V 10 - Death Tide

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

  “Good evening, Bernard,” Diana said, approaching a work area.

  The slender botanist, hunched over some scientific apparatus, jumped at the sound of her voice and whirled around. His eyes widened and flicked nervously from one to the other as he faced the two most senior-ranking officers on the ship. “Uh . . . yes. Good evening, Diana and Lydia. How, uh, may I help you?”

  “You are already doing much to help me,” Diana said warmly, laying an arm around his shoulders. “I want you to show Lydia what you are working on.”

  Bernard reached over to his worktable and held up a vial containing a reddish-brown powder.

  Peering at it, Lydia recoiled and grimaced. “It looks very much like the humans’ red dust bacteria. Diana, surely you have not brought any of that aboard this ship.”

  “Don’t be absurd!” Diana snapped. “Bernard, please explain to our . . . hasty security officer here what this is.” “While it somewhat resembles the humans’ bacteria, it is darker in color, and its, uh, purpose, is completely different. This is a powdered chemical substance, not a bacterial toxin.” Bernard carefully placed the vial back on the counter. “Our own red dust is a possible solution to the contamination of the Pacific Ocean waters around Los Angeles—”

  “Get to the point,” Lydia said.

  Bernard blinked and glanced at Diana, then at the dust again. “This chemical is a defoliant designed to wipe out the kelp beds. As I told Diana, the humans’ new red dust is concentrating in the bladder kelp and certain other common kinds of seaweed. If we destroy all the ocean-based vegetation along the southern California coast, we can then filter the diluted remains of the bacteria out of the water.”

  “And this way, the desalinization can continue as planned.” Diana smiled. “Our Leader will have the water he needs to save our people and strengthen our cause. Bernard, I will see to it that you are personally commended for your efforts.” “Uh, Diana ...” The thin botanist glanced at her, then down again, and Diana was uncomfortably reminded of the first time he had told her about the original contamination problem.

  “What is it, Bernard?”

  “There is, uh, one problem I must mention. This compound is extremely unstable until it actually enters seawater.” “What do you mean ‘unstable’?” Lydia asked impatiently. Bernard slowly rolled up the sleeve of his uniform to show medi-flesh swathing the inner side of his left arm. He eased the medi-flesh away, revealing a livid wound. From wrist to elbow, the artificial pink skin had been tom away, and the normally smooth scales of his own flesh were buckled and oozing. “A single spark or concussion, and it explodes violently,” he said, carefully replacing the dressing. “This was caused by less than twenty milligrams. Geraldine, the technician assisting me, may be permanently blinded.”

  “Don’t the humans have a saying about a rose always having thorns, Diana?” Lydia smiled. “A pity. This particular scheme of yours actually appeared to have some promise.”

  Rage crawling up her spine to her crest, Diana whirled to face Bernard. “I want you to make manufacture of this defoliant, our own red dust, your number-one priority.”

  “My calculations indicate we’ll need a large quantity of it to accomplish our purpose. The Pacific is a large ocean,” Bernard said, his habitually gloomy expression turning even longer.

  “Then I suggest you begin working on it right away,” she said, turning to go.

  “Not on this ship. ” Lydia stepped forward to block her path. “What do you mean, ‘not on this ship’? / am in command here, and you would be most wise never to—”

  “As security officer, I feel obliged to point out that the instability of this substance precludes its manufacture in large quantities anywhere aboard this vessel. Not to mention the problems inherent in transporting it safely via our shuttlecrafts to the ocean.”

  Diana glared at her, but recognized her junior officer was right—for once. “Very well. Bernard, you can set up the manufacturing plant in one of our warehouses near the Long Beach docks. I’ll see to it that you have all the authorizations and personnel you require. How long do you think it will take to complete the manufacture of the defoliant in the quantities we need?”

  “Including the time to transfer and set up all the equipment and train personnel in the basic manufacturing process, it will be at least five days, Diana, before—”

  “You have two. I know that you won’t fail me, Bernard.” The botanist swallowed, but his features clearly said he knew better than to argue with Diana. “No,” he said faintly.

  “Well, there goes a busy fellow,” Lydia said, watching Bernard jog away to begin shouting a jumble of orders. “It appears that you have found another project to replace the scheme you began with the little blonde you planted in Los Angeles.”

  “By no means, Lydia.”

  “But surely the only real reason you converted and released Maijorie Donovan was to learn the formula for the humans’ ocean-adapted red dust. Now that Bernard has come up with the defoliant, you can dispose of her. Otherwise, she is an unnecessary risk. After all, you did say that her conversion was a new, unverified process.”

  Diana sighed and gave an exaggerated look of concern for the junior officer as they walked out into the corridor. “Lydia, you lack a sense of imagination, which I fear is another failing that will work against your ambitions for command. I have other, even more important plans for Maijorie now. I have arranged for, shall we say, a little gift for our friends in the resistance tomorrow afternoon. After that, they’ll trust her implicitly.”

  “For what purpose?” Lydia could barely disguise her frustration, and Diana smiled.

  “Why, Lydia, it should be obvious to you. When she is fully accepted into their little group, then she can lead us to their secret headquarters—so that we can capture all of them and not just Michael Donovan.” Diana raised her head, and her smile widened. “And then I’ll eliminate him and those other troublemakers once and for all.”

  Kyle Bates whistled cheerfully as he revved up the motor of his Yamaha, listening to its smooth sound. The carburetor was clean and running well again, and he felt the satisfaction of a job well done.

  Mostly, though, he was glad to be involved in some action again. Mike Donovan had asked him to help with this latest plan to obtain more power packs, and he had readily agreed, especially when he had learned that the packs were to be intercepted on their way to Science Frontiers. For Kyle, there would be a special pleasure in sabotaging one of his father’s operations.

  He checked the brakes once more, made a couple of adjustments with his wrench, then turned off the ignition. The engine sputtered and died, and the gentler sounds of nature returned to the hills surrounding his home. The air was clear and a little cooler than it had been, and Kyle hoped it would hold up for their raid tomorrow. Waiting around in a heavy leather jacket and motorcycle helmet under the hot sun was not his idea of a great time.

  “Hi.” Robin Maxwell sat down on the blanket beside him. “I made some sun tea this morning, and it looks ready.”

  Kyle took the tall, ice-filled glass she offered and gulped its contents gratefully. “Thanks, Robin. This is terrific.”

  “My mother used to make this for my sisters and me when we were kids.” Robin’s smile grew a little wistful as she gazed out over the distant heat-shimmery desert. “I miss my folks.”

  Kyle nodded and put a sympathetic arm around her shoulders. He thought he understood. His parents were still alive, but he’d lost them in other ways long before the Visitors came.

  Robin brushed impatiently at the sudden wetness around her eyes. “I even miss my little sisters. I used to think they were such brats. Aunt Rebecca says they’ve adjusted just fine to Chicago—they even love the snow. And Polly is almost as tall as I am now, can you believe it?”

  “You’ll get to see them again soon. Julie’11 get this new red dust all figured out, and we’ll send the lizards packing into space for good.”

  “I hope.” Robin paused as Eliza
beth came out of the back door, carrying a couple of books in her arms. “Uh-oh, here comes the academic taskmistress.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Better than I ever did in school,” Robin admitted, her expression a comical mixture of pride and envy. “She’s almost up to me already. Thank God Daddy kept all of his old textbooks from way back, and we were able to get them from the old house.”

  “Yeah, my father had a pretty good collection himself, I’ll give him that.” Kyle idly tossed a pebble at a small lizard as it scuttled under his bike. “You know, I’m proud of you two, hitting the books hard every day.”

  Robin shrugged and grinned self-consciously. “I know Daddy would have wanted us to. He always said that education was the key that opened a lot of doors in life. Julie’s going to arrange for me to test for my GED—the high school equivalency test—next week. And then . . . well, who knows? The community college just down the road has started offering some classes again.”

  “Mother, I have a question about the sum of angles in triangles and rectangles.” Elizabeth opened a book as she sat down, and the blond and brunette heads of mother and daughter bent low in discussion. Kyle went to the garage and brought out his old bike, a Kawasaki. He hadn’t given it a good going over in a while, and it was always a good idea to have a spare bike around.

  After a few minutes, Robin stood. “Well, I’m going inside and take another look at my geometry notes. I can see I need some bmshing up.”

  “I’ll be in shortly,” Elizabeth called after her, then looked up at Kyle and smiled shyly. “This conversation must have been rather boring to you, I’m afraid.”

  “Not a bit.” He leaned across the saddle of the smaller motorcycle, grinning at her. “I learned something, too.” “What was that?”

  “That I like the sound of your voice, no matter what you’re talking about.”

  She blushed and smiled down at the ground, then her face grew pensive. “You’re going somewhere important tomorrow, aren’t you?”

  “What makes you say that?” he asked, keeping his voice casual as he reached for the tire pressure gauge.

  “There is a greater sense of purpose about your actions than I have noticed recently,” she said. “And you . . . seem to be filled with anticipation.”

  “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” Sighing, he put the wrench down and went over to sit beside her. “I don’t want you to tell your mother this, but I’m going to help Mike and Ham with the raid tomorrow afternoon.”

  She looked at him, her blue eyes level. “I would like to come, too.”

  “Oh, no way!”

  “I can ride your other motorcycle. You taught me on it.” He shook his head emphatically. “It’s much too dangerous. ” “Is this what my mother calls your ‘male chauvinist crap’?” “Hell, being a woman doesn’t make any difference!” Kyle said, blushing. “Margie Donovan is coming with us. But an operation like this, the fewer people involved, the better. Only reason I’m invited this time is that Chris isn’t ready for any daytime action yet.”

  “Maybe I could help.”

  “And more likely you would just be in the way, and maybe get hurt.”

  Her lovely features hardened, became colder and more alien-looking than Kyle had ever seen her. “The circumstances of my birth make it hard enough to be human. Most of the time I feel like someone on the outside looking in. I’m doing everything I can to belong fully to this world, the one I have chosen. But all of you conspire to keep me on the outside.” “That’s ... not true,” he said, finding his voice. “We love you and want to protect you, that’s all.”

  “I feel like that princess in the fairy tale that you lent me— the one who was kept locked up in the highest tower so that no harm could come to her. She wasn’t allowed to really live either. ” Snatching up her books, Elizabeth got up and ran into the house.

  Feeling helpless, Kyle watched her go.

  Mike Donovan shifted in the front seat of Ham’s old Buick and opened another button of his dark-colored shirt. The car felt like an oven in the ninety-eight-degree heat, with only an occasional puff of breeze coming through the open windows to ease his discomfort. Parked on this lightly traveled side street off Wilshire Boulevard, about four miles from Science Frontiers, they had little to look at besides a couple of parked cars and well-kept suburban homes. The minutes passed leadenly— especially with Ham Tyler for company.

  “Gooder, quit fidgeting, will ya? You’re making me nervous.” But the ex-CIA man was Mr. Cool himself, not even sweating as he leafed through the pages of the issue of Variety Mike had brought back from New York.

  Feeling vaguely resentful, Donovan glanced at the older man. “C’mon, Tyler. I didn’t think anything ever got to you.”

  “Only partners who can’t sit still for two minutes at a time. ” Folding his paper, Ham leaned back and locked his hands behind his head. “You’re acting like someone who’s got a lot on his mind. Women troubles? You been talking to Julie lately?”

  Mike felt guilt bum his face, then his typical annoyance with Tyler surfaced a moment later. “None of your business!” he snapped, hunching farther down in his seat.

  “I guess that means no,” Ham said blandly, checking the extra ammo clips in his pocket. “Maybe you ought to. Everybody knows you’ve been spending a lot of time with your ex lately, all in the line of duty, of course, but—”

  “The day I need your advice on relationships is the day I’m moving to Sirius! So it’s been pretty crazy lately. Julie understands.” He tried to force conviction into his voice, ignoring the nagging prickle of guilt. He had been spending a lot of time with Margie, but—

  “I’ll tell you what’s crazy,” Ham said, frowning as he glanced at his watch, “is us waiting here like sitting ducks.

  When the hell is this broad going to show? Assuming that she gave us the right route in the first—”

  “Watch your mouth, lyier. That ‘broad’ was my wife.” “My, my, we’re getting a little touchy, aren’t we?” Something changed in his flat brown eyes as he looked over at Donovan. “You’re still carrying a little torch for her, aren’t you? Why did you two break up in the first place?” “You’re pushing it, Tyler,” he said, but it seemed too hot to argue about anything. “In case it’s any of your business, which I doubt, people change, that’s all. They go in different directions. They . .

  He stopped, suddenly thinking of the last time he and Julie had been together, and how the same thoughts had crossed his mind there at the restaurant.

  “You thinking of getting back together with her?”

  The thought had crossed his mind, more than once in the last few days, but he was damned if he was going to tell Ham that. “Listen, suppose we talk about your love life for a while? Or would that make the shortest conversation in—?”

  He stopped as he saw the old black Ford Galaxie pull to a stop in the middle of the street behind them. Maijorie Donovan, wearing jeans and a jacket, got out and lifted the hood, miming the actions of someone with car trouble.

  A minute later, a white van with red Visitor logos prominently displayed pulled to a stop behind her. Margie had effectively blocked the narrow street.

  “You sure got a thing for blondes, doncha, Gooder?” Ham muttered, opening his door. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 9

  Power Plays

  Mike Donovan crouched low, scuttling along the right side of Ham’s car, then paused by the rear wheelbase until Ham Tyler caught up with him. Out of sight and with guns raised, they waited.

  Two shock troopers got out of the Visitor vehicle and approached Maijorie Donovan from either side of her car. It was all Mike could do to hold himself perfectly still while they marched up to her, weapons held casually but ready.

  “Move your vehicle,” one of the Visitors said, gesturing threateningly with his lasergun. “We have an important shipment to deliver here, and we can’t be delayed.”

  “I’m so sorry, but I can’t seem to g
et it started again.” Standing in front of her car, Margie smiled apologetically, gesturing at the engine. “I think it might be the battery. It’s not a new model. Do you know anything about cars?”

  The Visitor leaned over to glance indifferently under the hood while the other one came up beside her on her left. “Move the car, or we’ll blast it out of the way,” the second one said.

  “Please, couldn’t you just help me push it to the side a little, over there?”

  Grinning evilly, the second Visitor raised his weapon. “Yes, Harry, let us help her move it—”

  Ham and Mike leaped up from behind them, yelling in unison. At the same moment Maijorie slammed the hood down on the first Visitor, who was still peering at the motor. As the hood bounced up, Mike clubbed him down with a lasergun butt to the back of his head before he’d drawn breath to yell. The Visitor’s partner reacted more quickly, grabbing Margie and dragging her in front of him for a shield, his weapon pointing at Donovan.

  “Duck!” Ham yelled, and the blond woman did—-just as Ham clobbered the alien from behind. The Visitor’s expression of amazement went slack, and he crumpled unconscious to the pavement.

  “Piece of cake,” Tyler muttered, flashing one of his rare and almost humorless grins as he stooped to pull the lasergun and extra power pack off the first Visitor. “That was no way to talk to a lady, was it, Gooder?”

  “My line was, ‘Hey, she said please,’ ” Mike said, looking at Margie. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said, pausing to jerk the lasergun off the shoulder of the Visitor at her feet.

  “You know how to use that thing, honey?” Ham asked. “You bet I do. Just call me ‘honey’ again, and I’ll demonstrate my aim on your ass.”