Killer Watts td-118

by Warren Murphy

  "He's inside if you want to talk to him," Ford grumbled.

  "He can handle himself," Beta replied, voice flat. "Here." Beta held out an M-16. "You're going to need it."

  Ford accepted the rifle. He started to lean it against the side of the hut but suddenly thought better of the idea. He placed it across his lap.

  "You really fixed us up good," Beta complained. "My people were happy to wait for Salvion's ark. Now you've dragged us into the middle of some alien war."

  "I don't think so." Ford glanced at the open door. He pitched his voice low. "I think this is a government thing. When I got lost in the desert yesterday, the two guys who found me were looking for him."

  "What two guys?"

  It wasn't Beta RAM who asked the question. Two sets of sick eyes turned to the door of the hut.

  Elizu Roote had apparently adjusted to his new power levels. Standing in the open doorway, he appeared to Ford to be as good as new. The thought failed to comfort the ufologist.

  "Just a couple of guys," Ford said, standing. "I saw one of them at the airport in Roswell the day before yesterday. A really old Chinaman. He was with another guy who I'm sure was from the government. Three-piece gray suit and everything. He had bureaucrat written all over him."

  Beta didn't seem interested in the second man. "The Chinese guy," he said to Ford. "Was he wearin' some kind of crazy dress?"

  "I think they call them kimonos," Ford said, nodding.

  Beta glanced excitedly at Roote. "He was one of the ones that followed me from Las Cruces. I lost them a little while before I picked up the spacecraft tail."

  "That was a helicopter," Ford said, rolling his eyes.

  "They used their energy protection grid to throw off a false image," Beta explained dismissively, as if Ford were a complete idiot.

  "Forget about the ship for now. The old one was with a young guy. He was kind of scary looking. Had the deadest eyes I've ever seen."

  Ford nodded to Roote. "He was the other one in the desert. They were both looking for you at Fort Joy. Luckily I saved you before they could get to you."

  "Alien Detection and Eradication Unit?" Beta said, nodding to Ford.

  "Probably," Ford agreed. "ADEU still civilian?"

  "As far as I know," Beta replied.

  Ford shrugged. "The military is in this, too. Could be the Army's Special Extraterrestrial Tactical Division."

  "SETD?" Beta said, whistling. "Those guys are heavy-duty. I hear they reverse engineered a ton of junk from the Roswell craft. They've got alien technology that's light-years ahead of anything terrestrial."

  "If they're coming after you, you'd better watch your step," Ford cautioned Roote. Beta nodded his agreement.

  Elizu Roote wasn't even listening to the fools chatter.

  "I met the young one already," he drawled softly. "Zapped him at the Last Chance a couple days ago."

  Ford and Beta both seemed surprised. "Did he have any special gadgets? Any alien hardware?"

  "Just a guy in a T-shirt. Thought I killed him."

  "Maybe he has a personal energy field," suggested Beta. "I hear SETD has those."

  "He didn't have nuthin'." Roote shrugged. "Just a guy in a T-shirt. Nuthin' special."

  "He's the first person who's come up against you and lived that I know of," Arthur Ford said worriedly. "The fact he's still alive makes him special."

  Elizu Roote didn't seem concerned.

  "Won't be special for long," he said. His matter-of-fact tone chilled the spines of both alien enthusiasts. As the two men shuddered in fear, Elizu Roote wandered undisturbed back inside his tin shed.

  REMO REGRETTED his choice of vehicle the instant he turned his stolen car onto the winding mountain path.

  The Camaro took the dips and ruts like a bronco that had spent the day slurping from a spiked trough. When the nose wasn't dropping precipitously forward with every tiny hollow, the lightweight rear end was sliding back and forth as if they were driving on a skating rink. For the entire trip into the hills, the low undercarriage scraped a furrow along the dirt path.

  The drag coming from beneath the car was so bad, Remo could imagine some enterprising Indians planting corn in the dirt they'd plowed up.

  In the bucket seat beside him, the Master of Sinanju had placed one delicate finger against the ceiling to keep from being thrown around the interior of the car.

  "This carriage is appalling," Chiun complained over the grinding and bumping of the Camaro. "Yeah, but it looks cool," Remo pointed out.

  "Laud its frigid appearance to your undertaker," the Master of Sinanju retorted. "One would have to be a lunatic to purchase one of these contrivances."

  "Don't look at me. I didn't buy, I stole."

  As a precaution, once they were only a few hundred yards up the path, Remo had turned off the car's headlights. The engine sound remained loud, but at least if Roote was above them somewhere, he wouldn't have as easy a target to follow.

  In spite of the darkness, Remo and Chiun both saw the road clearly, although Remo was still having trouble with distances. The path pitched crazily ahead of them with every uncertain bounce of the Camaro's shocks.

  Driving far too fast for safety along a particularly treacherous strip of road, Remo steered around a huge knot of tumbled boulders. The burning wreckage of an Army helicopter suddenly appeared before them, flying toward the nose of the car at incredible speed.

  As soon as he'd spotted the crashed aircraft, Remo's heightened senses took over. Almost before his mind knew what was happening, he was slamming on the brakes.

  The car completed a 360-degree turn as it skidded to a sudden stop on the desolate mountain road. While it was spinning, Remo heard a loud snap from beneath the car.

  The Camaro finally slid to a stop, nudging the flaming Huey.

  Chiun and Remo were both out of the car in an instant. Remo dropped down to his knees, looking for the source of the noise he had heard while they were twirling.

  "I am not getting in that vehicle with you again," Chiun announced, breathless.

  "Doesn't matter," Remo said, getting up. He dusted off his hands. "Transmission just dropped out."

  Remo walked over to the Huey. He didn't expect to find any survivors, but he wanted to be certain. The Master of Sinanju trailed behind him.

  "You are like one of those elderly people I see on television. Your driving skills have deteriorated with age, yet you refuse to relinquish your license."

  "I got us here all right, didn't I?"

  There were only two soldiers within the burning wreckage. Both were dead.

  "We do not even know where here is," Chiun announced.

  "Yes, we do," Remo said. Turning away from the bodies, he looked up the hill. The charred, mangled path the helicopter had taken as it crashed down the hillside was clearly visible. "Here is where we punch Roote's ticket once and for all."

  His face a cruel mask of rigid determination, Remo headed for the rocky slope. And the killer that waited above.

  Chapter 26

  Arthur Ford was beginning to second-guess his decision to bring his alien to Camp Earth.

  The men and women were willing to help; that was clear. They marched back and forth at the edge of the camp, their silhouettes visible in the flickering light of a dozen separate fires. But they were still hopelessly mired in the pap Beta RAM had been feeding them.

  It might have been better for Ford if he had taken Roote out into the desert on his own. They would have found a way to survive somehow.

  Too late to go back now.

  As he walked along through the shadowy night, Ford adjusted the M-16 slung across his shoulder. The strap was biting into his skin.

  Technically he was not part of either watch. However, on further consideration he had decided that he couldn't sit and wait for the invasion to come. He had to be out there. With the troops. Away from Elizu Roote.

  Not that Ford had suddenly become a doer. He was just having second thoughts about his theory that
his safety hinged on his proximity to Roote. It had occurred to Ford that if government fumes were going to descend on the camp to find Roote, perhaps next to the alien was not the best place to be after all.

  And so Ford was away. Far, far away.

  He strolled along the farthest point from Roote's tiny shack.

  Touring the perimeter, Ford came upon a pair of men near the line of crippled Camp Earth cars. They were arguing in hushed voices.

  "You saw what he did," said the younger of the two. "He's a Being of Light, just like Beta said."

  "I don't know," said the other man. He was in his late forties and wore a shirt emblazoned with a single grimy marijuana leaf. "I guess it could be."

  "Could be, my ass," the young one scoffed. Startled by a sudden footstep nearby, the two of them spun to face Ford. When the young man turned to him, Ford saw that his T-shirt was decorated with the rough sketch of an alien head common to abductees-lightbulb head, large almondshaped eyes, narrow neck.

  The men relaxed when they saw Arthur Ford. "You scared me, man," the young one exhaled.

  "Anything yet?" Ford pressed.

  "Nope. It's as quiet as a black hole out here," the older one announced.

  Ford nodded his approval. "Stay alert," he commanded.

  Turning, he headed back for the collection of huts.

  As he walked away from the two guards, Ford was disturbed to find that he was suddenly getting the eerie sensation that someone was watching him.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the two men. Neither was looking in his direction. They were both staring out into the inky blackness. Spooky.

  Shivering, Arthur Ford picked up his pace, hurrying for the safety of the campfires.

  "THAT'S THAT DIP from the desert," Remo whispered. He nodded to the retreating form of Arthur Ford.

  "I have eyes," the Master of Sinanju replied. They had scaled the sheer face of the mountainside, skirting Camp Earth entirely. The two of them were lying on a bluff overlooking the encampment.

  From their vantage point, they had a commanding view of the entire camp. Beyond the cliff at the edge of Camp Earth, the sparkling, midnight-black waters of the Rio Grande shimmered off into the distance in either direction.

  "So I guess this is where he brought Roote, but I don't see the psycho anywhere." He squinted down at the camp.

  "How can you tell?" Chiun asked. "One dung beetle is indistinguishable from another."

  "Come on, Chiun," Remo said. "Smith showed you his file picture. Tell me if I'm missing something."

  "You are missing a brain. And I do not see him, either," Chiun admitted, frowning deeply.

  "So he must be in one of the buildings," Remo reasoned. "I'll start at the far end. You start down there. We'll meet in the middle."

  He began to rise, but the Master of Sinanju placed a restraining hand on his forearm.

  "Have you forgotten our bargain?"

  Remo slumped back down. "I'm fine," he insisted.

  "You mask it well, my son, I will admit," Chiun said softly. "But I have ears. Your heart yet beats incorrectly. Even now, when your eyes fail, you ask me to see for you. In spite of your protestations, you are not completely well."

  Though it bothered him to admit it, Remo knew it was true. He had healed greatly since his encounter with Roote, but he wasn't yet one hundred percent.

  Sighing, he settled back to the ground. "Remember what I told you," Remo insisted morosely. "The guy packs a wallop. Watch yourself."

  "Your concern is heartening, but not necessary," Chiun said, standing. "I will unplug the bulb from your lightning bug and return forthwith."

  Gathering up the hems of his skirts, the Master of Sinanju marched down the hillside.

  Remo followed him with his eyes. As his teacher's back faded into the shadows beneath him, Remo said a silent prayer to Chiun's ancestors. For both of them.

  WALTER MALPA HAD BEEN claiming for many years that he was the victim of multiple alien abductions. He had claimed this even after his parents had thrown him out of their home. He claimed it after his family and friends had disowned him. He continued to claim it even after he'd lost his job.

  But even though he claimed it loudly to everyone he met, there had always been a small, shameful part of Walter that actually doubted his own story. A tiny part of him that thought everyone might be right. He might actually be crazy.

  That was, until today.

  He had seen with his own eyes what Elizu Roote had done. The rest of the Camp Earthers could argue until the cows came home whether the aircraft had been a helicopter or a spaceship, but either way it didn't matter. Roote had blasted it out of the sky.

  Elizu Roote was the real deal. A genuine, bona fide, absolute, definite space alien.

  The only thing that troubled Walter was the fact that Roote didn't match the typical alien depictions.

  Traditionally aliens had long fingers, large heads and big, elongated eyes. At least that was the way they were always being sketched. That was the way Walter claimed to remember them after each of his many kidnappings.

  Walter felt that if Roote had only fit the proper alien description, everything would finally make sense. He could go back to his family and prove once and for all that he was not a head case. And that little niggling spot of self-doubt would be banished from his mind forever.

  Walter sat on the hood of one of the Camp Earth cars thinking of proper aliens. As he cradled his M-16 in his lap, he stared blankly into the shadows down the road.

  A real shame. A crying, crying shame.

  As he sat lamenting his misfortune, Walter became aware of a gentle wash of movement at the very edge of his vision.

  It was as if someone were slowly turning a control knob on reality, bringing forward from the darkness a shape that had always been there.

  When the strange congealing of shadows was complete, Walter Malpa was startled to find himself confronting a genuine space alien.

  The creature was dressed in a glittering silver robe. A hairless head was balanced atop the most delicate neck Walter had ever seen. Even the eyes were the right shape-teardrops turned on their sides, tugged up to tiny ears.

  Walter slid off the car.

  So enraptured was Walter with the wizened figure that strode toward him from the darkness, he didn't even realize he had abandoned his gun. The M-16 lay on the hood of the car on which he had been sitting.

  Mouth hanging open in shock, he tapped the shoulder of the man with him. The other guard had been looking in the opposite direction.

  "What?" the man said, turning.

  Seeing the approaching creature, he stopped dead.

  The second man looked at the alien image on Walter's T-shirt. He glanced back at the strange apparition. His jaw dropped open, as well.

  Neither sentry said a word as the silvery phantom slid up the path and stopped directly before the two men.

  The creature was so tiny, it had to lift its head in order to look them in the eye. When it spoke, its voice was a lyrical singsong.

  "Take me to your leader," the Master of Sinanju commanded firmly.

  ARTHUR FORD SPIED Chiun while the old man was still conversing with the two guards. He was stunned that the men didn't fire at him. His shock gave way to horror when he realized that one of the men wasn't even carrying a gun. For some reason, he had discarded it.

  The other man still held his weapon, but it was down at his side, hanging by its strap. The second guard obviously had no intention of using it.

  Mind control. That was the only possibility. Beta RAM was right. Remo and Chiun were extraterrestrials.

  The invasion of Camp Earth had begun, and their troops were falling under the spell of the invading army.

  Roote would have to be warned. Though an alien himself, he was the last hope for humanity. And for Arthur Ford.

  Running, tripping, Ford raced away from the cluster of huts to the lonely shed of Elizu Roote.

  ABOVE CAMP EARTH, Remo spied Arthur Ford running i
n the direction opposite Chiun.

  There was only a lonely tin hut beyond the main camp. Ford seemed to be heading toward it and the Rio Grande.

  Remo did some quick calculations. Ford had saved Roote once already. He appeared now to be a man with a purpose.

  It didn't take long for Remo to come to a conclusion. There wasn't much doubt in Remo's mind where Arthur Ford was running now. And to whom.

  Chiun didn't see Ford. From his position on the road, the dilapidated shacks of the main village blocked the Master of Sinanju's view.

  Although Remo still felt out of sorts, he didn't think that he was in the dire condition Chiun claimed. As long as he kept his wits about him, he'd be okay. Besides, he'd just keep an eye on Roote until Chiun arrived and watch the old Korean's back if he underestimated his opponent.

  In spite of Chiun's warnings, Remo got carefully to his feet. He began to pick his way stealthily across the rocky ledge toward the lone shack.

  Chapter 27

  "Behold, lesser mortals, the Master of Sinanju!" Chiun held his arms out wide. His kimono sleeves flapped like the wings of a giant silver moth.

  "Is that like a Time Lord?" someone asked. Chiun's hazel eyes narrowed.

  "Is that something that is terribly powerful?"

  Many of the Camp Earthers shrugged. "Sure. Yeah. Absolutely." The words were accompanied by confident nods.

  "Then I am that, as well," he announced.

  "See? What did I tell you?" Walter Malpa enthused. He pulled the hem of his untucked T-shirt in order to better display the picture emblazoned across the front. "He's one of these guys."

  "He looks human," someone suggested.

  "Yeah," agreed another.

  "Sort of Chinese."

  "'Chinese' and 'human' are mutually exclusive," the Master of Sinanju said flatly.

  There was an abrupt commotion at the edge of the crowd. An M-16 barrel suddenly battled its way through the excited throng. At the far end of the weapon was Beta RAM. He aimed the barrel at Chiun's chest.

  "Are you people crazy!" he screamed at the other Camp Earthers. He glanced around, eyes wild. Many of the men and women had discarded their weapons. "Pick up your guns!"

  Most of them sheepishly gathered up the rifles they had dropped to the dirt.