Darrell Bain Read online

  He held up a hand, palm outward, making me pause, already knowing I would have a jillion questions. “I know what you're thinking, given your specialty. How could an alien convert itself into a human woman. Right?"

  "Are you telling me that it went from an alien form to a human, both externally and internally? Why, that's im—"

  I started to say it was impossible but caught myself before I made a stupid utterance. Arthur C. Clarke's maxim popped into my mind: Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

  He nodded. “Absolutely human, impossible as it sounds. A very pretty and congenial woman as well as an extremely intelligent one. As a matter of fact, she married the man who rescued her from her wrecked lifeboat. The other one we're working with has become a man, by the way."

  I thought I detected an undertone from him indicating the male alien might not be as congenial as the female, but let it go. My thoughts were that knowing how they became human would advance our knowledge of genetics a couple of centuries in one leap, at least, assuming they could explain it to us mere mortals. And microchemistry. Computer science. How far had they advanced in those fields—or had they gone beyond them? Nanotechnology, and ... my mind reeled from thinking of all the possibilities.

  Faster than light space travel. They almost had to have a form of that by what Gene had implied, probably without realizing it. And to change their form so completely that they could marry a human? That was almost beyond my comprehension, and I've never been accused of thinking small!

  "Close your mouth, Cherry, and come back to Earth.” Carol was grinning at me. She called me Cherry every time she saw me get excited.

  I grinned back at her, knowing how foolish I must look but unable to help myself. Gene said the man married one of the aliens. I wondered what he was like. He must have an open mind, at the very least.

  "What did they look like originally?” I had to ask. Just knowing would give me a good idea of how the guy thought. I was assuming I'd be working with him.

  "BEMs. Bug-Eyed Monsters."

  "Seriously?"

  "Yup. Four arms, pyramidal head, all the stuff out of science fiction novels."

  "And it changed to human form? Damn. What they must know about genetics!"

  "That's not the half of it. I can't go into all the details right now but I can tell you that we desperately need your expertise. The aliens have the knowledge but we need a lot of very bright scientists to help convert it into terms we can understand. Once we get you to where we're working, you'll learn a lot more of the details of what's going on."

  "We can guess some of it,” Carol said.

  "Uh-huh,” I added. “We've talked about it, just between the two of us. The recent urgency about developing better manned space travel. A couple of new gadgets on the market. Reports of conflicts inside our borders attributed to terrorism that didn't ring true. That horrendous explosion in China right on top of its primary rocket launching and research facilities. But most of all, the negative information gives it away."

  "Negative information?"

  I nodded. “The government admits aliens have visited the Earth but won't admit being excited about it. That body the Mexicans displayed was authentic but I've been unable to get any data on the studies they allowed our team of scientists to conduct. They keep saying a report is ‘in progress’ and putting off inquiries. And most of all, the way our senior politicians talk around the subject and the way China and the Islamic Confederation have clammed up on talk about aliens and how stridently Russia is demanding that information be released so that everyone can share in it. It all adds up to the fact that two and possibly three governments have aliens in custody and that they're working on something big. Several somethings if I had to guess."

  He was appalled. “I hope to hell you've kept your speculations to yourselves."

  "We have, but Gene ... we're not the only intelligent Americans in the country. Why does the government insist on treating its citizens like grade school children, as if we're not old enough to be told the facts of life?"

  "Take it up with the president when you meet him. You probably will eventually.” He shrugged as if that were no big thing. “Look, I'd like to get the two of you under wraps as soon as possible. How about if you go to your homes and start packing? Get everything you'll need for the next six months together. Don't worry too much about dressy clothes. It's a pretty casual group. In fact, that's what we've been calling it, ‘The Group.’”

  "You mean start now?” Carol asked.

  I felt a little rushed myself.

  "Now. I'll have a clean-up crew come behind you and take care of the rest of your household goods. There will also be a security team watching you, but you'll probably never notice them."

  "Why so soon?"

  "China, India and the Islamic Confederation have a hell of a lot more sleeper agents in our country than is generally known or that we ever thought possible before the aliens came. They're called Cresperians, by the way. Crispies for short. Many of those sleeper agents have been alerted to watch for just such activities as recruiting top-notch scientists. Where you're going is absolutely top secret and we want it to stay that way. It is our number one priority, over and above everything else."

  "As bad as that?"

  "Bad enough that if the location were known, I'd give about 50-50 odds of a suitcase nuke going off on top of it eventually. The only reason I've said as much as I have is because that little gadget I had in my hand right before I mentioned xenobiology to you keeps sound waves from traveling more than ten feet. And because I've already put you under surveillance."

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  CHAPTER THREE

  When a man tells a woman not to bother packing many dressy items, I usually disregard the remark and put together some outfits that will work for almost any occasion, from a ballroom to a beach party. Especially if I'm going somewhere with little chance of shopping for more.

  It's not that I really care that much for formal dress. I'm much more comfortable in jeans and pullovers or blouses that fit close enough and are designed well enough to keep the jiggling to a minimum so I can discard the bras. So that meant a basic black cocktail dress, a couple of dress suits with both skirt and pants and a lot of casual outfits that can be worn just about anywhere. I love the informality of styles nowadays in comparison to what my grandmother must have had to put up with when she was young.

  Fortunately, most of my clothes were clean. I had washed several loads that weekend. I had a housekeeper but liked to launder my own garments. She took care of just about everything else except grocery shopping. I left her a note with a recommendation and a big enough bonus to carry her until she could find work somewhere else, and trusted the “cleanup crew” to see that she got it. The bonus didn't hurt my bank account much. The Havel brothers paid well and I don't live extravagantly.

  Books were the big items. I had most of my fiction and part of my professional library stored on portable drives but there were a number of new reference works with formulas and data I might have a hard time finding on the net. For that matter I didn't know how much access to the net I'd be allowed. The hell with it. If Gene's crew was that good, they could pack them, too. He'd given me a number to call if I ran into difficulties, so I used it. He told me not to worry. Whatever I left behind would eventually find its way to me, but it might take a while.

  Carol rang the doorbell just about the time I was winding it up. I had gotten a shower and changed into slacks and a blouse and held back a light windbreaker, just in case. I still had no idea where we were going.

  "Finished already?” I asked as I let her in.

  "Yup. A van picked up the suitcases and dropped me by here. Said they'd be back in an hour or so for you and whatever you're taking.” She looked around and saw the three closed pieces of luggage and one I still had open for last minute items. All of them were medium-sized. “You're traveling light if that's all you have."

 
"Just my carry on. I assume we're flying."

  "Me, too and they'd better pay the extra baggage charges if we go commercial!"

  I laughed and offered Carol some coffee before I rinsed the basket and turned the pot off. After that, I finished stuffing my remaining gear in the last suitcase, including my large .45 caliber Glock automatic pistol. I had very carefully asked Gene about taking my personal weapons with me. He said I didn't need to worry but to bring them along if they made me feel comfortable. They did, including my little .40 caliber automatic, the one I normally carry in my purse. It's a smaller version of the big Glock but made by S&W. I still didn't know our mode of transportation, but at the last minute I decided to let the little automatic go ahead and live in my purse where it normally resided. If someone wanted to confiscate it ... well, Gene said I wasn't to be bothered by the small stuff. I'd just refer the matter to him.

  Carol is one of the few people who know I have a license to carry a concealed weapon. She had planned on buying a gun and applying for a permit herself but Gene arrived first. As far as I'm concerned, more of us ought to go armed. If my parents had felt like I do, they might be alive today. As it was, a lot of lives were saved because of a few people at the mall who had been carrying. Damn crazy terrorist bastards. I hate them. I hated them even before they killed Mom and Dad and 300 other innocent Christmas shoppers at the mall.

  Right on time, the van showed up. We left ten minutes later.

  * * * *

  Carol and I were the only passengers. There were also the driver and another man in the front passenger seat. Neither was talkative, but I finally did worm some information out of the one riding shotgun. He said we'd be traveling by jet from a private airport. Mostly they kept their eyes on the road and rear view mirrors. I had the impression we were being accompanied by chase cars in front and behind, but didn't ask.

  When the driver said “private,” he really meant it. He took us on a drive that ended well over an hour later somewhere in the Eastex Piney Woods at a private airfield.

  "Y'all ladies wait here in the van while I see if your plane is ready,” the driver told us. His shotgun left, too. I gave them a couple of minutes then rolled the tinted back window down so we could see what was going on. There was nothing but pine trees to look at from my side.

  Carol tapped me on the shoulder. “That's our luggage being loaded."

  I turned around and moved over beside her. There was a shack that resembled something from a hillbilly movie. Nearby was a small dirty jet plane that looked as if it had seen its best days 20 years ago. Our luggage was being tossed aboard with little regard to what might be in it. I found myself wondering if I'd left a round in the chamber of the .45 I'd packed in one of the suitcases. If I had, there was about a 50-50 chance of it going off. I also began wondering if we were in the right van, but just then Gene appeared and opened the side door.

  He had a half grin on his face, as if the rest of the world amused him no end. That was his usual expression until he started talking and it didn't always vanish then.

  "Okay, all out. We're ready, and sorry for the wait."

  He held a hand out to help each of us step down. It was unnecessary, but I like a man who shows those little courtesies. It tells me he'll probably treat women with dignity and respect.

  Gene hadn't said so, but I already suspected the reason I'd been passed over initially was because of my sex. Being a woman wasn't supposed to mean anything special either way in the workplace nowadays but there's still a lot of hidden prejudice, especially in academia.

  That's one reason I've always loved science fiction. The best authors in the field, even during the days of pulp fiction, wrote women into their stories as if their equality was an established fact, even in military science fiction. Perhaps even more so in that sub-branch. Women fought beside men and commanded men and were spaceship captains long before the present-day military began opening up, and women are still barred from some ground combat. As if an enemy soldier gives a damn who's shooting at him.

  For that matter I'd bet our own infantrymen wouldn't care who was guarding their flank so long as he or she was competent. I served one hitch in the army but left because there was still too much sexual prejudice for me, although I'll admit the situation is improving all the time.

  I slung my purse and gave my handbag to the man with Gene when he reached for it. He introduced himself as Baggert and told us to call him Bag. It turned out that he was our pilot.

  When we got close to the jet, I noticed it wasn't nearly as bad as I first thought. What I took for dirt and dents were painted on! Talk about security; these people really took it seriously. I was anxious to get to wherever in hell we were going so I could find out the reason for it all. I don't mind some secrecy when it's called for but sometimes our leaders take it to ridiculous lengths. The bad part is that once something is classified it's like removing epoxy glue from composites to ever get the stamp taken off.

  Inside the plane were eight comfortable seats arranged in two aisles, spaced so they could swivel half around. Nice arrangement for conversation. You don't have to talk to your neighbor over a backrest or wind up with a stiff neck from twisting around in the seat.

  The baggage was out of sight in the rear and the pilot and co-pilot were concealed behind a folding door in the cockpit. Just before Bag pulled it closed, I noticed a heavy rifle and automatic pistol secured on racks. Security for sure.

  "Can you tell us where we're going now?” I asked as the jet began rolling down the dirt and gravel runway. From the glimpse I had of it before, it looked more like a country road than something an aircraft would use to land or take off on.

  Gene shook his head. “Not yet. There's always the chance we could get shot down or have engine failure. Whatever. No sense in taking chances."

  "You don't seriously mean we could get shot down in our own country do you?” Carol asked.

  Gene raised a cynical brow. “I thought you'd been paying attention to the news."

  "I have, but ... oh. The airliner carrying all those scientists from their convention."

  "Yes, that one. It was no accident despite claims to the contrary. Other countries have aliens, too. They don't want us getting ahead of them—nor do we want them coming up with a weapon or a device we can't counter."

  Carol didn't say anything else for a while and neither did I, but I suspected her mind was working as busily as my own. I was going back over the last six months or so and trying to sort out serious news stories from tabloid speculation. And remembering incidents that should have gotten more coverage but didn't.

  Gene didn't have to tell me. There was a clandestine war going on, one that wasn't being acknowledged. I wondered how much effort was going into restraining the media in the interests of security. A great deal, I'd bet. We're a free country, but most citizens in positions of power such as the media moguls will cooperate if it's put to them in the right terms. They'll do it even when they disagree with specific activities of the government if the matter is serious enough, and this one obviously was.

  It was the extent of the underground war that bothered me. Just how far would either side go? I guessed right away that no country would start something with us they couldn't finish decisively, with one exception. The Islamic Confederation was run by a gang of left wingnut theologists who were crazy as loons. No telling what they'd do. I hoped like hell they didn't have an alien in their grasp, particularly one who was working actively for them.

  We were still climbing for altitude and I was still musing over what amounted to undeclared warfare inside our own borders when we got caught in a piece of it. I was gazing out the side window when I saw a jet fighter streak past us, going at an angle and with a roar heard even inside our pressurized compartment.

  Bag sent our little plane into such a violent maneuver that the seat belt practically cut me in half. A second later I was thrown into the back rest just as hard. A clatter of small bits of debris hitting the plane came to me th
rough the roar of the engine as Bag leveled out and poured on more speed. I didn't hear an explosion but I knew something had been blown to pieces.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "What—?” I started to ask Gene what had happened but I stopped when I saw he had his phone to one ear and a pull-down earpiece attached to the other.

  He nodded his head as if the person he was talking to was there with him. A moment later he fed the earpiece back into its alcove and snapped his phone closed. The perennial little grin that made him look so congenial had vanished completely. He looked at Carol and me from across the aisle where the other row of four seats ran.

  "The jet fighter you saw go past us just took a missile. Now you know how serious the situation is."

  "Was ... was he killed? The pilot of the fighter?” Carol asked hesitantly, anxious.

  "No, don't worry about it. What happened was planned, sort of. The terrorists wasted a missile, I believe."

  I don't like to think what the expression on my face must have looked like. No wonder Gene said the situation was serious! I wanted to know more.

  "How in hell are those bastards getting missiles into the country? I thought our borders were a lot more secure now."

  "Any nation or group that's determined enough and has fanatics who'll give their lives to the cause will get them in eventually. We may confiscate 99% of the ordinance but all it takes is one—as you just saw. What's bothersome is how those motherfuckers knew where we were. I thought our security was as tight as my asshole got when I saw that missile contrail."

  He spit out the cursing without showing any embarrassment. I don't think he was really all there, in a sense. He must have been worrying about getting us the rest of the way to our destination now that the original schedule had been compromised.

  There was a little dinging noise. Gene looked up and pulled down the earpiece again. I thought it must be a direct connection to the cockpit. My theory was confirmed after he listened for a moment then let it slip back up into its recess overhead. He turned his attention back to us.