V_The 2nd Generation

by Kenneth Johnson

  "Okay," said Margarita. "Then the action will be confined to a specific sniper attack to take out just the leadership." She looked toward Nathan, inviting his opinion.

  "No way we'll get all fifty," Nathan said, "but we'll try for the Visitor Leader, Diana, Jeremy, and as many of the captains as we can nail." He looked toward Ayden. "Right?"

  The Zedti commander held Nathan's gaze for a moment, considering the situation, then he nodded and said, "Very well."

  Margarita said, "Julie and I will lead the team that hits the comm link up in Marin." She looked at those representing other Resistance groups. "The rest of you should advise your individual cells around the city. Be prepared to hit the streets and rally our people." The representatives all vocalized their readiness.

  Julie looked to Ysabel. "Ysie and Gary have begun alerting all the other American and international cells to be prepared for a big push when they see it go down."

  Gary stood up. "We've already reached more than half."

  Ysabel had started back toward their communications truck. She waved over her shoulder to Julie. "We'll stay on it, boss."

  Margarita drew a breath and encouraged the others, "Okay, gang, let's do it."

  As the group began to mobilize, Gary's cell rang. He waved for Ysabel to go on into the communications truck as he paused outside it to answer his phone. A short distance away, Robert took Nathan aside and handed him a small plastic card with a clip on its back. "Take this."

  Nathan turned it over in his hand. "A radiation sensor?"

  Robert looked sharply at Nathan, then glanced over toward Ayden. "Just to keep him honest, you understand?"

  "So he doesn't try to do his own show. Yeah."

  "It'll go red if he primes any kind of nuke."

  Nathan nodded and slipped the card into his pocket.

  Julie was preparing to leave when she saw Donovan in his wheelchair beckoning her to one side. She went to him, thinking she understood what was going through his mind. "I wish you could come, Mike."

  "Yeah. Me, too. But . . ." He suddenly paused as he realized what she had called him. " 'Mike'?" He looked at her, touched. During their entire relationship she had only ever called him Mr. Donovan. It had started as a little joke, but never changed. Until now. He chuckled. "That's a first."

  Julie smiled wistfully. "Well, I just hope it's not a last."

  "Yeah. Me, too." He was gazing at her and she at him. Their whole history flashed before his mind's eye: his first meeting with Julie when he'd been dragged into her original underground headquarters and his total disbelief that the shy, tiny young intern could possibly be leading the Resistance cell; the sparks that initially were struck between them because of their different approaches to fighting back against the Visitors; his slow realization of Julie's natural abilities to shape a disparate group of people into a unified, disciplined, and viable fighting force; his amazement as her organizational skills helped establish and interconnect other Resistance cells across the country and around the world; the astonishing bravery he witnessed from Julie when she had been under attack by Visitor fighters at that first mountain camp engagement. He remembered her undaunted courage in the midst of that fierce battle. He could still see Julie standing straight and tall over a wounded comrade as Diana's fighter strafed her with blistering pulse fire. He remembered the small, unblinking woman defending her fallen compatriot and firing back—the first time Julie had ever even fired a weapon—a mere pistol versus the devastating pulse cannons of the fighter. She was David impossibly challenging Goliath, hopelessly outgunned, yet determined to fight to the death. He had come to feel enormous respect for her. And fond affection.

  And at the same time that Mike was looking into her eyes, Julie was having a similar rush of recollection: the tall, swaggering, cocky Donovan of their first encounter; the man wearing a stolen Visitor uniform that he'd used to effect a hair's-breadth escape from the Flagship after an aborted mission to discover the Visitors' secrets; the veteran news cameraman who had seen more good and particularly bad in the world than Julie could even imagine; the truth-seeker who had been embedded and embattled among freedom fighters from El Salvador to Tibet; the brave man who had lost his best friend and his son to the monsters from Sirius; the muscular, agile, athletic Mike Donovan who never turned away from even the most desperate challenge; the man who had saved her life more than once. A man whose supposed death in 1991 had totally stunned her and made her realize the depth of emotion she felt for him. A man whom she genuinely loved.

  All of that passed between Julie and Mike in an eyeblink. And laced within the memories of what had been between them, there was also a thread of quiet hope and yearning for what they might yet share in the future.

  Then Mike drew a breath. "Listen, Kayta was talking about the Zedti planet."

  "And?"

  "She said their two suns were yellow."

  Julie frowned, confused. "Okay?"

  "No"—Mike shook his head emphatically—"not okay. I'm pretty certain that Altair is a green star, and it's definitely not part of a binary system."

  Julie felt her blood turn uncomfortably cool as she instantly processed the import of what Mike was saying. She glanced fearfully at the Zedti. Ayden and Kayta were standing to one side, conferring. Julie lowered her voice and leaned closer to Mike. "So where are they from?"

  "Exactly my point."

  "And why have they lied to us?"

  "I'd say that's sort of the key question, huh?"

  From across the warehouse, Margarita called out, "Julie? We've got to roll."

  "I know, Margarita, I'll be right there." But she looked back at Donovan, struggling to evaluate the dangerous new information about the Zedti. She said urgently, "I don't see how we can possibly delay this mission."

  "Neither do I," he responded tensely, as frustrated as she was.

  But already Julie was rethinking her decision. "I mean the timing is so critical."

  "Tell me about it," he acknowledged. "Look. You go ahead. I'll try to find out more and fill you in."

  Though still having trepidation, she said, "Okay." Then she started to turn toward Margarita and the others.

  Mike caught her sleeve. "And Doc"—he gazed deeply at her—"Julie . . ."

  She drew a breath because in all the years they had known each other he had never once called her by her name either. Their eyes held. They had been comrades of many battles, yet in that moment they both felt their relationship rise to a new level of emotional connection. But Julie also saw a disturbing darkness in Mike's troubled eyes.

  "There's something else . . ."

  Sensing the personal turmoil stirring within him, Julie leaned closer, her voice almost a whisper. "What is it, Mike?"

  His voice became equally low, and he looked downward toward the oil-stained concrete floor, unable to meet her eyes. It was obviously the most difficult thing he'd ever had to tell anyone. "The Purge of '99 . . ."

  Julie stared at him and knew instinctively what he was about to say. His eyes remained downcast as if he were a supplicant.

  "Because of all the drugs I'll never know for sure, but other than you, nobody had as much information about the Resistance as I did," he said, and drew a halting, emotional breath, "so I've got to believe it was probably me that—"

  Julie put a finger to his lips. His eyes rose to meet hers. She saw his soul-deep remorse in them, his burning regret for the role he likely played in the capture or death of so many loyal freedom fighters and friends. She leaned closer and kissed his cheek, then pressed her own firmly against it.

  Finally she drew back slightly and looked at him with an expression of the utmost respect. Then she squeezed his hand one last time and hurried off to lead her troops.

  At the door a very pale and distressed Gary snagged Margarita, indicating his cell phone. "I just got a call. The doctor who saved my life said he needs me. He said it was life or death."

  Margarita was frustrated, but as she saw Julie heading out, s
he nodded to Gary, "Look, do what you have to do."

  "I'm sorry," Gary said. Then he rushed out as Nathan came to Margarita and extended his hand.

  "Good luck, Red."

  She took his hand in hers and held it firmly. "You, too, hotshot." They shared a last wistful smile and headed in different directions.

  At the other end of the warehouse, Ayden was speaking to Kayta beside the table that held her makeshift chemical laboratory. The willowy blonde told him that she hadn't yet been able to completely decipher the molecular structure of the Visitors' chemical weapon, nor had she begun to contemplate some way to neutralize it.

  "But from what you've already done . . . ?" He held out the question.

  "It seems to be as we first feared," she said. "It's lethal to us. It would be catastrophic on a battlefield. And if they had delivery systems capable of breaching the fleet's defenses . . ."

  With a slight wave of his hand Ayden gave her to know that he understood and she need not continue. He thought for a brief moment, then looked at her. "All right. We know that as yet they are still in the preparation stages. You remain here. If this present mission fails in any substantial way . . ."

  Kayta nodded slowly. "I understand," she continued with great reluctance to confirm his order, "I will call in our fleet to attack before they can distribute the chemical and mobilize their Armada."

  "Correct." Ayden gave her a look that each knew might be a final farewell, then he departed. Kayta had extremely mixed feelings as she watched him leave. When she slowly turned back to her worktable she realized that Mike was staring at her as though he were trying to penetrate her thoughts.

  THE YOUNG HALF-BREED JANITOR BURST OUT OF A TRANSPORT TUBE into one of the dark, steamy inner corridors of the Flagship. Jon had finally managed to get clear of Teresa's watchful eye. He had run from the laboratory and was desperately seeking Willy who should have been somewhere nearby on his maintenance rounds. Jon looked both ways along the endless black passageway, then dashed down a nearby stairway, all the while muttering nervously to himself, "Where is he? Where is he?"

  Breathing hard as he reached the level below, Jon's eyes searched in one direction. He spotted a half-breed female janitor the top of whose head was completely reptilian but who had an almost fully human face except for yellow eyes and vertical pupils. Jon ran to where she was repairing a pipe leaking a viscous, foul-smelling fluid. "Willy," Jon said breathessly, "William. Maintenance. Have you seen him?"

  The girl signed to Jon that she was mute, but tried to communicate where she thought Willy might be. Jon struggled to understand, "Level 207? No? 208?" The girl nodded. "What section?" She signed again and Jon said, "152? Right?" The other teen nodded and Jon took off running.

  THE HATCH TO THE AUTOPSY ROOM OPENED AND JEREMY STEPPED slowly out to where one of his female aides and a Patroller stood at the ready in the damp, dimly lit corridor. They snapped to attention but Jeremy didn't even look at them. He was greatly annoyed. Within the chamber, on the side reserved for interrogation, Bryke was still securely restrained in the chair. But it had been rotated so that she was hanging upside down. Her head dangled limply. From the top of her head, as well as from one arm and her groin, droplets of her pale yellow blood were falling into the shallow concave section of the floor beneath her. That area was shiny with her yellow bodily fluid.

  Jeremy was petulantly flicking a trace of yellow blood from his sleeve as Jon came racing around a corner and plowed into the Commandant at full speed. Jeremy was startled and the unexpected impact landed Jon on the floor.

  "Oh. Sir!" The boy groveled at the feet of the Commandant. "I am so sorry, sir!"

  Jeremy was angry and disgusted, he kicked the half-breed viciously. The Patroller jerked Jon roughly to his feet. "You stupid dreg! Get away!"

  The Patroller shoved Jon hard. The youth scurried off as Diana approached from an intersecting corridor with Shawn and several aides trailing her. She glanced into the chamber toward the Zedti, then she caught the taut expression on Jeremy's face that reflected his frustration. It pleased her, so she gouged gently, "Successful, I presume? What have you learned?"

  Jeremy's smile was acidic, "If I had a bit more time I would be successful."

  "You know, while I don't pretend to be the master that you are," she said, enjoying his discomfort, "I've had a fair amount of experience at soliciting information from individuals. Perhaps I should, shall we say, have a stab at her?"

  "Thank you, but no," Jeremy said politely, "I have other plans for her. Shawn, I want you to—"

  "Shawn is with me," Diana interrupted with a piercing smile. Jeremy stared back at her while the aides around them all wished they were somewhere else.

  Then Shawn stepped gingerly onto the tightrope between his two patrons. "But I'd be most happy, sir, to pass along whatever order you might wish to have implemented."

  Jeremy brushed brusquely past them both, grabbing the arm of his female aide, who had been waiting outside the interrogation room. Diana carefully watched her fellow Commandant move partway down the shadowy hall, then she glanced sternly at Shawn, who shrugged innocently as if to privately say, what's to be done with such a petulant person?

  Diana looked into the autopsy chamber where Bryke was still suspended upside down and bleeding.

  "Excuse me, Commandant," Shawn said quietly, "it's time for us to be departing for the rally."

  She looked at him and then nodded for him to lead the way.

  Down the corridor the other way, Jeremy had paused with his female aide. "See to it that the Zedti is delivered and prepared exactly as I described."

  The aide inclined her head subserviently. "Of course, Commandant. The arrangements have already been made."

  "And the other element we spoke about?"

  "I've taken care of that, too, sir. He will be at your disposal in Candlestick Park." Then she added more privately, "And if I may say, sir, our Great Leader will be most pleased."

  "That is my intention," Jeremy said as he gave the aide a regal nod of dismissal. The female hastened back toward the interrogation chamber.

  Jeremy stood alone in the dark corridor. A faint, somewhat austere expression of pleasure touched his face as he contemplated what he had prepared.

  26

  MARY ELGIN WAS SITTING ALONE ON THE EDGE OF THE THIN MATtress of Charlotte's bed. She had been there for some time, unaware that dusk had fallen. The photograph she held in her hands was now illuminated only by streetlights filtering in through the short, tattered drapes on the window.

  The picture frame was brass and very cheaply made but the photo that it contained made it the most valuable treasure among Mary's few personal possessions. Charlotte looked out from the photograph with her unassuming, sweet smile. It had been taken a year earlier when she still had a flush of youth and promise. Her long raven hair framed her gentle face and hung down thickly in front of her shoulders.

  Mary gazed at Charlotte's image, talking very quietly to her daughter. "I can't believe I didn't notice what you were doing." Mary shook her head slightly with a faded smile. "I mean, it was right there in front of me, wasn't it? From one day to the next." She stared at the photo. "I knew you weren't well, but I hoped. I didn't think it was as bad as . . ." Her voice trailed off for a moment, then resumed, "Why didn't I see?"

  Her forefinger traced delicately across the glass covering the girl's picture. "And when you cut your beautiful hair I actually believed what you told me, you little bugger." She poked admonishingly at the photo, feeling very foolish. "What an idiot I was. Why would I ever . . . ?" Mary paused. She realized she knew the answer, "Because I was trying to delude myself? Because I knew there was nothing I could do? Oh, Christ, Charlotte . . . I should have done something more . . . there must have been something . . ." The photo grew blurry in her vision. "I'm so sorry, honey. I feel so empty . . . so—"

  "Mary?" It was Charles Senior, speaking softly from the doorway.

  Mary sat up straighter. "Oh, hi, Pop." S
he didn't look back at the old man because she knew her eyes were glimmering.

  "Are you all right, honey?"

  Mary swallowed her emotions and tried to sound much better than she felt. "Yeah, Pop. Just having a little moment, you know." She took a breath and turned toward him with a broad smile. "I'm fine. Really. See?"

  The old gentleman was not convinced, but decided not to press. "Well, if you ever want to talk."

  Mary smiled brightly. "You bet, thanks."

  THE DOWNSTAIRS FRONT DOOR OF EMMA'S CONDO WAS OPEN AND the Visitor Press Secretary leaned back in for a final, delicious good-bye kiss. Emma was wearing a silky, pink low-cut slip that displayed her body in a very appealing manner.

  "I'll see you at the rally," Paul said as he reluctantly separated from her.

  "Mmmm"—Emma purred as she ran her hand down his chest—"and after." Then he took his leave as she waved and closed the door. He had lingered far longer than Emma had wanted. She knew Mark would be arriving soon to pick her up for the rally, but she'd been unable to ease Paul out any more quickly. The moment she shut the door she bolted to the phone in her foyer. She dialed it desperately with one hand while she rubbed the awful scent of Paul from her lips. She was muttering impatiently to the phone, "Come on, Julie, answer!"

  The front door suddenly burst open behind her. It was Mark. He was furious. He slammed the door and crossed angrily toward her. "Sorry I'm a little early coming through your revolving door."

  She was totally startled and confused. "Mark? What is it? Wait—wait," she spoke urgently into the phone, "hi, it's Emma . . . Listen—"

  Mark grabbed the receiver from her and slammed it down as he pointed at the door, glowering at her with a frightening smile. "How many?"

  "What!"

  "How many of us suckers are there? And how many of 'em are reptiles?"

  She was firm and brusque with him. "It's not what you think." She reached for the phone, but he kept his hand firmly on top of it. She looked at him with heated desperation in her green eyes. "Mark, I've got to warn them! Diana's got a spy inside their headquarters and—"