CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
September 3, 1947, 11:30 p.m.
Proctor residence
Lights. Stone walls. Two boys lay on what looked like tables, the near one familiar, the far one's face obscured. Too far away. Too close to the edge of memory.
David Proctor twitched in his sleep, moving his head from side to side. The dreams came nightly now, the memories that Jaddo and Brivari had unwittingly poured into his head unspooling like film. Up until about two weeks ago, he'd seen a little bit further almost every night. Then he had seemed to reach the limits of what he'd been given, and had taken instead to looking for details in the now familiar scenes that played over and over in his head. His own dreams of the war and his brother had been shoved aside by these, something for which David was grateful. He found himself fascinated, feeling almost voyeuristic as he watched the lives of others on another world unfold before his eyes. It was a big improvement over his reactions to his own dreams, which tended to leave him wide awake in a cold sweat. Not that the images he was seeing were pleasant—with one notable exception, most of them weren't. But they weren't from his life or his world, so David found himself able to watch with more detachment than he could muster when he watched Christianson try to make it over that fence once more....and fail.
Every night the parade started; the order varied, but the scenes rarely did. Jaddo's nightmare of the gate with the lone figure standing in front of it. Cavitt's face hovering over his own. The wedding scene, with the bride and groom in alien form looking inexplicably beautiful given the fact that David privately considered that form distasteful. But he was feeling what Brivari had been feeling at that moment, and every time he saw the wedding, the feelings of peace and contentment were overpowering. That had been one of the most satisfying moments of Brivari's life.
Two more scenes were familiar, one of which he dreaded, the other he looked forward to eagerly. The first was the sight of his daughter lying on the ground, covered in blood. As time had gone by, David had seen more and more of this particular memory, and the more he saw, the worse it became. Now he could see the misshapen back of her head where Miltnor had fractured her skull and the blood which covered her all the way to her waist. He'd long ago seen all he wished to see of that horrifying sight, and now when it came, he tried not to look, to push the dream in the direction in which he wanted it to go, past that particular sight and onto the one that intrigued him the most—the two little boys in the rock chamber, both wearing familiar faces.
The nearest of the two was the clearest, and the one he had identified first as the face of Brivari's risen king. The second boy had remained obscure for awhile, but eventually his face had cleared to reveal what David had suspected—it was the second boy, the one who would be Jaddo's risen General. Both appeared asleep, silent and still, their eyes closed....and they were surrounded by alien figures.
Too many alien figures—at last count, there were eight, twice as many as had been on the ship. At first David had assumed this scene was not a memory, but a dream, perhaps the Warders' own longing for the babies in the sacs to mature. But then he had remembered that the babies were supposed to be "born" fully grown; these young faces looked no older than seven, and were dead ringers for the etchings of the two boys as children in the alien book. Who were the other aliens? Did this mean more were coming, perhaps to awaken the babies in the sacs before they matured? Or perhaps they had to remove them from the sacs at some point and then reinsert them, perhaps because of growth?
Suddenly the eyes of the furthest boy, the one would be the General, flew open. Disoriented, he looked around frantically for a few seconds, squinting against the light overhead until his eyes fell on the nearest alien.
And he screamed.
It was a scream of sheer, abject terror, and it sent David bolting straight upright, drenched in a sudden sweat. Outside the window the stars twinkled innocently; the clock on the bedside table read 11:35 p.m. Beside him Emily lay asleep, no doubt exhausted from her own trying first day of school. David took a moment to steady himself before carefully climbing out of bed and walking to the window, breathing in the night air, trying to climb out of his dream.
That had never happened before. Neither boy had ever awakened, much less cried out. What did it mean? This thought, this scene belonged to either Brivari or Jaddo; did this mean they were afraid of what would happen when the babies were removed from their pods? Or if this was a memory, then what David was seeing was something that had already happened. But who were those children? What were the aliens doing to them?
I think it means that they look human, but they're really Antarian, Dee had said. David and Emily had wondered how the aliens knew how to create a baby that looked human, but they had spent more of their time in awe of the fact that the babies were supposed to be recreations of the aliens' fallen royalty, that they were basically being resurrected. Now, with the boy's scream still ringing in his ears, David had an uncomfortable idea forming in his mind, one that he'd rather not think about.
Grabbing a robe from his closet, David headed downstairs. He wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep right away anyway, so he might as well walk a bit. On the way downstairs he passed Dee's room and noticed the door was open; peeking inside, he found the bed empty. He wasn't the only one doing some night wandering.
He found her on the back porch, sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs, staring out the window, the moonless night making her just a silhouette. Cleo, the kitten Rachel had given her for her birthday, was curled in her lap, a small, circular, purring blob of darkness. "Cleo" was short for "Cleopatra", a concession from Dee who had wanted to name her kitten "Vilandra". Having been relatively certain that Brivari would not approve of a cat being named after one of Antar's royal family, David and Emily had persuaded Dee to pick a more earthly royal name. A royal name was certainly fitting. Like most cats, Cleo often appeared the spitting image of the Queen of the Nile.
Dee glanced up, surprised and a little guilty, when he set a glass of milk on the table beside her and settled into a chair next to her with his own glass. Cleo promptly climbed off Dee's lap and stuck her furry little face into Dee's milk glass.
"You're up late," David said.
"So are you," Dee noted, pulling Cleo out of her milk glass.
"I couldn't sleep," David said truthfully.
"Neither could I."
Both were silent for a moment. He knew she'd had a rotten first day of school, and they'd already gone round and round on the issue of punching Ernie Hutton. No point in bringing that up again.
"Did Mama tell you that Anthony stopped by after supper?" David asked.
"Yeah. I didn't want to talk to anybody." A pause. "I heard Deputy Woods downstairs after I went to bed."
"He wanted to make sure you were okay, and that your Mama and I knew what happened when those boys went after you in the alley today," David said. "He didn't tell us anything you hadn't already."
"That's because he didn't hear all of it," Dee said in a low voice, staring at her hands. "Which is good, I suppose, because that means Deputy Valenti didn't hear all of it either."
"All of what?" David asked gently.
Dee stared into space for a moment before speaking. "Trey accused me of knowing how Denny died. Which I do," she added, her voice sounding like something was caught in her throat. "And he thinks the 'handyman' killed Denny because they saw Urza and me together at the festival, and Denny followed us. And never came back." She paused. "And he's right about that too."
"I figured Denny had to have been following you," David said. "I'm not surprised. Urza humiliated him in front of his friends. That must have been mighty hard for a bully like Denny to swallow."
Dee was quiet for a long time. David sat in silence, drinking his milk and wondering where this was going. Cleo resumed her assault on the milk glass, sticking her face so far down this time that her feline shoulders bumped into the rim of the glass.
"He didn't come back because of me," Dee finally whispered.
"Because of you?" David echoed in surprise. "You…you don't….Dee, you don't really think you're responsible for Denny's death, do you?"
"I did exactly what I did today," she said, still whispering. "I hit first. Denny said he was going to tell, and I didn't want him to, and I just….jumped on him. Just like I hit Ernie today even though we'd already stopped him and there was teacher coming. It was the same thing."
No it wasn't! David started to say, but caught himself. Part of the problem with having a smart, resourceful, stubborn-as-an-ox child was that child's tendency to blame herself for everything that didn't turn out the way she wanted, as though she had complete control over everything and had merely shirked her duties. The concept of certain things being out of one's control didn't sit well with people like Dee…or people like her mother, for that matter. Neither did emotional outbursts. Any reply that wasn't perfectly logical would be rejected outright.
"Dee, you told me that you hit Ernie today because you were mad. You said you knew a teacher was coming, but you just socked him because you wanted to. Right?"
Her eyes flicked up, annoyed, as if to say they'd already been over this. And over this.
"Now, what were you thinking when you went after Denny? Were you mad, or were you frightened?"
"I was scared," she said, pulling her knees up under her chin. "He was going to tell, and somebody probably would've listened."
"Were you trying to hurt him?"
"No! I was trying to stop him! I couldn't have hurt him anyway—he was huge."
"Exactly," David said patiently. "Denny could have brushed you off like a fly…but he didn't. He attacked you, and he hurt you so badly you almost died. He didn't have to do that—he decided to do that. That was his choice, and it was a bad one."
"But he had to make that choice because of me," Dee insisted. "I still started it."
"No, he started it by following you and threatening you," David said firmly. "And like you said, you couldn't have hurt him. He could have walked away, but instead, he….." David closed his eyes, remembering the image of his battered daughter lying on the ground. "How much do you remember about what Denny did?"
"Not much," Dee answered, hugging her legs. "I knocked him over, and then he got on top of me and started banging my head into the ground, over and over. It hurt," she added, as David winced. "I couldn't see very well, but I did see the coyote pull him off me…..and then the next thing I remember is waking up in the woods with the three others standing over me holding the healing stones. And my head hurt. A lot."
"Well, I know what you looked like after Denny got through with you," David said. "And as far as I'm concerned, he got exactly what he had coming to him."
Dee looked up in surprise. "How would you know what I looked like?"
"It's one of their memories. Either Brivari's or Jaddo's…Brivari's, I think. I see you lying there on the ground, all….." David stopped, figuring it was probably better not to provide all the gory details.
"What? What did I look like?" Dee asked in horrified fascination. "I remember I had blood all over me. Valeris had to clean it up before I could go back to the festival."
Good Lord, David thought. There he'd sat, chatting with neighbors, praising the fireworks, having no idea that only yards away, his only child's head was being rammed into the ground with enough force to fracture her skull. He'd collected her from Rachel's family no more than an hour after the fireworks ended, never having an inkling that she'd almost died just a short while ago. Dozens of times he had tried to recall something about her that night, something that he had missed, something on the way home, or when they'd tucked her in that should have tipped him off that something monumental had taken place right under his nose….but he couldn't think of a thing other than that she'd been quieter than usual. Small wonder.
"Never mind the details," David said, his voice husky. "You were hurt—badly hurt, and Denny's to blame for that. Don't you ever think for a minute that you're responsible for what happened to him—he brought it on himself."
Dee considered that in silence for a moment while David waited to see if his argument would be accepted. It was. "I know," she conceded, "but it was hard not to feel responsible when I was standing there looking at someone who….who was sorry he was dead. I didn't expect that. I mean, Denny was so mean to everyone….I never expected to see someone who actually missed him."
David stared out the nearest window. "I guess everyone deserves to have someone miss them," he said quietly. "Even people like Denny."
Dee gave him one of her famous how-far-are-you-going-to-take-this looks. "Even someone like Hitler?"
"Yeah," David answered, although this one hurt. "Even him. I'm not sure there's ever been anyone so bad, so completely unredeemable, that no one anywhere would be sorry when they died. I'm not sure I'd like it any other way."
"If you say so," Dee said doubtfully. But her voice had lifted, and so had what he could see of her expression. What he'd said had apparently done some good.
"Off to bed," David said, picking up the empty milk glasses as Cleo sat to one side, washing. "Tomorrow's another day."
"Whoopee," Dee said gloomily, climbing out of the chair.
"Cheer up—one more day and then it's Friday," David said, smiling. "Then you get a weekend. Just don't sock anybody."
"I know, I know," she said peevishly. " 'There are other ways to get your point across', and so on, and so forth."
"I'm sure you'll be able to think of some," David said solemnly. They headed through the dining room and into the kitchen, aiming for the back stairs when David remembered his dream.
"Dee, I had a question about those babies in the sacs. You said they were alien, right?"
"Half alien and half human," she said, turning around.
David froze in mid-step. "Half…….half human? But…I thought you said they just looked human."
"They will look human," she answered, cocking her head to one side, looking faintly silly as she stood barefooted in her pajamas in the middle of the dark kitchen. "I asked Urza about that while we were on his planet."
On his planet. It was a measure of just how bizarre life had become in the Proctor household that such a statement didn't even make him blink. "And?"
"He said they were 'hybrids', half human and half Antarian, and that they would look like us. And Valeris told me that the people they guarded had died, and that he had…what was the word? Oh, yeah, that he had 'recreated' them. And that after they were born, they'd go back and fix everything. That's all I know." She studied him as closely as she could in the dark. "Why? Did you see something else?"
"Not really," David lied. "I've just been wondering, and I keep forgetting to ask you. Go on up to bed."
"Aren't you coming?"
"Sure. I need to rinse the glasses out, or they'll smell by morning."
He kissed her lightly on the head and she tripped up the stairs, unable to see him as he gripped the edge of the sink hard. Half human….that phrase implied those babies were more than just human-looking. That implied.....
Something furry wrapped around his right ankle, making him jump. Cleo took another pass, bumping her head into his leg as she went by, her tail in the air, hoping for more milk.
"So, Cleo," David murmured as he rinsed out the empty milk glasses. "Where the hell did the human half come from?"
******************************************************
September 4, 1947, 1 a.m.
Copper Summit, Arizona
Malik stirred in his sleep and cracked an eyelid. Something had awakened him, but he wasn't sure what. He listened for a minute, taking in the night sounds coming in the open window and the noises an older structure makes that are noticeable when all is quiet. Hearing nothing, he rolled over and went back to sleep.
Minutes later he heard it again. Once more, whatever it was hovered at the edge of consciousness, and once more, he had missed it. Annoyed, Malik sat up and yawned, grabbing the clock of his bedside table. What could be waking him up at one o'clock in the morning? He really didn't need this; he'd had busy day. People seemed to wait until the season known as "summer" had ended, and their children had returned to those institutions of learning known as "schools" to bother calling a handyman for certain chores or repairs. He'd been running around all day, and he'd be running around all day for the next month, most likely. Middle-of-the-night rambles were not welcome right about now.
There. The sound came again, so faint it was a wonder it had awakened him in the first place. Especially given that he was on the second floor of the house, and the sound in question was a communication signal coming from the basement. He'd been dreading the day when the news came that reinforcements to aid in the capture of the Royal Covari were coming. None of the communications for the past month had mentioned that—a fact which was giving Amar heartburn—but still, Malik had tensed every time the signal had sounded. Must be he was hypersensitive to it.
No matter, he thought, lying back down. Amar had said he'd be working late, which was typical for Amar, so he could get the news. If that news included visitors being on the way, Malik would hear about it soon enough. There was no value in knowing sooner.
Five minutes later, after hearing the signal two more times, Malik climbed out of bed and headed for the basement, wondering why Amar wasn't answering. He usually tripped over himself to get to the console when a message came in. Yawning, Malik trooped downstairs and through the basement, pressing his hand to the silver handprint on the stone wall. The door slid shut behind him and he looked around, puzzled.
The galaxy symbol on the communications console was indeed flashing, glowing blue in the darkness—but where was Amar? The atmospheric chamber was dark and silent, even The Leader apparently having succumbed to sleep. He wouldn't be able to hear any sounds from outside the chamber, and he had his own private communicator—this message was not for him. Malik searched the room, then headed down to the lower level, walking amongst the dimly illuminated tanks with their sleeping occupants, finding no one.
Returning to the upper level, Malik sat down at the workbench to wait for the next signal, puzzling over Amar's absence. Where could he be? By day Amar worked on the seal, which was tantalizing close to being finished, but by night he was usually knee deep in work on his generator device, the one which shut down the Royal Covari's powers. All attempts to rein in the dampening field it generated had so far proven unsuccessful; his last effort had still knocked out power to everything in the house, plus several surrounding houses, albeit one less than last time. The Leader had not been amused; several experiments he'd been running had been ruined, and Amar had spent a long time in the atmospheric chamber getting an earful. Had he decided to test it elsewhere? No, it was sitting there on the workbench. Perhaps he'd needed something else?
The signal sounded again. There was nothing for it; good news or bad, he would have to answer this one himself. Reluctantly, Malik held his hand over the glowing symbol. It changed to white, indicating that a link had been established, and Malik withdrew his hand, waiting for the holographic beam to engage.
When it did, rising toward the ceiling in a shaft of light, it coalesced into the form of their usual contact on Antar—Orlon, the one who had led the opposition to the Covari aligning with Zan's father all those years ago while Brivari worked to make that alliance happen....and ultimately succeeded.
"Greetings, Orlon," Malik said, before the other could speak. "I have good news. The Leader and Amar have nearly perfected the seal. They should be finished soon."
"That is good news," Orlon said gravely, "but I'm afraid my news is less sanguine."
Malik leaned forward on his stool. "What happened?"
******************************************************
0155 hours
Eagle Rock Military Base
"Damn! Where is it?" Walker muttered, staring out the window at the dark fall night.
"Maybe it's not comin' tonight," Treyborn said casually.
"It hasn't been here for two nights now," Walker complained, sounding like a kid denied ice cream for too long. "Do you think it got hurt?"
"Nah. It's a stray," Treyborn replied. "Comes and goes as it wants, that's all."
"But we fed it," Walker said, apparently mystified as to why this didn't settle everything.
Treyborn shrugged. "Maybe it found somewhere else to eat."
"Out here? In the middle of nowhere? Where else is it gonna eat out here?" Walker demanded.
Treyborn ignored him. He'd learned a long time ago that if Walker didn't get a visit from the little dog while on the graveyard shift, he was miserable. Not that he was any Mr. Congeniality on a good day. "Shit, Walker, why're you so pissy?" Treyborn asked. "Cavitt had the alien shot today. That should'a made you happy."
Walker broke into a broad smile. "Oh, it did, it did. In a way. I guess."
"You guess?"
"Well, when it's out cold, it can't 'enjoy' its captivity, now can it?"
"You're a mean bastard, you know that?"
"Guilty as charged," Walker grinned.
Scratches sounded at the door. Walker eagerly peered through the window before opening the door a crack. The little dog slipped through the opening and pranced around both of them, tongue out, tail wagging.
Treyborn reached down and scratched the pup behind the ears. Despite his early misgivings, he'd grown fond of the mutt, as had everyone else. It hadn't sprouted antennae or left glowing silver paw prints or turned into anything else, and its company sure made it easier to pass the time. Over the past month, word had slowly spread from one soldier to another until all the men knew, while still being careful to leave Lieutenant Spade out of the loop. Treyborn often wondered if Spade had noticed the lack of grumbling over assignments to this door; everyone loved this post now because of the dog.
Walker was busy petting the dog, still nameless due to a serious lack of consensus, when the inner door opened and their replacements slipped inside: Private LaBella, followed by Private Lomonaco.
"Oh good—he's back!" LaBella said happily.
"Oh, no you don't!" Walker complained. "He just got here! I haven't had two minutes with him!"
"You're off duty now," LaBella pointed out. "What'dya gonna do—hang around here?"
Walker shifted his eyes toward the door. "I was heading to the kitchen to hook a snack. I'll take him with me, get him something to eat, then bring him back here. Treyborn'll come with me, right Treyborn?"
An uncomfortable silence fell over the group. Thus far the puppy had always been contained within the entryway between the outer and inner doors. At first, even that had seemed rebellious—to everyone but Walker, that is—but they had long since grown used to the dog's presence and adept at hiding him when the necessity arose, which it hadn't in awhile.
But not so adept that anyone but Walker was comfortable actually bringing him inside. "The kitchen's a ways away," Treyborn said doubtfully. "Someone's bound to see us."
"It would be nice to have somewhere to play with him," LaBella said wistfully. "Spade doesn't stop by much, the brass isn't here at night, most everyone's asleep…maybe we could throw a ball around in the rec room?"
"And have him barkin' and wakin' up the universe?" Treyborn said incredulously. "Jesus. And they call me slow."
"He won't bark, will you boy?" Walker crooned to the puppy as it licked his face.
"Shit, Walker. It don't speak English," Treyborn muttered.
"Let's try it," LaBella said, his voice tight with excitement. "Walker, go clue everyone in, then you and Treyborn take him to the kitchen and see how he behaves. If he raises a ruckus, we'll have to pitch him out."
Three heads bobbed eagerly in agreement, with Treyborn the lone holdout. "I don't know," he said hesitantly. "Cavitt's in a mood. He didn't get anything out of the alien today, but if he finds out about this, I'll bet he'll get somethin' out of us."
"Cavitt's long gone," Walker said impatiently, "and if anything goes wrong, all of us'll just have to come up with a story. Here—you hold him, Treyborn, while I tell everyone else what we're doing."
The dog sat placidly in Treyborn's arms, tail wagging madly. He wasn't there long, however, before LaBella demanded a turn, then Lomonaco, passing the dog around the way women do babies. The pup hadn't made it back to Treyborn when Walker returned.
"All set!" he said grinning. "Scaredy-cats just want us to leave the lights off in the kitchen in case Lieutenant Alien walks by. Let's go."
Reluctantly, Treyborn followed Walker through the inside doors, the inside set of guards grinning from ear to ear as the little dog pattered along behind. It was clear within ten seconds that this wasn't going to work; the pup's sharp nails clattered on the tile floor, sounding abnormally loud at this late hour. Walker scooped up the dog and tucked him under his arm, marching toward the kitchen. The hallway was long, the kitchen about two-thirds of the way down; that, combined with the bright lights left on around the clock made for one hell of a long, nervous walk. In the distance, the guards at the doors to the basement stairway waved, obviously having been clued in by Walker. Not another soul was around, but Treyborn still sighed with relief when they reached the kitchen without incident.
"Leave the light off!" Walker hissed, as Treyborn reached for the switch.
"Then how're we supposed to see anything?" Treyborn complained, squinting into the darkness broken only by moonlight from the windows.
"Here…use this." Walker set the dog down and opened the refrigerator door, causing a small swath of light to split the darkness. "Get a plate," he ordered. "I'll try to scrounge up some leftover meatloaf."
Treyborn obediently went in search of a plate as Walker rummaged through the fridge, the dog waiting expectantly at his feet. A minute later, Walker called, "I can't find anything. I'm going to check in the Officer's Mess next door. Watch the dog; don't let it get out."
"Okay," Treyborn said, keeping an eye on the dog until Walker had left before resuming his search. He finally located what appeared to be a clean plate and headed back to the center of the kitchen.
The dog was gone.
"Here boy!" Treyborn whispered, whistling softly. He searched the entire back kitchen area as best he could in the light from the fridge, then headed for the seating area.
It wasn't there either. Beginning to panic, Treyborn retraced his steps without success. Walker would be back any minute after raiding Cavitt's and Pierce's private dining room, and what would he tell him? Where the hell could the dog have gone? The doors to the outside hallway were much too heavy for a puppy to open. He searched for a few more minutes, stopping to listen carefully every now and then, and finally decided he needed to risk turning on the light.
Treyborn flinched and squinted as the brilliant overhead lights came on, flooding all the dark nooks and crannies. He waited for several breathless seconds, expecting someone to come running to investigate, but heard nothing. Relaxing a bit, he conducted another futile search—the dog was nowhere to be found.
"Treyborn!" hissed a voice.
Treyborn jumped a mile, whirling around to see Walker glaring at him as he flipped off the light, plunging them into darkness yet again. "Have you lost your mind? This room's glowing like a freakin' lighthouse! What are you doing?!"
"The dog's gone," Treyborn stuttered. "I can't find it, and I……"
"It's right there," Walker interrupted, pointing.
Treyborn turned around to find the pup sitting in the entrance to the kitchen, illuminated by the light from the still open fridge, tail wagging, looking like he'd been there all along.
"But…but…I checked everywhere…and that's why I turned on the light, because I couldn't find him…."
"Jesus H. Christ, he was probably just under something," Walker said irritably. "He can't get through these doors, so what were you doing out in the hallway?"
"Hallway?" Treyborn repeated blankly. "I wasn't in the hallway."
"Yes you were…I saw you," Walker said, heading for the kitchen. "Just a minute ago as I was heading back. You ducked and ran back in here when you saw me."
"What? Walker, I was not in the hallway!" Treyborn said peevishly. "I was in here trying to find the damned dog. You must have seen someone else."
"No one else is that short," Walker chuckled. "Now let's feed the poor thing. Gimme the plate."
"I was not in the hallway," Treyborn muttered, ignoring him.
"Fine," Walker said in exasperation. "You weren't in the hallway. Maybe you've got an evil twin following you around."
"Or maybe it's an alien," Treyborn blurted out before he could stop himself, instantly regretting that.
"Oh, not that again!" Walker exclaimed. "Honestly, Treyborn, you're dumber than dirt! Why would an alien want to look like you, of all people? An alien would look like someone important, someone who could order us around, like Pierce or Cavitt, not some hick from Iowa who's afraid of a little dog. Now gimme the plate!"
Wordlessly, Treyborn handed over the plate and watched as the dog eagerly jumped up on the table, driving Walker nuts as he tried to empty bits of what looked like steak onto the plate. "Easy there, boy," Walker smiled, holding the salivating pup back. "It's all yours in just a second. Won't the brass be surprised when their lunch is missing tomorrow. But you and I both know it's going to a better place, don't we?"
Treyborn said nothing as Walker continued crooning, looking back and forth from the now eagerly chewing puppy to the heavy double doors that led to the hallway, the hallway he knew he hadn't been in when Walker had supposedly seen him. For the first time in weeks, that insistent prickle of doubt was back.
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I'll post Chapter 36 next Sunday.
One thing that was odd for me was that Brivari slipped with your General. It's so unlike him to miss such things... I wonder if he reprimanded himself later on for that. 
Barely helpful at all 
