Michelle: I did have a wonderful vacation, thank you! Glad you liked the bit about the newspaper. That was in loving (not!) memory of a previous carrier of ours who always managed to find the one tiny puddle at the base of our driveway. I swear he was aiming for it........
I imagine Ramey will be second guessing himself for a while yet. He just aided in the escape of what he knows could be a dangerous prisoner, and if the aliens decide to take revenge by going on a killing spree or something like that, he knows he'll be the one to blame. I don't envy him that.
Emily, as you noted, is in much better place now that the other shoe has dropped and missed her. By a fraction of an inch, perhaps, but a miss is a miss. Living in fear is a huge burden that eats away at you and wears you down; she must be feeling 100 pounds lighter!
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FORTY-SIX
June 12, 1950, 0815 hours
Eagle Rock Military Base
Settled in the back seat of the car, Spade looked up from the folder of papers he was reading as Corporal Thompson climbed into the driver's seat. "He's on his way, sir," Thompson said. "Should be here any minute now."
"Good," Spade replied. "Are they expecting us?"
"I just called; they'll be waiting. Sure you don't want to ride up here with me?"
"Positive. I've been looking forward to an opportunity like this since day one."
"You're a glutton for punishment if you see this as an 'opportunity', sir," Thompson said, his skeptical expression visible in the rear view mirror. "Do you think they'll get the charges to stick?"
Spade closed the folder with a sigh. "I don't know. Certainly some of them will, hopefully enough of them to make his life miserable for a long time to come. But I doubt we'll be here to watch. Don't repeat this, but if two weeks pass without having found the prisoner, Ramey's going to pull the plug on the compound and reassign everyone. You might want to give some thought as to where you'd like to be posted next, if anywhere."
"Sir?"
"Well, you did try to resign three years ago, remember? Then you changed your mind and reenlisted, not that they would have let you go in the first place."
"I remember that," Thompson said. "We were in the mess hall with the Geneva Convention dancing in my head when I tried to get you to sign off on the papers, and you wouldn't."
"And then you came to my quarters later and told me you'd decided to stay," Spade added. "And offered to watch my back. I believe I pointed out that you might regret making that offer."
"That you did, sir, that you did," Thompson murmured.
"And do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Regret making that offer."
"No, sir," Thompson said without a moment's hesitation. "On the contrary, I was thinking of staying."
"Now who's the glutton for punishment?" Spade said dryly. "But seriously, after everything we've been through, wouldn't you rather get a nice, safe desk job somewhere?"
"You'd think I might, wouldn't you?" Thompson said. "But that's the problem—after everything we've been through, a nice, safe desk job would bore me to tears."
"Boring doesn't look so bad right about now," Spade commented.
"Maybe," Thompson said doubtfully. "But it's more than that." He twisted in his seat so he could look at Spade. "Look at what life is like for most people, sir. Thoreau said, 'Most men live lives of quiet desperation, and go to the grave with the song still in them'. There's a lot of truth to that. I'm twenty-four years old, and already I've made a difference in this world that most people can only dream of. I want to keep doing that."
Spade looked at him blankly. "You read Thoreau? What the hell are you doing in the Army, Brian?"
Thompson broke into a smile. "Making certain I don't go to the grave with my song still in me, sir."
"Right," Spade said, shaking his head in amazement. "Well, with no aliens to guard or save, I don't know as you'll be having many earth-shattering missions. Face it—after what we've seen, even the Army will look boring. Anything would."
"Maybe," Thompson allowed. "But they're still out there. Will be for years yet. And if something happens, the armed forces will be the ones who get the call. I might not be done making a difference. Besides, we really shouldn't abandon the Army to the likes of Lewis and Cavitt, should we?"
As if on cue, the door opposite Spade opened, and Thompson quickly faced forward again. "Where am I going?" an angry voice snapped.
"General's orders, sir," answered another voice. "Get in the car."
A moment later, a furious Cavitt was half guided, half shoved into the back seat opposite Spade, and the car door slammed behind him. Cavitt was looking a bit worse for the wear. His hands were cuffed in front of him, he sported two days worth of beard growth, and he was still wearing the same uniform in which he'd been tranquilized. "Good morning, Colonel," Spade said. "So glad you could join me. Corporal—go ahead."
Cavitt's eyes flicked back and forth from Spade to Thompson, who wisely kept his eyes forward as he started the car and pulled away from the compound. "What's going on?" Cavitt demanded. "Where are you taking me?"
"For a short ride," Spade said calmly. "You're being confined elsewhere."
"Where elsewhere?" Cavitt persisted. "I know my rights, Captain. My case should be reviewed at 48 hours—"
"By your commanding officer," Spade interrupted, "who just happens to be Major General Ramey. The General conducted that review on schedule and decided to have you moved."
"I also deserve a 72 hour review by someone other than the confining officer," Cavitt insisted.
"You do, indeed," Spade agreed. "That review will be conducted by Lieutenant General McMullen, on whose shit list you currently reside because you didn't advise against his decision to ignore the broken x-rays and charge right in. He blames you for losing the prisoner and making him look like a fool, Colonel. Would you like to make a bet on what he's going to decide?"
"Then my case must be reviewed by a military magistrate independent of my command within seven days," Cavitt went on, uncowed. "Will anyone even know where to find me?"
"This may come as a shock to you, Colonel, but General Ramey doesn't operate the same way you do," Spade said blandly. "You will be assigned counsel, and that counsel will visit you within the next twenty-four hours to set a date for your hearing. Or if you'd rather do it your way, I can always drag you out of the car and smack you around a bit."
Cavitt shot Spade a look of such pure hatred that it was almost palpable. "You're enjoying this, aren't you, Captain?"
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't."
"This is incredibly basackwards," Cavitt fumed, rattling his handcuffs. "I know Ramey thinks I'm an idiot, but—"
"On the contrary, he thinks nothing of the sort."
"—I know that woman knew where the prisoner was!" Cavitt continued, ignoring Spade. "Did anyone even bother to follow up on the intelligence in my deposition?"
"Both the Proctor's and the Brazel's houses were thoroughly searched first thing Saturday morning—"
"Giving them plenty of time to hide the evidence," Cavitt grumbled.
"—and Deputy Valenti and I searched the Proctor's house Friday night only moments after you left and found nothing but a missing family and a ripped out phone," Spade continued. "Your own deposition is full of hunches and giant leaps of faith no magistrate will be willing to make. If that's what you call 'intelligence', you must be using a mighty weird dictionary."
"So where was David Proctor?" Cavitt demanded. "Why was he out in the wee small on the very night the prisoner escaped?"
"He was visiting a friend who'd had an emergency," Spade said. "The Sheriff said his alibi checked out."
"Of course he did!" Cavitt exclaimed in exasperation. "Proctor is in league with the Sheriff! Wilcox will say anything to protect him!"
"I had our own personnel check out Proctor's alibi, and it passed," Spade said evenly. "And in case you weren't aware, it's the sheriff's job to protect the citizens of his county."
"In case you weren't aware, it's our job to protect the American people!" Cavitt retorted.
Spade's eyes narrowed. "Is that what you thought you were doing? So invading a private citizen's home without probable cause, finding no evidence to support your contention, threatening a child, assaulting a woman and holding her hostage, and ignoring your CO's orders constitutes 'protecting the American people'? I'd agree the people need protection, Colonel, but I think we differ on who they need protection from. And so will the magistrate when Emily Proctor shows up to testify with her injured face, along with all the witnesses to your little spree. If I were you, I wouldn't be looking forward to that hearing."
"I didn't have time to jump through all the hoops," Cavitt said impatiently. "Go through all the paperwork and rules and mumbo jumbo, and the evidence has time to walk right out the door."
"Bullshit," Spade said sharply. "You never had any evidence to begin with. You were going to lock up Mrs. Proctor in the hopes that would produce evidence, weren't you?"
Cavitt said nothing, staring out the window in sullen silence. "I think you need a civics lesson, Colonel, because you're the one who's got things 'basackwards'," Spade said tersely. "You need evidence or at least probable cause first. Those 'hoops' are there for a reason, you're not the only one with 'rights', and, for the record, Mrs. Proctor is one of those American citizens you claim we're here to protect."
"We're here, sir," Thompson broke in.
"Where is this?" Cavitt demanded, staring out the window at the low, red brick building whose parking lot they were turning into. "Where have you taken me?"
Spade ignored him, his attention focused on two uniformed figures standing just outside the front door, Valenti's shit-eating grin reminding him of a kid on Christmas morning. He'd probably run right outside just as soon as Thompson had called.
"Where are we?" Cavitt asked again, his voice rising an octave as Thompson turned off the car and Spade climbed out. "What are you going to do with me?"
"Morning, gentlemen," Spade said as he handed over the folder of papers he'd been reading, Cavitt's voice still audible despite all the doors and windows being closed. "He's all yours."
"Excellent," Valenti smiled, opening the back door beside Cavitt, who fell abruptly silent when he saw Valenti and gaped openly when he saw who Valenti was with.
"Morning, Colonel," Sheriff Wilcox said pleasantly, one arm leaning on the car as he peered inside. "We meet again. Fancy that."
Cavitt's mouth worked for several seconds as his gaze jerked from one face to another. "What is the meaning of this?" he rasped. "Where am I? What is that?"
"That?" Wilcox said, looking over his shoulder at the brick building as though noticing it for the first time. "That, Colonel, is the County Sheriff's Station. My station. As to its 'meaning', it has only one meaning for you: It's also the county jail."
Cavitt's eyes popped. "What.....who.....do you mean.....you can't!" he burst out at last. "I'm a commissioned officer in the United States Army! You can't just throw me in a civilian jail!"
"Well, maybe I can't," Wilcox said regretfully. "But your CO is another matter. Good man, that General Ramey. Intelligent. Reasonable. Everything you're not," he added cheerfully as Cavitt's face darkened. "The General felt that in light of the charges against you, you could stand to cool your heels for a few days in a civilian jail, and I told him I'd be happy to oblige."
"I deserve a hearing in front of a military magistrate!" Cavitt thundered, smacking his cuffed hands on the back of the seat in front of him for emphasis. "I'm entitled to a military defender, a military—"
"So when you're the one accused, you like 'hoops', is that what you're saying?" Spade interrupted. "For someone so careless with other people's rights, you're awfully hot on securing your own."
"Don't get your knickers in a knot," Wilcox said calmly as Cavitt glared at Spade. "You'll get your defender, and your hearing, and whatever other bells and whistles Uncle Sam gives his boys. But you do have civilian as well as military charges pending against you, what with Captain Dodie's confession concerning the death of that reporter and Mrs. Proctor pressing charges, so until that hearing takes place, you'll be bunking with me. If you'd be so kind as to step out of the car."
"I'm not going anywhere," Cavitt insisted.
The Sheriff bent down, leaning closer to Cavitt. "Colonel, I can assure you that you will accompany us into my station. The only question is how. You can walk in under your own steam, or my deputy and I can haul your sorry ass out of this vehicle and drag you in in full view of anyone who wants to watch. It's entirely up to you. I'm in a generous mood this morning, so I'll give you one full minute to think it over."
Silence. Spade's eyebrows rose as Cavitt stayed put, sitting stiffly and staring straight ahead. Wilcox leaned lazily on the car, casually checking his watch as though he had a lunch appointment he didn't want to miss. Valenti's hands were clasped behind his back, his fingers twitching. He couldn't wait to haul Cavitt out of that car, and it looked as though he might get his chance until just before the minute was up, when Cavitt abruptly climbed out and stood facing Wilcox with a stare that could have frozen boiling water. Impressive, Spade thought. He never would have been able to cut it that close without a watch.
"I will see to it that you live to regret this if it's the last thing I do," Cavitt said, his voice shaking with fury.
Wilcox stepped forward, his face only inches from Cavitt's. "Colonel, I warned you to stay off my turf. You should have listened while you had the chance." He turned to Valenti. "Take this jackass inside and lock him up."
"Yes, sir," Valenti said with undisguised happiness.
"Just a minute," Cavitt snapped, wrenching his arm away from Valenti. "I want a word with my officer."
"The way I understand it, Captain Spade isn't 'your' officer any more," Wilcox noted. "You've been relieved of command."
"Nevertheless, I wish to speak to the chaperoning officer," Cavitt pressed. "Surely you can postpone the pleasure of locking me up for another few minutes? Or is that too much to ask?"
Wilcox shot Spade a questioning look, then shrugged and withdrew a few feet when Spade nodded, motioning to an obviously disappointed Valenti to join him. Cavitt turned toward Spade with a desperate look in his eyes that Spade had never seen before, and he mentally braced himself for the onslaught. "Colonel," he began, "before you go off on a tear, you should bear in mind that these are General Ramey's orders, and I have no authority to rescind them—"
"Shut up and listen to me," Cavitt said intently. "You're smart, Captain. I know you are. That's why I promoted you as quickly as I did. That's how you managed to capture both aliens. That's how you figured out that Privates West and Belmont did not die the way the official report says they did."
Spade's throat constricted. "You dare say that to my face?" he hissed. "To my face?"
"Spare me the drama," Cavitt said severely. "If you repeat this conversation, I'll deny ever having it....but that's not the point. Sometimes there are sacrifices that need to be made. True leaders, true patriots, understand this. You're in a position to be just such a leader, Captain. Being as intelligent as you are, I know you must see how the Proctors have conspired with this idiot sheriff to keep their involvement with the aliens a secret, so if you're just going along and following orders like a good little soldier, it's time you stopped doing that and act on what you know. You've got aliens out there on the loose, powerful, dangerous creatures. Be the kind of leader I know you can be. Ignore these fools and go after the Proctors yourself. Find the prisoner. Make certain those dangerous creatures never pose a threat to the American people again."
"Oh, believe me, I will, Colonel," Spade said, his voice husky with rage. "By testifying against you, I'll make certain that at least one of the most dangerous creatures I've had the ill fortune to meet never poses a threat to the American people again."
Cavitt's eyes widened as Spade stepped back. "Get him out of here," he said to Wilcox and Valenti. "We're done."
******************************************************
St. Brigit's Church
"Excuse me?" a voice said hesitantly.
Malik jerked guiltily awake, his eyes darting around the little basement room, looking for Brivari. He didn't have far to look—Brivari was opposite him, sound asleep like Malik had just been. But then this was Malik's watch, so Brivari was supposed to be asleep. Malik wasn't.
"Father O'Neill," Malik said to the priest, who was waiting toward the bottom of the staircase with laden arms. "I'm sorry. I.....must have fallen asleep."
"I'm astonished either of you are awake," the priest said, coming all the way down the stairs as Malik moved stiffly in his chair. "This round-the-clock surveillance must be exhausting. But I hear they've recalled the roadblocks, and no one has inquired after you here, so perhaps you'll be able to relax your vigilance a bit and get some rest."
"Perhaps," Malik said politely.
"I've brought more food," the priest continued, setting down his bags and bundles, "along with some leftover breakfast from the rectory. It's oatmeal—plain, but filling, and it's still hot."
"That's wonderful," Malik said sincerely. "We deeply appreciate anything you can do for us. How's your head?"
"Oh, it hurts, but the swelling has gone down," the priest said cheerfully. "I can't for the life of me figure out how I fell down that step. I celebrated my twentieth anniversary at this parish just last year, so it's not like I don't know it's there. I must admit that when I first came to, I was afraid something more sinister was afoot, but fortunately I was wrong."
No, you weren't, Malik thought as the priest chattered on. He did love to talk, this one, and that tendency had come in handy three nights ago when David and Emily Proctor had shown up to collect their daughter and had found Father O'Neill unconscious and badly injured on the floor of a small room referred to as a "sacristy". Once revived by Brivari and a healing stone, it was clear he had entirely missed the drama in his church and appeared to think that he'd tripped on a step leading to the sacristy and hit his head, an error no one bothered to correct.
"I'm glad you're feeling better," Malik said. "I hope it heals quickly."
"The important thing is that you and your friends are safe," the priest said. "Do let me know if you need anything else. Oh, and one more thing," he added with a twinkle in his eye. "I won't mention that I found you asleep if you won't."
Malik smiled, but that smile faded as the priest's footsteps disappeared up the stairs. These weren't his friends. His friend was dead. Amar's body had lain on the church floor for only a short time before it had been reduced to dust by a wave of Brivari's hand when they'd heard the Proctors coming and were unsure exactly who approached. That dust had disappeared to Malik didn't know where, but he strongly suspected it had been dumped somewhere. One considered a traitor would not be entitled to Covari funeral rites, though Malik doubted Amar would have cared one way or the other. But I care, he thought sadly as he sifted through the supplies the priest had brought. Amar's death was actually unsurprising; his hatred of Brivari meant that he would never have stopped pursing him, and Brivari felt justified in executing Amar, so there was really no other way that particular standoff could have ended, be it long or short. What was surprising was the manner of that death, that Amar hadn't lost his life, but given it....and the knowledge of who was responsible for that. She tried to kill me, Malik thought in amazement, as he had so many times now that he'd lost count. He'd known Marana was conflicted about everything going on back home, but never in his wildest dreams had he thought she'd go so far. He'd lost both people he'd counted as friends, one to ambition and the other to a bullet.
Sighing, Malik glanced over at Brivari; he was still sound asleep. They had supposedly been sleeping in shifts, but in reality, Brivari hadn't slept until yesterday afternoon, only to reawaken last night and fall asleep again early this morning. He was sleeping more soundly this time, most likely because Marana and Orlon had not made a reappearance. It appeared that Malik would have to take food in to Jaddo, something Brivari had been doing exclusively. Jaddo had been conscious for over a day now, but Malik had yet to lay eyes on him and was in no hurry to do so. But he must be getting hungry, having not eaten since yesterday evening.
*The priest has brought more food,* Malik said in telepathic speech, Jaddo being just on the other side of the nearby wall. *Brivari's asleep. Would you like me to bring it in?*
*Finally,* came Jaddo's impatient answer. *I thought perhaps you intended to let me starve in here.*
Great, Malik thought as he pushed aside a bookcase to gain access to the hidden room. All he needed now was a grumpy Warder. Jaddo was pacing the floor; he stopped when Malik entered, looking Malik up and down with a measuring stare that was most uncomfortable and made Malik long for Brivari's trademark dismissiveness. Dismissal was preferable to this sharp scrutiny.
"How are you feeling?" Malik asked as he set the food down on the little table.
"Like I've traded one cell for another," Jaddo said, annoyance permeating his voice, his posture, his very presence. "Only this one is smaller and less inviting, if that's possible."
Malik felt his stomach tighten. After all they'd gone through to get him out, after all the sacrifices that had been made, he had some nerve to complain about it. "If this isn't to your liking, you're welcome to go back," he said sharply, looking Jaddo straight in the eye. "I'm sure they'd be delighted to have you."
Jaddo's eyebrows rose. Malik returned his stare unblinking for several seconds before he spoke again.
"I am given to understand that you assisted in my rescue," Jaddo said, watching him closely.
"My apologies," Malik deadpanned, still peeved. "I'm sure it must be humiliating to be rescued by a rogue."
"I am also given to understand that Amar took a killing blow meant for you."
"You appear to be well informed," Malik said flatly. "Is there a point to this newscast, or are you just bored?"
To Malik's surprise, Jaddo smiled faintly, as though he was enjoying Malik's sarcasm. "Very well, then. What did she offer you?"
"Who?"
"Marana. You don't really expect me to believe that she just appeared out of nowhere and shot you, do you? She must have tried to parlay with you, and attempted to kill you when she failed. So....what did she offer you?"
Malik said nothing as Jaddo stared at him expectantly. Brivari had said very little about what had happened, not even having bothered to ask Malik this same question. But then he probably already knew the answer. Jaddo apparently didn't.
"Marana claimed to have found the hybrids," Malik replied, seeing no reason not to reveal that even if Brivari hadn't yet. "She wanted me to leave with her and relocate them."
"Understandable," Jaddo said, not the least bit surprised.
"She also claimed Brivari would kill me just as soon as he didn't need me anymore," Malik added. "Was she right?"
Malik wasn't certain what response he'd been expecting to that bald question, but he definitely hadn't expected the one he got. Instead of a glib answer or a sharp remark, Jaddo fell silent for a full minute, staring off into space. "I'm not sure," he said at length, absolutely serious. "Brivari hasn't said what his plans are for you. I'd wager he doesn't have any yet."
"So Marana could be right?" Malik challenged.
"If you were worried Brivari would kill you, then why did you seek him out?" Jaddo asked.
"To save Lieutenant White's life," Malik said. "She was beyond mine or Marana's help, and way beyond human help. She'd be dead now if I hadn't found Brivari."
It was instantly apparent that Jaddo wasn't as well informed as previously thought. He stared at Malik, thunderstruck, having obviously not heard this part of the tale. "Something happened to the Lieutenant?" he demanded when he'd recovered his voice. "What happened? Why wasn't I told?"
"I don't know why he didn't tell you," Malik answered, mystified as to why Brivari would have kept this secret, "but Pierce managed to impregnate her with your reproductive cells. Naturally, it didn't work; with no gandarium, the two cells could combine only enough to endanger her life. Marana delivered the fetus, such as it was, but neither of us could heal a human with a healing stone. Only Brivari could do that, so Mr. Proctor told me where to find him."
Jaddo's face contorted, and he turned his back to Malik, appearing to be fighting for control. "That bastard," he breathed, his shoulders taut with rage. "I warned Brisson to stymie Pierce, to prevent this from ever happening—"
"He tried," Malik interrupted. "And succeeded for almost two years. Brisson's also one of the reasons the Lieutenant is still alive. He knew what was happening to her and did his best to help her, even stepping aside to let us take over. Don't blame Brisson—blame Pierce."
Jaddo was silent for so long that Malik had almost decided to leave when he abruptly turned around. "You took a huge risk going after Brivari. I'm astonished he didn't kill you."
"So am I," Malik admitted. "And he very nearly did."
When Jaddo turned away again, Malik decided the conversation was over. He'd already made two major revelations that Brivari had for some reason kept quiet, so he was likely in a heap of trouble. No sense in making it worse. "Enjoy your breakfast," he said quietly, starting to close the door.
"Wait."
Malik paused. Jaddo was still facing the wall, his arms folded in front of him. "Do you see the small box in the corner?" Jaddo asked.
Malik's gaze drifted around the tiny room, his eyes falling on the box in a corner near the bed. "Yes," he said guardedly.
"That contains Amar's dust. Take it."
"Excuse me?"
"I am not certain why Brivari has not yet disposed of it," Jaddo said, "but when he does, I sincerely doubt he will do so properly. I would imagine you would prefer another option. Take it and dispose of it as you see fit."
Malik looked from the box to Jaddo in consternation. "What's this?" he demanded. "Are you trying to get me killed? Don't you think the odds of that are good enough without you setting me up?"
Jaddo's head swiveled around. "You don't know me," he said softly, "so allow me to explain something. I don't play games. I have no need to 'set you up'. If I felt your death a necessity, I would tell Brivari that and accomplish that task myself if he refused." He turned away again. "Understand that I feel nothing for the one whose remains that dust represents. He was a rogue and a traitor, and in my opinion, his end was better than he deserved. I have many faults, but sentimentalism is not one of them."
"Then why do this?" Malik persisted. "Is this.....is this some sort of payment?"
"Call it what you like," Jaddo said. "Take it or not, as you like. But whatever you do, do it quickly. Brivari won't be asleep much longer."
Malik hesitated only briefly before retrieving the box from the corner and closing the door to the hidden room without saying another word, sliding the bookcase back in front and heading up the narrow staircase after checking to make certain Brivari was still asleep. The church was empty this Monday morning and light streamed in the stained glass windows as he crossed the front of the church on the way to the nearest door. He paused before leaving, checking for telltale infrared signatures, only too well aware that he was leaving Jaddo and Brivari vulnerable by stepping away. Maybe it was all for naught anyway. If there was no wind, he'd have to hide the dust and wait till later. He opened the door, stepped outside.....and smiled.
The wind was blowing.
******************************************************
Copper Summit, Arizona
Marana's eyes fluttered open; a moment later she blinked, trying to make sense of what she saw: Nothing. Nothing but white, an expanse of white that seemed to go on forever. She recalled what she'd heard about the room in which Jaddo had been held captive, and bolted upright in panic....
.....only to sink back in relief. She was half sitting, half lying in a chair, her head flung backward, the white expanse nothing more than the ceiling of the front room at their base. She'd been here awhile judging by the stiffness in her legs and arms, one of which was flung out to the side, palm upward. On the floor beneath was a single healing stone which must have dropped from her outstretched hand. Healing stone? Who had needed a healing stone?
With a jolt, Marana pulled herself into a sitting position as she remembered how she'd gotten here and why. Orlon lay on the couch nearby, whether asleep or unconscious, she couldn't tell. His heart beat erratically, his breathing labored, and Marana slumped back into the chair, exhausted, every movement an effort. It had taken two days of sporadic sessions with the healing stone to keep Orlon alive, draining her own dangerously low reserves of energy in the process. And we almost didn't get this far, she thought wearily, remembering their long flight from the church where her brilliant plan had ended in tragedy. Orlon had been nearly dead when she'd pulled him away from Brivari, and she had been nearly spent, having miscalculated how quickly she would tire after her earlier ordeal. Keeping him alive had involved stealing a vehicle, raiding a human hospital for "supplies", or what passed for such in primitive human medicine, and a good deal of luck as she'd raced to return him to their base where a healing stone was available....and where she'd made a most disturbing discovery.
Struggling to a sitting position again, Marana pulled back the blanket covering Orlon's chest. The handprint was still there, a garish, silver outline of a human hand. The amount of energy needed to leave such a mark was huge; the Royal Warders were far more powerful than the scientists who had created them had anticipated. Which meant that Zan and the rest of the Royal Four would be at least as powerful when they emerged, a sobering thought if ever there was one and all the more reason why they should be guarded by one of those creators, not to mention vindication for everything she'd done to find them.
Marana had never expected the Proctors to actually tell her where the hybrids were, but she had hoped they would lower their collective guard and let something slip. Her first—and only—dinner with the family had made it clear that wasn't going to happen when David Proctor proved more astute at ferreting out her motives than she ever would have guessed. So she had resorted to subterfuge, taking the daughter's shape after everyone had fallen asleep and hoping Emily's exasperated sleepiness would prove useful. It hadn't...or not at first. Marana had barely begun when she'd heard Brivari's approach and fled, having suspected for some time now that the only reason he'd allowed her to live was because he found her potentially useful in securing Jaddo's escape. Now that Jaddo was free, Brivari would be free to kill her, and she'd had no intention of giving him the chance. She'd left with no real idea of what to do or where to go when something Emily Proctor had said suddenly made sense.
"I'm not hauling out to the desert in the middle of the night, and that's that."
The desert. Initially, Marana hadn't paid any attention to that directional signal. This particular region of Earth was surrounded by the climate known as "desert", and the hybrids could indeed be hidden there, almost anywhere. But then she'd remembered something from back when the project was in full swing and Antarians were making regular visits to Earth, testing human children in laboratory chambers hidden from humans. One of those chambers was indeed in a desert, carved into a striking rock formation that jutted into the sky. They had tested children all over the planet, and that chamber could be anywhere, but it certainly couldn't hurt to look.
It hadn't taken her long to find it. The rock formation was even more imposing up close than in the images back home, and she had spent a good deal of time scouring it for a handprint lock. When she finally found it, she knew she'd found what she was looking for because the lock wouldn't open. There would have been no need to bioimprint the lock as no human could have found it, much less opened it. There could be only one reason why this particular lock was looking for a particular genetic code: The hybrids were hidden inside. It was the perfect hiding place, close to the crash site and impregnable. Even for me, she'd thought with annoyance. She would need a sample of either Brivari's or Jaddo's genetic material to gain access, and a good-sized sample at that; the presence of more than just a minute amount of unauthorized material would cause the lock to fail. Fortunately she had a source close at hand and sufficient opportunity—Malik had access to the Warders. Malik, who wanted to save Zan and loved living with humans, making him the perfect partner.
Malik, you idiot, Marana thought bitterly. Why didn't you listen to me? She'd played Orlon like a fiddle, telling him she was willing to sell her information to the highest bidder and making him think that bidder was Brivari when it had really been Malik. She'd never expected Malik to insist on staying until Jaddo had recovered, or Orlon to insist on attacking immediately; it would have been much more prudent to wait until Brivari fell asleep. But Orlon had never been noted for patience, Malik had backed her into a corner, and that hopelessly stupid Amar had suddenly acquired convictions and intervened, proving himself every bit the idiot Malik was and leaving only Marana and Orlon to do something about the hybrids. She had no idea if Malik had survived, but if he had, he'd made his choice....and she had made hers. She was going to make her discovery work for her any way she could.
"Mmmh......"
Marana turned her head to find Orlon stirring, his eyes open. "Where.....where am I?" he whispered with a dazed expression.
"At the house," she answered in a voice not much stronger than his. "Do you remember what happened?"
"He was on me," Orlon whispered after a moment, "and I was burning....burning....." His hand rose to his chest and he looked down, his eyes widening at the sight of the silver handprint. "What is this?"
"A residual energy signature," Marana said. "A few more seconds, and you'd have been dead. You very nearly were anyway. I kept you alive on the way home and brought you back with the healing stone."
"Where is Amar?" Orlon demanded, sounding stronger now.
"You're welcome," Marana muttered. "And he's dead. He took the bullet meant for Malik."
"Is Malik dead as well?"
"I didn't hang around to find out," Marana said impatiently. "The only way to save your life was to get you out of there as fast as possible and hope Brivari would care more about protecting Jaddo than following us. Fortunately it worked."
"We must contact home immediately," Orlon declared, struggling to his feet only to promptly sink back down on the couch.
"We can't even navigate the house," Marana told him. "We'll both be several days recovering, you because of your injuries and me because of healing them. The best thing we can do right now is eat and rest."
"No," Orlon insisted, climbing off the couch again, successfully this time. "We must contact home immediately. Tell me where the hybrids are."
"I'm not telling anyone where the hybrids are until I have certain assurances as to payment," Marana snapped. "I—"
And suddenly Orlon was on top of her, leaning on her for support as his hands gripped her throat with surprising strength. "You listen to me," he said through clenched teeth. "I have failed at every task set for me since our arrival, and now I find myself within reach of the greatest prize anyone could want. You will tell me where those infernal Royals are, or I swear to the humans' God, I'll strangle you!"
And he could, Marana thought frantically, struggling in his grip. Orlon was greatly weakened, but so was she, too weak even to shift. "All right," she gasped. "We'll do it together. You won't make it downstairs alone," she continued hurriedly when his eyes narrowed. "And you'll be there when I tell them, so you'll hear it too." The hands tightened, and Marana's eyes hardened. "Kill me, and you won't have a call to make," she said. "I want at least some of the credit, Orlon. I found them. I am one of the few bioscientists left who knows anything about how they were created and what to expect when they emerge. Don't you think that will be useful to Khivar when his lover reappears? Don't you think being useful to Khivar is a good idea right now? Kill me, and you lose that."
Slowly, very slowly, Orlon's grip relaxed. "Very well, then," he said coldly. "We go together."
Ten minutes later, Marana raised her hand to the handprint lock and opened the basement chamber. Orlon had nearly passed out twice on the way down, and she had seriously considered letting him while she made the call herself. If she did, she would have to either kill him or run, as Orlon would certainly kill her when he regained consciousness and found out what she'd done. She didn't have the strength for either, and besides, now that her fortunes were tried to the Argilians, it would be wise to stand beside the Covari closest to them. She helped Orlon through the door and over to Amar's workbench on which lay a communicator. Orlon held a shaky hand over it, the symbol on top glowed, and after a moment, a hologram appeared. But the figure in the hologram wasn't Khivar, or Athenor, or anyone from home. It was Amar.
"Hello, Orlon," Amar's image said.
"What is this?" Orlon demanded, leaning heavily on the workbench for support. "Is this some kind of trick?"
"It's a recording," Marana whispered.
"Since you've initiated a communication, I'm going to guess that I'm not with you," Amar continued. "That's a safe bet because if I were with you, I would have disabled this message myself before you discovered it. So now I'm left to wonder why I'm not there."
"He's not here because you shot him," Orlon muttered.
"I wasn't trying to shoot him," Marana retorted. "He jumped in front of the gun!"
"I suppose it's possible that I've met with some kind of accident," Amar's voice continued, almost as if responding to Marana. "But I think it's far more likely that you double-crossed me. That's another safe bet because you lied to me about the emergents. As much as I hate Brivari, I know he didn't kill them—you did."
Orlon stared at the image in stony silence as it paused, as though letting that information sink in. "And since I know you lied to me once, you could certainly lie to me again," Amar continued. "If Marana and Malik didn't surprise Brivari trying to kill the emergents, they must have surprised you....and you killed them both, didn't you? You killed the only reason I agreed to work for the Argilians in the first place, the scientist who could have helped them, and the only friend I ever had. You bastard."
The image paused again, Amar's holographic face a mask of cold fury. "So whatever you did to get rid of me," he continued angrily, "I still get the last word. I intend to make you very, very unhappy that you ever decided to tangle with me."
Marana eyes widened, and she glanced quickly around the room, scarcely registering that Amar had just given her a compliment. Nothing looked amiss, but that was not reassuring; for all that she'd hated him, Amar was a talented engineer capable of wreaking all kinds of havoc. "We should leave," she said nervously, tugging on Orlon's arm.
"Remember that little chat you had with Athenor last year where he admitted having ordered the deaths of the Royal Four?" Amar continued. "I saved that transmission. As soon as you activated the communicator, it was sent directly to Khivar. So now he knows exactly who killed his precious Vilandra, not to mention who's working with the one who killed her. Oh, and I made certain to send it in your name so that Athenor will think you're the one who ratted him out. You just lost your sponsor. Congratulations."
This announcement produced completely different reactions from Orlon and Marana. The former uttered a string of epithets and pounded his fist on the workbench, while the latter uttered a sigh of relief. So this was Amar's revenge. Bad news for Orlon, certainly, but it had no effect on her and the momentous news she had for whoever would make it worth her while.
"I'd love to be there when Athenor, or Nicholas, or whatever he plans to call himself gets there, assuming Khivar lets him live," Amar continued. "I'd love to see what he'd do to you. But I apparently can't be there, and I'm willing to bet you'll run. And that just won't do."
Amar walked closer until his face filled the imager. "So take this from the three of us," he said softly. "A parting gift from your victims." His face split in a wide smile. "Goodbye, Orlon."
The image froze, Amar's smile hanging in space above the communicator. "What does that mean?" Orlon growled.
"Oh, no," Marana whispered, all her earlier fears charging back. "We have to get out of here! Now!"
"Why?" Orlon demanded. "He's already ruined me! What else could he possibly do? If—"
He never got the chance to finish his sentence.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 147 next Sunday.
(And we'd love it!) 
That's a frightening level of hubris. This is an example of where "Ignore Lists" come in handy.
Bad, bad Kathy! I will make a point of looking back a week or two from now on.