Alien vs. Alien (7 page)

CHAPTER 10

A
S EXPECTED,
Buchanan was no happier with this turn of events than Chuckie, Jeff, or I were, but after some more quiet arguing the others dutifully trotted into their room to the left of Sandra’s desk and I was taken by her into a room on the right.

The room was big enough to handle a full-sized classroom, but there were only two desks and three chairs in it. One desk was all by its lonesome in the middle of the room, and it looked like a deluxe high school desk. Clearly, this was where I was supposed to hang out. The other desk looked like a teacher’s desk, was close to the far wall, and had a normal office chair with it. There was no one in said chair.

“Put your purse in the basket under the chair,” Sandra instructed as she went to the third chair that had no desk partner. It was a high swivel-stool with a back and arms. She looked liked the Good Humor Lifeguard sitting in it.

I did as instructed. It was difficult to shove my purse in, in part because my purse was big and stuffed full of things I felt imperative to have with me at all times—like my iPod, speakers, Jeff’s adrenaline harpoon, teething biscuits, baby wipes, hairspray, and more—and also because the basket seemed set up to not let you get your stuff out once you’d foolishly shoved it in.

“Can I have my iPod out?”

“No. Nothing.”

“Why not? If this place is as insulated as you say, there’s no way I’d get some cheater transmission or anything.”

“Those are the rules.”

“Screw the rules,” I muttered under my breath. But despite my desire to flip Sandra the bird, I left everything in my purse and sat in the chair.

Sandra seemed about to say more when the door at the other end of the room, near the teacher’s desk, opened. An older man with wire-rimmed glasses, sandy hair, and a well-kept,

“I’m looking for Susan,” he said. “She’s supposed to be helping me administer the HSAC.”

“She went home sick,” Sandra said. “I’m covering.”

“Then why are you in here?” He seemed to notice me for the first time as he stepped fully into the room. He wasn’t too much taller than me, and though he was dressed all in white, just like Sandra, his slacks and mock turtleneck fit him properly. He smiled warmly at me. “Ah, there’s my missing student. I’m John. I’d say welcome to your HSAC test, but you’re in the wrong room.”

“Sandra said I was supposed to be tested alone, but I’d much rather be with the rest of my diplomatic mission.”

John gave Sandra a confused look. “I didn’t get any instructions like that. I have six students listed on my roster. I can’t start the test without Missus Martini.” He looked at me. “You
are
Katherine Katt-Martini, right?”

“Indeed!” I wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass. I got up and got my purse. It was close to impossible to get it out of the basket, but by using some of my hyperstrength I was able to do it. Then I trotted over to John. “Let’s join the others.”

“Suit yourselves,” Sandra said quietly.

We left my Solitary Confinement Classroom and went to another room. It was set up similarly to how the room we’d just left was, only this had plenty of desks and also had the others to be tested in it. Buchanan looked relieved to see me, but he wiped that expression off quickly.

“You need to have at least one desk between you and anyone else,” John told me. I picked a spot in the middle between Amy and Len, which was in front of White. Kyle and Buchanan were both nearer to the back of the room.

There was a stool for Sandra in this room, too, and she perched on it. “I was sent additional questions,” she told John.

He stared at her. “Why? And why were they sent to you? I’m the administrator of this test in this facility.”

She shrugged. “Maybe they couldn’t reach you.”

“You can ask your questions at the end,” he said firmly. “These folks have been delayed long enough.”

Sandra sighed and pulled out a packet from her jacket. I had no idea how she’d hidden it in there. “Official orders.”

John took the packet and examined it. “Sealed.” He shrugged. “Looks right, so fine. Now then,” he turned to us, “please put all your personal items, including any electronics, in the basket under your seats and we’ll get started.”

Amy’s purse was already in her basket. I reluctantly put mine away again. Happily, this desk’s basket seemed normal and not like it was trying to take my purse captive and never let it go again.

John handed out a folder and mechanical pencils to each of us. The folders had our names on them. “This is not a timed test,” he shared as he went back to the teacher’s desk. “So there’s no pressure. Just choose what you believe is the best answer for each question, and when you’re done, turn re bacyour test over and raise your hand. Obviously, no talking amongst yourselves.”

He sat and watched us while we got going. My mother had trained me to always read the test through fully before answering, especially if there was no time limit given, so I followed Mom’s teaching and did so.

At least, I read the first few pages. Then I surreptitiously checked out what Amy and Len were working on. Their pages seemed normally thick. Not my set. It was like I was holding the Fall Fashion issue of
GQ
in my hands—my special test had a
lot
of pages. Sadly, most of them were not ads featuring handsome men in great clothes. All of them were filled with questions I was expected to answer.

There were a lot of convoluted questions, some multiple choice, some yes/no, some requiring an essay answer. I refrained from asking if we were actually taking the SATs again, because the questions weren’t about algebra or literature. I did recognize the types of questions they were, however.

This was a psych evaluation, and a really complex one. My father had given tests like this to me, Chuckie, Amy, and Sheila, my other best friend from high school, and, as I thought about it, to all my sorority sisters somewhere along the line. Always under the guise of either having fun or using us to see if a test was too hard or too easy. That none of us had questioned why a history professor needed to give psych evaluations was probably not something I needed to ponder at this precise moment. However, I did know this kind of test when I saw it.

There were a variety of questions, all asking the same things in different ways, all trying their hardest to ensure that the testee wouldn’t have any idea what the “right” answer was, nor be able to fake replies for too long.

While I contemplated which response was the most accurate for me in the question of who I would save during a bank robbery—when the offered replies were Other Bank Robbers, Bank Manager, Your Accomplices, or Best Hostage Option—the balance of my mind was trying to figure out what this test proved and why everyone working with Centaurion Division in a nonmilitary role had to take it.

Every question seemed to be determining what level of bad guy the responder was. I scanned the test again. Sure enough, every question I saw seemed more suited to The Club of Evil Megalomaniacs Entrance Exam than the HSAC test, at least insofar as it had been described to me. I couldn’t imagine Jeff and Christopher thinking this test was no big deal.

“Yes, Mister White?” John said.

I looked up and around. White had his hand up.

“I’m done.” White smiled at me. “I saw no reason to prolong the experience.”

Ah. He’d used hyperspeed. Lucky duck. I wasn’t able to control it well enough to read and write like an A-C could. I wanted to ask White what he’d thought of the questions, but John had him bring his test forward, then had White sit at the front, near to him.

One by one, everyone else finished. I was still struggling with how to answer any of these questions and not sound like my next act after the test was going to be blowing up the Base. Maybe they’d put this into effect after Operation Drug Addict, because of Serene and the Security team infiltration. But even so, this test wasn’t going to tell anyone anything realistic about aliOpeour crew.

The others were all sitting in a row in front of me by now, and they were clearly antsy. I couldn’t blame them. I normally didn’t take forever to do a test.

I flipped to the back, to see if there were any normal questions before I gave up and asked for a room so I could eat and sleep while finishing the test version of
War and Peace
. As I did so, Sandra spoke again.

“Why don’t we let the others go? Clearly Missus Martini isn’t close to being done yet.”

“It’s not in the rules,” John said.

They argued quietly about this, but I stopped paying too much attention, because a set of questions had caught my eye.

Who is Esteban Cantu and what is his position within the United States Government?

Well, I knew the answer to this one. Cantu was part of the C.I.A., the head of their Antiterrorism Unit, to be exact, and he’d been involved in some ways in both Operation Confusion and Operation Assassination. He was also, absolutely, not a friend to Centaurion Division or anyone who protected the A-Cs in any way.

What is Esteban Cantu’s affiliation, to the best of your knowledge?

Evil, bad, pick a negative adjective, probably affiliated with whoever wrote this test. He’d been in league with John Cooper, when Cooper had run Operation Confusion. And he’d been in league with Madeline Cartwright and Antony Marling, the head of Titan Security, when they’d been putting Operation Assassination into action. He was also chummy with Senator Armstrong and what was left of the politicians and lobbyists I called the Cabal of Evil.

But I didn’t write any of this down. I read on.

What are your thoughts on Paraguay? Do you feel the situation there is under control?

No, I did not think Paraguay was under control. Marling had confirmed there were more supersoldiers than the ones we’d captured at the end of Operation Assassination, and I was sure some were in Paraguay, just as I was sure some were in Paris or the general surrounding area. But like so many other Weapons of Mass and Scary Destruction, whenever our teams descended on the confirmed locations, the WMDs had been moved to a new secret lair.

Why does Charles Reynolds oppose integration of Alpha Centaurion personnel and the U.S. Military?

Huh? We had Chuckie questions now? Cantu was always trying for the Wedge of Separation between me and Chuckie, because Chuckie was the person who did the most to block Centaurion from becoming the War Division. And he opposed this integration because the A-Cs were actually pacifistic at their cores, and they were also here for reasons other than running the military-industrial complex.

Is Charles Reynolds’ biggest weakness: a) his intelligence, b) his willingness to be insubordinate, c) his affection for aliens, d) his inability to see the big picture?

There was no “none of the above” choice, unfortunately. In reality, and Jeff would be the first to confirm this, Chuckie’s biggest weakness was probably me. He’d been in love with me for half of our lives, though I was pretty sure he was o su, and ver that. But I was also his best friend, and we loved each other as best friends do. I knew he’d die to protect me, or Jamie. And probably Jeff, too, because I loved Jeff and he was my husband, and my safety and happiness mattered to Chuckie, just as his mattered to me.

I looked at the last question.

Are you prepared to answer these questions or are you prepared to die?

Uh-oh.

CHAPTER 11

“E
VERYBODY DOWN!”

I followed my own order and flipped myself out of the desk and onto the floor while grabbing for my purse and wishing I’d brought my Glock and just dealt with a few extra minutes at the security checkpoints. I flung the strap over my neck—no reason to lose my purse, I was sure I was going to need its contents soon enough.

The rest of the team were all experienced by now, and all of them, even Amy, were on the floor. Kyle was using his body to shield her.

I looked to the front of the room. John was still sitting at his desk, gaping at me in shock and confusion.

Sandra, however, was already moving. Straight for me.

My brain worked at its own version of hyperspeed. Jeff hadn’t picked up anything dangerous from her, and he’d definitely monitored. But she’d done every low-key thing she could to get me in a room with her alone. Her clothes didn’t fit her right, and Susan, whom John had been expecting, wasn’t around. I had a feeling she hadn’t gone home sick but that she’d gone home dead.

And I knew androids—really good, really believable-as-human androids—existed. Androids so good they’d fooled Jeff based on their emotional output.

I didn’t have a lot of options, but there was a really good way to tell a human from an A-C and an A-C from an android. I jumped to my feet, grabbed the desk, and swung it at Sandra with all my strength.

The desk shattered. Sandra jerked a little and kept on coming. It so figured.

“Android attacking! Len, Kyle, get Amy and John out of here!” That was all the time I had before Sandra was on me.

She grabbed me with one hand and held me at arm’s length. I tried to break free, but her grip was far too strong. The other hand she held out, fingers slightly splayed and pointed at Buchanan, who was running toward us, while Len grabbed John and Kyle picked Amy up as they ran for the door near the teacher’s desk.

“Malcolm, down!”

He ducked just as bullets sprayed out of Sandra’s fingers. Antony Marling had told us, right before he’d killed himself, that the supersoldiers we’d found in D.C. were our friends compared to what else was out there. If we had weaponized androids running around freely, he’d undersold what was coming.

The bullets missed everyone, but not for Sandra’s lack of trying. She spun us around, still firing out of her fingers.

Sandra wasn’t that big, as people or androids went. I hit her with a strong front ball kick to her side. She seemed to feel it, but only a little. Bummer. I grabbed another desk and hit her with it. She staggered a bit while the desk fell apart, but that was all.

She was still shooting bullets, and we were still spinning. Getting dizzy and sick was going to be in my near future if I didn’t do something. These rooms were insulated, so no help was coming from Jeff, Christopher or Chuckie until Amy and the boys found them, and by then one or more of us could be hurt or dead.

Buchanan, using desks as shields, was getting closer. Sandra stopped spinning and focused her firepower at him. The desks didn’t last long, but as near as I could tell, Buchanan wasn’t hit yet. I couldn’t spot White anywhere. I was sure he hadn’t run out the door with the others, but I hadn’t seen him while we were spinning like a really badly made dreidel.

Of course, as someone tackled Sandra from behind and both of us went down, maybe I hadn’t seen him because he’d been using hyperspeed to stay behind us.

Because Sandra was distracted by White, I was able to get out of her grasp. As I scrambled away, she flipped around and slammed White into the ground, while she landed on top of him. He was strong, because he was an A-C and a big man, but he wasn’t enhanced. Buchanan had made it over and was trying to help White. And while he was a big, strong guy, he was a human. Even if Len and Kyle came back to help, I didn’t think the four of them were going to be able to stop Sandra.

After all, the only person who’d been able to stop the androids who’d been passing as Leslie Manning and Bryce Taylor had been Jeff. And he’d been high on adrenaline in order to do it.

I was still experiencing control issues with my powers, and I hadn’t been able to work with Christopher at all while in exile in Florida. However, the one thing I knew for sure by now was that if I wanted to kick butt in a really serious way, rage was my friend.

It didn’t take much to get really angry. I just had to focus on the fact that I hadn’t had sex with my husband for a month and that if this heinous robot won I might never have sex with him again. Presto, pissed.

I grabbed a broken desk and pulled a solid piece of metal off, as Sandra landed a good hit to Buchanan’s sternum. He went flying and slammed against a wall. She kicked White right in the gut with both feet and he flew into a different wall. Both men were down and they looked out.

Not a problem. Just made me angrier that she’d hurt my friends.

Sandra looked a little mussed up, but she got to her feet easily. “You will complete your test,” she said. Her voice sounded a little slurry, which meant the men had managed to do some small damage at least. We circled each other, like fighters in the ring. I wished Tito were here—he was a really good coach for me when it came to Mixed Martial Arts fighting outside of the octagon.

“I don’t think so. I’m planning to flunk this exam.”

She feinted and I swung my metal bar at her. I hit her head. The het think bar bent. Her hair and the skin on her face were kind of messed up, but other than that, not a lot of damage done. I tossed the bar away as I jumped back to avoid her reaching for me.

“You can’t win. I’m so much better than you.” I waited for her to shoot projectiles of some kind at me, but she didn’t. So either she was out of ammo or I was supposed to be taken alive. Either option was better for me.

“Blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard that one before. So, you killed Susan?”

She shrugged as she moved her neck in a weird, totally nonhuman way. “It was expedient.” Her voice wasn’t slurring any more, and what I’d done to her head didn’t look nearly as impressive now, either. Too bad, the damage wasn’t much. Yet.

“John in on this plan?”

“Hardly. He, like the others, will be dead soon.”

“How’s that? I’m not letting you out of here alive. I mean, alive for you, which, I guess, means I’m yanking your battery.”

She shrugged. “I am only one part of the operation.” She smiled nastily. “I won’t have to listen to you much longer, though. And you’ll never see your husband and friends alive again.”

This was probably supposed to scare me and maybe make me offer to come quietly as long as they left the others alone. But I knew how “they” worked. I had no clear idea who was behind this, though Esteban Cantu was up there on my Perennial Top Three Suspects List. But the League of Evil Masterminds all rolled the same way—lie to get you to do what they wanted, then kill you and anyone else they felt like. Well, not this time.

All Sandra’s threat did was move me from really pissed off up to enraged. Excellent.

“So, who’s pulling the puppet strings on this one, Pinocchia?”

She gave me a nasty look. She had to be one of Marling’s creations—the man had been a loon of the highest order, but he’d done amazingly good work, and he was particularly good at creating androids so unlikable you’d never suspect them of being more than human. “The last person you’d ever manage to suspect.”

Sandra hadn’t attacked yet. We were still circling each other and she was likely stronger, even if I was at my most enraged state. So what was she waiting for? Me to attack? Reinforcements? The signal that my husband and friends were dead or captured?

“So, who’s that? If you’re going to take me dead or alive, might as well tell me who’s giving the directions for you to do so.”

She smirked. “Why not? My instructions were given to me by Charles Reynolds.”

True, this was the last person I’d ever suspect of these machinations. And also true, the fact that the smartest guy around had been stymied at every turn lent a certain credence to the idea that he was in charge and therefore ensuring nothing concrete was found. And maybe if I’d only known Chuckie for the past few years I’d have believed it.

But I’d known him for more than half of my life, and I still knew him better than anyone alive. And among the many things he wasn’t was the kind of person who would do these evil, underhanded things. I als thf ofo knew how much our enemies hated him. It didn’t take a lot of mental effort to figure that Sandra had been told to tell me Chuckie was in charge in the hopes of slamming the Wedge of Separation between us so strongly that it would never come out.

That was the goal, I was sure. Only that wasn’t the outcome. The outcome was that I was now seeing red I was so furious.

I lunged at her. Either she really hadn’t expected it or I was moving so fast she couldn’t tell, but she wasn’t able to block me. I slammed into her, and we slammed into the wall behind her.

And broke through.