V 10 - Death Tide

by A C Crispin, Deborah A Marshall (UC) (epub)

  The best time of all came on Sunday night when they went back into New York and a little Italian restaurant in lower Manhattan named the Bella Capri. The proprietor, a cheerful little Italian by the name of Guido, bustled the group to tables with candles dripping over Chianti bottles and covered with red-and-white checkered oilcloth.

  There was plenty of exquisite lasagna, antipasto, and wine. Mike got to meet other members of the New York-based resistance. It was a special pleasure to meet Peter Forsythe, former star third baseman for the New York Yankees. Mike immediately liked the stocky, droll man with the thinning, curly blond hair. Pete, a fourth-year medical student, was now completing his studies at Cornell Medical Center.

  “I used to take my son, Sean, to the L.A. Dodgers games all the time,” he said, grinning as he shook Pete’s hand. “I remember that game in seventy-nine. You got two homers and helped whomp the hell out of us.”

  “Yeah, those were the good old days.”

  “Anno pre-Lizardarius. ” The attractive dark-skinned woman sitting beside Forsythe made a face, and Donovan grinned appreciatively at Lauren Stewart. He remembered her from their first brief meeting almost two years ago on the roof of the UN Building in New York. As special assistant to the Secretary General, Olav Lindstrom, she had accompanied Lindstrom on his historical first contact with the Visitors’ supreme commander, John.

  “Are you and Olav still working at the UN?”

  “Yes,” she said. “We manage to stay surprisingly busy too, despite the fact we’ve lost virtually all of our members in the equatorial and subtropical zones.”

  They talked about politics and the various states of the world for a while, then Pete stretched his legs, grimacing a little as he rubbed his knees.

  “So how are you and the most famous knees in baseball doing?” Mike asked.

  “We’re hanging in there.” Pete rattled the ice in his glass of Diet 7-Up. “They’re treating me a lot better than I did them. I can’t sit still for too long in one place, is all.”

  “I guess you don’t get much of a chance to play since the leagues were dissolved.”

  Pete nodded. “School and my . . . extracurricular activities keep me pretty busy these days. We take time for a pickup game once in a while, though. Some of the refugees from the southwest belonged to the Oakland As and the L.A. Dodgers, as a matter of fact, and—”

  “Mike! Hey, Mike Donovan!”

  A beautiful, slender woman with black hair ran over from the entrance across the room and almost landed in Donovan’s lap from the force of her enthusiastic hug.

  It was Denise Daltrey, an anchorwoman for the CBS morning news in New York. Mike had dated her a few times after the breakup of his marriage. It had stayed casual between them, and both of them had dated others before he had met Juliet Parrish . . . but he had always liked Denise.

  “I heard a rumor that you were in this part of the world again,” she said, pulling up a chair after she had exchanged greetings with the other members of the group. “Damn, you’re looking good! Better than anyone suffering the deprivations of the West Coast has any right to. How the heck are you?” For quite awhile they talked, and she brought him up to date on what was happening in the New York television news scene. Mike was sorry to leam that some of his colleagues had died, and pleased that others had done well.

  “You know, Mike, you’re a real hero,” said Denise, leaning back.

  He shrugged and made a self-deprecating gesture. “I’ve kept busy, although not necessarily out of trouble.”

  “You miss it? Lights, camera, action . . They’d drunk a fair amount of Chablis, and pink colored her wonderful cheekbones as she grinned at him.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “You ever think of coming back this way?”

  He looked at her, then scraped a bit of candle wax off the wine-bottle holder with his thumb. “Once in a while.” “Snow’s never looked better than it has the last couple of years, Mike. You could get a really good job here. I’d talk to my producer. You could be my co-anchor, I bet.”

  A blur of conflicting emotions rose in him, even through the gentle haze of the wine he’d drunk. Here was his chance to be a respected professional again, with the salary and prestige to go with the work he loved. There would be shows, nice restaurants, decent clothes, and money in his wallet again.

  And Julie, along with a whole bunch of people who had come to depend on him, would be three thousand miles away.

  “God, Denise, I’m flattered, but ... I don’t know.” It was the most honest thing he could say.

  Her hand casually moved onto his and squeezed it. “Think about it.”

  Chapter 6

  Conflicts of Interest

  Lydia walked briskly down the corridors of the Mother Ship, her boots beating out a sharp, angry staccato along the polished deck. Officers of lower rank stepped aside with murmured apologies as she brushed past; the enlisted personnel flattened against the walls and pretended to be invisible.

  She hated Diana’s imperious summonses. The arrogant bitch had nothing better to do, it seemed, than haul Lydia out of her vital work as chief of security so that she could gloat over some trifling scientific success.

  Of course, there had been that delicious little upset the other day, when Diana had learned that her precious water-collection scheme had gone awry. Lydia smiled slightly, remembering the rage Diana had flown into when she had learned from Bernard that the seawater had been poisoned by a new form of the bacteria deadly to their species. Lydia was beginning to suspect her commander was becoming unstable from the strains of dealing with the humans. Then again, Diana had never seemed particularly well suited to the rigors of command.

  Certainly not nearly so well suited as Lydia herself . . .

  Composing her face into her habitually neutral expression, Lydia announced her presence outside the door to Diana’s laboratory.

  “Come in, Lydia.”

  Diana sounded more than usually pleased with herself, and Lydia sighed inwardly. Doubtless today’s lecture would be especially long and tedious, and she wished she’d scheduled the briefing on persona! security for the new recruits this afternoon instead of tomorrow morning.

  “Yes, Diana?” she said, steeling herself for the inevitable as she walked in. A young blond woman was sitting quietly in a chair behind Diana, and Lydia looked at her in surprise, then at the commander.

  “I know how interested you are in being kept informed of all scientific matters,” Diana said, smiling. “I have two things to share with you. One, Bernard is making excellent progress on the bacteria-infested kelp. He has already begun identifying the specific plants so affected and is planning appropriate means to deal with them. And two, I want you to meet someone special.”

  Diana crossed the room to lay her arm across the slight shoulders of the blond woman, who raised her head and smiled. “She looks splendid, wouldn’t you say, Lydia? A perfect subject for my improved conversion process.”

  “She certainly does not look used up, the way some of your conversion subjects have appeared,” Lydia admitted, raising her eyebrows. The woman did indeed look healthy, with good coloring.

  “With those communiques we intercepted from the Denver courier last week, she’ll be accepted into the L.A. underground without question.”

  “Diana, I think that you put entirely too much stock in your conversions. Among other things, the humans usually spot them as soon as they use their hands.”

  “You weren’t listening to me. ” Diana’s smile made Lydia’s venom rise in her mouth. “This is my improved process. In her case, I’ve been able to solve the problem of the brain hemisphere switchover without bringing about the left-hand dominance that was such a giveaway.”

  “You sound so sure of yourself, Diana.”

  “Confidence is the hallmark of the true leader, Lydia. This is an area that you could improve in yourself.”

  “What is so special about this particular person?” Lydia eyed her commanding offi
cer suspiciously. “Why would the underground accept her readily, even with planted documents?”

  Diana turned to the younger woman and smoothed back a lock of her soft gold hair. “Tell Lydia your name, my dear.” “Maijorie,” the woman obediently replied, smiling up at Diana with the trusting expression of a child.

  Diana patted the woman’s shoulder and glanced sideways at Lydia. Her expression was a study in triumph, and Lydia felt her lunch move heavily in her stomach, knowing that her commander had gotten incredibly lucky once again. “I meant your married name, Maijorie,” the commander amended. The blond woman smiled. “I am Mrs. Michael Donovan.”

  Mike Donovan had forgotten what stores full of merchandise looked like. As he wandered the departments and aisles of Macy’s, eyeing the counters full of clothes, jewelry, and toiletries, he calculated furiously.

  Just before he’d left L.A., Elias had pressed one hundred dollars into his hand, saying, “Here, my man, have a good time.” It had turned out that L.A. dollars weren’t the same as New York dollars anymore, although there was some reciprocity.

  With almost half of the United States effectively under Visitor control, the aliens had managed to do what the Civil War had not—divide the country in half. In his darker moments, Mike wondered whether they would ever get the greatest nation in the world back together again.

  In the meantime, it was a real challenge figuring out the current rate of exchange. No one in Brook Cove had allowed him to spend a dime up to this point, anyway. So when Hannah asked him what he’d like to do today, his last in New York, he’d promptly replied, “Go shopping.”

  Candy was expensive in New York City too, but $3.50 was still a hell of a lot better than almost $6 for a Hershey bar, and he got two for Julie.

  He caught Peter Forsythe grinning at him after the third time he’d run his hand over the racks of men’s jackets, and smiled back a little self-consciously. “I feel like a hick, or the world’s biggest tourist,” he said. “Shopping malls used to be as common as palm trees in California, yet here I am, gaping around like a kid at Christmastime. There are so many shortages back home ...”

  “Don’t forget to pick out something for yourself,” Forsythe said. “I’m Santa Claus, and Christmas is early this year.” “No, I couldn’t—” Mike began, but Pete raised his hand. “Look at all the stuff you brought back for us. Hell, the fresh oranges alone were worth it.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Come on, Mike. Don’t forget who you’re talking to. The man who for fourteen years got paid obscene amounts of money for playing a kid’s game—and had a great time investing it well. I’ve got more than I know what to do with. You’re someone I admire a lot, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d take something back from me. Anything you’d like.” “Okay. One thing,” Donovan said. “Thanks, Pete.” “Think of it as a loan.” Forsythe grinned. “You can remember me kindly when you’re a famous newsman again and I’ve faded into obscurity as a kindly old M.D.” “Right.” Mike grinned back. Walking resolutely past the menswear section, he led the way to ladies’ lingerie. He was fingering a shimmering sapphire-colored silk negligee and nodding approvingly when Forsythe caught up to him.

  Pete blinked. “Definitely your color, but I’m a little dubious about the fit.”

  “Real funny, Pete. This is for Julie. You said I could have anything I wanted, and I want something special for her.” “You know, I used to head over this way after my ex-wife and I had a fight and my conscience was bothering me,” Forsythe said, his expression rueful as he pulled out his wallet. “The bigger the fight, the smaller and frillier the item of intimate apparel. It didn’t do any good in the end, but it was fun while it lasted.”

  Mike looked at him and frowned slightly, wondering about his own motives for choosing Julie’s gift. Denise’s offer had remained in the back of his mind throughout his time here in New York. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t forget it. And that was beginning to scare him.

  “Have you thought about my offer?” Denise Daltrey asked. “Day and night,” Mike admitted, toying with his Risotto alia Milanese.

  They had met for lunch and more of Guido’s wonderful minestrone soup, antipasto, and homemade bread at the Bella Capri.

  “I’ve already talked to my producer, and he thinks it’s a fabulous idea. ” Denise leaned back, regarding him measuringly, and raised her wineglass. “You and I would make a terrific team, Donovan.”

  “What about the power packs and the shuttlecraft? They still

  have to get back to L.A. tonight. Everything’s ready to go, and I know how crucial our supplies are.”

  “Sari mentioned she’d love to fly the shuttlecraft back and hang around for a while with Julie to help with your West Coast ocean bacteria studies—kind of an exchange student.”

  “You have to be as good with a rifle or a lasergun as you are with test tubes in L.A.,” he said sourly, breaking off another piece of bread. “You want some more?”

  “It’s fattening.” She shook her head. “You sound really tired of it, Mike.”

  “Hell, yes. Everybody’s tired of it.”

  “Then give it a rest. You’ve done more than your fair share. Nobody could ever accuse Mike Donovan of shirking his civic duties.”

  “I don’t know, Denise. Let me think about it. I would have to go back to L.A. anyway to straighten out some things. I’ll let you know in a week, okay?”

  “Fair enough,” she said, and reached for the check, shaking her head at his protests. “Oh, no, that’s all right. You can pick up the next one—when you’re back. ”

  “I hate good-byes.” Hannah Donnenfeld hugged her arms in the cool night air and peered up at Donovan. Her wispy white hair, sticking out from under a beat-up Red Sox baseball cap, seemed to glow in the moonlight.

  He came back down the ramp from the shuttlecraft’s hatchway and tugged her visor playfully. “The next time I come, I’ll try to bring you a real team’s cap from L.A.” “You’re just lucky I didn’t know you were a Dodgers fan before you landed without the proper radio code!”

  “Hey, ease up there, Donovan!” Peter Forsythe said, scowling. “When we get the leagues going again, the Yankees will whup your asses every time!”

  “I’ll bet you ten bucks on the next game.” Mike shook his hand warmly. “Thanks for everything. And listen, Pete—can I have your autograph?”

  Pete took out a pen. “I’ll give you mine if you give me yours. ”

  “Make it ‘To Sean.’ I know he’ll be thrilled when I ... get a chance to give it to him.”

  Mike made one last round of hugs and handshakes as the small group waited on the hillside next to the shuttlecraft. The air was clear and still, the salty-clean smells of the Atlantic below fresh in his nostrils, and he knew he would miss this place and these wonderful people.

  “Take care of yourself.” Denise’s kiss lingered just a bit longer than sisterly on his mouth, and he was surprised at how good it felt. “Call me soon with the good news.”

  He waved from the cockpit, they stepped back, and the shuttlecraft raised and pointed itself toward the darkness in the west.

  Later, after he got up to use the facilities (thank God the Visitors’ forms also followed function, and their plumbing wasn’t vasdy different from humans’), Donovan noticed the several large brown-wrapped packages with his name on them in the back storage compartments, which now held several other items and courier packs for the L.A. resistance.

  Puzzled, he fumbled open the wrappers and pulled out a sports jacket, two pairs of slacks, three pairs of Levi’s, and a new brown suede jacket. They were all perfect in style, color, and fit, and Donovan grinned all the way back to L.A.

  “Diana is such a bitch!” The beautiful blond in Visitors’ uniform leaned her elbows on the bar and peered owlishly at Willie over her drink.

  Nodding sympathetically, he topped off her glass with the contents of his blender.

  “It’s bad enough that I was reassigned to sout
hern California when my bodysuit was thermally designed for the climate of Great Britain, now I have to work for her.”

  Willie could personally appreciate the strange and often baffling results of bureaucracy. “I have heard Diana can be difficult to work for,” he ventured.

  “Oh, you don’t know the half of it! She thinks she’s so damned clever and wastes no opportunity to tell us all how wonderful she is. She makes me ill.”

  Willie nodded again, watching the slight rise of her hair as her crest bristled in indignation beneath it. He tried to picture what she really looked like under her artificial skin. She must be finely patterned indeed if her human analogue was any indication of the true beauty of her appearance.

  It had been a long time since Willie had been with a female. The results of his last mating had proved disappointing from a genetic standpoint, so he had been authorized only short-term, recreational types of couplings. The trouble was, he had never found anyone who had really interested him—until he came to Earth and met the human woman Harmony Moore. He and Harmony had shared something special. Even though she had learned what he really looked like, she had said she loved him.

  But Harmony had died in his arms well over a year ago, and meanwhile, this exquisite creature sat in front of him, seeking a sympathetic listener.

  “Well, I do not think Diana is so clever,” he said. “She was captured and imprisoned by the humans for an entire year, and she has still not been able to stop the Earth resistance groups. ” Taking a swallow of her drink, the blond Visitor tossed her head back, her throat rippling as she gulped. She nodded at him. “Yes, it would be quite a coup if I could locate and destroy the Los Angeles resistance right under Diana’s nose!” Willie didn’t like the cold, deadly look that came into her blue eyes and immediately regretted that he had brought up the subject of the resistance. Laying a hand on top of hers, he stared earnestly at her. “You must be very beautiful.” “You’re not the best-looking one of us I’ve ever met, but I rather like your smile.” She looked at him through half-closed eyelids and smiled slightly. “What’s your name?”