Chapter Twenty-four

Back in the meeting room, the latest intel from a spy informing their every decision, Jared began to lay out a strategy for a joint attack. "Veckus is at our specified location, and that means your number one guy is ready to be taken out. I'm talking this is the bin Laden of the Antousian alliance, at least here on Earth."

Colonel Peters studied him, jaw slack. "This is the alien behind the attack at Warren? That's what you're telling me, Commander?"

Jared walked toward the table, braced both hands on it, and stared deep into Peters's eyes. "I'm telling you this: that Veckus Densalt is the motive force behind almost every evil move these aliens make on this Earth. I've seen his face firsthand, Colonel, and I've been his captive. You do not want Earth to fall into his hands. We also have"—Jared hesitated, looking toward Jake—"unusual intel that reveals the possibility of Earth's destruction under his leadership. The missiles at Warren? They were just the first of his schemes. Together, we must protect this planet at all costs. My own planet has experienced untold suffering as a result of this species. Don't let it happen again, not here on a planet that I dearly love."

Colonel Peters rubbed his jaw. "He has two hostages, you say—FBI linguist Hope Harper, and then your man, this Lieutenant Scott Dillon, whom we held at the base."

"Yes, and I can give you the coordinates—but it has to be a joint attack."

Chris Harper joined the discussion. "What about the FBI's involvement?"

The colonel turned to Agent Harper. "You apprise them of the situation, but the USAF will go in with Bennett on this attack."

"They might not like that arrangement very much," Harper warned, raking a hand through his spiky blond hair.

The colonel slapped his hands on the table, giving Chris a chastising look. "Son, you knew the stakes coming into this place. We're in the lead on this show, not you and your suits."

"I want to come along." Chris rose to his feet, turning to Jared in supplication. "This is my sister we're talking about. I don't care who's running things; I'm good with a weapon, and I want in on this fight."

Jared didn't want to overstep his bounds, so he deferred with a nod of his head to the colonel, who said simply, "Give him back his weapon, and he can tag along on your flight."

Chris marveled as the aircraft catapulted out of the hangar and into the Teton Mountains. All this time, and the aliens had been right under his nose; all this time, and they'd kept the forces of their revolution here—hidden completely. How many years had Jared and his crew battled it out from this location so near his office in Jackson? Two, five, twenty? It was impossible to say, but after what he'd witnessed there at Jared Bennett's base, he had a grudging respect for the alien leader. The man knew what he wanted, and it seemed—at least so far—that his primary intention truly was protecting Earth.

It was bizarre to think of an alien loving this planet the way that Chris and so many of his own kind did. But after five years in the FBI, nothing much surprised him anymore. Human nature—or alien nature, for that matter—always seemed to take the turn you didn't expect. Bad guys turned good; good ones went rogue. You couldn't count on anyone to do exactly what you'd expect—sometimes not even yourself.

Harnessed in, he stared out the portal window, watching the first pink of morning color the mountaintops. It had been more than a day since he'd slept, but he didn't dare shut his eyes now. What he needed was coffee, something to give his system a jolt. And he said as much to the Refarian soldier buckled in beside him. She laughed, and called into some kind of communication device on her wrist; shortly thereafter a man appeared with a tall disposable cup.

"What's this?" He stared at the steaming contents of the Styrofoam mug in his hand.

The woman beside him grunted. "Coffee."

He gawked at her in disbelief. "Aliens like java?"

"Our commander is a coffee freak, Agent Harper. That simple. Drink up."

He took a tentative sip, wondering if this might simply be a plan to poison him. But it tasted like coffee—and not just any old coffee at that: a fine blend that made him close his eyes in deep pleasure.

"Thank you," he said, and wondered just how similar these Refarians might really be to humans in the end.

Veckus's strategy kept on changing. He and Hope had been harnessed together, completely naked and bound as one in strong loops of reflexive metal. Perhaps Veckus was conducting some sort of psychic experiment, trying to see how lovers would react beneath the cruel and merciless bindings. Then again, maybe he still hoped to secretly watch them make love, to see exactly how they'd circumvented the metal bindings once before. Whatever the warlord's motivations, Scott couldn't begin to guess at them, although the constantly shifting ground rules were starting to play havoc with his mental state. Undoubtedly that was part of Veckus's plan.

The skin across Scott's back was bleeding and raw, and it hurt like hell being pressed up against Hope's own much softer back. He tried to focus on the comfort of sharing a physical connection with her, not on the stinging flesh across his shoulders and lower back.

At least her condition had stabilized again—for now. But her current status did nothing to allay his fears for her health and well-being. Scott watched as in the far corner of the room, the Antousians talked, bent over schematics of some sort. Gods in heaven, he hoped it wasn't a map of their compound. Blinking his eyes, he dared to soul-gaze a bit, heightening his vision in an attempt to see what the group was planning. What he came up with was certainly unsettling.

They were poring over detailed plans for Warren Air Force Base. Clearly Veckus hadn't given up that fight.

Damn it all to hell. He had to get free. Against his back, he felt Hope shift her weight.

"Hang in," he whispered under his breath. "Maybe the worst of this has passed."

He had absolutely no reason to believe his assertion was true, but it sounded good, at least. She had gotten through her diabetic shock, so he wasn't entirely talking out of his ass.

She leaned into him, nudging at his backside, and he sensed her unspoken words—felt them shimmy through his core being. I know we'll get out of this.

That was what he heard, the words penetrating his heart as surely as if she'd spoken them.

We will, he transmitted back to her. We have a future. Hang on to that.

He couldn't be sure if they were really speaking within each other's minds, or perhaps he was already so far gone that he'd begun to spirit-slip her all over again. Whatever the case, he closed his eyes and lost himself in the moment of pure, innocent communication.

For an instant he wavered along the thin membrane of exhaustion and, opening his eyes, saw Hope standing on the beach at Mareshtakes. A smile formed on his lips—she'd brought him home. It had been years since he'd seen the multicolored rocks along this shore, felt the waves roll over his bare feet. Hope stood along the beachhead wearing a large straw hat, completely naked, otherwise. And more gorgeous than he had ever seen her, the sun gleaming along her bare skin, practically making her human body glow.

Come to me! she called joyously, waving him closer with the hat. Let's make love!

He began running toward her, feeling the warm, wet sand beneath his bare feet. A discordant sound interrupted their reverie right as he swung her into his arms, turning her in a circle. A jarring, erratic one, like the peppering of hard rain against a rooftop.

Together they stared up at the sky, she splaying both hands across his chest. She shielded her eyes, and he did so, too. Overhead, a full squadron of Antousian fighters split the bright blue sky.

"Now, sweetheart! Now, now! Run!"

Jolting awake, Scott found that their bindings had fallen away from their bodies, probably because of the intense and pleasurable emotion they'd shared in their dream—but that wasn't the first thing he registered. The entire warehouse was lit up like a bonfire, pulse flares peppering the floor all around them. Wordlessly, he took hold of Hope's arm and began shuttling her along the wall.

"Stay with me!"

She bent low, mirroring his quick, careful steps. "Is it your people?"

"No idea. Just follow me!" He kept to the wall, and then there was a long hallway, already filled with smoke. His eyes burned, and he tucked Hope into the crook of his arm protectively. "Keep going. We're going to find safe ground."

She did as he said, and under her breath whispered, "You warned me. In that dream. You were there, and so was I—and you told me what was happening."

He gave her a light shove as they reached a turn in the hallway. "The flowers?"

"Yeah, and those horrible planes."

For a moment he paused, sucking in a breath. All around them gunfire and pulse rounds sounded explosively, riving the walls in every direction. At the end of the narrow and dilapidated hallway he caught sight of a stairwell. "I see our target." He gave her another forceful tug. "I'm getting us out of here!"

With pulse fire nipping at their heels, they sprinted in unison—she into what was almost certainly darkness, he with their objective in clear sight. They hit the stairs so hard that they slammed into the wall, but he didn't pause or hesitate. "Come on, Hope. We've got to get up there."

One minute Veckus had been contemplating his coming victory at Warren, and the next the entire warehouse had exploded into flaming bursts of ammunition rounds. Running down the back hallway, he headed toward the grain shaft. It would be the best place to wait this skirmish out while his troops did their job. He hit the stairway, taking the steps two at a time, but all at once a massive hand took hold of his neck.

"Oh, no you don't," a rumbling voice said, twisting him back up against the wall of the stairwell.

Veckus's eyes bulged as the giant of a man—Refarian, he could smell it—placed a stranglehold about his throat. "Where are they?" his enemy demanded, looming over him with frighteningly bright green eyes. He was a gazer. No, no, he wasn't Refarian … this was an Antousian-human hybrid, one who just so happened to smell like his enemy.

Sucking at the air about him, Veckus grasped at his throat. "Brother," he tried lamely, but the enemy roared back in his face.

"Where are they?"

He moved his head, tried to speak, flailed his arms. At last the obscenely large creature released him, and he bent double, erupting in a seizure of coughs.

"I … don't know," he claimed lamely. The brute raised his fist again, making as if to push him against the wall. "Wait! Tell me who you want."

"I want my comrades."

Veckus wasted no time; thrusting with the knife he'd hidden in his sleeve, he stabbed the man deep within his belly—and got absolutely no reaction. Not so much as a blink or a flinched muscle. Nothing. The large freak was an impenetrable fortress. Veckus stabbed again, his blade swiping at the air between them, and the hybrid batted his weapon away as if it were a mere annoyance.

"I'll gaze you if I have to," his enemy threatened, "and you know where that can lead."

For the first time in many years, Veckus felt himself tremble from fear. Gazing could lead to soul dividing; he'd never been on the receiving end of one of his own kind's gifts. "Give me a minute," he begged. "Dillon … and that human, that's who you want?"

"And damn well you know it."

"I honestly have no idea … I—I had them here, but in the chaos, they … escaped," he stuttered.

The stranger's eyes began to glow, becoming two bright spheres within his dark face. "I've waited for this moment for a very long time," the man said.

Veckus shook his head. "No, don't … not yet. I can help you."

"Really? How?"

Veckus sought for a strategy, but for once in his life all his game plans failed him. "I don't know where they are," he admitted. He had never planned on this particular result.

"Then there's only one thing you can do for me."

"Anything! Anything at all."

The man's eyes brightened to knifepoints, spearing into Veckus. "What you can do for me," he said calmly, "is die."

And with that, the hybrid's eyes sharpened to laser points, reaching into Veckus's internal self, plying and tearing at him like ravening claws.

Veckus tried to scream, tried to break the man's piercing, dividing gaze, but couldn't look away.

"Call me Jakob," the giant rumbled, and it was the very last thing Veckus heard before he felt his soul literally divide into a million shards of darkness.

Chris rounded a turn in the smoke-filled hallway, and found Jake Tierny standing over a crumpled figure. "That's your man," Jake told him, wiping a hand over his brow.

"The bin Laden of this crew—that man?" Chris asked, staring at the fallen alien.

"Dead to the core."

"We could have questioned him." Chris's temper flared; they hadn't come this far to lose the opportunity for interrogation.

"You can question the rest of us, and we'll actually cooperate." He nodded, glancing down the hallway. This little pissing match didn't matter, at least not right now. Hope was somewhere in this warehouse, very possibly still in grave danger.

"We have to find Hope."

Jake pointed up the stairs. "They're up there."

"Did you see them go up?" he asked, not sure how the alien was so certain of his sister's location. The man only smiled in return, a strange kind of smile that Chris couldn't read.

"Trust me. I just know where she is."

"Then let's stop wasting time," Chris shot back, barreling up the staircase.

Hope reached the top of the rickety stairs, and Scott took hold of both her shoulders. "We're safe up here, I think, at least for now."

Below them there were voices, and she wondered if he could hear them, too. She knew her hearing had become very keen in recent months, even as her eyesight faded.

"Someone's down there," she told him, and he stiffened beside her.

She listened as he walked a short distance away, his footsteps echoing off the sound of decaying wood. "This is a grain shaft," he hissed. "There's a long, spiraling tunnel."

She pressed against the wall behind her. "What are you saying?"

"Nothing yet."

But she got the picture, all right; if they were cornered, Scott meant for the two of them to go barreling down that shaft as if it were their very own water slide. Only no water—and no idea of where they would land.

She listened intently, and heard footsteps down below. "Someone's coming!"

Scott grabbed her arm, jerking her forward into the darkness that always enveloped her. "We've gotta get out of here."

"No—wait." Something told her that whoever was on the stairs below wasn't their enemy.

But all at once an explosion rocked the stairwell, driving her down to her knees and causing a rushing wind to rend the very air between them.

Jake! It was Jake, here trying to rescue them. Only she didn't have time to explain that twisted, bizarre story to Scott, not right now. If the two of them came too close together it could possibly destroy them both.

"Scott! That grain shaft—we need to take it, and fast!"

His strong arms wrapped about her, and she hugged him back until they were formed together as one unbreakable line. "On my mark, and I'll lead us in. Three, two, one, now!"

With a slight tumble she found herself spiraling through darkness, clinging to Scott as her feet caught against   metal   and   wood   beams   and   thousands   of prickling invasions of her body. Round and round and round they went, down and down. She wanted to throw up, and if not for Scott's unrelenting hold on her, she probably would have.

Just when she thought she'd pass out from the upending plummet, they crashed against softness. Thank God that something had cushioned their fall.

Beside her, Scott groaned. They'd landed in a smallish pile of old grain or feed or something like it. The smell was stale and mildewy, and she covered her nose with her sweater sleeve. Groping in the darkness, she felt Scott's leg.

"I'm all right," he told her preemptively. "You look okay, too."

"Look, if I'd wanted to go to Wild Waves, I'd have told you so," she joked, and he chuckled softly in return.

"As in, you ride those sorts of things? Like with water in them?"

"You really have been living on Earth."

Out of nowhere she heard thundering footsteps, a group of them, and her whole body tensed until a very familiar voice cried, "Harper! Thank All!" It was Anna, and she felt the alien's arms wrap about her neck. "You're safe now—we've totally decimated the bad guys."

She buried her face against Anna's shoulder, crying despite herself. Anna continued, "Now, this guy? I might just leave him here for all the trouble he keeps causing me."

"Hey, now." Scott grunted. "Show a little respect to your commanding officer."

"Respect this!" Anna countered, and although Hope couldn't see the gesture, she had a pretty good idea that certain things crossed galactic lines.

"That's funny," a male voice interrupted, "I was just going to teach you a few things about respect." Hope heard several weapons engaging.

"Crap," Anna muttered under her breath, pulling apart from Hope.

"What's going on?" Hope asked, glancing wildly about the dark, confined area.

"That's Dayron, one of Veckus's understudies."

Scott spoke next. "We can talk about this—you know you're surrounded."

"And I just might want to take you out before I go," Dayron replied smoothly.

A weapon jabbed into Hope's ribs. "Get up, human." She struggled onto her knees, feeling the ground to gain her balance, but a noise behind them all caused her to hesitate. It was thundering, like a rushing, metallic river—and was coming right from the grain shaft that she and Scott had barreled down just moments earlier.

"What's that?" Dayron shouted. "Whoever it is, I'm going to kill them."

The sound of gunfire echoed off the interior of the shaft. "FBI! FBI! Drop your weapons!"

Tears welled within Hope's eyes; it was Chris, already firing a warning shot before he'd fully landed. More gunfire erupted, and then a few shouts as Hope felt herself thrust to the ground beneath Scott's body. "Keep down," he warned her hoarsely.

She nodded, but then there was only the sound of heavy breathing and shuffling steps. A hand clasped her arm. "Get up—now."

Oh, shit, she thought with a grin, tears streaming down her face. Atop her, Scott stiffened, still covering her with his body. "It's okay." She gave a grunt, shouldering him. "That's my brother, Chris."

"That's all you're gonna say after I just saved your ass?" her twin barked, dislodging her from beneath Scott and jerking her to a standing position.

"It's freaking great to see you!" She flung herself into his arms. "Does that work better?"

She could tell he was about to release a few explosive words, but they were interrupted by several USAF soldiers, people dragging them in various directions.

"We're still going to talk," Chris warned her, and no matter how menacing he was trying to sound, she just couldn't stop smiling at him.

Outside the warehouse, Scott was shocked to see a full array of human military personnel. Air force, as unbelievable as that was to take in. Someone had thrust a blanket around his shoulders, and he surveyed the brightly lit landscape all about the warehouse. In the middle of their battle morning had arrived, bringing bright, sparkling daylight to the blanket of snow. Out of the mayhem Marco McKinley appeared, leading him toward a waiting medical transport.

"I want to go with Hope," he argued, but McKinley held up his hand.

"I need to debrief you on a few things," the Madjin warrior told him. "You need to come with me."

Scott halted. "I want to go on the transport with Hope—what, I can't do that? After everything that's just gone down? Besides, since when do you call the shots?"

McKinley put an arm around his shoulder and kept walking him farther and farther away from the warehouse. "I'll explain it all en route, sir."

"No. Right here, right now." He stood his ground, refusing to take another step.

"Maybe I'm the one to do the explaining," Hope called out, walking toward him with her hand through the crook of Anna's arm.

Scott scowled at her, whipping his gaze about the area surrounding the warehouse. There were so many soldiers—Refarian and human—he couldn't quite determine what was going on.

"He needs to get on that transport, Ms. Harper," McKinley argued.

"Fine, and I'll go with him. I can talk to him on the way to your base."

McKinley cast a cautious look about them—and suddenly Scott understood. Everything came driving home with the full impact of a battering ram. "It's Jake Tierny. You don't want me encountering him again. Because of what happens when we do."

Hope's expression grew grim, but she said nothing.

"Is that what happened in the stairwell?" He raised his eyebrows, glancing between Anna and McKinley, but neither seemed willing to talk.

"Let me do it," Hope said, and a gnawing feeling of dread began to build inside of him.

"Hope!" Scott spun to find Chris approaching her. "Hope Harper, I swear to ever-loving—"

"Don't you dare start with a lecture!" Hope's entire demeanor changed. She'd already encountered Chris briefly by the grain shaft, but there hadn't been time for more than a few words between them. Now it seemed the siblings were about to have some sort of colossal reunion, and Scott could see the duo was already bucking for a fight. Scott stifled a grin; he'd never had a brother, at least not a natural one, but he knew how things could get between him and Jared on occasion.

"Lecture?" Chris approached her, his blond eyebrows knit together in a stem expression. "A lecture? Hello, sister darling, you just about got yourself killed—"

"I am fine!" She slugged Chris hard in the arm, punching at him again as he ducked away.

Scott watched in amusement as the twins battled it out, then hugged and held tight to each other. Marco gave his arm a slight tug. "I really think they need some time," the warrior whispered quietly. "And there are things you need to understand."

His words brought Scott back to their conversation—to the fact that Jake Tierny posed some sort of unique threat, a personal one to him and him alone. "All right then," he agreed. "Let's board the craft and you can tell me everything."

Scott sat on the floor of his shower, letting the water pelt him across the back. Marco had been right—he definitely needed time to process these new facts. What could you say when you learned of a life terribly led? One of death and murder and madness?

What could you possibly do when you learned that a future version of yourself had done the one thing you'd always sworn you wouldn't do: assume a human's body?

He leaned against the shower wall, pressing his eyes shut. Sure, he'd stopped a killer, but that the motivation had been Hope's murder? The murder of their unborn daughter? He felt physically ill with the reality of it all.

"She'd been sick," McKinley had explained in even tones. "Her diabetes caused a lot of problems in her pregnancy."

And all Scott could think, sitting here on the wet floor of his shower stall, was that he'd been the one—undoubtedly he had—who'd prevented her from getting the genetic therapy she needed. The same fears that were propelling him in this time had driven him in that alternate life as well.

The gnawing anxiety that if she took the therapy something—anything—might go horribly wrong.

Hell, even knowing how it had ended for her, he still felt that way.

What of Jake Tierny, no less? He had a future version of himself loping about the camp, laying claim to the woman that he loved—he, Scott Dillon. He'd be damned if Tierny would have her, no matter what he'd shared with her in the future. Except that, according to Marco, Jake had been absolutely certain about one point—the man had no plans to get in the way of Scott and Hope's relationship, not in any way.

Honorable bastard. So like me, he thought, to do something that foolish and shortsighted. How can he let her get away?

Staggering to his feet, the welts on his back stinging from the impact of the water, he turned the nozzle off and just stood there. Stood and thought for a very long time. Hope was down in the medical area, getting treatment. He'd heard from Shelby that she was going to get the laser surgery done today as well.

Definitely, he needed to go see her. Now, not later. Only something—some invisible hand or force—seemed to pin him right here, in the shower. Inside his quarters; it just kept holding him away from her.

He couldn't begin to think what that force might be.