Trespassers: a science-fiction novel (29 page)

He tapped his pocket to make sure he had his wallet. Inside that wallet were his credentials
—
a nice government photo, a metal badge, and an official-sounding title. These credentials usually went a long way to keep him out of trouble. Credentials were no guarantee against dogs or farmers with shotguns, though.

His current wallet had been purchased for him by his wife. Contrary to popular belief, federal agents are not issued convenient flip-out wallets for their credentials. They are given ID cards, credential certificates, and badges in a plain manila envelope. Before Mrs. Bruner made his life a whole lot easier by purchasing a flip-style wallet, more often than not, Bruner would find himself flashing a credit card, library card, or gas card when declaring that he was representing the federal government on official business. Tiring of hearing these stories, his wife put an end to all that when she presented him with a simple $49.95 leather wallet with a folding outer sleeve. Now, with one flick of the wrist, Bruner always looked like a proper federal agent, right off the TV screen.

As he moved across the lawn toward the farmhouse, he was ready to flick that wrist. But he didn
’
t see anyone to flick it at. He made his way up the steps of the porch and poked the doorbell. Bruner wasn
’
t expecting an alien to come to the door. He was expecting to be greeted by the homeowner. And he hoped that homeowner could answer a few questions about a stranger who claimed to be in search of a weather balloon. Bruner didn
’
t buy that weather-balloon story for a second. It sounded to him like a cover for someone who was snooping around.

Bruner always kept an eye out for others who were in search of aliens. He knew there was a lot to be gained from them and didn
’
t want to miss out on anything they might have discovered.

Bruner could hear movement inside the house. The long, wooden planks of the floor creaked under the weight of moving feet. He turned and gazed out across the yard as he waited. He wondered where this
weather-balloon chaser
had headed. Many people who claimed to have seen UFOs often took up the search for aliens on their own, after their reports were summarily dismissed by the authorities. Bruner suspected that this
weather-balloon chaser
was just such a person. The door behind Bruner opened with a deep resonating creak. He turned to see Jin standing in the doorway.

“
Hello, my name is Karl Bruner.
”
He flipped his wrist and his wallet flopped open perfectly.
“
I
’
m with the Alien Research Agency.
”
He had learned long ago not to beat around the bush. Many people would chuckle at the thought of a federal agency dedicated to alien research, but Bruner found it best to be right up front about it.

Jin was not chuckling. The words
Alien Research Agency
struck him exactly the wrong way. He was instantly breathless and slipped into a panic. What he did next was about the worst possible reaction he could have had.

In Stewart
’
s office, George had taken up residence in a chair across the desk from Stewart, and he got right to the business of drawing up the paperwork to assign a new military specialist to Stewart
’
s team. It was as routine as a handshake around here. Military specialists flow in one door and out another. Stewart
’
s gaze broke from the paperwork that George was filling out and landed on George
’
s bald spot, which hasn
’
t been filled out in decades.

“
Actually .
.
.
”
Stewart thought hard as he heard these words coming out of his mouth.
“
I think we
’
ll keep him.
”

“
Ha!
”
George chuckled and pushed the form over to Stewart, along with a pen for him to do the signing.

“
I
’
m serious.
”

This one military specialist was proving to be the surprising exception. New Guy hadn
’
t asked to be reassigned. He hadn
’
t mentioned reassignment at all. In fact, as Stewart reflected on it, he didn
’
t recall seeing any of the telltale traits of insurrection or mutiny. As difficult as it was to accept, New Guy hadn
’
t given any reason to be replaced.

George cocked his head, befuddled.
“
Well, a group of scientists can
’
t really hold a marine against his will, now can they?
”

“
I think he wants to stay,
”
Stewart said.

George gave it a brief thought.
“
Did he actually
say
that he wanted to stay?
”

“
You know these guys never say anything.
”

George nodded agreeably and slowly retracted the paperwork and the pen. George was that rare type who had piles of red hair springing from the sides of his head while at the same time being mostly bald. If you were to draw him on a napkin, you would invariably end up with an unmistakable portrait of a circus clown. However, in real life, there was nothing clownish about him. He had a certain dignity and aged charm.

“
Still though,
”
George said,
“
we better get him in here and be sure.
”

On that advice, Stewart called New Guy into the office and, with George watching on, put the question directly to the stoic marine, who was standing with that certain muscular posture they all seem to have.

“
Do you want to stay on the team?
”
Stewart asked.

New Guy
’
s pupils shifted ever so slightly to meet Stewart
’
s.

“
Sir?
”

George quickly spoke up, like the voice of legal counsel,
“
You
’
ve completed your tour of duty here, and you now have the option of being released so that you can be reassigned to another position .
.
. outside of the Limestone Deposit Survey Group.
”

New Guy
’
s pupils slowly floated over to George.

“
So, do you want to stay .
.
. or do you want to go?
”
George asked.

New Guy weighed this decision carefully, with Stewart and George hanging on his every lack of expression.

“
I
’
ll stay, sir,
”
New Guy responded.

“
Ha! Told you.
”
Stewart gloated. George deflated into his chair, having lost the unspoken wager.

“
So, let
’
s tally it up. I was right about the deployment to the Aztec mines, the appointment of the CIA director, the cover-up of Flight 417, and the Russian Space Station. And now you have one
—
the whim of a marine,
”
George said, as he always did after losing one of their little wagers. It was his modus operandi to list out all his major victories and pit them against his latest defeat. It was his way of minimizing it. Stewart just smiled. He enjoyed this part as much as the winning itself. He had come to think of it as the victory ceremony: a congratulatory speech doled out in the only way George knew how.

They were interrupted by the odd sound of a marine speaking when not spoken to.

“
Sir,
”
New Guy interjected.

Their attention shifted to him.

“
I don
’
t believe I
’
ve been properly briefed.
”

“
Briefed?
”
Stewart asked.

“
Sir, is there somewhere that I can learn more about the aliens?
”

Eureka! George and Stewart felt it at the same time, and their jaws fell open in amazement. This was the first time a military specialist had used the word
alien
in a way that wasn
’
t derogatory or part of a request to be reassigned.

“
You see,
”
Stewart whispered to George, knowing full well that the marine could still hear him,
“
he is one of us.
”

Just then, the phone on Stewart
’
s desk clicked and a green light appeared. Telephones didn
’
t ring in the state-of-the-art, underground facility known as
Home
. They just made a simple click and illuminated with a green glow.

Stewart lifted the handset.
“
Yes?
”

“
Mr. Faulkner,
”
the voice of one of the operators from the main switchboard replied,
“
you have a call from Lyntic Faulkner.
”

The last name
Faulkner
was obviously a cover, to allow Stewart to play it off as a relative, if need be. It wasn
’
t the last name that caught Stewart
’
s attention, though. It was that unique first name.

“
I have to take this,
”
Stewart said, holding the phone against his chest.

George rocked himself out of his chair.
“
Let
’
s give him some space to work his magic,
”
George called out to New Guy, who was already exiting.

When the door closed behind them, Stewart took a deep breath and straightened himself in his chair. Since the hotel, his mind had been clouded with images of Lyntic. He had been subconsciously working out a plan to find her. It had not occurred to him, subconsciously or otherwise, that she would find him first. He pressed the phone against his ear.

“
Put her on.
”

There was a click, then her voice.
“
Stewart?
”

Lyntic stood in the living room of the farmhouse, holding the receiver with both hands, as if she was afraid it would slip out of her grasp. This was not an easy call for her to make
—
it had been so long, and there was so much between them now. She didn
’
t even know whether the number would still work, but it was one she knew by heart.

Her big brother, Dexim, peered around the corner with the kitchen phone pressed to his ear, monitoring the call, a coiled phone cord tethering him to the far wall.

“
Are you there, Stewart?
”
Lyntic asked.

“
Yes.
”
This sounded colder than he wanted it to.

A list of warm greetings filed through Lyntic
’
s mind, but she skipped them all.

“
We need to meet,
”
she said, matching the chill in his voice.

“
Okay,
”
Stewart replied, still failing to find the friendly tone he was searching for.

“
We need your help,
”
she said.
“
When can you be at North 40
°
23
’
47.53
”
and West 86
°
20
’
34.84
”
?
”

Stewart squinted and gave it some thought. They were both accustomed to speaking in latitude-and-longitude coordinates.

“
Two hours.
”
He grabbed a pen.
“
Now, give me those numbers, again.
”

Lyntic repeated the coordinates, and he jotted them down. Then they finished with a cold
good-bye
and returned their phones to their cradles. Dexim nodded with cautious approval.

Alone in his office, Stewart leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. His mind drifted back to Stone Ridge Cabin, overlooking the lake. It wasn
’
t the memory of interrogating Denokin that took center stage. It was a much more distant memory, when Stewart and Lyntic used to go there, just the two of them.