Chapter 4

Ed Straker awoke to a tilted world. He blinked and shook his head from side to side, then gulped and looked like he wished he hadn't. Carefully moving nothing but his eyes, he glanced around the enclosed cabin puzzledly; he was lying where he'd been thrown against the mobile's right hand wall, looking 'up' a forty-degree angle at the radio console. It took a second look to reveal that the world was actually fine and that it was the snowcat that was on its side. Risking movement again, if reluctantly, he raised his head, making another cursory examination; all interior lighting was out leaving the cabin dim, and there was a fine mist of smoke in the air that was already dissipating as it followed gravity's direction and sank.

"Alec?" He called the name softly, coughed, then winced and clapping a hand to the side of his face. A discolored swelling was already emerging at his hairline and trailing down onto his jaw, leaking a trickle of blood along the side of his face. He stopped, seeking the double seats that were now 'above' him. A body hung half-in, half-out the nearest one, slumped over the armrest. He moved his jaw as little as possible to ask, "Alec, are you all right?"

"Mfphg." Freeman's tousled brown head bobbed then rose, hands automatically scrabbling to secure his semi-seated position. Giving up the impossible attempt, he twisted until he was able to slide out of it altogether, landing ungracefully next to Straker's right shoulder. "Bruised but unbloodied," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think. What about you?"

Straker's hand moved from his face to his back; he tried an experimental stretch, winced again and aborted the attempt. "The Boston Marathon isn't in my future for awhile, but I'll live."

"Maybe." They sat quietly, taking stock of themselves for several seconds, then Freeman took a deep breath and heaved himself toward the front glass. The snow was still coming down, thicker than before, muting but unable to dispel the red-and-yellow hot flames of the third mobile, cloaking the smoldering second one. "Oh, my...." Freeman murmured, horror stricken at the sight.

Straker caught the tone and struggled upward as well, albeit more laboriously, using the bolted-down seats as a brace. He reached the front and slumped heavily against Freeman, knees weakening at the destruction, naturally pale skin draining even further. "The crews," he whispered, swallowing hard. "Jocko. ... Paul."

"They couldn't have survived," Freeman groaned, clamping the Commander's arm convulsively. "Not a single chance."

Azure eyes froze over, growing more arctic than the glacier upon which they sat. Stiffly, he turned from his lost team to the alien ship, visible on their left from this mobile's vantage. "Anything from the Ufo?" he asked hollowly.

Freeman shook himself physically out of the paralysis of shock, his brown head turning to follow the line of sight. "Hard to tell with all the blowing snow," he managed after two tries. "But I don't see any movement. It was definitely damaged by our assault." He sighed, gaze irresistibly drawn back to the flames on the edge of the snowfield. "We'll be hard put to retrieve the bodies if this storm keeps up. It'll bury the entire site."

A muscle leaped in Straker's damaged jaw, the only conspicuous indication that the words had struck home. But there were other signs to one who knew where to look, subtle ones. The good shoulders sagged slightly inward under the light blue parka, as though carrying a new burden, lines marring the smooth face around the eyes and mouth. Straker's empty gaze shifted briefly toward the flames, then determinedly away, locking on the alien ship. "They're out of it, Alec. But we still have a job to do."

Freeman's brown eyes opened wide, mouth describing an 'O' of astonishment. "I don't believe you. We've just lost four men -- four friends -- and all you say is that we have a bloody job to do?"

Thin lips compressed, suppressing the anger in his voice but not his gaze. "What do you suggest, Alec? I'm not God -- there isn't anything I can do to bring those people back."

"You could be a little less cold blooded about it," Freeman snapped, face flushed and still watching the smoke from Mobile zeta. "We've both known Jocko Duval for over five years. Peg was retiring to office duty next week; she and her husband were going to start a family. And Paul...." He stopped, quick glance catching the pain that spasmed Straker's face at the young pilot's mention; his temper immediately cooled. "I was rather fond of the boy too," he said more quietly, interpreting his old friend correctly. "In another couple of years he might have had my spot.

Straker swallowed, again schooling his face into the emotionless mask that had become a part of him. "He won't have it now, and we still have work to do."

Distress returned the anger to Freeman's hawk-like features, though less strongly, cloaked now in sadness. "Blast it all, Ed, is it going to kill you to admit that boy meant something to you? That Jocko, Peg, Ali -- they counted as something past a statistic?"

Tenuous control holding, Straker at last met his old friend's accusing gaze. "I've known Jocko as long as you have, Alec," he began, using a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at the blood on his face. "Paul--" The name caught and Straker bowed his head, his voice growing so taut that Freeman touched his arm, withdrawing almost at once.

"He's the one that really hurts, isn't he," the Brit suggested carefully. "He was too close to becoming a friend, rather more than just a subordinate."

The blond head came back up, chin set defensively. "SHADO isn't a social club. I know what you want me to say, Alec -- that if I hadn't been so bullhead about coming ahead without air support, Paul-- ... all of them ... would still be alive."

Freeman managed to look even more astonished, not an easy feat when one is reeling from one shock after the next. "That wasn't what I was thinking at all. That was a command decision, and for what it's worth, I agree. This could be our one shot at learning about alien technology -- our best chance at ending the war."

"The war is over for them now," Straker pounded home, pressing the bloody kerchief to his scalp. "It goes on for us -- and the rest of the planet."

"The duty to the living," Freeman quoted, withdrawing from that driven gaze.

"The living being us, our friends, and the rest of planet Earth." Point made if unsatisfactorily, the American turned from Freeman until he was facing the window. "I'm not going to stand here talking about those we lost, Alec. We're in Greenland for a reason -- so were they. I still want to get inside that Ufo. And if the alien happens to cross our sights...." He clenched his free fist, frozen gaze fixed on the unmoving shadow of the UFO. He didn't need to finish, the bare hint of a wolfish grimace was more than eloquent.

Alec filled his chest slowly, drooping shoulders coming up with an effort. "So, what do we do now? This mobile isn't going anywhere, at least, not unless we can tip her rightside. In this position we can't even use the cannon."

"Better check our options." Straker roamed the small compartment tensely, taking in the array of instruments and equipment in a sweep. "Power?"

Freeman glanced down to the dark gauges under his hand. He flipped a switch and one of them flickered weakly. "Fuel cells showing enabled, but we're not getting distribution. Wiring must be down."

"There's not much smoke. That's a good sign; we might have only lost individual circuits instead of the whole sheath." The blond stared thoughtfully to his right at the roof of the vehicle. "We're tipped at about a forty degree angle; port treads look to be completely clear of the snow."

"Which means that even if we could apply power, we might succeed in doing nothing more than falling over completely." Freeman sighed. "And we haven't even mentioned the fact that we're gawking right down the throat of a probably functional alien ship not one hundred meters away."

Straker wandered to the front of the vehicle and peered at the world through the plate glass front; the more heavily blowing snow now obscured all but the faintest shadow of their enemy and the destroyed mobiles. "Using human bodies means they have human limitations -- the storm may be blocking their vision as thoroughly as ours. We'd better take advantage of it while we can."

"For what it's worth." The words were glum though Freeman dredged up a bleak smile for his old friend. "All right, Commander, where do we start?"

The alien ship stood tantalizingly near; Straker watched it longingly then visibly caught himself. "We'd better start defensively. I'll check out gamma for damage, starting with the treads. If they're buckled, we're stuck no matter what we do. Did I see a winch on our equipment manifest?"

"You did, indeed. In the starboard exterior storage ... which is presently being leaned upon by two tons of mobile."

"Blast." Straker punched his thigh with his fist. "What about zeta's?"

Freeman straightened, a spark of interest easing his craggy features at last. "Yes. A winch is standard equipment. And if we can afix a cable to the rockface ..."

"... we should be able to right the mobile," Straker finished with a pleased nod. "Okay, Alec, you retrieve the winch from zeta. While you're there, look around for anything else we can use. I'll begin with the treads; if they check out, I'll get started on the power distribution."

Feeling a bit more cheerful with a goal in mind, they preceded to fortify themselves against the bitter cold without. Parkas were zipped, hats and heavy wool gloves were donned, then the two poised at the topside entrance to their vehicle. "The wind is whipping up the snow pretty heavily, Alec," Straker cautioned, handing across one of SHADO's custom designed G-57 assault rifles, then picking another for himself. "If you can't maintain visual contact, turn back. We can't risk you getting lost in a whiteout."

"Don't worry," the other man returned fervently, checking the load before slinging the rifle over his shoulder. "You'll see me bouncing back like a skirt on a hula dancer."

The hatch was cracked and the two shivered in the blast of arctic cold; they easily scaled the ladder, climbing down the port side of the 'cat, finally leaping from the highside into the knee-deep snow below. From where they crouched they had a clear view of their mobile's positioning; the right caterpillar tread was in a type of depression blown out of the ice by the alien blast, the angle too awkward for it to get any traction; the left hung high in the air. "The cliffside is only twenty or thirty feet away," Straker yelled over the wind. "Looks pretty solid. If we can anchor a piton deep enough, we should get the leverage we need to tip her up."

Freeman calculated angles and distances, cocking his head reflectively. "Not possible," he pronounced at last. "See how far the weight is off- center? That's going to require the piton be secured right there." He pointed at a spot describing a flat vertical drop of some twenty-five feet. "We can't climb that wall any closer than over ... there."

Though the ski mask hid his features, the American's body went still, his eyes narrowing in concentration. A twenty-knot gust nearly knocked him off his feet; he caught Freeman's arm to balance himself, turning slightly to face his friend. "During the war the Mongolians were short on arms; toward the end they started to make their own projectile weapons with nothing but gunpowder and handmade barrels."

"Projectile weapons we've got," Freeman said, stamping his feet. "Rifles, handguns, grenade launch--" He stopped, jerking his head at his commander. "The grenade launcher! We can strip the grenades for powder, and use the barrel to fire the pitons with a cable attached! With what we have, we'll be able to generate enough explosive power to put a piton through that cliff! It'll need some modifications, but nothing I can't handle."

Straker slapped his arm. "Good. Provided we can get a winch to use with it."

"Let's see what I can retrieve from zeta," Freeman remarked practically, moving off. It was hard work covering the hundred or so meters back to the unburning mobile -- it was about equidistant to the alien ship -- and its shape was growing indistinct as snow began to drift against the metal skin. The still burning delta was clearly visible, however; steam rose from it in a cloud, mingling with the black smoke of the petrol based fuel. Freeman's footsteps made loud crunching noises in the snow, eaten up almost immediately by the heavy air. The wind was a biting, howling enemy as deadly as any extraterrestrial, and just as implacable. Freeman kept his head down and trudged on.

From afar Mobile zeta didn't look to be too badly damaged; parts of its silvery form still reflected dully, emblazoned SHADO logo clear. Alec had covered nearly one-half the distance before the actual devastation became evident. The most obvious manifestation of damage from that distance was the windscreen, exploded inward as smeared teardrops. Closer yet and the man could look in to the charred interior of the craft -- it was as perfectly gutted as if by a blowtorch, such analogy being not too far afield.

"Oh, my--" The words were choked out of Alec Freeman when he was no more than several feet away and about to climb in through the gaping windscreen. A figure sat still upright in the battered command chair; it was blackened and leathery and still bore the vague configurations of what had once been a man.

Skin tinting as green as any alien'sf, Freeman closed his eyes, adams apple bobbing rapidly. "Paul," he whispered though he could have had no way of telling which crewmember he could be looking at.

He gulped and forced his eyes open, sliding his gaze past that grisly remnant to the interior of the craft. The heat had been an explosive burst, disintegrating plastic and cloth on contact. The shell of the craft, however, was titanium steel plate; this was scorched but not melted through. There could be little inside of use, however, so Freeman circled the craft to the tool locker in its side, breathing his relief when the body was out of sight. It was the work of several minutes to gain access, requiring that he use every iota of weight and strength to force the warped door off its hinges. The interior was relatively undamaged; he extracted a moderately sized winch and extra cable, hooking them both to a stout leather belt and strapping it around his waist. That accomplished, he again skirted the hulk, leaving its uncertain shelter to begin his journey back to mobile gamma, talking to himself for the mere sake of hearing a human voice in the midst of such waste.

"At least we won't be standing on our heads," he muttered, patting the winch. "And if the alien gives us a chance to right ourselves, we'll blow it right off the planet" Nervous eyes shifted in each direction at the self-reminder that danger still lurked. To the left the field of white was unbroken save by the uptilted mobile, with the previously remarked upon rocks perhaps ten meters beyond. Straight ahead the U.F.O. remained a dim blur against slate colored glacial ice. The right was no more encouraging with jagged rocks poking through the snow like skeletal fingers, forming the extent of the shallow round valley and backframing the embered remains of mobile delta. Brown eyes swept from the horizon to the fore, narrowing at a slightly discolored lump only yards away. Curious, he moved closer, starting when the shape resolve into that of a man, the discoloration into a thatch of dark hair. Fighting hope and pending disappointment, he hurried closer, dropping to his knees beside the still form and turning it over.

"Paul?" he asked, brushing snow from the young man's face with his glove. "You with us, lad?" There was no response, no evidence of life in the gray- white face. Freeman shook his head sadly, laying one hand on the charred jacket front in a gesture of farewell. "You were a good man, Paul; too bloody good to go out like this." The chest under his hand contracted fractionally, and he stiffened, articulate eyebrows climbing into his hairline. With shaking hands he pulled off one glove and pressed it against the young man's exposed throat; something throbbed under his fingertips, uneven but there. Face lighting, Freeman raised both head and voice in a bellow that penetrated the absorbing blanket of white like a silver knife. "Ed? Commander!"

Straker had spent the intervening time crawling across and under the trapped tractor, paying particular attention to the treads themselves. To his relief he found he'd found them basically undamaged; most of the alien energy burst had expended itself on the iron-tough ice, some of it transmitting into the undercarriage and the wiring beyond. Repairs might be time consuming, but were not beyond their present capability. At Freeman's yell he jerked his head out of the lowermost inspection panel, alarm widening his large blue eyes. "Alec?" he questioned, struggling out from under the mobile. He covered the distance to the brown jacketed figure at a dead run -- or as close as he could come in knee-high snow -- coming in range fully two minutes later, panting for breath in the icy air.

"Alec," he called, glance involuntarily traveling as he passed to the burned out mobile and the charred remains inside. He shuddered and continued his desperate run until he'd reached Alec Freeman, who was kneeling over something concealed from his view. "Are you all--?" Freeman shifted his weight backwards, giving him visual access, and Straker stopped, every muscle going tense. "Paul?" he gasped disbelievingly, dropping to his knees. Eyes drifted to the dark burn marks on the once white jacket then to the slack features. "Alec, is he--?"

Freeman slapped his back happily. "He's alive, Ed, but not for long if we don't get him to shelter. It's going to take us both to do that."

Straker nodded his understanding; this time his emotionless mask was more difficult to maintain. He expelled a breath and gave up, letting the sloppy smile that threatened to break through have its way. "Then why're you sitting there grinning like an ape?" he demanded, wrapping both arms around the injured man's legs. "Let's go." Freeman secured a hold under Foster's shoulders and together they struggled to haul 175 pounds of dead weight back to gamma. The biting wind brought frozen tears to their eyes, obscuring vision, while drifting snow made walking difficult even without their burden. The storm was at once asset and drawback for the humans. Though they had trouble negotiating their way, it also -- theoretically, at least -- shielded them from enemy view, though both still felt a crawling sensation between their shoulder blades, the knowledge that altered eyes could even then be taking aim on them with deadly accuracy.

With the mobile on its side and the side access blocked, the upper turret hatch was the solitary entrance, and managing with Foster in tow was a nightmare, accomplished only in stages. Finally, however, they'd managed to lower the mercifully unconscious figure into the shelter of the craft, before slumping exhausted on his either side.

"Is he alive?" Alec Freeman asked, whipping off his ski mask and using it to wipe his streaming face. "Hate to think we went through all that for nothing." The words were flip but there was an underlying hunger there, the craving of a man to snatch even partial victory from despair.

In answer, Straker pulled off his gloves and pressed his fingers against the pilot's throat, frowning. "He's alive. Out cold, though." He checked the young man's pupils, then laid his palm flat against Foster's forehead, frowning. "Probably concussion from the blast and shock. Nothing much we can do about that."

"Better at least see if anything's broken and fight shock," Freeman suggested, stretching his legs straight out in front of him. "In this climate, that could be the real killer."

Straker removed his own ski mask and gloves, stuffing the former in a pocket and tossing the latter carelessly aside. "Can you get any power to the heaters from the batteries?"

Taking another look at Foster's white face, Freeman used the American's shoulder to push himself erect. He braced himself between wall and seats to stagger wearily to the glass pane, pausing to glance out into the snow. "No movement from the Ufo," he reported with real relief. "At least, nothing yet." He next turned his attention to the control board, pressing a button and scowling at the results. "One of the batteries dead; the other one is still holding a partial charge. It won't last long if we use it for heat, and if they're both dead, we won't be able to get the engines started".

Straker listened impassively, nimble fingers prodding the still deeply unconscious Foster for injury. "We'll risk a few minutes worth on the blowers, but make sure the lights stay off; that alien probably thinks we're dead or he'd've been here to finish the job. We can hood the torches and use them instead."

"Right." Freeman pressed another button; rather than the low hum of the blowers, there was a flash from the console, then nothing. He sighed and palmed it off, then bent, retrieving a flashlight from under the seat. "Looks like we do without until I can trace that short. Sounded like it was in the main circuit board just fore of the emergency breakers."

Straker shrugged and lifted Foster's arm, examining the bruising peeking out from under one white sleeve. "Then we do without," he said practically. "We'll worry about it after the engines and weapons are back online."

"Right." Freeman picked his way across the cabin, stepping over both men, pausing briefly to clap Straker on the back. "Good to have one of them back, isn't it? How is he?"

"Better than we thought twenty minutes ago." Light danced briefly in the azure eyes then was gone, Straker's voice reporting abstractedly as his practical mind turned toward the logistics of their situation. "Looks like his heavy clothing absorbed most of the flame. Broken arm is the worst of it; painful but nothing a man doesn't survive under normal circumstances."

The grunted reply was an odd mixture of satisfaction and skepticism. "Normal circumstances," Alec emphasized, opening a panel in the tilted ceiling. "Well, I'd feel better if he'd wake up, anyway."

"He will." Back on balance, Ed Straker's shoulders came up, the extra burden they'd been carrying dropping away at this unexpected grace. "In the meantime, our job hasn't changed. We still have a Ufo to deal with."

They tied a crude splint to the boy's broken arm, then turned full attention to the multi-colored spaghetti strands of wiring, located behind panels in the roof. Tracing lines and testing circuits was at best difficult by flashlight, but the work progressed steadily and in total silence. The two were well-familiar with each other's methods and, after twenty years' association, coordinated on near telepathic levels, something the other SHADO employees, including Foster, had been heard to remark upon with considerable awe.

Three-quarters of an hour later, Freeman unbent from his crouch under the steering column and craned his neck to see Straker, who was squatting comfortably in the rear with a printed circuit in one hand. "Grenade launcher is modified; all we have to do is point and shoot ... and pray it doesn't explode in our faces." He laughed, quietly and without humor. "I may not be Mongolian, but I did the best I could. No guarantees I won't lose an arm on firing." He jabbed at a cramp in his back. "Weapons center enabled yet?"

Straker shrugged one handedly, a crease in his forehead betraying the depth of that iron concentration. "Almost. If I can get the Jalan module working, I should be able to reroute some of the power flow to the weaponry." He glanced over his shoulder, meeting his friend's questioning gaze. "I want full firepower before we resettle the mobile. My instincts are telling me we'll need it."

"No argument here." The Welshman shivered and rubbed his hands vigorously together. "Don't forget the heat," he added, pulling up his discarded hood over his wavy hair. "Paul isn't the only one who could use a bit right now."

One long fingered hand waved that away impatiently. "Low priority. Cannons first, then mobility. It won't do us any good telling the alien we're here if we can't defend ourselves."

"We might not have to." Freeman's jaw sagged, eyes locked on something beyond the glass windows. "Something is moving out there, Ed. And it's coming our way."

"Alien?"

"Yes."

Straker made a dive for the rifles, abandoned against the wall. He thought a moment, then shimmied up the escape ladder and jammed one through the spokes of the hatch access; the other he placed on the floor just under the front console, within Freeman's easy reach. "Play 'possum, Alec. It's our only chance. If it thinks we're dead it might not bother finishing us off."

Both men dropped to shelter, their heads jerking back around at a low sound from behind. "It's Paul," Freeman growled under his breath. "He's waking up."

"He picked a lousy time to do it." Straker crabbed backward, taking Foster's chin in his hand. "Paul," he hailed in a low, intense voice. "Colonel Foster, listen to me. All our lives depend on your keeping quiet." Only semi-conscious, Foster tossed his head, muttering something unintelligible. Straker cast an anxious look toward the front window, and bent closer until his lips were only inches from the younger man's ear. "Paul...." He stopped, Freeman's insistent hiss giving warning that there was no more time! Giving up the attempt, he turned Foster's face against his chest, locking him in place with an arm across his shoulders. He then slumped forward bonelessly, draping himself across the feably twitching body; to an outside observer it would look as though both men had been thrown into a heap when the vehicle was hit.

There was little to be heard through the steel plates for long, tense minutes, until their straining ears detected a light tapping on the glass. It ceased, and they could follow the progress of the intruder by the crunch of boots in crusted snow; there was a creaking sound from near the top of the vehicle, then the rattle of the hatch being violently rocked back and forth. The rifle clattered against the inner hull, slipped, then caught, defying alien attempts at entry.

Without moving, Straker tightened his muscles, permitting no reaction from either himself or the injured Foster. Straker's eyes were open, dilated to black by the gloom and fixed on the shadows; his respiration was a harsh rasp, muffled desperately against Foster's hair. Finally, the alien's testing ceased, replaced once more by the faint sounds of the creature moving off.

Alec's relieved gasp was audible. "Thought we were out of it for sure." He poked his head up cautiously to peek out the glass. "It's headed back toward its own ship. We got a break on that one."

Straker heaved a shuddering sigh and relaxed the tense hold he was maintaining on Foster. He raised his head and looked down into see blurry blue eyes. "What's going on?" Foster asked, keeping his voice low.

Straker carefully pushed himself into a sitting position, casting an involuntary glance over his shoulder before turning to study the young pilot analytically by the fading outside light, appraising him much as one would any resource. The exam was brief and piercing, Straker relaxing a long moment later, apparently satisfied by the lucidity in the return gaze even though dulled as the pain-muting effect of initial shock was wearing off. "How are you feeling?" he asked, avoiding the question for the moment.

Foster blinked at him. He risked a glance at his immobilized right arm, his left hand moving to his temple. "I'll make it," he murmured at last, squeezing his eyes shut. "What did happen?"

Keeping carefully low and out of range of any unwelcome observer, Alec Freeman moved closer, kneeling by the supine man and offering him a wide smile. "Good to see you awake at last. We spent a bad time there thinking we'd lost you."

Straker was more reserved, emotional armor now fully back into place. "Bit of trouble we're in, Paul."

Brown eyes widened. "A bit of trouble?" Freeman echoed incredulously. "Anyone ever tell you what a lovely talent for understatement you've got, Ed?"

Straker ignored him. "In a nutshell, Colonel, we're in a tipped and unpowered mobile not one hundred meters from a downed Ufo--"

"The Ufo!" Eyes flying wide with alarm, Foster started up; he was no more than halfway before his face lost every trace of color and he sagged; expecting this, Freeman grabbed his shoulder, eased him back.

"Take it easy, lad," the Welshman admonished. "You're not one hundred percent yet."

Straker anchored the younger man with a hand placed flat on his chest. "We're a-okay for the moment, Colonel. The alien thinks we were all killed in the fight and hasn't bothered with us since."

"Not yet," Freeman muttered but only to himself. Louder, "Do you remember what happened at all?"

Sweat beaded Foster's forehead, matting his hair, a frown drawing his brows together. "I ... remember.... Wasn't communications cut off?"

Straker nodded. "The solar storm cut off radio contact first, then the blizzard blocked visuals from SID and the spysats." Still resting on Foster's chest, the fingers of his left hand curled slowly into a fist. "It's going to be several hours before we can expect assistance from either SkyDiver or SHADO Rescue."

"What are we going to do, sir?" Foster asked, watching him intently.

In what was a singular act of will, Straker opened his fingers one by one until they again lay flat. His smile was resolute if his eyes frosty. "We're going to survive, Colonel."

Freeman tipped his head, just as firm. "You, however, are going to lie still. You took a pretty rough knock around in that explosion. In case you haven't noticed, you've been injured."

Foster swallowed, returned memory living in his boyish features. "Jocko?" he asked hesitantly. "Captain Chapman?" Foster received his answer in their averted gazes. He clamped his broken arm clumsily to his chest, shuddering in the sodden silence. "I'm sorry, sir. ... Is there only one alien?"

Features closed once more, Ed Straker shrugged. "That's all we've seen so far. Get some rest, Paul. Alec and I are going to see what we can do about getting this mobile combat worthy. While we're doing that, we've got some plans to make."

***