by Timothy Zahn
"The Human who came up with this game must have been brilliant," Sylvia commented as she finished setting her pieces and swiveled the board around.
"Some of us have definitely been brilliant through the ages," Caroline agreed. Pulling her pack of gum from her pocket, she casually pulled out a stick and unwrapped it. "Games, music, art—we've had our share of geniuses."
"What's that?" Sylvia asked, eyeing the gum. "Food? Are you hungry?"
"No, this is called chewing gum," Caroline said, holding it out for her inspection. "You chew on it and get flavor in your mouth. Want to try one?"
"I suppose," Sylvia said, a bit hesitantly. "You don't actually eat it?"
"No swallowing involved," Caroline confirmed, folding the stick into her mouth and pulling out another for Sylvia. "Though it doesn't hurt humans any if we do swallow it. You've never seen Green children or teens chewing gum?"
"Never," Sylvia said, folding the stick into her mouth as she'd seen Caroline do. She blinked twice.
"Very intense. What exactly is this flavor?"
"It's a blend of various fruits," Caroline told her, putting the pack away. "Do you like it?"
"It's... different," Sylvia said diplomatically. "At any rate, it's your move."
"Right," Caroline said, moving her king's pawn two squares forward. "Maybe there's someone in midtown Manhattan right now who'll be the next human to come up with a game as brilliant and elegant as this one."
Sylvia smiled knowingly as she set her queen's pawn one square forward in response. "And therefore, we should be careful what happens to the Humans in our war?"
"I would think a good Warrior would be careful about that anyway," Caroline replied, jumping her king's knight up and over to the edge of the board.
"I wish that decision was ours to make," Sylvia said, moving her queen's bishop two squares out.
"But I'm afraid it's up to the Grays. If they choose to make their stand from residential buildings, in effect hiding behind the Humans, we'll have no alternative but to bring those buildings down."
"There are always alternatives," Caroline said earnestly. "Nikolos is a Green Command-Tactician.
That means he's one of the best there is."
Something like a flash of annoyance flicked across Sylvia's lined face. "You make it sound easy," she said. "It isn't."
"Maybe not for you or me," Caroline agreed. "But surely Nikolos can come up with something better than an all-out war in the middle of a city."
"Even if such a thing were possible—" Sylvia broke off, her eyes unfocusing, and once again Caroline heard the almost-words of Green telepathic communication. The older woman's eyes came back; and to Caroline's surprise, she abruptly stood up. "But right now, it's lunchtime," she said briskly. "Shall we try a different restaurant?"
"Ah—sure," Caroline managed, glancing at her watch. She'd been racking her brain all morning trying to figure out how to get Sylvia to let her take her out for another meal. "But it's only eleventhirty."
"I'm hungry," Sylvia said, stepping away from the board. "Aren't you?"
"Oh, sure, I can always eat," Caroline assured her, scrambling to her feet.
"Then get your coat," Sylvia ordered, already halfway to the door. "I'll meet you at the truck."
"There," Roger said, pointing at the gravel drive leading off the road to the left and flicking on his turn signal. "The sign's gone, but I'm pretty sure that's it."
"Let's give it a try," Fierenzo agreed.
The drive seemed a little different beneath his wheels than on his last trip in, Roger noticed uncomfortably as he turned in. But then, that could be a result of his own rearrangement of the gravel on that mad dash out.
No one appeared as they followed the twisting path through the trees. "You suppose they've abandoned it?" Fierenzo asked as they topped a gentle ridge and started down the other side.
"More likely I've got the wrong place," Roger said, grimacing. "The turnoff we took to the cabin should have branched off before here."
"Mm," Fierenzo said, looking at the woods around them. "Maybe we should have given Jonah's tel to Laurel. At least we could have had a running commentary as to whether there are any Greens nearby."
"I think I see a house up there," Roger said, peering ahead.
"Let's take a look," Fierenzo said. "If this isn't the Green place, maybe they can tell us where it is."
The house was big and old, Roger noted as he followed the drive through the expansive lawn stretched out in front of it: three stories in places, with a pair of wings rambling out to the sides.
Caroline could probably tell at a glance when it had been built; all he could tell was that it looked rather haphazardly designed.
The front door opened as he rolled to a stop in front of the steps, and a young man stepped out onto the porch. "Can I help you?" he called as Roger and Fierenzo got out of the car.
Roger's heart rate picked up as he got his first close look at the other. Tall and dark, with black eyes and olive skin. They were at the Green estate, all right... only the Greens had somehow rearranged the drive beyond all recognition. Fierenzo had been right; he wouldn't have been able to prove his story to anyone else. "I'm looking for my wife," he bit out. "Where is she?"
The young man seemed taken aback. "I'm sorry?"
"Relax," Fierenzo told him, holding out his badge. "I'm Detective Sergeant Fierenzo from New York City. Mr. Whittier here claims his wife has been kidnapped and is being held around here somewhere."
"Really?" the other breathed. "That's terrible."
"Oh, stop it," Roger said disgustedly. "You're not fooling anyone."
"Take it easy, Mr. Whittier," Fierenzo warned in the weary tone of someone who's already heard it too many times. "Is this one of the people you saw?"
"Not exactly," Roger admitted. "But they were similar in appearance."
"Uh-huh," Fierenzo said. "Can I ask your name, sir?"
"I'm Nestor Green," the other said, looking uncertainly at Roger. "And there isn't anyone else here.
Really."
"I'm sure there isn't," Fierenzo said soothingly. "Are you the owner, Mr. Green?"
"No, that would be my Aunt Sylvia," Nestor said. "She's out shopping."
"Good," Roger said. "That'll give us a chance to search the house."
"Be quiet, Mr. Whittier," Fierenzo said, throwing him a warning look. "Any idea when she'll be back?"
"Not really," Nestor said. "Listen, I can't just—look, do you have a warrant or something?"
"No, and we're not going to search the house," Fierenzo assured him, holding up a placating hand. "I wonder if we could come in and wait for a few minutes? See if your aunt returns?"
"Sure," Nestor said reluctantly. "Come on in."
He led the way through the door into a large and elaborate entryway. "Good-sized place," Fierenzo commented, glancing around as Nestor led the way to a pair of double doors to their left. "How many people live here?"
"Just my aunt and me and a few caretakers," Nestor said, pushing open one of the doors. Beyond was an impressively equipped library, with a massive desk in front of a pair of tall windows looking out onto the wooded hills beyond. "She's hoping to get some investors to restore the place and turn it into a lodge."
"You've sure got the view for it," Fierenzo commented, nodding toward the windows. "How long have you lived here?"
"About three years," Nestor said. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"We're fine, thanks," Fierenzo said, stopping in the middle of the library and giving it a casual survey. "Nice collection."
"I want to see the rest of the house," Roger spoke up truculently. "I know Caroline's here."
"We don't have a warrant, Mr. Whittier," Fierenzo said patiently. "I already told you that."
"So?" Roger countered. "This is a kidnapping. Exigent circumstances, remember?"
Fierenzo took a deep breath. "Do you recognize this house?"
Roger hesitated. "Well... no."
"Do you recognize
Mr. Green?"
"I already told you I didn't," Roger growled.
"Do you have any proof that your wife is even in this particular county, let alone this particular estate?"
Roger glared at him. "Now, look," he warned. "I'm telling you—"
"You've already told me," Fierenzo cut him off, turning abruptly for the door. "Thank you, Mr. Green
—sorry for the inconvenience. Come on, Mr. Whittier."
"Wait a minute," Roger said again, grabbing the detective's arm as he passed. "We're leaving?"
"Yes, we're leaving," Fierenzo said, turning to look squarely into his eyes. "I told you before that if you couldn't give me something solid, this whole trip would be a waste of time. You haven't, and it has been. Now get in the car."
"No," Roger snapped, bracing himself. Here was where he had to push it just the right amount.... "I swear to you that cabin is out there somewhere. We have to find it."
"Forget it," Fierenzo said. "I'm not going to waste what's left of my day tromping through a bunch of woods."
"We have to," Roger said firmly. "You're supposed to be investigating, right? Well, investigate, damn it."
Fierenzo held his gaze another moment, then turned and looked back at Nestor. "Are there any other roads on the estate besides the one we came in on?"
"There's one that goes from behind the house through the back areas of the woods," Nestor said carefully. "But I've been over the estate a dozen times since we moved here. This is the only building on the grounds."
"I tell you it's there," Roger insisted.
"Does the other drive take us back to 42?" Fierenzo asked, ignoring him.
"Yes, about a quarter mile north of the one you came in on," Nestor said.
"Fine." Fierenzo turned back to Roger. "Here's what we're going to do," he said in a voice that left no room for argument. "We're going to leave now, taking the other road through the estate. I'll drive; you can look out the windows. If you spot your cabin—hell, if you spot any cabin—we'll stop and take a look at it. If you don't, we're getting onto 42 and heading back to the city. Take it or leave it."
Roger glared at him for another second, wanting to see how Nestor was reacting to this but not daring to look at him. The cabin would certainly be nowhere near that road—Nikolos would have seen to that when he erased all the other approaches to it. But circling the grounds pretending to look would give Laurel the maximum possible range in her search for her daughter.
"Well?" Fierenzo prompted.
Roger let his shoulders sag. "Sure," he muttered. "What do you care?"
"Thanks for your time, Mr. Green," Fierenzo said as he and Roger headed toward the library door.
"We can find our own way out."
They crossed the entryway and the porch and walked down the steps to the car. Roger got into the passenger side as Fierenzo went around the front and slid in behind the wheel. "Keys?" the detective asked as he closed his door.
"Did he seem worried about us taking the long way out?" Roger asked, digging out the keys and handing them over.
"I didn't see any reaction," Fierenzo told him. "Best guess is that they've already erased or camouflaged everything leading to the cabin."
"No kidding," Roger said sourly. "They could have taken the whole building apart for all I know. I just hope Laurel's having better luck."
The drive they were on came to an abrupt end just beyond the far wing of the house, but by the time they got there Roger could see the other road Nestor had mentioned. Fierenzo eased the car across a short stretch of grass to the patch of gravel and picked up his speed a little. "Interesting," he said, pointing ahead of them. "Tire tracks. Someone's used this road recently."
"Nestor said his aunt was out shopping," Roger reminded him.
"Sure, but I assumed he was lying," Fierenzo said. "That either Sylvia was never there to begin with, or else that she'd ducked out the back and was hiding inside a tree somewhere."
"She'd have a job hiding Caroline in there with her."
"True," Fierenzo said. "And this puts a new light on things."
Roger frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Later." Fierenzo gestured toward his window. "You're supposed to be looking for a cabin, remember?"
Roger turned back to the side window, trying to figure out which direction he was facing. Starting at the back of the house, he was thinking the road had curved west. If so, then they were now heading north....
He was straining his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of anything that wasn't tree or bush or grass, when he was abruptly slammed against his seat belt as Fierenzo stomped on the brake. "What—?" he demanded, twisting his head around to look out the windshield.
The protest died in his throat. Standing across the drive thirty feet in front of the car were four Greens, long trassk knives shining in their hands.
"I think," Fierenzo said quietly, "that we're in trouble."
35
"You said that was called a Reuben?" Sylvia asked, peering across the table at the sandwich in Caroline's hands.
"Yes," Caroline confirmed, taking a bite and savoring the tang. "A little messy, but delicious."
"And these are chicken fingers," Sylvia said, picking up one of the golden-brown sticks from her own plate. "You know, I believe I've seen chickens, and I remember them having claws instead of fingers."
"The name refers to the shape," Caroline told her. "Try one of those dipping sauces."
Tentatively, Sylvia touched the chicken to the top of the BBQ sauce bowl and nibbled at it.
"Interesting," she said, nodding.
"Personally, I prefer the hot mustard," Caroline told her, indicating the other bowl. "Careful, though
—it packs a punch."
"So you give me a challenge?" Sylvia said, mock-solemnly, as she plunged her chicken finger an inch into the hot mustard. Defiantly, she bit off that end—
And grabbed for her water glass, eyes bulging. "I warned you," Caroline said, unable to hide an amused smile as the other woman drained half the water in a gulp. "Roger always accuses me of having a wrought-iron tongue whenever I—"
She broke off. Without warning, Sylvia had gone rigid, her eyes locked somewhere past Caroline's shoulder. "Sylvia?"
There was no response. "Sylvia!" she repeated more forcefully, reaching over to grip the woman's hand, her heart suddenly pounding. Had the hot mustard poisoned her?
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, Sylvia blinked, her eyes coming back to focus.
But those eyes were now hard and cold, the lines of her face settled into deep wrinkles. "Get your things," she said tightly. "We're leaving."
"Now?" Caroline asked, relieved and stunned at the same time. "Sylvia, I didn't mean that—"
"Now," the older woman ordered, sliding out of the booth.
"I have to pay the bill first," Caroline protested, fumbling for her purse. "If I did something wrong—"
"Not you," Sylvia said, standing beside the booth like a statue, her eyes focused on the distance.
"The stupid fools."
"Who?" Caroline asked, staring up at her.
"Your husband is in trouble," Sylvia bit out. "Hurry."
Her mouth suddenly dry, Caroline pulled the credit card out of her wallet.
And hesitated. She'd wanted to come here today for a specific purpose. If she left without fulfilling it, she might never get another chance.
But if Roger was in danger...
Setting her teeth firmly together, she gathered up her purse and coat and slid out of the booth. It wasn't going to work exactly as she'd planned, but she could still do it. And it would only take a few extra seconds.
She could only hope that those few extra seconds wouldn't cost her husband his life.
"What do we do?" Roger murmured, his throat tight as he watched the four Greens striding toward the car.
"You've got the tel," Fierenzo reminded him, his voice icy calm. "Call it in."
Roger had completely forgotten the gadge
t pasted to his left hand. Now, twitching his little finger, he held it to his cheek. "Jonah?"
"Here," the Gray's voice said promptly. "What's happening?"
"We're in trouble," Roger said tightly. "There are four Warriors coming at us—"
"Six," Fierenzo corrected. "Two more behind us."
Roger swiveled to look. "We're surrounded by six Warriors," he told Jonah.
"Terrific," Jonah said. "What did you do to set them off?"
"Absolutely nothing," Roger protested. "I don't know why they're even here—"
"Save the analysis for later," Fierenzo cut him off. "Can he help, or not?"
"Can you help us?" Roger relayed the question.
There was a brief pause. "Yeah, I think so," Jonah said. "Give me a minute. I'll give you two call buzzes when we're ready."
Roger lowered his hand. "He says it'll take another minute," he told Fierenzo, eyeing the advancing Warriors. "We may not have that long."
"Then we'd better make sure we do," Fierenzo said, unfastening his seat belt and drawing his gun.
He opened the door and climbed out, leveling the weapon at the approaching Greens. "Police officer," he called. "Open your mouths, and I'll shoot."
The Warriors stopped, their expressions impassive. "Here's the deal," Fierenzo went on. "I know about the Shriek. I also know you have to open your mouths wide to use it, and if any of you so much as looks like they're about to let one off, I'll consider that an overt act and respond accordingly.
I figure I can get off at least two clear shots before you scramble my aim. So the question becomes which two of you want to die for nothing?"
"What do you mean, for nothing?" one of the Warriors asked, taking care to move his lips as little as possible.
"A lot of people know where we are right now," Fierenzo told him. "If we don't come back, they'll know where to look."
"We can tell them you left hours earlier," the Green countered. "There will be no evidence here for them to find."
"You'd be surprised what modern forensics can dig up," Fierenzo said. "On the other hand, we have no evidence that you've done anything illegal. If you step aside right now and let us go, there's nothing we can do against you."
"Wait a second," Roger protested, wrenching open his door and getting out. "What about Caroline?"