Alien Nation #1 - The Day of Descent

by Judith Reeves-Stevens

  “What’s wrong with drinking a beer?” Kirby asked.

  “You’re not twenty-one.”

  “That’s just in bars and restaurants, Dad. At home, with my parents’ permission, I—”

  “You don’t have your parents’ permission. You will never have your parents’ permission.”

  Kirby folded her arms obstinately. “Fine. You want me to drink beer at raves, then that’s what I’ll do.”

  Sikes stumbled in his outrage. “What the hell is a rave?”

  Taking him by surprise, Grazer was beside him. “That’s an underground party, Sikes. You know, organizers rent a warehouse, pass out secret instructions. All the kids go to them.” He looked meaningfully at Kirby. “But as much fun as they seem to be, they can be extremely dangerous, young lady. Usually the buildings they’re held in don’t conform to fire safety codes, and there is a great deal of illegal drug activity. You could get into a lot of trouble just by being on the site if there’s police action. And according to the memos I’ve seen, the department is making a major push to step up its efforts to stop raves.”

  All the defiance was gone from Kirby’s face. She had that look of intense interest again. “Yeah?” she asked. “I could get into trouble just by being there? Even if I wasn’t doing anything illegal myself?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Grazer said.

  “That’s good to know,” Kirby said thoughtfully.

  Sikes witnessed the exchange in amazement. Kirby never listened to anything he said, yet here she was, buying the whole law-and-order deal from someone she had never met. What was it about Grazer? What was it about Kirby, for that matter?

  Grazer put his hand on Sikes’s shoulder. “Anyway, Sikes, I really think you should take a look at these next two letters. They could mean something.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Sikes said. He began to turn away from Kirby to go back to the computer, then spun around and grabbed Kirby’s beer bottle from the side table. “Read your school-books or something, would you?”

  Kirby sighed with forbearance.

  Sikes went back to the computer and put the beer bottle and the Penthouse beside it. Grazer sat down, moved his chair forward, glanced at the unrolling magazine, then exclaimed, “Hey, it’s Kiki!”

  “Kiki?” Sikes asked in bewilderment.

  Grazer tapped the forehead of the woman on the cover of the magazine—an impossibly proportioned woman in an impossibly small macrame bathing suit that looked more like a Boy Scout assignment in knot tying than anything intended to be worn. “Yeah, good old Kiki,” Grazer said. “We used to go out a year or so ago. Calls me up every time she comes to town.” He picked up the magazine and flipped through it until he came to a series of photographs of good old Kiki with not a bathing suit to be seen. “She’s been trying to get a cover from Bob for a long time.”

  “Bob?”

  “Guccione,” Grazer said. “I kept telling him, Bob, a woman as lovely as Kiki deserves a cover, and he’d keep saying, Bry, if you knew the pressure—”

  “Let me get this straight,” Sikes said. “You know Bob Guccione?”

  “Sure,” Grazer said.

  “And you used to date a . . . a Pet?”

  “That’s right,” Grazer said again. He looked puzzled. “Why do you ask?”

  Sikes shook his head. “No . . . no reason.” He sighed as he stared at the computer screen. Why is it, he asked himself, that everyone in the world seems to have an exciting life but me? Petty gets an asteroid named after him. Victoria flies halfway around the world for free on business. Grazer hangs out with Bob Guccione. And I live in a hovel and look forward to watching Rolling Stone videos on VH-1.

  “You okay, Sikes?” Grazer asked.

  Sikes sighed again. “Oh, yeah, just fine. Now what was this about a motive or something?”

  Grazer turned back to the computer and danced his fingers across its keyboard. “Two letters. One to Amy Stewart. One from her. Read them from the top.”

  Putting aside his own glum musing about his life, Sikes began to read, and his uncle had managed to instill in him enough lay knowledge of astronomy that he was intrigued from the opening paragraph. And when he had finished reading the second letter—Amy Stewart’s troubled, urgent reply to Dr. Petty—Sikes was forced to admit to himself that the multi-talented Bryon Grazer might have done it again.

  The electronic letters could very well establish the motive for Dr. Randolph Petty’s murder. A motive that had nothing at all to do with cash or coin collections. A motive that would undoubtedly come to play a part in more and more murders in the future as computers became more commonplace.

  If the letters pointed in the right direction, then it appeared that Petty had been killed for information. What that information was, exactly, the letters didn’t state. But whatever it was, Sikes knew it had to be important. Deadly important.

  The questions remaining were: To whom was the information important, and why? Fortunately, the letters told Sikes where he could begin his search just as, more than two billion miles away, Buck Francisco’s search was about to end.

  C H A P T E R 1 0

  AS THE OVERSEER’S WEAPON cut the female’s arm from her body in a crackle of blue energy, Buck had to turn away. The worker’s shriek filled Buck’s ear valleys as the sound echoed through the water hub, making him shudder. He fought back tears of shame, trying to tell himself that this was Vornho’s fault, not his. But it was a lie, and he knew it.

  “Well?” Coolock said to the last of the three water workers to remain standing. “Are you convinced now?”

  Buck could imagine how the Overseer’s ravaged face looked as he brandished his cutter wand, hissing out his threatening words with a cruel leer. Coolock wasn’t what D’wayn said an Overseer was supposed to be—a peacekeeper among combative, less-developed and less-intelligent sub-Tenctonese. Buck had come to understand that Coolock was someone who enjoyed causing pain whether he had a reason to do so or not.

  But the last water worker didn’t say a word.

  “Finiksa,” Vornho whispered to Buck, “you’re missing it. Coolock’s gonna slice another one.”

  Vornho grabbed Buck’s arm and spun him around to make him watch. Buck felt his stomach churn as he gazed through threads of falling holy gas at the scene before him.

  The first water worker appeared to have exploded from within—his chest was a mound of gelatinous blue and green organs, streaked and glistening pinkly with blood. Beside him the female was sprawled on the metal catwalk, one hand limply grasping the stump of her arm as slow dribbles of blood weakly pulsed down through the open deck. It was a nightmare, as if Tagdot Cur Hiya himself had walked among them.

  But in the midst of the carnage the third water worker was defiant. He was backed hard against the curved metal wall, holding his hands high, and Buck could see his chest wall heave in the changing shimmers of the gray membrane suit he wore. Yet his eyes blazed with hatred for Coolock and D’wayn, and his spots remained dark.

  “This is your final chance,” Coolock threatened. “Tell me: Who ordered you to divert the water flow? Who is the leader of your revolt?”

  “You want to know my leader?” the water worker asked. He smiled grimly. “We thank Celine for this day. We thank Andarko for—”

  Buck jumped as blue energy exploded against the wall beside the water worker. The worker jerked sideways, smoke rising from his membrane suit in a dozen places where molten droplets of metal had sprayed him. But his defiance never wavered.

  Why? Buck wondered. It would be so easy to tell Coolock what he wants to know. What does it matter? How can anything matter? No one can defeat the Overseers.

  “Are you in that much of a hurry to join your goddess?” Coolock sneered.

  “Celine is not a goddess,” the worker answered. “She is but a Tenctonese like you or I, who with Andarko showed us—”

  Another beam blasted a glowing pit in the wall on the other side of the worker. Buck was astounded. This time the worker had
n’t even flinched. Coolock raised the cutter wand so he could sight along its length, indicating that he wanted his next blast to hit precisely on target.

  “Yeah,” Vornho breathed excitedly. “Cut the mother hummer.”

  D’wayn tapped her shock prod on the railing beside Vornho and Buck. “Settle down, Watchers.”

  Coolock looked over his shoulder at the two boys in their Watcher scarves. He flashed his acid grin, keeping his cutter aimed at the third worker. “Eager for the kill, are we?”

  Buck knew better than to look away—that would be an unforgivable sign of weakness. But he didn’t know how to answer the Overseer’s question. Fortunately or unfortunately, Vornho did.

  “I want to see him get what he deserves,” Vornho said.

  Coolock’s smile never left him. “You’re the one who reported the plot to divert the water flow?”

  Vornho stood tall and straightened his shoulders. “I am, Overseer.”

  Coolock stared at Buck. “And what about you?”

  Buck copied Vornho’s pose. “I did not hear the conversation, Overseer.”

  With those words it was as if Buck had made himself invisible. Coolock turned his attention back to Vornho. “Are you prepared to finish what you have begun?”

  It took Vornho a moment to understand the question. D’wayn tapped his shoulder with her prod. “Answer the commander.”

  Vornho swallowed loudly. “Yes, sir.”

  Coolock held out his hand. The black sleeve of his uniform fell back to reveal the angular, jagged strokes of his Overseer’s tattoo of authority. “Then come here, boy. Show me how you’ll deal with cargo when you become an Overseer.”

  D’wayn tapped Vornho’s shoulder again. Vornho stepped forward. Coolock handed him the cutter wand, still connected by wires to his backpack, then crouched down beside Vornho to help the boy aim.

  “It’s important that you only take him off at the legs so we can still interrogate him in the med lab,” Coolock explained matter of factly. “But no matter what you do, you want to be certain you don’t let the beam contact the head. We need to keep the brain lobes intact so we can measure how much eemikken the beast has ingested to enable him to withstand the holy gas.” Then Coolock began to point out the firing studs and discharge levers on the wand.

  “Tell me, Finiksa,” D’wayn asked, surprisingly conversationally. “Did you enjoy your first taste of eemikken?”

  Buck stared in sick fascination at the water worker, who in turn watched as a child was instructed in using the weapon that could cause his death.

  “Finiksa?” D’wayn repeated.

  Buck nervously looked up at the corpulent Watch Leader. “I . . . uh, it made my stomach sick,” he said. Was Coolock really going to make Vornho cut off the worker’s legs?

  “It will do that,” D’wayn said. “But you’re feeling better now?”

  “Yes, Watch Leader.” Buck glanced back to Coolock and Vornho. They were laughing about something to do with the shape of the cutter wand. Buck had missed the joke.

  “You did take the drug I gave you, didn’t you?” D’wayn persisted.

  Buck felt her powerful hand grasp his chin and turn his head back toward her.

  “Y-yes,” he stammered as he was forced to look up at her. “Vornho and I took it together.”

  “Good,” D’wayn said, though she didn’t release her grip on him. “You see, for the cargo to be able to withstand this amount of gas in the air, as you and Vornho are able to resist it for now, we know that they must be taking the eemikken, too. But we don’t know where they’re getting it. Someone suggested that some Watcher Youth might be passing it along to them.” She squeezed Buck’s jaw enough to cause pain. “You wouldn’t do anything like that, though, would you, Watcher Finiksa?”

  “No,” Buck said. Why would anyone do anything against the Overseers? Nothing good could ever come of it.

  D’wayn nodded over at Vornho, who was drawing a bead on the already maimed body of the female water worker. “How about Vornho? Are you sure you saw him take his dose?”

  Buck suddenly understood that the Overseer was asking him to report on his crèche mate, as if there were no difference between that and reporting on the cargo. Is this what it means to be an Overseer? he thought.

  “Yes,” Buck said. “I saw him.” And he was frightened to realize that he knew he would have answered the same way even if he hadn’t seen Vornho take it. Just as he couldn’t mention that he had seen Vornho trade the drug’s crinkly wrapping to a maintenance worker in exchange for use of a plaski hall’s mat room.

  “Very good,” D’wayn said. She turned back to Coolock and Vornho just as Vornho fired the cutter.

  A lance of blue fire tore into the body of the female water worker, carving open her rib cage with a hiss of superheated vapor. Buck felt dizzy as he saw what could only be the twin fists of her hearts exposed, and he was grateful he did not see her body give any sign that it had still been alive when the beam cut into her. The blood loss from her severed arm must have already done the job.

  Coolock tapped his knuckles against Vornho’s temple in recognition of a task well done, then had him aim at the third water worker, who held his body proudly erect as if unafraid of death.

  “What is your decision?” Coolock asked the worker. “Do you embrace the reality of the ship and tell me what I need to know to maintain its safety? Or do you embrace your Celine at the hands of this child?”

  The water worker looked into Vornho’s eyes. “Put down the the weapon, child. You know it is not right to act in this way.”

  “Aim right above the knees,” Coolock said calmly. “The vapor explosion will cauterize the major arteries.”

  “Open your hearts, child. Ask Celine and Andarko if what you do is their will.”

  Without immediately knowing why Buck found himself silently repeating the prayer of guidance the worker referred to. It had so long been a part of Buck’s life that he couldn’t remember when he had first learned it.

  “Fire the weapon,” Coolock commanded.

  “That is not what Andarko will tell you if you ask,” the worker said.

  Guide me in that which I do not understand, Buck thought. Give me strength to find answers that are just.

  “Above the knees,” Coolock said.

  “Join me, child. Repeat these words: We thank Celine for this day. We thank Andarko for the future.”

  Buck gasped as his thoughts were answered. No, Finiksa, this is not the path to be followed. Buck felt his spots pucker. But the words had not been said in anything like what he imagined the voice of Andarko might be. The words had sounded more as if they had been spoken by Moodri. Yet wherever those words had come from, he knew he could not refuse their wisdom. With that, everything happened all at once.

  “Vornho!” Buck cried. “Don’t! He’s—”

  “Silence!” Coolock’s rage was as sudden as the cutting beam Vornho fired.

  “Little fool!” D’wayn shouted as Buck heard her prod click into focus and begin to hum.

  Vornho’s cutting beam aimed wild, crackling uselessly against metal, not flesh.

  D’wayn’s prod slammed into Buck’s shoulder, sending him against the railing with a gasp of pain. He looked up to see the prod beginning to descend on him again, this time going for his forehead.

  “FIIINIIIKSSAAA!”

  The prod stopped in its descent as the deafening cry filled the water hub. Buck, D’wayn, Coolock, and even Vornho whirled to see from where the cry had come.

  Buck slumped against the railing and looked out across the water hub’s void. There! On the next level of catwalk above them among a group of gas-stunned scavengers, Buck saw two figures leaning over the railing. One waved frantically down at him. Through the violet mist of the gas they were hard to make out. A male and female he saw. Like paintings of Celine and Andarko ascending from the pit of am dugas. But who were they really? And why had—

  A blue beam sliced through the air above Buc
k’s head, angling up to explode in gouts of sparks against the next level’s railing. Buck saw the two figures above jump back, the male pulling on the female’s tunic as if to stop her from attempting to leap through space for Buck.

  Behind him Buck could hear Coolock shouting orders to the other Overseer squads that were in the hub, telling them to seize the two slaves on level fifty-eight. The beam kept slicing back and forth. Buck saw a half dozen inert scavengers collapse in sprays of vaporized blood as the beam ripped through them.

  Then Buck felt himself lifted painfully by one arm. D’wayn held him so his feet scraped against the catwalk. She held the sparking tip of her prod inches from his face. “Who were they?” she hissed. “How did they know you?”

  Buck couldn’t talk. He didn’t know. The prod tip came closer.

  Then there was another scream, the pounding of metal, Coolock shouting in anger. Buck twisted his head in time to see the third water worker burst across the width of the catwalk and flip over the railing and plunge down through the layers of holy gas and—

  —Coolock’s beam caught the worker in his back—

  —the worker vanished in an enormous eruption of flame unlike any other effect of the weapon Buck had seen.

  Then Buck felt the explosion’s shock wave rip him from D’wayn’s one-handed grip. His ear valleys rang with the metallic reverberations of the blast. He had no idea what had happened. No clue to whom the male and female had been. Nor why a worker would choose to defy the Overseers by suicide.

  All he knew was that D’wayn now towered over him, slowly lowering her prod to his head with a ferocious expression of rage distorting her quivering round face.

  Then the prod made contact, but instead of the crackle of pain Buck’s last sensation was of his great-uncle’s voice telling him to be at peace because there was nothing left to fear.

  C H A P T E R 1 1

  GEORGE DRAGGED SUSAN back through the gas-filled corridor, away from the catwalk, the scavengers, and their son.