Chapter 21   The Unexpected

"Don't say words you're gonna regret.
 Don't let the fire rush to your head.
 I've heard the accusation before and I ain't gonna take any more,
 Believe me.
 The sun in your eyes
 Made some of the lies worth believing.

  I am the eye in the sky Looking at you,
 I can read your mind
 I am the maker of rules dealing with fools,
 I can cheat you blind.
 And I don't need to see any more to know that
 I can read your mind, I can read your mind..."

~~ The Alan Parson's Project   Eye In the Sky

Day and night no longer had any meaning for Polly Maxwell.  All 
sensations of passing time were blended into a continuous, half lucid series events 
that ceased to mean anything other than hell.  When she was awake, she knew 
anything could happen at any time, with no particular schedule to give any 
cohesion to her days. When she slept, she slept hard, scarcely dreaming. It seemed 
there was never enough time to sleep. She hated going to sleep, simply 
because it meant she would have to wake up.  She hated being awake, because 
terrible things happened. There was only a few scattered moments when she was left to 
contemplate where she was, why she was here, and when it would all end.

Where she was hadn't changed, with the exception of her cell. No longer 
housed in the detention block, Polly had been moved to a small barracks 
room, somewhere close to Diana's personal quarters. The cot was only 
marginally more comfortable, and the toilet facilities had just a little more privacy, 
but not much. It seemed that this was Polly's reward for having answered 
Diana's questions during the interrogations she'd undergone. At least, that's 
what she'd been told. Back in the recesses of the mind that she still harbored some 
common sense in, Polly knew that her relocation had more to do with 
convenience, and possibly better security measures. Where she was now, it was faster for 
the guards to fetch her when Diana summoned her, and it was also easier for 
Diana to observe her. And somewhere in the fractured recollections Polly had, 
she knew why Diana was so keen to observe her. There had been a procedure she'd 
undergone, but she couldn't exactly remember how long ago this had 
happened. Part of her logic rebelled that it even  had. In addition to questioning and 
experimenting, Polly was given regular injections, sometimes by an 
assigned technician, and sometimes by Diana herself. It wasn't the same drug she'd been 
given at the interrogation, where she'd been forced to tell the truth to any 
question asked, but rather, it was a sedative of some sort. While still 
remaining physically awake and functional, her sense of emotion and response were 
considerably muted.  When someone came for her, she no longer trembled in fear, 
rebelled, or cried out.  In fact, it wouldn't even occur to her to do so until she'd 
been escorted halfway down the corridor. Often times, Polly had the feeling 
of watching everything that was happening to her as though she were seeing 
it happen to someone else in a movie or on stage. When it was over, Polly could 
never even be completely certain that anything had happened at all when she 
woke up the next day...or night...or whenever...

But little snippets of events would find their way back into her 
memory, especially when it was time for another dose of that "whatever it was" 
drug.  Polly found herself wishing for it, because then, nothing mattered.  
The memories were there, crowding the edges of her mind, waiting their turn.  When 
the drug wore off, she was helpless to prevent the flood of images.  The things 
she knew...

There were numerous blood tests and genetic samples taken. Polly had 
only vague recollections of this, but the stories that Laura had told the 
resistance had been passed down to her.  She'd already known how Abraham had come 
into existence. She could recite, almost chapter and verse, the tearful 
story that Robin had told the family concerning Elizabeth's creation...

Polly once had a dim hope that Diana didn't plan on any more genetic 
experiments...at least none with her. After all, it felt like several 
days and nights had bled into one another without some dashing, he-man, uniformed 
Visitor stud being sent in to impregnate her with his Iguana Seed...

But one day, her luck ran out. Only, Polly didn't know what was coming 
for her when it came for her. Like any other time, she was given her "happy 
hour cocktail", and then she was half walked, half drug down the corridor, 
until she was brought to Diana's lab/office. Instead of being strapped to a 
gravity chair, or worse...led to the bedchamber...Polly was brought in to the 
lab portion of Diana's quarters. From there, the guards lifted her up, stretched 
her out on a draped table and strapped down her arms. Then, she was quickly 
joined in the room by Diana, who was wearing an ordinary white lab coat over her 
uniform. She looked so much like a parody of Julie that it was hard not to 
laugh. In fact, Polly might have if it wasn't for an object that she noticed in 
Diana's gloved hand that looked suspiciously like a turkey baster.

"Polly, my dear, how lovely you look lying there," Diana crooned to 
her, stroking the locks of her hair that were dangling over the edge of the 
table, "I could look at you like that all day...but, the fact is, I have an 
important project in mind for you..."

Polly moaned inwardly, dreading what was coming next.

"You see, you Maxwell women have some rather incredible genetic 
potential. I know you don't think much of your sister, Robin, but I must assure 
you...her DNA is stellar, even if she doesn't live up to her potential. So, my 
dear, is yours. I simply can't allow it to go to waste. Nor can I...neglect to 
honor my dearest friends..."

"Honor your friends?" Polly had choked incrediously, "You have 
friends?"

"Of course I have friends, darling," Diana oozed, "This particular 
friend of mine served me well. He was always willing to listen to me, and was 
quite loyal to me. Since he was the only child in his family, I persuaded him 
to donate some samples during routine physicals in the event that he ever became 
unable to produce children through natural means. In this way, I assured him 
the ability to carry on his family name...What a shame...He'd still be with 
us today if he hadn't been found guilty of attempting to murder the Leader...At 
any rate, Polly, darling, I'd like you to meet Lt. James. I'm quite certain 
the two of you will make a splendid match."

Diana held up the 'turkey baster' for Polly to see. Instantly, Polly 
tried to free herself and wiggle away, but she found herself completely 
restrained and unable to move.

"Relax, my dear," Diana purred to her, as she prepped an unwilling 
Polly for the procedure, "I'm aware of your possible aversion to men. This is why 
I've arranged for your impregnation to happen this way. As you'll see, I can 
be very sensitive to your needs, Polly..."

Despite the humiliation and the torment involved in the "Turkey Baster 
Incident", Polly still did not consider that the worst of all.

The worst was...

Polly didn't want to go there.  She didn't want to remember the ways 
that Diana had amused herself and whetted her appetites on Polly's unwilling 
innocence.  Of all the nasty Diana stories that had been passed around 
the resistance, there was one tale no one ever told of.  She wondered, vaguely, if 
Julie or Robin...or Mike...for that matter, had endured any of it. 
Then, there were the things Diana told her when the torment was 
finished for the moment.  It was almost as though Polly had ceased to be a common 
prisoner, in that regard.  During what seemed to be her saner moments, Diana 
would talk about her daughter, Madeline, insisting that she would get her  back at 
all costs. She told her how Madeline was destined for greatness, because of 
her genetic differences, and because she had been engineered by Diana 
herself. Then, she continued along those lines, telling Polly that the child she'd 
bear would be just like Madeline and Elizabeth...and Abraham, though mercifully, 
she never brought him up again.  Other discussions Diana brought to the 
fore included more information than Polly cared to know about the 
differences between Sirian and human sexual habits. When she'd talked about her relations 
with the late Security Chief, Dale, it sounded as though she was boasting when 
she spoke of how he died as she climaxed. Then, she'd offered Polly the 
opportunity to know the love of a Sirian male for herself...any man of her chosing. 
Polly had the sense of mind at the time to refuse the offer, and as far as she 
knew, her refusal had been honored...at least in the technical sense.  Sometime 
afterwards was when Polly had been introduced to Lt. James via the 
turkey baster procedure.

Some of these dreaded conversations were disguised attempts to bring 
Polly to offer up more information about those in the resistance she knew. Diana 
was a master at manipulation, both mental and physical.  This fact never 
strayed far from Polly's mind, drugged or not.  Everything of value she knew 
had been dragged out of her during the truth serum interrogation.  However, 
Polly was only beginning to realize, in her more lucid moments, that this was 
only part of the game.  More could be learned when one believed they could confide 
in a friend.  To this end, Diana would pull Polly out of her confinement 
just to "chat".  Often times, she'd be offered more of the drug, and food, and 
allowed to sit unrestrained, in any position she chose.  Diana would assume a 
similar pose of making one's self comfortable, all the while, keeping her eyes 
expertly trained on Polly.  Gaurds were always stationed at the door, so escape 
would be unthinkable, even if Polly had the mental strength to do so.  Then, a 
barrage of personal questions would begin.  No topic was considered too 
private.  Diana questioned Polly on her religious background, her favorite foods, 
television shows, college courses and social life.  She seemed particularly 
interested in Polly's past and present dating habits, and anything relating to how 
a young human woman of 19 conducted her life...(outside of fighting with the 
resistance).  Polly, at first, had wondered if she was digging for 
information, so she could use it against her in the conversion chamber Julie had spoken of.  
At a later time, Polly seemed to recall overhearing that there was something 
wrong with the conversion chamber...and that this was the reason why she had 
not been placed into it.

After Polly had dutifly answered every question Diana could think of, 
the sessions usually ended---at first.  As the days wore on, however, the 
game changed. Diana would actually display emotion at some of Polly's 
revelations, and other times, she'd make comments.  Then, more recently, Diana had begun 
to insert some of her own experiences to Polly's conversation.  She even 
told Polly how old she was the first time she'd ever slept with anyone...how she 
felt for Polly losing her father at a young age, because she had too...and that 
she'd found it difficult to form bonds with her peers in school because she 
was so much more intelligent than most other children her age.  Anything she 
could think of, Polly supposed, to make it seem as though Polly could trust her, 
because they had things in common. 

Diana never apologized for any of her actions. She never told Polly 
that she was sorry for the way her soldiers had taken Robin prisoner, nor did 
she ever admit any wrongdoing when it came to ordering Brian to rape Robin so 
that Elizabeth could be conceived. Diana took no responsibility for the 
loss of Kathleen Maxwell at the Mountain Camp, or the death of Robert Maxwell a 
few years later. She merely made a pathetic attempt to sympathize...and draw out 
Polly's feelings on the matter. Then, as Polly learned, her deepest, darkest 
feelings were brought to the light and manipulated into something that, if it 
was the truth, it sounded much uglier than it had to...

"When you think about all you've lost, my poor darling, do you ever 
stop to think about who's to blame?" Diana had asked her, point blank, during 
one "chat" session.

Polly's sarcasm, which was more a part of her than any clothes she ever 
wore, could not bite back a caustic response when she was as doped as she 
was. 

"Is this a trick question? Were you born that dumb, or did you have to 
study?" she retorted, a third of her wishing she could swallow her 
words as soon as she spoke them. Another third was giving herself mental pats on the 
back for having the guts to stand up to the Iguana Queen with such guts, and the 
final third really couldn't care less.

Diana awarded her with one of those dazzling, predatory smiles.

"I do so like you Polly, but you seem to forget something. I wasn't 
born...I was hatched....Now...I know on the surface, you blame us...but...I 
really want you to think about it, my dear. First, I want you to remember the facts 
about your sister's capture, and then I want you to tell me why it was that 
she got captured, and you did not..."

"Binna got taken because she snuck out of the headquarters and got 
caught out after curfew," Polly answered systematically.

"Exactly, my dear. Robin got captured because she broke the rules. You, 
however, did not...so you stayed safe. Your little sister did not break 
the rules, so she stayed safe. Your parents didn't break the rules, so they stayed 
safe..."

"No they didn't" Polly spat, "My mom died at the Mountain Camp! I told 
you that! She did not stay safe!"

"Yes, it's a terrible shame, isn't it. Your mother would still be alive 
today if Robin hadn't broken the rules, now wouldn't she..."

"I know," Polly agreed, tears spilling down her cheeks, "Sometimes I 
hate her for it..."

"So, you do blame Robin," Diana concluded.

So, you do blame Robin...

If Polly had come to this conclusion on her own, or even on a shrink's 
couch after she had some nervous breakdown and needed to get her head 
together, she might have been able to accept this realization with the resolve needed 
to sort through it in a constructive sort of way. But, Diana was no 
shrink, and when Polly was left to her own devices, she tried not to let herself dwell 
on the discussions they had. 

So, Polly tried to digest all of this with little emotion, especially 
since the drugs she was on seemed to help in that department.  The worst, she 
learned, was yet to come.  She couldn't remember precisely when the 
tide had turned. Had it had been last night or the night before? But, she was smart 
enough to sense it while it happened, despite the dose of medication.  It was 
sometime after the turkey baster procedure, that much Polly was sure of. That 
was when Polly had been transferred to her new barracks.  

Then, Diana had sent in the guards to bring Polly in for yet another 
chat.  This next session started much like any other, except that she began 
discussing her plans for Polly's pregnancy.  If Polly was pregnant, she didn't yet 
know, but that didn't seem to matter.  Diana told her that the "Enlightened 
One" had assured her that the procedure was a success. Then, she went off on 
a tangent about these "Enlightened One" that spoke to her on a highly 
personal basis, and advised her on various courses of action she should take to bring 
salvation and an end to the suffering of the Sullam Voe. She told Polly 
that she would be instrumental in this plan. All she had to do was bring forth the 
child that Diana had engineered.  

Polly had shown little in the way of emotion upon hearing any of this. 
She was getting to be an expert at hiding any adverse reaction she might 
have to anything she heard, with or without drugs.  Diana seemed heedless to 
anything Polly might have been thinking.  She'd gotten up from her chair, 
approached Polly, and bent over her, making a fuss of smoothing her hair.  Then, 
she'd whispered into her ear that she should put aside any doubts she might 
have that the procedure hadn't worked, as though Polly might be distressed that 
things might not go as Diana had planned.  She continued on about her knowledge of 
the Catholic religion, and how those of the Catholic faith believed in 
miracles. Diana then confessed that she, too, believed in miracles, and told her that 
the Enlightened Ones would work one for Polly, as they had done for her.  
Polly had no idea what Diana was rambling on about, and as far as she could 
guess, her confusion showed on her face.  Therefore, to enlighten her, Diana had 
told Polly all about the circumstances surrounding Madeline's creation...a test 
tube starchild...and how she wished that she could have borne Madeline from 
her own womb...except that she knew she was breaking about 50,000 mandates, and 
being pregnant would soon make Madeline's unique genetic composition obvious 
to all. Not to mention, she confided to Polly, she had many enemies, and she 
did not want her daughter to become a target to them. By creating her in 
secret, they'd never have the chance to take her out before she got old enough to 
assume some power.  Then, Diana took both of Polly's hands into her own, and smiled 
at her like one good girlfriend would to another. Her smile had then grown 
cold and almost cruel.  

"You see, Polly," she had told her as she squeezed her hands until they 
almost  hurt, "You will bear a child. If you do not bear it in your 
womb, I have other ways to assure your cooperation. And, I will take the same 
precautions with your child as I have taken with my own. No one will take it from 
me."  After telling her this, she'd given Polly another pleased smile and told her 
that she would be well rewarded if she loyaly performed her duties.  The 
Enlightened One would see to it.  No sooner had the words left Diana's mouth when 
Polly noticed a small, liquid, green drop splatter onto her own hand.  
Another had quickly followed.  Moments later, Diana quickly pulled back, dropping 
Polly's hands.  Polly realized that this was lizard blood...on her hand and a 
small wet stain on the front of her gown. Diana was pinching her nostrils closed 
to prevent anymore blood from escaping. She'd dissappeared into the 
bathroom, returning a few minutes later. The nosebleed had been stopped, and she 
turned a wrathful look at Polly.

"That will be all for now," she'd snapped. Then, she'd had the guards 
take Polly away and put her back into her barracks.  To Polly's 
recollection, she hadn't been back.  The guards had not come for her since, and she'd had 
no medication, either. How ago had that been?  Had it even happened?  
Polly's head was clear enough now to remember.  She sat up, and glanced at her 
wristwatch.  The hours no longer had any meaning.  Her hand was still faintly stained 
green from the drop of blood that had landed on it that she'd wiped off on 
her gown.  It had happened. All of it had. Now, she felt another fear gnawing in 
the pit of her stomach...Perhaps Diana knew something she didn't. Maybe there 
was a reason the guards hadn't been in to give her more medicine...

Expectant women weren't supposed to have medicines.

"Oh, God, help me," Polly whimpered to herself. No one answered.

***************************************************************

Diana stood in her office, scowling at the transmission recording she'd 
been sent from the Homeworld two days ago. Her exposure of Phillip and 
Lydia's treachery had been duly noted, and an investigation team was being sent 
promptly. The mere thought of an investigation team was enough to send Diana's 
crest crawling. The last "team" had spawned Phillip, the biggest traitor of 
them all. 

She'd really wanted to send a task force Planetside to act on the 
information that Polly Maxwell had given her, have them go to the Bernstein's 
house, and bring her the boy hybrid, Abraham. Now, that would have to wait until 
this blasted investigation was finished. It wouldn't do well to have a 
'contraband' hybrid on board the ship when an investigation squad comprised of high 
ranking officers was on the Mothership, poking their forks into everything. 
Instead, to console and amuse herself,  Diana would take whatever time she could 
manage to gloat over the now preserved remains of Lydia, that was stored in a 
guarded crypt in the morgue.  What was left of Lydia would provide ample proof 
that she had indeed injested a lethal dose of self administered poison. 
Still wearing the traditional, black, Earth manufactured clothing she'd been captured 
in, there was little doubt of Lydia's duplicitous nature.  All weapons and 
devices that had been removed from Lydia's person after her imprisonment, 
including tiny, auditory amplification devices found in her inner ears. 
Everything  had been catalouged and stored as well. It was all 
proof positive that Lydia had been participating in Earth resistance 
activities.  

Diana had no such physical evidence for Phillip's activities, but the 
two confessions she had on record (Polly Maxwell's and Dale's), and 
Philip's subsequent disappearance would speak for itself. The confidence that 
her claims would stand up to the scrutiny of any investigation team was there in full 
force. Still, experience had taught her that there was no such thing as 
certainty. She would not make the same mistakes again.

The time for gloating and wondering was over, though. The latest 
transmission she'd received a few hours ago had informed her that the investigation 
team was within Earth's range, and would be docking this morning. Diana 
found herself wondering how it was possible that the team could have made it 
so quickly...unless the team had been dispatched from Rendevous Station, 
as opposed to the Homeworld.  That distance could be traversed in four hours on the 
fastest of shuttles, and many more hours on the slower ones.  If the message had 
been relayed to the Homeworld, a team readied and dispatched, notification 
sent to Diana, and then their arrival less than 48 hours later, it was the only 
thing that made any sense.  This infuriated Diana.  With the importance of 
her accusations, this investigation wasn't something that should be handled 
by a bunch of rank amateurs hastily assembled from Rendevous Station. Unless, of 
course, the Wise Leader had exhausted his supply of trustworthy appointees better 
suited to the task.  This thought was enough to make her smile, even if only 
to herself.  At last, it seemed, the Enlightened One was paving the road 
for her.  The Leader was showing some potential weaknesses. 

Meanwhile, she'd finally managed to obtain another worthwhile candidate 
for her own plans. There was no way she'd let Polly Maxwell escape, like 
her sister and Elizabeth had...like Laura had..and, so it seemed for now, like 
Madeline had too. Diana was still conviced that Philip was responsible for 
Madeline's disappearance, and she was equally convinced that finding him and 
punishing him would reveal her daughter's whereabouts as well. For now, she had to 
content herself with the knowledge given to her by merit of being Madeline's 
mother. Her daughter, wherever she was, was in no immediate danger that she 
could sense. The instincts that had guided her to place more guards at the 
camp hadn't prevented the catastrophe from occurring...However, those insights had 
brought her daughter back to her, even if only for a short time. They'd also 
provided for the capture of Lydia, Ham Tyler, and Polly Maxwell, even if losing 
Sean Donovan was the cost.  When all was said and done, Diana still had 
Lydia's carcass, Dale's confession, Philip's exposure, and Polly....and 
Madeline was still alive somewhere.  The Enlightened One had guided her well.  And, so it 
seemed, they were guiding her again.

The docking bay announcement broke into her thoughts. Taking a moment to 
gently ease the knots of tension building in her stomach, she grimaced 
at the thought of what could be causing her discomfort. Once again, she was 
due for a Season, and there was no masquer to be had anywhere. Soon, every male 
on board the ship would be clamoring for her attention, yet for the first time in 
her life, Diana had little interest in them. Her late lover's betrayal 
still left the bitter tang of venom in her mouth. Her body was only just beginning to 
betray her condition, and perhaps there was still time to coax the 
unfertillized egg from her body, as she had when she'd begun the Season that had spawned 
Ma'thal'ee. However, since Phillip had made her destroy the important 
contents of her lab, Diana was left with no other alternative but to dispose of the egg 
her body would produce this time. She made up her mind that this would be 
done as soon as she was afforded a free moment.  After all, she did not need 
the added complications of Seasoning added to the stress of an investigation.  It 
was no wonder her nose had bled unexpectedly.  All of the stress was likely 
causing an unwelcome and possibly even an unhealthy spike in her lactic acid 
levels.

Putting aside all personal thoughts, Diana turned on her heel and 
strode toward the docking bay, ignoring the slight sense of vertigo that she 
felt as the lift carried her down. If either of the two guards flanking her sides 
noticed, they were wise not to show it. It was time to see what the Enlightened 
One had in store.

The formality of an assigned rank was something Pa'theha, now also known as Patricia, never bothered to display. For one thing, it kept her  subordinates in  the dark, which, in turn, led to few questions. Secondly, Patricia had  no use  for pomp and circumstance. Ceremonies and decorations were for  politicians  and overbloated military beaurocrats, not for seasoned veterans such as  herself.  Dressed simply in a sensible, black, one piece coverall, her garb  suited her  rank and her personality just fine. Her only call to vanity was the pride she took when noticing that her choice of uniform still fit the same as it  had  forty years ago, when she'd first begun her career. Her taut, well  muscled, lean  frame wasn't betrayed by the tight fit of her clothing, despite the  fact that  she was a year shy of her sixtieth birthday.  

 In addition, she'd survived countless asassination attempts, succeeded  at  three times as many assassinations of others, suffered through an ill  fated  marriage, and born  a set of fraternal twin hatchlings, and raised a  third as her  own.  Her twins were past thirty now. One was stationed on Earth, and  the  thought of her left a bad taste in Patricia's mouth. The other had been  institutionalized since the age of ten, and would remain so for the  rest of her life. The  hatchling she'd raised as her own was seated beside her. Though he was  not  biologically her son, David had never been told of this fact, and he  believed  Pa'theha to be his mother. Recently promoted to Commander, he still  hadn't lost  the exuberant air of a crivit in season, but he had learned to control  his  excitement in public

.At twenty five, her 'son', David was the fleet's  youngest  commander.    Despite his youth (and his exuberance), he possessed a cunning and an  intelligence that made command a natural ability for him. In addition,  he had a  natural charisma.  Already, the political rumblings were beginning in  his favor.   A few years of good service in the military, and David would be ready  to step  into the political arena. Without a doubt, he would have a bevy of  supporters  by then, too.  

Someday, Patricia knew, David would unsurp his father's  command.  This thought did not distress her in the least.  She had  worked faithfully  in the service of the Leader for a good many years now.  She was still  as  loyal now as she had been back then.  However, succession was the  natural order of  things.  Though not officially recognized by grounds of marriage, David  was  the Leader's son.  If anyone would take power over the Leader someday,  as was  inevitable, the honor should go to David, regardless of weather or not  David  earned his place by conquer or sucession. Patricia would accept and be  proud of  either outcome.  The shuttle bearing Patricia, David, and the assembly of her black  garbed  Special Forces Regiment touched down with an audible thump in the  docking bay of  the Los Angeles Mothership. 

 Patricia's regiment; a group of 12 highly  trained  combatants, was not unheard of in the circles of military and political  lore.   Referred to as "Pa'theha's Dozen",  the task force was rumored to take  on  highly secretive assignments passed down from the Leader himself.  Over  the  years, many of the faces in her regiment had changed. The nature of the  assignments they undertook guaranteed that none of them had ever lived  to see  retirement..and only a handful had lived to be reassigned.  The stories  got bloodier and  grittier as the decades passed, but there was always one constant.   This  regiment was Pa'theha's Dozen.  Her presence was the only unchanging  factor.  She  commanded it and breathed life into it...and every fable ever hatched,  either  real or embellished, had stemmed from her skill and experiences.  Those  under  her command reacted appropriately.    

When the shuttle hatch opened, every single one of them was on their  feet,  without her having to issue an order.  Their weapons, all clean and  gleaming,  were at the ready, even though they were doing nothing more ominous at  present  than greeting a docking party.  Beside Patricia, David rose, and  assumed his  most neutral expression.  His excitement was quickly hidden within an  impassive  expression shown on his human guise.  Patricia was still somewhat  mirthful at  the indignity of having to make her first appearance on Earth wearing a  human  guise of her own.  To her, this seemed foolish.  Rumor even had it that  most  humans were already aware of the true appearance of the Sullam Voe.   However,  wasting time arguing the point was not her style.  Patricia took her customary place at the head of the formation exiting  the  shuttle. 

 Behind her, the regiment moved into position to flank David,  as they'd  been trained to do, lest there be an unexpected attack on his life.   This, of  course, was something the Leader himself had cautioned of.  When it  came to  the Los Angeles Mothership, he had warned her to expect the unexpected.   The  warning was a waste of time, where Patricia was concerned.  She had a  better  idea of what went on in the Los Angeles Mothership than he suspected.   In fact,  Patricia felt that he should know better than to warn her.  She'd known  that  the Los Angeles Mothership was doomed from the moment John lost command  of it.   Pamela had failed too, as had Charles, and now Phillip.  (And she'd  always had  her suspicions about Phillip's loyalties...)    In Patricia's opinion, the Leader should have sent her in to take care  of  business long ago.  At last, it seemed, he'd finally wised up. One  stood to gain  nothing when one left an incompetent lunatic such as Diana in control  of  things.  Patricia mused that it was a wonder Diana could even control  her own  bladder, let alone a Mothership...and she knew that another grand day  in the span  of her long, fruitful career would be at hand the day she issued Diana  her  walking papers. 

That day was at hand.  Patricia could sense a quiet  smugness in  David as he proceeded down the ramp behind her. He knew what she  knew...at least  most of it. David had taken temporary command of Rendezvous Station  when Dale  had taken his interim post as the Security Chief on the Mothership.  Now,  though, Dale was dead, and reportedly a 5th Columnist. It would seem  that David's  post would be more than temporary. So, in addition to his command at  Rendezvous Station, David had been called in to investigate the  allegations Diana had  brought to light...but unbeknownst to her, his job was really to  reroute the  Los Angeles Mothership to Rendezvous Station and 'clean house'. When  Diana did  learn of his true motives, she would likely flip her crest. This would  be a  first taste of professional victory for him.  As for her motives on this distant hunk of rock known as Planet Earth,  Patricia intended to conclude them as efficiently as possible, although  she knew she  was faced with some daunting tasks. It was a fortunate thing she had  been on  Rendezvous Station when everything had come to a head.  

In addition to the twelve active members on the squad, Patricia's  regiment  was also comprised of several ranks of reserves. These reserves were at  work on  the home planet, in security jobs, protecting high ranking officials.   She  always had room for more reserve members, and from their ranks, she  would recruit  new squad members to fill vacancies in her Primary regiment. Camp  Bernadino,  under the instruction of Roland, had been training a young human by the  name  of Sean Donovan who met all of the criteria used for selecting  reservists.  Patricia had been interested in seeing how a human would perform on the  squad and  had wanted to train him. Unfortunately, according to a reports sent to  Rendezvous Station, the Los Angeles Resistance had launched a raid on  her training  camp, freeing Sean. Philip had been sent to investigate the incident,  and he was  supposed to have sent a report to her....  

But so far, she'd heard nothing from him. It seemed to support Diana's  claims  that he'd defected to the 5th column, although it might also simply  mean that  he'd had an unfortunate accident in space and had never made it to  Earth.  However, Patricia knew that something strange was going on at that  camp.  She'd  received a package from the Infirmary Director, shortly after Philip  had left.  In it were several photographs, a blood sample, and documentation  explaining  origins of what was in the package. Sylvester told her that this was  living  proof that "Diana is at it again", and has "created another hybrid".  

"This one  is called Madeline, and has been assigned to this camp by the Inspector  General, although I do not know if he knows of Madeline's true nature.  One thing is  certain: Diana knows what she is, and she has threatened me to secrecy.  When  you come to collect Master Donovan, you may wish to collect this  specimen, too.  I hope you can come soon, because Diana has told me that she plans to  find  another, more suitable placement for Madeline. Yours sincerely,  Sylvester."  

Patricia had taken the samples to her trusted Science Officer, Melissa,  and  had them run immediately. Sure enough, Sylvester's claims appeared to  be true.  Patricia also had photographs that Sylvester had taken of the girl  while she'd  slept in the infirmary. It had been a shame that it was too late to  question  Philip about her, as he had already departed for Earth.   Patricia fully intended to visit the camp. She knew Sean Donovan was  gone,  but she hoped to find the hybrid and exterminate it. She also had plans  to find  out just how Diana had gotten this hybrid, and make certain that it  could not  happen again.  Patricia strode down the ramp without taking the time to marvel that  she was  technically setting foot on Earth for the first time in her fifty nine  years.  

 She only cared about two things: David's safety, and the look she would  likely be treated to when Diana saw her emerge.  As she suspected,  Patricia was  quickly rewarded.  Diana, standing at the front of her welcoming party  of  officers, flanked by two helmeted guards, looked like she was about to  faint.  At  least, for a second.  Then, she appeared to recover quickly to all but  the most  trained of observers.  Patricia, of course, was of the more astute  class of  onlookers.  

"Greetings, Diana," Patricia enunciated carefully, working her mouth  around  the peculiar English words she'd learned so recently. Learning the  human  pronunciation of the chosen name of the Los Angeles Mothership's  commander was not  difficult. Her true name, D'ana, was eerily similar. The rest of  Patricia's  vocabulary was much harder. She labored much more than she was  accustomed to,  just so she'd have the pleasure of clearly telling  Diana all that was  needed.  Despite her efforts, Patricia kept her dissatisfaction at hearing the  inflections of her heavy, reverberating accent at bay.  

"Greetings..." Diana returned, clearly put off at being at a distinct  disadvantage.  

"You may address me as Patricia. This is Commander David. We have been  sent  on request of the Leader to conduct an investigation."  

"Yes, so I was informed," Diana replied contritely.  

"Very well then.  I can see by your welcoming committee that you were  expecting us. There's no call for all of this, however.  It's a waste  of time, and  there is precious little time to waste, no."  

If Diana was ruffled by Patricia's proclamation, she made no show of  it.   With a dismissive gesture, the visibly thinned ranks of the assembled  officers  were ordered to return to their regular duties, with the exception of  one.  The  rank insignia on his uniform denoted the man to be of security  personnell.   Patricia knew that he was really nothing more than a glorified guard  with an  officer's rank.  Most likely, he was the Guard Captain, or in charge of  personal  security and escort services. This told Patricia that, at the very  least,  Diana was worried about the presence of black clad commando unit enough  to desire  his presence, in addition to her two regularly assigned guards, to  accompany  her.    Together, the group was led to the more private confines of Diana's  office.   The members of Patricia's regiment silently lined themselves along the  perimeter. Diana's guard compliment found themselves at a distinct  numerical  disadvantage, but they remained at Diana's side, quiet, unruffled and  unobtrusive.   David remained under the close scrutiny of the regiment. He stood next  to  Patricia, silently observing all his eyes could take in. The computer  console on  Diana's desk appeared to command the majority of his attention.    

Once situated, Patricia wasted no time bringing forth the Leader's  instructions.  "These are some extremely serious charges you've implicated Philip  with. I  know you understand how closely the Leader relied on him, no? The  Leader wants  any and all sources of information you've gathered concerning Phillip's  activities," she stated.  

"Yes, I'm aware of how serious these charges are. However, proof is  proof.   Two sources have confessed to traitorous dealings with Philip. I have  their  statements on file. Furthermore, I have proof that Lydia was involved,  and that  Philip intentionally covered up for her involvement with the Los  Angeles  Resistance," Diana replied in a confident tone of voice.  

"The Leader is aware of your claims of substantiation.  He wants the  proof  for himself, and he has authorized David to retrieve the proof as a  neutral,  third party."  

The look of smugness that had been present on Diana's face only moments  ago  dissolved like sugar in water.  "The Leader has authorized for David to access my personal files?" she  asked,  incrediously, "Without my permission?"  

"Your permission for access was not required.  All of your files are  military  property, or have you forgotten that, no?  Of course, I'm sure the  Leader was  aware that you would object to what would seem like an intrusion, so  David  was ordered to override the security systems and access the files from  Rendevous  Station.  He has the needed information, and he has already transmitted  it to  the Leader.  In response to what he's learned, the Leader has mandated  some  actions."  

"Is that so?" Diana replied coldly.  

"Yes, it is so.  His specifications require David and I to travel here  and  obtain the rest of what he needs.  First on the list, of course, is  Phillip.   From your data, we've learned that Phillip...and his shuttle... are  reported  missing.  So too is a human resistance prisoner.  Capturing Philip and  bringing  him in for questioning is one of my primary objectives," Patricia  stated.  

"Well, of course...."  

"There's other matters to contend with as well. I understand that you  have  the body of Lydia stored on board this vessel."  

Diana nodded, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

 "Lydia's body will be transported back to the homeworld. All evidence  of her  activities will be examined. If your claims are substantiated, justice  will be  served."  

"Justice was already served, as far as Lydia is concerned.  She's  dead."  

"Ah, yes, but the issue of accountability will be explored.  The Leader  is  well aware of the activities of the 5th Column. Numerous attempts to  eradicate  the situation have failed.  Because of this, he has instituted a new  policy  to...ensure a smaller degree of defection within the ranks, no?." 

 "What new policy is this?" Diana inquired, her voice betraying a slight  hint  of greedy interest.  

"It's the Policy of Accountability.  When one is not properly  indoctrined  with the correct values of loyalty and duty, one may be swayed to give  support to  rebellious, treacherous, and anarchist ideals.The proper morals should  be  ingrained in the minds of the youngest of hatchlings. When an  individual grows up  and decides to betray his or her people, is it merely enough to punish  them,  or should others be punished as well?  The Leader believes that any  surviving  parents of these traitors, as well as any of the traitor's known  supporters  should be punished too.  After all, it is a parent's responsibilty to  shape the  minds and the morals of the young, no?  Rearing a traitorous child  points to a  possible weakness in parental standards of values....and possibly even  the  idea that it was the parent's poisoned morals that corrupted the  child..."  

Diana rolled her eyes.  "In other words, the Leader feels that if anyone is contemplating  joining up  with the 5th column, they might change their minds if they knew their  parents  would be punished if their activities were discovered?"  

"I'm quite certain he had thoughts of that sort in mind when he  instituted  the policy.  Both of Lydia's parents are alive, and they have been  detained on  the homeworld until a determination of Lydia's guilt can be made.  If  evidence  posthumously convicts her, they will be executed."  

"Well, since both Lydia and her brother were discovered to be traitors,  perhaps this reasoning has some logic."  

"And, from what I understand, you fed Nigel's body to the crivits. The  Leader  is not pleased with this.  You're only lucky that you did not mete out  the  same decree when it came to disposing of Dale's remains. I trust you  still have  his body in keep, no?" 

 Diana nodded silently.  There wasn't much Patricia could read from the  expression on her face, but she knew, much to her quiet satisfaction,  that things  were about to get much worse.  

"Now that David has accessed your files, Diana, certain other issues  have  come to light.  You can rest assured that your files weren't the only  ones  pursued.  All of Lydia and Phillip's logs were examined.  You should be  informed  that there wasn't much in either of their files that could be used to  implicate  them, but seldom is there, no?  There were some notations made in  Phillip's  logs that aroused some suspicions, though.  What was found in your  scientific  logs seems to back up his notated insinuations, and I'm afraid these  items do not  put you in a very good light..." 

"What in the name of parching thirst are you talking about?  Are you  insinuating that the Leader believes I'm involved with the 5th  column!?"  Diana  exclaimed.  All pretenses of remaining calm were starting to leave her. 

"Did I say that?"  Patricia returned in a tone of voice that was as  abrasive  as steel wool.  

"Then what in the hell are you saying?  What could a traitor possibly  have to  say that could implicate me in some sort of unflattering light?" 

"It's not just what Phillip's files imply.  Yours do too.  It appears  that  you have been conducting unauthorized experiments involving the mating  of Sirian  and Human subjects."  

"The Leader already knows about Elizabeth Maxwell.  In fact, he gave me  authorization to conduct that experiment," Diana snapped.  

"Yes, he did indeed, no?  However, when that experiment failed to  produce  beneficiary results, did he authorize you to conduct any more of these  procedures?"  

Diana's eyes smoldered in reply. 

Patricia let out one small, cold smile  and  continued.  "The Leader was not pleased with how Elizabeth Maxwell turned out. He  now  considers her to be an abomination and a threat to our well being, and he has for some time. Now, in light of the most recent  developments, he wants her to be captured and put to death. Keep in  mind, Diana, that  Elizabeth was temporarily able to commandeer control of the Leader's  will and  force him to navigate the shuttle back to Earth, where he could have  died from exposure to the Red Dust. That episode has never sat well with him. The  last  thing he would have ever authorized is for the creation of more of her  kind!"  

David handed Patricia a data pad, which she then allowed Diana to view.  "As you can now see, we know about what you did to L'ura..Laura Kathka,  a  Communications Specialist that was assigned under your command.  Your  latest  entries, logged down after an interrogation session with a human  prisoner you have  on board right now, Polly Maxwell, confirm the existance of another  hybrid  abomination by the name of Abraham Bernstein...born to none other than  Laura  Kathka.  Phillip's logs also indicate knowledge of this secondary  experiment,  although no identity was given to the offspring. Therefore, under the  Leader's  orders, I will also locate and exterminate this Abraham Bernstein."  

Diana remained mute, although Patricia knew her well enough to expect  that  she was most likely fuming.  The knowledge gave her even more incentive  to  continue.  Standing beside Patricia, David managed to look quite smug,  though he  reamained utterly silent.  

"And, it seems that you've done it yet again," Patricia continued,  "Your  latest prisoner acquisition.  This Polly Maxwell, sister of Robin  Maxwell, the  mother of Elizabeth Maxwell.  You've attempted to impregnate her with  Sirian  sperm, as you've annotated in your science journal. Only a few days  ago, in fact.  You've also noted that small genetic adjustments were made to Polly's  biology  to facilitate this sort of twisted reproduction. Similar adjustments  were made  to Laura and Robin Maxwell; most notably to their immune systems..to  keep  them from rejecting the products of conception. Any tampering of this  sort with a  biological entity has the potential of causing permanent  aterations...making  it possible for these candidates to conceive of these sorts of  monstrosities  again, no?  Of course, the answer is right here, in the case of Robin  Maxwell.  You knew the potential for her to get pregnant with another hybrid was  there,  because you tried to have another Sirian male, one by the name of John  Langely, impregnate her at a later date. I think I am making it pretty  clear what is  to happen here, no? The Leader is adamant about eradicating any  hybrids..and  the potential components responsible for the possibility of there being  more..."  

"Get to the point," Diana snarled. 

"Polly Maxwell, and whatever hideous genetic abboration she might be  pregnant  with, are to be executed before I take leave of this ship.  I plan to  be  terranside, conducting my investigation in two hour's time. I will  personally see  to it that her body is preserved and ready to be transported for a full  investigation before I go anywhere.  When I return, not only will I  have Phillip,  but I will also have the bodies of Elizabeth and Robin Maxwell, Laura  Kathka,  Brian Kathka, and Abraham Bernstein..."  

Patricia was mildly surprised when Diana let out with a cold laugh.  "If you'd read the testimonial from Polly Maxwell's confession, you'd  know  that both Brian Kathka and Laura Kathka are dead," she said.  

"Did you witness their deaths?"  Patricia countered. "They well may be  dead,  but I will have what remains of them...and any genetic alterations done  to  them, as proof for the Leader.  Yes, I did thoroughly read the  testimonial.  The  only death here that I am convinced of is that of Abraham's father,  Daniel  Bernstein, no?  Steven notated his execution of Daniel.  There does  seem to be  substantial claim in Steven's report to suggest that Brian may be dead,  as it is  documented that the Resistance captured him.  It makes no difference to  me.   Unless the resistance cremated his remains, and Laura's, I will find  them."  She then fastened a hard look at Diana, and with a barely perceptible  motion  of her hand, she ordered David to distance himself somewhat.  "In light of all of this, Diana, it should not surprise you that I also  know  about the one you did not report in the data logs...the one called  Madeline.  Why is it that you have no data logs on her?" 

Various emotional expressions passed across Diana's human guise from  barely  controlled rage to amusement.  "Why should I tell you a damn thing?" she snapped.  

With a stunningly quick movement, Patricia produced a small but lethal  looking blaster from a holster strapped to the side of her thigh.  She  leveled it  point blank at Diana's chest, with her finger lightly hovering over the  trigger.  "You can also consider yourself a potential target.  In all fairness,  if I am  to eliminate all hybrids and the sources of their conception, and  provide  proof of decease to the Leader,  I should dispose of you right now and  haul your  carcass back to Sirius. After all, none of these atrocities would have  been  created if it were not for your meddling, no?"  

"You wouldn't DARE!" Diana exploded, in a challenging tone that  suggested  that she was unafraid of the weapon pointed at her, "You wouldn't DARE  kill your own daughter!"  

"I would be very careful of the assumptions you make, D'ana.  I may  have  incubated you in my own womb and hatched you, but I do not claim you as  my  daughter. You lost all consideration as such when you decided to  pollute our species  with these half human, mutant laboratory experiments, against our  Leader's  orders. Consider the Leader's Proclamation of Authority mandate. You  have shamed  me to an unforgiveable degree, no?  I will not allow you to commit  anymore  acts of such a deplorable nature.  If you attempt to continue, I will  also be  held accountable, and quite simply, I will give you no further  opportunity to  publicly humilate me, ruin my career...or worse.  If I have to pull  this trigger  to ensure that, don't assume I would not be happy to do it, no?"  

Diana's two personal guards stepped forward with their sidearms ready,  even  though they were well aware that any acts to protect their commander  would  likely result in a swift retalliation from Patricia's commandoes. Diana  stepped  between the guards in an attempt to partially shield herself.   Patricia could not prevent the sneer from forming on her lips. Then,  she  lowered her gun, but did not replace it in it's holster.  Diana let go  of an  audible sigh of relief.  "First things first.  Phillip will be captured, and he will be brought  to the  Homeworld to be questioned.  Since your testimony is necessary, it  stands to  reason that you should arrive on Sirius alive and able to give your  statements.  If you are lucky, and mind you, this has nothing to do  with your  exemplarary service record..rather, it has to do with mine...you will  be spared  prosecution. However, effective as of now, you have been relieved of  all command and  all of your duties. Your official status is retirement discharge.  That  status  is honorable, at least, but is subject to change if you make any  attempts to  defy me. If you should try, your official status will reflect your  death in the  line of duty. As of this moment, command of this vessel is assigned to  David.   He will oversee the execution of Polly Maxwell, and all other day to  day  responsibilities on board this ship until I return. When I come back,  under the  Leader's orders, this ship is to depart from Earth. We will dock at  Rendevous  Station. From there, each and every personnell member will be  debriefed. Anyone  suspected of being involved with the 5th Column will be dealt with  accordingly. Everyone else will be given new assignments. Except for  you. Now that you  are retired, you are considered a civilian, and no civilian is granted  any  authority to make decisions or issue commands on a military vessel, no?   Do I make  myself clear?" 

 Diana only blinked an astonished reply. 

Patricia slowly holstered her  weapon  and turned to David.  "As the new Commander, the Leader has issued you his first order. You  are to  have the guards prepare the execution area for the termination of Polly  Maxwell. Keep in mind that he wants a method that will keep her body  intact for  scientific study. I will be departing two hours from now, and the area  should be  prepared and the prisoner summoned and made ready by then, no?  I now  leave the  rest to you. This vessel, and all personnel are officially under your  command  now."  

David issued a quick but respectful salute.  Patricia turned to the two  guards and their Captain. David cleared his throat and spoke  authoritatively.  "Protecting civillians is not in your job description. Preparing the  final  area is.  See to it at once."  

All three of them snapped quick salutes to David, and slowly backed  away from  Diana. She shot them all deadly looks as they abandoned their previous  post  and retreated to their newly ordered assignments.	

***************************************************************

Orlando's heart pounded in his chest as he considered what he had just 
witnessed. Diana had just been relieved of her command. Though this did 
not distress him in the least, the prospect of serving under the command of the 
fabled political mercenary, Pa'theha, and her stoolie Commander David
gave him the cold sweats.  The prospect of all personnel, himself 
included, departing for Rendezvous Station to be debriefed and evaluated for any 
possible 5th Column loyalties troubled him even more. As Captain of Guard and 
Escort Support, he had worked closely with both Phillip, Nigel, and Dale, and 
he had alot to hide.  Somehow, he'd managed to escape Diana's notice, even 
though he was technically the one that had gotten Nigel off the ship and down to 
Visitor Fields. He'd also kept in brief contact with Howie, and knew that the 
resistance wanted their human prisoner back, and he'd agreed to do what 
he could to help. Unfortunately, no opportunity to secret Polly Maxwell off the 
ship had presented itself...until now.

There was only one obstacle in the way. That, of course, was Andrea. 
Orlando had never liked her, mostly because she had openly antagonized Laura 
when Laura had still been on board the mothership. Andrea, of course, had 
nothing to fear of any interrogations at Rendezvous Station. She was a loyalist in 
the highest, and a Diana worshipper as well. The plan Orlando had in mind 
to spring Polly Maxwell off the mothership would likely involve Andrea's demise. 
This did not disturb him as much as the realization that he didn't care if she 
died did. What he suddenly cared most about was getting himself, the human 
prisoner, and as many other 5th Columnists off the ship before it left for 
Rendezvous Station as he could manage before David or Patricia caught wind of it.

Of the two guards walking with him to the final area, only one would 
still be on duty when Polly was scheduled to be executed.  That was Andrea. The 
other, Paul, would be off shift in an hour. That would have to be sufficient 
time. Quickly, he ordered Andrea and Paul to begin the necessary 
preparations. Then, he excused himself while they complied with his orders.

Five minutes later, Orlando found himself in the Main Recreation Hall.  
Scanning the room quickly, he was rewarded to find his close friend 
Jaime, standing amidst a group of onlookers observing a lively game of Fru'kah.  Jaime 
was dressed in her guard uniform, because she was scheduled to relieve Paul 
in an hour. She looked up after a few moments and noticed Orlando's gaze.  
With a barely perceptible motion of his head, he summoned Jaime to meet with 
him.  She excused herself from the crowd and met him outside the Recreation Hall 
doors.

"We need to go someplace private to talk," Orlando told her in hushed 
tones.  She nodded quietly, and they immediately assumed a pose as two lovers 
seeking privacy. No one looked twice as they navigated the corridors to 
Orlando's small quarters. Once inside, Orlando let out a deep sigh of worry and 
began to inform Jaime on all he had witnessed.  Jaime's eyes, disguised behind 
sky blue contacts were widened in shock.

"Dragon Lady Di has been decommissioned?" she gasped in her trained 
southern accent. She had only been serving in Los Angeles for a couple of years. 
Her original assignment had been on the New Orleans Mothership.

"That is the only good news this whole afternoon.  We have to get 
ourselves out of here, as quickly as possible, and we have to spread the word as 
quietly as possible," Orlando replied, trying to supress a nervous hiccup.

"I always knew this day would come," Jaime said.

"Yes, I suppose I did too, but...I cannot believe I am contemplating my 
future...living on Earth!"

"It will not be so bad," Jaime said in a tone of voice that was meant 
to convince herself and Orlando at the same time. "My cousin has been 
living down there in Los Angeles for some time now.  If he can do it, I know I 
can...and so can you.  Besides, it beats what will happen to us at Rendezvous 
Station."

"Suppose we could hook up with this cousin of yours once we get 
Terranside?  I have absolutely no idea where to go once we leave here."

"I will find Willie," Jaime responded, "You let me worry about us when 
we get down there.  I will let you worry about how to get us out of here."

"Well, I've been thinking on it, and I think I know what will work.  
Paul is scheduled to be off when you come on.  About 10 minutes before your 
shift is due to start, get yourself into Polly Maxwell's cell, and wait.  I will 
release Paul from duty five minutes early.  Then, Andrea and I will come for 
Polly.  When we key open the door..."

Orlando gave Jaime a nervous look, his long tougue darting out to 
moisten his suddenly dry feeling lips before he continued.

"When the door closes behind us, I mean...uh...you will have to..."

"Shoot Andrea." Jaime finished.

"She will rat us out if we do not take her out.  And...Polly will need 
her uniform if her escape is to have a chance at going unnoticed."

"So, then, we put Polly in Andrea's uniform and escape to the docking 
bay?"

"That is the plan.  We are going to 'pull a Laura' and 
just...dissappear.  Then, you get to make up the rest of the plan," Orlando stated.

Jaime was silent for a moment as she contemplated the options.  
Finally, she looked at Orlando and gave him a small, sweet smile that looked 
completely out of place on someone that was employed as a guard and trained to kill.

"It may not be a completely sane plan, but it is better than no plan.  
I will start networking before I hide away in the prisoner's cell."

"Me too.  Looks like it is time for us all to jump ship."

Chapter 20  The Tenth Day

"Ooh, so typical, love leads to isolation.
So you build that wall (build that wall)
Yes, you build that wall (build that wall)
and you make it stronger.

Well, you have no right to ask me how I feel.
You have no right to speak to me so kind.
Someday I might
find myself looking in your eyes.
But for now, we'll go on living separate lives..."

~~ Phil Collins & Marilyn Martin   Separate Lives

Elizabeth awoke quickly, suddenly sensing that she was alone in the bed 
that she'd shared with Kyle.  Rubbing her eyes, she glanced at the readout 
on the clock radio on the nightstand.  It was almost nine in the morning. She 
realized that she'd slept in much later than usual, most likely because she and 
Kyle had spent the majority of the night before engaged in a much-needed 
conversation.  After Madeline had left with Julie, Elizabeth had spent 
some time thinking about the things they'd discussed.  Though Madeline's suggestions of 
how to attract Kyle's interest were worth considering, Elizabeth realized that 
they really were not her style.  No matter how hard she tried, she could not 
master any of the seductive looks Madeline had demonstrated and be expected to 
keep a straight face.  This realization had been enough to prompt her to try 
something else. What she decided to do was much more true to her own personality. 
As soon as dark had come, requiring all work to be suspended at the new 
resistance headquarters sight, Elizabeth found an opportunity to talk to Kyle 
alone.  

She told him about feeling rejected because he did not want to make 
love to her. Kyle, it seemed, finally understood. He explained to her that he 
wanted to make love to her too, and had for a very long time...but, because she 
was so special to him, he wanted to do it the right way.

"But what is the right way and what is the wrong way if two people are 
in love with each other and both are willing?" Elizabeth questioned, still 
confused by his declaration.

"Nothing," Kyle responded, "But, there's more to it than that. 
Elizabeth, you know I've had some experience before you, but I've never loved anyone 
like I love you.  There's other things I think we should consider before we 
sleep together..."

"Like what? You know I trust you."

"Commitment, Elizabeth. You and I have been together for a very long 
time, but we've never made any commitments to stay that way forever. That's 
what I'm talking about."

"Oh, like how Mike and Julie have been together for so long, but no one 
knows if they'll ever get married?"

Kyle had given Elizabeth a thoughtful look, smiled and nodded.

"Yes, exactly! I don't want us to be like Mike and Julie. When I make 
love to you, I want to know that I'm basing that expression on more than just 
an assumption that we'll still be together tomorrow. For the first time in 
my life, Elizabeth, I need more than that."

"Kyle, you know I love you, and you know I'd be lost without you," 
Elizabeth responded, and she'd felt her throat tightening up at the thought of 
Kyle not feeling secure in her love for him.

Kyle had slurped down a beer while considering Elizabeth's declaration, 
the unspoken words of "Oh, yeah, then what about the Leader?" on both of 
their minds. It was a debate they'd been through before.

"That was mind control and you know it..." Elizabeth stated before he 
could say it.

"Why has sex been so important to you lately? It seems that getting 
into my pants is all you've been thinking about," Kyle stated, almost sounding 
annoyed.

"Isn't wanting sex normal? I mean, more so for men, even? This is what 
I've heard...yet you never seem to want me. We have been together for a very 
long time..."

"Yeah, sure, but why all the sudden interest?"

"I don't know, Kyle. Maybe it's just me...another part of myself 
catching up with the rest of me," Elizabeth answered. She felt a slight flush creep 
up into her cheeks, and she bit her lip, trying to bite back the feeling 
that she should be on the defensive.

"Elizabeth, I want more than anything to make you happy," Kyle said, as 
if he was catching wind of her insecurities. "I was kind of thinking we'd get 
married some day. I dunno, maybe I've been trying to hard to figure you 
out all this time..."

"You want to marry me?" Elizabeth cried, hardly able to contain the joy 
in her heart from reaching out and shattering every window in the room.

"Well, someday, sure..."

"Kyle!" 

Elizabeth threw her arms around him in a surprise hug that, at one 
point in time, had been uncharacteristic of her. Kyle had returned her embrace 
willingly enough. Then, from there, their passions had escalated, but once again, 
Elizabeth had found herself left unfulfilled. Just when she thought she 
would die if Kyle didn't touch her, he told her that he'd had too much to drink 
that night, and he couldn't...

Whatever that meant.

Then, he'd got up and left the bedroom, leaving her alone, much as Ham 
had left her mother alone the night he'd rejected her advances. Now, 
Elizabeth knew how Mother had felt, only she could never tell Mother that she was 
knowing that feeling on an almost nightly basis.

As Elizabeth passed through the family room on her way to the kitchen, 
Katie didn't even look up from her game to acknowledge her.  This was very 
typical of Katie.  The smell of burning food beckoned Elizabeth into the 
kitchen.  There, she found Madeline attempting to retrieve overdone toast out of 
the toaster with a fork. On the counter was a sad attempt at mixing pancake batter.  
Elizabeth could plainly see eggshells poking out of the mix, and even 
with her limited cooking knowledge, she knew that the batter was way too runny.

"Madeline, what are you doing? You're going to electricute yourself!"  
Elizabeth exclaimed. She reached over and yanked the toaster's plug out 
of the wall.

"I was just trying to fix breakfast.  Katie was begging your mother to 
make pancakes this morning, but your mother told her that she had to go 
shopping, because there is no more laundry soap.  Katie got fussy with her, and 
your mother started getting angry...so I offered to make the pancakes," 
Madeline explained.  

Elizabeth was about to laugh, but then she took a good look at 
Madeline.  Her eyes were puffy and tired looking.  Her contacts were in, and Elizabeth 
wondered if they bothered her some.  She could sense that something 
else was the problem, as surely as she could sense that her mother was not home.  At 
least, she now knew where her mother was.

"Well, I'm up now, so let me see what I can do to help," Elizabeth 
offered.  She peered into the bowl of pancake mix, and was shocked to see that 
there was one egg in the batter that was not even broken open.  Then, she gazed 
at the box of mix on the counter.  The ingredients called for two eggs, a cup 
of milk, a cup of water...Sitting on the counter next to the box was a 
large tumbler that Elizabeth immediately suspected that Madeline had used to measure 
her rations.  In spite of herself, a laugh bubbled up, and she tried hard 
to cover her mouth to supress it.  She fished the egg out of the mix with a 
spoon and held it up.

"Uh, Madeline, when you put eggs into a recipe, you have to crack them 
open first, let out the insides, and throw the shells away..."

"Where does it say to do that?!" Madeline demanded, triumphantly 
pulling the charcoaled toast out of the toaster in several brittle pieces.

"It doesn't...but it's just something you learn to do.  Don't worry.  
We'll fix this," Elizabeth said.  Though she was lacking in cooking skills 
herself, pancakes were one item she'd learned to master.  She figured she'd have 
to learn a few more meals too, if she was going to be Kyle's wife.  All 
wives on TV knew how to cook.  As long as Kyle didn't get a hankering for pumpkin 
pie, she figured all would be well in the end.  She didn't realize she was still 
smiling as these thoughts drifted through her mind.

"Interesting," Madeline observed dryly, "I noticed that you slept late 
this morning. Did you and Kyle have relations last night?"

"No..." Elizabeth sighed, "He said something about having too much 
alcohol to drink!"

"Alcohol?"

"Yes...it's what he said. And I know he has been drinking a lot of it 
lately, so maybe that's why he hasn't been wanting sex..."

"But Nigel had plenty of alcohol on the nights we had passions," 
Madeline countered. Then she averted her gaze and bit her lip.

"He did?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes. But, I do not wish to discuss Nigel. I will never bring him up 
again."

Elizabeth blinked and then she suddenly remembered.

"You went to see him yesterday. How did it go?"

"It did not. He cannot accept me for..."

She gazed at Elizabeth, meeting her eye to eye.

"He cannot accept the fact that I am a hybrid. Alcohol was not the 
problem."

"Oh, but Kyle knows what I am. He's known since practically the 
beginning. Last night, he even told me that he wants to marry me!"

Some of the grim sadness lifted from Madeline's expression upon hearing 
this. She even managed a smile.

"Really?" she asked, "He said that?"

"Yes!" Elizabeth replied, "He did!"

"Then I do not understand him."

Elizabeth sighed as she poured the unpalatable pancake batter down the 
drain into the garbage disposal. While the gears digested the mess, she 
thought about the whole situation, trying to make sense of it herself. Then, 
she flipped off the disposal and turned off the tap water. As she did, a thought 
popped into her mind.

"You know, Madeline, I wonder..." she mused, setting the rinsed bowl 
back on the counter to ready for a new batch of mix.

"You wonder what?"

"Kyle and I had to attend a charity function the night after my Aunt 
Polly's capture. When we were there, a woman came up to Kyle and started 
gossipping. She told him that another woman, named Jenna Freeling, was making 
claims that her newborn baby is Kyle's daughter..."

"Do you suppose it is true?" Madeline asked, her eyes wide with 
surprise.

"Kyle says it's just gossip. But, I'm wondering if he's afraid of...you 
know...getting me pregnant and starting tabloid rumors. You know, I'm 
not even certain I can even have children, but Kyle might be afraid that I 
can...and he might fear what would happen if the press found out that I did..."

"Well, why don't you just put it out on a billboard and advertise it, 
Elizabeth! No wonder the National Tattler knows so much about me..."

Both girls wheeled around to see Kyle, leaning in the frame of the ped 
door leading from the garage to the kitchen. His eyes were two bloodshot,  
smoldering holes in his head. Elizabeth noticed that he was still 
wearing the same clothes he'd been in the night before.

"What the hell!" he continued angrily, "You have no business telling 
anyone personal stuff like this. Christ, Madeline's been here less than 2 
weeks...how do we know she's not an undercover reporter...or a gator convert?"

"Kyle!" Elizabeth cried in horror, "You know she's not!"

"No, I don't know that! What would possess you to tell her about Jenna 
Freeling? Are you whacked?"

"If it's not true, then why are you so upset?" Elizabeth countered.

"Oh, so you don't believe me, huh?"

"I never said that..." Elizabeth stammered.

"You might as well have," Kyle retorted.

Madeline, suddenly caught in the middle of a lovers' tiff that did not 
directly involve her, made an attempt to duck out of the kitchen. 
Before she could get out, though, Katie came in, pulling off her headphones.

"Hey, is breakfast ready?" she demanded, "I'm starved!"

"Katie, I will fix it later...we must leave now. Kyle and Elizabeth are 
talking..." Madeline replied nervously. She glanced over at the feuding 
couple. Katie's attention was also instantly riveted over to them.

"Kyle, you have been drinking again!" Elizabeth cried in exasperation, 
"You are drunk!"

"It's my pegrog--perogative if I wanna have a drink now and then. I'm 
over 21 y'know," he argued back.

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Exactly what I said. Having a few beers is not a crime!"

"It's not like you to drink in the morning, Kyle..."

"Look, I don't need you to police my actions, alright? What is up with 
you anyways? First, you start babbling my business all over creation, and 
now you're telling me what I can and can't do..."

No one in the kitchen heard the front door open. Robin, with her arms 
laden with grocery bags, was already in a sour mood because no one had 
responded to the quick tap of her horn when she'd pulled up, signalling that she'd 
need help with the grocery bags. There were still several bags in the trunk of 
her car. When she walked into the kitchen, she was not prepared for the 
spectacle at hand. Depositing the bags, her purse, and her keys on the kitchen 
table, she soon forgot about the bags left in the trunk.

"I'm not policing you Kyle...I'm just making an...observation. You 
don't normally drink in the morning, but...you have been drinking a lot of 
alcohol lately. Every day..." Elizabeth continued.

"Oh, and you say you're not 'pleesing my actions,' huh? I think you need 
a new hobby."

"I just want you to be like you used to be!"

"I'm not the one that's changed, Elizabeth, you are! You're trying to 
jump my bones every time I turn around!" Kyle argued.

"That is not true. You just have skewered perceptions, because you have 
a beer in your hand everytime I turn around!" Elizabeth shot back.

"What is going on in here??!!" Robin demanded crossly. Like Madeline 
and Katie, she was staring at Kyle and Elizabeth with wide, disbelieving 
eyes.

At the sound of her mother's voice, Elizabeth wheeled around. Kyle, 
still leaning in the door frame, hardly seemed to notice. 

"Mother, it is all right. Kyle and I are having an argument, that is 
all," Elizabeth explained. Her voice suddenly betrayed a tremble that 
suggested she might burst out into tears at any given moment, even though she lacked 
the tear ducts to cry.

"Did I hear you say that Kyle is drunk?" Robin pressed.

"Oh, I wouldn't be a damn bit shurprised," Kyle slurred, "Elizabeth is 
real good at spreading gossip. Someone should tie her little forkie tongue 
in a knot to shut her up!"

Robin's jaw nearly dropped to her chest as she digested what she heard. 
In the meantime, Elizabeth clapped a hand over her mouth. Even that action 
could only obscure half the hurt expression spreading on her face.

"Oh my God, Kyle...I don't believe I just heard you say that!" Robin 
cried in horror.

"He said it, alright," Katie piped from the opposite end of the 
kitchen. Robin shot a glance in her direction, and then narrowed her eyes at 
Kyle.

"How dare you talk to my daughter like that and get shitfaced with my 
11-year-old sister in the house! You creep! What kind of jerk are you?" she 
cried. A flash of anger crept into her cheeks, flushing them scarlet. She knew, 
in that passing second, that if Polly had been here to witness this, she would 
have laid Kyle flat. She'd commented once that she couldn't stand being 
around drunk guys that acted like idiots, because they reminded her of Danny 
Bernstein. As if reading her mind, another comment sounded from the opposite corner 
of the room.

"Yeah! If Polly was here, she'd kick your butt!" Katie contributed.

"Hey, you know what," Kyle challenged, "This is my damn house, and I 
can do whatever the hell I want, and if you don't like it, you all can get the 
hell out!"

"Madeline!" Robin pleaded, "Please take Katie out of here. She doesn't 
need to be around this!"

Madeline didn't hesitate. Taking a firm grip onto Katie's sleeve, she 
pulled the girl out of the kitchen and into the living room. Though distance 
and a couple of walls separated the feud from them by now, they could still 
hear the rising and falling of voices, even if what was said couldn't distinctly 
be heard anymore. For a few minutes, Katie pouted, as though she was 
disgruntled to be removed from the thick of the action. Then, the dawning of some 
common sense seemed to break through, and she started to look a little worried.

"You know, I really don't remember to much about Danny Bernstein...He's 
uh...supposed to be Bram's dad. But, Binna and Polly remember him. They 
say that in the end, he used to drink a lot, and he turned into a real jerk. I 
guess he even hurt some people. Do you think that Kyle's drunk enough to hurt 
anyone?" she asked, chewing nervously on her bottom lip.

"I really do not know. I have never been around a drunken human," 
Madeline answered truthfully.

"Well, neither have I, I don't think...but Binna and Polly have. That's 
how come they hated Danny so much. I'm kinda getting scared."

Madeline could certainly empathize with Katie, but she really had no 
answer for her. As she dwelt on a response, Katie slid over to the other end 
of the couch and opened the drawer to the end table beside it. After fishing 
through the drawer for a moment, she pulled out a small phone book. Then she 
quickly leafed through the pages until she found the right one. 

"I'm calling Ham," she announced as she picked up the reciever, "He'll 
know what to do."

Katie's conversation with Ham Tyler lasted all of five minutes. When 
she hung up the phone, she looked relieved.

"He says he'll be right over," she said triumphantly.

Madeline nodded absently, quietly wondering just what Katie though Ham 
could do to remedy the situation. Would he shoot Kyle? As crazy ideas formed 
in her mind, Elizabeth fled from the kitchen and into the refuge of the living 
room. Her face was a mixed mask of panic, anger, and heartbreak. Behind her 
came Robin, who was just simply mad. However, once she'd left the 
pandemonium of the kitchen, and Kyle, her expression softened, at least towards Elizabeth.

"Honey, it will be okay," Robin tried to soothe, "You'll see. He's just 
drunk, and he needs to cool down and sleep it off. Things will be 
different when he's sober..."

Elizabeth was still too striken to say anything. With wounded eyes, she 
gazed at her mother, and managed a sick nod. Then, she wordlessly ran to the 
room she was sharing with Kyle. Robin watched her go, and looked uncertain, 
for a moment, as if she was deciding whether or not she should follow her. 
Yet, she also kept glancing at the front door; her eyes nervously flicking back 
and forth between the two possibilities.

"What's going on, Binna?" Katie asked softly.

"Oh, Gosh, Katie, I wish you didn't have to see any of this. It's just 
that Kyle went back out into the garage, which is good, I guess, but I'm 
just afraid he's gonna try to go somewhere on his bike or something...and he's too 
drunk to drive. I'm pissed as hell at him, but I wanna go bring in the 
groceries and kind of...check on him...and make sure he's not going to do 
something stupid. But, I don't want to leave Elizabeth in here by herself as 
upset as she is..."

"I can go check on Elizabeth," Madeline offered.

"Binna, who cares if he goes out on his bike..." Katie whined, "Stay 
here..."

"Katie, I'll be okay. I'm not going to say anything to him. I'm just 
going to bring in groceries. Madeline, that would really be a big help if you 
could go sit with Elizabeth..."

Robin's brown Datsun was parked in front of the garage with the trunk 
lid popped open. The garage door was still closed, which was a good sign 
that Kyle hadn't made an escape while she'd been hashing out plans with Madeline 
and Katie. She was surprised to see Ham's van pull up the long, dirt path 
leading to the driveway. A plume of dust followed behind his vehicle. The dented 
van pulled up beside her car, and Ham got out. His stance suggested that he was 
ready for a fight.

"Ham, what are you doing here?" Robin asked, half wondering, half 
relieved to see him.

"Your little sister called me in a panic. She said something about Kyle 
being drunk and that he was ranting and raving and you and Elizabeth..."

"Katie called you?"

"Yeah, that's right. Now what's going on?"

Robin shifted her gaze over her shoulder, towards the closed garage 
door.

"As far as I know, he's in the garage, and Katie's right. He is drunk. 
It was really ugly, Ham. I don't know what started it all, because I wasn't 
here when it happened. All I know is that when I came home from the store, 
Kyle and Elizabeth were having an argument in the kitchen..."

"Jesus Christ," Ham swore under his breath, "Did he hit her? Or you?"

"Um, no, it wasn't quite that bad...but he did kick Elizabeth out. He 
told her to pack her stuff and leave," Robin answered morosely.

"Yeah, well I have a better idea," Ham said. His jaw tensed as he 
grabbed the last two bags out of Robin's trunk. Together, they carried the 
remaining groceries into the kitchen. Then, Ham departed for the garage, using 
the ped door.

The evidence of Kyle's binge was quite apparent. Parts disassembled 
from his bike were laid out on a blanket. Lots of crumpled, empty beer cans 
littered the floor near a recycle bin, where he'd attempted to toss them, but 
had missed. In addition, there was another bottle of amber liquid, half emptied, on 
the blanket, nestled in with some of the bike parts. A radio was on, but 
the tune that was playing couldn't be heard over the sound of Kyle, rummaging 
loudly through his Craftsman tool box. In fact, his rummaging was hardly 
constructive, and was it more a display of frustration and anger. Robin, following 
behind Ham, watched in horror as Kyle yanked out a wrench, swore, and lobbed 
it at his dirt bike. He missed by a foot, and it clattered loudly to the cement 
floor of the garage, causing another torrent of drunken, slurred curses to issue 
from Kyle. 

"Robin, get back," Ham hissed at her.

"No. There's no way he's going to be allowed to talk to my daugher like 
that!" she retorted in a whisper.

"You can't argue with a drunk. Stay back and stay quiet," he ordered.

Robin made no attempt to retreat into the kitchen, but she did follow 
Ham's advice. She remained on the service steps while Ham quietly approached 
Kyle.

"Hey, that's quite a job you're doing on your bike there, buddy," Ham 
greeted, careful to make his tone seem non-threatening.

"Whaddabout it, ol'man," Kyle slurred, trying to challenge, but coming 
up  short. 

"I just came by to uh...have you check something out," Ham said. 

"Yeah, right. I'll bet you really came over to tell me how rotten I 
am...jus' like my ol'man, right? Huh? That I'm nuthin' but a screwed up, lousy 
piece of crap..."

Kyle turned his back to Ham, and began to half-heartedly rummage through 
his tool chest again. After a second or two passed, Robin thought she heard 
a hitch, and then a sniffle. Then, she knew she wasn't mistaken when she 
saw Kyle's shoulders shaking.

"It's true," he slurred, "I'm a screw up. Lizard meat. No better than 
my fucked up, worm meal ol'man...Chrisss, I know what the blab rags all 
said about him, y'know, and mos' of its true. Half a dozen bastard brats all over 
the state, a fortune in dirty money...some even say he plugged Diana...and 
ya know what? Huh? I bet he did!"

"Jesus Christ, Kyle..." Ham muttered.

"And I'm no better than him. Go on..say it. Rub it in. It's what you're 
here for...To tell me what a son of a bitch I am. It's true."

"Kyle..." Robin started from the safety of the service steps. She 
descended them in two quick hops, neverminding the tongue lashing she was likely 
to get from Ham.

"I'm a real bastard, Robin. I'm sorry. I should just get the hell out 
of here before I really fuck things up."

"Kyle, I think all you need is a good night's sleep," Robin suggested. 
She certainly knew the feeling. After all, she hadn't slept soundly a night 
since Polly's disappearance.

"No, Robin. You don't understand. There's just no way you could ever 
understand what a fuckup I am, okay. You and Elizabeth are just way too 
sweet, and I am a sunnabitch. I'm...I'm turning into my ol'man, okay...and...I just 
need to..."

Kyle collapsed against the toolbox, heaving and muttering. Through his 
sobs, Robin thought she heard him say..."All I need to do now is start smoking 
cigars..."

She reached a tentative hand out to his sweatstained back to give him a 
reassuring touch.

"Kyle...you're not a son of a bitch. Look at all you've done to help 
us! You're just going through some troubles right now, and I want to help 
you. So does Ham. Okay? It'll be okay..."

Robin felt a tightness in her throat, and hoped that no hesitation 
could be heard in her voice. Despite what had happened in the kitchen, she did 
feel some of her anger melting. Kyle was obviously going through something, 
though she had no idea what. Having occasional drinks was one thing, but she'd 
never seen him out and out intoxicated.

"I fucking hate cigars..." Kyle whimpered to her, finally responding to 
her reassurances.

"I know you do," Robin soothed. Kyle shifted slightly. Though he was 
still leaning against his tallboy toolchest, his head was now slumped on 
Robin's shoulder.

"Let's take a ride," Ham suggested, "Kyle, I know a place where you can 
get some peace and quiet...and I'll bet a change of scenery would do you 
some good right about now."

Kyle, with his head still slumped against Robin, managed a nod.

"Let's get him to the van," Ham said, "We'll take him to Chris and 
Maggie's. They're both at the new H.Q., so he can rest and sober up over there."

"Okay," Robin mouthed. 

Ham opened the double garage door, and bright sunlight streamed in. 
Kyle's legs were practically useless as he staggered between Robin and Ham on 
his way out to the van. As Ham helped Kyle in, Robin ran back into the house to 
grab her purse. Katie was still in the living room, with her head poking 
through the curtains, hoping to see anything from the big picture window out front.

"Katie, Ham and I are going to take Kyle over to Chris and Maggie's and 
sober him up. We might be gone for a few hours, but don't worry. He's pretty 
sleepy and harmless now, okay?"

Katie looked somewhat unconvinced.

"Look, he's already sorry for what he said...but he is still drunk, so 
we're gonna take him somewhere else. So, I want you to be good. Chris and 
Maggie's number is in the book if you need it..."

"I know," Katie said stoicly. She'd already used it once that day to 
get a hold of Ham.

"Could you let Elizabeth know where I am?"

"Yeah. No problem."

"And put away the groceries?"

"Whatever."

"Okay...Gotta run. Bye!"

**************************************************************

The kitchen was a mess, and Katie faced it with a sneer. She hated 
cleaning house with a passion, but she hated Binna's outbursts even more. And, 
Binna was prone to lots of them these days....

In fact, the whole world was just going crazy. Nothing had been sane 
since Polly had been gone. With a sigh, Katie lugged a gallon of milk out of 
a bag and put it in the refrigerator. At least, she noted with some 
satisfaction, Binna had remembered to get some orange soda...even if it was the 
cheepie kind. The Bernsteins always got the good kind, even if it wasn't on sale, 
because Bram loved it so much. And...they never cared if Katie had some.

Even though she was working at a snail's pace, Katie was slowly 
accomplishing Robin's mandate. She didn't hear the footsteps on the linoleum until 
the last second. Finally, when she did look up, Madeline was inches away from 
her.

"Elizabeth finally fell asleep. She was terribly upset," she reported.

"What happened? What did Kyle do to her?" Katie asked, happy for any 
excuse to stop working for even just a moment.

"He told her that she must leave. But, she has nowhere to go. I told 
her that maybe she should just hide in the closet for awhile."

Katie snorted.

"Yeah, right. Where would she go to the bathroom? Look, I don't think 
she has to hide in the closet. Binna and Ham took Kyle over to Chris and 
Maggie's to sober him up. I guess they'll be gone for a few hours, so..."

"Then I must hurry," Madeline stated resolutely.

"Huh?"

"Katie, I need your help. I need you to make me the most sullam promise 
you can make me...."

"Sullam promise? Do you mean 'solemn' promise?"

"Yes, I think so. I am thinking, and Elizabeth is too...that everyone 
is...under a terrible strain because Polly is gone."

"This whole house has gone looney," Katie concluded in agreement.

"Yes, well I believe I can fix this. But...I need your help."

Katie's eyes lit up like twin beacons.

"Really? How?" she inquired.

"You must keep a 'solemn' secret until I return with Polly. And, I 
promise I will."

"That's it? That's all I get to do?"

"You must trust that in the end, I am asking a large favor of you. You 
may have to lie, Katie...but I promise I will get Polly back. I promise. 
Do you trust me?"

Katie bit her lip, considering her options. She suddenly realized that 
she stood on the brink of something really big...and she found herself 
nodding.

"I trust you," she whispered.

"I thank you," Madeline replied, with a sincere smile. There weren't 
words for her to tell Katie that the girl's trust was the only thing giving 
her the courage to do this. In all of her short memories, could she ever really 
remember a time when someone had trusted her?

There was only one thing left for Madeline to do. Though Robin had 
taken her purse, the keys to her car were still on the table. In her haste to 
interfere in the arguement, somehow, she hadn't put them back inside. It wouldn't 
have mattered anyways, Madeline supposed. There were other ways to start 
motors if one did not have a key...but keys were easier. Julie had used one to 
start her car. Swiftly, she snatched the keys off the table and stuffed them in 
her jeans pocket.

"Maybe you should set an extra dinner plate at the table tonight..." 
she told Katie... "Just in case Polly is hungry."

Then, she hurried out of the kitchen through the ped door and into the 
garage. The garage door was still wide open, and Robin's car was still 
right where she'd parked it. With some trepidation, Madeline approached the car, 
noticing that Katie had followed her out to the garage, and was watching her 
every move. However, she was making no move to stop her.

Finally, she settled herself into the driver's seat of Robin's car. 
Madeline had seen Julie operate her vehicle, and the control's in Robin's were 
very similar.  Insert and twist the key...release the stick lever on the 
right...move the other lever onto the D setting, and push down on the foot pedal...

The car lurched forward, and Madeline gritted her teeth and jammed her 
foot down on the "stop" pedal  just in time to prevent a collision with a 
large metal garbage can.  She then adjusted the setting on the control lever 
to R and slowly eased her way down the driveway. Once she got onto the road, she 
realized that driving was fairly easy, as long as she kept her wits about her.  
The route to the new headquarters was one she had memorized from her 
frequent visits there over the past week.  She only hoped that Phillip would not be 
there, or anyone else for that fact.

Her spirits were slightly deflated when she parked the car and noticed 
that Maggie's car was there, and so was Elias's.  That was likely to mean 
that Willie was there too.  However, Mike's blazer wasn't there, so chances 
were, Phillip wasn't either.  Quietly, she poked her head into the huge 
garage that the resistance members jokingly called the "hangar bay".  She didn't see 
anyone inside.  She suspected they were repairing the office sections of the 
main house.  This was good news.  Phillip's shuttle was presently unguarded, and as 
long as no one had ripped the power pack out of the shuttle yet, Madeline's 
plan had a good chance of succeeding.

Luck held with her. She climbed into the shuttle and found the power 
source still intact. She had studied Phillip as he operated the controls of 
his shuttle on a few occasions, and she had no doubts that she'd be able to 
do it.  The labels on the controls were much more familiar to her.  Even powering 
up the shuttle was simple.  All she had to do was key in the lift off 
commands.

The shuttle's engines throbbed to life with a comforting hum. 
Maneuvering the shuttle out of the garage was tricky, but no more difficult than 
operating the motor vehicle that she'd used to get here, she learned.  As she 
lifted off, she saw the figure of a black man come pelting out of the main house.  
He was pointing upwards.  Another figure, a pretty blonde haired woman, joined 
him seconds later.  Maggie and Elias.  They'd heard the engines start up, 
but they were powerless to stop Madeline from escaping.

***************************************************************

The door to Polly's cell slid open, and a young woman in a guard's 
uniform stepped through. The door shut automatically behind her. Polly blinked 
a little in surprise.  She had no idea what time of the day it was, nor did she 
know what day of the week it was. Lastly, she didn't know who this guard 
was.

"If you want to get out of here, you must listen closely and do as I 
say," the guard stated in a quiet but firm, reverberating voice.

"Get out of here? You mean..."

"Yes.  First, I have something for you.  It is an injection, but not 
like the kind you have had.  You will need some stamina if you expect to get out 
of here alive. It will pep you up."

With that, she yanked the sleeve of Polly's gown up and administered 
the shot.

"You will notice the effects in just a few minutes," the guard 
continued, "Now, here is what is to happen.  Two gaurds will be arriving very 
soon.  They have been ordered to take you to your execution.  One of them is 
working with me, as you will soon see. You need to lay back down on your cot and 
forget that I am here. Act as you normally would when they come in.  Orlando and I 
will explain the rest of the plan shortly afterwards."

Polly fought back the temptation to demand more of an explaination. 
Taking her to her execution?  Instead, she forced herself back down on her 
bunk.  The drugs were beginning to create some noticeable symptoms.  Already, she 
could feel her pulse speeding up. The guard ducked behind the half wall 
partition that provided the only toileting privacy in the cell.

Just as the guard had said, the door slid open again a handful of 
minutes later. Polly recognized the female guard of the pair that entered. 
Though her face was obscured behind a helmeted visor, Polly was well acquainted 
with her mannerisms. She was always rude. The other guard was helmeted too.  He 
was taller than most men she knew, possibly even taller than Mike Donovan, and he 
was completely unfamiliar.

"Get up," the female guard ordered.  

Polly moved slowly to comply, and she ignored the blurringly quick 
motion she saw out of the corner of her eye. The hidden guard suddenly leaned 
around the partition and leveled a shot. The blast took the other female guard off 
her feet and into a crumpled heap on the floor. The male guard beside her 
took a quick check of her vitals.

"She is not dead, but she may be soon," he announced.  Quickly, he 
removed her helmet.  Polly was somewhat mortified to see that this guard had 
such a normal looking human guise, with fair toned skin and blond, pinned up 
hair.  She had somehow expected her to look like a barracuda, but in real life, a 
crocodile was close enough.  The uniform came off next.  There was a 
good sized blaster hole on it  just above the waist.  Despite this, he tossed the 
uniform to Polly.

"Quickly, put this on, and the helmet too," he instructed her.

Polly did as she was told, grimacing a bit at the smell of ozone. This 
uniform  didn't quite fit as well as Thelma's had, but it was still 
quite serviceable. The boots were the exact same size Polly took. While Polly 
dressed, the two Visitor gaurds dressed their companion in Polly's gown. Then, they laid 
her out on the bunk. To anyone casually observing, it would be hard to tell 
at first that the woman on the bunk wasn't Polly at all. The last order of 
business for the first female gaurd was to retrieve the fallen blaster. Before 
she handed it to Polly, she made one last check of the vitals of the guard 
now laying on the bunk. Without a word, she fired the blaster again. Then, she 
quickly pulled the blanket up over the body.

"We must go," she said matter of factly.

The two guards made a sandwich of Polly to prevent anyone they passed 
from immediately noticing the condition of her uniform.  The male, who'd 
been referred to as Orlando, took the lead. A few of those they in the 
corridors snapped him salutes. Others ignored them completely. Polly could sense a 
difference in the air. Everyone seemed hurried. They were no exception. They made 
their way to the docking bay, and paused while Orlando contemplated their 
options.

"There is a refuel in progress over there, and its indicator light just 
turned green," the female stated, pointing to a shuttle that was hooked 
up to a hose.  Orlando nodded his approval. The female nudged Polly forwards, 
and three of them approached the shuttle quickly. Orlando punched the button on 
the exterior of the shuttle, and the hatch opened. A technician lunged 
forward, waving his arms wildly.

"Play along..." the female whispered into the microphone of Polly's 
helmet.

"Where do you think you are taking this shuttle?  I need it for..."

"We have our orders," Orlando stated, rudely shoving a data pad at the 
technician, "This guard has been injured and needs immediate medical 
attention at Visitor Fields."

Polly felt the female's arm link up with her own, as though Polly 
suddenly needed support. Gently clutching at her stomach, she hoped she wasn't 
playing overdramatic. The technician didn't need any of Polly's theatrics to 
get the point. He saw the gaping blaster hole in her uniform, and he backed off 
accordingly. Once again, Polly was nudged forwards. Without further 
arguement they boarded the shuttle while the technician outside quickly detatched the 
fueling hose. Orlando began to key in the launch sequence. As they lifted off 
and maneuvered towards the exit, a  loud whooping noise disturbed the air.

"Crivit Spawn!" the female guard cursed, "We have been discovered 
already!"

***************************************************************

Sirens began to whoop throughout the corridors of the Los Angeles 
Mothership. Diana quickly glanced at her chrono. It was ten minutes past eleven in 
the morning. The two hours on ticking on the clock until the execution of 
Polly Maxwell had run out. At this particular time, Diana no longer cared.  
She had been ordered to retrieve her personal belongings so that she could be 
reassigned to a new quarters. David would take over hers, as the new Commander, 
and he would also begin the process of dismantling her lab.

Well, whatever the trouble was causing the sirens to activate, it was 
no longer Diana's concern. She felt a small measure of relief over this 
fact. Though she had no plans to enjoy a restful retirement, she did realize that 
she couldn't remember the last time she'd had a day off. Weekends and 
leisure time were not fringe benefits Commanders were able to enjoy.

She ignored the sirens as she packed a small case with a strap that 
would cinch around her waist.  In it, she placed only the barest of 
essentials that she could only assume no one knew she possessed, and a few items for 
grooming that were of standard issue.  Included was a small, portable kit for 
repairing rips in psuedoskin. Among her more secret acquisitions were a plastic 
bank card with a magnetic strip, a falsified California driver's license, and a 
phony Social Security I.D. card. All three were put in the same name; the 
alias she assumed when acquiring her Earthly possesions.  She'd obtained the 
original documents of the latter two items from a deceased prisoner and 
remanufactured them to her own specifications.  The last item she had was the key to the 
post office box she kept in her falsified name. All mail she got regarding 
her transactions was mailed there, and she periodically checked it when 
possible. None of that information was stored on any computer files that David could 
access. However, she no longer had any pretenses that her fake identity could 
remain a secret for long. After all, he'd somehow managed to access her most 
private files, including the ones she'd compiled, in her own secret 
abbreviations, regarding the conception and development of Madeline. She could only 
hope that he hadn't decoded them.

Diana sneered as she slipped into a pair of blue jeans and a T shirt.  
Memories of her mother that belonged buried in her deep past began to 
bubble up dangerously close to the surface of her mind.  So much time had past 
since she'd heard any word from her mother, that she had begun to believe that she 
had died.  No chance.  Even disguised in the unfamiliar features of a human 
psuedoskin, Diana could recognize her mother's presence by scent alone.  
It was one ingrained in her most instinctual memories, as it ought to be, but it 
gave her no sense of security or love.  It never had.  She had no plans of 
returning back to Sirius with her mother, even if she was missing out on her chance to 
testify against Philip. Screw that, she thought.

Once she had the human garments on, she put her uniform back on and 
fastened her waistpack around her middle.  This was precisely how she'd slipped 
into the supermarket that day, one year ago, to obtain the necessary 
foodstuff for Madeline. She'd blended into human society well enough, at least for 
that brief amount of time. In addition, no one ever paid her any notice when she 
emptied her P.O. Box at the large, busy post office branch.  One day soon, 
she'd obtain a new psuedoskin and change her identity yet again, but for now, 
this disguise would have to do. Diana tied her hair back into a ponytail.  
No one would think to notice it if they saw her in the corridors of the Mothership 
wearing her hair in this fashion, even though it was a style she seldom wore.  
It was much too casual to suit a commander.  Therefore, it would work well on 
Earth.  No human had ever seen her wearing her hair this way.

At last, she was ready to leave. She stepped out of her new quarters, 
that had serviced her for only the briefest of moments. The hallways were 
all but deserted. She didn't bother to sneak around...that would only raise 
suspicion.  After all, she was now a civilian, not a prisoner. As the lift brought 
her down several levels to the docking bay, Diana felt another wave of dizziness 
hit.  Bracing herself lightly, she waited patiently for the door to open. 
When they did, her mental alarms began to go off.  The place was simply crawling 
with troops. Patricia was down here as well, ordering a squadron to conduct 
a search. Diana had no idea who they were searching for, but...this was 
simply not a safe place to be. There was no way she'd be able to access a shuttle 
for her own escape amidst all of the bustle. Before anyone could see her, she 
keyed the doors to the lift closed and programmed her ascent. A few thoughts 
began to form in her mind about what she'd just seen. If Patricia was not busy 
witnessing the execution of Polly Maxwell as she should be doing at this moment, 
perhaps Polly had somehow managed to pull a famous trick of the more slinky 
members of the Los Angeles Resistance. She managed to get away.  And, if a half 
drugged nineteen-year-old human could escape, so too could she.  She would just 
have to find another way out.

Her new quarters provided a safe harbor for Diana to conjure up a new 
plan.  A headache was forming behind her frontal crest, slightly blurring her 
vision and her thoughts.  Diana allowed herself the luxury of sitting on her 
bunk for a moment.  She stared blankly at the wall, trying to bring her thoughts 
into focus, and trying not to feel betrayed by the Enlightened One. A 
movement caught her eye, inside the ventilation duct, behind the screen on the 
wall.  It was probably an escaped rodent, but...

Diana forced herself off of the bunk and across the small room quickly. 
Her stomach rumbled at the thought of a snack, but that was not the first 
and foremost thought on her mind. She reached up and pulled the grille open 
and gasped in surprise. Behind the screen, she could swear she saw the retreating 
forms of a few crew members in uniform.

"Come on!" Diana heard one of them hiss to a companion, "If we want to 
get out, this is the way! This is how Martin and Donovan got out!"

Of course!  Indeed, she now realized that this was the only way that 
Mike Donovan and Martin had both managed to escape from her...

Standing on tiptoe, Diana was able to peer through the hole where the 
grill had been, but she had to overturn one of the plastic crates she'd used 
to tote her belongings into her new bunk in order to heave the rest of her body 
to the level of the duct.  Climbing up onto it, she was able to reach the 
opening at chest level and boost herself in.  She closed the grille behind her, 
wishing she had the means to put the crate back where it had been.  But, there 
wasn't any time to dwell on it.

No one seemed to be around when she made it into the passageway.  Then, 
as her eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light, she thought she saw the 
flash of a uniform up ahead.  Quickly, she moved to follow it.  At times, she 
had to stoop over as she walked because of the low overhead clearance.  The 
temperature grew colder as she made her way farther from the main confines of the 
ship.  By the time she'd guessed she was halfway to her destination, Diana was 
glad she was wearing two layers of clothing.  It would prevent her from 
going into a state of hibernation if the temperature remained this low and her 
journey lasted a long time. And, oh how dark it was!  Her progress slowed 
considerably when even her sensitive vision was no longer able to clearly make out 
anything.  Whenever she felt her sense of direction failing, she would always 
catch the barest glimpse of of a crimson uniform up ahead.  After awhile, Diana 
noticed that her own breathing was no longer the only sound she heard. There 
were voices in the distance. She had no way of judging, within the cavernous 
and dark place she was in, of whether they were coming from ahead of her or 
behind her...or beside her.  But, as she inched her way forward, with her heart 
pounding in her chest, she heard a female's voice proclaim loudly:
"Over here!  I found some parachutes!"

To the left of her, Diana could clearly hear the scrabble of booted 
feet as whoever the female had summoned met with her.

Of course...the parachutes!  For a moment, Diana was elated, but her 
joy quickly faded. Parachutes?  Oh, not that! She remembered her earliest 
days of pilot training, and how she'd been taught emergency bail-out procedures 
using parachutes. Diana hated those drills! This was even worse, because she 
was not going to be dropping from a supposedly damaged shuttle...she was going 
to be free falling from the mothership, hovering two miles above the surface of 
the planet!  Her stomach clenched up in a sick knot, and her head began a 
more insistent throbbing. Acrophobia, the humans called it. Intense fear of 
heights. No one on board the mothership that had served under her would have ever 
guessed that their Commander suffered from a good healthy case of it.  It was a 
vulnerability Diana cared not to discuss with anyone.

"Get moving!" she told herself, but she barely recognized the quavering 
tone of voice as her own.

In her consideration of her contemplated jump, Diana had forgotten that 
any one of her mother's commandoes may have discovered, by now, that she'd 
abandoned ship. They could be searching the ventillation ducts by now.    
And, she also realized that she was not alone in her plans for escape.  The 
other voices she was periodically hearing in the dark were 5th Columnists, quickly 
finding ways to evacuate before they could be debriefed at Rendezvous Station. 
The irony struck her, as she inched her way forwards, that she was acting within 
their order now.

A small square of light showed in the distance. It was the emergency 
access hatch. The supply of parachutes at the hatch was decidedly well picked 
over.  Only two remained. Others had been here first. Diana quickly stripped 
off her outer uniform and dropped it in a crumpled heap. She refastened her 
waistpack securely, and strapped the chute pack on her back. Then, she stood at 
the edge of the emergency exit chute and froze. At the end of that chute was 
miles of nothing but empty air.

Diana dangled with her legs hanging out of the chute for endless 
moments, while her heart climbed seemed to climb out of the right side of her 
chest and into her throat. Finally, her fingers began to grow numb and tired.  An 
ache started in her shoulder; the same shoulder that Donovan had injured 
when he'd shot her during the resistance's attempt at taking over the mothership.

"Damn him!" she cursed through gritted teeth. As she spoke, her fingers 
slipped...and felt herself sliding downwards, and then into the bright maw of 
nothingness...

Chapter 21   Flying Blind

"If I ran away, 
I'd never have the strength 
to go very far.
How would they hear 
the beating of my heart?
Will it grow cold,
the secret that I hide?
Will I grow old?
How will they hear?
When will they learn?
How will they know?"

~~ Madonna   Live to Tell

As the shuttle she piloted ascended towards the silver disk that had 
once been her home, Madeline began to feel an inky darkness prevail over her 
mood.  It seeped into every fiber of her body like a malignant disease, filling 
her with with a dread like nothing else she'd ever experienced.  Her mind 
did a rapid backflip in time, and she envisioned the eyeless spector of the woman 
she'd seen on numerous occasions.  It was almost like that evil spirit was 
welcoming her back and waiting for her.  Her hands shook on the controls, and she 
mentally willed herself to keep going.  Whatever peril awaited, Polly 
was in the midst of it.  Despite that knowledge, every rationalization Madeline 
had that brought her to this point was quickly flying out the window.  There was 
no telling what else was up there.  Her senses weren't that highly 
developed yet, but she could gamble that it was many times worse than the mere idea of 
facing up to her mother again.

It was nearly time to code in for a landing clearance. Madeline had no 
idea how she'd manage to get herself the needed permission, but she had a 
strong suspicion that Philip's shuttle would be allowed to land under any 
circumstance. Hesitantly, she reached for the control pad but her hand jerked back in 
shock. A shuttle came tearing out of the hatch, and it was going much faster 
than it ought to be. Without realizing it, Madeline tapped on the control lever 
and began a slow pursuit. A feeling nagged at her consiousness, overriding 
the blackness that had been invading her thoughts. She didn't quite know 
why she felt compelled to follow the other shuttle, but within moments, there wasn't 
any opportunity to question her instincts. In rapid succession, three 
fighters tore out of the bay. They were in tight pursuit of the fleeing shuttle. 
Madeline veered off to the side to allow them passage and watched in horror as 
they began to fire at the shuttle.  A whisper of instinct made a connection. She 
remembered conversation regarding a possible plan for the 5th Column to 
free Polly themselves. Without a doubt, she now knew that this was what she was 
seeing. Unfortunately, their plan hadn't gone off undetected. Without thinking, 
Madeline pulled herself into position behind the rearmost of the pursuing 
fighters. She then made a clumsy attempt at depressing the firing button on the 
weapons control, and her shot went wide.  It was all the practice she needed, 
however. With her error, she quickly learned how the mechanism worked. Her next 
attempt to line up her target failed too, but came much closer. The third time 
was a success. In a brilliant eruption of flaming debris, the rear fighter 
was vaporized into mere particles.

Polly sat shotgun next to the pilot, Orlando, clutching the edges of 
her seat for dear life.  She didn't need to be told that they were being 
pursued. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up on end, and her pulse 
was whooshing in her ears.

"Jaime, get to the rear guns!" Orlando ordered, his voice reverberating 
hoarsly. His command was a waste of breath. The female guard, Jaime, 
had already assumed position. Polly chanced a glance over her shoulder and watched 
as Jaime made an attempt to line up a target.

"Get up higher, Orlando!" she called.  

The craft lurched suddenly, and Polly's stomach lurched with it. An 
alarm began to shriek on the control panel, indicating a hit.  Orlando didn't 
seem particularly concerned about it.  The next thing that shook the shuttle 
was came from Jaime, firing the weapons. Polly heard an explosion and a cheer 
from the rear quadrant.

"Got him!" Jaime called, "But there is still one more, and he is 
gaining on us...Hey...wait...There is another craft tailing him and..."

"It has a lock on us!" Orlando cried. He swung the craft upwards in a 
violent motion. Polly's head snapped back from the sudden motion. She could 
hear the loud vibrations as Jaime spewed another round from the rear weapons, 
but she did not hear any satisfying explosions to accompany it. Suddenly, 
another violent shudder coursed through the craft.  Polly knew it was a good 
hit. She could smell smoke. Orlando cursed loudly in his native tongue as the alarms 
began another insistent series of shrieks.

"Prepare for an emergency landing," Orlando announced. Polly could feel 
that their shuttle was losing momentum.

"We have lost the guns," Jaime called in a voice that was tinged with 
panic.

"Great," Polly muttered, half to herself, "Is this where we bend over 
and kiss our asses goodbye?"

Another loud explosion answered her question. In the rear quadrant, 
Jaime whooped in excitement.

"Looks like we have someone looking out for us," she cried.

There wasn't much time for jubilation, though. Orlando said nothing as 
he fought with the failing controls. Jaime was already up out of her seat 
with a fire extinguisher in her hands. It had already been emptied; the flames 
extinguished. She tossed it aside and sat in one of the rear passenger 
seats. The craft was beginning it's rapid plunge as she buckled herself in. Polly was 
able to see her assuming the world famous "crash" position demonstrated on 
airplanes. She quickly copied Jaime's motions, wondering if it would do any good.  
Now, it seemed, was the time to bend over and 'kiss her butt goodbye'.

A series of teeth shattering jolts followed. It seemed that the shuttle 
must have bounced five times before it finally skidded into something that 
halted it's progress. Polly heard crunching metal and she could still smell 
smoke.  When, finally, there was no more movement, she dared to bring her head 
up.  Amazingly, her seat harness had managed to keep her quite securely in 
her chair.  She'd banged her chin on her knees and could taste blood in her mouth, 
but other than that, and the brusing she'd likely gotten from being thrown 
violently against her harness, she felt alright.  Her head was still firmly 
attatched to her shoulders.  Glancing over, she saw that Orlando was in a similar 
state.  He was already unfastening his harness. Polly heard noises behind her 
and realized that Jaime was stirring too.

"We still might have a fire somewhere," Orlando announced, "Let's get 
out of here!"

He took a moment to assist Polly with her fastenings. Jaime limped over 
to the hatch and pounded on the control. The hatch opened only partway.  
Polly looked around and noticed that the gunner's station Jaime had been 
sitting in was nearly obliterated.  She was lucky to have escaped with her life.  
Removing her bulky helmet and tossing it out in front of her, she squeezed 
through the partially opened hatch first, leaving a small trail of green blood in 
her wake. Orlando and Polly also removed their helmets, and Orlando nugdged her 
forward next. Finally, he emerged from the battered shuttle, and the three of 
them stood in awed silence beside the crumpled vessel.

It seemed that they had crash landed in the middle of someone's 
pasture.  The shuttle's forward momentum had finally been stopped by an expanse of 
barbed wire fence. In the distance, Polly could hear the sound of frightened 
livestock, but they were grazing somewhere too far away for her to see.  
Another shuttle began to descend, somewhat clumsily, but certainly better than 
they had. Orlando's hand hovered over his sidearm as the engines powered down and 
the hatch fell open. The figure of a female emerged, clad in a pair of blue jeans 
and a T shirt emblazoned with "EcoSound". Polly knew that Julie worked for 
EcoSound, and even if this woman wasn't Julie, or even immediately 
recognizable, she most certainly had to be resistance!

"Do not shoot me, please!  I am here to help!" she called as she slowly 
approached the trio.

"Who are you?" Orlando asked suspicously.

"I am called Madeline," the woman replied, "I came from the 
resistance...to help get Polly back."

Madeline!  Could she be same Madeline that Diana had been ranting and raving 
about on the Mothership, Polly wondered.  The same Madeline that had been at 
the camp with Sean?  As the woman came closer, Polly realized that it was 
the same person in the photograph Lydia had shown them.  She continued her 
approach, until she stood directly in front of Polly.

"Robin and Elizabeth are very worried about you.  Robin really needs 
for you to come home now..."

The mention of her sister's name brought an unexpected barrage of 
silent tears from Polly's eyes.  She could only nod as any other thought but 
going home quickly faded from her mind.

Orlando squinted as he took a nervous look around. Without his visor or 
protective shades, the bright sunlight was nearly overpowering. Even 
Polly, who hadn't seen the sunlight in ten days, blinked uncomfortably.  The tears 
began to dry quickly. The effects of the pep booster injection she'd received 
were starting to wear off. Suddenly, it felt like her legs were made of 
lead.

"Well, now that we are on the ground, it is time for your part of the 
plan.  Whatever you decide we should do is fine with me, but decide quickly.  
For all we know, Patricia could have a squadron of her killer commandoes after 
us..." Orlando told Jaime.

Jaime nodded solemnly and turned to Madeline.

"We had no idea the resistance was sending someone out to get us. Where 
did you get this shuttle?" 

"I borrowed it from Philip," Madeline replied, hoping that it wasn't 
easily noticed that she was only telling a half truth.

Then, Jaime turned her attention to Polly.

"Do you know of this Robin and Elizabeth that are expecting you?"

Polly nodded tiredly, realizing that Jaime and Orlando had no idea, 
really, who the various members of the resistance were, and who could be 
trusted.

"Robin is my sister, and Elizabeth is her daughter," she answered, "You 
know...Robin and Elizabeth Maxwell..."

"The Starchild and her mother," Orlando finished, enlightening Jaime 
further from the information he'd gleaned from Diana's meeting with Patricia.

"Oh, of course," Jaime replied, " Polly, the decision I make will be 
based on your judgement. Is this a situation we can likely trust?"

Polly turned another gaze onto Madeline, whom she'd heard plenty about, 
but never met. Considering the source where she had obtained most of her 
information about her, Polly wasn't quite sure what to think. It almost 
seemed unbelievable that this woman, who was supposedly Diana's daughter, had 
not only disappeared with Philip, but was also apparently siding with the 
resistance and hanging out with her sister and her niece. She realized that she didn't 
have long to consider it. Orlando was growing edgier by the moment, and Jaime was 
injured. And Polly realized that she was simply too numb and tired to 
try to make sense out of any of it. Finally, she nodded her approval.  The debate 
ended there.  Madeline motioned them into her shuttle. Once inside, she 
directed Orlando into the pilot's chair.

"I am not horribly experienced at flying," she informed him truthfully, 
"Maybe it would be best if I gave directions and you fly us in."

***************************************************************

The telephone rang while Phillip's arms were submerged up to the elbows 
in baby oil. Emily was chortling happily, her scales glistening from her 
bath.  Mike was at work, Phillip knew, but by the fourth ring, it was obvious 
that Sean was not going to answer the phone. Sighing, he carefully lifted his 
daughter out of the kitchen sink, and wrapped her in a towel. She was very 
slippery, but the towel kept her from sliding out of his tight hold. The phone was a 
different story. The receiver shot right out of Phillip's oil coated 
palm and clattered to the floor before he could answer it. Swearing softly, he 
carefully bent down to retrieve it, praying to Zon that he wouldn't drop Emily.

"Hello," he barked into the receiver when he finally got it to his 
mouth.  

"Uh, Phillip, is that you?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"It's Maggie.  I'm at a pay phone.  Listen, we've got trouble out here 
at the new H.Q."

"What sort of trouble?" Phillip asked, quickly forgetting his 
annoyance.

"I hate to say it, but someone stole your shuttle. Looks like maybe it 
was Robin. Her car is parked at the H.Q., but she's nowhere around. I can't 
call over there because they changed their phone number after Robin left the 
Legation, and I don't have the new number yet..."

"Robin stole my shuttle!?!?!" Phillip yelled.  Raising his voice was 
not a usual custom for him, and in response, Emily began to fuss in his grip.

"Well, to be honest, I didn't actually see the pilot. All I saw was 
Robin's car..."

"Who is at the H.Q. now?"

"Elias and Willie are still there. Chris and I drove into town to call 
you," Maggie replied.

Phillip rapidly considered the options in his mind. With Mike at work, 
he had no transportation of his own.  

"Can the two of you pick me up here?"

"Where do you want to go...Kyle's house or the H.Q.?"

"The Headquarters," Phillip answered, "I will call Julie and see if she 
can go to Kyle's house. Maybe she can find out what happened on that end."

Before Phillip placed his call to Julie, he took a few minutes to dry 
Emily and his hands off, dress her, and put her in the small portable crib 
set up for her in the living room.  He noticed a note on the coffee table in 
Sean's scrawl, proclaiming that he was going to hang out at the mall with his 
friend, Ricky.  Phillip was aware that Ricky was one of the other boys who'd 
been rescued from the camp, and he was also aware that Mike wasn't enamored of the 
idea of Sean just taking off and spending time with someone that might possibly 
have some lingering effects of the conversion process to work through.  Sean 
wasn't ignorant to it, and Phillip knew he'd purposely waited until Mike had 
gone to work, and Phillip was busy, before sneaking off.  Unfortunately, there 
was nothing Phillip could do at the moment. Leaving the note where he found 
it, where Mike would be sure to see it, he scribbled one of his own out and 
laid it next to Sean's. Then, he called Julie.

***************************************************************

Julie raced through the intersection as the light turned from yellow to 
red, hoping that a cop wasn't anywhere in the vicinity to see her do it. On 
a day like this, it wouldn't surprise her to have a traffic ticket to add to 
her collection of annoyances. While she'd been at home, spending her Sunday 
morning going over the data produced from last month's crivit activity 
expedition to present to EcoSound (knowing she'd make certain to document  
all details pertaining to the death of Kim Chang...so they'd be aware of just how 
dangerous completing the rest of the study in the fall was likely to be), the 
phone rang. Phillip's frantic news alarmed her, and put an immediate end to her 
plans to catch up on her work. Then, she'd called the new number for Kyle's 
house, (which, fortunately, she happened to have on hand in her address book, unlike 
Maggie), and had only succeeded in getting a hold of Katie. Katie said Robin was 
at the store. She hung up the phone, shut down her computer and grabbed 
her leather briefcase. In it was the manilla folder containing the results from the 
paternity test. At some point, she knew she was likely to run into Ham, 
and it was pointless to sit on the knowledge forever. In fact, she was to the 
point of wishing she could just toss the folder at him without any explaination, 
and go somewhere that would be less volatile. If there was any such place.

Robin's car was not in the driveway when Julie pulled up. The garage 
door was wide open, and both of Kyle's dirt bikes were inside. One of them was 
in some state of repair. Peices of it were laid out on a tarp, with tools 
scattered about nearby. His car was parked out front. Questions began to form in 
her mind as to who was there..and who was not...and why hadn't anyone tried to 
stop Robin from taking off?  Something wasn't sitting right.

Katie answered the door after Julie knocked several times.

"Sorry, I had my walkman on," the girl apologized.

"It's ok...I just need to know where Robin is," Julie tried again.

"I told you. She went to the store."

"Did she come home?"

"Um, I dunno..." Katie responded dully.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Julie asked, trying to hide the 
annoyance in her voice, "Don't you pay attention?"

"I have ADD. Attention Deficit Disorder. That's what my teacher says," 
Katie remarked.

"Or, either that, you were listening to your walkman," Julie replied. 

"I told you I was. What's the big deal? Why are you looking for Binna, 
anyways?"

"Katie, we got word that someone stole Philip's shuttle. Now, I know, 
and I'm sure that even you know, that Robin has been very upset about Polly's 
capture. There were a few people that overheard and arguement between 
Robin and Ham yesterday...and that argument concerned some notion that Robin planned 
to steal Philip's shuttle to see if she could get Polly of the Mothership. 
So, Katie, if you know anything..."

"Polly once told me that Binna gets airsick. Besides, Julie, if Binna 
went to go get Polly, and something happened to her, she would know that she'd 
be leaving me all alone...Polly always calls Binna dumb and stuff, but I 
don't think that she's really that stupid. Do you?"

Julie studied Katie for a moment, shocked to hear such logic coming 
from the mouth of a girl that was only nearing her twelfth birthday. A sigh 
escaped her as she contemplated other questions. When she snapped out of her 
momentary reverie, she was surprised to see Elizabeth in the room.

"Hi, honey," she greeted her, instantly taking note of Elizabeth's 
saddened expression. 

"Hello, Julie," Elizabeth replied softly. She then turned to Katie.

"Where is Mother?" she asked.

"She's not here," Katie replied shortly, giving Elizabeth the best evil 
eye she knew how to give. Elizabeth only managed to look befuddled.

"What about Kyle? Did he leave, or is he passed out around here 
somewhere?"

Julie's head snapped up in interest and she gazed between Elizabeth and 
Katie. The latter of the two was staring at the scuffed toes of her 
sneakers as if they were the most interesting things she'd seen as of late.

"Look, Elizabeth, they're gone, okay? Ham and Binna took Kyle to go 
sober up at Chris and Maggie's. Are you satisfied? I sure hope Julie knows how 
to keep her trap shut, 'cuz I wasn't supposed to tell anyone."

"Oh, sweetheart," Julie sighed, "I respect what you're trying to 
do...but sometimes, it's not healthy for those that you love to keep secrets. 
Especially when...Especially when keeping those secrets can prevent them from 
getting help when they need it the most."

"I don't really think Kyle wants the whole world to know he was drunk, 
Julie. You should have seen him this morning...he was really mad, and he acted 
like a big jerk to Elizabeth," Katie said.

"Are you okay?" Julie asked Elizabeth, who had taken a seat on the 
couch. 

"I am fine. Frankly, I just wish to forget the whole thing."

Another thought crossed Julie's mind, and she blurted it out before she 
could stop herself.

"Kyle was drunk...Katie...did he steal the shuttle?"

"NO!" Katie cried, "I told you what happened. Ham and Binna took him to 
Maggie and Chris's house!"

"In Robin's car, right?"

"No, in Ham's van..."

Katie realized her mistake too late, and she clapped her hand over her 
mouth. Julie's eyebrow shot up. Katie narrowed her eyes at Julie, and turned 
her back to her. Then, she fled from the room seeking the refuge of her 
bedroom. The door slammed shut with a loud thud, rattling the picture window in the 
living room.

Elizabeth didn't even jump. She stared solemnly out the window, gazing 
up at the sky.

"It was Madeline," she said quietly. "Madeline was here, and now, it 
seems, she is not."

"Why would Madeline steal the shuttle?" Julie cried with a sigh.

"To go get Polly."

"She can't drive!" Julie argued.

Elizabeth only looked at her blankly. After all, one might argue that 
it was impossible for a year old 'child' to talk coherently, function 
independently, and have the stature of an adult, too. Julie shook her head finally, 
clearing her mind.

"Alright, Elizabeth. I suppose I should head on over to the H.Q. then. 
That's where Philip is headed, and he should know the truth. Then, I 
guess..."

She squeezed her eyes shut, realizing that they were likely going to 
need yet another headquarters if Madeline was caught. Before she could take a 
step towards the door, the phone began to ring, startling her. Elizabeth 
picked up the extension.

"Willie!" she cried into the receiver, "I'm so glad you've called! You 
sound odd...where are you?"

"A payphone?"

"Oh, yes, I know what one is. What? Really?"

Julie listened, watching the expressions on Elizabeth's face. She had 
been so down earlier, but now, she looked absolutely radiant.

"Willie, that is wonderful news! Yes, I...I must call Mother first, 
but I will come right away!"

"Is Julie here? Yes, she is...Would you like to talk to her? No? Then 
what is it, Willie? Is someone hurt?"

"Who is it? Not..."

Julie watched as Elizabeth visibly paled for a moment, but then she 
seemed to regain some of her color.

"I am sorry, Willie. Yes, of course. Yes, I will bring Julie. I am sure 
she will do whatever she can to help..."

Elizabeth hung up the phone and turned to Julie, her eyes wide.

"That was Willie," she cried, "And he just called to tell me that 
Philip's shuttle has been returned...along with my Aunt Polly!"

***************************************************************
All pretense of working had stopped long before Phillip's shuttle was skillfully maneuvered back into the H.Q.'s facility. When Madeline emerged from the craft, Phillip was absolutely livid. He, Maggie, Chris, Elias and Willie were in for a huge shock when two uniform clad guards followed behind. Sheilded between the 5th Column defectors was none other than Polly. 

"Son of a gun! It's Polly!" Elias whooped. He rushed up the ramp exuberantly, nearly knocking the two guards escorting her off balance. His joyous embrace lifted Polly up off of her feet, and he'd carried her the rest of the way down the ramp before he set her down. Two more arms added themselves to Elias's as Maggie wrapped Polly in a hug of her own. 

Without anyone suggesting it, Willie quietly backed away from the group, in search of a chair. It pained him to see how absolutely exhausted Polly looked. She was almost devoid of any emotion, and Willie had learned, by now, that humans suffering from shock often looked as she did. When Elias and Maggie finally released her, Willie cautiously approached her and offered her his hand. "Maybe you would like to sit down. If you want to, I brought a chair," he stammered, watching for any reaction on Polly's face. She said nothing, but she collapsed into the chair gratefully.

 Maggie, meanwhile, had calmed down enough to make a quick, educated assessment of Polly's condition. She was the first to notice the evil looking bruises peeking out beneath the collar of the uniform Polly wore. Then, she saw the blaster burn in the midsection. Quickly, she stooped down to examine it, but Polly pushed her away. 

"Don't worry. I didn't get shot. I'm just borrowing this uniform," Polly said in a flat tone of voice. 

Maggie exhaled a sigh of relief when Polly's statement registered. When she stood up again, she flicked a quick glance at the trio of Polly's rescuers. She now knew who was responsible for the theft of Phillip's shuttle. The guilty party, Madeline, was about to face Phillip's wrath. The other two stood off to the side, warily watching everything that was unfolding before them. Then, the female of the pair collapsed. Maggie saw green blood staining the leg of her uniform. Though she didn't normally have much sympathy for lizards, she figured either of these two might have had something to do with Polly's rescue, so she hurried over to the fallen guard. 

"It is alright," the guard told Maggie, in a soft drawl that wasn't unlike Chris's "It is just a shrapnel wound. I will be fine..." 

Maggie was relieved to see that, despite her collapse, the guard hadn't lost consiousness. Her companion was stooped down beside her, glancing nervously at Maggie. "Jaime was in the gunner's station and we took a hit.." he said. 

Willie approached with a wauded up rag in his hand. He'd assisted in enough triage to realize that the guard's wound required direct pressure to stop the bleeding. Maggie assesed the injury the best she could and realized that someone needed to get a hold of Julie, both for the guard and for Polly. 

"William!" the guard called out in a shaky voice. 

Willie gazed at the patient thoughtfully as he cautiously pressed the rag to the wound on her leg. "I am sorry. You know my name, but I am not certain where we have met before," he replied apologetically. The male guard, supporting his companion in a propped position, leaned in close to her ear. 

"Is this man the cousin of yours you have told me about?" She nodded emphatically, turning her gaze back to Willie. 

"My cousin?" Willie questioned blankly, but then his eyes grew open wide. "Jha'me! Is it you?" he cried. 

"Yes, it is me...but I am called Jaime here," she answered. Then she winced a bit as Maggie lifted the edges of the rag Willie held to the wound to take another quick peek at it. She wasn't certain, but she thought she had seen something embedded in the wound. Meanwhile, a slow expression of amazement was crossing over Willie's features. In the slightest of incriments, his expression brightened until he looked the happiest that Maggie had ever seen him to be in recent years. Then, very rapidly, his joy faded to utter dispair. He turned a pleading look to Maggie as he looked at the rag that was covering the still oozing wound. 

"Please stay with her," he pleaded, "I must call Julie and get her some help!" 

Phillip approached the small crowd triaging the guard, the anger on his face replaced with concern. "Orlando," he addressed the male guard, "it is good to see you, but I must admit that this is a surprise. Are you hurt?" 

"No, I am lucky. But, Jaime...will she be all right?" 

"Yeah, she'll be fine. Willie said he'll drive into town and call Julie. She's over at Kyle's, and she has some medical supplies. That leg of your friend's will need some stitches," Maggie said. Glancing over at Polly, who was still in Elias's attendance, she reached over and gave Willie a reassuring pat on the back. Then, she pulled her keys out of her pocket and handed them to him. She noticed that Madeline had slinked off to the corner where Phillip had laid Emily down on a blanket for a nap, intentionally removing herself from the action...and any reprimands she was likely to receive.

 ***************************************************************

 With a sizeable group of resistors and fifth columnists milling around in one general area, a thorough examination of Polly was not possible at the H.Q. When Julie suggested that she be taken to the hospital for a comprehensive evaluation, Polly vehemently objected. Without any life threatening injuries found, Julie knew she could not force the issue, especially when someone else at the H.Q. needed medical attention. She was certainly no expert at repairing damage done to the flesh of a Sirian, but the medical knowledge she did have sufficed. There was nothing she could offer the Fifth Column guard for the pain, except novacaine. Her patient, Jaime; who Julie had since learned was Willie's cousin, offered up no complaint. Fortunately, the extraction of the embedded piece of shrapnel wasn't difficult. When Julie had learned that Jaime had collapsed, she had been concerned about blood loss. She now knew that her collapse had been caused by weakness in her leg, and pain. The injury was ugly, but not huge. It would need several stitches, though, and Julie wasn't certain she had a needle that would effectively pierce through a Visitor's tough, scaled skin. She suggested to Willie that he take Jaime to Visitor Fields. 

"No, oh, no..I am sure that Patricia and her goons know that we were shot down somewhere. That is the first place she would check if she suspected that one of us was injured!" Jaime insisted. 

"Yes, I agree. Too dangerous," Orlando echoed. 

"Patricia? Who is Patricia?" 

Orlando's facial muscles tensed and his human guise did a remarkably perfect job of reflecting his unvoiced dread. "No one knows for sure who she is, exactly," he answered, "but there is rumors that she is a...well...I am not sure I know the human equivalent of the word for her profession.." 

"An attatche for the Leader?" Julie suggested. 

"No. She has a special squadron unit, and they all work on highly classified jobs." 

"A hired mercenary?" Ham interjected, making no disguise of his eavesdropping presence. 

Heads swiveled around to the sound of his voice. Julie had only had a few minutes to patch a quick call over to the Faber house, where Katie had told her that Ham and Robin had taken Kyle to sober up. Sure enough, Robin had answered the phone, and Julie had told her to hustle over to the H.Q. as fast as possible. There hadn't been much time to afford her any details, especially since she didn't have many to give her. She had, however, told her that there was an unconfirmed rumor that Polly had somehow managed to escape her confines on the Mothership, and was now at the H.Q. Robin now stood beside Ham, a look of dazed shock on her face. Her attention was riveted on Polly, who still sat quietly in her chair, staring straight ahead. 

"Yes..like a bat man... only a woman," Willie said, his voice faltering as he acknowledged Robin. Next to him sat Elizabeth, who motioned for Robin to sit on the ground beside her.

"You mean a hit man..." Ham grunted. 

"I believe so," Willie trailed. He then turned a nervous look to Orlando, "Patricia. As in...the commander of Pa'theha's Dozen? Am I right about what she does?"

"Yes, you are. Only she's called Patricia now, and she is here. She ordered for Polly to be executed, and she knows that someone escaped with her..."

 "And that someone is us," Jaime finished.

"You know who this Patricia is?" Ham asked Willie. He moved forwards from his position from along the wall as if the tone the coversation had suddenly taken was of an intense interest to him. Kyle remained where he was, keeping utterly silent. 

"Only what I have heard in stories. Those stories are not very nice ones." 

"What sort of stories?" Ham pressed insistently. 

Willie sighed, looking uncomfortable at being put on the spot. "Assassinations," he answered, cautiously sounding his way through the word, "Those who openly opposed of the Leader, some of his strongest political..uh..adversaries, and others who angered the Leader in some way or another....well, these people were murdered. Many of them. In very terrible ways. Some of them suspected they would be targets and even paid good money to hire themselves expert personal protection, but they were killed anyways. This is how the rumors got started, I suppose, about who was being assigned to do the killings, and who hired her. Some of these killings made it onto the public newscasts." 

"The stories are more than just rumors," Philip interjected. He hadn't said much since the arrival of Julie, Ham, Robin, Kyle, Elizabeth and Katie. All eyes turned on him after he spoke. "The Leader does have a special detail employed to carry out functions that would fall under this sort of heading. He calls it his Special Protection Unit. It is the very same unit that Mike's son was going to be trained for. This regiment has been commanded by Pa'theha for many years. Most of their duties are highly classified, as Orlando said, and I would not be surprised if political assassinations are among their assignments. They do not even have an official military clearance or a true title classification, as though they do not really exist. But, of course, they do, and unofficially, the unit has been dubbed Pa'theha's Dozen, although there may actually be more or fewer than twelve in the regiment." 

"Kind of like the CIA," Elias snorted. 

"Any idea why this Patricia is here?" Kyle questioned, finally breaking his silence. "Do you suppose she showed up with her Secret Squirrels because she heard we busted Sean out of the camp, and she wants him back?"

"She does intend to launch an investigation into the events at the camp since Philip never gave her the report he promised," Orlando stated, "but she had a whole list of things on her agenda that she discussed with Diana. House Cleaning. The Mothership is to be decontaminated of 5th Columnists, and Patricia intends to eliminate any and all Hybrids, as per the Leader's orders." 

"And us too I am sure. At least now," Jaime said. "Orlando was in the room and overheard everything Patricia and Diana discussed. Now, of course, Orlando is gone from the mothership and so is Polly. It will not take them long to figure out that I helped them if they do not already know. That is why I can not go to Visitor Fields. It is too public."

 Julie rummaged through her medical bag for one of the pre packed, sterilized suture kits she carried. Then, she donned a fresh pair of gloves and began the difficult process of stitching Jaime's leg up herself. 

"This Patricia wants to kill Elizabeth!?" Robin cried out in a sudden, frightened fury. "Why?" 

"Because the Leader feels that she is dangerous. He has declared all Hybrids to be an abomination and a threat to our people, and he has ordered Patricia to destroy them," Orlando replied. 

"All Hybrids," Elizabeth echoed. She glanced around the room, and her eyes locked on Madeline, who was still seated some distance away from the group, near Emily. She hadn't said anything to anyone since the shuttle had returned. With a slight motion of her hand, Elizabeth summoned her over. Madeline slowly rose and approached the others hesitantly. Emily, who'd since woke up from her nap, was in her arms, trying valiantly to grab clawfulls of hair to stuff into her mouth. Taking a seat on the floor close to Elizabeth, she positioned the hatchling in her lap and allowed her to squirm and play without letting her free. Once Madeline had situated herself, Elizabeth turned her gaze to Orlando. "I'm certain I know why the Leader would want me dead," she stated, "But if the order he issued to Patricia is to kill all starchildren, then I'm assuming he knows about at least one of the others, even if he's never met them, am I right?" 

"Patricia knows about three of them, from what I understand, and a possible fourth." 

There was a slight rumble within the group. Julie was glad she had finally finished stitching up Jaime's leg. The news of another Starchild in existance was a shock. Kyle suddenly looked as though he would throw up. "A possible fourth?" Julie questioned nervously. 

"This is why she ordered Polly to be terminated. It would prevent the procedure that Diana conducted on her from resulting in a fourth hybrid." 

Polly said nothing as others turned their scrutiny upon her. Only Robin managed not to look surprised, except, perhaps, Kyle, who was starting to look somewhat relieved. She reached over and took her sister's hand in her own and gave it a gentle squeeze. If Polly felt any measure of comfort from Robin's gesture, it didn't register. 

"So, for now, at least, there's only three, and Patricia knows about all of them...even Abraham?" Julie asked. 

"Yes, the name Abraham was mentioned..." 

"How did she find out about him? Laura got herself off the mothership long before he was born..and she didn't even live long enough to tell anyone about him!" Robin cried. 

Polly's downcast glance at her feet was the only answer she offered. The bruises on her neck provided for the rest of her testimony. 

"Truth serum. With only one prisoner to question after everything at the camp went down, we can bet the bitch shot Polly chock full of it. There's no telling what the lizards know now," Chris offered crudely. He then looked at Polly, and his hardened expression suddenly turned more gentle and compassionate than anyone was ever likely to witness firsthand again. "Don't you worry, hon," he told Polly, "We all know it wasn't your fault. No one blames you." 

"Polly, besides the truth serum..uh..." Elias hedged, obviously uncomfortable with the topic he was bringing up. "Did Queen Scaly...try to..convert you or anything?"

 A charged hush fell over the group, which Ham broke with a reprimand. "If she was converted, Elias, do you think she'd up and admit it to us? Get real." 

"I'm not converted!" Polly cried, her tone registering the first real emotion she'd had since her arrival at the H.Q. "The chamber was broken or something, I don't know. All I know is that I didn't get converted!" 

"It's okay, Polly," Julie soothed sympathetically. She couldn't hide the expression of surprise and satisfaction crossing her face. 

"Broken? Really? How so, do you know?" Robin inquired. 

"I broke it," Madeline admitted quietly, "A long time ago. I do not really know that it is broken, but Mother thinks it is. She hasn't used it since." 

Julie suddenly nodded, remembering the conversation that she and Madeline had in the car before she'd taken her to Kyle's house. 

"You don't know for sure that it's broken?" Elias asked "What did you do...sneak in there and snip a few wires or fry some circuits?" 

"No, I did not snip any wires. The problem is not actually technical. There was just an incident that happened that has frightened Mother from ever using it again. It was a thought bleedthrough. She can usually insert her thoughts into the mind of her subject in some manner, but in one instance, her..subject...proved to have the same ability, and it concerned her." Madeline's explaination was adequate enough to get the point across to Jul.ie, and her tone suggested that she would be quite happy if the subject was now dropped. 

"You mean to tell us that Diana tried to convert you ...and you were able to turn it around on her?" Maggie asked incrediously. 

"I just wanted it to stop. It was pointless, and all it did was give me nightmares. Then, one day, she was trying to condtion me...and she was thinking some very evil thoughts about killing someone. I could hear her thoughts somehow..." 

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Julie commented darkly. 

"So I mentally...objected, I suppose. And she heard it like I could hear her, and she did not like it, so there has been no more conversions of anyone since." 

A ripple of relief spread through the room, as if Madeline's information proved, for now, at least, that Polly hadn't been allowed to escape from the mothership to act as a spy. Though Mike wasn't present to offer an immediate memory, no one would likely forget the lessons learned in the past with both Sean and Marjorie Donovan. 

"Ok, so Polly isn't converted, not to say that I doubted her testimony at all," Kyle said. "And we've got a political mercenary and her goon squad looking to capture Philip and kill Elizabeth, Madeline and Bram. In addition, we've gotta keep her from getting her scaly claws on Polly and our fifth column friends here...." 

"Patricia has others on her agenda, too. Anyone with a biological connection to either of the hybrids is slated to be found. Their parents, I believe. Supposedly, Diana performed genetic alterations on them that could allow them to produce more hybrid offspring later, so the Leader wants them exterminated too," Orlando said. 

Ham muttered something unintelligible under his breath. His face was a mask of ice. Julie glanced at him nervously, knowing that she would need to talk to him in private, and soon, if Orlando's information was accurate. 

"Hey, if this is true, then why hasn't Patricia whacked Diana? After all, since she's Madeline's mother, that should qualify Scaly Di for a position on Patty's hit list, right?" Elias questioned skeptically. 

Orlando's eyebrow shot up a notch, and he slid a glance over to his companion, who looked equally as shocked. Then, in tandem, they both looked at Madeline and studied her thoughtfully. Madeline began to shift uncomfortably under their scrutiny. 

"Hey, take a picture, guys, it'll last longer," Polly finally snapped at them, breaking their gaze. 

"It is possible that Patricia does not know...yet," Orlando stammered. "But, even if she does know, or finds out soon, she may have reasons for not killing Diana right away. First, her testimony may be needed to implicate Philip, if he is caught. Secondly, Patricia might even have some personal reservations about killing her. From what I overheard, I got the impression that Patricia and Diana are blood related. In fact, if I heard correctly, then Patricia is Diana's mother..." 

"Say what?!" Elias exclaimed, flabberghasted at the answer his question received. 

"It is true, as far as I know," Phillip stated. 

"Instead of killing Diana, Patricia has officially retired her, and she brought someone else with her to command the mothership in Diana's place. A man by the name of David," Jaime added, "and Diana has now been given civilian status." There was no attempt on Jaime's part to hide the satisfaction in her voice. There might have been celebration within the group of resistors, but no one could bring themselves to express their happiness.

"Great...trade in Diana and get Mama instead," Maggie mused, "And it doesn't sound like the apple fell far from the tree here. So, if Patricia has reservations about killing Diana, then maybe Madeline will be spared too?" 

"Do not count on it," Orlando said, in a cold, matter of fact tone. "Patricia has not exonerated Diana completely. In fact, she is very angry that Diana...to quote her...'polluted the Sirian bloodlines' in this way. I got the impression that Patricia would not mind killing Diana in the least, except that, like I said, her testimony against Philip is needed. She views Madeline as a lab experiment..a genetic aborration. Of the three hybrids, I would be more inclined to believe that Madeline is in the worst danger if Patricia finds out the truth about her lineage. But, Patricia will not discriminate, this I can be sure of. None of her targets is safe in any regard." 

Polly looked up, with an achingly painful expression of guilt on her face. "No one would even know about Bram if I hadn't opened my big, fat trap. Diana even knows about Brandon and Tonya now, and she knows that Brandon lives with Abraham at the Bernsteins..." 

"Polly, like Chris said, it's not your fault. I'm sure she could have gotten her information from another source sooner or later," Julie said. 

"Tonya is staying with them too while her shoulder heals..." Robin stated. 

"Someone should warn them!" Polly insisted. 

"Yeah, definitely," Maggie agreed, "but Tonya and Brandon aren't supposedly targets, and even though Bram could well be, he's at the Bernsteins...which you told Diana...not this Patricia bitch, right?" 

Polly nodded soberly, fighting the urge to either argue or burst out into tears. 

"Okay, then, they should be safe enough for now, right? Diana isn't the one sending a goon squad out after them, for once. How would Patricia know where to find them?" 

"Wrong," Orlando interjected. 

"Dead wrong," Jaime added. "Patricia and David combed over the confession transcripts that Diana is required to maintain when she interrogates a suspect. Often times, these 'confession transcripts' can be used for investigations...and also as training tools. In this case, Patricia has a record of where Polly told Diana where to find Abraham. All she needs to do now is.." 

"Find out where the Bernsteins live," Elias finished, "and swoop down on them out of the blue." 

"No!" Elizabeth cried. "We can't let that happen! Polly is right...they have got to be warned!" 

Chapter 22   Paranoia

"There's a little black spot on the sun today 
(That's my soul up there) 
It's the same old thing as yesterday 
(That's my soul up there) 
There's a black hat caught in a high tree top 
(That's my soul up there) 
There's a flag pole rag and the wind won't stop 
(That's my soul up there)..."

~~ The Police   King of Pain

There was no memory that Diana could call upon to prepare her for her 
plummet to the Earth's surface. Any of her previous training jumps years ago 
had been done from descending shuttles in simulated crash situations. None of 
them had been executed from heights of two miles, nor had they been done within 
the heavier gravity of Earth's atmosphere. At least she knew the proper 
position to assume when the ground seemingly lunged up at her. She took the impact 
of the initial landing on her feet, but her momentum hadn't completely 
stopped. Accidentally pitching forward, she made contact with the ground again, 
her hands out in front of her. From there, she was bounced several times until 
she finally came to a stop. After a few moments of utter numbness and disbelief, 
Diana rolled herself into a sitting position and looked around. 

Fortune had been with her regarding where she landed. There wasn't much 
around except for half built skeletons of a housing development that 
had never been completed. A few residential roads had been paved, but were left 
unfinished. In fact, though her initial landing had occured on leveled, hard packed 
dirt, she had managed to bounce a short distance to the middle one of the 
black paved streets. The summer sun glared high overhead, and the heat rising 
from the asphalt was quickly becoming unbearable, even to one accustomed to 
laying out and sunning on warm rocks. Irritating, too, was the throbbing pain in 
her left wrist. She gingerly lifted her hand to find that the tough face of her 
chrono had been utterly destroyed, and the psuedoskin covering her hands; both 
of them, was shredded. A trickle of green blood oozed from a broken claw 
on one of her fingers. Ignoring another stab of pain from her Donovan-injured 
shoulder, she examined her injured wrist. She was unable to tell if it was 
broken, or merely sprained. Whatever the case turned out to be, she realized that 
untangling herself from the parachute and repairing what damage she could to her 
psuedoskin were top priorities.  Then, she would have to make a splint 
to immobilize the injury until she could find some place to examine it better.

Diana's first stop was the shelter of one of the housing frameworks. It 
wasn't much of an enclosure, but at least it provided a minimal chance 
of being spotted from any arial surveilance. There, she wauded the parachute up 
and stashed it where it wasn't readily noticeable. While she did this, she 
consoled herself with the fact that her wrist was not likely broken. It was 
already beginning to swell and was painful. However, she could move it, and she 
didn't feel anything like popping or grinding while she did so. Despite the 
throbbing in her arm and her shoulder, she willed herself to keep focused and tend 
to the tasks at hand. Pain was something she'd been trained to ignore, to a 
certain extent. Repairing the psuedoskin on her hands took nearly an hour. The 
end result still left her with some ragged, broken fingernails. She grimaced at 
the thought of looking like a human woman badly in need of a manicure. 
Unfortunately, the nails on the fingers of her psuedoskin were made with a compound 
similar in composition to acrylic. She had none of the necessary supplies in her 
waist pack to do the repairs on her own. In fact, she was more insensed that 
she'd broken one of her real claws, down to the quick. There were also 
repairs to be made to the rips in her denim jeans. The sealant used to fix tears in 
pseudoskin worked quite well to adhere the edges of the torn fabric 
together for an adequate, temporary measure. She wasn't 'hip' enough to know that torn 
jeans were actually a fashion statement in human culture these days.

A quick inventory of the supplies in her waist pack put Diana in a 
better frame of mind. She had no sunglasses to protect her eyes from the harsh 
sunlight, nor did she have anything that would service as a decent wrap for her 
wrist. But, with her bank card surviving the impact of her rough landing, she 
had the ability to access the needed currency to buy such things.
When the afternoon sun began to sink behind the horizon, Diana finally 
emerged from her hiding place.  Her brief rest and a snack of a hapless 
field mouse refreshed her enough to begin her long trek, on foot, into town. Though 
she had no true idea of precisely where she was, streetlights flickering on 
with the onset of dusk, in the distance provided her with a direction to go.  

Along the way, she passed a huge sign erected at the entrance of the 
housing development she was now leaving.  It proclaimed, in bold letters: 
"Welcome Home to Cuesta Verde, Phase II. Luxiourious Single Family Homes. 
Convenient Location Near Freeways and Shopping. Affordable Elegance. Coming Soon, 
in Fall, 1984!

The "Conveniently Located near Freeways and Shopping" part of the 
advertisement caught Diana's eye first. She only hoped that the 
civilization the housing development boasted it's close proximity to had materialized first.  
Otherwise, after 7 years of utter abandonment, this development was 
still likely to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere. Fortunately, once she navigated her 
way through the desolation of the abandoned construction development, Diana 
learned that 'Phase I' of Cuesta Verde had already been completed, and it 
seemed to have a few habitants, judging by the lights in a few of the windows of 
the houses she passed. It was even closer to the convenient community, as 
the sign for Phase II had promised. By the time she reached the city lights of the 
community's hub, two more hours had passed.

Finding an A.T.M. machine was very easy, but Diana hadn't been too 
concerned about that part. Her few, covert, terranside excursions in the past had 
enlightened her to this fact. Automatic Teller Machines could be found 
almost everywhere. She resisted the urge to curse aloud when the blasted 
machine would only allow her to access 200 dollars of her currency.  Knowing full well 
that she'd have to purchase sleeping accomodations and a few other 
necessities, she hoped that amount would suffice. 

Across the street from the bank machine was a small strip mall. The 
parking lot still had cars parked in it.  Once she crossed the street, with her 
cash tucked securely in her waist pack, she peeked into the various windows 
of the mini mall.  Most of the shops were closed at this hour, but a store 
with a sign that read "Payless" was still opened.  Diana slipped inside, liking the 
sound of "Pay Less".  Spending as little money as possible was a good idea.  
Foodstuff was not a specialty in this store, but her other necessities 
were.  Browsing the aisles, she found a pair of suitable sunglasses on a 
rotating rack.  In the medical supplies section near the pharmacy, she collected 
a wrap labeled as an ace bandage for her wrist.  

In the hair care aisle, she pondered the various choices in hair dye 
solutions.  Though her wig was made of a keratin based compound very 
similar to human hair, Diana was nervous about making a selection. Many of the chemical 
compounds in the dyes were harsh, and she feared the damage that could 
be caused. She remembered that Kristine Walsh, the first of the Visitor Spokespersons, 
had confided this fact to her, telling her that the wrong hair stylist with 
the wrong sort of hair dye had nearly 'ruined her fledgling career'. 
Finally, she stumbled upon a different product, that proclaimed to be all natural 
and free of damaging chemicals.  It was a henna rinse shampoo that would supposedly 
make her hair somewhat lighter, even if the color wouldn't be changed 
outright. Diana decided that this option would do well.  Human shampoo 
preparations didn't typically damage the wigs Sirians wore. She hoped this wouldn't either. 

Next, she found a small sewing kit in a plastic, hinge top box.  This 
would do to repair the rips in her clothing. The last item on her shopping 
list was an impulse purchase. Though she didn't have much money for luxuries, 
the small bottle of baby oil was inexpensive and well worth the price. The 
thought of slathering her scales with it after a nice, hot shower justified the 
one dollar and fifty cents she'd spend for it.

The cashier that rang up her purchases barely paid her any mind. Her 
response to Diana's inquiry as to where she might find a nearby hotel was 
absentminded and vague. Then, a loud speaker announcement proclaimed that the store 
would be closing in fifteen minutes. Left to her own devices, Diana walked 
the 'about three blocks down and make a left, and down about half a mile,' 
to a Motel 6. There, she was received by a desk clerk who could barely speak 
English. A Spanish language music program played on a radio behind the desk. When 
she requested a room for the night, he checked her I.D. and had her sign 
the guest register. Then, he shoved a key across the desk at her. If he 
recognized her at all, he made no mention of it.

Diana located her assigned room. It was on the ground level of the two 
story  motel complex, one door past the stairwell that led up. In the recess 
of the stairwell there was a beverage dispenser. A young boy that looked to be 
pre adolescent was busily jiggling the change return lever, hoping to hit 
the freebie jackpot. Beside him, was another machine. A man was using it to 
fill a small bucket with ice. Diana made a mental note to get some for herself, to 
ease the swelling in her wrist. As she passed by, she heard the boy 
plaintively beg his father for a soda, to which he received a negative. The boy then 
backed out of the recess and nearly stumbled into Diana. He gazed up at her 
apologetically, but then his eyes grew wide. Without a word, he backed 
into the recess where his father had just finished filling his ice bucket. Diana wasted 
no time getting herself to her room. Leave it up to a child of ten to notice 
things that adults failed to realize. The boy acted as though recognized her, 
or at least had been shocked by her amazing resemblence to a certain, well 
known mothership commander. She only hoped that the boy's father wouldn't 
believe any incredible story he told. After all, how many alien commanders 
routinely checked themselves into travel lodges?

Sure enough, she had just shut the door to her room, effectively 
concealing herself, when she heard footsteps passing her window. She could tell by 
the child's excited babbling, they were the same father and son she'd run 
into moments ago.

"Dad, I swear...it was her!  The Lizard Queen! I ran right into her 
when you were getting the ice...and she looked at me like she wanted to eat me!"

"Tyler, for crying out loud, your imagination is going overboard. Why 
on Earth would Diana be staying in a hotel..."

The sound of the pair's voices trailed away as they continued down the 
walkway and out of earshot.

Lizard Queen!!  That's what the boy had referred to her as. Under any 
other circumstances her unofficial title among human children might have made 
her angry, but instead, she found herself laughing. Oh, what an imagination 
he'd had, too. Eating him had been the last thing on her mind. Her laughter left 
her abruptly as she contemplated the seriousness of her predicament. That 
boy was not running off on a tangent of his imagination like his father 
believed.  She realized that she'd have to be very careful. 

***************************************************************

By nine o'clock that evening, the crowd that had mobbed the Bernstein's 
residence had thinned down considerably. Now, in addition to the 
regular household members, only Tonya, Orlando and Jaime remained as guests.  Tonya would 
remain until she healed, got another job to replace the one she'd never 
reported back to at the Legation after Polly's capture, and was able to obtain 
another apartment. Jaime needed someplace to stay since she'd learned, much to 
her dismay, that Willie and Thelma were having marital problems and had 
separated. Elias and Miranda were more than willing to make room for her in their tiny 
house, but they needed a day or two to make the necessary accomodations. In 
Jaime's condition, she needed someplace warm and safe immediately. Orlando 
simply had nowhere to go. He assured the Bernsteins that as soon as Abraham was 
safe from the threat of Patricia, he would be moving on, spreading the word to 
other 5th Column cells as he traveled, about what was happening in Los Angeles. 
His eventual goal was to go back to Houston, where he'd originally been 
assigned and joined with the 5th Column a few years before.  

Out of decency, Brandon had given up his own bed to accomodate Tonya, 
and had moved to the couch. Once again, decency prevalied. Even though Jaime 
was a lizard lady, she was still a lady, and injured to boot. If Brandon 
minded losing his spot on the couch to Jaime, he'd learned, after the incident with 
Laura, to keep his mouth shut. Even injured lizard ladies had venom. The 
thought of sharing the floor with Orlando did nothing for him, but there were no 
other options until Abraham offered to switch places with Brandon.  Brandon 
had been afraid to ask why until Abraham told him quietly that Orlando had known 
his mother, and there were some questions he wanted to ask him about her.

Relieved that Abraham wasn't going as fruity as Tonya, and equally as 
glad that he'd managed to get out of the Gator's Nest, he agreed heartily. 
Then, he stopped obsessing about the small things long enough to notice that 
Lynn looked like she was on the verge of having a heart attack. Brandon didn't 
blame her. She went to the front window every ten minutes or so, looking for any 
sign of that would announce to her that Patricia and her squadron had located 
their house. Orlando and Jaime both seemed confident that no one would be 
coming that night, but they kept their blasters handy anyways.  Despite her injury, 
Jaime was still on "guard mode".

"They could find out where we live very easily if they kept any files 
about Danny on board the Mothership. That Visitor Youth Leader certainly knew 
where to find us..he was over here all the time...and Steven was always at 
Eleanor's just down the street..." Lynn obsessed anxiously, as she paced in the 
living room, "We have got to send Abraham somewhere...it's just not safe.  
Stanley, what should we do?"

"Just calm down for five minutes and let me think," Stanley snapped 
back.  His tension was showing in his attitude.

Overhearing all of this, Brandon was suddenly seized with an idea. Lynn 
was right. They needed to stash Bram out of sight for awhile, and holing 
him up in the poolhouse wasn't going to cut the mustard.

"I have an idea, but I'll need to see if I can get a long distance 
authorization," Brandon announced suddenly.

"What idea is that?" Stanley asked skeptically.

"Paul Keifer. He's hanging out up north with the Grapes of Wrath. Tonya 
and I both worked with him in San Fransisco..."

"Yes, I think I remember him from that first night when you were all 
chased over here by that Visitor patrol. Isn't he the one that swore all the 
time?" Lynn asked.

"Uh, yeah, that would be Paul," Brandon replied, "but he's a pretty 
crafty guy. Betcha he could find someplace to stash Bram..."

"I'll see about getting an authorization for you," Stanley said. With 
his job as a CPA, he often needed to make out of area calls. He used this 
reason to obtain what Brandon needed.

"They only authorized a twenty minute call, so make it quick," Stanley 
told him.

Brandon went to the extension in the livingroom to place the call. 
Before he could dial, Tonya stopped him.

"What about the others?" she asked, "The Maxwells, the two fifth 
columnists and Phillip?  We gotta get them out of here, too..."

"How's Paul gonna hide the Bernsteins and everyone else too?  Right 
now, I'm pretty sure that the Maxwells are safe at Kyle's.  The Bernsteins are 
in big trouble. Their son used to brown nose the Scalies."

"I know that" Tonya hissed, "But you heard Orlando. Patsy and her 
patsies will stop here first...but they won't stop until they've blasted 
everyone on their 'to do' list! I have an idea."

"What's your plan?' Brandon questioned.

"Divide and hide.You take the Bernsteins, Phillip, Orlando and Jaime to 
Paul in Lodi.  It'll be a tight fit, but you can cram three up front and 
four in the back of Stanley's Buick..."

"Go on," Brandon said, trying to suppress the chuckle that was bubbling 
up.

"I'll take the Maxwells to Chuck in San Fransisco. I'm sure Kyle will 
want to go with Elizabeth, so that'll put three in my back seat and one up 
front, with Katie riding on someone's lap," Tonya finished. Brandon knew that 
her tiny Honda Accord hatchback would be packed tight. It was a workable plan 
except...

"You forgot two people, though," Brandon said.

"Who?"

"Phillip's baby gecko, and Diana's snakeyed spawn..."

"Don't talk about Madeline like that. From what I understand, she put 
her can on the line to save Polly. I could smack myself for forgetting her. 
I'll get her in my car somehow. Phillip would want his daughter with him. She 
can ride on his lap."

At this suggestion, Brandon let out a loud whooping laugh. Tonya gave 
him the stinkeye, demanding to know what he found so funny.

"Yeah, right, Tonya. I could just see it now. We get stopped at some 
roadblock on our way out of town, and I have this baby gator in the 
car.  What am I supposed to tell them...that I picked her out of some sewer in Florida?"

Tonya couldn't help it. She burst out with a hearty laugh of her own, 
realizing that Brandon did have a point. At two and a half months of 
age, Emily was too young for a psuedoskin.

"I have an idea," Jaime suggested quietly. She raised up from her 
resting position on the couch, her eyes looking droopy. 

"William told me that he is Emily's Wantu..."

"What the hell is a Wantu?" Brandon asked.

"Like a non-parent guardian. Emily might be better off with us. 
Whatever plans you have of taking everyone out of here, it is all good, except 
for one thing. I will not be going anywhere else but with my cousin. Meanwhile, 
Emily might be safer if she is separated from Phillip until Patricia leaves.  
I am sure he would agree," Jaime stated. Orlando, sitting on the edge of the 
coffee table, where he could maintain a close watch on Jaime, nodded his 
agreement with Jaime's plan. Lynn, who'd come in to the livingroom to listen to the 
preparations, shot Orlando a spiteful glance.

"I don't know what sort of furniture you have where you come from, but 
tables are not for sitting here," she told him firmly.

Orlando rose obediently, looking somewhat apologetic. He moved over 
towards Brandon and Tonya, who were now debating who to call first.

"Call over at Kyle's house. That's where everyone else said they were 
going.  Tell them what we have planned, and if Philip is still there, tell him 
to stay put. It will be one less place we'll have to go in the morning," 
Tonya instructed.

"Yes, and you should call William. He needs to know to meet me there 
tomarrow, so we can take Emily," Jaime added.

"Then, have Paul get a hold of Chuck in San Francisco. We won't be able 
to get another long distance authorization tonight," Tonya said.

"Will you two cool it? I didn't fall off the turnip truck last night!" 
Brandon huffed.  Then, because he wasn't one to remember phone numbers, 
he flicked an impatient glance at Tonya as he picked up the receiver.

"Quick...what's the new number to Kyle's place?"

Tonya rattled off the number that she knew by heart. Everyone listened 
as Brandon told Kyle the plans they'd made.

"Yeah, you guys are gonna go with Tonya. She'll take you to San 
Fransisco with her.  Yeah...by the way, is Phil still there?  Yeah?  Well, tell 
him and his baby to stay put. We're making arrangements for the kid..."

Once he finally hung up with Kyle, Brandon requested Elias's number.  
Tonya rolled her eyes and fetched her address book.  

"Don't you have any of the numbers written down?" she asked in 
annoyance.

"That's why it's good to have chicks with purses around. Just where am 
I supposed to keep an address book?"

"I thought all hustlers kept little black books," Tonya retorted 
playfully.  She ripped a blank piece of paper from her notebook and handed it to 
Orlando with a pen.

"You'd better write these numbers down and keep them handy if you're 
going to be with Brandon. He'll forget, and you may need them in an 
emergency..."

"Gee thanks," Brandon muttered.  Tonya passed her address book to him, 
and he dialed up Elias next. After making arrangements for Jaime with Willie, 
he was finally ready to call Paul in Lodi. Tonya had the address book flipped 
open to the appropriate page by then, so he could readily dial it.

"Hello, Paul?  Whoa! Natty...I didn't recognize you...you sounded like 
a dude for a second there.  Oh...you have a cold? Allergies? Well, Christ, I 
told you a long time ago that all those herbal pills you take were a bunch 
of crap...Yeah, this is Brandon, who the hell did you think I was...Ed 
McMahon with Publisher's Clearinghouse?"

"Oh, geeze, Brandon, you geek!  Gimme that phone!"  Tonya cried in 
exasperation.  She ripped the phone out of Brandon's hand.

"Natty, sorry about that. This is Tonya.  Yeah, we're still here down 
south, but we could use some help arranging two 'field trips'. Is Paul there?  
He's not?  Oh...ok, well, we only have a 20 minute long distance 
authorization, so I'm going to have to swing the story by you..."

She proceeded to chop the story down into the smallest, most 
intelligent incriments she could relay, all practically worded to make the most 
sense without sounding suspicious.

"It's looking like there will be seven people drifting up your way. 
Brandon will be bringing them...Yeah, I know, but I have to take the other 
'youth group' to San Fransisco. We'll probably eat Chinese with Kim's folks in 
Chinkieville...Yeah, about five or six of us...Listen, Natty, could 
you do us another favor?  Call Chuck and tell him we'll be heading his way tomorrow 
sometime. We'll meet at the 'old church' for 'choir practice'. Then, we'll go 
'eat'.  Yeah...I appreciate it."

Tonya motioned for Orlando to hand her the pen she'd given him moments 
before. Ripping another piece of paper from her notebook, she began to 
scribble down some directions.

"Okay, the 'tryouts' are at Blakely Park in Lodi, between Stockton and 
Washington Streets.  No...you'd better give me the directions.... 
Northbound on 99, get off on the Kettleman exit...Great.  I'll pass it on to him. 
Thanks so much, and take care of those allergies. Hasta, Pasta...."

With a smirk, she handed the paper with the directions on it to 
Brandon.

"Do you think you can find your way there?" she asked him.

"Yeah, easy enough," he replied, "I just hope Natty could understand 
all of your blabber..."  

"Well, then, we're all set for tomorrow."  Tonya gave a glance at the 
Bernsteins, hoping for their approval.

"I suppose we should start packing some things, then," Lynn stated 
quietly.

***************************************************************
After all of the trouble she'd gone through, almost nothing had changed. Robin was still as tense and edgy as ever, not that Madeline could blame her. Polly was home now, but she was not okay. The pained look in her eyes, the dark circles beneath them, and the hideous bruises on her neck whispered of terrors that Madeline could picture entirely too easily. There'd been no 'nightmare chamber' for Polly; but where her mother was concerned, the nightmare chamber wasn't the only place that bad dreams could be made real. 

A shadow of the darkness that Madeline had felt as she'd attempted to pilot Phillip's shuttle back to the Mothership clung to Polly, as though she'd been infected with some dreaded disease. After Julie had managed to find a few moments to examine her in private, Polly had disappeared into the bathroom, and had not come out since. Robin occasionally knocked on the bathroom door, calling in to her, and wanting to know if she needed anything. Her voice sounded roughened and taut, as if she was either all cried out, or trying to hold back a deluge of tears. Beneath Robin's grief of knowing how Polly had suffered was an anger that made Robin suffer too.

However, something else was beginning to eminate from Robin, ever since they'd gotten Polly back home. It was a definite sense of relief, and it was slowly beginning to eat away at the edges of her anger and despair. Madeline was starting to see the truth in Elizabeth's assurances, and she was also realizing the difference between someone like Robin and someone like her mother. It was something she could only rationalize by visualizing it. Robin had a light inside of her that could burn away the dark; a light born of love and passion. Her mother, on the other hand... Well, maybe there once had been a light inside of her, too. Madeline had briefly glimpsed it's potential on occasion, but there was a darkness inside, born of some spreading illness, perhaps, that was swallowing up all the light. She had felt it. She'd also seen what she believed now to be manifestations of it staring at her with cold, souless, empty eyesockets. They followed her mother around as if they were just waiting for the darkness to finally eat away at every last part of her entity, so that they could finally have her, and she'd be just as cold and souless as they. Nothing of that sort followed Robin around, and for that, Madeline was relieved. er light had been so buried, but it had been there all along. 

Perhaps that was what her father was drawn to... But, he was another story. From where she sat in Katie and Polly's room, slowly collecting her belongings so that Katie could return to her own bed, and Polly back to hers, she could hear almost every word that Ham and Julie were discussing in Robin's room next door. They had gone there for some privacy, but there wasn't much in they could expect from a place as packed as Kyle's house was tonight. There, Julie had given him the results to the blood test. 

"The gall of that bitch!" Ham cursed. "She'd just better not even think about coming after me for child support!" 

"I don't think that's what she had in mind," Julie responded dryly. 

"I really don't care if that's what she had in mind or not. This is just absolutely sick, and if I never had a good reason to personally rip her head off her shoulders and shove it up her..."

"Ham! Get a grip on yourself! If you knew you'd react this way, why did you even ask for the test?" Julie demanded. 

"Cannon fodder," Ham grunted in reply, "I won't give Queen Scaly something to dangle over my head like the first time.." 

"The first time?" 

"Yeah...you should know what I'm talking about. It's how her and that Scaly Scum Chum of hers, Charles, tried to get me to kill Gooder...by dangling..." A terrible sound came from his mouth as he loudly cleared his throat. 

"Yes, I do know. They tried to convince you that Mike was responsible for the deaths of your wife and daughter...And you're right. I've been there. I know what it's all about." 

"You have no idea. At least Diana wasn't busy sucking your eggs out of you while you were whacked out on all the drugs they pump in you...You know, I still I find this all hard to believe..." 

"It's right here on the paper, Ham. Howie even ran another test to be sure. You may never clearly remember just how...Hell, Ham, for all I know, she was sucking eggs out of me for a later experiment! But I warned you that the results might be something you wouldn't want to hear..." 

"Why me, Julie? Why not Gooder..or.." 

"Oh, Christ, I don't know!" Julie snapped, but then she abruptly changed her tone. "Actually, I do think I have a pretty good reason why. Diana knew, of all the prospects she could use, you would be the most vulnerable to something like this. You already lost a daughter..." 

"So she's gonna do me a big stinking favor and replace her with a lab created, tube hatched, half bred freak? I don't think so...She's not getting away with it." 

"That's not fair, Ham. Madeline is not a freak. She's your daughter." 

"Sunni was my daughter!" Ham thundered, his anger far exceeding his ability to keep his voice restrained, "She's the only daughter I asked to have, and she's the only daughter I ever will have. And if Diana is so educated about what is in my mind, then she damn well ought to know that. If she doesn't by now, she will when I tell her exactly what I think of these results right before I rake every scale off of her body!" 

"I just knew I didn't want to do this..." Julie muttered, "because I knew it was coming. But, now, for whatever it's worth, you know. The reason I'm even bothering is because, from what Orlando reported to us, your life might be in danger if Patricia finds out about Madeline's bloodlines. Brandon and Tonya are planning to take everyone else on the "list" out of here tomarrow. They just called Kyle and told him. I think you should go with them." 

"No thanks.". 

"Ham, you really should. It'll only be a matter of time before Patricia finds out..." 

"Bring her on. I'll swap a few trade secrets with her, guaranteed to put her six feet under," Ham responded in a deadly tone of voice. 

"Well, I don't doubt that, but...At the very least, Kyle could use your help protecting Polly, Robin, Katie and Tonya..." 

"Well, from the way I hear things, Kyle and Tonya together ought to be man enough to do the job.." 

"That's really crude, Ham," Julie cut in. 

"Yeah, you're right. Tonya's a good kid, with a smart head on her shoulders. I mean it when I say that I could trust her to look after Robin, Polly, Katie and Elizabeth. Kyle, on the other hand...but he only just had one rough day, and he's never let anyone down for the long haul. They won't need me." 

"If you say so..." The sarcasm in Julie's voice cut wasn't disguised to Ham or any eavesdroppers listening in on the conversation. 

By this point in time, Madeline was no longer musing on Robin's state of mind or her mother's dark mental afflictions. Ham's outraged declarations tore unwanted wounds into Madeline's pride. Any hope of ever knowing a nurturing love from a parent died with his outburst. She didn't know enough to put those thoughts into words, but the pain she felt translated everything quite effectively. Venom flooded her mouth as she felt the hot tears of a human's weak anguish rise up behind her contacts. Her mind flashed back to the conversation she'd had at the training academy when her mother had come to see her. They had discussed Mother's feelings for Security Chief Dale and whether or not Mother had any for him... 

"Feelings are dangerous. They make you vulnerable," her mother had warned her. How right she'd been. Madeline had made her first mistake with Nigel. True, she hadn't told him everything she should of about herself, but now she knew that if he'd ever known the truth, he would have been just as repulsed by her as her own father seemed to be. A lab created, tube hatched, half bred freak. Those were his exact words. 

And someone was being sent from the homeworld to extinguish Madeline's life for the exact same reason. Someone who was supposedly of her own relation, much as her father was. The entire sum of her existence was boiling down to a future moment, based on the conviction that even those within her own geneology felt she had no right to have ever even be created, let alone live. It was a fate she would share with the only two others like herself. Patricia would find her, of that, Madeline was certain. The intuitions that told her this were not born of any special Starchild abilities. They were ones that were at least three generations old, and well honed at that. Even the man that was disgusted to learn that he was her father seemed to have a remarkable ability to sense trouble and react quickly to it. In fact, he was even prepared to stand up against the threat and vanquish it with his own fury. Madeline felt that she wanted to stay and face the danger herself. She had spent enough time in training at the camp to feel resonably confident in her abilities to protect her own life. 

Yet, something tugged at her to go, too. There was still something endangered that was worth saving, even if she didn't know exactly what steps to take to protect it. Leaving for awhile might give her the clarity she needed to decide how to handle it. The tears behind her contacts began to evaporate without Madeline even noticing.Resolutely, she began to stuff all of her meager belongings into the duffel bag Julie had loaned her. 

There would be a trip to an unknown destination, but it would not be as planned. Instinct told her this as much as reason. Where ever she was headed, she resolved to be certain that it would be in the same direction as Phillip. He was the one, sacred foundation of integrity and tolerance that shaped the better part of her nature. Though even he had betrayed her once, too, he hadn't done so to be cruel. He had done so to protect her. It was his light that kept the phantoms of the Starving Sirians, the cries of agony that followed her out of the nightmare chamber, the cruelties her own mother had inflicted upon her, and the pain of rejection at bay. That light had never faltered in the entire scope of Madeline's brief existance. 

Despite Phillip's anger when he'd confronted Madeline earlier about stealing his shuttle, never once had he raised his voice or threatened her. It even seemed that his anger was born more of concern for the dangers to her safety than concern for his property. Now, he was in terrible danger, and he stood to suffer a fate far worse than merely death alone. Phillip would not be permitted to know Lydia's release from the concerns of mortal life. Orlando's tone, when relaying the story to the resistance, contained more than just a hint that Phillip would suffer unspeakable torture if he was caught. Realizing what she stood to lose if Phillip died, Madeline made a silent vow to herself that she would go where he went. Once she saw him to safety, she'd figure out what to do next. 

In the meantime, her father would simply do what he felt necessary to battle his own demons. Ham brusquely excused himself from Julie's counsel when he heard the sound of Mike arrival. He had Sean in tow. It wasn't hard to tell, by the strained look on his face, that Mike wasn't in a good mood. After getting off his shift to find notes from both Sean and Phillip, he'd spent the rest of the evening tracking them down, in that exact order. The news Kyle gave him about the return of Polly cheered him up considerably, but the rest of it left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. If Gooder was in a bad mood, Ham was in a comparably worse frame of mind. 

A small group of onlookers had clustered around Phillip. He sat amidst the lookieloos, patiently tapping commands into his personal computer...although he referred to it as a 'data pad'. This device was much faster than the best desktop computer technology Julie worked with at EcoSound, yet it was only the size of a hardcover book. 

"I can only risk entry into the system once, and once only," Phillip warned. "I am using a security encrypted code Lydia invented just before I left for Rendezvous Station, but I hold no illusions that it could not be deciphered eventually, if I overuse it." 

"What are you trying to access?" Ham asked, watching skeptically as a series of Sirian symbols scrolled across the small screen. 

"Anything I can that might substantiate Orlando's claims, and give us some insight into the current affairs on board the mothership, as well as any of Patricia's documented orders." 

"Dig up what you can about that bitch herself. I wanna know about her." 

"What do you want to know about her?" Phillip inquired calmly, as if he'd never even heard Ham's expletive. 

"Everything. Where she's been...who she's affiliated with...what her modus operandum is..." 

"I'm not familiar with that term." Phillip's eyes, looking tired despite the disguise of his contacts, flicked away from the screen and onto Ham. 

"How does she like to do it? Does she order her unit to do the dirty work for her, or does she do it herself? If so...I wanna know how. Does she perfer to kill with her bare hands, or does she have a weapon of preference?" Ham pressed. 

"He's trying to get inside her head, like a criminal profiler," Mike explained. 

"I would not want to be inside her head," Phillip stated, "It is a very dark place, I am sure. I have never witnessed Patricia make a kill, but I have heard things. Quick, brutal and efficient, is what I have heard. She is rumored not to let emotions get the best of her, like any well trained combatant." 

"Well, not letting your emotions rule your actions is standard protocol...you should know that. You have combat training, right? What I'm interested in knowing is..does she get off on it? The thrill of the kill..." 

"I would not know that personally, Ham," Phillip responded. He sighed tiredly and tapped in another command on his computer. "But I can tell you these things. Right now, I am online with the general statistics records kept on all individuals. It would be comparable to your Social Security registration. According to this, Patricia was born fifty nine years ago and orphaned at a young age. No relatives collected her, so she was raised as a ward of the court and educated in her compulsory studies at the State run Pre Academy. She was accepted into a prestigious military based combat training program before she had even completed her compulsory studies. At the age of twenty two, vital statistics indicate that she married He'thtaen Rhetatheket, who was, at the time, a promising political constituent during the Leader's early power campaign, and, amazingly, he was two years her junior. He'thtaen's career is well documented at this point, but Patricia's actual employment history becomes spotty around now. Two years later, public record indicates the hatching of a common set of fraternal twin daughters, named Sa'there and D'ana. Then, interestingly enough, He'thtaen was murdered four years later, and Patricia becomes a widow. Not much more is on public record about her, save for the fact that she hatched a son, named De'vethe, several years later. De'vethe's father is listed as 'identity withheld'. If she ever remarried, records do not account for it, so one can only assume that her son is what you humans would term a bastard." 

"Three guesses who D'ana is..," Kyle remarked sarcastically. 

"Three more guesses as to how He'thtean met his end. Phillip, do you think Patricia waxed her own husband?" Robin asked. 

"I would not be surprised. The Leader was known to turn on his supporters at a later time, if he felt their potential to overpower him was too great." 

"I'll just bet I know who this De'vethe's father is," Mike snorted in disgust. "So this could suggest to us that Patricia is in tight with the Leader...tight enough to kill her own husband if the Leader ordered it." 

"Do you think De'vethe might be the young commander that Orlando told us about...y'know, David...the one that's supposedly running the show up there right now? Damn, and I thought my family was screwy..." Kyle remarked. 

"Wouldn't that be a kick in the pants? Diana gets stripped of her command and it gets handed to her bastard half brother," Robin mused. 

"I cannot confirm any of these suspicions, but I have a feeling your hunches are accurate," Phillip said. 

"It's well known that Diana had an affair with the Leader," Elizabeth added, "and if Patricia had been having one with him too, and she found out about it...especially after she had borne a son from their involvement...She just might harbor a grudge towards Diana...one bad enough to make her desire to come here and ruin her in every way she could..." 

"Yeah, like killing all the Starchildren. Diana had a hand in the creation of every single one of them, and Madeline is even her own. Patricia might know that Diana would get royally pissed off if she did this. Maybe this wasn't even the Leader's idea at all. Maybe Patricia is acting on her own vengence," Kyle suggested. 

"No. That would be letting her emotions get the better of her," Ham inserted, "but she could well have a personal stake in all of this that could motivate her above and beyond the call of duty." 

A loud hiss of air from between Phillip's clenched teeth silenced the debates. "Here could be an answer to the question you had about her methods," he said quietly. "In the case of any murder, an investigation would be launched, just like on Earth. A brief autospsy was performed on He'thtaen to determine the cause of death. Though a blaster shot to the chest was documented as the primary cause, numerous other injuries were inflicted to his person, including lacerations to the skin of the face, and contusions to the head and neck. However, during the autopsy, only surface observations were made, and no cuts into the body were done. This was to preserve his remains for what is known as the "Crossing Ceremony". It is a funeral ritual, and the family would have considered it sacriligious to have such things done to his body prior to the ceremonial rites. Interestingly enough, no one was ever brought to trial for his murder. He died at home. According to statements taken, Patrica arrived home and found her husband dead." 

"Yeah, right," Ham muttered. He then wiped any tone of sarcasm from his tone. "She gets a kick out of it. And...it seems her emotions do get the best of her on occasion. She likes to add a personal touch to her more intimate hits..." 

"Yeah, well, it's just as likely a bet that her husband caught wind of what she had planned and put up a struggle," Mike stated. 

"I doubt he even knew what was coming." That statement came from Madeline, who had been quietly standing at the edge of the group where no one had noticed her until now. Beside her stood Katie, who looked wide eyed and horrified at all of the things the grown ups had been talking about around her. She was dressed in her nightgown and ready for bed, but she appeared to be far from sleepy. 

"You should be getting to bed, kiddo," Ham remarked to Katie, rapidly changing the subject in an uncharacteristically upbeat tone of voice. "You are going on a trip tomorrow morning with your sisters, Elizabeth, Tonya and Kyle...and uh...Madeline... To San Francisco. Sound like a good idea?" 

Katie said nothing. She eyed Kyle nervously and then looked at Ham with soulful eyes. "Aren't you gonna come with us?" she asked plaintatively. 

"No, Katie. Someone has to stay here and charcoal the nasty lizard lady. I'm going to take care of her so it will be safe for you to come back home," Ham answered. 

"But I want you to come with us!" Katie insisted. 

"It will be alright. Ham knows what he's doing, and he'll be safe," Elizabeth told her. 

Katie didn't look horribly convinced, but she rarely ever argued with Elizabeth. 

"Look, sweetie, I know you've heard all kinds of scary things tonight, but everything will work. We got Polly back, didn't we?" Robin offered, "Now, I really do think it's a good idea for you to try to get some sleep." 

"I can't sleep with Emily gnawing on the sides of the porta crib," Katie pouted. 

"I thought Emily was asleep!" Philip cried in exasperation. 

"She was...but she just woke up when Katie was dressing for bed," Madeline replied. "She was not fussy or anything, but I thought I would come in her to tell you that. I should also tell you that I am not going with the Maxwells to San Francisco." 

"Oh, really?" Philip inquired, assuming a stern tone. 

"Why not?!" Elizabeth cried. 

"I just think that it would be good for Polly to spend some time alone with her family, so I will go with the other group to that other town," Madeline replied, amazed at how easily the lie rolled off her tongue. 

"You mean to Lodi?" Kyle asked. "Well, I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem except for one thing. There's no room for you in the car with the others going there." 

"There is no room for me anywhere, but I will manage somehow," she countered flatly. 

Robin wisely caught the double meaning in Madeline's statement. "Of course there's room. You should go with Elizabeth...and there will be room for you. I won't be going, so you can have my spot." 

"Excuse me?" Ham interjected, "Did I just hear you say you aren't going, Robin?" 

"That's what you heard," Robin responded resolutely. "I'm not gonna go running off to San Francisco when there's business to be attended to here." 

"The business that needs tending to is none of your business. You'll get your little butt in that car and out of Patricia's way..." 

"Like hell. I refuse to go hide while someone is plotting to chase after my daughter and kill her!" 

"Robin, what has gotten into you? You've been hell bent with a blaster in your hand ever since the raid..." Mike stated, skillfully attempting to insert himself between the brewing battle of wills. 

"You should talk, Mike. Look at how you were when it was Sean's fate in question. Did you just sit around picking your nose? What's not to get here? I am Elizabeth's mother. Whether or not any of you here respect that is not my concern. But I can tell you that I feel the same way any other mother would feel when she knows her kid's life is in danger, and no one is going to tell me that I don't have the right to stand up and protect her!" 

"Getting yourself killed will be of no value when it comes to protecting Elizabeth," Ham stated coldly. 

"I see how much faith you have in my abilities. Gee, thanks. Well, let me tell you something else. I'm not a snotnosed seventeen-year-old anymore, in case you haven't noticed. I'm twenty-four years old now, which is almost exactly the same age Julie was when she started this whole resistance. If Julie could run a resistance, plan and participate in armory raids, formulate the red dust, and expose John on national TV with absolutely no fighting experience, then you have to know that I'm capable of the exact same things by now, and then some. To add to that, I'm a mother, and I will do what comes naturally to protect my daughter's life...even if it means I die in her place!" Robin brashly announced. 

"Mother, no!" Elizabeth cried in horror. 

"Elizabeth, I'm not planning on suicide or anything. But I'm not leaving, either. I'm totally not convinced that this Patricia won't try to follow you all to San Fransisco if she's as good of a hunter as Philip claims she's rumored to be. I don't plan on allowing her the opportunity to. Someone has to stick around and try to stop her. When it comes to you, no one will get past me." 

"But you could well be on her hit list.." Mike argued. 

"You can't force her to go. She's an adult. If Robin wants to stay and fight, it's her choice." Heads in the room swiveled at the unexpected logic that came from Julie. She had her medical bag in her hand, and she looked tired enough to drop on the spot. "Besides," Julie continued, "it might work well to keep a couple of you here...like Ham and Robin. They are both potential targets. Patricia might get the idea that everyone is here if she catches wind of them. It will give everyone else the chance to clear out and get farther before she figures out the truth. By then, it will be too late. It's rather difficult for one person to know where to assign a search party if she has to comb three separate areas as opposed to two." 

"Those of us staying need to concentrate on getting that HQ operational, and in a hurry. We'll need a phone there..." Mike started. 

"I'm sure Elias wouldn't mind parting with that fancy mobile phone of his that he wears strapped to his waist like a gun in a holster," Ham interrupted. A few guffaws sounded from those that knew Elias would argue that point, but they also knew Elias well enough to know that he would do whatever necessary to help in the end. 

"And power," Mike continued. "Flashlights and kerosene lamps aren't gonna cut it if someone needs to hide out there for awhile. Phillip and I have a conversion system that might work, but I just wish we didn't have to dismantle the supply from Phillip's shuttle..." 

"We won't have to," Madeline cut in. "The one from the shuttle that Jaime and Orlando crashed should work. Jaime knows how to get to it, I am sure. Since she plans on staying, she can take a party out there to dismantle it." 

Mike looked up and switched a glance between her and Ham. Then, before he realized it, a slow smile had spread across his face. "Good thinking, kid," he said. 

Chapter 23   In the Line of Fire

"Tomorrow I must leave,
the dawn knows no reprieve.
God give me strength when I am leaving.
So raise your hands to heaven and pray
that we'll be back together someday..."

~~ The Cutting Crew   Hands To Heaven

Abraham woke from un uneasy sleep just as the first, pearlescent 
threads of dawn pushed their way through the curtained windows. Jaime was still 
asleep on the couch, so utterly still that only the sound of her even breathing 
betrayed any hint that she was alive. Orlando was curled up awkwardly in the 
recliner. All of them had gone to sleep completely clothed. Orlando still wore 
his boots. His blaster was beside the recliner, ready to grab if a threat 
presented itself. The clock ticking on the mantel of the fireplace read 5:03. 
Abraham knew he'd only been asleep for a couple of hours. He and Orlando had spent a 
couple hours talking about his mother after everyone else had finally 
gone to bed. There wasn't much that Orlando had been able to tell him about Laura; 
just that he knew her for a brief time on board the mothership and had liked 
her. Then, with a sardonic smile, Orlando had told Abraham that he had her 
eyes. This had come out when Abraham had popped his contacts out for the night, 
just as Orlando and Jaime had.

"No, I'm very serious, though. It's not merely the color...our people 
all have the same color eyes. It's the shape of them, and the look within 
them," Orlando explained.

Abraham had briefly smiled as he removed the one of the other 
possesions he wore that was passed to him from his mother. Orlando had noticed it 
too.

"I know that the chrono you wear belonged to her," he'd said with a 
hint of sadness in his voice. "Your mother was very proud of it. She wore it 
whenever she was off duty, and she told me that it was a gift to her from her 
father."

"It's very special to me, too. My cousin Elizabeth gave it to me. She 
felt that my mother would want me to have it."

"She had a necklace she always wore too, now that I think of it, but I 
do not know how she came to have that," Orlando remarked.

"I have it too," Bram told him. "I feel that it is protective...Maybe 
it was passed to her from her brother."

The pendant Orlando spoke of was on a sturdy gold chain around Bram's 
neck. He never took it off, except when he showered or swam. For the moment, 
though, it was concealed beneath his T-shirt, where no one could see it. For 
some reason, he considered it a lucky talisman, of sorts. He'd been wearing 
it when he'd molted, and he felt as though his molt had gone well because he'd 
had it. As if, perhaps, his mother had been watching over him. He had another plan 
for his talisman, though, which he had no desire to tell Orlando about. If 
his pendant could protect him in a time of need, he wondered if it had 
power to heal and protect others. 

Now, he sat up and rubbed the last grainy remnants of sleep from his 
naked, scarlet eyes. Recalling the discussion with Orlando last night did 
nothing to ease the discomfort he felt in the pit of his stomach. In the end, not 
even the weight of his pendant around his neck could dispell all of his 
queasiness. With a sigh, he reached over to the coffee table for his contact case 
and his chrono. Abraham did not consider himself completely dressed until his 
most distinct alien feature was shielded from the view of his grandparents. 
Then he got up and quietly shuffled through the living room, careful not to waken 
Orlando or Jaime.  A rumbling in his stomach propelled him towards the kitchen. 
He was shocked to find the pedestrian door in the kitchen that led out to the 
garage standing wide open. Peeking though the door, he found his grandfather 
stashing duffel bags into the trunk of his car.

"I see you're awake. Are your things packed?" Stanley asked him when he 
saw Abraham framed in the doorway of the ped entrence.

"Yes, but my bag is up in my room, and Brandon is still sleeping," 
Abraham replied.

"Well, it's high time he woke up. We should be out of here soon..."

"You sense it too?"

"It's not what I sense. It's what I know."

"Is Grandma awake?" Abraham asked.

"Yes, she's in the shower."  

With that, Stanley slammed the lid of the trunk down. He made no 
mention to his grandson of his internal thoughts. This wasn't the first time he'd 
been faced with a flee or die situation in his life. The first time had been 
when he was much too young to remember. At eight months of age, his parents had 
hidden him in a suitcase to be smuggled out of Nazi occupied Germany. The 
irony of it wasn't lost on him as he mentally calculated how many suitcases he'd be 
able to stuff into the trunk of his car. If there was any way to smuggle his 
grandson out of harm's way in one of them, he'd be willing to do so.

"Go wake up the others," Stanley told Abraham firmly.

"I'm already awake."

That statement came from Orlando, who was still clad in the uniform 
he'd been wearing the day before. Stanley couldn't help but to grimace at the 
sight of it, and Abraham couldn't help but to notice.

"Same here. I just thought I'd get a bite to eat."

Tonya stood behind Orlando in the kitchen. She had a backpack filled to 
bulging with her essentials to stash in the hatchback of her car. It 
was slung over her good shoulder. Meanwhile, she was busily unwrapping a granola bar.

"You should be taking Jaime and getting over to Kyle's," Stanley 
advised her sternly.

"Yeah, well, why don't you try waking Jaime up? She's pretty gorked out 
on that gin you gave her last night. Who would have thought that booze 
would hit a Visitor so hard?"

"Maybe we should get them all loaded on it," Brandon commented. He too 
had silently entered the kitchen.  His bleached hair, with it's dark roots, 
was standing up at funny ends because he hadn't bothered to brush it yet. 
He yawned loudly.

"Maybe I should spike my boss's coffee with some, too. He's gonna be 
mighty pissed when he finds out I'm cutting out of town for a little while."

"Yeah, well if he's too torked, you can join me in the unemployment 
line," Tonya responded with a bitter tone to her voice.

"Yeah, lotta good that would do," Brandon replied.  He knew full well 
that Tonya was unable to collect any State Disability or unemployment 
benefits under the assumed identity she'd had at the Legation. The automated systems 
would flag her Social Security number as phony. Whipping his wallet out of 
the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out two twenties and handed them to 
Tonya.

"Gas money, on the house," he told her. 

Abraham took his chance to corner Tonya while he still had a chance. 
Reaching up around his neck, he unclasped his pendant and hooked it around 
Tonya's neck, careful not to jar her healing shoulder. Tonya gazed at him in 
surprise, looked down at the necklace, and then returned her gaze back to him, 
questions brewing in her eyes.

"I just want you to keep this for a little while," Bram told her, "for 
good luck. I've always felt that it protects me...and I know you'll need 
someone looking out for you, because you'll be looking out for Katie and 
Polly."

"Wow, Bram. That's really sweet of you. Are you sure?" she asked, 
lightly fingering the pendant. The charm was some sort of black, shiny stone, 
much like onyx, set in a metal that resembled gold. Inlaid, with the same 
goldlike metal, in the center of the stone, was a Sirian symbol.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I know you're not feeling very well right now after 
all you've been through, and you have a lot you have to do. Maybe this will 
give you strength."

"I'll take good care of it, I promise," Tonya swore, "and when we all 
are together again, I'll make sure you get it back."

"Okay. It's a deal," Bram agreed.

He offered Tonya a smile, even though it felt strange not to have the 
necklace around his own neck. However, he knew it was going to the 
right place. Tonya did need the strength, and she was going to be protecting Katie, who 
was his closest friend next to Brandon, and Polly, who'd been his teacher.

"You're the man, Bram," Brandon said from behind him. He clapped a 
companionable hand on his shoulder.

"Huh?"

"See, Tonya, I've already taught him well. If you wanna win the pretty 
babes over, you give 'em jewelry, see?"

Tonya rolled her eyes at Brandon's lighthearted quips.

"He's full of it, Bram. Don't listen to him."

Abraham smiled, proud to understand that he was being joked with.

The last person into the kitchen was Lynne. She was fully dressed, but 
her hair was still damp from the shower. Anxiously, she began to rummage 
through the cupboards, pulling out a bag of pretzels, the rest of the granola bars, 
the fruit roll ups that Abraham loved, and other assorted snacks.

"Road food. It's a long drive to Northern California, and I don't know 
when we'll get a chance to stop to eat. I'll be sure to pack some for you to 
share with the Maxwells," she told Tonya. Then, she cautiously regarded 
Orlando.

"I really don't know what to do about you, but we have some apples and 
bananas...oh...and in the refridgerator there's some grapes and 
Abraham's orange soda...and I should mention to you that I just saw your girlfriend out 
the window while I was getting dressed. She was out back, heading towards the pool 
house. I really have no idea what she's doing out there, but..."

"Jaime is not my girlfriend...she is..."

"Getting breakfast, I'll bet!" Brandon snorted loudly, "Here mousie, 
mousie..."

Lynne looked as if she was about to get ill, even though it was obvious 
that she had a good suspicion why Jaime was going to the pool house. With a 
nervous look, she set a bag of apples on the counter with the rest of the 
snacks.

"Brandon, could you pack these into some plastic bags to take along?  
Oh, and speaking of bags, Stanley, did you put everything in the car?"

"Yes, Lynne, everything is packed," Stanley replied impatiently.

"My bag is still upstairs," Abraham said hesitantly, "Uh, I'll go get 
it."

"No, I will. My purse is still up there too. You help Brandon with the 
food."

With nervous energy propelling her into a flurry of motion, Lynne left 
to retrieve the last of the belongings from upstairs.  Stanley glanced as 
his watch. 

"Would someone go get Jaime and tell her and tell her we're almost 
ready to leave?" Stanley asked.

"I'll go," Tonya volunteered. Before she left, she made certain to chew 
and swallow the last bite of her granola bar. The effort turned out to be 
wasted.  Tonya turned around, only to catch sight of Jaime entering the house 
from the sliding glass door. She pulled it closed behind her. Just as Tonya was 
registering the fact that Jaime's sidearm was pulled out and that her 
movements were tense and entirely too alert, the sliding glass door burst into 
fragments behind her.  

"Move it! They're here!" Jaime called as she limped through the dining 
room and into the kitchen.

Stanley wasted no time. He pulled Tonya by one arm and Abraham by the 
other and hauled them into the garage. Orlando assumed position by the 
kitchen entrance. Jaime aligned herself opposite him and motioned for Brandon 
to get to the garage.

"Jaime, you go with them!" Orlando ordered, "They probably have us 
surrounded.  The Bernstein's will need your help getting out of the 
garage, and Tonya needs to get to her car!"

Jaime nodded curtly and moved to obey Orlando's directive. Brandon 
stood rooted in his spot. He could plainly see several black clad commandoes 
swarming in the Bernstein's back yard through the shattered sliding glass door.

"Get going!" Orlando cried, his voice reverberating hoarsely like a 
stretched rubber band that had just been snapped. A volley of shots poured 
through the sliding glass door, instantly turning the Bernstein's home furnishings 
into smoldering slag.

"Lynne is still upstairs!" Brandon cried.  

Two commandoes were inside the house. Orlando fired a clear shot and 
took the first one down. To Brandon's horror, he watched as the second one 
caught Orlando with a blaster hit as he was ducking back into the recess of 
the kitchen doorway. A blackish green stain blossomed on the front of his uniform. 
Instantly, he went limp, sliding down along the wall until he had 
fallen to the floor. His weapon was still clutched in his curled fingers. Without thinking, 
Brandon grabbed it and began firing wildly. The second commando ducked 
for cover behind the Bernstein's smoldering couch. Brandon lobbed shots in his 
direction as he made a mad dash out of the kitchen.  Then, he poured more laser fire 
towards the fractured opening of the sliding glass door. The two 
commandoes preparing to enter backed off long enough to allow Brandon a chance to 
streak by. Their blaster shots chased him, bouncing off of walls, as he fled 
through the dining room. A wooden chair suddenly erupted into splinters as he 
passed by it.  

Brandon found Lynne at the bottom of the stairs. She had Abraham's 
duffel bag in one hand, a small silver pistol in the other, and a stricken look on 
her face.

"C'mon, let's get the hell out of here!" Brandon cried as he grabbed 
her by the elbow.

"My purse...I couldn't find it...but I found this..." Lynne stammered, 
waving the pistol.

"Never mind! Let's go!"

No sooner had the words left his mouth when he noticed that they had 
company.  A pair of goons were leaving the dining room, their blasters raising.  
Brandon loosed his hold on Lynne's arm and fired Orlando's blaster 
blindly. One commando went down, but was still moving on the floor. His partner was 
still standing. A blinding flash from his weapon was accompanied by a loud 
report from Lynne's pistol. Lynne slumped against Brandon.  Even though she was 
still standing, Brandon knew she'd been hit. The shot she'd fired, as far as 
he could tell, hadn't even come close.  

A blinding rage filled Brandon. One brief second seemed to stretch into 
an eternity.  Lynne was fighting to stay on her feet and keep moving. The 
Visitor commando was lining her up again. The only thing slowing down his 
progress was his knowledge that Brandon was still armed.  He didn't hesitate.  Their 
forward progress halted only long enough for Brandon to fire a 
continuous barrage of laser fire into the dining room.  Through the smoke, he was unable to 
tell whether or not he'd succeeded in killing the commando.  At least, he 
realized dimly, the smoke made Lynne and himself equally as hard to spot.  When 
he stopped firing, he pulled Lynne down to the ground and urged her to 
crawl.  The duffel bag and the pistol she'd carried were left behind.  Her blouse 
was crimson stained on the upper part of her sleeve, and her face was ashen.  She 
shook her head numbly as Brandon desparately motioned her forward.  At first, 
he had a momentary fear that she was giving up. Then, her meaning took hold.  He 
realized that crawling would be too hard for her. What was left of her 
right arm was only attatched by tendons. Mercifully, the heat of the laser fire 
had cauterized the majority of the wound. 

The advantage of the smoke screen was rapidly clearing.  It was then 
that Brandon saw his success. The commando that shot Lynne was crumpled on 
the floor. His wounded partner, still down but moving, was reaching for his 
blaster. Brandon shot it from his grasp. Then, he raised himself off of his 
knees and saw that Lynne was already up, weakly inching herself forward.  He 
positioned himself to support her. Together, they made it to the entrence of the 
dining room, only to find that the commando that had ducked behind the living room 
couch was waiting for them. Brandon didn't even have time to raise his 
weapon. The commando never had time to shoot.  A blast rang out, and the commando 
dropped, revealing Jaime standing behind him. Her blaster was smoking.  There 
wasn't time to thank her. Reaching out, she grabbed a hold of Lynne and helped 
to steady her.  

Through the sliding glass door, Brandon noted that there were a few 
more commandoes on their way in from the back yard. One was nearly through.  
Jaime reacted quickly. The shot she fired wasn't lethal from her distance, 
but it was enough to impede his progress. Two others were behind him, quickly 
circling around the edges of the swimming pool. Once again, Brandon raised 
Orlando's blaster and fired at anything he could hit. Suddenly, there was a loud 
explosion. Flames shot out and caught the two Visitor commandos by surprise. Their 
black uniforms were instantly ablaze. Brandon was slackjawed with shock. He'd 
managed to hit the propane tank on the Bernstein's backyard barbeque. Jaime 
grabbed a tight hold on his sleeve and forcibly pulled him forwards. He heard a 
loud splash from outside as the two lizards he'd torched jumped into the 
Bernstein's pool.

The three of them stumbled into the kitchen, forcing themselves past 
Orlando's still form, and into the garage.  Brandon and Jaime assisted 
Lynne to the car and pushed her into the passenger seat.  Tonya and Abraham were  
already in the back. Brandon and Jaime squeezed themselves in with them.

"What about Orlando? Where's he?" Abraham cried. His voice was barely 
audible over the sound of Stanley gunning the engine.

"You don't wanna know..." Brandon replied tautly. He only hoped Abraham 
hadn't noticed the condition his grandmother was in.  

Stanley backed the car up, even though the external garage door was 
still shut. The commando that Jaime had wounded in the back yard had 
apparently escaped Brandon's propane explosion. Suddenly, the ped entrence was filled 
with his form. His weapon was already firing. A blast bounced off of a ceiling 
beam, halving it cleanly. Chunks of wood rained down on Lynne's car, still in 
its parking spot.  As Brandon raised himself out of the side window to 
lever a shot at the intruder, another enemy bolt shattered the windshield of their 
car. Stanley muttered frantic curses as his tires bit into the pavement of 
the garage floor, squealing in protest. Brandon lobbed a desparate shot at the 
commando, but stopped abruptly after that first shot.  He had come dangerously 
close to hitting the hot water heater. 

Stanley floored the pedal one more time, and finally succeeded in 
breaking through the barrier of the rolling garage door. One last blaster bolt 
follwed, removing half of the door from its hinge. It actually served to help 
their flight in progress. As Stanley shot the car down the driveway, Brandon 
assumed his former position, half of his body raised up out of the side window.  
Jaime's actions mirrored his on the opposite side. From his vantage point, 
Brandon caught his first sight of the fabled Patricia. If they'd been in the 
garage for even one more minute, they would have had her to contend with.  She was 
positioned alongside the garage, blaster raised, waiting for their 
emergence.  Clad in a tight, one piece, black jumpsuit, devoid of any decoration save 
for various weaponry, she looked as lean and fierce as a lioness on the 
hunt. Her brunette hair, cropped short in a no nonsense style, and the coldy 
neutral expression on her face made her look ten thousand times more 
threatening than any of the bar roughened diesel dykes that used to occasionally come on to 
Tonya in San Fransisco. 

She had a clear shot at him, Brandon realized, only moments too late.  
However, Brandon was not her target. Through the remnants of the 
shattered, tempered glass windshield, she was making her mark on Abraham.  Then, her finger 
convulsively tightened on the trigger and she fired. The blast that 
should have taken Abraham's head right off of his body never came. Instead, the 
blaster seemed to backfire. If Patricia had held it in her hand for one more 
second, she would have been missing it. Luckily, she must have sensed the 
malfunction or felt the heat, because she launched it across the lawn. The weapon 
became a flaming projectile, hurtled with such a force that it travelled across 
the Bernstein's front yard and landed in the grass of what had formerly 
been the Maxwell's front yard, clear across the street. 

Brandon's eyes locked with Patricia's glacier blue contacts for a brief 
second before Stanley violently jerked the car out into the street. 
Brandon instantly lost his chance to blast Patricia into oblivion.  Holding on 
for dear life, Brandon watched as a trio of commandoes hotfooted it to one of 
the three jeeps they had transported themselves in. Then, the Jeep roared to 
life, making a violent U-Turn in the middle of the street to pursue them. Bradon 
raised the blaster, letting loose with a wild, half aimed series of shots. One 
lucky hit slammed the side of the Jeep as it was careening out of it's turn. It 
erupted into a greasy fireball, swerved out of control, and crashed into 
Tonya's car, that had been parked alongside the curb at the Bernstein's house. Her 
Honda instantly burst into flame. By then, Stanley had the accelerator to the 
floor. Like Mario Andretti, he sped down the street, mindless of the fact that 
his car no longer had a windshield. 

***************************************************************

Willie arrived at Kyle's bright and early, ready to pick up Emily as 
planned. He didn't look surprised to see that no one at the house was asleep. 
Outside, he found Ham and Kyle loading human weapons with teflon coated bullets. 
Katie was on the porch, watching them with an undisguised interest. Willie, 
who generally disliked anything that had to do with war and destruction, 
steered clear away from the men at work.

"Excuse, please," he said as he shouldered past Katie. The girl looked 
up at him, and her eyes suddenly took on a mournful expression.

"Guess I don't get to have my birthday party at Pizza Works," she 
pouted plaintatively.

"Oh, yes, that is right.  Your birthday is in just a few days, is it 
not?"

"It's on Saturday."

"Maybe you will be back by then. If you are not, we will have your 
birthday when you come home," Willie offered her with smile.

"Do you have birthdays on Sirius?" Katie asked.

"Not the same way humans have. We actually call them Hatch 
Anniversaries, but it is the same thing. We do not have cakes with candles, though. Gifts 
sometimes, and singing and dancing, but no cakes..."

Katie erupted into giggles; her sad look suddenly vanished.

"I get it...Hatch Anniversaries...cuz you guys come out of eggs!" she 
laughed.

The front door opened and Elizabeth poked her head out.

"Willie, I'm glad you're here. Come on in.  Philip has Emily ready to 
go."  The look on her face was solemn and troubled. Willie waved a quick 
goodbye to Katie and followed Elizabeth in. He found the other Starchild, 
Madeline, sitting on the couch in the family room. The blanket she'd used when 
she slept on the sofa the night before was already folded with the pillow atop it, 
as though she'd been up for some time. Her face looked equally as troubled as 
Elizabeth's. 

"Philip is feeding Emily in the kitchen. Let's go tell him you're here. 
I hope Jaime gets here soon with the others...I've been having a terrible 
feeling all morning, like they'd better hurry," Elizabeth told him.

"I am sure they should hurry," Willie replied. A sudden nervous tension 
gripped at him, squeezing his throat muscles. The reverberating tones 
that his voice had nearly lost suddenly reappeared, as noticable as when he'd 
first come to Earth. He was one of a sensitive few who had learned to read 
Elizabeth's moods effectively, and he knew by her tones and movements that she 
strongly sensed trouble.

Philip was in the kitchen with Emily, just as Elizabeth said. In 
addition to her usual protein paste breakfast, Phillip was supplementing her meal 
with small chunks of raw hamburger. Robin, who was packing bags with road 
munchies, was pretending not to watch. She was carefully trying to disguise a 
grimace as she worked. Polly stood at the counter next to her sister, helping with 
the task. Above the collar of her T Shirt, the buises on her neck were 
still quite visible. Some were fading to a mustard color, while the newer ones were 
still a vivid plum. Willie briefly checked to see if he could detect the band 
of pregnancy around her neck, but it was impossible to tell. While she 
worked, her hands shook a little, and her eyes had a hollowed, distant look.  In 
his opinion, she did not look good.

"Ah, Emily, your Wantu is here," Philip told his daughter. His voice 
reflected a momentary hint of sadness and hesitation.

"I will take good care of her, I promise," Willie told him.

A commotion from the family room halted any further attempts at 
conversation. Madeline shouted to the group in the kitchen that the others had 
arrived. No one was prepared for the sight of Stanley and Brandon assisting Lynne 
into the house. She was only half consious. A trickle of blood oozed from her 
badly damaged arm. Behind them came Abraham, looking very dazed, Tonya and 
Jaime. Following the enterage was Ham, Kyle and Katie. Katie's mouth was 
opened into a wide 'O', and her eyes were even bigger.

"Oh, my Gawd! Lynne!" Robin cried in horror, "What happened to her!?"

"She came. She's here..." Abraham mumbled.  A light sheen of sweat was 
breaking out on his forehead.

"Patricia?" Ham questioned brusquely. His eyes flashed as he watched 
Brandon and Stanley lower Lynne onto the couch. Robin had already made a grab 
for the phone, and called Julie, who would be getting ready to leave for work 
at this hour on any normal day. Elizabeth and Madeline simultaneously moved to 
flank Abraham. Together, they guided him to a chair.

"My Grandmother...she could die!" he cried, "And Orlando isn't with 
us..."

"We won't let Lynn die.  She'll be okay...mother is on the phone with 
Julie right now. Julie will make everything fine for her, you'll see..." 
Elizabeth soothed him.

"Patricia will pay for this," Ham commented cooly.

"She hurts. She's in so much pain," Abraham said.

Tonya appeared at the edge of the group and held up a pill bottle.

"I'll bet she does. I'll give her a couple of these Vicodins left from 
my prescription and it should help some..."

"No, Tonya, nothing by mouth. Julie's orders!" Robin cried, "Willie and 
Jaime are going to take her straight to UCLA Med Center, and Julie's going to 
meet them there."

No one had noticed that Robin had already hung up the phone. Willie had 
Emily in her car seat. Stanley and Brandon were once again helping Lynne to 
her feet. They made a chair out of their arms to support her. Katie quickly 
streaked across the room and opened the door, allowing them to pass through with 
reletive ease. Willie and Emily followed behind. Jaime was last to 
leave. No one could help but to notice the strange vibrating noise issuing forth from 
her throat.  

"We had to leave Orlando behind. Brandon said he-" Bram started. 

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth told him, squeezing his hand as she watched Jaime limp out the door. She suddenly understood why Jaime was crying, but she made no comment.

"Show's over, kids. Those of you that are leaving had better hit the dusty trail. Chances are, the PattyWagon will be here before long," Ham stated.

"Yeah, right," Tonya sniffed, "In what cars? Brandon pitched a shot at a Lizard Jeep with some of Patricia's flunkies in it. He hit the gas tank, and they hit my car...and everythng blew to hell. Oh, and have you caught wind of Stanley's ride? No windshield, dude..." 

"They were trying to kill my Grandfather...and he missed...I think I...bent the bolt somehow..." Abraham said quietly, "but the windshield still got hit.." 

"That was you, Bram? No kidding!" Tonya hooted. "And I'll bet you're the reason Patricia's blaster blew up in her hand!" 

Abraham shrugged. "I don't know about that," he said. 

"Way to go, Bram!" Brandon cheered. He had just returned from outside. 

"You were the real hero! You blew up that Jeep with all of those Commandoes in it!" 

"And the propane tank, I might add!" Brandon bragged. 

"Yeah, so you wasted about half of Patricia's dozen, but don't let it go to your head. There's still a half dozen more," Tonya replied. 

A shadow of a smile crossed Ham Tyler's face. "I always knew you had it in you," he told him. 

"Oh, and don't worry about the cars," Robin said, "Tonya, take your group in my car. Brandon, your group can go in Kyle's truck." 

"Yeah, and you're going with them," Ham told her pointedly. 

"I'm not either, end of discussion." With a decisive turn, Robin departed to summon Katie and Polly. Stanley stepped in front of her to stop her progress. Robin's surprise was evident on her face. "I thought you'd be at the hospital with Lynn," she stammered. 

"There wasn't room for me in the car. I'll go shortly. Someone else should take my seat, and that someone should be you." he told her. 

"No, Stanley. I appreciate what you're trying to tell me, but I need to stay here and defend Elizabeth's escape if that's what it comes to." 

Stanley flicked a gaze at Abraham, and smiled weakly. "I know how you feel," he said. 

Robin called for Katie and Polly. Katie appeared out of the bedroom with her own overnight bag, her sister's, her favorite blanket, and her old, battered, stuffed E.T. doll. With her arms heaped to overflowing, it was difficult to even see the child beneath it all. Polly came from the kitchen with a basket of the lunch bags filled with sandwiches, crackers, fruit and sodas that she and Robin had packed. She passed them out among the group like a waitress, rattling off the orders. "Three penut butter, banana and raisin sandwiches," she said, tossing a bag to each of the hybrids. Abraham looked visibly cheered at the thought of food. "One bacon lettuce, tomato and mayo, hold the bacon," she said, tossing the vegetarian sandwich bag to Phillip, "Turkey, Ham and Cheese with pickles, for Kyle, PB&J for Katie, Salami, cheese, and onion for Brandon, Swiss, Lettuce, Tomato and Dijon Mustard for Tonya, and I guess Stanley's not going, but I made you a deli turkey and cheese anyways.." She stopped short, realizing that she still had two extra bags in addition to Stanley's. One was another turkey sandwich for Lynne, and the other was a veggie sandwich for Orlando. "What about you Polly?" Robin asked softly, taking the basket from her sister's hands. 

"I'm not hungry," Polly replied in a voice barely above a whisper. 

"Take mine, then, Polly. I can eat at the hospital when I go see Lynne," Stanley told her. He handed his brown bag to Polly and gave her a pat on the shoulder. 

Ham cleared his throat impatiently. "Let's move it, kiddies," he said. 

Robin pulled her car keys out of her pocket and tossed them to Tonya. 

"The San Fransisco Cable Car is now departing from Terminal One," Tonya announced, nervously fingering the pendant Bram had loaned her. It gave her a confidence that came out in her voice, despite that fact that she was really scared out of her wits. Maybe he'd been right about the necklace having special, protecive abilities. It had sure kept her from getting creamed back at the Bernstein's. 

Polly grabbed her bag from the heap of items on the floor at Katie's feet. Katie made a move to pick up her own belongings, but she stopped short and threw her arms around Ham. "Are you sure you won't come?" she begged. 

"I'm sure, now do as you're told and get the hell out of here," Ham replied. Despite his severe tone, he gave Katie an affectionate ruffle on the head, which managed to knock her ponytail askew. He then gave Robin a look, but said nothing when he saw the determined set to her jaw.

"Elizabeth, Kyle, Madeline, let's go!" Tonya urged. 

"I'm going with Phillip," Madeline replied. 

"I'm going with Abraham. He needs me," Elizabeth stated. 

"And, I guess I'm going with Beth," Kyle said, "Don't worry. Everyone else will fit in the back of my truck. It'll be cramped, but we'll do fine." 

"I'm hurt," Tonya joked. She threw him a mocking salute. Before she left, Brandon pulled her into a careful hug, mindful of her sore shoulder. 

"Take care, and tell the Golden Gate Geeks that I said hi, okay?" 

"Will do. Same for the Grape Pickers from me, K?"

"Si, Amiga," Brandon returned in a grossly exaggerated Spanish accent. 

At the same time, Robin was bading her sisters a sad farewell. Ham stopped Tonya at the door. "Here's some insurance. You know how to use them, right?" 

Tonya gazed silently at the two lethal looking grenades that Ham was giving her. "Only in an emergency..and I'll be sure to keep them out of Katie's reach," she responded thankfully. 

"If you see any black clad Lizards in Jeeps heading this way..." 

"Pull a Brandon and waste em." Tonya confirmed. 

Brandon gave a cocky grin. He then brushed an awkward kiss against Polly's cheek. "Sorry to see you go so soon, but I'll feel alot better knowing you'll be safe with Tonya and Katie," he said. Polly said nothing as Ham nudged her out the door. Kyle was outside the door taking the bags and loading them in Robin's car. Polly eased herself into the passenger seat. Katie had the whole back to herself, and Tonya was already belted in the driver's seat. The grenades were tucked safely in her backpack, which was nestled between Polly's knees for easy grabbing access. Ham then passed a Visitor sidearm in to Polly through the passenger side window. 

"If you see anything you don't like, take your revenge out on them," he told her in a steely tone of voice. Tonya started the engine. A small group had assembled to watch them leave. Soon, only a cloud of dust remained of their departure. 

"Get Abraham out of here," Stanley said to Ham, "I'm getting more nervous by the second." 

"Kyle's already starting to pack the truck," Ham reassured him. He glanced around and saw Brandon and Phillip standing with Robin. They all turned to go back inside. None of the three starchildren were anywhere in sight. Kyle rolled up the garage door. His car, his truck and both of his dirtbikes were parked inside. 

"Where in the hell is Elizabeth and the others?" Ham demanded sourly. 

"Relax, old man. They're packing up some clothes and an extra toothbrush for Bram. His bag got left at the Bernstein's," Kyle replied. 

"They got about five seconds." Angrily, he stalked off into the house. Stanley followed him in. Phillip, who was also making due with Kyle's borrowed clothing, was a rather strange sight in a pair of drawsting sweats and a T shirt, especially since his feet were clad in loafers. He was gathering up the duffel bags that Elizabeth, Kyle and Madeline had piled in a heap on the family room floor, in addition to the paper bag his own things were packed in. At that moment, Madeline came tearing out of Kyle's bedroom, her face frozen in an expression of panic. Elizabeth and Abraham, almost as if they'd heard Ham's admonishment, followed suit. Abraham had a plastic bag filled with clothing slung over his shoulder. Madeline made a grab for Phillip's arm, wildly gesturing for his attention. 

"What is it?" he demanded, caught off guard.

"She is coming! She is coming, I sense her!" Madeline cried. 

Elizabeth and Abraham were wide eyed, but not nearly as insistent until a rumbling noise disturbed the air. 

"Son of a bitch," Ham muttered. Brandon whipped out Orlando's sidearm. Stanley looked as though he was about to have a heart attack. Phillip dove into the contents of his bag and produced his own weapon. 

Elizabeth made a bolt towards the door, opening it wide. "Kyle!" she cried. The light show of lasers had already begun. Kyle was making a mad dash for the porch, his arms bristling with weapons he'd snatched from Ham's van. Just short of the front door, a flare of ozone light exploded, and Kyle fell. The weapons he carried spilled from his arms and landed haphazardly around him. Ham shoved Elizabeth back rudely and lunged for Kyle, pulling him in by the sleeve of his shirt. He was still consious, but his pantleg was smoking. Once inside, Kyle scrabbled across the floor, knocking guns and ammo out of his way. Stanley picked up a semi automatic, but made no move to fire it. Ham was already trading fire out the front door.

Brandon had assumed position near the front window. He nudged the window open and started his own assault. He ducked down below the windowsill for cover, only peeking his head up now and then to check for targets. "Forget the scalies. I'll take care of them!" 

Ham bellowed to Brandon from his post, "You get the others out to the garage and into the truck!" 

"Deja Vu," Brandon muttered, ducking away from the window. On cue, Robin snatched up another of the fallen weapons, checked to make sure it was loaded, and took over Brandon's position. 

Ham took a brief respite from shooting and directed a command at Stanley. "Make yourself useful," he ordered, "I've got four more grenades in my case on the coffee table. Pass two of them out to the away team. You keep the other two and see if you can't put em to good use. The Jeeps would be a good start!" 

Stanley gingerly placed the gun down on the floor and backed up to obey Ham's directive. Brandon was on hand to accept one of the grenades. Madeline made a grab for the other. "Know how to use that thing?" Brandon asked her. 

"You throw it," Madeline replied callously, "but you pull the pin first." 

"Not til you're ready to throw it," Brandon sarcastically advised her. 

"I have had extensive weapons training, you fool," she bit back. 

Stanley quietly received the needed instructions from the banter he overheard between the two of them. He backed away quietly and began to check other windows on the ground floor for a good vantage point to hit a target. 

Meanwhile, Elizabeth was crouched on the floor near Kyle. She knew his leg was broken near the ankle, judging from the awkwardly bent look of it. The leather at the top of his boot where he'd taken the hit was charred, and the skin above it was blistered an angry red and oozing blood. Kyle's eyes blazed with his agony, but his voice remained calm. "Take the keys to Brandon and get yourself out of here," he said, pressing the keyring into her palm. 

"I won't leave without you, Kyle," Elizabeth replied.

"Yes you will. You're holding us up," Brandon stated rudely. He grabbed Elizabeth by her arm and yanked her up. She turned on him, with a dangerous look in her eye. 

"Elizabeth! Go! I could never live with myself if anything ever happened to you. Ham and your mother will take care of me...now go!" Kyle urged. In his arms he cradled one weapon he'd managed to rescue from the ground. Despite his injury, he still managed to look dangerous. Elizabeth quavered between leaving and staying. 

"Elizabeth," Madeline said from beside her, "Kyle is not on her list. She may look him over if you are not with him. He is in more danger if you stay." 

"I love you, Kyle!" Elizabeth called as Brandon made her decision for her, by towing her across the room toward the garage. 

"I love you too Elizabeth!" he returned as she was hauled out of his sight. A whisper of instinct crawled along the back of his neck, making the little hairs there stand up on end. Knowing full well that he dared not try to stand, Kyle scooted himself out of the family room and into the hallway. The first bedroom he came to was Katie and Polly's. He hoisted himself up onto Katie's bed, which was beneath the window. From there, he had a view to the back yard. Sure enough, a pair of commandoes had climbed the fence. One of them had his gun raised and was about to blast out Robin's bedroom window next door. Kyle reacted quickly. He reached up, slid Katie's window open, and pointed the muzzle of his gun outside. Without a word, he rattled off several shots, peppering the two commandoes with Ham's favorite, armour piercing bullets of choice. The ammunition did nothing to kill the two, but the force of the shots knocked the weapon out of the shooter's hand. Both of them were slammed down to the ground. But, they were still moving, attempting to scrabble to their feet. One still had his weapon, and he loosed a couple of shots in Kyle's direction. It was impossible for him to get a good aim. They both recovered and took to their feet when Kyle stopped to reload. 

Before he commenced with another barrage of fire, Kyle stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a loud whistle that he hoped would summon Stanley. Stanley appeared just as Kyle hoped he would. It had taken him a few moments to locate Kyle. By then, Kyle had resumed shooting his second round. 

"These bullets are doing nothing but preventing these goons from getting up," Kyle panted to him. Shock was beginning to set in, but for the moment, Kyle was winning over it. 

"Ham says to aim for the knees. They don't have protection there," Stanley replied. 

"Why don't you take one of those grenades and stick it to em," Kyle said. "It will remove everything they've got attatched to themselves below the knees..." 

Stanley needed no further prompting. He climbed onto Katie's bed beside Kyle and took position on the other side of the bedroom window. Kyle laid down some fire and leaned back, allowing Stanley a view of his targets. With sweaty palms, Stanley took one of the grenades and fumbled with the pin. Once he pulled it, he had a momentary flash of his college days, pitching for the baseball team. Judging the situation with a perspective he'd nearly forgotten, he launched the grenade in an overhand curve. His aim was nearly perfect. Unfortuantely, neither one took the time to watch where the pitch landed. They rolled off the bed and took cover beneath it just as the grenade exploded. Every window on the back side of the house rattled and imploded from the grenade's force. Katie's bed was a sea of broken glass when Stanley cautiously crawled out from beneath it and chanced a look out the broken window. Both commandoes were face down on the ground. They were covered with churned up turf and smoking debris. A hole big enough for a grown man to fit through had been blasted in the wall of Robin's bedroom. Smoldering tufts of insulation and drywall tumbled into the opening. It was only moments later that they both heard the insistent beeping of the ceiling mounted smoke detector in the hallway. 

"We gotta get out of here. There's a fire in the house," Stanley called to Kyle. Kyle nodded, scooted himself to the footboard of Katie's bed and used it to hoist himself up to his feet. Balancing his weight precariously on his one good foot, he felt shaky but confident that he'd be able to get out with help. With Stanley there to support him, they made slow, hobbling progress out of the room and down the hall. Robin and Ham were still at their posts, but neither of them was firing. It seemed that the battle had come to a momentary standstill. 

"Two down and a fire in the rear of the house," Kyle reported. "We gotta clear outta here. Has the truck left?" 

"Negative," Ham grunted. 

Robin did a quick mental calculation, based on what she'd heard. Brandon claimed to have torched five. Jaime shot two, one of which survived to be a problem later and could well be one now. Orlando had wasted one, Brandon had wounded two others, who might or might not still be alive. Now, two more were down. In the best possible light, that left Patricia and only one other commando to deal with, if there'd only been twelve to begin with. Quite possibly this was so, as they had come in three jeeps, four per vehicle, and including Patricia, that would have only left room for her to bring eleven. Which could mean that only Patricia was still in business. Brandon had taken out one of the jeeps. Only seven passengers and Patricia could utilize two jeeps. The worst case scenario could mean that they were still left to deal with Paticia and five commandoes; two of whom might be wounded. If that was the case, she wondered where they all were...and where was Patricia? 

She might have learned the answer if she'd been able to see into the kitchen through the smoke that was thickly drifting into the family room from the back of the house. The away group had managed to make it into the kitchen and were preparing to make their exit into the garage through the ped door when their progress was halted. Phillip had just managed to open the door when a hand snaked out through the doorway and grabbed him. With a decisive shove, Patricia forced him back into the kitchen. She had replaced the ruined weapon she'd lost at the Bernstein's with another one, and the butt of it was pressed into the false skin covering Phillip's temple. Already, the pressure of it had made a small rip in Phillip's psuedoskin. Her own face had suffered damage as well. A portion of the flesh covering her face had been torn away, and was completely missing to prevent any flapping skin from obscuring her vision. Her cold smile looked even more grotesque. She stepped inside the kitchen with Phillip firmly in her hold. With a mean kick, she smashed her foot into Phillip's hand, neatly disloging his blaster from his grip. 

"Drop your weapons or he dies, no?" Patricia commanded in heavily accented English. 

"Hell no...no?! We know you won't toast Phillip. Your Leader wants him alive for questioning!" Brandon spat back.

No anger registered on Patricia's face. She only removed her weapon from Phillip's temple long enough to shoot straight at the ceiling. With a crash, the light fixture fell from it's mounting, smashing into Brandon's shoulder as it came down. Though the injury he sustained from it wasn't likely to be more than a bruising, it was enough to send Orlando's blaster out of his grip. It clattered to the floor. "With some training, I might find use for you, angry one," she told him. 

"Yeah, well I hear your Darling Daughter isn't doing much in the way of conversions lately," Brandon cracked back. 

What was left of the human mask covering Patricia's features did manage to betray some of her disgust at his last comment. With a rude downward shove, she forced Phillip to his knees.Then, she put her foot down hard in the middle of his back, forcing his forehead into the linoleum. She repositioned her foot squarely on the back of Phillip's neck, indicating to all that she'd have no qualms about breaking his neck if the occasion arose. With her gun still hovering over the back of Phillip's head, she reached out with a blurringly quick motion and grabbed Brandon by his shirt sleeve. "On your knees," she ordered him. 

Brandon made no move to obey until he heard a huff of vocalized air escape from Phillip's mouth. Patricia had just stepped down with a little more pressure on the back of Phillip's neck. "I have no qualms about killing any of you, even Phillip...but he stands a chance if you comply immediately...no?" She moved her weapon up to cover Brandon, who finally submitted. Unbeknownst to all but Patricia...and Madeline, who had a little more knowledge of Sirian physiology than even any of the other Starchildren, Phillip was completely paralyzed of voluntary motion. Patricia's boot was applying pressure to the cervical vertibrae at the base of the spine. She was also compressing the nerves at the base of the ridge of his crest, that ended right where the neck began. Not unlike a cat that is grasped by the scruff of it's neck, Phillip suffered a similar, temporary affliction that would only be relieved when the pressure was removed. For now, he was helpless, and he posed no immediate threat to Patricia. Her next move clobbered Brandon square in the jaw with the butt of her weapon. If she'd hit his temple, he'd have been rendered unconsious, but her limited reach had still managed to tear a gash in his face. The blow stung, and Brandon howled in outrage as blood trickled down his chin. At last, she had the three hybrids right in front of her. Not a one of them appeared to be armed. The boy amongst them had his eyes narrowed, and a look of intense concentration on his face, as though he were trying to... 

"I know what you did," Patricia said to him, "but do not think I am not prepared, no? If you try that cute trick again, Phillip dies." 

Abraham felt a sting of frustrated tears in his eyes, flooding his contacts. He wasn't sure if he'd made Patricia's gun backfire on her, but if he had done it once, why couldn't it happen again? He looked to Elizabeth, his cousin. Her eyes were darting around the kitchen rapidly, as if she was seeking contact with something to hurl at Patricia with the momentum of her mind. The light fixture had already been blown from it's moorings, and would offer no help for Elizabeth to pull her famous light bulb bursting trick to cause a distraction. Madeline, on the other hand, was stock still. Only the slight flare of her nostrils betrayed any hint to the emotion boiling beneath her surface. 

Patricia swiveled her gaze from Abraham to Madeline, her mouth curved in a wicked smile. "I think you will die first. I cannot stand to look at you, no?" Patricia announced to Madeline. She began to raise her pistol, but it soon became obvious that Madeline had found her own weapon. Craning her head forward, she opened her mouth and let loose with a spray of venom that caught Patricia directly where the skin of her mask had torn. Elizabeth caught on only a second later. She too closed in on the assassin, and did what her grandfather had told her to never, ever do after she'd sprayed Katie as a child. Abraham only wished he was capable of the same assault, but the force of two direct hits with venom was enough to distract Patricia. Her foot let up it's pressure on Phillip's neck. Phillip pulled himself up quickly, using the moment of surprise to flip Patricia to the ground. He too delivered a well aimed spray of venom. Then, he reached over and pulled Brandon to his feet. 

Patricia was already scrabbling to regain her ground. There wouldn't be time for Phillip and Brandon to retrieve their weapons, but there was time for escape. They herded themselves out the ped door, and Elizabeth pulled it shut behind them. Brandon scrambled into the driver's seat of Kyle's truck, the keys already out of his pocket and into his hand. The others piled themselves into the back of the truck. Moments later, Brandon had the truck backed out of the garage. With a maniac turn, he pulled the truck around and squeeled out of the driveway. There was still one commando they hadn't seen, and he had been on the roof of the garage the whole time. He jumped down and landed in the bed of the truck. Madeline wasted no time taking advantage of his precarious position; half standing and half crouched, as he momentarily recovered from his jump. She delivered one swift kick to his midsection with her sneakered foot and sent him flipping over the tailgate. Once again, the commando regained his feet, despite the fall. His blaster was raised. Then, he crumpled in a heap on the driveway. As the truck sped farther away, it was still plain to see Ham Tyler standing triumphantly in the driveway behind the fallen trooper with a blaster in his hand. 

Robin saw the last trooper make his jump as she, Ham, Stanley and Kyle exited the burning house. Her first calculations had been right on the mark. The truck shot past them, and Robin saw Madeline deliver the kick that sent the commando onto the pavement of the driveway. Ham was instantly in position to take care of him. With a shuddering sense of relief, Robin watched as her daughter and the others were driven out of sight, and hopefully, to safety. Now, there was nothing but an eerie silence. 

Ham suddelnly vocalized what Robin had just begun to wonder. "Where in the hell is Pattycakes?" 

"I never even saw her," Robin answered, her voice shaking despite her efforts to control it. 

"It took an awful long time for them to get out in the truck," Kyle said. He suddenly looked too drained to even continue with his thought. 

"I'm going in after her. I want a piece of that bitch for myself," Ham stated. 

A faint noise from above broke the sudden stillness. Robin shielded her eyes and glanced up into the bright morning sky. She saw a Visitor shuttle off in the distance, and it looked to be heading in their direction. "Cancel that!" she barked hoarsly." Unless you want to go up against any reinforcements she might have called for." 

None of them wasted another breath. With Kyle supported between Ham and Stanley, they made for the van. Parked unceremoniously on the lawn, near the front porch, beneath a shade tree, it had escaped damage from the laser fire. The back end was still open, revealing some of Ham's nasty arsenal. The lizard commandoes, it seemed, had enough brains not to duck behind it for cover. Any attempt to do so might have drawn fire and blown the van and anyone behind it clear into next week. With Kyle and Stanley nestled in the back with the weapons and Ham and Robin up front, they made their own hasty escape, never to know what had become of Patricia, at least for the time being. 

Chapter 24  Road Trips

"If you are confused, 
check with the sun.
Carry a compass
to help you along.
Your feet are going 
to be on the ground.
Your head is there
to move you around..."

~~ R.E.M.   Stand

Luisa Fiori, and elderly neighbor, had briefly witnessed the explosions 
at the Bernstein's house, and she had called the fire department promptly. 
There hadn't been much she could make sense of.  All she could know with any 
certainty was that her long time neighbors had fled from the melee. Who the group 
was that left the scene shortly afterwards in two Jeeps, she had no idea. 
She suspected they were those damn lizards that had killed her friends 
Abraham Bernstein and Ruby Engels. Luisa was clueless as to who had really 
killed Ruby, but she was not stupid when it came to knowing about the Bernstein's covert 
aid to the resistance. Her silence was golden. She missed her long time 
friends, Ruby and Abraham, who used to occasionally join her in her kitchen for tea. 
Anything an old woman such as herself could do to help, she was glad 
to. When the fire department arrived, the two cars out front were still flaming, but 
not explosively so. A fire was still burning in the back corner of the 
Bernstein's yard. It was most likely their pool house. A good chunk of the 
perimeter fence separating their yard from their neighbor's was nothing but smoking, 
charred timbers. In fact, the firefighters had more actual fire to extinguish 
in the neighbor's back yard than they did in the Bernstein's. The concrete 
decking and the pool kept the fire away from their house.  In contrast, the lawn behind 
the neighbor's house was an overgrown fire hazard waiting to happen. Their 
house had been abandoned for some time. The storage shed was as toasted as 
the Bernstein's poolhouse.  Fortunately, the fire department had arrived in 
time to prevent either of the main houses from going up. Even if the 
Bernstein's house had burnt to the ground, Luisa knew that Stanley was smart. Every beam in 
that house was insured to the hilt. It was a good thing, too. There were 
broken windows and a busted down garage door to contend with. Heaven only knew how 
much it would cost to rebuild the poolhouse and the perimiter fence. Stanley 
and Lynne would need the money.

Much to Luisa's disgust, she'd also witnessed the coroner's van make an 
appearance. Two dead bodies, clad in black, were hauled out of the 
backyard. Another identical corpse was brought out of the house. The three 
lizards that had died in the Jeep could likely fit in an ashcan. Then, an ambulance had 
pulled up. Two uniformed paramedics spilled out the back, pulling out rolling 
gurneys. Two shock troopers came out of the cab. Luisa had no doubts in her mind 
that the skirmish at the Bernstein's involved the Visitors, by now. Less 
than ten minutes later, the two gurneys were rolled out of the house, both 
containing black clad soldiers. With sirens sounding and lights flashing, the 
ambulance took it's patients to the Lizard hospital that Luisa knew was located 
somewhere close to the UCLA Med Center.  Little did she know, as she watched the 
firefighters and the coroner depart, that Patricia's Dozen, consisting 
of eleven trained combatants and herself, had been dealt a crippling blow that 
left only three alive.

***************************************************************

Orlando had been completely overlooked, but only he knew the reason 
why.  He awoke from his injured lapse of unconsiousness and found that he was 
unarmed. Someone had his blaster, and he hoped it was Brandon; the last person 
he'd remembered being in the kitchen with. The sound of sirens had roused 
him. Wearing his uniform, with no one around to tell the authorities that he was on 
the good side, Orlando knew he would be in trouble if he was discovered 
where he'd been dropped. Wincing and shuddering as the pieces of protective armor 
beneath his uniform that had shielded his innards from the blast ground deeper 
into his flesh, he crawled out of the kitchen, across the living room, and 
into the downstairs bedroom. This was the room that the human female Tonya had 
slept in. The bed looked inviting with it's soft blankets and pillow. He could 
smell the welcoming warmth that the human woman's body had left behind, but 
Orlando resisted temptation to crawl into the bed. Instead, he pulled himself 
underneath it. There were plenty of dustbunnies there to keep him company. It 
might have caused him to worry about sneezing and betraying his location if he'd 
stayed conscious long enough.

***************************************************************

Diana, despite her exhausting ordeal from the day before, found little 
escape in the comfort of sleep. Frantic thoughts crowded the edges of her 
mind, bringing uncertain feelings to light that she hadn't allowed herself to 
feel in years. Forgotten memories popped into her thoughts like flashbulbs. She 
suddenly recalled Dale's questioning and his death at her hands. Then, her mind 
drifted back to a similar image. Like any memory, she could not see herself; 
only the event she was witnessing.  All she knew was that she felt small again.  
The walls of her personal sleeping quarters on board the mothership were 
replaced with the distant echoes of the home she'd spent her first years growing 
up in. Crouched behind a doorway, she could see into a room where a man had 
been working, until there had been a disturbance at a pair of glass paneled 
doors leading into the room. Then, the man she vaguely remembered as her 
father was laying prone on the floor; his midsection nothing more than charred 
clothing and smoking flesh. Her own mother was crouched over his corpse, throttling 
the life out of him that no longer was there. That memory had brought her 
completely out of sleep.  Diana sat bolt upright in the lumpy hotel room bed, her 
heart and her temples throbbing in the same, frantic tempo.

Beyond a question of a doubt, history had relived itself. She knew 
instinctively that her own daughter had witnessed Dale's death as 
surely as she'd witnessed her father's. Even justifying Dale's demise by touting his 
allegience to the 5th column did nothing to soothe the discomfort that this 
realization brought. The darkness pressing in around her brought no relief.  By her 
own flight from the mothership, she'd cast her lot with the 5th Column, like it or 
not. Her purpose on Earth, to prevent her mother from carrying out the 
Leader's orders and killing Madeline, was equally as insubordinate as any 5th 
Columnist's agenda. Strangely, that thought brought her no unease. After all, her 
first allegiance was to her own agenda, and she would not be able to 
accomplish it easily without Madeline...or any of her other creations, for that fact. 
It was simply unacceptable to allow Patricia to kill them.

Diana had stayed awake the rest of the night.  When dawn claimed the 
sky, she forced herself to replace her contacts and begin getting ready for the 
tasks she had planned.  The henna rinse had worked well.  Her hair was now a 
tawnier shade, close to what she'd consider the color of caramel candy.  Her 
new appearance took some getting used to, but it would make for an 
effective disguise. She had no cosmetics with her either, and she was willing to bet that 
the young boy who'd seen her and recognized her the night before would be 
fooled now. Her clothing was decently repaired with the sewing kit and would pass 
public scrutiny.

Now she knew for a fact that her wrist was not broken, but it had 
swollen up beneath the ace bandage. At least the immobility the wrap provided kept 
it from hurting badly. This was not so for her head. Just as she prepared 
to call a taxi to take her to her planned destination, a small trickle of blood 
dripped from her nose. A warning bell sounded somewhere in the back of her 
mind.  Headaches and nosebleeds were not good. They pointed to signs of 
possible hypertension, and she knew she carried at least two risk factors for 
elevated blood pressure. Stress and Seasoning. At thirty five, Diana was not quite old 
enough for Prime Molt, and both conditons should still be weathered through 
with relative ease. Except, perhaps, for prolonged stress. That was not good 
for anyone at any age.  Of course, of even bigger concern was the fact that she 
dare not spout off with a nosebleed in public. It only took a few minutes to 
contain the bleed. Once she was satisfied that it wouldn't return, she reached 
for the phone and dialed the taxi. Then, she grabbed the plastic Payless bag 
with her belongings in it, strapped on her waist pack, holstered her sidearm, 
and stepped out of her room.  

No one was out and about at this early hour. In fact, the desk employee 
at the office, different than the man from the night before, but no more 
fluent in English, seemed to be stirring. Diana settled her bill and waited 
twenty minutes for her taxi to arrive. During her wait, she mentally reviewed 
her agenda. She only had the most basic knowledge of the Los Angeles area. All of 
her past Earthbound excursions had concrete destinations that she could input 
into her computer and receive exact coordinates and directions for. She  
didn't have to know what else might lie nearby or what landmarks to 
look for to guide her to her destination. There hadn't been time or opportunity 
to get coordinates from her computer this time.  All she had stored in her 
memory were two guides; the address listed as the Bernstein's residence, and 
the name of a business that was supposedly nearby. 

Diana remembered the Bernstein's address from examining the files Laura 
had hacked into in an attempt to zero in on any possible areas she might 
try to hide herself in. Unfortunately, it was impossible for her to pinpoint, 
in a city as immense as Los Angeles, precisely where 1211 Aspen Drive might be 
found. Hence, she recalled a hint from the many times she'd questioned Polly 
Maxwell. According to Polly, a new resistance member by the name of Brandon was 
living with the Bernsteins. When asked about Brandon, Polly had told her that 
he worked at a record sales shop called the Tune Emporium, and it seemed 
that she mentioned that the Tune Emporium was near the Bernstein's house. 
Consulting the hotel room phone book, Diana had found a listing for the Tune Emporium. 
Though she had no idea how close Polly's idea of nearby was, she did note that 
the Bernstein's address and the Tune Emporium shared the same zip code. At 
least it was a place to start. 

Diana didn't believe she'd find Madeline at the Bernstein's house, but 
she stood a good chance of finding Abraham there...and she hoped she would 
be able to glean information to her whereabouts from him. That was one theory 
to her logic. The other theory was knowing that Abraham was one of Patricia's 
targets, just as surely as Madeline was. She just might run into Patricia, kill 
her, and eliminate the threat to Madeline's life right there.

Diana's fingers lightly brushed the laser pistol, holstered at her 
waist, hidden beneath her blouse.  he thought of violently dispatching her own 
mother caused her no discomfort. The insults and the threats that Patricia had 
hurled at her when she invaded her ship...in front of her subordinates...How 
she'd managed to publicly humiliate Diana and take away everything she'd 
worked so hard to obtain as she'd spent the last countless years dutifully 
serving the homeworld hovering above a distant, alien planet...

And now, Patricia sought to hand down the ultimate insult, by killing 
Madeline.  Madeline wasn't merely a daughter to Diana.  She was a 
physical manifestation of the true genious Diana knew she possessed--that the 
Enlightened One told her she possessed. Who else had managed to bring together the 
genetic components of two species that were so different into one, beautiful, 
intelligent, and utterly amazing being of it's own? And not only had Diana performed 
this miracle once, but she had done so three separate times. Not even the 
Leader could claim such an incredible feat. The three starchildren were the 
physical proof to two worlds that Diana was possessed of superior intelligence.  
She had succeeded in doing what no one else could, and it stood to reason that 
she should rule supreme.  That one of them was her own daughter would serve 
to reinforce that knowledge. The command of a mothership paled in 
comparison.  There was no claim to exceptional brilliance in doing something that 50 other 
commanders routinely did. No...the Starchildren were the proof to her superiority. 

Madeline was not only proof, but she was also an extension of Diana's 
genious. Her daughter was the only one of the Starchildren who's 
prenatal development had been completely under her control. Diana had known, while 
researching hybrid experimentation, that even humans were capable of combining the 
DNA of two similar species of animals. Mules were the resultant offspring of the 
hybridization of horses and donkeys.  Unfortunately, most hybrids of 
this sort were sterile. Unable to produce their own offspring, they could only be 
reproduced with the aid of science.  Diana, when she'd perfomed the procedures to 
conceive of both Elizabeth and Abraham, had been unable to complete the 
necessary alterations to remove this possible defect from their genetics. 
Madeline, however...

Madeline would triumph in this one endeavor.  Not only had Diana 
eradicated her own inability to bear offspring, she'd also made it possible for 
Madeline to reproduce. As long as no external influences prevented her from 
doing so,  Madeline would carry forth with the family line, and Diana's superior 
genetic traits would be passed down to future generations. It was a form of 
guaranteed imortality. There was no way Diana would stand back and allow Patricia 
to take this from her.

The taxi pulled up in the parking lot. Diana slid into the back seat. 
In her hand was the piece of paper where she'd jotted down the address to the 
Tune Emporium. Hoping her voice contained no hint of residual reverberation, 
she casually gave the address to the driver. Half an hour and thirty five 
dollars later, the cab let her out. The parking lot served several, connected 
businesses. One of them was the Tune Emporium. Another was a hair salon, and a 
third was a game arcade. There was also a small women's apparel store, a yogurt 
shop, and a liquor store. The Tune Emporium looked to be the largest of the 
businesses. All of them were closed, with one exception.  Annexed off of the Tune 
Emporium was an outdoor cafe of sorts. It consisted of nothing more 
than three tables set with two chairs apeice, and a service counter beneath a dark green 
awning. The cafe seemed to specialize in selling coffee and puffy 
breakfast pastries called muffins. A black, glossy board was posted on an easel in front 
of the counter. Flourecent handwriting highlighted the menu and the prices. At 
the top of the sign was a notice that loudly proclaimed: "What Coffee 
Shortage? Get Your Caffeine Fix Right Here! 100% the REAL THING!" Already, there were 
a few customers. A petite, Hispanic girl served their drinks behind the 
counter. Seated at one of the tables was a man, sipping from a steaming 
styrofoam cup while causally reading a newspaper. The aroma of the coffee was quite 
appetizing. Diana considered ordering a cup for herself, even though she knew she 
should budget her money. The smell won out. Medically speaking, caffeine was 
an excellent headache rememdy...and Diana knew she was certainly in need 
of one. In addition, she could ask directions to Aspen Drive from the girl at the 
counter.  

Pondering her choices, Diana selected a black Columbian Roast coffee. 
She'd only tasted coffee a couple of times. Remembering that it was slightly 
bitter, she helped herself to one of the sugar packets in a box on the counter.  
She paid the counter girl, who's name tag proclaimed her to be "Trina", 
four dollars. Then, she inquired about the direction of Aspen Drive.

"Oh, yeah, Aspen Drive," Trina answered as she placed the singles in 
the cash register, "It's about five or six blocks away. Go down Dawn Avenue, and 
turn right on Colorado Street. Aspen and Colorado meet."

Diana thanked her warmly and favored her with a smile. Then, she set 
out, slowing her pace so she wouldn't spill her coffee. Already, the steam 
was soohting the edges of her headache. After only a few sips, she was developing an 
understanding for humans and their addiction to this beverage. The 
distance Diana walked seemed a bit longer than the five or six blocks that Trina 
indicated, but at last, she found herself standing on the corner of Colorado and 
Aspen. Gazing up at the street sign, she realized she still had a few more 
blocks to go. The numerals on the marker for Aspen Drive indicated that she was in 
the 900 block. 

Somewhere nearby, sirens sounded loudly, and then gradually receded 
into the distance. It wasn't long before Diana realized that she was in familiar 
territory. At 1100 Aspen Drive, she came across the deserted Dupres 
residence. The stately home, which had once belonged to Arthur and Eleanor Dupres, had 
served as a headquarters for the late, not so great Steven and his security 
forces. Diana had even been here on a few occasions during the time of the 
first invasion, but there had been no reason for her to know the actual 
address. It stood utterly deserted now, and the lawns bordering the property had fallen 
into a botanical chaos. 

The neighboring houses were all of tasteful archtecture. They whispered 
of moderate wealth, but the lots were considerably smaller than that of 
the Dupres residence, and the houses themselves were not quite as palacial. Some 
of them looked to be as deserted as the Dupres' place. Others bore signs, such 
as parked cars in driveways and kept up lawns, to indicate that they were 
inhabited still. Among these houses was where Diana found 1211.  The sight she 
beheld stiffened every joint in her body. In front of the residence were the 
burnt up hulks of two vehicles. One, Diana could immediately tell, had been a 
Jeep, the sort commonly used by the military patrols she once commanded. The 
garage door hung askew by one top hinge.  It's surface was severly dented and bent.  
A fence leading to the back yard was scorched almost beyond recognition... 
Peering around the mess, she saw scorched patio, shattered glass that had been 
swept off to the side in a jagged pile, and charred remnants of an exterior 
structure. Particles of burnt wood and soot had turned the swimming pool's water 
into a brackish swamp.  

Whatever destruction had ensued here had also damaged some of the 
property to the house next door. It was apparently vacant, though. Even the house 
across the street had suffered damage on the front lawn, where flaming debris 
had scorched a patch of grass right in front of the 'For Sale sign' erected 
out front. Evidence pointed to the fact that firefighters had already been 
to the scene. The lawn was spongy beneath her boots. Water dripped from nearly 
every surface of the house and puddled. The mess caused from all of the 
sodden soot was depressing. Somehow, before she'd even entered the back yard, Diana 
found her boots and the hem of her jeans smeared with black streaks of soggy 
ashes.

Frowning, Diana cautiously picked her way across the Bernstein's front 
yard, discarding her empty styrofoam cup as she went. With care, she stepped 
over blackend fence timbers as she neared the back yard. She had no doubts 
as to what had happened here. Apparently, Patricia had launched an attack, seeking 
to find and destroy Abraham. Diana could plainly smell that the attack had 
been very recent. There were no bodies outside, but the scent of death clung 
to the air. Easing her way around the broken glass on the back patio, she 
peered into the house.  A struggle had ensued, for certain. Much of the furniture 
was damaged, and some of it was even in fragments. 

Her astute hearing picked up nothing but a queer, heavy silence. With 
her hand on her blaster for insurance, she cautiously proceeded inside. A 
story began to spread itself out before her eyes. Assorted splotches of green blood 
on the carpets indicated that there had been casualties among Patricia's 
Dozen. In the dining room, she found a spot of human blood on the floor that was 
drying to the color of rust. Nearby, she found a duffel bag packed with what 
appeared to be the belongings of a man. She also found a human weapon; a rather 
common seeming handgun favored by people for defense against intruders. Still, 
just as had been the case outside, there were no signs of life or confirmed 
loss of it.  

On the second floor of the split level house, Diana found personal 
sleeping quarters.The largest of the three upstairs rooms was obviously shared 
by Lynn and Stanley. She gave it a quick once over and found nothing of 
interest with the exception of opened dresser drawers and a large walk in closet with 
the door left wide open. Garments on hangers had been shoved this way and 
that, giving suggestion to the idea that someone had rifled amongst the 
clothes as though they were desparately searching for something...or perhaps...packing to 
go somewhere. 

The second bedroom looked to be much in the same order.  It was 
smaller, and contained items that might reasonably belong to an adolescent male. A 
boom box stereo was left on the dresser, and cassette tapes were haphazardly 
scattered nearby. In the corner of the room was a small television on a stand 
with a video game console hooked up to it. Of particular interest to Diana was 
a comb on the end table.  It had short, light brown hairs caught between the 
teeth. She collected a sample of them, and tucked them safely within the folds 
of her ace bandage. She suspected that they belonged to Abraham, the one 
starchild that she hadn't had the opportunity to meet personally, yet. 

Then, she moved on to the final room on the level. This was a bedroom 
that was actually set up as a personal office. A stately wooden desk 
commanded the majority of the room's space. Situated on the desk was a personal 
computer, archaic to her standards, with a monitor, a keyboard and a computer 
mouse. There was also a telephone with a small rolodex sitting beside it.  Diana 
rifled through it quickly, but found nothing in the indexed cards that might 
betray phone numbers or home addresses of known resistance members. That was a bit 
of a disappointment, but then again, she didn't figure that the Bernsteins 
would be stupid enough to leave information like that out in the open. It was 
obvious to her that someone else had been up here before she'd arrived herself, 
apparently snooping as she was. What had once been an organized, tidy 
nook to work from home, pay bills and make phone calls had been turned into a 
disaster area. The desk drawers were pulled out, overturned and emptied of their 
contents. 

On the floor, amidst the clutter, was a woman's purse. The contents 
kept inside it had also been dumped out, and the wallet had been gone 
through. Amazingly enough, the sixty three dollars in cash it contained had been 
left. Diana helped herself to it shamelessly as she poked around in the wallet's 
various compartments. She found a California driver's license in the name of 
Lynn Bernstein, several credit cards, a medical insurance card from Blue 
Shield, and a membership pass to a health club. If there had been any personal 
photographs in the wallet, they were now missing.  There was a checkbook on the floor.  
Diana leafed through it and found, recorded on the check register, that Lynne 
Bernstein had ordered pizza from Shakey's Pizzaria just last night. 47 
dollars worth of pizza. Two tubes of lipstick, a shrinkwrapped package of Kleenex, a 
portable bottle of Asprin, a ring of keys, and a couple of prescription 
medication bottles completed the inventory. One of the prescriptions was an 
estrogen compound. The other was a prescription for Buspar. Diana knew that 
Buspar was frequently prescribed to humans who suffered from anxiety disorders.

In a short time, she'd managed to learn quite a bit about Lynn 
Bernstein, but little of it was of any value. There were no hints as to where the 
Bernsteins might have gone with Abraham.  Diana could only guess that 
where ever they'd gone, they'd managed to thwart Patricia somehow.  Why else would 
Patricia bother to come up here and spend a quick few minutes searching for the 
very same clues that she herself sought? A quick flash of inspiration hit as 
Diana pocketed Lynne's cash.  She grabbed the ring of keys, with the hopes 
that both Lynne and Stanley each owned their own vehicle. If such was the case, 
and the family had left in Stanley's car, perhaps Lynn's car was still parked 
somewhere on the premises.

It was obvious that whatever skirmish had taken place had happened 
entirely on the lower level. Only one room on the floor was not damaged in some 
way with ruined furniture, blast marks on the walls and carpeting, broken glass, 
or blood stains. That was in the small bedroom nestled just off the living 
room. A scraping noise coming from inside of it immediately caught her 
attention. Instantly, she pulled her weapon into her hand and drew herself up 
against the wall. A heartbeat passed before she chanced a cautious look in through 
the doorway. Expecting to see a forgotten pet, she was completely shocked 
to find a man pushing himself out from beneath the bed. To her horror, Diana realized 
he was clad in a guard's uniform. Wincing with the pain her sudden movements 
caused in her injured wrist, she aimed her weapon at him and stepped away from 
the wall.

"Move one more inch, and I'll blow your head off," she stated in a 
steely tone of voice.

The man, who obviously hadn't seen her, jerked his head in surprise and 
turned towards the sound of her voice.  Diana instantly recognized him 
as her Guard Captain, Orlando. A flash of anger moved through her as a realization 
set in. He was certainly not one of Patricia's commandoes.  Clearly, Orlando 
was 5th Column.  His presence in this house defied any other possible 
explaination.  Perhaps he'd even been the one to aid Polly Maxwell in her escape.  In 
fact, that scenario seemed quite likely since he'd been in Patricia's 
presence when Polly's execution had been ordered...and he'd been one of the guards 
commanded to prepare for and carry out that order. On any other day, Diana would 
have vaporized him on the spot, but today, she kept that compulsion in check 
for two reasons.  One was the fact that he was apparently injured already.  The 
other was simply that he was conscious, and could therefore be useful to her.
Regaining an air of her previous authority, Diana strode into the room, 
keeping her gun trained on Orlando.  He looked confused and vulnerable.  
It was soon apparent that he was unarmed.  Squinting his eyes, he gazed up at 
her from his position, still lying on the floor, his facial expression betraying 
his dismay and his alarm.

"Surely you recognize me, Orlando. Let's dispense with the 
pleasantries.  What the hell happened here, and where are the Bernsteins?"

"Take a good guess.  I am sure you'll figure out the answer to question 
number one," Orlando rasped, in a reply that bordered on sounding 
dangerously sarcastic.

"Be very careful," Diana warned him acidly.

"The time for being careful is long past.  Shoot me if you wish. It 
makes no difference to me," he returned.

"Why would I do that? It would be much more fun to watch you suffer." 

With her foot, she reached out and gave him a not so gentle nudge in 
his ribs.  Orlando took a ragged gasp for air as the pain flared in his 
injured side.

"They got away..." he coughed, "and Patricia's gone too."

"I can see that for myself," Diana snapped.

"Then why bother asking?" Orlando sneered, regaining his momentary loss 
of composure.

With an exasperated, hissing sigh, Diana realized that intimidation 
tactics would not work on Orlando. He was well conditioned to resist them, and 
he feared not for his own life. At least some aspects of his training had 
withstood the faltering of his loyalties...

Which, she supposed were now her own loyalties, at least for now. The 
key to gaining Orlando's cooperation would rely on a different tactic. She 
holstered her blaster and stooped down beside him.

"Who shot you?" she inquired.

"He did not introduce himself," Orlando replied.

"Spare me your sarcasm. We're both in dire straits right now."

She unzipped the front of his uniform and performed a quick examination 
of his chest and stomach. The armor he wore beneath his uniform had spared 
his life, no doubt, but it would no longer be of much service to him. 
Pieces of it were lodged beneath his torn psuedoskin, cutting into his scales. None 
of the cuts looked to be life threatening. Nor did any of the burns he'd 
received when the laser bolt had heated up his armor plate. Fortunately, his 
psuedoskin had suffered the brunt of that damage, but small patches of it had melted 
into the flesh beneath. They would have to be debrided away. Diana was more 
concerned about any possible impact injuries that could have been inflicted upon 
his internal organs from the force of the blast. She carefully palpitated 
his chest and abdomen, checking for any telltale signs of internal bleeding or 
broken ribs. As far as she could tell, Orlando was lucky. No doubt, he was 
badly bruised and in alot of pain, but his vitals were strong.  She smiled inwardly 
as she examined him, marvelling at his strong musculature and the glimpses of 
what hinted of spectacular scale patterning.  How long had it been?  Weeks, 
at least...no...not that long, but it seemed so. As she finished, her 
touch grew considerably gentler than it had been when she began.

"Orlando," she started as she zipped his uniform back up, "I have no 
doubts that you're here to protect someone. Obviously, you've done your job 
well.  I'm here for the same reason. You heard for yourself what Patricia's agenda 
is.  She wants to kill Madeline. I want to protect her...and the other 
Starchildren..."

"So it is true! I seem to recall that you introduced Madeline as your 
laboratory assistant at Dale's welcoming banquet. The whole time, you 
were lying?" Orlando questioned softly.

"Of course, dear. Do you really think I could tell a room full of 
strangers who Madeline truly is...or what she is?"

"Why would you do a thing like that?! And how could you do what you did 
to Laura? No wonder she ran away!"

"I have my reasons. If only Laura hadn't run, she might be alive today. 
I would have detected any complications resulting from her pregnancy and 
dealt with them immediately..."

"I just do not understand.  These so called Starchildren do not deserve 
to be killed...but what sort of lives will they have? Everywhere and anywhere 
they go, there will be others wanting to destroy them or wishing to exploit 
them-"

"That's why they need me to protect them," Diana insisted. She afforded 
Orlando a somewhat patronizing smile. "If you're concerned about any of 
their interests, you can start by answering two questions for me."

"Such as?"

"Have you seen Madeline?"

Orlando didn't respond immediately. Finally, with a sigh, he nodded.

"Is she alright?" Diana prodded.

"She is fine.  As far as I could tell when I saw her, she did not have 
a scratch on her."

"Where is she? And where are Elizabeth and Abraham?"

"That is more than two questions."

"Cut the crap, Orlando. Where are they?"

Once again, Orlando sighed, wishing that he could see her true intent. 
He knew better than to trust her, especially where his own life was 
concerned.  However, he sincerely hoped she was telling the truth about wanting to 
protect Madeline, Abraham and Elizabeth.

"With any luck, they are out of town. From what I understand, all of 
those on Patricia's hit list were transported by others to vague locations. I 
was never told exactly where any of them were going. This, of course, was 
probably to keep the information from getting tortured out of me should I be 
captured. None of the other members of the resistance remaining here was told 
either, for the very same reason."

Diana made no reply or any gesture to indicate to Orlando that she had 
bought his lie. She pulled herself out of her crouched position beside him and 
made a precursory glance around the bedroom.

"Who sleeps in this room ordinarily?" she inquired.

"I am not really certain," Orlando replied, although he could easily 
guess the answer.  He'd known that Tonya had slept here last night, but the 
favored decor suggested that it was Brandon's room. A calendar on the wall 
depicted scantily clad human women on motorcycles. The globular, oily balls 
contained in the lava lamp on the end table swirled lazily behind the glass. An 
electric guitar and a small amplifier were stashed away in a corner of the room. 
Diana opened up the drawers of the dresser and began rummaging through them.  
Holding up a T Shirt, she inspected the writing on the front of it.

"The Butthole Surfers?" she mused aloud, tossing the shirt in a 
rejected pile on the floor. "Hardly appropriate."  She then held up another one and 
made a face.

"I'm With Stupid?  No. I don't think so."

Orlando suppressed a snicker as that shirt joined it's companion on the 
floor.

"I Don't Have A Drinking Problem. I Drink, I Get Drunk, I Fall Down.  
No Problem."

Shaking her head, Diana finally selected a shirt emblazoned with "Hard 
Rock Cafe, San Francisco".  She tossed it to Orlando along with a pair of 
black sweat pants.  

"Get dressed into something besides that uniform. You'll make a 
spectacle of yourself," she ordered, "I'll be right back."

As she left, she gave him a warning look that suggested he'd best do as 
she told him and that he'd better still be there when she came back. Moving 
quickly, she went back upstairs. First, she explored the contents of 
the central bathroom. In the medicine cabinet, she found a bottle of rubbing 
alcohol, some fabric adhesive bandages, and a box of cotton tipped applicators. 
Gathering up the supplies, she went into the master bedroom. 

There was a second, private bathroom there, with a small alcoved vanity 
area built into it. Numerous women's toiletry articles lined the small 
counter.  Rummaging through the drawer, Diana found what she needed. She knew 
that human women often groomed their eyebrows with small tweezers, and she'd need 
them to extract the pieces of shrapnelled armour from Orlando's flesh. She 
added a bag of cotton balls, a bottle of Tylenol, and a pair of manicure scissors 
to her collection of pilfered items. As she gathered everything together and 
prepared to leave, she caught wind of her reflection in the vanity mirror.  Her 
clothes were filthy, and she looked like hell.  

Depositing her items on the bed, she began to rummage through Lynne 
Bernstein's drawers, looking to find some more suitable garments.  
Diana soon learned that Lynne leaned towards a more classic, taylored style of clothing. 
Hardly convenient. Finally, she found a coordinating jogging set, in a 
material that resembled nylon, hanging in the closet. The pants had pockets, which 
was good. She found a plain white scoop necked T shirt in one of the drawers. The 
coordinating, lightweight jacket made a handy means in which to 
transport all of the first aid supplies downstairs.

"You're coming with me, I think. I may still have some use for you," 
Diana announced when she reappeared. She found that Orlando had replaced his 
unifrom with Brandon's clothes. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking 
decidely winded. She handed him the jacket with the supplies wrapped up in it. 
With her grip cinched tightly around Orlando's arm, she pulled him up and 
propelled him along with her. She spied the open ped door in the kitchen that led 
to the garage. Inside the garage, she found a vehicle parked there, with 
vacant spot next to it. Bare timbers from the ceiling had been blasted down, and 
debris had landed on top of the car. Aside from a few dents and scorch mark in 
the paint where an errant blaster bolt had hit the driver's side door, the 
vehicle appeared to be in good shape. She led Orlando around to the passenger 
side and assisted him in. Then, she wrestled for a few minutes with the garage 
door. Grabbing one of the longer section of fallen rafter timbers, she 
managed to prop the door open wide enough to allow passage out. Then, she climbed into 
the car, cursing under her breath as a warning stab of pain radiated in her head 
from her efforts.  At least, some luck stayed with her. One of the keys on 
Lynne's key ring fit the ignition slot. With a loud rumble, the engine turned 
and caught, and Diana carefully backed out of the Bernstein's damaged 
garage.  

She was so pleased at her lucky find that she didn't notice the figure 
of the elderly woman, peeking from between her drapes, out the front window of 
the house across the street, next door to the one for sale with the 
scorched front lawn. Louisa Fiori watched with puzzled dismay as a pair of complete 
strangers sped away in Lynn Bernstein's car.

***************************************************************

By the time Brandon pulled into an Arco gas station on the outskirts of 
Fresno, the sun was high in the sky. It blazed down from above with an 
unforgiving heat that sent vapors up from the blacktopped parking lot. His stomach 
was rumbling, and the smarting in his jaw where Patricia had clipped him 
with the butt of her blaster had finally faded to a tolerable throb. The gas 
tank of Kyle's truck registered a mere point above empty. He parked the truck 
at a pump and climbed out, anxious to wrap his lips around the straw of a Thirsty Two 
Ouncer soda.

Most of the entourage in the back of the truck looked absolutely 
miserable.  Abraham jumped out of the bed and instantly demanded to know where the 
restroom was. Elizabeth was sporting a sunburn on the bridge of her nose.  
Madeline's long hair had been whipped into a tangled frenzy. She had long since 
popped her contacts out when dust had worked it's way in behind them. Phillip 
was stretched out, taking up almost one whole side of the truck. He was 
sound asleep.

"Rest stop, boys and girls," Brandon declared. Phillip roused and sat 
up, blinking behind the darkened lenses of his sunglasses.

"Where are we?" he asked groggily.

"Welcome to Fresno, the Armpit of California. It's about a three hour 
shot from here to Lodi."

Elizabeth shielded her eyes and glanced up at the sky.

"Look...I can't even see a mothership!" she cried.

"Yeah, even the lizards know better than to wanna hover over a dump 
like this place," Brandon said, "But every now and again, they run operations 
through here. This is the butt end of the Grapes of Wrath's turf."

"It is hot," Madeline complained.  She swung her leg over the truck's 
tailgate as she saw Abraham exit the gas station bathroom. Brandon's 
hand shot out and grabbed her by her arm.

"You can't go in there like that! Pop your damn contacts in, cuz you've 
got a nasty case of red eye," he told her.

Madeline pulled her contact case out of her jeans pocket and did as 
suggested, but not before shooting Brandon a dirty look. She then 
trotted off in the direction of the bathroom. Brandon fished some money out of his wallet 
and handed some to Abraham.

"I'm gonna gas up. Why don't you get everyone a big, honking soda.  
Madeline's right...it's hotter than the Devil's Armpit out here."

"Is that why you call this place the Armpit of California?" Abraham 
asked.

"Something like that," Brandon chuckled.  

The thermometer tacked to the exterior of the mini mart read a 
blistering 102 degrees. Glancing at his watch, Brandon realized that it was only a 
quarter after one. It could likely hit 110 before the day was done. He helped 
himself to the largest sized cup at the beverage bar, loaded it with ice, and 
added Dr. Pepper.  Abraham was filling up with orange soda for himself, and 
Sprite for Elizabeth.

"Bram!" Brandon called quietly, with a sarcastic smirk on his face, "Ya 
think we should get Phillip a Gator Aide?"

"He usually drinks bottled water, I think," Abraham answered. Then, he 
started chuckling.

"I get it...Gator Aide!" he laughed.

"What about Queen Scaly Junior? Does she drink soda?"

"I don't think you'd better let her hear you call her that," Abraham 
warned, "but Katie says she likes Mountain Dew."

A few minutes later, the truck was back on the road again. This time, 
Phillip  joined Brandon in the cab. Endless miles of parched, browned grass 
streteched out before them. Then, the highway would pass through 
populated areas again. Two hours later, Brandon pulled off the highway again, this time in a 
city called Modesto. Everyone had to use the bathroom again. By now, all 
three of the hybrids were sunburned to varying degrees.  Elizabeth, by far, was the 
worst off. Phillip switched places with her.

"How much longer?" Abraham asked, his voice taking on a nearly 
childlike, whining tone.

"Hang in there, dude. We've got about an hour to go."

They crossed the line from Stanislaus into San Joaquin County only 
twenty minutes later, and were making excellent time until they entered 
Stockton's city limits. By then, it was four o'clock. The Monday afternoon rush hour 
traffic was already starting. The lanes of Highway 99 were inching along 
slowly, with the fumes from big diesel trucks clogging up the hot, stagnant air. The 
heat of the day was upon them now, and the temperature in Stockton had reached 
a sweltering 107 degrees. Not a hint of a Delta breeze stirred.  Directly 
ahead, but some miles off in the distance, Elizabeth could see the familiar, 
hovering shape of the Sacramento Valley mothership. Everything she saw seemed to 
shimmer in the heat.  A vague thought rolled through her mind of Phillip, 
slowly baking to his death inside his psuedoskin, in the back of the truck. 
Glancing back in the rearview mirror, she was surprised to see that he was sitting 
up, looking considerably less wilted than Abraham or Madeline.

The traffic began to thin out as the passed the last major exit leading 
out of Stockton. Once again, the exit ramps were spread out between longer 
distances.  A shiver of weary excitement passed through Elizabeth when 
she saw a sign marked with "Lodi" 1 mile.  Brandon bypassed that ramp when they 
reached it, taking the Kettleman exit a half a mile away.

"Lodi is a stick town compared to L.A.," Brandon told Elizabeth as they 
passed beneath an overpass,"We'll be at the meeting spot in just a few 
minutes."

True to his word, Brandon made a sharp right onto Central Avenue, and 
then a quick left onto Concord. The bisecting street, only one block down, was 
Washington. Elizabeth gazed out the windshield and saw a large, green 
expanse of grass straight ahead.  Tall pine trees towered overhead. Brandon pulled 
the truck into the parking lot of a building situated at the park's border.  A 
wooden sign on the lawn read "Blakely Park. The building was the Lodi Boy's 
and Girl's Club. Annexed to the building was a public swimming pool behind a tall 
fence, and a playground. Children's voices rang out from the pool area.  It 
was the only decent place to be on a day as hot as this. From this sheltered 
little corner of the world, people brought food to barbecue, let their 
children play, and walked their dogs where the towering trees hid any glimpse of the 
mothership, in the sky, off in the distance. Elizabeth knew it was 
there, though, and they were even a little closer to it than they had been when she'd 
first seen it in Stockton.

Madeline, Abraham and Phillip wearily climbed out of the truck. They 
followed Brandon and Elizabeth out of the lot and into the park, seeking the 
shelter of the shade. A man and a woman approached them.

"I was beginning to wonder if you guys would show. It's about time!" 
the man declared.

Elizabeth smiled warmly, instantly recognizing Paul Keifer, from the 
few months he'd spent in L.A. after the earthquake had hit the Bay Area. He 
was dressed in a tank top and a pair of cutoff jean shorts, with 
Birkenstocks on his feet. The woman standing beside him was dressed similarly. Her light 
brown, slightly frizzy hair was caught back in a barrette. She smiled at the 
newcomers openly, and then reached out and lightly touched Brandon's jaw.

"You guys run into some trouble?" she asked.

"Yeah...you could say that," Brandon replied. He then began a round of 
introductions. The woman was introduced to the group as Natty. 
Elizabeth began to pick up the first sensations of familiarity from Natty, even though she 
knew they'd never met before. Distant memories stirred in her mind, 
seemingly from the time of her earliest molts. Before she could think too much on it, 
Madeline crouched down into the grass, vomiting helplessly.  Abraham looked like 
he just might join her.

"Go get the Igloo, Paul. These kids look like they could use some 
water," Natty ordered.

Paul hurried off and reappeared a few minutes later with the water 
cooler and a package of disposable cups. He passed a full cup to everyone.

"We need to hurry and get to the H.Q for a chat," he told everyone.  
Abraham looked visibly deflated at the idea of getting back into the truck.

"Don't look so bummed, kiddo," Natty told him, "You can ride over with 
us.  The car's air conditioned, and so is the headquarters."

They stayed at the park long enough for Madeline to regain her 
strength.  Then, they dispersed themselves amongst the two vehicles for the short 
ride over to the Grapes of Wrath's Central Valley Headquarters. Since their 
resistance cell was spread out all over the dead center of California, there were 
actually three headquarters. One was secreted in a small community between 
Fresno and Merced.  The middle chapter headquartered themselves in Lodi. The 
Sacramento Valley cell set up shop in Roseville. They were three independent 
groups in some ways, and all lumped together in others.  The members of each 
group were interchangeable, and often drifted from cell to cell, depending on who 
had the most need. They'd all three adopted the "Grapes of Wrath" moniker. 
Every now and then, the members would all come togther for mass briefings. It was 
common for either cell of the Grapes of Wrath to hook up with the "Resistance 
by the Bay", or the "Golden Gate Gator Brigade", as the San Fransisco 
resistance had been dubbed. 

A huge, chainlink fence topped with razor wire blocked off the 
enterence of the Lodi Community Center, which was their headquarters. The front of 
the fence was actually a rolling gate.  Paul jumped out and pushed the gate in 
far enough to allow the cars to enter the brick paved lot. The Community 
Center had just closed to the public a half an hour ago. Now, the lot stood empty, 
and the doors leading in were locked. However, Natty produced a thick ring of 
keys from her purse. The Community Center's director and both of it's staff 
aides were also resistance members, as were all of the seven members of the city's 
advisory board.  Natty, who was unofficially one of the heads with this 
resistance chapter, had her own set of keys to the building even though she was 
not a center employee.

Paul excitedly led Brandon over to a computer terminal located in the 
director's office. It was a brand new, state of the art IBM 386, hooked 
up to an external telephone modem. He turned it on and waited for the ISP to 
load.  Then, he signed on with a password and the modem began to dial up the 
connection.  

"Check this out.  No more long distance passes if we can network 
everyone with one of these babies. See, we can even keep in touch with 
resistance cells across the country...and all over the world!" Paul told him.

"It's Greek to me, dude. You're the computer nerd," Brandon replied.

"Maybe I can even get access to the fucking lizard's data banks and do 
some nosing around..."

"Some other time," came Natty from behind them, "And why don't you 
clean up the language, Paul.  I understand we have a couple of impressionable 
Starchildren in our midst."

Elizabeth said nothing, but smiled, remembering Paul's nickname from 
his days in L.A., and how he'd come to get it. Abraham and Madeline still seemed 
too road worn to care.

"So, you're the infamous Elizabeth," Natty said to her with a kind 
smile, "I've heard a little about you, but I never thought I'd meet you.  I 
just can't imagine why anyone would want to hunt you down and--"

Elizabeth lost the sound of Natty's voice as she was drawn back into 
the recesses of her memories. Once again, she knew she was small, and she 
could sense her brother's suffering presence nearby. Then, the bond snapped and she 
knew she'd lost him, and in doing so, she'd felt as though she'd lost a part 
of herself.  The only comfort she felt were the arms that circled around 
her, lifting her from her bed and holding her. Those comforting arms had belonged to 
someone Elizabeth knew was gone now; just as gone as her brother was. 
But standing before her was someone that brought a very strong memory of the 
kindness she'd been shown early in her life by a woman named Harmony Moore.

"You knew Harmony, didn't you?" Elizabeth asked, her voice still 
holding a sense of the wonder that her memory had stirred up.

Natty's eyes flew open wide for a moment, and Elizabeth could see an 
aching creep into them from a grief she knew all too well.

"Yeah. She was my sister," Natty finally replied, "and she's the one 
that told me about you. She said you were very special."

"So was she," Elizabeth replied.

"Yeah, she was. Harmony was one of a kind. I spoke to Willie briefly 
after she...well...he was the one that called me and told me. I haven't heard 
much about him since, but I hope everything's going okay for him."

"Willie? You spoke to Willie? Oh, he's fine!" Elizabeth cried, but then 
she felt a stab of guilt that prevented her from saying anything more. She 
wondered how Natty would feel if she knew that Willie had since married and had 
hatchlings...and that now his marriage was in trouble. That was only if 
Natty would know to feel anything about that. Had Harmony ever told her that she 
and Willie had been romantically involved?

"Yeah, Willie's cousin Jaime helped us out just this morning. We got 
ambushed at Bram's house...it was a surprise attack!" Brandon interjected.  He 
then went into gory detail about Patricia's attack at both the Bernstein's 
house and at Kyle's. Included in his documentary was plenty of self 
congratulation over his own heroics.

Paul cracked his knuckles appreciatively as he listened to Brandon's 
descriptions.  

"Hey, if you guys need some help down South, I'm sure I could gather up 
a bunch of folks who'd be willing to cut Patricia up into bite sized 
pieces..."

"If only it were that simple," Phillip replied stoicly.  Despite his 
contacts, he couldn't hide the sudden exhaustion that was overtaking 
him, etching itself into a mournful expression in his eyes.

Paul knew, by the hint of vibrato in Phillip's voice that he was a 
Visitor, but his past experience and knowledge of the Fifth Column's activities 
kept him from lumping Philip in with the others he so bluntly refered to as 
"Fucking Lizards"...or any other derogatory term he could dream up to describe 
the Visitor's reptilian nature. He guided the cursor on the computer screen 
with his mouse and clicked to access his personal electronic mail box. Reading a 
few of the messages, he finally clicked on the last one and smiled.

"This one's from Chuck in 'Frisco. He wrote me to let me know that 
Tonya, Polly and Katie arrived there about an hour ago, and they're all in one 
peice."

Elizabeth felt relief wash over her at the news.  If only Paul could 
contact the others in Los Angeles to find out how everyone there was. In her 
heart, she knew that Kyle was going to be all right, and that her mother was 
fine too...at least for the moment.  But not even her intuitions could 
replace concrete knowledge.

Chapter 25   Unsung Lullabyes

"Time can bring you down,
time can bend your knees.
Time can break your heart,
have you begging please..
begging please..
Beyond the door,
there's peace, I'm sure.
And I know there'll be no more
Tears in Heaven..."

~~ Eric Clapton   Tears In Heaven

The dawning of another day would have ordinarily been considered a good 
thing, but judging from the dark, grim expressions worn by the group, 
walking that morning in utter silence, it was hard to tell. Led by Jaime, who's limp 
was becoming less noticable as her injured leg was excercised, she and her 
companions were heading back to the site of the shuttle crash that had 
happened two days ago. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Behind her, Ham bit back the urge to verbally prod Jaime into a faster 
pace.  On any ordinary day, he wouldn't have hesitated, but Willie's presence 
beside him prompted him to keep his quiet. Though the gentle mannered Visitor 
was hardly the sort that he would consider a threat, Ham knew that Willie 
could be dangerous if provoked to the extreme. As dangerous as anyone else in 
the party, at least. Everyone's nerves were stretched taut, and Ham didn't want to 
cause an unnecessary argument by picking on Willie's cousin. He'd much 
prefer to take all of his recent frustrations out on Patricia. It was still 
uncertain what might have become of her after the attack and the subsequent fire 
at Kyle's place. No one dared to believe that she was dead. Everyone's fears were 
confirmed when they reached the site of the crash landing.

The shuttle was still nose down into the pastureland, intact. Scorch 
marks were visible on the hull, and the aft end of it was nearly obliterated. 
The hatch was still stuck in the half open position. It was only when Jaime 
eased her way inside that Patricia's presence was noticed.

"The flight record data chip was removed," she announced, shouting from 
the shuttle's interior, "but the power pack is still here. I do not figure 
that Patricia thought she would have much business with that." 

"Fortunate thing," Ham grumbled. His eyes scanned the softened, 
upturned earth where the shuttle had churned up the turf with its rather 
violent landing.  Only Jaime had proceeded inside the shuttle. The others, including 
Willie, Robin, Mike, Chris and himself, waited patiently in a semicircle around 
the damaged craft.  Ham could make out Jaime's fresh bootprints in the 
dirt.  There were several sets of faded, old prints; presumably from Jaime, Orlando, 
Polly and Madeline. Then, there were the prints that were neither fresh nor 
old. There was only one set of them. It was obvious that whoever had been wearing 
the boots that had made those prints had circled the entire shuttle; 
several times, even.  No one else had. As far as Ham could guess, if Patricia had been 
here and taken the flight record data chip, she'd come alone.

The sun worked it's way a little higher in the sky, burning off some of 
the early morning chill. Without waiting for any prompt, Willie pulled some 
tools out of a small knapsack he carried. He then climbed into the shuttle to 
assist his cousin in removing the power pack. Ham grimaced warily. Power packs 
could be very dangerous if handled wrong. Willie wasn't the most graceful 
individual he'd ever known. Chris shifted his weight from foot to foot, as he 
noisily munched on a piece of gum.  am knew that Chris was impatient. And, 
despite his bulk, he was also nimble fingered. Ham wished that Chris had more of 
the sort of know how needed for the dismantling of lizard Duracells, but there was 
no choice but to leave it to a lizard. They had other plans for today.  
The sort of plans that would involve lots of strategy, lots of guns and ammo, and 
hopefully, lots of green blood. Chris was as well trained as Ham at 
judging situations. Ham wasn't the only one that knew that Patricia was still 
alive. Since that seemed to be the case, it was time for the hunter to become the hunted.

While Willie and Jaime worked inside the shuttle, the others present 
began to spread themselves out around the perimeter so they could guard it from 
all sides. Robin's mind drifted a bit as she took position and the northern 
end.  So far, there was nothing to see but endless pastureland. They were stuck 
out in the middle of nowhere, by all appearances, but in reality, they were 
only a few miles away from the new headquarters. It was a scary thought to 
imagine that Patricia had been tromping around here, searching for clues, while 
the heart of what she was looking for was almost right beneath her nose.  Well, 
at least some of it. Robin could rest assured, knowing in her heart, that 
Elizabeth and the others were far away and safe. 

That knowledge hadn't quite been enough to keep the rest of her demons 
at bay, though, not even enough to allow her a decent shot at sleep the 
night before. In fact, it was hard for Robin to keep her mind on task. Her 
eyes felt gritty, and unanchored thoughts drifted around in her mind.  An 
uneasiness claimed a good portion of her heart, but it was no more defined as any of her 
thoughts were. She kept a tight grip on the Uzi she'd used the day before, when 
Patricia had waged her confrontation at Kyle's house. The morning 
breeze carried the slight sounds of the others. If she listened closely, she could hear 
Chris huffing as he chewed his gum. From inside the shuttle came the faint 
noises of Willie and Jaime working. Off in the distance, she heard a sheep's 
insistant bleeting.

Robin's mind wandered as she thought of Katie and Polly, hopefully safe 
with Tonya in San Francisco. There hadn't been much time for her to talk 
with the older of her two younger sisters, to find out how well she was coping 
with her ordeal. In fact, she still had only the faintest notions of what had 
happened to Polly up on the mothership. Fears that Polly could be pregnant had 
been among those ghosts that had kept her awake the night before. Kyle's 
broken ankle, inflicted during Patricia's raid, bothered her too, even though she 
knew he was being well cared for at Julie's. The fracture had been set and the 
burn treated. It was wrapped for now, but would be casted as soon as the 
burn healed some and the swelling went down. 

Kyle's injuries, of course, made her think of poor Lynn Bernstein.  
Lynn was still hospitalized.  Her arm had been spared, but it would likely never 
work the same. The doctors had taken her into surgery. Now, pins held the 
bone of her arm in place, and they would stay there for the rest of her life. 
Muscles, tendons and skin had been stitched together, but the doctors warned of 
pemanent neurological damage. Stanley was with her now, up at the hospital.  
When night came, he would stay with Chris and Maggie, as Robin herself 
would.

Sighing, Robin peeked around to the others guarding the outside of the 
shuttle.  Mike, Chris and Ham, along with Jaime, had other plans for 
later this afternoon.  They had been verbally outlining it on their way to the 
damaged shuttle. With the information they had concerning Patricia's itinerary, 
they planned to stalk her as she was stalking them. All of her likely targets were 
warned. Even those who might not be targets, but could wind up in danger had 
been told. Elias and Miranda had shut down their business for the next 
couple of days at least. Jaime had announced to the group that the flight data 
recorder had been taken. It was a sure fire bet that Patricia now knew for certain 
who had piloted the craft, and who'd been the gunner. That put Jaime at risk. 
If Patricia was as sharp as Robin feared she was, it wouldn't be too hard 
for Patricia to associate Jaime with Willie...and Willie with Thelma, their 
children, and Elias, Caleb, Miranda and Hope. Priority Number One was to get the new 
headquarters operational 24 hours a day, with power. That way, anyone 
with an immediate need could stay there until the crisis ended. For once, it 
seemed, Mike and Julie were not the primary targets of controversy.  That was not the 
case for Ham.  Robin watched as he paced warily. It would only be a matter of 
time before she found out about him. His expression was grim, and it was a 
perfect match for the apprehension creeping into her spirit.

If Ham was afraid, it didn't show. Instead, he seemed angry and pumped 
up.  Robin knew that ducking behind corners and burying his head in the sand 
was not how he coped with danger. He liked to face it head on. Robin herself 
had been more than willing to try that tactic the day before, but now she only 
found herself afraid.  

Afraid of what? She argued with herself. She still had no desire to run 
and join Elizabeth in Lodi. All of the gunfire and bloodshed still hadn't 
scared her away. However, she was frightened enough of what she'd witnessed 
not to want to accompany Ham, Mike, Chris and Jaime on their mission. Instead, 
she'd elected herself as part of the team that would be working to get the 
new headquarters up and running. In fact, she honestly wished that the 
others weren't going anywhere either. Especially Ham.  He seemed so...on the edge...

Not that Robin could blame him. The special sort of hell he'd been put 
through as of late was one that Robin alone could relate to. Word had 
spread about Madeline's paternity, even if the subject was one that wasn't brought 
to close scrutiny. Ham was instrumental in that. So far, he hadn't discussed his 
deep feelings on the matter to anyone.  Robin found herself wishing that 
he'd confide in her about it. It was certainly the sort of thing she could 
understand.  Despite her wishes, she knew that the likelihood of that happening were 
about as realistic as Diana becoming a Born Again Christian.  Realistic or 
not, Robin felt a surge of anger course through her. Ham had been there for her 
when she'd suffered through her rages and moods after Polly's capture. He'd 
held her down when she'd wanted nothing more than to chance a kamikaze style 
rescue of her imprisoned sister. Not to mention, everyone in the resistance had 
been witness to her entire ordeal with her pregnancy with Elizabeth, and had 
known about the circumstances surrounding it. Robin had no secrets...none 
from Ham, and none from anyone else. 

Ham had been in on the earlier talks of busting Polly out of the 
mothership's holds, but had later been the one to talk sense into her and calm her 
down. She was glad for that now, but now she felt ashamed and stupid. She 
felt like an opened book, with every chapter of her fears and weaknesses read and 
examined. Part of her wanted some reciprocation, so that she wouldn't 
feel so naked when she stood beside him. At least, that's what her sleep deprived 
brain was telling her for now. Equality. Snap out of it, Robin. What's wrong with 
you anyways?

The noises inside the shuttle stopped, and Jaime and Willie emerged 
with the power pack triumphantly dislodged from the control panel. There was a 
slight smattering of applause from the others. Mike was the first to approach 
the twosome. He visually examined the power pack and smiled grimly.

"It looks like it's in good shape. Phillip and I were able to do some 
of the modifications needed to make a power pack work before he left. Think 
you'll be able to help me finish?" he asked Willie hopefully.

"Yes," Willie responded emphatically, "I work very well with my hands. 
It should be a piece of pie."

"I think you mean "peice of cake," Mike corrected gently.

"No, Mike, I mean 'piece of pie'. I do not care for cake much, but I do 
find I like pie. Especially cherry pie."  The corners of Willie's mouth 
turned up in a smile. Mike's expression soon mached as the gist caught on.

"Cute, Willie," he said, "You never cease to amaze me."

***************************************************************

Work at the airstrip was continuing at a fevered pace. Maggie had two 
motivations for finishing as soon as possible. One was for the good of 
the resistance. The other was so that she'd have time to tackle some of the 
projects that held a personal interest for her. She was surrounded by the rusted 
corpses of abandoned airplanes. Though she was not a certified mechanic by any 
means, she'd learned alot about what made planes work from her first husband, who'd 
been a licsenced flight instructor. Maggie herself still had a valid pilot's 
license, and she was anxious to experience the freedom of flight once 
again.  She was convinced that a little elbow grease and a few replacement parts could 
get at least one of the aircraft up and running again.

For now, though, other more menial tasks kept her busy. Elias was 
performing a wiring inspection of the lighting. He was no more a certified 
electrician than she was a mechanic. However, he had a certain ability to fix 
broken TV's, radios, VCRs and other household electronics. No one asked him where he 
got this talent. Already, he'd fixed the salvageable pieces of radio 
equipment left behind at the new headquarters. Though they could be run on batteries, 
electricity was needed to keep them working at optimum power.

Sean Donovan was present at the new headquarters too. His surly 
attitude of the last few days had been replaced, almost magically, it seemed. Now, 
he was helping Stanley Bernstein sort out needed items for Mike and Willie 
from the bags of goods purchased at the local Home Depot. Occasionally, he would 
whistle an unrecognizable tune, but he would stop as soon as he noticed anyone 
looking at him. It was becoming noticeable that Sean did not like to fall under 
the scrutiny of others.

That was one of many facts that were making themselves obvious to Robin 
as she busied herself at a window with a caulking gun. Many of the boards 
had been replaced with glass now, but the drafts needed to be sealed up.  The 
room was hot and stuffy, and it did nothing to help her sour mood. She hoped 
that Mike and Willie would be successful. Then, they could get air conditioning 
again, with the ancient swamp coolers, if they still worked. If not, at least 
electric fans could circulate the stale air. Los Angeles was having a bit of a 
heat spell, with temperatures in the low nineties. The chill of the morning 
had worn off quickly, and by mid day, the sun was bright and hot.  The portable 
radio Elias brought reported that much of California was baking in a heat 
wave. Temperatures in the Central Valley were sizzling well past the 100 
degree mark. Even San Francisco, known for it's moderate temperatures in the 
summertime, had hit 97 degrees the day before.

It made Robin think of her sisters, and of Elizabeth, all of them 
roasting in the grips of an unseasonably hot summer. She even tried to convince 
herself that their discomfort was the stem of her moodiness, but she knew it 
was a lie. She still knew, with that special connection that existed between 
mother and daughter, that Elizabeth may be hot, but she was safe and well. And 
though she had no such connection with Polly and Katie, she did feel she'd 
know if anything was really wrong with them. Elizabeth would know, and would 
communicate it to her somehow.

Ever since Polly had been returned safely, Robin had snapped out of her 
funk somewhat. Now she was noticing things she hadn't really been cognizant 
of before. Most of them were troubling things. Sean, for instance. 
Something was wrong with him, Robin sensed. She didn't know precisely what instinct 
afforded her this knowledge, but it was making her uneasy. She didn't believe, any 
more than anyone else, that Sean was still converted. In fact, he was 
wearing a Dodger's baseball cap perched on his head, testifying to his sudden 
resurgence of interest in the sport. It was something else in the way he acted...sort 
of distant...untouchable...Like Polly. That was it!  Polly acted distant too, but Robin was 
smart enough to know why. Polly had been through hell. Sean, on the other 
hand, was very moody. One day, he'd be very friendly, like today. The next day, 
however, one might find Sean defiant and disagreeable. Robin had overheard Mike 
talking about it. She knew exactly what he meant now. She hadn't seen it 
before, when she'd been too wrapped up in Polly's disappearance to give a hoot, but 
she noticed now.

She shrugged it off and returned her attentions to her task, fighting 
the waves of uneasiness that seemed to be growing. Before she could squeeze 
out the new caulk, she had to use a metal spatula to scrape off the nameless, 
crusty goo that had accumulated in spots eons ago. Once upon a time, it might 
have been caulking, but it was now greyish from mildew and dirt. Once that nasty 
problem was resolved, Robin hefted the caulking gun and began to apply 
the creamy glops. Through the window, she could plainly see Ham, Jaime and Chris 
examining more lethal weapons than her caulking gun. Mike was still inside, 
working with Willie, but he would soon be joining the trio on their escapade. She 
bit her lip and forced herself to continue working, not wanting to be caught 
staring.  A surgence of anxiety built up in her stomach as she thought about what 
they were doing. It only got worse when a Freedom Network broadcast 
interrupted the sad lamentings of Eric Clapton's 'Tears In Heaven' on Elias's radio.

"Good Afternoon, this is Howard K. Smith. Strange happenings are being 
reported from Los Angeles California, from a number of sources. One 
Southern California agricultural worker, who wishes to remain anonymous, found a 
dead Visitor in his orange grove yesterday afternoon. Though cause of death is 
uncertain, it appears that the Visitor, a female, suffered injuries of the type to 
suggest that she fell from a great height. Her identity is yet to be released. 
Elsewhere, near Tarzana, another unidentified dead Visitor was found. 
This one, a male, was found by a troup of boy scouts on a nature walk through the 
park. He was found strapped in a parachute, tangled up in the branches of a 
tree. It appears that he'd been suspended there for a couple of days. Other 
reports of this nature have been slowly trickling in, but so far, only one other 
report is confirmed. This came from a group of teenagers that had been dirtbiking 
in the abandoned Cuesta Verde housing development.  Though the youngsters 
found no bodies, they did find a torn up parachute and remnants of ripped up 
garments, some of them soaked with green alien's blood, hidden in one of the 
incomplete housing structures..."

"Gross!" Robin muttered to herself. She tried to imagine the sky 
raining down lizards as she found herself wondering precisely what Howard K. Smith 
seemed to be wondering aloud, on the air. Then, she recalled Orlando's tale 
about how the Los Angeles Mothership was going to be pulled from the Earth's 
atmosphere, and rerouted to a place called Rendevous Station. There, 
all the crew would be questioned to determine who was operating within the 5th Column. At 
first, even though she'd believed all she'd heard about Patricia and her 
manhunt, she didn't quite believe that Diana had been demoted, and that the Los 
Angeles Mothership would actually be leaving. Perhaps it was true. Maybe all of 
these dead Visitors were 5th Columnists, trying to escape before the 
mothership departed...

She debated whether or not she should call in an anonymous tip to 
Howard K. Smith. Just as quickly, she decided against it. If any more were trying 
to escape they didn't need Patricia being alerted to their efforts. Robin 
supposed it was possible that Patricia could even be listening to the Freedom 
Network broadcasts, just so she might try to glean information about the 
members of the Los Angeles Resistance. In fact, Robin decided it might be a better 
idea for someone to go into town and call up the Freedom Network and tell them 
to hush up their stories for now.

While Robin silently deliberated, the group she'd been watching through 
the window moments ago straggled inside.

"Hey, Gooder!" Ham called from clear across the room, "You and Willie 
about done with the wiring?"

"Give us another fifteen minutes," Mike's disembodied voice replied.

"Time's a wastin'. I wanna off that bitch before I'm old enough to 
start drawing my pension!"

"Your right, Ham, we don't have much time, then. We'd better hurry," 
Mike deadpanned from his hidden work space.

An undisguised chuckle sounded from the table where Sean and Stanley 
sorted parts. Ham strode past Mike's son, not bothering to hide his mirthful 
expression. Sean didn't even bother to look up. Behind Ham, Chris 
followed, popping his gum loudly. Robin heard strange, heavy, metallic noises coming from his 
person as he lumbered past. There was plenty of weaponry strapped on 
him, in plain sight. Robin wondered what he had concealed in addititon. Jaime 
approached Robin hesitantly.

"May I help," she inquired in her odd, reverberating Southern drawl. 
Like Chris, she nearly bristled with weapons. She'd traded in her Visitor's 
uniform for trademark resistance clothing that she'd borrowed from someone, 
most likely Miranda. In dark denim blue jeans and a navy T-shirt, it was hard to 
tell she was anything other than human, at least until she opened her mouth.  
Unlike her cousin, though, Jaime had somehow managed to master the English 
language, right down to her New Orleans accent. It was hard for Robin to even 
imagine that she and Willie were cousins. Willie's human guise gave him the 
appearance of a slightly stocky built, curly blonde headed man, somewhere in his 
thirties. Jaime was obviously younger, maybe Robin's age.  She was of average 
height, with a wiry build that gave her a speed and a grace Willie lacked.  
Further more, her shoulder length light brunette wig and creamy, caucasian complexion 
gave her the appearance of being more closely related to Robin herself than 
to Willie.

"Uh, yeah," Robin replied absently. She handed Jaime the spatula she'd 
been using earlier. "The next window over needs to have all the old gook 
scraped away before I can caulk it."

Jaime accepted the spatula, as her body automatically postured to accept 
her duty, just like a soldier receiving an order. With a nod, she turned to 
the next window and methodically began to scrape. With Jaime's discipline as an 
example, Robin turned back to her own job. Soon, she was lost in the 
repetitive motions. The women worked side by side, not really noticing that their 
actions were nearly in sync. It didn't occur to either one of them that they 
were both using menial tasks as a means to relieve themselves of more pressing 
issues at hand. Robin finally felt some of her apprehensions ease, while Jaime 
was able to mentally focus herself for the night's challenges. Both were rather 
surprised when a loud humming noise echoed through the room.  Moments 
later, there were several loud pops.

"Damn!" Elias exclaimed, "Someone left the lightswitches on in here! 
That surge blew most of them out!"

Maggie circulated around the room, flipping off any lightswitches she 
found.  Stanley pawed through the supply bags and produced several new light 
bulbs. Together, he and Elias replaced the burst bulbs. Then, holding her 
breath, Maggie went back to the switches. She flipped the first one on, and a 
steady glow of light emanated from overhead.  

"We got juice!" she exclaimed.

"Does it work?" Willie asked.

"That's Maggie's way of saying 'We have power'," Mike informed him. He 
emerged from behind the fusebox with a weary smile on his face.

"Well, most of the circuits have power," Maggie corrected, "Those 
lights over there don't turn on, and the uh...you know...the circuits in the 
bathroom and outside...the special ones with the override...they don't work yet..."

"I will do some find tuning," Willie stated, his hands full of tools, 
"I think that Ham is most impatient to get going."

No one bothered to correct his grammatical mistake. Mike clapped him on 
the back. Chris summoned him to a table, where he'd placed several weapons. 
Maggie stood beside him now, not bothering to hide her anxiety.

"You take good care of this brute, Mike. Don't let Patricia hurt him," 
she told him. Though her tone was half joking, it was obvious that the 
lightness in it was forced.

"You bet.  When you see Julie, tell her..."

"That you love her and you'll call her when you get back..." Maggie 
finished pointedly.

"Yeah. Tell her that."

"Aw, crimeny, woman!" Chris muttered in a mocking complaint as Mike 
strapped the various guns to his person, "This ain't no worse than any other 
job. You make it sound like a soap opera."

Maggie made no response, and Mike backed away from the table, anxious 
to leave them a few moments alone. He also wanted to say goodbye to Sean.  
Arrangements had been made for Sean to stay with Julie and Kyle 
overnight.

Meanwhile, Jaime quietly placed the spatula down on the window sill. 
She'd just managed to scape all of the old caulking away. She gave Robin a 
brief look.

"Goodbye now," she said calmly, "It is time to go."

Robin had no time to reply in turn before Jaime left to bid Willie 
farewell.  She watched from a distance as the two exchanged some sort of odd, 
meaningful hand clasp. Willie's face mirrored a perfect human expression of grave 
concern. Looking at him, it suddenly seemed as though he'd aged several 
years in just a few months, if such a thing was possible. The stress of his 
crumbling marriage and the concern he held for his friends was quite evident in 
his posture. His eyes looked dulled somehow, and his mouth was perpetually turned a 
little down, in a slight frown. Robin felt a sudden  sorrow for the Visitor, 
and a twinge of guilt at not noticing what he'd been going through as of 
late. Willie had been there for her from the start, compassionate towards the 
difficulties she'd endured while pregnant with Elizabeth, and always willing to lend 
his assistance whenever she'd needed it.  She wished she knew what to say 
to him, even the slightest thing she could think of to ease his worries, 
especially the ones he confronted now with his cousin running off with Ham and the 
others to face Patricia...She turned away to give Willie and Jaime a tactful amount of privacy, 
and found herself face to face with Ham.

"You look like you lost your best friend," he commented, almost too 
casually.

Robin narrowed her eyes at him in confusion, both at his comment and at 
the sudden feeling of disquiet that grabbed at her again.  

"Well...uh, I haven't lost anyone yet, I hope," she stammered, wiping 
the thin sheen of sweat that had just suddenly formed on her palms off on her 
jeans.

Ham's gaze drifted around the room, as he took in the scene of his team 
members saying their goodbyes. Robin's gaze followed his, and her mouth 
grew cottony. In the entire time she'd aided in the stand off at Kyle's, 
she'd never once laid eyes on Patricia. Judging from the actions of Ham, Chris, Mike and 
Jaime, it was too much to hope that Patricia was dead. Not a one of 
them had yet told her why they believed she wasn't, but even Robin wasn't fooled. 
She didn't know what bothered her more-- the idea of them not ever knowing, or the 
thought of them actually running into her again. Despite her worries on the 
second concern, she knew that seeing Elizabeth, Polly and Katie soon depended 
on them finding Patricia.

"You really think she's alive?" Robin questioned, allowing a few of her 
thoughts to escape, hoping for a solid answer.

"You saw for yourself..the bitch called for reinforcements just before 
we left.  If she's anything like her battleaxe daughter, she's alive and 
well," Ham replied. He then narrowed his scrutiny back on her.

"Don't get any funny ideas about joining up with our little calvary 
here.  It's bad enough that you're right where she can find you if she's so 
inclined--"

"Who said anything about me enlisting with your war party here?" Robin 
retorted. She had no intention of telling him that the idea had crossed 
her mind, and had nearly scared her right out of it.

"Well, good. You've been rather assertive lately, and I didn't want you 
getting any funny ideas."

"Is this your idea of asking me to wish you luck?" Robin suddenly felt 
very tired. Her sleep deficit from the night before was making itself known 
quite plainly.

"You know we'll take care of everything, don't you?"

"Take care of what...Patricia?"

"Well, yes. I have no intentions of letting her live long enough to lay 
one scaly claw on Elizabeth or anyone else," Ham replied.

"I'm not doubting you," Robin replied honestly. A part of her wondered 
what was even sparking this discussion until she felt another pang of guilt.  
This time, it was at the thought that they were all going out on an 
expedition to save her daughter's life, a life that by all rights was her 
responsibility to protect. It almost seemed as if Ham could read her mind at that moment, 
or at least could guess at what she should be feeling. All at once, she 
recalled that notion she'd had earlier of feeling like an open book. She mentally 
slammed the book closed. The other members of the hastily assembled hunting 
party started to break apart from their own groups and meet up at the door. 
Ham shifted his gaze towards them and then back to Robin.

"Time to shove off. I'm thinking I'll get a nice pair of boots out of 
Patricia's scaly hide..maybe a new belt too..."

Robin managed a smile at Ham's gruff attempt at humor.

"Just be careful...and..save enough of her so I can get a new 
purse....and maybe a great backpack for Polly to go back to college with..."

Ham's smile was tight as he backed away. Moments later, he and the 
others were gone, and the rough rumble of the van's engine starting sounded 
through the pristinely new window. In a cloud of dust, they rolled out of sight.

***************************************************************

The back of Ham Tyler's van reeked of age old human sweat, blood, and 
fear, weapon lubricant and gunpowder. The heat, although not oppressive 
outside, was stifling inside, and it only served to amplify the odors. If Mike 
Donovan, the human sitting in the back with Jaime, noticed, he said nothing.  To 
Jaime, the smells were oddly cloying.

Jaime hadn't been a part of the Visitor's initial invasion to Earth. In 
fact, she'd been in the last phases of her military training at Rendevous 
Station. The coaching in English she'd been taught included lessons in the 
inflections of the local dialect prevalent in the area in which she'd been 
originally assigned: New Orleans, Louisiana. She'd always listened intently to the 
things she heard. While at Rendezvous Station, she'd been one of many under Dale's 
command. Just from quiet eavesdroppings, she'd begun to understand that 
Commander Dale was more than what he seemed. He was actually a participant in a 
highly secretive society of protesters against the Leader's regime. At the 
time, she'd had no particular bone of contention about the way the Leader ran 
things, but she remembered her grandfather's mumbled complaints about the way 
things used to be in his day, and how he wished things hadn't changed. Jaime now 
realized that if her grandfather's complaints had been heard publicly, he might 
have been permanantly silenced.  Fortuantely, he'd been a wise man, and he'd only 
spoken his views amongst those he trusted, his family.  Of the 
youngsters in the family, she and her cousin Willie had always been the closest to him.  
He had so many fascinating stories to tell about his crivit wrangling days, his 
political views, and what life was like when there weren't so many 
shortages on the homeworld. From listening to him, Jaime figured that was where she got 
her knack for unobtrusively listening to others.  

None of what she'd heard at Rendezvous Station made much sense to her 
when she first listened to it. It only seemed like Commander Dale and his 
collegues had views similar to her late, beloved Grandfather. Once she got to 
Earth at the time of the reinvasion and learned the horrible truth about their 
mission to this distant planet, her grandfather's ramblings and Commander Dale's 
allegieances made much more sense. She then also heard the first news 
about her cousin William since his assignment to Earth two years prior.  Apparently, 
he'd been one of a small group of "traitors" that had helped the Los Angeles 
Resistance spread the red dust toxin into the atmosphere and take command of the 
mothership. She quietly cheered him on. By then, she'd already made her 
first contacts within the New Orleans 5th Column.

Despite learning the truth about human intelligence and making turncoat 
friends of her own people, Jaime was relieved when her regiment was 
reassigned to Los Angeles. True, she'd heard all the rumors about the insane 
commander of that particular vessel, but she also felt a longing to be there, close 
to her own flesh and blood. She also had had enough of New Orleans.  It was a 
strange, mystical place, teeming with life both in fact and in myth.  Though not 
a prevelant human religion, there was a group in human society that 
practiced what Jaime had heard termed "Voodoo". Because the open practice of religion 
was something frowned upon on the Homeworld, human religious observances 
made her somewhat uncomfortable to begin with. However, one could not truly know 
anything about a culture without knowing about their spirituality.  New Orleans 
was a vast cultural storehouse in that department.  She came to learn a 
little about Catholisism, including the festivities that were traditional flavor in 
this region. Mardi Gras, Fat Tuesday, Lent...

And then of that other religion, Voodoo. The stories she'd heard were 
frightening enough in their own right. But then, there had been a raid 
on a group of Haitan refugees. Jaime and a few of the other 5th Columnists had been 
able to forewarn those at the refugee camp.  In exchange for their information, 
each of them had been given a peculiar amulet to wear around their necks.  
The "Priest" at the camp told them it would protect them from the vengeance 
of the spirits.

Many of the refugees had fled following the warning, but a few stayed 
on, claiming they had nowhere else to go. The raid happened, as was 
inevitible. The Priest had been among the humans rounded up. They'd all been processed 
at a plant, and taken on board the mothership.  

Then came the terrible bouts of illness. All of the crew that had 
partaken of the Priest's flesh fell desperately ill. Before dying, they literally 
had gone insane and had babbled incomprehensible nonsense about cursed, 
unclean meat. Then, they'd all died. None of the medical staff had been able to 
actually determine the cause of death. The meat of the human Haitian refugees 
was tested for purity. No abnormal bacteria or viruses had been found.  Despite 
these findings, all of the meat had been disposed of. Shortly afterwards, 
Jaime and her regiment had been reassigned.  She still wore the priest's amulet 
around her neck, hidden beneath her clothing. Though she was curious about the 
contents within the amulet, the Priest had warned her to never open it, or she 
would risk the escape and dispersment of her protective spirits.  Jaime 
listened and listend well.  She would never open that amulet. In the hot darkness of 
the van, Jaime shivered. Though he was gone, she could suddenly remember the 
press of the priest's withered, black, and warm hands as he touched her forehead 
and chanted an odd blessing to her.  Her amulet suddenly felt warm beneath 
her T Shirt, as if the spirits within were preparing to work for her safety 
yet again.

***************************************************************

The former headquarters at the firehouse in San Pedro was completely 
ransacked. No one was surprised. After all, Polly had admitted to being 
forced to confess resistance secrets on board the mothership. No doubt, Patricia 
had gained access to those confessions. A quick inventory was made of any items 
left behind to see if any had been taken. It didn't appear as though 
anything had, but there hadn't been much left to begin with. Only non-portable items, 
such as the couch that had once been in the Maxwell's living room remained. All 
the cushions had been torn from the seats. Kitchen drawers were left open. 
Fortunately, Ham and the others felt confident that no clues to the resistance's 
current whereabouts had been carelessly left laying around the firestation. 
Relocating under subterfuge had become a Resistance specialty.

From there, the group made a pass by Elias and Miranda's restaraunt.  
It was temporarily closed, with a sign posted on the front door declaring that 
the kitchen equipment was being updated. That was a lie, of course.  Elias 
had been warned to shut down for a bit and lay low, since he was associated with 
Willie, who in turn, was associated with Jaime, who in turn was a 
potential target due to her blatant treason. Though Elias could be stubborn when it came 
to losing the opportunity to make money, he was no fool. A former criminal 
himself, he knew the importance of connections, and how dangerous it could be to 
be associated with any one of them from time to time. The surliness he'd 
had in the days when he operated  the Club Creole was gone for the most part, too. 
These days, Elias had a family to protect. He had shut down without much 
argument, although he'd protested a bit louder when Ham insisted he part with his 
cellular phone and donate it to the new H.Q.

For now, at least, the restaraunt appeared to be unmolested. Mike 
circled it on his list, and read out the next target. Most of the places consisted 
of the now vacant homes of any of Patricia's targets, including Kyle's house 
and the Bernstein's. Even though they'd been hit already, they figured Patricia 
might be lying in wait at either of these places, waiting for the former 
occupants to chance a return to salvage any personal possessions. Once dark had 
fallen, they chanced a cruise down Aspen Drive. The Bernstein's house was a 
spectacle among the other well kept and occupied residences in the neighborhood. 
The garage door still hung askew, and the black, oily stains on the 
sidewalk and asphalt bore testimony to Brandon's flirtation with functional 
pyromania.  The burnt out hulk of Tonya's car was still parked in the front.

However, it quickly became apparent that no hired assassin would be 
skulking among the destruction of this house.  Even though it was dark, people 
were finding excuses to walk their dogs or peek out windows to gawk at the 
Bernstein's house and gossip about what they supposed might have happened. As the 
van slowed for a closer inspection, the front door of the house across the 
street opened.  An elderly lady, dressed in an unseasonably warm, quilted 
bathrobe and scuffy slippers stepped onto her porch.  With a deliberate motion, she 
flagged down the van and carefully shuffled out to the street as the vehicle 
rolled to a stop.

"I've seen you folks around before," the woman intimated to Ham in a 
quiet voice that still had the barest hints of an Italian accent, "You're 
friends of my neighbors, the Bernsteins."

"Maybe we are," Ham replied back.  The woman's bold actions might have 
drawn out the weapons of any paranoid resistance member if she wasn't so old. 
Instantly, Ham assessed her, and figured she just might be worth 
talking to.  Her watery blue eyes weren't lit up with a hunger for gossip. Instead, she  
looked around warily. Something about her reminded him of Ruby Engels.

"I'm Luisa Fiori," the woman stated, "The Bernstein's know me. I know 
they must have had a very good reason to up and leave so suddenly, without 
telling me that they were going on vacation.  You see, usually, when they go 
somewhere for a few days, I'll pick up their mail and their newspaper...and I'll 
go in and switch the lights around for them..to make it look like someone's 
home. I know it's very important for them to keep things looking normal...so 
that those lousy Visitors won't suspect anything..."

"Yeah, go on Luisa," Ham urged. He had a strong suspicion that Luisa 
knew about the Bernstein's safe house operation.

"I have no idea what happened here the other day...but I know it 
involved those Lizards. There had to be a dozen of them swarming around, firing 
guns...I was terrified! Then, I saw the Bernsteins and those young boys that are 
staying with them...and a couple of other people too...They all managed to cram 
themselves into Stanley's car and they ..."

"Got away. Yeah, we know," Ham finished.

"Well, wait, though, that's not all," Luisa continued impatiently, 
"Then, the cops and the firefighters and the coroner showed up.  They weren't here 
for very long, and there was certainly nothing unusual about that, I 
suppose, in light of what happened..."

She leaned in closer, nearly pressing her slight frame against the 
driver's side door.

"But then, I noticed something else. It was after the cops and everyone 
had gone. Hours later, after I had my lunch. I was watering my plants in 
the front room, and I just so happened to look out my front window again, and I 
saw the Bernstein's garage door wiggling, like someone from the inside was 
moving it. Then, whoever it was propped open the door and backed Lynn's car out of 
the garage. But I can tell you right now that it wasn't Lynn.  I may be 
old, but my eyesight is as sharp as a newborn baby's. Never needed glasses a day in 
my life.  I know that woman wasn't Lynn.  In fact, she wasn't anyone I 
recognize at all. And, I'm not certain, but it looked like she could have a 
passenger in the car too. I couldn't tell for sure, though. Whoever this woman was, 
she tore out of there like a bat out of hell. I just had this really bad feeling 
that she wasn't supposed to be taking Lynn's car...and she hasn't come back 
with it either. Maybe you could tell me if the Bernstein's sent someone to pick 
up Lynne's car, so I can feel better and not think that they've been 
robbed on top of everything else!  I would have called the police and reported it, 
but I just didn't know if I should, in case this woman had permission..."

"To my knowledge, it sounds like someone stole their car. What did this 
woman look like?"

Luisa launched into a detailed description of a white woman with 
shoulder length, chestnut colored hair, wearing sunglasses. It was all she'd 
been able to see of the occupant in Lynn's car, but her recall abilities were 
incredible for a woman of her advanced age. She also told of what she thought 
might be a second person, but all she'd been able to see was a mop of something 
that looked like dark hair. Ham thanked her profusely and told her that a call to 
the police would not be necessary. He then watched as she shuffle walked 
back into the safe obscurity of her house.

Fifteen minutes later, Ham had the license plate number, and the make, 
model and color of Lynne's car. He'd patched a call from a payphone up to the 
hospital where he knew Stanley was with Lynn, and he'd gotten the 
information from him. Though the description of the woman Luisa had given did not match 
the one that Jaime had provided of Patricia, it was the best lead they'd had 
all night. Ham was well aware that Visitors could disguise themselves in 
psuedoskins of any description. If Patricia had changed her look to avoid detection, 
the task of finding her would be alot easier if she was cruising around in 
Lynn Bernstein's car. Cars couldn't be modified as easily.

There weren't any lookiloos hanging around the site of one of the 
resistance's earlier headquarters. The last stop of the night was at 
the old abandoned jail, the site where Elizabeth Maxwell had made her grand entrance 
into the world. Though Mike and Chris were both dubious as to why Patricia would 
bother to stop at a place such as this, Ham's instincts told him otherwise.  
True, the resistance hadn't been headquartered here since V-Day. Anything left 
here would be of little importance to someone seeking their current 
whereabouts.  Utterly dark and eerie, it seemed that only vermin and an occasional 
bum used it now. However, Ham was not interested in the actual interior of the 
jail. He remembered that this was where Robin had given birth.  Additionally, 
the late Father Andrew had taken Elizabeth to the mothership from this site.  It 
was possible that Diana now knew of the place's whereabouts from any 
questioning she may have inflicted on the good intentioned Padre.  In Ham's book, anything 
Queen Primo LeatherAss knew, Patricia might well know, too. 

With the rest of the group in tow, he followed the path to the rear 
section of the jail grounds. It had once been the central recreation yard. Now, 
it was a small cemetary. The flashlight played along the ground, turning the 
uneven mounds of turf and grass into shadowed oddities.

The proof of trouble at the gravesite was readily evident. The memorial 
bench that had been placed there for Elizabeth to have a place to sit and pay 
her respects had been rudely overturned. Clumps and piles of dirt were 
haphazardly scattered everywhere. Three holes had been dug into the earth, and 
clods of soil all but obscured the headstones that had been placed at each 
grave. Something even more horrible awaited the group as they carefully picked 
their way around the destruction.

"Son of a bitch!" Chris swore as his flashlight revealed a grim, 
uninmaginably terrible crime. At his feet were the mortal remains of 
Laura Kathka. Despite the fact that she'd been dead for just over a year, her identity was 
still recognizable to all who had known her in life. The pretty floral dress 
that Elizabeth had selected for her aunt to wear for the funeral was not 
much more than tattered rags now. However, she had been put to rest in her psuedoskin. 
It was sunken in and loose looking due to the fact that it now covered 
nothing more than her bones. Despite that, it was still amazingly intact. 
Apparently, the synthetic materials used to create psuedoskins did not decay quickly.

Jaime shrunk back from the sight momentarily, uttering a curse in her 
native language. Instinctively, her hand reached up and played lightly over 
the amulet she wore beneath her shirt. She hadn't known Laura, but the grim 
vision she beheld disturbed her all the same.

"Why the hell would Patricia want to do a thing like this?" Mike 
questioned, more to himself than to anyone present.

"Proof of decease," Ham muttered in return.  

"Yeah, and God only knows what else," Chris said. He stooped down and 
began a closer examination of Laura's remains. To his disgust, he quickly 
learned that Patricia had taken a grisly souveneir. The dress Laura wore was 
partially ruined because some of it had been torn when one of her legs had been 
sawed from her body.

"Genetic testing..." Mike gagged as a wave of nausea washed over him.

Ham was quick to discover another source of horror. All around the 
site, and particularly close to the middle of the three desecrated graves were 
tiny, age yellowed bones. His flashlight had illuminated the infant sized skull 
of little Robert Troy Maxwell, Elizabeth's twin brother. When the child 
had been born, he had looked reptillian. Almost everyone that had witnessed him 
at all during the first and only days of his life had felt a sense of 
revulsion when looking at him. He certainly didn't come out looking like the Gerber 
baby.  Now, in the harsh glare of Ham's flashlight, all of that was forgotten. The 
revulsion felt now was at the utter disgust at the notion of anyone 
disturbing his resting place. Ham balanced his flashlight between his knees, reached 
over, and picked up the small skull. His face was bleached almost as white as the 
bones he held in his hands.

"Go get a box or something from the van," Ham ordered roughly. Jaime 
snapped to attention, relieved to have something to do. She sidestepped around 
the disturbed graves carefully, clutching her own flashlight tightly in one 
hand, while her other hand still hovered over her amulet. As she passed by 
the gaping hole of the grave farthest to the right, some bizarre impulse forced 
her to aim her beam down the dark shaft. Fighting the urge to look, she finally 
braved a peek. To her utter puzzlement and horror, she found nothing. The grave 
was empty. Then, a slow realization dawned on her, causing her to exhale 
with relief. Of course it was empty. All three of them were. The corpses had 
all been dug up, and the remains of two of them were laying out for all to see.  Her 
keen nighttime vision aided her as she scanned the ground for any hints as 
to where the last body might be. Once again, her mouth went dry, and she flicked 
her forked tongue into the night air nervously. There was not even a whiff 
of a scent to guide her.

Wordlessly, Jaime backed away from the empty grave, and worked her way 
around the jail grounds to the front, where the van was parked. As she moved 
in the dark, she searched, not knowing whether she wished to find 
anything...or not.  The "or not" part began to bother her as she threw open the rear doors 
of the van and rummaged around for a suitable container. The only one she 
could find was a sturdy cardboard box used to store ammunition. Dumping the 
bullets into a neat pile on the floor of the van, she grabbed the box and began her 
trek back. She took a slightly different route back; one that she hoped 
would reveal the remains of the last of the dead.  All the while, the strange 
stories she'd heard played in her head. Voodoo priests were rumored to have 
special preparations said to be able to bring back the dead. They called it 
Zombie Powder, or something like that. Supposedly, the priest would blow the powder 
into the face of their target, and that individual would soon fall into a 
deathlike trance, only to claw their way out of their grave a few days later. Her 
search revealed nothing. The other members of the group were busily collecting 
the little baby's bones.

"There's still some missing. A leg bone, I think," Ham stated. He had 
begun a puzzle-like assembly of the tiny skeleton from the bones the others 
were collecting.

"Yeah, and I bet I know where we'll find that leg bone," Chris 
muttered, "And when I do find it, I'm gonna beat the bitch over the head with it, so 
that this poor kid can get his licks in."

Jaime silently laid the box down next to Ham and looked at what he'd 
assembled. Her heart froze for a moment. Those bones just weren't 
right.  She'd seen human skulls, and she'd seen the skulls of her own kind, but she had 
never witnessed the sad, strange combination of these bones. The remains of a 
fourth Starchild stared eyelessly up at her, unable to testify to the horrors 
it had been subjected to. As hard as they tried, a few of Robert Troy's bones 
could not be found, including the left femur. Finally, as Ham gingerly packed the 
rest of the child's remains into the box, Jaime found her voice.

"Who would that have been buried in the first grave on the left?" she 
inquired hoarsely.

"Loverboy," Ham sneered.

"Elizabeth's father," Mike expained, "The late Visitor Youth Leader, 
Brian."

"Well, maybe Brian isn't as late as y'all thought," Jaime said 
nervously, "or else, maybe he just got it into his dead mind to go looking for the 
rest of that baby."

Instantly, a flashlight beam duet played over the hole that had once 
been Brian's resting place. Chris and Mike's flashlights turned up no more 
clues than Jaime's had.

Chris let out a grunt that barely passed for a chuckle.

"Maybe Patricia took him and hauled him off to be studied...you 
know...to find out what sort of alterations Diana had made to him in order to make it 
possible for Robin to get pregnant with Elizabeth," Mike said.

"Well, maybe so," Jaime countered, "But you want to tell me that 
Patricia has a dead woman's leg, baby bones, and a whole dead man that she carried 
out of here all by herself?"

"Well, sure," Mike replied testily.

"Where's the drag marks? As strong as she's rumored to be, I highly 
doubt she'd sling a rotted corpse over her shoulder and..."

"Are you suggesting that Brian walked out of here on his own?" Ham 
said.

"Maybe Patricia wasn't as alone as we thought.  She coulda had help," 
Chris suggested.

"Isn't this Brian the first person that died from the red dust?" Jaime 
asked quizzically.

"Yep.  Choked and croaked," Ham responded grimly.

"Are y'all sure it was 'red' dust, and not something else...like Zombie 
dust?"

All eyes were on her for a moment. Suddenly, Chris started shaking as 
his large frame was overcome with bouts of silent laughter.

"Spare me with the Voodoo hocus pocus! You're gonna give yourself 
nightmares if you let yourself believe in that hogwash," he finally wheezed as his 
laughter fit subsided.

"Well, now, it isn't all Voodoo hocus pocus," Jaime argued hotly, "I 
don't know about your people, but our people can go into hibernation after 
extreme physical or mental shocks to the body.  It can really seem like someone 
who's hibernating is dead, but in fact, they aren't.  We have to be very 
careful before pronouncing someone dead in our culture, because it can sometimes take 
days before a hibernating person wakes up..."

"Brian wasn't hibernating, he was dead as a doornail," Ham stated 
coldly.

"Now how do you know that? Did anyone do an ontopsy?"

Chris started wheezing again as Jaime made her first grammatical error. 
It was the first true similarity between herself and her cousin that had 
made itself known.

"Autopsy," Mike corrected, but then his eyes clouded over in thought.

"I know Julie was able to autopsy the baby, but there weren't adequate 
facilities available to perform one on Brian. I heard Julie and Robert 
complaining about it. They were able to get some post mortem blood samples and 
X-Rays, but no actual autopsy..."

"Well, son of a bitch. Maybe the bastard did claw his way up, and then 
he skipped town so Robin couldn't sic him for child support," Chris hooted 
in a sarcastic tone of voice that betrayed his disbelief in Jaime's 
concerns.

"Who the hell knows," Ham muttered, "Maybe Steven'll wake up from his 
dust nap too. Hell, maybe all of em' will. I'm telling you Jaime, I was 
there. I saw the son of a bitch kick the bucket. He was flatline when Julie put a 
heart monitor on him. In my book, that's as dead as it gets. Patricia's gotta 
have him, end of discussion."

"Or maybe he was laying out here and some animals got to him," Mike 
added.

"Nah, they would have gotten to Laura too. Why pass up two free meals?  
In fact, if animals were gonna chose their dinner, I'd say Laura was a 
fresher bet," Chris stated.

Ham rose stiffly to his feet. The box was held in his hands, while the 
flashlight was trapped between his arm and the side of his body.

"Why don't you all do something about Laura? She deserves better than 
that," he commanded.

"What about the bones? What are you doing with those?" Mike asked.

"They're coming with us. His mother has the right to know what happened 
and to put him someplace where he won't be disturbed again."

Ham's tone of voice was so determined that none of the others dared to 
wage an argument. Silently, the three others laid Laura back to rest, doing 
their best to smooth the clumps of turf into a tidy mound. As she worked, 
Jaime whispered a prayer in her native tongue for Laura's soul to rest in 
peace. Ham made his way back to the van. Weariness washed over him as he carefully 
wedged the box between the front seat and the passenger's seat. He wondered just 
how he would tell Robin about what they'd discovered tonight, and how well 
she'd take the news. The only fortunate thing in all of it was knowing that both 
Elizabeth and Abraham were as far removed from this particular 
obscenity as they could be for the moment.