Independence Day: Crucible (The Official Prequel) (8 page)

“Oh, no,” he said. “It’s the look. You’ve got the look.”

“What are you talking about?” she said. “There’s no look.”

“There is most certainly a look, and you’ve got it right now.”

“Damn it,” she said. “How do you do that?”

“Native intelligence,” he said. “Long years of practice. Spill. Before you explode.”

“Okay,” she said. “Don’t make too much of this, but I was talking to Alice Tillman this morning—she asked me to coffee—and she said that they had been discussing me.”

“Discussing? Discussing sounds good. Discussing how?”

She was actually flushed. He hadn’t seen her like this in years.

“They think I should run for the Senate,” she said. “Crazy, huh?”

It hung there for a moment as David processed it.

“David?” Connie said. “Say something.”

“No,” David said, snapping out of his daze. “Not crazy. Not even mildly deranged. It’s terrific. You’d do a hell of a job.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Just think—I could be Mr. Senator Levinson. This calls for a drink. In fact, this calls for champagne. Which, ah—we don’t have, but I can go get some. Or better, let’s go out.”

She grinned, and her eyes flashed.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be this happy,” she said.

“Seriously?” he said. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve finally found my calling, so to speak. You found yours years ago. Like you said, it’s time to move on. If you want my opinion, I say go for it.”

“You know what?” she said. “I think I will. Thanks, David.”

“You never needed my permission,” he said.

“I never asked for it,” she replied. “I just wanted your blessing.”

“So blessed,” David said. “Now, where should we go for that champagne?”

“I’ve got some in the fridge,” she said.

“Of course you do,” he said.

* * *

How long it went on, Dikembe did not know. His brain began to refuse signals. Thoughts would not cohere. His existence became binary—pain, rest, pain, rest. The rest only because they did not want to kill him.

Yet.

And then, something changed.

He felt pain that was not his own.

In a red haze, he realized that he heard gunfire, and the aliens were screaming.

He also realized that he wasn’t in the grip of a tentacle anymore.

He came swaying to his feet, although his body was numb and he had trouble controlling his limbs. Across the squirming sea of exoskeletons he saw his father, standing upright on top of a tank, flanked by soldiers, many soldiers.

He must have brought them all
, Dikembe realized, every single man and boy in arms, and those men—his people, his soldiers—were dying in ranks, stepping over their own dead, moving implacably toward the knot of aliens clustered around him and his brother.

He felt a tentacle at his neck, and despaired. He knew what they were going to do. They had what they wanted, his father in front of them. He felt their minds all bending in the same direction, toward the
leader
.

He heard a savage cry, and realized it came from Bakari, who bodily threw himself at the alien attacking Dikembe. Bakari slammed his head into the alien mask—once, twice, again. It staggered back, and Bakari went after it, his eyes empty of sanity, fists swinging like sledgehammers.

Bullets began to spray all around them. Dikembe desperately tried to pull his twin down, but Bakari was pushing the monster back, slamming it to the rough earth of the savanna. An alien reaching for Dikembe staggered as bullets smacked into its exoskeleton.

“Bakari!” he shouted. He finally got hold of his brother and pulled him to the ground. A mortar shell went off, not too far away.

Dikembe rolled over and saw an alien weapon pointed at his face. He lurched up, finding more strength than he thought remained in him, and took hold of it, pushing it so the blast went over his head. He hurled the monster back and staggered away as AK-47 rounds chewed it up.

Then all of the aliens near them—all of the aliens, period—rushed toward the army, toward his father. Dikembe sagged back against the spaceship and slid down to the ground.

“Brother,” Bakari wheezed. He was lying on his back, a hand on his chest. Blood was leaking through his fingers.

“Bakari!”

“Hold my hand,” Bakari said.

Dikembe did so, although his own was trembling. He glanced at the front, where the aliens were piling into Umbutu’s forces.

“Let me try and find a medic,” he said.

Bakari only gripped his hand more tightly.

“Papa is wrong,” he said. “There is use in beauty, in creation. Leave this place, big brother. Go far away. Do what you were meant to do.”

“Maybe we should go together,” Dikembe said. “I know a good pub in Oxford…” He trailed off, feeling helpless and numb.

Bakari nodded, but he didn’t say anything else. Blood frothed on his lips and Dikembe sat with him, his heart breaking, afraid to leave him.

Long before the fighting was over, Bakari’s fingers relaxed and began to grow cool. The rain came, gently.

Steve Hiller was just giving the sauce another stir when Boomer lazily pricked his ears up and offered a muted
woof
.

“Ah, yeah,” he said to the yellow Labrador. “Is it that time?” He glanced at the clock, then went to the front door and opened it just as Jasmine and Dylan were getting out of the car. Dylan made a beeline for him. Hiller scooped him up and spun him around. He felt a twinge in his ankle, a souvenir of his time in Russia and the last active fighter mission he’d flown.

“Ah, shoot,” he said, setting him down. “What’s your mama been packing in your lunch, bricks? I can hardly pick you up anymore.”

Back on the ground, Dylan looked around with a slightly worried expression—probably hoping none of the kids in the neighborhood had seen him hugging Hiller. He was getting to be that age, wasn’t he?

“Go on in and put up your backpack and lunch box,” he told Dylan. “Do you have any homework?”

“Yes sir,” he said.

“Take an hour of downtime, okay? And then we’re on that sh—
stuff
. You and me. Okay?”

“Okay,” Dylan said, and he scurried off.

“I hope it’s not sentence diagramming,” he told Jasmine as she put her arms around him. “It really ain’t my strong suit.”

She kissed him, and he gave his full attention to that for a bit—and he didn’t care who was looking.

“You’re home early,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you until Tuesday.”

“I could tell,” he said. “That dude I found here when I showed up was surprised, too. I had to put a whoopin’ on him.”

“Well, good,” she said. “I’m glad to know you’ll still fight for me.”

“Every time,” he said.

She crinkled her nose.

“What’s that I smell?” she asked.

“Mama Hiller’s house special spaghetti,” he said. “Figured you’ve had a long day and might appreciate the evening off.”

“You’ve got that right,” she said. “My thoughtful man.”

“And how about you, young lady?” he asked. “Do you have homework?”

“Actually, I do,” she said. “Anatomy and physiology.”

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Hiller said. “I’ve got an advanced degree in that. I can think of several topics to assign you right off the top of my head.”

“Really?” she said. “You think you can just bust in here, givin’ out assignments—you best go stir that spaghetti sauce, or it’s gonna burn.”

“I’m gonna stir somthin’,” he said, but then he smelled the char in the air. “Shoot,” he said, and he hurried back to the stove.

“It’s all good,” he said, stirring. “That’s how mama did it. Brings the flavor.”

He turned off the burner.

* * *

After homework, they had supper. The sauce was a little burnt, but no one complained. Dylan claimed to like it better that way. When they finished eating, he and the boy did the dishes, while Jasmine did her reading.

“I can’t get over it,” Steve said, rinsing a plate and handing it to Dylan to dry. “You’re shooting up like a weed. Can you dunk yet?”

“Not really,” Dylan said.

“Well it won’t be long,” Hiller told him. “Then watch out. So how do you like third grade?”

“It’s okay,” he said.

“Okay? How bad can it be? You know, back in my day, if you couldn’t answer a question you got blasted by a fire hose.”

Dylan grinned. “I don’t believe that,” he said.

“Well, it was way harder back then,” Hiller said. “Let’s just leave it at that. You have a girlfriend?”

“Dad!” he said. “No, man! Girls are nasty.”

“Really?” Hiller said. “Nasty, huh? Does that include Patricia?”

“That’s different,” Dylan said. “She’s my best friend, not my girlfriend.”

“Yeah, you two get along, don’t you,” he said. “That’s good. Have you worked out what you wanna be when you grow up?”

“Well, sure,” Dylan said. “I want to be a pilot, like you.”

Hiller felt a swell of pride, but he tamped it down.

“That’s one choice,” he said, “but I want you to know that you can be anything you want to be, son. You don’t have to follow in my footsteps, or anybody’s. And as long as you do what you choose with passion, and conviction—I will always be proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Dylan said.

Hiller smiled. Back when he and Jasmine were dating, Dylan always called him “Steve,” and that was okay. They got along, and it would have been weird if the kid had called him anything else. Even after they got married, the boy kept calling him Steve, and he didn’t give it any thought. Neither did Jasmine.

Then one day, a few months ago, they had been on a playground, and Dylan introduced him to another kid as “my dad.” Afterward, on the way home, he said,
“Thanks, Dad. I had a good day.”

It had almost taken his breath away, shaken him up in a good way. It wasn’t that he loved Dylan any more after—he already loved him. He couldn’t explain how it had changed him, even to Jasmine, but it had, and even though he had been in outer space, his world now seemed infinitely bigger.

He let Jasmine do the good-night stuff—he was gone a lot, and Dylan liked the routine he was used to. Afterward, Jasmine joined him at the kitchen table.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s have it. What’s going on?”

“What makes you think anything is going on?” he asked.

“Because I know you,” she said. “You’ve got something on your mind, and you’re being shy about it.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“So let’s hear it.”

He cleared his throat. “Okay, well, see—there’s this new thing they’re starting. The Earth Space Defense—”

“I watch the news,” she said.

“Well, see, one part of the program involves developing aircraft with new… capabilities.”

“Like that thing you flew up into space,” she said. “The one you crashed and nearly died in.”

“Pretty much exactly like that,” he said. “Since I’m the only one that’s ever flown one, they thought I might have some valuable insights.”

She leaned back and folded her arms.

“You mean you’re going to be the monkey they put in their experiments,” she said.

“No,” he said. “Well, yes, eventually—but it’s gonna be years before we have anything ready for a test flight. Meanwhile I’ll be working with the program, helping with development, working out training programs for pilots and all of that.”

“And where will all of this be happening?” she asked.

“Nevada, mostly,” he said.

She sighed.

“I know,” he said. “You’re in school here. That’s great—”

“It’s not about me,” she interrupted. “I can get my nursing degree anywhere. But Dylan—he’s in a good school. There aren’t many of those these days, what with everything going to the military. I want him to get into one of the STEP schools, and here he has a shot at that. I don’t know about Nevada.”

“Well, I checked,” he said. “It’s not a good situation for kids his age. They say there’s gonna be a STEP school near the base, but that’s a little down the road.”

“Steve—”

“I know,” he said. “I’m not suggesting that you move, at least not now. Look, you dated a military guy. You married one. I think you knew what you were getting into. The fact is, I might see you guys more this way. No more long deployments. I can take three-day weekends.”

She looked away, and when she looked back at him, her gaze was intense.

“I was fully prepared to be a single mother,” she said. “I worked hard, I didn’t complain, I kept my eye on the prize—and the prize is that boy, grown to be a good man. A successful man.”

“Baby, I want that too,” he said.

“I know you do,” she said. “I also know you want to be a damn astronaut. Even before you got that one little taste of space. Now…” She trailed off.

“Here’s the thing,” Hiller said. “I didn’t say yes.”

She paused and looked at him, her gaze softening.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“That I would think about it,” he replied.

She was silent for a moment.

“Tell them yes,” she said.

“I don’t think—”

“No,” she said. “Don’t start. When you asked me to marry you, I promised myself one thing—that I would never give you cause to regret it. And I stand by that. You tell me that we can make this work, and I’ll believe you. Then you have to do it, you understand?”

“Jasmine, I need you to be sure about this.”

“Do I sound sure?”

“You sound like you want to beat my ass,” he said.

“Well,” she said, placing her hand over his, “I don’t. Or maybe just a little.”

He started to make a quip, but instead he laced his fingers into hers.

“I love you, Jasmine,” he said. “I don’t regret a second I’ve ever spent with you. Or with Dylan.”

“I know that,” she said.

* * *

Dikembe was at his father’s bedside when he awoke. The older man’s eyes searched restlessly for a moment before fixing on him.

“Bakari?” he whispered.

“No, Papa,” he said gently. “I am Dikembe.”

“Dikembe,” he said. “My dear boy.” Tears welled in his eyes. “They told me Bakari was dead,” he said.

“Who told you, Papa?” Dikembe asked. “You’ve only just awakened. You’ve been asleep for more than a month.”