V - The Original Miniseries (30 page)

But then Margarita paused. Juliet noted that the youngster somehow instinctively recognized the ceremonial aspects of what she was about to do. She raised her young hand above the keyboard, then spoke carefully and slowly, "Here's one small step for a girl . . ." She pressed the enter key.

A staticky computer buzz began issuing from the large speakers mounted on the ceiling above the console and blended with the Mozart. Elias scrunched his face curiously. "Wait a minute, that buzzing is our call for help?"

Kenneth Perry nodded. "In binary mathematical code." "Lots of little ones and zeros," Margarita clarified helpfully. But Elias was still confused. "Just numbers?"

"Mathematics is the universal language," Juliet explained. "If the Visitors do have an enemy advanced enough to do battle with them, they'll be intelligent enough to translate this distress call."

"If they ever even receive it," Perry added. Elias frowned. "How long's it gonna take to reach 'em?" "Depends how far away they are," Margarita said as she took another cookie. "A few years probably," Juliet said. "At least." "God ..." Elias scrunched his face quizzically again. "Years?" "Yeah." Perry leaned back in his chair. "The signal can only travel at the speed of light-" "A hundred eighty-six thousand miles per second," Margarita said while toying with a chocolate chip. Her father continued, "So if they're, say, ten light-years away, then it'll take-" "I get it." Elias nodded. "Ten years for it to reach 'em."

"Right," Juliet said. "And even if they could travel at or near the speed of light, which is very unlikely, it would take at least-"

 

"Another ten years for them to show up here." Elias felt the wind diminishing from his sails. "Wow. Twenty years from now."

 

"Or probably longer," Perry cautioned. Elias's eyes had taken on a thousand-yard stare as he pondered, "Wonder what Earth'll look like by then?"

Juliet was also considering it. "Hopefully we'll be around to find out." Then she drew a breath. "Meantime, Kenny and Margarita will keep sending bursts of transmission. In different directions. Night and day, huh?" She put a hand on the young girl's shoulder.

"You betcha, Julie," Margarita said, smiling back with keen resolve in her eyes. "Well," Elias heaved a long sigh, "I sure hope they got their ghetto blasters tuned in on us." "And if they do . . ." Juliet said as she met his dark brown eyes, "let's hope they'll be on our side."

Elias gazed at her, weighing that very serious consideration. He looked over at the main console monitor, which was streaming with ones and zeros as the computer buzz continued.

A few minutes later Juliet and Elias stepped out of the control room. She drew a long breath, and a slight grimace crossed her face. The chill night air always caused the injury to her hip to ache more than usual. She leaned on her cane and looked up at one of the giant dishes that loomed behind them, knowing that it was invisibly streaming their call for help out toward the distant stars. She also knew that it was, at best and in every sense of the phrase, a long shot. "The reality we have to face, Elias, is that help may never come. We may end up having to rely completely on ourselves."

But Elias was feeling empowered. "Well, we ain't done bad so far. The first battle's been won."

"That's right," Juliet said, then articulated the reality, "but the war is just beginning." He looked into her sky-blue eyes and was contemplating the daunting future they were facing as Juliet asked, "You up for it?"

A cocky grin broke across the young man's face. "Girl, who you talking to?" He pulled a can of aerosol paint out of his oversized jacket. Then, with gusto, he stepped up to the concrete wall beside the control room door and onto it he sprayed a big, bright, red V.

YSABEL ENCALADA MOVED WITH URGENCY THROUGH ONE OF THE shadowy, pipe-lined service tunnels of the wastewater facility. She'd heard that Juliet had returned, and Ysabel was searching quickly among the other resistance members to find her. Ysabel was fifty-one. She had lived in the United States for the last seventeen years, but she had been born in Lima, Peru. Her thick black hair was a legacy from her Aztec ancestors. She kept it cut short in a very no-nonsense style that matched her personality. She was extremely feisty and had spoken out against several Visitor policies. When three of her fellow workers at Microsoft had disappeared after voicing similar complaints, Ysabel realized the danger and slipped away into the Underground so she could continue her fight against Visitor tyranny. She had hooked up with Juliet's primary resistance cell several months earlier. Her skills in computer science and communication technology had served her and the resistance very well.

Her compatriots were also cheered by her colorful blouses that echoed her South American tastes and heritage. A halfdozen thin bracelets of polished wood and silver were always clicking together on her wrist.

She emerged into a high-ceilinged chamber that once housed large pumps. It had been transformed into one of the galleys that helped supply food to those encamped inside the water reclamation plant. She spotted Elias and Juliet across the dingy room. They both looked weary from travel. They were surrounded by others who were anxious to know how the transmission had gone. Elias was guzzling a soda while Juliet filled in her compatriots.

Ysabel hurried toward her. "Thank God you're back." Juliet blew out a puff. "Yeah. A couple of close calls coming up through Lake Elsinore. We need to think about moving further north. San Jose, San Francisco, or-"

 

"Robin's in labor."

Juliet glanced up sharply. "What? I figured she was only about five or six months along." Juliet was already on the move, falling into step beside the older woman who was pointing the way. "Where is she?"

"We put her in your medical unit." They hurried into the service tunnel as Juliet peeled off her jacket and said, "Are you sure it's true labor?"

"Her water broke." "How long ago?" Ysabel glanced at her watch. "Eight hours and twelve minutes." Juliet's voice was low as she considered it. "Oh my God . . "And Julie ... there was a lot of blood in it." "Well, that's not unusual." "But this blood looked ..." Ysabel frowned, searching for words. Juliet glanced at her. "Looked how?" The older woman was at a loss. ". . . Strange."

Juliet was about to ask more when a pain-filled cry pulled her attention toward the resistance medical area that they were approaching. Juliet saw that Robin was covered with sweat, strands of hair stringing across her face. She cried out again in pain: Her father, Robert, was at her side, mopping her fevered brow, saying, "Easy, honey ... easy." When he saw Juliet a wave of relief swept through him. "Oh, thank God. You've got to help her."

Juliet was already hurriedly washing her hands at the big metal industrial sink nearby. She saw that Brad, the sturdy former L.A.P.D. sergeant, had pumped a blood-pressure cuff on Robin's arm. Juliet knew Brad had some EMS training and asked, "What are you getting, Brad?"

"One-ten over fifty-five," Brad said. "And it's been dropping steadily." "Pulse?"

"On a roller coaster. From twenty up to a hundred and twenty and back. Getting weaker in the last hour."

 

Juliet shook the water from her hands, then slipped on latex surgical gloves as she glanced at Robin's IV bottle. "What's hanging?"

 

"Ruby started a saline drip," Robert said. "We didn't want to medicate her until you got back." Juliet had moved to Robin's side and was checking her eyes, then her gums. "She's getting shocky. Raise her legs." She leaned over the teenager, saying, "Robin. Can you hear me?"

 

The girl's hazy eyes lolled toward Juliet. She managed to nod vaguely.

"Good girl. That's a girl." Juliet moved to the foot of the bed. She lifted the sheets and said, "I'm going to examine you, okay? To see how far along you are." Robin was too weak to respond. Ysabel was wheeling over a small lamp. "Over my left shoulder, Ysie, thanks." Juliet saw Ruby approaching with some additional sheets. Juliet had attended a few births, but since she was only an intern she was comforted by the presence of Ruby, who was a retired RN. "Better prep an epidural, Rube."

"Right away ... Doctor." Ruby emphasized the word. Her kind eyes met Juliet's, which gave the younger woman a muchneeded boost of confidence. Ysabel stepped closer, aiming the lamp between Robin's legs. Juliet began the obstetric exam.

Robert wiped his daughter's brow, then saw her tensing up. He placed a hand gently on Robin's enlarged abdomen. "She's having another contraction."

Juliet nodded. "Yeah, I feel it." Juliet stood up. Her mouth was dry, her mind racing. Brad saw her concern. "What's wrong?"

"She's not dilated at all. Not one centimeter." Juliet struggled with the problem, then Robin cried out loudly in severe pain.

Ysabel glanced at the girl, then to Juliet. "What should we do, boss?" Robert was growing distraught. "She can't keep suffering like this."

Juliet knew it and took control, speaking decisively, "Ruby, forget the epidural. Prep a spinal. We'll get it into her, then get gowned and scrubbed. You, too, Brad. Robert, you better also."

Robert stood up, his voice nervous, "What're you going to do?" "A C-section. I don't see any choice."

As Robert moved to the sink and started to scrub, Juliet drew alongside him, speaking quietly, "Did she ever tell you who the father is?"

He shook his head. "No." He continued scrubbing, unaware that Polly was standing nearby in the shadows. She had heard Juliet's question. The twelve-year-old looked across at Robin, who was in agony, but who was focused sharply on Polly. Robin's gaze had an aspect of warning. It was clear to Polly that Robin wanted her secret kept.

But when Robin's attention was pulled away by the severity of another strong contraction, Polly made her own decision. She stepped closer to her father and Juliet, saying, "It's Brian."

Robert was confused. "What?" The girl's intense eyes met his. "He's the father." As Robert stared at Polly the blood drained from his face. He reached to the wall for support.

Juliet was startled by his reaction. She looked sharply at Polly, though she was fearful of asking, "What's wrong? Who's Brian?"

 

Polly's voice could barely be heard. "He's one of them."

Juliet went even paler than Robert had. Then her mind began calculating, and she said, "No ... I don't think that could be possible. They're different species. The chromosomes wouldn't recognize each other ... fertilization couldn't occur."

Polly's eyes held firmly on Juliet's. "Then what's inside of her?" Juliet stared back at Polly, then glanced over at Robin on the bed, writhing in birth agony.

ELEANOR DUPRES LIFTED A SMALL CUT-CRYSTAL ATOMIZER. SHE sprayed a mere breath of vermouth over the ice-cold gin she had poured into her fine-stemmed glass. She called the drink a Fallout Martini. This was her third cocktail within the hour, but she blamed that on her son, Mike Donovan, as she often did. He always seemed determined to irritate her to the point that she needed a little extra bolstering.

Her back was to him, but in the beveled glass mirror behind the black marble wet bar she could see him standing obstinately with that self-righteous intensity that she always felt was designed to annoy her. She was determined, however, to maintain her superior dignity. She slowly skewered an olive as though it were the voodoo doll of an adversary. Then she placed it into her martini as she chuckled condescendingly. "Reptilian? Mike, really!" She turned to look at him as though he were still in third grade. "That is positively the most outrageous story I have ever heard." She lifted her glass in a mock toast to him and sipped it delicately with her perfectly lined lips.

She saw that Mike was doing his best to remain calm as he said, "Shall I bring the tape and show you?"

Eleanor waved her martini glass as though dismissing courtiers. "Oh, Hollywood creates that sort of nonsense all the time. I could never take it seriously. Besides, you and your left-wing friends have been determined to demonize them from the very beginning."

Donovan watched her walk across the thick Persian carpet in her elegantly appointed lanai. Through the paneled windows behind her he could see the marine layer rolling in, darkening the moon's reflection on the surface of the Pacific. Eleanor sat down carelessly on one of her large, twothousand-dollar wicker thrones. Mike knew that some workhouse Chinese child had likely been paid two dollars for making it. Eleanor settled regally back, adjusting her pale yellow Chanel dress. Then the manicured fingertips of her free hand idled on the surface of the side table, which was inlaid with real ivory in the shape of little elephants.

Though he still maintained his composure, Mike's voice took on an edge as he said, "Mother, I shot the footage myself."

"I'm sorry, but that doesn't make it any more believable, because I know you have an agenda." She spoke the word with a smirk, as though his notions were ill-conceived and absurd. "Besides, the Visitors have always been perfectly lovely to me and-"

"Listen, Mother!" Mike suddenly bellowed as he came furiously uncorked. "Whether you believe it or not, the truth is that my son"-he took a step closer to emphasize-"your grandson-and tens of thousands of others are all prisoners! Aboard those big ships of your perfectly lovely friends." He waited for some reaction. She merely sipped her cocktail and glanced around the lanai, noticing a bit of dust on the Degas bronze. Mike stepped into her line of vision. "Good God, don't tell me you're unaware of all the people who have disappeared! Or the war that's going on in the streets or-"

"Of course I'm aware of all that," she said harshly, surprising him with her sudden intense focus. "I'm not a fool, Michael."

 

"I know that. So why won't you-" "I'm a survivor." Her dark eyes drilled into his. "Otherwise I never would've gotten here from that hick town in Louisiana where I started. Or made it through your father's goddamn drunkenness!"

Mike faced her with equally resolute strength, saying, "That's not nearly the same thing as what's happening in the world!" He tried to speak with a voice of reason. "Do you know how much help you could be to us who are fighting back if you'd just-"

"I'm a survivor," Eleanor repeated stridently, staying her course. She cocked a wise eyebrow as she continued, "And if you are going to be one, then you'd better change your ways immediately." She anticipated his response and waved him down before he could speak. "I know the Visitors aren't saints, for Christ's sake. But they're in power." Her eyes narrowed as she tried to get her son to understand the essential point. "They are Power. Anyone who fights back will be crushed. This world belongs to them now."