V01 - V

by A. C. Crispin

  "Robin, we may never see Elizabeth again."

  "I know. But if she's returned to us, you won't try and stop me from seeing her, will you?"

  Maxwell took a long breath, then laughed bitterly. "Heal thyself, Doctor Maxwell," he mumbled. Choosing his words very carefully, he said, "Robin, I can't deny that I have a lot of bitter feelings toward the Visitors. But Elizabeth is my granddaughter." He shook his head. "All I can tell you is that of course I wouldn't attempt to stop you from seeing her. I can't promise that I'll open our home to her, either. You can't quell months of anger and bitterness just with good intentions. But I'll try and remember that she's just a child, and not responsible. I'll try my best to accept her."

  He turned and looked at his daughter. Her face was more alive than it had been in months. "We'll both try, Dad. Maybe I can't really be her mother, 'cause Willie says they don't raise their children like we do. They grow up too fast. But if she comes back, I can try to understand and help her. I can try to be her friend."

  "It's some kind of germ. I don't know what kind," Sean said around a mouthful of peanut-butter cookie.

  "What are they planning to do with this germ, darling?" Eleanor asked.

  "They're going to use a bunch of jets to spray it in the sky."

  Steven leaned forward. "Where are they going to get all these jets?"

  "From Edwards Air Force Base. They're going to steal them."

  "A common thief. What won't Michael do to disgrace us further?" Eleanor asked of the air.

  Sean's small face darkened. "Don't talk about Daddy that way, Grandma. I love my Daddy. It's just that he's mixed up. Diana said he's sick inside, and that she could make him better if I helped her. She showed me pictures of him in my head, and in some of them he was sick, and then she showed me how she would make him well."

  Steven glared at the older woman. "Don't antagonize him, Eleanor," he whispered. "Conversion can be a chancy thing, especially when you're trying to combat emotional ties this strong." He addressed Sean again, who was wiping a milk moustache off his upper lip. "This is very helpful, Sean. Do you know how many jets they're planning to steal?"

  "A lot, I think. They've got friends in other cities. They're going to attack them all at the same time."

  "When do they plan to do all this, honey?" Eleanor asked.

  "Can I have a piece of cake?"

  Steven and Eleanor, who had been leaning close, were taken aback. "It's not polite to change the subject, dear," Eleanor chided.

  "But I'm still hungry. It's been two hours since lunch!"

  "Of course you can have a piece of cake, darling. Grandma will cut it for you just as soon as you answer my question."

  "The raid's going to be tomorrow, at dawn. I'd like chocolate, please."

  "Are you sure, Sean?" Steven asked.

  "I'm positive. They all had a big meeting and I sat in the next room and listened to them. I could hear fine."

  "Well, you were a good boy." Hurriedly Eleanor cut the cake and sent Sean off to eat it on the deck.

  Steven looked at Eleanor, a speculative smile playing on his lips. "This information will be invaluable. Now my only problem is whom I should inform first—Diana, or Pamela?"

  Eleanor gave him an understanding smile. "Well, which one will do you the most good if you gain her gratitude?"

  "That's what I'm trying to decide."

  She gave him a coy look. "You won't forget your old friends when you're a Supreme Commander, will you, Steven?"

  His gaze was speculative. "Not the ones who control their ambition." He touched the copy of Machiavelli's The Prince that lay on the counter with a bookmark in it. "A book on how to prosper by political intrigue, isn't it, Eleanor?"

  "Well, yes, but that doesn't mean—"

  "It had better not. I had to dispense with the Bernstein boy, you know. He became a security risk. An ambitious security risk."

  Eleanor's hazel eyes held a growing unease. "What did you do to him?"

  Steven smiled. "I assure you, dear lady, you'd rather not know."

  Diana stood outside the conference room and keyed the door. "Pamela? This is Diana. I'd like to speak to you."

  "I'm very busy right now, Diana. Can't it wait?"

  "I'm afraid not. It's about the rebel raids planned for tomorrow morning."

  The portal opened, and Diana entered, the full skirt of her red lounging robe swishing against the doorframe. Pamela was seated at the table while her aide stood by the observation portal, looking out at the waning moon.

  "How did you find out about the raids, Diana? That is classified information."

  Diana inclined her head haughtily. "I'm entitled to know about the raids, Pamela. I provided the source from which you gained that piece of intelligence."

  Pamela's face was a cold, impassive mask. "You are entitled to information that pertains to our scientific mission—nothing more."

  "I walked by the landing deck on my way here. There are no troop carriers or fighters being readied. Is it possible you're not taking the boy's report seriously?"

  "It's not standard practice to base troop movements on the tattlings of human children."

  "I converted him myself. His information is reliable."

  "I've told you before that I don trust your conversion process. However, I will have someone look into it, if that will ease your mind."

  "When? The raids are due to begin in about eight hours."

  Pamela gave her aide a sidelong glance, and a mock-tolerant smile crossed her perfect features. "You scientific types are so easily ruffled."

  Diana smiled back at her sweetly. "And you military types are so easily predictable. I, on the other hand, am not."

  Pulling a gun from the folds of her gown, she shot the startled Pamela in the shoulder, then, whirling, fired the weapon at the aide before he could ready his sidearm. He fell to the deck, mortally wounded. Diana walked around the table to regard Pamela, who was trying to crawl to the gun her aide had dropped.

  "You rely on cunning, Pamela. Intrigue. Trying to turn people against each other. I prefer the more direct approach myself. Don't worry, Commander. I'll do my scientific best to command your fleet. First I'll save it from the rebel raid tomorrow morning, thus earning the Leader's undying gratitude and approval. Then I'll eliminate the only remaining opposition to his plan, all in a few hours' time." She smiled charmingly. "Good-bye, Pamela. Consider this early retirement."

  She raised the gun, aiming carefully, and depressed the firing button.

  "Nice party, Juliet," Robert Maxwell said, watching the resistance members serving themselves in the cafeteria of the dairy. They were laughing and talking, though the tension in the room was palpable. "The glass of beer apiece was a real bonus. None of us expected it."

  Julie laughed. "I figured it was better to hold the festivities here, rather than have folks sneaking out on what might be their last night to sample a few last-minute . . . delicacies. And the beer may help everyone get a few hours sleep, at least."

  "When's curfew?"

  "It's almost ten. I'll have tp make an announcement in a couple of minutes." She looked across the room to the table where Robin, Polly, Josh, and Katie sat with Harmy. "Robin looks so different tonight. She's such a pretty girl. Did you say something to her to get her out of the funk?"

  "Yes, I talked to her today. I guess she listened."

  "Good. Tomorrow we'll really need her."

  Donovan joined them, balancing a plate of fried chicken and coleslaw, with his allotted beer teetering precariously on the side.

  "If you drop that, you don't get another," Julie warned severely.

  Donovan cast a quick glance at Robert. The latter was watching Elias set up a record player and speakers. Donovan leaned over to whisper. "I compromise my honor and sleep with the boss, and I don't even get the privilege of an extra beer? What good are you, Doc?"

  She gave him a wide, knowing grin, not answering.

  "Attention, everybody," Elias called, w
aving for emphasis. "I'd like to say a few words."

  The babble of conversation decreased not a whit. After a second, Caleb Taylor jumped up on the tiny raised speaker's platform beside his son. "Hey, you turkeys! My son wants to speak with you, and the least you can do is listen up!"

  Caleb's rafter-trembling tones got the desired quiet.

  Elias gave his father a warm smile and a nod. "Thanks, Pop." He turned back to the group. "Julie is gonna tell you all to toddle off to bed in a couple minutes, but before she does, I'd like to say a few words and play you a song, symbolizing how I feel.

  "We owe a lot to one special lady tonight," he continued, and everyone glanced quickly over at Julie, smiling. "If it weren't for this lady, none of us would be here. She brought us together, and it was because of her that we've been welded into a fighting force that tomorrow is gonna finish this thing we've started, so we can go home."

  Everyone clapped and cheered, their eyes on Julie, who smiled back at them graciously. "And so, my friends, my brothers and sisters, tonight I would like to dedicate my favorite song from my favorite artist to—Diana!"

  A mutter of surprise raced around the room, then Elias, with great solemnity, dropped the arm of the phonograph onto the record. After a second, everyone began to laugh, realizing they'd been royally had. It was Michael Jackson's "Beat It."

  The laughter swelled and grew, dispelling the last of the tension. Donovan leaned over to whisper in Julie's ear, "You knew about this, didn't you?"

  "Yeah," she said. "I came up with the idea to make everyone think it was me."

  The laughter rolled on, competing with the throbbing beat of the music, filling the night.

  Chapter 33

  Diana sat in solitary mastery over her Mother Ship's military communications and control center, listening to the report from the force she'd dispatched to Edwards Air Force Base. "The troops are in place, Diana. The fighters are about to take off to maintain holding positions out of visual range."

  "Then you're completely prepared for them, Commander?"

  "Completely."

  "No sign of them yet?"

  "No, but it's still nearly an hour before full dawn. They probably overslept."

  Both Visitors laughed. "Very well, Commander. Stay in contact. Mother Ship out."

  "Acknowledged. Out."

  The portal to the room slid open, and the Supreme Commander, John, strode in, scowling. The silver-haired Visitor leader wasted no words. "Why the hell is Pamela deploying so many troops Earthside? Our defense forces aboard the Mother Ships are understrength!"

  "Pamela's dead," Diana said, looking at him levelly. "She was careless enough to select a Fifth Columnist as one of her personal guards. I am in charge now."

  Obviously shocked, John displayed a moment of skepticism when he heard her explanation, but dismissed the issue of Pamela's death in favor of the more pressing matter. "How dare you deploy troops planetside without my authority?"

  "Pamela had begun the preparations to eliminate the resistance before she was killed." She looked at John blandly. "I'm simply carrying out her orders. The waiting is almost over. The rebels are in the process of mounting a nationwide—possibly worldwide—series of raids on air force bases. We have an opportunity to wipe out the entire network in one blow."

  John frowned. "That's ridiculous. What could they hope to accomplish by raiding air force bases? Their jets are useless against our fighters."

  "Their plan is to use the jets to disperse a toxic bacterial weapon."

  "I thought you had inoculated us against all Earthly bacteria and viruses."

  Diana shrugged. "They apparently think they've developed a new one."

  "Is that possible?" John was plainly disconcerted.

  "Of course it's possible." Seeing his face, she continued, "Don't worry. We're going to insure that that toxin never enters the atmosphere." Standing up, she relinquished the Commander's seat, waving John toward it gracefully. "Now that you're here, John . . ."

  Inclining his head, John sat down, studying the troop deployment shown on the strategy board before him. "You've amassed quite an army."

  "Pamela wanted this victory to be absolutely decisive."

  "That shouldn't be hard," he said, favoring her with an approving smile.

  "And if by some wild chance we should fail . . ." Diana opened the center of the board with a key.

  A shiny metallic box with a lock on either side rose out of the board. A red light blinked in its center, and a small computer keyboard and terminal were placed beneath it.

  "Do you have your key, John?"

  The Supreme Commander nodded. "Right here. But isn't this a little . . . premature?"

  She gave him a surprised look. "Our orders are clear on the subject. During any major military engagement, we must be prepared to take the ultimate reprisal."

  "But . . . the device will destroy this vessel. And us with it."

  "I can program the timing of the final destruction sequence to remain open, leaving us the option to set the number of times the counter cycles down. That way we can plan plenty of time to escape to one of the other ships. If anything happens to us, and we don't implement that option, it will default to its originally programmed time to detonation."

  "All right then. Is it armed?"

  "It's armed."

  John began checking troop status. Diana stood behind him, fingering her own key, watching the strategy board.

  Martin sat at the controls of a squad ship, wearing a Visitor uniform. The landing bay of the Mother Ship loomed ahead as a voice came over the communications channel. "Squad ship triple-ought twenty-eight, establish voice check."

  William, seated beside him, leaned forward. "This is squad ship triple-ought twenty-eight requesting permission to land and download."

  Behind Willie, Juliet, Donovan, Sancho, Harmy, Maggie, Caleb, and Elias, all dressed in Visitor uniforms, stood crowded into the squad ship's corridor, listening, tensely.

  The bored voice of the controller came again. "You're not on the download schedule, triple-ought twenty-eight. Hold your approach to minimum speed while I check this out."

  Donovan made a throat-cutting gesture, receiving an elbow in the side and a glare from Julie. She winced, rubbing her elbow, which had struck something hard concealed by the breast flap of Donovan's uniform. "What've you got in there?"

  Donovan pulled out the hand-held video camera. "I stuck this in at the last minute. Figured I'd try for some footage." He stowed the small camera in his pack.

  "Okay, triple-ought twenty-eight." The controller was back. "I'm clearing you to land. I can't find your bill of lading, but that's nothing new. The computer's been up and down all week."

  The huge bay doors opened before them. "They're just about empty," Donovan said, peering out at the viewscreen.

  Julie chuckled. "The Air Force bases all over the U.S. must look like the L.A. freeway during rush hour by now."

  Donovan's expression mingled pain with bitter amusement. "Sean did a good job."

  "You did a better one," Julie said, mirroring his feelings. "It's not easy to lie to your son."

  "We should all get Oscars for that performance, especially Ham Tyler. I sat there and hated every moment of it."

  "At least it worked. He picked it up and passed it on. We made his conversion work for us. Remember, he's not a traitor, Mike. He's not a spy. He's just a little kid who didn't have the ability to fight back against Diana."

  "I wonder if he'll ever get back to normal?"

  "If we're successful, and the Visitors leave, I should think so. He may require some therapy to work out his own feelings when he realizes what was done to him."

  The squad ship set down with a gentle hiss of braking jets.

  Each resistance fighter carried a pack with an aerosol supply of the toxin in it. Sancho was equipped with a portable blower he wore on his back like a backpack, covered with the same material as the Visitor uniforms, to minimize its visibility. All were equ
ipped with the voice-changers.

  When they stepped cautiously out of the vehicle, Juliet directed Harmy to set up her "infirmary" in the only other squad vehicle, which was located in the southern end of the landing bay. This larger shuttle was designated the "escape shuttle" for the Fifth Columnists. The fighters had come with extra gas masks and a supply of the vaccine, so they could immunize any Fifth Columnists who had not yet been protected. Security aboard the L.A. ship had been extremely tight. Lorraine had reported that she hadn't been able to contact several of her people.

  Juliet, Donovan, and Sancho left, to rendezvous with Lorraine on their way to Master Control. Caleb and Elias remained in the loading bay, to distribute the toxin through the air system, while Maggie, Willie, and Martin stood guard.

  As Caleb and Elias worked to open one of the nearby ventilation shafts and begin blowing the dust into the Mother Ship's air system, two guards wandered into the northern end of the landing bay, glancing at them curiously.

  "They probably think we're just conducting normal down-loading procedures," Martin said, nudging Willie, "but we can't let them get too close. Distract them!"

  William walked casually toward the patrollers. "Hi! I've just come off-shift from Richland," he said, "and I haven't heard anything since last night. What's happened since Diana received that message from John?"

  "What message?" asked the foremost guard, intrigued.

  "Someone told me she'd received a message from John saying that the Leader had announced that he's chosen an Official Consort, and you can imagine Diana's reaction!" He kept strolling toward the entrance, keeping the guards' backs to the ventilation shaft.

  "Space, I can imagine, all right! What did she do?"

  "Well, first she told John he could insert his announcement in his . . ." Still talking, Willie led the guards out of sight.

  Martin looked at Elias and Caleb. "How much longer do you need?"

  "Just a minute or two, then we can turn it on and the pump will keep blowing automatically, as long as the supply of dust in our cargo hold holds up. "