TITLE: Destiny Pushes Back

AUTHOR: Catlover

ARCHIVE: WWOMB. Anyone else - Just ask.

FANDOM: V: The Series

PAIRING: Michael Donovan/Martin & M/F (Original characters)

SUMMARY: The population of the Los Angeles Resistance faces internal and external strife on the day Angela and Ringo’s first child is born. Meanwhile, Phillip seeks the source of Diana’s influence over the Leader.

RATING: NC-17 for slash content and violence

NOTE#1: Once again, this story touches on and celebrates romantic feelings shared by two males. If this bothers you then you need to be elsewhere.

NOTE#2: After writing a number of slash stories, I have come to the conclusion that Note#1 is an annoyance made ever more frustrating by the fact that I don’t have to tag a heterosexual warning on any of my het stories. But, I digress. On with the story!

"You will be in one of the mother ships. The angry man will be there, too.

He’ll try to save you, but he’ll die on top of you. A Visitor soldier

will shoot you in the head to end it all."

"When?"

"Soon."

- Caitlynne, foretelling Angela’s death

from Just Beyond The Fear

On the morning Jackson Ryan was born, the final preparations were being made for a joyous occasion - Two members of the Resistance were going to be married in the common areas. Stepping from their rooms, the population of this well-hidden complex entered the common areas, greeting each other with a scream of delight, a nod of the head, a chest-crushing embrace, a wet kiss on the cheek or a pat on the back. In the hallways, older women rustled by, bending their widely smiling faces toward each other as they gossiped and preened. In the garage, men gathered around the hung-over groom and his similarly afflicted best man. With rough voices and hearty laughter, the men pulled the slightly green guest of honor to his feet. Throughout the facility, whispered screams caused a commotion by calling for the location of a pair of high heel shoes, a lonely absent glove, a ladle for the punch bowl and the ring onto which the best man was supposed to be holding.

In a room nestled toward the end of the first corridor of living quarters, the thundering sound of lead-filled feet belonging to four teenage boys jarred Martin out of his once peaceful repose. After jerking up onto his right elbow and darting his eyes around the room for a second, Martin allowed the tension to empty out of his shoulders as he rolled his head to the right and looked down at the sleepy, creased eyes of his lover, Michael Donovan.

Lazily, Michael reached a hand up. Gently, Mike cupped Martin’s cheek as he chuckled softly. "Ahh Martin, aren’t you ever going to stop looking around when you wake up? Would it help if I promise that I’ll never make you punch yourself out?"

Shaking his head, Martin lowered himself down until his cheek rested on Michael’s left pectoral muscle. Sighing loudly, Martin bathed in the heat of his mate’s body, snuggling closer, wrapping his muscular arms and legs around Mike. Looking up at Michael’s chin, Martin replied, "I’ve been doing that for roughly twenty-three years, Mike. I don’t think it’s going to go away overnight."

Yawning widely, Mike nodded. "I hear ya, Martin. I guess I’ll just have to live with it."

Laughing under his breath, Mike’s body shook with the force of his mirth-filled tremors. As he pressed his right hand, fingers spread wide, against his chest, Mike wrapped his left arm more tightly around Martin. "It’ll be a sacrifice, but somehow…I’ll get by."

Quickly, Martin rose up on his left elbow and looked down at Mike with a smile on his face. "Well, by all means don’t put yourself out for my sake."

Running his left hand through Martin’s blond hair, Mike reached up and cupped Martin’s cheek with the palm of his right hand. "Yeah, well, lucky for me you’re worth the effort."

Drawing Martin’s handsome face complete with smiling lips and rolling eyes down, Mike smiled as he pressed his lips against Martin’s. Soon, Martin’s hands traveled up Mike’s waist, tickling the human’s ribs as he gripped Mike’s flesh. At the same time, Martin’s right knee found itself thrusting between Mike’s knees, pushing Mike’s thighs apart. Eagerly, Mike spread his legs, welcoming the familiar weight of Martin’s body.

Parting his lips, Mike granted Martin’s bifurcated tongue entrance. As Martin started wrapping his agile muscle around Mike’s blunt tongue, just outside their door, a cacophony of high-pitched, shrill female voices screamed for several seconds, creating an ear-shattering din.

In response to the extreme clatter, Martin ripped himself away from Mike. Rolling toward the wall, placing his hands over his ears, Martin growled, "Must they do that?"

Placing a soothing arm over Martin’s shoulder, Mike almost got up to tell the girls to stuff it when the noise ended and the girls thankfully moved on. Spooning Martin from behind, Mike pressed tender kisses against the back of Martin’s tense neck. After a moment, Mike asked, "You okay?"

Lowering his hands from his ears, Martin nodded. Looking over his shoulder, Martin strained to see Mike’s face. "I guess you better get ready for the wedding now."

After pressing a firm, lingering kiss to Martin’s shoulder, Mike inquired, "Come with me?"

Looking back at the wall, Martin sighed sadly, "No. Mike, we’ve been through this before. A couple should only have the people they invite, they want, at their joining. My being there would be wrong."

Pressing his forehead against Martin’s shoulder, Mike shook his head. Firmly, Mike allowed his brow to rub against the alien muscles. "Joinings are a Sirian custom, Martin. Things are different here on Earth."

Pulling away, Mike sat up, smacking Martin on the bicep to gain his full attention. "On Earth, a bride and groom are expected to run the gauntlet of unwanted guests. It’s a tradition. For example, Margie hated the ditzy girls my buddies used to date, but she kissed each one on the cheek when it was their turn at the reception line. Those girls were not invited, Martin. My buddies were invited and they brought the girls along. I was invited to this wedding and as an invited guest I can bring whomever I want and this young couple will be expected to be gracious and deal with it. It’s all part of the tradition, you see."

Pulling back his covers, Mike dragged his naked body out of bed. Walking around the room, Mike continued to press his point as he dressed for the wedding. "So you see (yanking on his only pair of good slacks) if you don’t show up then this young couple (pulling on a chocolate brown, button down shirt) is going to be deprived of an important part of their wedding day. (buttoning the shirt and tucking it in his black pants) Besides, if you don’t go, I’ll be bored out of my mind. (zipping up his pants) So, if you don’t it for them then do it for me. (fastening his belt and slipping on his shoes) What do you say?"

Nibbling slightly on his lower lip, Martin stared at Mike intensely before getting out of bed. Rolling his eyes straight up at the ceiling, Martin let out an extended heavy sigh. "Help me find something to wear."

Looking down, Martin continued, "And, put some socks on."

--<{()}>--

As the sun crested over the towering skyscrapers of Downtown Los Angeles, Angela Ryan struggled to sit up on the edge of her bed. Pressing her lips thin, Angela cursed under her breath. Slowly being driven crazy by the incessant itching of her scales that began several weeks before, Angela rubbed the palms of her hands over her chest and shoulders. A couple times, Angela’s nails grazed the false flesh, snagging onto the fake flesh only to be retracted before actually tearing the thin covering.

Exhausted, Angela looked over her shoulder at her sleeping husband while clutching their rough, navy blue blankets with a desperate strength. Squeezing her eyes shut, she allowed the smallest whimper to escape her bitten lips as she endured the intense pain that signaled her child’s approach.

After the pain subsided, Angela managed to stand and reach for her thin, red, cotton robe. With a hushed moan, she drew it over her satin, azure blue nightgown. Just as the belt was knotted, she paused. Looking down at the smooth material, she considered changing her favorite nightgown, knowing the mess that was to come. Shaking her head lazily, Angela decided against it.

Shuffling as quietly as she could, Angela shoved her swollen feet into a pair of fuzzy white slippers she hated. She smiled as she shifted her feet into the ugly, terry cloth covered pieces of foam rubber. Her body shaking mirthfully, Angela relished the good excuse for getting rid of those pitiful examples of foot apparel.

Walking to the door, Angela looked one last time over her shoulder at the still sleeping face of her Human mate, her husband, before reaching for the doorknob. Opening the door, Angela managed to get out of the room. Taking a few small steps down the hallway, Angela felt a jerking cramp as the protective waters surrounding her child decided that that would be the perfect moment to break out of her womb and splash onto the floor.

Five young girls, two of whom were wearing A-line, sea foam bridesmaid dresses, witnessed the rupture and the messy, green blood and muck filled discharge. Instantly, the girls raised their voices in high decibel squeals as they raised their hands in a futile act to screen themselves from the pea soup-tinged splatters of mucus filled water. In response to their screams, Angela raised her eyes in a weary, annoyed fashion before spreading her robe and grasping the hanging length of her gown, shaking free the viscous droplets in the direction of the young women. Horrified, the girls gasped and hastily exited the scene.

Sighing loudly, Angela made her way down the hallway. As she passed her neighbor’s door, Angela could make out the muffled voices belonging to Mike and Martin. Smiling faintly, Angela paused for a second beside the door, pressing her ear against the wood, before continuing on her way.

By the end of the hallway, Angela could feel her child growing heavier. Pausing to take a breath, Angela placed a hand flat against the adjacent wall as her child pressed harder against her core, seeking escape. Wiping the cold sweat from her brow, Angela took a shallow breath and trudged on. Scraping her feet against the dark gray, concrete floor, Angela turned left at the corner when a familiar voice sounded behind her.

"Attention K-Mart shoppers, clean up on aisle eleven," sneered Ham Tyler as he stepped gingerly around the splash zone. Trotting over to her, Tyler stood a few feet away and stared at Angela’s still dripping nightgown and matted slippers. "Damn, girl! I guess you’re planning on spitting out that half-breed of yours today, aren’t ya?"

Allowing her shoulders to slump, Angela cocked her head back, stepped closer to Tyler and sighed, "Probably."

Glancing down the corridor in the direction Angela had been headed, Tyler stepped a couple footsteps closer to Angela, raised his right hand and thrust his thumb in the opposite direction. "You are aware that the infirmary is that way, right?"

"Yeah. So what?" responded Angela in a gruff voice.

"So…" Looking over his shoulder, Tyler glanced at the corridor leading to the infirmary before directing a leering, curious eye at Angela. Taking an absent-minded step toward Angela, Tyler found himself flush with her abundant stomach. Lowering his right hand, Tyler took special care to avoid coming in contact with Angela’s trembling abdomen. Taking a wide step back, Tyler twisted his face into a grimace. "So, go take a shower and clean up this mess while you’re at it."

That said, Tyler turned on his heel and proceeded down the corridor, heading for the Main part of the compound. Shaking her head, Angela turned around and hobbled down the corridor that led to the back entrance as she mumbled, "I swear. If it weren’t for Caitlynne’s prediction I would just kill that man, now."

--<{()}>--

The April afternoon marked the four-month anniversary of Diana’s dominion over the Los Angela area. To date, none of the persistent attempts made to wrench the city from her had worked. Not even the traitorous Inspector General, Phillip, and his legal maneuvering could overturn the Leader’s edict granting sovereign power over the Los Angeles area to Diana.

After securing Los Angeles, Diana began a series of sweeps with her usual arrogance. Repeatedly, Diana and her troops swept down out of the sky, grabbing any person in sight. Efficiently carrying out their orders, Diana’s forces performed unthinkable experiments with a single goal in mind - To locate a replacement for the clairvoyant, Caitlynne.

Unable to rally support beyond the blackmail and influence she wielded against the Leader, Diana found herself limited to a sole haystack - the Los Angeles area - in which to dig up another needle. Not that it bothered Diana. No, she was confident. Somehow this would all work out in her favor. Of that, she was certain.

Therefore, it was with pride that Diana watched the city below her surge up to greet her as she stormed towards it. Smirking cruelly, Diana looked out on the quickly advancing streets and flushed at the joyful sight of the new specimens that had ventured out that morning. Desperately, Diana hoped that one of the creatures now running from her soldiers would be the one to make lightening strike twice and help her reap the rewards denied her when Caitlynne took her own life.

Balling her hand into a fist, Diana remembered the boards, the committees, the countless influential Sirians to whom she presented her plan for victory. Slamming her fist against her thigh, Diana recalled how each door closed in her face until she was left with only one avenue to pursue. Slowly rubbing her self-inflicted bruise, Diana conjured up the memory of the Leader’s red eyes flashing with impatience and sadness as she subtly mentioned how her happiness could ensure his own.

Without an ounce of guilt, Diana mused about how sweet a thing irony could be. How it was the same law that made Phillip a threat that made her strong. She had to bite her tongue to ward off the laughter that threatened to bubble up at the memory of the Leader’s televised edict. Instantly, a picture of Phillip’s frustrated face filled Diana’s mind. At last, Diana couldn’t contain a smile from spreading eagerly across her cruel features.

--<{()}>--

As Diana’s shuttlecraft sliced through the low-lying clouds, Angela Ryan stumbled out of the Resistance compound through a heavy, well-camouflaged back door. Dutifully, Angela closed the door and replaced the camouflage. Soon, the doorway was invisible to anyone who didn’t know what to look for.

Breathing hard, Angela leaned against a portion of actual wall. Digging her nails into the red brick exterior of the compound, Angela winced as she lowered herself down onto the hard ground. Almost immediately, the small of her back began to ache, but Angela ignored it as she reached out and petted the mound of Earth that indicated the exact position of Caitlynne’s unmarked grave. Kicking off her rotting slippers, Angela gripped her right shoulder and proceeded to tear away the pseudo flesh covering her irritated scales.

Finally free to scratch, Angela moaned in relief as she dug her claws into the leathery, dark green scales at the base of her neck, lifting up the edges of the scales to reach the irritated skin underneath. Growling in rage, Angela could taste venom in her mouth as she proceeded to rip away another wide swatch of pseudo flesh. Now that she was started, Angela couldn’t stop. Soon, what remained of the false skin on her chest look like the jagged, square collar of a peach-colored dress she just happened to be wearing under her faded red robe and blue nightgown.

If this were Sirius IV, if her mate were Sirian, she would not be filled with the worry she was now. She would know that the initial pain she felt would be the worst of it and in a short while the egg sheltering her child would drop from her body. The longest labor she ever heard of was two and a half circuits long - just enough time to watch a movie on this planet. However, this was no normal Sirian birth.

Just last week, Juliet had warned Angela that human deliveries often went on for many hours and sometimes even filled whole days. Slapping her right palm against her forehead at the thought, Angela allowed her jaw to fall open as she once again wished her child could have had a shell. Instead, this small being would fight its way out of her. Already, she could feel him wrestling inside of her, trying to reach the optimum position for departure. In contrast to the clean, speedy unraveling of flesh and brief period of straining associated with the fluid expelling of an smooth, aerodynamic egg, Juliet informed Angela that the odd form of an unfettered baby often delayed delivery and could result in tearing and bruising. Of course, right after dropping this bombshell, Juliet smiled and tried to reassure Angela that her delivery would most likely be free of incident.

How comforting!

Reclining uncomfortably, Angela forced her right hand to return to the mound of dirt. Gently, Angela allowed her fingers to sink into the settling Earth. Once her right hand was covered with soil, her left hand went limp, splayed wide across her chest.

"Soon," sighed Angela.

Turning her head to look at the grave to her right, Angela whispered, "The past few months have been the most wonderful moments I’ve had in a long time. I embraced time as you said to and I tried to make each day count, but when the pain woke me up this morning I remembered what you told me about the day I will die. I wish you were here. I wish I could ask you - how soon is soon."

"I’ve never told Ringo about that Christmas morning. I was afraid he just wouldn’t understand why I had to drag you to that room and stick a gun to your head. Humph. I don’t want to be afraid anymore, Caitlynne, but I want to keep destiny away. I’ve thought a lot about this and I’ve come to one unwavering conclusion. So long as I’m pregnant, I can’t march into that mother ship. I won’t be going out on missions. After I deliver. Now, that’s another story altogether."

"Once I’m fit, I know I will return to duty. I know this because when I left my planet and everything I loved I did so with a mission. I was going to save the human race. It was the job I signed up for and I cannot retreat from it. I couldn’t call myself a Sirian if I did."

"So, I…I will fight and I know that I will die in battle and while I care, I will not. I will not…will not run from my duty. In so doing, I will- I know. I will never see my children grow up. I will make a widower of my husband. I will lose every chance of ever going home, of ever seeing Sirius IV again. But, that was a price I always knew I might have to pay for following my convictions. I…ow…I…"

Looking down at the mound of Earth, Angela’s head rocked back and forth loosely as if she had lost all the bones in her neck. She felt very dizzy all of a sudden and oddly enough she realized that she could once again feel gentle waves of fluids draining out of her womb. Rolling her head in jerky, wide arcs, Angela’s head found it’s way upright, leaning against the red brick wall. Staring blurrily at the high walls surrounding her, Angela concentrated on a small patch of blue sky, entranced by how it blurred in and out of focus. Soon, focusing was impossible. As darkness started to frame her field of vision, Angela wondered if maybe Caitlynne could have been mistaken.

CHAPTER TWO

As the morning marched on, the compound came together beautifully. In the common areas, white and lime green streamers twirled across the ceiling as oval-shaped chain links, meeting in the center where a cluster of eight white balloons hung down from the ceiling, hiding the cracked plaster completely. Fifty folding chairs were arranged in two columns with five rows each and a center aisle that ran down the middle from the doorway to a makeshift altar consisting of a chest of drawers turned away from the audience with a white, satin sheet draped over it and a couple silver candlesticks on top. In the far corner of the room, beside the altar, a Priest glanced about the room with twitching eyes, pulled out a white linen handkerchief and dabbed his forehead every couple minutes as he stood talking to friends of the happy couple.

On the third seat in from the center aisle, in the last row, on the left from the door, Ham Tyler sat sprawled out on a small chair. His left leg was extended but slightly bent at the knee while his right ankle knocked against the metal bar running under the aluminum seat. In his regular attire of a thick, cotton, button down work shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans, Tyler sneered at the others in the room and dared any of their silk covered, starched seam, linen wearing asses to come tell him anything about his appearance.

With his chin pressed against his chest, Tyler slouched in the seat with his hands absently placed on his hips. Occasionally, he would rapidly tap his left foot while muttering to himself through blatantly moving lips. Through the doorway, people came and went without gaining as much as a shrug from Tyler in greeting until Ringo Ryan and his six-year-old daughter, Elisa, stepped into the room.

Instantly, Tyler’s eyebrows rose sharply as he watched them walk over to the third row of seats where one of the compound’s teachers was seated with her husband and teenage son. Intently, Tyler watched Ryan lean over and whisper a question to the teacher while Elisa stood behind him. Hanging her head, Elisa held her hands tightly behind her back. Tyler watched as the thin woman, sitting in her seat primly shook her head in response to Ringo’s inquiry.

As if on cue, Martin and Mike choose that moment to enter the room. Tyler slid his ass to the back of his seat, drew his knees up and hunched himself over his lap. Following Ringo’s quick stride, Tyler mouthed a mumbled curse as he watched him go up the aisle to intercept Mike and Martin before they reached their seats. Turning in his chair, Tyler gripped his knees tightly as he saw Ringo hang his head in response to Mike and Martin’s shaking heads. Turning away, Tyler pushed back his shoulders before pushing off the aluminum frame beneath him.

Winding up to his feet, Tyler rocked back and forth on his heels a few times before scooting out to the center aisle and turning toward the doors at the back of the room. Directly in his path were Ringo, Martin, Mike and Elisa - a now visibly shaking, little girl. Drawing near, Tyler caught of trace of a conversation between them:

"…I just don’t know where else to look, Mike. I’m really starting to worry. I haven’t seen her since we went to sleep last night. When I woke up this morning, she was just not there. No note. No nothin’. You guys live next door, you didn’t happen to notice anything strange or odd, did you?" asked Ringo with a trembling voice.

Leaning toward Ringo, Mike answered in a hushed whisper. "I don’t know what to tell ya, Ringo, except for almost running over one of the clean-up crew guys as we left our room today, we haven’t seen or heard anything out of place."

Breathing a cut off sigh, Tyler walked toward the three males only to deviate from his path. By the door, the Leader of the Resistance had just walked into the room and Tyler focused on intercepting her.

Stomping his feet, Tyler approached Juliet from behind. Clearing his throat loudly, he announced that he was standing directly behind her. At the sound, Juliet’s shoulders tensed. Turning reluctantly, Juliet flashed weary, creased eyes at Tyler.

Before Juliet could say, "What now?" Tyler leaned toward her and whispered, "I saw Angela Ryan heading for the back of the compound this morning."

His mission completed, Tyler strolled back to the seat he recently vacated, pulled up his pant legs an inch and sat down heavily.

Suddenly, Juliet’s eyes opened wide in a surprise that quickly turned to concern. Staring at the back of Tyler’s balding head, Juliet stood in a stunned silence for a few ticks of the clock before her gaze was drawn to Ringo’s anguished face.

Crossing the few feet that separated them, Juliet touched Ringo on the arm, garnering his attention. Ringo quickly let Juliet in on the current mystery. With a confused look on her face, Juliet glanced over at Tyler before returning her attention to Ringo, Michael and Martin. Never quite shaking her bewilderment, Juliet commented that she had a theory about where Angela might be found. Quietly, Juliet directed the three males to follow her. Still uncertain, Juliet exited the room, heading for the back of the compound.

Opening the back door to the compound, Juliet gasped at the sight of Angela sitting on the ground unconscious with her green scales shouting out for attention. Rushing to Angela’s side, Juliet felt the nape of Angela’s neck where the neck met the shoulder and was rewarded with a weak pulse. Touching the visible scales, Juliet couldn’t quite keep herself from recoiling from them.

Getting back on track, Juliet cleared her mind and returned to the examination. Making a mental list of injuries, Juliet noted that Angela’s scales looked jagged and torn, the flesh underneath irritated and raw to the point that drops of green blood slowly congealed on small tears. Inspecting Angela for any other wounds, Juliet opened Angela’s mouth and felt her throat. Juliet chewed her lip when she didn’t find any obstructions in Angela’s esophagus. Looking down Angela’s limp form, Juliet noticed the damp edges of Angela’s nightgown. Pulling the thin azure material up, Juliet’s concern soared at the sight of the widening pool of green blood forming between Angela’s thighs.

"We need to get her to the infirmary right now!" ordered Juliet as she pulled the gown back down.

Quickly, Ringo ran to his wife’s side, kneeling down beside Juliet. Taking Angela’s left hand in his own, Ringo gasped at the sight of torn off scales and blood trapped under her jagged, cracked fingernails. Showing the tattered nails to Juliet, Juliet glanced at Angela’s chest before nodding her head.

At Juliet’s direction, Ringo slipped his arms under Angela’s shoulders and knees. Cradling her against his broad chest, Ringo got to his feet. Only then did he notice the circle of green blood staining the pavement. Juliet recognized the panic in Ringo’s eyes and grabbed his upper arms from behind. Slipping her hands up his shoulders and neck until she was grasping his head, Juliet forced Ringo to look away from the blood, shaking him free of the trance it summoned.

"Ringo. Take Angela to the infirmary now. I’ll be right behind you." Juliet patted Ringo on the back and directed him towards the door.

Holding the door open, Martin stood stiffly, staring at a piece of Angela’s false flesh lying on the ground by his feet. With a stern expression, Martin watched as Ringo passed him with the limp ex-security officer held securely in his arms. When Juliet came near, Martin heard her mumbling to herself. "…Tearing at the neck is a sign of obstruction…No,no,no… I checked her airway. I didn’t find anything or even scaring to indicate something had lodged loose. So, why? An infection, maybe?"

"She did it to relieve the irritation," offered Martin.

Looking up, Juliet’s mouth was agape. "Irritation? What irritation? She never mentioned anything about irritation?"

Stopping in his tracks, Ringo glanced over his shoulder at Martin. "Julie’s right. She hasn’t said a thing about that."

Martin’s eyes narrowed in contemplation. Gesturing toward his own neck, Martin said, "I expected this to happen weeks ago. All Sirian females scratch under the scales on their neck and chest toward the end of their pregnancy."

Nodding, Juliet motioned for Ringo to keep going before turning to Martin. "Martin, will you come with me to the infirmary. I’m going to need an experienced eye to guide me through the examination."

Motioning "you first" with a wide sweep of his arm, Martin nodded slightly before following Juliet and Ringo down the hall. Passing Michael in the hallway, Martin’s eyes flashed a warning of doom before sweeping his gaze at Elisa and back up at Michael’s worried face.

At the sight of her Father carrying her Mother down the hall, Elisa started wailing piteously. Quickly, Michael slid down to one knee and wrapped his arms around Elisa. Between cries of "Ama!" and "Daddy?" Elisa frantically struggled to free herself from the iron shackles that were Michael’s grasping hands. Lifted into the air, Elisa continued to cry as Michael hoisted her into a cradling embrace and followed the others as they made their way to the infirmary.

Using his shoulder to slam the infirmary door open, Ringo swiftly entered the lab. Crossing the floor quickly, Ringo gingerly placed his wife on the nearest stainless steel examination table. Returning from a nearby counter, Juliet positioned herself at the foot of the table and unfolded a set of stirrups. Reaching behind her, Juliet grabbed a stool and pulled it over, sitting down at the base of the table.

Signaling Ringo and Martin, Juliet directed the two men to position Angela’s unconscious form at the foot of the table. With Ringo on one side and Martin on the other, Angela was slid carefully down the smooth surface. Juliet straightened out Angela’s legs as she came closer, placing Angela’s feet securely into the stirrups. Grabbing a fistful of damp cloth with one hand, Juliet grabbed a pair of shears with the other hand and cut away Angela’s soiled nightgown, discarding it in the trash at her feet.

"Martin?" From a few feet away, Michael called out.

Looking towards the door, Martin caught sight of Michael holding Elisa with his left arm under her legs and his right hand gently rubbing her quaking back. The pitiful child held on tightly with her arms wrapped around Michael’s neck, hiding her head in the nape of that same neck. "Martin, I’m going to get Elisa out of here. I’ll be at the wedding. Come get us when there’s something to tell."

Nodding in agreement, Martin watched as Michael walked away, carrying the small child who started protesting weakly in Mike’s arms by crying "no" while continuing to bury her face into his shoulder. Turning back to the Mother of that small child, Martin glanced to his right when he heard his named called.

"Martin? Tell me is there a major artery in the reproductive system?" asked Juliet as she finished cutting away the limp woman’s underwear.

"Yes, there is. It aids in the construction of the egg’s shell and feeds the bag of waters in which the egg sits."

Nodding her head, Juliet grabbed Angela’s hips and dragged them closer to the edge of the examining table, noting the gush of green blood that rushed forth from Angela’s birthing canal. "Is it close to the surface of the interior walls?"

Considering for a moment, Martin nodded his head slowly and answered, "Yes…but not extremely so. There are a good eight millimeters of tissue between it and the egg."

Concern crossed Juliet’s fair face as she performed a pelvic exam. "Why is this only coming out now?" Juliet asked while staring out into space.

Guiltily, Martin ducked his head. "I thought she would tell you."

Looking up, Juliet shook her head harshly as she replied, "Oh no, Martin. I don’t mean you, but would Angela know to tell me?"

Nodding sadly, Martin answered, "Yes. Angela was a security officer. To perform her required duties, she would have been completely versed in Sirian anatomy."

Resuming her examination, Juliet was quiet for a second before pushing away from Angela and speaking with a shaky voice. "The artery must have ruptured. Only that can account for all this blood. To stop the bleeding, I need the baby out of the way as soon as possible. I can feel the baby struggling but, in her unconscious state, Angela can’t push it out and her body is apparently not producing contractions on it’s own. I’m going to need to operate, but she’s already lost so much blood that I’m afraid that the trauma of surgery could kill her since I don’t have any Sirian blood on hand to use for a transfusion."

Instantly, Martin’s hands were at the buttons on his navy blue shirt. Spreading the material apart and discarding the item, Martin stood before them bare-chested. "You can hook-up a transfusion line from me to Angela."

Confusion etched itself into Juliet’s forehead beside the concern from earlier. "How do you know that you’re the same blood type?"

Pulling the other examination table closer to the current one in use, Martin slide up onto the cool metal surface and proceeded to lie down. "Sirians only have one blood type."

Her mouth forming an "o," Juliet went to a nearby counter and retrieved a transfusion kit and with Martin’s assistance found the necessary artery, easily sliding the needles under the rough scales. Taking Angela’s legs down from the stirrups, Juliet directed Ringo to pull Angela up the table while she continued to discuss the operation with Martin. Still conferring over the surgery, Juliet stepped away from Martin to get sterile and set up an operation kit. In raised voices, Martin and Juliet debated technique while Ringo slouched on a nearby stool.

Glancing at the green blood-filled, plastic tube traveling from Martin to Angela, Ringo’s face bore shock and fear. Looking down at his wife’s face, Ringo reached for her unresponsive hand and squeezed it like a lifeline. Dragging his fingers through Angela’s hair, Ringo let his fingers run the length of those long, silky red strands until they fell upon her sandpaper like scales. Gently caressing the scales he had never seen before, Ringo blinked back tears while pressing his lips to Angela’s fingers. "Ahh Angie, why didn’t you tell me, honey?"

CHAPTER THREE

Above the City of Los Angeles, a mother ship loomed eerily in a way that had become almost normal. Inside the massive hovering battleship, four shuttlecrafts entered the main docking bay and landed gracefully on one of the flight decks. Out of the lead craft came the acting sovereign of Los Angeles - Diana - her head held high and her shoulders back as she proudly marched out of the docking bay.

Making her way to her quarters, Diana’s face sported a clever smirk that never quite made its way to her eyes. Walking through the halls, Diana donned various masks as she encountered her shipmates. Passing her fellow officers, Diana nodded cordially. Passing the common soldiers, Diana welcomed each with a stern glare and frighteningly cold eyes.

Entering her quarters, Diana did the third sweep for bugs that day. Satisfied that she was alone, Diana walked over to a counter and picked up her contacts case. With a strong arm, Diana smashed the delicate case against the far wall. Growling deep down in her chest, Diana tasted venom in her mouth. Swallowing it down, Diana took the bitter pill, savoring it as she savored her fury. Bowing her head, her body stood tense, her muscles straining to control themselves. Finally, her better judgment lost out to her anger and passion. With a smash of plastic and a breaking of glass, Diana proceeded to destroy every breakable item in her quarters and made a decent attempt at destroying the unbreakable items.

Her ire satisfied for the moment, Diana cursed at the state of her quarters. Tired and frustrated, Diana cleaned the clutter, dropping it into a trash receptor and pushing the jettison button. With a small smile, Diana received some satisfaction from the mental picture of more than twenty pounds of jagged glass and shattered crystals raining down on the heads of the L.A. Resistance. Composing herself, Diana took a few deep breaths and swallowed down the last of the venom in her mouth before pushing the intercom and asking the commissary to bring yet another contacts case, wall mirror, set of drinking glasses, and a 3’x 5’ wall shelving unit to her quarters as the others had gone mysteriously missing, once again.

"I’ll get right on it, Commander," answered the commissary clerk. In a meek voice, the young, female Sirian voice asked, "Are you going to want to upgrade to formal articles since the Leader will be here shortly?"

Standing shock still, Diana could feel the earlier tension filling her again. Fighting it back, Diana waited until her voice wouldn’t crack as she heard the disembodied voice calling her. "Commander? Are you still there?"

"Yes. I’m here. Please send up the upgraded articles and have me paged when the Leader arrives." With a clenched fist, Diana cut off the comm. before the clerk could respond in the affirmative to her order. Pacing the floor, Diana knew that Phillip had withheld this information to fluster her and, as the excellent officer that he was, he had succeeded in his mission. Damn him! Phillip had been a burr in her side since he arrived. Just like that brother of his! She knew Phillip didn’t believe her claim that Michael Donovan killed Martin - that mutinous Fifth Columnist! Traitorous human sympathizer!

For the past several months, Diana fostered suspicions about Phillip. She was sure he was also a member of the Fifth Column. After all, twins are identical, aren’t they? She had noticed the regular trips down to Los Angeles and the convenient twists of law he employed whenever she tried to attack the Resistance head on. His legal maneuverings had cost her time when she lost Caitlynne. Yes! He was to blame. If Diana could have ripped that town to pieces the first day then she could have recovered her clairvoyant. She’d be attacking the Resistance cells right now, eliminating them one by one, without any real resistance from anyone. But, no. Phillip got in the way. Like he always got in the way.

While considering all the wonderfully vicious things she could do to Phillip if she just had the opportunity, the intercom came to life and sounded the arrival of the Leader. Bringing herself to attention, Diana straightened out her uniform and cleaned her hands before exiting her quarters and making her way back to the main docking bay. She managed to enter the bay just as the vessel finished docking procedures. Taking her place beside Phillip, Diana registered the blonde’s apparent surprise at her presence and smirked widely in a way that finally managed to reach her eyes.

From a medium sized vessel roughly the same size as one of their personnel transports, six young females, in full human skins, exited looking vaguely like Buddhist monks in flowing robes of crimson and ebony. Three on each side of the vessel’s open doors; they looked at each other as the Leader walked from the ship. Under layers of thick robes that alternated from crimson to orange to ebony, the Leader did not wear a skin and made no apology for it as he approached Phillip and Diana.

In Sirian, the Leader recognized their hard work and dismissed the staff surrounding them. With a regal stature that fitted his frame naturally, the Leader waited until all of the enlisted and lower ranked staff left the docking bay. Once the room was vacant except for his entourage, himself, Diana and Phillip, the Leader relaxed considerably. He lightly clasped his claws in front of his chest and requested that Phillip and Diana walk with him and talk with him, for a bit.

"We could show you to your quarters, sir. That would allow for more private discussions," offered Phillip.

Nodding, the Leader gestured with an excited flick of his tongue and an enthusiastic tipping of his hand for Phillip to lead the way. Motioning to Diana, the Leader had her hold back and walk beside him as they made their way through the shadowed hallways. Exchanging meaningful glances, the Leader and Diana walked in silence until they reached the special guest quarters. Entering the large, beautifully decorated suite of rooms, the Leader’s retinue split in half and walked through the doors of two smaller rooms on either side of the Leader’s central bed chamber. Closing the doors behind them, the attendants quit the antechamber, leaving the Leader, Phillip and Diana alone.

Spreading his robes in a flourish, the Leader sat on a large chair, leaning back on the soft cushions. With a flick of his wrist in Phillip’s direction, the Leader signaled the Inspector General to sit down and relax.

Sitting down on a bench beside his sovereign, Phillip looked just past the Leader’s left shoulder at Diana’s standing form and smirked as he brought the Leader up to date. "Sir, the repairs on the water collection plants that were damaged by the Human resistance are proceeding right on schedule. We should be fully operational in nine months until then the five remaining plants are being run morning and night, but the water they siphon off this planet is of such a quantity that it is necessary to run the everyday functions of the mother ships stationed here on Earth. As such, water transports must cease for the time being. Of course, as the other plants become operational, resource transports will resume."

"As to the matter of squashing the human saboteurs, I assure you that I am doing everything possible to locate and destroy these factions," Glancing at Diana, Phillip returned his eyes to the Leader’s face as he continued, "Of course, I would have more success if certain attacks were not taking place everyday, causing the humans to go further and further underground. My attempts at placing undercover operatives are greatly undermined by the paranoia spurred by these frequent attacks."

After Phillip concluded his report, Diana waited for the Leader’s signal before beginning her own. The darkness of her eyes did nothing to shroud the fury rising in Diana’s mind as they glared past the Leader’s left shoulder at Phillip’s self satisfied expression. Finally, the Leader shifted in his seat until he was facing Diana and signaled for her to begin. "Sir, my plan to rip away at the foundation of the Resistance is working. Prior to four months ago, the human scourge managed to attack our ships, plants and personnel on a very regular basis, but my attacks have them too preoccupied to attack and too, to borrow the Inspector General’s own word, paranoid to meet. It has long been my suspicion that the L.A. Resistance is the head of this particular vermin. Bite it off and the body will die."

Nodding, the Leader was silent for a moment. After garnering a promise for future visits from Phillip, the Leader dismissed the Inspector General. Phillip smiled warmly at the Leader, but paused, expecting Diana to be relieved as well. Instead, the Leader requested that Diana remain. Bowing slightly, Phillip did an about-face, noting the tension that entered Diana’s shoulders and face as he exited the room.

After the door sealed shut, the Leader’s reptilian eyes quickly softened. Turning his gaze to Diana, the Leader seemed to sigh before gesturing for Diana to sit down on a nearby bench. Begrudgingly, Diana complied, but kept her arms tightly wrapped around herself. Looking Diana in the eyes, the Leader attempted to take the female’s left hand, but was thwarted by the owner of that hand pulling it away harshly. Looking at Diana with hopelessness and a bit of spite, the Leader sat back and placed his hands on the armrests, gripping the soft, charcoal colored material. "Out with it, Diana. Tell me your real report."

Surveying the room with a turn of her head, Diana whispered, "We shouldn’t speak here. Phillip has probably bugged the place."

Drawing his head back, the Leader laughed off her concerns, "The Inspector General would not dare place surveillance equipment in my chambers. He more than anyone knows that that would be a capital offense."

Shaking her head, Diana protested, "Phillip is not everything he appears to be. I suspect he is a member of the Fifth Column and not to be trusted."

Leaning toward Diana, the Leader eyed the brunette intensely, "Do you have proof of this?"

Rocking a bit in her seat, Diana replied, "No proof, exactly, but-"

Slashing the air with his large right hand, the Leader silenced Diana with a gesture. "But nothing. Mention it no more until you have something solid to hand me. Phillip and I have worked closely since before I ascended to Sirian leadership. He was ruthless against the Karaxians. In fact, the formation of the very plan to attack this planet was mostly his doing. Now, you are telling me that he has betrayed his people…for Humans - mere cattle. I simply refuse to believe it."

Sighing loudly, Diana acquiesced, "Fine. As for my report, I have not yet found a replacement for the clairvoyant, Caitlynne, but I am certain I will soon be successful. She couldn’t have been the only member of her race that could perform such feats and I will find another like her."

"D’Nand, could there be some truth to Phillip’s claims that your raids are forcing the humans to be more careful and therefore undermining the task of exposing and eliminating the resistance?" asked the Leader in a voice meant for a child.

Shaking her head, Diana stood up and paced about the room. "No! My Lord, you must believe me. Phillip is a traitor and will get us all killed. My attacks are not stalling the operation. Instead, Phillip is the source of our inability to capture these individuals. He is protecting them because he has learned that his brother, Martin, was a member of the Fifth Column before he died. He may even know that I was the one who killed his twin and is acting against us as a way to destroy me."

Chuckling softly, the Leader inhaled sharply. "You grow more suspicious everyday, Diana. Stop trying to blame everyone else for your failures. It is a bad habit from which you have suffered since you were a child. Well, my dear, you are no longer a child so you must make an effort to act maturely."

Silent, Diana fumed from the Leader’s rebuff and turned her back on him, unable to look at him. Pressing his claw tips against each other, the Leader formed a small temple out of his claws on his stomach before addressing Diana. "Why do you even need this clairvoyant? Can’t you defeat your enemies the traditional way?"

Pacing widely, Diana gestured wildly as she replied, "Yes. Yes, I could defeat my enemies the traditional way, but Caitlynne allowed me to leave knowing exactly where to strike. I waited for the right moment and found them tucked in their beds, never expecting an attack at that moment in the dead of night. They were defeated before they remembered what day it was. They were missions with no chance of failure. They were victories without a cost. On three missions, I never lost a single soldier. It was glorious and fulfilling and I want more of it!"

Gripping the armrests again, the Leader sat forward quickly. "Stop it! You sound like a Karaxian. Remember what you are - A Sirian of noble rank and title."

Stopping in mid-step, Diana turned toward the Leader swiftly. "How could I ever forget?"

Sitting down on the bench again, Diana regarded the Leader with pity. "My Lord, we are like the Karaxians. Our use of an open hand and smiling faces does not lessen the fact that we have taken over some of the most beautiful planets in this universe and when we were done with them - turned them into whirling balls of lifeless sand."

Anger flashed in the Leader’s eyes as he extended a warning gesture at Diana by holding his right hand up, palm out. "Be silent! I will not have you compare us to those savages. I remember the days before the Karaxians. I remember when we were feared and renowned as a race of warriors. Of conquerors! No one dared to oppose us until those damned Karaxians entered our space and-"

"-And beat us at our own game. I remember the attacks, as well. The second attack killed my…." Diana looked blankly into the Leader’s eyes and continued, "…Father. When I got the report of his death, I blessed the Karaxians for doing such a kind favor for me."

His eyes growing soft again, the Leader sighed, "O D’Nand, my-."

Two of Diana’s slender fingers pressed against the Leader’s mouth, silencing him. With pleading eyes, Diana looked about the room. The Leader sighed and nodded. Quickly, Diana pulled away from the Leader, putting distance between them. Considering his words carefully, the Leader continued, "D’Nand, I have always considered you to be the daughter I was never allowed to have."

Gently, the Leader reached out for Diana’s hands. This time, Diana did not pull away, but she didn’t respond either. "I know you suffered greatly under P’Tarne. You suffered greatly due to your questionable parentage. In the past, I‘ve tried to protect you. I’ve indulged your wishes, your desires. I see, now, I indulged you too much. I see myself having no other choice, but to order you to set this foolhardy quest aside and fight as you were trained to fight. Wars have been won without clairvoyants before and this war will be no different."

Squinting at the Leader’s concerned countenance, Diana answered, "Not this one. This one will be different. This one will fail, but I suspect you knew that all along. You knew that as a Commander I could not order the surrender of my men or the retreat of my position. I think you wanted me dead. I think you hoped that I would die in the Human prison in which I languished for a year. That way, there would be no one left who knew your secrets and no proof left to confirm them even if someone did stumble upon them."

"That clairvoyant told me about my death and I believe it will happen just as she said it would. I know myself and I know that I would not allow myself to be taken by just anyone but I also believe that destiny can be pushed aside. If I can find another clairvoyant then I can change Caitlynne’s predictions. I can make it so my death is not a near certainty because I will use that clairvoyant to change the course of this war."

Standing up, Diana stood before the Leader, leaning over him, close enough to feel the cool breeze of his breath. "I am not dead yet and I intend to stay alive so you better get used to my existence and my calls for assistance. You were right. I am paranoid, but that will only keep me alive a little bit longer. Never forget, I have your secrets close to me. I have you, R’Narne, and you had better never forget who really gives the orders around here."

With eyes filled with anger and hinting at hatred, the Leader fell back against the cushions and nodded once in understanding. Satisfied, Diana stood up and backed away from him slowly, drawing out the moment. Finally, standing beside the door, Diana smiled mischievously at the Leader as she pressed the locking mechanism on the wall. Spinning on her heel, Diana left the room.

--<{()}>--

In his quarters, Phillip slowly removed his earphones. Conjuring a mental picture of Diana, he asked it absently. "What do you have on him that made him back down so quickly?"

Rewinding the recording, Phillip considered his next course of action. As he created a copy Phillip debated with himself, going back and forth until with a weak nod of his head, Phillip erased the beginning minutes of the Leader and Diana’s conversation, starting the tape with Diana’s "Fine. As for my report…"

Looking back at the recording equipment, Phillip resigned himself to the deception. Neither his brother nor Donovan knew anything about his involvement in the plan to take over the Earth. Phillip decided that it was best that they not find out now. Sighing loudly, Phillip ejected the two tapes - The complete original and the modified copy; and stared at them. Getting up, Phillip placed the tapes in a secret wall compartment he installed himself and made a mental note to take the copy to the meeting with Martin and Donovan scheduled for the next day.

CHAPTER FOUR

Just as the happy couple said their "I dos," Juliet entered the room. Staring at the young couple, Juliet remembered the wedding she almost had, the white dress she left at Denny’s apartment three years ago. Standing in the doorway, Juliet watched the couple turn toward their guests, smiling as they held hands. Stepping aside, Juliet watched the couple walk down the aisle and exit the room with their guests following them. As the bride crossed in front of her, Juliet remembered Caitlynne. Juliet never learned the particulars of her death, but from Caitlynne’s reaction, Juliet knew that it was not going to be gentle. As Juliet waited for the chattering crowd to thin she realized that she didn’t need a fortuneteller to tell her that a white gown would never again be in her future.

For the umpteenth time, Juliet retreated into duty to battle back the loneliness. Looking at the now nearly vacant room, Juliet scanned the room for Michael, but her unbelieving eyes fell first on Tyler, still sitting in the last aisle. Quietly, she watched him glance at her, doing a double take. Slowly, he stood up. As he walked toward her, his dark eyes grew darker due to the curiosity filling them. With slightly downcast eyes, Tyler made an inquiry that Juliet answered with a slight nod and a small, honest smile. Satisfied, Tyler stood up straighter, turned down the aisle and walked out of the common area, leaving Juliet behind him with a confused expression on her face.

Turning back to her original mission, Juliet turned her head to the left and found Michael and Elisa sitting in the third aisle from the door on the right. Coming down the aisle, Juliet saw how Elisa took up two seats as she slept on her side, her head pillowed on Mike’s lap. Careful not to disturb Elisa, Juliet gently tapped Michael once on the shoulder.

Before his head turned all the way, Mike whispered, "Martin?"

Smiling sadly, Juliet shook her head. "No, just me."

Pressing his index finger against his lips, Mike gestured toward Elisa with a nod of the head. "What happened?" he whispered.

"I had to deliver the baby through cesarean section, but Jackson is fairing very well. Much better than Angela, I’m afraid. Ringo is with her and the baby, now," she whispered in reply.

Glancing over his shoulder, Mike searched the room before asking, "Where’s Martin?"

Placing a steady hand on Mike’s shoulder, Juliet answered, "We needed blood for Angela. Martin volunteered his own, about 800cc. Angela lost a lot of blood, Mike. We needed to siphon a substantial amount from Martin to make her stable enough to operate."

Looking away, Mike licked his lips, chewing on the lower one for a second. Glancing at Juliet hopefully, Mike breathed, "Is he okay?"

Smiling sympathetically, Juliet patted his shoulder. "Yeah, Mike. He’s fine. He’s a little tired due to the blood loss and probably will be for a few days. I’ve got him hooked up to a saline drip right know and that should take care of some of the dizziness, but he’ll seem kind of wasted for the next few days. Now, what I have to say next is very important, so Mike, listen to me. I want him to eat something every couple of hours. And, I don’t mean salad. I want him to get protein and a lot of it. It’ll help his body replace the blood he’s lost. Do you understand me?"

Nodding quickly, Mike looked down at the sleeping child and smiled. Gently, Mike rubbed Elisa’s back until the little girl woke up, squinting at the light. Rubbing the sand from her eyes, Elisa sat up, her legs dangling off the edge of the seat a good three inches off the ground. Turning suddenly to her right, Elisa responded to the call of her name. "Hey kiddo, what do you say we go see your new little brother?"

A bright beacon of a smile spread across the girl’s cherubic cheeks. Clapping her hands loudly, Elisa jumped off the chair and squealed with joy. "O yeah, Uncle Mike! I’ve got a brother? What’s his name?"

Smiling, Juliet and Mike exchanged glances. Addressing the small child, Juliet placed her hands on her knees and bent over until she was eye-to-eye with Elisa. "Well, I think you aught to hear that from your Daddy, but we need to be quiet because it’s hard to have a baby and your Mommy needs her rest, okay?"

Serious again, but in a good way, Elisa nodded her head like a little soldier and stood straight with her arms hanging straight down along her sides. "Yes, Aunt Julie."

Walking down the aisle, Elisa walked, practically skipped, a few steps ahead of Mike and Juliet. As they came to the door, Mike whispered to Juliet, "Jackson, huh?"

Glancing over at Mike, Juliet smiled brightly and shrugged. Shaking his head, Mike mused, "Leave it to Ringo to saddle his kid with a name like that."

Entering the infirmary, Elisa made a beeline for her Father. Quietly, Ringo sat on a stool next to the table on which Angela was resting. In his arms, wrapped in a small blanket, was the newest addition to the Ryan family - Jackson Ryan. Elisa got up on her tiptoes and peeked over her Father’s arm at the small baby. Sleeping, he looked Human, but as he opened his puffy eyes his Sirian heritage was plain to see in the red and gold reptilian eyes that stared straight back at Elisa. Opening his puckered lips, Jackson let forth a cry that also showed that he was his Mother’s son. His bifurcated tongue extended down past his chin and his wail contained the soft, rippling echo present in all Sirian voices.

Wide-eyed, Elisa stared with her mouth agape at the wiggling form that was her baby brother. "He sounds just like Mommy. What’s his name, Daddy?"

Laughing softly, Ringo glanced at Angela’s unconscious form and felt a knot form in his throat that he quickly swallowed down. "His name is Jackson, after your Grandpa. Your Mommy and I thought it was…we thought it was appropriate."

Juliet walked over to Ringo and placed a comforting hand on Ringo’s back. "Ringo, why don’t you take Jackson and Elisa home?"

Shaking his head, Ringo protested, "I’m not leaving her, Julie."

Nodding, Julie offered, "Why don’t I, at least, take Elisa to Willie’s. I’ll bring a crib in here for Jackson and you can stay as long as you feel you need to."

Nodding, Ringo held his son tighter. "Okay." Looking down at Elisa, Ringo ordered, "Elisa. I want you to go with Julie to Willie’s place. I’ll be by to pick you up later."

Elisa shook her head, but her protests fell on deaf ears. With a stern voice, Ringo repeated, "You do as I say, little girl. Go with Julie, now. Go on."

Looking down, Elisa followed Juliet out the door. Looking back at his wife, Ringo shifted the precious bundle in his arms. Leaning over Angela, Ringo whispered, "Angie, you can’t leave me to raise them both by myself."

Across the room, Michael sat on a stool. On the right side of the examination table, Mike quietly held Martin’s hand. Uneasily, Mike stared at the wooden coat hanger with classic scrollwork that was currently holding two saline bags - One for Angela and one for Martin. Dazed, Michael stared at the drip, drip, drip of the saline. Slowly, his eyes traveled down the plastic tubing until his gaze fell upon the needle that was tinged green by a couple drops of Martin’s blood. Under a couple pieces of surgical tape, the point of the needle disappeared under a scale on his shoulder.

Finally, Michael felt a slight squeeze from the hand he held tightly in his own. Intently, Michael watched as Martin slowly regained consciousness. Blinking his eyes open, Martin eventually managed to focus on Michael’s concerned face. Still squeezing Martin’s hand, Mike scooted the stool a little closer until he could rest both of his elbows on the stainless steel surface. Leaning over Martin, Mike joked, "Boy, I guess this means that you’ll do just about anything to get out of going to a wedding, huh?"

Shrugging weakly, Martin managed to reply, "Well, this was less painful."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Mike teased, "And just what do you think you were doing here, huh? Being some kind of hero?"

Managing a smile, Martin whispered, "What can I say, Mike. I gotta be me."

Laughing fully, Mike kissed Martin’s fingers. "Boy, you really must have been put through the wringer to be going Frank Sinatra on me."

Barely able to laugh, Martin offered, "Maybe. I think I’m a couple of pints low."

With a mirthful expression that was beginning to falter, Mike reached out his right hand and cupped Martin’s head, massaging the Sirian’s forehead with his thumb. Instantly, the joke fled from Mike’s eyes, taking Mike’s wide smile with it. His fingers began to tremble as he sighed, "Don’t scare me like that again, Martin. When Julie told me you volunteered to give blood I didn’t know if I wanted to slap you on the back or kick your ass. Right now, I’m just glad you’re okay."

Weakly, Martin squeezed Mike’s hand back and offered a smile. In return, Mike rewarded him with a kiss to the lips, soft and filled with relief. Pulling away from Martin, Mike noticed that Ringo was standing not two feet away. Sitting back on the stool, Mike motioned to Ringo with a wave of his hand that it was okay to come closer.

Standing next to both Mike and Martin, Ringo held his son low so Martin could see him. "I thought you might want to see part of what you went through all that hell for, Martin."

Inspecting the child’s features, Martin mentioned, "He has his Mother’s eyes."

Smiling, Ringo agreed, "That he does. Her tongue, too."

Lifting up his son again, cradling him close to his chest, Ringo stated, "Martin, I don’t know how to thank you. Because of you, my son and my wife are alive. Thank you. A million times thank you."

Nodding, Martin sighed, "No need to thank me, Ringo. I would do it again."

While Ringo nodded another thanks, Juliet entered the room, dragging a small crib behind her. Positioning it next to the table on which Angela was resting, Juliet walked up to Ringo and placed a hand on the small of his back, steering him back to his wife’s table. Walking over to the crib, Ringo gingerly placed his firstborn son in the crib.

Turning towards Juliet, Ringo swung his arms widely. Not knowing what else to do with his empty appendages. Absently, Ringo snapped his fingers before slapping his hands together. Again and again, he performed the hand occupying routine as he watched Juliet pull out a small round, plastic container and unscrew the cap. Looking at Julie curiously, Ringo inquired, "What are you going to do with that?"

Stopping in mid-stride, Juliet held out the jar and gestured toward Angela. "This is an antibacterial ointment. I’m going to put it on her cuts."

Reaching out with his left hand, palm up, Ringo said, "Give it ‘ere. I’ll do it."

Holding the jar, Juliet protested, "That’s okay Ringo. I can do it."

Stepping forward, Ringo let out a loud sigh as he took the jar from Juliet’s grasp. "You’re going to spread this on her cuts, under her scales, right?"

Nodding, Juliet answered. "Yeah."

Stepping back towards Angela, Ringo commented, "I think can handle that."

Sitting down on the stool beside Angela, Ringo dipped his fingers inside the jar. The substance was a translucent gel, thick and greasy like hair pomade and it smelled sweet like pineapples. Gently, Ringo lifted up the jagged scales and spread the cream on the dark green flesh underneath.

As Ringo came near to completion of his task, Angela’s eyes fluttered open and she coughed at the dryness at the back of her throat. Jumping to attention, Ringo called out for Juliet. Juliet rushed over with a glass of water with a straw in it and tipped Angela’s head forward until Angela’s chin pressed against her chest. Positioning the straw at Angela’s lips, Juliet encouraged Angela to drink and held the glass close to Angela until Angela signaled that she had had enough. Laying Angela’s head down, Juliet watched as Angela swallowed unconsciously, trying to get the cotton out of her mouth.

Turning her head to the left, Angela stared dreamily at Ringo. Sliding her dry tongue over her lips, Angela’s eyes grew wide as Angela realized where she was and why. Coughing a few times, Angela muttered, "R-Ringo. Th-The baby?"

Putting the jar down, Ringo placed both of his hands on Angela’s face. With his right hand, Ringo stroked Angela’s forehead. With his left hand he cupped her cheek while his thumb traced her lips. "Shh. Shh. It’s okay. He’s fine. He’s perfect, Angie."

Placing a kiss on Angela’s forehead, Ringo whispered, "You gave me quite a scare, honey. I thought I lost you. Please, don’t do that to me again."

Biting her lip, Angela nodded after a pause. Withdrawing from Angela, Ringo picked up the jar and returned to the task of spreading the gel on Angela’s self-inflicted wounds. That was when Angela remembered tearing the skin away. Protesting meekly, Angela mumbled, "Ringo, you don’t have to."

Ringo stared at his wife curiously and continued to apply the ointment. "I know I don’t have to. If I had to, I wouldn’t do it. Just relax, Angie. I’ll take care of you."

Blinking her eyes, Angela nodded. For the next several minutes, Angela watched Ringo’s intense face as he applied the cream. Concern mingled in the lines creasing his forehead and concentration filled the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. Now and then, he noticed her close inspection. At which point, Ringo responded with a tooth-filled grin. Finally allowing herself to relax, Angela continued to regard her husband with awe as she failed to find even the slightest trace of disgust in the wrinkles that made up his rugged face.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too," replied Ringo as he bent to give her yet another kiss on the forehead.

"I love you, too," he whispered again against her forehead.

Across the room, Juliet removed the I.V. from Martin’s shoulder and placed a bandage firmly over it. Once Juliet finished dressing the wound, Mike helped Martin into his navy blue shirt. After a general examination, Juliet released Martin and stared at Mike when she said for Martin to take it easy and for her instructions to be followed to the letter. Humbly, both Martin and Michael agreed then exited the room.

A few halls later, Michael opened the door to his quarters. Telling Martin to take his time, Mike held the door patiently as Martin shuffled into the room. Managing to make it across the floor, Martin shrugged off his shirt, placing it on the chair and fell onto the bed with a thump, rolling onto his back. From the door, Mike watched Martin pull his foot up and try to undo his laces, but his fingers were sluggish and without grace and he couldn’t grip the thin cords effectively. Finally, Martin gave up and allowed his leg to slam onto the mattress.

After closing the door, Mike walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. Reaching down, Mike untied Martin’s shoes and eased them off his feet. One-by-one, Mike tossed the shoes on the floor and received a protest from Martin. Shaking his head, Mike took Martin’s sock-clad left foot into his strong hands and started kneading the sensitive flesh at the Sirian’s arch. Soon, Martin’s protests turned into encouragement. Mike smiled at the sound of Martin’s moans and continued to rub Martin’s feet.

Finally satisfied that Martin was relaxed, Mike unfastened Martin’s pants and pulled the sheet and blanket over him. In response, Martin rolled toward the wall, creating room for Mike on the mattress. Mike quickly undressed and got under the covers. Molding his body to Martin’s, Mike pressed his chest and stomach against the cool flesh of Martin’s back. Reaching around Martin, Mike drew his lover into a firm embrace. Resting his face in Martin’s hair, Mike managed to find Martin’s hand. Fumbling slightly, the two males managed to intertwine their fingers before floating off to sleep.

--<{()}>--

The next day, Phillip arrived at the beach location under Santa Monica Pier. Unlike the other meetings held here, this meeting was taking place during the day and the sun shone brightly from a cloudless sky. Squinting, even with his shades on, Phillip clasped his hands behind his back and looked out over the ocean and the blue-green waves that splashed at the shore.

"Y’know, if you stare at the horizon too long, you’ll go insane. They call it mariner’s psychosis. Caused by them staring just past their fishing lines too long, thinking of nothing else for days on end."

The voice was a familiar one to Phillip and he smiled as he replied, "Well, it’s a good thing I have so much on my mind, then."

Turning around, Phillip stopped short at the sight of Michael Donovan and Donovan alone standing before him. Glancing about, Phillip inquired, "Where’s Martin?"

Adjusting the large, standard Visitor issue shades he was wearing, Donovan shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot in the hot sand. "Nice to see you, too, Phillip. Martin couldn’t make it. I’m afraid that there was an incident at the compound yesterday and Martin’s a little worse for wear."

Noticing the anxiousness in Phillip’s eyes, Mike quickly added, "He’s fine. He’s resting. He’s going to be good as new very soon but he’s under doctor’s orders to stay in bed for the time being, okay?"

Nodding, clearly relieved, Phillip asked, "The incident. Is it anything noteworthy?"

Shaking his head, Mike answered, "Angela had her baby. Julie had to operate and needed Martin to donate blood for the surgery. See, nothing to worry about, so back to business. Have you had any luck getting Diana off our backs, already?"

Shaking his head like Mike had just done, Phillip replied, "No. Now, there is a further complication - The Leader is here."

Standing straighter, Mike thrust clenched fists into his jacket pockets. "You mean to tell me that the sorry son of a bitch that started all of this is close enough for me to kill him."

Pausing for a second, Phillip answered, "Yes, in a manner of speaking."

Pausing again, Phillip considered Donovan’s words before he continued, "His presence couldn’t come at a worse time. It undermines what little authority I wield over Diana. You see, Donovan, my only ability to impede Diana’s actions comes from the fact that I outrank her. I can order her to do something and she has to do it. Normally, it takes days to get a transmission to the Leader and a reply in return, but with him so close by, I don’t know how effectively I will be able to interfere with Diana’s crazy schemes."

Bringing one hand up to his chin and stroking it thoughtfully, Mike considered the information given him. "We’re going to need new tactics for this one, Phillip. Maybe… We know Diana is blackmailing the Leader to get what she wants. If we could figure out what that is, then maybe we could use it to our advantage."

Gesturing for them to walk together, Phillip guided the two of them away from a few Sirians who had ventured too close. "I agree, Donovan, but I can’t begin to know what that secret might be."

Pulling an audiotape out of his pocket, Phillip handed the cartridge to Mike and stated, "I recorded this yesterday. It seems plain that Diana and the Leader have a casual relationship, but how that fits into everything. I’m not sure. If only there was someone else who knew about Diana’s secrets. Someone I could threaten."

Snapping his fingers, Mike pointed at Phillip and said, "That’s it. Phillip, you’re a Goddamn genius. I think I may know who you can practice your art of persuasion on. Come with me, I’ll explain everything…"

CHAPTER FIVE

Back at the Resistance compound, Mike opened the door to his quarters to find Martin in bed and Willie sitting in a chair nearby. On the floor, in front of Willie, was a medium sized cage holding three small, brown mice and four small, white mice. The moment Mike crossed the threshold; Martin pointed at the cage and motioned at Willie to take it away. Nodding, Willie wiped his hands on his white, short-sleeve shirt and stood up, picking up the cage on the way. Nerdishly tall and thin, Willie nervously bobbed his head at Mike before walking toward the door with slightly hunched over shoulders.

As Willie passed Mike, Mike snatched the cage from Willie. Cheeringly, Mike patted Willie on the back and thanked him for the rodents. Willie protested, but eventually acquiesced to Mike’s overpowering personality, promising to drop by the room later that night and pick up the cage before he went to bed. Martin sat up slowly in bed with a horrified expression on his face as he watched Mike thank Willie again as Mike closed the door.

Staring at the scrambling critters within, Mike held the cage at eye-level as he crossed the room and sat down on the bed, next to Martin’s thigh. Martin stared at Mike curiously and watched with dread as Mike placed the cage on the floor, opened the latch and pulled a wiggling, brown mouse out by its tail.

Turning to Martin, Michael dangled the mouse six inches from the Sirian’s face and announced, "Open wide."

Turning his face away, Martin weakly pushed Mike’s hand away. "Mike, don’t."

Curious, Mike narrowed his eyes and asked, "What’s the matter? You need to eat protein and Mickey here is the perfect source. So just open up."

Shaking his head slightly, Martin looked away. "First of all, Mike never name your food. Secondly, put that thing away before you drop it and it goes who knows where."

Not believing what he was hearing, Mike lowered the mouse and gripped it with both hands. "It’s a mouse, Martin. I think I can handle something like this. Now, if it was one of those cat-sized rats then maybe some skill would be necessary, but this thing’s not even as big as my palm."

Gesturing his cupped hands toward Martin, Mike added, "So, here. Eat up."

Desperate, Martin said, "I’m just not hungry, Mike."

"Oh really?" questioned Mike, "So just what were these things doing in here, Martin? You think I don’t know anything about this sort of thing? Well, you’re wrong. I do. I happen to know that Willie doesn’t like to keep more than ten of the small ones in these cages at a time. He thinks it’s inhumane. I heard Angela and him arguing about it a few weeks ago."

Wincing at the knowledge that he was caught in a lie, Martin whispered, "Mike…"

Glancing at his watch, Mike continued, "So, that means that in the past five hours, you’ve managed to consume three whole mice."

Again, Martin pleaded, "Mike…"

Finally angry, Mike shifted the mouse to his left hand and reached out with the other to securely grasp Martin’s chin, forcing Martin to look at him. "What Martin? I’m just trying to do what Julie told me to do and that is to make damn sure that you eat something protein filled every couple of hours."

Shaking his head free of Mike’s grip, Martin answered, "I know, Mike. I know. Look, if it means this much to you then give me the mouse and the cage and I promise I’ll eat some while you go get yourself some lunch."

Sighing, Mike licked his lips and ran his right hand through his hair. "Martin, what is this all about? Do you think I’ll get grossed out or something? Remember, I’ve seen you eat sushi."

"Mike, It’s…I don’t feel comfortable doing this," stammered Martin.

Reaching out his right hand again, Mike placed his palm on Martin’s cheek. Cupping Martin’s face, Mike rubbed his thumb over Martin’s eyebrow. Leaning toward Martin, Mike whispered, "Martin, you can do this in front of me. This isn’t something you ever have to hide. You’re Sirian. You eat live food. I know this. Trust me, I can handle watching you eat a mouse."

Entranced by Michael’s intense green eyes, Martin sighed, "Fine. Stay, but at least give the mouse to me. I can feed myself."

Biting his lip, Mike replied, "Really? Is that how you ate the other three? If so, why was Willie wiping his hands when I came in? I know that Willie is a vegetarian so he didn’t get his hands dirty feeding himself. Look, we both know that last night you couldn’t even hold onto a shoelace and you’re not much stronger now. " Softly petting Martin’s cheek, Mike requested, "Martin, just let me do this for you?"

Looking down, Martin didn’t answer Mike verbally. He just nodded his head in understanding and defeat. Smiling, Mike allowed his fingers to linger over Martin’s cool flesh for a second before withdrawing his hand and taking hold of the mouse with both hands. With his right hand, Mike lifted the mouse by its tail again and brought the rodent to Martin’s lips. Martin paused for a second; looking past the wiggling vermin into Mike’s eyes before parting his lips and letting Mike place the mouse in his mouth.

Scrutinizing Mike’s face, Martin regarded Mike closely while Mike watched him crush the rodent with a reflexive locking tension in his jaw. Gulping once, Martin swallowed the small mammal whole. Watching Mike very closely, Martin waited for Mike’s response and was more than a little surprised when Mike smiled at him.

Bending down to get the cage, Mike mentioned, "Okay, next up on the menu we have brown ones or whites ones. Does the Monsieur have a preference?"

Rolling his eyes, Martin sighed heavily and crossed his arms. "Brown."

Nodding his head, Mike pulled the latch open and reached in for a brown mouse. "Brown, it is."

--<{()}>--

Walking through the hallway outside Michael and Martin’s quarters, Juliet marched on past their room to the one next door. After knocking on the thin wood, Juliet waited patiently while inspecting her bag to make sure she brought everything. The door opened a crack and to Juliet’s amusement on the other side was Elisa, her eyes big and mahogany brown. Chuckling under her breath, Juliet smiled widely as she bent down and said, "Hi, Elisa."

From inside the room, Juliet heard Ringo yell, "Is that Aunt Julie at the door?"

Turning her head, Elisa said, "Yes, Daddy."

With a joke in his voice, Ringo stated, "Well, let ‘er in, little girl!"

Quickly, Elisa backed into the room, opening the door. Inside, the quarters were cramped like so many of the family quarters in the compound. Juliet entered the room, noting the full size bed against the far wall about six feet from the door. Behind the open door, Juliet saw Elisa’s bed snuggled into a corner that was surrounded by a thick, black curtain that hung from a metal rod that attached to the wall at two points and stretched out from the wall just past the edges of the twin mattress.

Walking over to a double dresser squeezed into the corner opposite Elisa’s bed to make room for the crib crammed in between it and Angela and Ringo’s bed, Juliet placed her bag on the oak-finish surface. Methodically, Juliet emptied her bag, spreading out her equipment.

"Julie, forgive Elisa, I told her to position herself at the door and turn away anyone I didn’t give the okay to. I didn’t want any unwanted visitors today," explained Ringo as he shooed Elisa into her "room," closing the curtains behind her.

Waving her hand limply at Ringo, Juliet brushed away the need for apologies. Picking up some foot long bandage strips, Juliet crossed over to the bed where Angela was sitting with her blanket pulled up under her arms. Sitting next to an oddly quiet Angela, Juliet smiled kindly while she folded her shirtsleeves up to her elbow and gently pulled the blanket down. Once the blanket was pulled back to Angela’s thighs, Amanda finally came to life as she lifted her new emerald green nightgown to reveal her bandage-covered, stomach.

Juliet’s fingers paused for a second at the sight of the green scales just as they had the night before, but she quickly recovered. Removing the old dressings, Juliet noted the aged black-green blood on the bandage. Examining the "T" shaped incision and the stitches holding it together, Juliet noticed how the Sirian flesh was already knitting together. Looking up, Juliet told Angela, "Well, it looks like your incision is healing fine. You seem to be healing at the same rate as a Human woman would, maybe a little faster. It’s important that the stitches come out once the cut has healed sufficiently. At this rate, that could be as early as tomorrow."

Angela nodded, but said nothing. Instead, she just looked at Juliet with tired eyes. Uncomfortable, Juliet cocked her head to the side and shrugged as she applied a new dressing. As an afterthought, Juliet commented, "I had to remove the outer layer of scales around the incision area to properly stitch. I hope it doesn’t scar."

Shaking her head, Angela replied, "They should grow back and if they don’t - It’s not like people normally see my scales anyway."

Nodding, Juliet pulled the hem of Angela’s gown down and brought the blanket up to Angela’s scale-exposed neck. Patting Angela’s right hand softly, Juliet made a visual inspection of the cuts on Angela’s chest. Smiling at their condition, Juliet stood up and made her way to her second patient.

Peacefully lying on his back, little Jackson was sleeping soundly in his crib. First, Juliet checked his color. Then, she checked his reflexes by scraping the bottom side of both his feet with her fingernail. Stepping to the left, Juliet reached over to the dresser and retrieved her stethoscope. After warming it first, Juliet leaned over the crib as she pressed the metal disk against his tiny chest that was fluttering in a way that only a baby could make look tranquil. Standing up, Juliet pulled off her stethoscope and turned around. "That baby seems perfectly healthy to me, but there are concerns."

Juliet waited for Ringo to sit down next to his wife before she continued, "From what I can tell, Jackson has, for the most part, a human appearance, but his internal organs are mostly Sirian. Now, I would need an ultrasound machine and possibly an x-ray machine to know precisely which organs and bones are Sirian and which ones are human, but I don’t have any of those things and I’m left with a lot of questions I don’t know the answer to. What I do know after a tactile inspection I performed yesterday is that the bones of his legs, arms and skull are Human in construction, but his jaw, ribcage and spine are Sirian. Also, his heart has the triple beat associated with a Sirian heart, but his blood is red and contains no Sirian aspects that I can recognize, but I’ll get a second opinion by having Martin look at samples once he’s feeling up to it."

Reaching out for it, Ringo grasped onto and held Angela’s hand tightly and asked, "Is this going to cause any problems?"

Pausing for a second, Juliet licked her lips and glanced down at the floor. Raising her eyes, Juliet’s gaze shifted back and forth from Angela to Ringo. "I don’t know. I wish I had something better to tell you, but I don’t. I’m thinking that if there were any true compatibility issues that they would have been evident from the very beginning, very early on, possibly even during the pregnancy. That is not to say that something couldn’t arise in the future. Now, for the most part, Jackson’s worst risk is that his human appearance could lead to improper medical responses that could prove serious or fatal. While he is here at the compound and I am his only physician, this concern should not be a problem, but once the war is over, it will be necessary to have him wear an emergency medical alert bracelet that will explain his condition to any doctor or EMT personnel with whom he may come in contact."

Noting the blank gazes and Ringo’s pale face, Juliet changed the focus of the discussion quickly. "Tell me, has he eaten lately?"

Shaking his head for clarity, Ringo answered, "Yeah. Willie dropped by with a cage of mice for Jackson and Angela a couple hours ago when he was on his way to Martin’s. In fact, you just missed him. He was here just a couple minutes ago to pick up the empty cage."

Nodding, Juliet reached over to the dresser and pulled a notebook down. Opening it, she scribbled madly before asking, "How many did he eat?"

Wearily, Angela answered, "Three."

Still scribbling madly, Juliet followed up with another question. "Did he have any problems eating the mice?"

A little more alert, Angela shook her head. "No. He was fine. His jaw clenched perfectly and he gulped them down easily enough."

Looking back up, Juliet paused in her constant movement. "How long since he ate the last mouse?"

Ringo answered, "I’m not sure." Turning to look at Angela, Ringo continued, "About an hour and a half ago?"

Nodding, Angela concurred with Ringo’s guess.

"I see." Returning to her scribbling, Juliet inquired, "How has Jackson reacted to the mice? Is he keeping them down?"

With a bit more enthusiasm, Angela nodded her head. "Oh yes. He’s been sleeping ever since. Normal, for a Sirian baby."

After Angela finished speaking, Juliet continued to scribble for a few seconds longer. Putting down her pen, Juliet looked up and smiled at the nervous looking parents. "Guys. Cheer up. You have a beautiful baby boy. He’s apparently eating and sleeping regularly. His heart sounds strong and his color is good. As far as I can tell, he’s perfectly healthy."

Relieved, Ringo exhaled immediately, but Angela was not so easily appeased. Worry still ate at her, but she tried to conceal it by turning up the corners of her lips ever so slightly.

Looking at the couple, Juliet recognized the frayed nerves and tired eyes of being a new parent. Standing up, Juliet reached for her bag and started to repack it. Glancing over her shoulder, Juliet pulled her shirtsleeves down as she offered, "Y’know. If you don’t mind, I would like to observe Jackson’s eating habits. I could take Elisa and Jackson for an hour or two. I could take them to the cafeteria. I’m sure Willie can find something for him and Elisa."

At Juliet’s request, Amanda perked up a bit. "Okay, Julie. I haven’t been alone with my husband since before the baby came."

Laughing, Juliet nodded while she snapped her bag shut. "I understand completely. Just, after we’re gone, know that you really shouldn’t be doing anything too strenuous for at least two weeks and certainly not before your stitches are out."

In response to Juliet’s tease, Angela smiled brightly for the first time all day. Glancing at her husband’s lobster red face, Angela couldn’t restrain her laughter. Laughing while moaning from the pain, Angela nodded at Juliet before calling out, "Elisa! Come out, honey."

Parting the heavy drapes, Elisa practically sprang from behind the divider. While Angela reminded Elisa to mind her manners and do as Aunt Julie told her, Ringo crossed over to the crib and lifted his son out of it. Resting him on the bed, Ringo wrapped Jackson in a small blanket before placing him in Juliet’s eager arms.

With Elisa in tow and Jackson heavy in her arms, Juliet said goodbye to Angela and Ringo before leaving the Ryan residence.

Afterwards, an eerie silence broke out between Angela and Ringo. Standing by the door, Ringo stared at the pale wood. Staring at her husband’s back, Angela almost found the courage to tell him about everything - her worries, her fears, Caitlynne’s prophecy; but instead, Angela chose silence once again.

After a couple beats, Ringo turned and approached the bed, sitting on the edge beside Angela. Rubbing Angela’s thigh, Ringo’s expression became serious. Just as he opened his mouth, Angela interrupted his chain of thought by saying, "Ringo, I’ve been wanting to discuss something with you. Would you mind if I asked Martin to be Jackson’s Wontu?"

Open-mouthed, Ringo took a second to change gears. Closing his mouth, Ringo cocked his head to the side and asked, "Jackson’s want to?"

Smiling and almost laughing, Angela answered quickly, "No. His ‘Wontu.’ It’s like a Godfather. A Wontu cares for the child should anything happen to the child’s parents, to us, and in general guides the child through life."

Blinking rapidly, Ringo rocked lazily from side to side. "Why Martin? Wouldn’t a family member be better?"

Shaking her head, Angela replied, "No. Martin has status and a high rank within the Fifth Column. He commands power, influence and respect. He’s practically the definition of a Wontu. And, it’s even more perfect because, as Martin’s mate, Mike would be expected to assist Martin in his duties as Wontu. That way, Jackson will have a Sirian and a Human to care for him should anything happen to us."

Curiously, Ringo stared at Angela’s smiling face. Absently, Ringo rubbed his palms against each other. "Yeah. Okay. Umm. Y’know what? What about Ray? Yeah. What about Ray and Elise?"

Shrugging, Angela sighed, "What about them?"

Shaking his head, Ringo clarified, "I mean. Why not have Ray and Elise… be the Won-Tus?"

Narrowing her eyes, Angela sneered, "Well, do you mean for some reason other than the fact that they’re prejudiced, racist assholes? Come on. Let’s be serious. What’s wrong with Martin?"

"Nothing. Exactly. It’s just that uhh… I think it would be better to place our children with a married couple," answered Ringo while running his fingers across his fingers and mouth.

Mildly slapping Ringo on his arm, Angela laughed, "You Humans with your silly customs. Martin and Mike are bonded. They’re just not joined. Who cares?"

Frowning, Ringo answered soberly, "Unfortunately, lots of people. God forbid, something happened to us, but if something did. For right now, I just don’t want to worry about someone trying to take our children away from the people we entrusted them to."

Honestly shocked, Angela’s eyes opened wide and her hand pressed against her chest. "Someone would do that? I’ve never heard of such a thing. How? Why?"

Sighing loudly, Ringo explained, "For a couple reasons - One, Martin’s Sirian and there is going to be a lot of anti-Sirian sentiment once the war is over. Hell, there’s a lot of it, now. Two, Martin is with Mike. That’s a situation most people couldn’t handle even if they were both Human."

Her shock becoming anger, Angela looked away. Looking back at Ringo, Angela asked, "Is this how you feel? Are you unable to ‘handle’ it?"

Shaking his head, Ringo answered, "No. I like them just fine, but I worry about the kids."

Squaring her shoulders, Angela stated, "By tradition, the Wontu should be the nearest, highest ranking official willing to accept the responsibility. I suppose that we could ask Juliet, but I want a Sirian to be my son’s Wontu."

Noting Ringo’s defensive expression, Angela’s eyes softened as she continued, "Someday, I… might not be here, but one day, Jackson will be an adult."

Gently, Angela reached out a feminine hand, running her fingertips down Ringo’s face. "Someday, Jackson may have questions, you can’t answer for him."

Looking down, Ringo sat still for a minute or two. Standing up, Ringo quickly walked a few steps away, toward the door. Gripping his hips painfully, Ringo admitted, "You might be right. Yeah. Martin. Martin’s a good choice. After all, we already know he’s willing to fall on his sword for Jackson."

With his back still facing Angela, Ringo raised his right arm. Jumping slightly, Ringo slapped the ceiling. "This is all so silly. Nothing’s going to happen to us. I mean chances are we’re never going to need this Won-Tu anyway."

On the bed, Angela frowned and her eyes became lined with worry as she stared at her husband’s tension-filled back and shoulders. Once again, Angela was tempted to come clean, let her mate in on the reason why she felt compelled to bring up such a painful subject during the first moment they had truly been alone in weeks. Swallowing hard, Angela summoned a cheery voice that did not betray her stricken expression and said, "Right."

--<{()}>--

At the dining hall, Juliet watched with fascination as Willie fed Jackson. With wonder, she stared at how Jackson’s jaw differed from Human bone structure as he instinctively unhinged it so he could widen his mouth enough to take in the mouse. Utterly amazed, she watched as his jaw snapped right back in place, crushing the mouse instantly, and how his neck bulged as the rodent slid easily down his throat.

After Jackson finished off four mice, Willie closed the cage and placed it under the counter. He and Julie cooed over the baby for a few minutes until Willie noticed Elisa’s lonely face. Nervously, Willie looked at Juliet’s happy face before asking Elisa. "W-Would you like to help me in the kitchen?"

Broadcasting the widest of smiles, Elisa nodded quickly. Glancing at Juliet, Willie waited until he saw her nod before taking Elisa’s hand and escorting her into the kitchen. While Willie introduced Elisa to the wonderful world of sifting flour, Juliet wrapped Jackson in his blanket again, lifted him into her arms and turned on her stool until her back was resting against the counter.

Staring down at Jackson’s sleepy face, Juliet felt a familiar pinch in her chest. "I always wanted a baby just like you, but I was in college, and then medical school and then in my internship. The right time just never came."

Gently, Juliet ran her knuckle along Jackson’s chin. "I guess that time will never come now. I’ll just have to settle for selfish moments spent holding other people’s beautiful babies."

All of a sudden, Juliet jumped with surprise when she heard a voice sound from the mess hall doorway. "I know just how you feel, honey."

Looking up, Juliet smiled at the salt and pepper gray-haired, African American woman standing in front of her flashing a wrinkle filled smile. "Hi. Yvonne."

Yvonne shuffled closer to Juliet, patting Juliet’s shoulder softly as she sat down on a stool next to Juliet. Nodding at the baby, the older woman motioned for Juliet to let her take a look at the baby. Tilting the baby carefully, Juliet showed the baby to the woman. Nestled in his blue blanket, Jackson was asleep and the picture of serenity. Loudly, the woman let out an Ahh. Leaning in closer, Yvonne stared at Jackson as she sighed, "The blissful weight of a baby in one’s arms is the greatest feeling in this world, isn’t it? I wish I could have felt what it was like to hold one of my own. No! My chance was up long ago, but my dear, you’re so young. You shouldn’t give up so easily."

Shrugging at the woman’s words, Juliet started to shush at Jackson as he fussed, squeezing his little hands into fists. Finally, calming down, Jackson flexed his fingers as he yawned widely and slowly opened his eyes.

Suddenly, the hand on her shoulder was gone. Turning her head, Juliet recognized the look of disgust, horror and shock. Gasping, Yvonne stumbled off her stool as she backed away from Juliet quickly. "That’s the Ryan baby, isn’t it?"

Holding Jackson closer, Juliet shielded the child as best she could as she answered, "Yes, he is. His name is Jackson."

Shaking her head in outrage, Yvonne stated sarcastically, "He? You mean ‘it,’ don’t you?"

Filled with fury, Juliet stood up. Immediately, Yvonne took a step backwards. Placing Jackson on the counter, Juliet crossed her arms and turned back toward Yvonne. "I meant ‘he.’ Do you want to make something of it?"

Smirking, Yvonne made herself into a teapot by bringing her right hand up on her hip and gesturing widely with her left hand. "Hey, Don’t take an attitude with me. You’re the one carrying that thing."

With narrow eyes and a severe frown, Yvonne looked past Juliet to the moving bundle on the counter. Scrunching her face up into a scowl, she sneered, "It’s wrong. It shouldn’t be."

Pushing her shirtsleeves up to her elbows, Juliet marched up to Yvonne. In a low, menacing voice, Juliet commanded and warned. "Listen here, Yvonne. I make the rules around here and don’t you ever forget it. If you or any other bigots in this place hurts this child or any of the Ryans, you’ll have me to contend with. Now, get the hell out of my sight!"

For a second, Juliet was sure Yvonne would spit in her face, but after a couple threatening pauses Yvonne just jutted out her chin, took a step back and walked away without saying a word.

After a few seconds, Juliet jumped at the sound of a voice coming from right behind her. "You stood up to her good, Julie," warbled Willie, with a nervous voice.

Spinning around, Juliet found Willie standing behind her. His hands went up in a submissive position at the sight of Juliet’s defensive expression. Instantly, Juliet’s features softened. Pulling her sleeves down, Juliet replied, "Thanks. I can’t believe anyone can be like that to a baby. It just makes no sense to me."

Understanding, Willie nodded. Juliet watched as Willie walked back to the kitchen. Pulling back the curtain, Willie revealed Elisa who was still sifting flour, oblivious to the recent dark events. Willie went over and stopped Elisa, directing her to another exciting task - cleaning up her workstation. Walking back out of the kitchen, Willie smiled back at Elisa. Turning to Juliet, Willie remarked, "She’s a nice girl. Angela is so lucky."

Nodding in agreement, Juliet concurred, "Yes, she is. Very lucky, Indeed."

CHAPTER SIX

A few days later, a war room meeting took place now that Martin was back on his feet. He wasn’t doing cartwheels, mind you, but he could walk from here to there without getting winded. Standing around the rectangular table, Juliet, Tyler, Martin and Michael listened to the tape Phillip recorded. Once the tape finished, they stood in silence for a minute, considering the conversation on which they just eavesdropped. With a troubled expression, Tyler ordered, "Rewind the tape. I want to hear it again."

The others stared at him curiously, but Martin did as he asked. Playing the tape again, the room filled with Diana’s voice. "Fine. As for my report… No! My Lord, you must believe me. Phillip is a traitor and will get us all killed."

"Stop! Rewind it. Play it again." Placing both of his hands on the table, Tyler cocked his head so his right ear pointed toward the electronic device in the center of the table and waited for the recording to play again..

Throwing his arms up in the air, Mike asked, "What’s going on here, Tyler?"

Glancing up at Mike, Tyler sneered, "Nothing. Just get your girlfriend to rewind the tape again."

Mumbling under his breath, Mike felt his shoulders tense at Tyler’s comment. Beside Mike, Martin felt his mouth fill with venom, but rewound the tape anyway. Pressing play, Martin started the tape again. "Fine. As for-"

"Stop!" commanded Tyler before getting deadly quiet. Slowly, Tyler raised his head and brought his intense, accusatory glare to bear on Martin. "What is your brother hiding from us?"

"What?" yelled Martin.

Slowly standing up, Tyler rested on his right leg as he tapped his toe on the cement floor. "This tape is incomplete. Part of it has been erased on purpose. What I want to know is what are we not hearing and why?"

With cold, logical eyes, Juliet stared at Tyler and slowly inquired, "What are you talking about, Tyler?"

Looking around the room, Tyler smiled smugly as he inquired, "None of you hear it? Well, that’s what you get when you work with amateurs."

Glancing at Martin, Tyler continued, "I expected better from you, though. You’re trained in this."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Tyler glared at Martin. "I guess you’re just too close to it, right?"

Mike stepped toward Tyler and threatened, "This better be good, Tyler."

Tyler stepped forward and rewound the tape again. Playing the tape again, Tyler let Diana get as far as "Fine." Looking around, Tyler explained, "Right here, Diana says ‘fine’. What is she saying ‘fine’ to?"

Fast-forwarding the tape, Tyler searched for a bit before hitting play. "D’Nand, could there be some truth to Phillip’s claims…"

Stopping the tape, Tyler expounded, "King Lizard here says ‘could there be some truth to Phillip’s claims.’ Obviously, there was a previous discussion, involving Phillip, more than likely on the part of this tape that is oddly missing."

"This is bullshit! Phillip has always helped us. Why would he betray us, now?" argued Mike.

"Hey, I don’t claim to know how the gears turn in their heads, but you’re awfully intimate with one. Why don’t you tell us," sneered Tyler in rebuttal.

"Son of a -" yelled Mike just as Martin’s hand pressed against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

Staring coldly at the tape player, Martin admitted, "I don’t know what’s going on, but I hear the things that Tyler is pointing out. He’s right. A piece of this conversation is missing."

Vindicated, Tyler stood smugly with his arms crossed. Next to him, Juliet stated, "I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational reason for why there’s a cut in the recording, but, before I can relax, I want to know what that reason is."

Martin continued to stare at the tape player as he answered, "I hope there is. We meet again in four days, I’ll ask him then."

Rubbing her arms, Juliet glanced at the tape. Wanting to reassure her friend, Juliet started a dozen comments in her brain that never made it too her lips. Instead, all her well-meant words died on her lips, leaving an acrid taste on her tongue.

Sighing loudly, Tyler reached for the tape player again. Searching the tape again, Tyler found what he was looking for and pressed play. "Phillip is a traitor and will get us all killed."

Looking around the room from Juliet’s regret-filled face to Mike’s defensive expression to Martin’s stunned appearance, Tyler asked, "Is she talking about them or us?"

--<{()}>--

Aboard the mother ship, Phillip stalked the corridors in search of a very specific Sirian. Always big on preparation, Phillip had spent the last few days since his meeting with Donovan tracking his prey’s routines and securing his familiar routes. Turning a corner, Phillip fought the urge to do a final countdown as he waited for the Sirian that he knew would pass by here any moment. Not letting Phillip down, the prey maintained his schedule and passed Phillip precisely when Phillip thought he would. From a safe distance, Phillip followed the thin, tan, brown haired male through the corridors until they came to a lonely stretch of hallway in a lower section of the ship.

Grabbing the Sirian by his right arm and the back of his collar, Phillip pressed him; face first, against the metal grading lining the walls. Leaning against the terrified Sirian, Phillip let the venom in his mouth fill the air, letting his victim know how serious this was. Looking both ways, Phillip confirmed that no one was nearby before he brought his lips flush with the other man’s ear and whispered, "I know you know Diana’s secrets. I want to know them, as well."

Turning his head, Ensign Juan stared at the Inspector General. In the younger males eyes was explicit terror. "I can’t. She’ll kill me or worse."

Slamming the male’s head against the metal with a loud clank, Phillip gripped the back of Juan’s neck tightly, causing Juan to wince from the pain. "Tell me or I will kill you."

Turning Juan around until the young pup was facing the frightening visage of the Inspector General. "I’ve been trained by masters, Ensign. I’ve been taught torture techniques of which Diana couldn’t conceive in a million sequences. Unless you tell me everything, I’ll make sure you are familiar with each and every technique that I know before I allow you to die."

Juan’s eyes bulged, quivering from the stress that he exerted on them. Panting and unable to catch his breath, Juan swallowed down mouthfuls of venom-laced air that burned as it filled his lungs. "I can’t. She’ll kill me. If I tell you. I’ll be dead already."

Slamming the back of Juan’s head against the wall once, twice, a third time, Phillip rolled his left hand into a fist and pressed it deep into the Sirian’s stomach, pushing up against Juan’s diaphragm. First, Juan’s mouth fell open from the pain and then his breath became shallow. Unable to take a regular breath, Juan’s face filled with panic as he struggled against Phillip’s far stronger form. Using both hands, Juan tried to move Phillip’s right hand but loss of oxygen made him weak and his movements sluggish.

Finally, Phillip stepped ever closer to Juan, looking him directly in the eyes as he tightened his grip on the young Sirian’s windpipe. Carefully, Phillip watched Juan’s eyes, waiting for that moment when the eyes start to go blank. When the moment came, Phillip threw Juan against the wall one last time, knocking out what little air was left in him. Slowly, Juan dropped to the deck, his muscles useless like they were nothing but gelatinous blobs.

Kneeling on his right knee, Phillip grabbed the sputtering Sirian by the chin and viciously tugged Juan a foot off the floor. "That’s just a sample, Juan. A taste. Would you like more?"

Coughing, Juan managed a couple feeble shakes of his head. "No. Please. No." Coughing some more, Juan gasped, "But…But… I’m still dead. Either way, I’m still dead."

Pulling a small flask of water from his pocket that he had prepared for just this moment, Phillip slipped his right hand behind Juan’s head, bringing the neck of the flask close to Juan’s dry mouth. Tipping the bottle to the point that the liquid inside balanced on the edge of the rim, Phillip stated, "Is that all Juan? Your death? Is that all that’s keeping you from telling me?"

Still shaking from the pain in his gut, Juan opened his mouth wider. His tongue could taste the coolness of the water and it only made his mouth feel drier, his throat that much more constricted. Flicking his tongue out, Juan groaned when Phillip pulled the water away at the last minute. Letting go of Juan’s neck, Phillip let the ensign fall in a heap onto the floor. Sitting back on his heels, Phillip raised the bottle and took a drink of the water, making sure to exaggerate the gulping motions of his throat. For a second, Phillip held the flask at his lips even allowing a couple drops to dribble down his chin. Bringing down the half-empty flask, Martin wiped the water off his chin with the back of his hand.

Positioning the flask at Juan’s lips again, Phillip asked, "Would you like some water, Juan?"

Unsure of what to do, Juan chose honesty and nodded his head. As a reward, Phillip allowed a few drops to fall into Juan’s mouth - enough to wet his tongue but not enough to quench his thirst. "That’s good, Juan. You see. When you tell me the truth, you get a reward. I’m not unreasonable. I just want the truth. Do you understand, Juan?"

Nodding uncertainly, Juan’s mind raced, unable to focus. Shaking his head, Phillip placed the flask back in his pocket. "You see. There you go again, Juan. I can see that you’re not being entirely truthful with me."

Juan’s face contorted with panic and he spoke incoherent words - some Sirian, some English - pleading for mercy. With a fluid grace, Phillip rose up to a standing position, towering over Juan’s prone form. Phillip’s smile was cruel and his eyes flashed with controlled madness. By the time Phillip got around to administering Juan’s punishment, Juan was already whimpering, pleading incoherently.

At that moment, Phillip could hear someone approaching the corridor. Acting fast, Phillip dropped down on one knee and grabbed Juan by his feet. Dragging Juan’s body into a dark corner of the corridor, Phillip positioned himself at Juan’s head and clamped his right hand over Juan’s mouth.

As whoever it was got closer, Juan started to issue muffled screams. The stranger paused in front of their shadowed hideaway, stretching his neck for a better view of the darkened area. Thinking fast, Phillip made a few sensual moans. Listening closely, Phillip heard the stranger chuckle softly before walking away.

Once they were again alone, Phillip slammed his fist into Juan’s side, breaking three of the young ensign’s ribs with the sixth punch, tearing his uniform on the eighth hit and tearing Juan’s scale covered skin on the eleventh blow when he finally stopped his punishment.

"Look what you made me do. Why did you have to do that, Juan? Do you have a death wish or something? Do you? Answer me." commanded Phillip.

Panting from the assault, Juan gripped his side and whimpered, "No. Please, I don’t want to die."

Pulling the flask of water from his pocket, Phillip brought it to Juan’s lips again, letting him have a longer, unsatisfying sip of water this time. Pulling the bottle away from Juan’s reaching tongue, Phillip whispered, "Do you see, Juan? Do you see how it can be between us when you tell me the truth?"

This time, Juan quickly nodded his head. "Yes. Yes, I do. I really do."

Graciously, Phillip brought the flask once again to the ensign’s lips and let him have a little longer, almost satisfying sip. Withdrawing the flask, Phillip placed it on the floor within eyeshot. Intensely, Phillip watched Juan’s eyes follow the bottle. Pleased, Phillip returned to his questioning. "Have I lied to you, Juan?"

Shaking his head, Juan answered, "No."

Letting both of his knees touch the floor, Phillip asked, "Haven’t I given you everything I said I would, both reward and punishment?"

Quick to answer, Juan nodded his head frantically. "Yes."

Raising one eyebrow, Phillip inquired, "Not so fast, Juan. Are you sure?"

Gulping down mouthfuls of air, Juan paused for a second to calm himself before he replied, "Yes, believe me. It’s yes."

"Okay just so long as you’re sure," assured Phillip. "Now I want you to listen very carefully to what I have to say, Juan. Can you do that?"

Nodding, but not too quickly this time, Juan responded, "Yes."

Getting back on his feet, Phillip crouched down and explained, "Now, Juan, I’m going to ask you again what Diana’s secrets are and if you tell me the truth then I’ll give you a very special reward, but if you don’t then I will be forced to give you a very harsh punishment. Understand?"

Punctuating his question with a quick jab at the sore ribs that he fractured just a few minutes ago, Phillip watched as Juan winced and attempted to move away. Seeing the uncertainty in Juan’s eyes, Phillip punched him hard in the ribs again. As the ensign writhed in pain, Phillip remarked, "You’re only doing this to yourself, Juan. Now, answer me, do you understand what I just told you?"

Nodding, Juan answered between gulps for air, "Yes. I understand."

"Good," said Phillip. "Now what I need to know is do you want the shiny reward or do you want more punishment?" With a blur of movement, Phillip thrust his fist at Juan’s sore ribs, but didn’t connect with the sore, quivering flesh.

Recoiling from the punch that never came, Juan gasped and whined, "The reward. Please, I don’t want anymore punishment."

Perfectly still, Phillip asked, "Are you sure, Juan, that this is what you want to do?"

Pausing only for a brief moment, Juan answered solemnly, "Yes. I want to tell you. Please."

Nodding, Phillip looked directly into Juan’s eyes and asked, "What are Diana’s secrets, Juan?"

Gulping once, Juan spilled his guts. He told Phillip everything he wanted to know and only Phillip’s years of training kept the shock from his eyes as Juan told him the source of Diana’s influence over the Leader.

Nodding sternly, Phillip got up and walked away from Juan. A short way down the corridor to an intercom, Phillip pressed codes into an intercom. Instantly, Phillip connected with a couple members of the Fifth Column on the mother ship and informed them of Juan’s condition. Phillip gave the security officers explicit orders to transport Juan to the infirmary until further notice. In a forcefully steady voice, Phillip informed the Fifth Columnists that they were to leave Juan only with Petra, the L.A. mother ship’s Chief Medical Officer. Phillip asked if they understood his directives and the officers answered in the affirmative just before the comm. went dead.

Returning to Juan, Phillip was pleased to see the flask on the floor, untouched by Juan during his absence. Kneeling down, Phillip picked up the bottle and poured the rest of the water gently down Juan’s thirsty throat. Laying Juan’s head back on the floor softly, Phillip addressed the broken and bloodied Sirian, "I’m going to go now, Juan, but some security officers are coming for you. They’re going to take you to sick bay and get you fixed up. They’re going to protect you until I can secure passage for you off this mother ship so that you can be free of Diana’s influence. Understand?"

Nodding his head, Juan answered, "Yes. I understand. Thank you, Sir."

Nodding, Phillip got up and walked away. Reentering the main corridors of the ship, Phillip made a point of making himself seen. Making his way past the docking bays, Phillip wondered what to do with his new found information. Mumbling to himself, Phillip reasoned, "Best to approach this very carefully."

CHAPTER SEVEN

The next four days passed pretty quickly and by the end of the first very long week of Jackson Ryan’s life, the inhabitants of the Los Angeles Resistance returned to their comforting routines. The common area was once again filled with sofas and chairs. Gone was the excitement of new nuptials. In its place, the hallways were filled once again with the silence of military preparation. As before, news spread through the halls by word of mouth and the content of the latest breaking story were the whispered rumors concerning the new Ryan kid’s appearance. By the time the gossip got to the last in the chain, Jackson Ryan resembled a ghoul from Halloween complete with fangs, horns and a tail.

For her part, Angela continued to rest when she could. The itchy stitches were removed just as they started to sting on the second day after the cesarean section and Angela managed to feel only mildly conflicted about wearing a new pseudo-skin. Since then, Angela managed the occasional walk to the dining hall for a snack and a talk with Willie. As she left their quarters, Ringo would wave goodbye and ask when she’d be home. Angela rarely replied.

With Jackson snuggled in her arms and Elisa in tow, Angela would shuffle through the corridors and past all the wary looks. Occasionally, she bumped into a parent of one of her students while walking through the halls. As she nodded at the Human’s serious expression, Angela could care less about the distance the person put between them. Harder to take, Angela found was the way that the person pulled their smiling child away from Elisa.

And, the whispers. The whispers skittered about behind her back, just past her range of hearing, pausing whenever she came near. The whispers floated in the air, drifting into her room, invading her quarters. ‘Do they think they can stand in front of my door and gossip and not have me hear them?’ she mused. Then her realist mind screamed at her hopeful heart - It wasn’t that these Humans were oblivious. They just didn’t care if their words hurt her or her family.

As for her husband, every morning, Ringo left to help with some Resistance matter. He walked through the halls with a confident grace. He held his head high as he drew looks of contempt, of pity and of longing.

For the fifth time since he married Angela, one of the unmarried women at the compound offered to reunite him with the Human race. Like every other time, Ringo declined the invitation, tactfully, leaving the girl to openly fume.

Often Ringo’s rebuff of these ladies ended badly with the female screaming behind him, attracting a crowd. Ignorant people would encircle him, not letting him leave. Soon, the taunts began. Traitor! Lizard Lover!

With tense and chiseled muscles, Ringo stood his ground when some rude bastard made an off-handed comment concerning his wife or son. With a quiet, steady voice, Ringo reminded the ill-mannered individual that he was a husband and a father capable of protecting his family. This carefully spoken warning often resulted in heated words and rash actions. By the end of the day, he returned home looking tired and, one time, slightly bruised. In his patient way, Ringo assured Angela that nothing was wrong, not any more, as she inspected the purplish-blue damage.

During these trying days, the Ryan family found the occasional respite. Just last night, before all their friends, Angela and Ringo asked Martin to be Jackson’s Wontu. Ringo and the others Humans present were a little disappointed at the lack of pageantry involved since the whole ceremony consisted of Angela asking and Martin accepting. At least, that made it easier for Willie to translate.

Afterwards, they ate. They drank. In a huddled circle, those present - Juliet, Willie, Michael, Martin and the Ryan family - reveled in the simple pleasure of acceptance and friendship as they passed the baby around.

That night, or should one say early morning, as the party broke up, Michael and Martin made their way back to their room. Tired and drunk with happiness and a couple glasses of cheap Merlot, they laughed their way home, with an arm around each other for balance. At their door, Martin couldn’t resist a public display of affection. Pulling Michael by the collar of the soft, brown leather jacket he wore everywhere, Martin pressed his lips fully against Mike’s eager smile. His head tilted back, Martin sighed into his mate’s mouth as they parted. Searching for the doorknob with his left hand, Michael pulled Martin in for another kiss with his right hand.

Together, the pair fell back into their quarters. Stumbling backwards, Michael let his instincts guide him as he rushed for the bed. Kicking the door shut with the heel of his shoe, Martin pushed Michael’s jacket off his shoulders and down his arms, throwing it onto the floor. Both of their hands wrestled to get the other’s pants undone. Kicking the denim aside, both of them stepped away from the unwanted apparel. When Michael felt the frame of the bed tap the back of his legs, he endeavored to remove even more of the barriers separating him from his lover.

With desperate handfuls of cotton, Michael pulled Martin’s pale blue turtleneck off. At the sight of his lover’s naked chest, Michael felt the alcohol-induced fog start to lift from his mind. Running his fingertips lightly over Martin’s stomach, Michael paused his fingers to visit scales uncovered during previous sojourns. Smiling, Michael stared directly into Martin’s love-filled gaze as he worked his way up Martin’s body to his chest and further up to his strong shoulders.

Firmly, Mike took a hold of Martin’s head by pressing his thumbs under the Sirian’s chin and combing his fingers through the fake blond hair at the base of Martin’s skull. Passionately, Michael leaned in and kissed Martin fiercely. Parting his lips when Martin did, Michael thrust his tongue into Martin’s mouth and moaned when he felt Martin’s thin, smooth tongue wrap around his own blunt tongue.

Sucking on Michael’s tongue, Martin worked at unfastening the buttons of Michael’s short sleeve, forest green shirt. Parting the cloth, Martin broke his mouth away from Michael’s swollen lips. Descending on Michael’s chest, Martin bit and nipped at Michael’s warm flesh. With each moan he elicited, Martin smiled, content knowing that he was the reason why. Using gentle hands, Martin petted Michael’s flesh from his shoulders to his waist, teasing all the familiar places. Finally, Martin’s hands rested on Michael’s hips. A second later, Martin’s knees touched the cement floor.

Taking Michael into his mouth, Martin tickled and teased his lover’s smooth, firm flesh with his versatile tongue. Caressing Michael’s buttocks, Martin pulled Mike’s swaying form closer. Shuffling an inch at a time, Michael moved closer to Martin and grasped onto Martin’s shoulders in desperation as he felt the strength start to leave his legs. Straining every muscle in his body, Michael ran screaming up to the moment that Martin’s actions had worked so lovingly to achieve. Shaking from the strength of his orgasm, Michael felt Martin’s strong hands hold him up for a few moments before carefully guiding his limp frame down onto the concrete floor.

Both of them kneeling on the hard surface, Michael pressed his cheek against Martin’s left shoulder as Martin held him securely. Intoxication left far behind, Michael fell victim easily to the afterglow filling his now alert mind. Weakly, Michael brought his arms up and wrapped them loosely around Martin’s waist while he panted roughly, his body shaking from the exertion. With his left arm wrapped around Michael’s heaving back, Martin’s left hand grasped Michael’s waist in a firm, but gentle grip. With his right hand, Martin lovingly petted Michael’s cheek and hair.

After a few comfortable moments, Michael lifted his head off Martin’s shoulder and smiled kindly at his lover before leaning over and capturing Martin’s lips with his own. They simply kissed for the next few minutes, satisfied just to be in the company of one another. Slowly, Michael’s right hand wandered down his lover’s body until his fingertips brushed against Martin’s hard shaft. Lazily, Michael teased Martin’s flesh eliciting a sound somewhere between a moan and a whine.

Leaning back, Michael stared at Martin’s blue eyes and open expression as he continued to pump the Sirian’s firm flesh. Slowly, by a matter of degrees, the two male’s eyes changed, growing darker as desire and need rose and battled within them. Succumbing to desire and embracing need, Martin started to buck his hips in time with Michael’s ministrations as his breath came out in short pants. Coming closer and closer to completion, Martin reached out and grabbed Michael by the back of the neck.

In response, Michael wiggled out of Martin’s handhold. Wincing a little from the pain in his stiff knees, Michael stood up slowly and held out a hand to Martin. Taking the offered hand, Martin let Michael help him to his feet and pull him gently over to the bed.

Falling back on the mattress, Michael pulled Martin down with him, welcoming the comforting weight of his lover pressing down on him. Wrapping his arms around Martin’s shoulders, Michael brought Martin down for a long kiss as his legs wound around Martin’s waist. Bucking up against Martin’s erection, Michael groaned when Martin pulled away.

Kneeling between his lover’s eager thighs, Martin waited until Michael’s hungry eyes were watching him before licking two of his fingers, getting them very slick before sliding them into Michael’s pliant body. Pausing further, Martin took time to reach between his and Michael’s pillows to retrieve the bottle of lube they kept there. Rubbing a liberal amount on his erection, Martin positioned himself at Michael’s entrance and easily slid into Michael.

Instantly, Michael was pressing back against Martin’s thrusts, raising his hips to meet each blissful drive. Placing his weight on his elbows, Martin looked directly into Michael’s eyes with each movement. Rising and falling, Martin and Michael were focused on each other; concentrating on the love, hunger, desire and need they saw in each other’s eyes.

Only after he felt Michael’s member come back to life, the blunt tip of it pressing against his stomach, did Martin decide to press down harder, covering Michael’s body with his own. Kissing Michael greedily, Martin extended his tongue into his mate, wrapping it around Michael’s tongue. Gently squeezing Michael’s tongue, Martin was pleasantly surprised to feel Michael perform a mirrored squeezing of Martin’s hard flesh.

Pulling back, Martin broke free of Michael’s embrace and straightened up. Soon, Martin’s thrusts built up to a frantic pace. Bringing both of Michael’s legs up, Martin held a calf in each hand as he continued to rhythmically drive into Michael’s responsive flesh. Martin held Mike’s right leg against his shoulder with his left hand as he wrapped his right hand around Michael’s erection and started to pump the rigid muscle.

Sliding his thumb over the tip with each up-stroke and squeezing slightly at the base with each down-stroke, Martin was quickly rewarded with a thin, shallow stream of pre-cum. Tension filling every part of Michael’s body, Michael clinched his muscles around Martin again, causing Martin to grind into Michael harder. His hands scrambling out in front of him, Michael raked his fingertips over Martin’s trembling flesh and cried out wordless sounds as he slipped over the edge for the second time that night.

Smiling, Martin calmed his thrusts, easing back into a casual rhythm. Pleased by Michael’s reaction, Martin rested once again on his elbows and gazed awestruck at Michael’s shuttered eyes, open mouth and relaxed face. Adoringly, Martin kissed Michael’s glowing visage, pecking at Michael’s forehead, nose, cheeks and chin. Soon, Martin’s lips fell onto Michael’s, sliding intimately across familiar flesh.

Soon, Martin’s movements began to build again, causing Martin to grip Michael’s shoulders tightly, desperately. Driving on, Martin kissed his way to Michael’s shoulder, moaning deeply when he felt Michael’s right hand lightly press against the back of his head, holding him in place. With a final forceful push, Martin buried himself deep in Michael’s willing flesh and came as he bit down on the scarred flesh of Michael’s left shoulder.

Afterwards, they held each other serenely. Silent, they reveled in the sensation of the sweet tension leaving their bodies. Slowly, Martin pulled out of Michael and shifted to the right, laying down next to his lover’s sleepy body. Staring out at the darkness, Martin held onto his mate frantically, needing the calming influence Michael’s mere presence always held over his soul. Distracted, Martin laid with his head resting on Michael’s chest, slowly rubbing lazy circles over Michael’s pointed elbow. Closing his eyes, Martin tried to will sleep to come carry him away. He was unsuccessful. His eyes wide open again, Martin could not vanquish the troubling thoughts that pestered him and kept sleep a breath away.

Taking him by surprise, Martin flinched slightly as Michael whispered sleepily, "You want to talk about it?"

Shaking his head, Martin answered, "No, Mike. Go to sleep. You must be tired."

Placing a boneless hand on Martin’s head, Mike buried his fingers into Martin’s hair. "Nah. I’m okay. I must be acquiring an immunity to that bite of yours. It doesn’t knock me out now nearly as much as it did at the beginning."

"Are you sure? You’re not too tired?" inquired Martin as he rose up on his left elbow and looked down on Michael’s peaceful face.

Smiling lazily, Michael nodded while pressing weakly on Martin’s back until Martin returned to his previous position with his head pillowed on Michael’s chest. Pausing, Martin listened to the beating of Michael’s Human heart before finally speaking softly. "I’m worried about the meeting with Phillip tomorrow. I’m afraid of what I might find out.

Yawning deeply, Michael asked, "Want do you mean by afraid? Afraid of Phillip?"

Nodding, Martin rubbed his cheek against Michael’s strong chest. "As children, I always knew when he wasn’t telling the truth. I think I can still tell now and I’m afraid that he might be less than truthful tomorrow."

Grunting in understanding, Michael sighed, "Do you really think Phillip might be capable of betraying us?"

Shrugging, Martin answered, "I don’t want to think so, but there are reasons why I was shocked when I heard that he had joined the Fifth Column. Before we attacked the Earth, Phillip was a hero of the war against the Karaxians. During the war, he worked closely with the Leader, Mike. He publicly supported the Leader’s ascension to power and his endorsement was pivotal during the Leader’s campaign. Back then, I was sure Phillip was a loyal Sirian soldier, incapable of betraying his government."

Shifting uncomfortably beneath Martin’s weight, Michael asked, "And now?"

"And now…" sighed Martin. "Now, I believe he is loyal to me. At least, I hope he is."

Relaxing again, Michael sank down into the mattress. "Don’t worry, Martin. Everything’ll be okay and if it isn’t - We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Cuddling closer to Michael’s warm body, Martin replied, "I guess we will." Turning his face into his mate’s supple skin, Martin breathed in the beloved scent that only belonged to Michael mixed with the scent of the toxin now rushing through his veins. Sighing deeply, Martin said, "I love you, Mike."

Absently rubbing Martin’s back, Michael whispered, "Love you, too, Martin."

CHAPTER EIGHT

"My Lord, your afternoon meal has arrived. Would you rather eat here in your bedchamber or in the antechamber?" chimed one of the faithful servants of the Leader as she stood in the center of the entrance to the Leader’s bedchamber, swaying gracefully, rhythmically under the many layers of her robes.

Looking up at his priestess, R’Narne walked over to a secretary desk unit to the left of the door and patted the smooth plastic/metal finish. "I’ll take it here, D’Laijah."

With a practiced clap of her small, delicate hands, D’Laijah summoned dinner. Gracefully, she stood aside as a couple security officers walked stiffly into the room and placed a couple trays on the designated table. Behind them, D’Laijah floated across the floor, coming to stand before the serving trays and the young security officers standing beside them. Opening one of the sixteen cubbyholes that divided up the two, 2’x 2’x 5" square cases on the trays, D’Laijah chose a single squirming mouse from each case. Turning toward the servers, D’Laijah held the rodents high; waiting serenely for the servers to open their mouths and perform their duty for the glory of Sirius IV.

In the young eyes of the servers, one could clearly see fear as they quickly went about their duties. Loyally, the security officers swallowed the rodents without pause, taking a step back, away from D’Laijah once they were done. Standing side-by-side, the servers cast their eyes downward as they waited to see if the next few moments might be their last.

Across the room, the Leader stood beside his frequent guest, Diana. For eight days and seven nights, Diana had been the Leader’s almost constant companion. Always behind his bedchamber’s locked doors, with the utmost privacy, R’Narne met with Diana for hours on end. One time, she even stayed the night. To the delight of the gossip mil, the Leader showered Diana with gifts and kind words. Her almost constant presence in the Leader’s chambers spurred rumors throughout the staff of sensual affairs and possible coups.

Over the past few days, D’Laijah and other members of the royal entourage whispered into the Leader’s ear that meeting with Diana so candidly was damaging his reputation, but R’Narne laughed off their warnings and pleased himself with Diana’s company anyway.

Once the required quarter of a circuit passed, the servers waited to be dismissed and upon receiving the order, left the Leader’s quarters as quickly as possible without running.

Pausing beside the door, D’Laijah shifted uncomfortably. Silently, she wondered whether she would be asked to take up her normal duties of service or leave the Leader alone with his guest as she had been ordered to so many times before. A nod from the Leader answered her inquiry and D’Laijah lowered her gaze to the ground and took a few measured steps back before tapping the door control, closing the portal.

Crossing her arms, Diana sank back into the cushions of the chair in which she was sitting and sighed impatiently. Watching R’Narne carefully, Diana followed his graceful movements and billowing robes as he crossed the floor. She observed him lift a rat from its cage and eye it greedily. Against her will, Diana felt her chest constrict when R’Narne turned and offered the first kill to her.

"May those that survived the hunt, be fruitful and multiply." Regal in stature, the Leader extended his claw, the squirming rodent held tightly within it.

Rising to her feet, Diana allowed her form to show a bit of unwillingness, impatience and irritation as she crossed the distance between them and took the rat from his extended claw.

"May those that fell, share with us their lives," whispered Diana just before she opened her mouth and allowed the small vermin to slide down her throat.

Glancing over at R’Narne, Diana smirked as she reached for another panicking mammal. "Imported from the London mother ship. Delicious, but what is the occasion?"

The Leader watched carefully, nostalgically, almost sadly as Diana fed, licking her lips and fingers noisily. Wistfully, he replied, "Do I need a reason to bring you joy, D’Nand?"

Looking up suddenly at the Leader’s love-filled countenance, Diana felt that odd pressure again in her chest as she willed her feelings to be calm and wise. Trembling from her control, Diana shuddered slightly as the Leader drew closer, brushing a single claw across her cheek. Desperately, R’Narne sought Diana’s gaze until Diana relented, bringing her gaze to fondly bear on R’Narne’s face. Content, R’Narne extended his tongue and flicked it lightly across Diana’s chin as he reached down to retrieve a tasty entrée. Finally joining in the meal, the Leader swallowed one of the larger rats, savoring its musky flavor as he crushed its small body and with a gulp, swallowed it down.

--<{()}>--

In another part of the mother ship, Phillip worked hard at being seen. In fact, that was how he had spent the last several hours. Performing surprise inspections, meeting with a board of his supervising officers and strolling through the more populated segments of the ship were the camouflage Phillip employed to, in short, provide him with an airtight alibi and a place to be that was far from the galley.

Glancing at one of the many info screens lining the walls, Phillip sighed as he noted the time: 6:49 p.m. (PST). At present, the Inspector General was intently listening to the concerns of a security clerk called Glenn. Apparently, the new security procedures created in response to the Resistance attacks on the water collection plants often conflicted with each other, causing much confusion for this paper trail obsessed pencil pusher. As Phillip tried to allay the young Sirian’s many fears of bureaucratic disarray, the intercom screamed to life as small red lights lining the corridors flashed.

"Inspector General Phillip! Report to Sick Bay! Inspector General Phillip! Report to Sick Bay!"

Painfully loud, the message repeated three more times before finally ceasing and mercifully returning relative silence to the halls. Shrugging at the helpless clerk in front of him, Phillip excused himself quickly. Racing through the halls, Phillip managed to look surprised when the sick bay doors opened, presenting him with the awesome sight of the Leader spread out on a slab with a thin silver blanket pulled up to his armpits.

Crossing the room, Phillip looked past the Leader and gloated at Diana’s unconscious, similarly adorned form. Turning toward the Chief Medical Officer, Phillip inquired, "Will the Leader live?"

Glancing at her patients, Petra lowered her eyebrows – shadowing her periwinkle blue eyes, turned her left shoulder toward Phillip and answered, "Both of these patients will make a full recovery."

His eyes widening, Phillip pulled his arms forward from the tight clasp he held them in behind his back. "You cured Diana, too? Why?"

By way of a response, Petra shuffled over to a nearby desk and snatched a clipboard away from its polished veneer. Crossing the distance between them, Petra thrust the clipboard and the flapping papers attached to it into Phillip’s face. Backing up fast to avoid being hit, Phillip grabbed the hard plastic and tore it out of Petra’s hand. Staring down at the papers, Phillip raised each of the two sheets until finally he was staring sadly at the white board.

Before he could look up, Petra growled, "Death has already visited my sick bay twice today. I neither welcome nor wish for her return."

Reverently, Phillip handed the clipboard back to Petra. Glancing up, he watched Petra cradle the hard plastic as she carried it back to her desk. Calmly, he watched her place it on the desk, running her fingers affectionately across the top sheet, lightly brushing it with her fingertips before reaching up and pulling back a two foot long, limp mane of dishwater blond hair into a pony tail she tied off with a rubber band.

"This isn’t why I joined the Fifth Column, Phillip. I didn’t join to commit murder. I could have done that without betraying my people. Yet, whom do I have in a private room? Yes, another one of your victims – An unfortunate male whose only crime was to know too much. It’s been five days since you sent him here and I’m still not sure if he’ll pull through without permanent muscle or nerve damage."

Bubbling up sadly, laughter escaped from Petra’s throat. Shaking her head as she glanced upwards, Petra mentioned, "Not that you’d even know if I didn’t tell you. From the first day, I wondered if he’d even survive. For the past few days, I’ve visited him often, but you haven’t checked on him once. Not even for a status report. Not even to make it appear as if you give damn about what you’ve done to him."

Shaking her head harder this time, Petra rubbed at the back of her neck while she allowed herself to be momentarily distracted by the swaying and bobbing weight dangling off the back of her head. Quietly, she mused, "O Phillip. This hair! I’ll never get used to this stupid hair. It’s just another reminder of how illogical governments can be. Why did I or any other female on this ship have to have long, flowing hair? I’ve seen Human females. Many of them have short hair. So, why do I have to struggle to keep it out of my eyes? Why must I endure the sore shoulder and neck muscles caused by it? Why must I bear the weight of it as I hold the hands of two young males I can’t save? Males I lied to. Males whom I told I could save them if they just got back to me in time."

Walking over to Diana’s slab, Petra declared, "They’re already in the morgue." Turning to face Phillip, Petra quizzed, "What do you think about that? How does it make you feel that the officers you used as errand boys, used even to clean up the mess you made of Ensign Juan, are dead?"

Silent, Phillip’s face betrayed nothing of his dark motivations. With his mask firmly in place, Phillip approached Diana, earning a wary look from Petra. Keeping his gaze rigidly on the devilishly feminine face before him, Phillip continued to stare at Diana. "Did you perform the tasks I requested?"

Rigidly, Petra nodded. "Yes, Yes, I drew a couple of vials of their blood and placed large bandages over the wounds." Pulling four thin vials of green blood out of her pocket, Petra waved them in the air as she continued, "Here, they are. As always, I’ve done as I’ve been told. As you requested, I did nothing with them even if I didn’t understand why."

Turning around, Phillip grabbed the vials from Petra’s hands and pocketed them. Ignoring Petra’s insulted expression, Phillip turned back toward the Leader. Glancing down, Phillip swept his eyes over the Leader’s slack face. "It is unimportant that you understand why. Your saving of Diana’s life does not make me happy, nor do I even understand it, but it could be of use to me. Because of that – I won’t get angry. I won’t hold your blatant guilt trips against you, but I will expect you to leave when the Leader regains consciousness."

Out of the corner of his eye, Phillip saw Petra move in protest, but he stopped her with a word. "No!"

Spinning in her direction, Phillip loomed over her. Fury and authority battled for attention in his eyes. "No, Petra. I won’t promise to not hurt Diana. I won’t promise to leave the sick bay in one piece. I won’t promise a damn thing. When the Leader revives, you will leave. Until then, you will make sure that the Leader wakes up first."

Noting the wariness in her eyes, Phillip shouted, "These are not requests. They are orders."

Sticking out her chin in defiance, Petra asked, "And, if I refuse to comply?"

Slowly, Phillip stood straighter, making himself seem even bigger. "I’m still the commanding officer of this ship and the Inspector General of the Sirian military. I’ll simply have you arrested for treason. Surely the proof I have stashed away – namely a tape with your voice on it explaining in detail what you did to the Leader – will be enough on which to base charges."

Wide-eyed, Petra stuttered, "You can’t be serious."

"Do you want to risk it and find out?" queried Phillip.

Shaking her head, Petra answered quietly, "No."

Nodding, Phillip turned back toward Diana and allowed his mask to slip just enough for his lips to turn up into a smirk and for his jaw to set.

Over the next couple silent hours, Phillip and Petra waited for the Leader to awaken. Once, during that time, Diana revived only to be quickly tranquilized by Petra. As the CMO slid the needle into Diana’s shoulder, Petra stared at Phillip with hatred. With unblinking eyes, Phillip returned Petra’s intense glare until Petra’s rage wilted and the iron poker in her spine melted. With his arms crossed, Phillip sat back in his chair and waited as Petra simply backed down.

Finally, the Leader regained consciousness with a slight nod of his head and a rough cough. With a flick of his wrist, Phillip dismissed Petra and waited rigidly for her to leave. Once the door closed behind her reluctant form, Phillip relaxed. Standing beside the Leader, Phillip took the Leader’s limp claw in his and leaned familiarly against the slab.

Gently, Phillip whispered, "R’Narne? R’Narne, can you hear me? Can you speak?"

Several times, the Leader blinked his heavy eyelids and moaned painfully. Slowly, he came around. First, his eyes swam aimlessly in his head. Then, they began to focus. Finally, squinting against the light, the Leader honed in on Phillip’s face.

"F’Lierne?" breathed R’Narne.

Holding the green scale covered claw in his hand tighter, Phillip answered, "Yes, it’s me, R’Narne. How are you feeling?"

Coughing weakly, R’Narne replied, "Horrible. What happened?"

"Your food was poisoned," explained Phillip.

"Not possible. All the customs were performed. All the safeguards. My food testers-"

"Are dead. I had the tests performed myself, R’Narne. It was poison – Time delayed to circumvent the food-testing procedures," insisted Phillip as he saw a curtain of fear close over the Leader’s features.

"Tests?" The Leader paused, his eyes growing large. "Diana. Where is Diana?"

Nodding to a point off of the Leader’s right shoulder, Phillip whispered, "She’s still unconscious. She is expected to make a full recovery."

Curiously, Phillip noted that an edge of worry vanished from R’Narne’s face. Slowly, R’Narne turned his head to find Diana on the slab beside him. Exhaling, R’Narne again stared into Phillip’s eyes, trying desperately to read them. Looking into R’Narne’s eyes, Phillip steeled himself for the exchange he knew was coming.

"Phillip? What kinds of tests were run?" asked R’Narne.

"The full battery. We had to know the extent of the poison involved," answered Phillip.

"Who has seen these tests?" inquired R’Narne.

Nodding comfortingly, Phillip assured, "Only myself and the CMO, Petra. Believe me, R’Narne. I have obtained her discretion."

Nodding in response, R’Narne whispered, "You were always better to me than I deserved, F’Lierne."

The Leader started to shake as he fought out his next words, "So, I guess you know my secret."

Squeezing R’Narne’s trembling claw, Phillip answered, "Yes."

"As Inspector General, what is your opinion of me, now?" R’Narne asked with despair in his eyes.

"As Inspector General, I am not afforded the luxury of an opinion. Per my duties, I must inform you that you have committed a crime most high, but as your friend, as the young cadet without status that you helped to advance, I must inform you that my high opinion of you can never be changed."

Sighing heavily, the Leader squeezed Phillip’s hand. "It is fitting that you should share this secret with me, Phillip since I have always held only the greatest affection for you."

Straining, R’Narne turned his head to the right and looked at Diana. "She thinks I sent her here to keep my secrets away from Sirius IV. She doesn’t realize that I sent her here to keep my secrets away from her. Once I realized that out here she was no safer than when she was back home, I tried to bring her back to Sirius IV, but everything went terribly wrong."

Looking back at Phillip, R’Narne pleaded, "You must help me, Phillip. I know Diana has hurt you, but she does not deserve to be punished for my indiscretions. Surely, you must see that. Phillip, you have always been fair – interested in justice. There is no justice in Diana falling this way."

Standing up straight, Phillip pried his hand away from R’Narne’s desperate grip. "Listen to me and understand, R’Narne. Not for Diana, but for you, I will do this. I will cover up your crimes as repayment for all the debts I owe you."

Reaching up, the Leader grabbed Phillip’s sleeve. "Thank you, Phillip. From here on out, it will be I who is forever indebted to you."

Stiffly, Phillip stood quietly, waiting for R’Narne to let go of his uniform. Finally, R’Narne released the material and let his hand fall limply back to the metal slab. Straightening his uniform with a few well-placed tugs, Phillip placed a hand over R’Narne’s and addressed him, "I need to leave. I have a meeting to attend. Don’t worry about the tests; I’ll take care of it. Until I return, speak of this with no one – not even with Petra. Upon my return, we will speak of what is necessary to ensure that this secret is contained as much as possible."

Nodding, the Leader allowed his fatigue to overcome him, allowed his defenses to fall. His eyelids grew heavy as he watched Phillip walk out of the sick bay doors. Within seconds of the door closing, the Leader was asleep.

Out in the empty hallway, Phillip stood rigidly, rooted to one spot. Trembling with emotion, Phillip clenched his hands into fists. In his mind, Phillip’s thoughts raced back and forth from the Fifth Column to Sirius IV, from Martin to R’Narne.

Finally, he put one foot in front of the other, making his way to the shuttle bay. Quickly, Phillip boarded a small, six-person shuttle and prepared to launch. Once blue sky surrounded him, Phillip set the autopilot’s controls for the rendezvous point and sat back. Mumbling to himself, Phillip stated, "You’re right about one thing, old friend. There’s no justice in Diana falling this way – away from me, protected from me. No, when Diana’s time comes to fall, the punishment will be by my hand. Nothing, not even you, will keep that sweet justice from me."

CHAPTER NINE

In the middle of a small, nondescript strip of lawn sprawled out beside the 110 freeway called Arroyo Seco Park, Martin and Michael waited anxiously for Phillip’s arrival. As the din of rushing cars surrounded them, Mike and Martin walked about the grounds, letting their fingers brush as they watched the rushing water of a reservoir that cut the park in two.

Looking at the bridge that crossed the cement stream, Mike recognized Phillip’s familiar face and bright red uniform as the Sirian drew closer. Approaching Phillip, Mike held back and let Martin take over the necessary exchange. Stopping in front of Phillip, Martin hugged his brother. Before pulling away, Martin noted the tension in his brother’s arms. Withdrawing from Phillip’s embrace, Martin curiously regarded his brother as he stated, "Phillip, I need to ask you something."

His defenses up and almost fried after this afternoon’s activities, Phillip glanced warily at Michael and Martin’s serious faces and nodded at Martin. Taking a step back, Martin inquired, "Phillip, the tape you gave us was incomplete. It did not contain the whole conversation that took place between the Leader and Diana. Why is that?"

Wincing inwardly, Phillip covered his reluctance well. "I gave you the part of the conversation that seemed the most useful. That’s all." Raising an accusing eyebrow, Phillip looked directly at Martin’s concerned face and asked, "You don’t think that I would betray you to the Leader, do you?"

Stepping forward, Mike attempted to smooth ruffled feathers. "The possibility was brought up at the last meeting by a member of the command staff. You can guess which one. The command staff needed a response to this inquiry. We didn’t want to, but we had to ask, Phillip."

Nodding uneasily, Phillip replied, "I see. Well, there was nothing of… note on the part of the tape I didn’t give you. That was why I didn’t give it to you."

Nodding, Martin continued to stare at Phillip’s face as he changed the subject, "I’ve been told that you were going to look into Diana’s past. Any luck?"

Nodding slowly, Phillip brushed off the uncomfortable feelings of only a second ago with a shrug and answered steadily, "Yes, I’ve been very successful in attaining the whole story. May I say, Donovan, Ensign Juan was very helpful in filling in the blanks. Thanks for the tip. I now know what Diana is holding over the Leader and I have a plan in motion as we speak that will conveniently allow us to use this secret against Diana."

Encouraged by his brother’s intense expression, Martin inquired, "What is the secret that Diana holds over the Leader’s head?"

Falling silent, Phillip replied in a hushed voice, "He has committed re’kodesh-desap."

Unbelieving, Martin’s face went blank as he sputtered, "Ob kor nivram t’vste at mar pedesh? (*Are you certain that he told you the truth?"*)"

Nodding sadly, Phillip responded, "M’Tierne! Pru gah mar ped. (*Martin! Of course, it’s true.*)"

Shaking his head, Phillip gazed hopefully at Martin. "Trust me."

Placing a firm hand on Phillip’s right arm, Martin assured his brother while Michael stood by with a curious look on his face. Tapping Martin on the shoulder, Mike chimed in, "Just in case you forgot, I don’t speak Sirian. Could someone translate for me, here?"

"Of course, Mike," answered Martin, shakily.

Turning toward Mike, Martin struggled to find the words to explain. "Mike… I once told you that Sirians have no sexual taboos, but that wasn’t entirely correct. There is one – Re’kodesh-desap. It means literally – an unholy act. It is what Humans refer to as… incest. On Sirius IV, you cannot mate with another who is related to you by less than three generations."

Shaking his head, Mike quipped with a smile, "So, I guess that means that there are no kissing cousins on your planet."

Taking over the discussion, Phillip continued with the explanation, "No, there are not or, at least, not openly so. By law, if two family members are found to be mating then the punishment is death for both parties involved."

Running his right hand through his dark brown hair, Mike inquired, "Is there a crime on your planet that doesn’t get a death sentence?"

Glancing back and forth from Phillip to Martin, Mike shrugged at their matching blank, slightly taken aback expressions. "Forget about it. Look, are you telling me that Diana is the Leader’s niece and they’re knocking boots or something like that?"

His mind curiously rolling the term ‘knocking boots’ around, Phillip answered, "No, if it were only that simple. You see, Donovan, because of our lack of taboos in all other respects, half-siblings are very common on Sirius IV. Therefore, every child’s paternity is tested at birth so that no individual can claim ignorance as a defense to incest. The establishment of paternity is supposed to be incorruptible, but it seems that it is not. "

His mouth agape, Michael sought confirmation of his suspicions. "So, what does this have to do with Diana and the Leader?"

Calmly, Phillip clarified, "Ensign Juan told me that the clairvoyant, Caitlynne revealed to him that Diana is the product of an affair between the Leader and his half-sister, F’Tierah."

Unbelieving, Martin shook his head and asked, "Who? F’Tierah? I’ve never heard of anyone named F’Tierah belonging to the house of Rahman. More importantly – How? Surely, their own house would have watched them, careful to stop any budding romance."

Standing beside Martin, Mike struggled to wrap his mind around these foreign concepts as he chimed in. "Besides, shouldn’t those tests you spoke of before have exposed all of this long ago?"

Silent for a moment, Phillip eyed Martin and Donovan curiously before he said, "Let me explain. The Leader and F’Tierah have the same Father, but the Leader’s Mother was legally joined to their Father while F’Tierah’s Mother was legally joined to someone else. Now, as you know Martin, noble rank follows the issue of a legal joining therefore the Leader and F’Tierah are officially members of separate noble houses, which probably aided in the deception. Martin, that would be the reason for you not recognizing her as a member of the house of Rahman."

Shrugging in understanding, Martin stepped back and crossed his arms. In his mind all the possible scenarios for how this happened started to fill his mind. Glancing to his right, Martin noticed Mike was not faring quite as well.

On a second run of his fingers through his hair, Michael simply chose to grab a fistful of his silky tresses. "Okay. So, if I understand you correctly, Phillip, all we need to do is confirm Diana’s paternity and send the Leader back to Sirius IV for his execution. I can sing and dance to that."

Shaking his head almost too quickly, Phillip closed his eyes and explained, "We can’t do that…I mean…I checked Diana’s records. They state that Diana’s ‘Father’ was P’Tarne, F’Tierah’s husband. The certificate also states that Diana’s mother is some commoner named C’Raeljah. Now, that’s obviously a lie. I searched for that female for hours yesterday and as far as I can tell with exception of a few scant papers – A birth certificate and some rather dubious military youth program records - she never existed before Diana’s birth and hasn’t existed since. Add to that the fact that F’Tierah conveniently left to a private retreat in the months preceding Diana’s birth and you have plenty of evidence to raise a suspicion, but not enough to bring down a member of the House of Rahman."

Clasping his hands behind his back, Phillip paced as he continued, "It seems obvious to me from the evidence presented that F’Tierah and the Leader conspired to cover-up the birth of their child. By making up some commoner, they made it possible for P’Tarne and F’Tierah to raise the child, as it is customary for the member of a noble house to accept into their families the children they father with unranked females. The judicial inspectors bestow an honorary title upon the child that cannot be passed down. After a little searching, I found that Diana’s title is honorary and will die with her unless she marries a member of some noble house, at which point she would assume her spouse’s rank.

"Now, the house of Rahman is a very highly ranked noble house, a royal house and exceptions are often made for members of the House of Rahman. It would be difficult to present a successful case against a member of it, especially a member that has apparently gone through a lot of trouble to cover up his crimes. Except, the Leader went too far and I think he knows it."

Looking at both Martin and Donovan, Phillip allowed for a pause before continuing. "I was originally stationed to the Los Angeles mother ship to investigate the murder of the Leader’s special envoy, Charles. Charles is the Leader’s half-brother. They share the same Mother, but different Fathers. Therefore Donovan, since Charles’ Mother was legally married to a member of the House of Rahman at the time of his birth, Charles, too, is a member of the house of Rahman."

"Prior to his death, Charles invoked his noble privilege by ordering Diana to join with him. Now, Diana’s paternity records make it look like Diana and Charles are unrelated, but since Diana’s real father is the Leader, Charles was actually Diana’s uncle. Their pairing would clearly be incest. Knowing this, Diana protested the joining, but the Leader sided with Charles and permitted the joining in the hope that it would force Diana to return to Sirius IV. Shortly thereafter, Charles was poisoned. Though someone else was punished for the crime, it is my opinion that Diana killed Charles to keep from being ousted from her command."

"The problem is that by blessing this union, the Leader knowingly allowed incest into a royal house. When this comes to light, I doubt the judicial inspectors will have much mercy on him."

Gesturing thoughtfully with a sweeping of his left hand, Martin asked, "Diana obviously knows about this. Isn’t she afraid of the repercussions, as well?"

"As you know, Martin," responded Phillip, "by law, the product of incest is not put to death, but looses the right to join and must be sterilized. She’d be pulled back to Sirius IV immediately. Her career would be damaged. She would lose a great deal of status and be stripped of her title and rank, but she would be alive and the Leader would not be. Perhaps, that is her trump card. Perhaps, she thinks the Leader’s need for power is so great that he would never want to endanger it by the truth being exposed. Whatever the case may be, Diana has threatened the Leader with exposure if he doesn’t back her insane plans and schemes. So far, the Leader has submitted to the blackmail, I think, partly out of fear of exposure and partly out of love for his daughter."

Reaching up with both hands, Mike ran both of his hands through his hair, grasping at the brown strands. Standing there holding the back of his neck, Michael commented, "That Diana. She is one sick, twisted, insane little bitch. Blackmailing her own Father? I mean, is there nothing she won’t do?"

Shaking his head, Martin answered, "I’m afraid not, Mike. I got to know her reasonably well during the voyage from Sirius IV and I can attest to the fact that I never saw an opportunity for power arise to which Diana didn’t respond."

"I must concur," added Phillip, "Diana is many things but incompetent she is not. Diana is capable of pursuing something with a dogged determination. She has a scientific mind and a great deal of intelligence. Lately, she has allowed her obsession with finding a new clairvoyant to paint her into a corner, but still, it would be a mistake to underestimate her."

Smoothing out his hair, Mike fought to ignore the "reasonably well" portion of Martin’s response by staring at the ground. Changing the subject, Mike looked up at Phillip and inquired, "So, tell us, Phillip. Tell us about this plan you mentioned earlier."

Nodding, Phillip paused, choosing his words well. "The first part has already taken place. This afternoon, I had the Leader poisoned. As an added bonus, I managed to poison Diana, as well."

His eyes all but popping out of his head, Mike exclaimed, "You poisoned Diana! Way to go, Phillip."

Slapping his right hand on Phillip’s left shoulder, Michael asked, "Please! Pleasepleaseplease, tell me that Diana is dead. Or, better yet – Dying slowly."

Smiling, Phillip laughed lightly at Donovan’s actions. In his Human friend’s excitement, Phillip saw the foundation of their partnership. The relentless desire to see Diana punished for her crimes against them, bound Phillip and Donovan to a mutual goal – to live to see Diana’s body battered, bloodied and, hopefully, lifeless.

Placing a hand over Donovan’s, Phillip answered regretfully, "Unfortunately, a member of the Fifth Column who I left in charge of the job couldn’t bring herself to just let Diana die. She administered the antidote to Diana also. For now, Diana is alive and well."

Pulling his hand away, Mike punched at the air and chewed on his lower lip. Swearing beneath his breath, Mike growled, "She’s worse than a cat. Every time you think you’ve killed her. Every time you think that she’s out of your life for good. She somehow manages to find a way to force herself back in."

Across from Michael, Martin stood with his arms crossed. Clearing his throat, Martin inquired, "Phillip, just what was the purpose behind poisoning them? You already knew about the secret from Ensign Juan."

Shifting uncomfortably, pictures of the two, now-dead security officers floated in his mind as Phillip answered, "I needed a cover. Right now, no one, but the Chief Medical Officer, knows that I was the one who ‘interrogated’ Juan. Currently, no arrests have been made in his case, nor will there ever be. He was the lapdog of an unpopular officer. The assailant could have been anyone. By poisoning the Leader, I created the perfect cover. I could test their blood and find the truth innocently enough. That reminds me -"

Reaching into his pocket, Phillip brought out four thin plastic tubes filled with green blood. Offering them to Martin, Phillip continued, "I have something I want you to hold onto for me. In those four vials are blood samples belonging to Diana and the Leader. I don’t want them on the ship. This is going to be a dangerous enough assignment without having to worry about what someone might find if they search my quarters."

Nodding, Martin took the small vials, looking at them thoughtfully before handing them to Michael. Mike barely glanced at them before thrusting them and his fists into his jacket pockets. For a second, Phillip stared at the bulges in Donovan’s jacket before dragging his eyes back to Martin’s. "Martin, it is important that those vials not fall into the wrong hands. The politics I’m going to be playing are going to be extremely sensitive. If evidence of this kind were to be released, then my plans would be in serious jeopardy."

Sharing a traditional pledge, Martin grasped his brother’s forearm as Phillip grabbed his. Looking in his brother’s eyes, Martin couldn’t keep the concern from his voice as he said, "Be careful. I don’t want to lose my twin."

Smiling sadly, Phillip squeezed Martin’s forearm a little before pulling his brother into a firm embrace. "I’m too familiar with that particular situation."

Pulling back, Phillip whispered, "I wouldn’t wish it on you."

Sadly, Martin nodded. "What will you do now?"

"Try not to give myself away," answered Phillip with somewhere between a laugh and whimper.

Looking straight in Martin’s eyes, Phillip stated, "Don’t worry, Martin. I have the matter in hand. There are many threads to manage, but I’m confident I can keep them from getting tangled."

His lips sealed tightly, Martin reached up and cupped Phillip’s face with his left hand. "Take care of yourself."

Nodding, Phillip assured his brother with a smile. Looking past Martin, Phillip glanced at Donovan and received an understanding nod of the head. Together, the three men decided on the next meeting date and place – In ten days, in the back office of the L.A. Resistance compound, at 1:00 a.m.

When they finished, Donovan blinked his eyes slowly in Phillip’s direction and nodded slightly while he gripped Martin tightly. Satisfied, Phillip turned away, starting the long walk back to the remote corner of the park where his shuttle was patiently waiting to take him back to the L.A. mother ship.

On the bridge, Mike and Martin stood side by side. They waited until Phillip was out of sight before turning and walking East toward the parking lot and the van that would take them home. As they crossed the more populated portions of the park, Mike’s arm dropped from Martin’s waist but their hands dangled close to one another. Half way to the van, Mike asked, "So, how did he look? Did he pass the test?"

CHAPTER TEN

"So, how did he look? Did he pass the test?"

Upon hearing the question, Martin glanced at Mike sadly before he replied, "I’m not sure. He was extremely reluctant at times, and yet at other times, he was too quick to speak. He chose his words very carefully, Mike. Of that, at least, I am certain. It was as if he was trying to hide a lie within the truth. And, this plan of his? Or a lack of a plan, should I say. This plan isn’t his style, Mike. Phillip is usually very forward. He’s good at politics, but his plans tend to be more direct, more definable than this. Usually, Phillip can break down a plan minute by minute, like when he provided the information on the water collection plants to us. That plan was meticulously mapped out. Nothing was left to chance. Now, he’s playing sensitive politics and that’s all he can tell us. On some level, Mike, I think he’s either keeping something from us or he’s making this up as he goes along. Neither of which is very good."

Kicking a brown, wet leaf, Mike watched the leftover piece of fall foliage crumble. "What about his loyalty? Did you sense anything about that?"

Looking down at the weed-filled grass, Martin whispered, "If I were betting money on it, I would say that he is struggling to balance between helping us and helping the Leader. Before, he helped the Resistance because he thought it was what I would have wanted. Now, he helps the Resistance to help me."

Nodding, Mike commented, "That’s fine. So long as it means he’s helping the Resistance, but being loyal to you leaves a lot of room for him to help whoever he wants. Do you think that he’ll do anything to hurt the Resistance in this?"

Shaking his head, Martin mentioned, "I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. I guess we better just keep a close eye on him."

Shrugging, Mike nodded at the van once it came into view. Reaching it, Mike unlocked Martin’s door before walking around to his side, unlocking the door and sliding behind the wheel. Sitting in the van, Mike waited until Martin closed the door before starting the engine and pulling out of the parking space. As they drove out of the parking lot, Michael smirked, casting a side-ways glance at Martin before asking, "So, tell me, Martin just what did you mean by knowing Diana ‘reasonably well,’ back there?"

For a second, concern flashed over Martin’s features until he saw the joke in Mike’s eyes. Returning the smile, Martin shrugged comically and replied, "Whatever do you mean?"

Punching Martin lightly on the arm, Mike laughed as he came back with a sarcastic remark that garnered a witty comment from Martin in return. Laughing, they sped through the streets, anxious to be back home.

--<{()}>--

Back at the compound, Tyler stared at Michael and Martin as they climbed out of the van. Tyler jammed his hands into his pockets, causing noticeable bulges where his hands were rolled up into tightly clenched fists. Silently, Tyler watched as Michael and Martin unknowingly passed right in front of his motionless form. Smiling a dangerous smirk, Tyler waited through a brief pause before casually following them to the war room.

Walking through the door, Tyler noticed Martin standing informally with one hand on the table. To Martin’s left, Mike leaned against the table, half-sitting on its dark veneer. Walking past them, Tyler noticed Juliet standing about a foot from her side of the table. In her eyes, there was little in the way of emotion. It was a common expression as of late – coldness around the eyes; whenever they convened within these walls, around this old, solid piece of furniture.

On edge, Tyler took his place at the table next to Juliet. ‘Funny,’ he thought as he noticed how he and Juliet always stood in the same places while Michael and Martin bounced back and forth between their two sides.

Slowly, Tyler crossed his arms and leaned on his right leg. Loudly, Tyler cleared his throat, filling the room with the coarse sound. Earning everyone’s attention, Tyler leaned back slightly and snarled, "So, get on with it."

Swiftly, Mike pushed off the table, moving closer to Martin as he turned to face Tyler and Juliet. Over the next two hours, Martin told the command staff Phillip’s history – Starting with Phillip’s role in the Karaxian War and ending with his reason for coming to Earth. Toward the end of the biography, Martin commented on his opinion of Phillip’s loyalty. Lastly, Martin explained what Diana was holding over the Leader’s head and Phillip’s ‘plan’ for using her secret to weaken Diana’s position.

Beside him, Michael offered encouragement during the difficult moments. With a brush of warm, human fingers against the back of his cold, Sirian hand, Martin found the strength to say all that needed to be said. Once he finished, Martin looked at Juliet and Tyler and noted that they wore identical expressions of bewilderment.

What followed was a question and answer session that lasted an hour during which Tyler and Juliet began to grasp the legal and penal ramifications of "re’kodesh-desap."

Now, with Phillip’s loyalty and actions in question, the command staff spent the next hour compiling a list of all Resistance plans, activities and intelligence of which Phillip was aware. For another hour still, they formulated plans to combat any possible threat that Phillip might pose.

Finally, as a setting sun darkened the clear sky outside, the command staff finally exited the war room. Exhausted and talked out, the four individuals shuffled wearily from the room. With an arm around each other’s back, Michael and Martin went home, yearning for the peaceful, simple comfort of each other.

Seeking a kind, patient ear, Juliet stumbled through the halls, finding herself in the mess hall just as dinner was finishing. As people brushed by her, Juliet managed to walk to the counter, sinking down on one of the stools. Within moments, Willie was addressing her timidly, kindly as he picked up a ceramic carafe and poured some steaming, dark brown coffee into a mug. Smiling warmly, Juliet took the offered cup of coffee from Willie and sipped from it slowly as she watched him wipe down the tables.

Mentally more than physically tired, Tyler wandered the halls for about half an hour before opening the door that led to the roof. Ascending the four flights of stairs, Tyler opened the roof access door with a low moan and the tough part of his right arm and shoulder. Exiting the doorway, Tyler gazed at the blanket of twinkling stars burning up the night sky.

Once, you couldn’t see the stars in Los Angeles. Only Orion was visible and if you were lucky the occasional smog-lite night would bring the faint glimmer of the big dipper. Not anymore. No. Not anymore. Now, the night sky blazed with stars. Ever since the Visitor imposed curfews had darkened the city. Ever since the loss of life caused most buildings to be vacant and lessened the amount of people driving, the night sky had sparkled brightly.

On clear nights like the one that welcomed Tyler tonight, Tyler would venture out of the compound. Coming out on the roof, he would sit on a molding of brick and mortar that surrounded the roof entry. Kicking back his dark thoughts, he could lose himself in the night sky and shed a few defenses for a short while.

Unfortunately, tonight would not be one of those nights.

As Tyler stepped out onto the roof, he was greeted with an unwelcome sight. To the left of the doorway, Angela Ryan sat on the edge of the cracked, concrete molding. She was dressed in a green nightgown and a burgundy robe that seemed comfortable enough even if the occasional worn spot made it look like it had seen better days.

At the sight of him, Angela drew her robe more tightly around her waist. Framing her stunned expression, her red hair still fluttered from the quick manner in which she raised her head to see who had interrupted her solitary scene. Dazed for a moment, Angela just stared at Tyler’s face before resting her left elbow on her knee and slamming her forehead down onto her open left hand. Shaking her head in wide arcs from side-to-side, Angela cried, "Oh Tyler! Go away."

Flinching slightly from her reaction, Tyler quickly recovered and placed his mask firmly in place. Leaning back, placing all his weight on his right hip, Tyler grunted, "What? You think I came looking for you? Honey, you’re not that important."

Marching with a deliberate pounding of his heels, Tyler stepped to the side and sat on the moldings to the right of the door. Crossing his arms across his chest, Tyler debated internally whether he should just turn in and go to bed, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to leave the roof and let that damn lizard think she had scared him away.

Little did Tyler know that Angela was thinking very similar thoughts at that moment about him.

Unwilling to budge, loathe to show weakness of any kind, they sat rigidly. Their muscles tensed and their already disagreeable moods soured even more. Side-by-side, they held their chins stiffly in place, pushed back as they only half-regarded the night sky. With control only a seasoned soldier can know, they resisted the temptation to glare at each other and kept their sight on a point far in the distance.

Finally, over an hour later, the fatigue of the day caught up to Tyler and he rested his back against the plastered and painted wall behind him. Following his lead, Angela flexed her fingers, letting go of fistfuls of burgundy dyed cotton.

For several minutes, they went on like this before Angela allowed her head to fall, her chin resting on her chest. Chewing on her bottom lip, Angela stared at the rooftop’s cracked and peeling surfaces for a few minutes before inquiring: "Why?"

Lowering his chin slowly, Tyler shifted his head until he was looking directly at Angela. "Why what?"

Not even glancing at Tyler’s obstinate face, Angela replied, "You know perfectly well what."

Staring at Angela’s profile, Tyler asked, "What makes you think it was me?"

Shaking her head, Angela finally brought her gaze to bear on Tyler’s blank expression. "It could’ve only been you, Tyler. Only you saw me go out the back that morning."

Nodding, Tyler leaned back once again against the wall, resting the back of his head against the hard surface. "Why do you care?"

"Because, I don’t like feeling indebted to a bastard like you," she answered coolly.

Glancing at Angela, Tyler smirked slightly. "Then don’t."

Laughing weakly, Angela sighed, "I don’t have any choice in the matter."

A pause developed between them until after a few seconds Tyler remarked, "Yes, you do. Listen. You want to repay me, then go away. Go to that Lizard-loving husband of yours and your half-breed child and leave me the hell alone."

Warily, Tyler watched Angela go shock still, expecting a response of the violent sort to the last remark. However, when movement finally returned to her, it compelled Angela to turn away from Tyler, causing her to stare at a patch of sky in the opposite direction. Running his eyes over her back, Tyler chuckled, "That’s it. That’s why you’re out here. You can’t go home. What are you running from, Scaly? A man with only half your strength? No. I know – A little girl whose only six years old."

Glaring at Tyler, Angela twisted around until she was facing him. "Shut up, Tyler. What would you even know about it? When have you ever cared about anything more than yourself?"

Expecting a response, Angela paused for a second, holding her breath. When a response never came, Angela couldn’t contain the laugh that bubbled up and broke free of her lips. "Well! You’re not so quick to answer that one, are you? A genuine feeling is probably just a little too much to ask of you. Tell me the truth, Tyler. Have you ever felt anything?"

After the taunt left her lips, Angela savored the taste of her words, but the satisfaction quickly evaporated when she witnessed the haunted expression that crossed Tyler’s face. Turning away, Angela returned her gaze to the night. Searching the wide expanse, Angela’s eyes fell upon a glittering blue star low in the sky. Lightly gasping despite her attempts to stop herself, Angela fixated on the point of light that marked "home."

Intently, Tyler watched her sweeping expressions, amazed at the emotions reflected in them. Staring in the same general vicinity that Angela was, Tyler couldn’t contain a single word from battling past his defenses. "Once."

Unblinking, Angela continued to stare at the darkness for a few seconds before turning to Tyler. "Die during the invasions?"

Once again, a haunted shroud fell over Tyler’s face. Looking straight ahead, Tyler seemed to do battle with himself, going back and forth from one decision to another. Finally, his body went a sort of tense limp, his hands falling to grip the molding and his legs stretching out in front of him. "No. That’s not something I can ever blame a Lizard for."

Frowning, Angela nodded in understanding.

Once again, they fell into silence, but it was no longer an uncomfortable stillness. An hour passed easily and the night wind grew colder in that desert city. Soon, Tyler felt his body start to shake uncontrollably from the chill. Standing, Tyler pounded his heels into the rooftop, working up his circulation. Cupping his hands over his mouth, he panted out hot air in an attempt to warm his icy fingers. Turning, Tyler finally gave in and grasped the doorknob, turning it harshly.

Just as he opened the door and crossed the threshold, Tyler heard Angela’s voice speak in a whisper, "Thank you."

Stopping abruptly, Tyler took a step back and looked at Angela’s barely visible profile.

"Don’t thank me," commanded Tyler as he took a few more steps back. "Don’t you dare thank me. I didn’t do that for you. I did it because as much as I hate you scaly freaks, as much as I hope to place all of you on a ship headed back to wherever the hell you all come from, I know that for right now you Fifth Columnists are good for the Resistance. What I did, I did for the Resistance. You got that? I couldn’t care less about you personally and I don’t give a damn about your kid. I want to win this war. That’s it. So, I haven’t done a damn thing worth being thanked for by you."

That said, Tyler stomped away. From her perch, Angela could hear his heavy, anger punctuated footfalls swiftly hammer their way down the stairs. Once Tyler was safely out of earshot, Angela whispered, "Not yet, but you will."

Finally, feeling the lateness of the hour, Angela got up and wiped dust and paint chips off her robe. Descending the stairs, Angela found comfort in the pitch-black darkness of the narrow stairway. Entering the main area of the compound, Angela hung her head low as she strolled through the lonely halls. Running her fingertips over the paint-covered, brick walls, Angela drifted past her classroom, pausing in front of its door to remember the students she hadn’t taught in over two weeks. Roaming through the darkness, she walked through the common areas, the parking garage and all four hallways of quarters. Lastly, she lingered at the empty dining hall, debating whether to wake Willie for a midnight snack.

Placing one foot in front of the other, Angela avoided her front door until she found herself standing in front of the locked entrance in question. Before she could use her key, Angela heard the lock disengage. The door jerked open and standing stiffly before her was her husband. His eyes were filled with rage and his body was filled with tension. Without warning, Ringo reached out and grabbed Angela by the arm, dragging her into their quarters. Slamming the door shut, Ringo spun Angela around as he pushed her into the room. "Where the hell have you been?"

"I thought you were asleep," answered Angela meekly.

"I bet."

Cautiously, Angela watched Ringo struggle for control as he clenched and unclenched his fists. Her training kicking in, Angela widened her stance, balancing her weight as she stared into the eyes of a man she knew could soundly beat someone into the ground. In her mind, Angela reviewed the many times she’d seen Ringo’s wrath directed at a person for whom she could only feel pity.

Glancing to the side, Angela checked for Elisa and was shocked by the sight of bed curtains hanging wide-open with no precious girl in sight. Taking a moment to search the small room, Angela looked at Ringo’s mad face and asked, "Ringo? Where’s Elisa?"

Some of the anger left Ringo’s face only to be replaced by disbelief. "So, now you care?"

Stunned by Ringo’s cold question, Angela replied, "What do you mean? Of course, I care."

"You have a funny way of showing it," argued Ringo with his arms crossed over his chest and his hands still curled into fists.

"Ringo, what is going on? Can we get past the accusations for a second and you tell me where my daughter is?" Extending her left hand, Angela tried to touch Ringo’s arm only to have him recoil and take a step back. Throwing her hands up in the air, Angela turned away from Ringo, bringing her fingers to her temples.

From behind her, Ringo answered, "She’s with Julie. She woke up tonight with a high fever and an earache. All she wanted was you. She kept crying for you. For you, Angie. I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find you. Goddamnit, Angie! Where the hell were you? I looked everywhere. I even went to Caitlynne’s grave looking for you."

Spinning around suddenly, Angela inquired with a pleading tone, "Is Elisa, okay?"

Squaring his chiseled chin, Ringo responded, "Her fever’s down. I don’t know about her ear infection but Julie treated it and the medicine made her sleepy. She’s at the infirmary now with Jackson."

At the sound of Ringo’s words, Angela’s face fell, some of the panic leaving it, but his last words brought dread roaring back again. "Jackson? What about Jackson? Is something wrong with Jackson, too?"

Some of the fight in Ringo’s body departed as he spoke softly. "He’s fine. Julie just wanted to keep him in the infirmary in case he came down with the same cold as Elisa. Julie thought it was for the best. That way, she’d have the drugs right there to treat him with at the first sign of fever. He’s in a crib next to Elisa. You know how Elisa is. She gets so upset when she doesn’t know where one of us is. I mean…She’s already had one mother walk away and never come back. God, Angie. Elisa. She looked so small on that metal slab."

Shaking, Angela watched Ringo’s strong body tremble with emotion. Looking into his eyes, Angela saw the moment when the strain of the night finally broke him. Blinking hard, Ringo couldn’t fight back the tears that overcame him. Dropping down onto his cheeks, three salty drops slipped his defenses, traveling down his flesh only to dive off his chin.

Taking an uncertain step forward, Angela reached out, her arms wide open and her eyes pleading. Once she touched his quivering arm, Ringo bent his head forward and brought his hands up to his face. Quickly, her arms were around him. With his rage converted into need, Ringo brought his hands down and wrapped his arms around Angela’s shoulders as he pressed his face into her hair. Bringing her arms between them, Angela grabbed Ringo’s face and kissed it; whispering, "I’m sorry" over and over again as she covered his face in feather light kisses.

Tipping his head back, Ringo backed away from Angela as he wiped his cheeks and eyes with the edge of his t-shirt. Walking around Angela, Ringo found his way to their bed and fell down on it – with his elbows on his knees, he raked his fingers through his hair, interlacing his fingers at the base of his skull.

Looking up, Ringo sighed, "Angie, this has gotta stop."

Stumbling over to Ringo, Angela fell to her knees and cupped his face with her hands, "What do you mean?"

Unflinching, Ringo let his face remain in her grasp, but didn’t respond to her comforting touch. "I mean. Things cannot go on like this. I can’t be waking up in the middle of the night wondering where my wife is. It’s like you’re running from us. It’s like you don’t want to be here."

Shaking her head, Angela protested, "No. No,no,no,nononono. Ringo. You and the kids are my whole life. I don’t ever want to be anywhere, but with you, raising our children."

Pulling back, Ringo wrapped his hands around Angela’s and slid them off his face, grasping her fingers between them. "Then why, Angie?"

Like a deer in the headlights, Angela stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at Ringo’s curious face. Glancing down, Angela gasped when Ringo’s grip on her hands tightened and he jerked her forward, gaining her attention. "No, Angie. You don’t get to avoid this again. You tell me why. You tell me, right now."

Looking into Angela’s eyes, Ringo saw the moment she decided to explain, to tell him everything. At first, her mouth opened, but nothing came out except a weak, strangled cry, then she licked her lips with her forked tongue and with a soft voice told Ringo everything. Every fear, every concern, was told to him that night. With a shuddering breath, Angela revealed Caitlynne’s prophecy and the frightening way in which she got Caitlynne to reveal it in the first place.

When she had finished, Angela’s mouth was dry and her head felt light and dizzy. She struggled free of Ringo’s handhold and got up to her feet. Awkwardly stepping to the side, she flopped down on the bed beside her husband. Closing her eyes, Angela felt Ringo shift in his seat, turning to look at her. She could feel his eyes on her, his intense stare boring into her flesh.

"Angie?" His voice was less than a whisper, but more than a sigh.

Opening her eyes, Angela looked at Ringo’s calm face. Nodding, she signaled for him to say what he had to say. "Angie, I know Caitlynne was a psychic, but no one ever really knows the future. It’s changing all the time."

Shaking her head, Angela argued, "No. She was right so often. She led Diana to the Tijuana Resistance and Sacramento and San Francisco. She knew what she was talking about, Ringo. She wasn’t some charlatan."

Laughing, without thinking, Ringo said, "Angie, I’ve dealt with people like this all my life. They always try to bring themselves off as Carnac the magnificent, or something. That don’t make what they say so. It doesn’t make it prophecy. It’s been my experience that these people are usually wrong, anyway."

Angela stared at her hands and whispered, "I don’t want her to be wrong, Ringo. Because if she’s wrong about me then she could be wrong about the kids."

Cocking his head to the side, Ringo asked, "The kids?"

"She said the song was sweet again. It was what gave her the strength to sacrifice herself for us. It gave her peace at the end," explained Angela.

Staring intensely into Ringo’s eyes, Angela continued, "Don’t you understand, the children of today are going to live to see the end of this war. They will live to see peace come to this world again and that knowledge gets me through the day."

Bringing his hands up, Ringo replied, "Fine. She’s the real thing and she’s absolutely right. You’re gonna die. Tyler’s gonna die with you. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing during all of this, but I assume I’ll be home, raising our kids by myself. What you don’t understand, Angie, is I don’t care. I don’t care if you’re supposed to die in a year or in three months or in two days because all I know is this-"

Reaching out, Ringo grabbed Angela’s face and pulled her into a harsh kiss. Quickly, lowering his hands, Ringo wrapped Angela up in warm, assured arms.

For a brief moment, Angela considered resisting. That thought quickly fled. Soon, she responded fully. Bringing her arms up, Angela gripped Ringo’s back and shoulders, holding onto her husband like a lifeline.

Once Ringo pulled away, he used his strong arms to keep Angela close as he continued, "I know this. I know tonight. I know right now. Right now, you’re here. You’re alive. That’s all I know, Angie. That’s all I really need to know. Tomorrow can take care of itself."

With large, round eyes, Angela stared with stunned silence at Ringo. With awe, she lifted her hands and ran her fingertips over his chin. In a strangled whisper, Angela pleaded, "How do you do that?"

Confusion wrinkled Ringo’s brow as he asked, "Do what?"

Lightly, Angela breathed against Ringo’s lips, "Hear everything I just told you and not care."

Pulling Angela closer with his strong arms, Ringo replied, "Because I’m just not going to let tomorrow ruin today."

Sitting there in silence, Angela felt like the wind was knocked out of her. With jerking movements, Angela looked around, a paralyzed expression of shock imprinted on her face. Several times, she swallowed hard before focusing again on Ringo’s worried face.

Trembling, Angela wrapped her arms around Ringo’s neck. Drawing out the moment, Angela kissed Ringo soundly, parting her lips to allow her husband access. Eagerly, Angela let the tingling sensation caused by their dueling tongues to travel through her body. Reclining, Angela pulled her husband down with her onto the mattress. Wrapping herself around him, Angela shifted and rolled until Ringo was securely beneath her. Straddling his hips, Angela grabbed his shoulders and pushed up. With her arms extended and her elbows locked, Angela towered above Ringo with her red hair hanging down long, casting shadows over her face.

"I’m home now," whispered Angela.

Sitting up, Ringo wound his arms around Angela’s writhing body as he kissed her forcefully. Pulling her down, Ringo moved his lips to her chin, to her ear, to the nape of her neck and along the smooth curve of her shoulder. Tucking his face into the nape of her neck, Ringo let out a deep breath and a silent prayer.

Snuggling deeper into Ringo’s strong arms, Angela held onto him desperately, wanting nothing else at that moment. Sighing loudly, Angela sank down onto the mattress beside her husband, letting the sweet tension in her muscles burn the stress and fear far from her body.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Smiling warmly, CMO Petra went about her duties. She filled out her paperwork. She ran tests on blood samples. With joy, she visited her patients. Eagerly, she stepped into the simple chamber, letting her eyes fall sympathetically on the sleeping form of Ensign Juan. Crossing the floor, closing the distance between them, Petra approached him, allowing herself the pleasure of running her fingertips across his forehead.

"So young," she mused.

Snatching her hand away, Petra watched as Juan blinked his eyes open. Dazed at first, Juan let his eyes wander until he focused them on Petra’s kind, reassuring face. Returning her smile, Juan struggled his way into a sitting position against Petra’s half-hearted protests. Now, sitting up against a hard wall, Juan returned Petra’s steady gaze with strength from a more level angle.

Casually, Petra permitted her hip to lean against the recovery pad. By this small degree, she brought herself closer to Juan. For a minute or two, maybe three, they gazed into each other’s eyes before the scene became very unprofessional.

Coughing hard, Petra stood up straighter, pulling her clipboard in front of her. Intensely, she stared at the paper in front of her, at the pen in her hand. Scribbling furiously, Petra composed herself before saying, "Soon, you’ll be well enough to walk out of here. I’d say in a couple days you’ll be back on duty."

Shaking his head, Juan mumbled, "I have no duty to go back to."

In response, Petra’s eyes flashed sadly. "I’m sure you’ll find some place to fall."

Cheerily, Juan replied, "Who knows? Maybe, if I’m lucky we’ll takeover this planet in the next couple days and I’ll be able to board a transport vessel for home."

Silent, Petra paused as she blinked, appearing to rest her eyes as she sighed internally. Opening her eyes slowly, Petra diplomatically replied, "One can only hope for the best."

Nodding, Juan said nothing as he reached over to a small shelf next to his bed. Picking up a small, hardback tome that Petra had loaned to him while admonishing him to ‘keep on open mind’, Juan turned back to Petra and mentioned, "If I’m not meant to be here much longer, then I want to give you your book back. Such a classic Human tale of struggle and endurance. I don’t know where you got it, but thank you, Sir. It helped me get through many a lonely night."

Reaching for the weathered red volume, Petra looked regretfully into Juan’s eyes. Patting the cover affectionately, Petra took back her book, placing it on her clipboard. Determined, she steeled herself as she answered, "Well, I’m glad that it could bring you some solace."

"Doctor-" started Juan just before Petra interrupted him.

"Petra," insisted the Sirian Chief Medical Officer.

"Petra…I don’t know what I would have done without… that book," answered Juan.

Smiling softly, Petra suddenly found her clipboard fascinating, refusing to look at anything else. Quickly, she announced, "Yes. Well, I must be going. I’ll check on you again, tomorrow. Now, try and get some rest."

Turning away from her patient, Petra took extra care to not falter as she placed one foot in front of the other. At the door, Petra looked over her shoulder at Juan who was already reclining on the pad, pulling his thin blanket up to his chin. Reluctantly looking forward, Petra absently flicked the door release. Once the door opened, Petra exited the room swiftly.

A few feet down the hall, Petra stopped in her tracks and leaned against the wall. Taking the book back in her hand, Petra ran her gaze over the battered cover and reminded herself of her mission, her pledge to the Fifth Column. Pressing it against her chest, Petra tried to banish the aching of her heart, tried to banish all the memories of quiet conversations that led her to believe that Juan could change his affiliations.

Assuaging her racing heart, Petra reminded herself that there could still be hope. Juan was here and would be for a while. Desperately, she did all that she could to pull herself together and go on with her day.

In the midst of her heartbroken scene, Petra became aware that she was being watched. Looking up, Phillip’s curious, unfeeling face was what she found. Growling, Petra tasted venom on her tongue but, quickly swallowed it down before asking, "What is it, Phillip?"

Stepping forward, Phillip glanced at the book still pressed against her chest. "I came for an update on Ensign Juan’s condition."

Wary of this sudden attention cast upon her…patient, Petra asked, "What do you need to know?"

Sighing, Phillip snapped, "Stop being so obstinate, Petra. Tell me Juan’s condition. Can he walk yet? Is his nerve damage repaired enough to get him to the docking bay."

"Why do you need him to get to the docking bay?" inquired Petra.

Angry, Phillip raged, "It is none of your business why. Just tell me what I want to know."

Gradually, the hate in her heart for this man grew by yet another degree. "He should stay in bed for another few days, maybe more."

Shaking his head, Phillip laughed softly before grabbing Petra by her upper arms and slamming her against the nearby wall. As Petra’s book and clipboard fell with a clatter to the floor, Phillip snarled, "That is not what I asked, Petra? Give me the information I requested. Can he walk from here to the docking bay?"

Nodding, Petra replied, "I think he can, but he has minor nerve damage that will make it difficult."

Releasing Petra’s sore arms, Phillip answered, "Good. You may go, now," as he turned to the left and headed for Juan’s room.

Behind him, Petra quickly found her voice. "Phillip! Phillip, what are you planning? What are you going to do to him?"

Pausing, Phillip turned just enough to barely see Petra as he glanced over his shoulder. "Petra, what do I have to do to get you to go away? Do I need to go hunt up that old tape of mine?"

Frozen still, Petra stared at Phillip. Speechless, Petra said nothing as Phillip turned away. Turning back the way she came, Petra bent down and picked up her book and clipboard. Quietly, she went to her office, dropping the items in her arms on her desk. Swirling within her, hate battled alongside pride against self-preservation and logic. By degrees, hate and pride began to win the war. Unable to contain the gale of fury inside her any longer, Petra ran for the nearest exit and kept on running.

--<{()}>--

Pressing the disengage button, Phillip waited patiently for the door to slide away. Entering the room, Phillip prepared himself to visit with an important patient. Bending over the recovery pad, Phillip expertly hid his ulterior motives as he inquired, "How are you today, Ensign Juan?"

Looking up with startled, sleepy eyes, Juan couldn’t conceal his fear at being faced with his torturer. Gulping fast, Juan answered, "G-g-good."

Smiling with a feral gleam, Phillip reminded himself that he didn’t enjoy the fright he saw projected on Juan’s youthful features. The fear was helpful and necessary. That was all. Nothing more. Leaning down further, bringing himself closer to the petrified youth, Phillip mentioned conspiratorially, "I’m going to fulfill my promise to you, Juan. I’m going to give you a very special reward. Can you guess what it is?"

Searching the younger Sirian’s features, Phillip failed to see anything but apprehension. "No? Okay, I’ll tell you what it is. I’m going to get you off this ship and away from Diana’s influence."

Unsure of how to react, Juan laid there in shock, clutching the blanket with a death grip. "Okay."

Nodding harshly, Phillip straightened up, standing tall beside the billet. "Good. I’ve been told you have some nerve damage. That’s unfortunate. Really, it is. Now, I’ve also been told that you can walk despite the damage and that’s a good thing because I’m going to need you to walk out of this place. Do you understand?"

Nodding quickly at first, then remembering a previous exchange, Juan slowed his motions and nodded in a more reserved manner. Phillip nodded in response and with satisfaction. "Good, Juan. Now, I’ve set up a transport for this afternoon. I expect you to be ready when the security officers arrive to escort you to the shuttle in the next few minutes."

Unbelieving, Juan nodded again. Nodding back at Juan, Phillip tapped his fingers on the edge of the pad a few times before turning around and exiting the room.

Standing in the hallway, Phillip shook his head as the door closed on Ensign Juan’s chamber. ‘How has this gotten so complicated?’ mused Phillip.

Taking a step forward, Phillip relived the previous exchange with Petra. Rapping his knuckles carefully against the wall, Phillip felt his frustration flare. ‘Doesn’t she see how desperate a situation this is?’

Finally letting one good punch contact the wall, Phillip reflected, ‘Damn her! Why can’t she just stay out of my way? Can’t she see that she’s only making what has to be done that much harder to do?’

Continuing down the corridor, Phillip took a breath before entering another set of sickbay doors. In the center of the room, the Leader and Diana laid side-by-side in comfortable beds with Diana to the left of the Leader. Separated by less than a foot, the Leader and Diana looked up at the same time and in the same way when they saw the door slide open.

By this time, the Leader had had time to inform Diana of the situation and to threaten her against upsetting Phillip unnecessarily. As such, Diana sat in her bed with her arms crossed, chewing on her tongue and gulping down venom as she watched Phillip approach R’Narne from the right. Narrowing her eyes, she shot Phillip with mental laser blasts as she watched him bend down to take the Leader’s hand.

For Phillip’s part, he seemed to simply ignore Diana’s presence, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. He saw her clearly out of the corner of his eye as he addressed his mentor and friend, "R’Narne, I have the situation under complete control. My investigation uncovered a kitchen worker who had been recently reassigned to executive duties under suspicious circumstances. I believe this individual is the perpetrator responsible for attempting to kill you."

Catching the unbelieving roll of eyes and toss of head committed by Diana, Phillip, without bothering to look at her, recognized the female’s existence for the first time. "Yes, Diana? Do you have something to add?"

For a second Diana’s mouth opened as if a comment was close to the surface, but a signal from the Leader in the form of a shrug and a flicking of his claw in her direction, made Diana back down. Shaking her head, Diana looked away as she answered, "No. I have nothing to add."

Quick to relieve the tension between Phillip and Diana, R’Narne squeezed Phillip’s hand, gaining the blonde’s attention. "Phillip, do you think the criminal who poisoned us knew anything about our secret?"

Phillip winced inwardly, but as he did a flash of inspiration entered his mind and Phillip decided immediately to act upon it. Turning to face Diana, Phillip asked, "Why don’t you tell us, Diana? He was your yeoman."

At Phillip’s announcement, the Leader turned quickly and glared at his daughter. "D’Nand, have you told anyone of our secrets?"

Flashing a deadly glare at Phillip, Diana dragged her eyes over to the Leader’s and replied, "I never told Ensign Juan anything. He found out through his own means and used the knowledge to get out of kitchen duty."

Shaking his head in disbelief, R’Narne whispered, "So, the blackmailer was caught in the same trap." Bringing his gaze to bear upon Diana’s hardened features, R’Narne asked, "How did he find out? A kitchen worker? How does someone like that uncover a secret I worked so hard to conceal, D’Nand?"

Glancing back and forth between Phillip and R’Narne, Diana answered resignedly, "Juan was the one who discovered the clairvoyant, Caitlynne. She told him our secret."

The Leader’s eyes grew large and his face contorted with anger, "The clairvoyant told him? The same clairvoyant you tried to recover? The same clairvoyant you’ve been trying to replace?"

Slamming a fist down hard on his mattress, R’Narne thundered on, "If I had known for one moment the risk you were taking with both our lives by searching for another clairvoyant, I would never have permitted it. Blackmail or not!"

Seeing the hatred and resentment in Diana’s eyes, R’Narne blasted into a fresh tirade. "You think I complied with your demands out of fear, but you’re wrong, D’Nand. You are my daughter. The only child -. But, but you were willing to sacrifice everything to fulfill your obsession."

Through gritted teeth, Diana growled, "I guess I really am your daughter then."

"This is getting us nowhere," argued Phillip, interrupting Diana and garnering the Leader’s attention. "Listen. I’m going to take care of this, but there are going to be some changes."

Sadness and regret filled each line and contour of the Leader’s expression as he slowly nodded. "I’ll agree to anything you want, Phillip. Just please, do what you can to keep this from going public. I have no wish to die."

Nodding, Phillip squeezed the Leader’s hand gently. "I have no wish for that either, old friend. I’ll inform you of my requirements before you leave which, by the way, will be tomorrow."

Surprise filled the Leader’s red eyes, but it was quickly suppressed. Casting his gaze down toward the floor, R’Narne whispered, "Of course. Thank you, F’Lierne."

Next to him, Diana stared at R’Narne with a shocked look on her face. By the end of his few, simple words, Diana had an air of devastation surrounding her. Her face was stricken and her body rigid as she wrapped her arms around herself. Looking at Phillip’s pleased face, Diana saw Caitlynne’s prediction of the future edged closer to being a present reality.

--<{()}>--

To the point of distraction, Petra’s dishwater blond hair bounced back and forth in wild strokes. Quickly, Petra looked both ways down the hallways stretching in both directions from the door she was currently trying to force open. With pent-up frustration, Petra grabbed the limp tresses and held them tightly with her right hand as her left hand finished punching in the access codes to Phillip’s quarters. Smiling smugly at the mechanical whoosh caused by the moving gears that facilitated the opening of the door, Petra’s eyes followed the metal panel as it slid gracefully into the doorjamb.

Stepping inside, Petra wasted no time flicking the switch to close the door again. As she crossed the threshold, she allowed the nagging voice in her head scream, ‘What are you doing?’ Shaking her head, Petra pushed the voice away. Petra was tired of worrying over the evidence Phillip had threatened her with yet again. She didn’t intend to worry about it anymore. True, her current actions weren’t exactly stress free, but at least it wasn’t Phillip, the Leader, Diana or someone else making her feel that way.

Making a visual sweep of the room, Petra absently placed the circuit pad she used to circumvent Phillip’s passwords and firewalls in her pocket, patting it once for good measure. Her eyes inspected everything – the necessary furniture, the scant bric-a-brac, the floors, the ceilings, the walls. The walls. No. Correction. That wall.

Slowly, her eyes focused in on a section of wall that didn’t seem quite right. Walking over to the wall, Petra examined the area – a foot by foot and a half rectangle about five feet from the floor - searching for the seam of a door or a trigger of some kind. Closing her eyes, Petra ran her fingertips over the smooth surface. Toward the bottom of the foot wide patch the fingers of Petra’s right hand felt the wall give ever so slightly. Pressing gently, Petra gasped when she heard a sharp click.

Bracing for disaster, Petra pulled her hand away quickly. To her surprise and utter satisfaction, Petra watched as the patch of wall pushed out with the help of what sounded like a hydraulic press. Once the patch was two inches out, it swung quickly to the right, exposing a one-foot deep compartment.

Approaching the compartment cautiously, Petra peeked inside. The first things to catch her eye were four bijoux boxes embossed with the Sirian Royal Seal. Picking one up, Petra opened it to find a shiny round medal hanging from a red and black ribbon. Quickly, Petra recognized it as the Sirian Megien (*Sirian Shield*) – The highest military award Sirius IV had to offer that was awarded to one soldier a sequence for valor, bravery and loyalty. Closing the case, Petra gingerly placed it back in the safe, not bothering to check the others since, if memory served her correctly, they would only contain more of the same.

Turning her attention to the back of the compartment, Petra delicately fumbled with some important looking papers until finding the items for which she had been searching. Gently, she pulled two tapes out of the slot. Looking around, Petra noticed the tape recorder on Phillip’s desk. Rushing over to it, Petra opened the tape deck and slid the cartridge in. Pressing play, Petra listened as Diana’s voice filled the room:

"Phillip is not everything he appears to be. I suspect he is a member of the Fifth Column and not to be trusted."

"Do you have proof of this?"

"No proof, exactly, but-"

"But nothing. Mention it no more until you have something solid to hand me. Phillip and I have worked closely since before I ascended to Sirian leadership. He was ruthless against the Karaxians and the formation of the very plan to attack this planet was mostly his doing. Now, you are telling me that he has betrayed his people…for Humans – mere cattle. I simply refuse to believe it."

With trembling fingers, Petra pressed stop. She couldn’t believe what she just heard. She had suspected Phillip of many things, had recently begun to hate him for many reasons, but never that. Ejecting the tape, she pondered for a second before thrusting it into her pocket. Quickly, she played the other. This one was the one that she wanted. On it, Petra could hear her own voice explain how the poisoning of the Leader could be accomplished. She recognized it from a friendly meeting she had with Phillip in this very room.

Now, she knew better. In the future, she would not be so trusting.

Quickly, she straightened up Philip’s desk, leaving it exactly as it was. Over at the wall again, Petra swung the safe door closed. Just as the door got two inches from the wall, a sharp click sounded again and the hydraulics roared to life. With a metal hum, the compartment slowly disappeared from view until only an experienced eye could make out its location.

Making one last inspection, Petra was satisfied that she had left nothing out of place save the lack of those two tapes. Stepping to the door, Petra gulped once and pushed the disengage switch. Loudly, the door came to life, opening wide. Stepping forward quickly, Petra checked the hallway and let out a relieved breath once she ascertained that no one but her was in the darkened hallway. Without turning around, Petra reached behind her and pressed the security switch, closing and locking the door behind her.

--<{()}>--

As Petra fled Phillip’s quarters, Ensign Juan struggled to walk through the corridors that led to the docking bay. Escorted by a pair of stiff security officers, Ensign Juan limped slightly, but managed to keep up with the tight-lipped officers by sheer will alone. Desperate to be free of the bad situation he had created for himself, Juan forced his mostly, useless right side to action as he sped his way down the hallway.

Entering the docking bay, the security officers pointed out the small shuttlecraft waiting to take Juan away from Diana and secrets he never wanted to carry, away from Phillip and so much more. In anticipation, Juan felt giddy as he ascended the steps one step at a time.

Inside the vessel, an impassive pilot who motioned to a chair in the back greeted Juan, advising him to buckle up cause it might be a bumpy ride from here on out. Eagerly, Juan complied with everything.

Smiling widely, Juan watched as the bay doors opened showing him the first patch of blue sky he’d seen in weeks. Only as the engines of the shuttlecraft warmed up did Juan think of Petra. Frowning, Juan dismissed that as an opportunity, like so many others, that he would never be able to enjoy.

Smoothly, the shuttlecraft underwent departure procedures and soon the ship was clear of the mother ship. Juan glanced out the window as the ship went fifty yards, a hundred yards, three hundred yards away from the ship. Although the mother ship still filled the back view, Juan started to breathe easier when they got five hundred yards away from the looming behemoth.

Just as they approached a thousand yards, Juan started to believe that Phillip was on the up and up. Phillip was really going to reward him for the information. Juan began to believe he would live to look back on this horrible experience and laugh. He even started to make plans for the future in the few seconds before the shuttlecraft exploded. Chucks of the shuttlecraft and everyone within it blasted out for hundreds of yards in every direction.

--<{()}>--

Within the mother ship, everyone felt the shockwave of the shuttlecraft exploding. Rushing to the intercom, Petra inquired as to the cause of her sickbay floor being covered in fluids freed from bottles that shattered when the force pushed them off tables and countertops. In a voice trying to be steady, the dispatcher informed Petra of the situation.

Immediately, Petra asked if there were any survivors. The dispatcher informed her that there were not, the two passengers were presumed dead – If the blast didn’t kill them, then the fall to Earth certainly would. Lowering her head, Petra asked for their names so she could work up the death certificates. The dispatcher’s shaky voice informed Petra that Pilot Ben and Ensign Juan were the casualties of what was being characterized as another attack by the Resistance – A horrible, tragic act of terrorism.

Thanking the dispatcher, Petra signed off. She stood there with her hands pressed against the wall, struggling to come to terms with what was said. No. It couldn’t be true. She just saw him. She just saw him, this morning.

With a graceful turn, Petra spun on her heel and ran down the corridor. Coming to sickbay ward #3, Petra slapped the lock disengage only to see an empty chamber, an empty bed.

Stumbling forward, Petra fell against the bunk in the center of the room. Desperately, she gripped the edge of the billet and trembled. Her joints protested the force with which she held the metal slab and her muscles cried from the strain, but still she held on, not wanting to believe.

After a time, Petra could no longer deny the truth. Slowly, she allowed the tension in her body to flow away from her. A little bit at a time, Petra turned around until her back leaned against the metal pad behind her.

Closing her eyes, Petra rolled her hands into fists. Leaving small dents on the edge of the billet, Petra pounded the smooth metal surface. Tapping on her shoulder, scratching at the back of her mind, a memory nagged from just beyond earshot. Concentrating, Petra slowly recalled Phillip’s questions.

Suddenly, Petra was very aware of the bulge in her pocket caused by the tapes she had stolen from Phillip’s quarters. Pushing away from the billet, Petra didn’t look back as she flipped the switch to close the door behind her.

Walking down the hall, Petra worked hard at composing herself. Entering her quarters, Petra reached up and grabbed her ponytail before sending a transmission to her Fifth Column contact stationed on Earth.

As the screen revealed a young blonde male, Petra stated coolly, "Leonard, I have need of your expertise. In fact, I have a recording that Martin simply must hear, the sooner the better. I’ll transmit it to you, now."

CHAPTER TWELVE

The fiery blast and the spreading debris that was once a Visitor shuttlecraft and two Visitor soldiers did not go unnoticed by the inhabitants of the city below. The initial sound wave shook people who were sitting in their basements. The few who still drove cars braked so hard that they left greasy black streaks behind them as they leaned over their steering wheels and strained their eyes to witness the devastation. Looking skyward, people on the street saw the scarlet plume of fire just before ash gray tufts and black smoke filled the sky.

On the rooftop of a seemingly abandoned building, a small crowd of people quickly formed. Amidst the sizeable mob, Juliet, Martin, Michael and Tyler stared skyward as flaming bits of wreckage floated slowly to Earth. Glancing at one another, the Command Staff inquired without words if anyone had heard of any Fifth Column or Resistance cells that were planning a show of force for today. They all answered with a shake of their head.

Within minutes, dozens of shuttles could be seen scrambling from the mother ship. In long lines, the crafts descended quickly, landing throughout the city. On the ground, sirens started to scream out from the Sirian bases and offices. Soldiers armed with laser rifles filed out of Visitor installations. As back-up personnel arrived, the Visitor soldiers on the ground started a building-by-building search for the criminals who had killed their comrades.

On the rooftop of their complex, overlooking the better part of Downtown Los Angeles, the L.A. Resistance stared in terror at the fight that was marching up to greet them. Some screamed. Some cried. Some grew eerily quiet, but no one moved. Paralyzed by shock and fear, a good deal of time passed during which no one did anything at all.

With an urgent cry to get below, Tyler broke free of the hysteria. Soon, he was grabbing people by the shoulders and pushing them to the roof access door. Martin joined the effort, then Mike and Juliet. Eventually, the Command Staff managed to get everyone down below. Congregated in the main common areas, the population of the compound huddled together, turning to Juliet for direction.

Stepping onto a chair, Juliet quickly jumped onto a table and addressed the terrified mob. "Listen. Listen! We can’t give in to fear. We have too much to do and too little time to do it in. I need every capable person to join me in the armory."

Jumping from the tabletop, Juliet ran for the door. Seeing Tyler by the doorway, Juliet grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along. As they exited the common areas, Juliet whispered in his ear, "Go get Martin and Michael. I want the three of you to split up these people into squads. Initiate sub-commands if you have to and I think you’ll have to. Do it quickly and quietly. Try not to incite these people – They’re already wound too tight as it is."

Nodding quickly, Tyler marched away from Juliet, intent on following his orders. Juliet watched his retreating form as the crowd swallowed him up. Once Tyler vanished from view, Juliet indulged herself by letting a tremor of fear run through her body before spinning on her heel and leading her people to the armory.

At the armory doors, Juliet paused before unlocking the doors. With her hand securely on the padlock, Juliet once again addressed the crowd of forty odd people. "Listen to me. As many as there are of you here, I know there could be more. I know some of you left your wives in your quarters and I know others have children capable of fighting. I need them all to be here now. I don’t care if you’re fourteen or ninety. If you can fire a laser rifle without falling on your ass, I want you here."

Searching the crowd, Juliet spied Yvonne and Ray’s familiar faces. With urgency, she singled them out of the crowd and ordered them to search the compound and bring everyone to the armory. Quickly, Yvonne and Ray moved to comply with Juliet’s orders. Motioning for Willie to come closer, Juliet told the Sirian, "Willie, I want you to take all the children to the schoolroom and stay with them."

A bit shaken, Willie nodded jerkily as he stuttered, "Y-Yes. I’ll g-go now."

Placing a hand on his shoulder, Julie stepped closer to him and whispered in his ear, "Willie, Elisa and Jackson are in sickbay. Make sure you collect them first."

Nodding, Willie stood up straighter before turning away and making his way to sick bay. As Willie fought his way out of the crowd, Juliet ordered, "Everyone with children. Give them to Willie. He’ll be in the schoolrooms."

The crowd took on a muffled silence, a controlled quiet before slowly, one after another, parents left to collect their children.

In the midst of Juliet’s call to arms, Michael, Martin and Tyler were slowly tapping people on the shoulder, instructing the person to go to the common areas. In the end, they tapped four people, three men and one woman. Rounding up the recruits, Michael escorted them into the common areas where Tyler and Martin were waiting.

Once there, Ringo was the first to comment. "What’s going on? Why are we being singled out?"

In response, Tyler stepped forward. Absently, he scratched a spot on his right peck as he replied, "As of this moment, you’re all promoted. You will answer only to us. In a few minutes, you’re going to be issued troops. Right now, it looks like it could be as much as ten to a squad. Get your group in order, designate a lead, then report back here for further instruction."

Growling for emphasis, Tyler raged on. "I don’t want to hear that anybody’s afraid. You got that? I don’t care if the last thing you led was your dog on a leash. If you’re standing here, then at some time, you showed yourself to be capable of what we’re asking you. That’s all you need to know. There will be no discussion."

Letting a breath out, Tyler allowed his stature to relax enough to offer, "Take a bit of advice, gentlemen… and lady, don’t have any family or close friends on your crew. If you find yourself with one, send them to me. I’ll redirect them to other crews."

Suddenly, Tyler drew himself up. For a not so tall man, he struck an imposing figure as he caught the eyes of everyone in the room. "Understood?" he roared.

"Yes, sir!" answered the four new commanders unanimously.

Without discussion, the three men and one woman were escorted out of the room. They were ordered to make eight choices each. Quickly, the new commanders roamed the room, separating their chosen ones from the crowd. Ringo responded to leadership well if not slowly. Holding back, letting the other new commanders make the first picks before finally entering the swarming throng of people.

In the midst of all this picking and choosing, Yvonne and Ray returned to the crowd with an extra twenty-three people consisting mostly of wide-eyed women and even wider-eyed kids. Tyler looked at the new recruits and nearly chewed off his bottom lip at the raw look of them. Quickly, Tyler dispersed them, separating the sons from their Fathers and the Mothers from their sons. Expertly, Tyler noted the ones that stared with such terror that they more of a threat than the approaching Visitor invaders.

With a gentleness that shocked those that happened to witness it, Tyler escorted these timid souls to Juliet with a whispered suggestion that she give them background work. With a nod of her head, Juliet assigned them to gun detail. Soon the shaking fingers and shallow breaths steadied. Easily, these fragile souls handed out guns, assured, as they were that they would never have to carry one themselves.

With the more sensitive members set aside, the count of soldiers was sixty-eight, not counting the Resistance Commanders. All the commanders had ten people except for Tyler and Ringo who each had nine. As the squads hurriedly scrambled to grab guns and ammo, one final warrior entered the room.

Fresh from the schoolrooms and before that the infirmary, Angela ran into the room. Coming to a stop at the doorway, Angela noted that teams had already been formed. Doing a quick head count, Angela’s form never paused as she walked over to Tyler’s team.

At the sight of Angela’s determined stride, Tyler winced. As she came to stand before him, Tyler cursed. Looking her dead in the eyes, Tyler threatened, "You betray us out there, Scaly, and I’ll kill you."

Closing in so that barely an inch separated them, Angela leaned toward Tyler and hissed, "If I betray my unit, if I surrender, if I retreat in any way, I will kill myself."

Stepping back, Angela and Tyler shared a lengthy pause. Looking away finally, they snapped their heads in opposite directions. Continuing with their mission, they walked away from each other, lightly brushing against each other as they passed.

Across the room, Ringo closely watched the exchange between the two seasoned warriors. Not breathing, Ringo watched them part. Foreboding shadows blanketed Ringo’s thoughts as he watched Angela pick up a laser rifle, inspecting it expertly. Grimacing, Ringo assembled his troops, trying desperately not to think of Caitlynne’s prediction.

--<{()}>--

High above the besieged city, aboard the Los Angeles mother ship, Phillip sat at his desk. Pounding his fist on the polished surface, Phillip cursed the generals who took it upon themselves to begin this inopportune invasion. Under his breath, Phillip cursed himself for not foreseeing this reaction, for not setting up a sweeping order to not attack in retaliation to terrorist acts. Now, with the Leader and Diana in the infirmary, the responsibility fell squarely on Phillip’s shoulders to lead his troops in or out of battle. Silently, he wished he had the strength to order his men back to base, but he didn’t. Besides, Phillip knew that an order of retreat would be ignored at this point.

On a view screen, Phillip watched his troops advance. Squirming in his seat, Phillip could no longer resist the need to move. Quickly, he sprang to his feet and paced. Glancing back at the screen every few strides, Phillip winced each time a red dot inched closer to the downtown district of Los Angeles and the Resistance cell hidden away there. His hands clenched behind his back and his muscles screaming with tension, Phillip considered his options.

Marching rhythmically from one side of his quarters to the other, Phillip considered the possibility of ordering his troops to stand their ground – neither retreat nor advance. They were Sirians, after all. They would never commit the act of mutiny. They would follow orders like good little soldiers. But, what would he tell the Leader? How would he explain the order, this time? As of right now, R’Narne believed Phillip was a patriot. He believed Phillip was loyal. His opinion of Phillip might change if Phillip stopped the fighting now.

Of course, there was always silence. Silence is always an option. Phillip could stand back and do nothing. Hope it would all work out for the best.

Sighing, Phillip landed hard on his bunk. Sitting there, Phillip saw only Martin’s lifeless body laid out before him. Martin could die. Be dead because of his unwillingness to disappoint the man he’d loved like a Father, loved more than his own Father. And, what if Martin lived? How would he explain his inaction to his twin? Could he look Martin in the eye and lie straight-faced. Silently, Phillip hoped so.

Desperately, Phillip wanted to conceal the truth from R’Narne and Martin, alike. For Phillip, the worst part of all this was the fear of discovery. What it came down to was that Phillip couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing either of them.

Standing again, Phillip walked over to the view screen. Squinting at the scattered red dots, Phillip saw an opening. An officer on the ground had made a possibly fatal error. In the Northern District of Downtown Los Angeles, a pocket was forming. It was big enough to make a move. A well-armed army could start there and take back the city.

Quickly, Phillip sprinted over to his communications console. Punching in a secret code, Phillip drummed his fingers on the edge of the screen until a hazy picture of a young blond male filled the view screen.

"Leonard, can you hear me?" asked Phillip.

"Yes, Inspector General."

--<{()}>--

Swarming through the vacant streets of Los Angeles, Sirian troops thirsted for vengeance. Forked tongues tasting the air, the soldiers followed the traces of sweat in the air. Desperately, the Sirians advanced as they nursed yet another bloody nose. Humiliated, the organized might of Sirius IV vowed to regain their pride. Moving together, they swore to end this farce, today.

Too many times in the past few years, the powerful Sirian military found itself wrestled to the ground by the hairy, primitive mammals that infested this beautiful world. It was unthinkable. It was impossible.

But, it was.

It was the motivator for every footfall. It defined the hatred every Sirian felt for the vermin that plagued the planet Earth. These dirty animals that called themselves Humans. They referred to themselves as intelligent. Why they’d never seen a laser rifle before the Sirian Military arrived. They’d never seriously considered the possibility of life on another planet until Sirian ships filled their skies. Look at them! They didn’t even know how to accelerate past light speed. They were simple. They were ignorant.

But now, they were winning.

In every Sirian mind, a single thought chanted - "Defeat by the Karaxians never felt like this."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The battle went on for the next three days. The dead and wounded lists grew on both sides. Still, neither side backed down.

On the first day, the L.A. Resistance was holed up in an area of Downtown L.A. bordered by the 110 and 10 freeways. For an eight-block radius of the Resistance compound, the Resistance prepared for the coming troops. They didn’t wait long.

To the West, the Sirian army took control of the University of Southern California campus. Using it as a base of operations, the Sirian military fanned out. Seven blocks from the campus, Sirian soldiers met the Resistance in bloody combat.

To the South, more troops from the USC campus advanced. Moving North up S. Grand Avenue, Sirian and Resistance forces met at Adams Blvd. From behind a makeshift barricade, the Resistance made their final stand.

To the East, Sirian shuttles landed on Washington Blvd. In perfectly straight lines, the practiced troops advanced west up Washington. Six blocks later, Sirian troops faced Resistance fighters.

To the Northwest, Sirian troops advanced past the 110/101 Hwy connector. The very heart of Chinatown lay before them. Six miles from the Resistance stronghold, the army’s intent was to seal up the Northern Resistance boundary, boxing in the Human rebels.

To the North, Fifth Column forces landed in the large parking lot of Dodger stadium. Within minutes, over a hundred Fifth Column troops flooded into Chinatown. Marching down N. Broadway, they advanced in a Southwesterly fashion toward battle.

On N. Hill St, within sight of Chinatown’s pagoda style archways, fighting broke out between the Fifth Column and Sirian forces. With a plan of attack that could have only been prepared by a military genius, the Fifth Column managed to surround the Northern Sirian troops. Systematically, the Fifth Column eliminated every threat the Northern Sirian troops posed before moving on.

With victory came strength. By the next day, the Fifth Column split off into two groups. One group with twenty-five souls approached the Resistance blockade. Luckily for them, Martin’s platoon was holding the Northern border. Martin ordered his men to lay down their guns when he recognized the Fifth Column signal of flashing lights. With the soldiers came the news that, today, the Resistance faced at least a hundred fewer Sirian troops than it did the day before.

The remaining Fifth Column troops headed East. Crossing the 10 freeway at Central Avenue, the Fifth Column attacked the Sirian army from the rear. Sandwiched between the Resistance to the West and the Fifth Column to the East, the Sirian soldiers knew they were defeated, but fought to the last anyways.

With the Eastern boundary secured, the Fifth Column pledged their lives and guns to the Resistance. Inside the compound, Leonard relayed Phillip’s orders – Before the end of this operation, some Sirian soldiers must be captured, but not killed. This would give Phillip a good cover for approaching the Resistance later. Everyone knew what this meant and what it could cost, but both the Resistance and the Fifth Column were prepared to do it.

Joining together, over the next two days, the two armies pushed the Sirians back to the USC campus. Starting at the eastern corner of the campus where Figueroa Street and Jefferson Boulevard crossed, the Resistance entered the pentagon shaped campus. Past Hoover Boulevard. Past Alumni Park. Past the crumbling remains of what was once Tommy Trojan, the Resistance pushed the Sirians back. Back to the Parkside Apartments at the far side of the university grounds.

Here, the Sirians made their final stand. At a personal cost of seventeen lives, the Resistance stormed the complex, capturing the last of the Sirian soldiers. Securing their prisoners, the Resistance made a temporary base out of the battered college grounds. There, the exhausted victors of the latest battle for survival rested while Leonard sent a message to Phillip.

--<{()}>--

Aboard the L.A. Mother ship, the remaining personnel watched the developments below with dismay. The Fifth Column was cursed by each bifurcated tongue as the news of defeat spread among the crew. Hate for the Resistance increased when it was learned that the treacherous Humans had not even had the respect to kill all the Sirian soldiers. Adding dishonor to humiliation, the Humans were now requesting a meeting with Command to negotiate for the release of their prisoners.

In a position envied by none, Phillip boarded a shuttlecraft loaded up with weapons intended as the price paid for the Sirian soldiers. He landed in Alumni Park. Disembarking the vessel, Phillip was met by members of the Resistance and Fifth Column. Together, they made their way across the campus to the Parkside apartments.

In an old dorm room, the L.A. Resistance command staff waited for Phillip to arrive. As Phillip entered the room, he noticed the hardened faces of the people he had come to know. Exhaling loudly, Phillip relaxed at the sight of his twin. Quickly, Phillip approached Martin, embracing him. Pulling away, Phillip met Donovan’s gaze and nodded when Donovan did.

For the next hour, the command staff interrogated Phillip. They asked questions that were hard to answer, like why the fighting wasn’t stopped sooner, with less bloodshed. Phillip winced and fumbled his way through and around these questions. In the end, no one was very satisfied with Phillip’s answers and explanations, but weary from battle, even Tyler eventually let it go.

Finally, they emerged from their makeshift war room. Martin, Phillip and Michael split off of the rest of the group and made their way out of the apartment complex. On the street outside, they were stopped by a Sirian voice calling out Martin’s name. Turning around, the trio watched as Leonard jogged over to them. Out of his jacket pocket, Leonard pulled out a walkman-sized recording device and handed it to Martin.

"I was told to give this to you when you were by yourself, but you’re not an easy person to get alone, Commander," remarked Leonard.

Taking the recorder, Martin noted the tape inside. "What’s on the tape?"

Shaking his head, Leonard’s long hair flew about as he answered, "I don’t know, sir. I was ordered to deliver it to you, not to listen to it. I would have given it to you earlier, but this is the closest to alone you’ve been since the fighting stopped."

Nodding, Martin turned the recorder in his hand until his thumb was positioned over the play button. Pausing, Martin looked back at Leonard and asked, "Who sent it?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Leonard looked at the ground. "I can’t tell you that, sir. I’m sorry, but the sender wanted anonymity. The only thing I can tell you is that I was told this recording is something you simply must hear. "

Slapping Leonard on the shoulder, Martin thanked the younger Sirian for the tape. Watching as Leonard walked away, Martin directed his brother and his mate into one of the small buildings nearby. Inside the structure, the trio looked about, ensuring that they were alone before Martin pressed the play button on the recorder.

"Phillip is not everything he appears to be. I suspect he is a member of the Fifth Column and not to be trusted."

"Do you have proof of this?"

"No proof, exactly, but-"

"But nothing. Mention it no more until you have something solid to hand me. Phillip and I have worked closely since before I ascended to Sirian leadership. He was ruthless against the Karaxians and the formation of the very plan to attack this planet was mostly his doing. Now, you are telling me that he has betrayed his people…for Humans – mere cattle. I simply refuse to believe it."

At the sound of the familiar words, Phillip felt cold ice fill his spine. A moment later, the ice in his veins was the least of Phillips concerns as he was slammed against the nearest wall. Focusing his blurry world, Phillip looked up to see enraged Human eyes staring back at him.

Filled with tension, Mike grabbed onto Phillip’s uniform. A couple times, Mike pulled Phillip away from the wall just to slam him back against it, each time smacking Phillip’s head against the hard brick. "What kind of game is this, Phillip? Are you working both sides, or something?"

Dazed, Phillip reached up with unsure hands and grasped onto Donovan’s wrists. "Donovan. Stop, let me explain."

Michael stopped slamming Phillip against the wall, but still pressed him against the hard surface. Michael’s fists were balled up tight and pushing painfully into Phillip’s chest. "Explain it to me, Phillip. Is what the tape says true?"

Phillip’s eyes grew sad. His body stopped resisting as he admitted, "Yes. It’s true."

Shock paralyzing him, Mike’s grip loosened by the smallest of degrees when a calm voice sounded. "No, Phillip. Tell me, it wasn’t you."

Phillip’s head jerked to the side as he strained to look at his twin. Martin stepped closer, looking Phillip in the eyes. Unable to shake Martin’s intense gaze, Phillip slumped against the wall and replied, "It was me. It was my idea. It was my decision."

Shaking his head slowly, Martin turned away from Phillip. From behind him, Martin could hear Phillip shout, "Sirius IV needed resources. You know that, Martin. Our people were starving. Our fuel reserves were dangerously low."

Turning back towards Phillip, Martin addressed his brother, "Was it your plan to attack, to conquer these people?"

For a second, Phillip was silent. Bringing his gaze to bear on Donovan’s angry face, Phillip quietly answered, "Yes."

Again, Phillip felt Michael’s fists tighten over his chest. Not quite as dizzy as before, Phillip held securely onto Michael’s wrists as Michael said, "For the past three years, we’ve been fighting for survival. You. All the time, it was you. You were to blame for everything."

Looking Michael in the eyes, Phillip replied, "Donovan, that’s how it started, but I’ve been with the Fifth Column since I thought Martin died. I swear to you. Since then, I’ve worked to save your people."

A growling sound erupted from deep in Michael’s chest. Pulling hard, Michael pulled Phillip away from the wall once again. This time, Michael twisted Phillip a little so Phillip’s head contacted directly with the wall, tearing away a section of Phillip’s scalp. In pain, Phillip could smell his own blood as Michael raged on, punctuating each word with a slam to the wall. "But, how many have you killed? How many are dead? Because of you. How many? Because of you, Diana took my son. Because of you, Tony is dead. Margie is dead. Because of you-"

Absently, Phillip could feel rivulets of blood running from the cut on his head. As the blood loss made him lightheaded, Phillip became convinced that Mike would kill him. With that revelation, Phillip realized that he really didn’t care. Death was preferable to the torture of lies he’d endured the past couple of weeks. Closing his eyes, Phillip surrendered to death.

Suddenly, the pressure was gone. The hands were relaxing and pulling away. Opening his eyes, Phillip saw Michael standing in front of him, his arms hanging limply down. Behind and just to the left of Michael was Martin. Phillip could see that Martin’s strong right hand was gently placed on Michael’s shoulder. Searching Martin’s face, Phillip saw that Martin’s actions weren’t for him. Looking back at Michael, Phillip watched as Michael started to shake. Michael’s eyes darted from side to side, quickly. With small jerking movements, Michael’s head shook as he stepped back and away. Muttering under his breath, Michael turned and left the building.

"Because of you."

Phillip watched Michael leave before straightening up. Standing against the wall, Phillip carefully touched his fingers to the cut on his head. Bringing his hand out in front of him, Phillip looked at the green smear of blood on his fingers. Hesitantly, Phillip opened his mouth to speak, but Martin silenced him with a look and a clearing of his throat. "Phillip, you better get out of here. The weapons should be clear of the shuttle. Go collect your men and leave."

Again, Phillip opened his mouth to offer some words, some explanation, something, anything, but Martin cut him off again. "Phillip, please. Just go. Go quickly, because I don’t know how long I can keep this from getting out."

That said, Martin turned to leave. A hand on his arm stopped Martin in his tracks. Glancing over his shoulder, Martin saw Phillip’s remorseful face. Martin let Phillip place his hands on his arms. Slowly, Phillip turned Martin around until they were face-to-face. Quietly, Phillip whispered, "Martin, everything I’ve done. I’ve done for you. Everything."

Shaking his head, Martin removed Phillip’s hands. "Phillip. You are my twin. You are the other half of myself, but I don’t want to see you for a while."

Turning away, Martin walked away. Pausing at the door, Martin looked back at Phillip’s defeated form. "Go quickly, Phillip. I’ve already given you all the consideration I intend to give."

Phillip waited a couple minutes after Martin left to put himself together and clean his wound. After patching himself together as best he could, Phillip exited the building and made his way back to Alumni Park where he parked his shuttle. Once there, he asked a Fifth Columnist to collect the prisoners and bring them back to the shuttle. Phillip paced nervously until the last prisoner was aboard the shuttlecraft. Boarding the vessel, Phillip gave the command to return to base. Smoothly, the shuttlecraft rose up into the air and flew away.

--<{()}>--

Back on the mother ship, Phillip quickly excused the men under his command and ordered the wounded to sickbay. Exhausted from the strain of the day, Phillip made his way to his quarters. Without a thought, Phillip punched his security code into the door lock. With a mechanical grinding, the door opened. Stepping into the room, Phillip pressed the button to make the door close before saying, "I guess I need a better lock on that door."

"I’d have to agree," remarked Diana, sitting seductively on Phillip’s desk. Sparkling even in the dim light, a Sirian Megien dangled from her fingers.

Coolly, Phillip crossed the room. Grabbing Diana by the arm, Phillip roughly dragged her off the desk. "What are you doing in my quarters?"

With her free hand, Diana reached up to straighten out Phillip’s collar. Letting her hand pet Phillip’s strong shoulder, Diana cooed, "Well, I suppose I am supposed to be in sick bay, but I thought I could recuperate here just as well, if not better, than there."

Shaking his head, Phillip grabbed her roaming hand. Tightly, Phillip grasped Diana’s wrist, twisting it painfully. "Somehow, I doubt that your health is promoted by your being here."

Briefly, Diana winced from the pain shooting through her wrist and up along her arm before smiling darkly. "I see you like to play rough. That’s fine. A little pain turns me on."

Shaking off the hand that clutched her forearm, Diana held up the Sirian Megien. "If you want, you could use this to cut me, make me bleed."

Staring coldly at Diana, Phillip released Diana completely as he snatched the medal from her fingers. "How did you find my safe, Diana?"

Chuckling slightly, Diana limply pointed to the area on the wall where the safe was located. "It is a very nice safe and it would be well hidden except for its obvious location in the wall. I mean, really, Phillip, I’d expect something a little more imaginative from you than that."

Silently, Phillip cursed. Suddenly, Phillip struck out, grabbing Diana by the hair. "So, it was you."

Holding Diana close, Phillip reached around Diana, placing a hand at the small of her back. Grinding his groin into her pelvis, Phillip growled, "Are you here to whore yourself, Diana? Is that it? You think you can keep your command and status by mating with me? Well? Is that what you want? Do you want to wear my scent, Diana?"

Hope flashed for a second in Diana’s dark eyes. Letting her tongue reach out and flick across Phillip’s lips, Diana hissed, "Yes. You have a great deal of authority, Phillip and that kind of power can be so exciting."

Tugging cruelly at Diana’s zipper, Phillip exposed Diana’s chest. Savagely, Phillip ripped a wide swatch of pseudo-flesh off of Diana starting at the curve of her left shoulder and ending in jagged strips across her chest. Leaning down, Phillip extended his tongue, using it to raise Diana’s scales. Brutally, Phillip ravaged the delicate skin underneath. Bowing his head, Phillip clamped down securely on a row of scales before yanking his head up, bringing the bloody scales with him.

"Yes! Mar nor t’hilot (*That’s wonderful*)," moaned Diana, in response, as she pressed harder against Phillip.

Forcefully, Phillip threw Diana down on the floor. Nimbly, Diana rolled to her knees. Stretching provocatively, Diana hissed, letting her tongue kiss the air. Walking behind her, Phillip fell to his knees in a fluid motion. Confidently, Phillip wrapped an arm around Diana waist tightly and jerked her back against him. Baring her neck, Diana rocked her hips against Phillip’s obvious erection.

Viciously nibbling at Diana’s bare shoulder, Phillip asked, "Do you want to be my mate, Diana?"

Rolling her head back and forth, Diana sighed, "O, yes."

Pulling away, Phillip grabbed Diana’s chin, making Diana twist about to face him. "Would you bear my young if I told you to, Diana?"

Straining her neck, Diana forced her head to the side until she could clearly see Phillip’s intense countenance. Satisfaction filled Diana’s eyes as she replied, "Pru gah (*Of course*)."

Smoothly, Phillip reached around Diana, wrapping her in his arms. Bucking her hips, Diana writhed on her knees, rocking against Phillip. With hard and fast motions, Phillip started rubbing Diana’s arms. Starting at her shoulders, Phillip ran his palms down her complying flesh until he reached her wrists. Fanning out his fingers, Phillip continued his exploration, massaging Diana’s stomach and sides.

Finally, Phillip’s hands gripped Diana’s hips. Pinching the ample flesh, Phillip dug his fingers into her soft tissue until Diana winced in pain. Brutally, Phillip pushed Diana forward, sending her sprawling face first onto his floor.

Quickly, Phillip jumped to his feet and laughed, "You’re a fool, Diana. In fact, you’re not nearly as smart as I gave you credit for, if you thought for one second that I would want to infect my bloodline with your unholy DNA. You’re a freakish mistake, Diana, made all the worse by the fact that your incestuous parents didn’t rid us of your pitiful existence before you had a chance to do any real damage."

On the floor, Diana glared at Phillip with hatred in her eyes. Quickly, she scrambled to her feet, doing her best to cover up her scales. Arranging her uniform, Diana remarked, "You’ve made a mistake, tonight, Phillip. It’ll come back to haunt you, someday."

Smirking, Phillip replied, "If you could make predictions, Diana, you wouldn’t be desperately searching for a clairvoyant."

Stepping aside, Phillip cocked his head toward the door to his quarters. "Get out."

Collecting herself, Diana thrust her shoulders back and strode toward the door smugly. As she reached the door, Phillip made one last statement as Diana reached for the lock disengage button. "R’Narne is leaving tomorrow. With him, goes all the protection you have."

For a second, Diana paused. Her hand hovering over the button, Diana took a deep breath. Making her back even straighter, Diana pressed the button and left Phillip’s quarters at a controlled pace.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The din of celebration rang throughout the Resistance headquarters. Drink in hand, the battle weary members of the L.A. Resistance shook off the last of their tension. Music played and lights blazed. For the first time in ages, no Sirian convoys patrolled the streets enforcing curfew. There were no Sirian shuttles flying by. The often-felt Sirian presence was completely absent from the City of Angels.

Even the L.A. mother ship was gone. According to the Fifth Column, it left to meet with the Mexico City mother ship to replenish its supplies and men. It would not be back for days.

As a result, the city rejoiced.

With too much drink, some fell into bed with people they would never have otherwise. With too much adrenaline, some fights broke out, but these were the exception. For the most part, the population of the L.A. Resistance compound stayed near their families. Husbands were eager to kiss their wives. Parents were content to huddle close to their children.

Of course, not everyone was so happy. There were casualties though the numbers were surprisingly low for such a hard fought battle. For the grieving few, each note of music, each shriek of joy, reminded a child of the Mother that will never come home. As the city around them made merry, those that mourned felt isolated and alone. Separated from their fellow man, they were left, without solace, to dwell in their pain.

Sitting in the dark, one such individual sat on a chair in his quarters. Seeing by a dim light that crept in from under the door, he stared at the empty bed that dominated the small room. Miserable, he remembered happier times, longing for their return. Unable to cry, Martin was doubly wretched as he sat with his arms crossed, waiting for the door to open.

Near 3:00 a.m., Martin’s wait ended. The door creaked open slowly. A slim hand entered the room, flicking on the lights. Blinking at the light, Mike entered the room. Upon first seeing Mike, Martin shut his eyes in relief as much as from the painful intensity of the light Opening his eyes, Martin found Mike standing uneasily in front of him. Clearing his throat, Martin said, "I was beginning to wonder if you would ever come home."

Standing perfectly still, Mike replied, "Me, too."

Together, the pair nodded. Shifting from one foot to the other, Mike added, "I needed time to think, sort it all out."

"I know. Me, too," answered Martin.

Looking down at the floor, Mike whispered, "I tried. I tried not to, but I hate him. Martin, I’m so sorry."

"Don’t be," answered Martin as he shook his head.

Standing up, Martin walked over to Mike. Ever careful, Martin made sure not to touch him. Patiently, he waited for Mike to make the first move. In time, it happened. Slowly, Mike turned toward Martin. Gently, he took Martin’s left hand, barely squeezing it. Raising his right hand, Martin brushed the back of his fingers across Mike’s cheek. Turning into the loving gesture, Mike looked into Martin’s eyes as he whispered, "I’ve thought and felt too much tonight, Martin. I just want to be numb for a while."

Tugging on Mike’s hand, Martin turned off the light before leading Mike to their bed. Placing his hands on Mike’s shoulders, Martin pushed Mike onto the mattress. Stretching out beside Michael, Martin said, "I can do that."

Starting with the buttons of Mike’s shirt, Martin tenderly undressed Michael. Once Mike was naked, Martin quickly undressed himself. Lying down beside Michael, Martin pressed kisses to Michael’s tense muscles. Starting with Mike’s neck, Martin worked his way down the length of Mike’s body, stopping at Mike’s half-hard flesh. Taking the semi-hard shaft into his hand, Martin bowed his head to take it into his mouth, but Michael’s hand grasping his hair stopped him.

Shaking his head, Mike said softly, "Don’t. Just do it."

Nodding, Martin reached between their pillows and retrieved the lube. Spreading the oil on his fingers, Martin rubbed his hands together for a few seconds before slipping his fingers into Mike. Methodically, Martin opened Michael up, stretching him gingerly, careful to not let pain enter the scene.

Once, Martin was satisfied he prepared Mike sufficiently, Martin spread Michael’s thighs and placed a pillow under Michael’s hips. Pouring more oil into the palm of his hand, Martin worked his semi-erection vigorously. Once his flesh was hard enough, Martin spread the oil over himself and positioned himself at Michael’s opening. Slowly, Martin entered Michael’s willing body. Braced on his outstretched arms, Martin started a casual rhythm. Rocking slowly, Martin felt his orgasm build, but he garnered little reaction from Mike’s compliant body. Looking down, Martin noted heartbreakingly that Mike’s eyes were tightly sealed. Feeling unbearably alone, Martin leaned down and lightly kissed Mike once on the lips.

Opening his sad eyes, Mike returned Martin’s stare. Feeling the same loneliness, Mike reached up and wrapped his arms around Martin’s shoulders and pulled him down. Once their chests pressed against each other, Mike raised his legs and wrapped them around Martin’s waist. Face to face, Mike and Martin looked into each other’s eyes for a few seconds before chastely pressing their lips together.

As they kissed, Martin’s orgasm built up quickly. Soon, he was thrusting forcefully in and out of Michael. Kissing his way to Mike’s left shoulder, Martin started to buck wildly. Grabbing the back of Michael’s head, Martin barred the nape of Mike’s neck. Finally, Martin fell over the edge and came. Biting down on Mike’s left shoulder, Martin held on a little longer than usual to allow more toxin into Mike’s bloodstream.

Pulling away, Martin untangled himself from Mike’s limp, but heavy limbs. Gingerly, Martin pulled out of Mike’s relaxed body. Reaching down to the foot of the bed, Martin pulled a blanket up, covering them both. Quietly, Martin wrapped himself around Mike’s body. Silently, Martin once again contemplated the darkness as he listened to Mike’s steady breathing.

Surprising Martin, Mike started to shift a bit, moving closer to his lover’s welcoming body. Barely parting his eyes, Mike looked blurrily into Martin’s eyes and whispered, "Wanted to let you know – I still love you, Martin. I always will."

Smiling broadly, Martin nuzzled closer to his mate and nodded. "I love you, too, Mike. Forever. Now, go to sleep. We’ll deal with everything later, much later, in the morning."

Smiling weakly, Michael sighed just before drifting to sleep, "Okay. We’ll deal with it later."

--<{()}>--

As the first rays of sunlight hit the Hollywood sign, Ringo held his sleeping daughter, Elisa, a little closer. In front of him, Angela shuddered from her first full stretch of the morning as she cradled their son, Jackson. The children slept side by side as demanded by Elisa the night before. Unlike other nights, when the prospect of a child separating them was frustrating, last night, Angela and Ringo welcomed the chance to have their family together and within arm’s reach.

Opening sleepy eyes, Angela glanced over her sleeping children to find Ringo staring back at her. Smiling, Angela noted the scratch that might leave a scar over Ringo’s left eye and the bruise on his chest that he got from bracing the laser rifle in the same place for too long. Mostly though, Angela looked at Ringo’s face. Overjoyed at just being there, Angela couldn’t help but stare dreamily into Ringo’s eyes.

Looking across at his wife, Ringo felt overjoyed and relieved. Remembering to be very quiet, Ringo whispered, "Good morning."

Smiling sweetly, Angela replied softly, "Good morning. How did you sleep?"

Glancing down at his children, Ringo brought his gaze back to Angela as he answered, "Better than I’ve slept in a long time."

Nodding, Angela shifted Jackson’s weight so she could free one of her arms. Carefully, she reached across her children and touched her husband’s face, feeling the rough stubble of a few days of hair growth. "Me, too."

Suddenly serious, Ringo whispered, "I was scared it would come true."

Nodding, Angela replied, "Me, too."

Puckering her lips, Angela blew a kiss at Ringo. "I love you."

Puckering his lips, Ringo blew a kiss back at Angela, "I love you, too."

Suddenly, a small, high-pitched voice giggled. "I luv yoooo."

Another eruption of laughter and Elisa pushed up onto her knees. Rocking back on her heels, Elisa rubbed her eyes with her fists. Once she opened her eyes for good, Elisa didn’t waste a minute before launching herself onto Ringo. Smiling widely, Ringo hugged Elisa close, growling like a bear while his daughter squealed loudly.

At once, a rhythmic cry sounded. Sitting up, Angela picked up Jackson and walked over to the dresser to change his diaper. As she fussed over her son, Angela couldn’t deny herself a little glance back at Ringo and Elisa. Elisa caught her eye and propelled herself off the bed. Within seconds, Elisa was clutching her mother’s leg, trying to see what Angela was doing.

Once Angela was finished taking care of Jackson, she bundled up the baby again and brought him back to the bed. After Elisa promised to sit still and be careful, Angela let her hold Jackson. From behind Elisa, Ringo watched just as carefully as Elisa rocked and bounced the baby. After a couple minutes, Ringo reached around Elisa and took Jackson in his arms. Since he was so close, Ringo spared a moment to reach over and give Angela a kiss.

More giggling erupted. As Angela and Ringo parted, they were both smiling brightly. Reveling in the joy of their family, they lived today and let tomorrow take care of itself.

--<{()}>--

The traditional fanfare filled the docking bay as the Leader rounded the corner. Regally, the Leader entered the large hanger, followed by his entourage. Behind the royal party, Phillip and Diana walked side-by-side. They did not speak to each other nor did they look at each other. Instead, Diana forced her arms to remain still by her side as she clenched and unclenched her hands. Painfully, Phillip clasped his hands behind his back tightly.

As the morps drummed out a strong bass beat and the full set of porthu spun out a haunting melody of departure, Phillip thought back to the scene that just occurred in the Leader’s quarters:

The three of them – Diana, R’Narne and Phillip – filled the Leader’s spacious bedchamber. In silence, they contemplated their next moves. Finally, Phillip walked over to the Leader’s sizeable bar and pulled out a bottle of a rather potent form of alcohol. Turning over two crystal glasses, Phillip filled the cups with the strong, crimson liquid. Picking up the glasses with one hand, causing the crystal to tinkle startlingly, Phillip crossed the room and handed one of the glasses to R’Narne. Gratefully, R’Narne accepted the liquid, gulping down a mouthful almost immediately. In contrast, Phillip merely sipped from his as he stared at R’Narne intensely.

Watching R’Narne’s nervous expression, Phillip took a deep breath and listed his terms, "First of all, I’m tired of Diana going over my head and overturning my orders with an edict from you, R’Narne. From now on, no communications from Earth will reach Sirius IV without going through my office first. Also, you are not to contact Diana in any way. I can’t trust her to not try and manipulate you. Lastly, you are never to have contact with me outside of the parameters of our offices ever again. Should anyone else find out about your secrets and reveal them, I want as much distance between you and I, as possible. Do you agree to my conditions?"

Taking another gulp, R’Narne let the burning liquid slide down his throat before answering. "Yes. Of course, Phillip. Whatever you desire."

Instantly, Phillip’s eyes softened. Reaching out a trembling hand, Phillip grasped onto R’Narne’s shoulder. Searching the older Sirian’s defeated face, Phillip related, "I desire for none of this to have ever happened. I wish we had never come here, to this planet. It has brought me nothing, but pain."

Nodding, R’Narne placed his claw over Phillip’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Turning away, R’Narne toddled over to the bar and poured himself another drink, setting the bottle back down on the countertop loudly.

In R’Narne’s absence, Phillip found himself facing Diana’s angry form. With her arms crossed over her chest, Diana leaned against the wall to the right of the door. Coolly, she drew her gaze up his form, sizing up the challenge he posed. Pushing off the wall, Diana crossed the distance between them, approaching Phillip with measured steps. When she finally found herself in front of Phillip, Diana asked, "And, what of me? It seems apparent that you plan to keep me here, but in what capacity?"

A smirk half-heartedly spread across Phillip’s face as he responded, "You needn’t worry, Diana, at least, for now. You will retain your command if for no other reason because it will keep you well within my reach."

Slowly, Phillip started to walk in circles around Diana. Carefully, Phillip watched as Diana managed to keep her eyes on him for the maximum amount of time with a minimum amount to movement. Stopping abruptly in mid-stride, Phillip leaned in and whispered in Diana’s ear, "I’m very patient. I can wait."

The tenor of his voice made a tremor run through her body. Standing there shock still, Diana watched Phillip stroll over to the bar where R’Narne was standing to refill his glass. With the stiff cordiality that is usually practiced by the guests at a funeral, Diana watched as Phillip and R’Narne tapped their glasses against each other and entertained one another with mindless conversation.

A short time later, the door to the bedchamber opened, revealing the luscious form of D’Laijah. As always, she swayed gracefully like a field of wheat disturbed by the wind. Bringing her hands before her, palms up, D’Laijah announced, "The royal party is prepared for departure, my Lord. We can leave whenever you wish."

Her work done, D’Laijah stepped back and pressed the door lock. Smoothly, the door closed before her rocking figure.

Once again, the room was thrust into silence. This time, R’Narne was the one to break the silence. Steadily, he crossed the room until he stood before Diana. Gently, R’Narne whispered, "Come, D’Nand. Let me feel your embrace one last time, for who knows when or if we may ever see each other again."

Narrowing her cold, unfeeling eyes, Diana slithered her gaze over her Father’s open and welcoming form before she spit out, "You old fool! All you have done today is kill us both."

Turning on her heel, Diana marched over to the door and pressed the disengage button. Before the door was fully open, Diana squeezed through the opening and stomped away.

With drooping shoulders, the Leader followed her out. A couple feet from the door, R’Narne felt Phillip’s arm encircle his trembling shoulders. Pausing, R’Narne glanced at Phillip’s regret-filled face. Shaking his head, R’Narne reached over and patted Phillip on the chest and said, "No, old friend. Don’t feel guilty for me. I did this to myself."

Nodding, Phillip turned the Leader in his arms, pulling the older Sirian into a firm embrace. "Still, I wish things could have been different."

"Sadly, I do not – not even with all that she’s done and all the pain she’s inflicted. There are some things, I would do the same again," sighed R’Narne as he pulled away from Phillip’s strong arms and made his way out of the chamber.

Only after R’Narne was out of sight did Phillip snap to attention. Meeting the elder Sirian’s pace, Phillip followed him from the room, down the hall and into the Docking Bay where they all currently stood, waiting for the Leader’s party to board their ship.

With his mask firmly in place, Phillip snapped back to the present and focused in on the Leader’s entourage as they entered the same formation that they used when the Leader arrived two weeks ago. With no evidence of the distress it was causing him, Phillip followed the Leader’s stoic figure as R’Narne regally ascended the ramp of the transport. Just before entering the vessel, the Leader paused as if he intended to turn back, but instead he simply stood straighter and proceeded to enter the transport. Matching his stride, the Leader’s entourage followed him quickly. A moment later, the door of the ship closed and the engines powered up. A few minutes after that, the docking bay doors opened and the vessel left the L.A. mother ship.

The military assembly dissipated, leaving only Diana and Phillip standing side-by-side in the lonely shuttle hanger. After a couple of minutes, Phillip spoke without looking in Diana’s direction, "Do as you’re told. Stay out of my way. Perhaps, I’ll let you live. For now, at least."

That said; Phillip turned on the point of his boot, performing a perfect military about-face. Walking away, Phillip never bothered to look back at Diana’s paralyzed face and shaking body.

Several minutes later, Diana’s turn to leave arrived. Reluctantly, Diana made her way to the door, dragging her feet the whole way. Once at the exit, Diana collected herself before opening the door. By the time the tip of her toe entered the hallway, Diana’s well-practiced mask was firmly in place.

Making her way to her quarters, Diana’s face sported a clever smirk that never quite made its way to her eyes. As she passed people in the halls, Diana let their rumors follow in her path. With a cool rebuff, Diana confirmed the suspicions of one young officer who quickly scrambled to tell all of his friends. With a sly glance, Diana answered the unspoken questions of a small group of female ensigns who instantly turned, hurrying away as fast as they could.

By the time she reached her quarters, the entire population of the L.A. Mother ship was certain that Diana was the Leader’s mistress and shuddered in fear at the implication of what that could mean to her already strong influence over the Leader. In huddled masses, small groups considered their options and chances. Covertly, cliques across the ship wondered when would be a good time to start kissing up.

Smiling devilishly, Diana sensed it all. As she entered her quarters, Diana knew that the crew was afraid of her. Nothing could have pleased her more.

--<{()}>--

In darkened isolation, Phillip sat at his desk. With a soft cloth clutched tightly, Phillip polished the medal Diana disturbed the night before. Wiping Diana’s vile fingerprints from the medal’s glossy surface, Phillip examined the shiny surfaces for any defect. Mindful of possible scratches, Phillip rubbed the edges firmly. Intensely, Phillip worked. For several minutes, the medal was his only point of interest.

Finally, Phillip could do no more. Gingerly, he returned the medal to its box. With a flick of his fingers, Phillip brought down the lid of the case. Absently, Phillip tapped the top of the case with his right index finger, feeling the smooth velvety cover. Stopping his constant movement, Phillip ran his finger lightly over the case one last time before reaching over and pushing the transmit key on his view screen.

After a couple static filled moments, Leonard’s obedient face appeared. Phillip could tell by Leonard’s friendly face that word had not yet reached the Fifth Column. Sighing sadly, Phillip addressed the courier, "Leonard. I fear my cover may have been blown. I cannot risk leading our military to the Resistance or the Fifth Column. Until further notice, CMO Petra will be the L.A. mother ship’s contact to the Fifth Column. I want you to contact and relay this information to the CMO and Martin."

In response, Leonard’s eyes narrowed and lines formed across his forehead. For a second, Leonard paused. The courier’s mouth opened as if to ask a question, but shook his head once, instead. Focusing on Phillip’s blank face, Leonard replied, "Of course, sir. Is there any other information you would like for me to relay?"

Without pause, Phillip answered, "No, Leonard, that will be all. Thank you."

"My pleasure, sir."

Without saying goodbye, Phillip cut off the transmission. Sitting in the darkness, Phillip allowed himself to slip lower and lower in his chair. Resting his elbows on the chair arms, Phillip pressed his fingertips together, bringing them up to his lips. Kicking out his legs, Phillip crossed his legs at the ankle. Sighing sadly, Phillip stared out into space as he sat.

Alone.

THE END