Roswell Fanatics

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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


July 8, 1959, 11:30 p.m.

Roswell



"I cannot work under these conditions!" the actor exclaimed, ripping off his alien mask and gulping air like a dying man. "It's too damned hot!"

"Of course it's hot," the director retorted. "You weren't hired to be hot, you were hired to wear that mask, and do what I tell you!"

"I also wasn't hired to not breathe," the actor shot back. "I can't see, and I'm suffocating in this thing! Why can't our masks be like his?" he added, pointing to another "alien" with a noticeably larger mask.

"Because he's the alien king," the director explained impatiently. "You're all running toward your king, and you can tell he's the king because he has a bigger head. Isn't that obvious? Put that mask back on and take your position!"

Brivari watched as the actor swore only slightly under his breath before pulling the mask over his head and heading over to his patch of similarly air-starved fellow "aliens" in the wide field where tonight's filming was taking place. This particular scene was supposed to involve the aliens taking their captive—Audrey—back to their king in the field where their ship had landed. The "ship" in question was every bit as laughable as the notion that alien kings had bigger heads than their subjects, a hastily thrown together affair made of wood, painted black, and festooned with strings of electric lights that looked suspiciously like the type used on Christmas trees. The fact that their cargo ship actually did have lights was the one and only point where reality and fantasy met.

"Places!" the director called as Brivari chalked a "6" on the clapper, the means by which the humans marked each attempt to film a scene to their liking. The cameras began rolling, and Brivari clapped the clapboard in front of the lead camera and retreated.

"You know, you're supposed to actually say 'Take 6'," the director said acidly.

"Why?" Brivari asked. "Can't you read?"

The stillness which followed made it clear that it wasn't only the aliens who weren't breathing. Word of Brivari's altercation with "Larry" had clearly made the rounds by the time filming had begun this evening, and he had arrived at the new filming location to find himself the subject of intense scrutiny. Audrey had greeted him cheerfully, apparently harboring no ill will over his supposedly rude behavior earlier, and the producer had clearly been relieved that he'd returned, but everyone else had seemed almost afraid of him, as though one who could influence their director's behavior was more fearful than the director himself. Brivari had said nothing, mindful of the fact that the less one said, the more one was listened to when one finally spoke, a lesson which Zan had actually learned well. The director also had said nothing, merely glaring at Brivari as he nursed his continuing shock from this morning that someone had successfully challenged him. Such shock was typical of the career bully, and never lasted long. "Larry's" had apparently worn off.

"I know you've never done this before, so allow me to clue you in on the requirements of your job," Larry said, his voice dripping sarcasm. "You announce the take number so the cast and crew will know how many takes we've already done. Clear?"

"No," Brivari answered calmly. "Assuming everyone can hear me, a dubious assumption at best given the number of people present, of what benefit is such information?"

Larry's face reddened in a most satisfying way as mouths gaped as this impudence. "Perhaps you can help me," Brivari continued, addressing the lead camera operator. "I was given to understand that the numbering of takes assisted in the editing process, where one is sifting through several renditions of the same scene. But what purpose does announcing this information serve on the set? Will anything be done differently because of the number which is announced mere seconds before filming begins?"

The camera operator blinked. "Uh......no," he admitted. "Well, it won't!" he added defiantly as the director threw his hands up in the air in a gesture of either defeat or irritation. "The take number only really matters in the editing room. You know that."

Brivari kept his expression carefully blank as Larry threw a withering glare in his direction. This had been happening all evening; emboldened by this morning's clash, those employed here had begun challenging their director's behavior. No doubt the director held him responsible for that, and Brivari couldn't have been happier to take the blame.

"Places!" Larry bellowed, apparently deciding not to fight this particular battle. "Ready.....action!"

The horde of fake aliens promptly picked up the bound and gagged Audrey and carried her toward their "ship". Halfway there, the alien king stumbled and fell, causing an alien pile up behind him, domino style. Audrey squealed as she was tossed unceremoniously to the ground, fortunately landing atop a satellite pile of aliens.

"What now?" Larry demanded. "Doesn't anyone on this godforsaken set know how to walk? I'm not even asking you to walk and talk, just walk! What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Larry, we can't see in these things!" one of the aliens exclaimed, extricating himself from his fellow extraterrestrials. "You have to let the costumers cut bigger holes in the masks, or we'll never get this movie shot!"

"I can't have human eyes starting out of an alien face!" Larry objected.

"Then cut holes where the nose is," another actor suggested.

"Everyone knows aliens don't have nostrils!" Larry declared. "We're going for realism here!"

And failing, Brivari thought, rolling his eyes as the argument escalated, the decibel level rising until Larry finally lost his temper much as he had this morning, flinging his chair to one side as everyone backed up in alarm. "Enough!" he roared. "Anyone who isn't on their mark in ten seconds is fired!"

"Give us holes in our masks, or I quit!" an actor declared.

"You can't quit!" Larry protested. "You have a contract!"

"Watch me!" declared the actor, throwing his mask on the ground as others quickly followed suit.

"What's going on here?" another voice barked.

It was the producer, with Audrey, now freed, on his heels. Accusations, arguments, and a great deal of finger pointing and shaking ensued, much like it had this morning. Sweating profusely, Morton Steinfeld finally drew Brivari aside.

"Help me out here, Langley," he begged. "What do I do?"

"Does your director have the authority to dismiss someone?" Brivari asked.

Steinfeld blinked. "What?"

"This contract they speak of," Brivari clarified. "With whom was it made?"

"Well....it's with the production company, and as their representative, only I have the authority to hire and fire," Steinfeld replied.

"So in other words, your director is attempting to wield authority he does not possess. Why would you let him do that?"

"Because I need him," Steinfeld said urgently. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to find a director for a measly little production like this?"

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to regain authority you have ceded to someone else?" Brivari countered. "Not to mention that allowing him to wield authority he does not possess will embolden both him and others to challenge you as well. Let me tell you something I once told someone else whose authority was being questioned—you must decide who is in charge here, and if that someone is you, be prepared to fend off attempts to wrest that authority from you because there will always be someone willing to try."

Audrey appeared behind them, flanked by four actors. "Morty, these gentlemen would like a word with you," she said. "Go on," she coaxed, prodding one of the actors. "Tell him!"

"We want masks that let us do our jobs, or we quit," one of the actors declared. "All of us, right here, right now. I mean it, Morty; we're out of here unless we get what we need."

Steinfeld pulled Brivari further away. "What do I do?" he wailed, sotto voiced. "I can't replace a couple dozen actors or a director on short notice!"

"I will ask you again," Brivari said deliberately. "Who is in charge here?"

Steinfeld swallowed hard. "If I tell him off, he might quit."

"Then let him. If he feels he is irreplaceable, there will be no stopping him."

"But I risk—"

"There is risk either way," Brivari interrupted. "I repeat—who is in charge here?"

"But—"

"Who is in charge here?"

Steinfeld stared at him a moment, then glanced at Larry, who was glowering behind the revolting aliens. "I am," he said finally, haltingly. "I am in charge."

"Don't just say it," Brivari advised. "Sound like it. Convince me. Convince them." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Play the part."

That last instruction seemed to resonate with Morton Steinfeld, who lived in a world where everyone played a part; his eyes widened and appeared a good deal harder as he approached the group awaiting his verdict. "We'll fix the masks," he told the actors. "And before you say a word," he continued severely to the director, who has about to erupt, "I'd like to make one thing clear: I decide who comes and goes on this set. That's in my contract."

"Is that a threat?" Larry demanded.

"It appears to be a simple statement of fact," Brivari offered.

"Exactly," Steinfeld agreed. "A simple statement of fact."

"Then let me add another 'simple statement of fact'," Larry ground out. "I quit!"

"Go right ahead," Steinfeld retorted. "I'll be sure to have our lawyers invoke the clause in your contract about leaving without sufficient notice. Everyone, we're done for the night!" he called to the rest of the set. "I'll have the costumer fix the masks, and I'll see you all tomorrow."

Hearty applause met this announcement, coupled with shock on the faces of the "aliens" who clearly hadn't expected to prevail, along with shock on the face of Larry, who clearly had expected to. He stood there for a full minute, glaring at everyone in turn, his eyes protruding what looked to be dangerous dimensions from his face. Finally he stalked off into a nearby trailer, banging the door so hard behind him that the entire trailer shook.

"Morty, you were magnificent!" Audrey exclaimed, throwing her arms around the producer. "I knew you had it in you!"

But whatever internal fire had lit Steinfeld had now gone out. "What have I done?" he whispered. "Why did I say that? If he quits—"

"Then good riddance," Audrey said firmly. "Who needs him? You could direct this movie yourself, if you have to. How much direction do we need to run around and scream? Cheer him up, boys!" she called to the enthusiastic crew. "Tell'im he did good!"

Steinfeld was immediately engulfed by grateful cast and crew members, who whisked him away on a tide of gratitude. "He'll be okay," Audrey assured Brivari. "He just needs a little time. And somebody to give him a good kick in the pants," she added. "What did you say to him?"

"I would imagine your little uprising had as much to do with this as anything I said," Brivari answered.

"It was your idea," Audrey said. "You asked me this morning what would happen if a bunch of us left, and I've been thinking about it all day. Didn't really expect it to work, though. And I'll probably catch hell for it when Larry quits."

"He won't quit," Brivari said.

Audrey raised an eyebrow. "And how would you know that? All that palace experience?"

Brivari smiled faintly. "Something like that."

"You know, you have a nice smile," Audrey said, flashing one of her own. "You should smile more often. Walk me home?"

"Of course," Brivari answered.

Ten minutes later, they were walking through the streets of Roswell, largely empty at this time of night save for the bars. "I am told that I was rude earlier when I declined to walk you home," Brivari said after several minutes of silence. "Is that true?"

"Well....most guys would have offered," Audrey allowed.

"I wish you to know why I declined," Brivari said. "I deplore this habit of treating women as though they were helpless. You are unquestionably one of the least helpless women I have ever met."

Audrey stopped short and stared at him, and for a moment, Brivari thought he had made yet another misstep until she broke into a wide smile. "Why, Langley.....I do believe that's the nicest thing any man has ever said to me."




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



July 9, 1959, 7 a.m.

Parker's Diner




The bell on the door jingled as James Atherton opened the door to Parker's, which was crowded even at this early hour, the crew of the movie having lost no time discovering it. It was a miracle his usual booth was available, and he slid into it before anyone else claimed it, feasting his eyes on the tiny thread of Hollywood that had descended on Roswell. This was why he was here, even though the movie being made was laughable—for the sheer experience of being close to a Hollywood movie set. Well, that and the fact that he happened to know that several serious alienologists had taken up residence in Roswell for the purpose of protesting what they considered to be the movie's inaccuracies. The term "inaccuracies" didn't even begin to describe the nonsense he'd witnessed yesterday, and Atherton was eager to hear what these alien aficionados had to say. Which was precisely why he was here as James Anderson; no serious alienologist would waste a moment's time on the farce that James Atherton had become. But that farce brought in good money, so Atherton was content to lodge his true psyche in the pseudonym of Anderson while his legal persona raked in the bucks from people terrified of exactly the type of claptrap this movie conveyed, the very same people Hollywood hoped would buy tickets to see it. A distressing relationship, to be sure, but a lucrative one nonetheless.

"Is this seat taken?"

Atherton gaped at the vision that hovered beside his table. "Miss Tate!" he exclaimed, springing to his feet. "This is indeed an honor! Of all the people you could have sat with....I must say, I'm speechless!"

Miss Tate beamed at him, red lips on creamy alabaster skin. "It's Mr. Anderson, right?" she smiled, rendering him weak in the knees. "Well, Mr. Anderson, you're very kind, but I have a confession to make—I was looking for Langley. Have you seen him?"

Langley? Atherton shook his head as he wondered anew what in the world a bombshell like Audrey Tate would want with a homely man like Langley. Granted, Atherton was no Errol Flynn, but still....what could be the attraction? It was maddeningly frustrating to have to watch from afar as his silent, brooding friend marched his way into a job on the set on the very first day of filming and walked off with a beautiful actress, all without seeming to realize his good fortune. "I was looking for him myself," Atherton admitted, "but you're certainly welcome to have a seat whilst we both look."

" 'Whilst'? Been awhile since I've heard that one."

"I'd be surprised if you'd ever heard it," Atherton chuckled. "No offence," he continued hastily as Miss Tate's expression chilled slightly. "It's just not a common expression this side of the Atlantic."

"Of course," Miss Tate said, sounding unconvinced.

"Ah!" Atherton said, grateful for the chance to change the subject as Courtney appeared with a pot of coffee. "Coffee for myself and the lady, please. You haven't seen Langley today, have you Miss Harris? We're both looking for him."

Courtney's eyes darted from Atherton to Miss Tate, the coffee stream swerving as they did so. "She's looking for him?" she echoed in surprise.

"This is Miss Tate, the lead actress in the movie," Atherton said, wondering if bad manners were communicable. "Miss Tate, this is Miss Harris, our usual morning waitress."

"So glad to meet you, dear," Miss Tate smiled.

"You too," Courtney said faintly. "And no, I haven't seen him this morning. Sorry," she added, sounding anything but.

"She's a bit high strung," Atherton confided after Courtney left. "Very emotional. Had a bit of a breakdown the other day, running out of here in a panic."

"She's young," Miss Tate said. "I was more emotional when I was her age." She paused, tapping red nails on the table. "Do you happen to know where Langley lives, Mr. Anderson?"

"As a matter of fact, I don't," Atherton replied.

"Well, he must live somewhere. And it must be somewhere nearby because I've only ever seen him on foot."

Atherton hesitated. "May I ask you a personal question, Miss Tate?"

She cocked an eyebrow, leaning her chin on one hand. "I'll tell you the same thing I've told the other million people who've asked me that: You can ask, but there's no guarantee I'll answer."

Atherton smiled slightly. "Fair enough. What exactly do you see in Langley? I realize you're grateful for him 'rescuing' you, but he is seriously lacking in social skills. He treated you dreadfully yesterday, and didn't seem to realize it even when I pointed it out to him."

"That's what I thought," Miss Tate admitted. "At first." She paused, then reached across the table and took Atherton's hand. "Tell me something, Mr. Anderson—"

"James," Atherton interrupted. "Please, dear, call me James."

"James it is," she agreed. "What was the very first thing you noticed about me, James?"

"Your beautiful smile," Atherton answered promptly.

Miss Tate promptly shot him a dazzling example. "Don't lie to me, James."

Atherton blinked. "Lie? I.....well, I.....well, you're an extraordinarily beautiful woman, and...."

"And?" she prompted.

"And you do have a lovely smile," he insisted. "I'm not lying about that."

"But you are lying about the first thing you noticed," she said. "Actually, I should say 'things', plural. As in two," she added, glancing down at her chest.

Atherton flushed so fiercely it was physically painful. It didn't help that she was absolutely right. "Miss Tate, please!" he sputtered. "I don't know what you're talking about! I—"

"Steady there, Jamie," Miss Tate said calmly. "It's not like I don't know they're there. Have been ever since I was twelve. They always get someplace a good five minutes before I do. I know that's the first thing men notice about me even if you don't want to admit it. I see their eyes, see what they look at. I saw your eyes....and you weren't looking at my beautiful smile."

"This is a most uncomfortable conversation," Atherton said stiffly, making certain his eyes were somewhere, anywhere else but on Miss Tate's considerable assets. "And I don't see what you're getting at."

"Here's the thing," she said, leaning in closer. "All my life, I've always only been noticed for my looks. I heard it the whole time I was growing up—'What a pretty girl!', and 'Keep a shotgun handy for that one!' I've never had a man tell me I was smart. Not that I'm not smart," she added. "I'm smart, and I know it. I work hard to keep it to myself because men don't like smart women." She paused. "And then I met Langley."

"I gather he told you you were smart?" Atherton ventured.

"He does more than that," Miss Tate said. "He treats me like I'm smart. This is the first time in my entire life that I've met a man who thinks I'm smart and doesn't give a rat what I look like. Not only that, but he doesn't go for the 'treat her like a baby' bit because he says I'm one of the least helpless people he's ever met."

"Sounds like a convenient excuse for poor manners," Atherton grumbled.

"With any other man, it probably would be," Miss Tate agreed. "But not Langley. He means it. He's the strangest person I've ever met, but when he looks at me, he doesn't see what everyone else sees. That's never happened to me before.....and I like it."

"I'm sorry I made such a poor impression on you," Atherton said unhappily. "If it means anything to you, I've never equated physical beauty with stupidity, and never intended to imply such."

"Aw, you're sweet," Miss Tate smiled. "Don't worry, James, you've been nothing but nice to me. And so has Langley, just in a different way."

"I'll grant you he's an odd duck," Atherton allowed. "I get the impression he doesn't get out much."

"Do you know what he does for a living?" Miss Tate asked. "I can't get him to tell me a thing about himself."

"He certainly hasn't been forthcoming to me," Atherton said, "but I gather he's some sort of personal guard to someone of great wealth or importance. I was given to understand that his work involved a good deal of subterfuge and disguise."

"And bullies," Miss Tate said thoughtfully, "because he certainly knows how to deal with those types. And he said something to me about working in a palace."

Atherton's eyes widened. "A palace, you say? That would explain a lot. He could be some sort of royal secret service agent."

"Then what's he doing here? Is he on vacation?"

"I doubt Langley knows the meaning of the word," Atherton chuckled. "And he's been here for some time now, long enough to make a friend in the area whose death distressed him greatly."

"Oh," Miss Tate said slowly. "Maybe that's why he's so quiet."

"I'm afraid not," Atherton said. "He was every bit as quiet and tight-lipped before his friend died. No, our Langley is a puzzle. And as I said, not the only one who finds you intelligent, I assure you," he added, dropping his eyes to the tabletop, feeling himself blush again. "Is it permissible to find you both intelligent and beautiful?"

She flashed that dazzling smile again, reaching across the table and patting his hand. "Sure it is, sweetie. Nice talking to you."

"Won't you stay for breakfast?" Atherton said hopefully. "Langley may show up."

"I'll look for him myself, but thanks anyway. Bye."

Atherton sighed heavily as she sashayed out of the diner, every male head turning in admiration and no doubt paying not one bit of attention to her brain, which was admittedly hard to notice when so many other things were swaying before your eyes.

"What are you having this morning?"

Courtney had reappeared, looking questioningly at the empty seat opposite him. "A ham and cheese omelet, and an explanation," Atherton answered. "What in the world would a woman like that see in a man like Langley? What does he have that I don't?"

Courtney glanced up briefly as the bell on the door dingled, signaling Miss Tate's departure. "Trust me," she said as she scribbled on her pad, "you wouldn't believe me if I told you."




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



2:30 p.m.

Mrs. Bruce's rooming house




Sweating profusely, Courtney stepped gratefully into the cool of the front hallway and started slowly up the steps. It was beastly hot today; just the walk home had taken its toll on her. Not having slept much last night hadn't helped; the phone had rung over and over, six to eight rings about once every hour, and she hadn't been able to bring herself to pick it up. It was undoubtedly her father calling, and he would undoubtedly be frantic that she wasn't answering, but she just wasn't ready to talk to him yet. She should probably just answer the phone and tell him that instead of leaving him to imagine what could have happened to her in the proximity of Covari, but she dreaded that conversation almost as much as she dreaded seeing Dee again.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Courtney glanced over at Dee's closed door. Dee wouldn't be going to the diner; business had been slow after the morning rush, filming having apparently taken place somewhere outside town. Mr. Parker had called his extra waitresses and told them to stay home today, wisely deciding to build future work schedules around the filming schedule. I should go over, Courtney thought, hesitating at the top of the stairs. She should.....but she wasn't in the mood for that either. She wasn't in the mood for much of anything these days, and she unlocked the door to her room just as the phone rang again.

Courtney sank onto the bed and put her hands over her ears. Why did the Warders have to pick a world with such backward technology that they couldn't silence their communication devices? She'd seriously considered disconnecting the phone last night just so she could get some sleep, but that would have truly panicked her father. Like not answering didn't, she thought ruefully, imagining her father standing in their front hallway in the middle of the night as the phone rang and rang, wondering where she could be. And here she was not answering again, panicking him again, assuming he'd ever stopped. Everything she touched just went to hell these days.

"Would you like me to get that?"

Dee was in the doorway, looking every bit as awkward and uncertain as Courtney felt. "Where's Philip?" Courtney asked.

"Asleep," Dee answered. "He actually conked out early today. That phone's been ringing all morning," she added. "Over and over. If that's your father, he must be really worried."

"I'm sure he is," Courtney admitted, "but having you answer isn't going to make him any less worried."

"You sure?" Dee asked as the ringing continued incessantly. "I could tell him you're in the bathroom."

"And then he'd think you'd killed me if I didn't call back in short order," Courtney said. "What I'd really like is a way to shut that thing up without disconnecting it."

"You mean like turn the bell off? That would be nice, especially since we have to sleep in the same room as the phone. Maybe Malik could fix it to work that way."

"No thanks," Courtney said quickly, refraining from pointing out that she'd rather listen to the phone ring all day and all night then be anywhere near a Covari.

The ringing stopped, sending a wave of guilt her way as she imagined her frantic father hanging up on his end. "You're going to have to answer it some time, you know," Dee said gently.

Courtney gave her a skeptical look. "Why do you care? I thought you didn't want anything to do with me."

"I didn't say that," Dee said levelly. "I said I didn't want you watching my son, that's all. You can hardly blame me under the circumstances." She paused. "I heard you found my Mama."

"She found me," Courtney corrected. "It was nice to talk to somebody's mother, even if she wasn't mine."

"She seems to be in a much better mood now that I've moved out," Dee observed. "And now you think I'm crazy for being mad at her, I'll bet."

Courtney shook her head. "No. Mothers are always harder on their own daughters. God knows mine was."

"You fought with your mother?"

"All the time. She didn't want me to go into the military. Never mind that my father was in the military, and all my brothers went into the military, and lots of my friends were going into the military; for some reason, I wasn't supposed to. Needless to say, I did anyway.....and now I'm not there so she can say 'I told you so'."

"If all your brothers are in the military, then why didn't one of them come too?" Dee asked.

Courtney smiled bitterly. "Because I'm better leverage. I'm the youngest, the least trained, and the one my father worries about the most. And the best one to keep him in line."

"Geez," Dee muttered. "I don't like the people you work for."

"Neither do I," Courtney sighed. "Neither do I."

They sat in silence on the bed for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. "Malik talked to Jaddo," Dee said suddenly.

Courtney's heart nearly stopped. "He....he told him? About me?"

"Of course not," Dee said. "Do you really think you'd still be alive if he'd done that? It was just a hypothetical conversation, a 'what if' kind of thing."

"And?"

"And Jaddo said he would only deal with someone he'd dealt with before, from the last time your people tried to talk to his Ward. Is there anyone here like that?"

Oh, no. Courtney's heart went from racing, to slowing, to sinking as she realized what that meant. "My father led the delegation who approached Rath, but—"

"Then there's someone here he'd recognize," Dee said. "That's good!"

"That's bad," Courtney corrected. "He's wearing a husk and is virtually unrecognizable."

"Can't he take his husk off?"

"Not without killing the husk," Courtney answered. "Our husks.....connect with us. Break those connections, and they won't reform."

"Does he have a spare husk? Could he take off one and put on another?"

"No one has a spare husk," Courtney said. "That was made very clear to us on the way here, that we had to be very careful with our husks because they take such a long time to grow."

"So," Dee said slowly, "he can't identify himself without killing himself in the process."

"Exactly."

Dee was quiet for a moment. "There has to be a way to work this out," she said finally, with the conviction of one who just didn't understand. "We'll find a way."

Courtney managed a wan smile. "Sure we will."

The phone rang again, sounding louder than ever. "Are you sure you don't want me to answer that?" Dee offered.

"No, thanks," Courtney said quietly. "I'll get it."

Dee rose from the bed, pausing by the door. "Come on over after you talk to him. If you want. I don't mind."

"Okay," Courtney whispered.

Dee closed the door behind her as Courtney stared at the ringing phone. Here she'd been justifying not answering on the grounds that she had nothing to report. She should have answered it before, when she didn't have to tell the leader of the resistance that any chance of accomplishing their mission had just evaporated.




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I'll post Chapter 30 next Sunday.

Hello to everyone reading!





CHAPTER THIRTY


July 9, 1959, 3 p.m.

Copper Summit, Arizona




Michael closed his eyes with relief when he finally heard his daughter's voice on the line. As the humans would say, what a roller coaster this past week had been. It had begun with the first sighting of the Royal Warders in over ten years, which had sent Nicholas off on a tear and galvanized every Argilian operative on this planet. Michael had found the news welcome for an additional reason: The Warders were not in Roswell. Granted, they'd shown themselves just north of there. But they were clearly pursuing one of Jaddo's captors and so had gone where that captor was, which meant that his daughter was not in the line of fire as he had feared every single day since she'd left. The frantic deployment of operatives and furious searching which Nicholas had subsequently begun would likely be fruitless; having shown themselves so obviously, the Warders would now be very careful not to do so again.

And then just as he was drawing breath, Courtney had dropped the bombshell that she'd actually located them. Michael had listened to her report with a veritable tidal wave of mixed emotions, simultaneously elated that the resistance had found them first and terrified that his own child was not only in the line of fire, but the prime target. Ultimately he had made the most difficult decision of his life: Courtney must remain there and maintain contact. She was not trained for it, and could very likely not survive the attempt, but there was no other alternative. They could not let this chance slip through their fingers; she was the only resistance operative anywhere near Roswell, and relocating operatives under Nicholas' eagle eye was impossible. If only she'd found them just a week earlier, things might have been different.

He had immediate cause to regret his decision. Courtney had apparently offended the Warders' human allies, who understandably saw Covari as sentient beings, which was exactly what they imitated so well. She was simply not prepared for this, not prepared to deal with an ally who couldn't possibly understand what Covari truly were, never mind deal with a Covari itself. But what else could he do? It was nothing short of a miracle that a resistance operative had located the Warders first, and it was not lost on him that the only reason that had happened was his daughter's stubborn insistence that the Warders' would have stayed in Roswell. She had been right, but being right hadn't staved off the heartbreaking fear and confusion in her voice the last time he'd talked to her, and it had been all he could do to guide her without letting his own fear get the better of him. And then she didn't answer the phone, hadn't answered for a full day now, and he'd thrown caution to the winds, calling and calling, not caring if he aroused suspicion by using the phone so much. If anything had happened to her.......

"I'm sorry I worried you, Papa," Courtney was saying. "I just....I just didn't have anything to report until now."

"That's no excuse for not answering!" Michael insisted. "Where have you been? Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

"I'm sorry," Courtney repeated. "I won't do it again."

"I certainly hope not," Michael said, ashamed to find himself trembling, he was so relieved. "I shouldn't be using the phone so much, and every time you don't answer means I have to call back."

"Are you all right?" Courtney asked worriedly. "What's going on there?"

"Very little," Michael admitted. "Nicholas must know that the Warders won't show themselves again so soon, but that hasn't stopped him from looking."

"But what about you?" Courtney asked. "How has this affected you?"

For the better, Michael thought silently. Consumed with his hunt, Nicholas had temporarily lost interest in the harvesting of human children for his experiments, what was surely the most distasteful task Michael had ever been given and one that was certain to draw suspicion in the future. And so unnecessarily too; they possessed the expertise to take what they wanted without harming the children permanently, but it was Nicholas' way to simply use up whoever or whatever was in his possession and discard the remains. "I am in no danger," Michael answered, sparing his daughter the unpleasant details. "You said you had something to report?"

"Dee seems to have calmed down. And I met her mother, who also knew the Warders. I think she liked me."

"Good!" Michael replied. "It is most important to court their human allies because they are far easier to reach."

"For all the good it will do," Courtney said sadly.

"Meaning?" Michael asked warily.

There was a pause. "Malik talked to Jaddo," Courtney said. "He didn't tell him anything specific, but he tried to get a feel for how he would react to us by asking him about the first time Rath was approached. Jaddo said he wouldn't meet with anyone who hadn't been there before, someone he knew and could identify."

"We expected that," Michael answered. "I am the only one of the original delegation on this planet, so I must lead the negotiations when the time comes."

"That's just it—you can't," Courtney answered. "How would you identify yourself? You can't take your husk off without destroying it, and there aren't any spares."

Michael hesitated, looking around carefully to make certain he was alone. "That's not true," he said quietly. "They lied to us."




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



11:30 p.m.

Roswell




Clap! Brivari snapped the clapboard and stepped back mere seconds before the director yelled, "Action!" Feet pounded and screaming began.

"Cut!"

Deep sighs were heard all around as Larry climbed out of his chair and headed over to his cast, which included Audrey in the requisite unworkable footwear, a group of "extras" whose sole directive was to scream and run, and a group of "aliens" now sporting large holes in their masks which prevented them from fainting from lack of air, although several had already fainted from the heat. "Where are the rest of my extras?" he demanded. "We should have about fifty people running away, and it looks like only about twenty."

"They didn't show up," one of the assistants ventured, keeping his distance.

"Then tell Morty to get me more extras!" Larry exclaimed. "How the hell am I supposed to film this damned thing without enough people to run away from the aliens? And you shouldn't be stopping," he barked at the aliens as the assistant scurried off. "The point is that you don't catch them because you can't see them. All of the humans are hiding in the dark by the side of the building, so the aliens can't see them, and they run by."

"Hiding?" an extra grumbled. "Are they blind? There's enough light pouring down on us to make it look like the middle of the afternoon."

"Those are stage lights," Larry said impatiently. "They're for the cameras, not the aliens."

"So we have people who can build ships that fly to another planet, but they can't catch us because they haven't invented the flashlight yet?" Audrey said innocently.

Brivari suppressed a smile as muffled laughter echoed around the set. Audrey loved to point out the inanities in the "script", and there were certainly enough of them to keep her busy for a good long while. "Yeah, I know, I know," Audrey said before Larry could erupt. "I was hired to scream and run, not write the script. I'm just hoping that real aliens wouldn't be so stupid."

"They were stupid enough to get killed," Larry retorted. "Is that stupid enough for you? Places! Let's try to—ouch!"

This time the laughter wasn't even remotely muffled as the director tripped and nearly fell to the ground. Brivari erased the "3" on the clapboard and replaced it with a "4", paying no attention. It was petty really, to trip him like that, but that remark about being stupid enough to get killed had hit a sore spot. Neither Urza nor Valeris were being stupid when the humans' ambush had taken their lives. Bad luck was bad luck no matter how technologically advanced one's civilization.

"Get back to work!" Larry snapped. "This is going to take longer than ever because we have to make the crowd look bigger than it is. Morty!" he added as the producer appeared on the set. "Where the hell are my extras?"

A heated discussion ensued. Morton Steinfeld was not having a good day; a number of the extras he had so painstakingly hired had not reported for work today, hampering filming. To make matters worse, the alien "experts" Atherton had referenced had begun to arrive, badmouthing the entire process to anyone who would listen. Brivari had noticed little effect on the watching crowds; the lure of Hollywood apparently outweighed the need for their entertainment to make sense, not to mention that this story, if one could call it that, mirrored the humans' preconceptions and fears about not being alone in the universe, much like Atherton's book.

Flustered, Steinfeld detached himself from the group which included the director and several assistants and employed his usual method of solving problems these days—he headed for Brivari. "Only half the extras I hired showed up for work today, and less than that showed up tonight," he said in exasperation. "I can't reach them on the phone, and I have no idea where they are or why they're not here. What do I do?"

"Simple," Brivari said calmly. "Dismiss them."

"Is that your solution for everything? It was a miracle that Larry came back after quitting yesterday—"

"That was no miracle. I believe I predicted he would reappear."

"But what if he hadn't?" Steinfeld persisted. "And now I've got all these people who were carefully chosen for their ability to scream—"

"A trait which is useless if they do not report for duty," Brivari noted.

"—and you want me to just cut them off? I don't have time to hire more extras without seriously screwing up the production schedule! I can only throw my weight around so much before it starts to backfire. I already tried the strong arm method with the sheriff, and he threatened to sic an alien on me!"

Brivari smiled faintly. "Did he, now? While I'm uncertain as to how he would fulfill that threat, perhaps it would help if I illuminated some boundaries. The sheriff is not in your employ; he falls under the heading of 'associate'. One does not command associates; one negotiates with them. Those you have employed, however, are a different matter. They are your subordinates, and if those subordinates are not performing their duties as required, they should be dismissed and promptly replaced. Tolerate such behavior, and you will find yourself surrounded by those who are all too willing to take advantage of that tolerance; refuse to tolerate it, and you will find yourself surrounded by those willing to live up to your standards."

Steinfeld stared at him. "What the hell kind of job did you have before you came here?"

"The kind that makes it easy for me to spot one who is inexperienced and easily intimidated," Brivari answered, "traits which hamper leadership. Another trait which hampers leadership is the inability to alter course when necessary. Those you hired have not fulfilled their end of the bargain, and now you must alter course."

"But how?" Steinfeld asked desperately. "Where am I going to find more extras right now?"

"How about over there?" another voice said.

Audrey had sidled up behind them, those impossible shoes in her hand, making her footsteps almost silent. "You mean the crowd?" Steinfeld said in disbelief. "What, you mean just pull people out of the crowd and stick them in front of the camera? But they're not trained, they're not—"

"So what?" Audrey said. "All you did with the others was tell them to look scared and run from point A to point B. How hard is that?"

"But they don't have contracts—"

"Screw the contracts," Audrey said. "Offer'em a buck apiece just to be in these last couple of scenes; that's less than you would've paid the no shows. If they're out here at midnight just to watch, I'll bet they'll jump at the chance."

"I wouldn't be surprised if recruiting from the crowd would anger the protestors," Brivari added casually.

That did it. Steinfeld was particularly put out with the protestors, so anything that would upset them had to be good. "Sorry for the eavesdropping," Audrey said as Steinfeld marched off with a gleam in his eye. "Nobody talks to me, so a lot of times the only way to find out what's going on is to listen in."

"You had an excellent suggestion," Brivari said. "Frankly, I find you far better equipped to run this production than Mr. Steinfeld."

"Me?" Audrey laughed. "A woman produce a movie? No one would ever go for that."

"I remain confused as to what gender has to do with it," Brivari admitted.

"I know," Audrey smiled. "That's why I like you. You're different."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you are 'different' too," Brivari said. "You are certainly not what society at large seems to think you are."

"Yeah, well.....a girl has to be careful about how 'different' she is," Audrey said. "It's all well and good for a man to be different; he can get away with it." She paused, watching Steinfeld and one of his assistants approach the crowd in the distance. "I looked for you this morning at the diner, but I only found your friend, Mr. Anderson."

"I'm sure he was excellent company," Brivari said, imagining Atherton's joy at being approached by one he had identified as a "bombshell".

"I didn't stay," Audrey said. "Oh, he's sweet, and all, but.....I was really hoping to find you. Since I missed you for breakfast, can I....walk you home?"

"Are you concerned I might lose my way?" Brivari asked dryly.

"No, just nosey," Audrey laughed. "Langley, no one knows anything about you! Nobody knows where you live, or what you do, or even what your first name is. You do have one, don't you?"

"I have always found one name to be more than sufficient," Brivari replied.

"Okay, then where do you live?" Audrey pressed. "It must be somewhere nearby because I never see you with a car. Even Mr. Anderson doesn't know where you live."

"What difference does it make where I live?" Brivari asked.

Audrey leaned in closer. "Everyone is really interested in you, Langley. You appear out of nowhere, you flatten Larry with a few words, Morty won't move without your advice.....naturally people are curious." She glanced sideways as though checking for fellow eavesdroppers. "There's a bet going," she confided, "on who can figure out where you live first. A couple of the crew followed you when we broke for dinner, but they lost you. Now everyone's really curious."

Oh, dear, Brivari sighed. If he wanted to continue here, it looked like he would have to satisfy the humans' curiosity. And he did want to continue, if for no other reason than it took his mind off Quanah. The reason he had not been at the diner for breakfast was that he had paid a visit to Quanah's village, keeping his distance, watching from the shadows, ultimately unwilling to show himself. The thought of entering Quanah's house when Quanah was not there, would never be there again, was just too painful.

"It appears that Mr. Steinfeld could use your expertise," Brivari said, nodding toward the director who was being mobbed by prospective extras, proving once again that success could be every bit as daunting as failure.

"Poor Morty," Audrey said, shaking her head. "He means well, he really does, but he just doesn't know how to grab the bull by the horns." She started for Steinfeld, then stopped, giving Brivari one of those looks which made human males behave like fools. "I'd really like to win that bet, Langley."

And then she was off, the crowd of newly minted extras who had been giving Steinfeld such a hard time shushing at her approach, giving her their undivided attention; admiring attention from the men, grudging attention from the women, but attention nonetheless. Within five minutes she had dispatched two rude individuals, which had the predictable calming effect on the rest of the group, lined them up, and begun giving instructions. It never failed to amaze him how the ability to command came in such disparate packages. When it came to leadership, Audrey was the least respected member of the movie crew, supposedly because of her gender, yet she was clearly a born leader, taking initiative where others hung back. Riall had been a born leader also, innately possessing the characteristics necessary in those who not only command, but command well. And his son...... His son could have been, Brivari thought. Zan's instincts had been sound, but he had tended to ignore advice and either over- or under-react; perhaps if he'd had a little more time to mature, to listen to his advisors, to learn the delicate, ever-changing balance of command, he would have become a leader to rival his father. Perhaps.....

A line of new extras marched by, led by Audrey, who threw him a wink, and trailed by a relieved Steinfeld. Because of her willingness to alter course, the director would have his extras and filming would continue. Perhaps she deserved to win that "bet". Perhaps he should see to it that she did.




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



July 10, 1959, 7 a.m.

Parker's Diner




"Oh!" Courtney gasped, skidding to a halt as she entered the bathroom. "Geez, I'm sorry Nancy!"

"Don't be, hon," Nancy chuckled, as though she wasn't standing there with the top of her uniform hanging around her waist and sporting nothing but a bra on her upper half. "It's a ladies room, after all. I figured I'd cool off while I had the chance. All the fans in the world don't help when it's this hot." She paused, reluctantly sliding back into her uniform. "One of these days, I swear I'm going to go out there naked. I don't care if everyone faints; at least I'll be comfortable. Haven't you ever felt that way? Haven't you ever wanted to just take it all off?"

Turns out I can, Courtney thought, answering Nancy's question with a smile and a nod as the latter finished buttoning her uniform and headed back out to the kitchen. After all of the lectures about protecting their husks, about how difficult husks were to grow, about how there were no spare husks, it turned out at least some of that was a big fat lie.

"There are spares?" she had exclaimed to her father in disbelief. "But we were told there weren't!"

"Of course we were," her father had said patiently. "You've seen how some have behaved once connected to these primitive skins. The specter of death is the only thing keeping some of us in line."

"But they lied to us," Courtney had said angrily, aware even as she spoke of the silliness of that objection. Naturally Nicholas had lied to them; it was what he did best.

"Not entirely," her father had countered. "Husks are precious; it takes years to grow a new crop. And removing a husk is no small matter, akin to being skinned alive."

"But once it's off, could you put on another right away?" Courtney asked, trying to block out the unpleasant images that conjured.

"Yes, but this is still not something to be taken lightly," her father cautioned. "The old husk would die, and the spare husk would need to be immediately available. Obtaining the spare would be difficult; Nicholas' immediate family have theirs in Copper Summit, but the few remaining spares are on the ship, like Greer's, for example. Obtaining them wouldn't be easy."

"Is one of those spares yours?" she had asked, bewildered.

"I'm not sure," Michael had admitted. "I had to tread carefully just to find out about the spares on the ship after stumbling across the spares in the basement. But if Greer has a spare, I would imagine I have one as well."

"But what if you don't?" Courtney had persisted. "If you use someone else's, there would be two of someone."

"One thing at a time," her father had answered. "The most important thing now is that Jaddo has expressed a willingness to hear us, whatever the circumstances. We have plenty of time to figure this out; it will be awhile before Nicholas relaxes his vigilance. Nothing can happen before then."

The rest of the conversation had gone well enough, with Michael relieved that Dee was no longer angry and Courtney relieved to no longer have a phone ringing off the hook. But instead of sleeping better last night, she'd lain awake, stewing. So Nicholas and his cronies had spare husks. Well, of course they did—Nicholas wasn't about to risk himself or his family the way he cheerfully risked everyone else. Even though having a spare husk was no guarantee of survival—something could certainly happen to you when you weren't close enough to utilize the spare, for example—it was still galling that Nicholas had gone on and on about the need to care for their husks while he had a spare in his basement. What else isn't he telling us? she thought angrily, exiting the bathroom and grabbing a pot of coffee. Probably plenty. Probably enough that she was better off not thinking about it.

"Coffee?" she asked reflexively to the first of the new customers who had arrived in her absence, repeating the query down the line of booths which were her responsibility until she came to the back booth.

"Good morning, sweetheart!" the blowzy blonde with the bright red lipstick chirped as Courtney froze with the coffee pot in midair. "I'm Audrey Tate. We met yesterday, remember?"

"Right," Courtney said faintly, accepting the hand with the long red nails that resembled claws. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please, but then I'll wait to order," Miss Tate said. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Mr. Anderson?" Courtney ventured.

Miss Tate smiled. "No. Mr. Langley. He agreed to meet me here for breakfast, but he's a bit late." She paused, glancing around the diner. "Can you set for a spell?"

" 'Set'?"

"Sit," Miss Tate translated, indicating the bench opposite. "I want to ask you something."

Slowly, Courtney set the coffee pot down and slid onto the bench. "I was wondering," Miss Tate said in a low voice, "if you could tell me something about Langley."

"Like what?" Courtney asked warily.

"I'm having the hardest time finding out anything about him, and so is everyone else," Miss Tate confided. "But I hear he eats here on a regular basis, right?"

"Well.....he has been," Courtney allowed. "But I've only worked here for a few weeks, so I wouldn't know much."

"Do you know where he lives?" Miss Tate asked eagerly, as though that were a very important question.

In a huge palace. "No, I'm sorry, I don't," Courtney answered. "Why?"

"There's a bet going on the set," Miss Tate said, lowering her voice further to a conspiratorial whisper. "The first one to figure out where he lives is going to get a pile of cash."

They're stalking a Royal Warder? Courtney thought, dumbfounded. "Why is there a....'bet'?" she asked out loud. "Can't you just ask him?"

"Oh, I did," Miss Tate said. "But Langley is nothing if not enigmatic. It has to be somewhere close, though, because he doesn't seem to use a car."

Who needs a car when you can sprout wings and fly? "So....is that why you're meeting him for breakfast?" Courtney asked. "So you can find out where he lives?"

Miss Tate dropped her eyes. "Partly. But only partly. Look, I know Langley's not a looker, but....I find him fascinating. He's so different, and in an odd way, that makes him attractive."

For a moment Courtney's stomach churned until she reminded herself that this was Earth, not Antar. Covari were in high demand for sex on her world. If the thought of simply interacting with a Covari was revolting, the thought of coupling with one was far worse. But that didn't stop the many who were attracted by a being who could become multiple partners of any gender or species imaginable. There were tales of those who employed Covari for just that purpose, or so their spouses would leave them alone. Whatever the reason, it was sickening.

"I think you should stay away from him," Courtney said suddenly.

Miss Tate's eyebrows rose. "Really? Why?"

"He just.....seems.....dangerous," Courtney stammered.

To Courtney's surprise, Miss Tate nodded knowingly. "He sure does," she said with satisfaction. "And that's part of the attraction. Haven't you ever been attracted to a dangerous man, hon? Well, no, you probably haven't," she continued, patting Courtney's hand with her claw-like fingernails when Courtney shook her head vigorously. "You're a bit young for that. When you're young, it's all about the looks, and do they bring you flowers, and stuff like that. When you get older, you want......more."

"This would be more than you ever bargained for," Courtney murmured.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Courtney looked up.....and lurched to her feet. "Langley, you scared her!" Miss Tate admonished. "Poor little thing! Say you're sorry!"

"My apologies," Langley said, sliding into the booth as Courtney struggled to hold the coffee pot steady. "May I have some coffee, please?"

"Don't worry, honey, he does that to the rest of us too," Miss Tate assured her. "He walks on little cat's feet. And don't you worry about me," she added with a wink as Courtney finished pouring and started to flee. "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

Not this time, Courtney thought, escaping as quickly as she could. Lady, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into.




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




12:15 p.m.

Roswell Sheriff's Station




"Here you are, sir," Jimmy Valenti said, setting the cup of coffee on the deputy's desk. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"God, you're spoiling us, kid," the deputy chuckled. "It's going to be hard getting along without you after the movie's over."

"I really like being here, sir," Jimmy said sincerely.

"And we like having you," the deputy smiled. "Why don't you take some coffee to whoever's in back? They don't get waited on back there the way we do up here."

Jimmy's eyes widened. "Yes, sir!" he exclaimed, scurrying back to the coffee pot. He'd never been in the "back", where the cells were; even his mother, who had championed his presence here, didn't like him going back there. His father had stationed a deputy by the cells full time because of the number of people they were locking up for disorderly conduct or petit larceny. Fewer people were being arrested now that word was getting out that his father meant business, but there were still plenty of people testing the limits, and it was said that things could get gnarly back there when the cells started to fill up.

Carrying the cup carefully so as not to spill it, Jimmy wound his way through the station until he came to the door which led to the cells. Should he knock? If he knocked, whoever was back there definitely wouldn't let him in. Perhaps he should just let himself in? None of the deputies would knock. And he'd been asked to bring coffee, so it's not like he was just being nosy.....

Cautiously, Jimmy opened the door a crack, then further. He was in a small anteroom, by the looks of it, which held only a chair surrounded by stacks of magazines. No one was there, and for a moment, he was tempted to just set the cup down and run.

"I thought I told you to behave yourself," came a stern voice nearby.

Startled, Jimmy nearly dropped the cup until he realized the voice was coming from a doorway off to the side. Creeping to it, he saw a row of cells, each holding several people, and Deputy Crist, the man he'd caught sitting at his father's desk. As Jimmy watched, Crist unlocked a cell, pulled a man out, and moved him to another, the key clanking in the lock.

"We were just doing what comes naturally," the displaced prisoner grinned. In the cell he'd just vacated, a woman in a tight dress and high heels lounged on a cot, smiling.

"Shitting's natural too," Crist said, pocketing the keys and turning around to find Jimmy staring at him goggle-eyed.

"I....I brought you some coffee," Jimmy stammered. "One of the other deputies asked me too."

"What a little sweetie," the tight-dressed woman cooed, coming to her cell door. "Did you bring me anything, handsome?"

"No, ma'am," Jimmy whispered, backing up even though she was a good distance away and locked up besides.

"Simmer down," Crist ordered, steering Jimmy back into the anteroom. "Thanks," he said, taking the cup, which was just as well because Jimmy's hands were shaking. "Don't mind her. She's just ornery."

"What's she in for?" Jimmy asked, sneaking a peek back around the corner where the woman was still leering at him.

"World's oldest profession," Crist chuckled.

"What's that?"

"If you're young enough to ask, you're not old enough to know," Crist said cheerfully. He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a Hershey bar. "Here. This is for you."

"Me?" Jimmy said. "Why?"

"Because I really appreciate you not telling your daddy about finding me sitting at his desk," Crist said, settling himself on his chair. "A lot of other kids would've blabbed."

But I did, Jimmy thought uncomfortably. He'd been feeling bad about that ever since he'd told his father about it. He'd been so sure that night, so positive that Crist was lying. But by the next day, the glow of his father's announcement about his "intuition" had faded, and he'd begun to wonder if maybe he hadn't exaggerated the whole thing. Maybe he'd just been too caught up in the excitement of being at the station, or maybe he'd wanted to prove his worth to his father. Maybe he'd gotten an innocent man in trouble by shooting his mouth off. Maybe.....maybe that's why Crist is back here he thought worriedly. Maybe his father had assigned him cell duty to keep him away from his desk. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut and waited to see if anything else happened. Certainly Crist hadn't made another move toward his father's office or anywhere else he wasn't supposed to be.

"Go on," Crist urged. "Take it. You're not taking candy from a stranger because I'm not a stranger."

Feeling like a traitor, Jimmy pocketed the candy bar. "Thanks," he said uncertainly as the urge to fess up became overpowering. "But...."

The door to the anteroom opened, and Andi's head appeared. "Jimmy? What are you doing in here?"

"He was just bringing me coffee, ma'am," Deputy Crist answered. "Right nice of him, too. It gets a little lonely back here."

"Well, it looks like you have your coffee, so Jimmy can come back out now," Andi said. "I have his lunch ready."

"Yes, ma'am," Jimmy said reluctantly.

"She doesn't want you back here, does she?" Crist asked after Andi had retreated.

"No, sir," Jimmy said.

"But I bet you'd like to see what's back here, wouldn't you?" Crist asked.

Jimmy dropped his eyes. "Yes, sir."

"Kind of like I wanted to sit in your daddy's chair," Crist winked. "Tell you what—I'm here for the rest of the day, so why don't you check back every hour or so, and you can spend a few minutes with me. I won't say anything."

"Really?" Jimmy asked.

"Sure. You didn't say anything about me. One good turn deserves another."

A minute later Jimmy was back in the station, feeling both traitorous and excited about the invitation. Maybe he'd been a bit hasty about Deputy Crist. Maybe he should think more carefully before passing any little thing along to his father.




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




Ruth Bruce's rooming house




Courtney gratefully turned the corner onto her street, eager to be home and out of the blazing sun. It was especially fierce today, so fierce that it had actually broken the resolve of some of the movie-watching crowds, who had retreated to Parker's, shade, and fans. The place had been so packed when she'd left that she'd felt guilty and offered to stay, but Nancy had shooed her out.

"You've been here for hours, dear," she'd said. "You've done your bit. Just make sure that your friend comes in today. We'll need her!"

Poor Dee, Courtney thought, heading up the front walk to her rooming house. At least it was cooler, relatively speaking, for most of her own shift, but Dee got the afternoon and early evening when the heat was at its peak. Then again, she'd grown up here, and it didn't seem to bother her. Still, Courtney felt guilty all over again for looking forward to peeling this uniform off, maybe having another chat with Mrs. Proctor and another glass of iced tea. She was mulling over whether to await an invitation or seek one out herself when she stepped through the door and nearly ran smack into someone.

"Sorry," she said, stepping sideways. "I didn't see.....Miss Tate?"

It was indeed Audrey Tate, all blond hair and red lipstick just like this morning. "Hi sweetheart!" Miss Tate exclaimed. "Do you live here?"

"Uh....yes," Courtney said, confused. "Why? Do you?"

"No," Miss Tate said with satisfaction, "but someone else does." She leaned in closer. "I won the bet!"

" 'Bet'?" Courtney echoed stupidly.

"Yes, the bet I was telling you about earlier! About where Langley lives!"

Courtney's heart nearly stopped. "He....he lives......"

"Right here!" Miss Tate said happily. "He's your downstairs neighbor!"



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



I'll post Chapter 31 next Sunday.

Hello to everyone reading!

PML wrote:Poor Courtney can't catch a break, can she? And watching Briviari change careers is amusing as well.

Great part.

Thank you! Courtney's definitely going to have to brace herself. It's a wild ride from here on out.

kj4ever wrote:Good Lord can you imagine Brivari or Jaddo as a gigilo?

Ewwwww! No. But given their....er....."talents", they could probaby make a living at it.





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE


July 10, 1959, 2:45 p.m.

Ruth Bruce's Rooming House




......your downstairs neighbor.

Courtney stared stupidly at Miss Tate, the words ringing in her ears even as her mind refused to process them. "Mr. Langley.....lives.....here?" she stammered. "In this building?"

"Right over there," Miss Tate said, indicating a room to her left that was right beneath Dee's. "He brought me here over our lunch break, and now we're heading back to the set. You weren't holding out on me this morning, were you?" she added with a sly smile.

"N....No!" Courtney exclaimed, finding it difficult to talk because she was finding it difficult to breathe. "I....I've never seen him here! Honest, I wasn't—"

"Don't fret, dear," Miss Tate said, patting her hand. "Langley is like a ghost; he appears and disappears. If it were anyone else, I'd wonder, but because it's him, I believe you. He could probably sneak right by you without you even knowing."

You have no idea, Courtney thought frantically. "Would you excuse me?" she begged, rushing away before "Langley" showed himself and made her completely lose her marbles. She found Mrs. Bruce in the living room, settled on the sofa watching As The World Turns, one of those delicious television programs so many Argilians enjoyed.

"Miss Harris?" Mrs. Bruce said when she saw Courtney, all breathless and flustered. "My goodness, what's happened?"

"Did you just rent that downstairs room?" Courtney demanded.

"Why.....yes," Mrs. Bruce answered. "Just this morning. And to a very nice gentleman, too. Such impeccable manners! Believe me, I've had all types, and you don't often find one like him. I was all too glad to rent to him." She paused. "Is something wrong, dear? Do you know him? Is there something I should know?"

"No," Courtney whispered numbly. "I.....thank you."

Courtney headed back out to the front hall, using the wall for support, unable to believe her bad luck. One of the Warders was living downstairs? She would have to find some other place to live because there was absolutely no way she could live with a Covari in the building, never mind a Warder. What if it heard something? What if it noticed something? Or....what if it already has? Courtney thought in a panic. Did it know what she was? Was that why it was here? And if so, how had it found out?

Miss Tate had disappeared, and the front hall was mercifully empty. Racing up the stairs, Courtney pounded on Dee's door, which earned her an annoyed, "Just a minute!" from inside, followed by the door opening. "Courtney?" Dee said in surprise when she saw the wild look on her face. "What's wrong?"

"Did you tell them about me?" Courtney demanded, pushing her way into Dee's room. "Did you?"




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




Dee stared at Courtney in astonishment, stepping back as she practically fell into the room. "Court Nee!" Philip exclaimed, running over to see one of his favorite people, reaching out with his arms. "Up?"

"Not now, honey," Dee told him. "Calm down," she ordered Courtney. "What are you talking about? Did I tell them what?"

"About me!" Courtney exclaimed as Dee hastily closed the door before anyone else overheard. "It...he's downstairs! He moved into the room downstairs!"

"Who did?" Emily asked.

Courtney's gaze swung right, becoming a bit less frantic as she took in Emily's presence. "Langley," she answered. "He's moved in downstairs, right under you!"

"Langley moved in here?" Dee echoed. "How do you know that?"

"That woman told me," Courtney said impatiently, "that blonde who's been hanging around him."

"You mean the actress? The one with the fire engine red lipstick?"

"Yes! That one. She asked me this morning if I knew where Langley lived," Courtney said. "Something about people on the movie set trying to figure out where he lived, and there was some kind of bet going to see who could find out first. And now she says he lives here, and she won the bet! Dee, what is he doing here? Did you say something?"

"Would you look at that," Emily said softly, staring out the front window. "I'd call that bleached blonde."

Dee and Courtney joined her at the window, as did Philip, who stood on tiptoe and tried to see over the windowsill. Brivari and the actress were walking down the street, her ample backside sashaying right and left as she perched on her high heels. "Don't tell your father," Emily said dryly. "He'll be jealous."

"This is no time for jokes, Mama," Dee said severely.

"It's also no time for panic," Emily countered. "Courtney, we haven't said a thing to either Warder about you, and you must know that. If we had, I sincerely doubt their first move would be to get an apartment in the same building as yours, don't you agree?"

"But why here, if not because of me?"

"Rooms are scarce now, what with the movie and all," Dee pointed out. "Most likely this was the only one he could find."

"It sounds like he needed to satisfy people's curiosity," Emily added. "If there's a bet going, and people were following him around, obviously that wouldn't be good. I can't imagine his being here has anything to do with you."

"But you don't know that," Courtney argued. "You really don't know what you're dealing with, Mrs. Proctor. I know you think you know these....'people', but do you really understand what they're capable of? They're programmed to be killers! They're—"

"I know exactly who I'm dealing with, thank you very much," Emily interrupted, her voice a shade cooler. "I understand we've only just met and you haven't heard the whole story, but I'd wager I know a good deal more about them than you do. As for what they're capable of, that cuts both ways. For example, they saved Dee's life."

Courtney's eyes widened. "They.....what?"

"Saved my life," Dee said. "Right after they crashed. Urza talked them into it."

Silence. Courtney looked back and forth from Dee to Emily in shock, this information clearly not squaring with her expectations. "Court Nee?" Philip said hopefully, holding up his arms again.

"Courtney's going to go back to her room and change into something more comfortable, honey," Emily said to Philip. "And then maybe she'll come back after Mommy goes to work. I made iced tea," she added, nodding toward the table.

Courtney nodded numbly. "I....thanks."

"Try not to obsess about it, okay?" Dee said. "If the room is just a front, he probably won't be there much anyway."

"I can't live with a Covari in the building," Courtney whispered.

"Of course you can," Emily said crisply. "If I had a nickel for all the things I've done that I thought I couldn't do, I'd be independently wealthy. And he's gone now, so there's no need to fuss. Run along, and come back when you've changed. And no more tantrums," she added firmly. "You do realize that outbursts like that are dangerous, don't you?"

Courtney nodded wordlessly and left, closing the door quietly behind her. "Do you think we should tell her what happened to me?" Dee asked.

"Why not?" Emily said. "It might just poke a hole in those misperceptions she has. 'Programmed to be killers'? They can certainly be killers, but never once have I thought they were 'programmed'. And why on earth is Brivari taking up with an actress?"

"He took a job on the movie set," Dee said. "Something about a 'clapper loader', and the actress claimed he'd 'rescued' her." She sighed, sinking into a chair. "This is all my fault, Mama. He was all depressed about the babies not growing as fast as they should be, and I told him he should do something with all the extra time he had to spend here. And then one of his Indian friends died....I told you about that, he was so upset.....do you think he's gone off the deep end?"

Emily was quiet for a moment. "I think he's grieving," she said finally. "And I think he's finally gotten bored. I asked him a long time ago if they planned on living like humans the way Malik and his friend did, and he looked at me like I had two heads. I don't think he'd really thought about it yet, what with Jaddo still captive. But I say, good for him. He can't just sit around for decades with nothing to do."

"But what about the actress? She's the one who doesn't know what she's dealing with."

"And we certainly can't tell her," Emily murmured.

Dee shifted uncomfortably. "What if she finds out?"

Emily shook her head. "She's only here for a few weeks. We'll just have to hope she doesn't."




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





Valenti climbed out of his car in front of the rooming house, still in a quandary over what to do. He was taking advantage of a dinner break for the movie crew to follow up on his aborted conversation with Courtney Harris, something he hadn't had a chance to do in all the flurry of trying to keep order in a town gone Hollywood. Summer was always a busy time in Roswell, but this one broke all records; the latest estimates were that the population was up by twenty five percent instead of the usual ten to fifteen percent. A shortage of accommodations in town had led some to open their doors to strangers, seeing a way to make a little money; unfortunately this backfired if the new tenant turned out to be a thief. He and his men had responded to several calls about thefts from private residences by short term boarders, but there wasn't much they could do save for keeping an eye out for both thieves and stolen goods, and recommending the victims find some other way to raise cash. The larger crowds were also proving to be ripe feeding grounds for all the usual suspects like pickpockets and prostitutes, the latter of which were growing quite brazen. No discreet appointments made with discreet women like Rosemary for this bunch. Fortunately they all seemed to be independent contractors, which spared him the necessity of pursuing their pimps. But he did have to go after their customers if he wanted to keep it down to a dull roar, and the cells back at the station held many a randy male. This summer just kept getting worse.

"Sheriff!" Mrs. Bruce exclaimed, leaving her always babbling television to greet him at the door. "What a nice surprise!"

"Afternoon, Mrs. Bruce," Valenti said, removing his hat. "How's things? Any problems here?"

"None, I'm happy to say," Mrs. Bruce answered. "I've been hearing about the problems other renters are having, and I'm delighted to have such upstanding tenants. I just rented my last room to an extremely polite, well turned out gentleman. No complaints here."

"I'm glad to hear that. I do believe you're the first person I've spoken with today that didn't have a complaint."

"Ah, you poor man; this must be very difficult for you," Mrs. Bruce said sympathetically. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"I'm here to speak with Miss Harris," Valenti answered. "Nothing serious. Just wanted to talk."

"That was a nasty business with Mr. Green," Mrs. Bruce said, shaking her head. "I know she's off work, but I don't know if she's in; go up and see."

"Thank you, ma'am," Valenti said politely, heading up the stairs, that feeling of foreboding returning. He really had no idea what to do with the Mark Green debacle. Calling in the military would result in him being shut out of any investigation at the worst possible time, with all these guests in town. And despite his gut feeling that Courtney Harris was lying to him about something, he didn't have a shred of evidence to make him think that something had anything to do with Green's death or his exploding body, and the little he'd heard of that phone call to her father only supported that. What if she'd run away from home after a dispute with her father? Was that why she hadn't been more forthcoming? Regardless, lying was lying, and he wasn't certain how much longer he was going to be able to keep Ray quiet about this. Whatever her reasons, she'd have to come clean.

Valenti reached the top of the stairs and knocked on Courtney's door, waiting patiently for an answer. When none came, he knocked again, harder this time.....and a door opened behind him.

"Sheriff," a familiar voice said. "Can I help you?"

Valenti suppressed a sigh as he turned around. The movie crew's dinner break hadn't been the only reason he'd chosen this time to come here; the fact that he'd seen Dee Evans hard at work serving them their dinner at Parker's had a lot to do with it too. But there was no avoiding the Proctors, who seemed to spring up in the darnedest places when you least expected them.

"Mrs. Proctor," Valenti said politely. "I was looking for Miss Harris."

"She went grocery shopping," Emily replied. "She only just left, so I imagine she'll be back in an hour or so. Can I give her a message?"

Tell her to fess up about whatever she's hiding, Valenti thought, having half a mind to say that out loud.....and then something occurred to him, a fantastic thought that nonetheless made sense. "No message," he said slowly, "but.....Mrs. Proctor, would you mind if we.....talked for a few minutes?"

"About Courtney?"

"Partially," Valenti admitted.

Emily regarded him levelly for a moment before stepping back from the doorway. "Come in."

"Thank you," Valenti nodded, following Emily into the apartment, smiling when he saw Philip curled on the floor amid a pile of blocks.

"He just went to sleep, so I left him there," Emily said. "Of course in my day, children were always tucked into bed for naps, but Philip doesn't seem to mind sleeping anywhere. Iced tea?"

"That would be wonderful," Valenti said, settling into a chair at the kitchen table, setting his hat beside him. "Jimmy used to do the same thing. He couldn't bring himself to stop, and eventually, he'd just sack out wherever." He paused. "I'm surprised to see you here. I thought you and Dee were.....you know."

"Let me guess," Emily said, her voice heavy with irony. "The entire town knows that my daughter and I have been feuding."

"Actually, I doubt anyone knows but me," Valenti replied. "I've run into Dee a few times. She's been giving me legal advice, just like she did when she was nine. She may be taller, but she's not much different than she was back then. She grew up early."

Emily stopped pouring the tea for a moment, staring into space. "Maybe that's my problem," she said finally. "Dee doesn't seem that different to me, so I still think of her as a child instead of an adult." She set two glasses on the table along with a plate of lemon wedges. "But enough small talk. What's this about, sheriff?"

"Never one to beat around the bush, were you?" Valenti chuckled.

"Neither were you," Emily replied thoughtfully. "But you are now. Out with it."

Valenti paused a moment, eyeing her across the table. How much to say? There was no one else he could talk to, no one he could confide in save for Ray, who wasn't much help because he was growing more impatient by the minute. No one, that is, but the woman sitting across from him, someone he'd traveled many roads with, however reluctantly. Someone who knew aliens were real. Someone who might be able to confirm or deny the disturbing notions Ray had put in his mind. Assuming she was willing to, of course.

"Mrs. Proctor, can you keep a secret?"

Emily cocked an eyebrow. "I should think my credentials in that area would be beyond reproach."

"Right," Valenti smiled. "Of course they are. Dumb question." He hesitated, still weighing how much to divulge. "Have you heard about the former tenant in Miss Harris' apartment?"

"One Mark Green," Emily answered. "Murdered prior to her arrival, yet you suspect her in some way."

"Good synopsis," Valenti said. "But there's more. Green supposedly died of a knife wound to the back. But the wound wasn't behaving normally, and when Dr. Blake started poking around.....he exploded."

Emily blinked. "Dr. Blake exploded?"

"No, Green's body exploded," Valenti explained. "For lack of a better term."

"And how is it that everyone appears to have missed this 'explosion'?"

"Well.....that's the thing. It wasn't an ordinary body. All that was left of it were skin flakes. Like dry skin, only a lot of it. And when Dr. Blake checked out those skin flakes, he said he found human cells and......and non-human cells."

" 'Non-human'," Emily repeated slowly. "So....you think it was an alien?"

"Frankly? I don't know what to think," Valenti admitted, relaxing somewhat now that the "A" word had been uttered, and not by him. "That's what Dr. Blake thinks. But back in '47, when I watched that....thing.....in your house die, it didn't happen like that. It just.....collapsed. Into a pile of dirt, not skin flakes. Have you ever seen anything like what I'm describing, Mrs. Proctor?"

"No. Never." She stirred her tea, the spoon clanking loudly against the glass. "What are you going to do?"

"Ray wants me to call the military."

"Oh, that'll help," Emily deadpanned.

"Exactly," Valenti agreed. "Which is why I haven't. But....well, I don't know what to do. If I call in the Army, I probably won't get to investigate myself, and anything they do will likely panic the population of a town which has already been upended. But if I do nothing, and there's a real threat, especially with all these extra people here......" His voice trailed off, the implication obvious.

Emily was quiet for a long time, her fingers tapping on her glass. He watched her face, her eyes, but if she had any idea what he was talking about, it certainly wasn't showing. "Let me ask you something," she said at length. "Was this Mark Green a troublemaker?"

"Not at all," Valenti answered. "Fine upstanding citizen, from what I can tell."

"And someone killed him.....why?"

"Presumably for money," Valenti said. "But they must have been scared off because he had a large amount of cash on him when he was found."

"And this is the only time something like this has happened?"

"Yes."

"So what you've got here is a man dead in a strange way, but that's it? No other threat you can see?"

Valenti hesitated. "No."

"Then I'd do nothing," Emily said, "at least for the time being. That'll give you more time to look around and see if anything else comes up, and it might get you past the filming so that if and when you do decide to contact someone, the ruckus will have died down."

"Those were exactly my instincts," Valenti admitted. "You're not after my job, are you?"

"I don't have the people skills to be a sheriff," Emily said dryly. "I can't seem to keep the peace with my own daughter, never mind an entire town. But seriously, when I'm not sure what to do, I hold off on doing anything as long as I can because the longer I wait, the more information I might be able to gather. And since there doesn't seem to be any pressing reason to push this right now, I'd just let it lie. You can do just as much damage from reacting too quickly as you can from not reacting at all."

"Can I quote that to Dr. Blake?" Valenti chuckled.

"I'll tell him myself, if you like," Emily said. "Rumor has it that I have a habit of speaking my mind."

"Really?" Valenti said in mock surprise. "Rumor has it that I do too."

"We have that in common, don't we?" Emily said softly.

"Mrs. Proctor, it has always been a pleasure sparring with you," Valenti said. "Well, not that time you slammed my hand in the door. But every other time. Definitely."

"You just had to bring up the hand in the door, didn't you?"

Valenti smiled faintly. "Thanks for the tea," he said, rising from his chair. "And the advice."

"You're very welcome," Emily answered, following him to the door. "Any time."

"One more thing," Valenti added. "Don't worry about you and Dee. No matter how many times the two of you go round and round, you always find each other."

"I certainly hope so," Emily said. "I just wish I could learn to dispense with the 'round and round' part."

"Maybe you will," Valenti said. "You and I did." He donned his hat, tipping it slightly. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Proctor."

"Sheriff........"

Valenti stopped just outside the door. "Yes?"

The pause that followed grew awkward in length before Emily spoke again. "I just......wanted to wish you luck."

"Thank you," Valenti replied. "I could use some."




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




11:30 p.m.




"Did you see the looks on their faces?" Audrey laughed. "They just couldn't believe it! They couldn't believe I won!"

"They certainly did appear annoyed," Brivari agreed as he unlocked the door to the room he had secured just that morning before breakfast. "Of course, that could have something to do with the prize. I must confess I was surprised at the amount which had been collected."

"Like I said, everyone was really curious about you," Audrey smiled. "Curious enough to pony up real bucks."

But curious no more, Brivari thought with satisfaction as he flipped on the lights. Renting this room had taken the proverbial wind out of everyone's sails....or perhaps it was just the amount of currency that many had lost. Currency which now resided in Audrey's handbag courtesy of Brivari giving her the information she had needed to win it.

"The money will certainly come in handy," Audrey said. "Now I won't have to worry so much about how I'll make ends meet after this film is over."

"Is your profession that unstable?" Brivari asked.

"It's feast or famine," Audrey sighed. "You may have steady jobs for a year, then none at all the next. You have to learn to set money aside for those times when work is scarce."

"I'm curious as to why you don't secure more reliable employment," Brivari said.

"You mean like a 'real' job?" Audrey said. "Like a waitress, or a department store clerk, or something like that? I could. Sometimes I do, when I have to eat. But.....I don't know. They're boring. Dependable, but boring. I don't like boring." She paused, eyeing him. "You know what I mean. You don't like boring either."

"I would imagine few people prefer to be bored," Brivari answered, privately noting that, whatever his life had been, it had never been boring.

"So what do you do when you're not on a movie set, Langley? Mr. Anderson thinks you're some sort of security guard."

"Mr. Anderson thinks a great many things," Brivari replied, "and I am happy to leave him to his musings."

"Maybe a royal security guard?" Audrey suggested. "You did mention a palace."

"And what makes you think I was serious?"

Audrey broke into a laugh. "Are you ever anything else? I can't imagine you any other way. Do you even know how to smile?"

Brivari smiled faintly. "It's late, and your co-workers are waiting for you outside. You should retire so you have enough rest for tomorrow."

"Well, at least I got you to smile a little bit," Audrey said playfully. "That's something." She reached out a hand, ran a finger over his shoulder. "Sure I can't stay awhile and.....keep you company?"

"No, thank you," Brivari replied.

"Oh," Audrey said, clearly--and strangely--disappointed. He followed her out to the front hallway, where she turned suddenly and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"That's for letting me win," she whispered.

And then she was gone, moving with surprising ease in those impossible shoes. Brivari watched through the hallway window as she walked down the street with several of their colleagues who had tagged along to personally lay eyes on where he was staying, trying to decide if he should spend the night here. He hadn't planned on actually using the place, but what if someone returned, looking for him?

*How touching.*

Jaddo was standing in the apartment doorway wearing a deeply skeptical look. *What are you doing here?* Brivari asked.

*I thought you might be interested in an update from the base, but I gather you're busy caressing human females,* Jaddo replied.

*She caressed me,* Brivari corrected.

*And you did not object,* Jaddo countered. *Do you plan to play house like Malik does? Perhaps he'll teach you how to cook? At least he asked if I'd seen any signs of pursuit. You don't even care.*

*Is there something you wanted to tell me?* Brivari asked irritably, brushing past Jaddo into his room.

*If you can pull yourself away from various distractions, you might be interested to know that the Army still does not show any worrisome signs of interest.*

*Good,* Brivari said. *That means your impulsive behavior has not harmed us—yet.*

*And what about what you're doing?* Jaddo demanded. *I know you acquired this dwelling to allay suspicion. Hasn't it occurred to you that having a host of curious humans surrounding you is a very bad idea?*

*As bad an idea as alerting the military to our presence for no other reason than to satisfy your lust for revenge?* Brivari retorted.

*Are you even the slightest bit interested in what they're doing, or are you too busy with your ridiculous movie?*

*You said we needn't fear pursuit,* Brivari reminded him, *that there was no way for them to track us and no reason to be concerned. Yet you obviously don't believe that because you're spending all your time at the base.*

*While you fritter away your time on worthless human frivolities and so called 'friends' with short lifespans,* Jaddo said acidly.

Brivari advanced on him so quickly that Jaddo backed up. *Do not presume to judge my relationship with Quanah,* he warned. *And what difference does it make how I choose to amuse myself?*

*It makes a difference because any humans with whom you come into regular contact will perceive something different about you,* Jaddo argued. *We can't afford to form close ties with anyone. You know that.*

*I would hardly refer to my relationship with Miss Tate as 'close',* Brivari said testily.

*Perhaps now,* Jaddo said softly. *But how would you choose to characterize you relationship with Quanah?* He paused as Brivari glared at him. *You're doing it again, Brivari,* Jaddo continued. *You're becoming emotionally involved when you shouldn't. You took the fall of our world too personally, and now you're taking the death of your human 'friend' too personally as well. It affected your judgment before, and it's affecting it again. You're endangering our Wards.*

*Our Wards are nothing more than infants when they should be halfway to maturity!* Brivari snapped. *I have plenty of time, too much time to amuse myself before they emerge, assuming I am even alive when they do so.*

*We have already had this conversation,* Jaddo said coldly, *and I see no point in repeating it. But I ask you this—is your boredom more important than your king's safety?*

Brivari's mind clenched as he stopped himself from hurling Jaddo across the room. *Get out,* he breathed. *Get out before I throw you out!*

*Yes, I should leave,* Jaddo agreed. *I don't belong here. Then again, neither do you. With any luck, you might actually realize that.*

Brivari seethed for a good ten minutes after he left before heading back out into the night. A short while later, Malik jerked awake, sitting up abruptly in bed when he saw who had awakened him.

"Brivari?" Malik said worriedly. "Is something wrong?"

"No. But I require your assistance," Brivari announced.

"Okay," Malik said slowly, glancing at the clock, which read ten minutes past midnight. "With what?"

"I need to provision my apartment."

Malik blinked. "You have an apartment?"




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


My dance school has its recital next weekend, so I'll be posting Chapter 32 in two weeks on Sunday, June 15.

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO


Two weeks later


July 21, 1959, 1 p.m.

Ruth Bruce's rooming house



"I couldn't eat another bite," the assistant camera man said contentedly, easing back in his chair. "Don't get me wrong, I love the diner, but it's nice to eat something different. Nice idea, Langley."

"Nice spread, too," a gaffer added.

"We have Miss Tate to thank," Brivari replied. "This was all her doing."

"Glad you like it," Audrey beamed.

"What time is it?" the camera man asked.

"Just after one o'clock," the gaffer answered. "Back to work."

"Yep. Think the aliens have recovered yet?"

Chuckles echoed around Brivari's apartment, everyone no doubt recalling the ongoing feud between the actors playing aliens and the costumers, who insisted on masks which made it next to impossible to see where they were going. Brivari's intervention had gotten them air holes which kept them from fainting, but seeing was still an issue. It was a running joke on the set about how the aliens were supposed to be so advanced, yet they kept bumping into things because they couldn't see. This morning had been especially bad, with one actor sent to the hospital after colliding with a utility pole.

"Let's do this again some time," the camera man was saying as he rose from the sofa.

"How about tonight?" Audrey suggested. "If that's all right with Langley," she added hastily.

"Of course," Brivari answered.

"Great!" the camera man enthused. "I hear this is the only place in town where you can whoop it up and not get yelled at for making too much noise."

It helps to soundproof the room, Brivari thought as the small subset of the crew that had been lunching here filed out, all except for Audrey, who lingered behind. Brivari's apartment had become a popular meeting place, located as it was at the center of town. He had been careful to invite different members of the crew each time, knowing from long experience how much one could learn from intimate gatherings where people felt freer to speak their minds. That bit of advice had been lost on Zan, always a bit of a loner who tended to keep to himself and his closest intimates, unlike his gregarious father who was comfortable in virtually any social situation. Zan had seemed to always use up his limited tolerance for socializing on the large, ceremonial affairs which were part and parcel of any monarch's life, leaving little patience for the smaller variety which were every bit as important, if not more so.

"Everyone loves it here," Audrey was saying. "I knew they would."

"Due to you, in large part," Brivari replied. "You did most of the work."

"Well, the food, anyway," Audrey said. "And a few touches here and there. But it was good to start with. Way better than most bachelors I've met."

A compliment for Malik, Brivari thought as he stacked dishes in the tiny kitchen area. As he understood it, Malik had done a passable job of outfitting the apartment, with Audrey declaring that it needed only "a woman's touch" instead of the usual complete overhaul she seemed to think men's living quarters required. Brivari had indulged her, allowing her to amuse herself as she saw fit, including the introduction of these gatherings which served to further reduce curiosity about him and furnish him with valuable insights as to how the world of movie-making worked.....and all of which served as a distraction from that which he would rather not think about. Quanah was far from his thoughts these days, coming to the fore now and then only to be pushed firmly back, hidden behind the daily demands of filming. Others complained about the onerous schedule; Brivari found it liberating.

"Leave these," Brivari said as they finished retrieving the dishes. "You are expected in make-up shortly, are you not?"

"Before we go, I have something for you," Audrey said brightly.

"What else could this apartment possibly need?"

"It's not for the apartment; it's a.....a present," Audrey said, sounding suddenly awkward. "For you. Here," she urged, handing him a box. "Open it."

Brivari removed the lid of the box to find a round of cloth with a wide brim on one side. "What's this?"

"It's a cap, silly," Audrey said a bit defensively. "The bald look is just so.....severe. This softens it up a bit." She plucked the "cap" from the box as she spoke and centered it on his head. "Take a look," she ordered, pulling a mirror out of her purse. "See? Now you look....jaunty!"

And definitely more human, Brivari thought, gazing at his image. The lack of hair which was normal for Antarians always seemed to bother humans. "Don't you like it?" Audrey asked worriedly when he didn't say anything.

"Do you feel this improves my appearance?" Brivari asked.

"Oh, yes, absolutely! A lot of guys on the set wear caps, so this will help you blend in."

Brivari smiled faintly; Audrey knew he needed to "blend in", although she didn't know why. "If you feel this is an improvement, then of course I will wear it. Thank you."

Audrey broke into a smile. "You're welcome. It was the least I could do after everything you've done for me." She paused, reaching out to take his hand. "I want you to know that I've really enjoyed these last couple of weeks."

"As have I," Brivari answered. "I'm sure we will both enjoy the rest of your time here in Roswell."

"I hope so," Audrey said, her smile fading. "My co-star gets in tonight."

"Why so late?" Brivari asked.

"That's just the way the script was written," Audrey said. "His character doesn't show up to rescue me until after I've been abducted, so we spent the first couple of weeks doing scenes that didn't include him. My point is that I'll be expected to spend time with him when he gets here, so I won't have as much time to spend with you."

"Of course you'll spend time with him," Brivari said. "Won't we all?"

"Well....he gets kind of jealous," Audrey said, sounding distinctly unhappy. "I've worked with him before, and.....he doesn't like it when I spend time with other men."

"Are you married?" Brivari asked.

"No!" Audrey exclaimed. "God, no. Nothing like that."

"Betrothed?"

" 'Betrothed'?" Audrey laughed. "Good Lord, who uses that word any more? No, we're not engaged. He's just.......never mind. It's no big deal. I just won't be able to be with you as much as I have been, and.....I don't like that."

"Why would you alter your behavior if you don't want to?"

Audrey's expression turned wistful. "For the same reason I always do—to survive in a tough world. Look, I shouldn't have brought it up. Forget about it. I have a whole afternoon and evening to be chased by aliens, and then we'll all get together tonight, and then...." She paused, dropping her eyes. "And then I'd really love it if you'd let me.....spend the night."

Brivari shrugged slightly. "Very well, then."

Audrey's eyes widened. "Really?" She watched him closely for a moment as though trying to decide if he was joking, ultimately deciding he wasn't. "You won't be sorry," she promised with that wide smile that seemed to split her face in two. "I'll make it a night to remember!"

Brivari followed her out the door, puzzling. This was only the latest of many requests to "spend the night", and he still didn't know what was meant by that. Judging from her demeanor, she had something other than merely spending the hours between dusk and dawn here. He kept forgetting to ask Malik. Perhaps he should make more of an effort to remember.




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




Parker's Diner




"Are you sure you don't want me to stay later?" Courtney asked. "It's no trouble, really."

"Goodness, no," Nancy said firmly. "You've been here since 6:30 this morning; we'll manage."

"But it's so busy," Courtney protested, "and Maggie can't make it today, and—"

"And you'll fall over if you stay here any longer," Nancy interrupted. "Or at least I would," she added with a chuckle. "You seem to handle this chaos better than the rest of us. But don't worry, we'll call in someone else. You go home when your shift's over."

Chaos is nothing, Courtney thought as she loaded up a tray with the last few lunches and set off to deliver them. As busy as the diner had been these past weeks, all the crowds in the world paled beside the notion of living among Covari. Of all the things she'd had to accustom herself to this past month—navigating human society all by herself, lying about Mark's death, pursuit from the sheriff—that had been the hardest to get used to. Who would have dreamed that she'd find herself in the position of not only having to serve a Royal Warder food, but actually living in the same building with one? Granted, Langley was largely invisible, coming and going at times unknown to her, which suited her just fine. But he was very much in evidence at the diner with all of his movie friends at least once a day, often twice. She'd had to get used to his presence fast, not because of him—Langley largely ignored her, although he was unfailingly cordial—but because of his constant companion, Audrey Tate. Miss Tate, it turned out, was far sharper than most seemed to give her credit for. Langley may have dismissed Courtney's unease in his presence, but Miss Tate never failed to not only notice it, but comment on it as well, making it necessary for Courtney to make certain she had nothing on which to comment.

After a full week of bracing herself every time she approached their table, Courtney had ultimately decided that Miss Tate had done her a favor, albeit unintentionally; her scrutiny had forced Courtney to calm down, and in the process, she found herself watching Langley with interest. Most on Antar never got close to Royal Warders except their Wards and their victims, so this was an unprecedented opportunity to watch one in action, to observe without being observed. And those observations had led her to one conclusion—Langley was none other than Brivari, the king's warder himself. Jaddo was noted for his bluntness, his lack of social graces, his tendency to strike first and ask questions later. Brivari, on the other hand, had rallied his people behind Zan's father, placing him on the throne and changing Antar drastically in the process. Such a role required leadership skills and a certain level of patience, both of which were clearly in evidence as she watched Langley with those from the movie set and listened to their tales of how he could silence an unruly director with a look or influence the producer with a few words. Those he kept company with looked upon him with awe, aware of his power without understanding its source. Yet it seemed no one had seen the Royal Waders' fearsome abilities; it was the power to sway that had earned Langley the respect of everyone around him, that same power which had founded what was to have been a dynasty and either freed his people or unleashed them upon an unsuspecting populace, depending on one's point of view. Both Riall's elevation to the throne and the enormous success of his reign was due almost entirely to the support of the Covari who backed him, support which had been created, marshaled, and focused by the relatively short, bald-headed man who usually sat in the back booth. He was the architect of Antar every bit as much as the man he had put on the throne.

Or of the Antar that was, she thought sadly as she returned the tray to the kitchen. Her talks with her father had gone better now that her own position had stabilized and Nicholas continued to learn nothing about the Warders' whereabouts. But news from home was not good; the five planets continued to spar with each other, the seeds of distrust sown largely by Khivar back when Zan had fallen having blossomed into war on multiple fronts that would likely never end until one of two things happened: Zan returned, or it was proven that he could never return. They had a long way to go before either of those things would happen, and the havoc which could be, indeed was being wreaked in the meantime was not pleasant to hear about.

"Get out of here," Nancy ordered as Courtney grabbed a coffee pot to take care of her seats at the counter.

"Just let me get any new customers started, and then I'll leave," Courtney said. "That'll give you a few minutes breathing room."

"Thanks, sweetheart," Nancy said gratefully. "But then you leave, you hear?"

"I promise," Courtney said, pushing open the swinging kitchen door and stopping in her tracks when she saw her one new customer. Sheriff Valenti hadn't spotted her yet; she could still sneak back into the kitchen with him none the wiser. She was about to do just that when she recalled Mrs. Proctor's advice on the subject of avoiding Valenti, advice which could be neatly summed up in a single word: Don't. "You can't avoid him forever," Emily had said a couple of weeks ago after waylaying Valenti while Courtney was out shopping. "Get your story straight, then go to him; don't wait for him to come to you. That way you control when and where you talk, not him." Good advice, that, and further proof of where Dee had learned the art of seizing control of a situation before it seized control of her. Perhaps it was time to emulate that.

"Afternoon, sheriff," Courtney said. "Coffee?"

Valenti looked up in surprise. "Afternoon, Miss Harris. Please."

"I heard you were at my apartment looking for me a little while ago," Courtney said. "What did you want?"

"Just to talk," Valenti said with a small shrug.

"Well, here I am," Courtney said. "Let's talk."

Valenti hesitated. "First of all, you're working, and secondly, I was thinking along the lines of somewhere more private."

"I'm off now, and the booth behind you just opened up," Courtney said. "Shall we?"

Courtney replaced the coffee pot on the warmer and marched away without waiting for an answer. Less than a minute after she'd slid into what was now a rarity at Parker's, a vacant booth, Valenti slid in across from her, pushing his coffee cup across the table.

"So this is how it works, sheriff," Courtney said briskly before Valenti had a chance to speak. "I want you to leave me alone, so tell me what you need to know in order to stop bugging me."

"I'm sorry if you think I'm 'bugging you', Miss Harris, but a man did lose his life," Valenti said. "I think having a knife in your back is worse than a little 'bugging', don't you?"

There are far worse things than decompression, Courtney thought privately, recalling the Proctors' horror at Valenti's description of what had happened to Mark's body. As dramatic as the term "exploded" was, that was nothing compared to what had happened to operatives who had donned immature husks which had proceeded to, at best, fall apart, at worst, eat them alive. Watching the victims as they had scrambled to say their goodbyes, recording messages that may or may not ever reach their families back home, had been agonizing. If the time ever came for her to lose her husk, she wanted to go the way Mark had.

"I'll tell you again," Courtney said. "Mark and I met at a bar, and he offered me a place to stay. When I got here, he'd already been killed. That's it."

"So you said," Valenti nodded. "And you don't remember the name of the bar, or even where it was. You've been moving around a lot, haven't you?"

Courtney blinked. What? "Miss Harris, I never had any cause to connect you to Green's death," Valenti continued. "But I did know that you were lying to me about something, and now I know what. That phone conversation you had with your father—"

"My father is none of your business," Courtney interrupted.

"—you're trying to get away from him, aren't you?" Valenti continued, ignoring her. "That's why you've been so secretive, why you've been moving around so much, taking up with people you meet in bars. You don't want your father to find you."

Courtney's eyes widened as Valenti adopted a satisfied look, apparently mistaking her silence for assent. Incredible. The sheriff had just handed her an alibi he was willing to accept.

"So....what if I have?" she said, treading carefully. "Is there some sort of law against having a fight with your father?"

"Of course not," Valenti said calmly. "What I need from you, to answer your specific question, is to know how old you are."

"Nineteen," Courtney said promptly. "Are we done now?"

"Not quite. As long as you're of age, you can't be considered a runaway, but I'll need proof of that, either a birth or baptismal certificate. Did you happen to grab either of those when you left home?"

"Of course," Courtney lied. "Shall I bring it by the station?"

"That would be very helpful."

"And then you'll stop bugging me?"

"And then I'll stop bugging you," Valenti confirmed. "Unless I'm given further reason not to, of course."

"You won't be," Courtney promised. "Nice talking to you, sheriff. Nancy will be your waitress for the rest of your meal."

"Like I have time for a meal," Valenti chuckled. "Tell Nancy not to bother. All I came in for was coffee."

Courtney left the booth, holding herself together until she reached her locker. She knew what a birth certificate was, of course; every Argilian had the necessary documents to pose as human. But her "birth certificate" was safely stored in Copper Summit, and explaining to her father why she needed it was out of the question. Where was she going to get another, one good enough to fool Valenti?

Opening her locker, Courtney extracted her purse and slammed the door closed with a sigh. Time to swallow her pride again, as though she hadn't done that a dozen times already.




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



Roswell Sheriff's Station




"Jimmy, have you had lunch yet?" Andi called from the front.

Jimmy, who had been hoping against hope that his mother wouldn't notice he hadn't had lunch yet, didn't answer. Maybe she'd be too busy to come looking. He only needed a few more minutes.....

"Jimmy?"

Jimmy turned around to find his mother standing behind him, arms crossed, wearing that "and just what exactly do you think you're doing?" expression common to mothers everywhere. "I'll eat in a minute, Mom," he said impatiently. "I'm—"

"You will eat now," Andi said firmly. "As in right now. Go."

Sighing, Jimmy headed for the break room, throwing a longing look back toward Deputy Hanson, who was booking an assault and battery. They didn't get too many of those in Roswell, mostly just petty theft, disturbing the peace, and what Deputy Crist had referred to as the "world's oldest profession", something he still didn't understand, but that involved women wearing high heels and lots of lipstick. As luck would have it, there had been a huge fight this morning near where the movie was filming between those who'd come to watch and members of some kind of alien study group who insisted the movie wasn't accurate. Deputies had been filing fight participants into the station and booking them for battery for the past couple of hours now, and Jimmy had watched, fascinated, as one sullen punch-thrower after another had been plunked in a chair, asked a couple of dozen questions, photographed, fingerprinted, and locked up. They were a motley bunch, ranging from working stiffs to men in suits, the latter of which Jimmy assumed were from the alien study group. Most complained that the so-called "fight" had been little more than a shoving match, and that could very well be; Jimmy knew his father would come down like a ton of bricks on even a shoving match just to make it clear that such behavior would not be tolerated.

Deputy Crist walked by as Jimmy was grabbing his lunch box from the shelf where he kept it. "So she finally caught up with you," he grinned, glancing Andi's way. "But you got a good hour or so out of it; that's pretty good. Want to eat out back?"

"It's too hot," Jimmy said.

"I know a spot out of the sun," Crist said. "Nice shade."

A couple of minutes later, they had settled on the steps of a back door that was shaded by a corner of the building. Jimmy pulled out his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and thermos of milk, eyeing Crist as he took out a large, complicated sandwich and nothing at all to drink. Deputy Crist had proven to be very friendly, going out of his way to let Jimmy near the cells now and then even though he knew Andi didn't like it. And Crist hadn't gone near his father's desk again as far as Jimmy could tell, suggesting that those "instincts" his father had referenced weren't as reliable as promised.

"So what happened today with the fight?" Jimmy asked with a mouthful of sandwich, knowing that none of the deputies would object to him talking with his mouth full because they did it all the time.

"Bunch of people got pushy," Crist said. "That group of 'alienologists', as they call themselves, thinks the movie is bunk."

"Sure it is," Jimmy chuckled. "Everyone knows that."

"You'd think," Crist sighed. "But I guess not. Of course, they've got a point. Real aliens probably don't look anything like that."

Jimmy stopped chewing. "You believe in aliens?"

"Sure," Crist said. "Why? Don't you?"

"Well....aliens make people a lot of money around here, but they don't actually believe in them," Jimmy replied.

"Is that so? Your daddy does."

"No he doesn't," Jimmy said quickly.

"Did he tell you that?"

No, Jimmy reflected silently. Aliens were a subject that were simply not discussed in the Valenti household, and Jimmy had always just assumed that was because his father didn't believe in them. "Not exactly," he allowed. "But my dad's always talking about the 'alien calls', people calling in saying they've seen aliens, or aliens took them, stuff like that, and he always sounds really annoyed."

"I don't blame him," Crist said. "There's nutters out there for sure. But that doesn't mean there aren't real aliens, or that your daddy doesn't know that."

"What makes you think he believes in aliens?" Jimmy asked.

"I'm in Roswell on a loan," Crist said. "Usually I work for Chaves County. Back in the late forties, your daddy did the same thing; he worked in Chaves County on loan for three years. And the people he worked with say he definitely believed in aliens."

"Really? Why?"

"He said he saw aliens," Crist shrugged. "And chased aliens, and that aliens chased him. I gather he got teased about it."

Jimmy shifted uncomfortably on the step. Deputy Martian. That's what Tommy Cook had called his father, and he'd supposedly heard that from his father, who had worked with Jimmy's father way back before Jimmy was born. His father never talked about those day, or aliens, for that matter. Was this why?

"I don't know anything about that," Jimmy said, anxious to drop the subject.

"You should ask him," Crist said.

"I should?"

"Absolutely. I hear he was involved in chasing an Army officer back in '50, and that had something to do with aliens. I gather he rescued someone."

"From aliens?" Jimmy said doubtfully.

"Don't know," Crist said, "but it sounds like he was quite the hero."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. You should ask him."

Jimmy hesitated. "I don't know. My dad doesn't like to talk about aliens."

"Then don't ask him about aliens. Ask him about the time he was a hero. He shouldn't have a problem talking about that, should he?"

"He's really busy now," Jimmy hedged. "Why don't you tell me?"

"I already did," Crist said, "or everything I heard, anyway. Well....I did hear one more thing," he confided, leaning in closer. "There were two other people involved in that chase; one of them is dead, and the other is missing. So if you want to know more, you'll have to ask your dad. He's the only one left to ask."

"Wow," Jimmy whispered.

"That's what I thought," Crist agreed. "I'd ask him myself, but he barely knows me." He paused. "Tell you what. If you can find out something about what happened, even just a little bit, I'll make certain you get to act as my assistant the next time I'm on picture duty. That's right," he added as Jimmy's eyes popped. "You can set up the camera, and paste the pictures into the record. Heck, I'll even let you put the board together. What'dya say?"

Jimmy nearly dropped his sandwich. Everyone who got arrested had their picture taken holding a small board with interchangeable letters and numbers which spelled out their name and the date. Usually the deputies inset the letters, pulling them one by one out of a leather case; now he would get to do that? "Really?" he said in disbelief. "You'd really let me do that?"

"Sure I would," Crist replied. "You do something for me, I do something for you. Fair's fair."

"Okay!" Jimmy said enthusiastically, his worries about his father's opinion of aliens evaporating. The chance to be the photographer's assistant was more than worth the risk that his father would get testy. Besides, Crist was right—who wouldn't want to talk about being a hero?



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



3:30 p.m.




Malik's eyebrows rose when he answered the knock at his door. "This is a surprise," he said dryly.

Courtney's eyes narrowed. "Don't make this any harder than it is already, okay?"

"Okay," Malik said, stepping back. "Come in. Or not, if you'd rather stand in the hallway and stare," he added when Courtney didn't budge. "I've got work to do."

Courtney waited until he'd walked away before stepping gingerly inside. This rooming house was only four streets over from her own, and the room much the same—a single, large room with a tiny kitchen area along one wall, a closet, and a shared floor bathroom. The only real differences were the fact that this room was neat as a pin, in sharp contrast to her own, and the large workbench which dominated one whole side of the room and which was strewn with various examples of Earth technology, some of which she recognized and some of which she didn't. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to the device Malik was currently repairing.

"An electric frying pan," he answered. "Just plug it in. No need to fuss with gas burners."

Courtney flushed, recalling how she'd been unable to operate the stove in her apartment until Malik had shown her how. "So....business is good, I take it?"

"They have lots of stuff that breaks, and it's easy for me to repair it, so yes, business is good," Malik replied. "But I doubt you dragged yourself here just to ask me how business is."

His tone was casual, but there was that edge to it, that niggling challenge which always reminded her that, despite the fact he understood her opinion of him, he still felt she was wrong. She almost preferred Dee's blunt announcements to these unspoken undertones. "Langley is Brivari, isn't he?" she said.

"What makes you say that?"

"The way he holds court in that back booth," Courtney answered, taking a few steps further in, but still remaining close to the door. "The way everyone fawns over him and thinks he's magic with difficult people. The way that actress slobbers all over him and hangs on his arm like she's in love with him. I can't imagine Jaddo putting up with that."

Malik smiled faintly. "Neither can I. But I also can't imagine you coming here just to confirm who Langley is. You could have asked Dee about that."

Courtney hesitated, her next words painful even before she spoke them. "I need your help."

"With what?"

"I talked to Sheriff Valenti today," Courtney said, relieved that Malik hadn't decided to taunt her. "He overheard enough of a conversation with my father to think that I'm having a fight with him. Which is good, as it turns out, because he's decided that's what I'm lying about, that I'm trying to get away from my father, and I don't want him to know."

"I hope you didn't correct him," Malik said.

"Of course not," Courtney said irritably. "Problem is, he wants proof that I'm 'of age' before he'll leave me alone, and that means producing a birth certificate. Mine is back in Copper Summit, so getting a hold of it, never mind explaining why I need it, would be difficult."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Malik said, setting down his screwdriver and flipping the frying pan right side up. "I can make you another. We'll just have to pick a birthplace for you and make certain a copy is on file with the county clerk of whatever county we pick because Valenti's the type who will check."

"How do we do that?" Courtney asked uncertainly.

"Easy. I make two copies of the fake birth certificate, break into the county clerk's office, and plant one copy in the files. That way when Valenti calls the clerk's office to check that they have a matching copy, it'll be right there."

Courtney blinked. "That's it? Two pieces of paper, and I'm off the hook?"

"Well, not just any pieces of paper," Malik allowed. "I'll need to make certain the signature matches that of whoever was clerk in that county for whatever birth year you pick, and it'll have to have a raised seal....but other than that, that's pretty much it."

"Two little pieces of paper, and he'll think he knows who I am," Courtney said, shaking her head. "You'd think they'd have something more secure."

"They really don't need anything more secure.....yet," Malik said. "Humans don't currently have the technology to easily copy something like this. Once they develop it, things will change, of course." He wiped his hands on a rag and reached for a pencil. "How old did you tell him you were?"

"Nineteen," Courtney said worriedly. "Is that old enough? I'd heard humans were adults at eighteen, but then someone else said twenty-one."

"Eighteen is enough to make you not a runaway," Malik nodded.

"Incredible," Courtney murmured. "They're considered adults so young."

"They have a much shorter lifespan than we do," Malik noted, "not much more than sixty or seventy years at best. They have to grow up fast."

"I can't imagine living only seventy years," Courtney said. "Sometimes I just don't process how primitive this species really is."

"True," Malik allowed. "But consider this—at the turn of the century, the average human lived to only about thirty-seven. In only sixty years, they've almost doubled their lifespans. That's impressive."

"Maybe," Courtney said doubtfully. If living to only sixty-five was hard to imagine, living to only thirty-seven was even harder; someone of similar age on Antar had only begun to live.

"Of course it depends on which segment of the human race you're looking at," Malik continued. "Brivari's friend who died was in his fifties, which was quite good for his race." He paused, sitting back on his stool. "That's why Brivari is getting so involved with this movie, you know. He just can't accept his friend's death. I've been urging him to make a life for himself while they wait, but I wasn't getting anywhere until his friend died. This wasn't quite what I had in mind, but I guess something's better than nothing."

"Right," Courtney said tonelessly. "Too bad he decided to 'make a life for himself' in my building."

"I thought you said you never saw him there," Malik said.

"I don't. I just hear about him all the time, about the parties he throws and the people who attend them. Mrs. Bruce is so agog that movie people are hanging out in her house, she can barely stand it. She keeps asking them to pose for pictures and shows them to anyone she can corner."

"I think he's just having people over, not 'throwing parties'," Malik corrected. "What's wrong with being sociable?"

"Because it's deceptive," Courtney said before she could stop herself. "Because—" She stopped, her father's admonitions not to upset the Warders' allies ringing in her ears. She had a dozen other "because's", and she couldn't say any of them out loud. God, this was hard.

"Because they don't know that he's someone from another planet pretending to be human," Malik finished for her. "Just like me. Just like....you."

"Do not presume to compare us in any way, shape, or form!" Courtney snapped, her temper getting the better of her. "Those poor people have no idea what they're dealing with!"

"Neither does anyone you serve at the diner," Malik said mildly. "We have that in common, if nothing else."

Courtney opened her mouth, then closed it with a monumental effort. She was not having this conversation again; doing so would accomplish nothing. "Thank you for your assistance with the birth certificate," she said stiffly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go."

"My, my," Malik murmured. "Courtesy. That's new."

Courtney stalked out, resisting the urge to slam the door behind her, walking very fast until she was all the way up the block, her emotions in turmoil. Had she actually just done that? Had she really just thanked a Covari like it was a normal person? She had to be polite to Malik when he came to the diner, and her father never ended a conversation without cautioning her to indulge Dee's fantasy that Covari were just like anyone else. But this wasn't the diner, and Dee wasn't here; what could have possessed her to behave that way in private, when she didn't have to pretend that he was more than he really was? Was she starting to fall for the illusion that they were real?

Of course not, she told herself firmly. She was just being instinctively cautious. Malik would of course tell Dee if she were rude to him, so being polite at all times was essential. That's all it was.

That's all it could be.




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




July 22, 1959, 1:30 a.m.

Ruth Bruce's rooming house




"Finally!" Audrey exclaimed when the last of the crew had headed for their hotels. "I thought they'd never leave! Just give me a few minutes to.....freshen up."

The way that last line was delivered made it clear that Brivari was supposed to know what it meant. She was mistaken, but he didn't give it much thought as Audrey disappeared into the bathroom, humming to herself. His agreeing to let her "spend the night" had put her in a very, very good mood for some reason, a reason which escaped him as he couldn't imagine what could be so exciting about sleeping in a different location. Perhaps her sleeping at his dwelling would confer some kind of additional status upon her? In that case, she should be "spending the night" with people of more prominence, such as the producer or the director, although he couldn't imagine her lasting an entire night with the latter. Whatever was buoying her spirits, her presence presented something of a problem as he had secured only one bed for his dwelling, unnecessary for him, but necessary to maintain the illusion of being human. Perhaps he should offer her the bed. Too bad he hadn't had time to consult Malik on this matter, or he would have been better prepared.

"I'm ready," Audrey said behind him.

"I'm sure you're fatigued," Brivari said, pulling back the bedcovers. "You may use the bed if...."

He stopped, having turned around. Audrey was standing in the bathroom doorway wearing.....nothing. Nothing but a smile, that is. She had removed every single item of clothing, all in a neat pile on the bathroom floor behind her.

"I'm not the least bit 'fatigued'," she assured him, in a low voice he'd never heard her use before. "And I have no intention of sleeping." She walked toward him with a lanky gait which made her sizeable chest protrusions bobble up and down. "I hope you're not tired either," she added, removing the cap she'd given him earlier, running a hand over his head. "I had.....other plans for tonight."

Brivari glanced down as she reached for his belt buckle, then back up to her.

"So I see."





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


I'll post Chapter 33 next Sunday.

Hello to everyone reading!

PML wrote:These poor aliens have so much to learn!

They do indeed. And learn they shall, although, to them, it's just a science experiment.

Michelle in Yonkers wrote:Leaving all the rest aside, just to see how you will handle what my Lit mentor called one of the touchstones of good fiction: the pressure of the bedroom.

Does it count if you don't actually go into the bedroom? Some things are best left to the imagination, for one thing, and this only has a TEEN rating, for another.






CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE



July 22, 1959, 8:00 a.m.

Roswell



"Good morning, Charlene!" Audrey sang, breezing into the make-up trailer and plopping into a chair. "My, but you're looking lovely today! And how are you this fine morning?"

Charlene's eyebrows rose. "Someone had a good night," she said sagely.

"I certainly did," Audrey agreed happily.

Charlene set her magazine down. "Who with?" she asked eagerly.

"Not telling," Audrey smiled.

"Aw, c'mon!" Charlene protested. "You can't come in here all Mary Sunshine and not tell me who with!"

"I can, and I have," Audrey replied, pulling her hair off her face and into a ponytail. "Now, make me beautiful, beautiful!"

Charlene gave a soft snort. "It'll be a cold day somewhere before anyone believes I'm beautiful, or that you need any help getting that way."

It'll also be a cold day somewhere before anyone would believe the answer to your question, Audrey thought, settling back into the chair as Charlene began the process of cleansing, toning, and pancake, followed by layers of eye make-up and lipstick. No one would believe that, not only had she actually pursued a man for the first time in her life, but she was actually attracted to the bald-headed clapper loader who wasn't the least bit attractive, even by generous standards. It was amazing how desirable a man became when he wasn't trying to bed her, and further amazing how she who was usually beating off men with sticks had actually wanted it, plotted it, gone after it like a lioness in heat. Sex had always been a chore and a bore, involving sweaty, thoughtless men who satisfied themselves in seconds and never gave her a second thought. One put up with it, of course, because sex brought you jobs, and money, and favors, and all sorts of things a woman needed in a man's world, but never had she actually enjoyed it. It was always over long before she'd had a chance to enjoy anything, and afterwards the men either brushed her off as a conquest made or acted like they owned her, like she owed them something for the privilege of being graced with their favor.

But not Langley. He hadn't acted a bit different at breakfast this morning, hadn't referenced their night together, hadn't regarded her as his personal pet, hadn't.....well, just hadn't. It had happened, it was over, and that was the end of it....for him, anyway. Now it was her turn to feel like she'd made a conquest, like she'd gone after something and gotten what she wanted with no strings attached. And what a something, she thought, pinpricks of pleasure rushing over her at the memory. Good Lord....she hadn't known there were parts of her body that could feel that way. Now she knew what men felt like when they seized and gasped with a pleasure that looked almost painful. She'd never experienced that until last night, when she'd experienced it so often that she had finally collapsed in exhaustion. And through it all, Langley had never shown so much as a moment's interest in his own pleasure—it was all about her and what she wanted, stopping when she asked him to, resuming when she'd recovered, watching her with a curiosity that seemed almost clinical at times. And talk about staying power; any other man would have shot his load in a minute or two, rolled over, and gone to sleep. She would have bet very good money that Langley would have gone all night if she hadn't given out first.....

"Are you okay?"

Startled, Audrey came back to the present. Charlene had finished with the pancake and was holding a sponge full of rouge, which a glance in the mirror made very clear wasn't needed. Her whole face was flushing, along with her neck, her arms, probably her entire body given that wonderful tingling sensation which seemed to envelop her from head to toe. Is this what men felt like? It was a primal, animalistic feeling, and she could almost forgive their callousness if the cause of it was wanting more of this. Because she wanted more of this, wanted it tonight....no, now....right now.....

"You look sick," Charlene said. "Do you have a fever?"

"I'm fine," Audrey said dismissively. "It's warm in here."

"It's always warm in here, but I've never seen you like this," Charlene answered, readjusting a fan so it blew closer to Audrey. "You certainly don't sound sick. Is this all about your wonderful night, or is it because Charles is due in today?"

A wave of ice washed over Audrey, dousing the burning embers of last night's experience. "I forgot about that," she said dully. "When is he getting in?"

"This afternoon," Charlene said, smiling broadly. "And I don't mind telling you that I can't wait! Imagine little old me getting to do Charles Dean's make-up! That man is just to die for! You must have been so thrilled when they cast him opposite you. I can't imagine what it must be like to actually kiss him!"

"Neither can I," Audrey said dryly. "Charlie doesn't have a romantic bone in his body."

"But he's so handsome!" Charlene exclaimed. "Those eyes, and that hair....." She sighed, leaning against Audrey's chair as though her legs wouldn't hold her. "I just hope I don't make a fool of myself when he's in here. I'm afraid I'll say or do something silly, and then he'll think I'm just some stupid girl."

"He will anyway," Audrey said tonelessly.

"Well, you look better," Charlene said, apparently missing that last remark in her euphoria over the prospect of being near a handsome man. "Not so red any more. Looks like whatever ailed you is gone."

"Yeah," Audrey said sadly. "Looks like."




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




10:30 a.m.

Roswell Sheriff's Station




"Sir, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid there's nothing the sheriff's department can do."

"Then to whom should I address my complaint, madam?"

Directly behind the complaining gentleman, Courtney glanced at her watch. She was here on her break, with Nancy having agreed to cover her tables if she didn't make it back to the diner on time. Which was looking more and more likely as the tweedy man in front of her continued to argue with the lady at the small table just inside the door of the sheriff's station who referred everyone to this or that deputy after a brief conversation. Only this particular conversation was anything but brief, having dragged on for a full five minutes now.

"We have no control over the content of the movie, sir," the woman was saying. "If you don't like the content, may I suggest not buying a ticket? That's usually the way the free market works."

"But what if that content is false?" the man protested. "What if the public is being misled? Do you mean to tell me that the sheriff condones lying to the American public?"

Fidgeting impatiently, Courtney examined her false birth certificate for the hundredth time. Malik had been admirably efficient, having slid this under her door at some point during the night. It certainly looked official, with it's bumpy imprint and scrawled signatures from the "county clerk" of "Grant County", apparently some other part of the state of New Mexico. He'd given her an October birthday, making her nineteen, almost twenty, and she could have sworn he'd done something to the paper so that it didn't look brand new. All of which would have been easy to do back home, but much trickier on Earth with its dirth of technology.

"I'm afraid there's no consensus on just exactly what constitutes 'lying'," the woman was saying. "Since no one knows exactly what happened, no one can know—"

"I know, madam," the man announced. "I know that aliens do not look or act anything like what you see in this movie!"

The woman's eyebrows rose. "So you've actually seen aliens?"

She wasn't shouting, but she may as well have been; a hush fell over the crowded station, and Courtney beat back a fleeting wave of panic as every head swung in her direction. They're looking at him, not me, she reminded herself as the man in question suddenly looked less sure of himself. "Well.....not yet," he allowed. "But you mark my words, we will! We are all working on establishing direct contact, and ridiculous movies like this only further the notion that aliens are stupid, animal-like creatures who are only here to eat us. We mean to set the record straight, and—"

"Then you'll need to set it straight somewhere else," the woman said firmly. "Unless you have a specific legal complaint, we can't help you. Next!"

"Madam," the man said haughtily, "some day, we will establish contact with beings from another planet, and when that day comes, they will look to me and my colleagues and say 'thank you!' for helping to correct this gross distortion of the facts!" He turned abruptly, walking smack into Courtney. "Excuse me, miss."

"Thank you," Courtney said.

He stared at her a moment in confusion, then hurried off, muttering to himself about lies and those who condoned them while chuckles echoed around the station. Poor guy, Courtney thought as she stepped to the head of the line. He had it right, although she had no idea why he felt that way.

"I'm sorry about that," the woman at the table said. "May I help you?"

"I'm here to show the sheriff something," Courtney said, "something he asked me to bring by."

"Sheriff Valenti isn't here right now, but I can leave whatever it is on his desk," the woman answered.

"Oh.....well.....it's a birth certificate, so it's hard to replace," Courtney said. "I'd rather not leave it with his secretary."

"Actually, I'm his wife."

Courtney blinked. "He has a wife?"

"And a son," the woman answered dryly. "I'm Andrea Valenti. And you are.....Courtney Harris," she continued, reading the birth certificate. "Nice to meet you, Miss Harris. If you'd rather, I can have a deputy copy down the information from your birth certificate so you don't have to leave it."

"Yes, thank you," Courtney said, escaping to the indicated bench before she insulted the sheriff's wife again. Honestly, she really had to learn to keep her mouth shut, even if it was hard to believe that Valenti not only had a wife, but a wife that looked like that. Properly painted, Andrea Valenti could give Audrey Tate a run for her money.

"Can I help you, miss?"

It was a deputy, one 'Deputy Crist' according to the name tag. "That was fast," Courtney said, following him to his desk. "There are so many people here, I thought I'd be waiting awhile."

"You're in the 'quick and easy' line," Deputy Crist smiled, indicating the chair beside his desk. "Have a seat. What can I do for you today?"

"The sheriff wanted to see my birth certificate, but he's not here, and I didn't want to leave it, so the lady....Mrs. Valenti....suggested someone copy down the information," Courtney explained.

"Will do," Crist said, pulling out a sheet of paper and a pencil. "If I can have that for just a moment......"

Courtney handed over the birth certificate and let her gaze wander around the crowded station. Every single deputy had someone sitting in the chair beside their respective desks and was busily writing or typing away while Mrs. Valenti vectored people this way and that, and a young boy that bore a striking resemblance to the sheriff hurried amongst the various desks bearing cups of coffee, paper, and sharpened pencils. Imagine having a writing implement that kept giving out on you and had to be sharpened. It was bad enough to need a writing implement at all, but one that was used up so quickly was doubly inconvenient. Personally she preferred the so-called "mechanical pencils" with the sticks of lead which were advanced little by little, but humans seemed to regard those with suspicion, as though something that convenient must be, by definition, less worthy than something that was more work. They were very much into the value of hard work, these humans......

Courtney's heart skipped a beat. Her sweep of the room had led her back to Deputy Crist, whom she assumed had been copying down the information on her birth certificate. But he wasn't; instead, he was staring at it curiously, almost intently, having not written down a single thing. What's wrong with it? she thought frantically. Had Malik missed something? She'd taken for granted that he knew what he was doing, but he was Covari; trusting him implicitly was hopelessly stupid. Or.....she froze to her chair as another thought occurred to her. Maybe he made it wrong on purpose so I'd be caught. But why go to all the trouble to have humans catch her? Wouldn't it be easier to just tell the Warders and let them take her out?

"Is something wrong?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"Courtney Harris," Crist said, tapping his pencil on the desk.

"Yes," Courtney said slowly, sliding ever so slightly toward the edge of her seat, poised for flight. "Why?"

"Harris," Crist repeated, as though that name meant something to him.

"Have we met?" Courtney ventured.

"Sure we have. We just did," Crist said, still staring at the birth certificate.

"Then....have you met another Harris?" Courtney asked, hoping that's all his hesitation meant.

"Why does the sheriff want to see this?" Crist asked, ignoring her question.

Courtney's mouth opened, then closed. The last thing she wanted was to bring up Mark's murder right here, in the bowels of the sheriff's station. "He knows why," she answered. "Can you just record the information, please?"

"Does he think you've broken the law?" Crist persisted.

"No!" Courtney said reflexively. "If he thought that, he would have arrested me."

"Then why does he want it?"

"I don't see as that's any of your business," Courtney replied in a brittle voice.

"I'm a sheriff's deputy. Of course it's my business."

"Then why don't you ask the sheriff why he wants it when he gets back," Courtney said, desperate now to get out of there, certain that something was wrong. "If you're not going to copy it, then give it back, and I'll bring it in later."

Crist sat back in his chair. "No. Not until you tell me why he wants it."

Courtney's hands clasped and unclasped in her lap as she looked around desperately for help. Would anyone here make him give back her birth certificate? Unlikely; everyone else was busy, there was now an even longer line waiting to get in than there had been when she'd arrived, and besides, what possible reason could she give for withholding information that wouldn't look suspicious?

"He thinks.....he thinks I might be a runaway," she blurted out. "I had to prove I was eighteen."

Crist stared at her for so long that she was certain he wasn't buying it.....and then abruptly nodded, grabbed his pencil, and began copying. He was done in less than a minute, during which time Courtney tried to breathe. It was all she could do not to snatch the birth certificate away when Crist held it out to her.

"All set, Miss Harris," he said calmly, as though he hadn't just been holding her paperwork hostage. "I'll make sure the sheriff gets this."

"Thank you," she said weakly, standing up on shaky legs.

"And Miss Harris?" Crist added before she could make her escape. "Be careful you don't do anything that would land you back in here."

Courtney blinked at him a moment, then fled, clutching her birth certificate, completely forgetting to put it in her purse. By the time she arrived back at the diner, it bore a large, sweaty handprint.




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



1:30 p.m.

Roswell




*Tell me again why this nonsense holds such fascination for you?*

Brivari slapped the clapper shut and stepped aside as another scene began filming, this time in one of the town's narrow back alleys where the "aliens" had once again cornered the heroine as a group of extras milled to one side, waiting for their cue to intervene. Brivari's advice to fire those extras who failed to report for work coupled with Audrey's suggestion to hire replacements from the watching crowds had worked flawlessly, as those who had previously been hired learned they would lose their jobs if they failed to appear, and the watching crowds swelled with the hopeful. Steinfeld need never worry about not having enough extras again. Of course this strategy also meant a certain number of unexpected faces every day, and Jaddo had taken advantage of this by disguising himself as one of them.

*Are you here for a specific reason, or merely to annoy me?* Brivari asked.

*I continue to puzzle over why you would have the slightest interest in these goings on,* Jaddo said disdainfully as several costumed "aliens" cornered Audrey at the end of the alley. *I'm beginning to think you've taken leave of your senses.*

*Exactly what I thought for the past nine years as you pursued Pierce with a zeal that bordered on obsession,* Brivari remarked. *I would hardly compare this little distraction to that single-minded fixation.*

*So you disagree with our pursuit of Pierce?*

*I didn't say that. I merely see a difference between pursuit and obsession.*

*And I see a difference between distraction and a dangerous preoccupation,* Jaddo retorted. *You've become quite the socialite, with your apartment and your parties. Are you homesick for the palace?*

*I didn't throw parties at the palace—the king did. Or more specifically, the queen. The king wasn't the party type.*

*But you are,* Jaddo observed. *And quite the ladies man, from what I hear.*

*What do you 'hear'?* Brivari asked irritably. *I thought you were camped out at the base, watching for fallout from your irresponsible behavior with Pierce.*

*Your female friend appears somewhat downcast,* Jaddo remarked, ignoring him. *Aren't the two of you getting along?*

We certainly are, Brivari thought, recalling again the puzzling events of last night. "Spend the night", as it turned out, had been a euphemism for mating, one that Brivari meant to investigate as he was not clear as to how the time of day affected the process. He was familiar with the basics, of course, nine years being more than enough to learn that. What he was not familiar with, however, having never actually observed humans mating, was the violence of the act, or the way that pain and pleasure commingled. He'd had no idea that humans possessed specific pressure points that apparently caused pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, or how those in the grip of this "pleasure" seemed to turn back the clock of evolution and behave in almost feral ways. It had been a fascinating encounter, one that underscored how, for all their outward appearance of civility, humans really were much closer to their primitive ancestors than they would like to believe.

That point would not have been lost on Audrey had he been free to argue it, and he sincerely doubted she would have taken offense. On the contrary, she had reveled in their collision, crying out with such force that he was initially concerned he had injured her, only to collapse into a state of blissful exhaustion that belied any earlier concerns about injury or discomfort of any kind. After a few minutes of recovery, often less, she had wanted to repeat the procedure. And so it had gone, one repetition following another as Brivari had watched closely for the dividing line between pain and pleasure. He never located it, the two seeming to exist in a perfect but unintelligible harmony. Eventually she had stopped due to sheer exhaustion and fallen into a sound sleep. It was the strangest experience Brivari had ever had, bar none, and he had lain awake beside her long after she had fallen asleep, pondering how very different their two worlds were. Mating among Antarians, by contrast, was a much tamer affair.

Whatever their differences, the activities of last night had sat well with Audrey, who had been cheerful and rested this morning at breakfast despite having been awake half the night. Lunch time had been a different story; she had seemed sad and withdrawn, and he didn't know why. Was this a normal consequence of human mating? Did humans regret their animal behavior the following day? Was there some post-mating ritual he had failed to observe? Perhaps he should have done more research before engaging in this activity.

*Jaddo,* Brivari said suddenly, ignoring his last question as something occurred to him, *when you were captive and began to taste, did you acquire other senses as well?*

Jaddo stared at him. *Excuse me?*

*Did you acquire other senses besides taste,* Brivari repeated. *Smell, perhaps? Or tactile sensations that were previously blocked?*

*Why on earth would you bring that up now?* Jaddo demanded.

*I have been interested in what you experienced for years,* Brivari countered. *You just won't discuss it.*

*And I don't wish to discuss it,* Jaddo said severely. *Ever. But I do wish to know why you're suddenly so interested in 'tactile sensations'.*

*And I am interested in why you refuse to address this issue. You have had an experience that likely no other Covari has ever had, and it frightens you so much that you prefer to pretend it never happened.*

*May I remind you that I was under the influence of a drug at the time?* Jaddo said angrily. *A drug which I wasn't certain I would ever recover from? Why would I wish to do anything other than forget that? Why do you think I'm so determined to destroy the formula for the serum? Why—*

Jaddo's tirade was cut off by the arrival of a long, black car, which moved slowly toward the set as the crowd parted to make way for it. coming to a halt some ways away. The driver climbed out and opened the back door, through which stepped a young man Brivari had never seen before. The effect of this young man's arrival was immediate....and noisy. Screams erupted from the female element of the crowd, judging by the pitch, and both Steinfeld and the director dropped what they were doing to run to the young man's side. Handshakes were exchanged all around, the man gave a perfunctory wave to the crowds, and then marched onto the set as though he owned it, heading straight for Audrey.

*Who is that?* Jaddo asked.

*I think it must be the movie's male lead. He was expected this afternoon.*

The newcomer had arrived at Audrey's side. "Hey, baby," he said, wearing a wide smile that was more chilling than cheerful. "Miss me?"

*Why is he addressing her as an infant?* Jaddo asked.

*I am not sure,* Brivari murmured.

*Whatever the reason, it appears you have been supplanted by another,* Jaddo said, a faint note of amusement in his voice. *Perhaps now that she's chosen a human male, you'll come to your senses.*

She hasn't 'chosen' anything, Brivari thought as the young man pulled Audrey into a tight, rather possessive embrace while everyone smiled as though a wonderful reunion had taken place. Everyone, that is, but Audrey, whose expression bore more of a resemblance to a trapped animal.




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




Ruth Bruce's rooming house




Courtney's eyes hardened when she saw who was waiting for her outside the front door of her rooming house. "What are you doing here?" she asked flatly.

"Nice to see you too," Malik said dryly. "I just came to see if you got my delivery—"

"Oh, I got it all right," Courtney interrupted as she stomped up the stairs, unlocked her door, and tossed her purse on the bed. "And you did something wrong."

"Wrong?" Malik repeated, as though that were unthinkable. "What, you mean they didn't accept it? Why not?"

"Valenti wasn't there, and I didn't want to leave it, so a deputy copied down the information on it," Courtney said in a rush, having held this inside all day. "He stared at it for the longest time, and then he demanded to know why the sheriff wanted it!"

"What did you say?"

"That he thought I might be a runaway," she answered. "He wouldn't give it back until I told him something, so I told him that."

"That's it? He didn't make any phone calls, or ask you about dates, or anything else?"

"Did you hear me?" Courtney snapped. "He wouldn't give it back until I gave him an answer!"

"I heard you, but I fail to see how this means that I did something wrong," Malik said.

"You must have! Why did he stare at it for so long? Why did he question me?"

"Maybe he was just being nosy," Malik suggested.

"This was a lot more than just nosiness," Courtney insisted. "Something was wrong with the birth certificate because that's what he was looking at when he got all suspicious."

"Look, I know it fits with your world view to blame me, but there's no way he could have found something 'wrong' with that birth certificate without checking with the Grant County clerk," Malik said. "And even then he wouldn't have found anything because there's a certified copy on file with that clerk, I was very careful to use the same type of certificate used in 1939, the year you were supposedly born, and to copy the signature of the county clerk at the time. I even added birth certificates for your 'parents' in case they cross-checked."

"Yes, yes, you're brilliant," Courtney said peevishly. "So brilliant, you almost got me in trouble. Just go."

"They took it, didn't they?" Malik reasoned. "I really don't think—"

"I really don't think I care what you think. Get out."

Malik hesitated for only a moment before complying, and Courtney slammed the door behind him. She'd been fuming all day about the humiliating encounter at the sheriff's station, certain that Malik had overlooked some important detail which had aroused suspicion. Unfortunately, it wasn't clear exactly which detail had tripped the deputy's alarms, so she had no way of knowing what would happen once the sheriff received whatever notes had been taken. This might not be over.

A knock sounded on the door. "I told you to leave!" Courtney exclaimed, throwing the door open to find.....Deputy Crist.

"Where's Mark?" he demanded, pushing his way past her into the room.

"He.....what?" she said stupidly, scanning the upstairs landing for Malik without success. How typical. Covari weren't there when you needed them, and screwed up when they were. Had Crist been a friend of Mark's? But then he must have known he was dead. Did he blame her for Mark's death? Had he been talking to the sheriff?

"He's not here, is he," Crist said tersely. "He's not here because he's dead. Dead, Courtney. A fact which you neglected to report."

Courtney gaped at him in shock as the reason for Crist's earlier suspicion became horribly clear. He's one of us. How much did he know? And more importantly, how much had he reported? "I....I don't know you," she stammered. "How long have you been here?"

"I've been working for the Chaves County sheriff for over a year now, and I was transferred to Roswell to help provide extra security during the filming," Crist answered. "I knew we already had an operative here, but I didn't know who, and I couldn't figure out why they'd send the third's daughter, of all people. So I called in a few favors and found out we have two operatives in Roswell.....or we're supposed to. Why haven't you reported Mark's death?"

"Because....because.....I was afraid they'd recall me," Courtney said, searching frantically for a suitable explanation. "The only reason my father allowed me into the field was because he thought I had a chaperone, and—"

"This isn't about your career!" Crist snapped. "They have Mark's body! Don't you think they've noticed something odd about it? Like the fact that it isn't decaying the way it's supposed to?"

Or the fact that it exploded, Courtney added silently, closing her eyes to block out the sight of both the angry face in front of her and the specter of an exploding husk.

"Where's your communicator?" Crist demanded.

"Haven't you already called it in?" Courtney hedged.

"I only just found out Mark died. And the sheriff's sitting on the investigation; gee, I wonder why?" Crist added sarcastically. "You and I are going to call this in together, and you're going to tell them everything you know about Mark's death before I go back and take care of the sheriff. Now, where's your communicator?"

"I....I don't have one," Courtney lied, stalling for time, knowing full well that "taking care of" Valenti meant that the pretty woman she'd spoken to earlier would be a widow before nightfall. "I was supposed to use Mark's, but then he wasn't here when I got here, and I never found it—"

"Don't lie to me!" Crist exploded, grabbing her by the shoulders. "I know damned well they wouldn't have sent you into the field without a communicator! Where is it?"

Frozen in his grip, Courtney didn't answer, couldn't answer. If he exposed her, it would mean her death and maybe her father's as well, not to mention a severe blow to the resistance. But what good would not telling him do? He must have his own communicator, and she certainly didn't have the means to keep him from using it. I have to run, she thought frantically. She'd be a fugitive, unable to contact her father, unable to—

Bang

Startled, Courtney fell to the floor, throwing up her arms reflexively. When she lowered them a moment later, she saw nothing but Malik standing several feet away as a soft cloud of skin flakes rained down around them.





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




I'll post Chapter 34 next Sunday.

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR


July 22, 1959, 2:55 p.m.

Ruth Bruce's rooming house




Courtney crouched on the floor as a fog of skin flakes settled softly around her, all that was left of the man she'd just been talking to. Literally all that was left: No flesh, no bone, no blood, no evidence of any kind that a thinking, feeling being had been hidden, protected behind a barrier now reduced to skin-colored snow. This is what happens to us, she thought in horror, just as an equally horrible future presented itself. This is what will happen to me. She had always been certain she wouldn't make it home, and unless they somehow came up with an endless supply of husks or miraculously changed Earth's atmosphere, now she knew exactly how her end would come: In this silent rain of skin flakes. Thank goodness she wouldn't be there to see it, and she wondered idly who would.

"I passed him on the way down the stairs, so I stayed to see what he'd say," Malik said, pulling her out of her stupor. "Good thing you told me where the seal was."

"You killed him!" Courtney said accusingly.

"Of course I killed him," Malik said coldly. "He was about to set in motion events that would have killed you, not to mention the fact that he was going to kill the sheriff and anyone else who knew about Mark. And you're welcome, by the way."

"You expect me to be grateful?" Courtney exclaimed, pushing herself to her feet, shivering as a shower of skin flakes fell off her. "He hadn't turned me in yet! Why did you have to kill him?"

"What else would you have done?" Malik demanded. "Held him hostage? Where? For how long? Don't you think he would have been missed? And what would have happened when he escaped and hightailed it back to Nicholas?"

"Courtney, are you all right?" Dee's voice called from the door. "We heard a noise."

When no one answered, the door opened to reveal Dee wearing her waitress uniform with her mother close behind, both of whom gaped at the mess all over the apartment. "What happened here?" Emily whispered.

"It turns out Courtney wasn't the only Argilian in Roswell," Malik said darkly, "and the one who just found her was about to blow her in. Anyone else you'd like to tell us about?"

"I didn't know!" Courtney insisted. "And he didn't know I was here either, not until he checked. We can't recognize our people just by looking at them, not unless we already know them, or have a description, or something. Very few of us know everyone, and even fewer know where everyone's assigned."

"What's going on up there?" Mrs. Bruce's voice floated from the downstairs hallway. "I heard a noise. Is everything all right?"

"A piece of furniture fell over," Emily called down, going out to the landing and leaning over the banister. "I'm sorry to bother you." She reappeared a moment later. "We have to clean this up. Daddy gave you our old vacuum, right?"

"It's in the closet," Dee answered, still wide eyed.

"You're going to vacuum him?" Courtney said in disbelief. "He was a person, not a pile of dirt!"

"There's no way to explain this, so it has to be removed," Emily said firmly. "I'll give you the bag afterwards," she added, her voice softening when she saw the look on Courtney's face, "so you can....disposition it as you like."

Emily left, and Courtney whirled on Malik. "There wouldn't be anything to 'clean up' if you hadn't killed him!" she said angrily. "How typical of a Covari—just remove anything that's in your way!"

"Malik just saved your life!" Dee retorted. "Doesn't that count for something? Would you rather have one of your own people kill you than be saved by a Covari? I guess prejudice makes you stupid."

"Leave her alone," Malik said as Courtney recoiled in shock. "Yes, I know you're right, but the reality of having your own people willing to kill you is never pleasant. Even if you knew that's the way it was, having it confirmed is another matter entirely. Believe me, I know."

Dee glared at Courtney for a moment before apparently deciding not to press the subject. "So tell me," she said tersely. "If you didn't know this guy, how did he know you?"

"My father is Nicholas' third, and I'm his daughter," Courtney reminded her. "He recognized my name."

"Sounds like you need a new name," Dee commented.

"Too late," Malik said. "She's already submitted the birth certificate with 'Courtney Harris' on it. We can only hope no one else recognizes it."

"Would they really keep their own people in the dark like that?" Dee asked. "Wouldn't they want everyone working together?"

"Not necessarily," Malik answered. "Having operatives aware of each other increases the risk that one or both will be exposed, not to mention that people who don't know each other can't band together against Nicholas. And the deputy did say that he had to call in favors to find out exactly who was here, so it's clear he wasn't supposed to know that."

"Wait—'deputy'?" Dee exclaimed in astonishment. "One of Valenti's deputies was an alien?"

"He wasn't Valenti's deputy until just recently," Courtney said. "He said he'd been working for Chaves County, and he'd been transferred here because of the movie."

"Chaves County is Sheriff Wilcox," Dee whispered. "He had an alien working for him, and he never even knew."

"And he never will," Malik said. "I have to make certain Crist disappears; no one can know what happened." He looked around at the skin laden apartment, the flakes having settled literally everywhere. "Sure you can clean this up?"

"Mama's handy with a vacuum," Dee replied. "That's how we got rid of that hunter, or what was left of it."

"Good," Malik said. "While you do that, I'll make sure 'Deputy Crist' quits his job and hits the road."

"How?" Courtney demanded.

She was instantly sorry she'd said that as Malik's features and clothing changed, melting and reforming into a perfect likeness of Crist. "Don't do that!" Courtney ordered, spinning around so she wouldn't have to look. "Don't ever change in front of me!"

A moment later the door opened and closed. "He's gone," Dee said. "Are you all right?"

Courtney opened her mouth to answer, shaking her head as she did so.....and stiffened as skin flakes settled into her mouth. A moment later she was lurching for the kitchen sink. She was most definitely not okay, and it took a full minute of heaving to rid herself of her lunch, with another minute after that before her empty stomach gave up.




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



On the set of "They Are Among Us"




Audrey sighed heavily and closed her eyes when she heard the door to the make-up trailer open behind her. Beside her Charlene had gone rigid, her eyes widening in that Oh-My-God! look women always got in the presence of desirable men. Get a grip on yourself, honey, she thought sourly. You're smarter than he'll ever be.

"Mr. Dean!" Charlene gasped, dropping the sponge she was using to touch up Audrey's make-up. "What an honor! I'm Charlene," she babbled, extending a shaky hand. "I'm the chief make-up artist for "They Are Among Us" so I'll be doing your...." Her voice trailed off as Charlie accepted the proffered hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. "Ohhhhhhh," Charlene gasped, her unoccupied hand fluttering more than her voice. "Such a gentleman!"

"I'm sure you're an expert at what you do, Miss Charlene, and I hope you can make the most of me," Charlie said gallantly.

"Oh, that won't be difficult!" Charlene gushed, smiling broadly as Audrey rolled her eyes. "Making you look good will be so easy—"

"Would you be so kind as to give Miss Tate and me a moment alone?" Charlie interrupted.

"Of course," Charlene said quickly. "Take all the time you need. Really. All you need."

Audrey frowned as the door closed behind Charlene. "Didn't your mama ever teach you not to interrupt, Charlie?"

"Don't call me 'Charlie'," Charlie ordered. "It's 'Charles' now; you know that. 'Charlie' makes me sound like that round-headed kid with the beagle. 'Charles' is a movie star's name, baby."

"You're no movie star, and I'm no baby," Audrey said tartly. "Now, get lost. Charlene needs to finish."

"She can wait," Charlie said dismissively, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

"No, she can't," Audrey said firmly, pushing his hands away. "I'm due on set in only fifteen minutes, and she still has more touching up to do."

Charlie spun her chair around to face him, kneeling in front of her, reaching up to caress her cheek and wearing that smile that made women weak in the knees, had made her weak in the knees when she'd first seen it. "Baby, no one, and I mean no one, could possibly make you more beautiful than you are right now."

What's wrong with me? Audrey thought. Any other woman would kill for a compliment like that from a man like this. He meant it; she knew he did. The problem was, that was all he meant. To Charlie Dean, or "Charles", or whatever in blazes he was calling himself these days in his endless quest for glory, she was nothing but a pretty face and voluptuous body. Both true, of course, but after two weeks of spending time with a man who admired her smarts, this was hard to take.

"I'm afraid the camera isn't as benevolent as you are," she said diplomatically, gently pulling his hand away from her face. "I really do need Charlene back."

But Charlie just grinned at her, leaning into her lap, trapping her in the chair. "What if I don't want her back? What if I want you all to myself?"

What else is new? "This isn't a game, Charlie—

"Charles."

"This isn't a game, Charles," Audrey said, giving up on the name business. "We have a job to do. If we're not on the set when we're supposed to be, we'll look bad."

"We're the stars!" Charlie said breezily. "We can do what we want."

"Maybe you can, but I can't," Audrey said. "If word gets out that I don't show when I'm supposed to, it'll be hard for me to find work, and it's hard enough already."

"I'll get you work," Charlie said confidently.

"Right, when Hollywood realizes what a stellar talent you are?" Audrey said dryly. "I can get jobs on my own merits, thank you."

Charlie frowned. "What's with the fancy language, baby? 'Benevolent'? 'Stellar'? 'Merits'? You haven't been taking correspondence courses or anything, have you? My daddy always said that educating women was a bad idea."

That's because your daddy was an abusive son of a bitch, and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. "It's just English, Charles," Audrey said lightly. "I can translate for you if you like."

"I just don't like my baby sounding all high and mighty," Charlie said disapprovingly.

"For the second time, I'm not a baby," Audrey said, dredging up a smile. "Please don't call me that."

"Why not? You're my baby," Charles said, in a tone that made it clear that she was supposed to be grateful for that.

"I'm nobody's baby," Audrey replied, holding back her temper with difficulty, surprised at how little tolerance she had for this nonsense. "Charlene!" she called. "I need you back here, honey! You need to leave," she added to Charlie.

"What if I don't want to?" Charlie teased.

"I don't care if you want to or not," Audrey said crossly, pushing him away. "Let me go."

But he wouldn't move, just gave her that maddening grin as he remained on his knees in front of the chair, splayed across her lap. "Move, you oaf!" Audrey insisted. "Let me up!"

"Make me!" Charlie laughed.

"I'd be delighted to," said a voice behind him.

Charlie's head whirled around, and Audrey's stomach clutched when she spied Langley in the doorway of the make-up trailer. When had he come in? She hadn't even heard him open the door. "Who's this?" Charlie asked warily.

"This is Langley, our clapper loader," Audrey said. "Langley, this is Charlie—Charles—Dean."

"What's the clapper loader doing in the make-up trailer?" Charlie asked suspiciously.

"Miss Tate asked you to leave," Langley said, ignoring the question. "I would advise you to honor that request."

Silence. Audrey bit her lip as Charlie, who was used to practically everyone kissing the ground he walked on, gaped at Langley in disbelief. He'd probably never been addressed that way by a member of the crew. Ever.

"Charles was just leaving," Audrey confirmed, taking advantage of Charlie's discomfiture to wiggle out of the chair. "I have to finish make-up. Charlene!" she called through the open door. "Come on back, or I'll be late. Go on," she added to the still flabbergasted Charlie. "I'll see you on the set."

He left without protest, but throwing dark glances Langley's way, probably because Langley was staring him down with that look that could freeze boiling water. She was going to hear about this later, she just knew it.

"Wait," Audrey said after Charlie had left, holding up a hand before Langley could say anything. "Look, I know he's an idiot who treats me like a child and can't see past my boobs, but frankly, he's no worse than a lot of other men. And he's considered the up and coming hot property in Hollywood in some circles, so working with him carries at least a small amount of cache. And I need the work. It's so hard to break into this business, so a girl has to take whatever advantage she can, use whatever she's got, and even then she might not make it." She paused, surprised, yet somehow not surprised that Langley hadn't said anything. Anyone else would have butted in by now. "I just have to put up with him until the end of shooting," she continued, "so please don't do anything to make him angry. Just let me handle him. If he gets mad, I could lose my job."

Charlene appeared, all wide-eyed and looking for a Charlie update, hesitating when she saw Langley and Audrey standing in the doorway, then slipping past to the make-up table without saying a word.

"I would of course not do anything to jeopardize your employment," Langley said. "I apologize for the intrusion."

Audrey felt a wave of relief wash over her. No argument, no recriminations, no admonitions that she was wrong. Just a simple statement of support and an apology to boot. "Thank you," she said sincerely, briefly squeezing his hand. "I really appreciate that."

"Well, I'll be damned," Charlene murmured after Langley had left, watching his capped head bob through the crowd back toward the set. "You and the clapper loader!"

Audrey face caught fire. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Charlene's eyebrows were grazing the ceiling. "Sweet Jesus, Audrey. Spare me the denials, and the 'I'd never's', and all the rest of that nonsense; you know perfectly well that we women know these things."

"You're not going to tell, are you?" Audrey asked in alarm.

"Heck, no!" Charlene laughed. "Cross my heart and hope to die. Women don't tell on each other. We've gotta stick together in a man's world. It's just.....well....honey, why would you want that when you could have Charles Dean?"

Audrey just smiled and shook her head as she settled back into her chair. "If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."




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




Roswell Sheriff's Station




Jimmy Valenti hesitated in front of his father's office door, his paper lunch bag bunched in his hands. He'd managed to postpone lunch by telling his mother that he was waiting for his father, who was due back at the station mid-afternoon. His mother had loved the idea and had scurried him off toward the office as soon as his father got in, which meant that now he had no excuses. First thing this morning, Deputy Crist had wanted to know if he'd asked about the aliens. Jimmy's father had gotten home too late last night to talk to, probably a good thing as he hadn't yet worked up the nerve to raise the subject. But Crist's insistence, coupled with a reminder of the promised reward had spurred him onward, and now here he was. If he could just stop his knees from knocking, everything would be peachy.

"Who is it?" his father called when Jimmy knocked on the door.

"Jimmy. I thought.....I wanted to eat lunch together."

"Hey, kiddo!" his father said, throwing the door open. "Come on in. Here your mother wanted you to work at the station this summer so we could be together more, but we barely see each other. How's it going? Still enjoying yourself?"

"Yes, sir," Jimmy said, pulling up a chair beside his father's desk and taking out his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "I'm real busy."

"You and me both," his father sighed, sinking into his own chair in front of his own lunch, which appeared to be a cup of coffee. "Just when I think it's calmed down, it picks up again. Some heartthrob actor arrived today, so now there's a legion of teenyboppers out there in addition to everyone else. And I had to remind Mr. Steinfeld that he was to give me a week's notice to close down Main Street for filming. How much you want to bet he doesn't?"

Jimmy shrugged, not bothering to ask for definitions of "heartthrob" and "teenybopper". He loved it when his father talked shop, even if he only understood half of it. "Here," he said, pushing half of his sandwich toward his father. "You should eat something."

"Now you sound like your mother. I'm not taking your lunch, Jimmy."

"There's tons of doughnuts and coffee cake back in the break room, and Mom will be mad if you don't eat," Jimmy said matter-of-factly.

"That she will," his father agreed. "But who's going to tell her? You?"

"No. But I'd feel better if you ate something."

"In that case, I'll eat it," his father smiled. They munched in companionable silence for a minute while Jimmy mentally went over his game plan. He'd decided the best approach was a direct one; there was no way to tackle a subject like this obliquely, so it was best to not even try.

"Dad," he said after he'd finished his sandwich, "I wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot," his father said, still chewing.

"I've....heard some things here," Jimmy said, staring at the bread crumbs on his sandwich wrapper. "About you and the 'crash'. People say you were a deputy then, and that you....saw aliens. They even said you helped rescue someone from aliens."

His father stopped chewing immediately. "Who told you that?" he asked sharply.

"Lots of people," Jimmy said vaguely, having anticipated this question.

"Lots of people like who?" his father pressed.

"I don't want them to get into trouble," Jimmy said, having anticipated this as well. "And it sounds like they would if I told you."

His father sighed and sat back in his chair. Jimmy was careful to wait patiently, using the time to nibble a stripe around the middle of his apple. If his father wasn't going to answer, then he wasn't going to answer, and he'd just have to let that wonderful offer to help with the mug shots pass. Then again, this might be a two-step or even multi-step process. His father might refuse to talk about it now, but bring it up later after he'd had a chance to think about it. Which could be problematic, because Deputy Crist didn't seem like the patient sort.

"I didn't see any aliens," his father said after a moment, "and I didn't rescue anyone from aliens."

Jimmy's initial elation that he'd actually gotten an answer in short order evaporated. "But....they said you were a hero! Something about an Army officer and you rescuing someone."

"I suppose I should be grateful they don't have me going up in my rocket ship and rescuing little green men," his father said, a note of exasperation in his voice. "Okay, yes, I was involved in the retrieval of a civilian from the Army base."

"Really?" Jimmy exclaimed. "What happened?"

"Someone from the base got a bit carried away."

"Why?" Jimmy pressed.

"There was a bit of a scuffle about military versus civilian law and where they did or did not overlap, that's all."

"Oh," Jimmy said, disappointed. That didn't even sound interesting, never mind heroic. "But were there aliens, Dad? You were there. Were the aliens real?"

His father hesitated. "An awful lot of people thought they saw aliens back then," he said finally. "I went on hundreds of calls from people who said they'd seen aliens, or talked to aliens, or been kidnapped by aliens. When people are frightened, they can imagine all sorts of things that aren't there."

"So no one really did see aliens? Not one of them?"

A knock sounded on the door. "Sheriff?" Hanson said, poking his head in. "Sorry to bother you, but the Grant County clerk is returning your call on line one."

"Thanks," his father said. "Sorry," he added to Jimmy. "I need to take this."

"Yes, sir," Jimmy said disconsolately, gathering up what was left of his lunch and retreating to the main office. He didn't have much to tell Deputy Crist, but hopefully it would be enough. He found Crist at his desk, pounding away at his typewriter.

"I talked to my Dad just like I promised," Jimmy announced.

"Oh?" Crist said, sounding distracted.

"Aren't you going to ask me what he said?"

"I'm a little busy right now," Crist answered.

"But....you wanted to know," Jimmy said. "You wanted to know if he'd seen aliens, and what happened with that person he rescued."

Crist stopped typing and gave him a level stare. "Oh, I did, did I?"

"Yes," Jimmy insisted. "You even promised I could help with the mug shots if I asked him, and I did. Fair's fair. You keep saying that, right?"

"Then it appears life just got unfair," Crist said. "I won't be able to hold up my end of the bargain."

"But you promised!" Jimmy protested. "I did what I said I'd do, so now it's your turn."

Crist's expression softened. "Look, I should never have asked you to talk to your father about that. I know he doesn't like talking about it, and it's none of my business, so trying to get to him through you wasn't fair, not to him, not to you. I'm sorry."

Jimmy blinked. "It's okay," he said, drawing a blank on the last time an adult had admitted wrongdoing, never mind offered him an apology. "I didn't get in trouble, or anything."

"Good," Crist said, pulling the paper out of the typewriter. "And one more thing: Don't take bribes like that. Someone who tries to bribe you is usually up to no good."

"Even you?" Jimmy challenged as Crist walked away.

Crist paused a moment, turning to face him. "Yup. Even me."




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




Ruth Bruce's rooming house




"Bang!" Philip Evans cried with undisguised delight as the towering pile of blocks came tumbling down. "Bang, bang!"

"That's right," Courtney agreed, sitting on the floor amongst the scattered blocks. "Bang!"

"More," Philip announced, beginning the stacking process again. Courtney joined in, finding the process of building and destroying strangely therapeutic as well as being one of Philip's favorite games as they waited for Dee, who was across the hall with her mother cleaning up what was left of Crist. Courtney had helped, grimacing as she'd brushed the skin flakes that seemed to have settled virtually everywhere onto the floor so they could be vacuumed up, until Dee had taken pity on her and offered to finish it herself. Courtney had been doubly grateful for the offer, not only because she needed some space from what had happened, but because this marked the first time since Dee had found out who she was that she'd been willing to leave Philip with her. She wondered if that meant she could have her babysitting job back, and that prospect actually saddened her. She had enjoyed her afternoons with Emily. If she couldn't have her real mother, it was nice to at least have Dee's, with the fact that Emily knew who and what she was an added and unexpected bonus.

The sound of a vacuum cleaner starting up drifted faintly across the hall, and a minute later, Dee appeared in the doorway. "Mama!" Philip said proudly, pointing to his half completed tower. "Bang!"

"More 'bangs'," Dee smiled. "How many of those have you built?"

"Lots," Philip answered solemnly.

"About ten," Courtney answered. "That's a good record for only twenty minutes." She paused, her eyes on the blocks. "Thank you for doing that for me."

"No problem," Dee answered, closing the door behind her. "Mama should be done soon." She sat down next to her son and began adding blocks to the pile. "I'm sorry I called you stupid, but you do realize that Malik saved your life, don't you?"

"Not just mine," Courtney said quietly, having had a good deal of time to think this over. "Had he reported that I kept Mark's death to myself, my father might have been executed as well, or at least seriously demoted, both of which would have been a huge blow for the resistance."

"Then why were you mad at Malik?"

"Because I hadn't gotten that far," Courtney sighed. "Because I'd never seen one of us die like that. Because I know whoever 'Deputy Crist' was probably has family here, and now they'll never know what happened to him."

"That's too bad, but 'Deputy Crist' was going to turn you in, from what I understand," Dee said. "Trying to kill you outweighs family in my book."

"It wasn't just me," Courtney said. "He was also going to kill the sheriff."

Dee paled visibly. "Good Lord," she muttered. "I know Valenti can be a pain, but he doesn't deserve to be murdered for it."

"I know. And I'm glad he was stopped. I just wish there'd been some other way to stop him, something that didn't involve death and Covari."

"Why is it such a big deal that Malik stopped him?" Dee asked. "Would you have felt any better if I'd been the one who killed him?"

"Yes," Courtney said firmly. "Definitely."

"But why?" Dee asked incredulously. "What difference does it make who does it?"

"All the difference in the world," Courtney argued, wondering how to explain this without making Dee angry. "Look, in your world you've got your demons, the things you use to scare children into behaving. Where you live I guess it's called the 'bogeyman'; I understand that in Ireland, they tell their kids to behave or 'Cromwell's men' will get them. On Antar, it's Covari that fill that role. And you can see why," she continued as Dee's eyes widened. "I had no idea Malik was in my room. Even now, I don't know how he got in; I only saw Crist. Hell, Crist could've been Malik for all I knew. Covari are sneaky—sneaky, and underhanded, and deceptive, and any other synonym you can think of. You can't trust anything about them."

"But....Malik doesn't usually invite himself into people's apartments," Dee pointed out. "And I would think today wouldn't count because it was an emergency. You didn't really expect him to knock politely, did you?"

"Of course not," Courtney admitted. "It's just that, seeing Crist....decompress....knowing that could happen to me, or to my father...." She paused, that awful noise and cloud of skin flakes fresh in her memory. "Let's just say it's very hard to think of that dispassionately, no matter how necessary it may have been."

Dee was quiet for minute, shoring up the base of Philip's tower so he could build higher, although it was almost too high for him now. "What's it like?" she asked finally. "Wearing a husk, I mean. What's it feel like?"

"Well....for starters, you're too tall, so it's hard to get your balance," Courtney answered. "And your eyes are too small, but that can be a blessing because humans don't have a second eyelid, so your eyes are either uncovered or they're not, meaning your really bright sun seems even brighter. And your hands are too small, so you feel like you're picking everything up with just the tips of your fingers, and you keep dropping things."

"Weird," Dee murmured, picking up another block with her fingertips.

"But the hardest thing to get used to is the air exchange," Courtney continued. "Your atmosphere has to be altered, so every time we breathe, it takes a second or two to go through the filters before it actually reaches you. After a while, you don't notice the delay, but at first, it can feel like...." She paused, recalling her panic when she'd first donned her husk despite the warnings she'd been given. "It can feel like you're suffocating," she finished. "That, plus the way it latches on to you at first can be very frightening."

" 'Latches on'?"

"A husk is a life form in its own right," Courtney explained. "You have to feed it, just like any other life form. That's why we have to make sure we eat regularly, and eat more than a human our size would. No matter how much I eat, it would be practically impossible for me to gain weight."

"Lucky you," Dee chuckled.

"Not really. My husk's relationship to me is parasitic. If I don't eat enough, it will start to eat me."

Dee blinked. "Okay, I'll stop complaining about my baby weight. So.....why would you go through all this? Is finding the Warders really that important?"

"Absolutely," Courtney said soberly. "Antar could have remained peaceful and stable. We were so close to moving beyond our violent past....and then it all fell apart, and it's only gotten worse since then. We need the royal family to bring it back to the way it was. And in order to find them, we need to be here, and in order to survive here, we need these husks. Without them, we'd......"

"Bang!" Philip exclaimed, sending his latest towering pile crashing to the floor.

"Exactly," Courtney whispered.

The apartment door opened and Emily appeared, pushing a vacuum cleaner in one hand and holding a paper bag in another. "It's all in here," she said, handing the bag to Courtney. "Sorry I didn't have a better container."

"I have no idea what to do with this," Courtney admitted, accepting the bag gingerly.

"Do your people have any funeral rites?" Emily asked.

"Of course we do," Courtney answered. "And they all involve a body."

Emily glanced at Dee. "We know of a rite that doesn't involve a body," she said softly.

"That would be perfect," Dee nodded.

"What would be perfect?" Courtney asked.

Dee gave her a level stare. "I can show you after my shift, if you're willing to use.....someone else's traditions."

"I suppose a human rite is better than none at all," Courtney said. "What is it?"

Dee took the bag from her, folding the top over carefully so none of the flakes could escape. "I'll tell you afterwards," she said matter-of-factly, "when you might be more willing to listen."





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


I'll post Chapter 35 next Sunday.

Hello everyone!

Michelle in Yonkers wrote:Wait 'til Courtney finds out she just about to use a Covari burial ritual! Maybe she'll at last see how they feel, a bit, if they care deeply enough to have a burial ritual like that.

It'll take her a while to come around. I had to resist the urge to "turn" her too quickly; she's got years of conditioning to overcome.

Meanwhile, I have dire fears about what the SU is up to -- ....(Wonder if that poor little baby, who'll grow up to be suborned into the Daniel Pierce we knew and -- well, knew, has been born yet? And what was the fate of his mother..)

The SU has not been idle. They have agents deployed in various places, including the Roswell station. You'll see them in the next chapter (36), along with news on Helen Pierce and the baby we all know and love (hate?), which is due in September. The bad news is that the next chapter isn't coming for a couple of weeks because I'm on vacation. (Whee! We only go away once a year, and I love it to bits. This year, we're doing Vegas! ) The good news is that the plane ride will give me ample opportunity to finish this book because I'm very near the end of it, writing-wise. Bring on the deals and maps on cave walls!








CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


July 22, 1950, 11:45 p.m.

The desert outside Roswell




It was surprisingly cold. Courtney climbed out of the car Dee had borrowed from her parents, rubbing her arms and shivering. She'd wondered why Dee had brought a sweater and now watched enviously as she climbed out of the driver's seat and rummaged in the trunk, emerging a moment later with the bag containing Crist's remains....and another sweater.

"I thought you might want this," Dee said. "A lot of people aren't prepared for how cold the desert can be at night."

"Where are we going?" Courtney asked, gratefully slipping the sweater on as they walked away from the main road.. "Is there a sacred place where you do this?"

"Nothing sacred about this place," Dee chuckled. "No, we're just looking for solitude and wind. Have to have wind."

"Why?"

"You'll see."

They walked for several minutes in silence. The night was clear and chilly, the stars unbelievably bright; earth's single moon didn't block the starlight the way Antar's trio did. "This looks good," Dee announced when they had arrived at what looked to be the middle of nowhere. "We can't see the road anymore, so no one can see us. Now we just have to wait for some wind. Would you like the honors?"

"No," Courtney said quickly, shaking her head. "This is a human funeral rite, so I wouldn't know what to do."

Dee gave her an inexplicable smile, but didn't object, opening the bag and waiting. A minute later a gust of wind blew by, whipping Courtney's hair around her shoulders, and Dee chose that moment to empty the contents of the bag right into the gust. The skin flakes flew away on the breeze, forming a long, pale stream, even paler in the moonlight, and Courtney felt her hand rising involuntarily to her back where her husk's seal was hidden, all that stood between her and a similar fate. Never conscious of it before, she was acutely so now; she'd probably even avoid sleeping on her back tonight. Ridiculous, of course, since it would take a lot more than that to break the seal, but now that she'd actually seen one broken, she was feeling especially vulnerable. Dee was probably wondering why an Argilian operative was being so squeamish about death, but it wasn't death that bothered Courtney; there had been plenty of that on Antar since Zan had fallen. No, it wasn't death that was bothering her, but the manner of this death. To think that could happen to her.....

"Okay," Dee said, pulling Courtney back to the present. "We're done."

Courtney blinked. "That's it? Don't you say anything, or sing something, or do.....something? Something else?"

"Nope."

"Oh," Courtney said, disappointed. "So you just dump and leave?"

"I didn't 'dump'," Dee replied. "The remains have to be released into a wind strong enough that they can fly for at least a short while before falling to the ground. It represents freedom."

"That's nice," Courtney said, having missed that particular aspect of this rite when she'd been discussing it earlier with her landlady in order to prepare herself. "Thank you for doing this. I know he was an enemy, but still......this is a lot better than what he would've gotten from my own people."

"What would they have done?"

"Nothing," Courtney said soberly. "Anyone who wound up like Crist would be considered a failure and an embarrassment, a soldier who failed to complete his mission. Someone to be forgotten, not remembered, even briefly."

"That's harsh," Dee murmured.

"Oh, his family would've done something for him," Courtney continued. "But it would have had to be private, and anyone attending would have had to consider the backlash if Nicholas found out about it. Our military is very strict, and his branch is even more so. In many ways, the symbolism about freedom is appropriate."

"Right," Dee nodded. "For both of you."

"Both of whom?"

Dee smiled faintly, her face only just visible in the darkness. "This isn't a human funeral rite, Courtney—it's a Covari rite. They let their dust fly on the wind because that's the only way they'll ever truly be free."

"But.....I know this is a human rite," Courtney said. "I talked to Mrs. Bruce about it earlier today. Although yours uses ashes," she added distastefully, still unable to believe that humans actually burned the bodies of their loved ones. How revolting. No wonder Dee had feared she would find this objectionable.

"We have something similar," Dee agreed. "If a body is cremated, the ashes are usually kept in some kind of container or spread somewhere that meant something to the deceased, like a favorite park, or lake, or something like that. But the bit about the wind, that's Covari."

"Dee," Courtney said gently, "Covari don't have funeral rites. Their bodies collapse into dust, and then—"

"They let that dust fly on the wind," Dee broke in. "Jaddo gave us specific instructions on how to dispose of Urza's dust in case he couldn't, and my parents and I did just that after he was captured. I know Malik disposed of Amar's dust this way after Amar saved his life. This is the way they do it. Just like 'real' people."

"Well.....real people somewhere," Courtney said. "They must have copied the practice from someplace."

"Does anyone else on your planet do that?"

"Well......no, but—"

"Then where could they 'copy' it from?"

"Lots of places," Courtney answered. "I know you're not used to this, but there are plenty of other worlds. Antar is part of a coalition of five planets....or we were," she added ruefully. "That's largely fallen apart. But there are plenty of other inhabited planets with societies they could have copied from."

"And why does that change anything?" Dee asked. "If I copy one of your funeral rites, does that make me less of a 'real person'? If you copy one of mine, what happens to you?"

"Of course you're a real person, and nothing would happen to me," Courtney said patiently. "Covari are bred to mimic, so you can expect them to mirror whatever society in which they find themselves, at least to some extent. That doesn't...." She stopped, having been about to finish that sentence with that doesn't make them real, but thought better of it when the moonlight showed her a dangerous glint in Dee's eye. "Look, I thought we agreed to disagree about this. I live with how you see them, and you live with how I see them.....right?"

Dee was silent for a moment before turning abruptly and heading back toward the car. "Right. I'm wasting my time."

Courtney sighed heavily, giving the starry sky one last look before trudging after her.




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




July 23, 1959, 7:15 a.m.

Parker's Diner



She's late, Brivari thought, checking the clock which hung on the wall behind the diner's counter. Actually, they were both late—Audrey rarely arrived much past 7 a.m., and Atherton usually arrived even earlier, not wanting to miss even a moment with what he termed a "bombshell". Humans certainly had odd ways of referring to women; he would be hard pressed to name another culture in which females were addressed as infants or ordnance. But however anyone addressed her, Audrey was not here, nor had she shown last night for the usual late night gathering at his apartment. When asked where she was, other attendees had merely smiled and replied, "Charlie's got her" as though she were the actor's personal possession. Which would not have bothered him had she seemed happy with that arrangement....but she hadn't. And no wonder; "Charlie" might not be as dramatic as their famously temperamental director, but he seemed every bit as manipulative, and Audrey was intelligent enough to realize that.

"Would you like to order now?"

It was the young waitress, she of the emotional outbursts and oddly hesitant manner around him. She had calmed of late, although she still had a wary air about her. He had no idea what had happened to make her feel that way, but Atherton had written off her behavior to youth and family difficulties, and he was probably right. "I'll wait for my companions, thank you," Brivari said to her.

"Here's Mr. Anderson now," she answered.

And it was, breathless and beaming as he let the door bang closed behind him and headed straight for the table. "Good morning, Miss Harris!" he sang as he slid into the seat opposite Brivari. "Coffee, please, and the usual. Where is Miss Tate?" he added, only just noticing her absence.

"The usual for me as well," Brivari told the waitress, who retreated. "She is late," he continued to Atherton, "and what could possibly have happened that would have you taking so long to note that?"

"Oh, please, I don't drool over her that much," Atherton chuckled as Brivari raised an eyebrow. "But to answer your question, there's been a breakthrough! The first solid information we've had in years!"

" 'We'?"

"The group of alienologists I've been spending so much time with while you've been gallivanting about a movie set with a gorgeous woman," Atherton said blandly. "There's been no credible information regarding the aliens since 1950, when the last one held by the U.S. military supposedly escaped....until now." He leaned in closer. "There was a death some ways north of here, in a neighboring county," he confided in a whisper. "Word is the victim's body bore the same silver hand print that was found on several soldiers' bodies back in the forties. It's them!"

My goodness, but that took a while, Brivari thought. Pierce had been dead almost three weeks now. "Silver hand print?" he echoed. "What is that, exactly?"

"No one knows for certain," Atherton continued in his conspiratorial whisper, "but that is a documented method by which the aliens kill. Rather showy, don't you think? Not to mention a giant neon sign that they've been there."

But quick, Brivari thought privately. There were plenty of ways to kill without leaving a "giant neon sign", but those required time, energy, and total concentration, traits often in short supply in a crisis. Both the energy flare and the handprint method were crude, but fast and foolproof, the latter having the advantage of fading after a time, although not fast enough to shield their presence at Pierce's death. "Perhaps they were in a hurry," Brivari said casually. "So what does your group plan to do with this information?"

"We've already done something," Atherton replied. "These are scholars, you know, and businessmen, some quite wealthy. Just the sort who would rather die than consort with the likes of James Atherton," he added with a chuckle.

"You're talking about yourself in the third person again," Brivari reminded him.

"But I'm not..." Atherton paused as their food arrived. "But I'm not James Atherton now," he continued after the waitress had left. "I'm James Anderson, who is welcomed with open arms into this exalted circle. A circle which has contacts. Contacts which have heard of a secret organization only recently formed within a government agency for the sole purpose of—you guessed it—hunting aliens."

"The military?"

Atherton shook his head. "No, not the military. According to our sources, there are people out there who are very impatient with what they feel is the military's foot-dragging over this most recent alien sighting, hence the formation of this new group. Word is it's the FBI that's entered the ring now with a special unit sanctioned by J. Edgar Hoover himself and led by an ex-Army officer."

Lewis, Brivari thought. Agent Lewis, once Major Lewis, he of the "living autopsy" fame when Jaddo was captive, and one of the few people left with first-hand knowledge about them. If he had managed to attain a position of power denied him by the Army......

Brivari's musings stopped short as the door to the diner opened and a crowd of cast members spilled through, among them Audrey and Charles Dean, the latter with his arm protectively—or perhaps possessively—around Audrey's shoulders as though afraid she might escape. Audrey wasn't wearing her usual smile, but neither did she look terribly unhappy. Atherton stopped attacking his omelet and swiveled in his seat. "My, my," he murmured. "So that's why she's not here." He glanced at Brivari and then back at Audrey before turning around again. "You must have known this would happen, Langley" he said gently. "That chap is much more her type."

"Is he?" Brivari murmured.

"Well, of course he is. Don't take this the wrong way, my friend, but there's no way you're going to beat that dandy. And don't feel bad—neither would I. We're neither young enough nor good-looking enough."

"You think this is a competition?" Brivari asked, puzzled.

"Is it ever anything but?" Atherton smiled, waggling an eyebrow up and down.

"You misunderstand," Brivari said. "Miss Tate and I do not have a romantic relationship."

"I'm sure you don't," Atherton chuckled. "Just like I'm sure they do. Mind you, Langley, I'm deeply grateful for the proximity to beauty you've afforded me these last weeks, but I can't imagine you expected it to last."

*Neither can I,* said a sardonic voice as Atherton returned to his breakfast.

Brivari's eyes raked the room to find Jaddo seated at the counter. *For someone who supposedly has a such a busy schedule, you do seem to spend a great deal of time following me about,* Brivari said irritably.

*And a good thing, too,* Jaddo replied. *Would you have remembered to mention that a new threat has just arisen, or would you have been too wrapped up in your lady friend?*

*So you didn't know about this 'special unit'?* Brivari asked with no small amount satisfaction as a wave of mental resentment rolled his way. *How very interesting that we should learn of it through a contact of mine. A contact you objected to.*

*I would have discovered it sooner or later on my own,* Jaddo said peevishly.

*But you've discovered it sooner thanks to my relationship with an 'alienologist',* Brivari noted. *There is more than one way to gather intelligence, Jaddo. Obsessive pursuit is one; forming the right relationships is another. You have the former covered, and then some. Leave the latter to me.*

*We're wasting our time,* Jaddo said, annoyed as usual that Brivari was right. *This 'special unit' must be removed at once.*

*That is exactly what we must not do,* Brivari said firmly. *Retaliating will only provide more evidence of our presence and another lead to follow. The best approach is to ignore them.*

*I won't leave a hand print this time,* Jaddo said.

*That's what you told me the last time,* Brivari said darkly, *and your lack of self control is the very reason there is a 'special unit' to ignore. And if Major Lewis is involved, the two of you have history, so I have every reason to believe your self control will desert you again. Stay away from them.*

*So you'd just let this go unchallenged?* Jaddo said in astonishment.

*Absolutely,* Brivari answered. *Let them hunt all they want; they won't find anything. Or so you keep telling me.*

*This is different,* Jaddo insisted. *The Army has lost it's will to hunt for us, but I would wager Lewis has not.*

*And how would he find us?* Brivari asked. *The only way the humans have ever had of identifying us is through x-rays and blood tests, both of which it should be no trouble to avoid.*

*We have to end this threat now,* Jaddo argued. *Fine, we can't leave a trail, but we have to remove—*

*Any move made against any member of this 'special unit' will be perceived as coming from us whether or not there is any evidence to support that,* Brivari interrupted. *I will not have you handing them more evidence of our presence than you already have. Leave it alone.*

*But—*

*I said leave it alone.*

Jaddo pushed his coffee cup away, rose angrily from his seat and stalked out as every head in the diner turned his way. "My goodness," Atherton said, glancing behind him. "Is everyone here so high strung?*




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




Behind the counter, Courtney stared in surprise as the man Nancy had only recently handed a cup of coffee shoved it away and marched out of the diner, the door closing behind him somewhat louder than it usually did. What was up with that? He hadn't been talking to anyone, as evidenced by the startled expressions of those sitting on either side of him. Or...... Her head swung around to Langley, whose hard eyes were trained on the door through which the angry man had just left. Jaddo. The angry man must have been Jaddo; he and Brivari must have been having a telepathic argument. What did he look like? she thought frantically, only to mentally castigate herself a moment later. He was Covari; it didn't matter what he looked like. Didn't it just figure that the Warder who chose to wear a consistent shape would be the one she wasn't looking for?

"What was all that about?" Nancy muttered beside her.

"Don't know," Courtney said lightly, surprised to find that such close proximity to yet another Warder wasn't bothering her. Now that one of her own people had accosted her, the Warders didn't look quite as frightening as they had before. Having enemies from three different species must be some kind of local record. And friends, she reminded herself silently. Dee seemed to not be holding a grudge after yesterday's funeral rite, she had all her fellow resistance members, and.....Courtney paused as she realized she had been about to label Malik a friend. Good heavens but she was getting addled. No wonder Dee felt the way she did.

"Morning, Miss Harris," a voice said behind her.

"Good morning," Courtney answered automatically without looking at the speaker.

"Mind telling me what you did to Deputy Crist?"

Courtney turned around...and nearly dropped the plates she'd just retrieved from under the warmer. "Relax," Sheriff Valenti said with a wide smile. "I was just joking. Crist quit yesterday, not long after you showed up with your birth certificate. Which checked out, by the way. You're of legal age."

"Thanks, I already knew that," Courtney said tartly, trying to calm her pounding heart as she delivered her orders. For a moment there, she'd thought Valenti knew something he shouldn't. "So what happened to Deputy Crist?" she asked casually when she returned to the counter.

"Turned in a letter of resignation late yesterday afternoon," Valenti said, reaching for the sugar. "Family emergency."

And how, Courtney thought. "I'm glad he gave you the information," she said, relieved that Valenti didn't suspect a thing. "For awhile there he wouldn't write anything down until I'd told him why you wanted it."

"Why not?" Valenti asked sharply. "What did he say?"

Courtney blinked. "Well....I didn't want to leave my birth certificate because I was afraid it would get lost, so I asked him to copy—"

"Yes, yes," Valenti said impatiently. "But what's this about him wanting to know why I wanted it?"

"He....he wanted to know," Courtney stammered. "He said he wouldn't copy anything until I told him."

Valenti leaned forward intently. "And what did you say?"

"I said you thought I might be a runaway, so you wanted to check my age. And then he copied everything, and I left."

Valenti relaxed a bit....but only a bit. "Okay. Okay," he repeated, as though trying to convince himself it was really okay. "If that's all......" He paused, staring into space. "No," he said firmly, reaching for his hat with one hand while another fished coins out of his pocket. "Thank you for telling me that, Miss Harris. You have a good day, now."

Courtney sagged against the counter as Valenti hurried out of the diner, mentally kicking herself. Damn it! When, oh when, was she going to learn to keep her mouth shut? Never offer information when you don't have to; that was rule number one in the book entitled "How Not To Get Caught". Here she'd been feeling all safe and cozy, and now she'd tripped some kind of alarm with Valenti. The fact that it didn't appear to be an alarm about her didn't necessarily make her feel any better. She grabbed a coffee pot and began making the rounds of her tables, needing something mindless to calm herself. Which would have been a good idea if not for the fact that one of her tables was occupied by a Royal Warder.

"Miss Harris!" Mr. Anderson boomed when she appeared. "Langley and I were just discussing a subject that may be of interest to you seeing as you said you believed in aliens. It appears the FBI has formed it's own alien-hunting unit."

"Oh?" Courtney said politely, resisting the urge to hurl the coffee pot across the room. She'd just gotten rid of one enemy, and now here was another. "What's this?" she added when Langley pushed some coins across the table toward her.

"Payment for the man who left a few minutes ago. I believe he did not pay his bill."

No, he didn't, Courtney thought, pocketing the money and doing a quick mental inventory. Valenti was off her back but on the warpath about Crist, a new group of alien hunters had just formed, and Zan's Warder was paying the bill for Rath's, even though he could easily have ignored it. It wasn't even eight o'clock yet, and already this was shaping up to be a mighty weird day.



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



9 a.m.

Dexter, New Mexico




Malik closed the door to Deputy Crist's apartment behind him, careful to lock it. He'd been in this little town just south of Roswell only yesterday, packing up Crist's things and settling his business to make it look like he'd left town. That had turned out to be more work than expected as Crist had apparently had a passion for human mechanical objects; his apartment had been filled with music boxes, tools, and sundry other things, all of which had been packed into his car and donated to a local Salvation Army post. He'd used the wad of cash he'd found stashed in a cookie jar to pay off the rent, and sold the Ford to a car dealer. Clothes were trickier; Crist would've taken those with him, so they had to be disposed of, along with the personal papers he'd found, including, ironically, a birth certificate. Malik had shaken his head when he'd found that, marveling how it had been a birth certificate that had led to this whole mess.

Now he stood in the cleaned out apartment, eyes sweeping the single large room and the bathroom beyond for what he'd missed. Because the one thing he hadn't found, and the one thing he must find, was the communicator he was certain Crist had in his possession. He'd been so intent on being Crist yesterday that he hadn't made a conscious effort to find it, expecting he'd run across it. But he hadn't, and now that he'd established the myth that Crist had left town, he could focus solely on finding that communicator.

Forty-five minutes later, Malik plopped on the sofa, stumped. Where could it be? Was it possible he didn't have one? No, Nicholas would never have sent an operative into the field without a communicator, a point reinforced by Crist himself when he'd demanded Courtney's. He'd carefully checked Crist's desks and lockers at both the Roswell sheriff's station and his home station of Chaves County, found nothing, and wasn't surprised; a workplace wouldn't be a safe place to hide something so obviously alien. He'd practically disassembled the car and nearly done the same to the apartment with no luck. It's here, Malik thought. The safest and most logical place for something like a communicator was a private residence, so it had to be here. Obviously he'd missed something; he'd just have to keep looking, and quickly, too, as an apartment this spacious with a private bath would be rented out soon.

Malik had begun the search anew when he heard footsteps approaching, accompanied by voices. The landlord must be showing the apartment; hopefully they wouldn't stay long. Retreating to the bathroom, he left the door ajar and watched as a key jangled in the lock and the front door opened.

"When did you say he left?" a familiar voice asked.

"Yesterday evening," came the landlord's voice as he crossed the threshold, followed by the last person Malik had expected to see—Sheriff Valenti.

"So he broke his lease?"

"Yep. Didn't give me a hard time about it. Paid the next month's rent and said I could keep the security deposit."

Malik's jaw tightened as Valenti slowly circled the apartment, eyes roving everywhere. What was he doing here? Valenti was noted for being thorough, but checking up on an employee who'd simply given notice and left to see to a family emergency was way beyond thorough.

"Did he say where he was going?" Valenti asked.

"Nope. Said he had a family emergency and had to leave right away."

"Yeah, that's what he told me too," Valenti murmured as he continued his sweep. "Was he a good tenant?"

"Never gave me any trouble. Wasn't loud. Paid his rent on time. No complaints here."

"And how long did he live here?"

" 'Bout a year and a half. Almost two."

Valenti nodded as though that information matched his own. "Mind if I take a look around?"

"Mind tellin' me what you're lookin' for?" the landlord asked. "Is this guy in trouble, or something?"

"No," Valenti said quickly. "I just....well, to be honest, I'm not sure what I'm looking for."

And that's bad, Malik thought heavily as the landlord left. If whatever Valenti wasn't sure he was looking for was bothering him enough to make him leave the crowds in Roswell and spend his precious time scouring Crist's apartment, things were very bad indeed. Malik waited impatiently as Valenti took his time wandering around, pulling the cushions off furniture, opening drawers, and generally being much less thorough than Malik had been. At length he reached the bathroom, and Malik melted out of sight, certain he wouldn't be in here long. Valenti glanced at the tub, checked the toilet and the toilet tank, opened and closed the medicine cabinet.....and paused. He opened it again, gently shaking the open door. The cabinet moved slightly in the wall, and further inspection revealed that one of the two screws which held the cabinet in place was a bit loose.

That's it! Malik thought excitedly. The medicine cabinet was set into an opening in the bathroom wall; it was quite possible there was a space behind it large enough to hold a communicator. He waited with growing impatience as Valenti jiggled the cabinet some more. Come on, come on, he thought irritably. Leave. Even if Valenti just stepped out for a screwdriver, that would still give him enough time to check.

Then to his horror, Valenti reached into his back pocket and withdrew.....a screwdriver? What the hell kind of sheriff walked around with a screwdriver in his pocket? The screws were out in seconds, and Malik held his breath as Valenti pulled the cabinet from the wall and balanced it on the edge of the sink. There was nothing visible behind it but a couple of wooden studs, and Malik gave a private sigh of relief as Valenti replaced the cabinet and reached for one of the screws.....

.....only to change his mind and remove it again. This time he set it on the floor and reached inside the opening, feeling all around, up and down; a moment later he withdrew his arm, and in his hand was a gray Antarian communicator. Damn it! Malik ordered himself to stay calm as Valenti turned the communicator over and over in his hands. What should he do? Valenti now knew that "Deputy Crist" had something very strange indeed in his possession, something he had inexplicably left behind.

"You about done in here?" the landlord's voice called. "I need to lock up."

"Yep, be right out," Valenti called lightly. He pocketed the communicator, set the cabinet back in its hole, and left the screws inside. "I appreciate your cooperation," he told the landlord. "I'll let you know if I need any more information."

Malik had to wait while the landlord took a perfunctory look around the apartment before leaving; by that time, as he raced to the front window, Valenti's car was already pulling away. It was clear from the look on Valenti's face that he hadn't recognized what he'd discovered, but that meant nothing. "Great," he muttered angrily. In addition to an Argilian rebel and a dead Argilian operative, now he also had a nosy human sheriff in possession of a piece of alien technology on his hands.




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


I'll post Chapter 35 on Sunday, July 27 as I'll be on vacation for the next couple of weeks. This should be the last skip until we hit the holidays!

Hello to everyone reading!





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX


July 23, 1959, 4:00 p.m.

Mrs. Bruce's rooming house



"Make certain you deliver the message," Michael warned sternly from the hologram which hovered over the trithium generator. "Nicholas is not in a good mood.

"Is he ever? Yes, yes, I'll deliver it," Courtney added quickly as her father scowled.

"I mean it, Courtney. Before midnight."

"I heard you the first three times," Courtney said, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.

Michael's expression softened. "I know this isn't your fault, and you're not being blamed. Just make certain you tell him."

But it is my fault, Courtney thought, flopping back on the bed after her father's image faded away, only to pull herself up again when someone knocked on her door, carefully pocketing the generator.

It was Malik. "Can I come in?" he said by way of greeting.

"Wow," Courtney deadpanned. "Knocking and asking permission to come in. That's different."

"We have a problem," Malik said, ignoring her. "Valenti found Crist's communicator."

Courtney's mouth dropped open. "Are you crazy saying something like that?" she demanded, pulling him inside. "Anyone could have heard you!"

"I take it I can come in now?" Malik said dryly. "You know, I think I've established that I don't like your attitude any better than you like me, so the odds of my dropping by for anything other than a very good reason are low. You might want to keep that in mind the next time you leave me standing in the hallway."

"I didn't have the choice of leaving you in the hallway yesterday," Courtney retorted.

"So in the future, you expect me to knock before I save your life?"

"I don't want to get into this again," Courtney muttered.

"No, I'm sure you don't," Malik said. "Most people don't like to start arguments they know they're bound to lose."

"Why are you here?" Courtney demanded crossly. "If Valenti has Crist's communicator, then get it back!"

"I considered that," Malik said, helping himself to a seat. "I'll find out where he stashed it. But he obviously doesn't know what it is, and I'm afraid that by stealing it, I'll just be drawing attention to it."

"Wait," Courtney said, holding up a hand. "How did Valenti find Crist's communicator? What, was he using it as a paperweight on his desk?"

"No; he had it hidden behind the medicine cabinet in the bathroom of his apartment. I did have Crist quit his job yesterday, but that usually doesn't trigger one's temporary boss dismantling one's apartment."

Courtney's heart sank even further than the chair she sank into. "He went there because of me, because of something I said. Valenti showed up at the diner this morning and told me my birth certificate had checked out, and that I was off the hook. I was so relieved that I started chattering....and unfortunately I mentioned how Crist wanted to know why Valenti wanted my birth certificate. And then he got all suspicious and left. Probably straight for Crist's apartment."

"I gather your training didn't cover the art of not babbling?"

"Of course it did," Courtney said irritably. "I just....slipped. Are you perfect? Haven't you ever slipped?"

Malik gazed at her steadily for a moment. "The sheriff's son is working at the station," he said, "and while I was typing Crist's resignation letter, he came to me and said he'd asked his father 'about the aliens' just like 'I' had wanted him to. Apparently Crist was milking Valenti Jr. for information, and that alone could have tripped Valenti's alarms. It might not have been you."

"Or what I said could have been the—how do they put it?—the straw that broke the camel's back," Courtney sighed.

"More like 'what tipped the scale in the opposite direction'," Malik corrected.

"Fine, so you're better at human metaphors," Courtney said impatiently. "It doesn't matter now anyway because—here's another one for you—my goose is cooked."

"Why?"

"I just got a communication from my father. Mark Green has been ordered to report by midnight tonight or face recall."

"I thought you said operatives didn't report in very often unless they had news?"

"That was before a Royal Warder left a hand print for the first time in years. Now everyone's supposed to report in regularly, and Mark hasn't been. Apparently several messages have been sent to his communicator, and no one's listened to them, of course."

"So all Mark has to do is report in via communicator?"

"Yes, that's 'all' a dead man has to do," Courtney said. "And before you ask if I've forgotten that you're a shapeshifter, let me assure you that, one, I'll never forget that, and two, that won't help. I have no idea what Mark looked or sounded like, no pictures of him, nothing you can copy. Hence the goose dinner I mentioned before."

"Maybe not," Malik said calmly. "Can I see his communicator?"

"What?"

"His communicator," Malik repeated. "You know, grey, oval, galaxy symbol on top?"

Courtney gave him a withering look before rising from her chair and going to the closet. Mark's more traditional communicator was hidden under the same loose floor board as her trithium generator; it had just been dumb luck that little Philip Evans had grabbed the generator, probably because it was smaller. "What good is this going to do?" she asked as she handed it to Malik.

"I learned a thing or two from Amar about accessing communication logs," Malik said, pulling a tool out of his pocket. "Just give me a sec.....I need the outgoing messages, not the incoming......."

A minute later, a holographic beam rose above the communicator. In that beam was the image of a man Courtney had never seen before, on the shorter side for a human like most Argilians because that made it easier to adapt to their husks, dark hair, hazel eyes. Malik ticked through only three messages, all of the "nothing to report" variety. "Got it," he said as the image disappeared.

"Wait," Courtney said quickly. "If you're going to....I'm leaving," she finished abruptly.

"No, you're not," Malik said firmly. "What if they ask me something I can't answer, or I need a translation? You have to be here. Unless, of course, you'd like to be dragged back to wherever when they find out Mark's dead and you never told them."

"Then don't make me watch," Courtney said, turning her back to him. "Let me know when I can turn around."

"You can turn around."

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

Courtney risked a peek behind her. Mark Green stood where Malik had only a second before, dressed in similar but not identical clothes and sporting those same hazel eyes. "Good Lord," she whispered. "I didn't know you could do it that fast."

"I suspect there are a great many things you don't know about me," Malik said. "Shall we get this over with?"

Courtney nodded numbly, and Malik held his hand over the communicator. The galaxy symbol glowed, and mere seconds later, a hologram formed. "There you are," said the answering operative in an annoyed tone. "We were beginning to think you'd skipped town."

"All's quiet; nothing to report," Malik replied in Mark's voice, quoting his earlier reports. "With nothing happening, I guess I got distracted by....other things."

The other operative's face split into a wide grin. "Wish I could do that," he lamented. "What I wouldn't give to be assigned to a city!"

"Roswell's not very big," Malik said.

"It's bigger than here," the operative answered. "Anything's bigger than Copper Summit."

Courtney winced as her efforts to keep the location of their base a secret went right down the drain. "Right," Malik said, keeping his face carefully blank. "Do I have any further orders?"

"Nope. Just keep your eyes open, and let us know if you even suspect a Warder might be close by. And don't take so long to report in next time. It makes Nicholas grumpy, and we're the ones who have to deal with him when he's grumpy."

The hologram faded. Courtney's stomach clutched as Malik melted into his former shape right in front of her, a seething mass of flesh that was bearable to look at only because it happened so quickly. "You're in Copper Summit?" he demanded. "You're right where Amar and I were! Hell, you're probably in our house!"

"That's Nicholas' house," Courtney said, "or rather, the Crawfords. I was next door."

"Who the hell are the Crawfords?"

"Nicholas' parents," Courtney answered. "They go by Walt and Ida Crawford. And his 'sister', Vanessa, is really his lover. Or his latest one, anyway. I gather he had several."

"When?" Malik demanded. "When did they move in?"

"In the summer of 1950," Courtney answered.

"My God, he must have moved in right after we left," Malik said in disbelief. "All this time, and they're right where we were!"

"It doesn't matter—you can't go there," Courtney said. "You know that, don't you? According to my father, they have those trithium generators everywhere now. You'd be caught long before you reached Nicholas."

"You're awfully protective of someone you supposedly hate," Malik remarked.

"I couldn't care less what happens to Nicholas, but I do care what happens to the rest of my people," Courtney insisted. "There are resistance fighters there, and people who came because they had to, not because they had any say in the matter. If the Warders got loose in Copper Summit, they'd just kill everybody."

"And would you blame them? You know as well as I do that the vast majority of your people would kill both Warders and every single hybrid without a second thought if they had the chance."

"They want to kill the Warders, not the hybrids," Courtney clarified. "The hybrids go back to Antar."

"Where they'll be publicly executed, or dissected, or both," Malik argued. "And the difference is....what, exactly?"

"The point is that Copper Summit isn't safe for any Covari," Courtney said, "and if that means innocent people don't die, that's fine with me."

"I highly doubt Nicholas brought any 'innocent people' with him," Malik said darkly. "Here," he added, handing the communicator back to her. "Hang on to this for the next time Mark needs to report in. I need to figure out how to get Crist's communicator back without setting off Valenti. Any other stupid moves you'd like to report while I'm here?"

Courtney flushed. "No."

"Then I'll let you get back to hating my guts. Have a nice day."

"Wait."

Malik stopped as Courtney braced herself, deliberately looking at a point over his shoulder so she wouldn't have to look him in the eye. "I'm.....sorry I said what I did earlier. I'm grateful for what you've done, I just....." She fell silent, uncertain of how to continue without putting her foot in her mouth. Again.

"You just can't stand me anyway," Malik finished for her, "no matter how much I help, or how many times I save your life."

"So what about you?" Courtney said crossly. "Why are you here? You said you didn't like me either. Why are you helping me if you can't stand me?"

"I said I didn't like your attitude," Malik corrected. "And to specifically answer your question, this isn't about what you or I like; it's bigger than that. I don't want Khivar on the throne, I sure as hell don't want Nicholas on the throne, and if Zan's on the throne, I want him to change his ways. In order to accomplish that, he has to survive, and if some of your people are willing to help make that happen, I'll work with them even if I loathe every last one of them and they loathe me. Because it's about our world, about Antar, not about our petty little problems and prejudices. While we're on the subject, why are you here?"

Courtney's voice stuck in her throat. "Same reason," she whispered.

"Then we have that in common, at least," Malik said. "Oh, and one more thing—apology accepted. And you're welcome."




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



On the set of "They Are Among Us"




Audrey stiffened as hands came from behind, taking hold of her arms. "I'll miss you tonight," Charlie's voice whispered in her ear. "Will you miss me?"

"I'm not feeling well enough to miss anyone," Audrey said lightly. "Don't take it personally."

"So how long do I have to wait, doll?"

"Oh, a week or ten days," Audrey said. "It varies."

"That long?" Charlie protested. "I—"

He was cut off as the director called for places. Fortunately Charlie's place was all the way across the road from her and the marauding "aliens", so she was spared his further whinings....for the moment, anyway. The requisite gymnastics last night had been of the standard "Slam Bam, Thank You Ma'am" variety, minus the thanks, of course, because it was all considered part of the service. The juxtaposition was telling; two nights ago, she'd had the best sex of her life—no, the only good sex of her life—with a man who had cared about nothing but her and what she wanted. Last night it had been all about Charlie, who had shot his load in the predictable two minutes, rolled over, and gone to sleep. But in this case, brevity was mercy; those two minutes had seemed like two hours as he had parked himself on top of her and pleased himself, not seeming to know or care that there was a live, thinking person beneath him.

Which is where he likes everyone, Audrey thought sourly as an assistant director struggled to get a large group of extras on their marks. Beneath him. The resentment she'd felt at his behavior had surprised her, and she'd begged off repeats by using a woman's all-purpose excuse: Her period. Some women called it a curse while others considered it a blessing, and tonight, it would be a blessing for her. Or the notion of it, anyway; she didn't really have her period, just an aversion to being with a man who regarded her as some sort of poodle. She'd lain awake for hours last night, wishing desperately that she could join the get-together at Langley's without her attendance being reported to Charlie, and then had to put up with him again this morning at breakfast, where she'd spent the meal sneaking peeks at Langley and Mr. Anderson, dying to know why the latter seemed so excited. Something interesting, no doubt; they were given to discussing politics, social policy, and the mysteries of human behavior, while the stultifying "guy talk" at her table had consisted of cars, guns, and women, peppered with a generous dose of horn-blowing from Charlie and fawning from everyone else. Normally she had to tear herself away from breakfast in order to get to the set on time; today she'd eaten quickly and gotten to the set early. Five more weeks, she told herself. She'd have to put up with this nonsense for another five long weeks. Granted, Charlie wasn't any different than he usually was, but this time, it grated on her nerves. This time, her standards had risen. This time, she wanted more.

"We missed you last night," a voice said beside her.

Langley had come up beside her, clapboard in hand. "Believe me, I missed you all too," Audrey replied, sotto voiced. "Especially you."

"Then why not come tonight? Mr. Dean is welcome to attend also."

"God, no," Audrey groaned. "Then it would be all about his Mustang and his glorious career. I thought he would never shut up this morning! What was Mr. Anderson so cheerful about, by the way?"

"Join us for breakfast tomorrow, and find out," Langley said.

"I'd love to....but I can't," Audrey sighed.

"Surely you can join us occasionally," Langley said. "I'm familiar with the concept of fraternization being necessary for one's career, but this bears more of a resemblance to bondage."

You don't know the half of it, Audrey thought sadly. She had half a mind to spell it out for him since he honestly didn't seem to know, but the minute she did that, Langley would confront Charlie, Charlie would march in to Morty, and not only this job, but any future jobs would be in jeopardy. When one was female, this was just the way it worked in this industry. Even Langley couldn't change that.

"Places!" the director bellowed again.

Audrey had the few seconds it took Langley to clap the clapboard to remember what she was supposed to be doing before the director called, "Action!" Fortunately her role consisted mostly of yelling, "No! No!" as "aliens" dragged her away. Silly, yes, but it was a job, and any job that didn't involve waiting tables was nothing to sneeze at. She dutifully yelled as she was dragged to the middle of the road, where Charlie's character was supposed to attempt a rescue. But he missed his cue, resulting in the director yelling, "Cut!" before the scene ended.

"Dean, would you stop daydreaming and do your damned job?" Larry demanded. "We're going again, everybody! Places!"

"I could do my job a lot better if you didn't mess me up," Charlie grumbled as Audrey picked herself up off the ground.

"Me?" she said in disbelief. "What, now it's my fault that you were late?"

"I saw you talking to him," Charlie whispered, jerking his head in Langley's direction.

"So?"

"So he's the guy who threw me, me, Charles Dean, out of the make-up trailer yesterday."

"Because you wouldn't leave when I asked you to," Audrey reminded him. "He's just the clapper loader."

"He's a lot more than that, from what I hear," Charlie said darkly. "I hear the two of you were an item. Don't know if I believe that—ugliest git I've seen in a long time—but that's what everyone's saying."

"You should stop listening to 'everyone' and tend to business," Audrey said sharply. "You're regaling 'everyone' with your wonderful career, but I know better; if you were doing as well as you say you are, you wouldn't be in this crappy little movie."

Charlie took hold of her arm. "Stay away from him," he ordered.

"You have no business telling me not to talk to the crew," Audrey retorted, wrenching her arm away and stalking back to her place.

"Dean!" Larry bellowed. "What are you waiting for—an engraved invitation? Get the hell on your mark!"

Audrey was smoldering as she faced Charlie across the road. She was used to Charlie's jealousy and possessiveness off the set, but now she had to put up with it on the set? This bears more of a resemblance to bondage. It did indeed, and she was becoming more resentful by the minute. No one should have to put up with this garbage, but rejecting him outright would be career suicide. Unless......

The clouds parted and the sun came out as Audrey thought of a way around this. It was crazy, of course. If anyone found out, there would be hell to pay. She'd have to be very, very careful. But if she could pull it off, she could keep her sanity and her job while letting Charlie think the sun still rose and set because he told it to. Heck, she was an actress; she could think of it as just another role. And if she played that role well, Charlie would never know.

"Places!" Larry called. "Ready.....set....Audrey!" he snapped, startling her. "You're about to be kidnapped! Why the hell are you smiling?"

Audrey's eyes drifted to Langley. "No reason," she answered. "Sorry."




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



Roswell Sheriff's Station




"Good to see you, sir," Hanson said when he spotted Valenti. "I have—"

"I'll look at it later," Valenti interrupted. "Hold all my calls."

"But—"

"No but's, Hanson. Do it."

Valenti ignored Hanson's protests as he whisked into his office and locked the door behind him. This was the first chance he'd had all day to inspect the strange object he'd found in Deputy Crist's apartment which he'd carried in his pocket until now, an odd lump that was surprisingly lightweight and had served to tear his mind away from all the myriad things he should have been focusing on. Now he plopped into his chair and withdrew it, setting it on the desk in front of him, turning it over and over. It was approximately six inches long, gray, vaguely football shaped, and perfectly smooth expect for a strange symbol etched into one side. He touched it gingerly with his finger, tracing the swirls, looking for buttons or switches or some indication of what this thing did, but came up with nothing.

Sitting back in his chair, Valenti mentally examined the path which had landed this gizmo in his office as he dialed the phone. Dr. Blake thought Mark Green was an alien......Deputy Crist had been caught near the drawer which contained Green's file, the contents of which only he and the doctor were aware of.......the Harris girl's story had checked out, but Crist had grilled her regarding Valenti's interest in her.......Crist had a weird something-or-other hidden behind the medicine cabinet in his apartment. Crist had definitely quit his job yesterday, sold his car, and emptied his apartment of his personal belongings; numerous witnesses attested to these facts. But why leave this? If it was important enough to hide so well, wouldn't it be important enough to take? And why was Crist so interested in Mark Green? Or maybe he wasn't—maybe he hadn't really been going through his desk; maybe Jimmy had that wrong. Maybe his interest in Miss Harris had been little more than misplaced flirting. Maybe....

Someone picked up. "This is Sheriff Valenti," he told the answering deputy. "I need to speak to Sheriff Wilcox." A minute later, Wilcox's voice boomed over the phone.

"Jim! What can I do for you?"

"It's about Ben Crist," Valenti answered. "He quit yesterday.

"I know," Wilcox answered. "Something about a family emergency. Up and left town, the way I hear it. Must have been serious to make him leave so fast."

"Did he say what the emergency was?"

"No. Why?"

"He just left awfully fast," Valenti said. "Even sold his car."

"Maybe he needed the money," Wilcox suggested.

"Then how'd he leave? He didn't buy a bus ticket."

There was a pause before Wilcox spoke again. "Are you going somewhere with this, Jim?"

Valenti hesitated a moment. "I found something odd in Crist's apartment. Former apartment, rather."

"His apartment?" Wilcox echoed. "Why were you in his apartment?"

"Because I had that niggling feeling I get when I know something's off," Valenti answered. "So I went and checked out his apartment. He'd already moved out, of course, but I....I found something hidden there, behind the medicine cabinet. Something very weird."

"And this 'something weird' is.....what exactly?"

"It's.....hard to describe," Valenti replied. "And the phone might not be the best place. A couple of weeks ago, I could have sworn my phone was bugged."

"Did you find a bug?"

"No," Valenti admitted. "And it hasn't happened again. I'd just feel safer not going into detail over the phone."

"Then don't. But without more to go on, I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about."

Valenti hesitated, then decided to try a different tack. "Do you have any contacts for Crist, any phone numbers or addresses of next of kin? There must be something in his personnel file."

"I'm sure there is," Wilcox said, "but before I sic you on him, I want a damned good reason. So far, you haven't given me one."

"I just want to follow up on a hunch," Valenti said.

"Right," Wilcox deadpanned. "Like the time your hunch resulted in you pulling a gun on a priest? You're going to have to do better than that, Jim. So far, all you've got is 'something weird' that you won't describe because you think your phone may be bugged, which makes me wonder why you called me in the first place."

"Look, I was just—"

"You were just investigating a man for reasons you won't give, to the point of dismantling his apartment," Wilcox interrupted. "I get worried when you start pulling medicine cabinets off the wall, but you won't say why. You're starting to sound a little paranoid. This is me you're talking to. Cough it up."

"Okay," Valenti said, beginning to sweat, "I'm working on something, something I'm keeping quiet."

"Fair enough," Wilcox allowed. "God knows I've done that. But what does this have to do with Crist?"

Valenti paused, struggling to parse his words. "Crist was needling someone I was watching in regards to that investigation. And when he was caught at my desk, there was some evidence that he was in the drawer which held the file about this something I'm working on."

"You left that part out," Wilcox noted. "Anything else?"

"While I was discussing that something over the phone, I got the distinct impression someone was listening in."

"Was Crist there at the time?"

"No," Valenti admitted. "He'd left."

A heavy sigh floated over the phone. "Jim, you know I have the utmost respect for your investigative skills, but you're not there yet. You don't have any evidence that he was going through your files. You didn't find a bug in your phone, and since Crist wasn't there, he couldn't have picked up an extension. You can't even prove that this 'weird' whatever you found in his apartment belonged to him. I'm not saying you're wrong—can't anyway, because I haven't the faintest idea what the hell you're talking about—but nothing you've told me would make me crack open a personnel file. Keep looking, and maybe that'll change."

"That's why I need you to crack open the personnel file," Valenti said irritably. "So I can keep looking."

"Pish," Wilcox said dismissively. "The Jim Valenti I know wouldn't stop an investigation just because Easy Street was closed. This must be important if it's tearing you away from the glow of Hollywood, and if you want to know badly enough, you'll find a way. But take my advice and don't pull any guns on any more priests."

Thanks for nothing, Valenti thought darkly as he hung up the phone and stared at the enigmatic gray blob in front of him. He didn't have time to go chasing Crist around, which is why he'd wanted that personnel file. Now it would have to wait until the Hollywood circus had left town.

There was a knock on the door. "Sir?" came Hanson's hesitant voice. "I know you're busy, but.....we really need you out here."

Muttering under his breath, Valenti buried the gray football in his locked lower drawer until he could safely hide it at home, and went to rescue Hanson. Fifteen minutes later he returned to his office and unlocked the desk drawer, meaning to examine it further.

It was gone.



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



FBI Field Office

Santa Fe




"Of course, Helen," Agent Lewis said into the phone, "I miss you too."

Agent Del Bianco appeared in the office doorway, and Lewis motioned for him to wait. "Yes, of course I'll be there. I promised to accompany you to all future appointments, and I fully intend to keep that promise. Absolutely," he added as Del Bianco's eyebrows rose. "I'll see you then. Sleep well."

"You're taking her to the doctor?" Del Bianco said in amusement as Lewis hung up the phone. "That's definitely what my mother would have called 'moving too fast'."

"Very funny," Lewis said crisply. "You know perfectly well that we have a huge stake in the health and welfare of Pierce's child, so I'd thank you to keep your jests to yourself."

"Sure, boss," Del Bianco said, still smiling. "I just know how much you hate pregnant women."

"Then my willingness to sit for hours in a waiting room full of them should be instructive," Lewis said. "Have all agents reported in?"

"Yes, sir," Del Bianco, his smile fading. "No word."

"Nothing?" Lewis exclaimed. "Still?"

"It's only been a couple of weeks, sir—"

"It's been nine years!" Lewis said in exasperation. "Someone must have seen something in all that time. Have they looked everywhere? Every locked file, every dusty cardboard box, every scrap of information?"

"All agents report having gained full access," Del Bianco answered. "They found lots of stuff we already knew about the aliens back in the late forties, but nothing since 1950."

Lewis sat back in his chair, deflated. "Thank you, agent. That will be all."

After Del Bianco left, Lewis rose from his chair and gazed out the window at the Santa Fe skyline, awash in afternoon sunlight. It was true that his unit had been operating for only two weeks, but he'd had several agents probing the Roswell area's local law enforcement, so certain had he been of finding documented cases of alien involvement, whether or not they'd been recognized as such when recorded. Then again, it would have been easy for the aliens to have operated under the radar for almost a decade—they could look like anyone, sound like anyone, and no one without benefit of an x-ray or blood test would be the wiser. If anything, this complete and utter silence was only further proof of how dangerous they were, of why they must not be allowed to live. At least that was how he intended to word it to The Director when the time came for his first report. That wasn't for another two weeks, but with all agents having gained access and found nothing, it was highly unlikely anything would change in that length of time. Nothing except Helen Pierce's girth he thought in disgust. The closer she came to delivery, the more dependant she became upon him. Good news, that, but he'd never suffered a more distasteful mission in his life.

"Sir?" Del Bianco had reappeared. "Agent Owens on the phone for you. He sounds.....tense."

Probably got caught, Lewis thought with a sigh as he resumed his seat and reached for the phone. "What is it, agent?"

"Sir, you won't believe what I've just found," Owens' voice said, not only tense but deeply excited.

"Try me," Lewis offered.

"It's.....well, I'm not sure what it is, but it's something I've never seen before. It was locked in Valenti's desk; I had to do some mighty complicated gymnastics to get at it before he—"

"Yes, yes, you'll get a pat on the back later," Lewis interrupted impatiently. "But what is it? Is it...." He paused, hardly daring to hope. "Is it alien?"

"Oh, yes, sir," Owens said confidently. "It's definitely alien."




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



I'll post Chapter 37 next Sunday.

Hello to everyone reading!


The very end of this chapter is dedicated to Misha, who suggested the same explanation for Langley's name that I'd already written months before. It was hard not to tell her I'd had the same thought! Great minds think alike. (Either that, or Roswell/science fiction-obsessed minds think alike. )





CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN



July 23, 1959, 5:30 p.m.

Valenti residence




Andi Valenti looked out the kitchen window in surprise when she heard a car pull up, then broke into a smile. "Hi, stranger," she called as she opened the front door. "Nice to have you home for dinner for a change. I'll call Jimmy...."

But her husband pushed right past her, wearing that set expression that meant he was off on a tear. "Don't waste any precious time on pleasantries," Andi said dryly, following him into his office. "I'm only your wife."

"Not now, Andi," Jim said sharply.

Andi blinked. "Excuse me?"

But her husband ignored her. Pulling a key from his pocket, he unlocked one of his file drawers and rifled through the contents as though his life depended on it.

"It's still here," he announced.

"What's still there?"

"Mark Green's file," Jim replied, pulling a fat file out of the drawer. "It's still here."

"I can see that," Andi said patiently. "Is there some reason whatever that is wouldn't still be here?"

"What time did you get home?"

"Around 2:30 p.m. Why?"

"Did anyone stop by after you got home?"

"No. And I repeat—why?"

"Think," Jim ordered. "Anyone at all.....the mail man, an encyclopedia salesman, the meter man.....anyone?"

"When I said 'no', I meant 'no'," Andi answered, not bothering to hide her annoyance. "I'm familiar with your penchant for detail, so I would have mentioned anyone who'd stopped by, however innocuous. No one was here but me and Jimmy. Now, are you going to tell me what's going on, or do I have to drag it out of you?"

Her husband paused, clutching the file as though he feared she might try to wrest it from him. "Someone stole something from my desk at the station today," he said finally.

"Stole something?" Andi echoed. "Like what?"

"Something I found in the apartment of one of George Wilcox's deputies who had just quit. Something weird, weird enough that I took it back to the station and locked it in my desk. Only when I went back just a few minutes later, it was gone."

"Good Lord," Andi said in dismay. No wonder he was so upset. "And you think this deputy who quit had something to do with Mark Green?"

Jim hesitated. "No."

"Then he'd failed to perform his duties, or broken the law, or something?"

"No."

"Then....why were you at his apartment?"

"Because something's not right," Jim said, tossing the file back in the drawer. "So I went to check out his story. He'd already moved out."

"Wait," Andi said. "The deputy had moved out, but this 'weird' thing was still there?"

"Yeah."

"Then how do you know it was his? Wouldn't he have taken it with him?"

"I wondered that too," Jim admitted. "Especially since I found it in the wall behind the medicine cabinet."

"You unscrewed the cabinet from the wall?" Andi said in disbelief. "Whatever for?"

"It was loose."

"So's ours," Andi said pointedly. "And no, I don't have anything hidden behind it, weird or otherwise. Why would you go around unscrewing fixtures if this guy hasn't done anything wrong?"

"I put what I found today exactly in the same place I'd stashed this file," Jim replied, tapping the Green file, "until I decided to bring it home for safekeeping. If I hadn't done that, I'll bet this would be gone too."

"Honey, you're not making any sense," Andi protested. "You just told me that you didn't think this deputy had anything to do with whatever case that is, but now you're saying they're connected."

"Something is wrong," Jim insisted. "I know it is."

"Okay, fine, something's wrong," Andi sighed. "You just look a little crazed, that's all. Did you find any fingerprints?"

"Of course not," Jim said impatiently. "Someone who can get into a locked desk with seconds to spare is also smart enough to wear gloves."

"Okay, then what did everyone say when you questioned them? Did anyone see anything?"

"I haven't questioned anyone yet."

"Why not?" Andi asked. "You're the sheriff. Shouldn't you be investigating?"

"Don't you get it?" Jim snapped. "Someone robbed a locked desk drawer in my office only minutes after I stashed something there! Someone's watching me! The last thing I want to do is tip them off that I'm on to them!"

Andi opened her mouth to launch into a retort, and caught herself just in time. One of the first rules of living with a high strung person like Jim was to pick your battles, and this wasn't a battle she was willing to waste her time on. "Okay," she said carefully. "This isn't making sense to me, but hopefully it does to you. I just wish you'd slow down. You can get a little paranoid sometimes. Since you're home, will you at least stay for dinner?"

"I thought you just told me I should be investigating?" Jim said curtly.

"What I said was that I was surprised you hadn't already," Andi corrected. "But I gather that's a 'no'?"

Jim closed the file drawer, locked it, and walked out without another word. "Where are you going?" Andi called, but he ignored her, letting the door slam behind him as she stood there in astonishment. A moment later, the car engine started.

"What happened?"

Andi turned around to find Jimmy sitting on the stairs, staring through the window at his father's retreating car. "How long have you been there?" she asked.

Her son turned sober eyes on her. "Guess Dad's not staying for dinner, is he?"

Andi looked out the window, where her husband's car had just roared off in a cloud of dust. "No," she said wearily. "I guess not."




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



Ruth Bruce's rooming house




"Up you go!" Courtney said, releasing Philip's hand as he attacked the staircase that led up to the second floor and his parents' apartment. Philip loved stairs, but he tended to go a bit too fast, which made it prudent to have someone behind him in case he wound up pitching himself backwards in his zeal to conquer the summit. Maybe he'll be a mountain climber some day, Courtney chuckled inwardly as he clambered up, using all four appendages liberally. She'd offered to take him out for a walk after he'd woken up early from his nap, and Dee had gratefully accepted; Philip could get awfully cranky cooped up in their one room, and walking with him was tedious at best as he stopped roughly every thirty seconds to examine something or other. Courtney didn't mind. Ironically, she was more comfortable with this toddler than with anyone else. He simply accepted her for who she was, meaning there was no need to worry about blowing her cover, no philosophical differences, no expectations of any kind other than to play. It was a refreshing change from the rest of her life.

"Up!" Philip declared upon climbing the last step, both chubby arms raised in triumph.

"Yes, you made it all the way up," Courtney smiled.

"Fall down," Philip announced solemnly, no doubt remembering his last efforts on this steep, narrow staircase that had resulted in her catching him just in time.

"Not this time," Courtney said. "You did it all by yourself."

"Self," Philip nodded confidently, toddling to his door and banging on it. Dee appeared, and Philip dutifully gave her a report. "Up! he said enthusiastically, pointing to the stairs. "Self!"

"Wow!" Dee exclaimed, needing no translation as she scooped up her son. "That's wonderful! Thank you so much for taking him," she added to Courtney. "I told Mr. Parker I'd finish looking over these contracts by tomorrow, and I wouldn't have been able to do anything with Philip around."

"No problem," Courtney said. "Hi, Anthony."

"Hi there," Anthony called. "I set you a place for dinner if you'd like to join us."

"I'd love to," Courtney said. "Can I help?"

"You already have," Dee said, setting a stack of papers aside. "I not only finished the contracts, I actually got dinner made. It's amazing what you can do when you don't have a whirling dervish around."

"What are these?" Courtney asked, leafing through the papers.

"Mr. Parker offered me a raise if I acted as a legal consultant," Dee explained. "This way he has his ducks in a row when he visits his lawyer, so he spends less time and money on legal fees, and I get lots of valuable experience."

Courtney nodded, still not having really processed the fact that Dee and Anthony would be leaving at the end of August to return to college. Then she would be truly alone here except for Malik, who didn't count.....and she didn't like to think about that. As much as she and Dee butted heads about how to view Covari, knowing her had made this whole situation bearable. She couldn't imagine living here without her.

"Everyone come sit down," Dee called, setting a big bowl of salad on the table. They had only just settled around the table when someone knocked on the door.

"Now what?" Dee sighed, tossing down her napkin and going to the door. "Malik!" Courtney heard her say in surprise. "Would you like to stay for dinner? We have plenty."

Courtney dropped her eyes, not wanting anyone to see how very much she wished he'd say no. She still hadn't gotten used to being around a Covari, never mind eating with one.

But Malik didn't have food on his mind. He stepped past Dee, his eyes fastened on Courtney. "What?" she said in alarm.

"Someone took the communicator," Malik said.

Dee closed the door. "What communicator?"

"Crist's communicator," Courtney explained. "But you already told me this. Valenti found it."

Anthony's eyes widened. "Valenti has a communicator? That's not good."

"How on earth did he find it?" Dee asked.

"He found it in Crist's apartment," Malik answered. "I was looking all over for it, and he beat me to it. I saw where he hid it, but when I went to retrieve it, it was gone."

"Maybe he moved it," Anthony suggested.

Malik shook his head. "Valenti is on the warpath right now trying to figure out who took it. Someone's keeping an eye on him, and now they've found something."

"But who would be doing that?" Dee asked. "The military?"

"I doubt it," Malik replied. "Jaddo says the Army hasn't demonstrated any interest in pursuing them."

"The FBI," Courtney said suddenly.

Three pairs of eyes fastened on her, everyone except Philip, who was digging into his applesauce. "What about the FBI?" Malik asked suspiciously.

"Mr. Anderson said something this morning," Courtney said faintly. "You know, the man who hangs out with....with 'Langley'? He said the 'FBI' had formed a new alien hunting unit. What is the 'FBI', anyway?"

"The 'Federal Bureau of Investigation'," Dee answered as Malik swore softly under his breath. "Police who work for the United States, not any local sheriff," she clarified when Courtney looked blank. "But why would the FBI be involved in this? Pierce was killed up north in another county."

"Do you remember Major Lewis?" Malik asked.

Dee frowned. "I think so. Wasn't he an Army friend of Cavitt's?"

"He got a dishonorable discharge, if I remember correctly," Anthony added.

"Right. And then he went to work for the FBI."

"Uh oh," Anthony murmured.

"Damn," Dee muttered.

"What?" Courtney said, her voice more shrill than she'd expected. "What does that mean?"

"It means that the former Major Lewis, now Agent Lewis, probably has Valenti under surveillance because he remembers him from back in the forties," Malik said grimly. "And if I'm right, he's just found his first piece of genuine alien technology."

"Great," Dee said with a sigh, sinking into her chair. "Just what we needed. The FBI in Roswell."




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



11 p.m.

FBI Field Office, Santa Fe




"In here," Lewis ordered. "Quickly."

Agent Del Bianco held the door open as the two agents assigned to Roswell, Agents Cates and Owens, slipped inside Lewis' office. The curtains were tightly drawn, and Lewis locked the door and pocketed the key as soon as everyone was inside. "Let's see it," he ordered, taking a seat at his desk.

Cates and Owens exchanged glances before Owens reached into his pocket and withdrew an oval gray object which he placed on the desk for inspection. "I have no idea what it is," Owens said, "but it certainly had the sheriff all worked up."

"Would you look at that," Lewis breathed, staring at the swirling symbol on top of the object, the only mark it bore. "I know that! That was the symbol on the aliens' ship!"

"So it is alien?" Cates ventured.

"Most definitely," Lewis agreed. "As to what it's for...." he pulled a fat, loose-leaf binder off a shelf ".....let me consult my notes from my time in the Army. Colonel Cavitt kept a detailed inventory of everything salvaged from the aliens' ship, and he gave me a copy. This may take awhile."

Lewis withdrew to a table in the corner to pore over his binder, while the other three agents clustered around the strange object. "What do you think it is?" Del Bianco murmured.

"No idea," Owens said.

"Looks like an ostrich egg," Cates commented.

"Do you think the sheriff knows what it is?" Del Bianco asked.

"Hard to say," Cates answered. "Valenti is incredibly tight-lipped about his experiences in the forties. He may know exactly what this is, or he may have no idea."

"Why don't we ask him?" Owens suggested.

Cates blinked. "So you want to march up to him, admit we lifted something from his office, and ask politely if he knows what it is?"

Owens glanced sideways, where Agent Lewis was still immersed in his binder. "I just think we're going about this all wrong. Valenti's law enforcement, we're law enforcement; we should be working together, not against each other."

"Meaning?" Cates asked.

"Meaning we shouldn't be swiping things from fellow officers of the law," Owens said. "I've never felt like a thief before when I've done my job, but I did today."

"We weren't 'stealing', we were 'investigating'," Cates objected. "And if you don't like investigating, then why did you join the Federal Bureau of 'Investigation'?"

"Because I wanted to catch criminals, not be one," Owens retorted. "Valenti's not a criminal, but you'd never know it from the way we're treating him."

"Valenti would never play ball with us," Cates insisted.

Owens shook his head. "And how do we know that if we don't ask? Valenti has experience with aliens, obviously recognizes alien artifacts, and found something we probably wouldn't have. Valenti has resources, the FBI has resources....shouldn't we pool those resources? Isn't that the fastest way to figure out what this is and what the aliens are up to? Wouldn't that be the best way to protect the American people?"

"Whoever said this is about 'protecting the American people'?" Del Bianco chuckled.

"If you feel that way, then what the hell are you doing here?" Owens demanded.

"Easy," Cates said as Del Bianco flushed. "Of course we're all here to protect the American people.....but that doesn't prevent some from having side agendas," he added, glancing in Lewis' direction. "Valenti thwarted Colonel Cavitt back in the day, and Lewis is itching for payback. So even though you make a good point, Owens, it's not going to happen."

"So we have to do less than our best because he has personal problems?" Owens demanded, jerking his head toward Lewis. "Then he's not doing his job, and ought to be removed."

Del Bianco and Cates exchanged glances. "If I were you, I'd keep those opinions to yourself," Del Bianco warned. "Lewis' stock must have risen pretty high to get this unit, and it's bound to rise higher now that he's found something."

"And it's bound to drop if The Director finds out he's off on some personal vendetta," Owens said. "If—"

"If Lewis gets so much as a whiff of this, you'll be in a very bad way," Del Bianco interrupted.

"Is that a threat?" Owens demanded.

"Just drop it," Del Bianco insisted.

"I asked you if that was a threat—"

"I said drop it," Del Bianco ordered.

"I found it!" Lewis exclaimed, reappearing with his binder, oblivious to the tension amongst his agents. "The alien prisoner identified a similar object as a 'communicator', and claimed they only work in pairs."

"You mean we need another one?" Cates asked.

"Not to worry, gentlemen," Lewis said crisply. "It's quite possible the creature was lying. Besides, even it wasn't, the Army still has the twin to this object. I merely need to obtain it."

"Do you really think the Army will just hand it over?" Del Bianco said doubtfully.

"To me? No," Lewis admitted. "But J. Edgar Hoover is another matter entirely." He picked up the phone, a wide smile on his face. "This is Agent Bernard Lewis. Get me The Director. Yes, you heard me correctly, The Director. I know it's late!" he snapped impatiently. "Tell him his special unit has something to report."

"Maybe we should wait till morning, sir," Del Bianco said nervously. "This thing isn't going anywhere, so there's no reason to bother The Director—"

"There is every reason to inform The Director immediately," Lewis interrupted. "You've seen what these monsters can do, agent, and now we find yet more proof that they have the means to communicate with each other, perhaps even with their planet. What for? What are they planning? We must move," he added firmly, "because there's no telling what perfidy they're up to even as we speak."




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



12 midnight

Ruth Bruce's rooming house




"Absolutely," the key grip said confidently.

"No way," the gaffer countered.

"I don't see why not," one of the seamstresses offered.

"I'd call it a definite maybe," added the script coordinator.

Brivari smiled faintly as the group gathered in his apartment commenced good-natured bickering. Given the the movie they were working on, it was something of a surprise this subject hadn't arisen before. Of course, given the movie they were working on, it was something of a surprise that anyone was able to address that subject with anything even resembling a straight face.

"What about you, Langley?" the gaffer spoke up. "Do you think aliens are real?"

Brivari's eyes strayed over the faces looking expectantly his way, noting how many expressions didn't match their owners' earlier assertions; the key grip who believed in aliens was afraid he might be right, while the gaffer who did not was hoping he was wrong. Antar had reached this juncture a long time ago; had it been the same for them, this mixture of longing and fear? Likely so, although he couldn't say for sure, having never had much interest in ancient anthropology. Until now, that is, when he saw it playing out in front of him, a world on the brink of escaping their own planet's gravity for the first time. He would likely be here for that moment, would witness a civilization's first halting steps into a larger universe. Perhaps Dee Proctor was right; perhaps his exile here was also an opportunity that few, if any, would ever have.

"With all those stars out there, it only stands to reason there must be more inhabitable planets," Brivari replied. "I would imagine we're not alone in the universe."

"Maybe we don't even need to go all the way to another planet," the seamstress said in a hushed voice. "They say there are things living on the moon."

"Aww, that's bunk," the gaffer scoffed.

"And how would you know?" the seamstress challenged. "You been there?"

"They'll be able to see for themselves soon," Brivari commented. "The first moon landing is not far off."

"What makes you say that?" the key grip asked.

"The Soviet Union launched the Lunik probe early this year," Brivari answered, "and rumor has it they plan to launch another soon. America will respond by stepping up its efforts at moon exploration, and the usual one-upsmanship will result in either one country or the other reaching the moon within, say, the next twenty years."

"Yikes," the seamstress murmured. "You keep up with all that stuff?"

"It's a hobby of mine," Brivari said casually.

"But we'll win, right?" the gaffer said. "America will beat Russia?"

"Hard to say," Brivari replied. "I can see it going either way."

Another debate ensued, this time over whether America or the Soviet Union would prove dominant in the quest for the moon. On Antar, it was separate races which vied for power; Earth also had its various races, but most rivalries were between separate territories known as "countries", the majority of which were composed predominantly of a single race, America being an exception. This particular debate ended rather quickly, however, given that all the participants were American and predisposed to favor their own "country". "What do you think aliens look like?" the seamstress asked, changing the subject. "Do you really think they could hold up those huge heads on such a skinny neck?"

"That must have been a fake," scoffed the key grip. "That whole bit about the weather balloon was fake, so it makes sense that the sketch was fake."

"But why would the Army put out fake alien pictures if they were trying to cover up an alien crash?" the gaffer wondered.

"Because they were so ridiculous, no one would believe them," the key grip said.

"I hate to break up this fascinating discussion, but it's after midnight," Brivari broke in, having grown weary of this particular aspect of alien speculation. For some odd reason, Antarians' native form seemed to bother humans more than the prospect of their existence. Apparently it was acceptable to have other species in the universe as long as they looked exactly like you.

"Oh, geez, I didn't realize it was so late!" the seamstress exclaimed as everyone rose. "Thanks for having us over, Langley. I know it's not the same for you without Audrey. I miss her too."

"I have invited Miss Tate to bring Mr. Dean along, but she declined," Brivari answered.

"Well, sure," the gaffer chuckled. "They're cast, we're crew. And the two don't mingle except on the set."

"Indeed?" Brivari murmured. "Then why did she attend in the first place?"

"Audrey Tate's not like other cast members," the seamstress explained. "She doesn't think she's better than us because she's acting instead of sewing costumes or patching in the lights. But Dean.....well, he's another matter. Bit of a fat head if you ask me."

"A 'bit'?" the key grip said skeptically. "You just never noticed," he added to Langley, "because Audrey and Charlie are really the only 'cast' we have; the rest are just extras. Keeps the costs down."

Brivari ushered his guests to the door, holding it open as each one passed quietly so as not to wake the landlady. He was familiar with hierarchies, of course, but he hadn't recognized much of a caste system on the set other than the usual between employer and employed....or not until Dean had arrived. Come to think of it, there had been less banter and a generally stiffer attitude since his arrival; Audrey, for example, who had previously joked and chatted with all and sundry was now silent and strained, not to mention watched carefully by Dean. It was not a change for the better.

"I thought they'd never leave," a voice whispered

Brivari halted in his doorway as a shape emerged from the dark living room across the hall. "Surprise!" Audrey said, wearing that dazzling smile that had such an effect on the male of the species. "It's funny how time passes differently. I used to think these get-togethers went so fast, and tonight it was like torture waiting for it to end." She paused, standing awkwardly in the hallway. "Can I....come in?"

"Of course," Brivari said, stepping aside so she could enter. "But I thought you said you couldn't attend without Mr. Dean."

"Well....I can't let anyone see me come without Charlie because he can't know," Audrey said. "But if no one sees me, I'm okay. So I snuck out of the hotel and waited for everyone to leave, and I'll sneak back before they all get up tomorrow morning. Simple!"

"It doesn't sound 'simple'," Brivari observed.

Audrey's smile evaporated. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

"Of course I am," Brivari answered. "I'm just questioning the lengths to which you feel you need to go to escape Mr. Dean's wrath. You are not his wife and he is not your employer, yet he seems to feel he owns you. And you're much too intelligent to allow yourself to be owned."

Audrey's face softened. "You know, Langley, I don't think you have a romantic bone in your body, and yet you say the nicest things I've ever heard." She took a seat on the couch, patting the space beside her. "You're right—I wouldn't let him own me," she said as Brivari took a seat beside her. "Unless I had a good reason."

"Which is?"

"I want to work," Audrey said. "And for a woman to work in Hollywood, she has to make herself available to men. Charlie is considered a rising star in some circles, so Morty was happy to get him for a crappy little movie like this....and part of Charlie's price was me."

" 'Price'?" Brivari echoed. "Do you mean he purchased you?"

"No, of course not, silly!" Audrey laughed. "You can't buy and sell people here. Well....not officially," she amended. "See, my job isn't just to run away from fake aliens; my job is also to keep Charlie happy. If I don't, he'll badmouth me, the whole film community will hear about it, and I'll have a hard time getting work because I'll be branded a troublemaker. So if I want to work, I have to put up with him. It's only for the length of the shoot, and normally that's not so bad. But this time he's really cramping my style, so I decided he doesn't have to know everything I do. I'll visit when no one else is looking, and he'll never be the wiser. That way I keep my job, and I keep you. Like I said....simple."

"The illusion of compliance," Brivari murmured.

"I'm an actress," Audrey said. "Illusion is my business." She paused. "Are you mad at me? You're not going to tell him, are you?"

"I'm quite familiar with the use of illusion," Brivari assured her. "And no, of course I'm not going to tell him."

"I didn't think you would," Audrey said with satisfaction. "Oh, it's so good to see you, Langley! You don't know what it's been like listening to that empty-headed, self-aggrandizing pratt!"

"I might," Brivari said calmly. "Although I usually experienced them in groups."

Audrey smiled slyly. "You mean in your palace?"

"Believe it or not, there is no shortage of those types in any line of work," Brivari replied.

"Certainly not in Hollywood," Audrey sighed, leaning back on the couch and closing her eyes. "I know it's late. I won't stay long, I promise. But I just had to have an intelligent conversation with someone, or I was going to scream."

"You're welcome to stay as long as you like," Brivari said.

Audrey's eyes flew open. "Do you mean that?"

"I never say things I don't mean."

"No, you don't," Audrey agreed. "Yet another reason you're unlike any other man I've ever met." She sidled closer, looping her arm through his, resting her chin on his shoulder. "What's your name, Langley? Your real name, I mean."

"It was my understanding that it is common for those in show business to use a 'stage name'," Brivari replied.

"Sure it is," Audrey said. "But why no first name?"

"I was never able to come up with a suitable one," Brivari shrugged. "And I found a single name created a certain air of....mystery."

"It sure does," Audrey laughed. "So it was a business decision? Very smart. But you can tell me your real name—I won't tell anyone, I promise. C'mon—what is it?"

Brivari sighed inwardly, knowing that once Audrey latched onto a subject, she was unlikely to abandon it unless satisfied. "Perhaps you would like to suggest a first name should I choose to take one in the future?"

"You're not gonna tell me, are you?" Audrey said, giving him a playful poke. "Oh, all right. Let me think for a minute." She thought for a lot longer than that, her head resting on his shoulder, before sitting bolt upright. "Got it!" she exclaimed taking him by the shoulders. "You're 'Kal'."

" 'Kal'?"

"Like Superman," Audrey explained. "You know, the guy with the cape? Oh, but you don't read comic books, do you?" she said when Langley looked blank. "Superman is an alien from another planet whose ship crashed here when he was a baby. He runs around helping people with his superpowers."

"Interesting," Langley murmured.

"Well, he was technically 'Kal-El'," Audrey amended, "but that's a bit of a mouthful, and 'Kal-El Langley' doesn't sound right. But 'Kal Langley'.....that just rolls off the tongue. And besides," she added softly, settling back on his shoulder, "you're my Superman. So it fits every way you look at it."

Better than you know, Brivari thought privately. "Very well then," he agreed. "Should the opportunity present itself.....'Kal' it is."





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




Next week, Chapter 38 jumps ahead by a month. I'll post it next Sunday.

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!




CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT


Four weeks later



August 18, 1959, 4:30 p.m.

Roswell Sheriff's Station



"Here you go, sir," Hanson said, setting a stack of folders on Valenti's desk. "Not too many today. We actually have room in the cells."

"Thanks," Valenti said shortly.

"Anything else I can do for you, sir?"

"I'm fine, Hanson. Go on home and see your kid. One of us should."

Idiot, Valenti thought, mentally kicking himself for having said that out loud, and wincing at the look of sympathy on Hanson's face. "Sir," Hanson said, "if I may.....I know firsthand how difficult these past couple of months have been for you. The logistical problems, the crime, the extra employees, the personal sacrifices you've made....and you've done a wonderful job, if I do say so myself, sir. You've held the town together, kept order, kept the town council happy, kept Morton Steinfeld happy. I don't know how you did it. I know I wouldn't have been able to. My hat's off to you."

"You bucking for a promotion?" Valenti asked dryly. "I'm kidding," he added when Hanson looked alarmed. "I appreciate the compliments, but you know as well as I do that I couldn't have done it alone. There's strength in numbers."

"Of course there is, sir," Hanson replied. "And those numbers include your wife and son. They were a huge help to us while they were here. I hope they know that."

"I'll be sure to pass that along," Valenti said.

Hanson nodded briefly, pausing on his way out. "One more week, sir. One more week, and it'll all be over. I bet you can't wait."

I can now, Valenti sighed with a glance at his desk drawer. The "one more week" Hollywood would remain in Roswell meant only one more week for him to find the thief. The hunt for whoever had lifted the whatever he'd found hidden in Deputy Crist's apartment had consumed him, stealing his concentration at all hours of the day and interfering with his sleep at night. He no longer felt safe in his own station, and after four weeks of searching, he was no closer to finding the culprit.

Not that he hadn't tried. He'd dusted for fingerprints immediately, but as he'd told Andi, anyone slick enough to sneak into his office, unlock and relock his desk drawer, and escape undetected in a short amount of time was also slick enough to wear gloves, so he wasn't surprised when the only fingerprints he'd found were his own. He'd made a list of those on duty at the time, but frankly, the station was so busy that it wouldn't have been difficult for anyone with the right skills to slip back there unnoticed. He'd made general inquiries amongst his staff, but had been reluctant to reveal the theft because doing so would both tip off the thief and invite inconvenient questions about what had been taken. Nothing else in the drawer was missing, suggesting that either the thief knew exactly what he was looking for or hadn't had time to hunt further, most likely the former because he hadn't returned. Valenti had watched carefully for a second attempt, slipping a tiny sliver of paper between the lower edge of the drawer and the desk frame; had anyone opened the drawer, it would have fallen out. But the paper had remained undisturbed, meaning whoever had been here had what they wanted and hadn't come back for more.

One thing was certain: The speed and precision of the hit suggested an inside job, someone with access to his office and a good set of lock picks. His staff had nearly tripled while Hollywood was in town, with extra deputies coming from several surrounding counties. Asking for personnel files was tricky, as his conversation with Sheriff Wilcox had proven; the sheriffs would want to know the reason for the requests, and there was no way in hell he was going to tell anyone what he'd found. So he'd resorted to doing it the hard way, gathering what paperwork he could and driving to the surrounding towns and counties to check up on his temporary staff. His time being severely limited, he'd only worked his way through about half of those in question, and even that had involved many late nights and some questionable absences from Roswell. The irony was that, even though he'd have much more time after Hollywood left, Hollywood's leaving meant that the thief was likely leaving too. That left him with just a few more days to find out who it was, a few more days with not enough time to do the research he needed. Someone was here who shouldn't be. If he didn't find them, they'd walk, and he'd be damned if he'd let that happen.

Sighing, Valenti pulled Hanson's stack of folders toward him, a very small stack compared to several weeks ago. Hanson was right—Roswell's brush with Hollywood was an unqualified success, at least if one was willing to discount the actual quality of the movie being produced. The take-plenty-of-prisoners attitude he'd demonstrated from day one had registered with the worst offenders, and they'd moved on to more hospitable places. Steinfeld and company had behaved themselves, the shut-down of Main Street had gone off without a hitch, and even the protestors who called themselves "alienologists" had kept it down to a dull roar. He shouldn't let the theft of whatever weird gizmo he'd found overshadow all the successes of the past weeks. Hell, he wasn't even certain that gizmo belonged to Crist, or that Crist had anything to do with any of this.

And if I really believed that, I'd be skipping down the yellow brick road, Valenti thought. He couldn't prove it, but that gizmo was Crist's, and Crist knew something about Mark Green. Now if he could just figure out why he'd skipped town so quickly and hadn't taken it with him. Or who else knew enough about this that they could pick the lock on his desk drawer at just the right time with only minutes to spare. Probably the same someone who had been listening in on his conversation with Doctor Blake, who was still only reluctantly holding his tongue. The race to find that someone had made him distracted, irritable, and absent....and not only from work. Andi and Jimmy no longer worked at the station, it having become apparent a couple of weeks ago that their services were no longer needed, and between his job and his thief hunt, he hadn't been home much. Jimmy had been heartbroken even as Valenti had tried to cheer him up by pointing out that there was still some summer left to enjoy, all the while secretly grateful his family wasn't there anymore. If Andi had seen the way he was at work now, she would have been on him like a duck on a June bug.

"Sir?"

It was Hanson again, poking his head in the door. "Mrs. Valenti is on line one."

Valenti hesitated a minute before picking up the receiver. "Hi."

"Hi, stranger," Andi said. "Will we have the honor of seeing you tonight?"

Her tone was light, but Valenti knew better. She hadn't raised the subject of his behavior that day he'd discovered the theft or asked him anything more about it. Still, she didn't need to say a single word to telegraph her opinion that he was going overboard. Andi excelled at nonverbal communication.

"I guess so," Valenti answered before he could catch himself.

"You 'guess so'?" Andi repeated, and he could just see the arched eyebrow. "Is that a yes or a no?"

"A definite maybe," Valenti replied. "I'm not done here yet, so I'm not sure."

A deep sigh floated over the phone. "Jim, I'm not stupid; I know things are nowhere near as wild as they were at the beginning. I know you're not gone all this time because of official sheriff's business. You're chasing whoever took your whatever, aren't you?"

"What, now you're objecting to my investigation of a crime?"

"No, I'm objecting to you trying to do it all yourself," Andi said. "I know you, James Valenti. You wouldn't tell me what it was you lost, and I'll bet very good money you don't want to tell anyone else either. So despite the fact that you're sheriff in Roswell, sitting on a huge pile of manpower and resources, you're skulking around all by yourself so you won't have to give anyone any details. There's strength in numbers, Jim. I shouldn't have to tell you that."

"You don't have to tell me that," Valenti said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. "Hell, I just told Hanson that. But some things have to be done alone, and this is one of these things."

"Even if it means you never see your family?"

"Look, I don't have much longer!" Valenti exclaimed, frustration lacing his voice. "I know it was one of the temporary deputies, so I only have until the movie is finished shooting. You and Jimmy will be here in another week, but the temporary staff won't."

There was a prolonged silence on the other end of the phone. "Right," Andi said finally, her voice a study in irony. "We're always here, so we're safe to ignore."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Valenti retorted.

"Oh, I think it is," Andi said. "Just—"

"Just....wait," Valenti interrupted, immediately sorry he'd spit at her. "I'll make it up to you, to both of you. I promise. I just need to do this myself. Please try to understand."

"Of course," Andi said. "As long as you try to understand what it's like to be a single parent."

"Sir?" called a voice from the door.

"What?" Valenti snapped.

Hanson blanched. "Uh.....the Roosevelt County sheriff is on line two."

Of course he is, Valenti thought wearily. It never rains but it pours. "Andi, can you hold on a minute? I've been trying to get this sheriff for a week now, and this is the first time we've managed to connect."

"I've been trying to 'connect' with you for a lot longer than that," Andi remarked.

"Please don't be difficult," Valenti pleaded. "If—"

"Fine," Andi said flatly. "I'll make it easy for you."

*Click*

Valenti closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on the hand holding the receiver for a moment before punching the button for line two. "Sheriff Franklin? Jim Valenti. Thanks for returning my call. I had a question about a deputy from your station who's here on loan."




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




Eagle Rock Military Base




Malik perched on a rooftop with an excellent aerial view of the base, watching as the former Major Lewis climbed out of a car below, the best evidence yet that the FBI he now worked for was indeed in possession of the communicator stolen from Sheriff Valenti's office. Malik had spent the last month alternately kicking himself for not having lifted it himself before anyone else had a chance to, and trying to figure out exactly who had beat him to it. Given the staff the Roswell sheriff currently employed, that was no easy task; sheer numbers made it impossible to follow everyone as often as needed to discover the mole. His task had been made somewhat easier by Valenti himself, who was aware of the theft even though he hadn't announced it, and who had obviously reached the same conclusion as Malik, namely that the thief was likely a temporary employee. He'd encountered Valenti several times already as they each pursued the same basic objective, always withdrawing and seeking another target whenever he did so. Valenti had already proven his mettle as an investigator by finding the communicator in the first place, so having both of them pursuing the same suspect was a waste of precious time and resources.

There wouldn't have been any waste if I'd just taken it right away, Malik thought heavily as Lewis disappeared into the base's main building. Valenti would still have lost his treasure, of course, and would still be trying to find out who took it, but the communicator itself would be safe in Antarian hands. Now it was not only in human hands, but an alien hunter's hands, and even though it could not be used to track them, the fact that the FBI had managed to find something, anything, would only egg them on. Coming so close on the heels of the handprint Jaddo had left behind, this was a huge setback, and Malik had begun to have his doubts about how much longer he could safely conceal Courtney's identity. A rebel operative who supposedly wanted an alliance was one thing; more of her race who did not, and who were leaving inconvenient souvenirs behind for others to find, was another matter entirely. The time may come when safety demanded that he reveal the presence of Argilians in Roswell, which meant Courtney might very well wind up dead.

*What are you doing here?*

Malik started, so lost in thought that he'd missed Jaddo's approach. Then again, this was a Royal Warder, so perhaps he would have missed his approach anyway. *What do you think I'm doing?* he answered, catching the glance Jaddo threw toward Lewis' car. *That was Major Lewis, wasn't it?*

Jaddo regarded him levelly for a moment. *I was not aware that you had been assigned to surveil the base.*

*I wasn't.*

*But you are.*

*Occasionally,* Malik replied. *Good thing, too. Lewis being back here can't be good.*

*I am here on a regular basis,* Jaddo announced. *I've already noted his comings and goings.*

* 'Comings and goings' plural?*

Jaddo smiled faintly, clearly pleased to have information Malik didn't have....or so he thought. *The former Major Lewis, now Agent Lewis of the 'FBI', has made multiple visits to this base in the past several weeks.*

*Why?*

*I have it on good authority that Lewis has overseen the formation of a new alien hunting unit within the FBI,* Jaddo answered. *I would imagine his visits have something to do with that.*

*An alien hunting unit?* Malik echoed, keeping his voice carefully surprised. He couldn't very well tell Jaddo that an Argilian operative had already told him this, and that Jaddo was wrong: Lewis' current trips to the base were no doubt the result of his coming into possession of an Antarian communicator.

*He will get nowhere, of course,* Jaddo continued. *Lewis has probably resumed his efforts to rejoin the military. All his previous attempts have failed.*

*If he has his own unit now, why would he want to go back to the Army?*

*Once a military man, always a military man,* Jaddo said confidently. *Plus he feels he was wronged by the Army earlier, that it owes him redress. He will be wanting vindication.* He paused, studying Malik for a moment. *I'm glad to see you here. I can't be everywhere, and I seem to be the only one taking an interest in our safety these days.*

Malik blinked; that statement was the equivalent of hugs and kisses from a man who gave neither. *Does Brivari know about this new unit?* he asked casually.

*Brivari learned of it at the same time I did, through his so-called 'friend' Mr. Anderson. So yes, he knows.*

*Is he worried?*

*Hardly,* Jaddo said darkly. *He expressly forbade me to dispose of Lewis despite the obvious threat he poses.*

Because doing so would prove once again that we're here, Malik through privately. Jaddo was the type to shoot first and ask questions later, as the humans would say, while Brivari hung back, waiting to see if action was needed; both approaches had their merits, depending on the situation. *Perhaps he's concerned about the effect another death would have,* he said diplomatically. *The less they have to hunt, the shorter the lifespan this new 'alien-hunting' unit will have.*

Predictably, Jaddo shook his head. *I disagree. We should send a strong message that pursuit will not be tolerated.*

*I doubt that would work,* Malik replied. *Humans are stubborn and not entirely logical, much like children. An aggressive approach would only galvanize them further.*

*Even humans should be smart enough to back off when their lives are at stake,* Jaddo said. *If we make it a point to remove anyone tasked with hunting us, soon no one will want the job.*

*That would be logical,* Malik agreed, *but like I just said, humans aren't logical. The more people we kill, the more they will fear us, and that fear will justify their pursuit.*

Jaddo turned hard eyes on him. *So you also disagree with Rath's Warder? Refresh my memory—where exactly did you obtain your military experience?*

*You know perfectly well I don't have any military experience,* Malik said calmly, *and I've never claimed to. But this isn't a military situation; this is a question of human behavior. I've had a lot of experience with humans, so I have a good idea of how they would respond to various situations, and they're not going to react the way you think they will.*

There followed a long silence. *Then it appears I am outvoted,* Jaddo said in a sullen voice.

*I can understand if you're not interested in my opinion,* Malik answered, surprised that he appeared to have a vote. *But I would think you would be interested in the opinion of the King's Warder.*

*Under normal circumstances, I would be,* Jaddo said. *But as it stands, Brivari doesn't seem to be interested in anything these days aside from the affections of a certain female.*




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




On the set of "They Are Among Us",

Roswell




"Take two!" the director called. "Places."

Brivari clapped the clapboard, the director called, "Action!", and the cameras rolled for a only few seconds before he yelled, "Cut! No, no, no! I told you....."

Brivari waited patiently as the director once again struggled to rein in his extras, a process Audrey referred to as "herding cats". While Steinfeld had long ago solved the problem of extras not showing up for work, the fact remained that those who did show up were unskilled and inexperienced. What was simple in theory—the "aliens" chased the damsel and either did or did not catch her, depending on which scene was being filmed—was much harder in practice given the propensity of unschooled extras to mug for the camera, overact, or do just the opposite and simply freeze, overwhelmed at the notion of being filmed. The humans' love/hate relationship with their recording devices, primitive though they were, was alternately amusing and tedious.

"Take three!" the director hollered as the chastened extras took their places, and Brivari readied his clapboard.

"C'mon, Langley—smile!" Audrey admonished from her position at his feet.

Brivari resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Another human obsession was the insistence that one had to smile for recording devices, which was interesting given that the earliest examples of photography rarely showed anyone looking even vaguely happy, never mind smiling. "I'm not a member of the cast," he reminded her. "My expression is irrelevant."

"Aw heck, you always look so serious," Audrey said. "Why not smile for once?"

"The only one who will ever see it is whoever edits the movie," Brivari replied.

"Then take pity on the poor sap who has to edit this drivel, and smile!" Audrey coaxed. "Besides, you never know....maybe this will become a classic someday, and someone besides the editor will see that smile."

Doubtful on either count, Brivari thought, obliging her nevertheless just to move things along. The smile held a magical place in human society, being the single, most effective way of winning someone's trust, redirecting an argument, or influencing human behavior in almost any way. Odd, really, how turning up the corners of one's mouth and baring one's teeth could have such an effect. Ironically, although the Antarian head was much larger than a human's, the mouth was much smaller, meaning that the smile held little value in Antarian society. A human's wider mouth and large teeth produced a much more vivid effect, which might be why the gesture had gained such importance.

"That's better," Audrey said approvingly after the clapboard swung closed. Several feet away, Dean scowled at her, dutifully replacing the scowl with a frantic expression seconds after the director called, "Action!" Dean continued to object to any interaction between Audrey and the male crew members, somewhat less so to her consorting with females, a classic case of the gender dominance so common to primitive species.

"Finally!" the director said in exasperation after the next take produced useable film. "Dinner break! Be back here in one hour. We have to finish before we lose the light."

Everyone scattered, one hour being barely enough time to eat and return. But Audrey lingered, waiting until he'd stowed his clapboard.

"Wanna join us for a bite to eat?" she asked.

Brivari glanced over her shoulder at Dean, who was visibly fuming. "That would not be wise," he answered.

"I don't mean just the two of us.....although I'd like that," Audrey said, moving closer. "We're going as a group, so Charlie has no reason to complain."

"But he will....and you know he will," Brivari replied.

"So what? I've only got a week left to listen to him complain. Besides, I'm tired of kow-towing to him."

The defiance in her voice was palpable....and disturbing. Audrey had been visiting him almost every night for a month now, always in the early hours of the morning when the rest of the human world was asleep, while fawning over Dean by day as expected. No one was the wiser, but Brivari feared her success at circumventing Dean's controlling behavior had made her reckless. Or perhaps she was indeed merely weary of "kow-towing", a term with which Brivari was unfamiliar, but whose meaning he could guess.

"I fear my presence would only make things worse," he said gently. "And as you noted, you only have one week remaining to....'kow-tow'. You've kept him at bay this long; surely you can handle one more week."

Audrey sighed dramatically. "We'll be at Parker's if you change your mind. And I hope you do because he has no business bitching at me if a whole group of us are together."

Your Mr. Dean is not a group person, Brivari thought as Audrey walked away. Dean had a select group of confidantes, members of the crew by necessity, albeit hand-picked, but he rarely socialized or even deigned to speak to anyone else, especially the rank and file among the crew. Brivari's job of clapper load rendered him one of the rankest of the rank and file, a position he found interesting given that he was accustomed to being at the top of the food chain, so to speak.

*Is there trouble in paradise?* a deeply sarcastic voice asked.

*If you're here, there must be,* Brivari answered. *You never show up unless there's trouble or you wish to invent some. What is it this time?*

*Major Lewis visited the base again,* Jaddo replied, falling in step beside him as they walked across the set. *That makes his fourth visit in as many weeks.*

* Of course he's visiting the base,* Brivari said. *He wants the military's resources available to his new team, not to mention vindication for his dismissal, neither of which he is likely to get. Let him thrash all he wants. It makes no difference to us.*

*You hope,* Jaddo said.

*Of course I hope,* Brivari replied. *Don't you? Or are you looking for trouble?*

*I thought it was our job to look for trouble,* Jaddo retorted. *Only you don't seem to be doing much looking lately.*

*I am well aware of the human response to your indiscretion with Pierce,* Brivari said pointedly. *For the moment, they pose no threat. Any action beyond surveillance would needlessly expose us, which means we would be causing the very trouble we're supposed to avoid.*

*You might join me at the base occasionally and at least give the appearance of being interested,* Jaddo grumbled. *Malik did.*

*What was Malik doing at the base?*

*The same thing I'm doing, and the same thing you just recommended—surveillance. And like I said, it would be nice if you would join us.*

*Why should I when I have you to obsess over it?* Brivari asked dryly. *You'll be pleased to know that the movie is nearly over,* he added when Jaddo scowled at him, *after which I will join you if you really feel Lewis deserves to command the attention of all three of us.*

*So our Wards need to wait until your 'movie' has finished?* Jaddo asked sharply. *Your priorities are even more seriously misplaced than I'd feared.*

*Our Wards are perfectly safe, and my priorities have never wavered,* Brivari said firmly. *The worst thing we could do for our Wards is expose ourselves, which calls your priorities into question, not mine.*

*You expect me to believe that while you engage in your 'romantic triangle', or whatever humans call it?*

*I am not involved in a 'romantic triangle',* Brivari said flatly. *And furthermore—*

"Hold it right there," a male voice commanded.

Brivari and Jaddo stopped. Charles Dean was standing a few feet away, obviously angry.

"Stay away from her," he announced.

" 'Her'?" Jaddo repeated quizzically.

"Was I talking to you?" Dean said acidly. "I meant Mr. Clapper Loader there, Mr. Ugly-As-Sin who takes advantage of girls who don't know what's good for them. I've seen the way she looks at you. She's mine, not yours. Stay away from her—or else."

Dean stalked off, deliberately attempting to elbow Brivari as he passed, looking back briefly in confusion when Brivari shifted slightly to make that impossible. *Tell me you're not going to let him get away with that!* Jaddo said in disbelief.

*He's a fool, Jaddo,* Brivari said. *He is worth neither the time nor the effort.*

*He's the fool?* Jaddo asked skeptically. *You may not think yourself involved in a romantic triangle, Brivari, but it appears that Mr. Neanderthal disagrees.*




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




FBI field office

Santa Fe




"Well?" Agent Del Bianco said, spying Agent Lewis coming through the door. "Did they make a decision? Did they—"

Del Bianco fell silent, Lewis' expression making it abundantly clear that a decision had been made, and what that decision had been. " How could they?" he exclaimed as Lewis stormed past. "How could they pass up an opportunity to see how these things really work?"

"Easily," Lewis said acidly. "The Army is interested in progress only in the sense that they wish to prevent me from making any. By refusing to work with us—and taking an entire month to say so—they accomplish that nicely. Or so they think."

"Sir?"

"The only reason they believe that two communicators are required is because the prisoner told them that," Lewis said, producing a key from his pocket and unlocking an office door, "and I, for one, don't trust a word that monster said. Anything?" he barked, throwing the door open.

Agent Feldman, who was working on the alien device at a table filled with various tools, looked up in surprise, then glanced at Del Bianco, who gave him a sympathetic shrug. "Uh....not really, sir."

" 'Not really'?" Lewis echoed. "What does that mean, exactly?"

Feldman swallowed. "It means 'no', sir."

" 'No'?" Lewis repeated menacingly as the agent's eyes widened in alarm. "You've had a month, a full month to play with this thing, and you've learned nothing?"

"Well," Feldman said, obviously flustered, "we've learned a few things. We've learned that we don't know what it's made of, that it doesn't have any visible power source or any buttons, knobs, or dials that would make it work. We can't cut it, burn it, scratch it, or mark it in any way. We can't—"

"I don't want to hear what you don't know!" Lewis exploded as the two agents recoiled. "Would you like to know what I don't know, agent? I don't know what I'm going to tell the Director when I give him my next report, which is due in mere days. After appearing in triumph with the first alien artifact discovered since the crash, and the only alien artifact discovered by this unit, I must now slink back in defeat having neither secured the cooperation of the military nor discovered anything at all about this....this thing except what we don't know about it! And that is unacceptable! Totally unacceptable! Do you hear me?"

Feldman had gone white. "Yes, sir. Loud and clear."

Lewis bent over the table, planting his hands on it, his face only inches from that of his subordinate. "Then give me something to take to the Director, agent. Tell me something we do know, something we didn't know before, something that validates the formation of this unit. Can you do that, agent?"

"Well.....I......"

Without warning, the swirling symbol on the artifact flared. Three heads looked down in astonishment.

"Tell the Director," Feldman said faintly, "that it lights up."






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


I'll post Chapter 39 next Sunday.