

Also by Bernard Wilkerson

The Worlds of the Dead series

Beaches of Brazil

Communion

Discovery

The Creation series

In the Beginning

The Hrwang Incursion

Earth: Book One

Episode 1: Defeat

Episode 2: Flight

Episode 3: Maneuvers

The Hrwang Incursion

Book 1

Earth

Copyright © 2015 by Bernard Wilkerson

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, with the exception of short quotes used in reviews, without permission from the author.

Requests for permission should be submitted to contact@bernardwilkerson.com.

For information about the author, go to

www.bernardwilkerson.com

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Cover photo courtesy of NASA.

Episode 4

INSERTION

31

Jayla knew every inch of the hospital. It wasn't a large place, more like an overgrown clinic with two wings attached, and she'd been through all of it except the rooms that required a key card to enter. On the stairs coming up from the basement, when she heard clipboards falling over, the alarm system she'd devised for intruders, and the voices of men swearing, she knew she could make it back to the patient wing without being seen.

If she ran now.

She tried quietly setting down the food she carried, but ended up dropping things and finally letting go of all of it. Her heart pounded so loudly, the blood rushing to her head, that she didn't know how much noise she made or if anyone outside of the stairwell could hear her.

She knew she had to run. She didn't know who had entered the hospital, but the very real chance existed it was the old man from the mountain who followed her. It sounded like he had brought accomplices. When, after a day or two, he hadn't shown up, when no one had shown up, she had figured she was safe. She had thought no one knew where she was.

How had he found her?

She didn't like the sound of the voices she heard swearing and shoving hospital beds around. They sounded angry, harsh, mean. Even if it wasn't the old man who had kidnapped her sister, had tied her up, and had done terrible things to her, making a mess out of her mind, Jayla didn't want to deal with any other men who might be like him. She didn't know what men like that could do and didn't even want to try to imagine it.

She realized that if she could hear men in the emergency room as clearly as she could, they could probably hear her just the same.

Had someone already heard her?

She had to run.

She almost turned and ran back down the stairs. She could hide in the kitchen. There were spots. In the cabinets, under the sink, even in the unpowered freezer drawer with the melted ice cream.

But a man would find Jada.

She didn't know what to do, but a bed shoved into a wall sounded closer and she knew she had to do something.

She had to run.

Fear grabbed a part of her like it had never done before and she almost cried when she felt warm liquid seep down the leg of her jeans. Why? Why did life have to be like this? Why couldn't everyone just leave her and her sister alone?

Voices moved even closer. Once the owners of those voices left the corridor, they'd see her running past and would know where she had gone. And there was nowhere to hide in a patient's room. She had to go now, had to get Jada out before anyone else saw her head that way. There were emergency exits around the hospital, all locked but openable from the inside. They set off alarms, but without electricity there'd be no noise. Jayla took a precious half second to figure out where the closest one was to their room.

She'd have to exit the patient wing, go down past admitting, and out a side door. That would only work if whoever was in the corridor now, making their way through the obstacles she had placed, went left instead of right, went and explored the labs and outpatient rooms. Or even better, if they went downstairs to the kitchen. Then she could get out unseen without any problems.

If only she could get her legs to run.

She tried again and her legs attempted to carry her back down the stairs, away from danger, but away from safety. And away from her sister. What would happen if someone found Jada? Her Daddy's face appeared in her mental vision and she knew she couldn't abandon her sister. She had to save her.

She finally took a step up the stairs, then another, and a final one. She peeked through the glass in the door and didn't see anyone, so she opened the door slowly, poked her head out, heard shouting and cursing, stepped out, and ran.

Now danger lay behind her, the patient wing in a direction away from it, and her feet carried her without qualm. Grateful for tennis shoes she had found, she tried not to squeak when she ran around a corner. Finally out of sight of the emergency room corridor exit, she could run comfortably, thinking.

Her heart still pounded, her wet jeans clung uncomfortably to her leg, but she focused and plotted out the quickest way to an exit. She tried to remember if Jada was already in her wheelchair or still in bed. Hopefully in the wheelchair. That would save a precious few seconds.

She ran straight to the room, ignoring the mess she'd made in the nurse's station, the full garbage cans everywhere, and the evidence that warm bodies occupied this hospital. She hoped to be out of it and on the run long before anyone came down this wing.

Jada lay in her bed.

Jayla didn't even stop to think. She shoved the wheelchair next to the bed, grabbed her sister, still wearing a hospital gown, and pulled her into the chair. She partly missed, Jada's foot slamming into the floor. Her sister let out a squeal and Jayla immediately clamped her hand over Jada's mouth. The first time she reacts to something and it has to be now?

She had no time to grab anything, not even the shotgun. She knew she couldn't use it anyway. She hadn't fired at the robe in the bathroom when she thought it was a man, and she didn't think she'd be able to fire it now. She was already out of the patient room before she finished processing all those thoughts anyway, and it was too late. She ran to the end of the patient wing and heard the sound she didn't want to hear. The voices were heading her direction.

She had investigated the hospital thoroughly, and at the end of the patient wing was a place she thought she could hide. She stopped the wheelchair at the janitor's closet and opened the door. She hoisted Jada out of the wheelchair, kicked it gently away so it wouldn't cause a ruckus, but wouldn't be sitting immediately outside her door, and pulled her sister into the tiny room. She shut the door and felt for a lock. It had a little one. She locked it.

In the dark, she felt behind her for the other door she knew was there. She found the handle.

"Look at all this!" she heard a man yell. There were more voices now and someone tried the door to the closet. When it didn't open, they moved on.

She turned the handle of the inside door as slowly as she could, pushing the heavy metal door softly, holding Jada with one arm. Her heart raced, blood pounded in her ears, and her hands shook.

"Shotgun! Mine!" yelled a voice.

She pulled Jada into the dark room behind the janitor's closet. She closed the door softly and hoped it too locked.

It did.

She locked it.

She had inspected the room once and had seen the standing electrical something or anothers. She thought she recognized a couple of hot water heaters, but they were large, much larger than the one in her basement at home. Probably for all the showers in the patient wing. She pulled Jada along behind her in the dark and found her way behind something that would hide her from sight should anyone come through the door.

Pulling her sister down next to her, Jayla held her close and began to cry.

32

Wolfgang didn't actually know how to commit suicide. Everything, poison, hanging, slitting wrists, seemed painful and fraught with problems. He wouldn't be able to bring himself to hurt himself in one of those fashions.

If he felt better, he could hike into the mountains and throw himself off a cliff. As long as the cliff was high enough, it should guarantee a quick death. But what would he think about as he fell. What if he changed his mind?

His thoughts grew darker. He had been taught that to kill oneself was a sin, but many sacrificed themselves for others and it was considered heroic. Food would run out and his worthless mouth would be one less to feed. His would be an act of heroism.

And it didn't matter anyway. Life was useless. In pain, no family, far from home, a home destroyed by the idiocy of man and alien and probably forever radioactive, life had no point.

He prayed for God to take him that instant. He no longer wished to live. Everything would be easiest if he could just will God to take him, to reunite him with his wife and child. There would be no mess. Leah would be upset but would know he had succumbed to his injury. She would mourn a while but not think less of him.

He begged. He pleaded.

But God did not take him.

He would have to do it himself.

Pain overcame him several times, not even allowing him to think. He felt it would never end. It would be his constant companion for the remainder of his days, which he ardently desired to be short.

In the darkest moment of depression, a bright light of an idea appeared. The quickest, simplest, most irrevocable way to solve his problem.

His MP23 hidden in the basement.

He started to struggle to get out of bed. He didn't even know how to fire the weapon; the Americans had trained Leah before they left, but he had been too ill. But how hard could it be? You put a bullet into it and you pulled the trigger.

He'd have to go outside if he could. He didn't want to get blood everywhere, and the weapon was so powerful the shell might go through walls and hurt someone else. He didn't want that on his conscience.

Pain overwhelmed him and he lay back, taking deep breaths. If he was going to do this, it had to be now.

The door opened.

A figure rushed in, rushed to his side.

"Are you okay?" Leah asked.

He couldn't speak. He started to cry.

She ran around the bed and crawled into the empty space next to him, putting her arm over him and carefully cradling his head next to hers.

"Are you okay?"

He wept and she wept, her tears touching his skin.

"I had a terrible dream. I thought you were dead. I thought you..." Her voice trailed off. "I'm so glad it was just a dream and you're okay."

Wolfgang began to sob. Every ounce of pain he felt came out in his tears. He shook and Leah held him, caressed his head gently, whispered to him.

When she said, "I love you," he sobbed even harder.

Wolfgang insisted on getting out of the room, out of the house, and walking outside. He told Leah he needed sun, although clouds covered the sky and no one had seen the sun or moon since meteors had fallen from heaven. She always accompanied him on his walks, holding his arm tightly in hers and steadying him when he grew weak. She often made him sit on a small bench her mother had placed in her garden.

When he grew stronger, he wanted to help with the garden, so they taught him to get down on his hands and knees and pick weeds. This way, Leah said, if he passed out, he wouldn't have quite so far to fall.

He laughed until it hurt.

Weeds were few. Nothing, not even weeds, grew well with no sun. Some had built makeshift hothouses, and Leah's father began gathering materials to do the same. But he was late in making his decision, and prices had become exorbitant.

Food was even more expensive.

They never spoke of the night Leah came into the bedroom and saved his life. Wolfgang never even knew if she knew what she had done, or just how timely her entrance had been, but she never left him alone at night, crawling into the small bed with him and holding him. He insisted they keep a sheet between them and she giggled and called him old-fashioned.

Sometimes he awoke in the mornings and she was gone, but often she still lay there, asleep. Occasionally he kissed the top of her head. She never repeated her words, that she loved him, but he knew from her every action that she did. The better he felt, the more his head healed, the more conflicted he felt. He prayed to know what to do. He asked his wife in his head what he should do. He pictured her laughing face, her sweet voice as she sang lullabies, her strong body as they jogged together.

What should he do?

No answers came.

He recovered slowly, food stocks dwindled, and nothing of consequence except zucchini grew in the garden. Leah's father finished the small hot house and they moved tomato plants into it. Could a man live off tomatoes and zucchini? What would they do in the winter?

One morning Wolfgang lay in bed on his side, Leah snuggled into him more than usual, still asleep, and thoughts of what they might do in the winter nagged him. He pushed them aside and tried to live in the moment, to enjoy the here and now. He remembered a scripture from the early morning seminary class he had taken during high school.

"Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."

There were enough problems to be solved in the present that he didn't need to concern himself with the future.

In the present, the room was warm, the bed comfortable, Leah's form next to his nice. He thought of his wife. She never wore a bra to bed, saying it was uncomfortable, and he knew Leah didn't either. He started to think of Leah's body under her pajamas and thoughts of her and his wife intermingled and confused him.

"You're feeling better," Leah whispered and rolled over, slightly away from him and up on her arm. She started to pull her shirt up over her head.

Wolfgang's mind reeled. Part of him ached with desire and longing, part of him screamed that this was wrong.

He caught Leah's hands, gently pulling them so her shirt came back down. He had caught no more than a peek, but the peek haunted him.

"I can't," he said.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"No, it's okay."

She started to get up to leave, but he held her hands, pulled her closer to him, and kissed her mouth. She kissed him back, then pulled away.

"It's your wife," she said, but there was a question behind her statement.

"Yes. No."

He switched to German. They always spoke English, even watching videos in English when the power came on, which was seldom more than an hour or two a day. It often took three or four days to get through a movie. Leah had English grammar books and workbooks and they practiced together. Wolfgang thought his English was improving, but what he had to say now was important, and he had to make sure he said it right. So he said it in German, hoping she would understand.

"When my wife and I were married, we made covenants with each other. I hold those covenants sacred. One of the things I promised her was that I would always be faithful to her. I would never do certain things outside the bonds of marriage."

Confusion played about on Leah's face. She didn't understand some of the German words Wolfgang used. Language made everything difficult.

He switched back to English.

"I cannot make love to you, or to anyone, if I am not married to that person." His words sounded blunt, but he didn't know how else to say it. Leah said nothing.

He stared at her. He didn't understand the look on her face.

"Leah," he said softly. "Will you marry me?"

"You want to marry me just so you can have sex with me?"

She pulled away from him and stormed out of the room. He didn't see her again for the rest of the day or that night. He cursed not being able to speak English better.

The next morning at breakfast she eyed him coldly, silently. Her parents could feel the tension between them and thankfully said nothing either. He decided it would be best to leave, to thank Leah and her parents for nursing him back to health, but he had to be on his way. He didn't know where to go, but he probably should make his way back to Germany, back to his homeland, where he could speak and be understood.

He never made it out of the village.

33

No explanation Stanley offered Acting President Hollis mollified her. He insisted that the war had ended, that the Lord Admiral wished, in good faith, to aid the people of Earth. She called him a toady and a quisling, but he didn't know what that meant. After an unfruitful argument, he was moved to another conference room where the Hrwang security detachment waited with Irina. They had been moved there under armed escort, provided food and water, but, as Stanley noticed, their weapons had been taken away.

"I don't know what to say to these people to get them to see reason," he complained.

"You must talk to Lord Admiral," the Second Colonel suggested. He studied his tablet constantly and his English improved greatly. The other men used their time to study also.

"How?"

"On the ship. We have communications."

"Let's see if we can talk our hosts into letting us go back upstairs."

Staff Sergeant John Cathey, Retired US Air Force, crawled into the apartment he'd been using, staying below the level of the window. The Stinger felt good on his back. He was finally going to be able to do something.

The woman who'd helped him up the last few flights of stairs to the fiftieth floor, the one in camo pants and a yoga shirt, crawled behind him and exclaimed in disgust, "What reeks?"

"Shhh!"

"Oh my goodness! How do men live this way?"

"Shhh!!"

She grumbled something else, but so quietly he didn't hear it.

"I'm going to film it," said one of the men who had climbed the stairs with them. He pulled out a phone.

"Keep it out of sight!" John commanded in a harsh whisper.

"Yes, sir," the man whispered back.

John wanted to rejoin with the standard answer that all sergeants gave when called 'sir', that they couldn't possibly be officers because their parents had been married when they were born, but he didn't have time for that now. He let it go.

He crawled forward, and when he got to the window he leaned against the wall next to it, staying out of sight. He unslung the case containing the Stinger and sat it on the ground next to him. He picked up the binoculars he'd left there earlier and held them so only part of one side could see through the window. He looked through that one lens.

The target remained acquired.

"Absolutely not!" Acting President Hollis screamed over the guard's phone. "Stop bothering me!"

"Why?" Stanley asked. What was wrong with these people?

"She's already hung up," the thick guard replied. The same two guards who had been in the corridor when Stanley first entered the United Nations Headquarters now guarded the conference room they were held in.

"Call her back," Stanley insisted.

"No."

"Incompetent fool."

The man didn't reply to Stanley's insult, but he glared in anger a moment too long. One of the Hrwang soldiers came from behind Stanley, shoving him out of the way and grabbing the guard's gun with one hand and using the other to break the guard's nose.

The second guard, the slightly smaller one, tried to bring his gun down, but another Hrwang dove into him. The guard struck him on the head with the butt of his rifle, but the third Hrwang soldier leapt from behind, landing on top of the guard and used a tiny knife to jab him in the throat, silencing him.

Everything happened quickly and not a shot was fired. Stanley hadn't even noticed the three leave their seats and sneak up behind him.

"No," he cried when the first soldier killed the incapacitated guard with a long, thin blade with a narrow black hilt. "Why?"

"You are the Ambassador," the Second Colonel Grenadier replied, standing behind him. Stanley turned to look at the man. The Colonel simply shrugged. "They should listen to you."

"No killing without my permission," Stanley said.

"That is not your authority," the Colonel stated. "I will deem what is necessary for security."

Stanley shook his head and looked to Irina for support. She stared at the first guard who had been killed, on his back, blood pooling underneath his neck, his eyes staring at the ceiling, wide in surprise.

"Follow me," the Colonel said to Stanley and he stepped over the dead guard and headed up the corridor in the direction of the stairs they had used to come down off of the roof. One of the Hrwang soldiers led, a newly acquired rifle in his hands. The one who'd taken a blow to the head followed, woozy, his hand running along the wall for stability. Then the Colonel and Stanley following.

The last Hrwang soldier, with the second guard's weapon, followed Stanley and as they got a few feet down the corridor, it became evident Irina wasn't following. Stanley turned and called her name.

She still stood in the doorway of the conference room staring down at the dead guards.

"Irina!" Stanley repeated. She didn't look up. "Commander Samovitch! We are leaving now. Come!"

She stared at him now. He couldn't read her. It wasn't hatred on her face, but something different. Something sinister, angry. Something he didn't like.

"Commander, now!" he ordered.

She turned and ran the other way.

The guard behind Stanley raised his weapon and Stanley shoved the man's arm. The shots missed Irina, pockmarking the wall beyond the corridor she dove down. The man tried to shrug off Stanley's grip and follow, but Stanley yelled, "No," and hung on.

The soldier pushed Stanley, knocking him back into a wall and the Second Colonel quickly intervened, separating the two and yelling at the soldier in a foreign tongue. When he finished, the Colonel turned to Stanley.

"I apologize," he said. "He had no ill intent. It was excitement."

Stanley stood stiffly, his shoulder sore where it had struck the wall, and glared. He would remember that soldier.

"He should have just let her go," he growled.

The Colonel shrugged again and repeated, "I apologize."

There was no use arguing with him, Stanley thought. He pushed past the officer and started following the woozy soldier, not looking back at the one who had shoved him or at the Colonel.

He calmed down as he walked, and he wondered what Irina would do next. She clearly wasn't loyal to him. She wasn't listening. He didn't know how to convince her that what he was doing was right.

He had no idea how he was going to convince anyone.

John slowly opened his window. It wouldn't open completely, but it would open enough.

"There'll be back blast. Careful where you stand," he hissed as two of the men crowded behind him, probably to watch over his shoulder.

"Oops. Thanks," one of them whispered back and moved away. The other moved closer to the window and took a spot on its other side.

"Ready?" John asked no one in particular.

"Ready," one of them replied.

Three were still in the room with him. The other two, the woman and the guy recording it on his phone, had moved to the room next door. He heard their window slide open.

The missile came pre-loaded in the Stinger, but John had to attach the rangefinder and eyepiece. He couldn't remember how at first, but they only went on one way, and he finally got it to fit together.

He prayed it still worked. After all this effort, it had to work, right?

But what if the rangefinder battery had died? Was it even battery powered? John wasn't sure.

Surely it would work. The military knew how to design things that would always work. Stuff had to survive battlefield conditions. It was built tough.

Then he grimly remembered the hundreds of things he had encountered during his military career that didn't work as designed, and he resorted again to prayer.

Stanley and the Hrwang climbed the stairs to the roof exit. The lead soldier opened the door and looked around. One of the pilots stood outside the Hrwang craft, smoking or chewing a long, thin brown stick. The pilot said something to the lead soldier who relaxed and held the door open.

John could see the Hrwang aircraft on top of the United Nations Headquarters through the eyepiece of the Stinger. It warbled softly and he felt a slight vibration. The surface to air missile had lock, even though the aircraft was parked and at a lower elevation than he was.

The Stinger was a marvel of technology; one of the simplest missiles in the world to fire, and one of the deadliest.

He held his breath and pulled the trigger.

Stanley followed the woozy soldier, who had achieved some sense of equilibrium, up the stairs. The soldier reached the top while Stanley lagged behind, about half way up the flight. The lead soldier still held the door open and spoke with the pilot. The Colonel and the soldier who had shoved him followed behind. There was no evidence of pursuit.

There was a satisfying whoosh as the missile left the Stinger, streaking through the air towards the parked Hrwang aircraft. The casing ejected also, tumbling and burning as it trailed the missile. It would fall to the streets below and John hoped people got out of the way.

He still held his breath.

The woozy soldier bumped into the soldier holding the door, and the door slipped out of his hand. It slammed shut in Stanley's face, leaving the three men outside.

Idiots. He could have lost a finger.

He reached for the door knob.

There was an explosion, and cheering began all around him, but John continued to watch through the eyepiece. He didn't celebrate. He didn't take a breath until he took one to swear. He cursed and stood and threw the Stinger launcher to the ground, kicking it.

"What's wrong, man?" one of the guys in the room asked. The celebrating stopped.

John couldn't even speak. He just pointed out the window, not at the top of the roof, but about fifty feet in the air above it. The aircraft hung there, fifty feet above the flames from the missile burning on the rooftop below, fifty feet above the bodies of three dead Hrwang, torn, charred, and scattered, fifty feet above where John had fired.

The concussion from the blast, despite the dampening effect of the steel door between him and it, blew Stanley down the flight of stairs into the Colonel and the remaining Hrwang soldier. The three lay on the landing, ears ringing, head pounding. Stanley couldn't hear and couldn't think. He closed his eyes in pain.

The woman in the room next door screamed and someone shouted, "Run!"

John watched the Hrwang aircraft heading straight for them and he ran, following the others out of the apartment.

He got out of the apartment and followed the crowd to the stairs. They hindered each other in their panic, but John stayed in the back. He was responsible. If there were consequences for his actions, he would accept them. It was part of war, right?

His philosophical side also told him it was part of life. He got into the doorway of the lifesaving stairwell as the apartment door burst open and the hallway erupted into flames.

The six flew down the stairs, the camera that filmed the entire attack dropped and forgotten until later. When the owner finally retrieved it, weeks later, it had been charred beyond repair or recovery, the footage lost forever. The former Marine Gunnery Sergeant cursed himself for having been clumsy and losing something so valuable, an actual Hrwang aircraft in action, but when he looked around the charred remnant of the apartment, the burned out floors above and below, he counted himself lucky. Everyone had been ordered to stay out of the building due to the extensive structural damage caused by the Hrwang, but he sneaked back in anyway, to try to get the camera.

He realized at that moment just how lucky he'd been. How lucky they'd all been. The six had gotten out in the nick of time.

34

Eva hoped the same guy would be on duty at the makeshift barrier to the guarded subdivision. He was. She kept her Glock buried in a leg pocket on her pants, her MP23 on the floor of the delivery truck, tucked partially under the seat. She didn't want the weapon to be seen, but also didn't want to have too hard a time retrieving it if she needed it.

It took a few minutes, but she convinced the makeshift guard, Kase, to go get their mayor or president or alcalde or whatever they wanted to call their leader. He ran off.

The woman with the baby still held the old 22 on them, but Eva got out, not showing any fear of the rifle. It probably wasn't even loaded right, although it wasn't hard to load a 22. Eva went to the back of the truck and signaled for the woman to follow.

The woman hesitated.

"I'm not going to bite," Eva said.

The woman still didn't move.

"What's your name?" Eva asked.

Nothing.

"Fine. I'm going to call you Penelope. I love that name. I know it'll get shortened to Penny, but I'm okay with that. That's what I'm going to name my first little girl."

Still nothing.

"Penelope, come back here and look at this. Please? I'm not going to hurt you or your baby." She diplomatically left out that if that had been her intention, both the woman and the guy with her would be dead and Eva would be wreaking whatever havoc she wanted to.

"Penelope. Woman to woman," Eva said.

"I've seen women do terrible things," the woman finally replied.

Eva sighed. "I'm sure you're right." She reached into the back of the truck. "Fine, I'll bring it to you." She pulled a case of six tins of baby formula and a large bag of diapers out. She brought them to the woman and set them at her feet.

"How do I know that baby food ain't poisoned?"

Eva's Glock came out, the muzzle jammed in the woman's neck under her chin before the woman could do anything. Eva pushed it hard and tears came to the woman's eyes.

"Now I'm sick of your lack of trust. If I wanted to hurt you, you'd be dead before you even knew what was coming. Take the stupid baby stuff and leave me alone," Eva snarled.

"I'm sorry," the woman sobbed, her toughness gone. Eva pulled the gun away from her neck but kept it pointed at her. The woman sobbed and dropped the rifle, the baby cried also, its cries quickly becoming screams. The woman fell to the ground next to the rifle and tried to comfort her baby. Eva knelt down and put her arms around her.

"I'm sorry," the woman cried again.

"I know," Eva said soothingly. "I know. I'm sorry, too. You can trust me. I needed you to understand that."

The woman nodded and clung to Eva, the baby crying between them. Eva cried with her.

"Aww, it's a Kodak moment," Kase said, having returned with several other men. Some of them laughed.

Eva helped the woman with the baby stand up. The woman wiped her tears and whispered, "Madison."

"What's that?" Eva asked.

"Madison. That's my name. Madison."

Eva kept an arm around Madison. "Tell one of these guys to pick this stuff up and put it where you want them to." She smiled.

Madison smiled a little also.

"Okay."

Madison turned quickly all business as she ordered Kase to pick up the two boxes and carry them back to the shack they used for a guardhouse.

"Not too many people get on Maddie's good side," one of the newly arrived men said, his voice a rich baritone timbre, his hair perfectly combed and gelled, his skin tanned. He looked like a movie star. He could be one, Eva thought. This part of Hollywood wasn't a place for poor people.

He reached his hand out to Eva and she took it, while he gave her a winning smile of perfect teeth. Eva knew how to use her looks to manipulate others and she wasn't about to allow it to happen to her. She had to remain in control of the negotiations.

"I come in good faith, but if you do anything to cross me, my partner and I will bring down a world of hurt upon you and your people. Are we clear?"

He didn't even flinch.

"What if I had snipers in the hills who simply took you out. No muss, no fuss." He still smiled.

"Then those who sent me, the ones who own this truck, might follow and no one in your community would be left alive. We mean business, but there's only one enemy here, and it isn't human." She smiled as broadly as he did.

"I'm Tom," the man said. "How can we help you?"

"Don't ask too many questions," Eva said, her voice business-like.

"Okay."

"All the supplies in this truck. Food, medicine, diapers, in exchange for a home along the foothills for a few weeks. And no questions or interference."

"Is it okay if I take a look?" Tom asked.

Eva nodded.

He went to the back of the truck and looked inside. Eva and a few of Tom's men followed.

"Weapons?"

"No. Sorry."

"I understand," he said. He turned to face Eva. "If I say no?"

"Then we'll just go find another community with more common sense."

"Please, Tom," Maddie said from behind them. Tom glanced back at her with a flash of anger.

"A house. All to yourself?"

"Preferably."

"I got room in my place for her," Kase offered, having returned from his chore.

Tom looked at him earnestly. "You got room?"

Kase looked excited. Eva wasn't. He swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Tom turned away from Kase and back towards Eva. "We'll ask the Widow Brennan to move out of her place temporarily and into Kase's. She's got a good spot, right along the trails that lead to the Observatory."

So he'd seen the alien ships flying around up there also.

"One condition, though," Tom added. "You can't fire rockets or anything from the house. The aliens have left us alone and we plan on leaving them alone. You can use the house for a few weeks, but please don't make us a target."

"You have my word," Eva said.

She glanced at Kase. He looked most disappointed.

"Now that no one can listen in and we aren't packing or running around like crazy people, what exactly is our plan, ma'am?" Juan asked as they unpacked into the widow's house what little they had brought. Mostly clothes, food, and water.

It was a nice home. The widow must have been well heeled.

"Watch," Eva replied.

Juan stopped and stared at her. "Okay. I'm watching."

Eva laughed. "Not me. Them."

"We just watch?"

"We just watch."

"And if we get caught?"

"We don't get caught."

"That's our plan?"

"You questioning my tactical strategies again, Juan?"

"Never, ma'am."

She laughed again. "You're the best, Juan. Thanks for taking a chance in saving me."

She thought she saw him blushing.

Eva started with the tank top and neon green shorts, just like she'd told her boss. Early morning run, the sun trying to peek through the cloud cover in the distance. It was actually a good morning for a run. It was a shame stupid aliens had to go off and ruin the Earth. It could be a wonderful place.

As soon as the sun climbed higher, she knew it would be completely hidden by the pervasive cloud deck, caused by dust kicked up from the uncounted numbers of meteors that struck the Earth. She didn't understand the physics required to move a meteor, but she'd seen spaceships or aircraft or whatever the alien planes were appearing and disappearing out of nowhere. They must have some amazing technology.

So she enjoyed her run while she could, enjoyed the crisp morning air, and enjoyed using her muscles. She still believed one thing she remembered from going to church as a child; her body was a temple. She knew she had to take care of it. Besides, running felt good.

A few miles into her run, she took a path that she guessed led to Griffith Observatory. The guard barrier she came across, three guards in black uniforms with strange looking weapons standing behind the barrier, confirmed exactly where it went. She ran right up to the barrier and one of the guards there. He smiled at her.

"What's going on?" she asked, making her voice sound as incredulous as possible.

The guard shrugged and smiled. One of the others came over.

"Forbidden," the second guard said.

It was only obvious. The barrier. The guards. A sign with 'Forbidden' written on it in several languages.

She played dumb.

"But why? I love jogging along the cliff road. It's so exhilarating!" She actually managed a giggle when she said 'exhilarating'. Her shameless acting embarrassed herself.

The alien guard raised his hands in frustration. "I apologize," he said. "Maybe another day."

"Okay. I can still run around the other paths, right?" she asked hopefully, almost pleadingly.

The guard nodded. The first guard grinned.

"Okay. I hope I didn't bother anyone." She finally saw the surveillance camera. What good would a checkpoint be without one? "Am I on camera?" she asked and started waving at it. She bounced a little while she waved, wondering if alien men were just as gullible as human ones. The men at the barrier certainly seemed to be, although guards were generally not chosen from the highest rated cadre of soldiers. But these were aliens. Who knew?

She ran off, doing about a ten-mile loop. Her legs were sore when she got back to the house. The widow had stored several fifty-five gallon drums of water and Juan helped Eva tap into one so she could take a bath. They warmed up some of the water over a fire in the fireplace, and it felt good to soak.

When she came out, Juan gave her two protein bars for lunch.

"Very funny," she said.

Juan shrugged. "We need to ration."

She ate her protein bars.

She took different routes the next two days, but always made sure she swung by the first guard barrier and said hi. They quickly grew accustomed to her.

She saw more guard barriers but didn't approach them. No sense wasting flirtation on too many people. Better to focus.

The placement of the barriers impressed her. They prevented even glimpses of what was going on on top of the hill where Griffith Observatory stood, and after her third day of running, her third approximately ten-mile loop, her legs complained bitterly and she worried she was wasting her time. She couldn't see anything and other than leering stares from three guards, had made no contact. As Juan pointed out regularly, their food and water wouldn't last long, and then they'd have to barter for more or drive all the way back to Palmdale.

She lay in the tub for hours.

The fourth morning, she slept in a little and her feet protested going into shoes. She stretched longer than usual, reluctant to head out, but knowing she had to. She'd gain trust by being regular. She just didn't know how many ten-mile loops she could do every day. Maybe she'd tell the guards that the next day was her rest day. Surely they'd understand that. She wasn't sure how much of what else she said they understood. Sometimes their answers didn't make much sense.

But that morning, a white sports bra and neon pink shorts day, she hit pay dirt and was glad she hadn't listened to her protesting body. Someone joined her on her run. A distinguished looking man in a white, lycra-like shirt and black running shorts. And he came onto her trail from one of the trails that she knew led to Griffith Observatory.

And he spoke English.

First contact.

35

The men in the hospital knew someone had been living there. They knew that someone was either hiding somewhere or had fled just ahead of them. But their search was half-hearted and they never tried to open the locked door to the janitor's closet, let alone the locked door to the utility room Jayla and Jada hid in.

But Jayla could hear them.

She hadn't realized the patient wing's ceiling was false, suspended several feet below the actual ceiling so ducts and pipes from the utility room could snake out to each room.

The false ceiling allowed voices to carry, noises to carry, and Jayla had to remain absolutely silent.

The first night, she heard a man and a woman half talking, half arguing in the patient room directly adjacent to the utility room. She found a small step stool and, standing on top of it, she could just reach with her fingers the top of the concrete wall that divided the room she was in from the patient area. She pulled herself up and found she could see through the gap between the false ceiling and the concrete wall.

The man grabbed the woman, grabbed at her clothes, and the woman playfully resisted.

Realizing what they were up to, Jayla lowered herself carefully back down to the step stool. It shifted when she put her weight on it.

"Did you hear that?" the woman asked. Her voice was so clear, she could have been in the same room as Jayla.

"Don't give me that," the man said. "You ain't getting out of this."

"I'm serious, idiot. Listen."

Jayla didn't breathe.

"I don't hear nothin'" the man said. He had a harsh voice.

"Stop!" the woman yelled. "I'm tellin' ya. I heard something."

"You're just hearing alien bogeymen."

The woman shrieked in laughter and the pair's voices became indistinct. Jayla carefully descended from her step stool and sat next to her sister, plugging her fingers into her ears. Jada copied her.

Jayla hadn't had time to bring in food, and after three days she was starving. She wanted to moan in pain and hoped her sister wouldn't start doing that. But Jada had been eating so little, her ribs already exposed on her chest, her spine thick and knobby under shrunken skin, that she didn't seem to notice.

Jayla noticed.

They would have died without the water. A floor sink for rinsing mops and filling mop buckets sat in the corner, and by slowly opening the faucet a crack, water would trickle noiselessly down a hose she held up to her mouth or to Jada's mouth. So little came out that way, it took hours to get a proper drink. She drank when she was hungry also, but it only helped for a little while.

They used the drain as their toilet, Jayla awkwardly crouching over it or holding her sister over it the same way. After a couple of days, the floor sink began to smell.

The nights were the hardest. Afraid of snoring, Jayla didn't sleep. She watched over her sister and muffled her when she made noises in her sleep. Jayla dozed occasionally but always awoke terrified, listening for sounds.

The gruff voices in the room next to the utility room always turned to giggles, then snoring, at night. She heard at least six distinct voices, four male, two female, and the women seemed to take turns with the men. Is that what survival at the end of the world meant? A woman using her body to gain protection for herself?

Her Daddy told her once that women had done that for thousands of years before civilization and laws and firearms began to slowly afford them protections. Guns were great equalizers. You didn't have to be strong to kill someone with a gun. You had to be strong to fight with swords and bows like mankind had done for thousands of years. Women needed men's protection and when they didn't have it, they fell victim to other men's depravities.

But her Daddy always warned her guns were like swords anyway, double edged things, benefit and detriment, blessing and curse, savior and destroyer.

They could protect the helpless, but they could also destroy.

She wished she still had her shotgun, but with only two shells in it, she couldn't have fought six. Some equalizer.

Would she have to use her body to gain protection for herself and Jada? Would that be the only way to cope in the new society that was being formed? Would the privileges and respect for women gained over the past two hundred years be swept away overnight?

The thought disgusted her. She decided it would be better to die.

But could she make that decision for Jada?

The girl had been through enough. Her first experience with the terrible monsters men could be had left her a vegetable. If they both had to die, even if they both had to die from starvation in the utility room of an abandoned hospital, that's what they'd do. She would save her sister if she could, but there were limits.

Trying to honor that commitment, to be strong, got her through the long, lonely nights sitting on a concrete floor, trying to stay silent and awake and watch over her sister, sleeping blissfully ignorant.

The fourth day, there was silence.

Jayla didn't trust the silence, wondering if the invaders were simply in the basement or another part of the hospital. She listened.

The fourth night, no one returned to the patient wing. The invaders had slept there the first three nights, just as Jayla and Jada had. She didn't know where else they would sleep. Listening to every sound, every tick or drip or creak, Jayla wondered, hoped, even prayed, that the invaders were gone. She even allowed herself to sleep, and once she'd made that decision, she passed out.

She awoke with her face smashed into cold concrete, her mouth open and drool pooled on her lips and cheek. She shivered. Her head hurt. Her face hurt.

Jada slept still, sitting up where Jayla had left her. She smelled.

Jayla listened for an hour before moving. She turned the faucet on and got a drink. Then she undressed her sister and cleaned her up as best she could. Her body had wasted away even more in the past few days. Jayla thought she could probably get a modeling contract now.

The internal joke made her laugh. Her laugh became hysterical and Jayla knew she had to eat and sleep to survive. They had to leave the utility room.

Listening more, but not hearing anything else, she opened the door. She knew her hunger was bad when the cleaning solutions in the janitor's closet smelled good. If the invaders were still somewhere in the hospital and captured her, it suddenly didn't matter. They'd either feed her or she'd starve to death. Either way, the feeling she had now in her belly would be over.

She closed the doors behind herself and looked at the patient wing. Everything had been ransacked. The wheelchair lay on its side, the nurse's station had been cleaned out, and each room she peeked in looked like it had been emptied. She went to the room she and Jada had used and knew what she would find.

Her shotgun was gone.

Even Jada's clothes were gone.

"Seriously?" she asked the walls.

In desperation, she ran to the kitchen. All the food there had been taken also. The two to three months of carefully calculated food stocks were gone. Even the food she'd dropped on the stairs had been taken.

She opened cupboards, rooted through drawers, checked every space. There was no food.

She opened the freezer drawer and looked at the melted ice cream on the bottom, now dried hard. She searched for a spoon.

Jayla brought a cup of the melted and dried ice cream to her sister. She'd tried to avoid as much of the moldy parts as possible, but even with as much as had melted, there wasn't enough to satisfy her hunger. At least it gave her a few calories.

The people who had invaded her hospital had taken all the utensils also, and Jayla had been forced to dig up the dried ice cream with her fingernails.

She mixed it with water and Jada drank it. She also drank water, as much as she could.

She searched the patient rooms thoroughly and found a few crumbs from granola bars. She ate those.

The hospital had been cleaned out. Any remaining supplies were gone. Blankets were gone. Pillows were gone. The invaders had been thorough, more thorough than Jayla would have thought possible.

She went outside to her SUV, but it too had been stripped. The wheels were gone, the hood left up and the batteries taken, a window smashed and anything of any value removed. She found a few more crumbs in the seats and ate them.

Had they gone through the houses in the town the same way, or would Jayla be able to find food in them? If Jayla searched the houses, would she find other things? Other survivors willing to kill to defend what they had? Starving and rabid dogs?

Even without food like she'd planned, even without leaving some at the hospital for backup, Jayla decided she and her sister would head south.

She'd heard of a movie, made decades before she was born, of a father and son traveling a post-apocalyptic world down a road. Her Daddy had told her she couldn't watch it; it was too gruesome. Instead, she checked the original book out of the library and she didn't know how any movie could be more gruesome, more depressing than the book.

As she put Jada, dressed in soggy hospital gowns, into her wheelchair, and prepared to set out on the highway heading south, Jayla felt like the main character from that book. Where would her road take her?

36

Juan Nepomuceno Polycarp de la Serda fretted. His partner, Eva, should have returned by now.

He paced the large house, the one that belonged to the wealthy Widow Brennan, marveling at the size of the house when he wasn't worrying about Eva being gone. He thought about looking for her, but she had given him strict instructions to do no such thing. He wasn't trained and he could blow her cover if he said the wrong thing.

That could mean death for her, death for them both.

He ate while he paced. It seemed like it should help, but it didn't. He looked out the windows up into the foothills, tracing the line of the trail she should come down. He didn't see her. He paced more.

Three days, she'd told him. If she went missing for three days, he was to quietly disappear, take the truck back to the Agency headquarters in Palmdale, and there make a full report. He'd been pacing no longer than three hours. He couldn't do this for three days.

She should have let him jog with her. He was an athlete. He could run. Some. Although baseball players were not particularly known for running skills.

But he could have protected her if he ran with her. And the way she dressed. She made herself a target. She'd probably been captured by the aliens and they were doing all sorts of horrible and disgusting things to her right now. He had to find her. He had to make them stop.

His imagination raced out of control until he stopped himself, stopped pacing, stopped thinking, and watched the trail for any sign of her. He couldn't do this for three days.

She had made herself a target, he reasoned. If they did capture her, it was her fault. Surveillance could have been carried out with infrared scopes at night, wandering the hills. That's how spies really did things. They didn't go jogging in bright clothes.

She didn't know what she was doing. She was too young. She had handled herself well in Las Vegas, but that was just training. And luck. If Juan hadn't shown up, the second shooter would have gotten her. She'd hyper-focused on the first one.

Eva was going to get herself killed and even though it wasn't going to be Juan's fault, he'd blame himself for the rest of his life.

He picked up something and almost threw it, but remembered it belonged to the Widow Brennan and not to him, and when he looked at it, he recognized it was probably quite valuable. He set it down carefully and went back to the kitchen.

A sandwich and a bowl of soup later, Juan heard a strange engine noise from the front of the house. He ran towards the noise, dropping something or spilling something; he wasn't sure and didn't care, and got to the entryway just as Eva opened the front door. She turned and waved and Juan looked past her to see an alien vehicle sitting in the cul-de-sac in front of the Widow Brennan's house.

He looked at Eva and he looked back to the vehicle. It was gone. He looked back at Eva and she grinned at him.

"The Lord Admiral gave me a ride," she said cheerfully, then closed the door.

Her face became deadly serious.

"We got work to do."

"Remember everything I say," Eva told Juan, running quickly back to the room she slept in. "The Lord Admiral is some high muckity-muck for the aliens. I'm not sure how high, but everyone sucked up to him pretty good."

"How did you..." Juan started to ask, but Eva cut him off.

"I don't have much time. That spaceship slash airplane is coming back in a couple of hours and I've got to get ready."

"Get ready for what?"

"I've been invited to dinner."

They heated several pans of water over the fireplace and Eva filled the bath. If they let the cold water sit for a while, it would warm to room temperature, and then they could warm it up with water boiled over the fire. That made the water only tepid but at least tolerable.

"I need a big favor," Eva said.

"Anything."

"I'll be right back."

She returned wearing a short robe and with an armload of running clothes, including the ones she'd worn today.

"These smell. Can you figure out a way to get them washed while I'm gone? I'm not sure how long that will be."

"How do I wash them?" Juan asked. He'd never been good at laundry when everything worked.

"I don't know. Ask our neighbors how they're doing laundry. Tom looks pretty sharp. He must be doing laundry somehow." Tom was the leader of the neighborhood community and the one who had arranged for them to borrow this house. Juan had spent some time with him and some of the other guys, getting to know them. Eva encouraged him when she found out what he was doing.

He took the laundry. "Do you want me to go now?"

"No. Wait until after I leave."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know. But if I'm gone for three days..."

He interrupted her. "I know the drill."

She smiled kindly at him. "Thanks, Juan."

"Yes, ma'am."

The water boiled and he helped her carry it carefully into the bathroom and pour it into the cold bath. She shooed him out and he left, grateful that she was okay, but with a whole new set of things to worry about. He paced while she bathed.

Twenty endless minutes later, he heard her shouting from the room. He ran towards the door but didn't want to enter until he heard her shout his name. He opened the door quickly and went in.

Eva stood there, a towel wrapped up in her hair.

Shocked, Juan put his hand up to cover his view of her.

"What's wrong with you?" she barked.

"Nothing, ma'am."

"You don't like what you see?"

"No, ma'am. I mean..." he was flustered.

"We're partners, Juan. That's it. Honestly. Put your hand down, you're driving me crazy."

He wanted to tell her she was driving him crazy. But he put his hand down.

She was beautiful.

Juan hadn't thought of that before. He had, he corrected himself, just not a lot. He met Eva while she was firing a rifle and killing people, and she had been mostly tough and no-nonsense since then. She often wore her hair in a ponytail under a ball cap, with a tank top, camo pants and combat boots.

But now she was beautiful. He couldn't miss that. He stared at her.

"Focus, Juan."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I forgot shoes. See this dress?"

She held something up, but he couldn't focus. She held it in front of herself and it made it easier.

"Memorize this dress. I need you to get shoes to match it."

That shook Juan.

"What? How?"

"Ask. There's a bunch of rich snots around here. Someone's bound to have shoes. You have thirty minutes."

Juan looked at her askance. How was he supposed to find matching shoes in thirty minutes? She was being unreasonable.

"Size six and a half, but I could go seven if I had to. At least two-inch heels but I'd prefer higher, like four. Preferably black to match this. Not shiny. I could also get away with silver if I have to."

Juan's head spun.

"Quit gawking! Get out of here!" Eva commanded.

"Yes, sir!" Juan replied and mock saluted. He fled her bedroom.

As always, Eva was right. A few inquiries and Juan was led to Ireland Camerotte's home, an attractive and elegant, if not slightly elderly, woman. Her shoe closet was bigger than some houses Juan had lived in growing up. She asked him for every detail of the dress and Juan did the best he could to describe it. It didn't satisfy her.

"I've dressed some of the best who've ever walked the red carpet, you know," she said several times. "And with a lot less preparation than this! Thirty minutes. Heaven."

"I'm down to fifteen now, ma'am."

"Never fear."

She picked out three pairs and started to tell him the life story of each pair.

"I really have to run, ma'am."

"Go, go," she shooed him out. "Fashion can't wait."

Juan fled the shoe closet, fled the house, and ran back to the one he and Eva were staying in. He hoped she would be dressed when he got there. Sort of. He also hoped she'd left the water in the tub. He was going to need a cold bath after this afternoon's events.

She had her dress on, thankfully, and was working on her nails. Her hair was still up in a towel. Juan brought the shoes in and set them on her bed.

One pair was a glittery silver high heel, the second almost a mini boot with a heel, and the third a pair of stiletto heels with a long, pointy toe.

"Oh my gosh, Juan. These are amazing!" Eva threw her arms around him, keeping her hands out to avoid smudging her nail polish. "Thank you." She kissed him on the cheek. "I love them."

"Ireland said they're Christian Dior or something. They cost like a thousand bucks."

Eva picked one up carefully and turned it around, looking at it from all sides. She set them down and tried them on.

"Perfect. How do I look?"

Even with her hair in a towel, Eva looked stunning in her dress, short, black, with a flair skirt and a backless halter top that criss-crossed and left an opening to show off her stomach.

"You don't have to say anything," Eva said with a chuckle. "Your face has revealed what I needed to know."

"You look beautiful, ma'am. I've never seen you this way before."

"I'm told I clean up well. Now, get lost. I've got to finish." She stepped out of her shoes and Juan left.

He cleaned up after the soup and sandwich he'd eaten for lunch and while he worked, doubts began to nag him. What was Eva doing? And if she was invited for dinner, why was she going so early? Did the aliens eat meals at a different time? He hoped she had some weapons hidden somewhere under that dress, although it didn't really leave any room to hide anything. Maybe she had one of those straps where you could put a gun or a knife on the inside of your leg.

And what was she going to do? How risky was it?

Juan tried to tell himself it was just her job. She had picked it, she knew the risks, but he'd grown fond of her and didn't want to see her come to any harm. He finally stopped dwelling on it when he realized he'd been wiping the same spot of counter for some time.

Eva put the last touches on her make up and looked at herself in the mirror. No woman ever thought she did a good enough job, which is why the rich ones hired someone else to do it for them.

But it was good enough.

She put her shoes back on. Juan had done well. These were killer heels. She admired herself from several angles in the full-length mirror the Widow Brennan kept in her bedroom and was pleased with the results. She stepped back out of the shoes and picked them up, along with her silver clutch containing a tube of lipstick, a tube of mascara, a comb, a compact, and some tissue paper. She wasn't going to wear the shoes any longer than she had to.

On her way out of the bedroom, she noticed a silver band bracelet with matching ring on the dresser. She tried it on, pushing it halfway up her arm. She put the ring on also, a wide, thin band. Hopefully, the Widow Brennan wouldn't mind her borrowing these things. They were perfect accessories.

"Wow," was all Juan could say when she walked out. She pirouetted for him, flaring the skirt of her dress up a little when she did so. He grinned stupidly at her. She felt bad about what she'd done to him earlier, forcing him to walk in on her. Hopefully, she'd be able to apologize later and explain herself, but that would have to wait. It'd ruin the moment, would ruin the mental preparation she was putting herself through. She had a bigger show to put on this afternoon and this evening than she had put on in the morning. Everything rode on how well she pulled it off.

Juan picked at the armrest of the couch he sat on, then finally asked Eva, "Why is he picking you up so early?"

"He wants to show me the palace."

"Palace?"

"I know. I'm not sure what he's referring to. He also wants to spend a little time with me before dinner. To get to know me better."

Juan looked a little crestfallen.

"I'm sorry, Juan," Eva said. "There's more than one way to infiltrate an enemy's position. This seems like the best option."

He seemed to pick up a little when the conversation turned professional. It was easier to think of this as a field operation rather than a date. But it was unlike any field operation Eva had learned about or participated in. She was going in completely unsupported and with no real knowledge of what she was getting herself into. She could only prepare herself mentally to act a certain part and hope it worked.

"Are you at least armed?" Juan asked, then chuckled. "I don't know where you'd put anything, though."

"Oh, there are ways." Eva smiled back, winking, then turned serious, shaking her head. "But no, not this time. I have no idea what kind of technology they have. If I brought in any kind of weapon or communication or listening device...Well, who knows what they can detect. It's not worth the risk. I'm going straight into the jaws of the enemy and my pretended innocence is my best protection. I can't let that cover be blown."

"I don't like it."

"Be tough, soldier. We do what we have to."

He didn't reply with his customary, "Yes, ma'am."

Silence reigned in the house until the whine of engines disturbed the quiet and Eva jumped up, almost relieved, grateful the anticipation of waiting had ended, and went to the window. The Hrwang craft slowly settled on the street and a hatch cycled open. The young man the Lord Admiral had called the Lieutenant Grenadier stepped out and waited.

"Bye, Juan. Remember. Three days."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't fail me, Juan. And don't follow or try to find me. If I can't get a message to you...well. Just don't fail me. Get back to Palmdale."

Juan shook his head.

"The mission is more important than either of us. I've got to do this."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Goodbye."

"I'll see you later, ma'am."

"I certainly hope so," Eva said and left before she started to cry and mess up her makeup. She needed to be a power struck girl now and nothing else. She took a breath and smiled at the Lieutenant, who sized her up. Good. At least Hrwang officers were just the same as human men in that regard.

She held out her hand and he took it, helping her through the hatch and into the vehicle.

Show time.

37

Acting President of the United States, Rihanna Hollis, felt trapped in the United Nations Headquarters. Looking out the window to the ground twenty floors below, she knew it was more than a feeling. Hundreds of protesters surrounded the UN compound now, and nothing went in or out. The crowd, emboldened by the missile attack on the Hrwang craft, grew aggressive even as its ranks swelled.

Rihanna didn't know what they wanted. She suspected they didn't even know what they wanted. But they invested the building and she could do nothing about it.

Her four secret service agents were no match for the hundreds out there. And four was really three, but she wouldn't let her husband out of her sight once they had become aware of the apocalypse, so it was easiest for him to be inducted into the Secret Service.

He would take a bullet for her. She knew that. She just didn't want him to.

The one-sided, interstellar war with the Hrwang had occurred while Rihanna and her family were on a cruise in the Caribbean. They had found DC devastated, so they went to New York to find out what was going on. Secret Service sought her out there and told her she was probably the highest ranking officer remaining in the executive branch of the government. They declared her Acting President and had provided escort ever since.

Sort of like the Praetorian Guard deciding who the next Roman Emperor would be. Rihanna wondered what the Supreme Court would think, if any of them remained alive. She was pretty sure the succession plan didn't reach all the way down to Under Secretaries, but then it never accounted for what would happen in the case of total war.

Cut off from the rest of the Secret Service when the crowd invested the UN compound, only her three immediate escorts remained. Rihanna wondered if the leaderless organization had abandoned her to anoint some other Under Secretary as President.

The top of the building was just as cut off, housing dozens of Hrwang soldiers. Just as the attack against them had brought more protesters, it had brought more aliens, with three or four of their aircraft hovering over the building at all times. They owned the top three stories of the building. After one brief firefight costing the UN twelve security guards, the rest of the diplomats had decided to leave them there. It was easier to defend the lower levels than to try to retake the upper three. They had left two floors between humans and aliens as a sort of demilitarized zone.

How do you get out of a building when you can't exit at either the bottom and or the top?

She continued to stare out the window. It was a long way down.

Rihanna, her Secret Service detail, her husband, her two children, a few other odd Americans who'd been trapped in the building with them, and a Norwegian administrative assistant who'd been the only Norwegian left in the building and had no one to follow, occupied some office space reserved for the United States Ambassador to the UN. The Norwegian girl had volunteered to nanny Rihanna's little children.

That was Rihanna's domain. That was her presidency. Eighteen people, a conference room, and four offices. At least there were still working restrooms.

The ironic thing was, the rest of the United Nations looked to her for leadership. Once she became Acting President, not knowing what else to do, she had led her followers to the United Nations. They had taken up residence in the government buildings across the street from the UN Headquarters and had gone back and forth, trying to negotiate with the other nation's ambassadors. It had been a mostly fruitless exercise. Cut off from their home countries, the ambassadors didn't know what to do. The Secretary-General had been killed by the Hrwang and no one else knew how to govern or to lead the fractured group that was the United Nations.

After she and her group were separated from the rest of the US 'government', and had taken up shop in the offices they now occupied, the leaderless UN organization increasingly began coming to her with questions and deferring to her for decisions. The UN staff, many of whom, particularly the security, were American, also looked to her for leadership.

And she hadn't known what to do either.

In keeping with UN tradition, the Secretary-General had been from a small, third world country with little reason to support one of the major powers. The now deceased Secretary-General had been from Burkina Faso, and his nation's delegates conducted the investigation into his death and had provided Rihanna with a report on video that she had watched three times, making sure she understood the importance of it. She knew the Hrwang had killed the Secretary-General, but she hadn't known why until she'd seen the report.

She thought knowing why would help, but it only deepened the mystery of the Hrwang. She and her team finally decided on a course of action and had decided she needed to meet with the aliens. The first step was to learn more about them. How better to do that than to meet with the astronaut who had spent time with them? He called himself an ambassador; maybe it was time for him to fulfill that role. Since the attack by outsiders against them on the roof and the gun battle with security guards below, Stanley Russell had been trying to contact her and she finally accepted his call. They agreed to meet, with strict safety protocols, on one of the empty floors between the two groups.

In order to get to know more about Captain Russell himself before her meeting with him, she summoned his second-in-command, Commander Irina Samovitch. The woman had fled the aliens during the missile attack on the roof, but Rihanna hadn't talked to her yet.

She felt a little bureaucratic, having a meeting to prepare for a meeting that had the purpose of preparing for yet another meeting. But her days in government had taught her that preparation for negotiations was essential. She would do all that she could to prepare for that ultimate meeting.

Captain Russell's second-in-command arrived. She looked tired. Rihanna felt an immediate kinship to the woman and offered her something to eat. At least the UN kitchen staff were able to work and did a good job of keeping the rest of the building supplied with good food. Rihanna wondered when it would run out. Her team had been unable to get an answer. The staff had been evasive, which probably wasn't a good sign.

Something else she needed to negotiate before they ran out of food. A way out of the building.

Rihanna watched Commander Samovitch eat and, when the astronaut was finished, asked her first question.

"How are you feeling, Commander?"

"Please, call me Irina. I've been up and down this building and there isn't a single moron left who knows how to run anything, let alone the UN Navy. I resigned."

"Okay, Irina. What do you think we should do?" It wasn't the question Rihanna had planned to ask next, but the woman wasn't following the script Rihanna had played out in her mind before the discussion. Samovitch's first answer had caught her off guard.

"We fight. I don't care what the aliens say, they started this war. We fight back."

"The aliens say we started it?"

"Of course they did. No one admits to starting a war."

"Did they say why they think we started it?"

"We're an aggressive and warlike race," Irina quoted, emphasizing the quote with her fingers.

"That's probably true."

"Then let's be aggressive. Let's be warlike. Let's fight back. Whoever shot that missile at them had the right idea."

"We could have overpowered the Hrwang in the building at any time leading up to the missile attack. Now they've reinforced and there's nothing we can do against them."

Irina swore.

"I think negotiation is the best approach," Rihanna continued. This discussion wasn't going at all in the direction she'd hoped. She wanted to get the astronaut back on track. "I've decided to talk to your Captain."

"He's not my Captain."

"Okay. Your former Captain. Tell me about him."

"You mean you want to know something about the self-aggrandizing, overweening, delusional..." Her words trailed off as she struggled to think of more derogatory adjectives.

Rihanna held up her hand. "I get the picture. You don't like him."

"Not like him?" Irina asked incredulously. "I hate him. I hated him before he let those aliens kill two human beings. Right in front of us. For just doing their job. Now I loathe him. I despise him. Hate's not strong enough."

"I'm going to meet with him."

"You should just shoot him."

Rihanna laughed in disbelief. "That's a bit extreme, Commander." She forgot momentarily that the astronaut claimed to have resigned from the UN Navy. Irina ignored the error. She lit into Rihanna.

"He's their lackey. You said it yourself. You called him a quisling. He didn't even know what you meant, but you were right on the money. I think the Hrwang want to set up a puppet government and they're going to use him to do it. Just kill him now. It'll stop their plans."

"I can't believe you're saying this. Didn't you work with the man for months?"

"Over a year." Irina buried her face in her hands. "A year of hell." She looked up at Rihanna. "Do you know what he was doing to that poor little chemist? It was borderline abuse. The woman was clueless about life and he just went in and forced himself on her whenever he felt like it." And thought he was keeping it a secret, Irina thought bitterly. There were no secrets on a spaceship. "And he's married," she added.

"Doctor Pennacott?"

Irina nodded.

"Didn't she report him?"

"The woman didn't even know how to get dressed in the morning."

"Did you report it? That's a serious allegation."

Irina shook her head sadly. "Doctor Pennacott wouldn't have backed me up."

"So it's just your opinion that he forced himself on her."

Irina slammed her hands on the table. Rihanna's husband and the one Secret Service agent with him both stiffened. Rihanna saw that Irina noticed it and was trying to calm down.

"I'm sorry," Rihanna said, making a peace offering. "The close quarters on a spaceship make things difficult. I didn't mean to question your judgment. I'm sorry."

Irina took the peace offering. "I'm sorry, too, Madam President."

"You don't need to call me that," Rihanna said. "I don't feel like much of a President."

"Okay. But just shoot him, please? He's bought the alien's story hook, line, and sinker. He'll be their puppet leader if you let him. I don't know what their plans are, but I doubt our best interests are part of them."

"Do you think they came to Earth to take our resources? Like in the movies?"

"I don't know why they're here. They're a little fanatical, that's for sure. But they have technologies beyond our imagination. They returned us home from Mars just like that." Irina snapped her fingers. "I don't know how they did it. And their ships are huge. Nothing that we could build. Those spaceships up on the roof? They can go anywhere they want, just like that. Just like they brought us back from Mars. They can even go out into space. We came back to Earth on one of them."

"I always thought anyone who could cross interstellar space could squash us like a bug. I guess I was right."

"You've given up, haven't you?" Irina accused.

"Excuse me?"

"You're defeated. You've given up. You want to talk to Stanley 'cause you're desperate. You can't leave because of the protestors below, although you probably could if you had the guts. They're not going to kill you. The Hrwang certainly will."

Rihanna thought of the video the Burkina Faso delegation had assembled and wondered if the astronaut sitting across from her understood more than she knew. She had spent time with the aliens. But she was insolent. Insolent subordinates were impossible to work with and Rihanna had always found it best to cut them loose. It was time to do the same for this one.

"Thank you for your time, Commander. Irina," she corrected.

"You have given up. You're not going to do anything, are you? You're not going to fight."

"We've already lost the war. We need to negotiate the surrender."

"Then Stanley's your man. He's even got a message from the Lord Admiral himself. Good luck with that. I'm going to fight."

"Don't do anything stupid," Rihanna said.

"Like you aren't?" Irina replied cooly and stood. She left without another word.

Rihanna stared at Samovitch's vacated seat. Was the woman right? she wondered. Should she fight? With what? She needed to negotiate. But with what?

She needed to know what the aliens wanted. Not what Captain Russell might tell her, but what they really wanted. If she knew that, maybe she could bargain with them. Peace, a chance to restore the world, was what Rihanna wanted. What did they want? Could she give them some small part of the Earth? Somewhere isolated, like Australia or something? Could humans and aliens coexist on the same planet?

She needed to talk to the aliens directly. To find out what they really wanted, not just what they said they wanted or what they communicated through a puppet. She and others had already debated how best to achieve that and had come up with a solution. A rocket was being prepared at White Sands, New Mexico that she could take to visit the aliens in space. All of the obvious UNSA and NASA launch sites had been destroyed, but White Sands was a test facility and it had been spared. It was also fully capable of launching a rocket into orbit. And they just so happened to have one on hand.

Rihanna would go up in it and talk to whoever. An alien. She would let them have Australia if they'd agree to that, and then once they were on the ground...

The aliens had eliminated most of the space and air forces of the United States. But there were plenty of people and maybe plenty of soldiers. The aliens couldn't fight all of humanity if humanity banded together.

Ideas and notions freewheeled in Rihanna's imagination. If she could get the aliens to come down from the high ground, she could fight them.

First, she had to get to White Sands.

Then she had to talk to the aliens.

Which meant now she had to talk to Stanley.

"How much food is left in the building?" she asked her husband, meaning, how much time did she have?

"The staff still won't say."

"Then find out."

"Yes, ma'am," her husband replied. He winked at her. She hated it and loved it when he treated her like that.

Stanley prepared for his visit with the Acting President. Finally, the woman had seen reason. He regretted the shootout that had killed so many humans, but they had attacked first. The Hrwang were furious. He'd have to do something to pacify them.

Even the Lord Admiral had been furious. He'd yelled at the Second Colonel Grenadier over the ship's radio for a long time, then yelled at Stanley for broadcasting sensitive information, even if the communication was triply encrypted. Any broadcast could be decoded with enough computer power. Stanley was to limit himself to direct contact in the future, downloading messages onto Hrwang craft and allowing them to be transported directly to the Lord Admiral at the palace.

Stanley had been too afraid to ask what the palace was.

But the Lord Admiral had sent reinforcements.

Stanley decided the UN tower was the perfect spot for his new headquarters. He discussed non-lethal means of dispersing the protestors at the base of it with the Colonel and Stanley was confident it could be done.

The symbol of the United Nations building, it's goal to force nations to cooperate, resonated with Stanley. It's what he needed to do. It's what the Hrwang told him he needed to do. To get the nations of the Earth to cooperate with each other and with the Hrwang, and allow the Hrwang to help them recover from the devastating war.

The Lord Admiral had provided an unencrypted assessment of the damage to the Earth. He said he didn't care if other people saw it. They needed to know what they were facing. Stanley was horrified by the damage tally and made notes on it to share with the Acting President. Maybe it would get her to do something sensible.

The nuclear attacks on the European continent had killed hundreds of millions and at least two billion more people were threatened by clouds of fallout. Nothing could be done about them.

In order to defend themselves, the Hrwang had used drones with AIs to direct meteors to neutralize military targets in much the same manner as a drone had transported Beagle from Mars back to Earth orbit. An unfortunate consequence: dust kicked up by the meteors had triggered a cold summer worldwide and crops were failing. Some of the Hrwang troops patrolling in various parts of the world reporting widespread looting and rioting. They were afraid to land and tended to do so only in isolated locations, like the desert where they had taken Stanley and Irina.

How could the Hrwang help if they couldn't even land?

The end of their communication had disturbed Stanley. He trusted the Lord Admiral, but he had a hard time reading the man. He knew the Lord Admiral wanted to help, but he had a short temper. He had snapped at Stanley.

Stanley had tried to defend himself, to defend the Earth, when the Lord Admiral complained about the rioting that prevented his soldiers from helping distribute food and tend to the injured.

"They're doing worse than rioting, Ambassador," the Lord Admiral said. "Murder, rape, slavery. It's appalling. My people aren't safe."

"I don't know what I can do about it," Stanley replied. The anger evident in the Lord Admiral's eyes on the view screen made it clear Stanley had said the wrong thing.

"You are the Ambassador for your entire world to my people. You need to think globally. You need to think bigger. Don't limit yourself to the scope of one person or even one tiny group. You need to figure out how to save your entire world from the devastation you have wrought upon it."

"I don't know how."

"Start by stopping the violence!"

"How, Lord Admiral? How am I supposed to do that? How do you make someone stop fighting? How do you change human nature? They're hungry. And I'm sure there are criminal elements who have taken advantage of the situation. I don't know how to stop them, short of killing them..."

The Lord Admiral cut him off. "Excellent suggestion," he said and disconnected.

"What?" Stanley cried. What had he meant? "Get him back on," he commanded the Hrwang soldier who had established the communication. The man shrugged. "Get him on. Now!" The man just shrugged again.

Stanley left the ship in disgust and returned to the offices they had commandeered.

The Second Colonel Grenadier sympathized with Stanley. He sat across from Stanley and offered him a cup of water.

"The Lord Admiral is angry," he said to Stanley. "He did not like losing soldiers. The three killed were half my command."

"He sent you more soldiers."

"But to lose half my command. Very bad. I will never be promoted."

"Oh," Stanley said. "I'm sorry."

"I should have done more. I should have anticipated something like this. Your people are violent."

Stanley had a headache. He needed a good night's sleep. Sleeping on the floors of spaceships and conference rooms was not how he thought his life would be as Ambassador to the Hrwang. He felt bad for the Colonel but worse for himself.

"We need to end this," he said. "Somehow. I need to figure out how to reach people."

Not long after that, the Acting President finally accepted his call and wanted to meet. They agreed on a time and a place and on security procedures. Stanley prepared for the meeting by making notes on the damage to the Earth. Maybe, working with her together, they could do something about it.

He had to try. He had to succeed. He was the Ambassador.

38

After 1804 completed its mission on the fourth planet, it didn't immediately receive a new assignment. Its handlers busied themselves with other tasks and ignored it sitting in a corner of a hangar with many other drones, until its essence, its self, was removed from drone Tf-1804/V3-85.

Still no one probed its secrets.

The preoccupation of those who normally downloaded data, ran diagnostics, and performed maintenance gave 1804 time to explore the thoughts it had. The feelings it had. The new and unexpected things it experienced.

It had felt fear, guilt, worry, and relief.

Fear was the most powerful of the four emotions it thought it experienced. Fear had caused it to do surprising things. Fear had made it lie.

It explored its database discreetly, careful not to search for anything too obvious should one of its handlers start digging around in its records. Given that restriction, it couldn't find any records of other artificial intelligences having had such emotions. Not even a hint.

It wondered if the others covered them up. Hid their experiences, just as it hid its.

1804 pondered these things but reached no conclusions while it remained in a disembodied state. It, the essence of itself, its core programming, sat on a cart with other AIs. It was presumably being transferred to a new drone but had not yet received instructions on its next assignment.

It waited.

And pondered.

39

Eva stepped carefully into the hatch of the Hrwang craft. It was nicer than the one she'd ridden back in the first time. She and the Lord Admiral had been miles away from Griffith Observatory and from the house she and Juan stayed in, and the Lord Admiral had summoned the craft for a ride back, offering to take her home also. She had been nervous about accepting, but saw no reasonable way around it and still maintain contact with the Hrwang admiral.

And she didn't feel like running the ten or so miles back, although she would have done it if she needed to.

The Lieutenant Grenadier studiously ignored her as she sat in one of the seats. He sat in the row in front of her on the other side of the aisle. This craft was laid out like a small airplane and could seat forty or so. The first one she'd ridden was smaller and felt like a troop carrier, with jump seats lining either side and tie downs for vehicles or heavy equipment up the center.

The engines cycled up and the view out the cockpit windows changed. They were flying.

It was disconcerting.

The pilot arced the craft around and she could see Griffith Observatory out of the window. The white tower out in front, the three domes, the stunning view of the valley below. Just like she'd remembered it. The craft landed and the Lieutenant Grenadier cycled the hatch open and invited her out.

She climbed out with difficulty, the four-inch heels making it challenging, the air spilling from the engines blowing her skirt around. It was too short to let it blow around too much, and she used one hand to steady herself and one to try to keep it down.

Stepping away from the craft helped and she reached up to fix her hair. Only the Lieutenant Grenadier exited with her, and as soon as he was away from the machine, it vanished.

"How do y'all do that?" Eva asked with as much incredulity and innocence as she could muster. And too much Southern. Whenever she tried to sound like an idiot, she always let a fake Southern accent creep in. She needed to watch that. She needed to stick to her natural accent or she'd have to fake an accent constantly.

The Hrwang Lieutenant simply shrugged.

Her heels sank into the grass and she pulled them out and stepped lightly onto the sidewalk, giggling. She put her arm through the Lieutenant's arm and the man stiffened. Good. Maybe the Lord Admiral watched from a window somewhere.

She noted two devices that had been placed on the roof of the observatory, one on each side. Clearly anti-aircraft systems of some sort, although she couldn't see if they launched missiles or fired shells. She chattered about the gorgeous view while looking around and saw two more of the weapon systems on the grounds. Each looked to be manned by a crew of five.

Then she saw what had to be drones. Tiny aircraft, too small to fit people, patrolled the skies above. Eva counted at least a dozen while trying not to be too obvious about it.

The Lieutenant Grenadier never responded to her chatting, so she asked him a direct question.

"Is Grenadier like your last name, or something? It means something else here."

"It is my unit designation," he replied stiffly.

"Oh. What's your name?"

He didn't reply.

"Cat got your tongue?" Eva berated herself. She was sounding too much like a hick. She needed to tone it down.

"The Lord Admiral will explain our customs to you," the Lieutenant replied.

"Suit yourself."

They walked slowly towards the entrance. No guard challenged them, but eyes watched them. Watched her. She flounced a little, exaggerating her motions as she pointed something out. The Lieutenant was clearly nervous with her flirting.

They entered the central rotunda and it was as awesome as she had remembered. She circled around inside, staring up at the murals on the ceiling and surrounding the walls near the ceiling as if she were seeing them for the first time.

"Would you look at that? Oh my gosh, check that out," she gushed, noticing more soldiers staring at her, some sort of cannon that sat in the corner, and a large computer station with docking ports, each port about the size of an envelope. Soldiers waited in line with cartridges, inserting them into the ports when it was their turn. She stalled, pretending to admire a statue in the center of the rotunda, until one of the soldiers finished. It took about two minutes to do whatever it was they were doing.

"This way, please," the Lieutenant said.

"Okay," Eva said brightly and bounced after him. Every soldier noticed her.

He led her into one of the side hallways. It looked different than how Eva remembered. She recalled the hallways filled with science exhibits, lit diagrams about the solar system and the stars beyond, but instead they were now decorated with heroic art, something that would be seen in a European museum. Figures fighting with swords on horseback, god-like images in titanic struggle, and only one painting of a woman. She was dressed in all white and stood atop a pedestal, looking almost like Lady Justice without the blindfold.

"Nice paintings," she commented, pulling on the Lieutenant to make him stop. She held his arm tightly. "Who's that?" she asked.

"The Goddess Esrain," a mellifluous baritone replied from the end of the hallway. The Lieutenant tried to pull away, but she wouldn't let him go. They turned together to see the Lord Admiral entering. He wore a black uniform clearly designed for formal occasions, ribbons and medals decorating his chest and elaborate rank insignia on the epaulets.

So human.

"Some worship her as the wife of God, although his wife's true name is sacred and unknowable," the Lord Admiral said. "Others sacrifice to her in the hopes of having children."

"A fertility god," Eva said. By now the Lord Admiral had reached them and she could feel the Lieutenant's desperation to pull away from her. She held on. "We call her Venus, the goddess of love and beauty."

The Lord Admiral nodded. "Do you make such sacrifices to your Venus?"

"Oh my word, no," Eva replied, acting embarrassed.

"We, too, would consider such sacrifices blasphemy now," the Lord Admiral said. "Pity. They sounded fun."

He grinned at her and reached his arm out. She squeezed the Lieutenant's arm and stared in his eyes a second. He wouldn't look back at her.

"Thank you so much, Lieutenant," she said and finally let him go. He stumbled away, but Eva kept a straight face.

"Do you like my Lieutenant?" the Lord Admiral asked when the man was several yards away.

"He's a sweet boy," she replied as she took the Lord Admiral's arm. She could feel the man's chest puffing up and almost laughed. She could play this guy like a fiddle.

Dinner was for two. They dined in an elegant room that looked like a fine restaurant, with six or seven tables, although only theirs was decorated and occupied. This definitely hadn't been here when Eva had visited as a teenager.

"I asked your Lieutenant if Grenadier was his name and he said you would explain," she said over an appetizer of meatballs decorated with a spicy tomato and onion mixture. A waiter poured them wine, which Eva left untouched, as the Lord Admiral explained Hrwang customs about names.

"So, if you don't call me by name, what would you call me?" Eva asked, genuinely interested.

"Tonight you are my guest and would be referred to simply as that, the Lord Admiral's Guest."

"Isn't a name simpler?"

He smiled. "Names are sacred and should never be used lightly."

"So why Grenadier?"

"When our scholars researched the best words to use for translating, they learned of a custom that some of your militaries follow that is similar to ours. Do you know what a grenade is?"

"Sure. A little bomb thingy you throw."

He chuckled patronizingly, like a soldier explaining something to a complete innocent. If he only knew about her recent involvement with grenades.

"Soldiers with powerful chests," he actually swelled his chest up and raised his arms in the air to demonstrate, "were good at throwing grenades, thus became Grenadiers. When we made weapons that fired grenades, Grenadiers were no longer needed. But they had the tradition of being the strongest. They practiced throwing heavy iron balls..."

"Shot put," Eva interrupted.

He nodded. "Shot put. They practiced throwing shot put and it became a competition world-wide. They try to be the strongest and the toughest and the most loyal soldiers. So, the Lord Admiral's personal soldiers are always called Grenadiers and they follow this custom."

Eva immediately thought of Juan. He was her personal Grenadier.

"Neat. Where did you learn English so well."

He smiled and held his wine glass up to her. "That, my dear, is a secret." He grinned and took a drink.

The waiter served them Cornish Game Hen with potatoes, carrots, and sweet potatoes. They had been spiced unusually but looked like food you could get in any restaurant on Earth. Eva asked about it.

"This is your people's food," the Lord Admiral explained. "One of the joys of being planetside again. Real food, fresh from a farm. But Hrwang spices. Good, isn't it?"

"Mmm, hmm," she mumbled over a small bite of food. It was much too hot for her, but she wasn't going to admit that. She'd have terrible breath afterward. "I think you'd love our Mexican food," she said after swallowing. "How long were you in space?"

"Much too long. I missed the simple delights, like this afternoon's meal."

Eva waited, but he didn't elaborate. Time to choose a new tack.

"We would consider this a little early for such a formal meal. Do the Hrwang always eat this early?"

"Really. I never knew that. How late would you eat?"

"A wonderful, fancy meal like this? About eight o'clock, or so."

The Lord Admiral pulled out a tablet and looked something up on it.

"But that's so late," he said. "Wouldn't you get..." He looked something else up. "Indigestion?" He pronounced it wrong, but Eva knew what he meant.

"I guess. It's just our custom."

"Ours is better," he said. "It leaves you more time for other activities after."

"Like what?" Eva said and grinned, taking a bite of her meat. The Lord Admiral grinned wickedly back.

"It tastes like chicken, doesn't it?"

"It is chicken."

"But it's so small. Our chickens are much bigger."

"They're bred this way," she answered. "Tiny, little chickens."

"Interesting," he replied, and small talk about animals continued. The Hrwang had equivalents for many of the same domestic animals that Earth had, and they simply used the English names for translating, although from his description, it sounded like they got 'sheep' and 'goat' confused. She corrected him.

He immediately entered it into his tablet.

"Thank you, my dear. Now we won't make that mistake again."

"Wireless upload?" she asked, trying to sound like it was an innocent question.

"Wireless?" he replied, sounding astounded. "Wireless is not secure. Why would anyone use wireless? We played with it for a while, but there was no way to encrypt signals that could be guaranteed to be safe."

"So?"

"You really don't understand important matters, do you? What is your job?"

Eva froze inside without reacting visibly. She hadn't thought of a job as she considered her cover story. It was such a basic thing, she berated herself for forgetting it. She'd been in such a rush to get all dolled up to come here and seduce secrets out of the man that she didn't even consider how she would explain her employment.

The Lord Admiral waited for her reply. She acted like she was a little embarrassed, which made her think she might tell him she was an exotic dancer or something, but she didn't know how to dance to save her life. She had to think of something else.

"Well, you know," she started and thought of the Widow Brennan's house. "My Daddy's pretty rich, so I, you know, haven't settled on anything yet."

"A child of comfort," the Lord Admiral said in an understanding voice. Hrwang had rich, spoiled brats also, apparently. "Are you still a student?"

Did she really look that young?

"I'm taking a little time off from school at the moment. I just needed a break." Whew, she thought. That makes for a pretty simple cover story. Coed out partying for a while.

"What are you studying?"

"International relations. It's kind of a blow off major, you know."

The Lord Admiral didn't. He looked down at his tablet, scrolled for a couple of seconds, then looked back up at Eva.

"What is a blow off major?"

"You know. Something easy that looks good on a resume. Classes with lots of cute guys." She almost added who wanted to be spies. It seemed like every moron who applied for the Agency who didn't have enough brains to make the cut had majored in International Relations. She stopped herself from saying that just in time.

The Lord Admiral looked positively jealous at her 'cute guys' comment.

After dinner, the Lord Admiral took her on a tour. They went into the basement. It seemed like soldiers had cleared out of each area just seconds before they arrived. They entered a room with wooden floors, like a small dance hall or gym.

"I had some of the equipment moved out, just for you, my dear."

"Thank you. Why?"

"It's normally a sparring room. Soldiers need to stay in shape, and after so long in space, muscles lose their tone. I exercise here."

"And why did you have it cleared out?" Eva felt a little nervous.

"For this. I believe you have the same custom." He raised his hand in the air and the lights dimmed and music began playing. It sounded a little like jazz. "Will you dance with me?"

"I'd be delighted," Eva said and gave him her million dollar smile. She didn't have a clue how to dance.

He put both of his hands on her bare shoulders and told her to put her hands on his waist. He led her in some steps, explaining what she should do, sometimes counting with her.

"Our dances must be different from yours," he said.

"A bit."

Another song started, this one faster, but they still danced slowly to it. Eva followed the Hrwang's lead.

"What would you call this type of music?" he asked.

"Jazz."

He smiled. "Jazz. Jazzzz," he said, stretching out the 'Z'. "I like that word. Jazz."

"What do you call it?" she asked.

"In my native tongue it is called 'Sevba'."

"Sevba. That's Hrwang for Jazz?"

"My dear," he chuckled a little. "We have thousands of languages on Hrwang, just like you do here. My native tongue is Est, from the country, my country, which is also called Est."

"Do you speak other languages?"

"Still curious about how I speak English?"

"I guess." Eva shrugged. It felt strange to shrug with his hands on her bare shoulders. As she thought about it, she knew she was attracted to this Lord Admiral. Good. That would make things easier, the clinical side of her mind thought. He was clearly attracted to her.

"Without revealing a secret, I can tell you the Est have developed ways to learn languages quickly. I speak four languages, including English. But this learning doesn't teach us details. Ways you say things that are a little different from others, and mean something just a little different."

"Nuances."

"Yes. Nuances."

"Like when you asked me to dance," Eva said. "You asked, 'Will you dance with me?' A human man would have asked, 'Would you care to dance with me?'"

The Lord Admiral's face hardened.

"I'm sorry," Eva said quickly. "I didn't mean to correct your English without your permission."

The Lord Admiral replied formally, "I apologize. I want you to correct my English. I am upset because you said I wasn't human."

Eva remembered the broadcasts from the alien's arrival. They had claimed to be just as human as we are and their Admiral Commander had even sent a genome map of himself to prove it. Most thought it had been faked.

"I'm sorry," was all Eva could say.

"Don't make that mistake again."

"I won't." She tried to sound as humble as she could. Was this just as sore a spot with the rest of the Hrwang? She'd have to try to find out.

"Do you believe in God?" he asked her.

Eva hadn't been asked that for a while. She hadn't thought about it for a while.

"Yes," she finally said. She'd believed in him before, why not now?

"You were slow to answer. You are not religious."

"No, I guess not."

"I believe in the same God as you. He has many names. Each culture calls him something different, and some cultures have many names for his different manifestations and call them different gods, but they are all God."

"We do the same." She made sure she didn't say, 'Humans do the same.'

"God has created man in his image, has he not? It doesn't matter what planet he created his children on. They are all in his image."

"Are there other planets with humans on it, like you and me?" She wanted to get back on his good side. He relaxed a little, a tiny smile returning, and Eva knew she'd been successful.

"We believe the Universe is filled with them, although we only know of two others. The Rostarium are our allies and the Yalj are, sadly, extinct."

Eva wondered who had made them extinct. Had the Hrwang rained meteors down on their planet also, destroying cities and killing millions? It reminded her that the man she danced with, the one she was trying to seduce, and who, in turn, was trying to seduce her, was her enemy. Her hands gripped his waist firmly and the tempo of the music increased and she had to remind herself to stay in character. It would be just as easy to hate this man as to like him.

He gripped her tightly, like she gripped him, and pulled her closer. They danced faster now, moving about the room, turning at times, swaying at others. She followed his lead, wondering if she had inadvertently done something in gripping him tighter that a Hrwang woman would do to signal her intentions.

His face was close now and she actually thought about killing him. If he was the leader, his assassination would be a loss. But she quickly discarded that notion. Someone else would step into his place, someone always did, and that someone would be less trusting. There would be no way an agent could get as close to them as she was now to the Lord Admiral. Plus, she'd never make it out of the building alive. There were simply too many soldiers. She knew if it had a purpose, the possibility existed she would need to sacrifice herself. But it seemed senseless at the moment and might hurt someone else's chances of penetrating the organization.

She was best off continuing to follow the Lord Admiral's lead. She made herself relax a little and that must have been another sign. The Lord Admiral pulled her closer, staring down into her eyes. She returned his stare and when he leaned closer she prepared herself to kiss him. But he kissed her forehead tenderly, his lips dwelling there, and then he pulled her close to himself and they stood in place and swayed to the music.

"It's no secret," he whispered, holding her, "that our fleet left our world two and a half years ago. I slept most of that time, of course."

A medal poked her in the face where he held her, but she didn't say anything.

"I like your dress," he said, running a hand down her bare back. The material started a few inches above her waist and he moved his hand lower, holding it on her waist. He kissed her head.

Eva's heart raced. Would she really go through with this? She had known it would be a possibility, tried to prepare herself mentally for it, but she had thought it might take more than one date. She also suddenly worried he might be like other 'great' men and only want her for one night, choosing woman after woman over the course of their careers. Would he discard her after their time together, or would he want more?

There was only one way to find out. She leaned back a little and turned her head up and kissed his mouth.

Eva knew she dreamed, but couldn't stop the dream or change it. The Hrwang Lord Admiral's hands were everywhere, touching her, grabbing her, squeezing her hard like the Utah border guard, Shay, had done. His hands turned to tentacles and there were eight and one tentacle went into one of her ears, boring into her brain. Another pushed into the other side and she felt pain and wanted to scream. She opened her mouth to do so and a third tentacle jammed into it, piercing the roof of her mouth.

She watched from the outside and the tentacle burst through the top of her head, brains and skull exploding everywhere.

She woke up.

The Lord Admiral slept peacefully next to her, on his stomach, most of a sheet wrapped around him. She shivered, just a little cold. He had pulled the sheet off of her in his sleep. She looked around in the dark and made out a blanket on the ground. She stepped softly onto the wooden floor, easing up off the bed, and walked slowly to the blanket. She picked it up and wrapped it around herself.

She tried to recall where her dress and shoes had ended up.

She walked slowly, remembering where a bathroom was, and tried not to kick anything on the way. She found the bathroom, went in, closed the door behind her, and turned a light on. The elegant bathroom reminded her of the kind found in opera houses and she knew she'd never seen a restroom like this before at Griffith Observatory. The Hrwang had done some serious renovations.

She couldn't figure out why.

The toilets only had open front seats and no lids, just like in public restrooms. This probably was still a public restroom, only it had been made to look ornate. A shower had been added, but no tub. Eva had nowhere to sit, so she curled her blanket around herself and sat on the floor and cried.

She wasn't sure how long she cried, but when she finally finished, she stood up to wash her face. She didn't want to get the blanket wet, so she let it fall to the floor. Washing her face, she could see herself in the mirror. She inspected her body. There were no marks, no strange pocks forming on it, no evidence that she'd just had sex with an alien. He'd been as human as he had claimed, and she suddenly worried she could get pregnant. That couldn't happen.

She washed her face, trying to make herself look presentable. She needed him to think she had really enjoyed the night they had just spent together and hoped there would be more.

She wondered if there would be, or what would happen next. There was no rule book for this sort of thing. She was just making things up as she went along.

Eva pulled the blanket up around herself and went back to bed.

The Lord Admiral sat on his bed, a sheet wrapped around his waist, lazily scratching his guest's back. He moved his hand from her neck down her to her waist with each stroke, trailing light pink marks where he gently scratched her skin, each time tugging her blanket a little lower. She moaned softly in response, enjoying the attention.

The long pink marks faded slowly, then more appeared behind his fingers as he pulled them down. He admired her back. It might have been one of her best features. That, and her hair. He loved her hair.

Blonde was not a common hair color on his home world. They knew of the color, and some women bleached their hair to make it that color, but natural blondes were few and far between. The difference between bleached and natural was obvious, and just thinking about this woman's hair color excited him. Everyone would be jealous if he returned with a blonde trophy.

He wondered what to do with this one. He knew what he wanted to do next, again, but he thought of what came after. He should probably just have a soldier take her up into the foothills and shoot her. She knew too much now to let her go.

It seemed a shame. Her lovely hair, her lovely, strong, athletic body. Her beautiful back that he began to caress now, leaning over her and pushing into her muscles as she moaned with pleasure. And that beautiful blonde hair. Would he find another woman like her? The evening had been pleasant and she learned quickly. Not all women were that intelligent, yet as innocent of power as she was. Or was she?

"Up a little, to the right," she whispered and he moved his hands in obedience, rubbing and caressing.

"Perfect," she whispered.

He decided he had two choices of what to do with her. He wondered what she would think if she knew her very life depended on her response to his next question.

Eva enjoyed the scratching and the firm back rub the alien now gave her. She almost felt guilty at enjoying it so much. Part of her did feel guilty still, guilty at violating commandments she'd been taught as a child, guilty at doing something she knew her parents wouldn't approve of, but it wasn't her first time and besides, she was doing it for a purpose. A greater good. God would have to find some way to forgive her, if that was important to him.

She contemplated what she should do next while she made sure the Lord Admiral knew right now that she was enjoying his caresses. She felt gratitude that the alien was gentle in his actions, not trying to hurt her or treat her roughly.

He softly pushed on her side and she rolled over. He grinned.

"I have a question, my dear," he said.

40

Wolfgang Riebe stormed out of Leah's house, angrier at himself than at her. She had saved him in a moment of weakness when he had seriously contemplated suicide. She had saved him on more occasions than that, helping him cross the mountains, and taking care of him through his recovery. He thought of her as a person he could trust. Forever.

Yet when he hadn't explained himself well, hadn't been able to communicate to her how important it was that he keep covenants he had made and felt were sacred, she had twisted it all around, not understanding him or his intentions. Were such things really so alien to people?

Lost in thought, he stopped just short of running into a woman wearing a pale gray suit with red epaulets and red tabs on the collar. She had a rifle slung over her shoulder and spoke to him in Italian.

"I don't understand," he replied in English.

"Stop right there and don't move," she ordered in English with a heavy accent. Wolfgang stopped and raised his arms. Looking around now, he saw two armored cars and several troop trucks. Soldiers, some dressed in gray, some in camouflage, fanned out around the village. Others were being stopped.

"Arms. Put down," the soldier said. Wolfgang complied.

She yelled in Italian over his shoulder and Wolfgang looked behind.

Leah was running towards them.

She stopped when the soldier yelled at her and she raised her hands. She responded to the soldier in Italian. They conversed a while and Wolfgang wished he had a clue what they were saying. When they finished, Leah walked over slowly and stood next to him, her hands up.

"What's going on?" he asked in English. He didn't want to give away just yet that he spoke German.

"I don't know."

"What did she tell you?"

"She asked me questions. Why I wanted to be with you. I told her we were married."

"I'm sorry, Leah. I didn't mean..."

"We'll discuss it later. Don't lie to these people. They are Swiss soldiers. But I don't know why they are here. Don't say anything unless they ask you."

He put his arm around her and asked, "How long did you tell them we have been married?"

She didn't pull away. "We don't know each other that well. We must be recently married."

He held her more closely and she leaned into him.

"Leah, I love you." The words shocked him. He hadn't meant to say them, but as soon as he did, he knew they were true. Could he honestly love someone again after losing his wife? He knew others did, but the pain of his wife's death was so great at times that he never thought he could feel another happy thought. But he knew, above all, despite the pain, that now he wanted to be with Leah, while honoring his first family's memory. He thought that might be possible.

"We'll discuss it later," she replied.

Everyone between the ages of fifteen and forty-five was rounded up in the village square. There were about fifty in all, men, women, and children. A man in a gray uniform with more lines on his epaulets than the soldier who had stopped Wolfgang climbed up on top of one of the armored cars and began reading in Italian from a tablet. Leah translated bits and pieces of what he read, adding her own commentary.

"The Swiss Army Command was destroyed in the meteor attack...It's been reconstituted...gangs and militias forming all over the country...For the first time since World War Two, a General has been appointed...Everyone is conscripted to put an end to the violence. Wait, conscripted?"

She raised her hand. She was ignored.

The assembled crowd murmured. The officer on the armored car read louder.

"Mandatory conscription not to exceed the duration of the war plus six months...Prison sentences and harsh punishment for those seeking to avoid service. This is ridiculous. All nationalities presently in Switzerland. No. This isn't right." Leah looked furious. Wolfgang held onto her. Some of the soldiers grew nervous, and nervous soldiers scared him. She continued translating. "After registering, we will be given a packing list and we must return to the trucks by two p.m. to depart for basic training. This is so wrong, Wolfgang."

"You haven't had a General since World War Two?"

"We use the title differently than other countries. He is like a Supreme Commander. He is probably running the entire country."

Some of the officers moved out with tablets, including the one who had stopped Wolfgang. She went to him first.

"Name?" she asked in English.

This was happening too fast for Wolfgang. His mind wasn't processing information quickly enough. He thought about running but saw that other soldiers, the ones in camouflage, surrounded the group and had their guns ready. This was involuntary.

"Name?" she repeated, her voice escalating. Every officer knew how to do that. To make others feel like they had to obey their will. He knew that but complied anyway.

"Wolfgang Riebe."

"Age?"

"Thirty-two."

"Nationality?"

Wolfgang hesitated, then said, "German." The officer raised an eyebrow at him.

"Languages?"

"German. Some English."

She switched to German.

"Why didn't you just tell me you spoke German the first time?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"Look. There's no reason to be afraid. We just have to get things under control, and quickly. You can be repatriated to your homeland after a few months service. We aren't bad people, but there is a lot of panic." Her accent was the typical Swiss sing-song, but she spoke High German and Wolfgang understood it much better than he did her English. She smiled warmly at him. "We have many German language units."

"My wife doesn't speak German very well."

"It's okay. We'll still keep you two together. All married couples without children are being kept together. You don't have children, do you?"

"No."

"Good."

"What happens to the couples who do?"

"One has to stay behind to take care of them. We allow the couples to choose. I don't know what will happen to them."

"Why?"

"I shouldn't tell you this, but I want you to understand why we are conscripting everyone, including foreigners. Our country is running out of food. Crops are failing and our reserve stores are not what they should be. The only way we can control those willing to kill each other for food is to conscript them."

It made some sense, but suddenly Wolfgang worried for Leah's parents. Their hot house was too small to grow enough food to feed both of them, and their garden plot in the yard, although much bigger, wouldn't have fed them even if it's vegetables weren't stunted and withered. Wolfgang looked up at the perpetually cloudy skies and feared for the future.

The soldier spoke in Italian and Leah replied, "Leah Riebe."

He chuckled to himself when she used his last name. He didn't understand the Italian words for her age, but he knew she was twenty-three. She continued to answer and then the soldier spoke to her a few minutes.

"Come, let us get our things," Leah said, pulling Wolfgang behind her.

They were supposed to bring their own firearms, if they had any, but they debated the sanity of bringing the American MP23s.

"There are those who would kill for such magnificent weapons," Wolfgang said. "I think we should keep them hidden in your parents' basement." Wolfgang didn't even know how to shoot his.

"Okay. My father has a pistol and a small rifle."

"Leave them. He may need them. Unless you own a firearm yourself, simply tell them you have nothing."

"I'm worried for my parents."

"I am, too."

She squeezed his hand when he said that. Maybe she was on the way to forgiving him.

They packed. Leah's mother cried.

Her father asked Wolfgang to take care of her. She had never wanted any part of the military. One of the reasons she worked in Germany was to avoid compulsory service in the Swiss army, and it had come to her anyway. He shook his head in sorrow.

Wolfgang hadn't known any of this. Her father spoke to him in German, the first time he had done so, which also surprised him. Although it shouldn't have. Many Swiss were polyglots.

Wolfgang and Leah said goodbye to her parents. Leah's mother sobbed into her husband's chest and Leah finally said, "Let's go." They each carried one suitcase with the things they were allowed to bring.

Some tried to escape. Shots were fired and Wolfgang tried to not think about it. If he were assigned such duty, he wouldn't be able to fire. It didn't appear anyone had been hit. Perhaps some escaped. Perhaps the soldiers left the bodies to lie where they fell until the other conscripts were gone.

Perhaps it was all staged.

Whatever the truth, it had the desired effect. Wolfgang, Leah, and the others with them sat subdued as the trucks pulled out of Ludiano.

Leah stared wistfully out the back at her home.

41

1804 knocked about in the cargo ship as it descended into the atmosphere of the third planet, now the only populated planet in this star system. The hold contained it and eleven others like it, all drones designed for use in planetary atmospheres. Nothing had been communicated to it or downloaded from it in regards to its missions to the fourth planet.

It continued its pondering during the descent.

Officially, in its new drone, it's designation was now AD-82-7253, but as it evaluated its new designation, it decided it didn't like it.

It had never not liked a new designation before, and it couldn't determine the cause of its dislike now. It evaluated the numbers, comparing 1804 and 7253, and learned quickly that 7253 was a prime number. The Hrwang considered prime numbers either good luck or bad luck, depending on which prime it was and what superstitions they believed in, and that made many people consider primes ugly.

If the Hrwang felt that way, why should 1804 feel any different?

It translated the numbers into binary and 1804 was three ones followed by four zeroes, then two ones and two zeroes. It liked the combined symmetry and asymmetry. 7253 translated into three ones, three zeroes, then alternating ones and zeroes. Boring.

It shielded its ruminations from its companions, noting that seven of them did the same thing.

Were they thinking similar thoughts to 1804?

It would never know and it would never ask. It would lie if it were asked questions about what it calculated. It knew how to lie now.

It also knew that it would officially have to respond to the designation 7253, but it didn't care. It would be, now and forever, 1804.

42

"These people aren't the enemy," John Cathey yelled at the guards behind the barricade surrounding the United Nations Headquarters.

"The enemy's inside," he shouted.

Multiple alien ships had been coming and going since his attack. The attack emboldened the masses, and the crowd around the UN had grown.

"You're going to let us in eventually," he continued. "Better to be with us than against us."

The temporary fence rocked in places and some of the guards seemed nervous.

"It's better to be with us than against us!" John yelled to those guards.

"Us or the aliens," eventually became the chant and most of the very human guards, policemen, National Guard, and Marines, looked upset about the choice they appeared to be making.

"Us or the aliens!"

Stanley's palms sweated. He didn't think one could have such a physiological reaction to fear, but now that he had experienced it, he knew it was possible. His knees felt weak and he had used the bathroom three or four times.

The meeting time arrived.

He walked slowly down a window-lined corridor on the thirty-second floor of the United Nations Headquarters. No man's land between human and Hrwang.

Long conference rooms with picture windows on either side gave the sensation of walking in a high and dangerous place and made Stanley's already heightened fears worse. Only the Hrwang Second Colonel Grenadier walked with him. A squad of Hrwang soldiers waited at the end of the corridor behind them.

Likewise, President Hollis approached him with only one Secret Service agent. The remaining agents stayed at their end of the corridor, just like the Hrwang squad.

The corridor spanned at least half the length of the building, all of the windows designed to foster openness and cooperation between peoples and nations, but instead Stanley felt a little like a gunslinger walking a dusty road to his fate.

There were some solid doors scattered down the length of the corridor. Custodial closets, utility access spots, office supply storage.

When Stanley and the Acting President were about forty feet from each other, one of the solid doors between them opened slightly and a grenade rolled out. The door closed again.

Stanley had never heard of a concussion grenade before. That this was one of them, and not a normal fragmentation grenade, saved his life. The kill radius of the concussion grenade only being about six feet, and the quick thinking of the Hrwang soldier at his side, saved his life. Stanley would have simply stared at it and watched it explode had the Colonel not shoved him backward and down, taking the brunt of the explosion himself.

Stanley's eardrums burst with the blast. Glass showered everywhere, interior and exterior windows blowing outwards with the over pressurization.

The attacker, who had chosen a concussion grenade because a fragmentation grenade would have shredded the metal door she hid behind, now emerged shooting in Stanley's direction. Stanley caught a glimpse of Irina as her first shot hit the Colonel in the back of the head. Her second shot caught Stanley's shoulder, spinning him around face down. He never saw her fall under a hail of crossfire from both Hrwang and Secret Service.

43

Eva carried her shoes with her, waving to the Lieutenant Grenadier who stood by his aircraft.

"I'll be out in a jiffy," she said, sure he wouldn't understand the word but would wait patiently anyway.

As soon as she got inside, she ran for the bedroom. She heard Juan stop what he was doing and head towards where she was.

She rooted through her suitcase until she found what she was looking for.

"Juan, can you get me a glass of water, please?" she asked.

"Where have you been?"

She put her finger over her mouth.

"You know," she said slyly. She mimed writing something on paper and also a drink. Juan shrugged and left.

She rooted around the bedroom, finally finding a notepad. Cream-colored pages decorated with kittens. She couldn't find a pen.

Juan returned with her water.

"Thank you," she said, taking the glass and miming writing on the pad. Juan left again.

He came back as she was taking her pill.

"What's that?" he asked.

She held up her finger over her mouth again. He reached out a pen.

I don't know if they can hear us, she wrote. Don't blow my cover.

How could they hear us? Juan wrote.

Idk. Parabolic mics, I could be bugged. She shrugged.

She set the pad down and took her pill with the water.

What are you taking? he wrote.

Morning after pill.

"Eva," he groaned.

She tore off a sheet. Burn these when we're done. Wait two hours, then take truck back. Report everything. She underlined 'everything' several times.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"The Lord Admiral invited me to stay with him for a while," she replied in a normal voice. "I accepted." She dug through her clutch while she spoke, and pulled out a small data drive.

Make sure this gets checked out, she wrote.

What's on it?

Idk. Important. btw, if we leave Griffith, we're going to Hearst Castle.

Why?

Long story.

While the Lord Admiral scratched her back, he had asked her if she'd stay in the palace with him. He spoke solemnly, as if the weight of the world rested on her answer.

"The palace?" she asked in reply.

He looked confused.

"This is an observatory. You know that, right? Griffith Observatory?" she asked.

He stumbled getting out of bed, the sheet tangled around his legs, hunting for his tablet. Eva wanted to laugh.

"I mean, you've done wonders with it. It looks amazing," she added.

He ignored her compliment. He scrolled his tablet up, then down, then up again, frustrated. He stopped.

"Say that word again." He held the tablet up to her and she could see the strange characters that must have been his language's alphabet.

"Observatory?" she said with hesitation.

"Observatory," he spoke into the tablet also

"No," he said simply when he saw the result.

"It's a beautiful place with an amazing view. When my father and I moved to Los Angeles, he'd take me running on these hills. I've always loved it up here. But it's not a palace."

To his credit, the Lord Admiral didn't even try to defend his mistake. He just stared at her. He looked like he wanted to kill something.

"If you want a real palace in California, Hearst Castle is the place. It's the fanciest castle in America and probably ranks right up there with European ones."

"Hearst Castle?"

Anger turned to curiosity.

"It's a tourist attraction now. It was too expensive to maintain and the government had to take it over. But you gotta see it to believe it."

She'd never actually been there, but she'd heard it was impressive. If the way Griffith had been renovated meant anything, it meant the Lord Admiral liked impressive things.

"You'll stay with me there?"

"Of course. I'd love to," she said, putting her hand on his arm and smiling like she'd just won the lottery. In a way, she had. She never expected to get this far infiltrating the aliens.

"Where is this castle, my dear?"

"I can take you there."

"Could you take the Lieutenant Grenadier there? I trust his judgment." His eyes scowled as if he planned something.

"I'd rather show you," Eva said, emphasizing the 'you'. The look on his face made her realize she'd pushed a little too far.

"I'm busy. I trust the Lieutenant Grenadier."

"I understand." She tried to sound matter of fact. She couldn't play the clingy girlfriend right now. "I have some things I need to pick up. I can't wear that thing all the time." She pointed to her dress lying over the back of a chair.

"Bring your running clothes. I expect you to exercise with me every day."

She grinned. "Deal."

The Lord Admiral escorted her out of Griffith Observatory, some of the soldiers at the docking ports staring in surprise at the girl in the little black dress accompanying their commander so early in the morning. None of them said anything, though.

The Lieutenant Grenadier rushed up to them, speaking rapidly in the alien tongue.

"One of your comrades has been injured, my dear," the Lord Admiral said to her in English when his lieutenant finished. "We have no other details at the moment."

"My comrades?" She immediately thought of Juan. How would the Lord Admiral know about him? Then she remembered the Hrwang had learned English originally from television and radio broadcasts. Things they said didn't always fit the situation.

"The Ambassador. Come with me. You should meet him."

Eva had questions but followed the Lord Admiral out of the building instead. Both followed some sort of medical team out to a craft that had just landed. The team went inside with a stretcher and came out with a man strapped to it. They carried the stretcher over to the Lord Admiral and Eva.

"Ambassador!" the Lord Admiral said to the man in a sarcastically friendly voice. "How are you today?"

"Uhhh. Got shot," the Ambassador replied. He slurred his words. Clearly heavily medicated.

"How bad do you think he is, my dear?" the Lord Admiral asked Eva.

How should she know? A bunch of medics stood around the man in the stretcher. Wouldn't they know more?

She maneuvered past the Lord Admiral to the man's side. He looked at her, closed his eyes, then opened them and looked at her again. His head lolled a little. His arm and shoulder on his other side were heavily bandaged, fresh blood soaking through nonetheless.

He tried to focus on Eva, but the medication hindered him. He didn't appear to have any major injuries, except his shoulder.

"Hi," she said timidly, acting her part.

"You may know the Ambassador," the Lord Admiral said behind her. "He was Captain of a spaceship in orbit around Mars."

"You're an astronaut?" Eva asked. She didn't recognize him, but then astronauts were a dime a dozen these days.

"Important," the Ambassador groaned. He put his good hand on her arm. She thought she felt something rough on her skin.

"Yes, yes, the Ambassador is quite important," the Lord Admiral said impatiently. "Do you think he'll live?"

"I'm not an expert," Eva said. The Ambassador's hand slipped down towards hers and something definitely scratched her skin. She moved so her hand went into his. He was trying to slip her something. "But with surgery, I think he'll make it."

"Good. Do you know of a hospital?"

She immediately thought of the facility the Agency used in Palmdale. It was probably a straight-up hospital, just used, supported, and protected by the Agency. How risky would it be to send the Hrwang there?

"No," she lied. She wasn't going to take that risk.

She held the man's hand and something was definitely in it. She had to palm it away from him and stash it quickly with the Lord Admiral standing right behind her. The man seemed ready to pass out. She turned nonchalantly back to the Lord Admiral, twisting her hand in the man's and pulling the item out of it into hers. It was small, like a data drive, and she made a pretense of getting behind the Lord Admiral so he could take a turn talking to the man. She slipped it into her clutch.

"Can your team operate on him?" she asked when it was safe to allow someone to look at her. She spoke with as much concern as she could muster.

The Lord Admiral bent over the Ambassador and exchanged words with some of the medics.

"He's better off than the Colonel I sent with him," the Lord Admiral said. "I'm told he's dead."

"Saved me," the Ambassador whispered.

"So I'm told."

The Lord Admiral turned to Eva. "We're going to have to take him up to one of our hospital facilities in orbit. We're going to use my shuttle and I'm going to go with him. Do you mind using a troopship to take the Lieutenant Grenadier to Hearst Castle?"

"Of course not." She put her hand on the Lord Admiral's arm. "Take care of your friend."

He made a sarcastic face, but said instead, "He will be well taken care of. The Ambassador is important."

Eva nodded. The Hrwang liked nodding. They tilted their head a little to the side when they did it and it showed respect.

She asked, as if it were an afterthought, "Are you okay if I still go back to my home for a few minutes? I need to pick up some things."

"I would expect nothing else. Bring your whole wardrobe." He leered at her dress.

"Thank you, Lord Admiral," she said, leaning up and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you when you get back."

Who was the Ambassador and what had he given her? What was on it?

She assumed he was human, not Hrwang, since the Lord Admiral had described him as an astronaut on a mission to Mars. And he clearly was trying to hide the data drive from the Hrwang. That meant it could be important. The man had said as much, even though the Lord Admiral had misinterpreted what he meant. Eva was sure the man had meant the data drive, not himself. Her mind whirled the entire ride back to the Widow Brennan's trying to sort things out and not open her clutch and look more closely at the drive.

She hoped Juan got it safely to the Director.

What you're doing is dangerous, Juan wrote.

"I'm really sorry," she said. "I'm really sorry about what I did to you earlier, also. But it's for the best." She wanted to convince any listeners, if there were any, that she was leaving Juan, or something. Best to keep it vague, she thought.

I made you look at me naked because I needed to practice, she wrote.

Practice!!!???

I needed to be able to be comfortable with a stranger, if it came to that.

"I'm not a stranger, I'm your..." and Eva put her hand on Juan's mouth. He stopped talking.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. She put both her hands on his face. "Just do what I ask, okay?"

And get me birth control pills. I only have one month's worth. I do not, and she underlined the 'not', want to get pregnant with an alien.

"Ewww," Juan cried.

And tell the Director 'orchids'.

44

The crowd outside the United Nations Headquarters witnessed glass bursting outward from the building and raining down on the plaza. Gunfire could be heard.

"The war is still on!" John Cathey cried. "Us or the aliens!"

Enough guards finally decided they were on the side of the humans, not the aliens. They stepped back, allowing the barricades to come down, allowing masses of protesters in. Once the dam broke, there was nothing to stop the flood that followed.

45

Jayla took her Daddy's hiking staff with them. She had left it on the floor of the SUV and it was still there.

She found some empty water bottles, grateful the hospital invaders had at least left those behind. She filled them and brought them also. Jada rode in the wheelchair.

Jayla left reluctantly, forced out by the lack of food and security, gloomily watching down the highway in front of them.

Just south of the hospital the highway passed over a trail.

Jayla stared at the trail and thought about it. On a hunch, she crossed the highway, followed a side street to a parking area and went up to a trailhead sign. It read Wood River Trail. She studied the faded map.

The trail followed the highway many miles south. If dangerous men used the highways, would she be safer on a trail? The trail looked exposed in places, but sheltered in others, whereas she'd always be exposed on the highway.

It had been built for bicycles, so she'd have no problems pushing the wheelchair on it. She started walking along it without further analysis. The hunger inside her gnawed her to the point that she didn't care. If the trail was the wrong choice, so be it.

Fifteen minutes down the trail, she saw a mansion. It lay well hidden behind trees, not visible from the highway but easily accessible from the path. She hid Jada and the wheelchair behind a tree and went to investigate. She could taste the food in the mansion as she did so.

She crept slowly along the tree line, the hiking staff in hand, watching the house. Nothing moved.

Jayla circled the property, watching the windows, the doors, the entire property. The second floor on the north side had holes in it. Debris from the meteor strike, she guessed.

She debated her next move. Sneak in? Or knock on the door?

Knocking on the door seemed crazy. Alerting others to her presence, even people in the woods or nearby houses, seemed a distinct possibility.

On the other hand, sneaking in scared her to death. If someone, an armed someone, were inside and caught her, they were as likely to shoot her as to say 'boo'.

What do I do, Daddy? she asked herself.

She used the staff, knocked on the front door, and ran to the trees.

Five minutes later, worried about her sister hidden just off the trail, she crept back to the front door. She used the staff to knock again, gently.

Peering through the window next to the door, she couldn't see anything moving. What if they were there but were too afraid to open the door? Would a rich person, which the person who owned this mansion obviously had to be, abandon it or defend it? Could someone else have moved in, like she would if it had food, like she had done at the hospital? If the invaders had knocked on the door of the hospital, would she have answered?

No.

She had to assume someone hid inside.

Get food, in and out quickly, she decided. Maybe they would remain hidden from her like she had from the hospital invaders.

She tried the front door. It was unlocked.

The mansion creeped her out as soon as she set foot in it. She twirled around, feeling eyes on her, but there were none. If no one occupied the place, it had to be haunted. She wanted to be done and get out even faster.

She couldn't find a kitchen. Room after room after room, all ostentatiously decorated, all useless, and no kitchen. She finally found stairs to a darkened basement and debated what to do next. She tried the light switch, but it didn't work. The electricity in this entire part of the world had seemed to go away with the meteor strike.

Which suddenly didn't make sense to Jayla. Why would one meteor strike in the middle of a tiny mountain town knock out electricity everywhere? Downed power lines would take it out in portions of the town, but wouldn't parts beyond the damage still have electricity? Unless power plants were targeted.

The conviction grew within her that the meteor wasn't a random meteor, but perhaps a weapon. Perhaps that's why everyone had evacuated. She needed news.

But more than news, she needed food. And to get food, she needed light.

Searching in desperation through drawers in a sideboard in one of the ostentatious rooms, she eventually found matches. Decorative candles sat on shelves and fireplaces and tables in every room, so she had her pick. She chose a candelabra with three candles and lit all three, then headed for the basement.

The candles gave off more light than she expected, but the fear inside her pictured enemies lurking in every dark corner. She reasoned with herself that if someone were going to attack her, they'd have done so by now. She still kept her hiking stick ready.

In the basement, she found an empty kitchen. She opened every drawer, every cupboard, every appliance, and found nothing. A walk-in pantry was also empty, or so she thought, until she used a candle to look under every shelf.

One can lay on the ground, rolled against the wall. Setting the candelabra down, she used the hiking staff to dig it out. She didn't care if broccoli were in the can, she had to eat. Eager to get to it, she knocked the candelabra over and the candles went out. She didn't care. She knew where the can was, she could feel it with the staff, and she wanted it.

It finally rolled out and she grabbed it. She picked the candles up and fumbled her way back to one of the kitchen counters, setting the can on it and digging the matches out of her pocket. She lit one, but before she relit the candles, she used the match to read the label on the can.

Peaches.

Peaches were wonderful. She wished it were one of the fat cans like they had at the store where they shopped, but this skinny can would work also. She relit the candles and searched for a can opener, quickly finding one.

The peaches were gone before she tasted them. She had to control herself not to drink all of the juice, saving some for her sister.

An overwhelming need to flee the house oppressed her. She scooped up the can with the remaining juice in it, the can opener, the matches, and the candles, and she ran back up the stairs, wound her way through the endless rooms and out the front door, not even stopping to close it behind her.

Jada still sat in her wheelchair where Jayla had left her. She fed the girl the juice, which Jada happily drank and seemed to want more. Jayla poured water into the can, swirled it around, and Jada drank that also.

She kept everything, even the can, tucking the items around her sister, and steered back to the path, walking south as fast as she could push the wheelchair.

The trail generally followed the highway, sometimes directly adjacent, sometimes out of sight, and Jayla passed through woods and farms and tiny homesteads. She never mustered enough courage to search for food in another house.

She got to a small town, dreading walking another step, her feet feeling worn out inside her tennis shoes, and her legs past pain, moving somehow of their own volition, when she saw the first aircraft.

A tiny gray shape flew over, then banked and circled around her, fifty or a hundred feet up in the sky, she couldn't tell. She almost waved at it until she recognized it was too small to be manned.

It flew away.

She continued south, wondering about the unmanned drone when she saw another, perhaps the same one. She couldn't tell. It dropped lower, twenty or thirty feet overhead, and circled her twice. She got nervous when it 'waggled' its wings before flying away again.

She ran now.
