TITLE:
The Second Chrononaut (Part 1 of ?)AUTHOR:
R. FrankeE-MAIL:
rbfranke@juno.comSPOILERS
: Through Lifeboat (First season finale)DISCLAIMER
: Frank, Olga, et al. are the property of Christopher Crowe, Crowe Entertainment, United Paramount Networks, the actors and writers, and all other persons known or unknown with a legal claim on the characters. All characters unique to this story are the property of R. Franke. This is a story of fan fiction, written for the purpose of personal satisfaction and the enjoyment of others, and monetary or other compensation is neither expected nor desired. Copyright 1999 by R. Franke. Permission is given to archive this story, provided it is archived without alteration, including this disclaimer and copyright notice, and the author is contacted at rbfranke@juno.comRATING
: R. Character deaths, sexual situations, and brief nudity.THE SECOND CHRONONAUT
"Where the hell is she?"
" For the dozenth time, stop worrying, Frank," Sheila replied. "I'm sure she'll be here. She was far too interested in the whole idea to miss it."
"Security says she checked in at 7:28 yesterday morning, and hasn't checked out since then." Ballard fiddled with his glasses, trying to find a comfortable position. "But there's nothing going on right now that would keep her overnight."
"She might not have felt like going back to that house last night," Sheila said. "I know I wouldn't." Frank raised an enquiring eyebrow. "Government issue housing," she explained. "All expenses spared. John and I had to pick her up a couple of weeks ago when her car was in the shop."
"When Olga defected," Ballard elaborated, "she managed to get out with only one small suitcase and the knowledge in her head. NSA gave her a house, and a car, and they take the cost of them out of her pay."
Sheila snorted. "House? Yeah, I guess it qualifies as a house."
Frank's eyebrow went up again. "Qualifies?"
"It's pretty small, just two rooms. Three if you count the basement," Ballard replied. "Used to be the sheriff's office, and the jail." He absentmindedly unwrapped a lollipop and stuck it in his mouth. "I've never understood why she stays there."
"Donovan," Frank called out. "Have you seen Olga lately?"
Donovan jogged over to them. "Yeah, I saw her about an hour or so ago, she was just finishing up her kata in the gym." Donovan smiled. "One of the better students I've had. She listens to her sensei, unlike some."
"Hey, I listened. Eventually."
"Yeah, after I dropped you on your ass a couple dozen times."
"Yeah, yeah. Listen." Frank stepped away from Ballard and Sheila, lowering his voice as he did so. "I appreciate this, I really do. I know I badgered the both of you, but I really want her to be able to defend herself. Maybe I'm crazy, but with what we have to do sometimes, and her being the one who goes with me," he threw up his arms. "I don't know, I probably am crazy."
"Believe me, between you teaching her how to shoot and me teaching her how to fight, she won't have to worry about a thing. You on the other hand, well," Donovan spread his hands, "she could decide she doesn't need you as her knight in rusty armor anymore."
"Thank you, Sancho Panza. Now if you're finish-Jesus Christ!" whatever Frank had been about to say was forgotten as something screamed down out of the sky over their heads and impacted on a hillside just outside the main gate. A moment later, the emergency siren began to wail. "C'mon, bro. They might need a hand."
"Hold up," Donovan replied. "They have to pass by here, we'll grab a ride with security."
The base's two fire trucks and one ambulance screamed past them, followed by two security humvees. The lead humvee twisted in a bootlegger's turn and raced back, sliding to a halt beside them. "What the hell are you doing here, Parker?" yelled Ramsey from the driver's seat.
"Nice driving, Ramsey," Frank retorted. "Your insurance company must love you."
"We don't have time for this," Talmadge snapped from the passenger seat. "Frank, Craig, the Sphere has disappeared from the hangar, and the gate guard reports it landing less than fifty yards away from him. I don't have to tell you what that means."
Frank and Donovan looked at each other in shock, then they both scrambled into the back of the vehicle. "C'mon, Ramsey, let's go," yelled Frank.
The other humvee had turned around and came screeching to a halt behind Ramsey's vehicle. "Barnes," he ordered the driver of the second vehicle, "bring Dr. Ballard as well." The humvee's wheels threw up a rooster tail of gravel as he spun it about. As soon as the vehicle straightened out, Ramsey snatched the hand mike from its' clip. "Ramsey to Security, Plan Epsilon Seven, I repeat Epsilon Seven," he barked. "We have a possible hostile in Sphere. I need a team at the impact site now."
"You have a plan for a hostile chrononaut?" Donovan yelled.
"Hey, I get paid to be paranoid," Ramsey retorted, swerving around a crater in the road just before they went through the main gate.
"And you do so love your work, don't you?" Frank replied.
"Enough," growled Talmadge as the humvee screeched to a halt. "Let's find out what's going on first."
"Looks to me like the Sphere hit once, on the road inside the fence," Donovan replied as they stepped out of the vehicle. "Then it bounced, and came down again on the hill."
The four men turned to look at the Sphere. It had buried itself a quarter of the way into the scree of the hillside. Bolts of electricity arced across the surface of the Sphere as the timefield gradually faded. The humvee carrying Mentnor and Ballard pulled up behind them.
"Not a fun ride," commented Frank. He turned back to look at the crater in the road. "And that gate guard's a damn lucky guy." The other three turned to look at the crater as well. The path of the Sphere had carried it directly over the guard shack.
The gate guard had realized it as well, and stood white-faced, his rifle gripped in trembling hands. Ramsey walked up to him and placed his hand on the rifle. "Davidson, I'm relieving you."
"I-I'm all right, sir," Davidson replied.
"Son," replied Ramsey, "there's no shame in taking a break if you need to."
"I'll be fine, sir. Just a little shaken up."
Ramsey took his hand off the rifle. "If you're wrong, I'll make you wish your grandparents had never been born."
Davidson saluted. "Yes, sir."
Ramsey saluted in return, and walked over to join the others. "Anybody know what the hell's going on here?"
"I think we're about to find out," Mentnor replied as the Sphere's hatch landed on the ground with a thud. Two humvees carrying the security team pulled up behind them. Ramsey drew his pistol and stepped to the front of the group.
An orange-suited figure appeared in the hatchway and stumbled out of the Sphere. It fell to its knees, then stood up and staggered towards them.
"That's far enough, pal," Ramsey ordered, leveling his weapon at the unknown chrononaut. Behind him the security team moved into position. The figure stopped and raised its hands to its helmet. "That's right," Ramsey continued. "Nice and slow."
The figure fumbled at the helmet latch with gloved fingers, removing the helmet and dropping it on the ground. "Don't be tiresome, Mr. Ramsey," Olga retorted, peeling off her gloves. "I doubt we have the time." She looked around at the other team members. "What day is it?"
Talmadge was the first to find his voice. "Miss Vukavitch, I…"
He trailed off as Olga shoved the sleeve of her Spheresuit up, revealing the bar code tattooed on her arm. "What day is it?" she asked again.
"Umm, Saturday," Frank replied.
"Damn, only five days. What time is it, Mr. Ramsey?"
"0917," Ramsey replied automatically.
"Thank you. Mr. Talmadge, I will explain everything, but for now you must remove all of the Element 115 from the storage area, put it on as many trucks as you can, and scatter it as far and as fast as possible."
Mentnor protested. "The last time we transported 115 we almost contaminated the entire Southwest."
"We don't have a choice, Dr. Mentnor," Olga shot back. "In less then six hours Never-Never-Land will be attacked and effectively destroyed. Over two hundred of our people will be killed or wounded in the attack."
"By who?" barked Ramsey, "Russkies, Iraqis, Red Chinese?"
"No, Mr. Ramsey, by Adam's people."
Olga strode into the conference room, Mentnor at her heels. "It's genuine," he replied to their enquiring looks. "The same as Frank has on his arm."
"The 115 is being loaded onto two freight trains and as many trucks as we could obtain, all headed in different directions," Talmadge said levelly. "You said you would explain, Dr. Vukavitch?" It was not a question.
"Yes sir." Olga stood with her hands on the back of her chair, spearing each of them with her eyes, making sure she had their undivided attention. "A ship of alien origin will attack NNL and send in a team of five aliens, four with weapons and one with some sort of detecting device. They will take both the 115 in the storage chamber and in the reactor, but they will miss the smaller amount Dr. Ballard has in his laboratory, despite passing within five feet of it."
"A detectability threshold?" Mentnor asked.
"Apparently so."
"That's surprising," Ballard interjected. "I mean, we need a machine as big as a house, but we can detect 115 down to a few atoms worth."
"Yes," Olga replied. "You theorized the threshold may have had something to do with the need to make the detector portable."
"Which means there's a good chance the mothership will have more sophisticated sensors," Ballard concluded glumly.
"Even so," said Frank, "spreading out the possible targets will make things that much harder for our little gray buddies, especially if they need a certain amount."
"It's still a pretty slim chance," Ramsey retorted. "Anything else, Dr. Vukavitch?"
"Yes. Two F-18s out of Nellis Air Force Base were flying a live fire exercise. One of them managed to launch a missile that appeared to do some damage, before both planes were destroyed."
"I can get with Pete Phillips over at NORAD," Donovan said. "They're the only ones who could coordinate a saturation pattern over the entire country."
"I'll get you the authorization," Talmadge replied. "Get started as soon as we're done here."
"When the alien ship left," Olga continued, "it was being pursued, and fired upon, by a second, much larger alien craft." She held up her hand, forestalling her companions' questions. "We believe both ships, as well as the Concorde airliner, were destroyed in the upper atmosphere. The resulting electromagnetic pulse damaged or destroyed all unshielded electronics in Europe, Northern Africa, and a significant portion of the Eastern Seaboard of North America."
"Was 115 released in the explosion?" Mentnor asked.
"Traces of 115 were detected at a monitoring station in the Aleutian Islands two hours before my departure."
Frank groaned. "The jet stream."
Olga grimaced. "I'm afraid so. Furthermore," she paused for a moment and rubbed her eyes. "Medical facilities in coastal resort areas reported a large number of patients admitted for, among other symptoms, uncontrollable vomiting, acid-like burns on sensitive tissues, and severe neuromuscular spasms, severe enough to break bones in some cases. Fatality estimates for the East Coast alone were at well over four hundred thousand, and rising. There were no reliable estimates for the rest."
Talmadge broke the silence. "Did we send back any suggestions on how to deal with this?"
"Yes sir," Olga replied. She handed Mentnor a sheet of paper. "Dr. Mentnor was able to discover the initial entry vector of the second craft and composed a message to be sent back along that vector."
"The radioscope in Arrecibo would be the best one to transmit this," Mentnor commented.
"You'll have it," Talmadge replied.
"Captain Donovan's proposed use of NORAD to coordinate a saturation pattern over the country was also suggested," continued Olga. "And finally, National Command Authority ordered an immediate Backstep if the aliens managed to penetrate Never-Never-Land again."
"Is that everything?"
"Yes, Mr. Talmadge. The details are on the microchip."
"Very well. People, as of this moment we are Code Black. Nate, get with Brenneman and set up a defensive perimeter. You'll be in full command."
"Yes sir." Ramsey went to the door and began issuing orders in a low voice to the guard outside.
"Craig-"
"I'm on it, sir."
"Isaac, I want you on a plane to San Juan in fifteen minutes. Frank, John-"
"I'm ready."
"The Sphere's ready."
"Good. Olga," Talmadge paused. "You will stand down and get some rest."
Olga stiffened. "Sir-"
"You're so exhausted you're trembling and you've had to use a chair for physical support at least twice while you were speaking," Talmadge snapped. "If your assistants are incapable of carrying out their duties without your presence, I need to know now."
Her shoulders slumped. "My people know their jobs, Mr. Talmadge."
"Thank you." Talmadge's voice was soft. "You've performed admirably, Miss Vukavitch. Let us take it from here."
Olga walked over to Frank and caught him in a fierce embrace. Surprised, he let his arms come up and hold her. "It's all right," he murmured, stroking her hair gently. "Everything's fine."
She pulled away and smiled at him, tears glistening in her eyes. "You have work to do, Frank." She reached over and kissed him on the cheek, then walked out of the room and down the corridor.
* * * * * * * * * * *
FIVE DAYS EARLIER
Frank grunted as he brought the hammer down. The bell rang, Olga cheered, and the woman running the booth asked in an arch voice, "Does he ring your bell that well too, milady?"
A mischievous smile flitted across Frank's face. "Nah, her bell's a lot harder to ring."
Olga blushed as the crowd around them laughed at the exchange.
"Come on," Frank said, taking her arm. "It's almost time to meet Ballard and Sheila anyway."
Olga pulled away. "And just what," she asked, with just the barest hint of a smile in her voice, "makes you think you'd even be able to ring my bell?"
Frank's jaw dropped as the crowd laughed even harder at Olga's return volley. She smirked at Frank and walked off in the direction of the jousting field. Shaking his head, with a smile tugging at his lips, Frank broke into a trot, quickly catching up with her. Olga raised an inquiring eyebrow when he caught up, and Frank raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'll behave."
"I doubt that, Mr. Parker," she replied tartly as she allowed him to take her arm. They both scanned the crowd for Ballard's wheelchair. Olga was the first to spot the Scottish Lion fluttering above the crowd and pulled Frank over.
"Fried ice cream," Ballard greeted them, waving a spoon in one hand. "Want some?" Frank opened his mouth to reply when Ballard's cell phone rang. "Hello?" he asked. "Yes, they're both right here." Ballard grew pale as he listened. "Oh my God. We'll return immediately." He closed the phone and looked at his companions. "Never-Never-Land has been attacked."
"What?" asked Olga and Frank simultaneously.
"How?" asked Sheila.
"I don't know," Ballard replied. "Isaac just said we had to return immediately. He said there are a lot of wounded, and they need all the doctors they can get."
Sheila dug through the bag attached to the back of the wheelchair. "Frank, why don't you get the van, and meet us at the front gate."
"Got it." Frank fielded the keys and dashed off into the crowd. The women stayed with Ballard as he maneuvered his wheelchair as quickly as he could through the crowded fair.
"Bozhe moi," breathed Olga as Ballard drove up to the main gate. The western wing of the complex was nothing but a pile of rubble and smoke still rose from the main building.
"Brenneman," Frank jumped out as Ballard brought the van to a stop. "What happened?"
"We received a call reporting NNL was under attack." The Griffon Team leader wiped his forehead with his sleeve, leaving a clear space on his soot-begrimed face. "By the time my men arrived all we could do was fight fires and try to help the wounded."
"Who did this? And how?" demanded Frank.
"Damned if I know." Brenneman replied.
"Sir," Sergeant Walker approached, her right arm in a sling. "We've found Mr. Ramsey." She hesitated, seeming to notice the four of them for the first time. "I'm afraid he's dead as well sir."
"Thank you, Sergeant." Brenneman turned back to Frank and Olga. "We found Captain Donovan and Mr. Talmadge about twenty minutes ago. Mr. Talmadge was unconscious and badly wounded."
"And Captain Donovan?" Olga asked. Brenneman shook his head.
Frank took a deep breath. "What do you need us to do, Captain?"
"The east wing wasn't hit, we've set up a field hospital there," Brenneman replied. "Dr. Vukavitch, if you'll follow the sergeant she'll take you there."
Olga nodded. "Of course."
"Oh, and Doctor," Brenneman continued. "I'm afraid Drs. Chapel and Holder are still among the missing."
"Who is running the hospital then?"
"Nurse Regan."
"I see. Is there anything else I should know?"
"Just a reminder," Brenneman replied. "All security protocols remain in effect."
"Secur-" Olga gaped at Brenneman.
"Those are my orders, ma'am."
"Of course, Captain," she replied, her voice icy. "I would expect no less. Sergeant." The two women turned and left.
Brenneman turned to Ballard. "Doctor, do you think you could fit a stretcher in your van?"
"Yes," answered Ballard. "I could probably fit two in if somebody takes out the back seat. There's just a couple of thumbscrews holding it in."
Brenneman grinned tiredly. "Even better."
"I've had EMT training," Sheila spoke up. "Where do you need me?"
"You can help Dr. Ballard," Brenneman replied. "Mr. Parker, once we get the seat out of Dr. Ballard's van I'll add you to one of the search and rescue teams."
Frank shoved up his sleeves, his face expressionless. "Of course, Captain."
Over thirty hours later Olga tried desperately to focus her eyes on the syringe in front of her. The tiny medical staff of Never-Never-Land had been overwhelmed by the magnitude of the calamity, and only the arrival of a team from Groom Lake had prevented a far worse medical disaster. She could only stare dumbfounded as the needle was taken from her hand and laid back on the cart. The face of the head nurse filled Olga's vision. "Dr. Vukavitch," Nurse Regan said quietly, "we can handle it from here. Everyone else has gotten a chance to rest. You're no good to anyone like this."
"But, but…" she sputtered.
"S&R hasn't found anybody in over four hours. If we need you we'll wake you." He paused. "Besides, what were planning on administering to this patient?"
Olga stared at him, her mind a complete blank. Regan smiled gently. Olga stood, stripped off her bloodstained medical scrubs and tossed them at the laundry bag. Regan silently picked them up and placed them in the bag as Olga shuffled out in search of a place to collapse.
Frank trudged up the hill, a blanket over his shoulder. Searcher's guilt filled his mind. If only I'd dug a little faster. If only I'd dug over here instead of over there, maybe somebody who wasn't alive would be. If only. The search teams had worked valiantly, but they had found too many corpses. He shook his head as he crested the hill, trying to banish his thoughts. He stood on the crest, his back to the base, and looked off into the night. The moon had set, and the stars shone in all their glory. The lights of Las Vegas were a barely visible glow on the horizon.
"Freedom's an illusion, Mr. Parker," a voice spoke from the shadows below the crest. "It's not for people like us."
"Olga?" Frank asked. He could see her, sitting just below him, her knees curled up to her chest. "May I?"
She shifted slightly, giving him room as he settled beside her. "You really should be sleeping right now, Mr. Parker."
"So should you," he replied. They sat in silence for awhile, both lost in their own thoughts.
Olga shivered slightly. She looked up in surprise as Frank draped the blanket over her shoulders. "I've done this before," he said with a slight smile. "It gets cold up here."
"Thank you," she replied. "Won't you be cold as well, Mr. Parker?" she asked after a slight pause.
"I'll be fine," Frank said dismissively.
Olga looked at Frank, then scooted over beside him, drawing the blanket over them both.
"What did you mean?" he asked. "When you said freedom isn't meant for people like us."
"Nothing," she replied. "Everything."
"That makes sense."
"I'm tired, Mr. Parker. Please don't ask me make sense right now." They sat in silence after that, staring out into the night.
Sheila groaned as she climbed into the van. "Brenneman's assistant, aide, whatever the hell you call him, said everybody's stable. He doesn't think they'll need us for a while."
Ballard looked back at her with red-rimmed eyes. They'd been transporting the wounded from the wreckage to the field hospital, and shuttling rescue workers and supplies to where they were needed, catching whatever short naps they could in between trips. "Good." He pulled the van away from the field hospital and parked it beside a pile of rubble that had once been a wall. "If they need us they'll find us," he said, swinging his chair around. Ballard undid the straps and fell forward out of the chair, catching himself on his hands. He pulled himself forward just enough that his legs were straight and then collapsed on the van's carpeted floor. Sheila grabbed a blanket and spread it over them as she settled down beside him.
"Isaac?" Talmadge's voice was hoarse, and barely audible, even to himself. He tried again. "Isaac?"
Mentnor awoke with a start. "It's all right Bradley. Everything's fine."
"My people?"
"They're in good hands. Get some rest."
"We'll have to Backstep," Talmadge muttered as he slipped back into unconsciousness.
Frank awoke with a start
"Frank?" Olga asked muzzily, raising her head from his chest. "What is it?"
"Nothing," Frank replied. He chuckled. "I can't believe we fell asleep sitting out here."
Olga looked at Frank, then leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.
"Wha-" Frank began, but Olga silenced him with a finger across his lips.
"Shh," she breathed. "Don't talk." A slight push on his shoulder laid Frank on his back as she molded her body against his. She opened her lips and let her tongue dance with his as she felt his erection stir against her.
Olga moaned as Frank's lips left a trail of fire down her neck to her breasts. Fingers clumsy with lust undid buttons, opened zippers, their own, the other's, it didn't matter.
She gasped when he entered her, her hips rising to meet him, pulling him deeper into her. Their eyes met, offering and demanding complete communion, even if only for one night.
The offering was accepted, the demand acceded to even as a wave of orgasm broke over them, leaving them lying limp and spent in its wake.
"Tracking data from both military and civilian radars indicate what seems to be a search pattern conducted by the alien craft, starting from the East Coast and moving west, until approximately here, near Denver, Colorado." Olga brushed her hair back from her face. "At which point the alien craft hovers for a short time, then precedes at a high rate of speed towards Never-Never-Land."
"An attack run," Frank stated.
"Yes," Olga replied, avoiding Frank's eyes.
"We couldn't track the missiles the aliens used," Ballard glanced at Olga and continued the briefing. "We assume they were launched during that pause, on a looping trajectory. The two missiles impacted on the west wing moments before the alien ship landed."
"A feint," Brenneman broke in. "It drew your attention away from them just long enough for them to land unopposed. No disrespect to the late Mr. Ramsey and his people, but at that point the aliens had complete control."
"The alien ship landed beside the storage building and sent an undetermined number of aliens into the building," Olga continued. "The only items removed were canisters of Element 115."
"They also," Frank added, "sent a team of five aliens into the main hangar and took the 115 in the reactor as well."
"That's when Ramsey and his men attempted a counter-attack," Ballard said. "The aliens retreated, but they pretty much wiped out Ramsey's team in the process."
"Autopsy data indicates the aliens used some type of focused sound weapon," Olga stated. "The internal organs of the victims were essentially liquefied."
"The witnesses all say that four aliens fired weapons, while the fifth carried some sort of tracking device. He was also the one who took the 115 out of the reactor." Frank paused as the Griffon Team sergeant came into the conference room and whispered something into Brenneman's ear. "The aliens then boarded the ship and left."
Brenneman cleared his throat. "Two F-18s out of Nellis were able to respond and launch missiles against the craft as it began its' ascent. Both planes were destroyed, but one missile did manage to penetrate the enemy's defenses and force the ship back down." Brenneman paused. "I've had my people out looking for the craft, and they've found it in a canyon just outside the fence."
"Crashed?" Talmadge asked, wincing as he tried to find a comfortable position.
"No sir," Brenneman replied. "Landed. And camouflaged." He paused again. "They're on top of the old Royce silver mine. Some properly placed explosives could collapse the tunnels, and the ground above. It might give us the element of surprise, and just maybe gain us a bargaining chip."
"Why not just go in and grab the 115 back if you're going to attack anyway?" Ballard asked.
"We'd just get our butts whupped again," Brenneman replied with a grim smile. "My people are good, but not that good."
"But if we can keep them from taking off, we might be able to work a deal with them." Talmadge grimaced. "I don't like it any better than the rest of you, but it may be our only chance to obtain enough 115 for a Backstep."
"What I don't understand is why," Mentnor broke in. "They warned us about Adam, saved Frank's life with that crystal, and have never indicated any objection to our work before this. Why now? And why in such a deadly fashion?"
"Desperation," Frank blurted out. The others looked at him. "I mean it's the only reason that makes sense to me," he continued. "They needed the 115, and couldn't stop to bargain or filch some from us. So they basically did a smash-and-grab."
"Yes," Mentnor returned. "But what are they so afraid of?"
Talmadge broke the silence. "Whatever it is it doesn't concern us. If we can get some 115, can we Backstep?"
"The Sphere's undamaged," Ballard replied.
"Very well people, let's find out what we can and meet back here for a strategy session in two hours."
Out in the hall Frank waited for Olga to exit the conference room, then fell in step beside her. "Olga-"
"I made a mistake last night, Mr. Parker," Olga snapped. "Something I don't care to repeat." She deftly avoided his eyes and walked rapidly away.
Frank stopped and stared after her. "You got that right, sister," he snarled at her retreating figure, then turned and stalked off in the opposite direction.
"Sheila. I didn't wake you, did I?"
"No, I wasn't really asleep. Are you looking for something?"
"Not really." Ballard poked glumly through the wreckage of his lab. "Looks like they came straight through. I'll be lucky if I've got a goddamn test tube left unbroken."
"Come back to bed, John. There's nothing you can do here now."
"You go on. I'll be there soon."
Sheila smiled fondly. "No you won't." She turned leave and then stopped. "John," she asked, staring down at something in the wreckage. "Can I ask you a question?"
"What?
"Do you remember that experiment you were running the other day?"
"Yeah?" Ballard's tone was distracted as he continued to poke through the rubble.
"What did you do with the 115 after you were done?"
"You took it back to the storage area." Ballard looked up as the import of her words sank in. "Didn't you?"
Sheila shook her head, still staring downward. "I thought you did."
Ballard wheeled over to her. Lying at Sheila's feet was an insulated metal container. Beads of condensation glittered on its' outer surface. Ballard reached down and gently picked the canister up. "Find Talmadge," he ordered. "Have him tell Brenneman and his men to hold off. We may have a Backstep."
"Dr. Vukavitch," Frank said distantly as Olga came up the hill to where he was sitting. He offered her the binoculars he had been using to study the network of canyons in front of him. "In less than two hours Brenneman and his boys will set off the C-4 and, we'll see," he ended lamely as he realized Olga had made no move to take the binoculars.
"Mr. Parker," she began. "About what happened, I mean about us, about what happened between us, I-"
"Yeah," Frank interrupted. "Don't worry, I won't mention it when I go back. It'll be like it never happened."
"No, it's not that. It's just that…" she trailed off, looking around for inspiration. "Mr. Parker, why do you have your weapon with you?"
He grimaced. "Brenneman insisted. Said the sole remaining chrononaut was too valuable a resource to be allowed out without some means of defense. It was the only way I could do this without a guard."
"Oh." She continued to look at the ground. "I see." Olga paused again and took a deep breath. "I would like to apologize to you, Mr. Parker. My behavior towards you after the meeting this morning was unacceptable."
"Listen," Frank said, looking off into the distance. "We're two adults. What happened, happened. We move on, no regrets. Hell, you won't even have done anything to regret."
"And I do regret that."
Frank turned to look at Olga. "I-I don't understand."
Olga looked away, absently noting that dawn had begun. "Every time a Conundrum call comes in, I'm glad, because it means you've survived. This time." She paused. "I watched my husband Josef, the man I had planned to spend the rest of my life with, step into a Sphere and disappear. I watched your predecessors, Mr. Parker, and I watched the autopsies on those we managed to recover." She turned back to look at Frank. "I don't think I will be able to watch yours."
Frank ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, Olga, I won't promise you I'll be safe. You'd never believe it. We both know the Sphere can be dangerous." He smiled wryly. "Hell, the only reason I got this job in the first place was because I was expendable. But I can, and I will, promise to be careful. And I promise you I'll always come back to you if I can."
Olga smiled faintly. "I will expect you to keep your promises, Mr. Parker."
Frank smiled again and drew Olga into an embrace. They both stood, quietly enjoying the other's presence. Frank was the first to break the silence. "You know, I think this is the first time I've actually hated having to Backstep."
"Hmm?" she queried.
"When I go back we won't have done any of this, and I know there's no way you'll believe me. Hell, I wouldn't believe me. After all," he grinned, "who would believe that Olga Vukavitch actually did something on impulse?"
"You don't know me nearly as well as you think you do, Mr. Parker," she replied with a smile. "In any case, we had best return."
Frank smiled impishly. "They're not actually going to need us for at least an hour and a half." Olga opened her mouth to reply, but Frank laid his finger across her lips, then kissed her gently. His face fell as she stared at him, expressionless. "Or I could play solitaire for awhile." He started to turn away, but stopped when Olga placed her hand on his arm. Her other hand went behind his neck and she kissed him hungrily.
"Remember this," she said, her voice trembling. "Whatever I may have to decide on the other side, remember this."
"It might be enough for seven days," Ballard reported. "It might only be enough for three or four. It all depends on how much energy is left in the reactor. I'm afraid I can't be anymore accurate than that."
Talmadge sighed. "It'll have to do. He turned towards Sergeant Walker, standing patiently a few feet away. "Find Parker and Vukavitch. I want a meeting of Alpha level staff ASAP." Walker saluted and hurried off.
Frank's lips had just closed over Olga's right nipple when her pager beeped. He rolled away with a frustrated sigh as she reached down and unclipped the pager from her belt, and threw it from her as hard as she could.
Olga smiled at his shocked look. "There are certain times I do not like to be interrupted."
"This is a side of you I haven't seen before." Frank grinned. "I think I like it."
Olga chuckled, the low, throaty, almost growly chuckle of a sexually excited woman. "Mr. Parker, you talk too much." She leaned forward and captured his lips with hers. "Far too much."
"That's the sixth time sir." Sergeant Walker looked up from her desk. "Neither Dr. Vukavitch nor Mr. Parker are answering their pagers."
"Frank may sometimes leave his pager behind, but Olga never would." Mentnor shook his head worriedly. "Especially at a time like this."
"I'll organize a search party, and start searching the buildings," Talmadge said. "Have Brenneman and his men start on the grounds. Isaac, John, I want you to check the Sphere for any sort of surprises our friends may have left behind, then recheck it, and check it again. I don't want anything going wrong with this Backstep."
"Help me with this?" Olga smiled at Frank and indicated the unfastened back of her brassiere.
Frank knelt behind her and deftly refastened the clasp. His hands slid around her waist and drew her back against him for a deep, soulful kiss.
Olga reluctantly broke the kiss. "We really do have to be going back, Frank."
He sighed. "Yeah, you're right."
"Of course," she replied primly, then giggled as Frank shot her a disgusted look. Shaking his head, he turned away to grab his T-shirt.
Olga was facing the alien as it emerged from the bushes with its weapon over its shoulder. She screamed for Frank but realized as she did so that his pistol lay on the ground in front of her. He was two steps away, and she was between him and the gun. Without thinking, she snatched up the gun and double-tapped the trigger as the alien aimed its weapon and fired. The alien spun about from the impact, the weapon flying from its hands. "Oh my God, Frank…" her voice trailed off as she turned towards Frank.
He was kneeling, his shirt in one hand, with a vaguely puzzled look on his face. His mouth worked, trying to form words. A small trail of blood flowed from the corner of his mouth. Olga dropped the gun and caught him as he collapsed bonelessly. "O- Olga," he labored, his hand reaching up to touch her cheek. "Olga, I- I-" He shuddered, and his hand fell away from Olga's cheek as his eyes rolled back in his head.
Olga looked up to see the alien crawling slowly towards its weapon. She gently laid Frank down and closed his eyes. Picking up the gun, she walked over to the alien and used her foot to shove the alien over onto its back. Ignoring the images it tried to send to her mind, her face expressionless, she raised the gun and kept firing until the hammer clicked on an empty magazine. Still without expression, she dropped the gun and went back to kneel beside Frank.
The sound that burst from her lips was older than civilization, older than speech. It was the primal cry of a risen ape realizing that no matter how much her brain set her above the other animals, against this she was powerless. She gathered him in her arms and wept.
The search team found Olga twenty minutes later, still clasping Frank's lifeless body.
"Dr. Vukavitch, please." Regan held out two pills and a glass of water. "It will help you sleep."
Olga took the pills and placed them in her mouth. She took a swallow of water and placed the glass on the table beside the bed. Wordlessly she drew back the sheet and lay down. Regan silently turned off the light and closed the door as he left.
Olga waited after Regan shut the door, silent and unmoving until she heard him walk away down the corridor. She spat the pills back out and laid them on the table beside the bed. She curled up into a fetal ball, her back to the door, and stared unseeing at the opposite wall.
"How is she, Isaac?"
"Not well. Regan said he gave her something to help her sleep, but I doubt she would take it. You know how stubborn…" Mentnor trailed off miserably.
"God." Talmadge ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "Can we find a new chrononaut in time?"
"Do we have any candidates?" Olga stood in the doorway, her face expressionless. "Well, gentlemen?" she asked again as they stared at her in shock. Wordlessly, Talmadge indicated the stack of folders on his desk.
"Olga-"
"Are you questioning my ability to perform my duties, Mr. Talmadge?"
Talmadge shook his head.
"I will have a list of suitable candidates in one hour."
The two men exchanged worried looks as she gathered up the folders and stalked down the hallway, her bearing ramrod straight.
The telephone rang. "Talmadge."
"I think you should get down here, sir. Something's happening with the alien ship."
"On my way."
"Report, Sergeant," Talmadge ordered as he entered the Situation Room, Mentnor in tow.
"Yes, sir." Walker indicated the large electronic map dominating the room. "We've managed to re-establish the connection with Cheyenne Mountain. More or less," she added as the map flickered. "The alien ship has taken off." She indicated a red icon moving across the display. "They're headed east-nor'east and ascending at a high rate of speed."
"What's that?" asked Mentnor, pointing to a second icon, this one yellow, curving up from the south.
"Unknown, sir," replied Walker. "We think it's another alien ship, much larger than the first. It seems to be firing on the first one, if those are evasive maneuvers. Oh shit," she added as a third icon appeared on the screen. "What's that fucking civilian doing there?" The map flickered again and went dark.
"Here you are, Captain Boileau."
"Thank you, Marie." The two pilots watched as the flight attendant walked out of the cockpit and closed the door behind her. The flight engineer sighed and shook her head.
"Oh, don't worry, Sophie," the co-pilot grinned. "We enjoy watching you walk away too."
"Pity I can't say the same about you, Rene," she replied.
Rene clutched his chest. "Oh, you wound me. Etienne, you must fly without me. Our pretty flight engineer has broken my heart."
Sophie rolled her eyes. "Why me, Oh Lord, why me?"
"Behave," the captain admonished, trying to look stern. The other two quieted down, but Sophie stuck her tongue out at Rene as soon as Etienne turned back to his instruments. "That goes for you too, Sophie."
"Yes, Captain," she replied. "We shall miss you, Etienne," she continued after a moment. "There aren't many who would put up with us. We make a good team."
"We do," he replied, "but twenty-five years, the last three in Le Concorde here, are enough."
"What will you do now?" Rene asked.
"Once Jeanne starts college in the fall, Catherine wants to take a tour of Russia. She's always been fascinated by it, God only knows why." He smiled and shook his head ruefully. "But that's what wives are for, I suppose. To confuse their husbands."
The sudden impact made the plane rear like a wounded animal. A detached part of him noted that Catherine would be upset with him for spilling coffee on his best uniform shirt as he and Rene struggled to regain control of their craft. Behind them, Sophie tried desperately to route power to the controls. The plane clawed agonizingly at the air, then fell off into a power dive.
The last thing Etienne Boileau saw was the sharply pointed nose of his aircraft crumpling as it penetrated the hull of the second alien ship.
"We managed to get through to Oak Ridge," Sergeant Walker reported. "They say it appears to have been some kind of electromagnetic pulse. Data from various other sources indicate the affected area includes a section of the East Coast from approximately the South Carolina-Georgia border north, extending as much as two to three hundred miles inland."
"Dear God," breathed Mentnor. "All those people."
"I don't understand, Doctor." Brenneman shifted in his chair. "I thought an EMP pulse couldn't do any real harm."
"Not if you're a person or a building or something like that," Ballard replied. "But if you're a piece of electronic equipment you've just had your brains scrambled. Just think what happened to all the air traffic radars, to use just one example. Or the planes themselves, which are also electronic. Or to bring it down to Earth, think about what would happen if a traffic computer ordered every stoplight in a major city to turn green at once."
"Communications go down too," Sergeant Walker spoke up. "Rescue teams have no way of knowing where to go or who needs them, and if communications are down long enough, well, what happens when nobody knows the West Side of Manhattan has run out of food?"
"That's just for a clean EM pulse," Mentnor added. "Who knows what else the explosion sent out. With this much 115 involved I wouldn't be surprised if the entire Atlantic was contaminated."
"Not to mention whatever fallout there is will probably be carried around the world by the jet stream," Ballard put in. "Best case scenario, we spend years, if not decades, rebuilding. Worst case…" he shrugged helplessly.
"Dear God," Brenneman breathed, unconsciously echoing Mentnor. "Isn't there anything we can do?"
"Not without a chrononaut," Mentnor replied. "And we're running out of time."
Olga spoke. "I may have a solution. Dr. Mentnor, do you recall the list of candidates we compiled prior to our recruitment of Mr. Parker? Specifically the list dealing with NNL personnel?"
"Of course, but I don't-" Mentnor broke off. "Are you serious?"
"Completely."
"Could you possibly explain things for the rest of us?" Talmadge asked.
"While we were looking for Frank for that first Backstep," Mentnor explained, "we were also looking at alternatives if we were unsuccessful."
"Go on."
"A chrononaut needs to be both psychologically and emotionally stable, but highly flexible. He, or she, must also have excellent physical stamina, a high tolerance for pain, and the ability operate in an undiminished capacity under highly adverse conditions."
Talmadge leaned forward in his chair. "Are you saying we have someone here at NNL we can use?"
"Yes," Mentnor confirmed. "Olga. She scored very highly in all aspects. She was only removed from consideration due to her position on the team."
"Let me see if I understand this." Talmadge leaned back. "Dr. Vukavitch, are you volunteering?"
"I am."
"And she meets all of the criteria?"
"Better than you or I," Mentnor responded. "Better than anyone else in this room, if I recall correctly."
Talmadge stood, motioning for Olga to join him in a corner of the room, away from the others. "Are you sure?" he asked in a low voice. "There will be consequences. And I won't be able to help you."
"I know," Olga replied.
"Very well." Talmadge turned to the others. "Olga is now our chrononaut. The rest of you gather as much information as you can to send back with her."
Olga groaned in frustration as the screens of the simulator glared a baleful red. The harsh blare of the klaxon filled her ears. "Again," she ordered, taking the control stick in her hands.
"The usual NSA panel cannot be convened," Talmadge began as soon as the others had settled in their seats. "So, National Command Authority has authorized a Backstep, with Olga as our chrononaut." He paused. "Now, can we Backstep, and can we Backstep enough?"
"I am prepared," Olga stated.
"The new guidance system I installed should make controlling the Sphere a lot easier," Ballard said. "You'll be able to set it down like a baby in its cradle."
"The 115 we have on hand is enough for a four day Backstep," Mentnor added. "And, extrapolating from the data we got from when," his pause and surreptitious glance at Olga was almost unnoticeable, "Josef returned and-"
"When my husband attempted to steal Backstep," Olga interrupted. "And I shot him."
"Well, umm, yes," Ballard replied, taking over from Mentnor. "Extrapolating from that data, the residual energy in the reactor gives us another twenty-four to forty-eight hours."
"We're in day five as it is," Talmadge stated. "Olga, as soon as we're finished, start preflight."
"It would probably be a good idea if she had a tattoo," Mentnor said. "She might have some trouble convincing us otherwise."
"Do that, then preflight. Dismissed."
Olga remained seated at the table as the others rose. "The multitudinous seas incarnardine," she quoted, staring at her hands. "How strange that nothing shows."
"Olga," Mentnor spoke gently, "Josef was an accident. And you are not to blame for Frank's death."
"I pulled the trigger," Olga stated flatly. "And I would do it again."
"Perhaps," replied Mentnor. "But Frank-"
"Would have been in his room playing solitaire if not for me." Olga stood and walked to the door.
"My dear," Mentnor continued, "you can't think-"
"I do not need sympathetic words from a kindly, cardigan-clad grandfather figure right now, Dr. Mentnor." she interrupted harshly. "I need to prepare for my Backstep." She strode out of the room and down the corridor. The three men looked at each other silently, then left to make their own preparations.
Ballard spoke into the microphone. "Reactor at eighty-five percent."
"What are her chances?" Talmadge asked out of the corner of his mouth.
"Temporally or emotionally?" Mentnor asked in reply.
"Reactor at one hundred percent," Ballard continued. "Engage."
"Engaged."
The men in the Control Booth watched as the Sphere disappeared in a swirl of titanic energy. "Do svidanye, Olga. Godspeed."
* * * * * * * * * * *
"Anything?" Frank asked. "This suit is starting to itch."
"Nothing yet," Donovan replied. "She did say she wasn't too sure of the exact timing of this."
"Sir," interrupted the Air Force captain in charge of the Situation Room, "we have an unknown craft entering Earth's atmosphere, proceeding in a southerly direction along the East Coast."
Frank grinned triumphantly. "Just like Olga said. Thanks, Quillen."
Two F-18/As from the Patuxent River Naval Air Station attempted to intercept the alien craft. "That's Chinese?" the lead pilot asked his wingman.
"That's what they say, boss."
"Then how come my Moo Goo Gai Pan's always cold?"
"Because you're a crappy tipper, Blue One," a voice interjected. "Return to base. There are a couple of gentlemen here who want to talk to you."
"And they're here to help me, right?" the pilot replied. "Blue Flight returning to base."
"Second unknown craft entering atmosphere," continued Quillen. "Maneuvering to intercept first craft. First craft is leaving Earth's atmosphere. Second ship is pursuing. Both ships out of range."
"All right people," Talmadge ordered. "Stand down, but let's keep alert. Reactor to standby."
"Reactor at standby," Ballard reported.
Frank walked over to where Olga was leaning against the wall of the Launch Chamber. "Hey," he chided gently, "I thought you were supposed to get some rest."
She shook her head. "I couldn't. Not yet."
Frank took her head in his hands, looking directly into her eyes. "It's over now, get some rest."
Olga shoved off from the wall. "You're right, Mr. Parker."
"Of course," he replied nonchalantly. She just groaned and walked to the door. "Oh, and Olga," he called. Olga stopped and turned to look at Frank. "Welcome to the club." She grinned tiredly in reply.
"I still don't understand why the alien shot Parker," Ramsey said. "After all, you were the one with the weapon, right?"
Olga sighed. "I don't know, Mr. Ramsey. Maybe it was because Parker was facing it and I was turned away. Maybe it was because we had not started the target practice and I still had Mr. Parker's weapon down at my side. Or maybe," she continued, her voice rising, "it was because the alien didn't like Frank's haircut." She stood, slamming her chair back against the wall. "For the last time, Mr. Ramsey," she ground out, enunciating each word, "I. Don't. Know."
"Nate." Talmadge motioned towards the door of the debriefing room. Olga sat back down and laid her head on her arms.
"Sir, I know what you're going to say," Ramsey said, closing the door behind him. "But all the microchip says is that Parker was shot, nothing more. For everything else, that chip is packed with every detail and every theory we could find. On Parker's death, nothing. Not to mention, those photos of the dead alien showed over a dozen bullet wounds. All we have to go on is what Dr. Vukavitch is telling us. And she's not telling us everything."
Talmadge sighed. "You're right. But let it go for now." He paused. "I spoke with the Pentagon earlier. They've confirmed their orders to confine Olga to the base until a decision is made as to her status."
"Same setup as with Parker?" Ramsey asked.
"Yes. I presume you've already made the necessary preparations?"
"Yes sir. Two of my best agents."
"Bring them," Talmadge ordered. Ramsey nodded and left. Talmadge turned and opened the door. "Olga?"
Olga raised her head from her arms. "Yes?" she asked, wiping her eyes.
"Are you all right?" inquired Talmadge. "I'll talk to Nate. He was out of line."
"No, he wasn't," Olga replied. "The truth is, Frank Parker would never have been out there if it wasn't for me."
"All that doesn't matter now."
"It does to me," Olga said. "I knew the proper regulations, and I should have followed them." She smiled mirthlessly. "Instead I killed another-"
A knock on the door interrupted her. Ramsey opened the door and poked his head inside. "Sir?"
"I'm sorry Olga, but-"
Olga's mouth twisted in a wry grimace. "Don't worry, Mr. Talmadge, I've been expecting this. Come in, Mr. Ramsey."
Ramsey entered, followed by two women in black business suits. "Dr. Vukavitch, these are agents Nichols and Jackson."
"Ladies," Olga nodded at the two agents. I presume I am under the same restrictions as Mr. Parker?"
"Yes," Talmadge replied. "The Pentagon has yet to make its' final decision."
"I understand."
"Well, I sure as hell don't," Frank interrupted from the doorway. He angrily shook off Donovan's restraining hand. "We should be giving Olga whatever she wants, not locking her away."
"This doesn't concern you, Parker," Ramsey snapped.
"I'm making it my concern," Frank snapped back. "We've watched you badger her for the past hour and a half, and now you're having two of your goons-"
"Frank, Nate is following my orders," interrupted Talmadge.
"Your orders?"
"And they are not open for discussion," Talmadge continued.
"Jesus Bradley-"
"Mr. Parker," interrupted Olga. "Frank," she continued, her voice soft. "Let me handle this." She laid her hand on Frank's cheek. "Please."
Frank covered her hand with his own, and looked at her. "All right," he said at last. "But if there's anything I can do, anything at all…"
Olga leaned forward and gently kissed Frank. "My white knight," she murmured with a slight smile, tears glistening in her eyes. She turned to the others. "Mr. Talmadge, Dr. Mentnor-"
"It is a security matter," Talmadge interrupted defensively. "I had no choice."
"I shall be in my quarters if you have need of me," she went on as if he had not spoken. "Gentlemen." She nodded and began to walk down the corridor, her two guards behind her.
"Dr. Vukavitch," Ramsey called after her. She stopped, her shoulders stiff. The two agents glanced at each other, then the left-hand one turned to look at Ramsey. "For what it's worth," he continued, "you have my sympathy in this."
Olga's shoulders may have slumped a fraction in relief, but her voice was steady as she replied. "Thank you, Mr. Ramsey." The men watched as she continued down the corridor.
Frank grunted as he shoved the last box into place. "I didn't believe it when you said all we'd need was one humvee, even with our shadows." He gestured at the two agents, who stood just far enough away to grant Frank and Olga some semblance of privacy.
"I told you the furniture stayed with the house, Mr. Parker," Olga reminded him as she leaned forward to adjust the box.
"A single bed, a desk, a table, two chairs and a bookcase," Frank said. "All US Army surplus, all at least twenty to thirty years old. I've seen nun's cells that were better furnished. Or prison cells," he added.
Olga smiled wryly. "It seemed a good idea to have a reminder of what could happen."
"What do you mean, 'a reminder of what could happen'?"
"Did you really think, Mr. Parker," Olga asked, running her finger idly over the tailgate, "that your government would allow a defector into the midst of their most highly classified secret without taking precautions?"
"I suppose I just assumed- Damn," he cursed as both of their pagers went off. Behind him, the two guards reached for theirs as well. "Our master's voice."
"Frank," she paused, then fell silent as their guards hurried up to join them.
Frank glanced over at Olga as they climbed into the humvee. She seemed to be absorbed by the scenery outside her window. "Great timing, guys," he muttered as he started the vehicle and pulled out into traffic. The trip back to Never-Never-Land was made in silence.
"What's going on?" asked Frank as he and Olga joined the rest of the Backstep team in the Situation Room.
Quillen pointed to a yellow icon on the map. "The second alien ship appears to be hovering over the Caribbean. NASA has vectored the shuttle Discovery to investigate." He pointed at a green icon slowly approaching the yellow one. "It was on a supply run to the ISS," he explained.
"Can we get anything else?" Mentnor asked.
"We're hooked into NASA's main communications array. It's listen-only, but if you need more I can get it."
"No, thank you," Mentnor replied. "Let's hear it."
"Yes, sir. Mission commander is Captain Roberta S. O'Hara, USN."
Donovan grinned. "Scarlett." Talmadge raised an enquiring eyebrow. "She was a detailer my plebe summer at Annapolis, sir. She's a good officer."
"We can't see anything from here, Houston," O'Hara's voice retained just a hint of a soft Southern drawl. "We're going closer."
"Affirmative, Discovery. Be careful."
"Yes, Mother," O'Hara replied. "There appears to be some sort of hatch opening on the side of the vessel," she continued after a pause. "Something is emerging and- Oh shit! Back, back, back!"
"Discovery, Discovery, do you read, over?" Everyone in the Situation Room waited, listening to the hiss of the carrier wave. "Discovery, this is Houston. Do you read?"
"Houston, Discovery," O'Hara's voice was steady, but her drawl was a lot more noticeable. "I reckon we can say that a shot across the bows is a universal concept."
"Please confirm, Discovery, you were fired upon?'
"Not fired upon," retorted O'Hara. "Warned. And in a pretty emphatic fashion too."
"Understood, Discovery," Houston replied. "Find out what you can from where you are."
"Houston, the alien ship is leaving orbit," O'Hara said. "We've lost her."
"Acknowledged, Discovery. Continue with your original mission."
"Acknowledged. Proceeding to International Space Station. Discovery out."
"Sir, we have a call from Arrecibo." Quillen stood with the telephone in his hand. "The aliens downloaded a transmission to their computer. They're sending it to us now." He indicated a terminal. The Backstep team crowded around it. The top half of the screen showed three groups of characters, each group separated from the others by a blank line. The middle group was in English, the top one in the alien characters of Adam's people. The bottom group was another, completely different set of alien characters. The bottom half of the screen was filled with more of the unknown alien characters.
Mentnor spoke. "The top two are the message I sent out. I've never seen anything like the one on the bottom before."
"Different ship design, different alphabet, different species," Ballard concluded. "And I don't think they like each other."
Ramsey snorted. "Cargo," he stated. "Back in WWII," he explained to their enquiring looks, "natives in the South Pacific were introduced to the modern world by having their islands overrun, first by the Japanese, then by us. Not surprisingly, a large religious cult formed around items discarded by both sides. I think I understand how they felt."
"Yes," replied Mentnor. "But which side is which?"
"Somehow," commented Donovan, "I don't think it mattered all that much to the natives."
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