Read Online Independence Day: Crucible (The Official Prequel) by Greg Keyes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Greg Keyes
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feeling a bit sheepish.
“You did know they were going to spring this on me, though.”
“I suspected,” she said. “I didn’t know.”
“You should have told me,” he said.
It wasn’t often he couldn’t read Connie at all, but this was one of those times, and he was suddenly very, very worried.
“Well,” she said quietly. “You won’t have to worry about that anymore.”
He sat up straighter. “What? About what?”
“I quit my job,” she said.
“I may be having a stroke,” he said. “It sounded like you just said you quit your job.”
She smiled and shifted forward in her chair. “David, whatever issues you ever had about me working for Tom—you should have gotten over that by now.”
“Over, yes, completely,” he said.
She gave him the look.
“Okay,” he said. “Some reservations. About the secret stuff.”
She smiled and nodded. “I’ve been ready to move on for a while,” she said, “but after the Fourth he needed me more than ever. Everyone was gone. But now…”
“Now what?” he asked. Then he saw it.
“Wait,” he said.
“What?”
“Oh, no,” he said. “It’s the look. You’ve got the look.”
“What are you talking about?” she said. “There’s no look.”
“There is most certainly a look, and you’ve got it right now.”
“Damn it,” she said. “How do you do that?”
“Native intelligence,” he said. “Long years of practice. Spill. Before you explode.”
“Okay,” she said. “Don’t make too much of this, but I was talking to Alice Tillman this morning—she asked me to coffee—and she said that they had been discussing me.”
“Discussing? Discussing sounds good. Discussing how?”
She was actually flushed. He hadn’t seen her like this in years.
“They think I should run for the Senate,” she said. “Crazy, huh?”
It hung there for a moment as David processed it.
“David?” Connie said. “Say something.”
“No,” David said, snapping out of his daze. “Not crazy. Not even mildly deranged. It’s terrific. You’d do a hell of a job.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “Just think—I could be Mr. Senator Levinson. This calls for a drink. In fact, this calls for champagne. Which, ah—we don’t have, but I can go get some. Or better, let’s go out.”
She grinned, and her eyes flashed.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be this happy,” she said.
“Seriously?” he said. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve finally found my calling, so to speak. You found yours years ago. Like you said, it’s time to move on. If you want my opinion, I say go for it.”
“You know what?” she said. “I think I will. Thanks, David.”
“You never needed my permission,” he said.
“I never asked for it,” she replied. “I just wanted your blessing.”
“So blessed,” David said. “Now, where should we go for that champagne?”
“I’ve got some in the fridge,” she said.
“Of course you do,” he said.
* * *
How long it went on, Dikembe did not know. His brain began to refuse signals. Thoughts would not cohere. His existence became binary—pain, rest, pain, rest. The rest only because they did not want to kill him.
Yet.
And then, something changed.
He felt pain that was not his own.
In a red haze, he realized that he heard gunfire, and the aliens were screaming.
He also realized that he wasn’t in the grip of a tentacle anymore.
He came swaying to his feet, although his body was numb and he had trouble controlling his limbs. Across the squirming sea of exoskeletons he saw his father, standing upright on top of a tank, flanked by soldiers, many soldiers.
He must have brought them all
, Dikembe realized, every single man and boy in arms, and those men—his people, his soldiers—were dying in ranks, stepping over their own dead, moving implacably toward the knot of aliens clustered around him and his brother.
He felt a tentacle at his neck, and despaired. He knew what they were going to
“You did know they were going to spring this on me, though.”
“I suspected,” she said. “I didn’t know.”
“You should have told me,” he said.
It wasn’t often he couldn’t read Connie at all, but this was one of those times, and he was suddenly very, very worried.
“Well,” she said quietly. “You won’t have to worry about that anymore.”
He sat up straighter. “What? About what?”
“I quit my job,” she said.
“I may be having a stroke,” he said. “It sounded like you just said you quit your job.”
She smiled and shifted forward in her chair. “David, whatever issues you ever had about me working for Tom—you should have gotten over that by now.”
“Over, yes, completely,” he said.
She gave him the look.
“Okay,” he said. “Some reservations. About the secret stuff.”
She smiled and nodded. “I’ve been ready to move on for a while,” she said, “but after the Fourth he needed me more than ever. Everyone was gone. But now…”
“Now what?” he asked. Then he saw it.
“Wait,” he said.
“What?”
“Oh, no,” he said. “It’s the look. You’ve got the look.”
“What are you talking about?” she said. “There’s no look.”
“There is most certainly a look, and you’ve got it right now.”
“Damn it,” she said. “How do you do that?”
“Native intelligence,” he said. “Long years of practice. Spill. Before you explode.”
“Okay,” she said. “Don’t make too much of this, but I was talking to Alice Tillman this morning—she asked me to coffee—and she said that they had been discussing me.”
“Discussing? Discussing sounds good. Discussing how?”
She was actually flushed. He hadn’t seen her like this in years.
“They think I should run for the Senate,” she said. “Crazy, huh?”
It hung there for a moment as David processed it.
“David?” Connie said. “Say something.”
“No,” David said, snapping out of his daze. “Not crazy. Not even mildly deranged. It’s terrific. You’d do a hell of a job.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “Just think—I could be Mr. Senator Levinson. This calls for a drink. In fact, this calls for champagne. Which, ah—we don’t have, but I can go get some. Or better, let’s go out.”
She grinned, and her eyes flashed.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be this happy,” she said.
“Seriously?” he said. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve finally found my calling, so to speak. You found yours years ago. Like you said, it’s time to move on. If you want my opinion, I say go for it.”
“You know what?” she said. “I think I will. Thanks, David.”
“You never needed my permission,” he said.
“I never asked for it,” she replied. “I just wanted your blessing.”
“So blessed,” David said. “Now, where should we go for that champagne?”
“I’ve got some in the fridge,” she said.
“Of course you do,” he said.
* * *
How long it went on, Dikembe did not know. His brain began to refuse signals. Thoughts would not cohere. His existence became binary—pain, rest, pain, rest. The rest only because they did not want to kill him.
Yet.
And then, something changed.
He felt pain that was not his own.
In a red haze, he realized that he heard gunfire, and the aliens were screaming.
He also realized that he wasn’t in the grip of a tentacle anymore.
He came swaying to his feet, although his body was numb and he had trouble controlling his limbs. Across the squirming sea of exoskeletons he saw his father, standing upright on top of a tank, flanked by soldiers, many soldiers.
He must have brought them all
, Dikembe realized, every single man and boy in arms, and those men—his people, his soldiers—were dying in ranks, stepping over their own dead, moving implacably toward the knot of aliens clustered around him and his brother.
He felt a tentacle at his neck, and despaired. He knew what they were going to
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