Altered Children

The shuttle landed in late afternoon under a clouded sky reddened by the setting sun. As the children exited the shuttle, their parents rushed out to greet them. Dennis Murphy, Munir Ben Nafi and Mack Wallace followed the children out. Peter Starkey and Zahra Fakherdin waved from the hangar entrance. The members of the foundation’s operations committee who had assisted Mack with the alien’s bodies, and setting up the airfield as a base, strode out together.

They got back to the safety of the hangar in time to turn and watch the shuttle retract its gangway and then the four landing struts as it slowly rose off the runway. When it reached an altitude of a thousand feet it angled upward to the northeast and shot away, gaining speed until it was out of sight seconds later.

“C’mon Mack, tell us what happened up there,” the Air National Guard lieutenant said.

“After I phone Robbie,” Mack replied. “Give me a minute.” He rushed to the office, sat at the desk and called his wife. Once her anxiety had been relieved, he summoned the lieutenant and the retired army sergeant. Mack activated the speakerphone and briefed the three of them. At the same time, Dennis and Munir were making calls on their cell phones, and the children were busy telepathically communicating with other children. Finally, they were all seated in the lounge and resting. Soon most of them would be leaving and heading home.

Mack slapped his knee and arched his brow. “Hey, with their ability to teleport people and objects like in all those Star Trek TV shows, why did they use a shuttle to pick us up?”

“Right you are, Mack,” Dennis said. “Why didn’t they, you know, ‘beam us up’?”

All the adults looked dumbfounded. The children smiled and nodded at Jason. “Two reasons, Captain Wallace,” Jason explained. “Mostly it’s the amount of energy required. Every time they use their teleporter, it uses a lot of energy. So, when they do use it they’ll teleport only a few objects at a time—generally not very large ones, and not over great distances. Also, they thought it might be disorienting for us.”

A hour later, their King Air had been moved out of the hangar, fueled and made ready. The Americans and Moroccans boarded for their flight to Sydney where they would take commercial flights to their home cities, or the cities nearest the children’s schools schools. The King Air then returned to Collie. The Aussies who had driven the RVs and trailers to Collie headed home to return them, leaving one purchased trailer behind.

Claire and her parents remained in Collie. Working for two days with Admiral teDanon’s executive officer and a Taiwanese child, Claire coordinated the relocation of the last three mainland Chinese children and their families to Taiwan. Then, she and her parents drove back to Botany, 11.6 km (7.25 miles) south of Sydney, where hey were staying in temporary quarters during the current crisis.

Clair’s parents put her on a Pelican Airlines flight from Sydney to Newcastle. Finally, exhausted, she was picked up and driven 45 km (28 miles) to the school in Morisset. The King Air crew stayed in Collie for a few days to put things in order and lock up, and then went to their own homes.

Completing a journey of several days, Admiral teDanon arrived at Silkar on the second of August. He had taken the time to prepare for his meeting with the General Staff, and was worried about Admiral teReevat’s reaction to his report. The next day, at 9:00 a.m., Admiral teDanon—still a sub-admiral—entered the meeting room. At one side of the room he looked out through the metaglas window at the General Staff’s operations center fifteen feet below. Through the window on the other side, he saw the Silkar Union Government Center courtyard twelve stories beneath them. Both metaglas windows were tuned so they could see out, but no one could see in.

He saw First Admiral Fondro teReevat seated at the side of the hexagonal conference table opposite the door from which he’d entered. Including him, three members of the General Staff were present, missing only the general who commanded the home affairs defense guard.

Admiral teDanon stepped up to the table and stood smartly at attention. “Reporting as ordered, sir.”

“At ease.” Admiral teReevat waved him to a seat at the side of the table nearest the door. “Welcome back, Spuvi. How was your trip?”

“Uneventful, sir.”

“Good,” Admiral teReevat said. “Now, let us get started. We have all read your last status summary, so we will ask you some questions. First, does your team have any idea why the subjects frequently wake up during testing?”

Admiral teDanon took a deep breath. With the assistance of his medical staff, he had practiced telling lies convincingly. It worked best when he only had to stretch the truth. “We believe the children’s immune systems have been strengthened by the genetic modification, which somehow has also affected their reaction to certain anesthesia. We have tested various anesthetics and found one that works. This information may be quite useless, however.”

“Useless, why?” the army general asked.

“Sir, it appears Operation Pacify has been irretrievably compromised.”

Admiral teReevat started to rise, but sat back down. “According to your last status summary, the program appeared to succeed in reducing the Jerithans’ violent tendencies.”

“True, but—”

“Just how is it compromised, Admiral teDanon?” the head of the military intelligence service, another general, demanded.

Admiral teDanon took a sip of water. “In the twenty-four hours prior to my leaving the flotilla, the phased biotronic locators for all but seventeen children ceased functioning, so we can no longer track the children or their parents.”

Admiral teReevat struck the table with a fist. “Well, Admiral, pick up as many as you can and implant new locators. Have you done so yet?”

“Sir, they are not in the locations we expected them to be. They have moved and we do not know where they are.”

“You said ‘all but seventeen children’,” Admiral teReevat growled. “Remove the locators from those children and run thorough diagnostics on them. Maybe the cause of the problem will become evident. I will have our prototypes and test modules benchmarked again.”

“My staff and I concluded that all those children and their parents are not in their expected locations because . . . somehow . . . they discovered and disabled the locators.”

“I assume you have a recommendation?” the assault force commandant prompted.

“Yes, sir. Because of our inability to track them, I recommend we cancel Operation Pacify and do what league resolution ECR B1847 specifies. We should merely continue to monitor Jeritha for any advances in space exploration into inter—”

“no!” The military intelligence general shouted. He had been drumming his fingers on the table. He shook his head, his shaggy hair flying, both hands gripping the edge of the table. “We have not come this far and worked so hard to shut it down with nothing to show for it. There must be a way to recover from this fiasco.”

Admiral teDanon sat on the edge of his chair. “We would have to ensure the latest biotronic locator cannot be discovered, find a new sample of Humans and then restart the operation from the beginning.”

“That would put us at least eight years behind schedule,” the general said icily.

Admiral teReevat slapped his hand on the table three times to get their attention. “If they have discovered the PBLs, they will soon learn that those devices could only come from beyond their world. The inescapable conclusion is that their governments will unite to develop spacecraft to defend themselves, as well as explore deep space—as you suggested, Admiral.”

“Yes, sir. I believe so.” Admiral teDanon pushed himself back in his chair.

For the next half hour, they discussed various options, including Operation Chaos, which involved dropping spores containing manufactured viruses into Earth’s atmosphere. This would spread the genetic modifications and a highly contagious influenza-like disease to a large proportion of the population, impact world economies and slow the expansion into space.

Admiral teDanon was concerned about what unknown side effects might result. Though Operation Chaos shocked his recently honed and refreshed sensibilities, he decided to imply he supported their plan. At the end of the meeting, he was given leave for two weeks so he could relax and visit friends and family. Another brief meeting was scheduled for shortly before he was due to return to his flotilla. Meanwhile the General Staff would prepare for Operation Chaos.

The first half of August was an extremely busy period for the foundation staff, especially those in the School Operations Division, which now had responsibility for completing the relocation of the children and some of their immediate families, as well as operating the schools. Saturday, the fourteenth, found JoAnn DeVry, Ramaraju Gupta, Dennis Murphy, and Karen Pacheco seated around the table in the Discovery Bay school’s executive conference room. The light from the setting sun radiated with a gentle orange luster over the bay and into the room.

Karen stacked the master printouts of the newly designed IQ test on the table. “Well, I guess that about does it.”

“I didn’t realize how dark it was getting.” Rama rose, strolled over to the door and flicked the light switch on.

Dennis got up and stretched before sitting again. “Right you are, Rama. So, what do you all think, are we ready?”

“It’s been a long day,” JoAnn said rubbing her eyes, “but well worth it I’d say.”

Karen patted the stack of papers. “We’re definitely ready.”

“I agree.” Rama stepped behind his chair and leaned on the back of it. “Since it’s done, I’ll post the new test on the website in the morning. Then I’ll e-mail Munir and Rhoda.”

“I’ll be talking with them soon,” JoAnn noted. “Rhoda is making excellent progress in Morisset, and Munir is actually ahead of schedule. They should be ready to begin interviews and testing next week.”

Dennis looked at each of those present. “I thank the three of you for developing our new IQ test and getting it validated while I was tied up with events in Australia . . . and up there.” He pointed upward.

“The trial we ran confirmed the original testing of the children. The intelligence of most of them is far too high to measure with the older standard tests,” JoAnn added.

“An understatement to be sure.” Karen chuckled. “A dozen kids scored near three hundred—when you calibrate our test to the standard tests.”

“Which isn’t easy,” Rama observed, “considering the standard tests were never designed to measure such high IQs.”

JoAnn pushed her chair back from the table and stretched her legs. “I can’t wait to begin the interviews. I’m glad you’re all here to participate.”

“I’m excited too,” Karen said. “I’ll bet we all are. We really need to gain a better understanding of the children’s needs—and their family’s.”

“This will take a while, you know,” Rama observed.

Dennis twirled a pen in his fingers. “Hmm, yes it will. We’ll have to test the level of each child’s paranormal abilities and give each of them personality and interest tests, as well as the new intelligence tests.”

“I think we’re on the right track with the Paranormal Proficiency Test Karen devised,” Rama said.

“Thank you very much, Rama,” Karen replied. “Phil, Masanja and Zahra helped a lot, and they certainly work well together, especially Masanja and Zahra.”

“Those amazing children,” JoAnn declared. “Thank God they were able to hack into their government’s computer systems and push through passports and visas for those who were unable to get them in time for their relocation. By the way, what’s the current status of the children?”

Rama brought up another page on their website. “Here it is. Let’s see . . . we’ve got seventy-three at Mohrane, sixty-eight here in Port Townsend and seventy-seven in Morisset. That leaves eleven still en route, and they should be arriving within two or three days.”

“What of those three Chinese children and their families who were left behind?” JoAnn asked.

Dennis smiled and his eyes lit up. “Claire and one of the Taiwanese children are working with Operation Pacify’s executive officer, Captain geMilot, to get them out of China and to Taiwan. The government is expecting them and will give them refugee status, and passports.”

“No one has apprised them about the aliens,” Rama reminded them. “Taiwan doesn’t know how we’re getting them there, so we must be circumspect and have a credible story ready.”

“Yes, yes, almost missed that,” Dennis admitted. “We’ve arranged with our Australian people to sponsor the children’s families so they can reside there. It’s been harder getting our émigrés into Australia than either Morocco or the US, but it’s being done.”

“I’m really proud of the children,” Karen said, “and astonished. They’ve already accomplished so much. We should give each of them some formal acknowledgment for their valuable contributions. Let me put something together, as soon as I get some time.”

“I’ll help you. These kids are doing more all the time,” JoAnn added before yawning.

Rama sat up straight, eyes wide open. “You know what we’ve overlooked? Add to our list of things to do a task for running MRI scans on all the children now that those artifacts have been removed. We should find out what areas of their brains are more active than in normal children.” When everyone nodded their heads, he added, “I’ll start setting that up.”

Nobody spoke for nearly a minute. Dennis stood. “Let’s get out of here then.”

As they walked out the door, Karen put a hand on Dennis’ arm. “Please have dinner with me . . . and stay over. You’ll like my new digs.”

He stopped and turned to her. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Gaspo kaPakar, the Silkaran prime minister’s chief adviser, and his wife were entering the theater lobby in the early evening on August 7 after having enjoyed dinner at their favorite restaurant. They’d planned to see a performance of a new comedic play and had bought the tickets two months earlier—it had been given great reviews and was frequently sold out. As they moved forward, someone in civilian clothes jostled the chief adviser.

“Excuse me, Chief Adviser, but I must speak with you on an urgent matter.”

Adviser kaPakar’s bodyguard stepped up, but the chief adviser put his hand up, waving him off.

“Who are you and how did you know I would be here at this time?”

“I am Sub-admiral Spuvi teDanon, in command of a flotilla assigned to the Jeritha study group under ECR B1847. That resolution was—”

“Yes, Admiral, I am familiar with it. But how did you know I was here?”

“I have a friend in the Home Affairs Ministry. He contacted the minister, who talked to your secretary and was told where you would be.”

Adviser kaPakar led his wife out of line and to the side of the doorway. “All right, what do you want?”

“I must speak with the prime minister about secret plans of the General Staff which violate the resolution and our own Declaration and laws. Those plans . . . also involve genocide.”

Prime Minister Valarde kaKinon sat on one of the sofas in her home office reviewing a number of documents. The communicator buzzed as she took a sip of stimbrew. She pushed the writing tray so it swung to one side and depressed a button on the arm of the sofa to open communications.

“Gaspo, ma’am. I am sorry to bother you, but there is a most urgent matter.”

“I thought you and Freline were going to a play tonight.”

“We were interrupted. I had her go in without me. At least we had a nice dinner together. I need to meet you where we are unlikely to be observed . . . and I will be bringing someone.”

“Who is this person?”

“Ma’am, I would rather not say . . . even if your communicator is scrambled.”

“All right. Where and when.”

“You remember where your father introduced us upon your first election to parliament?”

“Ah, yes. How could I forget, Gaspo?”

“Have your driver take you there in one hour. Tell him to make sure you are not followed.”

“It sounds like something is up. Should I bring anything?”

“No. I will record our meeting to avoid confusion and mistakes.”

“I will see you in an hour.” The prime minister disconnected and sighed. What now? Certainly sounds serious. Well, I suppose I shall find out soon enough.

The smallest of the three moons shown brightly on the hilltop lodge, situated a short distance south of Cor Velot, the Silkaran capital city. Still, its light barely illuminated the idyllic setting. Prime Minister kaKinon knew the meeting would be anything but idyllic. She’d arrived just ahead of her chief adviser and his mystery guest. While the lodge was not yet open for the season, the restaurant and bar were. But they were nearly empty.

Introductions completed, they entered the bar and drifted to a booth at the rear. The prime minister and her adviser sat on one side of the table and the admiral took a seat across from them. They looked like the restaurant’s typical patrons and were not recognized, even by the waiter to whom they gave their drink order.

“I have people outside watching,” Adviser kaPakar said. “They will know if any of us were followed. Admiral, please tell the prime minister what you told me.”

She listened for twenty minutes without saying a word while he explained about Operation Pacify, the children, and Operation Chaos. She looked Admiral teDanon in the eyes and tapped the table with her index finger. “Admiral, the flotilla you command, are you aware we have been trying to contact it . . . with no luck I might add.”

“Yes ma’am, only following orders of the General Staff,” Admiral teDanon replied. “My flotilla has been gathering information concerning Jeritha as part of the study group created by the league. But the Silkaran vessels have also been operating secretly outside the purview of the study group, even when we were officially scheduled to rotate to other assignments.

“Until their last election, a Jitzan destroyer escort assisted us on a permanent basis. Their new administration recalled it and is now supplying a destroyer only as part of the regular rotation among league members. Admiral teReevat replaced that one with one of ours.

“A destroyer from the Mythran Confederacy had remained in my flotilla. Admiral teReevat then offered them an opportunity to leave a month ahead of their normal rotation because he said he wanted to deploy a new destroyer as part of its shakedown cruise. I think the Mythrans were relieved and pleased to cut their expense in support of the study group.

“For the next several weeks only Silkaran vessels will be in the flotilla and I believe something is going to happen soon.”

“That explains it, Gaspo,” Prime Minister kaKinon said. “I see you brought a briefcase with you. I assume you have documents to support your wild claims.” When it appeared Adviser kaPakar was about to say something, she kicked him lightly on his shin.

“Yes, ma’am, I do.” His face took on an orange tint and his hand trembled as he removed some papers, a memory card and reader. He placed them on the table and unconsciously touched the amulet he wore around his neck, his father’s gift. “I know it sounds unbelievable. I can provide you with additional evidence of the General Staff’s—” he looked down and shook his head slowly “—and my seditious actions. I am ashamed to have been a part of it and will do whatever I can to help—”

His comment was interrupted by the beeping of Adviser kaPakar’s personal communicator. He looked at the displayed code and rose from the table. “Ma’am, I must take this call.” He stepped away. The atmosphere was quiet and tense as the prime minister watched her adviser’s face register surprise and shock. Then he returned to the table and sat again.

“Gaspo, what is wrong?” the prime minister asked.

“Ma’am, that was Home Affairs. Scalpel’s body was found ten minutes ago. He had been in the middle of transmitting some information and was cut off. The UIB sent a team to Scalpel’s location and discovered his body.”

“Did we get anything valuable from him?”

“Whoever killed him did not have time to do a complete search of the apartment, though they tried. Our people found information we had not seen before in his hidden safe. It appears to further substantiate the admiral’s statements.”

The prime minister faced Admiral teDanon. “We did have some independent information regarding Operation Pacify, but it was woefully deficient on details.”

Admiral teDanon looked relieved, his color returning to its normal reddish cast. “What do you want—”

Adviser kaPakar interrupted. “Excuse me, Admiral. The Home Affairs minister also reported the UIB is quite certain Scalpel’s surreptitious activities had been uncovered by the military, whose agents no doubt killed him. But the UIB cannot be sure if the military is aware of how much we know.”

“My,” the prime minister murmured, “this is certainly convoluted, is it not?” She held up her hand. “No need to answer.”

The admiral placed his elbows on the table with both hands together in front of him in a prayer position. He looked at his hands briefly, then at the prime minister. “It is good you have Home Affairs working for you. Before long, you may need their services even more. What would you like me to do?”

The prime minister leaned over the table. “Continue with your duties for now. Do not give any indication of dissatisfaction. We will set you up with a secure communications channel directly to Gaspo’s office.”

“Also the offices of the Home Affairs minister and of the UIB director?” her chief adviser asked her.

The prime minister put a hand on her chief adviser’s arm and turned to him. “Yes, good idea in case he cannot reach you.” She then faced the admiral. “Keep us informed of all orders you receive from your superiors and if anything important happens. We will notify you when we need you to do something.”

“Yes, Madam Prime Minister,” the admiral said. “I am at your service.” He began to rise, but lowered himself back into the seat. “I do not know how much they really trust me. And if they have gone this far, they may be able to monitor my calls. Should I not have a code name?”

“Oh, yes.” Adviser kaPakar rubbed his forehead ridge and then whispered, “Your code name will be ‘Whistler’.”

Three days before he was to return to his flotilla, Admiral teDanon appeared once again before the General Staff.

First Admiral teReevat placed both hands on the table and pushed himself up. He paced back and forth. “We have analyzed the information provided, by you and other sources. We concluded that Operation Pacify has failed.”

Admiral teReevat hesitated long enough for Admiral teDanon to speak up. “In that case, are we canceling all activities associated with it?”

“We have no other logical choice,” Admiral teReevat acknowledged. “However, we still believe Jeritha’s ability to explore our region of space is progressing too rapidly and endangers the interests of Silkar.” He paused and stopped pacing.

The army general struck the table with a fist. “And the Jerithans’ knowledge of the existence of Silkar and our plans jeopardizes the position of the General Staff as well.”

Admiral teReevat glared at the army general and signaled him to silence by a cutting motion of his hand across his throat. He went back to his chair and gazed at Admiral teDanon, who sat up straight, his right arm and hand on the table in front of him seemingly relaxed, but the left hand gripped his chair’s armrest.

“We are activating Operation Chaos,” Admiral teReevat declared firmly. “We are putting together another flotilla that will leave for Jeritha in one standard month. Upon its arrival, you will provide such support as required by the admiral in command. In particular, you shall provide shuttlecraft to assist in the dropping of spores into Jeritha’s atmosphere.

“The virus will spread throughout their population . . . planet wide. The genetic modifications we developed should spread among the next generation of Jerithans in large numbers.”

“Yes, sir,” Admiral teDanon said. “We will be ready.”

“The resulting contagion should cause a significant disruption of their economies and morale,” the general commanding military intelligence added. “As a result, space exploration should be a very low priority for well over a hundred years.”

“Your orders will be delivered to you before you return to the flotilla,” Admiral teReevat told Admiral teDanon before dismissing him.

Admiral teDanon left the government center and watched for signs he was being followed. He took a taxi to a crowded shopping mall. After paying the driver with cash, he entered the mall and meandered through a couple of shops, glancing around furtively to see if anyone was following him. Slowly, the admiral made his way to a nearby personal maglev transit station, selected his destination, dropped a token into the receptacle and jumped into the first vehicle that pulled in for passenger pickup.

Three minutes later, he exited in a three story variety store where he rushed through to the rear exit, flagged a taxi and had it take him to a different shopping mall. Admiral teDanon browsed for ten minutes before he was satisfied no one was observing him. He bought a cheap limited-use communicator and made a call. Seconds following his identification as Whistler, he was put through to Adviser kaPakar on a scrambled circuit.

“Sir, Operation Chaos is being activated.” He then described it and his role in it.

“Great gods of Roshna! Exactly when?”

“One month. They are sending a new flotilla and I am to provide support for it.”

“Who is in command?”

“I was not told, but I will inform you as soon as I find out.”

“We must stop this. Thank you, Whistler. We will be in touch. If there is nothing else . . .”

“No, sir.”

“Goodbye then.”

The line was disconnected. Admiral teDanon slowly secured the communicator and left the kiosk. He jostled his way through the many shoppers; stopped at the first tavern he saw, sat at the bar and ordered a stiff drink.

President Judith Wharton answered the phone on the second ring. Her secretary announced the secretary of Defense was on line three. “Good morning, Charlie. What can I do for you?”

“I hate to give you bad news, but those three alien bodies are missing from Area 51.”

“What do you mean, ‘missing’”?

“They’re simply gone, Madam President. Base security just completed a preliminary investigation and reported finding only one recent anomaly. An unusual flight arrived there July 19, picked up some cargo and then departed. The base commander was shown orders requiring the base to accede to whatever the commander of the special mission requested. Those orders were signed by you on July 13.”

“I don’t remember signing them. Could they have been forged?”

“The signature looks authentic, but it will have to be examined more closely. In addition, the base commander said you called him directly on July 13 and told him to expect the flight and to follow the instructions of the officer in charge of the mission.”

The president’s brows drew down in thought for a moment. “Hold on, Charlie.” She put the Defense secretary on hold and buzzed her secretary. “Please check my phone records for July 13 and find out if I made a call to Area 51 . . . also bring in my appointment calendar for that day—get back to me immediately.”

President Wharton reopened the connection with the secretary of Defense and told him what she was doing. “Anything else you can tell me about it?”

“We have no record of where the flight originated from . . . before Area 51. I’m having the DIA look into the whole matter. The aircraft followed its flight plan to Hickam Air Force Base in Hawaii. According to Hickam, cargo was offloaded and the aircraft returned to Andrews. That’s all we know so far. This whole thing’s irregular and confusing.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” the president muttered, shaking her head. “Please keep me informed.”

A few minutes went by before her secretary brought in the list of phone calls and the appointments for July 13. Well, damn! she thought. There it is in black and white. Someone certainly made a call from this office to Area 51, but I still don’t remember doing it. President Wharton reviewed her appointments for the day and found nothing unusual. Hmm, couple of meetings with people I had not met before.

She asked her secretary to check their recordings for July 13 and find out what those meetings were about. The president’s secretary called an hour later to tell her she found an incomplete recording of the meeting with Assistant Treasury Secretary Madden, Dr. Dennis Murphy and some MENSA children with whom she’d met before, and a person named Mack Wallace who also participated. She concluded by saying the president’s second meeting was with the Senate Majority Leader and the last was a photo-op with one of the party’s major contributors.

The president resolved to have the Secret Service work with the DIA and investigate who might have forged her signature and made the phone call to Area 51, and why that meeting was not fully recorded.

* * * * * * *

Anna Burgio and her mother, Carla, arrived at the Seattle-Tacoma airport on a warm, clear day on the sixteenth of August. They’d traveled lightly. The rest of their things were being shipped to them at the Discovery Bay school.

Following the instructions they were given, they flew on Peninsula Airways to the Jefferson County International Airport, located six miles south of Port Townsend and approximately three miles from the school. Anna and Carla exited the comfortable Cessna Citation, one of two nine-passenger turbojets the small regional airline had acquired from Textron Aviation.

Howard Starkey and his sons, Jason and Peter, waved at them from the small single-story building which housed the airport offices and passenger arrival and departure areas. Howard greeted them warmly and the boys hugged Anna and Carla. They headed to the building where their luggage would be placed.

“We’re so happy to be here,” Anna exclaimed. “Aren’t we, Mom?”

“Yes, Dear. But . . . I wish your father was here too. Don’t know what I’m gonna do without him.”

The brothers picked up Anna’s duffel bag and small suitcase and led her to their car—a 2024 Honda hybrid SUV—followed by Howard and Carla.

Peter opened the rear door for Anna. She got in and he slipped in beside her. Jason walked around the car and got in, putting Anna between him and Jason. Carla sat in front with Howard. They drove out of the airport and turned right onto Highway 19. Passing a few small businesses they turned right on Four Corners Road. Carla and Anna watched the mixture of homes, businesses and areas heavily covered with trees, shrubs and wildflowers.

Before long they had crossed Highway 20 and onto Discovery Road, encountering few cars as they drove past homes largely encircled by dense forest. They entered the school’s driveway less than ten minutes after leaving the airport. The sound of birds, including one noisy woodpecker and several seagulls, intruded on their thoughts. JoAnn DeVry, the school’s new director, had anxiously awaited them in her office.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you finally,” JoAnn said. “Boys, show Anna around while we talk with Carla.”

When the children left, JoAnn returned to her desk. Carla sat on the other side facing her. Howard bade them goodbye and left to go home to work on his latest historical novel, a story of two men and a woman caught in a time warp while sailing in the Bermuda Triangle and transported back to ancient Rome.

JoAnn handed Carla a folder with several documents. “For the next two days, we’ve arranged for you to stay with Anna in her cabin. It will give us an opportunity to help you both get oriented.” Carla listened intently. “Then you can move into one of the apartments in the building the foundation owns in Port Hadlock. You’ll be close to us. Let’s see, there’s a shuttle running between there and the school three times a day. Actually, it’s the van parked in front of this building.”

While JoAnn and Carla continued their discussion, Jason and Peter showed Anna around and introduced her to other children who were also getting acclimated. They spoke telepathically instead of vocally, for the most part, expressing themselves in mere seconds with entire thoughts.

“It’s great they gave your mother a job with the foundation,” Peter said.

“She really surprised me by taking classes at the community college,” Anna admitted. “I just wish my dad . . .”

“Do you think he’ll ever move here?” Jason asked.

“I don’t know, but I doubt it. He doesn’t like big changes, nothing that might disrupt his life. I think it’s why he didn’t participate in the foundation. It was too much for him to handle.”

Peter clasped Anna’s hand. “We’re all here if you need us, you know.”

“Thanks Pete, I know. I feel sorry for . . . for all the people who don’t have telepathy. Sharing our thoughts and feelings makes us all so much closer. It’s . . . it’s a wonderful feeling.”

Jason noticed the way Peter and Anna looked at each other. Privately, Jason said to Peter, “You and Anna seemed to be growing closer. You like her don’t you?”

“Do not,” Peter replied.

“Do too,” Jason retorted.

“Well, maybe a little.”

“Uh-huh, I can tell. Kind of like me and Yuri-chan.”

The next day Carla received a call from Gino’s sister in Brockport. “Carla honey, please sit down and get comfortable.”

“I am sitting. Is something wrong . . . are you okay?”

“Honey, Gino got drunk last night.”

“So? Sometimes he drinks to unwind.”

“Yes. But he tried to drive home and drifted off the road. He crashed into a tree. The—”

“Is he . . . is he okay?”

“The paramedics did everything they could to revive him. But, honey, he’s dead.”

“Oh no!” She stared at the phone, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s my fault. I shoulda stayed with him.”

“No, Carla. It isn’t your fault. Your place is with Anna. He had choices. And you know he didn’t always make the best decisions.”

“I guess. How am I gonna tell—”

“Mama, I know,” Anna said as she sprang into the room. “I felt something was wrong, . . . then I . . . sort of picked up your thoughts. It’ll be okay.” She removed the phone from her mother’s hand. “Auntie, we’ll be okay. I’ll take care of Mama.”

They all began to cry. “Listen, I’ll set up the funeral for sometime in the next two or three days,” Gino’s sister stated. “I’ll e-mail you the information so you can both be here for it. You will be here won’t you?”

“Count on it,” Carla promised.

Carla made arrangements to go back to New York with Anna for the funeral. Peter got his parent’s permission to go with them so he could bolster Anna’s morale.

For a full minute after he disconnected from his conversation with Admiral teDanon, Gaspo kaPakar sat at his desk unable to move, his jaw clenched and his eyes closed tightly. His mind was racing. The prime minister’s chief adviser took a deep breath, then called Prime Minister kaKinon’s secretary and arranged for a meeting—preempting a previously scheduled session on the budget. He wrote copious notes.

Again and again he checked the time for when the prime minister would be finished with her weekly broadcast to the public and back in her office. The time approached. He rushed to her office door. She’d barely gotten comfortable behind her desk when he knocked and entered. Gesturing often, her adviser described his conversation with the admiral.

“One month, Gaspo!” the prime minister groaned, almost sobbing.

Adviser kaPakar sat down, shaking as he did so. “That gives us little time to act, Valarde.”

She smiled. “You have not called me by my first name in a long time, my friend.”

“Maybe the time for formalities has passed, eh?”

“We must do something . . . soon!” Prime Minister kaKinon said.

Chief Adviser kaPakar nodded. “Yes. Preferably before the flotilla leaves for Jeritha.”

The prime minister glanced through the notes her chief adviser had just slid across the desk to her. “This is good, Gaspo. We should contact the Home Affairs minister and bring her in here. She has had the UIB gathering information on military commanders who they believe will remain loyal to civilian authority.”

“You know, Valarde . . . we are going to have to arrest the General Staff, and replace them.”

“Yes, and also purge the military of fanatics.” The prime minister put her head in her hands and for a moment there was silence. “Gaspo, did we not learn anything these last hundred years since we were first admitted to the league as a provisional member?”

“I guess not.” He shifted uneasily in his chair, moisture dampening his armpits and the back of his neck. “It appears it takes much longer than a hundred years to civilize the military. I can only hope the league does not sanction us.”

“If they do, it will be because we deserve it. Let us pray we can stop Operation Chaos before it is too late. I would not want that on my conscience.”

“Nor I . . . nor I.”

“Ironic is it not, Gaspo? A hundred years ago we were under league quarantine for fifteen years before we were given full membership, and look where we are now.”

“I am not terribly concerned over where we are now. It is where we may be in the next month or two that worries me.”

In the third week of August, the head of the Silkaran military intelligence service entered Admiral teReevat’s reception area and was soon shown into the admiral’s office. It was decorated primarily with service memorabilia, especially from his days at the space force academy and his tours as commander of the Fifth Fleet. His desk and chair were the bridge console and command chair from his first command—an aging destroyer in the Second Fleet.

“Admiral, it appears there may be a more highly placed government spy than the one we recently caught and executed.”

“What makes you think so, General?”

“Our own spy in the Home Affairs Ministry stumbled across some documents that could only have come from a senior officer with detailed knowledge of Operation Pacify.”

Admiral teReevat closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Any idea who, General?”

The general leaned forward in his chair. “We have a slight suspicion of Admiral teDanon. He is one of the very few senior officers with access to the information, and the problems experienced by Operation Pacify under his command distress us.”

“Do you recommend we arrest him?”

“Not at this time, Admiral. We have no solid evidence on which to bring charges. And it could possibly be someone under his command. If not, it has to be someone within the office of the General Staff or one of its members.”

“Here is what we will do,” the admiral said. “We will soon cut orders for Admiral Dalotu gePetral’s command of the Operation Chaos Flotilla. As he is the senior officer, those orders will include a mandate to assume command of Admiral teDanon’s flotilla, and to arrest anyone who does not cooperate fully and unreservedly, including Admiral teDanon.”

“Umm . . . yes. That should be adequate. We will monitor communications from them all very closely . . . see if someone blinks.”

The admiral struck his palm with a fist. “And we will continue to keep a close watch on our weak prime minister and her cronies.”

“Right. It is hard to understand how they could put league interests above our own.”

“This situation will change soon, General.”

By the end of August, the relocation of the children and their families were completed for all except the six who had not been found, or the very few whose parents had refused to participate—out of fear or ignorance. People were settling into their new roles and their new lives. Once again, the foundation’s executive board decided there were more reasons not to inform the authorities about the children’s paranormal abilities than there were to do so. They strongly believed it would put the children at greater risk and there was nothing more any government could do for the children than the foundation was already doing.

A partly cloudy sky and still it was unusually warm—mid-eighties—for Port Townsend at 3:20 p.m. on Monday, August 23. Dennis Murphy, Ramaraju Gupta, JoAnn DeVry, and Karen Pacheco sat around the conference table in the foundation’s executive conference room at the school on Discovery Bay. They were in the middle of reviewing their notes from the latest interviews of the children and their families who had relocated to Port Townsend. They all jumped at the first sound of the unexpected and incessant beeping and chirping.

“My God . . . Jesus . . . I never really thought that thing would go off,” JoAnn mused.

Karen slid her chair over the linoleum floor to the rolltop desk where the Silkaran communicator given to them by Admiral teDanon had been installed. She rolled up the cover and pressed the open-channel button.

A voice boomed out. Karen ratcheted down the volume as Admiral teDanon identified himself. “I must speak with Dr. Murphy or Captain Wallace. Are they present?”

Dennis flung himself out of his chair and sprang to the desk. “I’m here, Admiral. This is Dr. Murphy. Please continue,” he replied as he dropped into a chair.

“I am afraid my meeting with the General Staff did not go well at all. They activated Operation Chaos.”

“Excuse me, Admiral,” Dennis said, “what did they do?”

How do I tell them? the admiral asked himself. He spoke slowly in hushed tones. “A flotilla of several warships is due to arrive in one month to—”

“Speak up, Admiral,” Dennis interrupted. “We’re having trouble hearing you. And by the way, your English has improved considerably. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you. My crew and I have been preparing for contact with your people on a larger scale than before. We want to be ready. Now, however, I am sorry to say, this news I have for you troubles and saddens me.”

The admiral cleared his throat. His next statement dropped like a bomb. “Operation Chaos is a desperate attempt to significantly delay your exploration of deep space. The flotilla will arrive in four and a half Earth weeks to spread spores with two viruses in the atmosphere. One is the same virus created to target specific genes in the Human male chromosome which caused the genetic modifications in your children. But they added an airborne virus to cause a very contagious disease like your influenza, only worse.”

“But that could kill millions!”

“Yes, exactly. They intend to disrupt your world’s economy and force you to devote resources away from space travel. My orders are to provide intelligence and tactical support.”

A clamor broke out in the conference room. Dennis raised his hand demanding silence. His voice quaking, he asked, “What . . . what are you . . . um . . . going to do?”

“I do not intend to support them. I want to stop them from completing their mission, but without using force. Not the least because I could be outgunned.”

“Then how can you stop them?” Dennis asked.

“This is why I contacted you. I—we—have seen what the children can do. We need their help to have any chance of stopping this catastrophe with little or no bloodshed. Also, the Mythran destroyer escort in my flotilla was replaced by another Silkaran destroyer. We must ensure the loyalty of its senior officers. I am sure none of the junior officers or crew is aware of the details about the operations or the perfidy of the General Staff.”

“How can the children help?”

“I want to meet with you all so we can discuss our options. I know this is asking a lot from you and the children, and their support would not be free of risk, but the alternative would be catastrophic for your world.”

“All right,” Dennis said.

Rama pushed his chair back, got up and started pacing while the admiral continued.

“How soon can my senior officers and I meet with you and the others who came aboard my vessel four of your weeks ago?”

“I will have to check with them, . . . but probably in two or three, maybe four, days.” Dennis glanced at the people arrayed around him, who nodded or otherwise indicated their concurrence. “We are scattered across our planet and if we meet on Earth, transportation for everyone will take at least that long.”

Karen leaned forward in her chair, placed her elbows on her knees, and rested her chin on the interlaced fingers of her hands. She listened intently.

“We should not delay longer than absolutely necessary if we want to be ready when the flotilla arrives,” the admiral said. “If you can give us the exact coordinates where each of you will be at 0900 tomorrow—your local time, I will dispatch shuttlecraft to collect everyone for a meeting here.”

Dennis shifted in his chair. “I will make certain each of us have mobile telephones with a global positioning system built into them. In a few hours, someone will give you the coordinates to the nearest couple of meters. Do you understand the measurement?”

“Yes, of course I do . . . sorry, I did not mean to be short. But, time is short.”

“That’s all right,” Dennis said. “We understand, and appreciate the urgency.”

“Hold on a minute,” Rama interjected, resuming his seat. “If I understand these GPS systems correctly, all you have to do is call one of those telephones and activate its locator. It will direct you to the exact coordinates.”

Dennis shrugged his shoulders and held his arms out with upturned hands. “You can call them can’t you, Admiral?”

“Yes. We can access your communications systems. Get me their access numbers as soon as you can. The GPS will enable us to locate your people precisely.”

Dennis leaned forward. “It will be done. I guess we’d better get busy with the arrangements. Anything else?”

“No, Dr. Murphy. But remember . . . 0900 tomorrow your time.”

Dennis disconnected, rolled down the desk cover and strode back to his chair at the conference table.

“Wow!” Karen exclaimed, sitting up and sliding her chair back to the table.

“Just checked the calendar,” Rama said. “That flotilla arrives September twenty-second.”

JoAnn shook her head. “What can the children do to help them in a space battle?”

Dennis shot a determined look at each of them. “We are all aware what they’re capable of. What we’re going to find out in this meeting . . . is what the admiral expects of them this time. Pickup is less than eighteen hours away, so let’s get started on those calls.”

In under a minute Rama and Munir Ben Nafi were in deep conversation. Rama looked up from his note pad. “Munir promised to be ready on time and is e-mailing a cell phone number, and its GPS activation code in case it’s needed. I’ll collect the information from everyone and transmit it to the admiral.”

Dennis was on the line with Dorothy and Howard Starkey. “I know there will be some risk, but not at this stage; . . . Yes, Howard . . . but, I am sure it will be just another meeting; . . . Right, Dorothy, the last meeting ended with a battle . . . but they were all fine afterward, and the children really saved the day; . . . Uh huh . . . I’ll have Jason call you in a few minutes.”

JoAnn entered the room. “Mack is on board and will be ready on time.”

“JoAnn, please have Jason and Yuriko come over here,” Dennis requested. “We need to let them know what’s going on and have them call their parents.” She went to the main office to contact Jason and Yuriko on the intercom and then returned.

Karen got off the phone with Claire’s parents and informed the director of the Morisset school. “Yes, Rhoda, 2:00 a.m. is awfully early, but there’s really no choice.” She took her seat at the table and announced, “Claire’s in. I was certain they would let her do it.”

“Dorothy and Howard are very reluctant, but willing to let Jason go to the meeting,” Dennis said. “I can understand how frightened they are.”

Yuriko and Jason arrived and were informed. Dennis put an arm around Yuriko. “Yuri-chan, after what happened before, I’m not sure you should go this time.” Jason was telling her the same thing telepathically.

Yuriko shook her head slowly. “No, I must go. Jason and others have been helping me, and so has Dr. Gupta. I think I can suppress my emotional sensitivity enough now.”

Within two hours they’d completed their calls and confirmed the pickup schedule with everybody. Kamal’s parents needed some persuading, just as Jason’s parents had, but they came around too. Yuriko’s parents acceded to her wishes. Masanja’s participation was agreed to with no difficulty. The clock was ticking, with sixteen hours remaining until pick-up. Each person prepared in his or her own way. Then, once more, they waited.