Looking for the Age of Aquarius

Chap 27 ("The Huntress Comes Without Mercy")

My Monday Hwatab included Roman, Drake and Sophia. I was surprised to see her, but pleased as well. So far we still hadn't set date for me to fly to Russia, however, Jerdon had made all my Ikseyan and several key people a very nice booklet type identification to use as Atrian passports. He'd taken Roman's, Drake's and Sophia's images this morning and was currently having one made for each of them.

I knew Sophia knew what was happening, but I wasn't sure if she knew all the details, so I had my Ikseyan give her a brief but thorough review. She listened raptly as Ihmen and Patrik made their reports. "But thanks to the Trags, they've known that there are Atrians living outside the Sector," Sophia stated when they were done.

"Previous to this incident, the only Atrians the government knew about were the Trags," I replied. "So far they don't know about our companies, our residences, or our people working in the American science sectors – but now they are aware that we have been sharing our technology with Russia, and that four of our scientists are in Russia and they are not being extradited back."

"Not that they did anything about the Trags – they left it to us to deal with them," Drake stated.

"There was more to it than that," Ian pointed out. "Plausible deniability. The Trags fueled the humans suspicions about us – proved that we were the terrorists the government says we are – thus validating the continued need for the Sector and your internment. Their other option was to either assimilate us into the American system – which won't happen – or grant us the rights of a governed people and declared that the ground the Sector sits on is ours – an Atrian diplomatic, sovereign microstate."

"Not many will stay there," Roman pointed out.

"You forget that we number in the billions?" Patrik asked. "Well, once we begin the relocation protocols."

"We'd face persecution wherever we move," Ian said. "It's best we press forward toward relocation."

"But if it's known by the public that we are contributing in a positive way, public opinion can be swayed," Sophia stated, almost sounding like her father.

"But so far they are only listening to Gloria Garcia and the Red Hawks," Roman stated.

"So, talk to the press! Roman, tell them – like dad used to – make them see," she said. "Lukas has posted things on his blog for us – ask him."

He shook his head. "I know that you allowed Lukas to film you. I saw it," she said, then appealed to the others to do more.

I tried to tell her that I'd made several such recordings, but that Lukas hadn't posted them on his blog yet. "I saw one – you and Emery – but we could do more, maybe even TV interviews, feeds," she said, then appealed to the others to do more. "Why are you reluctant to come out?" she asked, and we tried to tell her. Boy she was just like her father, too trusting and naïve when it came to the U.S. government.

Even on the ride to school, she tried to get me to come out to the press.

We drove through the gate into the parking lot; it was much the same, every day we drove through protestors and occasionally news reporters gathered along the fence that encircled the school ground entrances. "You have to ask why? Can't you see why? Ever since the integration program, the senior and juniors who drive to school have to pass them!" I told Sophia as I indicated the mass of people holding signs and shouting at us, the reporters standing around with their camera men and auxiliary vans. "Just as the SEU bus does every morning. You'd think they'd had enough by now, but no, it persists. It's been months, and it still the same as it was on your first day. Nothing's changed."

"There aren't as many," she pointed out.

I let the matter drop. However, Sophia excused herself once we were inside.

She arrived late to class and had a smug look on her face. I shook it off.

As I was exchanging my books at break, I saw one of the interviews I'd given Lukas on the news feed. I watched it in shock, then my horror faded as I realized he'd edited the piece, mixing my statements with Julia's and his comments, into a cohesive piece that significantly altered any part of the interview that could implicate me as being Atrian. It was actually well done; even if it seemed that Lukas and Julia knew a lot about our medical and scientific advancements and our space technology. Lukas even filmed his and Julia's part in Emery's kitchen so it looked as if we'd actually did the interview together. I breathed much easier.

But as I turned to leave, Gloria Garcia approached me and asked that I come to her office. I went reluctantly, smiling at Sophia and mouthing, 'It'll be all right.' But I saw Sophia turn and walk determinedly in the other direction.

Once seated in her office, Gloria addressed me forthrightly. "You're an Atrian."

I exhaled, not realizing I'd held my breath, and then waited.

"Don't deny it, Miss Stone, I've been watching you very closely, and you've an interesting relationship with Roman and Drake. You're involved in nearly everything going on with the Atrians and don't think it escaped my notice your involvement creating the Sawinzenia feast as a means to gain access to the Sector. In fact, you've been in the Sector quite a few times, and you've met with the Hwatab."

I listened to her patiently, "…the crates, the companies that frequently donate to the people of the Sector, how close you are with them…? Do you deny it?"

I looked at her, not wanting to lie to her but not wanting to become her Integration Program poster child. Over fifteen hundred people's lives were at stake, not to mention the trouble it could cause the sixteen hundred plus people in the Sector.

"Why won't you trust me? I've only the best interests of your people in mind," she pleaded.

I shook my head. "Ten years. It's been years, and you're nowhere near getting integration signed. Oh, you've gained ground this year – but only because of Roman and Drake – because of their friendship with Emery, Julia, Erik and myself. What makes you think we trust you? That we trust any promise made by your government? I know that you want integration success stories – but that would backfire into a resurgence of the hunts Atrians had to endure for two years. Two years! And you want Roman and Drake to confide in you? You want me to? I don't – you wouldn't keep our secrets – you'd expose us."

"What secret – that you and your cousins are Atrian? That your guardians are likely Atrians also – that Eljida is real? I have not said anything to my associates in Washington, about you. But they are going to figure it out – if they haven't already," Gloria stated. "You all have the same address; we've enrolled twelve new students this year, and you all live in the same apartment complex. Several of you, your parents or guardians work the same companies in town. It wasn't hard to figure out."

"How long have you been working on integration, Gloria? – actively working on it?" I asked her, but before she said anything I added, "Jonathan is five, isn't he?" She gaped at me, "So I'm guessing you've been on this for… six to seven years? Long enough for you to seduce our leader, Nox, and have his kid, am I right?" I asked and watched for her any indication I was right. I wasn't disappointed. "I thought so. All these years you've been trying to push integration forward – with little success. Because your government doesn't want integration – they want to dispose of us – and they couldn't simply bury us in some secret underground military establishment. And I believe that they mean to annihilate us – annihilation of all Atrians – they just want the excuse."

Suddenly a woman opened the door. "Sorry, Miss Garcia, but you'll want to see this." She turned on the news feed. It showed Sophia, in front of the school, giving a press conference, several microphones thrust out toward her. Shit.

But she looked cool, confident, assured. She spoke well, about the areas in science that Atians could contribute to mankind, areas already benefitting by Atrian technology. I wanted to scream. She was divulging too much, not giving specific names to the companies, but definitely exposing more than she should. I realized now why she'd been late to class. She was or had offered herself to the reporters, innocently – or not so – shrewdly telling people we want peace and we were willing to cooperate to get it.

"We will talk about this later," Gloria said, rising quickly and exiting her office.

I got a slip from the school secretary and went to class, hoping that Gloria could do damage control over this catastrophe. I entered Biology late and as Mr. Delgado looked over my note, I looked pointedly at Roman and mouthed, 'We've trouble.'

Roman looked at me quizzically, but Drake nodded as I sat down.

I told them about Sophia's interview after class, and they both ran off to find her. I told Justin what happened. "Just in case, tell the points to keep close to their marks," I whispered to him in Sondiv. "I'm not sure why I expect trouble, but I do."

He nodded, saying, "I understand, Iksen," and whipped out his phone. However, he didn't leave my side. Literally, if I swayed even slightly, my arm touched his.

Gloria stopped me on my way to PE, and led me back to her office. I sighed heavily and did as bid – Justin following cautiously a few feet behind us. What else could I do?

But no sooner than I'd sat down facing Gloria, than a man in military fatigues entered the office and demanded that the school be on lock down. He and Miss Garcia argued, but he forced his way to her desk and pressed the button.

Immediately the storm security blinds started coming down.

Principal Weston appeared on the holographic announcement feed, telling every student go to the auditorium in an orderly manner for our own safety.

I followed Miss Garcia, hoping for the best, expecting the worst. I saw Justin in the corridor and stopped him. "Find Loraine and get her out of this," I said.

"Aviasstenlo's stroczony panya ahbua rdhai," he informed me in formal warrior mode that she had been or was being extracted.

As I neared the auditorium, I saw that Drake, Roman and Sophia were already being singled out by the military. "Go. It's happening," I told Justin. "Loraine is your primary target. Keep her safe, and tell Ian we are red. Then get her to her destination – help her make contact."

He nodded and pulled back, blending in with the confusion. He knew as well as I did Drake would protect me.

"You, Atrians, over here," a soldier with a machine gun ordered, pointing it at Lynne and Corben. They were pushed into a line along the wall with Drake, Roman and Sophia as another solider dragged Teri, who was struggling to free herself, forward by the arm.

Emery was demanding loudly, "What have they done? Why are you doing this?" but no one was listening to her as a soldier and SEU guard held her forcefully by the arms, making her back up toward the auditorium doors.

Gloria tied to stop them, but she was man-handled aside. "This is now a national security situation," a short, stalky solider holding a machine gun told her as Durren was being hauled forward, toward us.

Taking a deep breath – I stepped forward and stood beside Roman. "Maureen, what are you doing?" Drake demanded angrily.

"What I have to so I am where I have to be," I said in Sondiv. I looked at the solider staring me down. "I'm Atrian. Atriarch Iksen of the Tgorasad, Amwur Atedi of the Wyzgore Rhod Seckep and protector of the people."

The solider, Dicks by the name stitched on his uniform jacket, grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to where another stood. He told the other solider he called Wolden, that I claimed to be Atrian, so Wolden threw water in my face, and judging by his expression, my markings were glowing a bright blue. "I have her. Find the others," Wolden ordered as he pinned me to the wall with one arm, his gun pointed at me. I could hear Drake behind me, obviously struggling to help me as he yelled at them to leave me alone. But the soldiers shouted at him to get in line, and I knew they were fighting to restrain him.

Gareth, Mason and Arnund stepped forward and announced that they were Atrian, too. I knew that they were supposed to do it, but I felt afraid for my strazhic ochrikujen. However, I knew that they were to be wherever the humans sent me; I hoped fervently it would be the Sector.

As Wolden cuffed me, I looked over my shoulder. Both Drake and Roman, now both handcuffed, looked furious. It couldn't be helped, this was the contingency plan. This was exactly what I was to do if this situation happened.

Teri, Gareth, Mason and Arnund were handcuffed as well, and the soldiers escorted all of us out of the school, five men surrounding Drake and three around Roman. I wished I could tell Drake to relax, that things would be all right, but he'd know as well as I did that I'd be lying.

However once we were outside, it became quickly evident that I was not going to be escorted to the SEU bus – but rather to a military vehicle. Drake, Mason and Arnund struggled against their captors, Drake yelling for them to let me go, to no avail. All it got him was a fist to the face, a punch in the gut and a rifle butt on the leg to make him comply as I was shoved to the military car.

~~~~~o~~~~~

I didn't struggle. Not that it would do much good. I didn't speak much either, except to tell them my name and that I was a sovereign ruler of my people. The officers didn't change in their conduct toward me at all, not that I expected them to. I was taken through a military blockade to a temporary military encampment of jeeps, trucks and tents just outside of town, not that I had much time to look around, but I knew exactly what it meant – Edendale was being locked down – i.e.: martial law was being enforced.

As I was forced into the back of a truck with ten heavily armed soldiers, I momentarily feared for my human friends. I'd warned Emery and Lukas to this possibility, told them that if this happened to get to Ebbingson Road and go to the bait shop and ask the warrior who confronts them for asylum and safe passage to Jhina. I'd even told them how to find the old bait shop in the bayou that no trail or road went to – he'd need a jon boat or canoe to get there. Funny thing, Lukas knew about the old abandoned bait and tackle shop with a dock. Apparently one of his hobbies included birding. Go figure.

As the truck began to move, I thought of Julia and Taylor and hoped that they'd be safe. Sure I'd impressed upon both Lukas and Emery that they'd be in danger – especially Julia considering that Miss Benton and her crony, Mr. Burk, knew she had activated ciper in her system. Oh, please, Lukas believe me, I mentally pleaded as I was jostled around on the wood bench in the truck. He had the taped statements, many of them, hours of footage actually of my predictions of what could happen, statements of our intents, interviews… So far our predictions were spot on, well so far. Would he use them now?

I saw another truck pull up behind us and wondered if it carried more armed men. It didn't make me feel important or afraid. The soldier on my left saw me trying to look between the flaps and signaled another, telling him to secure them. I scoffed quietly to myself: I was unarmed, dressed for school, not combat, in 2" ankle boots – hardly a threat. But if my destination was a secret, that didn't bode well. We'd assumed I'd be taken to the nearest military base if not to the Sector.

I closed my eyes for a moment; I could still feel Drake's rage, literally pulsating at me from the distance. Anger. Pain – possibly from his leg or head, but definitely throbbing pain and concern. At least he was alive and fighting, I thought with smug satisfaction.

We drove for a long time, long enough for my bum to feel numb – that was not a good sign. Although in reality, the wood bench was horribly uncomfortable and the truck didn't seem to have decent shock absorbers, plus with my hands cuffed, making it hard to stay on the seat on the dips and sharper turns. So the drive could have been shorter than it seemed, and of course, I had no idea how fast we traveled. It hadn't seemed that we were moving all that fast.

We ended up in a military base in front of what looked like a series of prefabricated portable buildings with low windows, and although I offered no resistance, I was roughly hauled inside, passed through a guarded entrance and escorted to a small room with a chair. The solider left and locked the door. The solider stared at me though the small window of wire-reinforced glass in the door, then disappeared.

I waited. There was no point worrying; what would happen would. But so far, this seemed like a plot twist in a TV show. I closed my eyes for a moment and thought of Drake, feeling a sense of calm at the frustration I could feel from him. He wasn't close, but I turned to face in his direction.

I didn't wait long, I think, but I felt as if I'd been interrupted when I heard the sound of the keys in the lock. I opened my eyes. I'd been imagining Drake in his pod, pacing, wanting to know where I was and if I was okay.

Before long two people in suits, a woman and a man, entered the room along with a high ranking officer, judging by the ribbons and two stars insignia on his uniform, and two armed guards in camouflage fatigues. I wondered if they were Army or Marines.

The woman and the man sat in the seats opposite me at the table, but the officer remained standing. "I am Regina Jackson; I'm the Secretary of Defense of the United States of America. I've been sent here to determine who or what you represent and what your attentions are." The officer's name patch read, Helmsley, and I'd heard one of the men at the door call him Major General.

"I am Mahureen, Daughter of Nahreen, granddaughter of Nededa. I am Atriarch Iksen of the Tgorasad, high seat of the Tgorasad Ikseyan, Amwur Atedi of the Wyzgore Rhod Seckep and protector of the people – that is who I represent," I replied evenly.

"We know who you are, Maureen Stone," Ms. Jackson said in a condescending manner as if addressing a minor. "You are a Trag pretender – and a terrorist."

I looked the woman in the eye. "I am a sovereign leader of my people – not a Trag, nor am I a pretender or a terrorist."

"You are an unmarked Atrian, living outside the Sector and pretended to be a human student at Marshal High School," Ms. Jackson said.

"I am a student at Marshal High School. I registered properly and was accepted to the institution to continue my education," I replied. "I never claimed to be human."

"Yet you never claimed to be Atrian either. You enrolled under false pretenses – pretending to be human," Ms. Jackson said.

"Nothing in my file is a lie," I said with a shake of my head. There wasn't.

"Under race it says Caucasian," Ms. Jackson stated.

Okay, that was a lie. "The clerk checked that box," I informed her. "Her misunderstanding – we'd left it blank, for obvious reasons as none of the options on the form applied. But that is not the reason you're here interrogating me, is it?"

"I have been sent by the authority of the president to determine what is your purpose in coming here?" Ms. Jackson asked.

"That would be easier to answer if you'd be more specific. Here, wherever this is? – I don't know – to answer questions, I presume. Or do you mean here as in your planet? – We never intended on coming here," I said, and she scowled at me. "We were curious about you, yes, but our leader Nox, gave the orders to leave this system. However, certain events on the ADRhet caused us to crash here."

"I don't believe you," Ms. Jackson stated.

I shrugged. "It's the truth, or haven't you seen our ship jackknifed in the ground near Edendale?" I could see in her eyes she'd seen the ship. "Or ask Roman or any of his Hwatab – you hold them prisoner in your concentration camp."

The man looked at Ms. Jackson, apparently wanting to comment as she made flicks of her finger on her Galaxy 240lite. He looked at me. "Why did you send your people to Russia?" the man asked.

"Pavel was sharing our technology with the Roscosmos scientists – Aerospace and Astrophysical specs and data; with the purpose of building an aerospace observatory using Atrian technology," I told them.

"For what purpose?" the man asked.

Really? "It's a huge multisystem telescope with sonar and spectral scanning arrays, much like your TESS and the Kepler II systems combined, but far more advanced," I stated.

"So you can do what exactly?" the man asked.

"To search for other planets that might support life, in hope of finding another planet with a viable atmosphere – same as your astrophysicists hope to achieve," I replied. "We have a vested interest in discovering new worlds."

For some reason neither Ms. Jackson nor the man believed me, and we went in circles on that subject. Finally she asked, "And the other three, what was their business in Russia?"

So she knew about them. "Paul Boruck is Pavel's partner on the scanning and relay systems for a space-based terrestrial planet finder, it can reliably read oxygen, ozone and methane levels in planetary atmospheres," I said, then explained what I knew of the system not caring if she understood the technical aspects or not. I could tell she didn't by the questions she asked, but the technical level of my responses would have made Kerhone proud. Yes, I'd paid attention when he'd explained it to me.

It was Major General Helmsley who ended the dialogue by asking abruptly, "And the other two – Kurke Walker and Deyne Stone – what was their purpose?"

"To open a foundry for the production of tritan-stalunsile and duranium alloy," I stated, deciding to be frank. Besides it was all on the news by now. "They are two of the metals that make up the hull of our ships – a refractory composite tritan-stalunsile combined with a wide-temperature range duranium alloy surface with an insulation coat of a fine grain silica ceramic is the main shielding for our ship." Well the outer hull – we had a duel plate insulated hulls on our ships. "We hoped to recreate a close proximity to these substances, and Russia has the highest concentrations of the base minerals needed and the right temperatures to make them."

"You want to rebuild your ship?" the officer asked and was immediately cut off by the man in the suit, "So you can fire your weapons on us?"

"What weapons? The ARDhet is an exploration vessel, not a military craft. Besides carrying the leaders of my planet, there were scientists, technicians, builders, craftsmen and women – families, kids. Yes there was wywiado ochrokaje and strazhic ochrikujen onboard, but what president travels without their security? Or a sovereign leader of their people for that matter? But they were not a military force as you found out so easily on our arrival."

An hour or more later, it was hard to tell with no clock and no window, I was hauled out of the room. I was escorted to another building and put in small room with a narrow bed, sink and toilet and my hands were freed. This room felt like a cross between a prison and a psychiatric observation room; at least the toilet had a small wall for some semblance of privacy. Good thing I did my eliminations sitting down. The solider left and locked the door. He stared at me though the small window of wire-reinforced glass in the door, then disappeared.

I stood in the middle of the cell, my back to the door, facing the far wall, and thought of Drake, tried to envision him, to sense where he was. He was behind me, a little to my right. I turned until it seemed he was right in front of me, then opened my eyes. I had no idea if I was facing north or south. The scouts used 'clock orientation': behind you is six, ahead of you twelve, three was due right and nine on due left. The Sector was about between four-thirty and five, in my orientation. I mentally marked the spot on the wall, memorizing the scratch in the paint and how far it was from the door. The Sector. Drake. Hopefully Roman as well, not that I had any way of knowing for sure.

Completely parched, I tried the faucet at the sink, but it didn't have much water pressure; the water came out as barely a trickle. But the soap dispenser worked. I tried to wash my hands, but it took ages, and then I tried to drink as much water as I could, but I couldn't get enough to quench my thirst. Frustrated, I sat on the bed and closed my eyes.

When the door opened, another solider brought me a plastic bag containing two slices of brown bread, a tube of peanut butter, a small apple, cookie and some date bread roll and a square box of lemonade. I ate everything but the peanut butter because that was one of the foods we can't eat. I tried to eat the cookie and date bread but it was too salty for me. The lemonade was too sweet. I tried filling the box a few times with water, trying to assuage my thirst, but even with the faucet turned all the way, it took a long time to fill the small square box.

~~~~~o~~~~~

I was given the same food several days in a row: a plastic bag containing two slices of brown bread, a tube of peanut butter, a small apple, the salty date bread roll and a cookie (often with chocolate chips), and a square box of fruit punch, apple juice or lemonade. I tossed the peanut butter and cookie and ate the rest. I liked the fruit punch best. I managed to refill the box twice before the door opened again and they took my trash. Parker, the name on his jacket, would said, "Stay put and I won't have to hurt you," gruffly each time, then scowled at the uneaten cookie and tube of peanut butter. But he collected my trash, including the box, and left without saying anything. I don't know why they wouldn't let me keep the box.

At least I think it was several days judging by the fact that Ms. Jackson's and the man's clothes changed.

The interviews didn't go as well as the first ones: they kept asking the same questions: to know where we were hiding (and the only place I conceded to was the apartment on Mallow Crescent); what reason we had for creating tritan-stalunsile and duranium alloy and why we chose to build the factory in Russia; what other promises did we give the Russian scientists, and what treaties were signed with the Russian government. For some reason Ms Jackson and Mr. Scholz, that was her companion's name, was quite concerned regarding any agreements made with the Russian government.

I'd only had one conversation with the Russian representative. Yes, he'd invited me to Russia to meet with his superiors, to discuss the building of the plants and our technology. But now, obviously, I was unable to go and I couldn't tell him why. But Ihmen could. Had she? Or Ian – no Meheka – she'd do it, explain why I was unable to meet with them. Had the Russian representative I spoken to contacted the American president? Or some U.S. representative and ask why?

The next day I tried another tactic. "You're not President Wells, nor even Vice President Harden," I remarked. "So why should I negotiate with you at all?"

"Don't toy with me, I represent the president in this matter," Ms. Jackson stated with an inflated sense of authority. "I have his expressed authority to evaluate what danger you represent – this is not a negotiation."

Not a negotiation? Crap. "Which means that once again, the president is not going to speak for himself," I said with a smirk. Typical.

"I speak for the president of the United States," Ms. Jackson stated somewhat affronted.

"And I speak for my people, all the people of the Wyzgore Rhod Seckep and have all the authority as a sovereign leader of my people," I stated. "So I'm going to ask you, when is your president going to come here and negotiate with us regarding our release and the return of our ship?"

"That is not going to happen," Mr. Scholtz stated assuredly.

"It may have to happen sooner than you realize," I said.

"Really?" he asked with derision, but Ms. Jackson's and the major general's faces became stony.

"Yes, really," I stated firmly. "You're holding my people prisoner – have been for too long. It's obvious we're not welcome here, so we should leave."

"You're in no position to make demands," Mr. Scholtz stated.

If he only knew.

This time the interrogation lasted longer. Or so it seemed. I know they were getting frustrated, but I didn't know what they were after, and wasn't going to divulge anything new, even if I did.

Afterwards I was locked up in my cell again. I wondered how close the fleet was or when they'd arrive.

No, I couldn't worry about that.

I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. Drake. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he was contemplative, serious, determined. It reminded me of the day we took the float into the Sector to steal the Suvek. A warrior, so assured, taking command of the mission, outlining each person's objectives, figuring out contingencies and backup plans.

I could almost see him in my mind, black tank and his grey pants that matched his sleeveless grey hoodie, leaning over a table with Roman, planning my rescue. Not that he had any idea where I was.

Wishful thinking, I know, but a nice fantasy.

~~~~~o~~~~~

I was starting to feel hungrier, but the meager amount of food, apparently spaced in six hour intervals was hardly enough to satisfy me, not to mention I was so parched between meals I was now trying to drink from the tap with my hands. When the door opened, Arenas brought me another plastic bag containing the same food as before: two slices of bread, small apple, salty date bread roll and chocolate chip cookie, but no peanut butter. So far today I was given apple juice, then lemonade with the next two, and then fruit punch. Four. One day's worth of bread. Only the apple kept me from getting constipated.

Each mealtime I managed to fill the box once or twice with water, but when Arenas or Parker came to collect my trash, they took my box.

My meals were interspaced with interrogations that were going nowhere. I wanted to know if they'd spotted the fleet yet, but I was not going to ask. Not until they did.

"I assure you I have the full authority of the White House," Ms. Jackson said, this time in a navy suit with a white blouse and earrings. Her hair was still in a French twist, apparently the only hairstyle the woman knew how to do.

"Understand this, do not let the word tribe fool you, we are no primitive tribal beings, but represent an entire planet of a civilized and technologically advanced people. To my people, I am the equivalent of a sovereign ruler over several countries. Each tribe I represent is a country represented by their Iksen – their leader – at our council. You are a secretary to your president. When he is willing to speak to me, then you will have your answers."

"Don't get testy with me young lady. I can make it very difficult on you if you don't cooperate," Ms. Jackson said.

"And if you don't get President Wells down here to negotiate, I assure you, things will be utterly devastating for you and for all mankind," I told her, not for the first time.

"Is that why you have come to our planet? To try and take it over?" Ms. Jackson asked.

"The ARDhet crashed here," I stressed, wondering why they didn't understand that. "I'm sure that Nox, our late Abour Atedi, informed your President Obama of that fact. I know for certain that he'd met with President Bush once – once." I remember seeing Nox on news cast with President Wells and Gloria once the last year, before it was announced that seven teenagers would be allowed to attend high school. "And now the survivors of the ship are imprisoned by your government in your concentration camp. All I want, all my Hwatab wants, is to dig our ship out, repair her and leave your planet."

Gads we were getting nowhere.

But she surprised me. "Give the girl a shower – she stinks," Ms. Jackson told Major General Helmsley.

I was dragged to a makeshift shower, told to strip and shoved into a three-sided cubicle to shower. I showered quickly, hating that I was being watched, and drank as much of the water as I could as I rinsed off.

Still, even though the water was cold, I felt better. I dried off and put on the T-shirt and scrubs I was given, hiding my Iksen key under the top, wondering what they did with my clothes. I only hoped that they didn't know that the 'pendant' I wore on the long chain was in fact my Iksen key – but you had to be printed for my key to open once it was locked, and I always kept mine locked.

Back on my bunk I thought of Drake. He was frustrated. There was an edge of fear, urgency, a hurried, anxious anticipation of something bad that made my hearts race as if he were trying to get away from something or someone. I felt myself pleading silently for him to run, to hurry, as if he were running.

I felt a sharp sting, a stabbing pain I couldn't place, only sense. I sat in the room, not at all cognizant of the time, but somehow knowing it was dark outside. I stayed with him, forcing the connection to remain open as Drake, his flight reflux on full, dealt with whatever he was doing.

I wondered what he'd done, where he was.

It was in the same direction he usually was, maybe a bit more along the wall… by the seam… Shit! He was outside the Sector!

I sat up. He wasn't… Drake was closer to four or a smidge closer to… three-thirty! The Sector was between four-thirty and five in my orientation, where Drake usually was, in the middle of the Sector; sometimes he'd be at five or he'd be at the four-thirty mark, that was his normal range. But now he wasn't – he had… left the Sector? Or was my estimation of the Sector that far off?

No. The Sector wasn't that big, after all, was it? What was he doing? Was he…? – could he…? I had no idea how far away I was, but I knew I wasn't close. A few miles? Twenty? Almost as if I was in New Orleans, but not as far, maybe Belle Chasse – unless I was in Barksdale Air Force Base. I really didn't know.

I sat on my cot with my back against the wall, fully alert, completely aware of Drake's fervent need to get away.

I tried to keep my own hearts from racing in pace with his.

There was someone with him, I think; I could feel a concern from him, for someone, while fearing the ones following him. I could sense that he wanted to slow down, the protectiveness I could sense in the urgency I felt, but I could also feel his impelling desire for them to keep up.

The pain didn't ease up, but I knew he had a high pain tolerance. He'd pulled himself off a rod in the Trag hideout, but the wounds hardly bothered him afterwards – he still got into a sword fight with Zoeda and won and he'd carried me home. Although the ciper he used to heal me may have helped him, just as it had when I'd healed Grayson.

My hands clenched as I 'listened' to him, feeling as if I was somehow 'watching' him run.

Whoever was chasing him – the flight surge of adrenaline and stress seemed to slacken, but not entirely. I felt a surge of satisfaction, a twinge of concern, smugness… but I knew he was still moving quickly. Toward the Sector.

Then, after what felt like ages, the urgency stopped.

Smug, feeling jubilant, proud and celebratory.

What did you do, Drake? I asked myself silently.

~~~~~o~~~~~

I sat on my cot after a long exhausting day, feeling depressed. And thirsty. Starving and thirsty. I couldn't get enough water from the sink, and the military men, and a woman that one time, never allowed me to keep my small juice box.

My cell didn't have a window and the light never changed. On. All the time. On.

But military people passed by the window in the door on occasion, talking as if their voices didn't carry.

Not that they said anything that gave me a clue of what was going on with my people, friends or even Edendale.

I spent much of my quiet time thinking about Drake though, using my nolenkthetik with him – my spolzuthetik ability. It helped with the headaches I'd been getting and made the confinement bearable. I could close my eyes and feel him. His anger. Frustration. Annoyance. Thirst. The cravings – but that could have been me. But the agitation and determination was his, I knew it, and I drew on it every day to keep going and endure.

I knew it was another day, even though Ms. Jackson and her male friend had worn their navy suits four days in a row, I began to notice that Ms. Jackson's blouse was different each time I saw her, white yes, (although once it was ivory) but there were subtle differences, and she didn't wear the same earrings all the time. Not to mention that her male companion changed his blue ties. I'd counted at least four in the same shade of blue: white shirt, blue tie. It must be a favorite color of his. Apparently Major General Helmsley, always wore his field fatigues.

I sat in the chair, badgered with question after question about my intent. That was getting repetitive: I'd told her and repeated the same answers again. And again.

Where was Emery Whitehill, Lukas Parnell and Grayson Montrose? —I don't know.

What was so important on my ship? —It's our ship.

What did I want with my ship? —To fix her so we could leave.

Who were the Trags and where were they? —I don't know. The Trags were a group of disgruntled and dissatisfied Atrians, much like your KKK or the Red Hawks – exactly like the KKK and the Red Hawks. The Trags I knew about had been dealt with.

Where are the other Atrians hiding and how many of them are there? —I don't know.

I don't know was not an acceptable answer, apparently.

~~~~~o~~~~~

I woke to a sense of dread. My mouth was so parched my tongue felt like sandpaper.

It hadn't worked.

What hadn't worked?

I breathed deeply. I was starving. Famished. Admitting to being thirsty was an understatement. Frustration filled me, disbelief. Disgust. He felt betrayed.

My drowsiness immediately faded. Drake felt betrayed? By whom? Something wasn't right, and I felt the urge to find… Who would he find? Me? Can't be. Roman? That was most likely. My hunger wasn't letting me think clearly. Drake's anger surged at me, even at this distance. Somehow I knew he'd try it – whatever it was he'd tried – again. His sense of determination was as clear to me as his anger.

Drake, whatever you're doing, be careful, I pleaded wishing he could feel me as I could sense and feel him.

The door opened, startling me. Not for food; I was hauled from the room and marched down the hall to the interrogation room. We passed two people going into a room. I heard one say, "If the media gets hold of this—"

"Use a cover story. We can't risk a panic," a highly decorated military woman said as they walked away.

I wondered what happened. Cause a panic – the fleet? It had to be the fleet. I'd been here days, I was losing count. Between the hunger and the thirst, I felt weak. Only my connection to Drake kept me going, kept me strong.

Ms. Jackson was waiting for me with two military officers. She had on a different suit and a red, white and blue blouse. Very patriotic. "I want to apologize to you," she said with a smile, indicating I take a seat.

I sat.

So did she, and her two companions; so this one was going to be a long one. "It seems we got off to a bad start," she said with a political smile.

"Yes, we did," I agreed coolly.

She introduced General William Burch, Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staff to the White House, a chiseled, square-jawed man with grey stubble for hair, and Lt. General Andrew Lauland, apparently of the Air Force, a tall thin, gaunt-faced, sharp eyed man with grey hair and moustache.

Oh, the government now understood that the fleet was coming, I was sure of it now.

"What do you know about that device – the seevek… suevak, ?" she asked.

"You mean the Suvek?" I asked, and she affirmed it and smiled.

"A little."

"What was its purpose?" she asked.

"The Suvek is a signal device, to be used to send a message to Atria," I replied. "The one that activated in Edendale was not programmed, and its activation was not authorized."

"Then why did you set it off?" General Burch asked.

"I didn't set it off," I said with a shake of my head. "Roman and Drake tied to stop its activation – I tried to help."

"To whom was the beam directed toward?" Ms. Jackson asked.

"Space," I told her. "I was able to disconnect one or two of the canisters on the side, which may have thrown off its trajectory, and we pulled out the key… several wires on the control pad, but yes, it activated anyway. However, Roman and I did not condone or approve the Suvek's activation. We tried everything we could to prevent it."

"So if you didn't set it off, then who did?" General Burch asked. Oh, I could tell immediately, he was a no-nonsense guy.

"One of Vega's agents. She was killed on site, her accomplices were likewise terminated, and Vega was arrested and sent to your crates," I told him.

"These observatories you built, do any of them have signal beams in them?" General Burch asked.

"No, and they are in the control of your scientific agencies. So even if they did, the signal would be sent by NASA, JPL-Caltech or Ball Aerospace and Technologies Corp," I stated.

Lt. General Lauland piqued up. "You have people working on the inside of these organizations?"

"We were able to feed them Atrian technology that was used in their current projects," I told him. "The internet is easily accessible – we've tons of information scattered in thousands of sites, and email addresses are not too hard to obtain. Plus, we've filed numerous patents in the U.S. Patents Office. We've been submitting articles to the scientific journals for years, and we've been published and republished a hundred times – so the information is out there. What you do with it is now up to you."

We went in circles until General Burch and Ms. Jackson were done with me for the day.

I went to my cell and plopped down on the bed, exhausted. I felt achy, itchy, and too tired to sleep. I pulled my feet up, hugging my knees. I missed Drake, Loraine and my cousins. I missed Roman and Sophia. I worried over Emery, Julia, Erika and Grayson. I hoped Taylor was all right.

It all came down on me heavily and I started to cry. I missed Drake. More than anything, I missed Drake. I could feel him – restless yet peaceful, almost as if he were sleeping. I wish I could see his face, one more time, just be able to look in his blue eyes and…

I wiped the tears off my face, surprised that I had enough fluid in me to make tears. I was so thirsty, so parched, it hardly seemed possible.

I wiped the new ones that fell. And stared at my hand in shock.

My tears were… pale… blue?

The small amounts of moisture from my tears had a faintly-glowing blue hue. Faint, but with my eyesight perceivable. My hand was glowing with pale blue… tears.

I'm pregnant? I am pregnant!

With Drake's child!

Oh, no! I am pregnant…

I looked at the sink. I needed to drink more water!

~~~~~o~~~~~

I was back in the interrogation room.

They'd let me shower, I did get to drink a bit, gulping the water down as much as I could as I soaped my body and rinsed off, and it helped, but not nearly enough. My head still hurt, and I felt sluggish. My hair was wet and my clothes damp. Not comfortable on an aluminum chair. My hands were starting to look like wrinkled paper, my skin itched – parchy even after the fifteen minute soak, and although I ate everything they gave me now (minus the peanut butter and chocolate chip cookie), I was so hungry and thirsty all the time. Famished. Starving and thirsty. Utterly parched.

"We lost contact with our D.S.C.S.-3 listening satellites orbiting Earth," Ms. Jackson informed me.

I didn't respond. I mean what do you say to that; Sorry?

"Do you know what that is?" Ms. Jackson asked, but even though I had a very good idea what it was, I shrugged and shook my head. "It's our Defense Systems Communications Satellite."

I knew the significance of the occurrence and was about to say, 'You've spotted our fleet,' when she added, "One of your ships is in orbit of our planet, and we have spotted several more large ships still approaching," she stated.

Fuck. No. I can't – it's too late. Roman, Drake, oh, please, do something. I know my eyes went wide.

"So you were expecting them?" General Burch asked.

"Well… yes, I did," I affirmed. "I suspected it would be the fleet that would come to our rescue, but I didn't know they were here already. Roman and I had hoped to have gained control of the ADRhet before…" But now it was happening and I couldn't do anything.

"They accessed our defense mainframe via that satellite," Ms. Jackson said, but there was an edge of anger in her voice. "That is how they temporarily shut down our missile defenses and scrambled our telecommunications."

"You're a fool, Madam Secretary. You and your president," I stated. I had to gain control. I needed them to understand. "I know that there is a vast amount of vital intelligence on that mainframe – I read about it on the internet. They know everything about your military now."

"The fact that they disabled our defenses tells us something about their intentions," Ms. Jackson said.

I chuffed a laugh. "The fact that they did that tells me they are being cautious."

"Cautious? They have invaded our airspace," she said.

"And you have imprisoned their leaders – the leaders of their planet. How else would you expect them to react." I tuned to the general. "You're a military man. What wouldn't you do to save the life of your leaders? If Earth's leaders were all being held in a prison camp, what would you do if you were in charge?"

He was stone-faced. I turned back to Ms. Jackson. "Fact is, they will likely scan the surface of the planet, locating every Atrian signature, dead or alive, and then set their concentrated force above the North and South American Continents, especially between the equator and fifty degrees north, would be my guess – right over the Sector, if that's not where this first battle cruiser is." That hit a nerve: her eyes widened, and his narrowed. So the front scout ship was in orbit directly over the Sector. Ian, Byrne and Jerdon had been right! "They will attempt to contact us – the Atrian Ikseyan, through the ARDhet communications systems – and when that fails, they will use your telecommunication satellites' systems, downloading and running all programming through the translators, to create a message for you."

"With what purpose?" she asked.

How can she be that dense? "To rescue their people. All of us. Roman and I need to get onboard the ARDHet and tell them we are all right – to stand down or things can – will escalate! They are our military – our fleet. General, this is our military and they are here – you have to listen to me."

"And why would they listen to you? – who is the leader of your people?" General Burch asked.

"I am! Haven't you been listening! I am – Roman, son of Nox, he and I are the Atriarch Iksen of our people; we are Commander-In-Chief to that fleet you are so concerned about," I said.

Oh gads, he didn't believe me!