50
Tim was on duty, standing watch at the outer door, when his
father appeared. This didn’t surprise Tim, apart from the
fact that his father had been dead for twenty years and,
when alive, had lived several thousand miles away.
Hello, Tim, he said. He was smoking his pipe and
wearing the sweater that he had always worn. Well, not
always, but a lot.
“Dad,” he said, “what are you doing here?”
I came to see you.
“You didn’t need to do that, Dad. You didn’t need to go to
the trouble.”
I’ve been worried about you, Tim, he said. About you
and your brother.
“Why, Dad? Tom’s okay. I’m doing okay, too. We’re both
working. And we’re making good money.”
It’s not that, said his father, drawing deep on his pipe. It’s
just that, well, I don’t know how to put this, son, but are you
sure that you’re ready?
“Ready for what, Dad?”
If you have to ask that, you’re not ready, son. And what
about your brother?
“I haven’t talked to him about it,” said Tim. “I’m not even
sure what you’re talking about.”
Things are going to change around here, son, said his
father. Which team will you be on? Will you be on the
winning team? Do you have good hustle?
“I want to be on the winning team, Dad,” said Tim
eagerly. “I’d like to think I have good hustle.”
Your brother, I think he may have dropped out of the
game, said his father. Are you ready to sub for him?
“Tom?” he said, his voice rising. “What happened to
Tom?”
I can’t rightly say, said his father. One minute we were
talking and the next moment he wouldn’t speak to me. He
was listening to the opposing coach at the same time as
me. I think he got confused. He was like that when you
were kids, too. Tom always did tend to misunderstand
what I said. You won’t do that, will you?
“Where’s Tom, Dad? Tell me what happened to Tom.”
But his father was already gone, vanished into thin air. Or
maybe he was still there but right behind him, always just
behind him, just out of sight. “Dad?” he said. “Dad?”
He paced back and forth anxiously for a moment but he
couldn’t stop thinking about Tom. Tom was his older
brother, born nine minutes earlier, and he had always
looked up to him. And they had always looked out for each
other. It was almost like they weren’t a full person unless the
other one was there, that together they were two people but
that one of them taken separately wasn’t even one. Which
was what made guarding the compound door alone so
hard sometimes.
What was it his dad had said? That Tom had stopped
talking. Maybe he was just mad at Dad. Tim didn’t
understand how you could get mad at Dad, Dad was a
great guy, but Tom often had been, and sometimes
stopped talking to him. Maybe that was part of being the
older brother.
By maybe it was more than that. Maybe there was
something else wrong. He owed it to Tom to check on him.
After all, wouldn’t Tom have done the same thing for him?
And if he didn’t do it and then something turned out to be
wrong with Tom, how would he ever manage to forgive
himself?
There was only the problem of the door. He was guarding
the door. He needed someone to watch the door while he
was gone.
“Dad,” he asked, “could you do it?”
Why, sure, son, said his father. He was just lighting his
pipe. What do you want me to do?
“Take this,” said Tim, and gave him the gun. His father
couldn’t hold on to the gun, dropped it on the floor. That was
okay, Tim thought, he could pick it up later, after he’d
finished with his pipe. “If anyone comes,” he said. “Pump
them full of lead.”
His father grinned. Will do, son, he said, and gave Tim a
little wave.
Yes, sir, thought Tim as he headed down the hall in
search of Tom. His father was a good egg, that was for
certain. He was certainly understanding. Not everybody
was lucky enough to have a father like that.
He smelled his brother before he saw him, though he didn’t
know it was his brother at first. All he knew was that he
smelled blood. And that it was coming from their room.
He went into a crouch and moved in, balanced on the
balls of his feet, ready for someone to attack. But the attack
never came.
His brother was in his bed, turned on his side.
“Tom,” he said to him. “Dad said you weren’t talking to
him. Is anything wrong?”
Tom didn’t say anything.
“Tom?” he said.
Not only did he not say anything, but he didn’t even move.
Tim moved forward and touched his shoulder.
He was cold to the touch. Tim suddenly couldn’t breathe.
Tim pulled him toward him and he came all at once, and
Tim saw that his throat was cut, and that there was a knife
in his hand.
51
“Have you seen this?” asked Stevens. Krax was with him,
standing just behind.
“Seen what?” asked Markoff.
Stevens reached out and opened the vid. “It was just
broadcast,” he said. “Still fresh.” They stood there together,
watching it.
It showed Altman before a podium at a press
conference. The tickers on the bottom ran the line SCIENTIST
ACCUSES MILITARY OF COVER-UP and then ALIEN LIFE
CONFIRMED? Altman was describing the Marker and the
expedition.
“Where is this?” asked Markoff.
“Washington, D.C.,” he said.
“How the hell did he get to Washington, D.C.?” He turned
to Stevens, who in turn looked at Krax.
Krax shrugged. “Security failure,” he said. “Not my men,”
he claimed. “Leftovers from Tanner.”
. . . every evidence that what we are talking about is the
first evidence of alien life, said Altman. But this is not
something that the military should be investigating. This
is something that should be investigated by scientists
from all the sectors, a coalition of experts from all over the
world. . . .
Altman’s image disappeared, was replaced by images
of the Marker itself, taken from within the underwater
chamber.
“Where the fuck did he get those?” asked Markoff.
“I don’t know,” said Krax.
“Find out who does!”
. . . the military wants to cover it up, Altman was
claiming. They want to control the investigation so as to
use the alien technology to manufacture weapons. We
cannot let this happen. There needs to be a public inquiry
about the Marker’s use and its function.
Below him, on the ticker, were the words MICHAEL
ALTMAN: WHISTLEBLOWER OR PARANOID?
Krax had already started for the door, when Markoff
stopped him. Stevens was speaking to Markoff, whispering
quietly, both of them just far enough away that Krax couldn’t
hear anything. He watched Markoff nod, then nod again.
“Belay that,” said Markoff to Krax. “You can worry about it
when you get back. Find out what hotel Altman is staying in
and make whatever arrangements you can to book us into
the neighboring room. Handpick three additional men. I
want all of us on a plane fifteen minutes ago. We need to
stamp out this problem right now.”
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