Hell on Earth (10 page)

“I love Hawaii!” said Arlene. “Great weather. Hardly any humidity.”

“But those prices,” I answered.

It was a trivial little protest against the man's pomposity and skepticism, but it made us feel a whole lot better.

“Please,” said the President, his face turning positively florid. “As I was saying, if you can penetrate the enemy stronghold and bring the specs to the U.S. technology center, there are scientists there who can do something with it. We have refugees from ARPA, the Lockheed ‘skunk works,' NASA, MacDAC, hackers from many places.” It sounded to me like the President of the Twelve had been boning up on other subjects besides theology . . . and finance. “Has Albert told you about the force field?”

“He said something about an energy wall.”

“You have to find a way to shut it off . . . otherwise, you're not going anywhere. You get offshore about fifteen miles, then call an encrypted message in. We'll vector you to the War Technology Center.”

“If we can pull this off,” said Arlene in her serious, engineer's tone of voice, “and a computer expert can dehack the alien technology, we might come up with shields against them. Defenses, something.”

“The first problem is to crack Los Angeles,” said the President.

“Then we're your best bet,” I said. “After Phobos and Deimos, how bad can L.A. be?” Even at the time, this sounded like famous last words.

“Yes, my point exactly,” he agreed languidly, still frosted; “how much simpler this would
have
to be
than the Deimos situation.” He paused long enough to annoy us again. “This is more than a two-man operation.” Translation: we needed keepers. Well, that was all right with me. “You'll be infiltrating, so we're not talking about a strike force here.”

“Stealth mission,” said Arlene.

“Two more people would be about right,” I said.

The President's first choice was excellent. Albert wanted to go. “By way of apology for being the one to turn you in,” he said, holding out his big paw of a hand. I took it gingerly; he hardly had anything to apologize for. He winked.

“If you'd been one fraction less of a hard-ass, I wouldn't want you on this mission anyway.”

“This is probably a good time to tell you about Albert's record,” said the President. “He was a PFC in the Marine Corps, I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear. Honorably discharged. He won a medal for his MOS.” Military operational specialty.

“Which was?” I asked Albert, eye-to-eye.

“A sniper, Corporal,” he answered. “Bronze star, Colombia campaign. Drug wars.”

“Sniper school?”

“Of course.”

“God bless,” said Arlene.

Albert was fine; we both dug Albert. Couldn't say the same about the second choice, who Nate ushered into the ops room: she looked like a fourteen-year-old girl in T-shirt, jeans, and dirty sneakers.

“Fly,” Arlene said, staring, “does my promise apply to bitching about personnel decisions?”

“Say your piece.”

She shook her head in incredulity. “I'd never have expected this kind of crap from this bunch of sexist—”

“Uh, no offense,” I mumbled to the President,
feeling pretty lame. My face flushed red-hot, as if I'd just taken niacin.

He chose to ignore the editorial. “I hate sending her. Unfortunately, she's the best qualified.”

Arlene stared at the girl, a foxy little item ready to stare back. “I never thought I'd say these words,” Arlene began, “but there's a first time for everything. Honey—”

“My name is Jill,” she said defiantly.

“Okay, Jill. Listen closely. Please don't take offense, but this is no job for a girl.”

“I
have
to go,” she said. “Live with it.”

“Honey, I don't want to
die
with it.”

“What's this joke?” I demanded.

“I told you. She's the best, uh, hacker, I think it is, that we've got. But you deserve an explanation.” He turned to her and asked, “Do you mind if I tell them?” She shrugged. He went on: “I apologize for her sullen attitude.”

I don't know about Arlene, but I didn't see anything sullen about the kid. The President never seemed to look directly at her but kind of sideways.

“Back in the life, before her family moved here and accepted the faith, Jill was arrested twice for breaking into computer systems. She served six months in a juvenile detention center in Ojai; then her parents joined the Church and moved here.”

All the time he was talking, he kept sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye. He seemed to be looking at the top of her head. She was pretending not to be interested but hung on every word.

“Jill was embarrassed and ashamed of her arrest and conviction,” the President said very slowly, as if coaching, watching her all the time. “She was locked up with a girl who was a prostitute and drug dealer—”

“She didn't want to be a junkie-hooker,” said Jill, speaking about herself in the third person.

The President pretended not to hear. “She still loves computers, but wants to be a security person now.” He took a breath, then concluded, “The aliens killed her parents, and only missed her because she was covered with blood and they assumed she was dead. She was frightened by the aliens, of course—”

“I hate them,” she piped in. “I want them all dead.”

“Good girl,” said Arlene, half won over.

The Mormon leader approached Jill but was careful not to touch her. At least he finally looked at her. “You don't like your former hacker buddies, do you?” he asked.

“I hate them.”

“Why?”

She was uncomfortable about talking but couldn't keep the words from spilling out. “Because they don't care about what happens to anyone else. They don't give a rat's ass if they hack a hospital computer and destroy a patient's records, by accident, or as a joke.”

“Some joke,” said Arlene.

“They'd only be upset if they did a sloppy job,” the girl replied, her voice monotonous. “They suck.”

“God bless you, Jill,” said the President. “And you know what the aliens are?”

Jill sure did. “A million times worse. I've got to kill them all.”

Mother Mary, a regular little parrot! Did the President write the script out for her? I wondered. Or was she just adept at ad-libbing what he wanted to hear, what would get her on the job?

“Don't you think you should leave the killing to Albert and this other man?” asked the President.

“That does it,” said Arlene, hackles smacking the ceiling.

“I'm sorry, but there's no alternative to taking her along,” said the President.

“That's not what I meant!” Arlene gave me her special look. I sighed, but didn't shake my head or give her the shut-up signal. I'd had about all of the President I could take.

“Mr. President,” she began, speaking slowly as if to a child—I realized we still didn't know his name—“I respect your beliefs, even though I don't hold them myself. But we are in a
situation
where every able-bodied individual must do his or
her
best. There are armed women outside.”

“Yes,” he answered. “Adult women.”

Arlene turned to Jill. “I apologize for doubting you,” she said. “I think you'll do fine.” She glared back at the President, who shook his head sadly.

I smiled, suddenly realizing we'd been had: he had put on the whole “Mormon patriarch” act just to get us to accept a little girl as a teammate! It was masterful . . . and I didn't say a word to Arlene. Let her keep her illusions.

“If you succeed,” concluded the President, “you will have redeemed yourself thrice over.”

“And if we fail?”

“You'll be dead. Or undead. Either way, you'll never have to think about your error again.”

Gee. Thanks a lump.

“What weapon do you have?” Arlene asked Jill. The fourteen-year-old picked up a slim box from the table; took me a moment to recognize it as a CompMac “Big Punk” ultramicro with a radio-telemetry port. That was some nice equipment; did she come with it, or did the President hijack it for her?

“You'll train her in the use of firearms,” the President said, turned on his heel and walked away.

“I've fired guns before,” said Jill.

Arlene touched the girl on the shoulder. Jill didn't pull away. Arlene didn't talk down to her. In a casual tone she asked, “Do you think there might be some pointers I could give you, hon?”

The fourteen-year-old smiled for the first time. She didn't answer right away. Then she said in a firm voice, “Want some pizza?”

Now that she mentioned it, my mouth began to salivate.

I
took my cue from Arlene and reluctantly accepted the kid. The Mormon leader guaranteed the girl's bona fides. Given the way he felt about the female of the species, if he wanted Jill on this mission that badly, that was good enough for me.

“Welcome aboard,” I said, approaching Jill and putting out my hand. I didn't expect anything, but she surprised me by shaking hands and smiling. Smart kid. She knew when she'd won a victory.

“Thanks.” Jill sized each of us up, letting her glance stay on me a little longer—not exactly pleased with the effect, I noticed. “I won't let you down,” she said to all of us.

“How do you know?” asked Albert, but he wasn't being belligerent about it.

“Yeah,” said Jill, not losing a beat. “They talk that way around here. I won't get anybody killed on purpose.”

Arlene bent down and patted Jill on the head. The girl didn't pull away, but acted surprised. Affection was something new in her experience. I hoped she would live long enough to experience a lot more of it. But I didn't kid myself: once we entered Los Angeles, the mission was everything, and we were all expendable. It had been that way since the first monster came through the Gate on Phobos.

“Come on,” said Arlene, taking Jill by the hand. “Your training starts now.”

Jerry had stayed with us after the boss sauntered off. “There might not be time for that,” he said. He didn't say it as if he liked it. So far, the only person I'd met who impressed me as something of a jerk was the leader, and even he was no fool.

Arlene kept her voice even and calm. “We'll
make
time,” she said. “Training is not a luxury.”

Looking at the man's face, I could see that he didn't like arguing with facts. He shrugged and didn't say another word.

“How about it, Albert?” I asked the other member of our team. “What kind of time do we have?”

“Plenty,” he said. “I've seen Jill shoot. She'll do fine.”

“Do I get a gun of my own?” asked Jill.

“Does she?” Arlene asked Albert.

“Sure as shootin',” he said, letting a moment pass before we responded to his wordplay. He enjoyed the double take.

We went to an aboveground arsenal. Seeing what they kept up top made me more anxious to see behind those doors downstairs. As it was, they wouldn't notice the absence of Jill's weapon of choice, though it
was a little strange seeing the fourteen-year-old holding an AR-19 like she was used to it.

Jill noticed my expression. “We need all the firepower we can get,” she said.

“You're right. Let's see what you can do with it.” And thank God she didn't have her heart set on an AK-47. The kick would knock her on her butt. At least the AR-19 was a small enough caliber.

There were plenty of places to shoot. We went to a makeshift range where someone had gotten hold of old monster movie posters. Jill chose one already pretty badly shot up: a horns-and-tail demon from an old British movie. It looked a lot like a hell-prince. One of the horns was shot out, but the other was still intact.

“I'll take the bone on his head,” she announced. She missed with the first burst, pulling up and to the right; but she nearly shredded the target anyway.

Arlene went over and whispered something in her ear. Jill smiled and tried again. This time the bursts were shorter and stayed on target. The demon's second horn was history.

“What did you tell her?” I asked Arlene. I always appreciate a few well-chosen words.

“Girl talk,” she said, arching her dark eyebrows.

“Kind of a shame to destroy these collector's items,” I observed when we ran out of ammo.

“No problem,” said Albert. “We have hundreds of these. The President used to visit the church in Hollywood, and we have a lot of contacts.”

“How did I do?” asked Jill, bringing us back to the original point of the exercise.

“I thought I'd need to teach you something,” said Arlene. “Guess you're mostly ready. Mostly.” The day was shaping up nicely. We could do a whole lot worse than Jill.

I was still in a good mood when we had dinner with the President that night. They set a good table, and he boasted how they could keep this up for a long time.

After dinner, Jill toddled off to bed in the female-teens quarter. Albert wanted to spend time with an older woman we'd been informed was an aunt, and I managed to get Arlene alone in the presidential garden.

Although night had fallen, the security lights in the garden were bright, thanks to the generators of our hosts. I saw Arlene frowning in thought. “Albert may have an extra mission,” she said, “scouting out new converts for the Church.”

I laughed. “Hey, don't make it sound so sinister. We should ask any survivors to join us, male or female.”

“Unless they've gone insane,” she said, “and there are parts of Los Angeles where it would be difficult to know.”

“Well, I'm glad we have Albert and Jill with us.”

She brightened. “Me too. That young lady impresses the hell out of me. Maybe she's lucky to be going off with us to face demons and imps.”