“Hurry!” he said sternly to Nora and Tappan. “Come up here.” When they reluctantly joined him, he indicated the circles painted on the floor. “Over years of painful trial and error we’ve learned that, as long as we make no threatening moves, we’re safe on this side of the orange line.” He paused. “Or would you care to go farther, Dr. Kelly? Maybe touch it? Why not: you, after all, were the one who used the term ‘benevolent.’” He looked at her, one eyebrow raised quizzically. “No? Very well. I want you to remember: it was your own suspicious nature that made this necessary.”
With his free hand, he stroked the big rat for a moment. “In my experience, these poor fellows live rather short lives—two years, maybe three. They always seem to develop tumors. I wonder sometimes if so many generations have been bred for experiments that cancer has become part of their genetic structure.”
He continued stroking the rat for a moment, almost thoughtfully. He scratched behind its ears, thin almost as tissue paper, the tiny veins visible, like a young leaf’s. Then he raised his arm and gently pitched the rat underhanded toward the craft.
Nora, taken by surprise, watched the equally surprised rodent arc through the air, front and back feet outstretched, tail whipping in a circular motion. It began to sail down toward the alien craft. And then the rat’s fur suddenly glowed, flickering with unnatural colors. As the brightness became blinding, the animal’s skin grew transparent and she could see the muscles and organs and skeletal structure. A sound like the shriek of violins cut the air. Instinctively, Nora turned away, shielding herself from the alien glare. And then, abruptly, both the light and the noise stopped, followed only by the faint sound of liquid hitting concrete.
She turned back. Everything was as it had been before—except now, there was a small splatter of indeterminate color on the floor just inside the dark red ring. Beside her, Tappan stared, thunderstruck. Rush took them both in, shaking his head almost sadly.
“You pressed me for an explanation of how the craft can invert molecular structure,” he said. “That, of course, was before you mused about its benevolence. I’ve given you your example. The weapon scans an approaching form, determines its composition, then disassembles the atoms that compose its structure. In this case, it simply denatured the animal proteins of the lab rat—alas, now deceased. The creature essentially fell apart on the molecular level—as so many of our soldiers did, decades ago, leaving behind a soup of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, water, amino acids, and salts.”
Rush nodded at the guards, who stepped forward, submachine guns held across their chests in readiness. “You’ve both been given a full explanation of the alien’s malignancy. And a demonstration.” He stepped back outside the ring of concentric circles. “I need your answer, and I need it now.”
Tappan had an expression on his face Nora hadn’t seen before, like someone who’d just been punched in the gut. After a long moment, he took a shuddering breath. He glanced at Nora, then back at Rush.
“All right,” he said, voice low, chastened. “You’ve convinced me. I’m on board.”
63
THEY MOVED BACK into the corridor, slipping around the corner that led to the motor pool, keeping out of sight. In front was a neat row of open-topped jeeps, along with the two guards she’d already noticed. Beyond the helicopter, resting on its elevator platform, she could make out two other guards, rifles slung over their shoulders. She could also see a couple of mechanics working behind one jeep, and a person in an officer’s uniform speaking to one of the guards. They might not be on full alert, but they would wake up fast.
Corrie felt the sweat beading on her brow. Maybe Watts was right: this was suicide. Even though they had the advantage of surprise, they were up against trained professionals. Not only that, but they were outnumbered, with limited ammunition, and the moment they started shooting, it would be like ringing the dinner bell for the whole—
Her thoughts were interrupted by Watts, who had slipped up beside her and braced himself in a shooting stance. The time for thinking was over. She followed suit, then they raised their weapons simultaneously.
“On three,” Watts whispered. “One, two, three!”
They both stood up and opened fire. Watts got off four shots in rapid succession, immediately dropping three guards. Corrie concentrated her fire on the officer, scoring a hit and sending him sprawling.
With a bloodcurdling yell, they charged in, Corrie and Watts flanking Skip. Corrie continued firing in the steady, measured way she’d been taught in countless live fire exercises at Quantico. Everyone in the motor pool who wasn’t shot had immediately taken cover. In the brief moment before the soldiers returned fire, Corrie and Watts sprinted toward the closest vehicle while Skip tossed Molotov cocktails at the helicopter. There was the sound of shattering glass, followed by a whoosh: blue flames spread like spilled flambé across the floor around the chopper, flames licking up its sides, causing instant panic.