Leo Frankowski

the fuss about rejuvenation seven years ago—is the
nephew of Martin Guibedo, the man who designed the tree houses.
    “Item four. On
the same day that Guibedo was imprisoned, my telepaths stopped functioning. One of them is able to
receive somewhat—”
    “And is quite
insane,” Powers said. “I’ve seen the report, and I’m really not impressed
with a computer analysis of
the ravings of a madman.”
    “Yes, sir. But to
continue. Item five. Echo tracings show that Guibedo escaped from jail by means of a tun nel fifteen miles long. No engineering firm in the
world could duplicate that tunnel in three weeks.
    “Item six.
Within a mile of the tunnel opening, eighty-five families were killed during that time period. This atrocity has generally been accredited to a raid
by the Neo-Krishnas, despite the fact
that there was no supporting
evidence. And despite the fact that all of those people were killed with knives and that they were given Christian tombstones.”
    “Come now,
George. The tabloids have been working that weird incident for years. Don’t you try
to tie it in,” Powers said.
    “It does tie in,
sir. Item seven. We believe that Co pernick and Guibedo are in Death Valley, that
tree-house city. It is certain that Copernick owns the land. Over two hundred thousand
people come and go freely in that valley, apparently without incident. People
that we have questioned later report nothing unusual, and no security precautions at all.
    “Yet I have
never been able to get an agent into it! I have lost nineteen trying. The FBI reports
similar losses. I submit that there is a correlation between the jamming of my telepaths and
Death Valley’s ability to identify and liquidate every one of our agents without
having a visible security system.”
    “You say
‘liquidate.’ Were all these men killed?” Powers asked.
    “No, sir. That’s
item eight. The majority of them seem to have defected, generally after sending
back misleading messages. One of my agents did return to Washington. He reported in and
then armed a grenade in the debriefing room. We lost eighteen people before we
were forced to kill him. I suggest that they have brainwashing techniques that are far
superior to our own.”
    “George, you
keep talking as though this were a mili tary matter. Certainly you have turned up
something here,
but it is a civil matter best left to the FBI,” Powers said.
    “No, sir. This is a military matter. I received these satellite photos today.”
    “These are
remarkably clear photos, George. The air must be very clean there. But what are these things?”
    “They appear to be an intelligent,
engineered life form. They are certainly
deadly—the profiles of those daggers
in their forearms correspond to the entry wounds in the corpses of eighty-five families. And the things must be
numerous; Engineering guesstimates that it would have taken at least ten thousand of them to dig Guibedo’s escape tunnel.”
    “My God! An
alien army on U.S. soil?” Powers summoned his aide. “Call an emergency
meeting of the chiefs of the General Staff, and—”
    “Sir, wait! These
creatures are fantastic tunnelers. Conventional military action would only
result in their scattering. If their reproduction and growth rate are as quick as those of the tree houses, it
could be fatal if even a few of them
escaped. Sir, indications are that they are all concentrated in Death Valley.
    “Our planes have
been carrying atomic bombs for sixty
years without an accidental detonation. I think that it is time that we had
one.”
    “That would take
presidental approval.”
    “Yes, sir,” Hastings said.
    Powers paused for ten seconds.
    “Then let’s see
if we can talk to the President.”
     
    Patricia spent a
morning hiking out to the parking lot. She looked up Hank Dobrinski, who still had
her car keys.
    “Well, ma’am. I
had begun to worry about you. Even had the telephone check and see that you were all right.”
    “Thanks, Hank. I
guess I should have called.”
    “I truly wish you had. As it is, you
just missed Meg again, and she’s going to
be hard to live with for a week. Now, what can I do for you?”
    “I need my car,
Hank. There are a few things I’ve got to do.”
    “I’ll give you a lift out to it,
ma’am. It might take a bit to get it started, after all these months. You
heading back to New York?” They got into
a shiny new four-wheel— drive pickup.
    “No, Hank, I’m
dropping out and staying here. I’ve