Altered Children

Izumi woke abruptly to the sound of screams. She looked around and, not seeing Yuriko, called out for her. Yuriko’s mother slipped on her robe and slippers as she rushed out of the Starkey’s guest bedroom. She entered the twin’s bedroom, followed closely by Howard and Dorothy who had clambered up the stairs in pajamas, nightgown and bare feet.

“Okay, what’s going on here?” Howard asked.

Yuriko burst into tears and ran to her mother. “Mama-san, they’re dead!” she cried.

“Eh, who is dead?” Izumi wanted to know, holding her daughter tightly.

In the excitement, Yuriko and Izumi spoke in Japanese.

Dorothy looked at the chaotic scene in front of her. “Somebody, please tell us what’s happening. What’re you kids doing here—awake—at twelve thirty in the morning?”

When all three children started to answer at once, Howard looked up, shaking his head. “One at a time, please,” he begged them. “Which one of you wants to tell us what’s going on?”

Peter stood. “I . . . I will, Dad. Peter explained that they’d been awakened a half-hour earlier by telepathic communications from Tom, Dione and Luci. He paced the floor for twenty minutes describing in a trembling voice the events of this terrible morning. Jason held his arms tightly crossed in front of his chest, now and then clenching his jaw. Yuriko wept and often covered her face with her hands. As they both calmed down Jason and Yuriko interjected their own comments.

When Peter finished, the room was as quiet as death itself. It was nearly a minute before anyone said a word.

Dorothy pulled Peter to her and kissed him, then did the same with Jason. “We have to notify their parents about this. They’ll be worried sick when they find their children missing.”

“I’m going to call Dennis Murphy now,” Howard pledged. “Might as well call Al, too. I’ll bring them up-to-date. Dennis should know how to contact those parents. We also need to tell them about the valuable information those poor children told our kids.”

Jason jumped up and waved his hand in the air until he was noticed. “Tell them the aliens are just like in our dreams.”

“Yeah,” Peter added. “They’re hom . . . hom—”

“—Hominoid,” his father finished.

“Uh-huh. At least they’re not insectoid monsters,” Peter said.

Yuriko pulled away from her mother. “Tom told us those aliens think . . . their way of thinking and feeling is much like Humans.”

“I believe I know what you mean,” Howard surmised. “If they aren’t too different, perhaps there is a way we can deal with them.”

“Deal with them! After this, after what they did!” Dorothy declared.

Peter stomped his foot. “Yeah, maybe we can fight them.”

“You got that right, bro,” Jason added, scrunching his eyes. “Let’s figure out how to kill the ones who did this.”

Yuriko ambled over to Jason and Peter, placed her hands on their shoulders and shook her head. “No. Don’t talk like that. We cannot fight them all and if anybody can find a better way to stop them, it’s us.”

“You’re right, Yuri-chan,” Jason said, sighing deeply. “Look what Tom and the others did without hurting anyone else.”

At Izumi’s call, Yuriko returned to her mother, crying softly.

“Okay everybody, let’s calm down,” Howard pleaded. “Based on what little we’ve been told about that operation of theirs, the ones in charge don’t seem worse than a lot of Humans.”

“And . . . anyway . . . how can we talk to them?” Izumi inquired. “They are up there.” She waved her hand in a circle above her head and pointed up.

“Enough speculation for now,” Dorothy said. “We won’t solve this tonight.” She put her arms around the twins. “What do you children want to do? Do you want to try and sleep some more, or . . .” She stared into space with a perplexed look and then gazed at her boys. “or maybe come downstairs and have a cup of hot chocolate?”

“God, Mom, I can’t sleep,” Jason said. “Can either of you?” he asked Peter and Yuriko.

Both insisted they couldn’t sleep. “Let’s get the hot chocolate and then go back to our room,” Peter suggested.

Izumi held both of Yuriko’s hands and glanced at Dorothy and Howard. Yuriko nodded her head and asked, “Jase, can we check the website you both set up, and try to find the parents of Dione, Luci and Donald?”

“Okay,” Jason agreed. “Good idea. We should also see if we received e-mails from the kids who mind-talked with Luci and Dione.”

Peter’s eyes flared with determination. “Right. After that, we need to review all our notes about what they told us before . . . before . . .”

Yuriko’s eyes moistened again. Jason observed a single tear running down her cheek, walked to her and patted her shoulder. He looked at Peter. “Yeah, Pete, we know.”

As the children started out the door on their way downstairs, Howard said, “Wait. You kids stay here and relax a bit before you get started. We’ll bring the hot chocolate to you.”

Dorothy and Izumi made toast, coffee and tea for the adults and hot chocolate for the children. Howard picked up the kitchen phone and made a conference call to Albert Cohen and Dennis Murphy, waking them. He described the night’s events and asked them to make sure the dead children’s parents were properly informed. Al volunteered to talk to Jeremy Sanchez in Virginia Beach about Tom’s parents.

Howard invited him to come to the house and they would call Jeremy together. Also, he wanted him present in case anyone needed a sedative. Dennis agreed to get together with Rama at the university as soon as possible. They would try to identify the parents of Dione, Luci and Donald, as well as their doctors or psychologists. Dennis intended to ask them to visit the children’s parents immediately and impart the grievous news in person.

After his discussion with Howard and Al, Jeremy noticed it was a little after five a.m. at his home in Virginia Beach. He drove to the Wallace’s apartment building as quickly as he could, rehearsing what he would say. The doctor parked and hurried to their apartment, rang the bell and knocked on the door. Then he banged on the door with his fist, but got no response other than a neighbor shouting at him to “cut the racket.” He finally woke the landlord and convinced him that there might be a medical emergency in the Wallace apartment.

When he gained entry at almost six o’clock, he found Tom missing and everyone else unconscious. He already knew about the anesthetics used on Jason and Peter and their parents from conversations with Al. However, since there was no safe stimulant available, Jeremy had to wait until they regained consciousness naturally. While waiting, he called the duty intelligence officer at Atlantic Fleet headquarters and told her Mack would be taking sick leave for the next two days and asked her to pass the word to the commander in chief. When she asked to speak with Mack, Jeremy said he was indisposed. She left instructions for Mack to call her as soon as he was able. By a quarter past six, the Wallaces were beginning to awaken.

Mack sat up and stretched. “Wow, was that ever a deep sleep.” He looked at his wife, who was rubbing the sleep from her eyes, then glanced in the dresser mirror and saw their doctor’s reflection at the doorway. “Jeremy! What the hell are you doing here?”

Roberta’s jaw dropped in surprise. She and Mack got out of bed and put on their robes.

“Take it easy, Mack,” Jeremy replied. “Listen, both of you. We need to talk. Please sit down.” Mack and Roberta sat on one side of the bed. Their doctor paced and began to describe the events as they had been explained to him. Before he had gotten very far, Mack jumped up and ran into Tom’s room. He found the bed empty and returned to their bedroom.

“Well, where’s Tom?” Roberta demanded.

At that moment, their daughter, Laura, came in the room yawning. “What’s happening? What’s all the—Dr. Sanchez, why are you here?”

Jeremy seated himself in a chair, began again and reiterated everything.

Roberta and Laura cried throughout the explanation, while Mack tried his best to console them through his own tears. Mack was sitting between Roberta and Laura. He held them firmly with his arms around their shoulders. Now and then Mack would kiss them on their cheeks and comfort them saying “I’m so sorry” and “We’ll get through this.”

Jeremy gave Roberta a light sedative. By seven a.m., they’d composed themselves. “You can be proud of Tom. I don’t know if this helps at all, but Tom and those other children were very brave to do what they did.”

“I don’t know how they managed to take over those aliens and steal a ship to escape in,” Dorothy stated, tears flowing down her cheeks.

“Could be he picked up a little military intelligence from his dad,” Jeremy said, smiling.

“Are you sure Tom . . . Tom’s dead?” Laura asked, her voice aquiver and her cheeks damp from crying. Dorothy moved to sit next to Laura and held her tightly.

“I think so, sweetie,” Jeremy responded. “But the only ones who are absolutely certain are the children Tom was in telepathic contact with. At this moment, we have no way to verify it, except . . . except Tom’s not here.”

Laura was still crying quietly and Roberta kissed her. “What do we do now?” Roberta sobbed lightly, choking back more tears.

“That’s what we need to figure out, Robbie,” her husband murmured and wiped his own tears with a tissue.

“Mack, I called your office and told them you were taking two sick days. The duty intelligence officer wants you to call her.”

“Thanks, Jeremy. I’m going to need it. But I don’t think I can talk to her right now.”

“Hmm.” Jeremy gazed at his feet and scrunched his brow before looking back at Mack. “I think something happened there last night. It might be related to what happened to Tom. Maybe you should call.”

“I guess so,” Mack agreed. He shambled over to the kitchen phone, sat at the counter and called in. The duty intelligence officer informed him that there had been a most unusual UFO sighting with fighters scrambled from both Oceana and Langley.

“CINCLANT wants you in as soon as possible to discuss the sighting,” she told him.

“Lieutenant, inform him I’ll be in as soon as I feel well enough to get out of bed,” Mack told her. “Also tell him I’ll have a report for him by Friday. Now, after we hang up, call Lieutenant Commander Jordan at Oceana and have him debrief the pilots, radar operators and other tower personnel present during the incident. Get copies of the tower log entries, audio logs, radar records, and any film. Then, contact the intelligence officer at Langley AFB and let him know I’ll be contacting him when I get in. I’ll review all the material and write up the report.”

“Aye, aye, sir. I hope you feel better soon.” The duty officer disconnected.

Mack hung up, ran his hand through his hair and shook his head slowly. “Damn!” he exclaimed. “I hope I can hold myself together.”

“You know,” Jeremy advised, “if you think about it, you really don’t have a reason to be involved with Dennis Murphy and that group now. You can kind of get back to a regular life.”

Mack got up and struck the counter top with his hand. “No way in . . . in hell . . . am I going to just forget all this, Jeremy! I . . . I’m not going to let Tom’s death be for nothing.”

“I understand, Mack,” their doctor said. “But for Christ’s sake, take the time you need to grieve before you jump back in.”

“Jeremy,” Roberta interrupted. “It hasn’t fully sunk in yet. Believe me, we will grieve—all three of us. But for now, I think we’re mostly shocked and angry.”

“Listen,” Mack said, “I received new orders a few days ago. On the fifteenth of August, I’m being promoted to captain and posted to the Defense Intelligence Agency at the Pentagon. I’ve been itching for that tour; better then getting CIA. I think that will benefit us all. But I have to take the time to clean up my current work and turn over what I can’t finish.”

“Don’t forget Tom’s paintings,” Roberta added. “I know the group needs money. The originals and prints are making lots of money. We can help. We have to help.”

“I need to talk with Dennis about all this,” Mack said. “I’ll call him when we’re done here.”

Roberta locked eyes with Jeremy. “I want to speak with the children who were mind-talking with Tom when . . . when he was killed, and the parents of all those other poor children too. Since we already know the Starkeys, I’d like to start with them. Will you please arrange it for me?”

“Of course. Just let me know when you’re ready. Maybe it would be good to make those calls later today, when we’re sure they’ve been told about what happened. Hmm, . . . you know, . . . it might be time to make some discreet contacts with someone in the government and warn them of the threat against earth.”

“Maybe,” Mack said. “I want to discuss it with the group first, but . . . perhaps it is time.”

Jeremy rose from the chair. “I’d best be going.” When Roberta and Mack got up from the bed he traipsed over and gave both of them a hug, and then hugged Laura. “Do you need me to do anything right now besides arrange those calls?”

Mack and Roberta looked at one another, shrugged their shoulders and shook their heads. “No,” Roberta moaned. “I can’t think of a thing.”

The doctor walked to the bedroom door. “I can let myself out. Roberta, I’ll let you know when I’ve set up those calls. If either of you need anything else, call me.”

Mack made his way to the bedroom door and leaned against the frame. He furrowed his brow in thought as the doctor ambled toward the front door. “Jeremy, hold on a minute . . . damn it, we forgot something important. Come into the living room and sit down, please.”

“What did we forget?” Roberta queried.

“What the hell do we tell people about Tom? We can’t give them the truth. But we have to say something.”

“Maybe,” Jeremy said, “that you sent him to visit a relative?”

“No.” Mack replied. “We’ll have problems explaining why he isn’t coming back. I think . . . maybe . . . yes. I’ll have to file a missing person report with the police. I hate having the police waste their time. But, we have to treat this as a kidnapping, which it actually was. What other plausible explanation would there be for his disappearance? My superiors will need to know, and NCIS might get involved.”

“Sure, and you can all behave naturally in public—the way you actually feel. You won’t have to put on an act.”

“I . . . I’ll tell JoAnn DeVry about what happened to Tom,” Dorothy promised. “She’s been a big help. We’re thankful Dennis agreed to bring her into the group.”

Mack stroked his chin. Jeremy looked up and stared at the ceiling.

“Okay,” Mack said. “I guess that’s it. For the second time, I can’t think of anything else.”

Jeremy stood and headed for the door again. “All right. It’s already seven-fifteen and we have things to do.”

The pursuit flight’s pilots had been debriefed following their destruction of the shuttle carrying the four children. The debriefing report displayed on Admiral teDanon’s computer in his quarters, where he and Commander geWaxted were discussing the recent incident.

“Well, Commander,” Admiral teDanon said. “It appears we have mutiny aboard. I can find no other explanation. The escape of those children had to have been with the assistance of members of this ship’s crew.”

Commander geWaxted looked indignant. “Sir, I would stake my career on the loyalty of my team.”

“Perhaps, Commander, perhaps. I would have thought the same about all the officers and enlisted as well. Until recently, however. I am sure you are aware a feeling of dissatisfaction about the mission has been growing throughout the flotilla.”

“Yes, Admiral. There may be a few squeamish crew members, but I believe they would do their duty.”

The admiral looked out the view port of his cabin and drummed his fingers on the desk. After a minute, he turned to face Commander geWaxted. “We must be certain about the crew. Coordinate with the head of security to arrange the interrogations. I want every member of the medical staff, shuttle crew, and anybody else who had contact with the escaped children, as well as all those with an active role in Operation Pacify to be questioned. Use truth drugs and lie detectors if you have to—I do not care! I want answers soon—within three days. Dismissed.”

Commander geWaxted left the admiral and returned to his office. He intended to make a backup of his latest report about the unsuccessful escape onto the computer backup memory card which contained the critical mission files. He opened his locked drawer to get the card, but it wasn’t there. Commander geWaxted searched his desk, clenched his fists in frustration, and then searched it again. Then he looked in the pockets of all his clothes, but he still couldn’t find it. Neither of his two senior assistants knew where it was. He made another full backup, locked it in his desk and called Admiral teDanon on the secure COM circuit.

“Admiral, I must report that my computer backup memory card with the mission files on it is missing. It is too much of a coincidence for it to go missing at this juncture.”

“Fist of Prax!” Admiral teDanon exclaimed. “How could that have happened?”

“It had to have been stolen by one of my senior staff, sir. They are the only officers besides me who have access to the cards.”

“One of your loyal senior staff I presume . . . or—I have made a decision, Commander. You and I will both be subject to the same interrogation as everyone else. But we need someone outside the operation to conduct the initial queries. I will come up with an explanation for the senior officers from the Jitza Coalition destroyer escort without giving away anything about our real mission, and provide questions for them to ask me, the security team and you and your people. You and security can take over and get into more detail if they pass this interrogation without the slightest hint of deception. We will begin tomorrow afternoon.”

The grilling proceeded over the following three days. The lone hint of disloyalty or mutiny appeared in the memories of a small number of the crew, particularly among the medical and shuttle operations staff. Those crewmen had brief recollections of receiving orders to release the children, taking them to the hangar deck and authorizing the shuttle’s departure.

Then, Commander geWaxted’s interrogation revealed his memory of releasing the children and giving the computer backup card to one of the medical staff taking the children to the hangar deck.

The results of all these interviews were quite contradictory. There were indications of uncertainty and unease over the way Jerithan children were being treated. Though no mutinous intentions were exposed, fleeting memories were uncovered of what, in isolation, could be considered mutinous acts. However, everyone believed they had followed legitimate orders and had not acted out of disloyalty.

Admiral teDanon ordered everybody involved, including Commander geWaxted, whose actions helped the children escape, to be confined to quarters for the time being. In no mood to eat alone, he proceeded to the wardroom for evening mess and considered his options. How and when should he inform Admiral teReevat about this fiasco?

He stroked the amulet his father had given him years before and thought, What is going on here? Could the crew’s feelings about the Jerithan children actually cause them to mutiny without being aware of their actions—or even forget what they did? I am fighting my own inner demons over Operation Pacify. We cannot abide mutiny, but is it mutiny to refuse to obey orders that one considers unlawful or immoral? Or is it mutiny—or more likely sedition—to operate outside civilian authority and give those orders in the first place? Who is the arbiter of what is moral and ethical in a situation like this?

At 1:43 a.m., Pacific Time, an hour and a quarter after Tom’s final telepathic contact with Jason, Peter and Yuriko, Howard finished his call to Albert Cohen and Dennis Murphy. He waited anxiously for Al to arrive and reviewed the events of the last couple of hours. Dorothy and Izumi went to the brothers’ bedroom. They found the three children working at the computers and saw the cups of hot chocolate they’d been given earlier barely touched and cold.

“Yuri-chan,” Izumi implored her daughter in Japanese, “you must sleep. You have a concert to prepare for, and we must go back to Seattle in several hours.”

“I don’t . . . know . . . if I can do it,” Yuriko said, also in Japanese, her eyes welling up with tears yet again.

Izumi shook her head. “Yuriko, we have a commitment. This is important to you . . . and everyone else, not just your family.”

Yuriko stood up, stamped her foot and put her hands on her hips. Reverting to English, she declared, “Mother, I cannot stop yet! I must go over my notes with Jason and Peter before I leave.”

“All right, if you can do it quickly. How long will you need?”

Yuriko looked at the boys. “It won’t take too long if we mind-talk, will it?”

“No,” Jason replied, also using telepathy, “mind-talking is much faster than talking out loud if very little is highly complex and detailed. Around a half hour or so.”

“Maybe half an hour, Mother,” Yuriko turned to Jason and Peter and frowned. “I guess I can’t really help much after that, can I?”

“Nothing really,” Peter confirmed.

“Not after we make sure we can read your notes later,” Jason added. “What were they for?”

“Hmm, well . . .” Yuriko yawned, stretched and shook her head. Soon everybody was yawning. Yuriko continued. “I was trying to pick up on whatever might have been in Tom’s mind below the level of what he was consciously telling you both.”

“Wow, that might be useful information,” Peter surmised.

“Okay, let’s do it,” Jason said. He then faced Izumi. “We’ll help Yuriko clear her mind and go to sleep when we’re done with her notes.”

“I don’t think we’ll be far behind you, Yuriko,” Peter offered. “I’m getting pretty tired too.” He looked at his mother. “Mom, could you please heat up the chocolate for us?”

“Oh,” Jason interjected, “please tell Dad we found the last names, addresses and phone numbers for Dione and Luci, and e-mailed them to Dr. Murphy. But we couldn’t find a thing on Donald other than his last name is Locke—l-o-c-k-e—and he lives . . . oh, darn . . . lived in Roanoke, Virginia. So far, we haven’t found anyone who ever mind-talked with him.”

The children excused themselves and huddled together as the doorbell rang. Izumi grabbed the cups while Dorothy rushed downstairs. Izumi heated the chocolate in the microwave and brought it up to the children. Dorothy answered the door before Howard got to it and found Albert and Irene Cohen there.

Dorothy welcomed them and hugged Irene. “I’m awfully glad you came too, Irene.”

“I wouldn’t be able to sleep with all this going on. I had to come and do whatever I could to help.”

While the adults were busy downstairs making calls and discussing the early morning’s events, the children were just as busy upstairs.

Jason reviewed Yuriko’s notes with her while Peter logged into their website.

“Hey, look at this,” Peter urged the others. He showed them the e-mail from the child who Luci Ischer had contacted. “He attached encrypted copies of the documents he created from what Luci had told him.”

“Great!” Jason said. “It’ll take us a day or two to check ’em over and compare them to what we have from Tom and whoever Dione mind-talked with. I hope Dad will let us take time off from our studies to do it.”

Izumi returned to the kitchen, where she, Irene and Dorothy spoke. Howard and Al had completed their calls with Jeremy Sanchez and Dennis Murphy a little after two o’clock. Izumi served steaming mugs of herbal tea to herself and the other adults to help calm their minds. At a quarter to three in the morning Al and Irene went home.

After the children finished with Yuriko’s notes, Jason and Peter helped her fall asleep in the guest bedroom. When Izumi came upstairs to go back to sleep, Jason and Peter had already returned to their room.

Dorothy shuffled up the stairs to check on the boys at three o’clock and found them still working on the computer, struggling to stay awake. She persuaded them to knock off and try to sleep, then went downstairs, turned off the lights and joined Howard in bed. He was already asleep.

Dennis and Rama were seated in Dennis’ University of Washington office at two-thirty that morning. They had received the information e-mailed by Jason and Peter Starkey on Dione and Luci, and had just finished talking with their family doctors. The physicians promised to go to the girls’ homes immediately and inform their parents about the circumstances surrounding their children’s tragic deaths. Rama found more than one listing for the name “Locke” in Roanoke. Since Donald Locke and his family had not been involved with the group before, Dennis and Rama were concerned about what to say to them. They wanted Karen Pacheco’s advice first. She had more clinical experience and knowledge about treating families of children with paranormal abilities than anyone else they knew.

“This is Dennis Murphy, Karen. Sorry if I woke you, but I’ve got terrible news.” After he explained what had happened and she got over the shock, he broached the subject of Donald. “So, what the hell do we say to Donald’s family? They’ll likely be coming out of the anesthetics soon.”

Karen thought for a minute before answering. “I think you should start slowly. Introduce yourselves merely as psychologists associated with a group studying children who have abilities and talents similar to Donald’s; say you just found out about Donald. Then, give them general background on two or three of the children.”

“You’re right,” Dennis concurred. “We need to be extremely cautious.”

“I can imagine what will be going through their minds about us,” Rama added.

“Once you have their interest,” Karen continued, “explain about the tumors and then the aliens. If they haven’t panicked or hung up on you by then, break the news about their son as gently as possible.”

“You know, Karen,” Dennis said, “the first thing they’re going to want to know is why we’re calling so early? We may have to tell them about Donald’s death before we can lead up to it gracefully.”

“Well, . . . it’s not the best way to break it to them,” she remarked. “There’s really no way to do it in person on such short notice since Jeremy is busy with Tom’s family and Paula is out of town. So, do the best you can. I’m willing to fly down to Roanoke to talk to them if they seem receptive to a visit. Call me after you speak with them.”

They disconnected and Dennis started to call the first “Locke” on the list. Just before the call went through, Rama grabbed the handset and hung up. “Wait. we shouldn’t use our phone. It’s too early to buy a prepaid cell phone. Let’s get plenty of change and use a pay phone. I know a twenty-four-hour laundromat that still has one and don’t want the police to trace the call back to us.”

The two psychologists anxiously gathered what they needed, left and stopped at a grocery store which was open all night. After buying a couple of premade egg salad sandwiches and getting change Rama and Dennis went to the laundromat.

Each dragged a chair over to the phone and sat. Dennis’ first call woke the wrong Locke family. So did the second. Rama shrugged his shoulders. Dennis cocked his head, raised his eyebrows and groaned. “Here we go again.” He inserted two coins, dialed the number and inserted the additional required coins. One ring, two rings. Five more went unanswered before he hung up. “Let’s wait a few minutes and try again,” Dennis suggested. Rama sat still and stared at the walls and the light traffic outside. Dennis paced, then took his seat and dialed again. This time, the phone was picked up on the third ring.

“Hello, who is this?” Mr. Locke said. He looked at the clock. “It’s not even seven yet.”

“I’m sorry to bother you so early. Are you Gordon Locke?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“Do you have a son named Donald?” Dennis inquired.

“Yes, why? Who are you and what do you want?”

“I’m a psychologist working with children who have special abilities and talents, a lot like your son’s. He does have some unusual abilities doesn’t he?”

By now Donald Locke’s father was fully awake. “I’m not going to answer any more questions until I know what the hell you want.”

“I would like to explain about our organization and the other children,” Dennis responded.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to sell, but I’m not buying!” Mr. Locke said.

“We’re not selling anything, Mr. Locke. I have—”

“Just get to the point, if there is one, or I’m going to hang up,” Mr. Locke demanded.

Dennis crossed his fingers and spoke rapidly. “Four children with special and unusual abilities from the southeastern United States were kidnapped last night and killed. We are trying to identify who they are.”

Mr. Locke put his hand over the phone’s mouthpiece and turned to his wife. “Go check on Donny. See if he’s okay.”

She was not awake yet. He shook her, but she slept on. “Wait a minute,” he said, then left the room and returned a short time later. “I can’t find Donny. He’s not anywhere around. What’s going on?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Dennis assured him.

“Did you kidnap him? What do you want from us? We’re not rich people.”

“Please hear me out,” Dennis begged him.

Donald’s mother finally began to stir. She woke up and asked her husband who was on the phone. “Donny has been kidnapped,” he told her. “I’m talking to someone about it.”

Mrs. Locke sat up with a start. “What? You’re crazy.” She started to leap out of bed.

Her husband restrained her and said, “Don’t bother, love. I already checked. He’s not in his room . . . or any place in the house.”

She gasped and fell back against her pillows. Mr. Locke held the handset so she could hear the conversation and said, “Tell us what happened and what you want us to do.”

Dennis briefly shut his eyes tightly. “Mr. and Mrs. Locke. I’m very sorry to say this. Donald and three other children were kidnapped early this morning. They have all been killed.”

“My God no!” Mrs. Locke cried.

“Killed—how?” Mr. Locke asked.

“I’ll get to that in a minute. Please bear with me a little longer. Did Donald ever inform you about having dreams of strange people poking him and sticking needles in him . . . you know, like giving him a medical examination?”

Mr. Locke looked at his wife, who shook her head and furrowed her brow. “No,” he replied. “What kind of crap is this. You better give us the straight stuff or I’ll call the police.”

“I am trying, Mr. Locke. Listen carefully. Donald and three other children were kidnapped by aliens for some kind of medical experiment. The children escaped, but they were chased and killed.”

“Aliens! What do you mean, Mexicans, Arab terrorists?”

The two professors looked up as a man came into the laundry and began loading a washer. Rama gripped the arms of his chair. Perspiration began to roll down Dennis’ face. He sighed deeply and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “No, Mr. Locke. I mean aliens from another planet.”

“That’s bullshit, mister.”

“No it isn’t. If it will help you to understand this, the mother of one of the children who was killed would like to call and speak to you, and a psychologist who has worked with children like Donald is willing to come and discuss it with you in person.”

Mrs. Locke was tugging on the sleeve of her husband’s pajama top. “Hold on a minute,” he said, and spoke to his wife briefly before getting back on the telephone. “I want the police to be here when she calls and when that doctor comes over. If you aren’t involved, you have nothing to be worried about.”

“Please don’t call the police,” Dennis pleaded. “It’s more complicated than you think. There is much more at stake than you can imagine.”

Mr. Locke failed trying to sound sincere. “All right, . . . sure, no police. What’s your name and how can we get in touch with you?”

Christ, this isn’t working, Dennis thought. “I’ll get back to you soon, Mr. Locke.”

“God damn you!” Mr. Locke yelled, his hand turning red from his tight grip on the telephone. “What have you done with my son?”

Dennis hung the handset on the pay phone’s hook and looked at Rama, who had been listening to both sides of the conversation. He rubbed his eyes. “Damn! I don’t think we should call Mr. Locke back. It’s a difficult story to believe. Apparently Donald didn’t exhibit much, if any paranormal abilities. I’m certain he was going to call the police. Dammit! I think we should write them off.”

“What if he tells the authorities about Donald’s paranormal abilities and the aliens?” Rama asked.

Dennis rubbed his forehead. “They didn’t seem to believe a thing I said. But if they did, they have no proof, and I doubt the police will believe it either.”

“Let’s go back to your office and call Karen,” Rama advised.

Upon their return to the office, Dennis plopped in his chair while Rama poured coffee for both of them and got the doughnuts he’d picked up at the grocery store. Dennis activated the speakerphone to call Karen and noticed a message on the answering machine. Karen concurred with their conclusion that it would be better to have no further contact with the Locke family. Rama entered the information into their database while Dennis listened to the message from Mack Wallace. When they returned his call, it was past four in the morning in Washington and after seven in Virginia.

“Hi Mack, this is Dennis Murphy. Rama’s here too. God, we’re sorry about Tom. It was a courageous thing he and the other children did. What can I do for you?”

“Thank you both for your concern. I wanted your opinion about something before I took action.”

“Okay, Mack. What is it?”

Mack explained how he and Roberta were behaving as parents would be expected to behave and reporting Tom’s kidnapping to the police. He suggested that Dennis advise the other children’s parents to do the same.

“That’s an excellent idea. I’ll make sure they do. But we won’t have to talk to Donald’s parents. They will definitely call the police.” He described their conversation with the Locke family and explained why they would not be participating in the group’s future activities.

Shortly before eight in the morning, Roberta Wallace sat at the kitchen counter next to the telephone and composed herself. Then, she called six of Tom’s friends in their Virginia Beach neighborhood where he might have gone under ordinary circumstances, and asked if Tom was there. Next, Roberta called the nearest hospitals. She and Mack wanted to act as normal parents would to satisfy any police investigation. A little after eight, she dialed the direct line to the Creative Learning school’s director. JoAnn DeVry answered on the second ring.

“JoAnn, this is Roberta Wallace. Tom . . .” Roberta began to sob.

“Roberta, what’s wrong?”

Between sobs, Roberta said, “I thought . . . thought I could . . . hold it together. Tom’s been kidnapped.”

“How . . . when?”

Roberta took several deep breaths. “This morning. But I can’t really talk about it right now. We’re reporting it to the police and they may contact you.”

JoAnn thought for a moment. “Is there anything specific you need me to say?”

“No. Just don’t say a thing about Tom that is not absolutely necessary and only in response to a direct question. Keep quiet about his special abilities, and for God’s sake don’t mention aliens. One of us, . . . or maybe Karen Pacheco or Dennis Murphy, will be in touch soon and tell you more.”

After, they hung up. JoAnn remained sitting for awhile, unable to move, and finally began her day’s routine.

Roberta staggered across the floor into Mack’s arms. They hugged each other for a few moments. Roberta sat down to gather her thoughts of what she wanted to say to the parents of Luci and Dione.

Mack rested his hands on the kitchen counter and leaned on it for support before sitting. He dialed the police and was directed to a detective in the missing person’s squad. “I . . . my son’s missing. We think he’s been kidnapped.”

“Who is this?” the detective wanted to know.

“Oh, sorry,” Mack responded. He gave his name, address and phone number to the detective.

“How old is your son?”

“He’s seven. He’ll be eight on September 26.”

“How long has he been missing and what makes you think he’s been kidnapped?” the detective asked.

“He’s been missing for over an hour. We called all the neighbors and friends, his school, and even hospitals where Tom could possibly be and nobody has seen him.”

“And you didn’t find a note or something?”

“No. No note and no phone calls from anybody.”

“Does he disappear often, or has he done it at all before?”

“No,” Mack said. “He’s never done it before. He knows not to go anywhere alone without telling us, especially not at this time of the morning. I take him to school every morning on my way to work.”

The detective told Mack he and his partner would drive over to talk with him and Roberta, and write up a report. Twenty minutes later the detectives arrived and continued the questioning. When they finished with the Wallaces, they canvassed the neighborhood. The detectives returned to their office two hours afterward and immediately checked the hospitals and Tom’s school. Before the end of the morning, they issued an “Amber Alert”.

Roughly five hours after the children’s deaths, the physicians for Dione’s and Luci’s families called Dennis and told him they’d visited the children’s parents and informed them about the tragedy. He e-mailed the names, addresses and telephone numbers for Dione’s and Luci’s parents to Roberta Wallace, as she had requested.

Roberta sat down at the telephone. She picked up and put down the handset three times before she started to dial the number to Dione’s house. Roberta stopped before she finished dialing and hung up.

“Mack, I can’t call those other parents.” Roberta muttered to her husband.

“I understand,” Mack said. “It’s a very difficult thing to talk about, especially with people we barely know.”

“That’s not it, sweetheart. We can’t have any traceable contact with those families.”

Mack slapped his forehead. “By God! You’re right. I should have thought of that. The police will treat us as suspects and, at some point, check our phone records. Good for you! I’ll call Dennis and warn him to tell the families we can’t have unsecured contact with each other.”

Mack made the call in the nick of time, because Dione’s parents had been about to call Luci’s parents when Dennis phoned and stopped them and also mentioned Mack’s advice on what actions they should take.

Reporters picked up the story from the “Amber Alert” issued that morning or from the afternoon’s police log. Print and television reporters met with Roberta and Mack for an interview the same day. The story was broadcast on the evening news and headlined in the next day’s newspapers. Following normal operating procedure, agents at the local FBI office caught the “Amber Alert” and called the police detectives to offer assistance. Had they not contacted the police, the detective assigned to the case would have notified them by the end of the day.

FBI agents and detectives interviewed the Wallace’s neighbors and the staff at Tom’s school, but turned up no clues. The lead FBI agent on the case entered Tom’s description into the databases of the National Crime Information Center and the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. Over the next two plus days, an FBI agent was in the Wallace’s apartment in case a kidnapper called. The FBI offered to provide all three of them with counseling, which Mack gratefully accepted. Similar investigations and activities by the FBI and local police were taking place in Greensboro, North Carolina, Athens, Georgia and Roanoke, Virginia.

Later in the afternoon of that dreadful day, Howard Starkey drove Izumi and Yuriko back to Seattle. Yuriko’s rehearsals went better than expected considering her persistent sadness over the deaths of the four children. Thoughts of aliens and tumors went through Yuriko’s and Izumi’s minds.

After seven fitful hours of sleep, Jason and Peter spent the rest of Wednesday and a good part of Thursday comparing the documents e-mailed to them with the document Peter had written, Jason’s notes and the information they got from Yuriko. Jason and Peter were also in touch, by e-mail and telepathy, with the altered children who had received so much valuable information from Dione and Luci before their demise.

They managed to resolve most of the questions that had come up while compiling and collating all the notes. Finally, they put together a sixteen page document divided into sections covering the League of Worlds, the study group created to monitor Earth and the naval flotilla assigned to it, the Silkaran military and Operation Pacify, and a small amount of technical information about the spacecraft in the flotilla. They gave this material to Dennis and, at his request, assisted Rama in preparing a Microsoft PowerPoint presentation of the highlights.

The Silkaran prime minister, Valarde kaKinon, and her adviser and trusted friend, Gaspo kaPakar, were in her office, after the morning sweep for hidden listening devices.

“I just heard from our agent, Scalpel,” Adviser kaPakar said. “He was recently promoted and transferred to the Covert Operations Directorate of Military Intelligence. For the last eight years, the military has had an ongoing venture called ‘Operation Pacify’. It seems related to the Jerithan Study Group, and has the highest security.”

“Could it be a code name for the study group’s mission?” the prime minister asked.

“Not likely,” her adviser replied. “Why would they need a code name for it and such high security if it merely refers to that mission?”

“You know the military, Gaspo. They like to give code names to everything. But . . . the level of security does bother me.”

“The reports we have been getting from the study group have been extremely bland.”

“Yes. So far, nothing to support any claims of imminent danger from the Jerithans. And the study group has been operating for nine years now.”

Adviser kaPakar brushed his hair back. “We are in the first year of your second term. I hope we will be around long enough to see this thing through.”

“Have Scalpel dig out more information on Operation Pacify, and have the Executive Security Service assign another agent to investigate from a different angle—its finances.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will see to it immediately and continue to keep you informed.”

The investigations into the alleged kidnappings of Donald, Luci, Dione and Tom were going nowhere. Since nobody witnessed the kidnappings, the parents had been the chief suspects. The most unusual aspect of the cases was the early morning call Donald Locke’s parents had received. From the telephone company’s records, the FBI identified the number from where the call had originated. But when they discovered it was a Seattle, Washington pay phone and located no witnesses to the call, the lead was a dead end.

The investigators considered the story told by Donald’s parents to be highly suspicious and thought the parents might have concocted the story to throw off suspicion from themselves. But after talking with all the people on their list, the detectives and FBI agents in all four cases decided the parents were good, decent people and no longer suspected them of wrongdoing.

The FBI agents in Virginia who investigated the kidnapping of both Donald and Tom noted certain similarities, and soon found parallels in the kidnapping reports of Dione and Luci. But the agents couldn’t find a link between the kidnappings or the families. By the end of the first few days each of the four investigations had stalled. One of the Virginia FBI agents, however, remained skeptical and uncomfortable over the total lack of evidence, the unexplained similarities between the four kidnappings, as well as the strange call reported by Donald Locke’s parents. The cases remained active, but nothing further could be done without a lead developing.

Late Thursday afternoon, Jason and Peter Starkey shut off their computers.

“Well, I think we’ve done all we can for now.” Peter sighed deeply and stretched.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” his brother said. “Sure, we organized all the material that came from Tom, Dione and Luci, . . .” He flicked up his thumb and continued, “posted it on our website, . . .” Jason put up his index finger, . . . “and got all that stuff done for Dr. Murphy and Dr. Gupta.” He threw up his middle finger. “That’s three important things, but it’s not all we need to do.”

“Okay already, Jase! Out with it. What more can we do now? Don’t forget the big teleconference scheduled for tomorrow.”

“Who’s going to do something about those aliens, huh? Who can do something?”

“Yeah, . . . you’re right,” Peter muttered. “There sure are a lot of us now. Maybe we can do something.”

“But whatever we do,” Jason suggested, “has to be done carefully so that nobody outside our group finds out.”

The children and their families had quickly learned that, while there was no problem if outsiders knew the children were geniuses, claims of paranormal powers would often cause embarrassment and ridicule—if not worse. This was a constant concern and a frequent subject of discussion. The children, however, were ever alert and managed to persuade anyone who wished to involve the government to any degree that secrecy was critical, at least for the time being.

“Let’s mind-talk with as many kids as we can and see what we can come up with.”

“Good idea, Pete. And I don’t think it matters if we wake anybody up.”

In short order they had contacted over a dozen altered children, and each of them had contacted a number of others, so by the time the twins had to join their parents for dinner, all the children had been informed of the deaths of Donald, Luci, Tom and Dione and brought up to speed on what had been learned about the aliens.

Even during dinner they continued to mind-talk with the others. Their telepathic skills had improved so much in the last four years that they could express whole ideas and paragraphs in a flash, often without using words. They could even translate between languages on the fly.

“We need to inventory everyone’s interests and skills, so we don’t waste time and effort.” Anna Burgio said.

“Right,” Australian Claire Watson agreed. “I’m interested in biology and physiology. We need to get a team together to see what can be done about those so-called tumors.”

“First step is that inventory,” Peter said. “Great idea, Anna. We’ll add it to our website and organize it by skill.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s a technical skill or artistic or whatever,” Jason interjected. “We need to know all the skills and talents.”

Zahra, from Morocco, spoke up. “Don’t forget to include our paranormal abilities. Even if we all have telepathy, clairvoyance, and telekinesis, the level of strength may vary between those abilities . . . and from one child to another.”

“Yes, we all know what Tom, Luci and Dione did to enable their escape attempt,” Henri Coindreau of France said. “Maybe we can steal some of those pickup spaceships and then take over the . . . the . . . what did Tom call it?”

“Spacecraft carrier,” a girl from Mexico replied. “Wow, that’s a great—”

“—Wait a minute,” a German boy implored them. “Excuse me for interrupting, but we first need to do something about the brain implants, don’t we?”

“Yes, I think we do,” a boy from India, Bhagwant Kumara, offered. “I’ve been thinking about how to disable the artifact and my interest in electrical engineering should be of help on that project.”

“We also need to find out if there are any government officials we can trust to help us,” Yuriko threw in.

“Let’s get all these ideas into our website,” Jason said, “and build that skills inventory.”

“Right, and then we can put together a real, practical action plan,” Peter proposed.

Discussions continued for another half-hour or so before they concluded. The children all felt that they had made some progress toward a resolution of the problems the aliens had created for Earth. They were not about to leave it to the adults to do it all, not when it was they, the altered children, who really had the power.