Awakening *Series* (AU, TEEN) [COMPLETE]

[Kathy W]

Hello to everyone reading!

Loved when little Max used his powers and the phone line went dead......

Good thing he didn't put his hand on the deputy!

Let's see what else they're up to.....




CHAPTER NINE



September 18, 1989, 1 a.m.

Roswell Memorial Hospital



Brivari gazed at the unfamiliar machine in front of him, a behemoth with a large circular opening in the middle of which sat a bed of some sort. "What is this?" he asked Marie. "And why do you need it?"

"It's a CAT scanner," Marie repeated. "Computerized Axial Tomography. You remember x-rays, don't you?"

"Of course I remember x-rays," Brivari said. "They were the bane of my existence at Eagle Rock."

"This is a much more advanced x-ray machine," Marie said. "In a nutshell, it takes lots of 2-D scans and puts them all together to make a 3-D picture. I'm surprised to find one in such a small hospital. They're very expensive."

Brivari circled the machine slowly. "So this is an imager?"

"A very sophisticated imager," Marie corrected.

"By your standards," Brivari murmured, missing Malik all over again. No wonder he hadn't recognized it. An x-ray was the equivalent of a flint knife, a crude precursor to real imaging. Which made this a somewhat nicer flint knife, but a flint knife all the same.

"Yes, 'by my standards'," Marie replied, sounding a bit put out. "I realize this may look simple to you, but we're very lucky to find it. I—"

"I think you're both missing the point," Dee interrupted. "Which is how we found it in the first place. They led us here. Which means they understood us."

"Understood what?" Brivari asked.

"I asked Yvonne—I mean, Marie—if she was going to do a physical," Dee explained, "and she said she needed to do more than that, that she needed to 'see inside them'. She specifically said that she needed an x-ray machine.....and lo and behold, they led us right to an x-ray machine."

"She's right," Marie nodded. "They got up and walked out right after I said that. But how could they have known this was here? It's not even finished."

"There was a sign on the way in to Emergency," Dee replied. "Something about donating to the hospital for some kind of expansion, and donors get their names on a wall somewhere. They had pictures, and I'm pretty sure one of those pictures was of a machine just like this."

"So....they saw the picture," Brivari said. "But how did they know where to find it?"

"There was a whole bunch of text on that sign," Dee said. "I didn't stop to read it, and we only walked by it for a few seconds, but...."

Her voice trailed off as all of them stared at the two small figures standing beside the CAT scanner.

"They can read," Marie said faintly.

"And they can read fast," Dee noted. "And they didn't just read it, they understood what they'd read and connected it to what you said you needed."

"And then they led me here," Marie said. "We know what at least the boy does when he feels threatened, so he must not consider us a threat."

Marie and Dee continued their analysis, but Brivari wasn't listening. He wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but back at the police station, Dee had made a veiled accusation which had hit uncomfortably close to home: That he might abandon the hybrids. The truth was he had considered doing just that. What with them emerging so late, so young, and so unaware, it had crossed his mind that he might have to declare the entire endeavor a failure, an exceptionally bitter pill to swallow after so long and so much loss. Now, for the first time in decades, he felt a surge of hope. Heating the bath water had been instinct. Affecting the phone lines and the power at the police station had been instinct. This latest feat, however, required assimilating information in an unfamiliar language on an unfamiliar planet and putting it to good use, not to mention choosing allies he could trust. The one thing Zan had always been good at was deciding who to trust. You're in there, he thought, fastening his eyes on the dark-haired boy. Somewhere, somehow, his Ward was in that small human shell.

"Is that something you can do?" Marie was asking him. "Can you read that quickly?"

"Yes," Brivari answered, never taking his eyes off the boy. "We can scan written information in seconds, store it in our brains, and access it immediately or later, much the same way one of your 'computers' operates."

"Wow," Dee murmured. "Where were you when I was in school and memorizing all that case law?"

"And they can do that too?" Marie asked.

"So it would appear," Brivari replied. "It's clear that at least the boy can access higher human brain functions, those your species have not yet evolved enough to use. That part of this experiment worked."

"But what about the girl?" Dee asked. "Why hasn't she done anything yet?"

"Probably because she hasn't had to," Brivari said. "The fact that she hasn't demonstrated higher abilities doesn't mean she doesn't have them. If they have any concept of who they really are, she would defer to her brother. She is merely adopting the same position she held on Antar, where he was the monarch and she mere ornament."

"Then....that means they know who they are?" Marie ventured.

"Perhaps," Brivari allowed. "On some level, at least."

"Then why won't they talk to you?" Dee asked. "Are they doing it on purpose? Is it.....is it possible they blame you for what happened?"

Marie shook her head. "I don't think they're processing at that level. Frankly, I'm not sure they're capable of......" She paused. "But I'm getting ahead of myself. This suite is obviously still under construction. The scanner's been installed; let's check the computers that crunch the data, and see how far they've gotten."

Not far enough, Brivari thought as they stepped over rolls of carpeting and cans of paint in what looked like a future waiting area toward a long windowed room off to the right where rows of bulky computer monitors sat on a long counter, some with keyboards in front. "This one looks like it's connected," Marie murmured, pushing a power switch. The screen blinked on, and rows of text began to appear. Marie studied it for several minutes.

"Well," she said at length, "the good news is that they've installed the software that talks to the scanner."

"And the bad news?" Dee asked.

"They haven't hooked up the scanner to the computer. They were probably planning on doing that after they had all the computers up and running."

"So we can't use it after all," Dee sighed.

Brivari bent over Marie's shoulder, studying the screen. "What do you need these devices to do?"

"I need this computer to read the data coming from that scanner so that I can see it on the screen," Marie answered. "That's what these big cables are for. Otherwise—"

Brivari promptly reached down and picked up one of the cables. "You're familiar with computers?" Marie asked.

"At the risk of offending you once again, these are extremely simple machines," Brivari answered. "If someone presented you with a glass of water and an empty glass, and asked you to move the water from one glass to another, would you know how to do it?"

Marie and Dee exchanged startled glances. "This is a task of similar complexity for me," Brivari continued when neither answered him. "Get the hybrids ready. We need to obtain all the information we can before they're missed. We can analyze it later."

"All right," Marie said, watching him fit the heavy cable to the computer with a degree of skepticism. "Come on then, kids. Time to see what you're made of."

The boy and girl followed promptly, further proof of their growing grasp of language, and both climbed onto the table Marie patted with one hand, their own hands still clasped. "Oh," she said doubtfully. "Well....you're small. I suppose I can do you both at once. I need you to lay.....down," she finished as they beat her to it, stretching out side by side on the narrow table, their fingers intertwined.

"I'll be right in there," Marie said gently to the children, pointing to the windows. "The machine will make noise, but that's okay. That means it's working."

"Shouldn't someone stay in here with them?" Dee asked doubtfully. "What if they get scared?"

Brivari eyed the children lying calmly on the table. "They're not frightened. Perhaps they want to know what they are every bit as much as we do. Proceed."




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




7:30 a.m.

First National Bank of Santa Fe




Hunched down in his rented car, his collar pulled up to hide his face, Daniel Pierce waited outside the First National Bank, set to open in a half hour. He had a dim recollection of Agent Del Bianco telling him there was a safe deposit box in his name here, supposedly full of worthless family heirlooms from parents he'd never met. He'd never actually verified that, of course. Why trek all the way out here to fondle some stranger's watches and cuff links? He'd been far too busy living under the equivalent of a witness protection program and working his butt off to be accepted by the Bureau when the time finally came that it would consider him.

Unfortunately it was that very Bureau he was now working mightily to avoid, using the very skills it had taught him, skills which told him that nothing of import could be in the little box in this building that the FBI wouldn't have found way back when they were first looking for whatever his birth father had successfully kept from them. Skills which had been tested last night in a way no classroom ever could when he'd played cat and mouse with Darth Suit at the airport, buying a last minute plane ticket to Chicago with his credit card and another to Santa Fe with cash. An identically dressed Brian had switched places with him as he'd waited to board the plane to Chicago, and Darth Suit had fallen for it, probably not realizing he'd been thrown off the trail until he'd actually reached the Windy City. That sort of deception wouldn't work a second time now that the Bureau knew he was actively avoiding them, and he'd been on pins and needles since arriving in Santa Fe under an assumed name. It was amazing how pervasive paranoia could be, causing you to see ghosts at every turn, hear things that weren't there, suspect every single person who came close to you, however innocently. The sooner he got inside the bank, the sooner he'd breathe easier.

Bingo, Pierce thought as a car pulled up to the side of the building just as he was checking his watch for the third time in as many minutes. He climbed out of his car at the same time the other car's occupant emerged, a man dressed in a suit and topcoat who looked up in surprise when Pierce approached.

"Good morning," Pierce said. "I'm here to view the contents of a safe deposit box."

"Of course, sir," the man said, extending a hand. "I'm Victor Alexander, manager of this branch. We'll be open at 8 a.m., and I'd be happy to assist you then."

"May I wait inside?" Pierce asked.

"I'm sorry, sir, but the bank won't be open until 8 a.m."

"I realize that, but...." Pierce hesitated, not wanting to spend even one more second out in the open. "I'm in something of a hurry....plane to catch, you understand.....and I'd like to be able to view my box just as soon as possible. I have my key," he added, holding up the little gold key, more brown, really, that had become his on his twenty-first birthday. "If you could tell me what paperwork I'll need, or....what?"

Victor Alexander was gazing at the key Pierce held aloft with undisguised interest. "That's an old key," he said. "All our boxes were fitted with new locks years ago.....except the ones whose owners we couldn't locate. Where did you get this?"

Pierce smiled. "Let me wait inside, and I'll tell you."

A minute later he was in the lobby, having followed the bank manager through a side door. "It's all right," Alexander said to a security guard whose eyebrows rose when he saw Pierce. "I'll be in the back."

"Yes, sir," the guard said as Pierce walked by as quickly as possible.

"The back" turned out to be a vault, the massive, circular door already opened. Inside was a locked grill which Alexander opened with a key, beyond which was a high-ceilinged room with walls pockmarked floor to ceiling by the keyholes of safe deposit boxes of various sizes. Rolling ladders allowed access to the higher boxes, all of which were made of a burnished metal which complemented the brass light fixtures and polished wood accents. The First National Bank certainly knew how to keep their safe deposit boxes in style.

"What number is on your key?" Alexander asked, slipping off his coat and depositing both it and his briefcase in a chair beside the room's one desk, a modern piece of furniture which looked every bit as out of place as the computer it held.

"157," Pierce answered.

"A one hundred series," Alexander said, impressed. "Those are among the oldest boxes." He tapped on the keyboard, then looked up in surprise. "That box hasn't been accessed since July of 1959, the same year it was purchased."

Right before I was born, Pierce thought. "Sounds about right," he said out loud. "I inherited it from my father, and I'd like to see it."

"I'll need identification," Alexander announced.

Pierce reached into his breast pocket with hands that threatened to shake. He hadn't been Daniel Pierce since he'd left Quantico, but he had to be Daniel Pierce now. There hadn't been so much as a whiff of pursuit since boarding that plane for New Mexico, but it was still unnerving to hand over his real driver's license. He hadn't felt this naked since his last physical.

"Very well then, Mr. Pierce," Alexander said briskly, handing back his license. "Let's find your box."

Alexander unlocked the desk and pulled out a ring of keys, one of which opened a metal door in the wall beside the desk, and behind which was a cabinet full of.....keys.

"Two keys are required to open each box," he explained when Pierce looked baffled. "You have one, the bank has the other. This ensures that the bank cannot access a customer's box without their knowledge. According to the computer," he continued, scanning the rows of keys with one finger, "your box was one of the ones for which we couldn't locate the owner, hence it was never re-keyed. Which means our key is likely as old as yours. And so it is," he said, removing a dingy looking key. "Shall we?"

Pierce followed along behind Alexander, who squatted down beside the bottom row of boxes in the far corner of the vault. "Right here," he said, inserting his key into one keyhole of a small box and turning it. "Now you put your key in."

Pierce did, having to muscle the key around as the mechanism protested. "It's been decades since this was opened," Alexander said apologetically. "Anything mechanical gets a bit cranky if it hasn't been used for that long. May I?"

Pierce stepped back as Alexander successfully coaxed the door open and withdrew a long metal box. "Follow me," he instructed, holding the box in front of him as though it contained the crown jewels. Pierce trailed along obediently, out of the vault and into one of several small rooms directly outside, elegantly appointed in wood and leather. "I'll give you your privacy," Alexander announced, setting the box on the room's one table and closing the door behind him.

Pierce sank slowly into one of the four chairs arranged around the table, gazing at the box in fascination. Was this it? Was this his legacy, whatever it was that would make him the most powerful man in law enforcement? Hard to believe that such a small box could hold something that momentous, but then the old adage about the best things coming in small packages had been around so long for a very good reason. His hands trembled as he lifted the lid.

The first thing that caught his eye was a watch. The second was the requisite pair of cuff links. Various other pieces of jewelry followed, including a military service medal and several pieces of women's jewelry. By the time he was on his fourth pair of earrings, he grew impatient and pawed through the pile, finally tipping the box upside down. Everything clinked onto the mahogany table, topped by a legal-sized envelope which contained a single sheet of paper covered with a masculine scrawl.



To Whom It May Concern,


Whoever you are, no doubt you're looking for my serum. Sorry to disappoint you—no, actually that's not true, I'm delighted to disappoint you—but it's not here. The serum is mine, perhaps my crowning achievement, although I would certainly like to think I've reached greater heights since then. Regardless, no stifling government that blocked me every step of the way, forcing me to work in secret because of their supposedly lofty morals, will ever get their hands on that formula.

My wife is currently pregnant with my first child, a son. Should I predecease him, my son will inherit the formula for my serum at the age of 30, by which time he will hopefully have sown his wild oats and gained sufficient maturity to know how to use it to his best advantage. The means by which this will occur are untraceable, having not been divulged to anyone or recorded in any legal document. A full accounting of the reason for this subterfuge will accompany the formula when it is delivered to him, along with my notes regarding dosage, strength, and the affect of same on each test subject. Invaluable information, that, and very hard to reproduce without killing the subject, so if I were you, I would remain in my son's good offices. I would also safeguard his welfare carefully, because should he die before the age of 30, the serum will never be delivered and will be lost forever.

I have most likely ruined your day and, hopefully, your career. Nothing personal, you understand; it's just the way the game is played, and no one plays that game better than I do. Remember that as you enjoy the wait.

Sincerely,

Daniel Pierce, M.D.



Blinking slowly, Pierce read the letter a second time. Then a third time. Then a fourth. Finally he turned the letter over, examining it carefully, ran his hands inside first the envelope, then the box, then through the pile of family heirlooms. Finally he sat back in his chair, both hands to his mouth, trying to decide if this was good news or bad. On the plus side, it appeared he stood to inherit some kind of medical formula, the "serum" his birth father had referenced. But there was no formula here, just the useless family junk he'd always been told this box contained. The letter itself was interesting, probably the very missive which had started the whole merry-go-round running, but the fact remained that it told him little that both he and the FBI didn't already know: That he was set to inherit something someone wanted badly at the age of 30. Other than that, he was right back where he'd started.

Damn it, Pierce thought fiercely. Why had the old man sent him here? Was this another test to see if he could arrive in one piece without being followed? But how would he know if he'd passed? Was the old man here, watching him? He did seem awfully spry for such a fossil.....

Knock, knock.

"Come in," Pierce said impatiently.

It was Mr. Alexander. "How is everything coming along?" he asked, politely averting his eyes as Pierce unceremoniously began jamming the contents of the box back inside.

"Just peachy," Pierce muttered.

"So glad to hear that," Mr. Alexander said. "Did you wish to view your second box?"

Pierce paused, his hands full of jewelry.

"My 'second' box?"





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



Roswell Memorial Hospital




*There you are,* Dee said, pausing in the doorway. *This was the last place I expected to find you.*

*Which was the point,* Brivari said. *To be alone.*

*You've been alone for hours now. Isn't it time for some company?*

Receiving no answer, Dee let the chapel door close gently behind her. It was small and simple, its most notable feature being a stained glass window which let in the morning light. A small table at the front was covered with a plain white cloth, in the middle of which sat a wooden cross and a Star of David, the only religious symbols in the room.

*Nice little place,* Dee commented, taking a seat beside Brivari.

*Odd little place,* Brivari countered. *But then most places of worship are.*

*How so?*

*Take for example, the object on the left,* Brivari said. *I am given to understand it was used as an instrument of torture by one of the most powerful monarchies to grace this planet.*

*Actually, it was an empire, and before that, a republic,* Dee corrected. *And yes, the cross was used as a method of execution. Christians believe the son of God was executed on a cross.*

*Forgive my ignorance, but how does one execute a deity?*

Dee smiled faintly. *You don't. The child of the deity allowed himself to be executed in order to free us from our sins, thereby elevating the cross from a symbol of death to a symbol of self-sacrifice and redemption.*

Brivari shook his head. *I stand corrected: Not only places of worship, but worship itself is odd by definition.*'

*So you came in here to ponder the great philosophical questions of the universe?*

*No,* Brivari sighed. *I came in here to ponder the practical questions of this small corner of the universe, the one for which I'm responsible. Are they still asleep?*

*Yes. And still holding hands. I wouldn't knock it,* she added when Brivari gave a soft snort. *One way or another, they're going to need each other.* She paused, choosing between the many questions which had been kicking around her brain all night. *If he really is Zan....and he remembers what his sister did.....what will he do?*

*He will forgive her. That's what he always did.*

*You mean she caused trouble before?*

*I mean he has a blind spot where his sister is concerned,* Brivari clarified. *Where anyone he cares for is concerned.*

*How very human,* Dee murmured.

*How very foolish,* Brivari muttered.

Dee gave him an appraising look. *Is it bothering you that he's responding to her and not you?*

*Don't be ridiculous,* Brivari said irritably. *They're hybrids, and not even half formed hybrids at that. These specks of awareness we're seeing could be nothing more than echoes.*

Bullshit, Dee thought blandly, the waves of resentment rolling off him almost palpable. He was put out that after all he'd done, all he'd been through, his Ward not only didn't recognize him but was clinging to the one person who had instigated this whole mess in the first place.

*Marie got the attending physician on the morning shift to sign off on the medical exams,* Dee went on, changing the subject. *She said shift change was one of the busiest times of the day, and he was all too happy to just rubber stamp her notes. There still doesn't seem to be anyone who missed them last night when they were gone. Everyone was too busy with your 'power failure'.*

*Which was the idea,* Brivari said.

*She also said she should be done going over all the tests soon,* Dee continued. *We were lucky to have had all that time and space to ourselves. And now I know what an 'EEG' machine looks like,* she added with a chuckle. *Who knew I'd be nicking medical equipment?*

*We didn't 'nick' anything,* Brivari said. *Everything was returned when we were done with it.* He paused. *Have you spoken with your father?*

*Yes,* Dee answered, *and still no luck finding Rath....yet. But they're still looking. He and Anthony are going back out to the ranch today—"

*He won't be there. He would have moved on, looking for food and shelter. Assuming he's not dead, that is.*

*You don't believe that,* Dee said. *Just like you don't believe that your king isn't really somewhere inside that little boy.*

They sat in silence for several minutes. Twice the door opened behind them; visiting hours had begun, and traffic in the little makeshift chapel increased. Not that that would affect their conversation. Telepathic conversation was mercifully private.

*You asked me a question downstairs,* Brivari said at length, *one I never answered.*

*I asked you lots of questions. Which one?*

Brivari hesitated. *You asked me if it was possible that he blames me for what happened.*

*And?*

*And....I'd never even considered that,* he answered, sounding deeply disturbed. *I haven't considered much of anything because I'd convinced myself this meeting would likely never take place. I expected to be dead before his emergence, my role in all this reduced to safeguarding his hiding place. And even if I were wrong, I would have expected a fully functioning adult, not a child hybrid whose mental state is uncertain.* He paused. *This experiment has always been viewed as either succeeding or failing; the possibility of something in between had not occurred to me. I never expected to face something like this.*

*Given that we haven't seen you in decades, I'm guessing he wasn't the only one you hadn't planned on facing,* Dee said dryly.

*Do you have any idea how difficult it is for me to watch all of you change?* Brivari demanded. *Your mother can barely walk sometimes. Your father's hands shake, and one of his eyes is impaired. When I saw him out there in the desert.....*

An awkward silence filled in the rest of that sentence. *Daddy has a cataract in one eye,* Dee explained. *He's going to have the lens replaced. Mama has arthritis, has had for years. But they're in their seventies, so all that's to be expected.*

* 'Expected',* Brivari said bitterly. *Yes. Although its being 'expected' makes it no easier to watch.*

*No, I don't suppose it does,* Dee agreed. *But it happens, and there's nothing we can do about it, just like there's nothing you can do about this. They're here. You weren't expecting them, and they're not like you expected, but they're here. And you'll have to deal with that just as we have to deal with growing old, whether we like it or not.*

The chapel door opened and closed again, once, twice, three times. Dee paid it no mind until someone sat down directly behind them.

"I'm done," a soft voice said.

It was Marie. Everyone else in the chapel had left. "And?" Dee asked eagerly when Brivari said nothing, still staring straight ahead.

"And....they're human," Marie said. "Physically, at least, they're almost one hundred percent human. Their bone structure, their organs, even their brains are all normal for five to six year-old human children. Nothing unusual on the EEG, even, although I wouldn't expect it to show anything unless they were actually doing something magical."

"But?" Brivari murmured.

"But the one thing that's different is their blood. Their blood samples contain cells I've never seen before, not even in you and Jaddo. And they're all like that, no human cells at all and no cells like yours. It's like they're a completely different species."

"Because they are," Brivari answered. "A hybrid, by definition, is a new species, and these are the very first Antarian-human hybrids."

"It's the damnedest thing I've ever seen," Marie said, shaking her head in wonderment. "They have human bodies made of non-human cells. The good news is that x-rays or CAT scans won't trip them up. The bad news is that cell samples will, whether it's blood, bone marrow, or tissue, like for a biopsy. You'll have to be careful about that."

"Children rarely have blood drawn unless they're injured or sick," Dee noted. "That might not be as much of a problem as it would be for an adult."

"Is there any indication," Brivari said slowly, "—any at all—that they know who they are?"

"I'm sorry, I don't have any way to test for that," Marie answered. "I can tell you this; their brains are only as developed as a human six year-old's, which is to say not very developed at all. It might be best if they don't know who they are just yet. I don't know what they'd do with that information."

Brivari half turned in his chair. "What do you mean?"

Marie hesitated, then shook her head. "I'm not sure. I just question whether such a young brain would be able to process a much older personality. Have you run into this in the past when you've made other hybrids?"

"No," Brivari said heavily. "A transfer of essence always occurs between two bodies of the same age and rate of development."

"Then we're all in uncharted territory," Marie said, rifling through a stack of papers on her lap. "I have all their genuine test results if you'd like to see them, and I constructed replacements for their charts. I also filled out all the Social Services paperwork because it would have looked weird if I hadn't; they'll be coming for them today, and if they're still here....they'll take them away."

She paused, her eyes shifting from Brivari to Dee and back again.

"Are you going to let Social Services take them?"



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


I'll post Chapter 10 next Sunday.

[Kathy W]

Hello to everyone reading!

I'm assuming that since they did not grow to maturity that is why our future podsters didn't have any memories of their past lives?

Their not growing to maturity will play a part in that, but it's not a direct correlation. That would have been too easy.

It is easy to forget that while those of us reading the story, as well as Dee and the others are seeing them as little children Brivari has a long past with the children and sees much, much more than that when he is looking at them.

Oh, yes. And I think everyone who looks at them isn't seeing the complete picture. Brivari sees who they were, but they've become something else. His human allies see little kids, but we all know they're much more than that. Everyone's going to have to adjust their expectations, and that will take time.









CHAPTER TEN



September 18, 1959, 8:20 a.m.

First National Bank of Santa Fe



"Your second safe deposit box," Victor Alexander explained. "You did know you had two, didn't you?"

No, Pierce thought, having been all ready to abandon his cross-country field trip as a wild goose chase set by the old man as a test to see if he could make it out here undiscovered. "Of course," he lied. "Is it in the same vault?"

"Yes, sir, in the same row, even," Alexander answered. "I believe it was purchased not long after the first. You'll need your key."

"The same one I used before?"

"No, the key for the second box," Alexander replied. "Every box has its own key."

Of course it does, Pierce thought. And he had no other key, the one he'd already used being the only one bequeathed to him. "I....I'll need a few more minutes with this box," he said to the manager. "Ten minutes. If you don't mind."

"Of course not, sir," Alexander answered smoothly. "I'll check back in ten minutes."

The door closed behind him, and Pierce dropped the fistful of jewelry he'd been holding, his mind whirling. A second box? That couldn't be coincidence. But the lawyer had only quizzed him about this box and its key; he hadn't mentioned a second box. Was it possible he didn't know? Perhaps the second box wasn't his, but his birth father's? They did share the same name. But hadn't his mother inherited everything his father had stashed at this bank upon his death?

Pierce sat back in his chair, his hands working in front of him. Think, he ordered himself. His birth father had known his mother was pregnant when he'd written that letter. He'd taken out this box in 1959, the same year Pierce had been born, and the second box had been purchased the same year. Which meant both boxes had been purchased just as his birth father had been laying the groundwork for the storage of his inheritance until he reached the age of thirty. But where would the key for the second box be found? Perhaps it would be the prize for having arrived here in the first place? If so, he was now in the dangerous position of having to wait around for Angelone to catch up with him once more. And where in blazes was he supposed to go that so that the old man would find him and the FBI wouldn't?

Frustrated at having reached yet another dead end, Pierce began scooping the jewelry back into the safe deposit box, keeping only the letter. How many of these little "tests" were there going to be? He couldn't disappear from the Bureau for any great length of time without compromising what he'd just worked so hard to gain there. Although he supposed if he did eventually reach the cheese at the end of the old man's maze, the FBI wouldn't care when he showed up as long as he was holding the formula for whatever the "serum" was in his hot little hand when he did so. Still, the feeling that he was being led around by the 'nads was absolutely infuriating, with mysterious appearances and disappearances, red herrings, riddles.....

"....you can't afford to be Daniel Pierce until you actually present your key, and when you do, be certain you examine it thoroughly. And remember....sometimes you find things where you least expect them."

Pierce paused with the lid to the box in his hands. He'd forgotten that part of his last conversation with the lawyer until just now....and now it sounded a whole lot different. If that second box contained what he thought it did, where would one hide its key? Why, in the first box, of course, a box the FBI had already examined and found wanting, and a box he did have the key for. Had he missed it?

A moment later, the contents of the first box had been once again dumped on the table and Pierce was pawing through the box itself, running his hands around the inside, flipping it over to examine the underside. But the box was constructed of smooth metal with no seams, no lining, nothing to trap or hide anything. The contents, then? Pierce went through everything in the box meticulously one more time, cuff links, earrings, pendants, what looked to be a sterling silver letter opener, and various other trinkets flying by one by one, lined up on the table for inspection. But there was no key. Damn it! Pierce swore, stymied again. If the key wasn't here, he was back to square one.

Knock, knock.

It was Mr. Alexander. "How are you coming along, sir?" he inquired politely.

"I'm done," Pierce said, pushing his chair away from the table.

"So you don't wish to view your second box?"

"Can't," Pierce said shortly, scooping up a handful of jewelry and dropping it into the box. "Like I said earlier, I've got a plane to catch. I'll have to look at it later."

"As you wish," Alexander said. "That's a lovely locket," he added, glancing over Pierce's shoulder.

"Yeah, what a treasure," Pierce muttered.....only to stop dead in his tracks, staring at the bauble in his hand. He'd thought it an ornate, rather ugly rectangular pendant, but Alexander was right; it was a locket, with miniscule hinges on one side. And lockets opened, did they not?

Scarcely daring to hope, Pierce ran a nail alongside the locket opposite the hinges, mentally gauging if it was large enough to house a small, flat key. Maybe, just barely, and he held his breath as the catch gave way and the locket opened to reveal....

....two tiny pictures, of his mother on the right, and his mother and an unfamiliar man on the left who looked suspiciously like himself. My father, he thought, running a finger over the photo, curiosity momentarily holding back disappointment. He'd never seen a photo of his real parents together. It was small consolation when he'd been expecting a key to fall out, but some consolation was better than none.....

"Shall I help you pack up, sir?" Alexander was asking.

Pierce barely heard him, every nerve focused on the tiny photo of his parents. The finger he'd brushed over the photo told him there was a lump underneath, an invisible lump, a lump that could only be felt. Cupping the locket in his hand, he plucked at the picture; it resisted, pulling away from the frame reluctantly, tearing off a bit of the emulsion in the process. But it was worth it because behind the photo was a small, flat, gold key.

"I've changed my mind," Pierce said, holding up the new key. "I think I will have a look at that second box."

"Very good, sir," Alexander said calmly, apparently unaware of the drama unfolding in front of him. "Follow me."

Pierce pocketed the letter and obliged, his heart pounding harder with each step. When they reached the vault, Alexander headed for a very large box only a few down from the first and inserted a key.

"Your turn," he said to Pierce.

Pierce's hand shook as the new key headed for the second lock. Was this the right key? It looked like the first key, but lots of keys had looked like that back in the forties and fifties. It might be a jewelry box key, or a.....

Click. The key slipped into the lock and turned effortlessly, this mechanism working smoothly unlike that of the first box. Alexander opened the door and withdrew a large metal box the size of half a filing cabinet drawer. "Oh, my," he murmured, hefting it with difficulty. "This is heavy."

"Let me help," Pierce said.

It was heavy, dreadfully heavy, and Pierce could barely contain himself until they'd ferried it to the wood and leather room and heaved it on the table, where he sank down in front of it as Alexander retreated, running his hands over the lid. What on earth could be in here that was so heavy? It was much too heavy to hold a simple recipe; was the actual serum in here, or perhaps the ingredients to make it? And how would he know what to do with it? His birth father had been a doctor, but his son certainly wasn't. What if he had to involve someone in the field of medicine? Under the current circumstances, who could he trust?

Enough, Pierce thought firmly, and opened the lid.

Paper; that was the first and last thing which met the eye as he scanned the contents. The box was chock full of paper, which explained its heft. It was organized in stapled sections, and Pierce removed the first one, thumbing through it, noting the handwriting just like in the letter. The section below was the same, as was the one below that. His birth father had written these, and they looked like notes, medical notes, scads of them. Frustrated, Pierce tossed the top section down on the table. It would take him days, weeks, even, to go through all this, and even then, he might not have the first notion of what to do with it.....

The top section hit the table with a soft thwap, and an envelope tumbled out of the center, an envelope on which "Daniel" was written in that familiar masculine scrawl. It was sealed; Pierce opened it, his hands shaking as he unfolded yet another letter inside.


Dear Daniel,


If you are reading this, then I am dead. God knows there are enough people out there who would love to see me so, but no matter; what's most important now is that you look after your mother. She is unaware of the contents of this box or its import, and most especially unaware of the power—and danger—that comes with owning it. Best to keep her in the dark about that. She worries too much.


Pierce's hands faltered, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. He'd never met this man or the mother he referenced, but it was clear he'd cared for her. Enough to leave instructions for his unborn child to take care of her.


I hope I got the chance to know you, and that you had the chance to know me; if so, you know exactly what to do with this. But if not, don't despair. I have left you not only the formula for my serum, but a summary of years of research carried out with it, along with precise instructions on how to use both to your best advantage. Power is a game, Daniel, and as with any game, those who come out the winners hold powerful game pieces and know how to move them across an ever-changing board. The contents of this box is your game piece, and I, a consummate game player, will teach you the best way to wield it.

Let's begin, shall we?

It all started back in July of 1947, when an alien ship crash landed on Pohlman Ranch just north of Roswell.......




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




Roswell Sheriff's Station




Jim Valenti pulled into his reserved parking space, shut off the engine, and sat there for a moment, his hands still on the wheel. Deep breaths, he advised himself, forcing himself to relax his grip as he ran over his mental checklist of do's and don'ts. This was his inaugural day as Roswell's new sheriff, and the shadow of his father would follow him through those doors. Some would be thrilled to see a Valenti back at the helm while others would be decidedly less so, and it was his job to thank the first and reassure the second, all with a pleasant smile and calm demeanor. While criticism was never fun to hear, it was especially galling when the criticism in question was directed at his father, arriving in his lap only by virtue of his name. I'm not my father, his "detractor" speech went. Work with me. Give me a chance before you draw any conclusions. My door is always open.

Peeling his hands off the steering wheel, Valenti climbed out of the car. Not a very original speech, but it touched on all the important points and was the best he'd been able to come up with, especially after last night. He and Kyle had stumbled around bleary-eyed this morning after having gotten almost no sleep due to his father's nocturnal wanderings, more intense last night than ever. He probably had that Evans woman to thank for that. She'd managed to draw him out of his fog for a few minutes, but fat lot of good that had done. He was nuttier than ever now, getting up multiple times last night to flip the lights on and off and declare them "red", all the while muttering about aliens non-stop. He'd walked his father back to bed four times, twice as much as usual, and each time, he'd managed to wake Kyle. Poor kid wasn't going to be much use in school today. It was looking more and more like he was going to have to find somewhere else for his father to live just so he and his son could have a life.

Later, he told himself firmly as he pushed through the door into the station. Today, at least, was covered, and he had bigger fish to fry. Even if the babysitter quit the moment he got home, he still had today.

The roar of applause that greeted his ears as the door swung closed behind him was utterly unexpected. Every deputy in the station, including those who were off duty judging by the size of the crowd, was arrayed just inside the door, clapping loudly. Former Sheriff Williams was at the front, extending a hand.

"Welcome, sheriff," he said with a wide smile. "I believe this is yours."

Valenti looked down at the badge in Williams' outstretched hand. "Thank you," he said in a husky voice. "Thank you all."

"All right, everybody, back to work," Williams called with the same authority in his voice that Valenti's father used to have. "Give the new man some space. Roswell can wait a few minutes."

The crowd dispersed amid many smiles and offers of congratulation. "You already know everyone here, so I doubt there's any need to introduce you," Williams said, steering him down the hall. "Hanson can fill in any gaps if I'm wrong."

"I'll introduce myself," Valenti said, having planned to shake every single deputy's hand this morning before everything got going. "Just give me a few minutes. I wasn't....." They stopped just outside his father's former office. "I wasn't expecting this. I was braced for a lot worse. This means a lot."

"Jim, believe me when I say that I'm delighted to see your daddy's son in his chair," Williams said sincerely. "Alvarez told me he talked to you, so it's no secret how we feel about that. Something wasn't right there. Your father wouldn't have done what they accused him of. But that's water under the bridge," he added briskly, holding open the office door and gesturing inside. "Everything passes, both the good and the bad. There's your chair, sheriff. Use it in good health. And don't let the bastards get you down."

Williams held out his hand again, and as Jim shook it, he slid back into childhood for just a moment, a childhood where his father had been his hero and this man one of that hero's deputies. "You need anything," Williams said, gripping his hand tightly, "anything at all, you call me, you hear? Any time of the day or night. I mean it, Jimmy. Anything for Jim's son."

"Thanks, Williams," Valenti whispered. "I appreciate that."

"It's Hal," Williams corrected.

"It'll be weird calling you 'Hal'," Valenti admitted.

Williams smiled. "No weirder than calling you 'sheriff'. You go settle in. I'll tell the boys you'll be out in a bit."

The door closed behind him, and Valenti leaned against it, looking at this familiar office with new eyes. How many times had he stood here, wishing it were his? And now it was. He'd been here only two days ago, but this was different; now it was official. The chair seemed to welcome him as he took a seat and pulled open desk drawers, most of them empty except for sundries like paper clips and pencils. He'd sneaked a sit in this chair back in '59, even caught a deputy doing the same. It was hard to believe it was really his.

Knock, knock.

Already? "Come in," he said out loud.

The face that appeared in the doorway holding a large box was familiar, but it still took Valenti a moment to place it. "Hanson!" he said in surprise, finally recognizing Hanson the elder, his father's former right-hand man. "You're looking good."

"You're a lousy liar," Hanson chuckled, patting his paunch and rolling his eyes toward his thinning hair. "But thanks anyway. You're looking pretty good yourself, Jimmy. I still remember you from that summer when you were such a little eager beaver. Damned if you're not all grown up now."

"Have been for awhile," Valenti smiled, gesturing toward a chair. "Have a seat. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"I wasn't either," Hanson said, heaving himself into the chair, setting the box at his feet. "Haven't set foot in this place since your daddy left." He paused. "How is he, Jimmy? The truth," he added sternly. "This is me you're talking to."

Valenti's eyes dropped. "Not good. Getting worse, actually."

"Oh," Hanson said heavily. "I'm sorry to hear that. I could try and visit again—"

"No," Valenti said quickly. "It....no offense, but it only upsets him. I know that's not your intention, so believe me, I'm not blaming you—"

"I know you're not," Hanson broke in. "I understand. I would never want to make things worse."

An awkward silence followed. Hanson had quit his job in protest when Valenti's father had been fired, and had tried to keep his father's spirits up afterwards. But his father had slid down the rabbit hole, and the time came when just the sight of his former deputy sent him into a tailspin from which it took days to emerge. Hanson had kept his distance after that, but according to those in the know, he'd never once set foot in the station again....until now. Hanson Sr. was every bit as stubborn as his old man.

"Well," Hanson said at length, "I didn't come here to be a wet blanket. I came here to give you something that belongs to you."

"What's this?" Valenti asked, eyeing the box Hanson hefted onto his lap.

Hanson hesitated. "I have a confession to make, Jimmy. The day your father was dismissed, they cleaned out this office....but I got here first. I knew where he kept his personal files, the ones he was still working on. He never stole anything from the public record; it was all duplicates, you see, bits and pieces that had caught his eye. They wouldn't let your daddy back inside, and I was afraid the council members would find this and misinterpret it, and use it against him, so I....." He paused. "I took it. I packed it all up and took it home. I offered it to him one time when I was over, but he never said anything. And now I'm offering it to you."

Valenti blinked. "Thanks," he said carefully, staring at the box Hanson set on the desk. "I.....thank you."

"You're welcome," Hanson said, apparently missing his baffled tone. "Do what you want with it. Show it to him or not, as you see fit. Or keep it as a memento of the man your father used to be. It's up to you." He rose from the chair. "My boy'll be around in a few minutes to help you start your day. I can't tell you how glad I am that he gets to work with Jim's son. I hope he does you proud."

"I'm sure he will," Valenti promised.

"You just let me know if he doesn't, and I'll kick his ass," Hanson grinned. "See you later, Jimmy......I mean, 'sheriff'."

The smile slid off Valenti's face as the door closed behind Hanson and he turned his attention to the large box sitting in front of him. So Hanson Sr. had defied the town council. There was a delicious irony in that, but it was short-lived; the first thing that met Valenti's eye when he opened the box was a detailed map of Frazier Woods, complete with multiple scribbled notes and lots of "X's". Alien files, Valenti thought heavily. This box was just one more pile of his father's alien files. He'd had several like this in the basement of their home, all jammed with records from the forties onward, and all fed one by one into the fireplace by his mother in one of her many fits of outrage on a night when his father had been, ironically, out in Frazier Woods, hunting for the aliens he was so certain were there. This map must be the fruit of his labors, probably stashed here instead of at home lest his mother go all pyro again. This was yet another bad memory, and Valenti grabbed the box roughly, meaning to shove it in the closet and deal with it later. But the corner caught on the desk, and some of the contents spilled. Cursing, Valenti knelt to retrieve them....and paused.

On top of the spillage was a photo of a man, a dead man, lying prone, a silver handprint emblazoned on his chest. I know him, Valenti thought. His father had found this man dead in Frazier Woods back in the fall of '59. The handprint had faded, and the FBI had confiscated the body, but his father had this photograph which he'd seen on his father's desk only briefly before he'd whisked it away. He'd been only eight then, eight years old and unhappy at the names everyone was calling his daddy and the way his parents were always mad at each other. If only he'd known what was coming.

That's weird, Valenti admitted, examining the photo more closely. He'd never gotten a good look at it, but now that he had, he had to acknowledge it was extremely odd. Still, it was hard to tell much of anything from an old black and white picture. It could have been paint. But he would have checked for that, he thought, scooping up the rest of the papers, pausing again at one near the bottom, a plain sheet of paper which held only one thing: A small gold key taped securely with a big "X" of Scotch tape. What the hell was that for?

Curious now, Valenti pawed around inside the box, but found only papers and photos, no other keys or solid objects. There was nothing written on the paper which held the key, although there could be something in here which explained it.

"Sir?" a voice called from outside. "It's Hanson. I've got your morning report whenever you're ready."

Shit. Valenti heaved the key and the papers back inside the box. If he wanted to disassociate himself from his father, the last thing he needed was for anyone to find anything even remotely alien-related in his office. "I'm ready," he called when the box was safely stowed under his desk. "Come in."

"Good morning, sir," Hanson Jr. said when he opened the door. "Is there any special way you'd like to do this?"

"Yes," Valenti answered. "I'd like you to sit down and tell me what we've got."

"Right. Okay, first thing—"

"Hanson?"

"Sir?"

"I said 'sit down'. I'm the sheriff, not the king. Take a load off. You might need those feet later."

Hanson blinked. "Yes, sir," he said self-consciously, perching on the edge of a chair. "First thing is two small children found wandering alone out by Pohlman Ranch. They were picked up by some locals and taken to the hospital last night."

"Were they injured?"

"No, sir. Hospital says they check out, and Social Services is coming to get them until the parents can be located."

"Then let Social deal with it," Valenti said. "Next?"

Not bad, Valenti thought as Hanson charged on. The very first item on his agenda had been scratched off already. Nothing more dramatic than two little lost kids.




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




10:30 a.m.

Roswell Memorial Hospital




"Oh, aren't they precious! Just little angels! Cute as the dickens, just...."

Dee suppressed a smile as both children shrank back from the outstretched hands and syrupy voice of the Social Services worker assigned to them. Madeline C. Melbourne bore all the earmarks of the stereotypical fussy schoolteacher, right down to the sweater set, the eyeglasses hanging on a chain, and the sickly sweet delivery one typically used with an infant. She'd been in the room precisely thirty seconds, and Dee hated her already.

"That's all right," Mrs. Melbourne said, sounding less than sincere. "Poor tykes. All the fuss probably made them forget their manners."

"Or maybe they just don't like you," Dee suggested.

Madeline C.'s eyes flared briefly, proof that her sugarcoating was just that. On the other side of the room, the nurse holding the children's medical records smiled faintly, and Anthony threw her a warning look. It was their turn at bat, Yvonne, or Marie, or whatever she called herself these days having been deemed too risky to have around during the day shift when an outsider would be noticed more quickly. The plan was to allow Social Services to do their thing and move the children to the local orphanage, which was less trafficked and regulated than a hospital environment and from which it would be easier to remove them when the time came. Just exactly when that time would be was still a matter of disagreement. While the children had displayed evidence of unusual abilities and an accelerated rate of learning, there was still no denying that, at the moment, the king of Antar and his sister were largely just young human children who needed the kind of care all young human children needed. Dee had favored their immediate removal lest one or both of them do something that would attract the wrong kind of attention, but that posed the problem of where to house them. She and Anthony were willing to take them in, but they had no residence here, and keeping them in the area would be difficult anyway; Social Services would search for them as runaways if they disappeared, and their presence would need to be kept from Philip and Diane. Moving them to Albuquerque was an option, but that would entail Brivari accompanying them, pulling him away from the other two hybrids, one of which was still missing. Their most recent pow wow had ended with Brivari insisting that the human process regarding lost children be allowed to play out while he kept watch, dismissing her objections that merely waiting was too risky.

"Now, then," Mrs. Melbourne said briskly, removing a large 3-ring binder from her bag. "Let's get some basic information. Names?"

"We don't know," Dee said. "They haven't spoken a word since we found them.

Madeline C's pen paused over her binder. "I'm sorry," she said sweetly, obviously nothing of the sort, "but you are.....who, exactly?"

"Deanna Evans," Dee answered. "That's my husband Anthony over there. We brought the children in."

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Melbourne replied. "I have the sheriff's report right here. You brought them in after you took them home, bathed them, and fed them."

"That's right," Dee answered.

Madeline C. clicked her pen closed, then open. "Thereby removing any physical evidence of neglect or abuse which may have been used to locate their parents."

Dee's eyes narrowed. "And since when does a bath and a bowl of soup remove broken bones or scars?"

"According to this, Mrs. Evans, you're a lawyer. I shouldn't have to explain to you why children found under these circumstances should be remanded to the authorities immediately."

"While I apparently do have to explain to you what it means to be human," Dee said coldly. "They were filthy, hungry, and scared. But who cares about that? Certainly not you."

Click, click. Madeline C.'s pen closed and opened again as she peered over her glasses at Dee. Behind her the nurse studied the window blinds like she had to take a test on them. Anthony rolled his eyes.

"May I see their records?" Mrs. Melbourne asked the nurse, apparently calling a time out in the boxing match. "So they're healthy," she noted, flipping through the two charts handed to her. "I'll need copies of these. Now," she continued, "where were we? Oh, yes.....names. Young man, can you tell me your name?"

The boy's dark eyes fastened on Madeline C., as did the girl's, but neither said a word as they sat side by side on the edge of the hospital bed they had both slept in last night, clutching each other's hands as always. "How about you?" Mrs. Melbourne asked the girl. "What's your name, sweetheart? It's all right," she added soothingly when no answer came. "I'm sure your parents taught you not to talk to strangers, but I'm not a stranger. I'm Mrs. Melbourne, and it's my job to find your parents and get you back where you belong. And in order to do that, I need to know your names."

Nothing. Madeline C.'s pen click-clicked again. "Okay, we'll come back to names. Can you tell me how old you are? You don't need to talk for that. Just hold up as many fingers as your age. Are you five? Hold up one hand," she said, demonstrating. "Or maybe you're six? Hold up one hand plus one more finger, like this."

Still nothing. "Do you know how old you are?" Mrs. Melbourne asked. "You can just nod your head for 'yes' or shake it for 'no'. Do you know how old you are?"

Dee suppressed a smile as both children said nothing and did nothing but continue to gaze at the social worker with that same steady, somewhat detached look which suggested that maybe they knew, but weren't telling. Mrs. Melbourne, for her part, was not amused.

"Sweethearts," she said slowly, her pen clicking once more. "I know you've been through a scary time, but there are some things I need to know. And you're going to have to help me. I'm a grown-up, and you need to do what I say. You first, young lady," she declared, eyeing the girl. "What's your name?" She paused, waiting for the answer Dee knew wasn't coming. "How old are you?" she pressed. "Answer me," she added firmly when she still got nowhere. "I'm ordering you to answer me."

"Oh, that's helpful," Dee muttered.

"Some children respond better to an authoritative approach," Mrs. Melbourne said stoutly. "I'm the authority here, and they have to respect that. Did you hear that, you two?" she added to the children, who appeared unimpressed by her temper. "You have to answer me."

Still nothing. Madeline C. reseated her glasses firmly on her nose and rose from her chair, arms crossed in front of her in a classic, 1950's pissed-off teacher pose.

"Answer me."

The children's expressions didn't change, but their hands moved slightly. Mrs. Melbourne's eyes dropped to the two small hands clutching each other, and Dee instantly knew they were in trouble.

"Very well, then," Mrs. Melbourne said stiffly. "Perhaps you'll be more obedient if I meet with you one at a time. Nurse, take the boy to another room while I speak with the girl."

Both children instantly recoiled, sliding backwards on the bed. "They haven't let go of each other since they were brought in," the nurse said uncertainly. "I don't think it's a good idea to force the issue."

"But they understand, don't they?" Mrs. Melbourne said triumphantly. "All this time they've been sitting there acting like they haven't heard a word I've said, but they heard that. Come with me, young man," she added making a grab for the boy's arm as he shrank back. "No more games."

"Wait a minute," Dee said hurriedly. "Frightening them is a bad idea."

"A very bad idea," Anthony added, his tone making it clear that he was thinking exactly what Dee was thinking.

"Defying me is also a bad idea," Mrs. Melbourne declared, reaching for the boy again. Beside him his sister was now looking panicky, and her brother....for just a moment, as Madeline C's pudgy fingers gripped his arm, his eyes flashed angrily and fastened on his tormentor with a purpose that was chilling. What was he going to do?

Mrs. Melbourne suddenly gasped with pain and released the boy's arm. The girl promptly slid off the bed, pulling her brother with her as they ducked under and between the adults, who all bumped into each other in their efforts to stop them, heading straight for the door....and straight into someone's arms.

Diane?

"Philip!" Dee said, beating back an unexpected surge of jealousy that the girl had run to her daughter-in-law and not her. "I....we weren't expecting to see you here."

"We stopped by to see how they were," Philip said, looking quizzically at Mrs. Melbourne as Diane scooped up the girl with one arm and threw another around the boy. "What's going on?"

"He....shocked me!" Mrs. Melbourne exclaimed, cradling her arm.

You're lucky that's all he did, Dee thought darkly. "Mrs. Melbourne is from Social Services," she explained to Philip, "and what's going on is that she was getting pushy. She tried to separate them, and they got scared."

"There, there, now," Diane murmured into the girl's hair, who clutched Diane tightly as her brother gazed up at her with concern. "It's all right. I won't let anyone split you up."

"I was merely trying to get them to tell me their names," Mrs. Melbourne said irritably, rubbing her sore arm. "And who exactly are the two of you? Honestly, it's like Grand Central Station in here."

Philip's eyes flashed. "We're Philip and Diane Evans. We found the children, along with my mother over there. Are you always this rude, or are you just having a bad day?"

Madeline C. blinked, Diane continued crooning to the girl, and Dee resisted the urge to run across the room and give her son a crushing hug she knew he'd resent. Philip could be an officious pain sometimes, but he never took guff from anyone. She'd taught him well on that score.

"I apologize," Mrs. Melbourne said, apparently feeling differently about being chastised by a man instead of a woman. "I....I'm just frustrated, is all. They won't say anything, anything at all."

"I told her they haven't said a word since we found them," Dee noted. "She doesn't listen well."

"But I have to put something down," Mrs. Melbourne protested, "and I'd like to call them something other than 'John and Jane Doe'."

"They're probably just in shock," Diane said, settling down on the floor with her back against the wall, the girl on one knee while the boy took the other. "Or maybe they don't remember for some reason. But if they don't know their names, we can come up with something." She paused, one arm around each child. "Mom, what about your middle name?"

Dee blinked. "You mean 'Isabel'? Oh, good Lord, that's—"

"Perfect!" Diane smiled, stroking the girl's hair. "And we can give this handsome young man Dad's middle name."

"Oh, God, no," Anthony said, shaking his head vigorously. "I hate that name, and it's much too long."

"Then let's shorten it," Diane suggested. "Maybe 'Maxwell' or 'Max' instead of 'Maximillion'. How about it, you two? How does 'Max' and 'Isabel' sound to you?"

Two small heads gazed into Diane's eyes, unblinking. "Very well, then," Mrs. Melbourne grumbled, clicking her pen. "We've seen what they do when they object, so I'll take that as agreement. 'Max' and 'Isabel' it is."



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


I'll post Chapter 11 next Sunday.

[Kathy W]

Hello to everyone reading!





CHAPTER ELEVEN



September 18, 1989, 5:00 p.m.

Westlake Villa, Roswell




"Okay, you two, up you go!" Dee said with forced cheerfulness. "My, but your dinner looks good." She glanced down at the two small hands, glued together as always. "Would you like me to cut your meatloaf for you? I could....."

She stopped as the free right hand and the free left hand rose, the former picking up a fork, the latter a knife. Both slices of meatloaf were cut in short order in a show of two-person coordination not usually seen in adults, never mind children so young. Okay, she thought, letting out a long, slow breath. She'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop all afternoon, for either hybrid to do something that gave the lie to the lie that they were ordinary human children. As falling shoes went, this was more like a sneaker.

But that didn't mean others thought so. Dee shot a nervous glance around the cafeteria, but fortunately no one seemed to be paying attention, least of all the other children at the table, all of whom were too busy shoveling or chasing peas around their plates to notice the newcomers. The newcomers, however, noticed everything, two pairs of eyes, one dark, one light, raking the room and its inhabitants like radar beams, taking in every movement, every expression, every verbal exchange within earshot. Gone were the vacant looks and placid expressions, replaced by rapt attention, penetrating stares, and, occasionally, a flash of something which looked suspiciously like defiance. Something had changed, in the boy especially, and Dee traced this development back to she of the "authoritative approach", Madeline C. Melbourne, and her threat to separate the children. Both had been much more alert ever since then, so much so that Marie had theorized that the deputy's attempt to separate them last night may have had had a similar effect, resulting in their ability to find the CAT scanner.

"And how are we doing over here?"

Speak of the devil, Dee thought darkly as Madeline C. loomed over them, the disapproving glance she gave the children's clasped hands making it clear she was still smarting from the earlier insult to her authority. " 'We' are just fine, thank you," Dee replied.

"Might you at least give them a chance to answer for themselves?" Mrs. Melbourne inquired coldly.

"They're eating," Dee said, grateful that the children had now moved on to rolls which didn't showcase their advanced cutlery skills. "We wouldn't want them to talk with their mouths full, now would we?"

"May I ask why you're still here?" Mrs. Melbourne said irritably. "You've been here all day."

"The children only arrived three hours ago. I would hardly refer to three hours as 'all day'."

"I was referring to your presence in the hospital this morning," Mrs. Melbourne persisted. "Given that it is now early evening, you have indeed been with them 'all day'."

"The doctor at the hospital recommended I stay with them until bedtime to provide continuity," Dee pointed out. "Are you questioning her authority?"

Madeline C.'s eyes flared at the mention of "authority". "But you just told me everything was fine, so your presence here is no longer needed," she argued. "We are the experts, so we will take care of them. It isn't necessary for you to stay...."

Two mouths stopped chewing, two heads turned, and two pairs of eyes fastened on Madeline C., whose own eyes widened in alarm. And no wonder; the children's steady stares were unnerving, Max's in particular being direct, piercing, and strangely full of the authority Mrs. Melbourne wanted so badly to be hers. Under different circumstances it would have been amusing to watch a grown woman back down from such a small boy, those different circumstances involving small boys who weren't capable of killing Madeline C. with a thought. Max may look like a six year-old human boy, but now that he was more alert, there was something "off" about him, something that gave you pause. Even Mrs. Melbourne could see that.

"Well.....if the doctor said you should stay, who am I to say otherwise?" Mrs. Melbourne said stiffly, clearly wishing she were in a position to do just that. "Bedtime is at 8:30 sharp."

"I'm aware of that," Dee answered. "And I can tell time," she added when Mrs. Melbourne opened her mouth again. "On both digital and analog clocks. I'm talented."

Madeline C.'s mouth twitched, but she said nothing, just gave a curt nod and moved along to the next table in the cafeteria. Dining hall, Dee corrected privately. Westlake was a county-run way station for lost and/or runaway children, or children who simply had nowhere to go for any number of different reasons. They tried to be politically correct, referring to themselves as a "villa" instead of an "orphanage", the cafeteria as a "dining hall", and the children who stayed here as "guests", with mixed results. It was a nice place as these places went, but semantics aside, it still resembled a large dormitory, the long tables and benches still looked like those in a cafeteria, and Dee seriously doubted that any kind of "guest" would appreciate the quasi-military atmosphere which permeated the place, a necessary evil when there were upwards of eighty children from toddlers to teens, requiring a certain amount of segregation and crowd control. And bureaucracy; it had taken several hours and a forest's worth of paperwork, but they had finally arrived in the mid-afternoon, with Dee's every nerve twitching about what would happen when the now more aware hybrids found themselves among dozens of other children. She needn't have worried; the king of Antar and his sister had moved calmly through the sea of human children as though in their own protected bubble. Neither had spoken a word, yet neither had offered any resistance along the way from hospital to villa with the one exception of the required bath, staffed by a woman who had briefly tried to separate them and wisely desisted when Max had fixed her with one of those penetrating stares.

Having survived admission procedures with no major mishaps, Dee had relaxed a tiny bit, settling the children into a room sized for six but which held only them. Emily had dug through the attic boxes again and produced a couple of changes of clothes and some pajamas for each child, and Diane had inexplicably turned up with two new pairs of shoes and two hand-lettered plaques she'd picked up in town which shouted "Max" and "Isabel" in big block letters. Both children had begun responding to their new names immediately, appearing far more comfortable with them than Dee was. She'd always found her middle name to be old fashioned and stuffy, and it wasn't wise to even get Anthony started on his hated middle name even if they had used a derivative.

The smell of burning meatloaf caught Dee's attention. The boy was staring at his plate, his meatloaf steaming. Wonderful, Dee thought, her breath catching in her throat. The two-handed meat cutting would be considered odd, but this was worse.

"Max?" Dee whispered. "Max, honey? Don't do that."

Max ignored her, his gaze shifting to his sister's plate. The juices on Isabel's meatloaf began to bubble.

"Not here, Max," Dee said. "You have to be careful about what you do in front of other people."

Max glanced up at her, confirming that he'd heard her....but didn't stop. A flame of annoyance flared in Dee, and she reached out and whisked Isabel's plate off the table.

*I said stop,* Dee ordered brusquely in telepathic speech.

Max's head swung around to look at her, his face bearing the same expression she'd seen hundreds of times on Philip's face, the very definition of obstinance. *You mustn't call attention to yourself,* Dee said firmly. *Real human children can't do that, so you shouldn't either, at least not where anyone else can see you.*

He held her gaze, and she stared him down. Eventually he dropped his eyes and picked up his fork. Dee returned the plate to Isabel, who had been watching the showdown with interest.

*Impressive,* a voice murmured in her mind.

*There you are!* Dee said irritably. *We haven't seen since this morning!*

*Which means nothing,* Brivari answered. *I'm supposed to be invisible, remember?*

*Well, I don't like 'invisible',* Dee grumbled. *To me, 'invisible' is the same as 'absent'. Brivari, we have to get them out of here. Even if they're not using their whiz bang powers, look at the way they're eating, switching off hands like that—*

*Antarians are naturally ambidextrous.*

*Human children aren't,* Dee argued. *And what about what he just did in full view? That wasn't a knee jerk reaction, it was deliberate. They've been more awake ever since that Melbourne woman tried to separate them. Did you see that? My daughter-in-law drives me crazy sometimes, but her timing was impeccable; if she hadn't walked in just then, whatever he did would have been deliberate too.*

There was a pause. *I know,* Brivari said after a moment. *Not to mention he just directly responded to your telepathic speech, for the first time, if I'm not mistaken. He's becoming more himself with each passing hour.*

Dee's eyes dropped in alarm to the dark-haired boy placidly chewing his meatloaf. *What does that mean, exactly? What was he like before he died?*

*Intelligent,* Brivari answered. *Alternately cautious and not cautious enough. And stubborn. Very stubborn. It was when he was at his most stubborn that he tended to veer into the not cautious enough.*

*Great,* Dee muttered. *That's exactly what we need right now: a pint-sized stubborn monarch with superpowers. What on earth are we going to do when I have to go home? I can't stay here all night! I was hoping to just get them into bed without incident, but now I'm wondering if they'll make it to morning in one piece, or if anyone else here will either.*

Max hooked an arm around his plate, shielding it from view. A moment later, his peas were steaming, and he went back to eating his dinner.

*Okay,* Dee said uncertainly. *That was....better.*

*Of course it was,* Brivari said quietly. *You explained it to him, and he understood. He's definitely processing on a higher level than he was this morning, and not overly resistant to your efforts to guide him. Zan never took kindly to correction of any kind from any source, and yet he just accepted it from you with relative ease.*

*May I take that to mean he didn't accept it from you with relative ease?*

*You may,* Brivari said with a weary sigh. *Especially from me. The more he becomes himself, the more his natural antipathy toward me may surface, and until he is in full possession of his faculties, that may prove.....problematic. That's why I need to stay in the background as much as possible.*

*Fine, stay in the background, if you want,* Dee sighed. *But I'll need to go soon, and it's simply not safe to leave them here.*

*We've been over this. It's not safe to have them elsewhere either, albeit for different reasons. Absolute safety is never an attainable goal.*

*All right, then, can we shoot for 'safer'?* Dee asked in exasperation. *It's just nuts keeping them here with what they can do, and all these people around—*

*Most of whom are children from whom wild tales of extraordinary things would not be believed,* Brivari broke in. *Which makes this the safest place by far to watch and wait.*

*And just exactly how long are you going to wait?*

*As long as necessary. Remember, these are only half of my charges. One remains in her pod, and I'm still missing the other.*

Right, Dee thought guiltily. She'd completely forgotten about Rath, who had not turned up. *I can't stay here tonight, but I'll be back tomorrow,* she said. *I'll hold down the fort if you want to go look for him.*

*Hopefully I won't have to,* Brivari answered. *If Rath is following a similar mental progression, he will naturally gravitate toward Zan. Which is yet another reason Zan needs to stay right here, in a reasonably public and accessible place.*

*Wait a minute,* Dee said slowly. *You think he's coming here? How in the world would he do that?*

*Rath was extremely resourceful and persistent,* Brivari answered. *And loyal. He won't rest until he finds his king.*





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



Roswell Sheriff's Station





"Hey, there, Hanson," Deputy Alvarez said cheerfully, hat in hand. "Quittin' time."

"So it is," Hanson replied, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Day one is over, and no major incidents, or minor ones either, for that matter. Hallelujah."

"I hear you," Alvarez agreed. He paused, leaning on the counter, tapping his hat against his hand. "So," he said slowly, lowering his voice. "What'd'ya think?"

"I just said I think everything went well," Hanson answered.

"That's not what I meant."

"It isn't?"

"No."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I meant, what'd'ya think?" Alvarez repeated.

Hanson eyed his co-worker skeptically. "Could you be a bit more....specific?"

Alvarez leaned in closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. "You were around him the most," he said, nodding in the direction of Valenti's office. "Do you think he's....'funny'?"

Hanson blinked. " 'Funny'?"

"Yeah....'funny'."

Hanson's throat tightened. "I'm going to make a wild guess that you mean 'funny strange', not 'funny ha ha'."

"C'mon, Billy—"

"Don't call me that."

"All right, c'mon, then," Alvarez said. "We all loved his old man, and we all think there was something smelly about Silo, but there was no denying his papa wound up a few doughnuts short of a box. Me and the boys were just wondering if you happened to see anything.....funny."

"I don't believe this," Hanson fumed, closing the binder in which he'd been writing with a snap. "Jimmy hasn't even been here twenty-four hours, and you've got the cross all set up and waiting for him."

"Now, just a minute—"

"No!" Hanson hissed, standing up so quickly that his desk chair rolled backwards. "Jim Valenti was railroaded! I know that, you know that, all the '50 & overs' back there know that—"

"That's not a nice way to refer to your older colleagues," Alvarez cautioned.

"Don't lecture me about 'nice'!" Hanson said furiously. "How 'nice' is it to judge a man before he's left the office on his very first day of work?"

"We're not 'judging'," Alvarez said patiently. "Look, I know your daddy and his were tight, I know you grew up in a household where the Valenti name was worshipped—"

"Respected," Hanson corrected. "There's a difference."

"Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe," Alvarez replied with a dismissive wave. "The point is, your dad's not the only one who watched Jim spiral downwards. I was there in '59 too, you know, back when that actress got fried and Jim thought it was aliens. Oh, he claimed he didn't say that, but the rest of us knew better. And the FBI was all over him like a rash—"

"Further evidence that something weird was going on," Hanson broke in.

"Weird, maybe," Alvarez allowed. "But aliens? C'mon! That's the all-purpose excuse around here. He was never the same after '59, and those of us '50 & overs' who knew him before that are the only ones left who can testify to the change. I agree that whole Hubble thing was whacked, but even if you take that out of the equation, Jim was already over the edge and had been getting steadily more so ever since '59. We're just wondering if any of it rubbed off on his boy, that's all. We don't want to see the same thing happen twice. All I'm asking is if you noticed anything, anything that—"

"Something wrong here?"

Alvarez stopped short when he saw Valenti standing behind him. Great, Hanson thought darkly. He'll say it to me, but he won't say it to Jimmy's face. Well, there was a way to fix that.

"Alvarez here was just asking if you had any little green men in your office," Hanson announced.

Valenti's eyebrows rose. Alvarez blinked, started to say something, stopped, then broke into a nervous laugh.

"Just a joke, sir," he said, looking supremely uncomfortable. "And a bad one, I know. Sorry."

"Right," Valenti said slowly. "Deputy Alvarez, would you or any of your fellow deputies like to search my office for 'little green men'?"

"No, sir," Alvarez said hastily. "Of course not. Besides, Mac Brazel always insisted they were gray, didn't he?"

"All right, then, would you like to search my office for little 'gray' men?"

"No, sir," Alvarez answered, the smile sliding off his face as he realized his color joke had gone over like a lead balloon.

"You sure? Door's always open. Make sure you check the closet. I reckon that'd be the best place for a little man of any hue to hide."

"I....we....sorry, sir," Alvarez stammered, his face scarlet. "Like I said, it was a bad joke. It won't happen again."

Valenti stared him down for a moment. "Uh huh," he said finally, sounding unconvinced. "Tell you what: I'll let you know if I see any little green—or gray—men, women, or children if you'll do the same for me."

"Sure, sir," Alvarez answered with an attempt at a laugh. "Will do."

"Thank God," Valenti deadpanned. "Now I can sleep at night. Hanson, I'll be leaving in about a half hour. I want to see you before I go."

"Yes, sir," Hanson answered, watching with satisfaction as Valenti gave Alvarez another long, pointed stare before heading back to his office.

"Why the hell did you do that?" Alvarez demanded just as soon as the sheriff was out of earshot. "I was asking you privately—"

"Yeah, sure you were," Hanson retorted. "Because you were too chicken to do it any other way. Because you weren't man enough to look your boss directly in the eye and tell him you had concerns."

"Valid concerns," Alvarez insisted. "They're valid concerns."

"If they're so damned 'valid', why are you skulking around out here, talking behind your hat?" Hanson shot back. "Are the rest of them doing the same thing? Are they back there waiting for you to report?"

"Jesus, Hanson.....wait a minute. Where are you going? Get back here! I'm not finished!"

"Like hell you aren't," Hanson muttered, slamming his chair beneath his desk and stalking toward the back, where two older deputies who had served under Jim Sr. were trying to loiter casually around the water fountain.

"The sheriff says you're more than welcome to frisk him for little green men," Hanson announced bluntly. "So go on up there and get it over with. If you have the balls, that is, which I seriously doubt."

He marched on past, enjoying frantic muttering which ensued, heading straight out the back door into the early evening sunshine, the fresh air acting like a tonic. Even on the best of days, it wasn't easy being the younger of two generations working here. The older deputies talked down to you, treated you like a kid, and former Sheriff Williams hadn't been much help, being older himself. Now he had a contemporary in the sheriff's office, a man he'd grown up with, not to mention the son of the man those older deputies had worked for. Which meant those know-it-alls had better watch their mouths. Talking down to him was one thing, but talking down to their boss was quite another. Things were going to change around here, and he was pretty certain the older generation wasn't going to like it. Tough shit, Hanson thought darkly. It's my turn.

A sound made him turn, metal rattling. Something was moving behind the garbage cans off to his left, and Hanson squatted down beside them, peering between. Probably an animal; maybe something had spilled....people were so careless throwing away the remnants of their lunches.....

Two eyes peered back at him from the depths of the cans. Human eyes.

Black eyes.

Hanson froze, momentarily freaked. When he looked again, the eyes were still there, but they were no longer black. Holy shit, he thought, his heart racing. All this talk about little green men, or gray men, or whatever, had made his imagination go into overdrive.

"Hello?" he said cautiously. "What are you doing back there? Are you all right?"

Slowly, very slowly, he straightened up and peered over the cans. It was a boy, quite a young boy from what he could see, with wild hair and even wilder eyes. He was hunkered down behind the garbage cans, gazing at Hanson with a mixture of suspicion and alarm.

"Are you lost?" he asked the boy, whose gaze never wavered. "C'mon out, little fella. You shouldn't be back there all alone. C'mon," he coaxed, extending a hand. "I won't hurt you. I'm a deputy. A policeman," he clarified. "I'll help you find your mommy and daddy. Just—"

Hanson stumbled backwards as the cans suddenly pitched sideways and the boy flew past him, all dirty, bare feet and....bare everything. The kid was buck naked. "Hey, kid!" Hanson called, scrambling to his feet. "Come back here! I won't hurt you! Come back here! I won't....."

Hanson slowed to a jog as he reached the sidewalk and drew stares from passers-by. "Did you see which way he went?" he asked. "Little boy, about yea tall, bare....feet?"

Heads shook. Hanson scanned the area, but found nothing. Shrugging, he headed back to the station, pausing outside the back door to gaze in consternation at the garbage cans, which hadn't just fallen over but had been flung an inexplicable distance. "Jesus," he muttered, picking up the nearest can. "Kid must have been packing dynamite."




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



FBI Academy

Quantico, Virginia




"What do you mean, you can't find him?" Assistant Director Skinner demanded. "That's not what I want to hear, Agent Bellow. Not what I want to hear at all."

"Yes, sir," Bellow said, his expression making it painfully clear that he wished he were somewhere, anywhere, but here. "I know that, sir."

"So where is he, agent?"

"I personally checked every single flight that left our airport for O'Hare," Bellow said desperately. "Either he's using an alias I missed, or he never boarded a plane at all."

"I don't care how you lost him, I care that you lost him," Skinner said sharply. "What about the old man, the lawyer? Where is he?"

Bellow hesitated. "He disappeared too, sir. Hasn't returned home yet, but I have a man watching his house. I'm sorry, sir."

"Sorry doesn't get me what I need, agent! Do you have any idea how this makes me look? It makes me look inept! It makes me look incompetent! And should that impair my career in any way, you can bet I'll remember who made me look that way! And stop saying you're sorry," Skinner added in exasperation when Bellow began to do just that. "It means nothing, and gets me nothing. Get the hell out of here and find our missing agent."

"Yes, sir," Bellow said with what sounded suspiciously like relief, making a beeline for the door before Skinner changed his mind. But he hesitated when he got there, facing the AD again, distance perhaps making him bolder.

"I hope he's all right, sir."

Save your hope for me, Skinner thought darkly as Bellow left in a hurry. All Bellow had been told was that Pierce's life was in danger. He had no idea what he'd just lost, or what that loss could cost the Bureau, the nation, or indeed, the entire planet. Or me, Skinner added. For the past thirty years, one of the most coveted positions in the Bureau had been that of the Assistant Director assigned to the Academy at the time that Daniel Pierce Jr. came of age to receive the inheritance his father had supposedly left him. Competition for the post had been fierce, with Skinner emerging victorious after a long and bloody battle with three other finalists, the winner who had the delicate task of explaining to young Pierce how important it was that he remand his inheritance to the Bureau at once should he actually receive it. For all the Bureau's antipathy toward Pierce Sr., it was no secret that everyone who was anyone in the Bureau was now fervently wishing that Pierce Sr. was as clever as he'd claimed to be, that he really had found a way to bequeath the formula for the coveted serum directly to his son three decades in the future. Pierce's son had been raised by the Bureau; it had sheltered him, paid for his education, employed him, and enrolled him in the Academy for training at the earliest possible moment. Commanding his loyalty should have been easy.

Only it wasn't. Pierce had disappeared, vanished, gone pffft, and Skinner feared that was because he'd decided to consider his options, of which he unfortunately had a great many. Everyone and their mother wanted that serum, so Skinner had been careful to up the tear factor by pointing out that the serum could stop those who had killed his natural father and both of his stepfathers, and that the FBI was in the best position to do that. That last point was arguable, but should have gone over easily with a Bureau-raised lad. Maybe Pierce wasn't really considering a break with the Bureau? Perhaps the terms of transfer demanded some kind of secrecy? He'd have to go along of course, until he had it in his hot little hands, and then presumably he'd be free to turn if over. That must be it, Skinner decided. Or that's what he was going to argue when he returned Washington's call, something he'd been delaying all day, hoping for better news. Maybe he should lie, say he knew where Pierce was but didn't want to spook him, and so was keeping it close to the vest. Which would piss off Washington, but hey, sometimes you had to act like a big boy to play with the big boys. Too bad I don't feel like a big boy now, Skinner sighed as he reached for the phone.

Click.

Skinner's hand froze over the receiver. He hadn't been in the field in years, but one never forgot that sound.

"Who is it?" he demanded, looking wildly around his dimly lit office. "Who's there?"

"Looking for me?" a voice asked.

Skinner shrank back in his chair as a pistol materialized out of the shadows, followed by a familiar figure. "Daniel?" he said in disbelief. "Where have you....how did you get in here? How—"

"It's 'Agent Pierce' now," Pierce interrupted coldly, "and funny you should ask. The Bureau trained me, so I would think the Bureau would know that I'm adept at getting into all sorts of places and evading pursuit. Although I never thought I'd be evading the Bureau."

"Now, don't misinterpret that," Skinner cautioned quickly. "We were just concerned for your safety—"

"Don't patronize me!" Pierce snapped. "You had a tail on me because you wanted to get your greedy little hands on my father's serum! You know, the one that controls aliens? The aliens you forgot to mention?"

Skinner's fists clenched, unclenched. The boy had clearly gotten an education since their last meeting. "It was too much information," he argued. "I didn't want to burden you with everything at once—"

"Funny, my father didn't mind doing that. He just laid it all out for me, held nothing back. Guess he thinks more highly of me than you do even though he's never met me."

Skinner hesitated, framing his next words carefully. "Daniel.....are you all right? Because your father's not....well, he's....."

"Dead," Pierce finished. "Really? I hadn't noticed. But don't fret, Assistant Director. He may be dead, but that hasn't stopped him from guiding me from the grave. I've spent the entire day at my father's knee, learning the way the game is played. Which should worry you, because I hear you're well aware of what a very good player he is."

"Don't you mean 'was'?" Skinner asked.

"No, I mean 'is'," Pierce said firmly. "Now, this is how it works. We're going to Washington, and if you want that serum, you'll get me exactly what I want when I want it, no questions asked. Got it?"

"And what would be my motivation for accepting such a polite offer?" Skinner asked tersely. "Other than the gun, of course, although I don't believe for a moment that you'd actually shoot me."

"Don't count on it," Pierce said grimly. "Dear old dad was careful to outline how I could do just that and get away with it. He was a doctor, after all. Oh, and one more thing: Giving me a hard time is a bad idea because I've got several very interesting mailings all set to go to any and all interested parties....unless I stop them. Lock me up or even slow me down, and they go out....and then the whole world will know I've got the serum. One of them will play ball, don't you think?"

Skinner hesitated, his mind working furiously. Pierce could be bluffing, of course, probably was.....but if there was even a chance he was telling the truth, it was a chance the Bureau couldn't afford to take.

"I see," Skinner said slowly. "Well, then....when do we leave?"




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



8:35 p.m.

Westlake Villa




"The end," Dee announced, closing the book.

Two hands stopped her as Max and Isabel, one tucked on either side of her, examined the picture on the last page of the storybook she'd been reading as though they had to take a test on it. It was a colorful illustration of a triumphant Humpty Dumpty, a politically correct version where all the king's horses and all the king's men could and did put Humpty together again. She'd forgotten just how much of a downer many children's stories could be until she'd gone sifting through the Villa's meager stash of books, looking for something at least mildly upbeat. Rehabilitating Humpty was downright hilarious, but it was the best she could come up with, not to mention it bore a resemblance to what had happened to her rapt audience. Not horses, perhaps, but definitely the king's "men" had managed to put Zan and Vilandra together again.

Do they know that? Dee wondered for the hundredth time that day. A full day had gone by; did they now have any inkling of who they were and how they'd gotten here? Is that why they seemed so captivated by the story, or were they still just assimilating? She hadn't yet called them by their real names, afraid of setting something off, something more dramatic than steaming meatloaf. Watching them now, that seemed silly, and her confrontation with Max over the meatloaf far away, especially since they had both been nothing more than quiet, slightly unusual human children since dinner who had parked in front of the television set, played a game of Duck Duck Goose, and gotten ready for bed, all without missing a beat.

"It's time to close the book," Dee said gently. "Lights out was supposed to be five minutes ago, and you know how Mrs. Melbourne gets if her schedule isn't followed."

Two hands let go at the mention of Mrs. Melbourne. Dee had no idea if Madeline C. worked this late in the evening, but it would be just her luck if she did. Both children crawled into one bed as she knew they would, their hands clasped as always, Max's dark hair contrasting more sharply than Isabel's blonde hair against the pillowcase. Isabel was wearing one of Dee's old summer nightgowns, the very one she'd peeled off on the night Cavitt had kidnapped her mother. She'd been quite a bit older and bigger then, and the shorty gown came all the way to Isabel's ankles. Max had fared better with an old tee shirt and a pair of shorts standing in for official PJ's. Neither seemed to care.

"How are they doing?"

It was Annie, one of the Villa's staff. "All tucked in, are we?" she said cheerfully. "And you have the room to yourselves, tonight, at least."

"They want to sleep together," Dee said. "That won't be a problem, will it?"

"Of course not," Annie said kindly. "All they have is each other. Hang on to what you've got, that's what I say."

"Me too," Dee said, having been all braced for a fight. "Mrs. Melbourne....well....she seems to feel differently."

"Eh," Annie said with a dismissive wave. "Social Services. They mean well, but they're really just paper pushers. Who gets them when they leave the hospital? We do, that's who, and we do what we can to put them back together. Like Humpty Dumpty," she added, tucking the book under her arm. "I'll put this back. You say goodnight to Mrs. Evans, children. She can see you again tomorrow. And I'll be right outside if you need anything, don't you worry."

"Did you hear that?" Dee whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. "The people who work here don't mind you holding hands." She smoothed the sheet around both of them and, after a moment's hesitation, leaned over to kiss each one of them on the forehead. "I'll be back first thing tomorrow. Good night, Isabel. Good night....."

She stopped, gazing into the dark eyes.

"....Zan."

The eyes started back at her, unblinking, lacking even a flicker of recognition. "Good night, Max," she amended. "Sleep tight."

That was stupid, she chastised herself severely just as soon as she was in the hall. What had she been thinking? What if he'd gotten scared, or, worse yet, gone ballistic? She should never have taken that chance, especially at this hour, and she glanced worriedly back into the dark room to reassure herself that everything was all right.

Dee's heart caught in her throat. Both children were sitting bolt upright in bed, silhouetted against the window. Oh, no, she thought frantically. Now she'd gone and done it, tripped the alarm because she just couldn't keep her mouth shut. Here she was, fifty-one years old, and she still hadn't learned the art of keeping her mouth shut....

Hands pushed the covers back, and two pairs of feet slid to the floor. "What's wrong?" Dee whispered. "Is something wrong? Are you frightened? We can turn the light back on if you like, or I could stay a bit longer...."

But neither child looked the least bit upset as they marched past her into the hallway, moving with a puzzling certainty. Dee followed them, every nerve jangling, expecting an employee to materialize at any moment and scold them. But none did, and the children proceeded down the staircase at the end of the hall, bypassing the door to the first floor and heading out a door on the back of the building.

They emerged onto grass. It was ghostly quiet out here, a nearly full moon bathing the yard in soft light which outlined the picnic benches and swing set. Both children walked without hesitation toward the tables, their bare feet swishing in the grass, the breeze flapping Isabel's long nightgown behind her as Dee followed, mystified. Where on earth were they going? What had she done? Were they going back to the pod chamber? She was so upset that she almost ran into the children when they stopped and stood staring into the yard expectantly, calm as could be.

And from behind the furthest picnic table, there slowly rose a small shape no larger than the two of them

*There he is,* Brivari's voice said with satisfaction. *I told you he'd find his king.*



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



I'll post Chapter 12 next Sunday.

[Kathy W]

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!



CHAPTER TWELVE



September 18, 1989, 8:50 p.m.

Westlake Villa, Roswell




Max and Isabel stood calmly beside Dee as she stared at the small silhouette in the distance. *Is that Rath?* she breathed, trying to recall what the second little boy in her tracings of the alien book had looked like. *I can't see him well enough to know.*

*I can,* Brivari said. *And now we'll find out how he fares.*

For the next minute or so, how Rath had fared remained in doubt. As Dee stood stock still, afraid that any movement might cause a distraction, Rath cautiously advanced toward Max and Isabel, who remained hand in hand, watching him. Slowly he came closer, a skinny slip of a boy wearing clothes that were oddly familiar, topped by a shock of unruly hair. He was only a few feet away when Brivari sounded the first alarm.

*He won't talk to me,* Brivari said worriedly.

*Maybe he's talking to them,* Dee said.

*Or maybe he's every bit as impaired as they are.*

*It's too soon,* Dee argued. *Give him a minute.*

But it only took about ten more seconds. Rath's eyes widened suddenly, and he began to back away, his eyes locked on Max. And Max.....Max looked angry, his own dark eyes smoldering as Isabel's head swung from one to the other with an expression of dismay.

*What's happening?* Dee called. *What are they doing?*

*Fighting,* Brivari answered. *Or so I assume. I can't hear them; if they're speaking telepathically, they're speaking privately.*

*Did they do that? Did they fight?*

*All the time.*

*Sheesh,* Dee muttered. *Didn't the king get along with anyone?*

*Yes—his wife,* Brivari answered. *Who is unfortunately not here.*

Max suddenly advanced on Rath, who scrambled backwards. Isabel scurried forward, planting herself between the two boys, one arm outstretched toward each. *Brivari?* Dee said worriedly.

*He's trying to make him stay,* Brivari said. *And Rath thinks they should all leave.*

*You can hear them now?*

*No. I know how they think.*

*Maybe Rath is right,* Dee said. *I said the same thing earlier, and they're all together now; you're not missing a hybrid any more.*

*But there's still the problem of where to house them, and I can't forget Ava,* Brivari countered. *Her pod will fail soon too, and I must be here when it does.*

*But can't we at least get these three out of harm's way?* Dee argued. *Stay here if you have to, but—*

*I can't leave any of them,* Brivari insisted. *I need all four together.*

The conflict was intensifying. Max and Rath now circled each other slowly while Isabel remained between them, her head swinging first toward one, then the other. It was almost comical watching what looked like very young children acting out such an adult tableau, their expressions and posture definitely not of the kindergarten set.

*Can't you do something?* Dee said desperately. *I'm thinking this isn't going to end well.*

*They're not responding to me,* Brivari said, *and it may very well not.*

*Why did they fight?* Dee asked, wondering if some background might help resolve this. *What did they fight over?*

*Rath typically advocated a more vigorous response to various challenges than Zan wished to employ,* Brivari answered. *And Rath is more suspicious by nature. Zan likely sees this as a haven, while Rath would want to flee.*

*God, they sound like you and Jaddo,* Dee sighed.

*Don't remind me,* Brivari said darkly.

Rath abruptly backed up further, pointing away from the Villa, clearly wanting them to follow. Max's eyes flashed, and he started forward, stopped only by his sister, who held him back by the shoulders.

Then the lights came on.

All over the backyard, lights burst to life. Floodlights along the back of the building. Lights atop poles in the yard. Lights in every first floor room of the Villa. They popped on all at once, as though dozens of people had flipped switches in unison, and Dee cringed involuntarily, feeling suddenly exposed.

*Did you do that?* she asked Brivari.

*No,* Brivari whispered.

Voices sounded, the back door opened, and four Villa employees came streaming out, uttering expressions of alarm when they spied Dee and the three children far off in the yard. "It's okay!" Dee called, wishing she actually believed that. "They're okay. They....there's another child out here who looks lost."

"Good Lord!" exclaimed the nearest employee, who turned out to be Annie. "I just tucked them into bed! Whatever are they doing out here?"

"I don't know," Dee lied. "I saw them out here just as I was leaving."

"Maybe they saw the other one," another woman suggested.

The children were surrounded now, ringed by Villa workers. Isabel's arms had dropped, Rath looked furious, and Max....Max bore the look of someone who had made his point. "Who is this?" Annie asked in astonishment, peering at the boy who was balanced on the balls of his feet, poised to flee. She peeled off her sweater and walked forward, apparently meaning to put it around Rath, who backed further away.

"Don't touch him!" Dee said anxiously, causing everyone, Rath included, to freeze. "I mean.....he's a little skittish," she amended, feeling everyone's eyes on her. "He wouldn't like being touched."

"Do you know this boy?" Annie asked.

"No, I....just noticed that he doesn't seem to want anyone touching him," Dee answered. And I don't even want to think about what he'd do if he got upset, she added privately. Presumably Rath had the same powers Max and Isabel did, and a quicker temper to boot. Not a good combination.

"I don't care if he likes being touched or not," the woman who had spoken before declared. "He can't stay out here all alone, so in he goes. We'll contact the sheriff in the morning." Rath's eyes flared as she began herding the children toward the building, and for the third time tonight, Dee was certain this would end badly.

Then Isabel walked forward, held out her hand. Rath didn't move a muscle as she gently took his hand in hers.

"Guess it's okay if she touches him," Annie commented. "All right; whatever. Just in with all of you."

Max started forward, Isabel followed, and, reluctantly, so did Rath, his eyes darting everywhere as though expecting an attack. *Will he go?* Dee asked worriedly.

*Rath always obeyed his king,* Brivari said. *Even when he violently disagreed with him.*

*I'd call that a violent disagreement,* Dee said.

*That was nothing,* Brivari assured her.

*It was Max who turned the lights on, wasn't it?*

*Most likely,* Brivari sighed.

"What I can't figure out," Annie said to another Villa worker, both walking about six feet in front of Dee, "is how in the world all these lights just popped on."




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




September 19, 1989, 5:30 a.m.

J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington, D.C.




Daniel Pierce dropped the latest file on the table in front of him, stretching stiffly in his chair. Across the room, Assistant Director Walter Skinner was slumped in his own chair sound asleep, his snores nearly rattling the window blinds in the small conference room on an upper floor of the FBI's headquarters in Washington. Initially annoyed by the noise, Pierce was now grateful for it. At the moment, those snores were the only thing keeping him awake.

Slowly, Pierce rose from his chair, careful not to let it scrape, his muscles screaming. He'd been sitting for the better part of the last four hours, going through every scrap of information the FBI possessed on his father, his stepfather, and the creatures that had killed them. It had been quite an education, and now he poked two fingers into the blinds, holding them apart, peering through the gap. It would be dawn soon, the dawn of a brand new day. A day in which a Pierce once again held the upper hand. It had been a long time coming.


Power is a game, Daniel, and as with any game, those who come out the winners hold powerful game pieces and know how to move them across an ever-changing board. The contents of this box is your game piece, and I, a consummate game player, will teach you the best way to wield it.


Pierce's education had begun with the discovery of the second safe deposit box in the First National Bank of Santa Fe's vaults. In a delicious stroke of the irony at which his father apparently had excelled, the legacy the Bureau had sought for so long had been right under their noses, a mere hop, skip, and a jump away when the contents of the goading letter in the first box had been read. How his father had pulled that off, Pierce couldn't say, and couldn't learn without asking too many leading questions. But as much as he would love to hear the details, it had worked; his legacy had slumbered there undiscovered for the past three decades. He'd spent hours in that little wood and leather room going through the piles of papers which had begun with an incredibly detailed set of instructions as to how to go about using those papers to his best advantage. And the first step toward that end was the continuing protection of those papers, the results of his father's research conducted over a three year period at a New Mexico Army base on....incredibly....live aliens. The very same aliens his precious serum had been designed to subdue.

The very same aliens who had killed him.


Make yourself too valuable to kill.


Pierce had stared at that first directive for several long minutes, his heart beating rapidly. He knew. Decades ago, when his father had written this, he had known his son's life would be in danger on account of the very thing he now held in his hands. How bittersweet, then, that this commendable foresight hadn't enabled his father to fulfill his own mandate, having obviously considered his principle enemies to be human, not alien. But there was no denying that he'd successfully made himself too valuable to kill for his human pursuers, so that lapse was no reason to ignore his guidance now.

It had turned out that his father's idea of making himself too valuable to kill was a multi-part effort, the first of which was a task that had initially stymied Pierce: Memorizing the formula for the serum, something his father claimed to have done soon after its creation, resorting to paper and pen only when it became necessary to safeguard it for his son. Even then he'd gone to some lengths to protect it, burying it so deeply within his notes that it had taken Pierce the better part of an hour to find it. Long had he stared at the scribbles which had caused so much consternation these past three decades. Not being of a scientific bent, those few lines of what looked largely like gibberish to him had taken him yet another hour to commit to memory, a task made easier once he switched from thinking of it as a medical formula and thought of it instead as a form of code. Which it was, really, a code that could unlock the world for him. Only when it was safely in his head had he turned his attention to the rest of that section, which involved secreting pieces of the formula which only he could decipher in several different places only he could find, and creating a mechanism by which to offer his services to competing bidders. He'd spent the better part of the day before his flight back to Quantico setting up a complex web of deceit woven thirty years ago, all the while pondering the rest of his father's many instructions.



Know your enemies and your friends because they are one and the same.



The first part was the oldest advice in the war book, but the second had caught Pierce off guard. He'd never been very social, having lived a life of secrecy he'd never understood until now. But he was very attached to the few friends he did have, like Brian, without whose help he wouldn't have been there, holed up in that little room with the Bureau none the wiser. But his father insisted that no one could be trusted, that true friendship was an unattainable goal in the halls of power, that even those you thought you could trust would turn on you in a heartbeat if their power were threatened or yours came within reach. Probably accurate, but disheartening all the same.



Never make an idle threat.



Pierce glanced over at Skinner, still asleep in the chair. His father had made it clear that his credibility would go right down the toilet the very first time he made a threat and failed to carry it out. He'd pulled a gun on the Assistant Director, and according to his father's advice, he should never wield a weapon he wasn't willing to use. Mercifully he hadn't need to use it.....but what if Skinner had resisted? Would he really have shot him? Would he have been willing to commit murder to get his point across? Would that have even been productive? Fortunately he hadn't had to find out.....yet. And his father had anticipated his reluctance in his next piece of advice.



Ultimately, everyone is expendable.



Everyone but you, of course, his father had added in an unnecessary afterthought. He must be ruthless, he insisted, because others would not hesitate to be ruthless with him, and this ruthlessness extended to removing those who stood in the way by any means necessary. There was no question in Pierce's mind that his father would have shot the AD without a moment's hesitation or regret if Skinner had proven to be an obstacle. And he's not the only one, Pierce thought, glancing at the piles of records on the table. Ruthlessness seemed to run in every branch of his family.

The sun slipped over the horizon, soft light spilling between the blinds. Pierce opened them, watching as the light crept slowly across the room, illuminating the mess on the table, the empty pot of coffee, and the AD, whose eyes fluttered open.

"What time is it?" Skinner muttered, squinting.

"Dawn," Pierce answered. "5:47," he amended, checking his watch. "Early, in other words."

Skinner pushed himself to a sitting position, rubbing his temples. "Did anybody bother you?"

"No. If you want access to classified files, kidnapping an Assistant Director is definitely the way to go."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't recommend making a habit of it," Skinner said darkly. "What, no gun? Aren't you worried I'll scream like a school girl?"

"You won't do anything that would jeopardize your position any more than you already have by losing track of me," Pierce said calmly. "That's why I picked you for this little field trip. You have the most to lose if you don't produce what I have....and a lot to win if you do."

Skinner's eyebrows rose. "When did you turn into such a cold bastard?"

"When I had to," Pierce retorted. "When you tailed me instead of trusting me to come to you. I would have, you know. All you did was prove him right."

"Look, the tail wasn't my idea—"

"I don't care if it was the Easter Bunny's idea, and why would you think for one second that I would believe a word you say?" Pierce demanded. "I don't trust you. Period. I have no reason to."

Skinner eyed him closely for a moment before leaning back in the chair. "So," he said, nodding toward the piles on the table, "did you find what you wanted?"

"Don't go all fatherly on me," Pierce said sharply. "That shtick won't work any more."

"I was just asking if you found what you were looking for, not checking your pockets for condoms," Skinner said.

Pierce glanced at the table, then back out the window. "I found out my father and stepfather hated each other with a passion, and that my stepfather married my mother to get his hands on me. Just a bit different from the tale I was told."

Skinner's hands worked in front of him. "Bernard Lewis was a pragmatic man," he said carefully. "He used whatever ammunition he could find to fight the alien threat."

"In other words, he played the game," Pierce said. "And I was his game piece."

"I prefer my interpretation," Skinner said.

"And I don't," Pierce said bluntly. "Did he kill my mother?"

"What?"

"I said, did he kill my mother?"

"Your mother died of a heart attack," Skinner said. "What makes you think he killed her?"

Because everyone is expendable. "Let's put it this way," Pierce replied, ignoring the question. "Was Lewis capable of killing my mother?"

Skinner opened his mouth to answer, but stopped when he saw the look on Pierce's face. "Yes. But that doesn't mean he did. It just means he was the type who would do whatever it took to get the job done." Skinner paused. "It's important to remember that both your father and your stepfather were brilliant, ambitious, driven men to whom our country owes a great debt. Your father gave us the means to subdue aliens, and your stepfather founded the Special Unit, whose expertise is hunting aliens. But it will take a marriage of the two to really accomplish anything. That's where you come in."

"Where is the Special Unit now?" Pierce asked.

"Everywhere," Skinner answered. "All over the country, in all fifty states, and all over the world—"

"That's not what I meant," Pierce interrupted. "Where is it based?"

"Here in Washington, of course."

"And who leads it?"

"A man named Daniel Summers, a fifteen year veteran of—"

"I want his job."

Skinner blinked. "You must be joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Pierce asked. "You just said you wanted to combine my father's brilliance with my stepfather's. I have his serum, you have the Special Unit. Do I really need to spray paint the footsteps on the floor for you?"

"Daniel, you only just made agent," Skinner protested. "I can't throw a rookie into a position like that! If you think—"

"What I 'think' is that you never intended to do anything but grab the serum and run," Pierce broke in. "You just expected me to hand over the formula, which would then be delivered to the Special Unit while I was cut loose, no longer of use to anyone. Am I warm?"

Skinner flushed. "That's not true."

"No, it isn't," Pierce said firmly. "Because I won't have it. I have the ultimate bargaining chip, and I'm bargaining. You want my serum, I come with it. It's a package deal."

"It's not that simple," Skinner argued. "The Unit has hundreds of agents, none of whom know you from Adam. I can pin all the name tags you want on you, but that won't earn you the respect of the men under your command. They won't follow you."

"Then I'll need agents who will," Pierce declared.

"Don't you get it?" Skinner demanded, rising from the couch. "No one will follow you. No agent worth his salt would follow an untried, untested agent no matter what shiny new toy he has in his pocket. The serum is yours only because you inherited it; you didn't develop it. You still haven't proven yourself in any way that will mean anything to those you'll need to win over. Credibility is something you earn. You can't demand it, or command it, or produce it at the point of a sword."

"Why not? Haven't people been doing just exactly that for centuries?"

"So, what, you plan to pull a gun on everyone you meet? Look, I know you just won the lottery," Skinner went on when Pierce didn't answer, "and you're all flush with power. I get that. But aim too high too fast, and you'll fail. And once you fail, there'll be no going back. That failure is all anyone will remember."

Pierce gazed out the window at the morning sun, now blazing in all its glory. It had burst upon the horizon only a few minutes ago, but it had taken that few minutes for it to rise as high as it was now. And it would take hours more to reach its zenith.

"I want to meet Daniel Summers," Pierce said. "Today."




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



Westlake Villa,

Roswell




"Smile," the deputy commanded, squinting through the camera's viewfinder.

The flash went off, and Rath jerked backwards, startled. "Jumpy little thing, isn't he?" the deputy commented as the camera spit out the photograph. "I need one more."

Dee watched as Isabel slid closer to Rath, who was marginally less alarmed by the second flash pop. "There we go," the deputy said cheerfully, plucking the second photo out of the camera. "Two Polaroid's, one for the record, for the bulletin board."

"Your camera says 'Kodak'," Dee commented.

"Yeah, but they lost that lawsuit to Polaroid in '86," the deputy answered. "And I always called them 'Polaroid's' anyway. Kind of like we call tissues 'Kleenex' even though that's a brand name."

"Can we get on with this?" Mrs. Melbourne interrupted.

The deputy flushed. "Sure, ma'am. Just making conversation."

The deputy, whose name tag read "Hanson", hastily set his camera down and pulled out a pad as Madeline C. Melbourne's pencil tapped impatiently. Arrayed in a semi-circle around her desk were Hanson, Dee, Rath, Isabel, without whom Rath wouldn't go anywhere, and Max, without whom Isabel wouldn't go anywhere. Madeline C. had been less than pleased that all three children had to be present in order to keep the peace, but Annie, the Villa employee who had been so kind last night, had prevailed upon her to allow it. And no wonder; the only reason Rath had come inside last night was because of Isabel, who had also helped him tolerate a bath and Max's spare pair of pajamas, after which all three children had piled into one bed, something Dee was certain Annie would get an earful about if she hadn't already. Dee had spent a sleepless night worried sick even though she knew Brivari would keep an eye on them, but all had been well when she'd arrived this morning on the stroke of 8:30, the very moment the Villa's doors were open to the public, only to be set upon by Mrs. Melbourne, who said a sheriff's deputy wanted to interview her about their newest occupant.

"So your name is.....?" Deputy Hanson prompted.

"Deanna Evans."

"And you were present last night when this boy was discovered?"

"I was."

"Mrs. Evans seems to have a habit of being present when lost children appear," Mrs. Melbourne sniffed.

"Was that an accusation?" Dee asked.

"Maybe she's afraid you'll take her job," Hanson chuckled, only to fall silent when he saw the look on Madeline C.'s face. "Okay....so....you say you were leaving last night when you looked out the window and saw.....what?"

"I had just finished saying goodnight to Max and Isabel, the two children my son and his wife found night before last," Dee explained, "and on my way out of the building, I glanced out a back window and saw the two of them outside. So I went outside, and they were out there with this little boy," she continued, nodding toward Rath. "And then some Villa people came out, and we all went back inside, and...that's it."

"And you say none of them have spoken a word?" Hanson asked Mrs. Melbourne.

"Not so far," Mrs. Melbourne answered disapprovingly.

"That's weird," Hanson murmured. "Do they know each other, do you think?"

"Why would you think that?" Mrs. Melbourne asked. "They were found miles apart from each other and in very different conditions."

"I know," Hanson said. "But don't you think it's weird that none of them talk, yet they all hang together like that?"

"I called you here for your assistance in locating their parents, not your expert insight into their psyches," Mrs. Melbourne said archly.

Hanson pinked. "Right," he said as Dee privately noted that Hanson was far more on the ball than Madeline C. ever would be. "Actually, I may have seen this little guy yesterday evening," he went on. "There was a kid hiding in the trash cans behind the station, but he ran off before I could get a really good look at him.....no," he amended shaking his head. "That kid was buck naked and sent those cans flying like you wouldn't believe, so it must have been someone older and stronger."

The station. Dee glanced at Rath, who was watching Hanson like a hawk, a guarded expression on his face. Brivari had said that Rath would find the other two, and Max and Isabel had indeed been at the sheriff's station briefly before being transferred to the hospital. Had he been following their trail?

"Could we finish, please?" Mrs. Melbourne said.

"Sure," Hanson said quickly. "Has the new fella been seen by a doctor?"

"He was examined by Dr. Bush this morning," Mrs. Melbourne answered, "a local pediatrician who looks after our children. He said he was fine."

A bit of a leap, Dee thought privately. While it had been good news that Rath hadn't been sent to the hospital—no hospital had meant no blood work, which should mean no chance of detection—the elderly Dr. Bush had faced a very reluctant patient when he'd appeared in the children's room after breakfast. Even though Isabel had sat right next to him, petting his hand the whole time, Rath had been loathe to let the doctor near him. The doctor, for his part, had been perplexed as to why both of his thermometers and every tongue depressor he'd tried to use had mysteriously snapped in half as Dee had sat there on pins and needles, hoping against hope that broken medical equipment would be the worst they'd have to deal with. In the end, the doctor had apparently decided that Rath appeared healthy enough to sign off on even though he had precious little objective evidence of that, and Dee hadn't started breathing again until his signature was on the dotted line.

"Okay....I have statements from all the Villa employees who saw this, and I have all the photos and basic information, so I'll run this by the sheriff, and we'll put the word out," Hanson said.

"How is our new sheriff?" Mrs. Melbourne asked.

"He's doing just fine."

"For the moment," Mrs. Melbourne said under her breath.

Hanson's pen paused over the paper he'd been scribbling on. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that?"

His tone had changed, and Mrs. Melbourne noticed; Hanson no longer looked cowed, but ticked. "I said 'for the moment'," she replied deliberately. "You know what happened to his father."

"My daddy worked for James Sr., so yes, I know what happened to his father. Far more than you ever will."

"Maybe so," Mrs. Melbourne said defensively. "But I still say more thought should have been given to handing the badge to another Valenti."

"I'm certain our new sheriff will be delighted to know that you've already tried and convicted him based on....well, I'm not quite sure what," Hanson said sharply. "But I'll pass it along to him, and maybe you can tell him yourself."

Madeline C. had the decency to look ever so slightly abashed. "No need for threats," she said stiffly. "I'm entitled to my opinion."

"And I'm entitled to mine," Hanson retorted. "And I've gotta tell you, my opinion of those who don't realize a man is innocent until proven guilty isn't very high."

"Valenti Sr. was proven guilty," Mrs. Melbourne said stoutly.

"No, the evidence was inconclusive," Hanson corrected, "and the town council fired him anyway. That's a long way from guilty. And it's Jim Jr. in the chair now, so explain to me what this has to do with anything?"

"I wasn't trying to start a fight," Mrs. Melbourne said, beginning to perspire.

"Then don't," Hanson said tartly. "Like I said, I'll run this by the sheriff and get started on it."

"What happens to the children while you're looking?" Dee asked, changing the subject.

"They'll stay here," Hanson replied. "Unless a suitable foster home can be found, that is."

"And what if their parents can't be located?"

"Then Social Services will put them up for adoption."

"I'd like to apply to adopt them," Dee said.

"Aren't you getting a bit ahead of yourself, Mrs. Evans?" Mrs. Melbourne asked. "We haven't even begun an investigation. Besides, you're much too old to adopt."

"Yes, I'm about your age," Dee said acidly.

Madeline C.'s face darkened; Hanson suppressed a smile. "If I were you, Mrs. Evans, I'd pray that their parents are found," Mrs. Melbourne said coldly. "Foster homes can be found, but adoptive parents are much more picky. They want babies, not older children."

"Sounds like a good reason not to disregard any interested parties," Hanson commented blandly as Madeline C. scowled. "By the way, do we have a name for this third one? I've got Max, Isabel, and.....what's this one going to be called?"

Dee looked at Jaddo's Ward, recalling the glimpses her father had seen of how he'd died, alone and outnumbered.....and drawing a sudden parallel.

"Michael," she said suddenly. "Call him Michael."

Hanson glanced at Madeline C., who struggled for almost a full minute to find a reason to object.

"Okay, then," he said, his pencil scritching. "For now, at least....it's 'Michael'."




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




Pod Chamber




Brivari slipped inside the pod chamber and hurried to Ava's pod. This was the first time in over twenty-four hours that he'd been willing to risk taking the time to return here, and he feared the worst. But she was still there, her pod intact, her yellow curls framing a face with eyes still closed. The fluid in the pod was alarmingly clear, but there was no way to tell when she would emerge, and the odds that he would be here when she did were slim indeed.

Exhausted, Brivari leaned against the wall of the chamber and closed his own eyes. He hadn't had a moment's sleep since discovering the empty pods, but the time was coming when he would have to sleep, leaving the hybrids without a Warder. At the palace, one's Ward was never unguarded; while one Warder rested, there was always another who filled in. There was no one to fill in for him other than their human allies, all of whom had proven able champions for his charges, and without whom the events of the past two days could most certainly have ended in tragedy. But there was no getting around the fact that those human allies lacked the ability to deal with a hybrid with a sudden burst of memory or, worse yet, a hybrid gone wild. He had hoped that perhaps Rath would have a more developed mental state, but Jaddo's Ward was every bit as silent as his own and Urza's. All three seemed trapped in between, with glimmers of their true selves slipping through long stretches of being simple human children, and he had only just begun to give thought to how to address that situation. At least Rath had been found, and all had passed human muster. That was something.

Brivari reached out to touch the smooth surface of Ava's pod, only inches away from her small human hand. Valeris should be here, he thought as a wave of sadness washed over him. Valeris should be here to see his creations emerge, to guide him as to how to bring them back to themselves. There was nothing in Valeris' book about the hybrids being in such an odd state, but then he'd never expected them to emerge so very young and so very late. Perhaps, were he here, he would be as puzzled as Brivari. Perhaps he would declare the entire endeavor a failure. Whatever he would have said or done, he would have known much more about this than either he or Jaddo. Not that Jaddo would have been much help if he were here.

Brivari let his hand fall from Ava's pod. Time to get back; he'd been gone too long already. He'd barely turned around when a shape slid from behind one of the torn pods, the infrared signature surrounding it announcing its owner before it completely took form.

"Were you ever going to tell me my Ward had emerged," Jaddo demanded, "or were you just going to let me discover that for myself?"



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


I'll post Chapter 13 next Sunday.

[Kathy W]

^ Then I'll get on with it!



CHAPTER THIRTEEN


September 19, 1989, 9:15 a.m.

Pod Chamber




"Where is he, Brivari?" Jaddo demanded. "Or rather, where are 'they'?"

Brivari stared at Jaddo in disbelief. This was the first time in thirty years that he'd laid eyes on his fellow Warder, and his presence here now was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, another Warder standing guard could be an asset; on the other, that Warder being Jaddo could mean disaster.

"I said, where are they?" Jaddo persisted. "What have you done with them?"

"Slow down," Brivari ordered. "Honestly, you only just get here, and already you're accusing me of nefarious doings!"

"And what am I supposed to think when I arrive here and find three hybrids missing? I can tell from the look on your face that you're not surprised, that you already knew they weren't here. Once again, were you ever going to tell me?"

"This only just happened!" Brivari said in exasperation. "I haven't had time—"

"—to let me know my own Ward had emerged?" Jaddo finished angrily. "Make time! I certainly would have had it been me who had been here!"

Something snapped inside Brivari, and he stalked up to Jaddo. "But you weren't here, were you?" he said furiously. "No, of course not! You're much too busy creating enemies so you can pick them off and feel like you're doing something useful, while I'm the only one left to actually be a Warder!"

"Oh, is that what you call resting on your laurels in 'Hollywood'?" Jaddo said derisively. "Don't make it sound like you sleep right outside the pod chamber, Brivari, because I know better. Such a nice house you have. A bit large for just one person, but then you don't spend much time in it anyway."

Brivari's eyes widened. "You've been spying on me?"

Jaddo gave a snort of annoyance. "Do you have any idea how utterly ridiculous you sound? I'm a Warder; 'spying' is my job. And yours too, if you'd only do it."

"What makes you think I haven't been?" Brivari retorted. "With all your antics making the newspapers and police reports, I don't even need to leave my kitchen table to follow you all over the continent."

"How comforting to know you haven't lost your skills entirely," Jaddo said acidly. "I'll ask you one more time: Where is my Ward?"

"He's safe," Brivari answered. "They all are."

"Where?" Jaddo demanded.

"It's not that simple!" Brivari exclaimed. "There are things you need to know! They're not—"

"Oh, but it is that simple," Jaddo insisted. "My Ward has emerged. How much simpler could it be? Where is he?"

"They're all that size!" Brivari shouted, pointing to Ava's pod.

Jaddo's eyes jerked sideways, widened, blinked, as though he was trying to process what he'd just heard. "They're....they.....they're...." He stopped, pointing mutely to Ava's pod as though unable to finish the sentence.

"They are all young human children, approximately six years of age," Brivari said.

"Six?" Jaddo echoed. "But they were supposed to be......"

"Adults. Yes, I know. But they're not. They're just like Ava."

Jaddo walked over to Ava's pod, gazing at the hybrid inside. "I thought....I thought something went wrong with hers," he said haltingly. "That this one had gone bad....that she hadn't developed....."

"None of them 'went bad'," Brivari said, "at least not in the conventional sense. The gestational fluid has simply reached the end of its lifespan. It was only supposed to provide nutrients and oxygen for twenty years; it lasted forty. When the fluid fails, the hybrids emerge no matter what their level of development."

Jaddo reached out a hand to touch Ava's pod. "Then why hasn't she emerged?"

"She will. According to Valeris' notes, as the fluid fails, it becomes clear, which means it's depleted. I noticed the change three days ago, and Zan, Vilandra, and Rath emerged a day later. Ava's pod will fail soon also. It's only a matter of time."

"Valeris," Jaddo said bitterly. "Once again we need him, and once again he's not here."

"I'm not certain he could have done anything about this," Brivari said quietly. "I think this one was beyond even him."

Jaddo's eyes closed briefly. "And do they....are they.....themselves?"

Brivari hesitated. "No. At least not yet. Although they have shown definite signs of post human abilities such as telekinesis and an accelerated rate of learning. And they appear able to communicate with each other via telepathic speech, although they have yet to communicate with me that way."

"They won't talk to you? Even Zan? Why not?"

"I'm not sure," Brivari admitted. "My impression is they can't hear me. They couldn't hear Dee initially either, but now at least Zan responds to her, although he has yet to actually answer telepathically."

"Dee is here?"

"As are the Proctors and the Healer. I begged the Healer to come when I realized their emergence was imminent."

"And she came," Jaddo murmured. "Of course she did."

"And examined them," Brivari said, "using the best tools available to human medicine."

"Which isn't saying much," Jaddo muttered. "And?"

"And their bodies are human, at least in terms of organs and bone structure. Only their blood contains hybridized cells the likes of which I've never seen before. Then again, we have created an entirely new species."

"You still haven't told me where they are," Jaddo noted.

"They are in a place humans reserve for lost children," Brivari said carefully. "I—"

"What? They're not with the Healer or the Proctors? Why not?"

"Circumstances dictated that they be where they are now," Brivari answered. "And Zan made it clear that's the way he wanted it."

Jaddo's eyes narrowed. "I thought you just told me they're not themselves."

"They're not," Brivari said impatiently. "They have....flashes. Moments. Short bursts of what appear to be awareness interspersed with a complete lack of awareness."

"And did Rath have a 'moment' where he weighed in on Zan's preference to stay where they are?" Jaddo paused, his eyes narrowing when Brivari didn't answer. "Ah. I see he did. And obviously Zan prevailed upon him to do it his way. I thought you said they weren't themselves? How much more 'themselves' could they be than Zan trampling Rath's better judgment?"

"Rath changed his mind," Brivari argued. "He stayed of his own free will. The important thing is that they are safe, for the moment," he continued. "I have not left their side until I came here today, the first time I felt comfortable stepping away even for a short while. But I also had Ava to think of, and I couldn't be everywhere at once, which is also why I haven't gone looking for you. I couldn't leave them. They've shown sporadic bursts of power, and if the humans become alarmed, they would need to be removed, not to mention what could happen if they suddenly become themselves with no Warder to guide them."

"So they do have powers? Rath has actually used them?"

"Rath and Zan have both manipulated objects, while Vilandra has yet to display anything other than a facility for human language—"

"It's a miracle she has that," Jaddo muttered.

"—but I'm assuming she also possesses post-human abilities," Brivari finished, ignoring him. "And their powers seem to be more instinct than anything else, used only when they're angry or threatened. I'm not certain how much control they have over them."

"Probably very little at this point," Jaddo said. "What happened when you connected with them?"

"I haven't yet."

"Why not? Sharing our memories may be exactly what's needed to awaken their own."

"Or it may backfire," Brivari said. "The Healer feels we should go slowly."

"Why?"

"I will let her explain it to you, but you must listen," Brivari said. "You've always trusted her before, always had nothing but the utmost respect for her. Hear her out before you go blundering in there and make everything worse."

Jaddo regarded him in silence for a moment. "Take to me to my Ward," he said finally

"Do I have your word that you'll do nothing but observe until you've talked to the Healer?"

"You have no business demanding my 'word' when you're harboring my Ward," Jaddo said flatly.

"The only reason I'm 'harboring' is because you weren't here," Brivari said sharply. "We don't know what we're dealing with, Jaddo, and you have a lousy track record for restraint. Give me your word, or I take you nowhere."

Jaddo's face darkened dangerously. "Take me to my Ward, and I will speak with the Healer afterwards."

"Your word," Brivari insisted.

"Or what?"

"Try me, and find out."

Brivari stood his ground as they stared each other down. He couldn't keep Jaddo away forever, of course, and it was unclear who would prevail in a fight because they were so evenly matched. But there was no doubt that each of them was capable of seriously wounding the other and that this would be a very bad time to have even one impaired Warder, never mind two.

"Fine," Jaddo said coldly. "You have my word."

"And I'll hold you to it," Brivari warned.

"You do that. Now, for the last time.....take me to my Ward."





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




Roswell Sheriff's Station




Knock, knock.

Jim Valenti replaced the file he'd been reading and closed the cabinet drawer, taking his time. His visitor knocked again before he took a seat behind his desk, doing a speed check of his speech and his reasons for giving it one last time before the shit hit the fan.

Knock, knock.

"Come in."

The door opened. "Hanson said you wanted to see me, sir?" Deputy Alvarez said.

"That I did," Valenti answered. "Close the door, and take a seat."

Alvarez hesitated before complying, no doubt noting that Valenti wasn't smiling. Valenti waited until Alvarez was seated and several seconds had passed, until the awkwardness had reached the next level.

"So how are things going, Alvarez?"

"Uh....well, I only just started my shift, sir," Alvarez answered uncertainly. "But Hanson briefed us on the night's news. They picked up another lost kid at Westlake—"

"Yeah, he told me. Seems we're having an epidemic of lost children."

"Right," Alvarez replied, attempting a smile. "But other than that, I just got here, so I really don't have much to report."

"Good," Valenti nodded. "Good. Then now's the perfect time for you to satisfy your curiosity, while you're not distracted by other things."

" 'Curiosity', sir? About what?"

"Why, about whether I'm harboring little green men in my office."

Alvarez flushed. "Look, sir, I don't know what Hanson told you—"

"I don't need Hanson to tell me that my father's former colleagues are looking askance at me," Valenti broke in sharply. "And it pains me that multi-year veterans of this station can find no other way to express themselves then to skulk around water fountains and make snotty comments to their fellow deputies. You'd think that men with so much experience would have the courtesy to come to me directly with their concerns. You'd think."

Alvarez dropped his eyes, saying nothing. "So tell me, deputy," Valenti continued, "what I've said or done that would lead you to think I share my father's views on aliens in Roswell."

"Nothing, sir—"

"Nothing?" Valenti repeated, his voice rising. "But I must have done something. Because if I haven't, if you're spreading gossip based solely on what my father said or did, you've landed squarely in the land of guilty until proven innocent, a place no law enforcement officer should ever find himself."

"Sir, we all loved your old man, but we had valid concerns," Alvarez said. "We watched him go downhill—"

"Did you, now?" Valenti said with mock surprise. "Well, what'dya know, so did I. Imagine that! A shared experience. It's always nice when people can share experiences, don't you think?"

"Sir, with all due respect, is your sarcasm supposed to reassure me?" Alvarez demanded. "Because—"

"You have yet to show me anything even remotely resembling 'due respect', deputy," Valenti retorted, "and my sarcasm is supposed to make you think twice before bitching about your boss in his own station. And don't give me that 'valid concerns' crap. If your concerns were so 'valid', you wouldn't be out there yakking it up like a ten year-old school girl at recess. And do you really think you're the only one with so-called 'valid concerns'? My appointment was approved by the town council, many of whom had 'valid concerns' of their own. Concerns which ultimately didn't stop my being handed the badge, by the way. Just in case you hadn't noticed." He paused. "Get up."

Alvarez blinked. "Sir?"

"I said, 'get up'. You can handle a simple two word order, can't you, deputy?"

Slowly, Alvarez rose from his seat. "Look around," Valenti said. "Check under my desk, in my wastebasket, hell, check the pockets of my coat if you want and see if you can find anything that would lead you to believe that I don't deserve the respect of each and every man on this force. Don't forget the closet. Those aliens are small."

"That won't be necessary, sir," Alvarez said, looking supremely uncomfortable.

"Oh, I think it is," Valenti answered.

"No, it really isn't—"

"Do it."

"Sir, I—"

"Do it."

"Do you really expect me to—"

"Do it!"

Alvarez stood stock still, the blood rushing to his face, hands clenched at his sides. Valenti held his gaze, not moving a muscle, willing to let this stand-off go on all afternoon, if necessary. As long as it took.

Which wasn't long. Only a few seconds passed before Alvarez dropped his eyes and bent over stiffly, making a show of looking under the desk. Straightening up, he circled the room quickly, looking but not touching as Valenti watched his every move in silence.

"No aliens, sir," Alvarez said finally, his voice tight.

"You forgot the closet."

"Sir—"

Valenti held up a hand for silence. "You forgot the closet, deputy. I won't have my men thinking I'm harboring aliens. Go check it out and satisfy those 'valid concerns' of yours."

Looking more angry now than uncomfortable, Alvarez walked to the closet and threw open the door. There wasn't much in it, Valenti having only just moved in, and he stared at the meager contents for a requisite few seconds before retreating.

"No aliens there either, sir."

"Can I quote you on that?"

"Sir, this isn't very professional!" Alvarez burst out, unable to contain himself any longer. "Your father would never have—"

"I am not my father!" Valenti exploded, vaulting out of his chair with such speed that it rolled backward and hit the wall. "I am James Valenti Jr., a completely different person and a completely different sheriff! And I find it more than a little ironic that five minutes ago you were worried I was too much like my father, but now you're complaining I'm not enough like him. You can't have it both ways, deputy. Which will it be?"

Alvarez didn't answer, just stood there, eyes burning, his face so red it may have been on fire. "And don't you dare try to lecture me about being 'professional'," Valenti continued angrily, coming out from behind the desk. "This is between you and me. No one will know about it unless you tell them because I certainly won't. That's the way it should be, not snotty remarks to fellow employees at the front counter. Would you rather I do it your way? Because I can drag you out there and make you sniff around the main office if you'd like."

No answer. "Well?" Valenti demanded. "Which way do you prefer? Mine, or yours?"

"Yours, sir," Alvarez whispered.

"I can't hear you," Valenti warned.

"Yours, sir!" Alvarez repeated, every bit as angry as Valenti now.

"Then perhaps you'll remember that the next time you decide to pull this shit on me," Valenti said. "And perhaps you'll think better of it and have the guts to come in here and speak your mind to my face. A man can hope, can't he?"

Alvarez said nothing, staring at the floor. "And do you know what else I hope, deputy?" Valenti went on. "I hope I can rely on you and any others who feel the same way you do. I hope I can count on you for back-up, can count on you to follow my orders. Because we watch each other's backs, and I've gotta tell you, I'm not at all certain I want you watching mine. You're sending too many mixed messages for my comfort."

"Sir, I would never let you down when it really mattered," Alvarez said in a strangled voice.

"But you would other times?" Valenti said softly. "Oh, that's right....you already have."

Valenti watched Alvarez in silence for a moment before resuming his seat. "Assuming I can count, you and a couple of others are eligible for retirement. You all might want to look into that. Because if I catch so much as a whiff of this crap again, you'll have a choice between that or being terminated. Have I made myself clear?"

Alvarez's fists clenched. "Yes, sir," he ground out.

"Good. Dismissed."

Valenti waited until Alvarez's footsteps had faded away before going to the closet and opening the door. It was a pity, really, that Alvarez hadn't looked a bit harder. Because on the very top shelf was the box of his father's belongings, including that weird photo of the man with the silver handprint on his chest.

He wondered what Alvarez would have said if he'd found that.




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




Westlake Villa





"I'll send an employee to accompany you," the imperious woman in charge of the Villa told Brivari. "Wait here."

Brivari took a moment to steel himself before returning to Jaddo in the waiting area. *We've been given permission to observe,* he reported. *They're sending someone to accompany us.*

*I'm so pleased that some random human has graciously granted 'permission' for me to see my own Ward,* Jaddo said acidly. *Explain to me again why we're doing this ridiculous dance?*

*Because that Ward is currently in the care of the human Social Services system, as is mine. I have to deal with it, and so do you.*

*Like hell I do,* Jaddo muttered.

*You do if you want to see him sooner rather than later,* Brivari said tersely. *This institution will not take kindly to rude behavior. If you're smart, you'll display courtesy and gratitude.*

Jaddo gave a soft snort. *How about if I display silence?*

*Jaddo, believe me when I say that you are a walking example of the human axiom, 'silence is golden',* Brivari retorted. *If you wish to sulk, you'll get no argument from me.*

Jaddo muttered something unintelligible and likely profane as he continued pacing the waiting area of the Villa. Frankly, he'd be delighted if Jaddo really was angry enough to give him the silent treatment. Life was always better when his mouth was closed.

*But why are they even here?* Jaddo demanded as Brivari reflected that hoping for silence was nothing short of ludicrous. *What would provoke you to sentence them to a place like this?*

*Haven't we already been over this?* Brivari said impatiently. *They're children, Jaddo, human children. You weren't here when they emerged and haven't even seen them, yet you've appointed yourself my judge and jury. Typical.*

*And how exactly did that happen, Brivari? How is it that you happened to be here at the exact moment that three hybrids emerged?*

*Wonderful,* Brivari deadpanned. *Conspiracy theories. And from the one who conspired to remove the rest of the hybrids without consulting me, and lost all of them.*

*Ancient history,* Jaddo declared. *And you haven't answered my question.*

*If you must know, I visit yearly. It was pure luck that I was in the area and that I noticed the change in the pods. And I might ask you the same question: What brings you here at this 'exact moment'?*

*So what happens to 'Hollywood' in your absence?* Jaddo asked, ignoring his question. *I understand you've become quite successful. I had no idea you had such a flare for drama.*

*Of course I have a flare for drama; I worked in a palace. And you're not so bad yourself. The way you dispatched Agent Lewis and his henchman was quite dramatic.*

Jaddo's eyes flicked sideways. *I see I'm not the only one doing surveillance.*

*It's not hard when you leave bodies lying around.*

*I make no apologies for disposing of our enemies,* Jaddo declared.

*You haven't disposed of one in a while now,* Brivari observed. *If I were the guessing type, I'd guess the Special Unit has learned a few things over the years, and it's now much harder to get close to them. Don't look at me like that,* he added coldly. *Did you really think I wasn't keeping an eye on your antics? You may have taken out a few enemies, Jaddo, but you only succeeded in creating more. The Unit is larger than ever now, stronger than ever. All you've done is strengthen our enemies' resolve.*

*And what kind of message would allowing them to thrive unchecked have sent?*

*You don't get it, do you?* Brivari said in exasperation. *If we'd done nothing, they wouldn't have thrived, they'd have assumed we'd left just like everyone did the last time we were silent for years and withered from lack of justification. As I recall, that justification was restored exactly the same way, by you leaving a body behind.*

*Do we really need to have this argument again?* Jaddo demanded.

*Of course not,* Brivari retorted. *You started the conversation, and you're free to end it any time you like. Please do.*

"Are....you the gentlemen who wanted to see the children?"

It was a Villa employee, gazing at them quizzically, no doubt wondering why they both looked furious. "We are," Brivari answered with what he hoped was a disarming smile. "So nice to meet you...." he glanced down at her name tag "....Annie."

Annie returned his smile a bit tentatively, no surprise given that Jaddo was still scowling. "All the children are playing outside," Annie said. "If you'll follow me?"

They fell in step behind her as she led them through the building. "The children are on the playground," she told them. "There are some benches nearby from which you'll be free to observe. If you'd like to actually meet any of them, I'll make the introductions."

"Thank you," Brivari answered.

"Why do we have to 'observe'?" Jaddo asked. "Why can't we introduce ourselves?"

"We can't allow that," Annie said firmly. "All of these children are here because of some trauma or other, and they need consistency. Strangers can be upsetting, which is why we always make certain they're accompanied by a familiar face."

"Of course," Brivari interjected smoothly as Jaddo's eyes flared at her authoritative tone. "We understand completely. We're just....frustrated. This isn't our first attempt."

"Mrs. Melbourne mentioned that," Annie said. "It can be a very frustrating process for everyone concerned. I assure you we'll do our very best to smooth the way for you."

*While I do my very best not to strangle you where you stand,* Brivari added as Jaddo sullenly followed them through the building. *Does the concept of not calling attention to ourselves still escape you?*

*What on earth did you tell her?* Jaddo asked.

*That we were looking for children to adopt, of course. That's what these places are for.*

*You told her we were a couple?*

*Of course not,* Brivari said impatiently. *It will be a long time before human society advances that far. I told her we'd left our wives home because previous failed attempts had left them discouraged.*

*Did you get that tale from 'Hollywood'?*

*No, I got it from here, from listening to what's said here. You only just walked in the door, Jaddo. You'd do well to remember that.*

*You lead, I'll follow,* Jaddo said darkly. *What else is new?*

Brivari bit back yet another retort as Annie led them out a back door and across the lawn to where Westlake's children were scampering over, around, and under a series of climbing equipment. All but three, that is, who sat apart from the rest with puzzled looks on their faces as though they couldn't quite figure out what the other children were doing or what to do themselves.

*Is that them?* Jaddo whispered.

*Yes.*

*You're certain?*

*Of course I'm certain. Their faces match those of their donors.*

"I'll leave you two alone," Annie said, pointing to the benches she'd mentioned.

Brivari glanced at Jaddo, expecting yet another caustic remark. But Jaddo no longer looked combative or suspicious or angry, just....shocked. It had been quite a shock for him as well to see their Wards in this condition, and the ensuing scramble to safeguard their passage through the human system had been a welcome distraction from the enormity of what had happened, of what this could mean. Now that the initial threat had passed, he was beginning to feel some of what was now visible on Jaddo's face...and he mustn't allow himself to. One of them had to keep a clear head, and experience had proven that would have to be him.

*They're not playing with the others,* Jaddo said. *And they remain together. Does that not mean they know something of themselves?*

*Maybe,* Brivari allowed. *On some level, at least.*

*Tell me again what they've done?*

*Zan and Rath have exhibited post human abilities when angry or threatened,* Brivari recounted, *and all have exhibited unusual intelligence for human children this age.*

*Even Vilandra?* Jaddo muttered.

*Even Vilandra,* Brivari replied dryly. *She and Zan mastered English extremely quickly. And they all clearly understand each other, although they haven't yet spoken out loud, and I can't hear any telepathic speech.*

*So they're speaking privately?*

Brivari hesitated. *I'm not sure what they're doing.*

*Then we need to find out.*

*Of course we do,* Brivari said patiently. *But we also need to be careful. We don't know what state they're in, and if that happens to be a fragile state, we could wind up doing more harm than good.*

*And so of course your counsel is to do nothing.*

*My counsel is to proceed cautiously,* Brivari corrected. *You promised to consult with the Healer before attempting contact, remember?*

*Of course I remember. But do you have any idea how hard it is to stand back here and watch?*

*So try telepathic speech,* Brivari suggested.

Jaddo was quiet for a moment. *I have,* he said finally. *Several times.*

*And?*

*And....they're not responding. To Antarian or English.*

The ache in his voice was so clear that Brivari resisted the urge to point out that he'd warned him that was the case. He'd cautioned Jaddo to remember that he'd only just arrived, but perhaps he needed to remember that as well. If he needed time to adjust to this latest development, Jaddo would need even more.

"So it's older children you're interested in?"

It was Annie, who had apparently not retreated far enough that she hadn't noticed who had piqued their interest. "That's refreshing," she continued. "Most people don't give the older ones a second glance. Bit of a mystery, those three. They were found—"

"Are they siblings?" Brivari asked quickly, lest she give away the fact that Rath had been missing for a time. That could wait for later.

"We have no way of knowing, but perhaps. They certainly haven't left each other's side for a second. That's Max," Annie said, pointing to Zan, "and Isabel, and Michael. Let me know if you'd like me to introduce you."

*Who named them?* Jaddo asked as Annie withdrew again.

*Dee,* Brivari answered. *'Max' and 'Isabel' are names from her family. And you know where 'Michael' came from.*

*Yes,* Jaddo murmured. *That one is appropriate.*

A bell rang, loud and clanging. "Recess is over!" a Villa employee called cheerfully as though that were the best news in the world. "Everyone inside!"

Three heads whipped sideways, and three children rose as one, Vilandra between, their hands tightly clasped. "I'm sorry you didn't have long," Annie said as the crowd milled past them. "Perhaps you could...."

She stopped. The hybrids had come to a halt mere feet away, gazing up at them intently. "Well, look at that," Annie said thoughtfully. "I've never see them approach anyone. They must like you."

*Rath?* Brivari heard Jaddo whisper.

Rath's eyes widened, whether in surprise or alarm it was hard to tell, and he took a step back. "I'm sorry," Annie apologized. "They're easily spooked, I'm afraid. Let's go in, children," she said soothingly to the three who still hadn't taken their eyes off their Warders. "Follow Isabel, you two."

They obeyed, Isabel gently pulling her brother and fiancée along, both of whom glanced back in their direction. *Incredible,* Jaddo said, eyeing Vilandra. *Another body, another life, and still she leads them both. Even 'Annie' knows it.*

*Even she knows it,* Brivari murmured.

*How did she wind up their protector?* Jaddo said disapprovingly. *And why do they allow it?*

*She has the most affinity for the human world, so she serves as liaison.* Brivari glanced at Jaddo, whose eyes were still on Rath, now a dot in the distance. *He heard you, you know.*

A flicker of pain crossed Jaddo's face. *I know.*

*But that's good,* Brivari said. *That's the first time I've seen him respond to telepathic speech.*

*Yes,* Jaddo said bitterly. *With fear. Fear toward me, of all people.* He paused. *He's not in there, Brivari.*

*You've decided this after a thirty second encounter?*

*There's nothing in his eyes,* Jaddo argued, *in any of their eyes. It's as if they're.....blank.*

*Then why did they just stop in front of us? They're already more aware than they were when they first emerged, and their personalities are asserting themselves in ways they weren't only a day ago. This is a process, Jaddo,* Brivari added gently. *We have to let it happen, step by small step.*

Jaddo said nothing for a moment, watching Vilandra lead Rath and Zan inside the building. *You asked me why I was here,* he said at length. *I'm here because something's happening within the Special Unit, something which has shaken it to its very core.*

*What have you done now?* Brivari asked wearily.

*Nothing,* Jaddo said defensively. *They've seen nothing of me for at least a couple of years now.*

*Nicholas, perhaps?*

*I doubt it. I know how alien activity, or perceived alien activity, makes them react. This is different, different enough that it has me worried. I wanted to see for myself that the hybrids were all right.*

*There's no way for the Unit to find the hybrids, Jaddo. You know that.*

*I know nothing of the sort, and neither do you. If there's any way to bring them back to themselves, it is imperative we do so as quickly as possible. And if that's truly a step-by-step process, it's time for the next step.*

Jaddo marched across the yard, not bothering to wait for Brivari.

*Take me to the Healer.*




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




The Marriott Hotel

Washington, D.C.




The elevator door opened, and Daniel Pierce stepped into the hotel hallway, yawning. He'd been up all night, and now it was time for some much needed sleep. He'd let AD Skinner off his leash, knowing full well that Skinner wouldn't blow him in and was even secretly relieved he'd turned up, albeit not in the way he'd expected; otherwise Skinner would have had to admit he'd lost him, and that would have meant the end of his career. Skinner wanted to be the Bureau's hero, so Pierce knew he'd keep working on him, keep trying to get him to deliver the serum, and for now, it suited him to let that play out. His father had been right: It was ridiculously easy to manipulate people. Simply find out what they wanted most and either dangle it in front of them or threaten to remove it. The rest took care of itself.

Pierce's eyes flicked right and left as he slid his key card into the lock on room 314. There had been no sign of a tail since he'd hooked up with Skinner, and given what had happened, the Bureau would have to be some special kind of stupid to make a move on him now. Still, he couldn't afford to be careless.


You're not safe, Daniel. Ever.


Another sobering thread of advice from dear old dad had been the need for absolute, unwavering paranoia. One must always assume one was pursued even if one saw no evidence of same. One must never take for granted that one's position was secure, not only because friends could become enemies, but because fortunes turned on a dime in the volatile world of politics and power. His father insisted that making paranoia a part of everyday life rendered it so routine as to actually ease one's paranoia, a round-and-round line of reasoning that almost made sense. Which is why he'd put that tiny sliver of paper in his door when he'd left this morning, and why he noticed its absence now.

Pierce froze in his tracks, one hand on the doorknob of the barely open door, the other listening intently. He heard nothing, but that meant nothing, and he reached beneath his jacket for his gun as he pushed the door open. The "Do Not Disturb" sign was still on the handle, and a quick glance at the rumpled foot of the bed told him the room had not been made up. No cleaning crew to blame here. The door closed gently behind him as he eased his way through the narrow entry hallway and into the room proper, his gun held in both hands.

An unfamiliar man was sitting in the chair by the window, a glass of something or other in his hand. "Very good," the stranger said approvingly, not the least bit alarmed at being approached by an armed man. "I checked your door quite thoroughly. How did you know I was here?" He paused, smiling faintly when Pierce didn't answer. "I haven't ransacked your room, if that's what you're thinking. I know I wouldn't find anything, so it was hardly worth the effort. And so rude. Not a good way to introduce oneself."

"Which you haven't," Pierce noted. "Introduced yourself, that is."

"Ah. Yes. My mistake." The man rose, setting his drink down and extending a hand. "I'm Daniel Summers. I hear you wanted to meet me?"

Pierce's gun lowered slightly. "The Daniel Summers in charge of the Special Unit?"

"The same." Summers paused, withdrawing the ignored hand. "To business, then, Agent Pierce. You have something I want."

Pierce's gun rose again. "Funny. I was just about to say the same thing."





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


I'll post Chapter 14 next Sunday.

[Kathy W]

Hello to everyone reading!

Good part.

Thanks!





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


September 19, 1989, 10 a.m.

The Marriott Hotel, Washington, D.C.



If one had been listening, one could have heard a pin drop in Room 314 of the Marriott Hotel as Daniel Pierce Jr., inheritor of the serum which controlled aliens, faced off at gunpoint with Daniel Summers, the man in charge of the Bureau's Special Unit tasked with capturing them. This despite the thick carpeting, the thermal curtains, the voluminous bedspread which spilled off the end of the unmade bed, sound deadeners all. It was that quiet. Pierce waited, and so did the man whose job he wanted. Summers looked relatively young, mid 30's perhaps, sans tie and in his shirt sleeves in a very un-Bureau-like display of casualness. His appearance wasn't the only casual thing about him; the expression on his face was definitely not one of a man standing in front of a loaded weapon.

"Well?" Summers said at length. "Aren't you going to shoot me?"

I should, Pierce thought. He'd pulled a gun. Never pull a gun you don't mean to use, his father had counseled. Never make a threat you don't intend to carry out.

"What are you waiting for?" Summers asked, sounding puzzled. "You have me right where you want me. You want my job, you have a weapon, you're even close enough that you could say it was self-inflicted. He walked up to Pierce, pressing his chest against the barrel of the gun. "Go ahead," he said softly. "Shoot."

Pierce tried to move his trigger finger, but it wouldn't budge. Neither would any of his other fingers on either hand, as though they'd all voted unanimously to mutiny.

"No?" Summers shrugged, backing away. "Suit yourself. Mind if I sit? It's been a hell of a day, and I was enjoying my drink. Actually it's my second; damned minibars don't stock drinks big enough for a pygmy." He sank into a chair, grabbed his glass. "You don't mind, do you? You can shoot me every bit as easily from here, although I'd wager the self-inflicted bit won't hold from this distance."

Do something! Pierce shrieked at himself. He'd already committed what his father considered the unpardonable sin of making a threat he was obviously unwilling to carry out, and every passing second made him look more like a fool to the one man he wanted to impress. At the very least, he should fire at something just to prove he knew how.

Summers was giving him one of those appraising looks that every agent-in-training came to hate over the course of their time at the Academy. "If you're not going to shoot, could you put the gun away? I find that loaded weapons impede conversation, at least when they're drawn. You can always shoot me later."

"What makes you think I'm not going to shoot?" Pierce demanded, desperate to salvage at least a sliver of face.

"Oh, I don't know....maybe because you haven't?" Summers suggested.

"Maybe I'm still weighing my options," Pierce said.

"Perhaps," Summers allowed. "Although guns are blessedly simple devices that offer only two. You either fire them.....or you don't."

"And in between those two options is a third," Pierce countered. "Holding someone at gunpoint while you decide what to do with them or have them do your bidding."

"Mmm," Summers nodded. "Like you did with AD Skinner. Poor guy was all a twitter thinking I'd be mad that he'd lost track of you. He didn't actually say he'd lost track of you, mind you, but obviously he did because otherwise how could you have caught him off guard and taken him on a field trip? He was so worried I'd fire him, but you know what I said? I said, 'Walt, this just proves that your student learned his lessons well. Turn out more agents like that, and I'll be a happy man.' Not sure he believed me, but at least he started breathing again. I think."

"Wait," Pierce said. "You had Skinner tail me?"

"Of course I did," Summers answered. "Who else?"

"I thought.....wouldn't Skinner be reporting to Director Sessions?"

"No. Skinner reports to me."

"And you report to the Director?"

"No," Summers repeated. "I report to no one."

"No one?" Pierce echoed. "But I....I thought...."

Summers' eyebrows rose, and Pierce stopped, flushing. "Do you mean to tell me," Summers said slowly, "that the man who wants my position, who was even contemplating killing me to get it, doesn't know who he'd be reporting to were he to get what he wants?" He waited while Pierce stood there in miserable silence, feeling like a circus sideshow freak. "Daniel, Daniel, Daniel," Summers said sadly, shaking his head. "Not good, my boy. Not good."

"I'm not a 'boy'," Pierce retorted.

"Then stop acting like one," Summers said, his voice suddenly sharp. "Put the gun away and sit down before you make an even bigger ass out of yourself."

His face now literally on fire, Pierce slowly lowered his gun. He'd failed one of the biggest tests of resolve, and there was no point in making it worse by dragging this out any longer. He'd just assumed the head of the Special Unit reported directly to the FBI's director because that's what his stepfather had done. Couple that with Skinner's perfectly sensible remarks about seasoned agents not being willing to follow a green recruit, and it was clear that dropping his gun immediately after learning the identity of his guest would have made him look a whole lot better than he looked right now.

"I said, 'sit'," Summers reminded him, gesturing toward the opposite chair.

"Watch your mouth," Pierce said severely. "I still have your precious serum, and it's not at all clear to me that you're the highest bidder."

Pierce flinched as Summers broke into a laugh. "Good save! Quick recovery. Points for that. And you're quite right. Sit....please."

Tucking his gun into the back of his belt, Pierce took a seat with all the dignity he could muster, which wasn't much given that he'd just made a royal fool of himself. "So how is that you report to 'no one'? My stepfather, Agent Lewis, reported directly to J. Edgar Hoover."

"Taking control of the conversation by asking the first question and reminding me of your pedigree, all in one sentence," Summers said approvingly. "You're doing better. Keep this up, and you'll be back where you were in no time."

"Are you going to answer me, or just tap dance?"

Summers smiled faintly. "Yes, your stepfather reported directly to Hoover. But one of his most enduring legacies was making the Special Unit so powerful that it shed the need for direct oversight."

"So....does Sessions even know about the Special Unit?"

"He does indeed," Summers nodded. "William Sessions is one of our own, a former Special Unit agent who took the reins in '87 because of......you."

Pierce blinked. "Me?"

"We knew you turned thirty this year," Summers said. "Former Director Webster never knew we existed, nor did his predecessor. But with the serum coming back into our hands, we felt it was time to reestablish our ties with the Director. After all, it worked so well for your stepfather."

Pierce was quiet for a moment. "The president doesn't know, does he?"

"No president ever has," Summers answered. "Or ever will. That's for his protection as much as ours. When it comes to black ops, we're blacker than black."

"So you put Sessions in place," Pierce murmured.

"Indirectly," Summers allowed. "Behind the scenes. I don't officially exist, or at least my job doesn't. I also installed Skinner at the Academy and tasked him with making certain your loyalty was unwavering."

"So why isn't he fired?" Pierce asked bluntly. "Because it's pretty clear my loyalty is wavering."

"I don't think so. You came to us first, didn't you? Besides, no one is ever 'fired' from the Unit. You leave feet first....or you don't leave at all." Summers paused, letting that sink in. "So, Daniel....name your price. How much for your serum?"

"I already named my price," Pierce replied. "I want your job."

"You're certainly consistent," Summers chuckled. "Very well, then—it's yours."

"It....is?" Pierce stammered, instantly wishing he'd kept his mouth shut.

"Absolutely," Summers said magnanimously. "Just as soon as I'm done with it. In the meantime, consider yourself the Unit head in training. I need a successor, and I can think of no one better than Daniel Pierce's son and Bernard Lewis' stepson. And lesson one begins here." As he spoke, Summers reached into the suit coat draped over the chair behind him and withdrew something which he slid across the table. "I'll be back in an hour with a car. Have your bags out front."

Pierce picked up the envelope. "Plane tickets?"

"Field trip!" Summers said cheerfully. "Your second."

Third, Pierce corrected silently. "So are you planning to retire?" he asked as Summers rose from the table.

"Not until I have to."

"But....why would you have to? I thought you said you reported to no one."

"I don't," Summers answered. "I'll leave this office the same way all of my predecessors have: I'll be murdered. Not by another agent," he added as Pierce felt his face growing warm again. "If you'd actually had your act together, that would have been a first. No, Daniel, all Unit heads have died quite literally at the hands of the monsters we're chasing. Or perhaps I should say 'hand'; the silver handprint, the aliens favorite MO. They killed your father that way, and your stepfather, and Agent Del Bianco, your guardian, and Agent Cartwright, his replacement. Took them longer for that last one, and they haven't gotten to me yet because we've gotten smarter about outsmarting them, but no matter; they'll catch up with me eventually and cook my insides while I'm still alive, just like all the others. And on that day, you will become the head of the Special Unit.....and the next one in the line of fire."

Summers slipped his coat on, never taking his eyes off Pierce. "So, tell me....are you absolutely certain you still want my job?"




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




Proctor residence




"Mama?"

"Back here," Emily called, squeezing the pruning sheers around an unruly stem.

Seconds later Dee appeared in the doorway of the back porch. "I wasn't sure anyone was home," she said, coming out into the yard. "It's hard to tell when you never lock your doors."

"We haven't locked our doors since we moved in fifty years ago," Emily replied. "This isn't like the city." She glanced sideways as Dee sank into a lawn chair. "So how are they?"

"So far, so good," Dee sighed, closing her eyes. "They're in great shape. I'm exhausted."

"Get some sleep," Emily advised. "You're not their Warder."

"But I promised Urza I'd look after Vilandra."

"You've been looking after all of them for the past two days," Emily reminded her. "You can't do them any good if you fall over. Even Yvonne took a break when you called and said they weren't sending Rath to the hospital."

"You mean 'Marie'."

"Oh....sorry," Emily said, shaking her head. "I can't get used to her new name. I know, I know, it's not 'new', exactly, but it's new to me."

"How is she taking all this?" Dee asked. "Is it weird for her to be in this house again?"

Emily set the shears down and pulled off her garden gloves. "You mean how is she coping with staying in the same house where she almost died years ago? I wasn't sure they'd take me up on my invitation to bunk here, but it hasn't seemed to faze her in the least. She and I have had a great time catching up with each other, and so have Stephen and your father."

"Like some demented family reunion," Dee murmured.

"I'll skip the 'demented' label, if you don't mind," Emily said dryly. "Maybe call it a 'touched by an alien' reunion?"

"Marie wasn't touched by an alien, she was touched by a human," Dee reminded her. "A human trying to get her pregnant with a half alien child without her knowledge. I think that qualifies as 'demented."

"Yes, I remember," Emily said pointedly. "I was there when it was delivered, such as it was. And that only proves that Dr. Pierce was demented, not any of us."

Dee muttered something under her breath, and Emily ignored her. Her daughter was in a mood, and it was no secret why: She disagreed with Brivari's decision to leave the children at Westlake. While Emily could see both sides of the argument, it was ultimately up to their Warder, and she was happy to stay out of it.

"So what's Rath like?" Emily asked, changing the subject.

"Really, really suspicious," Dee answered. "Max and Isabel went along with everything, calm as could be, but Rath was another story."

"Well, he was an alien warlord. I would imagine being suspicious is something of an occupational hazard. Did I tell you I think he was here?"

Dee's eyes widened. "What? When?"

"Yesterday morning," Emily said, tearing open a bag of mulch. "I'd tossed some of the clothes you'd found in the attic into the garbage, and I heard something out by the cans. When I went out, the lid was off one of the cans, and there were small footprints in the dirt. I didn't put it all together until you said he showed up in clothes you thought you'd seen before."

"Good Lord," Dee breathed. "They were here, and so was he. They were at the sheriff's station, and the deputy I spoke to this morning said he thought he'd seen Rath there yesterday evening."

"That means he might also have been at the hospital," Emily said thoughtfully. "That's a scary thought."

"Terrifying," Dee agreed. "He's just so much more on edge than Max; I'm afraid he'll blow any second. And Brivari tells me he and the king fought because Rath usually advocated the more aggressive approach, while the king did the opposite."

Emily smiled faintly. "Sound like anyone we know?"

"The irony wasn't lost on me," Dee answered. "The thing is, I'm with Rath on this one. Those kids shouldn't be there. It's too dangerous."

"That's not for you to decide," Emily said lightly. "So I take it he settled in despite his attitude? You wouldn't be here otherwise."

"Isabel calmed him down. He responds to her better than he does to Max." Dee paused. "They had to call him something, so I suggested.....Michael."

Emily was quiet for a minute as she spread the mulch evenly over the garden. "I'm sure Courtney would approve," she said finally. "Does Brivari know where she is?"

"I think he knows; he's just not telling. He's probably afraid I'm going to drop everything and run find her."

"Which you might," Emily chuckled.

"Gee, thanks," Dee said sourly.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Deanna, lighten up!" Emily chided. "Honestly, you're acting like this is some huge tragedy. I think it's exciting."

" 'Exciting'?"

"Well, sure. We saw those babies ages ago when they were just dinky little things in pods, and now we get to see them born. I think that's exciting."

"Maybe you wouldn't think it was so 'exciting' if you'd sat with them for hours, praying they wouldn't do anything to give themselves away," Dee said crossly.

"Hello?" a familiar voice called from the front of the house. "Grandma? Are you home?"

"Back here, Diane," Emily called as Dee rolled her eyes and sighed heavily.

"Oh, good!" Diane called back. "Wait until you see what I bought!"

"What now?" Dee muttered. "A gym set? A swimming pool?"

"Now, Deanna," Emily said warningly. "If buying baby things makes her feel better and Philip doesn't mind, what's the harm? Besides, it's none of our business. And you know how much you appreciated it when I failed to mind mine."

"Mom!" Diane exclaimed happily, filling the porch doorway with a paper bag in each arm. "I didn't know you were here. What lovely flowers, Grandma."

"Thank you, dear," Emily said, ignoring the disgruntled look on Dee's face. "I'll send some home with you. They'll brighten up your house as you unpack."

Diane gave Emily a big hug as Emily deliberately avoided looking at her daughter. Dee had never liked Diane because Diane tended to be emotional and just not as cerebral as she was, but Emily had always been fond of her grandson's wife. Diane was just so much easier to get along with than either Philip or Dee, so grateful for even the smallest things. Having produced a daughter who argued for sport, Emily secretly found Diane refreshing, a welcome respite from endless conflict. Secretly....and sometimes guiltily. Was it kosher to prefer your granddaughter-in-law to your own daughter?

"Look what I found!" Diane was saying, plopping on the porch step and setting the bags beside her. "Isn't this adorable?"

Emily blinked; Dee's eyebrows rose. "Uh....isn't that a bit large for a baby?" Dee asked, eyeing the sunny yellow sundress Diane was displaying for them.

"It's not for a baby, it's for Isabel, silly," Diane answered. "Do you think it will fit? I also found some things for Max, some shirts, and some slippers. Oh, and some coats, you know how expensive those can be, and.....

But Emily wasn't listening; she was watching Diane's face as item after item was arrayed for their inspection. "Diane," she said suddenly, "would you be a dear and go get your grandfather? He's upstairs. I'm sure he'll want to see all this."

"Like Daddy's going to care about a bunch of garage sale leftovers," Dee said darkly when Diane had obligingly trotted off. "Why'd you get rid of her?"

"Because the answer to your problems is right there," Emily whispered. "Diane wants children. There are children who need a home. Do the math."

Dee's mouth fell open. "Her? Mama, you must be joking! They need to be with someone who knows them, someone who's up to the task of dealing with them, not some weeping willow who'd cave at the first sight of trouble! And there will be trouble, you and I both know that. Besides, she wants a baby."

"But did you see her?" Emily pressed. "Did you watch her face?"

"I try not to," Dee muttered.

"She's every bit as excited now as she was when she bought all that baby furniture," Emily argued. "This could work, Deanna. For both sides of the equation."

"So she's 'excited'," Dee said crossly. "So what? She gets excited when they pick up the trash. A few minutes ago, you were 'excited'. Merely being 'excited' won't cut it when the going gets rough. You know that."

"Then tell them the truth," Emily suggested. "They're not stupid, unless you'd like to argue your own son is stupid. We all know; why can't they?"

Dee blinked in astonishment. "I can't believe you said that. Who else have you told this incredibly bad idea?"

"No one," Emily said. "I just thought of it. So that leaves just you who thinks it's an 'incredibly bad idea'. Perhaps I should cast the net a little wider and see what someone else thinks."

"Yes, let's," Dee declared. "Where's Marie? Maybe she can talk some sense into you."

"She's not here. She and Steven left a couple of hours ago."

"Where'd they go?"

"I'll tell you, but you might not believe me," Emily said. "It's the last place you'd ever expect."





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




Eagle Rock Military Base





Steven put the car into park and switched off the engine. The sudden silence was unbelievably loud.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. "Are you sure you'll be okay?"

Marie's eyes swept the fence along the back side of the base. "I don't know," she admitted. "I was okay at the Proctor's. No nightmares about what happened there, or anything."

Steven gazed out the window for a moment. "All right, then," he said finally. "Let's go."

They climbed out, the hot, dry, desert air like a furnace after the air-conditioned car. "Yuck," Steven commented. "How did we ever stand it here without climate control?"

"We didn't know any better," Marie said. "So are we climbing?" she asked skeptically as they approached the fence, a massive structure which surrounded the entire base. "Or digging under it? A bit much for a couple in their sixties."

"We could always try blasting through it like the aliens did," Steven said dryly, reaching into the bag he was carrying and producing a pair of wire cutters. "Or we could go the more conventional route."

"You're going to cut the fence? I thought you said you'd made a few calls, and you had a way in here."

"I did, and I do," Steven answered, waving the wire cutters. "What, you thought someone would meet us at the front gate with a ring of keys and a full military pardon?"

"Then what were the calls for?"

"To make certain this place had really been abandoned," Steven replied, snipping the first chain link. "Supposedly it's far enough off the beaten path that little attention is paid to it. By the time anyone finds out someone's been here, we'll be long gone." He kept snipping, neat cuts in a rectangular pattern until a large enough section was loose to pull open like a door.

"After you," he said, waving his hand in a mock flourish.

Marie stepped through the opening, holding her arms tight to her body to minimize the chance of snagging anything on the fence. The base loomed in the distance, looking very different than she remembered it, having rarely seen it from this angle.

"It's going to be a walk," Steven commented.

"A few minutes, at least," Marie nodded, donning a pair of sunglasses and a hat.

Almost twenty minutes, as it turned out. It was all still looking remarkably unfamiliar when they reached the buildings and walked between them, emerging on the other side.

"What?" Steven asked when she stopped abruptly.

Marie's eyes raked the deserted base, her eyes seeing empty buildings, empty parking lots, the empty flag pole....but her mind seeing something very different. This was the front side, the side she was more familiar with, and suddenly it was bustling just like it had been back in the '40's, teeming with soldiers either fresh from the war or who had joined up shortly after VJ Day in a burst of pride for their country's military. Most of them had no idea there was a live alien held prisoner right here on this base, and only two had any idea there were other aliens crawling all over it on a regular basis.

"Nothing," she answered. "Let's keep going."

"The compound's still a ways away," Steven reminded her. "Let's get out of the sun for a while."

"More wire cutters?" she asked as they approached a padlocked door.

"Why not? I'd wager the Army can trade us a few ruined locks for some closure after what they put us through."

No argument there, Marie thought as Steven neatly cut the chain on the door. It opened slowly, reluctantly, as though it resented being pressed into service once more. The hallway inside was eerily quiet and covered with a thick layer of dust.

"We're leaving footprints," Marie murmured.

"Didn't we the last time?" Steven asked.

Those were emotional, Marie mused as they reached the main reception area, empty of furniture now, the large window where she'd eagerly waited for her parents that first day she'd been allowed out of the compound now covered with dirt. On the other side was the mess hall, its benches parked on tables, its kitchen shelves empty.

"They left the appliances," Marie noted.

"They were already decades old when they shut this place down," Steven said. "Who would've wanted them?" He brushed a hand over the counter where the condiments used to sit. "I ate here with Malik once. Asked him why he used ketchup when he couldn't taste it."

"What did he say?"

"That everyone used it, and he wanted to blend in."

"In more ways than one," Marie sighed. "I miss him."

Steven nodded soberly. "Me, too."

They were quiet as they continued through the building, cutting their way through the lock on a door on the other side, stepping into the heat once more. The compound was visible in the distance, a jail for so many more than just Jaddo. She'd been imprisoned there when Cavitt kidnapped her, drugged by aliens, assaulted by Pierce, smacked around by Lewis....the list went on and on. And that was just her list. Everyone who'd been trapped there had a list of their own.

"Water?"

Marie unscrewed the cap from the bottle Steven fished out of his bag. "How long did it used to take? Four or five minutes?"

"Something like that," Steven agreed.

But it was closer to fifteen before they stopped before the doors of the compound, hot and breathless once more, Marie's stomach churning even though she felt inwardly calm. "Guess we were younger then," Steven said, checking his watch.

"Just a bit. Are we breaking and entering here too?"

"You bet. I didn't come all this way only to stop here." Steven paused, wire cutters poised in mid-air. "Unless you've changed your mind?"

"No," Marie said quickly. "We won't get a chance like this again. Open it."

The chain snapped, falling to the ground with a clank. "Thompson told me he locked this place up after we went AWOL," Steven, said, pulling the door open.

"Think anyone's been in here since then?"

"I doubt it," Steven answered. "This was a massive failure from the Army's perspective, and a secret they'd kept from the president. Can't see anyone wanting to revisit that."

They stepped through the first set of doors, then the second, doors which had been manned by several guards back when Jaddo was captive. The hallway inside was in much worse shape than the main building, the dust much thicker, the decay much more evident. This first floor had been the "public floor" where visitors with the right security clearance were told that an Army division had been assigned to study the alien's ship. Few ever learned there was a live alien in the basement.

"I think you're right," Marie whispered. "I don't think anyone's set foot in this place since 1950."

"Good," Steven said. "You still okay?"

"Yeah," Marie nodded. "I.....I had a moment back there, but now.....it's weird. I don't feel much of anything, but my stomach is all tied in knots. It's like my body knows, but my brain hasn't figured it out yet."

"It might when we go downstairs," Steven warned.

He was right. Marie's stomach clutched tighter as they descended the staircase to the basement, the flashlight Steven had produced from his bag bobbing in front of him. One of the old shoe fitter x-ray machines sat at the base of the stairs, covered with a thick layer of dust.

"Haven't seen one of these in decades," Steven commented.

"They were outlawed," Marie said, brushing dust off the top which billowed like a cloud. "We didn't realize how dangerous x-rays could be. I've always wondered how many soldiers stationed here wound up with x-ray burns or worse." She paused, gazing at a set of initials carved into the wood. "This is the one I talked the Roswell shopkeeper out of!" she exclaimed. "I pretended to cry, and said he'd be saving a man's life if he gave it to me."

"And you were right," Steven said. "Well....not a 'man' exactly. But close enough."

Unlike the doors upstairs, the double doors that led to the basement opened without complaint and closed behind them as silently as they ever had. It was pitch black down here save for the flashlight beam, reminding Marie of the night the aliens had attacked and taken out the generator, plunging everyone into darkness. Instinctively, she reached for the light switch.

"That won't—"

Click

"....work," Steven finished in wonderment as light bathed the long main hallway in front of them.

"It shouldn't have," Marie agreed. "Why is the power on?"

"I don't know," Steven shrugged. "Maybe it's on in the rest of the base too. We didn't check."

They walked slowly down the hall, taking trips down the shorter side hallways, peeking into the break room, the lab, Pierce's office, her own quarters. A few pieces of furniture were left, but other than that, the place was empty and filthy, enough so that it was difficult to remember what it had looked like when she'd been confined to this floor.

"I lived here," she murmured, stepping into the little bathroom that used to be hers. The mirror above the sink was grimy, but still useable. "That face is a lot older than it was the last time I looked in this mirror."

"So's mine," Steven said behind her. "Which is something of a miracle. When I first came here, I thought for sure I was dead. And there were times I wondered if you'd make it out alive either."

"But we did," Marie whispered.

"Yeah, we did." He draped an arm gently across her shoulders. "Shall we get this over with?"

It was a short walk from her quarters to Jaddo's former cell, that garish white room Major Lewis had been so proud of. For the first time now she felt genuinely sick, even though she knew nothing could hurt her here anymore. She held Steven's hand tighter as they rounded the corner.....and stopped.

"It's gone?"

"It's still there," Steven said. "According to Thompson, General Ramey ordered the cell and the observation room walled shut."

Marie ran her hand over the wall where the door used to be, pressing her palm to the tiles, trying to feel the space on the other side. As late as when they'd turned the corner into this very hallway, she hadn't yet decided if she would actually go inside. Now she didn't have the option....and she almost wished she did. Making the choice yourself made all the difference.

"Do you ever regret it?" Steven asked. "What we did, I mean. Fighting the establishment, working with the aliens, all the subterfuge, having to live in hiding for the rest of our lives?"

"We haven't been hiding much for a while now," Marie reminded him.

"But it's always in the back of our minds," Steven said. "And you can never be 'Yvonne' again. I know I call you that in private, but I can see it still makes you nervous."

"Maybe," Marie admitted. "But what else could we have done? We could never have just sat there and done nothing. And not all the results were bad. We helped free Jaddo, got justice for Betty Osorio, and played a huge part in shutting this whole place down. And because of what Pierce did to me, I became a doctor and saved a lot of lives. And what about you? Those babies you helped the Warders rescue way back then are born now, and walking around. They might not be here if it weren't for you."

"And Hal Carver," Steven added. "Him and his brilliant fire alarm idea."

"I wonder what happened to him?" Marie murmured.

"Don't know. We should look him up some time."

They stood there for a few minutes longer, gazing at the wall behind which some of the worst days of their lives had taken place. "I'm done," Marie said finally.

"You sure?"

"This place is long dead, just like it should be," she answered. "I've gotten what I came for. Let's go."

It was a long, long walk back to the car, through the compound, across the base, around the back. One's sixties weren't the best time of life for this kind of exercise, and when they reached the car at last, they sat for several minutes with the air-conditioning cranked and consumed another bottle of water apiece before heading back to the Proctor's house.

"Was that another car?" Marie said suddenly.

"Where?" Steven asked, slowing down.

Marie's eyes were locked on the base. "I....never mind. I must be seeing things."




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



"Here we are," Agent Summers said, shifting the car into park. "Would you like the honors?"

Daniel Pierce climbed out of the passenger seat, the heat blasting like a furnace after the nicely cooled car. The fence was huge, the padlock and chain on the gate ridiculously small. The key Summers had given him turned with difficulty as though the lock were full of sand; it took him several minutes to remove the chain, push one side of the gate open far enough to admit the car, and walk back, and by the time he did, he was filthy. Honors, indeed.

"You still haven't told me what this place is," he said dubiously, rubbing his dirty hands on his pants.

"I'm bringing you home," Summers replied, gunning the engine toward the buildings in the distance.

"Home?"

"This is where it all began," Summers said, "back in the summer of 1947. Welcome to Eagle Rock."




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


I'll post Chapter 15 next Sunday.

[Kathy W]

Hello to everyone reading!






CHAPTER FIFTEEN



September 19, 1989, 5 p.m.

Proctor residence




"So I really should be going!" Diane said cheerfully. "I've talked everyone's ears off long enough."

I'll say, Dee thought wearily. After fetching David to ooh and aah over her latest garage sale acquisitions, Diane had plopped herself down and chattered to all of them for a good forty-five minutes. And it was all about Max and Isabel, how cute they were, how lost, how sorry she felt for them, how much they needed a stable home, blah, blah, blah. It was spectacularly bad timing given that Emily had only just made the spectacularly bad suggestion that Diane and Philip could become their guardians, made worse by the "I-told-you-so" looks from Emily and puzzled looks from David, who was still in the dark as to this latest mother-daughter disagreement.

"Do you really need to leave so soon, darling?" Emily was saying.

"Give Philip my love," Dee said, drawing a sharp look from her mother. "Let me get that for you," she added, grabbing one of the bags of clothing Diane had bought.

"I'll get the others," David chimed in, taking the hint.

"You're not in a hurry to get rid of me, are you?" Diane teased, painfully unaware that she'd hit the nail right on the head. "But Philip will be expecting his dinner, and...."

She stopped, having just opened the front door to find a very dusty Steven and Marie directly on the other side. "I'm sorry," Marie said, taking in the crowd in front of them. "We didn't know you had company. Should we come back?"

"Don't be silly," Emily said, ushering them inside. "Diane, these are the Johnsons, some old family friends who are staying with us for awhile. Marie, Steven, this is my granddaughter-in-law Diane."

"Nice to meet you," Steven said. "I'd offer a handshake, but we're a bit dirty."

"I'll say," Diane chuckled. "Where have you been?"

"Out in the desert," Marie replied.

"Doing what?" Diane wondered. "Digging?"

"We.....used to work there," Marie answered.

"In the desert?"

"It was a long time ago," Steven said.

"What kind of work did you do in the desert?" Diane asked.

"Whatever it was, the Johnsons look a bit tired," Dee broke in. "Perhaps you could interrogate them later?"

Diane blinked. "Oh...I'm sorry," she stammered. "I was just curious. I wasn't trying...I mean....I didn't mean to......"

"Of course you didn't, dear," Emily said with a pointed look at Dee. "David has your things, so he'll help you out."

"So nice to have met you," Marie added.

"And you," Diane said. "I hope you enjoy your stay...."

Dee's breath caught in her throat as Diane stopped, having once again opened the front door to find two people standing on the porch. One of them was Brivari, and the other.....judging from the glances exchanged all around, the other wasn't hard to guess. For any of them.

"Are we interrupting?" Brivari asked the gaping assemblage.

"No, of course not," Emily said, recovering quickly. "Come right in."

"My, but you have a lot of visitors, Grandma," Diane remarked.

"Never rains but it pours," David smiled.

"Certainly doesn't," Emily said with feeling. "Diane, these are old family friends—"

"More 'old friends'?" Diane asked, bemused. "Is this some kind of reunion?"

Emily glanced at David, who shrugged. "I guess having lots of friends is one of the blessings of living as long as we have," he said lightly.

"Would you like some help with those bags, Diane?" Dee prodded, more anxious now than ever to get rid of her.

"No, thanks; Grandpa's got them," Diane said. "Oh....I wanted to stop by and pick up some treats for Max and Isabel. Do you think they like chocolate?"

"Most children do," Emily assured her.

"I'm sure they'd love it," Dee added, urging her father toward the door behind Diane's back. "Grandpa can tell you where there's a good candy shop on the way out to the car."

David left with an armful of Diane's bags, which pretty much required Diane to follow. He was back in less than a minute, and Dee closed the door firmly and leaned against it. "Thank God!" she said wearily. "I thought she'd never leave."

"She was right about this being a reunion," Steven remarked, eyeing Jaddo. "The gang's all here."

"Why is she picking up 'treats' for the hybrids?" Jaddo asked suspiciously.

"She has no idea they're 'hybrids'," Emily reminded him. "To her they're just lost children. Welcome back, by the way. Nice to see you too."

"Getting reacquainted will have to wait," Jaddo said bluntly. "I need the Healer's expertise."

"Some things never change, do they?" Steven said dryly as Emily's eyebrows rose. "I suppose that's a comfort."

"Speak for yourself," Brivari muttered.

"You're here about your hybrids," Marie said, coming directly to the point.

"I'm here about reawakening the hybrids," Jaddo clarified. "Brivari tells me you advised against helping them regain their memories."

"I advised against it in the short term," Marie corrected. "They still appear to be in some sort of in-between state, and I don't know how long it will take them to come out of that."

"They may never come out of that unless we pull them out," Jaddo argued.

"And they may never come out of it if you try to pull them out too fast," Marie said. "We're talking about memory, about perception, about their emotional states, and in a species I've never seen before, that you've never seen before. My gut feeling is that the process of rediscovering themselves is already underway, and it very likely is a process. Meaning it will take time. Meaning it might be very unwise to accelerate it."

"So we're supposed to do nothing because you have a 'gut' feeling?" Jaddo asked skeptically.

"You trusted my 'gut feelings' way back when," Marie retorted. "And if you don't trust them now, why are you even here?"

Dee watched Steven stifle a smile at the challenge in Marie's voice as a parade of emotions crossed Jaddo's face, none of them happy. It was David who filled in the awkward silence.

"How about we let Marie and Steven clean up while the rest of us catch up, and then Marie can tell you what she learned from the various tests she did," he suggested to Jaddo. "You only just got here, and I know you wouldn't want to proceed without having examined everything she's learned so far."

He motioned toward the living room as though the issue were already settled, and a moment later, it was. "Very well, then," Jaddo agreed, albeit reluctantly. "And I meant no disrespect," he added to Marie. "I will, of course, abide by your judgment."

"Oh my goodness," Dee said faintly to Brivari as David drew Jaddo into the living room. "I'm guessing you two aren't having a happy reunion."

"And you'd be right," Brivari said darkly, "although I suppose it could be worse."

"How in the word did he wind up here now?" Steven asked.

"Jaddo is of the opinion that the Special Unit is more active for some reason or other," Brivari answered. "He was checking on the hybrids because he feared the Unit had somehow gotten closer."

"I take it you don't believe him?" Dee said.

"It doesn't matter whether I believe him or whether he's right," Brivari replied. "What matters is what he believes and the fact that he will act on that belief whether I want him to or not. That was the mistake I made when he felt the hybrids were in danger back in '59. If I'd compromised and agreed to give a set to the resistance, we would have lost only one set, not two." He paused, watching David urging Jaddo to sit. "Your father always could mollify him. So could Malik. And so can you, Lieutenant. I'm afraid I have the opposite effect."

"I don't know if 'mollify' is the word I'd use," Marie said. "But if it takes a compromise to rein him in, that's not a problem. I'm not against any and all efforts to jog their memories, I just don't want their murders laid out before them right off the bat. This needs to go slowly. Do you think he'll be willing to do that?"

"He will if it comes from you," Brivari answered. "You saw the way he capitulated just now. That's a level of respect I've never seen him afford anyone other than his Ward." He paused. "I heard you say you were out in the desert. Does that mean you returned to the base?"

Dee's eyes widened when Marie and Steven nodded. "No wonder you're both so dirty! What did you find?"

"It's empty," Steven replied. "The base was closed some fifteen years ago, and the compound looks like it hasn't been touched since Jaddo escaped."

"Is the cell still walled off?" Brivari asked.

Steven nodded. "Sure is. And there aren't many left who would remember it was there anyway."





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




Eagle Rock Military Base




Daniel Pierce gazed out the car window as they drew closer to the complex of buildings ahead. The unlocked fence sat open behind them, and ahead of them there was.....nothing. No cars, no people, no signs of life. From this distance at least, the place looked empty.

" '47," he said as the car reached the edge of the complex. "You mean the crash? But that was on—"

"Pohlman Ranch," Summers finished. "I know. We'll go there too, just for the tourist value, but there's nothing there now. This is where the real work was done."

" 'Work'?"

"You'll see," Summers said.

They were driving among the buildings now, and it was clear the place was deserted. Grimy windows and locked doors graced every building, most of which were one or two stories save for the huge hangars. An empty flagpole stood in a small circle in front of what looked like a reception building.

"Air Force?" Pierce asked.

"Army," Summers answered.

"Army? Wait a minute," Pierce said, bits of pieces from the mountain of information he'd sifted through floating to the top. " 'Eagle Rock'....wasn't that my father's base?"

"The same," Summers answered. "And this is the building."

He stopped the car. Pierce had the door open before the engine died, not even noticing the fierce heat this time. The drab, flat, building in front of them had double doors and no other distinguishing features.

"This is where my father worked?"

"I know it doesn't look like much," Summers admitted, closing his car door. "But that was the point. This building already had a somewhat sketchy history, having been used for medical experiments during World War II. It was empty in '47, had been for a few years already as I understand it, so it was the perfect place to hide a very high profile prisoner."

"In the middle of an Army base," Pierce said dubiously.

"Everyone knew they had the aliens' ship," Summers said. "That was the cover story. They told everyone they were working on the ship, and this building was the base for that operation. Most people never knew there was a live alien being held here. Not even the President." He walked closer, hands in his pockets. "The base was closed in the '70's, but this building was abandoned in July of 1950. No one's been inside in almost forty years."

"No one but whoever did that," Pierce said, nodding toward the broken chain looped around the door handles and the footprints in the dust below.

Summers shrugged. "He knew I was coming; that's how I got the key. Probably wanted to take another look around. This way."

There was another set of double doors inside, and a long hallway on the other side dotted with footprints. The place was filthy, dust puffing around their ankles as they walked down the long main hallway, passing offices, quarters, a small mess. "This was the public face of the operation," Summers explained, "what visitors saw. The good stuff was downstairs."

Pierce craned his neck in every direction as he followed Summers down two flights of stairs. This had not been what he'd expected when he'd headed for the airport earlier today with visions of Area 51 and top secret revelations dancing in his head. Instead they'd boarded a plane for New Mexico, right back where he'd just come from, although he certainly wasn't going to admit that to Summers. And now they were wandering through an empty, filthy building that his father had supposedly worked in? Whatever for?

"Now, these are interesting," Summers said, coming to a halt at the bottom of the stairs beside an odd wooden object.

"What's this?"

"A 'shoe fitter'. Basically an x-ray machine."

"What do x-rays have to do with fitting shoes?" Pierce wondered.

"Not much," Summers chuckled. "These were all the rage in the '40's and 50's before they were banned. You'd try on a pair of shoes, and then stand on the platform and look through the eyepiece to see the bones of your foot inside your shoe. It was supposed to confirm that your shoes fit well."

"Couldn't you do that just by walking around?"

"Sure you could," Summers replied, "but these were a big draw in shoe stores, especially with the kids, before we figured out x-rays were damaging. Most customers didn't get hurt, but store employees weren't so lucky. Their exposure was a lot higher."

"So what's it doing here?" Pierce asked.

"You made AD Skinner cough up all those files," Summers said. "Don't you know?"

His tone was casual, but it was clear this was a test. Pierce hesitated, trying to dredge up something useful from the sea of information he'd floundered in, the few hours of sleep he'd snatched on the plane not nearly enough to clear his fuzzy mind.

"Bones," he said, suddenly recalling something not from the pile Skinner had produced, but from the notes his father had left. "The aliens could be identified by their blood and their bone structure. An x-ray should have been able to identify them."

"Very good," Summers said approvingly. "There was a mad scramble for a way to easily identify aliens after the compound was attacked by aliens in late '47. They didn't manage to free the prisoner, but General Roger Ramey, the commander of this op, was under orders to execute it if he couldn't come up with something....and this is what they came up with. It was sheer genius; these were simple, easy to use, and plentiful at the time. I understand they poached them from shoe stores for miles around in order to get enough of them. Prior to that they'd had a cumbersome system of questions and answers which the aliens had managed to defeat, hence the execution order."

They emerged into yet another long hallway, and Summers snapped the light switch on. There were footprints down here too, in every direction, down every hallway.

"Why is the power on?" Pierce asked.

"The key to the front door, the power on; all part of the service," Summers said. "Some soldiers were quartered down here, but this is mostly labs, offices, and the prisoner's cell, of course."

"Which room was my father's?" Pierce asked, gazing in doorways as they passed, hoping to find some identifying information.

"We don't know," Summers answered. "Nobody ever bothered to give us a floor plan." He turned down a side hallway, opened a door. "This is where the prisoner was held."

It was an old operating theater from the looks of it, with observation windows set high in the ceiling. "Doesn't look very secure for a shapeshifting alien," Pierce commented.

"It wouldn't have been if the alien had been able to change its shape," Summers agreed. "But your father developed the serum, remember? It was stuck in human form, and unable to use any of its whiz bang powers."

Which is why I'm here, Pierce reminded himself. He was here to market his father's discovery, his game piece in the game of power, now passed to his son. Still, he had a lump in his throat at the thought that his father had stood here, in this very room. Certainly he'd been at the bank too, but that had been a mere business transaction; his father had worked here for three years, conducting the most groundbreaking research the planet had ever known, and the wave of nostalgia that swept over Pierce now threatened to distract him from his true purpose.

Which might be the point. "Why are we here?" Pierce asked Summers. "You don't strike me as the type who's into archeology."

Summers smiled faintly. "This is my gift to you, Daniel, the Bureau's gift, if you'll play ball with us."

" 'Gift'?" Pierce echoed. "How can the FBI 'gift' me an Army base? How did you even get in here? Do we have a mole in the military?"

"We have moles everywhere, but I didn't need a mole for this," Summers replied. "As soon as your father's lawyer resurfaced, we knew you'd be getting the serum soon, so we approached the Army and told them we had it."

Pierce blinked. "You lied to them?"

"Don't sound so surprised," Summers said blandly. "Besides, we didn't 'lie', we 'bluffed'. And they didn't call us on it. They never knew your father was married, never mind had a son who was set to inherit what they wanted. So they were quite shocked when we laid out the last thirty years for them and just assumed we had what we said we had. They were all too willing to make a deal."

Pierce's throat tightened. "Deal?"

"The Army will grant us the use of this facility as a base of operations for the Special Unit," Summers said. "We keep the serum, but will share anything we learn about alien life and share access to any prisoners we capture."

"They might feel differently if I approach them and make it clear that I am the only one who has the serum," Pierce said.

"I doubt it," Summers said casually. "The Army isn't eager to revisit the late forties, Daniel. This operation was always beyond top secret and ultimately a failure because they lost the prisoner, allegedly with Ramey's help. After its escape they destroyed every shred of evidence they could find about what went on here, and at this point in time, all the brass involved are dead and even the youngest private who worked here would be in his sixties. They've been out of the alien business for years with the exception of a brief period of interest in '59 when your father was murdered, and they don't want any inconvenient questions asked about what went on here. This allows them to shift both the work load and the spotlight to us, all while remaining in the loop. And if it all goes bad, they can say they had no idea what we were doing here, that they were just trying to help out a federal agency. It's a win-win for them."

And for you, Pierce thought, his ire rising that one of the players had been yanked from the game board. "Okay, then, maybe I'll try the CIA," he said testily.

Summers blinked. "Oh....I'm sorry. Didn't I mention that we approached the CIA too? They're good to go with the whole Army deal because we'll share with them too. They were never in the alien business anyway, so they don't have any idea how to proceed. Your stepfather came to us in 1950, so we're the only agency left that has a body of knowledge on alien activity on this planet."

"So you just did an end run around me and took out the competition, is that it?" Pierce demanded.

"Of course," Summers said calmly. "That's how the game is played. Daniel, please," he continued when Pierce turned away angrily, his power crumbling around him, "this is good news! Three American agencies have pledged to work together to remove the alien threat. Do you know how rare that kind of cooperation is, how valuable? The Special Unit has now expanded its sphere of influence by two hundred percent, which can only be a good thing when you're chasing monsters. And we haven't forgotten you. It's still your serum, and we're prepared to offer you a position in the Unit."

"Which you can take away at any time after you have what you want," Pierce said bitterly.

"Which is a risk you take regardless," Summers said. " Keep in mind you'll have to hand over the formula at some point. Your father was a physician, but you aren't. Unless you plan to acquire a whole lot of medical skills very quickly, you'll have to reveal the formula to whomever you do business with.....and once it's gone, it's gone. When that moment comes, who would you prefer to be surrounded by—strangers, or your own? Foreigners, or people who know your history and will treat you with the respect you deserve?"

Pierce clamped his mouth shut, seething at having been outmaneuvered without even realizing it. He'd been doing so well following his father's advice to the letter, but then his father couldn't have known how much time would have passed between his death and his son's thirtieth birthday or how attitudes would change. The military had been a contender back when he'd written his instructions, as had the CIA, then a fierce rival of the FBI. The various game pieces had shifted since then, and in his zeal to follow his father's instructions, he'd forgotten that.

"Think it over," Summers advised. "You have a very valuable commodity, which is precisely why we're making such a generous offer. Just imagine continuing your father's work in the very place where it began....did you ever dream you'd get that chance?" He glanced sideways as Pierce walked sullenly beside him. "And then there's always the mystery about this place. That's an extra bonus."

Pierce was quiet for a moment before deciding to take the bait. "What mystery?"

Summers came to a halt in the middle of the main hallway. "I told you not much survived the Army's purge after the prisoner's escape. Basically the only documentation left is in the hands of the Bureau courtesy of your stepfather, and even that's sketchy, just an outline really." He gestured down the hallway they'd already visited. "The prisoner was originally held in that old operating theater, but Agent Lewis referenced a new cell, a then state-of-the-art room which he designed. He was quite proud of it, but no one ever found it, and it's not clear if it was actually built or just planned. The Army doesn't know of course, and there are only snatches of information in the little we have."

"So that's the mystery? A lost room?"

"That and the soldiers who went AWOL in 1950 right after the prisoner escaped," Summers said. "One of them was your father; we know what happened to him. But the other two were almost as high profile, the compound's chief of security and the nurse who assisted your father and was reported to have been very close to the prisoner, its handler, really. If you believe the Army, they were never found."

"Lost soldiers and a lost room," Pierce murmured, gazing at the footprints in the dust. "Maybe your contact was taking one last look for that room."

"Maybe. One last look just in case. And with another set of eyes," Summers added. "He brought a friend."

Pierce followed Summers back upstairs, his own eyes on the floor. It was hard to tell, but there were two sets of prints, obscured in most places because whoever had been here had walked either single file or trampled over their own footprints on the way back. They were almost to the front doors when he spotted a clear set.

"What?" Summers asked when Pierce paused.

"Nothing," Pierce said quickly. "I'm just thinking things over."

"Good," Summers said approvingly. "Nice to see you don't rush into things."

And it's nice to see you miss things, Pierce thought, stepping back into the desert sun. One set of prints did indeed belong to a male, but he hadn't brought a friend. He'd brought a date.

The second set belonged to a woman.




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



Westlake Villa,

Roswell




"How much longer is this going to take?" Jaddo grumbled. "I had no idea that putting human children to bed involved such lengthy rituals."

"It will take as long as it takes," Brivari said. "And your complaining will not make it go any faster."

Jaddo lapsed into an all too familiar impatient silence as they waited behind the brightly lit Villa for its hallways to empty and its occupants to go to sleep. Just like old times, Brivari thought, watching Jaddo pace the moonlit yard. Three decades worth of chasing their enemies had not altered Jaddo one bit or stilled the restlessness that became problematic when not curtailed.

"I heard you earlier on the telephone," Jaddo said suddenly.

"I needed to catch up with my assistant while I'm away," Brivari replied. "What of it?"

"You sounded so very.....human," Jaddo said disapprovingly.

"I work with humans, so it's necessary to sound like them."

"This was different," Jaddo insisted. "I've watched you, with your parties and that ridiculous clothing you wear—"

"Tuxedos are the dress code for many Hollywood soirées."

"Call them what you like. I still say you look like one of those—what do you call those flightless birds? Penguins. That's it. You look like a penguin."

"I look like everyone else," Brivari said. "Which is the point, if I'm not mistaken. Blending in is our biggest defense, is it not?"

"You're 'blending' a bit too much, if you ask me," Jaddo muttered.

"And you're not 'blending' at all," Brivari said sharply, "which is nothing new, if you ask me. You still haven't learned how to not leave a trail of bodies behind."

"The Special Unit is our enemy," Jaddo argued.

"But you don't stop with enemies," Brivari said. "Like that woman you killed in this area a few years back. Was she our enemy as well?"

"No, she was just in the way," Jaddo answered. "I shouldn't have to explain the concept of collateral damage to you."

"And I shouldn't have to explain the concept of natural consequences to you," Brivari retorted. "The man who found her body, 'Hubble', or whatever his name is, has been hunting you ever since, even enlisted Valenti to help him. Removing enemies only helps if it decreases their numbers, Jaddo, which means we should try to avoid making new ones."

Jaddo gave a soft snort. "So you're still advocating the 'stick your head in the sand' approach? Typical."

In so many ways, Brivari thought sadly. If these tired old arguments reared their heads within hours of their meeting for the first time in decades, then they had been right to separate. Whatever had happened in their absence from each other, whatever Jaddo had done, things would likely have been much worse if they had stayed together. How ironic that their mission's success had hinged upon avoiding the one person on this planet who was just like him.

Lights began going out all over the Villa, one after another. "Finally," Jaddo muttered.

"Wait," Brivari cautioned. "There will still be employees moving around for a few minutes. And you do remember the Healer's cautions, don't you?"

"Of course I remember," Jaddo said. "She repeated them enough."

"She startled you, didn't she?"

"What do you mean?"

"I saw you looking at her, at all of them. They've aged. Substantially."

Jaddo was quiet for almost a full minute, a very long time for him, even longer when he was impatient. "That was....disturbing," he allowed. "And all the more reason why we should not become attached to humans."

"Mmm," Brivari murmured, forbearing to point out that Jaddo's reaction had proven him to be already attached, which would no doubt provoke yet another argument. But no matter; the subject has served its purpose. It was now safe to go inside.

The hallways were still lit but empty as they silently made their way upstairs to the hybrids' room, with Brivari worrying how they would react and whether Jaddo would overextend himself in his eagerness to restore his Ward. Rounding the corner to the bedroom, the second was still a worry.....but the former was not.

Three small shapes stood in the middle of the room, hand in hand. Waiting.

Waiting for them.



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


I'll post Chapter 16 next Sunday.

[Kathy W]

Hello to everyone reading!

I can't argue with Dee's anxiety about the future of Max, Isabel and Michael landing in the hands of Dianne -I mean, the way you portray her, I want to strangle her at every turn (I pity your future daughters-in-law if they are anything like her )...

So you and Dee both want to strangle her. And don't just pity the daughters-in-law, pity my sons too!

They are kind of eerie right now, especially because you know there's intelligence behind those brown eyes, proven by the actions -and reactions- they make.

I originally included the hybrids' point of view in this book, but this is exactly why I removed most of their conversations with each other--they were much more effective (and creepy) when you had to guess what they were thinking or up to. But we do hear from them directly toward the end of the book, and all the time, of course, in the next one.

And *sigh* yes, I did get your e-mail. It's been bonkers here with teenaged drama, wayward students, another snowstorm (!) and whatnot. Your chapter parts are done, so I'll shoot them to you on their own so you get them before next month!




CHAPTER SIXTEEN


September 19, 1989, 8:55 p.m.

Westlake Villa, Roswell



*Would you look at that,* Jaddo breathed. *They're waiting for us! They knew we would come for them!*

It certainly looks that way, Brivari agreed as the three hybrids stood side by side and hand in hand in the dark room on the Villa's second floor. The place was quiet, all the children having been put to bed, the nearest employee a few doors down. Vilandra stood between Zan and Rath as she always did, always had, probably always would. They were watching their Warders closely, attentively, but with no fear in their eyes.

And no recognition either. *We know they're not completely unaware,* Brivari said. *We've all noted flashes of some level of comprehension just like earlier today in the yard. But look at them, Jaddo, look at their faces. They have some concept of what we are, but they don't know who we are. Not yet.*

*Then it's time we made that clear,* Jaddo declared. *Which of us will identify?*

*I know you want to,* Brivari said gently. *Go ahead.*

Jaddo eagerly stepped forward as Brivari knew he would, and for a moment, Brivari felt a pang of guilt. Jaddo had wanted to show the hybrids their native form, but the Healer had insisted that one of them remain in human form in case there was an untoward reaction, although there'd been no decision as to which one. He'd made it sound like a magnanimous gift, but the truth was he'd been counting on Jaddo's legendary eagerness because he hadn't shapeshifted in years, decades even; living among humans with no enemies at hand, there had been no need. He'd changed his identity several times, but that did not require changing shape; it was easy to alter one's facial features, length and color of hair, height, even gender without seriously altering the basic package. He'd given it no thought until that awful director's pool party back in the 70's when the ramifications of remaining in one shape for so long had become shockingly clear. He'd always suspected something like this had happened to Jaddo during his years of imprisonment, but Jaddo had always refused to discuss it. It had taken much less time for Jaddo, but then he was so much younger....

Jaddo's human form softened, shrank. His hands grew, his fingers lengthened, his hair disappeared, his eyes grew enormous and black, and when he was through, his height was between that of Brivari and the children, who gazed at the apparition in front of them with no alarm, but no recognition either.

*Say something telepathically in Antarian,* Brivari suggested. *Perhaps the combination of language and form will be effective.*

A moment later, Jaddo shook his head. *Nothing. I tried Antarian and English.*

*Then say it out loud,* Brivari said.

"Master?" Jaddo said carefully. "I am your Warder. Do you remember me?"

If Rath did, he gave no indication, merely looked his Warder up and down, as did Zan and Vilandra. "This is what you looked like," Jaddo continued, gesturing with a huge hand, "before....." He stopped as Brivari made a warning sound in his mind. "What you looked like before," he finished. "Do you remember?"

*Apparently not,* Brivari murmured.

*Then we should move along to the next step,* Jaddo said firmly, sliding back into human form.

*Before we do, I'd like to review the Healer's guidelines.*

*Is this some kind of test?*

*A review,* Brivari corrected. *For both of us.*

*I don't need a review,* Jaddo said irritably. *She repeated herself often enough.*

*Because she knows you. You're not exactly a repository of happy memories, Jaddo.*

*And you are?*

*No, I'm just better able to control myself,* Brivari said pointedly. *As evidenced by the fact that you almost just referenced what led them to their current bodies even though the Healer repeatedly warned us to avoid that topic at all costs.*

* 'Almost' being the operative word,* Jaddo said. *That won't happen again.*

*It shouldn't have happened the first time. She's no fool, you know. We should respect her counsel.*

*And when have I ever called her a 'fool'?*

Brivari smiled faintly. *True. You had to cross a galaxy and crash land on a backward planet, but you finally found a female you respect. Imagine that.*

*Then stop lecturing me, and let me proceed,* Jaddo said crossly.

*The guidelines, Jaddo,* Brivari said firmly. *Indulge me.*

*Very well, then,* Jaddo sighed. *We are to clear our minds and think of a single happy memory.*

*And keep it brief to minimize the chances of anything else slipping through.*

*Yes, yes,* Jaddo said impatiently. *May I begin?*

*What are you going to show him?*

*That's none of your business.*

*Like hell it isn't,* Brivari retorted. *If it backfires, I'm guessing it'll suddenly be my business.*

The curtains flapped at the open window as Jaddo glared at him and the hybrids waited, unable to hear their private telepathic speech and seemingly unaffected by the increased tension in the room. *I was going to show him our first meeting,* Jaddo said finally. *Under the circumstances, I found it fitting. Does that meet with your approval?*

That last was delivered with more than touch of sarcasm which Brivari ignored, responding only with a nod. Jaddo knelt down beside Rath, looking him in the eye, taking his hand. "I want to show you something," he said to the boy, "but I need you to let go of her."

Haven't you always? Brivari thought dryly, wondering if Rath would comply; if they were touching, the connection might pass from one hybrid to another, and there was no way of knowing how a memory chosen for one might affect another. But Rath promptly released Vilandra's hand, and she did not object, she and Zan watching along with Brivari, who braced himself for anything. Connections were difficult to control, but it was possible to place a certain memory in the forefront of one's mind by concentrating on that one memory, for a short while, at least. The Healer had been most insistent that they not burden the children with frightening or violent memories at this stage in their development, which meant they must take great care to suppress a great many lest anything alarming slip past. He would have preferred to wait a while longer before attempting this, but as usual, Jaddo's presence and legendary impatience were moving things along faster than they would have had he not appeared. Whether or not that was a good thing remained to be seen.

He needn't have worried. A minute or so later, Jaddo released Rath's hand with an air of disappointment, the child having had no reaction of any kind. *Nothing,* Jaddo said sadly. *I'm not even certain he saw it.*

*The Healer said it may take some time for them to process what we're showing them,* Brivari reminded him. *Would you like to take Vilandra, or shall I?*

Stupid question, he added silently as Jaddo threw him a look that sufficed as answer; if Brivari had never been fond of Vilandra, Jaddo absolutely couldn't stand her. Brivari took the hand that had previously held Rath's, wondering if she'd be willing to let go of Zan. Letting go of Rath was one thing, but letting go of her brother.....

But she did, and without prompting, demonstrating once again both their language comprehension and some level of awareness of what was happening. The memory Brivari had chosen was one of Zan and Vilandra as children, a family event when their father was young and healthy, and it had the same effect on her as Jaddo's memory had on Rath—none.

*Try Zan,* Jaddo urged.

Brivari hesitated before reaching for his Ward's hand. He'd been dreading this ever since Jaddo had proposed it because, although loathe to admit it, he was terrified he wouldn't be able to keep the worst of his memories from his own Ward. He'd disparaged Jaddo's ability to control himself, but the truth was he was equally worried about his own.

*What are you going to show him?* Jaddo asked.

*You didn't care what I showed Vilandra,* Brivari noted.

*Of course I didn't. But I care what you show my king.*

*It's the same memory I showed Vilandra, a childhood memory of a family picnic. I thought it appropriate as they are both now children.*

Jaddo nodded, and the boy didn't resist as Brivari took his hand, taking a moment to concentrate before reaching out with his mind. The brief scene played out, Brivari focusing carefully on every detail, relieved when he reached the end and could finally let go.

But he couldn't. The memory faded, and in its place was a cloud of questions, of confusion, a probing that bordered just on the verge of panic....

With a start, Brivari let go of Zan's hand. *What?* Jaddo demanded. *What happened? He didn't react.*

*No,* Brivari whispered, gazing into his Ward's eyes. *I did.*

*But why?* Jaddo pressed. *Did you see something?*

*He connected with me, or tried to. I'm not sure he even knew what he was doing.*

*Do you think he saw anything he shouldn't have?* Jaddo asked worriedly.

*I.....don't think so,* Brivari replied. *I severed it immediately.* He rose to his feet, still shaken. *Vilandra didn't do that.*

*Neither did Rath,* Jaddo said. *You hit a nerve, Brivari.*

"Back into bed," Brivari said firmly. "That's enough for tonight."

For all of us, he added as three pairs of feet trotted obediently toward a single bed, lying side by side as he covered them up, careful not to touch any of them. A few minutes later he and Jaddo were back outside, have encountered no one on the way out.

*Disappointing,* Jaddo said. *Zan reacted, but the others did not. I know the Healer said it might take time, but I'm hoping it won't.*

And I'm hoping it will, Brivari thought privately, disturbed by what he'd glimpsed through that fog of confusion and fear in his Ward's mind. If that was what awaited Zan when awareness finally dawned, it might be best if it took a very long time indeed.




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



Valenti residence




"Not even one more chapter? Why not?" Valenti asked when Kyle shook his head. "I thought you liked Ramona."

"I do," Kyle said, his hands working the blanket tucked around him. "It's just...."

"Just what?"

"Just.....Mommy did the voices better."

Valenti felt his chest constrict. "Oh. Well....then you'll have to show me how she did them, and I'll get as close as I can."

"I can't show you a voice," Kyle lectured. "You hear a voice, not see it."

Valenti smiled faintly. His son was a stickler for detail, just like his old man. "Very true. So you'll have to say it the way Mommy did, and I'll get as close as I can."

Valenti waited as Kyle picked at the fuzz on his blanket, knowing full well that pronunciation probably wasn't what was uppermost in his son's mind. "Daddy?" Kyle said finally.

"Yeah?"

"When will I see Mommy again?"

God, I hate this question, Valenti thought. Michelle was diligent about sending cards, and gifts, and phone calls. Visits were another matter entirely, necessitating contact between the two of them she did not wish to have. Kyle had only seen her a couple of times since she'd left.

"I'm not sure," he answered truthfully. "What did she say last time you talked to her?"

"She said she wasn't sure," Kyle said dejectedly. His fingers abruptly stopped plucking. "Maybe you could ask her?" he said hopefully. "Maybe she'd tell you."

"I think she's more likely to tell you," Valenti said dryly. "But I'll ask," he added hastily when his son's face fell. "I'll definitely ask next time she calls."

"But she always calls when you're at work," Kyle protested.

Of course she does. "Then I'll call her," Valenti said. "I'll call her and ask."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

It was almost heartbreaking the way Kyle just accepted that pledge, breaking into a smile and sliding down under the covers as Valenti returned their latest Ramona Quimby book to the nightstand. A six year-old was a hopeful creature, always certain adults meant what they said and that tomorrow would be a better day. Until they don't, and it isn't, Valenti amended. How many disappointments would it take for that six year-old to grow jaded? He had the uncomfortable feeling he was going to find out. He knew Michelle wouldn't take his call because she'd never taken any of his calls. If he wanted to reach her, he had to go through her lawyer.

"Daddy?" Kyle said just as Valenti snapped off the light.

"What?"

"Did the kids at school ever pick on Grandpa?"

Valenti blinked. Jesus, but that hadn't taken long. He'd been on the job all of two days, and already his kindergartner was getting the same crap he'd gotten since he was eight. "Why?" he demanded. "What are they saying about me? I only just started—"

"Not you," Kyle interrupted, his fingers plucking the blanket again. "Grandpa. They're picking on Grandpa."

Valenti slowly sat down on the edge of his son's bed, the sports car night light glowing softly nearby only barely illuminating Kyle's face. "They're picking on Grandpa?"

Pluck. "Yeah."

"What are they saying?"

"That he's crazy," Kyle whispered.

"Who's saying that? Are a lot of kids saying that?"

"No."

"Then who?"

There was a pause. "Thomas. And Lizzie."

"Lizzie Parker?"

"Yeah."

Figures, Valenti thought with a heavy sigh. Thomas and Lizzie both had at least one parent with a history in the area stretching back to Silo and beyond. Those kids didn't know a thing about Kyle's grandfather; they were aping their parents. While it was some small consolation that they hadn't yet transferred their jibes to him, it was very small indeed.

"Daddy, what did Grandpa do?" Kyle asked. "Why do people say he's crazy?"

Valenti hesitated. How to explain this to a six year-old? "Grandpa.... made a mistake," he began. "And someone got hurt."

"Then can't he just say he's sorry?"

Valenti smiled sadly. Ah, the world of the small child, where saying you were sorry was all it took. "He did say he was sorry, Kyle, but it wasn't enough. So he had to stop being sheriff."

"They didn't believe him?"

"I don't know what they believed."

Pluck. "Does that mean that if someone doesn't believe me when I say I'm sorry, I'll have to stop going to school?"

"No," Valenti said gently, running a hand over his boy's hair. "It's different for kids. You're still learning. When you're grown up, you're supposed to know all this."

"Did Grandpa know?"

"He knew. He just made a mistake, that's all. We all make mistakes."

"Even grown-ups?"

"Even grown-ups."

Kyle's fingers plucked at the blanket a few more times. "Maybe that's it," he said thoughtfully. "When Mommy left, maybe she made a mistake."

"Maybe," Valenti whispered, leaning over to kiss his son's forehead. "Goodnight, kiddo."

"G'night, Daddy."

Or maybe she didn't, Valenti thought as he closed the door to his son's bedroom and leaned against the wall, feeling like he'd just been through the ringer. Maybe it wasn't exactly fair to let on that Michelle had made a mistake by leaving, but if it made Kyle feel better, he wasn't about to refute that leap of faith, and it was a good one to say goodnight on anyway.

A sound down the hallway caught his attention, and he walked to his bedroom. His father was there, sitting on the bed, something in his hands. Beside him was the box Hanson Sr. had delivered, the one which had resided in the closet he'd invited Alvarez to check. He'd brought it home just in case anyone ever decided to take him up on that invitation.

"Dad?" Valenti said. "What have you got there?"

His father looked up with eyes that were not quite as blank as they usually were. Valenti came further into the room and saw that his father was holding the photograph of the unidentified man with the weird silver handprint on his chest, which he tapped with a shaky finger.

"Look," his father said clearly.

Valenti's heart skipped a beat. He spoke. His father hadn't spoken since.....well, if that pushy woman was to be believed, since she'd been here. And not for a long time before that.

"I see it," Valenti said carefully. "What about it?"

The shaking hand gestured vaguely toward the box. "Lost," his father said. "Lost this."

"Yes," Valenti nodded. "Hanson brought it in. He cleaned out your desk before anyone else got to it and saved all this stuff."

"Hanson," his father whispered, stroking the photograph. "Hanson......"

Valenti sank slowly down on the bed. Incredible. He was actually having a conversation with his father, the first in ages. And all it had taken was a picture. Perhaps he should have dragged out the photo albums years ago.

Or maybe not. The photograph fluttered to the floor as his father abruptly let go of it and began pawing frantically through the box. "Dad, what is it?" Valenti asked. "What's wrong?"

"Lost it," his father said, still pawing. "Was here....somewhere...."

"What was here?" Valenti asked as the contents of the box went flying everywhere. "What did you lose? Who is that man? What happened to him?"

The pawing stopped. "Aliens," his father said, bending down and snatching the photograph off the floor with a level of agility he hadn't shown in years. "Aliens."

"So....this man was an alien?"

His father shook his head vigorously. "Aliens," he repeated, tapping the handprint.

"So you think aliens killed him," Valenti said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. "Look, Dad, I admit it's a weird mark, but that's a human handprint."

"Aliens!" his father insisted, raising his voice, tapping the photo furiously. "Aliens!"

"Okay, okay, it was aliens," Valenti said hastily. "Keep your voice down; I just put Kyle to bed. So who was this guy?"

But the light had gone out of his father's eyes. He looked around numbly as though he didn't know where he was, then down at the scattered contents of the box. "Lost," he whispered. "Lost it. Aliens."

"Right," Valenti said heavily, taking his father's arm. "C'mon, Dad. I'll take you to bed."

Five minutes later he snapped off the light in his father's room and left the door ajar, his father tucked in bed and staring at the wall with his customary blank expression. Memory was a funny thing. One little detail could jog it, bring it flooding back.....but what you saw could be upsetting enough that it cut off the flow, plunging you back into blackness.

Maybe some memories were better left buried.




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



September 20, 1989, 8:30 a.m.

FBI Academy, Quantico




"Jesus, Danny, there's enough stuff here to keep you looking for weeks," Brian grumbled.

"Then it'll take weeks," Pierce said shortly. "Keep looking."

"Are you sure it's even here? We've been at it for a couple of hours now—"

"I know I saw it. Keep looking."

"You know, it would be quicker to break into the Admin Building and pull out all your stepfather's files again," Brian sighed, chucking a binder down and grabbing another.

"It's not in my stepfather's stuff. He was limited as to what he could smuggle out because he wasn't actually stationed at the compound. My father took all his notes with him when he went AWOL. They're much more complete."

"Man, that's a head banger," Brian said. "All this time you thought your stepfather and your father were bosom buddies, and now you find out they were mortal enemies."

"At this point, it really doesn't matter," Pierce said. "All that matters is that I find that sketch."

Brian sighed and reluctantly returned to flipping through pages of Pierce Sr.'s research notes, the disposition of which had been something of a problem for Pierce. He couldn't very well leave them in the safe deposit box because he'd need access to them, and he couldn't be running to Santa Fe every other day. But how to hide them? He almost hadn't until he'd hit upon the idea of housing the collection in the binders he'd used during his time at the Academy, sandwiching them between layers of old homework and research. He'd had to filch some extra binders off Brian and enlist his help to rehome everything before he'd gone for Skinner, but now he was glad he'd made the effort. As Agent Summers had so helpfully pointed out, his list of possible clients for the serum had shrunk considerably what with all the American buyers engaging in unheard of cooperation. That left only foreign alternatives, which didn't suit Pierce; he may not be strictly loyal to the Bureau, but he was American through and through. And once he'd handed over the formula to whomever he chose to ally himself with, these notes would be his only leverage. So far no one seemed to know about these; everyone thought the actual formula was all he'd inherited. They'd find out otherwise soon enough, which is why it was all the more important that this unexpected bargaining chip remain hidden.

"I thought we were looking for a floor plan of the compound Summers showed you," Brian said suddenly.

"We are."

"Then what are you reading? Finding a diagram doesn't involve reading. No wonder you're going so much slower than I am."

I'm looking for something different, Pierce thought, giving Brian a look which sent him back to the binders. Yes, he needed the floor plan. But there was lots of other information in his father's notes that might come in handy now, like this personnel list. He scanned the names, fastening on one of them. Yvonne White. Interesting......

"Whoa," Brian said suddenly. "Wait a minute? Is this it?"

Pierce glanced over at the page in his friend's lap almost impatiently. Pierce Sr. had loved to sketch, and Brian had thought he'd hit paydirt twice before already. But this time he actually had; Pierce snatched the binder away, his eyes eagerly raking the rough sketch which had meant nothing to him the first time he'd seen it.

"That's it," he said with mounting excitement. "This is where I was! There are the double front doors, and the long first floor hallway, and the mess. And there's the stairwell.....my father's office should be on the ground floor.....here," he said, tapping a finger. "I looked in there. Didn't even know it was his."

"Is that what you wanted?" Brian asked. "To know where his office was? But why? Anything he didn't take with him would have been cleaned out by the Army, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah," Pierce said absently as his finger traced the hallway which held his father's office back to the main hallway. Had it not been built yet? Was it.....

There.

"Bingo," Pierce said softly. "On both fronts."





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




Westlake Villa




"And I found these puzzles," Diane said, "only 20 cents apiece! The lady assured me they had all the pieces. I know that always drove me crazy when pieces were missing. And a set of wooden blocks; they're pine, not hardwood, but there are lots of them, and I think that's more important, don't you? And...."

Does she ever shut up? Dee wondered, praying for patience as her daughter-in-law chattered on and marveling, not for the first time, at how Philip managed to stand her without going crazy. They were on their way to the Villa to see the children, and Dee was on tenterhooks, knowing that the Warders had been planning to visit them last night and attempt to spark some memories. Whether they actually had or how that had gone if they did, she didn't know, and the suspense was killing her. So perhaps it was just as well that Diane was babbling on non-stop about her latest garage sale forays because it spared her the necessity of conversation, although "conversation" with Diane always involved more listening than speaking, especially when the subject was children.

"And I found some more clothes," Diane went on, "a couple of rain coats and some boots for when it's raining. And one of the sales had a twin bed, which the owners agreed to set aside for a few days just in case, and—"

"Set aside?" Dee interrupted, breaking off the torrent. "Set aside why?"

"Just in case we need it," Diane shrugged.

" 'Need it'? Need it for what?"

"Well....it's a good idea to have a guest bed, don't you think? And we don't have one. All we have is our own bed and that crib I bought. What if someone comes to visit? They'd have to sleep on the floor, and that won't do."

It was "that crib" which caught Dee's attention, an offhand remark delivered in a very different tone from the reverential one used when it had been bought just a few days ago and regarded as nothing less than a throne. "Diane," Dee said slowly, "do you want the bed because of the children?"

"What?"

"Are you pursuing a bed because of the children?" Dee pressed. "Are you thinking you're going to take them home with you or something?" Good Lord, she does, she sighed when Diane stared out the window and didn't answer. "You do know they're looking for their parents, right? They could show up any day."

"Or not," Diane said defensively. "Besides, what kind of parents let their children wander naked in the desert? Look, I know they're looking," she went on as Dee began to object, "but what about in the meantime? I mean, the Villa is a nice place and all, but children weren't meant to be raised in litters. I was just thinking that Philip and I could give them a better home while the authorities look for their parents."

"You've been talking to Grandma," Dee said accusingly. "What did she say?"

"I always talk to Grandma," Diane protested. "And she just mentioned the idea of fostering, that we might apply to become foster parents."

Thanks a heap, Mama, Dee groaned inwardly. "That's very generous of you, Diane," she said carefully, "but do you think that's wise? If you get attached to them, it's going to be very hard to give them up."

"But what if I don't have to? What if their parents are never found? That's possible. And Mrs. Melbourne said no one wants to adopt older children—"

"Whoa! Wait a minute....adopt? How did we get from fostering to adoption?"

"I'm just considering the possibilities," Diane said. "There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Of course not, Dee sighed. Like the possibility that Philip and Diane would notice a few strange things about their new "children", especially when those children finally remembered who they were and what they were supposed to do, at which point they'd lose them and never know why because Philip and Diane, never mind Social Services, couldn't very well be told that the Antarian-Human hybrids had gone back to their home planet. And the possibility that Diane, having briefly enjoyed motherhood, would plunge into a depression which would further reduce whatever slim chance she had of adopting an infant. Oh, this wouldn't end well no matter what happened.

"I guess we'll have to see," Dee said evasively as she pulled the car into a parking space outside the Villa. Working with aliens since childhood had taught her the value of attacking one problem at a time, and right now, Diane wasn't her main problem.

They found the children in the dining hall amongst a few stragglers still eating breakfast. "That's Michael, the new boy," Dee told Diane as they approached. "He's sleeping in the same room."

Isabel sprang from the bench when she saw them and went running to Diane, who dropped her bags to sweep the little girl into her arms. "Yellow," Isabel said, fingering the collar of Diane's blouse.

Diane's eyes widened. "Yes!" she said delightedly. "It is yellow! You're talking! Did you hear that, Mom? She talked!"

"Yes, she did," Annie said, coming up behind them. "Isabel and Michael spoke for the first time this morning, just like that. Like a switch had been flipped."

"But not Max?" Diane asked, parking Isabel on her hip.

Annie shook her head. "Not yet."

Max was staring into his cereal bowl with a troubled expression. Across from him sat Michael, who greeted them with his customary suspicion.

"Say 'hello', boys," Annie suggested.

"Hello," Michael answered, in a tone that suggested he thought the greeting some sort of trick.

Max stared silently at his bowl. "Don't you have something to say, love?" Annie coaxed. "How about saying hello to the nice lady who's holding Isabel?"

"I brought you some clothes and some toys," Diane offered. "We can share them with Michael."

Max looked up then, his eyes brushing past Diane and Annie to fall on Dee.....and his expression hardened as he uttered the very last thing Dee expected to hear.

"Where is my wife?"





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


I'll be participating in Roswell Heaven's "Sneak Peek" fundraiser, so Chapter 17 will be available in RH's "Sneak Peek" Forum from March 2 through March 14. Access to the "Sneak Peek" forum is available to those who make a donation (no matter how small) to Roswell Heaven, which archives the fanfiction of closing Roswell boards in addition to its own offerings. I'll post Chapter 17 on this forum on Monday, March 15, and Chapter 18 will be posted on Sunday, March 21, getting us back to the normal Sunday schedule.

[Kathy W]

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


September 19, 1989, 8:45 a.m.

Westlake Villa



Most of the Villa's children had finished their breakfast, but the dining hall was still fairly noisy. Some of this was due to the cavernous nature of such spaces and the noise made by crockery and cutlery, while some was due to the fact that a place which housed that many children rarely achieved anything closer to silence than a background hum. Even night time wasn't silent, all the various sounds of breathing and dreaming and the inevitable few who woke making for a surprising cacophony. No, silence was a rare commodity in a place like the Villa, usually signifying something was wrong. As it did now, as three adults stared at a small boy who had just said something impossible. Good Lord, Dee thought desperately as both Annie's and Diane's jaws dropped. Of all the "first words" any of them could have said, these were among the worst.

"What did he say?" Diane asked faintly.

"Oh, my," Annie said with a chuckle. "Wonder where he picked that up."

"Probably means nothing," Dee said dismissively.

"Where is my wife?" Max demanded again, louder this time. "Where is she?"

Annie's eyes widened; Diane took a step back, clutching Isabel protectively, who looked at her brother with a grave, though not alarmed expression. Same for Michael, whose gaze shifted to Dee as though expecting an answer.

"Well," Annie said nervously, "that's certainly....different. Most little boys would be asking for their mothers."

"Very strange," Diane added. "And worrisome."

"Nonsense," Dee said briskly. "He's just a little boy. Children say all sorts of strange things."

"That they do," Annie agreed, relaxing slightly. "And that goes double for the children here, who've all had a rough time for one reason or another."

"Exactly," Dee agreed. "Diane, why don't we take the children up to their room, and you can show them the things you brought them." And then I'll find a couple of Warders and knock their heads together, she added darkly. They had both been strictly instructed by Marie to stick to happy, non-threatening memories. Someone hadn't followed the script.

"Would you like to go upstairs and see your presents?" Diane was asking Isabel, who nodded enthusiastically. "Come on, Max; I have things for you too."

But Max was having none of it. He climbed off his bench and walked directly up to Dee, his eyes boring into hers. "Where is my wife?"

"Is there a problem here?" a familiar voice asked.

There is now, Dee thought sourly. It was Madeline C. Melbourne, she of the buttoned-up shirts and the pursed lips, guaranteed to overreact. The absolute worst person who could come along at a time like this.

"No problem," Dee said smoothly. "How are you this morning, Mrs. Melbourne?"

"Where is my wife?" Max demanded again.

Any hope Dee had of ditching Madeline C. died as her eyes became saucers. "They're talking, ma'am," Annie said rather unnecessarily.

"Yes, I see that," Mrs. Melbourne said coldly. "And saying such interesting things."

"Only Max," Annie clarified. "The others haven't said anything like that.

Max's fingers plucked at Dee's. "Where is my wife?" he asked again, his voice almost pleading. "Where is she?"

"Oh, my goodness," Diane whispered. "Why would he be asking that, Mom?"

"What interests me is whom he's asking," Mrs. Melbourne said suspiciously. "Why would he think you would know such a thing, Mrs. Evans? Is there something you know about these children that you're not telling us?"

"Of course not!" Dee said in exasperation, irritated because the irritating Madeline C. had put her finger right on it. And looked ready to put yet another finger right on it when help came from an unexpected source.

"My mother-in-law was with us the night we found Max and Isabel," Diane protested. "She doesn't know any more than we do, and I resent the implication that she's done something wrong."

Dee blinked; Diane rarely displayed much in the way of backbone, so seeing it now, in the presence of an intimidating authority figure like Mrs. Melbourne, was doubly surprising. About as surprising as the speed with which Madeline C. capitulated.

"I apologize," Mrs. Melbourne said quickly. "That was not my intention. I'm just curious as to why the child is addressing his very odd question to your mother and no one else."

Because he's not stupid—he knows I know, Dee thought, leaning over and taking Max by the shoulders, cutting off yet another demand to know his wife's whereabouts. "She's safe," she told him firmly. "I promise you, she's safe."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Mrs. Evans, don't encourage him!" Mrs. Melbourne protested. "We're not even certain whom he's referring to. A six year-old boy can't be referencing a wife."

"Why do you think he's doing that?" Diane wondered. "Have they been abused?"

"There was no evidence of that on the medical report, but then your mother so helpfully bathed both children before they were examined," Madeline C. sniffed. "Anything is possible."

"Aren't you jumping to conclusions?" Dee countered. "Like you said, there was no evidence of abuse, and most evidence of that can't be washed away with a bath."

"Such as young children making sexual references they can't possibly understand?" Mrs. Melbourne suggested.

"Such as broken bones and bruises," Dee clarified. "And classifying the mere mention of a wife as a 'sexual reference' is pushing it."

"Are they seeing anyone here, like a psychologist?" Diane asked.

"Social workers meet with the children as time permits," Mrs. Melbourne answered. "I personally have been keeping an eye on these two. And that one," she added, looking at Michael, who returned her stare with an unnerving one of his own. "He wasn't found with them, but they all act like they know each other."

"But you're not a psychologist, are you?" Diane pressed. "Shouldn't they be seeing someone with a degree?"

Dee resisted the urge to smile as Madeline C.'s expression froze. "I assure, you Mrs. Evans, that I have a degree in social work. It's in my office if you'd like to examine it."

"Of course you do," Diane said patiently. "I meant someone who was trained in psychology, or psychiatry, or something like that. Wouldn't it help for them to talk to someone trained to help troubled children?"

"Perhaps it would, but I'm afraid the county doesn't have the funds to send every troubled child to psychotherapy" Mrs. Melbourne said stiffly. "The county has already funded their medical needs, room, and board. I'm afraid that's all we can do."

Thank goodness, Dee thought. The last thing they needed was to have some shrink writing down utterances like "where is my wife." If those were the very first words out of Max's mouth, what came next wouldn't be any better.

"Then I'll pay for it," Diane announced.

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Melbourne said as Dee groaned inwardly.

"I said I'll pay for it," Diane repeated, stroking Isabel's hair. "My husband and I will pay for Max and Isabel to see someone. Can that be arranged?"

"Mrs. Evans, you have no legal standing to pay for anything," Mrs. Melbourne said. "I'm certain the children appreciate the gifts you've brought, but—"

"What if we apply to foster them?" Diane broke in. "Because we're going to. I was going to ask you for the paperwork today."

Mrs. Melbourne hesitated. "In that case.....perhaps. We can at least talk about it. Meet me in my office in thirty minutes. And you," she added to Annie with a glance at Max, "keep track of anything else he says."

"Yes, ma'am," Annie nodded.

Mrs. Melbourne left, throwing a dark glance at Dee, who was desperately trying to find a way out of this. Max had quieted, thank God, momentarily mollified by her assurance that his wife was safe. But there was no telling what would happen if he were prodded by a psychologist, and it was now more important than ever that the children be removed from this place as quickly as possible. But Philip and Diane? Independent of her unexpected show of strength, Diane typically fretted over the slightest little thing, and there were bound to be a multitude of "little things" cropping up with alien-human hybrids. And Philip was so observant and deliberate that he not only wouldn't miss the children's oddities, he'd probably keep a list complete with dates and times of occurrence, and that wouldn't be good either.

"Mom?"

"What?" Dee said, startled out of her own fretting.

"I was asking if you knew of anyone who could help the children," Diane was saying. "A psychologist, maybe, or someone like that?"

A ray of sunshine pierced the darkness as Dee suddenly saw an advantage to the current state of affairs.

"Actually," she said slowly, "I might."




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




Crashdown Café




"Okay....honest opinion," Jeff said. "What do you think?"

Nancy bit her lip. "Well....."

"Well, what? What do you think?"

Jeff's face fell when his wife said nothing. "You hate it, don't you?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't say anything. Which is the same as saying you hate it."

"Jeffrey Parker, haven't you learned by now not to put words in my mouth?" Nancy said sharply. "I did not say I hated it."

"Then what do you think?" Jeff pressed.

"I think you should ask her first," Nancy said. "She's the one who has to wear it."

Jeff looked at Carol, the waitress currently modeling his proposed new uniform for Crashdown waitresses. "Well, Carol?"

The deely-boppers on Carol's head bobbed as she shook it. "Sorry, Mr. Parker, but I feel like an idiot. Can't we just stick with the buttons?"

"Buttons?" Jeff said in exasperation. "We've had buttons for years! My father introduced buttons all the way back in the fifties."

"Right, and I didn't feel like an idiot when I was wearing one on my uniform," Carol said.

"You see, that's the problem right there," Jeff said. "This isn't a uniform, it's a costume."

"Tell me about it," Carol muttered, running a hand over the alien head-shaped apron she was wearing.

"A functional costume," Jeff argued, pointing to the apron. "Look—the alien's eyes are also pockets. Cute, huh?" He paused as Carol stared at him blankly. "Okay, think of it like a theme park," he suggested. "When you go to Disneyland, you see people dressed up as Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck, don't you? Well, this is an alien theme park."

"At least they don't have to show their faces," Carol said.

"Yeah, and they also sweat to death and don't get to breathe," Jeff retorted.

"Lizzie!" Nancy said brightly, cutting off her husband's next comment. "All ready for school?"

"Lizzie, do you like the new costume?" Jeff asked hopefully.

Lizzie hoisted her Ninja Turtles backpack further on her shoulder as she looked Carol up and down. "Yuck," she announced.

"Another country heard from," Jeff sighed as Carol's and Nancy's eyebrows rose simultaneously. "Or maybe it's just the women in my life ganging up on me. What else is new?"

"Don't you think you're being a little dramatic?" Nancy asked.

"No; the women in my life always gang up on me," Jeff said. "All I'm trying to do is make the diner more marketable; hell, the new sign alone—"

"I'm talking about the uniform....costume," Nancy amended hastily. "It's just a bit....much. Why not compromise? Keep the apron and ditch the deely-boppers. Would that be better, Carol?"

Carol's head bobbed enthusiastically, causing the deely-boppers to flap wildly. "Absolutely. Much better."

Nancy gave Jeff a questioning look. "Okay, okay," he said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Tell everyone they can leave the deely-boppers off. But I want the aprons on," he added sternly as Carol scurried off before he changed his mind.

"Wise decision," Nancy said, kissing him on the cheek. "You might have to do this in stages, Jeff. Make one change, like the apron, wait awhile, then try another. Give people time to adjust. Now....say goodbye to Lizzie before I walk her to the bus stop."

Do I own this place, or don't I? Jeff grumbled privately after kissing his opinionated daughter goodbye. Back in his father's day, no one would have dreamed of protesting his buttons or any other part of the uniform; you did what your employer told you or you risked losing your job. Since when was the Crashdown a democracy? Since it became the "Crashdown", Jeff thought. The new sign and new name were going over gangbusters with tourists, but the locals were less impressed, and that went double for the staff. It didn't help that all sorts of mix-ups were occurring with the new menu, which gave Parker's usual fare alien-themed names. This had caused a good deal of confusion with customers and staff alike, causing him to hastily have an insert printed which showed the old names along with the new, both to reassure customers that their old favorites were still there and help the staff figure out the changes. He'd sent new menus home with everyone along with strict instructions to memorize them, but it seemed no one had. He couldn't afford to pay the kind of help that would actually do some homework.

But that'll change, Jeff thought, walking into the restaurant. The tourist response to the changes he'd already made had been so enthusiastic that he wasn't about to stop now. He had the new name, the new sign, and the new menus; today would debut the new uniforms, and he'd hired a local artist to give one of their smaller walls an alien-themed mural. Depending on the response to that, he might even add more. And he was going to get those deely-boppers on his waitresses' heads eventually even if it killed him.

"Morning, Jeff."

It was Jim Valenti, parked on a stool at the counter. "Jim!" Jeff exclaimed. "Or rather, 'sheriff'. Congratulations on the new job."

"Thanks. Congrats on the new sign."

"You like it?"

"It's.....bright. Do you still have pancakes?"

He hates it, Jeff sighed. "The pancake breakfast is called the 'Alien Invasion' now," he answered. "Didn't you get an insert?"

"Insert? Oh....here it is," Valenti said, bending over. "Must have fallen out. So....'Alien Invasion'?"

"Yeah. As in a fleet of saucer-shaped ships that are round like pancakes."

"Right," Valenti said slowly. "So what's coffee called now?"

"It's called 'coffee'," Jeff replied, praying for patience. "Look, we'll change anything on the new menu that winds up being too confusing. But let's give it some time and see what sticks."

"Sure, sure. Good idea," Valenti nodded. "Try it for a while, and see what sticks. Absolutely." He paused, rearranging his silverware. "My son told me something last night, Jeff, something I was hoping you could shed some light on."

"Okay. What's up?"

"He said some of the other kids at school have been calling my father crazy....and he says your daughter is one of them."

"Kyle says Lizzie called your father crazy?"

"He says that, yeah."

"Well, that doesn't make any sense, Jim. Lizzie doesn't know a thing about your father."

"No, I imagine she doesn't," Valenti agreed. "But.....you do."

Jeff blinked. "You think I told Lizzie your father is crazy?"

"No, of course not," Valenti answered. "I think she probably overheard you talking to someone else, is all. And I just wanted to ask that you be careful what you say because it's getting around."

Jeff leaned over, resting his forearms on the counter. "Jim, I never said anything against your father, in front of Lizzie, or behind her, or beside her, or anywhere. And I don't think he's crazy." He paused. "But lots of other people do. And those people come in here and talk. And Lizzie's here a lot, so she probably hears them talking."

"So you think that's it?"

"I know that's it. Your father left quite a legacy, and you're bound to run into it until you make the job your own. Your being made sheriff just refreshed everyone's memory, so it's understandable that they'd be talking about it. Just hang in there. This'll blow over when the next bit of news comes along."

"That's what my father said back in '59 when an actress was killed in town and everyone was picking on me at school," Valenti said. "He and mom both said, 'It'll blow over, Jimmy. People will move on to something new.' But they never did."

Jeff hesitated, uncertain of how far to carry this. "Jim, don't take this the wrong way, but a lot of the blame for that rests squarely with your father. The way I understand it, he just wouldn't leave the subject alone. You know my father had a great deal of respect for yours, but even he got tired of always hearing about aliens. He wouldn't let it die."

"Maybe not," Valenti allowed.

"Definitely not," Jeff corrected. "And the thing is, my father always thought he must have seen a lot to make him so adamant. Said he saw some pretty weird things himself over the years. But even if your dad had tea with the Martian president, that wouldn't matter if he couldn't prove it. He should have kept anything he couldn't prove to himself." He paused. "My advice? Let some time pass. You're not like your father, so when you do nothing to make people think of your dad, they'll realize you're a different man and all the comparisons will fade. Get some time under your belt with you behaving very differently, and then if jaws are still flapping, you can point to your record to shut them up. Right now you're so new you don't have a record to point to. You'll just have to wait a while and see what sticks....kind of like me and my new menu."

Valenti smiled faintly. "People don't like change, do they, Jeff?"

"No, sir, they do not," Jeff said with feeling. "But things change anyway, don't they?"

"That they do," Valenti agreed. "So....to prove I'm capable of changing, I'll have an 'Alien Invasion' and some coffee."

"Comin' right up," Jeff smiled, grabbing a pad from the counter behind him and scribbling on it, the cook giving him a blank stare when he pinned it to the wheel.

"Pancakes," Jeff said patiently. " 'Alien Invasion' is pancakes."

"Right," the cook said quickly. "I knew that."




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



Proctor residence



"That's unfortunate," Brivari said.

" 'Unfortunate'?" Dee repeated in disbelief. "Are you kidding? What in blazes did you show him? You were supposed to stick to happy memories, not remind him he was missing a wife!"

"I didn't," Brivari said defensively. "I never went anywhere near the subject of his wife."

"Memory is a tricky thing," Marie said. "Anything could have triggered it."

"Why is this 'unfortunate'?" Jaddo demanded. "Isn't this exactly what we wanted to happen?"

Unbelievable, Dee thought sourly, scanning the faces in front of her: Anthony, Emily and David, Marie and Steven, Brivari and Jaddo. Six humans and two Warders, all trying to figure out what to do with a little boy who was asking for his wife, with her being the only one interested in why that little boy was asking for his wife.

"So what happened?" Emily asked. "Did it come up again?"

"After I told him she was safe, that seemed to settle it for him," Dee said. "He didn't mention it again, thank God. But you must have done something," she added to Brivari, "something that made him think of Ava. It can't be a coincidence that this started right after you tried 'connecting', or whatever you call it. What did you show him?"

"I showed Zan and his sister a childhood memory," Brivari answered, "one they both shared and that didn't involve Ava. Ask Jaddo if you don't believe me."

"Dimaras Rock," Jaddo said suddenly.

Everyone looked at everyone else. "What's that?" Dee asked.

"A common haunt of the royal family," Jaddo replied, "and the scene of that 'childhood memory'......and the place where Zan met Ava. Why did we not both see that?"

"Whoops," Steven murmured.

"I'm sorry," Brivari said heavily. "I was focused on childhood memories. I didn't think that far ahead."

"So I was right—you did have something to do with this!" Dee said triumphantly.

"Yes, Dee, you were right," Emily sighed. "Feel better?"

Some of the wind went out of Dee's sails. "No, I don't 'feel better'," she retorted, avoiding her mother's pointed gaze. "None of you were standing there with Diane and that awful Melbourne woman speculating about the children being sexually abused."

"We were there," Brivari said. "But it was only speculation, and the hybrids did not appear to be in any danger, so we saw no need to intervene,

"They may not have 'appeared' to be in any danger, but I'll still feel a lot better when they're somewhere much less public than an orphanage," Dee said.

"Precisely," Jaddo said. "The problem isn't that Zan remembered he had a wife; on the contrary, that's good news. Connecting with the hybrids worked exactly as we'd hoped, inducing memory in at least one of them and behavioral changes in the others. The problem is that they're currently housed in a place where their perfectly natural reactions can and will be misinterpreted. Now that it's clear their memories are returning, we need to remove them at once."

"I totally agree," Dee declared.

"I don't," Marie said.

"Why ever not?" Dee demanded. "Today it was 'where's my wife', tomorrow it could be 'I'm an alien'. What's next?"

"It doesn't really matter," Marie replied. "It would arguably have been better for Max to blurt out he was an alien; it was the familiar word 'wife' that had them reaching for a diagnosis of sexual abuse. If he'd said something truly off the wall, they would have probably written it off as a childhood nightmare or as him being disturbed, something they've already said they're not funded to pursue."

"But Diane is pursuing it," Dee reminded her.

"Which further makes my point," Marie said patiently. "Right now the hybrids are surrounded by lots of children and comparatively few adults, which means less chance of anything they say being overheard or taken seriously. Put them in a one-on-one setting like they'd have with Diane, and she'd be bound to notice every single thing they said and did."

"She'd probably keep a list," Anthony said dryly. "And then Philip would make a graph."

"And that's why her fostering them is a bad idea," Marie went on. "That 'public place' is actually safer than a situation where they have constant contact with someone who doesn't understand who they are."

"Too bad we're all considered too old to foster them," David said.

"What if you put just pulled them out and brought them here?" Steven asked. "Are they with it enough to stay put if you tell them too?"

"Doubtful," Jaddo said grudgingly.

"Not to mention it would make things difficult when Philip and Diane come over," David said. "And they will, because they live in Roswell now."

"We've been over all of this already," Brivari reminded them. "There is no perfect place, but where they are now is the best we can do."

"As long as they don't use their powers so much that they'd be considered a danger," Marie said. "That's the only way I can see the Villa becoming upset with them. Have they been using their powers?"

Brivari looked at Dee, who shook her head. "The last time I saw anything was when Michael was confounding that poor doctor who examined him, or tried to. But even that wasn't obvious."

"But mightn't they start using their powers more as they become more aware?" Steven asked. "Is making them aware in that environment really such a good idea?"

"My point exactly," Jaddo said.

"And mine," Dee added.

"If the environment becomes a danger, then we remove them," Brivari said. "Until then, I concur with the Healer that we wait and see what happens."

"And what about Diane?" Dee said. "She's already started all the paperwork for the foster parent application, and Mrs. Melbourne told her she could hire a psychologist. And then I thought of Marie, but whoever Diane wants to hire is subject to good old Madeline's approval."

"Leave that to me," Marie said briskly. "Sounds like it's time I introduce myself to Mrs. Melbourne....and see to it that she approves of me."





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




Washington, D.C.




Agent Summers slipped his key ring out of his pocket and flipped through it, looking for his apartment key. It was a bit decadent, coming home in the middle of the day like this, but then he was exhausted from the recent hijinx with Pierce Jr. Daniel might be naïve and untried, but there was no denying he had both his father's and his stepfather's flair for getting what he wanted, meaning everyone around him had to step up their game. At the rate he was going, young Daniel would be neither naïve nor untried for long, and they still didn't have the serum. It was never over until it was over.

"Afternoon, Agent Summers."

Summers nearly dropped his keys, he was so startled. Daniel Pierce was seated in a chair by his living room window, a glass of Scotch in his hand. "Hope you don't mind that I helped myself," Pierce said casually, raising his glass. "The past few days have been a bit trying."

"Tell me about it," Summers said. "I would have thought tromping all over New Mexico would have worn you out enough to preclude any breaking and entering for at least a day or two."

"I recover quickly," Pierce said blandly.

"I see that," Summers said. "How the hell did you manage to get in here?"

"Oh, you mean the alarms? Piece of cake. You'd be better off with a dog, a really big one with big teeth, although I could've handled that too."

"I'm more of a cat man myself," Summers said, privately noting that disabling the alarms was the least of his worries; Pierce managing to find out where he lived was far more disturbing. "And how long have you been here?"

"A while. I haven't ransacked the place, although I probably should have."

"So why didn't you?"

Pierce shrugged. "It seemed.....rude? Déclassé?"

Unnecessary, Summers corrected silently. Pierce was here because he'd somehow gained the upper hand, and he knew it. Why spend all that time on dramatic gestures when you could just lay your cards on the table and have your opponent cough up whatever you wanted?

"So what brings you here, Daniel?" Summers asked, sinking into a chair opposite Pierce. "I'm going to assume this isn't just a 'one good turns deserves another' kind of visit."

"I'm here to continue our negotiation for my services," Pierce replied, sipping his drink. "Yesterday you told me that the military, the CIA, and the FBI had all agreed to work together should I provide my serum to any one of them."

"And?" Summers said cautiously.

"And I've composed a list of requirements," Pierce went on. "Even if you've all agreed to hold hands and sing Kumbaya, we both know that whoever actually gets the serum will be in the driver's seat. Being that the Bureau has been so good to me, I'll make my offer to you first. If you pass, I'll move along."

"Fair enough," Summers said. "I always hated Kumbaya anyway. Dreadful song. What do you want?"

"First and foremost, I want the compound."

Summers blinked. "The compound we saw yesterday?"

"Is there another?"

"What do you want that for?"

"Because if I remain with the Bureau, or rather, the Special Unit, you're going to make me your right hand man in charge of developing the serum for use on the alien prisoners I'm certain we'll be catching. We'll need a place to hold and experiment on those prisoners, and I can't think of a better place to do it than the place where it's already been done."

"That's an Army facility," Summers said. "How is the Bureau supposed to acquire an Army facility?"

"Damned if I know," Pierce said cheerfully. "That's your problem. If you want first dibs, that is."

"But why there?" Summers asked. "We have all sorts of places you could set up shop that are every bit as remote and far more modern. I know your father worked there, but this can't be all about sentiment."

"It isn't," Pierce agreed. He leaned forward in his chair. "I found the cell. They did build it after all."

Summers paused. "And you know this....how?"

"Doesn't matter," Pierce said dismissively. "I also had a wild idea about who might have been there around the same time we were, which means, I'll need access to Army records."

"Have you lost your mind?" Summers chuckled. "First I'm supposed to produce an Army base, then Army records—"

"But you're singing Kumbaya with the Army, aren't you? So if you're really working together, how much trouble could it be to get them to cough up an abandoned base and some dusty old records?"

Summers hesitated, and Pierce smiled. "You were never really working with them, were you? All that crap about cooperation was just that—crap."

"And it might've worked," Summers sighed. "Actually, it did work. For a little while, at least."

"And now it's going to work for real, because you're going to have to get in bed with the Army to get a hold of the base and the records," Pierce said. "Blow me off, and you know damned well they'll be all too eager to give me everything I want. To amend an old adage, I'd be careful what you bluff with; you might get it."

"Okay, so you think you know where that new-fangled cell was built, even if it wouldn't be new-fangled anymore," Summers said, suppressing his irritation with this pup until he could properly enjoy it later. "But what's with the records?"

"You told me my father wasn't the only soldier who went AWOL in 1959," Pierce said. "Two others also disappeared."

"The compound's chief of security and its nurse," Summers nodded.

"A.K.A. Captain Stephen Spade and Lieutenant Yvonne White," Pierce said. "My father kept meticulous notes, and he seemed to have quite the thing for this Lieutenant White, who apparently had quite the thing for this Captain Spade. Lieutenant White was one of only two females stationed there and one of the few people to have daily access to both the prisoner and my father."

"So?"

"So there were two sets of footprints in the dust at the compound. One male, one female."

"You think it was Spade and White? How on Earth did you make that leap?"

Pierce shrugged. "You call it a leap, I call it deduction. Did you notice how those footprints didn't just wander aimlessly? Whoever it was knew exactly where they were going, suggesting that they were familiar with the place." He paused. "She's still out there, Summers. One of my father's closest assistants is still out there. Just imagine what she knows, what she could tell us. If we can find her." He paused, eyeing Summers closely.

"A position, the compound, and the records. Do we have a deal?"



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



I'll post Chapter 18 on Sunday, March 21.

[Kathy W]

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!






CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


September 19, 1989, 2:30 p.m.,

Westlake Villa



The look on Madeline C. Melbourne's face was absolutely priceless as she replaced the phone in its cradle. "Something wrong?" Marie asked.

"Hardly!" Mrs. Melbourne answered. "Your credentials are impressive, Dr. Johnson, very impressive indeed."

Marie stiffened slightly, then relaxed. It was something of a relief to be able to be herself here instead of skulking around in disguise like she'd done at the hospital, but still.....the last time she'd been in Roswell, she'd been Yvonne White, running for her life, and she'd never seen the day coming where she'd feel comfortable using even her pseudonym here. Her walk with Steven through the long abandoned base coupled with nearly forty years of peace with no sign of pursuit had her feeling safer than she'd felt in a very long time.

"My goodness!" Mrs. Melbourne was babbling happily. "Chief of Neurology at Columbia? I don't believe we've ever had such an accomplished physician within these walls! We can't afford it."

Marie raised an eyebrow, and Mrs. Melbourne flushed deeply. "I mean....well, I just meant that......oh, dear. I've quite put my foot in my mouth, haven't I?"

"Not at all," Marie said smoothly. "And there won't be a fee. I'm doing this as a favor for Diane Evans."

"Yes, you did say that," Mrs. Melbourne answered, looking relieved that Marie hadn't taken umbrage. "Such a nice young woman, Diane. So sweet. Very unlike her mother-in-law, who's quite....well, let's just say she's quite different."

And quite like you, Marie added, suppressing a smile. It was easy to see why Mrs. Melbourne and Dee crossed swords on a regular basis; Dee didn't suffer fools gladly, and while Mrs. Melbourne was no fool, she clearly felt her own opinions were the only ones anyone was allowed to have, or the only ones that mattered. She was certainly entitled to her opinions regarding human children, but she was way out of her league when it came to alien-human hybrids. They all were.

"Your credentials are, as I said, impressive," Mrs. Melbourne went on, "but could you clarify how you plan to approach the children? I was under the impression that Mrs. Evans was interested in contracting a psychologist, not a neurologist."

"Neurology and psychology cross paths more than you might think," Marie replied. "Brain injuries affect people's moods and behaviors, and brain diseases like depression can also fall under our umbrella."

Mrs. Melbourne's lips twitched. "So you're of the opinion that depression is a....'disease'?"

"I'm of the opinion that Mrs. Evans is concerned about the children she's interested in fostering," Marie replied, sidestepping the whole "depression is all in your head" debate. "I'm sure you can understand that given your position as........" Marie paused, looking blank. "I'm sorry, what was your position again?"

Mrs. Melbourne's expression darkened slightly. "I am the director of Chaves County's Division of Social Services," she said somewhat stiffly.

"Oh, yes, you said that," Marie replied. "But then.....why do you have an office here?"

Marie's eyes dropped to the prominent nameplate on the desk which screamed MADELINE C. MELBOURNE in capital letters so high they obscured the stapler sitting directly behind. "Westlake is the usual way station for children who lack guardians for one reason or another," Mrs. Melbourne replied a tad defensively. "It's only natural I would have a presence here."

"Of course, of course," Marie said, glancing around. "Nice office. Very nice office."

"Doctor, you should know that the Villa has many donors, both fellow agencies and private citizens," Mrs. Melbourne said. "I receive no additional salary or stipend for my work here, and furthermore...."

Mrs. Melbourne droned on, and Marie tuned out, being long practiced in the age old trick of putting an aggressor on the defensive. To be honest, she wasn't being entirely fair. It was completely legitimate to question the presence of a neurologist in this situation, and she was hardly at liberty to point out that three years of watching Pierce, Cavitt, and Lewis engage in psychological warfare for control of their alien prisoner had taught her more about psychology than any formal training ever could. People like Mrs. Melbourne were just so easy and so much fun to tweak that it was hard to resist, even harder when one's credentials allowed one to get away with it.

".....and I must say I'm relieved that Diane and her husband have taken an interest in the children," Mrs. Melbourne was saying. "To be frank, it's often difficult to place older children, and in this business, any child past the age of two or three is considered old. And children behaving as oddly as these make prospective parents all the more nervous, so I'm delighted that Diane cares. I think they'd be better off in a smaller, more personal environment. But then wouldn't they all," she added with a sad smile. "It breaks my heart sometimes. But we do what we can with what we have."

She sounded sincere, and it suddenly occurred to Marie that perhaps at least some of Mrs. Melbourne's prickliness was more defense mechanism than hubris. It couldn't be easy to deal with troubled children all day, every day, just like it wasn't easy to deal with sick people all the time. "These children are very lucky to have you, to have all of you," Marie said. "And if you feel that my volunteering whatever expertise I have to bring is inappropriate, then I will, of course, abide by your judgment."

"Oh, no, no, not at all!" Mrs. Melbourne said hastily, obviously relieved to be back in control. "I was just curious. Like I said, the Evans' interest should be encouraged because it's all too rare. If you'll come with me, I'll take you to the children."

Marie obligingly followed Mrs. Melbourne through the halls of the Villa, stopping frequently as her tour guide spoke to various employees and children they passed along the way. For all her officiousness, she had clearly gone to the trouble of familiarizing herself with every single person in this building, and Marie couldn't help but be impressed by both that and the general surroundings. The Villa might be a modern day orphanage, but it was a nice one, clean and well organized, with children's artwork prominently displayed on bulletin boards throughout the hallways. The source of that artwork became clear when Mrs. Melbourne ushered her into a room full of tables at which children sat doing various projects.

"Keeping them busy can be the hardest thing," Mrs. Melbourne commented. "The older ones have school, of course, but the younger ones can find themselves at loose ends."

"What are they doing?" Marie murmured, nodding toward an employee and a child nearby.

"Annie is helping her write a letter to her mother," Mrs. Melbourne sighed. "She's in prison. So difficult. Ah. There they are."

Marie's heart skipped a beat. They look different, she thought when her eyes fell on the three sitting apart from everyone else. Max and Isabel had been little more than partial zombies last time she'd seen them, running on instinct and auto pilot, joined at the hands. Now they no longer held hands and the vacant looks were gone, replaced by an obviously curious expression for Isabel, who looked up from a picture she was coloring, and a tense, worried look for Max, who sat to his sister's right staring into space, an empty sheet of paper in front of him.

"This child showed up in our backyard a day or so after Max and Isabel arrived here," Mrs. Melbourne said, indicating the third child on Isabel's left who had no paper in front of him. "He took up with these two immediately, and they accepted him, which is odd because otherwise they keep entirely to themselves. We call him Michael."

Rath, Marie thought, taking in the downright suspicious expression and fight-or-flight stance that reminded her all too clearly of his Warder. "Would you mind if I sat with them awhile?" she asked.

"Not at all," Mrs. Melbourne smiled. "Take your time." She paused. "You will be providing the Villa with a report of your findings, won't you?"

"Of course," Marie assured her.

"Splendid. There are plenty of paper and crayons if you'd like to join them."

Mrs. Melbourne left, and Marie faced her audience. "May I join you?" she asked Isabel, the friendliest looking of the three. "I like to color too."

They regarded her in silence for what seemed like a very long time, their eyes flitting from one to the other as though a silent committee meeting on her request was in progress. Then Isabel nudged the basket of crayons toward the center of the table.

"Thank you," Marie said, climbing onto the opposite bench and helping herself to a sheet of paper. Michael scowled, Max lapsed back into his solitude, and Isabel watched with interest as Marie began to draw.

"What are you drawing?" Isabel asked after Marie's drawing had begun to take shape.

"The house I grew up in," Marie answered, noting the perfect English. "What's yours?"

Isabel looked at her picture, then held it up without comment. Three orange circles hovered over a layer of scribbles. Moons, Marie thought. Jaddo had said his planet had three orange moons.

"What are those?" Marie asked.

Isabel shrugged; either she didn't know, or she didn't know the English words to use. "Why isn't your brother drawing?" Marie asked.

Isabel immediately glanced at Max, indicating that she knew the word "brother" and who fit that description. "He's sad," she answered.

"What's he sad about?"

"He's waiting for someone." She paused. "So am I."

"Who are you waiting for?"

Her answer was a shrug. Marie dropped her eyes and the subject, having already guessed the likely answer. Max was probably missing his wife, although he had mercifully stopped talking about it....but Isabel was missing a Warder. Marie felt a momentary lump in her throat as she recalled the alien she'd known for only a little while. Both Max and Michael had their Warders, but Isabel's had died long ago.

Isabel bent over Marie's picture. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to a new addition.

"That's the sun."

"It's wrong," Isabel announced.

"Why is it wrong?"

"It's the wrong...." Isabel paused, staring at the basket of crayons. "Color," she said finally. "It's the wrong color."

"Yellow is the right color," Marie answered. "Go look," she added when Isabel shook her head. "Go look out the window."

Isabel dutifully rose from the bench, walked to the window, looked up at the sky.....and froze. A moment later Max's and Michael's heads swung toward her and both rose to join her at the window, three heads staring at the sky. Red, Marie thought. Jaddo had told her that their sun was redder than Earth's. The hybrids had apparently missed this key difference in their surroundings. But they weren't missing it now as they gazed in shock at what they now recognized as an alien sun in an alien sky.

Isabel turned abruptly and came back to the table. "That's wrong," she told Marie, pointing to the sun.

"No, it isn't," Marie said gently. "It's just like the sun in the sky."

Grabbing the crayon basket, Isabel pawed through the contents and produced—no surprise—a red crayon. "Fix it," she commanded.

"I like it this way," Marie said.

"Fix it," Isabel insisted.

Marie reached for another sheet of paper. "Why don't you draw me what you think the sun should look like?" she suggested.

But Isabel ignored the fresh sheet, reaching the red crayon toward Marie's picture, which Marie withdrew. "You can't color my picture," Marie said. "But you can color your own."

Isabel's eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed in an expression of disapproval that would do any princess proud. Someone's used to getting their own way, Marie thought dryly, a fact underscored by the imperious wave of the little girl's hand. When Marie looked down, her yellow sun had turned red.

"Change it back," Marie said, noting that the question of whether or not Isabel had post human powers had now been settled. But Isabel wasn't listening. She was staring at the sun in the sky, then back at the changed picture with a frown on her face, as though unable to work out why they didn't match.

"I said, change it back," Marie repeated firmly when Isabel continued to ignore her. "It's my picture, and I like it yellow."

Still at the window, Max's head swung around.....and the battle of wills evaporated abruptly as the red sun returned to yellow. No one had lifted a finger, but it was clear who had done it. Isabel bore the unmistakable look of the chastised, while Michael didn't even bother to glance their way.

"Thank you," Marie said to no one in particular. Max's attention returned to the sky, Marie went back to her drawing, and after a pause, so did Isabel, drawing a large red sun with bold strokes and a troubled look on her face. Marie watched surreptitiously, fretting what would have happened if Isabel had done that with a Villa employee. The children had typically used their powers when they felt threatened as Isabel just had, taking the child's approach of assuming that changing the picture would change reality. There was no way to know if she could be made to understood how dangerous it would be to use her powers where others could see, but one thing was certain: They all needed to revisit the subject of attempting to reawaken the children's memories. Just that one little push had produced all this.

"He's drawing," Isabel announced.

Marie followed Isabel's gaze. Michael remained at the window, his eyes fixed on that impossible sun, but Max had returned to the table and was scribbling furiously. A couple of minutes later, he sat back, and Marie stared at his picture in disbelief.

Max had remembered something he couldn't possibly have remembered.




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




Roswell Sheriff's Station





"Afternoon, deputies," Valenti said as he came abreast of the little group gathered around the water fountain, one of them Alvarez. "How's it going?"

"Good, sir," the three chorused, almost in unison.

"Glad to hear that," Valenti replied. "Keep up the good work."

The three retreated, or perhaps "fled" was a more accurate word, Alvarez carefully averting his eyes the whole time. Alvarez had kept their interaction to a minimum since Valenti had back-handed him, adopting a curt, professional tone that was almost painfully detached. Valenti wouldn't be at all surprised if Alvarez voluntarily retired at the earliest possible moment, and that suited him just fine. The last thing he needed on his force were men who didn't trust him, who couldn't—or wouldn't—make the distinction between him and his father. He may have lost Alvarez by making that clear to him, and while it would be unfortunate to lose such a seasoned deputy, the most seasoned deputy in the world wasn't worth a fig if he talked behind your back and couldn't be counted on to hold the line. That Alvarez was the ringleader was clear given how quickly the water cooler committee meetings had evaporated, with even younger deputies who hadn't been participating looking guilty when caught chatting there. No doubt Alvarez had told some tale about the boss accusing everyone of goofing off, or something like that, but for the time being, he wasn't at liberty to correct that without dragging out the whole sordid business in front of everyone. Not that it isn't out there already, he thought ruefully, recalling his conversation with Jeff Parker. People would talk, and there was nothing he could do about that. But he could damned well do something about his own employees talking, at least while they were on his dime.

Valenti threw open the door of the basement records room and snapped on the light. This was the repository for files after the five year mark was reached, and it was packed. Back in his father's day, he'd wondered what would happen when they ran out of room to store everything, but that was no longer a concern; no one could have predicted the advent of computers or computerized databases. What he wanted was a tad early for that, however, something from 1970, and as he opened the appropriate file drawer, he glanced sideways at the rows of files, all neatly labeled by month and year. There was a cross reference by perp name too, all stored in three ring binders that took up rows of shelving. Those would also go the way of the dodo, and as far as he was concerned, that couldn't happen fast enough. Computers were so much easier......

Valenti's hand froze on the file drawer handle as his eyes came to rest on a drawer clear across the room, its label barely visible in the dim light. June, July, August, 1959....

1959. That year was burned into his brain as the year when it had all started. When his father, always busy, had become something more akin to absent. When talk of aliens had once more mesmerized the town, this time with his father at the epicenter. When his parents had started to fight all the time. When the typical teasing every sheriff's kid endured had escalated to "Sergeant Martian", a moniker picked up even by adults who should have known better. Had he only known then what he knew now, that it was only starting.....

What? Valenti thought. What would he have done? What could he have done? He'd been eight years old in 1959, a mere boy, and not all of his memories of that year were bad. He and his mother had worked at the station that summer, a glorious few weeks where he'd felt valuable and smart and closer to his father than he'd ever been, and one of the high points of his life. How ironic, then, that the downfall of his family had begun right after that with the death of one Audrey Tate, the blonde and be-lipsticked actress who had supposedly been hit by lightning on a clear day. Although that's not what the FBI had thought......

Valenti pulled the file he was looking for out of the drawer for 1970 and crossed the room, standing in front of the drawer for the summer of '59 as it all came flooding back. The silly alien movie which had so captivated the town and caused headaches for his father. The phone ringing off the hook as worried citizens called. The FBI agents in their house who had so upset his mother, including a particularly nasty one who came early one morning and argued with his father, marking the first time he'd truly seen his father frightened. Their confrontation was over later that day, and he'd never really gotten the whole story of what had happened. School had started shortly afterwards, and the endless taunts of "Sergeant Martian" and his parents growing discord had largely squelched any curiosity. He'd just wanted things to go back to the way they'd been before, and his mother had kept assuring him they would eventually, when the furor died down and people moved on to other things. But that had never happened.

With one sharp motion, Valenti opened the drawer for 1959. It only took a few seconds to find "Tate, Audrey", and not much longer than that to look through the file—it was nearly empty, what remained little more than a sketch of the event which had rocked Roswell and launched his father on his endless quest for aliens. But his father had spent weeks on that investigation; there should be acres of notes on it. Where were they? He pawed through the rest of the drawer without success and then started on every drawer labeled "1959", pulling them open and thumbing through them until he came upon a familiar photograph.

John Doe/Anderson, James?

So this was the man with the weird handprint on his chest whom his father had apparently tried, and failed, to identify. This file was almost as thin as Audrey Tate's, but in this case, he knew where the rest of it might be—in that box of his father's belongings Hanson Sr. had saved. That box his father had been going through just last night when he'd spoken directly to him for the first time in years.

Footsteps in the hall made Valenti look up. Quickly he plucked the file on Anderson out of the drawer and slipped it beneath the one he'd come for. He'd just closed the drawer when Hanson walked in.

"Something I can help you with, sir?"

"No, thanks—got what I wanted," Valenti said, tucking the files under his arm and hurrying out, hoping against hope that Hanson hadn't noticed he'd been standing in front of a file cabinet labeled "1959".




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




Proctor residence




"Mind explaining this?" Marie said, plopping a piece of paper in front of Brivari.

Dee craned her neck to see better. It was a crayon drawing, but no child had scribbled that battered ship tucked up against a slope. The detail was incredible, right down to the field of debris presided over by a huge yellow sun.

"Who drew this?" Jaddo asked.

"Max," Marie answered, her voice tight. "And there's no way he could have. He was just a hybrid in a pod, so there's no way he could have seen that."

"Wow," Steven said, bending closer. "That's.....that's good. That's exactly what it looked like when we first found it, right down to the little hill it was up against."

"And what about this one?" Marie went on, brandishing another picture, this one of a crayoned planet Earth. "How could he know this? How could a boy who was only an embryo know what your ship looked like when it crashed, or what Earth looks like from space? What are you not telling me?"

Dee and Steven exchanged glances. They both knew Marie, so they both knew the Warders were in for one hell of a tongue lashing. Marie was one of the few people on two planets who wouldn't hesitate to chastise two of the most powerful beings on both.

"I described how we briefly connected with each hybrid," Brivari began, "relaying to each a memory we thought safe. Jaddo connected with Rath, while I connected with Vilandra and Zan—"

"You told me that already," Marie interrupted. "Get to the part you didn't tell me."

"Rath and Vilandra did not react when we connected, but Zan...." Brivari hesitated. "Zan attempted to establish his own connection."

Marie's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"It means he tried to share Brivari's thoughts," Jaddo clarified.

"Good Lord," Marie breathed. "He read your mind?"

"Not exactly; it doesn't work that way," Brivari said. "You see what's in the forefront of the other's mind, on the surface. I broke the connection immediately, and I didn't think he'd had time to see anything, but...."

"But obviously, he did," Marie finished. "Because that's the only place he could have gotten these images. And you didn't tell me this....why?"

"As I said, I broke the connection immediately," Brivari repeated.

"But the fact that he tried to establish one at all is what concerns me," Marie said. "If he tried it once, he'll try it again."

"I wonder what made him suddenly sit down and draw this," Dee said, still looking at the picture. "You said Isabel was drawing, but Max and Michael weren't."

"That," Marie sighed, pointing to another picture with a crayoned yellow sun. "Isabel objected to the sun in my picture. She said it was the wrong color and insisted I change the color to red. And when I wouldn't, she did it for me. Without crayons."

Jaddo's eyebrows rose. "Do you mean...."

"She has powers too," Marie nodded. "And when she balked at changing it back, Max did it for her."

"Some things never change," Brivari said dryly.

"Imagine Vilandra with enhancements," Jaddo muttered. "It boggles the mind."

"We have bigger problems than your boggled mind," Marie said as Steven suppressed a smile at the look on Jaddo's face. "When I pointed out that my sun was the same as the sun in the sky, all three of them went to the window and gaped at it like they'd never seen it before."

"But they have," Dee said. "We all know they have."

"Of course they have," Brivari agreed. "They just hadn't divined its meaning."

"Well, they have now," Marie said. "It was right after that when Isabel demanded I change the color, and Max drew this. They know they're on the wrong world."

"And how is this a problem?" Jaddo asked. "Was this not the point of the exercise, to awaken the hybrids' memories, and did you not approve of the method chosen to do so? Surely you must have realized that remembering necessitates recalling some potentially disturbing information."

"He has a point," Steven said.

"I approved of the attempt," Marie said, throwing Steven a dark look, "and I only approved of it because I thought the end result would be along the lines of a nudge. Now that I see that it produced something more like a hard shove, I no longer approve of it. You have to stop."

"Stop?" Jaddo repeated. "What for? It worked! Zan may have been the only one who reacted last night, but all three reacted today, speaking for the first time and becoming aware of their surroundings in ways they hadn't before."

"But it's upsetting them," Marie protested. "The last time I saw Max and Isabel, they were little more than automatons. And then Dee told me they'd settled down, adapting to their situation and the Villa's routine. But now they've figured out they're not on their planet, Max knows he's missing a wife, Isabel knows she's missing someone—"

"She said that?" Brivari broke in.

"Yes, but she didn't know whom. I assume she meant Urza."

Brivari looked at Jaddo. "She could have meant Khivar."

"Don't even start," Jaddo muttered.

"The point is they're anxious now, in ways they weren't before," Marie said. "And that's not good."

"It might not be good, but is it avoidable?" Steven asked. "Eventually they're bound to remember why they're here."

"Which is precisely what I want to avoid," Marie said. "I thought this would go much more slowly; I had no idea they'd progress so quickly, and now that they have, I don't like what I see."

"Whether you like it or not, the process has begun," Jaddo said. "I would argue it had already begun before our attempt, and we merely accelerated it. This might very well have happened with no intervention on our part."

"Makes sense," Steven agreed.

"Maybe so, but it needs to slow down," Marie insisted. "I don't want them remembering their own deaths, not now."

"As the captain has already pointed out, they will remember eventually anyway, so I fail to see what difference the timing makes," Jaddo answered. "And, yes, they will be angry, but shouldn't they be? Wouldn't you be if you suddenly recalled you had been murdered? On the contrary—"

"Let her speak," Brivari interrupted. "I know you didn't want us to outright tell them what happened to them, but why would you object to their memories recurring naturally?"

"Because they're children," Marie answered. "They may be hybrids, but physically, we've established that they're human, and they have human brains. If they were to remember what brought them here, we'd be calling up terribly adult memories into a child's mind."

"So?" Jaddo asked.

"Not all of us are neurologists," Steven reminded her. "What exactly are you getting at? In English."

Marie sank into a chair and thought for a moment. "A child's brain is different from an adult's brain," she began. "First there's the obvious, which is size; a child's brain is much smaller. It's smaller because it hasn't finished growing yet, hasn't finished developing. But size is only part of its development. A child's brain is still forming neural pathways, making connections, learning."

"Is that why it's easier for children to learn foreign languages?" Dee asked.

Marie nodded. "It's a fertile time for all kinds of things...but not everything. You can't explain abstract concepts like ethics or religion to a child, for example. They lack the brain development and the experience to understand the esoteric. And it can also be a dangerous time because a child's lack of ability to make sense of disturbing events means they're more easily traumatized."

"And the memories they want to restore are the memories of adults," Steven said. "So what happens when you pour adult memories into a child's brain?"

"I don't know," Marie answered, "and that's what I'm afraid of. I'm afraid they won't be able to process what they're remembering."

"But they use more of their brains than an ordinary human child," Dee noted. "Isn't that where their powers come from? Wouldn't that factor into it?"

"Maybe," Marie allowed. "But maybe not. It depends on what those unused brain areas do. It doesn't help to be able to blow a hole in a wall if you lack the maturity to decide whether or not it would be wise to do that."

"So what are you proposing?" Brivari asked. "That we wait until their brains have finished developing?"

"That could take years!" Jaddo exclaimed.

"Worst case, yes," Marie said. "But you were already prepared to wait decades more for them to be born. What's another dozen years or so?"

"Is that even possible?" Steven wondered. "As memories come back, they're bound to ask questions. What are they supposed to tell them?"

"What you tell any child who asks a difficult question they're unlikely to understand the answer to," Marie said. "You answer only the question asked in the most minimal way possible. You don't embellish or volunteer more information than asked for. If they're not aware enough to ask for specific details, they're not aware enough to know those details."

"And if those 'details' come back all on their own?" Steven asked.

"They might," Marie admitted. "But they also might not. Everything they've done since last night is directly related to what they saw during those 'connections'. Max remembered he had a wife because Brivari showed him where they'd met. Isabel noticed the sun because Antar's sun was in the same scene. Max drew this picture because of what he saw in Brivari's mind. They're all talking when they weren't yesterday. It's reasonable to assume that if they stop 'connecting', the pace of their memories returning might slow down again. Any brain development at all would help. Keep in mind they're very young now; the closer we can get them to adulthood, the better."

"And what exactly are we to do with them in the meantime?" Jaddo demanded. "Have them raised as humans?"

"What's wrong with that?" Marie asked.

"They're not human," Jaddo said firmly. "They should not be encouraged to form ties to this world or the people on it. They belong to another world, have responsibilities in another place."

"But in their current state, they're unable to fulfill those responsibilities," Marie argued. "You want to get them to a state where they are able to fulfill them, right? I think this is the best way to do that. All I'm suggesting is that you don't induce it. Let it proceed naturally, however long that takes."

"I'm not waiting a dozen more years," Jaddo protested. "Especially a dozen more years with them being raised by humans."

"What about asking Courtney to raise them?" Dee suggested. "You wouldn't have to worry about the resistance discovering who they really are."

"No, we'd have other things to worry about," Brivari answered. "There's no way I'd entrust the Royal Four to the resistance."

"Neither would I," Jaddo agreed.

"Thank God for small favors," Brivari muttered.

Jaddo snorted softly. "Oh, for heaven's sake, would you let that go? I gave them two spare sets of hybrids, not our main set!"

"Okay, compromise," Steven broke in. "Think it over. Leave them where they are, keep your distance, and just watch them for a while. You can always try again later if you want to, but you can't take back what you've already done."

"A reasonable middle ground," Brivari agreed.

"You can't be serious!" Jaddo exclaimed. "I know my Ward, Brivari, and he is more than capable of 'processing' the fact that he and his king were assassinated—"

"Rath is more than capable," Marie broke in. "But that's not Rath, not yet—it's Michael. And Michael is currently a little boy about six years-old who I think is much too young and immature to understand the concept of assassination."

Jaddo flushed. "I am the expert on my Ward—"

"And I am the expert on human physiology," Marie countered.

"And here we have both, and so are in need of experts on both," Brivari said. "We will wait for the time being."

"Like you always do," Jaddo said angrily. "All you ever want to do is hang back and wait! Has it not occurred to you that leaving them in this half-awakened state is a very bad idea?"

Jaddo rose abruptly and stalked out of the room. "Whoops," Steven murmured. "He hasn't changed much, has he?"

"I apologize for his temper," Brivari sighed. "I'm grateful for your assistance, and so is he, even if he isn't showing it."

"You don't have to apologize for him," Marie said. "I spent three years with him, remember? I'm very familiar with his temper."

"Do you think he'll go along with it?" Dee asked.

"Jaddo does a lot of posturing, but he usually sees sense....eventually," Brivari amended. "Stepping back for the time being is a sensible proposition."

"He gave away two sets of hybrids without your consent," Steven said. "That doesn't sound like 'sense'."

Brivari's face clouded. "It wasn't. Note I used the term 'usually'. But things are different now. This is the only set we have left, so the stakes are higher. I'm betting that no matter how much he objects, he won't do anything to jeopardize his last chance to see his Ward again. Between the two of us, I think we can convince him to stay away, for a little while, at least."

"It'll help if you stay on his case," Steven said to Marie. "And maybe he'll be more willing if he gets regular reports. You can see them again, right?"

"Are you kidding?" Marie chuckled. "Mrs. Melbourne was so star struck at the prospect of an actual neurologist in the building that she told me I could visit any time I wanted."

"Be careful they don't try to connect with you, Lieutenant," Brivari said. "You have some memories of your own I would imagine you wouldn't wish to share."

Marie blinked. "Oh. I....I hadn't thought of that. Good Lord," she breathed. "That's true of all of us. You too, Dee."

"But not Diane," Steven said thoughtfully. "She doesn't have anything upsetting to transmit. Maybe her interest in them works in ways we've never considered."

"Good Lord, not another Diane cheerleader," Dee muttered. "Honestly, people, you don't know her the way I do. She's milquetoast. They'd mow her down in seconds. She's—"

As if on cue, the front door opened and every head turned to find none other than Diane, wearing a broad smile.

"Dr. Johnson!" she exclaimed. "I'm so glad to see you! Thank you so much for visiting the children today. Mrs. Melbourne was quite impressed with you, and she's not easily impressed."

"I noticed," Marie said dryly.

"Yes, she can be a bit much," Diane agreed. "But you must have done a number on her, because guess what she agreed to let me do?"

Emily appeared in the doorway behind Diane, and behind her trailed three small children.

"She let me bring them out for the evening!" Diane gushed. "Isn't that wonderful?"





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




I'll post Chapter 19 next Sunday.