by Tim Sullivan
"Cut it into the water sidewise, Jack," T.J. said calmly. "Then sort of turn your wrists. That way the paddle's got something to work against, but you won't give us a shower every time you stroke."
Jack chuckled. "You learn something new every day," he said, stroking the way T.J. told him. It worked pretty well, and Jack soon found himself getting into the spirit of it. It was good exercise for the arms and shoulders, and even for the legs and torso. The two men fell silent as they moved through the swamp. It was an ancient world, Jack thought; you wouldn't be surprised to see a dinosaur lift its scaly head out of the water and roar. The huge trees, with their twisted roots submerged, the fungus, the vines and creepers, and the silent rippling of the water where there was no current all added to the notion that this was a prehistoric world. He remembered his paleontology professor saying that alligators and crocodiles were on the earth before the dinosaurs, come to think of it. Those babies were built to survive.
"Listen," T.J. said with uncharacteristic sharpness. He held up his right hand in command. "Hear that?"
Jack was a little annoyed that his reverie had been disturbed, but then he heard it too. A low hum coming from behind a stand of cypress trees growing out of a muddy embankment.
And then he saw them: ten, maybe twelve of them. They glided through the air on silver disks, coming from between the trees.
Visitors!
T.J. reached for his sidearm as the aliens started firing. The water all around them hissed as blue beams searched for Jack and T.J.
"You got a gun, Jack?" T.J. shouted, squeezing off a round. "No, I know you don't."
One of the aliens spewed green liquid out of its neck, somersaulting into the water with a huge splash. His disk wobbled and smacked into the embankment.
T.J. ducked, a beam burning a neat hole in the crown of his hat. Nevertheless, he hung on to his .38.
"You okay?" Jack shouted.
"Just my hat," T.J. replied, firing his pistol again after carefully taking aim. This time he missed, and the Visitor swerved right over him, hitting the edge of the boat with a beam.
The Visitor was still looking back over his shoulder when he passed over Jack. Hoping he wouldn't overturn the canoe, Jack leaped to his feet and swung the paddle like a baseball bat. He caught the Visitor square in the stomach. Hissing, he flew off his disk.
T.J. blew another one off with a well-aimed shot, but they were completely encircled now, at least eight Visitors swarming around them like buzzards over a dead animal.
One of the disks was wobbling aimlessly, its rider in the water. It veered toward them as if it might hit the canoe.
"Watch out!" T.J. shouted. He fired at it, but the shot failed to deflect the disk. It went over his head then began to ascend.
"Hold on!" Jack yelled. He jumped straight up out of the canoe and grabbed hold of the disk with both hands. He could feel it vibrating as he swung his legs back and forth. T.J. had a moment's respite from the Visitors' attack as they stopped to watch the amazing spectacle of Jack throwing one leg onto the antigravity platform and climbing atop it as it soared three yards over the swamp. He was squatting on it now, and he looked up to see that he was on a collision course with a cypress tree. "How do you steer this thing?" he screamed.
Before he could learn how, the tree was upon him. He just missed the trunk, and he was too low to hit the big limbs. Instead, he was raked with dozens of tiny branches. He managed to cover his face, but his arms felt as though they were being slashed by razors.
Somehow he kept his balance. He suddenly realized that the gravity was reversed on the top side of the disk. His feet were held in place, and he had only to turn his torso to direct the disk any way he wanted it to go.
He saw the startled aliens as he headed toward them. They quickly gained courage, however, when they saw he wasn't armed. Jack saw the paddle floating next to the canoe.
"T.J.," he shouted, "throw me the paddle."
T.J. reached for it, but an energy bolt singed his hand. In pain, he pulled his fingers back. But suddenly his other hand darted up, holding the pistol. He shot the nearest Visitor off his disk and grabbed the paddle at the same time. He held it up triumphantly, and Jack careered by the canoe, snapping it out of T.J.'s burned hand.
Two Visitors turned their disk toward him and came at him at full speed. Jack had been double-teamed before, and he knew what to do. He'd never had the pleasure of holding a canoe paddle in his hand when he played the Steelers, but, then, Pittsburgh didn't issue lasers to their players either.
As they approached. Jack held the paddle like a bat, as he had done before. But just when they were upon him, he turned it horizontally. As they were hit, the two Visitors emitted raspy groans and tumbled helplessly into the water.
There were only four or five of them now. If Jack could only get his hands on one of those laser guns ...
Three of them surrounded the canoe. T.J. took aim at one of them, but the hammer clicked on an empty chamber. There was no time to reload.
Seeing T.J. in a hopeless position, Jack started toward the canoe to help. It was then that he saw perhaps twenty disk riders coming. Reinforcements.
As they approached him, Jack raised the paddle. A blue beam blasted it right out of his hands. The odor of burned wood in his nostrils, he struck out toward the oncoming alien troops and let fly with his fists as soon as he came close enough. An uppercut scored, knocking a Visitor off his disk and into another's arms. The second disk overturned with the extra mass, and both of them ended up in the drink.
Jack cut through their ranks like a buzz saw until he heard T.J. call his name.
One of the Visitors had his thinning hair in its claw. Another had a laser pistol against his temple. T.J. looked straight into Jack's eyes from thirty yards. "Get out of here while you've got the chance, Jack! Go!"
"If you try to escape, he will die," the leader of the marauding aliens said.
"Don't listen to him, Jack," T.J. shouted. "If you stay we'll both die."
"You have my word that you will be spared if you surrender."
Jack didn't believe him, but he couldn't risk letting T.J. die. "All right," he said softly.
"Return to your water craft," the Visitor commanded him.
Jack directed the disk toward the canoe and jumped in. The canoe rocked from side to side.
"You damn fool," T.J. said.
"If we go out," Jack said, "we go out together."
The Visitor said something in his own language. A disk floated out from behind the others. It was larger than any Jack had seen so far, and a strange device was mounted on the front that looked something like an architect's lamp. The Visitor riding the disk adjusted it until it was pointed right at the canoe.
"Here it comes, kid," T.J. said.
Violet waves poured out of the device. Jack turned his face away, hoping there would be no pain.
"You don't suppose they got lost, do you?" Ham said.
"Not likely," Chris replied. "That sheriff's probably spent most of his life in these parts."
Ham shrugged. Chris didn't usually misunderstand his sarcasm, but this time it didn't matter much. Stem and Devereaux were two hours late, and it was getting dark. Ham was pretty sure the Visitors had them.
"Think we're gonna have to track them down too?" Chris said.
"Yeah. But if that sheriff got caught with his pants down out there, we better find somebody who knows his way around here real good."
"Right, Kemosabe."
They drove to the reservation, only half a mile away. "Nice life the folks around here have," Ham remarked as they approached the recreation center. "Where the hell is the boss's hut?"
"This is the only public building here, Ham," Chris observed, "except for the school over there."
Ham noticed a tiny sign saying that Chief Martin Wooster's office was inside. He pulled up by the front door and got out. It was almost dark now, so he didn't have much chance of catching the chief at work. He tried the door an
yway and found it locked.
He turned and shook his head. It was then that he noticed the four young men approaching. "Oh, shit," he muttered. "This is all we need."
They were swaggering. Chris got out of the Land-Rover and glared at them. They formed a semicircle around him and Ham.
"Come a little late to buy some beads," one of them said. He was a big man with broad shoulders and a sneer on his lip.
"That's not what we're looking for," Ham said.
"Maybe some Indian-head coconuts, then?"
"Nothing like that. We'd like to see the chief."
"Would you, now?" The group's spokesman shifted his weight menacingly, as though he would throw a punch at Ham.
Ham didn't flinch. "That's right, and it's pretty important."
"Yeah, I bet." Suddenly the spokesman swung his fist up at Ham's head. By the time it got there, Ham was gone. He pivoted on his left foot, bringing his cocked right leg up, lashing out with his right foot and screaming. He caught his assailant flush in the chest, heard him exhale every bit of wind in his lungs, turned him around, and shoved a knee in the small of his back while holding him in a half nelson.
The other three started toward him, but the click of Chris's .45 automatic dissuaded them. "Just stay cool," he said, "and stay healthy."
The three men backed away. Ham pushed their companion forward. "You boys aren't very neighborly, are you?"
A shot cracked through the muggy air like a thunderbolt.
"Drop it!" someone shouted from behind a shack.
Chris hesitated. Then he heard a click.
"Drop it, I said or so help me I'll blow you away."
A man wearing a cane hat stepped out into the open. He carried a double-barreled 12-gauge shotgun as if he knew how to use it. "While you were thinking about it, I popped another shell into the chamber. Now I got two in this bird killer. One for cach of you. You gonna drop it, now?"
"We didn't start this," Chris said.
The young man pointed his shotgun at Chris, asking the four Indians, "That true?"
None of them spoke.
"All right. Put that peashooter down, and I'll put the safety on this shotgun." He looked at the four youths contemptuously. "Why don't you boys take a powder."
Ham let go of the boy who had attacked him, and Chris holstered his weapon. The four youths backed away and vanished in the twilight shadows. As soon as they were gone, the two men's savior snapped the safety on and cradled the shotgun in both arms.
"How'd you know you could trust me?" he asked.
"You have an honest face," Ham said.
"You guys are professionals, aren't you?"
"That's right. I'm Tyler. That's Chris."
"I won't ask who you work for, just that you go away soon."
"You haven't told us who you are yet."
"My name is John Tiger."
"John Tiger ... do you have a brother named Billy?" Ham asked.
John Tiger smiled wryly and shook his head. "Did that foolish sheriff put you on this?"
"Devereaux? No, we're not looking for your brother. Somebody else is missing."
"Always somebody missing in the swamp."
"Uh-hunh. We'd like to talk to the chief."
"He's a busy man."
"So am I," Ham said, "but I'm talking to you."
A glint of anger showed in John Tiger's eyes. "Don't do me any favors," he said.
"It's all right, John," said a white-haired man, walking toward them. "I'll talk to them."
"Chief Martin Wooster?" Ham said. "Yeah."
"You may not like us, but when you find out who your new neighbors are here in the Everglades, even the 'gators are gonna seem like old friends."
In her dream, Sabrina floated free in space. She drifted between planets as easily as one rolls over in bed. Each of the worlds she visited was beautiful, each different from all the others. At last she neared Earth, and it was the most beautiful planet of them all.
As Earth, planet of her birth, turned in the darkness, however, she noticed a subtle change occurring. The white striations of clouds masked a transformation, a mottling and darkening of the blue seas. They became green and coarse, hardening, ridges forming on them. Like lizard skin. Sabrina was horrified to see such a horrid transmogrification. She tried to cry out, but she couldn't make a sound. She was sinking into Earth's gravity well, and she couldn't stop. Squamous, green appendages grew out of the North American continent. They formed talons, reaching for her. She was falling right into them.
They closed over her as she tumbled into them.
She opened her eyes.
Dr. Morrow stood over her. He wore his human makeup, as always.
"What do you want?" she demanded.
"I heard you cry out," Dr. Morrow said, "so I came in to see if I could help."
Sabrina sighed. Sitting up, she reached for a flask of water on the table by her bed. "You can help me by letting me go. Until you do that, I see no reason why I should talk to you."
"You will talk to me, my dear Dr. Fontaine—one way or another"
Sabrina slammed the flask down on the table. "Was that a threat?"
"Call it whatever you like, but you will talk."
"Do you intend to put me in a conversion chamber Dr, Morrow?"
"If necessary."
"If that's the case, you defeat your own purpose."
"What do you know of my purpose?" His face was blank, his sunglasses reflecting two tiny images of her angry expression.
"I know that you need me." She knew no such thing, but the statement was worth risking if she could learn if it was true.
"What makes you think so?"
"Why would you go to the trouble of luring me here otherwise?"
"Haven't you heard that we like to dispose of scientists?" Dr. Morrow asked dryly.
"Yes, I've heard that." Sabrina spoke calmly, sensing that Morrow was evading the real issue. "But you're badly understaffed here, and your research is rather urgent. That's why you've kidnapped me and the others."
"You know about the others?"
"Of course," she lied.
"Very well," Dr, Morrow said after a few moments of deep thought. "We'll give you a little more time to come to your senses, Dr Fontaine. But not much more time. You will be converted if you cannot see the value of working with us willingly. That would be a pity."
"Yes, it would be, particularly if you destroy my mind," Sabrina responded coolly. "Then I would be of no use to you at all."
"If the process destroys your mind. There is a good chance that no such thing would happen."
"I'm quite sure that 1 would not succumb," Sabrina said confidently.
Dr. Morrow stepped into the doorway as it opened. He turned and pointed a finger at her. "Don't be too certain, Dr. Fontaine, and don't be too certain that I won't be willing to convert you if all else fails."
He walked out. Just as the door was closing, Sabrina heard the same terrible scream she had heard a day or two before.
She shrank back into her cell, wanting to cry but refusing to permit herself to show any emotion. They were watching, but they would see no sign of weakness in her.
The coffee was perking in Chief Martin Wooster's humble office. Marie Whitley had joined them there at the chief's request, and she was clearly distraught.
".Sheriff Devereaux was trying to help, and now he's gone too," she said. "What can be causing this?"
"Something most people would like to believe is a thing of the past," Ham said.
"I don't understand," Marie said.
"Well, it's the same way people talk about Nazis nowadays, like they were some aberration in the past that can never return. But they weren't," Ham explained. "They were people like you and me who got caught up in something bigger than they were. Maybe a lot of them sensed it was wrong, but it was powerful and they were just ordinary people. What could they do but go along with it?"
"I still don't understand."
"What I'm trying t
o say is that the Visitors are still here."
"The Visitors? I thought—"
"You thought they were all gone. But they're not gone. At least not all of them. Some of them are hiding right here in the Everglades."
"How do you know this?" Chief Wooster asked.
"Just between you and me and the coffeepot, Chief, I've been involved in a lot of intelligence operations. Chris and I have both ferreted out a lot of espionage agents. This thing has got a smell about it. Somebody very powerful is behind these disappearances, somebody not of this earth."
"But what makes you so sure?"
"Who could it be besides the Visitors? Cubans? Russians? It's not the way they operate."
"Suppose you're right," Marie said. "We still don't understand why they're kidnapping people—"she turned grim—"or killing them."
"My guess is," Ham said as he poured himself a cup of coffee, "that they need people for some kind of labor. Some of the work they're doing is very specialized. Biological. We must assume that they've already developed an antitoxin."
"Granted, if they're still here," Martin said.
"If they've got that under their belts, they're free to develop their own strain of bacteria that would be harmless to them but which could kill humans."
"Thus reversing our roles," Marie murmured.
"And that's only one of many possibilities. Don't forget, these lizards are centuries ahead of us in most respects. They can travel from Sirius to Earth, develop a cure for cancel; create a human disguise so good that we can't detect it—and they've succeeded in mating one of their species with one of ours."
"The star child, Elizabeth," Marie said, wonder in her voice.
"Then, you don't believe the Visitors have given up on their plans of world conquest, Mr. Tyler?" Chief Wooster asked.
"No, of course I don't. They need the water—and the food."
Marie shuddered, thinking of what they might have done to Billy by now.
"What can we do, Mr. Tyler?" she asked.
"You can help us fight them," Ham said, "or you can sit back and let them take over the way so many did in Europe back in the thirties."
"I'll help you."