V

by A. C. Crispin

Mike, rolled his eyes, shrugging. "I know. Fortunately, selective breeding keeps their numbers at a minimum." He turned a long look on the older man. "What I said to you about the others, goes for Martin too. Don't forget it."

  Ham nodded, shrugging in turn. "Okay, Okay. Don't be so damn touchy, Gooder." He turned back to Martin. "What's the news on this other ship that's parked over yours?"

  "The Supreme Commander Pamela—it's her ship. Diana was talking with her just before I left. That's why I was delayed. She's only been in range of the Earth System for a day, and her first stop was with John, on the New York ship. The Leader wants the schedule speeded up. She brought specially trained engineers and technicians for a new project."

  "What kind of special project?"

  "I don't know the specifics yet, but she mentioned that if it succeeded, they'll be able to exhaust the fresh water supply of southern California in less than a month."

  "Christ on a pony!" Ham said. "Is that possible?"

  "I have met the Supreme Commander before. She is not in the habit of making idle promises." Martin sounded grim. "Pamela is famed for her abilities as a skilled tactician and military expert. In her way, she could be even more dangerous than Diana. The two of them hold little affection for each other. Pamela considers Diana corrupt, I believe. She doesn't share Diana's . . . dedication . . . to the more esoteric ways of grasping and holding power. Pamela, for example, favored a straight military takeover, and opposed Diana's conversion and subversion approach."

  "A female?" Tyler said skeptically. "As a military leader?"

  "Oh, come off it, Ham!" Donovan glared at him, exasperated. "You don't even know how much of a jackass you sound like when you make comments like that!"

  Martin looked puzzled. "But females hold positions of power in your world, do they not?"

  "Probably not as much as they have a right to," Donovan said. "Ham here has problems dealing with people of other races, sexes, colors . . . you name it. Besides . . ." he stopped as though a thought was just beginning to occur to him, "there's no reason that just because the human shape we see is male or female, that the Visitor beneath it has to be the same sex, is there? You guys could make anybody look like anybody, right? Martin, which sex are you?"

  "I am male," the Visitor said, smiling. "But you are right, Donovan. Most of us chose to be the same sex outwardly as we are internally, but there were exceptions, Pamela, however." (this was for Ham's benefit) "is female."

  "That gives me an idea," Donovan said. "We've talked about trying to assassinate Diana before. Now you say that she doesn't get along with this Pamela. Is there some way we can arrange an assassination attempt so that even if it doesn't work, it will discredit Diana even further with Pamela?"

  "I don't know. Pamela did mention that she was disappointed that Diana hadn't managed to wipe out the undergrounds yet. Diana was extremely discomfited."

  "That's what we need." Donovan was excited. "But we'll need someone to volunteer for the mission. Someone who can get onto the Mother Ship."

  "That would be impossible. Special voice-pattern checks have been instituted. That's part of the problem in getting Juliet free."

  "Damn!" Mike said. "I thought that maybe, since you guys are so good with the plastic masks, we could rig somebody up to look like one of Diana's aides, and he could get close to her. Then, if he could kill Diana, good. If not, maybe he could nail Pamela. A breach of security like that would make them lay off Julie until we could mount a rescue mission—using our masks to simulate Visitors who wouldn't be questioned!"

  "Whoever we got to go after Diana probably wouldn't make it out of there," Ham said. "Though your idea about the masks is a good one."

  Donovan nodded. "It'd be a kamikaze mission, probably," he admitted, "but I'm willing to risk it. Anything is better than sitting down here, trying to add the same column and get the same answer twice."

  "But you are needed down here, Mike," Martin said.

  "Not as badly as Julie is."

  "You are forgetting the voice check," the Visitor officer said. "But I still think the idea has possibilities . . ."

  Brian looked up in surprise from the photo Steven had handed him. "But this one is just a young boy. Why do you want him located?"

  "A request from higher up," Steven said obliquely. "I'm not at liberty to divulge the source."

  "What's his name? If I had his name, I could find him in the computers. Going solely on the basis of visual identification is going to be difficult."

  "I don't know," Steven lied, then as Brian looked up at him with undisguised curiosity, his tone became brusque. "I simply want him found. Have your division conduct a thorough search of the ship, and report back to me. One source reported the boy as being on the Los Angeles ship."

  Brian nodded slowly. "As you say, sir. You know, you can trust me—I've served you competently for quite a while now. Why do you want this boy, out of all the hundreds aboard the Mother Ship?"

  Steven smiled. "Let's just say he's a small . . . gift for Diana."

  "Yes sir. I'll report as soon as I locate him. Shall I have him revived?"

  "Yes, do that." Steven nodded briskly to the younger officer, and walked away, leaving Brian to stare speculatively at the photograph of the boy with the hazel eyes and thick brown hair.

  Pounding rock music lapped out from the Bernstein house, savagely tearing the peace of the night. The Bernsteins' neighbors did not complain, however. They knew better.

  Daniel Bernstein giggled before sloshing the remains of a bottle of Chivas into his mouth. Maggie Blodgett sat on the floor next to him, also giggling tipsily, but an astute observer, watching her eyes, could have seen that the young woman was sober. Daniel was not an astute observer—in fact, the term "blind" fit him rather well.

  "Damn!" He hefted the bottle, peering at its bottom. "Sucker's dead." He looked over at Lynn and Stanley, who sat rigidly on the couch. Lynn worked desultorily at a crewel picture, and Stanley had a book open on his lap. "Hey, Mother! I said this bottle's empty! Didn't you hear me?"

  Lynn cast a doubtful look at her husband, then quietly went to the liquor cabinet, returning with a fifth of Black Velvet. "I'm afraid this is all we have left, Daniel."

  "Shit! We can't drink that piss!" Daniel frowned suspiciously. "Wha' happened to all that Chivas I brought home th'other day?"

  "It's gone, Daniel." Stanley spoke for the first time in hours. "You drank it."

  The younger Bernstein glared at his father. "Shit, too! I bet you drank it—you always want what I get, Pop. Admit it, you envy me. I got everything you never had . . . power, looks, money . . ." He grinned at Maggie. "A pretty woman to do anything that I want."

  Stanley's face flushed dark red. Lynn Bernstein hastily opened the bottle of whiskey. "Here, Daniel."

  He grinned chivalrously. "Maggie first."

  Carefully Maggie poured a small shot into a glass, then handed the bottle to Daniel. "Chicken!" Daniel jeered, raising the bottle to his mouth. He turned back to the young woman after a long swallow. "It's gotta be envy. They envy me, so they treat me like garbage. They always treated me like garbage."

  Stung, Lynn protested, "That's not true, Daniel!"

  "Garbage!" Daniel reiterated. "But I'm not garbage anymore! You eat because of me! You have a roof over your heads because of me! You're alive because of me!"

  Stanley stared at him as though from a long, long distance. "And very tired because of you."

  Enraged, Daniel groped for the Visitor sidearm he wore. "You old fart! I'll make you—"

  He stopped as Maggie grabbed his face in her hands, turning him to look at her. "Daniel," she said pettishly, "why are you screwing around talking to your parents, when you could be talking to me?" Digging her fingers into his thick, dark hair, she pulled his face closer, kissing him, her mouth open.

  Daniel forgot his anger, leaning into the kiss. Clumsily, his fingers found the buttons of her blouse, then the firm softness of her breasts. She struggled for a moment ben
eath him, until Daniel realized his gun was digging into her. He pulled it off, along with his uniform. Panting, so excited he could barely contain himself, he dragged at her jeans. It wasn't until he was inside her, thrusting triumphantly, feeling the quiver of satisfaction tell him that despite the liquor, this was gonna be easy—quick, oh Jesus!—it wasn't until then that he remembered his parents.

  Drunkenly, Daniel turned away from Maggie's mouth, finding an extra fillip of satisfaction in the idea that they'd have to watch him—but Lynn and Stanley were gone.

  Juliet Parrish crouched in the corner of her cell, naked, her hands swollen and covered with blood from places where she'd bitten herself. Pain, she'd found, was the only way to anchor herself to reality in the face of the horrors Diana had managed to call up from her own mind.

  She leaned her head against her knees, trying to remember the rest of the lines she'd been reciting. She had always loved poetry, and going over well-loved verses had proved to be a soothing, mindless diversion. She couldn't afford to let herself think too much. That was one of the primary weapons of the interrogator—the subject's own dreadful imaginings of what the next session might hold.

  Now, which poem had she been reciting? To her horror, Juliet couldn't remember. The only thing that filled her mind was one verse from a poem—she couldn't remember the title—by Tennyson:

  "O love, they die in yon rich sky,

  They faint on hill or field or river:

  Our echoes roll from soul to soul,

  And grow for ever and for ever.

  Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,

  And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying."

  Whimpering, Juliet tried to distract herself with something that didn't hit quite so close to home, but her mind whirled and spun, the words of the verse resounding in her ears—dying, dying, echoes dying, dying echoes, dying, dying, dying. She rocked back and forth, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  Suddenly the door to the cell opened, and two guards stepped through. Diana stood behind them.

  Juliet tried to remain still, but her body and voice betrayed her as she cringed away. "No . . . no, please . . . please, no!"

  Grinning, the guards advanced on her. Their hands fastened brutally in her armpits. Julie's legs dragged painfully along the metal grids as they carried her out. "No! No! Not again! I can't!"

  Diana watched as the small blonde figure stumbled, trying to break away from the guards, then began to struggle. As the guards disappeared around the corner, the screams of protest degenerated into mindless shrieks.

  Diana smiled.

  Chapter 26

  Brian waited as the laboratory technicians wiped the suspension gel from the face of the boy in the photograph. The child blinked, choked, then began shivering violently. One of the technicians dropped a blanket over him, while the other gave him an injection.

  After a few minutes the boy's shudders ceased, and his eyes slowly opened. He coughed, and Brian patted his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

  The boy nodded shakily, looking around him at the laboratory. "What's your name?" Brian asked.

  The boy's whisper was hoarse and labored. "Sean." He coughed again. "Sean Donovan."

  Brian blinked, then a slow grin spread across his face. "Steven, you clever bastard," he whispered to himself. "A gift for Diana, indeed."

  Diana watched Juliet Parrish writhe and jerk in the glassy cylindrical conversion chamber. Wires and electrodes monitored and directed the fantasies the technicians were imposing on the human's mind. Juliet's hands were strapped to her sides, so she could no longer bite at them. Diana cast a quick look at the assorted monitors. "Good. Good," she said quietly. "Maybe this time we'll get her. I thought we might the other night, but this time—"

  Leaning over she spoke into a microphone. "Julie? Julie, listen to me. This is Diana. I want to help you, Julie. Let me help you out of there. Give me your hand, Julie."

  "No . . ." The blonde woman moaned, then jerked, and her legs began to twitch. Her head jerked as though to look back over her shoulder. "No!"

  Diana watched the fantasy become more and more real to the human. The technician beside her made a cautioning gesture. "I don't think her heart will take much more."

  "Keep going," Diana said inexorably. "Release her arms."

  "Julie? Julie, listen. Let me help you. Reach out to me, and I'll get you out of there. You won't have to run away anymore. Reach out to me, Julie!"

  "Nnn—" Julie shrieked and twitched. "He's going to get me! Help! Oh, God, please! Help! Diana—Diana! Help!"

  "Reach out to me! Give me your hand, Julie!"

  Slowly the woman's left hand began to move upward. "Here, Diana! Get me out of here!"

  "That's it! We've succeeded in obtaining a right-brain switchover! Get her out of there!"

  Hastily two technicians raced over to pull the woman out of the glassy enclosure. "Does this mean she's finished?" the technician next to Diana asked.

  "Noooo . . ." the Second-in-Command said consideringly, "but it's a major breakthrough."

  The intercom on the wall spoke. "Diana, this is landing bay security. We have a report that Mike Donovan has been captured and is being brought aboard."

  "Donovan!" Diana could barely restrain her elation. "Two in one day! Have him brought here immediately!"

  "This will be a tremendous help," Diana said to the technician. "In order to instill distrust in her previous companions, I used Donovan as a focal point in the conversion process, making him one of the threatening figures in the pursuit and rape/violence sequences. Observing her reaction to him should prove extremely interesting. It will give me something to gauge her progress by."

  Moments later the laboratory door hissed open, and two shock troopers escorted Mike Donovan into the room. "How nice to see you, Mr. Donovan!" Diana said to him, then gestured to her aide.

  "How lovely that you could join us for a visit Mr. Donovan," Diana said. "Julie will be most happy to see you . . . perhaps."

  She beckoned the two shock troopers to bring him closer. Juliet was being assisted out of the conversion chamber by one of the technicians. Diana stepped closer to him, half turning to watch Juliet's face. "Julie," she said, "say hello to—"

  Exhibiting an unexpected, violent strength, Donovan abruptly thrust both shock troopers aside, and, equally suddenly, there was a Visitor sidearm in his hand. The pulsing whine of the charge reverberated around the lab. Diana leaped, barely avoiding the shot, bearing Juliet to the floor with her. She heard a thud and saw her aide crumple across the desk, half her torso charred away.

  Pandemonium broke loose as the shock troopers both fired at Donovan, who ducked, catching them in a crossfire, One of the technicians grabbed a rifle, loosing a blast at Donovan, who slumped to the floor. The technician lowered the rifle, looking thoroughly shaken, as Diana climbed to her feet.

  She walked over to the fallen figure and poked at it with her toe. No response. "He's dead," she said. "Damn."

  "Mike?!" For the first time, Juliet showed a reaction. "Mike?" On hands and knees she scuttled toward the limp figure. "No! Mike! NO!!"

  "Get her out of here," Diana said, annoyed, "and get a team in here to clean up." She watched as the technicians dragged the sobbing woman away from the body, toward the door. "Maybe we're not as far along as I thought," she said, to nobody in particular.

  An hour later as Diana was working in her personal office/lab, the door signal flashed. "Identification?" asked Diana.

  "Pamela," said the signal.

  Cursing under her breath, Diana opened the door to admit her superior officer. She was barely able to summon a smile to meet the one on Pamela's face. The Supreme Commander bore the outward appearance of a stunningly beautiful thirty-five-year-old woman. "I was just talking to Jake, from Internal Security," Pamela said gently. "I didn't realize we were having problems aboard our vessels."

  "Internal security problems?" Diana put down her writing instrument. "I'm not aware of a
ny. I maintain tight discipline and the customary surveillance."

  "Oh?" Pamela's perfectly arched eyebrows arched even higher. "Oh, dear. That is too bad. Perhaps we'd better discuss this, Diana . . . dear."

  The dark-haired Visitor rose slowly to her feet. "If you're talking about what happened this morning—"

  "Jake told me about the assassination attempt."

  "Yes, well, I would have disciplined both troopers who proved so negligent, but they were already dead," said Diana in tones of profound regret. "But an assassination attempt by a human resistance fighter hardly represents a problem in internal security."

  "I quite agree. However, there's been a new . . . development that must be taken into consideration. I'm concerned in the light of this . . . incident . . . that there may be other attempts. That cannot be countenanced."

  "Of course not," Diana said stiffly. "Rest assured that I'm fully in control of this vessel, and perfectly capable of maintaining that control."

  "Are you?" Pamela said, a hint of steel underlying the velvet tones of her voice. "I think you'd better come with me, Diana."

  "Where?"

  "The morgue. I have something to show you that you'll no doubt find very . . . enlightening."

  When Diana and Pamela opened the door to the morgue, Steven looked up to greet them, standing beside Martin. A covered form lay between the officers. Pamela spoke. "Martin, I think you'd better show Diana what you discovered earlier."

  "Yes, Supreme Commander." Martin said. With a quick, apologetic glance at Diana, he twitched the covering down, revealing Mike Donovan's body. He reached into the corpse's mouth, withdrawing a long, reptilian tongue. "Final identification is pending," he said.

  Diana's eyes widened, the hair on the top of her head stirring as her crest, hidden beneath the human scalp and wig, partially elevated. "One of my own people!" Raging, she began to curse fluently, her real tongue flicking as she mouthed the slurring, hissing sibilants of her native language. The skin at the sides of her mouth split and gaped, leaving her jaws unbound, her vestigial fangs snapping wildly. Flying at the body, she raked the face with her nails, exposing the reptilian scales and crest beneath the skin.