Damn, damn, damn, she thought wearily, feeling a tightness in her throat. If I'm right and they're wrong . . .
She leaned her head in her arms. Her own particular demons were haunting her, making it difficult to evaluate the risk correctly. Even as a small child Julie had always been terrified of nuclear war—more so than her friends. For years she'd been physically unable to watch footage of mushroom clouds, knowing that seeing those photographs could make her sick to her stomach.
Many nights she'd awakened, sweating, from dreams where the bombs had fallen and she was always the only one who could keep a cool head, organize everybody, plan the escape routes, nurse the sick and dying. All with her feet encased, in the way of dreams, in invisible lead.
Is it my old fear, she wondered now, making me weak? She looked down at the hand that was idly toying with ballot scraps. My left! Damn, damn. Thought I was getting better. Maybe Ham Tyler is right. Maybe it's because I'm converted that I can't . . .
The door opened behind her and Donovan peered in. "Finished?" He saw her face and began to back out. "I'll come back later."
"No, it's all right. Come on in, Mike."
Eyeing her cautiously, he came into their room and shut the door behind him. "You sure? I understand if you need some space."
Juliet began to laugh, horrified to hear a hysterical edge to it. "Space! Oh, sure! That's what I need, absolutely! Space, and a whole bunch of goddamn aliens to play roller-derby with my mind and my life!"
"Hey." He came over to her desk and picked her up bodily, then walked to the mattress on the floor and sat down. He held her tightly, cradling her in his lap, his mouth against her hair. "Hey, I understand. I understand." He held her that way, his hand stroking her back, her hair, for a long time.
Finally he moved, trying to peer at her face. "You crying, Doc?"
"No," she whispered. "It might be better if I could. But this is just too big for tears. I cried for Ben, and I cried for Ruth, and I cried for Ruby and Brad and Chris. I don't have any tears left for this, and I'm afraid the worst sorrow is yet to come."
"If it does, nobody will cry. They won't have time."
"Yeah."
"I take it the vote was in favor of V-day?"
"Yeah." She pushed back and looked at him. "You voted for it, didn't you?"
His green eyes were very level. "Yeah, I did. I think Ham's right. I think we're good enough, lucky enough, to secure the Mother Ship and nail Diana. She's the one we've got to worry about, y'know. Martin says he doubts that either John or Pamela is crazy enough to do it, and Steven is too gutless. I think we can get Diana before she has time, so I voted 'yes.' "
"You going to tell Ham? He'd probably faint if he knew that you'd sided with him in something."
He laughed. "I'm sure he would."
Julie looked at him gravely. "I like the way you laugh now. When I first met you, you really didn't laugh, you know. You'd kind of chuckle wryly, just for a second, as though you were afraid to let people see you were amused."
"Oh, I was an emotional cripple before you came along, Doc! Ever think of taking up psychiatry instead of bio-med?"
"No, you weren't. You're just trying to make me feel better."
"Do you?"
"Yeah, a little. Enough so I can do what has to be done."
His hand moved to her throat, touching her skin, then traveled down her shoulder. "How much better do you feel?"
She chuckled softly. "You're insatiable, Donovan. We're talking about the world maybe blowing up in a couple of days, and all you can think about is making love."
He looked at her, unsmiling. "Can you think of a better way to spend your time, knowing that?"
She kissed him, her hand sliding beneath his shirt, then drew away slightly. "When you put it like that, no, I guess I can't. Besides, we might as well squeeze in a few moments for ourselves now, 'cause once I walk out there and announce the decision to the group, I'll be too busy to sit down anywhere except in the john."
He gave his old wry chuckle. "It would be terrible to be annihilated with a full bladder. We must remember to go before we leave." He began undoing the buttons on her blouse, his fingers moving slowly, brushing lightly against her breasts as he did so. Leaning over, he kissed her, his hands still busy, his mouth holding hers with a sensuous, dizzying deliberation.
Julie closed her eyes, feeling her heartbeat quicken. A tiny sound escaped from somewhere in the back of her throat, and he pulled back. She could hear the roughness in his voice as he asked, "You like that?" He touched her again.
"You know I do," she said, kissing him, pulling him down onto the mattress, holding him to her fiercely, trying not to think it might be for the last time.
Chapter 32
"Hey Sean! Wanna play catch?" Josh Brooks shouted as he came out into the parking lot of the dairy.
Sean Donovan stopped and looked up eagerly. Then the animation went out of his features. "Nah, I guess not," he said.
"Why?" Josh said. "You sick or something? You never want to play like we used to. Are you mad at me?"
Sean hesitated. "Nah. I just don't wanta."
Mike Donovan, who had just stepped out of the office on his way to the processing plant, stopped, listening. "Sounds like a good idea to me, guys. Mind if a dinosaur like me joins in too?"
"Sum, Mr. Donovan! I'll get another glove!" Josh, a wide grin on his freckled features, raced off.
He was back in a minute with a second battered old glove. "Who wants this one?"
Donovan looked over at Sean. "I'll throw to you two first, then you can throw to me."
"All right," Sean said uncertainly, and Josh tossed him the glove. Sean looked at it, then awkwardly pulled it on his right hand. Mike's eyes narrowed. His son had been on the Little League All-Stars team two years running, playing third base.
"Okay, you guys ready?" Mike pitched the ball to Josh, watched the older, less athletic boy make a passable catch. "Good, Josh! You've improved since last summer!"
"Thanks, Mr. Donovan!"
"Sean's turn now," Mike said, and lined up an easy one to his son. Sean hesitated, reached for it as though he would catch it with his left hand, then, belatedly, put his glove out. The ball whizzed by, rebounding off the chain-link fence at the back of the parking lot.
"Hey, Sean, what's with you?" Josh was staring at his friend. "That was an easy catch."
"Never mind," Mike said as normally as he could manage, feeling his heart seemingly crawling behind his tonsils. "Even Brooks Robinson had to warm up for a minute. I'll give you a high one. Good practice for pop flys."
Winding up, he loosed the ball so it flew high overhead, forcing Sean to back up rapidly, squinting beneath the brim of his Dodgers cap. After a second's hesitation, the boy's gloved hand went into the air—
And missed the ball by at least a foot. Donovan closed his eyes, anguished, his thoughts tumbling over each other helplessly. Please, God, let me kill that bitch Diana before I die. Has anyone noticed? If they see, what'll they do? Must get him away, protect him. But the meeting to set V-day is tonight, can't leave . . . What am I going to do? What should I do?
"Hey, Mr. Donovan . . . you all right?" It was Josh who gazed at him anxiously.
"Uh, yeah." Mike opened his eyes, managed a grin that felt more like a rictus. "Uh, where's Sean?"
"He got real upset when he missed that ball, and ran away. I think he might have been crying. What's wrong with him, Mr. Donovan?"
Mike shook himself mentally. "Oh, nothing, Josh. He told me earlier his history essay for school was giving him a hard time. He probably went to study."
"Sure," said Josh, his brown eyes troubled. "That must be it."
"Of course it is," Donovan said heartily. "Anyone can have a bad day."
Diana looked up when the portal signal flashed. "Enter." she said. When the burly man stepped through the door, she smiled coldly. "Ah, Father Andrew. Thank you for coming. I wanted to tell you I have finished reading your Bible."
<
br /> "And?"
"I've found it very intriguing. I even found myself experiencing an emotional response during certain of its lovely poetic passages."
"That's wonderful! I'm so glad to hear that."
"I've also been considering what might happen if your Earth religions of love and peace—which you humans seem to have such difficulty adhering to—were to be introduced on my planet. If such teachings could affect and sway me, what might result if my less—what's an appropriate idiom—my less . . . hard-boiled . . . kinspeople were to be exposed to them?"
Father Andrew smiled warmly. "It might change the course of history for your planet and all its people."
"Yes. It might. You've impressed me very much, Father Andrew, both you and your God. There is something very attractive about your words. They fall with great impact on the ears of those who are . . . troubled."
"I'm only the mouthpiece, Diana. I try to hear what the Lord wants me to say, and relay it."
"You're too humble. Our discussions over the last few days have been extremely enlightening for me. I've found new strength of purpose because of them. I must thank you for that."
Father Andrew's mouth stretched into a broad grin. "I must admit, this praise is unexpected, coming from someone who is so self-assured."
"Self-assured? Several days ago, I would never have thought of myself as anything else. But you've helped to show me that I do have vulnerabilities. I never allowed myself to express or feel these things before. Indeed, I never even knew they existed."
With considered deliberation, she drew her sidearm and shot the priest point-blank in the chest. As Diana watched him sink to the floor, his eyes wide with shocked betrayal, she finished: "And I won't allow them to exist any longer."
Tossing the Bible down beside the body of the priest, she charred it into slag. Father Andrew, moments from death, looked at her in mute shock. "Vulnerabilities, my dear priest, are exploitable weaknesses. My strength has always lain in being able to do what must be done, without worrying about the consequences to myself or others."
She leaned over to key the intercom. "Jake?"
"Yes, Diana."
"Send a clean-up squad to my quarters immediately."
"Yes, Diana."
A small noise from the other room made her turn. Elizabeth was framed in the doorway, her eyes huge.
The resistance council sat around the table, while Ham Tyler stood before them, writing on a battered old blackboard. Chalk dust made a white haze in the morning light filtering from behind the venetian blinds. "So while the L.A. group is busy at Edwards, the D.C. group will be busy at Andrews, the Portsmouth group will be taking Pease, the Saint Louis folks will be raising hell at Scott. And so forth. Coordinating our efforts like this will leave the Visitors so stunned that it'll take them a few hours to get a unified course of action, and by that time the toxin will be in the air, and it'll be too late."
"Now, has everyone got that straight?" he asked. "The plan, the time, the date? We can't have any screwups, folks."
Everyone indicated that they understood. "Good," Tyler said. "Best of luck to us all. Keep your heads down."
When the group didn't move, he said, "That's all. Reveille at three-thirty A.M. Don't eat too much."
The group broke up, people milling around, talking in smaller groups.
Caleb Taylor looked up as his son came through the door carrying a stack of Visitor uniforms. "Seven, Pop!"
The older man grimaced. "You were supposed to get ten. And you're late. You missed the special briefing Ham Tyler called. Where've you been—toking up?"
"No," said Elias, his face hardening into the old "jive" impassivity. "No, Pop. I thought I'd do it right, and shoot up this time." Dropping the uniforms on the table, he marched out, his back stiff.
His father made a wordless noise of disgust.
"Come on, Caleb," Juliet said, putting a hand on the older man's arm. "Elias is only dealing to the Visitors. He's not doing drugs anymore, and he wouldn't sell them unless it was necessary for our cause. He's changed, Caleb! Can't you see that?"
Caleb refused to look at her. "He's nothin' but a lousy pusher."
Julie's mouth dropped open in sheer indignation. Grabbing Caleb's arm, she hauled him around to face her, her anger making up for her size. "You listen to me, Caleb Taylor! Elias is one of the best we have! I won't have you put him off his stride just hours before this raid—I won't have it, do you hear me? Dammit, Caleb, what's he got to do to make you care about him? Die, like Ben?"
Taylor stared at her, shocked, angry, defensive. Then, as Julie held his gaze unwaveringly, his face sagged. "Is that what I've been doing? Punishing Elias because he's alive, and Ben is dead?"
"Something like that," Julie said softly. "I know you didn't mean it. I think you'd better make your peace before the raid. You don't want something like that on your conscience if—" She took a deep breath, looking down, then raised her eyes to his again. "If something happens on V-day, God forbid."
Caleb nodded. "Thanks, Julie," he whispered after a second, then walked out of the room after Elias.
Donovan had already left the conference room, looking for Sean, his strides coming quickly, his eyes anxious. He finally found the boy in the room next to the conference room, a history book propped open in front of him.
Mike stood in the doorway. "Sean?"
His son sat up with a startled jerk, his eyes wide. "Oh, hi Dad. What is it?"
"I want you to come with me, son. We're going for a ride."
An expression Donovan couldn't read flickered across Sean's features. "Where, Dad?"
"To see your grandma."
He took Harmy's truck after taking the precaution of putting on a white catering uniform and dark glasses, with a white cap to pull down over his eyes. Donovan tried to make conversation as he drove, but Sean replied mostly in monosyllables, until his father gave up.
Two blocks from Eleanor's house, Donovan pulled over to the curb. "Okay if I ask you to walk from here, Sean? It's not safe for me to go any closer." He tugged on the boy's beat-up old Dodgers cap.
"Sure, Dad." The boy hesitated for a second. "How come you're sending me away, Dad?"
"I can't tell you that, son. It's a secret. But it's only for a little while, so you'll be protected, no matter what. Tell your grandmother I said to keep you safe. I know she will."
"Okay, Dad." Sean's eyes held a shadowed appeal as he looked up at his father.
"I love you, son, remember that." Donovan leaned over to hug the boy tightly, kissing his cheek. "Be good for your grandma."
"Okay. Bye, Dad."
Robert Maxwell knocked on the door of his daughter's room. "Binna? It's Daddy. I need to talk to you."
After a minute or two he heard a laconic, "All right. Come in."
He walked into the room, his pupils dilating in the near-darkness. With a muttered curse, he walked over to the blinds and twitched them up. Sunlight flooded the room, showing clearly Robin's lank hair and purple-shadowed eyes. She rolled on her side to avoid the brightness, then lay still again.
Maxwell walked around to sit down on the bed beside her. "Robin, you've got to snap out of this. V-day is only hours away, and you've got to pull yourself together and be prepared to look after the kids. None of us can be spared."
She didn't answer, and there was something fetal about the way she lay curled on the bed. Her father reached out to shake her shoulder. "You look terrible. Your hair's dirty. When was the last time you showered? Or ate a decent meal instead of picking at your food? Or went for a walk with your sisters? You're all the mother they have now. They need you. Are you going to let them down? What would your mother say if she could see you?"
Her voice was muffled. "Leave me alone."
"Dammit, I can't. I need you too badly, Robin. I know you've been through a lot, but so have I! So have all of us. Are you just going to let the rest of your life slip through your fingers because you're too cowardly to pick up the pieces?"
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He felt her jerk convulsively, then she lay still again. "Don't try and shut me out, Robin. It's time to grow up, whether you want to or not. You were the firstborn, and we spoiled you. Frankly, in many ways Polly is a nicer child, because we learned a few lessons with you and didn't make the same mistakes."
He took a deep breath. "But soon she'll be thirteen. Do you want her to suffer problems because she's growing up lonely, without her mother, with a sister who doesn't care about anyone but herself?"
"I've been doing my chores."
"Bullshit. You've been dragging through each day like some kind of zombie, never smiling, never speaking. It depresses people to look at you!"
He heard a muffled sob, but went on relentlessly. "And your schoolwork. Before, you wouldn't study because all you cared about was yakking on the phone with your girlfriends and chasing boys. Now you won't study because life has treated you rotten. What excuse are you going to use in ten years? Or twenty? Unless you try and make up for lost time, you're going to have a life that's so empty you'll try suicide again. You want that?"
She was crying harder now. "I've left you alone as long as I can, Robin. But you have to pull yourself together now. I mean today."
"I'm not Mother! I can't be that strong!"
"And I'm not a fighter, or at least I wasn't when this all started. Now I can put an M-16 together in the dark, and nail my target at three hundred yards. I can rig plastic explosives and throw a grenade. I learned, Robin, because I wanted to live. And you're going to have to learn to want that too."
He reached over and stroked her hair. "I've said some very honest things today, Binna. Things I could only say to an adult. I think you're strong enough to make it, to take control again, we need you so badly, honey."
For long moments he thought perhaps he'd gone too far—or that she had gone so deep he couldn't reach her. But then she moved closer to him. "I'm sorry, Dad. I've let you down."
He reached to gather her up, hold her close. "No you haven't, sweetheart. Nobody can blame you for being so down. It's just that it's time to wake up and smell the coffee."
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