Rights of Use: Project Black Book, #1
()
About this ebook
In the 1960s, Project Blue Book assured America that no aliens visited its amber waves or shining seas.
Thirty years later, Project Black Book knows better and has the flying saucers to prove it, but they still can't stop extraterrestrial forces from scooping their pick of young women from Earth to host an alien queen.
Sarah Anderson thought that leaving all her friends to move to Pennsylvania was the worst thing ever—until she was kidnapped by body-possessing aliens. Going back to her new home looks better and better, but that's not one of the options an undercover Air Force general offers. Instead, she can either let his enemies wipe out her mind and use her body for the rest of her life—or let one of his allies share her mind and body.
Swept into a war over bodily consent, Sarah will try anything to not lose herself.
Shannon Eichorn
Shannon Eichorn is a scifi writer and aerospace engineer from Cleveland, Ohio.
Related to Rights of Use
Titles in the series (2)
This Alien Sympathy: Project Black Book, #1 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsRights of Use: Project Black Book, #1 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
Related ebooks
BattleTech Legends: The Scorpion Jar: BattleTech Legends Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Skorath Prophecy: Legends of Antares Book 1 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsSecond Star: The Neverland Transmissions, Book 1 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsFleet Vanguard: The Transcended, #2 Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Romulan War: To Brave the Storm Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Final Battle: Helfort's War Book 5 Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5The Octopus Deception Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Space of Things Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsBreakneck Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsStar Trek: Titan #5: Over a Torrent Sea Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Oppressor's Wrong: Slings and Arrows #2 Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Agent Lavender Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsMansion Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsAbsolute War (A Jake Mercer Political Thriller—Book Twelve) Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsCinderella Claps Back: The Reckoning Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe City At Worlds End Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Tempo Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsShadow of the Eternal Watcher Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Crimson Blind Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Metal Menace: Part 1: A Novella Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsNo Other Tiger Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsWe The People Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsIdnahold: Invasion Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Vanquished of Eden: Panhelion Chronicles, #2 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsHidden Steel Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The Disinherited Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5First Dawn: Earthfleet Extended Universe, #1 Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5City at World's End Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Story of Tweeker the Time Traveler Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsGhostkin Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5
Science Fiction For You
Demon Copperhead: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I Who Have Never Known Men Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Wool: Book One of the Silo Series Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This Is How You Lose the Time War Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Institute: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Dune Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Flowers for Algernon Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Dust: Book Three of the Silo Series Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I Am Legend Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Kindred: A Graphic Novel Adaptation Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Red Rising Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Shift: Book Two of the Silo Series Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Stories of Ray Bradbury Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Annihilation: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Project Hail Mary: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Ocean at the End of the Lane: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Troop Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Midnight Library: A GMA Book Club Pick: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Testaments: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Cryptonomicon Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Ministry of Time: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Firestarter Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Martian: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas: A Story Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Jurassic Park: A Novel Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Ready Player One Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Sunlit Man: Secret Projects, #4 Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Dandelion Wine Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Hyperion Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Frugal Wizard’s Handbook for Surviving Medieval England: Secret Projects, #2 Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5
Reviews for Rights of Use
0 ratings0 reviews
Book preview
Rights of Use - Shannon Eichorn
Rights of Use
Project Black Book Vol. 1
Shannon Eichorn
Astra Invicta LLC
Second Edition
Copyright © 2024 by Shannon Eichorn
All rights reserved.
First edition copyright © 2018
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law or for the use of brief quotations in book reviews.
Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-7324340-2-8
Ebook ISBN 978-1-7324340-3-5
Cover design by Mallory Rock of Rock Solid Book Design
www.RockSolidBookDesign.com
Contents
Dramatis Personae
Prologue
1.Chapter 1
2.Chapter 2
3.Chapter 3
4.Chapter 4
5.Chapter 5
6.Chapter 6
7.Chapter 7
8.Chapter 8
9.Chapter 9
10.Chapter 10
11.Chapter 11
12.Chapter 12
13.Chapter 13
14.The End
15.Chapter 15
16.Chapter 16
17.The Beginning
18.Chapter 18
19.Chapter 19
20.Chapter 20
21.Chapter 21
22.Chapter 22
23.Chapter 23
24.Chapter 24
25.Chapter 25
26.Chapter 26
27.Chapter 27
28.Chapter 28
29.Chapter 29
30.Chapter 30
31.Chapter 31
32.Chapter 32
33.Chapter 33
34.Chapter 34
35.Chapter 35
36.Chapter 36
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the author
Laws Among Friends (Sneak Peak)
Dramatis Personae
Sarah Anderson – abducted Earth girl
Andrew Rockefeller – Speaker of the House
Joyce Rockefeller – Andrew's wife
Maggie Rockefeller – Andrew's abducted daughter
Project Black Book – a U.S. Air Force undertaking
Col. Renee Marshall – Commander of Project Black Book
Maj. Joliene Patrick – an officer at Project Black Book
Lt. Kyle Fairfeld – an officer at Project Black Book
TSgt. John Bailey – Project Black Book personnel
Sgt. Rodriguez – Security Forces from Fairchild AFB
NFI-Com – a Congressional commission
Banebdjedet's Guard
Davon
Guerin
Kümmel
Gertewet (Ger)
body-possessing aliens against Kemtewet
(G is for good
)
Miute – the first Gertewet queen, deceased
Katorin (Beryl) – symbiont to Setira
Khonsu – missing at the Kemtewet capital
Kitchell – symbiont to Donn Marshall
Donn Marshall – former head of Black Book, host to Kitchell
Setira – non-Earth human, host to Katorin
Vinnet – symbiont and operative
Coordinating Council – the governing body of the Gertewet
Kemtewet (Kem)
evil body-possessing aliens
(K is for kill
)
Neith – the Kemtewet Empress
Anjedet – queen entrusted to the Green Flame
Banebdjedet (Benny-J) – a lord
Cube Head (Paul) – a citizen
Teni – the new Green Flame
Uastschnesert – the former Green Flame
He With His Face Behind Him – title of highest Kem king
Eater of Blood – title of a Kem king
Bone-Breaker – title of a Kem king
Green Flame – title of a Kem king
Eater of Ghosts – title of the lowest-ranked Kem king
Information Security Corps (ISC) – Kemtewet state security
To all those who believed in me.
You've made all the difference.
Prologue
On the one-Sais-year anniversary of her host's death, Vinnet hoped for a new host and to resume work.
She’d needed a break, of course. Grief clouded the mind and complicated the already dangerous process of infiltrating enemy territory. The Gertewet had too few operatives left to take foolish chances—especially for an operative who’d lost both her current and prospective host in the same incident.
She sank in the base’s cellar tank, drifting back into the same old recriminations. If she’d known more about the situation, no one would have died, and she wouldn’t be waiting here for someone else to find her a willing host.
Her tank pulsed, snapping her from her daze. She bolted for the interface and wound her neuron tendrils around and into its cold pits.
Maybe it was good news.
She accessed the outer room's camera and microphone, and the view snapped into focus.
Kitchell and his host Donn Marshall stared at the camera, thick hands wrapped around a transport canteen. It could have meant they’d found a volunteer, except they were supposed to be away on a mission. If they'd returned early, authorized to take along another operative...
So much for her good news.
She posted text on the screen under the camera:
One of the queens left the capital and is about to take a new host,
Kitchell explained. With Donn, he had a rich, commanding voice. If you replace her, you'll be able to access the kings and help us replace them—maybe even the Empress, too.
No one is qualified. We haven't gotten intel on the queens since Chryson became the Bone Breaker ages ago—and that only lasted a week.
He crossed his arms, dangling the canteen. You're the only one waiting for a host who has experience working in the Central Palace.
The only one, Vinnet. You know the hierarchy there.
And how inadequate that knowledge would be for this particular mission. She'd talked to the queens' servants, but she'd never tried to infiltrate them, had never even interacted with a queen.
She swished her tail, anxiously pushing against the neural interface. Still, the Gertewet couldn’t miss this prime opportunity.
But you are. Stay in control. You can do this.
He uncapped the canteen and offered it at her tank's exit. And if you do, we win.
Winning would be worth it at any cost. Even if Vinnet hadn’t been able to move on, she’d grieved enough hosts to know that it was past time to. She could let go to focus on a new mission. She could be ready enough. They'd been fighting too long to not risk everything for this chance.
And if nothing else, it would be nice to not be alone.
Chapter 1
Andrew Rockefeller ushered his old mentor into his office, closing the door behind them. Senator Stokely, thanks for making the time to stop by on such short notice.
It’s not every day the Speaker of the House asks to meet.
Charles Stokely’s smile lifted his jowls, smoothing them.
Rockefeller grimaced. It had been a while.
I’m kidding, Andy. You haven’t needed me for years. It’s nice to see how far you’ve come.
Stokely gazed out the window over the desk, which framed a gorgeous view of the Washington Monument stretching into a brilliant blue sky from a stand of steadily flapping flags. A bit different from the view you started with.
As one of Stokely’s former junior aides, his shared office hadn’t had a window, let alone a view. Rockefeller shrugged as he eased himself into one of the wingback chairs in his office’s central sitting area. Back then, I didn’t get reminded of what I have to live up to every time I sat at my desk.
More’s the pity.
Stokely settled into the chair beside him, angled toward the Speaker instead of the immaculate view. What’s on your mind?
I asked you over to get your perspective on this ballistic missile threat. You’ve spent a lot of time looking into defense spending and serving on appropriations committees; you must know something more about it.
Stokely anchored his elbows on the chair’s armrests and steepled his fingers over his lap. He considered the question for a few silent moments then drew a deep breath. Our country needs a stronger missile defense network to counter the threats currently arrayed against it.
Rockefeller glanced out the window at the peacefully waving flags and the nation beyond, which hadn’t seen war on its shores since the attack on Pearl Harbor. Do you really think Iran is that much of a threat?
Quick knocks cut off Stokely’s answer, and Rockefeller’s aide Tom swung the door open. Mr. Speaker, your wife is on the phone. She says it’s an emergency.
Over the last year, he’d watched Tom take a lot of supposed crises in stride, but now his eyes stretched wide and startled on his long face, even more shell shocked than when he relayed news of the middle school shooting in March.
This wasn’t another of Joyce’s bake sale emergencies. A weight settled in his chest. Thank you, Tom.
Rockefeller hustled to his desk as Tom shut the door. I hope you’ll excuse me.
He barely heard Stokely reply, Of course,
as he swept up the phone and answered the line.
Joyce’s words tumbled out. Andy, it took Maggie! Something took her right off the cul-de-sac. The police think I’m crazy, but I know what I saw!
Stokely tried not to listen to Rockefeller’s measured voice answering the frantic tone on the line, but he watched.
Andrew Rockefeller was young for his station, with dark and full hair and a classically chiseled jawline that televised well. That slump in his shoulders and worried brow projected the wrong image for a powerful leader, surely allowed only while around those he trusted.
Stokely sighed. If it was going to take long, perhaps he’d best leave the Speaker and spend his time elsewhere.
Maybe, if he left now, by the time Rockefeller turned his attention back to the ballistic missile
defense system, the Speaker would take his advice to support it without asking what all it might defend against.
And maybe the capital would have a cool, dry summer.
What took who?
Rockefeller listened to the answer, stiffening.
Time to go. Stokely pushed himself out of his chair and cast one more concerned glance at the Speaker by the desk. Then his jacket pocket rang. As he fished out his phone, it rang for an eternity with ever-increasing, irritating volume, but the Speaker didn’t even glance over.
Stokely stepped out of the central circle and faced one of the back walls, trying to keep his voice down. Charles Stokely.
This is Colonel Marshall. We made our date.
Cellular phones weren’t secured lines. He bit down on his questions. Thank you, Colonel.
She hung up.
Stokely lowered the phone, staring at its raised buttons and digital screen.
Alien abductions. Project Black Book had waited decades for the bastards to return. Maybe this time, they could catch them.
After all that money poured into identifying the threat and planning to ambush the source, now they’d face it head on.
Joyce, keep trying to think of anything else you can tell the police. I’ll be there as soon as I can.
Rockefeller fumbled the phone back into the cradle, and Stokely turned to face him.
Rockefeller met his eyes. Someone took my little girl, Charlie. They took Maggie.
He swallowed as if he might fix his thready voice. I’ve got to go.
He flung open the door and rushed out, snapping out a last-minute string of instructions at his two assistants.
Stokely pulled the Speaker’s forgotten suit jacket from the chairback by the picture window. He caught the Speaker only halfway through the next room, where his scheduler had mired him in questions.
Okay, but what happened?
she asked.
Rockefeller shook his head. I don’t know. Joyce said she saw a flying saucer. Something must have happened to her, too.
Really?
the scheduler asked.
The timing wasn’t a coincidence, then.
Rockefeller edged toward the exit. I have to go.
Andy.
Stokely caught his eye and held up the jacket.
Rockefeller snatched the jacket and fled, his jerky motions almost masking his trembling hands.
Stokely drew a deep breath and followed at a much more reasonable pace. Ahead, the Speaker disappeared down the stairs.
So, Rockefeller’s daughter was kidnapped the same afternoon as the first witnessed abduction in almost half a century. The Speaker didn’t seem to believe his wife—and why should he? Project Blue Book had long since disproved the validity of UFOs.
Digging his mobile phone back out as he padded down the stairs, Stokely stopped in a quiet alcove past the Crypt and redialed. The Colonel picked up on the second ring, and Stokely spoke softly.
I need someone read in.
Sarah had been afraid before. As a kid, she’d known the skin-shrinking fear of the bedroom blackness, the lurking presence beyond the outer edge of lamplight. Like her old neighbors, she knew the soul-hampering fear of nature while hunkering under the stairs, waiting for deteriorating hurricanes to rip the roof off or crush the house with a shallow-rooted pine. Like seemingly no one else, she knew the isolating fear of her parents’ anger, the lonely nights spent trying not to listen to their arguments, wondering whether they would hit each other. Wondering whether her home would dissolve so soon after they’d moved her away from all her friends.
This fear was different, perhaps the first kind worthy of the name.
Nothing had come from the dark. Nothing had shredded the home. Nothing had split her family. But something she hadn’t known to fear had come out of the daylight, from the clear weather, and into the peaceful house and whisked her away.
Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and let the ragged breaths rock her body. Maybe if she wished hard, she’d find it was all a horrible mistake. They’d meant to break into someone else’s home and haul out some other teenager.
Yeah. Right.
Her numbing lips tingled on the next hitching breath. Her head buzzed. She couldn’t hide like this forever. Holding very still, she counted down to when she’d force herself to face the room. Three.
Two.
One.
Sniffling once and swallowing down her queasy stomach, Sarah set her chin on her knee, still hiding behind her folded arms, and opened her eyes. Three men sat with her in the tiny, circular white room.
Two sat out in the open like she did, burly men with tall, elongated heads and square features. Leather armor, scuffed and seared and accented in clinging, deep brown stains, encased most of their bulging muscles. Their dark beards pointed oddly, as if cut with three quick snips of scissors. Both men bore skin only a little darker than hers and greasy, black hair that ended sharply at their chins. One man’s face had started to wrinkle around his eyes and mouth, and a scar slashed over his eyebrow. The other man’s gaunt cheekbones stood out over his scraggly beard; it looked like a face made for crime.
Although their relaxed legs stretched halfway across the floor, covering a circular seam around the center, they gave her space and ignored her now. Their low voices filled the room as much as their musty body odor as they rumbled on in a language she didn’t know.
Sarah tried to sink further into the white, cushioned floor. It gave minutely.
The third man was older. Color had already drained out of his short, neat hair, and his thick skin sagged on his cheeks. The hanging console he sat behind—that might show where they were going—blocked most of his face, but he occasionally leaned into full view to glance at her, his eyes worried.
About what? And if he cared, why wasn’t he doing anything?
When he peered at her again, she ducked her face into her arms. The more attention she avoided, the better, just like at school last year.
Another pang wrenched tight around her stomach. School was going to start again in three weeks. Last year, after moving to the North, the other kids had picked on her so much for her Southern accent and good grades that she’d quit even trying to do well and just wished to get out.
I didn’t mean it! she thought to the void where other people said God was. A mere prayer couldn’t change what was physically happening, but at this point, it was worth a try. I’ll work hard again. I’ll put up with the bullies. Just let me go home!
Nothing changed in the tone or volume of the kidnappers’ deep voices. Hidden air vents still whispered harshly. Her heels still dug into the floor. Nothing magically changed.
She drew in a shuddering breath and held it. I’m still here. Maybe I can act like it. Maybe, for once in her life, something she did could affect what happened to her, unlike arguing about moving, unlike answering the bullies, unlike hiding out while her parents fought.
Unlike trying not to get kidnapped.
I’m still here. She blew out her breath and resettled her glasses on her nose, reassuring herself with their comfortable weight that something remained normal. Like everything else she’d experienced, she’d get through this.
Who was she kidding? She didn’t even know how she got there.
She remembered hearing them try the door, then the distinctive, woofing clap when it hit the foyer’s parquet.
She remembered listening to them search her house. Furniture screeched. Closet doors slammed. Heavy footsteps clomped up the stairs.
She remembered the younger one finding her in her closet, how she’d kneed him in the crotch, and his calloused hands had pinched tight on her arms.
She’d bit him on the way out, when the scarred man helped carry her, and the younger one had smacked her in reply. Her vision went gray and tunnely.
Next thing she knew, they were in here. The men dropped her to the soft floor. She scrambled back to the gray wall—
Pain sparked across her shoulder blades. She lurched forward.
It took only a moment to equate rippling wall
with instantaneous death shock,
but then it was a quick lesson: don’t touch the wall. She sat well away from it now.
She couldn’t have completely lost track of time when he’d hit her; the men’s grip on her hadn’t changed. It was as if she’d closed her eyes in one place (her front yard) and opened them in another (this little white room). It’d make sense if she’d arrived here on the floor, but in the exact same position she last remembered? If she’d been knocked unconscious, why hadn’t the second man dropped her legs? They hadn’t just climbed into a car or shifted to a house down the street. Unless Zelienople had houses with shock walls and trap doors. After all, it was down the street from the cemetery in Night of the Living Dead.
But she didn’t think so.
I’m not in Pennsylvania anymore. She swallowed against the lump in her throat.
What were they waiting for, yammering on as they were? Something the man at the console was doing? Or was it just a long elevator ride?
Heart pounding in her ears, she inched closer to the gray-haired man to peek at his screen.
The talking stopped and she did, too. She held her breath. Maybe they wouldn’t mind that she moved.
They eyed her warily, and she studied their bootlaces. Aside from getting her eyes off theirs, it let her notice how odd their boots were: round, sickly white cord ran between button holes along the shoes’ sides. They looked like someone tried to adapt Roman sandals to Pittsburgh weather. She wished they hadn’t.
The men started up their conversation again; she had feigned disinterest long enough.
Sarah sat in line with the console’s back. From here, she had only to lean to see around it. As she did, she caught the controller’s fingers darting about the screen—tapping here, sliding there, circling and pinching elsewhere. A little closer, and she’d see the screen, too.
The controller glanced at her and murmured something to the others.
The young one stood.
No, please!
Scooting back, Sarah caught the controller’s stare again and held it. Please take me back! I just want to go home!
The young guy clamped down on her shoulders, holding her in place.
Please, I won’t tell anyone.
She scrunched down out of his hold and stood up behind him to stare at the controller and his compassionate eyes. Just take me home!
The young guy caught her again, pressing down harder and wedging her against him. Right behind his feet, the trap door dropped down—an open exit!
Sarah elbowed his armored gut. He heaved a breathy grunt and bent over, arms flailing after her. She folded her knees, dropping through his hands. Then she dove for the hole’s edge.
The room beyond had no floor.
She’d meant to glide through, grabbing the hole’s edge to right herself. Instead, she flung her limbs out, catching herself over the impossible pit and wrenching her shoulder.
The room beyond was filled with shelves and lumpy, vertical slats going down far enough for her house to stack on top of itself a few times. The shelves looked too far away to reach to climb down safely. Anyone who went through would fall to their deaths.
Strong hands lifted her by the armpits and pulled her to safety.
She couldn’t catch her breath. Her heaving pants stressed the grip on her armpits, but it was a reassuring pain this time. She’d almost fallen, almost pitched herself into the abyss—not a good way to get home.
The controller and the young guy both approached the hole and, swift as you please, dropped through—and landed sideways, feet on the wall. The scarred man let go and followed them.
What the hell had happened to gravity?
She edged closer, still afraid of falling, only to have the trap door slam in her face. Kneeling, she stared at it, picturing what she’d seen. With the men standing sideways on the marble wall, she could start putting the pieces together.
It wasn’t a pit. It was a long room, seen from a door at the end. Not with lumpy vertical slats but with bunk beds and sleeping people. With her gravity sideways.
Sarah backed away from the hole and kept her distance from the wall. Sideways gravity?
She wasn’t in Pennsylvania anymore.
Chapter 2
Rockefeller wrapped his arm around his wife along the couch back to touch his older daughter’s head on her far side. He winced as Joyce’s fingers mercilessly tightened on his other hand. The phone rang, so he extracted his fingers and knocked the portable phone on the end table into reach with a tissue box. Rockefellers.
Pack a bag for a few days, Andy.
Stokely’s chipper voice clashed with the gloom of the under-occupied room. I might know something about your daughter.
Rockefeller sat up, switching the phone to his better ear and uncrushed hand. Where is she?
His wife and girls leaned forward, watching his face.
Stokely’s lighthearted tone dissipated. I don’t know where yet, but I’m going to find out. You should come with me.
I’m going with you,
Rockefeller finished with him. Where?
Not over the phone. Our plane leaves in the morning. I’ll pick you up at six.
Six was hours away! What was he supposed to do? Sit around on the couch?
Rockefeller stood. Who has her, Charlie? How much do they want?
He stared at his family’s reflection in the glass entertainment center door. How much cash could he gather to put Maggie’s reflection back beside her sisters’?
They don’t want your money, Andy. Look, I’m your friend, right?
Rockefeller searched for his voice, unsure where this was leading. Yes?
I’d tell you if you could do something. There’s nothing else to be done. Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning. Six.
Stokely hung up.
If not money, what would the kidnapper want? He and Joyce had covered this only hours ago with the FBI. Perhaps political agendas, either in the House or elsewhere in the government, probably something the perpetrator thought the Speaker himself could do.
Notoriety, maybe? Terrorism?
He caught his family’s anxious looks and turned back to the phone, dialing Stokely’s number from memory. I’ll try again.
The line was busy and remained so the next three times he redialed.
The fourth time, Joyce rose and covered the keypad with her fingers. What did he say?
He closed his eyes to keep tears from clouding his vision and focused on her skin’s warmth where their hands touched around the phone. It took two tries for him to squeeze words past the lump in his throat to relay everything.
Joyce wrapped her arms around him, whether to comfort herself or him, he couldn’t tell.
If I could get through, I know—
She turned her head to the side, murmuring defeatedly into his ear. If he was going to tell you anything else, he would have.
He followed her gaze to the couch: Julia and Chastity sat up where they’d been dozing, blinking blearily and listening.
She squeezed his shoulder. Come on. We should rest. There’s nothing more we can do tonight.
He watched his other two daughters fall asleep, huddled together in a single bed. He sat at the foot, close enough for them to touch him and reassure themselves (and him) they were safe.
Maggie’s room remained empty.
image-placeholderAlone now, her kidnappers gone, Sarah held her breath and wiped wet palms on her jeans. Tiny vents wafted air across the sweat on the back of her neck, sending chills down her spine and reminding her how exposed she was. When the monsters came back, she had nowhere to hide.
Not that hiding had helped before.
They had broken into her house and brought her all the way to the threshold of this place where gravity didn't work, only to leave her locked alone in this little cabin where the walls bit. She scooted back from the closed trap door and shivered.
What for? What would they do to her?
Either they'd been specially looking for her—
In which case they couldn't afford to hurt her after all the trouble they went through getting her. Maybe they'd left to get an interpreter who spoke English. But if so, why her? Her grades certainly didn't make her stand out. She didn't do anything outside of school except gymnastics and piano lessons, and she wasn't a prodigy at either.
Sarah wrapped her arms back around her knees and tried to scrunch down as small as she could as the fear crashed back in.
Or, more likely, they didn't care who she was.
Normal kidnappers, as far as she knew, took kids for one of two reasons: because they were easy targets for serial killing or for extorting ransom money. She didn't have to be exceptional to die. Please, not that! She curled tighter and squeezed her eyes closed on the terrifying hypothetical nothingness.
But if they asked for ransom, her parents had some money. She'd wondered lately if they'd be better off without her, but she knew they'd pay to get her back. Maybe it could be that simple. They'd demand money, her parents would pay for her, and she'd go home.
That made sense for easy targets, but these men had funny-shaped heads and didn't speak English. They had to come from far away. Africa, maybe? Eastern Europe? How many cities had they passed up on their way around the world?
These guys couldn't be normal kidnappers, even without the sideways gravity.
Were they worse than serial killers?
Terror clutched her heart, squeezing until she thought it would stop the frantic pumping any moment, anything to eject her soul free from these monsters’ plans.
No, she must have seen it wrong. Sarah gazed at the trap door, picturing how she remembered the room beyond. Maybe it wasn't really that deep but had mirrors set up to make it look dangerous. That way, anyone they took would think twice before jumping out, like she had. The mirrors' angles had made the men look like they stood on the walls.
If so, they'd built a whole room to scare people into staying inside. They weren't taking just one or two people—they must be taking hundreds.
For what?
Bulk discount parts?
Her fists balled, and she pounded them into the floor. Her hands bounced harmlessly off the padding. How dare they! How dare they take people out of their homes and lives to chop them up for parts! She could've grown up to cure cancer (if she liked medicine) or build Mars rockets or something equally significant. They didn't know, and neither did she.
And now she'd never find out.
She popped to her feet and hauled a leg back to kick the wall. At the last second, she remembered shock walls of death
and swiveled to kick the control console.
Pain exploded in her foot, but the console wobbled obligingly.
What is wrong with you!
she screeched at it, picturing the controller and his worthless, compassionate eyes. Why would you do that!
Then she broke into sobs, tears blurring the white floor into the gray walls. She might never go home. She might never snuggle into her dog's fur again. Or curl up on the couch with a warm blanket, a bag of carrots, and a good book. Or play catch with her dad.
All because they wanted to chop her up for parts?
The sounds behind her changed from the steady, hissing air to the hollow reverberations of a long hallway. Sarah held her breath, swiped at the tears obscuring her eyes, and spun to face the now open trap door.
The controller climbed through.
She drew a deep, ragged breath. What the hell is wrong with you! What gives you the right—
He scrambled up faster, wide-eyed, and jerked the trap door behind him. It closed at a stately pace while he frantically pressed his finger to his lips for silence.
No! You dragged me here! I'm not going to be quiet!
He winced, but he waited for the trap door to latch. He waved her down. It's okay,
he assured her, his gentle baritone an unreasonable counterpoint to her screams. "I didn't come