By Any Other Name

By Wesa

Series: Crossover War of the Worlds/ The People

Rating: PG

Category: Angst

Disclaimers: War of the Worlds characters belong to Paramount and Strangis & Strangis. The concept of The People belonged to the late Zenna Henderson until her death; I don't know who owns it now. I have nothing but admiration for those who created these characters and concepts, and I mean no disrespect. I'm not making any money from this; this is just for my own entertainment and for the entertainment of those who want to read it.

By Wesa.

Lt. Colonel Paul Ironhorse had always driven his soldiers as hard as he drove himself, but this was something new. He threw himself into his work with a vengeance, and dragged his soldiers in with him. Derriman told the others the Colonel must have learned something on his trip with Dr. Blackwood that had somehow increased his already strong determination to drive the aliens from the Earth, but couldn't tell the others what that information might have been.

Suzanne checked Harrison over, mother-henning him for the first few days they were home, but even though she asked if Harrison had any idea what was bothering the Colonel, she never got a straight answer. In fact, if it hadn't been for an incident at breakfast a week after their return, she might never have learned what was bothering her friend.

Paul returned from his early-morning run and showered before breakfast, so that both Norton and Suzanne were there when Harrison poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Paul, saying, "Maybe a little caffeine will settle Mr. Grouchy Bear down. We ought to send for Randie."

"Randy who?" Norton asked, mistaking the name.

Harrison looked at Paul. "I never asked."

"Merrill," Paul answered.

Suzanne frowned. "Who's Randie?"

"Now that's a loaded question," Norton observed. Suzanne smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand.

Harrison smiled at the by-play. "We met her in Bendo," he explained. "She took us up to the mountain where the ship crashed. That morning on the mountain, she met Paul with a cup of coffee as he came out of our tent. I've never seen him so happy."

That raised Suzanne's eyebrows. "She made you happy?" she probed.

"Deliriously," Paul replied dryly. "Now if you're through discussing my personal life-"

"Is this a discussion of your personal life?" Norton asked, perking up. "You have a personal life? Do tell."

"You're not helping, Norton," Suzanne told him.

"C'mon, Big Guy. Tell us about this Randie lady. Was she?" Instantly Norton knew he had made a mistake with his choice of words as Paul glared at him in true anger rather than the mere irritation Norton had been shooting for.

"Never," Paul instructed severely, "never say such a thing about Randie Merrill again, Mr. Drake, or you being in that wheelchair will not stop me from closing your mouth forcibly. She is a lady. Not a slut. Not a whore. A lady." He stalked away without eating breakfast, going into his office and slamming the door.

"What's eating him?" Norton asked, bewildered.

"At the moment, your sense of humor," Harrison replied. "Jokes at Randie's expense are not a good idea, Norton. Our Colonel fell, and fell hard while we were in Bendo."

"You were only there a few days," Suzanne objected.

"It took him about a second and a half," Harrison explained. "He was on his feet so fast when she came into the room, I don't think he even remembered standing up. And then he stared until she blushed."

"That pretty?" Norton was impressed in spite of himself. "Maybe we should meet her, Suzanne. You know, check her out, make sure she's right for him."

"Norton, maybe we should just leave well enough alone - " Suzanne began.

"They did talk about the possibility of her coming for a visit," Harrison interrupted.

"Here?" Suzanne exclaimed. "Harrison, have you lost your mind?"

"Whoa, Doc!" Norton added his objection. "This is supposed to be a secure facility. We can't just invite the woman. Even the Colonel would object to that."

Harrison shrugged off their worries. "She already knew about the Mortaxians," he told them. "Paul didn't tell her. At least, not that I heard, and we were together almost all the time. But ... she objects to killing."

"This is a bad thing?" Norton wondered.

"She objects to killing Mortaxians," Harrison clarified. "She called them God's creatures," he added.

"Oh." Suzanne and Norton looked at each other. "Harrison, does she understand that the aliens have no qualms about killing us?" Suzanne wondered.

"Does she understand that the Colonel kills aliens?" Norton asked.

"Yes, and yes," Harrison told them. He glanced at the Colonel's closed office door. "She knows, and he knows she knows. And I think maybe that's why he didn't ask her to marry him."

Paul stood at his office window, gazing out into the grounds behind the Cottage. He could hear his friends' voices in the other room, and he knew they were talking about his relationship with Randie. He'd heard no sharp-voiced objections, though, so he knew that Harrison had not revealed her People's secret, at least not yet. He wondered what their reactions would be if he told them that he was in love with an alien.

In love. He sighed. He was a warrior. He had no time for personal relationships, let alone love, a wife, a family. He had a war to win; he couldn't allow his emotions to distract him. He couldn't allow the longing he felt to pull him away from what needed to be done. And now he had even more reason to insure that the Mortaxians didn't take over the Earth: after the war was over, he intended to stay in the Army just long enough to retire, and then he was going to find Randie again. Once he was no longer a professional killer, perhaps she could accept him. Perhaps they could be together, then, for the rest of their lives. In any case, he was going to try.

Paul watched Debi exit the house, going across the terrace toward the stable. Ever since the death of Major Kensington, caring for Dancer had been her chore. He'd never heard her complain. She and Lytha would be good friends, he felt certain. He hoped they would meet one day. With a final longing glance toward the southeast, Bendo, and Randie, he turned to his desk and his neglected paperwork.

**********

In Bendo, Randie made her daily trip to the Post Office, even if Mr. Tradoren didn't notify her that there was mail for her. She would not risk that it had merely slipped his mind, as it had done once or twice before. She smiled sadly at the children playing on the sidewalk in front of the General Store, the daughters of the Bersoe and the Versier families. Their mothers were both former playmates, and Randie had known the little girls since their births, only a couple of years after their mothers had graduated with her from the tiny school in the grove by the creek. The girls smiled back, and giggled together as Randie entered the Post Office.

She knew why: she was transparent in her lovelorn loneliness, but she was helpless to behave any other way. She could only hope for the letter that so far had never come.

Valancy met her on the street as she came out of the Post Office, still letterless. "Have you written to him?" she asked gently, not needing to be told from whom Randie was hoping to receive a letter.

"I don't know his address," Randie admitted. "It didn't seem important when he was here."

Valancy smiled. "Johannan would have it," she said gently. "He has all those records he has to keep for the state."

Randie brightened. "He would, wouldn't he?"

**********

General Wilson had been missing for three weeks. Now Harrison had disappeared, and no one knew where he was, which drove Paul crazy. That damn scientist was always getting in over his head, but usually waited to do it until Paul was somewhere close enough to pull him out of trouble. This time, however, he'd managed to give his protector the slip. The humidity and the nearly constant rumbling overhead didn't help Paul's temperament. If only it would give up and rain.

He pulled out the letter he'd received from Randie that morning and read it again, feeling a little calmer afterward. She was coming to visit. Everything would be okay. Harrison would be all right. Paul refolded the paper and put it into his shirt pocket, smiling a little to himself when he realized how close to his heart that was. He decided to go see what Norton and Suzanne were up to.

Norton was doing a countdown. " ... Three ... two ... one ... zero." Thunder rumbled as he spoke the final word. Paul blinked and stared. Norton murmured, "Seventeen minutes ... Every seventeen minutes."

"Are you saying there's a pattern to the storm?" Paul asked him.

"Thunder shouldn't be that regular," Norton insisted, as if Paul had been arguing with him, "but there it is, every seventeen minutes."

"And never any rain ..." Paul looked up as the thunder boomed again, ominously. He didn't like it at all. "Has anyone seen Harrison?" he asked.

"He got a phone call, and said he was going out," Suzanne told him.

"Where?" Paul demanded.

Suzanne hesitated briefly. "He didn't say," she replied.

"Doesn't he get it?" Paul grumbled sharply. "Don't any of you get it? I'm responsible for your security. How can I do my job without any cooperation?"

Suzanne held up her hands, either in surrender or to ward him off, Paul couldn't tell which, and went back into her lab, where Debi was working on some project of her own. He turned and started up the stairs.

Behind him he heard Debi say, "He's always in a lousy mood."

"Debi," her mother chided her softly.

"Everybody is," Debi added.

That hurt. Debi McCullough, who was practically like the daughter he had never had, was seeing only the irritable part of him lately. He had no time for showing her he loved her anymore, and it was all because of Harrison. Well, Harrison, Wilson, and the aliens, he amended. He touched the letter he carried securely out of sight in his shirt pocket, and wondered if the invitation he had issued to Randie had been a bad idea. If he had no time for his favorite child, how could he give Randie the attention she deserved, the attention he wanted to give her? Paul sighed, running the fingers of both hands through his hair, and decided to go to the shooting range. Maybe he could work out his frustration by pretending the targets were Harrison and the leaders of the alien invasion.

He'd been shooting for hours, it seemed, when Harrison came in, followed by someone Paul remembered all too well, a troublemaker named John Kincaid. To be fair, he usually didn't start the fights he was in, but he didn't walk away from them either. Damn good fighter, rotten soldier. Paul had kicked him out of Delta squad years before, and his damn brother, Max, had followed him. Max had been a good fighter, but more than that he knew when to fight and when to walk away. John couldn't seem to make that distinction. But Max felt responsible for the kid, so when John left the service, so did his big brother. Paul hadn't seen either of them in years, and unfortunately, he let his feelings show within his first couple of sentences. "Don't tell me your damn brother is here, too," he snarled at Kincaid, only moments after learning that Kincaid had saved Harrison's life. Harrison shouldn't have been in a position to need saving.

The younger man looked away and sat down. "Max is dead," he told his former CO.

Paul was shocked, and started to apologize for his thoughtless words, but Kincaid brushed it aside and told them about how he thought he and Max had been set up by General Wilson. They had walked into an ambush, and he had barely gotten out alive. Max hadn't been as lucky.

After hearing his story, Norton used the information Kincaid had provided to try to locate the aliens' current base of operations. While the program was running, Paul called the Pentagon. To his horror, he learned that the vacation story was just a cover. General Wilson had left to go home one night three weeks earlier, and had never made it. No one had seen or heard from him since, not even his wife. Kincaid confirmed that that was when he had last seen Wilson, when he and Max had gotten instructions from the General to take out the warehouse where they had been ambushed.

A moment later, Norton exclaimed, "Hey, I think I found them!"

Reconnaissance was called for. Paul selected three of his men to go with him to the warehouse. They would get inside, gather information on the enemy's forces and weapons, find out what they were up to if the opportunity presented itself, then get out and return with information that would allow the group to plan a winning strategy.

As he drove out the front gate, Paul sent a loving thought toward Randie, who would be on her way by now. He might not be able to give her the attention she deserved, but by the time this skirmish was over, he would need her loving arms around him. He was glad she was coming, and terribly afraid for her safety. But Randie, of course, would have better sense than Harrison, and wouldn't wander off whenever she could give him the slip.

The team reached the warehouse Norton had pinpointed. It was dark; there was no activity of any kind in the area. If the aliens were here, they were laying low. Parking the car at a distance, Paul scanned the building and the surrounding area with night-vision binoculars, but still saw nothing, not so much as a single guard.

He did spot a shuttered opening in the wall. It was padlocked, but that was something they could deal with. They got out of the car and made their way to the building, taking advantage of every cover offered by the other buildings and crates in the area. When they got there, Paul motioned to Jensen to go get the padlock off and the door-like shutter open. Within moments it was done, and Paul followed his men inside.

There wasn't any more light inside than in the dark night outside. They crept down long corridors, finding nothing, no alien technology, and seeing no one. Paul was just about to decide Norton's conclusion had been incorrect, when a thin beam of green light shot out of the darkness and vaporized one of his men.

The remaining three soldiers opened fire, but had no real targets in the darkness. There was a second green beam, and another of his men vanished before his eyes. Jensen rushed past Paul, firing wildly into the recesses of the next room, but his gun jammed, and in a green flash, he was gone, too.

Behind him, a voice called out, "Welcome, Ironhorse," and Paul turned sharply.

The beam of light that caught him in the chest was a different color than the ones that had killed his team. Instead of green, this light was red. Randie! he thought, wanting to warn her, to tell her to stay far away, to stay safe in Bendo. He was mentally telling her goodbye. I wanted to spend my life with you, he added.

But he wasn't dead, at least not yet. Paul fell face down on the floor, completely short-circuited by whatever the beam had done to him. He couldn't even cry out; the sounds he made were mere grunts and whimpers, not the shouts and curses his brain was ordering his throat and mouth to make. He lay there immobile, raging against his helplessness, as the alien who had spoken his name ordered the others, "Take him to Mana."