Stinger Part 6

Matt Rhodes smiled faintly and lit a cigarette. He was sitting across from Jessie in a back booth at the Brandin' Iron Cafe on Celeste Street, a small but tidy place with, appropriately, branding irons adorning the walls, red-checked tablecloths, and red vinyl seats. The specialty was the Big Beef Burger, the meat patty seared with the Brandin' Iron's private Double X brand; the remnants of a burger lay on the plate in front of Rhodes. "Okay, Dr. Hammond," he said when he'd gotten the cigarette going. "Tell me what it was, then."

She shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? I'm not in the air force."

"No, but you seemed to have seen the object clearly enough. Come on, give me your opinion."

Sue Mullinax, a big-hipped, big-boned blond woman who wore way too much makeup and had gentle, childlike brown eyes, came over with a coffeepot and poured another cup for both of them. Ten years ago, Sue had been head cheerleader at Preston High. As she walked away, she left the scent of Giorgio in her wake. "It was a machine," Jessie ventured when Sue was out of earshot. "A secret kind of airplane, maybe. Like one of those Stealth bombers-"

Rhodes laughed, cigarette smoke bursting from his nostrils. "Lady, you read too many spy novels!

Anyway, everybody and his Aunt Nellie knows about the Stealth by now; it's sure as h.e.l.l not a secret anymore."

"If not a Stealth, then something just as important," she went on, undaunted. "I saw a piece of it, covered with symbols. They could've been j.a.panese, I guess. Or maybe a combination of j.a.panese and Russian. I'm sure they weren't English. Want to tell me about that?"

The man's smile faded. He looked out the window, showing her a hawklike profile. Not far away, the helicopter still stood in the middle of Preston Park, drawing a crowd. Captain Gunniston sat at the counter, drinking a cup of coffee and warding off questions from Cecil Thorsby, the balloon-bellied cook and owner. "I think we're back to my original inquiry," the colonel said after another moment. "I'd like to know what damaged your pickup truck."

"And I want to know what fell." She'd decided not to tell him about the black ball until she got some answers; Stevie seemed to be safe with it, and there was no hurry to give it up. He sighed, stared at her through slightly slitted, hard eyes. "Lady, I don't know who you think you are, but-"

"Doctor," Jessie said. "I'm a doctor. I wish you'd stop patronizing me."

Rhodes nodded. "Doctor it is." Change tactics, he thought. She wasn't as dumb as lumber, like the sheriff and mayor. "Okay. If I told you what it was, you'd have to sign a lot of top-security forms, probably even have to make the trip to Webb. The red tape's enough to make a strong man cry, but after it's wrapped around your neck, you're sworn not to reveal anything on penalty of a very long free room and board courtesy of Uncle Sam." He hesitated to let that image sink in. "Is that what you want, Dr. Hammond?"

"I want to hear the truth. Not bulls.h.i.t. I want to hear it now, and then I'll tell you what I know."

He worked the knuckles of one hand and tried his best to look unutterably grim. "We snared a Soviet helicopter a few months ago. The pilot flew it to j.a.pan and defected. The chopper's bristling with weaponry, infrareds and sensors, and it's got a laser targeting system we've been wanting to get our hands on for a long time." He smoked his cigarette down a little further. No one else was in the cafe but Gunniston, Cecil, and Sue Mullinax, but the colonel kept his voice just above a whisper. "The technicians were running tests on the equipment at Holloman AFB in New Mexico-but there was trouble. Evidently one of the technicians who'd gotten through security was a deep-cover agent, and he grabbed the chopper and took off. Holloman asked us to help catch him, because he looked to be heading to the Gulf. Probably was going to be met by Soviet fighters from Cuba. Anyway, we shot him down. No other choice. The chopper was going to pieces just as he crossed your path; now we've got to pick them up and get out before the press comes hunting us." He stabbed his cigarette into an ashtray. "That's it. You might read the whole story in Time next week if we don't keep the lid on."

Jessie watched him carefully. He was intent on crushing all signs of life from his cigarette. She said, "I didn't see any rotors."

"Jesus!" Rhodes's voice was a little too loud, and both Cecil and Gunniston looked over at their booth. "I've told you what I know, la- Dr. Hammond. Take it or leave it, but remember this: you're withholding information from the United States government, and that can get you and your entire family in some real hot water."

"I don't care to be threatened."

"I don't care to play games! Now: did a piece of the machine hit your truck? What exactly happened?"

Jessie finished her coffee, taking her time about it. She'd seen no rotors; how could it have been a helicopter? Still, it had all been so fast. Maybe she didn't remember what she'd seen, or maybe the rotors had already been blown off. Rhodes was waiting for her to speak, and she knew she had to tell him: "Yes," she said. "The truck got hit. A piece of the thing went right through our engine; you saw the hole. It was a black sphere, about so big." She showed him with her hands. "It shot out of the thing and came straight at us. But the really weird part is that the sphere only seems to weigh a few ounces, and it's made out of either gla.s.s or plastic but there isn't a scratch on it. I don't know anything about Russian technology, but if they could create a floor wax that tough, we need to get our hands on-"

"Just a minute, please." Rhodes had leaned forward. "A black sphere. You actually picked it up?

Wasn't it hot?"

"No. It was cool-which was strange, because the other pieces were still smoking."

"Did this sphere have symbols on it too?"

She shook her head. "No, it was unmarked."

"Okay." There was a quaver of excitement in his voice. "So you left the sphere near where your truck was?"

"No. We brought it with us."

Colonel Rhodes's eyes widened.

"My daughter's got it right now. Over at my house." She didn't like the amazed expression on his face, or the pulse that beat at his temple. "Why? What is it? Some kind of compu-"

"Gunny!" Rhodes got to his feet, and at once Gunniston was off the counter stool and standing as well. "Pay the man!" He took Jessie's elbow, but she pulled away. He took it again, his grip firm. "Dr. Hammond, will you escort us to your house, please? As quickly as possible?"

They left the Brandin' Iron, and outside Jessie wrenched angrily away. Rhodes did not try to grasp her arm again but he stayed right at her side, with Gunniston a few paces behind. They went around Preston Park, avoiding the gawkers who were pestering Jim Taggart, the 'copter pilot. Jessie's heart was pounding, and she quickened her pace to what was almost a run; the two men stayed with her. "What's inside the sphere?" she asked Rhodes, but he did not-or could not-answer. "It's not going to explode, is it?" Again, no reply.

At the house Jessie was glad to see that Stevie had remembered to relock the door-she was learning responsibility-but at the same time had to spend a few precious seconds fumbling with her keys. She got the right one into the lock and opened the door. Rhodes and Gunniston followed her inside, and the captain closed the door firmly behind them.

"Stevie!" Jessie called. "Where are you?"

Stevie didn't answer.

White light streamed between the window blinds and gridded the walls. "Stevie!" Jessie strode into the kitchen. The cat-faced clock ticked, and the air conditioning hissed and labored. A chair had been left near the counter; a cupboard was open, an empty gla.s.s in the sink. Thirsty from all that running, she thought. But Stevie wouldn't have left the house again, would she? If she had... oh, was she going to be in for trouble! Jessie went through the den-nothing disturbed in there-and into the hallway that led to the bedrooms. Rhodes and Gunniston were right behind her. "Stevie!" Jessie called again, really getting jittery now. Where could she have gone?

She was almost to the door of Stevie's bedroom when two hands thrust out along the floor, the fingers grasping at the beige carpet.

Jessie abruptly stopped, and Rhodes b.u.mped into her.

They were Stevie's hands, of course. Jessie watched the sinews move in them as the fingers dug at the carpet for traction, and then Stevie's head came into view- her auburn hair damp with sweat, her face puffy and moist, droplets of sweat sparkling on her cheeks. The hands pulled Stevie's body further into the hallway, muscles twitching in her bare arms. She continued, inch by inch, into the hall, and Jessie's hand flew to her mouth. Stevie's legs trailed behind her, the sneaker gone from the left foot, as if the child might be paralyzed from the waist down.

"Ste-" Jessie's voice cracked.

The child stopped crawling. Her head slowly, slowly lifted, and Jessie saw her eyes: lifeless, like the painted eyes of a doll.

Stevie trembled, drew one leg beneath her with what appeared to be painful effort, and began to try to stand.

"Back up," Jessie heard Rhodes say; he grasped her arm and pulled her back when she didn't move. Stevie had the other leg under her. She wavered, a drop of sweat falling from her chin. Her face was emotionless, composed, remote. And her eyes: a doll's eyes, yes-but now Jessie could see a flicker in them like lightning: a fierceness, a mighty determination that she'd never seen before. She thought, crazily, That's not Stevie.

But the little girl's body was rising to its feet. The face remained remote, but when the body had finally reached its full height, what might have been a quick smile of accomplishment darted across the mouth. One foot moved forward, as if balancing on a tightwire. The second, sneakerless foot followed-and suddenly Stevie trembled again and the body fell forward. Jessie didn't have time to catch her daughter; Stevie toppled to the carpet on her face, her hands writhing in midair as if they no longer knew quite what to do.

She lay face down, the breath hitching in her body.

"Is she... is she r.e.t.a.r.ded? " Gunniston asked.

Jessie pulled free from Colonel Rhodes and bent down beside her daughter. The body was shaking, muscles twitching in the shoulders and back. Jessie touched her arm-and felt a shock travel through her hand that left the nerves jangling and raw; she instantly pulled her hand back, before the shock wave reached her shoulder. Stevie's skin was damp and unnaturally cool, much as the black sphere had been. The child's head lifted, the eyes staring into hers without recognition, and Jessie saw blood creeping from Stevie's nostrils where she'd banged against the floor.

It was too much for her, and she came close to fainting. The hallway elongated and twisted like a funhouse's corridor; but then somebody was helping Jessie to her feet. It was Rhodes, his breath smelling of a cigarette, and this time she didn't fight him. "Where's the sphere?" she heard him ask. She shook her head. "She's out of it, Colonel," Gunniston said. "Jesus, what's wrong with the kid?"

"Check her room out. Maybe the sphere's in there-but for G.o.d's sake, be careful!"

"Right." Gunniston stepped around Stevie's body and entered the bedroom. Jessie's legs sagged. "Call an ambulance... call Dr. McNeil."

"We will. Take it easy, now. Come on." He helped her out of the hallway and into the den, where he guided her to a chair. She settled into it, sick and dizzy. "Listen to me, Dr. Hammond." Rhodes's voice was low and calm. "Did you bring anything else back from the site except the sphere?"

"No."

"Anything else about it that you haven't told me? Could you see anything inside it?"

"No. Nothing. Oh G.o.d... I've got to call my husband."

"Just sit still for a few minutes." He restrained her from getting up, which wasn't too hard since her muscles felt like wet spaghetti. "Who found the sphere, and how?"

"Tyler Lucas found it. He lives out there. Wait. Wait." There was something she hadn't told him, after all. "Stevie said... she said she heard it singing."

"Singing? "

"Yes. Only I couldn't hear anything. I thought... you know, the wreck had shaken her up." Jessie ran a hand over her forehead; she felt feverish, everything spinning out of control. She looked up into Rhodes's face and saw that his tan had paled. "What's going on? There wasn't a Russian helicopter, was there?" He hesitated a second too long, and Jessie said, "Tell me, dammit!"

"No," he answered promptly. "There wasn't."

She thought she was about to throw up, and she kept one hand pressed against her forehead as if in antic.i.p.ation of another shock. "The sphere. What is it?"

"I don't know." He lifted a hand before she could protest. "I swear to G.o.d I don't. But..." His face tightened; he fought against telling her, but to h.e.l.l with regulations; she had to know. "I think you brought back a fragment from a s.p.a.cecraft. An extraterrestrial s.p.a.cecraft. That's what came down this morning. That's what we were chasing."

She stared at him.

"It caught fire in the atmosphere," he went on. "Our radars picked it up, and we figured its point of impact. Only it veered toward Inferno, as if... the pilot was trying to make it closer to town before he crashed. The craft started going to pieces. There's not much left, just a mangle of stuff that's too hot for anybody to get close to. Anyway, the sphere is part of it-and I want to find out exactly what it is, and why that didn't burn up too."

She couldn't speak. But this was the truth; she saw it in his face. "You didn't answer Gunny's question," Rhodes said. "Is your little girl mentally r.e.t.a.r.ded? Does she have epilepsy? Any other condition?"

Condition, Jessie thought. What a diplomatic way of asking if Stevie was out of her mind. "No. She's never had any-" Jessie stopped, because Stevie was lurching out of the hallway on rubbery legs, her arms dangling at her sides. Her head swiveled slowly from right to left and back again, and she came into the room without speaking. Jessie stood up, ready to catch her if the child stumbled again, but Stevie's legs were working better now. Still, she walked strangely-putting one foot precisely in front of the other as if treading on a skysc.r.a.per's ledge. Jessie stood up, and Stevie stopped with one foot poised in the air.

"Where's the black ball, honey? What'd you do with it?"

Stevie stared at her, her head c.o.c.ked slightly to one side. Then, with slow grace, the other foot touched the floor and she continued on, gliding more than walking; she approached a wall and stood before it, seemingly absorbed by the pattern of sunlight on the paint.

"Not in there, Colonel." Gunniston walked into the den. "I checked the closet, the chest of drawers, under the bed, the toybox-everything." He glanced uneasily at the little girl. "Uh... what do we do now, sir?"

Stevie turned, a motion as precise and sharp as a dancer's. Her gaze fixed on Gunniston and stayed there, then moved to Rhodes, finally latching on to Jessie. Jessie's heart fluttered; her daughter's expression revealed only a clinical curiosity, but neither emotion nor recognition. It was how a vet might look at an unfamiliar animal. Stevie began that strange gliding walk again, her knees still wobbly, and she went to a series of framed photographs on a shelf at the bookcase. She looked at each in turn: one of Jessie and Tom alone, one of the family taken on vacation in Galveston a couple of years ago, one of Ray and herself on horseback at the state fair, two more of Tom's and Jessie's parents. Her fingers twitched, but she didn't attempt to use her hands. She moved past the bookcase and the television set, halted again to gaze at a wall-mounted painting of the desert that Bess Lucas had done-a painting she'd seen a hundred times, Jessie thought-and then she continued a few steps more to the doorway between the den and kitchen. She stopped; her right arm lifted, as if battling gravity, and she used her elbow to feel the doorframe.

"I don't really know," Rhodes replied finally. He sounded as if all the breath had been punched out of him. "Honest to G.o.d, I don't."

"I do!" Jessie shouted. "My daughter needs a doctor!" She started toward the telephone. The Inferno Health Clinic was a small white stone building a couple of blocks away, and Dr. Earl Lee-Early-McNeil had been Inferno's resident physician for almost forty years. He was a crusty h.e.l.l-raiser who smoked black cigars, drove a red dune buggy, and drank straight tequila at the Bob Wire Club, but he knew his business and he'd know how to help Stevie too. She picked up the receiver and started to dial.

A finger came down on the disconnect b.u.t.ton.

"Let's wait just a minute, Dr. Hammond," Rhodes told her. "Okay? Let's talk about-"

"Get your hand off the phone. Now, d.a.m.n you!"

"Colonel?" Gunniston said.

"Please." Rhodes grasped the receiver. "Let's don't bring anyone else into this yet, not until we know what we're dealing-"

"I said I'm calling Dr. McNeil!" Jessie was furious, close either to tears or to slapping him across the face.

"She's moving again, Colonel," Gunniston told him, and this time both Rhodes and Jessie broke off their argument.

Stevie was gliding to another wall, crisscrossed with sunlight. She stopped before it, stood, and stared. She lifted her right hand, turning it back and forth as if she'd never seen a hand before; the fingers wiggled. Then she touched her b.l.o.o.d.y nose with her thumb and regarded the blood for a few seconds. Looked at the wall again. Her hand moved forward, and her thumb drew a vertical line of blood on the beige wall. Her thumb went back for more blood, drew a second vertical line a few inches to the right of the first.

More blood. A horizontal line cut the two verticals.

"What the h.e.l.l...? " Rhodes breathed, stepping forward. A second horizontal line formed a neat grid on the wall. Stevie's blood-smeared thumb went to the center s.p.a.ce, and made a small, precise O.

Her head turned. She looked at Rhodes and glided back from the wall, one foot placed behind the other.

"Your pen," Rhodes said to Gunniston. "Give me your pen. Hurry!"

The captain gave it over. Rhodes clicked the point out and walked to the wall. He drew an X in the lower right s.p.a.ce.

Stevie stuck her thumb up a nostril and drew a red O in the center left s.p.a.ce. Jessie watched the game of tic-tac-toe in tortured silence. Her gut was churning and a scream pounded against her gritted teeth. This creature with a bleeding nose wore Stevie's skin, but it was not Stevie. And if that were so, what had happened to her daughter? Where was Stevie's mind, her voice, her soul? Jessie's hands clenched into fists, and she thought for a terrible second that the scream was going to escape and when that happened it would be all over. She trembled, praying that the nightmare would snap like a bad heat spell and she would be in bed with Tom calling that breakfast was ready. Dear G.o.d, dear G.o.d, dear G.o.d...

Stevie-or the thing that masqueraded as Stevie-blocked the colonel's win. In the next move, Rhodes blocked Stevie's win.

Stevie stared at Rhodes for a moment, looked again at the grid, then back to Rhodes. The face rippled, unfamiliar muscles working. A smile moved across the mouth, but the lips were stiff and unresponsive. She laughed-a whuff! of air forced through the vocal cords. The smile broadened, pushing the lips aside to show Stevie's teeth. The face, beaming, became almost the face of a child again. Rhodes cautiously returned the smile and nodded his head. Stevie's head nodded, with more deliberate effort. Still smiling, she turned away and glided into the hall with her slow wirewalker's gait. Rhodes's palms were sweating. "Well," he said, his voice tense and raspy, "I believe we've got a situation here, don't you, Gunny?"

"I'd say so, sir." Gunniston's spit-and-polish veneer was cracking. His heart boomed and his knees shook, because he'd realized the same thing as Colonel Rhodes: the little girl was either totally freaked out, or she was no longer truly a little girl. And why or how something like that could be was far beyond his logical, four-square mind.

They heard a voice-an exhalation of breath that made a voice, a weirdly chirring sound like wind through reeds: "Ahhhhhh. Ahhhhhh. Ahhhhhh."

Jessie was the first one to Stevie's room. Stevie-not-Stevie-was standing before the bulletin board; her-its-right hand was extended, the finger pointing to the construction-paper alphabet letters.

"Ahhhhhh. Ahhhhhh," the voice continued, trying to grasp a remembered sound. The face contorted with the effort of enunciation. Then: "Ahhhh A A. A." Pointed to the next letter. "Beeeee. Ceeeee. Deeeee. Eeeeee. Effff. Geeeee." There was consternation over the next.

"H," Jessie said softly.

"Chah. Achah. H." The head turned, eyes questioning.

My G.o.d, Jessie thought. She grasped the doorframe to keep from falling. An alien with a Texas accent, wearing my little girl's skin and hair and clothes. She was about to choke on a scream. "Where's my daughter?" she said. Her eyes brimmed. "Give her back to me."

What appeared to be a little girl was waiting, pointing to the next letter.

"Give her back to me," Jessie repeated. She lunged forward before Rhodes could stop her. "Give her back!" she shouted, and then Jessie had the figure's cool arm and was spinning it around, looking into the face that used to be her daughter's. "Give her back! " Jessie lifted her hand and slapped the face hard across the cheek.

The Stevie-creature staggered back, its knees almost collapsing. It kept its backbone straight and rigid, but its head bobbed from side to side for a few seconds like one of those absurd kewpie dolls that nod in the rear windshields of cars. It blinked, perhaps registering pain, and Jessie watched, newly horrified, as the red blotch of her palm came up on Stevie's skin. Because it was still her daughter's flesh, even though something else had crawled inside it. Still her daughter's face, hair, and body. The not-Stevie touched the red palmprint on her cheek and swiveled toward the alphabet letters again; she pointed insistently at the next.

"I," Colonel Rhodes offered.

"Iyah," the creature said. The finger moved.

"J." Rhodes glanced quickly at Gunniston as the letter was laboriously repeated. "I think it's figured out the sounds are the base of our language. Jesus, Gunny! What have we got here?"

The captain shook his head. "I wouldn't care to guess, sir."

Jessie stared at the back of Stevie's head. The hair was the same as it had always been, only wet with sweat. And in it were flecks of... what were they? Her fingers touched the hair, and picked out a small piece of something pink, like cotton candy. Insulation, she realized. What were pink bits of insulation doing in Stevie's hair? She let the piece drift to the floor, her mind clogged and beginning to skip tracks. Her face had gone gray with shock.

"Take her out, Gunny," Rhodes commanded, and Gunniston led Jessie from the bedroom before she pa.s.sed out.