Curt switched on the overhead light and sat down on his bed. He retrieved the half bottle of Kentucky Gent with its trademark happy colonel on the label from the floor and unscrewed the cap. His elbow bent, his mouth accepted, and the taste of life shocked his throat.
But he felt so much better with whiskey inside him. Already stronger. His mind already clearer. He could reason things out again, and after a few more swallows he decided he wasn’t going to let Cody get away with talking uppity. Hell, no! He was a man, by God! And it was high time he cut that damn kid down a few pegs.
His gaze wandered to the framed photograph on the little table next to the bed. The picture was sun-faded, many-times-creased, stained with either whiskey or coffee, he couldn’t remember. It showed a seventeen-year-old girl in a blue-striped dress, her blond hair boiling in thick curls around her shoulders and aglow with sunlight. She was smiling and making an okay sign for Curt, who’d snapped the photo with an Instamatic four days before they were married. Even then the kid had been growing inside her, Curt thought. Less than nine months later, she would be dead. Why he’d kept the kid he didn’t know, but his sister had helped him out before she got married for the third time and moved to Arizona. The kid was part of Treasure, and maybe that was why he’d decided to raise Cody himself. That was the name they’d already decided on if the kid was a boy.
He ran a finger over the sunlit hair. “It’s not right,” he said softly. “It’s not right that I got old.”
Swig by swig, the half bottle died. The burn pulsed in his gut, like the center of a volcano that demanded more sacrifices. When he realized the bottle was gone, he remembered that there was another up on the closet’s shelf. He got up, stumbled to the closet—howdy there, legs!—and reached up for it, groping amid old shirts, socks, and a couple of cowboy hats to where he’d stashed the juice. He didn’t trust the damn kid not to pour the stuff down the drain when his back was turned.
He had to stretch way up to the dusty rear of the shelf before his fingers found the familiar shape. “There y’are! Gotcha, didn’t I?” He pulled it free, dislodging a leather belt, a ragged blue shirt, and something else that fell to the floor at his feet.
Curt’s cocked grin fractured.
It was a necktie, white with red-and-blue circles all over it.
“Lordy Mercy,” Curt whispered.
At first he couldn’t place the thing. But then he thought he recalled buying it to wear when the federal safety boys had toured the copper mine and he was an assistant foreman on the railroad loading dock. Long time back, before a Mexican took his job away from him. Curt leaned over to get it, staggered, lost his balance, and fell to the floor on his side. He realized he still had the tie rack gripped in his other hand, and he carefully set the Kentucky Gent aside, righted himself, and picked up the necktie. From it wafted a stale hint of Vitalis.
He had to concentrate to steady his hand; he looped the tie around the tie rack’s dowel. It looked real pretty against the smooth wood and the silver squares. A thrill coursed through him, and he wanted Cody to see this. The boy was in the other room; Curt had heard him come in just a minute ago, when the screen door’s hinges squealed. “Cody!” he shouted, trying to get up. He finally got his legs under himself and was able to stand. He stumbled to the bedroom door. “Cody, looky here! Looky what I—”
He almost fell through the door into the front room. But Cody was not there, and the only noise was the fan’s sluggish stuttering. “Cody?” he asked, the tie trailing from the tie rack in his hand. There was no answer, and Curt rubbed the side of his head with numb fingers. He remembered having a fight with Cody. That was yesterday, wasn’t it? Oh, Lord! he thought, speared by panic. I’d better get to the bakery or Mr. Nolan’ll skin me! But he was very tired, and his legs were unsteady; he thought he might be coming down with the flu. Missing one day at the bakery wouldn’t hurt anything; those cakes, pies, and rolls would get baked whether he was there or not and, anyway, there wasn’t much business.
Cody’ll cover for me, Curt decided. Always has before. He’s a good ol’ kid.
Mighty thirsty, he thought. Mighty, mighty thirsty! And cradling the tie rack with its single ugly tie against his chest, he staggered back into the bedroom, where time folded and refolded and the happy colonel held dominion.
14
Daufin’s Desire
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, she’s changed?” Tom blinked, his senses whirling. He looked at Jessie, who was leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed and hands cupping her elbows. She stared at a place on the floor, her eyes dark and distant, her attention turned inward. “Jessie, what’s he talking about?”
“I don’t mean your daughter’s changed physically.” Matt Rhodes was trying to speak in a calm and comforting voice, but he didn’t know how successful he was being since his own insides seemed to be tangled into twitching knots. He’d pulled a chair up so that he was only a few feet from where Tom Hammond sat on the sofa, directly facing the man. Ray, just as shocked as his father at coming home and finding two air-force officers, was sitting in a chair to the left. White stripes of sunlight painted the living-room walls. “Physically, she’s the same,” Rhodes emphasized. “It’s just … well, there’s been a mental change.”
“A mental change,” Tom repeated, the words as heavy as stones.
“The object that crossed your wife’s path this morning,” Rhodes said, “might have come from anywhere in space. All we know about it is that it entered the atmosphere, caught fire, and crashed. Now: this other thing that came out of it—the black sphere—has to be found. Captain Gunniston and I have gone through the house pretty thoroughly; we’ve searched everywhere we figure she could’ve reached, but she could barely crawl when we got here, so we can’t figure how she disposed of it. Your daughter did have it when Mrs. Hammond called here around ten-thirty.”
Tom closed his eyes, because the room had started to revolve. When he opened them, the colonel was still there. “This black sphere. What is it?”
“We don’t know that, either. As I said, your daughter seemed to hear something from it that no one else could—a singing, she called it. Could’ve been an aural beacon, maybe tuned in some way to your child’s brain waves or something; like I said, we don’t know. But, Captain Gunniston and I both agree that …” He paused, trying to think of a way to say this. There was no way but to plow straight ahead. “We both agree that there’s been a transference.”
Tom just stared at him.
“A mental transference,” Rhodes said. “Your daughter … isn’t who she appears to be. She still looks like a little girl, but she’s not. Whatever’s in your den, Mr. Hammond, is not human.”
“Oh,” Tom said softly, as if the wind had been punched out of him.
“We think the transference was caused by the black sphere. Why that happened, or how, we don’t know. We’re dealing with things here that are pretty damned strange—which I guess is the understatement of the year, huh?” He smiled tensely. Tom’s expression remained blank. “There’s a reason I’m here,” the colonel continued. “When the object started coming down, and the tracking computer verified that it wasn’t a meteor or a malfunctioning satellite, I was called onto special duty. I’ve worked for over six years with the Bluebook Project—investigating UFO sightings, talking to witnesses, going to close-encounter sites all over the country. So I’ve had experience with UFO phenomena.”
Tom took his glasses off and cleaned the lenses on his shirt. It seemed very important to him that the lenses be spotless. Jessie was still lost in her thoughts, but Ray suddenly broke out of his own trance and said, “You mean … you’ve seen a real flying saucer? Like from another planet?”
“Yes, I have,” Rhodes answered without hesitation; this whole incident was going to be a new chapter in the security procedures book anyway, so he figured he might as well tell the truth. “Ninety percent of what’s reported are meteor fragments, ball lightning, pranks, that kind of thing. But the ten p
ercent is something else entirely. An ETV—extraterrestrial vehicle—crashed in Vermont three years ago. We got samples of the metal and parts of alien bodies. Another one came down in Georgia last summer—but it was a totally different design, and the pilot was a different life form from the Vermont incident.” I’m revealing national secrets to a kid with orange spikes in his hair! he realized. But Ray was paying rapt attention, while Tom had mentally checked out and was still scrubbing his glasses. “So, considering all the sightings of differently shaped ETVs, we’ve concluded that Earth is near … well, a superhighway in space. A corridor from one part of the galaxy to another, maybe. Some of the ETVs, like our cars, they break down; they get sucked into Earth’s atmosphere, and they crash.”
“Wow,” Ray whispered, his eyes huge behind his glasses.
For revealing that information without authority, Rhodes knew he could get life in prison, but the circumstances warranted explanation and—besides—nobody ever believed such stories anyway unless they’d had a personal close encounter. He returned his gaze to Tom. “My crew is cleaning up the crash site. We’ll be ready to leave around midnight. And … I’m going to have to take the creature with me.”
“She’s my daughter.” Jessie’s voice was weak, but gaining strength again. “She’s not a creature!”
Rhodes sighed; they’d already been over this several agonizing times. “We have no choice but to take the creature to Webb, and from there to a research lab in Virginia. There’s no way we can let such a thing run loose; we don’t know what its intentions are, or anything about its biology, chemistry, or—”
“Psychology,” Tom finished for him; he put his glasses back on with trembling fingers. His wits had clicked back into gear, though everything still seemed hazy and dreamlike.
“Right. That too. So far, she—I mean, it—has been nonthreatening, but you never know what might set it off.”
“Gnarly, man!” Ray said. “My sister the alien!”
“Ray!” Jessie snapped, and the boy’s grin faded. “Colonel Rhodes, we’re not going to let you take Stevie.” Her voice cracked. “She’s still our daughter.”
“Still looks like your daughter.”
“Okay! So whatever’s in her might leave! If her body’s fine, then her mind might come back—”
“Colonel!” Gunniston appeared in the doorway between the living room and den. His freckled face had paled even more, and he looked like what he was: a scared twenty-three-year-old kid in an air-force uniform. “She’s on the last volume.”
“We’ll talk about this later,” Rhodes told Jessie, and stood up. He hurried into the den, with Ray at his heels. Tom put his arm around Jessie and they followed.
But Tom stopped as if he’d been struck when he came through the door. Ray stood and stared, openmouthed.
The volumes of their encyclopedia lay all over the room. The Webster’s Dictionary, World Atlas, Roget’s Thesaurus, and other reference books lay on the floor as well, and right in the center of the disarray sat Stevie, holding the WXYZ volume of the Britannica between her hands. She sat on her haunches, perched forward like a bird. As Tom watched, his daughter opened the book and began to turn the pages at a rate of about one every two seconds.
“She’s already gone through the dictionary and the thesaurus,” Rhodes said. Call it an alien, or a creature, he reminded himself—but she looked like a little girl in blue jeans and a T-shirt, and those cold terms didn’t seem right. Her eyes were no longer lifeless; they were sparkling and intense, directed at the pages with all-consuming concentration. “It took her about thirty minutes to figure out our alphabet. After that, it was open season on your bookcase.”
“My God … this morning she could barely read,” Tom said. “I mean … she’s not even in the first grade yet!”
“That was this morning. I think she’s about ready for college by now.”
The pages continued to turn. There was a dripping noise, and Tom saw liquid soak into the carpet beneath his daughter.
“Evidently the body’s still carrying out its normal functions,” Rhodes told him. “So we know that at least one portion of a human brain’s at work, if just unconsciously.”
Jessie grasped her husband’s arm and held on tightly; she’d seen him waver, and was afraid he was about to pitch onto his face. Stevie was still totally absorbed by the book, and the turning of the pages was getting faster, becoming almost a blur.
“She’s goin’ into overdrive!” Ray said. “Man, look at that!” He stepped forward, but the colonel caught his shirt and prevented him from going any closer. “Hey, Stevie! It’s me, Ray!”
The child’s head lifted. Swiveled toward him. The eyes stared, curious and penetrating.
“Ray!” he repeated, and thumped himself on the chest.
Her head cocked. She blinked slowly. Then: “Ray,” the voice said, and she thumped her own chest. Returned to her reading.
“Well,” Rhodes observed, “maybe she’s not ready for college just yet, but she’s learning.”
Tom looked at all the books scattered about. “If … she’s really not Stevie anymore … if she’s something different, then how does she know about books?”
Jessie said, “She found them and must have figured out what they were. After she went through the alphabet, she walked around the house, examining things. A lamp seemed to fascinate her. And a mirror too—she kept trying to reach into it.” She heard herself talking and realized she was sounding detached, like Rhodes. “That is our daughter. It is.” But as she watched the encyclopedia’s pages turning, she knew that wherever Stevie was—and what made Stevie? Her mind? Her soul?—it was no longer inside the body that crouched before them, absorbing information over a puddle of urine.
The last page was reached. The volume was closed and set gently, almost reverently aside. Tom now truly knew it wasn’t Stevie; their daughter flung things instead of carefully putting them down.
The creature stood up, with a smooth and controlled motion, no longer unsteady on her feet. It was as if she’d gotten accustomed to the weight of gravity. She looked at the five people who stared back at her, her gaze carefully examining their faces. She lifted her hands and studied them, comparing their size to those on the arms of the others. Particularly intrigued by the glasses both Tom and Ray wore, she touched her own face as if she expected to find a pair there.
“She’s got the alphabet, a dictionary and thesaurus, a world atlas, and a set of encyclopedias in her head,” Rhodes said quietly. “I think she’s trying to learn as much about us as she can.” The creature watched his mouth moving and touched her own lips. “I guess this is as good a time as any, huh?” He took a step toward her, then stopped, so as not to get too close and scare her. “Your name,” he said, trying to enunciate as clearly as possible. His heart was fluttering like a caged bird. “What is your name?”
“Your name,” she answered. “What is your name?”
“Your name.” He pointed at her. “Tell us yours.” She seemed to be thinking, her eyes fixed on him. She glanced at Ray and pointed. “Ray.”
“Jeez!” the boy shouted. “An alien knows my name!”
“Hush!” Jessie almost pinched a plug out of his arm.
Rhodes nodded. “Right. That’s Ray. What’s your name?” The creature swiveled around and walked with a graceful gliding gait to the hallway. She halted, turned toward them again. “Name,” she said, and walked on into the hall.
Jessie’s heart jumped. “I think she wants us to follow.” They did. The creature was waiting in Stevie’s room. Her arm was lifted, her index finger pointing to something.
“Your name,” Rhodes repeated, not understanding. “Tell us what we can call you.”
She answered: “Dau-fin.”
And all of them saw that her finger was aimed at the picture of a dolphin on Stevie’s bulletin board.
“Double gnarly!” Ray exclaimed. “She’s Flipper!”
“Dau-fin.” It was said with the inflections of a
child. Her arm stretched up; the fingers touched the picture, moved over the aquamarine water. “Dau-fin.”
Rhodes was unsure if she actually meant the dolphin or the ocean. In any case he was certain the creature before them was much more than a dolphin in human skin: much, much more. Her eyes asked if he understood, and he nodded; her fingers lingered for a few seconds on the picture, making a gentle wavelike motion. Then her interest drifted to another picture, and Rhodes saw her flinch.
“Sting-er,” she said, like she had tasted something nasty. She touched the scorpion, drew her fingers quickly back as if afraid she might be stung.
“It’s just a picture.” Rhodes tapped it. “It’s not real.”
She studied it for a moment longer—then she removed the little colored pins that fastened the picture to the cork and looked at it closely, her finger traveling the length of the segmented tail. Finally, her hands began to work at the paper. Folding it, Rhodes realized. Making it into a different shape.
Jessie’s hand gripped Tom’s. She watched as Stevie—or Daufin, or whatever—folded the paper and folded it again, the fingers now fast and supple. It took the creature only a few seconds to produce a paper pyramid; she twirled the pyramid away, and it flew across the room and bounced against the wall.
Gunniston picked it up. It was the damnedest paper airplane he’d ever seen.
The creature faced them; there was expectation in her eyes, and a questioning, but no one knew what the question might be.
She took a step toward Jessie, who in turn retreated a pace. Ray backed against the wall.
Daufin lifted her hand, placed it to Stevie’s chest. “Yours,” she said.
Jessie knew what the creature was asking. “Yes. My daughter. Our daughter.” Her grip was about to break Tom’s fingers.
“Daugh-ter,” Daufin repeated carefully. “A fe-male offspring of hu-man be-ings.”