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from a canted angle. The glistening alien structure stood waiting.
"But why now?" Chu swung around in his chair. "It doesn't make any
sense."
Newellen sat up straighter. "Do you think they might have caught on
that we're going to blow the hell out of them? Maybe they're holding their
breath to see what we'll do. Maybe they're massing right now to take out the
nukes."
Salito snorted. "They would have shown up in the IR."
"It had to happen," Erika said. "When they're finished with the
preprogrammed construction, they would have to shut off."
Again, silence. The images in the holotank hadn't changed. If anything,
the IR cube had grown darker, less patchy.
"One minute." announced Newellen.
Erika moved away from Jason and approached the holotank. She stood next
to Chu and with her finger followed the outline of the distant structure in
the holotank.
Jason watched her for a moment, then said, "Okay, what now?"
"Cut it," said Chu. "We'd better decide fast what we should do --
otherwise the Agency is going to make up our minds for us. They'll get spooked
and push the button."
Erika's voice came out stronger than the murmuring comments in the
control center. "There's something we have to do. Something we can finally do.
It's been impossible before."
Jason saw that all eyes in the control center had turned to her. Even
Bernard Chu watched her with eyebrows raised, waiting.
Erika spoke as if she were saying the most obvious thing in the world.
"We have to go out there in person. We can finally see what this thing really
is."
--------
*CHAPTER 34*
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Celeste woke up screaming.
She couldn't breathe. The sweat-drenched sheets tangled around her like
ghostly assailants trying to hold her down and rape her.
Chuck and Yeager leaped off the bed and started barking, as if to
protect her from some unseen threat. The bed rocked as they sniffed and placed
their paws on the mattress, craning their heads to find the enemy that had
somehow come into the house without them noticing.
Beside Celeste, Simon Pritchard sat up wide eyed and blinking. He
couldn't seem to form words after his startled awakening. Instead, he wrapped
his arms around her, pulling her against him. "Shhh," he said.
Celeste shivered, fighting back the visions clamoring out of her
subconscious. She nestled back against Pritchard's chest, feeling the warmth
of his body, the press of his skin, the strength of his arms as he held onto
her.
Her nightmare was like a shadow of something terrible unleashed across
the Earth, so great that it would swallow up the stars. Another facet of the
dream, bright light and blinding cold. Someone had let the demon out of the
bottle, or someone would. Celeste felt tiny and weak, smothered by the dreaded
foreknowledge.
She had no idea how she could stop something so immense.
"It's okay," Pritchard whispered in her ear. He gripped her arms,
kissed the back of her shoulder.
She couldn't drive the blackness of terror from her mind. Her heart
pounded, trying to catch up to her panic. She knew her breathing had stopped
during the vision -- she had barely survived the nightmare.
She squirmed out of Pritchard's grasp, reluctant to leave his
encircling arms but needing something to wash down the screams in her throat.
Trembling, she gulped some lukewarm water from the glass on the bedside table.
Beside the bed, the black lab and the German shepherd both whined,
looking at her anxiously to make certain everything was all right. Celeste
squeezed her eyes shut to stop another gush of panic. No, it wouldn't be all
right. Nothing would ever be all right again.
Unless she could do something to stop it. She had failed many times to
interpret her dreams correctly -- but she had succeeded with the Grissom. This
time, she must get it right.
Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away, keeping her back
turned to Pritchard. He remained sitting behind her, baffled and helpless,
unaware of what she needed him to do.
Reaching out, she let the two dogs lick her fingers, reassuring them.
Her gut-level reaction kept telling her to run. But Celeste McConnell,
Director of the United Space Agency, could not surrender without a fight. Her
rare moments of peace shattered so quickly, so easily.
She and Simon Pritchard had intended to have a few quiet hours to
themselves after weeks of unrelenting scrutiny and too little sleep. They had
enjoyed a quick candlelight dinner of take-out barbecue ribs and cole slaw,
eaten in the screened-in porch of her house. When she had excused herself and
returned a few moments later wearing a new glittersilk negligee, Pritchard had
laughed before standing up to wrap his arms around her, pushing his hips
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