V_The 2nd Generation

by Kenneth Johnson

  "Here you go. How are you feeling?"

  Emma looked up, slowly registering that the black Patrol captain had pulled the police car to a stop in front of her condominium on Clay Street.

  "Oh," she said vacantly, "thanks. Sorry, Captain, but I'm still a little numb."

  "Well, I guess so"—his deep voice was filled with genuine concern—"you've got to be. That was horrible." He glared out the windshield into the distance and gripped the wheel of the police car. "If I ever catch the bastard who planted that thing I'll personally take him apart piece by bloody piece."

  She reached out and touched his sleeve. "You've been very kind, Captain. Thank you."

  "It was my pleasure, may I see you in?"

  "No, that's all right."

  She was turning to open the car door when she heard him say quietly, "Excuse me, but . . ."

  Emma looked back at him curiously, "Yes? What is it, Captain?"

  "I've felt . . . sort of shy about asking, and this timing is certainly terrible, but I don't know when I'll have another opportunity."

  "Yes?"

  "Could I perhaps buy you a drink sometime?"

  Emma gazed at him. She was exhausted, bruised, and battered. She wanted nothing more than to get away from the captain. She couldn't wait to go inside, take a hot shower, and nurse her wounds. Her chafed face was burning, her knees and wrists throbbed painfully. Her great distaste for any further involvement with the Visitor considerably outweighed the slight possibility of gathering any meaningful intelligence from him. She simply did not want to do it. So no one could have been more surprised than Emma herself was when she heard her own voice say, "You know, I could really use a drink right about now."

  THAT EVENING, TED WAS WALKING ALONG POTRERO ON HIS WAY home. A shuttle craft cruised slowly past overhead on patrol. The usual good news about Visitors played on the large billboard vids, but Ted was unaware of them. He was ruminating on what a peculiar day it had been for him. Though he wore the Teammate uniform like the rest of his unit, it had been his only real connection to them. Like his partner, Debra Stein, the other four in his unit obviously felt demeaned by the half-breed's presence among them. He had gotten the distinct impression that rather than considering themselves in the forefront of some kind of positive affirmative action, they felt that the quality of their unit had been considerably diminished. The jokes and gibes that came from other Teammate units they encountered only served to further that impression.

  For his part Ted had tried to quietly learn the ropes, to stay low-profile, and to not get in anyone's way. He ignored their racial slurs, sometimes even laughing along with their derision of him in an effort to prove he had a sense of humor and could take it. He had not expected to be welcomed with open arms, but the day had been very challenging. His years of subservience as a school custodian had prepared him well, however. He had long been required to perform menial, sometimes disgusting, tasks. He had cleaned hundreds of filthy toilets and mopped up stomach-turning puddles of vomit without ever complaining to anyone. Except endlessly to his parents, of course.

  Despite the ill treatment he'd received from his fellow Teammates thus far, his hope was that as the days passed he might be more accepted into their ranks. Not ever as an equal—he knew that would never happen—but at least as a reliable part of their unit. He had also resolved to do the best job that he could. He was ready to take advantage of every opportunity to win whatever amount of respect might be possible. He had already volunteered for extra duty even though it would be difficult to balance it with his custodial responsibilities at Patrick Henry Middle School. It would also mean that he'd sometimes have to arrive at the school directly from patrol and so would still be wearing his Teammate uniform. But that prospect made him smile. The looks of astonishment and surprise on the faces of the human students, and particularly Vice Principal Gabriel, would be more than worth the long hours and hard work. They would all be forced to think that for a scaly-faced half-breed to be made a Teammate there must be something very special about him.

  If it were true that clothes made the man, then a Teammate uniform would certainly elevate a half-breed in the estimation of all whom he encountered, particularly in the school. He had already noticed the reactions of those he passed on the street during the day, human and Visitor alike. And now as he walked down Potrero toward his own neighborhood in the evening, alone and unencumbered by the rest of his unit, he could strut his stuff. He was feeling pride and a touch of arrogance as people or Visitor Patrollers who previously had never given him the time of day suddenly turned their heads to watch him pass.

  Ted was cheered by that as he passed an alley just a few blocks from his apartment. He heard a familiar voice call to him from within the alley. Peering into the shadows he saw two people beckoning to him. They were his parents, Willy and Harmy.

  Ted glanced around nervously to be certain he wasn't being watched. Then, still with some trepidation, he entered the dank alley. Walking closer to them he saw his mother's arm was bandaged. He was afraid to ask, but knew he must. "What happened to your arm, Mom?"

  Harmy smiled lightly and tried to brush off the question, "Nothing, honey. I just fell."

  But Willy spoke up with the harsh truth. "She did not just fall. She was interrogated. They hurt her."

  Ted was very uncomfortable. "When I heard they'd taken you in I went right down to the police station, but I couldn't get anybody to listen to me." Ted saw his father's intense, angry stare and continued rationalizing. "It must've been that nosy neighbor. The one who always smokes in the stairwell. She must've informed on you and—"

  Willy suddenly grabbed his son and slammed him very hard against the brick wall. "Don't lie to us, you little good-for-nothing ingrate!"

  Harmy put a hand on Willy's shoulder, "Willy, no! You promised you wouldn't!"

  But Willy was right in Ted's face. The boy was shocked. Willy's nature was ever gentle. Even during moments of great difficulty he always approached a problem with calm. In Ted's entire life he had never seen his father angry like this.

  "It's very clear to us what happened, Ted. Your mother gets informed on and arrested and suddenly our half-breed son is wearing a Teammate uniform! Something no other half-breed has ever done!" Willy's breath was hot. "Don't you lie to us!"

  "Willy, please." Harmy was pulling at him.

  "Look what they did to your mother! What you did to her!" Willy fumed into the boy's face. "She could've been killed!" He shook Ted hard to emphasize the point.

  "Willy . . . No, Willy . . ." Harmy finally managed to pry them slightly apart.

  But Willy still glowered furiously. "And so now you wear their uniform! Does that make you proud?"

  "Yes!" Ted snapped back at him, his own rage suddenly gushing out. "You're damn right it does! At least now I'm something!"

  Willy boiled over, grabbing Ted again. "Something? Really? What exactly? What are you? One of those fascists?"

  "Stop it!" Harmy's voice was low, but insistent and urgent. "Both of you! Stop!"

  The two men she loved stood glaring at each other.

  Harmy was also distraught, but took a softer tack. "Teddy . . . Look, honey, I know you're in a terrible place. Caught between two worlds like you're always telling us. But I raised you. I know you. I know you have a good heart. A loyal one. I've seen it."

  "Not for a long time," Willy was seething.

  Ted shot right back at him with equal vehemence and sarcasm. "Oh, and just how loyal are you, Dad? You work for the Resistance while you pretend to be loyal to your uniform."

  "That's very different," Willy countered.

  Ted chortled derisively, "Oh, bullshit. It is not."

  "Listen, Teddy." Harmy was determined to mediate, to explain. "When two sides are fighting and you don't fully support either one at first, life gets extremely complicated. It certainly did for us before you were born. But you know what I've taught you: that all life is sacred. Your father and I came to realize that the Visit
ors and the humans who collaborate with them don't believe that. But that the people who formed the Resistance do. They believe like we do."

  "It's our only hope for the future," Willy added angrily.

  "The future, Dad?" Again Ted laughed. "You want to see the fucking future?" He pointed upward toward the night sky to where the immense Mothership hovered monumentally overhead, above them and all of San Francisco. "There's the future. Right there."

  "It doesn't have to be," Willy insisted.

  "Oh, come on, Dad. Isn't twenty years enough to convince you of their superiority?"

  "No," his mother said, "it's not, honey. Not twenty years, not twenty thousand years." With her uninjured hand she touched her son's arm. "Try to understand, Teddy, your father is loyal, and so am I, but to a much higher cause. And we want you with us. You're our family. We don't want to lose you to them." She reached up and touched his scaly cheek gently. "Teddy, listen"—she glanced upward referencing the enormous Flagship above them, then looked back into her son's mismatched eyes and spoke with simple eloquence—"I have never lied to you and I never will, so believe me when I tell you, Teddy: they are not good."

  The teenager stared at her, his mixed adolescent emotions churning. Then he saw the shape of a Patrol shuttle passing above the far end of the alley cruising slowly and watching for any unusual circumstances to pounce upon. The boy grew anxious and took a step away from them.

  "Teddy, please don't go," Harmy pleaded.

  "I've got to." He took another step away.

  "Teddy, no," his mother said, her heart aching.

  The boy's eyes fluttered nervously. "You shouldn't be here." He moved on toward the street, not looking back as he reached it.

  "Teddy . . ." Harmy said one final time, but her son had turned the corner and was gone. There were tears in Harmy's eyes. She wanted so badly to go after him, but Willy held her back. Willy was still angry, but he also was heartsick.

  21

  AFTER WITNESSING THE EXPLOSION AT CANDLESTICK PARK FROM HIS vantage point several blocks to the north, Mark had raced there with his mayoral escort, his motorcops' sirens wailing. He learned, to his great relief, that Emma had survived and had been driven away from the scene. He was unable to reach her by phone, but was assured by Martin that she hadn't been badly injured.

  Diana insisted that their meeting go on as planned so Mark had attended it to help coordinate arrangements for the Visitor Leader's grand arrival. The session lasted for several hours, as Diana talked through every minute detail of the rally and the specific responsibilities of each individual.

  From time to time throughout the meeting Mark realized his attention had wandered from the matters at hand to the questions that were disturbing him. His prime concern was to learn if Emma was really all right. At Mark's direction, his staff had continued trying to reach her but had not been successful. He wanted to understand how and why the attempt on her life had taken place. He was also puzzling over why Emma had asked to meet him but then had driven directly to the gathering.

  The moment he left Candlestick Park he tried again to reach her from his limousine but was still unsuccessful. He had back-to-back meetings at City Hall into the early evening. After each of them he found a moment to try her private number, but got only her voice mail. When he was finally able to leave the office in the evening he drove his personal car up onto Nob Hill and was approaching her condominium on Clay Street when he slowed and pulled to the curb a half block away.

  In the light of a streetlamp he saw Emma getting into a car with a redheaded woman. Mark was shocked. He thought he recognized the woman as being among the most wanted people in America. His suspicion was confirmed when Margarita drove right past his car. And Mark saw another female in the backseat, a blonde. He couldn't be certain because of the reflections of lights marring the window, but she might have been Juliet Parish. Mark drew a sharp breath and picked up his phone to call for a police unit. Then he found himself hesitating.

  He dropped the phone and made a sharp U-turn to follow Margarita's car. He could see through its back window that Emma was frowning and talking to the other two with intensity.

  Inside Margarita's car, Emma was very edgy and speaking hurriedly, anxious to get it over with as quickly as possible. "First off, I feel terrible about failing today. I want to apologize for that."

  "We're just glad you weren't hurt," Julie consoled her, "Gary told us what happened. About that Patrol captain stopping you and then the traffic problem."

  "It was a nightmare, I felt so helpless." Emma shook her head.

  "None of the tie-ups would've mattered if they'd been able to rig the remote trigger properly," Margarita groused, then added, "We know you did the best you could, Emma."

  "But it wasn't good enough and I'm sorry. I know it means their Leader won't hesitate to land now, to hold that war rally which has got to be bad news for all of us and—"

  "Emma," Julie interrupted softly as she put her hand on Emma's shoulder, "we've all had our share of failures, believe me. I have, Margarita has, all of us. Nobody blames you, we're just relieved you're safe."

  Emma searched Julie's eyes for a long moment, then touched her hand. "Thanks. You're very generous."

  Julie looked closer at the long abrasion that mottled Emma's beautiful cheek. "How are you feeling?"

  "I'm okay. A lot better than those people over on Treasure Island. And when the Patrol captain asked to buy me a drink I took advantage of it."

  "Amazing, after what you'd been through," Julie said.

  "What'd you learn?" Margarita glanced at Emma while she drove.

  "He told me that the Visitor doctors have finally perfected eye coloration, skin sheen, and voice clarifiers to infiltrate the Zedti outposts on the way to the Zedti home planet."

  Julie processed that. "So the clock is really ticking now." Then she squeezed Emma's hand. "Terrific work. Thanks."

  Margarita spoke up, "The next thing we need to know is why the Secretary-General is always so carefully guarded. See what you can learn about that."

  Emma looked at the two women, what she was about to say wasn't easy. "No. I can't."

  Margarita frowned. "Why not?"

  "Today was the last," Emma insisted. "I just can't do this anymore."

  Julie saw that the young woman had begun to tremble. She spoke tenderly to her. "Emma, you had a terrible experience today. A near-death experience. It leaves you stunned. In shock. Believe me, I know. I've been there myself more than once."

  "A lot of us have." Margarita tried to sound encouraging, to lighten the mood, "Unfortunately it's become part of our job description."

  Emma was near tears. "But I don't have the strength you all have. I just wasn't cut out for this, Julie. To be some sort of revolutionary or freedom fighter or . . ."

  "I've said those exact words myself, Emma." Julie nodded. "None of us were cut out for it." Then Julie had a thought and smiled. "Except maybe my daughter Ruby who's grown up in the middle of it." Julie pressed Emma's hand gently as she focused her blue eyes on the singer. "But you must believe me when I say that if it hadn't been for you, a lot of people would already be dead. Or being tortured. Including Ruby."

  Margarita looked over at the tormented young woman. "You've got skills and access that no one else has. We need you, Emma."

  Emma's head ached. She still wanted to protest but she felt the import of Margarita's weighty gaze.

  Even from his car some distance behind them Mark could see the connection and apparent camaraderie between the three women. His face had become a tight mask.

  MIKE DONOVAN EASED THE WEIGHT FROM HIS RIGHT FOOT ONTO HIS left. It felt very strange to him, as though the hard, scarred concrete floor of the old warehouse were actually pushing up against him. The pain in his legs and particularly in his knees was intense, but he was amazed and pleased to see that at least they were trying to perform in the way he was asking them.

  He had one arm on the shoulder of the small but sturdy Ruby
and his other arm around Kayta. The graceful blonde was apparently stronger than she appeared and seemed to have no problem supporting the bulk of Mike's weight.

  He was walking extremely slowly with shuffling, tentative steps but the half-breed girl was cheering him on, "Left, right, that's it, Mike, left, right." Then she began a chant: " 'There's none of the enemy left, right? Left, right. We not only fought but we won, too. Won, too . . . '"

  Mike grimaced at her puns. "And I thought I was lame."

  "Fuggitaboutit"—Ruby grinned—"you're doing great!"

  "You have improved, Mike." Kayta was watching his legs carefully. Though the steps were tiny and Kayta was bearing a good deal of his weight, Mike realized that there might be some hope after all. "You're doing very well," Kayta said encouragingly.

  "Thanks to you"—he looked at her with grudging fondness, then at Ruby—"both of you."

  Kayta accepted it lightly, as a matter of course. "On my world everyone helps everyone for the good of all." She looked into his eyes with a private softness that warmed him and definitely caught Ruby's attention. It was the way Ruby had found herself looking at Nathan more often than not.

  "Ah," Ruby said after a moment, "like ants or bees, huh? So is your planet just one big hive? Or more like Earth?"

  "It's mostly beautiful desert." Kayta's eyes grew distant, she seemed to be squinting slightly in her world's sunlight and looking at its surface as she described, "Constantly flowering with some plants you'd likely recognize, but others that are much larger and different from those here on Earth."

  "Are there mountains, too, and oceans?" Ruby's curiosity was piqued.

  "Our mountains are considerably taller than those of Earth. Many are younger than yours, more sharp and rugged."

  "Because they haven't been weathered as much," Mike suggested.

  "That's correct."

  Ruby was intrigued. "What about oceans?"