The Price We Pay section 2 of 2 

Part Four of V- The L.A. Chronicles.

by Jackie Newman

jacalynsue@zoominternet.net

Kim found Caleb and Damian sitting across from each other at a table in the conference room, poring over pages of lists they had put together, trying to organize everything that needed to be done in the next few hours. "Where's Ham?" she asked, surprised he wasn't part of the planning. "Did someone finally strangle him?"

Caleb snorted and shook his head. "He took Chris and headed out right after that early morning meeting. They're checking where we can set up a release base. He said he'd be back in time to supervise final evacuation here."

"Release base?" she repeated while making a face. She sank wearily into the chair beside Damian and continued. "You mean where we'll deliver people back to the surface?" she asked Caleb. Under the table, she put her hand on Damian's knee, leaning into him as he put his arm around her shoulders. 

"Don't look at me. I didn't name it," Caleb replied gruffly. "But it will keep him from annoying anyone for a couple of hours, the way I figure. Last thing we need is him and Mike going for a final knockout round."

Kim's eyebrows shot up. "They had a fist-fight?"

"They were both sporting bruises for days." Caleb tapped a sheet of paper with his pencil and straightened up a bit in his chair. "What kind of supplies do we need to be sure to take with us to the mothership? Damian figured you'd know best."

Kim smiled to herself, knowing full well that Damian had not explained why she was the best resource, but simply stated it as fact. She leaned her elbows on the table and steepled her fingers, studying her hands as she thought.

"Lots of tape, markers, and paper of some sort. We need to clearly mark the corridors and quarters in English so no one gets lost. Actually, we could have some of the older kids work on that now. The little ones can be kept busy drawing pictures or something. They can draw arrows, too, to put up with the labels indicating which direction you need to go to get somewhere."

"What else?"

"Food. Especially perishables. There's plenty of cold storage on board, so we should pack everything we've got. Take the pots and pans and utensils, too. I guess pizza delivery is too much to hope for…" She leaned back in her seat and continued, "Do you have that map Anthony drew?"

"Right here," Damian said, pulling it from the bottom of the stack. "We know they’ve secured this sector's landing bay and Master Control," he said, pointing. "We can probably secure all levels of this sector and use this kitchen here."

"What about sleeping quarters?" Caleb asked, leaning forward to peer at the map.

Kim shook her head. "Not right away. Master control is at the top level, and the bays are at the bottom. We've got too many levels between them we have to survey and clear of loyalists before we can safely spread out. We can use the shuttles for now."

Damian chimed in. "Getting total control of that section of the ship is a high priority; we have to make sure access to Master Control can't be cut off by a loyalist uprising. There are some senior crew quarters one level down that we'll start clearing of any loyalists, then we can just spread out from there."

Kim nodded in tired agreement. "We won't need many blankets --the ship is pretty warm, but we can use them to add a bit more padding to the bunks. I vote for taking as much as we can with us from this base. Anything we leave here will just be at risk from looters. If we don't use some of it, no big deal." 

"I think we should rotate what shuttles come to the surface. Then we can park them in the bay and skip unloading them," Damian added, explaining his suggestion.

"Sounds good to me. We should be completely out of here by tonight, if we hustle." Caleb said, leaning back in his chair once more. "Guess we'd better get some volunteers to go in the first team that'll help secure the landing bay and give the folks up there some relief."

"We can take the wounded after that so you and Julie have access to better medical facilities," Damian suggested, looking at Kim. "I think we should organize two other security teams, too. One group can safeguard the supplies as we move them and provide backup if there is an attempted takeover during the shuttle relays. A third team can protect this site and pull out last."

"Sounds good," Caleb agreed, wishing once again that someone else was making the decisions. At least he had someone providing solid advice. "Can we move all the wounded in one trip?"

Kim smiled. "Leaving out everyone with a hangover, yeah. There are only five people I'm really worried about, anyway. The rest just need to be treated to prevent infection, or given time to recover from sprains and the like."

"Aren't there any antibiotics here?" Caleb countered, surprised.

"Not enough for more than a few days. Joe managed to get cut up badly at the mansion and needed a lot of stitches. The others are primarily dealing with second and third degree burns from laser fire. Ideally, Joe needs a tetanus booster. We've got a few others who should have boosters, too. Anthony and I are hoping we can patch something together from the ship's facilities and supplies that will do the job."

"I hope you can," Caleb commented, studying Kim's face more carefully. "But in the meantime, you're looking pretty pale. You'd better go get some rest."

Kim reluctantly conceded the issue without a challenge. In truth, she knew they were right and it was a relief to have an excuse to return to bed. She wasn't even able to hide a yawn as she slowly got to her feet. Tired. So tired… She swayed slightly, feeling faint. Stood up too quickly. That was her last coherent thought, followed by a vague awareness of Damian's arm holding her firmly as the world slipped into blackness.

"She fainted?" Caleb asked, scrambling around the table to reach Damian as Kim went limp immediately after standing. 

The Visitor nodded as he lifted Kim into his arms. "She really shouldn't be up."

Caleb opened the door for Damian and watched as the Visitor gently carried Kimberly back to her room. He studied them for a long moment, wondering about the untold story behind this human and the Visitors she was so close to. Like many wartime stories, he suspected he'd never hear the details. There was too little to be gained in the sharing, and too much pain to endure when resurrecting memories of what each of them had endured and lost.

*****

The celebratory atmosphere that had suffused the rebel group on the surface was nowhere to be found on the mothership. Perhaps it was the structural damage that put the ship's inhabitants at risk, or maybe the threat of an uprising by confined loyalists that kept the mood somber. More likely, it was the sum total of many such factors, including a limited supply of antitoxin. Regardless of the cause, Martin's small group of fifth columnists was tired, frustrated, and more than slightly overwhelmed.

Their spirits had lifted some when they'd been able to contact the surface group and ask for reinforcements. Lorraine had also established contact with Paul and learned that, from all indications, the infiltration of the San Francisco ship by fifth columnists had been successful. There was no way to confirm that, as that ship had fled Earth's atmosphere with the rest of the fleet, but even the appearance of success was cause for hope.

Heartened as the fifth columnists were by their successes, it was difficult for most of them to stay focused on the immediate tasks at hand and not worry about what awaited them on the surface. Martin had tried his best to project an aura of confidence about the future, but had been hard pressed to find the energy to project anything but a cloak of exhaustion. He'd retreated to a small conference room adjacent to Master Control with a large measure of relief. Alone, he could focus on planning and prioritizing everything they would need to address in the coming weeks without trying to simultaneously pretend he had it all figured out. The numerous decisions he made over the next few days would set the tone for all future relations between his own people and the inhabitants of Earth. Starting wars was so much easier than cleaning up the mess left behind.

"You wanted to see me?" Lorraine asked as the door closed behind her. 

Her entrance was a welcome interruption to brooding. He'd never even heard the door slide open and suspected he'd been drifting in a hazy stupor that resided just this side of oblivion. He mentally clawed his way to a higher level of consciousness and wearily gestured for her to be seated in the chair next to him.

"I'd like you to go over this and make sure nothing has been forgotten. See if you agree with the priorities." Martin stood up slowly. "I need to get some sleep."

"Understood." Lorraine nodded her agreement and turned her attention away from the monitor as he walked towards the door. "Don't set an alarm. I'll call you if we need you." Seeing his hesitation, she added, "This may be your only opportunity for several more days. Take the time while you can."

He turned and gazed at her with a feeling of déjà vu. That was exactly what Kim would have told him. "All right," he conceded, unwilling to disagree with both of them, even if only one were physically present.

Shaking off the strange sensation, he exited the room. He walked as briskly as his fatigue would allow, trying to wrench his mind away from thoughts of Kim. He'd missed her presence when she'd left the ship, but adjusted quickly. Since leaving the surface for the final attack, though, he'd found himself thinking of Kim at odd moments, and far more frequently than had ever been the case in the past. This new-found yearning for her company was uncomfortable and unfamiliar. He hoped that sleep would make it more tolerable… until he saw her again.

*****

"EEAaahhh!"

William staggered as Jackie leaped backwards, directly into him, while shrieking and staring in terror at the cupboard door she had been kneeling in front of just seconds before. At first, he thought her scream was due to accidental contact as he tried to slip behind her and retrieve another empty box. Continued exposure to some very racist humans had made him all too aware of the ill will many of the rebels harbored towards his people.

Instinctively, he started to pull away, only to find her clinging to him. In fact, she was using him as protection against whatever had frightened her. Somehow, in the span of a heartbeat, she'd managed to scramble behind him so that he was between her and the offending cabinet.

"Kill it. Eat it, for all I care. Just get it out of there!" she spat as she pointed at the open cupboard.

"What did you see?" William looked carefully at the open doors and saw only stacked cans. He could only assume Jackie's words had been intended as a derogatory comment, and yet she was clinging to him tightly. He filed her request to eat the subject of her terror away for analysis later.

"Creepy-crawlies. Specifically, a spider. Eight legs. Size of my thumbnail. It ran right over my hand!"

"Are spiders dangerous?" he asked, concerned that once again, he was ill prepared for life in California instead of the Middle East. Had the bureaucracy that put him among people with whom he had almost no common language also neglected to warn him of predators that lurked in the homes of humans? 

William's question brought Jackie back to the here and now. Jackie felt the immediate fear drain right out of her feet and she leaned heavily on the Visitor for support. "Only a very few are poisonous." She pulled away and wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" He tried to keep the hurt from his voice, but he was now totally confused by her behavior and dismayed that she'd pulled away so quickly. After her initial shock, Harmony hadn't minded touching him. He'd learned to like touching; it made him feel less alone. Even Julie often patted his arm or squeezed his hand sometimes, when she knew he was feeling frustrated by his poor English skills. Now he was alone among Harmony's people, but without her guidance… or her friendship.

"For being so jumpy." Hugging herself tightly, Jackie paced along the row of cabinets with an energy that made the narrow kitchen seem even more confining. "I didn’t used to be like this. It's just…" Her hands waved in the air, gesturing at demons unseen. "I'd swear for a second there I was back in the conversion chamber. And yet I can't remember anything about it."

Suddenly, she slammed her fist down on the counter top, oblivious to the way William was reacting to her agitation. "I hate this." Sliding down until she was hugging her knees to her chest, she added, "I can't go back to the ship. I can't."

She sniffed and wiped her eyes, trying to ignore the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. "Everyone's been talking like the hard part's over. It's just beginning. Fighting for survival? That's easy. You live day-to-day, minute-to-minute. Don't make plans, don't think too much. Just survive. Now… now we have to get on with the business of living. We have to go on. And I have to find a way to deal with the fact I'll never see my son Justin again."

Jackie's voice broke and William had to strain to hear her add, "I'll never know what happened to him." 

William stood there, just watching her. He didn't know what to say. And even if he did, the English words would get in the way, teasing him with hidden meanings and strange patterns of phrasing.

She sighed as she stared at the floor. "Why do there have to be wars, Willie? Why can't we just all get along?"

That much he could answer. Those words he knew. Harmony had helped him so much, never thinking he was less intelligent just because he didn't know her language very well. "Hatred is easier," he answered quietly, thinking back to the discussion he'd had with Harmony over just this subject. 

Then, his English had been much worse. Harmony had understood, though. She'd sensed how deeply Caleb's reaction to seeing him outside the church had hurt him. All he'd wanted to do was go to his friend and acknowledge the death of his son. Instead, Caleb's fury at the Visitors had focused on the only Visitor present. Harmony had led him away from the scene, taken him somewhere quiet, and talked to him for a long time. She'd waited patiently as he tried to find the words he needed, provided suggestions when she could guess what he was getting at, and then applied her own brand of kindness to the wounds Caleb's outburst had inflicted. They'd talked of hatred and William had argued that hatred was easier than tolerance, because it required nothing but an emotional response. 

Jackie thought about that for a minute, and was forced to agree. "I guess so. But what does that say about us? Nothing flattering." She looked at her watch and sighed. They were taking far too long to pack the cupboards and if she indulged in self-pity for too long, they'd never finish. She knew that, once again, she was going to have to stuff her feelings deep inside and function on autopilot until it was safe to let down her guard and actually deal with everything she'd been through. It was getting harder and harder to delay that time of reckoning, but she had to do it a while longer. "We'd better get this finished."

She warily eyed the cabinet that still harbored the offending spider. "So help me, if that thing runs across my hand again… it will be the end of its web-spinning career."

William didn't completely understand what she meant, but knew the sentiment behind her vow. He smiled shyly at her before kneeling in front of the cabinet. "I'll do this cabinet in case any 'creepy crawlies' are still inside," he said, trying out the strange new term Jackie had used.

"Thank you." Jackie was grateful to be spared the task of facing that particular threat again. She was so tired of fighting through every minute of every day for control of her body and mind. With the impending return to the mothership looming over her, she was quite willing to let lesser battles go unfought. She sighed deeply, collecting herself, then stood up. She dusted off the backside of her jeans and reached for a roll of packing tape. Assembling boxes that had been broken down and pressed flat was a task she could handle. Spiders were another matter entirely. With new resolve, she bent to her task. 

Neither one of them noticed Ham Tyler retreating quietly down the corridor.

*****

Kim woke to a violent fit of coughing. She sat up, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, curling up over her knees as she clenched her lower abdomen against the pain that radiated from her incision each time she coughed. Her chest was tight and when the coughing eased, she could feel herself wheezing. Wonderful, she reflected. Her nose was itchy, and her throat was raw from drainage. On top of all of the insults her body had endured in recent months, now she was the victim of a random cold virus. 

When the coughing fit finally passed, she lay down once more, still holding her tender abdomen with one hand while she pulled the thin blankets up over her shoulders. She lay on her side, forcing herself to relax and breathe slowly. She didn't remember feeling ill earlier. Then again, the last several weeks were a total blur. With all that had happened recently, maybe she hadn't had time to notice the onset of illness. 

Sleep… so tired. She craved a jar of Vicks VapoRub to massage into her chest and throat. Her mother had always done that at the first symptoms of a cold. Hot chicken soup, a cup of tea with sugar in it, and lots of Vicks. Depending on the symptoms, an array of decongestants, antihistamines, and cough suppressants would be called into action, but nothing in a liquid or pill had that smell she associated with her mother's loving attention when illness struck.

A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and ran across her temple until it was wicked away by the pillowcase. She was a long way from home, years away from being tended to by her late mother. And she ached for someone to take care of her and keep the rest of the world at bay.

"I miss you, Mom," Kim whispered, fighting the urge to surrender to her tears. She'd cried so much already and it didn't do anything to ease the ache deep inside. After a time, she drifted back to sleep. 

*****

The silent vibration of his chronometer woke him from a deep sleep. He reached inside his uniform and retrieved the small packet of antitoxin capsules. Even though he'd acquired more from Julie, he was loathe to rely on a handful of pills for continued survival. It was possible that Julie and the other humans would resist his idea to develop a longer-lasting antidote. He mulled it over for a bit before swallowing a capsule and getting up to select a rodent for sustenance. 

By the time his contacts were in and his uniform adjusted for duty, he'd determined that the fifth columnists were going to be vaccinated against the red dust. They needed the protection, given the hostile reception they'd likely receive when they finally returned to the surface. The biological weapon had done its job in forcing a temporary retreat of the motherships. Even now, the red dust was providing an extra layer of protection from the loyalists trapped in other sectors of the ship. But Diana was certain to develop a vaccine of her own and distribute it to all of the troops. If they relied on daily antitoxin treatments, the fifth columnists would be at a significant disadvantage.

The matter decided, he returned to the small conference room where he had left Lorraine and reviewed the files she had saved. Her additions to his list of tasks had been well thought out and she'd added comments about how they should be assigned and prioritized. He nodded slightly in silent approval. Working with her was always a pleasure. He transferred Lorraine's finalized list to a portable data unit which he tucked into the vest of his uniform. That done, he leaned back in his chair and keyed open an audio channel to Master Control. "Status report?"

"The first two groups of humans have arrived from the surface, sir."

Martin was surprised to hear an unfamiliar voice answer, and he struggled to associate the name… Zachary. Where was Lorraine? 

As if reading his thoughts, Zachary continued. "They sent a security team and their wounded up first. Lorraine went down to the shuttle bay to supervise things and secure any supplies Julie needs for setting up a temporary sick bay. Another shuttle has been dispatched to the surface and is due to return shortly. Someone by the name of Caleb is in charge on the surface, and he requested we send different shuttles each time, so they can load them up with supplies and not waste time unloading them in the bay."

Martin nodded his approval of Caleb's request. The human had probably balked at being placed in a position of leadership, but had apparently accepted the necessity. No doubt, Damian and the others were supporting him with suggestions and guidance… he expected no less… but it was good to hear that his faith in Caleb was being validated.

Zachary's narrative continued with reports on the progress with repairs, as well as the fact that the new shift rotations had been adopted and everyone was feeling more rested. "Understood," Martin replied after Zachary had finished his report. "I'll be working from here for now, but I can come up to Master Control if you need me," he added before closing the channel and opening an audio/visual connection to the controller's booth of the occupied landing bay. 

After a delay long enough to make Martin wonder if the booth was even staffed, Anthony finally answered. "Congratulations on taking over the ship."

"Lorraine gets the credit. She figured out how to disarm the self-destruct unit," Martin replied. "Who's with you?"

"Just Megan, and she's injured. Kim had to amputate her foot, but Megan's holding up decently. We lost Philip during the attack. The others are still on the surface helping to load the supplies. We're using three of the tankers as medical bays: one for the humans, one for us, one as a laboratory/stockroom." 

Anthony paused, looking off-screen. He disappeared from view for a moment, then returned. "I was closing the door so the others don't overhear this," he explained. 

Martin nodded slightly, waiting for him to continue.

"We've got a decent supply of the antitoxin down here, but eventually it's going to run out. Rather than making more, I've been thinking we should go for a vaccine instead." Anthony looked away, peering out into the shuttle bay where Julie was supervising the transfer of one of her patients to the designated tanker and then he looked back towards the viewscreen. "I know some of the rebels won't like the idea, but frankly, I don't think we should be trusting our lives to a bunch of pills. And we have to assume that Diana has a sample of the toxin and will work on her own treatments for the troops."

A slight smile softened the intensity of Martin's gaze. "I was thinking the same thing. Can you do it?"

Anthony shook his head. "It's outside my area, and I haven't even had the time to research it. Kim can help, but she's already holed up in a shuttle poring over the medical database to figure out what drugs are safe for humans. She and Julie seem to think that they have several wounded that are at risk for some fatal infection called 'tetanus' and another one called 'peritonitis'… or something like that." He waved his hands, dismissing the strange terms as he continued, "And frankly, she's in no shape to be out of bed. Weak as she is, she hauled herself around treating Megan and several others. She's still fussing over them and was adamant about coming up with this first round of wounded. She looks pretty bad and I'd rather not ask her to take this on, too."

Martin absorbed that without any outward reaction other than nodding his agreement. "How about recruiting some loyalists?"

"That could work, but how do we make sure it's a valid vaccine and not something else?"

"Because we'll test it on them first. If I put together a list of candidates, can you suggest who is most trustworthy?"

"I'll try. I may not know some of them, but I should be able to eliminate a few radicals, at least." Anthony leaned closer to the viewscreen and continued in a lowered voice, "I don't think we should tell the humans about this yet. A lot of them still don’t trust us and may think we're trying to undermine them."

"I agree. For now, let them think we're continuing with the antitoxin. If supplies get low, have them prepare another batch. We might still use it with limited numbers of loyalists. I'll let you know as soon as I have a list of candidates that are likely to still be alive and on this ship."

As soon as Anthony closed the channel, he keyed up the personnel files and settled in for a long reading session.

*****

Caleb watched Ham and Chris turn into mere dots as Damian piloted the last shuttle away from the base that had been home for the last few weeks. When the clouds finally obscured his view, he sank back into his seat and closed his eyes. He wasn't disappointed that the two independent operatives had elected to continue their work on the surface. 

They'd decided that the L.A. Air Force Base was the most secure point from which to release human prisoners while keeping rioters and press at bay. Of course, there was the minor point of getting the military to cooperate, but Ham had smiled coldly and commented that it would not be a problem, though Caleb thought he looked a touch disappointed when Caleb had simply let the matter drop. 

He wasn't going to mind one bit when the yoke of leadership fell once again upon Julie's shoulders. Right now, he just wanted to find Elias and tell him how proud he'd made his old man. Then he could go back to helping out where he was needed and letting someone far more qualified make the important decisions.

After a time, he opened his eyes. The shuttle had moved out over the ocean and broken through the clouds. It was impossible to judge distance when the only point of reference was the vast ocean spread out below them. Following additional repairs to the engines, Martin had stationed the mothership about a hundred miles out to sea, hovering over the surface of the water like it had over L.A. for so many months. Their altitude was low enough to remove the risk of decompression through the weakened hull, and if the repaired engines should fail, they'd fall into the ocean without harming the city's inhabitants. Caleb suspected that there was a psychological motive as well: the lurking presence of the ship over the city had been an effective way to intimidate the natives. Moving off shore would help diminish the impact of the ship’s continued presence in Earth's atmosphere, while still permitting shuttle access.

Bored, he glanced over at Damian. The Visitor was completely focused on his task of piloting the shuttle. It was hypnotic, watching the Visitor's hands move over the console, adjusting settings and pressing buttons that somehow allowed this strange transport to defy the laws of gravity and float its way to a given destination. 

He could tell that Damian was conversing quietly with someone on the mothership, using the communications unit in his helmet. It seemed like a lifetime, not days, since Martin had used the same method to contact the mothership and get clearance to bring a toxin-laden shuttle into the landing bay.

Unaware of the scrutiny he had been under, or perhaps aware but choosing to ignore it, Damian glanced at him. "Martin wants us to meet him up near master control.”

Caleb shook his head. "You've got Julie and Mike now. You don't need me for the leadership game anymore.”

Damian smiled. "Julie is busy tending the wounded, Donovan is unresponsive, Tyler isn't here. Besides, Elias is up in master control. I checked." 

"Blackmail?"

"Incentive," Damian replied evenly, ignoring the warning tone in Caleb's voice.

Caleb's eyebrow shot up. "I'm glad you're on our side."

Damian just smiled wider before he returned his attention to the ship's controls.

*****

"We can't afford that luxury right now. There are too few of us as it is," Martin argued, getting up from his chair to pace inside the confines of the conference room.

"All the more reason we have to protect you," Lorraine countered as she watched him pace. She was sitting quietly, leaning sideways to prop her arm on the table that was between herself and where Martin had been working. She accepted his rare show of temper silently, recognizing he wasn’t angry at her but was balking at the trappings of a leadership he didn’t want.

"The fifth column will survive without me." He stopped for a moment, rubbing his temples. "Look at everything you accomplished in my absence." 

"And what of your work on the surface?" she countered smoothly. "You've built ties with the humans, coordinating the efforts of both sides." Lorraine got up and went to stand before him, willing him to concede. "You're in command. We have to assume that the loyalists will strike back at us, sabotaging our work the same way we've been sabotaging them. That makes you their primary target. I'm not suggesting an entire team, I realize we don't have the numbers for that. I'm asking you to accept two guards on alternate shifts. Isaac is a logical choice, but he's been very useful to me with the computer repairs, so I think Zachary and Valerie would be best."

Her comment about Isaac gave Martin an idea. "I'll concede on one condition."

"And that is?"

"Isaac and Eileen guard you." Martin shrugged disarmingly. "Your argument is sound. But since you're second in command, you're also a target… by your own reasoning."

She locked eyes with him for a long moment, then nodded. "Agreed." If accepting her own guard got him to do the same, she'd do it without argument. Besides, there was nothing to say Isaac couldn't continue to work with her on the computer systems while also protecting her.

"I also want you to go get some sleep," Martin continued. "You and I should alternate shifts, too. I'll have Anthony look at your shoulder as soon as we get everyone on board."

"He already did when I was in the landing bay. He changed the temporary bandage, but there isn't much else to be done at the moment. We need access to a sick bay, and we won't get that until we secure this sector of the ship," Lorraine explained, too tired to argue for staying on duty. Martin was right; they both needed their rest and now that the rebels were relocating from the surface, they could start pacing themselves better. Her shoulder hurt, her eyes were fatigued from wearing the contacts for too long, and the energy she'd derived from the urgency of their precarious situation had long since faded away. It was a relief to be sent to bed, and she wasted no time in following her commander’s orders.

Martin watched her go and then sank slowly into the chair at his workstation. There were so many tasks that were urgent it was difficult to prioritize them properly. He hoped the rebels from the surface would all arrive shortly so they could start focusing on the larger tasks at hand.

*****

"Kevin, don't you want anything to eat? Are you hungry?" Kim asked gently. Her heart broke anew when Kevin shook his head and slouched further down in his seat without making any effort to look at her. 

She sighed but didn't press the issue. He had been equally unresponsive to suggestions he leave the shuttle and play with the other children. Ever since his father's funeral, Kevin had withdrawn into himself and was allowing no one to draw him out. He refused to play, rarely ate, and never spoke. He was obedient to a fault, never resisting any of Kim's directives or her occasional requests for help fetching supplies when she cared for the infants. But otherwise, Kevin was coping by shutting down.

She understood the psychology, but she wanted to do more than understand it; she wanted to repair the damage. She was careful to touch him gently, always offering opportunities for a hug or other contact, but letting him lead their silent dance, aside from the backrubs she gave him to lull him to sleep. All the while, she mulled over new approaches, new ways to reassure him that he was going to have adults to turn to for help. But as of now, none of it seemed to matter. 

Kim shifted in her seat as she studied the boy, grateful that Katherine and Jeffrey were both sleeping so she could focus on Kevin for a time. She'd completed what she could accomplish as far as drug research and given the results to Anthony and Julie. Her patients had been assigned to less weary caregivers, freeing her to retreat to her own shuttle for rest… while caring for two newborns and an orphaned five-year-old. At least she wasn't coughing as much.

Rest. She certainly needed more of that. And while the twins were certain to wake soon, she'd be a fool to let this opportunity for a nap pass her by. Kevin’s problems weren’t going to be solved in the immediate future, not matter how badly she wanted to help. "I'm going to lie down and rest. Would you like to draw or color while I take a nap?"

Kevin shook his head. It was the only indication she had that he'd even heard her.

"I'll leave this paper and crayons out in case you change your mind. And if you get scared or need anything, it's okay to wake me up. I want you to wake me up if you need me. I won't be mad, okay?"

Kevin nodded, still staring at his shoelaces. 

Frustrated that she could do no more, Kim stretched out on a bunk and quickly lapsed into deep sleep.

*****

The door chimed and Martin activated the intercom button from his desk. 

"Zachary reporting for duty, sir."

Martin closed the connection and flipped another switch that opened the door. He motioned Zachary to an adjacent workstation and returned his attention to his work.

Zachary hesitated. Guards were generally posted in the corridor; occasionally they were told to stand inside the door. He'd never heard of a guard sitting down at a workstation. "Sir?"

Martin looked up, knowing full well what Zachary was thinking. He smiled slightly at the young soldier. "I promised Lorraine I'd accept a guard. I never agreed to have you languishing in the corridor while there is work to be done."

*****

"It's cold in here!" Caleb exclaimed as he walked down the shuttle ramp and into the landing bay. He shivered and watched his breath dissipate in the frosty air. Nearby, the last two shuttles settled gently to the floor inside the cavernous bay. 

Following right behind him, Mike spoke for the first time since they'd left the surface. "They had to cut power to just about everything but navigation," he explained. "But the cold's got most of the crew taking a nice, long nap."

"Then I shouldn't complain." Caleb sighed. "I suppose we should head up to master control."

"You'll want this," Damian said as he joined the pair and handed Caleb a vest before donning one himself. "It's heated," he added in explanation when Caleb stared at him blankly.

Caleb accepted the apparel with a nod and glanced questioningly at Mike. 

"I've already got mine." The news cameraman pointed out the buttons in the hem of his own vest in answer while his eyes surveyed the room. "Where's Julie?"

"Right here, show of empathy before smiling at Caleb and Damian. "I'm bowing out of the planning session. Robert and I are keeping busy treating the wounded and I need to start preparing another batch of antitoxin." For Caleb's sake, she added, "Martin has been using it as leverage to get the cooperation of some loyalists. I'll be here if you need me."

*****

After a detour to master control for a brief reunion with Elias, Caleb and Mike followed Damian through the nondescript corridors of the mothership to a door panel that seemed identical to all of the ones they had passed. Damian activated the door chime, then stepped aside to allow the humans to enter first.

Martin rose, greeting them just inside the still-opening doors. "Caleb, Donovan," he said, nodding to each of them and then to Damian. "Where's Ham?" Martin was surprised he wasn't in attendance.

"He and Chris stayed on the surface. They're working to secure the L.A. Air Force Base and get them working with us to release prisoners," Caleb replied, looking around at the nearly empty conference room. "Where's Lorraine?"

"Sleeping. We're taking shifts now that the crisis is past."

"Hmgh." Caleb's demeanor turned seemingly hostile. "You put me in charge again without warning me first, you'll have another crisis on your hands." Twinkling eyes told Martin he wasn't really mad at the Visitor.

"Noted," Martin replied, gesturing them all to chairs around the table. "This is Zachary." The Visitor in question hesitated in his seat, unsure if he was to rise and greet the humans, remain for the conference, or assume his post in the corridor. "As you were," Martin murmured to him. 

Damian sat down first, smoothly pressing buttons that allowed a monitor to flip up from a hidden panel in the tabletop and activate the workstation before him. 

"How'd you do that?" Mike asked, showing signs of life as he watched the alien technology at work. He ran his hand over the table's surface, looking for the trigger that would bring his own monitor into view. 

"Right here," Damian answered, pointing out the control pad on the underside of the table's edge. Once Mike was satisfied, he returned to his own keyboard and began working on a self-assigned task.

"Where do we start?" Caleb asked, less enchanted with the technology and more interested in getting to work.

Martin obliged him. "Is everyone from the base now on-board?"

"And all the supplies from the base we could load in the shuttles," Caleb confirmed. 

"Good." Martin's fingers flew over the console, and text began to scroll across their monitors. "I know you two can't read this, but I want you to double check what I've prepared." Martin used his eyes to indicate the humans and Damian in turn. "Lorraine and I have put together a list of the damaged systems, plus our immediate and long-term priorities. I've recorded a short audio message we've started broadcasting to the surface, but it doesn’t say much beyond the fact we took control of this ship and that the other ships have left the atmosphere. From the reports we've monitored from the surface, there is a lot of confusion and unrest."

"Ham said there were riots in downtown L.A. There's a power vacuum at the moment," Caleb added.

Martin nodded. "Unfortunately, we can't do much about that at present. " He leaned back in his chair and referred to his monitor. 

Zachary spoke for the first time. "I think Elaine is cross-referencing the federal government employment lists with Diana's records of conversion."

"Good. I know the President and Vice President both visited the Washington, D.C. ship multiple times," Martin mused. He looked to the humans. "Who would be next in line?”

Caleb and Mike looked helplessly at each other, embarrassed at their uncertainty about their own government's workings. "I think the Speaker of the House?" Mike supplied.

Martin glanced over to Zachary. "Notify Elaine." He returned his attention to the monitor and keyboard. The alien script disappeared, replaced by a circular diagram of the ship. "Three engines working at present, which is above the minimum required for normal operations, but none of them are at full power. There is structural damage and two cases of a hull breach in two different sectors." The two sectors in question flashed blue. "The red dust didn't reach the whole ship, so the remaining seven sectors, which are yellow, are still in loyalist control. The sector we're in is secure only in the upper and lower levels, so one priority is to safeguard ourselves and find any loyalists who escaped the toxin and evaded hibernation. Then we can use the crew quarters and move the casualties up to a sick bay in our control. 

"Damian, how long will it take to restore the computer systems?"

"The hacking has already been reversed. From what I see so far, we're operating from the secondary backups. Internal communications are back on line, external is audio only." He pressed more buttons and the view on his own screen changed in rapid sequence as he checked various systems. “The biggest problem is physical damage to the processors. A lot of the circuitry was completely destroyed, including the main system and primary backup systems. Our processing capacity is down to 9%, well below minimum specs. Most of that is being used for essential systems. Helm response is reliable but delayed. Life support is holding, but only because we're using the atmospheric ducts rather than the internal refresh systems. That's the good news."

Damian leaned back in his seat, shaking his head slowly. He'd never expected to see a ship still functioning under the current conditions. "If we lose any more processing capacity, we're done. Best we can hope for with on-site repairs is 15%. As we empty the storage pods, we'll reclaim another 10%, but we can expect to also lose capacity to other problems that are bound to arise."

"Can we keep things going long enough to get everyone out?" Caleb wanted to know.

Damian nodded hesitantly, continuing to scan his screen for data. "There's no guarantee, but I think so. At least as far as the computers." He turned to Martin. "How long until the ship starts falling apart?"

"Assuming we know about all of the structural damage, we'll be okay if we stay within the atmosphere."

"Or with our luck, until the first storm rips through," Caleb muttered before continuing in a normal voice. "Since we're working against the clock, it seems to me we should start reviving people as soon as we can and use the added computer power to keep the ship going."

Martin nodded his agreement. "There are processing facilities in this sector, but first I think we need to establish control on the different levels so we can work in safety. After that, we can start the revival process while continuing on to secure the other sectors of the ship.”

"So let’s go make it secure," Mike said, shoving his chair back from the table and standing up. "I'm tired of sitting around."

"That's not why you're here, Mike," Martin said quietly, looking up to gaze calmly at the agitated human.

Mike threw up his hands and started pacing behind Caleb. "That's right. How could I forget that you already know all about murder and warfare, conquering, and controlling the masses? You sure don't need our advice for that!"

 "Mike!" Caleb warned, only to be silenced by a glance and slight headshake from Martin. 

"You're right." Martin's voice had a professional calmness that starkly contrasted with Mike's outburst. He waited for the human to calm down enough to look at him before he continued, "What I don't know is how to best prepare your planet for the next stage of the war without any motherships, a few dozen shuttles, inferior weapons, and a civilian population that has no concept of why they need to fight back."

"What the hell do you want me to do?"

"Act like a journalist." Martin pointed to the chair Mike had vacated. "And sit down."

"I didn't bring my camera," Mike snapped sarcastically as he obeyed.

Unfazed, Martin leaned back in his chair and began to explain his plans. "You won’t need it. Virtually every part of the mothership is under surveillance. The sound and image files are archived to a separate computer system that Lorraine has verified is undamaged. I want you to work with Megan to put together a narrative explaining the truth of the invasion that we can broadcast to the surface. Unfortunately, you shouldn't have any trouble finding plenty of evidence. I'll leave it to you to decide how much of the graphic material to edit out. When you're done with that, I want you to put together an unedited version documenting war crimes to give to your United Nations. And if possible, collect any evidence you can about fifth column activity. It will be difficult, but we need to be able to prove the fifth column is real if we have any hope of protecting the columnists that were stranded on the surface."

"There are recordings of people being tortured?" Mike's voice shook slightly. 

Martin nodded solemnly. "All ship activities, including prisoner torture."

"Even crew quarters? Talk about putting a damper on your love life!" Caleb shook his head, imagining what it would be like to be under constant surveillance. 

"We're accustomed to the cameras," Damian clarified. "I doubt anyone but the fifth column pays them any attention."

"And you want all of that broadcast to the planet?" Mike was taken aback at the thought of what he was likely to see in the various recordings.

Martin gazed back at him blandly. "Use your judgment. The archives will only contain audio and video data for approximately three Earth weeks, but that should be enough to work with. "

"Wait a minute…" Mike's journalistic nature came to the forefront. "When Barbara helped me escape, how come that didn't blow her cover right then?"

"It's not practical to view all of the recordings every day. Generally, the potential alone keeps the crew in line. In a case like your escape, another fifth columnist made sure the cameras in your cell block were malfunctioning that day. There was no recording to show what had happened, and Barbara had been shot. Steven had no choice but to accept her account." Martin looked away, remembering that day as well as the numerous other times when Barbara had risked so much for the fifth column’s goals. Her untimely death had been such a loss of her gifts and talents.

“What do you want me to do?” Caleb asked, interrupting Martin’s fatigued reverie.

“Liaise with the human prisoners as we revive them. They’re going to be disoriented and frightened, so it will be best if we minimize their contact with the crew, except for necessities like piloting shuttles to the surface. Organize teams that will give small groups of them a briefing and escort them back to the surface. Their clothing is all in general storage, according to size and gender. There’s no chance of getting their originals back to them, but they’ll have something to wear at least.” Martin leaned back in his chair and continued, “And lastly, I want you to work with Ham to handle how they should be released once at the base. I expect you’ll need to involve the media at some point, but the timing is up to you.” 

Caleb nodded, pondering how to best proceed. “Ham won’t like it, but we’ll need to notify the Red Cross. They can help with the logistics on the ground. But I think it would be best to wait until we have a hundred or so people back on the surface. It’ll serve as proof that we’re telling the truth.” Caleb smiled as an idea came to him. “Actually, let’s hand-pick the first couple of hundred people we send to the surface. Is there enough data in the computers that we can do that?”

Damian nodded. “At least, there used to be.” He typed quickly, accessing the databases relating to human prisoners. “From what I can tell, the stored data is intact; we’re just limited to what we can access by the damage to the processors. What information do you want?”

“Names, home addresses, ages,” Caleb said.

“It’s all there,” Damian said. “Do you intend to go through the individual files and pick people?” 

“Only if we have to. Can the computers handle a limited search? If we can revive families, based on addresses, and then alert friends and relatives on the surface to come meet them, that should give us some credibility after they’re reunited.” Caleb looked at Mike and continued, “Sounds like a media opportunity to me. How do we get them to show up?”

“They’ll probably be there regardless,” Mike said. “If you want, I can call the local station manager with a heads-up.”

“What other kinds of information do you have on record?” Caleb asked out of curiosity. 

Damian typed briefly, then translated the screen’s display. “Name, home address, gender, occupation, age, body type, estimated level of fitness, language spoken.”

“Occupation, hmm? Forget the Red Cross and the media; we don’t need them or the bureaucracy they'll bring with them. Instead, we should revive a couple dozen religious leaders first. They’ll be our orientation team,” Caleb said. “They’re used to being in charge, they’re generally well respected, and they’re well connected in their neighborhoods. We start by reviving them, followed by people they know. Move on to unknowns as we get more efficient. Once we have enough people back on the surface, we’ll have earned a bit of trust. Then we can get more help if we need it. Damian, start a search for ‘priest,’ ‘minister,’ ‘rabbi,’ and ‘cleric’ in this sector.”

It took only a few moments for him to get results. “I see seventeen on file… one is deceased,” Damian said and then continued to work, shaking his head slightly at what he was seeing. “And all but one of the sixteen survivors is male.”

“Welcome to the U.S.A.,” Mike muttered. “Fifty years ago, they’d have all been men.” 

“White men,” Caleb added. It wasn’t exactly true, he knew, but that wasn’t the point. 

“We can have that discussion another time,” Martin said. “Is there anything else we need to consider before we start securing this sector?” When no one added anything, Martin stood up and looked at Mike. “Megan is in the shuttle bay recovering from injuries. You two can use one of the shuttles to access the main computer systems to get started. They lack recording equipment, but you can move to those facilities when you’re ready, after we have them secured. Your first priority is the general broadcast, then the one for the United Nations. Damian, send the results of that search file to the computer in the primary processing station in this sector. Organize a fifth column team qualified to begin the revival process and put Caleb in charge of them. After that, do whatever you need to do to keep these computers working. Zachary and I will go down to the shuttle bay and organize a team to secure this sector. We’ll work in twelve hour shifts for now and give updates to whoever is in master control every four hours to maintain continuity. Questions?”

Martin waited a moment and was met with silence. “Then I’ll see you later." He stood up and went to the door, pausing to allow Zachary to exit first. "Mike?" 

"I'm coming." 

Caleb watched the newsman sullenly follow Martin from the room and slowly shook his head. "Actin' like his momma gave him a whipping," he commented, then turned to Damian. “Exactly how long do you think all of this is going to take?”

 “Several weeks.” Damian said. “A few days to secure the ship and to begin the revival process but several weeks to get everyone back to the surface.” 

It wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear, but he wasn’t surprised, either. Caleb sighed, sat a moment longer, then slowly got to his feet. “It won’t go any faster if we sit around.” With that comment, he headed into the corridor. He didn’t know where he was going, but he trusted that Damian would follow shortly. They couldn’t wait around for Mike to pull himself together, that much was certain. And Julie seemed determined to focus on medical cases, not the details of warfare. For the time being, it appeared that the humans were relying entirely on the fifth column for leadership. And as much as he liked Martin, Caleb wasn’t certain that the visitor was equipped to manage the eccentric needs of a volunteer army of humans. On the other hand, Caleb wasn't eager to be in charge either. It was bad enough he was now responsible for managing the revival of thousands of humans and returning them to the surface. Had he actually agreed to that? Caleb rubbed the back of his neck, trying to massage the soreness and fatigue out of the muscles. It was beginning to feel like sending the Visitors away from Earth was the easy part.

*****

Candace leaned on the railing of the small fishing boat and watched for any dolphins that might keep pace with them as she smiled to herself. For the first time in her life, she was actually happy. She was seriously considering going back to school to get her high school equivalency certificate. And after that? Maybe she could do something in law enforcement, especially undercover work. She had Paul to thank for making her believe in the possibility of a future for herself… at least on the good days. 

A grey whale calf breached beside them, distracting her from her thoughts.

"What was that?" Paul straightened up in alarm, having caught sight of a large creature, followed by a larger splash, out of the corner of his eye from his seat in the middle of the vessel.

"A baby whale and perfectly harmless." Candace held out her hand for Paul, inviting him to join her at the railing, without taking here eyes off of the water. Only when she felt his cool fingers slip into her own did she turn to look at him. "A lot of people pay money to get a chance to see this, and usually don't get this close. We're really lucky." Her gentle chiding was softened by her sympathetic gaze that was visible even through their respective sunglasses. Paul hadn't been comfortable with the idea of boarding the boat, and had grown even less enthusiastic when fitted with a life vest. 

"Lucky?" Paul let go of Candy and braced himself with the railing. The constant motion was making him ill.

"Look, there's the mom, coming up between us and her baby." 

As if on cue, the whale took a fresh breath, then rolled onto her side to get a better look at the boat's occupants. A large, dark eye gazed at up from the water. 

Paul was shocked at the knowing in the gaze that was sizing him up. For the first time since they'd left land, he forgot his discomfort, if only for a moment. Gripping the railing more tightly, he leaned forward for a closer look. The mother lifted her rostrum, flexed her tail, and then they were gone. 

They scanned the water in silence for several minutes before Paul finally spoke. "Do you think we'll see any more of them?"

"Dunno. I've never been out here before."

Paul kept his grip on the railing, but shifted to look at the young woman. "You said before you've spent your whole life in the city, you know several people on the docks, and you've never been out here?"

She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the horizon and shrugged her left shoulder. "Never had the money. Besides, my parents weren't exactly big on family outings…. They were either working to pay the rent, drinking to forget the rent was overdue, or beating up on us kids."

"Is that how you learned how to fight?" More than once, he'd bandaged her wounds and applied ice to her bruises. It seemed she had a knack for attracting men who liked to indulge in violence, not realizing their petite punching bag would strike back with surprising effectiveness.

"No." Candy laughed bitterly. "You don't fight back when your ol' man is whipping you. That’s when you learn how to take it and not show how much it hurts." She looked down at her hands, continuing softly. "I learned to fight in reform school. That's where they send kids like me, supposedly to straighten me out. What I really learned was how to fend for myself. And the times I've been on the boats, it wasn’t for sailing lessons. We never left the dock."

"Did you learn about prostitution in reform school, too?"

"No." Candy shook her head, staring at the water below them with unseeing eyes. "By the time I was fourteen, I was fed up with the system and left. …Had nowhere to go, stayed on the streets. I didn't have a plan other than staying out of the drug scene. Brandie found me, half starved…. she offered to teach me the ropes and got me into doing mostly out-calls. Said she'd been where I was, and it was tough to go it alone. Not that our lives with Johnny were easy… but I've seen a lot of girls go though worse. I don't go hungry and I have a bed to sleep in." Her eyes finally moved skyward, looking at the mothership hovering several meters off the surface of the water, still off in the distance. "At least now, I'm useful."

"Indispensable."

"How do you do that?" she turned to him, fixing him with an inquisitive stare.

"Do what?"

"Get me talking about my past. Then you make it seem okay, like I’m special even though I’m not. There are a thousand girls just like me all over L.A. -- all just tryin' to survive."

"You are special, Candy. You're here, helping me, the whole fifth column."

"That's just doing the right thing. That doesn't mean I'm--"

Paul cut her off, even went so far as to remove one hand from the railing to cup her cheek. "Don't you understand that what you call 'doing the right thing,' despite great personal risk and sacrifice, is special? And the fact that you don't even realize it makes you special."

"Or stupid."

Paul shook his head. "You're not stupid. If you had worn those silly shoes with the high heels while dragging me on to this undersized bucket that never stops moving, then maybe I'd think otherwise. But you wore sneakers, so you can't be stupid."

She rewarded him with a genuine laugh and leaned against him, pulling his free hand around her as she did so. "Paul, I love you." She squeezed him gently. "And I mean that in the best possible way."

He returned the gesture, pulling her incrementally closer. "I know you do, and it's mutual."

*****

Damian took Caleb back to master control, then to the bridge lounge. "It's going to take some time to get a team organized. You'd better sleep while you can," he advised, pointing out key features of the dimly lit room. "There's food in cold storage over there. Take any bunk that's open."

"Damned strange first assignment, if you ask me." Caleb commented, keeping his voice low in deference to those who were already sleeping.

"You'll be glad you did. I'll let you know when we're ready." Damian turned on his heel and walked briskly to the conference room nearby, checked his chronometer, then calculated how long he needed to wait to be guaranteed a few precious minutes of privacy. Satisfied with his plan, he got to work, knowing that total concentration would help make the minutes rush by.

*****

"Why didn't you just use a permanent bandage?"

"Because I have to be sure you heal from the inside out." Kim fought the temptation to make comments about her own inexperience and uncertainty with every step of the process. This wasn't the time to remind Megan that her total surgical experience was with two mice in an undergraduate laboratory exercise… several years before, and digging a bullet out of Alan's leg. It had been easier yesterday, when Megan had been too drugged and sore to watch her change the bandages. "Don't look; it's always worse when you watch this stuff on yourself." Mentally, she berated herself for not putting something soft on the shuttle floor to give her knees some relief while she knelt. 

"I want to know how bad it is."

"You're alive, which is more than you might be under different circumstances." Kim used her forearm to wipe sweat from her forehead before removing the final layer of blood soaked gauze. Another coughing fit interrupted her work. She rocked back on her heels and turned her head, keeping her gloved hands far away from her face. The way her sides hurt, she was beginning to think she had pneumonia. Sounds moved further away and she felt Megan catch her upper arms, steadying her. After the coughing passed, she tried to breathe slowly. The blackness at the edge of her field of vision faded. "I'm okay."

Megan released her and they both turned their attention back to their task. Kim nodded to herself, running warm saline solution over the rows of stitches and catching the waste in a small container. Initially, the liquid was dark green, but it only took a half-liter before the water ran clear, free of new blood, old clots, and oozing pus. Overall, it looked better than she'd hoped it would when she'd put those stitches two days before. "So far, so good."

Megan said nothing, prompting Kim to look up. The fifth columnist had turned her face towards the wall. Her mask showed no emotion. Chewing on her lower lip, Kim gently placed fresh gauze over the stitches, wound the limb with additional layers, and gently taped it all in place.

She stuffed the used bandages into a small garbage bag then took off her gloves, placing them with the other waste. Mindful of her knees and aching sides, she carefully stood up and sat on the bunk opposite Megan. Her eyes drifted aimlessly, not seeing, as her mind returned to another time, in another life. "After his accident, when Marc was in the hospital, facing a life of total paralysis, another quadriplegic came to see us. She was young, barely out of her teens. But she had this aura about her… like she was an old soul reincarnated into a new.… And she was painfully blunt. She wheeled right up to Marc's bed and said 'I’m Jill and this sucks. But I’m here to tell you that the water isn't changed by the container. A cup of water can be in a diamond chalice or a rusty tin can. It's the same water. Yeah, someone just broke your chalice and now you're stuck with the tin can. It sucks, big time. But you're still you. Don't forget it.' And then she turned her chair around and left before Marc could curse her out…. He wasn't ready to hear that yet. Maybe you aren't either. But you need someone tell you that Jill was right."

*****

"Take the shot!" "I’m open!" Martin and Zachary exchanged a concerned look as they approached the landing bay and drew their weapons as a precaution. "Sorry pal, didn't mean to knock you down." "Score! Two points for the falcons!" 

"Basketball game." Mike offered as an explanation, still sullen and bringing up the rear. 

Zachary emerged from the service duct first, nodding acknowledgement to Drew, who was currently on guard duty and had a laser rifle aimed at the access panel he'd just swung open. Only then were he and Martin able to see the source of the alarming dialogue- a group of teenagers was playing some sort of game with a bouncing ball in a clear corner of the landing bay. A couple of adults stood near the game area, keeping younger children from wandering into the path of the running teens.

"See? Basketball, Just like I told you." 

Martin looked around and observed numerous changes since the last time he'd been here. Most of the shuttles were parked around the perimeter with their narrow ends against the bulkheads rather than in the neat rows he was accustomed to seeing. The few shuttles that were still in the central area were clearly serving as boundaries between different areas, presumably with different uses assigned to each. 

He located Alan and directed him into the controller's booth, leaving Mike to wander the bay on his own. Once he and Alan were at the console, he pulled up the ship's diagram on the computer. "I want you to form a team, including the humans, and start securing this sector. Lorraine has been monitoring from master control, and so far at least, we have no obvious signs of resistance. You'll need to be very thorough, search every compartment and include the service ducts as well. " He pointed to the screen. "Once we have control up through this level here we'll be able to start reviving humans. Work with Damian- he's in master control- and see if you can locate someone trustworthy for the actual revival. We'll only use unknown crew under close supervision as a last resort and under threat of death. I'm putting Caleb in charge of handling the humans once they are awake, so you'll need to notify him when you're ready. Laura is currently supervising a team on engine repairs, and we don't know that those crewmembers can be trusted, but you can put them to work with the actual movement of the storage pods. 

"Lastly, you need to get in contact with Ham Tyler on the surface and see if they are ready to accept humans for release. Caleb has a plan for selecting those most helpful to us so the first humans revived will be aiding us on the surface, and possibly here on the ship as well. I expect Julie will be able to tell you how to contact Ham. If not, Caleb might know."

Martin fought the temptation to rub the back of his neck and ease the growing muscle tension. There were too many years of training to allow that indulgence while on duty, even under the current circumstances. "Alan, are there any shuttles that are unused and empty? I need to go to the surface and meet with Paul. If I run into trouble, I don't want the humans' supplies lost."

"Maybe you should send someone else."

Martin shook his head at the suggestion. "I'll be all right. It would be difficult for anyone to arrange an ambush this far from shore with only one boat." Once again, he was deeply grateful to the women Paul was with for their sound advice. Given the chaos of the city, it had been their suggestion to move off shore for a meeting. While getting to the docks wouldn’t be easy for Paul, Martin's shuttle would not be noticed and a thus not a catalyst for further violence.

Alan used the computer to pull up the list of shuttles and their respective positions in the bay. "This is our medical shuttle for humans, and the one next to it is for us. Megan's there now. This cluster is for sleeping; Kim has the shuttle in the corner to herself. Over here, the shuttles are primarily loaded with supplies from the surface. And these two, as far as I know, are empty and unused."

"Fuel status?"

"I don't know. You'd better check them over for external damage, too."

"Understood. Check in with Lorraine periodically to keep her apprised of your progress, but don’t compromise your safety to do so. And keep in mind that there may be traps in place. Getting this sector under control is key to our long-term plans, so don't get impatient... Is everyone on a 12 hour duty cycle?"

"Yes." 

"Good. Don’t compromise on sleep, either. Questions?"

Alan shook his head. 

Without another word, Martin dismissed him and led Zachary to Megan's shuttle. 

****

The form doubled over at the bottom of the ramp to Megan's shuttle was wracked with coughing. Her dark, unkempt hair hung limply around her face and it took a moment for Martin to realize who it was. He knelt beside her, concerned by her obviously poor health. "Kim?"

"Ask Julie. Albuterol inhaler," she managed to get out. The tightness in her chest had worsened into wheezing and she felt like she was slowly suffocating. 

"Albuterol?"

Kim nodded, wracked again by coughing.

"Zachary, you heard her. Have Julie find some albuterol." Trusting the young columnist to follow orders, Martin turned his focus to helping Kim breathe. He left her momentarily, long enough to retrieve an emergency respirator from the first aid station in the shuttle bay bulkhead. With the efficiency of years of practice drills, and a few real-life emergencies, he snapped an oxygen cartridge into place and returned to Kim. He pressed the face piece over her nose and mouth as he pulled her against him, letting her rest against his chest while waiting for unit to do its job. He rubbed her back in slow, rhythmic strokes, matching the tempo of respiration she was attempting to maintain between fits of coughing. 

"How long have you been sick?"

She held up three fingers. 

"Three days… could this be connected to the red dust?"

Kim shrugged her shoulders. The idea hadn't occurred to her. Right now, she just wanted to breathe. After several minutes of breathing the oxygen, her peripheral vision was reemerging from the darkness. "Be careful."

"What do you mean?"

"Being seen with me." She paused to get more air. "Protect your credibility with the loyalists."

"I know." He quickly glanced around to double check that no one was observing them. "So you're saying you staged this just to get my attention?" he teased gently.

Kim started to laugh, which triggered more coughing instead. She settled for shaking her head, savoring these few moments where she could lean against him without explanation.

"What happened?" Julie came running around the end of the adjacent shuttle, an inhaler in hand. Dropping to her knees, she handed over the device, which Kim used before replacing the oxygen supply over her face. "What's that?"

"Oxygen," Martin explained.

"Kim, since when do you have asthma?" Julie asked, starting to take Kim's vital signs. "You're warm. I think you have a fever. ."

"No asthma," Kim said softly. "Maybe pneumonia." After waiting a few minutes for the first dose to work, she took a second dose on the inhaler and handed it back. It probably belonged to an asthma patient and needed to be returned. Martin hadn't moved, but she could tell he had withdrawn into his professional mode. Maybe if Julie left, Zachary would, too. Leaning on Martin for support, she slowly stood up, letting him help lift her to her feet.

Julie frowned as she likewise stood. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It came on fast and wasn't bad until this morning." Already, the medication was beginning to work and she wasn't wheezing nearly as much. "The problem will be finding antibiotics. I just don't know enough chemistry to know if the ones we have on board are safe for humans. They probably are, but I can't be sure. I'd hoped I could figure it out, but I haven't been able to…" She broke off in another fit of coughing. She had tried to cross reference her layman's familiarity with pharmacology with the drugs available on the ship, only to give up in frustration and exhaustion hours later.

Martin looked at Julie. "If you get me a list of what you need, the network still on the surface might be able to help." 

"I'll do it right away." Julie hesitated, looking at Kim.

"Go. I'll be fine." She made a point of ignoring Zachary and started to walk slowly towards her shuttle, leaning on Martin for balance.

He glanced down behind her. "What's that?"

"Hmm?" Kim followed his line of sight and saw the garage bag and bin of bloodied water sitting on the shuttle ramp. She must have set them down when she'd started coughing again. "It's trash. I just changed Megan's bandages."

A glance from Martin assigned the disposal duty to Zachary as he picked her up and carried her to her shuttle. He laid her on the bunk she'd obviously claimed as her own. "You'd better keep this with you. Here's the switch to turn it off and on." He showed her the controls to the respirator, then covered her up with a blanket as she stretched out and rolled onto her side. He bent over her and stroked her cheek with the knuckles of his partly closed hand. "I'll see you soon."

Kim nodded, her eyes closed. He could tell from her breathing that she was nearly asleep already. Usually it took her a half hour or more, which indicated how ill and exhausted she was. 

A quick survey of the shuttle indicated that Katherine and Jeffrey were likewise sound asleep. Katherine had a corner of her blanket in clenched in her tiny fist as she lay sleeping next to her brother. He stared at the infants, fascinated as always with how small and helpless they were. Long moments passed, then he drew on a lifetime of discipline for strength and returned to duty.

****

"Mike knows about the tapes for immediate broadcast and for the United Nations. I also want you to find any evidence you can of fifth column activity. I don't intend to share it unless we have to, given the fact the same methods are being used on the other motherships, but the time may come when we need it to establish credibility with the humans. The fourth set of records I want you to make is something I don’t Mike or any of the humans to know about and doesn't have to be video-based. I want you to assemble a record of any ship-board activities you think might be useful in the coming years. Include anything that you think might be at all beneficial. It will be a cultural library as well as a general record."

"How will that help us?" Megan spoke for the first time since Martin had told her he had an assignment for her. The videos she understood, but a cultural library seemed like busy work.

"Honestly? I don’t know. But we're not going to have access to the ship's computers for much longer. If there is any information we need to look up, something that might be helpful in the future, I'd like to have a chance to access it. You'll have to work with the portable data storage units we have, but save whatever you can. I can't explain it rationally. I just have a feeling that it's necessary." 

"You intend to destroy the mothership?"

Martin nodded. "Maybe you haven't heard the rumors yet, but there was irreparable structural damage done. We can't leave it as a source of spare parts for the rest of the fleet. I'm working on finding out where the deepest part of the ocean is so we can sink it there."

"Do the humans know?"

Martin shook his head. "They know there was damage, but I think they're planning on using the ship for further study, trying to improve their own technology. A good idea, but too risky under the circumstances. When the fleet comes back, this will be their first target."

"You'd better check with them about the ocean so we don't damage the ecosystem. No sense wrecking this planet, too."

"I hadn't thought about that. But I don't know where else we can put it." Martin closed his eyes and leaned against the bulkhead of the shuttle. Sitting down on the bunk opposite Megan had been a mistake. 

"May I ask you something?" Megan hesitated, not sure how to broach the subject. She'd gotten to know Martin a little bit during their time at the soundstage, which gave her the courage to ask a question of a superior officer. She needed to know. Martin nodded his consent without opening his eyes. The lack of eye contact was actually a relief. "Picking me for this assignment… is it because of my injury?" The look of surprise on Martin's face was genuine, which filled her with relief. She couldn't deal with pity or assignments derived from pity. 

"Mike's son was just killed and he's difficult to interact with as a result. We need his experience with the media to make an effective set of tapes, but it's going to be challenging to work with him. I've seen you deal with Jackie, in all of her moods, which makes me think you'll be able to keep Mike on task without strangling him in the process."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Martin cautioned as he got up. "By the time you're finished, you may be wishing you had used your suicide capsule."

****

Silently, Damian knelt by Lorraine's bunk and took her left hand carefully in his own, twining their fingers together… just so. He felt a sharp increase in muscle tension, followed immediately by forced relaxation that indicated she was now awake and assessing her situation. The sequence was so familiar to him, so reflective of how they lived their lives.…

He watched while she opened her eyes, knowing she was preparing for just about anything… except for seeing him. After all, she thought he was dead. He pressed cool fingers to her equally cool lips, keeping her silent so they wouldn't be disturbed. He wanted this moment alone with her. The instant of recognition… there. A nod in response. A careful, silent embrace. Mouths to ears, whispers in their native tongue.

"I’m real," he assured her. "There was no way to get word to you."

"If I'm dreaming, don't let me wake up."

"You're not dreaming…. Run away with me?" A reference to a lifetime ago, when she'd asked the same of him.

"Where?" she played his part now.

"A planet I found… the natives call it Earth."

"Is it nice?"

"Populated with savages. Or it will be, once we get there."

He'd deviated from the original script. She fell silent, unsure what to say. Earth was a place she'd never seen for herself. An unknown. Like the future. And so much had changed… she'd seen too much, done too much, endured too much.

"You'll like it," he promised. "Run away with me?"

A hesitant nod, felt rather than seen. "Together."

"Sleep now."

Another tentative nod, recognition of their current circumstances. 

He withdrew as quietly as he'd come, a whisper retreating into shadows. But for her, everything had changed. 

****

Megan watched the video with the sound turned off. She really didn't need to hear the screams of the prisoner; the visual image of his torture was more than sufficient. Even when viewed at four times normal speed, it was clear what Diana was doing… and the blood spurting from the stump of the victim's finger made her ill. What were the odds of an amputation being the very first record she viewed? When the camera showed Diana lifting the severed digit to her mouth, Megan slammed the controls, making the playback halt. She'd hit the wrong button, intending to turn off the video. Nauseous, she turned away, eyes closed, taking a deep breath. This was not going to be an easy task, and she didn't have time for this type of a reaction.

"Are you okay?" 

Megan startled slightly, opening her eyes to see Mike Donovan walking towards her with obvious concern on his face. She nodded curtly, trying to hide her discomfort. Her leg throbbed in pain, only adding to her misery. She watched as his eyes took in the image of Diana, frozen on the screen. 

"I don't think we need video that graphic," he said, sitting down in the co-pilot's chair. 

"Good." Megan turned off the image and the screen went dark. Unfortunately, this was exactly what might be needed to show the humans why they had to fight back. She'd let Martin decide if any of Diana's records could be destroyed. For now, she'd save them in a separate file. It was better than having to view them all now.

"So how do you want to go about this?"

"There's so much material to go through... I suppose just look for clips that have the most visual impact and piece them together. It's going to make it that much harder for the fifth columnists on Earth." She stared at the blank monitor and wondered if any of them, Martin included, really knew what they were going to face in the coming months.

Mike didn't say anything, and she looked up at him. He looked tired, stubble was covering his lower face, and his eyes were closed. Had he fallen asleep? No, his lips were moving ever so slightly, as if forming words. "Mike?"

His eyes snapped open, but she wasn't sure if he'd even heard her. He was looking over the control panels, muttering to himself about masking tape and marking pens. Then he turned to her and something about him just changed. He was… animated, even enthusiastic.

"We have to tell a story," the human said, getting up to pace. "I need some paper. I'm going to write Martin a script. He'll record the audio, then we'll edit the video overlay to match the pacing.

"Find the files of the first broadcasts to Earth- when John gave that whole spiel about making a chemical and needing help. We'll also need the broadcast where Julie ripped his phony face off. I need my video, too! You start with finding those, and I'll be right back!" Donovan ordered before bounding from the shuttle. 

Megan turned back to the control panel and tried to ignore the throbbing in her leg as she initiated a search for the videos Mike had asked for. She was willing to cooperate with the newsman's plans, at least for now. She'd make certain Martin was consulted before the final results were broadcast. Given the human's broadcast experience, it made sense to let Mike take charge of their shared project, especially since it would make it easier to work with him. So far, she didn't think it was going to be as difficult as Martin had indicated. While Mike's mood change had been fast, it still didn't match the intensity of Jackie's mercurial nature.

****

In her shuttle, Kim took advantage of a rare moment's peace to load the personal profiles of all of her fifth columnist friends, living and dead, into a data pad to take to the surface. She was determined to be able to recognize them all on sight even without their human masks. It wouldn’t take more than a few minutes each day to associate their real faces with their human names and commit them to memory. 

What Kim found much more frustrating was her inability to properly pronounce many of their Sirian names. She knew she wasn't at fault for the limitations of her own physiology, but she couldn’t help but feel slightly inferior. The alternative, though, of not speaking Sirian at all also rankled. She'd worked too hard to master the language and she wanted her children to grow up fluent. That would only happen if the Visitors spoke the language freely around her and the kids. Maybe, given enough time to accept the Visitors, even Kevin would become fluent.

****

"Keep it right there," Martin told Zachary as he leaned out the shuttle's open door and reached for Candace's hand; his other hand gripped a handle that had been placed strategically to assist in transfers such as this one. Taking her wrist, he pulled her up easily, hardly needing Paul's help from below as they transferred her from boat deck to shuttle ramp in one fluid motion. Once she was safely inside, he reached down for Paul, hauling him aboard a bit less easily, but with an efficiency that came from a lifetime of practicing such maneuvers. 

Paul let out a weary breath as he sank into a seat next to Candace while Martin closed the entry hatch and Zachary moved them to a higher altitude. He leaned back, disturbed that it still felt like he was moving on the ship. The sensation was disorienting since he knew the shuttle was completely stationary. "Do you know how grateful I am to be on a vessel that doesn't constantly pitch and sway?"

"At least it's structurally sound," Martin commented, sympathetic to Paul's disdain for boating. It seemed to him that the small fishing boat was at the mercy of the waves, some of which were quite large and sent the vessel sliding down into a trough, only to lift it up again a moment later. Sitting down across from Candace, he took a slip of paper out of his vest pocket and gave it to Paul. "This is a list of medical supplies Julie is hoping you can get. Antibiotics are probably the most important."

Paul glanced over the list, recognized few of the words, and passed it immediately on to Candace. Her forehead wrinkled as she made a face at the writing on the paper. "I can think of a couple of places we might get oral antibiotics, but tetanus vaccines? Maybe the other gals know a place." She shrugged, tucking the paper into her bra for safekeeping. "We'll do what we can."

"What else?" Paul prompted. Martin wouldn’t have asked for this meeting just to request medical supplies. 

"Find me a place to send about 800 loyalists." 

All expression drained from Paul's mask. He stared at Martin for a long moment, trying to grasp the magnitude of the problem. "Storage?" Paul knew Martin had originally hoped to park the ship on the surface, putting the loyalists into the pods currently filled with humans until a better solution could be found. It was the best they'd been able to come up with in the hasty planning to attack the mothership.

Martin shook his head slowly. "The ship's falling apart, voiding all of our original plans. Once everyone's out, we're sinking it in the Mariana Trench. It's deep enough there's no way our people will be able to retrieve it, and the pressure will destroy a lot of the equipment even if they could develop a way to gain access." That had been why he and Lorraine, in a hasty conversation during the last shift change, had opted against the alternative of using the Antarctic ice to bury the ship on land and thus reduce the chance of ecosystem damage. Saving the ocean only to lose the war for the planet didn't make sense. It wouldn't be a popular decision with the humans once they learned about it. Martin suspected the humans wanted to study the ship and its technology. But if they'd waited before mounting their offensive, giving the fifth columnists time to plan the next phase of the war, the situation might have been avoided. 

Martin forced his thoughts back to the present. "I need options, Paul. Something better than killing them all, or just turning them loose on human society." If there was a hint of desperation in his voice, Martin didn't really care.

"Of these 800 or so… how many of them are likely to fight for the Leader once they're on the surface?"

Martin looked away, not needing to see Paul's reaction to the answer. "There are forty-three I didn't include in that estimate. They won't be a problem."

"Okay, guys, clue me in here. What kind of people are we talking about? Cadets or grumpy old farts? Are they desperate just to get home and'll stop at nothing if it gets them on a ship? Are they going to be willing to learn to fit in here?"

"Most of them still believe what they were told to believe," Martin tried to explain. "If we can prepare them, they might adapt. Mostly, they're young." There just wasn't time to give Candace the background she needed to understand the situation. He'd gotten too accustomed to Kim's knowledge of his culture. While rudimentary, Kim's knowledge was sufficient for her to recognize the key issues when he went to her with questions. 

Paul covered Candace's hand in unspoken apology. He knew how frustrating she found it to be left out of the conversation. "I'll explain it all later, Candy. How long do we have?" 

"Plan on six weeks. With ongoing repairs, we might be able to extend that a little bit, but we can't count on it. We're going to start reviving prisoners en masse the day after tomorrow."

"Is there anything else?"

"Secure locations to store shuttles. We'll turn one over to the local government for show after the ship has been scuttled. Damian's found a way to deactivate the tracking devices. I want every shuttle on that mothership stored on the surface. We're going to need them when the fighting starts again. Preferably, we should have them in multiple locations, including several far outside the city."

"That'll be easier than finding a place for all those people. At least shuttles don't care where you park them," Candace commented, looking between Martin and Paul. "What's the world coming to, when a bunch of hookers are your advisory board? Martin, you got anything else to add to your wish list?"

Martin shook his head. He was too tired to banter lightly. 

"We'll come up with something. And we'll let you know as soon as we get some supplies gathered." Candace stood up, then took Paul's hand to tug him to his feet and reluctantly towards the shuttle door. "C'mon, Paul. Time to set sail. Maybe we'll see some more whales on our way back. And will you stop looking so glum? We were s'posed to be dead already and it didn’t happen."

****

"Look what I found," Megan said quietly, gesturing Anthony closer to view the screen while Mike was out fetching something to eat. "Most of Diana's files are encrypted and I haven't been able to get access. But these weren't. Do you think it will help with Jackie?"

Anthony nodded, thrilled by Megan's discovery. "Where did you find these records? I searched for them and wasn't able to even locate them." The screen listed all of the conversion records for the L.A. mothership, including some he'd done himself. He tried to ignore those entries and the memories they evoked. 

"They don’t come up when you search for them. I stumbled on them by accident in an obscure subdirectory.  I don't understand why Diana didn’t just encrypt them like all of her other files."

"Maybe she thinks she did. For all we know, we have an independent fifth columnist to thank. Will you load these onto a data pad for me? Don't say anything to Jackie yet. I need time to study these."

****

"They said they're ready to test the vaccine, pending your approval," Lorraine told Martin in their shift change conference two days later. "Do you think we can trust them?"

Martin nodded as he joined her at the conference table. "They're testing it on themselves first. If they're wrong, they'll die. Anthony will review their records so the work won't be lost." He activated the monitor and quickly entered his new orders for Anthony and the vaccination team.

"We've also secured a second sector and have begun reviving the first humans. Caleb is talking to them now and explaining what we need them to do. They're ready for us on the surface. Mike's first video is ready, but I wanted you to preview it first."

Martin called the video up and they watched the finished product together, shoulders nearly touching as she moved her chair closer to his to watch. They'd filmed Martin on the bridge yesterday, where Martin paraphrased Mike's script, explaining the truth of the Visitors' mission on Earth. Mike, Julie, and Lorraine had stood beside him while the unmasked fifth column crew continued to work in the background. On a whim, Mike had suggested that the crew remove their masks and help dispel any insinuations that the broadcast was fake. The finished video had woven the bridge crew's scenes and Martin's narrative with clips from John's unmasking, some mild torture of unidentified prisoners and Diana's murder of her commanding officers. Megan had even found him video clips of the storage pods and occupied prisoner holding cells. Mike's video ended with Martin's plea for loyalists to turn themselves in for voluntary confinement on the L.A. ship. Via a coded reference, the fifth columnists were assured that more antitoxin would arrive via the same channels used previously. 

"It's impressive how much information he fit into eight minutes," Martin said when the screen went blank. Mike and Megan had also exercised a great deal of restraint in their explanations of prisoners' treatment. With a few keystrokes, he put the video on a continuous loop and broadcast it to the media outlets below them as well as the satellites that carried signals to other stations. He could only hope they'd believe his warnings about the conversion of the president and vice president and follow his suggestion that the next in line assume command of the country for the time being. "We'll need to start getting prisoners to the surface today so we don't lose credibility."

"I've had this available to the crew since Mike finished it early in my shift. I thought it would help answer a lot of questions, especially for the loyalists. Now some of the crew have requested permission to remove their pseudoskin until they are sent to the surface." Lorraine empathized with their wish, but couldn't envision Martin approving their request.

"I should have anticipated that. It's certainly understandable." He leaned back in his seat, considering the impact this might have on the ability of the human rebels to work with the fifth column. "Permission granted, except for anyone working to revive humans and relocate them to the surface. Those people are going to be disoriented and frightened enough as it is."

Lorraine was stunned by Martin's decision and she heard surprise in her own voice. "What about the rebels on board? Do you really think they'll accept us?"

"Frankly, I don't care if they do or not. A few weeks without pseudoskin is a rather modest request in light of the backlash that we'll face in the coming months. Besides, it will help differentiate us from the previous leadership." 

"What about you?"

Martin shook his head, quickly discarding the temptation. "I'm going to be too visible and moving around too much." He ran a thumb over her cheekbone, his tone gentle. "But there's no reason why you can't indulge."

She closed her eyes, torn between desire and apprehension. It would be so nice to have normal tactile sensations again. Finally, she sighed and shook her head. "I can't. It will be too hard to put it back on again."

"How is your shoulder?"

The change in subject was deliberate, and she was grateful for his understanding. "Still sore, but Anthony thinks I'll have no permanent damage."

"Good. Go get some sleep."

****

 "My God," Jackie whispered stepping backwards into Anthony. He took her arm and propelled her forward in spite of her struggles. "No!"

He ignored her and took her further into the chamber so the door would close behind them. "It’s just a room, Jackie. And you need to accept that before we can do any more."

She turned on him, unspoken questions on her lips, pressing up against him in an unconscious attempt to reach the door.

"I don’t know if the process can be reversed or not. All we can do is try."

"What do I have to do?" she whispered.

"Stop fighting me," he said, then brushed a tendril of hair back from her cheek. "I’m not going to turn any equipment on today. I just want you to be in here so you have a chance to see it as the room that it is."

"Just a room?" Her eyes wandered over the floor and walls. The chamber was empty, save for a round, raised platform in the center. The walls were cream in color and had vertical strips in a different material spaced every few feet. She vaguely remembered blinding lights emanating from them. She swallowed hard when she tasted bile.

She stood there for several minutes, trying to find the courage to move her feet. They remained locked in place. Finally, Anthony propelled her forward, in spite of her protests, forcing her to walk around the perimeter and back to the door, before shoving her ahead of him and letting go. She stumbled, then regained her balance when her hands touched the wall. Somehow, she resisted the urge to run back to him. Deep down, she knew he was right to force her to stand a few moments on her own, and he had been correct in knowing she was ready for it. Her eyes turned back to the platform. Dark images floated on the periphery of her consciousness. 

Anthony was behind her again, and he put a reassuring hand on her back. "I think that’s enough for today." Her breathing was rapid and shallow, her palms wet, and her pupils were dilated. She even smelled like fear.

"No," she said, then took a deep breath. "Tell me how it works. I couldn’t move my feet."

"There were clamps around your ankles. They retract when it's turned off."

Gripping his hand viciously, she took hesitant steps towards the platform.

He moved with her, ignoring the pain her fingernails inflicted as they cut gashes in the pseudoskin on his hands and dug into his palm. He helped her step up on the platform and then sit on its smooth surface. He sat behind her, with his arms wrapped protectively around her, and waited for her to calm.

The door slid open and he looked over Jackie’s shoulder right into the barrel of a laser rifle. 

"Step away."

"Ham, no!" Jackie cried, pressing more tightly against Anthony. She knew if she were not so closely positioned to the Visitor, Ham would have already killed him by now. If Anthony moved away, he’d never leave the room alive.

Anthony, realizing Tyler’s intent, made no move. He stared calmly into the human’s eyes, waiting for him to come to his senses and put the gun away.

"I said, 'Step away," Ham repeated his order.

"You like her converted?" Anthony asked.

"No, and that’s why you’re not going to finish the job."

Jackie burst into tears. "Ham, he’s trying to help. Please, just leave. This is hard enough."

"Did he tell you to say that? No way I’m leaving you in here with a lizard." Ham looked from Jackie to Anthony, trying to decide how to get her away from him without further traumatizing her.

"Then watch from the other room," Anthony snapped. "There is a switch on the wall over the console that will open the view-port." It was increasingly difficult to believe that Jackie had a son by this man.

Ham glared at him for a long moment, then looked back to Jackie’s pleading gaze. Maybe he had acted prematurely, but he wasn’t about to leave them alone. He nodded once, sharply, and backed out of the doorway. The panel closed after him.

Jackie watched the walls, looking for the window. "I guess he left."

"No. The panel is only transparent from that side. He’s on the other side of that wall," Anthony said and pointed.

"Can he hear us?"

Anthony nodded. "Unless he shot out the whole console."

In the other room, Ham gnashed his teeth when Jackie giggled at the comment, but stayed where he was. If that lizard hurt her, he was going to have himself new boots and a matching belt.

"What now?" Jackie asked.

"I already told you we’d done enough for today," Anthony replied calmly. He tried to forget Ham was listening to his every word. He was not going to allow the human to interfere in Jackie’s recovery. Kim and Anthony had invested a lot of time in multiple attempts at hypnosis, always failing to lower the barriers to Jackie's mind. Perhaps by using the conversion chamber's techniques just enough to lower her resistance, and in combination with the new element of positive images rather than helplessness, he could return Jackie's mind to her own control. 

"No," Jackie said and climbed to her feet. "I need to do more."

Anthony leaned back on his hands and watched her placidly. 

"Will it open?" she asked, looking at the door.

"Just step up to it," he assured her. 

Cautious steps led her to the panel, and it slid open obediently. She stepped into the opening, and glanced at Ham. He was watching her with a very guarded expression and she couldn’t fathom what he must be thinking. Her heart warmed at the realization he still cared enough to come to her rescue, however unnecessary it had been. She smiled softly at him and turned around in the doorway, looking back at Anthony.

The conversion technician had not moved at all. He just sat there, looking calm and relaxed as he watched her, then nodded his encouragement. 

She tentatively walked around the perimeter of the room. Her every sense was acutely alert. She could hear the swish of the panel sliding shut as she moved away, her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, Anthony’s quiet breathing, the soft hum of the ship’s engines. The slightest new sound, if unexpected, would pour even more adrenaline into her system, and thankfully, none occurred. 

Her feet led her back to the door, and it opened again. What a miracle that was, to have it open for her, providing an exit from this chamber of horrors. She put her hand on the frame, and turned partway, leaning her back against the doorjamb. Ham was in one room watching her, Anthony in the other, also observing. "I’ve had enough."

Anthony nodded, but made no move to get up. She realized he was giving her an opportunity to confront Ham if she wished. She smiled slightly to him in gratitude, then turned her attention to Ham.

Eyes that were colder than she remembered watched her every move. She shyly approached him, and kissed his cheek before backing away, once again activating the sensors that kept the door to the conversion chamber open. He stood frozen in place, watching her with that damned inscrutable gaze of his. "Thank you, Ham, for trying to rescue me. But, please, don’t interfere again. You forfeited your rescuing rights the night you left." She kept her eyes locked on him, reaching behind her for Anthony. When she felt his cool fingers grasp hers, she led him into the corridor, never once looking back at the former CIA agent she'd once loved. 

****

Martin watched from across the landing bay as Jackie threw a knife at a stack of crates that had been placed against the bulkhead. She walked the short distance to retrieve it, then turned and threw it again, hitting exactly the same spot. She repeated the action three more times as he slowly approached. "That's not much of a challenge for you, is it?"

Jackie spun around, instantly defensive. "What do you mean?"

He raised an eyebrow in response. "Your aim is consistent and perfect. You need more of a challenge, like a moving target."

Jackie sighed, relaxing when she realized that Martin recognized her skill and was complimenting her, not mocking her as she'd first assumed. "I'm throwing right-handed, " she admitted, fighting back the tears. "And that takes a lot more effort than it used to."

Martin studied her, sensing there was far more happening than just target practice. "What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing." She shook her head, dismissing his question. She used the point of the blade to scrape dirt out from under her thumbnail. He was kind enough to ignore how her hands were shaking as she did so. "I have issues."

Martin said nothing. He'd learned a long time ago that people filled silence, and the technique worked just as well on humans. If he waited long enough, Jackie would offer more. 

Jackie flipped the knife over and studied the locking hinge. "I don’t like being told I can't do something. My ex-husband spent a summer with the circus when he was in high school. He told me once that men had natural knife-throwing skills that women didn’t. It made me so mad! So I bought a knife and taught myself to throw just to prove him wrong. I practiced for hours and learned to hit stationary and moving targets, throw with either hand, throw sideways. I mastered it all… except for the marriage." She angrily brushed the tears away with the back of her hand. "A knife's more useful than a wedding ring anyway, especially in times like these. Like I keep telling my therapist, I have issues. And I can't stand being back on this damned ship!" She threw the knife again and went to retrieve the blade, still avoiding Martin's eyes and the sympathy she knew she'd find there. 

He was always so damned calm and considerate. It wasn’t human. That struck her as funny and she tried not to giggle. Her nerves had been on edge all afternoon, no thanks to Anthony. God only knew what it would be like to have the equipment on. What kind of sick person willingly revisited the place where their mind had been raped? She flung the knife again, this time with her left hand. It hit the target with a solid thunk, but gave her no satisfaction. Damnit, this was too easy. Martin was right. She needed more of a challenge, especially if she wanted to get her mind to blank out. 

"Anthony told me about your run-in with Ham. Now that I know he's on board, we'll keep him away from you."

"Thanks, but I don't think he's going to approach me again." Jackie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Once we're all done here, he and I are overdue for a talk." 

****

"Just swallow, damnit!" Kim muttered, bending over Katherine with a dropper in her hand. Twice a day, she had to convince two babies that swallowing a foul-tasting liquid was actually a good idea. Not even the addition of precious, pure sugar seemed to help. "No, don't you dare turn your head and spit it out, you little creep!" With gentleness that belied her tone, she used the dropper to recover most of the liquid running down Katherine's cheek. "How can someone so small and helpless be so blasted defiant?"

Martin's hands seemingly appeared out of nowhere and he held Katherine's head immobile while Kim tried again, this time successfully, to get their daughter to swallow the liquid before she could spit it out. Kim hadn't heard him enter the shuttle, but then, how could she hear anything over Jeffrey's frantic cries? "Thanks." Kim turned to a little boy who was huddled in the very back of the shuttle, apparently trying to disappear from sight. "Kevin, Martin's my friend, like I already told you. But you can go stay with Jackie if you want to."

The boy nodded once, then took Kim's hand while he warily edged past Martin. As soon as the way was clear, he bolted for the exit.

Taking his cue from Kim's comments, Martin pretended not to even see the boy, focusing his attention instead on picking up the squawking, outraged infant nearby. It didn't change the noise levels in the shuttle. 

"Hold him crossways."

As soon as he'd obediently shifted Jeffrey in his arms, Kim brought out a liquid-filled cylinder with a small projection on top, which she put into Jeffrey's mouth. Finally, the shuttle was silent! Or rather, filled with the sounds of hungry feeding, which was still an improvement over the crying.

Martin sat down on the end of the bunk, watching as Kim prepared another dropper. "Maybe with you here, too, we can trick him. Don’t let him turn his head." Carefully, she slipped the dropper into the corner of Jeffrey's mouth while he sucked down the white liquid. The little body tensed, kicked, then finally relented and resumed eating. 

"You're hired. They’ve figured out what I’m up to and are getting better and better at fighting me. Remind me later to tell you about Kevin," Kim said before another fit of coughing commenced. 

To Martin, it sounded even worse than it had the last time he'd seen her two days ago. There hadn't been any word from Paul yet, and therefore no antibiotics. She looked pale, exhausted, and frankly, ready to collapse. "What are you giving them?"

"Antitoxin, just to be safe. And yes, I started on it, too, as a precaution in case the red dust is making me sick. Any word on the permanent antidote?" Kim couldn't bring herself to call it a vaccine, since technically it wasn't one any more than the toxin was a pathogen. 

"The first doses were given earlier today, so their first test exposure will be tomorrow." He indicated the liquid Jeffrey was consuming. "What's this?"

"A bottle of formula. It’s food. Physically, I can't keep up with their needs any more, even without being sick myself. I'm supplementing nursing with formula so they don't starve," Kim explained. She knew he wasn't judging her, but was simply curious. "I just wish we could know if they're getting all the nutrients they need." Exhausted, she fixed a second bottle for Katherine and lay down on the bunk he was sitting on to feed her. She had to curl her legs so her feet didn't hit the bulkhead, but it put her closer to him than if she lay on the bunk opposite. It got lonely here in the shuttle bay, her hours filled with diaper changes, feedings, coughing, and short snatches of sleep. Jackie helped some, but being on the ship filled her with tension, which the twins sensed and responded to with more crying.  

"Have you thought about going home? Would that be any easier?" There, he'd finally broached the topic he'd been dreading to ask about. It wasn’t rational, given how little time he had to visit her. He wanted her on the ship as long as he was. But if it was better for her to go to her house, he needed to help facilitate that move.

Kim shook her head. "Feel my neck." He shifted his hold on the bottle so he could comply. He pressed his fingers to her flesh for a moment, surprised at how warm she was, then moved his hand to her forehead, which was likewise warm and damp with sweat. "Exactly. I'm too warm. It's called a fever, and if it gets too high, it's downright dangerous. I'm fighting an infection. Despite the antitoxin, my cough isn't any better. If anything, I'm getting worse." Finally, she opened her eyes and let him see the fear she was trying to hide, since nothing more could be done. 

It was mirrored by worry that not even contacts could disguise. "How much worse?"

"I'm scared." She tried to hold back the tears, but they welled up anyway. She closed her eyes, letting him brush the drops away from her cheeks. "I just hope Paul and the others can find some antibiotics soon, or that someone can figure out what we have on board that is probably safe. Pneumonia can be fatal." She smiled wanly at him, thinking back to an earlier conversation about his probable death. "Talk about irony."

He followed her thoughts easily. "That didn’t happen. Maybe this won't either."

****

"I take it everything's ready at the base?" Caleb asked Ham quietly as another newly revived human was helped into clothes and escorted to a table where pastries and cups of juice had been laid out. Several other humans were sitting in chairs nearby watching Mike's video, which was still begin broadcast on continuous loop to the surface and the monitors on the mothership. They were being tended by some of the rebels who were going to keep commuting between the surface and the ship, buffering the humans from contact with the Visitors and answering the multitude of questions that were bound to arise over the next several days. Pretty soon, they'd have a group large enough to transport to the surface. This first group had to be big so it made a real impact.

Ham nodded at the video. "Has anyone even thought to ask what's going to happen to those loyalists Martin's encouraging to come aboard? I keep hearing talk that the ship's falling apart around us, and he's talking in Gooder's video about voluntary confinement."

Caleb shook his head. He didn't want to feed Ham's paranoia about trusting any of the Visitors, fifth column or not. But it was a valid question, one no one on board had even considered. 

Ham drained a cup of juice in one long gulp, then tossed the paper cup into what was presumably a trash receptacle. "You can escort this first group of the halleluiah chorus down. I'm going to have a chat with Martin."

****

Ham wasn’t fifteen feet beyond the shuttle bay before he heard a lizard calling his name. 

"Mr. Tyler? Commander Martin wishes to speak with you. He asked me to escort you to his conference room at your earliest convenience."

He spun on his heel, irritated that he was apparently heading in the wrong direction. Leave it to lizard designers to come up with décor that was so nondescript you never knew where you were. Hadn't they figured out that emergency response times were shortened if you had to read labels at every corridor junction? "Do you always do what Martin says?" Ham recognized Laura from their prior meeting on the surface. It didn't seem like the intervening time had dampened her enthusiasm.

"Yes, sir, I do."

The young Visitor stood her ground as he leaned in closer, deliberately invading her personal space and maximizing the several inches of height he had on her. "What'd he tell you about me?" He let the corners of his mouth turn into a smirk.

His proximity forced her to tilt her head back, but she met his gaze evenly. "He said you like to provoke people. It's how you first measure their resolve. And he told me that we should always consider your advice, no matter how crudely you state it, because you are a warrior worthy of our respect."

He kept the smirk intact, privately irritated that he hadn't been able to visibly annoy her. "What do you think?"

"I think he's waiting for us," Laura answered before leading the way back down the corridor she'd arrived from.

She didn't get to see the genuine smile that briefly flashed across his features before he reinstated his normal façade of disinterest and followed her. He had to give Martin credit in his choice of protégés. This young lizard had potential.

****

Forty-three lives. Martin sat studying the list of names and tried to prepare himself for what was coming. The necessity was not in doubt. He'd spoken to all of them, although not all of them had answered his questions while Laura and Zachary both stood guard. In a few instances, the looks of hatred, followed with venom, had clearly established the interviewees' political stance. Martin hadn't been close enough for the venom to hit him, but the message had been clear: there was no way they were going to accept Martin as their commander, much less the intelligence of the humans they had been sent to conquer.

They'd moved the lot of them into a holding area adjacent to an exercise room that occasionally served as an execution suite before Martin had retired to the command center's conference room to prepare. Zachary assumed his station outside the door. Laura had followed him inside. Martin closed his eyes, reliving the conversation that had followed.

"You're dismissed," Martin said curtly as he sat down at a console.

"I'm volunteering, sir."

He didn’t even look up to answer. "No." 

"Sir, please listen to me before you decide."

Martin took a careful breath, calming himself without disclosing his agitation, and rose from his chair. He stood directly in front of her, his gaze and bearing carrying the weight of his authority and experience as a commanding officer. "I'm listening."

To her credit, she didn’t flinch from his scrutiny. "By law and tradition, they're entitled to two witnesses. I both abhor the idea and recognize the necessity of their executions. I haven't seen active combat. I haven't had to kill."

"So you think killing by proxy is a good initiation?"

"No. I'm saying that I’m willing to accept the consequences of my choices. You need witnesses. There is no good reason for me not to serve in that role." Laura closed her eyes, beginning to wish her commander would deny her request. Still, she pressed on. "I doubt many of the fifth columnists even realize what you have planned." She opened her eyes and studied Martin carefully. "It's not fair that you have to either choose witnesses or choose whom to approach as a potential volunteer. We all chose this path and we all share the responsibility for the outcome."

"Are you absolutely certain?" 

Laura kept the waver from her voice as she answered, "Yes, sir."

She'd solved that part of his problem. Truth be told, he'd dreaded having to approach any of the fifth columnists on board with a request that they serve as witness. He could only hope that Laura wouldn't be unduly scarred by the experience. She was still young and idealistic, fully confident that she could handle anything she would ever face in war. It was unfortunate that she would either live long enough to learn otherwise or die young.

The door opened and Ham strolled in. "Your lapdog played fetch, so what do you want?" 

"Laura, wait with Zachary." Once they were alone, Martin motioned Ham to a chair. "Two things. Has Julie talked to you about getting medical supplies?"

Ham shook his head, debating about whether or not to sit down. Deciding Martin's gesture had been courteous and not commanding, he opted to sit. "Not directly, though it's always possible one of these amateurs didn’t relay a message. What do they need?"

Ham accepted the list from Martin, skimmed it quickly, and pocketed it without comment.

"Secondly, there are forty-three loyal extremists awaiting execution. Our laws and traditions dictate that they have two witnesses present." Martin paused, wondering if Ham was going to force him to spell it out. Apparently, the answer was yes. "Will you serve as a witness?"

"Armed?"

Martin nodded once. "While they have been stripped of weapons, there are no guarantees." 

Ham leaned back in his chair as he studied the leader of the fifth column, either trying to discern the motives behind Martin's request or how to get in another dig. Martin couldn't decide which. "Can't you trust any of your own people?"

"It's not a question of trust. They'll feel guilty. I don’t think you will."

"You're not asking Donovan."

"He'll just argue. You understand the necessity."

"Am I supposed to believe that only 43 loyalists are left alive on this atmospheric colander?"

"The actual number is closer to 850." Martin, too, leaned back in his seat. It was unfortunate that Ham was so downright unlikable. He probably had more in common with Ham than any of the other humans he'd met.

"Your little video sent out an invitation for more."

"We both know they're not likely to accept. Or survive the attempt."

"So you're going to reduce 850 to 800. Then what?"

"Do you realize you're the first person to ask?" 

"I'm giving you a chance to practice your answer."

Martin ignored Ham's taunting. There was something in the human's gaze that hinted at sympathy to Martin's situation, though Ham would never actually admit to the feeling. Perhaps he was just imagining it. Martin let his gaze fall back on the screen. The execution of forty-three people was hard enough to contemplate, but they were loyal to the Leader and their side had lost. He wasn't ready to give up on finding a solution for the remaining crew. "I don't know yet. The current condition of this ship eliminated the best option. The fact that most of them are truly ignorant of human intelligence and the Leader's plans excludes your solution. That's the best answer I can give you right now." Martin stood up and looked back at Ham. "In the meantime, will you witness?"

Ham gestured towards the door as he, too, stood up. "Lead the way."

****

Martin led them to the execution suite, leaving Zachary to stand guard in the corridor while the rest of them proceeded inside. Ham looked around the room, habitually noting the layout, escape routes, and hiding places. 

The chamber was fairly nondescript, but the lizards didn't seem to have much of a talent for decorating. A second entrance, presumably connecting to a holding area, was located on the wall opposite the entrance to the corridor. A temporary partition created an alcove in the furthest corner. A console was located next to the second entrance, and there was a window in the wall beside it. Ham assumed it allowed for a visual identification before opening the door.

"Any chance they can rush us as a group?" Ham asked, taking up a position between the open area and the exit. His M16 was still slung over his shoulder, but for this he pulled out and cocked a handgun. 

Martin shook his head, motioning Laura to the console. "There's a small chamber beyond this door and we control both of its doors. If they try to crowd into that chamber, we can just wait them out, whereas they forfeit the right to a swift death."

Laura took out her laser pistol and held it loosely at her side while Martin moved to the center of the execution area. At his nod, she opened the door.

The victim walked in briskly, his posture erect, and moved towards Martin. He stopped two paces away, bare hands clasped behind his back. Martin noticed Ham tracking his movements with the handgun, ready for anything. The panel closed behind him and Laura, too, held her weapon ready.

Martin circled slowly, then lashed out with his bare hand, striking the victim's neck at the base of his skull, instantly severing the spinal column as the vertebrae snapped. He caught the body as it fell, dragging it to the corner behind the partition before letting go. 

Forty-two. 

Martin straightened his vest and returned to the execution area. 

The next three executions proceeded just as swiftly. Like the first, the condemned had all chosen to die free of the pseudoskin, without protest, and without incident. As Martin finished placing the fourth body out of sight, Ham broke the silence. "Toxin would be a lot easier."

Martin nodded once, his eyes focused on a distant memory. "Executions must never become easy." 

Ham made a non-committal sound in his throat and watched as the process was repeated again. And again. 

Martin laid the twenty-first victim down, this one female, and absently rubbed his hand. His arm was beginning to tire. Soon, he would have to start alternating with his non-dominant hand. He straightened his tunic and returned once again to await the next loyalist. 

The young soldier sauntered towards him, openly defiant with his posture. Half-way between the door and Martin, he held up his hand. "Not you. Her," he said as he pointed to Laura. 

Martin didn't let his mask change expression, but inside his heart cried out. According to law, if Laura refused, he was obligated to kill her, too. He wouldn’t do that, of course, but Laura would have to live with the knowledge, and have Ham witness her moment of weakness. Given her background, both would be difficult for her to accept. On the other hand, if Laura complied, she would kill for the first time, adding to the scars the day was already etching onto her soul.

"As you wish, Sam," Laura said evenly. She keyed the panel closed, circled behind Martin while being careful to stay far out of Sam's reach, and handing her weapon to Tyler, who tucked it in his waistband and tracked Sam with his own handgun. Only then did she approach the loyalist.

She'd studied this death strike as part of her training. She had the physical strength to do it. She'd been fortunate that her left shoulder, not her right, had been the one to suffer the dislocation. She'd be able to use her dominant hand today without aggravating that injury. Sam clearly wanted her to suffer. He probably thought she'd refuse his current request just like she'd refused a return invitation to his bed. He was wrong on all counts. 

"I should have known you were a traitor," Sam said, leering at her as she began to slowly circle around his side.

She heard Martin step up behind her, ready to strike her down if she faltered. 

She didn't.

The body crumpled at her feet. 

Before Martin could move to retrieve it, Laura bent and hauled the fallen soldier's torso up over her shoulders. Martin noted Ham's slight surprise, betrayed by a raised eyebrow, at Laura's display of physical strength. Interesting.

Calmly, Laura placed Sam's body with the others, collected her weapon from Ham and returned to her station at the console. She glanced over at Martin for permission, and receiving it with a nod, opened the door once again. 

Martin began to lose count as his hand lashed out again and again. He felt the bones yield under his touch, the life force freed from the body in an instant, the dead weight of flesh that he caught and laid in the corner. It didn’t get easier, but it became frighteningly repetitious.

A young woman held up her hand when Martin approached. "I request beheading," she said, almost daring Martin to refuse her with her posture and tone. 

He struck out and caught the body as it fell. "Request denied," he said softly, more to himself than anyone else. 

"She was trying to punish you with the mess?" Ham was surprised. He doubted Martin was squeamish. And you couldn't get a death much quicker or cleaner than the one Martin was providing. It was far more than the ugly bastards deserved. 

Martin nodded affirmation. "Those who will follow her don’t need to see that."

Ham shrugged. It didn’t much matter to him. He raised an eyebrow. "Are you allowed to ignore that request?"

Martin smiled ever so slightly as he answered, "No." Sometimes, being a traitor had its advantages. 

Laura admitted the next prisoner, another female. She looked around, obviously expecting to see blood on the floor. "You defy our traditions! And you invite a human to stand as a witness?" She turned to Martin and began to curse at him in Sirian. When he started to circle around, she turned, keeping him at her front as she continued her tirade. Ham tracked her with his gun, ever vigilant. The Visitor was too agitated to notice Laura, who moved in from behind and administered the death blow. 

She met Martin's gaze over the body he had caught as it fell forward. "I never did like her."

Ham snorted but refrained from commenting further. Laura was probably just as ugly as the other lizards underneath that fake skin she wore, but she was beginning to grow on him. He transferred his gun to his left hand for a moment, flexing his right so it didn't start to cramp. This was no time to get complacent. They still had six more to go, by his count. He watched as they filed in one by one. 

Most of them didn't even seem to notice the lack of blood on the floor. The ones that did, based on the way they seemed to stare at the floor, didn't comment. Even more than their repulsive skin, Ham hated the lizards' eyes. Their dull, unblinking gaze made it difficult to gauge intent. At least Martin had the sense to keep wearing his human disguise.

"Last one, sir," Laura said softly as she returned to the console and opened the panel. 

Martin let the young man's body fall to the floor. There was no need to move him out of sight. He studied the lifeless form for a long moment, then moved to a panel near the exit. He entered a command to drop the room temperature and lock the doors after a short delay. The doors opened, initiating the silent countdown. No one other than Lorraine had the ability to override it, which would allow them to decide if, and when, anyone would collect the bodies for disposal. Next, he opened a channel to central command and informed them he'd be in the officer's gym if needed. That done, he turned to Ham. "Thank you."

Ham nodded curtly. He didn't like Martin, but he did respect the lizard for what he had just put himself through. He uncocked and holstered his handgun and sauntered towards the exit. 

"Laura? Come with me." It was clearly an order, but the most gently administered order Ham had ever heard Martin give. He slowed, ever so slightly, wanting to see how this would play out. Zachary turned when he passed into the corridor, obviously anticipating that Martin and Laura would be right behind. After a long moment, Martin emerged, Laura trailing behind him with a slightly dazed expression. When she saw Ham waiting, she straightened slightly and picked up her pace. Zachary fell in behind them. The doors slid shut and Ham watched as the trio headed down the corridor. 

It had been an interesting afternoon. 

*****

Martin keyed open the doors to the officer's gym. "Zachary, under no circumstances will you allow humans to enter. Use the com channel if I'm needed, but I want these doors to stay shut and locked."

"Understood."

Laura followed him inside. Her face was blank.

"You handled yourself well." 

If she were human, she'd be crying. As it was, he saw the signs of shock setting in. 

He took her elbow and guided her to the sand area. He retrieved a pair of long staffs from the wall and pushed one into her hands. She looked at him, confused. They were still in full uniform.

"This is an outlet for your anger," Martin explained, and launched his attack. Instinctively, she countered his move. He attacked again, and she countered again. The movements broke through her shock and she attacked him with one of the moves he had taught her in their last practice session. 

As she unleashed her fury, he freed his own. This wasn't practice, but combat. He had the advantages of experience and strength, she of youth and emotion. They balanced each other nicely and he didn't have to hold back.

When he saw her exhaustion begin to compromise her reaction times, he tore at the front of her uniform, undoing the clasp. It startled her. Her eyes questioned as she watched him throw down his staff, and observed with detachment that her own hands did the same. 

He moved closer to her, digging his nails under the pseudoskin covering her neck. He pulled her mask up and over her head, freeing her from its confines. "This is an outlet for your grief," he explained softly, then pulled her down beside him into the sand.

*****

Lorraine began her shift, as she always did, by going to the conference room off of master control for an update. She found it empty. The crew on duty informed her that Martin was in the officer's gym. Lorraine quickly activated the ship's monitoring system, not wanting to disturb her commander unnecessarily. He hadn't indicated when he was going to perform the executions, but she knew he would never indulge in a workout under their current circumstances unless something extraordinary had occurred. Forty-three executions certainly met that criteria.

Any human would have been shocked at the tableau. Uniforms, torn in places, were scattered around the sand pit. Amongst the red fabric lay sections of pseudoskin, hastily peeled away from the bodies they had covered. And in the middle of it all, two naked Visitors, stretched out in the sand, sleeping. They were still touching, though far less intimately than they had in recent hours. 

Satisfied that nothing was amiss, Lorraine remotely turned the room lights to minimum and switched off the cameras. There was little chance of any of the humans recognizing Martin in his current state of undress, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. One never knew when a bored officer might scan the ship for something interesting to watch. 

*****