The Border

by Robert McCammon

  Derryman sat down in the first row beside Dave, with Ethan between Dave and Jefferson. At the end of the row sat the First Lady, who spared them not a glance. She was drinking from a glass with liquid and icecubes in it. Dave smelled alcohol.

  “Am I all right?” Beale asked, looking upward at what must’ve been a speaker mounted on the wall on his side of the glass.

  “You’re fine, sir,” said the console controller.

  “Mandy? Am I all right?” Beale’s voice was thin and fragile, a far cry from what both Jefferson and Dave remembered of previous speeches, though Dave hadn’t heard many of them, and he was not fond of politics. Before the aliens had come, his opinion was that politicians disdained the public until they needed votes.

  “Yes, you’re all right,” the First Lady said, but she wasn’t looking at him and she was taking another drink.

  “My most trustworthy critic,” Beale announced, with a nervous laugh, to anyone who was listening. He was wearing the same dark blue suit, white shirt and red-patterned tie Jefferson had seen him in previously. He was immaculate in his clothing and his makeup was expertly applied. The dark circles under Beale’s eyes and the deep lines in his face could be hidden, but no makeup could hide the feeling of sad and tragic desperation that Ethan knew everyone in the room could sense.

  “Sir,” said the console controller, “any glare on the teleprompter?” The way the man spoke this, it sounded like a rote question.

  “No glare. It’s good.”

  “We’ll give you a countdown to showtime, as usual. Kathy, finish him up. George, you’re done. The lights look fine.” The makeup lady instantly stopped her work and the technician came down the ladder and folded it up to prop it against the stage set’s far wall.

  Jefferson leaned forward. “What’s going on here?” he asked Derryman.

  “The President’s address to the nation. He does this twice a month.”

  “To the nation? What nation?”

  “The one he believes is still out there.”

  “He doesn’t know the truth? He thinks people have power and cable TV?”

  “Gentlemen, I’m going to press the Talk button,” said the man at the controls, as a warning that they should be careful of what they were saying.

  “Go ahead,” Derryman told him. “We’re just here to watch.”

  “Ready on Camera One. Ready on Camera Two. Mr. President, let’s start at five…four…three…two…one…and you’re on the air.”

  Jason Beale stood straight and tall in the convergence of the spotlights. He did not smile at the cameras, nor was his expression forlorn. He was a politician, and he had manufactured upon his thin and sallow face an expression of the deepest, most sincere resolve.

  “My fellow Americans,” he read from the teleprompter, “my cherished citizens of this noble country that will never be broken by any invader earthly or otherwise, I bring you news of hope today. According to the latest military reports, your United States Army and your United States Air Force have destroyed in battle a stronghold of what we know as the Cyphers west of the Mississippi River near Alexandria, Louisiana. Your United States Navy and Marines are currently in action against a Gorgon stronghold near Seattle, Washington, and I am told by my Chief of Staff that the Gorgons are on the retreat.” President Beale paused. The tic began at his left eye, making that side of his face wince. He kept his head lowered. “Pardon me,” he said thickly into his microphone. “I am overwhelmed with emotion…as I’m sure we all are…all of us, in these hard days of trial and tribulation.” This was not being read from the teleprompter, but was coming from the torment of his soul. He didn’t speak for maybe ten or fifteen more seconds, during which the filming continued. When Beale at last lifted his face toward the lens the tic was still there but it had lessened, displaying perhaps a remnant of the man’s strength of will. He began to read again from the teleprompter. “I am happy—gratified—to say that the following cities are near liberation from this unprecedented threat, though not without heavy loss of American heroes: Charlotte, North Carolina; Baltimore, Maryland; Providence, Rhode Island; Chicago, Illinois; Cedar Rapids, Iowa; Omaha, Nebraska; Denver, Colorado; Phoenix, Arizona; and Portland, Oregon. Be advised to stay in your shelters in those cities until the All Clear signal is given, that signal to be determined at a later date. On a darker note, I am informed by my chief of staff that there is still no word from the other capitals and leaders of the world, but we will continue to monitor all satellites and send forth messages of support and the blessings of God twenty-four hours a day.”

  Derryman shifted in his seat. Ethan understood that of course this was all a fiction designed to give the President hope and to prevent him from finding a way to kill himself. What leader of any nation could bear to see their country—their responsibility—torn away, broken and conquered on their watch?

  “We are still here,” Beale went on, in his forceful and Presidential voice though the tic on the left side of his face betrayed all. “We are still the United States of America. I am receiving updates every few hours from my commanders in the field. As I told you last time we spoke, we have lost many good men and women, but just as many remain in the service of this country. We extend our heartfelt wishes for success to the other nations of this world, and we hope they are receiving this broadcast. Let me repeat as I have said many times: remain in your shelters until you are given the All Clear signal. The armed forces are fighting for you and I believe they will conquer both these threats to our way of life. I want to say to my children James and Natalie, stay in your safe area and hold onto the faith that very soon we will all see the dawning of a new day. I will say that to all the children of the world and to all the families who have bound together to withstand this assault. I will say to every soldier in the field and every sailor at sea, God be with you when you go into harm’s way, and never forget that you are the pride of this nation, you are the best of the best, and we know you will not give up the fight no matter what. We too, here at this safe location, will never give up the fight.” He paused for a moment, to let those stirring words resonate, and the new arrivals in the audience wondered how much of that he really believed.

  The ice cubes made a hollow sound in the First Lady’s glass as she took another drink.

  “I will report back in two weeks, same day and same time,” said the man at the podium, whose forehead had begun to show the sparkles of sweat again though cool air was blowing quietly from the vents. “This is the President of your United States, Jason Beale, signing off as always: be brave.”

  Then Beale stood motionless except for the tic in his face until the console controller said, “And out. That’s it, sir.”

  “Did I do all right? Mandy, how did I look?”

  “Tell him,” she said between swallows, “that he looked very handsome.” Her voice was just a shade slurred.

  “She says you looked great, sir.”

  “I was worried. It’s hot in here. Is it hot to you?”

  “It’s the lights. It’s always the lights, sir.”

  Dave had turned his head toward Vance Derryman and leaned closer to the man’s ear. “How do you get away with this? I can tell you that for damned sure Denver hasn’t been fucking liberated!”

  “Indeed,” Derryman said.

  “Yeah, indeed! He thinks the satellites are still up there? And people have electricity?”

  “Watch your voice, he’s coming out.” Derryman stood up. “Excellent, Jason. That told them what they needed to know.”

  Beale took stock of Dave, Ethan and Jefferson, who also had risen to their feet. When he looked into Ethan’s silver eyes he rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. The tic was more severe now. “Is he safe?”

  “I believe he is.”

  “Vance told me about the video. How you broke open the gates without any weapon,” Beale said. “What are you and where did you come from?”

  “I’m neither Gorgon nor Cypher, if that eases your mind. We came
from Denver. Where I am from is hard to explain, but I am here on a mission to stop their war.”

  “We’re winning,” the President said. “It may take awhile…it may cause the loss of many thousands…hundreds of thousands…but we’re winning. Aren’t we, Vance?”

  “The field commanders are optimistic,” Derryman replied.

  “Look…sir,” Dave began. “I think you—”

  “That’s good to hear,” Ethan interrupted, not wanting the plain hard truth that Dave was about to present to the President to unhinge the man’s mind any further. A quick glance into that mind showed a tangle of emotions and self-recriminations, guilts, frustrations, and fears that flew like dark birds through a haunted forest. The sadness and sense of loss there was nearly crushing. Ethan withdrew, realizing that Jason Beale really did believe the lies he had read from the teleprompter to what he thought was his American people.

  “We have the power grid back up in some areas,” Beale said. “The northeast and the west coast. I know not very many people can see and hear my encouragement to hang on…not right now…but I think it helps. Don’t you, Vance?”

  “I do, sir.”

  Beale couldn’t stop staring at Ethan. “You…look like a human boy, except for…those. You say…you’ve come to stop the war? How? And…who sent you here?”

  “My commander-in-chief,” Ethan answered. “Consider me a peacekeeper, like your United Nations soldiers. I need to ask you one question, sir. Will you help me get into the S-4 research facility at Area 51?”

  Beale immediately looked to Derryman. “What’s he talking about, Vance? Why does he want to get into there?”

  “He has some idea that he can find a weapon of use among the artifacts. I’ve told him we have no intention of leaving this installation. It’s too much of a risk for you, sir.”

  “That may be,” said Ethan, “but if we can use the helicopter…I think it’s a risk worth taking.”

  “Flying through that sky?” Derryman cast a cold eye in his direction. “You don’t know what it was like in Air Force One from Washington to Salt Lake. Now it would be even worse. That’s a no-go, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Dave said, “Mr. President, you need to listen to Ethan. Give him the chance to do what he needs to do.”

  “Ethan,” Beale repeated. “That’s a quaint name for a creature not of this world.”

  “Sir,” Ethan continued, “I ask you to believe in me. I want to stop this war, and the only way I can do that is with help. Your help, sir. I need to get into—”

  “This conversation is done,” said Derryman. “We’re not letting the President leave here. Period, end of story.”

  “It’s not the end of it. The Cyphers and Gorgons are going to attack this mountain again, once they’ve finished their own fighting. The next time they’re going to destroy everything.”

  “Believe what he says, Jason,” said Jefferson Jericho. “Listen…don’t you remember me? Little Rock, the fund-raising dinner for Bill Clinton in May of 1992. Ginger Wright’s party. I was going by the name of Leon Kushman then. Remember?”

  Beale blinked slowly. He seemed to be trying to focus on Jefferson but was having trouble. “I don’t…I don’t think I know you. Kushman?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve met…so many people. So many names and faces. They run together. Excuse me…I have a headache,” he said to the group. “Mandy? Mandy?” He was calling to the First Lady as if she was no longer in her seat, yet she was no more than ten feet away at the end of the row. She finished off her drink and got up, with an air about her of weariness and despondency. Ethan thought that she had simply ceased to care, because in a matter of seconds he gathered the information that she believed both their children to be dead. The alcohol dulled a world of pain.

  “I’m here,” she said. “Never far away.” She spoke it like a person in prison chains. She regarded Ethan as one might examine a strange form of vegetation growing from a crack in the sidewalk. Ethan knew she was about to ask What the hell are you supposed to be but even that seemed to be too much of an effort for her. She let the caustic question die.

  “You did a very good job, sir,” Derryman told him. He clasped the President’s thin shoulder. Jason Beale was a shadow of himself. The President had to be reminded and encouraged to eat even one meal a day. “You always do a good job,” Derryman said. “Go rest now. Listen to some music. Amanda, please remind him to take his meds at five o’clock.” Ethan picked up the thought from Derryman that Beale was on a number of medications, including an antidepressant, and that the First Lady’s medicine was found in a bottle of whiskey. The supply of that was almost gone; she’d been going through it faster and faster. Of the original two cases there were only three bottles left. Derryman was worried about what was going to happen to the First Lady’s mental health when she could no longer self-medicate.

  She took her husband’s arm and started to lead him out of the studio, her own balance precarious. Beale turned back toward his chief of staff. “Vance,” he said, with a quick darting look at the alien peacekeeper, “we’re safe, aren’t we? I mean…what he said…about the Gorgons and the Cyphers attacking. We’re safe, aren’t we?”

  “I told you, sir, that the breach was taken care of. We did have some intruders, as I explained, but they were turned away.” Derryman gave extra emphasis to that word. “There is no safer place for you and the First Lady to be.”

  “Thank you.” Beale’s tormented eyes in the wrecked face found Ethan again. Like a frightened child he asked, “You won’t hurt us, will you?”

  “No sir. I want to help, not hurt.”

  “I guess…we can’t lock you up, can we? What you did to the gates…no use locking you up.”

  “That’s correct.”

  Beale could add nothing more to that; his mind was already nearly overwhelmed. He nodded at his wife and together they approached the door. It was unclear who was holding who up, and which was in the better shape of the two.

  “Leon Kushman!” Jefferson said before they could get out. “Now my name is Jefferson Jericho! I was an evangelist, on television! Remember me?”

  The President suddenly stopped just short of the door. He glanced back. “Oh…yes…that man. I do know that name from somewhere.”

  “It’s me! I’m him!”

  “Go rest, sir,” Derryman said. “There’ll be time to talk later.” After the President and the First Lady had gone and the door had closed behind them, Derryman let go a long sigh. He rubbed the side of his head that was still in pain. “It has been very, very difficult,” he said.

  “It’s not going to get any easier,” Dave answered. “Do you really film him, or is it just for show?”

  “He likes us to burn a DVD of the telecast so he can watch it back and critique himself. This has been going on since we got here, every two weeks. I put together the reports. He thinks there’s still some organization to the armed forces, and they’re out there fighting. If he didn’t have that belief…he’d be long gone by now.”

  “When they come again,” Ethan said forcefully, “they will destroy this mountain and everyone in it. I’ll try my best to protect you, but I am not infallible. I regret the death of Mr. Jackson, that I couldn’t save him. When are you going to tell the President about that?” Derryman did not reply, but the peacekeeper had his full attention. “Both the Cyphers and the Gorgons want me, because they know I’m something different that they don’t understand,” Ethan said. “If they can’t capture me—which they can’t—they’ll have to make sure I am contained…another word for dead. This body can be destroyed, but not the essence of what I am.” Ethan answered Derryman’s next question before he could ask it. “No, I can’t just leap from body to body…I need time to integrate myself into the form. And time is what we don’t have, sir. It is important—essential—that I get into the S-4 installation. Looking for what, I don’t know, but there must be something I can use.”

  “I’ve told you, the P
resident can’t—”

  “Your world is going to die,” Ethan said. “All of you—your entire civilization—will die. I can understand that you don’t want to put him at risk, but there is no other way.”

  “Listen to him,” Jefferson urged, almost pleading. “Please…listen.”

  “No,” Derryman said firmly. “You listen. I have worked for Jason Beale for the greater part of fifteen years. I’ve seen the ups and downs, I’ve seen everything. He is barely hanging on, and so is she. They both know their children are probably dead. I am not going to send him out there in a helicopter flying to New Mexico with those things in the sky. If they’re so bent on destroying you, they’ll shoot that ’copter down in a matter of seconds. No. Now…I’ll take you to the cafeteria, you can get some food. Do you eat?” he asked Ethan.

  “The body requires it.”

  “If my high school biology teacher could see this!” Derryman said. His face contorted for a few seconds, and Dave thought he was close to jumping his tracks too. “I hope she died in her sleep before all this started!”

  “Is this how your world ends?” Ethan asked.

  “What?”

  “Does your world end not with a bang, but with a whimper?”

  Derryman didn’t reply for awhile. He stared at the floor. Then he adjusted his glasses and said, “The cafeteria. I’m going. I suggest you come along, because the guards won’t let you stay up here without me.” He went to the door, opened it, and waited until they obeyed him like good little mindless soldiers.

  THIRTY-ONE.

  THE PEACEKEEPER HAD DISCOVERED SOMETHING HE THOUGHT HE might miss, when all was said and done. It was called ‘coffee’. As soon as he tasted his first sip, he decided this was quite a drink. It was hot and black, a little bitter, and it made him feel energized, if that was the right term. He imagined he could feel the power of this liquid thrumming through the veins of his appropriated body, and sitting at a table in the cafeteria with Dave, Jefferson, and Olivia, he thought he needed the jolt.