CHAPTER THREE
September 16, 1989, 2:30 p.m.
Crashdown Café
Brivari waited while Anthony blinked rapidly and looked him up and down, no doubt trying to reconcile the familiar face with the unfamiliar clothing. And no wonder; his leather jacket and black jeans were a far cry from the fifties-style baggy trousers and narrow neckties he'd been wearing the last time they'd seen each other. Humans put such an emphasis on hair and clothing that it was almost as easy to hide by changing those attributes as it was by changing his face.
But this time he'd been careful to make everything from the neck up exactly the same, including the lack of hair which brought so much comment. "Incredible," Anthony said, shaking his head. "You haven't changed a bit. Wait a minute.....what am I saying? Of course you haven't. Why would you?"
But you have, Brivari thought sadly. He'd seen Anthony enter the diner, and it was instructive how long it had taken him to see past the thinning hair, the wrinkled skin, and the declining physique to be certain it was who he thought it was. Even after he'd made a positive identification, he almost hadn't approached; the rapid aging of humans was frightening to watch even in strangers. Still, despite being faced with one his worst nightmares, he hadn't been able to stay away. That nightmare also represented a connection, one he'd denied himself these many years, and the memory of which had ultimately propelled him into this booth to face a middle-aged man who bore only a slight resemblance to the young man he'd taken leave of so many years ago.
"I have aged," Brivari assured him. "You just can't see it."
"Like you can with me? It's okay," Anthony added when Brivari's eyes dropped. "I'm well aware I don't look the same at 51 that I did at 21. Must be something of a shock for you, though."
"It is....disconcerting," Brivari admitted.
"For you and me both," Anthony chuckled, sobering suddenly a moment later. "Is that why you stayed away? Why we haven't seen you in all this time?"
"Hey there, boys! What'll it be?"
It was a waitress, the slanted eyes on her massive button surprisingly accurate. "I'm sorry," Anthony said, "but I haven't had a chance to look at the menu."
"I'm partial to the Saucer Salad and the Alien Blast," Brivari noted.
"All right, then, I'll have a Saucer Salad and an...'Alien Blast'," Anthony said. "Whatever that is."
"I'll have the same," Brivari added, "with extra lemon."
"Com'in right up," the waitress declared, bellowing, "Two Saucers, two Blasts, one with extra lemon!" in the general direction of the kitchen at a decibel level which would have turned heads on Antar.
"I gather you've eaten here before?" Anthony asked after the waitress had retreated.
"Many times," Brivari replied. "Parker's remained one of the constants in my life until a few years ago, when the proprietor's son took over the business and introduced a few changes."
"A 'few'? Bit of an understatement," Anthony commented, glancing at the brightly colored mural on the wall nearby. "Although it seems to be going over well with the customers." He paused. "If you've eaten here 'many times', should I take that to mean you come back here a lot?"
"Regularly, although I don't know if you'd call it 'a lot'. Three decades is long enough for even infrequent visits to qualify as 'many times'."
"And how are they? Are they all right? Are they still too small?"
Brivari looked around briefly, but no one was within earshot; no one, that is, who would have any idea who the "they" in Anthony's query referred to. "Much too small," he answered heavily, "although they are still thriving; I am grateful for that, at least. Still, Antar should not look for the return of her king any time soon."
"That's too bad," Anthony said. "Dee had hoped that maybe it was just a quirk in their development and they would age more rapidly as they got older. So how big are they now?"
"About the size of that child," Brivari said, nodding toward the proprietor's young daughter, who trotted after her father as he made the rounds of tables.
"My goodness," Anthony murmured. "So small after all this time." He was quiet for a minute, watching the little girl with the dark hair and billowing dress. "So why haven't we seen you in ages? Where have you been?"
"Initially, nowhere.....and everywhere," Brivari answered, choosing the second and easier question. "I moved from place to place for quite some time, never staying long in any. Too much had happened, too much had been lost to make the notion of settling down anywhere appealing."
"I sense a 'but' coming," Anthony said.
Brivari smiled faintly. "But I make a poor nomad. Eventually I grew tired of wandering."
"And?"
"And I found my way to Hollywood."
"Hollywood? Isn't show business a bit too high profile?"
"Not at all," Brivari answered. "It's a mobile community of people who appear and disappear with regularity, who use pseudonyms as a matter of course, who pay little attention to one's background because that background is likely invented. Illusion is not only their business, it's an accepted way of life, and the relatively high percentage of 'colorful' personalities makes it harder to stand out. It's the perfect place to hide. And besides....."
"It reminded you of her?" Anthony finished gently.
"Two Saucer Salads, two Alien Blasts, extra lemon," the waitress announced, swooping around the corner and depositing salads, glasses, and a plate of lemon wedges. "Anything else, boys?"
"No, thanks," Anthony answered. "Jesus," he muttered after she left. "Who does she think she's kidding? It's been awhile since I was a 'boy'."
"I was never a boy," Brivari noted, grateful for both the interruption and the chance to change the subject. Even after all these years, talking about Audrey was still painful.
"What's with the lemon?" Anthony asked, watching Brivari squeeze wedge after wedge into his drink.
"An affectation I developed in Hollywood," Brivari said lightly.
"I still can't see you in Hollywood," Anthony admitted, shaking his head. "Are you still clapping clapboards?"
"I own a production company."
"Really?"
"Really. I function in the background as the owner few ever see."
"Wow," Anthony said, impressed. "So you're....wealthy?"
"By Earth standards. Although you're not doing badly yourself, what with being named Chairman of the Physics department at your university. And Dee made quite a name for herself locally, especially during the civil rights movement."
"She understandably feels strongly about any kind of discrimination....." Anthony stopped, his fork poised over his salad. "Wait a minute. How would you know all that?"
"I've made it my business to keep track of various people."
Anthony set his fork down and stared at him. "You mean you've been watching us? All this time, you've been watching us, and yet you never bothered to stop in and say hello? I can't tell you how many times we've wondered what's happened to you, to both of you, and now it turns out you've been around all along. If you were there anyway, why not show yourself?"
Brivari held Anthony's gaze even though he didn't want to. It was understandable that his friends would be angry with his choice to stay away. That was one of the many reasons he'd seriously considered passing Anthony by, as he had so many times before with all of them; the inevitable demand for an explanation would be awkward in the extreme. Just like it was now.
"Because I felt we had disrupted your lives enough," he said finally, opting for a partial truth. "Knowing us, befriending us, carries risk. Both Audrey and Atherton fell victim to that risk. Granted James brought it on himself, but only to an extent; it cannot be denied that had he not met me, he would not have found himself in a position where it was difficult to deny temptation. This was made all the clearer when we attempted to rescue Courtney and her father, and your wife joined the fray."
Anthony's eyes dropped. "Yeah, I remember that."
"I am no stranger to war and the price it demands," Brivari continued, "but this war has gone on far longer than any other I've experienced. I grow weary of losing people, people whose worst offense seems to be proximity to me."
"And yet you watched us," Anthony said. "All of us?"
"Your son graduated with honors from the same law school as his mother, married several years ago, and recently purchased a law practice here in Roswell. Your parents reside in Florida, and your in-laws still reside at the same address, with David retiring eight years ago, albeit reluctantly."
"But....why?" Anthony asked. "Why watch if you were never going to talk to us?"
Brivari kept his eyes on his food. "Why do you think? My lack of enthusiasm for placing you in danger means I have an interest in your welfare. Hence the watching."
"You could have at least dropped in from time to time," Anthony protested. "Or called us on the phone so you didn't have to look us in the eye."
"Which may have very well started the whole cycle again," Brivari said, "although my life has been mercifully peaceful these past many years. Jaddo appears to be the only one drawing attention since we left this place."
"You've kept up with him?"
"It wasn't hard," Brivari said, irritation wreathing his voice. "He did exactly what he set out to do—left a trail for our enemies to follow. And follow they have, every single one of them, obediently lurching hither and yon every time he snaps his fingers."
"Is that a bad thing?" Anthony asked.
A young man appeared at the end of their table. "Afternoon, folks! I'm Jeff Parker, owner of the Crashdown, and this is my daughter, Lizzie. Say hello, Lizzie."
"Hello," said the dark-haired little girl.
"Nice to meet you," Anthony smiled. "I like your dress, Lizzie. Do you like cupcakes?"
Lizzie's eyes fell, and she didn't answer. "Bit of sore subject," Jeff confided. "Her mom made it for her, but she's not thrilled with it. How are your meals?"
"Just fine, thank you," Brivari answered. "If you don't mind my asking....how old is your daughter?"
"Five years old," Jeff replied proudly. "She started kindergarten this year, didn't you, Lizzie? Well....if everything's to your liking, we'll leave you gentlemen to your lunch. Let me know if you need anything."
"Five years," Brivari murmured as the proprietor and his daughter moved on to the next table. "Our Wards should have been full grown twenty years ago, and they're approximately that child's size. Which is precisely why Jaddo's approach is a very 'bad thing'. Given the length of time we'll need to be here, keeping us in our enemies' sights strikes me as a very bad idea."
"They can't identify you," Anthony noted, "but they do know you're here, so they're going to keep looking. Why not keep them busy?"
"Because of the consequences of 'keeping them busy'," Brivari answered. "Nicholas will never stop looking, of course, but the human framework functions differently. Absent clear direction, the FBI's Special Unit would have faded into obscurity at least, disappeared at best."
"Let me guess—Jaddo has given them 'clear direction'?"
"You could say that," Brivari said darkly. "He executed Agent Lewis back in '62, and Lewis' replacement, Agent Del Bianco, a few years later in '67. Since then the Unit has undertaken a series of security measures which have made access more problematic, so subsequent Unit leaders lasted somewhat longer before suffering a similar fate."
"Yikes," Anthony murmured. "Law enforcement doesn't take kindly to it when one of their own goes down, never mind multiples."
"Lewis I could understand," Brivari said. "His was a constant, malevolent presence while Jaddo was captive. But Agent Del Bianco was merely a footnote, as ineffectual as he was fawning. Left alive, the Special Unit would likely have faltered under his oversight. Dead, he became their second martyr, another rallying point for the Unit, and another mandate for not only its continuance, but its growth."
"Growth? You mean the Unit is bigger?"
Brivari sighed. "As a result of Jaddo's....'activities'.....the Unit now has an active and sizeable presence worldwide, making it difficult for any alien activity on this planet to go unnoticed. Which suits him just fine, of course, because he wants to be noticed. Although he's been unusually quiet of late."
Anthony raised his "Alien Blast", the straw bobbing up and down as he did so. "Then let's have a toast to continued peace and quiet, and not so much as a whisper of 'alien activity' for anyone to notice. Not here, not anywhere."
Brivari smiled faintly and raised his own glass. "Hear, hear."
******************************************************
FBI Academy,
Quantico, Virginia
"Danny, you're done," the instructor said. "You can stop now."
Sweat running down his back, Daniel Pierce ignored him, pulling himself into another sit-up with agonizing slowness.
"You don't have to keep going," the instructor insisted. "You've passed the test, and then some. No sense killing yourself when you've still got munitions testing later on today."
Yes, there is, Pierce thought, lowering himself to the ground. He needed to do much more than merely pass the physical fitness test, merely qualify—he had to be the best. After waiting years to become an agent, he wasn't going to settle for graduating anything less than at the very top of his class.
"Enough," the instructor said firmly when he attempted another sit-up. "Hit the showers. You blew past the record five sit-ups ago, so that'll have to do."
Maybe it will, Pierce agreed privately. Every muscle ached from an afternoon spent on sprints, push-ups, pull-ups, and now sit-ups, breaking academy records in all. His shoulders would probably mutiny after munitions testing. Recoil could be a bitch even when they weren't already screaming.
"Daniel Pierce?" a voice demanded.
Pierce opened his eyes. An unfamiliar face loomed over him, short hair, dark suit, even darker expression. "Yes?"
"AD Skinner wants to see you."
"Who?"
"Now," Dark Suit clarified.
"What'd you do to piss off an Assistant Director?" the instructor chuckled, holding out a hand to help Pierce to his feet.
"No idea," Pierce mumbled, self conscious in his sweaty clothes next to the impeccable suit. "I'll be there in a few minutes."
" 'Now' is a simple three letter word, Mr. Pierce," Dark Suit replied. "What part of 'now' don't you understand?"
"But—"
"This isn't a beauty pageant," Dark Suit barked. "The AD doesn't give a damn what you look like. Follow me."
Pierce shot his instructor a pleading look, but he merely shrugged. When an AD called, you went, whether you were sweaty, naked, in flagrant delicto, whatever. Simple as that.
Ten minutes later, after winding their way through the campus, past the athletic fields, the dormitories, the library, and the rec center, they arrived at the administration building. Pierce's eyes widened when Dark Suit pressed the button for the top floor. He'd never been to the top floor, had no idea what was even up there. What could he possibly have done to merit an audience in the clouds? Or maybe it wasn't merit, but.....
No, Pierce thought fiercely. After all this time, after all these years spent in the shadows, they were not going to take this away from him. Whatever he'd done, whatever he'd fallen short on, they'd just have to let him try again. He had friends in the Bureau, people who'd worked with his father, even. He'd pull every string he could find if he had to, but they were not kicking him out.
The elevator door opened. Outside was a small hallway with yet another elevator at the end, this one requiring a key. Pierce grew increasingly nervous as the second elevator glided upward only a short ways and stopped. If he had to argue his place here, he would have preferred to have been properly dressed, not clad in a sweaty track suit and muddy sneakers. Maybe they'd wanted him to look like this? Was it easier to dismiss someone when they looked like hell?
The elevator door opened, this time directly onto a paneled office befitting the Director of the FBI's training facility at Quantico. That's who it belonged to judging from the name plate on the very large, very polished desk Dark Suit led him toward, indicating one of the chairs in front before disappearing through a side door. Alone now, Pierce took an uneasy seat in the chair, grimacing in embarrassment as his damp clothes stuck to it. What on earth had he done to land him here?
The door Dark Suit had exited through opened, and a much older man stepped inside. "Daniel!" he exclaimed, extending a hand. "So good to see you. I'm Assistant Director Skinner. I understand birthday congratulations are in order—happy birthday!"
"I....thank you, sir," Pierce stammered, accepting the handshake. "I must apologize for my appearance; I was just—"
"Think nothing of it," Skinner broke in with a dismissive wave, settling himself behind the desk. "I know this is short notice; I'm due in Washington, and you're in the middle of assessments, so that couldn't be helped. Besides, there's nothing wrong with a good sweat, eh?"
"No, sir," Pierce replied faintly. "I....do I....have we met, sir?"
"We have not," Skinner confirmed. "But I knew your father, and I've been following your career from the beginning. Now that you're about to make agent, it was time for us to meet."
"My 'career'?" Pierce repeated. "With all due respect, sir, I haven't had much in the way of a 'career', although not for lack of trying. My father put some very specific strictures on my involvement with the Bureau even though I qualified for field training years ago."
"I know he did. And I know why." Skinner paused. "And now it's time for you to know why."
Pierce blinked. "So...I'm not in trouble? I haven't failed?"
"Failed?" Skinner chuckled. "From what I hear, everything you touch turns to gold; you ace every test, break every record. Yes, I know you're not quite done yet, but when you are, I'm sure nothing will have changed. You can't fail, Daniel. You never could."
"I....don't understand, sir."
"Haven't you ever wondered why your father went to such lengths to keep you in the background? Insisted you attend college under a pseudonym? Kept you in desk jobs and teaching positions until your thirtieth birthday?"
Pierce's face clouded. "Of course I've wondered. All anyone would ever tell me is that he had my best interests at heart. And since he tied all that money to my following the plan, and all his friends here seemed to agree, there wasn't much I could do about it."
"We were happy to follow his wishes," Skinner agreed. "Your father is a legend at the Bureau. It's said he had the ear of J. Edgar Hoover himself. A private line to the Director. Unrestricted access. Very rare."
"For all the good it did him," Pierce said bitterly. "I don't care if he was Hoover's lover; he still wound up murdered, and I wound up an orphan. And the Bureau stepped in," he added hastily, suddenly worried he'd sounded the wrong note. "The Bureau raised me, sir, and I'll always be grateful for that."
Skinner smiled. "I'm glad to hear that. Because we need you now, Daniel. We need you like we've never needed you before, and we're counting on your loyalty. Do we have it?"
"Of course, sir," Pierce answered, mystified. "But what do you need me for?"
Skinner regarded him in silence for a moment. "What if I were to tell you that you could help catch your father's killers?"
Pierce went rigid. "What?"
"You were young when your father died," Skinner continued. "And because you were so young, there was a lot we didn't tell you. An awful lot. And what we did tell you was not.....entirely accurate."
"How so?" Pierce asked warily.
"You father did indeed die at the hands of his quarry," Skinner confirmed, opening a folder, removing two photographs. "Quite literally, in fact. But it wasn't gunshots. Take a look. Take your time," he added gently when Pierce glanced at the photos and flinched. "I'll warn you right now you won't like what you see."
Pierce's hands clenched into fists as he willed his eyes to return to the photographs. "Do you know who these men are?" Skinner asked.
"Of course," Pierce said tightly. "That's my father. And his closest deputy, Agent Del Bianco."
"Each of these were taken only minutes after we found them," Skinner said. "Look closer, and you'll find out what killed them. Both of them."
I don't want to, Pierce thought, feeling guilty for even having such a thought. He'd only been three years old when his father had been murdered, so his memories of him were hazy; Del Bianco he remembered somewhat better as he'd been murdered five years later when Pierce was eight. Due to his age, no one had discussed the particulars with him; he'd simply been told that both had died in the line of duty, always a risk for any law enforcement officer, and he'd accepted that explanation without question as any child would.
But you're not a child any more, Pierce thought fiercely, pulling the photos closer, doing his best to ignore the faces. Turned out it wasn't hard; his attention was completely captured by something on the chest of each victim, something large and glaring and wrong even in a black and white shot.
"What
is that?" he whispered.
"That, Daniel, is a silver handprint," Skinner answered, "left behind by the murderer. It fades away hours or days later, but by then it's already done its damage."
"What does it do?"
"We're not sure," Skinner replied, "but every victim bearing this mark has died from having their internal organs heated to an impossible temperature. Simply put, they were cooked from the inside out."
Pierce's mouth opened and closed. "But....how?" he demanded, leafing through the medical records. "How is that possible? It says there were no burns on the body, or—"
"I know," Skinner interrupted. "We don't understand the mechanism, but that's how these creatures kill."
" 'Creatures'?"
Skinner hesitated as though he'd just said the wrong thing. "Your father spent his life pursuing these....people, Daniel. That made him a target, and eventually they caught up with him. The reason he kept you hidden when you were young was to protect you because he believed they would come after you too."
"Then why let me in the Bureau at all? Wouldn't it have been safer to have me as far away from it as possible?"
Skinner came around to the front of the desk, perching on the front edge. "Because he knew the day would come when we would need you, when
he would need you, and he wanted you to be ready. He left specific instructions as to your training and the timing of that training, and we've followed them to the letter. And now you're ready for the final phase."
"But why now?" Pierce asked in exasperation. "This doesn't make any sense. My father's will was written when I was a baby, which means he put all those weird stipulations in it long before he died. What's so special about turning thirty, especially if I could have been chasing his killers all this time?"
Skinner was quiet for a moment. "What do you know about your biological father?" he asked.
"Almost nothing. He was a doctor, and he died before I was born. And I have his name. That's it."
"Yes," Skinner murmured, reaching for the folder again. "Do you know what he looked like?"
"Why should I care? Like I said, he died before I was born. He was just the sperm donor."
Skinner pulled another photo from the folder, handed it to him. It was another black and white photo, this time of an unfamiliar man lying on the floor of what looked to be an office. "Wait a minute. Is that.....is that what I think it is?"
"If you think it's another silver handprint, then yes, it's what you think it is," Skinner said gently. "That's your birth father, and he died at the hands of the same assassin as your adoptive father."
Pierce felt his heart begin to pound. Not for the man in the photo, whom he had never met and for whom he felt nothing, but for the fact that these killers had pursued his family so relentlessly for so long. "But....why?" he asked, bewildered. "My birth father was a doctor; he wasn't chasing anyone. Why would they kill him?"
"Because he knew how to fight them, how to control them," Skinner said. "And he willed that information to you, his only son, to be delivered on your thirtieth birthday should you live to that age, and to be lost forever should you not. Today is your thirtieth birthday, Daniel. At some point in the very near future, someone will deliver your legacy to you, and at that point, you will have the means to bring these killers to their knees." He paused. "These aren't their only victims. And the Bureau isn't the only one chasing them. Lots of people, lots of other agencies would love to know what you're about to learn. I need to know that, when you come into your inheritance, you'll let the Bureau act on it no matter what other offers you may receive. I need to know we have your loyalty. Do we have that?"
Pierce said nothing, his mind whirling from all this new information. So this was why his father had protected him so fiercely, insisting he use a different name in college, allowing him to join the Bureau but not go into the field until he turned thirty. They were after him too, after what he knew, or what he would know if he managed to live long enough.
"We need you, Daniel," Skinner pressed. "We need to know that you'll do the right thing by these men, these victims of criminals we've pursued for decades now. And in return you'll have the resources of the entire Bureau at your disposal, a Bureau that very much wants to make this right. Tell me that when you receive whatever it is that's coming your way, you'll bring it to us and not someone else."
Pierce's eyes rose to meet Skinner's. "The Bureau has been mother and father to me," he said firmly. "Whatever I have is yours.
******************************************************
Roswell
It was late afternoon when Brivari found himself on the rock formation which housed the pod chamber, gazing across the empty desert. Visiting this place had long since ceased to be dangerous as Nicholas had pulled out long ago, and he'd come here once a year without fail since he and Jaddo had left. It was a journey always undertaken with a heavy heart; most times he could almost bring himself to forget, immersed as he was in the life he'd made for himself, so busy creating illusion that he forgot the simple fact that he was an illusion, his occupation merely a way of "killing time", as the humans would say. Killing time, that is, until his true purpose reasserted itself, a purpose which reared its head in only two instances: His yearly pilgrimage here, and whenever news of Jaddo's escapades reached him. But he'd heard nothing of Jaddo in the past year and a half, allowing a blissful period of detachment between visits to the pod chamber. And causing a difficult time now, when he once again had to come face to face with the likely length of his exile here and the ever present fear that all this was for nothing.
That latter fear was calmed somewhat only seconds after pressing his hand to the handprint lock. He entered slowly, in no hurry to ruin the reassuring sight of the soft light in the chamber ahead by actually seeing the hybrids within those glowing pods. This was always a two step process: Elation that they still lived, followed by disappointment that they were so small.
Forty-two years he thought sadly, hovering just out of sight of the pods. The hybrids should have reached adulthood in twenty, and twice that many years later, they were no larger than the child in Parker's. Unless, of course, a miracle had occurred, something which would be most welcome at this point....
But it hadn't—one glance told him the hybrids were no larger than last year. Their growth rate had never changed significantly, it still taking several years of incubation to equal one year of human development. Brivari ran a hand along Zan's pod, the dark hair fanning out around him a sharp contrast to Ava's yellow curls.
What are you? he wondered.
What will you be when you emerge? With all the time that would have passed, would Zan even know who he was? Would any of them? Had anything else been compromised or miscalculated as badly as the growth rate, and if so, was there any way to reverse the damage? Were there any scientists left of Valeris' caliber who knew anything about this process?
Doesn't matter, Brivari realized. Valeris had made it clear that once the process had begun, there was no way to affect it, and further made it clear that this was the very first attempt to create Antarian-Human hybrids. The odds that anyone on the five planets would have anything useful to contribute were small, if not non-existent. They would just have to wait and see what happened. And while they waited, he would be treated to the sad process of human aging, the fear of which had kept him from the Evans family until today, and kept him from River Dog and the Proctors still. If the changes in Dee and Anthony were disturbing, the changes in David and Emily were even more so, with both in their early seventies, young by Antarian standards, old by human standards. They would likely not live much longer, and the thought of losing them was enough to make him regret the promise Anthony had extracted from him before they'd parted earlier today. But perhaps it was best he show himself now, while they were still relatively intact. Wait much longer, and......
Brivari's mind suddenly went blank as a previously unnoticed detail brought his thoughts to a screeching halt. "It's clear," he whispered, bewildered. The pod which housed Zan's hybrid was now crystal clear, his features more visible and vivid than ever before. The same was true of Rath's and Vilandra's pods, but not Ava's, hers displaying the same milky appearance which had marked the pods for the past four decades. When had that happened? More importantly,
why had it happened? He vaguely remembered Valeris telling him something about the pods becoming clear at some point, but couldn't recall exactly what had been said.
But it was pivotal, he thought with alarm. The pods becoming clearer signaled a sea change, something terribly significant, something.....
Brivari stepped backward, panic mounting as more of that conversation with Valeris came back to him. They'd been standing here, right here, and Valeris had said....
It can't be, he thought wildly. Not now, not when they were so young, so small, so....unfinished. He must be wrong, must be misremembering. He should consult Valeris' notes. Hopefully they contained something which would settle this.
Twenty minutes later, Brivari pushed open the double doors of Roswell's library. It had been new back in '59, and one of his first acts after leaving town had been to become a generous donor or "friend" of the library, meaning he would be notified of any attempts to renovate it or tear it down. Every visit to the pod chamber had also included a visit to this library and the cave near River Dog, making certain that what they'd hidden in each place for safekeeping remained there. Tonight marked the first time in thirty years that either had been disturbed.
A gaggle of children ran past, nearly knocking him down; the place was crawling, mostly with adolescents toting stacks of textbooks. Perhaps it had been a weak attempt at humor which had induced Jaddo to create a hiding space in the "rare book" section, but "rare" or no, that section was no less busy, and Brivari stood in the center of the aisle, eyeing his target with frustration as patrons squeezed past. He needed a distraction, one that would not draw the authorities. The last thing he needed in here was more people.
A moment later, the huge fish tank which graced the children's section on the other side of the library began visibly leaking. Children shouted and older patrons ran to see what was happening, leaving the aisle mercifully free of surveillance. Moments later Brivari left the library with the book Valeris had created, the book they had secreted here against the possibility that the pod chamber would be discovered. Sounds of chaos within the library faded as he retreated to a bench on the grounds and opened the book, impatiently scanning the written section of notes. There was a declaration of who and what the hybrids' were....God help them all if they were addled enough to need that....instructions for ignition of the Granolith, the use of the healing stones, notes about their enhanced abilities....and about the process of incubation. Brivari hesitated, closing his eyes briefly. If he was wrong, he of course wanted to know that. But if he was right....
Unfortunately, he was. He read over the confirming section once, twice, three times, ten times, and still couldn't believe it. Why hadn't he thought of this? Why hadn't he realized this would be a problem when he'd first discovered the slower growth rate?
Because I didn't remember, he thought heavily. He hadn't remembered that conversation with Valeris only hours before his capture and death until he'd seen the changing pods. Scientifically, it made perfect sense, but in practical terms, this was yet another nightmare, the latest in a long line.
Fifteen minutes later, Brivari headed out of town, the book still in his possession. He'd have to break his promise to Anthony to visit old friends tonight, but he would still be visiting an old friend.
Just not one who lived in Roswell.
****************************************************
Columbia Medical Center,
New York City
"I'm off," Marie announced to her secretary, still toiling away at the word processor. "You should go home, Estelle. You work too hard."
"I just want to finish these letters, Dr. Johnson," Estelle answered, tapping away.
"Honestly, weren't those computers supposed to make our lives easier?" Marie sighed. "Why does it seem like we work harder than ever?"
"Same reason the introduction of the vacuum cleaner didn't really make housework easier," Estelle chuckled. "When cleaning became easier, our standards rose, and we spent more time cleaning, every bit as much as we did when we had to take the rugs out and beat them. Same goes for typing."
"Well, don't stay too late," Marie warned. "This place can eat you alive if you let it."
"I won't," Estelle promised. "When the Chief of Neurology tells me to go home, I listen."
Chief of Neurology, Marie thought as she entered the elevator. Nearly five years had passed, and her title still made her smile. A woman in such a male-dominated field was relatively rare, but here she was, having shattered that fabled glass ceiling not only for herself, but for those who would follow her. It was one of her proudest achievements, and she was still smiling when the elevator stopped and an unfamiliar man entered, standing beside her, waiting patiently for the door to close.
"Good evening, Lieutenant," the man said.
Marie's smile evaporated as she glanced at her fellow passenger....and suddenly the man was no longer unfamiliar. "What on earth are you doing here?" she said in astonishment. "You should have gone home years ago!"
"We should have," Brivari agreed. "But circumstances intervened, and now....I need your help."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 4 next Sunday.
I’m just borrowing these wonderful characters to amuse myself. And hopefully you.
*passes Misha the soap* Look at it this way--that's the last action Pierce Jr. is going to see because, from now on, he'll be really, really busy. And he didn't even get much in the way of action because he was interrupted. Even better. 
I'll post Chapter 8 after the holidays on Sunday, January 3rd.