by Platt, Sean
“And?” Charlie asked.
Nathan pointed. “I see an animal at a watering hole. It’s fueling up. For what?”
“We assume they’re powered with fusion reactors. They probably scoop hydrogen from the atmosphere.”
“I’m not talking about what makes them fly.”
Charlie looked for a second like he might argue because trying to seem superior during a dispute is what he did. “I’m not either,” he finally said.
“How many of these money pit things are there around the world, do you think?”
“There’s no way to be sure. We know of eleven. This one, the one under Dempsey’s old place in Vail, pits at the other eight capitals, and the original on Oak Island. When the Internet was up, some of the people Benjamin talked to claimed they had satellite feeds capable of seeing blooms like that one there.” He nodded toward the ship. “But we’ve only ever seen them suckling power from this one.”
“We saw the same,” Nathan said. “I had this theory for a while that the motherships would all visit something like that to charge up, like rubbing your feet across a rug to make static electricity. There’s not a lot to do out there, and our access, thanks to our partnership, was mostly unrestricted. So I believe what I saw. And it never happened. The motherships don’t seem to draw power from the pits below them. They’re just docked. Oak Island hasn’t, as far as I’ve seen, even been visited. It’s just this one. This one ranch, where all sorts of weird shit has happened over the years, mecca to paranormal investigators.”
“What’s your point?”
“Why is this ship here now? Why is it charging up?” He nodded toward the ship’s silver belly. “This is exactly what we were watching for.”
“It’s one ship.”
“Why now?”
“I don’t know.”
Andreus moved around Charlie then met his eye.
“You’re sure watching it a lot for someone who doesn’t think it’s any big deal.”
Charlie turned, meeting Nathan’s eye.
“Do you know SETI?”
“The people who used to spend every day listening to space for alien radio.”
“Correct,” said Charlie. “After Black Monday, the air went out of a lot of the world’s governments. I’d guess they’re still out there, hiding, planning ways to rattle their sabers. But programs like NASA and SETI fell apart too. Except that they didn’t. Not really. Benjamin used to talk to a group who was working rogue on some of the SETI equipment — remotely, I’m sure.”
“And?”
“Before the Astrals censored the net, near the beginning, those people told us they were finding new signals. From the moon.”
“So now there really are little green men on the moon?”
“These people weren’t official SETI. They didn’t understand the data at first. Turns out, they were hearing an echo. Something not from the moon, but bouncing off the moon.”
“From where?” Nathan asked.
“Earth.”
Nathan’s tongue found the corner of his cheek. He’d come out here to tell Charlie about an unpleasant itch that he knew Cameron and Piper wouldn’t be able to hear, as keyed up and jumping at literal shadows as they were. Now there was this plan to head into the throat of Heaven’s Veil, which Nathan was okay with … though for very different reasons. He respected Cameron, but since the beginning they’d never truly seen eye to eye. Now his father’s loss had damaged the kid. Made his decisions stupid and in need of a guiding hand — with rational assistance like Charlie’s, if he could get it.
Nathan thought he’d come out here with a warning worth heeding: After two years of dormancy, their little Cottonwood stunt seemed to have prompted the Astrals into action. But as it turned out, Charlie held the trump card.
“The message obviously wasn’t something we could interpret, but it seemed too unchanging to act as more than a beacon,” Charlie continued. “That bugged me. Because if the Astral fleet was already here, what was the purpose of sending a signal?”
“You think they were calling home.”
Charlie shrugged. “The archaeological records say they’ve come, taught us, then destroyed humanity. Over and over. But what’s the point? My theory at the time — and the beacon fit right into this — stated it was research of some sort. And that they wouldn’t move on until their fieldwork for any given round was done.”
“You’re saying that Earth is an ant farm.”
“Maybe. And if so, they’d want to communicate their findings. They’d need to call home, if they didn’t want to wait until the planet was cleaned up before working on what they’d found. But it was only a beacon. A repeating signal. They’d only need to send a real signal after they had enough information.” Charlie’s eyebrows twitched. “Once they were done with us.”
Nathan looked back at the ship. Charlie’s theory fit in with his and Coffey’s discussion. Charlie was a scientist. Neither Nathan nor Jeanine had been before the Astrals turned them all into astronomers. But he knew how to fight, and how he’d proceed were he in the aliens’ shoes.
“When was this?” Nathan asked. “When you noticed the ‘beacon’?”
“Before the net was censored. But after they began building the Apex in Vail. And, presumably, around the world.”
“I heard Benjamin theorize that the Apex was like an antenna,” Nathan said.
“There are nine capitals, each with an Apex pyramid. So no, it’s not just an antenna. It’s an array.”
“If your guess is right,” Nathan said, “what would that ‘array’ need before it could send a data-rich signal through space — once they had reason to relay information for real?”
Charlie nodded toward the ship, apparently gathering a charge from the underground pit. “Power.”
Nathan’s head turned as well. In the corner of his eye, something seemed to move. But it was just a trick of light. The hardpan between their position and the ranch’s remains was empty.
“Let’s head to Vail regardless,” Nathan said. “Whether Cameron is right about Thor’s Hammer or not.”
“I don’t want to go at all.” Charlie bit his lip. “But I will.”
Chapter Sixteen
By the time Christopher arrived at the police station, the sun was halfway down and the Veil’s north-south streets were rich with shadow. Reptar patrols surprised him no fewer than five times, and Christopher found himself staring down the blue-glowing maw of one of the beasts, hearing its gut-deep purr. Each time, he pointed to his uniform, implying his right to be exactly where he was unless the Astrals planned to drop the facade and take over for real. And each time, the thing let him pass — leaving the distinct impression that a clock, inside Heaven’s Veil, was ticking on the human/Astral alliance.
The station had begun preparations for nightfall. The lights, once away from the viceroy mansion, were entirely out. Generators could be heard running behind several of the businesses, giving the air a vague tang of gasoline. Where lights ran, they were too bright and scattered — positioned like shop bulbs, meant more for utility than decorum.
Christopher fought his way through workmen in blue who were setting up large tripods with big lights up top, like something on a back lot. He stepped through a snake’s nest of black cables, minding his footwork. In the middle, surrounded by milling Titans whose presence was clearly unwelcome, was the big form of Malcolm Jons.
“Christopher,” he said, less authoritatively than Chris had come to expect from the big man, who was usually shouting. He beckoned with a frying pan-sized hand. “Get over here. I don’t know that I’ve ever been more glad to see someone in my life, except my family or my god.”
Christopher resisted the urge to ask if Jons had actually seen God. Stranger things had happened.
The big hand settled on Christopher’s shoulder. Jons looked up a short set of stone steps into the HVPD station. Inside were more Titans — a stray Reptar purred as it scuttled behind on insect legs. That was somethin
g Christopher never thought he’d see. But then again, he never thought he’d see Reptars in the viceroy’s mansion, either.
Jons’s face twisted in disgust as he looked through the station’s door. He moved his hand to Christopher’s back, turned him around, and said, “Walk with me.”
Once away from the door and alien ears, Christopher found himself facing Jons in a loose knot of roving policeman. Some were helping with the street lighting, apparently deciding that the lights would still be off come nightfall. Most were simply pretending to help, not wanting to enter the Astral-infested station any more than Jons had. Watching them, Christopher had the strangest feeling: the streets weren’t lit to prevent crime, but to make sure a night patrolled by Astral peacekeepers wouldn’t be entirely dark, for the officers’ sake.
“Did you ask about the Apex?”
“I asked Raj. He said …” Christopher paused, unsure whether Jons would be offended. Christopher decided he would be. But Jons was strong, and his offense would be in the right direction. “He basically said to tell you to fuck off.” Another pause. “Sir.”
Jons looked for a second like he might scowl. He laughed instead.
“That kid might as well have scales and eyes that change color. I expected as much.”
“He said it’ll pull the amperage it’s supposed to. I don’t want to ask any of them to dim their lights.” Christopher’s eyes strayed to the Apex. Now that the light was lower and the nearly finished pyramid was in shadow, he could see its slow pulse plainly. Had it always done that? Christopher didn’t think so.
“Doesn’t matter anyway. Our old trickle seems to be off for good anyway.”
Christopher looked around. The square around the station was fully lit, as was the station itself. Generators hummed around the buildings.
“Even in there,” Jons said, following Christopher’s glance. “So we’ve got lights and copiers. No Internet, or way of reaching the other capitals. My phone’s stopped working. Yours?”
Christopher nodded.
“Same for the hard lines. The Astrals may have a way to communicate, but they’re not sharing. Tell the truth, I think they’re deaf, too. They can fly fast, and talk like that, going from here to there. It’s been shuttles in and out for an hour now, much more than usual. We’re just being handed commands from the Titans, but I don’t think they’re talking over the air. I think it’s all Alien Pony Express.” Again, he made finger gestures in the air, indicating the ships that ran hither and yon to talk in person.
“Look. I know you’re house guard, but I’m getting a strong vibe of every man and alien for himself as shit falls apart around here. They’re keeping cool now, but you should have seen them a while ago. There were all these shuttles buzzing around, and when they came out — Reptars and Titans — they were pissed. Tell the truth, it scares me. Frightens a lot of my people. So we’re in this together, you and me. All us humans.”
Jons looked around, scoping for Astrals. The knot around them remained human.
“City’s on lockdown, Chris. High fucking alert. They’re buzzing the place like a battle zone, and it’ll only get worse. More peacekeepers coming in, offloaded by the dozens. There’s nothing official yet, but I expect that to change. Heaven’s Veil is about to become a police state.”
“Because of the blackout?”
Jons shook his head. “Something happened in the desert. They won’t give us details. And you know how they are with communication. They either mind-rape images at you or talk on the computers. Without the network, the last is shit. Right now, in the station, there are Titans trying to figure out our keyboards so they can type shit at us. It’s embarrassing. For them more than us.”
Christopher craned his neck, newly interested in the station’s interior. Now that he had some context, Chris could see some of what Jons had mentioned: Astrals talking to humans, the humans not comprehending, ranting, annoyed. Titans patiently trying again, like big, ironically dumb, superior animals.
“I just know that some of the rebels out there tried something. Something that actually worked judging by the Astral response. It’s like they realized bees have stingers. They’ve even tried to take our guns. This partnership has a half-life, Chris. Shit’s about to get bad.”
“Lila’s brother is with the rebels.” Christopher paused, feeling like he must look caught. But not only did the entire city know that Trevor and Piper had hopped into that armored car to flee the city; Jons himself had smiled as if in on the secret. As if he didn’t only know about Trevor and Piper’s rebellious acts, but applauded them.
“Like I said, no details. We heard some shit. Saw a lot of shuttles run off, headed southwest, like their alien asses were on fire. They all got real agitated. Restless. Then the shuttles came back, and all the we’re in this together kind of fell apart at once. One of my men pulled his weapon when he was surprised by a Reptar, and the thing just ripped him apart. When other cops crowded around, I thought there’d be more blood. But it stopped there, and we cleaned up his pieces.”
“What happened?”
“Don’t know. Something they didn’t like. We know they were hit back, and hard. But we also know that some were allowed to live, for reasons unknown or at least unspoken. But they don’t seem to trust any of us. So I need your help, Chris. Whatever manpower you can give me.”
Christopher sighed. “I’ll try. But Raj—”
He was cut off by a tall man who’d entered their loose knot mostly unseen, waiting his turn to speak.
“I’ll handle Raj,” said the deep voice.
Jons nodded a welcome to the newcomer, seemingly relieved, maybe grateful for the help.
Christopher’s reaction, on the other hand, was more on the spectrum of shock.
Viceroy Dempsey wasn’t dead.
Chapter Seventeen
Heather heard the commotion as Christopher returned, as Raj ran downstairs to meet and berate him while being a loudmouth little bitch, then again as Mo Weir beat his saffron ass with a flurry of words.
Heather had to see.
She ran down the hallway barefoot, her utilitarian clothing unchanged since she’d run off with Meyer, since he’d died in her arms. She was covered in blood, but so far she’d ignored it — somewhere between denial and its opposite. She didn’t want to consider what had happened or what might happen next. She wanted everyone to know that her granddaughter’s daddy was a monster, and that proof was splashed all over her.
Whatever had been happening in the foyer broke up before Heather could reach it. Then Raj rounded the corner and came at her, stalking, his eyes unreadable.
Heather flinched, sure he was after her despite Mo’s reprimand. But Raj bolted by without eye contact, his posture defeated, bent at the upper back as if he’d been swatted with a newspaper.
Heather turned to watch him go, walking almost sideways. She didn’t see Mo round the same corner behind her and struck him full on in his dark-suited chest.
Except that Mo didn’t wear dark suits, and wasn’t this tall.
Come to think of it, the voice she’d heard beating Raj had been much deeper than Mo’s.
Heather looked up. Met green eyes. And would have fallen to the floor if strong arms hadn’t caught her.
“Meyer?”
He was smiling. When was the last time she’d seen Meyer smile? He hadn’t done it often in his old life, and definitely hadn’t smiled much since ET had shoved his hand up Meyer’s ass to use him like a puppet. Pre-abduction Meyer had been stoic and hard. Post-abduction Meyer had been kind of a dick, if she could get past thinking ill of the dead enough to say so.
“Hey, Heather.”
“You’re …”
She stopped herself. Something descended inside her mind like a steel blast door. She flinched away from him, pushing off, staggering backward. He continued to smile, enjoying her reaction. She considered running from … well, from whatever the hell this was. Except that it was her ex-husband, who, it seemed, had never quite
stopped loving her.
“Surprise,” he said.
“You’re dead.”
“Funny, I feel alive.”
Heather shook her head. “I watched you die. I could feel your breath against my lap. I was watching your wound, where Raj shot you, and it stopped pulsing blood. I stayed, Meyer. I stayed with your body for minutes afterward.”
“I remember.”
“You remember dying?”
“Heather, calm down.” He raised his arms and took two steps forward. She took three steps back, rapping a door frame. The room behind it was empty. She could dart inside. Slam and lock the door. Then crawl out a window, or shout for help.
But she stayed rooted, meeting Meyer’s pleasant gaze — the kind of a look a man might give you if he hadn’t bled out all over your pants.
“No, I don’t remember dying. But I remember everything before you think I died.” He looked both ways down the hall, possibly because this dead man’s final actions had been distinctly anti-Astral, and because the town’s chaos, thick with the Canned Heat virus, was at least half his fault.
“I remember running.”
He took a step.
“I remember meeting Raj, on the motorcycle.”
He took another step. Heather stayed frozen. The door frame pressed into her back. Her heartbeat throbbed in her temples, breath shallow.
“I remember being shot.” He laughed — as strange to Heather’s ears as his smile. He rubbed his chest where the bullet had ended him. “I don’t recommend it.”
He took the last step. He could reach her now. She should have run, but didn’t. Couldn’t.
“You’re smiling. Why are you smiling?”
“I guess I remember the last bit, too.”
Love you.
Words he’d seldom said in his old life. Words he shouldn’t have said to Heather at all these days, dead or alive.
“What last bit?” She wanted to hear him say it. Not because she believed him or felt the same. She very much did not. If he touched her, she’d scream. Because he was dead. Because she’d begun making her peace. She’d felt the energy leave him, as he’d slumped like meat on her body. Heather had stayed with him longer than she should have. Until she heard the ruckus and an overhead shuttle shocked her into motion. She’d started running, leaping over Raj’s knocked-out body before he stirred. She hadn’t known where to go, and through her sobs, which she’d fought to keep quiet, she’d heard him calling — a second bullet, with her name on it.