Crossroads.'
'The south pole,' Ryan said.
'I guess that's why both incidents have them arriving from the south on the same track,' Carl said, looking at Jack.
Collins patted the back of Dr. Robbins and nodded. 'Make this program secure, Doc.'
'Thank you, Europa, this search program is now coded level one security,' Robbins said aloud, 'director and his advisory staff Eyes Only. Personnel cleared for further research on'--Robbins looked up at Jack and he gestured at the three of them--'Genesis and Centaurus file are presently logged on to Europa, is this understood?'
'What do we do about this Centaurus Corporation?' Carl asked.
'I don't know yet, I've got to think. You guys get me some stills of that get-together in Washington and have them blown up and enhanced. I need clear shots of Hendrix,' Jack said, then he used his key card to exit the clean room.
The Talkhan sat aboveground and seemed to study the desert surrounding its still form. There was no movement. The scurrying of the smaller animals had ceased and now they either sat still or had fled before the onslaught of slaughter. The beast was storing food, and her instincts dictated she needed even more. Every pore of its alien skin pulled in the aroma of protein near and far.
It moved its tail with a swish of air as it brought the stinger down with a thousand pounds of pressure to impact the cooling desert sand. It used the large stinger and flipped the now wet, cooling particles up and onto its distended belly, then repeated the motion, tossing venom-soaked dirt and sand into the still night air and allowing the cool soil to regulate its 180-degree skin and armor. The small movements inside her belly and increasing core temperature were indications that the nesting cycle would soon begin.
The offspring that were even now hatching inside her distended abdomen were developing quickly and were consuming the nutrients almost as fast as she could supply them. As studied by those of Matchstick's kind, its young, when born, would have abilities far beyond those of the mother.
The beast looked to the dark night sky. The bright, illuminated green eyes blinked as the moon was in its full bloom. The mandibles clicked together once, then the tail was brought up and the beast groomed the barbed tip. It licked some of the venom from its stinger, then used that substance to groom the thirty bubbled and spiky-haired parts of its long tail.
Then it suddenly stopped. The tail went into the air and it froze. Small openings in the creature's skin opened and closed. The feathered armor plates on its neck expanded out away from its body. It had caught a scent. The green eyes narrowed, and that brought the thick, hairlike brows to points resembling sharp horns. Three-quarters of the 22 million pores on its body needed for the intake of chemicals from the air closed down completely. It settled to no more than an intake of the oxygen environment every five minutes. Suddenly it sprang from its back and stood to its full height of over eighteen feet and then turned its monstrous head, first left, then right, sending its roosterlike neck armor swinging outward with the force of its action. The thickly matted and coarse hair on its body stood up, sensing all that was being transmitted on the night air. The billions of hollow hairs twitched and moved, creating a rippling effect that made its skin shimmer in the moonlight.
Suddenly the animal engaged its strong hind legs and ran six feet across the desert hardpan, all the while emitting a high-pitched buzzing from its palate. The unheard sound softened the alien soil, making it lazily bubble, once again changing the atomic structure of the earth. Then it sprang into the air fifteen feet, closing its neck armor, making itself streamlined, and hit the sand and small rocks claws first, burrowing into the ground as easily as a man diving into water.
In the distance, unknowing, the prey continued on their way. The Destroyer was on the hunt and their fate was sealed.
The machinations of most American police agencies were slow at most times, but when it came to two of their own officers who were missing, the wheels and pulleys seemed to be a little better greased than usual. When Dills and Milner hadn't shown up at shift's end, the machinery started moving. All state and local agencies were notified, and the hunt for the troopers had been on officially since sundown.
The Arizona State police car was parked behind the Winnebago camper as the two troopers assisted the driver in changing a tire. They were pulled onto the side of state road 88. Ed Wasser held the flashlight while his partner, Jerry Dills, Trooper Tom Dills's brother, waited impatiently beside him.
Jerry didn't care for the fact that they were making this courtesy stop in the first place when they should be out looking for his older brother. The tourist obviously had things under control, Dills thought, except for his wife, who would every once in a while lean over and say, 'I told you so.'
The trooper looked around and stomped his black boot on the macadam. It wasn't like Milner and his brother Tom to not check in upon shift's end and notify base if they were going to extend their patrol. That and the fact that they had tried for hours to raise them on the radio told him Tom and his partner were in trouble somewhere out in the desert. Tom had been on the state payroll three years longer than Jerry, but that didn't mean he had any more sense than Jerry did. At least Jerry knew George Milner to be a tough man in a pinch who would look out for Tom if it was at all humanly possible.
Jerry turned suddenly as the radio screeched and hissed their call sign. He quickly made his way from the camper and trotted to the cruiser. He was gone only a few minutes when he called, half in and half out of the car, 'Hey, Ed, we have a call, code five down on Riley Road.'
Wasser said something to the man changing the tire and turned away. He trotted back to the car and jumped in the driver's side. Jerry looked at his partner, just grateful to be moving again as every call could have Tom's life at stake. You just never knew out here. The desert was a killing place for even those who knew it well.
'Riley Road is right up here,' Wasser said, taking the cruiser up to sixty, flipping on the overhead red-and- blues. 'Hell, the only thing up there is Thomas Tahchako's ranch.'
'That's what I figure too. There's the road right here.' Jerry pointed to the right. 'If I remember right, it's all the way down and just below the foothills.'
'Right.' Wasser swerved the patrol car onto the small sidetrack.
The washboard road played hell with the suspension on the state car. Jerry tightened his seat belt and hung on, using his right hand on the windowsill to brace himself as the bumping became worse. The high beams picked out several jackrabbits dashing not from but toward the car. Dills turned to look behind them in the road, wanting to say something about the bizarre scene, but staying quiet as his partner was concentrating on the rough road. The red taillights and dust made it impossible to see, but Dills thought he saw a few more jackrabbits running across the road after the cruiser had sped past. This time he had to say something. 'Did you see that?' he asked, looking at his partner.
'What--oh, shit!' Wasser yelled, as he pulled the wheel to the right and narrowly avoided one of Tahchako's cows as it ran down the middle of the road.
'What in the hell is going on, a rabbit and cattle stampede?' he asked incredulously, straightening out the car and speeding up again.
Suddenly the headlights picked up the form of Thomas Tahchako standing on the side of the dirt road. He had an old Winchester .30-30 at his shoulder and was shooting into the darkness, the muzzle flare lighting up the scrub around him.
'What is he doing?' Jerry asked loudly, as the car skidded to a halt. They quickly opened their doors and ran to the side of the road, where the old Indian continued to fire his weapon.
'Thomas... Thomas!' Wasser screamed.
But the rancher kept ejecting spent shell casings and firing. Finally the state patrolman touched Tahchako on the shoulder and the man spun around. The trooper was quick to grab the barrel of the rifle and push it down until it was pointed at the ground.
'Oh, God, you scared the tiswin out of me!' the older man said, referring to the traditional alcoholic beverage favored by the Apache. The old straw cowboy hat was cocked at an angle on his head, his eyes still wild.
