The Intruder rh0-5

by Melinda Metz

  "We thought you two might want to play cards or something," one of the guards said. He stood back and let Adam walk into the cell, then locked the door behind him.

  Do I look like a complete moron? Michael thought. Do they think that I don't know why they're doing this? They're looking for information. They're hoping I'll let something slip that will help them track down the others. Or that their little tame alien will make another connection with me and get better stuff than he did the last time.

  Yeah, Adam saw Isabel when he made the connection in the lab. But he didn't see anything that indicated she was anything but a hot human chick that Michael had an image of in his brain. So Isabel should be safe for now. But Michael needed to be on guard around Adam. As much as he looked like a harmless kid-Michael had to keep reminding himself they were around the same age-Adam could be very dangerous.

  Michael shot a glance at him. Adam was standing with his back practically pressed against the cell door. He looked like he wished he was anywhere but here. I wonder what they told him about me? Michael thought. I wonder what they told him about himself? Does he even know he's from another planet? Or does he just think that everyone hatches out of a metal cocoon and grows up in little glass cells?

  "You want to play cards?" Michael asked, trying to sound reassuring without slipping into that Mr. Rogers-speak Valenti used with Adam. "Come on, we'll play." He slid down to the end of the bed so Adam had some room. Adam hesitated, then he walked over and sat down across from Michael.

  "You know that game we played in the lab?" Michael asked. Adam immediately reached for Michael's hand to make the connection, and Michael jerked away. "I don't like that game. Don't ever try to play that game with me unless I say it's okay. You understand?" he asked.

  Adam nodded, his green eyes wary. "Good," Michael said. "So what game do you want to play?"

  "Crazy eights is my favorite," Adam answered. He pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket and started to deal.

  Crazy eights. Man. Michael tried to remember the last time he'd played that game. A while ago. He wasn't even sure he still remembered the rules.

  "Cool," Michael told him. "That's my favorite game, too." He felt a little slimy saying it, but he needed Adam to start trusting him. Michael had already decided that when he found a way out of here, Adam was coming with him. There was no way Michael was leaving one of his own in this pit.

  Adam flipped over the top card in the pile that sat between him and Michael-a three of hearts. Then he picked up his own cards, studied them quickly, and slapped down the jack of hearts.

  Oh, right, Michael thought. You just have to match suits. Or you can match the numbers if you want. It was all coming back to him. He grabbed his cards, found a heart, and put it on top of Adam's. Adam slammed down the two of hearts. Michael started to put down the two of clubs.

  "No! You have to take two. Take two! When I play a two, you have to take two!" Adam pointed to the two of hearts on the pile and gave a joyful cackle.

  Michael couldn't stop himself from smiling as he took his two cards. Adam was really getting into the game. It reminded Michael of Isabel as a little girl. She'd always played Candy Land as if she had a million bucks riding on the game. She cheated, too. She'd trick you into looking out the window or at the TV, then she'd plant the card she needed at the top of the pile.

  But Izzy was seven years old at the time. And Adam had to be sixteen or seventeen. Michael felt hot anger begin to boil inside him. Adam was one of them, which meant he could absorb information much faster than humans did. If someone gave him some books or a computer, he'd soak up knowledge by the second. Instead he was still getting all hyped over a game of crazy eights.

  "So who taught you how to play this game?" Michael asked. He didn't plan on giving Adam any info, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try and get some.

  "Dad," Adam answered. He snapped down the two of diamonds and laughed when Michael had to add two more cards to his hand.

  "And who would that be?" Michael asked.

  "Mr. Valenti," Adam returned.

  Dad? Adam called the man who kept him prisoner underground Dad. And Michael thought he'd had it bad doing the foster-home boogie all his life. There were worse things, much worse things.

  "Did, uh, Dad"-the name tasted like acid on Michael's tongue-"teach you how to play the other game, too?"

  "Uh-uh. I always knew how to play it," Adam answered as he added another card to the pile.

  "And what about… Daddy Valenti. Can he play it, too?" Michael thought it was a good idea to get Adam thinking about the way he and Valenti were different. Because at some point-some point soon-Michael was going to have to tell Adam the truth about the sheriff. It would be a lot easier to get Adam out of here if he actually wanted to leave, and Michael didn't think that would happen until Adam knew that the sheriff didn't deserve one scrap of loyalty… or love. How twisted was it that Valenti had manipulated Adam into loving him? Because Adam did. Michael could hear it in Adam's voice when he said Valenti's name.

  Adam laughed. "No. It's not a game for daddies," he answered, in an everybody-knows-that tone.

  Duh. Michael should have known Valenti would have come up with a reason why he could never play the game with Adam. The images that Adam would get from Valenti would make it very clear that Dad was, well, not a very nice guy.

  "It's your turn," Adam reminded him.

  "Oh, right. Now let me see." Michael pulled one card out of his hand, then replaced it. He bit his lip in an exaggerated way as he selected another card, then put it back.

  Adam laughed like this was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. This guy had to get out more.

  Michael added a card to the pile, then he caught a flash of movement off to his right. He glanced over and saw Valenti and two guards walking a girl down the row of cells. "Who's she?" he asked Adam.

  Adam turned, and his mouth dropped open a little. "I don't know," he whispered.

  He sounded kind of awestruck. Judging by Adam's behavior, Michael thought it was probably the first female that Adam had ever seen-at least, the first one close to his age. Adam had some great surprises waiting for him if they ever managed to make it aboveground.

  Although the girl who had just walked in would stand out even up there, where there was a lot more competition. She was tall and lean, with red hair that was even shorter than his. But the hair didn't make her look at all boyish.

  What could she possibly be doing down here? Whatever it was, she didn't look pleased about it. One of the guards pulled open the door of the cell across from Michael's and thrust the girl inside with a rough push. The girl didn't turn around. She just stood there, her back straight, her head up, refusing to look at any of them.

  Michael wouldn't wish for anyone to be pushed into that stuffy cell. But if someone had to be there, he was glad it was someone who looked like her.

  ***

  Cameron Winger kept her back turned so she didn't have to see the door close behind her, locking her inside the glass cell. She wished the sheriff had told her more about what was going to happen to her. Tests, that's all he said. A series of tests beginning tomorrow. Tests. That could mean almost anything. It could mean sitting at a desk, filling in a million of those little bubbles. Or it could mean-Cameron didn't want to think about what else it could mean. It was pointless. Because whatever it meant, she would have to go through with it. The sheriff would see to that.

  Cameron was good at evaluating people, and she'd already figured out Sheriff Valenti wasn't a guy who could be made to feel pity. Or much of anything else. She doubted he could squeeze out an emotion if his life depended on it, and that meant once he decided to do something, he did it. If Cameron changed her mind about the tests, she had the feeling she could cry an ocean of tears, then scream her lungs out, then throw a total kicking, screaming, mouth-foaming fit without Valenti even raising an eyebrow. Or getting close to letting her go.

  Cameron spun around and found the two guards and
the sheriff staring at her. She had the wild impulse to shove her face against the glass and make fish faces at them. That's exactly what her cell was like-a big aquarium. Except instead of a fish, she was more like one of those lobsters in a restaurant tank, the ones with their claws taped closed who were only a big boiling pot of water away from being dinner.

  She returned the sheriff's gaze steadily, trying not to feel like a lobster. He finally turned and strode away.

  Cameron wondered what the two guys in the cell across from hers had done to get themselves in here. The one with the silky light brown hair looked like he should still be getting tucked in by Mom, even though she figured he was around her age.

  The other guy, the one with the spiked hair, now, he looked dangerous. In all kinds of ways. He had gray eyes like the sheriff's. But this guy's eyes were burning with emotion. He looked like the tortured soul type, which, unfortunately, she had always been attracted to.

  She formed her hand into a lobster claw and clicked it at him. The lopsided grin that broke across his face made her feel alive-for the moment.

  ***

  Max took a deep breath, then turned the key and swung open the door to Ray's apartment. He caught a whiff of something that smelled like baking powder. He knew the scent was part of a message from the collective consciousness, so he ignored it. He had been trying to talk to Ray through the consciousness, but he couldn't figure out how. All he'd gotten was a wave of images, odors, sounds, and sensations, all with pieces of information attached to them. Usually Max would have loved learning so much about his home planet and his people. But it was harder to get excited with Ray… gone. And Michael captured.

  Max stepped into the apartment and shut the door behind him. He headed down the hall to Ray's bedroom. A smile tugged at his lips as he passed the living room with the beanbag chairs that were Ray's version of wall-to-wall carpeting. Ray was such a goofball.

  A hard lump formed in Max's throat at the thought. It was so hard to accept that he'd never hear Ray's corny jokes again. Or see his Elvis impersonation. And Max was still trying to deal with the fact that no matter how bad things got, Ray would never be able to come to the rescue. "I'm going to miss you," he whispered. "And not just because you kept saving our butts."

  This isn't the time for a touching soap-opera moment, he told himself. He needed to do a sweep of the apartment to make sure there wasn't anything lying around that, say, offered incontrovertible proof of the existence of life on other planets. Max stepped into Ray's bedroom. The first thing he saw was Ray's I Survived the Roswell Incident T-shirt lying on the bed. He snorted. That wasn't exactly proof. Half the people in town had that shirt.

  Max picked up the shirt and pulled it over the T-shirt he was wearing. He wanted something of Ray's to keep, something to remember him by. And the shirt-it was so Ray. He wasn't going to find anything better, plus he was pretty sure Ray would like the idea of passing the shirt on to another true Roswell Incident survivor.

  He turned and slid open the mirrored closet door. There were a bunch more T-shirts, some jeans, some chinos, three pairs of sneakers, and one of the spangled Elvis jumpsuits Ray had them wear at the museum when he first put up the display showing the connection between the King and aliens. That was it. Ray hadn't exactly been going for the best-dressed award.

  Max moved on to the dresser. He shook the big peanut butter jar full of pennies, then tapped all four of the little guitar-playing aliens so that their heads bobbed. He quickly checked the three big drawers. Nothing but some underwear, some bolo ties, and a big stuffed gorilla holding a tiny Empire State Building. Okay.

  He took one last glance around the bedroom and hurried down to the bathroom. Toothpaste and bath oil. Okay again.

  Now all he had to do was check the kitchen and he was out of there. He was glad, too. The search was starting to feel creepy.

  Max hurried to the kitchen and pulled open the closest cabinet door. Way too many boxes of that cereal with the marshmallow rockets. Max guessed Ray didn't have any problem starting the day with a lot of artificial colors and sugar.

  He opened the next cabinet, and he felt a pricking sensation across the back of his neck. Dingdong, collective consciousness calling, he thought. Wasn't there some way of putting a Do Not Disturb sign in his brain? He didn't have time to deal with that stuff right now.

  Max heard the click of boot heels coming down the hall, and he realized that the neck prickling wasn't coming from the collective consciousness. It was a response to the fact that he wasn't alone in the apartment.

  He swung around. Sheriff Valenti stood there, his eyes hidden by his mirrored sunglasses.

  "Oh my God!" Max blurted out. "You scared me."

  Valenti smiled.

  "I guess you want to know what I'm doing here." Great start, Max, he thought.

  Valenti nodded.

  "I wanted to check on my boss, Ray Iburg," Max said. "This is his place. When I showed up for work today, the museum wasn't open. So I came up here. Ray gave me a key a while ago."

  "Any idea where he is?" Valenti asked. "The museum was closed yesterday, too. I became concerned."

  Maybe you should have been concerned before you shot him, Max thought. What was the sheriff's game? Was he trying to figure out if Max knew the truth about Ray? Or had Valenti tortured Michael into telling him that Max and Isabel were the two remaining aliens Valenti had been searching for all these years? Max was getting no clue from Valenti's expressionless face.

  "He didn't say he was going out of town or anything," Max answered. His scalp felt all itchy. He wanted to scratch it, but he thought he'd look too nervous. He used both hands to shove his blond hair off his face instead.

  "Uh-huh," Valenti answered. "Well, when Mr. Iburg does return, please tell him to check in with me. And if you hear anything, call." He turned and strode out of the kitchen, obviously expecting Max to follow.

  He knows more than he's saying, Max thought as he trailed Valenti down the hall. But how much more?

  *** 5 ***

  "All right," Dr. Doyle said. "Now I want you to link to Bill and see if you can tell me what his mother looks like."

  "Do I get a piece of cheese if I do?" Michael muttered. Adam seemed perfectly happy to do anything the doctor asked. He seemed to believe all the tests were games, just like crazy eights. And why wouldn't he? This was his only reality.

  "Are you tired? Do you need a break?" Doyle asked Michael.

  "No. Let the games begin," Michael answered.

  Michael reached out and touched the arm of Bill, the lucky test subject. He took a few deep breaths as he tried to make the connection. Come on, Bill. Give it up, he thought. Yeah, there. He had it. The images were starting to flow. A spilled glass of orange juice on a tile floor. A geeky teenage Bill trying to pin a corsage on a girl's strapless dress. A casket being lowered into the ground. Yoda.

  The images kept speeding by Michael. He'd never tried to pull a specific memory out of anyone's head before, which was what Dr. Doyle wanted him to do. Michael concentrated all his attention on one of the images as it sped by and managed to freeze it.

  It was a car. A Plymouth Barracuda. As he studied it, some information came to him. He just knew that the car belonged to Bill's grandmother. He called her Honey because she thought being called Grandma made her sound too old. Honey and Bill had made a trip to Vegas in the Barracuda when Bill was ten and a half. She snuck him into one of the casinos and he won five bucks on a nickel slot machine.

  Very nice. Touching. But Michael was supposed to find out what Bill's mother looked like. He released his hold on the image of the car, and the images started streaking by him again. A cat with a torn ear. Sheriff Valenti. An airline flight attendant.

  Come on, Mom. Where are you? Michael thought. Then he felt his hand being pulled off Bill's arm. The connection broke.

  "Were you able to get a picture of his mother?" Dr. Doyle asked.

  Michael shook his head. "I don't control what I see," he ans
wered. He wouldn't mind playing around with this on his own to figure out if there was a way to pull out specific information during a connection, but he wasn't all that eager to give the Project Clean Slate guys any helpful hints about acquiring this technology. If he did, Big Brother wouldn't be satisfied with just watching. Big Brother would start opening up peoples heads and poking around with a stick.

  Dr. Doyle made a note on his little pad. "Adam hasn't been able to select the information he receives, either," he said. "I'd like to try the same test again. Except this time I'd like you and Adam to link to each other and then link to Bill."

  Adam shot Michael a questioning look. Michael nodded his permission. He didn't want Adam to connect to him again, but he didn't think there was a way around it. If he refused, Daddy Valenti could just strap him to a table and then have Adam connect.

  When Adam touched Michael's wrist, the connection was instantaneous, effortless. As soon as the images from Adam started, Michael grabbed Bill's arm, and the images from Bill replaced the ones from Adam.

  Okay, we're looking for Bill's mother here, Michael thought. The images from Bill sped by faster and faster until they were a blur of color. Michael couldn't make out anything at all. Then-bam!-one image exploded in front of him, filling his entire field of vision. Hello, Mom.

  Information about her started pouring into him. Dr. Doyle broke the connection before he could absorb even a fraction of it.

  "She smelled like lemons," Adam announced.

  Dr. Doyle shot a look at Bill. "Yeah. She liked this lemon shampoo," Bill confirmed.

  Michael felt energized and alert. He had connected with Max and Isabel many times and even used his power at the same time they'd used theirs. But he'd never connected with one of them and then used their combined power. Who knew what they'd be able to do?

  "Let's try it again. This time I want you to see if you can get the code to open the door to this lab. Of course, if you do, we'll have to change it." Dr. Doyle gave a little laugh.