“I think I’d rather hear the biography of Stevie Wonder.”
She looked at him, uncertain whether he was kidding or starting to feel sorry for himself. Then she spied one of her own favorites, a story about overcoming adversity in the face of great odds. “How about Watership DownV’ she asked.
The small brown rabbit reared up against the wire mesh, sniffing eagerly as the lettuce was placed in its cage.
“I’m glad somebody around here likes the food, Fiver.” Dr. Andrew Halpem grinned and scratched behind the rabbit’s ears as it began nibbling the lettuce.
“He seems to be thriving, red dust or no,” said Amelia Anderson, looking up from her report.
“Too bad the dust doesn’t like lettuce as much as he does. I was hoping that a plant with a high water content might prove to be—”
Fiver stiffened suddenly under his hands and then began to race frantically around his cage. An instant later, the tent flap was ripped open, and four Visitor shock troopers stormed in, laserguns raised.
“What in Christ’s—?” Anderson started to rise from her makeshift desk and immediately sat down again, a look of profound astonishment on her face as a laser bolt lanced into her chest. Her eyes glazed, and she fell over, dead.
Juan Perez threw a bottle full of a reagent at the closest Visitor, who shrieked and clutched his head as the glass shattered against it. Shoving a wooden workbench full of test tubes in racks and petri dishes toward them, Perez sprinted past as it toppled forward in front of them, blocking their pursuit. He almost made it to the door before a laser bolt caught him in the thigh. Screaming, he clutched his injured leg and fell to the floor.
“Kill him,” one of the aliens ordered. “Diana said she only needs one alive.” Another bolt sliced the air, and Perez’s moans rose in one last crescendo and were stilled.
Andrew Halpem froze, not breathing, not thinking, as the
Visitors advanced. Bill Kendall was still outside, collecting samples of kelp. If he only stayed away long enough . . .
“Take all the papers and data disks you can find, then destroy the equipment,” the officer said, then turned to the trembling scientist. “Do you have any information hidden in these tents?”
“Nuh-no,” he stammered out. His voice sounded old and weak.
“You’re probably lying,” said the Visitor. Raising his rifle, he sighted at Andy’s head.
“No, I swear to God, there’s nothing that isn’t right out here!” Halpem backed up against the wall, hands clutching at the tent fabric behind him as though he might tear a hole in it and get away.
Grinning, the Visitor turned his weapon around and swung the barrel into Halpem’s head. As though in slow motion, the botanist sagged to the canvas floor while red-gray waves of pain started in his head and began rolling through his whole body.
He heard a muffled cry outside, the dull fuh! fuh! of a lasergun, and knew that Kendall was dead now, too.
Through blurring vision, he watched the Visitor pull the squealing rabbit out of its cage and hold it aloft. The alien tilted his head back, and his jaw stretched open impossibly wide as the animal was shoved into it.
The still-wiggling bulge traveling down the Visitor’s throat as he swallowed was the last thing Andy Halpem remembered before he lost consciousness.
Chapter 4
Matters for Confession
Andrew Halpern came back to consciousness to find himself propped up against a hard, cold surface that vibrated slightly. His hands were tied, and his head hurt so violently he was afraid he might vomit. Those were the only things he was sure of at first.
“Good evening, Dr. Halpern.”
Then Andy became coldly certain of a couple of other things. He was a prisoner aboard a Visitor craft, and his life as he’d known and enjoyed it would never again be the same.
He didn’t have to open his eyes to recognize the resonant tones of Diana, commander of the Visitor fleet—he’d seen her too many times on television. Halpern let his chin sag into his chest even more deeply, not moving.
“It’s no good, Dr. Halpern. I know you’re awake. Look at me.”
A boot tapped his thigh, moving upward with unmistakable purpose toward his groin. Andy opened his eyes, reluctantly focusing on the petite brunette who stood in front of him, arms crossed. She was so stunningly beautiful, with her blue eyes and wavy cloud of dark hair, that Halpern had to forcibly remind himself that this was the reptilian creature who had ordered the execution of his three colleagues and friends.
“I trust that you are not too uncomfortable to answer a few questions for me.” Diana smiled winningly. “We know that you have been working on a new form of the red dust bacteria. I want its exact genetic composition.”
Halpern remembered how annoyed he had been when Juliet Parrish refused to tell him what the formula was, would only provide the culture samples and instructions for growing them.
“Dammit, we’re a team!” he had groused. “I’m a scientist, not some damned kelp farmer! How can I make any intelligent observations for you if I don’t know what the hell I’m working with? Besides, we’re pretty well camouflaged here.”
“It’s a remote chance that anything will happen, but 1 feel safer doing it this way,” Julie had said.
For that reason he couldn’t give anything away now, and that certainty gave him a sense of relief coupled with a bitter satisfaction. Andy also knew that Diana wouldn’t believe him and that he was almost certainly going to die within the next few minutes. He was astonished at how calm he felt.
“I’m waiting, Dr. Halpem.”
Andy looked around him, savoring every breath he drew, every color his eyes could take in. He found himself memorizing every detail of the ship’s metal bulkheads, the gleaming braid of Diana’s uniform, the curves of her breasts (or what her bodysuit presented as breasts) beneath the snug-fitting red uniform. He tried to visualize scales lying beneath her lovely skin, but was unable to see her that way. Just as well, he thought wryly.
Diana frowned impatiently at his silence. “Please, Dr. Halpem, don’t be tiresome. Aboard my ship I have drugs that will ensure your telling me anything I want to know.”
Andy felt a cold lump settle in his throat and realized just keeping silent wasn’t going to be enough. He was going to have to engineer his own death. He couldn’t allow Diana to dope him up so he could then expose Juliet as one of the leaders of the L. A. resistance. She’d told him how hard it had been to establish her cover with Nathan Bates. Halpem wondered frantically what to do, whether he was equal to this sudden, final challenge. And the worst thing was, no one would ever know his fate.
He tried to think, remembering resistance horror stories about Diana’s egomania, her aggressive temper. That was it— her temper.
The Visitor leader’s gaze bored into him. “Dr. Halpern, you are annoying me. I am not a patient person.”
Andy moistened his lips. Strangely, he experienced little fear, only anger that his life meant nothing to her. Slowly, he shook his head. “I don’t know anything to tell you.”
Diana’s gaze flickered over to a large Visitor shock trooper standing on the other side of the compartment. Two quick strides, and the alien’s black-gloved hand smashed across Halpern’s face. Once . . . twice . . . three times. Pain lanced redly across the scientist’s field of vision as his head slammed into the metal wall of the bulkhead.
“Perhaps that has helped refresh your memory?” Diana suggested helpfully.
You have no right to do this, he thought, shaking his head in an attempt to clear the ringing sound in his ears. I’m only twenty-eight years old, I’m up for a Rhodes scholarship, my mother's a widow now since Dad died on V-Day. I deserve to live, goddamn you.
Halpern started to speak.
“Yes, Dr. Halpern?” Diana leaned closer . . . closer . . . then jerked back as the mouthful of bloody spittle caught her full in the face. Her scalp seemed literally to crawl, and Andy vaguely realized the crest beneath her wig
was erect with anger. “Thomas,” she said through stiff lips.
More pain flared across his face. Halpern lost count of the blows. Darkness nibbled at the fringes of his mind, and he was tempted to yield to it ... so tempted. He tried fuzzily to remember why he shouldn’t just slip away. One final fist smashed against his mouth, sending the blackness looming toward him like a tidal wave of promised release. Mustn’t . . . black . . . out.
Andy groaned and spat out a couple of teeth as salty-warm blood gushed over his lips from his broken nose. A fear deeper and more terrifying than any he had ever known gripped him then, and he knew with a detached sort of certainty that if he had known the formula, he would have told them.
“Nuh—nuh—” he gabbled, not even sure what he was working to say.
“Who are the people you’re working for?”
Lucid speech was beyond the capacity of his ruined mouth, but he dimly hoped she could read the hate in his eyes as he faded toward unconsciousness.
A splash of icy water felt like acid against his face, and Halpern tried to scream. A thick, gobbling sound was all his throat could manage.
Diana turned to Thomas again, her rage obvious, and Andy tensed as the alien kicked him twice in the back, sending white-hot agonies up his spine and into his kidneys. “Do we have a crivit with us, Captain?” the Visitor leader asked, staring down at Halpern.
“No, Commander,” Thomas answered. “They don’t like the water.”
“A pity. Well, I suppose the sharks will appreciate a little offering. ” Diana stepped over to the hatchway, released it, and Andy saw nothing but blue sky and clouds streaming by. The helpless scientist realized they were flying thousands of feet above the Pacific Ocean.
Diana stepped back over to Andy’s slumped body, raising her foot, and Halpem knew his death was at the end of that polished black boot. She kicked him in the stomach, once, twice, and he could only grunt his protests, struggling feebly to free his hands and grasp something, anything to hold on to as he was rolled toward the hatchway. The floor of the craft was relentlessly smooth, and Andy could feel the chill air streaming by.
The next blow caught him full in the throat, smashing his trachea, and then he was supported by nothing. Andrew Halpern gurgled his last sounds into the ice-cold wind whipping around him as the ocean whirled below, closer and closer . . .
“You killed him?” Lydia’s normally imperturbable features were a study in amazement.
At her science-station console, Diana deliberately keyed in two more entries to her notes before turning to face the junior officer. She had to admit to a grudging respect for Lydia’s resourcefulness and contacts. Diana had returned to the Mother Ship less than an hour ago.
“Yes,” she said with a shrug. “He was useless to us.”
“You didn’t even attempt to use your precious truth serum.”
“Lydia, I have spent sufficient time with humans to know when they are lying. He knew nothing of value to us.”
“Diana, I have thought of you in many ways, but never as stupid—before now.” Lydia’s expression of surprise rapidly gave way to something dark and crafty. “You have just tossed away our best chance to discover the nature of this new substance. I wonder what our Great Leader would think if he were to learn of your impetuous tactics.”
“Dear Lydia.” The security officer tensed as Diana patted her cheek. “You continue to underestimate me. That is why I continue to outrank you. At this moment, one of our finest botanists, Bernard, is analyzing the data we obtained and will doubtless come up with a solution. In the meantime, I have a contingency plan—as always.”
“And what is that? So that I and my security forces can provide you with the best possible assistance, of course.” “Of course.” Diana smiled gently. “But we both enjoy our little secrets, don’t we? For now, let it suffice to say that I believe the L.A. resistance must be behind the development of this new form of the red dust. If we strike at the heart of their resistance, then it will die out as surely as their red dust and any other feeble efforts they might try against us.”
Diana leaned suddenly across her console. “I am going to finish the resistance by finishing Michael Donovan.”
Despite the raging afternoon sunlight, Mike Donovan was in a black mood as he turned the battered Chevy onto Santa Monica Boulevard.
The forgotten toilet paper had prompted the need for another supermarket trip earlier that day. His initial annoyance at that had turned to pleasure when he’d discovered he’d had almost six dollars to spare, thanks to some good coupons on laundry detergent and toothpaste, and a two-for-one special on English muffins. But when he went to the candy section to pick up the Hershey bar for Julie, the shelves were bare.
Then he had phoned Julie at work, hoping that they could at least get together for lunch afterward, but she had been “in conference” with Nathan Bates for most of the day—whatever the hell that meant.
Mike was beginning to wonder if it was ending between them. With all his being he hoped not, but after one ruined marriage and several dead-end relationships, he couldn’t kid himself that such things didn’t happen as long as people loved each other. Relationships ended for all kinds of reasons, even between people who still cared very much for one another.
He’d last seen her two days ago, right after Chris was injured, and she’d seemed preoccupied and distant, even during their lovemaking. And the manner of that lovemak-ing—Donovan frowned. The moment they’d been alone, when he’d tried to hold her, talk to her, she’d turned to him, kissing him hard, tugging at his belt buckle, almost as though she were using sex as an excuse not to talk. Admittedly, the couch in the resistance’s subbasement headquarters wasn’t the most romantic place they had ever been. But then again, it seemed to be getting harder for them to get together under any circumstances.
Squinting into the late afternoon sun as he hunted for a place to park, Mike felt resentment settle into his gut like heartburn. Julie had a very important job, of course, with a very important salary, working for the very important Mr. Nathan Bates. The logical part of his mind said yes, it was good that she had gotten a position of trust, working so closely with the head of Los Angeles’s provisional government. Many times, she had been privy to inside information that had proved invaluable to the resistance—saving lives more than once. And yes, it was also good that at least one of them could be contributing to the profession he or she had been trained for and loved.
Julie seemed to be so busy all the time, though. He knew research took a lot of time and didn’t respect regular hours, whether you were tracking news leads or microbes. But now there was always Nathan Bates, and Donovan didn’t trust the financier any farther than he could throw a shuttlecraft.
Bates had made no secret of the fact that he found Julie attractive, and she had felt obliged to tread carefully around his feelings. Maybe that wasn’t so hard for her to do. Bates had wealth and power, and supported the work that was almost the most important thing in her life. He also had a certain amount of charm, with his thick salt-and-pepper hair and green eyes.
Damn you, Donovan, you’re jealous! he thought, scowling at a BMW as it pulled out in front of him, making him brake sharply. It was an unworthy emotion; hell, it was unworthy to consider even for an instant that Julie might be having an affair with Bates. Why couldn’t things be different? he wondered. He wanted to marry Julie, settle down somewhere with her and Sean, maybe even have a kid or two of their own. But how could that ever happen as long as the Visitors dominated even part of this world? Or while Julie continued to have so many other things on her mind?
His thoughts remained gloomy while he parked and walked up to the Club Creole. It was a real effort to work up some enthusiasm for Elias’s new line of shirts and Willie’s latest version of his blender-madness, which had proved to be quite a hit with the lunchtime Visitor crowd. After a few minutes, Donovan escaped to the comparative quiet of the secret room in the subbasement.
“Hey, Goode
r.” Ham Tyler glanced up from a map of L.A. spread out before him. “Find any kitties stuck in trees while you were out?”
“Can it, Ham. I’m not in the mood.” Mike stretched out wearily on the old couch jammed up against a wall.
Elias had discovered this room in the subbasement of the club the first week he’d moved in. It was securely hidden behind a secret door and also had a second entrance, a tunnel leading under the street to a nearby alley. They’d figured the place had probably been constructed as a speakeasy during Prohibition. Several coins dating from the 1920s lent credence to this theory. The tarnished pieces of silver had been unearthed when the underground members cleaned up the place, moving in old furniture and equipment, turning it into the L.A. headquarters for the resistance.
It had a certain jumbled comfort, filled as it was with racks of arms, boxes of munitions, utilitarian desks, pin-dotted strategy maps, and bulletin boards jammed with various bills and memos. Miranda, Elias, and Robin had hung up a few prints, and someone had turned one of the old “VISITORS = FRIENDS” posters into a dartboard; Diana’s and John’s smiling faces were riddled with holes.
All the scrubbing and painting hadn’t been able to get the smell of age and dampness out of the place, though, and empty Styrofoam coffee cups and overflowing trash cans also seemed to be a permanent part of the decor. Donovan sighed at the nibbled bits of papers and droppings in one comer that said mice used it as their regular hangout, too.
“Sounds like you could use a little vacation,” Ham said, interrupting Mike’s thoughts.
“Couldn’t we all?” Donovan shook his head. “Only thing is, the Visitors have relief crews and we don’t.”
“How about a busman’s holiday, then? A trip to beautiful New York, where the lizards ain’t around.”
“That would be great. Except we’re fresh out of matter transporters or ruby slippers.”
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