Disclaimer: Roswell, and its characters do not belong to me. Melinda Metz, Jason Katims and 20th Century Fox have that particular pleasure. I'm simply borrowing them until the Season 2 DVD's get released.

Tomorrow's Yet to Come

Chapter Fifteen – Let's Take a Meeting

"Yeah, I need to rent a car, please," the blond man said to the clerk at the rental agency in the airport. "I'll need it for about a week."

"I'll need to see a drivers license, credit card, and proof of insurance sir," said the clerk. "Unless you wish to pay for our insurance."

"I'll pay for the insurance," said the man. "And here is my license, and my credit card." He passed two small plastic cards across to the clerk, and waited while he typed the necessary information into the computer.

"Very well, Mr. Milton," said the clerk. "Thank you very much. Here is your card, and your license, and the keys. Your car is a red Dodge Intrepid, and it's located in the lot directly outside this door, in slot number 17."

"Thank you very much," said the man. He slid his license and credit card back into his wallet, pocketed the keys and picked up his bag. "You have a great day," he told the clerk.

"You too, Mr. Milton, enjoy your stay in New Mexico," responded the clerk.

"I will," said Mr. Milton. He turned and walked across the airport lobby. The sliding doors opened, and he was hit by a hot blast of desert air. "Damn," he said. "I forgot how hot it was here." He located the car, put his suitcase in the trunk, climbed in, and turned the air conditioner on full blast. He put the car in gear, and eased out of the parking space, and drove to the Delta terminal. He pulled up to the passenger pick up/drop off area and waited. Within seconds, the passenger door opened, and a red headed man climbed in beside him, clutching an overnight case in his hand

"Man, it's hot," he complained, as he buckled his seatbelt.

"I hear you," said Mr. Milton. He pulled out of the loading area and drove around the airport to the Southwest Airlines terminal, and repeated the procedure. A petite woman with short curly brown hair scrambled into the back seat, dragging her bag along behind her.

"Thank God you have the air conditioner on," she gasped. "I thought I was going to die out there."

"No problem," said the driver. "One more stop, and we're done." He eased the car out into the flow of airport traffic and pulled in at the US Airways terminal. The man in the passenger seat jumped out, and grabbed the suitcase that sat on the pavement next to a stunning woman with long black hair. He through the bag into the trunk, and the woman climbed into the back.

"Damn, there isn't enough moisturizer in the world to make up for the damage that air can do to my skin," she said as she rummaged through her overnight bag.

"Here, maybe this will help," said the petite brunette. She passed a bottle of moisturizer to the other woman and smiled. "Isabel, you look great with black hair. You should think about keeping it that way."

"Your both beauty queens," said the driver. "Let's just get out of here, okay?" He put the car in drive and eased back into the flow of traffic.

"Michael, will you chill with all the cloak and dagger stuff," said Maria from the back seat. "There is no way somebody managed to follow us all the way from New York, and to four different terminals in the airport.

"Yeah, well, we can't be too cautious," said Michael, changing lanes. "Whoever this guy is, he seems to know a hell of a lot more about us than we do about him."

"Yeah, but you're making me seasick back here, changing lanes so much," snapped Maria.

Michael ignored her as he deftly changed lanes again, and then eased onto the highway. He merged into the stream of traffic, and relaxed marginally.

"I don't think we were followed," he said, finally.

"I don't think so either," said Alex. I've been watching ever since you picked me up, and I think we're good. All the same, as soon as you can, we should pull off the highway, and either change the color of this car, or rent another one."

"That's not a bad idea," said Isabel from the back seat. "The convention center is about 4 exits down. There's bound to be a rental place near there."

"And a restaurant," added Maria. "I haven't eaten anything of substance since last night."

The got off at the exit for the convention center, and Michael drove around the city until he located a rental agency. He pulled over and Isabel climbed out and went in to rent another car. She came out quickly, keys in hand, and climbed into a blue Chevy Lumina. She followed Michael down the street to another car rental agency. The drove past it, and quickly transferred the luggage into the Chevy, and waited while Alex, carrying a license that identified him as Mr. Milton, returned the Intrepid.

"This cloak and dagger stuff really sucks," said Maria later over a plate of spaghetti. "Mmm, this is good, but no where near as good as yours, Isabel."

"Thanks, Maria," Isabel said, glad for the chance of normalcy. "I try to use fresh herbs."

"You'll have to give me the recipe sometime," said Maria, dipping a piece of bread into some olive oil.

"Excuse me, Betty Crocker, and Julia Child. We do have other things to discuss," said Michael. "Like who the hell is stalking us. I mean, obviously, he's," he paused and Maria spoke up.

"Czechoslovakian," she said with a smile.

"Yeah," Michael continued with a grimace. "Czechoslovakian. We need to get to the chamber, and get a hold of Che'koth and figure out what's going on."

"Are we going to see anyone when we get to Roswell?" Isabel asked.

"Anyone, meaning your parents?" asked Alex. "Do you think that's a good idea, Isabel? I mean, then we'll have to explain why we're there and everything."

"No, I suppose not," agreed Isabel. "How long will it take us to get there?"

"If we drive straight through the night, we'll probably get there right around noon time. We can swing by the Valenti's and change before we head out to the pod chamber," said Michael.

The Valenti house was deserted when they pulled up in front. Alex killed the ignition, and climbed out and retrieved their bags from the trunk. Michael used his powers to unlock the door, and the four went inside. Alex flopped on the couch, and put his feet up on the coffee table, on top of an empty pizza box.

"You know," he said. "It's nice to see that some things never change. Sheriff Valenti is not, and never will be a housekeeper.

"Oh, that's disgusting!" screamed Maria, from the bedroom where she had gone to change. She walked into the living room, clad in jeans, and a green tank top holding a picture frame in her hand. She wordlessly turned the picture around to show it to Michael and Alex who burst out laughing. The picture, which she found in the Sheriff's room, was of her mother.

After everyone had showered and changed, they prepared to leave. Isabel scribbled a quick note to the Sheriff, explaining the presence, and she propped it up on the kitchen table. Thinking again, she taped it to the television screen, knowing it would definitely be seen that way. She stepped out onto the porch where Alex was waiting, carefully locking the door behind her.

"All set?" asked Alex.

"As I'll ever be," she replied. She reached over, and slid her hand into Alex's, and they walked to the car where Michael and Maria sat, waiting. They drove out to the pod chamber, passing several cars driving towards Roswell.

"Hey, wasn't that the sheriff?" asked Maria, pointing to a car that passed them in the opposite lane.

"Yeah, but that wasn't his truck," said Alex. "In fact, it kind of looked like Max's car."

"Whatever," said Michael. "It doesn't matter. If it was the sheriff, he'll get our note, let's not waste time worrying about it." He pulled off the road, and parked the car behind the giant sandstone outcropping that housed the pod chamber and the Granolith.

Together, the four climbed up the path, and Michael activated the mechanism that opened the door. It slid open, and one by one, they stepped into the cool recesses of the pod chamber.

"It sure took you long enough," said a voice. Michael spun around, his hand raised in a protective gesture. He peered into the darkened room, dropped his hand and smiled.

"Maxwell," he said. "I see you got my message."