Roswell Fanatics

Island Breeze: I confess I'm not fond of Marana, but I agree it must have been terrifying for her to wake up and find her worst nightmare hovering over her. And if Emily's feeling sorry for her, it must be bad. I'm wondering what David would have done if Marana had tried to run during the healing, if he would have shot her as Brivari ordered, or let her go. Haven't even answered that one for myself yet!

And "AWOL" (Alien Without Official Leave)........*dies laughing*

Rai: Urza was my favorite Warder too, followed closely by Valeris. Given how the other two turn out, I figured it might be nice to have the two that died be somewhat different.

I have watched Summer of '47 until my eyes glaze over, but I still can't picture Alex as Cavitt. Some of it was that Colin was so young, but most was that his character is such a certified sweetheart in my mind that I have trouble seeing him any other way. But Michael as Hal Carver (a.k.a. "trouble"), that I have no problem with.

I'm so glad the length of this hasn't scared you off, and you'll have every one of your questions answered by the end of this book except for which shapeshifter becomes Langley and which Nasedo. That comes in Book 4. Stay tuned!






CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SIX


June 7, 1950, 0700 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



Sergeant Brisson held the breakfast tray protectively in front of him as he stared speechlessly into the alien's hard eyes, unable to make a sound as its demand to know what had happened to Lieutenant White hung in the air unanswered. Say something! he told himself sternly. The key in situations like this was not to back down, to keep repeating what had already been said. Of course that strategy required a working set of vocal cords, something he seemed to lack at the moment.

"Speak!" the alien hissed, low enough that the guards wouldn't overhear.

"I....I already told you!" Brisson squeaked, flushing at the pitch of his voice. "There was an illness in her family, and—"

"Speak the truth, not the official excuse," the alien interrupted severely.

"It's not an excuse!" Brisson objected desperately, backing up in spite of his earlier resolve to do no such thing. "I—"

"Is there a problem here?" asked a voice behind him.

Brisson whirled around, nearly upsetting the contents of the tray. Captain Spade was standing in the open doorway behind them looking none the worse for wear, with a fresh uniform and a fresh shave. There was no way he'd be looking so spiffy if Lieutenant White had died, so this must be good news, not to mention the fact that his sudden appearance couldn't have come at a better time.

"Captain," Brisson said, sagging with relief. "I'm so glad to see you!"

"Where is The Healer?" the alien demanded of Spade.

"One of the lieutenant's relatives passed away yesterday," Spade said with a perfectly straight face.

"You said her relative was ill, not dead," the alien said accusingly to Brisson, whose mouth opened and closed as he looked back and forth from the alien to Spade.

"So he didn't pass away?" Spade asked Brisson smoothly, not missing a beat. "That's good news. I'll keep my fingers crossed for his recovery. In any case, the lieutenant should be back by the end of the week."

Silence. The alien studied Spade closely, its suspicions unassuaged. "Are you certain of this?" it asked.

"Of course," Spade answered.

For some odd reason, this information seemed to mollify the alien, who nodded briefly and resumed its seat at the table, motioning impatiently for Brisson to set the tray down. He did so gratefully, having almost dropped it in sheer terror several times now, and would have left immediately had Spade not reminded him to administer the serum. A minute later, Brisson hurried gratefully out the door with Spade on his heels. "Thank you, Captain," Brisson whispered just as soon as they were clear of the guards. "If you hadn't come along—"

"Let's be clear," Spade said tersely, taking Brisson's arm and steering him down another hallway. "I couldn't care less about saving your bacon; I just didn't want the prisoner upset. I need him calm right now."

"Why?" Brisson asked.

"Never mind. In," Spade ordered, propelling Brisson into his quarters and locking the door behind them.

"Well?" Brisson demanded. "What happened? Is she all right?"

"Yes," Spade said shortly. "Did you file the papers for emergency leave?"

"She already had a form on Cavitt's desk, so I changed it to reflect the illness of an uncle," Brisson said. "Remember that—the illness of an uncle. A death is too easy to check; illness is easier to fake. If we're going to pull this off, we need to make sure we're telling the same story."

"Whatever," Spade said impatiently. "Did they buy it?"

"Pierce bought it, no problem," Brisson answered. "Cavitt was pissed because I signed the form and I'm not an officer; I told him you weren't here. But enough about that—where did you take her? What did they do to her? You just blew out of here last night without even telling me where you were going or what you were planning to do! What if—"

Smack! Pain exploded in Brisson jaw, followed by pain in his head as he slammed backwards into the wall. He put a hand to his face in shock before Spade hauled him up by the collar, his hot breath flooding Brisson's face. "What the hell are you doing?" Brisson exclaimed, struggling in Spade's grasp. "What—"

"I'm doing what I held off doing last night because I needed you," Spade said, his voice dripping with rage. "You piece of shit, you raped her!"

"I did not!" Brisson sputtered. "It was Pierce! All I did was hand him things, and collect information, and do my damnedest to make sure this didn't happen!"

"Guess what?" Spade said furiously. "It happened anyway!"

"It would have happened a lot sooner if I hadn't done something to prevent it!" Brisson said heatedly. "If you want to cover this up, you still need me!" he added hastily as Spade's fist rose again. "Do you think I didn't notice that you knew exactly how to find an alien? And not just any random alien, but one who's willing to help you? How long has that been going on? Don't you think Cavitt will be interested in hearing that? How long do you think you'll last if he does?"

"How long do you think you'll last if I tell Ramey about what Pierce is up to, and how I found out about it?" Spade shot back.

"You do that, and Pierce finds out she was pregnant!" Brisson exclaimed.

"No, he won't," Spade said grimly. "I don't have to let that particular nugget go to fry your ass but good."

"Same here," Brisson retorted. "If I tell Cavitt I saw you with an alien, he'll be all over you like a rash! Do you want to take that risk?"

Brisson held his breath as Spade's fist hovered in the air uncertainly for several very long seconds before slowly lowering. "Fine. So we each have the goods on the other. And we'd both better keep that in mind before shooting our respective mouths off."

"Yeah. Right. Okay," Brisson panted, reaching up to touch his aching jaw as he spoke. "Jesus, you could have broken my jaw!"

"Ask me if I care," Spade said acidly. "As far as I'm concerned, you deserve to have a lot more broken than just your jaw."

"I'm telling you, there was nothing I could do!" Brisson insisted. "If I'd objected, Pierce would have replaced me, probably with someone who didn't care about the lieutenant! I thought about telling her a million times, but if she'd found out, he would have whisked her out of here so fast that you never would have had time to react! I know it sounds crazy, but it was actually safer for her to be here, with me misleading Pierce and him thinking everything was fine."

"What do you mean, 'whisk her out of here'?" Spade demanded. " 'Whisk her out' to where?"

"He could do it," Brisson assured him. "Pierce has friends in high places that promised him continued access to Lieutenant White even when they almost executed the prisoner two years ago."

" 'Continued access'?" Spade muttered. "That sounds like she's some sort of science experiment."

"That's all she is to him," Brisson admitted. "I asked him once what he would do if she actually got pregnant—you can't hide a normal pregnancy, never mind an alien pregnancy—and he talked about a mental hospital in a 'remote location' where he could hide her. He had it all worked out. You never would have found her, Captain."

"Flaming bastard," Spade fumed. "Just wait until I get my hands around his scrawny little neck—"

"No!" Brisson protested. "That's exactly what you can't do. We have to act like nothing's happened—nothing. No retaliation, no questions, no acknowledging this in any way, or the cat's out of the bag and the lieutenant is toast."

"Not if he doesn't know where she is," Spade pointed out. "And no one does right now. No one but me."

Brisson paused, throwing a nervous look toward the door. "What did they do to her?" he whispered. "Did they take her away in a ship? Is she still pregnant? Is she even still on this planet?"

"What, you think I'm going to hand you more ammunition to use against me with Cavitt?" Spade said incredulously. "I'm not telling you a damned thing!"

"I only threatened to do that because you were going to kill me!" Brisson said in exasperation. "Why do you think I got the lieutenant out of the way so fast last night? Why do you think I told you not to take her to the infirmary? I'm on her side, Captain! And I deserve to know at least some details about what's happened to her!"

Spade stared at Brisson in stony silence for a moment before relenting. "She's on this planet, and she's not pregnant anymore."

"What about all those alien cells in her blood?"

"They're gone. She'll be fine. The hard part now will be making her disappear into the ether so Pierce will never find her."

"She can't come back here, that's for sure," Brisson agreed. "She'd be due for another procedure in about a week or so, and—"

" 'Procedure'?" Spade said in a dangerous voice.

Brisson shook his head rapidly. "Never mind. The point is, she can't come back here. Neither of the alien cells Pierce was using are safe now—they've both impregnated her at least once. She'll need a new identity and the paperwork to go with it. I can help you with that."

"You can help me with that?" Spade echoed.

"Of course," Brisson said. "I don't care what the officers think—it's us enlisted men who run the Army, not to mention every other branch of the service. I can get her a fake birth certificate, a fake driver's license for any state in the union, a fake—"

"Thanks, but no thanks," Spade interrupted.

"But I want to help!" Brisson exclaimed, cutting Spade off as he moved for the door. "I didn't know how to help her last night, but I can help with this. Let me help!"

"If you think for one second that I'm going to let you know where she's going, you're crazy," Spade said harshly. "From now on, Lieutenant White is my concern, not yours."

"Captain..."

"I mean it, Brisson," Spade said menacingly, advancing on him so quickly that Brisson backed up in alarm. "I told she's all right, and that's all I'm telling you. You've done enough already, don't you think?"

Brisson felt himself flushing from a combination of anger and embarrassment. "I meant what I said last night, sir. You're not the only one who cares about her."

Spade's eyebrows rose. Brisson glared defiantly but listed backwards as Spade leaned in closer. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere near Yvonne when she finds out just how much you 'cared' for her."



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




*Anything?* Orlon asked.

*Nothing,* Amar answered as human soldiers filed by in one of the dozens of hallways inside the human military base. They had arrived late last night and begun scouring the base for any sign of Brivari, without success.

*Where could he be?* Orlon wondered. *Brivari's been making daily visits here for months now.*

*It's not just Brivari,* Amar said. *His allies aren't here either—the nurse whose shape I took, and one of the soldiers. They're both usually out and about by this time.*

*What about Jaddo?* Orlon asked worriedly. *He's still here, isn't he?*

*Seems to be,* Amar answered. *There's no indication that they've lost their prisoner. We'll know in a few minutes when the trucks leave for the hangar.*

Orlon fell into a frustrated silence as they took up positions with a good vantage point of the hangar's entrance. Watching Jaddo's daily trip to the hangar on their frequent reconnaissance missions here over the past several months had been torture for Orlon. The humans had effectively stymied them by sending multiple trucks to the hangar with Jaddo in a different truck each day, effectively forcing them to either choose a truck at random or spread themselves dangerously thin if they chose to attack. They had done neither, of course, merely watching the trucks roll by and cursing the fact that such a backwards race had successfully employed such simple measures against them. It bothered Amar less, as he was more interested in capturing Brivari than Jaddo. So was Orlon, for that matter, but at this point, he would have settled for any prisoner at all.

*You should contact your source,* Orlon announced.

Amar snorted. *I'd hardly refer to Walker as a 'source'.*

*Then we should change our approach,* Orlon persisted. *Reveal that Jaddo is a dangerous criminal on our world, or—*

*I already told you, Walker hates aliens,* Amar interrupted. *The last thing we want to do is to tell him what we really are.*

*It can't be a coincidence that Brivari and both of his allies are missing at the same time,* Orlon argued. *We should make at least some effort to find out why.*

Amar bit back a retort as Orlon continued to fret, wishing again that Malik were here. Malik had always functioned as an intermediary for human interactions, but Amar had never realized how much he had served the same purpose in other areas as well. Like now, between him and Orlon. Or yesterday evening, when they were preparing to leave, and Amar had found a basket on the front porch with a note inside:

Dear Carl,

We're so sorry to hear about the tragedy in your family. It's really hard to lose someone. Please know that our thoughts and prayers are with you. We hope these things will make your trip a bit more comfortable and remind you that we are thinking of you.

The note was signed by virtually every family on the street, including all the children. There must have been thirty or forty signatures, some written neatly in ink, some awkwardly in pencil, some scrawled in crayon. The basket contained wrapped sandwiches, a few pieces of fruit, and a small amount of human currency, a collection apparently having been taken up for "Carl's" benefit. Amar would normally have scoffed at such a gesture, but he'd read the note with a tightness in his throat, even snapping at Orlon when he'd wanted to simply leave the basket behind.

*We should give it more time,* Amar said to Orlon, struggling to keep the exasperation out of his voice as the hole in his life where Malik should have been grew larger. *The humans became much more mobile after the x-ray machines were installed, so it's possible that Brivari's allies are simply off the base on 'leave', or whatever they call it.*

*Damned machines,* Orlon said sourly, the x-rays being yet another simple device that had proven an insurmountable obstacle. *Now we know where those came from.*

*What do you mean?*

*Malik, of course,* Orlon said. *He knew all about those infernal machines, so he probably tipped the humans off as to their usefulness.*

*Malik knew about them because he had repaired them,* Amar said, eyeing Orlon severely. *In case you've forgotten, Malik was our front, our interface with the humans and the source of the currency we needed to survive.*

*And apparently a willing stooge for Brivari in his efforts to sabotage us,* Orlon said darkly.

*Where is this coming from?* Amar snapped. *Yesterday you told me that you caught Brivari sabotaging the emergents' tanks, and that Malik and Marana had likely been killed in the fight. Then you turned around and accused him of being a traitor, and today you're doing the same thing! How can he be a traitor if he's dead?*

*I told you I'm not certain he's dead,* Orlon replied. *I said I thought Marana was probably dead because she was badly injured, but I don't know what happened to Malik. Maybe he's alive. And if he is, that means he's a traitor.*

*Like hell it does!* Amar retorted. *That could also mean he's captive. And what makes you think he might be alive? Have you seen something to make you think that?*

Orlon looked away. *No.*

*Then I'm not following your line of reasoning, assuming there ever was one,* Amar said coldly as Orlon's eyes flashed. *Is there something you're not telling me?*

*Of course not,* Orlon said impatiently. *I'm just uneasy about all the unanswered questions. I want to be prepared for any eventuality, and you should be too.*

Believe me, I am, Amar thought sourly. It wasn't lost on him that Orlon had not yet revealed his involvement with Athenor; if Orlon was keeping some things from him, there was reason to believe he would keep other things from him as well. And just in case Orlon got any bright ideas, Amar had left him a little present back at the house that would make him regret the day he'd decided to lie to Amar.



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



7:50 a.m.

Proctor residence



"Mama!" Dee called up the stairs, her book bag over her shoulder. "Mama, where are you? I—"

She stopped as her father appeared at the top of the stairs and put a finger to his lips. "Keep your voice down," David said. "Your mother's downstairs putting in another load of laundry, so hollering up here won't do you any good."

"I thought she did the laundry yesterday, and I wasn't 'hollering'," Dee said.

"She didn't finish," her father answered. "Your mother was a little too preoccupied yesterday. And since we've taken these people in, the least we can do is let them sleep in peace. Please, no more yelling, Dee."

I wasn't yelling, Dee thought, gazing at her father in consternation. What was it with her parents today? Both were adamant that she not disturb the two aliens upstairs, going so far as to close the guest room door and insist that she couldn't so much as peek. Both looked like they'd been up all night, with her mother looking even worse than that. Dee dimly remembered hearing raised voices a couple of times last night, and weary as she'd been from healing the aliens yesterday morning, she'd just rolled over and gone back to sleep. Had they been up arguing last night? Is that why they were both so tired and jumpy?

"Well, I'm leaving for school now," Dee told her father. "I need a note because I was absent yesterday."

"I'll do it," her father said, pulling paper and a pen out of the hallway drawer and scribbling briefly. "Got your lunch?"

"Yes....but I wanted to say goodbye to Mama," Dee said, glancing at the nearly illegible note.

"I'll tell her," David said, planting a kiss on top of her head. "Bye, honey. Have a good day at school."

Dee eyed her father suspiciously for a moment. He usually tried to get her to say goodbye to her mother when they were having one of their battles—why was he so willing to let her skip that this morning? "Daddy....is everything okay?"

"Sure. Why?"

"Is everything okay with Malik and Marana? Is that why you won't let me see them?"

"They're fine," her father said. "I just didn't want to wake them, and you know your mother doesn't want you around them anyway. Let's not upset her; she was upset enough yesterday. You'd better get going, or you'll be late."

A minute later, Dee found herself on the front porch, staring at the door her father had just closed behind her. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn he was trying to hurry her out of the house. Was something else going on? She had half a mind to nip around the back, creep upstairs, and see what was what when she saw Anthony standing on the sidewalk, watching not her, but the house, as though expecting a spaceship to fly up out of the backyard at any moment.

"Hi," Dee said when she reached him.

"I came over after school yesterday, but your mother wouldn't let me in," Anthony reported.

"Of course not," Dee sighed. "She's going to be paranoid all over again."

"So....are they still here?" Anthony asked in a hushed voice.

"Good morning, you two," a voice called behind him. Mary Laura and Rachel were approaching, with Mary Laura using her very best school teacher voice. Anthony threw an anguished look Dee's way, and Dee made a command decision.

"Anthony and I really need to walk to school alone this morning," Dee said. "We have some things to talk about."

Rachel shrugged. "Okay."

"A bit brazen, don't you think?" Mary Laura asked with raised eyebrows.

"Don't be such a priss, Mary Laura," Dee said severely.

"Hmph," Mary Laura sniffed, stalking off as Rachel threw sympathetic glances in Anthony's and Dee's direction. Dee knew that Mary Laura would have this all over school by lunch time, but she didn't care; she and Anthony needed to talk. One of the reasons she'd been careful about what she had and hadn't told him these past few years was because she hadn't wanted to put him in danger just like she and her family were....and the other was that she was afraid the truth would scare him off. Now that he was all the way in on the secret, she needed to know what he was thinking.

"They're still here," Dee told Anthony as soon as Mary Laura and Rachel were out of earshot. "At least I think they are. Mama and Daddy wouldn't let me near them this morning."

"Are they okay?" Anthony asked, falling in step beside her.

"They were yesterday," Dee said.

"Are you okay?"

"I was just tired," Dee replied. "Those stones really wear you out."

"I noticed," Anthony said. "How do those work, exactly?" he added, lowering his voice even though no one was around.

"They let whoever is hurt use your energy to heal themselves," Dee explained. "At least I think that's how it works. That's why whoever's holding them is tired afterwards."

"Is that how they fixed you when Denny hurt you?"

Dee nodded. "I woke up in the woods behind the school and saw all four of them standing over me with glowing stones in their hands."

"Wow," Anthony breathed, falling silent for a moment before continuing. "So why didn't your father use one of those stones? I mean, I know why your mother didn't, but why didn't he help?"

"Because he couldn't," Dee said. "They work for all the aliens, but not for all humans. I can, and so can Mama, but they've never worked for Daddy." She paused a moment, eyeing Anthony curiously. "So are you going to tell me what he said to you yesterday when he took you to school?"

"He didn't tell you?" Anthony asked uncomfortably.

"Nope."

Anthony stopped walking. "I—I'm sorry, Dee, but.....he knows. He knows you told me a long time ago. I didn't tell him, I swear. He just knew."

"That's okay," Dee said. "Daddy's like that. What else did he say?"

"Not much," Anthony admitted, as they resumed walking. "Turns out I knew most of it anyway. You know....the war, the king and his family, the guy who stole the king's throne. The one part I didn't know is that they could change what they look like. Can they look like anything else besides us and...them?"

"They've been animals," Dee confirmed. "Coyotes—"

"Coyotes?" Anthony echoed. "You mean....you mean like the coyote that killed Denny Miltnor?"

"Yeah," Dee said quietly. "And they've been birds. Hawks, owls—"

As if on cue, a bird sang in the tree they were passing, and Anthony jumped, staring up at the branches. "And this is why I never told you they were shapeshifters," Dee said gently. "Because I was afraid you'd think every single thing you saw was an alien."

"How do they do it?" Anthony wondered. "How do you go from being a human grown-up to being a bird?"

Dee shook her head. "I don't know. But I've seen them do it. It's weird to watch."

"I'll bet," Anthony said, wide-eyed. "Can they look like us too? I mean, I know they can look human, but could they look like you or me?"

"Yes," Dee said heavily, bracing herself for what she knew would be the response.

"But....then how do we know?" Anthony asked, bewildered. "How do we know anyone we see is really who we think they are? Anyone really could be an alien."

"First of all, there aren't that many of them," Dee said, having carefully rehearsed this speech many, many times in the past two years. "Right now there are only six aliens I know of on the planet, so everyone you see can't be an alien. And the way you tell is by asking someone something only they would know. Like, what if I asked you what we were doing the day we met?"

"We were in your backyard, and Ernie made up that stupid capture-the-alien game," Anthony answered. "And you popped him."

"Exactly," Dee said. "An alien who looked like you wouldn't know that. They can only copy what we look like and sound like, not our memories. Now you ask me something."

Anthony stopped walking and studied her for a second. "Tell me about the first time you came over to my house."

"I crawled in the window," Dee answered, "because you were grounded for setting off all those firecrackers around Valenti's car. And you showed me your telescope and your orrey, and I had to leave fast when your mother showed up to send you to bed."

To Dee's surprise, Anthony actually blushed. "Yesterday, I asked your father if he was an alien," he confessed. "I even wondered if you were."

"Mama probably thinks so sometimes," Dee smiled. "And why not? Sometimes I feel like one."

"What do you mean?"

"I know what it feels like to be the one who doesn't fit," Dee said, staring at the ground, "and how lonely it can get when you have to keep a secret."

"Do you ever wish you hadn't found them?" Anthony asked.

Dee shook her head. "No. Never." She hesitated before turning the question around. "What about you? Do you wish you hadn't found out?"

To Dee's enormous relief, Anthony broke into a wide smile. "No way. I wouldn't trade this for the world."

"Really?"

"Really."

They were approaching the school now, and Anthony came to a halt. Dee followed his gaze and sighed in exasperation. Mary Laura had been exceptionally speedy this morning; almost all of the students waiting for the doors to open were watching them approach with some combination of smiles, giggles, and in Ernie Hutton's case, various lewd gestures he'd picked up from his older brother. "Good Lord," Dee grumbled, borrowing a favorite expression of her mother's. "I thought we'd at least have until lunch."

Anthony shrugged. "Who cares? We both know that there's more to life than school gossip, right?"

He smiled at her, and she returned his smile as they walked toward the school, ignoring their classmates. She knew it was selfish of her, but she'd imagined this over and over, the time when Anthony would know everything, or enough that there was no longer any reason to keep things from him. When she no longer had to think carefully before she spoke, when she had someone else to talk to who wasn't a parent. This wasn't exactly the way she'd thought it would happen, but no matter—she was just glad it had.



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



Proctor residence



Emily set the laundry basket down outside the guest room and leaned wearily against the wall. This was her watch—Dee had left for school, mercifully unaware of the drama she had slept through, and David had headed to bed for some much needed sleep after having been up all night, leaving strict instructions to wake him when Captain Spade returned around lunch time. Emily had been relieved to hear that Spade was coming back to break the news to the nurse about what had been done to her; that was a job she didn't envy him. Besides, she had her own talk to look forward to. She and David had managed a semblance of normalcy this morning as Dee got ready for school, but they couldn't keep this latest turn of events from her much longer, not with Army officers coming and going and Brivari back in the house. As soon as she got home from school, they planned to sit her down and fill her in, and Emily winced inwardly at what she knew would be the response: An announcement from her daughter that the means by which the nurse had been healed were the same means used to heal her three years ago, means developed via methods Emily deplored. This would be followed by a charge of hypocrisy, which would be followed by fruitless counter-arguments, which would be followed by David trying to make peace. It made Emily more tired just thinking about it.

Picking up the basket, Emily carefully opened the guest room door and padded inside, her slippers making no sound on the wood floor. The nurse was still curled in a ball, sleeping peacefully, and Emily removed one of the still warm blankets from the basket and spread it over her. She appeared to have recovered completely with no bleeding, no fever, no outward sign of how close she'd come to death. And that had been very close indeed; Emily's own fatigue was a testament to that. When more than one person used healing stones, some sort of link was formed between them, which explained why she had always been able to tell when her daughter was tiring when both had used the stones simultaneously in the past. Last night was the first time Emily had used the stones with anyone besides Dee, and she had been surprised at how accurately she could gauge the energy all of them were expending. Whatever had ailed the nurse must have been severe because Brivari had worked his tail off, pulling heavily from both Emily and the alien scientist to fix the results of the Army doctor's meddling. And Emily had poured everything she'd had into it, embarrassed beyond belief that this latest example of playing God came from none other than her own people.

Now she glanced toward Marana, still asleep in the rocking chair, her face pale and drawn. David had tucked a blanket around her, and Emily felt another stab of pity that Brivari had used her the way he had, taking from her as relentlessly as he had from Emily, even though she'd had precious little to give. But Brivari had been right; even though he and Emily were strong and rested, the two of them alone may not have been enough to heal the nurse. What little the scientist had had to give had proven crucial.

Emily hesitated a moment before removing another warm blanket from the laundry basket and draping it carefully over Marana....only to pull back in alarm as her eyes flew open.

"What are you doing?" Marana demanded.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Emily exclaimed. "You scared the hell out of me!"

"I said what are you doing?" Marana repeated loudly.

"Keep your voice down!" Emily whispered. "I was just giving you another blanket."

"Why?"

"Because you looked cold," Emily said impatiently. "Is that a good enough reason for you?"

"No," Marana said flatly. "Since when do you care about me?"

"Quiet!" Emily insisted. "You'll wake her!"

Marana's eyes flicked sideways. "Too late."

Emily's heart sank as she turned around to find the nurse's eyes wide open, eyes that moved slowly around the room and finally came to rest on Emily.

"Where am I?" she whispered.



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

I'lll post Chapter 127 next Sunday.

Rai: Not messed up at all, to answer your question. Amar's been duped, and on some level, he knows that. He was rightfully angry at what was happening to his people on Antar, although he can't get past that now that things have changed. And he does care for something besides himself--he cared enough for the emergents to honor their deaths, and he clearly cares for Malik, much as he doesn't want to admit it. Even the neighbors managed to poke a hole in that wall of anger he's built around himself. I've known people like Amar. It's really too bad because there's so much beneath all that anger, but it takes a lot of digging to find it.

And the hybrids absolutely survive. With rare exceptions, what happened on the show happens here. I may interpret events or character motivations differently than parts of the fan base, but what you saw on screen holds. An example of an exception is the way the shapeshifters change shape. In the show it was all about flashing lights and loud noises, which makes sense because it was cheaper to have a blinding flare and replace actors--much less costly CGI. I would imagine one wouldn't want to attract attention when shifting, so my shifters change their shapes silently. That's a major difference from what we saw on screen, but not a major story difference--the shapeshifters still shift, just no fireworks!


Misha: Hee! But I know I'm doing my job when readers find a reason to empathize with the bad guys.







CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SEVEN


June 7, 1950, 8:30 a.m.

Proctor residence



Emily could think of precisely nothing to say as the nurse stared at her, wide-eyed. She hadn't counted on her waking up so soon, and so hadn't prepared a suitable speech, hadn't given any thought at all as to how to tell a woman that someone had gotten her pregnant with a half alien child. This made the upcoming argument with Dee look like child's play.

"Where am I?" the nurse repeated, her eyes darting around the room again, her voice taking on a distinct note of alarm.

"In my house," Emily answered hastily. "You're safe."

The eyes darted back to Emily. "Who are you?"

"My name is Emily Proctor, and like I said, you're in my house."

The nurse didn't answer, just continued to gaze uncomprehendingly at Emily, who was frantically trying to decide how to handle this. She had no intention of lying, but simply spilling the beans wouldn't do either; the nurse was going to have dozens of questions that Emily simply couldn't answer. Perhaps the recommended strategy for discussing difficult subjects with children would work: Answer only the questions they asked without expounding on what they hadn't asked. Of course that had never worked with her daughter, but the so-called experts who came up with these strategies had never had to deal with Dee. Hopefully the nurse would be so disoriented that simple information would mollify her, and she'd go back to sleep.

"How did I get here?" the nurse asked.

"Captain Spade brought you here," Emily replied, leaving out the fact that an alien had also played chauffeur.

"Why?"

"Because you were sick."

A long pause. "If I were sick, he would have brought me to the infirmary," the nurse said suspiciously.

"The infirmary couldn't help you," Emily said carefully, "so he brought you here instead. Your name is Yvonne, right?" she added in her very best motherly voice.

Unfortunately, the mention of her name made the nurse scramble to a sitting position, her long hair spilling over her shoulders. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice shaking. "Where am I? And where is Stephen? If he brought me here, he wouldn't have just left me!"

"He's coming back," Emily said soothingly, sitting down slowly on the side of the bed as the nurse drew back in alarm. "He'll be back around lunch time. It's a little after 8:30 now, so it'll just be a few hours."

"I don't believe you!" the nurse exclaimed, panic creeping around the edges of her voice. "I have no idea who you are, or where I am, or how I got here, or...." She stopped, her eyes wild with fright, staring at Emily as if she were an assassin.

"Okay," Emily said carefully, privately lamenting the fact that those damned healing stones had done such a good job in such a short time. "What say I open the curtains so you can see the room better? Is that all right with you?"

The nurse nodded mutely, and Emily rose slowly from the bed and walked to the window. A moment later, early morning sunshine poured into the room, making everyone squint. The first thing the nurse noticed when her eyes adjusted was Marana.

"Who is that?" she whispered.

Emily glanced at Marana, who was throwing her a skeptical look. "That's someone else who was sick and needed help," Emily said.

Marana made a small noise of disgust, but otherwise remained mercifully silent. The nurse didn't notice; her attention was now focused on the nightgown she was wearing, one of Emily's that Emily had dressed her in last night. "Where is my uniform?"

"I have it soaking," Emily answered, privately doubtful that she'd ever get those blood stains out.

"Why?"

"It needed cleaning."

"But why?" the nurse demanded, her voice rising. "Why would anyone undress me?"

"I told you, you were sick," Emily said patiently, "so—"

"Just tell her," Marana interrupted.

"Tell me what?" the nurse exclaimed, truly panicking now, pulling the blanket up further around her as though it could serve as a shield. "What aren't you telling me?"

"She needs to hear the truth," Marana insisted, ignoring Emily's furious glare. "I know what you're trying to do, but it didn't work."

Silence. The nurse had her back pressed against the headboard, the blanket drawn protectively around her, her eyes wide with fear. Marana was watching Emily, her expression perfectly readable even though she said nothing. Go ahead—tell her. Tell her what your people did to her.

"All right," Emily sighed, her hands laced in front of her, trying to decide how to begin. "What's the last thing you remember?"

The nurse's eyes went blank for a moment. "I....I was on the base. I went looking for Stephen because I...."

"Weren't feeling well?" Emily offered.

"I....I had my period," the nurse said self-consciously. "I usually don't feel well when I have my period."

"But this time was worse, right?" Emily said. "The bleeding was worse."

"How did you know that?" the nurse whispered.

"From what Captain Spade told us," Emily said gently, "you collapsed, and he brought you here because he didn't want the doctor you work for to find out what was wrong with you."

"Dr. Pierce?"

"Yes. Dr. Pierce. Captain Spade was afraid of what Dr. Pierce would do to you if he found out you were ill."

"But....why here?" the nurse said, bewildered. "Where is this place? Why didn't he take me to a hospital?"

"I told you, this is my house," Emily repeated patiently. "You're in Corona, just a few miles from the base, and the Captain didn't take you to a hospital because he was afraid Dr. Pierce would find out about you, and...." She hesitated, still trying to decide how far she wanted to go. "And a hospital couldn't help you because what's wrong with you is alien related. Yes, I know," Emily continued, "you're not supposed to talk about the aliens. But we've been helping them since they arrived"—another snort of disgust from Marana—"and Malik told Captain Spade to bring you here last night."

"Malik," the nurse whispered, clearly familiar with the name. "And Stephen. Where did you say Stephen was?"

"He went back to the base to cover your tracks," Emily said. "He's due back around lunch time," she added, nodding toward the clock on the bedside table, "so that's about three hours. I'm sure he can tell you more then."

"But what did it have to do with my period?" the nurse wondered, having obviously connected some unfortunate dots.

"Captain Spade will be able to tell you all the details," Emily said, sidestepping the question.

"But you must know something, or you wouldn't have mentioned my period," the nurse persisted.

Me and my mouth, Emily thought wearily. "I was just repeating something I overheard," she backpedaled. "I don't want to get it wrong, so I really think you should wait for Captain Spade. Until then, you're safe here. Would you like something to eat?"

The nurse nodded numbly, apparently finding this explanation acceptable for the short term, at least, and Emily breathed a sigh of relief that she'd avoided that minefield. Let Spade break it to her gently, with all the details that Emily was lacking.

"Tell her," Marana said flatly.

Damn it! Emily threw a murderous look Marana's way as the nurse sat up again in alarm. "Tell me what?" she demanded.

"What's the matter?" Marana said softly, her eyes boring into Emily's. "Can't do it? Can't admit that your people are every bit as bad as you thought mine were?"

"What is she talking about?" the nurse said wildly. "Who is she? What did they do to me?"

"They tried to breed you," Marana said bluntly, as the nurse's eyes widened in horror. "Your 'doctor' Pierce successfully impregnated you with alien reproductive cells. We ended the pregnancy," she continued as the nurse's hand flew to her abdomen, "so you're all right now. Until he decides to try again, that is. Which he will, I promise you."

Good Lord, Emily thought as the nurse curled into a ball in shock. So much for breaking it to her gently.



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


Copper Summit, Arizona




"They are not here," Brivari said.

Good, Malik thought as he came down the stairs. As soon as Brivari had headed west on their way out of the village, Malik had known where they were going and hoped that Orlon and Amar would be gone. Not for Orlon's sake; Malik could safely say Orlon deserved whatever Brivari decided to do with him. But since Orlon and Amar would likely have been judged as a set, and since that judgment would undoubtedly have been death, Malik was relieved to see that Amar wasn't here.

"They'll be at the base," Malik said. "They'll stay there around the clock because that's the only place they know you'll be."

"Naturally," Brivari said bitterly, obviously thinking of the planned escape attempt that was already in jeopardy because of Lieutenant White's condition, and was now in further jeopardy because Amar and Orlon would definitely be watching. Spade and Brivari had been reluctant to accept Malik's help in the escape, but now they had no choice. Someone would have to make certain Orlon and Amar didn't show up at an inopportune moment and ruin the whole thing.

"I was thinking," Malik said slowly, " that if Amar were to learn of Orlon's murder of the emergents, it's possible that he would throw his weight behind you."

Brivari gave him a withering look. "It is also possible that he would believe Orlon's version of events. And that's not even beginning to address the question of what good Amar's 'weight' could do me except to function as what the humans would call a 'millstone around my neck'."

Malik said nothing as Brivari continued to inspect the first floor. For all his shortcomings, Amar would be very good in a fight, but this wasn't the time to start an argument. Under the circumstances, it could be considered progress that Brivari had answered him at all—this was the first time he and Brivari had had anything even remotely resembling a conversation since Brivari had healed him. Brivari had said precisely nothing to him on their way here, taking the shape of a bird and taking the lead, not seeming to know or care if Malik was following. They had entered the house through the back door, Brivari opening the lock by holding his hand over the knob even before Malik had managed to fish the key out of its hiding place.

"Where were these emergents you spoke of?" Brivari asked.

"Downstairs," Malik answered, leading the way down into the basement, remembering how he and Amar had cowered in the hidden chamber as Brivari had methodically scoured the walls for the handprint lock that Halloween night when he had discovered them here. Now he opened the chamber door to find nothing amiss. Amar and Orlon had traveled light; the work room looked like everyone had just stepped out for a moment.

"They're planning to return," Brivari said, noticing the same thing.

"Over here," Malik said, holding a hand over the second lock and opening the door to the lower level, descending the stairs slowly, dreading what he knew they would find—every emergent gone, every tank smashed, the floor littered with debris. He'd known Orlon would kill the rest of the emergents, of course, but seeing this.....seeing this was hard.

"Where is the dust?" Brivari wondered.

"Amar must have dispersed it," Malik replied heavily. "I can't imagine him leaving without taking care of that."

He waited for Brivari to respond with some retort or other, some announcement that he couldn't imagine Amar doing any such thing. But Brivari was silent, almost somber, gazing at the tanks as though he felt much the way Malik did about what had happened here.

"Where did Khivar obtain the genetic material for this project?" Brivari asked, inspecting the shattered remains of one of the tanks.

"I'm not sure," Malik admitted. "All the necessary equipment arrived with Khivar's scientist. I verified the age of the embryos, Amar built the tanks, and the scientist installed them. We wouldn't start working for him until he'd finished."

"And who was going to care for and instruct them when they emerged?"

"Amar and I were."

"So you betrayed your king to become a nursemaid?"

"We didn't betray the king," Malik said levelly. "The king betrayed us, all of us, yourself included, much as you don't wish to believe that."

Brivari threw him a look which made it clear he was treading on dangerous ground, but Malik didn't much care. Brivari had not addressed the matter of the king's indiscretions, and yet he must have reached some sort of conclusion on the subject or Malik wouldn't be here right now, wouldn't even be alive right now. He was dying to know if Brivari had decided to believe him, and if so, what could possibly have made the King's Warder change his mind. But it appeared Malik's questions wouldn't be answered today, if ever; Brivari dropped his eyes and proceeded to the next tank. "So tell me, what do you think of your new master, Malik?"

"Khivar's a disaster," Malik said bluntly, "both for Antar and the rest of the five planets."

"Yes, well, the humans have another expression that would apply to a situation like this," Brivari said. " 'Be careful what you ask for, because you might get it'."

"I didn't 'ask' for this," Malik replied firmly. "I wanted Zan to be balanced, not toppled, and certainly not killed."

"But that's what happened, isn't it?"

"That had nothing to do with me," Malik insisted. "I have no idea how Khivar pulled off his coup, but I do know that no one here contributed anything to it. What about you? Do you know how Khivar succeeded?"

"There is nothing of value here," Brivari announced abruptly, ignoring his question. "We should go back; I will deal with this place later."

He knows, Malik realized, following Brivari up the stairs. So the Warders had discovered how Khivar had managed to pull off what no one expected him to, what he shouldn't have been able to. As much as Malik would love to press for the answer to that question too, he decided he'd tempted fate enough for one day. "We should find Spade and see how plans will change now that Lieutenant White isn't available," Malik said, switching to a safer subject. "I don't know what her role was in the escape, but—"

Brivari paused on the stairs ahead of him, cutting him off in mid-sentence. "And what makes you think you will have anything to do with that?"

"Then why am I here?" Malik asked. "What purpose am I supposed to serve?"

"I am not certain," Brivari said coldly. "When I reach a decision, you'll be the first to know."

Great, Malik muttered silently as he followed Brivari up the stairs into the upper chamber, pausing beside one of Amar's workbenchs when he noticed something he hadn't before—a portable communicator displayed prominently in the middle of the empty bench.

"What is it?" Brivari asked impatiently.

"Orlon may have contacted home again," Malik pointed out. "If we could access the logs like Amar did, we could find out what he's up to and—"

"I already know what he's 'up to'," Brivari interrupted, continuing on into the basement and up to the first floor. "He wants to find the hybrids and kill myself and Jaddo, preferably in that order. I don't need confirmation of those intentions, and you shouldn't either."

Malik swallowed a retort, being very accustomed to caustic responses from living with Amar. He was also accustomed to Amar's messiness, which is why he was puzzling over the completely cleaned off workbench with the communicator sitting smack in the middle. Almost as if he'd done that on purpose.

Almost as if it were waiting.



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



12:15 p.m.

Proctor residence



"She knows?" Spade asked.

Emily Proctor bit her lip. "I'm afraid so," she said heavily. "I'm really sorry, Captain. I didn't want it to happen that way. I was just going to leave it at some kind of alien related illness and let you handle the details, but..." She paused, closing her eyes for a moment. "Marana isn't exactly tactful."

"So how is she?" Spade asked.

"Physically, she seems to be fine," Emily replied. "But right after Marana blurted everything out, she just curled into a ball, and.....well.....she's been like that ever since. Won't say anything, or touch any food, or respond to anyone in any way. I'm really sorry," she repeated. "I know that wasn't a good way for her to find out."

So what is a good way for her to find out? Spade wondered, privately grateful that the tactless alien had taken care of what he had been dreading all morning. How did one tell a woman that she'd been knocked out and medically raped for over two years? And here he'd thought lying to Treyborn's parents had been hard; that was nothing compared to this. Not even close.

"Would you like to take some lunch up with you?" Emily was saying. "I made some soup; that might go down well if she's willing to eat."

"Sure," Spade said numbly. "Thank you, Mrs. Proctor. For everything."

"Well....I'm not sure you'll thank me when you see her," Emily said uncertainly. "But maybe you'll have better luck. Let me get you a tray. I'll be right back."

She returned much too quickly with a small tray containing a bowl of soup, a spoon, and a napkin. "I had Marana come down to the kitchen so you can be alone," Emily said. "Good luck."

"Right. Thanks," Spade said, clutching the tray in front of him like a shield and looking up the stairs the way one looks over the edge of a building one is contemplating jumping off. Only there was no decision to be made in this case; Yvonne had to be told exactly what had happened, and he was the best one to tell her. He had a brief, hare-brained notion of consulting Dr. Pierce for psychological advice on how to break bad news to people until he remembered that Pierce was the origin of the bad news he had to break. God, he was losing it.

"My advice, Captain?" Emily said gently, putting a hand on Spade's arm and making him jump; he hadn't even realized she was still there. "I've been in your shoes, and I can promise you there's no 'good' way to deliver news like this. So stop trying to find one, and say what has to be said."

"What do I say?" Spade whispered.

"The truth," Emily said firmly. "Tell her what happened as you experienced it, or as best you know. Tell her what you're not sure of. But be sure you tell her everything, because anything you tell her won't be anywhere near as damaging as what you don't tell her. No matter what anyone thinks, information, even awful information, is always better than imagination. She's lucky she has you to tell her the truth."

Spade swallowed hard. "She's going to be furious."

"Of course she is," Emily said. "Aren't you? Just remember—you didn't do this to her. You saved her. So even if she initially takes it out on you, she doesn't mean it; you're just an easy target. That's the hardest part of this," she added, as though she spoke from personal experience. "Being the target of someone's anger is never easy, especially when you don't deserve it. Try not to take it personally. Try to step back from all of this, and just do what needs doing. Don't over-analyze it—just do it."

Just do it. That sounded like an Army axiom. Spade nodded wordlessly and headed up the stairs, every step becoming heavier as he went. Sunshine filtered into the upstairs hallway from the open bedrooms on either side, the Proctors' own room and their daughter's, her door now open to reveal a room curiously devoid of the usual "girl things" one would have expected to see. Only the guest room door was closed, or ajar, rather, and Spade knocked softly before pushing the door open, his heart in his throat.

Yvonne lay curled on her side, her back to the door, the blanket drawn up so far that it partly obscured her face. Sunlight streamed through the window, giving the room a cheerful look that belied what had happened here. The rocking chair where the alien had fallen asleep last night was indeed empty, and Spade was briefly sorry about that; he felt terribly alone, pausing awkwardly just inside the door, the tray clutched tightly in his hands.

"Yvonne?" he called softly. "It's Stephen. I....I've brought you some lunch."

Lunch? Spade mentally kicked himself for saying the first stupid thing that popped into his head until he remembered Emily Proctor's admonition to stop trying to find a good way to have this conversation when there wasn't one. Assuming that was true, the good news was that he basically couldn't mess this up any worse than it had been already.

"Yvonne?" he tried again. "Are you awake?"

No answer. Spade walked tentatively around the edge of the bed to find that, yes, she was awake—her eyes were open, wide and unseeing, like she was in a trance. An untouched glass of orange juice sat on the bedside table, and Spade set the tray down next to it before taking a seat on the side of the bed. "How are you feeling?" he ventured.

Still no answer, no glance, no acknowledgement that he'd said anything at all. Spade sat for a moment in the still, silent room and ultimately decided that silence was welcome. Perhaps it would be easier to talk if he didn't have to look at her, if she didn't seem to be listening, didn't react.

"Um....okay," Spade began uncertainly. "I guess I should just start at the beginning, or what was the beginning for me. Stop me any time you need to." Yvonne's fixed expression made it clear that wasn't likely to happen, so Spade ploughed on. "Last night around 2000 hours, you passed out on the base. It was outside, between the main building and the compound. Corporal Thompson and Sergeant Brisson were with me—" Spade paused, feeling his throat constrict at Brisson's name "—and you walked up to us, looking sick and holding your....your stomach, and then you just....collapsed. When I tried to take you to the infirmary, Brisson wouldn't let me. He diverted us to a room on the floor below it, and that's when he told us what he thought was wrong with you."

No response. Yvonne's eyes remained locked on something only she could see. "When I found out what it was, I went and got Malik," Spade went on, deliberately not going into detail about what "it" was as the scientist had oh-so-helpfully already done that. "He came to the base and looked you over, and he thought we should bring you to the scientist who escaped with him. And they were here, with the same family I met back in '47 the night the aliens rescued those sacs. These are the people who were hiding Brivari and Jaddo, who found the sacs right before I did. So we brought you here, and the scientist...." Did what? Spade thought. Gave you an abortion? Ended the pregnancy? Got that thing out of you? ".....the scientist worked on you, and then Malik got Brivari, and he used some sort of alien healing thing on you, and....look, the bottom line is, you're okay now," Spade finished in a rush.

Still no response. Spade fidgeted on the edge of the bed for a minute before continuing. "So we filled out the paperwork to get you an emergency leave that says one of your relatives is sick. That should give us enough time to get you away from here, make you disappear. But we can't do that until you're strong enough to run, so you need to eat."

Nothing. The silence, so welcome at first, was now growing heavy. "Do you hear me, Yvonne?" Spade pleaded. "You can't go back there; you have to get away, far away, where Pierce will never find you. So you need to eat something and get dressed, and we need to find you a safe place. Please," he begged, laying a hand on her shoulder through the blanket, almost hoping she'd flinch just so that he'd know that she knew he was there. But she didn't move, didn't blink, didn't exhibit the slightest sign of recognition. This was going to take awhile.

"Well....I'll leave the soup here," Spade said after a moment. "And I'll be back tonight after dinner. Please think about what I said. When you've been gone too long, they'll get suspicious, and you need to be far away from here when that happens."

He stood up, hesitated, and then bent over to kiss her forehead. He'd just turned around when she spoke.

"How?"

Her voice was so quiet he almost missed it, would have missed it had there been any noise at all nearby. Spade stopped dead in his tracks, wondering if he'd imagined it.

"How?" she whispered again, her eyes still straight ahead.

"How....how what?" Spade asked. "How did we know what was wrong with you? How did we get you here? How—"

"How did he do it?" she said, her eyes finally moving, flicking up to rest on him. "I don't remember this, Stephen. How did Pierce do it?"

"Uh...." Spade sat down again, nervously kneading his hands in his lap. "Brisson said they knocked you out somehow."

"He knew," Yvonne whispered. "He knew right from the beginning. All the way back to when I first saw him taking my bathroom wastebasket."

"Taking your wastebasket?" Spade echoed. "When was this?"

"In the very beginning," Yvonne said faintly, "when the aliens were first captured. I caught Brisson taking the trash in my wastebasket and replacing it with something else. And then later, I thought someone had been in my desk....and I had my calendar in my desk," she continued, her voice rising, her body beginning to twitch as though anger were making her come to life. "I keep track of my period on my calendar. He must have been looking at it."

"He probably was," Spade admitted. "Yvonne, I would dearly love to wring Brisson's neck," he continued, the wild look in her eyes making him more uneasy than her previous silence, "and I know you would too. But I should tell you that he's been working against Pierce for a long time now. He said something about there being two kinds of cells, and he was switching them so you got the ones that wouldn't get you pregnant—"

"You mean I was pregnant before?" Yvonne broke in, half sitting up now. "When....oh," she breathed, her eyes wilder than ever now. "That awful period I had with all the pain....that wasn't a period! That was another pregnancy! And he tried to tell me...not just then, but back when the aliens attacked, and....he didn't," she said, sitting all the way up now, her voice crackling with hatred. "He didn't! He could have told me a million times, and he didn't!"

"I know," Spade said soothingly. "And he should have, but—"

The rest of his sentence was cut off as he jerked backwards. Yvonne had picked up the clock on the bedside table and hurled it across the room with a roar that Spade was certain was audible on Brivari's planet. The clock crashed against the wall, its casing breaking open, spilling parts on the floor beneath the hole it left in the plaster.

"Yvonne!" Spade said, grabbing her by the shoulders as she heaved in fury, looking around for something else to throw. "Yvonne!"



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



"I thought my kind wasn't allowed to eat here," Marana said.

"I never said that," the girl's mother replied, setting a bowl and spoon on the kitchen table in front of Marana. "What I said was that I wasn't going to wait on you."

"So...that's why you're making food for me?" Marana asked as the woman set a pot of something or other on the table.

"I didn't make anything for you," the woman answered tartly. "I made soup for the lieutenant and myself. If you'd like some, help yourself. If not, starve."

I'm already starving, Marana thought, eyeing the pot. Malik's absence meant she'd had nothing to eat since the meal he'd brought yesterday evening, and last night's bout with the healing stones had drained her energy even further, despite the fact that Brivari and the girl's mother had done most of the work. The woman had proven to be quite the powerhouse when it came to healing stones; it was easy to see where her daughter had gotten her talents. Perhaps it was the mother's brain she should study.

"I suppose you brought me down here because you were afraid of what I'd say," Marana said, succumbing to temptation and filling the bowl with "soup", whatever that was.

"What could you possibly say that would be any worse than what you've already said?" the woman demanded, her back to Marana as she washed dishes in the sink.

"Then why am I here?"

"Because I thought the lieutenant and the captain could use some privacy," the woman replied impatiently. "I know your people are familiar with the concept, so don't look so surprised."

"I know what you were trying to do this morning," Marana said, "but it wasn't working. She needed to hear the truth, exactly like you just told that soldier. I've been lied to, and so have you. Neither of us liked it, so both of us should be able to understand—"

"I wasn't lying!" the woman exclaimed, turning around. "Every single thing I said to her was true. I just left certain parts out because I felt Captain Spade should be the one to tell her that."

"So it was a lie of omission," Marana said dryly. "I know your people are familiar with the concept, so don't look so surprised."

"There is nothing wrong with rationing information to avoid overwhelming somebody," the woman argued, wiping her hands furiously on a towel.

"Does that work with your daughter?" Marana asked, smiling slightly as the woman began to smolder. "No, I didn't think so. Look, the healer doesn't need a parental figure, she needs an advocate who will answer her questions. Questions she was actively asking, if I recall."

"She wasn't ready to hear the whole thing," the woman insisted.

"And who decides when she's 'ready'?" Marana challenged. "You? Me? This isn't about what she wasn't ready to hear. It's about what you weren't ready to say."

"And where exactly did you get all this psychological expertise?" the woman asked in exasperation. "From your test subjects?"

"My test subjects knew they were test subjects," Marana replied calmly, "so I've never been in this situation."

"Really? That's not what my husband told me. He told me that Malik and whoever he was with ran away because someone tried to make them test subjects against their will."

Of course he did, Marana thought irritably. The woman's mate definitely had a talent for acquiring information. "That was....unfortunate," she said uncomfortably. "And rare. That's not the way testing usually occurs on my world."

"That's not the way it usually occurs on my world either," the woman said.

"So you have no business claiming superiority," Marana argued.

"Like hell I don't," the woman retorted. "I hardly think one nurse stacks up against hundreds of innocent children."

Crash! Marana's angry reply was cut off by a loud noise from above, followed by raised voices. A minute later, footsteps pounded down the stairs and the female healer charged into the kitchen, wide-eyed and panting, with the male officer from the human military base on her heels looking no better.

"What happened to me?" the healer demanded, looking straight at Marana. "What they do to me? What did you do to me?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Proctor," the agitated male said. "She was so quiet, and then she just—boom!"

"Tell me what they did to me!" the healer shouted as Marana stared at her in shock. "Tell me!"

"Yvonne, just calm down," the male begged, taking her arm only to have it viciously yanked away.

"Control yourself, lieutenant," the girl's mother said sharply, sounding far less motherly than she had this morning. "You won't learn anything while you're throwing a tantrum."

"A tantrum?" the healer repeated with a brittle laugh. "You think this is a tantrum? Would you like to see a real tantrum?"

Without waiting for a reply, the healer picked up the pot of soup and hurled it across the room. It crashed into the wall, leaving a colorful stripe of food running down it and three flabbergasted faces.

"And that's just the beginning," the healer said grimly. "There's plenty more where that came from if someone doesn't answer me!"



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

I'll post Chapter 128 next Sunday.

Rai wrote: I've known people like Amar, too. Sometimes they can actually deal with the anger, which is wonderful.

Interesting you should say that. Because for all his personality flaws, Amar has already dealt with his anger enough to direct it at a specific target (exactly who and how comes later.) And in the end, he, too, will have to make a choice as to who (whom?) he will support....and his choice might prove surprising.

The romantic in me thinks that everyone should have at least one person to mourn them when they're gone.

I like that. I think Emily mourned that poor messed up hybrid, in some fashion at least. She made a point of looking at it, and she was planning to bury it before Brivari turned it to dust. What she did with the dust comes in this chapter.

Chrystalkay wrote:How badly will this effect the rescue atempt? We have waited soooo looong for him to get out of there and now when it is so close..... ergh! I want this to happen without a glitch for a change! I know glitches make good storys but have a heart, there has been enough problems with Jaddo trying to get out. Let him free for petes sake!

It just occurred to me that by the time this book ends at 151 chapters, it will have lasted about as long as Jaddo's been captive. Honest, I didn't do that on purpose! There will certainly be glitches, but he got out on the show, so he gets out here. Not only that, but the vast majority of the good guys win, while the vast majority of the bad guys get their butts kicked. You'll probably agree it's about time.

Looking over the rest of your questions, all of them will be answered by the end of this book. I'm so grateful for the years you've spent reading this, so glad you're still enjoying it, and delighted that you told me so. {{{Hugs!}}}

And Book 4 will start two weeks after Book 3 ends, so there's barely a break in between. Book 4 hops to 1959 and has more characters from the show--Atherton, Nicholas and his merry band, Courtney and the rebel Skins, "our" Valenti as a boy, and Grandpa Valenti as sheriff. Plus there's Philip Evans as a baby, which is just plain weird.








CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-EIGHT


June 7, 1950, 12:30 p.m.

Proctor residence



Marana stared in shock at the wild-eyed healer who was spinning in a circle in her bare feet, the flimsy nightdress the girl's mother had given her flaring around her as she turned. On the other side of the room, the pot she'd just hurled rolled sideways on the floor in a puddle of soup, a thick line down the wall tracing its trajectory. Perhaps the girl's mother had been right. Perhaps this one was not in any shape to hear the information she was demanding.

"Tell me!" the furious healer shouted, turning from Marana to the gaping soldier to the girl's mother, the only member of the healer's audience who looked annoyed instead of shocked. "Tell me what happened to me!" She whirled on Marana, who drew back in alarm. "What did you do to me?"

"I....I'm not sure this is a good time to go into that," Marana replied as the girl's mother raised her eyebrows. "You need to calm down first."

"You expect me to calm down after what they did to me?" the healer thundered. "They got me pregnant! With something that wasn't even human!"

"I'm aware of that," Marana said carefully, "although I doubt it would make much difference if it had been."

"Lieutenant, you need to get a hold of yourself," the girl's mother said firmly, throwing what Malik would call a "shut-the-hell-up" look in Marana's direction. "I know you're upset, but—"

"Upset? Lady, I am way past 'upset'!" the healer fumed. "Stephen," she announced, turning on the soldier, who blanched. "How did they do it?"

"I told you how," the soldier answered. "It was at night, and they knocked you out."

"But how?" the healer demanded. "What did they use?"

"How should I know?" the soldier said, irritation creeping into his voice. "It's not like I had a lot of time to ask questions while it was happening, and it was all I could do to not strangle Brisson this morning, never mind get all the gory details."

"How did they do it?" the healer shouted.

"I told you, I don't know!" the soldier insisted. "I'll try to find out, okay? I'll ask Brisson for every last detail, but you'll have to wait until this evening when I can get away for longer."

"No!" the healer shouted. "I want to know now!" She lunged for Marana's bowl of soup, apparently intending to throw that too, but was intercepted by the girl's mother, who promptly landed a stinging slap across her face.

Silence. The healer clutched her face in horror as Marana and the soldier stared with fresh shock. The girl's mother, on the other hand, looked almost as angry as the healer had only seconds ago.

"Now, you listen to me, young lady," she said severely. "What happened to you was illegal, unethical, and absolutely unforgivable, and I hope whoever did it rots in hell. But you're not unique; lots of people all over the world have had unforgivable things happen to them in recent years. And look at you—you're alive and healthy to tell about it. Many others weren't so fortunate. Like my brother-in-law, who survived the war only to come home and put a gun in his mouth."

Her hand to a face still red from the slap, the healer's eyes widened. "Yes, that's right," the girl's mother continued. "He blew his brains all over his apartment. So forgive me if I'm impatient with this rampage of yours about how wronged you are. I'll be the first to agree you were wronged, but you've just joined a very long line, and in better shape than many, I might add. And for that, you have every single person in this room to thank, plus a few who aren't here. We busted our hind ends bringing you back from the brink, so I'd very much appreciate it if you'd stop tearing up my house and simmer down."

She was right, Marana thought, watching this exchange in disbelief. The healer was indeed not ready to hear the truth, and it appeared that, at least at the moment, she needed a parent, not an advocate. Boy, had she called that one wrong.

"Now, here's what we're going to do," the woman announced firmly. "You," she said to the gaping soldier, "are going back to the base. You will learn as much as possible about what happened to the lieutenant, and you will refrain from strangling anyone who possesses such information, at least until they've finished divulging it. You will bring this information back this evening. And you," she continued to the healer, "are going to clean up the mess you made while I make another pot of soup. Then you will sit down and have something to eat. Once you have something in your stomach and you've demonstrated that you have a grip on yourself, then and only then will you," she said to Marana, "provide the requested details. One more outburst like that, and we say nothing," she added to the healer. "Are we clear?"

Heads nodded numbly, Marana's no less numbly than anyone else's. "Good," the woman said briskly. "Captain, we'll see you later. Lieutenant, I'll get you a bucket and mop."

"I'm sorry," the healer whispered, her face ashen.

"Apology accepted," the woman said more gently this time as she handed over a pile of rags. "Here. Get up the worst of it, and then we'll mop."

The healer accepted the rags without comment and headed for the puddle of soup. The soldier dithered for a moment longer before quietly leaving, throwing one last look in the healer's direction. The girl's mother retrieved the pot from the floor, washed it, and set it on the stove. Twenty minutes later, the floor and walls were clean and all three of them were sitting at the kitchen table in peaceful silence, sipping bowls of soup. The healer kept her eyes on her bowl as though afraid to look up, but Marana watched the girl's mother with reluctant admiration until she looked up, saw that she was being observed, and fixed Marana with a challenging stare.

Marana dropped her eyes to her soup bowl and kept them there for the duration of the meal.



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



1400 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



"Okay, I think I've got it all," Spade muttered, running a pencil down his list. "Two kinds of cells, every month for four days in a row, the sedative in the toothpaste.....wait. What was the name of the drug Pierce used?"

"We shouldn't be talking about this here," Brisson whispered, his eyes darting nervously around the bustling base mess hall. "And you definitely shouldn't be writing anything down!"

"How do you expect me to remember all this gobbledygook?" Spade demanded. "And this is the perfect place to talk about just about anything; no one pays any attention to anything here except how bad the food is. Now, what was the name of the drug?"

"What difference does it make?" Brisson said in exasperation.

"It will make a difference to Lieutenant White," Spade said firmly. "Tell me the name of the drug."

"Or what?" Brisson asked. "This morning you tried to kill me, and now you want chapter and verse? What are you going to do? Sic an alien on me?"

"Worse," Spade said flatly. "I'll sic Lieutenant White on you. The last time I saw her, she was so mad, she was throwing things. So what's it going to be, Brisson—talk to her directly, or put up with my list?"

Spade was surprised at how much color drained from Brisson's face at this query; he hadn't thought anyone could look that white and still be alive. Nevertheless, he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction that the mere notion of Yvonne hurling objects had sent Brisson into shock; it made him feel less guilty about his own incompetence this morning when her completely uncharacteristic tantrum had left him standing there like a blithering idiot.

"Uh....let me write it down for you," Brisson stammered, reaching for the notepad. "I know you won't be able to either spell it or pronounce it." Spade watched as he carefully printed a genuinely unintelligible word that looked something like Latin. "So....does this mean that she's all right?"

"If you consider throwing pots of soup against the wall 'all right', then yes, she's all right," Spade said.

Brisson's Adam's apple rose and fell twice as he swallowed hard. "Does she know what happened to her?"

"The basics," Spade answered. "All the basics that matter. Now she wants details, which is why you and I are once again enjoying each other's fine company."

"And she's....she's....she's really angry, isn't she?" Brisson whispered.

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Well, sure, but....does she know I had something to do with this?"

"She certainly does," Spade replied. "She said something about catching you stealing the trash from her bathroom wastebasket. What was that all about?"

Red, Spade thought, mentally expanding his list of colors that he didn't think humans could sport without serious illness or death. Brisson had flushed such a violent shade of crimson that he looked like he was running a raging fever. "I....I told you we had to document her....her menstrual cycle before Dr. Pierce could proceed," Brisson said, staring at the hands he held tightly clasped on the table.

"Right," Spade said, consulting his scribbles. "You said she kept track on a calendar in her desk, and she also mentioned that she thought someone had been into her desk. But what's with the wastebasket?"

"Well...before I realized she kept such good notes, the only way to keep track was to note what she...discarded."

"Brisson, you are one sick puppy," Spade said grimly.

"I am not!" Brisson protested. "I had orders!"

"And you never questioned those orders?" Spade retorted. "I know you did later—I mean in the beginning, when you were sniffing through wastebaskets like a dog. What on earth were you thinking?"

"I...I was excited," Brisson said quietly, still staring at his hands. "And flattered. Flattered that Dr. Pierce had seen fit to take me into his confidence, and excited because he said we'd be making history. And the part about Lieutenant White....well....I guess I never thought he'd actually get that far, and I was too caught up in the laboratory aspect to really question what was going on until I'd had a chance to think about it."

"So you needed to 'think about it' before you realized how sick and twisted the whole thing was?" Spade said severely. "I have news for you, Brisson—most people wouldn't need to 'think about it'. They'd just know."

"Think whatever you want about me," Brisson said, "but promise me one thing—don't tell the prisoner about this. He suspected some time ago what Pierce was up to, and he said if anything ever happened to the lieutenant, he'd....he'd kill me."

"John said that?" Spade asked.

"Quite clearly," Brisson said with feeling.

"Well, you're in luck," Spade said darkly. "Yvonne's first in line to kill you, and I'm second, so John will have to settle for third."

Brisson paled again as Spade silently regretted that, with an escape in the offing, it would be an exceptionally bad time to have John breaking anyone's neck, even if the neck in question deserved breaking. Any aggression on John's part would result in him being locked up tight, much too tight to get him out.

"Sir?"

Spade looked up to find an unfamiliar Corporal. "What is it?"

"A private just handed me a note to give to you, sir."

"Thanks," Spade said, unfolding the note, which was extremely brief: Room 162—Johnson. So David Proctor had been right; Brivari hadn't killed Malik after all, or had tried to and he'd managed to get away. "We'll finish this later," Spade said to Brisson. "I'm sure Lieutenant White will have more questions."

"Captain?"

"What?"

"The next time you see the lieutenant," Brisson said slowly, "would you tell her for me how very sorry I am about all this? I know it probably won't do much good, but....would you tell her anyway?"

"Sure," Spade said. "I'll tell her. But if I were you, I wouldn't get your hopes up."

"Right," Brisson whispered. "Well...thanks anyway."

Spade walked out of the mess hall fighting a rising wave of sympathy at Brisson's hangdog expression. Don't, he ordered himself severely. Brisson deserved to have his ass kicked from here to the aliens' planet for his part in what had happened to Yvonne, and if he was finally realizing that, so much the better. Perhaps the guy wasn't a total loss after all.

Room 162 turned out to be a storage room in the basement, and Spade paused outside, suspicious. Why did Malik want to meet here? Was he worried Brivari would find him? Or....Spade tensed as he realized there was no way to know who awaited him in that room. There were four aliens at large and appearances meant nothing; if he opened the door to find "Private Johnson", it might be either Malik or one of the enemy aliens, who might very well know Malik's human pseudonym.

Spade glanced around the hallway; there was no one in sight, no one to hear him if something happened to him, and he was unarmed. Leaving wasn't an option; the message could be real, and he and Malik certainly had things to discuss. Perhaps he should go back to the compound and get his tranquilizer rifle? No, that would look awfully suspicious over here. Something else then? A trip up and down the hallway uncovered a toolbox; Spade grabbed a large wrench, stuffed it in his pocket, and headed back to the storeroom. It wasn't much, but perhaps he could play along in the beginning until he found out what was up and catch them unawares if they were enemies. His hand around the wrench in his pocket, he cautiously opened the storeroom door.

The light spilling in the from the hallway only illuminated a short ways past the door; Spade fumbled for the light switch before stepping slowly inside. It wasn't a large room, and it didn't take long to figure out that no one was here. So why the note? Maybe they weren't here yet? Or were they trying to distract him while they pulled something else?

Then the door swung closed behind him, and Spade whirled around just in time to see two shapes literally melting out of the wall.



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



Proctor residence



"So that's about it," the girl's mother said. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait for Captain Spade to come back to learn more."

Seated across the table, swathed in a robe and "slippers" that the woman had fetched for her, the nurse nodded, her long dark hair falling about her face. There hadn't been much to tell about what had happened to her after she'd been brought here; all Marana had done was end the pregnancy, a simple procedure, even simpler in humans. She could only speculate on how Brivari had done what he had done, and she very much doubted he'd be willing to describe it for the nurse even if she started throwing things again.

Which she hadn't. The nurse had eaten her soup in silence, and when they had finished, had listened in silence as Marana and the girl's mother detailed what they knew. She appeared more numb than calm, and it was impossible to tell if she was truly lucid, but silence was preferable to hurling objects any day.

"Do you have any questions, dear?" the girl's mother was asking.

Marana, who was privately doubtful that the nurse was currently capable of forming a coherent question, was surprised when one came immediately. "How did Brivari heal me?" she asked, looking directly at Marana.

"I....I'm not sure," Marana admitted, ignoring the look from the girl's mother and hoping against hope that she wasn't going to blurt out exactly why Brivari could do what he could do. "He...Brivari has talents the rest of us don't have."

"Because he's the King's Warder?" the nurse asked.

"Uh...yes," Marana answered, shocked to hear an Antarian title from this stranger. "He could tell you more. If he's willing," she added.

The nurse nodded slowly before turning to the girl's mother. "What did you do with....whatever it was I delivered?"

"I was going to bury it," the woman replied, "but Brivari, he....well, he turned it into the same kind of dust that their bodies turn into when they die. So I sprinkled it over one of the flower beds out back."

"I remember the dust," the nurse said, her eyes far away. "We were doing the first autopsy, and I was hoping to keep them away from Urza. Brivari had said they could help him if they made it back, but...." She paused, closing her eyes briefly. "The body we were working on just...collapsed. Bones, organs, blood samples.....everything. And then they started on Urza all the faster because they knew the same thing would happen to him. I couldn't stop them."

"Of course you couldn't," the woman said soothingly. "You did what you could; you're not responsible for anything beyond that."

"Urza," Marana whispered. "Urza was....alive when you saw him?"

"Maybe we should talk about this some other time," the girl's mother suggested.

"He was badly injured," the nurse said quietly. "They said they couldn't help the other one because he had head wounds, but they were going to come back for Urza. And then he lost consciousness, and they never made it back, and...." Her voice trailed off, her face almost as white as it had been before.

The other one... "Who....who was the 'other one'?" Marana asked haltingly. "Was that....was that Valeris?"

"I really think we should save this conversation for later," the woman interjected.

"I think that was his name," the nurse said. "He was dead when they brought him in. Gunshot wounds. He surrendered to Stephen—Captain Spade," she clarified. "But one of the other soldiers panicked and....I'm sorry," she finished when she saw the stricken look on Marana's face. "I'm really sorry."

"That's enough," the girl's mother said firmly, rising to her feet. "Lieutenant, I want you to go back upstairs. You've had quite enough excitement for now, and there's no use fretting over things that happened years ago and were out of your control. Go on," she prodded. "I can see you're tired, and you want to be rested when Captain Spade comes back with whatever information he's gathered, don't you?"

That last question hit a chord with the nurse, who rose immediately and gave the woman a longing look. "I'll be right up," the woman assured her. "Go ahead—I'll only be a minute behind you."

"What's the matter, Mrs. Proctor?" Marana said coldly even before the nurse's footsteps had faded up the stairs. "Don't you want to hear the nasty details about how one of the greatest scientific minds of my world was murdered by your own people?"

"Oh, no you don't," the girl's mother said sharply. "You're not changing the subject. This is about her, and the fact that she's still fragile now. She has enough problems of her own without adding yours to the list."

"Yes, she does have 'problems'," Marana replied frostily. "Problems which, if I remember correctly, can be traced back to your people."

"Keep tracing," the woman retorted. "This all started when your people came here uninvited. Every single thing that has happened since then stems from that decision."

"Yes, every single thing," Marana said pointedly. "Even the good things, like your daughter's life being saved. Like this female's life being saved."

"Lives that wouldn't have needed saving if your people hadn't come here in the first place," the woman argued. "I don't condone my people's behavior, but at least in this case it was someone who panicked and made a mistake instead of a systematic campaign to use people against their will. I approve of neither, but I'll take the former to the latter any day."

"Oh, now who's changing the subject?" Marana demanded. "Your military kills someone who's surrendering, and that's all right with you? You approve of that kind of waste, of—"

"Don't you dare!" the woman snapped, absolutely furious now. "I have opposed our military's handling of this situation from the very beginning, which is why we were willing to help in the first place, and believe me, we have been to hell and back several times for bothering. That's why you're here now, why I didn't put my foot down and throw you to the wolves. I know those wolves and what they'd do to you, and I don't approve of that any more than I approve of what you did to those children."

Marana glared at her in sullen silence, nursing the grudge that was growing about Valeris' fate. She'd known he was dead, of course—Malik had delivered that news while she was still on Antar—but she'd never heard the details. To think that a scientist of Valeris' reputation had lost his life so ignominiously on a backward world full of people who didn't understand the concept of surrender was almost too much to bear.

"And one more thing," the woman added, as Marana drew back in case 'one more thing' involved another slap. "I didn't know this 'Valeris', but I'm willing to bet he wouldn't have considered his death a waste. His surrender was what convinced Captain Spade and that nurse to help your people; without them your royalty wouldn't be safe, Brivari wouldn't have escaped, and Jaddo wouldn't be alive right now. A Warder's first job is to keep his Ward alive, and his second job is to keep his fellow Warders alive. Valeris' death accomplished both, and if I can figure that out, I certainly shouldn't have to explain that to you."

The girl's mother swept out of the kitchen leaving a trail of disgust in her wake. Marana waited until she was upstairs before picking up her spoon and hurling it against the recently cleaned far wall. It didn't make quite the satisfying thunk the pot had made, but it calmed her down enough that she could focus on the salient point in the woman's harangue: She had once again referenced the hybrids. Emily Proctor had seen the hybrids and likely knew where they were hidden. Marana made a silent vow that she was going to drag that information out of her no matter what it took.



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



Eagle Rock Military Base



Spade whipped the wrench out of his pocket and held it over his head, ready to strike at whatever was oozing out of the wall. Two shapes..., he thought as the ooze separated. Two shapes was not good. Then the shapes grew arms, legs, heads....and turned into Malik and Brivari.

"Sorry," Malik apologized. "We didn't meant to startle you, but we had to be sure it was you."

Spade's eyes darted back and forth, the wrench still in the air. Both wore the same faces they always did when they approached him, but that meant nothing. And the notion that Brivari and Malik would be voluntarily keeping company was downright odd.

"You can put that down now, captain," Malik said gently. "It's just us."

"The captain is not sure of that....nor should he be," Brivari said approvingly. "When I left the Proctor's house this morning, you were still asleep," he continued. "David Proctor said he would wake you in time to return to the base before suspicions were aroused by the Healer's absence."

Spade lowered the wrench in relief. "It is you. Both of you. I never thought I'd see the day when you'd be in the same room with Malik without trying to kill him. Did hell freeze over when I wasn't looking?"

"Amusing," Brivari said, sounding distinctly unamused. "Did anyone follow you?"

"Not that I know of," Spade answered. "Why?"

"Orlon and Amar are here," Malik answered. "Upstairs in the mess hall, probably waiting for you or Lieutenant White to meet Brivari there like you frequently do. That's why we had to resort to sending notes."

Spade blinked as he realized that he and Brisson had been discussing Pierce's attempt to create an alien-human mutt with aliens right there in the room. "Are they...have they been following me?" he asked, reeling from the notion that there were two competing sets of aliens skulking around the base. "Did they follow me to the Proctor's when I went there this morning?"

"They do not appear to be following you at present," Brivari answered, "nor did they follow you when you left this morning."

"How is Lieutenant White?" Malik asked.

"Well enough to throw things," Spade replied. "Last time I saw her, she was hopping mad and hurling objects. Hopefully she'll have calmed down when I go back this evening."

"Then she has recovered," Brivari said with satisfaction. "I have always used temper as a measure of recovery for Jaddo. What effect will her absence have on Jaddo's escape?"

"None, really," Spade answered. "She was going to provide Thompson and me with alibi's, but that's not absolutely necessary. Otherwise, nothing changes. If we do it right, we should have at least an hour before anyone notices he's gone."

"And now we have the added problem of Orlon and Amar, who will no doubt be here around the clock," Brivari said. "Which calls for another set of eyes that can recognize them. Malik will be joining us. We can revise our plans this evening when you leave the base."

"How will I find you?" Spade asked, noting the look of surprise on Malik's face.

"You won't," Brivari answered. "We'll find you. And captain, be very careful about any discussions you have. The public spaces we have all used in the past are no longer safe. The safest place is the compound because Orlon and Amar are unable to enter there. If I need to contact you on the base, I will meet you in your quarters. We will wear the forms we now wear when we approach you, so be suspicious of anyone who claims to be one of us but does not take the correct form. Wait several minutes," he added to Malik, "then join me outside the hangar."

"So," Spade said after Brivari had cautiously inspected the hallway before leaving. "You've certainly risen in the ranks."

"News to me," Malik said. "Last I knew, he was still deciding what to do with me.

"What happened last night?"

"He knocked me out," Malik answered. "I woke up with one of the allies he's been staying with holding a gun on me. I guess he kept me alive to see if I was telling the truth."

"And to make sure you didn't follow him if you weren't," Spade said, sitting down on a nearby box. "Just like Proctor said. That guy's shrewd. I bet he made one hell of an officer during the war. So what happened when Brivari came back for you?"

"The usual," Malik shrugged. "He accused me of being a traitor, and I told him I had good reasons and would do it all over again, and so on, and so forth. And then he just.....stopped. We went to where Amar and I have been living, but they weren't there, of course, and then we came here. We've been following them around ever since."

"Do you think he finally believes your accusations against the king?"

"He might," Malik allowed, "or he might realize that he can't pull this off without me, not with Amar and Orlon out there. I don't know what he's thinking....and I don't care. I know what was happening, and whether or not Brivari believes it doesn't change anything. We'll hash that out after we get Jaddo out of here." He glanced back at the door through which Brivari had just left. "Brivari and I have to be careful not to be seen together, or Orlon will realize that either Marana or me survived. And you need to be careful too," he added. "You have no way of knowing who you're really talking to."

"Wonderful," Spade muttered. "So where are they in the mess hall? Which table?"

"Does that matter?"

"You bet it does," Spade said. "If I get a look at what faces they're wearing, I might recognize them if they wear that face again."

"It might be better if you don't know," Malik said.

"How is ignorance 'better'?" Spade asked.

"Don't do anything stupid, captain," Malik warned. "If they so much as think you've recognized them, they'll kill you, just like they killed one of your men a couple of years ago, remember?"

"Of course I remember," Spade said impatiently, privately doubting that he'd ever forget the snapped neck Treyborn had earned when he'd realized aliens were attacking at the end of '47. "I'm not going near them; I just want a look. Where are they?"

Malik regarded him skeptically for a moment before answering. "Fifth table on the left, middle aisle. Facing each other on the near end. Make certain they don't see you. We may be able to forego Lieutenant White's help, but we can't afford to lose yours."

"Wait," Spade said as Malik carefully checked the hallway outside. "I've already thanked Brivari, but he wouldn't have been around to thank without you. You took a huge risk going after him like that. You saved Yvonne's life. Thank you."

Malik smiled faintly. "I'm afraid I'm not as altruistic as you give me credit for. As delighted as I am that Lieutenant White has recovered, I didn't risk my life to save her; I risked my life to preserve the allies we need to free Jaddo before our enemies arrive. I risked my life for my world, not your lieutenant. Sorry."

"I'm not," Spade said. "I don't care what you did it for—I'm just glad you did."

Malik nodded before leaving just like Brivari had, disappearing around a bend to the right, his feet making no sound on the tile floor. Spade headed back upstairs, feeling himself stiffen every time he passed another soldier. Were they still in the mess hall, or had they gone looking for him? The paranoia that rose at the notion of being tailed by someone you couldn't recognize was powerful, almost debilitating. For the first time since last night, he was actually glad that Yvonne wasn't here right now.

Spade reached the mess hall doors and stood carefully off to one side, peering through the windows. Middle aisle....fifth table on the left......there. Two men, one older, one younger, facing each other in silence as they ate. He studied them carefully for several minutes, memorizing what he could see of their faces and looking for clues, anything that could tip him off in the future, and was surprised to find as many anomalies as he did. For example, the men were sitting apart from everyone else and weren't talking to each other. Their eyes darted around the room, flitting from their trays to the room and back, covering the entire mess hall as one faced one way, one the other. The younger man was facing the door, and as his eyes did another sweep of the room, his gaze fell on Spade, and their eyes locked.



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



*He's looking at me!* Amar said incredulously, watching Spade at the mess hall door. *Do you think he knows?*

*Who is looking at you?* Orlon asked, turning around just as Spade's gaze swung sideways. *Is that Brivari's ally?*

*The one named 'Spade', and he was staring at me!* Amar exclaimed. *Do you suppose Brivari identified us to him?*

*What for?* Orlon asked. *He can't rely on our physical forms for identification. Besides, he's searching the entire room, not staring at you. You're imagining things.*

*I am not!* Amar said hotly. *He was looking right at me!*

*How could you tell who or what he's looking at from this distance?* Orlon said impatiently. *Stay on the subject, Amar. We're here to find Brivari, not obsess over his allies.*

Amar bolted from his bench and ran for the mess hall door, ignoring both the startled yelps of passing soldiers and Orlon's demand to stop. When one spent one's life in hiding, one acquired a very well-developed sense of when one had been discovered, and that sense had just sent every nerve in his body screaming that he'd been identified. This soldier had managed to recognize him both times he had infiltrated the compound, both as a dog and in Walker's form. Amar had no intention of allowing that to happen again.

Spade was just approaching the door of the main building when Amar caught up with him, whipping around from behind and planting himself in front of the door, watching carefully for any sign of recognition on Spade's face. "Private?" Spade said in surprise. "Is something wrong?"

Amar said nothing, staring at Spade defiantly, willing him to buckle. When Spade continued to display nothing more than puzzlement, Amar walked directly up to him. "You know what I am, don't you?" he demanded.

"I certainly do," Spade said, his eyebrows rising. "You're a private in the United States Army who's behaving very strangely at the moment. And with a superior officer, I might add. Back up."

Amar didn't move. A small crowd was gathering, attracted by violence as all humans were. "Private....Andrews," Spade said firmly, reading Amar's uniform, "I don't know what your problem is, but I'm ordering you to back up."

Murmurs rose from the crowd. Behind Spade, Orlon was glowering amongst the throng. Amar held Spade's gaze for several moments longer, but his eyes had gone hard, betraying nothing more than annoyance that was quickly approaching anger. Reluctantly, Amar stepped back.

"That's better," Spade said. "Now, what the hell was all that about?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Amar said stiffly. "My mistake."

"One I hope you don't make a habit of repeating," Spade said. "Other officers might not be so forgiving." He stepped around Amar and left the building, shaking his head in disgust. Soldiers watching began to wander away, the show being over. Soon only Amar and Orlon were left.

*Brilliant,* Orlon said stonily. *He didn't know who you were before, but I'll wager he suspects now.*

*He recognized me!* Amar insisted. *And this isn't the first time. We should kill him before he has the chance to recognize us again.*

*Don't be ridiculous,* Orlon admonished. *However unwittingly, Brivari's allies serve us also—they have kept Jaddo alive. Your paranoia will never excuse a dead Warder who will be no help in finding the hybrids.*

*But—* Amar began.

*Stop it!* Orlon said sharply. *So what if he did recognize us? Wear a different face and stop causing public mayhem. We're supposed to be invisible, Amar, not calling attention to ourselves.*

*So what if we call attention to ourselves?* Amar retorted. *Like you said, just wear a different face.*

*You miss my point,* Orlon said severely. *I have no doubt that Brivari has apprised his allies of our presence here, and you can be certain that officer will report this to him; you weren't exactly cryptic. One more incident like this, and I swear I will sedate you myself. Are we clear?*

Amar nodded in furious silence as they left the building. He's good, he thought, watching Spade's retreating form in the distance. Spade had never flinched, never reacted, never dropped so much as one clue that he knew who Amar was. But it hadn't been enough. He knows, Amar thought. I know he does.

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



I'll post Chapter 129 next Saturday because I'll be busy on Easter. Happy Easter and Passover to everyone!

Rai: I think Marana is hoping that Emily will slip up and say something she shouldn't. I suppose she could try to threaten it out of her, but I'm not at all certain that would work. (Actually, upon reflection, I'm certain it wouldn't )

Philip as a baby blows my mind. I never liked Philip very much; perhaps I'll wind up more sympathetic from inventing his childhood! The fun part is that he's very young, so he'll forget whatever he sees, or most of it anyway. Although if he were to remember a bit here and there, it might make it more interesting in the future when he starts pursuing Max for answers.

Michelle: I knew you'd catch up! Sorry about that--not sorry it was interesting enough to read that fast, but sorry because I really do think it reads better straight through, or in whatever chunks one chooses. But I do update regularly, so it comes predictably. If it came any faster, I'm afraid it wouldn't be coherent.

Michelle in Yonkers wrote:Being quite that righteous can get people hurt, usually the ones she would be trying to protect.

Wow, caught up and clairvoyant! You are absolutely right, and that point is made to Dee quite clearly in this chapter.

Misha: We really need to discuss a stipend for you for your advertising services. Once again, I'm so grateful you steered (pushed/annoyed/pleaded/whatever you did) someone toward my odd little story, and further grateful to anyone who takes the leap for any reason. I know this is a weird tale by fanfic standards, so I really appreciate the word of mouth. {{{Hugs!}}}

Misha wrote: He's not just a jerk-jerk. He's a jerk with a reason

LOL! Good description. Jerks with a reason make far more interesting characters than plain vanilla jerks, IMO.

Misha wrote:Oh, I've been forgetting to tell you, but I ABSOLUTELY LOVED how you explained why River Dog said to Liz "It brings death" when he was talking about the pendant in River Dog.

Why, thank you! And you, of all people, know I've been wondering for years what could possibly have made him say that. So I made up an answer.

Oh, and I'd love an update for "The Offer" too. *cough* No pressure.







CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-NINE


June 7, 1950, 3:30 p.m.

Proctor residence



"I sure wish I could come in with you," Anthony said wistfully.

Dee smiled apologetically as they stopped outside her house. "I know. I'm sorry. But with the way Mama gets, it's probably better that you don't. I'll tell you everything later."

"Everything?" Anthony repeated hopefully.

"Everything," Dee said, delighted that, for the first time, she could say that with confidence. No more sifting through information for bits and pieces relatively safe to reveal. Someone she trusted that she could confide in completely. It was a wonderful feeling.

"Okay," Anthony said reluctantly. "Well....see you later."

"Later," she promised, watching him walk—no, more like trudge—down the street to his own house. He was deeply disappointed to be missing all the excitement after being in the thick of things yesterday, and she knew what that felt like. Once your world got bigger, it was hard to accept it growing small again despite all the problems this particular variety of "bigger" could bring.

Dee went to the side door and was just about to open it when she heard voices in the kitchen. Two voices, to be exact, her mother's and one other. She hesitated for a moment with her hand on the door handle before changing her mind and heading for the front door instead, opening and closing it very quietly. Her mother and Mrs. Brazel were talking in the kitchen, and her mother sounded upset. Dee's eyes darted from the kitchen to the stairs, torn between eavesdropping and slipping upstairs to see what she wasn't supposed to have seen this morning. A moment later she was up the stairs, careful to avoid the squeaky step.

Dropping her book bag in her room, Dee tiptoed to the door of the guest room. It was open, with Marana asleep in the rocking chair by the window and no sign of Malik. Was this it? Was all the secrecy this morning really just a "do not disturb" sign like her parents had said? Instinct told her it wasn't, but there was definitely nothing strange here now. Disappointed, Dee headed back toward the stairs, and when she passed her parents' bedroom, she noticed someone in their bed. Was that her father? No—her father's hair was dark, but certainly not that long. She crept into the room, moving slowly around the end of the bed.

It was a woman, a young woman with long dark hair that spread over the pillow. She was wearing one of her mother's nightgowns and curled on her side, asleep. Was this Malik? But she'd never seen Malik look like a woman, and why would he be wearing her mother's nightgown? Puzzled, Dee returned to the guest room. Marana's eyes were open now, looking at her quizzically.

*Is that Malik in there?* Dee asked.

*No,* Marana answered.

*Then who is it?*

*I'm sure your mother doesn't want me to tell you that.*

Dee's eyebrows rose. *Which means you'd love to tell me. So tell me—who is that woman in there?*

*She is a nurse at the military base,* Marana replied without so much as a moment's hesitation.

*What's a nurse from the base doing here?*

*She was sick.*

* 'Sick'?* Dee repeated. *Why bring her here if she's sick?*

*Because of the reason she was sick,* Marana answered. *Her superiors were experimenting on her.*

*Experimenting....* Dee stopped, her mouth dropping open. *You mean...you mean they were doing exactly what Mama's so mad about you doing to us?*

*Their goals differed, but basically, yes,* Marana said, a note of deep satisfaction in her voice.

*Wow!* Dee said, plopping down on the end of the bed. *I bet that took the wind out of Mama's sails!*

*If that means what I think it does, then I'm afraid not,* Marana noted bitterly. *You mother remains as hostile as ever.*

*Just like you,* Dee said casually as Marana's eyes flashed. *So did you fix her? The nurse, I mean. Is that why they brought her here?*

*I helped,* Marana said. *But she needed more than I could do for her.* She paused. *Brivari healed her.*

Brivari. Dee's eyes widened, her mouth falling open for the second time in as many minutes. *Brivari was here?* she breathed, hardly able to believe her ears...or her mind, given that this was telepathic speech. *Here in this house? My mother let him in? When? How come I didn't know about this?*

Marana's eyes drifted over her shoulder. "Perhaps you should ask her yourself," she said out loud.

Dee whirled around to find Emily in the doorway. "Were you going to tell me Brivari was here, or were you just going to keep it a secret so you wouldn't have to admit that you caved!" Dee said angrily.

Emily's eyes flicked past Dee to Marana, who was wearing a small smile. "Can't you keep your mouth shut for even five minutes?" Emily demanded.

"I never opened my mouth," Marana answered serenely. "Your daughter speaks telepathically, remember?"

"Downstairs," Emily ordered.

"Why?" Dee retorted. "Are you afraid she'll tell me something else you don't want me to know?"

"Downstairs now," Emily repeated severely. "And keep your voice down! Someone's sleeping!"

"So I heard—but not from you," Dee said furiously as she stalked past her mother, who followed her downstairs and steered her into the dining room. "So that's why you and Daddy rushed me out of the house this morning!" Dee exclaimed before Emily could say anything. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"Of course we were," Emily said in exasperation. "I was going to talk to you when you got home, but of course you bypassed me and went sneaking upstairs before I had a chance to say anything. Aren't you the one who was always complaining that I never listen? Now who's not listening?"

"You lied to me!" Dee announced, annoyed that her mother had a point.

"We did no such thing," Emily answered in her I'm-trying-not-to-lose-my-temper voice. "You were so tired that you didn't wake up, and after the day you had yesterday, I wasn't in a big hurry to see you in the middle of the mess we found ourselves in last night."

"You mean with the nurse," Dee fumed. "The nurse upstairs that our people were experimenting on. Our people, Mama! How do you like that?"

"No better than I ever have," Emily said pointedly. "I objected to it during the war, I objected to it when Jaddo was the target, and I object to it now. I object to this behavior no matter who's doing it or who the victims are. I believe I've been very consistent on this point."

"But not about Brivari," Dee argued. "After all your caterwauling, you let him come back! He used the healing stones, didn't he? Just like he did with me. He used what you were mad at him about, and you let him—"

"Of course I let him!" Emily exclaimed, her temper finally flaring. "I wasn't going to let that woman die just because I don't agree with the way Brivari acquired the means to save her!"

"But if you don't agree with him, then why let him back in?" Dee demanded. "Why let him use what you think he's not supposed to have? You're not consistent on that point, are you, Mama?"

Dee waited for a return salvo, but none came; her mother was staring at her in....shock? Amazement? Disbelief? Whatever it was, the silence it produced continued for several long, awkward seconds before Emily spoke again.

"Who are you?" she whispered. "You can't be my daughter, because my daughter is not this selfish."

"This isn't about me, Mama!" Dee objected.

"No, it isn't," Emily agreed. "It's about a woman upstairs who would have died had I not let Brivari intervene. Did you hear me, Deanna? She would have died. Would you prefer that I'd left her to die just so I could stay 'consistent'? Just so you could be 'right'?"

"I didn't say that," Dee said, taken aback at her mother's reaction. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Emily demanded. "I can't help but notice that you haven't displayed the slightest bit of interest in the nurse, haven't asked me if she's all right, or what happened to her, or anything. All you care about is winning the argument. Have I truly failed so badly as a parent that my daughter thinks winning an argument is more important than someone's life?"

"I...I care about her," Dee protested, flushing. "I just....I just..." She stopped, realizing that the specifics of the nurse's ordeal, whatever it had been, hadn't even crossed her mind. Not once.

"I didn't let my personal feelings interfere with Brivari doing whatever he needed to do to save that woman's life," Emily continued, sounding deeply disappointed rather than angry. "But you're not willing to do that, are you? For you, it's all about being 'right'. That's all that matters. Someday, Deanna, you're going to learn that life is not all right or wrong, black or white, this or that; it's one hell of a lot messier than that. Check back with me when you've figured that out, and we'll talk."

"Where are you going?" Dee exclaimed as Emily headed for the kitchen. "You can't just walk away!"

"I have nothing more to say," Emily said firmly, "other than I hope your self-righteous indignation makes you happy. Nothing else seems to. Not even someone's life being saved."

Emily went back into the kitchen, the door swinging quietly closed behind her as Dee stood in the dining room, frozen to the spot and feeling like she'd just been slapped.




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



6:00 p.m.



Yvonne stirred, stretching first one leg, then the other. She was warm, pleasantly warm, and for a moment she just lay there, basking in the warmth, enjoying it. And the softness....her bed had never felt this soft and roomy. Couple that with the warmth, and she could have lain here for a very long time indeed. And then she made the mistake of opening her eyes.

It took a full minute for the jarring sensation of displacement to subside, for her to remember the awful reason why she was in this strange double bed in an unfamiliar bedroom wearing unfamiliar pajamas. On the plus side, she no longer felt weak and shaky, or like she'd been kicked in the stomach as she had this morning. The food that the woman who lived here had insisted she eat had done her good, and even close inspection revealed no physical signs of what she'd been through last night. Whatever Brivari had done, he'd done it well.

"Hi."

Yvonne turned to find Stephen hovering uncertainly in the bedroom doorway. Poor Stephen. She'd been absolutely awful to him earlier, yelling at him, and throwing things, and just plain raving. It almost seemed like a dream now, like it hadn't really happened. "You can come in," she said, feeling herself color at the memory of their last encounter. "I promise I won't throw anything at you."

"Wouldn't really blame you if you did," Stephen answered, looking nonetheless relieved as he walked into the room, his hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," Yvonne answered, pushing herself into a sitting position as Stephen sat down on the edge of the bed. "I don't feel sick, or different, or....anything. It's like it never happened."

"Amazing," Stephen murmured, taking her hand. "You were so sick....we thought you were going to die. If Malik hadn't found Brivari—"

"But he did," Yvonne said gently, squeezing Stephen's hand. "He did find him, and I'm all right now. Don't waste your time dwelling on what didn't happen."

"Right," Stephen answered, sounding unconvinced. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a piece of paper. "I talked to Brisson. These are the notes I took. Do you want to see them now?"

"Yes," Yvonne said firmly.

She spent the next several minutes reading as Stephen sat silently beside her. Some of the information was new, but most was familiar, and all of it clarified certain things that had happened in the past three years which had seemed odd at the time. She read the notes over several times before finally setting the paper down.

"Thank you for finding all this out for me, Stephen," she said gently. "I know that must have been hard for you."

"You have no idea how much I wanted to strangle Brisson's scrawny little neck," Stephen muttered, staring at the floor.

"Look.....I know you don't want to hear this right now," Yvonne said, "but it wasn't his fault."

"That's not what you said this morning."

"I know," Yvonne answered, flushing all over again at how she had behaved. "But I've had a lot of time to think it over, and I think Brisson's telling the truth when he says he tried to stop Pierce. He did try to warn me several times. He said something about Pierce not having my best interests at heart, and once he asked me to let him know if I wasn't feeling well—"

"But he didn't tell you," Stephen interrupted. "All that pussyfooting doesn't mean a damned thing when he knew what was going on!"

"But what good would that have done?" Yvonne said, having already thought through this several times. "Look, Pierce was prepared for me to find out, eventually at least—he could have carted me off without you ever knowing what happened or why. And if Pierce found out that Brisson had told me, you know what he'd do to him. Or maybe he'd have Cavitt do it, but the point is, Brisson risked his life by trying to make certain Pierce didn't get what he wanted."

"I still think he should have told you," Stephen grumbled, "and he definitely shouldn't have participated in it."

"And then Pierce would have replaced him—or worse—and whoever that replacement was might have been much more willing to go along with it," Yvonne pointed out. "Stephen, we all have something to regret these past three years. We've all followed illegal orders or done things that have made us cringe. You, me, Brisson....all of us."

"Even the aliens," Stephen murmured.

"What do you mean?"

Stephen didn't answer for so long that Yvonne became alarmed. "What is it?" she asked sharply. "Has something happened to John?"

"No," Stephen said. "He's fine. I just....I learned some things from the Proctors about John's people. About why they came here, how they know so much about us."

Yvonne's eyes widened. "You mean they lied to us?"

"No. What they've told us is true; they just didn't tell us the whole story."

"And what exactly is the 'whole story'?" Yvonne asked, not at all certain that she wanted to know.

"That their people had been coming here for several years before their king was deposed. That's how they knew about us, knew to come here, knew that their enemies couldn't survive here."

"Coming here for....what?"

"For just what Walker said," Stephen answered. "Our brains."

"Our.....brains?" Yvonne echoed.

"I'm not certain I have this right," Stephen said slowly, "but from what I understand, we humans don't use as much of our brains as we could be. Does that make any sense?"

"Actually, it does," Yvonne said. "It sounds a lot like what I read in those books Pierce gave me. But what does that have to do with the aliens?"

"Well, the aliens found a way to get all the cylinders firing," Stephen said. "They know how to use the parts of our brains that we don't. You know all those powers they have, blowing holes in walls and whatever? Those are all human powers. Only the shapeshifting and the mind speech are theirs. The rest comes from us."

Yvonne felt her insides clutch much the way they had this morning. "Comes from us....how?"

Stephen hesitated, dropping his eyes. "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything about this now."

"Stephen!" Yvonne exclaimed. "Comes from us how? What did they do?"

Stephen sighed, staring at his hands. "They experimented on us. On children, to be specific. They claim they never killed anybody, just knocked them out and took samples, or something. Assuming that's even possible."

Yvonne lay back down, stunned. "It might be," she said after a moment. "They can reproduce tissue, grow new organs....and regrow people," she added softly, as an oddly shaped puzzle piece fell into place. "I could never figure out why the babies in those sacks looked human, but—"

"Human?" Stephen broke in. "When did you see the sacs?"

"In Brivari's mind the night the aliens first attacked, when he did that...that 'connection' thing so he could see who was leading the enemy aliens. I saw some things in his mind too, and one of them was the babies in those sacs...and they were human fetuses. If that's true, I'll bet they're giving them human bodies and human brains, not just the bits of human brain tissue we found during the autopsies."

"Well, whatever they did, it caused quite a stir here," Stephen said. "When the Proctors found out, Mrs. Proctor kicked Brivari out of the house; she only let him back in last night because you were dying. Her daughter got mad because she kicked him out, and her husband's caught in the middle." Stephen stood up and walked to the window, thrusting his hands in his pockets. "And he's not the only one. When Mr. Proctor told me last night, I was so worried about you that I didn't really process it, but later today, I remembered, and...." He paused, turning to face her. "The only reason Brivari was able to heal you is because of what they did to those children, but still....are we doing the right thing, Yvonne? Should we be helping these people after what they've done?"

Neither of them spoke for several minutes, Stephen gazing out the window and Yvonne at the ceiling, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally Yvonne sat up, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. "During the war, some nurses refused to work on floors with enemy soldiers, but I never did that. I cared for all of them no matter which side they were on. It wasn't their fault; they were just pawns on a chessboard that someone else made."

Stephen shook his head. "This is different. Brivari and John worked for the king, and the king is responsible for what they did here."

"But Brivari and John aren't," Yvonne said, "or not John, at least. He guarded a general, remember? That has nothing to do with medical experiments. And we know they weren't free to do as they wished, so how could they have objected? Stephen, look at our people," she continued when he didn't respond. "Look what they've been up to these past three years. Remember the alien who surrendered to you? The alien scientist, the woman, asked me about him today, about how he died. She called him 'one of the greatest scientific minds' of her world. One of their greatest scientists, gunned down while he was surrendering. Remember what Cavitt wanted to do to John in the beginning, what he almost did do to John when Major Lewis was going to do a 'living autopsy'? And what about what Pierce was trying to do to me? We're hardly blameless. I can't change the past, anyone's past, but I can change the future. And Brivari saved my life. How can we turn our backs on them after that, even if we don't agree with everything their people have done? We need to help John escape."

"You're sure?" Stephen asked quietly.

"Positive," Yvonne said firmly.

"Good," he said, sounding relieved. "I didn't want to leave him there either; I guess I just needed to reason it out with somebody. The escape is still set for Friday, so that gives us a day to figure out how to get you as far away from here as possible."

"You won't need to," Yvonne said. "I'm going back."

Stephen blinked. "Going back where?"

"To the compound," Yvonne answered. "I want you to take me back tonight."



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


"I don't hear anything," David said, leaning heavily against the counter as Emily handed him a freshly washed dish to dry. Those few hours of sleep he'd had this morning hadn't nearly been enough. "How long has he been up there?"

"About half an hour," Emily replied, glancing toward the ceiling and the second floor, which had been quiet since Captain Spade's arrival. "She hasn't had any more outbursts since lunchtime, and I've kept that infernal scientist away from her. What did she say when you told her?"

"Nothing," David answered, recalling the stony silence with which Marana had greeted both the tray of food he'd ferried upstairs and the news that Malik was still alive.

Emily snorted softly. "Figures."

"I'm more interested in what that one isn't saying," David noted. "She's not crowing, she's not arguing, she's just....not."

Emily swung her head around to follow his gaze. Dee was sitting at the dining room table doing her homework, her head bent over her history textbook, papers and notebooks strewn about. She'd been very, very quiet after their altercation this afternoon, saying absolutely nothing about Brivari, the nurse, or anything alien of any kind. Dee and silence were old friends, but usually that silence was a sullen silence of the "I'm right, and you're wrong, and I'm never going to let you forget that" variety which infused even the most mundane interactions with disapproval. But this time, her silence was different. This silence was of the head-hanging, almost abashed variety which had her responding to simple inquiries with neither prompting nor sarcasm.

"I told you," Emily said, setting a casserole dish in the drainer. "She did the expected 'you're a hypocrite' routine that both of us knew she would do. I pointed out that I let Brivari in to save the lieutenant's life, and I'm called a hypocrite; if I hadn't, she would have died, and I would have been called a murderer. I swear, I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't."

"But that doesn't explain why she's so quiet," David said. "The two of you have had this argument a dozen times over the past year, and now you let him back in and she's not ringing church bells? What didn't you tell me, Em?"

Emily set another stack of plates in the dishwater. "Well....I may have pointed out to her that she was behaving like a selfish brat."

"You definitely left that part out," David said dryly.

"David, you should have heard her," Emily said, sotto voiced, "carrying on about me not being consistent and not asking one question—one question—about either Brivari or the nurse! What kind of child are we raising?"

"The kind who needs to get her priorities in order," David said calmly, "just like every other child. She's eleven; the people I worry about are the ones who make it to adulthood and act just like our eleven year-old. And we haven't even hit adolescence yet."

"Dee was born an adolescent," Emily said wearily. "Which should make her real adolescence all the more interesting. Perhaps I should save time and start drinking heavily now."

"You don't need to," David said, setting down the dish towel and rubbing her shoulders. "Whatever you said to her, it obviously did her good."

"Then why do I feel like such a lousy parent?" Emily murmured.

"Because you wish it had gone differently," David said, "just like I'm sure you wish you could have brought Lieutenant White back from the brink some other way. But it needed doing, you did it, and it worked."

Voices rose overhead. A moment later, footsteps pounded down the stairs, two sets, accompanied by a male voice exclaiming, "Yvonne, no!"

"Wonderful," Emily sighed. "This is just how it started earlier."

Lieutenant White appeared in the kitchen wearing Emily's robe and slippers, her long dark hair falling around her shoulders. Behind her was Captain Spade, his expression one of complete exasperation. "Yvonne, stop! You can't—can you talk to her?" Spade demanded of David and Emily. "She's hell bent on going back there!"

"What?" Emily said in astonishment.

"Mrs. Proctor, I know what you're thinking," Lieutenant White said steadily, "and you're wrong. I'm not....like I was earlier," she finished, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. "I need to go back to the base. What shape is my uniform in?"

"I...well...not very good," Emily confessed. "I mean, the jacket is all right, but the skirt and hose....I'm afraid all the bleach in the world isn't going to clean that up."

"Yvonne, you're crazy!" Spade exclaimed. "You can't go back there after what he did to you!"

"Perhaps you should think this over," David began.

"With all due respect, Mr. Proctor, I've had plenty of time today to 'think it over', and I've made my decision," the lieutenant replied. "What's happened to me is not going to stand in the way of finishing what I started. What we started," she added, looking directly at Spade. "It'll all be over soon."

"I don't care about that!" Spade retorted. "My main concern right now—"

"Is not under discussion," the lieutenant interrupted. "This is my decision, Stephen, and I've made it."

"Yvonne—" Spade began.

"Emily, why don't you take Lieutenant White downstairs and show her the uniform?" David broke in.

"Right," Emily said briskly, shaking her hands off and drying them on a towel. "Lieutenant, come with me. Perhaps your mother was a better laundress, and you could give me some suggestions."

"Captain," David said, cutting off Spade's latest protest as Emily and the lieutenant headed downstairs, "may I have a word with you? Dee, take your homework upstairs, please," he added to his wide-eyed daughter as he closed the door to the dining room.

"Mr. Proctor, we can't let her go back to the base," Spade said earnestly as soon as Dee's footsteps had faded upstairs.

"I'm not certain there's much we can do about it," David said. "She's not a prisoner here. If she wants to leave, I'm not going to stop her."

"But look what happened to her!" Spade exclaimed. "Pierce will try again; I know he will!"

"I would wager the lieutenant is more aware of what happened to her than either of us will ever be," David pointed out, "which means she's also aware of the possible consequences of her returning. What did she mean about it all being over soon?"

Spade's eyes dropped. "I see," David said slowly. "Well....if she thinks the odds are good that whatever is happening 'soon' will be successful, then perhaps that's why she's willing to go back."

"But what if Pierce finds out?" Spade demanded. "What if someone talks? He had it all worked out what he was going to do with her if he managed to get her pregnant. He's a psychiatrist, and he was going to ship her off to some mental hospital or other. He could still do that, Mr. Proctor, and I'd be hard pressed to stop him."

"I don't know what to tell you," David said, shaking his head. "I don't know the lieutenant, so I don't know what she's usually like. Is she acting like herself right now? Does she seem lucid? Is this in keeping with her usual demeanor?"

Spade sighed and turned away, his hands in his pockets. "Oh, that's Yvonne all right," he said heavily. "And this certainly isn't the first time she's walked into the fire, or that either of us have, for that matter. It's just....." He stopped, his back to David, his unfinished sentence hanging in the air.

"It's just that now you're in love with her, so now it feels different?" David ventured.

Spade hesitated a moment, then nodded, his back still turned. "Something I do have experience with is being in love with a strong-willed woman," David said gently. "Want my advice?"

"Back off?" Spade said dully.

"No; tread lightly," David said. "Tell her what you think, and tell her if you don't agree with her, but realize that she's going to do what she wants. That doesn't mean you have to go along with it, but agreeing to disagree is a necessary skill for living with someone like that. Believe me, I know."

Footsteps sounded on the basement stairs, and a moment later, Emily and Lieutenant White emerged, the latter looking a bit paler now that she'd seen the condition of her uniform. "Stephen, I need you to go back to the compound and get another uniform out of my closet," she said to Spade. "And I need a pair of stockings, although my shoes are all right, and—"

"Yvonne, for God's sake, don't be so stupid!" Spade exclaimed, ignoring David's warning look and Emily's raised eyebrows.

"May I make a suggestion?" David interjected. He waited until both Spade and the lieutenant had nodded, the latter grudgingly, before continuing. "I know you have your reasons for wanting to go back," David said to Yvonne, "but you two have some things to sort out before you go. For example, the Captain had a cover story for your absence that he never imagined would be challenged by your reappearance. Are you both clear on the details of that cover story so you can tell the same tale? Are you ready to talk about your ill relative, or whatever it was, in a convincing way? What are you going to say when you're asked why you have no luggage, no handbag, none of the usual things women travel with?"

David waited for these inconvenient details to sink in before continuing. "Consider spending one more night here, lieutenant. Work out your story with the Captain tonight so that you're both clear on what's what, and then he can come pick you up tomorrow and take you back." He paused. "I don't know this 'Pierce' you're both talking about, but I do know Cavitt. And with someone like Cavitt, you can't just go blundering back in there without a second thought. Am I right?"

"Of course you're right," Spade said firmly. "Yvonne?"

Reluctantly, she nodded. "All right. One more night. But we can't wait any longer."

"Go ahead and use our bedroom to talk," Emily said. "Stay as long as you like, Captain." She waited until they'd left before letting out a long, slow breath. "What on earth was that all about?" she whispered to David. "What would make her want to go back there after what happened?"

"They're planning an escape," David murmured.

Emily's eyes widened. "For Jaddo? He told you that?"

"Not in so many words," David allowed. "But if I'm right, I would imagine allies are in short supply...and the lieutenant is an ally. She's spent the last three years taking care of Jaddo."

"There's a job that would make anyone throw things," Emily said dryly. "But I do hope they get him out," she added seriously. "I know he's been lucky, but that luck can't hold out forever."

David nodded as they both returned to the dishes and the now cold dishwater, neither of them noticing the slight crack in the dining room door or the face that was pressed up against it.



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



It was very late when Malik finally returned to the Proctors' house after what easily ranked as the strangest day of his life, bar none. It had begun with an ally of a former enemy holding him at gunpoint, and ended with him running from former allies turned enemies. He'd had precious little time to ponder this turn of events, so mesmerized had he been by the effortless way Brivari led both Orlon and Amar astray, showing himself and then disappearing over and over with an ease that bespoke a great deal of practice. No wonder Brivari had been impossible for them to catch. Several times he had lingered as Orlon or Amar or both moved closer and closer, only to vanish so completely at the last minute that even Malik couldn't find him. He had employed this method to distract them when Spade was leaving the base this evening, and again when Malik had left, obviously not trusting Malik to be able to pull off a similar deception. Add to that the several demonstrations of Brivari's enhanced abilities that Malik had witnessed, and it wasn't hard to see why Royal Warders were so feared.

By all but humans, that is. Malik still couldn't get over the casual way Spade addressed Brivari, even needled him occasionally. Spade saw Brivari as, if not an equal, than at least a partner of a sort in the mutual endeavor of freeing Jaddo. All well and good for a valued and rare human ally, but Malik enjoyed no such position. He had kept his distance and his peace, doing as he was told without question or comment, most of which had involved tracking Orlon and Amar to see which areas of the base they were watching the most keenly and briefly showing himself in less watched areas to fragment their focus. It had been a relief to see Spade midday, to see a familiar face that wasn't likely to turn on him without warning, and a shock when Brivari had announced that Malik would be helping with the escape. He had offered nothing by way of explanation afterward, and Malik had asked for none. He was still alive, he was allowed to assist, and he was learning more than he ever had about how to be invisible. At the moment, that was enough.

Malik crept noiselessly up the stairs, noting that Lieutenant White was asleep in the girl's bed; the girl herself was curled in a sleeping bag on the floor of her parents' bedroom, her father's snoring wafting through their partially closed door. Much as it pained Spade, Malik was glad to hear that the lieutenant was still willing to help with the escape. He certainly wouldn't have blamed her for declining, but there was something in her that he recognized; a stubbornness, a refusal to yield even when yielding seemed the best and most logical option. She was an enormous asset, one that he knew all of them would be glad to have. They could use any help they could get.

He paused in the doorway to the guest room; Marana was asleep, her back to the door. He knew why Brivari hadn't killed her yet; she was the only one capable of concocting a replacement serum. But the current escape plan didn't call for a replacement serum, and, if successful, would render any need for one obsolete. Brivari had sent Malik back to the Proctors to get some rest, apparently not trusting his ability to remain hidden while sleeping, or perhaps not trusting him at all, but Malik had other motives. He wanted to find out what Marana was thinking, where she stood in relation to all that had happened. Her being forced to participate in Lieutenant White's healing had left her too weak to be a threat at the moment, but afterwards, after Jaddo was free, Marana recovered, and Brivari not so distracted, things would be different. Then they would need another use for her, another compelling reason for Brivari not to kill her. Hopefully her skills as a bioscientist would make her too valuable to simply dispose of. Hopefully.

"Marana?" he whispered, bending over her.

She awoke with a start, drawing back in alarm until she saw who it was. "Malik! Where have you been? What happened to you?"

"Brivari knocked me out after I found him," Malik said, "but Spade said he came here last night?"

"Yes. He used a healing stone on the nurse....and he made me help him," she added bitterly. "The girl's father said that you'd been seen at the military base. Why didn't you come back here?"

"I was tracking Orlon and Amar," Malik answered. "I went back to the house, but they were already gone. All the emergents were dead."

"Of course they were," Marana whispered. "What did you expect?"

"I wanted to see for myself," Malik replied. "After that, I went to the base; Orlon, Amar, and Brivari are all there playing cat and mouse."

"But why did you stay there so long?"

"I wanted to be certain that Amar and Orlon weren't looking for us," Malik answered. "You'd want to know if they got any bright ideas about us being here, wouldn't you?"

"Why would they look for us?" Marana asked. "They think we're dead. Sit down," she said, sounding excited as she patted the bed beside her. "I have wonderful news!"

"You do?"

"Yes!" She leaned in closer. "Last night, that awful woman said something about the hybrids."

"She did?"

Marana nodded vigorously. "She knew they looked human. And she said something else about them today too. She's seen them, Malik! Do you realize what that means?"

"What?" Malik asked faintly.

"It means she might know where they are!" Marana exclaimed. "Just think—if we can find the hybrids, it doesn't matter who's on the throne at the moment, or who's chasing whom. If we find the hybrids, then we're in power."

"How do you figure that?" Malik asked doubtfully. "If we find the hybrids, then we become a target, and Orlon and Athenor would add us to the list of those they'd like to capture, assuming the Warders don't kill us first."

"No!" Marana exclaimed. "If we know where they are, we can move them somewhere else. And if we're the only ones who know where they are, we have an incredible amount of power. Kill us, and no one will ever find them. Harm us, and we'll tip off the other side. We could do this, Malik," she said earnestly. "I'm a bioscientist; the hybrids should be with me, just like they would have been with Valeris had he lived. The humans trust you; they'll tell you things they'd never tell me. Help me find them. Help me..." She paused. "Help me get my life back."

"Marana," Malik said gently, "that wouldn't get you your life back. Even if we pulled it off and held everyone at bay for twenty years, eventually one of two things would happen: Either the hybrids would mature successfully, or they wouldn't. No hybrids means no power. Mature hybrids means we'll have to answer to the king."

"But we could try, couldn't we?" Marana persisted. "Just talk to them. I'll stay as long as it takes, I'll make nice with her, I'll—"

"I thought you hated it here."

"I do," Marana said, "but it's all worth it if that woman lets something slip. I'm sure these humans know where they are, or at least have an idea, and I'm willing to put up with just about anything while we try to find out. Just think, Malik! If we find them first, we could be ruling Antar!"

Am I the only one who doesn't want to rule Antar? Malik thought wearily, laying down beside Marana as she chattered happily on. He'd had no intention of telling her that he was now with Brivari, at least until Jaddo was free, so he had carefully edited the excuse for his absence and braced himself for suspicion and hostility....but he'd never expected this. This was genuinely dangerous because the girl and her parents did know where the hybrids were. And if Brivari learned that Marana was actively seeking that information from sources capable of giving it, no skills in the world would be able to save her.


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


I'll post Chapter 130 next Sunday.

Hi everyone! Thanks to all who are reading, and thanks for the feedback!

Rai: Dee is certainly a walking definition of self-righteousness (as her mother was just a day or two ago), but I, too, see her behavior as standard 11 year-old behavior. And maybe that's why it can be jarring. Dee has been so mature so many times now, displaying bravery, perception, even negotiating skills far beyond her years that it can look a bit weird when she acts like a normal kid. One of my biggest concerns about her character was that I not make her into a "super kid", so perfect/strong/mature/etc. as to be beyond belief.

And I love The Offer too!

Michelle: The shoe fitting machine is indeed real. Here's a picture and a history:

http://www.orau.org/ptp/collection/shoe ... r/shoe.htm

I remember reading about that in a magazine years ago, before I was writing, and thinking that it would have worked as a precursor to the modern x-ray that Nasedo and Michael had to get past in WR.

You (and Brivari) nailed it--Emily is a Warder, which is why Brivari respects her so much. David is certainly no slouch and a valued ally, but Emily is the one with the teeth and claws, something every good Warder has in abundance. Brivari's dealings with Emily are more of a negotiation between warders as opposed to discussions with an ally. Notice that when he returned to help Yvonne, he asked Emily for permission to enter even though David was standing right there. Also driving Emily is the fact that she just lived through her husband's voluntary enlistment in WWII and her brother-in-law's suicide, so she feels she's done her time in hell and really doesn't want to go back there. I can't blame her.

It was Urza who insisted they heal Dee, Jaddo who argued against it, Brivari who was on the fence, and Valeris who settled the issue by pointing out that allies who risked their lives in the service of the king, even unknowingly, were entitled to the protection of his warders, should they be able to provide it. A sensible policy--who wouldn't want to hold onto an ally?--and one that certainly worked out well for the Warders when they healed Dee.

Brivari has several times contemplated the possible need to kill someone, and he would do so with absolute conviction if necessary. He has expressed regret, even genuine sorrow when confronted with that possibility, and although that wouldn't stop him or even make him hesitate, I do believe that regret would be genuine. Brivari is the one who makes alliances and forms relationships; Jaddo is the solitary type who does so only when necessary, and only under duress. (Reminds me of Michael. )

And Happy Birthday! Hope you had a good one!







CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY


June 8, 1950, 7:30 a.m.

Proctor residence



"Good morning, Mama."

Turning in surprise from the pancakes she was making, Emily wondered if Dee had really just volunteered a greeting or if perhaps she was dreaming, a distinct possibility despite the fact that she'd slept like a stone last night, free of interruption from any species. "Good morning," she replied. "Did you sleep well?"

"No," Dee said.

"Was the floor too hard?"

"No."

Emily smiled faintly; one word answers were more like it. "It was very thoughtful of you to offer your bed to Lieutenant White. She's leaving this morning, so you can have it back tonight."

"I know."

Emily flipped the pancakes, eyeing her daughter as she did so. She was very quiet, as she usually was during these ice storms of hers, but this was the subdued quiet of last night rather than typical sullen variety. Wouldn't it be funny if, after all the arguing, all the reasoning, all the semantics, merely calling her daughter selfish to her face would get through to her when nothing else had.

"Mama," Dee said as she pulled a plate out of the cupboard, "what does the nurse do at the base?"

"If I understood her correctly, she takes care of Jaddo," Emily answered.

"So she sees him? She actually talks to him?"

She's talked to more than Jaddo, Emily thought, removing the the panckes from the frying pan and adding more batter. She'd been mulling over what the nurse had said at lunch yesterday when the alien scientist had grilled her, wondering whether to pass it along to Dee, not at all certain that she wanted her hearing some of the details the nurse could likely give. But now the nurse was leaving, and this might be the last chance for Dee to close a particularly thorny chapter in her life. The very last chance.

"I believe she does," Emily said, answering Dee's question. "And there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

"What?"

"Lieutenant White said something yesterday about having seen the other aliens when they were brought to the base."

Silence, punctuated by a sharp intake of breath. "So I was thinking," Emily continued, "that maybe you could ask her what happened to them after the soldiers took them away. I never met them, but I know you were close to them, and you were there when they...." She stopped, flipping the new pancakes, gripping the pancake turner very hard. "I thought you might like to know what happened to them afterwards," she finished.

"She....she saw Urza and Valeris?"

Emily turned around to find her daughter's face white with shock. "That's what she said," she said gently. "One of them was still alive, and she talked to him."

For a moment Dee just stood there...and then her hands flew to her mouth and she crumpled into a chair, her eyes watering, the years falling away, and for just a moment, she didn't look like an eleven year-old; she looked like the eight year-old she'd been the day the ship was discovered, when she was trapped inside with two aliens who hadn't survived the hail of bullets which had greeted them. "Oh, honey," Emily said, kneeling down beside her, brushing her hair out of her face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

But the time warp vanished almost as quickly as it had come. Dee stood up, swiping at her eyes, furiously trying to regain control. "Mama, I have to talk to her before she goes," she pleaded.

"I know," Emily said quietly. "Go on."

"But I'll be late for school," Dee said, looking at the clock.

"I'll write you a note saying you were sick."

"You'd do that?"

"Of course I'd do that. This is more important."

A moment later, Emily found herself the recipient of a crushing hug. "I love you, Mama," Dee whispered in her ear.

"I love you too, sweetheart," Emily said. "Now go up there and find out what happened to them."

Dee practically ran out of the kitchen, nearly colliding with David on her way out. "I was going to head out," David said, watching Dee vanish up the stairs. "Was that more bad news?"

"No," Emily said with satisfaction. "That was good news."

"Crying and running out of the room is good news?"

"The morning paper may say that the 'cold war' is just heating up," Emily said, "but I think our own 'cold war' may be losing steam."



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



Frowning, Yvonne surveyed the contents of the suitcase with a critical eye, wondering if it would pass muster when it was searched on the way back into the compound. Already aware that deception was a complicated business, she and Stephen had run into several unexpected roadblocks as they wrote the script for her reentry into the compound. For example,when Stephen came to pick her up this morning, how could he be seen leaving the compound with the very bag that she brought back in? What if someone caught him rifling through her quarters? How much clothing could he safely smuggle out and still make it look like she'd planned to be gone for several days?

It was the Proctors who had solved most of these problems. Mr. and Mrs. Proctor had obtained an old suitcase from a neighbor and donated some old clothes and well used cosmetics, meaning Stephen only had to smuggle out one of her uniforms. She seriously doubted the guards would notice that most of the contents of the suitcase didn't really belong to her; as the only woman in the compound, no one would know what she had in her quarters anyway. As for the story they'd concocted, that was the easy part. Yvonne remembered precisely none of the drama which had ensued from the time she'd passed out to the time she'd awakened in this house. Her lack of both memory and physical symptoms of her ordeal made the details she'd been supplied with sound like someone else's bad dream; only the bloodstained skirt which Mrs. Proctor had tried unsuccessfully to clean had brought home that this was real, that it had happened to her even though she didn't remember it. Ironically, that hole in her memory would make telling a different tale easy; for Stephen, who remembered every single minute, keeping the lie straight was going to be harder. But then they'd both had lots of practice lying. Too much practice.

"Hi."

Yvonne looked up to find the Proctor's daughter standing in the bedroom, or rather her bedroom, doorway, her eyes straying from Yvonne back to the suitcase on the bed where the soiled skirt was clearly visible. "Hello," Yvonne said, pulling something else over the skirt. "You're Dee, right?"

Nod. "Well, Dee, I want to thank you for letting me use your bedroom. That was awfully nice of you."

"You're welcome," Dee replied, her eyes still fastened on the suitcase. She was quite tall, this one, with that rangy look adolescent girls sometimes got when their height skips ahead of the rest of their growth. What looked like hastily combed, shoulder length brown hair suggested someone impatient with personal grooming, and those eyes....those eyes could see right through you. Like they were seeing right through that blouse Yvonne had carefully positioned over the soiled skirt.

"What did they do to you?" Dee asked, never taking her eyes off the skirt.

Yvonne hesitated. "I'd rather not get into that. It's kind of....personal."

Dee nodded again as though she'd expected that, but had to try anyway. "When they healed me, I didn't feel very good when I first woke up," she said. "Did that happen to you?"

"They healed you too?" Yvonne asked, drawing another nod. "Well....come to think of it, I didn't feel good either. Not right away, anyway."

"Valeris said it would take awhile for my body to figure out that it was fixed," Dee said. "He was one of the aliens that died. Mama said you saw them. Did you talk to him?"

"No," Yvonne said gently. "I'm sorry. He was already dead when they brought him in."

"Was Urza dead?"

Yvonne hesitated a moment, watching the hands that were clenching and unclenching, the half guarded, half pleading expression that wanted to know, but didn't. ""No, he wasn't," she said, choosing her words carefully. "They thought he was dead when they brought him in, but they were wrong."

"Did....did anyone help him? I pulled him out into the hallway because I didn't know what else to do for him, and I hoped someone would help him."

" 'Pulled him out'....when was this?" Yvonne asked.

"The day the Army found the ship. I was there."

"Where?"

"Inside the ship. With Urza and Valeris and the last of the babies. We were helping them move the babies when the soldiers came."

Oh my God... Yvonne stared at her in astonishment. Stephen had told her that these were the people who had rescued the alien sacs, but she hadn't realized until this moment the full extent of their involvement. "Oh, you poor thing!" she breathed. "That must have been awful! How is it that no one found you?"

"Valeris could make people see things that weren't really there...or not see things that were really there. He made them think the door to the room where we were hiding was really a wall, so everyone just kept walking by it. And when I left, he made the soldiers not see me." Dee paused. "What happened to Urza after they took him away?"

Yvonne closed the suitcase and sat down on the bed. The girl had certainly earned an answer, although a carefully edited one. "Come here," she said, patting the bed beside her.

But the girl didn't budge, hanging in the doorway and regarding her suspiciously as though not having decided yet whether she was friend or foe. "Okay," Yvonne said. "Urza looked dead when they first brought him in, but a little while later, I discovered he was alive. I was changing the radio station, and he made it clear that he liked jazz," she said, smiling at the memory. "And it turned out that he was healing himself little by little. I kept everyone else away from him so he could do that in peace."

"You mean you didn't let anyone help him?" the girl demanded.

'Helping him' wasn't on their minds, Yvonne thought, recalling the way the doctors had practically tripped over themselves in their eagerness to do the autopsies. "The people there, they....well....I was afraid they would just make things worse," she finished evasively.

"You mean they really just wanted to cut him into little pieces to see what he was made of?"

"You could say that," Yvonne admitted. So much for parsing her words. "So I made certain he was left alone, and he was getting better for awhile. But in the end, his strength just gave out. Brivari and John—Jaddo—were going to come back for him, but they were almost caught that night, and....and they didn't make it back."

"So they didn't help him either," Dee whispered, staring at the floor.

"Urza told them not to," Yvonne said gently. "He told them to save their strength for rescuing those sacs and come back for him only after they'd accomplished that. He knew that might not happen. He knew exactly what he was doing."

A long minute passed before the girl spoke again. "Were you with him when he died?"

"Yes," Yvonne said. "He wasn't alone. And he wasn't upset. He knew he was dying, and he'd accepted that."

"I know," Dee said, still staring at the floor. "He died in my dream."

"Your dream?" Yvonne echoed. "What do you mean?"

"Urza could go into people's dreams," Dee explained. "He came into mine that night and told me he was going to die." She paused. "Do you want to see?"

"Sure," Yvonne said, having no idea how anyone would "see" something like that.

"You'll have to get off the bed."

Yvonne obediently rose from the bed, backing up as Dee walked by her, still eyeing her warily as if she didn't quite trust her. A minute's worth of digging between the mattress and box spring produced a pile of papers, crayon drawings from the looks of them, which the girl spread out carefully in some kind of order. Yvonne spent several minutes studying them, noting John's ship, a battered alien body, a field of what looked like stars with a "V" shaped constellation in the middle, and a strange planet with three orange moons hanging in the sky. "What's this?" she asked, brushing a finger across one of the moons.

"That's their planet," Dee answered matter-of-factly. "Urza took me there in my dream. He told me he wanted me to see what they were fighting for. He died there," she added, her voice dropping. "He just....disappeared."

So that's what he meant, Yvonne thought, having never understood Urza's last request to be left alone for as long as possible while he accomplished something in his sleep. He had been visiting this girl in a dream, saying goodbye and giving her the grand tour. "So it sounds like we were both with him when he died," she said softly. "What's this one?"

"That's what the babies will look like when they grow up," Dee said. "That's the king, the queen, the general, and the princess."

Yvonne examined the pencil rubbings, two sets of human faces looking back at her, one as adults, one as children, probably some of the very children who had been used for the aliens' experiments, and wondered why these four had been chosen. Was there something special about them? Certainly they were all easy on the eyes, the women beautiful and the men handsome. And the king's eyes.....maybe it was the pencil rubbing, but those eyes smoldered like coals, almost like the aliens' real eyes.

"This was one of Jaddo's favorites," Dee was saying, pointing to the "V" constellation. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Yvonne answered, leaving out the near misses where John had almost lost his life. "Tactless, condescending, temperamental....but fine."

Dee suddenly broke into a wide smile. "Sounds like him. Why did you call him 'John'?"

"He wouldn't give anyone his name after he was captured, so the General named him 'John Doe'," Yvonne answered. "I've called him 'John' ever since, although he did tell me his real name."

"Daddy thinks you're planning on helping him escape," Dee said casually. "I heard him say so last night."

Yvonne dropped her eyes. "We all want him out," she said, mentally kicking herself for having said anything that would give away their plans.

"Can we help?" Dee asked.

Yvonne set down the picture she was holding. "You already have," she assured her. "You helped me, so now I can help John."

Dee hesitated a moment, staring at the constellation drawing. "Could you give him this?" she asked. "From me? To let him know we remember him?"

"You keep it," Yvonne said kindly. "He won't be a captive forever, and when he's free, you can give it to him yourself."

"But I don't know when that will be," Dee said. "Could you give it to him anyway? I think he needs it more than I do."

If all goes well, he'll be here this weekend, Yvonne thought. But she accepted the picture with a smile and nodded, perhaps more mindful now than ever of Stephen's concern about jinxing things. "I'll make sure he gets it," she said, tucking it into her suitcase.



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


Eagle Rock Military Base



"These are absolutely the last ones I could find," Keyser said, plopping a box down next to Jaddo in the engine room of the ship. "And you wouldn't believe what I had to go through to get them. Any of them useful?"

All of them, Jaddo thought, gazing at the contents of the box with satisfaction. Keyser had thought he'd found all the control crystals that could be found, but seeing the number of empty slots left after all those had been placed had galvanized him to look further. This latest collection was the smallest, but the most critical....and the most red. Nearly all the power crystals for the ship's various systems were red, and red must be a popular color among humans, judging from the number of red crystals in the box. Several smaller power crystals had been found, but the largest and most precious had remained missing; now they would be able to fully power the engine, or what was left of it, the control consoles, life support....everything.

"Where did you find them?" Jaddo asked, hefting one of the largest.

"Everywhere," Keyser said. "Some were in bank vaults, some had been given as gifts, one had been sold, and that one," he added, pointing to the crystal Jaddo was holding, "was being used as a paperweight on the desk of a prominent general."

" 'Paperweight'?"

"Something to hold down pieces of paper so they don't blow away or get knocked over," Keyser explained.

"Wonderful," Jaddo said in disgust. "There's enough power in this crystal alone to blow up this entire base, and someone was using it as a decoration."

Keyser's eyes widened. "That....that little thing could....is that safe?" he finished nervously, eyeing the rest of the red crystals.

"Of course it is," Jaddo said. "Alone and unconnected, its power is dormant. Properly placed, however," he continued, inserting the large red crystal into a slot, "and it becomes something quite different."

Keyser backed up in alarm as the lights abruptly brightened, drawing an exclamation of surprise from the guard in the hallway. "What did you do?" Keyser demanded.

"We've been running on emergency power," Jaddo replied calmly. "No more."

"Amazing!" Keyser breathed. He plucked another red crystal from the box and, before Jaddo could stop him, thrust it into a nearby slot. The door promptly closed; a moment later, the guard was banging on it and shouting. "What happened?" Keyser asked in alarm. "What did I do?"

Jaddo sighed deeply and plucked the red crystal from the slot in which Keyser had placed it, causing the guard to spill into the engine room face first. "Never, I repeat, never attempt crystal placement unless I am present," he said severely. "You just closed and locked all the doors on the ship."

"Sorry," Keyser said, abashed. "Is that the door locking crystal?"

"It's not the crystal itself, but the arrangement of the other crystals in that section that determines exactly how they operate," Jaddo explained. "Another configuration would have closed only the doors in certain sections. And this arrangement," he continued, relocating two green crystals before placing the red one," makes them operate normally."

The door promptly closed again, only to reopen as the fallen guard got to his feet. A bevy of guards were now in the hallway, drawn by the shouts of the first, and it didn't take them long to realize that mere proximity to the door caused it to swish open, while distance caused it to close. The next few minutes were some of the strangest of Jaddo's life as he watched the guards and Keyser jump back and forth between the engine room and the hallway, opening and closing the door again and again like children who had found a new toy. Jaddo continued placing crystals in the grid, biting his tongue and shaking his head in disbelief, not at the guards, who were behaving just like he'd expect humans to behave, but at Keyser, whom he normally counted as one of the most tolerable humans available. Still, he supposed he should be grateful that Keyser was obviously more of an engineer than a soldier; humans lacked the necessary technology to tap into the crystals' power themselves, but that wouldn't stop them from playing with the crystals within the ship itself, and the results could be disastrous. After he was free, he intended to find the still missing key and secure the ship, preventing them from plundering it further.

Free... Jaddo had been so busy doing everything he could possibly do with the ship that he hadn't had much time to fret over his pending escape. Only once had he given it much thought—yesterday morning, when the Healer had failed to appear and he had feared the worst. Fortunately, Captain Spade had informed him that she was due back today. He had missed her, and not only because she was his only conduit to the outside world. How ironic that he had become so attached to a human, and a female human at that. She would have made a much more worthy mate for Rath than Vilandra ever would have....

Jaddo glanced at Keyser, who was still enjoying the magic door with the guards, and wondered not for the first time what would happen to these people after he escaped. Their lives, their careers, their very existence had revolved around him for the past three years; what would become of them when he was no longer here? Keyser would still have the ship to play with, for awhile at least. Spade would probably be reassigned elsewhere. And the Healer....the Healer would be at Pierce's mercy. She must be warned of what he suspected were Pierce's intentions for her the very next time he saw her, before it was too late.



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



"Are you absolutely sure about this?" Stephen asked as he passed the gate. "There's still time to turn around."

"That must be the hundredth time you've asked me that," Yvonne sighed.

"And I'm going to keep asking until the very last second," Stephen said as he pointed the car in the direction of the compound. "I just want to make it clear that I still think this is a very bad idea."

"You have," Yvonne said, praying for patience. "Every bit as clear as I've been about my intention to come back. Lack of clarity isn't the problem here—we just don't agree with one another."

Stephen pulled the car into a parking spot and shut off the engine, looking at the long, narrow hallway that marked the entrance to the compound like it was a gallows. "Why do I feel like I'm delivering you right into his hands?"

Yvonne reached over and took his hand. "Pierce won't have the chance to do it again, not to me or anyone else. I'll see to that."

"What does that mean?"

"Let's get this over with, shall we?" Yvonne said, ignoring the question and climbing out of the car. This entire subject made Stephen so upset that it was probably best to leave him out of the loop, at least until John was free. The last thing she wanted was to see him so distracted that the escape was compromised. She waited while he fetched the donated suitcase from the trunk, then hesitated in front of her.

"I've been in Ohio," she said before he could prompt her. "Uncle Charles, my father's eldest brother. Pneumonia; he pulled through, thank God. Was tended by family, so he was never hospitalized. Friends of the family provided transportation, which is why I'm not listed on any train or bus manifests."

Stephen nodded miserably, started forward, then stopped. "Are you sure—"

She put a finger to his lips, stopping him in mid-sentence. "Completely. Let's go."

Even with that one hundred and first affirmation, he still dragged his feet all the way to the entrance. "Good morning, captain," one of the guards said. "Welcome back, lieutenant. How is your relative?"

"Better, thank you," Yvonne smiled as the door to the hallway closed behind them, making Stephen flinch slightly. The guard followed them inside, remaining behind them as first she, then Stephen stepped on the x-ray.

"All clear," the soldier reading the x-ray said as another guard handed her suitcase back after having searched it. Yvonne headed through the compound doors with Stephen at her elbow, wondering how she would feel once she was actually inside. The doors closed behind her, first one set, then the other, and she started down the long, first floor hallway and felt.....nothing. No fear, no anger, no dread. Just a cold sense of purpose the likes of which no one in their right mind would dare mess with.

"Lieutenant!" a voice cried. "You're back!"

Cavitt's perpetually cheerful secretary had popped out of Cavitt's office, which was mercifully devoid of Cavitt, from the looks of things. "I was so sorry to hear about your uncle," Harriet said. "How is he?"

"Better, thank you," Yvonne repeated for the second time. "The doctors think he'll recover."

"Good," Harriet smiled. "I'll be sure to tell the Lieutenant Colonel when he gets back."

"Tell him to go to hell while you're at it," Stephen muttered as they continued down the hall after Harriet had returned to her desk.

"Hush," Yvonne ordered as they approached the stairs and their second x-ray.

Only a few people were around on the basement level what with John being gone during the day. They nodded to several but reached her quarters without having to give the "sick uncle" speech again, and it was upon opening her door that Yvonne felt her stomach cramp for the first time, felt the hairs on the back of her neck rising.

"You okay?" Stephen asked.

"Fine," Yvonne lied.

"I can hang around—"

"No," she said firmly. "We agreed it would be business as usual, remember?"

"I don't know as I 'agreed' to that," Stephen said. "As I recall, you insisted."

"Semantics," Yvonne said dismissively. "I have a duty shift in the infirmary later on today, so you can't follow me around anyway. Go on and make certain everything is ready for tomorrow morning. I'll see you after dinner."

"But—"

"Stephen, go."

He left reluctantly, but not before he'd pulled her into a fierce hug infused with more meaning than any of the impulsive kisses he'd given her over the years. Then the door closed behind them, and Yvonne took a deep breath before beginning the real work of the day: Piecing together what had happened right before she'd collapsed, and making certain that it never happened again.

Evidence, as it turned out, was not hard to come by. The aspirin bottle was open and lying on its side on the bathroom counter, a testament to her vain attempt to stem the pain. Her tube of toothpaste sat innocently near the sink; she knew this particular tube wasn't drugged, but there was a tube somewhere in the compound that was. Bloody pads filled the wastebasket, and a soiled pair of underwear she'd washed out hung from a towel rod. A half consumed glass of water sat on her bedside table, the bed itself rumpled where she'd curled in agony, thinking it just a bad period. The bed.... would she ever be able to sleep in that bed again, knowing what had happened to her there?

Her hands shaking slightly, Yvonne picked up the aspirin, smoothed the bed, and tossed the underwear and toothpaste into the trash before emptying it in the dumpster down the hall. Unpacking her luggage, she hesitated over the stained skirt; that might get noticed in the dumpster, so that was squirreled away in a pocket of her luggage. Carefully unfolding one of the donated blouses, she pulled out the drawing the Proctor's daughter had given her. She hadn't told Dee this, but it wasn't safe to deliver the picture to John. She had no explanation as to how she'd come by it, and any she concocted was likely to be seen through immediately or regarded with deep suspicion, at least. Stephen had made it clear that if John caught so much as a whiff of what had happened, he was likely to take it out on Brisson. The last thing they needed was for him to break someone's neck and wind up sedated on the eve of his escape, so John must not learn of the events of the past few days. The drawing would have to wait.

Yvonne traced her finger over the "V", which had been explained to her as the constellation of stars in which John's sun could be found, recalling what she'd learned about the two aliens who had died. Meeting two people who had known them had been jarring; the first conversation with the alien scientist had come at a moment when she really couldn't handle the memory of that awful night when she'd kept vigil, hoping the aliens would return only to wind up forced to assist as those they'd had to leave behind were eagerly ripped to pieces. She'd recovered by the time she'd talked to the girl, however, and what she'd learned had only strengthened her resolve: this madness must stop. No more abductions, no more hostages, no more experimenting on people of any species. Time to end it, once and for all.



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



Sergeant Brisson jumped as a knock sounded on the lab door. "Just a minute," he called, pulling off his safety goggles, knocking the slide he'd been examining off the microscope in the process. "Damn it!" he exclaimed as the knocking persisted. "I said just a minute!"

Brisson uttered a few more choice words as he rescued the errant slide and hid the microscope from view. No one was likely to have any idea what he was working on, but one couldn't be too careful, which is why the lab door was kept locked at all times. Besides, his nerves were already shot what with worrying about Lieutenant White; he didn't need to provide Pierce with even the smallest excuse to take him to task for any reason. No sir, he planned to dot every "i" and cross every "t" so that when her absence was discovered, no one would have any reason to point the finger at him.

"Coming!" Brisson exclaimed in exasperation, fumbling for his keys as the knocking grew louder. What was so all-fired important that someone would try to beat the door down? And why hadn't they said anything? Usually people identified themselves when they knocked, it being well understood that the lab was off limits. Certainly superior officers always announced themselves in an effort to hurry him along, so Brisson flung the door open in a huff, fully intending to light into whatever hapless private or corporal was being so impatient. What he found made his tirade die in his throat as he backed away from someone he'd never expected to see again.

"Holy Christ," Brisson whispered. "Lieutenant White?"



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



I'll post Chapter 131 next Sunday.

Hello everyone! A big thank you to all who are reading!

Rai wrote:What I'm wondering about in the future, do Max and Isabel ever get to meet Grandma Dee? And does she recognize them and keep quiet? I know that I'm going to have to wait a while for the answers, but it's pretty interesting.

You don't have to wait for the first question. It has been no secret that Dee and Anthony (Evans) wind up married, and we all know at least one of their offspring--Philip. So not only will Grandma Dee meet "our" aliens, she will be instrumental in where they wind up when the hybrids emerge in a very different way than the Warders had expected. The resulting clashes between Warders, between Warders and their human allies, and even--briefly--between Warders and their Wards over how to handle this is the focus of Book 5.

Michelle, Misha: Oooooh, what a fascinating discussion as to whether or not the shapeshifters have feelings and how they regard humans! I'll leave that to the individual reader, but some things did occur to me while reading your notes.

** Warders will do anything to protect their Wards, including killing if necessary....and that includes the human Warder, Emily Proctor. Despite the fact that the aliens saved both her daughter's and Yvonne's life, she would turn them in in an instant if she felt they were an acute threat to her family, knowing that doing so could very well mean their deaths. She'd feel bad about that to a certain extent--she's made no secret about how she feels about Jaddo's treatment--but she'd do it.

** The discussion about a shapeshifter's ability to feel and attach to others is interesting in light of Book 4, currently in progress. So far, Dee and her family have only met Covari (shapeshifters). They've been told how Covari are viewed on Antar, but haven't seen any actual examples of the racism described to them. In the next book, they meet Khivar's people, whom I have labeled Argilians, and it turns out the Argilians have very specific viewpoints on this topic, viewpoints which Dee finds it very hard to accept.

** And lastly, it's still early in the process. It's only 1950, a mere 3 years after the crash, Jaddo is still captive, enemy Covari are still in pursuit, and everyone is still in crisis mode. Liz Parker won't be shot for another 49 years, so it's another 49 years until the Warders become who we saw on the show. A lot can happen in 49 years; a lot can change, for better or worse. That certainly doesn't change who they are now, but it can help to keep that gap in mind when comparing who they are now to who they will become far in the future.

Thanks to everyone for your thoughtful feedback! I really appreciate the time I know it takes to read this and leave a note. {{{Hugs!}}}






CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-ONE


June 8, 1950, 1030 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



Brisson gaped wordlessly, backing up in haste as Lieutenant White walked into the lab, fixing him with a stare that rivaled the prisoner's in its ability to freeze boiling water. "Sergeant," she said coldly. "I want a word with you."

A 'word'? By all appearances, she wanted a good deal more than that. "What are you doing here?" Brisson sputtered. "You're supposed to be gone, long gone! Does Captain Spade know you're here?"

"Of course he knows. He brought me back."

"Then he's crazy!" Brisson exclaimed. "Do you have any idea what will happen if Pierce finds out he succeeded?"

"And how will he find out?" the lieutenant asked, her voice a sheet of ice. "I won't tell him. Captain Spade won't tell him. Corporal Thompson won't tell him. Will you tell him?"

"No! Of course not! Why do you think I tried to help you, tried to prevent you from ever getting pregnant—" He stopped, blushing furiously as the lieutenant's eyebrows rose. "Lieutenant, I am so sorry," he said miserably. "I did my very best to keep Pierce from getting what he wanted. You've got to believe that!"

"Really?" she demanded. "Is that why you stole my bathroom trash? Is that why you rifled through my desk to find out when my periods were? Is that why you helped him knock me out for a year and a half and molested me in my own bed?"

"I never touched you," Brisson insisted, shaking his head vigorously. "I never even looked at you. That was Pierce. I just prepared the samples, and handed him things, and—"

"And didn't tell me," the lieutenant interrupted. "And kept the secret."

Brisson sagged back against a counter, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "Lieutenant, I am truly, truly sorry this happened to you. But telling you about it wouldn't have helped. Pierce would have had you out of here in a heartbeat, and all the Captain Spades in the world wouldn't have been able to find you. The best way to protect you was to let Pierce think he was still in control."

The lieutenant was quiet for so long that Brisson began to fidget. He'd expected her to disappear, so he'd never planned on defending his admittedly indefensible behavior to her face. But even defending the indefensible was preferable to guilt laden silence. This was worse than being threatened by the alien.

"How long has this been going on?" she asked finally. "How far back does it go?"

"All the way back to the very beginning," Brisson said, relieved to be simply relating factual information. "As soon as Pierce realized that some of the alien's cells didn't disintegrate like every other sample we took, he knew what they were for. He had me running tests right after Ramey and the alien met for the first time."

"What kind of tests?"

"Tests to see if the two different types of cells would combine," Brisson answered. "And then more tests to see if either would combine with human ova."

"And did they?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes not. But they combined often enough that Pierce thought he could produce an alien-human hybrid, a creature that would hopefully have at least some of the aliens' amazing abilities. He got the idea from the human-appearing brain tissue in the two that died. He thought maybe our species were compatible, or even related in some way."

"Incredible," the lieutenant murmured. "If only he knew."

"Knew what?"

"Nothing. Then what happened?"

"Well....after that, he needed a....." Brisson paused, his face on fire.

"Lab rat?" she suggested helpfully. "Test subject? Incubator?"

"A uterus," Brisson said, his eyes fixed on a point beyond the lieutenant. "He needed a uterus, and yours was the only one available. Which meant he needed information about your....your menstrual cycle, and he needed a solution to carry the cells, a kind of.....well.....a kind of fake....semen. We spent the next several months on that phase."

"And you never objected to this?" the lieutenant demanded. "Never asked yourself if you were doing the right thing?"

Brisson turned around, his hands on the counter, his back to the lieutenant. "Not then," he admitted, finding it easier to talk when he wasn't looking directly at her. "It was all theoretical, no one was getting hurt, and....frankly, it was exciting. It was exciting to be involved in the most cutting edge research of all time. It was exciting for a lowly corporal to be trusted by a major. It wasn't until that excitement began to wear off that I started to seriously question Pierce's methods, but even then, I didn't really think it was going to happen. I never thought he'd get that far. And then the aliens attacked in December of '47."

"What does that have to do with anything?" she asked.

"I thought it was over," Brisson said. "In spite of all our efforts, I thought the prisoner was as good as dead, the compound would be broken up, and Pierce's plans for you would go awry."

"But then I found the x-rays," the lieutenant murmured. "I saved John, and signed my own death warrant."

Brisson shook his head. "No, it wasn't the x-rays. Your death warrant was signed that morning by men you've never met. While you and I were wracking our brains trying to come up with a way to identify the aliens, Dr. Pierce was calling in every favor he had for one and only one reason: To maintain his access to you. No matter what had happened to the prisoner, you would have remained assigned to Pierce. He mentioned prison inmates and mental patients as possible fall back plans, but he wanted you; he felt you were strong and intelligent, the perfect mother for a new race. He did the first procedure the very next night."

Silence. A minute later, Brisson risked a peek. The lieutenant was no longer standing at angry attention; now she was leaning against an opposite counter, absolutely shocked. "Afterwards," he continued, "I did some checking. More like snooping, actually. Pierce isn't the only one in on this. Several of the Nazi's doctors were given asylum here after the war and they've continued their work in those very same prisons and mental hospitals Pierce referenced, places where they have captive populations they can control. One of those mental hospitals is where he would have sent you had he known you were pregnant or if you'd found out what he was up to."

"Oh my God," she whispered. "Pierce spoke almost admiringly of Mengele right after John was captured, but I never thought...." She paused, one hand to her mouth. "And here we thought we'd stopped them."

"We didn't stop them," Brisson said quietly. "We just changed the venue. The military wants every advantage it can get over the Russians, and it doesn't much care how that happens."

Brisson turned around, locking eyes with the lieutenant, who looked absolutely horrified. "I couldn't tell you," he said gently. "The lockdown had just ended, but we had nowhere near the freedom we'd have later. You could leave the compound, but you couldn't leave the base. You would never have been able to get far enough away that he couldn't catch you."

"And what about later?"

"I thought I had it under control," Brisson said. "You didn't get pregnant until Pierce switched to the beta cells, so I changed the labels to make sure you only got alpha cells. I could have told you, and you could have run, but Pierce would have chased you, and so much time went by with nothing happening that I thought you were better off not living as a fugitive."

"That wasn't your decision to make, Sergeant!" she said severely.

"I know," Brisson sighed. "I know, and I am so very sorry this happened. If there's anything I can do to make it up to you, I'll—"

"Good," the lieutenant interrupted. "As a matter of fact, there is."

"I've already told Captain Spade I can get you any kind of false identification you need," Brisson said. "That includes birth certificates, drivers' licenses, travel papers, anything. I'll make certain Pierce never finds you."

"That's not what I meant," the lieutenant said. "First, I need information. I want to see every note ever taken on this 'project', every log entry ever made. I want to see cell samples, cultures, every scrap of tissue ever collected. I want every secret nook and cranny in this godforsaken lab unlocked and laid bare."

"What....now?" Brisson stammered, blanching at the thought of the lieutenant actually reading the log entries on his visits to her quarters or, God forbid, the actual procedures. "I can't do that! What if Dr. Pierce walks in?"

"Fine. We'll do it tonight after he leaves."

"But...what for?" Brisson asked. "What good is that going to do?"

"I want to know what's been done to me," the lieutenant said firmly. "I want to know everything Pierce learned, and then I want to put a stop to this. That's why I came back, Sergeant. If Pierce can't get to me, he'll just find another victim. How can I live with myself if I know I just pointed the gun at someone else? You're going to help me make certain that never happens."

"How?" Brisson asked in bewilderment. "Pierce has years worth of alien reproductive cells stored away, enough to—"

"We'll destroy them," she said flatly. "He can't play with toys he doesn't have."

"Don't you think I've thought of that?" Brisson demanded, impatience creeping into his tone. "Destroy them, and Pierce will just go back to the well! As long as the alien lives, he'll be able to...." He stopped, something else having occurred to him. "Or rather, as long as the alien is captive," he said slowly, his eyes widening. "Is that....is that why they saved you? Is that the price? Did Captain Spade agree to trade the prisoner's freedom for your life?"

"You'll have to ask Captain Spade," the lieutenant said. "I'll see you at 2300 hours, right after the shift change. Don't be late, have your keys, and be ready to do a lot of explaining."

"Lieutenant," Brisson called just as she reached the door, "would you give Captain Spade a message for me?" She turned to face him, and his heart sank when she backed up as he came closer. "If I'm right," Brisson said with as much sincerity as he could muster, "if that's the price the Captain had to pay....tell him I'll gladly help him pay it."



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



Yvonne held herself together with difficulty as she raced through the basement corridor to her quarters, hardly a haven anymore, but the best available at the moment. In spite of telling Stephen that Brisson wasn't to blame, she'd approached him coldly in order to gauge for herself just how contrite he really was, and now she was retreating in tears. By what stroke of bizarre luck had she wound up the subject of a Nazi experiment while in Roswell? She'd thought it was just Pierce, but of course it was more complicated than that. She could only hope that Pierce's fierce desire for credit had induced him to keep this little endeavor to himself; if he hadn't, if he'd secreted any of John's reproductive cells anywhere else, then he would merely find another victim. Make that "victims", she thought miserably. Judging by what had almost happened to her, anyone Pierce managed to impregnate with alien cells could easily die, and he would move on to another with nary a backward glance.

She reached her quarters, snapping on the light and heading for the bathroom to wash her face, so upset by what she'd just learned that she hadn't even processed Brisson's offer to help John escape....or the person sitting in the chair beside her bed, whom she'd missed completely.

"Good God, don't scare me like that!" Yvonne exclaimed, now long unaccustomed to unexpected visits from Brivari.

"My apologies," Brivari said, folding up the newspaper he'd been reading. "Our usual meeting place is no longer safe now that two of my enemies have taken up residence here."

"What else is new?" Yvonne said bitterly, having forgotten entirely about the two enemy aliens. "No place is safe. Even my own quarters aren't safe, so if you think you're safe here, you're crazy."

Brivari raised his eyebrows. "I was given to understand that you had recovered. Are you feeling all right, lieutenant?"

"Yes. No," Yvonne amended. "Physically, I'm fine. I'm just tired of being lied to. Pierce lied to me, Brisson lied to me.....even you lied to me."

Brivari was quiet for a moment. "I don't think I need to explain why I kept that particular part of our story from you."

Yvonne leaned wearily against the wall. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I know you saved my life. But I need to know.....did you use the brain tissue your people took from those children to save me?"

Brivari set the newspaper down on the bed as he rose from his chair. "Yes....and no," he answered. "Although that enabled me to heal you, none of that tissue came from any one human child, or even a group of them. The children in question contributed only tissue samples, which were then replicated and altered to suit our purposes."

"So I'm alive because of experiments done on children," Yvonne said, closing her eyes. "Wonderful."

"I know that Emily Proctor considers what my people did here to be 'experimentation'," Brivari said, "but that word is inaccurate. Experimentation occurs on the leading edge of a technology, on a new frontier. Genetic manipulation is a mature technology on my world, so obtaining those samples was no more difficult for us than taking a blood sample is for you, and no more injurious to the donor." He paused. "Does this change things between us, lieutenant?"

Yvonne sighed, gazing at the ceiling. "No, it doesn't. I don't hold you responsible for what your government did. God knows I don't want to be held responsible for what my government is doing."

"Then you are still willing to aid in Jaddo's escape?"

"I'm more than willing," Yvonne answered firmly. "I couldn't just leave if I wanted to—Pierce will only find another victim. The only way to shut him down for good is for John to go free."

"I assure you that Jaddo and I intend to 'shut him down for good'," Brivari said, "but I'm afraid that won't address your particular concern. I sincerely doubt Pierce acted alone, and the work will continue with or without him."

"It can't," Yvonne objected. "If I destroy the samples he's collected and John isn't available to provide more, then what can anyone do?"

"With this particular endeavor? Nothing," Brivari answered. "But they will find another way, or another project. Pierce and those like him feel their work is noble and necessary. This won't be the end of it, I promise you that."

"So you're saying there's nothing I can do?" Yvonne demanded. "I should just give up? Walk away? Pretend it didn't happen?"

"I said none of those things, lieutenant."

"Then what do I do?" Yvonne said impatiently. "How do I stop this? If stopping Pierce won't stop it, then what will?"

" 'Stopping' it should not be your goal," Brivari said. "The acquisition of knowledge can be impeded or enhanced, allowed free rein or controlled....but never stopped. Attempts to stop it only drive the work underground, where it is effectively out of reach. The only way to exert control is to give the process of acquiring knowledge enough sanction that it remains in the open, and to become one of those responsible for overseeing it."

"Which I can't do," Yvonne said. "Anyone doing the 'overseeing' would be a doctor, and even though a few women have become doctors, no woman would be allowed the kind of power necessary to pass judgment on this kind of research. So that means I can't do anything."

Brivari smiled faintly. "Lieutenant, do you really expect me to believe that, after all you've been through, you would let mere gender stand in your way? I seriously doubt that. I am simply trying to keep your expectations.....realistic." He paused. "I am pleased to see that you have recovered. With luck, I will see you next under different circumstances."

Yvonne's expression softened. "No argument there. Good luck tomorrow."

"To you as well," Brivari said.

Yvonne sank down on the bed after he left, then thought better of it and retreated to her desk chair. That bed still made her stomach turn. Realistic. Yes, Brivari's viewpoint was nothing if not realistic....and that felt like a cop out. How many things would never have come to be if the movers and shakers behind them had insisted on being "realistic"? What wars would have been lost, inventions not invented, advances not made because someone was being "realistic"? "Realistically", the Americans should never have won their revolution, the war in the Pacific should not have ended as quickly as it did, explosive progress in medicine should never have happened, and so on. Realism was all well and good, but it was good old unrealistic passion and stubbornness that actually got you somewhere.

Reaching into her desk drawer, Yvonne pulled out a pen and paper and started scribbling a "to do" list. Unfortunately for Pierce, she wasn't feeling the least bit realistic.




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



11 a.m.

Proctor residence



Emily set the bowl of potatoes on the kitchen table and settled down with a peeler. Normally she hated mindless chores like peeling potatoes, but today, any chore was fine with her. Dee had actually hugged and kissed her goodbye this morning after her talk with the nurse, tucking the note Emily had penned for her into her book bag before heading out for school about half an hour later than usual. She wasn't foolish enough to think that her spat with her daughter was completely over, but this was the first real thaw in a year, and coming so close on the heels of yesterday's self-righteous outburst made it all the sweeter. Then Captain Spade had arrived to pick up Lieutenant White, leaving Emily alone in the house with the alien scientist, who was clearly recovering and should be leaving soon. Life was almost back to normal.

"Would you like some help with that?"

Emphasis on the 'almost', Emily thought, eyeing the scientist suspiciously as she stood in the kitchen doorway. "Out of curiosity, why would you have the slightest interest in helping me do anything?" Emily asked.

Marana dropped her eyes, for once not responding with the usual retort. "Mrs. Proctor, I think you and I got off to a bad start."

"Really?" Emily said dryly. "And when did you make this shocking discovery?"

"When I realized how repellant I found what was done to the female healer," Marana answered, not showing the slightest umbrage at the sarcasm in Emily's voice. "What happened to her was....barbaric. It gave me some insight into how you must view what I do."

"And this insight has given you a sudden interest in peeling potatoes?"

"Believe me, I am every bit as revolted at what happened to the healer as you are," Marana said.

"But for different reasons," Emily countered. "You were revolted at the lack of expertise; I was revolted that anyone would do that at all, expertly or otherwise."

"Which only underscores that which I overlooked," Marana replied. "Things that are common in my society don't even exist in yours, and are viewed negatively. On your own world, medical practices which used to be common would now be viewed with alarm. For example, I understand bloodletting was once a standard medical treatment on this world. It was a useless procedure which only harmed the patient, but those who administered it did so in good faith, believing it to be beneficial. Your medical practitioners now consider bloodletting to be primitive, and those same bloodletters would likely be horrified at current medical practice, just like you are horrified at mine. It's a matter of perspective, and I failed to take your perspective into account." She paused. "I'm sorry."

Well, well, Emily thought. Not just one thaw, but two....assuming this was a real thaw, that is. "I appreciate the apology, but I can't help waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"Shoe?"

"Do you really mean this, or are you after something?" Emily said bluntly.

"Mrs. Proctor, I'm trying to make amends," Marana said with a touch of impatience. "We actually have a fair amount in common—we're two women who have both lived through wars, had our lives turned upside down by conflict we didn't invite, and lost people close to us. I'm suggesting that we focus on our similarities instead of our differences and see where that leads us, but I can't do that alone."

Emily hesitated for a moment before holding out the peeler. "All right. Do you know how to use one of these?"

Marana broke into a completely unexpected smile as she took a seat across from Emily. "Of course. Malik taught me. He likes to cook."

"Does he?" Emily said, rummaging in a drawer for another peeler. "I'll have to put him to work. Where is he, anyway?"

"Watching Orlon and Amar. They're apparently living at the base now, looking for Brivari."

"More of you. Wonderful," Emily sighed, resuming her seat and reaching for another potato. "You know, you said we were two 'women', but the way I understand it, your people aren't male or female."

"We can be either, or neither, or both," Marana answered, "depending on which reproductive cells we produce. Some of us produce none, while others produce both male and female cells. As it happens, I produce only female cells."

"So that's why you always appear as a woman?"

"No."

Emily stopped peeling, her curiosity piqued. "Then why are you always a woman?"

Marana smiled slightly. "Your daughter asked me that."

"And did you tell her?"

"Of course not. I seriously doubt you would have wanted me to elaborate on that aspect of our society."

Emily's eyebrows rose. "Meaning.....?"

Marana set a peeled potato down and reached for another. "When I decided I wanted to work in the biosciences, the director in charge of the division I was trying to gain entrance to didn't want me there. More specifically, he didn't want anyone from my race. So despite my qualifications, I was turned down."

"I thought the King made things easier for your people," Emily said.

"He did...officially. Public opinion is another matter entirely."

"So what did you do? Obviously you prevailed."

"Yes," Marana replied, "but only after agreeing to a condition set by the director—I was to take a female form. I guess I just got used to it."

"Why did he want you to be a female?" Emily asked.

"The director was male, and had certain.....appetites." Marana's eyes flicked up. "Do I need to explain further?"

Emily froze, the peeler stopping in mid swipe. "No," she said slowly. "You don't."

"Don't look so surprised, Mrs. Proctor. My people have had many uses. This is just one more."

"I thought you were used for test subjects," Emily said.

"Most of us were. But some were used as spies, mercenaries, or warders, as Brivari was. Others....well, let's just say there was a market for a being who could be anything anyone wanted. Male. Female. An animal. A child—"

"I get the picture," Emily interrupted sharply, making a mental note to never again use the phrase "human depravity" because depravity, as it turned out, was not restricted to humans. "And all of this just strengthens that 'perspective' you referenced earlier, that cooking up new people in laboratories, people that one feels no connection to or responsibility for because you can just go make more of them, encourages the very worst behavior."

Marana was quiet for a moment. "Mrs. Proctor, may I ask you a personal question?"

"You can ask, but there's no guarantee I'll answer it."

"Fair enough," Marana said. "I don't understand why you waited so long to throw Brivari out of your house when you clearly knew about the hybrids."

"We didn't know they were 'hybrids'," Emily answered. "They told us their royalty had been injured, and they'd brought them here to recover."

"But you saw them," Marana persisted. "You told me you saw them, and that they looked human."

"Looks mean nothing with your people," Emily replied. "You look human, but you're not, not even slightly. We were told their human appearance was camouflage....and for that matter, it is," she added, remembering the tiny fetuses floating in the sacs. "And will be even more so when they grow up. No one will suspect they're from another planet."

"What makes you say that?"

"My husband met one of the so-called 'donors'," Emily said, infusing that last word with a good deal of sarcasm. "At least one of them survived."

"Of course he did," Marana said calmly. "What did he look like?"

Emily smiled slightly as she reached for another potato. "Just a few days ago, you were the enemy, remember? I certainly do."

"So you still consider yourself on Brivari's side?" Marana asked softly.

"I'm on no one's side," Emily said levelly. "Especially not yours."

"So I've noticed," Marana said, her voice a tad chillier than a moment ago. "You know, I wasn't really an enemy, Mrs. Proctor. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. No one was expecting the king to be assassinated, and when he was, the only way to protect yourself was to show loyalty to his successor."

"Don't you mean 'usurper'?" Emily asked casually.

"Call him what you like; he was in power, and I had to survive," Marana said. "You recently lived through a war of your own. Was there never a time when you did something to survive? Something you wouldn't normally do, something you wish you hadn't had to do?"

Yes, Emily thought silently, seeing Valenti's hand smashed in her door, hearing the laughter at the "Deputy Martian" moniker she'd deliberately dropped to discredit him. But it was David who had had to compromise the most. Her husband was one of the most peaceful, pragmatic people she'd ever met, yet he had voluntarily enlisted and spent two years killing people who very much wanted to kill him or anyone in an American uniform. And the tales he had told of those who'd sold out, who had cooperated with the Gestapo to save their own families....was she really in a position to judge those people while she had been safe in her own home on American soil? Marana's situation had been even more precarious, coming from what was basically a slave race whose only advocate had just been killed. Had Emily been in her shoes, what would she have done?

"I imagine we've all done things we wish we hadn't," Emily conceded quietly. "Chalk that up as one more thing that crosses species."



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



Marana kept her face carefully neutral as she wound the peeler around the potato. That hadn't gone as well as she'd hoped, but it certainly could have gone worse. What's more, the expression on the woman's face made it clear that there were definite chinks in her considerable armor. That's right, Mrs. Proctor, she thought. Feel sorry for me. Identify with me. Feel like we've both had a rough deal. And then, when you're not paying attention, let it slip as to exactly where those hybrids are.




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


I'll post Chapter 132 next Sunday.

Hello everyone! Many thanks to all who are reading, and special thanks to those who left feedback!

Michelle in Yonkers wrote:And there is the slight point that neither Dee, nor Emily, nor Yvonne would have needed saving, if the Antarians had kept their squabbles to themselves.

I'd call that a big point, and one that has been raised many times, that the need for alien intervention was a direct result of alien arrival. Tempering that is the fact that the aliens' human allies chose to get involved. Dee willingly helped the aliens, and David ultimately decided to involve himself when he helped them move the pods (or rather "sacs"--at that point they hadn't split into individual pods). Emily also agreed to help, albeit much more reluctantly, withdrawing that offer later on, and certainly Yvonne and Stephen willingly walked into the alien abyss. Making a choice entails accepting at least some responsibility for the ramifications of that choice, especially when one is aware that choice could be dangerous.

Rai: I think Yvonne is madder than hell about what was done to her, and when one is that completely outraged, fear tends to fall away. Whether or not that's wise remains to be seen, but having an Irish temper myself, I can certainly sympathize!

Shiesty: I'm so glad you're still enjoying it! Here's more!







CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-TWO


June 9, 1950, 0715 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



"Sorry I'm late," Yvonne panted, hurrying into John's room with breakfast, having practically run all the way from the mess hall. "I got here as fast as I could."

"What happened to you?" John asked.

"Nothing 'happened' to me," Yvonne answered. "I'm just late."

*Why?* John asked, eyeing her up and down.

*You're escaping today, remember?* Yvonne answered a bit tartly. *If I were you, I'd spend your last few minutes in this room eating everything in sight because you're going to need it in just a few hours.*

*Are you sure you're all right?* John demanded, ignoring her. "Has your relative taken a turn for the worse?"

"No," Yvonne said, trying to summon at least a modicum of patience. "I didn't hear my alarm and I overslept, that's all."

Actually, I didn't get any sleep last night, she added privately as John finally accepted that explanation and started his breakfast. Her late night appointment with Sergeant Brisson had produced a jumble of both information and emotion, all of which she was still trying to sort through, had been trying to sort through right up until about twenty minutes ago when she'd torn herself away from the lab at the last possible second. She had been awake literally all night, having not wanted to waste even a minute of what could be her last opportunity to find out exactly what had happened to her and what Pierce had learned as a result of that.

Her initial reaction had been one of awe at the sheer volume of information. Pierce's record-keeping was both meticulous and complete; dozens of notebooks recorded every observation, every experiment, every test, every scrap of data collected. Hundreds of samples had been collected, including the alien reproductive cells that Brisson pulled from a liquid nitrogen container, tissue samples, blood smears, and cell cultures. True to the marching orders she'd given him, Brisson had practiced full disclosure, having everything unlocked and available when she had arrived. He and Pierce had certainly been busy these past three years, and they had the data to show for it.

After deciding to begin at the beginning, however, awe soon turned to revulsion. Six full months worth of entries detailed the starting and ending dates of her monthly periods, information gleaned by Brisson from her own calendar in her own desk, along with a complete copy of her Army medical records. After that, things got nastier; impersonal, clinical entries of the insemination procedures Pierce had performed on her, along with the revelation that he'd collected samples from her much the same way he had from John: Skin, hair, blood, and the list went on. Every single entry referred to her as "Subject #1", a designation that made her blood run cold. So rattled was she by these entries that she had to step away for awhile, and when she returned, she couldn't bear to return to the log books, opting instead to examine the various cells samples Pierce had collected. She was accustomed to this work from her time spent examining John's cells, but nothing prepared her for what she saw when she looked through the microscope to examine a slide prepared with cells taken from the first pregnancy, the one she'd thought was merely a very bad period.

"Oh my God," she'd breathed. "They're....they're...."

"Beautiful," Brisson finished for her as she looked up in surprise. "They're beautiful, aren't they?"

She nodded mutely, returning to the microscope and the strange cells which the gentian violet had inexplicably stained a bright green instead of the usual purple. She saw human cells too, along with alien cells that matched those from John, but these....these were different. These were an entirely new kind of cell, a cross between human and alien.....a hybrid.

"He did it," Yvonne whispered, struggling with dual waves of admiration and nausea. "Pierce did it. He produced a hybrid cell."

"A few," Brisson had allowed. "But he didn't want a hybrid cell—he wanted a hybrid person."

"He should just be happy he created an entirely new life form," Yvonne said. "Do you any more samples like this?"

"Lots," Brisson had replied. "I'll get them for you."

Fascinated now, Yvonne had spent the rest of the night examining those slides and eagerly reading every entry Piece had made about that first, brief pregnancy, no longer caring and eventually not even noticing that she was constantly referred to as "Subject #1". It was unbelievably exciting to see something completely new, something that had never before existed on this planet, and for the first time, she realized how Brisson must have felt when the opportunity to participate in this "project" had arisen. The allure of creating a new life form was so intoxicating that it was surprisingly easy to see how one's moral underpinnings could be allowed to fall away, leaving only the awe of new science and the desire to try again.

By the time morning had rolled around, Yvonne had reached a decision—this research could not be lost. The alien reproductive cells would have to be destroyed so Pierce couldn't harm anyone else, but the research....the research is mine, she had thought, somewhat irrationally. She had paid for this, almost with her life. When Brisson had fallen asleep toward morning, she had quietly ripped out several key pages which were now tucked away in her quarters, a decision which had her in a quandary. Was it ethical to use the results of tests performed on unwilling subjects? Was it ethical to use the results of the Nazi doctors' work, repugnant as it had been? Did using their work lend meaning to their victims' suffering, or imply agreement with the way the research had been obtained? A moot point, perhaps, given that at least some part of her own government had seen fit to invite some of those very doctors to the States, but the world was currently debating and would no doubt continue to debate that very point. This particular situation was easy; she was the unwilling subject in question, so she had the right to decide. What bothered Yvonne was the fact that, even if she hadn't been that unwilling subject, she would still have wanted to save the research. Whether that put her in the same league with Pierce was something she wasn't eager to ponder.

*Lieutenant!*

Startled, Yvonne returned to the present to find John looking at her in consternation. *I'm sorry,* she said, flushing. *I'm just....tired. What were you saying?*

*I was talking about my plans for this morning,* John said.

*Everything's set,* Yvonne assured him. *Stephen said he expected everything to go smoothly.* And without Brisson, she added privately. Told that Brisson had actually offered to help John escape, Stephen had nixed the idea. "The irony is that we could have used him before," Stephen had said, shaking his head. "He could have stopped administering the serum, falsified the records, completely misled Pierce....but we don't need that this time. I don't want to bring him any further into this than he already is unless we absolutely have to. We'll stick to the plan we have."

*I wasn't referring to that,* John was saying. *I was referring to the one task I have left undone.*

*I thought you said you'd finished everything that could be done on the ship?* Yvonne said.

*I have. This doesn't concern the ship—it concerns you.*

*Me?*

*Yes, you. Or more specifically, what I fear Pierce has in store for you.*

Yvonne raised her left hand to her coffee cup as her right abruptly began to tremble. *What do you mean?*

John hesitated a moment. *Ever since you told me that Pierce was studying our reproductive cells, I have suspected that he is attempting to create a hybrid of our two species. Since your medical technology has not yet advanced to the point where you can gestate offspring extraneously, he would need a human incubator, in the case of your species, a female.* He paused, looking her directly in the eye. *It is my belief that Pierce intends to use you as this incubator. Have you seen any evidence of this?*

Yvonne gripped her cup so hard that it was a miracle it didn't break. Lying to John last night at dinner had been simple; he had believed Stephen's assurances that she was visiting an ill relative and had asked few questions, save for perfunctory inquiries as to that relative's condition. Now she was seized by a powerful urge to either spill her story or chastise him for not having warned her sooner. *No,* she said, trying mightily to keep her voice steady. *I haven't.*

*Good,* John replied. *I confess it is possible that I'm mistaken, but now that I am leaving.....lieutenant, it is imperative that you leave this place as quickly as possible after I escape. When your services are no longer needed for me, it is quite possible that Pierce will make a move before you are transferred elsewhere. Don't wait for orders, don't try to go through proper channels—just leave, and don't tell anyone where you're going. Your life may depend on it.*

For some unfathomable reason, Yvonne found herself suppressing a laugh; she managed to swallow all of it but a small smile, which drew a stern look from John.

*This is not a joke, lieutenant. I am absolutely serious. I will deal with Pierce, but he may still find a way to harm you. Don't give him the opportunity; leave just as soon as I am gone, even before anyone has noticed my absence, if possible.* He leaned forward, eyeing her intently. *I know this may sound fantastic, but you know what Pierce is like every bit as well as I do. Please don't make the mistake of not taking me seriously.*

"Oh, I won't,* Yvonne said sincerely. *Believe me....I won't.*



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



"Okay, Captain, you can step down," Corporal LaBella said. "Next!"

Spade stepped off the x-ray and watched Thompson replace him, the two of them exchanging glances as he did so. This was crucial; they had to be identified as human now so that later on, when they were seen behaving in very non-human ways, the brass would reach the conclusion that the aliens had found a way to fool the x-rays and hopefully abandon attempts to find their escaped prisoner, or what would be their escaped prisoner about thirty minutes from now. John was already inside, having been whisked along by Sergeant Keyser while the rest of the security detail were having their species checked.

"Step down," LaBella told Thompson. "So you're with us today, Captain?"

"That's right," Spade said. "Oster needed the day off."

"Good to have you, sir," LaBella said. "I'll warn you, though, it gets a little boring here."

Not after I shoot you, it won't, Spade thought, watching LaBella check in the last of today's guards. Phase one of John's escape entailed Spade and Thompson taking down the six other guards in the anteroom off the main hangar. Since each of their tranquilizer rifles held only three darts, they couldn't afford to miss even once, which shouldn't be difficult given that they'd be shooting at point blank range. After the anteroom had been silenced, they would help themselves to the fallen guards rifles' and join Brivari and Malik inside the hangar to take out the rest of the guards. Later, Yvonne would "find" both he and Thompson tied up somewhere, ostensibly by the aliens who had taken their shapes. That was a bit of a stretch given that the aliens had demonstrated the habit of knocking people out when taking their shapes, not merely tying them up, but Spade wasn't willing to be compromised afterwards, not with the specter of Pierce hovering over Yvonne like a vulture. Fortunately he hadn't laid eyes on Pierce since Yvonne's brush with death; if he did, he was certain he wouldn't be able to resist the urge to strangle him.

"You okay, sir?"

"Yeah," Spade said to Thompson, as the two of them instinctively pulled away from the rest of the group.

"So is everything set?" Thompson asked in a low voice.

"Brivari and Malik should already be inside," Spade replied. "He said he'd blink the lights ever so slightly when he was ready to go."

"Who first?" Thompson murmured, eyeing the rest of the guards.

"Too early to tell," Spade said, "but we'll start with anyone near the phone. And we'll have to remember to cut the phone cord before we go into the hangar."

"Right," Thompson said, one hand nervously kneading his rifle despite his outward calm. "Do you think we should have taken Brisson up on his offer to help?"

"Absolutely not," Spade answered. "We don't need him—he has nothing to do with the hangar, and that's where the action is. Weird thing is, we needed him before, when we were trying to stop the serum. Life gets things backwards sometimes."

"What about Lieutenant White?" Thompson asked. "Is she willing to leave when the prisoner's gone?"

"I don't care if she's 'willing' or not," Spade said firmly. "After John is safely out of here, she's leaving if I have to drag her out kicking and screaming. We'll say the aliens took her."

"Pierce will probably think they took her to prevent his tests succeeding," Thompson said.

"I don't care what he thinks," Spade said darkly. "After this is over, that bastard is mine."

"Don't go overboard, sir," Thompson warned. "After this is over, you're going to be under at least some amount of suspicion, so—"

"Shh!" Spade said suddenly. "What is that?"

A low humming sound had begun, not only audible but palpable as whatever it was sent vibrations through the floor. The rest of the guards looked up, puzzled. "Stay here," Spade ordered. "Thompson and I will check it out."

Spade and Thompson ran down the hallway toward the main hangar to find the guards inside alarmed, their rifles raised toward the ship, which seemed to be the source of the noise. "What's going on?" Spade asked.

"Don't know, sir," the nearest guard said. "That noise just started. Seems to be coming from the ship. If—"

Suddenly the ship flared to life as brilliant light flooded the hangar. Several guards blinked and clapped their hands over their ears as the hum grew louder, louder, louder. "Is that the signal, sir?" Thompson shouted in Spade's ear.

"Can't be," Spade said, shaking his head in dismay "Something's wrong."




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




*Where is he?* Brivari asked, peering around a corner as trucks bearing Jaddo and his guards approached the hangar.

*In the southeast quadrant of the base busily looking for me,* Malik answered, hoping he sounded less frazzled than he felt.

No chance. *Are you all right?* Brivari asked, swinging his head around to look at him.

*Yes,* Malik lied. *Just a bit....breathless.* And frantic, he added silently. Brivari had trusted him with a solo mission today, that of leading one of their enemies as far from the hangar as possible while Brivari led the other in the opposite direction. And while Malik had mastered the art of appearing and disappearing in order to lead others astray, he had definitely not mastered the art of quelling the feeling of panic that resulted from letting one's enemy get so close. There had been one point where all that separated Malik and either Orlon or Amar had been a supporting pillar in the mess hall. Escape had been relatively simple as he'd watched Brivari do this dozens of times in the last twenty-four hours; becoming comfortable with it was another matter entirely.

*Are you sure you lost him?* Brivari asked.

*Positive,* Malik answered. *Whether it was Orlon or Amar, they're pretty confused at the moment.*

*It was Amar,* Brivari said. *I led Orlon to the other side of the base, where he will hopefully stay until we're finished.*

*How do you know it was Orlon?* Malik asked.

*By the way he carries himself,* Brivari answered. *We have known each other a very long time, which is precisely why Khivar sent him. And precisely why he cannot hide from me.*

Then I had Amar, Malik thought, wondering if that knowledge would have made things better or worse. He hadn't even tried to figured out which of them he was misleading, but come to think of it, his quarry's quick, sometimes impatient movements had Amar written all over them. Perhaps it was better that he hadn't known; knowing might have tempted him to approach Amar and tell him that Orlon had murdered the emergents. Malik had no doubt that if Amar could be made to believe that, he would now at least be fighting against Orlon even if he couldn't bring himself to support Brivari.

*He's in,* Brivari said as the last of the trucks headed back to the compound. *It's our turn.*

*How do you intend to get in?* Malik asked, this being one of the many details left fuzzy after their conference with Spade last night. *There are x-rays at every door.*

*Simple,* Brivari answered. *I'll make another.*

He walked further down the south wall of the hangar until they came to a large truck parked beside it. Stepping between the truck and the hangar wall, Brivari looked around carefully before raising his hand to the hangar wall as Malik watched in alarm. This was hardly the time to be blowing a hole in a wall. Or perhaps he was going to cut through the steel skin and bend it back, creating an opening? Wouldn't the humans both see and hear that?

But Brivari did neither. As he held his hand out, a section of the wall blurred, the pattern of the corrugated steel appearing to melt and run together, forming what appeared to be a vertical lake of molten metal. *What is that?* Malik breathed. *Did you liquefy it?*

*No,* Brivari answered. *I caused the molecules that comprise the wall to lose cohesion, much the same way we lose cohesion when shifting. Now we can pass through.* He pushed his hand through the wall by way of illustration; it slid through easily, and appeared undamaged when he removed it. *Follow me,* he ordered, and disappeared through the wall.

Malik stared at the wavy section of wall with distaste. Couldn't Brivari have chosen a different metaphor? All Covari briefly lost cohesion, lost control of the bonds between their own cells whenever they shifted. Regaining that cohesion was crucial, and those who failed to do so frequently died, unable to pull themselves back into any form in which their vital organs could function. To watch anything, even something inorganic, in such a state of molecular upheaval for so long was....unsettling.

*Are you coming?*

Malik checked to make certain he was alone before reluctantly walking into the wall, closing his eyes and grimacing as he did so. He found he had to literally push himself through, the wall now being a thick, viscous substance that admitted him only grudgingly. It was only a thin steel wall, but it felt much thicker by the time he emerged on the other side in the cool darkness of the hangar to find Brivari gazing at him speculatively. *What took you so long?* he asked.

*How many more times will we have to do that?* Malik asked.

*Once. And that was nothing. Try walking through the stone walls of the compound.* He nodded toward the left. *This way.*

They picked their way through piles of boxes, this apparently being an area of the hangar used for storage, until they encountered a large, curtained off area. Just beyond the curtain were well over a dozen guards, and just beyond them was the ship the Warders had arrived in, patched and whole once more. *Would you look at that!* Malik exclaimed, remembering the last time he'd seen this ship, battered and swarming with human soldiers. *When Spade told me Jaddo was working on the ship, I wouldn't have given you a nickel for his chances of repairing it.*

*I have no idea how much a 'nickel' is worth, but I suspect I felt the same way,* Brivari answered. *It kept him alive and busy. That's all that matters.*

*Why did you take such an old ship?* Malik asked, mentally noting that, in human parlance, this ship would more than qualify for the term "rust bucket".

*It was available,* Brivari answered. *Besides, I think they would have noticed if we'd tried to slip away in a royal transport.*

Malik glanced sideways at Brivari. Not only had he trusted him with a solo mission for the first time today, he was also downright chatty, relatively speaking. *What was it like?* Malik ventured, careful to have his eyes elsewhere. *The day you ran, I mean.*

*It was dirty, bloody chaos,* Brivari answered. *What was it like the day you ran?*

Malik's eyes flicked sideways, but Brivari was still looking at the ship, his eyes on the target as always even while he carried on a completely different conversation. But this time his tone was neutral, devoid of the usual contempt he displayed when referencing Malik's defection. *It was....confusing,* Malik answered truthfully. *Exciting, and frightening, and....* He paused, finally deciding to continue. *And a relief,* he finished. *It was a relief to know we would at least have a chance to live.*

*Three of you didn't,* Brivari noted. *How did they die?*

*This section of Earth gave us a great deal of freedom,* Malik answered, *but we didn't understand the system of currency. Initially we had to steal to survive. Some of those we robbed were armed....and we had no healing stones.*

Malik stopped, waiting for the lecture he was sure was coming about how rogues got what they deserved. But Brivari remained silent, offering no comment of any kind. Another first—the first time Brivari had asked for information about the five of them without passing judgment. *Brivari,* Malik began, deciding that this was his best chance so far to ask one of the most important—and thorniest—questions he had, *what do you intend to do after Jaddo escapes?*

*I will hide him where you found me,* Brivari answered. *We have reason to believe that it will take at least a full week for the effects of the serum to wear off—*

*That's not what I meant,* Malik broke in. *What about the others, Amar and Orlon and Marana? Do you intend to hunt them?*

*My duty is to deflect or, failing that, eliminate any and all threats to my Ward or the entire royal family, given that not all of their Warders survived,* Brivari answered.

*Is that a 'yes'?*

*Would you classify those you named as threats?*

*Well...Orlon, of course,* Malik answered. *But Amar....if he knew the truth, he would—*

*He would be as unreliable and unpredictable as ever,* Brivari finished flatly.

*You don't give him enough credit,* Malik argued. *He's very intelligent, very—*

*I don't care if he's brilliant,* Brivari said. *If he is a threat to my Wards, then his life is forfeit.*

*Then what about Marana?* Malik continued, switching to what he hoped was the easier subject. *Valeris is dead; you might have use for a bioscientist.*

Brivari turned to face him. *Did you tell Marana about Jaddo's escape attempt?*

*I....no,* Malik admitted. *But that wasn't necessarily because I don't trust her. She's had a lot happen to her recently, and—*

*So have we all,* Brivari interrupted. *And that does not excuse her. She is no worse off, and actually much better off than many of us. You didn't tell her because you realize she is too self-absorbed to be trusted.*

*Than why haven't you killed her?* Malik demanded.

*Because I felt how weak she was while we were healing Lieutenant White; at the moment, she doesn't have the strength to pose a threat. I like to keep my options open as long as possible.*

*Your 'options'?* Malik repeated. *Marana is a person, not an 'option', and she's just very confused right now.*

Brivari fixed him with a level stare. *Then were I you, I would pray she is no longer confused when I acquire the leisure to turn my full attention to her.*

A sudden hum accompanied by a throbbing in the floor interrupted their argument. Brivari and Malik whirled toward the ship to find the guards scrambling, reaching for their tranquilizer rifles and wincing as the noise increased. *Is that what I think it is?* Malik asked.

*I'm afraid so,* Brivari replied, thunderstruck.

The ship's lights flared, bathing the hangar in brilliance. The hum segued to a whine, rising rapidly in pitch, causing Malik to shift his inner ears to block the noise. *Was this part of the plan?* he asked Brivari. *Was he supposed to secure the ship?*

*No,* Brivari whispered. *He wasn't.*




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



"I'll go to the engine room, while you go to the bridge," Sergeant Keyser said, chipper as ever at the start of another day of working on his precious ship. "I'll let you know when I get there. We've got lots of work to do!"

Which won't get done, Jaddo thought as Keyser made a right toward the engine room while he went left, the requisite guard, one Corporal Vallone, trailing behind. They had to stoop in the short, narrow hallway that ringed the ship, and Jaddo went a bit more slowly than usual, savoring what would be his last time inside this vessel, at least for awhile. Contrary to what he'd led Keyser to believe, the work was done; everything that could be repaired had been repaired. It was time to go, and in just a few minutes time, with a lot of luck and good marksmanship, he would be free for the first time in nearly three years. When Captain Spade had unlocked his shackles for the last time this morning, he had paused a moment, looking Jaddo in the eye. Usually he said, "I'll pick you up this evening." Today he'd said, "I'll be seeing you,", a statement which had left Jaddo lost in thought. He'd busied himself more than ever with the ship these last few days, anxious to do anything he could before it became inaccessible to him, and that burst of productivity had been advantageous; it had kept him from dwelling on his escape. Now, with that escape only minutes away, he found himself wondering again what would happen to his human allies after he left. Would Spade be held liable for his escape? Would the Healer take his warning about Pierce seriously? What about General Ramey? Without a prisoner to reveal, his threat to his superiors to inform their "president" was meaningless. Based on past experience, it could take a week for Jaddo's abilities to fully return. Would Ramey even be alive at the end of a week?

"Mr. Doe, are you there?" Keyser's voice boomed happily over the com.

"Almost," Jaddo answered, rolling his eyes. Keyser still considered the repaired communications system to be one gigantic toy and never tired of chattering over it. He crawled a few more feet and turned right, crouching through the doorway to the control room, only to stop a few feet inside as a low hum began to build.

"Sergeant," Jaddo said in alarm, "did you touch something down there?"

There was a pause before Keyser replied. "I....well....I....."

The hum began to build, the ship began vibrating, and a console nearby flared to life. "Sergeant, listen to me," Jaddo said severely. "The security console has been activated. What did you do?"

"I....I just...."

"Tell me!" Jaddo barked as Vallone flinched behind him.

"I...I just moved one those red crystals," came Keyser's abashed voice.

"Moved it from where to where?" Jaddo demanded.

"Um....from a set way on the left to...to a bunch way on the right."

"Top or bottom of that 'bunch'?"

"Uh....top."

Damn it! "Get out of there!" Jaddo shouted to Keyser as the hum became a high-pitched whine. "Head for the hatch!"

"But why—"

"Go!" Jaddo bellowed. "You too!" he ordered the terrified Vallone, propelling him out the door and down the cramped hallway much faster than they'd arrived. "Get to the hatch now, or you'll be trapped here!"

That announcement certainly had an effect on Vallone, who suddenly no longer needed to be pushed. They reached the hatch, but Keyser wasn't there; Jaddo gave Vallone a shove and he tumbled out, rolling off the edge of the walkway just as it began to rise. "Keyser, where are you?" Jaddo shouted as the hatch rose with alarming speed and the guards outside the ship cowered, their hands over their ears to block the noise. A few more seconds, and it would be too late.....

Then Keyser rounded the bend ahead, and Jaddo lunged forward, grabbling him by the collar and pitching both of them out of the rapidly closing hatch.




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

I'll post Chapter 133 next Sunday.

Rai: Greetings to a fellow holder of an Irish temper! (Or whatever brand of temper you have.) This is one of the reasons I enjoy writing Jaddo so much--he says things I'd love to say, but know I'm not supposed to.




CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-THREE


June 9, 1950, 0820 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base


It was a long way to the floor of the hangar, longer still because they had to jump from a walkway that was angled toward the ceiling. Jaddo felt the wind knocked out of him as he and Keyser hit the floor, the hum painfully loud now, the ship's lights glaringly bright. For a moment he just lay there, eyes closed, trying to inhale; then the noise abruptly ceased and the lights dimmed, leaving only the galaxy symbol glowing on the side of the ship. A moment later the symbol faded and the noise ceased altogether. For a moment, no one moved. Then a steady rhythm of feet advanced on them accompanied by a clatter, and Jaddo opened his eyes to find a forest of tranquilizer rifles aimed at him.

"What the...." Keyser gasped beside him, fumbling for his glasses which had somehow landed nearby. He sat up and hooked them over his ears, his eyes widening when he found himself a target. "What the hell are you doing?" he exclaimed, swiping at the nearest rifle. "Don't point those things at me! Put your weapons down!"

"We're pointing them at the prisoner, sir," one of the guards said tightly.

"Don't point them at him either!" Keyser barked, to no avail; not one guard budged, most casting anxious glances back and forth from Jaddo to the ship.

"Stand down!" ordered another voice. Captain Spade pushed his way through the throng of guards with Thompson on his heels, turning a murderous look on the guards when no one moved. "I said, stand down."

Reluctantly, the rifles lowered. "Oh sure—they listen to you but not me, even though I outrank them," Keyser grumbled, struggling to his feet.

"Never mind that," Spade said sharply. "What happened?"

Jaddo, still flat on his back on the floor of the hangar, gazed up at the now impenetrable ship in shock. This couldn't have happened. More precisely, this couldn't have happened now, at the worst possible moment, foiling an escape attempt only minutes away. "I'm not sure," Keyser answered when Jaddo didn't say anything. "There was that awful noise, and then Mr. Doe told me to run for the hatch or we'd be trapped. What did you mean by that?" he asked Jaddo.

"What did I mean by that?" Jaddo echoed, sitting up suddenly as shock evaporated and sheer rage rushed in to take its place. "What did I 'mean'? You don't understand the word 'trapped', Sergeant? Do you need a dictionary? What I 'meant' is that if we hadn't gotten off that ship when we did, we would have never gotten off! We would have died in there of starvation, dehydration, or asphyxiation depending on how you tampered with the control crystals! Assuming, of course, that I didn't strangle you first for doing exactly what I told you not to do!"

Keyser had begun inching backwards during this diatribe, and the rifles had begun inching higher. "All right, everybody, just calm down," Spade ordered. "Is that true, Sergeant? Did you do something to the...'control crystals'?"

"I....I.....I guess so," Keyser stammered. "Yes! Yes, I did!" he added hurriedly as Jaddo's eyes flared. "But I didn't think this would happen—"

"The point is that you didn't have any idea what would happen," Jaddo snapped, rising to his feet, "which is precisely why I warned you never to attempt placing crystals unless I was present! Did I not warn you, Sergeant? Did you not hear me? Do you no longer speak English fluently?"

"What did he do?" Spade asked Jaddo as Keyser sagged in shock. "What exactly happened?"

"He activated the security system," Jaddo said stonily.

" 'Activated'....what does that mean in practical terms?" Spade asked.

"It means the ship is completely and utterly inaccessible," Jaddo said. "In your parlance, it is 'locked'."

"Locked?" Keyser exclaimed. "No! But....there must be some way of opening it!"

"Of course there is," Jaddo said flatly. "We need the key, the one control crystal you have been unable to locate for two years now."

"Wait," Spade said. "If the ship is....'locked', so to speak, then why were you rushing to get off? Couldn't you have just unlocked it from the inside?"

"Possibly," Jaddo allowed. "But the Sergeant, in all his blissful ignorance, activated the security system at its highest level. In order to deactivate it, I would need to shapeshift, something I wouldn't have been able to do for a long time, if ever. Is that a risk you would have wanted to take?"

"No," Keyser said, shaking his head vigorously. "But....couldn't we have just hacked our way out? We did repair the outer hull, and—"

"All the tools are out here," ventured Vallone, the soldier Jaddo had pitched through the hatch ahead of him, still white-faced at the notion that he might have been trapped on an alien ship with an alien.

"It doesn't matter where they are," Jaddo said impatiently. "The hull is now electrically charged. It's safe to touch, but try to cut through it or damage it in any way, and....well, I suppose that mode of death would have been more pleasant than starvation."

"Is the ship safe?" Spade asked. "Are we in any danger now?"

"No one is in danger now but me," Jaddo said pointedly.

Spade's eyes locked with Jaddo's for a moment before he turned to his men. "All right, everybody—back to your posts."

"But sir...shouldn't we report this?" one of the guards asked.

"Of course I'm going to report it," Spade replied calmly. "I just want a bit more information before I do. Back to your posts, all of you. Vallone, wait over there until I'm ready to debrief you. I don't want anyone here but Keyser and the prisoner."

Slowly the guards dispersed to their assigned posts, casting uneasy glances in the direction of the tight huddle near the ship. "You realize what this means, don't you?" Jaddo said intently to Spade and Keyser. "Cavitt will blame me for this."

"I won't let him," Keyser declared. "I'll tell him it was my fault."

"And you think that will make a difference?" Jaddo said bitterly.

"He's right," Spade said heavily. "This is just what Cavitt and Lewis have been waiting for."

"Then....then I'll call General Ramey myself," Keyser announced.

"Are you really willing to do that?" Spade asked. "You'll pay big time for going over Cavitt's head."

"Cavitt isn't my commanding officer," Keyser said stoutly. "I report directly to General Ramey. This ship is my responsibility and this....accident the result of my error. If anyone gets in trouble for not running to Cavitt, it'll be you, Captain."

Spade appeared to ponder that for a moment before making a decision. "Okay—go call Ramey. I'll wait until you get back before I go to Cavitt. But don't take too long," he added. "I can't wait forever."

"Right," Keyser said promptly. "I'm on it. Don't worry, Mr. Doe," he added to Jaddo. "I won't let you take the fall for this."

"He won't have a choice," Jaddo muttered as Keyser scurried away. "I must be the most sterling embodiment of bad luck in the galaxy to have not one, but two escape attempts foiled at almost the last minute! Who would have—"

"Shut up and listen to me," Spade interrupted severely. "Is there any way you can contact Brivari?"

Jaddo stared at him. "What?"

"Can you talk to him from here with that...that telepathic speech, or whatever you call it?" Spade demanded. "We can still pull this off, but we don't have much time."

"Are you crazy?" Jaddo asked in astonishment.

"Look around you," Spade insisted, shifting his eyes toward the guards still watching them uneasily. "Keyser's gone for a good half hour, at least, and Cavitt doesn't know yet. If Brivari and Malik are ready, we can still go ahead with the original plan and get you out of here. They'll assume the ship being locked up was part of that, but who cares as long as you're free?"

Jaddo glanced quickly around the hangar, then back at Spade, having not even considered the possibility that escape was still possible. "Are you serious?" he whispered. "Do you really think we could still succeed?"

"We can if Brivari and Malik come through on their end of things," Spade said. "I can fill in Thompson, but I can't reach them. Can you do it?"

I'll find a way if I have to shout across the planet, Jaddo thought, mentally gauging the size of the hangar. Brivari had never before been close enough to have anything but snatches of conversation, but Jaddo had spent most of his time deep in the ship. *Brivari, are you there?* he called urgently. *Spade thinks I can still escape! Can you hear me?*

There was a pause before a leaden voice answered. *Yes, I can hear you, Jaddo. And Spade is mistaken. It's too late.*

"What's going on here?" a sharp voice called behind them. "Out of my way!"

All hope of escape evaporated as Cavitt strode into the hangar, guards leaping aside to let him pass. "Colonel Cavitt!" Spade exclaimed. "I was just.....we were just...."

*Failing,* Brivari finished wearily. *We were just failing. Again.*



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



At last, Yvonne thought, watching Pierce leave the main lab and head down the hallway, round the bend into the main corridor, and disappear up the stairs to the first floor. She'd been waiting for the past half hour, ever since she'd finished breakfast with John. Now that John was safely on his way to the hangar and freedom, it was time to do a little housecleaning.

"Lieutenant!" Brisson gasped when he answered her knock. "You shouldn't be here! Dr. Pierce—"

"Just left," Yvonne said, literally pushing her way into the room. "Finally. I thought he'd be here all day."

"But what if he finds you?"

"I'd say he's already 'found' me, wouldn't you, Sergeant?" Yvonne said dryly. "We have some work to do, you and I. Open that," she ordered, indicating the small anteroom which housed the liquid nitrogen tanks that held the alien reproductive cells.

"I already opened that for you last night," Brisson objected, "along with everything else. And I'll open it all for you again tonight once Pierce is out of the building. But Pierce is in the building at the moment, so—"

"So we'd best get down to business," Yvonne finished. "We're going to destroy the alien reproductive cells, and it'll go much faster if we work together."

Brisson's mouth opened and closed several times. "Destroy.....are you crazy? Destroy the cells with Pierce just down the hall?"

"He went upstairs."

"Whatever!" Brisson exclaimed in exasperation. "I'm not destroying anything while Pierce is within a ten mile radius!"

"Sergeant," Yvonne said severely, "I already told you that the only reason I came back was to make certain that Pierce never did this to anyone else. I didn't have time last night, but now I do. Let's go."

"And I already told you that will only help if the prisoner is gone," Brisson argued. "We have to time this carefully—"

"No, we don't," Yvonne said impatiently. "Those cells are microscopic, correct?"

"Yes, but—"

"So the only thing visible to the naked eye is the fluid in which they're suspended, correct?"

"Well...yes, but—"

"So if we replace the fluid which contains the cells with plain fluid, there is no possible way Pierce could know that just by looking, correct?"

"But—"

"You said he only checks the cells for viability immediately before use," Yvonne continued. "According to my calendar, we have about ten days before you're scheduled to rape me again."

Brisson dropped his eyes and flushed so brightly that even his hands turned red. Yvonne pressed a hand to her forehead and looked away for a moment. "I'm sorry. I.....that was uncalled for."

"Not as much as I wish it were," Brisson said faintly, still looking at the floor.

"Look...my point is that Pierce won't notice the cells are gone for at least ten days," Yvonne said. "That gives us time to cook up a reason for their disappearance. But they must disappear, Sergeant. I can't take the chance that he'll come after me or anyone else."

"What kind of reason?" Brisson asked.

"I don't know!" Yvonne exclaimed. "Blame Major Lewis. Break the lock on the door and make it look like sabotage. What difference does it make? The cells have to go, and you're going to help me."

Brisson's eyebrows inched up. "Does this mean that the prisoner will be gone in ten days? You never answered me when I asked if Spade made a trade to get the aliens to help you."

"Yes I did. I told you you'd have to ask Captain Spade."

"I don't think it's a good idea for me to go anywhere near Captain Spade at the moment," Brisson said. He paused, eyeing her closely. "Lieutenant....I didn't ask you this last night because you were so busy, but....you haven't said anything about when you were with the aliens. Where did they take you? How did they cure you? What kind of medical facilities did they have?"

"I have no memory of being with aliens," Yvonne said, almost truthfully. "As far as I'm concerned, I collapsed here and woke up in someone else's house. Captain Spade had to fill me in on what happened."

"You don't remember anything?" Brisson said, disappointed. "Nothing at all? No? Well....I suppose that's for the best. For you, anyway. I'd love to know what kind of technology they have. Do you know if they kept the fetus you were carrying? Maybe they know how to grow it!"

"Or maybe they're furious that we were attempting to pollute their race by joining our two species, and now they see us as a threat," Yvonne suggested, sensing an opportunity.

Brisson's mouth dropped open. "Oh....oh, Lord....did they actually say that? Do you suppose.....do you think we could have put our planet in danger by messing with this? Like maybe they're insulted, or something?"

"They could very well be," Yvonne replied. "And if that's the case, making it clear that we intend to end this experiment would go a long way toward appeasing their anger, don't you think?"

"Yes!" Brisson exclaimed. "Oh, yes!" He fumbled for his keys, his own imagination having spurred him to action far better than any of Yvonne's arguments. "My goodness....all this time and they haven't moved against us except for that once, and that was just an attempt to rescue the prisoner. Maybe they didn't consider us a threat until now. Maybe this tipped the scale. Maybe....maybe I'll be responsible for an invasion of Earth!"

"Hold yourself together, Sergeant," Yvonne said briskly; her strategy was working just a bit too well. "We have work to do. Here—give me the keys."

"Right," Brisson said, handing over the keys with a shaky hand. "You do it. If—" He stopped, listening. "What's that?"

"What's what?"

"That noise." He cracked the lab door open, and the sound of tromping boots immediately became audible. "That sounds like the hangar guard detail. What would they be doing back here? They just left."

"I know," Yvonne whispered, pushing her way past Brisson, running down the side hallway which housed the lab, fearing the worst. It was the guard detail, with John in the middle of the throng, hooded and shackled as always. They marched past her, eyes straight ahead, their faces grim. Stephen was at the very back, and when he saw her, he peeled away from the group to join her and Brisson.

"What happened?" Yvonne demanded. "Why are you back now? Why are you back at all? Why—"

"Lieutenant," Stephen cut her off, with a meaningful glance at Brisson, whom she hadn't even realized was behind her. "There's been an incident. Sergeant Keyser did something with the ship's controls that locked the ship up tight."

"Can't the prisoner unlock it?" Brisson asked.

Yvonne didn't even hear Stephen's answer; her heart was beating rapidly, and she was finding it difficult to breathe. No! Not again! They had been so close this time, so close.....and now it wasn't just John's clock ticking, but her own as well. What were they going to do now?

".....so we brought him back because there's nothing else that can be done at the hangar until we get the ship reopened," Stephen was saying to Brisson, casting worried glances in her direction.

"I want to see him," Yvonne blurted out, heading for John's room.

"You can't," Stephen said, catching her by the arm. "Colonel Cavitt has ordered the prisoner locked down until we figure out what happened. That means no visitors....including you."

"I want to see him," Yvonne insisted, wrenching out of Stephen's grip only to have his other hand stop her instead. "Let go of me!"

"Lieutenant.....Yvonne," Stephen added more gently, dropping his voice. "You can't. I'm sorry. I'm every bit as upset about this as you are, but there's nothing we can do right now. Just hang back and let everyone figure it out."

"Hang back?" Yvonne exclaimed in disbelief. "Stephen, you know what Cavitt will do with this! He'd find a way to blame John even if John hadn't been there!"

"She's right," Brisson agreed. "Cavitt will have a field day with this one."

"The very first thing Keyser did was head for the phone to tell General Ramey what happened," Stephen said. "Ramey's on his way here, and the first story he heard was Keyser's. That's the best we can do right now," he added as Yvonne began to protest again. "Go back to whatever you were doing, and I'll let you know just as soon as I know anything more. And don't worry," he added, leaning in closer. "I will not let anything happen to you."

Go back to whatever you were doing.... Yvonne clutched her stomach as she watched Stephen walk away, fighting a rising tide of nausea. What she'd been doing was destroying the alien reproductive cells, and the reason she'd been doing that was because she'd thought Pierce wouldn't be able to replace them. She'd come back here in order to make certain those cells were destroyed and that John escaped; now they were both trapped here.

"He wasn't supposed to come back, was he?"

Yvonne looked at Brisson, who was watching her with concern. "What?"

"The prisoner," Brisson said. "He was supposed to escape today, wasn't he? That's why you wanted to destroy the cells." When Yvonne didn't answer, he put a hand on her arm, gently steering her toward the lab. "You were right—those cells have to go, and now's the best time because Pierce will be busy with the debriefing for whatever just happened. Let's go."

"Right," Yvonne nodded, still in shock that her world had turned upside down for the second time in as many days. At least if they destroyed the cells, something would have gone right today.

"And Lieutenant?" Brisson added, pausing awkwardly in front of the lab door, staring at the floor as he spoke. "Believe me when I say that Captain Spade isn't the only one who won't let anything happen to you."



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



"I ignored the prisoner's warning not to move the crystals because I thought I knew what I was doing," Sergeant Keyser said. "So you see, Colonel, this is all my fault."

"I see nothing of the sort," Cavitt said briskly. "What I see is that the very moment that ship approached the point of being operational, we were conveniently locked out. This is the prisoner's doing, make no mistake about that."

"I just told you that I was alone in the engine room!" Keyser said in exasperation. "The prisoner couldn't have had anything to do with where I placed the control crystals because he wasn't there!"

"I don't care if it was on the moon," Cavitt said. "Somehow, some way, the prisoner is responsible for this."

"With all due respect, sir, have you heard a word I've said?" Keyser demanded.

A low chuckle sounded from the other side of the table. "I think you'll find that the Colonel only hears what he wants to hear," Dr. Pierce said. "And that includes hearing things no one has ever said. In my line of work, we call that a 'delusion'."

Seated toward the end of the long table, Spade closed his eyes as the bickering began afresh. He was still taut as a bowstring, so angry at the botched escape they had never gotten a chance to attempt that he felt like picking up a chair and hurling it through the nearest window. For a moment there back in the hangar, he'd thought they could still pull it off. But LaBella, it turned out, had phoned Cavitt the moment the ship had begun making noise, hence his unexpected—and unwelcome—arrival. And after two and a half years of what he must consider annoying peace and quiet, Cavitt had jumped at the chance for trouble, lapping it up like a dog dying of thirst. Despite the fact that General Ramey was on his way, Cavitt had begun debriefings immediately, spending the last two hours grilling every single soldier who had been in that hangar, all of whom reported the same phenomena and none of whom could implicate the prisoner. In the absence of evidence, Cavitt had apparently just decided to believe whatever he wanted to believe, and at the moment, the only check on this hubris was Pierce. Pierce, who had almost killed Yvonne and would gladly do so again were he to learn of her pregnancy. Pierce, whom Spade wanted to hurl through the window right along with that chair, after strangling him first, of course. Like it or not, Pierce was the only thing holding Cavitt back.

"As usual, Daniel, you fail to see the undercurrents here," Cavitt announced. "A real soldier would have no difficulty—"

"The only 'undercurrent' here is your stomach rumbling," Pierce replied in a bored tone. "Honestly, Sheridan, is that all 'real soldiers' do? Run around looking for trouble? Witness after weary witness has testified to the fact that the prisoner did not cause this. What, did he hypnotize all of them as he was jumping out of the ship?"

Cavitt's angry retort was cut off as the door to the conference room opened and everyone rose to their feet. "At ease, gentlemen," Ramey said, breezing into the room and taking a seat at the head of the table. "I was in Albuquerque, so I was able to get here quickly."

"Thank goodness you're here, sir," Cavitt said. "I assure you that I've taken every possible precaution during this crisis."

" 'Crisis'?" Ramey repeated. "What crisis?"

"The aliens' ship being compromised, sir," Cavitt replied. "I've ordered the prisoner locked down with no visitors, and I've—"

"What for?" Ramey interrupted. "Has he become violent?"

"Well...no," Cavitt allowed, "but under the circumstances, I thought—"

"Circumstances?" Ramey repeated. "The only circumstances I'm aware of are these: Sergeant Keyser did something in the ship's engine room which caused the ship to activate some kind of security protocol. The prisoner warned both Sergeant Keyser and his guard that they needed to leave immediately, and everyone exited the ship before the hatch closed and locked. Are there other circumstances I haven't been informed of?"

"Well....no, but....General, how do you know all that?" Cavitt asked, having gaped at Ramey in disbelief during this recital. "I didn't leave a detailed message."

"Sergeant Keyser told me exactly what happened when he phoned me immediately afterwards," Ramey answered.

" 'Phoned you'?" Cavitt said, his voice rising as he glared at Keyser. "I don't appreciate enlisted men doing an end run around me, Sergeant!"

"I wasn't doing an 'end run' around anyone, Colonel; I report directly to the General," Keyser shot back as Spade stifled a smile. It was hard to believe Keyser had come such a long way since he'd started here, all shaky and scared. Cavitt had obviously been hoping to cook up some wild report of the morning's events for Ramey's benefit, and Keyser's quick dialing had forestalled that.

"Relax, Colonel," Ramey said. "Sergeant Keyser does indeed report directly to me and only me. He was merely notifying his commanding officer, just like your men notified you. Now," he continued, as Cavitt smoldered, "down to business. Sergeant, you and Mr. Doe need to re-open the ship."

"Sir, I must protest!" Cavitt interjected. "The last thing we should do is let the prisoner anywhere near that ship! It's obviously been planning this all along, and it could do much worse, given the opportunity."

"It's my understanding that if the ship had closed with anyone inside, they would have been trapped," Ramey said. "Why would he want to trap himself?"

"It says it would have been trapped," Cavitt sniffed, "but do we really know that? I say that was just a ruse."

"Then it was a damned good one," Keyser said impatiently. "The prisoner was rushing off that ship every bit as much as we were."

"I tell you, it caused this!" Cavitt insisted, glaring at Keyser.

Ramey sighed as he took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "Who was with the prisoner at the time of the incident?"

"I was, sir," Corporal Vallone answered.

"Did you see the prisoner do anything or touch anything that could have precipitated this, Corporal?"

"No, sir," Vallone replied. "Like I told Colonel Cavitt, the prisoner and I had only just arrived at the control room. He hadn't touched a thing, hadn't had a chance to....and then that noise started. The prisoner asked Sergeant Keyser if he'd touched anything down in the engine room, and Keyser said he had. And then the prisoner yelled at us to run. Said we'd be trapped if we didn't get off. He pushed me out the hatch as it was closing, and he grabbed the Sergeant and pulled him out too."

"Captain Spade, what did you see?" Ramey asked.

"I heard the noise and saw the lights...and then the hatch began to close," Spade said. "A few moments later, Vallone came sailing out, and a few moments after that, Keyser and the prisoner. They were all in a big hurry."

"And is the ship truly locked now?" Ramey asked.

"Completely," Keyser answered glumly. "Both hatches are sealed, and the prisoner says the hull is now somehow electrified—"

"How very convenient," Cavitt muttered.

"—so we can't cut through it," Keyser finished, glaring at Cavitt. "And it is. We attempted to cut through the hull and produced a huge spark I wouldn't want to go anywhere near."

"General, all this proves is that the prisoner knows exactly what's going on," Cavitt argued. "Knowledge doesn't make it innocent."

"It doesn't make him guilty either," Ramey countered. "Of course he knows what's going on—it's his ship, remember? I appreciate your concern, Colonel," he continued when Cavitt began to protest again, "but I just don't see how this incident can be construed as an attack. No one was injured, it was not initiated by the prisoner, and he extracted two of our people. Frankly, I'm surprised something like this hasn't happened before given our lack of understanding of the technology we're dealing with."

"Exactly!" Cavitt said triumphantly. "Why now? Why hasn't something like this happened before? Why is it only just as the ship nears full repair that we suddenly have a mishap?"

"That's easy," Keyser answered. "It's because the ship was nearly repaired that I became overconfident and did something I've never done: I ignored the prisoner's direct warning and tinkered with something I shouldn't have."

"And how do you know it didn't issue that 'direct warning' precisely because it knew you would be tempted to ignore it?" Cavitt demanded.

"Don't you think you're reaching a bit, even for you, Colonel?" Ramey asked as Pierce rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Washington doesn't see it that way, sir," Cavitt announced.

Ramey's eyes narrowed. "And how would Washington know anything about this? Do I understand you to mean that you've already blathered all this classified information to Major Lewis?"

Cavitt flushed slightly. "Sir, you know I always conduct my affairs with the highest discretion—"

"Is that a 'yes'?" Ramey interrupted.

"Sir, I haven't broken any—"

"Colonel, I asked you a simple question, which requires a simple answer. Did you or did you not discuss classified information with someone outside this compound?"

All eyes were on Cavitt as his own flicked around the table. "Yes," he said finally. "And may I remind you, sir, that Major Lewis has the highest security clearance."

"So he does," Ramey said sharply, his eyes boring into Cavitt's. "Granted by none other than General McMullen himself so that you wouldn't be breaking regs by spilling to his mole. Am I right, Colonel?"

"I doubt Major Lewis would appreciate being referred to as a 'mole', sir," Cavitt said stiffly.

"I doubt I give a God damn what he'd like," Ramey snapped. "You may not be breaking regulations, but you are defying my direct order not to discuss any information produced by this operation without my approval. And since you obviously hold the opinion that you needn't obey my orders, I can't trust you to keep your big mouth shut. Get out."

Cavitt blanched. "Sir, I—"

"Get out!" Ramey thundered. "I don't like people doing an end run around me either, Colonel, and you've just made your last one. I want you out of this compound before the day is over. Consider your reassignment pending. Out!"

Shocked silence greeted this announcement. No one moved or even breathed as Cavitt and Ramey stared each other down, the former flabbergasted, the latter fuming. Even Pierce looked surprised. Ramey hadn't trusted Cavitt for years now, but he'd had no need—or rather, opportunity—to address that mistrust what with the calm which had reigned at Eagle Rock. To both rebuke and fire Cavitt publicly was going to ring loud alarm bells in some very brassy offices. There would be hell to pay for this.

"If the General no longer has confidence in my abilities...." Cavitt began.

"I have every confidence in your abilities, Colonel," Ramey said angrily. "I have every confidence in your ability to undermine my command at every available opportunity, and I'm sick of it. Now, what part of 'get out' don't you understand?"

Cavitt's eyes burned as he rose to his feet. "I see. In that case....good afternoon, gentlemen. And good luck. You'll be needing it."

"Captain Spade," Ramey said as the door swung closed behind Cavitt, "you will command this compound's security detail until I appoint a replacement commander, effective immediately. Use this conference room as your office until Colonel Cavitt vacates his. Now I'd like to see the prisoner. Sergeant Keyser, you're to remain here until I've finished speaking with him, and then we'll figure out our next move."

Ramey continued talking, but Spade didn't hear him. "You will command this compound's security detail...." Oh my God, Spade thought, his chest constricting. That gave him control of every single soldier in this compound, the duty roster, the x-rays, the generator....everything. He could get Brivari and Malik in, John out, and Yvonne as far away from here as he could manage. He was now the jailer—he held the keys, and he could wield them as he saw fit.


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


I'll post Chapter 134 next Sunday.

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!

Misha wrote:I had secretly and guiltily missed that bikering between Daniel and Sheridan

So had I! They're both snakes, but it's fun to watch them go after each other.

So, will the ship really remain locked for the next 50 years or so?? hhhmmm....

The ship is now basically in the same condition in which Max will find it decades later--locked and repaired, enough to hover briefly when Langley tries to fly it. I guess the military will spend the next several decades moving it from one place to another. I'm told they'll eventually hide it beneath a convenience store, but that just sounds crazy.





CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-FOUR


June 9, 1950, 1130 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



"Good morning, General," the guard outside the prisoner's room said. "How are you this morning?"

"Good morning, Corporal," Ramey replied, stepping up on the x-ray machine. "I'm fine, thank you."

More like "excellent", Ramey thought with satisfaction. Having Sheridan Cavitt's nose out of his business would be a huge boon, one he had sought literally for years, ever since the repairs on the aliens' ship had begun. Ramey's star had risen high in Washington as the work progressed, but he couldn't help noticing something every annoying: Whenever he visited with updates, those in Washington who were "in the know" about Eagle Rock had already been informed. It was Cavitt, of course, leaking everything to Major Lewis, who in turn leaked it to General McMullen, Ramey's long time nemesis and leader of the "let's kill the alien" club. And since Cavitt was head of security at Eagle Rock, it was virtually impossible to keep even a scrap of information about the ship's repairs out of his hands. Ramey had tried to catch him in the act several times only to have Cavitt wiggle away, but today he'd finally nailed him. Now he had someone he trusted in charge of security, the very same soldier to whom he'd entrusted the precious letter which he'd threatened to release to the public if any action was taken against himself or the prisoner. Add to that the fact that the ship was nearly operational, and this day was only getting better. They just had to solve the problem of being locked out, and then the real fun would begin. And this time, Washington would have to wait for his reports.

"All clear, sir," the guard said.

"Thank you, Corporal. Open the door."

The door slid open, and Ramey was immediately struck by a wave of tension so palpable it seemed to seep into the hall. The alien was pacing inside, back and forth, back and forth in a way he hadn't since the early days of his captivity. Judging by the wild look in his eyes, one would think something much more dire than a simple accident had transpired that morning. He was probably expecting to be blamed, and Ramey took pains to lay that fear to rest just as soon as the door closed behind him.

"Relax, Mr. Doe," Ramey said. "Sergeant Keyser has all but nailed himself to a cross on your behalf."

The alien stared at him uncomprehendingly. "He has injured himself?"

"No," Ramey chuckled, shaking his head. "A poor choice of words, perhaps; that was a religious metaphor. What I meant was that Sergeant Keyser has made it very, very clear that he and only he was to blame for the mishap this morning, and every single witness corroborates that. I hold no suspicions that you are responsible for what happened."

"I'm quite certain Colonel Cavitt disagrees," the alien replied, still taut as a bowstring.

"It doesn't matter what Colonel Cavitt thinks," Ramey replied, settling himself on the couch. "I've fired him."

" 'Fired'?" the alien repeated hopefully, obviously unclear as to whether that meant what he hoped it meant.

"Dismissed him," Ramey clarified. "Kicked him out. He is no longer head of security at this facility. I've placed Captain Spade in that position until I appoint another commander. Unless I decide to leave him there, which I may very well do."

The alien stood stock still, stunned. "Spade...." he whispered, staring off into space.

"Captain Spade has been one of your staunchest defenders since day one," Ramey noted, "when he refused to sign off on Cavitt's fabricated version of events with your colleague who was gunned down after surrendering. He's gone to the mat for you many times, often unwisely, in my opinion. Do you have objections to his assignment?"

"No," the alien said quickly, appearing much calmer now. "No, none at all, but....do you really think 'firing' Cavitt was wise?"

"Absolutely," Ramey said firmly. "He has been systematically undermining me ever since I barred his friend Major Lewis from this facility. He hasn't been able to get much of anywhere given the huge amount of interest in seeing your ship up and running, and I haven't been able to catch him in the act....until today. He admitted he's been leaking classified information from this compound in defiance of my direct order. I could have him court-martialed for that. He'll be lucky if all he suffers is a reassignment."

"General," the alien said slowly, "are you aware that the ship will remain locked until we locate the specific crystal which will open it?"

"Keyser mentioned something about a 'key'," Ramey said.

"Have you found it?"

"Not yet," Ramey allowed, "but I'm sure we will. We've found most of the others."

"The others are interchangeable in many respects," the alien said. "The key is not. Without that crystal, the ship remains locked to everyone, myself included."

"Then we shall double our efforts," Ramey said.

"I'm not sure that will do any good," the alien answered.

Ramey's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

The alien took a seat on a chair, perching on the edge as though he wasn't certain he'd be there long. "Keyser doesn't agree with me, but I suspect someone is making a concerted effort to keep the control crystals from you."

"I thought Sergeant Keyser had found most of them," Ramey said.

"He has," the alien answered. "But it took him much longer than it should have and was a much more difficult task than I would have expected, given the purported level of interest in seeing my ship repaired."

"That interest was anything but 'purported'," Ramey replied. "Some of your most ardent enemies were and are still frothing at the mouth at the notion of seeing your ship operational."

"What an interesting picture that calls to mind," the alien muttered.

Ramey smiled slightly. "My point, Mr. Doe, is that there is an extremely high level of interest in seeing your ship repaired. I'm certain there are a few of my colleagues who would rather see me go down, and equally certain that those few are likely to be drowned out by the chorus."

"Then why did Keyser have such difficulty finding the control crystals?" the alien asked. "I would think whoever had them would have eagerly given them up when they learned they were needed to operate the ship. Instead he had to hunt them down, and he found them in the strangest places, including places where they were obviously meant to stay hidden. Someone is keeping them from you, General, and this time, they need keep only one from you in order to bring this entire endeavor to a halt."

"So you think this is sabotage?" Ramey asked.

"I fear it is," the alien answered, "in the only way readily available. What better way to slow you down or stymie you altogether than to keep what you need to accomplish your task from you?"

A prickle of unease stirred in Ramey's gut. He had heard some odd tales from Keyser about his quest to find the alien crystals, but he'd hadn't paid them much mind. The crystals he'd seen were brightly colored and came in various shapes and sizes, but all were beautiful; he could easily see them being taken as trophies, and even more easily see those who did the taking loathe to give them up, whether from fear of reprimand or a simple disinclination to part with something valuable. He'd never considered the notion that they were being kept from him on purpose.

"This 'key' you speak of," Ramey said. "What does it look like?"

The alien took a piece of paper and a pencil and sketched for a minute, producing a drawing of what could be interpreted as a huge diamond. "This would be considered a large, rare stone by my people," Ramey noted. "I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if this was the first one fingered." He folded up the drawing and put it in his pocket. "I appreciate the warning, but I think your fears are unfounded. Not that I wouldn't put it past a handful of people to attempt it, mind you. But the collective weight of opinion would be so strong that even they wouldn't want to be fingered as the ones holding up the show. Even if someone is sitting on this 'key', I'm confident it will show up in short order."

"It may have, had you not dismissed Colonel Cavitt," the alien said. "Are you equally confident that move won't tip the scales in the other direction?"

"If what you say is true, then removing Cavitt was probably the best thing I could have done," Ramey answered. "Deprived of his position here, he will find it impossible to pass on the necessary information to thwart me, such as just exactly what this key looks like. Let me make some discreet inquiries. I can have half a dozen people quietly looking for this before Cavitt has finished emptying his office. We'll find it. Tell me something, Mr. Doe," he continued. "You told Sergeant Keyser that you would have needed to change your shape in order to deactivate the security system from the inside. Does that hold if you approach from the outside as well?"

The alien gave him a measured stare. "At its highest level, the security system is designed to refuse entry to anyone of another race, meaning I must both have the key and be in my native form to enter the ship."

"I see," Ramey said slowly. "Well. That could be a bit of a problem."

"It won't be a problem at all unless the key is found," the alien reminded him.

"Right," Ramey agreed, rising from his seat. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. In the meantime, I am of course rescinding Cavitt's order barring visitors. I'll let you know when I hear something." He paused at the door. "I'm sorry you're cooped up in here. Hopefully it won't last long."

"Hopefully," the alien echoed as the door slid open in answer to Ramey's knock. "Hopefully it won't last long at all."

And hopefully I sounded more confident than I felt, Ramey thought as he stepped into the hallway, that prickle of unease maturing into full blown concern as he strode down the hallway to find Keyser.



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


"That's the last of them," Sergeant Brisson said, relieved.

"Good," Lieutenant White answered, twirling the rack of cryo vials which had previously housed the alien's reproductive cells in liquid nitrogen, but which now contained only the holding medium, the fluid in which the cells were stored. Brisson had urged haste, wanting this over and done with long before Pierce was likely to return from Cavitt's debriefing over whatever had happened at the hangar, but the Lieutenant hadn't been satisfied with his faster empty/rinse/refill method. Pierce certainly wouldn't find so much as a stray cell left, so thoroughly had the Lieutenant scrubbed every single vial and even the sink into which their original contents had been dumped, as though all that scrubbing could erase what had happened to her.

Brisson glanced at the Lieutenant as he peeled off his heavy rubber gloves and let his hands breathe for a moment. Depending on one's point of view, she had been either quiet and focused or stricken and driven these past couple of hours. The news of the prisoner's premature return had rattled her badly, but once back inside the lab and facing a supply of what had nearly killed her, she had rallied, and proceeded to destroy the raw material in grim, determined silence.

"Has Pierce stashed any cells anywhere else?" the Lieutenant asked, peeling off her own gloves.

"Not that I know of," Brisson answered. "He was extremely protective of this project, always worried someone would figure out what he was up to and try to horn in on it. Major Lewis mostly."

"Maybe his legendary conceit will actually work in our favor this time," the Lieutenant commented.

"Our" favor.... "Lieutenant," Brisson began slowly, emboldened by her reference to the two of them as a set, "I've been thinking....."

"What?"

Brisson hesitated a moment before continuing. "Whether or not Captain Spade made a deal with the aliens, we need to get the prisoner out of here."

"Of course we do," the Lieutenant answered. "If we don't, Pierce will merely harvest more cells."

"It's not just that," Brisson said. "I just.....I have a really bad feeling about all of this. The aliens know what Pierce is trying to do because they saved you, and now, all of a sudden, the ship is locked. That can't be just a coincidence."

Lieutenant White stared at him in surprise. "You think the aliens did that?"

"Well, it makes sense, doesn't it?" Brisson said. "I think they may be angry, and I think we're all going to bear the brunt of that anger if we continue to hold the prisoner. I know they sent just a small strike force the last time, but maybe they're mad enough to send a much larger force now, and that means some of us are going to die, and I don't see the point. Why not just let him go, and save a bunch of lives in the process?"

"How?" Lieutenant White asked. "We can't just walk him out the door, especially if he's locked down like he is now."

Brisson leaned in closer, lowering his voice even though no one else was there. "I control the serum," he whispered. "I've had complete responsibility for its testing and administration for years now. I....I can make certain he doesn't receive it. I have no idea how long it would take to wear off, or even if it will wear off, but we could certainly try."

The Lieutenant's eyebrows rose. "You'd do that?"

"Yes, I would," Brisson answered, having given this a great deal of thought. "Even if the Captain didn't make a deal, I still think it's a fair trade—your life for his."

Lieutenant White smiled faintly. " 'Him'? 'His'? Sergeant, I do believe this is the first time I've heard you refer to John as anything other than 'it'. When did he earn a pronoun?"

When he displayed more concern for your life than one of your own, Brisson thought....only to freeze in terror at the sound of the lab door being unlocked. "Brisson?" came Pierce's voice. "Are you here?"

"Jesus!" Brisson gasped, pulling off his safety goggles as he pushed the Lieutenant toward the back of the little side room which housed—or had housed—the cells. "Stay here and don't move!" he whispered fiercely. "He usually doesn't come back here."

"Brisson?" Pierce called again. "Where are you?"

"Right here, sir," Brisson answered, hastily checking his lab coat for any telltale stains as he closed the door to the side room behind him.

"What were you doing back there?" Pierce asked. "Is anything wrong?"

"No," Brisson answered quickly. "I was just....checking. I do a weekly check just to make certain everything is okay. I....I guess I got into that habit when Major Lewis was hanging around all the time."

"A good habit," Pierce smiled, "but completely unnecessary now. General Ramey has sacked Colonel Cavitt!"

"He did?" Brisson exclaimed. "Why?"

"Sheridan blabbed Ramey's business one too many times," Pierce said happily. "I knew if I waited long enough, he'd dig his own grave. Of course I'd hoped he'd dig a bit faster, but no matter—I'm rid of him! Do you know what this means?"

"Uh....no," Brisson admitted. "I thought you and he were getting along with each other, or at least co-existing peacefully."

"On the surface, perhaps, but I've had to live with the constant threat that he'd blow my cover on the hybrid experiment," Pierce said. "Even though Ramey banned Major Lewis from the compound, Sheridan's presence here made that practically meaningless from my perspective. With him gone, it's like they're both gone....and I am finally free to experiment without having to report to Cavitt and have it leaked back to Lewis, not to mention the fact that I won't have to share the glory when I succeed in producing a hybrid. By the way, did Lieutenant White menstruate this month? Her recent leave may have disrupted our record-keeping."

"I....I believe she did," Brisson said, casting a nervous glance at the door behind him. It appeared closed, but he was quite certain the Lieutenant was listening to every word.

"A pity," Pierce said. "I'd hoped to have produced at least another brief pregnancy by now."

"So who's in charge of security now?" Brisson asked, changing the subject.

"Captain Spade," Pierce replied.

There was a faint gasp from behind Brisson which he hastily covered with a cough. "Really? Is Ramey going to promote him?"

"I have no idea," Pierce answered. "All I care about is that Sheridan is cleaning out his office as we speak."

To Brisson's horror, the door to the side room suddenly opened and Lieutenant White shot across the lab toward the main door. Pierce's back was turned, and for one awful moment, Brisson wasn't certain it would stay that way; then she was gone, closing the door quietly behind her. "Now that we're free of virtually any oversight, it's time to clear new ground," Pierce was saying cheerfully. "I—what's the matter, Brisson? You look ill."

"I...I'm still reeling over the notion of Cavitt being gone, sir," Brisson said, breathing again now that Lieutenant White was out of the room.

"Yes, it's wonderful, isn't it?" Pierce agreed. "Now, I have an idea that might boost the effectiveness of the transport medium during the next procedure on the Lieutenant. I'll need a few of the vials pulled from the liquid nitrogen and warmed up."

Brisson felt the blood drain from his face. "Vials....what?"

"The vials, Sergeant. The vials of reproductive cells. I'll need a few, around four most likely."

"But....the next procedure isn't for another ten days or so, sir," Brisson said, struggling mightily to keep his voice from quavering.

"And I want this settled before then," Pierce answered. "I believe we need to raise the alkalinity of the transport medium. The vaginal environment is quite acidic, you know. We humans have the same problem, which is why semen is so alkaline. I did try this last month, but as she didn't conceive, I'll raise the alkaline level further this time."

But she did, Brisson thought, his stomach doing somersaults. That's why the procedure had worked this time; Pierce had been tinkering with the fluid in which the cells were suspended, and he'd never said a word.

"Brisson, are you all right?" Pierce asked.

"Y...yes," Brisson stammered. "I....when would you like the vials ready?"

"Not until this evening," Pierce answered. "I'm not doing anything until Cavitt is safely out of the building. In fact, I think I'll go up right now and hurry him along," he added with a wide smile. "I haven't had this much fun in ages."

Brisson sagged against the counter as Pierce left, whistling and all but skipping as he did so. This evening. So much for having ten days to come up with an explanation. And no matter how good that explanation was, nothing would stop Pierce from simply collecting more cells, making this afternoon's efforts virtually worthless.



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



Yvonne stepped impatiently off the x-ray and flew up the stairs two at a time. What a tumultuous day this had been; she'd sent John off to supposed freedom and had him return still captive mere minutes later, Pierce's cache of alien cells had been destroyed, Cavitt had been fired, and Stephen had taken his place, a welcome development which virtually assured John's freedom. But even though she wouldn't miss Cavitt, she would miss something he might be taking with him: Evidence of his involvement in Betty Osorio's death. That was another reason she'd insisted on coming back, for one last chance to break into Cavitt's files, with a sledgehammer if need be, and find out if there was even a scrap of paper in there that would point the finger at him. Stephen felt Cavitt was unlikely to have anything useful in his office, but Yvonne didn't agree; she'd found the pictures of her and Betty in his filing cabinet, so it was quite possible that cabinet contained more gold nuggets, nuggets that were now being packed up and shipped out. This was her last chance unless she literally wanted to break into Cavitt's apartment, a formerly preposterous notion that she was now willing to consider if she had to.

"Oof!"

Not paying attention, Yvonne collided with Cavitt's secretary just as she was emerging from a side hallway with an armload of papers which almost crashed to the floor. "Oh, Harriet, I'm so sorry!" Yvonne exclaimed. "Here...let me take some of those."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Harriet said, offloading the top half of her towering stack. "It's as much my fault as yours—I couldn't see over this pile. The General has set a very firm deadline, so we're all just scrambling....." Her voice trailed off, her legendary cheerfulness failing her for the first time in Yvonne's memory.

"Harriet, I'm really sorry," Yvonne said sincerely. "I can't honestly say I'm going to miss the Colonel, but I will very much miss you."

"I appreciate that, Lieutenant," Harriet said gratefully. "God knows the Colonel isn't an easy man to get along with. But he was always very kind to me, and.....this is just so unexpected."

"I know," Yvonne said gently, noting that, in her experience, Cavitt had always treated Harriet with the utmost respect and courtesy, something he usually denied the rest of humanity, not to mention aliens. "I came up to help you pack, or do anything else that needs doing."

"Aren't you a dear," Harriet said fondly. "I'd love some help. Right now I'm emptying a storeroom down this hall. If you could bring some armfuls down to the front door, the guards will carry it out. Go ahead and give those back to me," she added, nodding toward the papers in Yvonne's hands. "I don't have to go around any more corners, so I should be safe."

Yvonne returned the pile she'd taken and cast a wary eye both left and right as Harriet trundled carefully toward the front door. To the right was the storeroom Harriet had indicated; to the left was Cavitt's office, in disarray, with both doors open. Yvonne's heart sank as she saw Cavitt in his inner office unloading the contents of his filing cabinet. She was too late unless she could either get Cavitt out of his office somehow or get to those boxes he was packing before they left the base.

Then Dr. Pierce abruptly appeared, heading straight into Cavitt's office without realizing that Yvonne was only feet away to the right. She shot a glance down the main hallway; Harriet had not yet reappeared. Quickly, Yvonne slipped into Cavitt's outer office, clambering past piles of boxes just as Pierce entered the inner office, closing the door only partway behind him.

"....you come to gloat?" Cavitt's voice said impatiently. "I would think you'd be off celebrating."

"Heavens, no," Pierce said, sounding as cheerful as Harriet usually did. "Given the speed with which Ramey insisted you vacate the premises, time is much too short for gloating. I'll have plenty of time for that later."

Yvonne heard the sound of a file drawer being slammed shut. "Did you have anything to do with this, Daniel? Because I wouldn't put it past you."

"Nor should you," Pierce replied calmly. "I'd love to take the credit for your departure, Sheridan. Really, I would. But I'm afraid you managed this one all by yourself. You just shot your mouth off one too many times, and I'm here to make certain you don't make the same mistake again."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I want your assurance that you won't blab the details of our little project once you find yourself in Bernard Lewis' company around the clock."

He means me, Yvonne thought, her throat tightening. She was their "little project", she and whatever she'd been carrying that had almost killed her.

" 'Our' project?" Cavitt echoed. "Our project? It was never 'our' project, Daniel, it was your project. And the moment I'm out of here, I shall make it my life's work to see that you are deprived of your project the same way you deprived me of my prisoner."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Pierce said regretfully, "and further afraid that such a move would be most unwise."

"Is that a threat?" Cavitt snapped.

"A strategy," Pierce corrected. "You should play poker, Sheridan. One never reveals all of one's cards until one has to. I still have a card to play, and I will play it without hesitation should you breathe one word of my endeavor to anyone besides your dog."

There was a long pause, and then Yvonne swore silently as the door completely closed, preventing her from hearing the rest of the conversation. She leaned against the door as close as she dared for several moments, straining to decipher the drone of voices, until one of the boxes at her feet caught her eye. Kneeling down, she pulled at the corner of what looked like a photograph to find a picture of herself and Betty Osorio, the very same picture Cavitt had used to blackmail her three years ago.

Yvonne's heart began to pound as she rifled through the rest of the box and realized that the contents were from Cavitt's personal files. He must have already emptied some of his file cabinet, and she quickly abandoned her efforts to eavesdrop in favor of inspecting the various boxes. Five minutes later she'd scored several more pictures of herself and Betty, along with an even more precious discovery: The negatives. She tucked these inside her uniform and continued the search, alert for any sounds of Pierce and Cavitt emerging. Everything was jumbled and out of order, so after a few more minutes of haphazard searching, she began to systematically work her way through each box from front to back.

"Lieutenant? What are you doing?"

Yvonne's head jerked up; Harriet was standing in the doorway to the office, staring at her in astonishment. She'd forgotten all about Cavitt's secretary, and now that secretary had found her with her hand quite literally in the cookie jar.

"Lieutenant, I asked you a question," Harriet repeated, with an edge to her voice Yvonne had never heard before. "What are you doing with the Colonel's papers?"

"I'm looking for something," Yvonne admitted.

"Looking for what, exactly?"

Yvonne stood up slowly, mentally running down a list of options. The one she finally selected surprised even her.

"I'm looking for evidence that Colonel Cavitt was responsible for Betty Osorio's death."

"Responsible for....what on earth are you talking about?" Harriet exclaimed in astonishment.

"Betty Osorio," Yvonne repeated. "A reporter from Fort Worth. I told you she died in a car accident. What I didn't tell you is that she died just hours after an officer from this base gave her classified information that Betty intended to publish. I don't think that 'accident' was an accident; I think she was murdered, and I think the Colonel had something to do with it."

The voices inside Cavitt's inner office suddenly grew louder as though Pierce's and Cavitt's confrontation was escalating. Harriet ignored them, staring at Yvonne in disbelief for a full minute before speaking.

"My goodness," she said, sounding disappointed rather than angry. "I've always considered myself a good judge of character, but.....not this time. It appears I've seriously misjudged you."

"Harriet, I need your help," Yvonne said urgently. "You know the Colonel's files, so you could find—"

"I know you don't like the Colonel, Lieutenant," Harriet broke in stiffly. "But to kick a man when he's down with such a preposterous story—"

"It is not preposterous," Yvonne insisted. "Remember when I told you that I never requested a transfer here, that Cavitt kidnapped and blackmailed me? You thought I was joking. I wasn't. He really did that."

"I think you should leave," Harriet said coldly.

"Harriet, please," Yvonne begged. "This may be our last chance to catch Betty's killer! If she—"

The door to Cavitt's office opened abruptly and Pierce strode out, glancing neither left nor right as he walked by them wearing a very smug expression. Cavitt appeared in the doorway, appearing much less pleased. "Is something wrong, Harriet?" he asked.

"No, sir," Harriet said firmly. "The Lieutenant was just leaving. Weren't you, Lieutenant?"

Yvonne followed Pierce out of the office without so much as a backward glance at Cavitt. She hung a left into the mess hall and a right into the kitchen, heading for a back corner, bypassing those assigned to KP who were busy dishing up what was still considered better food than that offered by the main base. Fishing a large metal pot out of a cupboard, she threw in the negatives and all photographs but one, which she held in the gas flame of the stove before adding it to the pot. The paper curled and blackened and the celluloid shrank, producing a nose wrinkling smell and some curious looks from the kitchen workers which she ignored. She may have burned a bridge with Harriet, but it was enormously satisfying to watch Cavitt's hold over her go up in flames.


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


"These are supply requisitions, sir," Corporal Vallone said, adding more papers to the stack on the conference room table. "The base commanders have rescheduled the weekly staff meeting for Tuesday instead of Monday in light of the fact that you'll need time to get settled, and here are more requests for leave."

"More?" Spade said in dismay. "Where are all these coming from?"

Vallone smiled broadly. "May I just say, sir, that we are all so very happy to have you as our commanding officer. Do you want these in a different pile?"

Spade closed his eyes briefly and prayed for patience. The men were thrilled to have Cavitt gone, so thrilled that they were having a hard time not being giddy about it. All those leave requests were a direct result of the assumption that he would be a more lenient commander and thus grant more of the multi-day passes which Cavitt had been so stingy with. Spade had never paid much attention to the minutiae of Cavitt's job, so he had no idea if that was even logistically possible, nor had he any idea what went on at a "base commanders' staff meeting" or what to do with supply requisitions from the cook. And while he was certainly familiar with the Army's penchant for paperwork—if you wanted to breathe, you had to fill out a request in triplicate—it turned out that he had been responsible for only a sliver of the total pile, all of which apparently found its way back to Cavitt's desk at one time or another. He'd been at this job for only a few hours, and the piles of paper on his "desk", a.k.a. conference room table, were already threatening to fall over.

"Uh....sure," Spade said. "Different piles for different forms until I figure this out."

"Right," Vallone said, setting the leave requests to one side of the supply requisitions. "Also, there's a delivery man outside who's demanding to be paid before he leaves."

"Paid?" Spade repeated blankly. He'd never had anything to do with payment, whether for personnel or supplies. "Uh...." He hesitated, hating to do this, but seeing no way past his own ignorance. "How does Colonel Cavitt handle that?"

"He insists on a bill so the goods can be inspected before he pays, sir," Vallone replied. "This guy does this every month: Demands to be paid immediately and threatens not to come back if we don't. Cavitt always tells us to send him packing, but I wasn't sure if you'd handle it differently."

"Okay....for the moment, we're leaving everything the way it usually is," Spade said, making the first decision of his new position that he felt absolutely certain about. "Until I get a handle on all this, I'm not changing anything."

"Yes, sir," Vallone answered. "Anything else, sir?"

"Yeah," Spade sighed. "Did Cavitt really sit there and shuffle through all this crap?"

"No, sir. His secretary did most of it."

That's what I need, Spade thought. Army companies had clerks to do the paperwork, and Cavitt's secretary must have served that function. He trusted Thompson, so he would be a good choice, but for the time being, he'd stationed Thompson outside John's room to keep an eye on things down there while Spade was trapped up here shuffling papers. "A secretary," he said out loud. "Good idea. I'll work on that. Dismissed. Wait," he added. "Do you type, Corporal?"

"Hunt and peck, sir," Vallone said regretfully, holding up two index fingers.

"Anyone else know how to type?"

"I'll check, sir."

Jesus Christ Almighty, Spade thought wearily as Vallone left. Hopefully he wouldn't have to figure out this mess because hopefully, he'd be able to get John out of here soon. Part of the problem dealing with the deluge of new responsibility was that at least half of his mind was busy forming a new escape plan, one that necessarily lacked the elegance of this morning's edition due to the fact that John was now in the bowels of the compound. If only Keyser had fiddled with those crystals just a bit later.....

A sound at the door caught his attention. Vallone was back, this time accompanied by Oster. "What is it now, Corporal?" Spade said irritably, wondering if he'd just discovered at least one of the reasons for Cavitt's legendary grumpiness. "I told you to tell the delivery guy to get lost—"

Spade stopped as Vallone locked the door behind him and Oster drew the blinds. What the hell was going on here? Was Cavitt staging a coup? "What are you—" he began, only to stop again as both Vallone and Oster began to change, their faces melting into something completely different.



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


I'll post Chapter 135 next Sunday.

Hello everyone! Thanks to all who take the time to read. And it's nice to see so many fellow Irish tempers!

Max/Jason Luver: Glad you enjoyed it! Thanks for letting me know.

Michelle in Yonkers wrote:Our Author hath said:

I'll have to quote Maria: "When did we get on biblical terrain here?" (Just kidding. )

None of these people really knew what they were getting into, and most got dragged into it in one way or another.

Agreed. And I'll grant that Dee's a child, and remove her from the equation. But.....you knew there was a "but", right? .......while no one could have known what they were getting into because dealing with aliens was untrod ground, they were very aware that they were getting into something dangerous and that didn't stop them. Yvonne, for example, had no choice about being assigned (kidnapped?) to the compound, but she did have a choice about helping the aliens. She didn't have to, she chose to. She also chose to return and help Jaddo escape despite what she'd learned about the aliens' past visits to Earth and despite the fact that no one, even Brivari, expected her to. Emily gave her support, withdrew it, and has now offered at least some support again. I definitely see choice here, even amidst the parts they can't change. Or in other words:

Rai wrote:There are many parts where one of the humans could have said, "Enough," and just walked away.

Yep. And this gives me nightmares:

Rai wrote:If someone looked at the entire human race's history to decide whether or not to help someone, how well do you think we'd fare?

Oh my God, we would be so screwed. This is an especially interesting question given that it's now 1950 in the story, not long after one of the darkest chapters in our history.

What I find interesting about this discussion is that most readers who have commented on various boards think Emily has gone off the deep end with her reaction to Brivari's revelations and the way she treated Malik and Marana when they showed up injured. Michelle, you're the only one so far who has steadfastly supported her decisions and felt she made the right call, or the only one who's said it out loud, anyway. (Maybe I should do a poll--"Do you think Emily did the right thing?") I'd be very interested to hear anyone else's thoughts on the matter, and thanks to Michelle and Rai and Misha for a truly fascinating discussion!




CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-FIVE


June 9, 1950, 1430 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



Spade's heart nearly stopped as he vaulted to his feet and scrambled for his rifle, chagrined that it was as far away from him as it was. He'd been a commander for less than a day, and he was already growing sloppy. Neither alien moved to stop him as he pointed the gun at the nearest one, who moments before had looked like Vallone, and now looked like....

"Brivari!" Spade said in relief. "Jesus, you scared the shit out of me! I thought you were the other two."

"And well you should have," Brivari said approvingly. "I'm glad to see that you heeded my warning, and sorry to say that Jaddo did not."

"Brivari thinks Jaddo may have locked the ship on purpose," Malik explained when Spade looked confused.

"What? No," Spade said, sinking back into his chair. "It was Keyser. He was fiddling with 'control crystals', or something like that."

"He must have accidentally activated the security system," Malik said. "Did Jaddo happen to mention at what level it was activated?"

"He said something about the 'highest' level," Spade answered. "He said that anyone left inside the ship after it closed would have been trapped for good, and that it can only be reopened with some kind of key."

"Good Lord," Malik breathed. "That's a level ten activation! What are the odds—"

"Infinitesimal," Brivari interrupted in disgust. "Which of course means that it happened to us."

"Well, whatever happened, Keyser took responsibility and apologized six ways to Sunday," Spade said. "Cavitt didn't believe him, of course, but Ramey did. And I thought we may have been able to go through with the escape before Cavitt found out, but someone had already called him. We'll have to come up with something else."

"Which will be ten times harder now that he's in the compound," Brivari fretted.

"Maybe not," Spade said. "Ramey fired Cavitt. I'm head of security now."

Stunned silence met this announcement. Spade, who had been expecting joy instead of shock, looked from Brivari to Malik and back in consternation. "Did you hear me? I said I'm head of security now."

"The General removed Cavitt?" Brivari whispered. "Oh, no."

" 'Oh, no'?" Spade echoed. "Isn't that good news? I was thinking I could probably get John out of here tonight, after dark of course—"

He stopped abruptly as Brivari advanced on him suddenly, planting his hands on the table in front of Spade. "Release him," he demanded.

"Are you serious?" Spade said in astonishment. "I can't!"

"Release him now," Brivari insisted.

"I can't just waltz down there and let him go!" Spade exclaimed. "I just told you that tonight—"

"May be too late," Brivari broke in. "Ramey's enemies may move against him before that."

"Ramey's enemies haven't made a move in two and half years," Spade countered.

"Because they wanted to see the ship repaired, and because they had an informant," Brivari said. "Deprived of both, they will lose no time in retaliating."

"No way," Spade insisted. "Ramey threatened to expose the whole alien business, and he can still make good on that threat."

"Not if they destroy the evidence!" Brivari snapped. "Kill Jaddo, and there is nothing left to expose!"

"Why would they do that when they need him to repair the ship?" Spade demanded.

"The ship is no longer accessible, so Jaddo is no longer of any use to them and can safely be disposed of," Brivari argued. "Do not presume to know this game better than me, Captain; I have guarded kings longer than you will probably live."

"Okay, fine, eventually they'll figure it out," Spade said impatiently. "But not for at a few days at least, and certainly not before tonight. John will be long gone before then."

Brivari's pupils suddenly expanded, making his eyes entirely black. "I cannot afford to take that risk. Release him."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" Spade said angrily. "I don't care if you make your eyes purple with pink spots—I can't release him now. Cavitt's chair isn't even cold yet, Ramey's still here along with his own security detail, all the guards are here because no one's over at the hangar—"

Crash! Brivari's hand flew up, and the chair nearest Spade flew across the room and hit the wall, cracking the plaster before it fell to the floor. "You misunderstand me, Captain," Brivari said flatly. "I am not making a request; I am giving you an order. Release him."

Spade's jaw tightened. "No."

Crash! Another chair went sailing as curious voices sounded outside the door. Brivari's other hand flew up and the doorknob briefly glowed red just before someone tried to open it. "Brivari, stop!" Malik exclaimed.

"No," Spade repeated, rising to his feet and coming around the table. "Let's see how stupid he really is. Let's see if he's dumb enough to throw away the best ally he's ever had in this godforsaken place."

Brivari's eyes hardened and his hand swung toward Spade; Malik tried to step between them, but Spade pushed him aside. "Go ahead," Spade said softly as those outside began to pound on the door. "Kill me. Kill me, and you kill John, because as soon as I'm gone, he's as good as gone too. If you're so damned experienced, I shouldn't have to tell you that."

"Release him!" Brivari hissed, his hand still raised.

"No," Spade insisted. "Not now. He'd never make it. Tonight, when it's dark, when I've had a chance to shuffle guard detail, he could make it, so that's when we'll do it. I want him out too, you know. As long as he's here, Yvonne or someone like her is in danger, which is another reason we can't afford to screw this up."

"He's right," Malik said urgently to Brivari. "Whatever the risks, we have to wait. We'd never get him out now."

"Then take me to the general," Brivari demanded. "If you cannot see the danger, perhaps he can."

"Are you nuts?" Spade exclaimed. "You think you're just going to walk in on Ramey and have him believe you? The minute he knows what you are, you'll be captured, not to mention no one will believe that the ship being locked was just a mistake."

"Captain!" a voice called through the door. "We heard noises! Are you all right?"

No one moved or spoke as Spade and Brivari continued to stare each other down, Malik continued to hover worriedly beside them, and the men outside continued to try the door and call to Spade. Finally, Brivari broke the silence.

"Answer the door, Captain," he said in a deadly voice, "and don't believe for a moment that either Cavitt or his associates will take this insult lightly. There will be retaliation, and it will come much more swiftly than you are expecting. Look for me when you finally realize that, because when you do, there will be very little time left."

Brivari stepped aside, and Spade hesitated a moment before walking past him to the door, half expecting a blow at any moment. But none came, and when he tried the door, it opened easily, spilling two soldiers into the room. Brivari and Malik had disappeared, but the damage to the wall was still there.

"What happened, sir?" Corporal Vallone asked, unaware that a copy of him had recently been standing right where he was now.

"I got a little frustrated," Spade said shortly.

"I'd call it a lot frustrated," LaBella murmured, surveying the hole in the wall.

"But the door—" Vallone began.

"I have no idea why the door wouldn't open; it worked fine for me just now," Spade interrupted. "Was there something you wanted, Corporal?"

"It's Colonel Cavitt, sir," Vallone said. "He's asking to see you. He's waiting by the front door."

"Of course he is," Spade muttered. Naturally Cavitt couldn't bear to leave without a parting shot or three. "All right, I'll be there in five minutes."

"Would you like an escort, sir?" LaBella asked. "The Colonel is a hardass on a good day, and this isn't one of his good days."

Spade smiled faintly. "No, thank you, Corporal. I'll be fine. Dismissed."

Cavitt doesn't scare me, Spade thought as Vallone and LaBella left. Even Cavitt at his worst didn't hold a candle to a pissed off Royal Warder. After that, a pissed off Colonel should be a piece of cake.




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



"Did you learn anything?" Orlon asked.

"Not much," Amar answered, joining Orlon outside the hangar where the Warders' ship was housed. "Jaddo's back in the compound, and the guards that escorted him aren't off duty yet to come out and chatter. The nearest I can figure from the little I've heard is that they're done with the ship, or they've hit some kind of impasse. Whatever it is, everyone's calm and the compound hasn't been locked down. I don't think it's anything serious."

"But the compound's commander is here," Orlon said worriedly.

"He visits periodically," Amar shrugged. "Anything happening here?"

"Nothing," Orlon said. "No one has gone in or out since they took Jaddo away."

"What are you so worried about?" Amar asked. "It would be harder for Brivari to spring Jaddo while Jaddo's in the compound, so if they're keeping him there for some reason, that should be good news for us."

"If the ship is truly finished, the humans may decide to move him elsewhere," Orlon fretted.

"With all the resources they've invested in this place? Unlikely," Amar said. "And if I'm wrong, we'll just have to follow them, and Brivari will follow them too."

"Yes," Orlon said darkly, "to a place we don't know as well. All the intelligence we've gathered here would be useless, and we'd have to start over again. And that's assuming they merely move him instead of executing him like they almost did before, which would leave me with only one Royal Warder who knows the location of the hybrids."

"One is all we need," Amar said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. "Look, there are only two of us, and two of us aren't enough to either get Jaddo out of there or capture Brivari. All we can do is watch and wait for backup to arrive."

Orlon fell into a sullen silence, looking from the inaccessible hangar to the inaccessible compound which housed one of his targets. The other target was equally inaccessible; Brivari was maddeningly elusive, appearing and disappearing with an ease so casual it was infuriating. Although there had been that one time this morning when Amar had gotten very close to Brivari, so close that he could almost sense....fear? But he must have been mistaken. Brivari was a master at throwing someone off his trail, which is why he would never be caught without a whole lot of someone's on that trail. For all their industry, Amar and Orlon were merely marking time here, taking notes and keeping an eye on things until reinforcements arrived.

"I cannot afford to 'just wait'!" Orlon exclaimed suddenly. "If I don't have at least one of the Warders captive by the time Athenor arrives, I—"

"Athenor?" Amar broke in. "Athenor's coming here?"

Orlon stopped short, having obviously not intended to name names. Amar worked hard at appearing merely curious as opposed to guilty of snooping on Orlon's private transmissions and knowing of Athenor's impending arrival....and a lot more besides. "Yes," Orlon said finally, recovering. "He is leading the contingent of Argilians."

"Khivar's second in command is coming here?" Amar said in mock surprise. "Wouldn't Khivar want him on Antar?"

"Khivar did not make me privy to the reasons for his decision," Orlon said stiffly.

"I heard a rumor that Khivar sent Athenor to collect the royal family because he blames him for their deaths," Amar said casually. "Any truth to that?"

"I do not engage in gossip," Orlon announced.

"Another rumor has Athenor actually ordering the murder of the royal family," Amar continued. "I know Khivar claims he didn't want them dead; I heard him tell Brivari that. He said he loved Vilandra, and would have let the others live for her."

"You would be unwise to engage in gossip either," Orlon said flatly.

"But what if it's true?" Amar said. "What if Athenor really did order the royal family murdered? Imagine if Khivar's own second in command had betrayed him. A pity, really. For all that I hated Zan, I can't imagine Rath doing the same."

Orlon fixed him with a cold stare. "I would strongly advise you to keep any 'rumors' you've heard to yourself. Athenor will be most unhappy if he hears such nonsense when he arrives."

He'll be even more unhappy if I turn over what I have to his boss, Amar thought, keeping his expression carefully bland. The copy he'd made of Orlon's last known conversation with Athenor which contained his admission that he had ordered the deaths of the royal family was a card Amar intended to hold until the very last second. Maybe even beyond the very last second.

"We should have moved here sooner, when there were four of us," Orlon grumbled.

"There would never have been more than three because we couldn't leave the emergents," Amar reminded him.

"Then we should have left them," Orlon said in disgust. "To think that a bunch of unemerged Covari would slow down such an important mission is just too much to bear!"

"Those emergents were our payment," Amar said deliberately. "Our compensation for services rendered. Athenor wouldn't be setting foot on this rock in one piece without the work Malik and I did, and I consider that payment still due."

"You don't really think Khivar is going to try that again, do you?" Orlon said in astonishment. "He's far too busy trying to bring the five planets into line."

"I don't care what he's doing," Amar retorted. "I haven't been paid."

"You're alive, aren't you?" Orlon said coldly. "Take my advice and consider the debt settled. That's all the payment you're likely to get. Now get back out there and see what you can find out. I still don't like the smell of this."

Amar stalked away, fuming silently. I'll be paid, he thought darkly. One way or another, I'll see to it that I get paid.



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



As Spade rounded the corner into the main hallway, he was so furious that he barely saw the smiles and nods from other soldiers as he passed. He threatened me! he thought furiously. After all I've done for him, he threatened me! Brivari hadn't threatened him since that their very first encounter on the night when Cavitt had locked him up for refusing to sign his fictional account of what had happened with the alien who had surrendered. And while Spade shared his frustration with the aborted escape, it could have been worse. As it stood now, no one realized that an escape had been aborted, meaning they were free to try again at the earliest opportunity. It was of the utmost importance to choose the time for the next attempt carefully because they would only ever get one shot; if they were to fail mid-escape, John would be locked down so tight that God Himself and all His angels would have a hard time getting to him. Brivari was no fool, so he must realize that, making it all the more galling that he had decided to hurl furniture. The more Spade thought about it, the more angry he became, so by the time he reached the front doors to the compound, he'd worked up a good head of steam. Not a bad thing to have for an encounter with Cavitt.

"Ah, Captain!" Cavitt said cheerfully when Spade joined him in the narrow entranceway outside. "Thank you for coming so promptly. I know how busy you must be—heaven knows I always was—so I'll keep this short. Will you join me outside?"

Spade said nothing as he followed Cavitt down the entranceway and through the doors into the hazy, afternoon sunshine. Once outside, Cavitt moved far enough away from the guards so as not to be overheard before firing his opening salvo. "So, Captain—how's the new job?"

"It's a pain in the ass, sir," Spade said bluntly, mentally noting that Cavitt was perhaps a better fit for the position because he was a pain in the ass too.

"Yes, well, you know what they say," Cavitt said. "Be careful what you ask for, and all that."

"I didn't ask for this, sir. I was assigned to the post by General Ramey."

"If that's the story you prefer to tell yourself," Cavitt said blandly. "And it so happens that General Ramey is what I would like to speak with you about. I'd like you to deliver a message for me, if you would."

"You're free to speak to the General yourself, sir," Spade pointed out.

"I'm afraid not," Cavitt said regretfully. "You see, in an apparent bid to compound his already gargantuan idiocy, the General has refused my request for one last audience before I depart. Therefore I am forced to deal with his lackey."

"In that case, I'd be happy to deliver a message for you, sir," Spade replied, not missing a beat. "It's the least I can do for a fellow lackey."

Cavitt's eyes narrowed, and Spade would have sworn that the desert sun became noticeably cooler. "I am not, nor have I ever been Roger Ramey's lackey," Cavitt said coldly.

"You may not be General Ramey's lackey, sir, but you're somebody's lackey," Spade said. "Which is odd, because I never took you for the lackey type. Guess I was wrong about that."

"So we're speaking plainly, are we?" Cavitt said, his voice a block of ice. "Very well, then; allow me to be exceptionally clear. Ramey's days are numbered. I will see to it that he regrets his decision to remove me very, very soon."

"Are you planning to murder him too?" Spade asked casually.

Gotcha, Spade thought with enormous satisfaction as Cavitt's eyes widened in surprise before hardening again. "Excuse me?" Cavitt said in a deadly voice.

"I'd love to, Colonel...but I can't," Spade said as Cavitt flushed. "I know you had Privates West and Belmont killed three years ago to shut them up about your little fairy tale about the alien who surrendered, and to gain my sympathy. Those silver handprints were really silver paint. I know you had a hand in the death of a reporter, Betty Osorio, just a few days after the ship was found, and I'm willing to bet the list of your victims is a lot longer than that. So I'll ask you again—are you planning to add General Ramey to your trophy collection?"

Cavitt blinked. "And do you have any evidence of these outrageous accusations?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Spade said. "Perhaps General Ramey isn't the only one whose days are numbered."

"So why haven't you come forward with this evidence?"

"Ammunition, Colonel. Ammunition is precious; one should always expend it wisely. You taught me that."

Spade waited patiently while Cavitt weighed the likelihood that the aforementioned evidence actually existed. It didn't, of course, or not enough to actually do Cavitt any damage. But Cavitt didn't know that, and judging by the look on his face, he had reason to believe that Spade's bluff might not be a bluff. Interesting—that meant there was evidence out there, something they'd missed or hadn't found yet that could point the finger at him.

"I see," Cavitt said finally. "I should warn you, Captain, that command requires many hard decisions, and only those willing to make those hard decisions will succeed. The time will soon come when you will find yourself in a position that requires a hard decision. Take my advice and think carefully before you choose which way you will go."

"Don't worry about me, sir," Spade said pleasantly. "I chose my path a long time ago. And I'll also keep an eye on General Ramey. If anything untoward happens to him, I'll know just who to ask about it, now won't I?"

"I've enjoyed our chat, Captain," Cavitt answered coldly, ignoring Spade's question. "We'll be seeing each other soon."

"No, we won't. Corporal!" Spade called to the nearest guard outside the entranceway, "Colonel Cavitt is not to enter this compound without my express permission even if he has a pass signed by Jesus Christ. Understood?"

"Understood, sir," the guard answered, trying to keep the smile off his face.

Spade didn't bother to hide his own smile as Cavitt stalked off, heading for his car. As he opened the car door, Spade caught a glimpse of Major Lewis in the passenger seat along with.....wait. Who was that?

The car drove off as a prickle of unease stirred in Spade's gut. He could be wrong, but he would have sworn he'd seen the glint of stars in the back seat of Cavitt's car. Three stars, to be exact, which meant a Lieutenant General. What was a Lieutenant General and Major Lewis doing here? Were they just here to give Cavitt a pity party, or were they here to make good on Cavitt's threat? As Spade reached the doorway, another car drove by, the windows down because of the oppressive heat, the single star on the collar of the back seat's occupant clearly visible. More generals? Why were generals suddenly converging on Eagle Rock? Was this the swift retribution Brivari had predicted? Perhaps he should have paid more attention; after all, Brivari had always been right before......

"Corporal," Spade said suddenly to the nearest guard. "New orders: No one not already assigned here enters this compound, not even this entranceway, without either my or General Ramey's permission. Accept no passes from anyone, no matter how many stars they're wearing."

"Y...yes, sir," the guard said faintly, casting an uneasy glance in the direction of his fellow guard as Spade strode past. Once in the compound, he pulled LaBella aside.

"Call the base," he ordered. "Round up all of our personnel who are off duty, and get them back here on the double. Then join me in the armory; every guard is going to get an extra rifle."

"Yes, sir," LaBella answered, wide eyed. "May I ask why, sir? Is something wrong?"

"Not yet," Spade said grimly. "But there will be. Just wait for it."



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



"Would you please tell General West that I need to talk to him ASAP?" Ramey said. "Yes, I know I've already left three messages! I can count, Sergeant, and I'm gratified to know you can too!"

Ramey slammed the phone down and rose from his chair, too agitated to sit. He hadn't been able to reach even one of his friends in Washington, and no one had answered the urgent messages he'd left several times over the past several hours. So much for those "discreet inquiries" he'd promised the prisoner he'd make. So far he hadn't been able to get anyone on the phone to make any inquiry, discreet or otherwise, which was more than a little disturbing. More disturbing still was Keyser's account of his efforts to find the missing alien crystals. Some had wound up in predictable places such as an object d'art in the dining room of some high ranking officer's wife, but others had clearly been hidden despite the fact that Ramey had had a call out for those crystals for almost two years now. The prisoner's warning rang in his ears more loudly now than ever, but Ramey still didn't think it would come to that. Interest in the ship was too strong to block access to it for long. Perhaps it was time to return to Washington and confront people face to face.

"Sir?"

"What is it, son?" Ramey asked the soldier at the door.

"We've recalled all of our personnel from the base," Corporal LaBella replied. "The last of them are on their way back as we speak."

"Recalled? Why?" Ramey asked.

"Captain Spade's orders, sir," LaBella replied. "He's busy in the armory, so I thought I'd let you know—"

"The armory?" Ramey echoed. "What's he doing in the armory?"

"Issuing extra tranquilizer rifles to all the guards."

"What the hell for?" Ramey demanded.

"I....I'm not sure, sir," LaBella replied uncertainly. "I think it may have had something to do with Colonel Cavitt. He asked to see the Captain right before he left, and right after that was when he ordered us to recall all our personnel and stock up on rifles."

Ramey sighed heavily and sank back into his chair. "Get Captain Spade up here right away."

"Yes, sir."

Sheridan Cavitt, Ramey thought darkly as the corporal scurried away. You've left my compound, but you're still here. Cavitt must have said something to set Spade off, no big surprise given their prickly history. Still, that didn't excuse paranoia. Perhaps he'd promoted Spade a bit too quickly, although the last time he'd been promoted too quickly, he'd stepped into his new role with surprising aplomb.

"Sir, we have a problem," Captain Spade announced, sweeping into the room with the corporal Ramey had just sent to fetch him on his heels.

"He was already on his way here, sir," LaBella explained.

"Fine, son," Ramey answered. "Dismissed. Captain, what's this I hear about—"

"Sir, have you been able to reach any of your contacts in Washington?" Spade interrupted as the corporal beat a hasty exit.

Ramey's eyebrows rose. "I'd appreciate the chance to finish my sentences, Captain, and no, I haven't reached anyone yet. I left several messages, though, so—"

"I don't think they'll be answered," Spade broke in. "There's a group of generals gathering over at the main building, and I think I've heard you mention some of them before. Lieutenant General George McMullen—"

"McMullen is here?" Ramey said sharply. "I imagine his lap dog Major Lewis is here too, then."

"Yes, sir. I saw him in Cavitt's car when he left. Major General Henry Andrews, Brigadier General Stanford West—"

Spade stopped as Ramey held up a hand for silence. So that's why Stan hadn't been returning his calls—he wasn't in Washington to receive them. He was here, on this base, and he hadn't so much as uttered a peep to Ramey. "I get the point, Captain. Does this have anything to do with you battening down the hatches?"

Spade hesitated a moment before answering. "Sir, before Colonel Cavitt left, he threatened you. He said your days were numbered, and that we'd be seeing him again very soon. I think....I think they may be planning to take the compound by force."

"Force?" Ramey said in disbelief. "I'll grant you that Colonel Cavitt is a right royal jackass, but he doesn't have the firepower to pull that off."

"He doesn't, sir. But I'll bet all those Generals do."

"They wouldn't dare," Ramey snapped. "They know I'll expose them, expose all of us if they lift a finger against me!"

"Not if they remove the evidence, sir," Spade countered. "Take the compound, kill the prisoner, and there's nothing left to expose." He paused. "They'd do it, sir. You know they would."

"Captain, the last thing I am is naïve about the way this game is played, but I still have a hard time with the notion of American soldiers shooting at each other," Ramey said irritably. "I appreciate your concern, but I think you've gone a bit overboard—"

A knock sounded on the door, and Corporal LaBella popped his head in without waiting for an invitation. "Sorry to interrupt, sir, but all the phones out here just went down."

Ramey's eyes widened as he grabbed his phone and heard nothing but silence. Jiggling the hook switch up and down didn't help. "What happened?" he demanded.

"I don't know," LaBella confessed. "Everyone who was on a line said it just suddenly went dead."

"Check all the phones," Ramey ordered. Five minutes later when the three of them met in the hallway, it was clear that none of the phones in the compound were working.

"They've cut the lines, sir," Spade said. "They've cut us off."


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


I'll post Chapter 136 next Sunday.