V_The 2nd Generation

by Kenneth Johnson

  "Yeah," Gary said, swallowing hard, "I may make it three hundred and one." He looked out toward the back of Emma's car ahead of theirs. "But so far so good, I guess."

  "Shit, man!" Street-C pounded the steering wheel.

  "What, what, what?!" Gary looked around and behind them.

  "You shouldn't have said nothing. Look!" He was pointing in front of them and upward. Gary saw that one of the Airborne Visitor Patrol craft was dropping down directly behind Emma's car. Its red lights were flashing.

  Emma's heart skipped a beat when she saw the craft's flashers in her rearview and she practically fibrillated when she heard an amplified Visitor voice commanding her, "In the Lexus. Pull over and stop."

  Emma couldn't believe it. She slowed to a stop on the side of the four-lane road and glanced at her clock. It was 11:51. Fourteen minutes to go. Emma's heart continued to pound as she looked into her side-view mirror and saw the uniform of a Visitor Patroller approaching. Then to her surprise she saw it was the African-American Visitor captain who smiled into her window. He peered at her through his sunglasses and touched his cap in greeting, his basso profundo voice resonated, "Thought that was you, pretty lady."

  "Oh . . . Captain"—she smiled charmingly—"hi, there. So nice to see you."

  "And you, miss," he said. Emma realized he was looking down at her partially exposed legs. "You headed for Candlestick?"

  "Yes, and I'm running pretty late." Her antsy expression clearly indicated that she needed to get moving.

  "I'm headed there, too," the captain said, then more confidentially, "but I'd sure rather ride with you than those guys. Would you mind some company?"

  Street-C had eased his old car to a stop some distance back. He and Gary watched incredulously as the captain waved for the shuttle to lift off without him, which it did. Then he walked around and climbed into Emma's passenger seat.

  Gary was confounded. "What the hell? Is he arresting her?"

  Street-C smirked. "Looks to me like it has more to do with gettin' a little. You understand the term booty?"

  "Fucking males," Gary said with exasperation as he glanced at his watch. It was 11:53. He looked up as Emma steered her Lexus back into the traffic. Gary's palms were sweaty.

  So were Emma's as she looked back to check the traffic and also see if Street-C was still with her. She took some small comfort in seeing his car falling in behind her again, but she also knew that wouldn't help her much if she was too near the device at 12:05. She looked at the boom box on her backseat, which she knew was ticking down.

  19

  THE TEAMMATE TRAINEES HAD BEEN PRACTICE-FIRING THEIR WEAPONS repeatedly and a low cloud of the gaseous orange chemical now hung vaporously over the target area.

  Margarita was dictating into a small digital recorder. "The weapons had been firing at targets only about a hundred meters distant, but now they're increasing their range to about twice that. We need to get our hands on some of the hardware so we can determine the precise extent of—" She stopped abruptly as she looked over at Ayden. She realized that his breathing had become very labored. "Ayden? Are you okay?"

  Unable to get a good breath, he shook his head. Margarita glanced back toward the firing range and realized that the wind had shifted. Some of the airborne chemical weapon had begun wafting their way. "Oh, my God, that chemical's affecting you!" She jammed the recorder into the pocket of her faded jeans and grabbed his arm. "We've got to get you away from here!"

  He managed to get to his feet, but Margarita was amazed by how potent the chemical weapon must be to have so affected the normally powerful Ayden. She needed to support his weight as they headed through the trees to where they had left his airbike. He grew increasingly unsteady.

  Margarita urged him on, "Come on, we can make it."

  As they reached the sleek motorcycle he finally managed to inhale enough breath to say, "You . . ."

  "Me?" Margarita frowned. "Me, what?"

  "You . . . better fly it." He leaned heavily against the bike, his breathing labored.

  Margarita was staring at him. "Me!" Then she realized that he was right. He was in no condition to be anything but a passenger. "Yeah. Sure. Okay. Get on," she stammered as she helped him get his leg over the bike and settle onto the backseat. Then she climbed nervously onto the front. "Show me."

  The weakened Zedti reached around her with one hand to point out the controls, which were designated in a language she had no hope of reading. "Start. Throttle. And that one is Lift. The trim is over there," then he slumped against her back.

  "Ayden? Ayden, dammit, stay awake!" She manipulated the starter and felt the bike thrum to life beneath her. She was trying to get a feel for the vehicle before she started moving, but looking up she saw something that she would have much preferred not to have seen. The two Visitor Air-Pats who had been patrolling the perimeter with their propulsion packs had spotted her through the trees and were flying in toward her as they radioed for backup.

  "Perfect," Margarita muttered sardonically. "Timing is everything. Okay, now," she was speaking to the bike, "be gentle with me." She slipped it into gear and the sleek machine started to roll forward through the forest. She wheeled it around in the opposite direction to avoid the oncoming Air-Pats. A pulse burst hit a tree just to her left and startled her. She twisted the throttle slightly and the bike bucked forward doing a wheelie on the back tire. Margarita yelped and fought for control, slowing the bike as another pulse burst flashed on the ground very near her right foot.

  Then Ayden's hand reached around and covered her own on the throttle. "Wait! Wait!" she shouted. "I haven't got the feel of it yet!"

  But Ayden twisted the throttle sharply and the bike took off like a thoroughbred out of a starting gate. Margarita fought to steer as straight a course as possible while dodging trees. The vehicle careered across the forest's uneven floor, jostling her and Ayden. The Patrollers soared in pursuit, lowering altitude to drop in behind the bike. Margarita was still struggling to get control of it as two more balls of energy from the Air-Pats' pulse rifles burst much too close by.

  "Ayden, help me out here!"

  His voice was weak. "Lift . . . use the lift . . ."

  She turned the control he indicated and suddenly a hot blast erupted from the back of the bike. Margarita felt the downward G-force pressing her into the seat as the bike shot upward into the air and she exclaimed, "Holy shit!" She was simultaneously gleeful and terrified.

  The nose of the bike tilted upward more and more steeply until they passed through vertical and continued into a loop. The strong centrifugal force of the tight loop kept them in the saddle while they were upside down. Then Margarita saw she was now in a dive straight down toward the forest below. She adjusted the lift control and brought the bike's nose up only a fraction of a second before they would have hit the Earth. Her back wheel actually tagged the ground, but she was beginning to get the hang of flying the airbike. Even better than that was the fact that her very swift, tight loop had carried her right over her pursuers. She had now dropped down and in behind them.

  The Air-Pats were disoriented by her maneuver and were trying to turn so that they could get a bead on her, but Margarita swept in at them doing about sixty miles an hour. She plowed hard into the two airborne soldiers as if they were bowling pins, dashing one to the ground and spinning the other face first into the trunk of a large oak.

  Then Margarita dodged on between the trees, testing her feel for the bike and quickly gaining confidence. Ahead she saw two more Air-Pats who were obviously inbound as backup, but they hadn't spotted her yet.

  Ayden was wheezing painfully behind her, ". . . Stealth. Mode. . . . There." He was pointing toward a small control that he couldn't reach. Margarita touched it and felt a curious static electricity suddenly permeate and blur the air around them with a curious wavering.

  "They . . . can't see us," Ayden managed to explain.

  Indeed, the airbike with them on it had become nearly invisible, mirrorin
g its surroundings.

  Inside the stealth shroud Margarita grinned broadly as she and Ayden whipped right past the unsuspecting Air-Pats. Once they were well behind her, Margarita laughed. "Where can I buy one of these? I love this bike!"

  She flew it on through the forest and was relieved to feel Ayden regaining his breath as they found cleaner air.

  AT THE INTERSECTION OF CARGO WAY AND THIRD STREET, JUST PAST the small bridge over the dry shipping channel that had been Islais Creek, a water main had ruptured and was spewing a fountain of water. The flood in the intersection was a foot deep. The traffic was badly snarled in all four directions. Department of Water and Power workers had brought in some heavy equipment to attend to the problem while drenched SFPD officers were endeavoring to clear stalled cars and relieve the traffic jam. Emma's car was half a block back in the midst of the congestion and barely moving.

  Emma drummed on her steering wheel with growing and very palpable fear. The captain on the contrary was completely relaxed and enjoying his private time with her. His eyes carefully examined her shapely body as his deep voice rambled, "It's just another example of how the city infrastructure is falling apart. Some people just don't seem to care about doing a thorough job anymore."

  Emma wasn't really listening to him. She was muttering at the traffic, "Come on . . . come on . . ."

  The captain leaned back against the soft gray leather seat and drew an expansive breath. "Don't fret. Pretty soon we'll blow through this."

  Emma glanced at him, knowing that he might be literally correct. She looked at her clock as it clicked from 11:57 to 11:58, leaving her only seven minutes until the bomb sitting behind her would detonate.

  DIANA GLANCED DOWN AT THE HUGE EMPTY STADIUM AS HER SHUTtle glided inbound five hundred feet over it. She was well pleased with her choice of the open air arena as the venue for the Leader's arrival and rally. She knew how the Leader enjoyed playing to vast gatherings in such a setting and how mass audiences always responded to the Leader's charisma and oratory. It was much better than greeting them merely by vid. The rally would of course be telecast worldwide on all channels, but the living presence of one hundred thousand passionate devotees would further inspire those watching the broadcast.

  Diana was also hopeful that orchestrating such a powerful welcome would underscore her own many achievements here on Earth. She was anxious to rekindle the Leader's respect for her professionally and, just as importantly, on a personal level.

  As her shuttle slowed its descent over the expanse of the parking lot Diana saw that only a handful of cars were present. Jeremy's silver shuttle had yet to arrive. That small fact pleased her immensely. Whenever she could one-up the snobbish Jeremy in any way it helped to strengthen her self-confidence.

  Martin stood at the foot of her shuttle's ramp as she disembarked from the craft with several of her other aides trailing her. Martin extended the palm-up Visitor salute that she acknowledged with only a slight lifting of one index finger.

  "Good afternoon, Commandant," he said, smiling.

  She was all business as she followed his guidance toward the imposing twelve-story stadium. "Is everything attended to, Martin?"

  "Very nearly," he said with a nod. Then they both caught sight of Jeremy's silver shuttle heading in from the east over the bay valley. Martin saw that Diana was annoyed that Jeremy was so close to being on time. "If I may, I'll just stay here to receive the others." Martin was indicating Jeremy's incoming shuttle.

  "Of course," Diana grunted, adding acerbically, "I wouldn't want them to get lost."

  Martin pointed across the parking lot. "The conference room is straight in and to your left. That guide at the door is awaiting you."

  "Very well"—she cast a final vinegary glance toward the silver shuttle as it settled down onto the broad lot—"get them inside. Tell them I intend to start precisely on time."

  "As do I, Diana." Martin knew how very critical it was for the session to commence on schedule. He hurried to the silver shuttle just as its ramp touched the macadam. Shawn was the first in the hatch and Martin coaxed him gently, "Good to see you, Shawn. Commandant Diana intends to start on time."

  The narrow-eyed aide exuded confidence. "I'm sure we'll make it"—he glanced at his watch—"it's still one minute to twelve."

  Jeremy appeared behind Shawn and followed him down the ramp, examining the impressive steel and concrete exterior of Candlestick Park's stadium as Martin saluted him. "Commandant Jeremy."

  Jeremy condescended to give Martin only the faintest of greetings. Martin indicated the path for them to follow toward another aide who was in the entrance doorway. "If you'll just walk that way, sir. He'll show you in." Jeremy and Shawn proceeded as directed. Gina also disembarked and followed the other two along with three Visitor aides.

  Then Martin quickly scanned around the streets that fed into the parking lot. There were three SFPD cars on station as well as two Visitor fighter craft and a Teammate unit.

  But Martin saw no sign of Emma. He looked again anxiously at his watch. Shawn had been right. It was 11:59. Martin knew that the bomb would explode in six minutes. Wherever it was.

  A TEN-FOOT CHAIN-LINK FENCE RAN ALONG THE SOUTH PERIMETER of the chemical plant. From there a low dusty hillside sloped downward toward a junkyard that had been abandoned and gone to seed. Nathan peered out from between a pile of rusting auto frames and a stack of discarded truck tires, watching the fence carefully. Then he spoke to someone whom he thought was right behind him, "Blue said he'd make the drop along here. Should be pretty soon now." He looked around and realized that the person he thought was just over his shoulder was actually several yards away in a flat area of the dirt lot.

  Bryke was deeply engrossed in a pastoral tai chi-type exercise. Her arms and legs moved slowly, blending the military precision of a Samurai warrior with the grace of a ballerina. Nathan had of course seen such focused exercises before, but this was the first time he'd ever witnessed the practitioner's arms hinging completely backward at the shoulders, elbows, and wrists. He watched in fascination for a long moment as Bryke performed the ritualistic moves like a Zen dancer-soldier in extreme slow motion. He was captivated by the unique physical display and the quiet intensity of Bryke's concentration.

  Nathan also reflected on Bryke's tremendous proficiency as a warrior. It wasn't merely her prodigious strength, or her mind-bending physiognomy, or her frightening ability to literally suck the bodily fluids from an assailant that made her so remarkable. What amazed him most was the calm focus of a true Zen master that Bryke demonstrated in this gentle exercise.

  A new thought struck Nathan. He saw Bryke not merely as a singular, peculiarly alien individual, but rather as a representative of her entire subspecies of Zedti. He imagined the thousands, the millions that were like her. He fashioned a mental picture of them all engaged in an exercise similar to that upon which Bryke was now intent. What a formidable army they would be. What formidable allies for Earth's Resistance.

  Nathan smiled faintly at the thought. But concurrent with that came the shadow of concern that was still gnawing inside him and Julie and the other freedom fighters. Bryke along with the legions like her and Ayden and Kayta might also be an even more formidable enemy. Could they truly be trusted?

  He watched her flowing movements a moment longer. One arm moved in front of her while the other moved like a reflection behind her. It was both beautiful and unsettling. Then he quietly asked, "What exactly is it that you're doing?"

  Bryke continued without pause as she said, "Training."

  "Not real big on wasting time are we?"

  As her smooth movements continued she spoke quietly, "Here on Earth you have mayflies. Do you know of them?"

  He shrugged. "I've heard of them, that's about all."

  "They are born, they live, they mate, and they die in only eighteen hours," Bryke said, intent upon her movements. "Mayflies see only one night. Only one moon. They use the gift of life for as long as they are allowed."
Her pink eyes looked over at Nathan with a calm, masterful softness. "They are wise."

  IN SMALL, URBAN GILMAN PARK SOME KIDS WERE PLAYING HALFcourt basketball on the badly cracked surface. The hoop on the rusting backboard had no net. It banged and rattled when the ball hit it. The mayoral limousine had stopped on Griffith Street alongside the small park exactly as Emma had requested. Mark was standing beside it while the two motorcycle officers in his entourage patiently chatted with each other. Mark was feeling much less patience and also concern. Emma's voice had sounded extremely distressed but he hadn't been able to fathom what was concerning her. To the south, Mark could see the top of the stadium and he was frustrated, knowing that he should have already been there. He glanced at his watch, which indicated that the time was 12:02.

  Emma's car was just reaching the entrance to the Candlestick parking lot. She was waved to a stop by the Patrollers at the gate. Seeing Diana's shuttle, Jeremy's silver one, the fighter craft, and the SFPD squad cars she realized how tight the security was.

  The Patroller approached her window. "May I see your photo ID, miss?"

  Emma was fumbling to retrieve it from her purse as the captain in her passenger seat leaned over and spoke to the Patroller, "I'll vouch for her, Sergeant."

  "Oh, yes, sir. Sorry. I didn't see you."

  "That's quite all right," the captain said, smiling.

  The Patroller waved them forward and Emma drove toward where Martin was waiting anxiously by the two shuttles.

  On the street outside the parking entrance Street-C drove past very slowly as he and Gary watched her car nearing Martin. Gary was trying to stay hopeful. "She might just make it."

  Street-C shook his head nervously. "Ain't no way."

  A thin film of perspiration had appeared on Emma's brow. She glanced at the clock and saw 12:03 become 12:04. She could literally taste fear in her mouth as she pulled the car to a stop near the shuttles. Martin rushed urgently toward her. "Emma! You've got to—" He cut himself off as he saw her Visitor passenger. Martin forced himself to slow down. "Ah, Captain. Good morning."