DAY THREE: MID AFTERNOON

After the drama of the Visitor showdown things settled into the familiar routine of drive, drive, drive. Angie was happy not to be stuffed in the back of the van anymore, but it seemed like they’d never actually get where Farber and Tyler meant to end up. She checked the clock in the dashboard for the thousandth time, the odometer for the millionth.

“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?” she accused her passengers suddenly. Ham smirked at her from the passenger seat.

“That’s right. Go ahead and say it.”

“How much farther?!”

Guffaws from the rear of the van. “Okay bro, I owe you that twenty. I really thought she’d make it.”

Angie shook her head in disgust. Juvenile mercenaries, talk about an oxymoron.

“Take that dirt road up there on the left,” Ham directed.

She found it with a little difficulty, the dirt track being mostly shielded from the main road, and stopped in a clearing when Ham indicated “Park it here.” He jumped out of the passenger seat.

“Okay, sit tight. I’ll be back in an hour.” With no further explanation he slammed the door and headed off into the brush.

Angie was startled by a canteen suddenly thrust forward between the seats. It was almost possible to forget someone else was in back. If Ham Tyler was spare in his conversation, his partner Chris Farber was positively sphinx-like.

“Thanks.” After she drank she handed it back again, but he’d opened the side door of the van and climbed out, and was now stretching and groaning. She’d been miserable back there, and he was twice her size, up down and sideways.

“Not exactly built for comfort,” Angie observed as she also got out to stretch her legs and back. “Or speed.” Considering the quantity of arms and ammunition and other “equipment” yet unrevealed, she was frankly amazed it could move at all. She still didn’t understand how she kept from rolling it over or blowing it up during her bout of stunt driving.

Chris laughed. “You made it move right quick back there.”

“Panic is a powerful motivator.” She paused and considered how far she’d traveled in just a week, and added, “For a lot of things.”

The big man’s smile softened a little. “You’re doing pretty good for a rookie.”

“Every refugee is a rookie,” she observed. Farber looked away as if he were seeing something he shouldn’t, then went around the van to pop the hood. Angie knew she probably shouldn’t ask and also knew she was breaking her own rule about asking questions, but something had been poking in her mind since last night. She walked over to where Farber was "deeply" involved in checking the oil and other distractions from the moment.

“I get the feeling I remind you guys of somebody.”

He was going to tell her no, or mind your business, but thought better of it. He replaced the dipstick, and looked her in the eye as he wiped his hands on his shirt.

“Lemme tell you… you remind us of everybody.”

Immersion with these two and the unavoidable osmosis of the past few days relieved her of the need for details. “Ah. There must be lots of ‘everybody’ where you’ve been.” Everybody surviving at the edges of Tyler’s and Farber’s peripheral vision as they arranged whatever they were paid to arrange to disrupt whatever needed disrupting, everybody left behind to pick up the pieces (or get blown into them). Everybody passing from normal life to the foreign landscape of chaos, everybody they couldn’t afford to notice even as they couldn’t keep from noticing. Angie figured there had to be something that registered at some time, flashes of something they were able to disregard or store in a black box in their head for later, when it could be washed away by whatever they drank or screwed or smoked. You live through it, Ham told her that morning, or you don’t. Sit still, be quiet, and breathe. How they managed that, she couldn’t imagine. Suddenly it was Angie who felt like a voyeur.

“You’re doing pretty good too,” she told him. “In case ‘everybody’ ever asks.” She left him to finish checking things under the hood, and stretched out in the shade to wait for Tyler’s return. She used to have friends like those two seemed to be, more than the sum of their parts. One or two, anyway. Part of the ‘everybody’ who hadn’t lived through it, while she had. What a fucking crapshoot.

A boot toe nudged her awake. “Up and at ‘em, Angel. We’ll be where we’re going in an hour, tops.”

She shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun and saw Tyler standing over her, loaded down with yet more stuff. Cameras, it looked like, bandoliers of film, a map case, a knapsack full of other stuff. He noticed her noticing, and explained, "Can't just show up and say 'howdy'. We're gonna do a little surveillance first, a little osmosis before we immerse if you get my drift. Reno set us up a station near the resistance hideout."

DAY THREE: 10 PM

Funny how a full moon could show up on exactly the wrong night.

“I thought you’d run off.”

Ham sat down a step or two above Angie where she’d taken refuge after the preliminary “meeting”. She’d witnessed the non-capture of Chris and Ham by the two hotshot wannabes, a Mexican and some guy who looked more like a fish out of water than she did. She’d been unimpressed by that self-righteous prick Mike Donovan, whose “introduction” of Tyler to his cohorts went on and on in multiple syllables and hyperbole. She’d managed not to notice the irony that she felt more comfortable with Tyler and Farber than these “regular people”, edging a little closer to her two companions as various questions and assumptions were voiced by an assortment of people who looked a lot like her (snatched from a normal life and thrust into an action comic) but who somehow put her on edge. Of course it was assumed she was a road dividend, either against her will or because of her own willingness to screw whoever looked useful.

The initial circus had finally been cut short when Donovan asked Angie, “So what’s an apparently nice girl like you see in a guy like this?”

She’d stepped up and informed him tersely, “He doesn’t talk too much.”

So much for instant fellowship.

Dr. Julie Parrish and her colleague Robert Maxwell had suggested a more substantive discussion, after the newcomers had had a chance to rest and eat. Tyler had dismissed the notion of rest, but Angie had welcomed the offer of food.

“Some people run on adrenalin and testosterone,” she’d commented with a sharp look at Tyler, “but wimps like me need a little nourishment, thanks.” Ham tipped an indulgent (hell, patronizing) nod, and Chris just went along. During the brief meal, the planned mission at the latest big press event celebrating the opening of the new "chemical plant" (aka food processing center) was mentioned.

“So why you wasting time trying to forge passes?” Angie wanted to know. "You're lucky you got away with it the first time."

”Wasting time? How else are we going to get in?” Robert wanted to know, and Julie’s expression suggested agreement.

“Well first of all, the first thing they’re gonna look for is forgery. That means their pass readers will be hard coded for narrow parameters.”

Julie and Robert exchanged a look. “What did you do before you met up with these two?” Julie asked, carefully avoiding the value judgments Mike’s attitude had been screaming earlier.

“IT at Boston Public Library.”

The two scientists were silent for a moment, and even Donovan looked subdued. “But Boston’s,” he began.

Tyler injected in a low voice, “She knows, Gooder.”

Angie ignored them both. “What I mean is that the best way to get around the Visitor system is to breach it at the weakest point, at the applications level.”

“Which means?” Maxwell inquired.

“Long story short? Persuading it to expand its horizons regarding what is defined as a pass. In simple terms, if a pass includes a photo 1 by 1 inch, rewrite the parameters to accept 5 by 5 inches. Like that.”

“Can you hack into the Visitor systems and reprogram them? And how do you know how they work?”

Angie shook her head. “I can’t program worth shit. But I can weasel with app codes like god’s gift. And to answer the other question, any occupying force needs to be able to link with their target’s systems in order to take effective control, so bridge technologies would be the primary focus on the ground. For practicality's sake their own home-based stuff would be limited to their ship systems, especially when they’ve come this far. Anyway, my theory is that code writers’ egos are consistent throughout the universe: they all believe they’re so brilliant that external corruption is impossible. So the security is token, and limited to very obvious areas, like programming. And that's probably only so nobody will mess with their 'perfect' creation! So anyway, all you have to do is rewrite the app parameters, and almost anything you create that looks remotely like one of their passes will skate right through their scanners.”

Donovan wasn’t convinced. “How do you know so much about what the Visitors would have to do to conquer us?”

Patience, Angie reminded herself. “The prerequisites of conquest have been recorded for thousands of years, you just have to read them.” It all worked together, she’d learned, history, science, technology and even military logistics. There wasn’t anything in life you couldn’t find if the library was big enough.

“But you’re talking about Earth history.”

Now Angie sat back with a sidelong glance at Tyler and Farber, who were already (almost) smiling in anticipation of her reply. After just three days Tyler and his partner knew her better than anyone left alive. Though she hadn't noticed it, Tyler had been watching Angie with some interest as she became more comfortable and spoke a little more freely. Found her element, he thought, or something close to it. He was willing to admit he was glad to see it, glad to know there'd be some useful purpose for having brought her in. From time to time he'd encountered women who got his attention enough to be a distraction, but this was different. No worries of going soft, though he couldn't pinpoint exactly why. Maybe it was that she understood quiet and clarity like he did, knew the value of observation over inquiry. Those kinds of people -- rare, rare -- didn't worry him. They were reliable... like Chris Farber. Well, maybe a little different. Tyler had never carried Farber to bed and felt his head drop with a sleepy sigh. Ham still didn't really want to know Angie's story, but he was coming to know her, and it felt safe. He was even willing to admit it felt good. It had been a very, very long time since getting to know a woman felt like anything more than a risk, or a grudging necessity.

“They’re aiming to conquer Earth," Angie reminded Donovan casually, "Mars history won’t help ‘em much.”

Robert and Julie were intrigued, if doubtful. “How do we find out what the pass parameters are?”

Angie considered this for a minute. Hacking into the system would be the best way, but that would involve skills far beyond her own and risks far beyond imagining.

“Get hold of a pass, and copy it. Just copy it, don’t worry about how to imitate it convincingly. If I can see what its makeup is, I can reasonably spec the parameters.” She paused, suddenly aware her thoughts were running ahead of certainty. “No guarantees, you understand. Just better odds than a straight forgery.”

Robert smiled at Julie and Mike. “Better odds are exactly what we need. Let’s meet again in the morning and we’ll figure out how to get a pass.” He looked meaningfully at Mike.

Suddenly Angie realized that Tyler hadn’t said a word. That Farber was silent was no surprise. She looked at Ham, since he was at least familiar with the mechanics of rebellion and subterfuge.

“Works for me,” he said simply.

Now, on the steps in the moonlight, Angie didn’t bother looking back at Tyler. “Run off? Just tell me which way, and I’m gone.”

“Maybe you should stick around for that meeting tomorrow.”

She snorted. “Maybe I should get the fuck outta Dodge before they find out I made promises I can’t keep.” It was getting easier to speak her thoughts out loud.

“I didn’t hear any promises.”

“A mere technicality.” She stared at the moon for a few minutes. Tyler said nothing, but she knew he was still there. “You know movies?” He knew history and books, why not movies?

“Just the classics.”

Well, then. “So I keep thinking, in the back of my head, if I click my heels together three times, I’ll go home. Spiral effects, harp music, the whole nine yards. But I’ll be home after three.” A moment or two of silence. “But Kansas is so gone now.”

Tyler didn’t comment. Angie Harper was looking less like all the others all the time. Or maybe she did look like all the others, but he was getting a close enough look at what made them all different from one another.

“Now you know why I don’t say much. I talk kind of crazy, like you said.”

“Crazy is the new language, Angel. You’re just lucky you learned it early.”

A deep sigh. “I don’t think I’ll ever be lucky again. ‘Course right now I’d settle for a little more time like now, a little quiet. Not silence, just… still. You know? I mean most of these people seem okay, stuck in the middle of the weird zone like all of us, but even when they’re not talking they’re not quiet. There’s this buzz, this edginess.” She turned suddenly, and looked Tyler in the eyes. She could see them, under the full moon, deep chocolate. Still definitely unsweetened, but not as bitter as she’d first thought. “You’re quiet, Tyler. I don’t know why, after all you’ve done, but you are.”

He gave a quiet laugh, a token joke. “Stealth. Comes with the job.”

She shook her head. “Nah. Stealth, that’s deliberate. Quiet, it’s… innate. Like the song says, you can’t memorize Zen.”

“Song?”

“Nobody you’ve heard of.” She rose, and looked down at him. “I should find my bunk and maybe get to know the new compadres. Julie showed me around, but this place is a freaking rabbit warren.”

“The better to hide you in, my dear.” Fairy tales were literature, too.

She shook her head and smiled. “Shit, Tyler, you are a font of... all sorts of stuff.”

When he stood and curled a hand around that hamster-brown braid and leaned into her, her first thought was how that hard-looking mouth was anything but. Then, how there was no groping or hard grasping with manly hands, just light fingers to steady her face against his. And no tongue jamming down her throat, thank god. Not gentle, exactly… gentle was deliberate. This was… innate. And brief enough that she didn’t actually get the chance to respond, as she was still making up her mind if she should.

No protest, Ham noticed, but nothing else either. Win some, lose some. He let her go and considered her from the step above, then shrugged. “Maybe not. Back to Plan A is fine with me.”

She could tell he meant it. “Wait,” and she grabbed him by the leather lapel and pulled him back down to her. Ironically, with an insistence whose absence had so impressed her a moment ago, as if she could draw that quiet and stillness into herself from him. Ham indulged her for a second or two, then pulled back a bit.

“Easy, Angel. I’m not going anywhere.”

She was embarrassed, caught out. “Sorry.” How long had it been since she’d been kissed by someone who had nothing to prove?

He looked down at where her right hand was still clutched on his jacket as if she were afraid to let go. “No, not like that,” he worked his thumb into her fist to loosen her grip and open her hand. “Like this." He kissed her palm lightly, and closed her hand. "Easy. Stand still. Be quiet.” Then that not-hard mouth was on hers again, a little less brief than the first time. “Breathe.”

“Well okay then,” she said finally, as if something had been settled. Then in response to the nanosecond of consideration that flashed through her brain she said aloud, “Why ask why.”

His smile, the honest one she’d seen only a few times, showed in the dark. “That was a beer commercial.”

“Can’t get nothin’ past you.”

“Not much.”

“Good,” she confessed with an exhausted sigh, and dropped her forehead against his arm, “I so hate having to explain things.”

“Not to me, Angie,” when he spoke her name low and quiet it sounded more intimate than any nickname. “I got you from word one.” And as abruptly as he’d kissed her, he stepped back from her. “Okay, lights out. Tomorrow after that meeting you start lessons.”

“Huh?”

“If you’re gonna run with professionals, you’re gonna learn to shoot.”

She rolled her eyes. “I told you, Tyler, I’m no good with guns.”

“You’ll do fine,” and Angie was stunned to see him tip her a mischievous wink. "If all else fails, pretend it's a lamp."

As they walked back to the entrance of the building Ham wrapped an arm around Angie's shoulders and dropped a kiss on her head. "See you in the morning."

She looked at him in puzzlement, having expected something a little different might be happening. Not surprisingly he read her perfectly.

"Later," he promised with a smile, "I'm not going anywhere."