Chapter 26   Readings

"Some have a style that they work hard to refine -
So they walk a crooked line.
But she won't understand why anyone would have to try
To walk a line when they could fly.

No sense thinking I could rehabilitate her
when she's fine
fine
fine.
She's got so many ideas traveling around in her head
She doesn't need nothing from mine."

~~ The Bangles   If She Knew What She Wants

"In this position, the Strength card indicates that Elizabeth's 
spiritual bonds are stronger than her attraction to material possessions, love 
will conquer hate in her soul, and that she has the will for her higher nature to 
overcome her carnal desires, right?" Abraham asked. He was seated on the 
hardwood floor of Paul and Natty's living room. Spread out in front of him on 
the coffee table was a formation of Tarot cards. Elizabeth sat on the couch 
across from him, with Natty sitting beside her.

"Excellent, Bram! You're a natural at this," Natty smiled.

"You're even better at it than I am!" Elizabeth exclaimed. Her blue 
eyes were lit up at the prospect of future enlightenment to come, although the 
part about upheaval made her curiously nervous. Though she hadn't voiced her 
inquiry out loud, her question had been answered decisively. And, she could 
sense, that for the time being, Kyle was safe and healing. 

Learning the ways of the Tarot under Natty's instruction spoke into her 
own special instincts almost as well as the reciever of the telephone could 
amplify the voices of her loved ones...if only she could call them. Despite the 
affinity she learned she had for reading the Tarot, it seemed as though 
Abraham had a true gift for it. The interpretations of the meanings came so easily 
for him. Without even looking at the beginner's guide that Natty had, he 
could understand the cards, and how the meanings could change depending on 
the various positions they assumed within a reading. He was also proving to be 
quite adept at understanding how the cards "communicated" with their neighboring 
cards, a concept that Elizabeth still needed the beginner's guide for. Natty 
told them that some of the Tarot's earliest origins could be traced to Judaism. 
With Bram's Jewish background and ever expanding knowledge of the Jewish 
faith, Natty speculated that this could give him another advantage to interpreting 
and understanding the Tarot.

"Great. The next thing you'll have them doing is running a 1-900 
psychic line for you," Brandon sneered. "What a bunch of hocus pocus. If you wanna 
hone their special instincts, Natty, you should let me take all three of 
them up to the Indian Casino in Jackson."

"Don't you dare!" Natty cried. She gave Brandon a dark look.

"It's no worse than any of this devil's worship bullshit your feeding 
them-"

"Tarot is not Devil's Worship, Brandon. There's nothing in a deck of 
Tarot Cards that instructs someone to worship Satan. The Tarot is an 
instrument of the will of the person using it, not a tool of the devil."

"Whatever," Brandon muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Are you really afraid that some evil spirit is going to enter me and 
make me spit up green soup, like in the Exorcist?" Abraham inquired.

With that, Brandon's indignation began to fade, and he let out a 
chuckle.

"No, Bram. It's just stupid, that's all."

"Maybe it's stupid to you, Brandon, but my sister Harmony taught me to 
read the Tarot many years ago...and she was not stupid. Nor was she into 
Satanism. She just had alot of New Age ideas, and she shared some of them with 
me. Regardless of whether or not there's any truth to the mystery of the 
Tarot can't really be proven, but it makes me feel close to her, and all of the 
good things that were a part of who she was..."

"I believe in it," Elizabeth stated, picking up the card in the spread 
that covered her significator. It was the Three of Wands, and it represented 
Elizabeth's hopes for a happy family life. She gazed at the depiction 
of three maidens, joyfully holding up overflowing cups in celebration. If she 
closed her eyes, she could almost picture herself revelling with them. In her 
mind's eye, the women became herself, her mother, and the spirit of her grandmother,a 
woman she'd never met but whose presence she often felt. Elizabeth felt the 
peace of knowing that she'd be reunited with her mother again, under the 
watchful eye of her grandmother. Together, they would celebrate as their family was 
pulled together and made whole again. Polly and Katie would come back, Kyle 
would get better, and they could all know a joy beyond what they'd ever known 
before. In the blue sky the maidens danced beneath, there was no mothership 
hovering over them. No shadows were cast on the grass from it. Absolute 
Pretenama.

Madeline sat apart from the others, in a huge, cushioned rattan chair 
that took up most of one corner of the room. She watched Abraham's face 
flush with the inspiration of his newly found gift with an awed sort of terror. 
Her own experimentations with reading Natty's Tarot deck gave her no 
particularly amazing insights. In fact, she learned that her own ability to interperet them 
was about as well honed as Brandon's, with one difference. Though she 
couldn't read them well, she could certainly feel their power. The reading Abraham 
had given her the evening before had been nothing like Elizabeth's.  There were 
no joyful depictions of prancing muses. She shivered, despite the warm 
temperature in the room.  

A nearly perfect recollection of the reading came to her as she drifted 
into a fitful dose. The last card in her spread had been The Tower. 
Foretelling of major upheaval and unforseen catastrophe, Natty had tried to coach a 
more positive light into the reading. Abraham's fingers had been shaking, 
his eyes wildly flicking between her and Natty. Madeline's external influences 
within the reading had been equally disturbing-- the devil, bondage, illness, negative 
energy. Then, of course, the Death Card had popped up, scaring Madeline 
senseless. Despite Natty's assurances that Death translated to Change within the 
scope of the Tarot, Madeline had not been consoled.  Then, when she'd awaken 
that morning, it had seemed as though the prophecy of death was coming true.

A cramp, from somewhere deep in her lower abdomen, roused her from her 
near sleep. Another cramp answered it, tightening up the muscles low in her 
back.  Madeline eased herself out of the comfort of the chair and made a hasty 
trip to the bathroom. It was one of several such trips she'd made since she'd 
gotten up for the day. The result was the same. Once again, she found a 
bright, angry looking red-orange stain where her own blood had inexplicably been 
flowing from her body. The wad of toilet tissue she'd put between herself and 
her panties only an hour ago was already soaking through. Replacing it with 
another wad, she shakily flushed the evidence of her illness down the commode.  

Then, as she washed her hands, she examined her appearance in the 
mirror.  Her stomach was definitely a little puffy. She tried to recall an 
incident within the past few days that might explain the swelling. Had Patricia 
kicked her or punched her? Had she suffered some sort of other injury durning 
their escape?  Nothing came to mind. The scuffle she'd gotten into with Sean 
at the camp had certainly hurt worse, but had caused no such bleeding. As she 
lowered her T-shirt back over her stomach, she winced as the movements of her arms 
caused a slight flare up in the tenderness she'd simultaneously been suffering 
in those strange, mammallian protrubences she had that humans called 
breasts. At least, polite humans referred to them as breasts. Brandon was known to 
call them hooters, or jugs...or worse...and none of these terms brought any sort 
of understanding to Madeline. At any rate, she regarded them with the same 
sort of disdain that she afforded Brandon when he spoke derogatorily of women's 
breasts. Sirian women didn't have jugs, and they certainly didn't have to be 
bothered with discomfort in them. Even human women that were encumbered with 
them never spoke of pain or tenderness in them.  Why Madeline's had to hurt was 
beyond her own powers of reasoning.  

With one last look in the mirror, she noted that she was also pale, 
like a ghost.  Her own reflection was not the only ghost she'd seen as of 
late.

Madeline now had a vague understanding of the eyeless spectors she'd 
seen in her mother's presence on board the mothership. The realization had 
struck her when she'd been at the Community Center on their first day in Lodi.  
She'd briefly separated from the others to have a look around the quiet 
facilities. Natty had told her where a water faucet could be found, and she'd gone 
in search of it down a long hallway leading away from the main all-purpose room. 
Another long hallway elled from that one, and three doors opened into 
it. The first was the men's room, the second was a locked closet, and the third, 
located way down the hall by the fire exit, had been the ladies' room. The water 
faucet had been between the first two doors. 

As she had lapped gratefully at the water, she had been alone. Then, as 
she turned to leave, suddenly, she'd felt a coldness that hadn't been there 
before. Even as she walked back up the first hallway towards the main room, 
the coldness was still there. Then, she'd seen Lydia standing right there 
in the hallway, just at the enterence of the main room. From that vantage 
point, it was quite easy to see Phillip. He was sitting at a computer with Paul and 
Brandon, his back turned away from them. Lydia had been quietly gazing at him 
with a sad smile on her face. Then her gaze fell on Madeline briefly before she 
just faded out of sight.

Madeline didn't know how she recognized that figure to be Lydia. What 
she had seen was a Sullam Voe woman, looking just as a Sullam Voe woman ought 
to look, not in her human guise. Her heart had filled with sadness at the 
thought of Lydia missing Phillip. Then came the realization that Lydia missed him 
because she was dead. Though she had eyes, and obviously had a soul, there was 
a similarity between her presence and the presences she'd witnessed 
before of the eyeless man and woman. Always, there was that cold feeling preceeding 
their arrival. And, there was a surreal quality in which both they and Lydia 
appeared, one that separated them from anyone or anything else Madeline could see 
in the room. That, of course, could only mean one thing. As surely as she'd 
known Lydia to have once lived, so had these other beings. Madeline still had 
no idea who they were, but she now suspected that her mother might.

Unlike the other entities Madeline had seen, though, seeing Lydia's had 
given her a sense of comfort. Coming here to protect Phillip had been a good 
thing. She could feel that Lydia meant her no malice. In fact, she sensed that 
Lydia was now watching over him too. Knowing that Phillip had a guardian 
spirit gave Madeline a strange sense of relief. She could now proceed with a 
clear head. If Abraham's gift gave any indication of what was yet to come, Madeline 
knew she had to face it, regardless of how much she feared it.

At least things made more sense now. If only she'd known that Phillip 
had a guardian spirit, and that she herself would soon be amongst the 
spirits, she would have never come here. The fright she'd felt only moments ago was 
slowly dissolving away with the grime she splashed off of her face at the 
sink. As she stepped out of the bathroom, Madeline could hear the rise and fall of 
Elizabeth, Natty, Abraham and Brandon's voices in the living room. In 
the small dining nook off the kitchen, Paul was fiddling with his personal computer. She 
could actually hear his fingers tapping away on the keyboard, despite the 
conversation. From the darker part in the back of the house, in the 
small guest bedroom, came the peaceful sounds of Phillip sleeping.  Madeline and 
Elizabeth had shared the double bed in there the past two nights, while the male 
guests had slept in the living room. Brandon had loudly declared his intent to 
sleep on the couch, leaving Abraham and Phillip to make beds for themselves on the 
floor. Since none of the rooms were carpeted, Madeline doubted that either of 
the two had slept well. 

The guest room was warmer than what a human might find comfortable, but 
to a member of a cold blooded, reptillian species, the room was the perfect 
temperature. Phillip was stretched out on one side of the bed, lightly 
snoring.  While the humans complained about the sweltering weather, the Sullam 
Voe found all but the numbing cold tolerable. However, since their physiology was not 
equipped to warm or cool the body as efficiently, they lacked the 
internal warnings that told them if it was too hot. Terrestrial reptiles were known to 
literally bake themselves to death after falling asleep sunning 
themselves on rocks. Philip kept himself well hydrated to prevent that sort of thing from 
happening. A sports bottle, half full of water, was sitting on the end table next 
to the bed. Next to it was half of the day's issue of the Lodi News Sentinel. 
The other half was folded over Phillip's chest, as if he'd been enjoying 
the quiet and reading before he'd fallen asleep.

Madeline reached out and picked up the paper.  She noticed that he'd 
been reading the "Freedom Network" bulletin. In addition to local happenings 
Madeline was able to slowly read a tidbit about unidentified Visitor bodies 
being found in areas of Southern California, some apparently discovered strapped 
into parachutes, and she found it to be disturbing. No reason was cited as 
being known. Madeline suspected that 5th Columnists were evacuating, and she 
felt that Phillip suspected the same. Of course he'd be troubled by that 
knowledge. Philip had many friends in his 5th Column Club.  It made her think of Nigel, 
even though she knew that Nigel was not one of the jumpers. The last she'd 
heard, he was still secreted away at Visitor Fields, recovering from the injuries 
he'd sustained from her mother.

A small amount of venom flooded her mouth, but she wasn't sure which 
person prompted the reaction. Both Nigel and her mother were sore spots in her 
psyche. As quickly as the hurt came, it left. She could only gaze down at 
Phillip and feel sorry for him. He'd lost so much. First Lydia, then his friend 
Dale, and now, possibly more of his friends. In addition, he had to be separated 
from Emily, and that was because of Patricia. Madeline only hoped that he 
wouldn't be too terribly upset when he lost her...Would he mourn her loss? How 
did it feel for an Ay'Yath'te to lose a student?

Another cramp seized at her stomach. It was enough to make her grit her 
teeth, but it was a dull pain at least, so she didn't feel the need to 
cry out.  Sighing softly, she walked around to the other side of the bed and 
stretched out.  Once she did, the cramp relaxed it's grip.  The pain and the 
blood could only mean one thing.  Madeline suspected that she was dying. Not much 
was known about the physiology of hybrids. No one understood why they molted and 
aged so fast. Elizabeth, Abraham and Madeline were even at a loss to understand 
themselves. It was plainly obvious that despite their genetic 
similarities, they were unique individuals. Elizabeth had originated from a Sirian father 
and a human mother. She had gestated inside of Robin's womb and been born 
nine months later, by Cesearian section. She'd had a reptillian appearing twin 
brother, who'd died shortly after birth. This, Madeline had known because 
Elizabeth had told her. Abraham, on the other hand, was of the exact opposite 
conception, as she was herself. Abraham's  Sullam Voe mother had given birth 
naturally, but had died a short time afterwards from extreme complications.

Because Abraham and Elizabeth were genetic cousins, they could possibly 
have a few similarities that Madeline lacked, because she was of completely 
different circumstances altogether.  Her own father had summed it up 
all so well when she'd overheard him tell Julie that she was a lab created, test tube 
hatched, half-bred freak! Patricia, her own mother's mother, wanted to kill her 
for that very same reason. It now seemed that Patricia wouldn't have to go 
to all of that trouble after all, since Madeline was dying of her own accord. 
Maybe, she rationalized to herself, this was the reason why she could see the 
spirits of those who had already crossed over.

Rolling over on her side, she gave Phillip a long, silent gaze. At 
least if she was going to cross over, she felt there was one thing she could do 
for him to ease his existence before she went. She could sense his longing to 
be back in Los Angeles, helping his friends and raising his daughter. With 
Patricia out of the way, he could. They could all go home.  Madeline still 
wasn't certain of her plan. Perhaps Patricia could be reasoned with. If she turned 
herself over and allowed Patricia to do whatever she wished with her, the 
others could be bargained for. Maybe she'd be willing to leave them alone. That, of 
course, was thinking vainly. Madeline knew that she alone was not that 
important in the scheme of things, although Patricia might savor her death with a 
special relish.  In her heart, she knew that the answer lay within Patricia's 
death. 

Abraham's reading to her had spoken of a solo journey. The Nine of 
Wands had told of preparations for a confrontation, strength kept in reserve, and 
of an attack. The Ten of Swords warned of possible defeat, or the threat to a 
loved one. Then, of course, in their various respective places, had come the 
cards of Death, The Devil, and The Tower. The only card which had brought any 
sense of relief had been The World. It betokened sucess and triumph, and also 
had given the hint of travel.

So, travel she would, Madeline decided. Once again, she would take a 
vehicle which did not belong to her in order to accomplish her goal. She 
realized that she would have to take some of Brandon's fuel money as she helped 
herself to the keys to Kyle's truck. It was completely unavoidable.  However, she 
planned to leave a note, so that he would understand, because she highly 
doubted she'd be alive to pay it back to him.  She would also request that no 
one follow her, even though she didn't know if they would honor that request.  
Madeline wasn't certain just how she'd find Patricia, but if she made her 
presence known in one way or another, she suspected Patricia might likely find her. 
For now, none of that mattered. All she needed was the keys to the truck, some 
currency, and a weapon. The rest would figure itself out. As she 
hatched her plans, drowsiness overcame her.  It was just as well to sleep now.  She would 
be driving all night.  Reaching out, she gently pressed her fingers into 
Phillip's palm and let them rest there for a moment.  He stirred lightly in his sleep 
and let out a soft sigh.  His fingers reflexivly closed down around hers 
just before she drew her hand away.  Despite her certainty that she was dying, his 
touch made her feel so alive; much more so than she had in the last few days.  
Smiling softly, she closed her eyes, feeling the warm rush of her own 
pulse in her temples.

It was dark when Madeline awoke, but the house was still well lit 
outside of the confines of the small bedroom she rested in.  The first thing she 
noticed was the time.  The red, digital numbers on the bedside clock radio 
glared 8:47.  She'd been napping for nearly five hours. The second thing she 
realized was that she was alone. At some point, Phillip had gotten up. The place 
where he'd lain was cool to the touch, suggesting that he'd been up for some 
time now. Slowly, she sat up and felt another rush of warmth from her body.  She 
expected to feel dizzy, but the wave never came. It was odd that she 
should be hemorrhaging, and not feel light-headed. For the moment, the cramping 
seemed to have eased up. 

Madeline swung her feet over the bed and winced in surprise as her heel 
came into contact with something beside the bed. Groping in the dark, her 
hand came into contact with her sneaker. She hadn't recalled taking off her 
shoes.  In fact, she hadn't even removed her contacts.When she turned on the 
bedside light, she found that her shoes were arranged neatly by the bed, and 
the laces were tied. Phillip had done this. She had seen him do the same thing 
with Emily when preparing her for a nap. He'd remove the tiny shoes from her 
clawed feet and tie the laces neatly. This sort of perfectionism was a well honed 
discipline common for those of military background. They were alike in 
that respect. Madeline, too, found comfort in order, although she was not nearly as 
regimented as he.

That was precisely one reason why it would not be Phillip's weapon she 
took with her tonight.  He would notice it missing far faster than anyone 
else would. Not that it mattered, really. Madeline intended to be long gone 
before anyone noticed she or any guns were found missing. Before returning to 
the land of the living, Madeline hunted in the room quietly for a writing implement 
and a piece of paper. She found the items in an endtable drawer, along with 
several opened envelopes that bore previous postmarks. They were all addressed 
to Nature Moore, who must have lived in Fresno, California at the time of 
receipt, and the return post was from someone by the name of Harmony Moore in 
Los Angeles.  The dates were several years old, and the letters inside them 
were yellowed with age. Scolding herself for spying, Madeline withdrew the 
needed items-- a worn down pencil with chew marks on it from someone who obviously had a 
habit of gnawing on pencils as they thought out letters, and a small, spiral 
bound, pocket sized notebook. She ripped out a couple of sheets from the 
notebook and placed it back in the drawer.  Then, she started to compose what 
she hoped would be a good explaination for her intent. Unfortunately, she quickly 
learned why letter writers ended up gnawing on pencils. Try as she might, she 
could not find the proper words to summon up her apology.  She could converse 
in English quite fluently now, and read some, but she was worse at writing 
in this language than Willie was at speaking it.

Madeline scowled at her words.  "soree i stoll yor kees brandin.  well 
kyls kees that he lond you. i well giv them bak in la if i do not di. plees 
i well pay you bak for the munee i tuk tu if i do not di. i o you ten dollers. 
soree i tuk polls gun. i well need it. plees do not folo mee. were i am gowing 
is danjerus. i jest wont you all tu b saf."

She knew her letter was badly misspelled, but English writing skills 
had never been a major focus in the scope of her education. She could write 
quite eloquently in her mother's native language, though, and there was at 
least one individual in the group that would appreciate the fact that she was not 
as illiterate as it would seem. With neat, Sirian symbols, she completed 
the rest of her letter. Phillip would be able to translate. This way, she was able 
to communicate how she really felt, without the bother of sounding out 
words that had spellings that made no sense. The Sirian script was easier to form. 
There were no capital or lower case letters. Apostraphes often separated syllables 
to be accentuated, where as, in English speech and writing, it was all left 
to guess work. In fact, she wasn't even sure she knew the correct spelling of 
her human name. She'd never really had the proper occasion to need to know. 
Instead, she signed her note as Ma'thal'ee, in Sirian symbols. Then, she folded 
it and tucked it into her pocket. She would swap the letter for Kyle's keys 
when she took them from Brandon's jeans as he slept that night.

Out in the living room, the television was on.  Abraham, Elizabeth,
Brandon and Natty were crowded on the couch, watching Ren and Stimpy on 
Nickelodeon.  Between them, they were polishing off a bowl of popcorn.  
Paul and Phillip were in the dining nook, which was actually servicing as Paul's 
computer area. The two of them were hunched over the work desk, reading the 
coded postings left by others in various different resistance cells.  Phillip 
seemed to be amazed at this way that the humans here had managed to keep in 
contact with each other.  Unknown to the two of them, they were being watched, and 
not just by Madeline. The figure of Lydia was standing at Phillip's 
shoulder, within arms reach.  He was regarding them silently, and appeared to be 
completely oblivious to the fact that Madeline could actually see her. Madeline 
quietly seated herself back into the large, comfortable rattan chair that she'd 
occupied earlier.  

"You finally woke up. Aren't you feeling well?" Elizabeth asked her 
when the program on the television broke for a commercial.

"I am fine," Madeline responded dully, "I am just tired."

Elizabeth shot her a bewildered look that told Madeline that she knew 
she was lying. Of course Elizabeth knew. Madeline supposed she'd have to tell 
her something sooner or later, but she hoped for later. Much later, like, 
in the afterlife.

"We have got to get a computer like Paul has and link up with other 
groups," Elizabeth said, after a moment's hesitation. "I know that Chuck 
Shanklin has one in San Francisco. He left a post that said that Polly, Katie and 
Tonya are doing fine. I wish we could communicate with L.A. that way..."

"You know Kyle's all right, don't you?" Madeline asked.

"Yes, I sense that he is.  But I sense that he's worried, and so is 
mother...and so am I.  I'm not sure how long I can stand this."

"Me too," Abraham stated, "I'm worried about my Grandmother."

"I know you are," Elizabeth told him reassuringly, "Can you try 
to...sense her? See how she's doing?"

Abraham shook his head sadly.

"I don't think I have that gift, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.  When 
she snapped her eyes open, she shook her head.

"I can't reach her either.  But, I know that if she took a turn for the 
worse, I'd know it.  You would too.  You knew when your mother died 
even before I did."

A visible chill shook Abraham. It was a moment that he said he couldn't 
remember, but Madeline suspected he could; if not in concrete visions, 
at least in feeling. Maybe, she supposed, he blocked that ability within himself 
because of that experience. Elizabeth's words weren't meant to upset him 
though, and in a strange way, they were reassuring. Madeline had never met Abraham's 
mother, but she knew she'd recognize her if she saw her presence. As of yet, 
she hadn't, but then again, she hadn't known Abraham very long, either.

"Maybe Natty could do a reading for me to see how she is," Abraham 
suggested.  He had learned, as they all had, that it wasn't the wisest practice to 
perform Tarot readings upon one's self. Even though there wasn't a 
particular danger in it, it was still hard to remain objective.

Brandon made a rude snorting noise as Natty squiggled off the couch and 
retrieved her cards from where she kept them on a bookshelf. She took a 
seat on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table from where the others 
sat, and began to shuffle.

"Man, you're blocking my view," Brandon complained, but his protests 
fell on deaf ears.

The cards again. Madeline tried to supress a shudder that crawled up 
her spine. Natty finished mixing the cards and expertly began to lay them 
out.  She had chosen the appropriate significator card to represent Abraham, 
which was the Page of Cups-- a young man or woman with light brown hair and medium 
shaded eyes...thoughtful, studious and possessing of an active imagination. 
Throughout the rest of the reading, Natty seemed to grow perplexed. Both the 8 of 
Swords and the 10 of Swords appeared, suggesting confusion and inability to 
know which way to decide in a matter for the first, and burdens, defeat and 
the possible death of a loved one for the second. Other cards indicated 
unexpected travel, and treacherous undertakings. The final card was The Moon. 
Natty shook her head a little as she interpreted it.  It represented unfocused 
intuitions, frightening visions or dreams, duplicity, confrontation, and once 
again, possible bad luck to a loved one.  Abraham looked white with worry, while Elizabeth bit her lip in concentration.

"It sounds more like what he's already been through," she stated hesitantly.  

"Yeah, it's not the clearest reading in the sense of his question, at  any  rate.  Sometimes, the Tarot will pick and choose what it will answer  and to whom  it will address," Natty replied.  

"Say what?" Brandon asked, who'd overcome his initial opposition to at  least  look half interested.  

"What I'm saying is that the cards may not have answered Abraham's  question,  but instead, answered someone else's."  

"Like whose?"  

"Weelll..." Natty sighed, shrugging lightly, "the Page of Cups is a  pretty  broad significator. It can enbody either gender and represent someone  from  their early teens to their early twenties. Also, the physical  description it  usually typifies is rather broad, meaning that lots of people have fair  skin and  medium toned hair and eyes. The tarot could have been addressing a  silent issue  that either one of the four of you have, and very possibly, it could  have been  addressing all four of you at once."  Her eyes roved around the room, and Brandon, Abraham, Madeline and  Elizabeth  all swapped gazes. But only Madeline knew just precisely who the cards  had  been addressing. She kept her unfocused intuitions to herself.  

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

Patricia returned to her secret temporary base somewhat mollified after her  prior streaks of disappointment. It all started with the escape of that  relavish breeder of Diana's, Polly Maxwell. Only moments before her  scheduled  execution, no doubt, the prisoner had managed to find a way off the  ship, and  Patricia knew for a fact that she had 5th Column help. A  guard had  been found dead  in the captive's cell, stripped of her uniform and changed into the    prisoner's clothing. Then, of course, there had been the theft of the  shuttle.   Next, Patricia had made an attempt to investigate the happenings at  Camp  Bernadino. She was pleased to see that operations had recovered, and  that business  was continuing as normal. Both of the camp's senior staff, Doris and  Roland,  had survived the events, and they were still managing the day to day  status  quo. They had been more than willing to provide Patricia with any and  all  information they had on any of the cadets, including everything they  knew about Sean  Donovan and Madeline. 

However, the things she really wanted to know  about the  hybrid were things that only Sylvester, the Infirmary Director, could  tell  her. After all, it had been Sylvester that had given her the first  transmission,  containing information and proof of Madeline's existence. Patricia  hoped to  find out a little more about Madeline; namely, who her parents were.   Unfortuantely, all she learned was that neither Sylvester, his nurse  Kirsten, had  survived the Resistance raid on the camp. Any additional knowledge  Sylvester might  have had or discussed with his nurse died with him and his colleague.   Lastly, there'd been the debacle at the Bernstein's and at the Bate's  house.  After her prime targets had all managed to wipe out a good portion of  her  commando squad and escape; not once, but twice, she signalled for a  shuttle pickup  and returned to the mothership half blinded, angry, and empty handed.  

As she  was briefly attended to in the infirmary, David had delivered more bad  news to  her. Somehow, Diana had managed to escape the confines of her new  quarters.  It was plainly obvious to see that she'd gone by the way of the  ventillation  system, and had likely accessed the emergency parachutes to evacuate  herself  So  had others, it was discovered. Cursed traitors, no doubt.   Now, David was quite chasened by the tongue lashing she'd given him,  and he'd  seen to it that all escape routes off the ship were blocked. So, too ,  were  all roads in and out of Los Angeles.  That was not an easy feat, by any  means,  but Patricia never fooled herself into believing that any job she did  would be  easy. 

A good whiff of common sense told her that the turncoat guard,  Orlando,  who had escaped with the prisoner, Polly Maxwell, had likely sprained  the  forks of his tongue tattling to all of her targets about their fates.  She  surmised that a good portion of them had left town. All signs seemed to  indicate  that.  At both of the homes she'd struck at, packed bags of belongings  had been  present.  This did not concern her as much as it annoyed her.  It was  common  behavior for someone who'd been warned of impeding doom to flee.   Mistakes were usually made when the intended target believed that things had died  down and  attempted to return.  Patricia suspected that this would eventually be  the case.   She had half a mind to order David to haul the ship out of Los Angeles  airspace now, just to create such an illusion. Let them come back.  The  roads were  now policed, and anyone attempting to return would be caught.   Meanwhile, as she waited for her next opportunity to strike, Patricia  kept  herself busy.  

Combat was difficult when one was ignorant to the enemy.   She  investigated intelligence reports and prisoner interrogation  transcripts  concerning former resistance hideouts, and then visited them. Her  skulkings had led  her to an interesting discovery. Indeed, L'ura Kathka, the mother of  Abraham,  was dead. Patricia found where the resistance had buried her remains.  After  unearthing her, she'd detached the femur of one of her legs, and sent  it to the  lab on board the mothership for testing. DNA confirmation was only one  thing  Patricia was interested in.  L'ura's remains might also have clues left  about any  genetic experimentations Diana may have conducted upon her to make it  possible to concieve of a hybrid.  Then, of course, there was the  remains  of...something else...interred next to Laura. She'd swiped a femur bone  of that  nauseating deformity as well. Tests brought back on that were proving  to be quite  interesting. Indeed, the remains belonged to a creature that contained  both human  and Sirian DNA. She hadn't known there'd been another hybrid in  addition to the  three she already sought, but Patricia was satisfied enough to know  that at  least it was as dead as L'ura. Not so for the contents of what she  believed was  the father of Elizabeth Maxwell. 

 Empty. Nothing..well, almost nothing. All she'd found were a few, badly  decayed strips of fabric.They were so soiled that it was impossible to  ascertain  precicely what color they'd once been. Laboratory tests done on these  shreds  concluded that the fibers were made of cotton. Minute traces of dye  were found  and analyzed. It was determined the fabric had once been a shade of  light blue.  Perhaps a shroud, or a sheet had been used to wrap his body in, and  deposit  him into the hole for burial. But the absence of a body left Patricia  to think  only one thing. Not dead. Hybernation shock, perhaps?   Supposedly, the resistance had killed him. However, humans were  ignorant to  Sirian physiology. When subjected to extreme trauma, the body could go  into a  state of hibernation similar to suspended animation. It was this  knowledge that  led to the develepment of the suspension tanks that now housed and  nourished  the humans entombed on board the mothership.  Furthermore, this state could  persist for up to 72 hours. It was remotely possible for Brian to have  woken up  after his injury, dug his way out of his grave, walked away, and  vanished into  oblivion. Wrapping him in a sheet made this scenario even more  plausible. It  prevented dirt and debris from obstructing his nasal passages and his  mouth.  It also meant that he wouldn't have had to break out of a more  permanant,  sturdy enclosure, such as a casket. No Sirian was ever completely dead  until  autopsy or utter dismemberment declared otherwise; at least in  Patricia's book. 

It  gave her one more possible target, too.  So now, she laid in wait. At night, she'd leave and do her  investigations.   During the day, she made an encampment for herself.  From her vantage  point, in  an abandoned but extremely grandious house, aided with a pair of  telescoping  binoculars, she could see the Bernstein's house. Patricia knew that the woman of the house was badly injured, and was probably still in town, under  medical  supervision. Getting to her and torturing answers out of her was too  risky in  a public place such as a medical facility. Instead, she kept an eye out  for anyone that might come to the house to collect any neccessities the woman might  need durning her convelescence. She hadn't seen anyone as of yet, but she already knew that lightning had struck once.  There had been two vehicles in the garage, and all surviving members of the household had fled the scene in one of them. The other had been left in the garage. When the authorities  had left  the scene, no doubt, they had shut the battered enterence behind them.  However, when Patricia later returned, the garage door had been  standing wide open, and the second vehicle was missing.   She now had scouts on the prowl, looking to find that vehicle. One of  their  members, Orlando, had been shot during the skirmish, and he hadn't left  the  house with the others. 

Patricia wasn't foolish enough to believe that  it was  possible for Brian to resurrect himself from the dead, but not Orlando.  She  believed Orlando had taken the second vehicle at a later time. His hide  was one  worth charring for his actions...and she would take great pleasure in  doing so  after he told her where the other targets had gone!  Patricia scrutinized the printouts that David had supplied her that  he'd  tapped into the DMV computer database to get. She now had a listing of  all the  vehicles she'd seen at the sites she'd visited, and information on who owned  them. The Bernstein's escape vehicle was registered to Stanley  Bernstein.  The second car in the garage, the one that was now missing, belonged to the  matriarch  of the household, Lynn Bernstein. The vehicle parked in front of their  house  that had been damaged had been registered to a Tonya Follows, last  known  address in San Fransisco. She had recorded the liscence plate from that  car before  it had been cooked 'well done' by the male in the group with the two  toned  hair and the pierced tongue. Patricia crossed off the first car on the  list.  She  knew where it presently was, and it was no longer in any condition to  service  the resistance.    The second car on this list was circled in red. It was being searched  for.  The last was also crossed off, but Tonya's name was highlighted. A DMV  capture  photo of Tonya Follows, as her coutenance appeared on her driver's  liscence,  was one of the household members that had escaped from the  Bernsteins.

One of her  injured commandoes, Lu'Kath, later told her that he'd seen this Tonya  Follows  wearing a pendant he'd once given to L'ura Kathka. Patricia hadn't seen  this  particular human, Tonya,  at the Bates' residence later that day. Nor  had she  seen Polly Maxwell. Prisoner questioning records maintained that Tonya  Follows  and Polly Maxwell were well acquainted. Patricia supposed that Follows  might  have taken Maxwell and gone somewhere with her...perhaps to her native  San  Fransisco.It was worth considering if her targets never made a return.  San Francisco was also the native town to Brandon Watts, the young man  with  the studded tongue, who'd unleashed so much destruction upon her  commandoes.  DMV research showed that he owned a salvaged Mazda, and was registered  to his  current address at the Bernstein's. Patricia hadn't seen any vehicle at  the  Bernstein's that matched the description in the report. She figured he  had it  parked elsewhere...or perhaps it was no longer of service to him.  

At  any rate,  even though his most recent address was his current residence, his  prior address  had also been in San Francisco. She knew that Phillip, Madeline,  Elizabeth  and Abraham had all left with Watts, in a pickup truck that she learned  was  registered to Kyle Bates. Perhaps they'd all rendezvoused with Follows  and Maxwell  in San Fransisco....  Kyle Bates was still in town, after being injured. He owned several  vehicles,  Patricia learned. A blue Ford Escort, the pick up truck, and two  motorcycles  were in his name. He'd also recently sold a Lincoln Towncar and an  Acura  Integra. 

For now, all of those vehicles were accounted for, except the  truck.  It  was circled in green, the others crossed off.  Kyle's residence was now  where  Stanley Bernstein's crippled car was parked.  Patricia's CLETS report also indicated that Robin Maxwell owned a 1982  Datsun. It too, was missing from the premesis. Interestingly enough,  Robin Maxwell  had been at the Bates' house, sans her car. She had not departed in her  car,  nor had she left with Watts. That led Patricia to believe that it was  Robin's  vehicle that Follows had left town in, taking Polly Maxwell with her.  Robin's  vehicle was circled in green which coded the vehicles she'd contacted  the San  Fransisco Mothership about. If those cars were located there, Patricia  would be notified.  Then, there was one last vehicle. It was the white van with the green  rear  door that she'd seen parked at the Bates' residence. She believed that  the  remaining resistance members, the ones who hadn't gone with Watts when  he left, had  departed in it. At the time, Patricia had been too venom blinded to see  the  manner in which they escaped. She'd had enough to contend with merely  getting  herself out of the burning house so she could safely meet her shuttle  escort.  The pilot of the shuttle reported that he'd seen a van leaving the  residence shortly before he touched down.Patricia had him court martialled for  not  thinking to destroy it. He was apealing his court martial, and could  likely win his  request. 

After all, he'd never received any orders to assault the vehicle. Not  that Patricia particularly cared. She cared more about who the van  belonged  to, and where it could possibly be now. It could lead her to two of her  primary  targets: Ham Tyler and Robin Maxwell. Stanley Bernstein and Kyle Bates  were  secondary targets now, and they could linked with that van too.   

The CLETS report gave surprising results about the van, and gave her  ideas  for secondary ideas for ideas of inquiry concerning one of Ham Tyler's  known  associates. The van was registered to a Christopher Dean Faber. He had  about four  listed current addresses, and a rap sheet of prior addresses that was  dizzying. In addtion, Faber had several aliuses linked with his name,  and at least  seven other vehicles at his disposal. Patricia had already cased two of  Faber's  supposed addresses, only to learn that they were bogus. There was much  to learn about this man, who also had prior registrations with the  Louisiana  Department of Motor Vehicles. Information about him was already  forthcoming. Faber was  a native of the state, and most of his family was dead. However, he  still  owned property there. Two of the seven vehicles in his name were still  registered  there. The Lousiana mothership had been contacted regarding this man,  and  she'd accessed information from Louisiana's DMV, and tax rolls there.  Patricia  now had information pertaining to a known living relative; a niece by  the name  of Rachel Molineaux. She was currently incarcerated in a local work  camp, and  had been since the time of the re-invasion.   Patricia had subsequently ordered for Rachel's release and extridition  to the  Los Angeles Mothership. Faber may not have known of his neice's fate,  but  Patricia decided he'd soon learn.  Rachel's life might prove to be a  powerful  bargaining tool to obtain Faber's cooperation. She had also alerted the  Louisina  patrols to be on the alert for any of her target and the missing  vehicles, in  case Faber was trying to relocate some of them there.   

Unfortunately, nothing of interest turned up on Hamilton Tyler. He did  have a  valid California Driver's license, but his listed address was also  bogus, and  he had no vehicles currently registered in his name. Not long ago, he'd  had a  Buick, and a red Chevrolet van but both vehicles were listed as  'totalled' on  her report. None of that was relevant now, of course. Patricia smiled  in the  darkness, and her smile was cold and soulless. Though she usually liked  to move  at night, she had plans for the morning. Rachel Molineaux would be  arriving,  and Patricia would take her along to the two other addresses listed as  belonging to Christopher Dean Faber. There would be no more running  away for anyone  she might encounter there. Rachel's life would depend on it.   The manhunt for Ham Tyler via Christopher Faber's neice might not have  meant  as much to Patricia if it hadn't been for the jornal David turned up  shortly  after taking over Diana's quarters. 

Patricia got her first look at it  when she  returned from Camp Bernadino on her first day out. Neither she nor  David had  been able to understand the strangely incrypted notations Diana had  made in her  logs, at first. Then, it began to dawn on Patricia that she had seen  some of  these words before. They looked hauntingly familiar, even if they still  made  no sense. Searching her memory banks, she suddenly rmembered the time,  prior to  her daughter's Compulsory School, when D'ana and Se'there had been  small  hatchlings. Like many twin children, they'd developed their own 'secret  language'  that made sense only to them. In Pre-Compulsory, where all Sirian  hatchlings  were taught the basics of writing and making letters, D'ana and  Se'there would  swap notes back and forth in their own code. Their teacher had finally  gotten  concerned about it, because it was impeding thier ability to learn the  actual  writing, reading, and speaking skills they were supposed to be  developing.  From that day forward, Patricia had outlawed the girls from ever  speaking or  writing in their secret code, despite her husband's protests that they  should be  allowed to 'excercise the special privelidge of their unique  bond...even if it  is only allowed at home'.  She was seeing that forbidden code now! Diana's notes were written in  it! 30  years later, she still remembered it! And even though neither she or  David  could decode it, Patricia knew who could. She ordered David to transmit  the whole  bundle to Rendezvous Station, care of Dr. Mi'Alith'ca Levasss, who  would then  transmit the notations to the Sunny Sands of Merkat Sanitarium, where  Se'there was institutionalized. 

Se'there was loonier than a crivit with  it's  tentacles tied together, digging in a block of cement, but she'd be  able to decode  Diana's blather, Patricia was sure of it.  As it so turned out, Patricia had every reason to be proud of Se'there,  although she'd never say so aloud. In fact, she never spoke of Se'there  to anyone  anymore. But, within 72 hours after the first burst had been sent to  Rendezvous, she had already started getting feedback. It was apparent  that this was a  project that enthused Se'there, and she was quite eager to read  anything her  sister wrote, even if she didn't understand the exact nature of what  she was  reading or why she was reading it. Soon, Patricia had the information  she wanted.  What she learned sickened and shocked her. At first, she'd been  inclined to  believe that Se'there had not translated her sister's babblings  correctly.  However, despite her insanity, Se'there was highly intelligent and very  educated...and Patricia knew it wasn't a lie. Diana had spawned  Madeline from her own  genetic material and that of a human man, Ham Tyler.  Now, Patricia was simply angry. How dare she! It was just disgusting to  pollute the Sullam Voe race with relavish...and it was unthinkable to  soil her  bloodlines with it!  Ham Tyler was as good as dead, and Patricia vowed to use any means at  her  disposal to find him and kill him, as it seemed that he was the human  used to  soil her heritage. Using Chris Faber as a reference was a good place to  start in  a search for this allusive man. Then, after Ham Tyler was gone,  Madeline would  die. Patricia could not allow an abberation with Rhetatheket blood  coursing  through relavish veins to exist. Perhaps she'd even be doing the wretch  a  favor. And, then, when those two were dealt with, she'd have the time   and the  luxury to deal with the worst offender of them all... Diana.   *************************************************************** 

Pain gripped Orlando's sides, but he demanded of himself to keep  moving. It  would be too easy to drop onto the street and fall into a protective  state of  hibernation, but then his liberation would all be in vain.  He remembered only tattered bits of the last two days. Diana's  ministrations  had done some to ease his pain, but his injuries were more than just  surface  wounds. He supposed that he'd have an infection by now if it weren't  for her  help, but that didn't do much to ingratiate himself to her. Way too  much was  wrong with her, and he knew that beyond the shadow of a doubt by now.  Rumors had circulated that the Los Angeles Commander was insane, and  Orlando  had already believed it. In fact, he remembered warning a group of new  cadets  leaving from Rendevous Station with him to that fact. Laura had been  among  them. Her face swam in front of his vision for a moment and vanished. 

His  rememberence of her only served to make him stronger in his resolve to  escape. He had  to warn the resistance that Diana was on the loose.  She was also in a compromised state, which would allow her capture to be quite easy, if  only he could  get to the resistance before Diana migrated to another hotel.  They had been staying in two different hotels the past two nights.  Diana had  acquired the funds for this from some means Orlando could not  determine.     All the while, she'd told him things..crazy things. She told him about  how she  planned to get her daughter back, and how they would rule the Earth  together.  Then, she'd marvelled again at his scale patterns, and only she had  managed to  uncover the one secret he hid from just about everyone.  Orlando was a  direct  descendant from the House of Raman. His second cousin had been none  other than  Charles, the late husband of Diana, and the former attache to the  Leader.  

This had pleased Diana, oddly. She told him that she may even be able  to find a  place for him in her new order, if he behaved himself. He would be her  chosen  consort.  Like hell. Orlando was running just as fast from that notion as from  any  other. Diana was very attractive, yes. He could certainly understand  why Security  Chief Dale had volunteered to sleep with her to glean information.   However,  he knew with something beyond mere guesswork that most of her  relationships  ended with a permanant goodbye. Even her own husband was not immune.  Nor had Dale  been, for that fact. Orlando was not about to step into that role.   

As the days blurred together, Diana had begun to slip into an odd sort of reality.  Her babblings had started to take on even stranger tones. She  told him  about having a bond with 'The Chosen One', and how she'd been picked to  be the  salvation of all Sirians. 'The Chosen One' spoke to her in a language  no one  else understood, and told her things about what was happening on the  homeworld. Diana knew of the sufferings of their people and of the  Leader's lies. She  knew how precariously close to bankruptcy he was...and The Chosen One  had told  Diana that she was now poised in place to topple him from his command  and lead  the Sullam Voe to a new and fruitful life on Earth. It was all a farce,  but  the eerie thing was, Diana appeared to believe all of it. In her eyes  burned  that cold conviction that she was undeniably right. Orlando hadn't  wasted any  time arguing with her.    

From that moment on, Diana had begun a steady decline. She started  complaining of headaches, and on more than one occasion, Orlando saw  her nose bleed.  Earlier that evening, her condition was such that she hadn't even  roused herself  to eat, or find anything to feed Orlando. She stopped worrying over his  injuries, and instead just laid in the bed next to him with a towel  over her eyes to  block out all light. It began to occur to Orlando that her instability  could  be due to a medical condition. She tossed fitfully for awhile beside him,  jostling his injured ribs on more than one occasion. Then, her  movements had  abruptly changed. Her entire body had gone rigid, and she'd had a brief  period of  convulsions. Orlando pushed himself up on one elbow, rolled her over,  and  applied direct pressure to the base of her spine.  This stimulated the calming  reflex, and could even produce a euphoria; at least during sexual  arousal.  When someone was in pain, however, it acted as tranquilizer of sorts.   Though it was  not an action designed to put someone to sleep, it did relieve pain.   It also served to stop the seizures that expectant mothers endured prior to  giving  birth.  Though she was was not expecting, the motion did stop her  convulsions.  Diana had fallen into a deep sleep from that point on.

Orlando realized  that he  now had an opportunity to escape.  He'd left the vehicle where it was parked at the hotel parking lot.  Diana had  the keys in the pocket of her jeans, and she had been fully dressed in  bed.   He hadn't wanted to chance waking her. Besides, if she managed to snap  out of  her illness long enough to relocate herself, he could tell the  resistance  about her mode of transportation. They could track her down that way.   Orlando had  swiped her gun. She hadn't been wearing that to bed, at least.  The pain finally forced Orlando to take a seat on a bus bench. No  public  transportation would be running at this hour. It was well past  midnight.  Orlando  had no idea where he was yet, but he did know that the hotel he'd  escaped from  was only a half mile away. If Diana awoke and found him gone, she'd  have a  reasonably decent chance of finding him if he didn't move quickly.  Wearily, he  scanned his options. There was a fast food restaurant,  i's golden  yellow arches still lit. However, there were no cars in it's parking lot.   The lot next door suddenly aroused his interest. It appeared to be  deserted,  but there were tons of cars parked on the pavement behind a wooden rail  fence.   The sign on the building declared it to be "Ollie's Used Car Rodeo".   All of  the cars had stickers on the windshields declaring the prices in bold,  orange  symbols. A few sodium vapor streetlights illuminated the used car lot,  but  otherwise, it was abandoned. Closed for the night....  Orlando was up off the bus seat and across the street before his  thoughts  caught up with him.  

He knew stealing a vehicle was wrong, but he hoped  to return  it and apologize to the owner.  The fence was impossibly easy to scale.  In  fact, it only came thigh high. That should have been Orlando's first  indication  that something was wrong. He soon found himself face to face with a  snarling animal on a thin lead. A watchdog. Using Diana's weapon, he  pistolwhipped the  growling beast before it could take a bite of him. The animal slumped  to the  pavement, unconsious but still breathing. Orlando was relieved he  hadn't killed  it. It was only doing it's job.   His side was aching bad enough to bring stars to his vision, but he supported  himself easily, moving from car to car. He found one where the  gearshift  matched the operation lever Diana had used to maneuver Lynne  Bernstein's car.  Smashing in the window was not the danger to him that it was to a human  employing  this tactic. 

He had his psuedoskin to protect him from the shards of  glass. He  reached in and unlocked the door, searching vainly for the keys. They  were  not in the vehicle, of course. Orlando did not know how to start a car without a  key.  Shivers washed over him, threatening to pull him down into darkness.   However, desperation told him that he could not be found in this lot.  He needed to be  out of here before the owner came to open up...or the watchdog came to.  His  eyes scanned around and something shiny caught his vision in the  shopfront of  the lot's building. Easing himself out of the car, he pressed his face  to the  window and saw...  Rows upon rows of labelled keys, pegged on the wall behnd the sales  desk.   Each key was labelled with it's corresoponding row as a letter, and  its  corresponding position within that row as a number. Orlando turned and  noticed that  the lot was labelled in the same way. The car he'd vandalized was  parked in a  space labelled B-9. Before breaking into the building, Orlando scanned  the  premises and found an inexpensive alarm box mounted outside. He  disabled it with a  quick blaster shot. Then, he broke the front door window, reached in  and  unlocked the door. Moments later, the key to B-9 was in the ignition  slot of the  car. The engine turned over quickly. He was pleased to see that there  was almost half a tank of fuel in the car. It was more than enough to get  him to the  place he knew to be the current resistance headquarters, even though he  lost his  way several times and had to backtrack on the unfamiliar roads. No one  was  there when he arrived, but he knew they'd return and find him there.  Until then,  he had no more energy other than to curl himself up in a ball and drift  off  into a deep sleep.	

Chapter 27  Call and Answer

"Oh
under those white street lamps,
 there is a little chance they may see.
We have no past, we won't reach back,
Keep with me forward all through the night,
and once we start, the meter clicks,
and it goes running all through the night,
Until it ends, there is no end..."

~~Cyndi Lauper   All Through the Night

Bleary-eyed with exhaustion, Madeline slowed the pickup truck down in 
response to the speed of the suddenly heavy traffic.  The drive back to 
Southern California had proven to be uneventful until now.  

Traffic over the grapevine was always slow on a weekday morning, at 
least so Madeline had heard.  She remembered hearing meaningless human 
conversations between Julie, Kyle, Robin and others about workday commutes on crowded 
freeways, and how even though things were better now than they used to 
be before the "lizards" came, driving in "rush hour" traffic was still annoying.  
She'd had her own experience with it when they'd come into Stockton's city 
limits, on that hot afternoon, fully three days ago, sweltering in the back of the 
truck she now drove.  It had been miserable, but her instincts told her that this 
was even worse.  She had no way of knowing how precisely right her 
instincts were.  It was already 8:30 in the morning. As she neared the city limits of 
Los Angeles, most of what would be normal commuter traffic was backed up 
for five miles.  Not knowing what was going on, people in their vehicles, late 
for their jobs, were swearing under their breaths.  Unless there was a gory 
accident or heavy road construction in progress, the rush hour traffic would have 
usually thinned somewhat by now.

Progress had come to a dead stop.  After a few minutes, Madeline killed 
the engine, not wanting to waste what little fuel she had left.  Then, she 
settled back into her seat to miserably await her fate.  Surely, Brandon, 
Phillip and the others would have woken up by now and figured out what she had 
done.  They could even already be on the road, hoping to catch up with her.  At 
this rate, they just might. The early morning sun shone in through the 
windows with a brilliance that nearly blinded her sensitive eyes. She was forced to 
drop her gaze, and her stare landed in her lap.  For the first time, she noticed 
the terrible staining on her jeans.  The blood of her illness had begun to 
flow more copiously, and her valiant attempts to hide it were no longer adequate.

Suppressing a light moan, Madeline looked up again, hoping to see that 
the traffic situation had improved.  Nothing had changed, except...

She saw a distant flash of red, that to weak human eyes, might appear 
to be a siren on a rescue vehicle.  Craning her head out the window, she 
focused more narrowly and decided that it was not a siren.  What she saw had to be a 
half mile up the road or more, even, but there was no doubt in her mind that 
she had seen a glimpse of a Visitor's uniform.

The word "roadblock" was not readily accessible in her vocabulary, but 
she didn't need to know what to call what she knew was there.  Many of the 
humans in the vehicles surrounding her were still oblivious to what lay ahead.  
If they knew, they just might try to do what she knew she had to do.  The 
patrols were hoping to find...and would find...her...if she stayed here.

Madeline had witnesed the flash of red out the driver's side window.  
Slowly, she inched her way over to the opposite side, cracked the door open, 
and slid out.  The passengers in neighboring cars looked at her as she stole out 
of the truck, but as long as they made no disturbance, she paid them no 
mind.  Crouching low, she weaved between cars until she came to the embankment 
on the side of the freeway.  The metal guard rail was easy to clamber over.  
Soon, her feet were crunching on summer browned grass as she eased her way down 
the slope.  In the distance, she could make out a gas station, even though 
she instinctively knew that the gas station was just off the freeway exit 
located some five miles away. It was the only thing she had to serve as a landmark 
to safety.

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

Maggie Blodgett was wide eyed and awake with purpose.  She had been up 
for three hours already, tending to the house that she and Chris now 
shared, and taking care of those residing there.  One of the household members, 
Druid, Chris' Shih Tzu Terrier, was bouncing emphatically against Maggie's calves, 
demanding to be fed...and now!

"Alright, alright," Maggie mumbled begrudgingly.  She allowed the small 
dog to jump in front of her, his claw nails click click clicking on the 
linoleum floor.  Her attitude softened a bit as she opened a can of Alpo and 
spooned a portion into his bowl.  He sat at her ankles, watching her every move 
with eyes that could still see quite clearly despite the fact that a light 
cataract film was beginning to cloud them. Poor Druid.  He was about ten years old 
now, a crusty senior citizen for a dog. Maggie smiled as she lowered the food 
down to him.  He sure was a cantankerous old fart.  She didn't know a whole lot 
about dogs, but she did know that smaller breeds, like Druid, tended to live 
longer than their larger counterparts. She hoped so.  Chris was very attatched 
to his four-legged mop, and that attatchment had come to infect Maggie over 
the years, although she acted like she was exasperated with Druid most of 
the time. Druid dug into his food, mindless to the annoying knocking noise that 
his metal dog tag made against his ceramic bowl.

Robin stumbled into the kitchen next.  Though she was dressed, her hair 
still had a spiky, uncombed look to it.  The red hair dye she'd used to 
disguise her appearance at the Legation when she'd worked there was fading out, 
exposing her brown roots. The bags under her eyes were almost as dark as the 
roots of her hair.  No doubt, she'd been up most of the night, as Maggie had.  
Somehow, though, restless nights had a tendancy to show more on Robin's face.

"Any word from Chris or Ham?" she inquired as she emptied a bag of 
blueberry bagels on the counter and began slicing them.

"Yeah, Chris radioed me about 45 minutes ago.  We're all gonna meet up 
at the H.Q.," Maggie answered, stifling a yawn.

"What time?"

"As soon as we eat breakfast."

The smell of coffee infiltrated the kitchen as the pot clicked on to 
its automatic brew cycle.  Robin raised an eyebrow as she began loading 
bagel halves into the wide slot toaster. She hadn't smelled coffee that smelled this 
real in a long time, and she vaguely wondered to herself how Chris had 
managed to get it.

Maggie set to work scrambling eggs.  She noted that Robin was toasting 
extra bagels, most likely to feed the guys when they all met at the airstrip.  
Though eggs would be tough to transport, Maggie had already sliced up 
some fresh melon and stored it in a tupperware bowl in the refrigerator.  The task 
had kept her occupied while she couldn't sleep that night.  The sound of the 
front door opening made both women look up from their tasks.  Stanley 
Bernstein was heading out into the morning, on his way to visit Lynne.

"Hey, what about some food?" Maggie called to him.

"I'll eat at the cafeteria," Stanley replied politely.  

Robin made a face and handed him a couple of the toasted bagel halves.

"You've got to be kidding," she told him, "Take these. Hospital food is 
bad for your health."

As he accepted his offering and continued on his way, Druid shot past 
him, attempting to get outside first.

"Druid, NO!" Maggie ordered, "You can wait for your walk til I get my 
breakfast!"

Druid obediently stopped, but he danced anxiously around Stanley's 
ankles.

"I'll walk him," Stanley offered, "Lynne said something awhile back 
about wanting a dog.  I guess I should learn a few things about handling 
them..."

Robin stooped down with his lead in her hand.  As she snapped it onto 
his collar, his furry muzzle clamped onto the bagel she had in her other 
hand. She grimaced as she pulled it out of his mouth.

"Lesson number one, then," she said, "do not attempt to put a leash on 
a dog when there's food in your hand."

Druid's doggy lips almost seemed to grin connivingly at Robin as 
Stanley led him outside.

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

Ham's group arrived at the tiny airport first.  The first thing all of 
them noticed was the strange car parked in front of the main building.  Not 
only was it completely unfamiliar, it still had the orange price numbers taped 
to the top of the windshield.  Guns were drawn instantly as it became obvious 
that the intruder had shot the lock off the front door to get inside.

Ham took the lead as he inched his way through the door, weapon drawn.  
He didn't have far to go before he spotted the figure of a man, crumpled 
on the floor, a Visitor's sidearm still in his grip.  The man didn't even stir 
as Ham cautiously approached.  At his back, the others followed single file.  
Then, they broke formation to quickly surround the intruder.  Just as Ham 
closed in on the figure, Jaime dropped her weapon and barked a hoarse command.

"Do not touch him! Do not shoot!" she cried.  Her reverberating voice 
bounced off the stark walls.  The prone figure on the floor only stirred 
lightly.

With her face mimicing the perfect imitiation of human disbelief, Jaime 
stepped forward and knelt down at the man's side.

"Orlando, Grace be to Zon, it is you! " she cried.

Orlando began to move in earnest as Jaime's hesitant caresses 
stimulated the nerves of his crest beneath his wig.

"Orlando," Mike protested in disbelief, "I heard he died!"

"Well, it sure looks to me like he came back from the dead," Chris 
sniffed.  

At his choice of explainations, Jaime looked up, and even her contacts 
couldn't disguise the pure wonderment in her eyes.

"Looks like it," she sighed softly in a tone that was half amazed and 
half frightened.

Maggie and Robin arrived about half an hour later.  By then, Orlando 
was propped against a wall and Jaime was examining his wounds.  He had 
already told his story to a dumbstruck audience, but snippets of his tale leaked out 
from those wanting to rehash. Only Mike was momentarily absent from the 
group.  He had taken the keys to the van to bring it in and park it in the airplane 
hangar next to Phillip's shuttle.

"So now we've got Queen Primo Leatherass and her mother running amok in 
the City of Angels," Ham grunted in disgust, "And it wasn't even Patricia 
that stole the damn car, which leaves us back to square one."

"I take it you guys didn't find anything," Maggie ventured hesitantly.  
Her gaze came to rest on Orlando, and she shook her head in puzzlement.

"No one said that," Ham stated, his voice taking on a rough, tired 
coarseness, "but all we found were a few more reasons to lay into 
Patricia.  When I find her..."

"Yeah, and we thought we had a possible lead with one of the 
Bernstein's neighbors. Some fiesty old thing said she saw a woman make off with 
Lynne's ride.  Now, come to find out from Orlando here that it was Diana swiping the 
car, not Patricia like we first thought," Chris finished.

"I thought I did the right thing by coming here and telling you," 
Orlando sighed tiredly, "It seems you are not pleased with my news."

"You did do the right thing," Jaime reassured him. "Maybe we should 
cruise on out to that hotel and take Diana down..."

The rest of her suggestion died on her lips at the inmistakeable sound 
of a shuttle craft passing overhead.  For a few tense, precious moments, no 
one dared to breathe. Then, Mike appeared with the keys to the van, looking 
completely unconcerned.

"Did you see the craft?" Robin asked him. "Did it look like it was 
circling?"

"No, I didn't see it," Mike replied, "But I heard it from the hangar. 
Thank God I already had the van inside."

The collective breath that everyone had been holding at the same time 
escaped with an audible whoosh.
***************************************************************

The shuttle craft set down right in the middle of a seemingly quiet 
residential street.  Palm trees looming high above from curbside 
planters rustled in protest as the air was briefly disturbed.  Neighborhood dogs barked 
their shrill warnings, but at this time, on a late Friday morning, many of their 
masters weren't home to hear them. Patricia wasn't even remotely concerned 
about the frightened looks that retirees and housewives gave as they peered 
nervously out of windows shrouded with heavy curtains. As the ramp lowered, Patricia 
donned her sunglasses and stepped out into the bright day.  Behind her, three 
shock troopers rose and followed. Between them, they nudged a young female 
prisoner forwards.

"So, tell me, Rachel. This where I might find your uncle, Chris Faber, 
no?" Patricia demanded of her hostage in her thick, peculiar accent.
The girl hesitated for a moment.  Patricia raised her hand and cuffed 
her warningly on her cheek.  Already, a pink welt was forming on Rachel's 
rounded features. It was only one of several marks Patricia had already 
inflicted upon her. Rachel's eyes automatically assumed a submissive, downcast look.

"I don't rightly know," she gasped from between swollen lips, "I've 
been in that camp for so awfully long.  I haven't seen my uncle since I was a 
little girl..."

Patricia said nothing in return.  She jerked her thumb at the shock 
troopers.  On her command, they led Rachel to the front door and shot the lock 
without even testing to see if it was open. There were no shrill screams of 
surprise and fright as the troopers hustled through the doorway; nor were there 
any armed and waiting resistance members. The house was completely empty. 
Patricia was quite disappointed, but she expected it. The van hadn't been parked out 
front, nor had any other vehicle.

In the kitchen, Patricia found evidence that the house hadn't been 
vacant for long. The kitchen sink was stacked with dirty dishes, and though the 
coffee pot was turned off now; the aroma still clung to the air. There was a 
stack of unopened mail on the kitchen table, and Patricia began to rifle through 
it as the guards forced Rachel to take a seat in a dinette chair. One of the 
shock troopers who was not guarding Rachel began to comb through other rooms 
in the house. Another went to the ped door leading to the garage. Upon opening 
it, he made an appreciative noise.

"There is lots of guns and ammunition in there, and possibly some bomb 
making materials," he reported.

"We will worry about those things later," Patricia stated as she turned 
her cold, ocean blue gaze onto Rachel.  In her hand were several of the 
envelopes from the stack on the table.

"Who's Margaret Blodgett?" she demanded, holding out a piece of mail 
for Rachel's inspection.

Rachel shook her head, indicating that she didn't know. It mattered not 
to Patricia whether the girl was lying or not. She reached out and struck 
her hard on the other cheek anyways. Patricia knew who Margaret...aka...Maggie 
Blodgett was. Her name was mentioned from time to time in Diana's enemy 
intelligence reports. In fact, her name on the mail at this residence was an 
unexpected bonus, even though Patricia had no other particular reason for caring 
about Maggie Blodgett. Resistance scum, yes. Target, no, unless she made a nuisance 
of herself.

"Large men's clothing in the bedroom closet, consistant with what would 
fit a man of the size we know Faber to be," the trooper that had left moments 
ago came back and reported.

Patrica afforded Rachel a cruel smile.

"Looks like you and your uncle have this in common, no?"

She leveled her remark in such a way that told Rachel that Patricia 
knew enough about human psychology to know that comments about personal 
appearance could hurt as much as physical blows. Rachel had never been a petite girl, 
but after several years in a work camp where the people were forced to work 
like dogs and eat like pigs, all so they cuold be fattened up for the supper 
table...Rachel had been getting very approving looks from the camp facilitators 
before she'd been whisked away. She'd known her turn was coming. It had 
happened to a couple of her friends. They just simply disappeared one day. Rachel 
had been reduced to quoting silent prayers from the Bible she had been unable to 
keep at the camp. But, she'd been raised Baptist, and she had as much Bible 
in her mind as she did between the pages of the Good Book. When the call for 
her removal had come, she thought, at last, that the Lord had answered her 
prayers...

But, it seemed she was to face more trials. And, Rachel was a staunch 
believer that God never gave her more than she could handle. Whatever, 
her purpose, she had to face it bravely. In her heart, she felt that her purpose 
must be to protect her Uncle Chris. He must be in some sort of trouble.

So now, she wasn't as blind to her fate here. These people would get no 
answers from her about her uncle, mostly because she didn't have any to 
give them.  After her two years at the work camp, she weighed 200 pounds. Yes, a 
lot of it was fat, but another good portion of her bulk was well worked 
muscle, stretched out over a tall frame of 5 foot 9. Maybe Patricia was beating 
her so she could "tenderize" the meat. Instead of answering Patricia's query, 
Rachel sat silent, giving her no idication that her remark had hurt.  Once again, 
Patricia's hand snaked out and cuffed her under the chin. The shock 
trooper hesitantly came forward with a shoebox filled with pictures and various momentos.

"I found this on the top shelf of the bedroom closet," his 
reverberating voice stated, muffled somewhat by the helmet he wore.

Most of the pictures were of places. Patricia rifled through them 
quickly, but Rachel was allowed to watch. There was one of her Uncle Chris in 
his Navy uniform; a much slimmer and younger version of him, but it was him none 
the less. One other picture was one Rachel actually remembered.  He had 
come home from his distant travels one day, unexpectedly, much to her mother's 
surprise.  The two hadn't spoken much, but Rachel remembered that he had whisked 
her off to the zoo. He'd kindly asked another patron at the zoo to take his camera 
and snap a picture of the two of them that afternoon.  Rachel, who'd only 
been 5 at the time, sat atop her uncle's shoulders, holding on tightly to the 
string of a bright yellow helium balloon.  In the background were cages with the 
colorful parrots that had entranced her so much that day. This picture 
was labelled on the back as "Me and baby Rachel at the zoo, 1978.  He'd also bought 
her a picture keychain as a souvenier; the kind where you squinted through 
the peephole and saw a picture. The picture had captured the zoo's "Parrot 
Paradise", and her uncle had bought it at a kisok right outside the bird atrium. 
Rachel had held on to that little momento until the day she her drunk mother had 
been taken away, and she'd been imprisoned at the camp. To this day, Rachel 
didn't know what had become of her mother. She hadn't gone to the camp with 
Rachel, but she suspected she knew where she'd gone. Her mother had been about as 
big as Rachel was now, maybe even bigger, the day the Visitors had taken her. 
She no longer knew where her keychain was either.

Patricia made pleased noises over another picture she selected. It was 
of a young, dark-haired man with flinty blue-grey eyes. Rachel could tell it 
was an older photograph, both by the color quality, and by the man's hairstyle 
and clothing. He actually had sideburns and wore bell bottomed Levi's, even 
though they weren't the "elephant bells" that Rachel had heard about. Posing 
beside the man was a petite, glossy haired Oriental woman in a colorful 
flowered dress. The man held a small girl in his arms. She was dressed in a yellow, 
swiss dot dress, with a matching hair bow in her long black tresses, and white 
patent leather Mary Jane shoes and little white ankle socks. The back of the 
photo was labelled "Ham, Nguyet and Sunshine, age 4, Saigon 1972. Another photo 
of the same little girl, this time a bit younger and alone, was labelled 
"Sunni eats dirt, 1970. Indeed, the toddler had scooped up a handful of dirt and 
looked like she was about to eat it. Patricia discarded this photo but kept 
the one of the threesome, and the one of Rachel and her uncle.  The next photos 
she rifled through were of a litter of puppies nursing on their small 
mother.  The only one of that batch that was labelled was of one of the puppies, now 
alone,  curled up sleeping in a motorcycle helmet, of all things.  It was 
labelled "Druid comes home" October, 1981.

A few personal possessions belonging to a woman were brought in and 
gone through, too.  Hairs were collected from any brushes in the house.  The 
various guns and ammo from the garage were rounded up and deposited in a heap 
on the kitchen floor. Then, a pair of troopers went out the sliding glass door 
to survey the back yard for any sheds or hiding places for more weapons. By now, 
a few hours had passed. The whole time, Rachel was forced to remain seated by 
two other guards with their weapons trained on her.  She wondered vaguely 
if they had to go to the bathroom, because she certainly did.

A loud beeping noise issued from a small pack Patricia wore on her 
waist.  As Rachel discovered, it was a two way radio.  Patricia answered the page 
brusquely.

"The vehicle has been found? Where? Give me the coordinates." As she 
spoke, Patricia entered the coordinates on a small, palm sized lizard computer 
of some sort. Then, she changed the frequency on her radio and paged for the 
two guards outside to come back in. Within moments, they were both inside 
the kitchen. One of them was holding a small, wriggling bundle of fur in his arms.

"No weapons, but look what I did find," he said proudly.

Patricia gave him a disdainful look, but then her expression changed. 
She lunged for the small Shih Tzu Terrier. As her hand came near the dog, 
there was a loud yipping snarl, and the inmistakeable sound of snapping jaws.  
Patricia jerked her hand back angrily, green blood dripping from the small 
puncture marks that had penetrated right through her psuedoskin. She made 
another grab for the animal, and then, she had him. He yapped and snarled loudly, his 
hind legs pawing desperately for a purchase on a solid surface so that he might 
run. Without warning, he let loose and urinated all over Patricia.  If 
Rachel didn't know that the poor dog had done so because he was terrified, she would 
have cheered him on. With a viscious yank, Patricia tore the collar and name 
tag from the dog's neck.  The dog went limp in her hands, his protests suddenly 
silenced. She threw the collar on the table, and then to Rachel's 
horror...

Patricia tipped back her head, and her jaws extended to the most 
grotesque porportions imaginable.  She raised the tiny, limp dog over her head 
and began to lower him into her mouth with both hands. Her throat bulged as the 
dog made it's headway, even though the rear half of it's body was still hanging 
out of her mouth.  She slowly fed the rest of the dog in, bit by bit, until 
the only part left of it was the bulge in her throat and the collar on the 
table. Rachel vomited helplessly as the spectacle of this hit home. Patricia 
heard the sound of her wretching, and whirled to face her. The dog was still 
making the last of its progress to her stomach, and Rachel doubted that the woman 
was able to speak just yet.  She grabbed Rachel up out of the chair by a lock of 
her long, dishwater blond hair. There was a sharp, stinging feeling on 
Rachel's scalp, as though she'd drug her head though a field of nettles. A 
trickle of blood oozed down her temple.  Patricia gave her a cruel smile as she 
tossed the lock of hair that had been pulled right from Rachel's head onto the 
table next to the dog's collar.

'Lord, help me,' Rachel prayed to herself silently, That woman just ate 
a helpless little dog, and I know I'm next! Lord, please give me 
strength!

"You'll come with me," Patricia said, all traces of dog gone from her 
voice.  Then she directed an order to the two guards that had brought the dog 
in from outside.

"You two will stay here and wait for the house residents to return. 
Signal me as soon as they do.  I want Faber left alive for questioning. If any of 
my targets are with him, they are to be left alive too, no?"

"With all due respect, ma'am, if Chris Faber comes charging through 
here with any of your targets, you are talking about leaving half of the damn 
resistance alive, but under guard..."

"I did not say they had to be consious or uninjured. Even 'dead but 
recognizable' will be acceptable in the event of an emergency. I do 
warn you that I do not want to see any cooked corpses. I want inmistakeable proof of 
decease.  However...Faber lives. I suspect he knows where my other targets are, 
and I have a good way to insure he will tell me..." 

With that, the two guards at Rachel's side pushed the muzzles of their 
sidearms into Rachel's ribs and forced her out the door and into the 
waiting squad vehicle. Patricia followed behind, her bootheels rapping a smart 
staccato on the pavement.  

Once again, Rachel was forced to take a seat.  As the shuttle lifted 
off the ground, Patricia first regarded the pictures she'd taken. With a 
satisfied smirk, she tucked them into the concealed breast pocket of her black 
uniform. Then, she yanked Rachel's head upwards to expose her neck. With a soft 
whooshing sound and a feeling of pressure, a dose of medication was injected into 
Rachel's bloodstream.  At once, she began to feel disoriented and limp.  
The last thought she had before lapsing into a twilight world was of Patricia, 
holding her hefty mother up by her ankles and distending her jaw wide enough to 
actually fit her in her mouth.
***************************************************************

By the time Madeline reached the gas station, several hours had passed. 
She was hot, tired and dusty, and a mess to boot. She tried to avoid public 
scrutiny as she took the last dollar bill from the pocket of her 
bloodstained jeans and fed it into the slot of a soda vendor. Despite her appearance, she 
actually felt better because she had a plan now, but her plan would require her 
to trek back exactly where she'd come from. First, she wanted to clean up 
the best she could, enjoy a moment's refreshment, and rest her aching feet.

While she caught her breath, she thought about Brandon, Philip, 
Elizabeth and Abraham. With all sincerity, she hoped they hadn't followed her, but 
she knew better. If they'd woken up and noticed she was missing shortly after 
she'd left, they could now be at the roadblock. If they'd woken up when they 
usually did and discovered her absence, they'd still have a ways to go before 
they got there.  At any rate, her calculations pinpointed that by the time she 
got back to the roadblock, they'd already be there, or they'd be getting there 
shortly afterwards. She hoped they'd have the good sense to turn away, because 
she had a good idea who had put up the patrols.

It was a shame that the idea hadn't occurred to her to turn back until 
she'd almost made it to the gas station. With the roadblock in place, likely 
set up by Patricia, Madeline knew it was a surefire way to rendevous with her 
grandmother. That was precisely the reason she'd come.  Running from 
the roadblock had merely been a stupid instinct, and one that had cost her a great 
deal of time.

As she downed the rest of her soda, Madeline briefly wondered how long 
she had before this bleeding killed her. Could she make it back?  
Physically, she felt fine, other than some mild cramping low in her back. Not to 
mention, her feet were hot, tired and achy from all that walking. The refreshing 
breezes had cooled her as she'd walked, and the temperature here was much more 
tolerable than it had been in Lodi, but it had whipped her hair into a knotted 
frenzy. Madeline was beginning to notice other symptoms of discomfort that 
concerned her, even though they weren't severe.  Her eyes were extremely itchy 
behind her contacts, and were subject to bouts of watering, despite any lack of 
emotion to make them do so. In addition, she'd sneezed several times while 
walking, and her nose was intermittently stuffy.  Remembering that discomfort, 
Madeline took care to stuff extra toilet tissue in her jeans pocket to use if 
the same thing happened again. 

Finally, there was no more reason to delay the inevitable.  She'd 
finished her drink, washed up and rested for as long as she dared.  Though she 
still had fifty cents in change from the soda vendor, she knew she could not go 
into the service area of the gas station and purchase a snack.  Instead, 
sustinence consisted of grubs she found as she began her backwards trek.  She had 
nearly forgotten the exquisite cuisine she'd eaten while she was her mother's 
hostage on board the mothership. Succulent snails, insects, fresh fruit and 
nuts and plenty of vegetables kept her well fed and strong. None of it had to be 
prepared the way humans cooked their meals to make them palatable.  She found 
herself wishing for her favorite of all foods; kiwi fruit. Madeline was not 
familiar with the various plants she saw as she walked in the dry grass, with 
the exception of dandelions. They grew in profusion in the wild, and she 
knew them to be edible. A healthy helping of these supplimented her insect snack.  he 
couldn't help a smile as a thought of Brandon's possible reaction if he 
could see what she was eating crossed her mind. Strange, the things one thought 
of when death was possible hour or two away.

The trek back to the site of the roadblock passed faster than the walk 
away from it, or so it seemed. Before making her approach, Madeline sat a 
bit away from the embankment, watching the patrols search the long line of 
vehicles. She noticed that her truck--Kyle's truck--had been towed away.  There were 
more troopers present now than it had seemed before, and they searched with 
an urgency that was decidedly more noticeable. She sensed that they knew 
something, but this did not bother her. Her eyes squinted into the early evening 
sun, scanning the rows of vehicles that seemed to stretch on for an 
eternity. She didn't know just how the others would get to the roadblock since she'd taken 
the vehicle they'd all gone to Lodi in, but she knew that Natty and Paul 
both had cars. She saw lots of cars that came close in looks to the ones she'd 
remembered in Lodi, but she knew instinctively that her search party was in none 
of them.

Before rising and meeting with destiny, Madeline took one last look 
around.  She gazed at the trees, the wild flowers, the brown grass, and even the 
little tiny bugs burrowing in the clumps of earth. She listened to the sounds 
of the birds and the traffic. Finally, she turned her eyes upwards and looked 
towards the gigantic hovering disk that had been her home most of her 
life.  No doubt, her mother was up there, wondering where she was...

But a strange feeling came over her as she contemplated the mothership. 
It had always drawn strong feelings from her, even if they were mostly 
negative.  However, it was her genesis, but now it seemed strangely empty. Just as 
empty as the aluminum can she'd tossed in the trash at the gas station. It 
was a big, hovering, empty soda can...

Her mother's presence was not there. In fact, very little of anyone 
she'd ever known there was. In the course of a few days, the rules had 
changed, and so had the faces.

A cold chill coursed up Madeline's spine as she got to her feet.  
Nothing would ever be the same again, but then again, things hadn't been the 
same for quite some time. As Madeline marched towards her surrender, she put a 
light hand on the gun she'd swiped from Paul. It gave her the only sense of 
security she could muster in the face of the unknown.

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

The hotel room was darkening with the onset of evening, and finally, 
Diana was able to fling the towel away from her eyes.  It landed beside the 
bed with a light thud, and with a moan, she rolled over and buried her head into 
the pillow.  Orlando was gone, she knew.  The space beside her on the bed 
was cold, as though she'd been alone for some time now.  She could hardly care at 
this point.

Her pillow case was spotted with blood that had trickled from her nose 
and stopped at intermittent intervals.  Deep inside her being, Diana knew 
she was gravely ill, but there was very little of her that cared anymore. The 
signs had been there for weeks now, but only within the past two days had the 
decline in her health begun in earnest.  She knew she was beyond self treatment, 
or even self diagnosis of whatever ailed her, but...

Another spasm of pain rolled through her head, shattering her thoughts 
like the most delicate of glass made from the finest pink sands of the 
homeworld. She had all but forgotten where she was or why she was here anymore.  
Nothing mattered more than the soft blackness she felt herself drifting 
towards.  Before, she'd fought it.  Now, she welcomed it.  It was utterly silent 
in the blackness, completely devoid of the incessant chattering of the 
Enlightened Ones or anyone else.  She was beyond their help, even, and she was past 
worrying about it.  Only a shred of medical knowledge would filter in through the 
pitch from time to time, and that knowledge told her that she could well be dying.  
It was strange that she should feel detatched and uncaring from that 
notion, but she did.  In the darkness, there was no pain.  In death, there wouldn't 
be either. 

It hadn't been long ago when the realization dawned on her that she was 
not pregnant as she thought she'd been.  All the symptoms she'd been 
experiencing as of late were not ones of gestation, but rather, of some strange, 
unidentified malady invading her body.  Whatever it was, it was feeding 
on her like a developing child might, and it was winning.

However, there was no time to mourn the loss of the child she'd never 
carried.  There was not even any energy left for her to be angry with 
Orlando for leaving.  The darkness took all pain away, including emotional 
upheaval.  When the veil lifted for brief moments of time, Diana still found the spirit 
to fight it, but not the strength.  Any attempt to heave herself from the bed 
left her weak, panting and faint.  There was no more food, only water from the 
faucet in the sink.  But she was simply too weak to fetch any now.  Therefore, 
the darkness came easier and faster now, never giving her much time to act 
on any surge of clarity or spirit she might still possess.

Diana's last fleeting thought was of Ma'thal'ee.  Her daughter was 
walking toward her, through a field of browned grass and wilting weeds.  The 
look on her features was one of blazing determination and purpose, yet in the 
depths of her eyes, there was fear.  As her sight dimmed yet again, she pushed 
the last of her energy towards her daughter and called out her name in her mind.  
Then, she faded back into the safe reaches of the darkness, where not even 
Madeline could find her.

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

Amir Haddad was busy keeping two steps ahead of the first of the 
weekend's rush at the desk of the Halfpence Hotel, the inn that he and his wife 
owned and operated. Despite the hovering mothership over head, people still 
sought weekend getaways from time to time. This weekend preceeded the 4th of 
July, and it was likely to be busy, as would the following weekend just after the 
holiday.  Already, though it was only a little after seven, several guests had 
checked in.  By no means had he reached capacity.  In fact, he could scarcely 
remember a time when that had happened, not since the year of Liberation after 
the Visitor's retreat. That had been a profitible year. But, from the way 
things were looking, business would be good this weekend.

Amir's wife, Sheetal, had gone to retrieve a batch of fresh towels and 
sheets in anticipation of the rooms she'd need to supply for the night. The 
laundry room was in the room behind the reception area. An access door leading 
outside allowed Sheetal and the maids they employed to roll carts of laundry 
and cleaning supplies straight from the laundry and janitorial area without 
having to pass through the reception area. It was from this annexed room that he 
heard his wife's terrified scream. Dropping his ledger book, Amir hurried 
into the laundry area to see what had terrified Sheetal so. There, he found his 
wife, held at gunpoint and restrained, by a woman clad in black.  

"The money is not in here!" Sheetal was sobbing, "But we will give you 
what we have!"

"Yes!" Amir agreed hastily, "Please release my wife, and I will give 
you what you want!"

"Silence, you relavish fools!" the woman hissed.

Amir felt his spirits sink even farther as two Visitor shock troopers 
entered from the access door.  Sheetal wimpered, as if she too was 
understanding that this was no ordinary hold up.

"You operate this resting lodge, no?" the woman demanded of Amir.

Amir nodded nervously, feeling a sudden flood of sweat collect on his 
head beneath his turban.  The shock troopers moved toward him slowly and 
menacingly.

"I do not come here to kill your wife or you, but I have no concern 
whether or not you both live or die.  That will depend on how well you do what 
I tell you, no?" the woman told him.

Amir's command of the English language was heavily accented but 
surprisingly good, but he had a difficult time understanding the strange inflections 
of this woman's speech.  Understanding of her words caught on slowly, but 
her body language was easy to read. He nodded vigorously, hoping that she had 
indeed said that he and Sheetal might live through this ordeal.

"What rooms have guests in them?"

"Many," Amir answered, "but many do not. I can get my record book and 
show you."

"Do it. And, get the keys to those rooms."

Amir passed a desparate look to his wife, and then hurried to obey. One 
of the shock troopers escorted him into the reception area and locked the 
front door. Amir studied the ledger and began selecting the keys to the 
corresponding, occupied rooms. Despite the shaking of his hands, his work was quick. 
Soon, he had 48 keys and the ledger book ready. He allowed the shock trooper to 
lead him back into the janitorial room without any protest.

"Let us go. We will go to each room until I find who I'm looking for. 
Your wife will come along, and I will keep this gun on her. Do not try 
anything stupid, no?"

It was only when the group stepped out into the rear parking lot that 
Amir saw the shuttle craft parked there.  Silently, he found the first key 
and hesitantly knocked on the door of the room.

"No time for that," the woman spat, "Unlock the door!"

The room's occupants were a pair of college aged young men.  They had 
two female guests and a keg of beer to keep them company  Their looks of 
surprise were somewhat delayed due to the fact that they were all well on the 
way to shameless inebriation.

"Not them. Keep going!" 

Before they left the room, the woman made a motion to one of the shock 
troopers. He matter of factly whipped out his blaster and took aim at 
the house telephone. It erupted into bits of hard plastic and internal 
components.  Amir was not given time to see the reactions of the room's occupants. He was 
already being herded to the door of the next occupied room.

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

Once Orlando had explained the bizarre story of his capture and his 
subsequent escape, the rest of the resistance members present felt like 
they were trapped in a bizarre stalemate.  Ham was bitterly dissappointed that it 
hadn't been Patricia who'd stolen Lynne's car, even if he would have been overjoyed 
at the prospect of having a good shot at Diana on any other day.  Somehow, 
he found Orlando's tale of her sudden illness a bit hard to believe.  He'd 
stated as much before that he felt that the bitch led a charmed life.  However, 
Diana was not the immediate threat at the present. Queen Scaly had been 
slithering around their daily existances for far longer than he cared to imagine.  
In fact, Ham almost felt desensitized to any danger she might pose to him.

Patricia, on the other hand, had to be dealt with, and quickly. Ham 
didn't need a bunch of half-baked legends about her evil doings and her 
capabilities to prompt him to action. None of the stories worried him in the least. It 
was 
his understanding of her ways that did. Some of the things Patricia had 
purportedly done, Ham had done too. Regardless of whether it was the 
Scalies, the Charlies or the casualty of some other calling, Ham had, over the 
years, amassed enough blood on his hands to ensure him a hot seat in hell, right next 
to El Diablo himself, in the afterlife. He knew the sort of mindset 
Patricia's profession required, and he knew exactly how dispassionate she'd be 
about killing him. And there was no way in hell he'd allow himself to become a 
statistic on her resume.

Despite his quiet, smoldering resolve to smoke Patricia like a hog on a 
spit, Ham knew he needed rest. He hadn't even attempted to sleep in well over 
24 hours. Chris, Mike and Jaime weren't any better off in that department.  
Orlando, perhaps, was faring worst of all. There was little the injured 
5th Columnist could do except tell what he'd learned. While Robin and Maggie kept 
watch, the others allowed themselves a few precious hours of rest.  When the 
sun began it's descent, the siesta was finished. A desperate need for strategic 
planning overcame the group as they contemplated the fact that they still had no 
concrete ideas as to where Patricia might be now, or where she'd strike 
next.  

Finally, it was decided that they would split into pairs. Ham and Robin 
would take the van over to the Halfpence Hotel, where Orlando reported that 
he'd left Diana. Room 210, to be exact. Maggie and Jaime would take Orlando 
to Chris and Maggie's house.  It was agreed that he needed immediate medical 
attention, but that it was too risky to try to take him to Visitor Fields.  From 
the house, Maggie would call Julie to have a look at him. If Howie's 
expertise was needed, he could possibly be secreted away from Visitor Fields and 
brought to Orlando's bedside. 

Lastly, Chris and Mike were to "dispose" of the vehicle that Orlando 
had stolen. Chris's idea of disposal involved taking the car to a seedy 
chop shop in the crime infested bowels of East L.A., where it would undergo an 
amazing, overnight transformation. The proprietor of the business was someone 
Chris knew would get the job done quickly, expertly, and quietly.  Though Chris 
was certainly a formidable foe in a fight, even he wasn't stupid enough to 
venture into that part of town alone, especially in a cherried out, vintage Chevy 
Malibu that also happened to be hot. There had been an initial protest that 
Robin should go with him to the shop instead of to the hotel with Ham to face Diana. 
This had been brought up by Mike. Chris had matter of factly told him that 
he'd feel better about Robin facing Queen Scaly with Ham than dealing with 
the lusty intents she would likely inspire in a pack of tough, horny gang 
bangers.

"What's the big deal about the car anyways?" Robin asked as she 
inspected the alien weapon that Orlando said he'd stolen from Diana.  As far as she 
could tell, it was fully charged.  She had every intent of taking it with 
her, since it wouldn't do Orlando much good at this point.

"Are you kidding?  That car was stolen early this morning, and it's 
theft has probably been reported already.  Not to mention, it sat parked out 
here, in plain sight, for half the night, and all damn day.  We know a squad 
vehicle passed over us..." Maggie stated.

"And you think Patricia would have traced it to us already, assuming 
that she was in that squad vehicle?"

"Why take chances?  A new coat of paint, different license plates, and 
a good file job done on the vin number will slow down anyone looking for 
that car, regardless of whether it's Patricia or the cops," Chris explained 
patiently. "And, we'll all have ourselves another car to add to the resistance 
motor pool."

"You two be careful getting that car out of here.  Maggie, you call 
Elias when you get back to the house and have him pick those two up and bring 
them to the hotel to meet Robin and I after they drop the car off," Ham 
instructed.

"Does Elias know where this place is?" Maggie questioned skeptically, 
"Because I sure don't, and I'm not sure I like the sounds of this 
joint."

"Elias knows. Just between us, the guy that heads this operation is 
some gangbanger cousin of Miranda's. I guess not everyone in her family came 
out as decent as she is, but, like I said, he does good work and he knows how 
to keep his trap shut," Chris said.

Mike nodded in satisfaction, relieved to hear that he would get a piece 
of whatever action might transpire at the hotel.

"Listen, you two," he told Ham and Robin pointedly, "if anything looks 
fishy over there, lay low and wait for Chris and I."

Robin nodded solemly, but Ham responded with nothing more than a rude 
grunt as he deliberatly clicked the safety on a gun he was loading.

"Well, if we sit around here any longer, Orlando is sure to croak, and 
rest of us will get secretary spread," he finally stated, "Let's get a move 
on."

Chpater 28   The Heat of the Moment

"Only emptiness remains,
It replaces all
all the pain.
Won't you come out and play with me?

Step by step, heart to heart, left right left,
We all fall down like toy soldiers.
Bit by bit torn apart, we never win,
But the battle wages on for toy soldiers..."

~~ Martika   Toy Soldiers

Diana was completely unaware of the commotion outside until it entered 
the dark sanctuary of her second floor bedroom. The tumblers in the lock 
turned, and suddenly, the door was thrown open. Reddish light from the setting sun 
cast a hellish glow to the sillouhets framed in the doorway.A sobbing human 
woman, dressed in the flowing garb typical to the fashions worn by women of 
the Muslim faith was being forced inside by...

Despite the nearly crippling pain in her head that blurred her vision, 
Diana knew who was here, holding the sniffling human at gunpoint.  It was her 
own mother, Patricia.  Before she even had a chance to sit up in bed, a 
shock trooper entered the room.  He held a communticator in his palm, and he 
gestured urgently for Patricia's attention.  Patricia never took her eyes off of 
Diana, or a hand away from her hostage.

"One of the roadblocks is giving a report.  They have got a positive 
confirmation.  One of your targets has turned herself in. They await 
your instructions."

"Who is it that they have?" Patricia questioned.

"The hostage identifies herself as Madeline."

Patricia couldn't disguise her smile.

"Have them bring her here to me, at once.  Give them the coordinates."

"Acknowledged.  They report that they should have her here in less than 
ten minutes."

The shock trooper then snapped a stiff salute to Patricia.  

At the mention of her daughter's name, Diana was instantly more awake.  
She snaked a quick hand down to the side of the bed to feel for her weapon. 
It was either missing, or not within her reach.  Whichever the case was, she 
dared not break eye contact with Patricia to find out.

"One last thing. You and your partner are to round up every last person 
we have encountered tonight. Take them to the center courtyard and execute 
them. There will be no witness left, no?"

"As you wish."

Patricia took one last disdainful look at Sheetal, still wimpering and 
struggling half heartedly in her grasp. Tears streamed from her soulful 
brown eyes.

"These humans always cry when faced with the moment of their death.  
Pathetic, no?" 

With that, she snapped off a quick blast into Sheetal's midsection. The 
woman crumpled to the floor without another sob.  A mournful, angry howl of 
protest and human anguish sounded from just outside the door.  The shock 
trooper grabbed a hold of Sheetal's sandal clad feet and hauled her out of the 
room. Patricia, her burden relieved of her, was free to focus all of her 
attentions on the occupant of the room.

"You think your new shade of hair can disguise who you are? I think 
not."

Patricia had her pistol trained on Diana, preventing her from making 
any sort of sudden moves. An involuntary flood of venom flowed copiously into 
her mouth, but with the exception of that one vestigal trait, Diana was 
rendered defenseless. She hadn't the stregth at this point to do much more than 
stare Patricia down.

In the flurried course of the past few minutes, she had gathered enough 
information to know that Madeline had been captured and was being 
brought here. She wasn't certain if this would turn out to be a blessing or a curse.  The 
constant, throbbing pain in her head prevented her from working out any 
sort of contigency plan.  Usually, she was brilliant at mastering her own 
ingenious escapes from peril. Now, her only hope had been reduced to keeping 
Patricia at bay, and trying to stay consious while doing it.  A small trickle of blood 
began to drip from her nose. Diana didn't dare raise a hand to try to staunch 
it.  As long as she remained still, Patricia seemed content just to brandish 
her gun and enjoy it's threatening power. The whine of a shuttle craft 
dissipated the quiet stalemate. With a cold, satisfied smile, with her weapon and her 
gaze still trained on Diana, Patricia backed away from the bed slightly and 
moved towards the door.

"This will be a dual victory, no?" she declared confidently. 

Clambering footsteps on the concrete stairs caused just enough sound 
vibration to send a fresh shard of pain through Diana's skull. Then, 
through the agony, she felt something else.  It gave her a momentary sense of 
clarity and resolve.  Indeed, her daughter was here.  The magic of science and 
whatever other divine power that had enabled her to create Madeline had also created 
an unbreakable bond.  She knew now that this was not just any ordinary 
spiritual cement that existed between mother and daughter.  Diana gazed coldly at her 
own mother, who afforded her with an equally evil stare, and she felt 
nothing.  No love, no empathy, no understanding, and certainly, no bond.  Patricia 
may have hatched her, but otherwise, she was a complete stranger. A tiny spark 
of horror bloomed at the realization that this, was perhaps, how her own mother 
regarded her and always had...

Supposedly, humans believed that the scenes of their lives would pass 
before their eyes in the few moments of time that separated their life from 
their death. All of their joys and regrets and every moment of time that ever 
held any meaning to them would map themselves out in a great moment of personal 
understanding.  Diana could almost feel the sands of time slipping 
back, revealing the secrets she'd long ago buried.  She'd already remembered her 
father's death.  It was now a fact, no longer just a dream.

Then came the memories of the days she'd spent at the Academy as a 
school child.  How many of her classmates took occasional breaks from their 
studies to go home to their families and celebrate holiday festivities?  High Day, 
Ramalan, and the week of observence for the Water Rituals were times 
when most adults and students alike were released from their daily drudgeries for 
vacation. Diana, unlike the majority of her classmates, had always remained 
behind at the academy, from the age of eleven onwards. She'd spend her vacation time 
sharpening her skills and studying. Though it put her ahead of her 
classmates academically, it had always left a cold, empty feeling in the pit of 
her soul. Over the years, that pit had filled with the fire and vengence of pure fury. 
Patricia never came to collect Diana for the holdiays.  Rarely did she 
even visit. Once she was no longer a small hatchling, Diana simply had no more 
recollections of what it meant to be a part of a family.  Her family had become her 
scientific labs, where she received praise and honor from her instructors. It became 
the military, which honed and sharpened her combat instincts. Strange, 
that it should be her own science laborotory that gave her back that one tie to 
family she'd so long ago lost.

Two different shock troopers entered the room, roughly guiding 
Madeline, who was trapped between them, her eyes wide like those of a frightened doe.  
In one moment, Diana met her daughter's gaze, and an understanding passed 
between them.  Madeline had allowed herself to be captured, because she had a 
purpose. She was utterly silent as she regarded her mother, who still sat in a 
half reclining position on the bed. Then, through the haze of her pain and 
confusion, Diana noticed something else. Madeline's pants were stained with what 
was inmistakeably her own blood. A maternal instinct stronger than anything 
she'd ever known before cut through the pain at the realization that her daughter 
had been injured at the hands of the troopers that had hauled her in. 

Suddenly, her cautious paralysis was broken.  Diana lunged forward, her 
hands outstretched towards the muzzle of the gun her mother had pointed at 
her.  Resolve and fearsome speed closed the distance between the two women at 
an astonishing rate.  Before Patricia could utter a word, her hand 
reflexively made up it's mind on how to handle the situation. A brilliant flash of blue 
fire erupted from the barrel before Diana had the chance to knock the  
weapon out of her grip.

At that moment, the sound barrier broke as well.  Madeline's protesting 
screech echoed off the walls, drowning out the noise of the shot.  The 
laser fire seemed to arc in slow motion before its concentrated power was visibly 
split into two.  One half of the energy scattered away and scorched a smoking 
hole in the wall above the bed.  The other half hit it's intended target.  
Diana was thrown violently backwards.  She landed in a still heap on the mattress 
at the foot of the bed.

Madeline was beyond conscious thought, but somehow, she'd managed to 
free herself from the astonished grasp of the two shock troopers. She took 
two stumbling steps toward the bed before instinct made her look up.  
Patricia stood before her with the smoking muzzle of her pistol pointing at her, and a 
taunting grimace on her face.

"Now you'll join her," Patricia stated.

All of Madeline's plans of reasoning with Patricia had flown out the 
window.  

She had been stripped of Paul's gun, and she was still too far away to 
let lose with a spray of venom to cripple Patricia again.  She watched as 
Patricia's finger almost imperceptibly tightened on the trigger...

In the corner of her eye, Madeline saw something else. They were not 
alone.  Two beings were there in the room, their eyeless sockets watching the 
transpiring events with a cold but anticipatory silence. They were here 
to claim some souls...

Another wail built up, and Madeline let it lose, along with the strange 
feeling she felt suddenly gathering up inside of her. Lightbulbs began 
to pop from the fixtures over the vanity sink and in the bedside lamp. It still 
wasn't enough. Something pushed inside of Madeline. The mirror over the vanity 
shattered, and the windows exploded from their frames. The two shock 
troopers instantly took protective stances, huddling up beside the bed to prevent from 
being hit by flying debris. Patricia stood there, impassively witnessing 
Madeline's temper, the gun still pointed...

Until she was suddenly lifted from her feet and thrown backwards, every 
bit as violently as Diana had been thrown by the laser blast.  However, 
Patricia didn't come to rest on the bed beside Diana.  She flew straight back 
into the wall and seemed to hang there for an impossible minute.  Seconds later, 
blood poured from her mouth and her eyes widened in a seemingly painless 
disbelief.  The gun dropped from her grip and clattered to the floor.  Patricia 
soon pitched forward and dropped from her suspension. As the room swam back 
into focus, and the odd hurricane of feeling finally abated within Madeline, she 
could see what had happened.  Somehow, she'd managed to throw Patricia right into 
the wall mounted row of coat hooks. They had impaled her, but they had not 
been long enough or strong enough to pinion her to the wall for long.

Madeline attempted to collect her wits, but her grandmother's rasping 
voice sounded from the ground.

"You have proven to be a worthy advesary, Ma'thal'ee. Now, take my gun 
and finsish what you started."

The weapon was in Madeline's hand before she even had a chance to 
wonder how it got there. She trained it on her grandmother's broken, motionless 
body.  Somehow, it occurred to her that Patricia was unable to move. The 
sounds of her ragged breathing were filled with fluid. 
 
They were still there.  The eyeless spectators of the man and woman 
were still there, and with a sudden certainty, Madeline knew that Patricia 
would become one of them the instant she pulled the trigger.  For the rest of her 
days, Patricia would follow her around, menacing her with a soulless stare 
until the day came that she could collect her spirit...and that day, Madeline 
knew, would be here soon.

"No!" she cried defiantly. "No! I cannot!"

"Do it!" Patricia ordered.  More blood trickled from her mouth.
"No."

Madeline lowered the gun, but did not let it loose.

"Then you are as dispicable as I thought. You are not of my blood."

Patricia's rasping taunt filled Madeline's ears as she backed up.  She 
turned away from the spectacle, her eyes burning with tears. Through the haze, 
she saw the two cowering shock troopers. They made no move for their 
weapons. Madeline once again lifted Patricia's gun.

"Get her out of here," she ordered them in a wavering voice. If her 
tone lacked conviction, her actions did not. The shock troopers were on 
their feet in instant obedience. Together, they cautiously hedged past Madeline, 
lifted Patricia, and in a two person hold, they carried their fallen commander 
out of the room.

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

Ham poked his head out the window of his van as he skidded to a halt in 
the parking lot of the Halfpence Hotel. There was the usual amount of cars 
in the lot, just about what one would expect early on a Friday evening.  
Sitting amidst them was Lynn Bernstein's car.  He spotted it right away.  It 
was covered with a fine layer of dust, to suggest it had been parked there and left 
undisturbed for couple of days. At a glance, it didn't seem like 
anything was amiss.  Then, he blinked in surprise as he watched a Visitor shock trooper herd 
a group of humans out of a first floor room. It was a family consisting 
of a Hispanic couple and their small child. From his distance, he could 
distinctly hear the toddler's frightened wails as the group dissappeared down a 
breezeway, past a grouping of soda vendors.

"We got trouble here," Ham hissed quietly to Robin. She was already 
aware of that fact too.  Without being told, she had assumed a slouched down 
position in her seat to minimize her risk of being detected.  In her hands was 
the weapon she was "borrowing" from Orlando.  Another first floor door 
opened, and a second shock trooper emerged with a different group of people.  This 
group seemed to consist of a quartet of frightened, drunk college coeds.  One 
of the young men in the party stumbled as he was herded past the soda machine.  
The Visitor guard used the butt of his rifle to urge the youth forward.  
Moments later, they all vanished in the same fashion as the first group had.  Watching 
for a few more minutes, Ham saw a bit of a commotion on the upper floor.  
Together, he and Robin witnessed another pair of shock troopers emerge from yet 
another room.  Only these two weren't herding humans.  Between them, they 
carried a limp form down the stairs.  It was too difficult to tell who they may 
have been carrying.  Their bodies blocked most of the view of the wounded party.  
As soon as the troopers clambered down the stairs, they too dissappeared 
into the shadowed depths of the breezeway.

"This can't be good," Ham muttered, more to himself than to Robin, 
"Looks like they're beefing up for a nice dinner party..."  

Quietly, he killed the engine, knowing that he didn't need to concern 
himself with turning off the headlights.  He had shut them down half a block 
away from the hotel. Then, he slowly opened the door and eased his way out.  
Robin mimiced his cautious movements on the other side.  They met up at the 
rear of the van.  At once, they could hear the screams of frightened humans.  Ham 
passed a grim look to Robin.

"Whatever's going on here, it doesn't sound like we can afford to wait 
for Donovan.  If those four creeps and Queen Scaly are the only lizards we 
have to worry about, we can take them on ourselves and hold down the fort til 
our backup arrives," he whispered to her.

Robin nodded in agreement, her heart suddenly picking up speed from a  
rush of adrenaline.

"Looks like Orlando underestimated Diana's physical condition.  Maybe 
she figured out that Orlando escaped and called for help.  I'm betting that 
she was the one we saw being carried downstairs..."

"I'd wager that your bet is right on the money," Ham responded dryly.  
With his finger pressed to his lips for emphasis, he motioned for Robin to 
follow him.  They sprinted across the parking lot as quickly as they dared.  
Once they got to the breezeway, they put their backs to the stuccoed walls and 
inched their way, foot by foot, until they got to the edge of the shadows that 
obscured them from immediate sight.  The breezeway ended at a courtyard, of 
sorts.  The section closest to where they stood housed a gated off swimming 
pool.  Just beyond the pool was a small blacktopped parking lot.  It was likely the 
place where deliveries would be brought and employees of the hotel would 
park.  Two squad vehicles were parked there, and this was also where the 
frightened humans were being herded.  However, the efficient scene that Ham and 
Robin had witnessed moments before was rapidly turning into disorganized chaos.  
A fifth trooper emerged from one of the vessels and took a good look at the two 
Visitors that had just arrived, sharing the burden of the limp person in their 
arms. The two other guards turned to look as well. At that moment, another 
figure emerged from the first squad vehicle... She was female, and she was not 
wearing a Visitor uniform.  Despite the woman's obvious bulk, she moved amazingly 
fast, her legs pumping desparately, as if she was hell bent on escape. A few 
of the people in the crowd saw this girl's daring departure, and instantly, as 
a group, it seemed, their terror trances were broken. In all directions 
they began to flee.  Some passed Robin and Ham in their mad dashes to freedom.

The engaged troopers looked up and saw the panic ridden herd had jumped 
to action.  One of them shouted a curse, grabbed his weapon, and fired a 
shot into the crowd. People instantly dove for cover on the bare black top.  It 
allowed Ham a clear shot. Lunging forward, he took aim and shot the inattentive 
trooper in the midsection. His partner made a quick motion for the two 
carrying the body to get inside a shuttle.  The other trooper still standing drew 
his weapon. Together, they began a wary search of the courtyard, interested 
only in finding whichever human had fired the weapon.

Robin satisfied their curiosity quickly.  Without thinking, she leveled 
a blast that knocked one of the pair right off his feet. Her blast was 
answered with a retort from his partner, but she ducked out of the way.  
Scorched stucco rained down in a pile where she'd stood only moments before.  However, 
the Visitor was still unaware that he was battling two armed assailants, 
not just one.  As he cautiously advanced towards the shadows where Robin hid, Ham 
took his opportunity.  He had stealthily moved to conceal himself more or less 
behind the bushes that were planted around the gate of the pool. From where he 
hid, he had a clear shot, and he wasted no time deliberating.  The last of the 
shock troopers fell a few feet short of the breezeway.  Almost on cue, the 
squad vehicle containing the survivng members of the party lifted into the 
air.  Seeing this made the few people who'd taken cover on the blacktop scramble to 
their feet.  As Ham emerged from the bushes, he was nearly knocked over by 
the woman who'd escaped from the departing vessel.

"Air attack!" she cried in lusty panic as she fled, "Find cover!"

Ham felt his bowels turn to icewater as the same thought crossed his 
mind.  In this courtyard, he was a sitting duck if...

But the expected attack never came.  The squad vehicle circled overhead 
once, as if it's pilot were debating, but then it simply flew out of sight.

Robin stepped out of the shadows of the breezeway, wide eyed and pale, 
but very much unhurt.  She gazed out silently as the last of the frightened 
hotel guests raced out of the courtyard.  Her eyes came to rest on the one 
figure that remained still sitting there, despite the fact that there were char 
marks on the walls, the smell of ozone in the air, and three dead lizards 
sprawled in the courtyard.  This man was obviously human.  His head was swarthed in 
a turban, and upon closer inspection, Robin could see that his clothes 
were bloody.  She cautiously moved closer to him, and up close, she could hear that 
he was crying.  In his lap, he cradled a dead woman. Her long, dark hair had 
come loose, and blood oozed from the back of her head.  The soft pastels of 
her sari were stained a garish crimson. Her grieving husband seemed almost 
completely unaware of the carnage and hell that had just broken loose in the 
courtyard.  Finally, it seemed, the man sensed Robin's presence.  He looked up from 
his wife's still figure, and the fear in his eyes was undisguised.  It took 
a moment for him to realize that he was not looking up at a Visitor guard.  
Robin stooped down so that their eyes would be level.

"What happened here?" she inquired softly.

"I do not know," the man moaned, rolling his eyes towards the sky, 
"They come and they kill my wife."

Robin awkwardly reached out and put a comforting hand on the man's 
shoulder.  She wished she could question him more, but it was obvious that he was 
in a state of shock.  In fact, he looked every bit as stricken as...

Her mind flashed back in time to another, very similar moment. Mike 
Donovan and Sancho Gomez had just touched the shuttle down in the midst of the 
mountain camp.  Robin had raced from the shuttle's cabin and outside, only to 
find her father hunched over the figure of her dead mother, who was grotesquely 
splayed out on a picnic table.  Before the realization of what she was seeing 
had sunk in, she had witnessed the look in her father's eyes.

Tearing her gaze away from the grief consumed man, Robin bit her lip 
and watched as Ham inspected the squad vehicle that was apparently left to 
rot in the courtyard. Satisfied that it was unoccupied, Ham approached Robin and 
the man. The look of compassion on his face was momentary and fleeting before a 
steely resolve replaced it.

"What the hell happened here tonight?" he demanded in a much sterner 
tone than the one Robin had afforded the new widower.

The man's response was almost identical to the one he'd given Robin 
moments before.  Ham opened his mouth to demand a better answer, but Robin 
stood and loudly shushed him.

"Ham, I honestly don't think he knows what happened. How could he? I doubt Diana announced her presence to everyone that was here tonight..." 

"Yeah, well someone around here has got to have some answers. I'm gonna have a look around. You coming?" 

Robin nodded. She took one last look at the man with his wife. The man made no move to rise and join them. She decided to let him greive in peace. Resolutely, she followed Ham into the breezeway. There was no one there anymore. In fact, they saw no one until they reached the cement stairs that the second set of Visitor guards had taken to bring their fallen commander down. Crouched in the space beneath them, partially concealed by bushes, was the woman who'd escaped from the squad vessel. Ham eased his way into the space and began to fire questions at the shaken victim. Robin rolled her eyes skyward at his lack of empathy, but realized that there was not enough room for her to join them and try to make things easier on the girl. 

Instead, she began a visual inspection, and she realized at once that things were not right. The concrete steps to the stairs were streaked with drying red blood. Although she was no forensic investigator, it seemed to her as though the smears had a distict look to them to suggest that someone had been dragged, bleeding, down them. At that moment, the automatically timed exterior lights flipped on, affording her a better view of the carnage. Trapped in roughed spots and cracks in the steps, mired in congealing blood were whisps of long, black hair. Robin thought back to the crying man and his dead wife in the courtyard, and she had a sinking suspicion that she knew who the hairs and the blood belonged to. Upon closer inspection, Robin also noticed spatters and stains of a different color. What hadn't mixed in with the human blood was congealing at a similar rate of it's own. Instead of red, though, the hue of these spatters was an oily, brackish, green. Lizard blood! Her eyes traced the pattern of both stains all the way up to the second floor landing. She was unable to see the genesis of either until she silently began to make her way up the steps. 

"Where in the hell do you think you're going?" Ham called to her, suddenly aware of her wordless departure. 

"Up," she called in return, her voice echoing oddly off the walls. When she reached the landing, she drew out her weapon again, holding it tightly as she followed the gruesome trail. It stopped abruptly at a room located about four doors away. The door to the room was still standing wide open, as were the doors to many of the other rooms. However, the evening breeze had kicked up some, and the drapes shrouding the window were billowing inwards. The glass had been shattered. Bits and pieces of it littered the cement walkway. At first, Robin heard nothing but her own breathing. Then came an odd, keening sound, somewhat similar to the cries of the man in the courtyard, but somehow different, too. Cocking her head, Robin realized that there was something familiar about the alien sound of the cries. She had heard it before, when Laura had been frightened...and later, from Elizabeth when Laura died. Not long ago, she'd heard Jaime cry in much the same way when mourning what she'd believed to be Orlando's loss. Mixed in with the strange, purr-like sounds were definite human sobs, though. The interior of the room was much too dark for Robin to see clearly from her vantage point. Cautiously, she inched forward, and she had almost made it inside when her sneaker crunched loudly on some broken glass. The crying had suddenly stopped, and was replaced with a ragged, purring breathing that came suspicously close to sounding like a throaty growl. Robin locked a frightened gaze on the source of those threatening noises, and then she gasped in shock. 

Sitting in the near darkness, on the foot of the bed, was Madeline. Like the man downstairs, she clung to a lifeless seeming figure whom she'd gathered into the protection of her lap. Quickly, Robin dropped the gun to her side, realizing that Madeline was likely the more frightened of the two of them by now. 

"Madeline?" Robin called out softly, past the lump that had formed in her throat. "It's me, Robin. I'm not going to hurt you..." 

The growling quietly from the bed quietly subsided, and only then did Robin continue to shuffle forward. She moved carefully, partly because she didn't want to scare Madeline, and partly because she didn't want to chance stepping on any more glass. 

Once she was close to the bed, Madeline reached out with a grimy hand that was streaked with green ooze. "Help me," she called out, "please help..." 

Another choking, purring sob erupted from the starchild's throat as her hand clamped on to Robin's wrist. She drew her the rest of the way to the bed, desparately grabbing for words to explain her needs. Nothing more could force itself from her beside the wounded sounding cries. In the darkness, her eyes seemed to glow from the tears, but also because she'd been forced to remove her contacts at some point. Robin felt a cold terror prickling at the skin on the back of her neck. 

"Madeline, are you hurt?" Robin demanded, her voice rising with her panic. 

"They're here...and they have no souls...They want to take hers! Please, don't let them!" Madeline finally wailed. 

"Robin, what is going on in here?" Ham's voice in the room forced Robin to snap her gaze in the direction of the doorway. Ham stood just inside, and the young woman he'd cornered in the stairwell below was just behind him. His gun was drawn exactly the way Robin's had been when she'd entered the room. 

"Ham, don't shoot! It's Madeline. I don't know why she's here, or how she got here yet, but she's here, and she's in some kind of trouble!" 

He made no immediate response. With one hand, he fumbled along the side of the wall, vainly searching for a lightswitch. When he flipped it, nothing happened. Cursing lightly, he holstered his gun. He disappeared for a few minutes. leaving the young woman just outside the door, and leaving Robin pondering just where he went. The whole time, Madeline remained silent, hunching herself protectively over the figure cradled in her lap. When he returned, he had a high powered flashlight that he'd likely kept stored in the back of his van. The harsh light instantly filled the targetted areas of the room, but left the places untouched by it's concentrated beam shrouded in utter darkness. 

"Well, isn't this a pretty picture," Ham commented, playing the light around the room. 

For the first time, Robin was afforded a glimpse of the massive destruction that had moved through here. The wall mounted coat hooks were bent at awkward angles, and something dangled from one of them that looked suspiciously like...skin. No, not skin. More like latex, or better yet, gooey mozzerella pizza cheese. More green ochre was splattered on the wall behind it. "Oooh, gross!" Robin breathed in horror. She also noted that the mirror over the vanity was shattered, and so was every light fixture in the room. 

"Well, that's seven years' bad luck," Ham stated as he took in the scene. 

The beam of light finally came to rest on Madeline's huddled form. She squinted and immediately released the hold of her free hand from the figure she cradled, raising it to shield her sensitive eyes from the light. Her other hand bit into Robin's wrist as if the light was causing her pain. Both Ham and Robin gasped in shocked recognition as the beam illuminated the face of the person Madeline had been holding. Her hair looked a few shades lighter than usual, but the countenance was that of Diana, without a doubt. Only instead of greeting them with an imperious smirk, the Queen of the Lizards was utterly silenced. Her eyes were closed and her features slack. Robin then noticed the ugly furrow of melted psuedoskin and exposed, bleeding scales at the top of her forehead, just below the hairline. Ham simultaneously noted the scorched hole in the wall behind the head of the bed. His lips pressed into a thin line as the implications began to set in. If it hadn't been Diana that those two lizard guards had carried down the stairs, then who had it been? Ham moved the light away from Madeline and made a second pass around the room. 

"Patricia..." Madeline started painfully, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sh-she came here first and I..." 

"You killed her?" Robin cried, almost enthusiastically. 

"NO," the girl wailed, her voice edging dangerously close to hysteria. "She shot...t'Ama...I ...just...made her...stop..." Madeline was unable to continue before another bout of sobbing took over. 

Robin tried to process what she'd just heard. The word t'Ama rang in her ears with a familiarity. Elizabeth had once called her that when she'd been much smaller and Robin had roused her after she'd fallen asleep in front of the T.V. set. She hadn't known exactly what it meant then. All she knew was that it was one of those strange Visitor vocabulary words that Elizabeth seemed to know just as mysteriously as she'd quickly learned to speak English. t'Ama must mean mother. 

"How did you make her stop?" Robin pressed cautiously. 

"I don't know...I just...pushed...and...then...I could not..." The look on Madeline's face suddenly went from horror stricken to guilty. "She told me to kill her, but I could not!" With that, she broke eye contact with Robin and seemed to get swallowed up in a world beyond anyone's grasp. 

Ham ignored his own illegitimate daugher's anguish as he probed the light around. It came to rest at the ugly spector of the coat hooks and traveled down to the floor. Robin's lip curled up in an involuntary sneer of disgust as the picture Madeline had haltingly described unfolded in her imagination. Only the mother of a starchild could suddenly understand just what Madeline had meant when she said she just "pushed" Patricia to make her "stop". 

While she pondered her thoughts, Robin watched as Ham darted over to that particularly gory corner of the room. He snatched up an object that was laying on the floor in the puddled blood. As it turned out, it was actually two objects, both of them gore-streaked photographs. Ham studied them stoically, obviously puzzled and angry at the same time. 

"That lizard woman with the funny accent took them from the house..." Robin and Ham both looked up to see that the young, heavyset woman that had been standing outside had entered silently at some point. Her gaze was fixed on the pictures Ham held. "She took those pictures...and then she ate that little dog..." As she spoke, her face crumpled and a suppressed cry of rage filled grief escaped from somewhere deep within. Suddenly, instead of there being only one hysterical female in the room, there was two. The combined volume of their cries still could not drown out the sound of thundering footsteps on the concrete steps outside. 

Both Robin and Ham drew their weapons, but once again, their fear turned out to be a false alarm. Instead of a battalion of Visitor troopers, the intruder turned out to be Chris. Chris and Mike, to be exact. They both pushed through the doorway. 

"Hiya, boss. Elias is here too. He's downstairs with the Towelhead we found in the courtyard," Chris crudely stated. 

"What did we miss?" Mike inquired, taking in as much of the macabre sight illuminated by Ham's flashlight as possible. 

"Not much more than we did. And, I might add, anyone that knows anything isn't talking much," With his statement, Ham's stare travelled around and touched Madeline and the other sobbing girl in turn. "I doubt Elias will get much more out of Ahab downstairs, either," he added. 

Robin shot him a rude glare. "Patricia was here, that much we know," Robin hissed through gritted teeth, "but Madeline did something to her. We saw a couple of troopers carrying her out of here. I think she could even be dead.." 

"Ha. She's gotta have at least as many lives as her snake charmed bitch offspring over there. Speaking of Queen Leatherass, has anyone even checked to see if she kicked the bucket yet?"

"Well, I'm assuming she's still alive...at the very least, Madeline thinks she is..." 

Mike and Chris both took astonished glances at Madeline's shaking form, huddled over her mother. Then, Chris tore his gaze away and looked at the other sobbing woman, who had taken a seat in the only chair present in the room. "And who's this?" he questioned. 

"It's me, Uncle Chris. It's Rachel." Her quiet, choked voice seemed to stop time for a moment. She looked up, and for the first time, Robin and Ham realized just how beat up she was. A section of her scalp was raw and scabbed, as if someone had ripped a hunk of her hair out. Numerous brusies purpled her face, and one of her eyes was nearly swollen shut. An ugly gash split at her lower lip, and crusted blood from that injury had dried on her chin. But to Chris's amazed shock, it would seem as though he was gazing at the most beautiful site in creation. It was as if the years of age had suddenly peeled back from her battered features, revealing the little child he'd last seen and remembered as his neice. Even Ham's cynicism dropped. He remembered the way Chris had bragged about her birth, over 18 years ago, as though she were his own daughter. Shortly afterwards, he'd even seen her briefly. If he could ever live to regret anything, it would be the harsh way that he'd tried to command answers out of her frightened mouth less than an hour ago. 

"Jesus Christ, baby girl! What in the hell are you doing here?" Chris's inquiry went unanswered, largely because another bout of sobs burst forth from Rachel, rendering her incapable of speech. 

Robin, Mike and Ham were left to only wonder at what God awful circumstances had brought Rachel to this hellhole in such a beaten condition. Another disturbance at the doorway told them that Elias had just come in to join the party. 

"I think it's safe to say that nothing more is going to happen here tonight. All I know for sure is that we have several casulaties and we have to get them out of here," Robin declared matter of factly. She slowly took a seat next to Madeline on the mattress. At some point, Madeline had released her grip on Robin's wrist. Robin lifted one of the girl's hands away from Diana long enough to slip her fingers along the psuedoskin covering her neck. There, she could vaguely make out the faint thrumming of a pulse. She had no way of knowing whether or not her pulse was normal for a Visitor, but it felt awfully slow to her inexperienced touch...but it was there nonetheless. "She's still alive," she announced to the others. 

"Figures," Ham grunted. 

"Yeah, but her ass is ours," Mike chortled gleefully, "and I think I almost like it better that way." 

"Well, it won't be that way for long if we don't get her out of here. Robin's right. Maggie and Jaime are setting up a makeshift lizard hospital for Orlando at my place. They're supposed to have Julie get Howie to help. Howie will know what to do with this heap of luggage," Chris said. He'd moved over towards Rachel, and had put a protective arm around her heaving shoulders. 

"Not to mention, I got the innkeeper and his dead wife loaded in your van. I don't know just what to do with them, but I couldn't quite stomach leaving him there with those dead lizards downstairs," Elias ventured. 

"Speaking of dead lizards, did you get their weapons?" Ham questioned. 

Elias's white teeth flashed in the dark. "Why of course I did. If you weren't gonna, someone had to." 

"Great. Oh, and Gooder, looks like we got ourselves another Lizard Go Cart to add to our collection." With a smirk, Ham tossed the flashlight on the bed next to Madeline. He then rolled Diana's limp form off of her daughter's lap and rudely began to rummage through the pockets of the pants she wore. Victoriously, he withdrew his hand and held up the key to Lynn Bernstein's car. 

Madeline made a lunge for her mother's body, but Robin reached out and held her at bay. 

"No, Madeline. We have to get her out of here. We can't do that if she's attatched to you, okay?" 

Madeline said nothing, but she seemed to barely comprehend Robin's words. Ham tossed the keys to Elias. "Chris will take your ride and take his neice back to his house.Gooder can fly the shuttle to our hidey hole. You follow him out in Lynn's car so that he has a ride back. Robin and I..." Ham's gaze lingered over Diana's still form. He was, no doubt, invisioning a long, torturous interrogation when she regained consiousness. 

"Hey, how come you get all the good jobs?" Mike protested in a half mocking tone. 

"You just don't have the heart for it, Gooder," Ham deadpanned in return. 

Chapter 29  Matters at Hand

"Can you take me high enough,
Can you fly me over
yesterday?
Can you take me high enough?
It's never over..
Yesterday's just a memory.
(Yesterday's just a memory)..."

~~ Damn Yankees   HIgh Enough

The ride to Chris and Maggie's house was one of the most unpleasant 
rides Robin had yet to imagine.  She rode up front in the passenger's seat of 
the van, next to Ham's silent form as he drove. In the back, the innkeeper, 
who's name was now known to be Amir, was huddled with his dead wife, Sheetal.  
Elias had thoughtfully taken a clean sheet from one of the unlocked rooms and 
shrouded the dead woman's body with it. In addition, Madeline and Diana were 
along for the ride. Like Sheetal, Diana was also wrapped. They had dragged her out 
of the hotel room using the bedspread as a stretcher. It now served to keep 
her warm, and hopefully alive. No one particularly cared for Diana's preservation 
out of any sort of mercy. Merely, they wanted her to regain her health long 
enough to be questioned, possibly tortured for all of the horrors she had wrought 
upon humanity, and only then could she be permanently dispatched.

Despite her ongoing battle of hatred for all of the suffering Diana had 
inflicted upon her and her family and friends, Robin was all too aware 
that Madeline's feelings were not that simple. She could no more hate her 
mother than Elizabeth could hate her father. Over the years, Robin had come to 
accept the fact that it was wrong, and even harmful, to suggest to her daughter that 
she should hate Brian for raping her. A part of Robin would never forgive 
Brian for that, but it simply wasn't right to force her own feelings onto 
Elizabeth.  Grudgingly, she realized that the same applied here. The cruel hands of 
fate would deal the grisly cards of truth out to Madeline in due time. Until then, 
Robin was forced to grit her teeth as she heard Madeline tearfully comforting 
her injured mother. At least Amir seemed unaware of just precisely whom he 
was sharing space with in the back of the van. The demon that had crossed 
his path and stolen his wife from him had been clad all in black and bore little 
resemblence to the woman Madeline kept close to her.

"Don't worry, mother. I will not let them take you from me," Madeline 
whispered in the dark interior of the van.

A black chill coursed up Robin's spine as she heard the disembodied 
voice speak. She knew somehow that Madeline wasn't ranting about the 
resistance, but she still had no idea exactly who she was talking about.

Ham came to a teeth jarring stop in front of Chris and Maggie's house. 
It seemed that every interior light was ablaze. Julie's car was parked out 
front. The red Toyota Celica that Stanley Bernstein was temporarily borrowing 
from Chris was there too. Lastly, Elias's car was parked in the driveway, 
blatantly declaring that Chris and Rachel had beat them to the house. Then again, 
that was no surprise. Anything could drive faster than Ham's bucket of bolts.

"Stay put and keep an eye on Queen Scaly. Knowing her, she's faking 
it," Ham said as he climbed out of the van. Robin watched as he sprinted up the 
front walkway. The minutes ticked by in an awkward silence. If she was faking 
it, Diana made no move to jump out of Madeline's arms and club Robin over 
the head or...worse...impregnate her with alien sperm. Ham reappeared with 
Julie, Stanley, and Howie in tow.

From back of the van, Robin heard the rear doors swing open. Then she 
heard Amir's quiet voice inquire about what he should do with his wife.  It 
was obvious that the poor man knew she was beyond anyone's help, yet he was 
reluctant to let her go. Stanley sympathetically answered the man's pleas, 
telling him that they would lay her to rest in the garage and call a funeral home 
so that she could be buried properly wherever Amir wished. Robin was relieved 
that someone came up with a decent, sensible solution that would leave the 
man and his dead wife their dignity. She only wished she'd known what to tell Amir. 
When Robin left the confines of her seat and went around to the back with 
the others, she noticed that Sheetal had already been removed from Amir's arms long 
enough for him to climb out. Then, he'd taken position at his wife's 
head, and Stanley had her feet. Together, they were carrying the shrouded form 
into the garage. Meanwhile, Howie and Julie had crawled into the back of the van 
to assist with Diana. Julie was unsuccessfully firing a round of questions at 
Madeline, trying to ascertain what had happened.

"Let's just get her inside, Julie," Howie said with a resigned tone 
that betrayed his disgust, "I'll need to examine her, and I'm sure I'll find 
out what happened."

Robin stood next to Ham, who was watching everything dispassionately.  
Only when Julie climbed out of the van and Howie motioned to Ham for his 
assistance did Ham react.

"I say we just toss her on the lawn and let the dogs have her."

"Ham, this is no time for mentality like that.  Either help Howie or 
get out of the way," Julie countered tiredly.

Ham held his ground for a moment more before he finally stepped forward 
to help Howie unload Diana. 

"Where do we take the Raptor Queen?" Ham grunted as he supported the 
bottom half of Diana's weight, leaving Howie to deal with her head.

"Follow me," Julie responded, beckoning them inside, "We need to move 
fast. I have no idea what happened to her, but it doesn't look good."

Robin watched as Diana was transported away inside Chris's well lit 
house.  Madeline had managed to crawl forward and had taken a new seat at the 
rear of the van.  Her legs stuck out of the back with her feet resting on the 
back bumper as though she was trying to decide if she wanted to go inside or 
not. Robin was already desensitized to the splotches of green blood on Madeline's 
T Shirt, but somehow, she'd managed to miss the rest of the picutre. 
There was blood staining the thighs and lower front of her faded blue jeans too, and it 
wasn't green.

"Madeline, did you get hurt too?" Robin asked, trying to keep the tones 
of concern in her voice lowkey. She didn't want to alarm Madeline or panic 
her, despite the unease she was beginning to feel herself. In all of 
Elizabeth's seven years of existence, Robin had only seen her daughter's blood one time, 
when her finger had been cut after touching a sharp holly leaf. If Elizabeth 
ever bled as much at it appeared that Madeline was, Robin knew she'd freak. A cut 
finger had been bad enough, but this was something else.

"No. No one hurt me," Madeline responded. Her voice was dull and flat. 

The "something else" that Robin turned over in her mind suddenly dawned 
on her with a clarity that had just answered her question before Madeline 
even spoke.

"We'd better get you inside and get you cleaned up."

Robin's tone bore all of the authority of a mother. Madeline responded 
without hesitation and followed her dociley inside. They entered 
through the gaping garage door, both of them avoiding glances at the carefully shrouded 
figure of Sheetal, resting on a camping blanket on the ground. In fact, Robin was 
so respectful of the dead woman's space that she nearly tripped headlong 
on something else stretched out on the ground some distance from Sheetal's 
body. Looking down, she could barely conceal a scream as she stared at the lifeless 
features of a dead Visitor guard. Tossed haphazardly beside him was 
another one. She had no idea where this dead duo had come from, and suddenly, she didn't 
care. Grabbing Madeline's hand, she propelled her past the hideous sight and 
into the kitchen through the ped door. 

Maggie and Chris were there, as was Rachel, the girl that she and Ham 
had found at the hotel. Rachel's various cuts and scrapes had already been 
cleaned and bandaged, but her eyes held a shadowed, far away look. She sat in a 
dinette chair, gazing out the window. Maggie was having a quiet discussion with 
Chris. He too sat in a chair, and Maggie stood in front of him, speaking in 
low, soft tones. It slowly dawned on Robin what the strange rasping noises 
were that she had just become aware of as she entered the space of the kitchen, 
trying to quietly lead Madeline past an inexplicable pile of weapons and 
explosive components piled smack in the middle of the floor.

Chris was crying. Maggie held his head pressed against her middle, with 
her arms around him. In one hand was Druid's dog collar.

Rachel had mentioned something about Patricia eating a little dog back 
at the hotel.  

Robin's mind reeled in protest as she remembered Druid's playfulness, 
just that morning, as he'd tried to snatch a bagel out of her hands. Now he 
was gone, and there were two dead lizards in the garage. Swallowing her gorge and 
her disgust, she maneuvered Madeline around the small aresenal on the 
kitchen floor. Quietly, she led her past Chris's shaking form, knowing that 
she'd never tell a soul what she'd just seen. Somehow, she didn't imagine that 
Chris was the sort that easily cried.

Ham was in the living room with Howie, Julie, the two Visitor patients 
and Jaime.  Though he looked intensly uncomfortable, Robin had a good guess 
that he just might know what was going on in the kitchen, and was purposely 
avoiding the scene to leave Chris with some dignity.  Stanley and Amir were in a 
corner of the room. Stanley was using the telephone, undoubtedly to call the 
funeral home to pick up Sheetal's body. Amir held the phone book in his hands, 
looking quite lost. Madeline had stopped walking, and was watching as Howie and 
Julie administered various M*A*S*H* type treatments to Diana. The urgent 
seeming but quiet words they exchanged told Robin that things were serious, 
even though she couldn't hear what was being said.  With a tug, she continued to 
pull Madeline in tow into the back hallway where things were much quieter.  
From there, she led her into the bathroom. Madeline stood mutely, gazing out the 
door, that was slightly ajar as Robin quickly rinsed out the tub and started 
to fill it.

"Okay, let's get you into the tub. I'll find you a change of clothes in 
Maggie's room."

Madeline made no move to obey her. Robin rolled her eyes slightly with 
frustration and grabbed a hold of Madeline's hand again. Pulling her 
over to the tub, she let the girl watch as the water poured from the faucet.

"It's nice and warm in there, and it'll make you feel alot better. I 
promise."

Robin's words finally seemed to sink into Madeline. Dipping a grimy 
hand into her pocket, she reached in and pulled out the two orb shaped contacts 
she'd removed earlier and laid them on the side of the tub. They had about as 
much expression in them as Madeline's true eyes did, which was about none. 
Then, she removed her soiled garments slowly, as though she were waiting for 
Robin's reaction to all of the blood. When Robin only glanced at her long 
enough to judge for herself that there were no major injuires, she finally spoke.

"My mother is dying, I think," she said slowly as she climbed into the 
tub.

"Julie and Howie are very good at fixing people. I'm sure they know 
exactly what she needs..." Robin replied, not really certain how to respond. In 
her inexperienced opinion, she knew better than to try to shove false 
optimism down Madeline's throat with sugar coated lies about how Diana was strong 
enough to survive a nuclear war, just like a cockroach.

"I am dying too," Madeline stated matter of factly.

"From what? You said you weren't hurt, and I didn't see anything to 
suggest that you're dying.."

"The blood that leaves my body.  I do not know why it is happening, but 
there must be something wrong inside of me."

Madeline's shellshocked calm finally seemed to leave her for a moment. 
Her breathing suddenly quickened to disguise the threat of escaping sobs. 
Robin looked at the heap of soiled garments on the bathroom floor, more 
certain now than ever that she knew what ailed Madeline. She bit back any uncertainties 
that she might be wrong and called on her memories to help her out. There 
had been a time in her life when her mother had taken her aside and had the big 
"girl talk". Robin had rolled her eyes the whole time, insisting that she'd 
learned everything her mother was telling her in health ed. Still, when her day 
had come shortly afterwards, she remembered that she'd been frightened anyways, 
even though she knew it all. And, her mother had patiently been there for 
her with fresh clothes, Tylenol for any cramps, and plenty of kind advice to 
show her how to deal with everything else. 

It seemed that Polly's day had come shortly before the Visitors came. 
Robin had stayed politely out of her mother's way while she'd taken care of 
her sister, but she knew what Polly was going through. Now, those memories 
would have to serve as a model on how to treat Katie when her turn came.  Their 
mother wouldn't be there for her. So far, Elizabeth had never...come to her 
for any of this sort of thing...and until now, it had never occurred to Robin to 
wonder why.

"Madeline, didn't your mother ever explain the birds and the bees to 
you?" Robin asked, realizing that a part of her was annoyed at Madeline's 
seeming ignorance. If Diana had done a proper job of being a mother, Madeline 
shouldn't have to wonder what was happening to her. Unless, of course, Diana 
didn't think Madeline would ever have a menstrual cycle. She shoved that thought out 
of her mind as quickly as it drifted there. Diana certainly knew enough about 
human reproduction to know how to get Robin pregnant with Brian's child. She 
simply had to know about periods and stuff, even if lizards didn't get them!

"Birds and bees?" Madeline asked in a shaky breath.

"It's slang. Madeline, you are not dying. What is happening to you 
happens to all human women when their bodies mature. It means that your body is 
ready to have babies."

Madeline seemed to slowly turn this bit of news over in her mind, but 
then her eyes flew wide open.

"I am going to have a child!?" she demanded almost hysterically.

"Uh, no.  You have to...you know...have sex with a guy before you can 
get pregnant..."  The words were already dying on Robin's lips as she 
noticed that Madeline's expression hadn't changed in the least. It was as if she 
understood, at the very least, how babies got conceived, and she still 
looked quite worried. Robin tried not to let any shock or surprise show on her 
features as the realizations dawned on her that Madeline might not be as naive as she 
had thought...as naive as Elizabeth had been at her age.

"It's called a menstrual period...what's happening to you right now, and 
actually, it means you are not pregnant. It happens every month for a 
woman, and if she doesn't get one, it could mean that she's pregnant," she explained 
as matter of factly as possible.

"How is it possible to bleed so much every month and still live?" 
Madeline asked.

Robin could only shrug her shoulders.

"It's just one of those miracles of nature, I guess. Whatever the case, 
I can pretty much reassure you that you're not going to die anytime soon. 
Now, why don't you sit up a little so I can wash your hair. It 
looks...disgusting!"

Madeline obliged and Robin began the soaping and lathering motions that 
were still as familiar to her now as they were in the days when she used to 
bathe Katie.There were really only two distinct differences that stood out.  
One was the fact that Madeline's hair was much longer than Katie's had ever 
been and it was so tangled, it would need two cream rinses. (Kathleen had wisely 
kept Katie's hair clipped to a manageable length to avoid problems like 
this.) The second was that Madeline had a strange, bony ridge at the top of her 
scalp, leading straight down to the nape of her neck. From that point on, 
there was also something strange about the skin on Madeline's back. It was flesh 
colored as it ought to be, except that along either side of her spine, there was 
some strange, dark mottling. Upon closer inspection, Robin saw that the skin 
containing the mottles was...scaled...

It was fortunate that Madeline couldn't see the expression on Robin's 
face.  In fact, her eyes had closed, and her expression almost looked serene 
and dreamy, as if massaging the shampoo into her scalp had a calming 
effect.  But just as Robin finished with the last of the cream rinses, the girl's eyes 
flew open wide and darted around the room. Her scalp literally began to 
crawl beneath Robin's fingers, causing fine hairs on the back of Robin's neck to 
suddenly stand up on end.

"They are here!" Madeline wailed suddenly, "They want to take her!"

"Who's here?" Robin asked, but even as her eyes traveled around, she 
thought she saw...something...

In the reflection in the mirror over the bathroom sink.

Confused, Robin dipped her conditioner coated hands into the bathwater 
to rinse them off, dried them on the legs of her jeans, and got up. She 
poked her head out of the door and saw no one. Returning her focus to the 
bathroom, she realized, with an odd dismay, that she and Madeline were alone. No one 
looked back at her in the mirror, but Robin could have sworn she'd seen 
someone there moments before.  If she wasn't mistaken, that someone had been the late 
Supreme Commander, John.  Only, the image she'd caught a glimpse of in the 
mirror had been oddly hollow eyed, almost as if he didn't have any eyes.

Madeline regarded her silently from the bathtub, sitting in a protected 
position with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her bathwater 
was rather murky and probably getting cold. Robin reached over to the towel rack 
and handed her a towel that smelled strongly of Maggie's love of fabric 
softener. She found her voice as Madeline wrapped the towel around herself.

"You dry off. I've got to get something for you to wear to bed."

As Robin walked the short distance from the bathroom to the room Chris 
and Maggie shared, the case of the creeps she'd come down with slowly began 
to wear off. Rummaging through drawers, she found a T shirt, a pair of 
lightweight nylon running shorts and a clean pair of underwear for Madeline. She 
supposed Maggie would keep her stash of Maxi Pads in the bathroom cabinet. Upon 
returning to the bathroom, she saw that Madeline had drained the tub and taken a 
seat on the lid of the toilet. She had drawn the towel around herself tightly, 
and was watching the door with a guarded expression.

"You saw them, didn't you," Madeline said in a voice that was so quiet, 
Robin had to strain to hear it.

Robin pondered her response as she pawed through the bathroom cabinets 
to find sanitary napkins.  Her search was rewarded instantly, and could no 
longer serve as a distraction to keep her from answering. 

"Let's just say I saw something, but I don't know what it was," she 
finally replied.

"It was them. They have no souls. They want my mother's. I think that 
is why they always follow her. Tonight, they have stayed close, very close.  
They were either waiting for her or for...Patricia.  If Patricia died 
tonight, she would have become one of them, and I would have to see her all the 
time.  She would look at me and have no eyes. No eyes means no soul.  No soul!"

Robin stayed speechless as every fire and brimstone demon from the days 
of her Catechism sermons rolled around in her memories. Souless entities 
were something that a lapsed Catholic such as herself would find entirely 
too easy to believe in. She forced herself to steer back to crystal clear reality. 
As far as she could see now, there were no eyeless spooks rattling their chains 
in the bathroom. By the time she'd finished showing Madeline how to handle her 
feminine situation, Robin had almost managed to convince herself that 
she'd seen nothing at all. It didn't stop her from realizing that she was suddenly 
craving company of a more cynical nature. Nothing Madeline's tortured, 
traumatized imagination conjured up would hold a candle against the practical 
natures of those like Ham, Chris and Maggie. Keeping a frame of mind like theirs would 
be the only thing that would help her get any sleep that night.

The chaos in the living room had settled somewhat when Robin emerged 
from the bathroom with Madeline. Chris's coffee table had been moved to make 
more space in the center of the room. Orlando was stretched out, clad in 
nothing above the waist but his damaged psuedoskin and a wrap around brace of sorts. 
Howie had obviously been aprised of his conditon before he'd arrived. An I.V. 
was inserted into one of Orlando's arms, and Jaime was at his other side, 
holding his hand. At some point, she'd drifted off to sleep, despite the fact that 
she was still sitting upright, her back propped against Chris's easy chair.  

There wasn't much of Diana that Robin could see behind Julie and 
Howie's hovering forms, but the emergency room urgency level had faded 
somewhat.  Snippets of conversation were barely decipherable, but Howie was worrying over 
how to get her to Visitor Fields in the morning without anyone knowing who she 
was. Apparently, either someone had brought up the fact that if Diana's 
identity and whereabouts were revealed, there could well be an assasination attempt 
by diehard resistance members or 5th Columnists, or Howie had thought of 
the notion himself.  He seemed to understand that Julie and the others would 
likely want her brought to trial, alive. It appeared to be the only reason why he 
even consented to treat her in the first place. Unless, of course, Visitor 
doctors were bound by the same creeds as their human counterparts.  Robin knew 
nothing for sure.  

Madeline finally separated herself and perched on the edge of the couch 
where she could remain close to her mother. Her face had suddenly taken on a 
remote expression, not unlike ones Elizabeth wore when anyone discussed 
Brian's death.  

Stanley and Amir were absent from the room now. Leaving Madeline where 
she was, Robin found herself drifting into the kitchen. Chris, thankfully, 
had gotten a hold of himself. He was matter of factly collecting his guns 
off of the kitchen floor, examining each one to make certain that not a single, 
precious component was harmed. At some point, Maggie had brewed some herbal tea 
and had offered some to both Chris and Rachel. Rachel held her mug silently, 
only taking occasional sips. Chris's still sat untouched on the kitchen 
table, next to a box of photographs, a disgusting blob of what looked like human hair, 
and Druid's ruined dog collar. Maggie and Ham were both at the kitchen 
sink. While Maggie rummaged in the under the sink cabinet for cleaning rags and 
disinfectant, Ham was filling a huge bucket with warm water from the 
tap. A mop leaned against the wall nearby. For the first time, Robin noticed the globs of 
green lizard blood on the linoleum, the broken window over the sink, and 
scorch marks on the walls. 

"What happened in here?" Robin asked, directing her question to no one 
in particular.

Maggie straightened up from her crouch, with an assortment of Chris's 
old, ripped up T-Shirts in one hand,  and a bottle of Pine-Sol in the other.

"There was a little surprise party waiting here for us when we got 
here," she answered.

Robin suddenly remembered the two dead lizards in the garage. Maggie 
nodded, almost as if she could read her mind.

"Yeah, it looks like Party Animal Patricia decided to make a little pit 
stop here with a bunch of her scaly buddies, and they just had themselves a 
grand ol' time," Chris snarled. He had several guns stacked carefully in his 
arms.  With a grim expression, he shuffled out the ped door and into the 
garage.  Rachel sniffled lightly. Her eyes were still as big and as dark as the 
mouth of a cave, and she offered no elaboration on Chris's explaination.

"There was a couple of guards here waiting when Jaime and I got here  with  Orlando. We took them out pretty quick. Too bad they left such a mess,"  Maggie  stated.  

"What a shame there was nothing left twitching when I got here," Ham  said. He  took the pine cleaner from Maggie and dumped a healthy dollop into the  bucket  in the sink. 

"You're lucky there's enough of them left to spit on. When Chris got a  load  of what had happened, he was fit to be tied."  

Robin bit her lip nervously. Chris wasn't the sort of man she'd want to  see  get that angry. True to Maggie's description, he still looked quite  volatile. In  fact, he completed the task of transporting his guns back to where they  belonged without much of another word to anyone. His cheeks were red  and sweat  poured from his forehead, even though the effort of moving weapons  wasn't much of  a strain. Almost automatically, he plucked a few rags from Maggie's  hand,  dipped them into the water that Ham poured, and began to scrub at a  scorched  cabinet.  

"Could you spare me a couple of rags?" Ham asked, "I gotta get all of  that  damn lizard blood out of my van."  He neglected to mention that some of  it  wasn't lizard blood.  

With a nod, Maggie tossed him a few strips.  Ham  hefted the bucket out of the sink and disappeared out of the kitchen with it.   Maggie  immediately took over the sink and began to ready it for her own  cleaning job.  

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Robin offered, feeling very  drained,  but suddenly, very restless.

 Maggie watched as Chris muttered and swore as he swabbed at various  spots on  the walls and fixtures. Then, she turned her gaze back to Robin.  "Nah," she mouthed, hardly above a whisper,"I think Chris just kind of  wants  to keep busy. I'm gonna mop in here, but after that, I think I'll just  put  Rachel to bed and leave him alone."  

Robin nodded understandingly, but it didn't stop her from feeling lost  and  useless.  She had no desire to return to the living room, since it had  been  transformed into a lizard triage ward. In fact, she suddenly realized  that she was  out a place to sleep, and very possibly, so was Stanley.  Rachel would  need  the small guest room where Stanley had spent the past few nights.   Quite  frankly, Robin couldn't imagine herself squeezing onto the couch where  she'd slept  with Madeline there now, babysitting Diana.   She vaguely wondered what sort of condition Kyle's house was in after  the  raid on it.  Almost everything she, Polly, Elizabeth, Katie, and Kyle  had owned  had been there. The house had been on fire when they'd evacuated.   Robin felt a  stab of sorrow for Kyle at the realization that his house might be  utterly  destroyed, and a stab of fear for herself as she wondered if she, her  sisters  and her daughter were officially homeless. With everything that had  happened in  the past few days, no one had been back to Kyle's house, especially Kyle himself. He was holed up Julie's apartment with his leg in a cast,  Elizabeth and  his truck in Lodi, and all the rest of his belongings left behind at  his house.  Her mind wandered over the various possibilities in a rapid sequence.   It  occurred to her that Ham, Mike, Jaime and Chris may have gone back to  Kyle's  house to see if Patricia had returned there. 

She watched as Chris grew  ever more  frustrated with his futile attempts to rid his walls of blaster burns,  and she  decided that he was not the person to ask at the moment. He may know,  but it  didn't seem at the top of his list of priorities at the moment.   Robin slowly backed out of the kitchen and into the garage, the  question  burning brightly in her mind.  With Patricia out of the picture, it  dawned on her  that her sisters and Elizabeth could come home...but what if there was  no home  to come home to? A portion of her mind registered that only the two  Visitor  corpses were left in the garage.  The funeral home must have already  picked up  Sheetal. The car that Stanley was borrowing from Chris was absent from  the  driveway. It was likely that he had offered to take Amir home...(if he  had one.   Robin simply didn't know.) She wondered vaguely if Stanley would chance  going  back to his own house tonight...or if he'd go up to the hospital and  request  to stay with Lynn.  Ham's ugly van had taken up residence where Stanley's car had been  parked.   The rear doors were thrown wide open, and Ham was in the back,  scrubbing the  bottom. The mats he'd laid down on the floor of the rear of the van  were pulled  out and tossed on the driveway for scrubbing later. 

Ham seemed to sense  her  approach before she made any noises to make her presence known.  "Wanna do me a favor and bring me that bottle of bleach on the shelf  over the  washing machine?" he asked. 

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure," Robin replied, her mind instantly snapping out of  her  reverie. She made a quick backtrack into the garage to honor Ham's  request,  taking care to avoid the sprawled, dead Visitors. She returned with the  bleach to  find Ham emptying the bucket of sudsy water onto the driveway. Then, he  began  to refill it from the garden hose, adding a generous portion of bleach  to the  mix. It smelled almost noxious. 

"Don't wanna take a chance on getting Gator Aids from Queen Scaly's  blood,"  Ham quipped.  

Robin's tired mind had only half seized on the meaning of his joke when  a  laugh erupted in spite of herself.  Reaching into the bucket, she  grabbed a hold  of one of the rag strips and began to wipe down the mats.  "Do you suppose Patricia's dead?" she asked hesitantly.  

"Don't count on it. Madeline said she couldn't kill her. Tough break. I  would  have had no problem."

"Well, it's a little different for her, y'know. Patricia is supposed to  be  her grandmother.."  

"Yeah, well most grandma's I know don't tote guns and try to off their  grandkids. She should have vaped her while she had a good chance."  

"I just wonder why she came back here in the first place. She's  supposed to  be in Lodi with Elizabeth, Bram and the others.  If she's here, then  where are  they?"  

"Probably back in Lodi."  

"Probably not, knowing Elizabeth. I'm willing to bet they know she's  gone.   Elizabeth would want to try to find her. Do you suppose it's safe for  everyone  to come back?"  

"They might as well come back. If Patricia's not dead, ten to one she  won't  just sit around and twiddle her scaly thumbs. There's just no telling  what  Madeline told her before she...did whatever she did to her..." Ham  stated. 

"She didn't seem like she was in the frame of mind for an all out  confessional. I just remember what Orlando said about the Los Angeles  Mothership being  recalled. Maybe they really will leave...and take Patricia with them,"  Robin  replied, a little too hopefully.  

"Yeah, and a choir of angels might fly out of my butt, too."  

"Well, you never know," Robin said around another chuckle.  

"Could you go see if there's any towels in the garage?  It's time to  dry  things out back here." 

Robin finished up with the mats and searched the garage once again. She  was  rewarded with a bounty of three freshly laundered towels that Maggie  had dried  earlier but had forgotten to take out of the dryer. Ham took two of  them from  her, and  she kept the last one. Hoisting herself in, she began to swab  at the  floor of the van, vainly hoping that three towels would be enough. Ham  had  done a thourough cleaning. Everything that had been stashed in the back  of the  van was now precariously balanced on the only two seats in the entire  vehicle.  The muzzles of a few Uzi's and other guns pointed in helter skelter  directions. Robin made sure not to brush against any of them as she  worked, suspecting  they were probably loaded. Despite her caution, her shoulder brushed  against a  small box, perched on the top of a teetering pile of miscellaneous  weaponry  and maps stashed on the driver's side seat. The box and a good portion  of just  about everything else fell to the freshly dried floor with a clatter  that  seemed deafening for a moment. 

She heard Ham mutter something from  behind as an  embarrassed flush crept into her cheeks.  "Oh, I'm sorry!" she cried, hastily snatching at two small guns that  had  fallen.  One of them looked like a .38 special, or so she thought. The  other was  a Visitor weapon. Both of them, fortunately, had their safeties on.  After  placing them back on the seat, Robin reached for the box. The flaps had  been  folded in such a way that it hadn't opened, and nothing had spilled  from it, even  though it had landed on it's side. Before she had a chance to put it  back on  the seat, Ham snatched it from her surprised hands.  

"I'll take care of that. Don't worry about it," he said in a tone that  sounded more hurried than annoyed. The manner in which he handled the  box was  gentle, as if volatile explosives were contained in it.

"What's in there? A bomb?" Robin asked, her eyes widening with concern. 

"No. It's nothing you have to worry about," Ham responded. He had been  regarding the box with a concern of his own, but when he looked up to  answer Robin's  question, his gaze looked unsteady and troubled. Gut instinct told  Robin that  he was lying, but before she could call him on it, he gently laid the  box  down in front of him and let out a deep sigh.  "Ok, what's in here does concern you, actually," he started, pausing  for a  moment to find his next words, "But it's not dangerous, like a bomb.  It's just  that...well, I'm not really sure how you're going to take this.."  

"Take what?" Robin asked hedgingly. A feeling in the pit of her stomach  told  her that she wasn't going to like what she was about to hear.  Fleetingly she  wondered about the question she'd come out here to ask him about in the  first  place. Maybe what was contained in that box was all that remained of  her  possessions rescued from Kyle's house... 

"It's something that Chris, Mike, Jaime and I discovered when we were  trying  to track Patricia's movements. We uh...well, we searched everywhere  that we  thought might be a likely place for her to go and dig up information  about us.   Apparently, "dig" is exactly what she did..." 

"Dig?" Robin echoed quietly, "Dig what?"    Ham's expression softened somewhat from it's usual grim lines, but his  expression alternated from outrage to something resembling dismay.  He  was unable to  look Robin in the eye as he spoke, something which was a rarity for Ham  Tyler.  "Yeah, she did some digging," he continued carefully, "and she did some  poking around in some places that she had no business being in. Like  our old H.Q.  at the abandoned jail. And..uh..well, you remember what we put out in  the back  forty...the old excercise yard..."  

Robin struggled for a moment to recall exactly what he was talking  about.   Her face visibly paled when it dawned on her.  "That's where we buried Laura and Robert Troy...and..."  Brian's name hung in the air as an unmentioned statement.  

"Yeah, exactly.  I guess she wanted proof of decease...or  something...we  don't exactly know what since Patricia didn't leave us a detailed  itenerary of her  little trip."  

"She dug?" Robin questioned, feeling gorge rise up in her stomach."Just  who  did she dig up?"  

"All of em," Ham stated.  

The silence in the van was louder than Robin's cry of anguish that came  only  moments later.  "No!" she wailed in protest. 

Ham didn't flinch at her outburst, nor did  he  offer a counter to her cry.  

"What's in the box!" she demanded.  

Ham was silent for a moment as he contemplated just how to answer.   Diplomacy  and tact were needed, and those weren't qualities that came easily to  him.  "I couldn't just leave him there, Robin. It just wasn't right. I know  you  want better for..your son..than that, and he deserves some decency. I  did the  best I could...and I was going to tell you, but...everything just  happened..." 

Robin felt herself slump bonelessly against the back of the front seat,  and  she welcomed its support. Suddenly, as tears sprang from her eyes and  sobs of  disgust and anger poured from her soul, she felt as if that seat was  the only  thing that was keeping her from falling apart with the rest of the  world.  "She dug up my baby?!" she gasped through the tears, "Oh, my God, why?  He  didn't ever do a thing in his life to deserve this! This is sooo.."  

"Sick," Ham finished decisively.  

"Sick!" Robin spat, burying her forehead into her knees.  

"I knew it would upset you...but I thought that it would only be right  for  you to...uh...Well, maybe there's a better place for him. With your  parents,  maybe.."  

Robin looked up and regarded Ham through red rimmed eyes.  "My father doesn't even have a grave, really, because he  just...evaporated..."  

Another bout of sobs shook her shoulders, but  she squared her way through  them and forced out the rest of her words.  "But my mother...is buried....We buried her at the Mountain Camp. And  when my  father died, I put a marker next to her grave for him...." 

"We can take him there, if you want. I'll help you."  

"What if Patricia isn't dead and she comes and-"  

"She'll have a real hard time digging for anything when I get a hold of  her  and rip off her arms," Ham replied evenly. He watched as her hands  hesitantly  reached out and touched the box.    "I'm sorry I didn't have something better for him," he said, suddenly  realizing how crude a coffin a cardboard box made for the remains of a  lost child.  

"No...you did the best thing," Robin sniffled, "at least I have him and  Patricia doesn't. You didn't just leave him there..."  

"No.  I couldn't. Even I'm not that heartless."    But he couldn't bring himself to tell her the rest of it. He hadn't  been able  to find every bone, and he suspected he knew why. The condition they'd  found  Laura's body in told him that. Ham kept that bit of information to  himself,  knowing full well that Abraham would not be pleased if he learned what  had  happened to his mother's grave while he was gone. He also kept quiet  about Brian's  grave, Jaime's ridiculous theories to explain why it was empty..and his  own  more sensible theories to explain it.  All of the doors of the van were left open to air out the interior,  while Ham  rummaged around in Chris's garage to find a box to store the collection  of  things that had accumulated in his van. 

Robin wandered into the  kitchen, still  clutching onto the box that contained what remained of her son.  She  didn't  dare lift open the flap to peer inside. That notion was simply too  much.  Chris  had given up on cleaning the rest of the kitchen, mostly because there  wasn't a  surface left for him to scrub. Instead, he rummaged through his  refridgerator  and pulled out a cold beer. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Robin  slumped  dejectedly in a kitchen chair, with the box balanced on her lap.  Without a  word, he pulled another beer out and placed it on the kitchen table in  front of  her.  Robin gazed up at him gratefully and accepted his offering,  despite the  fact that it was past two in the morning, hardly what one would  consider Happy  Hour. Chris plopped exhaustedly into another chair and opened his beer.   After  a long swallow, he pulled something out of his jeans pocket. It was the dog collar Druid had worn that still bore his inscripted, bone shaped metal  name  tag.  

"I suppose you're pretty upset about what happened. Do ya know what  you're  gonna do with 'im?" Chris finally asked, the usually smooth tones of  his  Louisiana accent roughed from anger and emotion.

 "Um, yeah, I think so," Robin returned quietly, "I'm gonna take him up  to the  mountain camp and put him with my mother."  

"Good plan. You should have this to put with him."  

With that, Chris slid the dog collar across the table, where it came to  rest  against Robin's beer can. She reached out and picked it up hesitantly  and  silently wondered why he had given her Druid's collar.  "I've always believed that every boy should grow up with a dog. I kinda  figure that Patricia did them both wrong; your boy and my dog. If  there's an  afterlife, I reckon they're both together now. That's the way it ought  to be."  

Robin suddenly understood the roughness behind Chris' voice. A vision  suddenly came to her that might have been cliche in any other context,  but to her, it  was rather revolutionary. It was the first time since the death of her  alien  appearing son that she'd ever tried or succeeded in picturing him in  any  context, dead or alive.   If Robert Troy had lived, he'd be nearly eight years old, just like  Elizabeth.  Only instead of looking like an adult (like his sister),  Robin plainly saw  him as she would see any other eight year old...except for one  difference.   The need to cover him in a psycological psuedoskin was gone, and her  child  appeared to her as she knew he'd look in heaven. Running through a  field of grass  as green as his scaled flesh, barefoot and carefree, Robin could almost  hear  him laughing. Beside him, the surrealistic blades of grass parted, and  the  zigzagging shape of Druid appeared, running beside him. His tongue was  lolling as  he panted, and his eyes were as bright and animated as they had been in  the  days of his puppyhood. Togther, the dog and his boy master ran to a  destination  that had no beginning, and seemed to have no end. Robin felt tears  sting her  tired eyes, but they weren't tears of sorrow.

Resolutely, she closed  her  fingers around the collar, knowing that despite all that had happened,  both Robert  Troy and Druid were at peace.  "You're right, Chris. They are together. I'll keep this with him," she  whispered.  

Ham stepped though the ped door with a disgusted backward glance at the  two dead bodies heaped in the garage.  "We'll get Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum outta here in the morning before  they  start stinking," he said, "But for now, I was wondering. Suppose I  could  borrow the sleeping bags out of your camping gear in the garage?"   Ham directed his question at Chris, seemingly oblivious to the fact  that he'd  broken up an emotion charged moment.  

"You ain't bagging no dead lizards in my sleeping bags!" Chis volleyed  in a  challenging tone of voice,"They cost me 40 bucks a pop, and they're too  good  for scaly carcasses."  

"Hell, no, I wasn't gonna use your sleeping bags for them! I was asking  for  Robin and I. There isn't anywhere in the house fit for either her or I  to sleep  in, so we'll just crash in the van...if we can use your sleeping bags."  

Chis raised an eyebrow in question, but his quick mental calculations  came to  the same conclusion that Ham had just reached. The living room was a  lizard  hospital, the spare room was being used by Rachel, and he wasn't  sharing his  and Maggie's room with no one.  

"Ah, son of a gun, what about Bernstein? Where the hell am I gonna put  him?"  Chris muttered, suddenly at a loss. Maggie was usually the one that  worked out  these problems, but she was sound asleep by now. 

"I think if he was coming back, he would have. Maybe he's staying up at  the  hospital with Lynn," Ham replied.  

"Hope you're right boss, cuz I ain't got a third sleeping bag."    With that, he heaved his bulk out of the kitchen chair and went to the  garage.  Robin followed the two of them, still clutching the box and  the dog collar.   Chris dialed the numbers on a combination lock that chained the doors  of a  home made, wooden, storage closet.  Inside the closet were two big,  navy blue  sleeping bags, each contained in its own nylon storage bag. One of the  closet  doors was lined with a rack of fishing poles. The other door, with a  similar  rack, stored hunting rifles. Other shelves in the closet housed  assorted  camping necessities, such as skinning knives, kerosene lanterns, a  portable cook  stove, a tackle box, a tent kit, and even a package of biodegradeable  toilet  paper. Once he'd wrestled the sleeping bags out of their compartment,  Chris  swivled and tugged on the box in Robin's hands.  

"Now, c'mon," he told her, "He ain't gonna mind sleeping in here  tonight.   The way I see it, he'd be in boy heaven here."  

Robin reliquished her hold on the box and watched as Chris neatly slid  it on  one of the shelves. Then, he carefully lifted one of the flaps on the  box  until he'd made an opening big enough to slip Druid's dog collar  inside. Finally,  he shut the somewhat creaky doors to the storage closet and relocked  it.  

"If that's all you'll be needing, I'm heading back inside," Chris said.  

"That'll be fine. Go get some rest, because we got work to do  tomorrow."  

Without another word, Chris disappeared back inside. Robin stooped and  helped  Ham unsheath the sleeping bags. They worked quickly to avoid being  stuck in  the garage with the dead scalies any longer than necessary.  Ham led the way to the van, and Robin supposed she had slept in worse  situations than in the back of the van, but she was loathe to remember.  In fact, she  had nearly forgotten to ask Ham about Kyle's house.  Now, as she  snoothed her  sleeping bag out and climbed into it, she realized that she was simply  too  exhausted to. Only after she had settled herself did Ham climb in and  repeat the  motions that she'd just finished moments before. The floor of the van  was hard  beneath the down filled sleeping bag, but Robin felt her body relaxing  in  spite of it. It was a fortunate that she was positioned comfortably,  because with  Ham squeezed in beside her, there was scarecly any room to move. She  realized  that she was glad that she wasn't alone.    

"Get some sleep," Ham said quietly beside her. Robin didn't know if he  could  tell that her eyes were still open or not, but she obligingly lowered  her  lids. Almost immediately, an image began to dance across her mind's eye  of her son  and Druid. They were still frolicking in the fields of forever. Before  the  image faded from her vision, Robert Troy raised his face up, and his  eyes; the  ones that had been so much like her mother's, met with hers. He smiled,  and  raised one small hand up to wave at her.	

Chapter 30  Post Apocalypse

"Take me to your heart 
Feel me in your bones 
Just one more night 
And I'm comin' off this 
Long & winding road 

I'm on my way 
Well, I'm on my way 
Home sweet home 
Tonight tonight 
I'm on my way 
I'm on my way 
Home sweet home"
~~ Motley Crue  Home Sweet Home

The group was forced to stop the car at the very outskirts of the 
city.  Up ahead, a rag tag group of Cal Trans workers were clearing abandoned 
vehicles off to the sides of the road.  Paul Keifer killed the engine of his 
battered black Lincoln Continental and gazed at Phillip, who sat in the 
passenger seat beside him.

"So, do you suppose your buddy Patricia is the one responsible for this 
mess?" he asked, gesturing at the orange vested work crew that was 
laboring feverishly about a half of a mile up ahead.

Behind them, the lanes clogged even more. Fortunately, or so it would 
seem, the Cal Trans team had been working throughout the night to clear the 
mess.  Now, it was just after dawn on Saturday morning. They had already been 
sitting through the traffic jam from hell for longer than they cared to 
remember. Inch by inch, they'd made their way forward. Now, the needle on Paul's fuel 
gauge hovered just above the E mark. The engine temperature hovered just 
above the H. At last, Paul was finally afforded a sight of what had caused the 
back up, and that meant that they were almost through it.

"Yes, I have no doubts in my mind that she caused several roadblocks at 
every entrance of the city," Phllip responded warily.

"Yeah, but look. The orange shirts working the job are Cal Trans, not 
lizard troops. They're clearing away cars, not rounding people up."

"That must mean she already got Madeline," came Abraham's sleepy voice 
from the back seat. He was crammed in tight with Elizabeth, Brandon and 
Natty.

"Madeline better hope Patty got her first, because when I find her, she 
might as well just lay down and take a dirt nap, cuz I'll kill her. Since 
she's a hybrid, I'll be able to make half a wallet out of her hide, at least. 
Then, I'll stick the ten dolers she stoll frum me in it," Brandon spat. He 
had the note Madeline had stuffed into the pocket of his jeans wadded in his hand. 
His outburst got dirty looks, in stereo, from both Elizabeth and Abraham, 
who sandwiched him.

"I just wish she would have talked to me," Elizabeth muttered, looking 
more than a little insulted.

"Discussing her actions in advance would not be something Madeline 
would have developed the skills to do. I highly doubt Diana would have been 
pleased if Madeline took the time to enlighten her to half of her schemes.  
Anything she wishes to accomplish, she has learned to do in secrecy, out of 
neccessity," Phillip countered, speaking with the wisdom of a world weary 5th 
columnist.

"Yeah, well, she'd better learn that things are different here. She's 
not making herself very trustworthy. As it stands, she's got two counts of 
grand theft auto and one count of grand theft shuttle on her rap 
sheet...Hell, not even I can claim that!" Brandon said.  Then, his face turned from anger to 
contemplation."Well, not "grand theft shuttle" at least. I may have her 
beat on the car counts, but...not all in one week, for crying out loud!"

Abraham was only half listening to Brandon's ranting by now. Bouts of 
apprehension and nervous excitement coursed through him in alternating 
currents. He was anxious to see how his grandmother was faring. It had been four 
days since he'd heard any word as to her condition. Only intuition told him that 
she had survived her ordeal, and the Tarot card investigations he'd conducted 
on Lynn's behalf had given him a vague hope that she was doing as well as 
could be expected. However, he wasn't as quick to believe in the abilities he 
possessed as readily as Elizabeth seemed to be. 

Then, of course, there was Patricia to contend with. They were heading 
right back where they were not supposed to be, with no summons from anyone to 
tell them it was safe. Elizabeth and Phillip had pretty much decided that 
the game was up. Elizabeth was just as concerned about Kyle as Abraham was about 
his grandmother. In addition, she was concerned about her mother.  When 
she'd learned that Madeline had taken off, she had decided that hiding out was not 
her style either. Philip declared that Elizabeth would not be going 
anywhere without him.

Finally, it was decided that Natty and Paul would bring everyone back. 
Just in case there was any trouble, another car was following behind them. 
It was an El Camino "lowrider". Crammed in the cab and the back bed were several 
of the Central Valley's toughest toughs. Most of them were members of a 
Stockton gang, El Chupacabra. Mixed in with the Hispanic men were three faces 
Brandon was familiar with. They were Bay Area imports, all of them caucasian, with 
nearly bald heads. Tattoos on their arms labeled them as members of one of San 
Fransisco's more legendary group of skinheads, Lucifury. 

In past times, the members of Lucifury and the gangbangers of El 
Chupacabra would have never associated themselves together in such a brotherly 
way. Once, "colors" had divided gangs. Now, one color stood to unite them all; the 
color green. Any excuse to go anywhere and rack up dead scalies was cause for 
excitement. The only fighting between the two gangs now was over who'd 
get rights to kill more lizards. The members of both gangs had been strongly advised 
by Natty that they were not to harm a fake hair on Phillip's head.  For 
the time being, at least, they obeyed her directive, only casting a few 
dangerous looks in his direction. Having them along for protection seemed like a good idea 
at the time. It had been Brandon's idea, in case they ran across any more 
of Patricia's goons. Natty and Paul had agreed. 

Now, though, Natty worried. There were just as many good lizards in Los 
Angeles as there were bad lizards. She personally knew of one of them. 
Willie had somehow managed to find Harmony's address book among her possessions, 
stashed away at the resistance headquarters. Several days after "V" Day, it had 
been Willie who'd contacted Natty and told her of Harmony's death.  He'd 
patiently answered all of her questions, and stood by on the line as Natty had 
cried.  Then, Willie had told her that Harmony had spoken of her often, and 
that he felt he knew her as a friend.  Though Visitors couldn't cry, Natty had felt 
as though Willie had truely shared her sorrow over Harmony's loss.  A few 
months later, a package had arrived for Natty in the mail.  It contained some 
of her sister's belongings, and a few photographs.  One of them had been of 
Willie and Harmony together.  A brief letter was included, carefully written in 
very neat printing.  It had simply stated that if Natty had any questions, or if 
she just wanted to talk about Harmony, she could call Willie where he worked at 
the Club Creole, and if she ever came to Los Angeles, she would be welcomed 
as a friend. Willie had signed it, and given her a promise that the 
proprietor of the restaurant, Elias, would treat her "into" a very nice meal. 

Shortly afterwards, the lizards had reinvaded. If Natty had any hopes 
of ever going to Los Angeles and bringing her sister's death to any sort of 
closure, those hopes had nearly been dashed. Later, she'd learned that the Club 
Creole had been destroyed. It was only through dim contacts, much after the 
fact, that she'd learned that the resistance had escaped the mess and had 
survived. Paul later confirmed this, and had let her know that Willie was alive 
and well. Now, it seemed as though she'd finally get to meet the keeper of her 
sister's memories...that is, if El Chupacabra and Lucifury didn't get too 
trigger happy first.

An hour later, the car full of weary travellers and the El Camino full 
of gun toting gangbangers and skinheads pulled into a Shell station about five 
miles from where the roadblock had apparently been cleared. Billowing steam 
poured from beneath the hood of Paul's overheated engine. While the group 
waited for it to cool, Brandon pulled out the last of what remained of his pocket 
money. They would need it for the pay phone. After several minutes of 
deliberation, Phillip suggested they contact Mike. It was the only number Phillip 
knew by heart, and it was also the only one where he was reasonably sure 
someone might be home.

"Here," Brandon told Phillip, handing him all of the coins he had, 
"It's only 1.83, but it's all Madeline left me with. Make it count."

Phillip dropped several quarters into the slot and dialed Mike's 
number. To his disappointment, Sean answered the phone.

"Yah, wha..." Sean mumbled, almost incoherently.

"Sean, it's Phillip.  Is your father there?"

"Who? Oh, Dad.  No, he's not.  He went somewhere."

"He did? Where, Sean? Where did he go?"

"Beats me.  With Julie somewhere."

"Mike is with Julie?" Phillip asked.

"Yes, I think that's what I said."

"Where with Julie?  At the headquarters?"

"No...the lizard hospital.  That's where, I think."

"Visitor Fields?"

"Yeah, duh.  If you're done grilling me, I'm going back to bed now."

The line clicked and went dead in Phillip's ear.

"A lot of good that did," Phillip muttered to Brandon.

"Was Mike there?" Brandon asked quizzically.

"No, that was Sean.  He said that Mike is with Julie at Visitor Fields.  
I'm not sure, but it sounded like something was wrong with Sean."

"Like what?" Brandon asked.

"Like he was really...umm...rocked or something," Phillip replied.

"Rocked?" Brandon asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I have heard you call it something like zoned out.  Or drunk, maybe."

"Oh, as in stoned? I get it.  Well, I've thought Sean was a waste case 
for a while now.  If you ask me, I think he hemps."

"Hemps?" Phillip asked.

"Yeah, you know.  Tokes the tree, blazes bud..."

Phillip's expression contained even less enlightenment than before.

"Smokes pot, Phillip.  Geez!"  With that, Brandon pinched his thumb and 
forefinger together, brought them to his lips and inhaled dramatically 
in the universal joint smoker's sign.

"Oh, yes, I see," Phillip replied, "and yes, I think you're right. I 
think he abuses substances."

"So, why would Mike and Julie be at Iguana General?"

"Sean did not say. I suppose I will have risk a call to Howie there and 
find out if this is correct."

"Yeah, well, Sean had better hope he's not blowing smoke up our butts.  
That dollar and eighty three cents has already been reduced by a half dollar 
on his stoned, sorry ass, and we can't afford for anyone to jerk us around 
much more."

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

David sat in the command chair on the bridge of the mothership, his 
fingers steepled in a very human seeming gesture of deep thought. This, of 
course, was unconscious on his part. He'd never met a human face to face, and was 
quite unaccustomed to the day to day nuances of non verbal human expression. 
None of what had been planned by his mother was coming to fruition, and David 
felt himself teetering on the edge of apprehension and hope.

Apprehension. David glanced around the bridge, eyeing the other 
personnel at their various duty posts. He knew a few of them by name, and he knew 
that none of them could be trusted. They had been loyalists under Diana's 
command, and now they claimed allegience to him, only because he was now their 
commander. If they knew the truth...

Only a select few remaining on board the ship knew the truth. Perhaps 
it was better that way, but David knew that he was at a distinct numerical 
disadvantage. Only days ago, he'd had a better hope, but those days 
were a bitter memory. Following the escape of Orlando and Jaime with the human 
prisoner, Polly Maxwell, threats to question all crew members of the Los Angeles 
mothership and ferret out any fifth columnists from their ranks had issued from 
Patricia's lips. Word had quietly and quickly circulated, especially when David 
was given orders to begin the interrogations now, instead of waiting until the 
Los Angeles Mothership had been deployed out of Earth's atmosphere and re-routed to 
Rendevous Station, as had originally been the plan.

Instead of awaiting David's interrogations, many fifth columists had 
escaped from the mothership by way of the ventillation shafts, parachuting to 
the ground below. Others had simply jumped to their deaths, once the 
parachutes had been used up. David supposed that even Diana had made her escape this 
way. Once Patricia had learned of Diana's leavetaking, she had become enraged.  
It hadn't taken her long to find the escape route. A few unlucky fifth 
columnists had been caught attempting their own escapes.  Patricia had sent a regiment 
into the ventillation shafts, gathered up the unfortuante traitors, and had 
them executed. Now, the shafts were blocked off and guarded. David had been 
publicly blamed for letting it happen.

Not that he minded. In fact, he'd known some about it, and all he could 
do was silently curse his bad luck and allow their departure. It had been 
his mother's orders that had finally given him a slight stroke of good 
luck. With the interrogations under his authority, David was indeed able to ferret out 
who remained of the fifth column on board the ship. However, no harm would 
come to them. Only he was aware of their quiet allegience. David could only 
promise them, for their cooperation, that further interrogation at Rendevous 
Station would be deemed unneccessary.  

Now, each day, a small trickle of fifth columnists would greet him at 
his door, volunteering for their turns now, while Patricia would not be 
present to hear their confessions. David was slowly learning that the fifth column 
on board this ship had grown to something considerably larger than anyone had 
believed. By his rough calculations, half the crew were either active 
fifth columnists, or else, if not actively invloved, they had developed some 
rather anti-loyalist beliefs in their time away from home. Blind loyalty only 
served well when it could be constantly reinforced. By and large, most crews aboard the 
motherships now were comprised of troops that had been away from home 
for at least three years.  They were battle fatigued, homesick, and growing more and more 
resentful as the days passed. If they were still not sympathetic to the 
plight of the humans they had once sought to conquer, the majority were beginning to 
see that the Leader's promises were nothing more than hollow, paper words. 
David himself was well aware of this. Lies were too fragile a thing to build 
lasting allegiences on. He preferred truth whenever possible, even though 
subterfuge had it's strong points when needed.  

Though he counted himself within the growing majority that believed 
this mission on Earth was rapidly becoming a wasted effort, he still could 
not state that he felt pity for humans.  At least, not until he'd gazed upon the 
beauty and the splendor of this planet himself. It was no wonder that his 
father wanted to conquer it and to own it.  

David, however, felt something else stirring inside of him as he gazed 
out the viewports. True beauty was something he'd only gazed upon a few 
times in his life. What a pity to see it laid to waste.

The intercom on the bridge chimed for his attention, pulling him away 
from his silent reverie. Looking at the console, he instantly noted that the 
message was coded urgent in priority and secrecy would be needed for this 
transmission.  Excusing himself, he quietly departed for the quarters 
that had once belonged to Diana, his half sister, and the former commander of this 
vessel.  Once safely in private, the screen filled with the image of Melissa, the 
chief science technician on Rendezvous Station.

So, he should be lucky enough to gaze at true beauty twice in one day, 
he mused to himself, drinking in the image of Melissa's true form. On 
Rendezvous Station, only cadets in training and personnel on active duty were 
required to wear human guises. Melissa's human appearance gave her the look of a 
young woman with tawny hair and hazel eyes. Now, though, on her off duty time, she 
gazed at him solemly with fatigue rimmed scarlet eyes. It was obvious to 
David that she'd been working hard with the samples Patricia had dispatched to 
her.

"Do you have anything to report to me?" David asked, flicking his gaze 
around the room as if he couldn't quite trust the walls around him.

"First, allow me to inquire after Patricia, sir. How is her health?" 
Melissa asked, too politely.

"Mother's condition has stabilized, but she's still very critical. It is the medical staff's opinion that she is not well enough to be transported to Rendevous Station yet." 

To any casual observer, David's demeanor would appear to show the proper meausre of dignity and respect. Only a select few, such as Melissa, knew that David's concern for Patricia's well being was as false and insincere as the human skin covering he wore. Any knowledgeable observer would also note that Melissa's inquiry was intended only to gauge the possiblity of Patricia's presence within earshot. Satisfied that this was not the case, Melissa relaxed her guard somewhat. 

"The samples are...exactly as I feared. DNA of the....well, humans would term this bone the "femur"...tested positive for the identification of L'ura Kathka..." 

"I am very sorry, Melissa. The callousness in which this assignment was given to you is apalling..." 

"Do not apologize, David. This was your mother's doing. Besides, considering that the remains do indeed belong to L'ura, I would not trust this assignment to anyone else. It is the only way I could ever be 100% certain..." 

David gave Melissa a few quiet seconds to regain her composure. He was one of the few that knew of the bond that had once existed between L'ura Katthka and Melissa. They had been hatched around the same time, and had been friends since the earliest days of their childhoods. Despite the fact that Melissa had been assigned to Rendezvous Station shortly after her graduation from Academy, while L'ura had been allowed to remain behind on the homeworld to care for her ailing father, their bond hadn't faltered. During the brief period of time that L'ura was trained on Rendezvous Station prior to her assignment on board the Los Angeles Mothership, she and Melissa had been allowed a few chances to catch up with each other. Those fleeting moments had been all Melissa had left of their friendship, with the exception of a cruelly severed limb. At least now, David understood, Melissa had the answers she'd sought after nearly two years that had been devoid of any contact from her childhood friend. 

"The other bone fragments also tested positive for what I can only surmise as being what would belong to a hybrid of our species and the Humans. In addition, I also took the liberty of running three separate Ba'atherit Serum scans. The first was to measure weather or not their was any biological relation between the two sets of remains given to me..." 

"And?" David asked, unable to prevent himself from cutting in. 

"And, I was able to conclusively prove that a genetic bond exists, though not close enough for them to be mother and child. Before I divulge the findings of the second scan, I must ask you something," Melissa hedged, drawing in a deep breath. 

"Yes, you may. Go ahead." 

"There was quite a bit of crusted terran soil mixed in with the remains, suggesting that they had been buried in the Earth at one time. Did Patricia tell you anything about where she found them, or make any curious remarks?" 

David nodded his head solemnly. "She is on to something, Melissa. The humans bury their dead. They also, apparently, bury ours when the need arises. It would seem that this is how they disposed of Brian's remains, at any rate. Later, they buried the remains of the child and of L'ura nearby....to signify some sort of family unity, I suppose. At any rate, Mother was triumphant and puzzled. She fully expected to find all of the remains where the humans had buried them, but she was chagrined when she learned that Brian's body was unaccounted for." 

A hissing sound escaped from Melissa's lips that sounded a bit like laughter. "I will just bet," she muttered. 

"Melissa, this is no joking matter, and you know it. If mother recovers, follows her curiosity into some rather shadowed corners, and discovers that you have known the answer to this perplexing problem all along, you will lose every edge you have on the Altered Spawn Project...not to mention, you surely will die!" 

Melissa sobered visibly on the monitor. "I am fully aware of the implications, David. Which is why..." Her voice trailed off as a dark thought crossed her mind. David was able to read it all too easily.

"I only wish I could, Melissa. Unfortunately, my mother is under constant watch from the scads of scale sucking loyalists that permeate this place. I also do recall that I informed you of the fates of many of the 5th Columnists that might have been of aid to me in a situation such as this. The few that remain would have a difficult time...committing such an act...without getting caught. Then, before their executions, they'd be forced to betray the others, with those lovely little drugs and torture devices my darling half sister left lying about. Before long, my involvement in the plot would be exposed." 

"No. You are right," Melissa agreed hastily, "Too risky. Perhaps, if we are fortunate, the fates will take care of this dilemma for us." 

"Yes. Now, you were about to inform me about the results of the second Serum scan." 

"They tested positive for establishing the paternity of Brian Kathka to the remains of this child. Also, further testing revealed that the gender of this child was male. In addition, there were some surprising findings. The meausrements of the bone samples were appropriate for those belonging to a newly hatched infant, however, the density was all wrong." 

"All wrong?" David asked, "How so? 

"They were too calcified to belong to a new hatchling, or to a neonate human. Infant humans, in particular, have bones that are mostly made of cartilage to allow for fast growth and easy passage through the mother's birth canal. Though the bones of our hatchlings are not as soft as those of a human when they first emerge from the egg, they are still made up of more cartillage than compact bone. It is only after the first molt that this changes, and in humans, bone calcification slowly increases over childhood...most notably during the child's first year of development. My mesurements conclude that this child did not live long after delivery..perhaps a day or two at best. However, simply put, his bones are too hard!" 

"Is that what killed him, do you think?" David asked. 

"No. Rumor has it that the red dust that the humans used to drive us off the planet was obtained from a bacterial culture that resided in this child's blood. If this is true, I would be inclined to believe that the bacteria caused the child's death. Unfortunately, I have not been able to find any conclusive proof to determine a cause of death with what I was given. These remains are old, about 8 to 10 years old, and any bacterial samples I would need for a culture would have died with their host long ago." 

"But, the paternity test was positive," David concluded. 

"Indeed it was. So, too, was the third Ba'atherit Serum scan I ran, comparing L'ura's DNA to blood sample I obtained from Brian. They are definitely hatchmates. And, if L'ura's spirit will forgive me for being gruesome, I can run more tests. Her remains are less than two years old. She was also interred in her pseudoskin, which was airtight enough to allow for the preservation of a little bit of bone marrow from the femur. It may just be enough for me to prove some of the other theories I have had for some time now." 

"Keep me informed then," David stated. 

"Yes, sir," Melissa replied, her voice rapidly losing the intimacy that would indicate to anyone else that she and David were friends. Before allowing her professionalism to swallow her personality completely, she afforded herself one last moment to be David's confidant as opposed to his subordinate. "Three more quick items on the agenda," she whispered, almost conspiritorily, "The first is to please, if at all possible, try to prevent Patricia from being routed to Rendezvous Station for her continued care. I can get a lot more accomplished if I don't have to worry about her poking her forks in my business...." 

David's lips curled in a soft smile, that unbeknownst to him, looked uncannily human. "As you wish," he responded, "I'm sure that could easily be arranged, even if I must play the role of the overly cautious, mollycoddling son. Your second point?" 

"Se'there has finished with the last of the decodings from your half sister's scientific logs. You know, Diana really is sick! Do you know that she and a man by the name of Nathan Bates were having talks, many years ago, of creating a child together? A hybrid child, that would be conceived and incubated externally?" 

"No!" David hissed, his eyes growing wide. 

"Yes, apparently, this idea was scrapped when Charles was sent to Earth. However, it did not stop her from using the sperm of Nathan's grown son, Kyle, to try to conceive of a hybrid. Fortunately, this child did not live to hatch." 

David cringed in spite of himself. Like his mother, he could not quite invision why Diana would find it desireable to mix Sirian genetics with that of a human. To him, it was bad enough to have to parade around in a human suit. 

"Anyways, I have the transmission burst ready for you. It bothers me to have to use poor Se'there in this way, but if we are going to, I really wish we did not have to turn it over to Patricia. Frankly, I wish I could get my claws on this "Madeline", since she is the spawn of a Creche child, and see what effects may have been passed down to her. In fact, I would like to examine Elizabeth Maxwell, too....." 

"Dreams for another day, Mi'Alith'ca..." 

"Yes. Forgive me for getting carried away." 

"What is the third item on your agenda?" 

"Take care of yourself. That is all," Melissa replied. 

The monitor blacked out then, and David's connection to anything friendly and familiar was suddenly gone. In fact, as he contemplated the dark screen before him, David felt an icy chill seep in, beneath his psuedoskin. It caressed his scales with a malevolent touch that felt far blacker than the obsidian screened monitor. Shuddering involuntarily, David turned on his heel and stalked from the office that had once belonged to Diana. Even though she was gone, it seemed to David that the insanity that had eaten away at a once brilliant mind was still quite present and accounted for.

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

Once again, the house that Chris and Maggie shared was filled to capacity. The stranded group at the gas station had been rounded up after several telephone relays. The only exceptions were the members of the two gangs, El Chupacabra, and Lucifury. Together, the rag tag group was toiling to plug Paul's leaky radiator at the gas station. As soon as it was fixed, they would be arriving at Maggie's to pick up Brandon. From there, they would travel to San Fransisco and serve as an escort to retrieve Polly, Katie and Tonya. The resistance members assembled appeared to be in various states of physical or mental decay. The travellers from the Central Valley were road weary. Elizabeth sat huddled on the couch, clearly relieved to be in the company of her mother, who sat next to her. The last occupant on the couch, Abraham, had eaten a hearty meal that Maggie had managed to whip up, and then had promptly fallen asleep. Meanwhile, Paul spent a little while circulating amongst the familiar faces he'd come to know while he'd worked in L.A. He also introduced Natty to them. Despite her exhaustion, Natty still was able to maintain her sunny disposition. Finally, though, weariness had taken over. The two of them situated themselves in the kitchen and listened to Maggie's detailing of the events that had transpired the night before. Maggie was only mildly surprised that Paul wasn't dominating the conversation with his loud voice and his descriptive expletives about the f***ing lizards. She suspected he'd be much more like himself after he'd had some rest. 

Philip looked as worn as the others, but more than that, too. Standing by himself. looking absently out the livingroom's front facing window, it was plain to see that many thoughts were passing through his mind. What those thoughts could be was anyone's guess. If he was relieved to be back in Los Angeles, in the city he tentatively called home, it didn't show. For now, Mike allowed Philip his solitude. There were no doubts in his mind that the events of the last two weeks hadn't scarred his friend for life. However, the frenzied pace in which things had transpired hadn't offered Philip much of a chance to dwell on his misfortuens. Now, perhaps, was a moment when all he'd lost could finally catch up to him. The death of Lydia, his exposure as a 5th columnist by a trusted collegue who'd suffered at the hands of Diana, and his resulting career loss, all in a measure of time that barely registered as a tick on the cosmic clock, was all bound to filter in past Philip's cautious reserves and hammer him like a tsunami on a hapless beach. At least, Mike reasoned, Philip would soon be reunited with his daughter. That joy would have to amount to something. Mike's gaze shifted over the heads of others in the room, until he saw Sean. It was hard to gauge what sort of mood Sean was in. He had stopped and picked his son up when Pbilip had finally reached him on the payphone he'd been using. According to Philip, he had spoken briefly with Sean earlier, and he reported to Mike that Sean sounded as though he was inebriated. 

Brandon had backed up Philip's theory with a few colorful descriptions of his own. Now, Mike was left to consider an ugly truth that had only begun to invade his awareness. Brandon and Philip had made the possibility a reality. Mike would have to keep a firmer hold on Sean, because the battles he'd waged against the mind control of the Visitors wasn't over yet. Brandon seemed to be the only returning traveller that still had a spark of life left in him. Far from being vegatative, he had roved the rooms of Chris and Maggie's domain restlessly while stuffing his face simultaneously. Once he'd wolfed down Maggie's offerings, he'd negotiated travel arrangements with the gangbangers at the gas station from the phone in Chris's living room. Then, he'd patched a call up to Stanley Bernstein at the hospital, and informed him that Abraham was home, safe and sound..at least for the time being. Then, once again, he continued his roaming until his restless wanderings were resolved. The target he sought was sitting in a lawn chair in Chris's back yard, morosely watching the sun set on another unsettled day. Lost in a sweep of shiftless thoughts, Madeline was unaware of his approach. So too, was the young woman sitting in another lawn chair nearby. Brandon hardly registered her presence, even though she was completely unfamiliar to him. Instead, he zeroed in on Madeline like a buzzard sighting fresh carrion. 

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Misdemeanor Madeline. I kinda figured you'd be out joyriding in a hot car...maybe knocking over a few convenience stores...picking some pockets..." 

"Obviously not," Madeline responded dryly. 

"Ripping some Rolexes of of dead folks in a mortuary, extorting elementary school kids for their lunch money, and then, topping off your little crime spree with a suck faced, misspelled, lame assed attempt of an apology letter..." 

"I am sorry I took your money, Brandon. I will find a way to get it back to you." 

"Oh, yeah...soorreee I stoll yor muny. Gee, Einstein, did it ever occur to you that I just might happen to need my freaking money? Or that Kyle might just happen to want his truck back? Speaking of Kyle's freaking truck, where'd you stash it, anyhow?" Brandon spat, venomously. 

"I do not know where Kyle's truck was taken. I will have to find a way to return it or replace it." 

"Oh, yeah, sure you'll replace it. How...or might I ask who..are you gonna swipe the dough from? Cross me off your list. You already stuck your half- scaly paws down my pockets and left me with nothing but chump change and pocket lint. Shit, I don't even get paid til next Friday..." 

"I will find a way to get your money back to you, like I said..." 

"What sort of whacked out chick would rummage through a sleeping guy's jeans and snag his last 10 bucks anyways? Especially, when you take it from the guy that risked his life and spent almost every dime of his paycheck to haul your sorry ass...or should I say...SORREE ass to hell.....just to protect you from your nutted up, pistol packin, tongue flickin' green Granny....Look. I know I may have a few dings in my halo, but you...You have the morals of a crack smokin' meter maid, you know that? It's not hard to figure out where that comes from, either. You may have everyone else in this joint fooled, but I got you pegged. Don't screw with me, snake eyes, because I'll...." 

"Because you'll be laying in a pool of your own blood, choking and gasping from the hole I rip in your throat if you even so much as look at her crosseyed!" Brandon looked up from his tirade to see Sean Donovan bearing down on him. 

"Oh, now your gonna stick up for your iguana girl, is that it? Wanna start some shit with me? I'll knock your converted crack-head right off your shoulders!" Brandon fired back. 

"That would be an incredible feat for a stiff to pull off," Sean sneered, subconsciously positioning himself in a defensive, pre-attack Silent Strike stance. 

"It's gonna take more than a few creampuff karate chops to knock me down, Lizard Lover," Brandon retorted. 

Sean came at him, simultaneously sizing up his opponent and choosing his target. Brandon's midsection bounced off of Sean's extended foot just as the last words left his lips. Winded, but not incapacitated, Brandon rebounded quickly. His well honed street taught style of fighting proved to be a formidable match against Sean's militaristic and calculatingly brutal tactics. He even managed to rain in two blows on Sean's face before Sean had him down, face first, on the grass. With his knee in Brandon's back and the pressure around his neck sending sparks of white hot agony through his field of vision, Brandon immediately reached into his instincts. One of his arms was pinioned beneath his body, but that was a fortunate thing. As his vision began to grey out, Brandon was finally able to work his hand into his front pocket. From there, his fingers closed on his switchblade; a gift given to him when he'd been accepted by the leader of the skinhead group he'd run with in San Francisco. Once the cool metal registered contact with his skin, Brandon felt a surge of confidence and strength sweep over him. Just as he puledl it from his pocket, he was suddenly released from his pinion. Quickly and instinctively, Brandon brought his knees up to protect his midsection as he rolled off of his stomach. Dizzily, he jumped to his feet, only to find Mike Donovan restraining a very combative Sean. The imposing hulk of Chris Faber was beside Mike, warily positioning himself between Sean and Brandon. Brandon dropped the swtichblade onto the grass, blinking in surprise. 

Standing off to the side, looking stricken and horrified, was the other girl who'd been sitting near Madeline in the second lawn chair. Her rounded cheeks were flamed a cherry red, and her blue eyes were opened wide. The look on her pallid face suggested a trace of guil,; as though it had been she that had alerted the others to the showdown outside. 

"My God!" she exclaimed breathlessly, "You were going to stab him!" Her oh so opened eyes traveled down to the discarded knife in disbelief. 

"No shit, dumbass! He was trying to break my neck and kill me!" 

Another surprise awaited Brandon as Chris snatched the youth by the collar of his T-Shirt, one handedly dragging him within inches of his whiskered face. 

"Look here, Junior. I know boys will be boys and boys will fight. But no one will ever speak to my neice like that, in my presence, ever again. Understood?" 

Brandon mutely nodded as he felt his adrenalin surge begin to sag. Chris released him, and he staggered backwards, barely keeping on his feet. Somehow, he managed to snatch his switchblade up from the lawn and return it to his pocket. Looking from one shadowed face to another, it slowly dawned on Brandon that no one was chastising him for pulling out his blade. They must have come to the same conclusion that Brandon had reached as he struggled for air like a flopping goldfish under Sean's swift chokehold. 

"Sorry," Brandon muttered breathlessly to the portly, but as of yet nameless, entity that Chris had identified as his neice. He then wiped his blood and grass stained hands on his jeans as the sounds of rumbling engines filled the evening air. The members of El Chupacabra and Lucifury had arrived. Suddenly, he felt a sense of self consiousness wash over him as he imagined what he must look like. It certainly wouldn't do for two bands of the toughest street gangs around to see him looking like a kicked puppy. Slowly, he headed inside to wash up, very mindful that Sean's eyes watched him the whole time. Unlike Brandon, who was coming to his senses and cooling off now, Sean's eyes were still filled with murderous contempt.

Chapter 31   Monopoly

"You got to know when to hold 'em,
Know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away,
Know when to run,
You never count your money
While you're sittin' at the table,
There'll be time enough for countin'
When the dealin's done."

~~ Kenny Rogers   The Gambler

No one needed to tell Kyle Bates that his house was almost completely 
demolished. The fire that had started in the back portion of the 
dwelling had gutted the bedrooms. A few of the walls in the house were still standing, 
though they were scorched and buckled. Amazingly, the garage and a good portion of 
the kitchen was left intact, though both suffered from heavy smoke damage.

Leaning on a pair of crutches, he shook his head at the absolute 
unfairness that had been dealt to those he now considered family. Robin and 
Elizabeth grimly sorted through the boxes of their belongings that were piled up 
in the back of Ham's van. The only posessions they owned now were the ones that had 
been stored in Kyle's garage. Most of Katie and Polly's belongings had been 
demolished too, with the exception of what they'd taken with them to 
San Francisco. Kyle cared nothing for what he'd lost. His house was insured to the 
last rafter for every conceivable disaster that could hit. His dirtbikes had been 
in the garage, and they had been spared. Important papers, valuables, and 
keepsakes had been kept in a fireproof box that lived up to it's promise of being 
fireproof. Anything else he'd lost was replaceable.

Kyle reassured himself, as he watched Elizabeth sorting through the 
remnants of her life, that what he treasured the most of all had been saved.

Home, for the time being, was the Halfpence Hotel. Amir Hadad had 
opened his doors again just six days after losing his wife to Patricia's scourge.  
Instead of the usual Fourth of July Weekend business, however, his 
"customers" were the displaced members of the Los Angeles Resistance.  Amir now proudly 
declared himself as the newest member. Kyle, the Maxwells, and the 
Bernsteins were among those benefitting from his generosity. So were Brandon and Tonya, 
the latter having just returned from San Fransisco with Katie and Polly in 
tow. Natty and Paul were given a room for the duration of their stay.  

Before departing for the Central Valley, the members of El Chupacabra 
and Lucifury had rolled up their T-Shirt sleeves and helped with the 
clean-up efforts at the motel. They hadn't minded getting themselves soaked, elbow deep, 
in buckets of Mr. Clean and sanitizer if it meant gawking at all of the 
lizard blood and marvelling at what violence must have transpired. A few of 
the surlier members of El Chupacabra had spray painted a declaration on the 
concrete divider wall separating the parking lot of the Halfpence Hotel from the 
neighboring 7-11. First, a dripping red "V" was applied. Next, in artful script 
came the words "Muerte a los lagartos!" Amir had feared that it was what he'd 
believed to be "gang tagging" at first. Then, the translation "Death to the 
Lizards" had been explained to him. He made no attempt to rid the wall of El 
Chupacabra's artwork.

There was also plenty of single, young, females for the gangbangers and 
the skinheads to gawk at. After gawking at Robin and Elizabeth, at least 
when they were within the sight of Ham Tyler, they quickly got the idea that such 
was not a good thing to do. Though they were not familiar with the group's 
demographics, and likely thought that Ham was Robin's, and possibly 
even Elizabeth's father, the threatening, steely looks Ham gave them communicated to 
them that it didn't matter precisely what the relationship was between him and these 
two particular women. They were off limits.

If any "lagartos" now habitating at the motel minded the spray painted 
opinions of El Chupacabra, they said nothing. The gangbangers also 
seemed to learn, rather quickly, which single chicks were human and which weren't. They 
left the 'greenies' alone. In addition to offering shelter to homeless human 
resistors, several 5th Columnists had taken up residence at the 
Halfpence Hotel.

Philip, concerned for the well being of Sean, and feeling that it would 
benefit him to have more of Mike's undivided attention, decided to move 
himeself and Emily out of Mike's apartment. They were on the waiting list for an 
apartment of their own in the same complex. One recently vacated unit 
was being cleaned, but it would not be ready to move into for several days yet. 
Philip had managed to save most of his earnings over the years. Like Diana and 
Lydia, he hadn't much of a place to spend any of his wages when he'd worked on 
board the mothership. All of his basic shelter, food and uniform needs had been 
seen to as part of his military stipend. Now that Patricia's threat of discovering 
his whereabouts was temporarily eradicated, he had decided to liquidate his 
financial assets into currency he could spend on Earth. Though he was 
not rich by any standard, Philip had what he needed to survive until he could secure 
employment. With Mike acting as a reference, Philip had successfully 
lied about his employment status and his species to the apartment manager. The 
landlord was also ignorant to the fact that Philip had an extremely green daughter.

Planning to help Philip meet expenses was Nigel. Freshly released from 
Visitor Fields, he too was a temporary resident of the motel. When the 
apartment was ready, Nigel and Philip planned to share it. Like Philip, Nigel lied 
about his Sirian genetics. However, he was already employed; at least 
presumably so. As soon as he recovered enough to be fit for work, Howie promised him a 
position at the hospital as a security guard. Though the pay was barely 
above minimum wage, Nigel was thankful enough not to mind. In addition, he would reap 
the benefits of spending time with his neice, Emily.

Jaime had been given the same offer of employment from Howie, who felt 
that Visitor Fields would be a much safer place for 5th Column patients if 
they were served by 5th Column staff. Gratefully, she had accepted the job, and 
was already working. Much of her off time was spent at Orlando's bedside 
while he recovered. What remained of it was spent skulking around the hallways, 
gleaning what bits of information she could about Diana's condition. Everything 
she overheard was brought back to the Halfpence Hotel, where she too had 
taken up residence. 

Though she was still welcome to stay with Willie at Elias and Miranda's 
home, Jaime had decided that things were awfully crowded in their two bedroom 
house. Instead, she opted to rent a motel room until Orlando healed. 
Then, she'd reasoned that they would split the rent on a place of their own.  
Unfortunately, Orlando had other plans. He'd gently informed Jaime that he planned to 
move on and help unite the scattered cells of the 5th Column in the 
Southwestern United States. He'd offered her the opportunity to come with him, since 
she was familiar with the area, and he'd been rather baffled by her blatant 
refusal. Though she had declared 'family ties' as her reason for staying, the 
dark expression on her face hadn't been masked by her psuedoskin in the 
least. Orlando hadn't pressed her, but he knew instinctively that she had other 
reasons for not leaving.

While Jaime was busily stuffing herself on all of the useful 
information she could glean at Visitor Fields, others kept busy too. Many interesting 
things had been discovered when the room Diana had spent her last few days of 
freedom in had been cleaned. In fact, Natty knew the sort of people that El 
Chupacabra and Lucifury were. Anything of value found in that room would likely 
wind up in their pockets. She had personally supervised their work, marvelling 
at how efficiently they removed all traces of the carnage. Then, she surmised, 
they were masters of the trade. They'd all lived on the fringes of society 
most of their lives, eeking out an existence by selling drugs, and committing 
burglary, auto theft, and occasionally, murder. When they wanted to advertise 
their work, they were quite adept at it. However, when they wanted their 
deeds to go undetected, they knew how to get rid of the evidence. 

When they'd finished, all of Diana's "loot" was bagged, just like it 
was being sealed for a police investigation. With the exception of missing 
lightbulbs and small fixtures, and a few holes in the walls from where the coat 
rack had been unbolted and discarded of, and the one scorch mark in the wall 
above the bed where Patricia's blaster bolt had grazed the top of Diana's head 
and burned into the sheetrock, Lucifury and El Chupacabra had effectively 
sterilized the room.

Natty had given all of the collected evidence to Juliet Parrish. Much 
of it was useless items needed for grooming. However, there were a few 
articles of clothing in the mix. Some of it, Stanley Bernstein confirmed later, 
belonged to Lynn. In addition, her car keys were recovered. The items that held the 
most interest were the ATM card and the paper transaction records that had 
been spit out of the Versateller machine along with any cash Diana had withdrawn. 
The name on the ATM card belonged to a woman by the name of Eva Grimaldi. 

Research into the bank records, conducted craftily by Paul Keifer, 
discovered that the social security number linked to the account matched to the 
same name. As it was so learned, Eva Raquel Grimaldi, born 8/17/66, really 
existed, at least once upon a time. She had been claimed on a tax return as one of 
two dependents of Carlo and Gwen Grimaldi, in the year 1983. It was the 
last year anyone from that particular branch of the Grimaldi family had filed 
taxes. Judging by the address on the tax return, that was no surprise. They 
had been residents of San Pedro, California. Of course, there were no death 
records in existance for any of the Grimaldis, and it was also no big surprise 
where Diana had obtained the picture ID and the social security number. 

The real Eva Raquel Grimaldi was likely languishing in a food storage 
pod, or already dead. Though she had just turned eighteen at the time of the 
Visitor's initial invasion, today, she would have aged almost 9 years, 
and would be 26.  At the time of her disappearance, it wouldn't have been likely for 
Eva Grimaldi to have bank accounts, stocks, bonds, vehicles, property, a 
marriage certificate, or a job history. She hadn't been old enough. In fact, 
further research on the tax return indicated that she was still a high school 
student, most likely a senior. Sadly, she'd been just the right age for Diana to 
abduct her person, and later, her identity, and use it to serve her own purposes. 
Wearing a pseudoskin, it wouldn't be hard for Diana to stretch reality by a few 
years in reverse and pass for 26.

The paper trail didn't end there. Apparently, Diana had amassed quite a 
bit of wealth. No one could ascertain where she'd gotten the original sum 
of money required to begin her various transactions. Though the Grimaldi family 
wasn't poor by any standard, or at least, so their tax return for 1983 
indicated, Eva Grimaldi had owned nothing. At least, nothing in her own name. Philip 
held to the opinion that Diana had done with her earnings as he had done with 
his, which was to save the majority of it.  There wasn't much in the way of 
personal possessions or luxuries one could spend their wages on when living on 
board the mothership. Entertainment and more discriminating foodstuffs above 
and beyond daily rations were what the majority of the mothership's crew 
blew their money on. Entertainment fell more to the category of gambling in the 
recreation halls. Some of the crew bought themselves a few indulgences on Earth, 
such as chocolate bars, alcoholic beverages, or...as had once been the case,  
the polo shirts Elias had produced to market the Club Creole. Others sent a 
majority of their money back home to feed their families.  

Diana had no time for frivoulous activities such as gambling or 
shopping on Earth, and she had little in the way of family to support.  Like 
Philip, she had simply held her funds in reserve.  Unlike Philip, she'd also found 
opportunities to make her money grow. There was simply no way to prove, 
or disprove, that the money in the accounts belonged to Diana, even if the name in 
which that money was stored and transferred under was not.

There was obviously much to learn, and there weren't too many available 
that had the knowledge or the time to untangle Diana's financial webs and 
figure out where she'd gotten what.  Or, as the biggest question of all was, 
what to do with what she had. Debates ranged from "donate it to the resistance" to 
"split it up amongst us all". Paul had gathered up much of the 
information. It was up to others, like the accountant, Stanley Bernstein, the son of an 
investment tycoon, Kyle Bates, the master of identity forging, Ham Tyler, and the 
ever watchful source of Visitor legal knowledge, Philip, to hash over these 
quandries. Together, they labored to learn exactly what Diana had, 
precisely how she'd gotten it, and how much of it was liquifiable.  

It was Kyle who discovered one of the earlier sources of Diana's 
financial boons.  At some point in time, back when Nathan Bates had been alive, 
Diana had acquired a share of Science Frontiers. Though small in comparison to 
the stock held by some of the former company's more lucrative investors, it had 
done well after Kyle had sold his father's company to EcoSound. Instead of 
cashing out, Diana had reinvested her shares in EcoSound. Though times were 
hard on the stock market, EcoSound was one company that had done well, despite the 
onslaught of the Visitors. To this day, Diana's shares were appreciating.

Kyle was openly outraged.  He'd never dreamed, in a million years, that 
his father would have ever conducted any sort of deals with Diana that 
would allow her any share of his holdings. It also had never occurred to him, as 
he'd scrutinized his father's assetts with the help of attorneys, to 
question any of the stocks being held by individual, 'penny ante' investors. Not that 
questioning things would have gained him anything, as Stanley pointed 
out to him. Why would the name Eva Grimaldi stand out as special against any of the 
other names of individual investors that had stock in Science Frontiers, or any of 
his father's other corporate assetts? 

It was learned that Diana limited her link with Nathan Bates only to 
Science Frontiers. Eva Grimaldi's name did not appear as an investor in the 
real estate company his father had co-owned, nor with the Yacht and Sailing 
Club or the small chain of sporting goods stores his father had acquired. Instead, 
she'd made other investments suited to her own reasoning. It was learned she 
had shares in Visitor Fields, although she acquired these stocks through 
the use of her own name and Sirian funds. Philip was not surprised, as he too 
admitted to small scale investing at the hospital. It served his own purposes, both 
financial and health-wise, to have a well stocked, operational hospital 
to treat Sirian health dilemmas and ailments. In fact, Visitor Fields was, he 
explained, held by many different stockholders. Some of them even lived on the 
homeworld. He had learned that it was one 'franchise' that was doing well, and 
even though most people on the homeworld could not see the fruits of their 
investments, they were snapping up shares of Visitor Fields left and right. It only 
served to make the hospital more financially stable. It also supposedly helped 
the economy back home, and investors were hoping to find other 'Earth to 
Home' franchises to launch. 

Regardless of where she'd gotten it, Stanley's final calculations of 
Diana's wealth were impressive. With humor that only an accountant could 
appreciate, he'd drolly remarked that he was surprised that she didn't owe any back 
taxes on her investments under her assumed name. In fact, he'd even wondered 
aloud if she'd "converted" an accountant to do her taxes for her. He'd then 
asked for Philip's assistance to translate anything of a Sirian nature. Now that 
Philip knew where to look, he was able to obtain various records of Diana's 
Sirian ledgers. It was here that Philip learned that roughly half of what 
Diana owned was tied up in trusts, and that provisions were being made to funnel 
more money into the trusts.  Most of it, he reasoned, would be used for her to 
fund her various scientific schemes. He soon learned that he was wrong.  The 
largest of these trusts, was not even in her own name. The beneficiary of this 
trust was someone by the name of Ma'thal'ee Jhath'le Rhetatheket.

"Madeline!" Philip had cried aloud, as he coerced Stanley to tally up 
the figures he gave him.

Stanley had shook his head as he caculated Madeline's entrusted net 
worth.  There was close to seven hundred thousand dollars in reserve. The 
conditions in which the funds could be dispersed were discovered by Philip, as he 
sought to find some sort of legal document on record that would serve as Diana's 
living will. Indeed, she had one, as did he himself, Lydia, and other high 
ranking officers on board the motherships. Not to have one would be foolish, 
and it would also allow the for military to dig into the coffers of the dearly 
departed and use the leavings to their discretion. Often times, the families of 
these unfortunates wouldn't see a thin credit come their way. Like humans, 
Sirians could make provisions in their wills that stated their wishes, if they 
were to die, or become incapacitated to the point that they were no longer able 
to dictate thier own will. The provisions made in Diana's will were simple 
and straightforward. Madeline would stand to inherit three quarters of 
Diana's total worth upon Diana's death. In addition, she would inherit the rest if 
the second beneficiary named in Diana's provisional died before Diana did.

The second largest trust was also designated to someone else.  More 
funds were deposited and spent from this account than from most of the 
others.  Expenditures were carefully tabulated, and the sums of money deposited 
were divided into what would be spent, versus what would be saved.  Savings-wise, 
the account was valued at just over 175,000. However, as Stanley pointed 
out, expenditure money funnelled into this trust exceeded 20,000 a year, and 
as far as he could tell, every "dime" was accounted for.  Only Philip was able to 
read the ledgers to determine where this money was going.  The beneficiary of 
this account was named as Se'there Rhetatheket. 

A cold chill crept down Philip's crest when he learned this. He'd known 
Se'there many years ago when she'd been a hatchling. They'd been 
schooled together in the Primary Academy. In fact, the Nath families and the Rhetatheket 
families had known each other, once upon a time, in a day when he could 
scarcely remember, and would certainly never speak of. In those distant days, 
Heth'taen Rhetatheket had still been alive, and had marvelled at the Nath twins. 
Philip remembered him. Sadly, he remembered a warm, animated man, who met with 
his father to discuss politics. In addition, they seemed to enjoy a mutual 
friendship. When Philip and Martin had been small, Heth'taen always took a few 
minutes out of his meetings with their father to play with the boys. He once told 
the twins that he couldn't wait to have hatchlings of his own, and that he 
hoped for twin boys, just like them. A few years later, shortly after Philip and 
Martin started Pre Compulsory, Heth'taen's wish was granted. Only, instead of 
twin boys, he got twin girls. If he was disappointed, it didn't show. In 
fact, he acted absolutely ecstatic. Soon, the marriage talks started. Heth'taen 
and Philip's father decided that Philip, considered the eldest of the Nath 
twins, because it had been his claws that had broken their shell, would marry 
Se'there, the first hatched of the fraternal Rhetatheket twins. Martin would then 
marry D'ana.Whatever the case was, he remembered hearing that S'there had 
died. Diana certainly never mentioned the name of her sister in his presence at any 
time he'd spent with her on board the mothership. Now that Se'there, Martin, 
and Heth'taen were all dead, the pact was obviously broken, leaving Philip 
and Diana to pursue any mate they chose.

According to what Philip was plainly able to read, Se'there was alive, 
if not well. The expenditures from the trust were being used to pay for her 
continuing care at a specialized facility on the homeworld that treated 
patients suffering from extreme psychiatric ailments. There was little in the 
way of personal information regarding Se'there to indicate her condition or 
her treatments.  However, her hatch date and other statistical information, such as her 
marital status were listed. Se'there's hatch date was the same as 
Diana's.

Another half formed memory inched into his brain of the little girl he 
remembered that had borne this name.  She had been extremely energetic, 
and intelligent. Though she'd been a few years younger than he, she'd 
gravitated to him upon learning he had a twin.

"I have a twin too," she'd boasted to him one day, "Except we don't 
look just alike.  We came from two different eggs, and I hatched first!"  She had 
then pestered Philip with all kinds of questions about how he and his 
brother had been hatched, and who poked out first.  

If his distant memory served him right, S'there's statement about not 
looking identical to Diana seemed true.  The Se'there he remembered bore 
delicate, tawny amber pattern mottling, where as Diana's were said to be of a 
burgandy color. That would indicate that the two were dizygotic, or as humans 
said, fraternal twins.

Philip could not remember exactly when he'd heard tell of Se'there's 
death.  His Primary Academy training days were long past, and he had gone onto 
Compulsory Academy, just as the military demanded. However, he did 
distinctly recall the year that Se'there's class graduated up to Compulsory.  Instead of 
the attendance rosters bearing the name of Se'there, though, the only 
Rhetatheket in attendance at that time had been D'ana...who'd later become Diana. He 
knew that it was then that he learned of Se'there's death, but he could not 
recall from whom he'd learned it from. Had it been Martin?

He snapped himself out of his revisitations of the past, and shook the 
troubled feelings away that suddenly gnawed at him as he pondered the 
obvious holes in his recollections. Whatever he'd remembered musn't have been 
entirely accurate, because it would seem that Se'there was still living.  While 
he thought this out, Stanley had been trying to determine what of Diana's holdings 
could be liquidated, and what couldn't be touched. 

Philip re-examined the documents and found that the provisions Diana 
had made regarding her Sirian finances were soundly legal.   If Diana died as a 
result of her injuries, Se'there's shares would pass into a legal 
conservatorship. This was clearly outlined, and was completely reasonable. Madeline's 
provisions, however, were a little more convoluted.  Apparently, the 
terms in which her money could be dispersed was an action still in it's negotiating 
stages.  It was not tied exclusively to Diana's death or incapacity, as it was a 
trust designed to provide for Madeline's well being.  Naturally, Diana 
herself oversaw what funds were deposited and spent from this account.  

The only provision that stood out from the others was the time in which 
Madeline herself would gain access or control to these funds. In fact, 
a dispersal schedule had been defined, and it stated that Madeline would have been 
given access to a small portion of her holdings on the six month anniversary 
of her adult molt. Philip did a rapid guestimate, trying to remember just how 
long ago it had been when the girl had emerged from the cocoon of her brief 
childhood, looking like a young adult. He'd been away, attending to business 
elsewhere, and upon his return, she'd molted. The three week span in which he'd 
been gone had been 9 months after Madeline's secret hatching, which he'd later 
learned had been in May of the year before.  February, then, of this year, 
which would then entitle Madeline to that portion in August.  

The next provision stipulated that if Madeline treated her income 
wisely, her next installment would be granted to her at the one year anniversary of 
her adult molt. Then, at her second hatch anniversary...or...second 
birthday, as humans termed it, she would then be allowed to govern half of her trust 
on her own, as long as she proved to be responsible. No terms were stated for 
what "responsible" meant, nor had any appointments been made as to whom 
would govern the trust as power of attorney in the event of Diana's death.

While the resistance discussed what should be done with what they'd 
found, one fact stood out clear in Philip's mind. Before anything could be 
spent, redirected, or placed under another authority, Diana had to actually be 
declared dead...or legally incapacitated. So far, as the record stood, Diana did 
not meet the criteria for dead. Further more, no determinations could be made to 
her level of functioning until her recovery had progressed a bit more.

"Well, I could fix the 'dead' part," Ham huffed, making a sour face. 
Nothing could be settled in the least for the moment, a fact that didn't set 
well with him. As one of the proponents of funding the resistance with Diana's 
loot, he was already envisioning all of the contraband arms and munitions he and 
Chris could acquire. More practical concerns, such as refurbishing the new 
H.Q., were so far down on his list of priorities, that they ranked alongside 
a proctology exam. 

"Well, I wouldn't mind it if Philip could find a provision that would 
govern what portion of Diana's money could be used to repair Lynn's car or 
replace the clothes she stole. Frankly, I can't imagine that Lynn would ever 
want to wear that jog suit again, or drive her car, for that fact!" Stanley 
groused.

"Yes, I think it would be appropriate to see if she can be held liable 
for any damages she's caused, and have her accounts garnished to pay for 
the damages," Philip stated, as he quietly reviewed the computer printouts 
he had of Diana's Sirian ledger.

"You said that Madeline is coming into some money soon, like in August, 
right?" Ham asked, his voice barely masking his suspended thought.

"The provisions would indicate this, yes," Philip replied.

"How much money?" 

Ham's tone was so steely and to the point, that his meaning was caught 
quite clearly by the other three in the room.

"About 35,000 dollars,"

Stanley let out with a low whistle.

"That's an awful lot of money to entrust a girl Madeline's age with," 
he remarked stoically.

"So, we don't entrust her with it," Ham responded, "We use it.  By my 
calculations, Madeline herself has caused a lot of trouble in the past 
few weeks. At the very least, she can buy Kyle a new truck. That'll run her about 6 
grand. The rest..."

Philip looked up from his documents, a slow expression of outraged 
amazement forming on his features.

"Absolutely not!" he thundered in response, "Madeline should not be 
forced to pay for her mother's misconduct. That money was set aside for her 
benefit, not for the resistance to auction off as pay back money!"

"Look, Philip, the money to fund us has to come from somewhere.  We've 
all made our sacrifices. You should see how much money Kyle pumps into this 
outfit...his damn trust money and inheritance, mind you. And yeah, some 
of it did have to be used to mop up his old man's indiscretions, but Kyle knew what 
needed to be done, and he's never pitched a bitch about it.  Furthermore, 
since Queen Scaly elected me as Madeline's Frozen Pop, I would say that that gives 
me power of attorney in her absence. And I say...come August first, this 
outfit is gonna have a whole lot of fixing done, and a whole lot of guns to get 
more fixing done."

"And what about Madeline?" Philip asked, "What is she supposed to live 
on?  Guns won't put a roof over her head or food in her stomach."

"She can go get a damn job like everyone else, go to work everyday, and 
pump more money into the resistance, just like Elias, Willie, Julie, 
myself...and hell...even Gooder..."

"Uh, I hate to interrupt here, but..."  Stanley's voice trailed off 
uncertainly, as the argument between Ham and Philip stalled with his 
interruption.

"We're all ears, Stanley," Kyle prompted, nervously looking out the 
window of the hotel room.  So far, Robin and Elizabeth were still going through 
their things in the parking lot, and they were oblivious to the argument 
heating up inside. To keep the costs of energy down for Amir's sake, the air 
conditioner was left off, and the windows were opened. 

"Just how, precicely, is a one year old Starchild supposed to go out 
into society and get a job?  What would she do for a living, bust 
lightbulbs? I can tell you all right now that Madeline is in no position to find 
employment. She has no job experience, no formal education..."

"Yeah, and according to Brandon, she can't even read or write," Kyle 
added.  

Ham looked mildly surprised at this revalation, his eyebrows 
momentarily shooting up a notch.

"Well, I thought Starchildren were supposed to have amazing intelligence. What, did Diana forget to program that into Madeline's genetic soup?" he asked, caustically. 

"She is intelligent," Philip responded, "but it seems obvious that Diana did not spend much time teaching Madeline rote academics. Instead, she concentrated her efforts on conceptual conditioning..." 

"You mean, conversion," Kyle interjected. 

"No, not conversion. According to Madeline, that was abandoned early in her training due to malfunction. Rather, I meant...hands-on learning. Critical thinking, too, and later, at the camp, physical conditioning. Very little of Madeline's education would have been centered on learning to read and write English, although her vocabulary was built upon.On the mothership, it is not often required that we know how to read and write our assigned human languages above a merely functional level, although it was taught to us. However, there are no computer systems, library disks, or other media on board that are written in English or any other Earth based language. It was never intended for humans to know how to operate our machinery." 

"Yes, and no one learns anything unless they're taught. Abraham is a bright boy. He's far brighter than...Daniel...ever was..." Stanley's voice seemed to momentarily trip over the mention of his deceased son's name, but then he regained his resolve to continue. "My point is, that Abraham wouldn't know how to read and write if Polly hadn't tutored him through the GED program. It's amazing, when you think about it, that the boy is ready to take the exam, yet he's barely a year old. However, I wouldn't think of tossing him out to the wolves right now and telling him that he needed to go get a job! He's nowhere near ready!" 

"I'm not sure Elizabeth is, even. Sure, she's smarter than all of in this room combined with the whole Encyclopedia Britannica, but...Holding down a job requires more than smarts. Maturity and self control are really important. Elizabeth is so busy thinking so many amazing thoughts that she'd just kind of...forget to do her work, I think. Frankly, I'm just not sure if Elizabeth is 9 to 5 material, and I'm not sure that Madeline and Bram are either." 

"Well, then, Oh Wise One," Ham snorted at Kyle, "suppose we teach Madeline and Abraham to sit around on their half leather asses and collect Welfare, while you marry Elizabeth and support her "amazing thoughts"?" 

Kyle regrouped his thoughts for a moment, trying not to strike out blindly at Ham. "That's not what I'm saying at all. Ok, well, if Elizabeth and I get married, I'd be fully willing to support her. She'd never have to work if she didn't want to. Abraham's destiny will be determined by his circumstances and how he adapts to them. As for Madeline...well, it's obvious that Diana has a thing or two figured out. Why else would she set aside a trust fund the size of the Mothership for Madeline to draw on? I don't think she envisioned Madeline landing a job as a slurpy jockey at the 7-11. If that trust fund is set up the way I think it is, then something tells me that maybe Diana took a few tips from the Nathan Bates School of Funding the Junior Tycoon..." The blank looks on all of the faces, with the exception of Stanley Bernstein, urged Kyle to continue his explaination. "When I was a kid, my dad had me take a Junior Investors course. Then, he gave me some money and told me to invest it. You know, pick what I wanted to invest in, and buy some shares. I think I was like...11 or 12, something like that. Anyhow, I really dug dirtbikes, even then. I decided to invest it in a company that manufactured...dirtbikes, among other things. It was totally my decision, and my old man, for once in his life, didn't argue with my choice. By the time I was 15, that little investment paid off. I started off with something like 15 thousand dollars, and a few years later, that investment had more than tripled. When I finally sold the stock, it was worth over fifty thousand. I think Diana had something like that in mind for Madeline. It's what I intend to do with Elizabeth if we get married. People like Diana and my father may be bonafide assholes, but they know one thing about how to get by in today's economy. Yeah, sure, if you want to make something of yourself, you have to work at it...but if you wanna get dirty, rotten, filthy, stinking rich, you have to learn how to INVEST wisely..." 

Kyle's lecture washed over everyone slowly, as they drank in the implications. Stanley was the first to speak, his eyes glistening with understanding that came from his well honed knowledge of financial workings. "Yes, I'm quite sure Elizabeth would be a natural with the stock market. She has incredible abilities..." 

"Oh...I get it..."Ham cut in, his understanding of Kyle's wisdom etched clearly on his face. "You'd marry Elizabeth just so that you can exploit her instincts and get loaded. Real slick, Junior!" 

Kyle lunged forward, the crutches that had been supporting his weight nearly forgotten in his anger. They slipped from beneath his arms and almost clattered to the floor, but he was able to reposition them in time to avoid a fall. Unfortunately, it stopped his momentum. "You lowlife son of a bitch! How dare you say I'd marry Elizabeth for her investing potential, when you just sat there 5 minutes ago, spending your own daughter's trust fund on guns and grenades and new subscriptions to The Rifleman?!" 

"Let's get one thing straight, Choirboy," Ham retorted, "Madeline is NOT my daughter. Just because Diana says it's so, doesn't make it so." 

"Oh, I guess Madeline's only your daughter when it's convenient, then. Like, ignore her now, but just wait til August. Then, I'll just bet you'll be full of fatherly compassion as you bilk her out of everything she owns, and callously tell her to go get a job. Get screwed, man!" 

"At least I'm up front about it, unlike you!" Ham said, his voice betraying no emotion. 

"Yeah, well, that is not was Elizabeth and I are about," Kyle said, as he leaned back on his crutches to part the curtains away from the window. Outside, Elizabeth and Robin continued their business. "Look at those two," he continued, in a softer tone, "what's in that van is all they have. What's wrong with wanting Elizabeth to have more than half a vanload of posessions? I just want her to have anything she wants...but I want her to learn how to get it for herself. It's not a matter of teaching her how to make me rich. I already am. Hell, I know how to get rich on my own, I don't need her to show me. For her sake, I just want her to learn some things about how this world works, and how to make what she has work in it. If that's wrong, then shoot me down now." 

"It's not wrong, Kyle," Stanley said, "and your logic, though it seems ugly in some lights, has its merit. Frankly, I think I should sign Abraham up for some investment classes. If it doesn't teach him how to invest well, at least it might keep him from getting swindled." 

"Where is this class you speak of, Kyle?" Phillip asked, with interest. "It might not be a bad suggestion for Madeline. If it does not start right away, maybe someone can work with her on her reading skills so she could benefit from it, and learn something about the value of her currency." 

"It starts at the Community College at the end of August. I'll have to get another catalog...the one I had with all the information got torched in the fire...but it runs for six weeks, I think. Robin knows about it too. In fact, she's planning to enroll in it." 

Ham made a sour face as Kyle's idea was lauded. When it came to money, he couldn't bring himself to trust anyone whose last name was Bates. His attention turned to the same scene that Kyle had been observing moments ago. Elizabeth was holding a small object in one hand, and making a broad motion with her other. A radiant smile was on her face, as if she'd just discovered buried treasure. From the rear of the van, Katie emerged, clutching a battered looking E.T. doll in her arms. Following behind her was a slight, solemn-faced, dark-eyed girl, wearing a child's version of traditional Muslim garb. Ham vaguely recognized Katie's companion as Medina, Amir's eleven- year-old daughter. Apparently, the two girls had become fast friends since Katie's return from San Fransisco. Together, they examined the item Elizabeth held with obvious curiosity. Even Robin had stopped her task of going through a box to take a look. Whatever small treasure Elizabeth had found, Ham could see that it obviously brought her immense joy. He flicked his steely gaze back to Kyle, who was oblivious to Ham's scrutiny as he filled Stanley in on what information he had about the investment classes. 

It occurred to Ham that Kyle was the one that had it all wrong. Elizabeth didn't need any class to teach her how to get rich. She'd always be the sort of person that could find a gold mine in a toilet full of turds. It seemed that these were values handed down to her by her own mother, who didn't seem the least bit concerned that all of her worldly possessions had suddenly been reduced to a few boxes of trinkets, the clothes she wore on her back, and a rattling box of her dead son's bones. Nor did it seem to matter to Katie, who'd turned the situation of living in a motel for lack of any better place to stay into an opportunity to meet a new friend. It occurred to Ham that he hadn't heard her issue one complaint about it either, which told him that Katie didn't need Kyle and his stacks of money to be happy. 

It also hit him that in all of the melee that had occurred as of late, Katie's birthday had somehow been lost in the shuffle. He scanned his memory, trying to remember the exact day Katie had told him it would be. June 29, he recalled, which had been nearly a week ago. She'd been in San Francisco still, and...had her birthday been the day they'd sent Patricia packing, or the day after? Time was lost on him, but one fact wasn't. He'd promised Katie he wouldn't forget it. Perhaps it was belated, but it beat forgetting altogether...which was more than he could say for Head Up His Money Grubbing Ass Bates. Sliding a quick hand into his pocket, Ham found his wallet. He pulled it out silently, checked its contents, and made a satisfied grunt. Then, without even excusing himself from the discussion, he sauntered out of the room, making a beeline for the group at the van. 

"Hey, ladies!" he called, loud enough to where he knew the others in the hotel room, especially Kyle, could hear him through the open window. In unison, Elizabeth, Robin, Katie and Medina looked up. "I know a certain somebody that never got her birthday party," Ham continued, a devilish smile spreading on his face, "so if you all are done here, maybe we should take the birthday girl to Pizza Works..." 

"Ooooh, where they have all those cool games?!" Katie cried. 

"That's the place." 

"Cool! Can Medina come?" 

Ham smiled lightly and nodded. "If her dad says it's ok, she's more than welcome to come," he replied. 

Without even a moment's hesitation, Medina tore from the group and made a run for the office, a hesitant smile lighting up her sad but pretty features. 

"What about Bram? Can he come?" Katie prodded. 

Twenty minutes later, Ham's van was loaded full of the youngest resistance members. To his satisfaction, Elizabeth shared space in the back with the likes of Katie, Abraham and Medina, with Robin in the passenger's seat beside him. 

Kyle, and his wise-assed investment schemes, was left back at the hotel. The look Kyle had shot Ham as he pulled his van out of the parking lot wasn't lost on him either. The more he thought about Kyle and Elizabeth getting married, the more he cringed. There were times when Ham felt that he and Kyle saw the world in a similar fashion, that perhaps Kyle was a bit like he himself had been at that age. It had caused friction between them when they'd first met, shortly after the re-invasion. As time had passed, Kyle and Ham had learned to put their differences (or likenesses) aside, and a mutual respect had developed. Times like these tested that respect, though. Kyle was not quite thirty years old. At his ripe old age, he had somehow decided that he knew what was best for the world's first Starchild...and seemingly what was best for the rag tag group of relations that Elizabeth knew as her family. By some odd anomoly, Elizabeth had come to live with Kyle...and over the years, so had her mother and her young aunts. Kyle, meanwhile, presided over his court of orphans with a watchful stance that Ham felt verged on controlling... A wedding band for Elizabeth...an investment class for both her and Robin...

What next, Ham wondered, would Kyle be co-signing the loan Polly would need to buy her first car, and attending Katie's parent-teacher conferences at school? It felt terrible to admit it, but Ham wasn't sad that Kyle's house had suffered damage so extensive that his little family unit got forced out from under his roof. Sitting next to him, Robin seemed oblivious to Ham's unflattering mental portrayal of Kyle and his ill-bred intents. He wondered if she felt like he did...if she worried at all that Kyle seemed to exert his influence in Elizabeth's affairs a bit more exhuberently than he ought to. 

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Robin about the investment class, but he decided not to. For one, judging by the distant expression on Robin's face, she might think he was coming completely out of left field. After all, she hadn't known about the disagreement that he and Kyle had just hashed out back at the hotel. Secondly, though Robin was distant, she didn't seem upset about anything, for once. In fact, her quietitude appeared to be born out of mental fatigue, sprinkled with a healthy dash of relief at being reunited with those she loved the most. There were no immediate loose ends to tie up, either. Her homelessness problem was solved, at least for now. The remains of her son had been respectfully re-interred, only now they were laid to rest next to Kathleen Maxwell's memorial at the former base at the mountain camp. Diana was holed up at Visitor Fields, Patricia was apparently out of commission and hopefully dead (although Ham knew better...) and Polly had come back from San Francisco with the good news that Diana's latest attempt to procure another starchild hadn't taken. 

And, of course, Katie had survived another precarious revolution around the sun. There wasn't much in the world Ham Tyler ever sought to take pleasure in, but this was one that not even his jaded spirit could deny him. Watching a little kid with an ear-splitting grin clamp her eyes shut tight while the rest of the world sang a song for her and waited for her to conjure up a wish to expell on brightly burning candles that would bring her whatever her heart desired...It was a sight that could bring him to tears if he'd let it...if nothing else ever could. The memories that evoked those tears, of watching his own daughter, Sunshine, poised gleefully over her own birthday cake, huffing and puffing until every lit candle was extinguished, would never be a reality again. But the sense of pride and joy he'd felt then would never leave him. Amazingly, Ham could relive that again, only with Katie now, and somehow, it didn't hurt anymore. It was a true celebration to see her turn another year older. Ham doubted that Kyle would feel anything like that if he were to be there to see Katie blow out her candles. And while she was wishing and blowing, Ham doubted that Kyle would stand next to her, simultaneously wishing, with all of a father's passion, that no harm would ever touch that precious girl. 

As it was for the spur of the moment birthday party, Katie's cake was not the huge affair Ham had envisioned. Instead, it was a modest, pre-baked, simply frosted concoction that Pizza Works complimentarily served up whenever a Pizza N More Party Pack was ordered. In addition to the cake, Ham got two Ultra Party Pizzas with the works...including a side of anchovies for Abraham...two pitchers of Party Pepsi, and enough game tokens to melt down and turn into a small army tank, if he was so inclined. 

Despite Visitor oppression, the place was packed. Kids ran pell mell all over the place, and their harried parents chased after them. The rectangular tables were arranged in long rows, like a military mess hall. Many of the table sections were marked off for other birthday parties in progress. Bright streamers hung in festoons, and some of the more ornate table sections were marked with balloons and party hats. Ham felt a momentary regret that they had none of these things for Katie, but he soon realized that Katie was far more interested in the fist full of token in his hands than in the paper streamers and party favors. The game room, annexed off of the eating area, was jam packed with kids of all ages, ranging from toddlers in diapers to teenagers with pimples. It amazed him that Abraham fit in so neatly as he tagged along with Katie and Medina to the GameWorks Arcade. Looking at him, Ham was hard pressed to tell that the boy was actually a hybrid. While the Bram, Katie and Medina went off to spend their tokens, Elizabeth stayed with Ham and Robin, helping to fetch and carry the food, drinks, and various eating utensils. 

Despite her world-wise ways, Elizabeth's eyes still danced around the restaurant, taking in all she could see. Ham supposed that in her eight years of existence, the Starchild hadn't been to too many pizza joints. As Elizabeth helped to set the table, she seemed to be transfixed by the illuminated banks of video games, and the captivated shouts of glee produced by kids playing Skee-Ball and Whack A Mole. 

Camera flashes strobed as parents took photos of their children's revelry. A young woman that looked to be about Elizabeth's age tended a prize counter where kids could trade in the tickets they'd won from the various games for assorted toys and what-nots. Already, Katie was prancing around with a streamer of tickets hanging from her pocket like an odd tail. Medina had draped her slightly smaller ticket compliment around her neck like a paper scarf. Bram was lost to the video games, not even caring about how many tickets he could win, or what he could trade them in for. 

Elizabeth watched solemnly, almost as though she was waging a mental argument with herself. Should she hang out with the "adults", or go play with the "kids"? It took Robin only about five minutes to notice her daughter's dilemma. With a knowing smile, she jabbed Ham in the ribs and held out her hand for some tokens. 

"Oh, what, now you're gonna go play and leave me to watch the purses?" he asked, only half jokingly. 

"No, Elizabeth needs some tokens too, y'know," she responded dryly. 

"Uh, yeah, sure. She can have as many as she wants," Ham responded, depositing a handful in Robin's outstretched palm. Elizabeth heard her name and tore her attention away from the activity at the game station. Robin passed the tokens to her with a cheerful nod. 

"Go and play if you want! You're here to have fun too!" she urged. 

Elizabeth didn't need a second prompt. She accepted her allotment of tokens with a shy smile. Though she didn't run off towards the games like the others had, it only took her a few short moments to join up with Katie and Medina. Robin plopped down on the bench seat after she finished laying out the napkins, and turned a pointed gaze in Ham's direction. 

"So..." she started, only taking a pause in her speach for dramatic reasons, "what were you and Kyle fighting about in the hotel room? The window was open, and I could hear the two of you locking horns over something..." 

Ham snorted in disgust as he debated what he should tell Robin, if anything, about the disagreement. He took a moment or two to debate which angle he should answer from, knowing full well that he'd never get away with not giving her some sort of response. "Lemme ask you something," he said, more as a statement than a question, "does the idea of Kyle and Elizabeth getting hitched bother you?" 

Robin's eyes widened in surprise, and her mouth curved into a small smile. "Well...uh...Yeah, right now, it would. Elizabeth said that Kyle told her he wants to marry her someday, and I suppose that seems inevitable, but we both know what we saw in the garage that day, and I think he has some stuff he needs to deal with..." 

"Yeah, I remember," Ham said, pointedly. 

"Did you get anything out of him? You know...about what made him get so drunk?

Ham chuckled appreciatively at Robin's question. 

"What? What did I say?" she asked in a defensive balk. 

"No, Robin, I'm not laughing at you. Most guys don't need an excuse to get drunk and act like assholes...they just need an opportunity. But, no, he didn't fess up to anything in particular. If you remember right, we got the phone call from Willie that Polly had come back. There wasn't time." 

"Yeah, I know," Robin agreed, "so, why are you bringing up this marriage question? Do you know something I don't then?" 

"Do you know he told me and Stanley and Phillip that he plans to sign Elizabeth up for an investment class at the Junior College this fall?" 

"Oh, yeah, it's a money management course. I was gonna take it too, except now I'm unemployed, so I won't have the money for the registration fees," Robin replied casually. 

"Well, gee, why doesn't Daddy Warbucks cough up the dough for you to go, so he can run your life like I see he's planning on running Elizabeth's!" Ham countered. 

"Geez, Ham! It's just a class! What has you so bent about it? Is this what had you and Kyle shouting at each other?" 

Ham let out a deep, troubled sigh, trying to release some of the anger that was creeping back into his mind. 

"Robin, it just sounds fishy. Kyle is just as aware as any of the rest of us that Elizabeth has special...um...well...instincts. I've always noticed that he seems a bit controlling over Elizabeth, and now maybe I can see why. I just saw some big, blazing neon truth...like he wants Elizabeth to use her talents on Wall Street or something, to benefit his interests..." 

"Ham, Nathan Bates would have exploited Elizabeth like that if he'd had the chance, but Kyle? Y'know, Elizabeth does have very honed instincts. She knows when people aren't being up front with her. I may not necessarily think she's old enough to get married, but...Well, I think that if Kyle was only after Elizabeth so that he could take advantage of her, Elizabeth would know it by now, and she would have given him the heave-ho," Robin explained. 

"Love is blind," Ham stated plainly. He pretended not to notice the pained look that crept into Robin's eyes with that remark. 

"Since when did Kyle's financial business and intents come into the discussion anyways?" she questioned, deftly maneuvering the conversation to a more comfortable zone. "I thought the whole purpose of your meeting with Kyle, Phillip and Stanley was to go over Diana's money." 

"It was, primarily. We found out, after we went over Diana's accounts, that she has a hefty trust fund set up for Madeline. We also learned that some of that money was scheduled to be allotted to her in August. An amount to the tune of thirty five G's. I made a suggestion that Madeline should funnel some of that money into the resistance, and the next thing you know, both Kyle and Phillip were jumping down my throat like live prey! Kyle started popping off about how Madeline should invest it..." 

"Thirty five thousand dollars!" Robin whooped. If her voice had been any louder, Ham would have shushed her. Fortunately, she had become just as skilled as any other resistance member when it came to having very private discussions in public. 

"Yeah. It's a boatload of money," Ham confirmed, "and frankly, it's too much money for a dim- witted Starchild like her to have control of. She'll blow it all on mice and hats. Meanwhile, the resistance sits with too few guns and too few powerpacks to do any real damage to Patricia and her Reptillian Rambo Brigade, if they should make another pass our way." 

"Madeline is not dim-witted! She's very bright, especially when you consider the fact that she's just a year old!" 

"Judging by some of the stunts that girl has pulled, I'd say she's dumber than a box of hair, Robin. If you don't think so now, wait til you see what happens when she gets control of a sum of money like that." 

"That's not a very nice way to talk about your daughter." 

"I don't consider her my daughter," Ham retorted tersely. 

"No, not unless a wad of dead presidents comes as standard equipment with her, right?" 

"Christ on a bagel! You sound as bad as Kyle and the rest of them!" Ham grumbled. 

"Well, you should get a tape recorder and listen to yourself," Robin said. "I know it can't be easy for you to accept what you know about Madeline. It wasn't easy for me to accept having Elizabeth either, especially when I learned the truth about her father. But, in the time since, I've accepted her..with my whole heart. Not just what's easy to deal with, y'know, but everything. The whole package. With kids, it's all or nothing. You either have to accept Madeline for who and what she is, or you get nothing. If you can't accept her, Ham, that's fine, but I wouldn't make any grand schemes to start organizing her finances for her, either. It makes you look like a greedy jerk, and it makes you sound like a hypocrite. I'm sorry if it sounds harsh, but..." 

"No, you're absolutely right," Ham responded. He gazed thoughtfully into the arcade area, searching for Katie, Medina, Elizabeth and Bram. 

"There is a way for you to benefit the resistance with Madeline's funds when she gets them...one that wouldn't be so...overtly greedy," Robin hedged. She studied Ham's face intently, wondering what sort of reaction her offering of advice would bring. 

"Yeah, how's that?" His expression remained carefully neutral, but the tone of his voice indicated that he was at least willing to listen to a suggestion if it was offered up in a fashion he could tolerate. 

"Ever since Madeline had been Earthside, she's had to live off the charity of other people. She has no real place of her own, and no practical belongings, either. The resistance is tapped as it is, y'know. I'm a fine example. The sooner I get a job and get back on my feet, the less of a burden I'll be on other people, y'know? In other words, if Madeline is taught to use the trust fund money to take care of her own needs, other people's money will be freed up for resistance business. I think you could be right about what she'd do with the money if she was left to her own devices. She'd totally blow it, because she has no idea what it means to need to support herself..." 

"So you're suggesting that I give Madeline a course in self sufficiency?" Ham questioned bluntly. 

"Well, Ham, you might be the ideal person to do it," Robin replied thoughtfully. "I mean, I've never seen you go out and blow money on stupid stuff. You drive the same van around that you've been driving for years. I don't even know if you have a real place of your own, or if you just crash where you hang your hat...but one thing's for sure. You know how to take care of yourself, and you seem to know how to do it without sponging off of other people. Hell, I could even use a few lessons in that department." She finished her monologue with a self-deprecating chuckle and a healthy swig of Pepsi. 

Ham said nothing, as he jabbed his straw in amongst the ice cubes floating in his own soda glass. Any thoughts he had on the matter were cut short as servers brought two huge, steaming trays of pizza to their table. On cue, Katie streaked over from the arcade, followed by Medina, Bram and Elizabeth. As Robin began to divvy up slices of pizza, the servers began a chorus of Happy Birthday. If only for a brief moment in time, all the threats and concerns of the recent weeks melted away. Katie beamed, radiantly happy, and it seemed as though her joy was contagious. Ham's souring mood evaporated as he surveyed the celebration. For once, the cheer had been his own doing. If he felt smug about that fact, no one noticed.

Chapter 32 

Jaded

"Every now and then I get a little bit restless
And I dream of something wild.
(Turn around)
Every now and then I get a little bit helpless
And I'm lying like a child in your arms.
(Turn around)
Every now and then I get a little bit angry
And I know I've got to get out and cry.
(Turn around)
Every now and then I get a little bit terrified
But then I see the look in your eyes.
(Turn around, bright eyes)
Every now and then I fall apart.
(Turn around, bright eyes)
Every now and then I fall apart..." 

~~ Bonnie Tyler Total Eclipse of the Heart

Out in the courtyard of the hotel, it was reletively quiet. The lights in the pool made the water glow an eerie aqua-green. Crickets could be heard chirping in the near darkness. A light, warm breeze ruffled through Polly's hair, lifting it off her shoulders for the barest of moments. The fresh air felt good. It was so much better than the "canned" air Polly had breathed while she was a hostage on board the mothership. Strangely enough, she'd never really noticed how artificial the atmosphere up there had been until she returned.

For the moment, Polly was alone, which was just how she preferred to spend most of her time these days. In fact, she'd watched from the window of her hotel room, politely waiting for Natty and Paul to finish their swim before she came out. That hadn't been an easy feat. From the room next door, Polly had overheard Kyle bitching to someone about Ham taking Elizabeth somewhere and not having the decency to tell him where they were going. Polly, of course, had known where everyone was. When Katie had come around searching for Bram, she'd told Polly that Ham was taking her to Pizza Works for a late birthday party, and she'd sweetly invited her older sister to come. Polly declined, trying to explain to Katie that some of the bruises on her neck still showed a little, and she didn't want people to stare. 

Despite Katie's disappointment, Polly was relieved about the temporary separation. The two of them had spent plenty of time together in San Francisco with Tonya and the other members of the Golden Gate resistance group. Chuck Shanklin had even taken the girls shopping on Pier 39 for Katie's birthday. Polly now wore a pucca shell necklace, courtesy of Chuck. Katie had one too, and several other trinkets as well. She was proudest of the charm bracelet he'd bought her. It had several souvenier charms of San Fransisco, like a minature Golden Gate Bridge, a cable car, and a China Town-style building.Therefore, Polly didn't feel horribly guilty over missing out on Katie's party. They'd celebrated their own way while they'd been gone. In fact, time alone had been hard to come by in San Fransisco. There were plenty of people Tonya knew there, and they'd all made a fuss over her injured, but healing shoulder. It wasn't long before they learned of Polly's ordeal, and Katie had made certain that everyone knew that her birthday was quickly approaching, to get her own two cents worth of drama in. 

Polly was glad to have a few moments on her own. No one was breathing down her back, asking her how she felt. No one was watching her to see if she slipped and used her left hand, despite her insistance that she hadn't been converted. No one goggled over the fading bruises on her neck, or gave her any "Poor Polly" looks. At least, Polly had been able to diffuse Robin's concern over any possibility that she was pregnant with a hybrid. The "curse" had showed up two days after she'd arrived in San Fransisco. Only, in Polly's book, it was a blessing, not a curse. It also explained why she was laying out by the poolside in an outdoor lounger, fully clothed in a pair of shorts and her new "Alcatraz Triathalon...Digging, Diving and Swimming" T- shirt. A swim might have been nice on a night like this, but Polly was having the last days of what had been a rather heavy period, which would make swimming somewhat inconvenient.

Polly felt her eyelids drooping shut, which was no surprise these days. She was past the worst of the Procorb withdrawl, but now she was slightly anemic. Julie had given her an iron supplement, but Polly was simply not inclined to shove any pills down her throat. She was also uncooperative when Julie had suggested an examination to see if she had suffered a miscarriage. In all honesty, Polly simply did not care to know if she'd ever been pregnant, even if it had only been for a brief instant. Whatever might have been was gone now, which was fine. Her period was finally slowing down too, which would quickly put an end to the anemia. The bruises from the injector were only faintly visible. Soon, there would be no physical traces left on Polly's body to indicate that she'd ever suffered on board the mothership. Everyone would forget that then, and at last, Polly would be allowed to forget it too.

The guards hands were rough as they yanked her out of the confines of her cell. In the sleepy fog of Procorb, she didn't have the strength to fight them off. They always wore helmets with visors on when they came for her, and Polly could always see her pale, pathetic form reflected in them. Soon, she'd learned to just close her eyes. It didn't matter where they took her anymore.

She was guided into Diana's private bed chamber and once the guards brought her here, their demeanor towards her always changed. They treated her gently. Instead of shoving her into the chair that was waiting for her, they lowered her into it delicately. Her hands were left unbound, but a switch on the wall was flicked on. A light gravity field held Polly in place. She found that she could move if the gravitational setting was on a low level, but it was difficult to. The guards then took their leave, but Polly knew instinctively that they were positioned right outside the bedroom door.

For a few moments, (or perhaps a few hundred moments), nothing happened. Polly felt her eyelids begin to sag. Seconds before she succumbed to slumber, the door to the "refresher" opened, and Diana breezed into the room. She wore a pale orange lounging gown with the usual Visitor symbol emblazoned on the upper left side, just above her fake breast.The folds of the gown billowed out behind her as she strode towards Polly's drooping form.

"Ah, there you are," Diana said to her in a falsely bright tone of voice, "and I'm glad to see that you're perking up a little."

Indeed, Polly was feeling more alert now. Adrenaline had the tendancy to do that. Fortunately, the gravity chair prevented Diana from noticing the nervous twitching in her arms and legs.

"I've had a terrible night," Diana confided, as she reached through the gravitational field to lay a heavy hand on Polly's cheek. Her movements were slow and leaden, but very intentional, as if to show Polly that she really could get out of that chair and run with a little effort. However, shamefully as always, Polly felt her limbs lock up in a freeze. She couldn't force herself to move even if there was no gravity field holding her in place. Diana knew it too, and she let Polly know she knew by affording her a patronizingly kind look.

"My dear, I need you to tell me something," she continued, gingerly fingering the latest bruise that had purpled Polly's neck after her last Procorb injection.

"What do you want to know?" Polly heard herself ask, her lips suddenly freed from the freeze that had taken over the rest of her body.

"I need to know if Lydia bested me. She killed herself and took all of her damn traitor secrets with her. Did she best me, Polly?" Diana's fingers continued their tracing movements on Polly's sensitive skin. Any harder, and the pressure of her fingertips would hurt. Before she could answer, Diana spoke again; the intensity of her touch increasing just a slight incriment.

"It makes me so angry that she did that. I'm so mad, I feel cold. I have ice in my veins right now, I think..."

"If you think you're cold, imagine how cold Lydia is right now. See, you're alive, and she's stone cold dead, so I'd say she didn't best you. You beat her," Polly blurted. The cadence of her voice was only one notch above dull.

Diana's touch relaxed immediately, and Polly knew she'd awarded her tormentor with the correct answer.

"Yes, how very right you are, my dear. But, I'm still numb with cold. I need you to share your warmth with me."

Her response came in panting breaths. In a blurring instant, she reached both of her hands into the force field and yanked Polly free from it with only the slightest amount of exertion. Then, she pulled her into her arms, and held her warmth against her body, as close as she could. 

"Yes, this is right. Just right. Your heat, and a warm, soothing shower, I think..." Diana's lips were cold against Polly's cheek as she trailed them lightly along the delicate curve of her jaw.

Cold. Too cold....

The water that splashed down on her was nearly freezing. Polly woke with a start, a silent scream etched onto her lips. Brandon, standing above her, had been laughing, but his smile faded as Polly came to, sputtering and yelling.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" she shrieked. The sleep and the nightmare were still clinging to her consious mind like Saran Wrap, but she had enough time now to gage what had happened. Brandon still held a plastic tumbler in his hand. With an angry jab, Polly knocked it clean from his grasp. It tumbled end over end for a yard before it landed in the pool.

"I-I'm so-sorry, Polly! You just looked like you were having a bad dream or something," Brandon stammered. All traces of humor had been wiped from his face, "And you were sweaty. I didn't want to scare you...I just wanted to play a joke and wake you up!"

Polly's fists were clenched at her side and her stance was still defensive, but through the heart hammering haze that was beginning to abate, she slowly realized that Brandon was not the enemy. He was just being his usual self. Her nervous gaze darted to the pool. The cup had been retreived by Bram, who was clinging to the side of the pool, his eyes wide. 

"I told you it wasn't such a good idea, Brandon," he said from his distant vantage point in a hesitant tone of voice.

"Yeah," Polly chided in agreement, "It was a really sucky idea." Then she dropped her gaze, and flopped back onto the chaise lounge. Seeing the two of them together, (as they often were) brought a nearly nauseating wave of guilt over her. She couldn't really remember if she'd told the two of them that Diana had forced her to rat them out. Especially Bram. She quietly regarded the boy in the pool, who looked alot like the despised Danny Bernstein, but was obviously not like him in the least.

She'd never gotten along with Danny; that much Polly remembered clearly. She had been quite young when the Visitors first invaded; only about 12. However, she'd been at the age where she could remember most of everything, even if she hadn't been able to understand what it all meant. And, she remembered snippets of life before the Visitors, although those memories seemed grainy and unclear, like antique tintype photographs. Almost like they'd never happened...but they had. Danny Bernstein had been much a part of those "tintype" days. He always hung around, bugging Binna, helping himself to sodas in the Maxwell's refridgerator, and verbally sparring with Polly. Though Polly couldn't honestly say she hated him, she knew that Danny's presence annoyed her to no end. It didn't surprise her in the least that he'd sold his soul to the Visitors.

Bram was different. He was the epitome of innocent. He represented what Danny could have been if he'd chosen to fight against the Visitors instead of siding with them. Worse yet, Bram was vulnerable in ways that Danny never would be. Danny had always wanted to be important, and he reguarly pumped his head full of ideals of just how damn good he was. Bram, on the other hand, was important, and had been from the moment he'd been born. The Visitors wanted Bram, especially Diana.(Wouldn't that have just chapped Danny's hide) And now, if Diana really wanted to get him, nothing would really stop her. A little investigation, and she could readily find him. What Bram's fate might be if she found him here and got her scaly claws on him...

And it was all Polly's fault. She had done nothing to fight while imprisoned aboard the mothership. She had just sat there and let them do whatever they wanted to make her say whatever they wanted to hear. Polly couldn't count with the fingers on both hands how many lives she might have endangered with her big mouth. Standing before her were two of those lives. I have no right to be angry with Brandon for playing a stupid joke on me. Look at what I've done to him....

Once again, Polly shoved herself into a sitting position. She used the momentum to carry her out of the chaise lounge and away from the pool area as fast as she could run. Her flipflops beat a staccato on her heels as she tore out of the gated confines and down the cement pathway to the hotel room she shared with Katie. Fortunately, Katie wasn't in there right now. Polly hurled herself onto her twin bed and began to beat angrily at the lifeless pillow beneath the neatly made bedspread. She bit back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. She'd done enough silent sobbing on board the mothership to last her a lifetime. Tears got you nothing, she reasoned. 

At last, the fevered turmoil in Polly's mind exhausted itself. Her arms were too tired from her exertions to do any more pillow pummelling. There was simply nothing more left to think. The silence surrounding her began to wear on her nerves as much as being around other people usually did. A thin slice of moonlight filtered in through the crack in the drapes, and she glanced at digital readout on the bedside alarm clock. It was already a quarter past nine, and it occurred to her that Katie should be coming in to go to bed soon. She rose from her position, flipped on the light, and noticed what a mess she'd made of the bed. Hastily, she began to straighten the wrinkled coverlet. As she tucked the abused pillow back into it's accustomed place at the head of the bed, a hesitant knock sounded on the door.

Polly was fully expecting to find Katie waiting guiltily outside, ready to report that she'd lost yet another room key. Instead, Bram stood outside, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

"Um..I have to go to the bathroom, and my room is clear around the other side. Can I use yours?" he asked. Water dripped from his bermuda swim trunks onto the cement, puddling around his bare feet.

"Yeah, sure," Polly replied, willing her voice to sound normal. "By the way, where's Katie? I know you went to the pizza joint with her, so if you're here, then so is she. Have you seen her?"

She stepped aside so Bram could pass her, patiently waiting for his response.

"Uh, yeah, she's down at the pool now with Medina and some of the others," he called over his shoulder.

For the two minutes that Abraham tended to his business, Polly stood on the threshold of the doorway. If she listened carefully, she could hear other voices from the pool area now, and one of them did sound suspiciously like her younger sister's. She jumped in surprise when Bram's voice sounded behind her.

"My Grandmother gets to come home from the hospital tomarrow," he said, hardly able to disguise his excitement. His voice cracked uncontrollably on a few syllabals, and he cleared his throat several times as if to rid himself of a frog in his throat. 
Like, what if there really is a frog in his throat?

"That's really great, Bram," Polly responded. She was surprised to hear the sincerity in her own response. Lately, even she was aware of the monotonous cadence her voice had assumed these last few weeks.

"Yeah, I hope she isn't in too much pain. I've been asking Elizabeth if she knows any ways to help her...anything Elizabeth could teach me. You know, anything special..."

"I know what you mean," she said, suddenly aware of the guilty way that Bram was staring at his feet.

"You don't blame yourself for what happened to Lynn, do you?" she asked unabashedly. 

Abraham looked up, and suddenly looked heartbreakingly vulnerable, standing there wearing only a pair of dripping swim trunks, sans his eye contacts. Polly bit her lip as another wave of guilt washed over her. He would just be so easy for Diana to hurt. At least she could console herself with the fact that she didn't recall Diana questioning her to reveal how she might personally feel about Bram. After all, Polly had met him shortly after the molt that made him look like a toddler. She watched him grow so quickly, and she'd spent all spring and part of the summer tutoring him. Bram was like the little brother she never had....the little brother she'd prayed feverishly for when her mother had been pregnant with Katie.

"I guess I do a little. If only I knew the things Elizabeth knows...if only I was as special as she is! I might have been able to stop Patricia and her squad from hurting my grandmother." His voice cracked again when he spoke, and Polly wasn't sure if it was from emotion...or because his voice was changing. She wondered if he was too old looking for that. In her eyes, Bram looked to be about 16, and she seemed to recall that the boys she'd gone to school with had undergone that change somewhere at the end of junior high, or the beginning of high school. 

But, then again, she knew alot about lots of things, especially science and math...but boys? She hardly knew the first thing about them, except how to act like one. And...there was alot about Starchildren she didn't know either. Maybe parts of his puberty would happen later...and maybe some of those amazing abilities Elizabeth had would too. He was a boy, and if she knew anything about boys at all, it was that they matured slower.

"Bram, I don't think you're done growing yet," Polly told him earnestly, perching herself on the edge of Katie's bed. Forgetting that his bermuda trunks were wet, Bram followed her lead and sat down beside her. She only smiled, making a mental note to swap beds with Katie for the night if it would bother her.

"I bet I'm not either. What if I molt into an old man like my Grandfather next?"

Polly laughed; it was the first time she had in what seemed like ages.

"Your grandfather isn't really that old...and what I meant is...Well, when Elizabeth and this other girl, Madeline, molted, they went from like eight to eighteen. You, on the other hand...well, you seemed to stop around fifteen or sixteen. That's just what I noticed. You are a little different than them, because you're a boy. Boys grow slower and longer than girls do. These powers you're waiting for...well, they may not happen at all. Or they may happen in a year or two for you. Whatever the case, Bram, it's not your fault."

"I don't even have venom sacs like they do. If I did, I would have spit at Patricia..just like Madeline and Elizabeth and Philip did. Only I would have spit at the goon that shot my grandmother too!"

"Well, I don't have venom sacs either," Polly mused, "and if I did, Diana would have gotten a venom bath. That much I know!"

"If it's not my fault that my grandmother got hurt, then how come you think it's your fault that Diana found out about me?" Bram asked quietly.

Polly's heart nearly froze in her chest for a beat as her mind whirled. How could Bram know what she'd been worried about? She didn't remember telling him that much...

"You know, Bram...those powers you don't think you have...Well, I think maybe you do have some, but you just don't realize it. It's the only way you could know I thought that...."

Bram shook his head.

"It was the look you gave me out at the pool before you ran away. It was written all over your face."

"Look, I'm not really sure it was my fault. I know they doped me full of drugs and Diana tricked me into talking. I know that I tried to lie to her, and she saw right through me. The rational part of my brain knows this. The rest of me just feels like a pile of crap for not being stronger. I know I told her lots of things about lots of people..even people she didn't previously know about, like Brandon and Tonya. But, I'm most worried about you. She'd do just about anything to get her hands on a Starchild...even make one of her own, which is just disgusting, considering what she had to do to get her...But, see, Diana confided some things to me..told me some of her grossest secrets. Assuming that she was telling the truth, Diana told me that she really wanted Madeline to be a boy. She hoped she'd be able to mate her son and Elizabeth...get it?

"Yes, but Elizabeth is my cousin, so we can't mate," Abraham said stoicly.

"Oh, yes you can. Haven't you ever heard of kissing cousins? Granted, it's not usually first cousins that marry, but even then, it's been known to happen. In fact, in the old days, families used to intermarry like that to keep the family heritage going...y'know...so they wouldn't pollute the family lines and stuff."

Bram sniffed audibly, obviously chagrined at the thought. Polly smiled softly.

"Don't worry, Bram. That was back in the old days. Besides, Elizabeth is totally in love with Kyle, which would kill any plans for Diana to mate her with a male Starchild. But, it wouldn't stop her from trying to mate you with Madeline if she thought she could get away with it. The biggest point of all is that you are the only surviving male hybrid, and that makes you a little more special on it's own merit, at least in her book.

The giggle that erupted from Abraham sounded almost girlish.

"Me mate with Madeline? I think she's had lots of mates already, and I think they're all older looking than me. Besides...I kind of like somebody else, but I'm not sure if I just like her, or if I like her like her."

Polly's eyebrow shot up a notch.

"Oh, yeah? You're carrying a torch for someone?" she asked companionably.

"I don't know," he replied softly, "but she's a lot of fun to be around."

"Who?" Polly demanded playfully.

Bram shrugged in a nervous jerk.

"I'd rather not say just yet. She doesn't molt like me, so I'll have to wait awhile to really like her. I just hope I don't molt anymore. When she catches up, I don't want to be too old again."

It dawned on Polly that perhaps his friendship with Katie had taken on a new meaning for him, now that he was thinking with the hormones of an adolescent. At least he'd told her that he knew he had to wait. If there was one person on Earth who knew less about boys than she herself did, it was Katie. She had just turned 12. Polly remembered herself at 12. She had no interest in boys then. However, somewhere in the back of her mind was a dim recollection of Binna around the age of 12...maybe 13...Boys. Yes, it seemed like Binna had been interested in boys for as long as Polly could remember!

"I think you're really smart to wait, Bram. Sometimes, love ruins perfectly good friendships. If it's meant to be, it'll happen at the right time, and it won't matter what you look like"...(and nothing had better happen until Katie is 18...think you can wait 6 years, buddy?)

"Yes, I can wait," Bram answered absently.

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

There were actually quite a few people out at the pool. Polly had gone with Bram only to call Katie in for bed. But, when she got out there, she realized that she didn't want to be the party pooper that spoiled all of her sister's fun. Katie and Medina were playing a loud game of Marco Polo with Brandon, and they squealed loudly with joy when the saw Bram return. He jumped into the water, anxious to resume the game.

"Hi there, Polly" a voice greeted her from the shadows by the edge of the pool. Polly recognized the southern tinged tones as belonging to Jaime, one of the two Visitor Fifth Columnists that had freed her. She sat with her legs dangling in the water as any human might. Beside her sat the former security officer that Polly knew as Nigel. Jaime pat a spot on the ground opposite from where Nigel was, inviting Polly to join them. Polly obliged, kicking off her flip flops to dangle her own feet in the pool.

"I sure do like this swimming pool," Jaime commented, "And I like the one at the Bernstein's house, too. Imagine having your very own oasis in your back yard! Unthinkable where I come from."

"I've swam at the Bernsteins before. Sometimes, they'd chlorinate the water too much and it burned my eyes, but it was still cool."

"I Wish I could swim," Jaime commented, almost jealously, "The water is so nice, I would just like to jump right in, but I would drown if I did something so foolish!"

"You could learn to swim. It isn't hard, really. You could even get in the water without drowning if you stay in the shallow end....but I think Amir would prefer it if you wore a bathing suit in his pool."

The hospital security uniform that Jaime wore, rolled up to the knees so her pant legs wouldn't get wet, was hardly suitable swim attire.

"Where would I get a 'bathing suit'?" she asked.

"Oh, geeze, you could get one at K-Mart, or practically anywhere that sells clothes. This time of year, you could even get one fairly cheap, because they tend to go on clearance at the end of the summer." 

Polly wasn't certain if Jaime knew what a clearance sale was, but she could tell that 'fairly cheap' registered with her loud and clear.

"I will remember that," Jaime replied gratefully. Then she cocked her head ever so slightly at Polly.

"You said you used to swim at the Bernsteins. If you did then, why do you not swim now? It is so nice and all...."

"Um, well, I can't right now. I..uh..don't have a suit," Polly lied. She did actually have a suit in her duffel bag that she'd packed before she left for San Fransisco. 

"It is because she's having a season Jha'me," Nigel interjected.

Jaime's lips puckered and her eyes squinted nearly shut. Polly supposed that her facial _expression was one of embarrassment; perhaps akin to blushing for a human.

"In season," she echoed, "So..is that what that peculiar scent is about you these days? Well, it would make sense, but I am not sure what having a season has to do with going swimming..."

Polly's jaw dropped a notch, but before she could even say a word, a voice sounded from behind her.

"Ohmygawd, did you say you can smell it? That's totally disgusting!"

That tone of voice could belong to no one other than Robin, and sure enough, when Polly craned her head upwards, she saw her sister standing just behind her, wearing a bathing suit; a stiff, white hotel towel draped over her arm.

"Well, yes, that is what I said," Jaime sputtered, the tip of her forked tongue darting out nervously to flick at her lips.

"And yes, there is a detectable scent when a human woman is in season...or a Sullam Voe woman for that fact," Nigel stated.

Polly felt some of her disgust fading as the scientific logic she typically reasoned with took hold. Robin, on the other hand, still looked mortified.

"Well, it's not exactly like I'm in season," Polly explained matter of factly, "It's more like...nothing happened, so my body is getting rid of stuff it doesn't need because I'm not pregnant. Get it?"

"Humans bleed when that happens, Jaime, so she cannot swim," Nigel finished for his friend's enlightenment.

"I am very sorry for you. Bless your soul, it sounds so painful!" Jaime responded, sounding every bit like a well bred human woman who'd been born and raised in the South instead of on a planet 8.7 light years away. Her _expression appeared to reflect that her mention of Polly's scent might have been a social faux pas. Robin's next response confirmed it for the Visitor if nothing else could.

"Well, it's totally rude for you guys to go sniffing around us like that. Do you always do that?"

"We cannot exactly help it," Nigel replied cooly, "Our sense of smell is very highly developed. We are predators by nature, and predators rely heavily on scent. Even if we are not hunting, we cannot shut it off. I can tell when someone is in season, when someone is attracted to or afraid of someone else, and if a couple has mated, among other things. In our society, we are very open about what we can scent, so please forgive Jha'me's bluntness."

"Wow, is it like phermones that you smell?" Polly asked. She realized, vaguely, that if her father was alive right now, he'd love to be in on this conversation. Anthropologists never die; they just pass on their curiosity to their nosy middle daughters. It was almost as though the same thought crossed Robin's mind. The look of disgust was dissipating as she took a seat at the edge of the pool next to her sister.

"Phermones...forgive me, it's not a term I'm familiar with. Is that like chemicals?" Jaime asked. 

"Exactly. Like body chemistry," Polly replied.

"Yes, then, that would be a large part of it. When someone is afraid of someone or something, the fear they feel releases a chemical we can smell. The same is true with attraction and mating, only with mating, it's even more pronounced. On board the mothership, great care had to be taken to rid all mating scents from our bodies if we did not wish for others to know who we'd been with," Nigel explained.

"Well, it is how I know that Diana helped herself to Orlando's hide," Jaime spat angrily, almost as if she'd forgotten that two humans were present.

"Oh, well, Diana is the exception. When she flaunts her rezzi, she wants all to know. Like mother, like daughter, too. I heard Sean Donovan boasting that Madeline rezzed off on him, too, though I could not scent anything to confirm this."

"Wait a sec," Robin interjected, "Um, what, may I ask, is a rezzi?"

Jaime clapped a hand over her mouth, and glanced guiltily out at the youngsters still splashing around in the water.

"It is a word Nigel should have never used in front of the small ones!" she cried emphatically, despite the fact that she didn't dare raise her voice above an exaggerated whisper.

"Yes, she is right," Nigel said, "But it is really what you would say is a short form for the word Resivoir.."

Polly blanched noticeably, as if she clearly understood what it meant now.

"Is that what Visitors call the female anatomy?" Robin questioned innocently.

"Duh, Binna," Polly muttered, ignoring the dirty look her older sister afforded her in return.

"Yes, exactly. I understand that Humans have uh..derogatory terms for genitals too, and the R word...well, the short form of it that I used, at least, is what we would consider derogatory," Nigel said.

"Derogatory! If my Auntie heard me talk like that, she would box my vennies! It is downright nasty!" Jaime proclaimed.

"Vennies?" Polly mused.

"Venom Sacs," Nigel explained.

Robin listened with some interest to the banter between the two Visitors, pursing her lips thoughtfully. Finally, she turned towards Nigel, fidgeting nervously with her towel.

"Can you tell this about everybody, or just your own species? The mating thing, I mean," she questioned hesitantly.

"The scent? I have noticed that I can tell when two humans mate, but it took a few exposures to it before I recognized the smell for what it was....I can even smell a trace of human matings on the sheets of the bed I sleep on here at the hotel," he replied.

"Oh, that's disgusting!" It was Polly's turn for an outburst, and her nose wrinkled in emphasis, "And all I smell is bleach! Geez, I thought bleach wiped out all that stuff!"

"I smell the disinfectant too, but it has...well, maybe it has imprinted itself into the mattress. This, I do not know, but I know the scent now, and I know what it means."

"Have you been around Elizabeth lately? Can you tell if she and Kyle have....?" Robin blurted.

"No, I do not believe they have. I saw Kyle earlier. He asked me if I knew where Elizabeth, you, and Ham Tyler went. I told him that I did not know. I did not smell anything of that nature on him," Nigel answered.

"Oh, thank Gawd!" -" Robin exclaimed loudly. Before she uttered the last word, she stopped short, noticing that Katie was perched upon Bram's shoulders in the pool, playing "chicken fight" with Medina, who was precariously maintaining her balance on Brandon's shoulders. All of them were within earshot of a loud exclaimation, but neither party appeared to have noticed. Instead, Robin turned to Polly with an exasperated look on her face.

"You know, Ham and I talked a little bit today about Kyle and Elizabeth. Ham says that he's afraid that Kyle is too controlling. I sort of shrugged him off, but.....now I think maybe he's right. Especially after he got drunk and all."

"Drunk? When did this happen?" Polly asked.

"Don't worry, Polly. It was while you were gone. Kyle is going through something, but he never said what it was. He got a bit drunk one night and he said some things that really upset Elizabeth....but from what I understand, the night before, he told her that he wants to marry her someday," Robin explained.

"Sounds like I missed out on all kinds of stuff..." Polly said dully. 

She was quite happy that the conversation had switched from who was 'rezzing' who to Kyle's elbow bending problem. After all, she didn't want Nigel blurting out that he could...scent certain...

Polly shivered and suddenly felt the need for another, scaldingly hot, long lasting shower. She only wished she had a pumice stone available to scour her skin of every last possible trace of the Lizard Queen's touch.
Conversations and waterplay were stopped the minute Amir appeared at the gate with a keychain dangling from his hand. The hotel's pool policy, posted on a placard at the enterance, declared that the pool area closed at 10 p.m. It was actually 10:30.

"Well, so much for a swim," Robin complained lightly. The two Visitors rose from their seats, toweling off their damp legs. Medina was the first of the swimmers to exit the water. Katie and Bram paddled over to Polly and Robin's side and hauled themselves out of the water. Katie snached the towel out of Robin's hand and vigorously dried herself with it.

"Hey!" Robin protested.

"Sorry, I forgot to get one from my room," Katie explained, handing the damp, used towel back to her sister. 

"Looks like I forgot mine, too," Bram said. A mild seabreaze had gusted as evening progressed into night, lending a slight chill to the air. Bram shivered almost uncontrollably, as if the temperature was winter cold. His lips were ever so lightly tinged with blue. He had thrown a T shirt on over his damp trunks, and it was now plastered wetly to his skin.

"You'd better get to your room and warm up before Stanley blows a gasket," Polly warned him.

"Grandfather won't freak. That's Grandmother that worries all the time," Bram replied. With his voice shaking as he shivered, it almost sounded almost like a Visitor's reverberation. He offered no more arguement, though. Amir still stood at the gate, politely silent, but sentinel. One by one, the loiterers filed through the gate, and Amir locked it behind them. As they parted ways, Polly could hear Jaime and Nigel discussing how utterly perfect the pool area would be if there were some nice warm rocks to lounge on. Ughh!

Robin had her room next door to Katie and Polly's. She supposedly shared it with Elizabeth, but Elizabeth rarely slept there anymore. Instead of retiring to her own room, Robin followed her sisters into theirs. Katie was urged to take a shower to wash the chlorine off of her skin. While Katie started the water in the bathroom, Polly flopped tiredly onto her bed. If Robin noticed any signs of Polly's earlier tantrum on the bed, she made no indication. Instead she sat down next to Polly and stared pointedly at her.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd started your period?" she asked.

Polly looked at her blankly and shrugged her shoulders.

"Why would I? Last I heard, stuff like that is private business. It was really nice of Nigel to advertise to everyone, don't you think?"

"Nigel doesn't know better," Robin stated impatiently, "And you know why I'm asking you."

"Do I?" Polly countered.

"You're not pregnant, then. Umm, that's really good. I was afraid for you, especially after you told me about the turkey baster."

Polly rolled her eyes exasperatedly.

"Well, now you know, so you don't have to worry."

"I still worry, Polly."

"Why? You said it yourself; I'm not P-G. So what's to worry about?"

"I'm concerned about other stuff too, y'know. It was terrible not having you at home, knowing that you were being hurt on board the mothership, and knowing that there was nothing I could do to get you out of there. But, as awful as it was for me and Katie worrying about you, it had to be so much worse for you. You just don't talk about it."

"There's nothing to talk about. I'm not pregnant, I'm not converted and I'm not a prisoner anymore. End of story," Polly stated.

"It's not the end of the story," Robin said sadly, "You went through hell up there, and trying to bury it won't change it. It will all just come back to haunt you."

"You should talk, Binna. How far along were you before anyone even knew that the baby you were having was Brian's?"

"Exactly my point, Polly. I should have said something long before I did, because I could have gotten help dealing with it sooner."

"Well, I'm not having Brian's baby, nor any other lizard's for that fact, so I don't have anything to get help with," Polly retorted. She squirmed under her sister's scrutiny, wishing Robin would just hurry up and leave, taking this whole lame subject with her.

"That's bullcrap and you know it," Robin replied. She chewed on her lip for a moment as she formulated her arguement.

"I know they hurt you up there," she continued, "They did horrible things to you. Injections, questions, turkey basters, and God only knows what else. Maybe you weren't impregnated or converted, but you were hurt just the same. Since you've been back from San Fransisco, you've just been so quiet and withdrawn, and I've been worried sick about you."

You don't even know the half of it, Binna. Frankly, I don't think you could handle it if I told you...You'll totally lose your grip.

"Well, now. I certainly don't want to make you sick, so why don't I ease your mind?" Polly suggested, in a tone that bordered on sarcasm, "Everything you said happened. Injections, questions and turkey basters. There was also lots of time spent alone in a cell, wondering what was going to happen to me, and wondering if anyone else got captured or hurt in the raid. The worst part was not knowing. Now, I know. Tonya was shot. Lydia died. She and Ham and Madeline were caught in addition to me. Ham and Madeline escaped. Eventually, I did too. If only we could bring Lydia back, this whole story could have a happy ending, but despite losing her, we still beat the odds. And, to add to it, I'm not pregnant. So, the way I see it, there's nothing to dwell on. It's all over and done with!"

As if to punctuate her point, the shower water in the bathroom stopped running, and moments later, Katie emerged, dressed for bed. Robin let out a sad sigh, shaking her head.

"It's not over and done with, Polly. You'll see. I just want you to know that if you ever feel you need to talk to me about anything...and I mean...anything..., I'll be here for you."

Don't hold your breath.

Once Katie was tucked into bed, Robin made her departure, finally leaving Polly alone. The dark surrounded her, nearly suffocating her in it's closeness. As her eyelids fluttered closed and sleep overcame her, the nightmare awaited her.

Polly would never truely be alone again.

Diana had seen to it.