Roswell Fanatics

Happy Easter. Great chapter. I liked the interaction between Brivari & Larek.

Hello, all! I appreciate everyone reading, and everyone leaving feedback. We had a very nice Easter here. It actually stopped snowing.





CHAPTER FIVE



September 2, 2000, 2:15 a.m.

Roswell UFO Center




The human dangled in the air, helpless as a fly stuck on a no-pest strip as Brivari sighed inwardly and shook his head. Here they were, on the verge of vanquishing the Special Unit, only to discover a new threat—Nicholas was recruiting humans. At least that was the only plausible explanation for having found a personal invitation to this very place at this very time in Roswell's newspaper, buried in an ad for the UFO Center and written in Antarian, no less. Honestly, couldn't they find at least a few months of peace before the next whirlwind hit?

"Did you hear me?" the human bleated. "I said 'I'm Larak—"

"I heard you," Brivari interrupted. "Apparently it was you who did not hear me. I told you to choose your next words carefully, and you blew it."

"How so?" the human demanded. "I just told you I'm the king's closest friend!"

"So you name-dropped," Brivari said. "You've been name-dropping since you opened your mouth. Besides, I know Larak, and I can assure you he doesn't look anything at all like the current owner of this establishment, one indisputably human Brody Davis, who looks suspiciously like...you."

"Yes, this is Brody's body," the human said impatiently, "but his mind is asleep right now. I'm borrowing—"

"Are we still on that tack?" Brivari interrupted. "If you're going to make up a story, at least make up a good one."

"It's not a story," the human insisted. "You know that. We were working on it before you left!"

"We were working on a number of things," Brivari said, "and the key word there is 'working'. That one never panned out. How much is he paying you?"

"He...who?"

"Nicholas," Brivari said. "Or whichever henchman you deal with. Whatever he promised you, I can assure you he won't deliver. You'll be dead just as soon as he gets what he wants, or figures out he never will."

"Okay, now I'm getting pissed," the human said crossly. "I haven't spent all these years fighting Khivar only to be accused of working with him. I'm telling you, I'm Larak, and I'm borrowing this human's body so I can communicate with you without Khivar knowing. We perfected the process long after you left—"

"Yada, yada, yada," Brivari said in a bored tone. "And since when does Larak use the word 'pissed'?"

"Since I learned it from my host!" the human retorted. "Since when does the King's Warder say 'yada, yada, yada'?"

"Since I learned it watching far too much human television. If you spent more time with the TV, maybe you wouldn't be dying so young. Any last words?"

"At Zan's wedding," the human said, "I sat with his father, and Riall told me you were in the wedding party. I almost missed the vows trying to figure out which one was you. How would I know that if I wasn't there?"

"Because somebody told you," Brivari answered. "Half of Antar was at that wedding. Try harder."

"Half of Antar sat next to Riall during his son's wedding?" the human said. "I very much doubt that."

"So something wound its way through the palace gravevine and landed here," Brivari shrugged. "Unlikely, I'll grant, but hardly unthinkable."

"When Zan found out his father had asked you to Ward him, he was furious," the human said desperately. "The first time you formally called on him as his Warder, he wouldn't let you in. I was there that day. I watched him slam the door in your face."

Brivari regarded the dangling human with new interest. Zan had indeed denied him entry, and Larak had been with him that day; he'd glimpsed him inside the room as the door had closed. That was a private event, the news of which was much less likely to have traveled far. Certainly many knew that Zan had been less than pleased with his father's choice of Warder, but these details...

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Brivari, wake up!" the human shouted. "We can't just jump in a ship and come visit, or Khivar would blow us out of the sky! Do you really think bioscience shut down after you left? Is it that inconceivable that we learned something new during the decades you've been gone? I've been trying to make contact for ages, and now I've finally found you, and you won't even hear me out! It's not like we're evenly matched, so what are you afraid of? That I might be right? That I—"

With a soft thump, the human's body dropped to the floor; he landed hard and winced, one hand to his back as Brivari frowned in consternation. His prisoner had a point—the building was empty, he wasn't a Skin, and he didn't seem to have any way of fighting back save by talking. There seemed no threat to hand, but as for his story...that was another matter.

"So," Brivari said slowly, squatting before the groaning would-be Larak. "I'm supposed to believe you're Larak." He paused, studying him carefully. "Nope. Not feeling it."

The human started to laugh, hacking guffaws that sounded more like coughs and appeared to cause pain, judging by the way he cradled his midsection. "Oh, this is too funny," he chuckled. "If you hadn't just about broken my host's body, I'd be rolling."

"Apparently I missed the joke," Brivari observed.

"Well you shouldn't have, because the joke is you," the human said. "Look at you there, all in a knot trying to figure out if it's really me. Usually it's the rest of us trying to figure out if a Covari is who they say they are, but this time it's your turn. If only the others could see me now. It's quite the turn-around. I expect you and I will have a laugh about it someday."

"But not today," Brivari noted. "So if you're Larak in a human body, what happened to the human?"

"He's asleep," the human answered, pushing himself into a sitting position with some difficulty. "Or thinks he is. Transference is easier when they're asleep; they fight you less and write off anything they remember as a dream, assuming you return them to where you found them."

" 'Transference'.…?"

"Stop bluffing," the human said crossly. "It may have been experimental in your day, but you're familiar with the basic concept—I've transferred my consciousness into another mind. We can't do it with just anyone, and this particular host is unusually receptive, which is why I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't break him. We've spent years perfecting this, and I've spent years grooming him and looking for you. It'd be a pity to throw it all away just because you're having a senior moment."

"Amazing how you've picked up the lingo," Brivari said dryly.

"I've had plenty of time," the human noted. "Did I not just mention that?"

"So...'Larak'...where are you, exactly?" Brivari asked. "Your body, I mean."

The human's smile faded. "Locked down tight. We're helpless when we do this, Brivari. Sitting ducks. It'd be child's play to kill us, which is probably why Kathana and the rest of them delegated the job to others."

"But you didn't."

The human fixed him with a level stare. "I was Zan's best friend. And I knew you, at least a little. Look how you're reacting when it's me; how would you have reacted if I'd sent someone you didn't know? They'd be dead by now, that's how. The rest of them agreed with me, but personal safety trumped all, and no surprise—several of the delegates have been assassinated. Hunting for 'Earth-walkers' has become something of a sport on the five planets."

"And yet you survived!" Brivari said cheerfully. "What a miracle!"

"Don't be a jackass," the human retorted. "I survived because no one believes I'm doing this myself; they assume I delegated like the rest of them, so they spend their time looking for those phantom delegates. I learned early on to plant a few for them to find so they wouldn't get wind of the truth, and that kept them busy...but then the message came."

"What message?" Brivari asked innocently.

"Oh, stop it," the human said wearily. "They initiated communication, all four of them, and triggered a message left by the Queen Mother. Everyone's been in an uproar ever since, none more so than Khivar; can you imagine his worst nightmare come true? Zan lives! He called home! I sent my host on a treasure hunt to find out where the signal came from, and here I am. Right where you started." He paused. "We don't have a lot of time, Brivari. We've kept the mechanics of transference from Khivar, but eventually he'll figure it out, and when he does, you'll have even more trouble figuring out who's who. We really should get down to business."

"And what business would that be, exactly?"

"The business of establishing trust so we can accomplish something," the human said. "I didn't take this risk and finally find you only to have you blow me off."

Brivari considered this in silence for a moment. The tone was definitely Larak, and the story intriguing, if implausible...but not unthinkable. They'd managed stranger things in their time. And the benefits of speaking directly to a leader of one of the five planets who was not only sympathetic to Zan's cause but a personal friend as well were immeasurable.

"Agreed," Brivari said. "So where do we start?"

"Two places," the human answered, shifting painfully on the floor. "First, if you still have contact with the Argilian Resistance, they know about this. They can vouch for the process, if not me personally."

"The Resistance knows?" Brivari murmured. "Interesting. And the second?"

"This host has been useful, and I daresay you broke something. It's not his fault that our worlds are a mess. Fetch a healing stone, would you? This hurts like hell."

Brivari raised an eyebrow. "All that human vernacular, and you still didn't pick up the magic word?"

"I cross light years, and he wants me to beg," the human grumbled. "Wait till Zan hears about this. Very well, then...'please'?"




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




11 a.m.

Crashdown Cafe





"Order up!"

Pocketing her order pad, Courtney approached the passthrough. "That was speedy," she said to Michael. "You're getting faster in your old age."

"Like you'd know about old age."

"You never know," Courtney said, loading up plates. "Maybe I'm secretly way older than you."

"Uh huh. Not those," Michael said, pulling back a couple of plates which had been off to the side. "I'm delivering those personally."

"Giving up cooking for waitressing? Take my advice, and don't."

"We're celebrating," Michael corrected, nodding to someplace behind her. "And I'm on break, so I'm celebrating with them."

Courtney turned around to find Max and Isabel in a booth, both looking much happier than they had been recently. "Celebrating what? School starting?"

"Very funny. Back in 20."

"Twenty whole minutes without you?" Courtney said innocently. "How will I survive?"

Michael smiled faintly. "You'll live. Just yank Julio's chain instead."

"It's just not the same as your chain," Courtney sighed.

"Yeah? Well, no one yanks the way you do," Michael said. "Just ask Maria."

"Who's quite the yanker herself," Courtney noted. "You keep throwing around compliments like that, and I might start thinking you like me, Mikey G."

They parted with mutual smiles, Michael with his plates and she with hers. Michael was always up for a joust, and their banter was the highlight of her day. "Just a sec," she told a customer who called for coffee as she sailed by, returning a minute later, coffee pot in hand, only to freeze momentarily.

"You know, I think the black eyes are growing on me," Courtney remarked. "But I gotta wonder, why are you never a woman? Don't you ever get tired of being a guy? All those fiddly bits."

"Amusing," Brivari deadpanned. "Males are dominant in human society. And I don't have to have 'fiddly bits' unless I need them."

"Good point," Courtney allowed. "You should have heard the first of us to put on a male husk. They couldn't believe what humans had hanging out, until they figured out what they could do with it, that is."

"Speaking of which, were you ever going to tell me that you're Rath's intended?"

Courtney set the coffee pot down with a smile. "Wow. That was fast. I only talked to Dee yesterday, and she got to you already?"

"With all the requisite shock and indignation," Brivari noted. "Which I don't share, by the way. I think it's a wonderful idea."

Courtney blinked. "Wait...you do? You think it's a good idea."

"I do," Brivari nodded. "One of Jaddo's best. It's about time he came up with a good one."

"Did not see that one coming," Courtney admitted. "I thought you'd go all 'suitable marriage' on me."

"How is the daughter of the Argilian Resistance leader unsuitable? That union might do more to bring peace than anything else. Besides, I've been watching you flirt over the frittatas all summer. He likes you."

"Yeah, well...he doesn't really know me," Courtney said. "Not yet." She glanced beyond him to where the Royal Three were seated. "So what's making His Highness all giddy? He's almost smiling. Emphasis on 'almost'."

"Dee managed to convince Zan's mother that he no longer needed to visit the doctor," Brivari explained.

"Suh-weet!" Courtney exclaimed. "Dee was so busy going all 'arranged marriage' on me that she never even mentioned it. How'd she pull that off?"

"With a combination of her usual tenacity and some skillful manipulation which she learned from yours truly," Brivari answered, a hint of pride in his voice.

"Yep, you're one master manipulator," Courtney agreed. "I'll have to give her an attagirl next time I see her. If I can get her to shut up about the other stuff, that is."

"So what do you know about transference?"

Courtney blinked. "And...how did we get from the king's head shrinker to transference?"

"So it's real?" Brivari asked.

"Yeah, of course it's real. I'm just more used to Jaddo doing an ADD 'look-a-chicken' moment...wait. That was the point, wasn't it? To see how I'd react? Sometimes I hate you," Courtney went on when he gave her a small smile. "Make that most of the time."

"I'm flattered," Brivari said.

"You would be," Courtney muttered. "But what brought that up? No one's transferred for years, at least not that I know of."

"So you've interacted with individuals claiming to practice this? Personally, or is this hearsay?"

Courtney raised an eyebrow. "And just when I was occasionally forgetting that you're a palace wonk. Yes, I've 'personally interacted', which is what normal people call 'talking'. It was kinda cool but awfully dangerous, and basically unnecessary. With the right precautions, we could use communicators to do the same thing with a lot less risk. Why?"

Brivari was quiet for a moment. "I have been approached by someone claiming to have...'transferred'. I hadn't realized it had moved beyond the experimental stage."

"Of course you didn't. You've been basically incommunicado for ages now. But why would..." Courtney stopped, thinking. "Of course. You can't use a communicator. You can't pick up and move when they trace the signal because the hybrids can't pick up and move, so transference might be the only way to talk to you directly. They'd just have to find you; that would be the hard part."

"Made easier by hybrids who activate communicators against their Warders' advice," Brivari noted. "How does it work, this 'transference'?"

"What, your contact didn't explain that? Oh...I get it!" she exclaimed, breaking into a wide smile. "You're not sure whether to trust them! So you want to compare what I know about it with what they told you so you can see if they're really who they say they are. Damn! Now you know how we feel—"

"The irony of the situation has been pointed out to me," Brivari broke in with a pained expression. "Many times. Can we skip the gloating and get to the comparing part?"

"Hell, no!" Courtney declared. "I'm going to gloat, and you can't stop me. Back in a few!"

She left him stewing and took her sweet time checking her tables and taking a new order, humming the whole way at the thought of a Covari struggling to identify someone who didn't look the way they should. Served him right, and he was thoroughly and satisfyingly impatient by the time she reappeared.

"Took you long enough," he groused.

"You want me to lose my job?" Courtney asked, shrugging innocently. "Now...Transference 101. This is all courtesy of the experiments your king—"

"And yours."

"—conducted on this planet," Courtney continued, ignoring him. "The human brain produces electrical signals which can be intercepted like...okay, think of them as radio waves, and each mind is at a different spot on the dial. As you move the dial, you pick up different brains the same way you pick up different radio stations, and just like stations, sometimes they come in strong, sometimes weak, sometimes not at all. Transference allows you to tune in to one station—think brain—and piggyback on to that signal. If you can do that, you basically take over the host's body, and suddenly you're walking around on planet Earth, and all without having to return your tray table to its upright and locked position."

"Hilarious," Brivari muttered. "Go on."

"Trouble is, it's hard," Courtney continued. "Finding a receptive mind with a strong enough signal which won't fight you is like looking for a needle in a haystack. And then there's the problem of what happens to your body back home. You're helpless, so if someone finds you while you're transferred, they can bump you off, no problem. That's why it was abandoned; so many people died doing it, and even those who lived didn't get very far. Finding four hybrids and two Warders among several billion people isn't easy. Just ask Nicholas."

"I'd rather not. So what happened to the people you met who 'transferred'?"

"One of them had to stop when his host got grouchy," Courtney answered. "Another died on Antar, leaving us with a very confused human who woke up several states away from where he last remembered being. Most of the 'alien abduction' stories from the 70's and 80's are actually transference."

The Crashdown's door jingled, and Ava appeared, sliding into the booth with the other three. "Think they'll ever be the 'Royal Four' again?" Courtney murmured. "Seems more like the 'Royal Three'."

"They'll get there," Brivari said, fishing through his wallet. "Just give them time."

"Ava's helping Rath practice using his powers," Courtney noted. "She seems to have more in common with Rath than Zan."

"Are you worried you have competition?" Brivari teased, leaving a pile of bills much larger than his tab on the counter. "Keep the change."

"The only reason I put up with you is you're such a big tipper," Courtney remarked.

"Ask me sometime why I put up with you," Brivari said blandly, donning his cap.

"You won't have to much longer," Courtney sighed, picking at a skin flake on her wrist. "I'm shedding more than ever."

"Oh, come now," Brivari said. "Do you really think I'd let one of the King's best allies and Rath's future wife simply expire?"

Courtney's eyes widened. "What, you mean...what do you mean?"

"Ask Dee. We have some decisions to make." He tipped his cap. "Miss Banks."

Flabbergasted, Courtney watched him leave. Had she just heard right? Had the King's Warder just told her he'd save her life? Because love him or hate him, Brivari was the one person on two planets who might be able to pull that off; he'd almost singlehandedly built a dynasty, and was closer to restoring it than he realized. But what about the Resistance? Was this just for her, or did it include the rest of them? Because, however tempting, she could never accept anything that would leave out the rest of the Resistance members, all of whom were suffering the same fate as she...

Lost in thought, Courtney pushed through the door into the back and smacked right into a startled Liz Parker. "Liz! I...didn't know you were back."

Liz shook her head so hard, it might have fallen off. "I'm not," she blurted.

"Not...what?" Courtney asked. "Back? Because if you're still in Florida, this is one hell of a hologram."

"No, I mean I'm back, but I'm not really back," Liz babbled. "I mean I am back, but..." She stopped, flustered, as Courtney raised an eyebrow. "Look, I'd really appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything."

"About....?"

"About...me. About me being..."

"Back, but not back?" Courtney suggested.

Liz stood there, tongue-tied, glancing over Courtney's shoulder through the window in the swinging door, where the Royal Four were perfectly framed. "Ah," Courtney said knowingly. "Got it."

"I'd just really appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourself," Liz pleaded.

"Keep what to myself?" Courtney asked innocently.

It took Liz a moment to translate that. "Thank you," she said with obvious relief. "Thank you."

Girl's got issues, Courtney thought as Liz scrambled upstairs so quickly, it was a wonder she didn't trip. But she had bigger questions on her mind than Zan's love life, so that would have to wait. "Maria!" Courtney said cheerfully as Maria appeared, fresh from her break. "Good to see you. Could you—"

"Do not say 'cover me'," Maria commanded.

"—cover me?"

"Ugh! I just got off break!" Maria exclaimed.

"Right, so now it's my turn," Courtney said sweetly. "Michael should be back soon; he's out there celebrating with Max and Isabel and Tess."

"Celebrating what?" Maria demanded.

Courtney shrugged. "Didn't say. Back in a few."

She left Maria sputtering like a mobile volcano as she stripped off her apron and grabbed her purse. No bathroom this time; her destination was across the street because that's where Brivari had gone after dropping his bomb about lifting her death sentence.

What in blazes was the King's Warder doing at the UFO museum?




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




Washington, D.C.




"Members of the committee," Vanessa intoned. "In 1972, the Special Unit of the FBI investigated a murder. Several curiosities surrounded the event. No murder weapon. No entry wound, apart from the presence of silver markings left on the skin, which subsequently vanished. Yet the internal organs and tissues of the victim were completely decimated." She paused, letting that sink in. "Now, nuclear analysis of the victim's bones showed traces of a substance dubbed 'Cadmium-X', an element which doesn't exist on earth. It is, simply put...not human."

Eyes widened. Quiet gasps escaped. Glances were exchanged, some furtive, some alarmed. Vanessa waited as a heavy silence settled over the congressional subcommittee whose job it was to fire Daniel. This was her big moment, the critical moment when, after hours of damning testimony about his under-the-table leadership of the Special Unit, she got to save his ass and earn his undying gratitude. After this, he owed her.

"Mr. Pierce," said Congressman Belfrey, he of the fornicating wife, "in all records, materials, and other findings appropriated from your offices, we have found no mention of anything known as 'Cadmium-X' Can you explain that to us?"

Here it comes, Vanessa thought as Daniel's eyes found hers. She held herself steady, ready for the deluge. Jesus, but Belfrey was going to look like a bigger asshole than he really was, which would be some feat.

"There is no record in our files of the substance called 'Cadmium-X'," Daniel said slowly, "because there is no substance called 'Cadmium-X'. 'Cadmium-X' is a hoax that we invented."


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


I'll post Chapter 6 on Sunday, May 11.

Snowing for Easter.....that is certainly different!

Things are really moving along......interesting about the transference..is that really what the 70 and 80's abductions were.....??
Larek/Brody is an usual character.
Now for the cadmiumX.......that was a great cover, we think.
Thanks for the update,
Carolyn

Great part!

Great chapter. I thought that the conversation would be going better for Larek now that he told Brivari
who he was. No such luck.

Thank you all so much for reading, and for the feedback! ^^ Brivari is certainly the suspicious type, but then that's his job. We know that Max encounters what I'm calling "transference" in NYC and Khivar uses it in Season 3, so we'll be seeing it again. Brivari better get with the program fast.





CHAPTER SIX



September 2, 2000, 11:30 a.m

Washington, D.C.




Vanessa Whitaker pushed her way toward the exit past a horde of reporters, a litter of interns, and way too many grinning lawmakers, with those who weren't grinning shaking their heads. Murmurs of, "Proof, huh?" and "She bought that? Really?" swirled around her, stage whispers barely heard, but audible nonetheless. Her moment of triumph had just ended in humiliation as Daniel had done the unthinkable, worse than merely denying the facts of the presented case, something she would have been able to refute with the documents he'd handed her. No, he'd claimed that his Unit had invented the extra-terrestrial substance found in the victim's bones, a claim she knew was bullshit, but couldn't prove. Now she fled the room, her face on fire as she thrust past the microphones shoved in her face, hot on the heels of Daniel and his lapdog, Agent Samuels. Daniel appeared to have evaporated, but she caught up with Samuels high-tailing it for the exit, hooking him by the arm and nearly hurling him into a nearby conference room, using those oh-so-helpful powers bestowed upon certain of their number to lock the door. Make that 'melt' the door, she thought grimly, softening the metal as reporters pounded away on the other side. Whatever was about to happen in here stayed in here.

"Jesus!" Samuels had gasped as she'd shoved him inside, a gasp repeated as he tugged at the door handle to no avail, finally turning as she advanced on him with murder in her eyes.

"What the hell just happened?" Vanessa snapped as he quailed. "This is your doing, isn't it? You got to him. You convinced him to leave me hanging out there like yesterday's laundry. You—"

"No!" Samuels shouted above her tirade. "I didn't do this, Vanessa—"

"That's Congresswoman Whitaker to you, you little prick!"

"Congresswoman," Samuels corrected hastily. "I didn't do this. Daniel did this. He did exactly what he should have."

"And how do you figure that?" Vanessa demanded. "I was trying to save his Unit! He wanted my help saving his Unit!"

"He should never have given you classified information," Samuels declared, "and he was right to deny its existence when you blabbed it to the world."

"Because you told him to!" Vanessa said savagely as Samuels recoiled, his back against the door. "You talked him out of it, didn't you? Didn't you?"

"I made my opinion clear," Samuels said stoutly, "but he didn't say anything one way or another. I was just as surprised as you were when he denied it. The only difference is I'm happy about it."

Vanessa moved in so close, he nearly became one with the paint on the door. "And that's why you're a blithering idiot," she hissed. "I could have saved his ass, your ass, the Unit's ass, but no! That would have made too much sense. Now the Unit is gone, he's fired, and you're all screwed!"

"Correction—we're all free to resurrect the Unit in a useful form," Samuels countered. "Look, if you'd convinced the committee to keep the Unit alive, three things would have happened, none of them good. One, Director Freeh would have been furious at being undermined. Two, he would have fired Danny anyway, and three, he would have rendered the Unit useless, either by micro-managing it or by stripping it of its powers. On the surface you would have won, but in reality you would have lost. With it officially gone, we can remake the Unit into what it should be, what it used to be. You want it to work, don't you? What's the point of having it if it doesn't work?"

"What's the point of humiliating me on national television?" Vanessa retorted. "He made a laughingstock of me! Once that airs, anyone who looks at me will see nothing but a congresswoman who fucked an FBI agent and believed every stupid thing he told her. STOP grinning!" she roared when the corners of Samuels' mouth began to twitch, "or I swear to God, I'll make an agent sandwich out of you and feed you to my dog for breakfast! Where is he?"

"Gone," Samuels said. "He left immediately after the hearing and went to ground so the media can't find him, which means you can't either. And if you throttle me, you never will," he added pointedly when her gaze settled on his throat, "because I'm the only one who can find him."

"Then find him," Vanessa ordered.

"Why?" Samuels demanded. "So you can bitch him out too? What for? This is the first time he's acted like himself in months. He's been weird ever since—"

"Since he got back from Roswell," Vanessa finished.

The thrum of the media surge in the hallway faded as she and Samuels stared at each other in shock, having spoken those last six words in unison. Daniel was different, and in more ways than even Samuels knew. Something had happened out there, something big, something soul shaking. The fact that they'd both noticed was unsettling.

But not so unsettling that she was willing to forgive. "Find him," Vanessa ordered again. "Find him now."

"No," Samuels said stubbornly. "It's too soon. He'll find you, and when he does, you'll hear everything I've just said directly from him. Maybe then you'll believe me."

Vanessa's eyes narrowed. "Get. Out. Of. My. Sight. NOW!"

Samuels' eyes widened as he scrabbled furiously at the melted lock. Reaching behind him, Vanessa wrenched the door open with sheer force and shoved him through it, closing it again before the reporters reached her, desperately trying to think. What was she going to do? She'd just been dismissed in front of the committee, the Hill, her constituents, and, as of later today, the whole damned nation, to say nothing of how Nicholas would react. Latching onto the coattails of the Special Unit was the best way they knew of finding those Godforsaken hybrids. She paced the floor of the conference room, running a hand through her hair, realizing she was a complete mess—sweaty, disheveled, and mad enough to kill. How the hell did she get out of this one?

Her phone rang. "What?" she barked after making certain it wasn't Nicholas.

"Thought you could use some good news," her lackey's voice said carefully. "Especially now."

"Does he know?" Vanessa asked wearily.

"Judging from the way he's throwing the furniture around, yes," the lackey answered. "Best way out of this is Plan B."

"How so?" Vanessa retorted. "I was always going to Roswell after the hearings, but I was supposed to be going with the Unit in my pocket. Now I'm nothing but a humiliated Congresswoman."

"Not quite," the lackey noted. "Remember that name you gave me, 'Parker'?"

"What about it?" Vanessa said impatiently, barely recalling the tidbits Samuels had inadvertently dropped yesterday.

"Get this—'Parker' is a girl who was allegedly shot last fall during a fight at the diner where she works...in Roswell."

" 'Allegedly' shot?" Vanessa said. "One is either shot or not shot, and why do I care?"

"Because some witnesses claim that a boy healed the waitress's gunshot wound."

Vanessa stopped pacing. "A 'boy'? How old is this kid?"

"He was 16 when it happened; he's 17 now."

Impossible, Vanessa thought, followed by why? Something had clearly gone awry with the hybrids given that they should have been fully grown and back home ruining Antar long before this. They'd thought the time limit on their husks wouldn't matter because they wouldn't be here that long, but here they were, shedding and exploding 50 years later; just yesterday, two of them had died when their husks had failed. It was like the king was waiting them out, knowing that every husk which didn't last until the harvest was one less enemy he had to deal with. And what better way to hide than as a teenager? No one would ever suspect a child, not with the way humans doted on their offspring.

"Didn't you mention Samuels talking about a handprint that healed?" the lackey continued. "Well, here's an alleged healing. That would be well within Zan's capability if he's really as powerful in this new incarnation as he's supposed to be, or any of them, for that matter. It could even be Rath."

"Doesn't matter," Vanessa noted, calmer now that she had a lead, her mind whirling through the possibilities. "The first one we look for is the princess—that's our mandate. Are any of these kids still in Roswell?"

"Yep. Parker's on your list of honor-students-as-potential-interns."

"As of right now, there's only one person on that list," Vanessa declared. "I want this 'Parker' working for me. Make it happen."




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




UFO Center




"What?" Brody exclaimed in disbelief when someone pounded on the door for the fourth time today, pushing back from the computer in disgust and stalking out to the museum's front door, which he whipped open only to find a gun thrust in his face.

"Bang! Bang!" shouted the child holding a toy space blaster. "You're dead!"

"Yeah!" announced his much shorter sidekick, poking a smaller weapon into Brody's leg. "You're an alien, and you're dead!"

"I'm sorry," said the harried woman behind them with a bag over each arm and a toddler clinging to each leg. "I was just wondering if you were open."

Brody closed his eyes briefly and prayed for patience. "Do you see this?" he asked, pointing to a large sign on the door inches from her nose. "A rhetorical question at best because no on else today has seen it either, so let me read it to you—it says 'Closed'. It says that because we're closed. Does that answer your question?"

"But why?" the woman asked as the Buck Rogers twins tried to kill each other and the pint-sized Kling-ons whined. "The website—"

"Will be updated shortly. We're closed until further notice."

"But where's Milton?" the woman asked.

"Milton sold the UFO Center to me," Brody said wearily, having been through this already with all the other door knockers. "Yes, it was sudden. No, I don't know exactly why. No, I don't know where to find him. No, I don't have a timetable for the renovations we're doing. Keep checking the website, and thanks for stopping by."

He closed the door on her further protests and leaned against the wall. God, but he was exhausted; he'd slept well last night, but you'd never know it by the way he was dragging around today. It didn't help that his lower back was killing him and he didn't know why, or that he had to keep answering the door when prospective customers refused to believe their own eyes. Which wasn't really their fault, if he were honest; Milton apparently hadn't told a soul he was leaving, and it appeared Roswellians really liked their UFO Museum. Or rather the tourists did; native Roswell dwellers might feel differently. Judging by the caliber of those knocking on his door, he was having serious second thoughts about whether he wanted to open to the public at all. He'd only been interested in the museum for his own research, and Milton certainly hadn't been too thrilled about all the little kids with grubby hands and teenagers messing with his exhibits. Maybe he needed a different sign on the door. Maybe he needed lots of signs on the door.

He was headed back to his office when he pulled up short. There was a man standing several yards in front of him, a man who most definitely hadn't entered by the front door. "Who the hell are you?" Brody demanded. "How did you get in here?"

There was a moment of silence while the man cocked his head, seemingly unperturbed by his temper. "Back door," he answered. "I make deliveries for Milton. Are you new here?"

"You could say that," Brody replied. "I own the place now; Milton's gone. And yes, I know he didn't tell anybody, and yes, no one ever thought he'd sell because this is his life's work, and so on and so forth. And if you have anything else to add in that vein, please don't."

The man smiled faintly. "Rough day?"

Both the smile and the sympathy were unexpected, and Brody felt suddenly guilty. "Look, I...I'm sorry. I'm exhausted, and cranky, and..." He stopped, one hand to his sore back.

"Hurt yourself?" the man asked.

"Yeah," Brody answered, massaging his back. "Although for the life of me, I don't remember how."

"Probably slept funny," the man shrugged. "I do that all the time."

"That's usually my neck," Brody said. "This is weird. But whatever—I'll take more Tylenol. What are you delivering?"

"Paper products," the man answered, producing a clipboard and a pencil. "Toilet paper, paper towels, Kleenex, that sort of thing. You need to sign for them."

Brody took the clipboard with a sigh. "Must be the year's supply of toilet paper he promised. Look, I'm sorry Milton left everyone in the lurch, but I really haven't inventoried anything, so...what's this gibberish?" he asked, staring at incomprehensible markings on the invoice.

"Hmm," the man said when Brody handed it back. "Don't know. Maybe the truck driver who dropped them off with me had a little too much beer last night."

"Not a bad idea," Brody allowed. "I could use one myself. Could you give me a week or two to sort things out? I'd really appreciate it."

"No problem," the man agreed. "Sorry to bother you, Mr...."

"Davis," Brody answered, extending a hand. "Brody Davis. I'll be in touch with all of Milton's suppliers soon, I promise."

"I'll leave you with a copy of the order," the man said.

Five minutes later Brody sank onto the futon in his office with a sigh, tossing the order on his desk. He felt like he'd run a marathon and his back was killing him, but hopefully a nap would help. Just before he stretched out, he took another look at the truck driver's drunken scribblings. Funny how it didn't look like scribbles. Funny how it looked like discrete words in an actual sentence.

That must have been some beer.




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




Crashdown Cafe




"I'm back," Michael announced, striding into the kitchen like he owned it.

"Yippie yi yo ki yay," Maria muttered.

"What?"

"Just an old cowboy expression," Maria said. "Where were you?"

"On break."

"I know that. What were you celebrating on break?"

"How did you know I was celebrating anything?" Michael asked suspiciously.

"I know, Michael, because you told Courtney, and Courtney told me," Maria said crossly. "Why am I always the last one to find out anything around here? Including people who have no idea what's going on?"

Michael drew closer. "We're celebrating because Max doesn't have to go to the shrink any more. His grandmother managed to spring him."

"Oh," Maria said, taken aback. "That's...good news."

"No, that's great news," Michael corrected. "Happy?"

"That Courtney knew and I didn't? No."

"I told her I was celebrating; I didn't tell her why," Michael said. "And this isn't about Courtney; it's about us. Only there is no 'us', so that's why you're picking on her. Good luck with that."

Maria resisted the urge to hurl something at him as he calmly donned an apron and began cooking. Her shift didn't start for a while, long enough to drown her sorrows in some ice cream, and she left the kitchen only to pull up short. "Geez, Louise!" she exclaimed in exasperation. "I really am the last one to know anything!"

Liz's eyes were round as she pulled away from the door she'd been peeking through. "Oh, Maria, I...I just got home, and I...I..."

"Didn't call?" Maria finished helpfully. "Or visit? Or even squeak?"

Liz flushed. "I just wanted...I was just..."

"Avoiding me," Maria said tartly. "Get in line."

Liz blinked. "There's a line of people avoiding you?"

Maria glanced into the kitchen. "A line of one," she said sadly, holding out her arms. "Come here."

They hugged fiercely, swaying in the back room like there wasn't a diner full of customers only feet away. "I missed you," Liz whispered. "And I was avoiding everyone, not just you. Just ask Mom and Dad."

"So," Maria said, pulling away and regarding her closely. "Did you get what you wanted? Did you wash that man right out of your hair?"

Liz looked back toward the diner. "Not really."

"Me neither," Maria sighed. "Michael's still all, 'we can't be together', and 'I have to be alone'."

"Maybe he's right," Liz said.

"He's an idiot," Maria said stoutly. "Without us, they'd be dog food. Besides, Max isn't doing that. He's been pining for you all summer, and I'm guessing you were pining for him too."

"Wow, SAT word," Liz teased, smiling briefly before sobering again. "But wanting something doesn't mean it's possible. Or right. Or..." She paled as she looked through the window again, where Tess was reaching across the table for Max's hand.

"Not what you think!" Maria declared. "Michael just told me they're celebrating...well, it was Courtney who told me, because Courtney seems to know everything before I do, which is really annoying, and she's constantly asking me to cover for her, which is really annoying—"

"Maria?"

"—but my point is that they're celebrating Max not having to go to the doctor any more," Maria continued. "So at least that's over with."

"Doctor?" Liz repeated blankly. "Why was he seeing a doctor? Is he sick?"

Maria stared at her. "You don't know? No, of course you don't; you've been incommunicado for weeks now—"

"Not so 'incommunicado' that you didn't leave me millions of messages," Liz noted.

"Hundreds, babe, not millions. Big difference. But whatever—Max's mom knew something was up, and of course they couldn't tell her what, so she made him see a shrink all summer. She even got Milton to let him off work until fall."

Liz's mouth widened to a big round "O". "Oh, my God," she whispered. "That's awful! He would have had to make something up, and keep the details straight, and...oh, that's awful."

"Yeah, it's been a real bummer," Maria agreed. "But it's over now. Guess his grandmother got his sentence reduced to time served."

"God, I miss Grandma Claudia," Liz said sadly. "She'd know what to do with all of this."

"No, Liz, she wouldn't," Maria said. "Much as I loved Grandma Claudia, we wouldn't have been able to tell her a thing, and you know it."

"I could have extrapolated," Liz said.

"Mmm. And I wonder where she would have come down with that? Because it's weird that you agree with Michael instead of Max, and I agree with Max instead of Michael. I've spent more time with Max this summer than I ever have with Michael because misery loves company."

"Yeah, he looks miserable," Liz murmured, looking through the window.

"What, that? That's nothing," Maria scoffed. "He and Tess are not an item. I mean, yeah, they all hang together because they're all Czechoslovakians, but Max and Tess? No way."

"Not according to that message in the pod chamber," Liz said.

"Will you leave off already about the stupid message?" Maria exclaimed. "Yes, Isabel filled me in about the whole 'glorious leader' and 'young bride' bit, but so what? Isabel and Michael were supposedly engaged, but they're not now because they don't want to be. If Michael can walk, why can't Max?"

"Because Max is the king," Liz answered. "And he and Tess were married. Michael and Isabel weren't married yet."

"Details!" Maria declared. "From a long, long time ago on a world far, far away! Doesn't count."

"What doesn't count?"

It was Michael, wiping his hands on his apron. "What, you ignore me, and now you're eavesdropping?" Maria demanded. "Buddy, you don't get to ignore and eavesdrop. Pick one."

"Hey, Liz," Michael said, ignoring her. "Didn't know you were back."

Liz shook her head vigorously. "I'm not."

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Maria muttered.

But Michael didn't bat an eyelash. "Got it. Never saw you."

"Thank you," Liz said gratefully.

"For nothing," Maria added savagely.

"Any time," Michael answered, breezing back into the kitchen as though she hadn't just verbally swatted him.

"Can you believe that?" Maria exclaimed. "We saved their asses, and he's acting like that's it, it's over!"

"Because it is," Liz said in a hollow voice, her eyes on the window. "It is over, Maria. Yeah, we saved their asses, but we decided to do that; no one made us. And now they've moved on, and so should we."

"No," Maria said firmly. "No, no, no, no—"

"Liz!"

It was Mrs. Parker, breathless and smiling and waving a piece of paper. "Guess what? The school just called, and you've got an interview with the Congresswoman tomorrow!"

"Interview?" Maria said. "Congresswoman? What's this?"

Liz took the piece of paper from her excited mother. "It's called moving on, Maria," she said soberly. "It's called a fresh start. You should try it."




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





Harding residence





"Watch carefully," Tess said. "Here we go."

The orange in the middle of the kitchen table was bright against the formica as she trained her eyes on it, focused her attention. A moment later it rose, hovering an inch or so off the table before slowly rising into the air, reaching eye level, suspended by nothing.

"Wow," Michael murmured.

"And when you really get good at it, you can do this," Tess said, her eyes still on the orange which began to dip and swoop, swinging left, then right like a pendulum before spinning like a top, then settling back down to the table. "Now you try," she said. "Nothing fancy. Just try to raise it off the table a little bit."

Michael looked dubious, but obediently stared at the orange. Nothing happened.

"Try again," Tess coaxed. "You're not used to this. It'll take time."

"Not sure we have loads of that," Michael muttered, fixing the fruit with a baleful glare as though it were resisting him. Still nothing.

"One more time," Tess said soothingly as Michael gave a snort of disgust. This time his fists clenched and he held his breath as though he were lifting something heavy. The orange wobbled a bit, but that was it.

"It moved!" Tess exclaimed. "That's wonderful!"

"Yippie yi yo ki yay," Michael muttered.

"What?"

"Never mind. And I'd hardly call it wonderful."

"But it moved," Tess said stubbornly. "That's better than nothing."

"Not much," Michael allowed. "I wanna try it my way."

"Okay, we talked about this," Tess said. "You don't need hands."

"It helps me concentrate," Michael argued, raising a hand to the orange. Tess drew back in alarm as the fruit began to shake violently...

...then squeezed her eyes shut as it exploded, spraying juice everywhere. "See, this always happens," Michael huffed.

"When you use your hands," Tess noted as she wiped pulp off her face. "We're trying to levitate it, not blow it up—"

"I know that. You think I don't know that?"

"—and when you use your hand, you seem to think it's some kind of ray gun, and you overdo it" Tess finished. "Which is why I don't want you to use your hand. I want you to think about it differently, to develop a different mindset—"

"You mean you'd rather get your orange juice in a carton?"

"—to control the flow of power instead of just flinging it," Tess finished, praying for patience. "It's not a fire hose, Michael, not unless you want it to be. It should be more like a tap, where you increase or decrease the pressure—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Michael interrupted. "I get it, I just can't do it. Face it—I am a fire hose, and I do what fire hoses do. That's why drinking fountains aren't hooked up to fire hoses, and you don't put out a house fire with a drinking fountain." He rose abruptly from the table. "We're wasting our time."

"No, we're not," Tess protested. "It's only been a few weeks. We just need to—"

"And this house gives me the creeps," Michael added, looking around uncomfortably. "I don't know what there is about it, I just...maybe that's why I can't think straight. And I have to because we have enemies, and when those enemies show up, I need to be ready. We need to be ready—"

"Okay, Michael? Take a breath," Tess ordered. "Let me think about this. Sit down, and let me think. Just give me 5 minutes, okay?"

Michael reluctantly resumed his seat, legs sprawled, arms crossed, the very picture of disapproval as Tess turned the problem over in her mind. She couldn't afford to lose this because this marked the first time that one of the Others had come to her for help. Despite their hanging together all summer, none of them trusted her; she was barely tolerated, and she knew it. She'd spent the last three months alone in this house with only the occasional visit from Nasedo and even more occasional visits from Isabel; apparently Michael wasn't the only one creeped out about coming here. His asking for help controlling his powers was a huge step, one she was not willing to relinquish lightly; he was the one most interested in going home, the one most likely to see things her way. She'd been teaching him the way Nasedo had taught her, but maybe that wasn't the way to go. Maybe Michael required a different approach.

"Okay, let's turn this around," Tess said as Michael regarded her skeptically. "Instead of starting with what you don't know, let's start with what you do know. What can you do with your powers? What have you done with them in the past? What are you good at?"

"You saw it," Michael shrugged, nodding toward the unfortunate fruit. "I blow things up."

"Okay, then let's start there," Tess said. "We can use smaller and smaller objects to perfect your aim. And let's use something like wood or metal, something sturdier."

"And less sticky?"

"That too. And we'll go somewhere else," Tess added, warming to the new approach. "Somewhere you're comfortable."

Michael's fingers tapped on the kitchen table. "My apartment."

"It's a plan," Tess agreed. "Don't give up, Michael. You're right that we need to be prepared, and I think you're doing the right thing taking this seriously."

"Max doesn't," Michael said. "He feels like no one's here yet, so no one's coming."

"Just because they're not here today doesn't mean they won't be here tomorrow," Tess noted.

"See, that's what I keep telling him," Michael said. "But he doesn't want to hear it."

"Max has been through a lot," Tess said, feeling the need to support him. "And frankly, I don't 'want' to hear it either. None of us do."

"But you know that not wanting to hear it won't make it not happen," Michael said. "Better to be prepared and not need it than the other way around."

"Agreed," Tess said, pulling out her phone as it buzzed in her pocket. It was Nasedo's number, and four words stared up at her from the screen.

The Unit is dead.

"What?" Michael said when he saw the enormous grin on her face.

"This," Tess smiled, brandishing her phone. "We have so got to watch the news. See? Things are looking up!"




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




Roswell Sheriff's Station





"You did the right thing by bringing this to my attention, Mr. Sorenson," Valenti said. "I'll look into it immediately."

"Sure thing, Sheriff," Sorenson answered.

"You don't even need to say it, Sheriff," Hanson announced. "I'll get an excavation team out there right away."

Sorenson left, his duty done. Hanson scurried out, his duty clear. Alone in his office, Valenti put his head in his hands and cursed the fates which would now shine literal floodlights on the day he'd done his duty in a most unconventional way.

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


I'll post Chapter 7 on Sunday, May 25.

Vanessa was quite demanding......but Liz was excited to experience working with her.
The good news arrived ........"the unit is dead". That's about time!
Oh boy, can't wait for the excavation to start......along with all of the trouble it brings.
Thanks for the new part,
Carolyn

Nice part. Things should start heating up now.

Liz & Maria re: Max & Michael. I always hated this part that Liz was convinced that she had to leave Max for Tess and refused to even discuss this. I love your story, but this part is what I'm not looking forward
to reading.

Hello and thank you to everyone reading, and thanks for the feedback!

emerald123 wrote:I love your story, but this part is what I'm not looking forward
to reading.

I'm guessing you speak for a great many fans regarding not just this part, but most of Season 2. Fortunately it's easier to skip over the parts that cause heartburn when it's in written form!





CHAPTER SEVEN


September 3, 2000, 5:30 a.m.

Evans residence




Birdsong woke Max, the steady chatter of an avian spat, probably over bird real estate. He lay there listening with his eyes closed, a small smile on his face as he imagined his father's grumbling. It was his mother who had a love affair with small critters, and it was at her insistence that his father erected a bird house every year. The resulting noise from several crops of baby birds could be deafening if you couldn't sleep through it, which his father apparently couldn't. Even worse were the territorial disputes when one bird decided to covet its neighbors' house, or the sheer panic which ensued when a larger bird tried to steal eggs or babies. More than once his father had threatened to introduce their yard dwellers to the workings of a BB gun, followed by horrified protests from his mother. But the birds were still there, still raising families, squabbling, and defending their nests in the face of would-be squatters, cradle-robbers, and murderous humans. Survivors, all. Just like him.

Rolling over, Max stared at the ceiling through half closed eyes, enjoying for the first time this summer the blissful laziness of having nothing pressing to do, nowhere pressing to go...and nothing pressing to worry about. That last was the greatest blessing, the greatest gift. The Special Unit was dead, voted out of existence on national television courtesy of Nasedo. He had no doctor to lie to courtesy of his grandmother. No enemies had appeared, most likely courtesy of good luck. And despite Maria's reluctance to admit it, Liz was back in town. That he hadn't seen her yet did nothing to dampen the sense of peace that realization brought, the feeling of wholeness. Roswell just wasn't right without Liz. Whatever else had picked at the edges of his frayed nerves this summer, it was her absence which had affected him most profoundly. He could forget about the Unit until it popped up on TV, forget about enemies who hadn't appeared, forget the doctor's office between appointments, but he couldn't forget about Liz. Every single thing reminded him of her. Every time he crossed the Crashdown's threshold, answered the phone, or saw the light blinking on his answering machine, he looked for her, listened for her voice, only to feel empty when she wasn't there. Knowing that he'd see her soon even if she didn't want anything to do with him filled him with an almost ridiculous sense of joy. Hope must really spring eternal if mere geographic proximity could send his spirits soaring...and make him lunge for his phone when it rang, hoping it was her.

It wasn't. "Hello?" Max said warily, the number unfamiliar.

"Max," a familiar voice answered. "Jim Valenti. I'm outside." He paused. "We need to talk."

"Okay," Max said slowly. "I'll...be right out."

Five minutes later Max climbed out his bedroom window, not taking even the slightest chance of waking his family, it being too early even for his parents to be up. He'd seen little of Valenti this summer, with contact limited to occasional passing nods, usually in the Crashdown. There seemed to be an unspoken consensus that they should acknowledge each other as little as possible, and he was happy to comply if only because it helped him forget. The grass outside was wet, the sun warm even at this hour as he padded into the yard, wondering where Valenti was as there wasn't a car in sight. Turned out he was around the side of the house, sans uniform and cruiser.

"I parked down a side street," Valenti said, answering Max's unspoken question. "And no, I don't usually lurk outside people's houses at this hour. I was just looking for something more private than the Crashdown."

"And to avoid my mother," Max said dryly.

"That too," Valenti agreed. "Maybe I shouldn't have told you about that whole post-kitchen fire debacle."

"No, no, it's good," Max said. "Good to know she's got my back, even if she doesn't know why." He paused. "So...why are we standing in my yard at the crack of dawn?"

Valenti's eyes dropped. "There's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to come out and say it. Someone found Pierce's bones."

Max felt his chest constrict as that wonderful bubble of contentment burst. Although Valenti's timing was odd, he hadn't been really concerned because what could go wrong now? The Special Unit was dissolved, and no enemies had shown. There shouldn't be anything on the "problem" list, not now, and certainly not this.

"How?" Max said when he could speak. "We buried those in—"

"The middle of nowhere," Valenti agreed. "I know. Guy's a geologist, and he was doing a survey. Right in the middle of nowhere."

"What are the odds?" Max muttered.

"A million to one," Valenti sighed. "But don't panic. We burned them, which will make them pretty much impossible to identify. I have to launch an official investigation, but I can't see it turning up anything incriminating...although he did tell me something I wasn't expecting. Turns out he wasn't just randomly digging. He found the bones with a metal detector."

"A metal detector?" Max said. "Why would a metal detector detect bones?"

Valenti shook his head. "Don't know. Haven't figured that out yet, and it really doesn't matter; he found them. My enthusiastic deputy has arranged for an excavation tonight, and this might wind up in the papers. Needless to say, none of us know anything." He paused. "So how are you doing, Max? Haven't seen you much since...school ended."

"I was doing better before this," Max admitted. "Nasedo got the Special Unit shut down."

"Saw that on television," Valenti nodded. "Thank God. For all of us."

"My grandmother convinced my mother that I don't need to see the psychologist any more," Max went on, "so no more dodging on that score."

"Bet that's a relief," Valenti said. "How'd your grandmother pull that off?"

"Don't know," Max admitted. "But I always say Grandma Dee could sell ice to Eskimos. Do you...know my grandmother?" he asked when Valenti's faint smile turned broad.

"No," Valenti said quickly. "No, no, I...was just extrapolating. I mean, your father's a force to be reckoned with, so it followed that his mother might be."

"Runs in the family," Max agreed. "So how's Kyle?"

"Coming home soon," Valenti answered. "He needed to get away for a while."

"I can relate," Max said.

"Yeah, well...he can get away," Valenti said. "You can't. Not really."

"I hope it helped," Max said, meaning it. "I'm really sorry he got dragged into this, sheriff. You, too. I never wanted either of you to be in that position."

"I appreciate that," Valenti said, "but in a way, I'm kind of glad that at least I know what's what. It settled a lot of things for me, things now, and...and things from a long time ago."

"So are things better with your dad?"

Valenti's face clouded. "I'm afraid it's not that easy. There's a bit too much water under that bridge."

"But maybe someday," Max said.

"Yeah," Valenti agreed, sounding skeptical. "Maybe. Well...I'd better be going. I just wanted you to hear about this from me, not the news. I'll be right in the middle of it, so I'll be the first to know if anything unfortunate turns up, but I doubt it; it'll just go down in the books as a mystery. My advice is to forget about it and enjoy your last few days of summer."

"I'll try," Max said. "Thanks, sheriff."

A few minutes later he was back in bed with his grass-stained jeans in a ball on the floor and surprisingly sleepy. Pierce's bones resurfacing should be tweaking him more, but it wasn't. The Unit was dead; who cared if its boss's bones had been found? Liz was back in town; who cared about anything? No, he felt almost as peaceful as he had pre-chat, with the exception of how he was going to break this to Michael. That was really the only concern, and it could wait. His eyes began to close against the backdrop of yet another bird fight.

Just before he drifted off to sleep, it occurred to him that he didn't remember telling Valenti that Grandma Dee was his father's mother.




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




Washington, D.C.




The bed was empty. Jaddo's hand explored the divot in the mattress for a moment before he opened his eyes. Mussed sheets and a scrunched pillow were the only remaining evidence of last night's companion, who had apparently decided to leave early. Very early, he amended, squinting at the clock on the bedside table before dropping his head back onto his pillow. He'd been fired. No need for him to get up.

"She left."

Jaddo's head whipped around. Brivari was lounging in a chair nearby, flipping through a copy of the Washington Post with a cup of coffee steaming nearby. "Let me guess," Jaddo sighed. "You evicted her."

"I did no such thing," Brivari answered, looking wounded. "She left on her own. Probably got tired of being attached to a sinking ship."

"Doubtful," Jaddo said. "The one thing humans love more than power is—"

"Chocolate?"

"Funny. Celebrity," Jaddo went on. "If you've been in the news—for anything, mind you, including mass murder—they flock to your door. I had my pick of the litter last night."

"Lucky you. Nice digs, by the way," Brivari added, looking around the hotel suite. "Nicer than your apartment."

"Yes, well, it didn't seem prudent to remain at the same address in the wake of the hearings, and why not live it up while in exile?"

"You made the news," Brivari announced, turning the paper around to a headline which screamed "Blushing Bureau!", accompanied by a shot of Pierce sitting calmly in front of a microphone. "And so did Vanessa," he added, flipping the page to a remarkably unflattering shot of a gaping Argilian, this one sporting the headline "Credulous Congresswoman!"

"Outstanding," Jaddo chuckled. "They caught her at just the right moment. That flushing noise you hear is her credibility going right down the proverbial toilet."

"As long as you don't get flushed with it," Brivari noted. "Word is she's furious."

"Not as furious as Nicholas, I'm sure," Jaddo said, stretching languidly. "And she'll have to find me before she can flush me. You don't really think I left a trail of breadcrumbs, do you?"

"You haven't really forgotten that you're dealing with an Argilian soldier, have you?"

"That's something I never forget," Jaddo answered. "She's remarkable, you know. Passionate. Smart. Cunning. Ruthless. It's really a pity she's on the wrong side."

Brivari raised an eyebrow. "Interesting order there. Since when does 'passionate' outrank 'ruthless'?"

"Maybe that's me feeling ever-so-slightly sorry for her," Jaddo shrugged. "Her career in Congress is basically over. She'll probably keep her seat, human memory being short and fickle, but the image of her salivating over little green men will linger long in the minds of her fellow lawmakers. No one will take her seriously."

Brivari's finger tapped on his coffee cup. "Am I the only one who found her less of a threat when she was gainfully employed?"

"Here we go," Jaddo sighed, flopping back on his pillow. "This is the part where you tell me I've done it all wrong, screwed the whole thing up, and we're all going to die. Go on, get it over with so I can have my breakfast in peace."

"On the contrary, I found your gutting of the Unit to be complete and masterful," Brivari said. "This is your true medium, Jaddo, what you're best at and where you belong. I'm guessing we'll get at least a year out of the resulting confusion and finger-pointing, maybe two."

Jaddo raised an eyebrow. "Well, well! Must be a cold day somewhere. May I have that in writing? Before you get to the 'but', that is, because I know there's a 'but' coming. Maybe you want our enemy posing as a lawmaker?"

"I want our enemy engaged in something she finds worthwhile," Brivari corrected. "And I want to influence that something so as to focus her gaze on the wrong thing and lead her astray, all without her realizing who's really in control of the game. You managed that beautifully these last few months before resorting to petty backstabbing which leaves her both adrift and focused on you, which is, needless to say, bad on both counts."

"That 'petty backstabbing' was why the Unit fell so hard," Jaddo argued. "The notion that we're inventing things and leading Congress astray with those inventions did more to kill the Unit than anything else."

"So you're telling me there was no other way to set that up? It had to go through Vanessa? No, of course it didn't," Brivari continued when Jaddo remained silent. "You wanted to bring her down."

"So I brought both down at once," Jaddo shrugged. "Big deal. If anything, I should get points for killing two birds with one stone."

"She's not dead," Brivari said pointedly, "just wounded, and all the more dangerous for it. What you see as economy—or poetry—I see as recklessness. But what else is new."

"Yes, what else?" Jaddo said impatiently, climbing out of bed. "Are we done? I'd like a cup of coffee, and I'd like to enjoy it. And if we're not done, I need one all the more—what's so funny?"

"Just something Courtney said," Brivari chuckled as Jaddo padded toward the kitchenette wearing Pierce's birthday suit. "About human shapes and 'fiddly bits'."

"Human anatomy isn't exactly compact," Jaddo agreed, "at least not the male variety. How is our favorite rebel?"

"Dewey-eyed. I had no idea her father had given her hand in marriage all the way back in '59."

Jaddo's hand paused on the coffee pot before he resumed pouring. "She told you?"

"She told Dee, who told me."

"Same difference," Jaddo muttered. "Okay, maybe, maybe you have a point about Vanessa, but not about Courtney. You and I both know that a marriage between Rath and Vilandra would have been disastrous, independent of my intense dislike—"

But Brivari held up a hand. "Peace. It's a great idea. Probably the best you've ever had."

The coffee pot slowly descended as Jaddo gaped at him. "What did you say?"

Brivari smiled faintly. "You heard me. You do have them, you know. Now and then."

"Seriously?" Jaddo said incredulously, ignoring the sarcasm. "No lectures about pulling strings behind your back? No pious proclamations about the sanctity of your Ward's sister?"

" 'Sanctity'?" Brivari said. "I don't believe I've ever used that word in a sentence with 'Vilandra'. But I agree it was a poor match. Seeing them now as more siblings than anything else, I realize they relate to each other much better that way, not to mention it neatly solves the problem that Rath wanted to marry her. Now he likes Courtney...and she likes him."

Jaddo's eyes shone as he plopped into a chair beside Brivari. "He does? She does? Oh, I wish I could see this! What have I been missing?"

"Not much. Lots of flirting. Lots of pouting on the part of his human girlfriend, whom he still avoids as an unacceptable encumbrance."

"Finally, one of them sees sense!" Jaddo said. "And Zan?"

"Too soon to tell. The Parker girl has been absent the entire summer, although I imagine she'll return soon if she hasn't already."

"You know your Ward," Jaddo said, dumping heaping teaspoons of sugar into his coffee. "What do you think?"

Brivari was quiet for a moment. "I think we're not going to get off so easy."

"Well, eventually he'll have to drop her," Jaddo argued. "He can't very well take her back to Antar with him."

"That would pose certain...difficulties," Brivari allowed.

"But we're getting ahead of ourselves," Jaddo said briskly. "No one's going home any time soon, so we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Brivari blinked. "Isn't that my line?"

"See? You're rubbing off on me!" Jaddo said. "So...what's the timetable for Pierce disappearing? A week? Two?"

"I'll leave that up to you," Brivari said. "I have a question for you. What do you know about transference?"

"Very little. Some kind of bioscience mumbo jumbo, as I recall, about taking control of a human's body. Why?"

"What if," Brivari said slowly, "we were to meet someone who claimed to be...'transferring'?"

Jaddo's eyes narrowed. "Has this happened, or is this a hypothetical question?"

"I'm just curious," Brivari answered.

"Good," Jaddo said severely. "Because any human who claimed to be hosting someone from our planet shouldn't live long enough to utter one more word."

"You'd execute them? Without knowing for sure if it were true?"

"Knowing what?" Jaddo said. "This is your area, not mine, but I believe they never got the kinks out; something about 'host resistance', or other such techno babble. It's far more likely that we'd be dealing with a spy pretending to be a transfer, so yes, I'd take the safer path and eliminate them immediately."

"We've been gone a long time," Brivari noted, "long enough for them to have 'ironed the kinks out'. What if they've perfected it? We'd have no way of knowing."

"Which is precisely why I'd remove the threat," Jaddo said. "We have no way of knowing, so we can't confirm or deny."

"What if they claimed to be someone we knew well?"

"Then I'd be doubly suspicious because that's exactly what a spy would do—they'd be given the identity of someone we'd hesitate to execute, not Gary the Garbage Man. Besides, anyone we were familiar with is far too high up the food chain to take a risk like transference. And if it does exist now, no one would be foolish enough to approach us that way because they'd know we wouldn't be familiar with it and wouldn't believe them, and they know what happens when we don't believe them." Jaddo paused. "So what brought this up?"

"Courtney," Brivari shrugged. "She mentioned it. I was just curious what you knew."

Jaddo fixed him with a level stare. "And may I assume that, were you to encounter someone claiming to be utilizing this practice, you would let me know?"

"You have my word," Brivari assured him, "that I would take the appropriate steps."




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




11:30 a.m.

Crashdown Cafe





"I've got a delivery," Mr. Parker called. "Who wants it?"

"I do!" Courtney shouted over the din. "I could use a walk."

"It's in the kitchen," Mr. Parker said. "Address is on the bag; it's just down the street."

Five minutes later, Courtney slipped a hastily constructed lunch into her pocket before going in search of the official delivery, which she spotted on a counter behind Maria. "Hey, Maria, could you—"

"No!" Maria interrupted furiously. "No, no, no! If you ask me to cover for you one more time, I swear I'll scream!"

Courtney raised an eyebrow. "I was going to ask you to hand me that bag behind you. I'm doing a delivery."

"Why?" Maria asked suspiciously.

"Because someone ordered something?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Maria said crossly. "Why are you delivering it?"

"Because I offered?"

"Okay, now I know something's fishy," Maria declared. "Why would you offer?"

"Because it's my job?"

Mr. Parker chose that moment to poke his head into the kitchen. "Maria!" he exclaimed. "Good. I need you to cover for Courtney while she makes a delivery."

If looks could kill, the one Maria was wearing would outdo Vesuvius. "Gotta run," Courtney said lightly, plucking the bag off the counter before Maria could hold it hostage. "Back in a few."

"Make it a very few!" Maria thundered as Courtney sailed out the door, marveling at her radar. Something was indeed afoot, which is why she had an extra, unordered delivery in her pocket as she crossed the street to the UFO center. The real delivery would have to wait until she got a good look at whatever had so interested Brivari yesterday. She hadn't come up with a better idea, so she'd decided to simply knock on the front door bearing gifts and see who, if anyone, answered.

"Yes?" snapped the grumpy looking, grumpy sounding man who answered her knock.

"Hi," Courtney said. "I'm from the Crashdown across the street, and I have a delivery."

"Add the invoice to the pile and tell me where to sign," the man sighed, handing her a clipboard jammed with various pieces of paper. "God, how much stuff did Milton have on order? The bell is ringing every fifteen minutes with one thing or another. It isn't more toilet paper, is it? Because I've already got enough to wipe the asses of the entire population of Vulcan...oh...sorry," he amended when Courtney smiled faintly. "I'm Brody Davis, the new owner of the UFO museum. I just got here, and things are a bit chaotic."

"No problem," Courtney said quickly, seeing scaffolding for her ruse. "I'm just delivering a welcome-to-Roswell lunch, on the house!"

Brody's expression grew wary, making Courtney like him immediately. "Why?"

"Because the Crashdown and the UFO museum have a kind of...symbiotic relationship," Courtney answered. "The Crashdown functions as a kind of food court for the UFO museum, and lots of people who stop at the Crashdown wind up going to the museum. So we're really glad to see someone taking over the place."

"That's funny," Brody said. "No one seemed to know Milton was leaving."

"Word trickles out unevenly sometimes," Courtney said lightly, holding out the bag. "Here you go; a sandwich, an apple, and a cookie. Enjoy!"

Brody looked taken aback. "Uh...thanks. Look, I didn't mean to sound like...sorry," he finished, sounding abashed. "This is really nice of them. Please thank…?"

"Mr. Parker," Courtney finished. "Jeff Parker. He owns the Crashdown. And I will. And you're welcome. Here's your..." She stopped, staring at the top invoice on the clipboard. "Here's your clipboard back," she finished. "Sorry it wasn't toilet paper, or something else important."

"I'm not!" Brody declared. "This is the best delivery I've had yet."

"Glad to make your day," Courtney smiled. "See you around."

Jesus, she thought when the door closed, leaning against it with a long slow breath. Brivari's interest in this nerdy, suspicious guy must be pretty fierce; scribbled on the invoice was the chilling announcement, "Confess, or you'll be executed where you stand," followed by a date and time...and it was written in Antarian. Which could only mean one thing—this was the subject of that conversation about transference. That this host was the owner of a UFO museum was simultaneously hilarious and brilliant; what better way for a transfer to hide than in the body of someone who studied aliens? The thought of speaking with someone from Antar was unbearably exciting, right up there with the much-anticipated conversation with Dee about how Brivari planned to keep her alive and the demise of the Special Unit, personally witnessed by at least three of the Royal Four courtesy of C-Span. It was a safe bet she'd be making many more visits to the UFO Center, probably at odd hours; transfers worked better when hosts were asleep. Humming to herself at the thought of someone else from home to talk to and the general concept of not dying, she made her way down the street to the address of the official delivery, a small storefront currently crammed with boxes and a harassed looking woman, who brightened when she saw her.

"Turkey club on wheat, hold the tomato?" she said hopefully.

"Um...don't know," Courtney admitted. "I'm just the delivery girl. Better check it; if it's wrong, I'll fix it."

"Nope, everything's there," the woman said happily, rummaging through the bag. "I can't tell you how thrilled I was to find a diner just a few doors down. With the hours we put in, sometimes food is a distant memory. The congresswoman will be so pleased."

"Is that what this is?" Courtney said as two men hefting a desk trundled by. "A congressional office?"

"Yep; brand new," the woman answered. "I'm Rose, by the way."

"Courtney," Courtney said. "So I guess I'll be seeing you."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be seeing both of us," Rose assured her. "Congresswoman Whitaker isn't one to stay at her desk."

"Wait," Courtney demanded. "Who?"

"Vanessa Whitaker," Rose said, "the congressional representative for this district."

"This is Whitaker's office?" Courtney said incredulously.

"Do you...know her?" Rose asked, her voice a shade less friendly.

"I...no," Courtney stammered. "I just thought that...someone as important as her wouldn't be in a place like this. Don't those congress-type-people have nice offices in Washington?"

Rose smiled indulgently at Courtney's impersonation of the classic, politically clueless American. "They do," she confirmed. "But Congresswoman Whitaker likes to make herself available to her constituents."

"I'll bet," Courtney muttered.

"Sorry?"

"I said that's great," Courtney said. "Very...commendable."

"Yes, but she's only doing her job," Rose said seriously. "A congressional representative is always, at the end of the day, an elected representative of the people, nothing more, nothing less. Some officials forget that, but Vanessa Whitaker never does."

"That's great," Courtney said. "Well...nice to meet you, and enjoy your lunch."

"Do you always do the deliveries?" Rose asked hopefully.

No freakin' way. "We trade off," Courtney said. "But I'm sure we'll see each other again."

"I'm sure we will," Rose smiled. "After all, we're just down the street from each other!"

Don't remind me, Courtney thought as she escaped to the street, feeling nauseous. Vanessa just a few doors down? How the hell was she going to avoid her? Why hadn't Brivari mentioned this? Did that mean he didn't know? How could the King's Warder not know about a threat of this magnitude? Or maybe he did know, and was hoping Vanessa would bump her off? Maybe instead of finding a way to keep her alive, he'd found a convenient way to rid himself of her?

Stop it, Courtney told herself severely. Sheesh; one glimpse of another Argilian, and she was going all paranoid, although it was terribly ironic that her heart had just been going all pitty pat about talking to someone from home only to have the wrong person from home show up. Not exactly what she'd had in mind, although it certainly could be worse—it could be Nicholas. Vanessa was far less dangerous, with a sell-by date that matched Courtney's and no Royal Warder watching her back. All they really had to do was wait them out, and most, if not all, of Nicholas' troops would vanish in a puff of skin flakes. When one considered what could be going wrong, they were lucky this was all that was going wrong.




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




Old Clovis Highway,

Roswell




The lights flared to life, dozens of them, setting the desert sand on fire and causing Valenti to squint in the glare. "Jesus, Hanson," he protested, one hand shielding his eyes. "You trying to blind everyone?"

The grin Hanson had been wearing slid from his face. "Oh...no, sir," he answered earnestly. "That's just...well, an interesting fact, sir, is that sand is really little bits of glass. So the light reflects off the sand the same way—"

The look on Valenti's face made Hanson flush. "Right. Anyway...we need to see in order to—"

"I know that," Valenti said, praying for patience. "Shall we?"

Hanson broke into a wide smile. "Absolutely, sir! I can't tell you how exciting this is, sir. I mean, I know a man died, and we owe whoever it was our utmost respect, but don't you think this is exciting?"

The last thing we owe that little shit is "respect". "Definitely a change of pace," Valenti allowed.

But Hanson, awash in excitement, completely missed his boss's neutral tone. "It sure is, sir! Let's go dig up some bones!"

Yeah, Valenti thought heavily, trailing behind his enthusiastic deputy. Let's.


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


I'll post Chapter 8 on Sunday, June 8.