IT WAS DIFFERENT FROM the last time he had looked down over Los Angeles from an incoming flight, Vrel reflected. Then, he had been traveling on official business for the Hyadean authorities, returning to their West Coast office of the United States. This time he was a renegade seeking asylum at an unofficial enterprise in a new, rebellious Federation gearing up for war. He really had no comprehension of the political and economic tangles that had led up to it, he realized. Perhaps he was still only at the beginnings of understanding anything about Earth and its squabbling, disorganized, variously colored natives.
In the window seat next to Vrel in the First Class section, Luodine stared out, looking for signs of the war. After her experiences in Brazil, she hadn't been sure what to expect, but Los Angeles still looked very much the way it had when she last visited. They had been fortunate in getting a flight into the Federation at all. Many airlines had suspended operations because of the military risks. The morning had seen a major attack by air-launched missiles on the naval installations in San Diego, farther south, which the Federation had taken over. Also, Union aircraft had been allowed across Mexican air space to lay mines and other underwater devices at points along the West Coast. The Federation was reinforcing its southern border. Luodine looked to the future with a mixture of excitement that the big story she had been working toward was about to break here, and trepidation as to what it might entail.
In the row in front, Nyarl was despondent that at the end of it all, nothing they did would have any measurable impact on Chryse. The control over what Hyadeans were told was too effective. What had Luodine and he been thinking to imagine they could change it? They had become too distracted by what they had seen on Earth, and then in their minds projected it into Chryse. But Chryse was not Earth. The flyer had given them a direct connection to Chryse before they had to leave it at Quito. The documentary that they made at Tevlak's had not been aired there. The director of the agency that Luodine and Nyarl represented had balked when he saw it and requested guidance from the authorities. That meant it never would get aired. Oh yes, Luodine would get her story here. And nobody would ever get to see it.
Across the aisle, Yassem and Marie sat together, saying little. Each, in her own way and for her own reasons, had imagined that if this journey ever took place it would mark the beginnings of a new life. Hopes for that were now gone, and both of them faced a life that opened up to a long prospect of uncertainty leading nowhere.
The plane landed and taxied to the terminal. Military vehicles and personnel were scattered along the airport perimeter, where work crews were constructing antiaircraft defenses and dispersal bays, and digging slit trenches. There were fewer civil aircraft than had been normal for LAX, although many painted olive drab or camouflage. An official from the newly inaugurated Federation immigration office met them as they deplaned and took them through arrival formalities in a secluded area, away from the public facilities. Wyvex and Dee were already waiting beyond. Police escorted the group out through one end of the regular Baggage Claim level to the pickup zone, where Luke was waiting with Cade's maroon limo. They climbed aboard amid an arriving military unit jostling to sort out packs and kit bags on the sidewalk.
Inside, Vrel and Dee hugged warmly, but then Dee put a restraining hand on his arm and eased him away. Vrel frowned at her, puzzled. She moved her eyes in Marie and Yassem's direction. Vrel returned a faint nod that he understood, at the same time reproaching himself for needing reminding.
Introductions were completed as the limo pulled out into the traffic. Wyvex and Dee already knew Marie's face from the documentary she had made with Cade. Vrel indicated the front, where Luke had left the limo's privacy screen down. "And that's Luke, who was Roland's right-hand man, I think you say." Luke's eyes left the road for a moment to glance into the mirror showing the rear compartment.
"Luke, hello," Yassem said. The eyes found the mirror again, and Luke nodded in acknowledgment.
"Hi, Luke," Marie said. "It's been a long time."
"You're right about that. So how was China?"
"Oh, I didn't know you already knew each other," Vrel said.
"Maybe we never really did," Marie told him. She looked toward the back of Luke's head again. "It feels as if it's all my fault, Luke. I'm sorry I didn't bring him back. . . . Things could have been so different. One day I'll tell you the whole story."
Luke didn't reply. Marie was hoping to begin building a bridge between them to close a gap that had existed in the past. His failure to respond struck her as strangely insensitive, even for Luke.
The gray Dodge following several cars behind had pulled out from the sidewalk parking strip opposite as the limo left the baggage claim pickup area. With the intervening traffic and melee of soldiers, Laredo hadn't been able to positively identify all of the expected arrivals. But the importance of carrying through the mission therebefore any of them had an opportunity to meet people from the media or Federation governmenthad been stressed, and in his judgment that didn't constitute sufficient grounds to reconsider. He slid the detonator control out from the map receptacle under the armrest and flipped the primer switch to the ARMED position. An amber light came on to confirm.
Luke put the phone back in the holder on the limo's dash panel. Still no answer. He wasn't sure why, since there was hardly any reason to feel sentimental, but he had been trying to raise Julia ever since Warren's call. It hadn't required an effort of genius to fit the pieces together. If Julia had played her hand and gone, then nothing Luke said could make any difference now. He chewed on his lip as he drove, trying to decide if he should tell them.
" . . . the Midwest states might be about to come over," Wyvex was saying behind. "But the East is pushing solidly into Texas. Everything's confused."
"Might Hyadeans be getting ready to play a bigger part?" Luodine asked in a worried voice.
"Nobody knows."
"We heard there's been a lot of air fighting," Nyarl said.
"Especially in the center, yes," Wyvex confirmed. "We've had raids here too. NATO is mobilizing in Europe."
Marie was being very quiet. Luke glanced in the mirror again. She was still watching him, her face showing hurt and confusion, on the verge of fighting back tears. Drawing a long breath, he turned his head to call over his shoulder. "Hey, everyone back there . . ." His tone brought immediate quiet. "There's something you all ought to know." They waited. "Roland and Hudro are both okay. They made it through the crash. The MOPAN got them to Bolivia. Roland called me from there a couple of days ago. There were reasons to keep it quiet. He was talking about trying to get back via New Zealand. I thought he might have changed his plans and met up with you people somehow."
The traffic on I-405 south was noticeably thinner due to the gasoline restrictions. Laredo moved out a lane and accelerated gently past the limo. He watched in his mirror as it fell back a comfortable distance behind, then released the safety latch over the FIRE button. A red warning light confirmed that the circuit was active. He kept the Dodge well ahead and waited for a clear stretch in the traffic pattern.
Marie and Yassem were hugging each other in delight, Yassem smiling and trying to suppress a compulsion to laugh at the same time, Marie openly weeping. Vrel was speechless; Dee flung her arms around his neck. Luodine and Nyarl were grinning and smacking palms together in the way they had picked up from Terrans.
"You mean we can call them?" Marie said, finally managing to speak coherently.
"I don't have the number here," Luke answered from the front. "But sure, as soon as we get back to the house."
"But . . . why couldn't you have told us?" Wyvex stammered.
"I said, there were reasons," Luke replied. "But they don't matter anymore."
Laredo pressed the FIRE button. A green light indicated positive function. Yet nothing had happened. The limo was still there in his mirror, a couple of hundred yards back in a gap behind a truck and a Chevrolet sitting close together. He shook his head bemusedly and pressed the button again.
Nothing happened.
Thirty miles farther south, traffic braked and swerved wildly to avoid the remains and falling debris of what, a few seconds before, had been a cream Cadillac moving fast in the direction of San Diego and the border.
In the trash bin outside the coffee shop by the gas station, the phone rang again for a while, then fell silent.
Back in the limo, Luke replaced the phone for what he decided was the last time. He had done all anybody could do, he told himself.