Someone brought in cold pitas for supper around 8:30. Marley tried to snag some minitubs of hummus, but two FCT staffers were standing in front of the tray and arguing over a letter from a Buddhist monastery thanking the Eridanians for their visit.
“They didn’t go, did they?”
Marley tried to reach behind the smaller man, but he backed into her.
“How could they? They were here every day. Buncha cranks.”
“Buddhist nuns?”
She snaked an arm between them to grab a handful of tubs. Then she searched for Kevin. She tracked him down in the hotel bar, where he was gulping Shiner Bocks faster than the bartender could clear them away.
“I’ve brought some food.” She tripped over the door sill and muttered a private curse as she stumbled against the bar.
Kevin banged his mug on the counter. “What did you say?”
“You speak Arabic?” she asked, surprised.
“Shh! I can curse fluently in any number of languages, but that’s not one I recommend admitting to. Particularly as authentic as you sound.” He searched her face as though reading her DNA. “Where did you learn it?”
“From Sitti. It’s been a long time.” Marley set the containers down on the brassy bar.
“I thought your grandmother was Chinese.”
Marley shoved the containers around and refused to meet his eyes. “Sitti was my friend Fariha’s grandmother. She hardly spoke any English.”
“She taught you to curse?”
“That was Fariha’s big brother Ahmed. I used to stay with their family while my mother worked. Until 9-1-1-0-1. We watched the towers collapse. And the news. Fariha had to translate. She was only six and didn’t understand most of it, but it made her cry. Us cry. And Sitti explained that no devout Muslim would take innocent life. My mother came home early to pick me up, and I tried to make her understand, but she wouldn’t listen. I never saw Sitti again.”
“I told you, you shoulda finished that doctorate.”
“I was five!”
“Always an excuse. But switch languages, okay? The war hasn’t been over long enough.” Kevin tugged his already-wild hair. “And now we’re gonna have another one. I wish these gov’mint folks would give us time to study. They think science is like a Vegas show.” He raised his glass for another deep draught.
“What’s wrong, Kevin?”
“I’ve got information that could get somebody killed. Maybe us. Or them.” He took another swig with one hand and handed her his PDA with the other. “Tap through this slide show.”
“It looks like brains. What am I supposed to see?”
“I’ve got yours and Red’s on split screen. See? Yours is an excellent example of mad as hell.”
“Thank you. I was thinking about my son and his efforts to pitch his life down the tubes. And his father.”
“Now look at Red’s as of this week. Eridanian parts aren’t quite the same—some things in different places, some different sizes, some I haven’t identified—but you can see the similarities. They’ve got an enormous limbic system—”
“Emotional center?”
“Right. Look under this basal ganglion. If she were a human, she’d be flaming furious, and I’d be ducking.” He punched through the scans. “Makes you look like Mary Sunshine.”
A thump behind them made Kevin and Marley jump. Stephen stood at the door, clutching several liters of pop, his face as green as the bottles. Another bottle rolled on the floor against the bar. “The President has to hear about this,” Stephen whispered.
Kevin held up a hand and almost fell off the bar stool. “Whoa. Wait a minute. You can’t condemn a whole race because one of them is in a snit. Maybe they had a fight over who gets the media control.”
“I’m not condemning them, but I have to give the President any available data and warn him of possible ramifications.”
“Then you have to give him everything we’ve got. The linguists don’t think they’re violent, do they, Marley?”
She hesitated. “Dr. Scofield hasn’t finalized the wording of the report, but he doesn’t feel that their language structure shows…” A glance at Stephen’s face told her that language structures weren’t going to cut it.
Kevin grabbed his arm. “Jeez, Steve. What do you want? We’re trying to give definite answers on stuff that’ll take years to sort through. Our best evidence that they’re friendly is that they are. They cooperate with whatever we ask. Don’t throw away this chance—and possibly our lives—over paranoia.”
“We can’t make ourselves vulnerable to anybody, no matter where they’re from,” Stephen said. “The President is responsible not just for the safety of Houston and North America, but the whole world. If the Eridanians are as friendly as you say, they’ll leave quietly.”
“Will you evacuate Houston before you ask them? Do you have defenses in place?”
Marley dropped her gaze to hide a film of sudden tears. So this was how it ended, with the door slammed on visitors from the stars, like so many other doors slammed. She was surprised at how much even the best-case scenario hurt, with the Eridanians leaving quietly, never to return. The other possibilities tore her heart like a serrated knife. No rosy future with better jobs and more chances for Curtis, maybe not even the chance to grow up.
Stephen didn’t flinch. “I’m willing to listen to any case you can muster. I don’t want to make a mistake any more than you do. The future of the human race could depend on what we do.”
In the silence Marley wiped a tear off her cheek.
Stephen’s voice softened. “Maybe you could get some data together and meet me for lunch tomorrow. We could do Chinese.”
Marley tucked her head even more to hide her flushed cheeks. In the midst of disaster, a small present. She raised her head to say that tomorrow was Christmas and why didn’t he come over. The words choked off when she saw that no one was looking at her. Kevin still gripped Stephen’s arm, but tenderly; Stephen had covered Kevin’s hand with his own. The gaze between them would have melted an ice cap. Marley stepped back and turned away.
A commotion at the elevator just outside the bar grabbed her attention. At first she saw just a surging crowd of security, but she gasped in recognition when the shouts penetrated to the bar. She lurched forward.
Kevin grabbed at her sleeve. “Marley, that’s not something you run towards.”
As the guards parted, she faced her last nightmare: Curtis held between them as he raged, thrashing from side to side in handcuffs.
Something inside Marley shattered and strengthened her in the breaking. She’d listened too long to verbal attacks and suspicion. It would not happen to her son. She would not permit it. Her stumbling steps turned into a march; her shoes slapped the tile.
She saw the dangerous young man, out of control, tall and powerful as his captors. But other images overlaid the present like a kaleidoscope: Curtis at all ages, wide eyes embracing the world, ready to give, ready to join, until biology and the move to Houston twisted him into something more complex.
She halted in front of the struggling procession, stopping it cold as she glared up into the ranking officer’s eyes. Capturing his attention against his will, she demanded in a voice that silenced the lobby, “What is the meaning of this? What are you doing to my son?”
“Mom, they—”
“Quiet, Curtis.” To the guard, she said, “Explain yourself.”
The guard blinked. The others stiffened in place. “Your son was apprehended in a restricted area, heading for the aliens’ quarters.”
“And why wouldn’t he be if he were looking for me? I work with the Eridanians, sometimes in their rooms.” She shoved her badge in the man’s face, so close he had to cross his eyes to see the dancing authorization symbols.
“No one is allowed in that area, and we have orders to treat any trespassing as an act of aggression.”
“Aggression! A fifteen-year-old boy looking for his mother on Christmas Eve?” Finally she looked at Curtis.
“Mom, they stole Tina’s baby!” His eyes pleaded with her to make it all right.
“We have to take him—”
“You’ll take him nowhere. I don’t know the time in Europe; his father may still be in International Court, but we’ll have him pulled out if necessary.” Court had adjourned for the holidays and Josh had been on the beach for a week with the latest Little Ms. Understanding. He’d probably say, “Curtis who?”, but there was no point calling yourself a communications specialist if you couldn’t lie when necessary.
A hand pressed Marley’s shoulder. She flinched.
“I’m Stephen Grimsky, Special Attaché to the President. Does this concern the First Contact Project?”
The guards attempted to repeat their orders and their story. Marley interrupted. “Stephen, this is ridiculous. What harm do they imagine a child could do?” Before the guards could respond, she snapped at them, “Was he armed? Did he have anything on him that could possibly harm anyone?” She looked at Curtis again, willing him innocent.