The Dawn's Early Light

Prefatory

Probably some explanation of what this story is might be in order. CSU fans may recall the story Dark Vacation, which was not only a standalone story but three chapters in both Memories Part II and Sentenced to Life where those two stories overlapped in content.

As it happens, lead characters from both Jigsaw and Be Careful What You Ask For participate in the same events in the same places and times on the rather eventful day of Friday, November 5, 2004. Neither story has caught up to that point, but the ongoing interwoven CSU storyline requires that their November 5 overlap needs to come live before the material leading up to them can be completed.

So this story fills the gap, covering the events of November 5. As the two stories reach this point, it will be listed as chapters in each of them. To prevent confusion, this story opens with a scene the night before in which Harry in reverie recalls the events of the past week, giving the reader a chance to come up to date on story events.

Hope you enjoy The Dawn's Early Light.

---

Chapter I

Melrose Hotel, Washington, DC, Thursday, November 4th, 9:15 PM EST

In the classically elegant hotel room he and Jonas shared, Harry let his mind drift back over the eventful week just past. Only a week ago they had gone to Worcester to conduct the trial of the FCC leaders there, and then returned, after mental healing, to Arkham and the town board meeting that had concluded with their wedding. Next day, the trip to Augusta and the intervention there, with picking up the hitchhiking Calvin as a side benefit.

On Saturday, Kyle had delivered the 14 rescuees from the High Pastors' citadel in the other timeline, which was followed by the day off in Hawai'i. Sunday morning brought about the intervention at the local FCC, and another 22 rescued kids, as well as Tony's return to Arkham with his 'little brother.'

Building from Sunday's events, on Monday they had assumed responsibility for the new Clan facility in North Syracuse, and conducted yet another intervention, this time at the Orangekill high school, and Peter had been tasked with the rapid conversion of the other former military bases to Clan housing facilities for rescuees. Maureen's experience at the school with Teena served as a reminder of how much yet the rescuees from the Free Holy Republic timeline still needed 'deprogramming.' Tuesday events included Austin Casey, the 17-year-old Unit officer heading up Security in North Syracuse, being promoted to Colonel and placed in charge of any Unit task forces detached to the Northeast; and Lt. Oliver Romero of Starfleet Security from the Lafayette being named Starfleet Liaison to the Northeast Division.

On Wednesday, events seemed to be ramping up to a yet higher level, with Kurt calling distressed by the bogus demands of various bureaucrats. That in turn had led to where they were now, with Jonas sleeping quietly next to him, Kurt and his boys in a neighboring suite, and Jean-Claude, Logan clones Todd and Tilden Hayes, and Strike Team Charlie in other rooms at the same hotel. Events during the day Wednesday had included a mysterious call from Ch'karya, the Vulcan FCC pastor they had met in Worcester. Harry wondered about that call; it seemed to imply tat Ch'karya knew more than he was telling about events, yet he seemed, strangely, to be almost offering to act on their side. The new underground C.I.C. for the division had been put in place late in the day as well. Then that evening, Northeast Division's new AI had come online and named himself Jack. It was Jack who had transported them all to Washington earlier this evening; Peter was finishing up the work that he, with Eli and Benji Michaels, were doing at the new bases, and had said that he would join them for the meeting.

They had awakened Thursday to the news that the Pacific Rim Division had conducted a series of raids aimed at rescuing abused and neglected kids in 16 California orphanages. Those orphanages had been run by a not-for-profit subsidiary of Zorro Communications Corp., the near-monopoly manufacturers of network relays and similar equipment. The Zorro board of directors had been arrested, tried and convicted for their part in the scheme. This in turn had led to Zorro stock values plummeting and what was beginning to look like a stock market crash. There was general unrest and even some rioting in New York's financial district, as well as in Tokyo and in areas with concentrations of electronics companies that depended on Zorro-made devices.

The understated elegance of the old hotel pleased Harry. Seth had done wonders for them, booking them into rooms only a few blocks from the State Department building in Foggy Bottom. And though the rooms glistened with burnished wood, and the luxuriously upholstered furniture suggested comfort, they were equipped with state-of-the-art conveniences, all framed to match the décor of burnished wood. The cottage/bar-sized refrigerator sat beneath a full-sized microwave. A plaque assured them of WiFi access, and a 36-inch flat-screen television hung opposite the bed. They were scheduled to meet tomorrow morning with the Deputy Secretary of State, the number two man in the US State Department. His boss, Secretary of State Colin Powell, was just completing a junket to Eastern Asia and Japan, and would be flying back that day. He had sent his regrets and his personal assurance that the Clan's concerns would be dealt with promptly and fully. All in all Harry didn't think he could have asked for more.

Jonas stirred in his sleep, wrapping the blankets more closely around himself, and pulling them slightly off Harry in the process. Harry flashed his life partner a concerned look, making sure he was still peacefully asleep. The sight of Jonas filled Harry's heart with a sense of banked desire. He turned onto his side, pulled the covers a bit more over himself, and spooned up against Jonas, wrapping one arm around him. His last thought as he drifted off to sleep was that tomorrow would work out well.

---

Friday Morning, 5:07 AM EST

"AH-OOOH-GA! AH-OOOH-GA"

Jonas sat bolt upright. "Holy Shit! What was that?"

"Dunno," Harry called out from the bathroom.

Jonas realized the obnoxious noise was coming from their commbadges. He activated his. "Turn on your TV, to the news," Jack, their A.I., said without preamble.

"Okay," said Jonas, and grabbed the remote, punching buttons to bring up the local 24-hour news channel.

"...In the Republic of Hawai'i," the reporter was saying, "attacks on the king's palace and Honolulu International Airport were being repelled when bombs went off at the Hyatt-Regency Hotel in Waikiki." The view cut away from the talking head to show the hotel leaning crazily, then zoomed in on six small figures in the air above it. Jonas's jaw dropped. "Harry, get out here!" he called out. As they watched, a camera happened to catch Peter for a few seconds. Then he disappeared from view again.

"That's Eli and Benji!" Jonas exclaimed, "and John and Stephen, and Sammy and Sebastian." As the camera panned, they saw Peter standing on the roof of another nearby resort, clearly feeding energy to John and guiding the TK boys' efforts. Down below them outside the hotel's lower floors, they recognized what looked for all the world like the comic-book human torch's kid brother, as Jimmy Casey, Adam's younger brother who had been found by Skipper and Bobby.

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," Jonas called out.

In walked JayCee and Austin Casey. "You've seen it," the seventeen-year-old Unit officer said with a nod at the TV.

Jonas nodded and replied, "We were just told to turn it on."

"It seems to me," Austin said, thinking out loud, "that the degree of violence has been slowly, steadily escalating this week. I'm glad you brought us along, and I recommend that we take security precautions en route to your appointment."

"I concur," added JayCee.

Harry nodded. "I'm not sure Austin's right, but I'm not prepared to gamble that he's wrong; better safe than sorry.

Jonas looked at Austin. "I think you have a point, Austin," he said. "I don't want to see us wrapped in cotton batting, so-to-speak, for fear that we might hurt ourselves. As Clan members it's our duty to take necessary risks. But there's nothing that says we need to take unnecessary ones. Implement your security plans based on that and we'll go with them."

Austin was nodding as he listened. Now he said, "It goes a little against the grain, as trained security personnel, but I see what you're saying. I'll do what you say. I reserve the right to make recommendations for your safety any time it seems appropriate."

"That's reasonable," Jonas agreed.

---

The two security boys left Jonas and Harry's room, and they showered and joined the others for breakfast in the hotel dining room downstairs. Austin was grim. "While we were waiting for you," he reported, "we got word that there was an attack on the Dragon Division base in Wales, with at least one casualty."

"Oh my God!" Jonas exclaimed. "All right, put Northeast Division on yellow alert. Try to reach Prez and Jason and see if we can provide them any help."

"Check," JayCee and Austin said simultaneously. While JayCee called Arkham, Austin notified the man he'd left in charge in North Syracuse. "Set yellow alert. Tighten up on gate security. Have Kurt's admin. guy call around and prepare a list of what we can provide the other Clan facilities that are in crisis?" This last sentence was delivered with an upward, questioning inflection at the end as Austin cocked an eye at Kurt, who nodded.

"Confirmed on that last. Brief reports to me as you get things in place; I'll inform Kurt and Jonas as appropriate."

"What about the Boston guys?" JayCee asked.

"They're at Wayne Manor along with Pen and his father, working on the fallout from the Zorro raids and stock market crash," Harry replied.

The waitress took their orders, and soon began serving meals. It was 6:29 AM EST.

The commbadges worn by Jonas, Harry, Scott, Galen, JayCee, and all of Strike Team Charlie came to life, flashing to indicate an incoming call. They all activated theirs. Seth was on the line, and he sounded both angry and worried. "We've just lost all contact with the group in London," he announced without preamble. "Nothing's getting through – not radio, not Starfleet, not even telepathy. And Kyle, Tyler, Levi, Jamie, and Jacob are there, so they should be able to get through even if everything else is blocked. Ark says she's blind as far as the London area is concerned. And Cory and Sean, Justy and J.J. are there. Sammy's sitting next to me, and he concurs: we're calling a Clan-wide Red Alert until we know more about what's happening there, and why we've been cut off."

They heard Kaleo in Ewa Beach, Brent in Las Vegas, Julio in Des Moines, and the others acknowledging. As Jonas went to key his commbadge, Calvin's voice came across it, saying "Northeast. Acknowledged." Jonas smiled; his new foster brother was stepping up when needed.

There was a quiet buzz at the table on the heels of the announcement; Marky was asking Scotty what it meant; the team members of Strike Team Charlie were talking together in low voices.

At one end of the dining room, ignored by the Clan contingent, a wall-hung television tuned to a morning news program had been droning away in low tones. As it flashed "NEWS ALERT" one of the waitresses used a remote to turn it up. "The sporadic rioting in the north end of the District overnight intensified early this morning. City police are reportedly responding in force, with SWAT teams placed on standby. Reports indicate rioting is also becoming severe in the South Bronx, Harlem, and the Financial District in New York City, on the south side of Chicago, and in south central L.A. In world news, a full-scale civil war appears to have broken out in Britain, with loyalist forces in England apparently pitted against breakaway groups in Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. In the Republic of Hawaii...."

Thunderstruck, Jonas, Kurt, JayCee, and Austin looked at each other. Austin said slowly, "With that rioting, I would be inclined to see if you can postpone this meeting if possible."

As Scott began to object, Jonas motioned him quiet, and thought it over. "No," he responded, "it took too much effort to get this meeting scheduled this soon. We're at the opposite end of the District from the rioting, going to see the number two man in the State Department. We're only six blocks away, and half our walk will be in areas the Capital Police keep tight coverage on. But, everyone," he raised his voice, "there is a slight element of danger. On our walk there, we will do exactly as Austin instructs. No running ahead or sightseeing; we stay in a tight group with security covering us."

"Besides," Peter said from behind Galen's chair, where he had popped in, "I can get us all to safety at a moment's notice if anything does happen." He reached over Galen's shoulders and crossed his arms over the older boy's chest; Galen blushed. Kurt and Scott grinned; Marky giggled. Peter looked fresh and perky, despite what they'd seen him doing just 90 minutes earlier.

"Glad you could join us!" Jonas said to his Mikyvis little brother. Austin motioned Peter to him, and they conferred in low tones for a few minutes.

Jonas keyed his commbadge. "Seth?"

"Here, Jonas."

"Do we know anything more?"

"About what? I can tell you this: the dead zone over London appears to be a rough circle around London more or less following the line of the M25 – that's the beltway highway circling most of Greater London. And you've heard the news reports?"

"Yeah."

"They're the excrement of male cattle. Clan contacts say that it's been English troops moving with hostile intent into Scotland and Wales. What the news services are saying looks to be from government press sources, which is passing strange considering they're supposed to be in London. Something stinks to high heaven, Jonas."

"Got it. How about the rioting?"

"Bad. The news services are downplaying it, to try to avoid copycat riots. Dylan, you know from over at Camp Little Eagle?, has, or rather had, one, well, friend isn't quite right, one contact left in their old neighborhood. It's a disaster there; fires and gang shootouts, and people breaking into stores and apartments. We had George transport Dylan's contact out for his own safety."

"Any Unit troops available if I need 'em?"

"I think so; I'll find out."

"Thanks. Jonas out."

He thought a second, then keyed his commbadge again. "Jonas calling Calvin."

"Hi, Jonas!"

"Hey, get near Dad so he can hear this, OK?"

"Sure, gimme a second." They heard rapid footfalls, then "Go ahead; I'm next to him."

"Father, we're going to head out to the meeting soon. There's been violence involving the Clan on opposite sides of the world. I'm taking action. Do you have court today?"

"Yes, but it's Motion Day, nothing but lawyers making motions on pending cases."

"Good. Stay home, please; your clerk can process the motions?"

"Yes, she knows what gets automatically granted, what gets denied, and what to hold for my review. The bailiff can convene court in my absence and she can receive them for me."

"Okay, get George Wentworth and his kids, and Skipper and the Martins, over to the house. And be prepared to get everyone down into the secure area if necessary. I don't know what's happening yet, but I want to be sure my family and my Division are safe."

"Aren't you overreacting?"

"No. Catch the news. Then realize the Clan's sources are saying that half of it is lies and the other half is being partly hushed up, for supposedly good reasons. Then see if you don't agree with me."

"I'll do that. And what you said to do as well. Stay safe, son."

"I'll try to, Dad. Jonas out." His eyes were watering a bit as he ended the call.

It was two minutes to seven. Jonas keyed his commbadge again and said, "Jonas McConnaghay to all Divisions. Northeast Division is on Red Alert owing to widespread rioting in at least two large cities in the Division's service area, and other crises involving the Clan. This is subordinate to but separate from the Clan-wide Alert. More as I learn it."

Again keying his commbadge, he said, "Jack?"

"Içi, mon frere" the A.I. responded in horribly mispronounced French.

"Strike Team Pine Tree to New York City, with what they can get for Intelligence. Tell 'em to take along Terry if they don't have somebody trained. Mission is to rescue any kids in danger, other refugees if they ask for help. Use force as needed to protect themselves and kids or other refugees, but do not seek out combat. I have a feeling it'll come to them anyway. Put 'em down where their commander says, but I recommend somewhere near the New York end of the George Washington Bridge; that's the likely route for people trying to escape the riots to be taking. Tell him Seth's looking for help for him. Transport anyone they say to – North Syracuse?" Kurt nodded. "Affirmed, North Syracuse base intake."

"Got it. Whoo-ee!" Jack echoed.

"Jonas out." He looked around. "Let's get going; we got less than a half hour to walk six blocks and be ready for this meeting."

---

Breakfast over, they formed up for the walk to the State Dept. The two Division leaders and the Farnsworths were surrounded by the ten members of Strike Team Charlie and JayCee. Jonas, Harry, Scott, and Galen were wearing their Clan cloaks over business suits, which Kurt was also decked out in; JayCee was dressed in the unrelieved deep blue of his VSO uniform; Strike Team Charlie were all in crisp, dressy 'inspection' fatigues, armed appropriately for a security detail in unsecured territory. The five longtime team members: Austin, Becky, Bryan, Ethan, and Malinda, had the green 'cording' embroidered in place where the sleeves of their uniform blouses met the shoulder yoke, that had been the award personally ordered by Pres. Bush for all military, whether US troops, reserves, or Unit members, who had taken part in the Missoula battle. This was echoed in the combat badge they wore on their right blouse pocket, depicting a map of Montana with a green Clan crest centered on it. On their left pockets all ten wore their unit badge: a rifle and lightning bolt in saltire surmounted by the letter C. What appeared at first to be pips at the corners of the badge turned out to be miniaturized pictures of the four members of the original Strike Team Charlie who had been killed in Montana, silkscreened onto the badge.

They formed up in the hotel lobby, under the gimlet eyes of the desk clerk and a looming man in a suit whom Austin rightly guessed was hotel security. "Malinda, you take lead," he said. "Not only will your looks draw attention to you, and therefore away from the guys we're guarding, but you also have the highest enhancement level of any of us. JayCee, will you back her to the left?" The VSO Arkham boy nodded agreement. "Ethan, same position to the right." Efficiently Austin arrayed the newer team members to complete the leading wedge and guard the flanks of the party. "Becky and I will do rear guard," he ended. "Bryan, start out just ahead of Becky and me. You're ready reserve; fill in wherever you see a weakness in our coverage, without any further orders. As XO you know everyone's job; place yourself where you see help needed." The 13-year-old redhead smiled and nodded, clearly pleased to have been 'given his head' in reinforcing the formation.

"Colonel," Malinda ventured, "permission to modify my uniform slightly?" Austin nodded consent; Malinda unbuttoned the top few buttons of her blouse. With her ample mammary endowment, the blouse spread open so that the crevice between her breasts and the halves of her breasts nearest it were exposed.

"Brilliant!" Becky said to her in her clipped English tones. "That will draw eyes, for a certainty."

Austin smiled. "Some of the best weapons are psychological," he said.

Within the hollow square formed by the security group, Kurt and Scotty were lined up, followed by Galen, Peter, and Marky, Jonas and Harry, and Todd and Tilden. Austin explained he was placing the two Logan clones where they could provide him and Jonas with intelligence as and when needed. Experimentally, Tilden sent "Nice tits!" to Malinda. She turned and grinned saucily.

"Hotel security's got a hard on," she thought at him, continuing the test.

"Interested?" he thought back.

"Hell no! He's not my type!" she replied. Tilden laughed.

---

The walk to the State Department was relatively uneventful. Even at this early hour there was a fair amount of traffic, including more than a few pedestrians. The sight of teenagers in cloaks and fatigues drew some eyes; Malinda's appearance drew even more. They saw a Tellarite having a heated argument with a cab driver, and an Andorian tourist family went past, the kids in T-shirts and shorts in the brisk November chill. Just before they arrived at the State Department building, Todd and Tilden visibly jerked and came to full attention. Austin and Jonas's attention was riveted on them. Then across the commbadges came Jack's voice, "CSNIC is active. I say again, CSNIC is active."

"What's that mean?" Marky asked.

"Well, Marky," Tilden replied, "it means that all the Clan's A.I.s are linked together as one distributed-processing network. Anything that one of them can do, or anything they can do as a team, any one of them can now do."

"Think of what the Ark or Daileass were able to do in their stories, bro," Galen put in.

---

There was a bit of a contretemps as they entered the State Department building. The man running building security officiously declared he would not allow over a dozen armed teenagers inside the building. Harry, who up until this point had remained relatively quiet, handled this situation quite effectively. Turning to the man handling the lobby information and reception desk, he said acerbically, "Sir? Would you kindly contact the Deputy Secretary and advise him that the party he arrived early today to meet with will not be at that meeting because" he read the building security man's nametag, "Mr. Simpkins of your building security would not permit them to enter wearing the arms they are under direct orders of their Patriarch to wear whenever outside Clan secure compounds? And then have him advise Secretary Powell that Mr. Simpkins took it upon himself to override the Secretary's promise of cooperation and assistance? And let him know to expect a protest from the Vulcan ambassador about the deliberate snub to his own family. Thank you. Austin, please arrange us for the walk back."

"I'll be glad to deliver that message, young man," the desk man replied, with a predatory smirk at Simpkins.

Simpkins gulped. "Can we work out some sort of compromise?" he yelped.

The upshot of the event was that most of Strike Team Charlie went to the building's public lounge, where they proceeded to decimate the supply of pastries, while the Farnsworths, Jonas, Harry, JayCee, Peter, Austin, and Todd, proceeded up to the appointed meeting room.

---

"Welcome, young gentlemen!" U.S. Deputy Secretary of State Richard Armbridge was all affability as he joined them. Todd gave the man a once-over as he joined them in the conference room. Middle aged and dignified, he gave off an air of carrying authority easily. His body build showed that he could easily have gone to fat, but had kept himself physically fit. Gray hair cut short and parted, a seemingly cheerful face with a thin but warm smile. His eyes, though, spoke volumes. Todd probed mentally.

He was a complex man, carrying on a variety of thought processes simultaneously. He was predisposed to help his visitors in whatever had brought them here if at all possible. At the same time, he was weighing how much successfully resolving the problem, whatever it was, would ingratiate him personally with the Secretary, to whom he seemed close. Along with this, he was simultaneously weighing the benefit to closer United States-Vulcan relations, and the ways it could be used politically to the advantage of his and the President's party. Also on Armbridge's mind were other meetings scheduled for later in the day, and the relevant issues for them. Todd jotted on a notepad in Vulcan script, "He's disposed to help us. Be brief, firm, and clear," and passed the note to Jonas, who read it and passed it on to Kurt, with a nod of thanks to Todd.

"The short briefing I got when the Secretary asked me to handle your concerns," Armbridge began, "seemed to indicate you were having problems with local bureaucrats that you think the Department should be involved with. Can you please amplify on that?"

As they'd planned out the day before, Jonas began the presentation. He briefly introduced those who had come with him, then, "All of us except Kurt are members of Family Clan Short of the House of Surak, and legally grandsons of the Ambassador. In vowing brotherhood to the Clan, which includes Sa'ren Joel Short, son of Spock, and Justin, Jamie, and Jacob Dodds, we all have a legally recognized relationship as part of the senior House on Vulcan, and diplomatic immunity under the 1922 Secret Treaty of Washington and the formal treaties that followed public knowledge of Vulcan in 1950. Kurt is an employee of the Clan for his expertise in establishing and managing residential facilities, which our outreach to abused, neglected, and abandoned children and youth has made essential to have. Under those treaties any Clan-owned or -managed property, including such facilities, is to be regarded as under Vulcan sovereignty. In addition, our duties under the 2004 amendment to the Federation's Safe Haven Act invoke Federation authority for the work we do."

"I understand all that," Armbridge broke in. "How is it relevant to your concerns today?"

This was Kurt's cue. "Beginning with the end of last week, we've been working to get the prototype facility, at the former air base north of Syracuse Airport, up and running. Peter here," he gestured, "has been spearheading the conversion of the other 25 facilities we've been given into residential communities based on what we've learned."

Armbridge turned a quizzical eye on the little Mikyvis, who grinned back at him. "Peter inherited ownership of a construction company," Harry interjected, "and also has some special skills that have helped the process immensely." Peter giggled.

A knock on the conference room door was followed by the entry of a slim, dark-haired man in his late 30s and a woman pushing a cart loaded with coffee, sodas, and pastries. The man took a chair at the table; the woman bustled about, serving snacks and drinks to everyone. Armbridge, Kurt, and the new man elected coffee, the boys all decided for Cokes or other sodas, and everyone took their choice from the assorted baked goods.

Armbridge introduced the newcomer. "Gentlemen, may I present Lowell Kingsley, Special Assistant for Interstellar Affairs." He then went around the table naming those present.

"Do we need to bring Mr. Kingsley up to date on what's been covered?" Harry asked.

"You're Clan Short, right?" Kingsley interjected.

"Yes," Harry replied.

"Then carry on; if I have questions, I'll interrupt with them," Kingsley said. He ostentatiously slipped up the cuffs of his suit jacket's and shirt's right wrists to expose a large and ornate wrist chronometer, which looked like it could not only provide the time for any time zone, but give the temperature, humidity, barometric pressure, and in short do everything but change babies. He pointedly noted the time on it, and shot the sleeves back to cover it.

As was his assigned duty, Todd attempted a surface read of Kingsley's mind. But he found his way barred; a near-perfect barrier to telepathic scans was in place. Startled, he noted that to advise Austin and Jonas later.

"Well, sir," Kurt went on with his presentation, "beginning on Sunday and getting worse daily through yesterday, virtually every variety of local official has been claiming to have authority to regulate what we're trying to do. The Town of Cicero Zoning Officer says we're in violation of the town's master plan by having put in housing where they had sketched in commercial and warehousing facilities, and by not having gotten building or occupancy permits from them. The Onondaga County Water Authority says we should have gotten their approval before hooking anything up to the water mains, even though the mains were already in place and tied into their system before we took possession. County Social Services believes they should have custody of all children and youth in our facilities."

"The county's State Uniform Building and Fore Code officer says we should have submitted plans for their approval for every building we put up and every renovation of an existing building that was done. Separate offices of the County Health Department claim to need to inspect and license the residential food service program and the water supply. (There seems to be a turf war over water between them and the Water Authority.)" He smiled mirthlessly. "The State Education Department wants to review all teachers we employ and forbid us to hire anyone they haven't certified – and to dictate what we teach and when we teach it. The County Planning Department says we're in violation of their 'airport compatible use zone' regulations. The County Solid Waste Authority wants a detailed solid waste and recycling plan for the facility. I could go on; I have about 20 more things listed here where we seemingly trod on the toes of some local bureaucrat's turf. Oh, here's one: the Regional Department of Environmental Conservation office wants a narrative Environmental Impact Statement on the facility; the list of questions to be answered in it runs eight pages single-spaced. And every single one of them threatens to either fine us, close us down, or both if we don't comply."

"This is why," Jonas broke in, "I went through that historical bit about diplomatic immunity and Vulcan extraterritoriality earlier. None of those agencies should have the slightest degree of control over a Vulcan enclave, which is what this facility is. We're looking for a firmly worded letter from the State Department reiterating the nation's commitment to recognizing the autonomy of Clan facilities under Vulcan authority, stating their independence of state and local regulators."

Armbridge was nodding. Kingsley broke in. "Sir, you do need to realize that reports from our embassy on Vulcan indicate strong objections on the part of Siprak's faction to the steps that Sarek has taken in the last few months."

"I'm aware of them, Lowell," Armbridge said. "I'm also aware that Sarek represents Vulcan until and unless the High Council pulls his Ambassadorship, which hasn't happened in more years than either of us has been alive. And I'm very aware that the President and the Secretary are committed to aid Clan Short in their important and needed work for our children."

The unmistakeable sound of a siren sounding overhead interrupted them. The Clan boys and Kurt all looked upwards, as did Armbridge, surprise evident on their faces. A speaker recessed behind a ceiling tile announced: "Attention all personnel. Queen Elizabeth has sounded the Terran Call. An extraterrestrial attack on Earth is believed imminent. Washington is a likely target. Please proceed in an orderly fashion as quickly as possible to the underground bunker complex below this building. Able-bodied persons please use the stairs, leaving the elevators for those who are handicapped, elderly, or with small children. Repeating: the Terran Call has been sounded; attack is imminent. Please proceed down stairs to the underground complex as rapidly and orderly as possible."

Aghast, they looked at one another. Armbridge pulled out his cell phone. "I must contact my office. Lowell, please lead our guests down to the underground complex. I'll bring up the rear."

Austin looked Todd in the eye and said, distinctly, "Able Sierra. Join up. Polite first but do it. Offer help."

Todd went unfocused for a second, then said, "Acknowledged."

Armbridge was having trouble getting through on his cell phone. He walked the length of the conference room, picked up the receiver of a wall phone, and punched in a five-digit number. After two seconds, he said, "Dick Armbridge here. Proceeding to bunker complex with Lowell Kingsley and our scheduled guests."

"Mr. Armbridge!" Austin sang out.

"Yes?"

"I've given orders to the rest of my team, in the first floor lounge, to join up with us in the bunker complex, to be polite if possible but to get there to protect our charges. A word from your office to building security would be... useful."

Armbridge returned his attention to the phone. "Tell building security to let the rest of the Clan Short security group join us. My cell phone's out; I'll be out of touch on the way down, and will call you at our lower office as soon as we get belowdecks." He listened a second more and hung up.

---

In the first floor lounge

Malinda, in an easy chair, and Vance, opposite her in a straight chair, were engrossed in a game of chess. Becky had her tricorder out and was taking random readings with it, apparently to double-check its calibration. The rest of the team were, with varying degrees of amusement, watching the other people in the lounge carefully not staring at Malinda – or in a few cases at Ethan or Lew. Tilden was reading surface thoughts and being greatly amused. "Hey, Malinda," he 'pathed to her, "that guy across the room, about 20 degrees to your left, with a copy of the Washington Post?"

"Yeah, what about him?" Like all the Genesis Project enhanced kids, Malinda had the genes for telepathy. In her case, though, it was usually latent except as an adjunct to body language during sex, or in exchanges with a strong telepath. She could usually hear and respond to direct contacts to her from a Logan clone, though.

"Turn a bit in his direction and stretch."

Smiling, she did so, and they watched with amusement as a wet spot formed on the front of the man's pants.

Scanning the room again, Tilden focused on another man. "Hey, E!" he whispered to Ethan. "That heavyset swarthy guy with the beard and the briefcase? He wants to make love to you badly."

"That's probably how he would do it, too," Ethan whispered back.

"Huh?"

"Badly," Ethan amplified. Tilden giggled.

At that point the siren and the announcement of imminent attack and evacuation to the sublevels followed.

Then Tilden sat bolt upright, and said aloud, "Bryan!"

The team's young Exec., presently in command while Austin was at the meeting upstairs, raised his eyebrows.

"Listen: 'Able Sierra. Join up. Polite first but do it. Offer help.' Relayed through Todd from Austin." The 12-year-old blond Tilden was already on his feet.

"Charlie. Attention to orders," Bryan said in a low but distinct voice that carried to them all. "Form up and prepare to follow me. Malinda, Vance, behind me. Til, Becky, you next. We've been ordered to join up with those we're here to guard, with the cooperation of building security if at all possible, but to join up."

The team quickly abandoned what they'd been occupying themselves with, and formed a two-wide column behind Bryan. Walking briskly to the lounge door, he spied Simpkins, the building security man who had given them problems on the way in. "Sir, we are under orders to join up with our commanding officer and the people we escorted here. We are to ask for your cooperation in doing so. We have ten trained infantry marksmen, five of them combat veterans, including a combat medic and an explosives/demolition specialist. Plus two intelligence/special talents attached to us for this operation. My orders are to take my troops to our CO and those we're guarding, then consonant with their needs we can be any help you can use in defending this facility."

"I think not," Simpkins said. Before he could say more, however, a man popped his head out of the security office across the lobby.

Seeing his man with a group of teens in fatigues, he called out, "Clan Short?"

"Yes," said Bryan.

"Let them go, Hal. Deputy Secretary's office called. Take a sharp right at the elevators, kids. Down that hall and take the stairs you'll see on your right halfway down the hall. You want the second sub-level, then look for Conference Room 5; it should be not far to your left when you exit the stairs."

"Got it. Thanks, sir," Bryan said, and led them out double time.

---

Washington that Friday was typically bustling, under blue skies with puffy cumulus off to the east and a light overcast toward the mountains to the west. Crowds of tourists thronged the Mall, visiting the Capitol, the Smithsonian, and the various memorials. Lobbyists and staffers hurried toward the legislative office buildings, as, despite the fact that the election was only four days off, Congress was in special session. They had hopes to complete their business that evening, to give them the weekend and Monday for last minute campaigning. At the White House, President Bush was having a 'working breakfast' meeting with Vice-President Cheney and the National Security Adviser. Traffic was moderately heavy. Further out in the city, people were going to their jobs, children were heading off to school, taxis were shuttling back and forth: all the rush of a typical weekday morning in the nation's capital.

Sirens sounded everywhere. Loudspeakers began to announce: "Take cover or evacuate. An alien attack on Earth is imminent. Washington is considered at high risk of attack. You will have time to make it to cover or evacuate the city if you move in a rapid but orderly fashion. Repeating...."

All-but-invisible shimmering force shields went up over all significant government buildings. Starfleet, at Federation behest, had provided the shields for buildings "deemed significant to the historical and cultural fabric of Earth", such as the Smithsonian and the Lincoln Memorial, and had licensed the technology to the US to contract for and install shielding for its own buildings, e.g, the White House, the Capitol, the Supreme Court building, the legislative office buildings, the Pentagon, the State Department, Treasury Department, Interior, and Justice Department buildings.

In the White House, the Secret Service was having a herd of cows – breech birth. "We need to get the President and Vice President out of here."

"What about the underground bunker?"

"It's hardened but couldn't stand up against phaser banks, photon torpedoes, disruptor cannon, or Weapon X. When you're talking about the President's safety, it's best not to rely on the hardened bunker here if we have time to get him to safety – and that, we very likely do have."

"Enough of this. Attention to orders: call in Marine One for pickup. Contact Andrews and have Air Force One and Air Force Two ready for immediate evacuation as soon as the President and VP get there. Let the President, the VP, and the First Lady know what's happening."

"Aye, sir."

Under the impetus of the loudspeaker announcements, government workers were hastening to their offices to take cover. Many tourists were getting in their cars and leaving; others seemed to be looking for safe places on the Mall, and appeared incensed that the government had not made provisions for secure below-ground shelter facilities for tourists such as themselves.

Capital police were trying to direct traffic to the best routes away from the heart of government, to cope with panicked individuals and crowds, and not incidentally to hope to get to safety themselves. The rioters from northern Washington were pressing their way southward along 34th Street among other routes.

The helicopter Marine One came in for a landing on the White House lawn. Quickly the President, four of his aides, the First Lady, the Vice President, and the National Security Adviser exited the building and boarded it. It lifted off and headed in the direction of Andrews AFB. Above the Mall there was a shimmering in the chill November air.

---

In the lobby of the Melrose Hotel, a solidly built Vulcan man wearing formal robes strode up to the desk. "I greet you," he said to the day clerk. "I wish to speak with the party from Clan Short. I require directions to the location of their accommodations."

"I am sorry, sir," the clerk replied. "They left earlier this morning to go to a meeting. If I overheard them correctly, it was at the State Department building."

"Your assistance is of value," the Vulcan said. "I shall endeavor to encounter them at that place. If they should contact this facility, please give them to understand that Ch'karya son of Xonar, whom they know, wishes to speak with them on a matter of importance."

"I will be glad to, sir," the clerk answered. "Live long and prosper."

"Peace and long life to you as well," Ch'karya responded as he turned to leave.

---

At the Pentagon, the news of the Terran Call had moved the nation's military leaders to call the appropriate levels of alert for their services. Now the generals were contacting their forces – or trying to. Deep in the building's bowels, an Army general had punched in the number for the direct line to the CO at Fort Bragg three times; the first two, he had been connected to a teller at the Bethesda branch of the Bank of America. This last time, a mellifluous female voice had assured him that "the Cloverleaf Restaurant will open for dinner tonight at 4:30 PM. Please call back after that time."

Several offices away, a senior Air Force General had picked up the red phone on his desk, which theoretically should have given him direct encrypted access to the Ops. Room at SAC HQ in Nebraska, only to be told that "The number you have dialed is not in service at this time. Please check the number and try again. Bee-Arr-five-four-nine" and a dial tone.

He was not a stupid man; he knew what this meant. "We've been cut off," he said.

His aide had been using his desk monitor to check the feed from the rooftop camera directed at the Capitol and the Mall. As the picture came into focus, he had been shocked to see Godzilla slowly emerging from the Potomac. He blinked, and the big reptile was gone; in its place, TIE fighters from Star Wars were heading directly at the camera. He had involuntarily ducked, and when he looked back, all was as it had been, sunny and quiet except for the police guiding traffic away from the heart of the government, and the strange shimmering overhead.

"Something is fucking with our video feed, sir," the aide said.

"We need to find out what if anything we can rely on for communications," the general replied.

---

At Andrews AFB, the field commander was feeling harried. His maintenance chief was just delivering bad news. The latter's muscular physique, square jaw, and thick neck made him the recruiting-poster model for inspiring confidence. His news, though, did not. "Air Force Two is grounded indefinitely. There are major problems in both the hydraulic and the electronics systems, and one engine of four needs rebuild or replacement."

"Why wasn't this taken care of already?"

"With the Vice President flying back with the Secretary of Defense last week, they only brought his plane back Wednesday night. I had my crews going over it yesterday. They fixed what they could, but I would not trust his life to that plane until those repairs are made."

"What else do we have on hand for VIPs?"

"Just Air Force One – which I'm happy to say is in fine shape. The Secretary of the Navy took the SecDef plane to San Diego. The State Dept. plane is bringing Secretary Powell back from Japan. Each of the other three, someone has off on junkets."

The sound of Marine One coming in for a landing ended their exchange. They hurried out to meet it. With quaking hearts, they explained to the Presidential party about Air Force Two. "We do have a number of the second-level jets that Assistant Secretaries, commission members, and people such as them use, if Mr. Cheney wishes."

"That would leave me out of the decision-making loop for the length of the flight," the VP objected. They tried to come up with means of solving that problem for a couple of minutes, without notable success.

"All right," the President interjected. "Dick, you ride with us as far as Wright-Patterson, and we'll work out something there. We need more information, and then I need to go on TV and reassure the nation. I need your input on what to do."

"That's against security protocols, sir," one of the VP's Secret Service contingent objected.

Bush turned to him. "New security protocol: when alien attack is imminent, the object is to get the President, Vice President, and others in the line of succession to safety as fast as possible. This overrides other considerations. By order of the President. Does that make it clear?"

A chastened Secret Service agent gulped. "Yes sir!"

They all boarded Air Force One, and it taxied for takeoff.

---

Conference Room 5 in the State Department's sub-levels was quite different from the conference room upstairs, being substantially smaller and, apart from the desk at one end, it was arranged as upholstered chairs and couches surrounding an open area.

As they reconvened in that room, Armbridge said somewhat brusquely, "You'll get your warn-off-the-bureaucrats letter. Please excuse me while I try to ensure this Department is safe, or as safe as we can make it." He then picked up the phone from the desk, stood behind it, and called his office. "Do we have any further word from Her Brittanic Majesty?" he asked early on. Then, "Open civil war against the Tsar?"

The Clan delegation arranged themselves around the conference room. Harry, flanked by Jonas, Peter, and Todd, stood to Armbridge's left; to his right were, in order, Galen, Kurt, Marky, Scotty, and Ethan and Lew from Strike Team Charlie.

Kingsley stood at the other end of the room. Vance, Austin, and his wife Becky, and Tilden were to his left. Lexi, Bryan, and two others stood loosely at his right. Gauging analytically that Kingsley was the likely fly in the ointment to the mission of the people they were providing security for, Malinda moved in close to Kingsley at his immediate right. The Genesis Project-enhanced buxom blonde's strength and agility enhancements were not obvious to the glance. Her physical attributes, however, were, and with her enhanced libido, she had long since learned how to play them for the benefit of herself and her teammates. Now she used that skill. She stood to Kingsley's right, slightly ahead of him and half-turned toward him, which gave him an almost unobstructed view of almost all of her right breast. Her hope was that this would be sufficiently distracting to keep Kingsley from interfering with Kurt's requests. But although he noticed her standing there, he did not react in any way she expected.

Armbridge, who was listening to the phone, now interjected, "Well, put me through to our delegation in Saint Petersburg, then." After a short pause to listen to the response, he exclaimed, "You can't?! Why not!?"

Getting an inkling of what might be happening, Jonas touched his commbadge and said, "Jack?" There was no response. He keyed it again and said, "Seth?" Again no response. Then, "Testing." This echoed on the other Clan members' commbadges, but elicited no response beyond that. Peter looked perturbed, screwed up his face, and then paused.

Austin began to reiterate his offer to help building security, when Tilden shushed him. Both Logan clones appeared to be listening intently to something only they could hear.

The two young blond boys then began to talk, alternating sentences as if sharing the debriefing of a report, which in a sense they were.

"Washington and London have been cut off."

"Other big cities too."

"Seth's been trying to reach you, Jonas."

"So has Jack, to warn you."

"It's the Romulans."

"They attacked Earth to take the Federation out of the equation."

"Or try to."

"They've got moles."

"Deep infiltrators – everywhere."

"Disguised somehow."

"They're working out how to unmask them."

"Electromagnetic communications with the dead zones are erratic. Phone, radio, even fiber optics: they're all unreliable."

"We can get through because all us brothers are telepathic, in a network with each other."

"And that includes Daileass, and through him with all of CSNIC."

"Nathan reports that Prez was badly burned during the Hyatt Regency rescues."

"He'll be okay though."

"The Chipmunks say they've made a killing on the market."

"The Clan bought a lot of stock. So did Wayne Industries, and Gideon and Dyson, and our other corporate supporters."

"Uncle Taco has his amused look on."

"Pen says he's having a lot of fun playing day trader, for real, alongside his father."

"Daileass can't see anything reliably here in Washington except through us."

"Neither can Jack or the other A.I.s."

While they were rattling this report off rapid-fire, Kingsley had lifted his left hand to the back of his head, about the base of his skull, as if he were getting a bad headache. Now, as though they were watching a horror movie, he began to transform. His skin color became darker, with a strong greenish cast. As he brought his hand forward to pull loose his collar and tie, his neck became thicker, so that his collar was choking him. With his left hand he pulled open his shirt collar and tie, and raised his extended right hand and arm. Meanwhile his hair had darkened even more, his ears grew green and pointed, and his eyebrows developed the characteristic angular form. In short, he had been unmasked as a Romulan.

His chronometer came into view on his wrist, glowing. "Put down the phone, Richard," he commanded. Armbridge looked baffled. "Powell's over the Pacific, out of the picture," he said. "After I kill you, there's no one in charge here." A disruptor beam emerged from the chronometer, aimed at Armbridge.

Malinda's enhanced reflexes were almost in time. She deflected his aim down and to his left, Armbridge's right. It vaporized a bit of Armbridge's suit jacket, hit Galen in mid-chest, quickly burned through clothes and skin, and incinerated the lower lobes of both Galen's lungs.

The bottom of his heart was seared like a rare steak, and part of his liver began to smoke. Shocked, he looked down and then lost consciousness.

"NOOOOOOO!!!!" screamed Peter.

---

To be continued