V01 - V

by A. C. Crispin

Slowly the two resistance fighters started toward the pumping station.

  It had been ten days since Julie's recapture. During that time Juliet had rested, trying to recoup her exhausted reserves of emotional and physical strength. Her recovery wasn't helped by her profound grief when Lynn and Stanley Bernstein reported that Daniel, in a drunken frenzy, had bragged about killing Ruby Engels. Somehow Ruby's death was a blow that was especially hard to weather—everyone had liked and admired the older woman. Even Robin, who seldom responded to much of anything anymore, had sobbed for days.

  Ham Tyler had gone tight-lipped and silent when given the news; it was the most emotion Donovan had ever seen "the Fixer" display. His regret had manifested itself in a driving determination to overthrow the Visitor movement, and, Donovan suspected, a new-found personal vendetta against Daniel Bernstein.

  One of the two bright spots in the last week had been Tyler's gift to the group of several small devices that a Japanese network engineer had developed. The small units, when taped to the wearer's chest, duplicated the strange reverberation of Visitor speech in a human voice. The other good news was smuggled out to them from the Mother Ship—Martin was healing speedily from the flesh wound inflicted by Ham during the raid.

  When Juliet and Donovan reached the pumping station, they walked completely around it, while Donovan filmed the exterior layout with a tiny video camera, also supplied by Ham. At the entrance, the shock trooper guard scrutinized them suspiciously. "Identification," he said brusquely.

  Using their voicebox devices, both gave the ID code the Fifth Column had provided. The guard nodded. "Passes?"

  They produced them. The shock trooper scanned them, then jerked his rifle at them. "Okay."

  Once inside the station, the two fighters quickly canvassed the interior. They dared not stay too long, however—when they passed one of the technicians for the second time, the Visitor looked up at them curiously. After filming the network of catwalks and walkways strung like fragile spiderwebs from each massive turbine to its neighbor, they hastily made their exit.

  Once outside and away from the station, they paused, while Donovan took a quick pan around the hillsides. Juliet frowned as she took in the acres of land surrounding the reservoir and station. "You know, Donovan, we really ought to circle this area and sketch it. It would be a real help if we could find another road to serve as an alternate escape route."

  Donovan shrugged. "You're the boss, if you feel up to it, I'm ready."

  "I'm fine," Julie said tartly. "Let's go."

  They hiked through the area for nearly an hour and were a little more than halfway around the circle when they came across an old road—hardly more than a bridle path, actually, but it had possibilities. Julie looked up. "Hold on a second, Donovan, while I put this in."

  She took out her geologic survey map and busily began sketching a detailed insert showing the old road, using the USGS quad map as a reference. After a minute she realized Donovan was staring at her—or, rather, at her hand. Her left hand. She was drawing with it.

  The point of the pencil snapped as it dug into the paper. Juliet stared at her hand for long moments. "Oh, my God, Donovan. Look at me. I'm one of them."

  He stepped closer to her, his green eyes worried. "No you're not, Doc. You've been fine since you got back—"

  "No, I haven't been!" Juliet's words ended in a sob. With a visible effort, she controlled herself. "I've just been hiding it, that's all. This isn't the first time I've caught myself using my left hand, Donovan. That bitch—she's messed up my mind. I might betray us all, and never know it. I should quit before I hurt somebody."

  "Bullshit! We need you! The only thing that kept the group together while you were gone was the thought of getting you back!"

  "I don't know." She pushed her hair out of her eyes, then determinedly picked up the pencil with her right hand. The point was still broken, however. Quietly, Donovan took out his pocket knife and sharpened it.

  After sketching the old road, they decided to continue around the station, then try and locate the outlet for the road using the pickup truck they'd left hidden near the gate.

  After a half-hour more walking, they entered a field of mustard grass. It provided a welcome burst of color from the tawny sameness of the turf surrounding the pumping station. They were far enough away that even the throbbing of the giant turbines was gone; there was no sound save the swish of their feet on the grass. Julie walked on a few steps, then, without warning, plopped down. "That's it. Not one more step until I get some rest. Do you have that flask?"

  "Yeah." Donovan sank onto the grass beside her, then handed her the water. Julie drank thirstily, then handed the flask back to him.

  "I'm out of shape," Juliet said, stretching out. "Those couple of weeks in the Mother Ship wreaked havoc with my muscles. I couldn't climb another slope right now if Diana and the entire fleet hove over the hill."

  "I'm beat, too."

  "Donovan?"

  "What?"

  "I wasn't kidding when I said that I'd been feeling . . . funny." She rolled over on her side, propping her head up on her hand, looking at him intently. "It could be that I've been converted."

  "Wouldn't you know? You don't look converted to me."

  She tried to return his grin and failed. "I don't know. My memories of those last couple of sessions aren't too clear."

  "What was it like? How does Diana do it?"

  Her voice was very low, and just from hearing it, Mike knew that she hadn't spoken of this to anyone else. "They can induce fantasies out of your own mind. They put you into something like hypnosis, using drugs, and I guess they make you talk. I don't remember—but I know that everything I've ever been afraid of—everything, no matter how disgusting or private—appeared in those fantasies she sent me."

  She rolled onto her back again, looking up at the cloud-strewn blue sky—where the Mother Ship didn't block it out. "I kept being chased into deserted buildings, and men would be hunting for me. I'd try to hide, but they'd find me. They always found me. Sometimes . . ." She swallowed, and Donovan could see the lines of her throat move. "Sometimes I was in a deserted sewer, kind of, and I'd put my hands on the walls to guide me, and the walls would come to life."

  Donovan made a small sound, and Julie sat up and looked over at him. "Yeah, it was pretty bad. But no matter how bad I say it was, living it was worse . . . if you know what I'm trying to tell you."

  "Yeah." he said, pulling up a handful of grass and watching it drift away in the slight breeze. "Look, Julie, no matter what happened to you up there, you're having doubts. That means you can't have been completely converted."

  "Seems to me that being partly converted is like saying a little bit pregnant—you either are, or you aren't."

  "They messed with your mind, Julie, that's all. As long as you have no contact with them, they have no control over you."

  She was silent for a long time, then gestured toward the reservoir they could no longer see. "The lake is down already—did you notice?"

  "Yeah."

  "The oceans are next," she said, her tones clear, almost detached—but when Donovan looked at her, he could see tears on her face.

  "No," he said, sitting up and putting an arm across her shoulders. "They're not going to get that far."

  She swallowed. "Not unless I help them, maybe. And never realize I'm doing it."

  "Hey . . . hey, Doc. I'll keep an eye on you, if it'll make you feel any better."

  Her eyes were very blue when she looked over at him. "I kinda got the idea you were doing that, anyway.

  "You did, huh?" He was very conscious suddenly that the moment had changed—they had crossed some invisible barrier that stands between men and women, an obstacle that is seldom recognized until it is overcome, left behind.

  "Yeah," she said. "I did."

  "I haven't wanted to . . . well, you know." He cleared his throat, then tried again. "You were so wracked up, and then we found out about Ruby, and—" he hesitated,
"I didn't want to push . . . anything, when—" He broke off, staring at her.

  She grinned at him. "Y'know, this is the first time I've ever seen you stumble"

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah," she said firmly, then, taking his head in her hands, kissed him gently on the mouth.

  After a few seconds she drew away, flushed, her eyes dancing. "Nice," she said, a little breathlessly. "You've had some practice, Donovan."

  His hands came up to touch her hair, loosen the braid that held it in back. It spilled down over his fingers as softly as the breeze on the hillside. His voice was husky. "For God's sake, when are you ever gonna call me Mike?"

  "I did . . . once," Julie said, touching his cheek with fingers that felt infinitely cool and long.

  "When?"

  "When you were lying there in front of me, dead, up there on the Mother Ship. If anything snapped me out of the conversion, that was it—thinking you were dead." She hesitated, remembering, then said shakily, "I think I really had managed to hide it from myself till then."

  "Julie." He kissed her again, harder, feeling her mouth warm and living beneath his, opening like a flower. His arms went out, pulling her against him as his fingers searched for the concealed fastenings of her Visitor uniform . . .

  When Juliet woke, she realized she'd been asleep for quite a little while. The position of the sun had changed, and the prickly tightness across her buttocks bespoke sunburn to come. Donovan was still asleep, lying on his back, snoring lightly, his arms still firmly wrapped around her. Juliet grinned, snuggling her head onto his chest. It was so peaceful here, that even if she had managed to sunburn her butt—it was worth it.

  A few more minutes, she thought, feeling a kind of liquid warmth course through her body, as though it were some kind of elixir out of legend. It's been so damn long since I've felt alive—and like a woman.

  Her fingers were splayed against his belly, and for long moments she simply enjoyed the rise and fall of his chest, the taut smoothness of flesh over muscle, the silky tickle of the hairs against her palm. Then, with a sudden indrawn breath, he woke.

  Juliet looked up at him. "Hi, Mike," she said with a bright grin. "Long time no see."

  "How long have I been asleep?" he mumbled, his arms tightening around her.

  "Dunno. Your watch is somewhere behind me. But by the position of the sun, we ought to be getting back."

  He peered at the watch. "Jesus," he said. "We've been sacked out here for two and a quarter hours."

  Juliet levered herself up on an elbow. "It's a damn good thing Diana didn't come charging up here. It would have been downright embarrassing to be captured in the buff."

  He laughed, pulling her down to him, kissing her as though they had all the time in the world. Julie cooperated, her arms tightening around his shoulders as they embraced. But when he rolled her over onto her back, she flinched suddenly.

  "What is it?" Mike asked, peering at her anxiously.

  "Oh, nothing," she said. "I just wish I'd had the sense to drag one of these damn uniforms across me before I dozed off. I'm sunburned."

  He began to chuckle, and she shoved at him. "Go ahead and laugh, Donovan! You darker-skinned types have no idea what it's like to go through life having to worry about sunburn."

  "No," he gasped, laughing harder. "I'm full of sympathy, really!"

  "What you're full of is—"

  He interrupted hastily. "No, honestly! I was just imagining what everyone's going to look like when we come trooping in, hours late, with red noses, and you can't sit down. They'll think I'm some kind of animal." He began to snicker again.

  "Damn," Juliet said, envisioning it herself. "Especially Father Andrew. Communal living has its drawbacks, doesn't it?"

  "You bet," he said. "Do you realize there's not one damn double bed in the whole HQ?"

  Juliet thought about it. "We'll work something out."

  Chapter 28

  The raid on the pumping station was a flawed success—the resistance fighters were able to blow the installation up, destroying much of the special equipment and killing several of the new technicians Pamela had brought. But they lost Brad in the fighting. The young man fell during the mad scramble to get out before the charges they had set could explode. Sprawled on the catwalk with a badly broken leg, knowing he was unable to climb out, Brad chose to stay behind, guarding the rear, while the others got away. In spite of Brad's protests, Sancho and Maggie would have turned back to get him, but, sharing a long look of final respect with the ex-cop, Ham Tyler ordered them at gunpoint to keep moving.

  Wearily, the fighters dragged themselves back together, slogging through each day as though it were something to be fought, like the Visitors. They began to take refuge in silliness—practical jokes were in vogue for a couple of days, then campy movies on the VCR. Donovan and Juliet watched "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes" twice in a row one evening, over a bottle of Liebfraumilch and a joint, careful to keep the grass hidden from Father Andrew and the kids.

  Soap operas also tended to gather a following among people who had no regular daytime jobs. Polly Maxwell pounded on the door of Julie's tiny bedroom, now even more crowded due to the mattress from a double bed which had replaced the tiny cot one afternoon. "Mr. Donovan! Mr. Donovan!"

  Donovan appeared, bare-chested and bare-footed. "What is it?"

  "Come see! On the television!" She dashed off.

  "What is it?" Juliet was at her desk, trying to unsnarl the havoc Mike had wreaked on the Bellamy checkbook.

  "Dunno. Sounds important.

  Dragging on a shirt, he followed Polly down the hall, Juliet behind him. They found most of the group in the common room, avidly watching "The Young and the Restless."

  Donovan stood in the doorway. "What's going on?"

  "You'll see, Mr. Donovan. They've been showing it every commercial," Josh Brooks looked up at him. "Sit down and wait a minute."

  Mike sat on the beat-up armchair, Julie perching beside him. A few minutes later, to a crescendo of organ music, the screen flickered, and Diana's features came into focus. "This is a special bulletin from the Visitors," she said.

  The camera drew back as she spoke to reveal the Second-in-Command sitting with a child on her lap. Donovan stiffened. It was Sean. Diana ruffled the boy's hair gently. "We'd like to request the help of all people in the Los Angeles area. This little boy wandered into Visitor Headquarters and is looking for his daddy. If anyone can help us find this boy's father, we'd be most grateful."

  The picture faded out, to be replaced a second later by a tiny woman confronting a mammoth toilet bowl. Disgusted, Donovan clicked the set off.

  "What are you gonna do, Mr. Donovan?" Josh asked.

  "I don't know, Josh," Mike said heavily. His hands were busy, folding and unfolding the battered Dodgers cap he carried like a talisman. "Wait, I guess. Diana'll find a way to let us know what she wants. Probably leak it through the Fifth Column. I'm supposed to talk to Martin tomorrow."

  Fran Leonetti looked at him. "What do you think she wants?"

  "I don't know. My head on a platter, probably."

  Juliet said nothing, but her fingers were gentle as they rubbed the back of his neck.

  "What's the story, man?" Elias asked, when Donovan returned from his meeting with Martin the next day.

  Seated at the conference table, Donovan didn't look up from the notepad where he was doodling the letter "V" over and over again. "Diana announced it to the entire L.A. ship, knowing, I guess, that it'd get back to us; if I don't notify them that we agree to their terms in the Personal column of the paper by Thursday, Sean dies."

  "They wouldn't kill a little kid!" Maggie said, then looked around for support. "Would they?" her voice trailed off.

  "Those snakes would do most anything they have to to get what they want," Elias said. "What do they want, Mike?"

  "Me. A straight exchange. We name the time and place. They bring Sean, and he goes free. I go with them."

  "Shit." Elias' comm
ent seemed to suffice for everyone. The room was quiet once more, for long minutes.

  Finally Donovan sat up. "I don't think they'll kill him," he said slowly. "They need my mother as their spokesperson, and, corrupt as Eleanor is, she'd never countenance them killing her only grandchild. She won't let them hurt Sean. I'm not going to do it."

  "Mike, no!" Julie grabbed his wrist. "Believe me, I know what it cost you to make that decision, but no way!"

  "Don't overestimate Eleanor's usefulness to them, Mike," Robert Maxwell said, shaking his head. "Diana wouldn't hesitate to do away with Eleanor Dupres the moment she became a nuisance to her."

  "Robert's right," Elias said. "That dragon lady's got a heart as warm as all outer space. She'd off Sean out of sheer spite."

  Donovan looked around. "You know what she'll do to me. I'll be in that conversion cell faster than you can say 'evil aliens.' Or in the torture chamber with the blowtorch. Or on the wrong end of a truth serum. I know too much. If she makes me talk, I'll destroy everything we've worked for."

  He thought for a moment. "There's one way." He grimaced. "God, I wish I hadn't thought of this." He drummed nervously on the table, then faced them all, his eyes level. "I could take poison," he said.

  He turned to Juliet. "What could I take just before the exchange, that would let me walk out there under my own steam, but would kill me before they could get anything out of me?"

  "An overdose of lots of things would work. Enteric-coated cyanide would be the best, if we could get it," Juliet said automatically, then shook her head violently. "What am I saying? That's out of the question! No way, Donovan, no way!"

  "But—"

  "I said 'no,' and that's final, Mike. There are too many possibilities to resort to something that drastic. You're discounting Martin and the Fifth Column."

  "But—"

  "Besides, we can make your information obsolete, Donovan," Juliet said. "We'll move HQ again, and you won't know where. We alter the details of our long-range plans. We change the bank accounts, and the codes. We can do it." He gazed at her skeptically. "We can," she said. "Don't make this any harder for either of us than it has to be." She made an abrupt little gesture, then straightened. "It's hard enough telling you to turn yourself in, knowing I—we—may never see you again."