The subjective control read 04.51.
Almost five hours of battle. It had been a rough one.
The objective clock read 00.13.
In normal time, the whole thing had been fought in thirteen minutes.
"Hey! Var!" hailed the voice of the right gunner.
"Yeah, Gro? What's the problem?"
"Who won?"
CHAPTER TWO
The ship came in low over the horizon, like some ghostly, misshapen balloon floating wobbily down as the helium slowly escaped and it glowed a sickly blue much stronger than moonlight.
Everyone in town who was out that night saw it. A meteor, most said, and families rushed out into backyards to get a better view.
Jennifer Barron heard the commotion outside her apartment and made her way over to the French windows and out onto the balcony. The warm, humid air enveloped her like a moist rug, and the mosquitoes took the exit as a signal to attack. She heard her neighbor muttering exclamations under his breath.
"What's going on, John?" she called over to him.
"A meteor, Jenny. Biggest damned thing I've ever seen! It's bigger and brighter than the moon! Wow! Look at that!"
"Describe it to me, John," she asked. "What's it like?"
For the first time, through his excitement, John remembered that Jennifer was totally blind.
He coughed apologetically. "It's really kinda huge, Jenny--larger than this apartment house. Sorta glowing, kinda floating down. It's gonna hit pretty soon. Funny, though..."
"What is?" she asked, trying to picture the unprecedented.
"It's coming in so damned slow. Every meteor I've ever seen has come in like fireworks."
She remained on the balcony, feeling the excitement and hearing the comments and sensing the awe, but she could not escape the dark thoughts. In a few minutes it'll be all over, she told herself. And I'll go back in again and be alone.
In the dark.
But she was wrong. For her, it was the beginning.
***
For Alice Mary McBride, age nineteen, it was the end.
She threaded her way up the mountain in her little yellow sports car at over 60 miles per hour, hypnotized by the speed and the sound the car made on the curves. She was high and she knew it. She felt as if the car was going about an inch an hour, and she kicked the accelerator down even harder, urging the little car forward, faster, faster.
There. The big curve. How fast can I take it?
As she made the curve, wheels squealing, she came in sight of the object, coming straight in toward her. For a moment she thought that the pot had been even better stuff than she'd believed, but she suddenly realized that the thing was real--and getting larger every second. As she had been hypnotized by the driving before, now the object held her attention. She could think of nothing else, the marijuana high creating a one-track mind of fixed but limited purpose. The road aimed her straight at the thing, now reflected in Lake Moses a thousand feet below.
There was a curve ahead.
It was never determined whether the object hit Lake Moses--throwing up a huge wave that splattered areas hundreds of feet from the water's edge--before, after, or at the same time as Alice Mary McBride.
The old man, standing on the front porch of his house about eight hundred feet farther up the mountain watching the weird object like everyone else in the town far below, saw the car go through the railing, spin, and plunge into the lake below. There were two bubbling areas in the lake after they both hit: one about in the middle of the lake; the other, much smaller and briefer, toward the mountain side.
"Oh my God! Mary! Mary!" he screamed, and started running down the mountain road although his truck was handy.
Cutting through the switchbacks on old vertical trails, it still took him almost twenty minutes to reach the lake below, tired, huffing and puffing. He didn't stop, the adrenaline forcing him onward. He jumped into the water and started swimming to where the car had gone under. The lake was deep in the center, but only eight or ten feet near the mountainside.
It wouldn't have mattered.
Joseph McBride was going after his daughter.
***
It had taken only three hours to reach Mycroft, Virginia, from Washington, and Paul Carleton Savage didn't feel very tired. Although it was almost 4 A.M. when he pulled in, he could see the red lights of the State Police cars up on the mountainside near the break in the barrier and others down at the lake's edge. Pausing for one of the three traffic lights in the little town, he reached into the glove compartment and brought out three wallets. Glancing into them, he found the one he wanted and put it in his right breast pocket before the light changed.
He headed out to the base of the lake.
A roadblock stopped him about a hundred yards from the place where the State Police cars and ambulance were situated.
"Sorry, sir," said a trooper in the hard hill dialect of western Virginia. "Nobody 'lowed past this point."
Savage smiled and reached for the wallet and gave it to the trooper without comment.
Under the emblem of the Department of Defense was his picture and vital statistics; around the seal it said, "Defense Intelligence Agency." The trooper was impressed.
"Okay, sir, you can go through. Nothin' much happenin', anyway."
"I can start right here," Savage told him. "What happened? All we got was a report that a meteor, or UFO of some kind, crashed in the lake."
"That's about it, sir," responded the trooper. "Ever'body saw it--weird thing, pretty big, kinda floated in from the east, there." He pointed. "Local girl got panicked drivin' up there, and went in with the thing. The lake's the local reservoir--natural, but pretty deep in the middle. We got a coupla guys up from the Department of Highways with some divin' gear they use to check out drainage and the like in the lake, and they're tryin' to get the girl out now. The car was a soft-top. You know, one of them little foreign sports cars, convertible. She landed upside down, so it may take some time to get the body out."
Savage nodded. "Okay. Thanks, officer," he said, and slowly moved the car up to the small crowd of police and rescue people ahead.
One officious-looking middle-aged individual spotted him and came over to where he had just gotten out of the car. Savage mentally bet himself that it was the mayor.
"Hello, sir," Savage hailed, and pulled the ID out again. "Savage, DoD. Any progress?"
"Tom Horgan, Mayor of Mycroft," the man said, and offered a pudgy hand which Savage shook.
Horgan barely glanced at the ID; like most people, he never questioned anyone who spoke with obvious conviction and authority. First rule of being a private detective: be a convincing liar.
"I'm out to check on your mysterious new resident," Savage explained. "DoD takes a dim view of uninvited guests dropping in like that."
The mayor chuckled, then became suddenly grave.
"You heard about our tragedy," he said more than asked.
Savage nodded. "Yeah, too bad. Who was she?"
"Girl named Alice McBride--only, only her old man called her that. Everybody else called her Kip, name she picked sometime and liked. A wild one--booze, drugs, and all that. But, still, a good looker--and nineteen."
"Um, yeah," Savage murmured dryly. He craned his neck and viewed the spot from which she had plunged. "You'd never even know there was a road up there from here," he commented. "What the hell was she doing driving up there around midnight? Lovers' Lane? She was alone, wasn't she?"
"Naw, nothin' like that. She lived up there with her pop--you can't see the house quite from this angle. Ex Army man. His wife died giving birth to the girl, and he retired from the Army and moved here. Bought the old place and fixed it up pretty good. Drives the fuel oil truck here in winter; right now, he's the ice cream man."
One of the divers surfaced and swam in toward shore. The second's head appeared shortly after, about forty feet out; then he, too, started in. Everyone rushed over to where the two were emerging from the water.
The first diver was shaking his head from side to side.
"No way," he told them. "The goddam thing's upside down in about fourteen feet. We'll need a block and tackle rigged on a couple of rowboats to get it over. The doors are jammed shut."
"We'll get her out," the second diver assured them, "but it'll be tomorrow afternoon before we can get the stuff we need up here and ready. Won't make no difference, though--'cept I'd like to get that car out of there before the oil and shit fouls up the whole reservoir."
"What about the other thing that went in?" Savage called out. "See anything of it?"
"Naw," the first diver answered. "It's too far out, and water's too dark. Maybe we'll see it when everything's completely settled in there and we got some light."
"Okay, men, nothing to do until tomorrow!" the mayor called out. "The troopers'll keep watch on things. Why don't we all get some sleep? It's gonna be a long day tomorrow."
Murmurs of assent could be heard, and men started for their cars and trucks. The two divers unloaded their tanks and masks in the back of a yellow state truck and prepared to go as well.
Savage walked back to his car, started it, and drove back toward town. Short of the town itself, he pulled over to the side and pressed a stud under the right side of the dash. A small radio unit dropped down into place. Switching it on, he picked up the telephone-style handset.
"Savage to D.C. Night Watch," he called.
"Night Watch," responded a bored woman's voice. "What you got, Savage?"
"Looks like trouble, Eleana. This was no meteor, baby. It's almost certainly a ship, probably a small fighter."
"Yeah, that's what we think," she responded. "One of the ships was hit and managed to fall toward Earth. Looks as if it had enough power to slow its fall. Too bad."
"Oh, sure, too bad," he mimicked acidly. "So what the hell am I supposed to do?"
"Any sign of survivors?"
"None that I've seen. Why?"
"It was one of theirs," she explained patiently, "and somebody was alive enough to bring that thing in. It's got its own atmosphere, and it's still pressurized. Chances are that at least one of them's still in there, alive and trying to figure a way out."
"Oh, boy!" Savage muttered, sounding less than thrilled by the prospect. "Something tells me I'm about to earn my keep."
"You better believe it," the Night Watch replied. "You know we have some pretty weird and nasty life forms, but what's on their side makes ours look like Sunday School class. And if it's a Rhambdan you've got, the whole mind and intellect of The Bromgrev is in there."
"So what do you want me to do about it?"
"Stall 'em. Keep anybody from going in until we can get a good Team out there. And, if there's a breakout, use your own judgment--but make sure you kill anything that comes out of there, fast!"
"They've already been down," he told her. "A girl got panicked and jumped her car into the damned lake and she's still in there. They haven't gotten her body out yet."
"Um. Did they see anything?"
"No, nothing. But they're going down tomorrow afternoon to haul the car out, and they're sure to see something that big with daylight and clear water. How soon can you get a Team here?"
"Tomorrow morning. What cover do you want?"
"Better make them Defense Intelligence Agency," he told her. "That's what I'm supposed to be, and if they have to blow the thing up it'll make more sense. But by tomorrow afternoon it's got to be done--or the shit's gonna hit the fan."
"Okay. Will do. Get yourself a room and catch a few hours of sleep. As soon as you get the room, let me know where, and then call it a night. I assume they're guarding the site?"
"Yeah, State Police."
"Good enough. If anything blows, you'll hear about it. Watch clear."
"Savage clear," he responded, and put the phone back in its cradle. It slowly rose back up into the dash.
Getting a few hours of sleep wasn't a bad idea, but it seemed odd. Not watch the area...? On second thought, what could he do if some alien monster came up? Hush it up? Hardly. And if the troopers couldn't kill it, then neither could he without the Team's weaponry.
***
The sign said MERRITT MOTEL AND APARTMENTS, and a faded red neon "Vacancy" sign was lit underneath, the second "a" burnt out. He pulled in and saw that the office was still lit. Considering all the excitement and the near-perfect view of the lake that the place presented, this was not unexpected.
A slight, elderly woman was talking to a man about her age--seventyish, Savage guessed. They stopped as he entered. People usually did: the huge, brutish-looking man with the metal claw for a right hand was a showstopper even in cosmopolitan New York.
"Yes, sir, may I help you?" she asked pleasantly, but her eyes kept drifting to the claw.
"I need a room. I saw your vacancy sign--"
"Oh, yes," she responded, giving him one of the usual white cards to fill out. "Thirty a night. It's the in-season, you know. Only reason we're not full up tonight is because it's a Monday. Always slow on Mondays."
"Uh-huh," Savage mumbled. "I may be here a couple of days."
"Oh, that's all right," she assured him. "Checkout's eleven any day. Let us know as early as you can when you decide to leave, won't you?"
Savage assured her that he would and, getting his key and directions, he drove down to the room.
The place was fairly new, he saw, with neat balconies all around.
The room was actually a studio apartment--a large room with full furniture and a kitchenette. The place had obviously been built more with apartments in mind than a motel, but when it hadn't been completely rented they had supplemented.
Going over to the French windows, he saw that they led to the small railed balcony with two metal chairs. Off in the distance he could see the flashing lights of the troopers at the lake. Not a bad base, he congratulated himself, as if the choice had been deliberate.
Setting his portable alarm clock for 8 A.M., he stripped and plopped on the bed.
***
He awoke to the sound of somebody fumbling around with his door.
Quickly but quietly, he jumped up and pulled his .38. The clock said 7:15.
The sound went away, but he heard someone going down the hall. Putting the pistol on the bed, he went to the door and opened it chain-wide.
A woman wearing sunglasses and carrying a bamboo cane was at the next door, feeling it. He instantly realized what had happened. She was blind and feeling the numerals to find hers. The sound had been the cane hitting the door as she'd reached up.
She heard Savage open the door, obviously, since she turned in his direction.
"I'm--I'm so sorry," she said apologetically. "Did I wake you?"
"Yes," he replied, "but that's all right. Time I was up and about, anyway."
He studied her for a moment. She was short--about five-two or -three--and very chubby, with thick legs and pudgy fingers. But she had long auburn hair draped around her shoulders, a pleasant, almost cheery-looking face, and a pretty large set of boobs that were obviously braless under the dark overlarge T-shirt she was wearing. Dressed right, and with a little makeup, she could still be a decent-looking woman; absent a fair number of pounds, she'd be downright cute.
"I--I just had to change apartments after three years, when my air conditioner broke down," she explained in a voice that was soft and low and very pleasing. Her somewhat halting manner of speech showed her to be a person who didn't talk to many people. "I'm, well, not used to where the apartment is now--how many steps and the like. You get into a habit, and it's hard to break."
"That's okay," he assured her. "I'm only a temporary guest, with work to do. But--say, had breakfast yet?" She looked hesitant for a moment. "I'm a stranger here and there's no coffee shop in this place. If you'll tell me a decent place to eat, I'll treat you."
She paused a moment more; then her face broke into a why-the-hell-not? smile and she said, "All right. No, I haven't had breakfast--and I--I don't g
et out very much. Tell you what: I'll buy. It's the least I can do for waking you up."
"You're on," he chuckled, and suddenly realized that he was nude--not even the claw was on. "Just let me get dressed."
"I'm in 207--no, 213," she corrected herself, and laughed nervously. "See what I mean?"
"Okay. Be with you in five minutes," he told her, and shut the door.
He dressed quickly, the hardest and longest thing being rigging the claw to respond to his muscle movement. Funny, he thought. Two cripples meet in a hall. What an ideal couple, he chuckled at the thought. She was probably the first girl he had ever met who wouldn't be repulsed by his appearance.
Before going to get her, he glanced out the window and saw several Army vehicles of varying sizes parked around the lake. He felt reassured. The Team was already on the job, and all he had to do was watch. Plenty of time for breakfast.
He went down the hall and rapped on 213. "Ready for breakfast?" he called out.
In a moment, she opened the door. The apartment was almost a duplicate of his own, but the furniture showed signs of that owned, lived-in look. It was also pretty messy--unkempt in much the way she seemed herself. As if she just didn't give a damn.
He had known some other blind people, but almost to a one they'd been fanatically neat and led near-normal lives. This girl obviously did not. He wondered what her story was.
She walked over to the door with confidence: the furniture had obviously been arranged as in the old apartment, in the manner of the blind, so that she knew the placement of every single thing. She carried no purse, but a wallet was tucked in the rear pocket of her jeans.
"I had to put some sandals on," she explained. "They don't allow bare feet in the diner."
She went out and he closed the door after her.
As they walked down the hall, Savage resisted the temptation to help her. This was her territory, and he knew that the sure path to alienation was to remind her of her handicap. He had resented too many people trying to handle things for him.
"What were you doing up so early?" he asked conversationally.
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