CHAPTER TWENTY
July 20, 1947, 1130 hours
Eagle Rock Military Base
Yvonne White entered the bathroom attached to the room where the alien was being held and set the surgical scrubs down on the counter. Behind her, the alien slouched on top of the toilet, still wearing the hospital gown, still very weak from his showdown with General Ramey. That display of strength had cost him dearly; angry red welts on his arms testified to the force necessary to break his restraints, and he was shaking slightly from what was probably exhaustion. Still, from his perspective he'd gained considerable ground: He was no longer restrained, and he'd won an audience with the General, not to mention some vindication based on Stephen's admissions. And if he'd lost....well, sedation—or even death—might look more attractive right now than endless captivity.
"You took an awful risk out there," Yvonne said quietly, reaching for a towel.
<Spare me the lecture,> the alien replied in a drained voice. <I am certain my companion will be more than happy to take up that duty when he returns.>
Yes, he will, Yvonne thought, smiling slightly. "I wasn't going to lecture you," she said. "You took an awful risk, but you gained a great deal. You gambled and won. Hard to argue with that."
He glanced up at her suspiciously, as though he didn't really believe she meant what she said. "You need to clean up," she continued, dropping the subject, "and I've brought you what I hope will be more comfortable clothes. Do you know how to work a shower?"
<'Shower'? Do you mean a rainstorm?>
Yvonne reached into the shower and turned on the water. "No, I mean this. There are two taps, one for hot water, one for cold. You mix them to the temperature you want. Or I will, if you like."
The alien stared at the spray raining on the shower walls. <You want me to….bathe?>
Yvonne turned the water off. "Don't your people bathe?"
<Prior to my abilities being suppressed, there was no need.>
"Well now there is," Yvonne said firmly. "The soap is in the dish up there on the wall, and here's a towel. For drying yourself off," she added, when the alien looked quizzically at the proffered towel. She studied him a moment, taking in the shaking legs that hadn't been used in several days. "You have to stand in there," she said, nodding toward the shower. "Do you think you're strong enough to do that, or should I get you a chair to sit on?"
<Of course I’m strong enough,> the alien said irritably. <Leave me.>
Yvonne regarded him skeptically. "Stand up so I can see how steady you are."
<I beg your pardon?>
Burning eyes fastened on her, eyes that only a day or two ago would have made her quail. But Yvonne was getting used to his moods, and she'd dealt with many grumpy, laid up officers who were accustomed to ordering people around; this was familiar ground in more ways than one. "Look," she said, folding her arms in front of herself. "You're weak. I know you don't like that, but that's the way it is. You haven't been on your feet in several days, you’ve only just started eating again, and now you're weaker than ever after all the gymnastics out there. What good is it to go through all that—and win, mind you—only to collapse in the shower, whack your head, and knock yourself out? No chat with the General if that happens. So here's how it works: You're going to stand up, and I am going to decide whether or not you need a seat in there. If you do, I'm going to get you one whether you want it or not. Because having watched you nearly kill both yourself and one of our soldiers trying to get the General to talk to you, I'm going to make certain you are bathed, dressed, and conscious for that talk. And," she added with a sudden flash of inspiration, "if you won't stand up, I'll just assume it's because you're too weak."
That did it. The alien promptly rose to his feet, standing there steady as a rock. How does he do that? Yvonne wondered, eyeing him up and down for any signs of unsteadiness. Remarkably, there were none.
"Okay," she said. "You win. I'll be outside if you need anything. You can just leave your clothes on the floor, and I'll get them later."
The alien promptly let the hospital gown drop to the floor. Yvonne was horrified to feel her face growing hot. Certainly she'd seen him nude before, but never when he was conscious and standing. And now here she was, a seasoned registered nurse who'd seen Lieutenant Generals stark naked without batting an eyelash, acting like a first year nursing student. So much for all her experience.
<Why is your face red?>
Yvonne's face grew even hotter, if that were possible. "Well, it's just that….I…..I mean……" She stopped. She was babbling like an idiot. "I don't know how things are done where you come from, but around here, we wait until we are alone to undress."
<Why? Is there a taboo against nudity in your culture?>
"No. Yes," Yvonne corrected herself, her face virtually on fire. "Yes, as a matter of fact, there is."
<That would explain this peculiar garment,> the alien said, glancing at the hospital gown in a heap on the floor.
"Don't your people wear clothes?" Yvonne asked, careful not to follow his gaze. Looking down was a bad idea right now.
<Sometimes.>
Sometimes? "We wear them all the time," she said pointedly.
<All the time? Even when bathing or mating? That seems counterproductive.>
"No, not when bathing or….look, just wash yourself will you?" Yvonne said in exasperation. "The General's waiting for you. And be sure you put those new clothes on before you come out."
The alien climbed into the shower, and Yvonne headed gratefully out the bathroom door, catching a glimpse of her very red face in the mirror on the way out. The last person she'd seen wearing a face that red had been Stephen, right after he'd found the free alien taking her shape. He never had told her why.
"Is it in there?" an angry voice demanded.
Private Walker was standing only a foot from the bathroom door, his fingers twitching at his sides like he just couldn't wait to get his own hands on the alien's neck. "Private!" Yvonne said, hastily closing the door behind her. "How are you feeling?"
A rather unnecessary question. Walker looked furious, the purple bruises on his face where the alien had gripped his chin as a prelude to snapping his neck only adding to the overall impression.
"Let me in there," Walker demanded.
"Excuse me?"
"I said let me in there. I have a score to settle with that…that thing."
"You'll have to settle it later," Yvonne said firmly, remaining in front of the bathroom door and keeping her hand on the knob. "The General is waiting for him."
"Oh he is, is he?" Walker hissed furiously. "Those two murderers are going to have a nice little chat, are they? And I'm not supposed to keep them waiting? Ask me if I give a shit. Go on. Ask me!"
Yvonne felt the doorknob pressing into her back as Walker took a menacing step toward her. Glancing over his shoulder at the two guards inside the room, she found both of them studiously ignoring what was going on. She could call for their help, but there was no guarantee she'd get it. They'd shouldn't have let Walker in here in the first place, so they were unlikely to be sympathetic.
"Private, I know you're upset…."she began soothingly.
"Upset? Upset? That thing tried to kill me, and that asshole of a General would have let it! Now get out of my way!"
"Stop it!" Yvonne commanded. "That's an order!" Walker had stepped even closer, and there was nowhere for her to retreat. Time to pull rank. "You're courting big trouble by speaking of the General that way and ignoring a superior officer. Which would be me, by the way, just in case you missed the fact that I'm a Lieutenant and you're a Private."
"There's a lot of things I haven't missed," Walker said darkly, so close to her now he was practically breathing on her. "I haven't missed the way you defend that piece of shit in there, or the way you call it 'him' even though it's a monster. I haven't missed the way you're protecting it now, even though I was the one it tried to kill…."
"Oh, I see," Yvonne said coldly. "So you were the only one being threatened. There really wasn't a roomful of soldiers pointing guns at him? I just imagined all that?"
Yvonne mentally kicked herself as the expression on Walker's face took a turn for the worse. Why had she said that? She knew better than to get into an argument with someone who wasn't behaving rationally.
"So I take it you don't care that it tried to kill me," Walker said angrily. "No big surprise."
"Of course I care....and he didn't kill you," Yvonne pointed out. "If you go in there now in this frame of mind, he might very well do that. You say I'm protecting him, but I'm also protecting you."
"Nice try," Walker said grimly. "Now move!"
"Private Walker, back off!" came a new voice behind them.
Walker spun around to reveal Lieutenant Spade behind him. Pressed up against the bathroom door, still holding a death grip on the knob, Yvonne slowly exhaled. Thank God.
"Well, if it isn't the other alien lover?" Walker said derisively. "Or perhaps I should say the third alien lover? How many alien lovers are there, anyway? Tell me, what about us? What about the humans here? Does anybody give a crap about us?"
Spade kept his voice neutral. "Private, you've had a difficult day. You're relieved of duty until tomorrow at 0600. From now on you'll be assigned to first floor guard duty only. In light of what's happened, I'll overlook your insubordination—this time. I'll even overlook the fact that you're not authorized to be in this room," he added, with a pointed look at the guards who seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the ceiling.
"Well, isn't that right nice of you, sir," Walker said mockingly. "That just makes me all warm and fuzzy and…"
Spade grabbed Walker by the arm and hauled him so close their noses were touching. "I said this time, Private. Only this time. You do speak English fluently, don't you?"
"Yes, sir," Walker replied defiantly, every muscle in his body shouting hatred.
"Good. Then I know we understand each other. Dismissed."
Walker slunk sullenly away, drawing sympathetic glances from the guards who carefully avoided looking at Spade.
"You all right?" Spade asked gently.
"Yeah. But boy, am I glad to see you," Yvonne said sincerely, relaxing her grip on the doorknob. Her fingers hurt. "Is he all right?" she asked, watching Walker's retreating form.
"Oh, he's all right—physically," Spade said. "He's just figured out what you and I already knew—that we're all considered flushable." He nodded toward the bathroom door. "How about him?"
"He's weak," Yvonne said, "but ornery as ever. This 'talk' should be interesting, especially since Ramey now knows that we weren't exactly a bunch of angels either." She paused. "I'm really glad you spoke up, Stephen," she said, dropping her voice lower. "People need to know what really happened...even if they don't want to."
"That makes one of you," Spade sighed. "Cavitt's out there getting his ass kicked by Ramey, and an awful lot of the men feel the same way Walker does. I'm afraid I'm on the shit list now."
"For telling the truth?"
"For siding with the alien."
"You didn't 'side' with the alien," Yvonne argued. "You simply confirmed what he said. And if you hadn't, Walker might be dead now. They do realize that, don't they?"
Spade scratched his head and shot a look back at the guards by the door. "I don't think that matters. Logic isn't exactly anyone's strong suit right now."
"Sir?"
Yvonne grabbed the doorknob again, unsure of what the unfamiliar Private standing behind Stephen wanted. But he merely nodded to her and turned back to Spade. "The General wants to see you now, sir."
"Thank you, Thompson. I'll be right there."
"Uh…sir? I have orders to escort you to the General."
Spade blinked. " 'Escort' me? Why? Does he think I'll get lost, or hide in the broom closet?"
Thompson cast a wary glance over his shoulder in the direction of the door. "I believe the General is afraid Major Cavitt may try to waylay you on the way there," he whispered. "I'm to see no one stops us."
Spade's eyebrows rose. "I see. Well, then….would you wait outside for me? I'll be out in a minute."
"Yes, sir," Thompson said. He started to leave, then stopped. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
Spade threw a look at Yvonne that plainly said, "Here it comes. "Go ahead."
"I know this isn't a popular sentiment now, sir, but….I wanted you to know that I have an enormous amount of respect for you for speaking up the way you did."
"Really?" Spade asked, surprised. "Thank you, Thompson. I appreciate that."
"You're welcome, sir," Thompson said sincerely. "I'll be outside."
"See?" Yvonne said softly as Thompson walked away. "I'm not the only one who thinks you did the right thing."
"Wow," Spade deadpanned. "That makes two of you. The numbers are going up."
"Cheer up," Yvonne said innocently. "It's not all bad. Word is that 'shit list' also sports a two-star General and a relatively attractive nurse. You could find yourself in worse company." She smiled at the look on his face. "You'd better go talk to the General, or he'll think Cavitt kidnapped you," she added, reaching out and squeezing his arm. "Good luck, Stephen. Tell Ramey what really happened. He seems like a decent man. Maybe he'll actually listen."
Spade shrugged. "Guess I'm about to find out."
He smiled and gave a little mock salute before leaving the room. Yvonne watched him go, noting the stony expressions on the faces of the guards as he passed. Ironic, she thought sadly. At the moment, she felt safer alone with the alien than she did with the soldiers at the door.
******************************************************
"Come in, Lieutenant. Close the door."
Lieutenant Spade entered the conference room in which General Ramey was holding court, sparsely furnished but for a long table and chairs, with Ramey occupying the chair at the far end. Despite all the conflict that had reportedly been raging between him and Cavitt, Ramey looked none the worse for wear. He sat, hands clasped in front of him on the table, his uniform impeccable, his face impassive. He cut an imposing figure, to say the least.
Spade saluted and stood at attention, waiting for and receiving the expected "at ease, solider." He complied, shifting his hands behind his back. He hadn't expected to be offered a seat. Inferiors never were.
"I've been reviewing the various reports of the encounters we've had with these creatures," Ramey began. "It's amazing—they've been here only a short time, that we know of, anyway, and you've already had multiple encounters with them. You, and you alone." He sat back in his chair, studying Spade closely. "They seem to like you, Lieutenant."
Spade was silent, not certain where Ramey was going with this. Besides, whenever one was under interrogation, the less said the better.
Ramey donned his glasses and pulled a stack of folders toward him. "You were among the first four soldiers to encounter the vessel," he said, sifting through the top folder. "You saw two of your fellow soldiers attacked and killed by an alien, the first two to die at their hands. Is this correct?"
"Partially, sir."
"Partially?"
"Before I saw Fifer and McCarthy killed, I saw Fifer advance on the craft over the objections of the rest of us and despite the fact that our orders were to observe and report. I also saw the alien disarm Fifer and McCarthy—without harming them—and I saw Fifer charge the craft, obviously meaning to attack. Isn't that all in there, sir?"
"Yes, yes, it's in here," Ramey answered. "Although I'm not certain what you're getting at. Removal of weapons is a hostile act, Lieutenant. I'm sure you're aware of that."
"I don't think it meant to be hostile, sir. I think it merely meant to disarm us."
"It could have been disarming you as a prelude to its attack," Ramey said sensibly. "Sounds like a good strategy to me. What makes you think otherwise?"
Spade hesitated. Ramey wasn't making this easy for him; he was going to have to go the whole nine yards. "I met the alien who killed Fifer and McCarthy later, sir. I don't believe it intended to kill them when it disarmed them."
"Oh, yes," Ramey replied, reaching for another folder. "The 'surrender' incident." He extracted a pile of papers and leafed through them; apparently his statement had been suppressed, not destroyed. "So you maintain that you spent approximately ten minutes speaking with this…creature?"
"Yes, sir."
"And based on that ten minutes, you feel qualified to assert that it wasn't trying to kill anybody?"
"That was my impression, sir."
"Based on what, Lieutenant?" Ramey asked, removing his glasses and plunking them on the table. "Because it spoke English? Because it argued for its life? Of course it did—it was trapped. These creatures are undeniably intelligent, but that doesn't make them benign."
"That doesn't make them hostile either, sir."
"I'd say killing people is a sign of hostility, wouldn't you?"
"By that definition, we are every bit as hostile as they are, sir."
Spade kept his eyes fixed on a point directly above Ramey's head so he couldn't see the expression on the General's face. But he heard the tapping of his fingers on the table, felt the heavy silence. He'd been hopeful that perhaps the General would listen. Perhaps that hope had been misplaced.
A rustling sound. Spade glanced down to find Ramey sliding two sheets of paper bearing Spade's handwriting down the table. "This is your statement of that encounter. Do you still hold with the account given in this report?"
"I do, sir."
"Don't you even want to look it over?"
"No need, sir. I know it by heart. All of it."
Ramey pulled the sheets of paper back toward him. "So you maintain that creature you found within the alien vessel surrendered to you while you were alone with it, that Private West arrived on the scene approximately ten minutes later and fired upon it in a fit of panic, and that Major Cavitt was not summoned until after all this had taken place?"
"I do, sir."
"You are aware, are you not Lieutenant, that Major Cavitt's version of events significantly differs from your own?"
"Yes, sir, I am aware of that."
"And how do you account for this discrepancy?"
"Easily, sir. Major Cavitt is lying."
Ramey fixed beady eyes on Spade. "Didn't you mean to say that the Major is….'mistaken'?"
"No, sir, I did not," Spade said firmly.
"I see," Ramey said, eyebrows raised. "Tell me, Lieutenant....does it bother you to brand your commanding officer a liar?"
"With all due respect, sir, the questions you should be asking are, does it bother the Major to be a liar, and does it bother you to have a liar under your command."
Ramey's eyebrows rose even higher, if that were possible. He was silent for a long moment before continuing.
"And Private West, who also presumably witnessed at least some of what you did—at least the part about Major Cavitt not arriving on the scene until long after he says he did—why would Private West have signed a statement corroborating the Major's version of events?"
"He was probably threatened by Major Cavitt the same way I was. The Major wasn't thrilled when I wouldn't lie for him, so he locked me up so I could 'think it over'. I would imagine he threatened to do the same to West."
"Yes," Ramey said, "that would be the third incident involving you and aliens." He pulled another folder from the pile. "According to this, you were 'kidnapped' by two aliens who killed the guard outside your room, and the guard outside the room where the two dead aliens were being held. You wound up unconscious with a concussion, and claimed you remembered little of this event. Is that correct?"
No. "Yes, sir."
"Yet only a few days later, after two more soldiers had died at alien hands, you suddenly remembered what it was they were looking for and effected the capture of one of them?"
"Yes, sir," Spade said guardedly. He didn't like the sound of this.
" 'Suddenly remembered'," Ramey repeated, closing the folder and tossing it on the table. "How very convenient."
Damn it! This had Cavitt's fingerprints all over it. Of course he would try to destroy Spade's credibility—what other defense could he have? Suddenly angry, Spade jerked his eyes down to face Ramey's.
"With respect, sir, what are you implying?"
"I'm not 'implying' anything, Lieutenant. I'm saying straight out that it's mighty strange that you suffered such a severe memory loss that just happened to right itself at that very moment."
"Sir, the doctor's report should be in that…."
"I've read the medical report," Ramey interrupted. "Your sudden recovery still looks suspicious. You want me to believe Major Cavitt is lying, yet your own credibility is suspect. Why should I believe you and not the Major?" Ramey leaned forward in his chair. "Give me a reason, Lieutenant."
Spade's throat burned; he could feel himself losing his temper. The bitch of it was that both he and Cavitt were lying, but it would be a cold day somewhere before either of them would admit that. But he was lying in an attempt to right a wrong, whereas Cavitt was trying to create trouble. And it looked like he was going to get away with it. Again.
"Permission to speak freely, sir," Spade said tightly. "Very freely."
Ramey sat back in his chair and regarded Spade with interest. "Granted."
"I used to be proud to wear this uniform," Spade began. "I was proud to be a part of the forces that brought Hitler down, proud to belong to a nation that stood for freedom. We are the United States Army, the finest fighting force in the world, from the strongest democracy in the world. I was proud to be a part of it."
"Did you mean to use the past tense, Lieutenant?" Ramey inquired blandly.
Spade's eyes flashed. "I did, sir. I'm no longer proud to wear this uniform. We're behaving badly. I'd expect this kind of shit from Russia, not us. I accepted that creature's surrender," he continued heatedly, his voice rising. "You know as well as I do that that made me responsible for its safety. West shot it because he panicked, but Cavitt had no such excuse. He lied because he wanted to cause trouble, because the evidence wasn't incriminating enough to suit him. And then to make matters worse, I was asked to lie, threatened if I refused to lie, and now I'm catching shit when I tell the truth! And I will tell the truth, General. Lock me up, court-martial me, I don't care. I don't care what happens to my career, or how many stupid accusations are made against me—I will repeat what really happened out there until I'm blue in the face, if I have to!"
Spade stopped, panting, waiting for the announcement that he was being reprimanded, or discharged…or worse. Curiously, he found himself resisting the notion of discharge. Not so long ago he would have welcomed a way out of this mess, but now…now he wanted to stay. He was one of the few people here who knew the score, not to mention the fact that if he left, Yvonne would truly be alone.
To Spade's complete astonishment, Ramey nodded with satisfaction. "Now that's more like it," he said approvingly. "Have a seat, Lieutenant."
There was a long, stunned pause. "Sir?" Spade asked, flabbergasted.
"I said have a seat. No, not there," Ramey added when Spade's eyes drifted to the nearest chair, at the opposite end of the long table. "Right here. Next to me."
Slowly, Spade walked toward the indicated seat, hesitating when he reached it.
"Go on," Ramey urged. "Sit down." He pushed his chair back and opened a cabinet behind him as Spade slowly took a seat. "Would you like some?" Ramey asked, holding up a bottle of what looked suspiciously like Scotch.
"I'm on duty, sir," Spade said faintly.
"Ah, hell. I won't tell," Ramey replied easily. "No? Suit yourself. Frankly, after everything that's gone on around here, I think we're both entitled to drink the whole bottle." He poured himself a glass and settled himself back in his chair, unbuttoning his jacket as he did so. "Damned things are always too tight," he remarked. "Of course, I used to be a bit smaller."
Spade couldn't have been more surprised if Ramey had stripped naked and danced a jig. "Sir….what just happened?"
"What just happened, Lieutenant, is that I saw what I was looking for," Ramey answered, swigging his Scotch. "Two things I know—first, either you or the Major is lying. You can't both be right. And second, if the same thing had happened to me, if a prisoner whose surrender I had accepted were treated like this and I'd been strong-armed to lie about it, I'd be furious. Absolutely furious. I didn't see that from you....until just now."
"So…now you believe me?" Spade asked tentatively.
"Now I believe you're more likely to be right than the Major. Besides, why would you stick to a story like that unless it were true? It'd only get you in trouble. A willingness to accept trouble in defense of the truth is a mark of the truth. This makes the third time today I've seen you do that."
Spade could scarcely believe his ears. The General believed him? The most he had dared hope for is that Ramey would at least consider the possibility that Spade was right, that he could cast some doubt on Cavitt's version of events. To actually be believed was amazing.. To be believed after popping his cork and swearing at a two-star general was positively astounding.
"Unfortunately, this isn't the only thing Major Cavitt has lied about," Spade began, deciding to press his advantage while he had one to press. "Fifer and McCarthy died when Fifer charged the ship, but Major Cavitt wanted me to sign something saying they'd…."
"….died in a jeep accident," Ramey finished. "I know. And I'm with the Major on that one."
Spade's eyes widened. "Sir?"
Ramey sat forward in his chair, his arms resting on his knees. "Son, I realize the dissembling bothers you, and I don't blame you for not signing that document. As long as you keep quiet about it, that's all right with me. But there are times when telling the whole truth isn't a good idea."
"So telling Fifer's and McCarthy's families the truth about their sons' deaths isn't a 'good idea'?" Spade asked, his temper flaring again.
"No, it isn't," Ramey said firmly. "If we tell them what really happened, word will get out about what's going on here, and the country will panic. Hell, the whole planet will panic. And do you really think telling their families that they died at the hands of aliens will make them feel any better? They just lost their children, Lieutenant. There isn't anything any of us can say or do that will take away, or even mitigate, pain like that. All they need to know is that their boys died doing their duty in the service of this great nation. How they died is beside the point."
"And what about the alien who surrendered?" Spade asked incredulously. "Is the fact that it surrendered 'beside the point'?"
"No," Ramey said quietly. "Of course not." Rising from his chair, he walked to the window, staring outside, glass in hand, as Spade twisted in his chair to face him. "Men like Major Cavitt are the Army's greatest asset....and greatest liability. They're warriors—they like to fight. I know the Major can be a pain in the ass, but in a battle, you'd be glad to have him leading the charge. Or watching your back."
"And when we're not in battle?"
Ramey sighed. "That's the liability part. Warriors don't like peace. They don't know what to do with themselves when there's no one to fight, so they have a nasty tendency to invent enemies."
"Like he did here," Spade said.
"Not entirely," Ramey answered, resuming his seat. "Not even mostly. The Major is absolutely right about one thing: These creatures are dangerous. They've killed several of our men, and I'm afraid the alleged surrender of one of them will never outweigh the bodies we've got piled up down there. Besides, the Major's fib isn't what killed the alien; that was Private West's panic attack."
"Perhaps we wouldn't have all those bodies piled up if we had behaved better, sir," Spade pointed out.
Ramey nodded slowly, examining his glass. "Maybe not. But I see the alien's death as an accident, one that might have been avoided if they hadn't attacked us."
"And what would you have had them do, sir?" Spade asked. " 'Surrender' to us?"
Ramey smiled slightly at the sarcasm in Spade's voice. "Touché, Lieutenant. Suffice it to say that neither side handled themselves well. Not us, not them. That alien down there threatening to break a man's neck certainly doesn't help me view them any differently."
"I'm willing to bet that dishonesty on the part of our officers doesn't make the aliens view us any differently, sir," Spade argued. "What happens to Major Cavitt now?"
"Nothing happens to him, son."
"What?" Spade exclaimed. "He lies and gets away with it? Just like that?"
"No, not 'just like that'. I'm his commanding officer, and I know he probably lied....but I can't prove it. I'm sorry, son," Ramey said firmly when Spade began to erupt further, "but my gut instinct isn't enough to charge an officer with perjury. Besides, do you have any idea how many people are trying to get their mitts on our 'friend' down there? Dozens, probably hundreds. You could do worse than the Major, I assure you."
"Then that's it?" Spade said, stunned. He'd finally gotten someone to believe him, a two-star general, no less, and nothing was going to be done?
"I'll make certain that your testimony accompanies the Major's in the files, along with a statement from me indicating that I consider the matter unresolved. That's the best I can do, and even that isn't much. Most of the people out there would believe the Major's story long before yours, be they high or low on the food chain. I'm afraid we simply don't have enough evidence to contradict him, and we have the aliens to thank for that, I might add. Private West was the only other witness, and he's dead, thanks to them."
No, he isn't, Spade thought. He hadn't intended to raise the matter of the false handprints because he hadn't so much as a shred of evidence to back himself up, but then again, he hadn't a shred of evidence to back himself up about the surrendering alien either. It was his word against Cavitt's. Again.
"No, he isn't," Spade said, swallowing hard. "Sir."
Ramey looked up from the second glass of Scotch he'd just poured. "Isn't what? Dead?"
"Isn't dead thanks to the aliens," Spade clarified. "The aliens didn't kill him."
Ramey stared at Spade for a moment, then rummaged in his stack of folders. He pulled one out, opened it, and shoved it over to Spade, who forced himself to look. It was West. Thankfully his face wasn't visible in the photograph, only his torso with the glaring silver handprint. The false silver handprint.
"Looks like they killed him to me," Ramey commented.
"That handprint is false, sir," Spade said, moving his hands from the table to his lap so the General wouldn't see them shake. "That's only silver paint."
Ramey set his glass down on the table and stared at him in silence for a very long minute as the temperature in the room dropped several degrees.
"And how exactly did you come by this information?" Ramey asked in a deadly voice that had lost all traces of friendliness.
"When we captured the first alien, I accused it of killing West and Belmont. It denied it. I went to the morgue and located the bodies. The handprints were fake."
"And to whose attention did you bring this information?"
Spade swallowed. "No one's, sir."
" 'No one'?" Ramey echoed. "You're implying that these two men didn't die the way everyone thinks they did, and you told no one?"
"The only person to tell was….Major Cavitt, sir."
Cavitt's name hung in the air, the accusation implicit. Ramey's eyes had turned steely. "I see," he said in a stony voice. "So now you're accusing your commanding officer of being a murderer as well as a liar?"
"I don't know who killed them, or how they died," Spade said, struggling to keep his voice steady. "All I know is that the aliens didn't do it. And someone planted those fake handprints, so someone was trying to make it look like the aliens had killed them. I don't know who."
"Lieutenant," Ramey said slowly, "do you realize the seriousness of what you're saying?"
Spade forced himself to look directly into those hard eyes even though he would have dearly loved to stare at his hands instead. "I do, sir."
"Do you have any proof of this outrageous accusation?"
"Doctor Pierce discovered the false handprints himself," Spade said, "but when he went back to run tests to find out what really killed them, he said the bodies were gone." He paused. "I take it Dr. Pierce didn't mention any of this to you?"
"He did not," Ramey said curtly, "a wise move if there's no way to prove it. And it'll be a cold day somewhere before I see Sheridan Cavitt as a murderer. I know perfectly well he can be a difficult man to serve under, but to suggest he would take the lives of his own men…." Ramey stopped, apparently at a loss for words to describe the preposterousness of the idea. "Jesus Christ Almighty, Lieutenant! I could have you court-martialed for even suggesting such a thing without proof!"
"I haven't filed a formal accusation, sir," Spade protested. "This is just between you and me."
"When the 'you' in that equation happens to be a major general, it automatically becomes a formal accusation," Ramey said severely. "And since you apparently didn't realize you were committing career suicide, I'll give you a chance to retract it."
Spade hesitated, Ramey's eyes boring into his own. Wouldn't it be better to take it all back and get the General back on his side again? He had been so relieved when Ramey had believed him; now it seemed he was back to square one. But then again…what difference did it make?
"Permission to speak freely, sir."
Permission was a long time coming this time. Spade wasn't counting, but he could have sworn a full minute passed before Ramey finally nodded.
"You told me earlier today," Spade began slowly, "that you respect a man who stands by his decisions. I've done that several times today, and I have no intention of stopping now. I know what I saw. Just like I saw that alien shot with its hands in the air, I saw paint on those two bodies. You judged me worth believing before—why wouldn't I be worth believing now?"
Spade waited. Ramey said nothing, just stared at him, waiting for him to finish.
"But in the long run, sir, it doesn't matter whether you believe me, or if you punish me for even raising the subject. Because whoever killed West and Belmont is probably still out there. I'm the only surviving witness to an awful lot of crap, and I'm willing to bet good money I'm at the top of their list. It doesn't matter what you do to me—I'm probably dead already. You can't threaten a dead man, General. Dead men have nothing to lose."
The alien's words hung in the air like a cloud as Spade waited for the axe to fall, for Ramey to announce that he was demoted, or discharged, or under arrest. At this point he really didn't care. He was tired of the truth always being such a liability, tired of always being the one who was caught in the crosshairs. Who knew telling the truth would be so hard?
The silence became more oppressive with each passing moment. Finally Ramey rose to his feet, buttoning his uniform jacket. Perhaps he wanted to be all spiffy when he charged him with insubordination, or perjury, or whatever it was he was going to charge him with.
"Lieutenant," Ramey began slowly, "we never had this conversation. I never heard you accuse one of your CO's of cold-blooded murder, and of course you never refused to retract that accusation. Couldn't have—you never made it in the first place. Is that clear?"
"Clear, sir," Spade whispered.
"Good," Ramey said firmly. "Dismissed."
******************************************************
General Roger Ramey walked slowly down the hallway toward the room where the alien prisoner was being held, mentally reminding himself that he was a two-star General, that he had seen combat in countless situations, that he had received so many awards and commendations for meritorious service that were he to wear them all, he would find it difficult to move. Yet none of that seemed to matter now. His entire resume, his lengthy, illustrious career paled before his current task. He would be the first human to speak with a being from another planet. The opportunities had never been so vast, the danger never so great.
Nor had the waters of the moral swamp ever been so murky. It had seemed so easy when he was enroute to the base. His only goal as of this morning was to find reasons to keep the captured alien here, under his command. The chorus of voices demanding access to the prisoner and its technology had risen to an ear-splitting din, and Ramey had been determined to see that his prizes did not fall into another's hands. The reports he had read indicated that these creatures, however technically advanced they may be, were hostile, murderous, an obvious threat to this nation if not the entire planet. He had never questioned the accuracy of this determination, and certainly hadn't anticipated stepping into the pile of crap that was Cavitt's perjury and that angry young Lieutenant's accusations. The line between right and wrong had been clear this morning. Now that line was only barely visible, and what little he could see of it shifted even as he watched.
"Open the door," Ramey ordered the guards outside the prisoner's room.
"How many men will you want in your escort, sir?" one of them asked.
"Zero," Ramey replied.
"Sir?"
For a fleeting moment, Ramey almost had a change of heart. I could die in there, he thought with a sudden, chilling certainty, and there's nothing anyone could do about it. Still, even armed guards were no guarantee....and there was the delicate problem of perception. Ramey wasn't foolish enough to believe he could command by popular vote, but he realized his stock wasn't riding high with his men at the moment. Keeping his word by meeting the alien alone and unguarded would go a long way toward convincing the troops that he had meant what he said about everyone, himself included, being expendable in the service of their country. He could not in good conscience ask less of himself than he had asked of that nearly strangled Private. Going in alone would send a powerful message, whether he wound up leaving this room feet or face first.
"Zero," Ramey repeated. "You do know how to count, don't you soldier?"
"Of course, sir," the soldier replied briskly, holding out a tranquilizer rifle.
"What's this?"
"It's....it's for you, sir," the guard replied uncertainly.
"I'm going in alone and unarmed, Private," Ramey said firmly.
The guard's mouth worked for a moment. "Sir....with all due respect, sir, that's suicide."
"I gave it my word," Ramey reminded him. "I'm a man of my word. What about you, Private? Are you a man of your word?"
"Of course, sir," the guard answered promptly. "When I give my word to a man."
Ramey's eyes hardened as he stepped directly in front of the terrified guard. "Do I take that to mean you think my word shouldn't count if it's not given to a human?"
"Well...I...." the guard sputtered, obviously fearful of putting his other foot in his mouth. "I mean....well, it's like making a promise to your dog, isn't it sir? It doesn't really count."
Ramey glanced at the young faces nearby, all clearly in agreement with their fellow soldier, and shook his head sadly. "Listen to me, son. All of you listen to me. When you give your word, it always counts. When you give your word, you don't just give it to one person—you also give it to yourself. To everyone listening. To anyone in the future who will think less of you when they discover you didn't keep your word. Because any time you don't keep your word to anyone—or anything—you cast doubt on whether you believe in keeping your word at all. Do you really expect me to believe you wouldn't all think less of me if I marched in there with an armed escort?"
"I wouldn't think less of you, sir," one of the guards ventured.
"Then more's the pity," Ramey said soberly. "Because you should. Now open this door."
The guards complied immediately, opening the door and stepping away. Ramey stood in the doorway a moment, taking in the table that had been placed in the prisoner's room and the lone figure which sat at the far end. Above it the observation room window loomed, jammed with onlookers and soldiers poised to notify the guards at the slightest sign of trouble. No one up there would be able to hear what was said, and in some ways, Ramey found that comforting. At least if he made an ass of himself, there would only be one witness.
Majors Cavitt and Pierce were directly in the center of the throng, waiting expectantly. Cavitt appeared a bit flushed, still smarting, no doubt, from the drubbing he'd taken for placing Ramey in a compromising position at the worst possible moment. Pierce watched with his usual detached scientific interest and the confidence of one who had just handed Ramey the one thing he needed most: A proposal so alluring that there was no question but what the prisoner would be left here, at least for the time being. Granted it was preposterous, but still….if it could be done….if there was even a chance that such a thing were possible….the rewards would be enormous. And the Communists would never pose a threat again. No one would.
Dropping his eyes, Ramey studied the figure at the table. The creature sat bolt upright, hands folded on the table in front of it, having been dutifully washed and dressed by the brave nurse who, oddly enough, showed no fear of it. It appeared human in every respect, a relatively young man, roughly mid-thirties, dark hair, dark eyes, unremarkable in any way. Except Ramey knew this appearance was false, had seen the photos of what they really looked like. Staring at it now, he found himself seized with a sudden gratitude that he did not find himself facing a gray creature with a huge head and black eyes, a certain sympathy for the deceased Private West's twitchy trigger finger, and a hefty dose of admiration for Lieutenant Spade, who had kept both his composure and his wits. In some ways, the false human appearance made things easier. In other ways, it made his skin crawl.
Then the door closed behind him with disturbing finality, leaving him alone in a room with the greatest challenge of his career. This would have been so much easier, he thought wearily, if I still thought it was just a monster.
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Next week: Part 2 comes to an end as Jaddo and General Ramey meet face to face.
I'll post Chapter 21 next Sunday.
) They ran out of jero rather quickly after crashing, and when Dee put some coffee in those boxes of food for Urza, they started drinking that. So I suppose their love of coffee is a subtle indication of homesickness, besides being a vehicle to get sugar into their systems (for energy), and I wouldn't discount the caffeine. They probably need it. 
