The Legend That Was Earth

by James P. Hogan

  Lights appeared in the distance above, grew brighter with the sound of approaching engines, and a plane landed. Several minutes later, another moved out from the terminal, taxied up along the perimeter-way, turned onto the main runway, and took off. Soon after, another followed. Both of them halted within fifty yards of where the three figures were crouching before making their turn prior to the takeoff run. Don checked his watch in the light from his flashlamp, shielding it with a flap of his jacket. "Should be the next one now," he whispered.

  The night air was clear and getting cold. There seemed to be activity at the far end of the airfield, where vehicles were moving and searchlights probing, but nothing came closer. Then the sound carried across of another jet starting up, and a low, sleek shape moved out from the terminal area. It rolled toward the perimeter about a mile away and swung around, causing its landing lights to brighten suddenly. Cade tensed as the plane moved toward them. It had four engines slung beneath the wings, he saw as it enlarged, and the tailplane carried atop the fin. Several hundred yards away, it slowed. Cade thought he saw what looked like a light flash several times from a window of the flight deck. Don stood up, raised his flashlamp, and pressed the switch several times. The aircraft moved in front of them—a windowless cargo transport with low-slung body and tail loading doors. As it came to a halt in the gloom, Cade made out the side door already opening and its internal stairs hinging down. Cade and Hudro rose from the grass.

  "Now, go!" Don brushed aside their attempts to shake hands and waved them on. At the top of the steps Cade turned to send back a salutation from the doorway, but he had already disappeared.

  * * *

  The convulsions had caused Miguel to bite through his tongue. Congealing blood covered the front of his bruised, naked body. Evita, her own faced swollen, lips split from the softening-up process, watched with dull horror creeping over her as he was dragged unconscious from the room.

  The interrogator turned toward her. "Now, I ask you. Where did you leave the American and the Hyadean?" Evita felt dryness in her mouth. She was unable to swallow. She had heard that the best thing was to say nothing. Once you began to give a little away, there was no stopping it. The voice barked. "Where were they heading for? What was the plan to get them out of the country?" She felt herself shaking, tears running uncontrollably down her face. The interrogator's hand moved toward the box connected to the electrodes. Evita closed her eyes and began to pray.

  * * *

  The jet lifted into a clear sky filled with stars. Minutes later, the ghostly shapes of Andes peaks were drifting by in the night below. Then they were high over Chile. The Moon appeared slowly over the horizon, and in its cold, expanding light, the dark mass of the Pacific opened out before them, extending endlessly toward the west.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  DEE HAD ALWAYS BEEN of that independent turn of mind that led her to be her own person. She didn't like others trying to program her thinking, and when it suited her, took an inner delight in shocking them by daring to be different. That was probably why, when Vrel had contacted the office not really knowing what a travel agent was but needing a guide to show some Hyadeans from the mission around the area, she had elected to take charge of the party personally; and then, when Vrel turned out to be an intriguingly different alien also, in his own kind of way, probably been a little forward in propelling things toward a more personal relationship. The simple Hyadean readiness to accept words for what they meant and people for what they said had come as a welcome relief after the minefield of California dating politics that she was accustomed to, and from then on whatever friends and neighbors thought hadn't figured into it. Vrel had introduced her to Cade and his seemingly limitless list of friends who supplied, arranged, or were looking for just about anything one could name. And life had taken on a progressively more interesting slant ever since.

  Then Rebecca had appeared, trying to trace Julia after being referred by a friend of Julia's former husband, and disappeared with Cade about two weeks later. Three days after that, Vrel left for St. Louis suddenly and hadn't been heard of since. There had to be some connection, but without Cade around there were few leads she could follow. Julia had professed to know nothing—and seemed curiously impersonal about it for someone in her situation, for what Dee's opinion was worth. Then, less than a week after Vrel's departure, when the whole country was in uproar over allegations of political assassination by the government, Cade and his former wife, long supposed to have become part of the past, appeared in a Hyadean news documentary, filmed in South America of all places, that exploded the official denials. In something approaching a dream state, Dee had listened to the announcement two days later that she was living in a new country. . . .

  And now this.

  The Residents' Committee of the condominiums where she lived on the edge of Marina Del Rey had sent maintenance staff around to tape all the widows in case of air attack, and check fire extinguishers. Other measures were spelled out in an instruction sheet that Dee had just retrieved from her mailbox: a list of first-aid and emergency supplies that everyone should acquire; the ground floor of the community block would be made into a casualty clearing station and bomb shelter; part of the parking lot was to be kept clear for emergency vehicles. Gasoline restrictions were already in effect, and coupon books were being printed to ration essential foods. A Labor Directorate had been established in Sacramento, empowered to shut down nonessential businesses and transfer labor to war-related work. She didn't know yet how her own job at the travel agent's would be affected. Guesses yesterday had been that a percentage of those in the business could expect to be assigned to other work. Vehicles and weapons assembly and munitions production were being expanded with emergency priority and already taking in drafted trainee labor. Males over eighteen were registering for the draft. There had been missile attacks on West Coast military bases and two aircraft assembly plants near Los Angeles.

  Dee sat in her kitchen area drinking a coffee and blinked disbelievingly as she checked through the rest of the mail after skimming the morning's paper. These things didn't happen in the U.S.A. They happened to other people in other places that had never been quite real anyway. . . . Then she remembered that there no longer was a U.S.A. No, even though she had heard the air-raid warning sirens tested yesterday and seen the damage on last night's news, she couldn't believe it. Older folk talked about the erosion of freedoms her generation had never known, such as being able to drive coast-to-coast without having to give a reason, or not being profiled in the federal records system, and said that things had been heading this way for a long time. But all the same, Dee had grown up feeling a fond familiarity for the country she'd learned about at school with its flag and list of presidents, Fourth of July tradition, and national institutions that ranged from the Football League to the Postal Service. It couldn't be over. When her father died, she had taken weeks to accept it and continued seeing figures on the street that for a moment she would believe were him, telling herself there had been some huge mistake. She felt something similar now, as if suddenly she would wake up and everything would be back again the way it was supposed to be.

  The door chime sounded from the hall. Dee got up, went out, and peered through the spy hole in the door. It was Mike Blair from the Hyadean mission.

  "Hi," he greeted as she let him in and led the way back to the kitchen. "I probably should have called first. Have you got a minute?"

  "Sure." Dee gestured toward the newspaper and mail scattered over the table. "I can't believe all this, Mike. Tell me it isn't real."

  "I know. I've got the same problem. We don't do this to each other because someone tells us to. That's what people in other countries do." He spread his hands. "But what else do you do when the other guys are coming over here with bombs? And the crazy part about it all is that they probably think exactly the same about us."

  "Can I fix you a coffee or something?"

  "Thanks, no. I'm in a rush."

 
"So what gives?"

  "I talked to Wyvex earlier today. And guess what. He got a call from Vrel. Vrel's okay!"

  "What?!" Dee stared disbelievingly. "Really?!"

  Blair grinned and nodded. "I just told you—really."

  Dee threw her arms around Blair's neck, and kissed him on the side of his face. "So what happened? Where is he? What's going on? Did Wyvex say when he's coming back?"

  "South America someplace. It sounds as if he's with some kind of Hyadean news outfit. They're making sure they've got clearance into the Federation. It could be in the next day or two."

  "Terrific!" Dee sat down and looked around ecstatically. She was still having trouble absorbing it. "News team? You mean the ones who made that documentary? So are Roland and his ex coming too?" Blair became solemn and shook his head. "What's up?" Dee asked.

  "Marie's there, but Roland isn't. It seems they were in a chopper that got shot down. It's . . . bad news, I'm afraid."

  "Oh." Dee's jubilation died abruptly.

  "Someone needs to break it to Julia before they get here. I told Wyvex I'd take care of it. I'm on my way over to the house now."

  "I'll come with you," Dee said.

  * * *

  Blair arrived with Dee at Newport Beach a little under an hour later. En route he had received a further call from Wyvex, saying that Vrel and the others hoped to arrive the following day. Julia and Luke were both at home, and Blair broke the news to both of them together. Julia received it stoically. "I see," was her rejoinder. "How certain are they of this?"

  Blair could only shake his head. "I don't know if Wyvex knew any more than he said. I didn't press him for details. As far as he knew, Marie and the Hyadean girl were the only two survivors."

  "So there weren't any actual witnesses."

  "Not as far as I could gather, no."

  "I'm so sorry," was all Dee could say, again.

  Luke had been watching Julia's face long and thoughtfully throughout. He said nothing.

  * * *

  A half hour after Blair and Dee left, Julia told Luke that she had some errands to run and left in her cream-colored Cadillac. Two miles from the house, she pulled into a parking area and used the phone that she carried in her purse to call the ISS unit that she reported to under the field name Arcadia. The phone was a special-issue model and connected directly on an encrypted channel. The duty controller took down the details and advised Arcadia to expect further instructions later. He then relayed the information immediately to Kurt Drisson, as per standing orders. Within minutes, Drisson was through to Casper Toddrel, still in Washington, at that moment in an office of the Senate Building, sorting through notes he had made during meetings that morning. Toddrel found a more private room, and Drisson related what he had just learned. For once, it seemed that the intelligence services had better information than Cade's friends did.

  "Obviously, these people in Los Angeles don't know about Cade and the Hyadean defector," Toddrel said.

  "Check."

  They had been tracked to La Paz following a lead from an informer, and then missed by a matter of minutes. An agent at El Alto Airport had picked up something about two illegals being smuggled out somewhere but hadn't been able to fix the destination. Now it seemed clear.

  "What's your assessment?" Toddrel asked.

  "If the bunch who skipped in Brazil are heading for Quito, that's where Cade and the Hyadean were heading," Drisson replied. "They're all going to meet up there, then fly up to LA together."

  "That's the way I'd be inclined to see it too," Toddrel agreed. "But why wouldn't they mention Cade and the Hyadean to the people in Los Angeles?"

  "If they're not all in Quito yet, it would be premature to presume it. . . . Or maybe they just didn't want to talk too much about their movements."

  It sounded probable. "And then we'll have all our problems together—in one place," Toddrel said. The implication was clear.

  "Mmm . . . It would be difficult to arrange an incident there, in Quito, with the time scale we've got," Drisson said. "We don't have readily available operatives there."

  "I'm not sure I'd want that in any case," Toddrel told him. "Ecuador is trying to stay out of things politically. We don't want to risk any embarrassments there. Wait until they get to California. With the current situation, anyone could be suspected. You could use Arcadia. She's right there, on the spot. Then pull her out immediately afterward." Toddrel quite liked that idea. It seemed poetic. Keeping her there had been a risky decision. Maybe it could pay a dividend now.

  "I'll get on it right away," Drisson promised.

  * * *

  Late that night, a message appeared in Julia's phone via its special channel, giving a number and instructions to ask for "Laredo." She called the number, and shortly afterward drove out through roads busy with military traffic to a rendezvous not far from LAX, Los Angeles International Airport. Laredo gave her a heavy black suitcase, which she stowed in the trunk of the Cadillac.

  * * *

  Next morning, in the residential quarters of the Hyadean mission in Lakewood, Wyvex took a call from Julia on his personal number. "Mike Blair and Dee gave me the news," she told him.

  "I'm sorry it couldn't have been better about Roland," Wyvex replied.

  "It's one of these things we have to learn to live with. They're due in today, right?"

  "Yes. At five this afternoon."

  "What's the plan? Were you planning on collecting them?"

  "Yes." Wyvex hesitated, unsure of the correct Terran etiquette in view of Marie's presence. "Why? Did you want to be there?"

  "I'd rather see them later. But look, I know that with the way things are, Hyadeans are trying to keep a low profile and stay out of sight. I could arrange for Luke to pick them up instead."

  "Well . . . that would probably be a good idea. You're sure it's no trouble?" Wyvex said.

  "Of course not," Julia told him. "No trouble at all."

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  BETWEEN QUITTING THE NAVY and running into Cade, Luke had been a professional bodyguard and security consultant. That meant he was suspicious of anything that didn't quite feel right. The seeming matter-of-factness with which Julia had accepted Cade's disappearance, and the little inclination she had shown to try locating or contacting him since had seemed unusual even before Cade's call warning that Julia might not be what she appeared to be.

  What did it mean?

  Because she'd been installed into Cade's life around a year ago after a romance that had bloomed too smoothly and easily, a clear possibility was that she had been planted. With Cade commanding a growing social circle of influential Hyadeans and Terrans who did business with them, and then having a former wife connected with CounterAction, it was the kind of thing they should have expected. And then the broadcast had told of his almost being killed after going off with Rebecca, who had been introduced by Julia. It reeked of "setup."

  Midway through the day that the flight bringing Vrel and the others from Quito was due to arrive, Julia asked Luke to have the limo ready to collect Wyvex and Dee from the mission and then go on to LAX to meet them. She explained that it would avoid the Hyadeans having to venture out in public at a time when hostility was being shown from some quarters.

  Luke would normally not have thought twice about it, but the present circumstances caused him to question everything. Why was Julia showing such concern, when nobody from the household would be among the expected arrivals? It felt odd. Had the Hyadeans asked her to arrange for the party to be collected? Luke called Wyvex to check. No, Wyvex said. Julia had called him to suggest it. Even odder. If it were merely to keep the Hyadeans out of the way, why not use any of the commercial limo or shuttle companies at the airport? Why did it have to be this limo? His suspicions fully aroused, Luke went out to the garage and checked over it from end to end. And concealed in a cardboard carton in the trunk, he found a heavy black suitcase that shouldn't have been there. He took it out and stood it out of view between the wall
and the rear of Julia's Cadillac. By now it was almost three in the afternoon. Luke went out the back of the garage, across the rear yard to the dock, and boarded the yacht. Warren Edmonds, the Sassy Lady's skipper, was in the main cabin, taking in a movie with Charles, the boat's cook. "Warren, I need to talk to you," Luke said. They went out onto the foredeck, Luke closing the door behind them.

  "What's up?" Warren asked.

  "I'll explain it all later—I have to leave for the airport in a few minutes. But there's a black suitcase by the wall in the garage. I think it might be a bomb."

  "Jesus, you're joking! Where—"

  "I said, later. What I want you to do is pick it up after I'm gone, take it out over the water in one of the dinghies, and drop it down on the end of a line. It's just a precaution." Luke looked around and lowered his voice. "Look, I haven't told anyone this, but Roland is okay."

  "What?!"

  "He called me a couple of days ago. I'm not sure, but I think he might be arriving this afternoon with the others. If so, then we'll be able to straighten everything out after he gets here. You mustn't mention anything to Julia about this. But in the meantime, just to be safe, I want that thing out of the way."

  Warren nodded. "Okay, Luke. If you say so."

  * * *

  Julia finished packing the black leather pilot bag and set it alongside the garment bag, red suitcase, cosmetic bag, and shoulder purse on the bed. She made a final check through the drawers of the vanity and added a few final items to the blue carryall containing her jewelry boxes, personal papers, and some casual clothes and shoes. Then she moved to the window, which overlooked the rear of the house, and peered past the drapes. Luke was just coming down the steps from the yacht. He crossed the rear yard and disappeared from sight into the door at the back of the garage. Julia went from the bedroom to the far side of the suite, where the window commanded a view of the front. A minute or two later, the limo backed out of the garage, turned in the circle at the top of the driveway, and left. Julia went back to the bedroom, picked up two of the bags, and carried them down through the house. "Henry," she called out as she approached the door into the garage. "Are you anywhere around, Henry?" He appeared as Julia put the bags down behind the Cadillac.