be 'snooping' if he works here?"

"He broke into my locked office and was into my private stuff," Brody said. "Although I can't for the life of me figure out how he got in. That's no ordinary lock I've got on that door."

And that's no ordinary hybrid you've got on your staff. "Maybe it was left unlocked," Courtney said reasonably.

"It's a state-of-the-art, computer-controlled system," Brody declared. "You can't 'leave it unlocked'."

"Right," Courtney said dryly. "And we both know that computers never, ever, ever mess up. But have it your way," she went on Brody blinked at her. "So what'd he do? Break something? Steal something? Rifle through all that toilet paper?"

"He didn't…'do'...anything," Brody said, a shadow of doubt creeping into his tone. "He was just standing there, looking."

"At…?"

"None of your business," Brody snapped. "Or his."

"Okay," Courtney said carefully. "Well...maybe he was just curious."

"That's what he said," Brody answered. "And I don't care if he was just curious, you don't go grubbing around in your boss's private stuff, especially when it's clearly marked 'private'. I thought you said he was a decent kid."

"He is a decent kid," Courtney said patiently. "But he's still a kid, and to most kids, there's no lure like the lure of the forbidden. Tell'em they can't have something, and that's what they'll want the most."

"I don't care what he wants; you don't mess with stuff marked 'private'," Brody said crossly. "You don't go places you're not supposed to, you don't touch stuff you're not supposed to."

As he spoke, his hand moved in his pocket, Courtney caught a glimpse of what was inside...and didn't check her expression fast enough. "What?" Brody demanded, pulling his hand out of his pocket. "Do you know what this is?"

Holy shit. Courtney's eyes fastened on what appeared to be an early prototype of a trithium amplification generator, a bit bigger than the final version. No wonder Max had broken into his office; the galaxy symbol on it would have been a dead giveaway. "What is that?" she exclaimed breathlessly, seeing a chance to maybe get Zan off the hook. "That is so cool! Is that, like, a movie prop or something?"

Brody's eyes dropped to the TAG, then rose to meet hers. "So you don't know what it is?"

"I know it's mondo cool looking! Can I see—"

"No," Brody said, pulling it out of her reach.

"Okay," Courtney said quickly. "It's just...wait. Is that what Max was looking at?"

"Why?" Brody asked suspiciously.

"Well...I mean, who wouldn't look at that? It looks like something out of Alien or Star Trek. I'm just delivering a sandwich, and I want to play with it. Oh...that's right! You said you didn't order a sandwich. Someone must have screwed up, so I'll just take it back—"

"No," Brody repeated, this time less abruptly. "I...I should eat something. I'll take it."

"Really? Okay," Courtney said, handing over the bag. "But since you didn't order it, it's on the house. And I promise I won't try the side door any more if you don't want me to."

"Uh...thanks," Brody said uncomfortably. "I...look, I'm sorry I'm so…"

"Grumpy?" Courtney suggested.

"More like shell-shocked," Brody said. "I just got some really bad news. Really bad news."

He looked so miserable that Courtney felt sorry for him. "Bummer. Well...I hope your news gets better."

"Can't get much worse," Brody said quietly. "Thanks for the sandwich."

Join the club, Courtney thought, waiting a bit to make certain he was gone before altering her message to Larak. Trithium Amplification Generators were also communicators; if that prototype was capable of communication, someone needed to disable it, and fast. If Brody managed to contact someone, however unwittingly, Sauron's Eye would swing this way faster than you could say "dead king".





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





Valenti residence





"Yummm-ee!" Valenti enthused, surveying the spread on the kitchen table. "Man, that looks delicious!"

"Thank you," Tess said, glad she'd made at least one Valenti happy today and hoping she could make that two. No one had been home when, weary of the saggy couch, she'd donned Kyle's jersey and stretched out on his bed mid-laundry. Given how late both Valenti's seemed to arrive home, she'd thought she'd be safe, but no such luck. After the resulting argument with Kyle over his clothing and his bedroom, she'd retreated to her couch and Kyle had retreated to his room. Dinner was a peace offering.

"Kyle!" Valenti called, all but smacking his lips. "Dinner! Now let's see...is that chicken? Yes? And salad, and rolls...are those homemade? They look homemade."

"Frozen dough," Tess explained. "It's a lot faster. And I left the salad fixings separate because I didn't know who liked what."

"We just like food," Valenti assured her, "so we're pretty easy to please. Kyle! Dinner! Are those croutons?"

"And tomatoes," Tess said. "And onions. And some shredded cheese. I like cheese on my salad. Do you?"

Valenti blinked at her. "I...guess I don't know," he admitted. "It's been so long since we've eaten like this, I'm not sure what I like. Where'd you get all this stuff? Because I know we didn't have it here."

"I went out this afternoon," Tess said. "I can make up a list for the grocery store."

"Not sure I'd know where to find all this," Valenti said. "We're more of a frozen dinner kind of family. Kyle! For Pete's sake, it's dinner time! I'd hate to see all this get cold," he went on, pulling up a chair, "so he can join us when he...ah! There you are!"

Kyle had appeared in the kitchen doorway, but the look on his face made it clear that mere food wouldn't trump their earlier confrontation. "What's this?" Kyle said, eyeing the table suspiciously.

"Food," Tess answered. "Didn't we go over this yesterday?"

"Hilarious. I meant where did these plates come from? I've never seen them before."

"This was your mother's and my wedding china," Valenti said. "She left it here when she moved out."

"Guess it wasn't precious," Kyle said. "And no wonder—it's ugly. It's not only ugly, it's butt-ugly."

Tess raised an eyebrow. "Rude, much?"

"He's right," Valenti confessed. "She picked it; I wasn't consulted, not that I would have had much to contribute if I had been."

"So what's it doing on the table?" Kyle said.

"I found it in the cupboard, and I thought it was...interesting," Tess answered. "But I can put it back if—"

"No, no, that's all right," Valenti said quickly. "I'm not sure we ever used this, so may as well take it for a test drive. And it's a nice change from our usual chipped stoneware."

"Speak for yourself," Kyle muttered, sinking into a seat. "What's this?"

"Chicken," Valenti answered, helping himself to a chicken breast before holding out the plate for Kyle, who looked at it suspiciously.

"Chicken? That's not chicken. Chicken is round and crunchy."

"He means Rondolets," Valenti explained sheepishly to Tess. "Told you we were a frozen food family. This is home cooked chicken," he told Kyle. "Try some."

Kyle stared at the platter for a moment before grabbing a roll. The platter hung awkwardly in the air like a spurned handshake before Tess helpfully took it off Valenti's hands, and the other dishes were passed with Kyle refusing everything offered. Knives and forks scratched on plates as everyone ate in oppressive silence for several minutes.

"So," Valenti said finally, "how was school today?"

"Okay," Tess answered after pausing to look at Kyle, who ignored him. "How was the station?"

"Max called," Valenti said. "He's curious about the new owner of the UFO Museum."

"Yeah, he showed me something he found there," Tess said. "He thought it might be a movie prop, but it had our writing on it, so—"

"Is this what dinner's going to be from now on?" Kyle broke in. "Alien Central? Alien Hour? All About Aliens?"

"I just asked you how school went, and you didn't say anything," Valenti said.

"Because we don't talk about school, Dad!" Kyle said reproachfully. "We talk about sports! You didn't ask me about the team, or practice, or anything you know I'm interested in, but you report on the latest alien news. Forgive me if I'm feeling outnumbered."

"Not sure how that math works," Valenti said. "We've got two humans and one alien here."

"Two and a half," Tess corrected. "I'm half human."

"Yeah? Well, tell both halves to stay out of my stuff," Kyle retorted.

"Here we go," Tess sighed.

"What?" Valenti said, looking back and forth from one to the other. "Here we go where?"

"Good question," Kyle said crossly. "Where exactly are we, Dad, because I don't even recognize my own house any more! I'm eating weird food off weird plates, there's someone else in the bathroom, someone in my bedroom, someone wearing my clothes, digging under my bed..." He stopped, flushing. "I just want my stuff to be my stuff. Is that too much to ask?"

"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Valenti said.

"He's mad because I was wearing his jersey earlier," Tess explained. "I've been doing the laundry, and I did yours before I got to mine, so I ran out of clothes, and I just grabbed something from the basket."

"Good thing it wasn't his boxers," Valenti chuckled. "Joke," he added hastily when Kyle gaped at him. "It was just a joke."

"Do I look like I'm in a joking mood?" Kyle demanded.

"No, but you're definitely in a mood," Valenti said. "Look, I was just trying to take the edge off. Tess did the laundry for us; isn't that worth something?"

"Not when she winds up wearing the laundry she's doing," Kyle retorted. "Would you be so giddy if she'd grabbed one of your shirts?"

"Honestly? I wouldn't care," Valenti said.

"No, of course not," Kyle said sullenly. "You just want a live-in maid."

"I'm nobody's maid," Tess protested. "I'm just trying to contribute to the household that's giving me shelter."

"Which, I remind you, was the result of a man being murdered," Valenti said sternly to Kyle.

"I didn't kill him!" Kyle exclaimed. "So I don't see why I should have to give up my bed, and my clothes, and my magazines for something I didn't do!"

"I never asked you to give up your bed," Valenti protested, "and what's this about magazines? So she read a few magazines. So what?"

Tess bit her lip as Kyle's face flamed and Valenti's eyes narrowed. "Wait...didn't you mention 'digging under your bed'? What kind of magazines do you keep under your bed?"

There was a long, painful silence. "The private kind," Kyle finally mumbled.

Valenti sighed and tossed his napkin on the table. "Okay, where'd you get'em? They're not supposed to sell those to anyone under 18." He waited while Kyle stared at his empty plate, the roll having long since disappeared. "Fine," Valenti said shortly. "I'll go find them and track down the sellers myself. Under the bed, right?"

Tess watched in alarm as Valenti rose from his chair. The last thing she needed was him digging under Kyle's bed, and not because Jugs was supposed to be in a plain brown wrapper behind the counter. "They're Buddhist magazines," she blurted.

Both Valenti's stared at her in shock. "Buddhist…magazines?" the sheriff repeated.

"Yeah," Tess said. " 'Cause, you know, Kyle's a Buddhist now."

Valenti slowly lowered himself into his chair as he looked at his son, whose face was now virtually on fire. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"Why would it be?" Tess asked.

"This is about that mumbo jumbo you were saying when I picked you up after football camp, isn't it?" Valenti demanded

"It's not 'mumbo jumbo'!" Kyle said furiously.

"It isn't?" Valenti said. "As I recall, it was something about bulls and locusts. All religions have mumbo jumbo. That's why we don't belong to one."

"So...you already knew about this," Tess said.

"I knew he dabbled in something at camp," Valenti said, "but I thought it was over. I didn't know it was still going on, and I certainly didn't know he was actually calling himself a Buddhist or reading Buddhist magazines. I didn't know they had Buddhist magazines. Do Buddhists even read magazines? Is that allowed?"

Tess sighed wearily as her attempt to defuse the girlie magazine scandal morphed into a scandal of a different kind altogether. The sheriff looked genuinely pissed and Kyle genuinely humiliated, way beyond mere embarrassment. Kyle had made it clear he didn't want his friends to know about his latest pursuit, but it hadn't occurred to her that his own father considered being a Buddhist worse than having a tit fetish.

"...and I certainly didn't send you to camp just to see you come home brainwashed!" Valenti was saying. "It was football camp. Football."

"I'm not brainwashed, Dad!" Kyle exclaimed. "I just...I'm just...oh, forget it," he said in disgust, pushing his chair back.

Tess put a hand over his, effectively halting his exit. "Sheriff, I think you're being unfair. Kyle's been having a rough time lately. You said so yourself, remember?"

The sheriff flushed slightly, and Kyle slowly lowered himself back into his seat. "All that stuff last spring really threw him for a loop," Tess continued, "and my moving in just made it worse. He needs something to help him cope with it. I'm sure you do too, you just probably picked something else. Buddhism isn't a religion, it's a philosophy, and if it gives him some peace of mind, what's the harm? I could use a little peace of mind myself." She looked at Kyle. "We all could."

Kyle looked away and the sheriff shifted uneasily in his chair. "Yeah, but Buddhism? Why Buddhism?"

"Why not?" Tess said. "And why do you think Buddhism is worse than porno magazines? Why is a philosophy which emphasizes the good in every person worse than one that turns women into objects?"

"Wouldn't exactly call that a 'philosophy'," Valenti said uncomfortably.

"What would you call it?" Tess asked. "A religion? Porn probably brings in more money than any church."

"I'd call it...I don't know," Valenti said, beginning to sweat. "How did we get into a discussion on pornography?"

"I believe it started when you threatened to search Kyle's room," Tess reminded him.

"Yeah," Valenti said awkwardly. "Right. Look, Kyle...do whatever works for you. Just please don't shave your head and start banging drums in airports. Or expect me to."

"I think he means Hare Krishnas," Tess explained when Kyle looked blank. "See? He doesn't even know what you're talking about. That's not what Buddhists do."

"That's encouraging," Valenti muttered as the phone rang. "I have to get that. And when I come back…let's pretend we never had this conversation."

The sheriff's voice floated from the hallway as Tess went back to her dinner and Kyle sat in stunned silence. "Did...that just happen?" he said finally.

"I didn't realize he didn't know," Tess said.

"He didn't know because I knew he'd react just exactly like that," Kyle said.

"Word of advice?" Tess said. "The next time you don't want someone to know you're a Buddhist, don't spout Buddhist sayings to them. Kinda gives away the game."

"I didn't mean to," Kyle protested. "I'd just gotten back, and then he told me Noriega had died—"

"Nasedo."

"Whatever. It's like I hit town, and it all came crashing back as soon as my feet hit the pavement."

"I know the feeling," Tess sighed.

Kyle stared at her for a moment before dropping his eyes. "Yeah...well...I hadn't decided when to tell him. Or how. Or how to talk him down when I did. How'd you manage to talk him down so fast?"

Tess shrugged. "I did grow up with the grumpiest person out there. Your dad's a kitten by comparison. And he loves you. Really loves you. Nasedo never loved me. He was just my guardian." She paused. "I'm sorry about this afternoon. I won't go near your room again."

"I'm sorry too," Kyle allowed "I was being a dick." He paused. "This is the part where you say, 'No, Kyle! You're not a dick! Don't say things like that about yourself!' "

Tess smiled faintly. "I've never been much of one to do things by the book."

Kyle raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Me neither."

"I know. Because of your reputation," Tess explained when he raised an eyebrow. "You know, the one you mentioned earlier?" She held out the basket of rolls. "Since this is all you're eating, better fill up."

Kyle peered at the table. "Actually...I was thinking of trying that stuff you call chicken."





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





UFO Center






The phone rang. Startled awake, Brody lurched on his chair, nearly toppling as he scrambled for his phone. Please let it be Sharon...please let it be Sharon...

It wasn't. With a sound akin to a sob, Brody tossed the phone on his desk and put his head in his hands. If anyone needed proof that the world had just turned upside down, they need only look at him now, praying to hear from an ex-wife he normally avoided like the plague. They only ever talked to each other through their lawyers, having long ago learned it was better that way, but this was different. Who was it who'd said that having a child was like having your heart walk around outside your body? Much as he loved his daughter, he could honestly say he'd never actually felt that way until now. The computer screen glowed with the reason why.

...test results…

...metastasis…

...inoperable...

...chemotherapy…


That e-mail had been on his screen since this morning as he'd frantically tried to reach his ex. She'd called back once, while he was talking to a supplier, of course, and sounded genuinely apologetic that she'd missed him. But there was something else in her voice that spooked him, something Brody had never heard—Sharon was scared. He'd never seen her scared, not once in their 15 years of marriage, but she was scared now, and that simple fact scared the hell out of him. He'd been walking around in a fog ever since, here but not here, seeing but not seeing, hearing but not listening. It was weird the way the mind controlled the body; he felt genuinely sick, shaky, nauseous, unable to eat or sleep for any length of time. The remains of that unordered sandwich lay in a smelly heap on his desk, the half he'd consumed having come up the same way it had gone down and not having tasted much different either way. Even his taste buds were rebelling. If only it could have been him instead of his little girl...

Brody sat up suddenly, opened a drawer. The five-sided device which had claimed Max Evans' job and the waitress's interest lay inside, silent now, enigmatic. This was the reason he was here now, in pursuit of the reason it had sounded an alarm on May 14th. He was certain it was alien, and the aliens had cured him. Sharon had thought him nuts for thinking that, but he'd never doubted it; it was the only explanation which made sense. If the aliens had cured him, they could do it again, and if it really belonged to them, perhaps he could use it to reach them. Not that he hadn't tried to make the thing sing and dance again, but now he had motivation. Now his little girl's life hung in the balance. Now he'd find them if he had to build a spaceship and fly it there himself, wherever "there" was. Pacing the floor, he stabbed at buttons in different combinations, pointed it this way and that, wandered outside the office. Maybe it wouldn't work because this was a fallout shelter and the walls were so thick. Was it a reception thing, like with cellphones? Did he need a certain number of bars?

And then, suddenly, the device began to vibrate. Fascinated, Brody watched as a wave of blue light radiated from it, knocking over some boxes...and drawing a yelp of pain.

"Who's there?" Brody called in alarm, running toward the noise and spying a dark figure motionless on the ground. "Stay where you are!"

But the figure was motionless no longer. Struggling to its feet, it limped away as Brody raced after it, yelling "Hey! Don't move! Hey! Hey!"

The back door closed behind whoever had been there. Brody stared after them for a moment before turning his attention to the important part—the gizmo had done something. He wasn't sure what, exactly, nor did he recall what he'd done to set it off, but he'd done it once, so he could do it again, and he just might get the aliens' attention. Ignoring the fallen boxes, ignoring whatever his intruder might have been after, he hurried back to his office.

Back to the business of trying to contact the aliens.





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





Harding residence




And here we go again, Courtney thought wearily as she closed the front door of Jaddo's house, still in pursuit of Brivari's elusive box. She honestly had no idea where to look that she hadn't looked already, but she intended to keep looking until she saw the whites—or, more likely, blacks—of his eyes. Leverage was hard to come by with Royal Warders and worth pursuing. Leaving the lights off, she moved into the living room.

A light snapped on. Startled, Courtney flattened herself against the wall to find an amused Vanessa draped comfortably over the sofa.

"Not what I was expecting," Vanessa remarked. "Although I guess I shouldn't be surprised. So Jaddo was your contact after all."

Courtney gaped at her, silent and wide-eyed. "I'm only going to ask this once," Vanessa said, "so I suggest you consider long and hard before you refuse to answer." She leaned forward, eyes hard.

"Where is he?"



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



I'll post Chapter 30 on Sunday, May 24.

[keepsmiling7]

Brody and Max didn't hit it off at first......
LOL.......Kyle had never seen the "butt ugly" wedding china before.......
Loved his comment about Noriega being dead.
Interesting part, Tess could so easily been a part of the Valenti family.....if only.

[Kathy W]

^^ Nearly everyone has a gift like that from something or other, not always a wedding. I hope I haven't given any gifts like that!







CHAPTER THIRTY



September 14, 2000, 12:30 a.m.

Harding residence





Courtney gaped at the sight of Vanessa primly seated on Jaddo's couch in her congressional Sensible Suit, congressional Sensible Hose, and congressional Sensible Heels. What in the name of all that was holy was she doing here? The light she'd flicked on glinted off her watch, neither congressional nor sensible, more like Cartier, but then she'd always had expensive tastes…

...the light…

"Are you out of your mind?" Courtney exclaimed, lunging for the light switch and gazing anxiously out the window to see if anyone had noticed. "Nobody's supposed to be here! If one of Valenti's deputies sees a light, they'll...what are you doing?"

Vanessa stood stock still, crouched in the fighting stance she'd assumed after lurching from the couch. "Why, Vanessa," Courtney said dryly. "Did I frighten you? I had no idea you were so scared of little old me."

Vanessa blinked, straightened. "Don't be ridiculous," she huffed. "I have finely honed reflexes. I defend myself without thinking."

"Oh, I'm sure," Courtney said sarcastically. "Everyone on the five planets knows about your 'finely honed reflexes', especially when you're horizontal. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Same as you," Vanessa said. "Looking for Jaddo. Save it," she advised as Courtney debated playing dumb. "It doesn't matter how I know he's posing as Ed Harding, I just do. And what a spread," she went on, glancing around the room, the contents of which were only barely visible. "Art. Sculpture. Fit for a king. Or a queen. Or a princess. He does have good taste. One of many things we have in common."

Courtney stared at her, putting the pieces together as Vanessa continued to gush. So she'd figured out Jaddo's alias of Ed Harding, tracked him here, and... And she still doesn't know he's dead, Courtney realized, or likely even suspect it. That's why the light was on, why she was carrying on about his taste in art in a tone laced suspiciously with what sounded like fondness. Her ignorance could get her killed, and unfathomable as it was, she was the best hope for peace Antar had at the moment. It was time she knew.

"So have you thought about our conversation a few days ago?" Vanessa was saying. "I gather you couldn't muster the nerve to come to me for details as I haven't seen hide nor hair of you since then."

"I've thought of little else," Courtney said truthfully. "And I didn't need to come to you. You're not the only one Jaddo entrusted with the terms of your treaty."

Vanessa's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"I said—"

"I heard what you said," Vanessa broke in sharply. "Who else knows?"

"None of your business," Courtney said.

"Like hell it isn't!" Vanessa exclaimed. "If there's another player on the board, it most certainly is my business! It wasn't you, it can't be Brivari because Jaddo was all tied up in knots about telling him, so who the hell could be so important that he'd tell them something like that?"

"No one you need to know," Courtney answered, privately noting that Dee would love this, smarting as she was about Brivari not contacting her. "What you do need to know is that it's a good treaty. I support it."

"So you do have a brain!" Vanessa said with mock joy. "And this shadow player? Do they support it also?"

"Pretty much," Courtney said, "but with some reservations."

"With some...oh, for heaven's sake!" Vanessa spat. "Just wait until I get my hands on him! We never even discussed telling anyone else, never mind anyone with 'reservations'."

"Funny you didn't mention that when you told me," Courtney said blandly.

"That was different," Vanessa argued.

"Oh, of course it was," Courtney said. "It's always different when you do it. Just not in a good way."

"Well, aren't you just the little toady," Vanessa said darkly. "Never saw that coming, not when you were always all backtalk and treason."

"If I were you, I wouldn't throw that word around," Courtney advised. "Drafting peace treaties with Covari is treason last I knew. I'd love to continue the girl talk, but we don't have time, so let's cut to the chase—Jaddo's dead."

Vanessa's open mouth froze, having no doubt been about to launch into another stream of invective. "What?"

"He's dead, Vanessa. He's been dead for several days now. You need to know this so you don't go making more stupid mistakes like leaving a light on in his house."

There followed a silence so profound that the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner suddenly rose several octaves. Courtney waited while several emotions worked their way across Vanessa's features, most recognizable, some not. "Dead?" she repeated after what seemed a very long time. "Dead? No," she announced with the conviction of one accustomed to getting her way. "No. That can't be right."

"Look, I'd love it if just saying 'no' would make it so," Courtney sighed. "But I don't live in an ivory tower, so I know it doesn't work that way."

" 'Ivory tower'?" Vanessa echoed furiously. "Do you actually think this stinking planet is anything even close to resembling an 'ivory tower'? Do you think these flaking husks are ball gowns, or—"

"Preaching to the choir," Courtney interrupted. "I'm wearing a flaky husk too, remember? I live on this stinking planet too, remember? And I want to go home every bit as much as you do, remember? It was a rhetorical reference. My point was—"

"I know what your point was," Vanessa said crossly. "And you're wrong. He just called me, so he can't be dead."

"No, he is dead, so he couldn't have called you," Courtney corrected.

"And you know this for a fact?" Vanessa demanded. "You saw his body? You saw him turn to dust?"

"Well...no," Courtney admitted. "But I have it on very good authority—"

"I let him go!" Vanessa exclaimed. "And that was after we killed the operative, so who was left who could off a Royal Warder?"

"There were two operatives," Courtney reminded her. "What happened to the other one?"

"He followed me up to Las Cruces and never came back," Vanessa said. "We assumed Brivari got to him."

"Or he encountered Jaddo making his escape, and attacked," Courtney said.

"Speculation," Vanessa scoffed.

"Have you seen this missing operative? Do you know for sure what happened to him?"

"Well...no, but...look, do you have any idea how hard it is to kill a Covari?" Vanessa demanded. "Wound one, yes, maybe even badly, but even if he looked dead, they could bring him back with healing stones. Truly killing one is a tall order, and well beyond the scope of the Neanderthals Nicholas sent to spy on me."

Courtney shook her head. "Earth metaphors. We've definitely been here too long. And I seem to remember you managed to kill Malik. After you made me torture him, that is."

"Technically, he killed himself," Vanessa noted.

"Oh, right," Courtney said bitterly. "Like he wouldn't have wound up dead anyway. I guess Malik got the last word in the end, him and my father. My father was just easier to kill."

Courtney held Vanessa's gaze, unsurprised by how much the memory of that episode hurt even after all these years. Her father had died by Nicholas' hand and so had Malik, the first Covari she'd ever truly known and the one who'd taught her that they were people in their own right, not mere automatons as everyone on Antar believed. By the end, Malik had become something she'd never expected—a friend. That would have been unthinkable back home, far more unthinkable than the incredible notion of her and Vanessa actually working together, which would have been considered just politics. It was a measure of how much she'd changed that the former now seemed normal to her while the latter did not. She'd hated Jaddo's guts, but not because he was Covari.

"That wasn't me," Vanessa said quietly. "That was Nicholas at his worst, which means it was badly handled. But your father was anything but easy to kill, or even find. He brought the Resistance right to Khivar's doorstep with no one the wiser. Nicholas was so angry that he'd missed that, the leader of the Resistance right in his inner circle. Your father was quite the challenge, and you've clearly followed in his footsteps."

"Such high praise from the steps of the throne on which Khivar has yet to park his ass," Courtney retorted. "And what a buzzkill that you managed to remind me of why I hate you when I have to keep you alive. Jaddo's dead, Vanessa, and since Brivari blames you, you'd better get out of town."

"He's not dead," Vanessa insisted. "I told you, he just called me. Parker said he left a message breaking up with me, which is what he would do because he planned on retiring the Agent Pierce facade. He's probably out chasing that other operative."

Courtney shook her head sadly. Parker. So Zan's girlfriend had concocted a phone call to throw her boss off the trail, not realizing that Vanessa was the trail. "Brivari captured the second operative, the one who killed Jaddo," she said firmly. "He'll be back any day now, and believe me when I tell you that you do not want to be here when he arrives. This is the best chance Antar has had for peace since the fall, and you have to sell it to Khivar's side. You can't do that if you're dead, so pack your bags and get the hell out of Dodge while you still can."






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





6:30 a.m.,

Evans residence






Damn it, Isabel thought wearily as her books slid to the floor, toppling off the bed like a cascade of bad luck, an apt metaphor if ever there was one. That's what she got for lying awake all night, alternately tossing and turning or staring at the ceiling, only to inconveniently fall asleep forty-five minutes before her alarm went off. Now she was exhausted, scattered, and scared, not to mention late. Re-stacking her books, she careened into the hallway, running smack into her mother.

"Isabel!" Diane exclaimed. "Are you all right."

"Just running late," Isabel said, sidestepping.

"Wait, honey...um...is the natural look a thing now?"

"Mom, I'm sorry, but I really don't have time for this," Isabel said.

"Oh. Okay, I've just never seen you go to school without make-up."

Isabel blinked, then darted back into her room. "It's okay, really," Diane assured her as she stared into the mirror with dismay. "You're a natural beauty, sweetheart. You don't need paint. You just caught me off guard, that's all."

"Yeah, I can relate," Isabel whispered. "It's nothing," she added hastily when her mother gave her that trademark "tell-me-what's-wrong-so-I-can-fix-it-for-you" look that mothers everywhere seemed to know instinctively. "I...I just didn't sleep well, and I'm running really late, and...and I just forgot."

Diane's eyebrows rose. "Forgot your make-up? You're not running that late. All right," she went on when she saw the look on Isabel's face. "I'll stay out of it. What can I do to help? Get your breakfast ready?"

"Yeah, that would be great," Isabel said. "Thanks, Mom."

"Anything for you, sweetheart," Diane said, planting a kiss on her unmade up cheek. "See you in the kitchen."

Isabel sank down in front of the mirror, grabbed a lipstick...and stopped. She could put a face on in her sleep, and she always did it the hard way—she liked watching the colors build, feeling the brushes sweep across her skin, the lipstick glide across her lips. Using her powers seemed like cheating. But she was short on time today, and besides, how was that cheating? She was an alien; if events of the last year had done nothing else, they'd driven home that salient fact, a fact she'd always tried to avoid, to ignore, to hide. But what was the point of hiding it when you were hunted? Passing a hand across her face produced a properly made-up face in seconds, and now she wasn't as late as she would have been, which was a good thing. So why did she feel like a tiny little part of her had just died?

After checking to make certain she hadn't forgotten anything else glaringly obvious, Isabel hurried to the kitchen to find her mother breakfasting with Max. "I guess you're both running late today," Diane noted. "Is there something special going on today, like a test?"

"Uh...yeah," Isabel answered as Max remained silent, his eyes boring into hers. "A test. That's it."

"Goodness, what in?" Diane asked. "I never see you two get worked up over tests like other people's kids. You always seem to breeze through school as though you'd already learned everything."

"It's a new subject," Max said.

"What, like 'new math'?" Diane laughed. "I poured you some cereal, sweetheart, Lucky Charms because you were having a bad morning. Remember how you used to hunt for the marshmallows?" She smiled and rubbed Isabel's arm. "Don't look so stricken, honey. Whatever it is, it'll be over soon, right? Just remember I'll always love you, no matter how it turns out."

Diane's heels clicked on the floor as she left the kitchen, and Isabel put her head in her hands. "Don't say it," she warned her brother. "Just don't."

"Don't say what?" Max asked. "That our big test is killing someone? That our new subject is murder? That there's no guarantee she'd love us 'no matter what' if she had any idea what we're contemplating—"

"Stop," Isabel ordered. "Just stop. It's not 'murder' if it's self defense. Brody attacked Michael last night. We have a right to defend ourselves."

Max tossed his spoon into his bowl. "Here's the thing. Michael said Brody didn't realize he was there until after he fell and knocked over the boxes. So if Brody didn't know he was there, how could he have attacked him?"

"He had the device you saw," Isabel argued, "and he did something to it that made it hurt Michael."

"He may have done something to it, but I still don't see how it was intended to hurt Michael if he didn't know Michael was there," Max said.

"So, what, he was cleaning his gun, and it just went off?" Isabel said. "And Michael just happened to be in the line of fire? He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

"Yeah," Max admitted. "No big surprise because Michael's always in the wrong place at the wrong time. If he'd left it alone like I told him to, this wouldn't have happened and we wouldn't be contemplating murder."

"Would you stop using that word!" Isabel groaned.

Max gave her a level stare. "If you can't even hear the word, Isabel, how do you expect to do the deed?"

"I'll find a way," Isabel retorted. "I'm tired of being in the line of fire, Max. I'm tired of the people I love being in the line of fire. Even if Brody didn't know Michael was there, he's still an alien, and he still has an alien device that can hurt us."

"How do we know he's an alien?" Max said. "Having an alien device doesn't make you an alien. If it did, Liz, Maria, and Alex would all be aliens because they've used healing stones. It doesn't work that way."

"I don't care how it works!" Isabel exclaimed. "I just want this to be over with! I'm tired of being scared, of always having to look over my shoulder. I just want this all to go away."

"So do I," Max said. "I'm just not sure killing a man is the way to get there."

"So what do you suggest we do?" Isabel demanded. "What does the 'king' say?"

Isabel felt a tiny flare of satisfaction as Max winced; he hated that word, almost as much as she hated the "M" word. "I talked to Valenti," he answered, not taking the bait. "He's going to look into Brody's background—"

"Oh, right," Isabel broke in sarcastically. "Nasedo had an impeccable 'background'. Tess had a perfect school record. Looking into someone's background is definitely tops on the to-do list when someone tries to kill you."

"And how exactly do you try to kill someone you don't know is there?" Max said. "You still haven't explained that."

"I am not getting into this with you," Isabel said tightly. "We've made our decision, and that's that."

"No, you and Michael made a decision," Max said. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm still on the fence."

"I said it before, and I'll say it again," Isabel retorted. "Pick a side and get on it, because time is running out."

"Okay, I'm off," Diane announced, clicking back into the kitchen. "Goodness, Izzie, don't look so upset," she chided when she caught a glimpse of Isabel's expression. "It's just a test! I know it seems like a big deal now, but in the grand scheme of things, I promise you it's not. If you do badly, I'm sure your teacher will give you a do over. It's not like it's life or death."





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





West Roswell High School






"Hey."

Kyle Valenti peered around his locker. "Liz Parker! To what do I owe the honor?"

Liz leaned against the wall of lockers, the two adjacent to his having already been vacated by their owners. "Just saying 'hi'," she shrugged.

" 'Just saying 'hi' '," Kyle repeated. "You just randomly decided to swing my way and have a chat."

"Anything wrong with that?" Liz asked.

"No," Kyle allowed, "except for the part about it not being true. You know, you're a lousy liar."

"You think so?" Liz said. "Because I've lied more in the past year than most people do their whole lives, and I've pretty much gotten away with it."

"Fair point," Kyle admitted. "Okay, you're apparently good at lying when it's life or death. Which is good news, because your current sucky performance means whatever brought you here isn't life or death."

"Isn't it a little early for this level of paranoia?" Liz asked.

"I've reached the conclusion that there is no such thing as too much paranoia," Kyle answered, "so, no, it's not too early, or too late, or too middle of the afternoon-ish. Any time is a great time to be paranoid. That's my new motto."

Liz leaned in closer. "It gets easier, you know," she confided. "I know how you feel, but—"

"No, Liz," Kyle broke in, "you do not know how I feel. Because whatever you've done, whatever you've gone through, you do not have to live with a Martian."

"They're not 'Martians'," Liz protested.

"Whatever. And that's not the worst part. Even worse than the Martian part is—"

"The 'girl' part," Liz finished.

"Ah," Kyle said, wagging a finger. "I get it. Alex has been blabbing, hasn't he?"

"Kyle," Liz said seriously, "you voluntarily walked into a computer lab. He was worried."

" 'Worried'?" Kyle said with mock surprise. "Is that it? Nothing about why I walked into a computer lab without a gun to my head?"

"Well, he may have, you know, mentioned that you were a little…"

"Freaked out?" Kyle suggested. "Off my rocker? Flipping insane?"

"Tense," Liz corrected.

"Really?" Kyle said with amusement. "That's all he said? That I was 'tense'?"

"I'm summarizing," Liz confessed.

Kyle smiled faintly. "Oh, I'm sure. Nice job editing what must have been a hysterical rant down to a single, one syllable word."

"You know, for someone who hates school as much as you do, you sure seem to have studied up on your SAT words," Liz noted.

"I'm a man of many talents," Kyle said. "But living with girls of any species isn't one of them."

"Is it really that bad?" Liz said.

"You have no idea," Kyle said. "She's cooking. She's cleaning. She's doing our laundry. There are weird things in the bathroom, weird food on the table, weird stuff in the living room. It's awful."

"Wow," Liz said thoughtfully. "Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. You poor thing. I mean, what's next? Is she going to save your life, or something?"

Kyle's eyebrows rose. "You know, Liz, you really should stop beating around the bush. Just come right out and say it! Speak your mind! Just say, 'Kyle, you're being an ungrateful dick!' "

"No need," Liz said sweetly. "You just did it for me."

Kyle sighed as he closed his locker door. "Fine. Someone's cooking and cleaning and washing for me—and saving my life, but let the record show that wasn't my current housemate—and I'm ungrateful. But also for the record, I'm ungrateful because I'm freaked. Home was the one place I didn't have to deal with aliens, and now I've got one living with me."

"Word of advice?" Liz said. "Don't fixate on the species part because, really, they're just like us. They're just people, people who happen to have been born somewhere else. And it's not for long, right? Because Alex said the whole reason Tess is there is because Nasedo was murdered, and—"

"Alex told you that?" Kyle said. "You didn't hear it from Max?"

"Um...well...Max and I don't...we aren't…"

"Ah," Kyle nodded. "Gotcha."

"I mean, it wouldn't be appropriate, what with Tess having been his wife, and all," Liz said.

"I vaguely remember hearing something about that," Kyle said. "But wasn't that a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away?"

Liz smiled weakly. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay, Kyle. And if you want a primer on girls, I can give you one."

"You know, he turned her down," Kyle said when she started walking away.

Liz stopped. "Who did?"

"Max. I overheard Tess and my Dad talking. She wanted to live with Max, but he said no, and my Dad agreed. I gather she was pretty pissed about it."

Liz stared at him for a moment in silence, her expression guarded. "Yeah...well...I'm sure it was for the best," she said finally. "It's complicated, you know, with her having an alias, and Max's dad being a lawyer. Probably not the best idea to put those two together."

"Maybe," Kyle allowed. "But I don't think that's why Max turned her down."

There was another long moment of silence before Liz dropped her eyes. "If you need anything, just let me know, okay? I'll see you later."

"Oh, Liz? One more thing," Kyle said. "That night you won the blind date, and Max and I got drunk...did he...I mean, did he really do all that stuff I thought I'd imagined?"

"Probably," Liz said. "He didn't realize he could get drunk from just a taste. None of them did."

"No shit," Kyle said faintly. "Wow."

"There's a lot they don't know about themselves," Liz said. "I know you're not having a great time right now, Kyle, but their lives aren't exactly a picnic either. Even when the government isn't chasing them and trying to turn them into lab rats."

"Yeah," Kyle murmured as she walked away. "Someone may have mentioned that."






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





Evans residence







Max pulled the jeep into the driveway and shut off the engine, but made no move to get out. The night was warm, the stars were bright, and a man was still alive because he'd stayed his hand despite being provoked, much the way John F. Kennedy had done. He'd listened to his gut, and his gut had been right—Brody Davis was no threat. That was a win on both counts, and he just wanted to sit here in silence under the stars and revel in the fact that, sometimes, those stars lined up for them in something other than the shape of a "V".

"Go ahead. Say it."

Max's head swung around to where Isabel was most definitely not enjoying the beautiful night sky. "Say what?"

"That I'm awful," Isabel said dully. "That I'm evil. That I was ready to kill a man who wouldn't have hurt us."

Max smiled faintly. "This morning it was, 'Don't say it'; tonight it's, 'Go ahead—say it'. If I'm not careful, I'll get whiplash. You were scared," he added as Isabel sank miserably into the corner like she wanted to disappear. "You didn't want to hurt anyone, you just wanted to not be scared any more."

"And what about Michael? Did he just not want to be scared?"

Max shrugged. "Michael was just...being Michael. Michael always wants to do something. He thinks if he's not taking action, he's not doing anything. He doesn't realize that taking action is only one way to do something. Thinking, waiting, doing research, those are all 'doing something' too. Just not his kind of 'doing something'."

"His 'doing something' never meant murdering someone," Isabel said.

"We didn't murder anyone," Max said. "Everyone's fine, everyone's safe."

"Thanks to you," Isabel said soberly.

"My 'doing something' list is a lot longer than Michael's," Max allowed, "and doing something drastic is at the bottom. This is why we're stronger as a group—we each have different ways of seeing things, of doing things."

"I think we're stronger without me," Isabel said. "At first I was just embarrassed, but the more I think about it, the more I think, 'What was I thinking?' Was I really going to just kill someone I knew nothing about?"

"No," Max said, "you weren't. It was bothering you—you know that. It's been bothering you all day, and it bothered you because deep down, you knew you were overreacting. If I hadn't pulled us back when I did, you would have. You would have pulled Michael back."

"You really believe that?"

"I do," Max answered.

Isabel looked away. "Then it looks like you have more faith in me than I do."

"Ask not what your sister can do for you, but what you can do for your sister," Max intoned.

"Oh, yuck!" Isabel exclaimed, laughing in spite of herself. "You can stop channeling JFK now. Your own personal Cuban Missile Crisis is over."

"And mine didn't last two weeks," Max noted.

"Thank God," Isabel groaned. "Two days, and I'm a wreck. Good thing tomorrow's Friday and I can sleep in the next day."

"Not me," Max said. "I'm working Saturday. Brody unfired me."

"Is that even a word?" Isabel muttered as they climbed out, but Max smiled. She must be on the road to recovery if she was correcting vocabulary.

Diane was waiting for them when they entered the house. "You two are home late!" she chided. "How did the test go?"

"We passed," Max answered, "with flying colors."

"Well, Max did," Isabel amended. "I flunked. Almost flunked," she added hastily when Diane's eyes widened. "Came too close for comfort."

"That would have been a first," Diane admitted. "I know you're used to straight 'A's', but flunking a test isn't the end of the world, sweetheart. There's a first time for everything."

Isabel shook her head. "Not this. I hope to God there's never, ever, a first time for this. I—" She stopped, suddenly aware she'd said too much. "It's been a really long day, and I'm whipped. 'Night, Mom."

" 'Night, sweetheart," Diane said. "You'll feel better in the morning."

Isabel gave her a brittle smile. "I hope so."

Diane frowned as Isabel left. "Max," she said slowly, "is everything all right with Isabel? She seems awfully upset over just a test."

"She's okay," Max assured her. "She just got scared, and she doesn't like being scared."

"Scared over a test?" Diane said doubtfully. "What kind of test was it, again?"

"A surprise test," Max answered. "And a really hard one. Unexpectedly hard."

"Ah, the 'pop quiz'," Diane sighed. "I hated those in school. I liked to be prepared, and you couldn't prepare for those, not really. Izzie's the same way, so she probably hates them too. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Max shrugged. "Just love her. That always seems to work."

"That's kind of you, Max, but how?" Diane said. "She didn't seem to want to talk to me about it...wait a minute. Her birthday's in just a few weeks."

"Already bought her a present," Max said.

"Yes, but what about more than that?" Diane said. "What if we throw her a party! Do you think that would cheer her up?"

Max pondered that for a moment, then smiled. "Not just a party—a surprise party."



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


I'll post Chapter 31 on Sunday, June 7.

[keepsmiling7]

LOL...........flaking husks are ball gowns"........I love that!
And Kyle could really get used to Tess cooking and cleaning for him. Yes he could.
Thanks,
Carolyn

[Misha]

I love your Max. I love Max, period

This was the season where I wanted to hug him every five minutes... It's so nice to get to see an expanded version of events when we can see how he "passively" does everything while saving everyone's butt

I gotta say, I was impressed with Tess's knowledge of the world and religions and more impressed with the Valenti's lack of notice

Misha

[Kathy W]

And Kyle could really get used to Tess cooking and cleaning for him. Yes he could.

Oh, yes. Yes, he could. I imagine most men could. To be fair, most women could get used to that too, except that we usually don't get the chance because we're usually the ones doing the cooking and cleaning.

I gotta say, I was impressed with Tess's knowledge of the world and religions and more impressed with the Valenti's lack of notice

I was wondering why Valenti didn't pump her for her knowledge of porn. Guess he was too embarrassed to go after that one.





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE


Three days later,

September 17, 2000, 9:00 a.m.

Evans Residence





Eggs, Max thought, cracking the last of ten eggs into a bowl. Onions. Butter. Salt. The pepper would have to wait because pepper burned, so he started the onions heating in the frying pan before whisking the eggs with a fork. Not working, he decided, rummaging in the drawer between the sink and the stove. Too many eggs, not enough fork…

"Max?"

It was his mother, peering at him curiously as she shrugged on a robe. " 'Morning, Mom. Do you keep the whisk in here?"

"Uh...no, it's too big for that drawer, so I keep it over here," Diane answered, opening a larger drawer on the other side of the kitchen. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Making breakfast. What's it look like?"

"Breakfast," Diane admitted. "It's just that...when did you get into cooking?"

"I watched a show," Max shrugged. "And I was in the mood for scrambled eggs, so I decided to make enough for everyone."

"Izzie's already gone," Diane remarked. "Something about meeting a friend. But I'd be glad to join you for breakfast. Smells good," she added, eyeing the sizzling onions as he whisked the eggs. "And you look…"

"What?" Max said, dumping the eggs into the pan.

"Happy," Diane smiled. "You look genuinely happy for the first time in a long time. It's your sister who isn't. Must be that test she flunked."

"She didn't flunk," Max said. "She just didn't do as well as she wanted to. She still passed."

"Not to hear her talk about it," Diane said. "You'd think someone died."

Because someone almost did. "She's overreacting," Max said. "I set her straight."

"Well, I appreciate that," Diane said. "And this party you're planning should take her mind off whatever was bothering her. Is everything all set?"

"Should be," Max answered. "I'm going out right after breakfast to make sure everything's ready."

"It was nice of the Parkers to lend you the Crashdown on such short notice," Diane said. "I just wish your father could be here. Couldn't it have waited until he was back from his business trip? Her birthday isn't until next month—"

"No," Max said firmly. "Isabel needs this now."

Diane's eyebrows rose. "Is it as bad as all that?"

"She's just really down," Max said. "And you know Dad; he'll say he's free, but then something comes up, and parties aren't things you can move around, not if you want anyone to come to them."

"I know," Diane sighed. "His job has always entailed some weird hours. I guess he's used to it because he watched his mother juggle the same type of schedule—wait. You're adding butter to the eggs?"

"The show I watched said it made them nice and creamy," Max said. "I keep forgetting that Grandma Dee was a lawyer. I don't think of little old ladies as lawyers." He paused. "And I don't think of Grandma Dee as a little old lady."

"I was going to say, where did that come from?" Diane laughed. "Someone called her that in a store a while back, and she said, 'I may be little, I may be old, but trust me, I am no lady.' I thought the guy was going to die of embarrassment. I'll go throw some clothes on; your eggs look almost done. And creamy," she remarked, watching the butter melt. "Imagine that."

"You know, the world won't end if you eat breakfast in your PJ's," Max remarked. "I promise I won't tell anyone. Scout's honor."

"Are you psychoanalyzing me?" Diane teased. "But you're right, I just don't feel human until I'm dressed." She reached up, caressed his cheek. "It's so good to see you looking happy again. And confident, and trying new things, and needling me...it's like, all of a sudden, you're the king of the world."

"I am," Max said. "Just not this one."

His mother laughed, the reference lost on her. "Just promise you won't go down with the ship. Back in a few."

Talk about triple entendres, Max thought as he stirred the eggs. His mother loved Titanic, that weepy tale of doomed love, but "king of the world" had taken on a whole new meaning, one the fictional Jack Dawson would never have imagined. When he'd first learned that he was king of his planet, he'd thought there must be some mistake. Him, a king? He was a teenaged kid from New Mexico; how could he possibly be a leader of any kind? Their encounter with Brody had him reconsidering after leading his headstrong Second and frightened sister down the right path against their will, salvaging the situation, saving his job, and creating a friend in the process. Brody was downright chatty now that he thought Max was a fellow abductee, and in some ways, he was—had he not been abducted? The fact that it was humans doing the abducting was beside the point and left out of the account he'd given Brody when asked for his abduction experience. He'd used details from his time in that white room to construct the tale, not a tale at all, really, but a carefully edited slice of truth which had left Brody grateful that his experiences had been much more benign. He was curious as to whether it was his own people who were responsible for Brody's abduction or someone from another planet entirely. After all, if his people could not only make the journey to Earth but also recreate their royalty in human form, it stood to reason there were other worlds out there with people who could do the same…

There you go again, Max thought with satisfaction. Thinking like a king. The idea didn't seem so preposterous now that he'd aced his second test, the first being how to spring Michael from jail and close the case on Pierce's bones forever. This second test had been more intense, however, as he'd had to go it completely alone—Nasedo was dead, and there was no one to advise them. But when the vacuum created by his death had been filled by Michael's paranoia and Isabel's fear, he had risen to the occasion, pushed both aside, and responded with restraint and compassion. Valenti had contacted him the very next day with details about Brody's acquisition of the UFO Center which, had they waited, would have shed a great deal of light on the situation and further underscored that due diligence was good practice. The fact that his way of approaching the situation had been the right one had been accepted by Isabel and Michael with varying degrees of grace; Isabel was grateful she'd been prevented from killing a total stranger, while Michael was predictably sulking, ostensibly over that energy shield he hadn't bothered to tell them about, but really over the whole incident. Tough shit, Max thought firmly. There was a reason he was king and not the headstrong Michael or the shaky Isabel. He had the temperament for it, the ability to see the bigger picture, and the means to manage the others' disappointment when they didn't get what they wanted or fell short of their own expectations. For Michael, that meant letting him stew for a while until he was ready to talk about it. For Isabel, that meant giving her something to take her mind off their near miss.

That also meant getting up early on a Sunday morning. Thirty minutes later, Max left his mother with the dishes at her behest and headed to the Crashdown, and the most immediate reason he was in such a good mood—planning this party for Isabel had given him the perfect excuse to talk to Liz. If Isabel didn't need this distraction so badly, he would have happily waited until her actual birthday and spent the next several weeks in the planning stages if it meant he had a neutral way to approach Liz. He was kind of sorry it would be over tonight and musing on ways to extend it when he arrived at the diner, now bustling with patrons out for Sunday breakfast.

"There's the partymeister!" Maria exclaimed when she saw him. "Hey, Liz—Max is here."

Max's heart melted when Liz smiled and hurried to join them at the end of the counter, a marked departure from their recent encounters. "We're all set," Liz assured him. "Dad says the place is ours starting at 7 p.m. We've got food, drinks—"

"And cake," Maria added. "Michael said he'd make it."

Max glanced beyond her to the window, where Michael was eyeing him warily. "I want to thank your Dad again for letting us do this," Max said to Liz. "It was really nice of him to donate the Crashdown for my sister's birthday."

"Well, he's only donating the space," Liz noted. "You're paying for the food. But it's no big deal because Sunday nights are dead here. Dad said he'd make more from the party than he would from just being open."

Courtney walked by. "Hi, Max."

"Don't you have orders to deliver?" Maria said tartly before Max could answer.

Courtney shrugged and walked off. "Why are you so down on her?" Liz said. "She's seems perfectly normal."

"She's after Michael," Maria said flatly. "Don't ask me how I know. A dead person would know."

"Michael's made it pretty clear he's not interested, so I wouldn't worry about it," Liz said.

"Oh, but I do," Maria assured her.

"Can we get back to the party?" Max said.

"Let's," Maria agreed. "Alex is all set. He picked up his costume today, and I must say, he looks hot as a cop."

Liz blinked. "What?"

"So he's actually going to do it?" Max said.

"You bet he is," Maria assured him. "We spent all day yesterday practicing the moves…" She made two fists and circled her arms in front of her as Liz watched in alarm "...over and over. This'll be one party Isabel will never forget."

"Maria, what on earth are you talking about?" Liz demanded.

"Oops—table 3 is calling!" Maria said. "Back in a sec."

"Max, what is going on?" Liz said as she scurried off. "Why does Alex need a cop costume, and practice, and...whatever she was just doing."

Max rubbed an eyebrow. "Uh...Maria arranged a surprise for Isabel's party."

"A 'surprise'?" Liz repeated. "Involving Alex? Okay, this is not good."

"Alex agreed to do it," Max shrugged.

"Alex is a sweetheart," Liz said, "which means sometimes he gets taken advantage of. What does she have him doing?"

"Well, it's a...a striptease. Sort of," he amended hastily when Liz's eyes widened. "Not all the way down, of course. You can't get naked in a public place. Not that he ever would," he added when her eyes widened further. "It's just a bit of fun. That's all."

"That's all?" Liz echoed. "That's all? Do you mean to tell me that Alex, Alex, is going to put on a cop costume and then strip it off in front of all the party guests?"

"Well...yeah," Max admitted. "That's the general idea."

"Oh. My. God.," Liz said faintly. "You've lost your minds. You've all lost your minds!"

"I think the idea is that Alex likes Isabel, and Isabel likes Alex, and it would be nice if they, you know, got...together," Max said.

"Together," Liz repeated. "As in 'together' together? Isn't that up to Isabel and Alex?"

"Sure," Max said. "But Isabel dates quite a bit, and there's always the risk that something will slip...and it would be better if it slips with someone who knows."

"Uh huh," Liz said slowly. "Better for you, you mean."

"Better for all of us," Max said firmly, "Isabel included."

Liz gazed at him for a moment in silence before shaking her head. "Look, I know Alex likes Isabel...believe me, I know that...but I think Isabel's made it pretty clear that she's not into him that way. And I don't think a striptease is going to change that, or that you should be getting involved in who she likes or doesn't like. That's her business."

"Of course it is," Max said, irritation lacing his voice. "This wasn't my idea, it was Maria's, and Alex agreed to it. It's just a silly party thing. Don't make it into something bigger than it is."

"Well, maybe I wouldn't if you hadn't just been going on about how you want your sister to date the 'right' kind of guy," Liz said.

"I was just saying it would be convenient," Max said. "Obviously it's up to them. It's just that sometimes, Isabel needs...guidance."

" 'Guidance'," Liz echoed doubtfully.

"Yeah, you know...she doesn't think things through," Max said. "She goes by what she's feeling, not what's rational."

"Like when you healed me," Liz said.

"No!" Max protested. "Not like that."

"In broad daylight, in a crowded diner," Liz went on. "Because that was, like, totally rational."

Max stared at her for a moment in consternation. "How did we get from Isabel's birthday party to my healing you being irrational?"

"I didn't say...well, yeah, I guess I kinda did," Liz admitted. "Okay, it's none of my business, so I'm staying out of it. And if Alex wants to...perform...that's his business. Everything's set on my end, so the only thing left is the cake. Hey, Michael," she called, "can you give us a cake update?"

Michael's face appeared in the passthrough, gazed at them for a moment, then disappeared. "Oh...okay," Liz said awkwardly. "That was weird."

"Problem?"

It was Courtney, back from delivering orders. "Oh...um...Michael's making the cake for Isabel's birthday party," Liz said.

"Sweet," Courtney said. "But…?"

"But he's not talking to me," Max said. "He's mad at me."

Courtney smiled faintly. "What is it this time?"

"Same thing it usually is," Max answered. "I was right, and he was wrong."

"Some things never change," Courtney remarked. "I'll talk to him. Be right back."

Max looked at Liz, who shrugged. "Why does she sound like she knows us when she doesn't?"

"Doesn't she?" Liz said. "You don't have to spend much time here to figure out that dynamic."

Maria reappeared. "What is she doing back there?" she demanded, spying Courtney in the kitchen.

"Maria! Chill!" Liz ordered. "She works here. Happy subject—do you think Isabel knows about her party?"

"What? No!" Maria exclaimed, momentarily distracted from her competition. "Max made it very clear he'd hang anyone who spilled. Metaphorically speaking," she added when Max started to protest. "Everyone was sworn to secrecy. She doesn't know, I'm sure of it. Alex is going to drop the bait this morning, and come tonight, she'll be well and truly surprised."

"Good," Max said. "I was afraid she'd be here now. Mom said she got up early to meet a friend."

"At this hour on a Sunday?" Maria said. "Must be some friend."





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





Saucer Motel





Isabel raised her hand to knock, then lowered it, doing one last quick check. Hair? Good. Sunglasses? Firmly on head. Cleavage? Covered, or mostly, anyway. Nerve? Failing, she decided, knocking quickly on the door before she changed her mind. There was a brief pause before it opened.

"Hi, Grant!" Isabel said brightly. "I'm sorry to just come over like this, but...I caught you at a bad time, didn't I?"

Clad in jeans and a tee shirt, Grant gaped at her for a moment, a towel over one shoulder and the remnants of shaving cream on his face. "Uh...no! No, of course not. I was just…"

"I...can come back later," Isabel stammered.

"No, that's okay," Grant said, hastily wiping his face. "I'll be out on the dig later."

"The dig?" Isabel said. "On a Sunday?"

"It's not Sunday for me," Grant said. "No weekends in archeology. But come on in; I've got a few minutes."

Isabel stepped gingerly into the room, feeling monumentally silly. Coming unannounced was a bad idea, but truthfully, she'd been afraid he'd refuse, and she was so frustrated by their failed attempts to see each other that she'd decided to take matters into her own hands. Now she stood there awkwardly, taking in the shabby decor, rumpled sheets, overflowing suitcase, and muddy pile of excavation equipment near the door. "Sorry," he said self consciously, pulling up the room's one chair for her to sit. "It's not exactly the Ritz, I know."

"Not sure we have a Ritz in Roswell. And besides, this has 'desert ambiance', Isabel added, reading a placard on the desk.

"Yeah, right," Grant said dryly. "Science doesn't pay much."

Isabel nodded sympathetically and fretted while the silence stretched between them. "I'm sorry I didn't call," she said in a rush, anxious to say something, anything. "I thought of this late last night, and I didn't want to wake you, but I...well...we've been missing every chance to connect, and I didn't want you to think I was blowing you off, or that I'd changed my mind about us seeing each other."

"Well, who could blame you?" Grant said. "For having second thoughts, I mean."

"I'm not having second thoughts," Isabel protested.

"Maybe not," Grant allowed. "But I imagine your parents wouldn't be too thrilled about you seeing a guy my age. If I had a daughter your age, I know I wouldn't be."

"I'm almost eighteen," Isabel protested. "They can't tell me what to do."

Grant shook his head. "I'm guessing 'almost' won't cut it with your father."

"My parents don't know about you," Isabel said, "and I'd like to keep it that way. But my birthday's next month if you'd rather wait until it's official."

"That might be best," Grant agreed. "If I'm still here, that is."

"You're...you're leaving?"

"I don't know," Grant answered, taking a seat on the bed across from her. "It depends on whether the company decides to keep funding me. I won't know until the middle of next month."

"So...we could make plans and have them all go up in smoke?"

Grant shrugged. "It's the life of an academic, I'm afraid. Not very romantic, I know."

"Then we're not waiting," Isabel declared. "I'm not going to miss a chance to get to know you just because I'm a few days shy of legal. I mean, what is age, anyway? It's just an arbitrary date on the calendar, a number we attach significance to whether it deserves it or not."

"I'm guessing my age and yours would be pretty significant to a lot of people," Grant said.

"Then a lot of people are wrong," Isabel said firmly. "I know better than most that you can't judge a book by its cover. And I also know that life can change on a dime, can turn on you in an instant, so we have to grab what happiness we can when we have the chance because we may never get that chance again."

She stopped, suddenly self-conscious as Grant stared at her. "Wow," he said softly. "I know the kind of life experiences you have to have in order to make a statement like that with that kind of conviction." He paused. "I'm sorry."

Isabel gave him a brittle smile, resisting a sudden urge to pour out her problems to a complete stranger, a bad idea on so many levels, but especially because it would ruin the one thing which made Grant special—he didn't "know". "Don't be," she said. "Because that's what makes me so certain we shouldn't wait for some arbitrary date on a calendar. What say we celebrate my birthday a bit early? Say, tonight, after you get back from the dig?"

"That's not giving me much time to get you a present," Grant said.

"I don't need a present," Isabel said. "Just finally getting together will make a wonderful present."

"And here I thought you'd be hard to buy for," Grant teased.

"Oh, I am," Isabel assured him. "If we get to the point where you're buying, I promise you I'll be properly high maintenance."

"All right, then," Grant smiled. "It's a date."

Isabel's phone rang. She checked the caller ID to make sure it wasn't Max or Michael before excusing herself to answer it. "Good news!" she said when she hung up. "My friend is returning a book I loaned him, and he wants to give it to me at the Crashdown tonight. That'll be the perfect place for us to meet."

"Isn't that kind of public?" Grant said doubtfully.

"It's perfect," Isabel assured him. "No one goes there on a Sunday night."





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





Crashdown Cafe





"Got a minute?"

Courtney waited, but Rath didn't bother turning around. "What?" he said curtly.

"I hear you're making the cake for Isabel's birthday party," Courtney said. "Liz wants to know how that's coming along."

"You mean Max wants to know," Rath corrected.

"Actually, it was Liz who asked," Courtney noted, "and who you just blew off. But since Max is planning the party, is it such a bad thing for him to be interested in the cake too?"

"Liz, Max," Rath said dismissively. "They're one and the same. Interchangeable."

"Not to hear her tell it," Courtney said. "Or him. Aren't you always the one yanking his chain for complaining that Liz left him? And since the answer to that is 'yes', how exactly do you lump them together when neither of them agree?"

"What, are you Oprah?" Rath retorted. "Tell Max to take a hike."

Tell him yourself, Courtney thought darkly. She already had her hands full with a dead Warder, a murderous live one, a missing Larak, and a newborn, fragile peace treaty about to succumb to infant mortality. She'd practically dissected the drywall in Nasedo's house with no sign of the box or the Granolith key, so she had no leverage over Brivari when he returned, which he would any day now. Vanessa had not heeded her advice to hit the road, and Larak had not yet reappeared, which meant the fate of Antar's first real shot at peace rested in her hands. To say she had little patience for temper tantrums about cakes was something of an understatement, and to have said tantrum coming from one she considered Antar's best hope made things even worse.

"Cough it up, Guerin," Courtney ordered. "What's with the frostbite?"

"None of your business," Rath said.

"Bullshit," Courtney said firmly. "If you're making me into a messenger boy for your spat with Max, you just made it my business. Spill."

Rath's eyes raked her up and down. "Messenger 'boy'? I'm pretty sure you're a girl."

Courtney's eyebrows rose. "Oh? What makes you so sure?"

Rath scanned her again, just her upper half this time. "Couple of things."

Courtney smiled faintly. "You can count. I like that in a man. Now get to the spilling part."

Rath said nothing. "Fine," Courtney said briskly. "I'll tell them you're not making the cake."

"Wait...what?"

"Well, you're not talking, and Isabel needs a cake, so—"

"I never said I wouldn't make it," Rath protested.

"No, you didn't say anything at all," Courtney said crossly. "And I have better things to do than stand around while you pout. Read my lips—no talking, no cake. I don't have time for this."

"Why?" Rath demanded. "What's on your to-do list today? Saving the world?"

"Actually, yes," Courtney shot back. "And your ass, his ass, and all our collective asses. So excuse me if I'm too busy to put up with the latest dust-up over girlfriends or glucose. Command decision—you lost the job. I'll make the cake. Sorry I interrupted your snit fit."

"It's not a 'snit fit', and I'm making the cake," Rath said flatly.

"Of course it's a snit fit, and you just lost your chance," Courtney retorted.

"Like hell I did," Rath declared. "You don't even know what this is about!"

"Because you won't tell me what it's about!" Courtney exclaimed. "Which leaves me to draw my own conclusions, so...the conclusion I've drawn is that you're throwing a tantrum over a cake for a party we're holding tonight. Tonight. No cake, no party, so get with the program, or get lost!"

"For Christ's sake, this has nothing to do with the goddamned cake!" Rath shouted.

They stopped, both silent, both glaring...until Rath dropped his eyes and turned his back to her again. "It's not about the cake," he said quietly. "It's about the fact that I almost screwed up in a really big way, and...Max stopped me. And that bites."

"How big is 'big', exactly?" Courtney asked.

"Life or death," Rath answered. "Yeah—that big."

He's serious, Courtney realized. Jesus H. Christ, what had the hybrids been up to this time? Whatever it was, it had left Zan with what looked suspiciously like a swagger while Rath's hunched shoulders looked suspiciously like guilt. "I want to make Isabel's cake," Rath went on. "I can't do much for her, but this is something I can do. She deserves a night where she doesn't have to...where she can just enjoy herself," he amended. "There's been a lot of crap lately."

More than even I know of, Courtney thought, and she knew of plenty. The King and his Second were famous for their arguments, with Rath leaning toward the harsh and impulsive side of things while Zan was known for thoughtful deliberation and more measured responses, but both could be high-handed jackasses. And did she detect some feelings for Vilandra in there? That marriage had been Zan's idea, but Rath had gone along with it, and why not? Zan was his king, and Vilandra was easy on the eyes, even if it was an ill-fitting match. One of the few goods things which had come out of Antar's fall was the end of that crappy union.

"Michael?"

Rath turned around. Zan had appeared in the doorway, his eyes hard. "Liz asked you a question," Zan said in a deadly calm voice. "I'd like an answer."

"Yeah, I bet you would," Rath muttered.

Zan's eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"

The imperiousness of his tone set Courtney's teeth on edge; whatever Zan had been right about, he was currently rubbing Rath's nose in it. "He said it's all good," she broke in before Rath could dig himself in even deeper. "The cake, I mean. Everything's set. All systems go."

Zan looked at her suspiciously. "Oh, is that what he said? Because I heard something different."

"Then you heard wrong," Courtney said deliberately. "Either that, or you're just looking for trouble."

The ensuing silence was so profound, it eclipsed the fact that it wasn't really silent, even the chunk of the knife Rath was using to slice vegetables and the whirr of the dishwasher receding before the tension separating the two most powerful men on Antar. The ball was in Zan's court, and he looked back and forth from her to Rath as though sensing a conspiracy.

"So you're all set?" Zan said finally.

"Yeah," Rath answered. "All set."

"Good," Zan said. "Too bad you couldn't have just said that." His eyes fastened on Courtney as he left. "Liz says you're working the party. See you there."

"Hope you're in a better mood by then," Courtney said. "It'll be one bust of a party if the MC is all grumpy."

The corners of Rath's mouth twitched as Zan raised an eyebrow. Courtney held his gaze until he left the room without bothering to challenge her further.

"What the hell was that?" Rath said.

"Why?" Courtney said. "You don't like me yanking his chain?"

"Yank away. But weren't you just yanking mine?"

"Maybe I like to yank," Courtney shrugged.

Rath's eyes narrowed. "Cough it up, Banks. When did you suddenly land on my side?"

"When I got it," Courtney answered.

Rath eyed her skeptically. "You 'got it'? What do you think you 'get'?"

"Just this," Courtney said. "There are basically two types of people in the world—people who get all the breaks, and people who can't seem to catch one. And when one of those golden boys who gets everything handed to him on a silver platter is right about something, it sucks. It's unfair. It makes you think that, maybe, just maybe, if we got even a few of those breaks, we could have made better decisions too."

Rath stared at her for a moment in silence. "Yeah," he said gruffly. "That's pretty much it."

"Told you I got it. Good luck with the cake." Courtney slid off the counter and was halfway to the door when his voice stopped her.

"You know, you're hot when you're mad."

Courtney smiled. "Right back atcha, Mikey G."

"What's going on back here?" a voice demanded.

It was Maria, bristling with suspicion. "Looks like you're huffing and puffing and blowing the house down," Courtney answered. "What else is new?"

Maria's eyes narrowed "Why, you little—"

"Not interested," Courtney interrupted. "I'm officially sick of your whining."

"Ditto," Rath muttered.

Courtney left Maria gaping and fuming and headed back into the diner. Maria was getting on her last nerve, all the drama about her lost boyfriend grating beside the very real and pressing trouble on Antar. She'd been useful at keeping them alive on Earth, but perhaps she'd outlived that usefulness. If Brivari rejected the treaty, which she was all but certain he would, their only remaining options would be any support Larak could muster, the king himself...and his Second. Actually, maybe she should reverse those two. His Second would likely show more interest in preserving their planet than the king.

Her phone rang. Pulling it out of her pocket, Courtney looked at the screen in horror before frantically dialing, reading and re-reading the four words on the screen.

On my way back.

The call went to voicemail. "Brivari, listen to me," Courtney said tersely. "When you come back, come to me or Dee first before you go after Vanessa or do anything else. Jaddo, he...he set some things in motion," she stammered, trying not to give away too much, "things we didn't know about until after he died and after you left. You should know what he was trying to do before you make any decisions about what to do next. Please, please come to me or Dee as soon as you get back. Even you admitted that sometimes he gets things right. This might be one of those times, so do it for him, if no one else."

She rung off, closing her eyes and pressing the phone to her chest. God, that had sounded lame, but she was desperate, and soon she wouldn't be the only one. Her hands shook as she dialed another number and it rang once, twice, three times, four. "C'mon, c'mon," she muttered impatiently as Vanessa's phone rang. "Pick up! Pick up!"





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





Proctor residence





"More coffee?" Dee asked.

"Sure," Anthony replied, his nose in the morning paper, which was quite a pile given it was the enormous Sunday edition.

"I was thinking bacon and eggs for brunch," Dee said. "And toast. And hash browns. A real restaurant version."

"Going all out, eh?" Anthony smiled. "Sounds good. Need help?"

"Nope—I can spatter the kitchen with bacon grease all by myself."

Dee headed for the kitchen, actually looking forward to tussling with a pound of bacon. Secretly peeved that Brivari hadn't contacted her once during his absence, she was also secretly enjoying the quiet. No squabbling Warders and no immediate enemies meant a peace rarely achieved in these parts...but the moment she thought that, she would feel guilty because that peace had come at the cost of the Jaddo's life. Just enjoy it, Anthony had said, as the silver lining in a cloud no one had wanted. And so she was prepared to spend her Sunday morning making a good old fashioned American breakfast and looking forward to Isabel's surprise birthday party tonight, all while ignoring the fact that she and Courtney hadn't managed to find Brivari's missing box, or missing key, or whatever he was after, and that Antar's first ever peace treaty hung by a thread. That would all be there long after she'd cleaned the bacon grease off the counter…

Dee stopped at the kitchen doorway. There was a fresh pot of coffee steaming away, one she hadn't made...and one being sampled by someone with his back to her, looking out the kitchen window.

"Hope you don't mind," Brivari said. "You were all out."

Dee didn't answer because she couldn't think of anything to say, a rarity for her. You're back, seemed obvious. So sorry for your loss, seemed inadequate. Why the hell didn't you keep me in the loop? seemed petty. At times like these, silence was best.

"Have I ever told you how glad I am that you're still living in this house?" Brivari went on. "You, your mother, your father, were our 'first contact'. You set the tone for what humans could be. It was a high bar few others have ever reached."

Dee remained absolutely still, not certain where he was going with this. Nostalgia was to be expected when someone close to you died, but what happened when that someone was quite literally the only one like you on the planet? "I must have looked out this window a million times since then," Brivari went on, "and drunk coffee in this kitchen more than that. It's the only beverage that even comes close to our jero. I miss that sometimes, which is odd given that I can't taste either."

He turned finally, and Dee studied him carefully. He looked normal, but still…

"I am given to understand that Jaddo 'set things in motion' before he died, to use Courtney's wording. Is this true?"

Dee's mouth felt like cotton. "Yes."

"Hmm," Brivari murmured. "She directed me to either her or you for details. I am here because I trust you more."

He stopped, waiting, and Dee's heart sank. Seriously? It fell to her to plead Antar's case to the King's Warder? She'd rather plead it to the King, even if that did mean admitting to her grandson that his grandmother had known about him all along. Still, Jaddo had entrusted her with the terms of the treaty, and with Courtney and Larak concerned about being seen as treasonous, perhaps this was for the best. She was not Antarian and thus could not be accused of treason; if he wanted to accuse Jaddo of treason, that ship had sailed.

"If you would prefer, I can go to Courtney and—"

"No," Dee broke in. "I was just about to make breakfast. Why don't you join us?"

"I didn't come here for—"

"Have a seat, Brivari," Dee said firmly. "You're going to need it."

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



I'll post Chapter 32 on Sunday, June 21.

[keepsmiling7]

Max cooking......now I would really like to see that.
And surprise, surprise Isabel........some people do go to the Crashdown on Sunday.
Thanks,
Carolyn

[Kathy W]

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!







CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO




September 17, 2000, 12:30 p.m.

Congresswoman Whitaker's office






The key scraped in the lock as Vanessa unlocked the door to her office and looked hopefully at the phone on Rose's desk, but there was nothing—no blinking light, no messages. Locking the door behind her, she sank into Rose's chair and pulled out her cell, but there were no messages there either. Rose was taking today off, and Parker wouldn't be in till later, making for a few precious hours to decide what to do now that her self-imposed deadline had come and gone.


He's dead, Vanessa. He's been dead for several days now.


A weary and completely incongruent chuckle escaped, borne of the irony that Jaddo being dead was something she'd simply never considered. It was still possible that Jaddo had ditched her, that he held his being captured against her or had just reneged on the treaty altogether, but it was looking more and more like he hadn't been around to do either. It was incredible, really...what were the odds? Yes, he'd been compromised when he'd left her hotel room that night, but a Royal Warder in a weakened state still trumped most sentient life forms at their best. A single Argilian operative was no match for a Warder, so how had one of the cretins Nicholas had sent managed to pull off not only an accidental capture, but an assassination? What kind of spectacularly bad luck did one have to attract to have the single, notoriously-hard-to-kill liaison from the enemy's ranks wind up dead at the worst possible moment? And just how bassakwards did the world have to be to find her actually regretting the death of a Royal Warder? The question now was how to best salvage this situation. Much as it pained her to admit it, Courtney was right—the proposed treaty must be given every possible chance, and in order to do that, she needed to leave town before Brivari returned. She had no intention, however, of leaving without leverage in her pocket. She had to have something to show for her time here, something to protect her from the hurricane winds that were about to blow from all directions. All of this was for naught if she went down with the ship.

First things first, Vanessa sighed, picking up her phone. She'd spent the last two days painstakingly mapping the required chain of events. This was the first link, and would likely be the hardest. Jaddo and Daniel may be dead, but both could still help the cause. Kicking off her shoes, she settled back in her chair, mentally reviewed the story she'd constructed, and braced herself for the worst.

"What?" Nicholas's suspicious voice said.

"Good morning to you, too," Vanessa said dryly.

"It's lunch time, and you never call me. Ever."

"Not unless I have news," Vanessa noted. She paused. "Daniel found me. I was right. They got to him."

"Who got to him?" Nicholas demanded.

"The Royals. The Warders. That's why he's been so odd recently. They…" Vanessa paused again for dramatic effect. "They want to make a deal."

"What kind of deal?" Nicholas asked sharply.

"The kind where we all get to go home."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, followed by a flurry of muttering just out of earshot. Vanessa waited, mentally going over the story again. It was a simple lie, as all good lies must be, and as for the treaty itself, that was the truth. Still, she seriously doubted she'd be going into much detail. Nicholas wouldn't get that far.

"Let me get this straight," Nicholas's scornful voice said. "The Royals are trying to make a deal, and they're using your human boyfriend as the messenger boy? How fucked up is that? Seriously, that is completely fucked up," he added, to guffaws from someone nearby, probably Greer.

"Daniel has relayed the terms of a treaty," Vanessa went on. "Terms that will bring peace to the five planets and allow us to return home. It's worth considering."

"Oh, sure it is," Nicholas said sarcastically. "And who exactly does this come from?"

"Rath," Vanessa answered.

A sharper intake of breath this time, followed by darker muttering. This was a judicious rewrite of the facts meant to yank Nicholas' chain; he'd killed Rath himself, so to have Rath reborn and proposing treaties would piss him off. "So Danny Boy actually met Rath?" Nicholas said. "Why didn't he grab him? Isn't he supposed to be this big alien hunter?"

"Of course he didn't meet Rath," Vanessa said. "The terms were sent with Rath's Warder. He's nowhere near a big enough alien hunter to be a match for a Royal Warder."

There was a strangled sound of fury. "Jaddo," Nicholas said darkly. "It's a wonder Danny made it out alive."

"Yes, well, it doesn't make sense to shoot the messenger," Vanessa said mildly, "at least until the messenger has delivered the message."

"Right," Nicholas said sourly. "And does this 'treaty' leave Khivar on the throne?"

"Of course not. There will be no peace with either Khivar or Zan on the throne. We both know that, and so do they."

"No deal," Nicholas declared. "Tell them to get lost."

"It's not up to either of us to tell them anything," Vanessa said. "The proposition is for Khivar. As Khivar's Second, you have a duty to deliver it, and it is his—and only his—prerogative to respond."

"So you want me to take a so-called treaty which is being sent from the Royals through your inflatable action doll and deliver it to Khivar?" Nicholas said in astonishment. "A 'treaty' which knocks him off the throne? Are you nuts? No deal! Send Danny Boy back to Jaddo with that answer and see how long he lives."

"As I already noted," Vanessa said in a steely tone, "it's not for you or me to give them an answer. We are soldiers in the service of Khivar. Our duty is to deliver the terms and accept his judgment."

"Don't you tell me what my 'duty' is," Nicholas said hotly.

"Apparently I have to, because apparently you've forgotten," Vanessa retorted. "I repeat—your duty is to deliver the proposed armistice to Khivar. Along with your opinion of it, I'm sure, but deliver it nonetheless."

"Go to hell," Nicholas declared.

"Is that an official refusal?"

"Vanessa," Nicholas said warningly, "what are you up to?"

Vanessa's hand gripped the phone tighter. "Just this—if you won't deliver the treaty to Khivar, I'll go over your head and do it for you. And I'll be sure to let him know why it's coming from me instead of you."

"And how do you propose to do that?" Nicholas demanded. "Do you really think I'll let anything from your communicator get through now?"

"Do you really think you're the only one who can communicate with home?"

Vanessa held the phone away from her ear as a torrent of profanity flew over the line, followed by angry shouting from both Nicholas and those listening. This had been the hardest decision to make, whether to put her reputation and her very life on the line for the sake of this treaty. Having challenged Nicholas, she could never again return to Copper Summit. Now she would have to rely on the Resistance to convey the terms to Khivar and make certain she produced an offering which would make him listen to her.

"I'll give you 24 hours," Vanessa said. "If you haven't notified Khivar of the treaty by then, he'll hear it from me first, along with news of your insubordination. Considering how pissed he already is with you, I'm guessing that won't go over too well." She paused. "Goodbye, Nicholas."

Nicholas was literally screaming as she rung off, and the sudden silence in the office was jarring. She set the phone down with shaking hands only to jump when it rang.

"What in the name of God are you still doing here?" Courtney demanded. "Brivari is on his way back, and if you're here when he gets here, you're dead. Do you hear me? Dead."

Completely drained by her clash with Nicholas and struck by the incongruity of it all, Vanessa burst out laughing. "What?" Courtney said irritably. "Did I say something funny?"

"You certainly did," Vanessa said, wiping tears from her husk. "I just told Nicholas about the treaty."

There was a long, startled pause. "You...you did?"

"I spun it that Daniel had been contacted by Jaddo," Vanessa went on, "and instructed to bring the terms to Khivar."

"But...they're both dead," Courtney said.

"Small detail," Vanessa said dismissively. "Doesn't mean they both can't still stump for the cause. Anyway, I told Nicholas that if he didn't bring it to Khivar, I would. So I'm kind of dead anyway, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Courtney said soberly, "I do. But that means...you can't…"

"I can't go back," Vanessa finished. "I know that. Can you get a message to Khivar?"

"Uh...sure," Courtney said. "But—"

"Good. I gave Nicholas 24 hours to do it himself, but he won't," Vanessa said. "We both knew that."

"Okay," Courtney said faintly. "I'll send word, but...Jesus, Vanessa, what are you going to do? Where are you going to go?"

"Well," Vanessa said in a brittle voice, "I imagine 'Congresswoman Whitaker' will have to disappear. I'd be something of a sitting duck in a national office.

"You need to disappear today," Courtney said. "Brivari said he's on his way back, and I doubt he'll be in a chatty mood when he gets here."

"I never thought I'd hear myself say this," Vanessa said slowly, "but right now, I'd take my chances with Brivari over Nicholas any day."

"Maybe," Courtney allowed, "but if I were you, I wouldn't take my chances with either. Get out of here. I'll see to it that the terms are delivered. I wish I could offer you a place to hide, but..."

"But if you brought me to the Resistance, they'd kill me," Vanessa finished.

"You need to live," Courtney said. "You're one of the authors of that treaty. No one will ever believe it if both of you are dead."

"Don't worry about me," Vanessa said. "I've already got my plane ticket, a pseudonym, the works. I'm a survivor...just like you. Remember, 24 hours."

"Got it," Courtney promised. She paused. "I never saw you as the selfless type, Vanessa. I never saw you sacrificing yourself for Antar."

"Let's not get all misty-eyed," Vanessa said. "Twenty-four hours. No more, no less."

Vanessa rung off and tossed the phone on her desk. She was homeless now; she'd just effectively killed Vanessa Whitaker, a persona she could never use again because Nicholas would be looking for her. She may have killed herself also, having cut herself off from Copper Summit and any chance at a new husk. But there was no guarantee that the harvest would have arrived in time for her anyway; just this week, they'd lost a dozen soldiers to dying husks. No, her best bet now was to push this forward as hard as she could in the hope of a quick resolution and to stack the deck in her favor. The ever chatty Liz Parker had inadvertently helped with the details, so all that remained was to decide which one it would be. Should she flip a coin? Do eenie meenie minie moe? Neither, she decided when a car pulled up across the street and a familiar blonde climbed out. She'd just take the one who showed up first, and conveniently alone.

Vanessa smiled as the pulled on her coat. I never saw you as the selfless type. That would be because she wasn't. She'd have her pound of flesh before she boarded that plane tonight if it was the last thing she did.





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





Pod Chamber






The pod chamber's door rumbled open like it had so many times before, and Brivari stood in the doorway, unwilling to go inside. He'd been perfectly happy to pursue Jaddo's killer because it had delayed this moment, postponed his need to face his worst fear save his Ward's death. Even that he had lived through and seen him resurrected, but a boon like that could only happen once. There would be no resurrection this time.

We can't afford to lose anyone else, Jaddo, not hybrids, not Warders.

Reluctantly, Brivari stepped inside, triggering the low light he and Valeris had chuckled over all those years ago when they had retrofitted this former experimentation chamber to house the pods and the Granolith. There had been four of them then and hundreds of hybrids; it seemed a lifetime ago now, further away even than the fall. He could remember home clearly, but some of the details of their early days on this planet had slipped away. How odd then, that they should come crashing back now, and how appropriate given that he was the only one left to remember. How timid Urza had been, how scared of Jaddo, and yet how well he knew just exactly how to push his buttons. How Valeris could bring any of them to heel. How a young human child had stumbled across their ship, later sharing her secret with her parents and a friend who would become her husband, four stalwart allies without whom none of them would have survived.

In just a few years we'll be bringing them home, and it will take both of us to accomplish that.

Slowly, Brivari moved into the chamber. Dee had seen the hybrids carry Jaddo's body inside, but not back out, and the reason why was all too clear. The dust lay in a vaguely body-shaped pile on the floor, likely undisturbed since its formation. Now he sank down beside it, shaking his head, stirring the dust with a fingertip.

"I warned you," he whispered, "over and over. I told you it would come to this. I've been right more times than I could count. That alone should have caught your attention...but nothing ever did. You just wouldn't listen, would you?

Would you?!"

The shout echoed around the chamber, punctuated by the handful of dust he flung at a far wall in a fit of rage so primal, it felt almost...human. He was alone now, utterly alone, and solely responsible for shepherding four wayward hybrids to a throne none of them wanted on a world none of them remembered. He'd already had a taste of what it looked like to fly solo when Jaddo had died during Zan's rescue. If their task had been daunting before, it was now downright impossible.

"Brivari?"

Still hunched on the floor, Brivari raised his head. Dee stood in the chamber doorway, silhouetted by the sun behind her. "Sorry it took awhile," she said, stepping gingerly inside. "I don't climb as well as I did when I was 8. Anthony stayed with the car. He was afraid three would be a crowd." She paused, taking in the pile of dust. "Are you okay?"

"No," Brivari said harshly, "No, I am not okay. Idiot!" he said savagely, rocking back on his haunches. "How many times did I tell him it would come to this? How many?"

"Many," Dee said quietly. "But for what it's worth, it sounds like it was all one spectacular accident. You said even the one who killed him admitted that."

"This was no accident," Brivari said bitterly. "He impersonated Pierce masterfully, dismantled the Special Unit like a pro...but he just couldn't let it go at that. He had to rub her face in it, which is what brought her here, and then he tried to bargain with her? What in the name of all that's holy was he thinking?"

"Well," Dee said, "I think he was thinking—"

"It was a rhetorical question," Brivari said sharply.

Dee's eyes narrowed. "I was the last of us to see him before he died and the one he told the details of that bargain, so no, it's most definitely not a rhetorical question. I know better than anyone what he was thinking because he told me"

"Oh, right," Brivari said sarcastically. "He told you, but not me."

"Because he knew you would shoot it down before he had a chance to finish a single sentence," Dee said. "He wanted my help convincing you to give it a serious look, and he was taking the idea for a test drive—if he couldn't sell it to me, how could he ever hope to sell it to you?"

"No offense, but you're not exactly well versed about the political situation on Antar," Brivari said.

"No offense, but you're not exactly well versed in who your precious hybrids have become in this lifetime," Dee retorted, "or how they're likely to react to the notion of going home. He sought my advice because he knows I know the people they are now. It was an unusual move for him, for either of you, to acknowledge that who they were and who they are now are not one and the same. I never thought I'd see the day when he got that before you did, but here we are. Go figure."

"He brokered a deal which denies my Ward his throne!" Brivari said furiously.

"He was accepting the fact that Max might never want that throne back!" Dee exclaimed. "Not to mention that avoiding war meant neither Max nor Khivar could have the throne. Someone else needs to take the reins, or this won't work."

"And of course that someone was Rath," Brivari said bitterly. "Why am I not surprised?"

"As regent," Dee said patiently. "Regent, and only until Max has children. At which time his firstborn becomes monarch, with his parents as regents."

" 'If'," Brivari corrected. "If Zan has children, and if they ultimately agree to take the throne. If he doesn't or they don't, Rath becomes king."

"Yes, there was a contingency plan," Dee said, "which only makes sense given the circumstances. What did you want, for the throne to revert to Khivar? That was apparently Vanessa's suggestion. This way the dynasty you helped create could continue, and pretty much the way it would have anyway, with a child of Zan on the throne. It just got a bit muddy in the middle."

"A 'bit' muddy?" Brivari said incredulously. "Is that how you think Vilandra will see it?"

Dee let go a heavy sigh, and joined him on the floor. "Yeesh," she muttered, sliding gingerly down to the floor. "Time was when I sat for hours on the floor. Now I have a hard time getting down, never mind up." She paused. "The part about Isabel was the part I had the most trouble with. According to Jaddo, it was the flashpoint—Khivar was supposedly in love with her, after all, but the fact remains that he lied to her about his intentions. Vanessa insisted that he never meant to kill Zan, that that had been Nicholas's doing, and that Nicholas has been and still was being punished for it, although anyone with working brain cells knows what would have happened to her brother even if he hadn't been assassinated on the spot. But in the end, I had to agree Jaddo had done his best for her, or as much as he could have under the circumstances, something I didn't expect given how much he hated her. He still preserved her freedom to make her own decision, it was just...postponed."

"Yes, after she listens to Khivar tell his side of the story," Brivari said sourly. "I'm sure he'll stretch that out as long as he can."

"Big deal," Dee said. "So she listens to a blowhard tell a fairy tale. After that she can do anything she likes, including return to Earth. I didn't like it either, but it seemed a small price to pay for peace."

"I sincerely doubt she'll see it that way," Brivari said, "and I can promise you her brother won't."

"Probably not," Dee admitted. "But you have to remember, this was just the first draft. It was always going to be a process, and it had to start somewhere. Jaddo wasn't stupid enough to believe he'd come up with the final version right off the bat; he just needed to come up with something that would get the party started. He knew you and Nicholas would hate it on sight, but he was counting on the support of your sister planets to twist your arms and make you keep trying."

"Oh, they'd support it," Brivari said darkly. "They live in a war zone. They'll support anything which brings that to an end."

"A point I recently made," Dee said, "and who can blame them? I don't live in a war zone. I'm not in a position to judge."

"Well, I am," Brivari declared. "This is totally unacceptable. Anything which deprives the king of his rightful throne is totally unacceptable."

"Then he'll have to wage war to get it back," Dee said.

"The people will support him," Brivari insisted. "They won't support Khivar, but they'll support their true king."

"Maybe," Dee allowed. "But will Max be willing to do that? Because the odds are good he won't. Jaddo wasn't trying to take anything away from him, Brivari; he was just reading the handwriting on the wall. He was trying to see it from Max's point of view. Isn't that what you've always been banging on him to do? And now that he has, you're still not happy?"

"No, I'm not happy!" Brivari exclaimed furiously. "I'm not happy that he ignored me and got himself killed! I'm not happy that I've been saddled with some grand bargain he was making with the enemy! I'm not happy that I've been left to herd cats! I'm not happy that someone killed him when I'm am the only one who gets to kill him!"

"By all means, then, let's bring him back so you can finish him off yourself," Dee said dryly.

They sat in silence for a moment, cheerful sunshine streaming in the doorway, belying the scene on the floor inside. "Let's get this over with," Brivari said finally.

"Don't take it all," Dee warned. "The kids will notice. No point in making them think the safest place on Earth has been breached."

A few minutes later, they stood outside the pod chamber and let a handful of Jaddo's dust fly in the wind. "Perhaps we should have waited for Courtney," Dee said.

"Why? She hated him," Brivari said.

"So did you," Dee pointed out. "But she understood his value. And so did you."

"For all the good it did me," Brivari whispered.

The last few particles of dust danced in the breeze before Dee spoke again.

"What are you going to do about Vanessa?"





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





Tess came to slowly, layers of darkness replaced by a throbbing pain in her temple. There was something over her head which let a bit of light through, but nothing else. Her shoulders ached, probably because her hands were tied behind her, her ankles weren't much happier for the same reason, and her powers seemed to be on the fritz. She was sitting on something hard, and she shifted this way and that, moving her head from side to side in a vain attempt to let just a little more light through as she struggled against her bonds.

"Finally," an impatient voice said. "I thought you'd never wake up."

Swoosh! Whatever was over her head was abruptly removed, sending her hair flying and eyes squinting. Where in blazes was she? How did she get here? The last thing she remembered was driving to get Isabel's birthday present not long after receiving a very odd phone call from that geologist who'd dug up Pierce's skeleton, wanting advice on what Isabel would like as a birthday present. Something in his tone had led her to suggest flowers, then instantly regret it as too personal. But he'd jumped at the suggestion, meaning this "Grant" was more than just a friend. She'd been musing on that when she'd left to get her own present for Isabel, but then things got hazy…

The light was growing less painful, her vision clearer. Blinking, Tess looked into the eyes of her smartly suited captor...and blinked again.

"I...know you. You're Whitaker, that politician Liz is working for."

"Good for you!" Whitaker exclaimed with false cheerfulness. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

"What pleasure?" Tess said.

"Your name," Whitaker said, the fake smile gone. "Tell me your name."

Tess's head still hurt, but she was oriented now. She was tied to a metal chair in an industrial looking room with a plethora of dials and tanks while Whitaker hovered over her, all kitten heels and indignation. "You want my name? You...you ran me off the road," she said, remembering, "and you don't know my name? What, you just run random strangers off the road, tie them up, and ask for ID? I know everyone needs a hobby, but—"

Slap! Tess's head whipped right, a throbbing cheek joining her throbbing head. "Don't get lippy with me, young lady," Whitaker said sternly. "You don't know who you're dealing with."

"That makes two of us," Tess noted, gingerly moving her jaw.

Whitaker's eyes narrowed as she squatted in front of her. "Your name," she said firmly.

"You've got my purse over there, and from the looks of things, you've helped yourself," Tess said crossly. "My driver's license is in there. Can't you read? Isn't that a requirement for congress? Because it should be."

"Your license has your alias," Whitaker said. "You and I both know you're not 'Tess Harding'. I want your real name."

"Tess Harding is my real name," Tess retorted. "Look it up."

"Oh, I'm sure all the paperwork is in order," Whitaker said. "He would have made sure of that."

Tess's heart nearly stopped. He…did this mean what she thought it meant? Had someone finally tracked them down? "Let's cut to the chase," Whitaker said. "I know you're not human."

Tess struggled to maintain a neutral expression even as she was screaming inside. It was happening again—the Unit had found them, and this time it had come for her. Her first thought was that she was grateful it wasn't Max who'd been taken; he had only just recovered from his own abduction and definitely didn't need another. Her second thought was that it was good that she was the one who'd drawn the short straw; Isabel would have fallen apart, and Michael would have pissed everyone off so much, they'd never let him go. She'd trained for this her entire life; she had the best chance of getting out of it alive.

"So you're not really a congresswoman," Tess said. "That's just a front. You're with the Special Unit."

The decidedly uncongressional snort which served as answer wasn't the reaction Tess had been expecting. "The Unit? Don't you wish! Sweetheart, I'm not with the idiotic Unit. I'm way worse than that. You see," Whitaker said softly, "I know you're not human because I'm not human either."

"Oh, sure," Tess said scornfully. "Let me guess—you're a little green man from Mars? And you've got it in your head that I am too?"

"Hell, no," Whitaker said. "Our home is a lot further away than Mars."

Tess froze in her chair, a single, three-letter pronoun saying more than paragraphs. Our...and then she saw it, a patch of dry, scaly skin on the inside of Whitaker's wrist.

"Skin," Tess whispered.

"Very good," Whitaker said. "I see he's kept you informed. That will make this a whole lot easier."

Shit! Tess thought furiously, having given herself away with a single whisper. Granted, Whitaker already seemed to know the gist of it, but still...she should know better. "I'll ask you again," Whitaker was saying. "What's your name? Your real name, not the one he gave you."

"He didn't give me my name," Tess said. "I chose it."

"I don't care if you nicked it off a cereal box or a zoo animal," Whitaker said impatiently. "Your name."

"You killed him," Tess accused.

"I killed him? Well...I suppose it does look like that," Whitaker allowed. "And since I'm unlikely to convince you otherwise, why bother? But I digress...I need your name."

"I don't know it," Tess said.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, which one are you?" Whitaker said irritably.

"He never told me," Tess insisted. "I've always been 'Tess'."

Slap! This one hit the right cheek, resulting in a perfectly balanced sore jaw. "Tell me your name, or I'll beat it out of you," Whitaker said in exasperation. "Oh, go ahead, try it," she added when Tess attempted to marshall her powers. "I've made certain you can't pull anything. Of course that also means I can't pull anything, but then you don't seem like much to handle."

Tess followed her glance to a five-sided device sitting on a nearby table which sported a blinking light. That's what knocked Michael out, she realized, having not been happy to learn of that episode after the fact, although Max had claimed she'd already had enough to deal with what with Nasedo's death and moving in with the Valenti's. "I told you, I don't know my real name," she said. "Nasedo never told me. Go ahead, beat the shit out of me," she added when Whitaker raised a hand. "It won't help because I don't know it, but knock yourself out. Or me, if it blows your skirt up."

Whitaker's hand paused in mid-air, then lowered. " 'Nasedo'? That's an odd moniker. But you definitely have his mouth," she added with what sounded suspiciously like amusement. "And you have a point; it would have been safer if you didn't know. Let's try another angle—what's your job description? Are you the queen or the princess?"

Tess hesitated, weighing whether or not to answer that one. "The queen."

Whitaker's face fell, and she sank down into a chair across from her. "Well, shit. I had a fifty-fifty chance, so of course I grabbed the wrong girl. Just the way my day's been going."

Wow, Tess thought. That had backfired spectacularly. Here she thought being the queen might carry some weight, but apparently not. What did the Skins want with Isabel?

"So," Whitaker said sourly, "I got the runt of the litter. You aren't even royal—you just married into the family. How did you wind up with him? He's not your Warder."

Tess said nothing, having no intention of giving away anything else and having never heard the term "Warder". "Doesn't matter," Whitaker went on. "What does matter is that you make crappy leverage. Nobody back home gives a damn about you. You're the very definition of inconsequential." She leaned forward in her chair. "Where's the Granolith?"

"The...the what?"

"He must have told you where it is," Whitaker insisted. "Without him, I need a bone to throw the dogs."

Tess stared at her for a moment. "You were the one he was trying to make a deal with."

"Correction, sweetheart—I'm the one he did make a deal with," Whitaker said, "and if you're smart, a dubious proposition I know, you'll finish what he started. Where's the Granolith?"

"I don't even know what that is," Tess protested, "never mind where it is."

"Really? So there are no secret places only you and yours know about, that only you can access? Because that's where it would be. Think hard," Whitaker advised, looming over her, her face only inches away. "Make sure I like the answer."

The Pod Chamber. Tess kept her expression blank, easier now that she knew the score and was growing more pissed by the minute. The Pod Chamber was the likely answer, but she'd seen nothing in there but rocks and ruined pods, and Nasedo's dust, of course. Still, it was a big rock formation...could there be other rooms? Other chambers elsewhere? Of course there could be, but no way was she going into that with this one. How could Nasedo have expected to parlay with this bitch? He'd talked about peace and going home, but nothing Whitaker was saying would lead her to believe whatever "deal" they'd made was headed in that direction.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," Tess said. "Go ahead, hit me," she continued when Whitaker's hand twitched. "Be my guest. Every minute you waste trying to make me tell you something I don't know is another minute you don't get what you want. If I'm really so 'inconsequential', go ahead and waste your oxygen."

Whitaker paced for a moment in silence before digging in Tess's purse and producing her phone. "Call Isabel," she commanded. "Tell her you need her."

"I'm a little tied up right now," Tess deadpanned.

"Don't get cute with me. I'll dial, you talk."

"No," Tess said flatly.

"You're in no position to refuse me anything, sweetheart."

"Isabel is," Tess said. "She'll know something's wrong. She won't come."

"You give her too much credit," Whitaker said derisively. "The 'Isabel' I knew wasn't exactly the sharpest crayon in the box. But even if she's managed to grow a few more brain cells, she'll delegate the dirty work and send one of the others. I'll still wind up with a more valuable hostage."

"What do you want with Isabel?" Tess said.

"Not that it's your business," Whitaker said, " but I'll do an exchange. Her for you. Hell, any of them for you. Lure one of them here, and I'll let you go. You're worth nothing to me."

The flat nature of that statement should have bothered her, but curiously, Tess discovered it didn't. She knew The Others would come for her. Whatever their differences, whatever their doubts, they'd come for her. She had to make sure they didn't.

"You will keep your voice calm," Whitaker ordered, her fingers working the keys. "You won't let on anything's wrong. Tell her to—"

"I'll tell her Congresswoman Whitaker is an alien," Tess interrupted hotly. "I'll yell, and scream, and tell her to get as far away as she possibly can. Go ahead and dial. I can't wait to tip her off."

"Why are you protecting her?" Whitaker demanded. "Why would you throw yourself under the bus after what she did?"

"Why?" Tess said warily. "What did she do?"

"What is the matter with you?" Whitaker exclaimed in exasperation. "God, are you all this stupid? 'What's my name? What's a Granolith? What did she do?' It's a wonder you know how to wipe yourselves!"

"Says the woman who didn't know who she was grabbing," Tess retorted. "If Nasedo really tried to make a deal with you, he needed his head examined."

The third slap landed on the left cheek, making that one two for two. "I am losing my patience," Whitaker warned.

"Makes two of us," Tess repeated thickly, tasting coppery blood in her mouth.

"In case you haven't noticed, your kind isn't in power any more," Whitaker spat. "We are in power, and—"

"And what a bang-up job you're doing!" Tess said with savage cheerfulness. "What you've done here is like a metaphor for what you've done to our world. No wonder everybody wants us back."

Whitaker's eyes narrowed as Tess braced herself for another slap. She'd made an educated guess based on the few details they'd learned, but judging by the vein throbbing in Whitaker's temple, she'd hit the nail right on the head. "Oh, and whatever deal you made with Nasedo?" Tess went on. "It's off. You killed it. Congratulations."

"Only the king has the authority to make that decision," Whitaker said.

"I'll tell him what you did to me, and he'll make that decision," Tess declared.

"And what makes you think you'll live long enough to do that?" Whitaker demanded.

"Doesn't matter. If you kill me, you'll be making my case for me. Either way, you lose." Tess smiled faintly as Whitaker frowned. "Who's 'inconsequential' now?"

"Call her," Whitaker ordered.

"Go to hell and stay there," Tess retorted.

Whitaker regarded her in stony silence for a moment. "All right, then," she said finally, setting the phone down. "I'll just have to get what I need some other way. Like out of you."






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






Evans Residence





No, Isabel thought, leafing through her closet, pushing one of last year's monstrosities firmly aside. No, no...definitely no. Her date with Grant was doubly special; it wasn't just a date, it was an early birthday celebration, so she needed a date-and-early-birthday-celebration dress to go with it. Wait a minute...

With a wistful look, Isabel reached into the back of the closet and pulled out an off-the-shoulder taffeta gown which she'd never worn. It had been intended for a dance at the end of the last school year, but her brother being kidnapped and almost killed had made dances seem silly and trite. She'd stayed home, watching him anxiously for signs of trauma, hovering like a little mother hen while her friends danced the night away; there had been no chance to wear it since. Until now, she thought with a smile, holding it up to herself in the mirror. It was tight enough on top to cut off her breathing, hard to clean, wildly impractical...and gorgeous. It was time, past time, really, for it to come out of the closet. She reached for the zipper…

...and the next moment, she staggered sideways from a sudden headache which was so severe, she could barely breathe.



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



I'll post Chapter 33 on Sunday, July 5.

[keepsmiling7]

Courtney and Vanessa together........that's a picture.
Loved how Vanessa missed her 50/50 chance with the princess.
Thanks for the new part.

[Kathy W]

Courtney and Vanessa together........that's a picture.

Indeed. I would have loved to watch those two go at it onscreen.








CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE



September 17, 2000, 4 p.m.

Evans Residence




Isabel leaned against the wall, panting, her eyes closed. For a moment there she'd had a blinding headache which had come out of virtually nowhere. Now it was gone, disappearing as quickly as it had come, leaving her shaking, breathless, and seeing stars. What the hell had that been? Had she eaten or drunk something she shouldn't have? Ever since Michael's trip to the Indian reservation and Max's "one little sip", they had all lived in fear of something like that happening again, of exposure to something they didn't realize would affect them. But she certainly hadn't been visiting sweat lodges, had never touched alcohol and never would, hadn't done anything risky or different or even slightly unusual. So why had her head just been pounding like Motley Cru's drums?

"Isabel?"

Isabel's eyes flew open. "Mom! I...I didn't hear you come in."

"Well, I'm not really 'in'," Diane answered from the doorway. "Not yet, anyway. May I…?"

"Sure," Isabel said, flustered. "Come in. I was just...I'm going out tonight, and I was looking for something to wear."

"You looked like you were in pain," Diane noted.

"Yeah, I...I poked myself on something in the closet. Hurt like hell. You know, like when you give yourself a paper cut or bash your funny bone? But I'm okay," Isabel added hurriedly when Diane looked concerned. "It's gone now."

"Some dress," Diane said. "I remember that from last spring. The spring formal you didn't go to."

Isabel looked down; the taffeta gown was crumpled in her fist. "Are you...going to a party?" Diane asked.

"What? No! I just found this in the closet when I was rummaging, that's all."

"Ah," Diane nodded. "I was going to say, you must be going somewhere very special if you're wearing that."

"I'm just meeting a friend," Isabel said.

"Mmm," Diane murmured. "I so like that Alex. Such a nice boy."

"Yeah, he is...wait. How did you know I would see Alex?"

Diane looked blank for a moment. "Oh! He left a message on the answering machine. Something about a book." She paused, fingering the gown. "You know, you never told me why you didn't go to that dance."

"I just had...stuff...going on," Isabel shrugged.

"You and your brother," Diane sighed. "You both seem to have lots of 'stuff'."

"We sure do," Isabel agreed. "I mean, everyone our age does," she amended hastily. "Most of our friends have plenty of their own—" She stopped suddenly as a voice called from far away. "When did Tess get here?

Diane blinked. "Tess? You mean Tess Harding? She's not here."

"But I just heard her," Isabel said. "Like she was out in the living room, or something."

"There's no one here," Diane assured her. "Your dad's off on his trip, and Max had something else to do. It's just you and me."

Mystified, Isabel went out to the living room, Diane trailing behind. They were indeed alone in the house, and by the time she returned to her room, she was thoroughly confused. "Guess I was hearing things," she told her quizzical mother. "Well...I'd better get ready."

"Honey, I…" Diane paused as Isabel fretted privately; she didn't want to be late for Grant, and she knew that tone of voice. "I wanted to ask you," Diane went on, taking a seat on the bed, which was never a good sign, "if you'd like to see a counselor."

"A...a counselor? Me? Why?"

"Well, by your own admission, you have a lot of 'stuff' going on," Diane said. "And there was that test last week that you got so upset over, and seeing that dress reminds me that you were out of sorts right before school ended just like Max was. But he got all the attention, and maybe we weren't paying close enough attention to you."

"No, really Mom, it's okay—"

"Please let me finish," Diane said firmly. "Counseling really helped your brother; it gave him coping skills which he says made a big difference. Maybe some of those coping skills could help you too when you run into…'stuff'."

Oh, God, Isabel groaned. The last thing she needed was sessions with a nosy counselor. "I'm good, Mom, really," she said, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. "I'm coping just fine by myself."

"Not from what I'm seeing," Diane argued. "Take that formal, for instance. You were all excited about going, that dress cost a fortune, and then suddenly, you weren't going."

"That was months ago," Isabel protested. "And if this is about money, I'll gladly pay you for the dress."

"No, honey, no!" Diane exclaimed, taking her by the shoulders. "This isn't about the dress, it's about you. I'm worried about you. Can't you see that?"

"What I 'see' is that you're inflating every time I'm not deliriously happy into some kind of problem," Isabel said irritably. "I'm not Max, Mom. Don't just transfer everything about him over to me."

Diane stared at her in shock. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

Good one, Isabel, Isabel thought wearily. She should have known better than to question her mother's parenting skills, no matter how obliquely; nothing upset Diane more than the notion that she was less than stellar in the child-rearing department. "It's...it's what I think you might be doing," she answered, trying to salvage the situation. "And it would be perfectly understandable if you did, it's just...annoying."

Diane pondered that for a moment. "I disagree," she said finally. "My concerns are over what you're doing, or not doing."

"But you're blowing it out of proportion because...never mind," Isabel said. "Can we just not talk about this right now? I'm going out tonight, and I'd like to have fun."

"Of course, darling," Diane said soothingly. "Have a good time." She kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Just think about it, okay? Because I really think it would help. I'll see you when I get home."

"You're going out?" Isabel said.

"Yes!" Diane said brightly. "I've got a shindig to go to."

Good, Isabel thought as her mother left the room. If her mom was busy elsewhere, she could have her date with Grant in peace, pretty dress and all, and no questions. She held up the dress again, mentally picking shoes, make-up, jewelry. She'd really have to be more careful about hiding her emotions from her mother. The last thing she wanted was to land in a shrink's office…

Isabel's head whipped around as her hand went to the back of her neck. She'd heard Tess's voice again, only louder this time and accompanied by a flash of pain at the base of her skull. Grateful that this had happened after her mother had left the room, she leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. What in blazes was going on? Why did her head hurt? Why did she keep hearing Tess when Tess was nowhere in sight?

But the pain passed, and Isabel shrugged, laying out her dress. She'd learned a long time ago that being an alien meant weird things happened. Maybe this was a new power manifesting, like Max's green shield; they'd all noticed they'd been getting stronger, that they could do things they hadn't done before. Whatever it meant, it would have to wait because she had a very important date. She tugged off her clothes and slid into the dress, the boning cutting into her ribs as she coaxed the zipper up and pushed away the fact that this time, Tess's voice seemed to have been crying in pain.





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





Chaves County Electric Power Facility—Plant #2






Vanessa slammed the door behind her and swore, profanity hanging in the air like fog; even if this particular branch of the New Mexico electrical grid had still been in use, she would have fit right in with its employees as long as they'd been willing to overlook the skirt. The Queen of Antar remained in a nearby room, tied to a chair and whimpering, but still frustratingly silent on any issue of merit. It remained to be seen as to whether this silence was due to a lack of knowledge as she claimed or mere obstinacy, but the result was the same—no Granolith, no princess, and no leverage, just an ersatz royal with an attitude. At this rate, she'd have to take the queen with her, for all the good that would do. How had Jaddo wound up with the queen, anyway? Her Warder was dead, of course, but why wasn't he also with his own Ward? Or maybe this was all a smokescreen and she wasn't really the queen? Maybe they'd put Rath in a female human body?

Her phone rang, and Vanessa stared at it for a moment in consternation. She'd chosen this location for many excellent reasons, one of those being its dodgy cell service, so who had accomplished the twin feats of having this number and punching through? Pulling out her phone, she stared at the screen in disbelief.

J.

Oh, God, Vanessa breathed, collapsing into a chair as the fragile bulwark she was attempting to build around herself suddenly became unnecessary. She and Jaddo had devised a means to identify his communications versus those supposedly coming from Pierce, and what a sight for sore eyes that was. "Where have you been?" she demanded furiously. "Do you realize they think you're dead? Do you realize I thought you were dead? I thought you'd left me hanging in the wind, treaty and all!"

There was no answer; not even breathing came over the line. He's pissed, Vanessa realized, and not without reason; if Courtney was right, he'd been attacked even as she'd allowed him to escape. "Look, I understand if you're angry," she said in a calmer tone. "The speculation is that our second operative jumped you after you left, and I'm sorry about that. But I really didn't believe it when Courtney said you were dead; God knows you're a tough nut to crack. It was only by sheer luck that they managed to capture you, so what were the odds they'd get that lucky twice? But when you didn't turn up, I just didn't know what to think, and...okay," she amended. "I'm babbling. I'm just so relieved to hear from you. You know I couldn't have shopped the treaty alone."

Silence. "For heaven's sake, say something. Or at least engage in some heavy breathing. And no, that doesn't mean you're welcome in my bed again," Vanessa added coyly. "Yet."

Still nothing. "Okay, this is getting old," Vanessa said irritably. "Why did you call if you didn't want to talk? Or is this your way of being sore at me about being captured? You know that wasn't me. I kept them from killing you. I kept them from drugging you a second time. I let you go. What else do I have to do? Stand on my head and spit wooden nickels?"

But the silence continued, and Vanessa began to fume. "Jaddo, say something. Say anything. Carry on, yell at me, pontificate, sermonize, I don't care, just say something!" She paused, growing more furious by the second as the silence lengthened, finally shouting, "Say something!"

"Interesting," an unfamiliar voice murmured. "Very interesting indeed."

Shocked speechless, Vanessa shot out of her chair, springing to a standing position only to sink back down. What was she doing, standing at attention? She was reacting like a truant pupil in front of the headmaster, not a prominent player on the field. "Brivari," she breathed.

"Vanessa," he replied smoothly, almost cordially, lacking so much as a hint of malice. "You know, despite our long history, I don't believe we've ever actually met, much less been formally introduced."

Slowly, Vanessa rose to her feet; on second thought, perhaps it was better to face the King's Warder standing, even over a cell connection. "I didn't kill him!" she blurted.

"So I'm told," Brivari replied.

"But you don't believe me?"

"Let's just say the jury's still out."

"A 'jury'?" Vanessa said derisively. "A jury of one. Don't you need more than one to make a jury?"

"Some do," Brivari allowed. "I don't."

No, of course not, Vanessa thought desperately, trying to think and finding it impossible. This was no ordinary Warder; Brivari went back, way back. Everyone knew he spoke for the crown, hell, some said he was the crown. That had certainly been true when a king bent on creating a dynasty had seized the throne in Antar's first bloodless succession within memory, even more true when his son had become king arguably too young, and would likely be true again as a hybrid king struggled to regain it. "Look, you need to know I had nothing to do with what happened to him," she said. "I had no idea what was going on."

"I see," Brivari replied. "So, for the record, you didn't save him, free him, and so forth?"

"Yes! I did!"

"Forgive me for stating the obvious, but it would seem that in order to free him, you would have to have had at least some idea of what was going on."

"No! I meant that…" She stopped, mentally kicking herself. He was doing it again, what he did so well, trapping you in a snare composed of your own words as you spiraled out of control, becoming more and more hysterical. She was better than this. She was smarter than this. She needed to stay calm, refuse the bait, and play him like he was playing her. Trying to play me, she corrected. Trying.

"I didn't find out until after they'd captured him," Vanessa said, struggling to keep her voice level, "and it was sheer luck that they managed to do that. I pretended to dose him, prevented them from alerting Nicholas, and cut him free as soon as he was able to navigate. I gave him every advantage I could."

"Oh, I'm sure," Brivari said in a sardonic voice. "Every advantage with the exception of life."

"How was I supposed to know that second operative would show up just then?" Vanessa demanded. "We hadn't heard a thing from him all day; we assumed you'd killed him. How was I…" She stopped, breathing hard; she was taking the bait again, doing exactly what he wanted—losing her temper and babbling. "We have other concerns," she continued. "Jaddo and I had drafted a peace treaty. We had each planned to present it to our respective superiors, which in his case meant you, although I would have thought it would be Rath."

"I have been apprised of its contents," Brivari said.

"Then you've talked to Courtney," Vanessa said with a palpable sense of relief. It was a strange turn of events which found her seeking validation from that mouthy little bitch, but the fact remained that Courtney could back her up.

"I have not," Brivari answered.

"Then how do you...wait," Vanessa said irritably, recalling that someone else had filled Courtney in on the treaty's terms. "Who else is so high up the food chain that they know about the treaty?"

"None of your goddamned business," Brivari said.

His tone was casual, almost too casual, as though he was mocking her, which he probably was. "Never mind," Vanessa said, abandoning that line of inquiry. "It doesn't matter. What does matter is that we need to—"

"No, we don't. I will not support anything which denies my Ward his throne."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, you know that having either Zan or Khivar on the throne won't work," Vanessa said impatiently. "Jaddo understood that without my having to tell him."

"Of course he did," Brivari said. "He wanted Rath on the throne."

"And we considered that," Vanessa admitted. "And rejected it because everyone is in love with the whole "House of Riall" fairy tale. They will expect a direct descendant of Riall on their throne, and if that can't be Zan, it will have to be his child, and Jaddo agreed."

"I don't care what Jaddo agreed to," Brivari said. "Jaddo is no longer here, and you have yourself to thank for that."

"I didn't….!" Vanessa stopped again; she'd already pleaded her innocence, so time spent repeating that was wasted. "Brivari, we have to do something. Antar is a mess—"

"And whose fault would that be?"

"Assigning blame is hardly constructive," Vanessa said stiffly.

"A likely response from one holding the lion's share of that blame," Brivari noted.

"Pointing fingers won't fix things!" Vanessa exclaimed. "And if things go on as they are, there won't be anything left to fix!"

"At the risk of repeating myself...whose fault would that be?"

"Fine, you want to hear me say it? I'll say it," Vanessa huffed. "Khivar is a disaster. He needs to go. There! Happy?"

"Delirious," Brivari said dryly. "But it brings to mind one question. If things are so bad, why would we need a treaty? If things are that bad, Zan will be welcomed back with open arms."

"Don't play dumb with me," Vanessa snapped. "You know perfectly well how this works. We're still in power, so you need our buy-in. Jaddo also realized that it wouldn't do Zan any good to regain the throne only to be killed ten minutes later."

"I predict Khivar will die in less than that," Brivari said.

"They'll both die without some kind of compromise," Vanessa insisted. "And they both need to live to make a compromise work, at least initially."

"Do I take that to mean that you plan to assassinate His Royal Highness—again—after a suitable period of time has passed?"

Vanessa's hand gripped the phone tighter as she struggled to keep her temper. "Zan was not supposed to die. None of them were. That was Nicholas, and he was punished. Hell, he's still being punished."

"That's the thing about coups, though, isn't it?" Brivari mused in a tone which suggested he was discussing the weather. "They're so frightfully unpredictable. And so, I would add, are treaties. Despite everyone's intentions, they frequently just don't turn out the way the authors intended, and that would be because both a coup and a treaty create a power vacuum into which other parties rush, parties which were not originally accounted for."

"Well, thank you very much for the political science lesson," Vanessa said tartly. "So what are you suggesting? That we do nothing? That we just sit here and let Antar fall to pieces?"

"Of course not," Brivari answered. "I fully intend to remove the usurper and reestablish the rightful king, returning Antar to its former peaceful and prosperous state."

"Good God, he's living in La La Land," Vanessa groaned. "Where's the realist when I need him?"

"Dead," Brivari replied, "courtesy of you. And you are mistaken—I'm very much a realist, which is why there will be no treaty, no negotiation of any kind because, you see, the crown does not negotiate with terrorists. That's the part Jaddo missed. He actually took you seriously."

Vanessa's jaw clenched. "We knew you'd feel that way, which is why I arranged for an incentive." She paused. "I have Ava."

There followed a silence so profound that Vanessa wasn't able to keep her mouth shut, to wait for him to speak first. "Did you hear me?" she demanded. "I have Zan's wife! She's tied to a chair in the other room!"

"Prove it," Brivari said flatly.

Vanessa marched into the adjoining room and shoved the phone in Ava's face. "Speak," she commanded.

Ava's blonde curls shook as she stared hopefully at the telephone. "Whoever's there, Vanessa Whitaker is a Skin! Don't do anything she says, don't believe anything she says! Don't—"

"Shut up," Vanessa snapped, pulling the phone away and retreating even as Ava continued to shout warnings. "Satisfied?"

"So," Brivari said coldly, "you bleat about 'peace' and 'treaties' even as you abduct the king's wife. 'Terrorist' was closer to the mark than even I thought."

"Hey, I needed leverage!" Vanessa exclaimed, irritated because he had a point. "I knew—no, we knew, Jaddo and I—that you would react like this, and if he was truly dead, I needed something to make you listen. Are you listening now, Brivari?"

There came a moment of stony silence. "You have my complete attention."

"Good," Vanessa said. "Because you and I are going to meet and discuss the terms of this treaty, or—"

"Or what?" Brivari interrupted. "You'll execute your single piece of leverage? Not too bright, are you?"

"Don't forget, there's more where she came from," Vanessa retorted. "If I found her, that means I've found the rest of them, and if they're as clueless as this one, taking them will be child's play. You can't watch them all at once, Warder. I started with the least valuable hybrid, but I can keep going if you like, even call in reinforcements. Is that what you want? No, I didn't think so," she continued when he didn't answer. "All I'm asking is that you meet with me and discuss the terms of the treaty. It's a first draft. We can craft a new one, you and I. Any treaty you endorse is far more likely to succeed anyway."

"So you seriously expect me to believe that if I merely meet with you, even if I reject any terms you suggest, you'll release my Ward's wife?"

Vanessa paced the room in silence, fretting. She really shouldn't let Ava go under any circumstances, but how could she not? She needed to give up something to prove her trustworthiness, and this was very little to give up—the girl was useless. Besides, although she had yet to figure out who Zan was, she knew Vilandra, at least, and her human "brother" was probably Rath. There were others to choose from should the going get rougher than it was now.

"You have my word as an Argilian soldier," she said firmly, "that if you meet with me, I will release the Queen regardless of the outcome of our deliberations."

Brivari burst out laughing. Vanessa stood there, stunned, as his laughter rang through the crappy little room, loud enough to be audible on Antar. Everything he had said or even implied paled before the sting of this rebuke. "Your 'word as an Argilian soldier'," he chortled as she scowled. "Oh, my. I haven't heard anything that hilarious in ages."

"Glad to oblige," Vanessa said coldly. "Do we have a deal?"

"No," Brivari answered, "but I'll meet with you, if only in the hopes of hearing another whopper. Your office, 7 p.m."

"Just exactly how stupid do you think I am?" Vanessa demanded. "Don't answer that," she added darkly. "I think I already know. Let's try somewhere public, where it will be harder to pull out your Warder Ray Gun. The Crashdown, 8:30 p.m."

"Gracious, how gauche," Brivari said. "I don't need a 'ray gun'. A quiet heart attack in your booth, as you fall face first into your Men in Black burger while surrounded by heartbroken constituents, would suffice. The Crashdown, then, 8:30. Don't be late. I won't wait for you."

The line went dead. Cursing, Vanessa resisted the urge to fling her phone across the room. That bastard had controlled almost every aspect of the conversation, from placing the call to a phone he shouldn't have been able to reach to hanging up on her. Almost, she reminded herself, pacing furiously. "Almost" was the key word there, and she shouldn't let the inevitable saber-rattling rattle her. He could kill her in a public place without exposing himself, but he knew she could kill the queen, and despite his apparent nonchalance, his Ward would not be pleased if his own Warder failed to save her life, especially if the price of that life was a mere meeting. He wouldn't do anything stupid for the same reason she wouldn't—there was too much at stake. Problem was that if she left their meeting alive, she would be honor bound to release the queen or don the mantle of terrorist. Which meant that any advantage she gained must be gained before the meeting took place.

Checking her watch, Vanessa strode into the other room, where Ava glared at her defiantly. "I should tell you that I'm impressed you didn't just yell for help when you had the chance. Warning the king...that was smart."

"That wasn't the king," Ava said. "The king would have said something to me. Who was that? Who were you talking to?"

"Mmm," Vanessa murmured. "Smart again. But then you were taught by the best. I'd ask you how you wound up with him, but I'm pretty sure you'd say…?"

"I don't know," Ava said flatly.

"Right," Vanessa said. "I'm sorry, my dear, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to amp things up a bit. You see, I suddenly find myself on a bit of a tight schedule, I just don't buy the idea that you don't know anything of value, and I will shortly need something else of value. So," she continued as Ava's eyes widened, "shall we begin?"






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





Crashdown Cafe






Cupping her hands around her eyes, Courtney peered through the window of Vanessa's office. Vanessa had sounded like she understood the gravity of the situation when told of Brivari's impending reappearance, but Courtney wasn't buying it. Can't say she wasn't warned, Courtney thought darkly as her eyes adjusted from the sunshine outside to the office's dim interior. Can't say she hadn't given that damned treaty every chance she could, even when that meant warning the enemy, which had just felt...wrong. But they were already down one treaty author, so losing the second would kill the whole thing. Vanessa was just pig-headed and vain enough to stand her ground in the face of impending doom, so she fully expected to see her sitting nonchalantly with her feet up on a desk, oblivious to the freight train roaring toward her. But Vanessa's office door was wide open, and through it gyrated a remarkably uninhibited Liz Parker, moving to music only she could hear and obviously all alone. Maybe hell had frozen over and Vanessa had actually gotten the message. After all, the humans claimed there was a first time for everything.

The voices hit her the moment she opened the Crashdown's back door, two voices in heated argument. A moment later, Maria blasted from the kitchen with a look of grim death while Rath stayed behind, his expression a curious mixture of nonplussed and exasperated. Not again, Courtney groaned. Originally impressed with Maria's backbone, she was growing increasingly weary of it as that very stubbornness prevented her from accepting the fact that she and Rath were over. The fate of a planet hung in the balance, and here was Maria going on about her "relationship". Granted Maria didn't know that, but she certainly knew her intended belonged elsewhere, had something massive to fix, a world to save. Didn't that mean anything to her?

"What are you doing here?" Maria demanded, flinty-eyed.

"I work here," Courtney answered. "When does Alzheimer's start? Because you seem to be forgetting some pretty basic stuff."

"Not tonight you don't," Maria declared, ignoring her. "Tonight is Isabel's party."

"And Max asked me to work it," Courtney said. "So, yes, tonight I do."

"Max asked you?" Maria said suspiciously. "Why would he do that?"

"I think the idea was that having Isabel's friends work the party would interfere with their enjoyment of said party," Courtney said. "So he arranged to free her friends from waitressing duties and shopped the job to someone else. But, hey, if you'd really rather spend her birthday party mopping the bathroom floors, knock yourself out. I'm sure she'd be touched that you prefer potties to presents."

A snort sounded behind them; Rath hastily left the kitchen doorway, but not before both had seen his smirk, and Maria turned back to her with murder in her eyes. "You are not working this party," she announced. "Go home."

"Max hired me, not you," Courtney noted. "Because you're slow, I'll spell it out for you—you didn't hire me, so you can't fire me."

Maria grabbed her by the arm. "Wanna bet?"

"Yeah, I do," Courtney retorted. "I'm betting you'll lose. Take it up with Max. And get your hand off my arm. Now."

Maria's eyebrows rose, but she released her, and as Courtney passed the kitchen door, she spied Rath with a faint smile on his face. Normally she enjoyed sparring with Maria and the resulting approval from Rath, but today she wasn't in the mood, nor would she be until Vanessa was safely out of Brivari's reach and the prospect of peace remained a prospect, albeit a distant one, which was still far better than an absent one. She'd just opened her locker when her phone rang.

"Welcome back," Courtney said warily when she saw who it was.

"You've been talking to Vanessa," Brivari announced.

Here we go, Courtney thought. Time to tap dance, to guess at what he was getting at, at what he'd heard, at how much she should divulge. "Actually, she came to me," Courtney said truthfully. "Right here at the Crashdown. I thought she'd come to kill me."

"A logical conclusion," Brivari agreed. "And?"

"And she told me something pretty incredible," Courtney went on, encouraged by the fact that he didn't sound angry...yet. "She told me that she and Jaddo had hammered out a peace treaty, and she wanted the Resistance to support it."

"And do you?"

The question sounded casual, but Courtney knew full well there was nothing casual about it; this was the make or break, draw-a-line-in-the-sand question. "I support the concept," she answered, treading carefully, "but not necessarily the first draft. Although we could do worse. Much worse."

"Worse than my Ward denied his throne?" Brivari said. "Debatable, but also irrelevant. Vanessa has abducted the Queen."

Courtney blinked. "What?"

"She's taken Ava," Brivari said. "She's holding her hostage unless I agree to meet with her about this…'treaty'."

Flabbergasted, Courtney almost missed the gargantuan amount of disdain wreathing that last word. "Wait, she...she took her? You're certain?"

"I had her put Ava on the phone," Brivari said. "She remains refreshingly defiant, although there's no telling how long that will last."

Courtney staggered against the locker as though she'd been physically struck. This was it. It was over. Vanessa had gone and done the one thing Brivari could never forgive—she'd threatened a member of the royal family. It was all over, whether it be treaties, compromises, discussions...or hope. All eradicated by one stupid act.

"If Vanessa and Jaddo were working on 'treaties', she'd obviously figured out his true identity," Brivari went on. "My guess is she also figured out his human alias, which would have led her to Ava. I rang her on Jaddo's phone, and she answered it as though she feared he was dead, but was relieved he wasn't. Apparently she decided to acquire some leverage just in case."

"You sound awfully calm for a Warder with a kidnapped Royal," Courtney said, neglecting to mention that she'd been searching for leverage herself, albeit not in the form of abduction.

"She won't harm her," Brivari said. "Not permanently, anyway. Dead leverage is no leverage."

"So...are you going to meet with her?" Courtney asked, trying to sound neutral instead of hopeful.

"Of course not," Brivari said coldly. "Why would I? I will retrieve the queen, and then I'll deal with Vanessa. She thinks I'm meeting her at the Crashdown at 8:30. I'll be there, but not to discuss treaties, I assure you."

"She's coming here?" Courtney said. "Tonight? Zan is throwing a surprise birthday party for Vilandra tonight."

"Good," Brivari said. "They'll all be there and out of the way while I mop things up."

"Bad," Courtney corrected. "They'll notice Ava is missing and start asking all kinds of inconvenient questions."

"Let them. They won't do anything until after the party."

"You sure about that?" Courtney said. "They can get pretty intense when they—"

"Yes, I'm sure," Brivari said flatly, "because you're going to make certain they stay there. I used Vanessa's cell signal to narrow the search area, but I'll still have to do some hunting, and there's only one of me. The last thing I need is more hybrids blundering into her arms, so make certain they stay out of my way. Is that clear?"

"Yeah," Courtney said faintly. "Good luck."

The line went dead. This is my fault, Courtney thought, feeling sick to her stomach. It was she who had tipped off Vanessa to Brivari's impending arrival, she who had urged her to flee; Vanessa wouldn't have had a clue without that, whether or not she'd figured out Tess was a hybrid. Instead of leaving, Vanessa had responded by doing the one thing that ensured Brivari would never listen to her. This was a disaster, and it was all her fault. "Shit!" she said furiously, smacking the locker for good measure.

"Problem?"

It was Rath, standing in the kitchen doorway, wiping his hands on a towel. "Yeah, you could say that," Courtney answered angrily. "I just screwed up big time."

"How big is big time?" Rath asked.

"Fucked-it-up-for-billions-of-people big time. That big enough for you?"

"Been there, done that," Rath said.

"And the best part is, it's all my fault!" Courtney went on with savage cheer. "I thought I was making things better, and it all just went to shit. Shit, shit, shit!"

"What's with the blue streak? You break a nail?"

It was Maria, all snark and suspicion, and Courtney wasn't in the mood for it. "Scram," she said curtly.

"Oooh, is someone having a bad day?" Maria mocked in a singsong voice. "A vewy bad day? Poor—"

Maria stopped abruptly as Courtney came within millimeters of her nose. "I'm only gonna say this once, so listen up," Courtney ordered. "Despite what you seem to think, your petty little problems are not at the top of the universe's to-do list, not on this world or any other. Now, get out of my face and stay out."

Maria's eyebrows rose. "Aren't you the one getting in my face?"

"Maria?" Rath said. "Go."

"But—"

"I said go."

Maria stared at him for a moment before she stalked off, smoldering. "Thanks," Courtney muttered.

"You looked like you were ready to kill her," Rath said. "Not that she doesn't give you good reasons several times a day, but I figured you didn't need anything else on your rap sheet."

Courtney smiled faintly in spite of herself. "You know a lot about rap sheets, Mikey G.?"

Rath shrugged. "More than I'd like to."

"An ex-con," Courtney said approvingly. "I like that."

Rath shook his head. "Nothing that ambitious. Just someone else who's fucked things up by trying to make them better. We're the people who never catch a break, remember? I had a teacher who went on and on about how we learn from failure. If that's true, the people who can't catch a break should be freakin' geniuses. We should be running the world." He paused, looking suddenly self-conscious, as if he'd revealed too much. "Good luck with your problem."

Courtney watched him retreat to the kitchen, a glimmer of hope on two feet. Who cared what Brivari thought? A decision on the treaty had always rested with the king, and who better to influence that king than his Second? Maybe it was time to seriously pursue the first truly good idea she'd ever seen Jaddo have, the one where she married Rath. Maybe then there'd be hope for his second good idea, the one where Antar flipped from blood bath to golden age. It could happen. They could do it.

We should be running the world. "Damn straight, buddy," Courtney murmured. "Just not this one."




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



It's time for another trip to New Zealand to see my son! I'll be back next month with Chapter 34 on Sunday, August 9. We're staying longer this time, which is why there's such a long delay. (I knew this was coming, so I posted on some holidays I usually don't, like Mother's Day and Memorial Day weekend, and I'll also be posting Labor Day weekend.) I hope everyone has a wonderful July, and I'll see you next month!