Independence Day: Crucible (The Official Prequel) (29 page)

“Well, you know I’m not home that much,” David said.

“Yes, I know. Very important person, you are. Flying to the moon, for goodness sakes. How was the kosher meal on the spaceship?”

David didn’t feel it was particularly politic to mention that he hadn’t kept kosher since he was eighteen, and that among his in-flight meals there had been a ham-and-cheese sandwich.

“It was, you know—space food,” he said.

“It’s not healthy, this,” his father said, gesturing around. “You know I loved Connie like a daughter, but David—it’s been four years. This place is like a museum.”

“It doesn’t feel like four years,” David said. “It feels like last week. Like yesterday, actually.”

“You need to move on,” Julius said. “I’d still like grandchildren, you know.”

David sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“Pops, sorry to disappoint you, but I think at this point that’s really not on the cards.”

“Son,” Julius said. “I’m not disappointed in you—but a man can dream, can’t he? Anyway, you need companionship, David. A man doesn’t need to live alone.”

“You’ve been alone since Mom died,” David said.

“We’re not talking about me,” Julius said. “And in fact, I’m very busy, too. Did you know, they’re talking about sending me on a book tour? What about that? Me, on tour.”

“Well, that’s very exciting, Pops—I’m glad for you.”

“The thing is,” his father said, “I think you should come with me. Levinson and Levinson, the father and son who saved the world. What do you think?”

What David was thinking was that he would rather have all of his teeth pulled without anesthetic, and that he couldn’t say
that
, and that he needed time to come up with some plausible excuse to
for the love of God
not do that.

“You know what, Pops?” he said. “Why don’t we talk about this over a big steak? There’s this new place in town that’s amazing.”

“David, it’s only four o’clock,” his father said.

“Rrrright,” he said. “But—early bird special.”

His father narrowed his eyes and shook an index finger at him.

“That’s very smart,” he said. “Just let me go shave.”

* * *

“There’s no early bird special?” Julius said to the waitress.

“No, sir,” she said patiently. She was nice-looking, with dark, curly hair, maybe thirty, maybe a little younger.

“I guess I was mistaken,” David said. “But that’s fine, we’re here. Order whatever you want, Pops—the sky is the limit.”

“Here are your menus,” the waitress said. “I’ll get your drinks. My name is Rachel, and I’ll be your server.”

“Rachel,” Julius said. “May I ask you something?”

“Certainly, sir,” she said.

“This is my son. Maybe you’ve heard of him. David Levinson. Flew up into space and blew up the alien mother ship.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. She smiled at David. “I’ve seen you on TV.”

“That’s nice,” David said. “So you—”

“And he’s single,” Julius said. “Can you believe that?”

“Dad—” David said.

“Are you single, Rachel?” his father persisted.

She blushed. “Well, yes,” she said.

“Such a shame,” Julius said. “Two such good-looking people…”

“Dad!”

“I’m just trying to help.”

David smiled at the waitress. “I’m sorry about that, ah—Rachel. My father doesn’t have what most people would think of as… boundaries.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll get your drinks.”

“What?” his father said, as she walked off and David glared at him. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Well, to start with, she’s probably less than half my age.”

“Well, if I’m going to have grandchildren… you know. Look at Michael Douglas and that lady he’s married to. It’s not unusual. Why, in the Torah older men and young women—”

“Let’s just—what do you want to eat?”

“Don’t rush me,” Julius said. “I haven’t looked at the menu yet.”

“I know,” David said. “You’ve been too busy trying to set me up with the wait staff.”

“Okay,” his father said as he picked up the menu. Then he promptly put it back down again.

“About this tour,” he said. “I’d really like you to come. We can spend some time together, get to know each other better.”

“We know each other pretty well,” David said.

“You know what I mean,” Julius said.

He sighed. “Pops, I just—I have a very full plate. I’m supposed to be six places at once, all of the time. Taking—how long is your tour?”

“Two weeks,” he said.

“There. Two weeks. I just can’t do it. If it were a day or two, maybe.”

“Okay,” his father said.

David blinked. “What? Okay what?” he asked.

“You’ll do two days with me. Two appearances. It’ll be fine.” He opened the menu again.

David raised a finger, wondering what exactly had just happened.

“I think I’ll have the Ribeye,” Julius said.

* * *

Later, when the waitress brought the check, it had her name and phone number on it.

“See?” Julius said. “You think the old man is mashugana.”

Back at home, David tore up the receipt and put it in the recycling bin.

* * *

For Jake, it was a long week. He called Charlie, who—as he’d told Patricia—was blazing through the Academy like nobody’s business. Not only had his grades and test scores allowed him to start a year earlier than most, he was on track to finish more than a year early.

“I’ve met my future wife,” he told Jake. “She sits across the room from me in my engineering math class.”

“This isn’t still the one from last month is it?” he asked. “What was her name, Karen?”

“Katrina,” Charlie said. “No, that didn’t work out. This is a new girl.”

“So what’s this one’s name?” Jake asked.

“She looks like an Isabella or maybe a Colleen,” he said. “Outside chance of an Amber.”

“So when you say you’ve met her, you mean you’ve
seen
her,” Jake said.

“Well, and there’s my dreams,” Charlie said. “I’m probably going to ask her out, like, tomorrow.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Jake said.

“You sound a little down,” Charlie said. “Something going on?”

“Actually,” he said, “Patricia is dropping out of flight school.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Charlie said. “I…”

The line went silent.

“Charlie?” Jake said.

“Oh. My. God,” Charlie said. “You’ve been playing tonsil hockey with Patricia Whitmore, haven’t you?”

If Charlie’s only prominent quality was his almost eerie ability to cut right through what Jake said to what was percolating underneath, Jake would have probably strangled him years ago. Fortunately, he had other qualities—but it was still annoying.

“Ah. Sort of,” Jake said.

“Has Dylan beaten the crap out of you yet?”

“First off,” Jake said, “there is no universe in which Dylan Hiller can beat the crap out of me. But no, he’s not exactly happy about it. Not that it matters anyway, not with her leaving.”

“Think so?” Charlie said.

Jake had done almost nothing but think about the question Charlie was alluding to, and he was tired of it.

“You know what?” Jake said. “Tell me more about Amber.”

“It’s probably Isabella, the more I think of it,” Charlie said.

* * *

Jake met Patricia outside of the gate about an hour after he was off duty. He had been trying to imagine how the goodbye would go, and had settled on being heroically stoic and supportive. The other alternative involved him on his knees, begging her to change her mind, probably with a few tears thrown in.

Not a good look.

When he arrived at the rendezvous, he didn’t see her at first. Not until she honked the horn, and he realized she was inside a jeep.

“Come on,” she said.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Just get in,” she said.

He did as she asked, and after a second’s hesitation, gave her a kiss. Then she stepped on the gas and the base was dwindling behind them.

“This isn’t the way to the airport,” he noticed.

“Very observant,” she said. “I told you I would be done with flight school at the end of the week, not that I was leaving. I’m staying through the weekend.”

“Oh,” he said. “So where are we going?”

“We’re going to be alone,” she said. “No more sneaking around, no more pretending. I’ve rented a cabin up in the mountains.”

Jake felt as if his vocal cords were frozen.

Alone? In a cabin in the mountains?

“But I didn’t pack,” he finally managed.

“I didn’t want to spoil the surprise,” Patricia said. “I stopped in town and got you a few things.”

“If you got me lingerie, I can’t promise I’ll wear it,” he said. “I’m really, really self-conscious about my body.”

“You’ll wear it and be happy, or you don’t get the chocolates,” she said.

“Damn, woman,” he said.

“Damn what?”

“I’m the guy,” he said. “I’m supposed to be doing this stuff.”

“Okay, let’s assume that’s in the least way a valid point. Were you planning on impulsively taking me someplace for our last weekend together?”

“I was… there may have… not… been a plan,” he admitted.

“Exactly,” she said.

“In my defense, I thought you were leaving today.”

“Noted,” she said. “Now sit back and enjoy the road trip. Turn on the music there.”

He hit the start button, and Robert Plant’s “Big Log” began playing.

“No!” he said.

“Oh, it gets better,” she said. “We’ve got Stones, we’ve got Dire Straits, Hendrix, the Who—three hours of handpicked classic rock.”

“That’s awesome,” he said. “I love you.”

She looked at him, then.

“I mean, the music, I love—hey, you’re going to drive us off the road.”

She turned her attention back to driving. Robert Plant started singing.

My love is in league with the freeway…

“Patricia,” he said.

“Yes?”

“I do love you.”

She drove for a moment or two without comment.

“You know, Jake,” she said, “I’m starting to think I love you, too.”

He sat through the rest of the song, wondering what to say next. The Kinks came on.

“So how is this gonna work?” he asked.

She glanced back at him, a bittersweet expression on her face. “Don’t ask me,” she said. “I did the long-distance thing for five years, and it completely fell apart on me.”

“I’m not him,” he said.

“I know you’re not,” she said. “Look. Just set the long-distance thing aside for the moment, okay? Let’s treat this weekend like it’s our last. Like the world ends on Monday. After that, we’ll see. After all, we might not even be—you know—compatible.”

“Oh,” Jake said. “I’m compatible.”

“I’m just saying,” Patricia said.

“One hundred. Percent. Compatible.”

“We’ll see,” she said.

“Yes, we will,” he said.

David was in Lisbon for the tenth annual Xenology Conference when he bumped into Dr. Catherine Marceaux for the second time.

Literally. He was checking his phone messages and turning a corner in a crowded corridor when he tripped and ran into her from behind. It wasn’t much of a collision, and she seemed more-or-less prepared to ignore it until she recognized him.

“Director Levinson,” she said.

“We have to stop running into each other like this,” he said.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s the only way I seem to be able to contact you. Your staff seems quite adept at screening your calls.”

“My staff sometimes doesn’t know what’s good for them,” David said. “I had no idea you’ve been trying to get in touch.”

She smiled a bit skeptically.

“I, uh, read your book,” he said. “One of them.”

“Oh, yes?” she said. “What did you think?”

“It was, well, very interesting,” he said. “Not entirely up my alley, even though the chapter on recursive feedback loops and computing language I found very interesting. It resonated with some of the things I’m working on.”

“Are you suggesting a collaboration of some sort?”

“What? No. I was just saying—”

“Look, I’ve frightened you again,” she said. “I was joking. What I meant was, would you like to discuss this someplace quieter?”

“Quieter?”

“The bar, perhaps? Over a drink?” She looked at him, somehow serious, sarcastic, and playful at the same time. She was also gorgeous.

A drink wouldn’t hurt, would it?

* * *

David made a face when he tasted his drink.

The hotel bar had a theme of some sort, although David had a little trouble discerning what it was. It involved a fair amount of vintage neon advertising American beer, old cigarette posters featuring a cowboy, an antique gas station sign with a green brontosaurus on it, and several stuffed armadillos… among other things. The bar itself was covered in pale blue Formica.

“What’s the matter?” she said.

“I ordered a martini,” he said.

“Let me see.”

He handed her the glass and she took a small sip.

“Yes,” she said. “That’s what you have. A martini.”

“It’s just vermouth on ice,” he said.

“Oh, you wanted an
American
martini,” she said. “Shall I go ask for that?”

“Do you speak Portuguese?” he asked.

“Some,” she said, “but the bartender is French, anyway.”

“I’m okay with this,” David said, although he really wasn’t. “I’ll know better next time.”

“Shall we talk shop then?” she asked.

The question set him at ease, because he had begun to worry that he was on a date. He hadn’t dated anyone since Connie died, and he still wasn’t really sure he was ready. Not that it mattered—he was so busy there wasn’t any time for such nonsense anyway.

They talked for a while about her book and the theories she outlined in it. She wanted to know if he knew of any persons she might interview who had experienced alien contact. He did, of course—President Whitmore and Dr. Okun both came to mind. Okun, the former head scientist at Area 51, had been used as a mouthpiece by one of the aliens. It nearly killed him, and now, seventeen years later, he was still in a coma.

The president’s contact with the aliens was classified, however, as was Okun’s very existence. Still, he ventured to ask if she was aware of other examples of catatonia induced by alien ESP.