"Maybe they're dead," she said finally.
"Not quite. They're packed away somewhere on your ship."
"What are you talking about?"
His eyes met hers in the mirror. "People are packed in cocoons for shipping, in suspended animation . . . just this side of death. But they can be revived."
"Why are they doing this?"
"Food."
Her mouth dropped open, and only his warning hiss kept her from reacting loudly. "No! I don't believe it!"
"Wise up, Kris! You didn't used to be so stupid! Why do you think they increased the daily ration? To fatten us up. They intend to take all the living creatures on this planet for food, except maybe for the fish. Starting with us. Once we're out of the way, the rest of the planet will be a snap. What I told you before . . . what you undoubtedly have seen in our underground bulletins . . . is true They're reptiles. They eat freshly killed prey. Including us."
He fumbled one of the copies he'd had made of his son's photo out of his pocket, handing it to her. "This is a picture of Sean. Take it!" Then he handed her the alien key. "And this. He's in what they call Section 34." His voice dropped to a lower whisper. "Please."
Her fingers closed on the photo and the key. "I'll do what I can, Mike. But you stay out of sight. I'm not kidding—they'll do anything to get you. If I'm successful, I'll get word to you."
"There's an officer called Martin. Know him?"
"Yes. He's one of Diana's aides."
"That's him. He knows how to reach me. You can trust him."
"All right." Her voice hardened. "I'm doing this for you, Mike. I'm no ally of your resistance—I'm too closely watched. I'm in too deep to get out now."
Without another word, she turned and pushed her cart away.
Donovan waited for her to get out of the store and out of the area, then "patrolled" the aisles, gradually inching closer to the exit. He'd just stepped out into the parking lot when a Visitor spoke to him. "Hello, there. New, aren't you? Which section are you from?"
Turning his head slightly, he saw a large black "man" wearing a shock trooper's helmet and chest armor. The Visitor's eyes were wary beneath the shaded plastic of his helmet. Donovan hesitated, then nodded pleasantly, holding up two fingers. The man studied him consideringly. "I see. Well, nice meeting you. I'll say good-bye now, and you do the same."
Donovan wet his lips, looking terribly trapped and frightened, even as he drew and shot the alien. Blue fire and ozone pulsed, and the black trooper dropped with that drawn-out, ululating shriek, fumbling for his sidearm even as he died.
Mike was already running, passing cars inching out of the parking lot, bolting directly across the road without looking. He heard brakes shriek, then the wham-bam! of a crash. He reached the woods on the other side of the road and kept running, cursing the damned Visitor boots. No wonder the Germans lost the war, he thought. Bastards couldn't concentrate on anything except how much their feet hurt.
It took him several hours to reach one of the safe houses in a nearby suburb. There Donovan changed clothes, and the owner drove him to headquarters. When he picked his way down the culvert to the plant, Juliet was there inside the door pale and furious. "Can I speak to you for a moment, Donovan?"
Wondering angrily why he was doing so, he obediently followed her to one of the sleeping dorms, deserted now in the daytime. Quietly she closed the door. Donovan told himself that he was an adult now, at least ten years older than this young woman; but it did no good. The solid thump of the closing door had taken him straight back to his eighth-grade sojourn in the principal's office.
Juliet stared at him for long moments, her blue eyes sparkling, whether from angry tears or sheer rage, Mike couldn't guess. Finally she spoke, the calmness in her voice belying her expression. "How did you ever get to be such an asshole, Donovan?"
Mike marveled anew at the efficiency of the grapevine. He couldn't keep himself from bristling. "Now, wait a minute, Doc! I had a good reason for doing what I did!"
"Sure you did. You want your son, and you're willing to cozy up to anyone you think will help you. Even the worst traitor the human race has ever known—dammit, Donovan!"
"I don't think Kris is helping them willingly anymore! And even if she is, she'll help me get Sean. She said so, and I believe her." He looked at her for a long moment. "Julie, he's my son. How can I not do everything in my power to get him back safely?"
"Oh, I've no doubt that your motives were totally admirable, Donovan, but any personal motives are also totally unjustfied when you consider the circumstances we find ourselves in at the moment!"
Juliet turned back to the door, her hand raised, he thought, to open it. Instead she balled her fist and thumped it loudly into the doorframe. "Dammit, Donovan! How could you do this to us?"
"Kristine's going to try and find Sean. What the hell am I supposed to do, forget I have a son? That he's up there, on that goddamned ship? They could be serving him up for breakfast! I can't totally submerge my personal concerns in the goals of this resistance movement—I'm not built that way!"
"Then maybe you don't belong here with us." Her voice was deadly quiet again. He saw her cheekbones come up beneath her skin as she set her jaw. "You can't ever do anything like this again. You know too much. You risked all of us, Donovan."
"But—"
She raised a hand to stem his argument. "Don't say anything more. Just think about what I'm saying. I expect everyone here to do that. Think of us before their own comfort or safety. It won't work any other way. You've got to care, Mike. You don't care about us."
Donovan had known he was taking an unconscionable risk in contacting Kristine, but hadn't allowed himself to think about it. Juliet's words lanced into his own guilt, releasing it in a torrent of bitter regret. He swallowed painfully, feeling tears well up—and turned away quickly so she wouldn't see them. "That's not true. I care." He bit his lip, running a hand through his hair distractedly.
Juliet looked at him, her blue eyes somber. "Mike, we need you. I need you. But if you can't give us your best, you should go—get totally away from here. Before you really hurt us."
Donovan didn't trust his voice to answer her.
She turned back toward the door. Her next words reached him softly. "We're a unit, and we're at war. We can't afford a maverick who is only committed when it suits his own personal goals."
Harmony Moore walked quietly down the corridor toward the storeroom where they had Willie. Behind her she could hear Maggie's footsteps and knew the other woman was following her. Harmy kept her hands out and away from her body. She'd seen the efficient way Maggie handled her rifle, and she was never without it.
The man named Brad was standing guard in front of the storeroom, also armed. He looked up suspiciously. "Yeah?"
Harmy faced him, frightened but determined. "Have they done anything to Willie?"
"Just some blood tests." He glared at her. "Humane ones. More than the sucker deserves."
"You're wrong about him. He'd never hurt anybody. He's nice," Harmy said angrily.
"Sure," said Brad sarcastically. "Nice, if you like reptiles. You must have some weird tastes, lady."
"That's not true, either! I don't believe those stories!"
"You've never seen the tape Donovan shot up there on the Mother Ship?"
"I've seen it. Kristine Walsh did a whole special report. The terrorists did it with makeup—like they do in horror movies."
He laughed shortly. "Think so? C'mere!" He grabbed Harmy's wrist with one hand, then motioned to Maggie to unlock the storeroom door. "Keep him covered, Mag."
William sat in the corner, on the floor. His face was expressionless, but Harmy could sense his fear as he saw Brad. Then his gaze fixed on Harmy, and his whole demeanor changed to glad recognition. "Harmony! They have not hurted you?"
She smiled at him reassuringly. Brad jerked her over to stand beside him. "I hope you've got a strong stomach, lady," he said, then reached down to grab Willie's hand. Th
e Visitor tried to pull it away, but stopped as Maggie Blodgett cocked her rifle ostentatiously in the doorway. Using his fingernails, Brad began to dig viciously at William's hand.
"Stop it!" Harmy cried. "What are you doing?"
She stared in horror as the skin of her friend's hand peeled back to reveal greenish scales, then five too-slender, overly jointed fingers, tipped with short, stubby claws. "Look!" Brad snarled, gripping William's wrist despite his attempt to draw away. "Now ask him if those movies are faked! Ask him why they've come here!"
Harmy put out a finger as though to touch that scaled skin, but instead backed away, shivering. "Is it true?" she asked, looking not at Brad but at Willie.
William hung his head, covering his ripped fingers with his other hand. Brad shook his wrist. "The lady asked you a question!"
"It's true," Willie said. "I'm sorry, Harmony."
Harmy backed to the door, then, blindly, turned and stumbled away.
Chapter 22
Kristine Walsh stared wide-eyed at the sleeping/dead face of Sean Donovan. The boy floated, naked, inside the glass cocoon, lapped in translucent, gelatinous fluid. He was surrounded by other children—this entire row of canisters contained children. Enough to populate a school, at least. Kristine swallowed, digging her fingers into her palms, wondering if she'd faint.
Hastily she sat down on the metal-grid flooring, burying her head between her knees until the buzzing in her ears died, and she could look at the world again without dizziness. What can I do? She wondered. I'm only one person in the face of this hideousness—is there anything I can do, realistically? She thought that there probably wasn't—and that was the worst of all. To live with this horror and be helpless . . .
Clutching the key Mike Donovan had given her, she took careful note of the row and location of his son's canister, then headed back. As she walked down the shadowy corridor of Section 34, she decided that it would be best to wait until after the hospital broadcast to contact Martin and release Donovan's son. Diana and Steven had been even more security-conscious than usual in anticipation of the gala presentation of John's "gift." Her mouth twisted in a bitter smile, thinking how impressed she'd been with John, how she'd allowed herself to be dazzled by the Supreme Commander's charm . . .
Even if I can get Sean out, she thought desperately, what about all the others? Tears flooded her eyes as she stepped cautiously through the hatch, leaning against it for a moment to collect herself, assume the professional demeanor that had become her protective coloration.
Hearing footsteps, she moved away from the hatch, slipping the key into her pocket. Steven rounded the corner with two Visitor guards. He looked at her, his suspicion plain.
"What are you doing here, Kriskine?"
She smiled ingenuously at him. "I took a wrong turn. I swear if I stay on this ship five years instead of five months, I'll never learn my way around."
He looked at her coldly. "This is a restricted area, as you know. We'll have to discuss this incident with Diana."
He beckoned to the guards and they closed in on either side, escorting her to Diana's lab/office. Kristine waited alone, watching Diana and Steven through the transparent partition, trying to read their expressions as they talked. Finally Diana came in. The animals in the cages squeaked and chittered, then froze, as the Visitor walked by. Kristine felt pretty much the same way as Diana stopped before her, her expression forbidding.
"What were you doing in a restricted area, Kristine?"
"I took a wrong turn. I was on my way to the landing bay to get some of my equipment out of my personal shuttle, and—I swear Diana, I think you people built these ships as mazes, I really do!" She managed a laugh.
Steven entered the room, walking over to Kristine, then, in a darting motion that was much faster than human, his fingers pulled the key from Kristine's pocket. "Interesting," he commented. "I wonder, did you use it? Were you looking for someone in Section 34? A relative, perhaps?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Kristine said firmly. "I found that instrument in the door and was going to turn it in to security."
Diana and Steven exchanged glances. Diana sighed. "Kristine, I have too much respect for you to mince words. You have a choice to make now. We want you working with us. You're of enormous value to both our peoples. I need you."
"I'm honored, I suppose," Kristine said carefully. "What is this choice you're talking about?"
"You see," Steven said, "we want very much for you continue working with us, as our spokesperson. You can either do that willingly, or . . ." he trailed off, smiling, and suddenly Kristine had no trouble at all visualizing him as a reptile.
She took a deep breath. "You have ways of seeing that I . . . cooperate, I suppose. Like Corley Walker."
Diana nodded. "Exactly. Unfortunately, the conversion process, which worked so well on Mr. Walker is unpredictable. It can be extremely dangerous to the subject. I don't want to expose you to those . . . risks." She reached over to put a hand on Kristine's shoulder looking directly into her eyes. "I'd hate to lose you, Kristine. I like you for yourself, and I value you for the service you do us. I hope you value yourself as much as I do. Please, think about it."
With a final look, she turned and left, Steven behind her. Kristine sat silently in the room, her only company the caged animals.
Juliet Parrish pricked carefully at William's scaled back with a sterile needle. "Only a few more in this series," she said, referring to the allergy tests. "I know it must hurt when I do this—it's hard to avoid, because your skin is so much tougher than ours."
"I understand," Willie said, his alien voice muffled as well as reverberating. He lay on his stomach on the examining table, a large section of his back exposed. He'd shown Juliet how the plastic substance could be peeled back, then repaired. Both hands were once more covered with the artificial skin. He hadn't seen Harmony Moore since Brad's revelation of the night before—but every time he closed his eyes he relived that moment when she'd looked at him with such horror in her eyes.
Juliet looked over at Sancho Gomez, who was serving as her assistant that day. "Martin says they've been immunized against all known Earth diseases. And so far, Willie doesn't seem to exhibit any allergic reactions at all."
"Willie," she said, "during your time on Earth, have any substances made you feel ill, or uncomfortable? Exhaust fumes from cars? Vegetables? Anything?"
"No," William said quietly. "The only thing that has made me uncomfortable is realizing that the human run is as intelligent as we are—"
"The human race, Willie," Juliet interrupted, smiling.
"Yes, thank you," he continued, "And that I like some humans better than I like some of my own people. I feel bad about what is happening. You must do what you have to do to save yourselves. Just as we must."
Juliet worked quietly, considering. "But surely there must be some other way to save yourselves than by destroying the life on this planet."
"I don't know," William said miserably. "Before we came I never thought you would be so much like us. Except for the way you look."
"But now that you know, doesn't it make a difference?"
"Yes. To me it does. I cannot speak for all the others. Our planet's life depends on us, on the success of our mission. Or that is what the Leader tells everyone. But now I feel we should try and find another way."
The half-open door swung inward and Juliet looked up. Harmony Moore, who had evidently been standing outside and listening, moved out of the way to let Robin Maxwell enter. The girl carried a first-aid kit in her hands. "Julie, Polly has a splinter Could you help me with—"
Her words broke off in a gasp as she took in William's exposed back, the greenish-patterned scales shining in the overhead light. Her eyes bulged, and her hand flew to the patch on her throat. The first-aid kit crashed to the floor its contents scattering. Robin staggered backward, gasping.
"Robin! What—" Juliet started toward the girl just as she turned and bolted from the ro
om. From the corridor they heard the screaming begin.
"Sancho! Stay with Willie!" Juliet snapped, running after Robin.
When she reached the shrieking girl, the corridor was filled with people—Robert Maxwell, Mike Donovan, Caleb and Elias, Ruby, Cal, and Robin's sisters. Julie grabbed Robin's hands as they tore at her throat, raking hysterically at the strange marking. "Robin! What is it? Answer me!"
She thought for a moment that she'd have to slap the frantic girl, but suddenly Robin's shrieks turned into words. "No! No! I can't have it! I want an abortion!"
Robert Maxwell tried to take his daughter in his arms, but she pushed him away, panting and wild-eyed. "You've got to do it, Julie! Right now! I've got to have an abortion!"
Juliet forced herself to calmness. "It's okay, Robin. Let's talk about it."
"But, Binna," Robert Maxwell was puzzled, "you said you didn't want an abortion. I asked you months ago, when it would have been safe—"
"I want one now!"
"The important thing is to calm down, Robin," Juliet said.
"Not until you get rid of . . . it!" Robin sobbed. "You've got to, Julie. You've got to!" She raised her eyes, still wild and swollen now with tears. "It's one of them—a reptile!"
The crowd froze. Finally Robert reached out, pulling the sobbing girl into his arms. Everyone looked at one another blankly.
"Robin," Maxwell said, "what are you trying to say?"
"The father is one of them!" Robin sniffled, and someone handed her a tissue.
"You mean a Visitor?" Juliet said. "Robin, that's impossible, honey. Maybe you were tricked into—"
Polly stepped closer glaring at her older sister. "It was Brian, wasn't it?"
"Yes!" Robin shrieked.
"I don't believe it," Elias said blankly. "Julie, I don't have much schooling, but I remember in biology class they told us that two different species can't interbreed. Even with horses and donkeys, close as they are, the offspring are sterile. Now she wants me to believe that a human and a lizard—a reptile that didn't even evolve on this planet—can make a baby? That's gotta be a boatload of fertilizer!"
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