V_The 2nd Generation

by Kenneth Johnson

  She smiled patiently. "Let me tell you something. All those Teammates and Players in there will kill for us. Some already have." The satisfied coldness in her eyes made it clear she was speaking the truth. She moved toward the ornate circular oak table that graced the center of the foyer. "I let them have their little entertainments to encourage camaraderie. I encourage sports to maintain fitness; business to serve our needs and sustain infrastructure; procreation to give us more . . . raw material." She was amused by her little pun. "I'm forging an entire conquered people into loyal Teammates."

  Jeremy thought he knew better. "What about the Resistance?"

  Diana took a single lily from a huge bouquet on the oaken table. "I broke their back in my Great Purge of '99."

  "I've heard there's been a new resurgence," he prodded.

  She was examining the lily with unconcern. "They'll be crushed by the time we begin our new enterprise."

  "Really?" Jeremy affected surprise and watched her carefully as he said, "By the end of this week?"

  He was rewarded when Diana glanced sharply at him. He had trumped her again. From inside the ballroom came loud applause.

  Emma had concluded her song and was taking a bow before the grateful audience. She was slightly flushed from the exertion of the song and it looked good on her. She was wearing a short dress that seemed to be made up merely of a number of strategically placed veils. The dapper black Patrol captain who had been with Danny two hours earlier helped Emma step down to the closest table. He held onto her hand longer than necessary. "You are extraordinary."

  "Oh, thank you, Captain. Thank you so much." She moved to her table where Press Secretary Paul was raising a glass to her. She smiled graciously, then let her eyes find and linger on Mayor Ohanian who was sitting near one of his mayoral aides. Mark's glance increased the flush on Emma's cheeks. She had noted the rush she felt upon seeing him aboard the Flagship and felt it rise within her again now. She began to consider that perhaps she had ended their relationship prematurely. Ever-present Player J. D. Oliver held her chair and leaned his double chin down close to the bronze curve of her shoulder. "You really must come visit. I have a trinket for you—and a case of '96 Evian."

  NINE-YEAR-OLD ALI HAD HIS HAND ON THE OLD IRON LAMPPOST IN front of his parents' vid store. He was half swinging in a slow circle around it as he waited patiently for his parents Ahmed and Viella to lock up for the night. Ali often had bouts of asthma, but tonight he was feeling pretty good, particularly because he knew that his mother was going to make bastia for dinner. The Moroccan chicken pastry with powdered sugar was his favorite. Viella had already lowered the metal screen over the vid store window and Ahmed was just emerging when Ali saw an SFPD squad car, four Visitor Patrollers, and a Teammate unit suddenly converging on the store.

  "On the ground!" a big Patroller shouted, brandishing her pulse rifle. "All of you! Now!"

  Ahmed and Viella were startled, they looked about fearfully. Another Patroller fired a warning shot that shattered the neon sign above Ahmed. "Get on the fucking ground," the Patroller shouted more forcefully. Ahmed held out his hands in compliance and urged Viella down to the sidewalk. Then Ahmed's eyes met Ali's and the little boy suddenly turned and ran.

  "Ali! No!" Ahmed shouted urgently. "Don't run!"

  Teammate Debra Stein stepped out and raised her pulse weapon. She drew a bead on the fleeing boy and casually fired her pistol. The fiery ball of energy flashed through the darkness and burst brightly against the boy's back, driving him to the pavement.

  "Ali!" Ahmed screamed through frantic tears. Viella also wailed her son's name and tried to move toward him, but the troops shoved her brutally back down, skinning her face badly. Ahmed felt the gritty sole of a Patroller's jackboot against the back of his neck but managed to turn his head against the concrete just enough to see his fallen son. Ali was lying motionless thirty yards away, his limbs at odd angles. Ahmed heard the Teammates smash open the vid store and begin gutting it.

  At the corner a block away, the SFPD had cordoned off the area. Some people tried to walk on by without looking, since it was always better not to get involved. But a few had paused to witness the police activity. One of them was a young hip-hop man with his hair in cornrows and a matchstick clenched tightly between his teeth. Street-C's stomach had hardened into a knot, his brow was lowered, his face grim and angry. He watched Ahmed and Viella being pulled to their feet as the Teammates roughly dragged away little Ali's lifeless body.

  MALE AND FEMALE VOICES WERE ECHOING IN THE DARKNESS AND slowly growing more intelligible. Then a painful brightness stabbed in as Nathan's eye was pried open. His vision was still very blurry, as though he were looking up from underwater, but he recognized Margarita's auburn hair as she leaned in to check his pupils. Her voice thrummed distantly. "You can get the scan now."

  Nathan blinked heavily and thought he saw Ruby sitting nearby thumbing through a textbook and glancing at him while she did schoolwork in a looseleaf binder, but his head was still swimming. Then a man he recognized from the Resistance vid as Robert Maxwell, the Nobel Prize–winning anthropologist, leaned in with an optical instrument and Nathan realized his retina was being scanned. He heard Margarita directing Robert briskly, "Have Ysabel run his stats and get me the results asap, Robert." Then she added, "Please."

  Nathan saw Robert's dark eyes smile at Margarita's energy and head off. Then Nathan determined to shake off the effects of what he knew must have been a tranquilizer. He forced himself to rise up onto one elbow and take some deep breaths. He tried to sit up straighter, but the cot he was lying on suddenly felt like a raft atop a wavy ocean.

  "Not too fast, hotshot. You'll fall on your face."

  He didn't want to admit it, but he knew she was right. He turned more slowly to look in the direction of Margarita's voice. She was sitting on a crate nearby, expertly cleaning an AK-47 assault rifle while she kept an eye on him. He took some more breaths as he groggily surveyed his surroundings. They were in what appeared to be a funky abandoned warehouse, complete with a few pigeons fluttering about in the vaulted wooden rafters. Nathan saw a large letter "V" spray-painted in red on various walls. He also saw nine or ten trucks of various sizes parked inside the building. Their sides or backs had been opened out to afford easy access to equipment and supplies within. He understood: the Resistance needed to be ready to relocate at a moment's notice. He could see that two trucks held foodstuffs, one was rigged as a mobile emergency room, one flickered with vid images and was clearly a communications center. He saw numerous weapons both conventional and Visitor-style, energy pulse types in a steel-clad garbage truck that was obviously an armory. Several of the vehicles contained advanced electronic and biomedical equipment as might be found in an extensive science laboratory.

  Along one side of the warehouse's interior were some ratty cubicles that had once been small offices but had now been pressed into service as living quarters for those in the Resistance who had to remain permanently in hiding. The doors of many cubicles were open and Nathan could see they had been personalized with pictures and other items, to keep those in the Underground in touch with their former lives.

  There were several low concrete islands built into the broad floor with thick metal mounting brackets as though they had once supported heavy machinery. Across the large central space Nathan saw Street-C and about two dozen other Resistance members sitting on mismatched chairs or boxes. The people were a cross-section of race, gender, ethnic backgrounds, age, and class. Among them was Gary Lavine, the clean-cut, nicely coiffed cyclist to whom Harmy had handed off Willy's envelope. Beefy Blue, the chemical plant worker, was also in attendance.

  Street-C had been talking to the group. Now he was shaking his head, sad and angry. "It was bad. Little Ali didn't have a chance." A pall fell over them all and there was respectful silence for a moment. Then a far door opened and Nathan noticed that everyone in the room drew a breath of respect as a diminutive blond woman entered.

  Nathan
immediately recognized Juliet Parish. Though she was only five-foot-two, he could feel that she was a major presence. She was carrying a cardboard box under her left arm. Her right hand managed a polished wooden cane. Nathan knew that she was about forty-six, and was surprised that she still had the figure and fresh face of a college girl with clear skin and sky blue eyes the color of the old sweatshirt she was wearing. Her hair was pulled back into a simple bun. Nathan saw that her cheeks had deep dimples, particularly when she smiled. "Hey, Ruby, grab this, would you?"

  The little half-breed was already skipping over to help and to get a hug from Julie. "Whatcha got, Mom?" Ruby said with hopeful enthusiasm. "Explosives?"

  "Better yet, Rube: fresh eggs, oranges." She gestured over her shoulder. "There's more in the car, guys."

  Several of the others went out to gather it while from across the room bleary Nathan studied Julie with some surprise, muttering to Margarita, "Wait a minute, that's her? She's Juliet Parish?"

  The redhead was mildly amused. "You were expecting a 'Hallelujah Chorus'?"

  "After all the legends about her: 'the heart and soul of the Resistance,' all that stuff, yeah, I guess I was." Nathan measured the small woman against her enormous reputation and all of the wanted posters and Visitor vids bearing Juliet's photo that he had seen over the years. Like all good Teammates, Nathan knew her history by heart.

  Juliet Parish had been an intern at the UCLA Medical School when the Visitors first arrived. She had displayed a strong talent for biochemistry and was being urged by her mentors toward a career in that field. Her background gave no hint of any future civil disobedience. Born in Michigan and raised on a farm, she came from straight-arrow, conservative, middle-American stock. Like her family she had been a Republican, but not active in politics. An only child, Juliet did well in school and was near the top of her class as an intern. When the "scientific conspiracy" was unearthed and Scis became persona non grata Juliet had seen many colleagues disappear and finally felt the need to go into hiding herself. She left her fiancé, a stockbroker who was relieved by her departure and later spoke vehemently against her and the Resistance. Over the years he became a trusted Player with the Visitors. Though Nathan had seen many psychological profiles that the Visitors had worked up on Juliet he knew the only common agreement among them was the mystery of why she of all people had become a key leader of the worldwide Resistance.

  Some early documentation suggested it was because of her connection to another Resistance leader, TV news cameraman Michael Donovan. It was later shown that they had not met until after Juliet was already recognized as chief of the first and prime Resistance cell. Her personal relationship with Donovan was also sketchy. Clearly they had been close compatriots, and each had saved the other's life more than once. Several reports concluded a definite romantic link between them, even calling them lovers, but there had been no conclusive evidence to support that theory.

  As for her becoming the key figure of the international Resistance movement, it was as though she had risen to the top by pure happenstance.

  As Nathan watched her interact with the others, she seemed completely average, down-to-earth, unassuming, and accessible. He was a bit surprised by her use of the cane. "She limps?"

  "Wounded in her very first fight with your Patroller pals," Margarita said, checking the Kalashnikov's magazine. "She went back to rescue a doctor who had been left behind when they were stealing biomedical equipment. She barely got him away and he died in her arms." Nathan saw Margarita's gaze turn inward, as though she were remembering a loss of her own.

  Nathan looked back at Julie. "So how come she's the top dog? She just stand up one day and say 'I'm the leader'?"

  "No." Margarita chuckled as she snapped the rifle back together. "Everyone else had to tell her. We still have to."

  "But why her?"

  Margarita shrugged as though it were obvious. "She's the Natural."

  Street-C had walked somberly to Julie and was about to speak when she said, "I heard about Ali." She stared off sadly toward the medical truck. "I just treated his asthma last Thursday."

  "Well, the Teammates just cured him. Permanently." Street-C had a bitter taste in his mouth, thinking about the little guy.

  Julie was also pained, but asked, "What about Ahmed's contacts?"

  "We're spreading the word, but they're in danger," Margarita said, walking toward her.

  Gary ran his hand through his smooth, smoky-colored hair, frustrated. "God, can't we get a break?"

  Ysabel, the feisty Peruvian grandmother who had raised Jerome a.k.a. Street-C, brought Margarita and Julie the latest messages. "Feels like '99 all over again. Tighter than a gnat's ass in Europe and Asia." Ysabel pointed to one of the dispatches. "Melbourne is starting to get out the new vids, though. They want to talk to you two."

  Margarita had shuffled through the dispatches. "Still no word from Tokyo?"

  Ysabel sighed as she took off her half-glasses, letting them dangle on the beaded chain around her neck. "Not since they re-contacted us last week. They may have gone under again. Teammate training's ramping up everywhere. And disappearances."

  "More denouncements, too," Blue said as he rubbed the stubble on his thick, dark chin. "Took a woman from my plant yesterday. And the water's shut off more than half the time now."

  "It's only going to get worse as the water diminishes further," Julie pondered as she leaned against a wooden crate.

  Street-C nodded dourly. "Gonna be dog-eat-dog, man."

  "Or Visitor-eat-man, dog," Ruby quipped darkly.

  Street-C popped the girl's fist. "Got that right, Rube."

  Julie was mulling it over. "Only the very strongest people will be left."

  "Yeah"—Ysabel was discomfited at the thought, fiddling with the thin bracelets on her wrist—"to be the best slaves, or soldiers . . ."

  "Or dinner," Ruby said emphatically.

  They all glanced at the half-breed girl, knowing she was so very right. "Shoot"—big Blue was shaking his head—"feels like we're at the damn Alamo. And what's up with this big new Emissary guy coming?" His question was aimed at Margarita.

  "History would say: big new trouble, Blue," Margarita said, then saw Nathan approaching. "Oh, and speaking of . . ."

  Nathan was still unsteady on his feet, but his attitude was brash and focused on Julie. "I'd like to know why the hell you needed to have me shoot at—"

  Margarita interrupted, addressing Julie, "I already told him the assignment was a loyalty test—"

  "Which was pretty weird," he cut in sarcastically, "since, let's see, I already stole a fighter and shot down one of theirs. Hello?"

  Ruby piped up in his defense, "It's true, Mom, I saw them seriously shooting at him." Nathan had impressed Ruby from the beginning in more ways than one.

  But Julie smiled patiently. "I know, Ruby." Then she addressed the former Teammate, "All of which could've been set up for our benefit."

  Nathan blinked, incredulous. "You've got to be kidding."

  "We're a little suspicious when a longtime, loyal Teammate suddenly wants to join us," Julie continued.

  Nathan smirked. "I just wasn't motivated before, okay?"

  Robert brought the results of Nathan's retinal scan. "Visitor database lists him as 'a decorated Teammate major. Now a deserter. Mentally unbalanced. A dangerous fugitive.' "

  Street-C's eyes narrowed. "Don't mean he's on our side."

  "Doesn't, Jerome"—Ysabel poked her adopted son—"stop with that street talk."

  Nathan chuckled darkly at all of them. "So how the hell do I convince you?"

  Margarita met his eyes. "Just tell us the truth, hotshot." Nathan was flippant. "You got a lie detector, Red?"

  "Yeah"—she held his intense gaze—"you're looking at 'em." Nathan stared at her for a moment, then surveyed the intent group surrounding him.

  He decided to back off a notch, then spoke, "When I was fifteen the Visitors told me the Resistance killed my parents. Showed me what was lef
t of their mutilated corpses. And the 'confession' of the Resistance people who killed them." He sighed, studying the scarred concrete floor a moment. "What can I say? I was a kid and an orphan overnight. And very pissed off. I joined the Teammates to fight against the Resistance. Shot up through the ranks because I did the job."

  The others knew what that meant. That he had captured or killed compatriots of theirs. They watched him carefully. Julie particularly noted that what he said next was very difficult for him. "Over the years I had a very close Visitor friend named Sarah who'd always watched out for me. She knew that this week I was going to be promoted to a much higher command in the Pacific. She said she didn't want me fighting for the wrong side anymore and she told me the truth about herself: that she was one of the fifth column. One of the few Visitors who didn't believe in their almighty Leader's agenda. I had wondered occasionally about her loyalty to them, but I never said anything. So she was taking a big chance. She knew I was a gung-ho Teammate. She knew I might turn her in immediately. But she snuck me into the prisoner storage chamber on the Hawaiian Mother-ship. She showed me my mom and dad." Nathan's jaw set with emotion as the image reappeared in his mind's eye. "They hadn't been killed. They were inside two of those goddamn alien capsules. I realized what an idiot I'd been. So I deserted with Sarah to fight back." He paused as he remembered her last words in his arms on the smoky street. "And I got her killed."

  "I'm very sorry," Julie said softly.

  But Margarita was hanging tough. "Why didn't you work from the inside?"

  "Because I was too pissed off."

  "How 'bout too impulsive. Too impetuous."

  Nathan bristled at her, "How 'bout when your parents get pickled you come talk to me!"

  "Her parents were," Julie said. "And her brother was killed by Teammates."

  Nathan glanced at Julie, then looked into Margarita's strong eyes. He nodded an apology.

  "We've all lost people, Nathan," Julie went on sympathetically, "family, friends. Loved ones. We can't afford to lose any more. And we can't allow any spies among us. Or any loose cannons."