noticed his slip. In fact, the punker now looked somewhat guilty.
Quinn moved closer to Rafferty. The punker might have been bigger, but he was also pretty easy to intimidate. 'Hey, Rafe, you been doubling up on storage spaces again? “
'I hadda move some stuff around, just for this week. I was running out of space, and I had some paying customers to please. I gotta make a living, too, you know. “
'Maybe you'd like to explain that to Mr. Conroy,' Quinn said, enjoying making the punk squirm. Sure, Mr. C was dead, but Rafferty didn't know that yet.
Quinn saw Rafferty's eyes go as wide as pizza pans, even in the semidarkness. 'Nothing's gone missing, man. I promise. It was just, you know, a temporary move, that's all. I just pushed your stuff farther back into the shed, behind some of these crates from that Langley outfit. “
' Langley?' Quinn said, feeling a jolt of dread. 'Sounds like FBI to me. “
Rafferty emitted a dismissive chortle. ' Langley 's some Hollywood guy, you dope. Actors and musicians and like that. “
Gotta stop jumping at shadows, Quinn thought, rubbing his jaw. But as he considered the stuck metal door, his suspicions rose again. If Raje really just finished moving all this stuff in here, then why all this trouble getting the damn door open? When he shone his light toward the ceiling he immediately saw the problem. One of the stacks of crates was piled so high that it interfered with the track into which the shed's upward-rolling metal door was supposed to slide.
Sticking the flashlight into the pocket of his black leather jacket, Quinn began climbing the stack of boxes. Rafferty shined his flashlight beam on him as he ascended. Once he reached the top crate, which was maybe ten feet off the concrete floor, he gave it a good hard shove. It didn't move very far.
' Hollywood, my ass,' he said. He shoved the crate again, harder this time, and it scooted away from him by about a foot. The crate immediately beneath it shifted a little as well.
Suddenly, the top two crates were teetering on the edge of the stack.
'Hey! I didn't tell you to start an avalanche! “
'And Mr. Conroy didn't tell you to fill his space up with stuff that doesn't belong here,' Quinn said, and shoved again before jumping clear.
The top two crates toppled over and hit the hard concrete with a resounding crash, their heavy wooden lids flying off with the force of the impact. The echoes of the collision almost drowned out Rafferty's no doubt pungent. curses as Quinn moved to the now-unobstructed door, which he opened fully to let in the daylight. Then he glanced back at one of the two smashed-open crates.
What the hell? Quinn moved toward the crates, kneeling to peer inside. What he saw reminded him of Mork amp; Mindy, his favorite sitcom. Only this wasn't a giant egg. 'Mork, calling Orson,' he whispered.
Ava floated blissfully. The entire universe was dark, silent, utterly peaceful.
Then came a sensation of falling, an eternally slow tumble followed by a bone- jarring impact.
And harsh, all-encompassing light.
Using her hands to shield her eyes from the brilliance, she began tentatively to survey her surroundings. She was on her back in a confined space, surrounded by gently sloping walls composed of something translucent. A thick, moist, greenish membrane enveloped over her body. Her environment felt comfortable, familiar.
But the harsh voices she heard speaking just outside those walls sounded anything but. The language was alien to her ears, yet she somehow was making herself understand it. It was almost as though she were able to glimpse directly into the minds of the speakers.
'Well, what have we here? Pod people?' said one of the voices. One of the membranous walls was abruptly torn away, allowing more light to dazzle her still-sensitive eyes.
Squinting against the glare, she saw a pair of faces: men, one in dark apparel, the other wearing something white but soiled.
'It's a girl, can't be more than ten or eleven. And in her birthday suit, too,' said the white-garbed man. He looked as surprised as Ava felt. He turned and spoke brusquely to the dark-clad man. 'I thought you said you and yer boss din't do this kinda crime, man. “
'We don't, you dope,' said the dark-garbed one. 'Lookit, Rafe, she's alive. “
'Well, how the hell'd she get in here, Quinn? And what's this green glop she's been sleeping in? Looks like something outta Alien.' The white-shirted man reached toward the moist membrane that still covered her, then abruptly drew his hand back in revulsion. 'This is disgusting! “
'Watch it!' the other man said, stepping back. 'You almost splashed that stuff all over me. This leather jacket cost me a bundle. “
White shirt glared at Black Leather Jacket. 'How'd she get in here?' he repeated.
Black Leather Jacket shrugged, then helped Ava get to her feet. The membrane cover around her began oozing, and she wriggled as it sloughed off onto the floor. The white-clad man freed a gray tarp from atop a nearby pallet of boxes, then draped the rough fabric around Ava's naked shoulders. Black Leather steadied her, his callused hands on her shoulders. She shivered, finding his touch repellent.
His hands still clamped onto her shoulders, Black Leather spoke to his companion as though Ava wasn't even present. 'You're the one's been moving stuff around in here, Rafe. You tell me how she got here. And why was she in that crate? “
'It's God's own mystery, man. I just stash what my customers bring me. It don't pay to ask too many questions about what's in the crates. Know what I mean? “
The hard floor was cold beneath Ava's feet. She looked around the narrow but high-ceilinged room, a place of poured concrete and concrete blocks, with a rolling metal door that was up completely, letting in the full brightness of the midmorning sun.
It's not the sun ojAntar. I have been brought very far from home. Frustratingly, she could not recall just how this could have come to pass. Or who might have been responsible.
At her feet, amid a tangle of splintered wooden debris, lay a trio of green-tinted translucent pods identical to the one from which Black Leather had just freed her. Though they were as yet unopened, she could see that each one contained a small, slumbering form, not unlike the strange body she now occupied.
Gazing at the three other motionless figures, she felt a stir of memory, though it was confused and sluggish. How long had she lain dormant… gestating?… in that pod? Confused or not, the memory was insistent. The Royal Four. I am one of them. And those three have to be the others.
'Judging from what's in these crates, Rafe, we got three more of these… pod kids on our hands,' Black Leather jacket was saying. 'They sure look human, but how did they… “
''Our' hands? No way, man,' the other said, interrupting. 'If your boss is into buying and selling kids, that's his business. But I don't want no part of it.' Soiled White Shirt Man started for the open door.
Black Leather suddenly released Ava, and she almost fell. She watched as he stepped quickly into Soiled White Shirt Man's path, grabbing his shoulder.
'Where do you think you're going, Rafe? “
'Where d'you think, man? To the cops. You wanna run blow and guns through my place… discreetly… that's one thing. You start peddlin' flesh, that's somethin' else completely. “
Black Leather's hand moved quickly, and a long knife appeared in it, as if by magic. White Shirt's eyes went wide. There was a blur of motion, an arc of splattering crimson. A moment later, Black Leather and Ava were the only two people in the little room capable of standing. The other man crumpled to the floor, his legs convulsing as a dark, red liquid streamed from his wound and formed a slowly expanding puddle around him. She knew it was White Shirt's life-blood.
She studied the bloody knife, still clutched in his hand, as he approached. It was the most dangerous- looking thing she could recall ever having seen, either here… wherever here was… or back home on Antar.
