J.M. Dillard - War of Worlds: The Resurrection (32 page)

" When I tell my superiors, that's what they will call it."

"A whole squadron of soldiers were killed!" Suzanne exclaimed.

"Missing," Wilson said, spreading his plump hands. "AWOL. No bodies recovered."

Harrison lowered his head into his hands. He saw it all clearly now: Wilson wasn't going to help, then, had never intended to help them. The general had come all this way only to find out about his missing squadron, and didn't believe them for a minute, had permitted these meetings only to placate Suzanne. He understood now how Clayton had felt during Ms nervous breakdown.
Dear God, I've failed. Failed Clayton, Mom, Dad, everyone . . . and after all that I've done, it's going to all happen again.

He felt Suzanne's hand on his arm and forced

himself to look up. "Why won't you believe me when I tell you what I
saw?"

"What we
all
saw!" Suzanne jumped to her feet, fists clenched. "Dammit all, Uncle Hank, talk to your colonel! If he won't tell you that he saw his men killed, then—well, then bring him here and let me have a word with him!"

"Calm down, Suzanne, and have a seat," Wilson answered firmly, gesturing for her to sit. He waited until she reluctantly did so, then sat behind the desk. "Actually, I talked to the colonel at length very early this morning. He hasn't made an official report of what happened and he isn't going to." At Harrison's angry expression, he hastened to add, "At least, not an unclassified one. But he did admit that something incredible took place last night."

"What did he tell you?" Harrison demanded bitterly. "That the Russians have some super-secret device that made us all hallucinate?"

"Hardly." Wilson paused to relight his pipe and drew on it, his sharp blue eyes scrutinizing them from behind a fresh haze of smoke. "I didn't mean to upset either of you. I'm trying to explain why—considering the . . . uncertain nature of what we're dealing with— it's vital that this whole affair be kept top secret." He rested his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. "When Delta squad is defeated, captured, the army sits up and takes notice." His tone was confidential. "So do I . . . and my superiors. Very
important
superiors. Suzanne knows who I mean."

Harrison glanced first at Wilson, then at Suzanne,

scarcely daring to believe what he'd just heard .. . but he saw hope light up Suzanne's pale, drawn face. The President? So he'd been right the first time—the general had just been toying with them.

Wilson sat back, obviously pleased with the effect his words had. "These same people are very eager to keep this matter hush-hush."

Harrison sat forward with a sudden surge of energy. "Hold it right there, General. Keeping this quiet
won't
make it go away. I remember what happened to Clayton Forrester thirty-five years ago when the army decided to hush things up."

To his utter amazement, Wilson nodded sympathetically. "I understand. What happened to your adoptive father was an unfortunate mistake, Dr. Blackwood. For all of us. I think we've come far enough along not to make the same mistake again. The Pr—" He corrected himself. "My superiors would rather this didn't become a political issue. They want it kept quiet, but that doesn't mean they want it ignored. I've been asked to offer you a job."

Harrison gaped at him, unable to believe what he had just heard.

Wilson's expression was somber. "Find the aliens, Dr. Blackwood. Stop them before they do more harm."

A surge of relief washed over Harrison, a sensation so sweet tears stung the back of his eyes. He closed them and wished Clayton were sitting there with them. "Pinch me," he whispered, looking over at Suzanne. "I'm dreaming."

This time they reached for each other at the same

time, their laughter sounding suspiciously close to sobs, Suzanne gave him an awkward squeeze, then withdrew into her chair again. She shook her head, smiling warmly. "You're not dreaming," she said huskily. "I told you Uncle Hank would come through." She gazed affectionately at her uncle.

Harrison's exhilaration faded as a sudden suspicion took hold of him. "Wait a minute," he said to Wilson. "I want a guarantee I can do things
my
way. No red tape."

"Guaranteed." Wilson nodded. "Your own people, your own methods, whatever you want."

"Now I know I
am
dreaming."

"Naturally," Wilson continued, "we'll have to establish certain security procedures—"

Harrison's grin faded as he became defensive again. "What kinds of procedures?"

Wilson's gaze was innocent. "To protect you and your colleagues. And to protect the secrecy of the project. Nothing you wouldn't do yourself, I assure you."

Dammit,
Harrison thought,
I
knew
there had to be a catch
.. . but at this point he knew he had already gotten more than he'd hoped for. No point in alienating Wilson while he was feeling generous.

Wilson went on. "Aside from that, you have a blank check."

Harrison and Suzanne looked at each other with wide eyes. "How big a check?" Suzanne asked coyly.

Wilson shrugged cavalierly, doing his best not to smile as he spoke, but surrendering at last. "I think the Federal Reserve can cover any check you choose to write." He hesitated. "Of course, you'll need a co-signer. .." He reached across the desk for the intercom, pressed down a button, and said, "We're ready now."

"Oh, Lord," Harrison muttered, understanding everything.

The door opened and Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse entered, wearing a freshly laundered uniform and the barest trace of that aggravatingly smug sneer.

Harrison put his head in his hands and groaned; Suzanne emitted a gentle sigh.

"Well," Wilson said brightly, rising, "I believe you all know one another."

"Hello?" The connection was full of static, and Forrester's voice sounded weak and breathless.

"Clayton?" Harrison asked excitedly. "Clayton, I'm calling from Vandenberg Air Force Base. They
believe
us; they're actually going to help us!"

Silence for a few seconds and then Clayton breathed, "Thank God. Thank God. Harrison, I knew you'd do it."

Harrison laughed, feeling exhilarated and giddy. "Suzanne and Norton did it too. Listen, they're going to take us somewhere safe—and I've told them I want you to come too. Someone from General Wilson's office will be contacting you."

"You don't need me, Harrison," Clayton said, but Harrison could tell from his voice that Forrester was pleased. "I'd just be in the way.''

"Bag the old-and-in-the-way excuse, Clayton. I

don't have time for arguments. We're leaving tonight."

"Tonight? That's a bit soon, don't you think?"

"The sooner the better," Harrison stated emphatically.

Forrester hesitated. "I'm an old man, Harrison. I can't be rushed. I'll come—but there are some archived papers at the Institute—"

"Good Lord,
more
files?"

"More files," Clayton stated firmly. "Perhaps not as vital as the ones I've given you, but we can use every scrap of information we can get our hands on. I'll get Jacobi to help me; just give me a day or two."

"Tell it to Wilson's office when they call. But they aren't going to like it."

"That's their problem. And, Harrison—"

"Yes, Clayton?"

"I love you, son."

TWENTY-TWO

A full moon shone eerily above the remote expanse of desert. Traveling with its headlights off, the eighteen-wheeler slowed as it approached the gate. Posted along the nine-foot-high, seemingly endless chain-link fence were warnings

DANGER NUCLEAR TESTING SITE KEEP OUT

along with yellow and black radioactive-fallout symbols.

The truck groaned to a halt, and a Delta squad soldier leapt out. He ripped away the chains securing the gate with an easy, fluid motion, then swung the gate open and let the big rig through. It rumbled past,

then stopped again to give the soldier time to close the gate and hop up into the cab.

The rig began moving again. It drove through miles of lifeless, rocky desert and tumbleweed, past a rise where a shelter was built into the ground so that those inside could witness the above-ground detonations that had occurred here some thirty-odd years before.

The rig continued a few more miles, until it reached a ramshackle hangar that was used these days as a makeshift toxic waste dump. The soldier jumped down from the cab and slid the hangar door open wide; the truck pulled inside.

All that remained now was to unload the contents of the trailer and convey them to their permanent base, whose existence they had learned of from their Delta squad hosts: a cavern deep beneath the desert surface, created by an underground nuclear blast... a place where no living human would dare to venture.

"I am here at your request, Advocacy," Xashron said humbly, though he burned with anger at what he perceived to be betrayal. He stood in the dark belly of the cavern; before him, the three comprising the Advocacy reclined in their human forms against a ledge hewn from the rock.

Prior to the summons, Xashron had been supervising the release of the last of his soldiers from the barrels, and silently planning his strategy against Xorr and his followers. As Xashron's inferior, Xorr was morally bound to keep silent of the Supreme Commander's

plan, for he was sworn to protect his Supreme Commander with one exception: if the Commander harmed a member of the ruling class. Since Xashron had not yet committed the deed or even stated that he intended to do so, Xorr could bring no charge against him but was free to take what measures he could to protect the Advocacy.

Which was clearly what Xorr was doing now as he and another member of his unit stood, armed with the human soldiers' firearms, guarding the three. Xashron had expected as much, and did not fault Xorr for doing so, but the fact that the Advocacy had summoned him, Xashron decided, meant that Xorr had broken his oath of loyalty and had told the Advocacy that Xashron was plotting their murders.

Perhaps such treachery should not have surprised him; for, in the event of Xashron's death, Xorr, also a brilliant military strategist, was most likely to be chosen by consensus to be the new Supreme Commander.

It was Xana, back again in her human form, who replied first. Xashron carefully noted her expression, her movements, the cadence of her speech, but could detect no anxiety, no fear there, only the faintest hint of warning. "We have called you, Xashron," Xana said, "because we wish to discuss a .. . problem."

Horek, using a gesture borrowed from his host brain, nodded. "Xorr has informed us that there is a plot among some in the military to harm the Advocacy. This, of course, cannot be tolerated."

Xashron looked at them and said nothing.

Oshar spoke. "Therefore, we require your assistance.

Speak to your soldiers, Xashron. Rally them together. Xorr has suggested we commence battle against Earth as soon as possible in order to unite the military. Oshar has used the primitive transmission equipment to activate the homing beacons on our vessels. We have already located one triad of ships nearby, and so we have already informed the Council of our intent to retrieve them tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Xashron took a step forward, relieved that Xorr had kept silent as to the instigator of the unrest, yet disturbed by Oshar's words. "Advocate, my people are recovering from their long sleep . . . and the others from the last battle with the humans. My co-pilot, Konar, was injured. I cannot go to battle without a member of my triad— "

"Then find another co-pilot," Horek said flatly. "We will tolerate no delays."

Xashron struggled to hide his fury.
Tolerate no delays, will you, Horek? This is the same brand of idiotic haste that almost killed us once before—
And at the same time, Xashron was bitterly disappointed. He could not refuse to lead his men into battle, yet there was no time to organize an uprising against the Advocacy so quickly. Xorr was truly clever. He knew that ordered to do battle Xashron would concern himself with seeing to it that his soldiers were prepared, and would do nothing rash—such as risk a number of them in a fight against supporters of the Advocacy—to jeopardize the success of the mission or his soldiers' welfare.

"Very well," he said. "Perhaps Konar will be sufficiently recovered by tomorrow to serve with me." He paused. "But I would like to discuss one concern, if possible."

"Speak," Xana told him.

"If we retrieve three ships—it would be best to do so using the cover of human host bodies."

"Agreed," Horek allowed.

"However, flying three ships will require a minimum of twenty-one soldiers. We have but seventeen, excluding the three host bodies occupied by your Advocacy. "

"You may have this body if you require it," Xana said. Horek and Oshar were not so generous.

Horek scowled at him. "Then you must go find more. Commander, along with a means of getting into the military installation where our ships are held. You can consult the human soldiers' minds—and, as always, we rely on your talent for strategy."