Catch the Lightning (17 page)

As we drove away from the guards, Joshua blew out a gust of air and Heather closed her eyes for a moment. We rode through gently rolling hills, headed west with a line of other cars. After a few minutes, we reached the main base. It was the size of a small city, but with a practical look about it, too functional for a college, too sedate for an industrial complex. Other cars were pulling off the road, but we kept going, straight on through the base and back into the desert.

Althor made
_:
a strange sound, a small explosion of breath. Turning to follow his gaze, I saw a distant scaffolding out in the desert, one that resembled an unfinished skyrise about eight stories tall. In a different direction, a gleaming silver airplane was mounted on a pedestal, like a fat rocket with short wings and a needle nose. It looked familiar, but I couldn’t place why.

Althor was staring at the plane. “That’s an X-l.”

Heather turned around in the front seat. “A what?”

He pointed at the plane. “An X-l. A real one.”

“Yeah, it’s an X-l,” Daniel said.

Althor grinned. “I’ve read about them. I never thought I would see a real one, though. Does it still fly?”

“I don’t think so,” Daniel said.

Althor indicated the scaffolding “What about that lift? Is it for the space shuttle?”

Daniel glanced at it. “That’s right.”

“ ‘The Six Million Dollar Man,’” I said.

“What?” Althor asked.

“It’s an old TV show,” I said. “The opening showed the crash of a plane that looked like that X-l.”

“That was actual NASA footage,” Daniel said. “The real pilot survived.”

Heather was watching Althor. “It must seem dull compared to what you’ve seen.”

Althor laughed. “Aircraft are never dull. I’ve liked them since I was old enough to shoot a rocket in the air and watch it come down.”

Heather smiled, and Joshua’s surprise made yellow loops in the air. It was the first time any of them had seen Althor laugh.

Daniel turned onto North Base Road. Another security checkpoint lay ahead, across from a temporary trailer. We stopped and a milcop looked our IDs over, comparing them to a list on his clipboard. He motioned to a small lot by the road. Two other cars were parked there, with milcops going over them. “Pull in there.” He tilted his head toward the trailer. “While we inspect your Jeep, you can get your site badges.”

“Sure thing.” Daniel sounded relaxed, as if he did this all the time. I still wonder how he managed it. True, he had been to the base before with his mother. But to say the circumstances of our visit were more difficult is an understatement.

Daniel parked and we climbed out of the Jeep, smoothing our wind-blown clothes and hair. The heat blazed. Neither Daniel nor Althor put on their jackets, but Althor let me fix his tie. As I pushed up the knot, he muttered something about “bizarre barbaric custom, tying a rope around your neck.” I smiled. I knew a lot of twentieth-century types who agreed with him.

Inside the trailer, a man behind a counter checked our IDs. Althor stood at the back of our group, tall and silent, dressed in his conservative suit, blending with the scenery. To fit our parts, the rest of us needed to look older. Heather and I managed with business suits and makeup, and Daniel with a coat and tie, but nothing we did helped Joshua. Heather finally changed his age to twenty-two in the file, and we kept our fingers crossed that they would take him for one of those brilliant types who can earn a Ph.D. practically as a kid. It wasn’t that far from the truth. The man finished with Daniel and turned to me. “ID.”

I handed him my MIT card, certain he would find a mistake. But he just typed at his terminal and gave me back the card. He . took Joshua’s next and typed again. Then he stopped and peered at the screen, his forehead furrowing.

We all tensed. I felt it, like plastic pulled tight around us.

The man glanced at Joshua. “Chakrabarti? That’s an Indian name, isn’t it?”

Joshua regarded him with innocent blue eyes. “Yes, sir. My mother was Swedish.”

He gave Joshua his ID and motioned us all toward a doorway. “Marjorie will take your pictures and give you badges.”

I tried to relax as the photographer snapped our pictures. But I kept wondering if this was how it felt to have mug shots taken. Incredibly, she just gave us our Yeager badges and let us leave. We walked outside into searing sunlight, with the Mojave Desert stretching out around us.

The milcop waved us over to the Jeep. “You’re all set,” he called. Daniel raised his hand in acknowledgment. Everything was fine until Althor halted in the street, his fingers pushing against his temples.

We stopped next to him. “What’s wrong?” Joshua asked. When Althor didn’t respond, I pulled on his arm. “Come on.” For the first time Daniel’s outward cool slipped. “We can’t stop here.”

Althor dropped his hand. “**** * ***”

I stared at him. “What?”

****** * * *55

Heather swore under her breath. “What’s wrong with him?”

The milcop walked over to us. “Is there a problem?”

Heather pulled a tissue out of her purse and blew her nose. I thought she was nuts—until I saw the milcop turn his attention from Althor to her. “What’s the problem?” he asked.

“Hay fever.” Heather sniffled. “The pollen is killing me.”

“You and half the base.” The milcop shook his head. “Some people do fine with over-the-counter treatments. But if it’s already causing you trouble, you may want to see a doctor. Spring is hay fever hell here.”

Heather smiled wryly. “Thanks. I’ll look into it.”

He nodded and headed back to his post. As we started walking again, Daniel spoke to Heather. “How did you know about the hay fever? You sound like you really have it.”

“I do.” Heather griffiaced. “He wasn’t kidding about hay fever hell.”

Joshua was watching Althor. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Althor said.

“What happened?” I asked.

“The Jag.” Althor’s accent was stronger now. “We’re close to it. I tried to reach it. It’s damaged. Some from before, but also some new.” Sweat sheened on his forehead. “What they’re doing to my brain—I can’t—I’m losing ability to integrate functions.”

“What’s going to happen if they don’t stop?” Daniel asked.

“I don’t know.” Althor walked faster. “I don’t want to find out.”

We took the Jeep up North Base Road. As we neared North Base, its three hangars grew out of the desert. They were gorgeous, shaped like cylinders with rounded roofs, each painted a different background color: blue, green, yellow. Their most striking feature, though, was the murals on them, colorful scenes of aircraft soaring through the sky.

“Hey.” Joshua was staring at the hangars. “Cool.”

“Your air force makes pictures on hangars?” Althor asked. “Why not?” Daniel said.

“Never seen it,” Althor said.

We parked near an office building. Across the lot, a walkthrough security check broke the expanse of a chain link fence. We headed for the checkpoint, wind ruffling our hair. Heather sneezed and blew her nose.

Daniel went first at the security check, holding up his badge.

The milcop took it, looked at the picture, looked at Daniel, and nodded for him to go past.

I stepped up and held up my badge. After the guard checked it, he considered me. “How long have you worked at MIT?” Stay calm, I told myself. “Three years.”

“What’s a byte?” he asked.

I heard it as “bite.” I concentrated on him, trying to guess why he would ask such a strange question. All I could pick up was that he didn’t think I looked like a computer whiz.

“It’s part of a computer,” I guessed.

He waved me past and let the others by with a badge check and a nod. Then we were through, and staring around at North Base. It didn’t look like much, a few buildings baking under the sun. The lake bed stretched out beyond it, parched dry.

Daniel glanced at me. “You’re lucky that guy didn’t know much about computers.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“A byte isn’t part of a computer. It’s eight bits. Eight ones and zeros.”

“She convinced him,” Joshua said. “That’s what matters.” Althor looked around as we walked. Milcops in berets and green camouflage uniforms patrolled the area with dogs. Squat vehicles rumbled by, each one like a cross between a small tank and an all-terrain cockroach. “They have a lot of security,” he said.

“The ThreatCon is probably Charlie,” Daniel said.

Althor looked at him. “What does that mean?”

“ThreatCons are for possible terrorist aggression. Alpha is situation normal. Bravo is the next step, then Charlie. Delta would be a full base lockdown.” Daniel grimaced. “If you get your plane, you can bet this place will go to Delta.”

Heather was going through the papers they had given us in the trailer. “We’re supposed to go to a security briefing No, wait. That’s this afternoon. Right now we see our contact. Dr. Robert L. Forward.”

“Hey,” Joshua said. “He won the Goddard Prize in 1981.”

“Goddard Prize?” Althor asked. “What is this?”

“An award in rocket science. He got it for work on antimatter propulsion.”

“If they’ve already discovered the Jag uses antimatter propulsion,” Althor said, “they may realize it has interstellar capability.”

“Does that matter?” Heather asked.

“Sooner or later they will realize I’m here without a mothership.” He grimaced. “I’d rather they thought someone was looking for me.”

We came around the corner of a building, into view of the hangars. Up close they were even more impressive, murals drawn in bold detail, showing fighters soaring in cloud-streamered skies, above lush countryside or desert landscapes. The yellow and green hangars were closed. Blue was open, but a canvas hung in its doorways weighted to keep wind from blowing it around. A fence surrounded the structure, with a guard booth and gate where it met the hangar. Scaffolding supported by cement dividers towered next to the hangar.

“That’s odd.” Heather indicated the milcops with dogs patrolling inside the fenced area. “They have no guns.”

“It’s a precaution,” Althor said. “They don’t know what happens if bullets hit the ship.”

“You sure it’s not going to blow?” Heather asked.

Althor exhaled. “No.”

Then it happened. As someone left the hangar, a gust of wind grabbed the canvas and flipped it into the air—revealing the beauty inside. The Jag looked like an alabaster sculpture, its hull a blaze of white in the sunlight slanting into the hangar. Its lines were so clean, it seemed ready to leap off the ground and soar into the air by itself.

The canvas fell back in place.

Heather whisded. “That’s something.” Daniel and Joshua’s faces mirrored her reaction.

“Is so close,” Althor said. “If I could just reach it.”

Two milcops waited at the hangar security check, a man and a stocky woman, both armed with handguns. We showed our badges again, Daniel first. The woman nodded him through and he went to the gate, waiting for us. As the man turned to Heather, the woman checked my badge. I stood as still as possible, trying to look innocuous.

She nodded. “Go on.”

The man was checking Althor’s badge. He seemed to take forever, peering at the picture, then at Althor. As the woman let Joshua by, I went to the gate and waited with Heather and Daniel, trying to relax.

Finally the man passed Althor through. Daniel took out his copy of the key-card they had given us at the trailer and turned to the gate. A box that resembled a telephone keypad hung on it. While the milcops watched, Daniel swiped his card through the slot on the box and typed his code into the keypad. He pushed on the gate and we waited, hot desert wind fluttering our hair.

Waiting.

Daniel muttered under his breath. “Must have made a mistake.”

Heather spoke in a low voice. “Try again, I think you get three times before an alarm goes off.”

Daniel swiped his card and entered the numbers again. This time when he pushed, the gate opened.

In. We were in. Althor’s face showed no reaction. But his.heart jumped so hard it registered on my senses like the clang of a mallet on a gong.

As we headed for the hangar, a call came from the milcops behind us. “Wait there.”

We all froze. Heather turned, somehow managing to look casual. “Yes?”

Both milcops came over. The man spoke. “Don’t forget to change into the white coveralls before you enter the craft. You’ll find them in the locker inside.” He paused, studying Althor. “Sterile environment, you know.”

Althor .nodded." “Of course.”

“Well, then.” He considered us. “Go on ahead.”

As we turned back toward the ship, relief poured over me. A few more moments and we would have what we came—

“Wait,” the woman said. When we turned, she was frowning at Althor. “What’s on your face?”

“My face?” he asked.

“There.” She pointed to where sweat sheened his temples and soaked into his hair. “That. It looks like makeup.”

“It’s lotion,” Heather said. “He has poison ivy.”

The woman continued to watch Althor. “I don’t see any rash.”

“It’s covered,” he said.

Reaching up, she rubbed his temple. Her fingers came away smeared with foundation—and a gold streak showed bn his face.

I felt the milcop’s explosion of recognition. I doubt she recognized him from the sketch on the news; it strained credibility that she would associate a leather-clad tough with a bearded, blue-suited scientist. More likely, milcops assigned to the ship were given descriptions of Althor, complete with the oddities, including his gold skin.

She grabbed for her gun, but Althor moved faster, with enhanced speed, whipping up his leg while he threw his body forward. It took him a bare second to knock them both out. As they crumpled to the ground, someone outside the fenced area shouted.

Althor grabbed Daniel’s arm and ran for the hangar, yanking Daniel along, nearly dragging him. We ran after them. What else could we do? He obviously meant to use Daniel as a hostage, which hadn’t been part of our deal, but unless we intended to desert him now and let the milcops detain us, we had no choice but to follow his lead.

As we veered around the scaffolding, three milcops ran out from the hangar. None was armed, but they brought two dogs with them, a black one and a lean red monster. One of the milcops shouted, and the dogs bounded toward us.