V_The 2nd Generation

by Kenneth Johnson

  "All fly off to Acapulco? Have a nice vacation?" He was grinning. "Little surf and turf maybe?"

  She looked at him, then smiled sadly, appreciating his attempted humor. She hugged him close with her forehead against his shoulder and her eyes closed. She didn't see his look of deep concern about his family's future.

  Charlotte was fluffing and rearranging the meager pillows for her weak, ailing grandfather as she spoke good-naturedly, "You look better today, Poppy."

  "You're the worst liar in San Francisco." He smiled back, then narrowed his gaze as he studied her with eyes that had been dimmed by macular degeneration propelled by his diabetes. "And you looked kind of peaked this morning, sugar."

  "What?" Her face crinkled up incredulously. "Don't be silly, I'm fine. I'll get your meds."

  She turned to a small wooden cabinet nearby, searching among the books, pencils, and glasses that were crowded atop it. She found his pill bottle and with her back to the old man she noted that only one pill remained within. As she turned to him, she dropped the bottle, endeavoring to make it look accidental. "Oopsie. Good one, Char." She knelt down and pretended to be searching for it beneath his couch. She felt her grandfather's creped hands lovingly stroke her long, beautiful black hair. She knew how deeply he cared for her. He'd often said that her presence alone always improved his outlook and that he was very fond of the faint fragrance of jasmine that accompanied her.

  Unseen by him, Charlotte had pulled her own pill bottle from her pocket. Except for her name on it, the bottles and medications were identical. Charlotte poured her last two pills into the old man's bottle.

  THE PARNASSAS POLICE STATION WAS ACROSS FROM THE U.C. MEDical Center at the southeast corner of Golden Gate Park. A boxy, bland, mid-twentieth-century building, it was equally uninspiring on the inside. The air bore a faint green glow from the fluorescent lights in the ceiling and there was always a lingering smell of industrial soap common to bureaucratic environs. Due to the uncertain hygiene of the people constantly coming and going there were also occasional whiffs of potent body odor. The squad room was a large space with numerous desks pushed back to back creating a maze. Various SFPD officers, Teammates, and Patrollers were busy at their various tasks, talking on phones, checking computers, or questioning the cross section of humanity who sat by their desks. Through this buzz of activity Danny Stein's nervous father Sidney was following a Visitor Patrol captain who had the strong face of a thirty-something African-American. The captain was tall, square-shouldered, and imposing. His alien voice resonance was lower-pitched than most, lending it gravitas. "Your son agreed to identify the dealer who's dispensing the vids. As soon as he does we'll release him."

  "Oh, thank God"—Sidney sagged with relief—"I really appreciate you taking time to check it out for me. It was so unlike Danny to ever do—"

  "No problem, Sidney"—the captain was making notes on a large PDA—"now, you're late for training. Get on in there."

  "Yes, sir"—Sidney gave the palm-up salute—"and thank you again, sir. Thanks."

  Sid hurried quickly toward the assembly room passing a frightened, bearded, wide-eyed vagrant who smelled of cheap wine. He stood at the booking desk rambling a mile a minute to a preoccupied Hispanic cop and a stout middle-aged female Teammate. "I ain't never seen nothing like it, I tell ya!" The vagrant was shaping the air in front of him with gnarled hands. "I seen that big one-eyed bitch break people in half that were twice her size. But tonight"—he was searching for the best way to describe the indescribable—"tonight was different. One minute she was this 250-pound wrestler, but then this wiry black chick jumps into the ring and kisses her—kisses her, you understand? When they turned the wrestler over she was all caved-in."

  The cop looked up, thinking the story ludicrous. He said, deadpan, "Caved-in?"

  "I mean to tell ya." The vagrant nodded, grateful he'd finally gotten their attention. "Her face was all dried-out. Like a goddamn husk. Transparentlike. You could see her veins and bones inside and she was all flaky, like something had sucked all the bodily fluids right outta her."

  "Like you sucked all the fluids out of a case of Ripple?" The overworked cop motioned to the Teammate. "Get him the hell out of here."

  Adjoining the squad room was a bland, square assembly room where a Teammate unit was forming ranks. Sid scrambled in and found his place among the others. The unit consisted of thirty-two men and women of various ethnicities from age thirteen up through their mid-fifties. They all snapped to attention as the black Patrol captain entered and moved to the podium facing them, his deep voice resonating, "At ease, Teammates."

  There was a long folding table beside him with an array of pulse weapons carefully laid out. A Visitor Patroller was dismantling one of the sleek, high-tech rifles. The captain gestured toward the guns. "Tonight we'll begin training you with the new upgrade of our pulse weapons."

  There were grins and other positive reactions among the Teammates. Several glanced at each other with enthusiasm.

  "I knew you'd like that." The captain smiled. "But first, Teammate Sidney Stein?"

  Sidney snapped back to stiff attention. "Sir!"

  The captain strolled slowly along the line of Teammates in front of Sidney while glancing at the PDA in his hands. "We've been reviewing your record, Teammate Stein." Sidney felt his stomach lighten as though it were being filled uncomfortably with helium. There was a pause. "It's very clean."

  Sidney was greatly relieved. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

  "But it's also very undistinguished."

  Sidney frowned, confused now. "Sir?"

  "It is the record of someone only fulfilling the minimum requirements, someone just going through the motions." The captain was eyeing him with disappointment.

  Sidney was a bookish accountant and had never been good at thinking on his feet. He was thoroughly ill at ease. "But, sir, no, I've—"

  "You've just never had that level of total commitment and enthusiasm that your fellow Teammates demand."

  Sidney realized that the other members of his unit were all looking at him now and that two strong young Teammates had appeared on either side of him.

  "Sir, please." Sidney felt a drop of perspiration slide from his armpit and trail down his skin beneath his blue uniform shirt. "This is a mistake. I—"

  "The mistakes have been yours, Sidney," the captain said sadly. He grasped his own hands behind his back and rocked slightly on his heels. "And your lack of parental inspiration has allowed your son Daniel to wander down illegal paths. You've disappointed your fellow Teammates who know that strict discipline is always necessary." The captain's deep voice lowered portentously. "You're going to be sent to our Motivational Unit." The two younger Teammates took Sidney's arms into their firm grips and began to lead him out.

  "Sir. Please"—Sidney was getting panicky now—"just let me speak to you a moment. Sir?"

  The captain turned away as Sidney was led past several of the ardently dedicated Teammates who sneered at him and also past some of those who were just like Sidney—who were "going along to get along." In that moment all of the go-alongs knew that the fearful message was meant for them. A trip to the Motivational Unit was always one-way. Unless they wanted to suffer Sidney's unknown fate they'd better shape up quickly, toe the line, and work in support of the Visitors.

  In his holding cell within the police station, young Danny Stein was standing nervously to one side among the seven other people being held there. One was a sour-smelling, drugged-out street person who had threatened Danny at first, but now seemed to be in a pharmacological haze. The other six were apparently ordinary citizens like Danny. They were all silent and wore looks of distress. Danny heard a low hum begin and turned to look out the barred window of the cell that faced the parking lot behind the station.

  A Visitor shuttle craft about the size of a city bus was waiting in the police station lot. It had started its magnetic engine. Then Danny saw his father Sidney, with his hands on his head, being prodded to
ward the vehicle amid other prisoners about to be transported. The window was smudged badly but Danny could still make out the tears on his distraught father's cheek.

  Danny felt his own throat tightening with emotion as he watched his father disappear into the craft and the upper hatch come down overtop the lower one. The shuttle hatches had always reminded Danny of a large metal mouth closing. The hum of the shuttle's engines increased and it lifted off. Danny was grieved and felt a great burden of guilt lowering upon him as he watched the shuttle carry his father upward and away toward the mammoth Flagship overhead, only partly visible in the night and fog.

  7

  AS DAWN CAME THE NEXT DAY THE AIR WAS VERY CLEAR. VISITOR fighter pilots heading out on patrol from the Flagship over San Francisco could look westward and see all the way to the horizon across the Pacific Desert. There was heightened activity all around the huge Mothership that hung in the sky four thousand feet above the city. Numerous shuttle craft as well as many two-hundred-foot-long tanker craft were outbound or inbound as usual, but twice the normal number of fighters were flying on patrol.

  Inside Hangar Bay Eighteen, Willy was emerging with several other Visitors from one of the transport tubes that laced through the gigantic ship like the capillary blood vessels inside a whale. Hangar Bay Eighteen was like the other landing bays, about two hundred yards square with proportionally large hangar doors that opened to allow the various Visitor craft to enter and exit. The shiny gray floor of the main deck had sequential landing lights built into it. On either side of the broad central landing area were smaller bays designed to accommodate individual shuttles, tankers, or fighters, depending upon the particular mission requirement of each of the 250 landing bays.

  Above the main flight deck there were twenty-five additional levels of individual platformed bays that from below looked like so many balconies overhanging the central atrium. As with all Visitor facilities, the hangar bays were kept very clean by custodians who were primarily of the half-breed caste. The walls were a medium gray and the numerous metal catwalks were slightly darker. To accommodate the Visitors' sensitive eyes, the built-in lighting was as subdued as possible, though with the fifty-ton hangar bay doors fully open, the sunlight from outside illuminated the lower regions quite thoroughly during the daytime. Many large pieces of test and maintenance equipment were scattered around the various craft on the main deck level as well as on each of the landing platforms above. A legion of Visitor technicians busied themselves loading, off-loading, and servicing the ships. Higher-ranked Visitor supervisors moved among the techs pointing out the smallest examples of inattention. On that special morning the supervisors were anxious that everything be particularly shipshape.

  Hangar Bay Eighteen was a general purpose bay, primarily for use by shuttles rather than tankers. But it was also the landing area aboard the Flagship generally reserved for special ceremonial receptions such as the one about to take place.

  Willy moved along the pipes and electrical conduits that lined a side bulkhead to join the assembling ranks of Visitors, Teammates, and other humans known as Players. These were key civilians who enjoyed privileged access to the Visitors. A less-kindly but more apt description of them, particularly among the Resistance, was Collaborators. They reminded those with the longest memories of the Vichy French who, for their own gain, had cooperated with their Nazi occupiers during World War II.

  Willy hurried past a shuttle craft that was disembarking prisoners nearby. Among them, though Willy didn't know her, was a very frightened Connie Leonetti, the innocent woman whom Stella Stein had denounced at the chemical factory. Willy saw the natty Visitor Press Secretary Paul bustle onto the scene. Paul was angry and agitated as he addressed a Patroller: "What is this? I gave strict orders for all prisoner shuttles to be sent to other bays. Get those prisoners out of here! Diana's on her way!"

  The Patroller nodded and along with his cohorts prodded the worried prisoners quickly toward a tube entrance.

  Willy came to stand among the gathering ranks next to a Visitor named Martin whose human face made him look mid-forties. He had blond hair, soft blue eyes, and a thoughtful, quiet demeanor. There was also a touch of sadness about him. He nodded to Willy with a private camaraderie because, like Willy, Martin had long been risking death by being an ally of the Resistance. They looked across to where a Visitor red carpet escort was guiding Emma toward the large contingent of local Players. The beautiful young star was wearing a rose-hued, one-piece jersey dress that was quite tasteful, yet managed to accentuate her fine curves and show a reasonable amount of those famous fawn-colored legs. Among the Players was the chemical plant owner Oliver. "Emma, my dear! Greetings!" He leaned his jowly face very close to hers. "Why haven't you come to visit, you naughty girl?"

  "Sorry," she said with a polite smile, "new song. We'll catch up." Turning to avoid his cigarette breath she found herself face-to-face with Mayor Ohanian. Suddenly there was no one else in the huge bay for either of them. Each had flashes of memory of the other: their first meeting backstage at one of her concerts; the snowy weekend at her cabin in Tahoe; the warmth of their bodies together. Time paused for a moment as they gazed fondly at each other. Each could see in the other's eyes that there was definitely still a spark.

  Continuing to hold his eyes, Emma inclined her pretty head gracefully toward him. ". . . Mr. Mayor."

  A faint smile crossed his face as well. ". . . My friends call me Mark."

  She leaned up and kissed his cheek, whispering, "Am I still a friend?"

  He squeezed her arm gently. "Always." Their gazes held a moment longer as embers glowed.

  Even though Willy was a good twenty yards distant, he noted the connection. So did the jealous Press Secretary Paul who had appeared right beside the pair. "Excuse me, Mr. Mayor, Emma, could I . . . ?" He gently ushered her a few feet away, leaning covetously closer and chiding her, "Little nuzzly there. I know that history."

  Emma smiled charmingly. "Then you know it is history." She kissed Paul's cheek while Willy noted their personal dynamic as well.

  Then narrow-eyed Visitor Shawn appeared on the catwalk above. "Attention on deck. The Commandant."

  The amassed ranks of a thousand Visitors, Patrollers, and Teammates on the main deck and all of the platforms above immediately snapped smartly to attention as Diana appeared from within. She stepped out onto the catwalk with a regal bearing. Her presence instantly filled the entire landing bay. Hers was a persona that demanded respect and instantly received it. Everyone beneath her extended their arms up toward her at the proscribed thirty-degree angle in the palm-up Visitor salute.

  Diana was the most powerful creature on the planet. She enjoyed that dark supremacy. But she was also an astute diplomat who presented a friendly face to those assembled below and on the platforms above her as well as to the billions whom she knew were watching her around the world at that moment. She knew precisely where the cameras were placed within the landing bay; knew her image was being flashed out globally, filling vid screens from Boston to Kuala Lumpur.

  Diana wore the standard dark trousers and ivory blouse with her Commandant insignia on the collar. She filled out the blouse nicely, some would even have said invitingly. She had carefully calculated and designed her face and figure to be appealing to humans both male and female. Her nearly black hair was perfectly, yet casually coiffed. Her large brown eyes carefully surveyed all those beneath her.

  To Martin she always called to mind a sensuous, smiling cobra. He knew well exactly how treacherous she could be. Diana relished her dangerous reputation, but generally chose to play it lightly. As her keen eyes scanned the invited Players, her gaze riveted on Emma, who was offering a friendly and respectful smile. Diana had met Emma before, but the young singer looked particularly delectable that morning. Diana continued to gaze at Emma and weigh her possibilities until a resonating Visitor voice came echoing over the hangar's speakers, "Attention: the Emissary's ship is on final approach."

  A well-r
ehearsed Teammate band began to play martial music. The people within the hangar looked out of the hundred-foot-wide door and murmured with surprise when they caught their first glimpse of a distant fleck of silver against the blue sky. Vid cameras in the hangar bay captured the image and transmitted it around the world. From Stockholm to Capetown, Anchorage to Tierra del Fuego, Kamchatka to Auckland, people of every age, gender, and ethnicity watched on their home screens, their vid phones, or on one of the thousands of billboard-sized screens that the Visitors had installed on the walls of buildings seemingly everywhere.

  From a San Francisco alleyway Kayta and Bryke watched one of the wall-sized screens, then Kayta sensed something and looked skyward. Bryke saw it, too. And then people nearby in the street began to notice it and talk excitedly. A shuttle unlike any that had ever been seen, its shining surface giving the appearance of liquid silver, was approaching the great Flagship at a high altitude from the north.

  A faint tone attracted Kayta's notice. She looked at the pin on her vest, which was blinking a complicated sequence.

  "He's arriving."

  Bryke was already on the move, nodding. "I'll see to him."

  Nathan was on Fremont Street en route to his assassination assignment. He also looked up into the bright sky and saw the incoming Visitor vehicle.

  Vid screens across the world showed images of the silver ship gliding grandly over the San Francisco skyline and into Hangar Bay Eighteen of the Flagship. On the flight deck, a Visitor crew chief guided the pilot to a gentle landing.

  Visitor Shawn, always acutely attuned to the slightest clue about Diana's thinking, saw her arch one of her perfect dark eyebrows in a faintly critical gesture as she eyed the striking, unusual craft. She began to move down the catwalk stairs to the hangar deck. Shawn followed, only a half step behind. Diana's personal Patroller guardsmen had arranged a wide path for her down the red carpet between the massed, regimented troops and the Players. Diana heard some among the group whispering among themselves about the amazing reflective appearance of the silver shuttle.