Pursuit

Liz, Max, Maria, Michael, and Kyle didn’t expect that when they left Roswell, their lives would suddenly become perfect. They were, after all, on the run from the FBI. But they certainly didn’t think things could get much worse. They’re learning how wrong they were. The FBI has tracked them via their email accounts and is hot on the group’s trail. It can only be a matter of time before they are apprehended.

Meanwhile, in New York City, three alien Dupes are captured by the police. When the Feds are brought on to the case, the Special Unit recognizes the Dupes-and wonders why "Tess," “Michael,” and “Isabel,” are so different. Little do they know they are dealing with a case of mistaken identity. And the real Isabel has more pressing concerns, if Liz’s latest vision is to be believed…

This is the first of a two-part finale for the Roswell saga, wrapping up all the storylines from the television and book series! Read the exciting conclusion in TURNABOUT… coming soon!

From the television series developed by Jason Katims

SIMON PULSE New York London Toronto Sydney Singapore

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for diis "stripped book. “

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First Simon Pulse edition September 2003 ™ and © 2003 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation, Regency Entertainment (USA) Inc., and Monarchy Enterprises B.V All rights reserved.

SIMON PULSE An imprint of Simon amp; Schuster Children's Publishing Division 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020 All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Designed by O'Lanso Gabbidon The text of this book was set in Berkeley Book.

Printed in the United States of America 10 987654321 Library of Congress Control Number 2003100466 ISBN 0-689-85522-2 I dedicate this book to Richard and Christie Finn, who have been both friends and supporters of my professional career for over fifteen years. M.

This book is for my eldest niece, Becky Peabody Estepp. Your sense of humor helps keep me sane. M. A. M.

What Has Gone Before…

1999: September 23. Journal entry one. I'm Liz Parker, and five days ago I died. After that, things got really weird…

Liz Parker was a relatively normal teenage girl, working at her parents' alien-themed diner, the Crashdown Cafe. Then came that fateful fall day when a gunman accidentally shot Liz during an argument with another customer. A boy Liz knew from high school, Max Evans, knelt beside her and put his hand over her bullet wound, healing her completely. But when Max ran away, and Liz saw a glowing silver handprint on her stomach, she knew she had to find out the truth.

Max soon told her the truth, an unbelievable story that would pull Liz and her friends into drama, danger, romance, and an interstellar conflict. Max and his friends were aliens…

July 1947: In the desert outside Roswell, New Mexico, an alien spaceship crashed to the ground. The government soon swooped in to quarantine the site, issuing a press release that the wreckage of a flying disk had been recovered. Hours later, the press release was rescinded, and the government claimed it was actually a weather balloon.

But the government had in its possession… for a short time… material from the crash, including eight gestation pods. Those pods were later liberated from the government by the two aliens who survived the crash. Four of the pods were placed in a desert cave… along with alien technology known as the Granilith… and were watched over by the alien who came to call himself Nasedo, a Mesaliko Indian word meaning "visitor. “

The other four pods were taken to New York by the other alien, who took human form as Kal Langley. But after Langley got involved in the film industry, he attempted to become more human, and left his pod charges to gestate on their own.

Nasedo watched over the pods in Roswell, but spent much of his time hunting down and killing those who investigated the Roswell crash. In 1989, three of the pods broke open, and a trio of seemingly human six-year-old children emerged. Wandering toward the highway, two of them were found and adopted by Phillip and Diane Evans, and who named them Max and Isabel. The third child was adopted into an abusive foster family and was given the name Michael Guerin.

As the children matured, they learned they shared uncanny powers, and the strange memories of theit emergence from the pods led them to question their origins. It wasn't until their teen years that they began to discover the larger truth about themselves. And their revelation to Liz Parker of their identities started them on their path…

1999: Max, Isabel, and Michael discovered that they were part of the "Royal Four" from the warring star system of Antar. There, Max had been King Zan; Isabel had been his sister, Vilandra; Michael had been his second-in-command, Rath; and Ava had been his wife.

Ava was the occupant of the fourth pod, but she had been raised separately from the others by Nasedo. As a teen, she was reintroduced into their lives as Tess Harding. Max, Isabel, Michael, and Tess were not fully human, or fully alien. Their genetic makeup mixed elements of both, giving them special powers. Max could heal others, Isabel could "dreamwalk" into human minds, Michael could wield destructive or defensive energy, and Ava could "mindwarp" others into seeing or doing what she wanted. They all could manipulate molecular structure to some extent.

Following Max's healing of Liz, others soon found out about the existence of the alien-human hybrids among them. Liz's friend Maria DeLuca fell for the bad-boy antics of Michael, even though their relationship was rocky. Mutual friend Alex Whitman was attracted to Isabel, though she didn't return his affection. Sheriff Jim Valenti started out as a nemesis to the kids, but soon came to understand that they needed protection more than exposure, especially after Max healed Jims son, Kyle, preventing his death from a gunshot wound.

The Roswell teens would come to learn that they had many enemies. A classified government group known as the Special Unit went to great lengths to capture them especially after Nasedo killed several of its top agents. And other aliens from the Antarian system had come to Earth to kill the Royal Four; chief among them were the "Skins," who could renew their essences using human bodies, which they called "husks. “

Meanwhile, the second set of pods had been opened in New York, and the four alien teens there grew up bitter, angry, and tough. After Rath and Vilandra (calling herself "Lonnie") killed Zan, they brought Ava with them to Roswell in an attempt to broker an interstellar peace using Max as a pawn. Their gambit didn't work, however.

Following the death of Nasedo, Tess moved up her plan to work a deal with Antarian forces on her own. She manipulated Max into sleeping with her, then became pregnant with his alien child. She also mindwarped Alex into helping her, eventually killing him in the process. When she was exposed as a murderess, Tess used the Granilith to return to Antar to give Max's heir to his enemies. The reasons behind her treachery remained a mystery.

Desperate to recover his child, Max became unpredictable. He tracked down Kal Langley and forced him to help Max try to return to Antar, but they were unsuccessful. Isabel, rebelling against Max's orders that none of the aliens get further involved with humans, married the man she had been secretly dating, Jesse Ramirez. Michael grew restless under Max's unfocused leadership and attempted to take control of the group himself. And Tess eventually returned with Max's child, which had been rejected on Antar since it was fully human.

In spring 2002 everything came to a boiling point. 1 Special Unit was closing in, gathering evidence a teens. In an attempt to redeem herself, Tess blew up the nearby military base, but this caused further complications for the group. Max sent his child away so he could live safely with a human family, and the group found itself on the run from Roswell, traveling in a VW Microbus.

Max, Liz, Isabel, Michael, Maria, and Kyle now travel the country, trying to help others along the way. Max and Liz have finally married, but their happiness is tinged with hardship. They are all still pursued by the Special Unit, the Skins, and other aliens hidden among the human race. Even though they escaped Roswell, they cannot escape the forces arrayed against them…

I he storage locker's corrugated metal door had seen better days. When Quinn touched it, it rattled like a chain dragged by a ghost.

"So you lost your keys again, huh?" Rafferty asked, shaking his head as he pulled the pry bar from his tool belt and stuck it into the padlock. The lock gleamed like it was brand new.

Quinn wondered how many times the aging, spike-haired punker was going to repeat his little mantra about the keys. "Yeah, Rafe," he said tartly. "I lost my key again. Or the lock's seized up. Or maybe I just like watching a manly guy like you forcing doors open. Take your pick. So you gonna open it up or not? “

Quinn might have broken into the locker himself, without any help from the man in charge of the storage facility. But too many uncomfortable questions would have arisen if Rafferty had caught him at it.

Rafe held up his free hand, as if fending off Quinn's words. "Okayokayokay. Don't need a loada mouth outta you. “

"Likewise," Quinn said, leaning against the cinder-block wall and lighting another unfiltered cigarette. He knew he needed to keep calm. The cache of drugs and automatic weapons Mr. Conroy had stashed here would set him up for the rest of the decade. If his deal with Nasr went down by tonight, before any of Conroy's other guys realized what Quinn had done.

Mr. Conroy sure doesn't need the stuff anymore himself, Quinn thought, hoping nobody would find what was left of his former boss before he'd fled the country and was safely set up in a beachfront estate on Grand Cayman.

Rafferty's close-cropped, dyed-blond hair bristled like the quills of an angry porcupine. "Yer damn lucky I don't stand on ceremony, kid. I could always decide to enforce the 'no key, no get in' rule, ya know. “

Unimpressed, Quinn blew a cloud of smoke into the other man's face. "Yeah, Rafe. And I could always decide to tell the cops about some of the unsavory characters you're in the habit of doing business with. “

"More unsavory than you?" Rafferty said, his eyes narrowing. Quinn wondered for a moment whether he was going to raise the pry bar and try to brain him with it. Then, with a sullen scowl, the punker twisted the bar forcefully. The padlock shattered into countless tiny pieces, which rained down onto the concrete.

"Good work, Rafe," Quinn said, favoring Rafferty with a lopsided grin as he grabbed the storage locker's door handle. "You ought to consider going pro. “

Rafferty only watched in silence as Quinn pulled upward on the rust-and-graffiti-covered door.

It wouldn't budge.

"Is there another lock somewhere on this thing?" Quinn said after a second unsuccessful try at rolling the door upward.

Rafferty swore under his breath, then elbowed Quinn aside. The punker pulled upward on the door handle, his far thicker muscles straining against his mustard-splotched T-shirt. The door began slowly rolling upward, shrieking and squealing in protest all the while until it finally came to a halt, jammed maybe three feet off the ground.

Quinn made a rude gesture at the stubborn door. He'd never had this kind of trouble getting it open when he and the guys had stashed the goodies in here for Mr. Conroy. It's almost like something in there doesn't want to be found.

The punk yanked again at the door, which remained stubbornly immobile. He stopped and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Dunno if 1 really want to see what you're keeping in here, anyway. “

"Then don't look," Quinn said, getting onto his back so he could slide under the partially open door. Though he hadn't anticipated having to crawl into the storage locker, he'd come prepared with a flashlight, mainly to make sure he didn't overlook anything of value that might have been tucked into one of the storage shed's dark corners.

Rafferty started crawling in after him, shining a flashlight of his own into the darkness. "Uh-uh. This place belongs to me. If you or your boss has turned this space into something outta Silence oj the Lambs, then I wanna know about it. Before the cops show up askin' questions' Quinn thought about that for a moment. Rafferty usually could be counted on to look the other way when it came to contraband… especially when he knew that said contraband was shortly to disappear from the premises. And Quinn wasn't fool enough to stash Conroy's body here. At this moment, Mr. C's getting up dose and personal with the East River 's marine life, he thought.

"Suit yourself," Quinn said aloud. He rose to his feet once he was all the way inside the dark chamber and shined the flashlight around at the heaps of crates and boxes that lined the walls and covered much of the concrete floor.

There seemed to be a lot more crates and boxes in there than he'd remembered. Quinn realized that this might take a lot longer than he'd anticipated. Then, with a curse, he understood why.

"Hey, I don't think all of this stuff is mine," Quinn said. Hastily, he added, "I mean, Mr. Conroy's. “

In the crossed beams of the two flashlights, Quinn could see that Rafferty hadn't noticed his slip. In fact, the punker now looked somewhat guilty.

Quinn moved closer to Rafferty. The punker might have been bigger, but he was also pretty easy to intimidate. "Hey, Rafe, you been doubling up on storage spaces again? “

"I hadda move some stuff around, just for this week. I was running out of space, and I had some paying customers to please. I gotta make a living, too, you know. “

"Maybe you'd like to explain that to Mr. Conroy," Quinn said, enjoying making the punk squirm. Sure, Mr. C was dead, but Rafferty didn't know that yet.

Quinn saw Rafferty's eyes go as wide as pizza pans, even in the semidarkness. "Nothing's gone missing, man. I promise. It was just, you know, a temporary move, that's all. I just pushed your stuff farther back into the shed, behind some of these crates from that Langley outfit. “

" Langley?" Quinn said, feeling a jolt of dread. "Sounds like FBI to me. “

Rafferty emitted a dismissive chortle. " Langley 's some Hollywood guy, you dope. Actors and musicians and like that. “

Gotta stop jumping at shadows, Quinn thought, rubbing his jaw. But as he considered the stuck metal door, his suspicions rose again. If Raje really just finished moving all this stuff in here, then why all this trouble getting the damn door open? When he shone his light toward the ceiling he immediately saw the problem. One of the stacks of crates was piled so high that it interfered with the track into which the shed's upward-rolling metal door was supposed to slide.

Sticking the flashlight into the pocket of his black leather jacket, Quinn began climbing the stack of boxes. Rafferty shined his flashlight beam on him as he ascended. Once he reached the top crate, which was maybe ten feet off the concrete floor, he gave it a good hard shove. It didn't move very far.

" Hollywood, my ass," he said. He shoved the crate again, harder this time, and it scooted away from him by about a foot. The crate immediately beneath it shifted a little as well.

Suddenly, the top two crates were teetering on the edge of the stack.

"Hey! I didn't tell you to start an avalanche! “

"And Mr. Conroy didn't tell you to fill his space up with stuff that doesn't belong here," Quinn said, and shoved again before jumping clear.

The top two crates toppled over and hit the hard concrete with a resounding crash, their heavy wooden lids flying off with the force of the impact. The echoes of the collision almost drowned out Rafferty's no doubt pungent. curses as Quinn moved to the now-unobstructed door, which he opened fully to let in the daylight. Then he glanced back at one of the two smashed-open crates.

What the hell? Quinn moved toward the crates, kneeling to peer inside. What he saw reminded him of Mork amp; Mindy, his favorite sitcom. Only this wasn't a giant egg. "Mork, calling Orson," he whispered.

Ava floated blissfully. The entire universe was dark, silent, utterly peaceful.

Then came a sensation of falling, an eternally slow tumble followed by a bone-jarring impact.

And harsh, all-encompassing light.

Using her hands to shield her eyes from the brilliance, she began tentatively to survey her surroundings. She was on her back in a confined space, surrounded by gently sloping walls composed of something translucent. A thick, moist, greenish membrane enveloped over her body. Her environment felt comfortable, familiar.

But the harsh voices she heard speaking just outside those walls sounded anything but. The language was alien to her ears, yet she somehow was making herself understand it. It was almost as though she were able to glimpse directly into the minds of the speakers.

"Well, what have we here? Pod people?" said one of the voices. One of the membranous walls was abruptly torn away, allowing more light to dazzle her still-sensitive eyes.

Squinting against the glare, she saw a pair of faces: men, one in dark apparel, the other wearing something white but soiled.

"It's a girl, can't be more than ten or eleven. And in her birthday suit, too," said the white-garbed man. He looked as surprised as Ava felt. He turned and spoke brusquely to the dark-clad man. "I thought you said you and yer boss din't do this kinda crime, man. “

"We don't, you dope," said the dark-garbed one. "Lookit, Rafe, she's alive. “

"Well, how the hell'd she get in here, Quinn? And what's this green glop she's been sleeping in? Looks like something outta Alien." The white-shirted man reached toward the moist membrane that still covered her, then abruptly drew his hand back in revulsion. "This is disgusting! “

"Watch it!" the other man said, stepping back. "You almost splashed that stuff all over me. This leather jacket cost me a bundle. “

White shirt glared at Black Leather Jacket. "How'd she get in here?" he repeated.

Black Leather Jacket shrugged, then helped Ava get to her feet. The membrane cover around her began oozing, and she wriggled as it sloughed off onto the floor. The white-clad man freed a gray tarp from atop a nearby pallet of boxes, then draped the rough fabric around Ava's naked shoulders. Black Leather steadied her, his callused hands on her shoulders. She shivered, finding his touch repellent.

His hands still clamped onto her shoulders, Black Leather spoke to his companion as though Ava wasn't even present. "You're the one's been moving stuff around in here, Rafe. You tell me how she got here. And why was she in that crate? “

"It's God's own mystery, man. I just stash what my customers bring me. It don't pay to ask too many questions about what's in the crates. Know what I mean? “

The hard floor was cold beneath Ava's feet. She looked around the narrow but high-ceilinged room, a place of poured concrete and concrete blocks, with a rolling metal door that was up completely, letting in the full brightness of the midmorning sun.

It's not the sun ojAntar. I have been brought very far from home. Frustratingly, she could not recall just how this could have come to pass. Or who might have been responsible.

At her feet, amid a tangle of splintered wooden debris, lay a trio of green-tinted translucent pods identical to the one from which Black Leather had just freed her. Though they were as yet unopened, she could see that each one contained a small, slumbering form, not unlike the strange body she now occupied.

Gazing at the three other motionless figures, she felt a stir of memory, though it was confused and sluggish. How long had she lain dormant… gestating?… in that pod? Confused or not, the memory was insistent. The Royal Four. I am one of them. And those three have to be the others.

"Judging from what's in these crates, Rafe, we got three more of these… pod kids on our hands," Black Leather jacket was saying. "They sure look human, but how did they… “

'"Our" hands? No way, man," the other said, interrupting. "If your boss is into buying and selling kids, that's his business. But I don't want no part of it." Soiled White Shirt Man started for the open door.

Black Leather suddenly released Ava, and she almost fell. She watched as he stepped quickly into Soiled White Shirt Man's path, grabbing his shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going, Rafe? “

"Where d'you think, man? To the cops. You wanna run blow and guns through my place… discreetly… that's one thing. You start peddlin' flesh, that's somethin' else completely. “

Black Leather's hand moved quickly, and a long knife appeared in it, as if by magic. White Shirt's eyes went wide. There was a blur of motion, an arc of splattering crimson. A moment later, Black Leather and Ava were the only two people in the little room capable of standing. The other man crumpled to the floor, his legs convulsing as a dark, red liquid streamed from his wound and formed a slowly expanding puddle around him. She knew it was White Shirt's life-blood.

She studied the bloody knife, still clutched in his hand, as he approached. It was the most dangerous- looking thing she could recall ever having seen, either here… wherever here was… or back home on Antar.

She could not recall ever having felt so helpless during her former life. Or was that somebody else's life? It was so hard to be certain of anything, except for her need to get away from the man with the knife.

Her eyes flicked toward the other three pods, still scattered about the floor. She thought of her king, and her destiny. Zan must be in one of them. He has to be.

Black Leather wiped the knife clean on an edge of the tarp that Ava wore, making her wish she could find her voice and scream. She recalled that she should be able to do something to make this evil creature go away. But she had no idea at the moment how she jnight go about doing that.

Folding and pocketing his blade, Black Leather said, "My… former associate there made a good point. True, selling kiddies is a little outta my main line of work, but I'm sure I can find a willing buyer for you and your three friends." He held up his hands and crooked his fingers, motioning in the air. "You could be starring in some special 'movies' real soon." His grin was more of a leer now.

Ava started when she heard something moving behind Black Leather. He quickly turned his head toward the sound.

The other pods were stirring. The naked forms within struggled against the soft, translucent walls.

Black Leather shrugged and knelt beside the nearest pod, which was opening slowly, like some strange flower. A blond-haired girl of about Ava's age was becoming conscious, clawing at the gestational membrane that was her body's only covering. In the pod beside her, a dark-haired boy did the same.

Zan! Ava thought when she saw the boy. And Vilandra! She knew them instinctively, even though their present forms were so different from the ones she knew. They were younger than Black Leather, their skin unwrinkled and pink, rather than gray. Their eyes and heads were a great deal smaller and hairier than their native Antarian forms. Relief and elation swept through her at the sight of them; maybe their presence was a sign that there was a way out of this situation that wouldn't involve any further bloodshed.

In far less time than it had taken Ava, Zan was standing confidently, watching the Black Leather man. Vilandra seemed to take a few moments longer to adjust to her surroundings.

Zan looked deliberately toward Ava, then spoke in Old High Antarian. "My knowledge of how the jour oj us cam here is incomplete. But I believe we were released prematurely from these… gestational chambers. I need to know why. “

Her hand shaking, Ava pointed at Black Leather. "Ask him. He is the one responsible for that. As well as for the death of that being." She gestured toward the bloody corpse that lay on the floor.

Zan looked toward the dead man, then regarded Black Leather with a defiance that Ava could only describe as regal.

"What do you want of us?" Zan said, standing between Black Leather and the two girls.

"Great," Black Leather, said, rolling his bloodshot eyes skyward. The knife suddenly returned to his hand, gleaming in the sunlight. "Not only was my latest merchandise over-nighted in on a flying saucer, but it speaks freakin' Klingon, too. Where you from, Tattooine? France? “

He wants to take us as slaves, Ava thought. But first he has to frighten us. She could tell from her relentless shivering that Black Leather's tactic was working very well indeed, at least on her. She despised herself for her timidity.

"Put the knife down," Zan commanded.

Black Leather advanced confidently toward the Antai›-ian king. Though Zan now wore the body of an alien child, he didn't flinch. Instead, he crouched slightly, adopting a knees-bent, combat-ready stance.

Black Leather laughed, though his knife remained pointed straight at Zan's heart.

Please, Ava thought helplessly. Must anyone else die here today? Frantic to find a way out, her eyes lit on the fourth pod, which had lain unnoticed a few feet away during the emergence of Zan and Vilandra.

The shape that had been slumbering within the farthest pod was gone. This time, Ava tried not to telegraph her reaction "Lower the weapon," Zan said to Black Leather, and raised an admonishing hand. "You will not be warned again. “

"Whatever. Maybe you just need a little of the universal language," the thug said, and slashed at the air near Zan's right ear.

The young king continued to stand his ground. "So be it. You have made your choice. Now you must live with it. “

"Or die with it. “

Everyone turned toward the new voice, which seemed to be coming from the depths of the storage shed, an area still cloaked in shadows. A moment later, another naked male child emerged into the light. He was blond, appeared to be about the same age as the others, and seemed, 1 Zan, to fear nothing. So strange, Ava thought, to see such old souls bound up in the bodies of mere children.

The blond boy approached the knife-wielding man without hesitation. Not only did his mien continue to radiate boldness, it seemed to have little room for other emotions, save barely constrained rage. She wondered just j how much of Black Leather's violence he had witnessed.

The youth smiled at the knife wielder. It was a warrior's grin, and Ava felt a chill when she recognized it.

Rath. He must have slipped out of his pod unnoticed.

"Hold, General," Zan commanded, addressing Rath.

Rath continued walking toward Black Leather, halting only a few feet away from him.

"Okay, this is getting truly weird," said the man with, the knife, looking all around him. He had the air of a man who was rapidly losing control of circumstances. "How many more of you Children of the Damned are hiding out in here? Is this some sort of clubhouse for you naked little freaks, or what? “

"You've threatened the person of the king," Rath said, his eyes focused like lasers upon Black Leather.

"Stand down, General," Zan told Rath. "I will handle this. “

Rath behaved as though he hadn't even heard Zan. Still looking Black Leather in the eye, he said, "No one threatens the king, or any of the Royal Four. Not while I live. “

He raised a hand.

"No!" shouted Zan and Ava in unison. Vilandra merely smiled appreciatively at Rath. She had obviously recognized her predestined mate, despite their strangely altered forms.

Black Leather tried to swing his knife arm toward Rath, to no avail. The man was suddenly frozen, like an insect trapped in tree-resin, his eyes widened in fear. Rath made a slashing gesture with his hand, releasing a burst of dazzling light and potent energies. The man flew headfirst into the cinder-block wall, a human projectile.

Ava saw the gray-and-scarlet ruin that had been the knife-mans head. She wondered if he'd had time to feel pain before the end had come.

Rath calmly walked to where Black Leather lay, and helped himself to the dead man's coat. The boy passed a still-glowing hand over the garment's collar and lapels, which had been fouled by blood. A moment later, the coat was spotless.

Zan wasted no time confronting him. "That was not necessary, Rath. I could have disarmed him easily. “

Rath didn't respond immediately; he seemed preoccupied with the act of helping himself to the dead man's trousers and boots. His hands glowing, he used his innate power to resize the garments. In moments, they were a near-perfect fit for his smaller form.

Picking up the dead man's knife, Rath finally looked Zan in the eye. "He might have come after you later, if we'd let him live. This creature was too dangerous for mercy. “

"I decide on the Royal Four's actions, Rath. Not you," Zan said.

"Zan is right," Vilandra said, pointing toward the ruined skull of the man Rath had just slain. She sounded disappointed that she'd had to take the king's side in this dispute. "If this… creature still lived, we might have pulled something useful from out of its mind. “

An idea occurred to Ava then. Walking carefully around the wreckage of the crates and the opened gestation pods, she crossed to the body of the white-garbed man whom the knife-wielder had slain. Forcing aside the sick feeling in her gut, she knelt beside the body and touched its still-warm forehead.

Rath didn't seem to notice what Ava was doing. "Forgive me," he said to Vilandra in a sneering tone. "It didn't occur to me to negotiate with the local wildlife. “

Ava looked down at her hands. Like Rath's, they now glowed with raw, unfocused power. We are still but children on this world. It will probably take us some time to master our Antarian gifts again.

But she knew there wouldn't be any time for that. They were out of the safety of their gestation pods, ready or not. They were naked and defenseless in a strange place, and they needed help now.

As carefully as she could, Ava reached out with her mind, gently probing whatever wisps remained of the dead man's thoughts.

It was as though she'd fallen into an erupting volcano. Though his body no longer breathed, his brain, now in the midst of shutting down, was a frenetic beehive of activity. She was caught in a whirlpool of memories. School, language, parents, lovers, children, music, history, maps… The onslaught was relentless, a gale-force blizzard of disjointed thought. A brilliant light silently called out to her, tugging at her with an inexplicable gravity. She screamed, suddenly fearful that the dying man was dragging her to her own destruction. Her mind scrabbled desperately away from the light, seeking the shelter of darkness.

When she came back to herself, Ava was sitting on the floor. Zan, Vilandra, and Rath knelt at her side, concern etched across their youthful-yet-ancient faces.

After glancing at the still form of the man whose death had nearly taken her life as well, Ava looked questioningly toward Zan.

He shook his head sadly, then spoke in the Old High Tongue. "I feel that I should be able to, but I can't heal him. “

"I hope his death was not in vain," she replied.

Rath scowled. "This world is probably filled with death. Best to get used to it now. “

"What were you able to learn?" Zan asked Ava, ignoring Rath's harshness.

Willing her chin not to tremble, Ava took Zan's and Vilandra's hands. Vilandra and Zan also clasped hands with Rath, completing the circle. "I think I've absorbed at least one of the main local languages. Let me pass it along to all of you." Ava reached out with her mind. She felt a charge of indescribable energy coursing away from her body, through her friends, and back again.

Zan nodded, and the foursome released one another's hands. When he spoke after a long pause, it was in the tongue Ava had heard the two dead men speak. "I think we all know this place now… this New York City… as well as any of the locals do. “

Only then did Ava notice that all four of them were now wearing clothing similar to that of the leather-clad man whom Rath had killed. She glanced inquisitively at Rath, who still wore the slain man's garments. He shrugged and looked embarrassed.

Also in this world's native tongue, Vilandra said, "Before you woke up, Rath transmuted that nasty tarp you were wearing into something a little more appropriate for us all… or at least he tried to. “

Zan examined his own leather-and-denim ensemble, which Ava thought made him look both dangerous and vaguely ridiculous. He seemed to have forgiven Rath for his earlier indiscretion. "I'm not sure how well we're going to fit in here, dressed like this. “

"Give me a break," Rath said. "A minute ago, I didn't even know I had that power. You were expecting Madison Avenue on my very first try?" Ava was impressed at how quickly Rath had picked up some of the local idioms.

Ava suddenly remembered an image she had seen in the knifed man's dying mind. Panic surged within her. "Other people are going to be coming here soon. Cowork-ers. Customers. We have to get out of this place. Now. “

Zan pointed to the wreckage on the floor. "We can't just leave the pods lying here. Someone might trace them to us. “

"So?" Vilandra asked.

"There is too much we don't yet understand about this world, sister. We should take no unnecessary risks. “

"We'll just take the pods along with us," Ava said, knowing how lame that sounded, Zan's approval notwithstanding. After all, the pods were large and heavy, at least in comparison with four small, relatively weak bodies.

Rath threw up his hands and glared at Ava. "Fine. Where do you propose we drag the pods off to? We can't exactly check into the Waldorf. “

Ava suddenly felt more of the dead man's memories stirring and moving within the depths of her mind. All at once, they came into sharper focus. Turning to Zan, she said, "There's a big storm drain in the back parking lot. It leads down into the sewers. We could drag the pods down there and keep them out of sight. “

Vilandra looked horrified. "The sewers. “

"It's better than having more of those taking an interest in us," Ava said, pointing at the dead knife-man. "If we leave the pods here, that's almost sure to happen. “

Rath smiled savagely. Raising a glowing fist, he said, "Bring 'em on. “

"The sewers?" Vilandra repeated. "You can't be serious. The freaking sewers? “

Zan began pushing one of the gestation pods toward the open door. Apparently satisfied that it was far lighter than it appeared, he turned back to face the group. "If others are coming, let's avoid confrontation," he said, to Ava's immense relief. "The sewers it is. “

Both Vilandra and Rath made sour faces, but didn't argue further.

"You the man, Zan," Rath said.

Ava found his unpleasant smirk uncomfortably similar to that of the predator he had slain. Bad enough they were encased in unfamiliar human bodies; were they susceptible to a transfer of personality traits as well? How else is this cursed world going to change us?

Mom and Dad-Just time to send you a quick e-mail before we get on the road again. Hope all is well with you. I hope business is good at the Crashdown. I figure you're probably doing okay, even *without* your two best waitresses and cook. Ha-ha!;) It's been so long since I've seen either of you. I miss you both. Someday, maybe it will be safe enough for us to come back for a visit, but right now I think it's still way too dangerous. I can't really talk about where we are or what we've been doing lately, since everyone is scared that the bad guys from the government will track us down somehow. Even though all my best friends are here, it's kind of lonely without my family and all the familiar Roswell landmarks. And I've started to realize-well, we all have-how impor- tant it was to be safe at home, and just how much Sheriff Valenti really was our guardian angel.

Speaking of that, please tell him "Hi" for us. Is he still going out with Maria's mom? She's dying to know, but since you guys can't e-mail us back, I guess we won't find out.

Max and I are doing well, though sometimes it's still hard to believe we're actually married. We don't get a lot of privacy or anything, since we're always traveling with the others. I know that Michael and Maria have talked about marriage too, but Michael's so noncommittal (he's gotten a lot more mature over the past few weeks, but Michael is still Michael), and Maria won't commit to someone so noncommittal, so there's not much progress there.;) I feel bad for Isabel, since she's away from Jesse. She and Kyle are the only two "single" members of our group, which doesn't leave Kyle with a lot of choices, and that also means that Isabel is moody a lot of the time. I know I'd be pretty cranky if Max and I were pulled apart the way Iz and Jesse have been.

Some of us look a little different now, to help us hide out from anyone chasing us. But I can't tell you what we look like, just in case anyone is reading this e-mail other than you. I'll just say that all the guys look as good as Brad Pitt now, and we girls look good enough to get modeling contracts. Ha-ha! And if anyone else *is* reading this e-mail leave us alone. Please. None of us have hurt anyone. We just want to live normal lives. Leave us alone.

So anyhow, like last time, I'm only using this e-mail address once, so you won't be able to respond to it, and the Men in Black won't be able to trace us. I know that sometime in the future we'll be able to talk again, and (I hope) even see each other soon, face to Pausing in her typing, Liz Parker looked up. She watched as Maria DeLuca, sitting one stool over from her in the cramped confines of the Cybernet Cafe, composed a hasty electronic note of her own. Liz let herself be hypnotized for a moment by the rhythmically blinking cursor. Then Maria broke the spell by hitting the "Send" button. Maria's e-mail immediately disappeared into cyberspace.

"You're all done?" Liz asked, unnecessarily.

Maria ran her hand through her newly wavy hair and leaned backward in her chair. "Looks that way. There's not much I can really tell Mom. I mean, what am I going to do… talk about encounters with yet another race of 'Czechoslovakians' and haunted mansions full of Skins?" She snorted. "I bet she's probably wearing a whole necklace-full of healing crystals to help with the headaches she must have started getting after our departure from Ros… " She abruptly caught herself, then glanced quickly around the room as though scanning for spies. "From the town, I mean," she finished a beat later.

Seated a few stools away, Kyle Valenti looked up from his computer monitor. His wavy brown hair fell slightly into his angular face as he looked first toward the girls, then focused on a point in space beyond them. From the way he motioned with his head, Liz could see that something had caught his interest. He mouthed something they couldn't hear, but she lip-read two familiar words: Pod Squad.

Liz and Maria turned toward the front of the Cybernet Cafe to see their three companions striding in. Max Evans was in the lead, flanked by his sister, Isabel, and his best friend, Michael Guerin. They always look like they're striding off to war when they walk in as a trio, Liz thought. Maybe it comes naturally to them.

Of course, Liz was well aware that what was natural for these three seemingly ordinary teenagers was, in fact, rather otherworldly. Their true home was a planet called Antar, part of a solar system that had five inhabited planets. Zan had been the ruler of Antar, and his family dynasty had united the five worlds. Although Zan was well respected, there were many who felt his policies and agendas reached too far. One of those who opposed King Zan was Kivar, a general who had become an Antarian senator. Kivar spearheaded the conspiracy that overthrew Zan's empire, killing the king… as well as Zan's sister, Vilandra, his second-in-command, Rath, and his wife, Ava.

Sometime during the war that followed, the DNA of the "Royal Four"… the genetic templates for re- creating Antar's rightful leaders… was brought to Earth. Here, a faction loyal to King Zan had used a semisentient organism called Gan- darium to incorporate human DNA into that of the Royal Four. The resulting hybrid embryos were still clones of Zan, Vilandra, Rath, and Ava… except that they appeared to be human.

But despite outward appearances, Liz could never overlook the fact that her husband, Max… who was heir to the late King Zan's DNA as well as his throne… was not fully human. Neither were Isabel and Michael, who carried in them the genes of Vilandra and Rath. Liz knew she could never escape that knowledge. Four years ago, Max had healed her after she was accidentally shot at the Crashdown Cafe, which her parents operated in Roswell, New Mexico. On that fateful day, Max's healing touch had transferred some of his alien essence into her; as a result, she now sometimes manifested extra-normal powers.

Now they were on the run from the government, after one too many government investigations into the presence of aliens in Roswell had brought to light a host of unusual occurrences. They had been forced to change their appearances, to use fake names, to travel in a van together, and to be constantly on the watch for potential captors.

So, maybe they're right to be walking like they're going to war, Liz thought, still watching Max, Isabel, and Michael. And maybe I should be right there with them, with my husband. But in her heart, Liz knew she already was fighting alongside her husband. She and Maria and Kyle were risking their lives every day, just by remaining with the group.

"Are you almost done?" Max asked, keeping his voice low. He quickly looked around the cafe to see if anyone was paying attention to them. The plump woman in the floral print muumuu wasn't, nor was the counter helper, who seemed to be playing some kind of game on his computer.

"Yeah, just finishing up," Liz said.

"I just sent mine," Maria said, gesturing toward the e-mail program still running on her terminal.

Max looked over at Kyle, who grinned and shrugged slightly. "I finished quite a while ago," he said. "So I've been surfing the free adult sites. “

"How special," Isabel said, her words dripping with sarcasm.

"Would you hurry up, Liz?" Michael said. "We can't afford to be on these things any longer than necessary. “

Liz glared at him and turned back to her screen. She typed quickly, finishing her last sentence: Gotta go. Love you lots. Liz.

Then she clicked "Send." As soon as the system confirmed her message was sent, she hit the quit command, exiting the program…

Liz noticed Isabel pacing behind her. "This isn't fair, you know?" Isabel said, keeping her voice measured and low, but adding just enough venom to make it clear that she was unhappy. "I'm forbidden to talk to Jesse by e-mail or phone, and yet they can talk to their parents. “

"We've talked about this already, Iz," Max said. "Jesse made it seem like he made a clean break from you when he went to Boston. If he heard from you regularly, it would put him in danger too. “

"I think it's stupid for any of you to be contacting anyone back in Roswell," Michael said. "The parental units can survive without hearing from us for a while. “

"So says the guy who doesn't have any family or friends other than us," Kyle said, half under his breath.

Michael immediately shot Kyle a dirty look, but it was Maria who spoke up in Michael's defense. "Real nice, Mr. Congeniality. Chalk up some sensitivity points on your Buddha-belt for that one. “

"Hey, I said 'other than us,'" Kyle protested. "1 didn't mean anything nasty by it. “

Liz knew that Max was about to step in as peacekeeper, and sure enough, before Kyle had even finished speaking, Max strode forward, hands up, palms out. "Guys, let's cool it. Kyle, are you sure your dad is still keeping that encryption code going? “

"Yeah, I'm sure," Kyle said, clicking down on the docking bar to open an Internet browser window. He quickly typed in a URL, and the Web page for the Roswell Sheriffs Department opened. Clicking on several submenus brought him to a page labeled "Deputy James Valenti," on which a picture of the smiling former head sheriff of Roswell appeared.

Placing the mouse pointer over the badge on his father's chest, Kyle said, "See, here's the portal in." He clicked on the secret link and was sent to another page, this one with an error message on it. He added a slash and the name Kyle to the URL on the error page, and another page popped up. This one showed only text, a string of complicated-looking computer code.

With his finger, Kyle pointed to the code on the string. "Every sixth letter is the code," he said. "He's kept it changed every time we send him something. He's making sure to cover his tracks and ours. No one will find us this way. “

Roswell, New Mexico A few months earlier, shortly after the "incident" at the West Roswell High School graduation ceremonies on June 1, 2002, the members of the federal government's secretive Special Unit had met in a safe house forty miles southwest of Roswell, on the way to the town of Elk. To any member of the public, the clandestine meeting site appeared to be nothing more than a large ranch house whose absentee owners didn't often visit.

In actuality, the dwelling had previously been a tempo- -rary home for several members of the Witness Protection Program, and the acreage behind the house held more than a few secrets… as well as bodies… dating back to 1947.

The de facto leaders of the Unit-… at least those concerned with this particular operation… were the pair who had tried to kill the alien quartet during graduation. Matthew Margolin, code-named "Viceroy," was in his late fifties, his hair gone gray, but his body still strong and whipcord lean. His face bore the scars of past covert missions; he could have had some of them fixed with plastic surgery, but he chose to think of them as a testament to his survival skills. He was alive. His opponents weren't.

Margolin's second-in-command was Dale Bartolli… or at least that was the name he was using these days. Bartolli had the look of a wolverine, with fierce dark eyes, a predatory grin, and slicked-back, thinning hair. In his younger days he had been a Navy SEAL, but he had been recruited for Black Ops wetwork during the late 1980s. Margolin often fancied himself as cool and emotionless about his work as it was possible for an operative to be, but even he sometimes visibly got goose bumps in BartoUi's presence.

At the meeting, various members of the Special Unit presented their surveillance files on the Parker, Evans, DeLuca, and Valenti households, as well as on the UFO Center where Max Evans had worked, and the dossier on Max Evans's boss, Brody Davis, the owner of the UFO Center.

After a thorough review of the files, the group concluded that the six teens who had fled Roswell had likely not had any contact with their families, at least through any conventional methods. All phone lines had been tapped, most of their rooms had been bugged, and every known e-mail address used by any of the families had been trapped with a recursive program. One agent was always on constant surveillance of the spy devices. Just in case, Margolin thought, E. T. tries to phone home.

The one fly in the ointment appeared to be Deputy Valenti, the ex-sheriff of the town. Valenti had already "made" two of the Special Unit's agents, and he clearly knew that surveillance was still ongoing. And although his house had been easy enough to watch, the Roswell Sheriff's station wasn't quite so easy to bug.

Margolin and his agents discussed briefly arranging an "accident" for Valenti… after taking him in to answer a few questions, of course… but the group consensus was that such a course of action was extreme, at least for the moment. After all, none of the parents had made a move to leave town, and although their private conversations and phone calls to one another were often full of expressions of concern for their kids' safety, they never, ever discussed the alien aspects of their "children. “

"It's almost as if they don't even know," one of the agents had said.

But Margolin knew that the evidence just didn't support that. A videotape of Isabel Evans using telekinetic powers had been recovered from the Evans's VCR during an air force search, and the search dogs had tracked the smell of alien blood to the Valenti and Evans homes just prior to the mass destruction of Rogers Air Force Base by the blond girl they had later identified as Tess Harding, the daughter of a former military consultant who had since gone missing. At minimum, Phillip and Diane Evans and Jim Valenti had to know something.

But whether they knew the whole truth was a legitimate question. Of them all, Valenti seemed the most likely to know all there was to know about the alien nature of the Roswell teens, as well as the complicity of their friends. Valenti had been involved in far too many strange and unexplained circumstances with various members of "The Six," as the fugitive kids were now known, to plead ignorance about them and what they were up to now. He had even lost his job as Roswell 's sheriff because of a case related to the teens, although he had eventually been rehired as a deputy.

"If we're going to find them, it will be Valenti who leads us to them," Margolin said to the other members of the Special Unit, most of whom were nodding in agreement.

"Don't forget," Bartolli said, idly gazing at a gleaming, razor-sharp knife he'd carried with him since his navy days. "Valenti stands to lose his son if he does lead us to those kids. He's gonna take precautions. “

Margolin nodded. "Exactly. So this won't be an easy hunt. “

Bartolli put the knife away, his grin saying, Bring it on.

This time it was the other agent's sharklike smile that made the hairs on the back of Margolin's neck stand on end.

Agent Harrison looked up from the magazine when his computer beeped. He quickly scanned the data on the screen. His storefront office, part of what was ostensibly a realty company, faced the west outer wall of the sheriffs station on East Fifth Street; the window overlooked the parking lot, enabling him to keep track of Valenti's departures and arrivals. The signals from the few bugs and traps they had managed to set up inside the sheriff's station were strong enough to be received here.

The programs the Special Unit was using were beyond cutting-edge. They had been developed by a few of the top hackers in the country, each working independently, each hoping that the "help" they gave the federal government's Office of Total Information Awareness (TIA) would mean leniency for whatever computer crimes they had committed. The task was made easier in the post… September 11 world; even hackers were patriots if they thought they could stop terrorists. And while the programs they developed were already in use for the tracking of human-made terrorist threats, the Special Unit was free to deploy the very same technology in its ongoing effort to trap the aliens who lived among an unsuspecting populace.

Today the T1A surveillance programs were working very well indeed. Quickly, Harrison punched a phone button that gave him a direct line to Director Margolin. Simultaneously, he brought up the file he'd need to send and began scanning all the relevant numbers and map coordinates.

"Yes," came the voice on the other end of the line.

"Sir, I've got them with the encryption trap. They've just transmitted three e-mails from a site in Cheyenne, Wyoming. “

"Good. Alert the FBI field office immediately," Margolin said.

"Already on it," Harrison said. Updated copies of the fugitives' files… which contained photos of the six teens… went to the FBI field office, as well as to both the state and city police departments. Harrison included an e-mail message: To all departments: Suspects in terror plot spotted at "Cybernet Cafe" establishment, 2376 Cypress Avenue, at 1400 hours. Suspects are armed and dangerous, but must be subdued. No lethal force. Use Bags, tranks, or tasers. Do not interrogate. Press blackout. Call 888-555-2938 with confirmation of capture.

"Sent, sir," Harrison said.

"Send me copies of the three e-mails as soon as you can." "Right away," Harrison said, scrambling to do just that. "Let's hope we catch them this time," Margolin said. "Good work, Harrison. “

The young agent grinned. He hadn't been a part of the Special Unit for very long. This would look very good in his files. He began to read the e-mails he had trapped. Deputy Valenti will never know they'd been intercepted.

Cheyenne, Wyoming Sitting in the cafe between Maria and Isabel, Liz watched Kyle and Michael and wondered if any two people could be more different. Kyle sat behind a computer terminal, a model of Zen calm. Like the Buddha, she thought, if he'd ever tried to find nirvana by surfing naughty Web sites.

Michael, however, didn't appear capable of sitting, as far as Liz could see. He was pacing like a caged tiger.

"They're going to intercept those e-mails," he said. "Just like they've probably bugged the phones. “

"Maybe," said Max, who was leaning in a nearby corner, evidently trying to stay out of Michael's way. "Maybe not. “

Liz spoke up, hoping to reassure both Max and Michael. "There's no way they can do that. Deputy Valenti took plenty of precautions. Besides, I'm pretty sure it's impossible to tap and trace e-mail messages anyway. “

Max didn't look too sure about that. And Michael appeared utterly unconvinced. "A lot of people think aliens are impossible too," Michael said quietly.

"Relax, Michael," Kyle said, grinning, as Michael moved toward the door, looking suspiciously across the quiet open-air mall outside for perhaps the hundredth time. "We're safe as houses here. “

"You know, I never understood that expression, “

Michael said. "Houses blow apart when it gets windy enough outside. We need to get out of here soon." Looking up at the digital clock over the door, he added, "It's 2:02. You guys have five minutes to wrap this up and settle the check. Max and I are going to get some snacks for the road over at the tacqueria. We're almost completely out of Tabasco sauce. “

"Who died and made him king?" Maria said sullenly, as Max and Michael departed the cafe and went outside into the mall courtyard.

Liz gave her friend a look, cocking an eyebrow. "He's your boyfriend. You should be able to tame the wild beast. “

"Oh, we've all had so much time for beast-taming, living in the back of the van together and driving across the scenic wilds of the Southwest," Maria said. "I bet Max will start getting just as cranky as Michael if the two of you keep getting as little, um, quality time together as Michael and I get. “

Isabel made a pained face and put her hands up, palms out. "Ewwww, okay? I don't need to hear about it. I haven't even seen my husband for four months, so your problems seem minimal compared with mine. “

"I don't want to hear about it either," Kyle said with a mischievous grin. "Why do you think I'm surfing the adult sites? “

Isabel smacked him in the back of the head as she walked past. "Come on, guys, let's pay up and get out of here. “

Maria turned back to her computer and her mouth shaped into an O of surprise. "Whoops, forgot to log off." Liz gave her a scolding glance as Maria clicked around on her terminal, exited the e-mail program, then erased the temporary files, cache memory, and history from the machine.

"You girls go ahead. I've got three more minutes on my card," Kyle said. He turned back to the computer.

Liz joined Isabel up at the counter, where she noticed that Max's sister had put on her "flirty" face. She smiled engagingly at the male clerk and said, "Hi," in a singsong voice. "How much do my friends owe for their time on the computers? “

The clerk, a skinny, bespectacled, computer-geek type who appeared to be in his late teens, blushed and stammered slightly. "Ummm, six dollars each. “

Isabel fished in her small pocketbook, pulling out two twenty-dollar bills. "We need some ones. Would you mind changing this for me? “

The clerk took the two bills and punched numbers into the cash register. He looked up at Isabel. "Anyone ever tell you that you look like Lara Croft? “

"Only when I wear my hair like this," Isabel said, running her hand under the long French braid into which she'd fashioned her newly darkened hair. "Thanks for noticing." She flashed him a toothy smile.

Liz turned away, rolling her eyes, as the clerk counted out change for Isabel. She looked toward the front of the store, where Maria was standing and looking outside.

Maria turned quickly toward Liz, who saw the alarm on her friend's face immediately. "Liz, we've got trouble! “

Liz rushed over toward the window. Kyle got to his feet and moved forward as well.

Maria pointed down to the lower level of the mall which lay beyond the balcony. There, Liz saw several men dressed in dark suits… as well as several police officers and security guards… moving quickly through the crowd of afternoon shoppers.

"Oh no," Liz said under her breath. She looked down the balcony toward the coffee shop and saw Max and Michael waiting in line, oblivious to the looming danger. Three stores down, the wall opened up, making way for an escalator. An "up" escalator, Liz observed.

As Isabel came toward the group, Liz said, "We've got to get out of here. And we have to warn Max! “

Then Liz saw a mixed quartet of federal agents and cops coming down the balcony, heading directly toward the Cybernet Cafe. All of them had already drawn their guns.

Liz turned quickly and looked toward the rear of the cafe, searching for a rear exit that wasn't immediately apparent. Her heart lay leaden in her chest.

We're trapped!

V et another bullet whined near Rath, singeing his spiky Mohawk haircut as it passed just an inch or so from his partially shaved skull. The shell's impact sprayed plaster dust through the darkness, making him cough. He dove for cover behind a tall metal rack that was covered with discarded boxes, the mortal remains of automotive parts or plumbing fixtures, or whatever this abandoned warehouse had trafficked in during better days. He knew the flimsy, collapsing shelves and old packages wouldn't provide much protection against the heat those freaks were packing.

He couldn't see them, but he knew they were closing in. Come on, Lonnie, he thought, using the name Vilandra had chosen on Earth. Find the gadget that brought them to Earth, blow it up, and let's all get the hell out of here.

Rath wanted nothing more than to hit the nearest exit… assuming he could find it with the lights off… and run like a rat for the safety of the Manhattan sewers. But if the information Lonnie had given him after her last dreamwalk could be trusted, then they were in the right place. If we can just find the right thing to blow up, he thought, then we can send these bastards back to wherever they came from.

He wondered how the freaks had found and cornered them so quickly. Surely they hadn't traced Lonnie's dreamwalk. As far as he knew, nobody had ever done that before.

Ava had to be the one at fault, he realized. She had never been as good at covering her psionic tracks as Lonnie was. And although Ava had a real knack for reaching inside individual minds and "nudging" them into seeing the world her way, she had always had a tough time handling large, hostile groups. On top of that, Rath couldn't help but wonder whether Ava was still on the same side as he and Lonnie. Ever since Lonnie and 1 tossed Zan in front of that truck, Ava's been harder and harder to keep in line, he thought. Letting her get close to that Evans guy, that other Zan, was a huge mistake.

Or perhaps letting her come back to them months later had been his real mistake.

A moment later, Rath found Ava, nearly tripping over her in the darkness. In the brief illumination of a muzzle flash, he saw her crouching behind one of the metal storage racks, her usually immaculate platinum-and-blue hair now thoroughly mussed and covered with a dusting of white plaster debris from the nearby bullet impacts.

Rath snarled at her. "How fabulous is this? You led them straight to us! “

He felt plaster dust against his skin as she shook her head. "Evil Emperor Zurg's minions are doing their damnedest to blow us away and you're blaming me for it? “

"You must have set off an alarm when you brainwiped those guards outside," he said, crouching close to the floor himself. Fortunately, the sun hadn't yet risen, and darkness had always been his friend. But Rath knew they wouldn't stand a chance of escaping if they were still pinned down inside this warehouse after daybreak.

"No way. Lonnie must have set us up," Ava hissed.

Rath didn't want to think about that. After all, Lonnie was his lover as well as his accomplice in Zan's murder. He and Lonnie had no choice but to trust each other. Ava, though, had spent enough time away from both Rath and Lonnie over the past year to place her loyalties in doubt.

"You're a walking bull's-eye, Queenie," Rath said, his jaw set into a hard line. "These bums must've locked onto your latest Jedi mind trick somehow." Whether she'd intended to or not, Rath was certain that Ava had gotten the three of them into a lot of trouble… maybe more than even they could handle.

Another bullet chewed up the wall immediately behind Rath and Ava, coming even more uncomfortably close than any of the others.

"These 'bums' are about to blow great big holes through us, Rath-man," Ava said. "Think we could bookmark this argument for later? “

Rath had to admit that she had a point. Their attackers, of course, were anything but "bums." There were any number of warring political factions back home on Antar, many of whom temporarily occupied the bodies of Earth humans in order to parley on neutral ground with their adversaries. Some of these Antarians liked to take over the bodies of derelicts or street criminals… people who, like the East Coast Royal Three, weren't likely to be missed by the locals.

A few of these individuals had little reason to surrender their now heavily armed host bodies to their original owners… and even less restraint about placing those bodies at risk.

Strange how these freaks didn't start coming after us until after Ava came back from the desert. She found a whole new kind of trouble out there, and let it follow her home like a bunch of stray cats.

At the moment, Rath guessed that at least a dozen alien-possessed street-folk had them cornered.

Been through worse, he told himself, though at the moment he was hard-pressed to recall just when that was. Though the darkness concealed him from the freaks, it also prevented him from finding a specific target onto which he could focus his powers. My zappers work way better as a rifle than a shotgun, he thought, and those bastards out there know it.

He clenched a fist in frustration, and it began glowing a dull red. They want me to fire blind. They want to tire me out.

Another bullet tore through the drywall nearby, only narrowly missing his glowing fist. He shoved his hand into a vest pocket as he pulled Ava along with him. They had to keep moving.

"If anybody's a 'walking bull's-eye' around here, Rath, it's you," Ava said, looking at his hand, whose glow was still slightly visible, even through the leather vest.

"Shut up," Rath said, though he knew she was right. He continued hustling her along, hoping they'd come upon a door or a window soon. "You seen Lonnie? “

Ava laughed bitterly. "Let's hope she's not cutting a deal of her own right now with those nice people shooting at us. It's happened before, you know. “

A familiar voice cut through the intermittent staccato of gunfire. "All right! Hold your fire! I'm gonna give you what you want! “

Rath recognized the voice immediately, despite the creepy echo that the huge, darkened warehouse imparted to it.

Lonnie.

"1 knew it," Ava whispered. "She's gonna sell us out to the freaks. “

"Shut it," Rath said. "Lonnie has a plan. “

"Come on out where we can see you, Vilandra," came the response, a harsh, gravel-coated voice, speaking in perfectly inflected High Antarian. "You can't hope to stand against us all. “

Rath saw shadowy forms moving ahead of him. He wondered if dawn was already breaking, or maybe his eyes were simply adapting to the darkness. With no way to tell the exact time, he hoped for the latter.

Then another shape began to move. It was bathed in a faint glow that the freaks surely had to be able to see.

Lonnie.

At that moment, Lonnie spoke inside his mind, using the lover's bond they shared as a communication channel. Rath, can you hear me? Rath scowled. Her mental voice was faint, as though something were interfering with her thoughtcast. What's wrong, Lonnie? I haven't heard anything blow up yet, and our "friends" are still here and hostile.

They've protected their machines from our powers somehow, Lonnie thought to him.

Rath felt despair engulf him, threatening to drown him like that time the riptide had nearly killed him off the Jersey Shore. Great, Lonnie. If we can't blow up their machine, we can't send these guys back to whatever planet they came from. And they're gonna kill us.

No, Lonnie thought back at him. He felt an almost playful undercurrent in her psionic "voice." I found a boiler room in the basement. They've got an oil furnace down there. These guys didn't bother to protect that. It might take a few minutes, but it's gonna go boom really soon.

Rath grinned, imagining valves being turned and flash-welded temperatures cranking up and up, fuel tanks igniting. That's my girl, he thought. Mass destruction and fireworks, the old-fashioned way.

Buy us some time, Rath. I can't see them with my eyes yet, but I can feel 'em moving toward me.

Lonnie came to a stop a short distance away, her body still glowing with focused, barely contained power. Rath could hear weapons cocking in the darkness, instruments sounding metallic notes that echoed back and forth across the cavernous space.

"I can give you Rath and Ava," Lonnie said aloud, her voice projecting far and wide. "But not if you shoot me. “

"I knew it," Ava muttered. Crouched beside Rath behind one of the shelving racks, she started to rise.

Rath restrained her with a hand to the shoulder. "No. We wait. “

Ava tensed, forming a psionic connection of her own with Rath, just as she had done with them all so many years before, after the Royal Four had first emerged from the gestation pods. All at once, Rath could see into Ava's mind, as well as the images Lonnie was sending him.

Rath felt as if he were suddenly floating invisibly near the warehouse's high ceiling, and from this vantage he could mentally "see" each of the armed men and women… all of them apparently malnourished drug addicts or other assorted street people… who had surrounded them.

Touch Ava, Lonnie said inside Rath's mind. Let her see what I'm showing you.

Already done, sweetcheeks, Rath answered silently, grinning in the darkness. There were exactly fourteen of the freaks, and as of this moment he knew exactly where they were standing. He knew that Ava did as well.

To Ava, he thought, How many freakazoid brains can you jry at once? Answering inside his mind, Ava seemed ashamed of her earlier distrust of Lonnie. I guess we're about to find out, General. Through the hand he'd placed on Ava's shoulder, Rath felt her body tense as the alien power gathered and built within her.

"So do I have a cease-fire, or what?" Lonnie said, speaking to the darkness, where the armed street people stood in tense silence.

The rough-voiced man who had called out to her earlier answered: "Your 'queen' is trying to pierce our mental defenses. Given that, it seems a truce would be a spectacularly bad idea. “

Oh, crap, Ava thought to Rath. Their machines aren't the only things they've built shields around.

Thanks to Lonnie, Rath could "see" the man in the dark as he strode forward and raised his weapon in Lonnie's direction. Rath released his grip on Ava's shoulder and felt the three-way thoughtlink collapse. Now the universe contained only himself, Lonnie, and the freak who was trying to kill her.

Swept along on a wave of fear and rage, Rath lifted his hands. The power surged and churned within him for a split second before he released it.

The gravel-voiced man with the gun blew apart into countless pieces.

"Move!" Rath shouted at Ava, already on the run. He could hear a fusillade of gunfire as it tore up the space where he had been moments before.

Rath looked toward Lonnie, who still stood in the center of it all, glowing in fury, her arms extended like those of an angry goddess. By some miracle, none of the freaks had managed to shoot her. Then he saw how her image wavered and rippled, like a mirage they'd seen a couple years back after they'd stolen that yuppie's car and headed out to Roswell.

Shields up, he thought, suddenly realizing that his lover could do a pretty convincing impression of her dead brother's powers.

The first rays of the sun were slicing through the skylights, and Rath saw Ava dive for cover as a pair of armed thugs… strung-out junkies, from the look of them, all bone and gristle… chased her. He raised his hands and released twin flashes of energy, pushing the two men swiftly backward and impaling them both on a nearby metal rack.

Ava looked horrified. "We don't have to kill them, Rath. They're possessed. They're not responsible. “

But Rath knew he didn't have time to make distinctions between the hostile aliens and their innocent hosts. These bodies were carrying lethal weapons, aimed at him and the girls.

"Let the old gods of Antar sort 'em out," Rath said as a red haze swept across his vision while he and Lonnie went to work in earnest.

Rath wasn't certain how long the battle lasted; time seemed simultaneously to speed up and slow down during the fighting. He realized it hadn't gone quickly when he noticed the bright daylight streaming in through the broken windows. He looked straight up and saw the bright cerulean blue that lay beyond the shattered skylights.

He surveyed the now well-illuminated room, which was strewn with upended shelves, wrecked masonry, and lifeless bodies. He saw Ava, standing in goggle-eyed silence. Only then did he realize that his powers felt spent and that he was holding a blood-spattered metal bar. An equally gruesome body lay at his feet.

In an oddly debris-free spot near the center of the warehouse, Lonnie sat on the floor, looking as dazed and exhausted as he felt. Rath suddenly realized that he was looking at what could only be described as ground zero of the battle they had just fought. She's not used to going up against a whole homeless infantry battalion, he thought, running toward Lonnie. None of us is.

"Looks like they're all dead or fled," Rath said gently as he helped her to her feet. He realized that Ava was now beside him as well, concern etched across her pretty but careworn face. "Come on," he said to them both. "We've gotta get out of here, before even more of 'em show up. We're all way too wiped to deal if that happens. “

Lonnie nodded, then stumbled. Rath and Ava both caught her. Finally regaining her footing, Lonnie turned and looked straight at Rath. As always, her eyes were deep and beautiful.

And very frightened, he realized. "It's too late," she said. "I can feel more of them coming in the back way. They're almost on top of us already. “

Rath, hearing angry shouting behind him, turned toward the sound. At least another dozen street people, several of them drawing guns, were heading toward them at a flat-out run.

"Bitchin'," Rath said, already pushing Lonnie toward cover as Ava followed. "Let's go. “

He glanced toward Ava, who had placed a hand against her temple and closed her eyes. "Tell them to take a number. We've got more company." "Who?" Rath asked.

At that moment, a large windowpane over their heads shattered as two metal canisters arced into the warehouse on trails of thick, black smoke that swiftly began filling the room.

" New York 's finest," said Ava.

Great. Just great, Rath thought as his chest tightened; and a painful coughing fit seized him.

In simpler times, Kyle Valenti had the high school hero mantle practically bestowed upon him. He had excelled in football and other sports, and had a smart and pretty girlfriend in Liz Parker. If he ever got into typical teenage trouble, the worst he could expect from his father, the town sheriff, was to be grounded.

And then Max Evans had made a connection with Liz one day at the Crashdown, and Kyle's world began to crumble around him. Soon, not only was Liz infatuated with Max, but so, in a manner of speaking, was Kyle's father. Sheriff Valenti suspected something of Max and his friends, but he didn't really articulate his suspicions to his son. In fact, his bond with his son grew more and more strained with each passing day.

Kyle grew to resent Max Evans, so it was quite a surprise that Max ended up saving Kyle's life. Agent Pierce, a thug for some secret government agency, had exchanged gunfire with Sheriff Valenti at the UFO Museum. During the brief gun battle, Kyle was accidentally hit by a bullet fired by his own father.

Even now, Kyle would sometimes wake up at night feeling the bullet tear into his flesh, penetrating skin and bone and muscle. His mouth filled with a pungent metallic taste, Kyle remembered the darkness in the museum creeping inexorably toward him. But Max's approach banished the encroaching darkness. He had laid his glowing, silver-palmed hand on Kyle's wound, healing him instantly.

Since that time, Kyle had joined Liz and Maria among the ranks of the "I Know an Alien" club, and subsequently had been caught up in many of the misadventures and tribulations the half-extraterrestrial teens faced. Interestingly enough, the shared knowledge of the aliens among them had brought Kyle and his father closer together. Kyle sometimes thought it was actually his momentary brush with mortality that had done the trick, but he knew better; his dad had been obsessed with aliens and UFOs for as long as Kyle could remember. It was an obsession he had inherited from his father. Now, they were among the few people alive who knew the real truth of the matter.

After his resurrection at the hands of Max, Kyle had found Buddhism, and had learned… mostly… to find a more centered space in the universe. He had found that the Buddha's "Four Noble Truths" were tremendously apt for him, as well as for his alien friends: life means suffering; suffering has a cause; the cause of our suffering can be ended; and suffering can be ended by following a path to wisdom, peace, meditation, and growth.

But it was hard for Kyle to stay centered when the cause of the suffering in the last few months had been fear of capture by the government. Indeed, at times it had seemed as though the best path to end the cause of his suffering was to fight back. But the Noble Eightfold Path pushed him toward peace, and taught him not to bring harm to others. On the other hand, the tenets of the Path also talked about not lying or stealing, and he and the others had done their share of both lately, in the interests of survival.

Since leaving Roswell, he had again been healed by Max, and Kyle now wondered if these healings weren't bringing about some form of transformation within him. During his late-night meditations, when the others were usually asleep, another thought kept creeping unbidden into the Zen garden he strove to make of his mind. Haw I been made into something other than what I was before all oj this started? Am I now part alien, like Liz? And ij that's what's happened, then what will my purpose be? Today, Kyle had little time for such internal debates. He stood in the Cybernet Cafe in an open-air mall in Cheyenne, Wyoming, teetering on the brink of mote potential suffering and confrontation. Coming toward him and his friends from the front of the cafe were government agents and police. More cops and government spooks were also likely closing in from other directions… including, no doubt, the section of the mall toward which Max and Michael had just headed moments ago.

Kyle whirled and looked toward the back of the room. He saw a pay phone and a rest room sign, but no door. There's got to be an exit back there, he reassured himself.

He turned to Maria, who stood saucer-eyed as the cops and feds continued their approach. Liz was looking toward the back of the shop. "Find the back door," Kyle said, surprised at how firm his voice sounded. "I'm guessing from the layout of this place that it leads to a service corridor. “

"Already on it," Liz said. "Let's go." Kyle shook his head. "You three go. I'm heading out the front to try to warn Max and Michael. “

Liz opened her mouth to argue, but Maria yanked her by the arm and pulled her to the back of the cafe.

As Kyle opened the glass door to exit out the front, he saw Isabel touching the adjacent windows and doors. Immediately they changed color, an inky black spreading like a viscous liquid across the clear panes. Camouflage, Kyle thought. Smart thinking. Sure, it would likely draw attention, but so would the onrushing peace officers.

He knew Isabel probably would have fused the door locks before exiting through the same back way that Liz and Maria were taking. He also knew he didn't have long to think about it; their pursuers were already less than twenty yards away, and closing fast.

Spotting his opportunity, Kyle moved across the balcony aisle and grappled with a giant garbage can there. It was one of the round, concrete types, with a metal container nestled inside it. There was no way he could pick it up. But he could tip it over and roll it. As he strained to topple the trash bin, he saw that the police had closed their distance by half. He concentrated so thoroughly on his task that they seemed to be moving in slow motion. He could hear them yelling to him, but he blocked them out as he might have done with any small distraction during his meditations; they might as well have been speaking a foreign language.

With a final shove, he sent the garbage rolling straight at the cops. Before it could even reach them, he sprinted toward the food court. He caught sight of Max and Michael across the courtyard, and saw that they finally seemed to have noticed what was going on. As they raced away from the tacqueria and toward the cafe, Kyle saw still more pursuers coming up one of the escalators, and pointed toward them to alert Max and Michael.

But it may already have been too late. Two agents and a cop had their guns drawn, and they pointed them straight at the young pair, yelling for them to get down on the ground. Max and Michael put their hands forward, palms out, fingers flexed, and Kyle saw a familiar glow of energy. Kyle knew that for them to use their powers this publicly, they had to be as panicked as he was.

A wave of power thrust forward from within both of them, blasting their attackers over the side railing and onto the mall's lower level. Flailing, two of their pursuers landed in a decorative fountain. The remaining one wasn't so lucky, instead hitting a plastic "bench, which shattered on impact.

Kyle ran toward Max and Michael. "Where's Liz?" Max asked, his eyes wild.

"I'm pretty sure they all got out into the service corridor through the back of the cafe," Kyle said, keeping his voice low.

Michael used his powers to blow another pair of government men off their feet, sending them crashing back onto the escalator. "They better have gotten out. You should have stayed with them. “

"Somebody had to get out here and warn you," Kyle said.

Amidst the screaming from terrified mall patrons, an amplified voice echoed from the halls. "Drop your weapons and put your hands up!" Kyle saw agents trying to get the door to the Cybernet Cafe open, but they were cautious; because of the blackened glass, they had no way of knowing what might await them inside.

Max grinned, looking almost malicious. "What'll it be… hands up or weapons down?" he asked. "Can't do both. “

Kyle grinned at Max, whose hands were his weapons. Pointing toward a nearby trendy clothing store, Max said, "In there." The front of the establishment was all windows, with fancily dressed mannequins aplenty set in various poses.

The three fugitives ducked into the store, even as clerks and customers dove for cover, some whimpering in fear. "Everybody keep your heads down," Max yelled. "We won't hurt you, but the guys chasing us just might! “

Hiding behind a rack of overpriced sweatshirts, Kyle saw that the police and government agents now stood just outside the clothing store. All the bystanders were out of sight. Though the cops seemed to be debating strategy, Kyle was willing to bet that they couldn't be prepared for what was coming next.

Standing behind the clothing rack near Kyle, Max and Michael put their shoulders together, extended their arms and hands, and unleashed a powerful wave of force. The glass windows at the front of the store exploded, and mannequins, sweaters, pants, and platform boots went flying outward.

Kyle breathed a quiet sigh of relief that the explosive wave only hit their pursuers; none of the customers in the store appeared to have been hurt.

"Let's go," Max said, turning. Kyle could see that sweat had beaded on his friend's forehead. Kyle followed him and Michael toward the employee stockroom in the back of the store, praying it would lead to the same service corridor where Liz, Maria, and Isabel were supposed to have headed.

"Which way?" Maria asked, her voice a plaintive wail.

Liz looked down the hall in both directions, then came to a decision. "That way," she said, pointing to their left. "There's an exit sign. “

Liz was relieved to see Isabel finally come scooting out of the doorway right behind her and Maria.

"Did Kyle make it to Max and Michael?" Liz asked Isabel, feeling a tight knot of fear slowly expanding in her belly.

"I don't know," Isabel said. "By the time I was through making my barricade, I couldn't see out any better than the bad guys could see in. “

"We've got to get to the van either way," Maria said, pulling Liz's arm. "If it isn't already surrounded by MiBs. “

The three girls had run about fifty feet down the corridor, their footfalls echoing like gunshots, when a pair of side doors opened almost immediately in front of them. Two burly agents in dark suits entered the corridor and rushed them. Liz heard a sharp crackle of electricity as the trio collided with the agents, then saw Maria and Isabel falling to the floor like marionettes with their strings cut.

Liz jumped over the body of Maria as it fell, staying just out of the reach of the agent who carried the taser. As the other man knelt to check on the two fallen girls, the taser-toting agent continued to advance on Liz.

"Get down on the ground!" he yelled, pulling his gun with his free hand for emphasis.

Liz's mind whirled. She could run, but he might shoot her. And if he does, what if Max doesn't manage to save me this time? For all she knew, all the others might have already been captured… or worse.

"Get down on the ground!" he yelled again, his gun now leveled directly at her.

Slowly, as if in a dream-state, Liz Parker began to kneel on the cold, unyielding concrete floor.

Isabel moved languidly on the silken sheets, extracting her limbs and stretching. No, not Isabel. Vilandra. Her long, tapered gray fingers were exquisitely formed, fit for royalty, fit for worship.

A pleasant-smelling wind blew in from over the black vastness of the sea, and the room was faintly illuminated by the glow of teke orbs, as well as from the trio of moons that were set like jewels into the dark, cloud-strewn sky. Vilandra tilted her head back and viewed them through the rain-sprinkled skylight. The wet, colored glass fractured the moons' perfect spherical shapes, but somehow augmented their natural beauty.

She heard a sound from the antechamber, then saw a figure illuminated from behind. It was N'Kolus, and he had replaced some of his garments, apparently while she'd dozed.

"You should get some rest," she said to him, low and seductive. "You don't want to be too tired for tomorrow. “

He sat on the bed next to her and caressed her hand with his own. She could see her beautiful reflection in his large, dark eyes. "You have already tired me," he said. "But tomorrow will bring with it a new dawn. “

He leaned over to kiss her, and Vilandra lost herself in the passionate moment with the handsome soldier.

She heard another sound, and she broke their embrace with a start. Another figure was standing in the entrance, holding a chalice before him. "I see I'm interrupting," the person said, and Vilandra recognized the voice as Kivar's.

Vilandra looked toward N'Kolus, who seemed to take Kivar's surprise entrance in stride. "Kivar, I didn't expect you so soon," she said.

"My other engagements this evening are finished," he said, doffing a wet cloak and letting it slip to the ground. "Everything went according to my plans. “

He sat on the edge of the bed and offered her the chalice. "Don't be alarmed, my beautiful Vilandra. I knew of your affair with N'Kolus, and gave him my blessing to continue. Anything to make you happy. “

Vilandra drank deeply from the cup, and smiled at her two lovers. "What will make me happy is for peace to come tomorrow. The truce you promised will lead toward that goal. “

"Yes," Kivar said. "And thank you for allowing us to enter the city unopposed, my exquisite Vilandra. “

"My brother won't approve, but he acts too slowly sometimes," Vilandra said. She was about to say something else, but she found her thoughts were becoming unclear.

"Your brother is past caring what you do, lovely one," Kivar said, caressing her cheek with his hand. "As is Rath. “

Vilandra was about to ask Kivar what he meant, but she wasn't able to speak. She felt weighed down, and as she looked at the two men who had been her lovers, she saw them as if from a distance. Above them, the colors of the skylight became more and more diffuse, and even the ever-constant moons of Antar seemed to dim.

And then, the hues of skylight faded to darkness, and Vilandra was no more.

An eternity of darkness seemed to pass before another voice impinged on her mind. "Isabel? “

With a great effort, Isabel lifted her head. Crouched next to her was Alex Whitman, looking just as he always had: comfortable.

"Isabel, you need to wake up," Alex said. "Lemme sleep," Isabel said, her words thick and slurred. "I'm tired of running. “

"I know, but you have to keep running," Alex said. "Things are going to get worse, and you must try to help." He didn't touch her, but rather hovered nearby, his words soft and gentle in her ear. Alex had always been so pleasant and plain and safe. How can he be talking about danger? Isabel struggled to marshal her energies enough to sit up, but discovered that her limbs were twitching spasmodically, as if she were being electrocuted.

"They need you, Isabel," he said, his face showing concern.

"Who does?" she asked groggily.

"All of them," Alex responded. "Your friends. Your family. Your husband. “

"That was pretty wild," Kyle said as he followed Max and Michael out into the service corridor. It was clear to Kyle that Max was beside himself with worry, and hoped his own Zen-like calm would rub off on him.

Michael, however, seemed way past the reach of any Buddhist vision of tranquillity; he was obviously ready to go to war.

Quickly scanning the corridor, Kyle saw that it was empty in both directions, except for some flattened cardboard boxes lying along one of the walls, next to a few-scattered bags of trash and packing foam. He pointed down to their left, where the corridor angled around a corner. "That's the direction the girls would have come from. “

"We've got to see if they made it," Michael said, already dashing for the corner. Kyle wondered if Max felt relieved when his friend took the lead at times like this. He was certainly glad that he wasn't the one who had to make all the decisions for the group.

Max and Kyle followed immediately behind Michael, both sparing brief glances over their shoulders to look for pursuers. A moment later the trio rounded the corner.

They saw the girls, along with a pair of federal agents. Isabel and Maria lay unmoving on the concrete floor; while one agent was putting handcuffs on Liz from behind, another agent kept a powerful-looking gun trained on her.

Kyle turned toward Max and Michael and saw that they were both extending their hands forward, obviously about to unleash their powers.

Suddenly the agent who held his gun on Liz turned and shouted to them. "These girls are alive for now, but if you make any threatening gestures, I can't guarantee they'll stay that way. “

"What do we do?" Kyle asked, putting his hand on Max's shoulder.

Suddenly everything changed.

Kyle was seeing the corridor from a different angle, and as he turned his head, he saw himself looking back… at himself. "Max, what do we do?" other-Kyle asked, even as the very same words were leaving his own lips… Then he was in the clothing store, watching himself sweep fragments of shattered glass from his fuzzy purple sweater top; he noticed that one of his long, lacquered nails had broken during the explosion… Next he was looking down at Liz's hands as he knelt over her and fastened the handcuffs around her wrists… A heartbeat later he was looking down his arm at the gun in his hand as he pointed it at the frightened trio of teenage boys, one of whom was him, Kyle Valenti… And then he found himself in utter darkness. He crawled forward along an unyielding surface toward a dazzling light that made him squint. The brilliance quickly resolved itself into Isabel, who lay on the service corridor's hard floor; she looked beautiful as always, yet disturbingly lifeless.

A nearby movement caught his eye, and he turned to see a shape emerge from the surrounding darkness. It was Alex Whitman. Who had been dead now for nearly two years.

"Alex?" Kyle asked, incredulous.

Alex tilted his head and looked at him strangely, almost as though he were having trouble recognizing him. "Your voice sounds like Max's, Kyle. “

"What's going on?" Kyle needed to know.

"You need to help Isabel. Her nervous system has been disrupted," Alex explained, crouching beside the young half-alien woman.

"I can't help her," Kyle said. He knelt next to her and pulled her head up in his hands, then cradled her neck in one hand and pulled open an eyelid with the other.

"Isabel, wake up!" She didn't respond. Her eyes were rolled back into their sockets, showing nothing but white.

Almost instinctively, he spread his fingers, positioning one on her cheek, the others splaying out from her forehead to her ear, his thumb coming to rest near her jaw.

Then Kyle's hand began to glow, faintly at first, but quickly brightening and taking on a silver-blue tint. His mind was filling up with a kaleidoscopic tumble of images: a star pattern; a spaceship; a trio of moons in fragmented multiple colors; the rock formations of the desert beyond Roswell; a series of runelike characters glowing on a glass surface; the fathomless black eyes of a gray-skinned creature leaning over him. Moments later, the visions faded away, and the glow that had engulfed his hand subsided. Kyle felt exhausted.

"This might take time you don't have," Alex said. "But you can end the suffering. You are the key. “

"What's happening to me, Alex? “

Kyle had barely phrased the question before he found himself back in the hallway, standing behind Michael, his hand on Max's shoulder.

"Alex? What?" Michael asked, looking at Kyle strangely.

"We've got to get the girls out of there," Max said, obviously focused on the girls and the agents who had apprehended them. "But it's too far to use our powers effectively, and we'll risk them getting hurt. “

"You three, down on the ground!" the gun-toting agent yelled. Knowing more than a little about law enforcement from his father, Kyle imagined that the man was surprised they hadn't left the girls behind and made a break for it. Most criminals ran, or tried to.

"Do what he says," Max said, his voice pitched low, clearly intended only for Kyle's and Michael's ears. "But be prepared to fight back. “

Michael grimaced as he put his arms in the air and began to kneel. Whether it was his background as a soldier on Antar or the stubborn tough-guy personality drilled into him by his abusive stepfather in a trailer park back in Roswell, Kyle knew that Michael clearly was not happy about backing down from a fight. "We can take them, Max. Our shields can stop the bullets. “

Max was kneeling as well. "We can stop the bullets from hitting us. But we can't shield Isabel or Liz or Maria. Isabel might be able to shield them, but they've done something to her. “

"They disrupted her system," Kyle explained. "They've got tasers. “

Behind them, they heard a commotion in the hall. Kyle realized that the other agents and officers had made their way into the back of the corridor. Though it seemed an eternity had passed since he and the others had come to this spot, Kyle knew that, in reality, it had probably only been a minute or two.

Kyle's mind raced. What do we do? If we can wake Isabel up, she might be able to protect the other girls, or at least give Liz a chance to use her defensive powers.

The scuffle of shoes and boots behind them grew louder, and Max and Kyle turned their heads to see seven armed men coming toward them. Kyle glanced at Michael, who kept his gaze squarely on the agents who menaced the girls.

Kyle closed his eyes and tried to go back to the place where he had just come from, where he had seen the unconscious Isabel and had spoken with Alex. He had no idea how he'd gotten himself there in the first place. But he knew that if he could return there, he could change the terrible future that now barreled toward them all like an out-of-control freight train.

Concentrating hard, Kyle saw Isabel again, lying in the darkness, very far away. As he moved closer, he began shouting to her, his words echoing up and down some back service corridor of his own mind. "Isabel! Isabel, wake up! “

"split up!" Rath shouted, coughing. "We'll meet up again tonight, in the usual place. “

Unfortunately he had already lost track of Lonnie and Ava in all the tumult, and could only hope that they'd heard him. A bedlam of shouts, curses, and weapons fire now filled the gutted warehouse, as did the smoke from the canisters that had fallen at Rath's feet. Enclosed behind an impenetrable veil of caustic vapor, Rath found that he could still move, but it felt as though he were swimming through peanut butter. Unable to draw breath, or see much of anything through his burning eyes, he forced his body forward, away from the din.

All at once, a wave of dizziness seized him, and he dropped heavily to his knees. Then he noticed that some clear air lingered near the floor. Inhaling deeply, he crawled as quickly as he could toward one of the walls.

He could breathe now, but his eyes continued to water obscuring his vision. But now he saw light ahead of him. The fire escape has to be around here, he thought, rising in a corner to feel around for a railing he remembered having seen earlier. Focusing past the exhaustion caused by the earlier battle, Rath concentrated on neutralizing the effects of the smoke canisters. Moments later, he felt only marginally better. He was still tired, and he simply wasn't the healer the late Zan the Man had been.

But at least he could see a little more clearly now. Rath saw that he stood only a few yards away from a wide, cracked window, through which he could see the platform and railings of a rusty metal fire escape. Its ladder led downward toward the street.

Machine-gun fire perforated the floor near his feet. He bolted toward the fire escape, diving straight for the window. Shutting his eyes tightly and throwing his arms in front of his face, he let his careening body shatter the glass. His heavy leathers protected his forearms, but his cheeks and scalp felt moist from a thousand tiny cuts. He ignored the pain and hurried down the fire escape ladder, which quickly extended toward the pavement in response to his weight.

He paused, glancing groundward for the first time since he'd gotten clear of the building. A little less than one story below him, ten or fifteen riot cops, decked out in body armor and gas masks, were rushing into the building through one of the street-level loading docks, which the cops apparently had just knocked down with the front end of their armored vehicle. More riot cops seemed to be coming, both from the armored car and also from around the building's corner, while he watched.

One of the troopers suddenly looked up in Rath's direction, though Rath couldn't see the cop's eyes through his shiny black helmet visor. The policeman pointed at him with a nasty-looking black truncheon and barked an unintelligible command.

More cops paused momentarily, and each of them looked Rath's way. Several leveled their rifles in his direction. Caught between the hammer and the anvil, Rath thought, quickly moving his muscular body back up the ladder and onto the fire escape platform. Alien-possessed derelicts were one thing. Highly trained armored cops were something else entirely. Even ifLonnie andAva manage to dodge the freaks in there, he thought, they aren't gonna have an easy time getting past these guys.

As Rath headed back toward the shattered window, one of the riot cops down below bellowed an order to halt. Rath ignored the command, as well as the bullet that struck the masonry near his shoulder. He dived back into the building, wondering exactly how long he had left until the oil furnace that Lonnie had sabotaged finally exploded.

Moments later, the warehouse reverberated with a deafening roar as gouts of smoke and flame erupted everywhere all at once. Rath couldn't help thinking that he, Lonnie, and Ava probably had very little chance of getting out of this alive.

"Boom!" Lonnie said, grinning at Ava through the lingering pall of tear gas. The two of them were still lying on the floor, where they had thrown themselves after the cops had entered and started exchanging fire with the armed alien freaks.

"I hope that explosion took out the freakazoids' machinery," Ava said, coughing. "I was starting to think that boiler you sabotaged was gonna take all day to blow. “

Lonnie nodded as she rose unsteadily to her feet. Ava thought she looked as utterly exhausted as she herself felt. "You worry too much, O Queen of Antar," Lonnie said, pointing toward a heap of dusty clothing that only moments before had contained a hostile, alien-possessed derelict. "I just gave 'em their one-way ticket home. Without their machinery, they can't hang on to their host bodies. They just crumble away to dust like the Skins in their husks, or those vamps on Buffy. “

Ava looked at the mortal remains of what had been a human being, and suddenly felt ill. She realized the tear gas was only partly responsible. "Too bad we couldn't have found a better way. “

"Better them than us," Lonnie said, shrugging. "Now let's get out of here. “

Ava coughed like a four-pack-a-day smoker as Lonnie helped her to her feet.

"Great," Ava said as she recovered from her coughing fit. "Now all we have to do is slip past the cops and find Ra… “

"Freeze! Police!" Fatigued, Ava hadn't noticed the riot cop until it was far too late.

Should have stayed in freaking Roswell with Max, Ava thought, meekly raising her hands.

Sergeant Vince Orman had only been forced to draw his weapon in the line of duty on a few prior occasions. Today was the first time he'd been forced to take another human being's life. The unkempt young man who had leaped out at him from behind a storage locker had been young… little more than a boy, really. Despite his riot helmet and gas mask, Orman had seen the gun in his assailant's hand and had ordered him to drop it.

But the kid had simply kept on coming, a vacant, strung-out look on his face. Now, he lay dead on the warehouse floor as clouds of tear gas quickly engulfed the place. Feeling a bitter upwelfing of regret, Orman looked carefully at the teen's face. He thought of the kid who had tried to exit the building via the fire escape a few minutes earlier, only to be chased back inside by the squad. Though Orman had only caught a glimpse of that kid, he could tell that this wasn't him. Better keep an eye out for that one. I've seen him around on the street, and he looks like trouble.

Luckily the tear gas canisters seemed to be having a profound effect on the other perps. Like the dead teen, these people carried firearms of various calibers, and represented a fair cross-section of New York 's street dwellers. They were dropping like flies, even as Orman and the men and women of his SWAT team secured the building's perimeter and began methodically handcuffing the at least two dozen people who were now gasping for air on the warehouse floor.

Orman felt the building shudder as a sound like thunder rattled the floor beneath his boots. "What the hell was that?" he said, turning toward a female officer named Carmody "Sounds like somebody set off a bomb," Carmody said. "Down in the basement. “

"Go check it out," Orman said, suppressing a nightmare memory of Ground Zero, and all the friends and colleagues he'd lost there. "Let's hope we don't have more terrorists on our hands. “

"1 don't think it's terrorists, Sarge," Carmody said, pointing toward one of the cuffed thugs who lay on the floor near her feet. Though Orman couldn't see Carmody's face, he could hear an edge of incredulity in her voice.

Orman studied the perp on the ground and saw that he was decaying into dust right before his eyes. Looking through the haze of gas that still hung in the air, the sergeant saw that the other perps were also rapidly turning to powdery ash, which scattered into the air to mix with the drifting tear gas. All that remained of them was their clothing, weapons, and the handcuffs that had been placed on them during their arrests.

"I don't think it's terrorists," Carmody repeated, kicking at the now-vacant pile of ragged clothing at her feet. "Unless we just broke up an al-Qaeda sleeper cell from Mars, that is. “

"Sarge!" called another member of the SWAT team, a burly former bouncer named Richards, who was handcuffing a pair of teenage girls. With their bizarre punk hair and motley riot grrl fashions, they looked like refugees from some eighties-era retro dance club.

Orman walked quickly toward Richards and the girls. "Bring 'em both in for questioning, Artie. I think these ladies have a bit of explaining to do. “

Hidden behind a discarded pile of scrap metal, Rath j watched as a phalanx of heavily armed riot cops proceeded to cuff the fallen aliens, who proceeded to turn to dust just moments after Lonnie's carefully arranged boiler-room explosion.

Rath smiled. The Antarian-possessed freakazoids wouldn't be bothering them, at least for a little while. That was one problem down.

Then he saw the cops leading Lonnie and Ava away in handcuffs. Both girls were clearly too exhausted to put up any real resistance. And Rath knew he couldn't muster enough power to fight off so many armed cops. Not after having been worn down by the freaks.

Maybe there's another way, he thought, silently emerging from the shadows. Moving stealthily, he mustered the last dregs of his powers.

Rath approached one of the riot cops from behind.

Max heard Kyle's words reverberating as loudly as a thunderclap. "Isabel! Isabel, wake up! “

He let out a groan as he turned his head, taking in everything in the space of a heartbeat. Everyone in the hallway who wasn't handcuffed or unconscious was clasping hands to ears, grimacing in pain.

All except Kyle, Max noted. Kyle knelt beside him, his mouth tightly closed, though his eyes were wide with surprise at everyone else's reaction to his words.

Max realized only then that Kyle had not spoken the words aloud. Everyone had heard Kyle, but he had not actually uttered Isabel's name aloud.

Their equilibrium disrupted by the sudden imbalance in their inner ears, the agents and police wobbled a bit. But Max could see that they weren't quite incapacitated.

Gazing down the corridor, Max saw Isabel move slightly, then saw her turn her head. She's okay, he thought, his spirits buoyed.

Isabel rolled over and lifted her hand. Though she still appeared weak, she managed to send a power blast into the midsection of the agent nearest to her, tossing him upward and slamming him against the wall. His gun tumbled from his hand as he crumpled to the ground.

Liz, use your powers, Max thought. In that instant, in his mind, he saw Kyle, then Liz. And he knew that she, too, had heard him, thanks to whatever channel had allowed Kyle to speak directly into their minds.

Down the hall, Liz gritted her teeth and kicked out toward the second agent. Her foot collided with his leg. It would have been an ineffectual enough blow under normal circumstances, but Max could see from the glow that suffused her that she had charged herself with electrical energy. It was yet another manifestation of her still-developing powers.

The agent went down as if he himself had been tasered, but Max barely noticed. Moving as one, he and Michael rolled over and extended their hands. "A barrier, not a blast," Max yelled, and in his mind he released energy down from his brain, through his heart, into his arm, and out through his fingers.

A few feet behind… between the teens and the second group of pursuers… the air shimmered with a slight rainbow effect. Max, Michael, and Kyle got to their feet, and as they did so, the agents charged toward them. And just as quickly, the men bounced off the barely visible energy barrier that Max and Michael had just erected.

"Get Maria and Liz out of here," Max yelled, keeping most of his attention focused on the barrier-blocked agents even as he looked toward the girls. As Kyle ran toward the girls, Max and Michael began stepping backward; as they did so, the barrier moved backward with them, keeping the agents at bay.

Max saw that Liz and Isabel were both standing now, and watched as Liz turned around so that Isabel stood behind her. Isabel touched the handcuffs that bound Liz's wrists, and they clicked open and clattered to the floor. Kyle squatted and picked up Maria; she groaned in his arms, but didn't regain consciousness.

"Come on," Kyle said to Liz, looking off down the hallway toward an exit sign and the stairwell located just beneath it.

"But Max… “

"The Pod Squad is going to have to defend themselves, Liz. They're up for it," Kyle said.

Max turned slightly as he backed up, and was glad to see that Liz and Kyle were leaving. He called back to Isabel. "Get their weapons and IDs. “

Moments later, he and Michael were stepping over the two unconscious agents who had nearly captured the girls. Their other pursuers were still hammering forward, trying to batter the force field down with nothing more than brute strength.

"Isabel, we're going to need one major burst of power here," Max said. "They're just going to follow us out to the exit otherwise. “

She steeled her gaze at him, and he saw there was a bit of blood on her forehead and coming from her nose. "Where do we aim it? “

Max judged that they were now maybe ten feet past the fallen agents, and perhaps another fifty from the exit that Kyle, Liz, and Maria were taking.

Max crouched. "At the floor," he said. Max and Isabel placed their hands on the floor between them and the agents, focusing their powers just underneath the force field that Michael was now maintaining single- handedly.

With a groan that sounded not unlike a Hollywood sound effect, the floor imploded downward, cracking the plaster-and-cinder-block walls that bounded the corridor, and sending a huge cloud of gray dust everywhere that wasn't blocked by Michaels force field. The agents on the other side of the now-collapsed floor cursed, pinwheeling their arms to avoid falling onto the lower level. Max smiled grimly when he saw that their gyrations couldn't prevent most of them from tumbling away into the dust cloud. He knew they'd be hurt by the fall, but they would survive.

"Nice one!" Michael exclaimed, as he allowed the force field to collapse, then turned to follow Max and Isabel. The three of them ran together toward the exit door, and Max was pleased to see that the stairway opened onto the mall's parking garage. Even more luckily, they were on the same level where they'd parked the van.

"Which way to the van?" Michael asked. Kyle and Liz were already out of sight.

"That way," Isabel said, pointing. "I remember passing that blue Jaguar on our way in. “

As they ran, they heard a revving engine and the echoing squeal of tires. The VW Microbus they had gotten from Jesse back in Roswell turned the corner moments later, with Kyle behind the wheel.

With a screech of the brakes, the van stopped near them. Michael flung open the side door and jumped in, followed by Isabel. Max took one last look toward the exit before he hopped into the van, and was dismayed to see that at least one agent had apparently jumped the gap in the demolished floor. One agent with a cell phone.

This wasn't over yet.

Roswell, New Mexico Roswell Sheriff's Deputy Jim Valenti was eating a pastrami sandwich at his desk, taking a late lunch. Sheriff Hanson regularly rotated his deputies, and today was Valenti's day to work in the office. As was typical, not much was happening. Dina Heikenberry had called in a few minutes ago to run some plates on a speeding car, and Glenn Carver had reported some teens motocrossing on Mesaliko Indian Reservation property.

With a quick glance around the office, Valenti tapped the trackball mouse on his desk, waking up the computer screen. Deftly using a menu, he scrolled down to a folder called "Games." He highlighted the mah-jongg game Shanghai and double-clicked, starting the program. In the "Layout" menu, he chose "Boar," and a black field quickly began to fill with colorful tiles.

Valenti placed his cursor over the lower left corner, where nothing was visible, and clicked. Immediately, a popup window appeared, reporting an error alert of "47" and displaying an empty dialogue box. He typed his password, "oneofus," and it launched a specially built e-mail application that began searching for incoming communications.

Three months ago, he had pulled over Gerry Ailston for weaving on the road. Ailston had consented to a search of his vehicle, and the deputy had found a small bag of marijuana. Not enough for a felony, but certainly a misdemeanor. But it was the laptop in the back of the car that especially had caught Valentis attention, as well as the bumper stickers that were… as he later found out… the obscure sayings of computer geeks.

Ailston had been a friend of Alex Whitmans in high school, and Valenti knew he was more of a maladjusted geek than a drug dealer or threat to the Roswellian way of life. Kyle had even mentioned once or twice what a genius Ailston was with computers.

After appropriately scaring Ailston and bringing out a set of handcuffs, Valenti stared at him closely. "I'll tell you what, Gerry. Seeing as how I don't think you're going to be driving under the influence again anytime soon, I'm going to let this one slide… if you do me a favor. A big favor. “

Ailston shifted nervously, his reddened eyes glancing side to side like a pair of trapped animals. "What kind of a… favor? “

"I need some computer help. Some top-secret help." The kid grinned, seeming to relax. "Ohhh, sure. I just thought… I mean… sure, I'll do any computer work you want. “

True to his word, Ailston had done so. Valenti knew he was being watched by the feds, so any contact he had with the cyber-talented teen was carried out very surreptitiously. Gerry had shown him some extremely neat computer tricks, and had built… to the deputy's exacting specifications… some customized applications for Internet access, text programs, and HTML coding. These applications enabled him to use the computers at work without anyone's knowledge. Valenti had the kid describe each step along the way, and even learned how to modify the programs himself.

Ailston had even… on Valenti's recommendation… been allowed to update the Web page for the Roswell Sheriffs Department. Nobody knew that Valenti's own page on the site was one portal, nor that the "Boar" configuration to Shanghai was another portal. Valenti had others, and only used the incoming portals for a week at a time. He knew the Special Unit… or whatever it was called… was keeping tabs on him, along with the Evans family, the Parkers, and Amy DeLuca. He wasn't certain that the computers at work were bugged, but he tried to be as careful as he could be regardless.

Now, the computer beeped at him and displayed three text e-mail files. He decrypted them, sent them to the printer, then tapped a couple of keys that re-encrypted the text messages. Anyone trying to recover them now without the encryption key would end up crashing the program for good.

As Valenti reached for the three printed pages, he chuckled to himself. I've been worried all this time about whether Kyle and I would develop alien powers the way Liz did ajter Max healed her. Maybe all this computer expertise is my new power.

He smiled as he looked at the three printouts. Each was an e-mail message… from Kyle, Maria, and Liz. A quick read told him that they were all okay. Good. Their parents will be happy to hear that. Now he would just have to wait until an appropriate time to start the delivery route. Dinner at the Crashdown with an extra-special tip might just be the ticket tonight.

He slipped the papers into a pile of his other paperwork, then grabbed his sandwich for another bite.

Kyle's all right, he thought, grinning again.

Cheyenne, Wyoming Liz watched Kyle spin the wheel, making the van lurch to the side and screech down a curving ramp. She attempted to keep her balance in the back, but she fell against the side wall, the still-unconscious Maria moving with her.

"Ow!" Liz exclaimed as she tried to steady herself. Everyone else who was conscious grabbed hold of whatever they could to stay steady.

"Sorry about that," Kyle yelled back. "But if we don't get out of here soon, we probably never will. “

"The last agent I just saw had a cell phone," Max said, pulling the back window blind aside so he could look out. "Keep an eye out in case we pick up a tail. “

"Got it," Isabel said, shifting in the front passengers seat.

Michael looked toward Liz and Maria. Liz could see that Michael's attention was torn between his urge to stand and fight and his need to get the girl he loved to safety.

"I think she'll be fine," Liz said, smoothing Maria's hair away from her closed eyes. "Her pulse is strong, and she's groaned a few times. Maybe she'll be coming around soon. “

"Good," Michael said. He looked vulnerable for a moment, a side that most of them rarely ever saw. Then, setting his jaw with grim determination, he moved to the back of the van, where he crouched beside Max.

"Hold on, everybody!" Kyle yelled. Moments later, the van turned sharply again, tires screaming.

"They're blocking the exit!" Isabel said, pointing straight ahead. Liz could only wonder what obstacle fate had dropped into their path this time.

"We've got a car on our tail too," Max said.

"Ever see that Blues Brothers movie?" Kyle asked as the van continued toward the waiting cars. "Maybe I should take a detour through the mall. “

Liz scowled. "Focus, Zen master," she said.

"This is going to be tight," Kyle said, ignoring the reprimand. Grabbing one of the van's walls, Liz moved up onto her knees, just in time to see through the windshield that they were facing certain doom. A pair of police squad cars was parked nose-to-nose in the driveway of the mall lot. But there was an escape route.

Kyle took it. Veering to the side, the van smashed through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of a store display at the corner of the mall. Mannequins dressed in mall couture were knocked aside like bowling pins. The right-side wheels of the van ran up onto the raised floor, and for a fleeting second, Liz was terrified that the vehicle would flip over.

The moment was brief, and before the glass and mannequins had hit the ground behind them, the van had landed on the sidewalk, then the street. Revving the engine, Kyle began speeding down the street, directly toward an intersection.

Liz saw Kyle's grin reflected at her in the rear-view mirror. "We're on a mission from God," he said, quoting The Blues Brothers. Before Liz could reach forward and slap him on the back of the head, he added, "Four-way light coming up. Which way? “

Liz turned to see Max cursing under his breath. He was still looking through the back window shade. "We've got at least one car tailing us, and they're going to call reinforcements. Take whatever way will get us to hiding. “

"That's helpful," Kyle muttered, then slammed the pedal to the floor. Liz nearly fell over from the acceleration.

The van came to a red light, but Kyle barely slowed before merging into the somewhat dense traffic headed to the right. "Liz heard angry honks and brakes squealing, and realized that no matter how deftly Kyle had moved the van, the lives of innocent bystanders were at risk. Sighing heavily, she closed her eyes. Why won't they just leave us alone? She knew that the answer could be summed up in a single word: "fear." She had felt that fear, as had Maria and Kyle and Alex and Sheriff Valenti. Sure, their friends had grown to understand that the half-aliens who lived among them meant no harm. Most of the time, they didn't even want to be aliens. But in the beginning, she, too, had experienced that very same fear. So how could she blame others now for reacting in the same way? "They're still on us," Max said, looking out the back window. "Eight cars back and gaining." Just then, Liz could hear the rising wail of a siren.

Liz decided to pay more attention to what was ahead than what lay behind. Looking forward, she watched as Isabel scanned through the scratched windshield, then pointed out to Kyle's left.

"Up there," Isabel said. "If you can get in front of that semi, you can use it to block them and make a turn. “

Honking the horn, Kyle accelerated the van. Liz could see that cars were pulling to the side to let them pass, and then she saw the truck Isabel was talking about.

Moments later, Kyle swerved in front of the truck. In the back, Michael jumped as the truck blew its air horn, its brakes squealing. Through the windows, Liz could see its front grille looming behind them, much too close for comfort.

"Hang on," Kyle said again, swerving the van. Liz saw a yellow light flash by as he turned, apparently racing through another intersection. The minibus shuddered, tires scratching rubber across the asphalt, but kept its balance and much of its forward momentum.

Then Liz heard an impact, followed by the unmistakable grinding sound of metal on metal. For a moment she wondered if something had blown up in the van's engine, like the time they'd all been stranded in the little town of Stonewall.

Liz turned to see both Michael and Max glued to the windows. "What happened?" she asked, her voice more shrill than she wanted it to be.

"We just lost our pursuer," Max said. "Literally. They hit an SUV “

"Ouch," Kyle said. "Let that be a lesson to both alien-hunters and gas guzzlers. “

"Anyone else following us?" Isabel asked.

"No, but we still have to get to safety. Find us a place to hide, Kyle," Max said, his voice firm and in control. He wasn't just requesting it; he was commanding it. Despite his protestations to the contrary, Liz knew that at times like these, his leadership instincts simply took over. She didn't mind. It felt right. She turned back toward the front of the van.

"You got it, Max," Kyle said, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

Liz heard a groan behind her and turned to see Maria groggily waking up. Michael moved swiftly over to her side.

"Wha… what happened?" she asked weakly. "Did I just miss the really exciting part? “

Perhaps ironically, Kyle found refuge for the Microbus behind an abandoned church. The driveway was blocked by a fence, but it was easily unlocked with a flick of Isabel's hand.

Because of his automotive expertise, Kyle took the lead in all matters related to the care and feeding of the van. The first order of business was disguising it. While Max and Michael changed the color of the paint… their slightly glowing palms wiping the vehicle's light green away in favor of a dull red… Isabel used her powers to mend the nicks and dents in the windshield and body of the van. It wasn't the first time they had recolored their transportation, but it was the most extensive body-repair they'd ever had to do.

Looking briefly at the engine, Kyle was relieved to discover that nothing essential had been broken during the chase.

So jar, he thought.

Michael knew how tired he was, and imagined that Max and Isabel were probably feeling every bit as drained as he was. He knew that using their powers as much as they had today generally required a good eight-hour sleep for a complete recharge. But he also knew that they might not have that much time.

We have to disguise ourselves and get outta Dodge, he thought. They hadn't fully discussed what had just happened, or its ramifications, but this had been far too close a call.

Michael was getting really tired of running from the government, from other aliens, from whoever happened to be hunting them or haunting them from week to week. More and more he wondered if his instincts and his past as Rath, leader of the Antarian military forces, might not be catching up with him. How much longer am I going to be able to hold back? When do all of us finally decide to fight back? While Kyle checked the engine and the rest of the van for any other damage, Liz was taking care of Maria, who sat, looking weathered, in the front passenger seat. Michael could tell that the taser had really knocked her for a loop, and he wondered if the setting might not have been higher than normal; it seemed to have done quite a number on Isabel as well, at least at the mall.

Walking the length of the van, Michael squatted near the bumper, beside Max. "What do you want the plates to say, Maxwell?" he asked.

Max looked over at the church, then back again. "Only seven letters. C-A-T-H-L-I-C. If they think we're good Christians, maybe they won't take any special notice of our van." He thought for a moment, then added, "And change the state to California. “

Michael smiled, then moved his hand over the formed metal of the rear plate. With a few small pops and pings, the lettering reshaped itself into the requested words. He also changed the registration tag's month and year, then stood and walked back around to the van's front to change the other plate.

On the way, he leaned through the passenger-side window. "Hey," he said simply to Maria. Liz gave her friend a water bottle, then exited through the van's other side and wandered away. The radio chattered in the background.

"Hi, Spaceboy," Maria said, managing a weak smile.

"How are you feeling?" He reached forward and stroked her arm.

"Like hell. I keep shivering, but I'm not cold, and I've got this twitch in my eye, and I think that FBI zapgun gave me split ends." She offered a wobbly smile, then tears welled up in her eyes. She leaned forward, and Michael enfolded her in his arms.

"It's okay," he said softly, his hand stroking her neck and back. "You'll feel better soon. And Isabel can fix your hair. Or I can if you really want, but that might be scarier than dealing with the split ends. “

Michael was gratified to hear Maria's light laughter, which was muffled by his shoulder. She didn't pull away, and moments later, he realized she was crying again. He held her tighter, willing her to feel his love and his resolve that everything really was going to be all right.

After a minute or so had passed, Maria let go and sat straighter in the seat. She wiped under her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffled a bit. "I'm sorry. It must be the jolt of juice that made me so emotional. “

Michael restrained himself from saying what he thought: You're always emotional. Instead he just stroked her arm with his hand. When he sensed she was steady enough, he said, "I need to go finish with the license plates. You gonna be okay? “

She nodded, and he moved to the front of the VW, where Isabel was finished with the dent repairs, and Kyle was fiddling with the bent windshield wipers.

As Michael crouched in front of the license plate, he said, "Nice driving job, Valenti. “

Kyle looked down at him, a frustrated look on his face. "Hey, if you think you could have done better… " His face changed as Michael looked at him with sincerity. "Oh. Thanks. “

Michael began reshaping the license letters. "I couldn't have done better," he said. "At least not in this vehicle. Give me a bike and I could've escaped with a few less bruises and scrapes. But you got all of us out of the frying pan. “

He didn't look up, but he knew Kyle was probably gaping at him because of this uncharacteristic compliment. Michael knew he was generally the most contrary of the six of them. But sometimes it just seemed right to go against the grain and be a nice guy. Besides, Kyle had done a good job.

"Everybody, get over here!" It was Liz's voice, and she sounded alarmed.

Michael, Kyle, Isabel, and Max converged at the side of the van within seconds. Maria was leaning into the vehicle, her hand on the radio's volume knob. She was listening intently "What is it?" Max asked.

"It's not good news," Maria said gravely.

Rath donned the unconscious riot cop's uniform and all its accoutrements in a small office he'd found in a quiet corner of the warehouse. The uniform and body armor fit a little snugly, but a judicious application of his nearly depleted powers quickly fixed the problem.

Remember the cop's face, Rath thought before exiting the office and hiding his own features… as well as his decidedly uncoplike haircut… beneath the black riot helmet. Running through the warehouse to catch up to the other members of the SWAT team, he tried to hang on to a mental picture of the slumbering cop's face. Might need to copy that mug in a hurry if anybody decides to take a peek under this Darth Vader mask.

But Rath sincerely hoped his limited morphing abilities wouldn't be put to that sort of test. His shapeshifting talents had so far been limited to superficial surface characteristics, such as facial features, hair, and clothing. He was glad he'd been able to steal a disguise, because in his present condition he doubted he could muster enough energy to morph his body for very long.

Rath soon found himself standing in the weed-strewn parking lot that bounded one side of the abandoned warehouse building, in the midst of more than a dozen riot cops. Under the bright summer sun, he saw immediately that Lonnie and Ava were there as well, their arms handcuffed behind their backs. Low-flying helicopters maneuvered overhead, as though searching for something or someone, churning the air into a stiff wind. Every nerve ending in Rath's body screamed, Danger! He wanted to make a run for the girls, but restrained himself. He knew he hadn't had enough time yet to recover from the battle against the freaks, and the girls must have been similarly depleted to have been caught so fiat-footed. Rath knew that if their powers had been at their peak, Ava could probably have Jedi Knighted the cops into letting the three of them slip away unnoticed, just another trio of nameless, faceless rats bound for the sewers they called home.

Talk about wandering right into the freaking lion's den, Rath thought, his throat going dry.

Keeping himself motionless with an extreme effort of will, Rath watched as the cops hauled the girls, none too gently, toward an official transport vehicle that was idling a short distance away It looked like an armored Humvee, the type of ride that the Army might use in special operations. One of the helicopters, its body painted black, grew suddenly louder, attracting Raths attention. He watched as it touched down in the parking lot, just a few dozen yards from the Humvee.

It was only then that Rath noticed the men and women in olive-drab military uniforms, and the hard- looking, crew-cut men wearing tailored black suits. The Men in Black and Green Army Men quickly began running back and forth between the chopper and the armored vehicle. The eyes of the MiBs were hidden behind impenetrable shades, their ears connected to some vast, unseen communications network by slender white coils of wire.

This is definitely no ordinary cop-shop op, Rath thought, his pulse thundering so loudly in his ears that he thought the helicopter pilots must be able to hear it. Some of these guys could understudy for Tommy Lee Jones. He wondered if they used a talking pug as a hunting dog.

The reason for the presence of these army guys and MiBs was fairly clear: They must have caught a whiff of something alien here. But Rath had to wonder exactly which aliens they were tracking. It was possible that their entire purpose here was to track the alien-possessed derelicts who'd just tried to kill the Royal Three. After all, those freaks weren't very big on subtlety. The way they used ordnance and chewed up their human hosts, they might as well have mailed engraved invitations straight to the Office of Homeland Security.

But if the Feds wanted the freaks, then why would they take Lonnie and Ava instead of leaving them to New York 's Finest? Rath watched as some of the Feds carried small satchels into the warehouse. Within minutes, a pair of agents emerged into the parking lot, carrying what appeared to be body bags… very small ones, which could only have contained the dusty remains of some of the freaks' human hosts.

They've gotta be wondering not just who the freaks are, but also who they were shooting at… and who killed them.

His face still concealed beneath his riot helmet and gas mask, Rath spared a glance at the riot cops who were milling about nearby. Now clear of the clouds of tear gas that still permeated the interior of the warehouse, they had begun removing their gas masks and helmets.

Uh-oh, Rath thought. Pretty soon they're gonna start wondering why I'm so overdressed for this party.

He recalled the time a few years earlier when he and Lonnie had sneaked into a baseball game at Yankee Stadium. They hadn't used any of their alien powers to get past the turnstiles that day. Instead, they had simply walked in, carrying clipboards and wearing the workman's overalls they'd created by rearranging the molecules of their own clothing. "The key to getting into places you're not supposed to be," Lonnie had told him then, "is to just act like you belong. “

Unable to think of anything else to do, Rath walked purposefully toward the Humvee just as one of the MiBs placed a hand on Lonnie's shoulder. A riot-suited cop, apparently a high-ranking one, stood with a hand on Ava's shoulder. A gray-haired, obviously high-ranking military officer also stood by, glaring at the policeman.

The MiB and the top riot cop appeared to be arguing pretty heatedly about something, but their words were lost in the noisy propwash of the helicopter, whose engine was still idling nearby, as if its pilot expected to receive evacuation orders at any moment.

Rath knew he had to risk walking right into the center of things if he was going to have a prayer of learning what was going on… and if there was to be any chance of keeping Lonnie and Ava out of the hands of the Feds.

"… not a very smart move, Sergeant Orman," the MiB was saying.

"I'm not the one making the moves," the cop said, an edge of anger in his voice. He tightened his grip on the wincing Ava's shoulder. "These two don't look like threats to national security to me. They were probably just squatters who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I intend to take them downtown to sort all that out. “

"That's not gonna happen, sir," the MiB said. He appeared to be listening to another simultaneous conversation over his earpiece, which trailed a coil of wire down into his stiff white collar. Rath realized he was now close enough to grab that wire and strangle him with it. Somehow, he resisted the temptation.

Orman fumed. "Listen, you Feds can't just horn in on a police bust without at least offering some kind of explanation. “

The military officer, whom Rath guessed was a major or a colonel, spoke up then. "Oh, I'm afraid we can, Sergeant. You have to defer to the chain of command, just as we do. “

Orman's eyes widened as though the military guy had just sprouted a second head. "I do defer to the chain of command, Colonel. It's called the NYPD. “

"That's pony-league stuff, Sergeant," said the colonel, his eyes flinty, dangerous. "I, on the other hand, answer directly to the Joint Chiefs and the president. “

"President of what?" Orman said, not backing down a bit. Rath couldn't help but admire the man's courage.

"Watch yourself, Orman. “

Orman was apparently just warming up. "Don't try to threaten me, Colonel. I patrol neighborhoods that make Mogadishu look like Disney World. Now, my guys and I saw some pretty weird stuff go down in that warehouse, and so did these two kids. People don't just… crumble away into ash like that. What's really going on here? Terrorist attack? Bioweapon? Alien invasion? “

"Take your pick, Sergeant," the MiB said, chuckling. "You're welcome to wonder about it to your heart's content. After we leave with these detainees. “

"But if you continue obstructing us," the colonel added, "we can easily make room for you in that vehicle as well. How would you like to be the subject of a secret military tribunal, Sergeant? I hear Guantanamo Bay is lovely this time of year. “

Another pair of MiBs appeared and began hustling Lon-nie and Ava into the open rear door of the Humvee. Orman withdrew, taking a step backward with obvious reluctance. But he obviously knew when he was beaten. The Feds were part of a huge machine that could pretty much roll over and flatten anything or anyone that got in its way.

Rath felt helpless. It had become obvious to him that there was nothing he could do to save the girls. / have gotta get out of here, with or without them. Even if that officially makes me the Royal One.

"Hey!" someone behind him shouted.

Rath sighed beneath the gas mask. Here it comes. Squaring his shoulders in an effort to look confident, he turned toward the voice.

"You can lose the gear now, buddy," said one of the helmetless riot cops, a balding, dark-skinned man with a prominent gold tooth. He was sweating in the hot, black body armor, which gleamed in the sunshine. Rath suddenly realized that perspiration was pooling at the small of his own back, making him shiver.

"In case you missed it, the war's over in there," the cop said, hiking a thumb toward the dilapidated warehouse.

No, "buddy"! think the real war's just about to get going.

The other cop's smile froze in place, his entire demeanor subtly shifting from collegiality to suspicion. Feeling suddenly scrutinized, Rath wondered just how much weirdness the other man had seen inside the building… and what thoughts those sights had put into his head.

The cop let one of his hands drift toward a sidearm holster attached to the bulky Sam Browne belt he wore. Rath felt as though he'd just been caught cheating at cards.

"Why don't you take off your mask and helmet now, pal," he said. It was obviously not a request.

Rath considered blasting him and running, but he knew he wouldn't get far with so many armed goons and MiBs around. And even if he did manage to get away, then what would become of Lonnie and Ava? Now the MiBs only suspected them of having committed the heinous offense of Breathing While Alien. If the cops, the MiBs, or the army were to capture or kill him in the act of trying to pull off a rescue, then the girls would be way past mere suspicion.

"How about it, man?" the cop said, his voice raised. He kept his hand just outside his open holster, like a gunslinger from an old grade-B Western. Several other bare-faced riot cops had drifted toward the mounting confrontation, all of them eyeing Rath curiously.

Rath noticed that Sergeant Orman was among them.

Damn, he thought, listening to a door slam shut on the Humvee. The helicopter noise was intensifying; some of the military people and MiBs were apparently getting ready to depart, no doubt intending to watch from the air while the Humvee took their new prisoners off to be interrogated and dissected.

Orman approached Rath, scowling. "Let me see your face," the sergeant ordered, shouting to be heard over the helicopters rising din.

Rath summoned his mental picture of the officer whose gear he was wearing. Gathering every erg of power he thought he could spare without passing out, he concentrated on morphing his face and hair to match his mental image of the cop he'd left unconscious inside the warehouse.

Then he pulled off his mask and helmet with a stage-fencer's flourish.

Orman and the cop with the gold tooth suddenly relaxed visibly. So did Rath, at least a little, when he saw their reactions.

"What's the problem, Sarge?" Rath asked Orman, trying hard to project an image of legitimate confusion.

"Nothing, Palfrey. Just thought it was a little strange that you hadn't taken off your gear yet. “

Rath grinned for the benefit of Orman and the other cops. Like Orman, he had to shout to be heard over the chopper noise. "Just thought some of the gas might still be blowing around out here. I got a double lungful of World Trade Center dust last year at Ground Zero, and thought I was gonna cough up a lung. Can't be too careful, you know? “

Orman nodded silently. Though he and the other cops were no longer looking askance at him, Rath saw something peculiar in the sergeant's eyes. The man looked haunted.

After having seen the freaks' human hosts crumble away into so many Pixie Sticks, Rath could certainly understand why.

Pain suddenly lanced through Rath's head. He recognized it immediately. He knew he had to get out of sight right away. If anyone saw him lose control of his shape-changing ability, he'd be right in everybody's crosshairs within a heartbeat.

Then, just when Rath thought he couldn't endure the agony of holding his current shape for another second, Orman shouted something. "Dismissed, Palfrey. I want you to cordon off the crime scene, then head back to the station." Orman turned and headed across the parking lot toward one of the armored police vans. The other cops who had been looking on drifted away, intent on whatever duties they needed to perform.

Still doing his best to hang on to Palfrey's face, Rath turned back toward the government Humvee, around which several MiBs were still swarming. He could see a driver in the cockpit, obviously preparing to get the vehicle underway. A second MiB sat on the passenger side, apparently riding shotgun. Not far away, the black helicopter was beginning to rise into the air.

As far as Rath could tell, no one was paying much attention to him at the moment. And he knew that if he didn't somehow get Lonnie and Ava free of the Humvee right now, he wouldn't get another chance.

If he hesitated, he might never see Lonnie again. It's now or never.

Discarding the gas mask on the blacktop, Rath donned the riot helmet again and relaxed his concentration slightly, letting his features return to normal, including his spiky Mohawk. Thanks to the helmet and uniform, none of the MiBs, army guys, or riot cops… all of whom were busy at the moment with their appointed tasks… seemed to notice his transformation.

He walked briskly to the other side of the Humvee, the side that faced away from the warehouse and the people milling about it. He stepped into the tall vehicle's blind spot just as the last of the MiBs and military people got inside and disappeared behind the dark-tinted windows of the rear compartment.

Crouching so that no one within the cockpit or the passenger compartment could see him, he quickly approached the drivers side door. He discarded his helmet, removed one of his black gloves, and placed his hand on the door lock. With his other hand, he unhol-stered the police-issue Glock nine-millimeter pistol he had taken from Palfrey.

His ungloved hand glowed a dull red as he forced as much power as he could muster into the door mechanism. Though he felt somewhat dizzy from the effort, he ignored the sensation and tugged on the door handle with both hands. It swung open without any resistance.

Rath tried to take full advantage of the surprise etched across the faces of both men in the Humvee's cockpit. The MiB who rode shotgun went down quickly when Rath force-fed him a mouthful of Glock handle. Shoving the unconscious man across the Humvee's wide dashboard, Rath swung the barrel of his pistol toward the wide-eyed driver, who was already exercising the better part of valor by raising his empty hands over his head.

"Good boy," Rath said, staring daggers at the driver as he concentrated on changing his appearance to match that of the man behind the wheel.

All at once, the pain in his head returned, this time with a vengeance. Rath felt as though someone had plunged blazing pokers into both of his eyes, and he shut them for a moment as the waves of agony washed over him. He was pushing his powers too hard, and he knew it.

His eyes flew open when something heavy struck him in the chest, and he felt himself turn weightless for a moment. He found himself plummeting backward out of the passenger-side door, gravity and the driver's relentless weight bearing him down to a painful impact with the blacktop beside the vehicle's front wheels.

Rath's breath fled his body when he struck the ground, and now the driver had the advantage. The gun skittered away on the pavement, but the driver ignored it, raining blows onto Rath's face, giving him no opportunity to dodge or regain his feet.

Concentrating, Rath released a focused blast of energy through his hand, slamming the driver into the side of the Humvee. The black-suited man slumped to the blacktop, unconscious.

Half-stunned himself, Rath rose to his feet and tried to re-enter the Humvee. Through the half-open door, he could see the driver's keys dangling in the ignition. Though still exhausted, he felt his confidence begin to rebound. Maybe there really is a chance to pull this rescue off.

"Freeze!" shouted someone behind him.

Rath turned slowly and found himself facing a trio or armed MiBs. Don't panic, he told himself, focusing past the pain that was all but perforating his head. Just hang on to this face for a while longer. Maybe I can fool 'em just long enough to take the Humvee.

"Boy am I glad to see you guys," Rath said, trying to look relieved to be rescued. He pointed at the driver, who lay on the ground beside the Humvee. "That guy was trying to impersonate me and steal the prisoners. “

The agents looked at each other, clearly uncertain. Absurdly, Rath remembered an old Star Trek episode he'd seen recently on the stolen cable-TV rig he'd set up down in the sewer-level lair of the Royal Three. You might have to shoot us both, Spock.

Rath decided he didn't like that idea much. He was aware that the more time these guys had to think about it, the less chance he had of being believed. And he also knew the agents had probably already raised the alarm, via their ear-wires. Reinforcements would be here any second, ready to shoot first and ask questions later.

Suddenly, one of the agents pointed at Rath, then said something to his companions. Rath couldn't hear him over the helicopter noise, but he did manage to read the man's lips.

Look at his face! Rath put a hand up to his brow and immediately confirmed what he already suspected. As his overall power-level waned, so did his ability to hold the shape he'd just adopted. The skin on his face was shifting and bubbling, like water boiling in a pot.

Time had finally run out. Rath decided that waiting any longer could only get him killed, along with Lonnie and Ava.

Diving to the ground to make himself a more difficult target, Rath expended another bolt of raw power in the direction of the armed agents. One of the MiBs went down hard, and the two others responded by hitting the dirt while simultaneously training their weapons in his direction. No one else was running toward them, which Rath took as an encouraging sign.

He released another bolt of energy, and another MiB went down, even as the last one got up and ran toward him, brandishing a strange-looking pistol as he approached.

Rath turned back toward the Humvee's still-open passenger-side door and dived for the cockpit, trusting that the agent wouldn't shoot him in the back. The Feds want to capture us first. The killing part comes later.

He landed on the seat, then turned to grab the door.

Before he could pull it closed, something struck him hard in the chest, though it made no noise and delivered surprisingly little pain. Fatigue finally began to overtake him, and time was suddenly flowing in a bizarre, variable-speed slow motion. The impact didn't feel like that of a bullet, and he saw a taut length of fine wire gleaming in the sunlight as it stretched across the gap between his body and the approaching agent's gun.

It was only when the second impact, and another length of wire, struck him that he realized what he was up against. As the electrical current surged mercilessly into his body and through his already overloaded central nervous system, a single word entered his mind.

Taser His body rigid, Rath tumbled into and past the Humvee's still-open door. The parking lot rushed up to greet him. He thought briefly of Lonnie before consciousness fled.

Then he thought and felt nothing at all.

"SOo they think we're terrorists now?" Kyle's voice sounded shrill even in his own ears. "What? How? Geeeeeeesh!" He yanked at the hair on top of his head in frustration and stomped away, his carefully crafted Buddhist equanimity all in tatters.

"Possible terrorist attack is what they said," Liz responded, her tone solemn.

Kyle stopped, forcing his emotions back under control as best he could. He turned to see how the others were taking the latest news.

Max leaned against the now dent-free side of the Microbus. "Whether they think we're terrorists or alien invaders, we still have a big problem. It was bad enough when the Men in Black or other aliens were chasing us. But now we're at risk from the police as well. “

Michael laughed, but it sounded mirthless. "Yeah, with our luck, we'll end up on America 's Most Wanted. “

"Okay, let's just chill out for a minute," Isabel said, raising her hands level with her head, palms out. "That's not the only thing we need to worry about. “

Maria sighed. "You mean the people who were in the accident Kyle caused? “

"Hey, I did not cause that accident," Kyle said, pointing his finger angrily at Maria. He felt bad enough about what had happened without any of his friends rubbing his nose in it. "I was trying to save all our lives. “

Michael stepped in front of Kyle's finger, his face clouded with emotion. "Step back, Valenti," he growled.

Max put his hand on Michael's shoulder. "Hey, you step back too, Michael. Snapping at each other isn't going to get us anywhere." He sighed, then continued. "Liz, what exactly did that report say about the accident? “

"It said the driver of one of the cars involved and a teenage passenger in another car were both in critical condition," Liz said soberly. "Apparently, the cops or government guys who were chasing us weren't badly hurt at all. “

Michael snorted again. "Yeah, that's just our luck. “

It occurred to Kyle that there was a way to salve his mounting guilt. "So, we should go help those people," he said. "Let Max do his alien faith-healing thing. “

"Too risky," Liz said.

Maria blanched and looked at her friend. "You say it's too risky? You always want to help the helpless. “

"Of course I want to help, but we might put ourselves in even more danger," Liz said. "And if it comes down to a choice between saving all of us, or some people who got hurt because the government wouldn't leave us alone, I'm going to pick all of us. “

No one said anything for a moment, and the only sounds nearby were the leaves on an oak tree as they rustled in the gentle afternoon breeze.

Then Kyle decided he didn't accept Liz's us-or-them choice. There had to be a better way.

"Who's going to expect us to sneak into a hospitall “

Topeka, Kansas Special Agent Suzanne Duff moved through the hallway gracefully, despite the large number of dark-suited men and conservatively dressed women who clogged the area. The legislative session was breaking for the day, and the various assistants, pages, and press people milled about the foyer of the capitol.

Touching her earpiece, Duff heard one of her fellow agents confirm that Senator McNeil was leaving the chamber. She made her way to an appropriate spot and waited. A few seconds later the murmur of the mob changed, and McNeil strode forward, flanked by a pair of Secret Service men… or reasonable bodyguard facsimiles thereof… and trailed by a pack of reporters.

Duff watched them all closely as they walked by. The senator had been receiving death threats for the last two weeks, and although the vast majority of such threats were harmless, the FBI profilers had been alarmed by the frequency and specificity of these angry missives.

One of the so-called news crewmen was actually an FBI agent who was recording everyone who had any contact with the senator in public. Each of the images was fed into facial recognition software and compared to the federal databases. So far, none of those scanned since her agents had come on board had come up with even a single flag of potential trouble.

The senator was not without his enemies, which made this particular hunt even more difficult. His stance on abortion angered the right-to-lifers, while his recent negative comments about the state's gay community had gotten him into even more hot water. Can't please the right or the left, Duff thought. McNeil is perfect water-cooler discussion material. Everyone has an opinion about him.

Personally, Duff didn't particularly like McNeil. Certainly, he had treated her with respect when she and her staff had interviewed him about the threat-letters, but she had expected that. She wondered what he would feel about her privately… and what he might say publicly… if he knew the truth about her. He could see that she was African-American and a woman easily enough, but he wouldn't have known she was a lesbian just by looking at her. The trijecta for bigots, she thought with a rueful smile. A black gay woman. She suspected that McNeil would have rather had a married white male agent heading up his case. Fortunately for Duff, one didn't always get to pick one's protectors.

As McNeil neared the elevator, Duff felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Directing her voice down to her collar microphone, she said, "Watch the woman in the blue coat approaching to the senator's left. She's got something in her hand. Doesn't feel… “

Before she had finished, the woman made her move. Her hand flashed out, crimson liquid spraying outward from it all over the senator, his aide, and a reporter from Channel 6 news.

The woman started to yell, "This is the blood of the unborn…," but in less than a second, two FBI agents had tackled her. The Secret Service men drew their guns and stepped in front of McNeil, forming a human shield around him.

"Step back! Everybody step back!" Duff yelled, pushing the reporters and everyone else away from the immediate vicinity. Amazingly, they obeyed her. Perhaps it was because of the already-drawn guns that backed up Duff's warning, or maybe in the shock of the moment they were merely happy to be told what to do.

The woman was screaming as the agents held her down. One had drawn her hands up behind her back and was kneeling on her neck, while the other was efficiently frisking her. Duff knelt to retrieve the item the woman had dropped, being careful to grab it with a handkerchief so as not to disturb any fingerprints. The item was a large coffee cup, its insides coated in a viscous red liquid. Blood. Or something like it. She sniffed it. No, not blood.

She stood and faced McNeil, whose aide was busy wiping the spatters off the senators face. "Are you all right, sir?" Duff asked.

"Yeah, just a little red in the face," McNeil said, cracking a weak smile. Duff knew that the self-deprecating sense of humor had gone far in getting him votes, further proof that theater was as important on the Beltway as were political platforms.

"It smells like syrup of some sort," Duff said, keeping her voice low enough that the press couldn't hear her across the foyer. "Probably watered down. “

"Hmmm, well, it's going to stain this marvelous suit," McNeil's aide said.

"It's all right, Delroy. Quit fussing," McNeil said. "So, you think this is my stalker? “

Duff shook her head. "We won't really know for a while yet. She could be the one, or she could be just a random member of the unhappy public. “

McNeil grunted and nodded. As the elevator door opened in front of him, he looked back toward Duff. "Yes, well, I'll expect a report soon." It wasn't a question.

It took almost an hour to process the woman to the point where Duff could take a break from the thick of things. She sat down with a thump into the chair behind her temporary desk and toggled the computer on.

A flashing icon told her she had new mail, and she clicked on it to initiate the program. Once there, she entered her federal I.D. number, her password, and a secondary password.

She scanned the subject headings, then clicked on one that said "XMA94… Cheyenne, Wyoming." XMA- 94 was the code for unusual altercations, often related to suspected homeland terrorist cells, white supremacist splinter factions, or other armed groups.

Duff read through the file quickly, noting the amount of information that wasn't included in it. Something's being covered up here, she thought. There were too many nonspecific terms, and the clearance codes for the initial strike orders were high-level ones. She had seen this kind of thing before.

Scrolling down, Duff stopped on multiple photos taken by security cameras at the scenes of the Cheyenne confrontation. They had yet to be enhanced, but it didn't matter. Duff recognized the kids in the photos.

Hell, they aren't exactly kids anymore. Kyle Valenti she recognized best. She had met the ex-sheriff's son in May of 2001, while working on her second case. The assignment had gotten her involved with finding a missing girl named Laurie Dupree. As the case unfolded, Dupree's abduction was linked to an archaeologist named Grant Sorenson, a group of teens in Roswell, New Mexico, and the town's half-crazed sheriff.

At least, Jim Valenti had seemed to be half crazed when she met him. He had been caught up in an expanding web of lies that ultimately cost him his job. Yet Duff could sense that deep down, Valenti had believed he was doing the right thing.

By the end of the case, Duff had seen things she wouldn't have thought possible. She had been forced to shoot Sorenson after he threatened her and Valenti with a gun. Afterward, he had kidnapped a Roswell teenager named Isabel Evans, taking her to Tucson, Arizona, where some kind of green jellyfish emerged from emerald crystals that were embedded in Sorenson's chest. Another Roswell teen, Michael Guerin, had somehow psychically sucked all the oxygen out of the room containing Sorenson's corpse and the jellyfish, killing the creature that had possessed him.

Later Valenti had counseled her to doctor her official report about the incident. And although Duff didn't feel good about it, she had done so. She wasn't sure what special psychic powers Isabel Evans or Michael Guerin had, nor did she know exactly what it was that had inhabited the body of Grant Sorenson. But she knew that her FBI superiors would not have looked kindly on her reports if she had put in all the incredible details.

Everyone knew about the other FBI agents who chased aliens and spooks; they had been relegated to the basement. Duff didn't want to end up in the basement. She told Valenti she wanted to make assistant director by the time she reached thirty-five, and though she suspected it might take a few more years than that, the AD job was still her goal.

Duff had been extensively interviewed after the incidents in Roswell and Arizona, not just by her superiors, and not only about the justifiable shooting of Sorenson. Some other governmental agency had also been involved in debriefing her, but their questions were more about her interaction with the sheriff and the Roswell teens than about the abduction and shooting. They'd been interested essentially in hearing about anything "unusual" that may have occurred, apart from the case itself. For some reason, their probing made her dig her mental heels in deeper, increasing her determination not to tell them about the odd powers the Roswell kids had apparently manifested.

Now, shaking her head to end her woolgathering, Duff renewed her concentration on the screen in front of her. Among the images there, she recognized Kyle Valenti and Michael Guerin, though their looks had changed considerably since she had last seen them two years earlier. Another image was a poorly taken photograph, evidently shot through an oddly darkened window. She thought she could make out the features of Isabel Evans.

The report didn't name the teens, but did note that another male and two females were also "persons of interest." Duff suspected that the male was either Isabel's brother… Max… or Alex Whitman. The girls would likely be Liz Parker and Maria DeLuca.

The fact that the report didn't name the kids was one warning flag for Duff; another was the absence of the original strike orders. They had already been classified, and all internal memos were to be routed through one specific office. A specially prepared press statement was boiler-plate obfuscation, and other information was blacked out.

They're covering something up, Duff thought. Not that secrets were unusual in the domestic intelligence game, but this smelled bad. She suspected that the men who had interrogated her two years earlier were probably involved in this; the older one had been badly scarred, and the younger one struck her as extremely unpleasant, almost feral.

I wish these kids well, Duff thought. From what the report did say, their actions sounded more defensive than offensive. She seriously doubted that they posed a danger to anyone.

I hope they manage to get out of Dodge before the net closes around them.

Cheyenne, Wyoming Max watched as dusk started to fall. The group had been unable to reach a consensus about whether to risk going to the hospital to heal the people who'd been injured during their escape from the mall.

Max decided the matter would be better faced after a few of their own urgent needs had been taken care of first. Kyle agreed reluctantly, but ultimately went along with the group's decision to wait a few hours, especially since a recent news report had upgraded the status of the injured pair from "critical" to "guarded." Although the report also said that one of the patients was comatose, and that both would remain overnight in the hospital's critical care unit, Max reasoned that they could wait a few hours without necessarily condemning anyone to death.

With the group mollified for the moment, Max concentrated on what they were going to do in the meantime. They all really needed to eat, and the alien trio was in particular need of rest, if only to recharge their powers. Max acknowledged that going back to the hotel they had been staying at prior to the raid on the mall was risky; they didn't know if it was being watched or not. So Max decided that, for now, they would stay here, in the shadows of the abandoned church. Nobody argued.

"Kyle and I will go get some food," Max said. "I saw a chain of fast-food restaurants about ten blocks away. “

"You need to be disguised," Liz said with a frown. "If any of us go out in public, we'll have to change our looks. At least a little. “

"Oh great, it's alien makeover time again," Michael said with a groan. He was lying down in the back of the van, looking uncharacteristically carefree.

"It's necessary, Michael," Maria said.

Isabel stepped forward, her hands up. "Who's first? “

"I'll go first," Max said. Turning to Michael, he added, "We're going to need some money, though. “

Michael sat up and mock-saluted. "After being called a terrorist, I guess 'counterfeiter' isn't going to add too many more years onto my sentence. “

Following their first month or so on the road, Max had stumbled onto an idea on how to get the money they needed to continue their travels. They couldn't really make the money, and if he continued to create diamonds out of coal… as he had done for Liz when he'd asked her to marry him, and then again after Stonewall… they might establish a pattern that would get them into trouble.

But weeks ago, Max had seen a store clerk holding a twenty-dollar bill up to the light. When asked what he was doing, the clerk explained about the security thread woven into the linen of the bill, as well as the color-shifting ink. These two elements were some of the more sophisticated anticounterfeiting steps being taken lately in the printing of paper currency.

Max immediately saw the solution to their money problems, although it had taken a great deal of research and weeks of practice before Michael had perfected his new "craft." Using his powers, he resequenced the elements of a one-dollar bill into a five- or a twenty-dollar bill. Like repainting the Microbus, all of the chemical and physical elements were already in place; they merely had to be rearranged somewhat.

Although not everyone in the group liked Max's and Michael's financial solution, they all knew that as long as they were on the run, holding down jobs for money was out of the question. Max and Michael had both reasoned that since the money they were altering had come from the government… and that it was the government that had forced them to be on the run in the first place… then nobody was actually getting hurt, except maybe the Treasury Department. Indeed, they had seen several times already that their "funny money"… Kyle insisted on referring to the alien-created paper as "quatloos," for some reason… passed smoothly through counterfeiting-detection devices.

Now, as Michael got to work on turning the Cybernet Cafe's one-dollar bills into twenties, Isabel stepped up toward Max. "I think we're going to go really short," she said, sparing a glance toward Liz. Max saw her nodding.

Isabel's hands glowed slightly, and Max's shaggy dark hair began to disintegrate. A very faint burning smell rose in the air as the hair disappeared. Within minutes, he had a spiky flattop with short sides.

Isabel put a finger up to her mouth and squinted at her brother. "Something's missing," she said. Then, running her fingertips down from Max's oversized ears to his cheekbones, she drew in a set of sideburns. The hair follicles extruded a quarter-inch of dark hair in seconds, as if the alien energy from Isabel's hands were a grow-lamp and the emerging hairs were hungry plants.

"Oh, very nice," Liz said, moving to stand next to Max. She ran her fingers along the side of his head, and he smirked.

"Okay, next," Isabel said, as Kyle moved to stand in front of her.

"I want some facial hair too," Kyle said. "I didn't know you could even do that. “

Isabel smiled enigmatically, clearly not willing to part with all of her secrets. Max understood the impulse, a habit born of long practice.

"What do you want?" Isabel asked Kyle.

Kyle looked thoughtful. "I'm thinking a mustache and goatee. And maybe medium short hair, dirty blond." Kyle grinned at her, as though hoping he had just asked Isabel to re-create him as her ideal man.

"That is so not you," Maria said.

"Hey, the customer is always right," Kyle shot back.

"Whatever," Isabel said with a sigh.

Isabel closed her eyes and lowered her head, stifling a snort of laughter. Then she raised her hands and placed them on Kyle's temples.

She looked straight into his eyes, finding his gaze trusting and hopeful, like it was when he was calm after he'd meditated. This was the Kyle that she liked, the guy who was so much like his father. He was protective and caring, kind of like a big, loyal dog.

"What?" Kyle said. "What are you smiling about? “

Isabel hadn't realized she'd been smiling. "Oh, nothing," she said, quickly altering her expression to neutral. She let her power flow through her hands, changing the colors and length of Kyle's hair. Almost instantly, it became shorter and lighter, and she gave it a bit of a wave.

Finished with that part of her task, she moved her fingertips to his upper lip. She could feel his warm exhalations as she did so, and the sensation kindled memories of warmth and intimacy. But not with Kyle. With Jesse.

But Kyle's breath felt warm like Jesse's, and his lips as soft…

She shook her head almost imperceptibly refocusing her attention on her task. Kyle's follicles were stimulated, and the mustache and goatee suddenly grew quite full under her touch. She concentrated a bit harder, and the pigment in the facial hair itself changed to a light blond. The hair felt soft under her fingers, and she had to admit that it did look flattering on Kyle's angular face, Maria's snarky comment notwithstanding. "All done," she said, moving her hands away.

Kyle touched her hands momentarily. "Thanks," he said quietly.

As Kyle and Max went to retrieve the money from Michael, Isabel noticed that Liz was staring at her rather intently. Isabel turned and walked away, toward a small grassy hillock under some trees.

She sat down and stretched her legs out, rolling her shoulders to work out the tension. Even though it had been hours since the ordeal at the mall, Isabel still didn't feel quite right.

"Hey," Liz called from nearby. She had approached so quietly that Isabel hadn't noticed.

"Hey," Isabel returned the greeting.

Liz sat down next to her, and smoothed her long, brown hair out of her eyes with one hand. "Are you okay? “

"Physically, mentally, or emotionally?" Isabel asked.

Liz grinned ever so slightly. "D. All of the above. “

"I'm still a bit sore and disconnected, and drained from using my powers for so long," Isabel said. She knew that wasn't the core of Liz's question, though.

She had never felt especially close to Liz, but over the past few months, that had begun to change. Even though Liz was one of the youngest of their group, she had taken on a more mature, almost mothering role. Isabel had seen it before in Liz's behavior with Max and Maria, and to an extent with Kyle and Michael. But it had taken a while for Isabel to warm up to Liz's emotional support.

"Mentally, I'm tired. Really dog tired." She smiled and added, "I've got less energy in my head now than Juliette Lewis uses on film. “

Liz giggled. "That's tired. “

"And emotionally… I miss Jesse. I miss having someone to snuggle with, someone to hold me, someone who tells me I'm beautiful, someone who will eat my pathetic attempts at breakfast and still smile. “

Isabel looked off into the gathering darkness, then continued. "You and Max have each other, Michael and Maria have each other, but Kyle and I don't have anyone. It's gotta be weird for him, traveling with his ex- girlfriend all the time. And I know he's got some feelings for me, too. “

Liz nodded slowly, but didn't say anything.

"And look at my life. I never let anyone in Roswell get close to me in high school until it was too late. I dated Grant Sorenson, and he turned out to be a Gandarium-possessed killer. I didn't take Alex seriously until…" Isabel's voice trailed off.

She looked away, focusing on something to the side, not wanting Liz to see the tears welling up in her eyes. "You know, everything about my past on Antar says that I'm some spoiled princess who slept around on her lover and brought down the Royal Family And according to my genetic template, I should be dating Michael. He was Rath in our previous lives. “

Liz snorted. "Yeah, well, Max and Tess were 'fated to be together' too, and we've all seen how well that turned out." Isabel heard the anger in Liz's voice; she herself hated Tess as well… for killing Alex… but she knew that her own wounds didn't run nearly as deep as Liz's.

Isabel decided to redirect the conversation. "When I met Jesse, we seemed to be so right together. But I spent so much time hiding who I really was from him… “

She put her hand up to wipe a tear from her cheek. "Max thinks that Jesse isn't 'the One.' That I was settling. That in my desire to live a normal life with a normal future, I settled for Jesse. But look at what he did for me when he found out the truth. He killed that FBI agent to protect me.

"When we left Roswell, I knew beyond a doubt that he loved me, and that I loved him," Isabel continued. "But what good is that now? I can't see him or touch him. I can't tell him what I'm feeling or ask what he's feeling. I can't even call him. “

"Can't you dreamwalk him?" Liz asked.

Isabel shuddered, but tried not to let the feelings show on her face. "The last time I dreamwalked him, things didn't… go well." That was an understatement. Isabel had seen Jesse preparing divorce papers on her, to nullify their short marriage. She still didn't know if it was his real plan, or a figment of his dreaming mind.

"So call him," Liz said simply.

Isabel looked confused. "Um, hello, not supposed to have contact. “

"Screw it," Liz said, her tone conspiratorial. "It's not like the MiBs don't know we're in Cheyenne anyhow. We're on the news\ Jesse may even have heard something. Maybe he can help us legally somehow. I don't know." Liz put her hand on top of Isabel's. "But I do know that you need to talk to your husband. “

Isabel sighed, then looked back toward the Microbus. "I just don't know…" She trailed off.

"Wait until Max and Kyle go for food," Liz said. "There's a phone booth a few blocks from here. I'll walk down there with you. It'll give Michael and Maria some 'alone time' together. You can call Jesse from there, and it will be our secret. “

Isabel swallowed hard and squeezed Liz's hand. "Thank you, Liz. “

Boston, Massachusetts Jesse Ramirez was dozing in an easy chair in front of the television when the phone rang. Startled, he sat up quickly, knocking the TV remote onto the floor. "Hello?" he said as he picked up the receiver.

"Hi. I need to talk to my attorney," the voice on the line said.

Jesse recognized it immediately. Isabel! His mind raced, and he stood up. "Can you call me right back, or are you on your one phone call? “

He heard confusion in her tone. "I can call back, Jesse, but… “

He interrupted her. "Call 617-555-3488. You got that? 617-555-3488. “

As soon as he heard her say "Yes," he hung up. Moments later, he was sprinting to the bedroom. He opened a box on a bedside table and grabbed a cell phone. Switching it on, he was gratified to see that it was still charged. A moment later, it vibrated in his hand, announcing an incoming call.

"Hello, thanks for calling me back," he said. Before Isabel could reply, he added, "Please hold while I get some paper for taking notes. “

Slipping his shoes back on, he exited the house and made his way out of the building and onto the street. He scanned the nearby cars, but didn't see anyone sitting in them.

"Isabel?" he asked, putting the phone back up to his ear.

"Yeah, it's me. What's all this about?" He heard the concern in her voice.

"Just precautions," Jesse said, still looking around the area. "I don't know whether they've still got my place under surveillance, or if they have a way to track my phone calls, but I don't want to risk it. This is a cell phone I got from a client, so the number's not registered to me. “

"Hey, you're pretty good at covering your tracks," Isabel said. A beat passed, then she added, "It's great to hear your voice. “

Jesse sat down on the front steps of a nearby apartment building. "You too, baby. It's been way too long. How are you? “

"I'm fine. We're all fine. Well, mostly fine. We had a bit of a run-in today with the police and some government guys. “

Jesse was shocked. "You're in Cheyenne? “

"Oh, no. It's on the news there, too?" Isabel sounded sick.

"Yeah, but they didn't release anyone's names or pictures," Jesse said quickly, hoping to reassure her. "I saw a quick blurb about it on one of the cable news channels. I heard the FBI is saying the incident's still being investigated as a possible terrorist action. “

"They cornered us in a mall somehow. I don't know how they found us. “

"Is there anything 1 can doT Jesse asked.

"Yes." Isabel hesitated a bit, then quietly said, "Tell me that you still love me. “

"Oh, baby, of course I do. I love you. I miss you. I want to be with you. “

"I was afraid you wanted to move on." He heard doubt in her voice.

The thought had crossed Jesse's mind almost every day over the last two months, but he'd tried to push it out as quickly as it had entered. "Iz, I tried to go with you guys. You wanted me to come to Boston instead. I'd still come with you if you wanted me to. There's nothing I want more than to be back with you. “

"Okay. Good. Because I love you, too," she said. "I don't know what's going to happen to us. They don't seem to have given up their search. Sometimes it feels like we're never going to find peace. “

He agreed, but didn't want to tell her that. The situation with the Feds had escalated in the time since he had found out his wife was half alien. First the shadowy government men had tried to force him to inform on his own wife, resulting in his being forced to kill an agent to defend her. And then, just when things seemed to be calming down, Tess came back to Earth with Max's baby and blew up Rogers Air Force Base. The assault the federal agents had launched at the West Roswell High graduation ceremony demonstrated how determined these men were to capture or kill Isabel and her friends.

Clearly, given today's actions against them in Wyoming, the government men had not abandoned the chase. What will make them finally give it up? Is there a way to help Isabel and Max and Michael find some kind oj peace? "You'll have peace, Iz. Well have peace. We'll be together again, and someday we'll tell our gray-skinned, big-eyed alien kids all about your misadventures after West Roswell High." He hoped she would hear the humor in his voice, and take heart in it.

"What makes you think the kids won't look like you!" she asked. Clearly he had lifted her spirits.

"Well, Max's baby was fully human, so I guess we can hope for the best," he said. But as he listened for a reply, he heard another voice over the line… Liz's voice, coming from somewhere near Isabel. She said something he couldn't make out, and then he heard a crackle on the line.

He heard Isabel cry out briefly, followed by the same from Liz. Next came a banging sound.

Then the line went dead.

1 he ride to the nondescript building in the outlying warehouse district took half an hour or so, during which time the three prisoners were kept closely guarded. The boy was still unconscious, and the two girls stayed very still, given the armed guards bracketing each of them.

Colonel Bertram rode in the front of the transport vehicle rather than take a chopper back to base; the Humvees didn't get second glances from the locals, but black helicopters might tend to attract more attention, so they were housed nearby. Besides, Bertram didn't want to let this group out of his sight.

He was convinced that at least one of the detainees was a fugitive the Special Unit was looking for. Bertram was not a part of the S.U., but he had served with Matthew Margolin back in Vietnam, and had stayed friends with him during the three decades since. The secrets both men carried of atrocities committed by their group during the war were binding enough, but in addition Bertram actually liked Margolin.

The colonel wasn't ultimately clear on what it was that the Special Unit did… other than covert ops… or why it wanted these kids, but the things he had seen this morning told him that whatever it was, it was something very unusual. The teenage boy had actually appeared to change his face, and he had knocked down several agents with a gesture of his hand. And then there were the strange ash-piles the troops had found in the warehouse, heaps of dusty residue that apparently had been human beings at some point not too long before.

Bertram wasn't sure whether the kids were some kind of psychics or experiments run amok. Sure, the idea sounded like some kind of science-fiction story or something. Hell, he had loved Stephen King's Firestarter, but he was reasonably certain that The Shop and Lot Six didn't actually exist. Though if it does, it's exactly the type of thing that Margolin would be involved with, he thought. And Matt does look a little like George C. Scott from the movie. He chuckled to himself.

Several minutes later, the caravan arrived at the underground "office," and the three captives were placed in solitary cells equipped with reinforced steel bars.

Bertram put the soldiers who had been in the transport on guard duty. They knew what the kids… or at least the boy, when he was conscious… were capable of, and would be more alert than new assigns. He made his way back to his office and sat behind his desk. Using a series of protocols and passwords, he logged in to a database from his desktop computer.

He and his men had been led to the warehouse by an anonymous tip, and had arrived to discover that the police were already on premises. According to these files, the tipster appeared to have been right on target. One of the girls was wanted in conjunction with the destruction of Rogers Air Force Base near Roswell, New Mexico, in May 2002. Tess Harding. The report was vague about the extent of her involvement, but clearly marked her as a person of interest who should be detained for questioning. Agents were referred to a number that Bertram recognized as a Special Unit line.

Very interesting, he thought. What could a small blond teenage girl from New Mexico have to do with the immense explosion that had decimated Rogers? She doesn't exactly fit the al-Qaeda profile.

Bertram scrolled down the page to see if he could discover any further clues to the mystery before calling Margolin. A few lines onto the second page, he felt a shot of adrenaline hit his system. Linked to Tess Harding were six other names of possible accessories, and fellow persons of interest. He clicked on the first two files to open them.

Maxwell Evans opened first. Doesn't look familiar.

Isabel Evans. His mouth opened, and he shut it with a snap. That was the other girl they had captured. Her hair was wilder now, and she looked as though she had lived a lot of years since the picture was taken, but it was undeniably the same girl.

He hurriedly clicked the other files open.

Elizabeth Parker. Nothing. Maria DeLuca. Nothing again. Kyle Valenti. Nada.

And then Michael Guerin. Bertram smiled. Another hit. This was the kid they had zapped into submission. The one who had changed his face and used the weird powers against them. Guerin had quite a file built up as well, including several brushes with the law, and a murder trial at which he'd been found not guilty. Since he was a juvenile, his record was supposed to be sealed and expunged, but this was a military intelligence file. We don't expunge anything, Bertram thought.

He noticed that all of the kids were from Roswell, which made sense, if they were connected to this Tess Harding girl. The only thing he knew about Roswell was the myth about UFOs and a supposed government cover-up of the existence of aliens and…

The thought hit Bertram like a shot. What if this Guerin kid isn't some kind of Lot Six psychic mutant, but a real, live alien? He knew the notion was absurd, and yet it could almost make sense. This could be what the Special Unit is about.

There was only one way he was going to find out the truth, and he knew just the man who could tell him.

He picked up the phone and dialed Margolin's number.

Washington, D.C.

Matthew Margolin was pleased. A few minutes ago he had heard from Agent Harrison that the Roswell group had been located in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and local agents from the field office had been dispatched to capture them. He paged Bartolli, then grabbed some of the things he'd need.

He stepped out of his office and spoke to his assistant. "Ellen, please send out a Code Seven alert. I want a plane waiting, and eight armed agents. “

"Yes, sir, Mr. Margolin," she said, and began simultaneously punching keys on her computer and tapping a code into the phone. Her ambidexterity made her a highly valued assistant.

Margolin's cell phone rang, and he flipped it open. "Dale? “

There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a familiar voice. "Not Dale. This is Colonel Grant Bertram. Do I have Matthew Margolin? “

Margolin ducked back into his office and closed the door. "Yeah, this is Matt. Hey, Grant. What's up? “

"Are you still in charge of that Special Unit?" Bertram asked.

"Why? “

"Because if you are, then I'm about to make your day. “

Margolin's interest was piqued. "Yes, the Unit is still mine. What do you have for me? “

"Very early in the A.M. we got a tip that some fugitives would be at a certain location here in New York City. When we arrived, the local cops were already there, and the scene was a disaster. We're talking gas, guns, and the whole shebang. “

Bertram paused for a moment, as if to accentuate what he was going to say next. "There were three people captured. The rest seemed to vanish or something. All they found were piles of ash where the suspects used to be. “

Margolin nodded. "Who were the captures? “

"I believe they're some kids you're very interested in.

Some kids from Roswell. Isabel Evans, Michael Guerin, and Tess Harding." Bertram's words hung in the air.

Margolin tried to contain the excitement in his voice, but knew he hadn't quite succeeded. "You have them in custody? “

"Yeah, here on-site. They've been separated, and one of them's been juiced. He gave us quite a bit of trouble during capture. He displayed some… unusual abilities. You got a clue what I mean? “

"I might," Margolin said, keeping his tone as noncommittal as possible. "Were there any others with the three you caught? “

"If there were, the cops didn't get them," Bertram said. "The troops seemed pretty freaked out, on the whole. A few said they saw people turning to ash, but there was a lot of smoke and gas in the air, so who knows what they really saw. And there was some kind of explosion in the basement of the building. Apparently the RD. was on-scene because there had been gunshots reported. It looked like some sort of gang war was going on. “

Bartolli appeared at the door. He looked as slick as a shark in his dark suit, and even though he carried only a briefcase, Margolin knew that the man was armed for serious hunting.

"Grant, I need you to hold for a second while I check on something. “

"Okay," Bertram said.

Margolin put the cell phone on hold, then placed it on a white noise box to prevent any stray sounds from getting through. "An old buddy of mine from back in the day… he's a colonel in the army now… -just called from New York City. It seems he's captured Tess Harding, Michael Guerin, and Isabel Evans. “

Bartolli raised an eyebrow. "Think they split up? “

"Sounds like that could be the case." Margolin held up the three printouts that Harrison had sent him of the intercepted e-mails. "These are from Liz Parker, Maria DeLuca, and Kyle Valenti. “

"Maybe the aliens split off from the humans?" Bartolli offered.

"We don't know what Parker is, since she's exhibited unusual abilities as well." Margolin's mind flashed back to a very frightened woman they had interrogated in Roswell; after Max and Liz had rescued her from a mugger, she'd been reluctant to give details about her saviors. Bartolli had "persuaded" her to help them.

"So, where's Max Evans? “

"A very good question," Margolin said. "Is he with his brunette girlfriend, or was he with his old blond girlfriend? Bertram says no others were recovered, but it sounds like there might have been room for escape. “

"Three in the hand in New York, a few more about to be captured in Wyoming. I'd say we've got a pretty good grouping of them," Bartolli said, grinning.

Margolin nodded. He picked up the phone and toggled it on. "You there, Grant? “

"Yes, sir. You could get better elevator music to play on your 'hold' line than that Barry Manilow stuff, though. “

"I'll work on that. Meanwhile, we're on our way there right now, by plane. Give us an hour. And give me the location of the building you're in. “

Margolin scribbled the address down, and then spoke again. "Grant, you need to play dose attention to this. Under no circumstances are you, or any other persons, to have contact with these three. Got it? No one. “

"Got it. “

"I assume you have them in airtight rooms? “

"Of course. “

Margolin smiled. "Good. We'll have a little cocktail prepared for them when we get there. Thanks for the call, Grant. Excellent work. It won't go unnoticed if I have anything to say about it. “

Margolin rang off, and turned to Bartolli. "Let's go get ourselves some aliens. “

Maria shifted slightly to get more comfortable, trying not to wake Michael. They were lying in the back of the Microbus on their sleeping bags. Liz had told them that she was going off with Isabel, not so subtly offering them some much-needed time alone.

For about two minutes, she and Michael had made out, and then Michael had fallen asleep. Maria was more frustrated than offended; she knew how much energy Michael had expended that day, even if she hadn't been conscious to see it. But she'd still wanted him to be with her.

Feeling him breathing next to her, looking at his peaceful face, she could almost get lost in the moment. Almost forget that they were dressed in one of their five changes of clothes, traveling with four of their friends in a van, on the run from government goons and skin-shedding aliens.

Almost, but not quite.

Four years ago, she never would have imagined her life would be what it was today. Not even in a creative writing assignment in Mrs. Wong's class. Four years ago, her best friends were Liz Parker and Alex Whitman, and she sometimes hung out with the granola- rock crowd.

Working at the Crashdown Cafe as a waitress was her job, but she'd always had bigger dreams. Music and the stage called to her, and she knew that one day kids would be singing along to her songs like they did to the music of Melissa Etheridge or E J. Harvey or Dido. She wasn't sure exactly how she was going to get out of Roswell, but she knew she would. She once shared that dream with Billy Darden, the boy she'd met at band camp at the age of thirteen, the first boy she had ever kissed.

And then, on that fateful day in September, 1999, Liz had been shot at the Crashdown, the victim of a random altercation. In the days and weeks that followed, Maria was inexorably drawn into a secret world that had existed around her for years without her knowledge. Her mother made cheap alien tchotchkes for her shop, never realizing that three of Maria's new friends actually were half alien.

Looking back at the last four years, Maria sometimes had a difficult time seeing the good that had come from her association with the aliens. Her grades had suffered, her mother's Jetta had certainly suffered, and her other friendships had all but evaporated. And then Alex had been killed, as part of Tess's alien plot.

The only positive result was her relationship with Michael, and even that was tumultuous at best. His moods were so mercurial that she was never sure if her comments or attention would set him off. Manic- depressive, thy name is Michael, she often thought. Not that she was the poster child for emotional stability, but she realized that their relationship mirrored that of her mother and father, when they had been together. But just because she was aware of the emotional roller coaster that life with Michael represented, that knowledge didn't seem to help her stay away from him. It was a kind of codependency, and she was caught in its loop.