"What's this about?" he asked, backing up against the strong hands grasping his arms. "What is that thing?"
The man who turned to him from calibrating the machines fit the image of someone who would be conducting maniacal, Dr. Evilish interrogations far too well: tall, bald, and razor-thin, he reminded Brian of a walking snake. An upright snake with a sinister smile.
"Just something that will help us recover some things you can't consciously remember, Mr. Loving. I'm Dr. Jacob Kushner, and I'll be conducting the interview."
Brian was helped into the chair, resisting another bout of panic as the helmet was lowered over his head and he was enclosed in pitch black.
"Don't worry," said Dr. Kushner, a breathy rasp to his voice that for Brian destroyed any possibility of it being reassuring. "You'll be in good hands. Just try to relax and it will be over before you know it."
Still, they were government agents not mad scientists, Brian told himself. How bad could this be? And it wasn't bad at first. The skinny, bald scientist asked him if he remembered anything about the conversation between Jamie Shepherd and Amelrina, and Brian replied no. Dr. Kushner asked him to try harder to remember, and that was when the discomfort began. At first, it was only a sense of frustration combined with a mild headache. More questions, and the headache blossomed into a full-on migraine – something Brian experienced once every few years. Then the migraine started to resemble something more like brain surgery without an anesthetic. They said that the brain itself doesn't actually feel pain, but whoever said that, Brian thought, had never felt this.
"Stop!" he cried, struggling against the steel cuffs binding his hands. "Get this thing off me!"
"Stop resisting, Mr. Love."
"I don't fucking know what they said!"
"Then we'll have to dig deeper."
Brian's screams rose in a steady crescendo before fading into gasps, followed by the muttering voice that sounded oddly feminine, and finally an infantile burbling. Then the room was silent.
Watching from the Situation Room, President Tomlinson and her advisors were leaning forward as they strained to hear the dying echoes of Brian's words.
"Did we get anything, Jacob?" she asked.
"I think so." Kushner gazed at the silver sphere enclosing Brian's head. "Our system AI is going through it as we speak."
"What's the status of Brian Loving?" asked the Vice President. "Is he okay?"
Jacob Kushner broke his pensive pose and glanced at the computer screens with a distracted air, as if that question hadn't even occurred to him.
"He's flat-lined," he said. "No appreciable brain activity. I'm afraid the final extraction resulted in a kind of sensory overload."
President Tomlinson stared straight ahead in Kushner's direction but not appearing to see him. A lot of her colleagues were also staring straight ahead without any obvious object of their attention.
"Regrettable," the President murmured. "But perhaps for the best. Brian Loving continued to constitute a security threat – from what he knew about the alien operation if nothing else."
The silence wasn't exactly disagreeable, President Tomlinson thought, but a long ways from an endorsement. Had Loving actually been fighting Kushner's questions or had it merely been a function of the difficulty of accessing his subconscious mind? She decided she didn't especially want to know. Water over the dam. Her concern was the fate of her country and the world.
"We have a preliminary transcript and analysis," said Jacob Kushner, consulting one of the screens. He tapped a browser icon. "Sending it to you."
The wall screen filled with a single page consisting of sentence fragments and single words separated by ellipses.
Arrived... future history calculations... changed... Universe Killer... your actions...changed future...targeted...termination...because I'm here...solution...you leave...if you don't...certain...some remnant...human race...persevere...evolution delayed...matter of probabilities..convince...leave...destroy your ship...destroyer...civilizations...wouldn't let hurt..family...future history...
"You were able to make sense of this gibberish?" President Tomlinson grumbled.
"Our AI correlated this transcript with Jamie's account and arrived at a hypothetical exchange which it rates with a 83% probability of 'significant accuracy.' Please scroll down for the projected dialogue, Madame President."
President Tomlinson nodded to her Vice President, who clicked her laptop mouse. A second page appeared.
Amelrina: When you arrived you changed our future history calculations. We now believe your civilization is a "Universe Killer."
Jamie: Just because I'm here.
Amelrina: You must leave. If you don't, your termination is certain. You world is now targeted for termination. If you leave, some remnant of the human race will persevere, even if its evolution is delayed.
Jamie: I could destroy your ship. I won't let you hurt my family.
META-ANALYSIS:
The alien, Amelrina, appears to be telling Jamie Shepherd that her arrival in this universe has changed their calculations of this Earth's future in a way that causes the aliens to mark Earth for destruction. The alien is saying that if Jamie Shepherd leaves, their original claim that this Earth's civilization is on a course to its own destruction will apply, and "some remnant of the human race" will persist.
The logical implication is that Jamie Shepherd's presence would prevent our natural self-destruction but render our civilization a threat of being a "universe killer." The Elementals view our termination as necessary to end that threat. Jamie replies with a threat to destroy their second ship.
"Good Lord," President Tomlinson muttered, massaging the knotted muscles between her eyes. "How reliable is this interpretation, Jacob?"
"Our AI – we call it Rosetta, by the way – has proven extremely reliable in translating highly unclear and coded messages since its activation six years ago, Madame President. This isn't my field of expertise, of course, but its interpretation is logically satisfying to me."
President Tomlinson turned to the others at the table and received mostly shrugs.
"That would explain her strong confabulation score in response to my question," said Vice President Winters. "It would be more than understandable that she wouldn't share that part of the conversation. It's very difficult to lie convincingly without telling some part of the truth – the more, the better – and she was convincing with that one exception."
The President leaned back in her chair and released a laborious sigh. Will my trials never end? Silly question.
"Whom has she talked to, aside from her husband and daughter, since visiting Loving?" she asked.
"Matilda Armstrong, once over the phone," said DHS Secretary Jeb Keller, consulting his laptop. "Her father in person yesterday."
"Do we know what she's said to them?"
"In the recordings from her home, she hasn't told her family or her friend the truth about what the male alien told her in the ship or what the female told her in Brian Loving's tool shed."
"Understandable. She wouldn't want to burden them with that knowledge. And her father? He'd be a better candidate for that confession, I would think?"
The DHS Secretary shook his head. "Nothing over the phone. She's visited him last night in person, but a storm was in progress and they went somewhere outside our surveillance network."
The President drummed her fingers on the table for a few moments. "Can you interrogate him effectively without bringing him in? A field operation – dose him with one of your wonder truth drugs? Ideally, without him even knowing what happened?"
"We can get the truth from him easily enough. I can't guarantee he'll have no awareness of it, though with a little preparation I believe we may be able to pull that off."
"It would be critical that he not inform Ms. Shepherd."
"We could take him out of commission, Madame President. Temporarily or permanently."
"If you can get what you need without taking him anywhere,
do that. Otherwise, take him to somewhere off the grid and hold him. ASAP."
"Yes, Ma'am."
Another round of tense silence descended on the room, until the Defense Secretary cleared his throat.
"And if Dr. Kushner's AI is correct?" he asked. "If Mrs. Shepherd's presence here has caused the Elementals to sentence this world to death?"
President Tomlinson met his gaze with bleak eyes. "What do you think?"
"We could reason with her," said the Vice President. "She doesn't seem like the kind of person who would sacrifice humanity by staying."
"If I'm understanding this correctly, the Elementals predict Armageddon for this civilization in any case. Do you think Jamie would be willing to desert her family knowing that's coming, Molly?"
The Vice President's expression darkened. She started to reply, then closed her mouth.
"We need to prepare for her not being willing to leave this world voluntarily," said President Tomlinson. "In which case, should her father confirm 'Rosetta's' translation, we will need to remove her from this world involuntarily."
FINDING EMPLOYMENT in this parallel world, Jamie decided, was not going to be easy. First, having no employment record made her conventionally unemployable. Starting her own business was intriguing – she had a nice chunk of "seed money"! – but she'd never been self-employed and had no idea what kind of business might work for her. Her dad had suggested that she create a dual identity, one that could use her superpowers for profit while the other maintained a normal life. Dennis had argued against that, pointing out the difficulties of keeping her secret and the consequences of being discovered, while Kylee had liked the idea.
And then there was the underlying and vexing question of what she wanted to do. Did she want to go back to teaching? Or had she become a high-risk commando-junkie who needed life and death struggle and adventure? Did she even want to have a career? Maybe what she truly wanted was just to be a mom to a precocious nine-year-old girl?
But what was the rush, really? Why couldn't she just relax and take her time and enjoy being a mom and wife? With her newfound wealth they could take an exotic vacation or she could invest in Dennis' dealership. She could take up a hobby.
Yet she felt under a time constraint to make a life-decision because, it eventually occurred to her, the longer she vacillated the stronger the appeal of President Tomlinson's offer became. She could use her powers under the protective umbrella of the United States Government. The government would zealously protect her secret just as it did with all its own secrets. She could have adventure and a sense of purpose protecting her country, just as she had with DARE. A minor difference was that she'd believed in the people she'd worked with and their cause. She didn't believe in either President Tomlinson or her cause.
Not that she believed President Tomlinson was a monster completely devoid of moral character. It was more that she seemed to lack a predictable moral center. President Morgan could make the hard choice, could do something amoral for the greater good, but for him it really was a hard choice that went against his moral grain. When things were back to normal, he'd snap back to his morally centered self. With President Tomlinson, Jamie had the feeling that the pull of morality was fairly weak, that she was comfortable making hard choices which sacrificed others and common decency. All in the name of national security – the modern substitute for "God and Country."
Still, maybe if Jamie were in the government she could change things. She could oppose the bad stuff. And Tomlinson wouldn't be in power forever. There would be another election in the near-future, and – who knew? – someone like Robert Ulysses Morgan might be elected.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Dennis asked, sitting beside her on the front porch.
"They'll cost you more than that now. Remember, I'm a millionaire."
Her smile contracted when she noted the slight grimace in his. The money, she suspected, bothered him on a couple of levels. First, where it had come from. Dennis wondered, just as she did, what strings might be attached. Second, was it just her money, or was it the family's? He'd never asked that, but she thought she sensed it in his slight frown whenever the subject came up.
"Correction," she said. "We're millionaires. It's not just my money."
"Well, thanks, but it's not as if we're exactly married."
"We could fix that."
Dennis shot her an uncertain smile. "I..."
"You're not sure? What – do I have to bribe you?"
"Are you sure, Jamie?"
She looked into his eyes and saw dark shadows of doubt battling lights of hope.
"Why do you say that, Dennis? Wasn't I the one who suggested we should commit to each other?"
"I know, I know. But I guess I sort of wondered if you felt under pressure to say that. I know you want to be a mother to Kylee, and being with me makes that possible... Anyway, I just want you to know that I wouldn't stand in the way of you being her mother even if we weren't together. You wouldn't have to be with me to be with her. You're a superstar now, Jamie. I don't want to get in the way of you using your powers."
Jamie suddenly thought she saw where Dennis was coming from. He'd never been all that confident with women, and more than once had referred to her as "out of my league" when they started dating. Now she was a "superstar" on top of that. Not only vastly stronger but richer to boot.
"Oh, well...thank you, Dennis. That's very sweet of you. But I guess I'm kind of greedy." She smiled at him. "I want the girl and the man."
Relief flooded his face in a giant grin. He reached for her hand – and pulled back as a blue van appeared in the driveway. Jamie eyed the van with dread, sure she recognized the dark-haired driver. She zoomed in, confirming her worst fears. Oh, God. A scowl swallowed up her smile. Perfect timing.
"Is that who I think it is?" Dennis asked.
"Yeah. Unfortunately." She touched his hand. "To be continued?"
"Definitely."
Wanda Stiles emerged from the van a few feet from the porch and regarded them through dark sunglasses. "The President wishes, in her words, 'to have a chat.'"
Jamie nodded, wondering if she ought to feel the relief those innocuous words brought. "Where? And when?"
"Now. Same place as your original virtual meeting."
"Dugway Proving Ground? The entrance in the mountains?"
"Correct. Transportation has been arranged, or you can provide your own as before."
Jamie was tempted to tell her she'd see the President at her own convenience, and that she'd appreciate some heads-up from now on, but in truth she was feeling increasingly anxious about her future and maybe a talk with President Tomlinson would help resolve things. She looked at Dennis and he nodded.
"Go ahead, honey," said Dennis. "Might as well get it over with."
"Okay." They stood up and she kissed him on the cheek. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Keep supper warm for me."
"Will do."
Jamie turned to the dark-haired, soulless Presidential envoy. "I'll find my own way there."
"As you wish."
As Wanda drove off, Jamie changed into her "flight suit," an actual Air Force flight suit Dennis had purchased online that was rugged and fit her surprisingly well. Its light blue, cream, and tan colors helped camouflage her in the sky. Dennis and Kylee claimed she was near-invisible a mere hundred meters up. A final kiss and a request to tell Kylee not to worry and she was on her way.
Minutes later, Jamie located the same small red shed nestled in the mountains on the northern perimeter of the Army test area. A different soldier, older and more grizzled, greeted her and let her inside. He stood by her as the elevator descended, not a hint of friendliness in his stone-face. The levels flew by, right past Level 33 where she'd taken her last meeting. One hundred. One-fifty. One-seventy-five.
"Excuse me," said Jamie. "How far down are we going?"
"Level 317, Ma'am."
"How far down is that?"
"A little over 2800 meters, Ma'am."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Why are we going so deep?"
The soldier didn't answer right away. Jamie had read about the 1000 yard stare, and she thought he was performing it admirably.
"I can't say, Ma'am."
Jamie counted down the floors, telling herself that she could travel two miles in the blink of an eye if she had to. No underground tomb could hold her. She was surprised at how unreassuring that was.
The elevator finally slowed to a halt at 317. The soldier led her down a dimly lit hall to a small room filled with computers. One thick grey table ran from them up through the steel ceiling. A large black screen hung from one wall.
The soldier backed away. He paused at the door.
"Mrs. Shepherd."
"Yes?"
"I just wanted to say..." He seemed to be struggling with his words. "I wanted to thank you for your service."
Jamie wondered why he found it so hard to say that, and why he had waited until now – as if he was seizing his last opportunity to speak. It all had a very strange vibe, which she couldn't decipher.
"I was just doing what had to be done," she said.
"That's all any of us can do, Mrs. Shepherd."
He retreated, not bothering to shut the room's door. Jamie turned to the screen, which now portrayed the familiar Situation Room, the President, and all the usual suspects.
"Good to be with you again, Jamie," said President Tomlinson. "Thank you for coming."
"Hello, Madame President and...everyone. I'm curious why our talk had to happen so far underground."
"It's an ultra-secure environment. One never knows who might be listening." The President's tight-lipped smile wasn't mirrored by anyone else in the room. "Jamie, before I go further, what I'm about to say in no way diminishes our gratitude for your brave actions. However, we have learned a rather disturbing piece of information. As a result of your arrival here, the aliens, who formerly were merely collecting human samples for posterity – based on their prediction that our civilization would do itself in – have now observed a significant change in their calculations. Apparently, because you are here, we will not blow ourselves into oblivion. The aliens' new calculation, sadly, predict that we will become 'Universe Killers.' And so, they have sentenced the world and its inhabitants to death."
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