“I am ashamed that I pushed you too far, Myka. I was merely curious, trying to compare our practices regarding romance and marriage with your own. You bond permanently and part of that bond involves the presence of the mate triggering off feelings of pleasure.”
Myka looked like he wanted to flee. “Intense. Bonding is permanent. Irreversible. If a mate dies, the other is rendered bereft of happiness. Bereft of love. Of hope. I vaguely remember the father of my father. What he was like when his mate crossed over to the other side. I did not understand bonding then — I was 4 I think. But looking at my — grandfather? — I remember thinking that he looked empty. He was not the same. My father explained it to me a few years later.” He turned to look at her. “Please, Jennifer. I cannot talk about this. It is far too private for us.”
She stood, and carefully entwined her arm with his. “I will not speak of this to anyone. It will be as if we hadn’t discussed it.” She gave him what she hoped was a comforting smile. “What would you like to talk about? Somehow, I don’t think you were very interested in my description of football.”
The bar was nearly empty. The grounding of nearly all air traffic in North America (and around the world) meant that not much in the way of sporting events was going on. A powerfully-built man with steel-grey eyes and a permanent scowl on his face wandered over to where a small group of men were talking.
When he stopped by their table, they looked at him and told him to get lost. That this was a private conversation. “Not if you don’t keep your voices down,” he told them. “I’ve been listening since I walked in the door about 10 minutes ago. And I just may be the piece of the puzzle you’ve been wanting.”
The men looked at each other, accusing one another of being the one talking too loudly. The leader of the group looked up at him. “Now, how is it that you think you have what we need when we haven’t even told you what we’re wanting to do?”
His scowl grew deeper, and he gave his head a disparaging shake. “You need to get into a couple of places. None of you know the slightest thing about how to do that sort of stuff. You amateurs are in desperate need of professional help.”
Some of the men at the table started getting upset. “You asshole!” one of them shouted at him. “Who do you think you are? Where do you get off assuming that you know more than us. You don’t know nuthin’.”
Steel-grey eyes seemed to bore holes into the man’s skull. He slunk back down behind the table. “It’ll take more than just crawling through sewers. You have to be able to get into Jewel before you can try and infiltrate the occupied area. The exclusion zone is littered with troops whose sole order is to keep the likes of you well away from town.” He looked at each one of them in turn. “I was right the first time — you’re all amateurs. I’ll go find me a group who at least has a brain between them.” He started to turn and walk away.
A hand gently grabbed his wrist. He stopped and stared down at the hand. “Remove it, or lose it.”
“Just a second there, friend -.”
“Randy! You’re not gonna believe the BS this outsider is feeding us —.”
“Shaddup and sit down!” Randy told him, then let go of the stranger’s wrist. “So, how is it that you’re an expert?”
The scowl suddenly turned into a smile. “You remember the Bin Laden thing?” They all nodded. “I was on the team that nailed him,” he lied. He took a napkin and wrote down the name and address of the motel he was staying at. “You guys have until Tuesday to get in touch with me. If you don’t, then I’m gone. Good luck with that balloon idea.” He rolled his eyes at them. “You’d be shot down before you even got halfway to the town.” He turned and walked out the door and onto the street.
Chapter 6
Monday morning, Jennifer found Myka and several guards waiting for her at her usual exit point, and the small entourage escorted her to the clinic. To their credit, the guards at the barrier (after having been warned by Jennifer that several of the Wakira were going to pass through the barrier with her) reacted professionally, even saluting the alien commander and the others. Some of the soldiers broke off and joined the escort, marching in time with the Wakirans.
Bethy scarcely flinched when she saw Myka’s face and got through the introductions looking friendly and pleased. As always, Myka was cordial and polite. General Comiston arrived a few minutes later, after Jennifer had given Myka a tour of the small underfunded clinic. Comiston saluted, then stuck out his hand. Myka placed his forearm against Comiston’s and gently grasped the general’s elbow. Comiston caught on immediately, and mimicked the gesture.
Bethy hung around for the pleasantries. During a lull in the conversation between the two, Jennifer mentioned to them that the people behind the barrier were probably running out of food. Comiston, seeing an opportunity, suggested that the US government could supply groceries to those households in a day or two. Enough to last them a couple of weeks. When Myka mentioned his concerns regarding security, Comiston offered to have the goods arrive at the barrier on pallets, so that each household’s supplies would be put together in full view of the Wakira. After a little more haggling, an agreement was reached. The food and toiletries would be delivered to the barrier at 6:15 Wednesday evening — so Jennifer could be present to help smooth over any difficulties. Moments later, Comiston gave everyone his regards and left.
“He seems very professional, Jennifer,” Myka commented.
“I’m glad that the two of you got along. I was hoping that you would get a chance to meet — though I thought that I was going to be giving the general a little warning first.” They were silent for a moment. Jennifer then haltingly uttered, what seemed to Bethy, to be nonsense syllables.
Myka’s eyes widened. “You are most welcome, Jennifer!”
“Did I say it right? I was rehearsing it all last night, after I got back home.”
“Your accent is peculiar, but you were exactly right.”
Jennifer blushed. “I asked one of the sentries how to say ‘I thank you’ when I left the ship for home last night. I was going to thank the sentry at the barrier with it. I’d really like to learn more in the days ahead.”
“I will see if I can put together a small list of phrases sometime soon. I must go. It was a pleasure meeting you Elizabeth Bratten.” Turning to Jennifer, he added, “I will see you after evening meal.”
“I’ll be there,” Jennifer replied. With that, the aliens and the accompanying soldiers left the clinic and headed back to the barrier.
“Bethy, are you okay? You didn’t growl at him for calling you Elizabeth.”
She sighed. “I’m usually tolerant of first-timers who don’t know any better.” She scowled briefly. “I think I’ve been made, Jenn.”
“Made?”
“The general. He recognized me. I treated him for leg shrapnel on my last tour. I’m sure he recognized me.”
“Bethy, you mustered out, right? You didn’t go AWOL when you got back last time, did you?”
The older woman rolled her eyes at Jennifer. “Of course I didn’t go AWOL. But when I arrived back stateside, I gave them an address in Connecticut, instead of here. Just so I wouldn’t get a call-up notice.”
“Oh honey! Crap! What do you want us to do?”
Bethy smiled at her. “You do nothing. This falls on me. If anything happens, it falls on me.” She grimaced. “I better let Rob know. And his mom in Connecticut.” She and Jennifer exchanged hugs.
“I sure hope you won’t end up in a stockade somewhere,” Jennifer told her. “Who would Barb and I get to take your shifts?” she added with a grin.
Bethy playfully swatted her. “Bad girl!” she rebuked with a laugh. “I knew it was bad news when we hired a teenager.”
Jennifer harumphed. “I’ll have you know Nurse Bratten, that I’m about to turn 21. So there,” followed by raspberries. “Hang in there, Bethy. Maybe there never was another call-up.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.” Bethy walked over to the doo
r and pulled it open. “I liked your new friend. Have a quiet shift.”
Once again, General Comiston was on a scramble line direct to the White House, though this time, he was speaking with an expert that the President had brought on board.
“You must replace her,” the voice on the other end told him stridently. “She is damaged. We cannot count on her being able to do the things we will need her to do. I have analyzed the reports from when she was in primary school, and in that college she attended. I was even fortunate enough to access her high school files from the school board computer network. She has been irreparably damaged. She is inherently unstable. She must be replaced immediately.”
“Replaced? Doctor, do you have any clue what is going on here in Jewel? She is the one piece to this puzzle that cannot be replaced.”
“I don’t care how difficult it might be, General. I was asked to give the President my advice about the woman’s condition and whether or not she’ll be able to respond appropriately when the need arises. She will break, General. It’s a coin toss as to whether she’ll curl up into a ball and whimper, or explode. At the worst possible time. If they are as dangerous as everyone here seems to believe, then my professional opinion is that you get her out of there, and get someone far more stable — more whole — than this poor woman is.”
Comiston was glad that the link was audio only, as he rolled his eyes at the person he considered to be nothing more than someone who played with lab rats. “You’re not listening to me, Doctor. She cannot be replaced. It’s not a matter of difficulty — she cannot. The Wakira have accepted her. She has established a friendship with the mission commander. She is the only one who has unrestricted access — both to the commander and to those of us outside the barrier. We can’t just go to the Wakira and say ‘Use this person instead of Jennifer Hodges’. The choice isn’t ours to make.”
“I am merely expressing my professional judgment, General. This woman will snap. She will shatter. And when she does, it will be spectacular. What good will that do us then, General? Get her out of there. Somehow. Before it’s too late.”
“You have no clue what’s going on here, Doctor. You need to get briefed by someone there who does know.” Comiston struggled to keep his anger in check. “Either do that, or go back to your ivory tower. I know her more than you ever will. At least I’ve met her and spent time in conversation with her. You have no clue.”
Tuesday afternoon, the phone in a room of a cheap backroads motel rang. The man who called himself Dan Mitchell forced his heart to stop racing. He picked the handset up on the fourth ring. Pulling out the message pad that the motel provided, he scribbled down the directions he was given, then hung up.
He let out a huge sigh of relief. “I’m in!”
That evening, in Jewel, Jennifer found herself walking back to the barrier with her old schoolmate Rafe along with several boxes of frozen chicken breasts and two very large containers of coleslaw, courtesy the US Army. It had been suggested that a neighborhood barbecue for those living behind the barrier might get those who were still afraid to come out of their homes and to interact with their neighbors and with the Wakira. Myka saw this as an opportunity for his staff to acquire more data for the survey from the natives, and to put their minds at ease. He tasked David Stone to organize the food preparation. Stone in turn got three neighbors to volunteer their barbecues and cooking skills to make it all work. The cooking was to be done on the football field, and people were expected to sit and eat in the westside seats. It all went surprisingly well.
A daily routine quickly developed. Each morning, the sentry at the barrier would teach Jennifer a new phrase in Wakiran before she exited. General Comiston would eat lunch with her at the clinic, and Myka would arrive just before shift change to walk her back home. A limited number of others from behind the barrier started being allowed to leave unescorted a few days later.
This continued until the end of the month, at which time Jennifer noticed a change in the air. Something amongst the Wakira was wrong. Jennifer could sense a growing tension from the various sentries she would encounter. Myka, as well, seemed to be on edge. While he continued to carry himself well, she could see that his patience was wearing thin. After dancing around the issue with him, Jennifer backed off. Something was clearly wrong.
On the morning of the 31st, Jennifer decided to ask the sentry on her way out to work. “Greetings, honorable male,” she said, in almost flawless Wakiran.
“Greetings, Jennifer Hodges. I hope your day will be pleasant.” He repeated it in his language, and Jennifer repeated it until he seemed satisfied that she had it right.
“Honorable male,” she said in English, “what is causing the tension I can sense from you and the others? Is there anything that I can do to help?”
“I thank you for your concern, Jennifer Hodges. We are getting restless. The survey should have concluded almost a nineday ago.”
“I assume that the data you had before you arrived had to be discarded, because of the fiction your people encountered. It’s only been 12 Terran days since the problem was discovered. Perhaps that’s why the survey has gone on so long.”
“I do not know,” he told her, unconvinced. “It is most unusual. The mission commander has not informed us of the reason for the delay or when we will be leaving.”
“He must have his reasons. The mission commander seems to me to be competent and efficient. I hope that the delay won’t trouble you.” She walked over to the barrier and looked back, saying the phrase that she had just learned. As usual, she pushed one hand through, then the other, then stuck her head out. “Hi boys. Coming through.”
Mid-afternoon, Jennifer startled when the clinic phone rang. It was the first time someone had phoned the clinic during one of her shifts in almost a year. Hesitantly, she picked up the handset and answered it.
The voice at the other end told her that he was an interviewer for National Public Radio, and asked her if she had a few minutes to have a brief chat and to answer a few questions. Jennifer wished that she could say that she was too busy, but she had had no patients all day thus far. Reluctantly, she agreed.
The chat was pleasant. The interviewer made it feel as if they were simply shooting the breeze — the questions were posed in a way that made it seem that Jennifer wasn’t actually answering questions after all. They talked about the Wakira, the mission commander, life behind the barrier, and what life was like in the town. This led to Jennifer telling the interviewer (and the rest of the country) that the residents of Jewel had been forgotten by the county and the state governments. That unemployment was almost 90%. Which in turn led Jennifer to disclose that the county hadn’t paid the staffers at the clinic in over two months. When the interviewer asked Jennifer why the three of them hadn’t walked away from their jobs, he was flabbergasted by her response. “Where else would people go if they needed medical attention?”
Late into her shift on August 1st, Jennifer noticed dark clouds beginning to build out to the west in the hills. When Barb arrived for shift change, she commented on how the winds had picked up, and had started shifting direction every few minutes. She waited a few minutes to see if Myka would show up, then abandoned that notion. “Better batten down the hatches, Barb,” Jennifer quipped after wishing her a great night.
She walked to just past Amethyst and looked out to the west. “Squall line,” she told herself. “Moving north northeast, it looks. Hmmmm.”
She resumed her walk back to the barrier. The sight of the large disc-shaped ship over the treetops to the southeast was no longer disconcerting. “Strange how perceptions change so quickly,” she said aloud. She took her eyes off the ship and the black curtain that emanated from it, and looked southward down Main. The squall line extended as far as the eye could see. Cloud tops were continuing to build. To the southwest, she thought she saw a flash of lightning off in the distance. “The Wakira aren’t going to like this,” she said.
She stopped and presented hersel
f at the army checkpoint. “Storm coming,” she commented. “You guys have shelter? I thought I saw lightning in the distance.”
“We’ll be okay, Ms. Hodges. They said they’d send over a bus of some kind for when the storm hits. Figure it’ll be a big one?”
“Nah. Should be impressive for the aliens though. Stay safe guys. Don’t take shelter under the trees.” She walked up to the barrier. “Greetings, males,” she said in their language. “I’m ready to pass through the barrier.” A hand reached out, gently grasped hers and pulled her through. “I thank you,” she told the sentry.
Instead of walking to Thorn and heading directly home, she hesitated. The sentry noticed the change in her usual custom. “Is there something wrong, Jennifer Hodges?”
She chewed her lower lip for a moment. “I think that you need to advise the Wakira, and the ship overhead, that a storm is approaching. It will probably bring heavy rain, winds that might gust up to one-tenth the speed of sound, and electrical discharges.”
He blinked twice. “Electrical discharges?”
She raised her left hand and swivelled it, to indicate the affirmative. “The discharges are known as lightning. They also produce a loud noise, like an explosion, which we call thunder. I remember the mission commander telling me that weather on most of the planets in the Empire is fairly calm and uneventful. I wanted to make sure that the Wakira were not caught by surprise when the storm arrives. My guess,” she turned and looked westward along Emerald, “is that it will arrive in about an hour or so. About one-twentieth of a Terran day. If your people have not experienced this type of weather, it will be very disturbing to you. I must go and prepare evening meal for my father.” She turned and continued on her way, imitating the Wakira in not giving any farewells and leaving abruptly.
She was back onto the football field after supper when the storm struck. The aliens were bothered by the flashes of lightning and the rumbles of thunder, but tried to carry on as if it wasn’t happening. Jennifer spent the evening mingling with them, and assuaging their fears.
And What of Earth? Page 7