The Green And The Gray

by Timothy Zahn

  "I understand that," Caroline said, choosing her words carefully. "But there must be restaurants nearby."

  Sylvia barked a laugh. "Of course."

  "No, really," Caroline insisted. "Roger won't have called any of the local police—he'll have assumed you already have them in your back pocket. And he can't possibly get up here with anyone from the city until after midnight at the earliest."

  Sylvia was staring at her, an odd expression on her face. "You're serious, aren't you?"

  "Absolutely," Caroline said. "I'm starving, and this is the best way for me to get something safe to eat. I won't make any trouble—I promise. All I want is to go and eat." She cocked her head. "I'll even treat," she cajoled. "Unless you're afraid a Green Warrior can't ride herd on a lone human female."

  Sylvia smiled cynically. "No, you don't," she said. "You can't maneuver me into doing something just because I think I'll look weak or afraid. A Group Commander never makes decisions based on emotion."

  "Good," Caroline said. "Then do it because your people may retreat here someday, and you'll need as much firsthand knowledge about the area as possible."

  The wrinkles in Sylvia's forehead deepened again, and Caroline held her breath. Then, so abruptly that it caught her by surprise, the older woman gave a sharp nod. "You're on," she said, standing up.

  "There's a vehicle out back behind the house that I think still runs. You drive."

  The vehicle turned out to be a vintage Ford pickup that looked like it hadn't been driven in years. But there was gas in the tank, and with a little persuasion Caroline got it started.

  They passed two groups of Greens at their bush-planting party as she drove down the narrow road.

  One or two of the workers glanced up as they passed, but no one seemed shocked or even particularly surprised to see their prisoner driving away with their Group Commander.

  But then, Sylvia had said these were Laborers. Maybe matters involving Warriors was of no concern to them.

  "Which way do I go?" she asked as they reached the end of the drive.

  "Left," Sylvia said. "I'm told there's a small diner just before you reach town that might suit us."

  "As long as they have decent food," Caroline said, turning onto the highway. "You're going to join me, aren't you?"

  She heard Sylvia's snort even over the growling engine. "You weren't expecting me to let you go in alone, were you?"

  "No, I meant were you going to eat with me," Caroline corrected. "You know: share a meal together?"

  "Does this come under that same heading of firsthand knowledge?"

  "It comes under the heading of hospitality," Caroline said. "I just want to try to understand you people."

  "Why?"

  "Because I like Melantha," Caroline told her. "I'd like to be able to appreciate the rest of her people, too."

  "And it's hard to appreciate freaks of nature who can climb inside trees?"

  "It's hard to appreciate people who kidnap us," Caroline said tiredly, quietly conceding defeat. If Roger did his best to avoid confrontations, Sylvia clearly went out of her way to create them.

  For a few minutes the only sounds in the truck were those of the engine and road. "Did Nikolos tell you how many Warriors we have?" Sylvia asked at last.

  Caroline searched her memory. "I think he said you had about sixty."

  "Did he also tell you we're facing nearly seven hundred Grays?"

  Caroline swallowed. "No."

  "And unlike us, all of them can pick up hammerguns and fight if they want to," Sylvia said. "Even if we assume a Green Warrior can handle four or five untrained Grays, the odds are still badly against us. I'm not here to be liked, Caroline, by you or anyone else. My job is to do whatever is necessary to give my people their best chance to survive."

  "We don't want you destroyed," Caroline said earnestly. "All we want is to find a way to keep Melantha alive."

  "So do we all," Sylvia murmured. "Right now, the threat of her Gift is all that keeps the Grays from attacking."

  Caroline grimaced. That wasn't what she'd meant at all, and Sylvia knew it.

  The grimace turned into a frown. Or did she know it? Was Sylvia so fixated with her job that she was incapable of seeing Melantha or anyone else except in military terms?

  She looked sideways at the older woman's profile in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. One of the original refugees, she'd said, which probably put her somewhere in her eighties or nineties. How many of those years been spent out here in the woods, with only a handful of Laborers and fellow Warriors to keep her company? Had she ever married and had a family? Did she have any genuine friends, or only colleagues?

  How much of her life had she sacrificed in the name of her Gift?

  She turned back to the winding road, an odd sensation prickling across the back of her neck. Ever since this whole thing had started she had felt angry at the Greens, or distrustful of them, or simply flat-out frightened of them. Now, for the first time, she was starting to feel sorry for them.

  "There," Sylvia said, pointing at a small lighted sign ahead. "That's the place."

  "Right," Caroline said, slowing and turning into the lot. She eyed the two other cars already there as she maneuvered the pickup into a parking space, wondering if having witnesses around would make Sylvia rethink the whole idea.

  But Sylvia said nothing as Caroline turned off the engine. They climbed out of the truck, and walked across the lot and into the diner.

  Inside, the place was exactly what Caroline had expected: a reasonably modern restaurant disguised as a nostalgic relic of the fifties. A sign said to seat themselves, and Caroline led the way past the other two occupied tables to one of the booths in the back. Sylvia took the far side, the seat that gave her a view of the rest of the diner, as Caroline slipped into the one facing her. The aromas made her empty stomach growl impatiently.

  "I presume you read English," Caroline said, pulling a pair of menus from the clip at the end of the table and handing Sylvia one.

  "Perfectly," Sylvia said, a little frostily, as she took the menu and opened it. "I've just never been in a restaurant before."

  "Really?" Caroline asked. "Not even one of the Green restaurants?"

  Sylvia shook her head. "I've only been to the city a few times." She gestured to the menu. "What do you recommend?"

  "What did you have at Aleksander's?" Caroline asked, glancing down the menu. "Roger said you were sitting down to eat when he got there."

  "I've had lamb, fish, rice, various vegetables, and bread," Sylvia told her. "I suppose I should use this opportunity to extend myself."

  "In that case, you should probably go with either a steak, cheeseburger, or fried chicken," Caroline suggested. "Steaks tend to be iffy in places like this—sometimes very good, sometimes really bad.

  But either of the other two should be fine."

  "What are you having?"

  "The cheeseburger and a side salad," Caroline said, closing her menu. "And a chocolate malt."

  "Very well," Sylvia said, giving a curt and very military looking nod. "The chicken, then. Where do we go to get the food?"

  "The server will bring it," Caroline said. "We just tell her what we want, and she'll go back to the kitchen and tell the cook."

  "I see," Sylvia said. "Like eating at someone's homestead, except that there are choices?"

  "Something like that," Caroline said. "We pay at the end, too. I'll handle that part."

  "Yes," Sylvia murmured. "Will you handle the food requests, as well?"

  "Certainly, if you'd like." Caroline half-turned, hoping to catch the waitress's eye.

  And froze. At the far end of the diner, strolling in through the doorway, were a pair of state police officers.

  Carefully, trying to keep her movements casual, she turned back around. Sylvia was watching her, her jaw tight, a warning glint in her eyes. Caroline gave her a microscopic nod of reassurance in return.

  There was the sound of bustling feet behind her.
"Evening, ladies," a plump woman in a white apron said cheerfully as she set glasses of water in front of them. "Getting a bit brisk out there, isn't it? Do you need another minute?"

  "No, we're ready," Caroline said, opening her menu again and reading off their order as the woman scribbled onto a pad. "—and one chocolate malt," she finished. "Unless you'd like one, too, Mom?" she added, lifting her eyebrows questioningly at Sylvia.

  The older woman didn't even twitch. "Yes, I think I would," she said.

  Caroline nodded. "Make that two."

  "You got it," the waitress said, making one final notation and finishing off with a flourish. "I'll put this in and get started on your malts." With a smile, she bustled off.

  " 'Mom'?" Sylvia asked dryly.

  "I thought it might make things simpler," Caroline told her, replacing the menus in their clip. "A

  woman and her mother out for an evening together are automatically above suspicion."

  "I'll take your word for it," Sylvia said. "You know your people better than—"

  She broke off, her gaze slicing through the air over Caroline's shoulder. Caroline started to turn around—

  "Evening, ladies," an authoritative male voice said. "You two own that red Ford pickup out there?"

  Steeling herself, Caroline put on her real estate agent's poker face and finished the turn she'd started.

  One of the two state troopers was standing over her, one hand casually on his hip. "Yes," she confirmed. "Is there a problem?"

  "I noticed kind of a smell around it on our way in," the cop said. "Are your emissions tests up to date?"

  Caroline flashed a look at Sylvia—"Of course they are," the older woman said calmly. "The papers are in the glove box."

  "Would you mind showing them to me?" the cop asked.

  "Not at all." Sylvia looked at Caroline. "Would you get them for him, please?"

  It took Caroline a second to find her voice. "Sure," she managed. Untangling her feet from the table supports, she slid out of the booth. With the cop at her side, she started down the diner toward the door, her mind suddenly spinning at top speed.

  Because this might be her best chance to get away. Maybe her only chance, in fact. These troopers would have no connection to any of the local police departments that the Greens might have subtly poisoned or subverted over the years. Once she was outside with them, she could identify herself as a kidnap victim and ask for help. They'd have to take her seriously, at least enough to get her out of here while they made further inquiries. They could be gone before Sylvia and her Shriek could even make it to the door.

  Sylvia.

  Caroline's lip twisted, the sudden mixture of uncertainly and hope dying quietly within her. Sylvia was a Group Commander, with presumably some of the same tactical Gift Nikolos himself possessed. She would hardly have suggested Caroline go outside alone unless there was a backup plan already in place.

  The cop pushed open the diner door for her, and Caroline stepped out into the cold night air. No, she and the cop weren't alone out here. Whether Sylvia had somehow set this up herself, or whether she'd just taken the opportunity when it presented itself, this was surely a test.

  And with a chill in her heart, Caroline realized that if she flunked, that would be the end of it. Sylvia would probably never speak to her again, at least not on anything except official Warrior business.

  She would never allow Caroline off the Green estate again for a meal like this, either, and she would most certainly never join her.

  And she would continue to consider humans as lesser beings not worth a second thought as she prepared for war.

  They crossed the lot to the pickup, and Caroline unlocked the passenger side. "I'm not sure exactly where she keeps it," she told the cop, reaching into the glove box and pulling out a small travel folder. "Let's see..."

  "Here," the cop offered helpfully, pulling out a flashlight and shining it on the papers.

  The emissions certificate was the third one down. "Here it is," she said, sliding it out and holding it up for his inspection.

  "Thanks," the cop said, nodding. "Sorry to have bothered you."

  "No bother," Caroline assured him, putting everything back and closing the truck door again. "This old thing does get pretty pungent sometimes."

  The other cop met them halfway back to the diner, holding two carryout cups of coffee. "You ready, Carl?" he asked.

  "Yeah," the cop said, stopping and taking one of the cups. "Have a good evening, ma'am."

  With that, they headed toward their squad car. "You, too," Caroline murmured after them. Shivering once, she glanced at the row of silent trees lining the parking lot and went back inside.

  The malts had been delivered in her absence, and Sylvia was sipping thoughtfully at hers through a straw. "Did you find the certificate he needed?" she asked as Caroline rejoined her in the booth.

  "Yes," Caroline assured her, unwrapping her straw. "It all seems to be in order."

  "Good." Sylvia gestured to her glass. "Interesting drink, this."

  "It's very popular among my people," Caroline said, taking a sip. It was rich and thick, as only a homemade malt could be. "You were taking something of a chance there, weren't you?" she added casually.

  "You think so?"

  "Absolutely," Caroline said. "Having one of your Warriors use the Shriek on a couple of state cops would have bought you far more attention than you would have liked. Especially since Roger will probably be raising various roofs himself sometime in the next few hours. If someone made the connection between his story and that of these cops, you could have had all sorts of unwanted visitors descending on you."

  Sylvia eyed her over the malt. "Yet you said nothing."

  "Are you guessing about that?" Caroline countered. "Or are you admitting you have someone on guard out there?"

  The other smiled wryly. "Touche," she said. "Is that the correct term? Touche?"

  "It is," Caroline assured her. "Is that a yes?"

  Sylvia pursed her lips. "I misjudged you," she admitted. "You're smarter than you let on. Also more... sympathetic, I think."

  Caroline shrugged. "We took in a girl we didn't even know and tried to protect her," she pointed out.

  "We're obviously suckers for people in trouble."

  "Yet we're the ones who tried to kill her," Sylvia reminded her. "You might not feel so sympathetic toward us."

  "You're still people in trouble," Caroline said. "And we still want to help."

  Sylvia didn't reply.

  The waitress appeared a minute later with their food, and they set to with a will. Sylvia's first tentative nibbles at her chicken quickly became larger bites, with the mashed potatoes and gravy getting an equally quick and enthusiastic vote of approval. Caroline attempted to probe a little into the history and organization of the Green estate as they ate, but learned nothing except that they'd owned the property since 1932. Most of the conversation ended up centered on Caroline, with Sylvia skillfully drawing out her life story in general and the events of the past week in particular.

  Caroline also had to deflect three separate attempts to learn who exactly it was who had given Melantha to them that fateful Wednesday evening. "I don't know why you're so determined to protect him," Sylvia said a bit crossly after her third and least subtle probe. "We know Melantha's parents weren't involved, so it can't be out of any perceived loyalty to her family."

  "I just don't want to see someone punished for saving her life," Caroline said evasively.

  Sylvia shook her head. "You have it backwards. We, of all the Greens, would be the most grateful for the saving of her life. My concern is for her current safety; and knowing who took her might help us learn where she is." She shook her head. "I just hope Roger isn't foolish enough to tell the police that she's here. If he does, the Grays are bound to hear about it."

  "You think they'd attack?" Caroline asked, frowning.

  "Of course they would," Sylvia said in a tone of strained patience. "This pl
ace is our last hope, the refuge where any survivors would be gathered together. If they took it away from us, we would have no choice but to face them in Manhattan, where all the advantages are theirs."

  "But this is hardly the last place in the country where there are forests," Caroline objected. "How could the Grays taking this particular plot of land hurt you?"

  "Because this particular plot is ours," Sylvia said quietly. "Would you want to live in someone else's home the rest of your life? Or, worse, in an anonymous hotel room somewhere?"

  Caroline grimaced. "Not really."

  "Neither do we." Sylvia set her last chicken bone back onto the plate and began wiping her fingers.

  "We need to get back."

  "I suppose," Caroline said. "No, no," she added as Sylvia reached for the small shoulder bag she'd brought in with her. "My treat, remember?"

  "I've reconsidered," Sylvia said. "I've decided I wouldn't be a fitting host if I allowed you to do that."

  "I insist," Caroline said, producing her credit card. "I invited you to dinner, and it wouldn't be hospitable for me to let you pay. If you'd like, you can think of it as compensation for that chair we burned."

  Sylvia snorted. "That chair has been ready for the fire since 1968," she said. But she nevertheless let the shoulder bag fall back to her side. "Very well, then, I accept. Thank you."

  "My pleasure," Caroline said, turning halfway around and gesturing to the waitress.

  The Laborers they'd passed on their way out of the estate were nowhere to be seen as Caroline maneuvered the pickup back up the winding drive. "Very neat," she complimented Sylvia as they passed the spot where the Warrior had first stopped them. "I know that side road was right there, and I still can't see a thing."

  "Green Laborers are the best workers in the world," Sylvia said proudly. "I only wish I had more of them to work with."

  "How many do you have?"

  "Only twenty," the other said. "And we have a smattering of the other Gifts, too."

  "Ah," Caroline said, her mind flashing back to that last confrontation with Nikolos and the name he'd accidentally dropped. "And Damian? Which is his Gift?"